Phil. But, boy, it will prefer thee: thou art And bear'st a childish overflowing love [young, To them that clap thy cheeks and speak thee fair yet.
But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions, Thou wilt remember best those careful friends That placed thee in the noblest way of life: She is a princess I prefer thee to.
Bell. In that small time that I have seen the I never knew a man hasty to part [world, With a servant he thought trusty. I remember My father would prefer the boys he kept To greater men than he ; but did it not Till they were grown too saucy for himself. Phil. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all In thy behaviour.
Bell. Sir, if I have made
A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth; I shall be willing, if not apt to learn. Age and experience will adorn my mind With larger knowledge; and if I have done A wilful fault, think me not past all hope For once. What master holds so strict a hand Over his boy, that he will part with him Without one warning? Let me be corrected To break my stubbornness, if it be so, Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.
Phil. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay, That, trust me, I could weep to part with thee. Alas, I do not turn thee off: thou know'st It is my business that doth call me hence : And when thou art with her thou dwell'st with me: Think so, and 'tis so. And when time is full That thou hast well discharged this heavy trust Laid on so weak a one, I will again With joy receive thee: as I live, I will. Nay, weep not, gentle boy-'tis more than time Thou didst attend the princess.
And since I am to part with you, my lord, And none knows whether I shall live to do More service for you, take this little prayer: Heav'n bless your loves, your fights, all your designs!
May sick men, if they have your wish, be well; And Heav'n hate those you curse, though I be one!
Philaster's mind being poisoned with jealousy that his Mistress is perfidiously attached to the Page, he tries to extort the supposed secret from Bellario. Phil. See-see, you gods!
He walks still, and the face you let him wear When he was innocent is still the same- Not blasted. Is this justice? Do you mean T' entrap mortality, that you allow
Treason so smooth a brow? I cannot now Think he is guilty.
Bell. Health to you, my lord:
The princess doth commend to you her love, And this, unto you.
Now I perceive she loves me; she does show it In loving thee, my boy: she's made thee brave.
Bell. My lord, she has attired me past my wish, Past my desert, more fit for her attendantThough far unfit for me who do attend. [women Phil. Thou art grown courtly, boy. Oh, let all That love black deeds learn to dissemble here: Here by this paper, she does write to me As if her heart were mines of adamant To all the world besides, but unto me A maiden snow that melted with my looks. Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee? For I shall guess her love to me by that.
Bell. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were Something allied to her, or had preserved Her life three times by my fidelity; As mothers fond do use their only sons;
As I'd use one that's left unto my trust, For whom my life should pay if he met harm- So she does use me.
Phil. Why, this is wond'rous well;
But what kind language does she feed thee with? Bell. Why, she does tell me she will trust my youth
With all her loving secrets, and does call me Her pretty servant; bids me weep no more For leaving you-she'll see my services Regarded; and such words of that soft strain, That I am nearer weeping when she ends Than ere she spake.
Phil. This is much better still. Bell. Are you not ill, my lord? Phil. Ill-no, Bellario.
Bell. Methinks your words
Fall not from off your tongue so evenly, Nor is there in your looks that quietness That I was wont to see.
Phil. Thou art deceived, boy. And she strokes thy head? Bell. Yes.
To dally with thee :—I will take thy life, For I do hate thee. I could curse thee now.
Bell. If you do hate, you could not curse me The gods have not a punishment in store [worse. Greater for me than is your hate.
Phil. Fie, fie! so young and so dissembling. Tell me when and where ****
Or plagues fall on me if I destroy thee not! Bell. Heav'n knows I never did; and when I lie To save my life, may I live long and loathed ! Hew me asunder; and, whilst I can think, I'll love those pieces you have cut away Better than those that grow, and kiss those limbs Because you made them so.
Phil. Fear'st thou not death? Can boys contemn Bell. Oh, what boy is he
Can be content to live to be a man,
That sees the best of men thus passionate, Thus without reason?
Phil. Oh, but thou dost not know
What 'tis to die!
Bell. Yes, I do know, my lord:
'Tis less than to be born-a lasting sleep, A quiet resting from all jealousy,
A thing we all pursue. I know, besides, It is but giving o'er a game that must be lost. Phil. But there are pains, false boy,
For perjured souls. Think but on these, and then Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.
Bell. May they fall all upon me whilst I live, If I be perjured, or have ever thought Of that you charge me with! If I be false, Send me to suffer in those punishments You speak of kill me!
Phil. Oh! what should I do?
