Pha. Ladies all, good rest; I mean to kill a buck

To-morrow morning, ere you've done your dreams. [Exit. Meg. All happiness attend your grace! Gentlemen, good rest.

Come, shall we to bed?
Gal. Yes; all good night.

[Ex. GAL. and MEG,
Dion. May your dreams be true to you!
What shall we do, gallants? 'tis late. The king
Is up still; see, he comes; a guard along
With him.

Enter KING, ARETHUSA, and guard. King. Look your intelligence be true.

Are. Upon my life, it is: And I do hope,
Your highness will not tie me to a man,
That, in the heat of wooing, throws me off,
And takes another.

Dion. What should this mean?
King. If it be true,

That lady had much better have embraced
Cureless diseases: Get you to your rest.

[Exeunt ARE. and BEL. Gentlemen, draw near; Is young Pharamond

Dion. I saw him enter there.

King. Haste, some of you, and cunningly dis

cover

If Megra be in her lodging.

Cle. Sir,

She parted hence but now, with other ladies. King. If she be there, we shall not need to make A vain discovery of our suspicion.

Ye gods, I see, that who unrighteously

Holds wealth, or state, from others, shall be curst
In that, which meaner men are blest withal.
Ages to come shall know no male of him
Left to inherit; and his name shall be
Blotted from earth. If he have any child,
It shall be crossly matched; the gods themselves
Shall sow wild strife betwixt her lord and her.
Yet if it be your wills, forgive the sin
I have committed. Let it not fall
Upon this understanding child of mine;
She has not broke your laws. But how can I
Look to be heard of gods, that must be just,
Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong?

Enter DION.

Dion. Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she is within; but they I think are bawds; I told them, I must speak with her; they laughed, and said, their lady lay speechless. I said, my business was important; they said, their lady was about it: I grew hot, and cried, my business was

guard,

Wait at the back door of the prince's lodging,
And see, that none pass thence, upon your lives.
Knock, gentlemen! Knock loud! Louder yet!
What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing?
I'll break your meditations. Knock again!
Nor yet? I do not think he sleeps, having this
Larum by him. Once more. Pharamond! prince!
PHARAMOND above.

Pha. What saucy groom knocks at this dead of night?

Where be our waiters? By my vexed soul,
He meets his death, that meets me, for this bold-

King. Why do you

Chafe yourself so? You are not wronged, nor shall be;

Only I'll search your lodging, for some cause.
To ourself known: Enter, I say.

Pha. I say, no. [MEG. above. Meg. Let them enter, prince; let them enter; am up, and ready; I know their business: 'Tis the poor breaking of a lady's honour, They hunt so hotly after; let them enjoy it. You have your business, gentlemen; I lay here. Oh, my lord the king, this is not noble in you, To make publick the weakness of a woman. King. Come down,

Meg. I dare, my lord. Your whootings and

your clamours,

Your private whispers, and your broad fleerings, Can no more vex my soul than this base carriage. But I have vengeance yet in store for some,

King. Will you come down?

Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst: But I shall wring you,

If my skill fail me not.

King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness.

You have wrong'd a worthy lady; but, no more. Conduct him to my lodging, and to-bed.

Cle. Get him another wench, and you bring him to-bed indeed.

Dion. 'Tis strange a man cannot ride a stag Or two, to breathe himself, without a warrant. If this geer hold, that lodgings be search'd thus, Pray Heav'n we may lie with our own wives in safety,

That they be not by some trick of state mistaken. Enter MEGRA.

King. Now, lady of honour, where's your honour now? now?

No man can fit your palate, but the prince.
Thou most ill-shrouded rottenness, thou piece
Made by a painter and a 'pothecary;

Thou troubled sea of lust; thou wilderness,
Inhabited by wild thoughts; thou swol❜n cloud
Of infection; thou ripe mine of all diseases;
Thou all sin, all hell, and last, all devils, tell me,
Had you none to pull on with your courtesies,
But he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter?
By all the gods, all these, and all the pages,
And all the court shall hoot thee through the court;
Fling rotten oranges, make ribald rhymes,
And sear thy name with candles upon walls.
Do you laugh, lady Venus?

