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, 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. 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,

To strike at her, that would not strike at me.
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, But that the gods may save your much-loved breath?

Phi. Then I shall die for That I have wounded thee. Bel. Shift for myself well.

come.

grief, if not for this, What wilt thou do? Peace! I hear them

Within. Follow, follow, follow! that way they I

went.

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

I need not counterfeit to fall; Heaven knows That I can stand no longer.

Enter PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE.

Pha. To this place we have tracked him by his blood.

Cle. Yonder, my lord, creeps one away.
Dion. Stay, sir!-what are you?

Bel. A wretched creature, wounded in these
woods

By beasts: Relieve me, if your names be men, Or I shall perish.

Dion. This is he, my lord,

Upon my soul, that hurt her: 'Tis the boy,
That wicked boy, that served her.

Pha. Oh, thou damned in thy creation! What cause could'st thou shape to hurt the prin

cess?

As storms arise at sea, she turned her eyes
To burning suns upon me, and did dry
The streams she had bestowed; leaving me worse,
And more contemned, than other little brooks,
Because I had been great. In short, I knew
I could not live, and therefore did desire
To die revenged.

Pha. If tortures can be found,
Long as thy natural life, resolve to feel
The utmost rigour.

[PHILASTER creeps out of a bush. Cle. Help to lead him hence.

Phi. Turn back, ye ravishers of innocence! Know ye the price of that you bear away So rudely?

Pha, Who's that?

Dion. 'Tis the lord Philaster.

Phi. 'Tis not the treasure of all kings in one, The wealth of Tagus, nor the rocks of pearl, That pave the court of Neptune, can weigh down That virtue! It was I, that hurt the princess. Place me, some god, upon a pyramid Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice

Some good body lend a hand to draw us nearer.
Would you have tears shed for you, when you die?
Then lay me gently on his neck, that there
I may weep floods, and breathe out my spirit.
'Tis not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold
Locked in the heart of earth, can buy away
This armful from me: This had been a ransom
To have redeemed the great Augustus Cæsar,
Had he been taken. You hard-hearted men,
More stony than these mountains, can you see
Such clear pure blood drop, and not cut your flesh
To stop his life? To bind whose bitter wounds,
Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tears

Bathe them. Forgive me, thou, that art the wealth Of poor Philaster.

Enter KING, ARETHUSA, and a Guard.

King. Is the villain taken?

Pha. Sir, here be two confess the deed; but, say it was Philaster?

Phi. Question it no more; it was.

King. The fellow, that did fight with him, will tell us that.

Are. Ah me! I know he will.
King. Did not you know him?
Are. Sir, if it was he, he was disguised.
Phi. I was so. Oh, my stars! that I should
live still.

King. Thou ambitious fool!

Thou, that hast laid a train for thy own life!
Now I do mean to do, I'll leave to talk.
Bear him to prison.

Are. Sir, they did plot together to take hence
This harmless life; should it pass unrevenged,
I should to earth go weeping: Grant me, then,
(By all the love a father bears his child)
Their custodies, and that I may appoint
Their tortures, and their death.

Dion. Death? Soft! our law
Will not reach that, for this fault.

King. 'Tis granted; take them to you,
guard.

with a

Come, princely Pharamond, this business past,
We may with more security go on
To your intended match.

Cle. I pray, that this action lose not Philaster the hearts of the people.

Dion. Fear it not: their over-wise heads will think it but a trick. [Exeunt.

Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE. Thra. Has the king sent for him to death? Dion. Yes; but the king must know, 'tis not in his power to war with Heaven.

Cle. We linger time; the king sent for Philaster and the headsman an hour ago. Thra. Are all his wounds well?

False to a pair of the most trusty ones,
That ever earth bore: Can it bear us all?
Forgive, and leave me! But the king hath sent
To call me to my death: Oh, shew it me,
And then forget me! And for thee, my boy,
I shall deliver words will mollify

The hearts of beasts, to spare thy innocence.
Bel. Alas, my lord, my life is not a thing,

'Tis but a piece of childhood thrown away.
Should I out-live you, I should then out-live
Virtue and honour; and, when that day comes,
If ever I shall close these eyes but once,
May I live spotted for my perjury,
And waste my limbs to nothing!

