University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Scene, the Palace.
Enter Philaster, Arethusa, and Bellario.
Are.
Nay, dear Philaster, grieve not! we are well.

Bel.
Nay, good my Lord, forbear; we are wond'rous well.

Phi.
Oh Arethusa! O Bellario! leave to be kind:
I shall be shot from Heav'n, as now from Earth,
If you continue so. I am a Man,
False to a Pair of the most trusty ones
That ever Earth bore. Can it bear us all?
Forgive, and leave me! but the King hath sent
To call me to my Death: Oh shew it me,
And then forget me. And for thee, my Boy,
I shall deliver Words will mollify
The Hearts of Beasts, to spare thy Innocence.

Bel.
Alas, my Lord, my Life is not a Thing
Worthy your noble Thoughts; 'tis not a Life,
'Tis but a Piece of Childhood thrown away:
Should I out-live you, I should then out-live
Virtue and Honour; and, when that Day comes,
If ever I shall close these Eyes but once,
May I live spotted for my Perjury,
And waste my Limbs to nothing!

Are.
And I (the woful'st Maid that ever was,
Forc'd with my Hands to bring my Lord to Death)
Do by the Honour of a Virgin swear,
To tell no Hours beyond it.

Phi.
Make me not hated so.
People will tear me, when they find you true
To such a Wretch as I; I shall die loath'd.
Enjoy your Kingdoms peaceably, whilst I
For ever sleep forgotten with my Faults.
Ev'ry just Servant, ev'ry Maid in Love,
Will have a Piece of me, if you be true.

Are.
My dear Lord, say not so.

Bel.
A Piece of you!
He was not born of Woman that can cut
It and look on.

Phi.
Take me in Tears betwixt you,
For else my Heart will break with Shame and Sorrow.

Are.
Why, 'tis well.

Bel.
Lament no more.

Phi.
What would you have done
If you had wrong'd me basely, and had found
My Life no Price, compar'd to your's? For Love, Sirs,
Deal with me plainly.

Bel.
'Twas mistaken, Sir.

Phi.
Why, if it were?

Bel.
Then, Sir, we would have ask'd you Pardon.

Phi.
And have Hope to enjoy it?

Are.
Enjoy it! ay.

Phi.
Would you, indeed? be plain.

Bel.
We would, my Lord.

Phi.
Forgive me then.

Are.
So, so.

Bel.
'Tis as it should be now.

Phi.
Lead to my Death.

[Exeunt.
Scene, the Presence Chamber.
Enter King, Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline.
King.
Gentlemen, who saw the Prince?

Cle.
So please you, Sir, he's gone to see the City,
And the new Platform, with some Gentlemen
Attending on him.

King.
Is the Princess ready
To bring her Prisoner out?

Thra.
She waits your Grace.

King.
Tell her we stay.

Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
Where's the King?

King.
Here.

Mes.
To your Strength, O King,
And rescue the Prince Pharamond from Danger;
He's taken Prisoner by the Citizens,
Fearing the Lord Philaster.

Enter another Messenger.
Mes.
Arm, arm, O King, the City is in Mutiny,
Led by an old grey Russian, who comes on
In Rescue of the Lord Philaster.

[Exit.
King.
Away to th' Citadel; I'll see them safe,
And then cope with these Burghers: Let the Guard
And all the Gentlemen give strong Attendance.
[Exit King.

Manent Dion, Cleremont, Thrasiline.
Cle.
The City up! This was above our Wishes.

Dion.

Well, my dear Countrymen, if you continue,
and fall not back upon the first broken Shin, I'll have
you chronicled, and chronicled, and cut and chronicled,
and sung in all-to-be-prais'd Sonnets, and grav'd
in new brave Ballads, that all Tongues shall troule you
in Sæcula Sæculorum, my kind Can-carriers.

Thra.

What if a Toy take 'em i'th'Heels now, and
they all run away, and cry, the Devil take the Hindmost?

Dion.