Meg. 'Faith, sir, you must pardon me;
I cannot choose but laugh to see you merry.
If you do this, oh, king! nay, if you dare do it,
By all those gods you swore by, and as many
More of mine own, I will have fellows, and
Such fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth.
The princess, your dear daughter, shall stand by me
On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing.
Urge me no more; I know her and her haunts,

Nay, will dishonour her. I know the boy
She keeps, a handsome boy, about eighteen;
Know what she does with him, where, and when,
Come, sir, you put me to a woman's madness,
The glory of a fury; and, if I do not,
Do it to the height-

King. What boy is this she raves at?
Meg. Alas! good-minded prince, you know
not these things;

I am loth to reveal them. Keep this fault,
As you would keep your health, from the hot air
Of the corrupted people, or, by heaven,
I will not fall alone. What I have known,
Shall be as public as a print; all tongues
Shall speak it, as they do the language they
Are born in, as free and commonly; I'll set it,
Like a prodigious star, for all to gaze at;
And so high and glowing, that other kingdoms,
Far and foreign,

Shall read it there, nay travel with it, 'till they find
No tongue to make it more, nor no more people;
And then behold the fall of your fair princess.
King. Has she a boy?

Cle. So please your grace, I have seen a boy

wait

On her; a fair boy.

King. Go, get you to your quarter: For this time I'll study to forget you.

Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I'll study To forget you. [Ex. KING, MEG. and guard. Cle. Why, here's a male spirit for Hercules; If ever there be nine worthies of women, this wench

Shall ride astride, and be their captain.

Dion. Sure she has a garrison of devils in her tongue, she uttereth such balls of wild-fire. She has so nettled the king, that all the doctors in the country will scarce cure him. That boy was a strange-found out antidote to cure her infection: That boy; that princess' boy; that brave, chaste, virtuous lady's boy; and a fair boy, a well-spoken boy! All these considered, can make nothing else. But there I leave you, gentlemen.

Thra. Nay, we'll go wander with you. [Exeunt.

Enter CLEREMONT, DION, and THRASILINE.
Cle. Nay, doubtless, 'tis true.
Dion. Ay; and 'tis the gods,
That raised this punishment, to scourge the king
With his own issue. Is it not a shame
For us, that should write noble in the land,
For us, that should be freemen, to behold
A man, that is the bravery of his age,
Philaster, pressed down from his royal right,
By this regardless king? and only look
And see the sceptre ready to be cast
Into the hands of that lascivious lady,
That lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be
Married to yon strange prince, who, but that people
VOL. I.

Please to let him be a prince, is born a slave
In that, which should be his most noble part,
His mind?

Thra. That man, that would not stir with you
To aid Philaster, let the gods forget,
That such a creature walks upon the earth.

Cle. Philaster is too backward in't himself. The gentry do await it, and the people, Against their nature, are all bent for him, And like a field of standing corn, that's moved With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way.

Dion. The only cause, that draws Philaster back From this attempt, is the fair princess' love, Which he admires, and we can now confute. Thra. Perhaps, he'll not believe it.

I

With too much courtesy) I could afford
To melt myself in thanks: But my designs
Are not yet ripe; suffice it, that ere long,
I shall employ your loves; but yet the time
Is short of what I would.

Dion. The time is fuller, sir, than you expect: That, which hereafter will not, perhaps, be reach'd By violence, may now be caught. As for the king,

You know the people have long hated him;
But now the princess, whom they loved-

Phi. Why, what of her?

Dion. Is loathed as much as he.

Phi. By what strange means?
Dion. She's known a whore.
Phi. Thou liest.

Dion. My lord

Phi. Thou liest, [Offers to draw, and is held. And thou shalt feel it. I had thought, thy mind Had been of honour. Thus to rob a lady Of her good name, is an infectious sin, Not to be pardoned: Be it false as hell, "Twill never be redeemed, if it be sown Amongst the people, fruitful to increase All evil they shall hear. Let me alone, That I may cut off falsehood, whilst it springs! Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man That utters this, and I will scale them all, And from the utmost top fall on his neck,

Like thunder from a cloud. Dion. This is most strange: Sure he does love her.

