My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laugh'd at. Dare you be still my king, and right me not? King. Give me your wrongs in private.

[They whisper.

Phi. Take them, And ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas. Cle. He dares not stand the shock.

Dion. I cannot blame him: there's danger in't. Every man in this age has not a soul of crystal, for all men to read their actions through: Men's hearts and faces are so far asunder, that they hold no intelligence. Do but view yon stranger well, and you shall see a fever through all his bravery, and feel him shake like a true recreant. If he give not back his crown again, upon the report of an elder gun, I have no augury.

King. Go to!

Be more yourself, as you respect our favour; You'll stir us else. Sir, I must have you know, That you are, and shall be, at our pleasure, what fashion we

Will put upon you. Smooth your brow, or by the gods

Phi. I am dead, sir; you are my fate. It was
not I

Said, I was wrong'd: I carry all about me,
My weak stars lead me to, all my weak fortunes.
Who dares in all this presence speak (that is
But man of flesh, and may be mortal) tell me,
I do not most entirely love this prince,
And honour his full virtues!

King. Sure, he's possessed,

Phi. Yes, with my father's spirit: It is here,
O king!

A dangerous spirit. Now he tells me, king,
I was a king's heir, bids me be a king;
And whispers to me, these are all my subjects.
'Tis strange he will not let me sleep, but dives
Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes,
That kneel, and do me service, cry me "king:"
But I'll suppress him; he's a factious spirit,
And will undo me.-Noble sir, your hand:
I am your servant.

King. Away, I do not like this:

I'll make you tamer, or I'll dispossess you
Both of life and spirit. For this time

I pardon your wild speech, without so much
As your imprisonment.

[Er. King, PHA. and ARE. Dion. I thank you, sir; you dare not for the people.

Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave fellow?

Meg. A pretty talking fellow; hot at hand. But eye yon stranger: Is he not a fine complete gentleman? Oh, these strangers, I do affect them strangely: They do the rarest home things, and please the fullest! As I live, I could love all the nation over and over for his sake.

Gal. Pride comfort your poor head-piece, lady! 'Tis a weak one, and had need of a night-cap.

Dion. See, how his fancy labours! Has he not Spoke home, and bravely? What a dangerous train,

Did he give fire to! How he shook the king,

Made his soul melt within him, and his blood Run into whey! It stood upon his brow, Like a cold winter dew.

Phi. Gentlemen,

You have no suit to me? I am no minion:
You stand, methinks, like men, that would be
courtiers,

If you could well be flattered at a price
Not to undo your children. You are all honest:
Go, get you home again, and make your country
A virtuous court; to which your great ones may,
In their diseased age, retire, and live recluse.
Cle. How do you, worthy sir?
Phi. Well, very well;

And so well, that, if the king please, I find
I may live many years.

Dion. The king must please,

Whilst we know what you are, and who you are,
Your wrongs and injuries. Shrink not, worthy sir,
But add your father to you: In whose name,
We'll waken all the gods, and conjure up
The rods of vengeance, the abused people;
Who, like to raging torrents, shall swell high,
And so begirt the dens of these male-dragons,
That, through the strongest safety, they shall beg
For mercy at your sword's point.

Phi. Friends, no more;

Our ears may be corrupted: 'Tis an age
We dare not trust our wills to. Do you love me?
Thra. Do we love Heaven and honour ?
Phi. My lord Dion,

You had a virtuous gentlewoman called you father;

Dion. Do you know what you do?

Phi. Yes; go to see a woman.

Cle. But do you weigh the danger you are in? Phi. Danger in a sweet face!

By Jupiter, I must not fear a woman.

Thra. But are you sure it was the princess sent? It may be some foul train to catch your life.

Phi. I do not think it, gentlemen; she's noble; Her eye may shoot me dead, or those true red And white friends in her face may steal my soul

out:

There's all the danger in it. But, be what may, Her single name hath armed me. [Exit PHI Dion. Go on:

And be as truly happy as thou art fearless. Come, gentlemen, let's make our friends acquainted,

it is.

Are. Ye are all of his faction; the whole court Is bold in praise of him; whilst I May live neglected, and do noble things, As fools in strife throw gold into the sea, Drowned in the doing. But, I know he fears. Lady. Fear? Madam, methought, his looks hid

more

Of love than fear.

Are. Of love to whom? to you!
Did you deliver those plain words, I sent,
With such a winning gesture, and quick look,
That you have caught him?

Lady. Madam, I mean to you.

