Lady. Madam?

Are. Will Philaster come?

Lady. Dear madam, you are wont

To credit me at first.

Are. But didst thou tell me so?

[Exeunt.

I am forgetful, and my woman's strength

Is so o'ercharged with dangers like to grow
About my marriage, that these under things
Dare not abide in such a troubled sea.

How looked he, when he told thee he would come?
Lady. Why, well.

Are. And not a little fearful?

Lady. Fear, madam? sure he knows not what it is.

Are. Ye are all of his faction; the whole court Is bold in praise of him; whilst I

May live neglected, and do noble things,
As fools in strife throw gold into the sea,
Drowned in the doing. But, I know he fears.
Lady. Fear? Madam, methought, his looks hid

more

Of love than fear.

Are. Of love? to whom? to you!
Did you deliver those plain words, I sent,
With such a winning gesture, and quick look,
That you have caught him?

Lady. Madam, I mean to you.

Are. Of love to me? alas! thy ignorance Lets thee not see the crosses of our births. Nature, that loves not to be questioned Why she did this, or that, but has her ends, And knows she does well, never gave the world Two things so opposite, so contrary, As he and I am : If a bowl of blood, Drawn from this arm of mine, would poison thee, A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me? Lady. Madam, I think I hear him.

Are. Bring him in.

Ye gods that would not have your dooms with

stood,

Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is, To make the passion of a feeble maid

The way unto your justice, I obey.

Enter PHILAster.

Lady. Here is my lord Philaster.
Are. Oh! 'tis well.

Withdraw yourself.

Phi. Madam, your messenger

[Exit Lady.

Made me believe you wished to speak with me.
Are. 'Tis true, Philaster; but the words are such

I have to say, and do so ill beseem
The mouth of woman, that I wish them said,
And yet am loth to speak them. Have you known
That I have ought detracted from your worth?
Have I in person wronged you? or have set
My baser instruments, to throw disgrace
Upon your virtues?

Phi. Never, madam, you.

Are. Why, then, should you, in such a public place,

face!

Phi. I can't endure it. Turn away my
I never yet saw enemy, that looked
So dreadfully, but that I thought myself
As great a basilisk as he; or spake
So horribly, but that I thought my tongue
Bore thunder underneath, as much as his;
Nor beast, that I could turn from: Shall I then
Begin to fear sweet sounds? a lady's voice,
Whom I do love? Say, you would have my life;
Why, I will give it you; for it is of me
A thing so loathed, and unto you, that ask,
Of so poor use, that I will make no price:
If you entreat, I will unmovedly hear.

Are. Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks.
Phi. I do.

Are. Then know, I must have them, and thee.
Phi. And me?

Are. Thy love; without which, all the land,
Discovered yet, will serve me for no use,
But to be buried in.

Phi. Is't possible?

Are. With it, it were too little to bestow On thee. Now, though thy breath do strike me

dead,

(Which, know, it may) I have unript my breast.

Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts,
To lay a train for this contemned life;
Which you may have for asking: To suspect
Were base, where I deserve no ill. Love you,
By all my hopes, I do above my life:

But how this passion should proceed from you
So violently, would amaze a man,
That would be jealous.

Are. Another soul, into my body shot,
Could not have filled me with more strength and

Will be the nobler, and the better blest,

In that the secret justice of the gods

Is mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss,
Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us,
And we should part without it.

Phi. 'Twill be ill

I should abide here long.

Are. 'Tis true; and worse

You should come often. How shall we devise

To hold intelligence, that our true loves,
On any new occasion, may agree
What path is best to tread?

Phi. I have a boy,

Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent,
Not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck,
I found him sitting by a fountain side,

Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst,
And paid the nymph again as much in tears.
A garland lay him by, made by himself,
Of many several flowers, bred in the bay,
Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness
Delighted me: But ever when he turned
His tender eyes upon them, he would weep,
As if he meant to make them grow again.
Seeing such pretty helpless innocence
Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story.
He told me, that his parents gentle died,
Leaving him to the mercy of the fields,
Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs,
Which did not stop their courses; and the sun,
Which still, he thanked him, yielded him his light.
Then took he up his garland, and did shew
What every flower, as country people hold,
Did signify; and how all, ordered thus,
Expressed his grief: And, to my thoughts, did

read

Are. 'Tis well; no more.

