Lady. What if they be?

Meg. Good madam, let her go on. What if they be? Why, if they be, I will justify, they cannot maintain discourse with a judicious lady, nor make a leg, nor say 'Excuse me.' Gal. Ha, ha, ha!

Meg. Do you laugh, madam?
Dion. Your desires upon you, ladies.
Meg. Then you must sit beside us.
Dion. I shall sit near you then, lady.

Meg. Near me; perhaps. But there's a lady endures no stranger; and to me you appear a very strange fellow.

Lady. Methinks he's not so strange; he would quickly be acquainted.

Thra. Peace, the king!

Enter KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, and Train.

King. To give a stronger testimony of love Than sickly promises (which commonly In princes find both birth and burial In one breath), we have drawn you, worthy sir, To make your fair endearments to our daughter, And worthy services known to our subjects, Now loved and wonder'd at: next, our intent, To plant you deeply, our immediate heir, Both to our blood and kingdoms. For this lady (The best part of your life, as you confirm me, And I believe), though her few years and sex Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes, Desires without desire, discourse and knowledge Only of what herself is to herself,

Make her feel moderate health; and when she sleeps,

In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams.
Think not, dear sir, these undivided parts,
That must mould up a virgin, are put on
To show her so, as borrow'd ornaments,
To speak her perfect love to you, or add
An artificial shadow to her nature:
No, sir; I boldly dare proclaim her, yet
No woman. But woo her still, and think her
modesty

A sweeter mistress than the offer'd language
Of any dame, were she a queen, whose eye
Speaks common loves and comforts to her ser-
vants.2

Last, noble son (for so I now must call you),
What I have done thus public, is not only
To add a comfort in particular

To you or me, but all; and to confirm

The nobles, and the gentry of these kingdoms,
By oath to your succession, which shall be
Within this month at most.

Thra. This will be hardly done.
Cle. It must be ill done, if it be done.

Dion. When 'tis best, 'twill be but half done, whilst

So brave a gentleman's wrong'd and flung off.
Thra. I fear.

Cle. Who does not?

Manners and virtues, you would wed your kingdoms:

You in me have your wishes. Oh, this country!
By more than all my hopes I hold it happy;
Happy, in their dear memories that have been
Kings great and good; happy in yours that is;
And from you (as a chronicle to keep
Your noble name from eating age) do I
Opine myself most happy. Gentlemen,
Believe me, in a word, a prince's word,
There shall be nothing to make up a kingdom
Mighty, and flourishing, defenced, fear'd,
Equal to be commanded and obey'd,
But through the travels of my life I'll find it,
And tie it to this country. And I vow
My reign shall be so easy to the subject,
That every man shall be his prince himself,
And his own law (yet I his prince and law).
And, dearest lady, to your dearest self
(Dear, in the choice of him whose name and lustre
Must make you more and mightier) let me say,
You are the blessed'st living; for, sweet princess
You shall enjoy a man of men, to be

Your servant; you shall make him yours, for whom

Great queens must die.

Thra. Miraculous!

My language to you, prince; you, foreign man! Ne'er stare, nor put on wonder, for you must Endure me, and you shall. This earth you tread

upon

(A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princess),
By my dead father (oh, I had a father,
Whose memory I bow to!) was not left
To your inheritance, and I up and living;
Having myself about me, and my sword,
The souls of all my name, and memories,
These arms, and some few friends beside the gods;
To part so calmly with it, and sit still,

And say,
'I might have been.' I tell thee, Phara-
mond,

When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten,
And my name ashes: For, hear me, Pharamond!
This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth,
My father's friends made fertile with their faiths,
Before that day of shame, shall gape and swallow
Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave,
Into her hidden bowels. Prince, it shall;
By Nemesis, it shall!

Pha. He's mad; beyond cure, mad.

Dion. Here is a fellow has some fire in 's veins: The outlandish prince looks like a tooth-drawer. Phi. Sir, prince of popinjays,' I'll make it well Appear to you I'm not mad.

King. You displease us:

You are too bold.

Phi. No, sir, I am too tame,

Too much a turtle, a thing born without passion,
A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud
Sails over and makes nothing.

King. I do not fancy this.

Call our physicians: sure he's somewhat tainted. Thra. I do not think 'twill prove so.

