 | Philaster : or, Love lies a bleeding |  |
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ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Enter King, Pharamond, Arethusa, Galatea, Megra, Dion, Cleremont, Trasilin and Attendants.King.
VVhat, are the Hounds before, and all the Woodmen!
Dion.
All, Sir.
King.
You're cloudy, Sir; Come, we have forgotten your venial Trespass;
let not that sit heavy [to Phar.]
upon your Spirit: None dare
utter it.
Dion.
He looks like an old surfeited Stallion after his leaping: Dull as a
Dormouse: See how he sinks, the Wench has shot him betwixt wind and
water; and, I hope, sprung a Leak.
Tras.
Oh, he's a precious Lime-hound: Turn him loose upon the pursuit
of a Lady, and if he lose her, hang him up i'th'Slip. When my Fox-bitch,
Beauty, grows proud, I'll borrow him.
King.
Is your Boy turn'd away?
Areth.
You did command, Sir, and I obey'd you.
King.
'Tis well done; hark you farther.
Cler.
Is't possible that fellow should repent! Methinks that were not noble
in him; and yet he looks like a mortified Member. If a worse Man had done
his Fault now, some Physical Justice or other wou'd presently, without the
help of an Almanack, have open'd the Obstructions of his Liver, and let him
blood with a Dog-whip.
Dion.
See, see, how modestly yond Lady looks; as if she came from
Churching with her Neighbour; why, what a Devil can a Man see in her
face, but that she's honest?
Tras.
Troth, no great matter to speak of, but a foolish twinkling of the
Eye that spoils her Coat; but he must be a cunning Herauld that finds it.
Dion.
See how they muster one another! Oh there's a rank Regiment,
where the Devil carries the Colours, and his Dam Drum-Major. Now the
World and the Flesh come behind with the Carriage.
King.
To Horse, to Horse, we lose the Morning, Gentlemen.
[Exeunt.
Enter Two Wood-men.
1 Wood.
What, have you lodg'd the Deer!
2 Wood.
Yes, they are ready for the Bow.
1 VVood.
Who shoots!
2 VVood.
The Princess.
1 VVood.
No, she'll hunt.
2 VVood.
She'll take a stand, I say.
1 VVood.
Who else!
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Why, the young Stranger Prince.
1 VVood.
He, out on him! I never loved his beyon'd-Sea-ship, since he
forsook the Stag once to strike a Rascal milking in a Meadow; and her he
kill'd i'th'Eye. Who shoots else?
2 VVood.
The Lady Galatea.
1 VVood.
That's a good Wench, and she wou'd not chide us for tumbling
of her Women in the Brakes; she's Liberal, and by my Bow, they say she's
honest; and whether that be a fault I have nothing to do. There's all.
2. VVood.
No, one more, Megra.
1. VVood
That's a firker 'lfaith Boy, There's a Wench will ride her
Haunches as hard after a Kennel of Hounds as a Hunting Saddle; and when she
comes home get 'em Clap't, and all's well again. I have known her lose her
self three times in one Afternoon (if the Woods have been answerable), and
it has been work enough for a Man to find her, and he has sweat for't.
[Exeunt.
Scene changes, Enter Philaster.
Phila.
Oh that I had been nourish'd in these Woods
With Milk of Goats, and Acorns, and not known
The Right of Crowns, nor the dissembling Trains
Of Womens looks; but dig'd my self a Cave
Where I, my Fire, my Cattle, and my Bed,
Might have been shut together in one Shed.
And then had taken me some Mountain Girl,
Beaten with Winds, chast as the harden'd Rocks
Whereon she dwells; that might have strow'd my Bed
With Leaves and Reeds, and with the Skins of Beasts,
Our Neighbours; and have born at her big Breasts,
My large course Issue. This had been a Life
Free from Vexation.
[sits down.]
Enter Bellario.
Bell.
Oh wicked Men!
An Innocent may walk safe among Beasts.
Nothing assaults me here—See my griev'd Lord
Sits as his Soul were searching out a way
To leave his Body. Pardon me that must
Break thy last commandment: For I must speak.
