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As this sad lady's was.
Do it by me;
Do it again, by me, the lost Aspatia,
And you shall find all true, but the wild island.
Suppose I stand upon the sea-beach now,

Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind,

Wild as that desart; and let all about me
Tell, that I am forsaken. Do my face
(If thou hadst ever feeling of a sorrow)
Thus, thus, Antiphila: Strive to make me look
Like sorrow's monument! And the trees about me,
Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks
Groan with continual surges; and, behind me,
Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches!
A miserable life of this poor picture!
Olym. Dear madam!

Asp. I have done. Sit down; and let us
Upon that point fix all our eyes; that point there.
Make a dull silence, till you feel a sudden sadness
Give us new souls.

Enter CALIANAX.

Cal. The king may do this, and he may not do it: My child is wronged, disgraced. Well, how now, huswives!

What, at your ease? Is this a time to sit still? Up, you young lazy rogues, up, or I'll swinge you! Olym. Nay, good my lord.

Cal. You'll lie down shortly. Get you in, and work!

What, are you grown so resty you want heats? We shall have some of the court-boys beat you shortly.

Ant. My lord, we do no more than we are charged.

It is the lady's pleasure we be thus in grief :
She is forsaken.

Cal. There's a rogue too;

A young dissembling slave! Well, get you in!
I'll have a bout with that boy. 'Tis high time
Now to be valiant: I confess my youth
Was never prone that way. What, made an ass?
A court-stale? Well, I will be valiant,
And beat some dozen of these whelps; I will!
And there's another of them, a trim cheating sol-
dier;

I'll maul that rascal; he has out-braved me twice;
But now, I thank the gods, I am valiant.
Go, get you in! I'll take a course with all. [Exeunt.

Enter CLEON, STRATO, and DIPHILUS. Cle. YOUR sister is not up yet. Diph. Knock at the door. Stra. We shall interrupt them. Diph. No matter. Good morrow, sister! Enter AMINTOR.

ACT III.

Amin. Who's there? my brother! I'm no readier

yet.

Your sister is but now up.

Enter MELANTIUS.

Mel. Good day, Amintor! for, to me, the name.
Of brother is too distant: We are friends,
And that is nearer.

Amin. Dear Melantius!
Let me behold thee. Is it possible?
Mel. What sudden gaze is this?
Amin. 'Tis wondrous strange!

Mel. Why does thine eye desire so strict a view

Diph. You look as you had lost your eyes to- Of that, it knows so well? There's nothing here,

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That is not thine.

Amin. I wonder much, Melantius,

To see those noble looks, that make me think
How virtuous thou art: And, on the sudden,
'Tis strange to me thou shouldst have worth and
honour;

Or not be base, and false, and treacherous,
And every ill. But-

Mel. Stay, stay, my friend;

I fear this sound will not become our loves.
No more; embrace me.

Amin. Oh, mistake me not:

I know thee to be full of all those deeds,
That we frail men call good; but, by the course
Of nature, thou shouldst be as quickly changed
As are the winds; dissembling as the sea,
That now wears brows as smooth as virgins' be,
Tempting the merchant to invade his face,
And in an hour calls his billows up,
And shoots them at the sun, destroying all
He carries on him.-Oh, how near am I
To utter my sick thoughts!

[Aside.

Mel. But why, my friend, should I be so by nature?

Amin. I've wed thy sister, who hath virtuous
thoughts

Enough for one whole family; and it is strange,
That you should feel no want.

Mel Believe me, this compliment's too cunning
for me.

Diph. What should I be then, by the course of

nature,

They having both robbed me of so much virtue?
Stra. Oh, call the bride, my lord Amintor,
That we may see her blush, and turn her eyes down.
Amin. Evadne!

Evad. [within.] My lord!
Amin. Come forth, my love!

Your brothers do attend to wish you joy.
Eved. I am not ready yet.
Amin. Enough, enough.
Evad. They will mock me.

