University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter Cler. Dion, Thra.
Cler.
Nay, doubtless 'tis true.

Dion.
I, and 'tis the Gods
That rais'd this Punishment to scourge the King
With his own Issue: Is it not a shame
For us, that should write Noble in the Land?
For us, that should be Free-Men, to behold
A Man, that is the bravery of his Age,
Philaster, prest down by a thousand Injuries
By this ungrateful 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
Married 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.

Thra.
That Man that would not stir with you
To aid Philaster, let the Gods forget,
That such a Creature walks upon the Earth.

Cler.
The Gentry do all wait it; and the People
All like a field of standing Corn, that's moved
With a stiff Gale; their Heads bow all before him.

Dion.
But that which we have too much Ground to fear,
Will hold Philaster back from joyning us
In this Attempt, is the fair Princess Love,
Which he admires, and we can now confute.

Thra.
Perhaps he'll not believe it.

Dion.
Why, Gentlemen, 'tis without question so.

Cler.
I, 'tis past speech, she lives dishonestly:
But how shall we, if he be curious, work
Upon his Faith?

Thra.
We are all satisfied within our selves.

Dion.
Since it is true, and tends to his own Good,
I'll make this new Report to be my Knowledge,
I'll say I know it: Nay, I'll swear I saw it.

Cler.
It will be best.

Thra.
'Twill move him.

Enter Philaster.
Dion.
Here he comes. Good morrow to your Honour;
We have spent some time in seeking you.

Phi.
My worthy Friends, you that can keep your Memories
To know your Friend in Miseries; a good Day
Attend you all.

Dion.
My ever honoured Lord,
We come to urge that Virtue which we know
Lives in your Breast: 'Forth, rise, and make a Head,
The Nobles and the Peope are all dull'd
With this ungrateful King: And not a Man
That ever heard the Word, or knew such a Thing
As Virtue, but will second your Attempts.

Phi.
What do I live to hear? Oh! Gentlemen,
As you would have your Names, your deathless Names,
Fill the fair Annals of recorded Glory,
Blot not your Memories with a Stain so impious.

Dion.
No, thou too matchless Honour, can we live
Those Galless-doves, thus to behold such Virtue
Loaded and crusht beneath thy Weight of Injuries.

Phi.
My Injuries! No, my too generous Friends,
I have no Wrongs; you do not hear me murmur.

Dion.
No Wrongs! And such prodigious Services
Thus barbarously paid! thy Toyls, thy Victories,
A conquer'd Kingdom! and so lean a Harvest
From such a Field of Lawrels.

Phi.
Conquer'd! Name it not.
The Chance of War, meer Providence. Consider,
It was my stars that battel'd, and not I.
But say, that I have conquer'd, grant me all
Your utmost love can give: Say, I've won Empires,
Worn Crowns upon my Sword in your King's Cause;
And he, perhaps, forgets me!
'Las, Gentlemen, I want not his Remembrance.
If I've done well, the Glory of well-doing
Repays it self; Virtue's its own Reward,
In its rich self a fair and ample Patrimony;
And stands above the poor and sordid thought
Of mercenary Hope.

Dion.
Oh thou bright Miracle
Of unexampled Worth! Suppose that we
Can bear thy Wrongs, can we support our own?
Those poor Hen-hearted Slaves, that abject Patience,
To see the fair Succession of a Crown,
Power's Soveraign Regalia made th'Inheritance
Of Lust and Shame: Perhaps a base-got Brood,
Rais'd up to tread upon the Necks of Honour.
The Princess, Sir, that once lov'd Beauty, now
The universal Hate—

Phi.
Why, what of her!

Dion.
Is loath'd as much as he.

Phi.
By what strange means?

Dion.
She's known a Whore.

Phi.
Thou liest—

Dion.
My Lord—

Phi.
Thou liest.
And thou shalt feel it. I had thought thy Mind
Had been 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
Amongst the People, fruitful to increase
All evil they shall hear. Let me alone,
That I may cut off falshood, whilst 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 Clowd.

Dion.
This is most strange:
Sure he does love her.

Phi.
I do love fair Truth:
She is my Mistress, and who injures her,
Draws Vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my Arms.

Thra.
Nay, good my Lord, be patient.

Cler.
Sir, remember this is your honour'd Friend,
That comes to do his Service, and will shew you
Why he utter'd this.

Phi.
I ask you Pardon, Sir,
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.

Dion.
But this, my Lord, is Truth.

Phi.
O say not so, good Sir, forbear to say so.
Is it then truth, that Woman-kind is false?
Urge me no more, it is impossible.
Why should you think the Princess light?

