University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE

SCENE, The Walks.
Melissa, after her Olinda and Sabina.
Melissa,

I must take this business up in time: this wild fellow begins
to haunt my house again. Well, I'le be bold to say
it, 'tis as easie to bring up a young Lyon, without mischief, as a
Maidenhead of Fifteen, to make it tame for an Husbands bed. Not
but that the young man is handsome, rich and young, and I could be
content he should marry one of 'em but to seduce 'em both in this
manner.—Well, I'le examine 'em apart, and if I can find out

which he loves, 'Ile offer him his choice.—Olinda, Come hither
Child.—

Olin.

Your pleasure, Madam?

Mel.

Nothing but for your good Olinda, what think you of Celadon?

Olin.

Why I think he's a very mad fellow; but yet I have some
obligements to him: he teaches me new ayres on the Guitarre, and
talks wildely to me, and I to him.

Mel.

But tell me in earnest, do you think he loves you?

Olin.

Can you doubt it? There were never two so cut out for one
another; we both love Singing, Dancing, Treats and Musick. In
short, we are each others counterpart.

Mel.

But does he love you seriously?

Olin.

Seriously! I know not that; if he did, perhaps I should not love
him: but we sit and talk, and wrangle, and are friends; when we are
together we never hold our tongues; then we have always a noise
of Fiddles at our heels, he hunts me merrily as the Hound does the
Hare; and either this is Love, or I know it not.

Mel.

Well, go back, and call Sabina to me.

—Olinda goes behind

This is a Riddle past my finding out: whether he loves her or no is
the question; but this I am sure of, she loves him:—O my little
Favourite, I must ask you a question concerning Celadon: Is he in
love with you?

Sab.

I think indeed he does not hate me, at least if a mans word
may be taken for it.

Mel.

But what expressions has he made you?

Sab.

Truly the man has done his part: he has spoken civilly to me,
and I was not so young but I understood him.

Mel.

And you could be content to marry him?

Sab.

I have sworn never to marry; besides, he's a wild young man;
yet to obey you, Mother, I could be content to be sacrific'd.

Mel.

No, no, we wou'd but lead you to the Altar.

Sab.

Not to put off the Gentleman neither; for if I have him not
I am resolv'd to die a Maid, that's once, Mother.—

Mel.

Both my Daughters are in love with him, and I cannot yet
find he loves either of 'em.

Olin.

Mother, mother, yonder's Celadon in the walks.

Mel.

Peace wanton; you had best ring the Bells for joy. Well, I'le
not meet him, because I know not which to offer him; yet he seems to
like the youngest best: Ile give him opportunity with her; Olinda,
do you make haste after me.

Olin.

This is something hard though.

[Exit Mel.
Enter Celadon.
Cel.

You see Ladies the least breath of yours brings me to you: I
have been seeking you at your Lodgings, and from thence came hither
after you.

Sab.

'Twas well you found us.

Cel.

Found you! Half this brightness betwixt you two was enough
to have lighted me; I could never miss my way: Here's fair
Olinda has beauty enough for one Family; such a voice, such a wit,
so noble a stature, so white a skin.

Olin.
I thought he would be particular at last.

[Aside.
Cel.
And young Sabina, so sweet an innocence,
Such a Rose-bud newly blown.
This is my goodly Pallace of Love, and that my little withdrawing
Room. A word, Madam.

[To Sab.
Olin.

I like not this— [aside.]
Sir, if you are not too busie
with my Sister, I would speak with you.

Cel.

I come, Madam.—

Sab.

Time enough Sir; pray finish your Discourse,—and as
you were a saying, Sir—

Olin.

Sweet Sir.—

Sab.

Sister, you forget, my Mother bid you make haste.

Olin.

Well, go you and tell her I am coming.—

Sab.

I can never endure to be the Messenger of ill news; but if
you please I'le send her word you won't come.—

Olin.

Minion, Minion, remember this.—

Exit Olinda.

Sab.

She's horribly in love with you.

Cel.

Lord, who could love that walking Steeple: She's so high
that every time She sings to me, I am looking up for the Bell that
tolls to Church.—Ha! Give me my little Fifth-rate! that lies
so snug.—She, hang her, a Duch built bottom: she's so tall,
there's no boarding her. But we lose time—Madam, let me seal
my love upon your mouth.

