Such pretty begging blanks, I should commend Your forehead, or your cheeks, and kiss you too. Pha. Do it in prose; you cannot miss it, madam. Meg. I shall, I shall.

Pha. By my life, you shall not. But we lose time. Can you love?

Meg. Love you, my lord? How would you have me love you? Has your grace seen the courtstar, 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 tongue-bolt. But speak, sweet lady, shall I be freely welcome? Meg. Whither?

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 thee! [Exeunt several ways.

Enter GALATEA from behind the hangings. Gal. Oh, thou pernicious petticoat-prince! are these your virtues? Well, if I do not lay a train to blow your sport up, I am no woman: And, lady Dowsabel, I'll fit you for't.

Enter ARETHUSA and a Lady.

Are. Where's the boy?

Lady. Within, madam.

[Exit.

Are. Gave you him gold to buy him cloaths? Lady. I did.

Are. And has he done it?

Lady. Yes, madam.

Hadst thou a curst master, when thou went'st to school?

Thou art not capable of other grief.
Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be,
When no breath troubles them: Believe me, boy,
Care secks out wrinkled brows and hollow eyes,
And builds himself caves, to abide in them.
Come, sir, tell me truly, does your lord love me?
Bel. Love, madam? I know not what it is.
Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet
knew'st love?

Thou art deceived, boy. Does he speak of me,
As if he wished me well?

Bel. If it be love,

To forget all respect of his own friends,
In thinking of your face; if it be love,
To sit cross armed, and sigh away the day,
Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud
And hastily as men in the streets do fire;
If it be love, to weep himself away,
When he but hears of any lady dead,

Or killed, because it might have been your chance;
If, when he goes to rest (which will not be)
Twixt every prayer he says, to name you once,
As others drop a bead; be to be in love,
Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you.

Are. Oh, you're a cunning boy, and taught to lic, For your lord's credit; but thou know'st a lie, That bears this sound, is welcomer to me Than any truth, that says, he loves me not. Lead the way, boy. Do attend me too. 'Tis thy lord's business hastes me thus.

you

Away. [Exeunt.

[Exit.

Meg. She's jealous, as I live. Look you, my lord, The princess has a Hilas, an Adonis.

Pha. His form is angel-like.
Dion. Serves he the princess?
Thra. Yes.

Dion. Tis a sweet boy; how brave she keeps him. Pha. Ladies all, good rest; I mean to kill a buck

To-morrow morning, ere you've done your dreams. [Exit. Meg. All happiness attend your grace!"Gentlemen, good rest.

Come, shall we to-bed?

Gal. Yes; all good night. [Ex. Gal. and Meg. Dion. May your dreams be true to you. What shall we do, gallants? 'tis late. The king Is up still; see, he comes; a guard along With him.

Eater KING, ARETHUSA, and guard. King. Look your intelligence be true.

Are. Upon my life, it is: And I do hope, Your highness will not tie me to a man, That, in the heat of wooing, throws me off, And takes another.

Dion. What should this mean?

King. If it be true,

Cle. Sir,

She parted hence but now, with other ladies.
King. If she be there, we shall not need to make
A vain discovery of our suspicion.
Ye gods, I see, that who unrighteously

Holds wealth, or state, from others, shall be curst
In that, which meaner men are blest withal.
Ages to come shall know no male of him
Left to inherit; and his name shall be
Blotted from earth. If he have any child,

It shall be crossly matched; the gods themselves
Shall sow wild strife betwixt her lord and her.

| Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin
I have committed. But how can I
Look to be heard of gods, that must be just,
Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong?

Enter DION.

Dion. Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she is within; I told them, I must speak with her; they laughed, and said, their lady lay speechless. I said, my business was important; they said, their lady was about it: I grew hot, and cried, my business was a matter, that concerned life and death; they answered, so was sleeping, at which their lady was. I urged again, she had scarce time to be so, since last I saw her; they smiled again, and seemed to instruct me, that sleeping was nothing but lying down and winking. Answers more direct I could not get: In short, sir, I think she is not there.

