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 THE tMET^fMAIV SERIES. 
 
 EDITED BY HAVELOCK ELLIS. 
 
 THE BEST PLAYS OF THE OLD DRAMATISTS.
 
 In Hall-Crown Monthly Volumes uniform with the present Work. 
 
 THE MERMAID SERIES. 
 THE BEST PLAYS OF THE OLD DRAMATISTS. 
 
 7" he following will be among the earlier Volumes of the series : 
 
 MARLOWE. Edited by HAVELOCK ELLIS. With a General 
 Introduction by J. A. SYMONDS. 
 
 MASSINGER. Edited by ARTHUR SYMONS. 
 MIDDLETON. With an Introduction by A. C. SWINBURNE. 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER (2 vols.). Edited by J. ST. 
 LOE STRACHEY. 
 
 CONGREVE. Edited by ALEXANDER C. EWALD. 
 
 DEKKER. Edited by ERNEST RHYS. 
 
 CONGREVE. Edited by ALEXANDER C. EWALD 
 
 WEBSTER & CYRIL TOURNEUR. Edited byj. A. SYMONDS. 
 
 SHIRLEY. Edited by EDMUND GOSSE. 
 
 OTWAY. Edited by the Hon. RODEN NOEL. 
 
 FORD. Edited by HAVELOCK ELLIS. 
 
 THOMAS HEY WOOD. Edited by J. A. SYMONDS. 
 
 ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM, and other Plays attributed to 
 SHAKESPEARE. Edited by ARTHUR SYMONS.
 
 FRANCIS "BEAUMONT. 
 
 'iii-l ILnri'iirt .
 
 THE BEST PLAYS OF THE OLD DRAMATIS 7 
 
 BEAUMONT & FLETCHER 
 
 EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES, 
 
 BY J. ST. LOE STRACHEV. 
 
 "I lie and dream of your full Mermaid wine." Beaumont 
 
 I. 
 
 UNEXPURGATED EDITION. 
 
 
 LONDON : 
 YIZETELLY& CO., 42, CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 
 
 1887.
 
 " What things have we seen 
 
 Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
 So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, 
 As if that every one from whence they came 
 Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, 
 And had resolved to live a fool the rest 
 Of his dull life." 
 
 Master Francis Beaumont to Ben [onson. 
 
 " Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
 What Elysium have ye known, 
 Happy field or mossy cavern, 
 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?" 
 
 Keats. 
 
 LOKDON : 
 UKADBUKY, AGNEW, & co., PKINTKKS, WHITEKRIARS
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT & JOHN FLETCHER 
 
 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY . . . 
 
 PHILASTER . ... . 
 
 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE . . 
 
 THIERRY AND THE >DORET 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTI.E 
 
 I 
 
 99 
 193 
 291 
 
 379
 
 FRANCIS 'BEAU&fOZ\T 
 FLETCHER 
 
 I. 
 
 'N the whole range of English 
 literature, search it from Chaucer 
 till to-day, there is no figure 
 more fascinating or more worthy 
 of attention than "the mysterious 
 double personality" of Beaumont 
 and Fletcher. Whether we bow 
 to the sentiment of the first Editor who, though he 
 knew the secret of the poets, yet, "since never 
 parted while they lived," " conceived it not equit- 
 able to separate their ashes," and so refuse to think 
 of them apart ; whether we adopt the legendary 
 union of the comrade poets who dwelt on the 
 Bankside, who lived and worked together, their 
 thoughts no less in common than the cloak 
 and bed, o'er which tradition has grown fond ; 
 whether we think of them as of two minds 
 so married that to divorce or disunite them 
 were a sacrilegious deed ; or whether we yield to
 
 viii FRANCIS BE A UMONT Sf JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 the subtler influences of the critical fancy, and 
 delight to discover and explore, each from its 
 source, the twin fountains of inspiration that feed 
 the majestic stream of song that flows through " the 
 lost Aspatia's " tragedy, that overwhelms the lusts 
 and cruelties of Valentinian and the debaucheries 
 of Brunhalt and her paramours, that flashes a bright 
 and shining river through the woodlands where 
 " love lies bleeding " with Philaster, that makes its 
 waters vocal in many a lyric strain, sweet as 
 Shakespeare's own, that learns its waves to laugh 
 and sparkle with epigram and jest the humours 
 and conceits of Mirabel and Bessus ; whether we 
 treat the poets as a mystery to which love and 
 sympathy are the initiation, or as a problem 
 for the tests and re-agents of critical analysis to 
 solve, the double name of Beaumont and Fletcher 
 will ever strike the fancy and excite the imagina- 
 tion as does no other name in the annals of* English 
 song. 
 
 The place of Beaumont and Fletcher in our 
 dramatic literature is as remarkable for the tone 
 and quality of their works as for their peculiar 
 personality. Their writings have not, it is true, the 
 glorious exaltation of Marlowe ; they cannot draw 
 from life the noble lessons of conduct, of virtue, and 
 of divine guidance that Shakespeare teaches, when 
 with a poetic justice, itself the reflection of that 
 justice which is eternal, he weighs human actions 
 in the balance and values them not as the world 
 values, but by that "finer knowledge" which sees 
 men as they are, not as they seem. Nor again is 
 their work ever inspired with the subtle and pas-
 
 FRANCIS BE A UMONT fr- JOHN FLETCHER. ix 
 
 sionate melancholy that Ford breathed on his 
 creations, or by the more natural if more funereal 
 fantasy of Webster. Hey wood's innocent and artless 
 transcripts from real life, Jonson's inspired learning, 
 have no reflection in their pages. Sprung not from 
 among those poor scholars, like Peele and Greene 
 and Marlowe, to whom the new learning gave angel 
 tongues, nor, like Shakespeare and Ben Jonson, 
 from the ranks of the middle class, but born the 
 sons, one of a spiritual peer, whose life had been 
 passed amid the intrigues and luxuries of the Court, 
 the other of a Justice of the Common Pleas, who 
 by birth and alliance was connected with families 
 which in countries less fortunate than ours, would 
 have borne the titles of nobility, the poetic genius 
 that both possessed in so marked a degree took 
 colour from their origin. It is they who know best 
 how to tell the splendour, the miseries, the vices, and 
 the follies of princes, the meanness and degradation 
 of courts and courtiers, the strange vicissitudes of 
 fortune that men must endure who would wait on 
 kings' favours. To them the language of the ladies 
 and the gallants who lounge in royal ante-chambers, 
 or pace the long galleries that open on the presence 
 chamber, comes familiarly enough. The epigram 
 and fancy, the repartees of courtly speech, are to 
 them accustomed things. Yet it is not only the 
 dalliance of silk-clad courtiers and bejewelled 
 dames that they reflect. They show us too the 
 pathos of such lives. How the princess may love as 
 simply, as honestly, and with as much devotion as 
 the milkmaid ; how the sins of sovereigns, who for 
 a time seem to dare the vengeance of Heaven, find
 
 x FRANCIS BE A UMONT 6- JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 them out at last ; how the purest flame of love 
 may burn amid the corruptions of the palace ; how 
 the soldier scorns to obey his prince to his degrada- 
 tion ; and how even " the divinity that doth hedge 
 a king" gives no protection against the steel of 
 outraged honour. 1 
 
