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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!

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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,
Bow down those branches, that the longing tasto
Of the faint looker-on may meet those blessings,
And taste and live.

Meg. Oh! delicate, sweet prince,
She that hath snow enough about her heart,
To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off,
May be a nun without probation.-Sir,
You have, in such neat poetry, gather'd a kiss,
That if I had but five lines of that number,
Such pretty begging blanks,' I should commend
Your forehead, or your cheeks, and kiss you too.
Pha. Do it in prose; you cannot miss it, madam.
Meg. I shall, I shall

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.

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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.
If Destiny (to whom we dare not say,
Why thou did'st this?') have not decreed it so,
In lasting leaves (whose smallest characters
Were never altered), yet this match shall break.-
Where's the boy?

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.

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To forget all respect of his own friends,

In thinking of your face; if it be love,
To sit cross-arm'd, and sigh away the day,
Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud
And hastily as men i' the streets do fire;
If it be love to weep himself away,

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),
'Twixt every prayer he says, to name you once,
As others drop a bead,-be to be in love,
Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you

Are. Oh, you're a cunning boy, and taught

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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.
King. Look your intelligence be true.
Are. Upon my life it is; and I do hope
Your highness will not tie me to a man
That, in the heat of wooing, throws me off,
And takes another.

Dion. What should this mean?
King. If it be true,

That lady had been better have embraced
Cureless diseases. Get you to your rest.

[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.
Cie. Sir,

[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.
Holds wealth, or state, from others, shall be curst
In that which meaner men are blest withal.
Ages to come shall know no male of him
Left to inherit; and his name shall be
Blotted from earth. If he have any child,
It shall be crossly match'd; the gods themselves
Shall sow wild strife betwixt her lord and her.
Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin
I have committed; let it not fall
Upon this understanding child of mine;
She has not broke your laws. But how can I
Look to be heard of gods, that must be just,
Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong?

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Wait at the back-door of the prince's lodging,
And see that none pass thence, upon your lives.-
Knock, gentlemen! Knock loud! Louder yet!
What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing?
I'll break your meditations. Knock again!
Not yet? I do not think he sleeps, having this
Larum by him. Once more.-Pharamond! prince!
PHARAMOND appears at a window.

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.
Sir, 'tis a sign you make no stranger of me,
To bring these renegadoes to my chamber,
At these unseason'd hours.

King. Why do you

Chafe yourself so? You are not wrong'd, nor shall be;

Only I'll search your lodging, for some cause
To ourself known.-Enter, I say.

Pha. I say, no.
[MEGRA appears above.
Meg. Let 'em enter, prince; let 'em enter;
I am up, and ready; I know their business:
"Tis the poor breaking of a lady's honour,
They hunt so hotly after; let 'em enjoy it.-
You have your business, gentlemen; I lay here.-
Oh, my lord the king, this is not noble in you
To make public the weakness of a woman.
King. Come down.

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.

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Enter MEGRA.

King. Now, lady of honour, where's your
honour now?

No man can fit your palate, but the prince.
Thou most ill-shrouded rottenness; thou piece
Made by a painter and a 'pothecary;
Thou troubled sea of lust; thou wilderness,
Inhabited by wild thoughts; thou swoll'n cloud
Of infection; thou ripe mine of all diseases;
Thou all sin, all hell, and last, all devils, tell me
Had you none to pull on with your courtesies,
But he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter?
By all the gods! all these, and all the pages,
And all the court, shall hoot thee through the

court;

Fling rotten oranges, make ribald rhymes,
And sear thy name with candles upon walls.
Do you laugh, lady Venus?

Meg. 'Faith, sir, you must pardon me;
I cannot choose but laugh to see you merry.
If you do this, O king! nay, if you dare do it,
By all those gods you swore by, and as many
More of mine own, I will have fellows, and such
Fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth.
The princess, your dear daughter, shall stand by

me

On walls, and sung in ballads, anything.
Urge me no more; I know her and her haunts,
Her lays, leaps, and outlays, and will discover
all;

Nay, will dishonour her. I know the boy

She keeps; a handsome boy, about eighteen;
Know what she does with him, where, and when.
Come, sir, you put me to a woman's madness,
The glory of a fury; and if I do not
Do't to the height-

King. What boy is this she raves at?

Meg. Alas! good-minded prince, you know not
these things;

I am loath to reveal 'em. Keep this fault,
As you would keep your health, from the hot air
Of the corrupted people, or, by heaven,

I will not fall alone. What I have known,
Shall be as public as a print; all tongues
Shall speak it, as they do the language they
Are born in, as free and commonly; I'll set it,
Like a prodigious star, for all to gaze at;
And so high and glowing, that other kingdoms,
far and foreign,

Shall read it there, nay, travel with't till they find
No tongue to make it more, nor no more people;
And then behold the fall of your fair princess.
King. Has she a boy?

