University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Enter Dion, Trasilin, Cleremont.
Thra.
The Princess dead! And by Philaster's hand!
Nay, and what's worse, to yield himself a Prisoner!
To run into the Jaws of yawning Death,
His offer'd Throat so tame a Sacrifice!

Cler.
Ay Gentlemen, given up into the Hands
Of the enraged King, whose threatning Arm of Vengeance
Hangs o'er his Head like a prodigious Meteor.
And now too late; what Power, what help can save him!
Alas, what hopes!

Thra.
Hopes! Truly none at all.
Nay, were there hopes, has not himself destroy'd 'em?
Is there that Sword wou'd strike for his deliverance
That himself has not chain'd the hand should draw it?
Has not his own accusing Tongue so blacken'd him,
Painted her Murder with a face so monstrous,
As lulls his sleeping Friends into a Lethargy;
Till scarce their Pity wakes to mourn him lost?
A Womans Death! A Deed of that dishonour!

Dion.
Dishonour!—Hold my Masters, you're a little
Too hot, and run too fast—He has kill'd a Woman;
True; and the story sounds at the first hearing
A Deed below a Man, much more a Prince.
Well, but what Woman has he kill'd! How kill'd her!
Ay, there's the Point, my Friends; No doubt, he took her,
Seiz'd the fair Brute with all her bestial shame,
In the foul Deed with her lascivious Boy;
And with the falling weight of Sacred Justice,
Roll'd like a Bolt of Royal Thunder down,
And crush'd th'engendring Basilisk.

Thra.
Fy, my Lord,
How can you load her Name with so much Infamy,
When his own free Confession has proclaim'd her
All Innocence, all Saint?

Dion.
All Rage, all Frenzy.
The common Lunacy of doating Fools;
Honour and Vengeance struck the noble blow,
And whining Love denies it. To be short,
He wrongs himself and Us, and all Mankind,
And 'tis high time to undeceive the World.
Now, Gentlemen, if I've spoke Reason.—

Cler.
Reason!
By this fair Light you breath the voice of Oracles,
Which every honest heart must hear and reverence.

Dion.
Say, are we Men then!

Thra.
All that Hands and Hearts
Resolv'd, can be, we are. Philaster's safety
Is that great Cause will Arm the Gods to joyn us.

Dion.
Enough my Friends, come to my Arms.
[Embracing.
No, King—
The Head you aim at cost more setting on,
Than to be lost so slightly. If it must off,
Like a wild overflow that shakes down Bridges,
Cracks the strong Hearts of Pines, whose Cable Roots,
Held out a thousand Storms, a thousand Thunders;
And so made mightier, takes whole Towers, Towns, Palaces,
And lays 'em desolate; so shall thy Head
Thy noble Head, bury the Lives of Thousands
That shall bleed with thee in thy purple Ruines.

Thra.
Lead on, thou Champion Genius of our Swords.

Dion.
But we lose time, the lucky Minute calls,
You, Thraselin, haste instantly to th'Forum,
Where you will find a Band of honest Citizens,
That only wait the kind inviting Trumpet
To call 'em forth to Glory: Souls so brave
Will make Day smile, to see 'em shine in Arms.
You Cleremont, haste to the Royal Cittadel.
You'll find the Bolts of Steel, and Gates of Brass
Will all fly open at Philaster's Name.
For me, my Post shall be t'attend his Person,
And watch the Motions of his hungry Hunters.
Now all retire; a Royal Head to save,
Push your fair Cause, and Fortune Crown the Brave.

[Exeunt Thraselin, and Cleremont.
Enter King, and Attendants.
King.
Hold, hold, my bursting Heart, and drowning Eyes.
Oh Arethusa, Arethusa! Lend me,
Some pitying God, a Tongue to vent my Groans.
This more then execrable Deed! Philaster,
Could'st thou do this. Could the rich Veins of Kings,
Thou born of Royal Race—A Prince—A Butcher
A Ruffian, and a Hangman. Crime like this
A Cannibal would blush at. Wolves and Blood-hounds
Would turn their aking Nostrils from this sight,
And howl o'er wounds so barbarous. Tell me, Friends,
For you have seen the killing Object; seen
That once dear Garden of fair blooming Sweets
All rooted by the Tusks of this wild Boar;
And say, my honest loyal Hearts, in all
The blackest Legends of recorded Murder
Is there that Chronicle can match this Monster?