Dion. He has given him a general purge already,

For all the right he has; and now he means
To let him blood. Be constant, gentlemen:
By these hilts, I'll run his hazard,

Although I run my name out of the kingdom.
Cle. Peace, we are all one soul.

Pha. What have you seen in me, to stir offence,
I cannot find; unless it be this lady,
Offer'd into mine arms, with the succession;
Which I must keep, though it hath pleas'd your
fury

To mutiny within you; without disputing
Your genealogies, or taking knowledge
Whose branch you are.

me;

The king will leave it

You have your answer. inheritor to him

And I dare make it mine.
Phi. If thou wert sole
That made the world his, and couldst see no sun
Shine upon anything but thine; were Pharamond
As truly valiant as I feel him cold,

And ring'd among the choicest of his friends
(Such as would blush to talk such serious follies,
Or back such bellied commendations),

And from this presence, 'spite of all these bugs,3 You should hear further from me.

King. Sir, you wrong the prince: I gave you not this freedom

To brave our best friends. You deserve our frown.

Go to; be better temper'd.

Phi. It must be, sir, when I am nobler used.
Gal. Ladies,

This would have been a pattern of succession,
Had he ne'er met this mischief. By my life,
He is the worthiest the true name of man
This day within my knowledge.

Dare you be still my king, and right me not?
King. Give me your wrongs in private.
Phi. Take them,

And ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas.
[They walk apart.

Cle. He dares not stand the shock. Dion. I cannot blame him: there's danger in't. Every man in this age has not a soul of crystal, for all men to read their actions through. Men's hearts and faces are so far asunder, that they hold no intelligence. Do but view yon stranger well, and you shall see a fever through all his bravery, and feel him shake like a true recreant. If he give not back his crown again, upon the report of an elder-gun, I have no augury. King. Go to!

Be more yourself, as you respect our favour; You'll stir us else. Sir, I must have you know, That you are, and shall be, at our pleasure, What fashion we will put upon you. Smooth Your brow, or by the gods

Phi. I am dead, sir; you're my fate. It was not I

Said, I was wrong'd: I carry all about me
My weak stars lead me to, all my weak fortunes.
Who dares in all this presence, speak (that is
But man of flesh, and may be mortal), tell me,
I do not most entirely love this prince,
And honour his full virtues!

King. Sure, he's possess'd.

Phi. Yes, with my father's spirit. It's here, O king!

A dangerous spirit. Now he tells me, king,
I was a king's heir, bids me be a king;
And whispers to me, these are all my subjects.
'Tis strange he will not let me sleep, but dives
Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes
That kneel, and do me service, cry me king:'
But I'll suppress him; he's a factious spirit,
And will undo me.-Noble sir, your hand:
I am your servant.

King. Away, I do not like this:

I'll make you tamer, or I'll dispossess you
Both of life and spirit. For this time

I pardon your wild speech, without so much
As your imprisonment.

[Exeunt KING, PHARAMOND, and ARETHUSA. Dion. I thank you, sir; you dare not for the people.

Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave

fellow?

knowledge;

But the other is the man set in my eye. Oh, 'tis a prince of wax!5

Gal. A dog it is.

King. Philaster, tell me

The injuries you aim at in your riddles.

Phi. If you had my eyes, sir, and sufferance, My griefs upon you, and my broken fortunes,

1 popinjays-parrots.

2 him that made, &c.-Alexander.

3 bugs-bugbears, terrors.

pattern of succession,-i.e. a pattern to succeeding kings.-THEOBALD.

5 of wax-well made, as if modelled in wax.-DYCE. This expression is obscure; Jonson, in his Tale of a Tub, speaks of a 'dog of wax.'—DICE.

love all the nation over and over for his sake. Gal. Pride comfort your poor headpiece, lady! 'Tis a weak one, and had need of a night-cap. Dion. See, how his fancy labours! Has he not Spoke home, and bravely? What a dangerous

train

Did he give fire to! How he shook the king, Made his soul melt within him, and his blood Run into whey! It stood upon his brow, Like a cold winter dew.

Phi. Gentlemen,

You have no suit to me? I am no minion: 2

1 recreant-tenant is the reading of the old copies", Rev. J. Mitford suggests tyrant.

2 no minion-ie. no favourite of influence enough carry suits at court.-THEOBALD.