 1 The criticism of Beaumont and Fletcher's manner made by 
 Dryden, in his well-known Essay of Dramatic Poetry > is too remark- 
 able not to be quoted : "Beaumont and Fletcher had, with the 
 advantage of Shakespeare's wit, which was their precedent, great 
 natural gifts, improved by study. Beaumont especially being so accu- 
 rate a judge of plays that Ben Jonson, while he lived, submitted all 
 his writings to his censure, and, 'tis thought, used his judgment in 
 correcting, if not in contriving, all his plots. What value he had 
 for him appears by the verses he wrote to him, and therefore I need 
 speak no further of it. The first play that brought Fletcher and 
 him in esteem was Philaster ; for before that they had written 
 two or three very unsuccessfully, as the like is reported of Ben 
 Jonson before he writ Every Man in His Humour. Their plots 
 were generally more regular than Shakespeare's, specially those 
 that were made before Beaumont's death. And they understood 
 and imitated the conversation of gentlemen much better, whose 
 wild debaucheries, and quickness of wit in repartees, no poet can 
 ever paint as they have done. Humour, which Ben Jonson derived 
 from particular persons, they made it not their business to describe ; 
 they represented all the passions very lively, but, above all, love. 
 I am apt to believe that the English language in them arrived to 
 its highest perfection ; what words have since been taken in are 
 rather superfluous than necessary. Their plays are now the most 
 pleasant and frequent entertainments of the stage, two of theirs 
 being acted through the year for one of Shakespeare's or Jonson's ; 
 the reason is, because there is a certain gaiety in their comedies, 
 and pathos in their more serious plays, which suits generally with 
 all men's humour. Shakespeare's language is likewise a little 
 obsolete, and Ben Jonson's wit comes short of theirs. " 
 
 Against this testimony as to the comparative popularity of Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher and Shakespeare, I should like to draw the 
 reader's attention to the fact that, in Pepys' Diary, the number of 
 representations of Shakespeare's plays recorded is a good deal larger 
 than those of Beaumont and Fletcher.
 
 FRANCIS BEA UMONT &- JOHN FLETCHER, xi 
 
 But though Beaumont and Fletcher stand alone 
 as representatives of the age when English manners 
 and English literature were most affected by the 
 life of the court, they share with their fellow play- 
 wrights that power of song which has made our 
 Elizabethan plays as renowned for their treasures 
 of lyric verse as even those literatures " of insolent 
 Greece and haughty Rome " so proudly challenged 
 by the classics' own high priest. 
 
 II. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, though not of obscure 
 origin like the greater number of their fellow 
 dramatists, yet afford no exception to the general 
 rule in the obscurity that surrounds their lives. 
 Those who desire to see all the scraps of informa- 
 tion that can be collected concerning either poet 
 should turn to the Introduction prefixed by Mr. 
 Dyce to his noble edition of their works. It must 
 suffice for me to put together here the few simple 
 facts and dates that may be required for reference 
 by the reader of these volumes. 
 
 Francis Beaumont was born at Grace-Dieu, in 
 Leicestershire, probably in the year 1586, and died 
 in London on the Qth March, 1616. His father, Sir 
 Francis Beaumont, one of the Justices of the Com- 
 mon Pleas, was of an ancient Leicestershire family, 
 long seated in the neighbourhood of Grace-Dieu. 
 His grandfather, John Beaumont, was also a mem- 
 ber of the Judicial hierarchy, having filled the 
 office of Master of the Rolls. His mother was a
 
 xii FRANCIS BEAUMONT 6- JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 Pierrepoint of Holme Pierrepoint in Nottingham- 
 shire. He married Ursula, daughter of Henry 
 Isley of Sundridge, in Kent, a gentleman of a good" 
 but probably impoverished familyj and left two 
 daughters Elizabeth, who married 'a Scotch 
 colonel,' and Frances, a posthumous child, who 
 died in Leicestershire about the year 1700. Tradi- 
 tion states that this daughter had for some time in 
 her possession several poems of her father's writing, 
 but that these were lost at sea during a journey 
 from Ireland. 
 
 In 1596 the poet was admitted a gentleman 
 commoner at Broadgate-hall, now Pembroke Col- 
 lege, Oxford a seat of learning destined in later 
 years to be described by Dr. Johnson as "a nest 
 of singing birds." The appellation might have 
 fitted Beaumont's own family, for in 1615 there 
 were no less than three poets bearing the name of 
 Francis Beaumont in existence the subject of 
 these remarks, his connection the Master of the 
 Charterhouse, and a nephew of the dramatist, who 
 became a Jesuit. This, however, does not exhaust 
 the record of the Beaumont poets. The dramatist's 
 brother and that brother's son, both Johns, were 
 also verse writers. 1 
 
 Beaumont seems to have come early to London, 
 where he became a member of the Inner Temple. 
 His legal studies probably sat lightly on him ; and 
 Lord Coke's famous maxim, " Our Lady Common 
 Law doth love to lie alone," we may be sure was 
 
 'For the names of other more distantly connected bards, I must 
 rder-the reader to Mr, Dyce's notes. - -
 
 FRANCfS BEAUMON7 6- JOHN FLETCHER, xiii 
 
 little to his fancy. In those days, however, when 
 the Inns of Court vied with each other in masques 
 and pageants as much as in the record of Chan* 
 cellors and Chief Justices, a student might gain 
 credit in the society to which he belonged by the 
 exercise of his fancy and imagination. Accordingly 
 we find Beaumont in 1613 producing, doubtless 
 with the applause and approval of the Bench, his 
 Masque of tlte Inner Temple and Grays Inn t pre- 
 sented before the Court in celebration of the 
 nuptials of the Count Palatine of the Rhine and the 
 Princess Elizabeth. 
 