Dion.
Why, she was taken at it.

Phi.
'Tis false, by Heaven 'tis false: It cannot be,
Can it? Speak Gentlemen, for Heaven's Love speak;
Is't possible? can Women all be damn'd?

Dion.
Why no, my Lord:

Phi.
Why then it cannot be.

Dion.
And she was taken with her Boy.

Phi.
What Boy?

Dion.
A Page, a Boy that serves her.

Phi.
Oh good Gods, a little Boy!

Dion.
I, know you him, my Lord?

Phi.
Hell and Sin, know him! Sir, you are deceiv'd:
I'll reason it a little coldy 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.

Dion.
How you, my Lord?

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

Dion.
Oh, noble Sir, your Vertues
Can't look into the subtle Thoughts of Woman.
In short, my Lord, I took them: I my self.

Phi.
Now all the Devils thou didst, fly from my Rage,
Would thou hadst ta'ne Furies ingendring Plagues,
When thou didst take them; hide thee from my Eyes;
Would thou hadst taken Thunder on thy Breast,
When thou didst take them; or been strucken Dumb
For ever: that this foul Deed might have slept
In silence.

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

Cler.
Never before.

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

Dion.
Why, my Lord, are you so mov'd at this?

Phi.
When any fall from Vertue; I am distracted,
I have an Interest in't.

Dion.
But good, my Lord, recall your self,
And think what's best to be done.

Phi.
I thank you, I will do it:
Please you to leave me, I'll consider of it;
To-morrow I will find your Lodging forth,
And give you answer.

Dion.
All the Gods direct you
The readiest way.

Thra.
He was extream impatient.

Cler.
It was his Virtue and his noble Mind.

[Ex. Dion, Cler. Thra.
Phi.
I had forgot to ask him where he took them:
I'll follow him. O that I had a Sea
Within my Breast, to quench the Flames 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 'em from them, and you take at once,
Their Spleens away; and they will fall again
To their fair Pastures, growing fresh and fat,
And taste the Waters of the Springs as sweet
As 'twas before. They find no start in sleep.
Enter Bellario.
But miserable Man! See, see—you Gods,
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
To intrap Mortality, that you allow
Treason so smooth a Brow? I cannot now
Think he is guilty.

Bel.
Health to you, my Lord:
The Princess does commend her Love, her Life,
And this to your dear Hand.

Phi.
Oh Bellario:
Now I perceive she loves me, she does shew it
In loving thee, my Boy, she has made thee brave.

Bel.
My Lord, she has attir'd me past my Wish,
Past my Desert, most fit for her Attendant,
Tho' far unfit for me, who do attend.

Phi.
Thou art grown courtly, Boy. O let all Women
That love black Deeds, learn to dissemble here:
Here, in this Paper. She does write to me,
As if her Heart were Mines of Adamant
To all the World besides, but to me only,
A Maiden-snow that melted with my looks.
Tell me, my Boy, how does the Princess use thee?
For I shall guess her Love to me by that.

Bel.
Scarce like her Servant, but as if I were
Something allied to her; Or had preserv'd
Her Life three times by my Fidelity;
As Mothers fond do use their only Sons:
As I'de use one left to my careful Trust,
For whom my Life should pay, if he met harm:
So she does use me.

Phi.
Why this is wondrous well:
But what kind Language does she feed thee with?

Bel.
Why, she does 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're she spake.

Phi.
This is much better still.

Bel.
Are you not ill, my Lord?

Phi.
Ill? No Bellario.

Bel.
Methinks your words
Fall not from off your tongue so evenly;
Nor is there in your looks that quietness
That I was wont to see.

Phi.
Thou art deceiv'd, Boy:
And she strokes thy head?

Bel.
Yes.

Phi.
And she does clap thy cheeks?

Bel.
She does, my Lord.

Phi.
And she does kiss thee, Boy? ha?

Bel.
How, my Lord?

Phi.
She kisses thee?

Bel.
Never, my Lord, by Heav'n.

Phi.
That's strange: I know she does.

Bel.
No, by my life.

Phi.
Why then she does not love me; come, she does;
I bad 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, gentle Boy,
Is she not paralless? is not her breath
Sweet as Arabian winds? Are not her Breasts,
Two Sunny Banks of Paradise, Pillows
For Revelling Love to melt a Soul in Extasies:
Is she not all a lasting Mine of Joy?

Bel.
I, now I see, why my disturbed thoughts
Where so perplext. When first I went to her
My heart held augury; you are abus'd,
Some Villain has abus'd you: now I see
To what you tend: fall Rocks upon his head,
That put this to you: 'tis some subtle train,
To bring that noble Frame of yours to naught.