Then the same Devil take the Foremost too,

and sowce him for his Breakfast! If they all prove
Cowards, my Curses fly among them and be speeding!
May they have Murrains reign to keep the Gentlemen
at home, unbound in easy Freeze! May the
Moths branch their Velvets! May their false Lights
undo 'em, and discover Presses, Holes, Stains, and
Oldness in their Stuffs, and make them Shop rid!
May they keep Whores and Horses, and break; and
live mewed up with Necks of Beef and Turnips!
May they have many Children, and none like the
Father! May they know no Language but that Gibberish,
they prattle to their Parcels, unless it be the
Gothick Latin they write in their Bonds, and may they
write that false, and lose their Debts!

Enter the King.
King.
'Tis Philaster,
None but Philaster, must allay this Heat:
They will not hear me speak; but call me Tyrant.
My Daughter and Bellario too declare,
Were he to die, that they would both die with him.
Oh run, dear Friend, and bring the Lord Philaster;
Speak him fair; call him Prince; do him all
The Courtesy you can; commend me to him.
I have already given Orders for his Liberty.

Cle.
My Lord, he's here.

Enter Philaster.
King.
O worthy Sir, forgive me; do not make
Your Miseries and my Faults meet together,
To bring a greater Danger. Be yourself,
Still sound amongst Diseases. I have wrong'd you,
And though I find it last, and beaten to it,
Let first your Goodness know it. Calm the People,
And be what you were born to: Take your Love,
And with her my Repentance, and my Wishes,
And all my Pray'rs: By th' Gods, my Heart speaks this:
And if the least fall from me not perform'd,
May I be struck with Thunder!

Phi.
Mighty Sir,
I will not do your Greatness so much Wrong,
As not to make your Word Truth; free the Princess
And the poor Boy, and let me stand the Shock
Of this mad Sea-breach, which I'll either turn
Or perish with it.

King.
Let your own Word free them.

Phi.
Then thus I take my Leave, kissing your Hand,
And hanging on your Royal Word: Be kingly,
And be not mov'd, Sir; I shall bring you Peace,
Or never bring myself back.

King.
All the Gods go with thee!

[Exeunt.
Scene, a Street in the City.
Enter an old Captain and Citizens with Pharamond.
Cap.
Come, my brave Myrmidons, let us fall on,
Let our Caps swarm, my Boys,
And your nimble Tongues forget your Mothers
Gibberish, of what do you lack, and set your Mouths
Up, Children, till your Pallats fall frighted half a
Fathom, past the Cure of Bay-salt and gross Pepper,
And then cry Philaster, brave Philaster.

All.
Philaster! Philaster!

Cap.
How do you like this, my Lord Prince?

Pha.
You will not see me murder'd, wicked Villains?

Enter Philaster.
All.
Long live Philaster, the brave Prince Philaster!

Phi.
I thank you, Gentlemen; but why are these
Rude Weapons brought abroad, to teach your Hands
Uncivil Trades?

Cap.
My Royal Rosiclear,
We are thy Myrmidons, thy Guard, thy Roarers;
And when thy noble Body is in Durance,
Thus do we clap our musty Murrions on,
And trace the Streets in Terror: Is it Peace,
Thou Mars of Men: Is the King sociable,
And bids thee live? Art thou above thy Foemen,
And free as Phœbus? Speak; if not, this Stand
Of Royal Blood shall be abroach, a-tilt, and run
Even to the Lees of Honour.

Phi.
Hold and be satisfied; I am myself,
Free as my Thoughts are; by the Gods, I am.

Cap.
Art thou the dainty Darling of the King?
Art thou the Hylas to our Hercules?
Is the Court navigable, and the Presence stuck
With Flags of Friendship? If not, we are thy Castle,
And this Man sleeps.

Phi.
I am what I desire to be, your Friend;
I am what I was born to be, your Prince.

Pha.
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 Canibals, and, as I live,
I'll quit this Land for ever:

Phi.
I do pity you: Friends, discharge your Fears;
Deliver me the Prince.
Good, my Friends, go to your Houses, and by me have
Your Pardons, and my Love;
And know, there shall be nothing in my Pow'r
You may deserve, but you shall have your Wishes.

All.
Long may'st thou live, brave Prince!
Brave Prince! brave Prince!

