Francis Beaumont
Philaster; Or, Love Lies a Bleeding

The Scene being in Cicilie.

* * * * *

Persons Represented in the Play

The King.

Philaster, Heir to the Crown.

Pharamond, Prince of Spain.

Dion, a Lord.

Cleremont } Noble Gentlemen his

Thrasiline } Associates.

Arethusa, the King's Daughter.

Galatea, a wise modest Lady attending the Princess.

Megra, a lascivious Lady.

An old wanton Lady, or Croan.

Another Lady attending the Princess.

Eufrasia, Daughter of Dion, but disguised like a

Page, and called Bellario.

An old Captain.

Five Citizens.

A Countrey fellow.

Two Woodmen.

The Kings Guard and Train.

* * * * *

Actus primus. Scena prima

_Enter Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline.

Cler. Here's not Lords nor Ladies.

Dion. Credit me Gentlemen, I wonder at it. They receiv'd strict charge from the King to attend here: Besides it was boldly published, that no Officer should forbid any Gentlemen that desire to attend and hear.

Cle. Can you guess the cause?

Di. Sir, it is plain about the Spanish Prince, that's come
to marry our Kingdoms Heir, and be our Soveraign.

Thra. Many (that will seem to know much) say, she looks
not on him like a Maid in Love.

Di. O Sir, the multitude (that seldom know any thing but their own opinions) speak that they would have; but the Prince, before his own approach, receiv'd so many confident messages from the State, that I think she's resolv'd to be rul'd.

Cle. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both these Kingdoms of Cicilie and Calabria.

Di. Sir, it is (without controversie) so meant. But 'twill be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these Kingdoms, with safetie, the right Heir to one of them living, and living so vertuously, especially the people admiring the bravery of his mind, and lamenting his injuries.

Cle. Who, Philaster?

Di. Yes, whose Father we all know, was by our late
                King of Calabria, unrighteously deposed from his
                fruitful Cicilie. My self drew some blood in those
               Wars, which I would give my hand to be washed from.

Cle. Sir, my ignorance in State-policy, will not let me know why Philaster being Heir to one of these Kingdoms, the King should suffer him to walk abroad with such free liberty.

Di. Sir, it seems your nature is more constant than to enquire after State news. But the King (of late) made a hazard of both the Kingdoms, of Cicilie and his own, with offering but to imprison Philaster. At which the City was in arms, not to be charm'd down by any State-order or Proclamation, till they saw Philaster ride through the streets pleas'd, and without a guard; at which they threw their Hats, and their arms from them; some to make bonefires, some to drink, all for his deliverance. Which (wise men say) is the cause, the King labours to bring in the power of a Foreign Nation to aw his own with.

[ Enter Galatea, Megra, and a Lady.

Thra. See, the Ladies, what's the first?

Di. A wise and modest Gentlwoman that attends the Princess.

Cle. The second?

Di. She is one that may stand still discreetly enough, and ill favour'dly Dance her Measure; simper when she is Courted by her Friend, and slight her Husband.

Cle. The last?

Di. Marry I think she is one whom the State keeps for the Agents of our confederate Princes: she'll cog and lie with a whole army before the League shall break: her name is common through the Kingdom, and the Trophies of her dishonour, advanced beyond Hercules-pillars. She loves to try the several constitutions of mens bodies; and indeed has destroyed the worth of her own body, by making experiment upon it, for the good of the Common-wealth.

Cle. She's a profitable member.

La. Peace, if you love me: you shall see these Gentlemen stand their ground, and not Court us.

Gal. What if they should?

Meg. What if they should?

La. Nay, let her alone; what if they should? why, if they should, I say, they were never abroad: what Foreigner would do so? it writes them directly untravel'd.

Gal. Why, what if they be?

Meg. What if they be?

La. Good Madam let her go on; what if they be? Why if they be I will justifie, they cannot maintain discourse with a judicious Lady, nor make a Leg, nor say Excuse me.

Gal. Ha, ha, ha.

La. Do you laugh Madam?

Di. Your desires upon you Ladies.

La. Then you must sit beside us.

Di. I shall sit near you then Lady.

La. Near me perhaps: But there's a Lady indures no
stranger; and to me you appear a very strange fellow.

Meg. Me thinks he's not so strange, he would quickly be
acquainted.

Thra. Peace, the King.

[ Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, and Train.

King. To give a stronger testimony of love
                Than sickly promises (which commonly
                In Princes find both birth and burial
                In one breath) we have drawn you worthy Sir,
                To make your fair indearments to [our] daughter,
                And worthy services known to our subjects,
                Now lov'd and wondered at. Next, our intent,
                To plant you deeply, our immediate Heir,
                Both to our Blood and Kingdoms. For this Lady,
                (The best part of your life, as you confirm me,
                And I believe) though her few years and sex
                Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes,
                Desires without desire, discourse and knowledge
                Only of what her self is to her self,
                Make her feel moderate health: and when she sleeps,
                In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams.
                Think not (dear Sir) these undivided parts,
                That must mould up a Virgin, are put on
                To shew her so, as borrowed ornaments,
                To speak her perfect love to you, or add
                An Artificial shadow to her nature:
                No Sir; I boldly dare proclaim her, yet
                No Woman. But woo her still, and think her modesty
                A sweeter mistress than the offer'd Language
                Of any Dame, were she a Queen whose eye
                Speaks common loves and comforts to her servants.
                Last, noble son, (for so I now must call you)
                What I have done thus publick, is not only
                To add a comfort in particular
                To you or me, but all; and to confirm
                The Nobles, and the Gentry of these Kingdoms,
                By oath to your succession, which shall be
                Within this month at most.

