Evad. Receive me, then.

Amin. I dare not stay thy language: In midst of all my anger and my grief, Thou dost awake something that troubles me, And says, "I loved thee once." I dare not stay; There is no end of woman's reasoning. [Leaves her. Evad. Amintor, thou shalt love me now again : Go; I am calm. Farewell, and peace for ever! Evadne, whom thou hat'st, will die for thee.

[Kills herself. Amin. I have a little human nature yet, That's left for thee, that bids me stay thy hand. [Returns. Evad. Thy hand was welcome, but it came too late.

Oh, I am lost! the heavy sleep makes haste.

Asp. Oh, oh, oh!

[She dies.

There is some hidden power in these dead things,
That calls my flesh unto 'em: I am cold!
Be resolute, and bear 'em company.
There's something, yet, which I am loth to leave.
There's man enough in me to meet the fears
That death can bring; and yet, 'would it were done!
I can find nothing in the whole discourse
Of death, I durst not meet the boldest way;
Yet still, betwixt the reason and the act,
The wrong I to Aspatia did stands up:
I have not such another fault to answer.
Though she may justly arm herself with scorn
And hate of me, my soul will part less troubled,
When I have paid to her in tears my sorrow.
I will not leave this act unsatisfied,
If all that's left in me can answer it.

Asp. Was it a dream? There stands Amintor Or I dream still.

[still;

Asp. And talk'd of tears and sorrow unto her? Amin. 'Tis true; and till these happy signs in thee

Did stay my course, 'twas thither I was going. Asp. Thou art there already, and these wounds are hers:

Those threats I brought with me sought not revenge;

But came to fetch this blessing from thy hand.
I am Aspatia yet.

Amin. Dare my soul ever look abroad again? Asp. I shall surely live, Amintor; I am well: A kind of healthful joy wanders within me.

Amin. The world wants lives to excuse thy loss! Come, let me bear thee to some place of help.

Asp. Amintor, thou must stay; I must rest here; My strength begins to disobey my will. How dost thou, my best soul? I would fain live Now, if I could: Wouldst thou have loved me then? Amin. Alas!

All that I am's not worth a hair from thee. Asp. Give me thy hand; my hands grope up and down,

And cannot find thee: I am wondrous sick : Have I thy hand, Amintor?

Amin. Thou greatest blessing of the world, thou hast.

Asp. I do believe thee better than my sense.
Oh! I must go.
Farewell!

[Dies. Amin. She swoons! Aspatia!-Help! for Heaven's sake, water!

Such as may chain life ever to this frame.-
Aspatia, speak!-What, no help yet? I fool!
I'll chafe her temples: Yet there's nothing stirs :
Some hidden power tell her, Amintor calls,
And let her answer me!-Aspatia, speak!-

I have heard, if there be any life, but bow

The body thus, and it will shew itself.
Oh, she is gone! I will not leave her yet.
Since out of justice we must challenge nothing,
I'll call it mercy, if you'll pity me,

Ye heavenly powers! and lend, for some few years,
The blessed soul to this fair seat again.

No comfort comes; the gods deny me too!
I'll bow the body once again.-Aspatia!-
The soul is fled for ever; and I wrong
Myself, so long to lose her company.

Must I talk now? Here's to be with thee, love!
[Stabs himself.

Stiff here for ever! Eyes, call up your tears! This is Amintor: Heart! he was my friend; Melt; now it flows.-Amintor, give a word To call me to thee.

Amin. Oh!

Mel. Melantius calls his friend Amintor. Oh! Thy arms are kinder to me than thy tongue! Speak, speak!

Amin. What?

in the Palace.

Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE Cle. Here's nor lords nor ladies. Dion. Credit me, gentlemen, I wonder at it. They received strict charge from the king to attend here. Besides, it was boldly published, that no officer should forbid any gentlemen that desire to attend and hear.

Cle. Can you guess the cause? Dion. Sir, it is plain, about the Spanish prince, that's come to marry our kingdom's heir, and be our sovereign.

Thra. Many, that will seem to know much, say she looks not on him like a maid in love.

Dion. Oh, sir, the multitude (that seldom know any thing but their own opinions) speak that they would have; but the prince, before his own approach, received so many confident messages from the state, that I think she's resolved to be ruled.

Cle. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both these kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria.

Dion. Sir, it is, without controversy, so meant. But 'twill be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these kingdoms with safety, the rightful heir to one of them living, and living so virtuously; especially, the people admiring the bravery of his mind, and lamenting his injuries.

Cle. Who? Philaster?

Dion. Yes; whose father, we all know, was by our late king of Calabria unrighteously deposed from his fruitful Sicily. Myself drew some blood in those wars, which I would give my hand to be wash'd from.