Cle. So please your grace, I have seen a boy

wait

On her; a fair boy.

King. Go, get you to your quarter:
For this time will study to forget you.
Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I'll study
to forget you.

[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.
Cle. Nay, doubtless, 'tis true.

Dion. Ay; and 'tis the gods

That raised this punishment, to scourge the king
With his own issue. Is it not a shame
For us, that should write noble in the land,
For us, that should be freemen, to behold
A man, that is the bravery of his age,
Philaster, press'd down from his royal right,
And see the sceptre ready to be cast
By this regardless king? and only look
Into the hands of that lascivious lady,
That lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be
married

To yon strange prince, who, but that people please
To let him be a prince, is born a slave

In that which should be his most noble part,
His mind!

Thra. That man, that would not stir with you
To aid Philaster, let the gods forget
That such a creature walks upon the earth.

Cle. Philaster is too backward in't himself.
The gentry do await it, and the people,
Against their nature,' are all bent for him,
And like a field of standing corn, that's moved
With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way.

Dion. The only cause that draws Philaster
back

From this attempt, is the fair princess's love,
Which he admires, and we can now confute.
Thra. Perhaps, he'll not believe it.
Dion. Why, gentlemen,
'Tis without question so.

Cle. Ay, 'tis past speech,

She lives dishonestly. But how shall we,
If he be curious,2 work upon his faith?

Thra. We all are satisfied within ourselves.
Dion. Since it is true, and tends to his own
good,

I'll make this new report to be my knowledge:
I'll say I know it; nay, I'll swear I saw it.

Cle. It will be best.

Thra. 'Twill move him.

Enter PHILASTER.

Dion. Here he comes.

Good morrow to your honour! We have spent
Some time in seeking you.

Phi. My worthy friends,

You that can keep your memories to know
Your friend in miseries, and cannot frown
On men disgraced for virtue, a good day
Attend you all! What service may I do,
Worthy your acceptation?

Dion. My good lord,

We come to urge that virtue, which we know
Lives in your breast, forth! Rise, and make a
head,

The nobles and the people are all dull'd
With this usurping king; and not a man,
That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing
As virtue, but will second your attempts.
Phi. How honourable is this love in you
To me, that have deserved none
friends

Know, my,

With too much courtesy), I could afford
You, that were born to shame your poor Philaster
To melt myself in thanks. But my designs

1 against their nature-i.e. contrary to the nature of the discordant multitude.-MASON.

2 curious-scrupulous.-WEBER.

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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,
Not to be pardon'd. Be it false as hell,
'Twill never be redeem'd, if it be sown
Amongst the people, fruitful to increase
All evil they shall hear. Let me alone
That I may cut off falsehood, whilst it springs!
Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man
That utters this, and I will scale them all,
And from the utmost top fall on his neck,
Like thunder from a cloud.

Dion. This is most strange:

Sure he does love her.

Phi. I do love fair truth:

She is my mistress, and who injures her,
Draws vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my arms.
Thra. Nay, good my lord, be patient.

Cle. Sir, remember this is your honour'd friend
That comes to do his service, and will show
You why he utter'd this.

Phi. I ask your pardon, sir;

My zeal to truth made me unmannerly;
Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you,
Behind your back, untruly, I had been

As much distemper'd and enraged as now.
Dion. But this, my lord, is truth.

Phi. Oh, say not so!

Good sir, forbear to say so! 'Tis then truth
That all womankind is false! Urge it no more;
It is impossible. Why should you think
The princess light?

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?
Dion. Why, no, my lord.

Phi. Why, then, it cannot be.

Dion. And she was taken with her boy.
Phi. What 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,
That knows not yet desire? She would have one
Should meet her thoughts, and know the sin he
acts,

Which is the great delight of wickedness.
You are abused, and so is she, and I.

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.

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What's best to be done.

Phi. I thank you: I will do it.

Please you to leave me: I'll consider of it.
To-morrow I will find your lodging forth,
And give you answer.

Dion. All the gods direct you
The readiest way!-

Thra. He was extreme impatient.

Cle. It was his virtue, and his noble mind.
[Exeunt DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE.
Phi. I had forgot to ask him where he took
them.

I'll follow him. Oh that I had a sea
Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel!
More circumstances will but fan this fire.
It more afflicts me now, to know by whom
This deed is done, than simply that 'tis done:
And he, that tells me this, is honourable,
As far from lies as she is far from truth.

Oh that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves,

With that we see not! Bulls and rams will fight
To keep their females, standing in their sight;
But take 'em from them, and you take at once
Their spleens away; and they will fall again
Unto their pastures, growing fresh and fat;
And taste the water of the springs as sweet
As 'twas before, finding no start in sleep.
But miserable man-

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
To intrap mortality, that you allow

Treason so smooth a brow? I cannot now
Think he is guilty.

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,
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.-

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