Are. And I (the woful'st maid that ever was,
Forced with my hands to bring my lord to death)
Do, by the honour of a virgin, swear
To tell no hours beyond it.

Phi. Make me not hated so.

Are. Come from this prison, all joyful to our deaths.

Phi. People will tear me, when they find ye

true

Than my dull living actions. If you aim
At the dear life of this sweet innocent,
You are a tyrant and a savage monster;
Your memory shall be as foul behind you,
As you are, living; all your better deeds
Shall be in water writ, but this in marble;
No chronicle shall speak you, though your own,
But for the shame of men. No monument
(Though high and big as Pelion) shall be able
To cover this base murder: Make it rich
With brass, with purest gold, and shining jasper,
Like the Pyramids; lay on epitaphs,
Such as make great men gods; my little marble
(That only clothes my ashes, not my faults)
Shall far out-shine it. And, for after issues,
Think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms,
That they will give you more for your mad rage
To cut off, unless it be some snake, or something
Like yourself, that in his birth shall strangle you.
Remember my father, king! There was a fault,
But I forgive it. Let that sin persuade you
To love this lady: If you have a soul,
Think, save her, and be saved. For myself,
I have so long expected this glad hour,
So languished under you, and daily withered,
That, heaven knows, it is my joy to die :
I find a recreation in it.

Mes. Get you to your strength,

Dion. You say true. Are your swords sharp? Well, my dear countrymen What-d'ye-lack, if you continue, and fall not back upon the first broken shin, I'll have you chronicled and chronicled, and cut and chronicled, and sung in all-to-be-praised sonnets, and graved in new brave ballads, that all tongues shall troule you in sæcula sæculorum, my kind can-carriers.

Thra. What if a toy take them in the heels now, and they run all away, and cry, the devil take the hindmost?"

Dion. Then the same devil take the foremost too, and souse him for his breakfast! If they all prove cowards, my curses fly amongst them, and be speeding! May they have murrains rain to keep the gentlemen at home, unbound in easy frieze! May the moths branch their velvets, and their silks only be worn before sore eyes! May their false lights undo them, and discover presses, holes, stains, and oldness in their stuffs, and make them shop-rid! May they keep whores and horses, and break; and live mewed up with necks of beef and turnips! May they have many children, and none like the father! May they know no language but that gibberish they prattle to their parcels; unless it be the Gothic Latin they write in their bonds; and may they write that false, and lose their debts!

Enter the KING.

King. Now the vengeance of all the gods confound them, how they swarm together! What a

He's taken prisoner by the citizens,

Fearing the lord Philaster.

Dion. Oh, brave followers!

Mutiny, my fine dear countrymen, mutiny ! Now, my brave valiant foremen, shew your weapons

In honour of your mistresses.

Enter another Messenger.

Mes. Arm, arm, arm!

King. A thousand devils take them! Dion. A thousand blessings on them! Mes. Arm, oh, king! The city is in mutiny, Led by an old grey ruffian, who comes on In rescue of the lord Philaster.

[Exit with ARE. PHI. BEL. King. Away to the citadel; I'll see them safe, And then cope with these burghers. Let the guard,

And all the gentlemen, give strong attendance.

[Exit.

Manent DION, CLEREMONT, THrasiline. Cle. The city up! this was above our wishes. Dion. Ay, and the marriage too. By my life, This noble lady has deceived us all. A plague upon myself, a thousand plagues, For having such unworthy thoughts of her dear honour!

Oh, I could beat myself! or, do you beat me, And I'll beat you; for we had all one thought. Cle. No, no, 'twill but lose time.

If a man had need to use their valours, he must pay a brokage for it, and then bring them on, and they will fight like sheep. 'Tis Philaster, none but Philaster, must allay this heat: They will not hear me speak, but fling dirt at me, and call me tyrant. Oh, run, dear friend, and bring the lord Philaster: Speak him fair; call him prince; do him all the courtesy you can; commend me to him! Oh, my wits, my wits!

[Exit CLE.

