 | Philaster : or, Love lies a bleeding |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Enter Philaster and Bellario.Phi.
And thou shalt find her honourable, Boy,
Full of regard to thy sweet tender Youth,
For thine own Modesty, and for my sake,
Apter to give, than thou wilt be to ask,
I, or deserve.
Bel.
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 were apt
To conster, a simple Innocence in me,
Perhaps might have been Craft: The Cunning of a Boy
Harden'd 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 over-flowing Love
To them that clap thy Cheeks, and speak thee fair;
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.
Bel.
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.
Bel.
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 Stubborness, if it be so,
Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.
Thy Love does 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 does call thee hence,
And when thou art with her, thou dwell'st with me:
Think so, and 'tis so: And when time is full,
That thou hast well discharg'd 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.
Bel.
I am gone:
But since I am to part with you, my Lord,
And none knows whether I live shall 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 Heaven hate those you curse, tho' I be one.
[Exit.
Phi.
The Love of Boys to their dear 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 Princess employs 'em not, for the reverend Mother sent me word,
they would be all for the Garden. If they should all prove honest now, I were
in a fair taking.
Enter Galatea, crossing the Stage in haste.
Pha.
So, here's one bolted: Now for a fair Chace.
[Aside.
Whither so fast, fair Lady?
What, running Races to catch Hearts?
Gal.
Catch Hearts! Catch Woodcocks.
Pha.
How, Madam! Are poor Lovers—
Gal.
O'th'two, the more brainless Animals.
Pha.
Nay, Madam, speak not so contemptibly
Of your poor Captives, nor that noble Passion, Love:
It is the daily Work of your Creation:
Those Eyes can't look abroad without inspiring
A Thousand Sighs, and melting Souls. No, Madam,
Those lovely Eyes, with all their Heaven of Charms,
Must have one starry Spark of Mercy shine too.
Yes, you can love a little.
I love! Yes, Sir, most passionately. I love a Mornings Ramble, an
Evening's Play, gay Mirth, and flowing Joys; soft Hours, sweet sleeps, and
golden Dreams to crown 'em; provided I have neither Fops, Fools, nor
Fiddles to wake me out of 'em.
Pha.
Nay, Madam, if Fops and Fools are only excluded, then Wit and
Sense, belike, those happier Favourites, may hope a kinder Treatment.
Gal.
Nay, Sir, I cant tell that neither; For Wit and Sense are such Strangers
to this part of the World, that I declare I am that young Traveller, as
never went far enough to meet with either of 'em.
Pha.
Nay, my fair Critick, now you are too severe.
But, Madam, not to lose th'important Minute,
But come a little seriously
To the great business Love and Beauty's born for;
Should a bold pushing Lover pitch before you,
What with a fair Challenge and a fair Field, is there no hopes of drawing
you to a fair Battel too.
Gal.
Faith, Sir, none at all: For, to answer you in your own Martial Dialect,
there's Policy in Love, as well as War: And wise Ladies act like
prudent Generals; we love, as they fight; never engage, but upon
Advantage.
Pha.
Nay, then, there's no way left but down-right Canonading.
Gal.
Nay, troth, Sir, that will do but little service neither: For to tell
you the Truth, what between a little natural Pride, feminine Honour, and
some other Virgin Ramparts about me, my Out-works are so very strong,
that all your Canonading will do but feeble Execution.
Pha.
This is a crafty Wench, I like her Wit well: She's a Danae, and
must be courted in a Shower of Gold. Madam, look here, all these, and
more,—
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'll
send my Man with Silver, and keep your Gold for you.
Pha.
Lady, Lady.
Gall.
She's coming, Sir, behind, will take white Money. Yet for all this
I'll watch ye.
[Exit Gal. behind the Hangings.
Pha.
If there be but two such more in this Kingdom, and near the Court,
we may ev'n hang up our Harps; ten such Champhier Constitutions as this,
would call the Golden Age again in question.
Here's another. Many fair Mornings, Lady.
Meg.
As many Mornings bring as many Days,
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 talk an Hour
Meg.
What would your grace talk of?
Pha.
Of some such pretty Subject as your self.
I'll go no farther 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, and red enough;
Or my Glass wrongs me.
Pha.
O they are two twin 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 has Snow enough about her Heart
To take the wanton Spring of ten such Lines off,
May be a Nun without Probation.