Dion.
Yes, there are Chronicles can match this Monster,
If he be one.—

King.
Ha! If he be one,—

Dion.
Yes, Sir,
If he be one.—

King.
That if—But, Sir, go on.

Dion.
Then, Sir, to give plain dealing Truth fair play,
You've lost a Daughter, a King's Daughter: True,
And by a blow perhaps not altogether
So Manly, as befits the weight of that
Great Arm when lifted up to fall with Fate.
Yet let me tell you! Sir—

King,
Hold Profane Insolent;
Gods, can there be that Impudence so Steel'd!
Pleaders and Advocates for Guilt so horrid!
But that my Arm's reserv'd for Nobler Vengeance,
Thy Head, thou reverend Rebel—But to Answer thee
I'll call the judging World. Nay, let thy own
Accusing Conscience speak: Is there that Monument
(Though big and high as Pelion) can be able
To cover this base Murder! Make it rich
With Brass, with purest Gold, and shining Jasper:
Like the Pyramides, lay on Epitaphs,
Such as make Great Men Gods; 'tis all too weak,
Too shallow Rhetorick—But I am too tame:
Lead forth that Monster to his speedy doom.

Dion.
So speedy! no, too hasty King you'll find it not that o'er easie Work.

Enter Philaster Guarded.
Phil.
Sir, you are pleas'd
To call me forth to Justice. And behold
Your Summons are obey'd.

King,
Oh my weak Eye-balls.
How can I look upon that Face of Horror!

Phil.
Yes, how indeed!

King.
Thou Merciless, Inhumane—
But why do I seek words for guilt beyond
A Name, too deep for shallow sounds to reach?
Say then, thou all unutterable Cruelty,
What hast thou done!

Phil.
Say first, Thou bold Examiner,
How darst thou ask that Question!

King.
Dare!

Phil.
Dare ask it!
For know, thou bold Demander, thou requirest me
To make thee the Relation of a Deed
Which art thou sure thou'rt Man enough to hear me?

King.
Thou Counsel'st well. Indeed, I ought to muster
All the most fortified Resolves about me,
The summon'd strength of my whole guarded Heart
To hear this dismal Tale.

Phil.
Then hear and Tremble.
Oh King, thou hadst a Beauteous Daughter! Beauteous!
Each common Flower, and every Garden Rose
May boast that name—Beauty!—she was so fair,
A piece so lovely, that the whole Creating
Divinity that form'd it, when it mingled
Her dazling Compounds, dropt it self into
The Mould, and mixt the God to finish it.

Dion.
All Raptures!

Phil.
Then for her Vertue, King, her Beauteous Mind,
Her rich fair Soul: Ay, that all in land Paradise.
O Virtue, Virtue, thy Celestial Charms
She was that all Original Perfection,
A Wonder sure set up by Priding Heav'n
For Homaging Worlds to kneel to—yet that wonder,
That radiant Temple of Angelick Truth,
Has this Rebellious Infidel destroy'd.
But, haste, dull King, thy drowne Thunder sleeps:
The loud Tongu'd Cries of those affrighting wounds,
Demand that swiftest executing Arm—
Her punisht Murderer, King—

Enter Bellario.
Bell.
Yes, Royal Sir,
Her punisht Murderer.

Phil.
Ay Boy, if he can punish him; if all
The Impotent weak Rods of feeble Vengeance,
Earth has it to invent, or Hell to give it him.

Bell.
Yes, Sir, if all the weight of angry Kings,
Axes or Gibbets, all the swift Revenge
For your dear Daughters Blood can expiate
Those ever gaping wounds: Arm, Arm, your Bolts,
For this detested Head, the vile Bellario.

Phil.
Bellario! Sayst thou?

Bell.
Most wrong'd Prince. Bellario,
Thy lovely Princess Murderer; this young Blood-hound,
With all his Mass of Guilt stands here before you.

King.
Good Gods! Bellario.

Phil.
What means this all amazing Wonder? Gods!
Is there a Goodness in the World so Prodigal—
Oh King! I've liv'd too long: This generous Boy
Would take Death from me—

Bell.
Ha! What says my Lord?

