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Pha. Why, you rude slave, do you know what you do?

Cap. My pretty prince of puppets, we do know; And give your greatness warning, that you talk No more such bug-words,' or that soldered crown Shall be scratch'd with a musquet. Dear prince Pippin,

Down with your noble blood; or, as I live,

I'll have you coddled.-Let him loose, my spirits!
Make us a round ring with your bills,2 my Hectors,
And let us see what this trim man dares do.
Now, sir, have at you! Here I lie,

And with this swashing blow (do you see, sweet prince ?)

I could hock your grace, and hang you up crosslegg'd,

Like a hare at a poulter's, and do this with this wiper.

Pha. You will not see me murder'd, wicked villains?

1 Cit. Yes, indeed, will we, sir. We have not seen one for a great while.

Cap. He would have weapons, would he? Give him a broadside, my brave boys, with your pikes ;

Branch me his skin in flowers like a sattin,
And between every flower a mortal cut.

Your royalty shall ravel! Jag him, gentlemen:

I'll have him cut to the kell,3 then down the seams.

Oh, for a whip to make him galloon-laces!
I'll have a coach-whip.

Pha. Oh, spare me, gentlemen!

Cap. Hold, hold;

The man begins to fear, and know himself;
He shall for this time only be seel'd' up,
With a feather through his nose, that he may only
See heaven, and think whither he's going.
My beyond-sea sir, we will proclaim you.
would be king!

Nay,

You

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Uncivil trades?

Cap. My royal Rosiclear,1

We are thy myrmidons, thy guard, thy roarers!
And when thy noble body is in durance,
Thus do we clap our musty murrions 2 on,
And trace the streets in terror.
Is it peace,

Thou Mars of men? is the king sociable,
And bids thee live? art thou above thy foemen,
And free as Phoebus? Speak. If not, this stand
Of royal blood shall be abroach, a-tilt,

And run even to the lees of honour.

Phi. Hold, and be satisfied; I am myself; Free as my thoughts are. By the gods, I am. Cap. Art thou the dainty darling of the king? Art thou the Hylas to our Hercules?

Do the lords bow, and the regarded scarlets Kiss their gumm'd golls, and cry, 'We are your servants?'

Is the court navigable, and the presence stuck With flags of friendship? If not, we are thy castle,

And this man sleeps.

Phi. I am what I do desire to be, your friend; I am what I was born to be, your prince. Pha. Sir, there is some humanity in you; You have a noble soul; forget my name, And know my misery. Set me safe abroad From these wild cannibals, and, as I live, I'll quit this land for ever. There is nothing, Perpetual imprisonment, cold, hunger, sickness Of all sorts, of all dangers, and all together, The worst company of the worst men, madness, age,

To be as many creatures as a woman,

3 Cit. I'll have his nose, and at mine own charge And do as all they do; nay, to despair;

build

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But I would rather make it a new nature,
And live with all those, than endure one hour
Amongst these wild dogs.

Phi. I do pity you.-Friends, discharge your fears;

Deliver me the prince: I'll warrant you,
I shall be old enough to find my safety.

3 Cit. Good sir, take heed he does not hurt you: He is a fierce man, I can tell you, sir.

Cap. Prince, by your leave, I'll have a surcingle,1

And mail you like a hawk.

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Phi. Away, away; there is no danger in him: Alas, he had rather sleep to shake his fit off. Look ye, friends, how gently he leads. Upon my word,

He's tame enough, he needs no further watching. Good my friends, go to your houses,

And by me have your pardons, and my love; And know there shall be nothing in my power You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes. To give you more thanks, were to flatter you. Continue still your love; and, for an earnest, Drink this.

All. Long may'st thou live, brave prince! brave prince! brave prince!

[Exeunt PHILASTER and PHARAMOND. Cap. Go thy ways! Thou art the king of courtesy!

Fall off again, my sweet youths. Come,
And every man trace to his house again,
And hang his pewter up; then to the tavern,
And bring your wives in muffs. We will have
music;

And the red grape shall make us dance, and rise,
boys.
[Exeunt.

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King. My son!

Blest be the time, that I have leave to call

Such virtue mine! Now thou art in mine arms, Methinks I have a salve unto my breast,

For all the stings that dwell there. Streams of grief

That I have wrong'd thee, and as much of joy That I repent it, issue from mine eyes:

Let them appease thee. Take thy right; take her;

She is thy right too; and forget to urge

My vexed soul with that I did before.