Dion. Oh, my brave countrymen! as I live, I will not buy a pin out of your walls for this: Nay, you shall cozen me, and I'll thank you ; and send you brawn and bacon, and soil you every long vacation a brace of foremen, that at Michaelmas shall come up fat and kicking.

King. What they will do with this poor prince, the gods know, and I fear.

Dion. Why, sir, they'll flea him, and make church-buckets of his skin, to quench rebellion; then clap a rivet in his sconce, and hang him up for a sign.

Enter CLEREMONT with PHILASTER, King. Oh, worthy sir, forgive me! Do not make

Your miseries and my faults meet together,
To bring a greater danger. Be yourself,
Still sound amongst diseases. I have wronged you,
And though I find it last, and beaten to it,
Let first your goodness know it. Calm the peo-

ple,

And the poor boy, and let me stand the shock Of this mad sea-breach; which I'll either turn, Or perish with it.

King. Let your own word free them.

Phi. Then thus I take my leave, kissing your hand,

And hanging on your royal word. Be kingly, And be not moved, sir: I shall bring you peace, Or never bring myself back.

King. All the gods go with thee! [Exeunt.

Enter an Old Captain and Citizens, with PHA

RAMOND.

Cap. Come, my brave myrmidons, let's fall on! let our caps swarm, my boys, and your nimble tongues forget your mother's gibberish, of what dy'e lack, and set your mouths up, children, till your palates fall frighted, half a fathom past the cure of bay-salt and gross pepper. And then cry Philaster, brave Philaster! Let Philaster be deeper in request, my dingdongs, my pairs of dear indentures, kings of clubs, than your cold water camlets, or your paintings spotted with copper. Let not your hasty silks, or your branched cloth of bodkin, or your tissues, dearly beloved of spiced cake and custard, your Robinhoods, Scarlets and Johns, tie your affections in darkness to your shops. No, dainty duckers, up with your threepiled spirits, your wrought valours; and let your uncut choler make the king feel the measure of your mightiness. Philaster! cry, my rose-nobles, cry.

All. Philaster! Philaster!

Cap. How do you like this, my lord prince? These are mad boys, I tell you; these are things, that will not strike their top-sails to a foist; and let a man of war, an argosy, hull and cry cockles. 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 scratched with a musquet. Dear prince Pippen, 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, 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 sweat, prince?) I could hulk your grace, and hang you up cross-legged, like a hare at a poulterer's, and do this with this wiper.

Pha. You will not see me murdered, wicked villains?

1 Cit. Yes, indeed, will we, sir: We have not seen one foe 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, then down the seams. Oh, for a whip to make him galloon-laces! I'll have a coachwhip.

Pha. Oh, spare me, gentlemen!

Cap. Hold, hold; the man begins to fear, and know himself; he shall for this time only be seeled up, with a feather through his nose, that he may only see heaven, and think whither he is going. Nay, my beyond-sea sir, we will proclaim you: You would be king! Thou tender heir-apparent to a church-ale, thou slight prince of single sarcenet; thou royal ring-tail, fit to fly at nothing but poor mens' poultry, and have every boy beat thee from that too with his bread and butter! Pha. Gods keep me from these hell hounds! 2 Cit. Shall's geld him, captain?

Cap. No, you shall spare his dowcets, my dear donsels; as you respect the ladies, let them flourish: The curses of a longing woman kill as speedy as a plague, boys.

1 Cit. I'll have a leg, that's certain.
2 Cit. I'll have an arm.

3 Cit. I'll have his nose, and at mine own charge build a college, and clap it upon the gate. 4 Cit. I'll have his little gut to string a kit with; for, certainly, a royal gut will sound like silver.

Pha. 'Would they were in thy belly, and I past my pain at once!

5 Cit. Good captain, let me have his liver to feed ferrets.

Cap. Who will have parcels else? speak. Pha. Good gods, consider me! I shall be tortured.

1 Cit. Captain, I'll give you the trimming of your two-hand sword, and let me have his skin to make false scabbards.

2 Cit. He has no horns, sir, has he?

Cap. No, sir, he's a pollard. What would'st thou do with horns?

2 Cit. Oh, if he had, I would have made rare hafts and whistles of them; but his shin-bones, if they be sound, shall serve me.