Thra. This will be hardly done.

Cle. It must be ill done, if it be done.

Di. When 'tis at best, 'twill be but half done, Whilst so brave a Gentleman's wrong'd and flung off.

Thra. I fear.

Cle. Who does not?

Di. I fear not for my self, and yet I fear too:
                Well, we shall see, we shall see: no more.

Pha. Kissing your white hand (Mistress) I take leave,
                To thank your Royal Father: and thus far,
                To be my own free Trumpet. Understand
                Great King, and these your subjects, mine that must be,
                (For so deserving you have spoke me Sir,
                And so deserving I dare speak my self)
                To what a person, of what eminence,
                Ripe expectation of what faculties,
                Manners and vertues you would wed your Kingdoms?
                You in me have your wishes. Oh this Country,
                By more than all my hopes I hold it
                Happy, in their dear memories that have been
                Kings great and good, happy in yours, that is,
                And from you (as a Chronicle to keep
                Your Noble name from eating age) do I
                Opine myself most happy. Gentlemen,
                Believe me in a word, a Princes word,
                There shall be nothing to make up a Kingdom
                Mighty, and flourishing, defenced, fear'd,
                Equall to be commanded and obey'd,
                But through the travels of my life I'le find it,
                And tye it to this Country. And I vow
                My reign shall be so easie to the subject,
                That every man shall be his Prince himself,
                And his own law (yet I his Prince and law.)
                And dearest Lady, to your dearest self
                (Dear, in the choice of him, whose name and lustre
                Must make you more and mightier) let me say,
                You are the blessed'st living; for sweet Princess,
                You shall enjoy a man of men, to be
                Your servant; you shall make him yours, for whom
                Great Queens must die.

Thra. Miraculous.

Cle. This speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing but A large inventory of his own commendations.

[Enter Philaster.

Di. I wonder what's his price? For certainly he'll tell himself he has so prais'd his shape: But here comes one more worthy those large speeches, than the large speaker of them? let me be swallowed quick, if I can find, in all the Anatomy of yon mans vertues, one sinew sound enough to promise for him, he shall be Constable. By this Sun, he'll ne're make King unless it be for trifles, in my poor judgment.

Phi. Right Noble Sir, as low as my obedience, And with a heart as Loyal as my knee, I beg your favour.

King. Rise, you have it Sir.

Di. Mark but the King how pale he looks with fear. Oh! this same whorson Conscience, how it jades us!

King. Speak your intents Sir.

Phi. Shall I speak 'um freely?
                Be still my royal Soveraign.

King. As a subject
                We give you freedom.

Di. Now it heats.

Phi. Then thus I turn
                My language to you Prince, you foreign man.
                Ne're stare nor put on wonder, for you must
                Indure me, and you shall. This earth you tread upon
                (A dowry as you hope with this fair Princess,
                Whose memory I bow to) was not left
                By my dead Father (Oh, I had a Father)
                To your inheritance, and I up and living,
                Having my self about me and my sword,
                The souls of all my name, and memories,
                These arms and some few friends, besides the gods,
                To part so calmly with it, and sit still,
                And say I might have been! I tell thee Pharamond,
                When thou art King, look I be dead and rotten,
                And my name ashes; For, hear me Pharamond,
                This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth,
                My Fathers friends made fertile with their faiths,
                Before that day of shame, shall gape and swallow
                Thee and thy Nation, like a hungry grave,
                Into her hidden bowels: Prince, it shall;
                By Nemesis it shall.

Pha. He's mad beyond cure, mad.

Di. Here's a fellow has some fire in's veins:
                The outlandish Prince looks like a Tooth-drawer.

Phi. Sir, Prince of Poppingjayes, I'le make it well appear
                To you I am not mad.

King. You displease us.
                You are too bold.

Phi. No Sir, I am too tame,
                Too much a Turtle, a thing born without passion,
                A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud sails over,
                And makes nothing.

King. I do not fancy this,
                Call our Physicians: sure he is somewhat tainted.

Thra. I do not think 'twill prove so.

Di. H'as given him a general purge already, for all the right he has, and now he means to let him blood: Be constant Gentlemen; by these hilts I'le run his hazard, although I run my name out of the Kingdom.

Cle. Peace, we are one soul.

Pha. What you have seen in me, to stir offence,
                I cannot find, unless it be this Lady
                Offer'd into mine arms, with the succession,
                Which I must keep though it hath pleas'd your fury
                To mutiny within you; without disputing
                Your Genealogies, or taking knowledge
                Whose branch you are. The King will leave it me;
                And I dare make it mine; you have your answer.

Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to him,
                That made the world his; and couldst see no sun
                Shine upon any but thine: were Pharamond
                As truly valiant, as I feel him cold,
                And ring'd among the choicest of his friends,
                Such as would blush to talk such serious follies,
                Or back such bellied commendations,
                And from this present, spight of all these bugs,
                You should hear further from me.

King. Sir, you wrong the Prince:
                I gave you not this freedom to brave our best friends,
                You deserve our frown: go to, be better temper'd.