Why who can but believe him? he does swear So earnestly, that if it were not true The gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario; Thy protestations are so deep, and thou Dost look so truly when thou utter'st them, That though I know 'em false as were my hopes, I cannot urge thee farther; but thou wert To blame to injure me, for I must love Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon Thy tender youth. A love from me to thee So firm, whate'er thou dost, it troubles me That I have call'd the blood out of thy cheeks, That did so well become thee; but, good boy, Let me not see thee more. Something is done That will distract me, that will make me mad, If I behold thee. If thou tender'st me, Let me not see thee.
In the last scene of Philaster, the supposed youth, Bellarío, is obliged to confess her sex, and accounts thus for her assumed disguise.
(For I must call thee still so) tell me why Thou didst conceal thy sex? It was a fault- A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds Of truth outweigh'd it. All these jealousies Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discover'd What now we know.
Bell. My father oft would speak
Your worth and virtue; and as I did grow More and more apprehensive, I did thirst To see the man so praised; but yet all this Was but a maiden longing, to be lost As soon as found, till, sitting at my window, Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god, I thought, but it was you, enter our gates; My blood flew out and back again as fast As I had puff'd it forth, and suck'd it in Like breath; then was I call'd away in haste To entertain you: never was a man, Heaved from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, raised So high in thoughts as I. You left a kiss Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep From you for ever. I did hear you talk Far above singing! After you were gone,
I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd What stirr'd it so. Alas! I found it love, Yet far from lust; for, could I but have lived In presence of you, I had had my end. For this I did delude my noble father With a feign'd pilgrimage, and dress'd myself In habit of a boy; and, for I knew My birth no match for you, I was past hope Of having you; and understanding well, That when I made discovery of my sex I could not stay with you, I made a vow, By all the most religious things a maid Could call together, never to be known Whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes For other than I seem'd, that I might ever Abide with you; then sat I by the fount Where first you took me up.
King. Search out a match
Within our kingdom where and when thou wilt, And I will pay thy dowry; and thyself Wilt well deserve him.
Bell. Never, sir, will I
Marry it is a thing within my vow :
But if I may have leave to serve the princess, To see the virtues of her lord and her, I shall have hope to live.
Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady, Dress'd like a page, to serve you; nor will I Suspect her living here. Come, live with me, Live free as I do she that loves my lord, Curst be the wife that hates her!
Abig. Why, Master Roger, will you set your wit To a weak woman's?
Rog. You are weak, indeed;
For so the poet sings.
Abig. I do confess
My weakness, sweet Sir Roger. Rog. Good, my lady's
Gentlewoman, or my good lady's gentlewoman, (This trope is lost to you now) leave your prating,
You have a season of your first mother in you, And, surely, had the devil been in love, He had been abused too. Go, Dalilah, You make men fools, and wear fig-breeches. Abig. Well, well, hard-hearted man, you may Upon the weak infirmities of woman, [dilate These are fit texts: but once there was a time- Would I had never seen those eyes, those eyes, Those orient eyes!
Rog. Ay, they were pearls once with you. Abig. Saving your presence, sir, so they are still. Rog. Nay, nay, I do beseech you, leave your What they are, they are—
And give me possets with purging comfits in them? I tell thee, gentlewoman,thou hast been harder to me Than a long chapter with a pedigree.
Abig. Oh, curate, cure me;
I will love thee better, dearer, longer! I will do anything-betray the secrets Of the main household to thy reformation; My lady shall look lovingly on thy learning; And when due time shall point thee for a parson,
I will convert thy eggs to penny custards, And thy tithe goose shall graze and multiply. Rog. I am mollified,
As well shall testify this faithful kiss. But have a great care, Mistress Abigail, How you depress the spirit any more, With your rebukes and mocks, for certainly The edge of such a folly cuts itself.
Abig. Oh, Sir, you've pierced me thorough! Here A recantation to those malicious faults
I ever did against you. Never more Will I despise your learning; never more Pin cards and cony tails upon your cassock ;
Never again reproach your reverend nightcap,
And call it by the mangy name of murrion; Never your reverend person more, and say You look like one of Baal's priests i' the hanging; Never again, when you say grace, laugh at you, Nor put you out at pray'rs; never cramp you more With the great book of Martyrs; nor, when you ride, Get soap and thistles for you-No, my Roger, These faults shall be corrected and amended, As by the tenor of my tears appears.
[cogging; JULIO TANTALIZED BY BUSTOPHA ABOUT THE FATE OF HIS NEPHEW ANTONIO.
They serve me without spectacles-I thank 'em. Abig. Oh, will you kill me? Rog. I do not think I can :
You're like a copyhold with nine lives in't. Abig. You were wont to wear a Christian fear For your own worship's sake. [about you,
Rog. I was a Christian fool, then. Do you remember what a dance you led me, How I grew qualm'd in love, and was a dunce ; Could not expound but once a quarter, and then was out too-
And then, out of the stir you put me in,
I pray'd for my own royal issue. You do Remember all this.