[kiss.

Soft and sweet by Heaven! sure you wear Rose-leaves between your lips.

Sab.

Lord, Lord; What's the matter with me! my breath
grows so short I can scarce speak to you.

Cel.

No matter, give me thy lips again and I'le speak for thee.

Sab.

You don't love me.—

Cel.

I warrant thee; set down by me and kiss again.—
She warms faster then Pygmalion's Image.—

[aside.
[kiss.]

—I marry sir, this was the original use of lips; talking,
eating, and drinking came in bith' by.—

Sab.

Nay pray be civil; will you be at quiet?

Cel.

What would you have me set still and look upon you like a
little Puppy dog that's taught to beg with his fore-leg up?

Enter Florimell.
Flor.

Celadon the faithful! in good time Sir.—

Cel.

In very good time Florimell; for Heavens sake help me
quickly.

Flor.

What's the matter?

Cel.

Do not you see! here's a poor Gentlewoman in a swoon!
(swoon away!) I have been rubbing her this half hour, and cannot
bring her to her senses.

Flor.

Alas, how came she so?

Cel.

Oh barbarous! do you stay to ask questions, run for charity.

Flor.

Help, help, alas poor Lady.—

[Exit Flor.

Sab.

Is she gone?

Cel.

I thanks to my wit that helpt me at a pinch;
I thank Heaven, I never pumpt for a lye in all my life yet.

Sab.

I am affraid you love her, Celadon!

Cel.

Onely as a civil acquaintance or so, but however to avoid slander
you had best be gone before she comes again.

Sab.

I can find a tongue as well as she—

Cel.

I, but the truth is, I am a kind of scandalous person, and for
you to be seen in my company—Stay in the walks, by this kiss
I'le be with you presently.—

Exit Sab.
Enter Florimell running.
Flor,

Help, help, I can find no body.

Cel.

'Tis needless now my dear, she's recover'd, and gone off, but
so wan and weakly.—

Flor.

Umh! I begin to smell a ratt, what was your business here,
Celadon?

Cel.

Charity, Christian charity; you saw I was labouring for life
with her.

Flor.

But how came you hither; not that I care this,—but onely
to be satisfied—

Sings.—
Cel.

You are jealous in my Conscience.

Flor.

Who I jealous! Then I wish this sigh may be the last that ever
I may draw.—

[Sighs.
Cel.

But why do you sigh then?

Flor.
Nothing but a cold, I cannot fetch my breath well.—
But what will you say if I write the Letter you had, to try your faith?

Cel.

Hey-day! This is just the Devil and the Sinner; you lay snares
for me, and then punish me for being taken; here's trying a man's
Faith indeed: What did you think I had the faith of a Stock, or of
a Stone? Nay, and you go to tantalize a man,—'gad I love upon
the square, I can endure no tricks to be used to me.

Olinda and Sabina at the door Peeping.
Ol., Sab.

Celadon, Celadon!

Flor.

What voices are those?

Cel.

Some Camerades of mine that call me to play;—
Pox on 'em, they'l spoil all—

Aside.
Flor.

Pray let's see 'em.

Cel.

Hang 'em Tatterdemallions, they are not worth your sight;
pray Gentlemen be gone, I'le be with you immediately.

Sab.

No, we'll stay here for you.

Flor.

Do your Gentlemen speak with Treble-voices? I am resolv'd
to see what company you keep.

Cel.

Nay, good my Dear.—

He lays hold of her to pull her back; she lays hold of Olinda, by whom Sabina holds; so that he pulling, they all come in.
Flor.
Are these your Comerades?
[Sings.]
'Tis Strephon calls what would my love?

Why do not you roar out like a great Bass-vyal, Come follow to the
Myrtle-grove. Pray Sir, which of these fair Ladies is it, for whom you
were to do the courtesie, for it were unconscionable to leave you
to 'em both; What a man's but a man you know.

Olin.

The Gentleman may find an owner.

Sab.

Though not of you.

Flor.

Pray agree whose the lost sheep is, and take him.

Cel.

'Slife they'l cry me anon, and tell my marks.

Flor.

Troth I pity your Highness there, I perceive he has left you
for the little one: Me thinks he should have been affraid to break his
neck when he fell so high as from you to her.

