University of Virginia Library

Act III.

Scene I.

Enter Cleon, Agremont, Adelard.
Agr.
Nay, doubtless it is true.

Cleon.
I and the Gods
Have rais'd this Punishment to scourge the King
With his own Issue: Is it not a Shame
For us that should be Freemen, to behold
A Man that is the Bravery of his Age,
Philander, prest down from his Royal Right
By this regardless King; and only look
And see the Scepter ready to be cast
Into the Hands of that lascivious Lady,
That lives in Lust with a smooth Boy, now to be
Marry'd to yon' strange Prince, who, but that People
Please to let him be a Prince, is born a Slave
In that which should be his most noble Part,
His Mind.

Adel.
That Man that will not stir with you
To aid Philander, let the Gods forget
That such a Creature walks upon the Earth.

Agr.
Philander is too backward in't himself;
The Gentry all wait for him, and the People,
Against their Nature long to be in Arms;
And like a Field of standing Corn, that moves
With a stiff Gale, their Heads bow all one Way.

Cleon.
The only Cause that draws Philander back
From this Attempt is the fair Princess, whom
I fear he loves.

Adel.
He'll not believe it then.

Cleon.
Why, Gentlemen, 'tis without Question so.

Agr.
'Tis most true, she lives dishonestly;
But how shall we, if he be doubtful, work
Upon his Faith.

Adel.
Every one knows 'tis true.

Cleon.
Since 'tis so, and tends to his own good,
I'll make this new Report to be my Knowledge.
I'll say I knew it; nay, I'll swear I saw it.

Agr.
It will be best,

Adel.
Yes sure, it must needs move him.

Cleon.
Nothing but this will force him into Action.
Enter Philander.
See, here he comes. Good morrow to your Grace;
We have been waiting for you.

Phil.
Worthy Friends,
You that can keep your Memories to know
Your Friends in Miseries, and cannot frown
On Men disgrac'd for Virtue; a good Day
Attend you all: What Service may I do,
Worthy your Expectation?

Cleon.
My good Lord,
We come to urge that Virtue (which we know
Lives in your Breast) forth; rise, and make a Head:
The Nobles and the People are all dull'd
With this usurping King; and not a Man
That ever heard or knew of such a Thing
As Virtue, but will second your Attempts.

Phil.
How honourable is this Love in you
To me that have deserv'd none? Know, my Friends,
(You that were born to shame your poor Philander
With too much Kindness) know I could afford
To melt my self in Thanks; But my Designs
Are not yet ripe: Let it suffice, e'er long
I shall employ you; but the Time's not come.

Cleon.
The Time is fitter some than you expect;
That which hereafter hardly will be reach'd
By Violence, may now be caught with Ease.
As for the King, you know the People long
Did hate him; but the Princess now—

Phil.
Why, what
Of her, I pray?

Cleon.
Is loath'd as much as he.

Phil.
By what strange Means?

Cleon.
She's known a Whore.

Phil.
Thou ly'st,
[Offers to draw; is held.
And thou shalt feel thou dost, I thought thy Mind
Was full of Honour; thus to rob a Lady
Of her good Name is an infectious Sin
Not to be pardon'd; be it false as Hell,
'Twill never be redeem'd if it be sown
Among the People, fruitful to increase
All Evil they shall hear. Let me alone,
That I may cut off Falshood while it springs:
Set Hills on Hills betwixt me and the Man
That utters this, and I will scale them all,
And from the utmost Top fall on his Neck
Like Thunder from a Cloud.

Cleon.
This is most strange.
Sir, though you love her—

Phil.
No, Sir, I love Truth;
She is my Mistress; and who injures her
Draws Vengeance from me: Sirs, let go my Arms.

Adel.
Nay, good my Lord, be patient.

Agr.
Sir, remember
This is your honour'd Friend, the good Lord Cleon,
That comes to do you Service, and will shew
You why he utter'd this.

Phil.
I ask your Pardon;
My Zeal to Truth made me unmannerly:
Should I have heard Dishonour spoke of you
Behind your Back, untruly, I had been
As much distemper'd and enrag'd as now.

Cleon.
But this is true.

Phil.
O, good Sir, say not so.
Is it then true all Woman-kind is false.
Urge it no more; it is impossible;
Why should you think the Princess could be light?

Cleon.
Because, Sir, she was taken in the Fact.