Amin. Faith, thou shalt come in.

Enter EVADNE.

Mel Good-morrow, sister! He that understands Whom you have wed, need not to wish you joy; You have enough. Take heed

You be not proud.-Amintor!

Amin. Ha!

Mel. Thou art sad.

Amin. Yes, sir.

King. Tell me, then; you will trust me, Amin

tor,

To chuse a wife for you again?

Amin. No, never, sir.

King. Why? like you this so ill?
Amin. So well I like her,

For this I bow my knee in thanks to you,
And unto Heaven will pay my grateful tribute
Hourly; and do hope we shall draw out
A long contented life together here,
And die both, full of grey hairs, in one day:
For which the thanks are yours. But if the powers,
That rule us, please to call her first away,
Without pride spoke, this world holds not a wife,
Worthy to take her room.

King. I do not like this.

All forbear the room, but you, Amintor,
And your lady. I have some speech with you,
That may concern your after living well.

Amin. He will not tell me, that he lies with her?
If he do, something heavenly stay my heart,
For I shall be apt to thrust this arm of mine
To acts unlawful!

King. You will suffer me to talk

With her, Amintor, and not have a jealous pang? Amin. Sir, I dare trust my wife with whom she dares

Amin. Who, I? I thank you for that. Shall To talk, and not be jealous.

Diphilus, thou, and I, sing a catch?

Mel. How!

Amin. Prithee, let us.

Mel. Nay, that's too much the other way.
Amin. I am so lightened with my happiness!
How dost thou, love? kiss me.

Evad. I cannot love you, you tell tales of me.
Amin Nothing but what becomes us. Gentlemen,
Would you had all such wives, and all the world,
That I might be no wonder! You are all sad:
What, do you envy me? I walk, methinks,
On water, and ne'er sink, I am so light.
Mel. 'Tis well you are so.

King. How do you like
Amintor?

Evad. As I did, sir.

King. How is that?

Evad. As one that, to fulfil your will and plea

sure,

I have given leave to call me wife and love.

King. I see there is no lasting faith in sin; They, that break word with Heaven, will break again

With all the world, and so dost thou with me.
Evad. How, sir?

King. This subtle woman's ignorance

Amin. Well? how can I be other, when she Will not excuse you: thou hast taken oaths,

looks thus.

Is there no music there? let's dance.

Mel. Why, this is strange, Amintor!
Amin. I do not know myself;

Yet I could wish my joy were less.
Diph. I'll marry too, if it will make one thus.
Evad. Amintor, hark.
[Aside.

Amin. What says my love? I must obey.
Evad. You do it scurvily, it will be perceived.
Cleo. My lord, the king is here.

Enter KING and LYSIPPUS.

Amin. Where?

Stra. And his brother.

King. Good morrow, all!

Amintor, joy on joy fall thick upon thee!

And, madam, you are altered since I saw you;
I must salute you; you are now another's.
Amintor, wert thou truly honest, 'till

Thou wert married?

So great, methought, they did not well become
A woman's mouth, that thou would'st ne'er enjoy
A man but me.

Evad. I never did swear so; you do me wrong.
King. Day and night have heard it.
Evad. I swore, indeed, that I would never love
A man of lower place; but, if your fortune
Should throw you from this height, I bade you trust
I would forsake you, and would bend to him,
That won your throne: I love with my ambition,
Not with my eyes. But, if I ever yet
Touched any other, leprosy light here
Upon my face; which for your royalty
I would not stain!

King. Why, thou dissemblest, and it is in me
To punish thee.

Evad. Why, it is in me, then,

Not to love you, which will more afflict your body,
Than your punishment can mine.

King. But thou hast let Amintor lie with thee.
Evad. I have not.
King. Impudence!
Evad. He lies.

King. He does not.

he says himself so.

King. Draw not thy sword; thou know'st I can

not fear

A subject's hand; but thou shalt feel the weight Of this, if thou dost rage.