Phi. Sir, it is blotted from my memory,
Past and forgotten.-For you, prince of Spain,
Whom I have thus redeem'd, you have full leave
To make an honourable voyage home.

And if you would go furnish'd to your realm
With fair provision, I do see a lady,

Methinks, would gladly bear you company:
How like you this piece?

Meg. Sir, he likes it well;

For he hath tried it, and found it worth

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Meg. Others took me, and I took her and him At that all women may be ta'en some time. Ship us all four, my lord; we can endure Weather and wind alike.

King. Clear thou thyself, or know not me for father.

Are. This earth, how false it is! What means is left for me

To clear myself? It lies in your belief.
My lords, believe me; and let all things else
Struggle together to dishonour me.

Bel. Oh, stop your ears, great king, that I may speak

As freedom would; then I will call this lady
As base as are her actions! Hear me, sir:
Believe your heated blood when it rebels
Against your reason, sooner than this lady.
Meg. By this good light, he bears it hand-
somely.

Phi. This lady? I will sooner trust the wind
With feathers, or the troubled sea with pearl,
Than her with any thing. Believe her not!
Why, think you, if I did believe her words,
I would outlive 'em? Honour cannot take
Revenge on you; then, what were to be known
But death?

King. Forget her, sir, since all is knit
Between us. But I must request of you
One favour, and will sadly be denied.'
Phi. Command, whate'er it be.
King. Swear to be true

To what you promise.

Phi. By the powers above,

Let it not be the death of her or him,
And it is granted.

King. Bear away that boy

To torture: I will have her clear'd or buried. Phi. Oh, let me call my words back, worthy sir!

Ask something else! Bury my life and right
In one poor grave; but do not take away
My life and fame at once.

King. Away with him! It stands irrevocable.
Phi. Turn all your eyes on me: Here stands

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My youth hath known; and stranger things than

these

You hear not often.

King. Walk aside with him.

Dion. Why speak'st thou not?

Bel. Know you this face, my lord?

Dion. No.

Bel. Have you not seen it, nor the like?

Dion. Yes, I have seen the like, but readily

I know not where.

Bel. I have been often told

In court of one Euphrasia, a lady,

And daughter to you; betwixt whom and me
They, that would flatter my bad face, would

swear

There was such strange resemblance, that we two

Could not be known asunder, dress'd alike.

Dion. By heaven! and so there is.
Bel. For her fair sake,

Who now doth spend the springtime of her life
In holy pilgrimage, move to the king
That I may 'scape this torture.

Dion. But thou speak'st

As like Euphrasia, as thou dost look.

How came it to thy knowledge that she lives
In pilgrimage?

Bel. I know it not, my lord;

But I have heard it; and do scarce believe it.
Dion. Oh, my shame! Is it possible? Draw

near,

That I may gaze upon thee. Art thou she,

Or else her murderer? Where wert thou born?
Bel. In Siracusa.

Dion. What's thy name?

Bel. Euphrasia.

Dion. Oh, 'tis just, 'tis she!

Now I do know thee. Oh that thou hadst died,
And I had never seen thee nor my shame!

Are. And for me,

I have a power to pardon sins, as oft|
As any man has power to wrong me.
Cle. Noble and worthy!

Phi. But, Bellario,

(For I must call thee still so) tell me why
Though 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.

Bel 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 in 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,

How shall I own thee? Shall this tongue of By all the most religious things a maid
mine

E'er call thee daughter more?

Bel. 'Would I had died indeed; I wish it too: And so I must have done by vow, ere published What I have told, but that there was no means To hide it longer. Yet I joy in this,

The princess is all clear.

King. What have you done?

Dion. All is discover'd,

Phi. Why then hold you me?

[He offers to stab himself.

All is discover'd! Pray you, let me go.
King. Stay him.

Are. What is discover'd?

Dion. Why, my shame!

It is a woman. Let her speak the rest.

Phi. How? That again!

Dion. It is a woman.

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Phi. Bless'd be you powers that favour inno- Suspect her living here.-Come, live with me; cence!

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Phi. It is a woman, sir! Hark, gentlemen!
It is a woman! Arethusa, take
My soul into thy breast, that would be gone
With joy. It is a woman! Thou art fair,
And virtuous still to ages, in despite
Of malice.