Phi. It must be Sir, when I am nobler us'd.

Gal. Ladyes,
                This would have been a pattern of succession,
                Had he ne're met this mischief. By my life,
                He is the worthiest the true name of man
                This day within my knowledge.

Meg. I cannot tell what you may call your knowledge,
                But the other is the man set in mine eye;
                Oh! 'tis a Prince of wax.

Gal. A Dog it is.

King. Philaster, tell me,
                The injuries you aim at in your riddles.

Phi. If you had my eyes Sir, and sufferance,
                My griefs upon you and my broken fortunes,
                My want's great, and now nought but hopes and fears,
                My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laught at.
                Dare you be still my King and right me not?

King. Give me your wrongs in private.

[They whisper.

Phi. Take them, and ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas.

Di. He dares not stand the shock.

Di. I cannot blame, him, there's danger in't. Every man in this age, has not a soul of Crystal for all men to read their actions through: mens hearts and faces are so far asunder, that they hold no intelligence. Do but view yon stranger well, and you shall see a Feaver through all his bravery, and feel him shake like a true Tenant; if he give not back his Crown again, upon the report of an Elder Gun, I have no augury.

King. Go to:
                Be more your self, as you respect our favour:
                You'I stir us else: Sir, I must have you know
                That y'are and shall be at our pleasure, what fashion we
                Will put upon you: smooth your brow, or by the gods.

Phi. I am dead Sir, y'are my fate: it was not I
                Said I was not wrong'd: I carry all about me,
                My weak stars led me to all my weak fortunes.
                Who dares in all this presence speak (that is
                But man of flesh and may be mortal) tell me
                I do not most intirely love this Prince,
                And honour his full vertues!

King. Sure he's possest.

Phi. Yes, with my Fathers spirit; It's here O King!
                A dangerous spirit; now he tells me King,
                I was a Kings heir, bids me be a King,
                And whispers to me, these be all my Subjects.
                'Tis strange, he will not let me sleep, but dives
                Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes
                That kneel, and do me service, cry me King:
                But I'le suppress him, he's a factious spirit,
                And will undo me: noble Sir, [your] hand, I am your
                servant.

King. Away, I do not like this:
                I'le make you tamer, or I'le dispossess you
                Both of life and spirit: For this time
                I pardon your wild speech, without so much
                As your imprisonment.

[Ex. King, Pha. and Are.

Di. I thank you Sir, you dare not for the people.

Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave fellow?

Meg. A pretty talking fellow, hot at hand; but eye yon stranger, is not he a fine compleat Gentleman? O these strangers, I do affect them strangely: they do the rarest home things, and please the fullest! as I live, could love all the Nation over and over for his sake.

Gal. Pride comfort your poor head-piece Lady: 'tis a weak one, and had need of a Night-cap.

Di. See how his fancy labours, has he not spoke
                Home, and bravely? what a dangerous train
                Did he give fire to! How he shook the King,
                Made his soul melt within him, and his blood
                Run into whay! it stood upon his brow,
                Like a cold winter dew.

Phi. Gentlemen,
                You have no suit to me? I am no minion:
                You stand (methinks) like men that would be Courtiers,
                If you could well be fiatter'd at a price,
                Not to undo your Children: y'are all honest:
                Go get you home again, and make your Country
                A vertuous Court, to which your great ones may,
                In their Diseased age, retire, and live recluse.

Cle. How do you worthy Sir?

Phi. Well, very well;
                And so well, that if the King please, I find
                I may live many years.

Di. The King must please,
                Whilst we know what you are, and who you are,
                Your wrongs and [injuries]: shrink not, worthy Sir,
                But add your Father to you: in whose name,
                We'll waken all the gods, and conjure up
                The rods of vengeance, the abused people,
                Who like to raging torrents shall swell high,
                And so begirt the dens of these Male-dragons,
                That through the strongest safety, they shall beg
                For mercy at your swords point.

Phi. Friends, no more,
                Our years may he corrupted: 'Tis an age
                We dare not trust our wills to: do you love me?

Thra. Do we love Heaven and honour?

Phi. My Lord Dion, you had
                A vertuous Gentlewoman call'd you Father;
                Is she yet alive?

Di. Most honour'd Sir, she is:
                And for the penance but of an idle dream,
                Has undertook a tedious Pilgrimage.

[ Enter a Lady.

Phi. Is it to me, or any of these Gentlemen you come?

La. To you, brave Lord; the Princess would intreat Your present company.

Phi. The Princess send for me! y'are mistaken.

La. If you be call'd Philaster, 'tis to you.

Phi. Kiss her hand, and say I will attend her.

Di. Do you know what you do?

Phi. Yes, go to see a woman.

Cle. But do you weigh the danger you are in?

Phi. Danger in a sweet face?
                 By Jupiter I must not fear a woman.

Thra. But are you sure it was the Princess sent?
                It may be some foul train to catch your life.

Phi. I do not think it Gentlemen: she's noble,
                Her eye may shoot me dead, or those true red
                And white friends in her face may steal my soul out:
                There's all the danger in't: but be what may,
                Her single name hath arm'd me.

[Ex. Phil.

Di. Go on:
                And be as truly happy as thou art fearless:
                Come Gentlemen, let's make our friends acquainted,
                Lest the King prove false.

