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I love the keeper till he let it go,
And then I follow it.

Diph. Hail, worthy brother!
He, that rejoices not at your return
In safety, is mine enemy for ever.

Mel. I thank thee, Diphilus. But thou art faulty;

I sent for thee to exercise thine arms

With me at Patria: Thou cam'st not, Diphilus; It was ill.

Diph. My noble brother, my excuse

Is my king's straight command; which you, my lord, Can witness with me.

Lys. It is true, Melantius;

He might not come, till the solemnity
Of this great match was past.

Diph. Have you heard of it?

Mel. Yes. I have given cause to those, that Envy my deeds abroad, to call me gamesome: I have no other business here at Rhodes. Lys. We have a masque to-night, and you must tread

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Diph. This day.

Mel. All joys upon him! for he is my friend.
Wonder not, that I call a man so young my friend:
His worth is great; valiant he is, and temperate;
And one that never thinks his life his own,
If his friend need it. When he was a boy,
As oft as I returned (as, without boast,

I brought home conquest) he would gaze upon me,
And view me round, to find in what one limb
The virtue lay to do those things he heard.
Then would he wish to see my sword, and feel
The quickness of the edge, and in his hand
Weigh it: He oft would make me smile at this.
His youth did promise much, and his ripe years
Will see it all performed,

Enter ASPATIA, passing by.

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Made me imagine, you had heard the change. Mel. Who hath he taken then?

Lys. A lady, sir,

That bears the light above her, and strikes dead
With flashes of her eye: the fair Evadne,
Your virtuous sister.

Mel. Peace of heart betwixt them!
But this is strange.

Lys. The king my brother did it
To honour you; and these solemnities
Are at his charge.

Mel. It is royal, like himself. But I am sad
My speech bears so unfortunate a sound
To beautiful Aspatia. There is rage

Hid in her father's breast, Calianax,

Bent long against me; and he should not think,
If I could call it back, that I would take
So base revenges, as to scorn the state
Of his neglected daughter. Holds he still
His greatness with the king?

Lys. Yes. But this lady
Walks discontented, with her watery eyes
Bent on the earth. The unfrequented woods
Are her delight; and, when she sees a bank
Stuck full of flowers, she, with a sigh, will tell
Her servants, what a pretty place it were
To bury lovers in; and make her maids
Pluck them, and strew her over like a corse.
She carries with her an infectious grief,
That strikes all her beholders; she will sing
The mournfullest things, that ever ear hath heard,
And sigh, and sing again; and, when the rest
Of our young ladies, in their wanton blood,
Tell mirthful tales in course, that fill the room
With laughter, she will, with so sad a look,
Bring forth a story of the silent death
Of some forsaken virgin, which her grief
Will put in such a phrase, that, ere she end,
She'll send them weeping one by one away.

Mel. She has a brother under my command, Like her; a face as womanish as hers; But with a spirit, that hath much out-grown The number of his years,

Enter AMINTOR.

Cle. My lord, the bridegroom!

Mel. I might run fiercely, not more hastily,
Upon my foe. I love thee well, Amintor;
My mouth is much too narrow for my heart;
I joy to look upon thosc eyes of thine;
Thou art my friend, but my disorder'd speech
Cuts off my love.

Amin. Thou art Melantius;

All love is spoke in that. A sacrifice,

To thank the gods Melantius is return'd

In safety! Victory sits on his sword,

As she was wont: May she build there and dwell;
And may thy armour be, as it hath been,
Only thy valour and thy innocence!

What endless treasures would our enemies give,
That I might hold thee still thus !

Mel. I am but poor

In words; but credit me, young man, thy mother

Could do no more but weep for joy to see thee
After long absence: All the wounds, I have,
Fetch'd not so much away, nor all the cries
Of widowed. mothers. But this is peace,
And that was war.

Amin. Pardon, thou holy god

Of marriage-bed, and frown not; I am forc'd,
la answer of such noble tears as those,
To weep upon my wedding-day.