You that are griev'd can pity. Hear my Lord—
Phila.
Is there a Creature yet so miserable
That I can pity!
Bell.
Oh my Noble Lord!
View my strange Fortune, and bestow on me
According to your bounty, and (if my Service
Can merit nothing) so much as may serve
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From Cold and Hunger.
Phila.
Is it Thou! Begone.
Go sell those misbecoming Cloaths thou wear'st
And feed thy self with them.
Bell.
Alas! my Lord, I can get nothing for 'em;
The silly Country People think it Treason
To touch such gay Things.
Phil.
Now, by my Life, this is unkindly done,
To vex me with thy sight, Thou'rt fal'n again
To thy dissembling Trade; even so thou spok'st and look'st
When first I took thee up: Curse on the Day!
If thy commanded Tears can work belief
On any other Credulous heart like mine,
Make use of thy false Arts, I'll not betray thee:
Now, which way wilt thou take, that I may shun thee,
For thou art Poyson to my Eyes, and I
Am loath to grow in Rage: This way or that way.
Bell.
Any will serve; but I will chose to have
That Path in chase that leads me to my Grave.
[Exeunt several ways.
Scene changes, Enter Dion, and the Woodmen.
Dion.
This is the strangest suddain Chance! You VVoodmen.
1. VVood.
My Lord Dion!
Dion.
Saw you a Lady come this way, on a Sable Horse studded with
Stars of white?
2. VVood.
Was she not Young and Tall?
Dion.
Yes, Rid she to the Wood, or to the Plain?
1. VVood.
Faith my Lord, we saw none.
[Exeunt Woodmen.
Enter Cleremond.
Dion.
Pox o'your Question then: What is she found?
Clere.
Nor will be I think.
Dion.
Let him seek her himself; she cannot stray about some necessary
business, but the whole Court must be in Arms: When she has done we shall
have Peace.
Clere.
There's already a Thousand Fatherless Tales amongst us. Some
say her Horse run away with her, some, a Wolf pursued her; others, It was
a Plot to Kill her, and that Arm'd-men were seen in the Wood: But questionless
she rode away willingly.
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King.
Where is she?
Clere.
Sir, I cannot tell.
King.
How's that! Answer me that again.
Clere.
Sir, shall I Lye?
King.
Yes, Lye and Damn rather than tell me that.
I say again, Where is she? Mutter not:
Sir, speak you where she is?
Dion.
Sir, I do not know.
King.
Speak that again so boldly, and by Heav'n
It is thy last. Answer me,
Where is she. Mark me all; I am your King,
I wish to see my Daughter: Shew her me,
I do Command you all, as you are Subjects,
To shew her me. What, am I not your King!
If ay, Then am I not to be Obey'd?
Dion.
Yes, if you Command things possible and honest.
King.
Things possible and honest! Hear me, then,
Thou Traytor, that dar'st confine thy King to
Things possible and honest, shew her me,
Or let me perish, if I cover not
All Sicily in Blood.
Dion.
Indeed I cannot, unless you tell me where.
King.
You have betray'd me, you have let me lose
The Jewel of my Life. Go, bring her me,
And set her here before me. 'Tis the King
Will have it so, whose breath can still the Winds,
Uncloud the Sun, charm down the swelling Sea,
And stop the Floods of Heav'n; speak, Can it not?
Dion.
No.
King.
No, can't the breath of Kings do this!
Dion.
No, nor smell sweet it self, if once the Lungs
Be but Corrupted.
King.
Is it so! take heed.
Dion.
Sir, take you heed how 'tis you dare the Powers
That must be just.
King.
Alas, what are we Kings?
Why do, you Gods, place us above the rest
To be serv'd, flatter'd, and ador'd, till we
Believe we hold within our Hands your Thunder;
And when we come to try the Power we have,
There's not a Leaf shakes at our threatnings;
I have sin'd, it's true, yet wou'd not thus be punisht.
Dion.
He Articles with the Gods, wou'd some body wou'd draw
Bonds for the performance of Covenants between them.
