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 scratch'd with a musquet. Dear prince Pippin, Down with your noble blood; or, as I live, I'll have you coddled.-Let him loose, my spirits! And with this swashing blow (do you see, sweet prince ?) I could hock your grace, and hang you up crosslegg'd, Like a hare at a poulter's, and do this with this wiper. Pha. You will not see me murder'd, wicked villains? 1 Cit. Yes, indeed, will we, sir. We have not seen one for 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, Your royalty shall ravel! Jag him, gentlemen: I'll have him cut to the kell,3 then down the seams. Oh, for a whip to make him galloon-laces! Pha. Oh, spare me, gentlemen! Cap. Hold, hold; The man begins to fear, and know himself; Nay, You Uncivil trades? Cap. My royal Rosiclear,1 We are thy myrmidons, thy guard, thy roarers! Thou Mars of men? is the king sociable, And run even to the lees of honour. Phi. Hold, and be satisfied; I am myself; Free as my thoughts are. By the gods, I am. Cap. Art thou the dainty darling of the king? Art thou the Hylas to our Hercules? Do the lords bow, and the regarded scarlets Kiss their gumm'd golls, and cry, 'We are your servants?' Is the court navigable, and the presence stuck With flags of friendship? If not, we are thy castle, And this man sleeps. Phi. I am what I do desire to be, your friend; I am what I was born to be, your prince. Pha. Sir, there is some humanity in you; You have a noble soul; forget my name, And know my misery. Set me safe abroad From these wild cannibals, and, as I live, I'll quit this land for ever. There is nothing, Perpetual imprisonment, cold, hunger, sickness Of all sorts, of all dangers, and all together, The worst company of the worst men, madness, age, To be as many creatures as a woman, 3 Cit. I'll have his nose, and at mine own charge And do as all they do; nay, to despair; build But I would rather make it a new nature, Phi. I do pity you.-Friends, discharge your fears; Deliver me the prince: I'll warrant you, 3 Cit. Good sir, take heed he does not hurt you: He is a fierce man, I can tell you, sir. Cap. Prince, by your leave, I'll have a surcingle,1 And mail you like a hawk. Phi. Away, away; there is no danger in him: Alas, he had rather sleep to shake his fit off. Look ye, friends, how gently he leads. Upon my word, He's tame enough, he needs no further watching. Good my friends, go to your houses, And by me have your pardons, and my love; And know there shall be nothing in my power You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes. To give you more thanks, were to flatter you. Continue still your love; and, for an earnest, Drink this. All. Long may'st thou live, brave prince! brave prince! brave prince! [Exeunt PHILASTER and PHARAMOND. Cap. Go thy ways! Thou art the king of courtesy! Fall off again, my sweet youths. Come, And the red grape shall make us dance, and rise, King. My son! Blest be the time, that I have leave to call Such virtue mine! Now thou art in mine arms, Methinks I have a salve unto my breast, For all the stings that dwell there. Streams of grief That I have wrong'd thee, and as much of joy That I repent it, issue from mine eyes: Let them appease thee. Take thy right; take her; She is thy right too; and forget to urge My vexed soul with that I did before. Phi. Sir, it is blotted from my memory, And if you would go furnish'd to your realm Methinks, would gladly bear you company: Meg. Sir, he likes it well; For he hath tried it, and found it worth Meg. Others took me, and I took her and him At that all women may be ta'en some time. Ship us all four, my lord; we can endure Weather and wind alike. King. Clear thou thyself, or know not me for father. Are. This earth, how false it is! What means is left for me To clear myself? It lies in your belief. Bel. Oh, stop your ears, great king, that I may speak As freedom would; then I will call this lady Phi. This lady? I will sooner trust the wind King. Forget her, sir, since all is knit To what you promise. Phi. By the powers above, Let it not be the death of her or him, 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 King. Away with him! It stands irrevocable. My youth hath known; and stranger things than these You hear not often. King. Walk aside with him. Dion. Why speak'st thou not? Bel. Know you this face, my lord? Dion. No. 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 swear There was such strange resemblance, that we two Could not be known asunder, dress'd alike. Dion. By heaven! and so there is. Who now doth spend the springtime of her life Dion. But thou speak'st As like Euphrasia, as thou dost look. How came it to thy knowledge that she lives Bel. I know it not, my lord; But I have heard it; and do scarce believe it. near, That I may gaze upon thee. Art thou she, Or else her murderer? Where wert thou born? Dion. What's thy name? Bel. Euphrasia. Dion. Oh, 'tis just, 'tis she! Now I do know thee. Oh that thou hadst died, Are. And for me, I have a power to pardon sins, as oft| Phi. But, Bellario, (For I must call thee still so) tell me why A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds Bel My father oft would speak As soon as found; till sitting in my window, How shall I own thee? Shall this tongue of By all the most religious things a maid 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? [He offers to stab himself. All is discover'd! Pray you, let me go. Are. What is discover'd? Dion. Why, my shame! It is a woman. Let her speak the rest. Phi. How? That again! Dion. It is a woman. Phi. Bless'd be you powers that favour inno- Suspect her living here.-Come, live with me; cence! Phi. It is a woman, sir! Hark, gentlemen! King. Speak you, where lies his shame? Phi. The gods are just. Live free as I do. She that loves my lord, Phi. I grieve such virtue should be laid in Without an heir. Hear me, my royal father: Dion. I dare accuse none; but, before you two, Worthy so great a prince.-When you come The virtue of our age, I bend my knee For mercy, Phi. Take it freely; for, I know, Though what thou didst were indiscreetly done, "Twas meant well. there, 1 apprehensive-quick to apprehend or understand.WEBER SCENE-During the First Act, on the Frontiers of Armenia; afterwards in the Metropolis of Iberia. ACT I-SCENE I. The Camp of Arbaces, on the Frontiers of Enter MARDONIUS and BESSUS.1 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 perdu 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 3 thou couldst." Bes. But was not this a brave combat, Mardonius? 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.1 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. "Twas bravely done of our king. Mar. Yes, if he had not ended the wars. I'm glad thou dar'st talk of such dangerous businesses. Bes. To take a prince prisoner in the heart of his own country, in single combat! Mar. See how thy blood cruddles at this! I think thou couldst be contented to be beaten i' this passion. Bes. Shall I tell you truly? 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? 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? 1 strake-old past tense of strike. 2 cruddles-curdles. 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. 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 ? 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, come, our king's a brave fellow. Mar. He is so, Bessus; wonder how thou com'st to know it. But, if thou wert a man of understanding, I would tell thee, he is vainglorious 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. To her, Tigranes. She, but nine years old, She'll make you shrink, as I did, with a stroke Tigr. Is it the course of Had fortune thrown my name above Arbaces', Till you saw home again, where 'tis the fashion, Arb. Be you my witness, earth, Within his whole realm, that I have not past, Mar. Indeed, this is none! [Aside. Aside Arb. Tigranes, no; did I but take delight Arb. But he shall wrong his and my modesty, A little glory in a soldier's mouth 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; Enter ARBACES, TIGRANES, two Gentlemen, and I would give worlds for ransoms, were they mine, Attendants. Arb. Thy sadness, brave Tigranes, takes away From my full victory. Am I become Of so small fame, that any man should grieve A heavy one, Tigranes; for she is A lady, that the neighbour princes send Blanks to fetch home. I have been too unkind Rather than have her. Arb. See, if I insult That am the conqueror, and for a ransom Which he refuses, and I bear his scorn! The daughters of your country, set by her, Would see their shame, run home, and blush to death At their own foulness. Yet she is not fair, 1 foulness-ugliness.-DYCE. |