Phil.
'Tis false; Oh Heav'n! 'tis false: It cannot be;
Can it? Speak, Gentlemen, for the Love of Truth;
Is't possible all Women should be damn'd?

Cleon.
Why no, my Lord.

Phil.
Why then it cannot be.

Cleon.
And she was taken with her Boy.

Phil.
What Boy?

Cleon.
A Page; a Boy that serves her.

Phil.
Oh, Good Gods!
A little Boy!

Cleon.
Ay; Know you him, my Lord?

Phil.
Sin and Hell: Know him! Sir, you are deceiv'd:
I'll reason it a little coldly with you:
If she were lustful, would she take a Boy
That knows not yet Desire? She would have one
Should meet her Thoughts, and know the Sin he acts,
Which is the great Delight of Wickedness:
You are abus'd, and so is she and I.

Cleon.
How you, my Lord?

Phil.
Why, all the World's abus'd
In an unjust Report.

Cleon.
Your Virtues, Sir,
Cannot look through the subtile Thoughts of Woman:
In short, my Lord, I took 'em; I, my self.

Phil.
Now all the Devils, thou did'st! Fly from my Rage:
Would thou had'st taken Fiends ingendring Plagues,
When thou did'st take 'em; hide thee from my Eyes:
Would thou had'st taken Thunder on thy Breast
When thou did'st take 'em, or been strucken dumb,
That so this Deed for ever might have slept
In Silence.

Adel.
Have you known him so ill temper'd?

Agr.
Never before.

Phil.
The Winds that are set loose
From the four several Corners of the World,
And spread themselves all over Sea and Land,
Kiss not a chaste one. What Friend bears a Sword
To run me through?

Cleon.
Why are you mov'd at this?

Phil.
When any falls from Virtue I am mad;
I am distracted; I've an Interest in't.

Cleon.
But, Good my Lord, recall your self, and think
What's to be done.

Phil.
I thank you: I will do't.
Please you to leave me, I'll consider on't:
To-morrow I will give you all my Answer.

Cleon.
The Gods direct you.

[Ex. Cleon. Adel. Agr.
Phil.
I had forgot to ask him where he took 'em:
I'll follow him. O that I had a Sea
Within my Breast, to quench the Fire I feel!
More Circumstances will but fan this Fire:
It more afflicts me now to know by whom
This Deed is done, than simply that 'tis done:
And he that tells me this is honourable,
As far from Lies, as she is far from Truth.
O that, like Beasts, we could not grieve our selves
With that we see not! Bulls and Rams will fight
To keep their Females standing in their Sight;
But take them from 'em, and you take at once
Their Spleens away, and they will fall again
Unto their Pastures, growing fresh and fat,
And taste the Waters of the Springs as sweet
As 'twas before, finding no Start in Sleep:
But miserable Man,—See, see, you Gods!
Enter Endymion.
He walks still, and the Face you let him wear
When he was innocent, is still the same!
Not blasted! Is this Justice? Do you mean
T'intrap Mortality, that you allow
Treason so smooth a Brow? I cannot now
Think he is guilty.

End.
Health to you, my Lord:
The Princess doth commend her Love, her Life,
And this unto you.

Phil.
Oh, Endymion,
Now I perceive she loves me; she doth shew it
In loving thee, my Boy; she has made thee brave.

End.
My Lord, she has attir'd me past my Wish,
And past my Merit, fit for her Attendant,
Tho' far unfit for me who do attend.

Phil.
Thou art grown courtly, Boy, O let all Women,
That love black Deeds, learn to dissemble here;
Here, by this Paper, she does write to me,
As if her Heart were Mines of Adamant
To all the World besides, but unto me
A Maiden Snow, that melted with my Looks.
Tell me, my Boy, how doth the Princess use thee?
For I shall ghess her Love to me by that.

End.
Scarce like her Servant, but as if I were
Something ally'd to her, or had preserv'd
Her Fame or Life, with Hazard of my own;
As Mothers fond do use their only Sons;
As I'd use one that's left unto my Trust,
For whom my Life should pay if he met harm.

Phil.
Why this is wondrous well, Endymion; but
What Language, preethee, doth she feed thee with?

End.
Why, she doth tell me, she will trust my Youth
With all her loving Secrets, and does call me
Her pretty Servant; bids me weep no more
For leaving you, she'll see my Services
Rewarded; and such Words, of that soft Strain,
That I am nearer weeping when she ends,
Than e'er she does begin.

Phil.
So, so! This is
Much better still.