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King.
What, is she found!
Phar.
No, we have ta'ne her Horse:
He Gallopt empty by: You Galatea
Rod with her into the Wood, Why left you her?
Gal.
She did Command me.
King.
Command you!—
Gal.
'Twou'd ill become my Fortunes and my Birth,
To disobey the Daughter of my King.
King.
You are all cunning to obey us for our hurt,
But I will have her.
Phar.
If I have her not,
By this Hand there shall be no more Sicily.
Dion.
What, will he carry it to Spain in his Pocket?
King.
I see the Injuries I have done must be reveng'd.
Dion.
Sir, This is not the way to find her out.
King.
Run all, disperse your selves. The Man that finds her or (if she's
kill'd) the Traytor, I'll make him Great.
Phar.
Come let us seek.
King.
Each Man a several way,
Here I my self.
Dion.
Come, Gentlemen, we here.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE Changes.
Enter Arethusa.
Areth.
Where am I now! Feet, find me out a way
Without the Counsel of my troubled Head;
I'll follow you around these wander'd Woods
O'er Mountains, thoro' Brambles, Pits, and Floods.
A heavyness near Death sits on my Brow,
And I must sleep. Kind Heav'n, I hope my Hour
[Lyes down.
Of peace draws on, a dulness shuts my Eyes,
And I am giddy: Oh that I cou'd take
So sound a sleep that I might never wake.
Enter Bellario.
Bell.
Yonders my Lady. Heav'n knows I want nothing,
Because I do not wish to live. Yet I
Will try her Charity—oh hear,
You that have plenty, from that flowing store—
But see—the lively Red is gone to guard her Heart,
I fear she faints—Madam, look up—She breaths not.
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My Lord your last farewell—But see, she stirs:
How is it, Madam—speak comfort
[Kneeling to help her.
Areth.
'Tis not gently done,
To put me in a miserable Life,
And hold me there. I prethee let me go;
I shall do best without thee.
Enter Philaster.
Phil.
I was to blame to be so much in rage,
I'll tell her coolly when and where I heard
This killing Truth. I will be temperate
In speaking, and as just in hearing. Ha!
Scorpions, and Basilisks!
Bell.
My Lord, help, help, the Princess.
Areth.
I am well.
Forbear, and leave me.
Phil.
Some good God look down
And shrink my Veins up—what before my Face!
Poyson of Asps between your Lips; Diseases
Be your best Issues. Nature make a Curse
And throw it on you.
Areth.
Dear Philaster, leave
To be inrag'd, and hear me.
Phil.
I have done.
Not the calm'd Sea, when Æolus locks up
His windy Brood, is less disturbed than I.
Nay, Arethusa, I'll be calmer still.
Yes, when my wrongs have laid me in my Grave.
Say, am I raging now?
If I were Mad I should desire to live;
No, feel my Pulse, and try if you have known
A Man in a more equal Tune to die.
Bell.
Alas, my Lord. Your Pulse beats Mad-man's time,
So does your Tongue.
Phil.
I blame not thee, Bellario,
Thou'hast done but that,
Which Gods would have transform'd themselves to do—
But haste, thou young perdition, take thy Face
For ever from my sight. Fly from my Rage
Far as the wander'd World can bear thy shame,
Or yond fair Lamp of blushing Heav'n can light thee,
For we are two Earth cannot hold at once.
Bell.
For ever from your sight; For ever? That
Dire Voice of Fate!—But if I must be gone,
Permit, my too dear Lord, these bending knees
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Kind Heav'ns, if in your everlasting Treasury
You have a Hoard of some uncommon Blessings,
Show'r 'em on that dear Brow, and (Oh) uncloud
His shaded Peace, and his benighted Reason,
Till the fair Truth of that all beauteous Innocence
Shine round his Soul with thousand thousand Charms.
Yes, thou too happy Prince, didst thou but know
The Price of that fair Gem, the Wealth thou'rt Lord of,
How would thy twining Arms grasp her dear knees,
And thy fond Lips kiss the blest Earth she treads on!
