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I need not counterfeit to fall; Heaven knows
That I can stand no longer.

Eater PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, and
THRASILINE.

Pha. To this place we have tracked him by his blood.

Cle. Yonder, my lord, creeps one away.
Dion. Stay, sir! what are you?

Bel. A wretched creature, wounded in these woods

By beasts: Relieve me, if your names be men, Or I shall perish.

Dion. This is he, my lord,

Upon my soul, that hurt her: 'Tis the boy,
That wicked boy, that served her.

Pha. Oh, thou damned in thy creation!

What cause could'st thou shape to hurt the princess?

Bel. Then I am betrayed.

Dion. Betrayed! no, apprehended.

Bel. I confess,

Urge it no more, that, big with evil thoughts,

I set upon her, and did take my aim,

Her death. For charity, let fall at once

The punishment you mean, and do not load This weary flesh with tortures.

Pha. I will know

Who hired thee to this deed.

Bel. Mine own revenge.
Pha. Revenge! for what?
Bel. It pleased her to receive

Me as her page, and, when my fortunes ebbed,
That men strid o'er them careless, she did shower
Her welcome graces on me, and did swell
My fortunes, 'till they overflowed their banks,
Threatening the men that crossed them; when, as
swift

As storms arise at sea, she turned her eyes
To burning suns upon me, and did dry
The streams she had bestowed; leaving me worse,
And more contemned, than other little brooks,
Because I had been great. In short, I knew
I could not live, and therefore did desire

To die revenged.

Pha. If tortures can be found,

Long as thy natural life, resolve to feel

The utmost rigour. [Philaster creeps out of a bush.
Cle. Help to lead him hence.

Phi. Turn back, ye ravishers of innocence!
Know ye the price of that you bear away
So rudely?

Pho. Who's that?

Dion. 'Tis the lord Philaster.

Phi. 'Tis not the treasure of all kings in one,
The wealth of Tagus, nor the rocks of pearl,
That pave the court of Neptune, can weigh
down

That virtue! It was I, that hurt the princess.
Place me, some god, upon a pyramid!
Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice
Loud as your thunder to me, that from thence

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Phi. Leave these untimely courtesies, Bellario. Bel. Alas, he's mad! Come, will you lead me on?

Phi. By all the oaths, that men ought most to keep,

And gods to punish most, when men do break,
He touched her not. Take heed, Bellario,
How thou dost drown the virtues thou hast shown,
With perjury. By all that's good, 'twas I!
You know, she stood betwixt ine and my right.
Pha. Thy own tongue be thy judge.

Cle. It was Philaster.

Dion. Is't not a brave boy?

Well, sirs, I fear me, we were all deceived. Phi. Have I no friend here?

Dion. Yes.

Phi. Then shew it:

Some good body lend a hand to draw us nearer.
Would you have tears shed for you, when you die?
Then lay me gently on his neck, that there
I may weep floods, and breathe out my spirit.
'Tis not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold
Locked in the heart of earth, can buy away
This armful from me: This had been a ransom
To have redeemed the great Augustus Cæsar,
Had he been taken. You hard-hearted men,
More stony than these mountains, can you see
Such clear pure blood drop, and not cut your
flesh

To stop his life? To bind whose bitter wounds,
Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their

tears

Bathe them. Forgive me, thou, that art the wealth Of poor Philaster.

Enter KING, ARETHUSA, and a Guard. King. Is the villain taken?

Pha. Sir, here be two confess the deed; but, say it was Philaster?

Phi. Question it no more; it was.

King. The fellow, that did fight with him, will

tell us that.

Are. Ah me! I know he will.

King. Did not you know him?

Are. Sir, if it was he, he was disguised.

Phi. I was so. Oh, my stars! that I should live still.

King. Thou ambitious fool!
Thou, that hast laid a train for thy own life!
Now I do mean to do, I'll leave to talk.
Bear him to prison.

