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Are. The king.

Phi. Oh, my fortune!

Then 'tis no idle jealousy. Let him go.

Are. Oh, cruel! are you hard-hearted too? Who shall now tell you, how much I loved you? Who shall swear it to you, and weep the tears I send?

Who shall now bring you letters, rings, bracelets?

Lose his health in service? Wake tedious nights
In stories of your praise? Who shall sing
Your crying elegies? And strike a sad soul
Into senseless pictures, and make them mourn?
Who shall take up his lute, and touch it, till
He crown a silent sleep upon my eye-lid,
Making me dream, and cry, 'Oh, my dear, dear
Philaster!

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Under a woman's falsehood? Oh, that boy,
That cursed boy!

Are. Nay, then I am betrayed:

I feel the plot cast for my overthrow.
Oh, I am wretched!

Phi. Now you may take that little right I have
To this poor kingdom: Give it to your joy;
For I have no joy in it. Some far place,
Where never womankind durst set her foot,
For bursting with her poisons must I seek,
And live to curse you :

There dig a cave, and preach to birds and beasts, What woman is, and help to save them from you: How Heaven is in your eyes, but, in your hearts, More hell than hell has: How your tongues, like

scorpions,

Both heal and poison: How your thoughts are

Woven

With thousand changes in one subtle web,
And sworn so by you: How that foolish man,
That reads the story of a woman's face,
And dies believing it, is lost for ever :
How all the good you have is but a shadow,
In the morning with you, and at night behind you
Past and forgotten: How your vows are frosts,
Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone :
How you are, being taken altogether,
A mere confusion, and so dead a chaos,
That love cannot distinguish. These sad texts,
Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you.
So, farewell all my woe, all my delight!

[Exit Phi. Are. Be merciful, ye gods, and strike me dead!

Are. Oh, never, never such a boy again, as my What way have I deserved this? Make my breast

Bellario!

Phi. 'Tis but your fond affection.

Are. With thee, my boy, farewell for ever All secrecy in servants! Farewell faith! And all desire to do well for itself! Let all, that shall succeed thee for thy wrongs, Sell and betray chaste love!

Phi. And all this passion for a boy? Are. He was your boy, and you put him to me, And the loss of such must have a mourning for. Phi. Oh, thou forgetful woman! Are. How, my lord?

Phi. False Arethusa !

Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits,
When I have lost them? If not, leave to talk,
And do thus.

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 laughed 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 sees his mourners? Do I
Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length

Transparent as pure crystal, that the world,
Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought
My heart holds. Where shall a woman turn her

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And guiltily, methinks, that boy looks now!
Oh, thou dissembler, that before thou spak'st,
Wert in thy cradle false, sent to make lies,
And betray innocents! Thy lord and thou
May glory in the ashes of a maid

Fooled by her passion; but the conquest is
Nothing so great as wicked. Fly away!

Let my command force thee to that, which shame
Would do without it. If thou understood'st
The loathed office thou hast undergone,

Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of hills,
Lest men should dig and find thee.

Bel. Oh, what god,

Angry with men, hath sent this strange disease
Into the noblest minds? Madam, this grief
You add unto me is no more than drops
To seas, for which they are not seen to swell:
My lord hath struck his anger through my heart,
And led out all the hope of future joys.
You need not bid me fly; I came to part,
To take my latest leave. Farewell for ever!

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Of Women's looks; but digged 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,

King. WHAT, are the hounds before, and all Beaten with winds, chaste as the hardened rocks,

the woodmen;

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2 Wood. Why, the young stranger prince.

1 Wood. He shall shoot in a stone bow 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 the velvet-head into the bargain, to tuft his hat withal. Who shoots else?

2 Wood. The lady Galatea.

1 Wood. 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. She rides well, and she pays well. Hark! let's go. [Exeunt. Enter PHILASTER.

Phi. Oh, that I had been nourished in these woods,

With milk of goats, and acorns, and not known The right of crowns, nor the dissembling trains

Whereon she dwells; that might have strewed

my bed

With leaves, and reeds, and with the skins of

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An innocent may walk safe among beasts ; Nothing assaults me here. See, my grieved 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 cloaths thou wearest,
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 shouldst 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,
when first

I took thee up: 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 loth to grow in rage. This way, or that way?
Bel. Any will serve.
But I will chuse to have
That path in chace, that leads unto my grave.
[Exeunt Phi, and Bel. severally.

Enter DION and the Woodmen.

Dion. This is the strangest sudden chance! You, Woodman!

1 Wood. My lord Dion!

Dion. Saw you a lady come this way, on a sa

ble horse studded with stars of white?

2 Wood. Was she not young and tall?

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That must be just.

King. Alas! what are we kings?

