Gal. Dear prince! how dear? I ne'er cost you a coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a banquet. Here's no scarlet, sir, to blush the sin out it was given for. This wire mine own hair covers; and this face has been so far from being dear to any, that it ne'er cost penny painting: and for the rest of my poor wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand behind it to make the jealous mercer's wife curse our good doings. Pha. You mistake me, lady. Gal. Lord, I do so. 'Would you or I could help it! Pha. You're very dangerous bitter, like a potion. Gal. No, sir, I do not mean to purge you, though I mean to purge a little time on you. Pha. Do ladies of this country use to give no more respect to men of my full being? Gal. Full being? I understand you not, unless your grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, prince) is, in a morning, a cup of neat white wine, brewed with carduus; then fast till supper: about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a sparrowhawk; you can shoot in a tiller: but, of all, your grace must fly phlebotomy, fresh pork, conger, and clarified whey: they are all dullers of the vital spirits. Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while. Gal. 'Tis very true, sir, I talk of you. Pha. This is a crafty wench; I like her wit well; 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite. She's a Danäe, and must be courted in a shower of gold.-Madam, look here: All these, and more than Gal. What have you there, my lord? Gold! Now, as I live, 'tis fair gold! You would have silver for it, to play with the pages. You could not have taken me in a worse time; but, if you have present use, my lord, I'll send my man with silver, and keep your gold for you. Pha. Lady, lady! Gal. She's coming, sir, behind, will take white money. Yet for all this I'll match you. [Apart. [Exit behind the hangings. Pha. If there be but two such more in this kingdom, and near the court, we may even hang up our harps. Ten such camphire constitutions as this would call the golden age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill-faced husband to get his own children; and what a mischief that would breed, let all consider! Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even, Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, and red enough, Or my glass wrongs me. Pha. Oh! they are two twinn'd cherries dyed in blushes, Which those fair suns above, with their bright beams, Reflect upon and ripen. Sweetest beauty, Meg. Oh! delicate, sweet prince, Pha. By my life, you shall not. [Kisses her. I'll prompt you first: can you do it now? Meg. Methinks 'tis easy, now you ha' done't before; But yet I should stick at it. Pha. Stick till to-morrow; I'll never part you, sweetest. Can you love me? But we lose time. Meg. Love you, my lord? How would you have me love you? Pha. I'll teach you in a short sentence, 'cause I will not load your memory. This is all-love me. Meg. 'Tis impossible. vour. Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endeaIf I do not teach you to do it easily, I'll lose my royal blood for't. Meg. Why, prince, you have a lady of your own, that yet wants teaching. Pha. I'll sooner teach a mare the old measures, than teach her anything belonging to the function. She's afraid to lie with herself, if she have but any masculine imaginations about her. Meg. By my honour, that's a foul fault, indeed; but time, and your good help, will wear it out, sir. Pha. And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest lady, I had rather be Sir Tim the schoolmaster, and love a dairymaid. Meg. Has your grace seen the court-star, Galatea? Pha. Out upon her! She's as cold of her favour as an apoplex. She sail'd by but now. Meg. And how do you hold her wit, sir? Pha. I hold her wit? The strength of all the guard cannot hold it, if they were tied to it; she would blow 'em out of the kingdom. They talk of Jupiter; he's but a squib-cracker to her. Look well about you, and you may find a tonguebolt. But speak, sweet lady, shall I be freely welcome? Meg. I dare not, prince, I dare not. Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal 'em; and what you dare imagine you can want, I'll furnish you withal. Give two hours to your thoughts every morning about it. Come, I know you are bashful; speak in my ear, will you be mine? Keep this, and with it me. Soon I will visit you. [Gives her a ring. Meg. My lord, my chamber's most unsafe; but I'll find some means to slip into your lodging; till when 1 blanks-blank verses. Gal. In list'ning after bawdry. I see, let a lady live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful time to hearken after bawdry. Your prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on't! Are. With whom? Gal. Why, with the lady I suspected: I can tell the time and place. Are. Oh! when, and where? Gal. To-night, his lodging. Are. Run thyself into the presence; mingle there again With other ladies; leave the rest to me. Lady. Here, madam. Enter BELLARIO. Are. Sir, you are sad to change your service; is't not so? Bel. Madam, I have not changed; I wait on you, To do him service. Are. Thou disclaim'st in me." Tell me thy name. Bel. Bellario. Are. Thou canst sing, and play? Bel. If grief will give me leave, madam, I can. Are. Alas! what kind of grief can thy years know? Hadst thou a curst3 master when thou went'st to school? Thou art not capable of other grief; Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be, When no breath troubles them. Believe me, boy, 1 Towsabel-a jocular alteration of Dowsabel. See note 1, p. 161, col. 1. 2 disclaim'st in me-disclaimest me.-DYCR. 3 curst-cross. To forget all respect of his own friends, In thinking of your face; if it be love, When he but hears of any lady dead, Or kill'd, because it might have been your chance; If, when he goes to rest (which will not be), Are. Oh, you're a cunning boy, and taught Come, shall we to bed? Gal. Yes; all good night. [Exeunt GALATEA and MEGRA. Dion. May your dreams be true to you!— What shall we do, gallants? 'tis late. The king Is up still; see, he comes; a guard along With him. Enter KING, ARETHUSA, and Guard. Dion. What should this mean? That lady had been better have embraced [Exeunt ARETHUSA and BELLARIO. You shall be righted.-Gentlemen, draw near; We shall employ you. Is young Pharamond Come to his lodging? Dion. I saw him enter there. King. Haste, some of you, and cunningly discover If Megra be in her lodging. [Exit DION. She parted hence but now, with other ladies. King. If she be there, we shall not need to make A vain discovery of our suspicion. Ye gods, I see, that who unrighteously [Aside. Wait at the back-door of the prince's lodging, Pha. What saucy groom knocks at this dead of night? Where be our waiters? By my vexed soul, He meets his death, that meets me, for this boldness. King. Prince, prince, you wrong your thoughts; we are your friends. Come down. Pha. The king? King. The same, sir; come down. We have cause of present counsel with you. Pha. If your grace please to use me, I'll attend you To your chamber. King. No, 'tis too late, prince; I'll make bold with yours. Pha. I have some private reasons to myself, Make me unmannerly, and say, 'You cannot.' Nay, press not forward, gentlemen; he must Come through my life, that comes here. Enter PHARAMOND below. King. Sir, be resolved,' I must and will come. [Enter. Pha. I'll not be dishonour'd. He that enters, enters upon his death. King. Why do you Chafe yourself so? You are not wrong'd, nor shall be; Only I'll search your lodging, for some cause Pha. I say, no. Meg. I dare, my lord. Your hootings and your clamours, Your private whispers, and your broad fleerings, Can no more vex my soul, than this base carriage. But I have vengeance yet in store for some, Shall, in the most contempt you can have of me, Be joy and nourishment. King. Will you come down? Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst. But I shall wring you, If my skill fail me not. King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness. You have wrong'd a worthy lady; but, no more.Conduct him to my lodging, and to bed. Cle. Get him another wench, and you bring him to bed indeed. Dion. 'Tis strange a man cannot ride a stage or two, to breathe himself, without a warrant. If this gear hold, that lodgings be search'd thus, pray heaven we may lie with our own wives in safety, that they be not by some trick of state mistaken. Enter MEGRA. King. Now, lady of honour, where's your No man can fit your palate, but the prince. court; Fling rotten oranges, make ribald rhymes, Meg. 