Lady. Madam, the prince is come to do his service.

Are. What will you do, Philaster, with your self?

Phi. Why, that, which all the gods have appointed out for me.

Are. Dear, hide thyself. Bring in the prince. Phi. Hide me from Pharamond! When thunder speaks, which is the voice of Jove, Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not; And shall a stranger prince have leave to brag Unto a foreign nation, that he made Philaster hide himself?

Are. He cannot know it.

Phi. Though it should sleep for ever to the world,

It is a simple sin to hide mysell,

Are. Then, good Philaster, give him scope and way

In what he says; for he is apt to speak
What you are loth to hear: For my sake, do.
Phi. I will.

Enter PHARAMOND.

Pha. My princely mistress, as true lovers ought, I come to kiss these fair hands; and to shew, In outward ceremonies, the dear love, Writ in my heart.

Phi. If I shall have an answer no directlier, I am gone.

Pha. To what would he have answer?

Are. To his claim unto the kingdom.
Pha. Sirrah, I forbare you before the king.
Phi. Good sir, do so still: I would not talk
with you.

Pha. But now time is fitter: Do but offer
To make mention of your right to any kingdom,
Though it be scarce habitable-

Phi. Good sir, let me go.
Pha. And by my sword-

Phi. Peace, Pharamond! If thou--
Are. Leave us, Philaster.

Phi. I have done.

Pha. You are gone: By heav'n, I'll fetch you

back.

Phi. You shall not need.
Pha. What now?

Phi. Know, Pharamond,

I loath to brawl with such a blast as thou, Who art nought but a valiant voice: But, if Thou shalt provoke me further, men shall say "Thou wert," and not lament it.

Pha. Do you slight

My greatness so, and in the chamber of the princess?

Phi. It is a place, to which, I must confess, I owe a reverence: But were it the church, Ay, at the altar, there's no place so safe, Where thou dar'st injure me, but I dare kill thee. And for your greatness, know, sir, I can grasp You and your greatness thus, thus into nothing. Give not a word, not a word back! Farewell. [Exit PHILASTER.

Pha. 'Tis an odd fellow, madam : We must

I hope our hearts are knit; and yet, so slow
The ceremonies of state are, that 'twill be long
Before our hands be so. If then you please,
Being agreed in heart, let us not wait
For dreaming form, but take a little stolen
Delights, and so prevent our joys to come.
Are. If you dare speak such thoughts,

I must withdraw in honour.

[Exit. Pha. The constitution of my body will never hold out till the wedding! I must seek else where..

[Exit.

Enter PHILASTER and BELLARIO.

Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable, boy, Full of regard unto thy tender youth, For thine own modesty; and, for my sake, Apter to give than thou wilt be to ask, Ay, or deserve.

Bel. Sir, you did take me up, when I was nothing;

And only yet am something, by being yours. You trusted me unknown; and that, which you were apt

To construe a simple innocence in me,
Perhaps, might have been craft; the cunning of
a boy

Hardened in lies and theft: Yet ventured you
To part my miseries and me; for which
I never can expect to serve a lady

That bears more honour in her breast than you. Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee. Thou'rt young,

And bear'st a childish overflowing love To them, that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee fair yet.

But, when thy judgment comes to rule those passions,

Thou wilt remember best those careful friends,
That plac'd thee in the noblest way of life.
She is a princess I prefer thee to.

Bel. In that small time that I have seen the
world,

I never knew a man hasty to part
With a servant, he thought trusty: I remember,
My father would prefer the boys he kept
To greater men than he; but did it not,
Till they were grown too saucy for himself.
Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all
In thy behaviour.

Bel. Sir, if I have made

A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth:
I shall be willing, if not apt, to learn;
Age and experience will adorn my mind
With larger knowledge: And, if I have done
A wilful fault, think me not past all hope
For once. What master holds so strict a hand
Over his boy, that he will part with him'
Without one warning? Let me be corrected,
To break my stubbornness, if it be so,
Rather than turn me off; and I shall mend.

h. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay,
That, trust me, I could weep to part with thee.
Alas! I do not turn thee off; thou knowest
It is my business, that doth call thee hence;
And, when thou art with her, thou dwell'st with

me.