Are. Sir, they did plot together to take hence
This harmless life; should it pass unrevenged,
I should to earth go weeping: Grant me, then,
(By all the love a father bears his child)
Their custodies, and that I may appoint
Their tortures, and their death.

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Enter PHILASTER, ARETHUSA, and BELLARIO.

Are. Nay, dear Philaster, grieve not; we are well.

Bel. Nay, good my lord, forbear; we are wondrous well.

Phi. Oh, Arethusa! oh, Bellario! leave to be
kind:

I shall be shot from Heaven, 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, Forced 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.

Are. Come from this prison, all joyful to our deaths.

Phi. People will tear me, when they find ye

true

To such a wretch as I; I shall die loathed.
Enjoy your kingdoms peaceably, whilst I
For ever sleep, forgotten with my faults!
Every just servant, every maid in love,
Will have a piece of me, if ye be true.
Are. My dear lord, say not so.

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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,

[Exeunt.

For else my heart will break with shame and sor

If

row.

Are. Why, 'tis well.

Bel. Lament no more.

Phi. What would you have done,

you had wronged me basely, and had found My life no price, compared to yours? For love, sirs, Deal with me truly.

Bel. 'Twas mistaken, sir.

Phi. Why, if it were?

Bel. Then, sir, we would have asked 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.

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.

Dion. King, you may be deceived yet: The head, you aim at, cost more setting on Than to be lost so lightly. If it must off, Like a wild overflow, that swoops before him A golden stack, and with it 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 villages
U pon his back, and, in that heat of pride,
Charges strong towns, towers, castles, palaces,
And lays them desolate; so shall thy head,
Thy noble head, bury the lives of thousands,
That must bleed with thee, like a sacrifice,
In thy red ruins.

Enter PHILASTER, ARETHUSA, and BELLARIO
in a robe and garland.

King. How now! what masque is this?
Bel. Right royal sir, I should

Sing you an epithalamium of these lovers,

But, having lost my best airs with my fortunes,
And wanting a celestial harp to strike
This blessed union on, thus in glad story
I give you all. These two fair cedar-branches,
The noblest of the mountain, where they grew
Straitest and tallest, under whose still shades
The worthier beasts have made their layers, and
slept,

Free from the Sirian star, and the fell thunderstroke,

Free from the clouds, when they were big with humour,

And delivered, in thousand spouts, their issues to the earth:

Oh, there was none but silent quiet there!
Till never-pleased Fortune shot up shrubs,
Base under-brambles, to divorce these branches;
And for a while they did so; and did reign
Over the mountain, and choak up his beauty
With brakes, rude thorns and thistles, till the sun
Scorched them even to the roots, and dried them
there:

And now a gentle gale hath blown again,

That made these branches meet, and twine together,

Never to be divided. The god, that sings
Ifis holy numbers over marriage-beds,

Hath knit their noble hearts, and here they stand
Your children, mighty king; and I have done.
King. How, how?

Are. Sir, if you love it in plain truth, (For there's no masquing in't) this gentleman, The prisoner that you gave me, is become My keeper, and through all the bitter throes Your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him, Thus nobly hath he struggled, and at length Arrived here, my dear husband.

King. Your dear husband! Call in The captain of the citadel; there you shall keep Your wedding. I'll provide a masque shall make Your Hymen turn his saffron into a sullen coat, And sing sad requiems to your departing souls: Blood shall put out your torches; and, instead Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks, An axe shall hang like a prodigious meteor, Ready to crop your loves' sweets. gods!

Hear, ye

From this time do I shake all title off
Of father to this woman, this base woman;
And what there is of vengeance, in a lion
Cast among dogs, or robbed of his dear young,
The same, enforced more terrible, more mighty,
Expect from me!

Are. Sir, by that little life I have left to swear by, There's nothing that can stir me from myself.

VOL. I.

What I have done, I've done without repentance; For death can be no bugbear unto me,

So long as Pharamond is not my headsman. Dion. Sweet peace upon thy soul, thou worthy maid,

Whene'er thou diest! For this time I'll excuse thee,

Or be thy prologue.