 Such is the outline of Beaumont's life. Into 
 the obscurer questions connected with his name 
 and authorship I cannot enter. Of whether Beau- 
 mont did or did not write the Sahnacis and 
 Hermaphrodilus I refrain from treating here. Nor 
 is it possible for me to go into the interesting facts 
 which seem to show that it was through a common 
 friendship with Ben Jonson, perhaps through a 
 kindred admiration for the poet's masterpiece, 
 Volpone to which play both contributed com- 
 mendatory verses, that the comrade poets first 
 became acquainted. Such investigations, if profit- 
 able at all, are better fitted for the learned leisure 
 of a literary society's Transactions than to stop the 
 reader's way on a voyage into the enchanted land 
 of the dramatist's fancy. 
 
 John Fletcher, son of Richard Fletcher, first, 
 Dean of Peterborough, next Bishop of Bristol, then 
 of Worcester, and finally of London, was born at 
 Rye in Sussex, in December, 1579, died in London 
 of the plague, in August, 1625, and was buried in
 
 xiv FRANCIS BEA UMONT &- JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 St. Mary Overy's (St. Saviour's), Southwark. He 
 was educated at Benet College, Cambridge, and 
 probably came to try his fortune in London as a 
 playwright a little earlier than Beaumont. His 
 father was a typical ecclesiastic of the times of 
 Elizabeth and James. Handsome in person, 
 courtly in manner, eloquent of speech, fond of 
 luxury and show, his whole mind was centred in 
 the Court. Away from the influence of the 
 sovereign's smiles he pined and withered. His 
 life, such as we know it, is not devoid of interest. 
 His picture, showing the same traits of a sensuous 
 though intellectual nature that are apparent in his 
 son's portraits, hangs still in the Bishop of London's 
 Palace at Fulham, and his initials, R. F., are to be 
 seen in the stained glass windows of the Hall he 
 was building when he died. The details of the 
 Bishop's life, the striking story of his loss of court 
 favour by his second marriage, and of his strange 
 death in the moment of regaining the Queen's 
 esteem, so appropriate to a material pleasure-living 
 existence, need not be told at length. 1 
 
 Two points in connection with the influence that 
 the poet's home surroundings are likely to have 
 had upon him in his youth may be appropriately 
 
 1 Wood's Fasti, quoted by Dyce, gives the following details : 
 " But certain it is that (the Queen being pacified, and he in great 
 jolity, with his faire lady and her carpets and cushions in his bed- 
 chamber) he died suddenly, taking tobacco, in his chaire, saying to 
 his man that stood by him, whom he loved well, ' Oh boy, I die.' " 
 Fuller tells his death somewhat differently, and how the Bishop, 
 "seeking to lose his sorrows in a mist of smoke, died of the im- 
 moderate taking thereof." Let us trust this was but the figment of 
 some anti-tobacconist of the day.
 
 FRANCIS BEA UMONT <S^ JOHN FLE TCHER. xv 
 
 mentioned, especially as they seem to have escaped 
 the notice of his biographers. John Fletcher, if 
 only for a short period, must, while at the Bishop's 
 Palace at Fulham, have lived among what was then 
 some of the fairest river scenery in England. At 
 his feet ran the deep, clear, and still unpolluted 
 Thames, swelled by many a tributary brook fit 
 examples for the poet of The Faithful Shepherdess. 
 Beyond the river, but only a little way from his 
 home, stretched the beautiful woodland scenery of 
 Wimbledon and Richmond Forest, while to the 
 north lay the upland meadows of Hampstead, 
 then intersected by many a pleasant stream, and 
 the forest-glades of Highgate. Here he might 
 still find the true forest woods that had never 
 known the arts of planter or forester ; that stretched 
 their branches to shadow flowers that disdain to 
 grow except in forests ' ancient as the hills ' that 
 bear them, and consecrated to the Dryads of 
 the primaeval woodland. Such were the pastoral 
 influences of the poet's childhood. 
 
 Another influence may also have been at work. 
 The courtly prelate who knew so much of princes' 
 antechambers, may have taught his son that deep 
 and inner knowledge of the Court which Fletcher's 
 scenes so often show. And he could tell his 
 children of more than mere forms and ceremonies 
 or the etiquette of Court address, for it had been his 
 lot to see and watch closely one of the most 
 striking instances of the vicissitudes that attend 
 the lives of sovereigns, that the world has seen. 
 Richard Fletcher had been the chaplain appointed 
 to wait upon the unhappy Queen of Scots during
 
 xvi FRANCIS BE A UMONT & JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 the last days of her imprisonment ; and it was he 
 who attended her in the concluding agony of her 
 long struggle. No man could have seen without a 
 lasting impression the end of one so evil, so high- 
 spirited, so beautiful. The face, such as we know 
 it in the Hatfield picture, a face that smiles with a 
 girlish charm more tender and more graceful than 
 Greuze ever threw upon his canvas, had grown 
 debased by the indulgence of evil lusts, and still 
 more evil hatreds ; it had become haggard by misery 
 and worn by disappointment, if not by remorse, 
 yet it was still the face of a Queen, though fallen, 
 and retained a ruined majesty, a splendour of 
 despair, enough to serve painter or poet as an 
 eternal theme for the tragedy of pride and beauty 
 and power, defaced and overthrown. 
 
 Richard Fletcher had gazed on this face when 
 Mary's need for help and comfort was the sorest. 
 Did he ever describe to his son the scene at 
 Fotheringay, in which he played so prominent a 
 part ? Did he tell how Mary, dressed all in black, 
 ascended the sombre draped scaffold in the castle 
 hall, round which the soldiers and spectators, the 
 councillors of state and their attendants, stood 
 robed also in the deepest black, and how the hang- 
 ings of the walls showed nowhere the smallest 
 speck of colour, till suddenly, and ere she laid her 
 head upon the block, the Queen threw off the sable 
 cloak that covered her, and stood before the 
 astonished throng, clad from head to foot in regal 
 scarlet ? That such a scene, transcending all that 
 the stage has ever dared to represent, may have 
 been told to Fletcher by his father the man, too,
 
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT fr. JOHN FLETCHER, xvii 
 
 whose voice it was that when the axe had fallen, 
 broke the silence with, " So perish all the Queen's 
 enemies ! " is not a possibility too remote for 
 speculation. It is hardly possible to conceive that 
 the tragic experiences of his father at Fotheringay 
 did not become known to and were not dwelt upon 
 by one so full of imagination as the son. 
 