Abig. Oh, be as then you were. Rog. I thank you for it.
Surely I will be wiser, Abigail, And, as the Ethnic poet sings,
I will not lose my oil and labour too. You're for the worshipful, I take it, Abigail.
Abig. Oh, take it so, and then I am for thee. Rog. I like these symptoms well, and this humbling also,
They are symptoms of contrition, as a father saith. If I should fall into my fit again,
Would you not shake me into a quotidian coxcomb, Would you not use me scurvily again,
THE MAID OF THE MILL, ACT IV. SCENE 11.
Jul. My mind's unquiet; while Antonio My nephew's abroad, my heart's not at home; Only my fears stay with me-bad company, But I cannot shift 'em off. This hatred Betwixt the house of Bellides and us
Is not fair war-'tis civil, but uncivil; We are near neighbours, were of love as near, Till a cross misconstruction ('twas no more In conscience,) put us so far asunder.
I would 'twere reconciled; it has lasted
Too many sunsets: if grace might moderate, Man should not lose so many days of peace To satisfy the anger of one minute.
I could repent it heartily. I sent The knave to attend my Antonio too,
Yet he returns no comfort to me neither. Enter BUSTOPHA,
Bust. No, I must not. Jul. Ha! he is come.
Bust. I must not :
"Twill break his heart to hear it. Jul. How! there's bad tidings. I must obscure and hear it For breaking of my heart.
he'll not tell it It's half split already.
Bust. I havespied him. Now to knock down a don With a lie a silly, harmless lie: 'twill be Valiantly done, and nobly, perhaps.
Jul. I cannot hear him now.
Bust. Oh, the bloody days that we live in! The envious, malicious, deadly days That we draw breath in.
Jul. Now I hear too loud.
Bust. The children that never shall be born may rue,
For men that are slain now, might have lived To have got children that might have cursed Their fathers.
Jul. Oh, my posterity is ruin'd.
Bust. Oh, sweet Antonio !
Jul. O dear Antonio !
Bust. Yet it was nobly done of both parts, When he and Lisauro met.
Jul. Oh, death has parted them!
Bust. Welcome, my mortal foe! says one ; Welcome,
My deadly enemy! says t'other. Offgo their doublets, They in their shirts, and their swords stark naked. Here lies Antonio-here lies Lisauro. He comes upon him with an embroccado,
Then he puts by with a puncta reversa. Lisauro Recoils me two paces, and some six inches back Takes his career, and then-Oh !-
Bust. Runs Antonio
Quite through.
Jul. Oh, villain !
Bust. Quite through, between the arm
And the body, so that he had no hurt at that bout. Jul. Goodness be praised!
Bust. But then, at next encounter, He fetches me up Lisauro; Lisauro
Makes out a lunge at him, which he thinking To be a passado, Antonio's foot Slipping down-oh! down▬▬
Jul, Oh, now thou art lost!
Bust. Oh, but the quality of the thing; both gentlemen,
Both Spanish Christians-yet one man to shedJul. Say his enemy's blood.
Bust. His hair may come
By divers casualties, though he never go Into the field with his foe; but a man To lose nine ounces and two drams of blood At one wound, thirteen and a scruple at another, And to live till he die in cold blood; yet the surgeon That cured him said, that if pia mater had not Been perish'd, he had been a lives man Till this day.
Jul. There he concludes-he is gone.
Bust. But all this is nothing,-now I come to the point.
Jul. Ay, the point-that's deadly; the ancient blow
Over the buckler ne'er went half so deep. Bust. Yet pity bids me keep in my charity; For me to pull an old man's ears from his head
With telling of a tale. Oh, foul tale! no, be silent, Furthermore, there is the charge of burial. [tale. Every one will cry blacks, blacks, that had But the least finger dipt in his blood, though ten Degrees removed when 'twas done. Moreover, The surgeons that made an end of him will be paid Sugar-plums and sweet-breads; yet, say I, The man may recover again, and die in his bed. Jul. What motley stuff is this? Sirrah, speak What hath befallen my dear Antonio ! Restrain your pity in concealing it; Tell me the danger full. Take off your care Of my receiving it; kill me that way,
I'll forgive my death! What thou keep'st back from truth,
Thou shalt speak in pain: do not look to find A limb in his right place, a bone unbroke, Nor so much flesh unbroil'd of all that mountain, As a worm might sup on-despatch or be despatch'd. Bust. Alas, Sir, I know nothing but that Antonio Is a man of God's making to this hour; 'Tis not two since I left him so.
