Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee? For I shall guess her love to me by that.

Bel. 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.

Phi. Why, this is wondrous well:

But what kind language does she feed thee with? Bel. 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.

Phi. This is much better still.
Bel. Are you not ill, my lord?
Phi. Ill? No, Bellario.

Bel. 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.

Phi. Thou art deceived, boy:

And she strokes thy head?

Bel. Yes.

Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks?

Bel. She does, my lord.

Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy? ha!

Bel. How, my lord?

Phi. She kisses thee?

Bel. Not so, my lord.

Phi. Come, come, I know she does.

Bel. No, by my life.

Phi. Why, then, she does not love me. Come, she does.

I bade her do it; I charged her, by all charms
Of love between us, by the hope of peace
We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights
Naked, as to her bed: I took her oath
Thou should'st enjoy her. Tell me, gentle boy,
Is she not parallelless? Is not her breath
Sweet as Arabian winds, when fruits are ripe?
Are not her breasts two liquid ivory balls?
Is she not all a lasting mine of joy?

Bel. Ay, now I see why my disturbed thoughts
Were so perplex'd: when first I went to her,
My heart held augury. You are abused;
Some villain has abused you! I do see
Whereto you tend. Fall rocks upon his head
That put this to you! 'Tis some subtle train,
To bring that noble frame of yours to nought.

Phi. Thou think'st I will be angry with thee.
Come,

Thou shalt know all my drift: I hate her more
Than I love happiness, and placed thee there,
To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds.
Hast thou discover'd? Is she fall'n to lust,
As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to me.
Bel. My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent:
Had she the lust of sparrows, or of goats;
Had she a sin that way, hid from the world,
Beyond the name of lust, I would not aid
Her base desires; but what I came to know
As servant to her, I would not reveal,
To make my life last ages.

Phi. Oh, my heart!

This is a salve worse than the main disease.
Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least

[Draws.
That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart
To know it: I will see thy thoughts as plain
As I do now thy face.

Bel. Why, so you do.

[Kneels.

She is (for aught I know), by all the gods,
As chaste as ice. But were she foul as hell,
And I did know it thus, the breath of kings,
The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass 1
Should draw it from me.

Phi. Then it is no time

To dally with thee; I will take thy life,
For I do hate thee: I could curse thee now.

Bel. If you do hate, you could not curse me

worse;

The gods have not a punishment in store Greater for me, than is your hate.

Phi. Fie, fie,

So young and so dissembling! Tell me when And where thou didst enjoy her, or let plagues Fall on me, if I destroy thee not.

Bel. Heaven knows I never did; and when I lie To save my life, may I live long and loath'd. 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 'em so.

Phi. Fear'st thou not death?

Can boys contemn that?

Bel. Ob, what boy is he

Can be content to live to be a man,

That sees the best of men thus passionate,

Thus without reason?

Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know

What 'tis to die.

Bel. 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 over of a game
That must be lost

Phi. But there are pains, false boy,

For perjured souls; think but on these, and then Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.

Bel. 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.

Phi. 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 further. 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
Is 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.

Bel. I will fly as far

As there is morning, ere I give distaste
To that most honour'd mind. But through these

tears

Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see
A world of treason practised upon you,
And her, and me. Farewell, for evermore!
If you shall hear that sorrow struck me dead,
And after find me loyal, let there be

1 bulls of brass-an allusion to the tyranny of Phalaris, who enclosed the wretches that had offended him in a bull of brass, and burned them alive.

2 tender'st-lovest.

252

King. What, at your meditations? Who attends you?

Are. None but my single self. I need no guard; I do no wrong, nor fear none.

King. Tell me, have you not a boy?
Are. Yes, sir.

King. What kind of boy?

Are. A page, a waiting-boy.
King. A handsome boy?

Are. I think he be not ugly:

Well qualified, and dutiful, I know him;
I took him not for beauty.

King. He speaks, and sings, and plays?
Are. Yes, sir.

King. About eighteen?

Are. I never ask'd his age.
King. Is he full of service?

Are. By your pardon, why do you ask?
King. Put him away.

Are. Sir!

King. Put him away! He has done you that good service,

Shames me to speak of.

Are. Good sir, let me understand you.
King. If you fear me,

Show it in duty. Put away that boy.

Are. Let me have reason for it, sir, and then Your will is my command.

King. Do not you blush to ask it? Cast him off,

Or I shall do the same to you. You're one
Shame with me, and so near unto myself,
That, by my life, I dare not tell myself,
What you, myself, have done.