Phil.
That dear all prodigy brings its sweet Innocence,
A bleating Lamb to save a bloated Tyger.

Bell.
How, my dear Lord?

Phil.
Oh do not talk, Bellario,
Quick, send me to my Death: Remember, King,
Your Daughter's Murderer.

Bell.
My noble Lord,
Oh whither does your headlong transport run?
Thou, thou her Murderer!

Phil.
No more! no more!
I shall be shot from Heaven, as now from Earth;
If thou continuest this stupendious kindness.

Bell.
Did you e're hear the like? Oh my amazement!
Gods how he talks! What Dreams, what Shapes and Fantoms?
My King, my Lords, speak all—Let Justice, Reason,
Nay common Sense be the fair judg between us.
The great Philaster so much Royal Honour
For him to Murder Women. That unprincely,
Nay that unmanly blow! Yes, and to kill
The only Darling Idol of his Soul!
Could he do this?

Dion.
Now Truth begins to speak?

Bell.
But for a wicked Boy, a Low-born-slave,
The vilest rubbish outcast of the World,
His Soul as poor as the base Veins that hold it,
Cashier'd and banisht, and turn'd out to starve—
For me to swell with Gall, and burst with Poyson,
And in the rage of my resenting Fury,
To strike a Dagger to my Mrs. Heart;
Me to act all this!—

Phil.
Hold, hold, malitious Boy,
Dear lovely Thief; thou sweetest, barbarous Innocence.
Gods! wilt thou rob me of the power to die?
This is too much Bellario.

Bell.
Ay, now hear him,
Now he speaks plain, he wants the power to die:
The gaping wounds of his dear Murder'd Princess,
Have struck those bolts of horror through his Soul;
Till wild Despair, and his distracted Love,
Leads forth with his wandring Sense to Tombs and Charnels;
And Courts grim Death, and yawning Graves to follow her.

Phil.
Yet hold, thou kind delusion: Stop, Oh stop,
This swelling Torrent of confounding Goodness,
Or, I shall sink and drown. And King, Oh King,
If Earth was ever honour'd with that Mass
Of shining Virtues, that astonisht Mortals
Might dazle but to View, behold 'em there;
In that dear Boy; to save his Master's Life,
He owns this hideous Murder.

Bell.
Love, blind Love,
Despairing, raging Love.

Phil.
No King,
All Truth, all Oracle.

Bell.
All Love, Love, Love.

Phil.
Oh thou too kind dissembler: Yet Sir, hear me,
I tell thee King—

Bell.
Yes, he does tell thee, King,
A Tale so monstrous, that all wild distraction—
But oh, Sir, let these bending knees conjure you;
If Heav'n be just, (and Kings are Heav'ns Vicegerents)
Do Justice, Sir—for by yond Starry Roof,
The Guilt that Murder'd your dear Arethusa,
Was all Bellario's.

Dion.
Now Sir, I hope
Your Ears and Eyes are open'd.

King.
Yes, my Friends,
These Ears have heard too much—seize that Young Russian.

Dion.
Ay, now the righteous Voice of Justice speaks.

King.
And quick, to Death, to Death with the black slave.

Phil.
Gods, I can hold no longer! Oh Bellario,
If thou must Dye, such Truth, such Honour dye;
Let these Embraces be thy Executioners!
These twining Arms, and stiffling Kisses kill thee.
Oh thou dear! all Divine. Now Gentlemen,
If there be Cruelty enough amongst you
To point a Javlin at this sacred Breast,
Strike through both Hearts; for by yond fair Eternity
I'll not out live the hour such Virtue bleeds.

Enter Messinger.
Mess.
Hold, Royal Sir; instead of Tragick Scaffolds,
And Mourning Scenes of Death, prepare for Jubilees.
Your Beauteous Daughter Lives.

Phil.
My Princess Lives!

Bell.
Nay then, just Heav'n!—

King.
Oh thou sweet Voice of Triumph,
Repeat that joyful sound.

Mess.
The Princess Lives.

King.
Lives!