Pha.
But we lose time, dear Madam:
Can you love?
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.
This is all; love me, and lye with me:
Meg.
Was it lye 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'll go to Bed; I'll lose my royal Blood for't.
Meg.
Why, Prince, you have a Lady of your own, that yet wants teaching.
Pha.
I'll 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.
Pha.
And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest Lady—
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. 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. Come, I
know you are bashful, speak in my Ear, will you be mine? Keep this, and
with it me, at Night I'll visit you.
My Lord, my Chamber's most unsafe, but when 'tis Night, I'll 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'll 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 done't?
La.
Yes, Madam.
Are.
'Tis a pretty sad talking Boy, is it not?
Asked 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 says she has done that you would have wish'd.
Are.
Hast thou discovered?
Gal.
I have strain'd a point of Modesty for you.
Are.
I prithee how?
Gal.
In listning after bawdery: I see, let a Lady live never so modestly,
she shall be sure to find one lawful time to hearken after bawdery; your
Prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on't.
Are.
With whom?
Gal.
Why, with the Lady I suspected: 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:
Where's the Boy?
Enter Bellario.
La.
Here, Madam.
Are.
Sir, you are sad to change your Service, is't not so?
Bel.
Madam, I have not chang'd: I wait on you,
To do him Service.
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 Breath troubles them: Believe me, Boy,
Care seeks out wrinckled 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 deceived, Boy; does he speak of me
as if he wish'd me well?
Bell.
If it be Love,
To forget all respect to his own Friends,
With thinking of your Face; if it be Love
To sit cross-arm'd, and think away the Day,
Mingled with Starts, crying your Name as loud
And hastily, as Men i'th'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 says, to name you once,
As others drop a Bead; if this be to be in Love;
Then, Madam, I dare swear he loves you.
Are.
O, y'are a cunning Boy, and taught to lye
For your Lord's credit; but thou knowest a lye
That bears this sound is welcomer to me,
Than any Truth that says he loves me not.
Lead the way, Boy, do you attend me too:
'Tis thy Lord's business hastes me thus, away.
[Exeunt.
Enter Dion, Cleremont, Thraselin, Megra, Galatea.
Dion.
Come Ladies, shall we talk a round, As men
Do walk a mile? Women should talk an hour
After supper: 'Tis their Excercise.
Gal.
'Tis late.
Meg.
'Tis all
My Eyes will do to lead me to my Bed.
Gal.
I fear they are so heavy, you'll scarce find
The way to your own Lodging with 'em to night.
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 chuse, 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?
Cler.
Yes, Madam.
Are.
Wait you there.
[Exit Are.
Meg.
She's jealous, as I live: look you, my Lord,
The Princess has a Hylas, 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.
Dion.
Serves he the Princess?
Thra.
Yes.
Dion.
'Tis a sweet Boy, how brave she keeps him!
Pha.
Ladies all, good rest; I mean to kill a Buck
To Morrow Morning e're y'ave done your Dreams.
[Exit.
Meg.
All happiness attend your Grace: Gentlemen, good rest.
Come, shall we to Bed?
Gal.
Yes. All good night.
[Ex. Gal. Meg.
Dion.
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.
K.
Look your Intelligence be true.
Are.
Upon my Life it is.
K.
Haste some of you, and cunningly discover,
If Megra be in her Lodging.
[Exit Dion.
Cler.
Sir, she parted hence but now with other Ladies.
K.
If she be there, we shall not need to make
A vain Discovery of our Suspicion.
Are.
But, Sir, I hope your Highness will not tye use to a Man
That in the heat of woing throws me off,
And takes another.
What should this mean!
King.
If it be true
That Lady had much better have embraced
Cureless Diseases. Get you to your Rest,
[Exeunt Areth. Bel. &c.
You shall be righted. Gentlemen, draw near,
We shall employ you. Is Young Pharamond
Come to his Lodging?
Thra.
I saw him enter there.
King.
Well; a few Minutes
Shall solve this lowring Riddle. And if this
Lascivious Syren Fiend has play'd the Traytress—
Enter Dion.
Dion.
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 cry'd, my business was a matter
that concern'd Life and Death. They answer'd, so was Sleeping, at which
their Lady was. I urg'd again, she had scarce time to be so since I last 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 Prince's 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?