'Faith, sir, you must pardon me; me On walls, and sung in ballads, anything. Nay, will dishonour her. I know the boy She keeps; a handsome boy, about eighteen; King. What boy is this she raves at? Meg. Alas! good-minded prince, you know not I am loath to reveal 'em. Keep this fault, I will not fall alone. What I have known, Shall read it there, nay, travel with't till they find Cle. So please your grace, I have seen a boy wait On her; a fair boy. King. Go, get you to your quarter: [Exeunt KING, MEGRA, and Guard. Cler. Why, here's a male spirit fit for Hercules. If ever there be nine worthies of women, this wench shall ride astride and be their captain. Dion. Sure she has a garrison of devils in her tongue, she uttered such balls of wild-fire. She has so nettled the king, that all the doctors in the country will scarce cure him. That boy was a strange-found-out antidote to cure her infection. That boy, that princess's boy, that brave, chaste, virtuous lady's boy; and a fair boy, a well-spoken boy! All these considered, can make nothing else -But there I leave you, gentlemen. Thra. Nay, we'll go wander with you. [Exeunt. ACT III.-SCENE I. The Court of the Palace. Enter CLEREMONT, DION, and THRASILINE. Dion. Ay; and 'tis the gods That raised this punishment, to scourge the king To yon strange prince, who, but that people please In that which should be his most noble part, Thra. That man, that would not stir with you Cle. Philaster is too backward in't himself. Dion. The only cause that draws Philaster From this attempt, is the fair princess's love, Cle. Ay, 'tis past speech, She lives dishonestly. But how shall we, Thra. We all are satisfied within ourselves. I'll make this new report to be my knowledge: Cle. It will be best. Thra. 'Twill move him. Enter PHILASTER. Dion. Here he comes. Good morrow to your honour! We have spent Phi. My worthy friends, You that can keep your memories to know Dion. My good lord, We come to urge that virtue, which we know The nobles and the people are all dull'd Know, my, With too much courtesy), I could afford 1 against their nature-i.e. contrary to the nature of the discordant multitude.-MASON. 2 curious-scrupulous.-WEBER. Dion. My lord Phi. Thou liest, [Offers to draw, and is held. And thou shalt feel it. I had thought thy mind Had been of honour. Thus to rob a lady Of her good name, is an infectious sin, Dion. This is most strange: Sure he does love her. Phi. I do love fair truth: She is my mistress, and who injures her, Cle. Sir, remember this is your honour'd friend Phi. I ask your pardon, sir; My zeal to truth made me unmannerly; As much distemper'd and enraged as now. Phi. Oh, say not so! Good sir, forbear to say so! 'Tis then truth Dion. Why, she was taken at it. Phi. 'Tis false! By Heaven, 'tis false! it cannot be! Can it? Speak, gentlemen; for love of truth, speak! Is't possible? Can women all be damn'd? Phi. Why, then, it cannot be. Dion. And she was taken with her boy. Dion. A page, a boy that serves her. Phi. Oh, good gods! A little boy? Dion. Ay; know you him, my lord? Phi. Hell and sin know him!-Sir, you are deceived; I'll reason it a little coldly with you: If she were lustful, would she take a boy, Which is the great delight of wickedness. Dion. How you, my lord? Phi. Why, all the world's abused In an unjust report. Dion. Oh, noble sir, your virtues Cannot look into the subtle thoughts of woman. In short, my lord, I took them; I myself. What's best to be done. Phi. I thank you: I will do it. Please you to leave me: I'll consider of it. Dion. All the gods direct you Thra. He was extreme impatient. Cle. It was his virtue, and his noble mind. I'll follow him. Oh that I had a sea Oh that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves, With that we see not! Bulls and rams will fight Enter BELLARIO with a Letter. 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 Treason so smooth a brow? I cannot now Bel. Health to you, my lord! The princess doth commend her love, her life, And this, unto you. Phi. Oh, Bellario! Now I perceive she loves me; she does show it In loving thee, my boy: she has made thee brave. Bel. My lord, she has attired me past my wish, Past my desert; more fit for her attendant, Though far unfit for me, who do attend. Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy.-Oh, let all women, That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here, |