Sab.

Well my drolling Lady, I may be even with you.—

Flor.

Not this ten years by thy growth, yet.

Sab.

Can flesh and blood endure this!—

Flor.

How now, my Amazon in decimo sexto!—

Olin.

Do you affront my Sister?—

Flor.

I, but thou art so tall, I think I shall never affront thee.—

Sab.

Come away Sister, we shall be jeer'd to Death else.

[Exeunt Olin. Sab.
Flor.

Why do you look that way, you can'nt forbear leering after
the forbidden Fruit.—But when e're I take a Wenchers word
again!—

Cel.

A Wenchers word! Why should you speak so contemptibly
of the better half of Mankind. I'le stand up for the honour of my
Vocation.

Flor.

You are in no fault I warrant;—'ware my busk—

Cel.

Not to give a fair Lady the lye, I am in fault;—but otherwise.—
Come let us be friends; and let me wait you to your Lodgings.

Flor.

This impudence shall not save you from my Table-book.
Item. A Month more for this fault.—

[They walk to the door.
1. Souldier
within.

Stand.

2. Souldier.

Stand, give the word.

Cel.

Now, whats the meaning of this trow, guards set.

1. Souldier.

Give the word, or you cannot pass; these are they
brother; let's in, and seize em.

The two Souldiers enter—
1. Sould.

—Down with him.

2. Sould.

Disarm him.

Cel.

How now Rascalls:—

Draws and beats one off, and catches the other.
Cel.

Ask your life you villain.

2. Sould.

Quarter, quarter.

Cel.

Was ever such an Insolence?

Sould.

We did but our duty; here we were set, to take a Gentleman
and Lady, that would steal a marriage without the Queens
consent, and we thought you had been they.

[Exit Sould.

Flor.

Your Cousin Philocles and the Princess Candiope on my life!
for I heard the Queen give private Orders to Lysimantes, and name
them twice or thrice.

Cel.

I know a score or two of Madcaps here hard by, whom I can
pick up from Taverns and Gaming-houses, and Bordells; those I'le
bring to aid him: Now Florimell, there's an argument for wenching;
where would you have had so many honest men together upon the
sudden for a brave employment?

Flor.

You'l leave me then to take my fortune?

Cel.

No; if you will, I'le have you into the places aforesaid, and
enter you into good company.

Flor.

'Thank you Sir, here's a key will let me through this back-door
to my own Lodgings.

Cel.

If I come off with life, I'le see you this evening, if not—
Adieu Florimell.—

Flor.

If you come not I shall conclude you are kill'd, or taken; to
be hang'd for a Rebel to morrow morning,—and then I'le honour
your memory with a Lampoon instead of an Epitaph.

Cel.

No no, I trust better in my Fate: I know I am reserv'd to do
you a Courtesie.

[Exit Celadon.

As Florimell is unlocking the door to go out; Flavia opens it against her, and enters to her, followed by a Page.
Flav.
Florimel, do you hear the News?

Flor.
I guess they are in pursuit of Philocles.

Flav.
When Lysimantes came with the Queens Orders,
He refused to render up Candiope;
And with some few brave friends he had about him
Is forcing of his way through all the Guards.

Flor.
A gallant fellow: I'le in, will you with me.
Hark, the noise comes this way!

Flav.
I have a message from the Queen to Lysimantes,
I hope I may be safe among the Souldiers.

Flor.

Oh very safe, perhaps some honest fellow in the tumult may
take pity of thy Maidenhead, or so—Adiew.

Page 1.

The noise comes nearer, Madam.

[Exit Florimell.
Flav.

I am glad on't: this message gives me the opportunity of
speaking privately with Lysimantes.

Enter Philocles and Candiope, with three friends; pursued by Lysimantes and Souldiers.
Lys.

What is it renders you thus obstinate? you have no hope of
flight, and to resist is full as vain.

Phil.
I'le die, rather then yield her up.

Flav.
My Lord!

(Lys.)
how now, some new message from the Queen?
To Sould.]
Retire a while to a convenient distance.

Lys. and Flav. whisper.
Lys.
O Flavia 'tis impossible! the Queen in love with Philocles!

Flav.
I half suspected it before; but now,
My ears and eyes are witnesses.—
This hour I over-heard her to Asteria.
Making such sad complaints of her hard fate!
For my part I believe you lead him back
But to his Coronation.