 Fletcher, like Beaumont, was sprung of a poetic 
 race. Dr. Giles Fletcher, his uncle, was, accord- 
 ing to Wood, " an excellent poet," though he was 
 better known as a civilian and the author of a 
 description of an Embassy to Russia. The Doc- 
 tor's sons, however, and the dramatist's first 
 cousins, Phineas and Giles, gained in their day a 
 considerable reputation for their poems. 1 
 
 Of the life that Beaumont and Fletcher led in 
 London while working together we know nothing 
 that is positive. I shall therefore refrain from all 
 conjecture, and content myself with merely refer- 
 ring to the traditions of the intimate friendship of 
 the poets in the things of common life, and to the 
 rumour, evidently absurd, that Beaumont's share in 
 the literary partnership was only that of correcting 
 and pruning the too great abundance of Fletcher's 
 fancy. 
 
 III. 
 
 We must content ourselves with the few facts 
 that are known to us, in our efforts to individualise 
 
 1 The Purple Island, and Piscatory Eclogues, the issue of 
 Phineas's brain, are on the shelves of most well-filled libraries, and 
 have been often reprinted. 
 
 Bau. & Fl. i, &
 
 xviii FRANCIS BE A UMONT 6- JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 the personal characteristics of the two dramatists. 
 If, however, we desire to separate the share of 
 each in their joint work and to form a literary esti- 
 mate peculiar to one and to the other, we must be 
 prepared to tread on less certain ground. To 
 determine this by internal criticism seems at first 
 sight an extremely hopeless attempt. Yet, as a 
 matter of fact, the method need not be utterly 
 random or empirical. Fletcher survived Beaumont 
 some ten years, and during this time wrote a suc- 
 cession of pieces for the stage. He also composed 
 The Faithful Shepherdess without Beaumont's aid. 
 We thus have a considerable body of work which 
 we know is Fletcher's alone. If we critically 
 examine this, certain marked peculiarities of style 
 and of dramatic handling are evident through- 
 out. We can thus assign distinct qualities to 
 Fletcher's manner as we know it when he worked 
 alone. If we apply the canon thus formed to the 
 plays known to have been of joint production, 
 it will be no difficult task to find certain scenes 
 and passages in which what we determine to 
 regard as Fletcher's characteristics are very appa- 
 rent, and other portions in which we miss them 
 altogether. We eliminate Fletcher and so dis- 
 cover Beaumont, afterwards correcting the results 
 of this process by a canon of Beaumont's own 
 style, created from the aggregate results of the first 
 elimination. 
 
 This is a pretty enough game to play at, and 
 one which necessitates far too careful an examina- 
 tion of the plays to be anything but useful. Its 
 correctness, however, rests upon certain assump-
 
 FRA NCIS BE A UMONT fr* JOHN FLE TCHER. xix 
 
 tions to which I at least must decline in all 
 humility to commit myself without reserve. They 
 are : that no poet will ever completely change his 
 style ; and that two poets working together will 
 not so affect each other that their most marked 
 characteristics and individualities become inter- 
 changed. Unless negative assumptions of this kind 
 are granted, there is little use in relying on internal 
 criticism to separate the work of Beaumont from that 
 of Fletcher. Otherwise what we pick out from the 
 joint work as pure Fletcher may really be Beau- 
 mont captivated by Fletcher's felicity of expres- 
 sion : what we discern as unlike Fletcher and so 
 assign to Beaumont, may in reality be Fletcher, 
 rising under his fellow-poet's influence to a poetic 
 height not reached by him when his comrade's 
 hand was relaxed upon the lyre they once had 
 struck together. 
 
 These dangers and uncertainties admitted, a 
 hasty attempt to differentiate either poet's share 
 may be made. 1 First of all as a peculiarity of 
 Fletcher stands the construction of his blank verse. 
 All writers of dramatic blank verse use occasionally 
 a line of eleven syllables, but Fletcher has designedly 
 developed what is an accidental variety in others 
 into a regular and conscious metrical artifice. It is 
 easy to illustrate this use. Take the following lines 
 from The Wild Goose Chase, a play which is well 
 nigh composed in these hendecasyllabics : 
 
 1 I must here acknowledge my obligations to Mr. Macaulay's 
 charming and scholarly work, Francis Beaumont: a Critical Study, 
 a work which, had its subject been a Latin, rather than an English 
 poet, would have gained its author universal applause. 
 
 b 2
 
 xx FRANCIS BEA UMONT &* JOHh FLETCHER. 
 
 " I would I were a woman, sir, to fit you, 
 As there be such, no doubt, may engine you too, 
 May, with a counter mine, blow up your valour. 
 But, in good faith, sir, we are both too honest ; 
 And, the plague is, we cannot be persuaded ; 
 For, look you, if we thought it were a glory 
 To be the last of all your lovely ladies " 
 
 This manner of writing is marked enough, but on 
 it is sometimes superimposed another metrical 
 device a device again not entirely confined to 
 Fletcher, but one not used to any great extent 
 except by him. Fletcher is extremely fond of so 
 disposing the emphasis in one of his eleven-syl- 
 labled lines as to obtain the rhythm of an English 
 accentual Sapphic of the " Story ? God bless you, I 
 have none to tell, sir" kind. From The Queen of 
 Corinth plenty of such lines may be quoted, as : 
 
 " Sister, I reap the harvest of my labours ; " 
 
 or 
 
 " Pure, and unblasted in the bud you honoured ; " 
 
 or from Valentinian, 
 
 " We are too base and dirty to preserve thee." 
 
 Besides these two peculiarities of metre, another 
 noticeable feature of Fletcher's compositions is his 
 fondness for a disjointed as opposed to a periodic 
 style. Shakespeare and Marlowe rear the column 
 of their verse with stone dovetailed into stone. 
 With Fletcher there is all the affected irregularity 
 of rustication, for his disjointed manner comes not 
 from want of care, but was designed as the best 
 vehicle for that colloquial rapidity of verse needed
 
 FRA NCIS BE A UMONT fr JOHN FLE TCHER. xxi 
 
 for the manipulation of the bright and sparkling 
 dialogue which Dryden held to be Fletcher's 
 greatest glory. His blank verse is indeed so 
 flexible and can be turned so deftly to suit the 
 exigencies of the scene that Fletcher had no need 
 for prose. The plays of which we know him to. 
 have been sole author have little in them that is 
 not in blank verse. Passing beyond the region of 
 style, we notice another strong characteristic the 
 marvellous grace and sweetness of his lyric utter- 
 ance as seen in The Faitliful Sheph. rdess and the 
 various songs scattered up and down his plays. 
 
 These then are the most marked features 
 peculiar to his work. The omissions are, however, 
 as striking as the commissions. We find an almost 
 total absence of humour, in Falstaff's sense, as 
 contrasted with fun and the power of producing 
 comic situations ; in which latter qualities the plays 
 of course abound. We find too in Fletcher's undis- 
 puted plays a curious lack of those imaginative 
 passages, idyllic and descriptive, which the dramatists 
 so often loved to interpolate into their dialogues. 
 