For by my wrongs below, and hopes above,
Earth does not hold a Chaster. So, farewell.
[Exit.
Areth.
Thou faithful Herauld of my Fame, farewell.
But, dear Philaster, if thy listning Patience
Has lent a gentle Ear to the poor Boy:
Am I forbid to speak. No, my dear Lord,
With these wet Eyes, and these uplifted Hands;
With the same Vows, and the same Heav'n my witness,
Permit me to repeat the same true Oracle;
Earth does not hold a Chaster.
Phil.
Feeble Flatterer,
Why these poor Arts? How vainly dost thou labour
To wash thy Ethiop shame. Run from a Court,
A Father, and a Crown (thou vile dishonour)
To Woods and Shades to meet your darling Boy!
Yet Earth not holds a Chaster!
Areth.
Meet the Boy!
An Accident, meer chance.
Phil.
Chance!
Areth.
Chance, blind Chance;
By what directing Curse he found me here
My persecuting Stars canonly tell.
'Tis true, I left a Court, a Crown, and Kingdom,
All worthless Trifles when I lost thy Heart;
My sighs and tears for thee led me, this Wanderer;
And am I thus rewarded!
Phil.
Fye, no more.
They who dare act a Sin so black as thine,
Can talk as fair as thou: The Soul of Treason
Ne'er wants the Face of Innocence.
Areth.
Treason?
Good Gods, is truth so hard to be believ'd!
Phil.
Truth!
Areth.
By yond Azure Roof, and all the bless'd
Inhabitants above,
My Soul's all spotless truth.
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Oh Arethusa,
'Tis easie to call Heav'n; they talk it loudest,
Who think it least—Yes, thou too fair Delusion,
The Syren Sings not Death, though she acts Death;
And even the blackest Cloven-footed Fiend
Retains his Voice of Angels. No, smooth falshood,
Can aery breath, and empty sounds restore
The Peace that I have lost!
Areth.
Then, my poor Heart,
Thou hast nothing now to do but break and die.
Phil.
No, Madam, That's my part; the shaft of Death
Is only levell'd here. And if to all
My Mass of wrongs thou hast one Grain of pity,
Here, Arethusa, take this glittering Mercy,
[Presenting his Sword to her
And guide it to my Heart.
Areth.
Kill thee!
Phil.
Yes, Kill me.
It will be wondrous kind; and when I set
My resting Foot beneath yond Roof of Glory,
For that dear generous Blow, an act so kind,
I'll Tune thee my first Song in Choires of Angels.
Areth.
But, oh Philaster! Dost thou know what Death is!
Phil.
A Minutes pain to cure an Age of woe.
Areth.
Is Death the only cure! No healing Balm
For thy sick mind, but the cold sleep of Death!
Phil.
Oh Never, never! No, thou fair destroyer,
Beyond the Grave there's Peace; on this side none.
Areth.
But will there be no Slanders;
No Jealousies in th'other World; no ill there?
Phil.
None!
Areth.
Then thus to that blest World I'll lead the way.
[Falls on his Sword.
Phil.
Horror and Furies.
What has thy rash Hand done!
Areth.
Sought Peace and found it.
The unkind World, and thy unkinder Jealousie
Had barr'd all Joys on Earth, and therefore what
Life has not, I have woo'd kind Death to give me.
But Oh, my unkind, unbelieving Lord,
Shall I be Innocent now!
Phil.
Innocent,
Thou fairest whiteness, dearest Angel Martyr,
More Heav'n than all Heav'n holds.
Areth.
Then I am happy—
But does my kind Lord weep! Now you're too good.
Oh my Philaster, one rich Pearl from those
Dear Eyes o'er-pays the worthless Life that buys it!
My Veins are all too poor for such a Purchase.
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But Oh this crimson Stream! Dear all Divine,
Cou'd nothing but thy Death convert an Infidel!
Areth.
Call it not Death when it brings back thy Heart.
For Oh what vaster Charms 'tis to dye lov'd
Then to live hated!—But I care no more.