Lys.
Hell take him first.

Flav.
Presently after this she call'd for me,
And bid me run, and with strict care command you
On peril of your life he had no harm:
But, Sir, she spoke it with so great concernment,
Me thought I saw love, anger and despair
All combating at once upon her face.

Lys.
Tell the Queen—I know not what, I am distracted so;—
But go and leave me to my thoughts.—
[Exit Flavia.
Was ever such amazing news
Told in so strange and critical a moment!
What shall I do!
Does she love Philocles, who loves not her;
And loves not Lysimantes who prefers her
Above his life! what rests but that I take
This opportunity, which she her self
Has given me, to kill this happy Rival!
Assist me Souldiers.

Phil.
They shall buy me dearly.

Cand.
Ah me, unhappy maid!

Enter Celadon with his Friends, unbutton'd and reeling.
Cel.
Courage my noble Cousin, I have brought
A band of Blades, the bravest youths of Syracuse:
Some drunk, some sober, all resolv'd to run
Your fortune to the utmost. Fall on mad Boyes—

Lys.
Hold, a little;—
I'm not secure of victory against these desperate ruffins.

Cel.

No, but I'le secure you; they shall cut your throat for such
another word of 'em. Ruffins quoth a! call Gamesters, and Whoremasters,
and Drunkards, Ruffins!—

Lys.
Pray Gentlemen fall back a little—

Cel.
O ho, are they Gentlemen now with you!
Speak first to your Gentlemen Souldiers to retire; and then
I'le speak to my Gentlemen Ruffians.
[Cel. Signs to his party,]
There's your disciplin'd men now.—
They sing and the Souldiers retire on both sides.

Come Gentlemen, let's lose no time; while they are talking, let's
have one merry mayn before we die—for Mortality sake.

1.
Agreed, here's my Cloak for a Table.

2.
And my Hat for a Box.—

[They lie down and throw.
Lys.
Suppose I kill'd him!
'Twould but exasperate the Queen the more:
He loves not her, nor knows he she loves him:
A sudden thought is come into my head—
So to contrive it, that this Philocles,
And these his friends shall bring to pass that for me
Which I could never compass.—True I strain
A point of honour; but then her usage to me, it shall be so—
Pray, Philocles, command your Souldiers off,
As I will mine: I've somewhat to propose
Which you perhaps may like.

Cand.
I will not leave him.

Lys.
—'Tis my desire you should not.

Phil.
—Cousin, lead off your friends.

Cel.

—One word in your ear Couz. Let me advise you; either
make your own conditions, or never agree with him: his men are poor
sober Rogues, they can never stand before us.

Exeunt omnes præter Lys. Phil. Cand.
Lys.
Suppose some friend, e're night,
Should bring you to possess all you desire;
And not so onely, but secure for ever
The Nations happiness—

Phil.
I would think of him
As of some God, or Angel.

Lys.
That God or Angel you and I may be to one another,
We have betwixt us
An hundred men; The Cittadel you govern:
What were it now to seize the Queen!

Phil.
O impiety! to seize the Queen!
To seize her, said you?

Lys.
The word might be too rough, I meant secure her.

Phil.
Was this your proposition,
And had you none to make it to but to me?

Lys.
Pray hear me out e're you condemn me:
I would not the least violence were offer'd
Her person; two small grants is all I ask,
To make me happy in her self, and you
In your Candiope.

Cand.
And will not you do this, my Philocles?
Nay now my Brother speaks but reason.

Phil.
Int'rest makes all seem reason that leads to it.
Int'rest that does the zeal of Sects create,
To purge a Church, and to reform a State.

Lys.
In short, the Queen hath sent to part you two;
What more she means to her, I know not.

Phil.
To her! alas! why will not you protect her?

Lys.
With you I can; but where's my power alone?

Cand.
You know she loves me not: you lately heard her
How she insulted over me: how she
Despis'd that beauty which you say I have;
I see she purposes my death.

Phil.
Why do you fright me with it?
'Tis in your Brothers pow'r to let us 'scape,
And then you run no danger.

Lys.
True, I may;
But then my head must pay the forfeit of it.

Phil.
O wretched Philocles, whither would love
Hurry thee headlong!