Amin. The weight of that!

Evad. By this light he does, strangely and If you have any worth, for heaven's sake, think basely!

And I'll prove it so. I did not shun him

For a night; but told him, I would never close With him.

King. Speak lower; 'tis false.

Evad. I am no man

To answer with a blow; or, if I were,

You are the king! But urge me not; it is most true.
King. Do not I know the uncontrouled thoughts,
That youth brings with him, when his blood is high
With expectation, and desire of that
He long hath waited for? Is not his spirit,
Though he be temperate, of a valiant strain
As this our age hath known? What could he do,
If such a sudden speech had met his blood,
But ruin thee for ever? If he had not killed thee,
He could not bear it thus. He is as we,
Or any other wronged man.

Evad. It is dissembling.

King. Take him! farewell! henceforth I am thy foe;

And what disgraces I can blot thee, look for. Evad. Stay, sir!-Amintor!-You shall hear.— Amintor!

Amin. What, my love?

Evad. Amintor, thou hast an ingenuous look, And should'st be virtuous: It amazeth me, That thou canst make such base malicious lies! Amin. What, my dear wife?

Evad. Dear wife! I do despise thee.
Why, nothing can be baser than to sow
Dissention amongst lovers.

Amin. Lovers! who?
Eoud. The king and me.
Amin. O, Heaven!

Evad. Who should live long, and love without distaste,

Were it not for such pickthanks as thyself!
Did you lie with me? Swear now, and be punished
In hell for this!

Amin. The faithless sin I made
To fair Aspatia, is not yet revenged;
It follows me. I will not lose a word
To this vile woman: But to you, my king,
The anguish of my soul thrusts out this truth,
You are a tyrant!

And not so much to wrong an honest man thus,
As to take a pride in talking with him of it.

Evad. Now, sir, see how loud this fellow lied. Amin. You, that can know to wrong, should

know how men

Must right themselves: What punishment is due
From me to him, that shall abuse my bed?
Is it not death? Nor can that satisfy,
Unless I send your lives through all the land,
To shew how nobly I have freed myself.

I fear not swords; for as you are mere man,
I dare as easily kill you for this deed,
As you dare think to do it. But there is
Divinity about you, that strikes dead
My rising passions: As you are my king,
I fall before you, and present my sword
To cut mine own flesh, if it be your will.
Alas! I am nothing but a multitude
Of walking griefs! Yet, should I murder you,
I might before the world take the excuse
Of madness: For, compare my injuries,
And they will well appear too sad a weight
For reason to endure! But, fall I first
Amongst my sorrows, ere my treacherous hand
Touch holy things! But why (I know not what
I have to say) why did you chuse out me
To make thus wretched? There were thousand
fools

Easy to work on, and of state enough,
Within the island.

Evad. I would not have a fool;

It were no credit for me.

Amin. Worse and worse!

Thou, that darest talk unto thy husband thus,
Profess thyself a whore, and, more than so,
Resolve to be so still-It is my fate
To bear and bow beneath a thousand griefs,
To keep that little credit with the world!
But there were wise ones too; you might have ta'en
Another.

King. No; for I believed thee honest,
As thou wert valiant.

Amin. All the happiness

Bestowed upon me, turns into disgrace.
Gods, take your honesty again, for I
Am loaden with it! Good my lord the king,
Be private in it.

King. Thou may'st live, Amintor,
Free as thy king, if thou wilt wink at this,
And be a means, that we may meet in secret.
Amin. A bawd! Hold, hold, my breast! A bit-

ter curse

Seize me, if I forget not all respects,

That are religious, on another word
Sounded like that; and, through a sea of sins,
Will wade to my revenge, though I should call
Pains here, and after life, upon my soul!

King. Well, I am resolute you lie not with her;
And so I leave you.
[Exit King.
Evad. You must needs be prating;
And see what follows.

Amin. Prithee, vex me not!

Leave me! I am afraid some sudden start
Will pull a murder on me.