By my vexed Soul,
He meets his Death, that meets me, for this boldness.
K.
Prince, you wrong our thoughts, we are your Friends,
Come down.
Pha.
The King?
K.
The same, Sir; come down,
[Enter Pharamond below.
We have cause of present Counsel with you.
Pha.
If your Grace please to use me, I'le attend you
To your Chamber.
K.
No, 'tis too late, Prince, I'le make bold with yours.
Pha.
I have some private Reasons to my self,
Make me unmannerly, and say you cannot:
Nay, press not forward, Gentlemen; he must come
Through my life, that comes here.
K.
Sir, be resolv'd, I must, and will come: Enter.
Pha.
I will not be dishonour'd;
Sir, 'tis a sign you make no Stranger of me,
To bring these Renegadoes to my Chamber,
At these unseason'd Hours.
K.
Why do you
Chafe your self so? You are not wrong'd, nor shall be:
Only 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.
K.
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.
K.
Will you come down?
Meg.
Yes, to laugh at your worst: but I shall wring you,
If my Skill fail me not.
K.
Sir, I must dearly chide you for this Looseness,
You have wrong'd a worthy Lady; but no more,
Conduct him to his Lodging, and to Bed.
Cle.
Get him another Wench, and you bring him to Bed indeed.
Dion.
'Tis strange a Man cannot ride a Stage
Or two, to breathe himself, without a Warrant:
If this Geer hold, that Lodgings be search'd thus,
Pray Heaven we may lie with our Wives in safety,
That they be not by some trick of State mistaken.
Enter Megra.
K.
Now Lady of Honour, where's your Honour now?
No man can fit your Pallat, but the Prince;
Thou most ill shrowded rottenness.
Had you none to pull on with your Courtesies,
But he that must be mine, and wrong my Daughter?
By all the Gods, all these, and all the Pages,
And all the Court, shall hoot thee through the Court,
Fling rotten Oranges, make ribald Rimes,
And sear thy Name with Candles upon Walls:
Do ye laugh, Lady Venus?
Meg.
Faith, Sir, you must pardon me;
If you do this, O King; nay if you dare do it;
By all those Gods you swore by, and as many
More of my own; I will have Fellows, and such
Fellows in it, as shall make noble Mirth:
The Princess your dear Daughter, shall stand by me
On Walls, and sung in Ballads, any thing:
Urge me no more, I know her, and her haunts,
Her layes, leaps, out-layes, and will discover all;
Nay, will dishonour her. I know the Boy
She keeps, a handsome Boy: About Eighteen;
know what she does with him, where and when.
Come, Sir, you put me to a Woman's Madness,
The glory of a fury; and if I do not
Do it to the height!
K.
What Boy is this she raves at?
Meg.
Alas, good minded Prince, you know not these things;
I am loth to reveal 'em: Keep this Fault
As you would keep your Health from the hot Air
Of the corrupted People, or by Heaven,
I will not fall alone: what I have known,
Shall be as publick as a Print; all Tongues
Shall speak it as they do the Languge they
Are born in, as free and commonly; I'll set it
Like a prodigious Star for all to gaze at,
And so high and glowing, that other Kingdoms far and Forreign,
Shall read it there: nay, travail with it, till they find
No Tongue to make it more, nor no more People;
And then behold the fall of your fair Princess.
K.
Has she a Boy?
Cler.
So please your Grace, I have seen a Boy wait
On her, a fair Boy.
K.
Go, get you to your Quarter:
For this time I'll study to forget you.
Meg.
Do you study to forget me, and I'll study
To forget you.
[Ex. K. Meg. Guard.
Cler.
Why here's a male spirit for Hercules, if ever there be nine Worthies
of Women, this Wench shall ride a stride and be their Captain.
Dion.
Sure she has a Garrison of Devils in her Tongue, she uttered such
Balls of Wild-fire. She has so netled the King, that all the Doctors in the
Country will scarce cure him. That Boy was a strange found out Antidote to
cure her Infections; that Boy, that Princess's Boy; that brave chaste, vertuous
Lady's Boy; and a fair Boy, a well-spoken Boy: All these considered, can
make nothing else—but there I leave you, Gentlemen.
Thra.
Nay, we'll go wander with you.
[Exeunt.
| Philaster : or, Love lies a bleeding | |