Phi.
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 placed thee there,
To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds:
Hast thou discovered; is she faln to lust,
As I would wish her? speak some comfort to me.

Bel.
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.

Phi.
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.

Bel.
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.

Phi.
Then 'tis no time to dally with thee;
I will take thy life, for I do hate thee:
I could curse thee now.

Bel.
If you do hate, you could not curse me worse:
The Gods have not a punishment in store,
Greater for me, than is your hate.

Phi.
Fie, fie, so young and so dissembling:
Tell me when, and where, thou didst enjoy her,
Or let plagues fall on me, if I destroy thee not.

Bel.
By Heaven I never did: and when I lie
To save my life, may I live long and loath'd;
Hew me asunder, and whilst I can think,
I'le love those pieces you have cut away,
Better than those that grow: and kiss those limbs,
Because you made 'em so.

Phi.
Fear'st thou not death?
Can Boys contemn that?

Bel.
Oh, what Boy is he
Can be content to live to be a man,
That sees the best of men thus passionate,
Thus without Reason?

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

Bel.
Yes, I do know, my Lord:
'Tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep,
A quiet resting from all jealousie:
A thing we all pursue: I know besides,
It is but giving over of a game,
That must be lost.

Phi.
But there are pains, false Boy,
For perjur'd Souls: think but on those, and then
Thy Heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.

Bel.
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.

Phi.
Why, who can but believe him? He does swear
So earnestly, that if it were not true,
The Gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario,
Thy Protestations are so deep, and thou
Dost look so truly, when thou utterest them,
That though I know 'em false, as were my hopes,
I cannot urge thee farther; but thou wert
Too blame to injure me: It troubles me
That I have call'd the Blood out of thy Cheeks,
That did so well become thee: But, good Boy,
Let me not see thee more; something is done
That will distract me, that will make me mad,
If I behold thee: If thou tender'st me,
Let me not see thee.

Bel.
I will flie as far
As there is Morning, e're I give distaste
To that most honoured Mind. But through these Tears
Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see
A world of Treason practised 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 shed from you in my memory,
And I shall rest at peace.

[Exit Bel.
Phi.
Blessings be with thee,
What ever thou deservest. Oh, where shall I
Go bathe this Body? Nature too unkind,
That made no Medicine for a troubled Mind.

[Exit Phi.
Enter Arethusa.
Are.
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 I remember'd him, when his dear Name
Was last spoke, and how, when I sigh'd, wept, sung,
And ten thousand such: I should be angry
At his stay.

Enter King.
K.
What, at your Meditations? Who attends you?

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

K.
Tell me, have you not a Boy?

Are.
Yes, Sir.

K.
What kind of Boy?

Are.
A Page, a waiting Boy.

K.
A handsom Boy?

Are.
I think he is not ugly:
Well qualified, and dutiful, I know him,
I took him not for Beauty.

K.
He speaks and sings, and plays?

Are.
Yes, Sir.

K.
About eighteen?

Are.
I never ask'd his age.

K.
Is he full of service?

Are.
By your pardon, why do you ask?

K.
Put him away.

Are.
Sir.

K.
Put him away, h'as done you that good service
Shames me to speak of.

Are.
Good Sir, let me understand you.

K.
If you fear me,
Shew it me in duty; put away that Boy.

Are.
Let me have reason for it, Sir, and then
Your will is my command.

K.
Do not you blush to ask it: Cast him off,
Or I shall do the same to you.

Are.
What have I done, my Lord?

K.
'Tis a new Language, that all love to learn:
The common People speak it well already,
They need no Grammar; understand me well,
There be foul wispers stirring: cast him off,
And suddenly; do it: Farewel.

[Exit King.
Are.
Where may a Maiden live securely free,
Keeping her Honour fair? Not with the living,
They feed upon Opinions, Errors, Dreams,
And make 'em Truths: they draw a Nourishment
Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces,
And when they see a Virtue fortified
Strongly above the batt'ry of their tongues:
Oh, how they cast to sink it: and defeated
(Soul-sick with poison) strike the Monuments
Where noble Names lie sleeping: till they sweat,
And the cold Marble melt.

Enter Philaster.
Phi.
Peace to your fairest thoughts, my dearest Mistress.

Are.
Oh, my dear Servant, I have a war within me.

Phi.
He must be more than man, that makes those Crystals
Run into Rivers: sweetest fair, the cause?
And as I am your slave, tied to your goodness,
I'le right your Honour.

Are.
Oh, my best Love, that Boy!