[Ex. Gentlemen.

Enter Arethusa and a Lady.

Are. Comes he not?

La. Madam?

Are. Will Philaster come?

La. Dear Madam, you were wont
                To credit me at first.

Are. But didst thou tell me so?
                I am forgetful, and my womans strength
                Is so o'recharg'd with danger like to grow
                About my Marriage that these under-things
                Dare not abide in such a troubled sea:
                How look't he, when he told thee he would come?

La. Why, well.

Are. And not a little fearful?

La. Fear Madam? sure he knows not what it is.

Are. You are all of his Faction; the whole Court
                Is bold in praise of him, whilst I
                May live neglected: and do noble things,
                As fools in strife throw gold into the Sea,
                Drown'd in the doing: but I know he fears.

La. Fear? Madam (me thought) his looks hid more
                Of love than fear.

Are. Of love? To whom? to you?
                Did you deliver those plain words I sent,
                With such a winning gesture, and quick look
                That you have caught him?

La. Madam, I mean to you.

Are. Of love to me? Alas! thy ignorance
                Lets thee not see the crosses of our births:
                Nature, that loves not to be questioned
                Why she did this, or that, but has her ends,
                And knows she does well; never gave the world
                Two things so opposite, so contrary,
                As he and I am: If a bowl of blood
                Drawn from this arm of mine, would poyson thee,
                A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me?

La. Madam, I think I hear him.

Are. Bring him in:
                You gods that would not have your dooms withstood,
                Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is,
                To make the passion of a feeble maid
                The way unto your justice, I obey.

[ Enter Phil.

La. Here is my Lord Philaster.

Are. Oh! 'tis well:
                Withdraw your self.

Phi. Madam, your messenger
                Made me believe, you wisht to speak with me.

Are. 'Tis true Philaster, but the words are such,
                I have to say, and do so ill beseem
                The mouth of woman, that I wish them said,
                And yet am loth to speak them. Have you known
                That I have ought detracted from your worth?
                Have I in person wrong'd you? or have set
                My baser instruments to throw disgrace
                Upon your vertues?

Phi. Never Madam you.

Are. Why then should you in such a publick place,
                Injure a Princess and a scandal lay
                Upon my fortunes, fam'd to be so great:
                Calling a great part of my dowry in question.

Phi. Madam, this truth which I shall speak, will be
                Foolish: but for your fair and vertuous self,
                I could afford my self to have no right
                To any thing you wish'd.

Are. Philaster, know
                I must enjoy these Kingdoms.

Phi. Madam, both?

Are. Both or I die: by Fate I die Philaster,
                If I not calmly may enjoy them both.

Phi. I would do much to save that Noble life:
                Yet would be loth to have posterity
                Find in our stories, that Philaster gave
                His right unto a Scepter, and a Crown,
                To save a Ladies longing.

Are. Nay then hear:
                I must, and will have them, and more.

Phi. What more?

Are. Or lose that little life the gods prepared, To trouble this poor piece of earth withall.

Phi. Madam, what more?

Are. Turn then away thy face.

Phi. No.

Are. Do.

Phi. I cannot endure it: turn away my face?
                I never yet saw enemy that lookt
                So dreadful, but that I thought my self
                As great a Basilisk as he; or spake
                So horribly, but that I thought my tongue
                Bore Thunder underneath, as much as his:
                Nor beast that I could turn from: shall I then
                Begin to fear sweet sounds? a Ladies voice,
                Whom I do love? Say you would have my life,
                Why, I will give it you; for it is of me
                A thing so loath'd, and unto you that ask
                Of so poor use, that I shall make no price
                If you intreat, I will unmov'dly hear.

Are. Yet for my sake a little bend thy looks.

Phi. I do.

Are. Then know I must have them and thee.

Phi. And me?

Are. Thy love: without which, all the Land Discovered yet, will serve me for no use, But to be buried in.

Phi. Is't possible?

Are. With it, it were too little to bestow
                On thee: Now, though thy breath doth strike me dead
                (Which know it may) I have unript my breast.

Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts,
                To lay a train for this contemned life,
                Which you may have for asking: to suspect
                Were base, where I deserve no ill: love you!
                By all my hopes I do, above my life:
                But how this passion should proceed from you
                So violently, would amaze a man, that would be jealous.

Are. Another soul into my body shot,
                Could not have fill'd me with more strength and spirit,
                Than this thy breath: but spend not hasty time,
                In seeking how I came thus: 'tis the gods,
                The gods, that make me so; and sure our love
                Will be the nobler, and the better blest,
                In that the secret justice of the gods
                Is mingled with it. Let us leave and kiss,
                Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us,
                And we should part without it.
                Phi. 'Twill be ill
                I should abide here long.

Are. 'Tis true, and worse
                You should come often: How shall we devise
                To hold intelligence? That our true lovers,
                On any new occasion may agree, what path is best to
                tread?