 The canon for Fletcher is then the frequency of 
 a hendecasyllabic metre often peculiarly empha- 
 sized, a disjointed style of composition, an absence 
 of prose and of descriptive passages, and a marked 
 lack of humour. Examine the great plays of joint 
 production, and we find plenty in them that will 
 not fit this canon. In King and no King, in T/ie 
 Maid's Tragedy, in PJiilaster, in Tlie Knight of the 
 Burning Pestle, there is plenty of prose and plenty 
 of humour. There are numberless occasions in which 
 the poet, whoever he was, has gone out of the way
 
 xxii FRANCIS BEAUMONT & JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 to employ all the resources of his art to interpolate 
 in the speeches of the characters of the play, idyllic 
 and descriptive passages of the most striking 
 beauty. There are pages of blank verse without a 
 redundant line or any approach to a sapphic rhythm, 
 and where the periods flow as evenly as Shake- 
 speare's own. If what will not fit our Fletcher 
 canon is Beaumont's work, then indeed the poet 
 was the " Marcellus of our tongue." His was a 
 tragic note, deeper because more human than 
 Ford's. His thick-coming fancies outrun even 
 the issue of Webster's subtle brain. He fires the 
 mind as vividly as Helen's or Zenocrate's own singer. 
 His comic moods move us as do Jonson's greedy 
 knight or as his crafty Fox of Venice. If any liquid 
 from the critic's crucible can dissolve the glorious 
 partnership, we must think of Fletcher as of the 
 keen-brained man of letters, the poet of a worldly 
 age, who watched the follies of life and drew them 
 with a practised pen ; we must think of him as 
 the artist who has exchanged spontaneity for the 
 sustained excellence of consummate workmanship, 
 yet across whose work ran always a true and deli- 
 cate vein of lyric sweetness. Beaumont we must 
 think of as the daring, the inspired singer, the poet 
 round whose brow in earliest youth the Tragic Muse 
 has bound her wreath of bays ; whose mighty 
 genius, had it been allowed maturity, might have 
 won the highest heaven of fame ; who, while his 
 comrade gave the ready wit and swift invention, 
 brought the still rarer gifts of inspiration and of a 
 deep and creative poetic imagination. Whether in 
 truth these characteristics severally belong to the
 
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT & JOHN FLETCHER, xxiii 
 
 two poets who shall tell ? Yet, for my own part, 
 though I can never bring myself to regret that the 
 secret is really undiscoverable, I like to fancy that 
 I catch Beaumont's tones when these lines unsur- 
 passed in the glorious exultation of their strength 
 ring in my ears : 
 
 "\Vhat art thou, that dost creep into my breast, 
 And dar'st not see my face ? Show forth thyself. 
 I feel a pair of fiery wings displayed. 
 Hither from thence. You shall not tarry thee ! 
 Up, and be gone ; if thou be'st love, be gone ! 
 Or I will tear thee from my wounded breast, 
 Pull thy loved down away, and with a quill 
 By this right arm drawn from thy wanton wing, 
 Write to thy laughing mother in thy blood 
 That you are powers belied, and all your darts 
 Are to be blown away by men resolved 
 Like dust." 
 
 When I listen to what Ordella says of death, I 
 think I know the voice is Fletcher's : 
 
 " 'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest ; 
 Children begin it to us, strong men seek it, 
 And kings, from height of all their painted glories, 
 Fall, like spent exhalations, to this centre ; 
 And those are fools that fear it, or imagine 
 A few unhandsome pleasures, or life's profits, 
 Can recompense this place ; and mad that stay it, 
 Till age blow out their lights, or rotten humours 
 Bring them dispersed to the earth." 
 
 It is Beaumont again I hear in the lines in which 
 the poet has contrived to lay and overlay the richest, 
 the most glittering ornaments of rhetoric, and yet 
 preserve the simple dignity of maiden grief, the 
 artless passion for a virgin's kisses " seals of love, 
 but sealed in vain."
 
 xxiv FRANCIS BE A UMONT & JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 " Then, my good girls, be more than women wise ; 
 At least be more than I was ; and be sure 
 You credit anything the light gives light to, 
 Before a man. Rather believe the sea 
 Weeps for the ruined merchant, when he roars ; 
 Rather the wind courts but the pregnant sails, 
 When the strong cordage cracks ; rather, the sun 
 Comes but to thin the fruit in wealthy autumn, 
 When all falls blasted. If you needs must love, 
 (Forced by ill fate) take to your maiden bosoms 
 Two dead-cold aspics, and of them make lovers ; 
 They cannot flatter, nor forswear ; one kiss 
 Makes a long peace for all. But man, 
 Oh, that beast man ! Come, let's be sad, my girls ! 
 That downcast eye of thine, Olympia's, 
 Shews a fine sorrow. Mark Antiphila 
 Just such another was the nymph JEnone, 
 When Paris brought home Helen. Now a tear, 
 And then thou art a piece expressing fully 
 The Carthage Queen, when from a cold sea-rock, 
 Full with her sorrow, she tied fast her eyes 
 To the fair Trojan ships ; and having lost them 
 Just as thine eyes do, down stole a tear, Antiphila, 
 What would this wench do, if she were Aspatia ? 
 Here she would stand, till some more pitying God 
 Turned her to marble. 'Tis enough, my wench ! 
 Shew me the piece of needlework you wrought." 
 
 They are Fletcher's, the proud words in which 
 the Roman General calls on his soldiers to show 
 themselves " the sons of ancient Romans : " 
 
 " Go on in full assurance ; draw your swords 
 As daring and as confident as justice ; 
 The gods of Rome fight for ye ; loud Fame calls ye, 
 Pitched on ihe topless Apennine, and blows 
 To all the under world, all nations, the seas 
 And unfrequented deserts where the snow dwells ; 
 Wakens the ruined monuments ; and there, 
 Where nothing but eternal death and sleep is, 
 Informs again the dead bones with your virtues. ' :
 
