All fecrecy in fervants; farewel faith,

And all defire to do well, for itself:

Let all that shall fucceed thee, for thy wrongs,
Betray chafte love.

Phil. And all this paffion for

A boy?

Ara. He was your boy; you put him to me; The lofs of fuch a one requires a mourning. Phil. Oh, thou forgetful woman!

Ara. How, my lord?

Phil. Falfe Araminta; thou haft quite undope

me.

Haft thou a med'cine to restore my wits
Again, when I have loft 'em? Oh ye gods!
Give me a worthy patience: have I ftood
Alone the shock of all the worst misfortunes?
Have I feen mifchiefs numberlefs and mighty
Grow like a fea upon me? Have I taken
Dangers as ftern as death into my bosom,
And laugh'd upon 'em, made them but a mirth,
And flung 'em off? Do I live under this
Ufurping King, like one, who languishing
Hears his fad bell, and fees his mourners by ?
Do I bear all this bravely, and must fink

At length under a woman's falfhood? O

That

That boy, that curs'd boy! None but a boy

To eafe your luft?

Ara. Why, did he tell you fo?

Phil. It may be, he did.

Ara. Alas, then I'm undone.

I see the plot caft for my overthrow.

Phil. Now you may take that little right I have

To this poor kingdom;

For I have no joy in it.
Where never womankind
I'll feek to curse you in.

give it to your joy,
Some far place
durft fet her foot,

Ara. Oh, I am wretched!

Phil. There dig a cave, and preach to birds and beasts,

What woman is, and help to fave 'em from you: How heav'n is in your eyes; but in your hearts More hell than hell has: how your tongues like fcorpions,

Both heal and poifon; how your thoughts are

Woven

With thousand changes in one fubtle web,

And woven fo by you: how that foolish man
That reads the ftory of a woman's face,
And dies believing it, is loft for ever.

How all the good you have is but a shadow;

I' th' morning with you, and at night behind you,
Paft and forgotten. How your vows are frofts,
Faft for a night, and with the next fun gone.
How you are, being taken all together,
A meer confufion, and fo dead a chaos,
Truth's love can distinguish nothing in you. These
Sad texts till my last hour I am bound to utter.
So farewel all my woe, all my delight.

[Exit.

Ara. Be merciful, ye gods, and strike me dead; What way have I deserved this? Make my breast Transparent as pure cryftal, that the world, Jealous of me, may fee the fouleft thought My heart does hold. Where fhall a woman turn Her eyes to find out conftancy? Save me!

Enter Endymion.

How black, methinks, that guilty boy looks now!
O thou diffembler! that before thou spak'st
Wert't in thy cradle falfe! fent to make lies
And betray innocents! thy lord and thou,
May glory in the ashes of a maid

Fool'd by her paflion, but the conqueft is
Nothing fo great as wicked. Fly away,

Let my command force thee to that, which fhams
Should do without it. If thou understood'ft

The