But take them from them, and you take at once He walks still; and the face, you let him wear Treason so smooth a brow? I cannot now Bel. Health to you, my lord! The princess doth commend her love, her life, And this, unto you. Phi. Oh, Bellario! Now I perceive she loves me; she does shew it In loving thee, my boy: She has made thee brave. Bel. My lord, she has attired me past my wish, Past my desert; more fit for her attendant, Though far unfit for me, who do attend. Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy.-Oh, let all women, That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here, Bel. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were Phi. Why, this is wondrous well: But what kind language does she feed thee with? Bel, Why, she does tell me, she will trust my youth With all her loving secrets; and does call me Her pretty servant; bids me weep no more For leaving you; she'll see my services Regarded; and such words of that soft strain, That I am nearer weeping, when she ends, Than ere she spake. Phi. This is much better still. Bel. Are you not ill, my lord? Bel. Methinks, your words Fall not from off your tongue so evenly, Nor is there in your looks that quictness, That I was wont to see. Phi. Thou art deceived, boy: And she strokes thy head? Bel. Yes. Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks? Bel. She does, my lord. Phi, And she does kiss thee, boy? ha! I bad her do it. I charged her, by all charms Is she not paralleless? Is not her breath Bel. Ay, now I see why my disturbed thoughts Thou shalt know all my drift: I hate her more Phi. Oh, my heart! The gods have not a punishment in store Phi. Fie, fie, so young and so dissembling! Phi, Fearest thou not death? Can boys contemn that? Bel. Oh, what boy is he Can be content to live to be a man, That sees the best of men thus passionate, Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know Bel. Yes, I do know, my lord: 'Tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep, A quiet resting from all jealousy; A thing we all pursue. I know besides, It is but giving over of a game, that must be lost. Phi. But there are pains, false boy, For perjured souls: Think but on these, and then Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all. Bel. May they fall all upon me whilst I live, If I be perjured, or have ever thought Of that, you charge me with. If I be false, Send me to suffer in those punishments, You speak of; kill me. Phi. Oh, what should I do? Why, who can but believe him? He does swear Bel. I will fly as far As there is morning, ere I give distaste And ten thousand such; I should be angry at his stay. Enter KING. King, What, at your meditations? Who attends you? Are. None but my single self. I need no guard. I do no wrong, nor fear none. King. Tell me, have you not a boy? King. What kind of boy? Are. I think he be not ugly : King. He speaks, and sings and plays? King. About eighteen? Are. I never asked his age. King. Is he full of service? Are. By your pardon, why do you ask? Are. Sir! away. King. Put him away! he has done you that good service, Shames me to speak of. Are. Good sir, let me understand you. Shew it in duty: Put away that boy. Are. Let me have reason for it, sir, and then Your will is my command. King. Do not you blush to ask it? Cast him off, Or I shall do the same to you. You're one Shame with me, and so near unto myself, That, by my life, I dare not tell myself, What you, myself, have done. Are. What have I done, my lord? King. 'Tis a new language, that all love to learn: The common people speak it well already; They need no grammar. Understand me well; To that most honoured mind. But through these There be foul whispers stirring. Cast him off, And suddenly Do it! Farewell. [Exit King. 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, brace lets? Lose his health in service? Wake tedious nights Under a woman's falsehood? Oh, that boy, Are. Nay, then I am betrayed: I feel the plot cast for my overthrow. Phi. Now you may take that little right I have 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 scorpions, Both heal and poison: How your thoughts are Woven With thousand changes in one subtle web, [Exit Phi. Are. Be merciful, ye gods, and strike me dead! Are. Oh, never, never such a boy again, as my What way have I deserved this? Make my breast 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, 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, Transparent as pure crystal, that the world, And guiltily, methinks, that boy looks now! Let my command force thee to that, which shame 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 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, King. WHAT, are the hounds before, and all Beaten with winds, chaste as the hardened rocks, 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 tuft 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 Sits as his soul were searching out a way To leave his body. Pardon me, that must Bel. Oh, my noble lord! View my strange fortune; and bestow on me, Phi. Is it thou? Begone! Bel. Alas! my lord, I can get nothing for The silly country people think 'tis treason Phi. Now, by my life, this is 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 This way, or that way? 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 sa- That must be just. ble horse studded with stars of white? 2 Wood. Was she not young and tall? King. Alas! what are we kings? Why do you, gods, place us above the rest, Dion. Yes. Rode she to the wood or to the To be served, flattered, and adored, till we plain? 2 Wood. Faith, my lord, we saw none. [Exeunt Wood. Enter CLEREMONT. Believe we hold within our hands your thunder; Dion. Pox of your questions then! What, is Yet would not thus be punished. Let me chuse 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? King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me My way, and lay it on. Dion. He articles with the gods: 'Would some body would draw bonds, for the performance of covenants betwixt them! Enter PHARAMOND, GALATEA, and MEGRA. Pha. No; we have ta'en her horse: 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, King. Speak that again so boldly, and by By this hand, there shall be no more Sicily. Heaven, It is thy last. You, fellows, answer me; Dion. Yes, if you command things possible and King. Things possible and honest? Hear me, thou, Thou traitor! that dar'st confine thy king to things 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, |