Phi. I have a boy sent by the gods, I hope to this intent,
                Not yet seen in the Court; hunting the Buck,
                I found him sitting by a Fountain side,
                Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst,
                And paid the Nymph again as much in tears;
                A Garland lay him by, made by himself,
                Of many several flowers, bred in the bay,
                Stuck in that mystick order, that the rareness
                Delighted me: but ever when he turned
                His tender eyes upon 'um, he would weep,
                As if he meant to make 'um grow again.
                Seeing such pretty helpless innocence
                Dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story;
                He told me that his Parents gentle dyed,
                Leaving him to the mercy of the fields,
                Which gave him roots; and of the Crystal springs,
                Which did not stop their courses: and the Sun,
                Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light,
                Then took he up his Garland and did shew,
                What every flower as Country people hold,
                Did signifie: and how all ordered thus,
                Exprest his grief: and to my thoughts did read
                The prettiest lecture of his Country Art
                That could be wisht: so that, me thought, I could
                Have studied it. I gladly entertain'd him,
                Who was glad to follow; and have got
                The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy,
                That ever Master kept: Him will I send
                To wait on you, and bear our hidden love.

[ Enter Lady.

Are. 'Tis well, no more.

La. Madam, the Prince is come to do his service.

Are. What will you do Philaster with your self?

Phi. Why, that which all the gods have appointed out for me.

Are. Dear, hide thy self. Bring in the Prince.

Phi. Hide me from Pharamond! When Thunder speaks, which is the voice of Jove, Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not; And shall a stranger Prince have leave to brag Unto a forreign Nation, that he made Philaster hide himself?

Are. He cannot know it.

Phi. Though it should sleep for ever to the world,
                It is a simple sin to hide my self,
                Which will for ever on my conscience lie.

Are. Then good Philaster, give him scope and way
                In what he saies: for he is apt to speak
                What you are loth to hear: for my sake do.

Phi. I will.

[ Enter Pharamond.

Pha. My Princely Mistress, as true lovers ought,
                I come to kiss these fair hands; and to shew
                In outward Ceremonies, the dear love
                Writ in my heart.

Phi. If I shall have an answer no directlier,
                I am gone.

Pha. To what would he have an answer?

Are. To his claim unto the Kingdom.

Pha. Sirrah, I forbear you before the King.

Phi. Good Sir, do so still, I would not talk with you.

Pha. But now the time is fitter, do but offer To make mention of right to any Kingdom, Though it be scarce habitable.

Phi. Good Sir, let me go.

Pha. And by my sword.

Phi. Peace Pharamond: if thou—

Are. Leave us Philaster.

Phi. I have done.

Pha. You are gone, by heaven I'le fetch you back.

Phi. You shall not need.

Pha. What now?

Phi. Know Pharamond,
                I loath to brawl with such a blast as thou,
                Who art nought but a valiant voice: But if
                Thou shalt provoke me further, men shall say
                Thou wert, and not lament it.

Pha. Do you slight
                My greatness so, and in the Chamber of the Princess!

Phi. It is a place to which I must confess
                I owe a reverence: but wer't the Church,
                I, at the Altar, there's no place so safe,
                Where thou dar'st injure me, but I dare kill thee:
                And for your greatness; know Sir, I can grasp
                You, and your greatness thus, thus into nothing:
                Give not a word, not a word back: Farewell.

[Exit Phi.

Pha. 'Tis an odd fellow Madam, we must stop His mouth with some Office, when we are married.

Are. You were best make him your Controuler.

Pha. I think he would discharge it well. But Madam,
                I hope our hearts are knit; and yet so slow
                The Ceremonies of State are, that 'twill be long
                Before our hands be so: If then you please,
                Being agreed in heart, let us not wait
                For dreaming for me, but take a little stoln
                Delights, and so prevent our joyes to come.

Are. If you dare speak such thoughts,
                I must withdraw in honour.

[Exit Are.

Pha. The constitution of my body will never hold out till the wedding; I must seek elsewhere.

[Exit Pha

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima

Enter Philaster and Bellario.

Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable boy,
                Full of regard unto thy tender youth,
                For thine own modesty; and for my sake,
                Apter to give, than thou wilt be to ask, I, or deserve.

Bell. Sir, you did take me up when I was nothing;
                And only yet am something, by being yours;
                You trusted me unknown; and that which you are apt
                To conster a simple innocence in me,
                Perhaps, might have been craft; the cunning of a boy
                Hardened in lies and theft; yet ventur'd you,
                To part my miseries and me: for which,
                I never can expect to serve a Lady
                That bears more honour in her breast than you.

Phi. But boy, it will prefer thee; thou art young,
                And bearest a childish overflowing love
                To them that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee fair yet:
                But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions,
                Thou wilt remember best those careful friends
                That plac'd thee in the noblest way of life;
                She is a Princess I prefer thee to.

Bell. In that small time that I have seen the world,
                I never knew a man hasty to part
                With a servant he thought trusty; I remember
                My Father would prefer the boys he kept
                To greater men than he, but did it not,
                Till they were grown too sawcy for himself.

Phi. Why gentle boy, I find no fault at all in thy behaviour.

Bell. Sir, if I have made
                A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth;
                I shall be willing, if not apt to learn;
                Age and experience will adorn my mind
                With larger knowledge: And if I have done
                A wilful fault, think me not past all hope
                For once; what Master holds so strict a hand
                Over his boy, that he will part with him
                Without one warning? Let me be corrected
                To break my stubbornness if it be so,
                Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.

Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay,
                That (trust me) I could weep to part with thee.
                Alas! I do not turn thee off; thou knowest
                It is my business that doth call thee hence,
                And when thou art with her thou dwel'st with me:
                Think so, and 'tis so; and when time is full,
                That thou hast well discharged this heavy trust,
                Laid on so weak a one, I will again
                With joy receive thee; as I live, I will;
                Nay weep not, gentle boy; 'Tis more than time
                Thou didst attend the Princess.

Bell. I am gone;
                But since I am to part with you my Lord,
                And none knows whether I shall live to do
                More service for you; take this little prayer;
                Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs.
                May sick men, if they have your wish, be well;
                And Heavens hate those you curse, though I be one.

[Exit.

Phi. The love of boyes unto their Lords is strange,
                I have read wonders of it; yet this boy
                For my sake, (if a man may judge by looks,
                And speech) would out-do story. I may see
                A day to pay him for his loyalty.

[Exit Phi.

Enter Pharamond.

Pha. Why should these Ladies stay so long? They must come this way; I know the Queen imployes 'em not, for the Reverend Mother sent me word they would all be for the Garden. If they should all prove honest now, I were in a fair taking; I was never so long without sport in my life, and in my conscience 'tis not my fault: Oh, for our Country Ladies! Here's one boulted, I'le hound at her.

Enter Galatea.

Gal. Your Grace!

Pha. Shall I not be a trouble?

Gal. Not to me Sir.
Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick; by this sweet hand.

Gal. You'l be forsworn Sir, 'tis but an old glove. If you will talk at distance, I am for you: but good Prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag; these two I bar, and then I think, I shall have sence enough to answer all the weighty Apothegmes your Royal blood shall manage.

Pha. Dear Lady, can you love?

Gal. Dear, Prince, how dear! I ne're cost you a Coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a Banquet; here's no Scarlet Sir, to blush the sin out it was given for: This wyer mine own hair covers: and this face has been so far from being dear to any, that it ne're cost penny painting: And for the rest of my poor Wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand behind it, to make the jealous Mercers wife curse our good doings.

Pha. You mistake me Lady.

Gal. Lord, I do so; would you or I could help it.

Pha. Do Ladies of this Country use to give no more respect to men of my full being?

Gal. Full being! I understand you not, unless your Grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, Prince) is in a morning a Cup of neat White-wine brew'd with Carduus, then fast till supper, about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a Sparrow-hawk, you can shoot in a Tiller; but of all, your Grace must flie Phlebotomie, fresh Pork, Conger, and clarified Whay; They are all dullers of the vital spirits.

Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while.

Gal. 'Tis very true Sir, I talk of you.

Pha. This is a crafty wench, I like her wit well, 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite, she's a Danae, and must be courted in a showr of gold. Madam, look here, all these and more, than—

Gal. What have you there, my Lord? Gold? Now, as I live tis fair gold; you would have silver for it to play with the Pages; you could not have taken me in a worse time; But if you have present use my Lord, I'le send my man with silver and keep your gold for you.

Pha. Lady, Lady.

Gal. She's coming Sir behind, will take white mony. Yet for all this I'le match ye.

[Exit Gal. behind the hangings.

Pha. If there be two such more in this Kingdom, and near the Court, we may even hang up our Harps: ten such Camphire constitutions as this, would call the golden age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill fac't Husband to get his own Children, and what a mischief that will breed, let all consider.

[ Enter Megra.

                Here's another; if she be of the same last, the Devil
                shall pluck her on. Many fair mornings, Lady.

Meg. As many mornings bring as many dayes,
                Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your Grace.

Pha. She gives good words yet; Sure this wench is free.
                If your more serious business do not call you,
                Let me hold quarter with you, we'll take an hour
                Out quickly.

Meg. What would your Grace talk of?

Pha. Of some such pretty subject as your self.
                I'le go no further than your eye, or lip,
                There's theme enough for one man for an age.

Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even,
                Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, red enough,
                Or my glass wrongs me.

Pha. O they are two twin'd Cherries died in blushes,
                Which those fair suns above, with their bright beams
                Reflect upon, and ripen: sweetest beauty,
                Bow down those branches, that the longing taste,
                Of the faint looker on, may meet those blessings,
                And taste and live.

Meg. O delicate sweet Prince;
                She that hath snow enough about her heart,
                To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off,
                May be a Nun without probation.
                Sir, you have in such neat poetry, gathered a kiss,
                That if I had but five lines of that number,
                Such pretty begging blanks, I should commend
                Your fore-head, or your cheeks, and kiss you too.

Pha. Do it in prose; you cannot miss it Madam.

Meg. I shall, I shall.

Pha. By my life you shall not.
                I'le prompt you first: Can you do it now?

Meg. Methinks 'tis easie, now I ha' don't before;
                But yet I should stick at it.

Pha. Stick till to morrow.
                I'le ne'r part you sweetest. But we lose time,
                Can you love me?

Meg. Love you my Lord? How would you have me love you?

Pha. I'le teach you in a short sentence, cause I will not load your memory, that is all; love me, and lie with me.

Meg. Was it lie with you that you said? 'Tis impossible.

Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour; if I do not teach you to do it as easily in one night, as you'l go to bed, I'le lose my Royal blood for't.

Meg. Why Prince, you have a Lady of your own, that yet wants teaching.

Pha. I'le sooner teach a Mare the old measures, than teach her any thing belonging to the function; she's afraid to lie with her self, if she have but any masculine imaginations about her; I know when we are married, I must ravish her.