Mess.
Though her loss of Blood, her Wound and Griefs,
O'th'two the deeper blow, all join'd together,
Too rude shock for a weak Female Heart,
Had chain'd up Life; by the Industrious care
Of her Assisting Slave's recovered and restored,
She safely breaths and Lives.

Enter Second Messinger.
2 Mess.
Yes Sir, she lives,
And to preserve that Life she holds, by all
The tyes of King and Father, She conjures you
To check all angry thoughts against the Innocence
Of her Dear Lov'd Philaster; for 'twas only
By her own Hand she Bled.

King.
By her own Hand!

Phil.
Since that fair Oracle Lives, and blushing Truth
At last will speak, by her own Hand she fell.

2 Mess.
And Sir, so strong her Love, so great's her fears
For her too dear Philaster's threatning danger,
That on her bended Knees she does beseech you
To bring that guarded Life safe to her Arms.

King.
Oh Love, What is thy Power! But quick, Philaster,
Oh let us fly with all the Wings of Love,
To Embrace that Darling Fair!

The Scene opens, and discovers Arethusa seated on a Couch, who enters forward, led by her Women.
Areth.
My Lord, my Life.

Phil.
Dear Angel guest, thou beauteous Resurrection,
Let my bent Knees, and grasping Arms receive thee.

King.
Oh Arethusa, does thy happy Father
Once more Embrace thee! what a Scene of wonders
Has mighty Love this day perform'd! But oh
Too Faithful, and too Generous Philaster,
Here take thy Honour, and thy Truth's reward,
And with her the Succession to my Crown.

Areth.
This charming voice of Life—

Phil.
Oh my kind King,
How shall I ever pay thee for this blessing!
Not bending Knees, Altars, nor Hecatombs—

King.
Oh Prince no more, I cannot hear this language:
For I have heap'd that world of grief upon thee;
Wrong'd both your Virtuous loves, that, oh my Children,
Learn to forgive me first, and then to thank me.

Enter Rabble, and Pharamond Prisoner.
All.
Long live Philaster, the brave Prince Philaster.

Phil.
I thank you Gentlemen: But why are these
Rude weapons brought abroad to teach your Hands
Uncivil Trades?

Capt.
My Royal Rosiclear,
We are thy Myrmidons, thy Guard, thy Roarers,
And when thy Noble Person is in danger;
Thus do we clap our rusty Murrions on,
And trace the streets in Terror: Is it Peace,
Thou Mars of Men? Is the King sociable
And bids thee live! if not, we are thy Castle.

Phil.
Oh hold, forbear this impious profanation!
The King's all God-like good; and for me, Gentlemen,
I am, what I desire to be, your Friend;
I am what I am proud to be, your Prince.

Phar.
Sir, there is some Humanity in you,
You have a noble Soul; forget my name,
And know my misery; set me safe aboard
From these wild Cannibals, and as I live,
I'll leave the Land for ever.

Phil.
Deliver me the Prince, I'll warrant you
I shall be old enough to find my safety.
Now my good friends return home to your Houses,
And know there shall be nothing in my Power
You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes:
Continue still your Love, and for an Earnest
Drink this.

All.
Long mayst thou live brave Prince.

[Exeunt Shouting.
Phil.
And for you Prince of Spain, you have still leave
To make an honourable Voyage home:
And if you will go furnisht to your Realm
With fair Provision, I do see a Lady
Methinks would gladly bear you company.
How do you like this piece?

Megr.
He likes it well:
For he has try'd it, Sir, and found it worth
His Princely liking: But, thou unkind Prince,
Can shame remain perpetually in me,
And not in others; or have Princes salves
To cure ill names, that meaner People want?

Phil.
What mean you!

Megr.
You must get another Ship
To bear the Princess and the Boy together;
Others took me, and I took her and him,
At what all Women may be ta'ne sometimes.
Ship us all four, my Lord, we can endure
Weather and Wind alike.

Phil.
Oh thou black Envy!
Is thy Infernal Fire-brand never quench'd?

Bell.
Sir, let that work be mine. Thou vilest Creature!
Permit this Lord to talk with me alone,
And I will utter truths, shall with a breath
Confound the shame of this malicious Woman.
My Lord.

Dion.
Why speak'st thou not?

Bell.
Know you this face my Lord?

Dion.
No!