Evad. I am gone;

I love my life well.

[Exit Evadne

Amin. I hate mine as much. This is to break a troth! I should be glad, If all this tide of grief would make me mad. [Exit. Enter MELANTIUS.

Mel. I'll know the cause of all Amintor's griefs, Or friendship shall be idle.

Enter CALIANAX.

Cal. O Melantius, my daughter will dic. Mel. Trust me, I am sorry. Would thou hadst ta'en her room!

Cal. Thou art a slave,

A cut-throat slave, a bloody treacherous slave! Mel. Take heed, old man! thou wilt be heard

to rave,

And lose thine offices.

Cal. I am valiant grown,

At all these years, and thou art but a slave! Mel. Leave! Some company will come, and I respect

Thy years, not thee, so much, that I could wish To laugh at thee alone.

Cal. I'll spoil your mirth! I mean to fight with

thee.

There lie, my cloak! This was my father's sword, And he durst fight. Are you prepared?

Mel. Why wilt thou doat thyself out of thy life? Hence, get thee to bed! have careful looking to, And eat warm things, and trouble not me: My head is full of thoughts, more weighty Than thy life or death can be.

Cal. You have a name in war, where you stand

safe

Amongst a multitude; but I will try
What you dare do unto a weak old man,
In single fight. You will give ground, I fear.
Come, draw.

Met. I will not draw, unless thou pull'st thy death

Upon thee with a stroke. There's no one blow, That thou canst give, hath strength enough to kill

me.

Tempt me not so far then: The power of earth Shall not redeem thee.

Cal. I must let him alone;

He's stout and able; and, to say the truth,
However I may set a face, and talk,
I am not valiant. When I was a youth,
I kept my credit with a testy trick I had,
Amongst cowards, but durst never fight.
Mel. I will not promise to preserve your life,
If you do stay.

Cal. I would give half my land,

That I durst fight with that proud man a little. If I had men to hold him, I would beat him, Till he asked me mercy.

Mel. Sir, will you be gone? Cal. I dare not stay; but I'll go home and beat My servants all over for this. [Exit Calianax. Mel. This old fellow haunts me! Bat the distracted carriage of my Amintor Takes deeply on me! I will find the cause.

I fear his conscience cries, he wronged Aspatia.

Enter AMINTOR.

Amin. Men's eyes are not so subtle to perceive My inward misery: I bear my grief,

Hid from the world. How art thou wretched, then?

For aught I know, all husbands are like me;
And every one, I talk with of his wife,
Is but a well dissembler of his woes,
As I am.
'Would I knew it; for the rareness
Afflicts me now.

Mel. Amintor, we have not enjoyed our friendship of late, for we were wont to change our souls in talk.

Amin. Melantius, I can tell thee a good jest of Strato and a lady the last day.

Mel. How was it?

Amin. Why, such an odd one!

Mel. I have longed to speak with you; not of an idle jest, that's forced, but of matter you are bound

to utter to me.

Amin. What is that, my friend?

Mel. I have observed your words Fall from your tongue wildly; and all your carriage Like one, that strove to shew his merry mood, When he were ill disposed; You were not wont To put such scorn into your speech, or wear Upon your face ridiculous jollity. Some sadness sits here, which your cunning would Cover o'er with smiles, and 'twill not be. What is it?

Amin. A sadness here! what cause
Can fate provide for me, to make me so?
Am I not loved through all this isle? The king
Rains greatness on me. Have I not received
A lady to my bed, that in her eye
Keeps mounting fire, and on her tender checks
Immutable colour, in her heart

A prison for all virtue? Are not you,
Which is above all joys, my constant friend?
What sadness can I have? No; I am light,
And feel the courses of my blood more warm
And stirring than they were. Faith, marry too;
And you will feel so unexpressed a joy
In chaste embraces, that you will indeed
Appear another.