Mel. I fear thou art grown too fickle; for I hear
A lady mourns for thee; men say, to death;
Forsaken of thee; on what terms I know not.
Amin. She had my promise; but the king forbad it,
And made me make this worthy change, thy sister,
Accompanied with graces far above her;
With whom I long to lose my lusty youth,
And grow old in her arms.

Mel. Be prosperous!

Enter Messenger.

Mess. My lord, the masquers rage for you.
Lys. We are gone. Cleon, Strato, Diphilus-
Amin. We will all attend you. We shall trouble

you

With our solemnities.

Mel. Not so, Amintor:

But if you laugh at my rude carriage
In peace, I'll do as much for you in war,
When you come thither. Yet I have a mistress
To bring to your delights; rough though I am,
I have a mistress, and she has a heart,
She says; but, trust me, it is stone, no better;
There is no place, that I can challenge in it.
But you stand still, and here my way lies.

Enter CALIANAX with DIAGOras.
Cal. Diagoras, look to the doors better, for
shame! vou let in all the world, and anon the
king will rail at ine-why, very well said-by
Jove, the king will have the show in the court.
Diag. Why do you swear so, my lord? You
know, he will have it here.

Cal. By this light, if he be wise, he will not.
Diag. And, if he will not be wise, you are for-

sworn.

Cal. One may wear out his heart with swear

Mel. [within.] Open the door.
Diag. Who is there?

Mel. [within] Melantius.

Diag. I hope your lordship brings no troop with you; for, if you do, I must return them. Enter MELANTIUS and a Lady.

Mel. None but this lady, sir.

Diag. The ladies are all placed above, save those, that come in the king's troop: The best of Rhodes sit there, and there is room.

Mel. I thank you, sir. When I have seen you placed, madam, I must attend the king; but, the masque done, I'll wait on you again.

Diag. Stand back there-room for my lord Melantius-pray, bear back-this is no place for such youths and their trulls-let the doors shut again. No!-do your heads itch? I will scratch them for you.--So, now thrust and hang.-Again! who is it now?—I cannot blame my lord Calianax for going away: Would he were here! he would run raging among them, and break a dozen wiser heads than his own, in the twinkling of an eye. What's the news now?

Within.] I pray you, can you help me to the speech of the master-cook?

Diag. If I open the door, I will cook some of your calves heads. Peace, rogues !—Again ! who is it?

for

Mel. [within.] Melantius.

Enter CALIANAX.

Cal. Let him not in,

Diag. O, my lord, I must.
my lord.

Make room there

[To Mel.

Enter MELANTIUS.

Is your lady placed?

Mel. Yes, sir,

I thank you. My lord Calianax, well met.
Your causeless hate to me, I hope, is buried.

Cal. Yes, I do service for your sister here,
That brings my own poor child to timeless death:
She loves your friend Amintor; such another
False-hearted lord as you.

Mel. You do me wrong,

A most unmanly one, and I am slow

ing, and get thanks on no side. I'll be gone-In taking vengeance! But be well advised. look to it, who will.

Diag. My lord, I shall never keep them out. Pray, stay; your looks will terrify them.

Cal. My looks terrify them, you coxcombly
2. YOU
ou! I will be judged by all the company,

whether thou hast not a worse face than I.
Diag. I mean, because they know you and
your office.

Cal. Office! I would I could put it off: I am
sure I sweat quite through my office. I might
have made room at my daughter's wedding: they
have near killed her among them; and now I
must do service for him, that hath forsaken her.
Serve, that will.
[Exit.
Ding. He is so humourous since his daughter
was forsaken.-Hark, hark! there, there! so, so!
Codes, Codes! [Knock within.] What now?

Cal. It may be so. Who placed the lady there, So near the presence of the king?

Mel. I did.

Cal. My lord, she must not sit there.
Mel. Why?