Are. What have I done, my lord?
King. "Tis a new language, that all love to

learn:

The common people speak it well already;
They need no grammar. Understand we well;
There be foul whispers stirring. Cast him off,
And suddenly. Do it! Farewell. [Exit KING.
Are. Where may a maiden live securely free,
Keeping her honour fair? Not with the living;
They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams,
And make 'em truths; they draw a nourishment
Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces;
And, when they see a virtue fortified
Strongly above the battery of their tongues,
Oh, how they cast to sink it; and, defeated
(Soul-sick with poison), strike the monuments
Where noble names lie sleeping; till they sweat,
And the cold marble melt.

1 cast-contrive, plot.

Are. Do what, sir? Would you sleep? Phi. For ever, Arethusa. Oh, ye gods, Give me a worthy patience! Have I stood Naked, alone, the shock of many fortunes? Have I seen mischiefs numberless, and mighty, Grow like a sea upon me? Have I taken Danger as stern as death into my bosom, And laugh'd upon it, made it but a mirth, And flung it by? Do I live now like him, Under this tyrant king, that languishing Hears his sad bell, and see his mourners? Do I Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length Under a woman's falsehood? Oh, that boy,

1 servant-lover.

there's a rank regiment where the devil carries the colours, and his dam drum-major! Now the world and the flesh come behind with the carriage,1

Cle. Sure, this lady has a good turn done her against her will. Before, she was common talk; now, none dare say cantharides can stir her. Her face looks like a warrant, willing and commanding all tongues, as they will answer it, to be tied up and bolted when this lady means to let herself loose. As I live, she has got her a goodly protection, and a gracious; and may use her body discreetly, for her health's sake, once a week, excepting Lent and Dog-days. Oh, if they were to be got for money, what a great sum would come out of the city for these licences! King. To horse, to horse! We lose the morning, gentlemen. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.-SCENE II.
Another part of the Forest.
Enter two Woodmen.

1 Wood. What, have you lodged the deer?

2 Wood. Yes, they are ready for the bow. 1 Wood. Who shoots?

2 Wood. The princess.

1 Wood. No, she'll hunt.

2 Wood. She'll take a stand, I say.

1 Wood. Who else?

2 Wood. Why, the young stranger prince. 1 Wood. He shall shoot in a stone-bow2 for me. I never loved his beyond-sea-ship, since he forsook the say, for paying ten shillings. He was there at the fall of a deer, and would needs (out of his mightiness) give ten groats for the dowcets; marry, the steward would have had the velvet-head into the bargain to tuft his hat withal. I think he should love venery: he is an old Sir Tristrem; for, if you be remember'd, he forsook the stag once, to strike a rascal mitching in a meadow, and her he killed in the eye. shoots else?

2 Wood. The Lady Galatea.

Who

1 Wood. That's a good wench, an she would not chide us for tumbling of her women in the brakes. She's liberal, and, by my bow, they say she's honest; and whether that be a fault, I have nothing to do. There's all?

2 Wood. No, one more; Megra.

1 Wood. That's a firker, i' faith, boy; there's a wench will ride her haunches as hard after a kennel of hounds, as a hunting saddle; and when she comes home, get 'em clapt, and all is well again. I have known her lose herself three times in one afternoon (if the woods have been answerable), and it has been work enough for one man

1 carriage-baggage.

2 stone-bow-a cross-bow, which shoots stones.-DYCE. 3 since he forsook the say (i.e. assay). When a deer is hunted down, and to be cut up, it is a ceremony for the keeper to offer his knife to a man of the first distinction in the field, that he may cut up the belly, and take an

assay of the plight and fatness of the game. But this

Pharamond declined, to save the customary fee of ten shillings.-THEOBALD.

4 dowcets or doulcets-the testes.

5 Sir Tristrem. This hero in romance is reputed the patron saint of the chase.

6 rascal-a lean deer or doe.

mitching or miching- skulking, creeping, solitary. The reading here is doubtful: Dyce suggests walking. firker. To firk is to quirk, truck; here it is used in a bad sense.-WEBER.

Phi. Oh that I had been nourish'd in these woods,

With milk of goats and acorns, and not known
The right of crowns, nor the dissembling trains1
Of women's looks; but digg'd myself a cave,
Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed,
Might have been shut together in one shed;
And then had taken me some mountain girl,
Beaten with winds, chaste as the harden'd rocks
Whereon she dwells; that might have strew'd
my bed

With leaves and reeds, and with the skins of beasts,
Our neighbours; and have borne at her big breasts
My large coarse issue! This had been a life
Free from vexation.

Enter BELLARIO.

Bel. Oh, wicked men!

An innocent may walk safe among beasts;
Nothing assaults me here. See my griev'd lord
Sits as his soul were searching out a way

To leave his body.-Pardon me, that must
Break thy last commandment; for I must speak.
You, that are grieved, can pity: hear, my lord.
Phi. Is there a creature yet so miserable,
That I can pity?

Bel. Oh, my noble lord!