End.
Are not you well, my Lord?

Phil.
Well! Yes, Endymion.

End.
Methinks your Words
Fall not from of your Tongue so evenly,
Nor is there in your Looks that Quietness
That I was wont to see.

Phil.
Thou art deceiv'd,
My Boy. And she does stroke thy Head?

End.
Why, yes.

Phil.
And she does kiss thee? Ha?

End.
How's that, my Lord?

Phil.
She kisses thee, my Boy.

End.
Not so, my Lord.

Phil.
Come, come, I know she doth.

End.
No, by my Life.

Phil.
Why then she does not love me; come she does,
I bade her do it; I charg'd her by all Charms
Of Love between us, by the Hope of Peace
We should enjoy, to yield thee all Delights,
Naked, as to her Bed: I took her Oath
Thou should'st enjoy her: Tell me, Boy, is she
Not far above compare? Is not her Breath
Sweet as Arabian Winds, when Fruits are ripe?
Are not her Breasts two liquid Ivory Balls?
Is she not all a lasting Mine of Joy?

End.
I, now I see why my disturbed Thoughts
Were so perplex'd; when first I went to her
My Heart held Augury: You are abus'd,
Some Villain has abus'd you; I do see
Whereto you tend: Fall Rocks upon his Head
That put this in you; 'tis some subtil Train
To bring that noble Frame of yours to nought.

Phil.
Thou think'st I will be angry with thee; come,
Thou shalt know all my Drift; I hate her more
Than I love Happiness, and plac'd thee there
To pry with narrow Eyes into her Deeds.
Hast thou discover'd? Has she fall'n to Lust,
As I would wish her? Speak some Comfort to me.

End.
My Lord, you did mistake the Boy you sent:
Had she the Lust of Sparrows or of Goats;
Had she a Sin that way hid from the World,
Beyond the Name of Lust; I would not aid
Her base Desires; but what I came to know,
As Servant to her, I would not reveal,
To make my Life last Ages.

Phil.
Oh my Heart!
This is a Salve worse than the main Disease.
Tell me thy Thoughts, for I will know the least
That dwells within thee, or will rip thy Heart
To know it: I will see thy Thoughts as plain
As I do now thy Face.

End.
Why, so you do.
She is (for ought I know) by all the Gods,
As chaste as Ice; but were she foul as Hell,
And I did know it thus; the Breath of Kings,
The Points of Swords, Tortures, nor Bulls of Brass,
Should draw it from me.

Phil.
Then it is not time
To dally with thee; I will take thy Life,
For I do hate thee: I could curse thee now.

End.
If you do hate me, you can't curse me worse:
The Gods have not a Punishment in Store
Greater for me, my Lord, than is your Hate.

Phil.
Fie, fie, so young, and so dissembling too!
Tell me both when and where thou didst enjoy her,
Or Plagues fall on thee if I kill thee not.

End.
Heav'n knows I never did: And when I lie
To save my Life, may I live long and loath'd.
Hew me asunder, and I'll love the Limbs
Which you cut off, better than those that grow:
And kiss them dead, because you made 'em so.

Phil.
Fear'st thou not Death? Can Boys contemn that?

End.
Oh,
What Boy is he, can be content to live
To be a Man that sees the very best
Of Men thus passionate, thus without Reason?

Phil.
Oh, but thou dost not know what 'tis to die.

End.
Yes but I do, my Lord, I know it well:
'Tis less than to be born; a lasting Sleep,
A quiet resting from all Jealousie,
A thing we all pursue: I know besides,
'Tis but the giving up a Game which must be lost.

Phil.
But there are Pains, false Boy, for perjur'd Souls;
Think but on them, and then thy Heart will melt.

End.
May they fall all upon me whilst I live,
If I be perjur'd, or have ever thought
Of that you charge me with; if I be false,
Send me to suffer in those Punishments
You speak of: Kill me.

Phil.
Oh, what should I do?
Why, who can but believe him? He does swear
So earnestly, if it were not true,
The Gods would not endure him. Rise Endymion,
Thy Protestations are so deep, and thou
Dost look so truly when thou utter'st them,
That, tho' I know 'em false as were my Hopes,
I cannot urge thee farther: But thou wert
To blame to injure me; for I must love
Thy honest Looks, and never take Revenge
Upon thy tender Youth: A Love from me to thee
Is firm, whate'er thou dost. It troubles me
That I have call'd the Blood out of thy Cheeks,
That did so well become them; but, good Boy,
Let me not see thee more; something is done
That will distract me; that will raise a Storm
Within my Breast too great for me to quell,
If thou com'st near me.