Lys.
Cease these exclamations.
Ther's no danger on your side: 'tis but
To live without my Sister, resolve that
And you have shot the gulf.

Phil.
To live without her! is that nothing think you?
The damn'd in Hell endure no greater pain
Then seeing Heaven from far with hopeless eyes.

Cand.
Candiope must die, and die for you;
See it not unreveng'd at least.

Phil.
Ha, unreveng'd! on whom should I revenge it?
But yet she dies, and I may hinder it;
Tis I then murder my Candiope:
And yet should I take armes against my Queen!
That favour'd me, rais'd me to what I am!
Alas, it must not be.

Lys.
He cools again.— aside.]
True; she once favour'd you;
But now I am inform'd,
She is besotted on an upstart wretch;
So far, that she intends to make him Master,
Both of her Crown and person.

Phil.
Knows he that!
Then, what I dreaded most is come to pass.—
[aside.
I am convinc'd of the necessity;
Let us make haste to raze
That action from the Annals of her Reign:
No motive but her glory could have wrought me.
I am a Traytor to her, to preserve her
From Treason to her self; and yet Heav'n knows
With what a heavy heart
Philocles turns reformer: but have care
This fault of her strange passion take no air.
Let not the vulgar blow upon her fame.

Lys.
I will be careful, shall we go my Lord:

Phil.
Time wasts apace; Each first prepare his men.
Come my Candiope.—

Exeunt Phil. Cand.
Lys.
This ruines him forever with the Queen;
The odium's half his, the profit all my own.
Those who, like me, by others help would climb,
To make 'em sure, must dip 'em in their crime.
Exit Lys.

SCENE II.

The Queens appartments.
Enter Queen and Asteria.
Qu.
No more news yet from Philocles?

Ast.
None, Madam, since Flavia's return!

Qu.
O my Asteria, if you lov'd me, sure
You would say something to me of my Philocles;
I could speak ever of him.

Ast.
Madam, you commanded me no more to name him to you.

Qu.
Then I command you now to speak of nothing else:
I charge you here, on your allegiance, tell me
What I should do with him.

Ast.
When you gave orders that he should be taken,
You seem'd resolv'd how to dispose of him.

Qu.
Dull Asteria not to know,
Mad people never think the same thing twice.
Alas, I'm hurried restless up and down,
I was in anger once, and then I thought
I had put into shore!
But now a gust of love blows hard against me,
And bears me off again.

Ast.
Shall I sing the Song you made of Philocles,
And call'd it Secret-love.

Qu.
Do, for that's all kindness: and while thou sing'st it,
I can think nothing but what pleases me.

Qu.
Peace: Me thinks I hear the noise
Of clashing Swords, and clatt'ring Armes, below.
Enter Flavia.
Now; what news that you press in so rudely?

Flav.
Madam, the worst that can be;
Your Guards upon the sudden are surpris'd,
Disarm'd, some slain, all scatter'd.

Qu.
By whom?

Flav.
Prince Lysimantes, and Lord Philocles.

Qu.
It cannot be; Philocles is a Prisoner.

Flav.
What my eyes saw—

Qu.
Pull 'em out, they are false Spectacles.

Ast.
O vertue, impotent and blind as Fortune!
Who would be good, or pious, if this Queen
Thy great Example suffers!

Qu.
Peace, Asteria, accuse not vertue;
She has but given me a great occasion
Of showing what I am when Fortune leaves me.

Ast.
Philocles, to do this!

Qu.
I, Philocles, I must confess 'twas hard!
But there's a fate in kindness
Still, to be least return'd where most 'tis given.
Where's Candiope?

Flav.
Philocles was whispering to her.

Qu.
Hence Screech-owl; call my Guards quickly there:
Put 'em apart in several Prisons.
Alas! I had forgot I have no Guards,
But those which are my Jaylors.
Never till now unhappy Queen:
The use of pow'r, till lost, is seldom known;
Now I would strike, I find my Thunder gone.

Exit Queen and Flavia.
Philocles enters, and meets Asteria going out.
Phil.
Asteria! Where's the Queen?

Ast.
Ah my Lord what have you done!
I came to seek you.

Phil.
Is it from her you come?

Ast.
No, but on her behalf: her heart's too great,
In this low ebb of Fortune, to intreat.