View my strange fortune; and bestow on me,
According to your bounty (if my service
Can merit nothing) so much as may serve
To keep that little piece I hold of life
From cold and hunger.

Phi. Is it thou? Begone!
Go sell those misbeseeming clothes thou wear'st,
And feed thyself with them.

Bel. Alas! my lord, I can get nothing for them! The silly country people think 'tis treason To touch such gay things.

Phi. Now, by my life, this is Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight. Thou'rt fallen again to thy dissembling trade: How, should'st thou think to cozen me again? Remains there yet a plague untried for me; Even so thou wept'st, and look'd'st, and spok'st, I took thee up: [when first Curse on the time! If thy commanding tears Can work on any other, use thy art, I'll not betray it. Which way wilt thou take, That I may shun thee? for thine eyes are poison To mine; and I am loath to grow in rage. This way, or that way?

Bel. Any will serve. But I will choose to have That path in chase that leads unto my grave.

[Exeunt PHILASTER and BELLARIO severally. Enter DION and the Woodmen.

Dion. This is the strangest sudden chance! You woodmen !

Cle. Nor will be, I think.

Dion. Let him seek his daughter himself. She cannot stray about a little necessary natural business, but the whole court must be in arms. When she has done we shall have peace.

Cle. There's already a thousand fatherless tales amongst us: some say, her horse ran away with her; some, a wolf pursued her; others, it was a plot to kill her, and that armed men were seen in the wood: but, questionless, she rode away willingly.

Enter KING, THRASILINE, and Attendants.

King. Where is she? Cle. Sir, I cannot tell. King. How is that? Answer me so again!

Cle. Sir, shall I lie?

King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me that.

I say again, where is she? Mutter not!-
Sir, speak you! Where is she?

Dion. Sir, I do not know.

King. Speak that again so boldly, and by
Heaven,

It is thy last.-You fellows, answer me;
Where is she? Mark me all; am your king;
I wish to see my daughter; show her me:
I do command you all, as you are subjects,
To show her me! What! am I not your king?
Ifay,' then am I not to be obeyed?

Dion. Yes, if you command things possible and honest.

King. Things possible and honest! Hear me, thou,

Thou traitor! that dar'st confine thy king to things
Possible and honest; show her to me,
Or, let me perish if I cover not

All Sicily with blood!

Dion. Indeed I cannot, unless you tell me where she is.

[lose

King. You have betrayed me; you have let me The jewel of my life: go bring her me, And set her here, before me: 'tis the king Will have it so; whose breath can still the winds, Uncloud the sun, charm down the swelling sea, And stop the floods of heaven. Speak, can it not? Dion, No.

King. No! cannot the breath of kings do this? Dion. No, nor smell sweet itself, if once the lungs be but corrupted.

King. Is it so? Take heed!

Dion. Sir, take you heed, how you dare the powers that must be just.

King. Alas! what are we kings?
Why do you, gods, place us above the rest,
To be served, flattered, and ador'd, till we'
Believe we hold within our hands your thunder;
And, when we come to try the power we have,
There's not a leaf shakes at our threatenings?
I have sinn'd, 'tis true, and here stand to be
punished;

Yet would not thus be punish'd.
My way, and lay it on.

Let me choose

Would some

Dion. He articles with the gods. body would draw bonds for the performance of covenants betwixt them! [Aside.

Enter PHARAMOND, GALATEA, and MEGRA. King. What, is she found?

Pha, No; we have ta'en her horse:

He gallop'd empty by. There is some treason. You, Galatea, rode with her into the wood; Why left you her?

Gal. She did command me.

King. Command! You should not.

By this hand there shall be no more Sicily.
Dion. What, will he carry it to Spain in's pocket?
Pha. I will not leave one man alive, but the
A cook, and a tailor.
[king,

Dion. Yet you may do well to spare your lady bedfellow; and her you may keep for a spawner. King. I see the injuries I have done must be revenged.

Dion. Sir, this is not the way to find her out. King. Run all; disperse yourselves! The man that finds her,

Or (if she be kill'd) the traitor, I'll make him great. Dion. know some would give five thousand pounds to find her.

Phi. I am to blame to be so much in rage: I'll tell her coolly when and where I heard This killing truth. I will be temperate In speaking, and as just in hearing.Oh, monstrous! Tempt me not, ye gods! good gods,

Tempt not a frail man! What's he that has a heart,

But he must ease it here!

Bel. My lord, help the princess.

Are. I am well: forbear.

Phi. Let me love lightning, let me be embraced And kissed by scorpions, or adore the eyes Of basilisks, rather than trust the tongues Of hell-bred women! Some good god look down, And shrink these veins up; stick me here a stone Lasting to ages, in the memory

Of this damn'd act: hear me, you wicked ones;