Meg. By my honour, that's a foul fault indeed, but time and your good help will wear it out Sir.

Pha. And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest Lady, I had rather be Sir _Tim _the Schoolmaster, and leap a Dairy-maid.

Meg. Has your Grace seen the Court-star Galatea?

Pha. Out upon her; she's as cold of her favour as an apoplex: she sail'd by but now.

Meg. And how do you hold her wit Sir?

Pha. I hold her wit? The strength of all the Guard cannot hold it, if they were tied to it, she would blow 'em out of the Kingdom, they talk of Jupiter, he's but a squib cracker to her: Look well about you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. But speak sweet Lady, shall I be freely welcome?

Meg. Whither?

Pha. To your bed; if you mistrust my faith, you do me the unnoblest wrong.

Meg. I dare not Prince, I dare not.

Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal 'em, and what you dare imagine you can want, I'le furnish you withal: give two hours to your thoughts every morning about it. Come, I know you are bashful, speak in my ear, will you be mine? keep this, and with it me: soon I will visit you.

Meg. My Lord, my Chamber's most unsafe, but when 'tis night I'le find some means to slip into your lodging: till when—

Pha. Till when, this, and my heart go with thee.

[Ex. several ways.

_Enter _Galatea from behind the hangings.

Gal. Oh thou pernicious Petticoat Prince, are these your vertues? Well, if I do not lay a train to blow your sport up, I am no woman; and Lady Towsabel I'le fit you for't.

[Exit Gal.

_Enter _Arethusa and a Lady.

Are. Where's the boy?

La. Within Madam.

Are. Gave you him gold to buy him cloaths?

La. I did.

Are. And has he don't?

La. Yes Madam.

Are. 'Tis a pretty sad talking lad, is it not? Askt you his name?

La. No Madam.

[ _Enter _Galatea.

Are. O you are welcome, what good news?

Gal. As good as any one can tell your Grace, That saies she hath done that you would have wish'd.

Are. Hast thou discovered?

Gal. I have strained a point of modesty for you.

Are. I prethee how?

Gal. In listning after bawdery; I see, let a Lady live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful time, to harken after bawdery; your Prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on't.

Are. With whom?

Gal. Why, with the Lady I suspect: I can tell the time and place.

Are. O when, and where?

Gal. To night, his Lodging.

Are. Run thy self into the presence, mingle there again
                With other Ladies, leave the rest to me:
                If destiny (to whom we dare not say,
                Why thou didst this) have not decreed it so
                In lasting leaves (whose smallest Characters
                Were never altered:) yet, this match shall break.
                Where's the boy?

La. Here Madam.

[ _Enter _Bellario.

Are. Sir, you are sad to change your service, is't not so?

Bell. Madam, I have not chang'd; I wait on you,
                To do him service.

Are. Thou disclaim'st in me;
                Tell me thy name.

Bell. Bellario.

Are. Thou canst sing, and play?

Bell. If grief will give me leave, Madam, I can.

Are. Alas! what kind of grief can thy years know?
                Hadst thou a curst master, when thou went'st to School?
                Thou art not capable of other grief;
                Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be,
                When no [b]reath troubles them: believe me boy,
                Care seeks out wrinkled brows, and hollow eyes,
                And builds himself caves to abide in them.
                Come Sir, tell me truly, does your Lord love me?

Bell. Love Madam? I know not what it is.

Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew'st love?
                Thou art deceiv'd boy; does he speak of me
                As if he wish'd me well?

Bell. If it be love,
                To forget all respect of his own friends,
                In thinking of your face; if it be love
                To sit cross arm'd and sigh away the day,
                Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud
                And hastily, as men i'the streets do fire:
                If it be love to weep himself away,
                When he but hears of any Lady dead,
                Or kill'd, because it might have been your chance;
                If when he goes to rest (which will not be)
                'Twixt every prayer he saies, to name you once
                As others drop a bead, be to be in love;
                Then Madam, I dare swear he loves you.

Are. O y'are a cunning boy, and taught to lie,
                For your Lords credit; but thou knowest, a lie,
                That bears this sound, is welcomer to me,
                Than any truth that saies he loves me not.
                Lead the way Boy: Do you attend me too;
                'Tis thy Lords business hasts me thus; Away.

[Exeunt.

_Enter _Dion, Cleremont, Thrasilin, Megra _and _Galatea.

Di. Come Ladies, shall we talk a round? As men Do walk a mile, women should take an hour After supper: 'Tis their exercise.

Gal. Tis late.

Meg. 'Tis all
                My eyes will do to lead me to my bed.

Gal. I fear they are so heavy, you'l scarce find
                The way to your lodging with 'em to night.

[ Enter Pharamond.

Thra. The Prince.

Pha. Not a bed Ladies? y'are good sitters up; What think you of a pleasant dream to last Till morning?

Meg. I should choose, my Lord, a pleasing wake before it.

[_Enter _Arethusa _and _Bellario.

Are. 'Tis well my Lord y'are courting of Ladies. Is't not late Gentlemen?

Cle. Yes Madam.

Are. Wait you there. [_Exit _Arethusa.

Meg. She's jealous, as I live; look you my Lord,
                The Princess has a Hilas, an Adonis.

Pha. His form is Angel-like.