You stand, methinks, like men that would be courtiers,

If I could well be flatter'd at a price,

Not to undo your children. You're all honest:
Go, get you home again, and make your country
A virtuous court, to which your great ones may,
In their diseased age, retire, and live recluse.
Cle. How do you, worthy sir?

Phi. Well, very well;

And so well, that, if the king please, I find
I may live many years.

Dion. The king must please,

Whilst we know what you are, and who you are, Your wrongs and injuries. Shrink not, worthy sir,

But add your father to you. In whose name
We'll waken all the gods, and conjure up
The rods of vengeance, the abused people;
Who, like to raging torrents, shall swell high,
And so begirt the dens of these male-dragons,
That, through the strongest safety, they shall
beg

For mercy at your sword's point.

Phi. Friends, no more;

Our ears may be corrupted. 'Tis an age

We dare not trust our wills to. Do you love me?
Thra. Do we love heaven and honour?
Phi. My lord Dion, you had

A virtuous gentlewoman call'd you father:
Is she yet alive?

Dion. Most honour'd sir, she is;

And, for the penance but of an idle dream,
Has undertook a tedious pilgrimage.

Your present company.

Phi. The princess send for me! taken.

You are mis

Lady. If you be call'd Philaster, 'tis to you.
Phi. Kiss her fair hand, and say I will attend
her.
[Exit Lady.

Dion. Do you know what you do?"
Phi. Yes; go to see a woman.

Cle. But do you weigh the danger you are in?
Phi. Danger in a sweet face!

By Jupiter, I must not fear a woman.

Thra. But are you sure it was the princess sent?

It may be some foul train to catch your life.
Phi. I do not think it, gentlemen; she's noble;
Her eye may shoot me dead, or those true red
And white friends in her face may steal my

out:

soul There's all the danger in't. But, be what may, Her single name hath armed me.

Dion. Go on:

[Exit PHILASTER.

And be as truly happy as thou'rt fearless.Come, gentlemen, let's make our friends ac

quainted,

Lest the king prove false.

ACT I-SCENE II.

An Apartment in the same.

Enter ARETHUSA and a Lady.

Are. Comes he not?

Lady. Madam?

Are. Will Philaster come?

[Exeunt.

Are. Of love? to whom? to you?— Did you deliver those plain words I sent, With such a winning gesture, and quick1 look, That you have caught him?

Lady. Madam, I mean to you.

Are. Of love to me? alas! thy ignorance Lets thee not see the crosses of our births. Nature, that loves not to be questioned Why she did this, or that, but has her ends,And knows she does well, never gave the world. Two things so opposite, so contrary,

As he and I am. If a bowl of blood,

Drawn from this arm of mine, would poison

thee,

A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me?

Lady. Madam, I think I hear him.

Are. Bring him in.

Ye gods, that would not have your dooms withstood,

Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is,
To make the passion of a feeble maid
The way unto your justice, I obey.
Enter PHILASTER.

Lady. Here is my lord Philaster.
Are. Oh! 'tis well.
Withdraw yourself.

Phi. Madam, your messenger

[Exit Lady.

Made me believe you wish'd to speak with me. Are. 'Tis true, Philaster; but the words are such

I have to say, and do so ill beseem

The mouth of woman, that I wish them said, And yet am loath to speak them. Have you known

That I have aught detracted from your worth?
Have I in person wrong'd you? Or have set
My baser instruments to throw disgrace
Upon your virtues?

Phi. Never, madam, you.

Are. Why, then, should you, in such a public place,

Injure a princess, and a scandal lay

Upon my fortunes, famed to be so great; Calling a great part of my dowry in question?

Phi. Madam, this truth which I shall speak,

Phi. No.

Are. Do.

Phi. Is't possible?

Are. With it, it were too little to bestow On thee. Now, though thy breath do strike me dead

(Which, know, it may), I have unript my breast.
Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts,
To lay a train for this contemned life,
Which you may have for asking. To suspect
Were base, where I deserve no ill. Love you,
By all my hopes, I do, above my life:

But how this passion should proceed from you
So violently, would amaze a man
That would be jealous.

Are. Another soul, into my body shot, Could not have filled me with more strength and spirit,

Than this thy breath. But spend not hasty time,
In seeking how I came thus: "Tis the gods,
The gods, that make me so; and, sure, our love
Will be the nobler, and the better blest,
In that the secret justice of the gods
Is mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss;
Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt

us,

And we should part without it.

