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But take them from them, and you take at once
Their spleens away; and they will fall again
Unto their pastures, growing fresh and fat;
And taste the water of the springs as sweet
As 'twas before, finding no start in sleep.
But miserable man- -See, see, you gods,
Enter BELLARIO,

He walks still; and the face, you let him wear
When he was innocent, is still the same,
Not blasted! Is this justice? Do you mean
To intrap mortality, that you allow

Treason so smooth a brow? I cannot now
Think he is guilty.

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,
Here, by this paper! She does write to me,
As if her heart were mines of adamant
To all the world besides; but, unto me,
A maiden-snow, that melted with my looks.
Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee?
For I shall guess her love to me by that.

Bel. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were
Something allied to her; or had preserved
Her life three times by my fidelity.
As mothers fond do use their only sons;
As I'd use one, that's left unto my trust,
For whom my life should pay, if he met harm,
So she does use me.

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
Phi. Ill? No, Bellario.

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!

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I bad her do it. I charged her, by all charms
Of love between us, by the hope of peace
We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights,
Tell me, gentle boy,

Is she not paralleless? Is not her breath
Sweet as Arabian winds, when fruits are ripe?
Is she not all a lasting mine of joy?

Bel. Ay, now I see why my disturbed thoughts
Were so perplexed: When first I went to her,
My heart held augury. You are abused;
Some villain has abused you! I do see
Whereto you tend: Fall rocks upon his head,
That put this to you! 'Tis some subtle train,
To bring that noble frame of yours to nought.
Phi. Thou think'st I will be angry with thee,
Come

Thou shalt know all my drift: I hate her more
Than I love happiness, and placed thee there,
To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds.
Hast thou discovered? Is she fallen to lust,
As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to me,
Bel. My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent:
Had she a sin that way, hid from the world,
Beyond the name of lust, I would not aid
Her base desires; but what I came to know
As servant to her, I would not reveal,
To make my life last ages.

Phi. Oh, my heart!

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The gods have not a punishment in store
Greater for me, than is your hate.

Phi. Fie, fie, so young and so dissembling!
Tell me when and where thou didst enjoy her,
Or let plagues fall on me, if I destroy thee not!
Bel. Heaven knows I never did; and when I lie
To save my life, may I live long and loathed.
Hew me asunder, and whilst I can think,
I'll love those pieces you have cnt away,
Better than those that grow; and kiss those limbs,
Because you made them só,

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,
Thus without reason?

Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know
What 'tis to die.

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
So earnestly, that if it were not true,
The gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario!
Thy protestations are so deep, and thou
Dost look so truly, when thou utterest them,
That though I know them false, as were my hopes,
I cannot urge thee further. But, thou wert
To blame to injure me, for I must love
Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon
Thy tender youth: A love from me to thee
Is firm, whate'er thou dost. It troubles me,
That I have called the blood out of thy cheeks,
That did so well become thee. But, good boy,
Let me not see thee more: Something is done
That will distract me, that will make me mad,
If I behold thee. If thou tenderest me,
Let me not see thee.

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?
Are. Yes, sir.

King. What kind of boy?
Are. A page, a waiting-boy.
King. A handsome boy?

Are. I think he be not ugly :
Well qualified, and dutiful, I know him;
I took him not for beauty.

King. He speaks, and sings and plays?
Are. Yes, sir.

King. About eighteen?

Are. I never asked his age.

King. Is he full of service?

Are. By your pardon, why do you ask?
King. Put him

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.
King. If you fear me,

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,

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And suddenly Do it! Farewell. [Exit King.
Are. Where may a maiden live securely free,
Keeping her honour safe? Not with the living;
They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams,
And make them truths; they draw a nourishment
Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces;
And, when they see a virtue fortified
Strongly above the battery of their tongues,
Oh, how they cast to sink it; and, defeated,
(Soul-sick with poison) strike the monuments,
Where noble names lie sleeping; till they sweat,
And the cold marble melt.

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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
In stories of your praise? Who shall sing
Your crying elegies? And strike a sad soul
Into senseless pictures, and make them mourn?
Who shall take up his lute, and touch it, till
He crown a silent sleep upon my eye-lid,
Making me dream, and cry, 'Oh, my dear, dear
Philaster!'

