Bel. Oh, stop your ears, great king, that I may speak

As freedom would; then I will call this lady
As base as are her actions! Hear me, sir:
Believe your heated blood when it rebels
Against your reason, sooner than this lady.

Meg. By this good light, he bears it handsomely.
Phi. This lady? I will sooner trust the wind
With feathers, or the troubled sea with pearl,
Than her with any thing. Believe her not!
Why, think you, if I did believe her words,
I would outlive 'em? Honour cannot take
Revenge on you; then, what were to be known
But death?

King. Forget her, sir, since all is knit
Between us. But I must request of you
One favour, and will sadly he denied.

Phi. Command, whate'er it be.
King. Swear to be true

To what you promise.

Phi. By the powers above,

Let it not be the death of her or him,
And it is granted.

King. Bear away that boy

To torture: I will have her clear'd or buried.

Phi. Oh, let me call my words back, worthy sir! Ask something else! Bury my life and right In one poor grave; but do not take away My life and fame at once.

King. Away with him! It stands irrevocable. Phi. Turn all your eyes on me: Here stands a The falsest and the basest of this world.

[man,

Set swords against this breast, some honest man,
For I have lived till I am pitied!

My former deeds were hateful, but this last
Is pitiful; for I, unwillingly,

Have given the dear preserver of my life
Unto his torture! Is it in the power
Of flesh and blood to carry this, and live?
[Offers to kill himself.
Are. Dear sir, be patient yet! Oh, stay that
King. Sirs, strip that boy.

Dion. Come, sir; your tender flesh

[hand.

This lord to talk with me alone, my tongue,
Urged by my heart, shall utter all the thoughts
My youth hath known; and stranger things than
You hear not often.

King. Walk aside with him.—

Dion. Why speak'st thou not?

Bel. Know you this face, my lord?

Dion. No.

[these

Bel. Have you not seen it, nor the like? Dion. Yes, I have seen the like, but readily

I know not where.

Bel. I have been often told

In court of one Euphrasia, a lady,

And daughter to you; betwixt whom and me

They, that would flatter my bad face, would swear

There was such strange resemblance, that we two
Could not be known asunder, dress'd alike.
Dion. By heaven, and so there is.

Bel. For her fair sake,

Who now doth spend the spring-time of her life
In holy pilgrimage, move to the king,
That I may 'scape this torture.

Dion. But thou speak'st

As like Euphrasia, as thou dost look.
How came it to thy knowledge that she lives
In pilgrimage?

Bel. I know it not, my lord;

But I have heard it ; and do scarce believe it.

Dion. Oh, my shame! Is it possible? Draw That I may gaze upon thee. Art thou she, [near, Or else her murderer? Where wert thou born? Bel. In Siracusa.

Dion. What's thy name?

Bel. Euphrasia.

Dion. Oh, 'tis just, 'tis she!

Now I do know thee. Oh, that thou hadst died,
And I had never seen thee nor my shame!
How shall I own thee? shall this tongue of mine
E'er call thee daughter more?

Bel. 'Would I had died indeed; I wish it too:
And so I must have done by vow, ere published
What I have told, but that there was no means
To hide it longer. Yet I joy in this,
The princess is all clear.

King. What have you done?
Dion. All is discover'd.
Phi. Why then hold you me?

Your worth and virtue; and, as I did grow
Me and more apprehensive, I did thirst
To see the man so praised; but yet all this
Was but a maiden longing, to be lost
As soon as found; till sitting in my window,
Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god,
I thought, (but it was you) enter our gates.
My blood flew out, and back again as fast,
As I had puff'd it forth and suck'd it in
Like breath: Then was I call'd away in haste
To entertain you. Never was a man,
Heaved from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, raised
So high in thoughts as I: You left a kiss
Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep
From you for ever. I did hear you talk,
Far above singing! After you were gone,
I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd
What stirr'd it so: Alas! I found it love;
Yet far from lust; for could I but have lived
In presence of you, I had had my end.
For this I did delude my noble father
With a feign'd pilgrimage, and dress'd myself
In habit of a boy; and, for I knew

My birth no match for you, I was past hope
Of having you and understanding well,
That when I made discovery of my sex,
I could not stay with you, I made a vow,
By all the most religious things a maid
Could call together, never to be known,

Whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes,
For other than I seem'd, that I might ever
Abide with you: Then sat I by the fount,
Where first you took me up.