Cle. Sir, my ignorance in state-policy will not let me know why, Philaster being heir to one of these kingdoms, the king should suffer him to walk abroad with such free liberty.

Dion. Sir, it seems your nature is more constant

iate, made a hazard of both the kingdoms, of Sicily and his own, with offering but to imprison Philaster. At which the city was in arms, not to be charm'd down by any state-order or proclamation, till they saw Philaster ride through the streets pleased, and without a guard; at which they threw their hats, and their arms from them; some to make bonfires, some to drink, all for his deliverance. Which, wise men say, is the cause the king labours to bring in the power of a foreign nation, to awe his

own with.

Enter GALATEA, MEGRA, and an old Lady. Thra. See, the ladies. What's the first? Dion. A wise and modest gentlewoman that attends the princess.

Cle. The second?

Dion. She is one that may stand still discreetly enough, and ill-favouredly dance her measure; simper when she is courted by her friend, and slight her husband.

Cle. The last?

Dion. Marry, I think she is one whom the state keeps for the agents of our confederate princes. She'll cog and lie with a whole army, before the league shall break her name is common through the kingdom, and the trophies of her dishonour advanced beyond Hercules' Pillars. She loves to try the several constitutions of men's bodies; and, indeed, has destroyed the worth of her own body, by making experiment upon it, for the good of the commonwealth.

Cle. She's a profitable member.

La. Peace, if you love me! You shall see these gentlemen stand their ground, and not court us. Gal. What if they should?

Meg. What if they should?

La. Nay, let her alone. What if they should? Why, if they should, I say they were never abroad.

a leg, nor say excuse me."

Gal. Ha, ha, ha!

La. Do you laugh, madam?

Dion. Your desires upon you, ladies.

La. Then you must sit beside us.

Dion. I shall sit near you then, lady.

La. Near me, perhaps : But there's a lady endures no stranger; and to me you appear a very strange fellow.

Meg. Methinks he's not so strange; he would quickly be acquainted.

Thra. Peace, the king!

Enter KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, and Train.
King. To give a stronger testimony of love
Than sickly promises (which commonly
In princes find both birth and burial

In one breath) we have drawn you, worthy sir,
To make your fair endearments to our daughter,
And worthy services known to our subjects,
Now loved and wonder'd at: next, our intent,
To plant you deeply, our immediate heir,
Both to our blood and kingdoms. For this lady,
(The best part of your life, as you confirm me,
And I believe) though her few years and sex
Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes,
Desires without desire, discourse and knowledge
Only of what herself is to herself,

Make her feel moderate health; and when she sleeps,
In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams.
Think not, dear sir, these undivided parts,
That must mould up a virgin, are put on
To shew her so, as borrow'd ornaments,
To speak her perfect love to you, or add
An artificial shadow to her nature:
No, sir; I boldly dare proclaim her, yet
No woman. But woo her still, and think her mo-
A sweeter mistress than the offer'd language [desty
Of any dame, were she a queen, whose eye
Speaks common loves and comforts to her servants.
Last, noble son (for so I now must call you)
What I have done thus public, is not only
To add a comfort in particular

To you or me, but all; and to confirm

The nobles, and the gentry of these kingdoms,
By oath to your succession, which shall be
Within this month at most.

Thra. This will be hardly done.

Cle. It must be ill done, if it be done. Dion. When 'tis at best, 'twill be but half done, So brave a gentleman's wrong'd and flung off. [whilst

Thra. I fear.

Cle. Who does not?

Dion. I fear not for myself, and yet I fear too. Well, we shall see, we shall see. No more.

Pha. Kissing your white hand, mistress, I take To thank your royal father; and thus far, [leave To be my own free trumpet. Understand, Great king, and these your subjects, mine that must (For so deserving you have spoke me, sir, [be, And so deserving I dare speak myself) To what a person, of what eminence, Ripe expectation, of what faculties,

Manners and virtues, you would wed your kingdoms:

You in me have your wishes. Oh, this country!
By more than all my hopes I hold it happy;
Happy, in their dear memories that have heen
Kings great and good; happy in yours that is;
And from you (as a chronicle to keep
Your noble name from eating age) do I
Opine myself, most happy. Gentlemen,
Believe me in a word, a prince's word,
There shall be nothing to make up a kingdom
Mighty, and flourishing, defenced, fear'd,
Equal to be commanded and obey'd,
But through the travels of my life I'll find it,
And tie it to this country. And I vow
My reign shall be so easy to the subject,
That every man shall be his prince himself,
And his own law (yet I his prince and law).
And, dearest lady, to your dearest self
(Dear, in the choice of him whose name and lustre
Must make you more and mightier) let me say,
You are the blessed'st living; for, sweet princess,
You shall enjoy a man of men, to be
Your servant; you shall make him yours, for
Great queens must die.
[whom

Thra. Miraculous!