Phi. Sir, let me speak next;

And let my dying words be better with you
Than my dull living actions. If you aim
At the dear life of this sweet innocent,
You are a tyrant and a savage monster;
Your memory shall be as foul behind you,
As you are, living; all your better deeds
Shall be in water writ, but this in marble;
No chronicle shall speak you, though your own,
But for the shame of men. No monument
(Though high and big as Pelion) shall be able
To cover this base murder: Make it rich
With brass, with purest gold, and shining jasper,
Like the Pyramids; lay on epitaphs,
Such as make great men gods; my little marble
(That only clothes my ashes, not my faults)
Shall far out-shine it. And, for after issues,
Think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms,
That they will give you more for your mad rage
To cut off, unless it be some snake, or something
Like yourself, that in his birth shall strangle you.
Remember my father, king! There was a fault,
But I forgive it. Let that sin persuade you
To love this lady: If you have a soul,
Think, save her, and be saved. For myself,
I have so long expected this glad hour,
So languished under you, and daily withered,
That, heaven knows, it is my joy to die:
I find a recreation in it.

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

Mes. Get you to your strength,

And rescue the prince Pharamond from danger:
He's taken prisoner by the citizens,
Fearing the lord Philaster.

Dion. Oh, brave followers!
Mutiny, my fine dear countrymen, mutiny!
Now, my brave valiant foremen, shew your wea-
pons

In honour of your mistresses.

Enter another Messenger.
Mes. Arm, arm, arm!

King. A thousand devils take them!
Dion. A thousand blessings on them!
Mes. Arm, oh, king! The city is in mutiny,
Led by an old grey ruffian, who comes on
In rescue of the lord Philaster.

[Exit with Are. Phi. Bel. King. Away to the citadel: I'll see them safe, And then cope with these burghers. Let the

guard,

D

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Manent DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE.
Cle. The city up! this was above our wishes.
Dion. Ay, and the marriage too. By my life,
This noble lady has deceived us all.

A plague upon myself, a thousand plagues,
For having such unworthy thoughts of her dear
honour!

Oh, I could beat myself! or, do you beat me,
And I'll beat you; for we had all one thought.
Cle. No, no, 'twill but lose time.

Dion. You say true. Are your swords sharp? Well, my dear countrymen What-ye-lack, 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-praised sonnets, and graved in new brave ballads, that all tongues shall troule you in sæcula sæculorum, my kind can-carriers.

Thra. What if a toy take them in the heels now, and they run all away, and cry, the devil take the hindmost?'

Dion. Then the same devil take the foremost too, and souse him for his breakfast! If they all prove cowards, my curses fly amongst them, and be speeding! May they have murrains rain to keep the gentlemen at home, unbound in easy frieze! May the moths branch their velvets, and their silks only be worn before sore eyes! May their false lights undo them, 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.

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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 moved, sir: I shall bring you peace,
Or never bring myself back.

King. All the gods go with thee! [Excunt.
Enter an old captain and citizens, with Pнa-

RAMOND.

Cap. Come, my brave myrmidons, let's fall on! let our caps swarm, my boys, and your King. Now the vengeance of all the gods con-nimble tongues forget your mother's gibberish, of found them, how they swarm together! What a hum they raise! Devils choke your wild throats! If a man had need to use their valours, he must pay a brokage for it, and then bring them on, and they will fight like sheep. "Tis Philaster, none but Philaster, must allay this heat: They will not hear me speak, but fling dirt at me, and call me tyrant. 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! Oh, my wits, my wits! [Exit Cle. Dion. Oh, my brave countrymen! as I live, I will not buy a pin out of your walls for this: Nay, you shall cozen me, and I'll thank you; and send you brawn and bacon, and soil you every long vacation a brace of foremen, that at Michaelmas shall come up fat and kicking.

