Phi. Friends, no more; Our ears may be corrupted: 'Tis an age We dare not trust our wills to. Do you love me? Of love than fear. Thra. Do we love Heaven and honour? Phi. My lord Dion, Are. Of love to whom? to you! Did you deliver those plain words, I sent, You had a virtuous gentlewoman called you fa- With such a winning gesture, and quick look, ther; Is she yet alive? Dion. Most honoured sir, she is: And, for the penance but of an idle dream, Has undertook a tedious pilgrimage. Enter a Lady. Phi. Is it to me, or any of these gentlemen, you come? Lady. To you, brave lord: The princess would entreat your present company. Phi. The princess send for me! You are mis taken. Lady. If you be called Philaster, 'tis to you. Phi. Kiss her fair hand, and say I will attend her. 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 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. Ye gods, that would not have your dooms with Phi. Madam, your messenger Made me believe you wished to speak with me. Are. 'Tis true, Philaster; but the words are such I have to say, and do so ill beseem The mouth of woman, that I wish them said, And yet am loth to speak them. Have you known, That I have ought detracted from your worth? Have I in person wronged you? or have set Phi. I can't endure it. Turn away my face? Are. Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks. Are. Then know, I must have them, and thee. Are. Thy love; without which, all the land, 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: VOL. I. But how this passion should proceed from you Are. Another soul, into my body shot, Could not have filled me with more strength and spirit, Than this thy breath. But spend not hasty time Is mingled with it. Let us leave, Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us. Phi. 'Twill be ill I should abide here long. Are. 'Tis true; and worse You should come often. How shall we devise Phi. I have a boy, Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent, Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst, read The prettiest lecture of his country art, Are. 'Tis well; no more. Lady. Madam, the prince is come to do his service. Are. What will you do, Philaster, with yourself? Phi. Why, that, which all the gods have appointed out for me. Are. Dear, hide thyself. Bring in the prince. When thunder speaks, which is the voice of Jove C Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not; And shall a stranger prince have leave to brag Unto a foreign nation, that he made Philaster hide himself? Are. He cannot know it. Pha. You are gone: By Heaven, I'll fetch you back. Phi. You shall not need. Pha. What now? Phi. Know, Pharamond, Phi. Though it should sleep for ever to theI loath to brawl with such a blast as thou, world, Enter PHILASTER and BELLARIO. ACT II. 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, Hardened in lies and theft: Yet ventured you young, And bear'st a childish overflowing love Thou wilt remember best those careful friends, Bel. In that small time that I have seen the world, I never knew a man hasty to part Bel. Sir, if I have made A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth : Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay, That, trust me, I could weep to part with thee. me. Think so, and 'tis so. And, when time is full, With joy receive thee; as I live, I will. Bel. I am gone. But since I am to part with you, my lord, your grace means growing to fatness; and then Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while. Pha. This is a crafty wench; I like her wit well; 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite. She's a Danäe, and must be courted in a shower of gold. Madam, look here: All these, and more de-than May sick men, if they have your wish, be well; 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. Here's one bolted. Enter GALATEA. Gal. Your grace! Pha. Shall I not be a trouble? 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: 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 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 I'll match you. [Exit 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. 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; If your more serious business do not call you, Meg. What would your grace talk of? Pha. Of some such pretty subject as yourself. 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. Thou art deceived, boy. Does he speak of me, Bel. If it be love, To forget all respect of his own friends, Or killed, because it might have been your chance; Are. Oh, you're a cunning boy, and taught to lie, Away. [Exeunt. |