My language to you, prince; you, foreign man!
Ne'er stare, nor put on wonder, for you must [upon
Endure me, and you shall. This earth you tread
(A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princess)
By my dead father (oh, I had a father,
Whose memory I bow to!) was not left
To your inheritance, and I up and living;
Having myself about me, and my sword,
The souls of all my name, and memories,
These arms, and some few friends beside the gods;
To part so calmly with it, and sit still, [mond,
And say, "I might have been." I tell thee, Phara-
When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten,
And my name ashes: For, hear me, Pharamond!
This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth,
My father's friends made fertile with their faiths,

Before that day of shame, shall gape and swallow
Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave,
Into her hidden bowels. Prince, it shall;
By Nemesis, it shall!

Pha. He's mad; beyond cure, mad.

Dion. Here is a fellow has some fire in's veins: The outlandish prince looks like a tooth-drawer. Phi. Sir, prince of poppinjays, I'll make it well Appear to you I'm not mad.

King. You displease us :

You are too bold.

Phi. No, sir, I am too tame,

Too much a turtle, a thing born without passion,
A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud
Sails over and makes nothing.

King. I do not fancy this.

Call our physicians: Sure he's somewhat tainted. Thra. I do not think 'twill prove so.

Dion. He has given him a general purge already,
For all the right he has; and now he means
To let him blood. Be constant, gentlemen:
By these hilts, I'll run his hazard,

Although I run my name out of the kingdom.
Cle. Peace, we are all one soul.

Pha. What you have seen in me, to stir offence, I cannot find; unless it be this lady,

Offer'd into mine arms, with the succession;
Which I must keep, though it hath pleas'd your fury
To mutiny within you; without disputing
Your genealogies, or taking knowledge

Whose branch you are. The king will leave it me;
And I dare make it mine. You have your answer.
Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to him

That made the world his, and couldst see no sun
Shine upon any thing but thine; were Pharamond
As truly valiant as I feel him cold,
And ring'd among the choicest of his friends
(Such as would blush to talk such serious follies,
Or back such bellied commendations)
And from this presence, 'spite of all these bugs,
You should hear further from me.

King. Sir, you wrong the prince: I gave you not this freedom

To brave our best friends. You deserve our frown. Go to; be better temper'd.

Phi. It must be, sir, when I am nobler used.
Gal. Ladies,

This would have been a pattern of succession,
Had he ne'er met this mischief. By my life,
He is the worthiest the true name of man
This day within my knowledge.

[knowledge;

Meg. I cannot tell what you may call your But the other is the man set in my eye. Oh, 'tis a prince of wax!

Be more yourself, as you respect our favour; You'll stir us else. Sir, I must have you know, That you are, and shall be, at our pleasure, What fashion we will put upon you. Smooth Your brow, or by the gods

Phi. I am dead, sir; you're my fate. It was Said, I was wrong'd: I carry all about me [not I My weak stars lead me to, all my weak fortunes. Who dares in all this presence, speak, (that is But man of flesh, and may be mortal) tell me, I do not most entirely love this prince, And honour his full virtues !

King. Sure, he's possess'd.

Phi. Yes, with my father's spirit: It's here, O king!

A dangerous spirit. Now he tells me, king,
I was a king's heir, bids me be a king;
And whispers to me, these are all my subjects.
'Tis strange he will not let me sleep, but dives
Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes
That kneel, and do me service, cry me
king:"
But I'll suppress him; he's a factious spirit,
And will undo me.-Noble sir, your hand:
I am your servant.

66

King. Away, I do not like this:
I'll make you tamer, or I'll dispossess you
Both of life and spirit: For this time

I pardon your wild speech, without so much
As your imprisonment.

[Exeunt KING, PHARAMOND, and ARETHUSA. Dion. I thank you, sir; you dare not for the people.

Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave

fellow ?

Meg. A pretty talking fellow; hot at hand. But eye yon stranger: Is he not a fine complete gentleman? Oh, these strangers, I do affect them strangely: They do the rarest home things, and please the fullest! As I live, I could love all the nation over and over for his sake.

Gal. Pride comfort your poor head-piece, lady! 'Tis a weak one, and had need of a night-cap.

Dion. See, how his fancy labours! Has he not Spoke home, and bravely? What a dangerous train Did he give fire to! How he shook the king, Made his soul melt within him, and his blood Run into whey! It stood upon his brow, Like a cold winter dew.