Phil.
'Tis but a short Ecclipse,
Which past, a glorious day will soon ensue:
But I would ask a favour too, from you.

Ast.
When Conquerors petition, they command:
Those that can Captive Queens, who can withstand?

Phil.
She, with her happiness, might mine create;
'Yet seems indulgent to her own ill fate:
But she, in secret, hates me sure; for why
If not, should she Candiope deny?

Ast.
If you dare trust my knowledg of her mind,
She has not thoughts of you that are unkind.

Phil.
I could my sorrows with some patience bear,
Did they proceed from any one but her:
But from the Queen! whose person I adore,
By Duty much, by inclination more.—

Ast.
He is inclin'd already, did he know
That she lov'd him, how would his passion grow!

[aside.
Phil.
That her fair hand with Destiny combines!—
Fate ne're strikes deep, but when unkindness joynes!
For, to confess the secret of my mind,
Something so tender for the Queen I find,
That ev'n Candiope can scarce remove,
And, were she lower, I should call it love.

Ast.
She charg'd me not this secret to betray,
But I best serve her if I disobey:
For, if he loves, 'twas for her int'rest done;
If not, he'll keep it secret for his own.

[aside.
Phil.
Why are you in obliging me so slow?

Ast.
The thing's of great importance you would know;
And you must first swear secresie to all.

Phil.
I swear:

(Ast.)
Yet hold; your oath's too general:
Swear that Candiope shall never know.

Phil.
I swear:

(Ast.)
No not the Queen her self:

(Phil.)
I vow.

Ast.
You wonder why I am so cautious grown
In telling, what concerns your self alone:
But spare my Vow, and guess what it may be
That makes the Queen deny Candiope:
'Tis neither hate nor pride that moves her mind;
Methinks the Riddle is not hard to find.

Phil.
You seem so great a wonder to intend,
As were, in me, a crime to apprehend.

Ast.
'Tis not a crime, to know; but would be one
To prove ungrateful when your Duty's known.

Phil.
Why would you thus my easie faith abuse!
I cannot think the Queen so ill would chuse.
But stay, now your imposture will appear;
She has her self confess'd she lov'd elsewhere:
On some ignoble choice has plac'd her heart,
One who wants quality, and more, desert.

Ast.
This, though unjust, you have most right to say,
For, if you'l rail against your self, you may

Phil.
Dull that I was!
A thousand things now crowd my memory
That make me know it could be none but I.
Her Rage was Love: and its tempestuous flame,
Like Lightning, show'd the Heaven from whence it came.
But in her kindness my own shame I see;
Have I dethron'd her then, for loving me?
I hate my self for that which I have done,
Much more, discover'd, then I did unknown.
How does she brook her strange imprisonment?

Ast.
As great souls should, that make their own content.
The hardest term she for your act could find
Was onely this, O Philocles, unkind!
Then, setting free a sigh, from her fair eyes
She wip'd two pearls, the remnants of mild show'rs,
Which hung, like drops upon the bells of flowers:
And thank'd the Heav'ns,
Which better did, what she design'd, pursue,
Without her crime to give her pow'r to you.

Phil.
Hold, hold, you set my thoughts so near a Crown,
They mount above my reach to pull them down:
Here Constancy; Ambition there does move;
On each side Beauty, and on both sides Love.

Ast.
Me thinks the least you can is to receive
This love, with reverence, and your former leave.

Phil.
Think but what difficulties come between!

Ast.
'Tis wond'rous difficult to love a Queen.

Phil.
For pity cease more reasons to provide,
I am but too much yielding to your side;
And, were my heart but at my own dispose,
I should not make a scruple where to choose.

Ast.
Then if the Queen will my advice approve,
Her hatred to you shall expel her love.

Phil.
Not to be lov'd by her, as hard would be
As to be hated by Candiope.

Ast.
I leave you to resolve while you have time;
You must be guilty, but may choose your crime.
Exit Asteria.

Phil.
One thing I have resolv'd; and that I'le do
Both for my love, and for my honour too.
But then, (Ingratitude and falshood weigh'd,)
I know not which would most my soul upbraid.
Fate shoves me headlong down, a rugged way;
Unsafe to run, and yet too steep to stay.
[Exit Phil.