Are. Of love to me? alas! thy ignorance Lets thee not see the crosses of our births. Nature, that loves not to be questioned Why she did this, or that, but has her ends, And knows she does well, never gave the world Two things so opposite, so contrary, As he and I am: If a bowl of blood, Drawn from this arm of mine, would poison thee, A draught of his would cure thee. Of love to me? Lady. Madam, I think I hear him.

Are. Bring him in.

To save a lady's longing.

Are. Nay then, hear!

I must and will have them, and more-
Phi. What more?

Are. Or lose that little life the gods prepared,
To trouble this poor piece of earth withal.
Phi, Madam, what more?

Are. Turn, then, away thy face.
Phi. No.

Are. Do.

Phi. I can't endure it. Turn away my face?
I never yet saw enemy, that looked
So dreadfully, but that I thought myself
As great a basilisk as he; or spake
So horribly, but that I thought my tongue
Bore thunder underneath, as much as his;
Nor beast, that I could turn from: Shall I then
Begin to fear sweet sounds? a lady's voice,
Whom I do love? Say, you would have my life;
Why, I will give it you; for it is of me
A thing so loathed, and unto you, that ask,
Of so poor use, that I will make no price:
If you entreat, I will unmovedly hear.

Are, Yet, for my sakę, a little bend thy looks.
Phi. I do.

Are. Then know, I must have them, and thee.
Phi. And me?

Are. Thy love; without which, all the land,
Discovered yet, will serve me for no use,
But to be buried in.

Phi. Is't possible?

Are. With it, it were too little to bestow On thee. Now, though thy breath do strike me

dead,

(Which, know, it may) I have unript my breast.

Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts,
To lay a train for this contemned life,
Which you may have for asking: To suspect
Were base, where I deserve no ill. Love you,
By all my hopes, I do above my life:

But how this passion should proceed from you
So violently, would amaze a man,
That would be jealous.

Are. Another soul, into my body shot, Could not have filled me with more strength and spirit,

place,

In seeking how I came thus: 'Tis the gods,

Enter PHILASTER and BELLARIO.

Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable, boy, Full of regard unto thy tender youth, For thine own modesty; and, for my sake, Apter to give than thou wilt be to ask, Ay, or deserve.

Bel. Sir, you did take me up, when I was nothing;

And only yet am something, by being yours. You trusted me unknown; and that, which you were apt

To construe a simple innocence in me,
Perhaps, might have been craft; the cunning of
a boy

Hardened in lies and theft: Yet ventured you
To part my miseries and me; for which
I never can expect to serve a lady

That bears more honour in her breast than you.
Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee.

young,

Thou'rt

And bear'st a childish overflowing love To them, that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee fair yet.

pas

But, when thy judgment comes to rule those
sions,
Thou wilt remember best those careful friends,
That plac'd thee in the noblest way of life.
She is a princess I prefer thee to.

Bel. In that small time that I have seen the

world,

I never knew a man hasty to part
With a servant, he thought trusty: I remember,
My father would prefer the boys he kept
To greater men than he; but did it not,
Till they were grown too saucy for himself.
Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all
In thy behaviour.

Bel. Sir, if I have made

A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth:
I shall be willing, if not apt, to learn;
Age and experience will adorn my mind
With larger knowledge: And, if I have done.
A wilful fault, think me not past all hope
For once.
What master holds so strict a hand
Over his boy, that he will part with him
Without one warning? Let me be corrected,
To break my stubbornness, if it be so,
Rather than turn me off; and I shall mend.

Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay,
That, trust me, I could weep to part with thee.
Alas! I do not turn thee off; thou knowest
It is my business, that doth call thee hence;
And, when thou art with her, thou dwell'st with

me.

Think so, and 'tis so. And, when time is full,
That thou hast well discharged this heavy trust,
Laid on so weak a one, I will again
With joy receive thee; as I live, I will.

10

Nay, weep not, gentle boy! 'Tis more than time Thou didst attend the princess.

Bel. I am gone.

But since I am to part with you, my lord,
And none knows, whether I shall live to do
More service for you, take this little prayer;
Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your de
signs!

May sick men, if they have your wish, be well;
And Heaven hate those, you curse, though I be
one!
[Exit.

Phi. The love of boys unto their lords is strange; I have read wonders of it: Yet this boy, For my sake (if a man may judge by looks And speech) would out-do story. I A day to pay him for his loyalty.

Enter PHARAMOND.

may see [Exit PHI.

Pha. Why should these ladies stay so long? They must come this way: I know the queen employs them not; for the reverend mother sent me word, they would be all for the garden. If they should all prove honest now, I were in a fair taking. I was never so long without sport in my life; and, in my conscience, it's not my fault. Oh, for our country ladies! Here's one bolted; I'll hound at her.

Enter GALATEA.

Gal. Your grace!

