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 heat 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.

King. Now the vengeance of all the gods confound 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.

King. What they will do with this poor prince, the gods know, and I fear.

Dion. Why, sir, they'll flea him, aud make church-buckets of his skin, to quench rebellion; then clap a rivet in his sconce, and hang him up for a sign.

Enter CLEREMONT with PHILASTER.

King. Oh, worthy sir, forgive me! Do not make

Your miseries and my faults meet together,
To bring a greater danger. Be yourself,
Still sound amongst diseases. I have wronged
you,
And though I find it last, and beaten to it,
Let first your goodness know it. Calm the peo
ple,

And be what you were born: Take your love,
And with her my repentance, and my wishes,
And all my prayers. By the gods, my heart speaks
this;

And if the least fall from me not performed,
May I be struck with thunder!

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 PHA

RAMOND.

Cap. Come, my brave myrmidons, let's fall on! let our caps swarm, my boys, and your nimble tongues forget your mother's gibberish, of 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 pepper. And then cry Philaster, brave Philaster! Let Philaster be deeper in request, my dingdongs, 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 rosenobles, 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 hve, 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 him cut to the kell, then down the seams. Oh, for a whip to make him galloon-laces! I'll have a 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 beir 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. 4 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?

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.

Phi. Hold, and be satisfied: I am myself;
Free as my thoughts are: by the gods, I am.
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 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,
I'll 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, imadness,
age,

To be as many creatures as a woman,
And do as all they do; nay, to despair;
But I would rather make it a new nattiré,
And live with all those, than endure one hour
Amongst these wild dogs.

Phi. I do pity you. Friends, discharge your
fears;

Deliver me the prince: I'll warrant you,
I shall be old enough to find my safety.

3 Cit. Good sir, take heed he does not hurt
you:

He's a fierce man, I can tell you, sir.

Cap. Prince, by your leave, I'll have a surcingle,

And mail you like a hawk.

[He stirs.

Phi. Away, away; there is no danger in him :

Alas, he had rather sleep to shake his fit off. Look ye, friends, how gently he leads. Upon my word,

He's tame enough, he needs no further watching.
Good my friends, go to your houses,

And by me have your pardons, and my love;
And know, there shall be nothing in my power
You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes.
To give you more thanks were to flatter you.
Continue still your love; and, for an earnest,
Drink this.

All. Long mayest thou live, brave prince! brave
prince!

Brave prince!

[Ex. Phi. and Pha. Cup. Thou art the king of courtesy ! Fall off again, my sweet youths. Come, and every man trace to his house again, and hang his pewter up; then to the tavern, and bring your wives in muffs. We will have music; and the red grape shall make us dance, and rise, boys. [Exeunt.

Enter KING, ARETHUSA, GALATEA, MEGRA, CLEREMONT, DION, THRASILINE, BELLARIO, and attendants.

King. Is it appeased?

Dion. Sir, all is quiet as the dead of night, As peaceable as sleep. My lord Philaster Brings on the prince himself.

King. Kind gentleman!

I will not break the least word I have given
In promise to him: I have heaped a world
Of grief upon his head, which yet I hope
To wash away.

Enter PHILASTER and PHARAMOND.
Cle. My lord is come.
King. My son!

Blest be the time, that I have leave to call
Such virtue mine! Now thou art in mine arms,
Methinks I have a salve unto my breast

For all the stings, that dwell there. Streams of grief,
That I have wronged thee, and as much of joy,
That I repent it, issue from mine eyes:
Let them appease thee. Take thy right; take her;
She is thy right too; and forget to urge
My vexed soul with that I did before.

Phi. Sir, it is blotted from my memory,
Past and forgotten. For you, prince of Spain,
Whom I have thus redeemed, you have full leave
To make an honourable voyage home.
And if you would go furnished to your realm
With fair provision, I do see a lady,
Methinks, would gladly bear you company:
How like you this piece?

Meg. Can shame remain perpetually in me,
And not in others? or, have princes salves,
To cure ill names, that meaner people want?
Phi. What mean you?

Meg. You must get another ship,
To bear the princess and the boy together.
Dion. How now!

Meg. Ship us all four, my lord; we can endure

Weather and wind alike.

King. Clear thou thyself, or know not me for father.

Are. This earth, how false it is! What means is left

For me to clear myself? It lies in your belief.
My lords, believe me; and let all things else
Struggle together to dishonour me.

Bel. Oh, stop your ears, great king, that I may speak

As freedom would; then I will call this lady
As base as be her actions! hear me, sir:
Believe your heated blood, when it rebels
Against your reason, sooner than this lady.
Meg. By this good light, he bears it hand-
somely.

