would have no other living: I can make seven shillings a-day o' th' paper to the grocers. Yet I learn nothing by all these, but a little skill in comparing of styles: I do find evidently, that there is some one scrivener in this town, that has a great hand in writing of challenges, for they are all of a cut, and six of 'em in a hand; and they all end, My reputation is dear to me, and I must require satisfaction.' Who's there? more paper, I hope. No; 'tis my lord Bacurius. I fear, all is not well betwixt us.

Bac. Tell not me of your engagements, captain Bessus! It is not to be put off with an excuse. For my own part, I am none of the multitude that believe your conversion from coward.

Bes. My lord, I seek not quarrels, and this belongs not to me; I am not to maintain it. Bac. Who, then, pray?

Bes. Bessus the coward wrong'd you.
Bac. Right.

Bes. And shall Bessus the valiant maintain what Bessus the coward did?

Bes. One word more: I beseech your lord ship to render me my knife again.

Bac. Marry, by all means, captain. Cherish yourself with it, and eat hard, good captain! we cannot tell whether we shall have any more such. Adieu, dear captain! [Exit BAC.

Bes. I will make better use of this, than of my sword. A base spirit has this 'vantage of a brave one; it keeps always at a stay, nothing brings it down, not beating. I remember I promised the king, in a great audience, that I would make my back-biters eat my sword to a knife: How to get another sword I know not; nor know any means left for me to maintain my credit, but impudence: Therefore I will out-swear him and all his followers, that this is all that's left uneaten of my sword. [Exit BESSUS.

Enter MARDONIUS.

Mar. I'll move the king; he is most strangely alter'd: I guess the cause, I fear, too right. Heaven has some secret end in't, and 'tis a Scourge, no question, justly laid upon him. He has follow'd me through twenty rooms; and ever, when I stay to wait his command, he blushes like a girl, and looks upon me as if modesty kept in his business; so turns away from me; but, if I go on, he follows me again.

Enter ARBACES.

See, here he is. I do not use this, yet, I know not how, I cannot choose but weep to see him : His very enemies, I think, whose wounds have bred his fame, if they should see him now, would find tears i' their eyes.

Bes. Since you provoke me thus far, my lord, I will fight with you; and, by my sword, it shall cost me twenty pounds, but I will have my leg well a week sooner purposely.

Buc. Your leg? why, what ails your leg? I'll do a cure on you. Stand up!

Bes. My lord, this is not noble in you. Bac. What dost thou with such a phrase in thy mouth? I will kick thee out of all good words before I leave thee.

Bes. My lord, I take this as a punishment for the offence I did when I was a coward.

Bac. When thou wert? confess thyself a coward still, or, by this light, I'll beat thee into sponge.

Bes. Why, I am one.

Bac. Are you so, sir? and why do you wear a sword then? Come, unbuckle! quick! Bes. My lord?

Bac. Unbuckle, I say, and give it me; or, as I live, thy head will ache extremely.

Bes. It is a pretty hilt; and if your lordship take an affection to it, with all my heart I present it to you, for a new-year's-gift.

Bac. I thank you very heartily, sweet captain! Farewell.

Darkness is in my bosom; and there lie
A thousand thoughts that cannot brook the light.
How wilt thou vex me, when this deed is done,
Conscience, that art afraid to let me name it!
Mar. How do you, sir?

Arb. Why, very well, Mardonius:
How dost thou do?

Mar. Better than you, I fear.

Arb. I hope, thou art; for, to be plain with thee,

Thou art in hell else! Secret scorching flames,
That far transcend earthly material fires,
Are crept into me, and there is no cure.
Is it not strange, Mardonius, there's no cure?
Mar. Sir, either I mistake, or there is some-
thing hid, that you would utter to me.