Cal. The place is kep for women of more worth.
Mel. More worth than she? It mis-becomes

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Mel. Bate the king, and be he flesh and blood, | By which I may discover all the place He lies, that says it! Thy mother at fifteen Was black and sinful to her.

Diag. Good my lord!

Mel. Some god pluck threescore years from
that fond man,

That I may kill him, and not stain mine honour.
It is the curse of soldiers, that in peace
They shall be braved by such ignoble men,
As, if the land were troubled, would with tears
And knees beg succour from them. 'Would, that
blood,

That sea of blood, that I have lost in fight,
Were running in thy veins, that it might make thee
Apt to say less, or able to maintain,
Should'st thou say more! This Rhodes, I see, is
nought

But a place privileged to do men wrong.
Cul. Ay, you may say your pleasure.
Enter AMINTOR.

Amin. What vile injury

Has stirred my worthy friend, who is as slow
To fight with words as he is quick of hand?
Mel. That heap of age, which I should reve-

rence,

If it were temperate; but testy years
Are most contemptible.

Amin. Good sir, forbear.

Cal. There is just such another as yourself.
Amin. He will wrong you, or me, or any man,
And talk as if he had no life to lose,
Since this our match. The king is coming in:
I would not for more wealth than I enjoy,
He should perceive you raging. He did hear
You were at difference now, which hastened him.
Cal. Make room there ! [Hautboys play within.
Enter KING, EVADNE, ASPATIA, lords, and ladies.
King. Melantius, thou art welcome, and my love
Is with thee still: But this is not a place
To brabble in. Calianax, join hands.

Cal. He shall not have my hand.
King. This is no time

To force you to it. I do love you both:
Calianax, you look well to your office;
And you, Melantius, are welcome home.
Begin the masque!

Mel. Sister, I joy to see you, and your choice. You looked with

my eyes, when

Be happy in him!"

you

Ecad. O, my dearest brother!

took that man: [Recorders play.

Your presence is more joyful than this day Can be unto me.

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And persons, and how many longing eyes
Are come to wait on our solemnities.
Enter CINTHIA.

How dull and black am I! I could not find
This beauty without thee, I am so blind.
Methinks, they shew like to those eastern streaks,
That warn us hence, before the morning breaks.
Back, my pale servant, for these eyes know how
To shoot far more and quicker rays than thou.

Cinth. Great queen, they be a troop, for whom
alone

One of my clearest moons I have put on;
A troop, that looks as if thyself and I
Had plucked our reins in, and our whips laid by,
To gaze upon these mortals, that appear
Brighter than we.

Night. Then let us keep them here;
And never more our chariots drive away,
But hold our places, and out-shine the day.

Cinth. Great queen of shadows, you are pleased

to speak

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Thy word hath fetch'd me hither: Let me know, Why I ascend?

Cinth. Doth this majestic show

Give thee no knowledge yet?

Nept. Yes, now I see

Something intended, Cinthia, worthy thee.
Go on; I'll be a helper.

Cinth. Hie thee, then,

And charge the wind fly from his rocky den.
Let loose thy subjects; only Boreas,
Too foul for our intention, as he was,

Still keep him fast chained: We must have none here

But vernal blasts, and gentle winds appear;

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SONG.

Hold back thy hours, dark Night, till we have done:

The day will come too soon; Young maids will curse thee, if thou steal'st away, And leav'st their losses open to the day: Stay, stay, and hide

The blushes of the bride.

Stay, gentle Night, and with thy darkness cover The kisses of her lover.

Stay, and confound her tears, and her shrill cryings,

Her weak denials, vows, and often dyings;
Stay, and hide all,

But help not, tho' she call.

Nept. Great queen of us and heaven, hear what I bring

To make this hour a full one,
If not o'ermeasure.

Cinth. Speak, sea's king.

When they will dance upon the rising wave, Nept. The tunes my Amphitrite joys to have, And court me as she sails. My tritons, play Music to lead a storm; I'll lead the way.