Meg. Why this is he, must, when you are wed,
                Sit by your pillow, like young Apollo, with
                His hand and voice, binding your thoughts in sleep;
                The Princess does provide him for you, and for her self.

Pha. I find no musick in these boys.

Meg. Nor I.
                They can do little, and that small they do,
                They have not wit to hide.

Di. Serves he the Princess?

Thra. Yes.

Di. 'Tis a sweet boy, how brave she keeps him!

Pha. Ladies all good rest; I mean to kill a Buck
                To morrow morning, ere y'ave done your dreams.

Meg. All happiness attend your Grace, Gentlemen good rest,
                Come shall we to bed?

Gal. Yes, all good night.

[Ex. Gal. _and _Meg.

Di. May your dreams be true to you;
                What shall we do Gallants? 'Tis late, the King
                Is up still, see, he comes, a Guard along
                With him.

[_Enter _King, Arethusa _and _Guard.

King. Look your intelligence be true.

Are. Upon my life it is: and I do hope,
                Your Highness will not tye me to a man,
                That in the heat of wooing throws me off,
                And takes another.

Di. What should this mean?

King. If it be true, That Lady had been better have embrac'd Cureless Diseases; get you to your rest,

[Ex. Are. _and _Bel.

                You shall be righted: Gentlemen draw near,
                We shall imploy you: Is young Pharamond
                Come to his lodging?

Di. I saw him enter there.

King. Haste some of you, and cunningly discover,
                If Megra be in her lodging.

Cle. Sir,
                She parted hence but now with other Ladies.

King. If she be there, we shall not need to make
                A vain discovery of our suspicion.
                You gods I see, that who unrighteously
                Holds wealth or state from others, shall be curst,
                In that, which meaner men are blest withall:
                Ages to come shall know no male of him
                Left to inherit, and his name shall be
                Blotted from earth; If he have any child,
                It shall be crossly matched: the gods themselves
                Shall sow wild strife betwixt her Lord and her,
                Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin
                I have committed, let it not fall
                Upon this understanding child of mine,
                She has not broke your Laws; but how can I,
                Look to be heard of gods, that must be just,
                Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong?

[ _Enter _Dion.

Di. Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she is within, but they I think are bawds; I told 'em I must speak with her: they laught, and said their Lady lay speechless. I said, my business was important; they said their Lady was about it: I grew hot, and cryed my business was a matter that concern'd life and death; they answered, so was sleeping, at which their Lady was; I urg'd again, she had scarce time to be so since last I saw her; they smil'd again, and seem'd to instruct me, that sleeping was nothing but lying down and winking: Answers more direct I could not get: in short Sir, I think she is not there.

King. 'Tis then no time to dally: you o'th' Guard,
                Wait at the back door of the Princes lodging,
                And see that none pass thence upon your lives.
                Knock Gentlemen: knock loud: louder yet:
                What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing?
                I'le break your meditations: knock again:
                Not yet? I do not think he sleeps, having this
                Larum by him; once more, Pharamond, Prince.

[Pharamond above.

Pha. What sawcy groom knocks at this dead of night? Where be our waiters? By my vexed soul, He meets his death, that meets me, for this boldness.

K. Prince, you wrong your thoughts, we are your friends, Come down.

Pha. The King?

King. The same Sir, come down,
                We have cause of present Counsel with you.

Pha. If your Grace please to use me, I'le attend you
                To your Chamber.
                                                          [Pha. below.

King. No, 'tis too late Prince, I'le make bold with yours.

Pha. I have some private reasons to my self,
                Makes me unmannerly, and say you cannot;
                Nay, press not forward Gentlemen, he must come
                Through my life, that comes here.

King. Sir be resolv'd, I must and will come. Enter.

Pha. I will not be dishonour'd;
                He that enters, enters upon his death;
                Sir, 'tis a sign you make no stranger of me,
                To bring these Renegados to my Chamber,
                At these unseason'd hours.

King. Why do you
                Chafe your self so? you are not wrong'd, nor shall be;
                Onely I'le search your lodging, for some cause
                To our self known: Enter I say.

Pha. I say no.
                                                        [Meg. Above.

Meg. Let 'em enter Prince,
                Let 'em enter, I am up, and ready; I know their business,
                'Tis the poor breaking of a Ladies honour,
                They hunt so hotly after; let 'em enjoy it.
                You have your business Gentlemen, I lay here.
                O my Lord the King, this is not noble in you
                To make publick the weakness of a Woman.

King. Come down.

Meg. I dare my Lord; your whootings and your clamors,
                Your private whispers, and your broad fleerings,
                Can no more vex my soul, than this base carriage;
                But I have vengeance yet in store for some,
                Shall in the most contempt you can have of me,
                Be joy and nourishment.

King. Will you come down?

Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst: but I shall wrong you, If my skill fail me not.

King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness, You have wrong'd a worthy Lady; but no more, Conduct him to my lodging, and to bed.

Cle. Get him another wench, and you bring him to bed in deed.

Di. 'Tis strange a man cannot ride a Stagg
                Or two, to breath himself, without a warrant:
                If this geer hold, that lodgings be search'd thus,
                Pray heaven we may lie with our own wives in safety,
                That they be not by some trick of State mistaken.

[ Enter with Megra.

King. Now Lady of honour, where's your honour now?
                No man can fit your palat, but the Prince.
                Thou most ill shrowded rottenness; thou piece

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