End.
I will fly as far
As there is Morning, e'er I give distaste
To that most honour'd Mind. But thro' these Tears,
Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see
A World of Treason practic'd upon you,
And her, and me. Farewel for evermore;
If you shall hear that Sorrow struck me dead,
And after find me loyal, let there be
A Tear, at least, shed by you for me; and
I then shall rest in Peace.

[Exit.
Phil.
Blessings be with thee,
Whatever thou deserv'st. Oh where shall I
Go bathe this Body? Nature too unkind,
That made no Med'cine for a troubled Mind.

[Exit.
Enter Araminta.
Ara.
I marvel my Boy comes not back again;
But that I know my Love will question him
Over and over, how I slept, wak'd, talk'd;
How often his dear Name was mentioned by me;
How I sigh'd, wept, and sung, and thousand more
Such things; I should be angry at his Stay.

Enter King.
King.
What at your Meditations? Who is with you?

Ara.
None but my single self; I need no Guard:
I do no wrong, nor fear none.

King.
Have you not a Boy?

Ara.
Yes, Sir.

King.
What kind of Boy?

Ara.
A waiting Boy.

King.
A handsome Boy?

Ara.
A very handsome Boy.

King.
He talks and sings, and plays?

Ara.
I think he does.

King.
About eighteen?

Ara.
I never ask'd his Age.

King.
Pray, is he full of Service?

Ara.
Why do you ask?

King.
Put him away.

Ara.
How, Sir?

King.
Put him away.
'Has done you that good Service, I'm asham'd
To speak of.

Ara.
Good Sir, let me understand you.

King.
If you fear me, shew it in Duty; put
Away that Boy.

Ara.
Let me have reason for it,
And then your Will to me shall be a Law.

King.
Do not you blush to ask it? Cast him off,
Or I shall do the same to you: Y' are one
Shame with me, and so near unto my self,
That, by my Life, I dare scarce tell my self
What you have done.

Ara.
What have I done, my Lord?

King.
It is a Language that all love to learn;
The common People speak it well already:
They need no Grammar; understand me well,
There be foul Whispers stirring; cast him off,
And suddenly I charge you do't, Farewel.

[Exit.
Ara.
Where may a Maiden live securely free,
Keeping her Honour safe? Not with the living,
They feed upon Opinions, Errors, Dreams,
And make 'em Truths: They draw a Nourishment
Out of defaming, grow upon Disgraces,
And when they see a Virtue fortify'd
Strongly, above the Batt'ry of their Tongues,
Oh, how they cast about to ruin it!

Enter Philander.
Phil.
Peace be to your fair Thoughts, my dearest Mistress.

Ara.
O dear Philander, I've a War within me.

Phil.
He must be more than Man that makes these Chrystals
Run into Rivers: Sweetest Fair, the Cause?
And as I am your Slave, ty'd to your Goodness,
Your Creature made again from what I was,
And newly spirited: I'll right your Honour.

Ara.
Oh, my best Love, that pretty Boy—

Phil.
What Boy?

Ara.
The pretty Boy you gave me.

Phil.
What of him?

Ara.
Must be no more mine.

Phil.
Why?

Ara.
They're jealous of him.

Phil.
Who's jealous?

Ara.
The King is.

Phil.
Oh my Fortune!
Then 'tis no idle Story. Let him go.

Ara.
Oh cruel! what are you hard-hearted too?
Who now shall bring you word how much I love you?
Who now shall weep to you the Tears I send?
Who now shall give you Letters, Rings, and Bracelets?
Waste tedious Nights in Stories of your Praise?
And throw away his Health in serving you?
Who shall take up his Lute, and singing to it,
Charm me asleep, making me dream, and cry
Oh my dear, dear Philander?

Phil.
Oh my Heart!
Would he had broken thee, that made thee know
This Lady was not true. Madam, forget
This Boy; I'll get you one a great deal better.

Ara.
Oh, never, never such a Boy again
As my Endymion is.

Phil.
'Tis but your Fancy.

Ara.
With thee, my Boy, farewel for evermore
All Secrecy in Servants; farewel Faith,
And all Desire to do well, for it self:
Let all that shall succeed thee, for thy Wrongs,
Betray chaste Love.