Jul. Where didst thou leave him?
Bust. In the same clothes he had on when he
went from you.
Jul. Does he live?
Bust. I saw him drink.
Jul. Is he not wounded?
Bust. He may have a cut i' the leg by this time, For Don Martino and he were at whole slashes. Jul. Met he not with Lisauro?
Bust. I do not know her.
Jul. Her! Lisauro is a man, as he is. Bust. I saw ne'er a man like him. Jul. Didst thou not discourse
A fight betwixt Antonio and Lisauro ? Bust. Ay, to myself:
I hope a man may give himself the lie If it please him.
Jul. Didst thou lie then?
Bust. As sure as you live now.
Jul. I live the happier by it. When will he return?
Bust. That he sent me to tell you-within these Ten days at farthest.
Jul. Ten days! he's not wont
To be absent two.
EDITH PLEADING FOR THE LIFE OF HER
FROM THE TRAGEDY OF ROLLO DUKE OF NORMANDY.
Persons of the scene-ROLLO, Duke of Normandy ; HAMOND, Captain of the Guard; BALDWIN, Tutor of the Prince; EDITH, BALDWIN'S Daughter.
Rollo. Go, take this dotard here (pointing to Baldwin), and take his head
Off with a sword.
Ham. Your schoolmaster! Rollo. Even he.
Bald. For teaching thee no better: 'tis the best Of all thy damned justices. Away! Captain, I'll follow.
Edith. O stay there, Duke,
And, in the midst of all thy blood and fury, Hear a poor maid's petition-hear a daughter, The only daughter of a wretched father!
Oh! stay your haste, as I shall need your mercy. Rollo. Away with this fond woman! Edith. You must hear me,
If there be any spark of pity in you; If sweet humanity and mercy rule you. I do confess you are a prince-your anger As great as you, your execution greater. Rollo. Away with him!
Edith. Oh, Captain, by thy manhood,
By her soft soul that bare thee-I do confess, Sir, Your doom of justice on your foes most righteous. Good, noble Prince, look on me.
Rollo. Take her from me.
Edith. A curse upon his life that hinders me! May father's blessing never fall upon him! May heav'n ne'er hear his prayers! I beseech you- O Sir, these tears beseech you-these chaste hands woo you,
That never yet were heaved but to things holy, Things like yourself. You are a god above us, Be as a god, then, full of saving mercy. Mercy! Oh, mercy! Sir-for his sake mercy, That, when your stout heart weeps, shall give you Here I must grow.
Rollo. By heaven I'll strike thee, woman! Edith. Most willingly-let all thy anger seize me, All the most studied tortures, so this good man, This old man, and this innocent escape thee.
Rollo. Carry him away, I say.
Edith. Now blessing on thee! Oh, sweet pity, I see it in thine eyes. I charge you, soldiers, Ev'n by the Prince's power, release my father! The Prince is merciful-why do you hold him? The Prince forgets his fury-why do you tug
He is old-why do you hurt him? Speak, oh speak, Sir !
Have I no rule yet? As I live, he dies That does not execute my will, and suddenly. Bald. All thou canst do takes but one short hour Rollo. Hew off her hands! [from me.
Ham. Lady, hold off.
Edith. No, hew 'em ;
Hew off my innocent hands, as he commands you, They'll hang the faster on for death's convulsion. [Exit BALDWIN with the guard. Thou seed of rocks, will nothing move thee then? Are all my tears lost, all my righteous prayers Drown'd in thy drunken wrath? I stand up thus, Thus boldly, bloody tyrant! [then,
And to thy face, in heav'n's high name, defy thee; And may sweet mercy, when thy soul sighs for it, When under thy black mischiefs thy flesh trembles, When neither strength, nor youth, nor friends, nor gold,
Can stay one hour; when thy most wretched conscience,
Waked from her dream of death, like fire shall melt thee;
When all thy mother's tears, thy brother's wounds, Thy people's fears and curses, and my loss,
My aged father's loss, shall stand before thee :—
Ferret. So out with all! Expect now
Hig. That thou art chosen, venerable Clause, Our king, and sovereign monarch of the maunders,
Speak, as you are a man—a man's life hangs, Sir, Thus we throw up our nab-cheats first for joy,
A friend's life, and a foster life, upon you. Tis but a word, but mercy-quickly spoke, Sir. Oh speak, Prince, speak!
Rollo. Will no man here obey me?
And then our filches; last we clap our fambles Three subject signs-we do it without envy. For who is he here, did not wish thee chosen? Now thou art chosen, ask them-all will say so—
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