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT & JOHN FLETCHER, xxv 
 
 It is pleasant enough to spin fancies such as 
 these, but who dare call it more than guess-work ? 
 As long as the verse lives, it matters comparatively 
 little who was the singer. Indeed it may be said 
 with certainty, that it would be a poor exchange to 
 know each poet's acts or scenes, if by the know- 
 ledge we lost any of the marvellous sense of 
 dramatic strength and unity that runs through the 
 great plays of joint composition. Theirs is no 
 patch-work, but a woof of such strength and breadth 
 that no one man but Shakespeare could have made 
 the like. For notwithstanding Coleridge's opinion 
 that Jonson was 'next poet,' I dare assert that the 
 whole range of our dramatic literature outside 
 Shakespeare can show no such plays as TJie 
 Maid's Tragedy and Phi faster. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Without attempting critical observations on 
 all the plays contained in this collection, I should 
 like to essay to traverse certain accusations 
 brought against Beaumont and Fletcher by no less 
 a critic than Coleridge. Coleridge's literary criti- 
 cism is as a rule so brilliant, so suggestive, and so 
 searching, that it seems little short of presumption 
 to challenge any of his dicta. Still, in the present 
 instance, I feel impelled to break a lance in the 
 defence of the great twin brothers of the stage. 
 Coleridge's indictment has two counts. First, that 
 the poets show themselves to be "servile jure 
 divino Royalists ; " secondly, that Beaumont and 
 Fletcher's " chaste ladies value their chastity as a
 
 xxvi FRANCIS BE A UMONT &- JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 material thing, not as an act or state of being ; and 
 this mere thing being imaginary, no wonder that 
 all their women are represented with the minds of 
 strumpets, except a few irrational humorists, far 
 less capable of exciting our sympathy than a 
 Hindoo who has had a basin of cow-broth thrown 
 over him ; for this, though a debasing superstition, 
 is still real, and we might pity the poor wretch, 
 though we cannot help despising him. But Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher's Lucinas are clumsy fictions." l 
 Let us now examine The Maid's Tragedy^ and 
 see how the charge that the poets were " servile jure 
 divino Royalists," is borne out therein, since that 
 play is admittedly representative, and, owing to 
 its subject, particularly apt for the illustrations 
 needed. The scene of The Maid's Tragedy is 
 laid at Rhodes. The king has, though unknown 
 to any of his Court, debauched the noble lady 
 Evadne. To keep his sin secret he arranges a 
 marriage between her and a young courtier and 
 favourite, Amintor. Amintor, who knows nothing 
 and suspects nothing, has, in order to make this 
 marriage, to break with his own "troth-plight wife" 
 the " lost Aspatia," who is devoted to him and 
 whom he would himself prefer but for the king's 
 commands, commands which for him it is 
 a sacred duty to obey. Evadne has a brother 
 Melantius, a gallant soldier just returned from the 
 wars, who is a friend to Amintor a friend so 
 true that, as he says, " the name of brother is too 
 
 1 In protesting against these charges, it is right that I should 
 mention that I am following in the steps of Mr. Macaulay in regard 
 to the first, and in regard to the second in those of Mr. Dyce.
 
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT & JOHN FLETCHER, xxvii 
 
 distant : we are friends and that is nearer." At 
 the very opening of the play the second scene 
 we are spectators of a gorgeous masque made to 
 celebrate the nuptials of Amintor and Evadne. 
 All, to outward sense, is happiness and mirth. 
 Melantius is joyful, since his sister and his friend 
 are made one, for of her guilty commerce with 
 the king he has no suspicion. Amintor glories 
 in the beauty of his bride. The king hides 
 his guilt beneath a manner of gracious, regal, 
 almost paternal beneficence. The sweetest flowers 
 of song call the seeming lovers to their joys. 
 Dance, revelry, and love, are all invoked with 
 harmonies that bear a more than human exulta- 
 tion of delight : 
 
 " Let your feet, 
 
 Like the galleys when they row, 
 Even beat " 
 
 throbs and swells the choral invitation to the 
 dance. For the bride there rise melodies even 
 sweeter and more provoking, when the hymeneal 
 choir implore the goddess of the night to 
 
 " Stay, stay and hide 
 
 The blushes of the bride ; 
 Stay, gentle night, and with thy darkness cover 
 The kisses of her lover." 
 
 The masque is over ; Evadne has been put to 
 bed ; and though " the lost Aspatia " has sung her 
 sad dirge and given her mournful blessings to the 
 bride, the dreadful agony that is to be enacted in 
 the nuptial - chamber is not foreshadowed until 
 the moment that Amintor crosses the threshold.
 
 xxviii FRANCIS BEAUMONT & JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 He enters, flushed with joy and hope ; but the sight 
 of Aspatia as she bids him good-night, sends a pang 
 to his heart. The words he utters are a presage of 
 the imminent horror of the night. The scene that 
 follows is the most terrible, the most passion- 
 moving in all Beaumont and Fletcher. The veil 
 that hides the mysteries of Hymen is torn away 
 with unrelenting hands, and trampled under foot. 
 The angel that should stand to beckon silence at 
 bridal doors, cowers horror-stricken from the sight 
 and sound of Amintor's miseries with folded wings 
 and wild averted eyes. 
 
 " Are these the joys of marriage? Hymen keep 
 This story (that will make succeeding youth 
 Neglect thy ceremonies) from all ears ; 
 Let it not rise up, for thy shame and mine 
 To after ages. " 
 
 The dreadful intensity of the dialogue ; the 
 hollow grace and gentleness of Amintor's earlier 
 phrases, the phrenzied weakness of his utterance as 
 the scene proceeds ; the brutal scorn and still more 
 brutal pity of Evadne, as she tortures her husband 
 before she lets him hear the shameful story she had 
 never meant to hide, blister the heart, and leave the 
 fancy seared and deadened. It takes some time to 
 rouse Amintor to the full height of fury. When he 
 is roused, how she plays and trifles with his agony. 
 In an ecstasy of half incredulous delight he speaks 
 of her locks as " threads for kings to wear about 
 their arms." She, more demon of hell than woman, 
 can calmly let fall her terrible secret in a hideous 
 half aside that is meant for him to hear, " Why, so
 
 FRANCIS BE A UMONT & JOHN FLETCHER, xxix 
 
 perhaps they are." But he does not heed her. Then 
 without more ado, she explains in the frankest and 
 most open way the terms on which she has married 
 him. She is to remain the king's mistress, while he, 
 the husband, is to have no part in her, but to be 
 " the fence " to the king's vices. When Amintor 
 hears that it is the king who has wronged him he 
 submits. 
 
 " Let the gods 
 
 Speak to him when they please ; till when let us 
 Suffer and wait." 
 