King. Search out a match

Within our kingdom, where and when thou wilt,
And I will pay thy dowry; and thyself
Wilt well deserve him.

Bel. Never, sir, will I

Marry; it is a thing within my vow:

But if I may have leave to serve the princess,
To see the virtues of her lord and her,
I shall have hope to live.
Are. I, Philaster,

Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady
Dress'd like a page to serve you; nor will I
Suspect her living here.-Come, live with me;
Live free as I do. She that loves my lord,
Curst be the wife that hates her!

Phi. I grieve such virtues should be laid in earth
Without an heir. Hear me, my royal father:
Wrong not the freedom of our souls so much,
To think to take revenge of that base woman;
Her malice cannot hurt us. Set her free
As she was born, saving from shame and sin.
King. Set her at liberty; but leave the court;
This is no place for such! You, Pharamond,
Shall have free passage, and a conduct home
Worthy so great a prince.-When you come there.
Remember, 'twas your faults that lost you her,
And not my purposed will.

Pha. I do confess,

Renowned sir.

King. Last, join your hands in one. Enjoy,
Philaster,

This kingdom, which is yours, and after me
Whatever I call mine. My blessing on you!
All happy hours be at your marriage-joys,
That you may grow yourselves over all lands,
And live to see your plenteous branches spring
Wherever there is sun! Let princes learr.
By this, to rule the passions of their blood,
For what Heaven wills can never be withstood.
[Exeunt ovin28-

ARBACES, King of Iberia. TIGKANES, King of Armenia.

GOBRIAS, Lord-Protector, and Father of Arbaces.

BACURIUS, a Lord,

MARDONIUS, two Captains.

BESSUS,

LYGONES, Father of Spaconia.

Three Gentlemen.

Two Swordmen.

Three Men.

PHILIP, a Servant.
A Messenger.

A Servant to Bacurius.
A Boy

SCENE I.-The Camp of Arbaces, on the Frontiers of Armenia.

Enter MARDONIUS and BESSUS.

Mar. Bessus, the king has made a fair hand on't; he has ended the wars at a blow. 'Would my sword had a close basket hilt, to hold wine, and the blade would make knives; for we shall have nothing but eating and drinking.

Bes. We, that are commanders, shall do well enough.

Mar. 'Faith, Bessus, such commanders as thou may: I had as lieve set thee perdue for a pudding i' th' dark, as Alexander the Great.

Bes. I love these jests exceedingly.

Mar. I think thou lov'st 'em better than quarrelling, Bessus; I'll say so much in thy behalf. And yet thou'rt valiant enough upon a retreat: I think thou would'st kill any man that stopp'd thee, an thou couldst.

Bes. But was not this a brave combat. Mardo. nius?

Mar. Why, didst thou see it

Bes. You stood with me.

Mar. I did so; but methought thou wink'd'st every blow they strake.

Bes. Well, I believe there are better soldiers than I, that never saw two princes fight in lists.

Mar. By my troth, I think so too, Bessus; many a thousand: But, certainly, all that are worse than thou have seen as much.

Bes. I could willingly venture for it. Mar. Hum! no venture neither, good Bessus. Bes. Let me not live, if I do not think it is a braver piece of service than that I'm so famed for. Mar. Why, art thou famed for any valour? Bes. I famed? Ay, I warrant you.

Mar. I am very heartily glad on't: I have been with thee ever since thou cam'st to the wars, and this is the first word that ever I heard on't. Pr'ythee, who fames thee?

Bes. The Christian world.

Mar. 'Tis heathenishly done of 'em; in my conscience, thou deserv'st it not.

Bes. I ha' done good service.

Mar. I do not know how thou may'st wait of a man in's chamber, or thy agility in shifting a trencher; but otherwise no service, good Bessus. Bes. You saw me do the service yourself. Mar. Not so hasty, sweet Bessus! Where was it? is the place vanish'd?

Bes. At Bessus' Desperate Redemption, Mar. At Bessus' Desperate Redemption! where's that?

Bes. There, where I redeem'd the day the place bears my name.

Mar. Pr'ythee who christen'd it?
Bes. The soldier.

Mar. If I were not a very merrily disposed man, what would become of thee? One that had but a grain of choler in the whole composition of his body, would send thee of an errand to the worms, for putting thy name upon that field: Did not I beat thee there, i' th' head o' th' troops, with a truncheon, because thou wouldst needs run away with thy company, when we should charge the enemy?