King. Speak you, where lies his shame?
Bel. I am his daughter.

Phi. The gods are just.

Live free as I do. She that loves my lord,
Curst be the wife that hates her!

Phi. I grieve such virtue should be laid in
earth

Without an heir. Hear me, my royal father:
Wrong not the freedom of our souls so much,
To think to take revenge of that base woman;
Her malice cannot hurt us. Set her free
As she was born, saving from shame and sin.
King. Set her at liberty; but leave the court;
This is no place for such! You, Pharamond,
Shall have free passage, and a conduct home

Dion. I dare accuse none; but, before you two, Worthy so great a prince.-When you come

The virtue of our age, I bend my knee

For mercy,

Phi. Take it freely; for, I know,

Though what thou didst were indiscreetly done, "Twas meant well.

there,

1 apprehensive-quick to apprehend or understand.WEBER

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SCENE-During the First Act, on the Frontiers of Armenia; afterwards in the Metropolis of Iberia.

ACT I-SCENE I.

The Camp of Arbaces, on the Frontiers of
Armenia.

Enter MARDONIUS and BESSUS.1 Mar. Bessus, the king has made a fair hand on't; he has ended the wars at a blow. 'Would my sword had a close basket hilt, to hold wine, and the blade would make knives; for we shall have nothing but eating and drinking.

Bes. We, that are commanders, shall do well enough.

Mar. 'Faith, Bessus, such commanders as thou may. I had as lieve set thee perdu for a pudding i' th' dark, as Alexander the Great.

Bes. I love these jests exceedingly.

Mar. I think thou lov'st 'em better than quarrelling, Bessus; I'll say so much in thy behalf. And yet thou'rt valiant enough upon a retreat: I think thou would'st kill any man that stopp'd thee, an 3 thou couldst."

Bes. But was not this a brave combat, Mardonius?

Mar. Why, didst thou see it?

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Bes. You stood with me.

Mar. I did so; but methought thou wink'd'st every blow they strake.1

Bes. Well, I believe there are better soldiers than I, that never saw two princes fight in lists.

Mar. By my troth, I think so too, Bessus; many a thousand. But, certainly, all that are worse than thou have seen as much.

Bes. "Twas bravely done of our king. Mar. Yes, if he had not ended the wars. I'm glad thou dar'st talk of such dangerous businesses. Bes. To take a prince prisoner in the heart of his own country, in single combat!

Mar. See how thy blood cruddles at this! I think thou couldst be contented to be beaten i' this passion.

Bes. Shall I tell you truly?
Mar. Ay.

Bes. I could willingly venture for it.

Mar. Hum! no venture neither, good Bessus. Bes. Let me not live, if I do not think it is a braver piece of service than that I'm so famed for.

Mar. Why, art thou famed for any valour?
Bes. I famed? Ay, I warrant you.

Mar. I am very heartily glad on't. I have been with thee ever since thou cam'st to the wars, and this is the first word that ever I heard on't. Pr'ythee, who fames thee?

1 strake-old past tense of strike. 2 cruddles-curdles.

Bes. The Christian world.

Mar. 'Tis heathenishly done of 'em; in my conscience, thou deserv'st it not.

Bes. I ha' done good service.

Mar. I do not know how thou may'st wait of a man in's chamber, or thy agility in shifting a trencher; but otherwise no service, good Bessus. Bes. You saw me do the service yourself. Mar. Not so hasty, sweet Bessus! Where was it? is the place vanish'd?

Bes. At Bessus' Desperate Redemption. Mar. Bessus' Desperate Redemption! where's that?

Bes. There, where I redeem'd the day; the place bears my name.

Mar. Pr'ythee, who christen'd it ?
Bes. The soldier.2

Mar. If I were not a very merrily disposed man, what would become of thee? One that had but a grain of choler in the whole composition of his body, would send thee of an errand to the worms, for putting thy name upon that field. Did not I beat thee there, i' th' head o' th' troops, with a truncheon, because thou wouldst needs run away with thy company, when we should charge the enemy?

Bes. True; but I did not run.

Mar. Right, Bessus: I beat thee out on't. Bes. But came not I up when the day was gone, and redeem'd all?