Why do you, gods, place us above the rest,

Dion. Yes. Rode she to the wood or to the To be served, flattered, and adored, till we plain?

2 Wood. Faith, my lord, we saw none.

[Exeunt Wood.

Enter CLEREMONT.

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 sinned, 'tis true, and here stand to be pu-
nished;

Dion. Pox of your questions then! What, is Yet would not thus be punished. Let me chuse

she found?

Cle. Nor will be, I think.

Dion. Let him seek his daughter himself.

Cle. There's already a thousand fatherless tales amongst us: Some say, her horse run 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 and THRASILINE. 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

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My way, and lay it on.

Dion. He articles with the gods : 'Would somebody would draw bonds, for the performance of covenants betwixt them!

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

Pha. No; we have ta'en her horse:
He galloped empty by. There's some treason.
You, Galatea, rode with her into the wood!
Why left you her?

Gal. She did command me.

King. Command! you should not.

Gal. 'Twould ill become my fortunes and my birth,

To disobey the daughter of my king.

King. You're all cunning to obey us, for our hurt;

But I will have her.

Pha. If I have her not,

King. Speak that again so boldly, and by By this hand, there shall be no more Sicily.

Heaven,

It is thy last. You, fellows, answer me;
Where is she? Mark me, all; I am your king;
I wish to see my daughter; shew her me;
I do command you all, as you are subjects,
To shew her me! What, am I not your king?
If 'ay,' 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; shew her me,

Or, let me perish, if I cover not

All Sicily with blood!

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

King. You have betrayed me; have let me lose 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,

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I'll follow you, boldly, about these woods, O'er mountains, thorough brambles, pits, floods.

Heaven, I hope, will ease me. I am sick.

Enter BELLARIO.

Nourish ambitious thoughts, when I am dead:
and This way were freer. Am I raging now?
If I were mad, I should desire to live.
Sirs, feel my pulse: Whether have you known
A man in a more equal tune to die?

Bel. Yonder's my lady: Heaven knows I want nothing,

Because I do not wish to live; yet I

Will try her charity. Oh, hear, you that have
plenty!

From that flowing store, drop some on dry ground.
See,

The lively red is gone to guard her heart!

I fear she faints. Madam, look up! She breathes

not.

Open once more those rosy twins, and send
Un'o my lord your latest farewell. Oh, she stirs
How is it, madam? Speak comfort.

Are. Tis not gently done,
Το put me in a miserable life,

And hold me there: I prithee, let me go;
I shall do best without thee; I am well.

Enter PHILASter.

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 heart,

But he must ease it here?

Bel. My lord, help the princess.

Are. I am well: Forbear.

Bel. Alas, my lord, your pulse keeps madman's time,

So does your tongue.

Phi. You will not kill me, then?
Are. Kill you?

Bel. Not for a world.

Phi. I blame not thee,

Bellario: Thou hast done but that, which gods Would have transformed themselves to do. Be gone;

Leave me without reply; this is the last Of all our meeting. Kill me with this sword; : Be wise, or worse will follow: We are two Earth cannot bear at once. Resolve to do, or suffer.

a

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 gods look down,
And shrink these veins up; stick me here a stone,
Lasting to ages, in the memory

Of this damned act! Hear me, you wicked ones!
You have put hills of fire into this breast,
Not to be quenched with tears; for which may
guilt

Sit on your bosoms! at your meals, and beds,
Despair await you! What, before my face?
Poison of asps between your lips! Diseases
Be your best issues! Nature make a curse,
And throw it on you!

Are. Dear Philaster, leave
To be enraged, and hear me.

Phi. I have done;

Forgive my passion. Not the calmed sea,
When Eolus locks up his windy brood,

Are. If my fortune be so good to let me fall
Upon thy hand, I shall have peace in death.
Yet tell me this, will there be no slanders,
No jealousy, in the other world; no ill there?
Phi. No.

Are. Shew me then the way.
Phi. Then guide

My feeble hand, you, that have power to do it,
For I must perform a piece of justice. If your youth
Have any way offended heaven, let prayers
Short and effectual reconcile you to it.

Are. I am prepared.

Enter a country fellow.

Coun. I'll see the king, if he be in the forest; I have hunted him these two hours; if I should come home and not see him, my sisters would laugh at me. I can see nothing but people better horsed than myself, that out-ride me; I can hear nothing but shouting. These kings had need of good brains; this whooping is able to put a mean man out of his wits. There's a courtier with his sword drawn; by this hand, upon a woman, I think.

Phi. Are you at peace?

Are. With heaven and earth.

Phi. May they divide thy soul and body!
Coun. Hold, dastard, strike a woman! Thou'rt

a craven, I warrant thee: Thou would'st be loth
to play half a dozen of venies at wasters with a
good fellow for a broken head.