Bes. True; but I did not run.

Mar. Right, Bessus: I beat thee out on't. Bes. But came not I up when the day was gone, and redeem'd all?

Mar. Thou knowest, and so do I, thou meant'st

to fly, and thy fear making thee mistake, thou ran'st upon the enemy; and a hot charge thou gavest; as, I'll do thee right, thou art furious in running away; and, I think, we owe thy fear for our victory. If I were the king, and were sure thou wouldst mistake always, and run away upon the enemy, thou shouldst be general, by this light. Bes. You'll never leave this till I fall foul. Mar. No more such words, dear Bessus; for though I have ever known thee a coward, and therefore durst never strike thee, yet if thou proceed'st, I will allow thee valiant, and beat thee.

Bes. Come, our king's a brave fellow.

Mar. He is so, Bessus; I wonder how thou com'st to know it. But, if thou wert a man of understanding, I would tell thee, he is vain-glorious and humble, and angry and patient, and merry and dull, and joyful and sorrowful, in extremities, in an hour. Do not think me thy friend, for this; for if I cared who knew it, thou shouldst not hear it, Bessus. Here he is, with the prey in his foot.

Enter ARBACES, TIGRANES, two Gentlemen, and
Attendants.

Arb. Thy sadness, brave Tigranes, takes away From my full victory: Am I become

Of so small fame, that any man should grieve
When I o'ercome him? They that placed me here,
Intended it an honour, large enough
For the most valiant living, but to dare
Oppose me single, though he lost the day.
What should afflict you? You are as free as I.
To be my prisoner, is to be more free
Than you were formerly. And never think,
The man,
I held worthy to combat me,
Shall be used servilely. Thy ransom is,
To take my only sister to thy wife:

A heavy one, Tigranes; for she is

A lady, that the neighbour princes send

Blanks to fetch home. I have been too unkind
To her, Tigranes: She, but nine years old,

I left her, and ne'er saw her since: Your wars
Have held me long, and taught me, though a youth,
The way to victory. She was a pretty child;
Then, I was little better; but now fame
Cries loudly on her, and my messengers
Make me believe she is a miracle.

She'll make you shrink, as I did, with a stroke
But of her eye, Tigranes.

Tigr. Is it the course of
Iberia to use her prisoners thus?

Had fortune thrown my name above Arbaces',
I should not thus have talk'd; for in Armenia,
We hold it base. You should have kept your

temper

Till you saw home again, where 'tis the fashion,
Perhaps, to brag.

Arb. Be you my witness, earth,
Need I to brag? Doth not this captive prince
Speak me sufficiently, and all the acts

That I have wrought upon his suffering land? Should I then boast? Where lies that foot of ground,

Within his whole realm, that I have not past,
Fighting and conquering: Far then from me
Be ostentation. I could tell the world,
How I have laid his kingdom desolate,
By this sole arm, propp'd by divinity;
Stript him out of his glories; and have sent
The pride of all his youth to people graves;

Arb. But he shall wrong his and my modesty,
That thinks me apt to boast: After an act
Fit for a god to do upon his foe,

A little glory in a soldier's mouth
well-becoming; be it far from vain.

Is

Mar. 'Tis pity, that valour should be thus drunk. [Aside.

Arb. I offer you my sister, and you answer,

I do insult: A lady that no suit,

Nor treasure, nor thy crown, could purchase thee, But that thou fought'st with me.

Tigr. Though this be worse

Than that you spoke before, it strikes not me ;
But, that you think to over-grace me with
The marriage of your sister, troubles me.

I would give worlds for ransoms, were they mine,

Rather than have her.

Arb. See, if I insult,

That am the conqueror, and for a ransom
Offer rich treasure to the conquered,
Which he refuses, and I bear his scorn!
It cannot be self-flattery to say,

The daughters of your country, set by her,
Would see their shame, run home, and blush to
At their own foulness. Yet she is not fair, [death
Nor beautiful; those words express her not:
They say, her looks have something excellent,
That wants a name yet. Were she odious,
Her birth deserves the empire of the world:
Sister to such a brother; that hath ta'en
Victory prisoner, and throughout the earth
Carries her bound, and should he let her loose,
She durst not leave him. Nature did her wrong,
To print continual conquest on her cheeks,
And make no man worthy for her to take,
But me, that am too near her; and as strangely
She did for me: But you will think I brag.