Phi. I do love fair truth:

She is my mistress, and who injures her,
Draws vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my arms,
Thra. Nay, good my lord, be patient.

Cle. Sir, remember this is your honoured friend,
That comes to do his service, and will shew
You why he uttered this.

Phi. I ask you pardon, sir;

My zeal to truth made me unmannerly:
Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you,
Behind your back untruly, I had been
As much distempered and enraged as now.
Dion. But this, my lord, is truth.

Phi. Oh, say not so! good sir, forbear to say so! 'Tis then truth, that all womankind is false ! Urge it no more; it is impossible.

Why should you think the princess light?
Dion. Why, she was taken at it.

Phi. 'Tis false! Oh, Heaven! 'tis false! it!
cannot be !

Can it? Speak, gentlemen; for love of truth,
speak!

Is't possible? Can women all be damned?
Dion. Why, no, my lord.

Phi. Why, then, it cannot be.

Dion. And she was taken with her boy.
Phi. What boy?

Dion. A page, a boy, that serves her.
Phi. Oh, good gods!

A little boy?

Dion. Ay; know you him, my lord?

Phi. Hell and sin know him!-Sir, you are deceived;

I'll reason it a little coldly with you:
If she were lustful, would she take a boy,
That knows not yet desire? She would have one
Should meet her thoughts, and know the sin he

acts,

Which is the great delight of wickedness.
You are abused, and so is she, and I.

Dion. How you, my lord?

Phi. Why, all the world's abused In an unjust report.

Dion. Oh, noble sir, your virtues

Cannot look into the subtle thoughts of woman. In short, my lord, I took them; I myself.

Phi. Now all the devils, thou didst! Fly from my rage!

'Would thou hadst taken devils engendering plagues,

When thou didst take them! Hide thee from my eyes!

Would thou hadst taken thunder on thy breast, 'When thou didst take them; or been strucken

dumb

For ever; that this foul deed might have slept In silence!

Thra. Have you known him so ill tempered?
Cle. Never before.

Phi. The winds, that are let loose
From the four several corners of the carth,

And spread themselves all over sea and land, Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a sword To run me through!

Dion. Why, my lord, are you so moved at this? Phi. When any falls from virtue, I'm distract; I have an interest in't.

Dion. But, good my lord, recall yourself,
And think what's best to be done.

Phi. I thank you; I will do it.
Please you to leave me : I'll consider of it.
To-morrow I will find your lodging forth,
And give you answer.

Dion. All the gods direct you

The readiest way!

Thra. He was extreme impatient.

Cle. It was his virtue, and his noble mind. [Exeunt DION, CLE. and THRA.

Phi. I had forgot to ask him where he took them;

I'll follow him.—

Oh, that I had a sea

Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel!
More circumstances will but fan this fire.
It more afflicts me now, to know by whom
This deed is done, than simply that 'tis done:
And he, that tells me this, is honourable,
As far from lies as she is far from truth.

Oh, that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves,

With that we see not! Bulls and rams will fight
To keep their females, standing in their sight;
But take them from them, and you take at once
Their spleens away; and they will fall again
Unto their pastures, growing fresh and fat;
And taste the water of the springs as sweet
As 'twas before, finding no start in sleep.
But miserable man- -See, see, you gods!

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 shouldst enjoy her.

Tell me, gentle boy,

Is she not paralleless? 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 perplexed: 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 discovered? Is she fallen 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,

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 1 destroy thee not! Bel. Heaven knows I never did; and when I lie

To save my life, may I live long and loathed.
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 them so.

Phi. Fear'st thou not death?

Can boys contemn that?

Bel. Oh, 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 utterest them,
That though I know them 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 called the blood out of thy cheeks,
That did so well become thee. But, good boy,

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 asked 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,

Shew 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?