Arb. So there is; but yet I cannot do it. Mar. Out with it, sir. If it be dangerous, I will not shrink to do you service: I shall not esteem my life a weightier matter than indeed it is. I know 'tis subject to more chances than it has hours; and I were better lose it in my king's cause, than with an ague, or a fall, or (sleeping) to a thief; as all these are probable enough. Let me but know what I shall do for you.

Arb. It will not out! Were you with Gobrias, And bade him give my sister all content The place affords, and give her leave to send

Arb. Not a word:

to me?

her,

And ne'er rise again, 'till she will love me.
Mar. Why, I think she does.

Arb. But, better than she does; another way; As wives love husbands.

Mar. Why, I think there are few wives that love their husbands better than she does you.

Arb. Thou will not understand me! Is it fit This should be utter'd plainly? Take it, then, Naked as 'tis : I would desire her love Lasciviously, lewdly, incestuously,

To do a sin that needs must damn us both;
And thee too. Dost thou understand me now?
Mar. Yes; there's your ring again. What have
I done

Dishonestly, in my whole life, name it,
That you should put so base a business to me?
Arb. Didst thou not tell me, thou wouldst do
it?

Mar, Yes, if I undertook it: But if all
My hairs were lives, I would not be engag'd
In such a cause to save my last life.

Arb. Oh, guilt, how poor and weak a thing art thou!

VOL. I.

49

This man, that is my servant, whom my breath
Might blow about the world, might beat me here,
Having this cause; whilst I, press'd down with
sin,

Could not resist him. Hear, Mardonius!
And I am sorry for it.
It was a motion mis-beseeming man,

Mar. Heav'n grant you may be so! You must understand, nothing that you can utter can remove my love and service from my prince; but, otherwise, I think, I shall not love you more: For you are sinful, and, if you do this crime, you ought to have no laws; for, after this, it will be great injustice in you to punish any offender, for any crime. For myself, I find my heart too big; I feel, I have not patience to look on, whilst you run these forbidden courses. Means I have

none but your favour; and I am rather glad that
I shall lose 'em both together, than keep 'em
mongst some people, where, though our garments
with such conditions. I shall find a dwelling a-
perhaps be coarser, we shall be richer far within,
preserve and mend you!
and harbour no such vices in 'em. The gods

Arb. Mardonius! Stay, Mardonius! for, tho'
My present state requires nothing but knaves
To be about me, such as are prepar'd
For every wicked act, yet who does know,
But that my loathed fate may turn about,
And I have use for honest men again?
I hope, I may; I prithee leave me not.
Enter BESSUS.

Bes. Where is the king?

Mar. There.

Bes. An't please your majesty, there's the knife.
Arb. What knife?

Bes. The sword is eaten.

Mar. Away, you fool! the king is serious, And cannot now admit your vanities. Bes. Vanities! I'm no honest man, if my enemies have not brought it to this. think I lie?

What, do you

Arb. No, no; 'tis well, Bessus; 'tis I'm glad on't.

very well. Mar. If your enemies brought it to this, your enemies are cutlers. Come, leave the king.

Bes. Why, may not valour approach him? Mar. Yes; but he has affairs. Depart, or I shall be something unmannerly with you! Arb. No; let him stay, Mardonius; let him stay;

I have occasion with him very weighty,
And I can spare you now.
Mar. Sir?

Arb. Why, I can spare you now.

Bes. Mardonius, give way to the state-affairs. Mar. Indeed, you are fitter for his present purpose.

[Erit MAR.

Arb. Bessus, I should employ thee: Wilt thou

do't?

D

soever.

Arb. But I shall name the thing

Thy conscience will not suffer thee to do.
Bes. I would fain hear that thing.

Arb. Why, I would have thee get my sister for

me:

Thou understand'st me, in a wicked manner. Bes. Oh, you would have a bout with her? I'll do't, I'll do't, i'faith.

Arb. Wilt thou? dost thou make no more on't? Bes. More? No. Why, is there any thing else? If there be, trust me, it shall be done too.