Phil.
And all this Passion for
A Boy?

Ara.
He was your Boy; you put him to me:
The Loss of such a one requires a Mourning.

Phil.
Oh, thou forgetful Woman!

Ara.
How, my Lord?

Phil.
False Araminta; thou hast quite undone me.
Hast thou a Med'cine to restore my Wits
Again, when I have lost 'em? Oh you Gods!
Give me a worthy Patience: Have I stood
Alone the Shock of all the worst Misfortunes?
Have I seen Mischiefs numberless and mighty
Grow like a Sea upon me? Have I taken
Dangers as stern as Death into my Bosom,
And laugh'd upon 'em, made 'em but a Mirth,
And flung 'em off? Do I live under this
Usurping King, like one, who languishing,
Hears his sad Bell, and sees his Mourners by?
Do I bear all this bravely, and must sink
At length under a Woman's Falshood? O,
That Boy, that cursed Boy! None but a Boy
To ease your Lust?

Ara.
Why, did he tell you so?

Phil.
It may be he did.

Ara.
Alas, then I'm undone:
I see the Plot cast for my Overthrow.

Phil.
Now you may take that little Right I have
To this poor Kingdom; give it to your Joy,
For I have no Joy in it. Some far Place,
Where never Womankind durst set her Foot,
I'll seek to curse you in.

Ara.
Oh, I am wretched!

Phil.
There dig a Cave, and preach to Birds and Beasts,
What Woman is, and help to save 'em from you:
How Heav'n is in your Eyes; but in your Hearts
More Hell than Hell has; how your Tongues like Scorpions,
Both heal and poison; how your Thoughts are woven
With thousand Changes in one subtil Web,
And woven so by you: How that foolish Man
That reads the Story of a Woman's Face,
And dies believing it, is lost for ever.
How all the good you have is but a Shadow;
I'th' morning with you, and at night behind you,
Past and forgotten. How your Vows are Frosts,
Fast for a Night, and with the next Sun gone.
How you are, being taken all together,
A meer Confusion, and so dead a Chaos,
Truth's Love can distinguish nothing in you. These
Sad Texts till my last Hour I'm bound to utter.
So farewel all my Woe, all my Delight.

[Exit.
Ara.
Be merciful, you Gods, and strike me dead;
What way have I deserv'd this? Make my Breast
Transparent as pure Christal, that the World,
Jealous of me, may see the foulest Thought
My Heart does hold. Where shall a Woman turn
Her Eyes to find out Constancy? Save me!
Enter Endymion.
How black, methinks, that guilty Boy looks now!
Oh, thou Dissembler! that before thou spak'st
Wer't in thy Cradle false! sent to make Lies,
And betray Innocents: Thy Lord and thou
May glory in the Ashes of a Maid,
Fool'd by her Passion; but the Conquest is
Nothing so great as wicked. Fly away,
Let my Command force thee to that, which Shame
Should do without it. If thou understood'st
The loathed Office thou hast undergone,
Why, thou would'st hide thee under Heaps of Hills,
Lest Men should dig, and find thee.

End.
Oh, what God,
Angry with Men, hath sent this strange Disease
Into the noblest Minds? Madam, this Grief
You add unto me, is no more than Drops
To Seas, for which they are not seen to swell:
My Lord hath struck his Anger through my Heart,
And let out all the Hopes of of future Joys.
You need not bid me fly; I came to part,
To take my latest Leave: Farewel for ever.
I durst not run away, in Honesty,
From such a Lady, like a Boy that stole,
Or made some grievous Fault; the Pow'r of Gods
Assist you in your Suff'rings; hasty Time
Reveal the Truth to your abused Lord,
And mine: That he may know your worth; whilst I
Go seek out some forgotten Place to die.

[Exit.
Ara.
Peace guide thee, thou hast overthrown me once,
Yet if I had another Troy to lose,
Thou or another Villain, with thy Looks,
Might talk me out of it, and send me with
My Hair dishevel'd, through the fiery Streets.

Enter a Lady.
Lady.
Madam, the King has sent for you in haste
To go abroad with him.

Ara.
Whither, d'ye know?

Lady.
A Hunting, Madam.

Ara.
I'm in tune to Hunt.
Diana, if thou canst rage with a Maid,
As with a Man, let me discover thee
Bathing, and turn me to a fearful Hinde,
That I may die, pursu'd by cruel Hounds,
And have my Story written in my Wounds.

[Exeunt.