King. 'Tis then no time to dally. You of the

guard,

Wait at the back door of the prince's lodging,
And see, that none pass thence, upon your lives.
Knock, gentlemen! Knock loud! Louder yet!
What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing?
I'll break your meditations. Knock again!
Nor yet? I do not think he sleeps, having this
Laruin by him. Once more. Pharamond! prince!
PHARAMOND above.

Pha. What saucy groom knocks at this dead of night?

Where be our waiters? By my vexed soul,
He meets his death, that meets me, for this bold-

Pha. I say, no,

[Meg. above. Meg. Let them enter, prince; let them enter; I am up, and ready; I know their business: 'Tis the poor breaking of a lady's honour, They hunt so hotly after; let them enjoy it. Oh, my lord the king, this is not noble in you To make public the weakness of a woman. Enter MEGRA.

King. Now, lady of honour, where's your ho-
nour now? now?

No man can fit your palate, but the prince.
Had you none to pull on with your courtesies,
But he, that must be mine, and wrong my daughter?
By all the gods, all these, and all the pages,
And all the court, shall hoot thee through the court;
Meg. If you do this, oh, king! nay, if you dare
do it,

By all those gods you swore by, and as many
More of mine own, I will have fellows, and
Such fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth.
The princess, your dear daughter, shall stand by me
On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing.
Urge me no more; I know her, know the boy
She keeps; a handsome boy, about eighteen;
Come, sir, you put me to a woman's madness,
The glory of a fury; and, if I do not,
Do it to the height-

King. What boy is this she raves at?
Meg. Alas! good-minded prince, you know not
these things;

I am loth to reveal them. Keep this fault,
As you would keep your health, from the hot air
Of the corrupted people, or, by heaven,
I will not fall alone. What I have known,
Shall be as public as a print; all tongues
Shall speak it, as they do the language, they
Are born in, as free and commonly; I'll set it,
Like a prodigious star, for all to gaze at;

And so high and glowing, that other kingdoms,
Far and foreign,

Shall read it there, nay travel with it, 'till they find No tongue to make it more, nor no more people; And then behold the fall of your fair princess.

King. Has she a boy?

Cle. So please your grace, I have seen a boy wait On her; a fair boy.

King. Go, get you to your quarter: For this time I'll study to forget you.

Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I'll study To forget you. [Ex. King, Meg. and guard. Cle. Why, here's a male spirit for Hercules. Dion. Sure she has a garrison of devils in her tongue, she uttereth such balls of wild-fire. She has so nettled the king, that all the doctors in the country will scarce cure him. That boy was a strange-found out antidote to cure her infection: That boy; that princess' boy; that brave, chaste, virtuous lady's boy; and a fair boy, a well-spoken boy! All these considered, can make nothing else. But there I leave you, gentlemen.

Thra. Nay, we'll go wander with you. [Exeunt,

Enter CLEREMONT, DION, and THRASILINE.

Cle. NAY, doubtless, 'tis true.
Dion. Ay; and 'tis the gods,

That raised this punishment, to scourge the king
With his own issue. Is it not a shame

For us, that should write noble in the land,
For us, that should be freemen, to behold
A man, that is the bravery of his age,
Philaster, pressed down from his royal right,
By this regardless king? and only look
And see the sceptre ready to be cast
Into the hands of that lascivious lady,
That lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be
Married to yon strange prince, who, but that people
Please to let him be a prince, is born a slave
In that, which should be his most noble part,
His mind?

Thra. That man, that would not stir with you
To aid Philaster, let the gods forget,
That such a creature walks upon the earth.

Cle. Philaster is too backward in it himself. The gentry do await it, and the people, Against their nature, are all bent for him, And like a field of standing corn, that's moved With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way.

Dion. The only cause, that draws Philaster back From this attempt, is the fair princess' love, Which he admires, and we can now confute. Thra. Perhaps, he'll not believe it. Dion. Why, gentlemen, 'Tis without question so.

Cle. Ay, 'tis past speech,

She lives dishonestly: But how shall we,
If he be curious, work upon his faith?