what do you lack, and set your mouths up,
children, till your palates fall frighted, half a
fathom past the cure of bay-salt and gross pep-
per. And then cry Philaster, brave Philaster!
Let Philaster be deeper in request, my ding-
dongs, my pairs of dear indentures, kings of
clubs, than your cold water camlets, or your
paintings spotted with copper.
Let not your
hasty silks, or your branched cloth of bodkin, or
your tissues, dearly beloved of spiced cake and
custard, your Robinhoods, Scarlets and Johns,
tie your affections in darkness to your shops.
No, dainty duckers, up with your three-piled
spirits, your wrought valours; and let your
uncut choler make the king feel the measure
of your mightiness. Philaster! cry, my rose-
nobles, cry.

All. Philaster! Philaster!

Cap. How do you like this, my lord prince? These are mad boys, I tell you; these are things, that will not strike their top sails to a foist; and let a man of war, an argosy, hull and cry cockles. Pha. Why, you rude slave, do you know what you do?

Cap. My pretty prince of puppets, we do know; and give your greatness warning, that you talk no more such bug-words, or that soldered crown shall be scratched with a musquet. Dear prince Pippen, down with your noble blood; or, as I live, I'll have you coddled. Let him loose, my spirits! Make us a round ring with your bills, my Hectors, and let us see what this trim man dares do. Now, sir, have at you! Here I lie, and with this swashing blow (do you sweat, prince?) I could hulk your grace, and hang you up cross-legged, like a hare at a poulterer's, and do this with this

wiper.

Pha. You will not see me murdered, wicked villains?

1 Cit. Yes, indeed, will we, sir: We have not seen one foe a great while.

Cap. He would have weapons, would he? Give him a broadside, my brave boys, with your pikes; branch me his skin in flowers like a sattin, and between every flower a mortal cut. Your royalty shall ravel! Jag him, gentlemen: I'll have bun cut to the kell, then down the seams. Oh, for a whip to make him galloon-laces! I'll have 2 coach-whip.

Pha. Oh, spare me, gentlemen!

Cap. Hold, hold; the man begins to fear, and know himself; he shall for this time only be seeled up, with a feather through his nose, that he may only see heaven, and think whither he is going. Nay, my beyond-sea sir, we will proclaim you: You would be king! Thou tender heir apparent to a church-ale, thou slight prince of single sarcenet; thou royal ring-tail, fit to fly at nothing but poor mens' poultry, and have every boy beat thee from that too with his bread and butter!

Pha. Gods keep me from these hell hounds! 1 Cit. I'll have a leg, that's certain, 2 Cit. I'll have an arm.

3 Cit. I'll have his nose, and at mine own charge build a college, and clap it upon the gate. Cit. I'll have his little gut to string a kit with; for, certainly, a royal gut will sound like silver. Pha. 'Would they were in thy belly, and I past my pain at once!

5 Cit. Good captain, let me have his liver to feed ferrets.

Cap. Who will have parcels else? speak. Pha. Good gods, consider me! I shall be tortured.

1 Cit. Captain, I'll give you the trimming of your two-hand sword, and let me have his skin to make false scabbards.

2 Cit. He has no horns, sir, has he?

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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 Phoebus? Speak. If not, this stand
Of royal blood shall be abroach, a-tilt,
And run even to the lees of honour.

am.

Phi. Hold, and be satisfied: I am myself; Free as my thoughts are: by the gods, I Cap. Art thou the dainty darling of the king? Art thou the Hylas to our Hercules? Do the lords bow, and the regarded scarlets Kiss their gummed golls, and 6 cry, we are your servants?

Is the court navigable, and the presence stuck
With flags of friendship? If not, we are thy
castle,
And this man sleeps.

I

Phi. I am what I do desire to be, your friend;
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 cannibals, and, as I live,

'il quit this land for ever. There is nothing,
Perpetual imprisonment, cold, hunger, sickness
Of all sorts, of all dangers, and all together,
The worst company of the worst men, madness,

age,

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