Phi. This lady? I will sooner trust the wind
With feathers, or the troubled sea with pearl,
Than her with any thing. Believe her not!
Why, think you, if I did believe her words,
I would outlive them? Honour cannot take
Revenge on you; then, what were to be known
But death?

King. Forget her, sir, since all is knit
Between us. But I must request of you
One favour, and will sadly be denied.
Phi. Command, whate'er it be.
King. Swear to be true

To what you promise.

Phi. By the powers above!

Let it not be the death of her or him,
And it is granted.

King. Bear away that boy

To torture: I will have her cleared or buried. Phi. Oh, let me call my words back, worthy

sir!

You hear not often.

King. Walk aside with him.

Dion. Why speakest thou not?
Bel. Know you this face, my lord?
Dion. No.

Bel. Have you not seen it, nor the like?
Dion. Yes, I have seen the like, but readily

I know not where.

Bel. I have been often told,

In court, of one Euphrasia, a lady,

And daughter to you; betwixt whom and me
They, that would flatter my bad face, would swear
There was such strange resemblance, that we two
Could not be known asunder, dressed alike.

Dion. By heaven, and so there is.
Bel. For her fair sake,

Who now doth spend the spring-time of her life
In holy pilgrimage, move to the king,
That I may escape this torture.

Dion. But thou speakest

As like Euphrasia, as thou dost look,
How came it to thy knowledge, that she lives
In pilgrimage?

Bel. I know it not, my lord;

But I have heard it; and do scarce believe it. Dion. Oh, my shame! Is't possible? Draw

near,

That I may gaze upon thee. Art thou she,
Or else her murderer? Where wert thou born?
Bel. In Syracusa.

Dion. What's thy name?

Bel. Euphrasia.

Dion. Oh, 'tis just, 'tis she!

Now I do know thee. Oh, that thou hadst died,
And I had never seen thee nor my shame!
How shall I own thee? shall this tongue of mine
E'er call thee daughter more?

Bel. 'Would I had died indeed; I wish it too:
And so I must have done by vow, ere published
What I have told, but that there was no means
To hide it longer. Yet I joy in this,

The princess is all clear.

King. What have you done?

Dion. All is discovered.

King. Lay hold upon that lady.

Phi. It is a woman, sir! hark, gentlemen! It is a woman! Arethusa, take

My soul into thy breast, that would be gone
With joy. It is a woman! thou art fair,
And virtuous still to ages, in despite of malice,
King. Speak you; where lies his shame?
Bel. I am his daughter.

Phi. The gods are just.

Dion. I dare accuse none; but, before you two, The virtue of our age, I bend my knee

For mercy.

Phi. Take it freely; for, I know,

Though what thou didst were indiscreetly done, 'Twas meant well.

Are. And for me,

I have a power to pardon sins, as oft As any man has power to wrong me. Cle. Noble and worthy!

Phi. But, Bellario,

(For I must call thee still so) tell me why
Thou didst conceal thy sex? It was a fault;
A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds
Of truth outweighed it: all these jealousies
Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discovered
What now we know.

:

Bel. My father oft would speak Your worth and virtue; and, as I did grow More and more apprehensive, I did thirst To see the man so praised; but yet all this Was but a maiden longing, to be lost As soon as found; till sitting in my window, Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god, I thought, (but it was you) enter our gates. My blood flew out, and back again as fast, As I had puffed it forth and sucked it in Like breath: then was I called away in haste, To entertain you. Never was a man, Heaved from a sheep-cot to a sceptre, raised So high in thoughts as I you left a kiss Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep From you for ever. I did hear you talk, Far above singing! after you were gone, I grew acquainted with my heart, and searched What stirred it so: alas! I found it love; Yet far from lust; for could I but have lived In presence of you, I had had my end. For this I did delude my noble father With a feigned pilgrimage, and dressed myself In habit of a boy; and, for I knew My birth no match for you, I was past hope Of having you; and, understanding well, That, when I made discovery of my sex, I could not stay with you, I made a vow, By all the most religious things a maid Could call together, never to be known, Whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes, For other than I seemed, that I might ever Abide with you: then sat I by the fount, Where first you took me up.

King. Search out a match

cence!

And I will pay thy dowry; and thyself
Wilt well deserve him.

Bel. Never, sir, will I

Marry; it is a thing within my vow:

But, if I may have leave to serve the princess,
To see the virtues of her lord and her,
I shall have hope to live.

Are. I, Philaster,

Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady Dressed like a page to serve you; nor will I Suspect her living here. Come, live with me; Live free, as I do. She, that loves my lord, Curst be the wife that hates her!

Phi. Igrieve such virtues should be laid in earth, Without an heir. Hear me, my royal father: Wrong not the freedom of our souls so much, To think to take revenge of that base woman; Her malice cannot hurt us. Set her free

As she was born, saving from shame and sin.