SONG.

[Measure.

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Let him go on and flame! I hope to see
Another wild-fire in his axletree;
And all fall drenched. But I forgot; speak, queen.
The day grows on; I must no more be seen.

Cinth. Heave up thy drowsy head again, and see
A greater light, a greater majesty,
Between our sect and us! Whip up thy team!
The day-break's here, and yon sun-flaring beam
Shot from the south. Say, which way wilt thou go?
Night. I'll vanish into mists.

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ACT II.

Enter EVADNE, ASPATIA, DULA, and other la

dies.

Evad. DULA, 'Would, thou could'st instil Some of thy mirth into Aspatia!

Nothing but sad thoughts in her breast do dwell: Methinks, a mean betwixt you would do well.

Dula. She is in love: Hang me, if I were so, But I could run my country. I love, too, To do those things that people in love do.

Asp. It were a timeless smile should prove my check:

It were a fitter hour for me to laugh,
When at the altar the religious priest
Were pacifying the offended powers

With sacrifice, than now. This should have been
My night and all your hands have been employed
In giving me a spotless offering

:

Το young Amintor's bed, as we are now
For you. Pardon, Evadne; 'would, my worth
Were great as yours, or that the king, or he,
Or both, thought so! Perhaps, he found me worth-
less:

But, till he did so, in these ears of mine,
These credulous cars, he poured the sweetest words
That art or love could frame. If he were false,
Pardon it, Heaven! And if I did want
Virtue, you safely may forgive that too;
For I have lost none, that I had from you.

Evad. Nay, leave this sad talk, madam.
Asp. 'Would, I could! then should I leave the

cause.

Evad. See, if you have not spoiled all Dula's mirth.

Asp. Thou thinkest thy heart hard; but if thou be'st caught,

Remember me; thou shalt perceive a fire
Shot suddenly into thee.

Dula. That's not so good; let them shoot any thing but fire, I fear them not.

Asp. Well, wench, thou may'st be taken.
Evad. Ladies, good night: I'll do the rest myself.
Dula. Nay, let your lord do some.

Asp. Lay a garland on my hearse,
Öf the dismal yew.

Evad. That's one of your sad songs, madam.
Asp. Believe me, 'tis a very pretty one.
Evad. How is it, madam?

SONG.

Asp. Lay a garland on my hearse,
Of the dismal yew;

Maidens, willow branches bear;
Say, I died true:

My love was false, but I was firm
From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie
Lightly, gentle earth!

Evad. Fie on it, madam! the words are so strange, they are able to make one dream of hobgoblins. I could never have the power: Sing that, Dula.

Dula. I could never have the pow'r

To love one above an hour,

But my heart would prompt mine eye
On some other man to fly:

Venus, fix thou mine eyes fast,

Or, if not, give me all that I shall see at last.

Evad. So, leave me now.

Dula. Nay, we must see you laid.

Asp. Madam, good night. May all the marriage joys

That longing maids imagine in their beds,
Prove so unto you. May no discontent
Grow 'twixt your love and you! But, if there do,
Enquire of me, and I will guide your moan;
Teach you an artificial way to grieve,
To keep your sorrow waking. Love your lord
No worse than I; but, if you love so well,
Alas, you may displease him; so did I.
This is the last time you shall look on me.
Ladies, farewell. As soon as I am dead,
Come all, and watch one night about my hearse;
Bring each a mournful story, and a tear,
To offer at it, when I go to earth.
With flattering ivy clasp my coffin round;
Write on my brow my fortune; let my bier
Be borne by virgins, that shall sing, by course,
The truth of maids, and perjuries of men.
Evad. Alas, I pity thee.
Omnes. Madam, good night.

[Exit Evad.

1 Lady. Come, we'll let in the bridegroom. Dula. Where's my lord?

Enter AMINTOR.

1 Lady. Here, take this light.

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