Mar. Thou knowest, and so do I, thou meant'st to fly, and thy fear making thee mistake, thou ran'st upon the enemy; and a hot charge thou gavest; as, I'll do thee right, thou art furious in running away; and, I think, we owe thy fear for our victory. If I were the king, and were sure thou wouldst mistake always, and run away upon the enemy, thou shouldst be general, by this light. Bes. You'll never leave this till I fall foul. Mar. No more such words, dear Bessus; for though I have ever known thee a coward, and therefore durst never strike thee, yet if thou proceed'st, I will allow thee valiant, and beat thee.

Bes. Come, come, our king's a brave fellow. Mar. He is so, Bessus; wonder how thou com'st to know it. But, if thou wert a man of understanding, I would tell thee, he is vainglorious and humble, and angry and patient, and merry and dull, and joyful and sorrowful, in extremities, in an hour. Do not think me thy friend for this; for if I cared who knew it, thou shouldst not hear it, Bessus. Here he is, with the prey in his foot.

To her, Tigranes. She, but nine years old,
I left her, and ne'er saw her since. Your wars
Have held me long, and taught me, though a youth,
The way to victory. She was a pretty child;
Then, I was little better; but now fame
Cries loudly on her, and my messengers
Make me believe she is a miracle.

She'll make you shrink, as I did, with a stroke
But of her eye, Tigranes.

Tigr. Is it the course of
Iberia to use their prisoners thus?

Had fortune thrown my name above Arbaces',
I should not thus have talk'd; for in Armenia,
We hold it base. You should have kept your
temper

Till you saw home again, where 'tis the fashion,
Perhaps, to brag.

Arb. Be you my witness, earth,
Need I to brag? Doth not this captive prince
Speak me sufficiently, and all the acts
That I have wrought upon his suffering land?
Should I then boast? Where lies that foot of
ground

Within his whole realm, that I have not past,
Fighting and conquering. Far then from me
Be ostentation. I could tell the world,
How I have laid his kingdom desolate,
By this sole arm, propp'd by divinity;
Stript him out of his glories; and have sent
The pride of all his youth to people graves;
And made his virgins languish for their loves;
If I would brag. Should I, that have the power
To teach the neighbour world humility,
Mix with vainglory?

Mar. Indeed, this is none!

[Aside.

Aside

Arb. Tigranes, no; did I but take delight
To stretch my deeds as others do, on words,
I could amaze my hearers.
Mar. So you do.

Arb. But he shall wrong his and my modesty,
That thinks me apt to boast. After an act
Fit for a god to do upon his foe,

A little glory in a soldier's mouth
Is well becoming; be it far from vain.

Mar. 'Tis pity that valour should be thus drunk.

[Aside. Arb. I offer you my sister, and you answer, I do insult. A lady that no suit, Nor treasure, nor thy crown, could purchase thee, But that thou fought'st with me.

Tigr. Though this be worse

Than that you spoke before, it strikes not me;
But, that you think to over-grace me with
The marriage of your sister, troubles me.

Enter ARBACES, TIGRANES, two Gentlemen, and I would give worlds for ransoms, were they mine,

Attendants.

Arb. Thy sadness, brave Tigranes, takes away From my full victory. Am I become

Of so small fame, that any man should grieve
When I o'ercome him? They that placed me here,
Intended it an honour, large enough
For the most valiant living, but to dare
Oppose me single, though he lost the day.
What should afflict you? You are free as I.
To be my prisoner, is to be more free
Than you were formerly. And never think,
The man I held worthy to combat me
Shall be used servilely. Thy ransom is
To take my only sister to thy wife:

A heavy one, Tigranes; for she is

A lady, that the neighbour princes send

Blanks to fetch home. I have been too unkind

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Rather than have her.

Arb. See, if I insult

That am the conqueror, and for a ransom
Offer rich treasure to the conquered,

Which he refuses, and I bear his scorn!
It cannot be self-flattery to say,

The daughters of your country, set by her, Would see their shame, run home, and blush to death

At their own foulness. Yet she is not fair,
Nor beautiful; those words express her not:
They say, her looks have something excellent,
That wants a name. Yet were she odious,
Her birth deserves the empire of the world.
Sister to such a brother; that hath ta'en
Victory prisoner, and throughout the earth
Carries her bound, and should he let her loose,
She durst not leave him. Nature did her wrong,
To print continual conquest on her cheeks,

1 foulness-ugliness.-DYCE.

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