Exeunt Phi. and Pha.
Cap.

Go thy Ways; thou art the King of Courtesy:
Fall off again my sweet Youths; come, and every Man
trace to his House again, and hang his Pewter up;
then to the Tavern, and bring your Wives in Muffs:
We will have Musick, and the red Grape shall make
us dance, and rise, Boys.

[Exeunt.
Scene changes to the Court.
Enter King, Arethusa, Galatea, Megra, Cleremont, Dion, Thrasiline, Bellario, and Attendants.
King.
Is it appeas'd?

Dion.
Sir, all is quiet as the Dead of Night,
As peaceable as Sleep: My Lord Philaster
Brings on the Prince himself.

King.
Kind Gentleman!
I will not break the least Word I have giv'n
In Promise to him. I have heap'd a World
Of Grief upon his Head, which yet, I hope,
To wash away.

Enter Philaster and Pharamond.
Cle.
My Lord is come.

King.
My Son!
Blest be the Time, that I have Leave to call
Such Virtue mine! Now thou art in mine Arms,
Methinks I have a Salve unto my Breast
For all the Stings that dwell there: Streams of Grief
That I have wrong'd thee, and as much of Joy
That I repent it, issue from mine Eyes:
Let them appease thee; take thy Right; take her,
She is thy Right too, and forget to urge
My vexed Soul with that I did before.

Phi.
Sir, it is blotted from my Memory,
Past and forgotten: For you, Prince of Spain,
Whom I have thus redeem'd, you have full Leave
To make an honourable Voyage home.
And if you would go furnish'd to your Realm
With fair Provision, I do see a Lady,
Methinks, would gladly bear you Company.

Meg.
Shall I then alone
Be made the Mark of Obloquy and Scorn?
Can Shame remain perpetually in me,
And not in others? or have Princes Salves
To cure ill Names, that meaner People want?

Phi.
What mean you?

Meg.
You must get another Ship
To bear the Princess and the Boy together.

Dion.
How now!

Meg.
I have already publish'd both their Shames.
Ship us all four, my Lord; we can endure
Weather and Wind alike.

King.
Clear thou thyself, or know not me for Father.

Are.
This Earth, how false it is! What Means is left
For me to clear myself? It lies in your Belief.
My Lords, believe me, and let all Things else
Struggle together to dishonour me.

Bel.
O stop your Ears, great King, that I may speak
As Freedom would: Then I will call this Lady
As base as be her Actions. Hear me, Sir;
Believe your heated Blood when it rebels
Against your Reason, sooner than this Lady.

Phi.
This Lady? I will sooner trust the Wind
With Feathers, or the troubled Sea with Pearl,
Than her with any thing: Believe her not!
Why, think you, if I did believe her Words,
I would outlive 'em? Honour cannot take
Revenge on you; then what were to be known
But Death?

King.
Forget her, Sir, since all is knit
Between us: But I must request of you
One Favour, and will sadly be denied.

Phi.
Command, whate'er it be.

King.
Swear to be true
To what you promise.

Phi.
By the Pow'rs above,
Let it not be the Death of her or him,
And it is granted.

King.
Bear away the Boy
To Torture. I will have her clear'd or buried.

Phi.
O, let me call my Words back, worthy Sir;
Ask something else: Bury my Life and Right
In one poor Grave; but do not take away
My Life and Fame at once.

King.
Away with him, it stands irrevocable.

Bel.
O kill me, Gentlemen!

Dion.
No, help, Sirs.

Bel.
Will you torture me?

King.
Haste there; why stay you?

Bel.
Then I shall not break my Vow,
You know, just Gods, though I discover all.

King.
How's that? Will he confess?

Dion.
Sir, so he says.

King.
Speak then.

Bel.
Great King, if you command
This Lord to talk with me alone, my Tongue,
Urg'd by my Heart, shall utter all the Thoughts
My Youth hath known, and stranger Things than these
You hear not often.

King.
Walk aside with him.

[Dion and Bel. walk aside together.
Dion.
Why speak'st thou not?

Bel.
Know you this Face, my Lord?

Dion.
No.