Thra. We are all satisfied within ourselves.
Dion. Since it is true, and tends to his own good,
I'll make this new report to be my knowledge:
I'll say I know it; nay, I'll swear I saw it.
Cle. It will be best.
Thra. Twill move him.

Dion. My good lord,

We come to urge that virtue, which we know
Lives in your breast, forth! Rise, and make a head.
The nobles and the people are all dulled
With this usurping king; and not a man,
That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing
As virtue, but will second your attempts.

Phi. How honourable is this love in you To me, that have deserved none? Know, my friends,

(You, that were born to shame your poor Philaster
With too much courtesy) I could afford
To melt myself in thanks: But my designs
Are not yet ripe; suffice it, that ere long
I shall employ your loves; but yet the time
Is short of what I would.

Dion. The time is fuller, sir, than you expect:
That, which hereafter will not, perhaps, be reached
By violence, may now be caught. As for the king,
You know the people have long hated him;
But now the princess, whom they loved-
Phi. Why, what of her?

Dion. Is loathed as much as he.
Phi. By what strange means?
Dion. She's known a whore.
Phi. Thou liest.

Dion. My lord

Phi. Thou liest, [Offers to draw and is held. And thou shalt feel it. I had thought, thy mind Had been of honour. Thus to rob a lady Of her good name, is an infectious sin, Not to be pardoned: Be it false as hell, Twill never be redeemed, if it be sown Amongst the people, fruitful to increase All evil they shall hear. Let me alone, That I may cut off falsehood, whilst it springs! Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man That utters this, and I will scale them all, And from the utmost top fall on his neck, Like thunder from a cloud.

Dion. This is most strange :

Sure he does love her.

Phi. I do love fair truth:

She is my mistress, and who injures her,
Draws vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my arms.
Thra. Nay, good my lord, be patient.
Cle. Sir, remember this is your honoured friend,
That comes to do his service, and will shew
You why he uttered this.

Phi. I ask you pardon, sir;

My zeal to truth made ine unmannerly:
Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you,
Behind your back untruly, I had been
As much distempered and enraged as now.
Dion. But this, my lord, is truth.

Phi. Oh, say not so! good sir, forbear to say so!
Tis then truth, that all womankind is false!
Urge it no more; it is impossible.
Why should you think the princess light?
Dion. Why, she was taken at it.

Phi. 'Tis false! Oh, Heaven! 'tis false ! it cannot be!

Dion. Ay; know you him, my lord?
Phi. Hell and sin know him!-Sir, you are
deceived;

You are abused, and so is she, and I.
Dion. How you my lord?

Phi. Why, all the world's abused
In an unjust report.

Dion. Oh, noble sir, your virtues Cannot look into the subtle thoughts of woman. In short, my lord, I took them; I myself.

Phi. Now all the devils, thou didst! Fly from my rage!

'Would thou hadst taken devils engendering plagues,

When thou didst take them! Hide thee from

my eyes!

Would thou hadst taken thunder on thy breast, 'When thou didst take them; or been strucken dumb

For ever; that this foul deed might have slept In silence!

Thra. Have you known him so ill tempered? Cle. Never before.

Phi. The winds, that are let loose

From the four several corners of the earth,
And spread themselves all over sea and land,
Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a sword
To run me through?

Dion. Why, my lord, are you so moved at this? Phi. When any falls from virtue, I'm distract; I have an interest in't.

Dion. But, good my lord, recall yourself,
And think what's best to be done.

Phi. I thank you; I will do it.
Please you to leave me: I'll consider of it.
To-morrow I will find your lodging forth,
And give you answer.

Dion. All the gods direct you
The readiest way!

Thra. He was extreme impatient.
Cle. It was his virtue, and his noble mind.
[Exeunt Dion, Cle. and Thra.

Phi. Oh, that I had a sea

Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel!
More circumstances will but fan this fire.
It more afflicts me now, to know by whom
This deed is done, than simply that 'tis done :
And he, that tells me this, is honourable,

As far from lies as she is far from truth.
Oh, that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves,
With that we see not! Bulls and rams will fight
To keep their females, standing in their sight;