Run into rivers. Sweetest fair, the cause?
And, as I am your slave, tied to your goodness,
Your creature, made again from what I was,
And newly spirited, I'll right your honour.
Are. Oh, my best love, that boy!
Phi. What boy?

Are. The pretty boy you give 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 jealousy. Let him go.

Are. Oh, cruel! are you hard-hearted too? Who shall now tell you, how much I loved you? Who shall swear it to you, and weep the tears I send?

Who shall now bring you letters, rings, bracelets?

Lose his health in service? Wake tedious nights
In stories of your praise? Who shall sing
Your crying elegies? And strike a sad soul
Into senseless pictures, and make them mourn?
Who shall take up his lute, and touch it, till
He crown a silent sleep upon my eve-lid,
Making me dream, and cry, 'Oh, iny 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.

Under a woman's falsehood? Oh, that boy,
That cursed boy!

Are. Nay, then I am betrayed:

I feel the plot cast for my overthrow.
Oh, I am wretched!

Phi. Now you may take that little right. I have
To this poor kingdom: Give it to your joy;
For I have no joy in it. Some far place,
Where never womankind durst set her foot,
For bursting with her poisons 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

With thousand changes in one subtle web,
And sworn so by you: 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,
In the morning with you, and at night behind you,
Past and forgotten: How your vows are frosts,
Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone:
How you are, being taken altogether,
A mere 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, farewell all my woe, all my delight!

[Exit Phi. Are. Be merciful, ve gods, and strike me dead!

Bellario!

Phi. 'Tis but your fond affection.

Are. With thee, my boy, farewell for ever All secrecy in servants! Farewell faith! And all desire to do well for itself! Let all, that shall succeed thee for thy wrongs, Sell and betray chaste love!

Phi. And all this passion for a boy?

Are. He was your boy, and you put him to me, And the loss of such must have a mourning for. Phi. Oh, thou forgetful woman! Are. How, my lord?

Phi. False Arethusa!

Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits,
When I have lost them? If not, leave to talk,
And do thus.

Are. Do what, sir? Would you sleep?
Phi. For ever, Arethusa. Oh, ye 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 ine? Have I taken
Danger as stern as death into my bosom,
And laughed upon it, made it but a mirth,
And flung it by? Do I live now like him,
Under this tyrant king, that languishing
Hears his sad bell, and sees his mourners? Do I
Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length

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,

To find out constancy? Save me! how black

Enter BELLARIO.

And quiltily, 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

Fooled 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 understood'st
The loathed 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, hath sent this strange disease
Into the noblest minds? Madam, this grief
You add unto me is no more than drops
To seas, for which they are not seen to swell:
My lord hath struck his anger through my heart,
And led out all the hope of future joys.
You need not bid me fly; I came to part,
To take my latest leave. Farewell for ever!

Of women's looks; but digged myself 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,

the woodmen;

2 Wood. Why, the young stranger prince.

1 Wood. He shall shoot in a stone bow for me. I never loved his beyond-sea-ship, since he forsook the say, for paying ten shillings: He was there at the fall of a deer, and would needs (out of his mightiness) give ten groats for the dowcets; marry, the steward would have the velvet-head into the bargain, to túft his hat withal. Who shoots else?

2 Wood. The lady Galatea.

1 Wood. 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 Wood. No, one more; Megra.

1 Wood. That's a firker, i'faith, boy. She rides well, and she pays well. Hark! let's go. [Exeunt. Enter PHILASTER.

Phi. Oh, that I had been nourished in these woods,

With milk of goats, and acorns, and not known The right of crowns, nor the dissembling trains

Whereon she dwells; that might have strewed

my bed

With leaves, and reeds, and with the skins of beasts,

Our neighbours. This had been a life
Free from vexation.

Enter BELLARIO.

Bel. Oh, wicked men!

An innocent may walk safe among beasts; Nothing assaults me here. See, my grieved 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 grieved, can pity: Hear, my lord!
Phi. Is there a creature yet so miserable,
That I can pity!

Bel. Oh, my noble lord!

View my strange fortune; and bestow on me,
According to your bounty (if my service
Can merit nothing) so much as may serve
To keep that little piece I hold of life
From cold and hunger.

Phi. Is it thou? Begone!

Go, sell those misbeseeming cloaths thou wearest, And feed thyself with them.

Bel. Alas! my lord, I can get nothing for
them:

The silly country people think 'tis treason
To touch such gay things.

Phi. Now, by my life, this is
Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight.
Thou'rt fallen again to thy dissembling trade:
How shouldst thou think to cozen me again?
Remains there yet a plague untried for me?
Even so thou wept'st, and look'd'st, and spok'st,
when first

I took thee up: Curse on the time! If thy
Commanding tears can work on any other,
Use thy art; I'll not betray it. Which way
Wilt thou take, that I may shun thee?

For thine eyes are poison to mine; and I
Am loth to grow in rage. This way, or that way?
Bel. Any will serve. But I will chuse to have
That path in chace, that leads unto my grave.
[Exeunt Phi. and Bel. severally.

Enter DION and the Woodmen.
Dion. This is the strangest sudden chance!
You, Woodman!

1 Wood. My lord Dion!

Dion. Saw you a lady come this way, on a sable horse studded with stars of white?

2 Wood. Was she not young and tall?

That must be just.

King. Alas! what are we kings?

Why do you, gods, place us above the rest,

2 Wood. Faith, my lord, we saw none.

[Exeunt Wood.

Enter CLEREMONT.

she found?

Cle. Nor will be, I think.

Dion. Let him seek his daughter himself.

Cle. 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 armed men were seen in the wood: But, questionless, she rode away willingly.

Enter KING and THRASILINE.

King. Where is she?

Cle. Sir, I cannot tell.

King. How is that? Answer me so again?
Cle. Sir, shall I lie?

King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me

that.

My way, and lay it on.

Dion. He articles with the gods: 'Would somebody would draw bonds, for the performance of covenants betwixt them!

Enter PHARAMOND, GALATEA, and MEGRA. King. What, is she found?

Pha. No; we have ta'en her horse : He galloped empty by. There's some treason, You, Galatea, rode with her into the wood! Why left you her?

Gal. She did command me.

King. Command! you should not.

Gal, 'Twould ill become my fortunes and my

birth,

To disobey the daughter of my king.

King. You're all cunning to obey us, for our hurt;

But I will have her.

Pha. If I have her not,

Heaven,

It is thy last. You, fellows, 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 obeyed?

Dion. Yes, if you command things possible and
honest.

King. Things possible and honest? Hear me, thou,

Thou traitor! that dar'st confine thy king to things
Possible and honest; shew her me,
Or, let me perish, if I cover not

All Sicily with blood!

Dion. Indeed I cannot, unless you tell me where she is.

King. You have betrayed me; 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,

Dion. What, will he carry it to Spain in his pocket?

Pha. I will not leave one man alive, but the king, A cook, and a tailor,

Dion. Yet you may do well To spare your lady-bedfellow.

King. I see the injuries I have done must be revenged.

Dion. Sir, this is not the way to find her out. King. Run all; disperse yourselves! The man,

that finds her,

Or (if she be killed), the traitor, I'll make him

great.

Dion. I know some would give five thousand pounds to find her.

Pha. Come, let us seek.

King. Each man a several way; here I myself. Dion. Come, gentlemen, we here. [Ex. omnes. Enter ARETHUSA.

Are. Where am I now? Feet, find me out a way, Without the counsel of my troubled head :