Mar. I do, I'll be sworn. Thy valour and thy passions severed, would have made two excellent fellows in their kinds. I know not, whether I should be sorry thou art so valiant, or so passionate: 'Would one of 'em were away! [Aside.

Tigr. Do I refuse her, that I doubt her worth?
Were she as virtuous as she would be thought;
So perfect, that no one of her own sex
Could find a want she had; so tempting fair,
That she could wish it off, for damning souls;
I would pay any ransom, twenty lives.
Rather than meet her married in my bed.
Perhaps, I have a love, where I have fix'd
Mine eyes, not to be moved, and she on me
I am not fickle.

Arb. Is that all the cause?
Think you, you can so knit yourself in love
To any other, that her searching sight
Cannot dissolve it? So, before you tried,
You thought yourself a match for me in fight.
Trust me, Tigranes, she can do as much
In peace, as I in war; she'll conquer too.
You shall see, if you have the power to stand
The force of her swift looks. If you dislike,

ransom

Some other way; but if she be your choice,
She frees you. To Iberia you must.

Tigr. Sir, I have learn'd a prisoner's sufferance,
And will obey. But give me leave to talk
In private with some friends before I go.

Arb. Some do await him forth, and see him safe; But let him freely send for whom he please, And none dare to disturb his conference; I will not have him know what bondage is, Till he be free from me.

[Exit TIGRANES with Attendants.
This prince, Mardonius,
Is full of wisdom, valour, all the graces
Man can receive.

Mar. And yet you conquer'd him.
Arb. And yet I conquer'd him, and could have
done,

Hadst thou joined with him, though thy name in

arms

Be great. Must all men, that are virtuous,
Think suddenly to match themselves with me?
I conquer'd him, and bravely; did I not?

Bes. An please your majesty, I was afraid at first
Mar. When wert thou other?
Arb. Of what?

Bes. That you would not have spied your best advantages; for your majesty, in my opinion, lay too high; methinks, under favour, you should have lain thus.

Mar. Like a tailor at a wake.

Bes. And then, if't please your majesty to remember, at one time--by my troth, I wish'd myself wi' you.

Mar. By my troth, thou wouldst ha' stunk 'em both out o' th' lists.

Arb. What to do?

Bes. To put your majesty in mind of an occasion: you lay thus, and Tigranes falsified a blow at your leg, which you, by doing thus, avoided; but, if you had whipped up your leg thus, and reach'd him on the ear, you had made the bloodroyal run about his head.

Mar. What country fence-school didst thou learn that at ?

Arb. Puff! did not I take him nobly?

Mar. Why, you did, and you have talk'd enough
Arb. Talk enough!

[on't.

Bes. Ha, ha, ha!

Arb. Why dost thou laugh?

By all the world, I'm grown ridiculous To my own subjects. Tie me to a chair, And jest at me!

But I shall make a start,

1 Gent. May it please-

Arb. I mean not you;

rudeness

Were you my king,

I would have answer'd at your word, Mardonius.
I pray you speak, and truly, did I boast?
Mar. Truth will offend you.

Arb. You take all great care what will offend me, When you dare to utter such things as these.

Mar. You told Tigranes, you had won his land With that sole arm, propp'd by divinity: Was not that bragging, and a wrong to us That daily ventured lives?

Arb. O, that thy name

Were great as mine! 'would I had paid my wealth
It were as great, as I might combat thee!
I would, through all the regions habitable,
Search thee, and, having found thee, with my sword
Drive thee about the world, 'till I had met
Some place that yet man's curiosity
Hath miss'd of: There, there would I strike thee
[dead:
Forgotten of mankind, such funeral rites
As beasts would give thee, thou shouldst have.
Bes. The king rages extremely: shall we slink
[away i
He'll strike us.

2 Gent. Content.
Arb. There I would make you know, 'twas tl.is

sole arm.

I grant, you were my instruments, and did
As I commanded you; but 'twas this arm
Moved you like wheels; it moved you as it pleased.
Whither slip you now? What, are you too good
To wait on me? I had need have temper,
That rule such people: I have nothing left
At my own choice! I would I might be private:
Mean men enjoy themselves; but 'tis our curse
To have a tumult, that, out of their loves,
Will wait on us, whether we will or no.

Go, get you gone! Why, here they stand like death:
My words move nothing.