Think so, and 'tis so. And, when time is full,
That thou hast well discharged this heavy trust,
Laid on so weak a one, I will again
With joy receive thee; as I live, I will.

10

Nay, weep not, gentle boy! 'Tis more than time Thou didst attend the princess.

Bel. I am gone.

But since I am to part with you, my lord,
And none knows, whether I shall live to do
More service for you, take this little prayer;
Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your de
signs!

May sick men, if they have your wish, be well; 3
And Heaven hate those, you curse, though I be
one!
[Exit.
Phi. The love of boys unto their lords is strange;
I have read wonders of it: Yet this boy,
For my sake (if a man may judge by looks
And speech) would out-do story. I may see
A day to pay him for his loyalty.

Enter PHARAMOND.

[Exit PHI.

Pha. Why should these ladies stay so long? They must come this way: I know the queen employs them not; for the reverend mother sent me word, they would be all for the garden. If they should all prove honest now, I were in a fair taking. I was never so long without sport in my life; and, in my conscience, it's not my fault. Oh, for our country ladies! Here's one bolted; I'll hound at her.

Enter GALATEA.

Gal. Your grace!

Pha. Shall I not be a trouble?
Gal. Not to me, sir.

Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick. By this sweet hand

Gal. You'll be forsworn, sir; 'tis but an old glove. If you will talk at distance, I am for you: But, good prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag. These two I bar: And then, I think, I shall have sense enough to answer all the weighty apothegms your royal blood shall manage.

Pha. Dear lady, can you love?

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. 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 Danae, 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.

[Exit GAL. 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 will breed, let all consider !

Enter MEGRA.

Here's another: If she be of the same last, the devil shall pluck her on.-Many fair mornings, lady.

Meg. As many mornings bring as many days, Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your grace.

Pha. She gives good words yet; sure this wench is free.

If your more serious business do not call you, Let me hold quarter with you: we'll talk an hour Out quickly.

Meg. What would your grace talk of?

Pha. Of some such pretty subject as yourself. I'll go no further than your eye, or lip; There's theme enough for one man for an age. Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet

even,

Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, red enough, Or my glass wrongs me.

Pha. Oh, they are two twinned 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 taste . 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, gathered 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.

I'll prompt you first: Can you do it now? Meg. Methinks 'tis easy now; I ha' don't before;

But yet I should stick at it.

Pha. Stick till to-morrow;

I'll ne'er part you, sweetest. But we lose time. Can you love me?

Meg. Love you, my lord! How would you have me love you?

Pha. I'll teach you in a short sentence, 'cause will not load your memory: This is all, love me, And lie with me.

I

Meg. Was it lie with you, that you said? 'tis impossible!

Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endea

vour:

If I do not teach you to do it, as easily, in one night,

As you'll go to bed, 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 any thing belonging to the function. She's afraid to lie with herself, if she have but any masculine imagination about her; I know, when we are married, I must ravish 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 see, excepting your dear self, dearest lady, I had rather be sir Tim the schoolmaster, and leap a dairy-maid.

Meg. Has your grace seen the court-star, Galatea?

Pha. Out upon her! She's as cold of her favour as an apoplex: She sailed 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 them out of the kingdom. They talk of Jupiter; he is 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. Whither?

Pha. To your bed. If you mistrust my faith, you do me the unnoblest wrong.

Meg. I dare not, prince, I dare not.

Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal them; 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.

Meg. My lord, my chamber's most unsafe; but when 'tis night, I'll find some means to slip into your lodging; till when

Pha. Till when, this, and my heart go with [Exeunt several ways.

thee!

And builds himself caves, to abide in them. Come, sir, tell me truly, does your lord love me? Bel. Love, madam?" I know not what it is. Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew'st love?

Thou art deceived, boy. Does he speak of me, As if he wished me well?

Bel. If it be love,

To forget all respect of his own friends,

In thinking of your face; if it be love,
To sit cross armed, and sigh away the day,
Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud
And hastily as men in the streets do fire;
If it be love, to weep himself away,
When he but hears of any lady dead,

Or killed, 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 to lie,

For your lord's credit; but thou know'st a lie, That bears this sound, is welcomer to me

you.

Are. I prithee, how?

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.

[Exeunt.