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

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

Bel.
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, would swear
There was such strange Resemblance, that we two
Could not be known asunder, drest alike.

Dion.
By Heav'n, and so there is.

Bel.
For her fair Sake,
Who now doth spend the Spring-time of her Life
In holy Pilgrimage, move to the King,
That I may 'scape this Torture.

Dion.
But thou speak'st
As like Euphrasia, as thou do'st look.
How came it to thy Knowledge that she lives
In Pilgrimage?

Bel.
I know it not, my Lord.
But I have heard it, and do scarce believe it.

Dion.
Oh, my Shame, is it possible? Draw near,
That I may gaze upon thee: Art thou she?
Or else her Murderer? Where wert thou born?

Bel.
In Siracusa.

Dion.
What's thy Name?

Bel.
Euphrasia.

Dion.
'Tis just; 'tis she; now I do know thee; Oh
That thou hadst died, and I had never seen
Thee nor my Shame.

Bel.
'Would I had died, indeed! I wish it too;
And so I must have done by Vow, e'er publish'd
What I have told; but that there was no Means
To hide it longer; yet I joy in this,
The Princess is all clear.

King.
What have you done?

Dion.
All is discover'd.

Are.
What is discover'd?

Dion.
Why, my Shame;
It is a Woman; let her speak the rest.

Phi.
How! that again.

Dion.
It is a Woman.

Phi.
Blest be you Pow'rs that favour Innocence!
It is a Woman, Sir; hark, Gentlemen!
It is a Woman. Arethusa, take
My Soul into thy Breast, that would be gone
With Joy: It is a Woman—thou art fair,
And virtuous still to Ages, 'spight of Malice.

King.
Speak you; where lies his Shame?

Bel.
I am his Daughter.

Phi.
The Gods are just.
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 outweigh'd it: All these Jealousies
Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discover'd,
What now we know.

Bel.
My Father oft would speak
Your Worth and Virtue, and as I did grow
More and more apprehensive, I did thirst
To see the Man so prais'd; 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 our Gates;
My Blood flew out, and back again as fast,
As I had puff'd it forth and suck'd it in
Like Breath; then was I call'd away in haste
To entertain you. Never was a Man,
Heav'd from a Sheep-cote to a Scepter, rais'd
So high in Thoughts as I; you left a Kiss
Upon these Lips then, which I mean to keep
From you for ever; I did hear you talk,
Far above Singing; after you were gone
I grew acquainted with my Heart, and search'd
What stir'd it so: Alas! I found it Love;
Yet far from Ill, for could I have but liv'd
In Presence of you, I had had my End;
For this I did delude my noble Father
With a feign'd Pilgrimage, and dress'd myself
In Habit of a Boy; and, for I knew
My Birth no Match for you, I was past Hope
Of having you: And understanding well
That when I made Discovery of my Sex,
I could 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 Hope to hide me from Mens Eyes,
For other than I seem'd, that I might ever
Abide with you; then sat I by the Fount,
Where first you took me up.

King.
Search out a Match
Within our Kingdom, where and when thou wilt,
And I will pay thy Dowry; and thyself
Wilt well deserve him.

Bel.
Never, Sir, will I
Marry; it is a Thing within my Vow.

Phi.
I grieve, such Virtues should be laid in Earth
Without an Heir. Hear me, my Royal Father,
Wrong not the Freedom of our Souls so much,
To think to take Revenge of that base Woman;
Her Malice cannot hurt us; set her free
As she was born, saving from Shame and Sin.

King.
Well! Be it so. You, Pharamond,
Shall have free Passage, and a Conduct home
Worthy so great a Prince; when you come there,
Remember, 'twas your Faults that lost you her,
And not my purpos'd Will.

Pha.
I do confess it.

King.
Last, join your Hands in one. Enjoy, Philaster,
This Kingdom, which is yours, and after me
Whatever I call mine; my Blessing on you!
All happy Hours be at your Marriage-Joys,
That you may grow yourselves over all Lands,
And live to see your plenteous Branches spring
Where-ever there is Sun!—Let Princes learn
By this to rule the Passions of their Blood,
For, What Heav'n wills, can never be withstood.