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Under a woman's falsehood? Oh, that boy,
That cursed boy!

Are. Nay, then I am betrayed:

I feel the plot cast for my overthrow.
Oh, I am wretched!

Phi. Now you may take that little right I have
To this poor kingdom: Give it to your joy;
For I have no joy in it. Some far place,
Where never womankind durst set her foot,
For bursting with her poisons must I seek,
And live to curse you:

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,
And sworn so by you: How that foolish man,
That reads the story of a woman's face,
And dies believing it, is lost for ever:
How all the good you have is but a shadow,
In the morning with you, and at night behind you,
Past and forgotten: How your vows are frosts,
Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone :
How you are, being taken altogether,
A mere confusion, and so dead a chaos,
That love cannot distinguish. These sad texts,
Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you.
So, farewell all my woe, all my delight!

[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,
When I have lost them? If not, leave to talk,
And do thus.

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,
Grow like a sea upon me? Have I taken
Danger as stern as death into my bosom,
And laughed upon it, made it but a mirth,
And flung it by? Do I live now like him,
Under this tyrant king, that languishing
Hears his sad bell, and sees his mourners? Do I
Bear all this bravely, and must sink at length

Transparent as pure crystal, that the world,
Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought
My heart holds. Where shall a woman turn her

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And guiltily, methinks, that boy looks now!
Oh, thou dissembler, that before thou spak'st,
Wert in thy cradle false, sent to make lies,
And betray innocents! Thy lord and thou
May glory in the ashes of a maid/
Fooled by her passion; but the conquest is
Nothing so great as wicked. Fly away!

Let my command force thee to that, which shame
Would do without it. If thou understood'st

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
Into the noblest minds? Madam, this grief
You add unto me is no more than drops
To seas, for which they are not seen to swell:
My lord hath struck his anger through my heart,
And led out all the hope of future joys.
You need not bid me fly; I came to part,
To take my latest leave. Farewell for ever!

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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;

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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

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Sits as his soul were searching out a way

To leave his body. Pardon me, that must
Break thy last commandment; for I must speak.
You, that are grieved, can pity: Hear, my lord!
Phi. Is there a creature yet so miserable,
That I can pity!

Bel. Oh, my noble lord!

View my strange fortune; and bestow on me,
According to your bounty (if my service
Can merit nothing) so much as may serve
To keep that little piece I hold of life
From cold and hunger.

Phi. Is it thou? Begone!
Go, sell those misbeseeming cloaths thou wearest,
And feed thyself with them.

Bel. Alas! my lord, I can get nothing for
them:

The silly country people think 'tis treason
To touch such gay things.

Phi. Now, by my life, this is
Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight.
Thou'rt fallen again to thy dissembling, trade:
How shouldst thou think to cozen me again?
Remains there yet a plague untried for me?
Even so thou wept'st, and look'd'st, and spok'st

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
Am loth to grow in rage.
Bel. Any will serve,
That path in chace, that

This way, or that way?
But I will chuse to have
leads unto my grave.
[Exeunt Phi. and Bel. severally.

Enter DION and the Woodmen.

Dion. This is the strangest sudden chance!

You, Woodman!

1 Wood. My lord Dion!

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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;
And, when we come to try the power we have,
There's not a leaf shakes at our threatenings.
I have sinned, 'tis true, and here stand to be pu-
nished;

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?
Cle. Sir, shall I lie?

King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me

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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.
King. What, is she found?

Pha. No; we have ta'en her horse:
He galloped empty by. There's some treason.
You, Galatea, rode with her into the wood!
Why left you her?

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;
Where is she? Mark me, all; I am your king;
I wish to see my daughter; show her me;
I do command you all, as you are subjects,
To shew her me! What, am I not your king?
If ‘ay,' then am I not to be obeyed?

Dion. Yes, if you command things possible and
honest.

King. Things possible and honest? Hear me, thou,

Thou traitor! that dar'st confine thy king to things
Possible and honest; shew her me,
Or, let me perish, if I cover not

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,

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