Bell.
Have you not seen it, nor the like?

Dion.
Yes, I have seen the like, but readily
I know not where.

Bell.
I have been often told
In Court of one Euphrasia, a Lady
And Daughter to you, betwixt whom and me,
They that would flatter my bad Face, wou'd swear
There was such near resemblance, that we two
Could not be known asunder, drest alike.

Dion.
By Heav'n and so there is; nay, and thou speakst
As like her as thou look'st: Is't possible!
Oh let me gaze upon thee! art thou she?
Where wert thou born?

Bell.
In Syracuse.

Dion.
What's thy Name?

Bell.
Euphrasia.

Dion.
Oh my shame! Now all's discovered.

King.
What is discoverd Sir?

Dion.
Her Vertue and my Shame!
It is a Woman,

Phil.
How! Say that again.

Dion.
It is a Woman.

King.
Lay hold upon that Lady.

[To Megra.]
Phil.
It is a Woman!—Oh my Arethusa,
Thy fair and vertuous Name shall live to Ages,
In spite of all Hells malice.

King.
But speak You,
Where lies his Shame!

Bel.
I am his Daughter,

Areth.
The Gods are just.

Dion.
I dare accuse none, but before you two
The vertue of our Age, I bend my knee
For Mercy.

Phil.
Take it freely, for I know,
Though what thou didst was indiscreetly done,
'Twas meant well.

Areth.
And for me I have the Power
To Pardon Sins as oft as any Man
Has Power to wrong me.

Phil.
But Bellario,
(For I must call thee still so,) tell me why
Thou didst conceal thy Sex, it was a fault,
A Fault Bellario, though thy other Deeds
Of Truth out-weigh'd it. All these Jealousies
Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discovered
What now we know.

Bell.
My Father would oft speak.
Your Worth and Yirtue, and as I did grow
More and more apprahensive, I did thirst
To see the Man so praised. But yet all this
Was but a Maiden longing to be lost,
As soon as found, till sitting in my Window
Printing my thoughts in Lawn, I saw a God
I thought, but it was you enter'd our Gates,
Then was I call'd away to entertain you.
Never was Pleasure sure that equall'd mine.
You left a kiss upon these Lips which I
Will keep from you for ever. When you were gone
I grew acquainted with my Heart and searched
What stird it so; Alas, I found it Love.
Yet far from an impure desire, for cou'd I but have lived
In presence of you, I had had my end.
For this I did delude my noble Father
With a feind Pilgrimage, and drest my self
In habit of a Boy. And for I knew
My Birth no match for you, I was past hope
Of that high Bliss. And understanding well
That when I made discovery of my Sex
I cou'd not stay with you, I made a Vow
By all the most Religious things a Maid
Could call together, never to be known
Whilst there was hopes to hide me from men's Eyes;
Then fate I by the Fount, where first you took me up.

King.
Search out a Match through my whole Kingdoms,
And I will pay thy Dowry; and thy self
Will't well deserve him.

Bell.
Never, Sir will I
Marry; it is a thing within my Vow.
But if I may have leave to serve the Princess,
And see the Virtues of her Lord, and her,
I shall have hope to live.

Areth.
Yes live with me,
Live free as I do, she that loves my Lord
With thy chast flame,
Curst be that Wife that hates her.

Phil.
I grieve such Vertue should be laid in Earth
Without an Heir. Hear me my Royal Father,
Think not to take Revenge on that base Woman;
Her Malice cannot hurt us: Set her free
From all but Shame and Sin.

King.
Set her at Liberty.
But leave the Court for ever. You Prince Pharamond
Shall have safe Conduct home.

Phil.
Yes, Pharamond return,
Back to thy Spain; till then I am thy friend.
But when we meet again: For we shall meet—

Phar.
Yes, let me meet thee Prince, meet thee to bid
Thy native Arragon once more call thee Lord,
For Oh! Thou hast vanquish'd me:
Such conquering Virtue
Has won thee back thy Crown.

King.
And now blest Pair,
Joyn, Joyn your Hands in one. Enjoy, Philaster,
This Kingdom which is yours. And after me
Whatever I call mine.
—Let Princes learn
By this to Rule the Passions of their Blood,
For what Heav'n Wills, can never be withstood.