Arb. Hast thou no greater sense of such a sin? Thou art too wicked for my company, Though I have hell within me, and mayst yet Corrupt me further! Prithee, answer me, How do I shew to thee after this motion?

Bes. Why, your majesty looks as well, in my opinion, as ever you did since you were born.

Arb. But thou appear'st to me, after thy grant, The ugliest, loathed, detestable thing That I have ever met with. Thou hast eyes Like flames of sulphur, which, methinks, do dart Infection on me; and thou hast a mouth Enough to take me in, where there do stand Four rows of iron teeth.

Bes. I feel no such thing: But 'tis no matter how I look; I'll do your business as well as they that look better. And when this is dispatch'd,

you shall see I'll set it hard.

Arb. My mother! Heav'n forgive me, to hear

this!

I am inspir'd with horror. Now I hate thee
Worse than my sin; which, if I could come by,
Should suffer death eternal, ne'er to rise
In any breast again. Know, I will die
Languishing mad, as I resolve I shall,
Ere I will deal by such an instrument:
Thou art too sinful to employ in this.
Out of the world, away!

Bes. What do you mean, sir?

Arb. Hung round with curses, take thy fearful flight

Into the desarts; where 'mongst all the monsters,
If thou find'st one so beastly as thyself,
Thou shalt be held as innocent!

Arb. If there were no such instruments as thou, We kings could never act such wicked deeds. Seek out a man that mocks divinity, That breaks each precept both of God and man, And Nature too, and does it without lust, Merely because it is a law, and good, And live with him; for him thou canst not spoil. Away, I say!--I will not do this sin. [Exit BES. I'll press it here, 'till it do break my breast: It heaves to get out; but thou art a sin, And, spite of torture, I will keep thee in. [Exit.

Enter GOBRIAS, PANTHEA, and SPACONIA.
Gob. Have you written, madam?
Pan. Yes, good Gobrias.

Gob. And with a kindness and such winning words

As may provoke him, at one instant, feel His double fault, your wrong, and his own rashness?

Pan. I have sent words enough, if words may win him

From his displeasure; and such words, I hope,
As shall gain much upon his goodness, Gobrias.
Yet fearing, since they're many, and a woman's,
A poor belief may follow, I have woven
As many truths within 'em, to speak for me,
That if he be but gracious, and receive 'em-
Gob. Good lady, be not fearful: Though he
should not

Give you your present end in this, believe it,
You shall feel, if your virtue can induce you
To labour out this tempest (which, I know,
Is but a poor proof 'gainst your patience)
All those contents, your spirit will arrive at,
Newer and sweeter to you. Your royal brother,
When he shall once collect himself, and see
How far he has been asunder from himself,
What a mere stranger to his golden temper,
Must from those roots of virtue, never dying,
Though somewhat stopt with humour, shoot again

Into a thousand glories, bearing his fair branches
High as our hopes can look at, strait as justice,
Loaden with ripe contents. He loves you dearly;
I know it, and, I hope, I need not further
Win you to understand it.

Pan. I believe it;

But, howsoever, I am sure I love him dearly:
So dearly, that if any thing I write
For my enlarging should beget his anger,
Heav'n be a witness with me, and my faith,
I had rather live entombed here.

Gob. You shall not feel a worse stroke than your grief;

I am sorry 'tis so sharp. I kiss your hand,
And this night will deliver this true story,
With this hand to your brother.

Pan. Peace go with you! You are a good man.
[Exit GOB.
My Spaconia, why are you ever sad thus?
Spa. Oh, dear lady!

Pan. Prithee discover not a way to sadness, Nearer than I have in me. Our two sorrows Work, like two eager hawks, who shall get

highest.

How shall I lessen thine? for mine, I fear,
Is easier known than cur'd.

Spa. Heaven comfort both,
And give yours happy ends, however I
Fall in my stubborn fortunes.

Pan. This but teaches

Spa. Noblest lady,

kingdom.