Phi. Leave us, good friend.

Are. What ill-bred man art thou, to intrude thyself

Upon our private sports, our recreations?

Coun. God uds, I understand you not; but, I

Is less disturbed than I: I'll make you know it. know, the rogue has hurt you.

Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword,
And search how temperate a heart I have;
Then you, and this your boy, may live and reign
In sin, without controul. Wilt thou, Bellario?
I prithee, kill me : Thou art poor, and may'st

Phi. Pursue thy own affairs: It will be ill
To multiply blood upon my head;
Which thou wilt force me to.

Coun. I know not your rhetorick; but I can
if you touch the woman. [They fight.

lay it

on,

Phi. Slave, take what thou deservest.
Are. Heavens guard my lord!
Coun. Oh, do you breathe?

Phi. I hear the tread of people. I am hurt:
The gods take part against me: Could this boor
Have held me thus else? I must shift for life,
Though I do loath it. I would find a course
To lose it rather by my will, than force. [Exit Phi.
Coun. I cannot follow the rogue.

For ever, if thou wilt. You sweet ones all,
Let me unworthy press you: I could wish,
I rather were a corse strewed o'er with you,
Than quick above you. Dulness shuts mine eyes,
And I am giddy. Oh, that I could take
So sound a sleep, that I might never wake!
Enter PHILASTER.

Phi. I have done ill; my conscience calls me false,

Enter PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, THRA- | To strike at her, that would not strike at me.

SILINE, and Woodmen.

Pha. What art thou?

Coun. Almost killed I am for a foolish woman;

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Coun. Then I have seen something yet.
Pha. But who has hurt her?

Coun. I told you, a rogue; I ne'er saw him
before, I.

Pha. Madam, who did it?

Are. Some dishonest wretch;

Alas! I know him not, and do forgive him.

Coun. He's hurt too; he cannot go far; I made my father's old fox fly about his ears.

Pha. How will you have me kill him?
Are. Not at all;

'Tis some distracted fellow.

Pha. By this hand,

I'll leave ne'er a piece of him bigger than a nut, And bring him all in

Are. Nay, good sir,

my hat.

If you do take him, bring him quick to me, And I will study for a punishment,

Great as his fault.

Pha. I will.

Are. But swear.

Pha. By all my love, I will. Woodmen, conduct the princess to the king, and bear that wounded fellow to dressing. Come, gentlemen, we'll follow the chase close.

When I did fight, methought I heard her pray
The gods to guard me. She may be abused,
And I a loathed villain: If she be,

She will conceal, who hurt her. He has wounds,
And cannot follow; neither knows he me.
Who's this? Bellario sleeping? If thou be'st
Guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep
Should be so sound; and mine, whom thou hast
wronged,
[Cry within.
So broken. Hark! I am pursued. Ye gods,
I'll take this offered means of my escape:
They have no mark to know me, but my wounds,
If she be true; if false, let mischief light
On all the world at once! Sword, print my

wounds

Upon this sleeping boy! I have none, I think, Are mortal, nor would I lay greater on thee. [Wounds him.

Bel. Oh! Death, I hope, is come: Blest be that hand!

It meant me well. Again, for pity's sake!

Phi. I have caught myself: [Phi. falls. The loss of blood hath stayed my flight. Here, here,

Is he that struck thee: Take thy full revenge;
Use me, as I did mean thee, worse than death:
I'll teach thee to revenge. This luckless hand
Wounded the princess; tell my followers,
Thou didst receive these hurts in staying me,
And I will second thee: Get a reward.

Bel. Fly, fly, my lord, and save yourself.
Phi. How's this?

'Wouldst thou I should be safe?

Bel. Else were it vain

For me to live. These little wounds I have
Have not bled much; reach me that noble hand;
I'll help to cover you.

Phi. Art thou true to me?

Bel. Or let me perish loathed! Come, my good lord,

Creep in among those bushes: Who does know, that the gods may save your much-loved breath?

[Exeunt Are. Pha. Dion, Cle. Thra, and 1 Wood-But

man.

Coun. I pray you, friend, let me see the king. 2 Wood. That you shall, and receive thanks. Coun. If I get clear with this, I'll go to see no more gay sights. [Exeunt.

'Enter BELLARIO.

Bel. A heaviness near death sits on my brow, And I must sleep. Bear me, thou gentle bank,

Phi. Then I shall die for grief, if not for this, That I have wounded thee. What wilt thou do? Bel. Shift for myself well. Peace! I hear them

come.

Within. Follow, follow, follow! that way they

went.

Bel. With my own wounds I'll bloody my own sword.

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