Pha. Shall I not be a trouble?
Gal. Not to me, sir.

Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick. By this sweet hand

Gal. You'll be forsworn, sir; 'tis but an old glove. If you will talk at distance, I am for you: But, good prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag. These two I bar: And then, I think, I shall have sense enough to answer all the weighty apothegms your royal blood shall manage.

Pha. Dear lady, can you love?

Gal. Dear, prince! how dear? I ne'er cost you a coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a banquet. Here's no scarlet, sir, to blush the sin out it was given for. This wire mine own hair covers; and this face has been so far from being dear to any, that it ne'er cost penny painting: And, for the rest of my poor wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand behind it, to make the jealous mercer's wife curse our good doings.

Pha. You mistake me, lady.

Gal. Lord, I do so: 'Would you, or I, could help it!

Pha. Do ladies of this country use to give no more respect to men of my full being?

Gal. Full being! I understand you not, unless your grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, prince)

is, in a morning, a cup of neat white-wine, brewed with carduus; then fast till supper; about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a sparrowhawk; you can shoot in a tiller: But, of all, your grace must fly phlebotomy, fresh pork, conger, and clarified whey: They are all dullers of the vital spirits.

Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while. Gal. 'Tis very true, sir; I talk of you. Pha. This is a crafty wench; I like her wit well; 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite. She's a Danae, and must be courted in a shower of gold. Madam, look here ! All these, and more than

Gal. What have you there, my lord? Gold! Now, as I live, 'tis fair gold! You would have silver for it, to play with the pages: You could not have taken me in a worse time; but, if you have present use, my lord, I'll send my man with silver, and keep your gold for you.

Pha. Lady, lady !

Gal. She's coming, sir, behind, will take white money. Yet, for all this 'll match you.

[Erit GAL. behind the hangings. Pha. If there be but two such more in this kingdom, and near the court, we may even hang up our harps. Ten such camphire constitutions as this, would call the golden age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill-faced husband to get his own children; and what a mischief that will breed, let all consider!

Enter MEGRA.

Here's another : If she be of the same last, the devil shall pluck her on.-Many fair mornings, lady.

Meg. As many mornings bring as many days, Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your grace. Pha. She gives good words yet; sure this wench is free.

If your more serious business do not call you, Let me hold quarter with you: we'll talk an hour Out quickly.

Meg. What would your grace talk of ? Pha. Of some such pretty subject as yourself. I'll go no further than your eye, or hip; There's theme enough for one man for an age. Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet

even,

Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, red enough, Or my glass wrongs me.

Pha. Oh, they are two twinned cherries dyed in blushes,

Which those fair suns above, with their bright beams,

Reflect upon and ripen. Sweetest beauty,
Bow down those branches, that the longing taste
Of the faint looker-on may meet those blessings,
And taste and live.

Meg. Oh, delicate sweet prince!
She that hath snow enough about her heart,
To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off,
May be a nun without probation. Sir,
You have, in such neat poetry, gathered a kiss,
That if I had but five lines of that number,

If I do not teach you to do it, as easily, in one night,

As you'll go to bed, I'll lose my royal blood for't. Meg. Why, prince, you have a lady of your own, That yet wants teaching.

Phu. I'll sooner teach a mare the old measures, than teach her any thing belonging to the function. She's afraid to lie with herself, if she have but any masculine imagination about her; I know, when we are married, I must ravish her.

Meg. By my honour, that's a foul fault indeed; but time, and your good help, will wear it out, sir.

Pha. And for any other see, excepting your dear self, dearest lady, I had rather be sir Tim the schoolmaster, and leap a dairy-maid.

Meg. Has your grace seen the court-star, Galatea?

Pha. Out upon her! She's as cold of her favour as an apoplex: She sailed by but now.

Meg. And how do you hold her wit, sir?

Pha. I hold her wit? The strength of all the guard cannot hold it, if they were tied to it; she would blow them out of the kingdom. They talk of Jupiter; he is but a squib-cracker to her: Look well about you, and you may find a tonguebolt. But speak, sweet lady, shall I be freely welcome?

Meg. Whither?

Pha. To your bed. If you mistrust my faith, you do me the unnoblest wrong.

Meg. I dare not, prince, I dare not.

Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal them; and what you dare imagine you can want, I'll furnish you withal: Give two hours to your thoughts every morning about it. Come, I know you are bashful; speak in my ear, will you be mine? Keep this, and with it me: Soon I will visit you.

Meg. My lord, my chamber's most unsafe; but when 'tis night, I'll find some means to slip into your lodging; till when

Pha. Till when, this, and my heart go with [Exeunt several ways.

thee!