Phi.
What Boy?

Are.
The pretty Boy you gave me:

Phi.
What of him?

Are.
Must be no more mine.

Phi.
Why?

Are.
They are jealous of him.

Phi.
Jealous, who?

Are.
The King.

Phi.
Oh my Fortune,
Then 'tis no idle jealousie. Let him go.

Are.
Oh cruel Fate! Are you hard-hearted too?
Who shall now tell you, how I love you? Who
Shall Swear it to you, and weep the Tears I send?
Who shall now bring you Letters, Rings and Bracelets?
Lose his sweet Health in his dear Master's Service;
Wake tedious Nights in Stories of your Praise?
Who shall take up his Lute, and touch it, till
He crown a silent Sleep upon my Eye-lids,
Making me dream, and cry, Oh my dear,
Dear Philaster.

Phi.
Oh my Heart!
Would he had broken thee, that made thee know
This Lady was not Loyal. Mistress, forget
The Boy, I'll get thee a far better.

Are.
Oh never, never such a Boy again,
As my Bellario.

Bel.
'Tis but your fond Affection.

Are.
With thee, my Boy, farewel for ever,
All Secresie in Servants: farewel Faith,
And all desire to do well for it self:
Let all that shall succeed thee, for thy Wrongs,
Sell and betray chast Love.

Phi.
And all this Passion for a Boy?

Are.
He was your Boy, and, Sir, you put him to me,
And the loss of such a one, must have a mourning for.

Phi.
O thou forgetful Woman!

Are.
How, my Lord?

Phi.
False Arethusa!
Hast thou a Medicine to restore my Wits,
When I have lost 'em? If not, leave to talk,
And do thus—

Are.
Do what, Sir?

Phi.
Oh, you Gods!
Give me a worthy Patience: Have I stood
Naked, alone, the Shock of many Fortunes?
Have I seen Mischiefs numberless, and mighty,
Grow like a Sea upon me? Have I taken
Danger as stern as Death into my Bosom,
And laught upon it, made it but a Mirth,
And flung it by? And must I sink at length
Under a Woman's falshood? Oh that Boy,
That cursed Boy! none but a Villain Boy,
To meet your shame.

Are.
Nay, then I am betray'd,
I feel the Plot cast for my overthrow:
Oh I am wretched.

Phi.
Now you may take your Cicily and Calabria,
And give 'em to your Joy, your darling Joy;
For I have no Joy left. Some distant Place,
Where never Womankind durst set her Foot,
For bursting with her Poysons, must I seek,
And live to curse you:
There dig a Cave, and preach to Birds and Beasts,
What Woman is, and help to save them from you.
How Heaven is in your Eyes, but in your Hearts
More Hell than Hell has: How your Tongues like Scorpions,
Both heal and poyson: 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 you are, being taken all together,
A meer Confusion, and so dead a Chaos,
That Love cannot distinguish. These sad Texts
Till my last Hour, I am bound to utter of you:
So farewel all my Woe, all my Delight.

Exit Phi.
Are.
Be merciful, ye Gods, and strike me dead:
What way have I deserv'd this? make my Breast
Transparent as pure Crystal, that the World,
Jealous of me, may see the foulest Thought
My Heart holds. Where shall a Woman turn her Eyes,
Enter Bellario.
To find out constancy? Save me! how black
And guiltily (methinks) that Boy looks now?
Oh thou Dissembler, that, before thou spak'st,
Wert 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
Would do without it. If thou understoodst
The most loath'd Office thou hast undergone,
Why, thou wouldst hide thee under heaps of Hills,
Lest Men should dig and find thee.

Bel.
Oh! what God
Angry with Men, has sent this strange Disease
Into the noblest Minds? Madam, this Grief
You add to me,'s no more than Drops to Seas,
For which, alas! they are not seen to swell:
My Lord has struck his Anger through my Heart,
And let out all the hope of future Joys.
You need not bid me flie, 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 Power of Gods
Assist you in your Sufferings: hasty time
Reveal the Truth to your abus'd dear Lord,
And mine: That he may know your worth; whilst I
Go seek out some forgotten Place to die.

[Ex. Bel.
Are.
Peace guide thee: Thou hast overthrown me once,
Yet, if I had another Troy to lose,
Thou, or another Traytor with thy looks,
Might talk me out of it, and send me naked,
My Hair dishevel'd, through the fiery Streets.

Enter a Lady.
La.
Madam, the King would hunt, and calls for you.

Are.
I am 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 some fearful Hind,
That I may dye pursued by cruel Hounds,
And have my Story written in my Wounds.

[Exeunt.