 It is this grovelling submission not an impre- 
 cation, not a prayer for vengeance that makes 
 the scene, splendid as it is for force and vigour, 
 dramatically well-nigh unbearable. The cup of 
 degradation is full already ; it runs over when 
 Amintor and Evadne have arranged how to act 
 out the play of loving wife and husband. That 
 Amintor is "a servile jure divino Royalist," I do 
 not think any one will be found to dispute. To call 
 his creators by this name is, however, about as fair 
 as to say that Shakespeare approved of the means 
 by which Claudio, in Measure for Measure, 
 seeks to save his life by his sister's dishonour, 
 because Shakespeare conceived such a situation. 
 The question is, which way do the dramatists 
 direct the sympathy of the audience ? Not to 
 Amintor, as the sequel shows. Melantius sees, with 
 a friend's intuition, that Amintor has some secret 
 woe. He at last learns from him the terrible 
 secret of the dishonour of his friend and of bis 
 sister. Like the brave and noble soldier he is, he 
 will never rest till vengeance has been taken on
 
 xxx FRA NCIS BE A UMONT&* JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 the king. His mode of exacting this vengeance 
 is finely conceived. He knows Amintor, weak 
 and timid, is not to be trusted, and he lets him 
 hear no whisper of the deed he contemplates. 
 In an interview with Evadne, however, Melantius 
 contrives to appeal to his sister's sense of shame ; 
 and, showing her the dishonour she has suffered, 
 makes her ready to aid him in the scheme of 
 revenge. Evadne, at his suggestion, undertakes 
 to be her own avenger, and to kill the king in 
 the bed-chamber to which she has access. In the 
 murder-scene Beaumont and Fletcher have called 
 up a tragic horror, a very spirit of dark and 
 midnight murder, such as can only be paralleled 
 in Macbeth. How ghastly is the little dialogue 
 that ushers it in. Evadne passes for the last time 
 through the palace rooms that have echoed so 
 often to her sinful steps. In the ante-chamber 
 watches the king's "gentleman," from whom she 
 takes the key that unlocks the bed-chamber door. 
 The phrases, half servile, half impudent, such as 
 courtiers ever keep ready for the reigning favourite, 
 sound hollow and awake a hideous echo when 
 we know on what business Evadne is bent. In 
 the chamber the king lies sleeping in his bed. 
 Evadne, alone with the doomed man, has hardly 
 a word of fear. Her thoughts are how to get the 
 greatest, the sweetest revenge ; how to " shake his 
 sins like furies " before him ere he dies. She ties his 
 arms to the bed, and then calling in his ear, " My 
 lord the king, my lord, my lord," she awakens 
 him for the last time. The terrible woman is, in 
 her repentance, as brutal and as torture-loving as
 
 FRANCIS BE A UMONT S- JOHN FLE TCHER. xxxi 
 
 in her shame. Just as she mocked Amintor with 
 his weakness and her sins, so now she flouts the 
 king with her desperate jests and throws his lusts 
 and follies in his face. At last he is made to 
 understand her. 
 
 KING. " Thou dost not mean this, 'tis impossible : 
 
 Thou art too sweet and gentle. 
 EVADNE. No, I am not. 
 
 I am as foul as thou art, and can number 
 As many such hells here. I was once fair, 
 Once I was lovely ; not a blowing rose 
 More chastely sweet, till thou, thou, thou, foul canker, 
 (Stir not) didst poison me. I was a world of virtue 
 Till your curst court and you (Hell bless you for't !) 
 With your temptations on temptations, 
 " Made me give up mine honour ; for which, King, 
 I'm come to kill thee." 
 
 The killing itself is protracted with every detail 
 of indignity ; and the king, imploring mercy from 
 the woman he has so foully ruined and debauched, 
 dies with the impotent wail upon his lips, " Evadne, 
 pity me ! " Surely this could not have been a 
 very pleasant scene for " servile jure divino 
 Royalists " to write, and yet they seem to glory in 
 Evad ne's blows. 
 
 ' ' This for my lord Avintor ; 
 
 This for my noble brother ; and this stroke 
 For the most wronged of women. " 
 
 No sooner has the avenger passed from the 
 chamber, than the world of the palace rolls back 
 upon us with all its filth and pettiness, made more 
 horrible by the contrast. The two gentlemen of 
 the bed-chamber, as they enter like jackals, express
 
 xxxii FRANCIS BEAUMONT & JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 their longings for the day when they may take a 
 share in their master's leavings ; little recking of 
 what has passed. But suddenly the hideous prattle 
 dies upon their lips, for 
 
 " Either the tapers give a feeble light 
 Or he looks very pale." 
 
 They see the king is dead, and raise the palace ; 
 but Melantius, forewarned, has seized the citadel. 
 Here the king's brother besieges him. How 
 Evadne and Aspatia die, each comforted a little 
 in death ; and how Amintor cannot outlive the 
 lost Aspatia, need not be told. Melantius re- 
 ceives from the king's brother and successor, 
 Lysippus, a full pardon. His defence must be 
 given in the noble and dignified words he addresses 
 to Lysippus : 
 
 " Royal young man, whose tears look lovely on thee ; 
 Had they been shed for a deserving one, 
 They had been lasting monuments ! Thy brother, 
 While he was good, I called him King, and served him 
 With that strong faith, that most unwearied valour, 
 Pulled people from the farthest sun to seek him, 
 And beg his friendship. I was then his soldier, 
 But since his hot pride drew him to disgrace me 
 And brand my noble actions with his lust, 
 (That never-cured dishonour of my sister, 
 Base stain of whore ! and which is worse, 
 The joy to make it still so) like myself, 
 Thus have I flung him off with my allegiance ; 
 And stand here mine own justice, to revenge 
 What I have suffered in him." 
 
 If this is " servile jure divino Royalism," it is 
 such that Hampden need not have disdained to use 
 and Milton himself might applaud. Yet, to vin-
 
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT & JOHN FLETCHER, xxxiii 
 
 dicate The Maid's Tragedy from such a charge 
 as Coleridge makes, there is yet another argument, 
 and one so strong that there is no gainsaying it. 
 If ever there were "servile jure divino Royalists," 
 they were in the time of Charles II. Yet how was 
 this play treated then ? Charles dared not face a 
 play that held up such a mirror to his sight He 
 dared not let such an example as Melantius call 
 up the sympathies of even his courtiers, well trained 
 as they were to lend him wives and sisters. Before 
 the play could be tolerated at court, Waller under- 
 took to re-write the fifth act and convert the tragedy 
 into a tragi-comedy ; to keep the king alive, as in 
 truth a worthy monarch, 
 
 " far above 
 
 All vice, all passion, but excess of love ; " 
 
 and to dispose, as conveniently as might be, of 
 Melantius, Evadne, Amintor and Aspatia. Let us 
 rest assured that Charles II. was a pretty good judge 
 of what was palatable to a king, or likely to evoke 
 loyal sentiments, and that when the courtly Waller 
 altered the dtno&inent he was altering a play utterly 
 abhorrent to the pious feelings of all true " servile 
 jure divino Royalists." 
 