Cherish my Memory when I am Dust
And I shall sleep all Blest.
[Faints away as if she dyed.
Phil.
And I wake damn'd.
She's gone, She's gone. Yes, thou Barbarian Brute,
The fairest Truth that monster Man e're wrong'd,
Has mounted Heav'n to leave eternal Hells,
The just Reward of an ungrateful Infidel.—
Thou dear Remains
Of the most faithful Love, if from these cold
Cold Lips, such Guilt as mine dare steal a kiss,
'Tis my last Crime, and I shall Sin no more.
[Kneels to kiss her.
Enter Bellario.
Bell.
'Twas too unkind, thou pityless Bellario,
To leave thy poor Lords Heart thus wrackt thus, tortur'd;
And all for a rash Vow.
No, I'll return, and fall at his dear Feet,
Own my true Sex, and cure his wounded Peace.
Phil.
Sweets, Divine Sweets: But if in Death so fragrant,
Oh what eternal Roses had those dear
Lips bloom'd, had the fair Tree but lived to bear 'em—
But does her Murtherer live! This fatal point,
All reeking with the Blood of Sacréd Innocence,
Dares Guilt and Treason live! No, thou crown'd Saint,
Look down and see this just pursuing Vengeance.
[Goes to fall on his Sword, Bellario beats it away.
Bell.
Heav'n guard my Noble Lord—
—Good Gods, my Royal Mistris Murder'd!
Phil.
Murder'd Bellario, by this curst hand Murder'd.
Bell.
Oh what has your transported frenzy done!
The fairest Virtue and the tenderest Love
That e'er blest Man, how has thy Rage rewarded!
Phil.
Yes how indeed, Bellario!
Bell.
Cruel Prince,
When shall I sound in thy alarmed Ears
The story of her Wrongs, which this curst Tongue
Now comes to speak too late.—
Phil.
No more; no more,
Call not my torturing Shame to my remembrance.
For I have been false to a pair of the most trusty ones
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Must sink as low in Hell, as that fair Saint
Sits high in Heav'n—
But give me back that Instrument of Death,
That I may rip this bloody Tygers heart out,
A sacrifice to that dear Martyr'd Innocence.
Enter Thraselin, Cleremont, and Woodmen.
Trasil.
What do we see!
Phil.
A sight would blast a Cannibal. Oh Gentlemen,
If you have hearts that can weep Blood, now look down
And melt 'em there.
Cleremon.
Good Gods, the Princess Murder'd!
Phil.
My Arm prevented! Yes the Gods are just.
By my own hand like an old Roman Fall
Had been a Fate to Glorious—No Arethusa, now
I'll do thee nobler Justice: Jayls and Dungeons;
A Headsman and an Ax, Scaffolds and Pinnacles,
Recorded shame, and ever branding Infamy.—
Come, Sirs, make short your weeping Ceremonies,
For you have more important Work to do:
Take up that load of Honour, and perform
This cruel Duty to your King. Bear that
Too killing Object to a mourning Father
And with her this vile Brand of black Damnation.
Then for her last just Rites, the opening Veins
Of her curst Murderer, erect a Scaffold
High as the Clouds, and sound a Trump so loud,
If possible, the Summon'd World may call:
Invite 'em to a Feast, and Gorge 'em all.
[Exeunt Philaster and Attendants carrying off the Princess.
Bell.
(Sola)
Why was I born for the accursed Cause
Of all this heap of Ruines. Poor Philaster,
Thine's but the Hand, and Sword, 'tis I am the Murderer:
For, Oh, with one kind word, one gentle Breath,
How had I stopt this hideous Scene of Death;
But 'tis too late, the golden Minute's fled.
Undone Philaster, thy too dear lov'd Head,
How have I wrapt in everlasting Woe!
But is the bitter Draught all thine! Oh, no!
The Druggs, the Gall, and Poyson, fill'd by me,
I mixt it, and must drink more deep than thee.
The End of the Fourth ACT.
| Philaster : or, Love lies a bleeding | |