Mel. You may shape, Amintor,
Causes to cozen the whole world withal,
And yourself too; but 'tis not like a friend,
To hide your soul from me. 'Tis not your nature
To be thus idle: I have seen you stand,
As you were blasted, 'midst of all your mirth;
Call thrice aloud, and then start, feigning joy
So coldly!World, what do I here? a friend
Is nothing! Heaven, I would have told that man
My secret sins! I'll search an unknown land,
And there plant friendship; all is withered here.
Come with a compliment! I would have fought,
Or told my friend he lied,' ere soothed him so.
Out of my bosom !

Amin. But there is nothing

Mel. Worse and worse! farewell! From this time have acquaintance, but no friend.

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But that

Mel. But what?

Amin. I held it most unfit

For you to know. Faith, do not know it yet.
Mel. Thou seest my love, that will keep company
With thee in tears; hide nothing then from me;
For, when I know the cause of thy distemper,
With mine old armour I'll adorn myself,
My resolution, and cut through thy foes,
Unto thy quiet; till I place thy heart
As peaceable as spotless innocence.
What is it?

Amin. Why, 'tis this- -It is too big
To get out- -Let my tears make way awhile.
Mel. Punish me strangely, Heaven, if he escape
Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this!
Amin. Your sister-

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Thou art run mad with injury, indeed;
Thou couldst not utter this else. Speak again;
For I forgive it freely; tell thy griefs.

Amin. She's wanton: I am loth to say, a whore, Though it be true.

Mel. Speak yet again, before mine anger grow
Up, beyond throwing down: What are thy griefs?
Amin. By all our friendship, these.
Mel. What, am I tame?

After mine actions, shall the name of friend
Blot all our family, and stick the brand
Of whore upon my sister, unrevenged?
My shaking flesh, be thou a witness for me,
With what unwillingness I go to scourge
This railer, whom my folly hath called friend!
I will not take thee basely; thy sword
Hangs near thy hand; draw it, that I may whip
Thy rashness to repentance. Draw thy sword!
Amin. Not on thee, did thine anger swell as high
As the wild surges. Thou shouldst do me ease
Here, and eternally, if thy noble hand
Would cut me from my sorrows.

Mel. This is base

And fearful. They, that use to utter lies,

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As justly as our magistrates their swords
To cut offenders off. I knew before,
Twould grate your ears; but it was base in you
To urge a weighty secret from your friend,
And then rage at it. I shall be at ease,
If I be killed; and, if you fall by me,
I shall not long outlive you.

Mel. Stay awhile.

The name of friend is more than family,
Or all the world besides: I was a fool!
Thou searching human nature, that didst wake
To do me wrong, thou art inquisitive,
And thrust'st me upon questions, that will take
My sleep away! 'Would I had died, ere known
This sad dishonour! Pardon me, my friend!
If thou wilt strike, here is a faithful heart;
Pierce it, for I will never heave my hand
To thine. Behold the power thou hast in me!
I do believe my sister is a whore,

A leprous one! Put up thy sword, young man.

Amin. How should I bear it then, she being so? I fear, my friend, that you will lose me shortly; And I shall do a foul act on myself, Through these disgraces.

Mel. Better half the land

Were buried quick together. No, Amintor;
Thou shalt have ease. Oh, this adulterous king,
That drew her to it! Where got he the spirit
To wrong me so?

Amin. What is it then to me,
If it be wrong to you?

Mel. Why, not so much:

The credit of our house is thrown away.
But from his iron den I'll waken Death,
And hurl him on this king! My honesty
Shall steel my sword; and on its horrid point
I'll wear my cause, that shall amaze the eyes
Of this proud man, and be too glittering
For him to look on.

Amin. I have quite undone my fame.
Mel. Dry up thy watery eyes,
And cast a manly look upon my face;
For nothing is so wild as I, thy friend,
Till I have freed thee. Still this swelling breast!
I go thus from thee, and will never cease
My vengeance, till I find thy heart at peace.

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