Pan. More than my word, Spaconia, you shall carry,

For fear it fail you.

Spa. Dare you trust a token?

Madam, I fear I am grown too bold a beggar.
Pan. You are a pretty one; and, trust me, lady,
It joys me I shall do a good to you,
Though to myself I never shall be happy.
Here, take this ring, and from me as a token
Deliver it: I think they will not stay you.
So, all your own desires go with you, lady!
Spu. And sweet peace to your grace!
Pan. Pray Heav'n, I find it!

Enter TIGRANES, in prison.

[Exeunt.

Tigr. Fool that I am! I have undone myself,
And with my own hand turn'd my fortune round,
That was a fair one. I have childishly
Play'd with my hope so long, 'till I have broke it,
And now too late I mourn for't. Oh, Spaconia!
Thou hast found an even way to thy revenge now.
Why didst thou follow me, like a faint shadow,
To wither my desires? But, wretched fool,
Why did I plant thee 'twixt the sun and me,
To make me freeze thus? why did I prefer her
To the fair princess? Oh, thou fool, thou fool,
Thou family of fools, live like a slave still!
And in thee bear thine own hell and thy torment;
Thou hast deserv'd it. Couldst thou find no
lady,

But she that has thy hopes, to put her to,
And hazard all thy peace? none to abuse,
But she that lov'd thee ever, poor Spaconia?
And so much lov'd thee, that, in honesty
And honour, thou art bound to meet her virtues !
She, that forgat the greatness of her grief
And miseries, that must follow such mad passions,
Endless and wild in women! she, that for thee,

And with thee, left her liberty, her name,
And country! You have paid me, equal heav'ns,
And sent my own rod to correct me with,
A woman! for inconstancy I'll suffer;
Lay it on, Justice, 'till my soul melt in me,
For my unmanly, beastly, sudden doting,
Upon a new face; after all my oaths,
Many, and strange ones.

I feel my old fire flame again and burn
So strong and violent, that, should I see her
Again, the grief, and that, would kill me.
Enter BACURIUS and SPACONIA.
Bac. Lady,

Your token I acknowledge; you may pass;
There is the king.

Spa. I thank your lordship for it. [Exit BAC. Tigr. She comes, she comes! Shame hide me ever from her!

'Would I were bury'd, or so far remov❜d Light might not find me out! I dare not see her. Spa. Nay, never hide yourself! Or, were you

hid

Doubled upon you, you're a perjur'd man,
And only mighty in your wickedness

Of wronging women! Thou are false, false, prince!
To tell thee thou art false; and then no more!
I live to see it; poor Spaconia lives
She lives to tell thee, thou art more inconstant
Than all ill women ever were together.
Thy faith is firm as raging overflows,
That no bank can command; as lasting
As boys' gay bubbles, blown i'th' air and broken;
The wind is fix'd to thee; and sooner shall
The beaten mariner, with his shrill whistle,
Calm the loud murmur of the troubled main,
And strike it smooth again, than thy soul fall
To have peace in love with any: Thou art all
That all good men must hate; and if thy story
Shall tell succeeding ages what thou wert,
Oh, let it spare me in it, lest true lovers,
In pity of my wrongs, burn thy black legend,
And with their curses shake thy sleeping ashes!
Tigr. Oh! oh!

Spa. The destinies, I hope, have pointed out
Our ends alike, that thou may'st die for love,
Though not for me; for, this assure thyself,
The princess hates thee deadly, and will sooner
Be won to marry with a bull, and safer,
Than such a beast as thou art.-I have struck,
I fear, too deep; beshrew me for it! Sir,
This sorrow works me, like a cunning friendship,
Into the same piece with it; 'tis asham'd!
Alas, I have been too rugged. Dear my lord,
I am sorry I have spoken any thing,
Indeed I am, that may add more restraint
To that too much you have. Good Sir, be
pleas'd

To think it was a fault of love, not malice;
And do as I will do, forgive it, prince.