Phi. "Twill be ill

I should abide here long.

Are. 'Tis true; and worse

You should come often. How shall we devise
To hold intelligence, that our true loves,
On any new occasion, may agree
What path is best to tread?

Phi. I have a boy,

Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent,

Not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck, I found him sitting by a fountain's side,

Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst, And paid the nymph again as much in tears.

A garland lay him by, made by himself, Of many several flowers, bred in the vale, Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness Delighted me. But ever when he turn'd His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep, As if he meant to make 'em grow again. Seeing such pretty helpless innocence Dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story. He told me that his parents gentle died, Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs,

Which did not stop their courses; and the sun, Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his

light.

Then took he up his garland, and did show
What every flower, as country people hold,
Did signify; and how all, order'd thus,
Express'd his grief: And, to my thoughts, did
read

The prettiest lecture of his country art

That could be wish'd: so that, methought, I
could

Have studied it. I gladly entertain'd him,
Who was glad to follow; and have got
The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy
To wait on you, and bear our hidden love
That ever master kept. Him will I send
Enter Lady.

Are. 'Tis well; no more.

Lady. Madam, the prince is come to do his service.

Are. What will you do, Philaster, with yourself?

Phi. Why, that which all the gods have pointed out for me.

Are. Dear, hide thyself.― Bring in the prince.

Phi. Hide me from Pharamond!

When thunder speaks, which is the voice of Jove,
Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not;
And shall a stranger prince have leave to brag
Philaster hide himself?
Unto a foreign nation, that he made

Are. He cannot know it.

Phi. Though it should sleep for ever to the
world,

It is a simple sin to hide myself,

Which will for ever on my conscience lie.

Are. Then, good Philaster, give him scope
and way

In what he says; for he is apt to speak
What you are loath to hear. For my sake, do.
Phi. I will.

Enter PHARAMOND.

with you.

back.

Pha. "Tis an odd fellow, madam. We must stop his mouth with some office when we are married.

Are. You were best make him your controller. Pha. I think he would discharge it well. But, madam,

I hope our hearts are knit; and yet, so slow
The ceremonies of state are, that 'twill be long
Before our hands be so. If then you please,
Being agreed in heart, let us not wait
For dreaming form, but take a little stolen
Delights, and so prevent1 our joys to come.
Are. If you dare speak such thoughts,
I must withdraw in honour.

[Exit. Pha. The constitution of my body will never hold out till the wedding. I must seek else[Exit.

where.

ACT II.-SCENE I.

An Apartment in the PALACE.

Enter PHILASTER and BELLARIO.

Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable, boy; Full of regard unto thy tender youth,

For thine own modesty; and for my sake,
Apter to give than thou wilt be to ask,
Ay, or deserve.

Bel. Sir, you did take me up

When I was nothing; and only yet am something,

By being yours. You trusted me unknown;
And that which you were apt to conster2
A simple innocence in me, perhaps
Might have been craft-the cunning of a boy
Hardened in lies and theft: yet ventured you
To part my miseries and me; for which
I never can expect to serve a lady

That bears more honour in her breast than you. Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee. Thou art young,

And bear'st a childish overflowing love

To them that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee

fair yet.

But when thy judgment comes to rule those pas

To greater men than he; but did it not
Till they were grown too saucy for himself.
Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all
In thy behaviour.

Bel. 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.

Phi. 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 thee 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 did'st attend the princess.

Bel. I am gone.

But 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:
Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your
designs!

May sick men, if they have your wish, be well;
And heaven hate those you curse, though I be
one!
[Exit.

Phi. The love of boys unto their lords is strange;

I have read wonders of it: Yet this boy,
For my sake (if a man may judge by looks
And speech) would outdo story. I may see
A day to pay him for his loyalty.

[Exit PHILASTER.

Gal. Your grace!

Pha. Shall I not be a trouble?
Gal. Not to me, sir.

Pha. Nay, nay; you are too quick. By this sweet hand

Gal. You'll be forsworn, sir; 'tis but an old glove. If you will talk at distance, I am for you; but, good prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag; these two I bar: and then, I think, I shall have sense enough to answer all the weighty apophthegms your royal blood shall manage. Pha. Dear lady, can you love?

1 reverend mother-i.e. mother of the maids.-DYCE.