 If an example is needed to show that Beau- 
 mont and Fletcher knew how to draw a chaste 
 woman, so as not to render her a clumsy fiction, 
 let Lucina in Valentinian stand for their defence. 
 Surely the ideal of the Roman matron who 
 dares not outlive the outrage offered to her 
 honour, has never been more nobly portrayed. In 
 this play the dramatic interest is wrought at one 
 
 Beau. & FI. i. C
 
 xxxiv FRANCIS BEAUMONT & JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 point to such a fineness of edge, that the words 
 almost wound us as we read them. Was the proud 
 consciousness of the power of virtue ever more 
 nobly shown than when the outraged wife, in the 
 hopeless bitterness of her woe, tells the author of 
 her dishonour, that while she lives she will " cry 
 for justice " ; and takes back the dreadful, impious 
 answer, that seems to make the sun grow dark in 
 Heaven, and the earth reel beneath in horror and 
 indignation : 
 
 "Justice shall never hear you ; I am Justice." 
 
 How the whole weight of the oppressions of the 
 imperial sway, that made the wide world but "a 
 safe and dreary prison " for the Caesar's enemies, 
 how the terror of the emperor, in whose hands the 
 adamantine chains of the Roman Law had been 
 clenched by the dreadful maxim that gave to the 
 Prince's pleasure the might and majesty of the 
 commands of Justice, are bound within the com- 
 pass of a line. Does the brave woman quail when 
 she hears from the Ciesar's own lips, that no 
 land can shelter her, no law even in theory do her 
 right ? No ; she pours fearlessly upon him the lofty 
 contempt of a nature that no cruelty can daunt, no 
 shameful words or deeds make tremble or submit. 
 In words that " bite into the live man's flesh " and 
 kindle with the indignation of a woman truthful 
 and fearless, though so helpless and alone, she tells 
 the emperor what he is. The poet, a poet who 
 drew Lucina, need not fear the bitterness of Cole- 
 ridge's attacks, for which the best excuse is that his 
 memory had played him false.
 
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT & JOHN FLETCHER, xxxv 
 
 Within the limits of an Introduction like the 
 present, it has been impossible to criticise fully the 
 extraordinary powers of Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 I must leave the readers of these volumes to 
 judge for themselves whether public opinion 
 has not rightly awarded to Beaumont and 
 Fletcher the right to rank next to Shakespeare in 
 our dramatic literature. Him excepted, no poets 
 were such perfect masters of the stage ; Ben 
 Jonson may have excelled them in the learning 
 and ingenuity of his plots ; Webster in the en- 
 chantments of romantic situations ; Ford in the 
 dark and passion-driven tempests of the heart. 
 But for dramatic interest, sustained and heightened 
 by every resource of stage craft, Beaumont and 
 Fletcher have no peers. Nobler poetry, deeper 
 thoughts and sentiments, may be found in the 
 other dramatists but, judged as plays, The Maid's 
 Tragedy and Phi/aster stand above all else that 
 is not Shakespeare's which can be brought for 
 comparison in our dramatic literature. 
 
 J. ST. LOE STRACHEY.
 
 THE STATIONER TO THE READERS. 
 
 PREFIXED TO THE FOLIO OF 1647. 
 
 GENTLEMEN, 
 
 EFORE you engage farther, be pleased 
 to take notice of these particulars. You 
 have here a new book ; I can speak it 
 clearly ; for of all this large volume of 
 comedies and tragedies, not one, till 
 now, was ever printed before. A col- 
 lection of plays is commonly but a new 
 impression, the scattered pieces which 
 were printed single being then only republished together : 
 'tis otherwise here. 
 
 Next, as it is all new, so here is not any thing spurious or 
 imposed : I had the originals from such as received them 
 from the authors themselves ; by those, and none other, I 
 publish this edition. 
 
 And as here's nothing but what is genuine and their's, so 
 you will find here are no omissions ; you have not only all I 
 could get, but all that you must ever expect : for, besides 
 those which were formerly printed, there is not any piece 
 written by these authors, either jointly or severally, but what 
 are now published to the world in this volume. One only 
 play I must except (for I mean to deal openly); 'tis a 
 comedy called The Wild-Goose CAase, which hath been 
 long lost, and, I fear, irrecoverable ; for a person of quality
 
 xxxviii THE STATIONER TO THE READERS. 
 
 borrowed it from the actors many years since, and, by the 
 negligence of a servant, it was never returned ; therefore 
 now I put up this si quis, that whosoever hereafter happily 
 meets with it shall be thankfully satisfied, if he please to 
 send it home. 
 
 Some plays, you know, written by these authors, were 
 heretofore printed : I thought not convenient to mix them 
 with this volume, which of itself is entirely new. And, 
 indeed, it would have rendered the book so voluminous, 
 that ladies and gentlewomen would have found it scarce 
 manageable, who in works of this nature must first be 
 remembered. Besides, I considered those former pieces 
 had been so long printed and reprinted, that many gentle- 
 men were already furnished ; and I would have none say 
 they pay twice for the same book. 
 
 One thing I must answer before it be objected ; 'tis this. 
 When these comedies and tragedies were presented on the 
 stage, the actors omitted some scenes and passages, with 
 the authors' consent, as occasion led them ; and when 
 private friends desired a copy, they then, and justly too, 
 transcribed what they acted : but now you have both all 
 that was acted, and all that was not ; even the perfect full 
 originals, without the least mutilation ; so that were the 
 authors living, (and, sure, they can never die,) they them- 
 selves would challenge neither more nor less than what 
 is here published ; this volume being now so complete 
 and finished, that the reader must expect no future alte- 
 rations. 
 
 For literal errors committed by the printer, 'tis the fashion 
 to ask pardon, and as much in fashion to take no notice of 
 him that asks it ; but in this also I have done my endeavour. 
 'Twere vain to mention the chargeableness of this work ; for 
 those who owned the manuscripts too well knew their value 
 to make a cheap estimate of any of these pieces ; and though 
 another joined with me in the purchase and printing, yet the 
 care and pains was wholly mine, which I found to be more 
 than you'll easily imagine, unless you knew into how many 
 hands the originals were dispersed : they all are now happily 
 met in this book, having escaped these public troubles free 
 and unmangled. Heretofore, when gentlemen desired but a 
 copy of any of these plays, the meanest piece here (if any
 
 THE STATIONER TO THE READERS, xxxix 
 
 may be called mean where every one is best,) cost them 
 more than four times the price you pay for the whole 
 volume. 
 
 I should scarce have ventured in these slippery times on 
 such a work as this, if knowing persons had not generally 
 assured me that these authors were the most unquestionable 
 wits this kingdom hath afforded. Master Beaumont was 
 ever acknowledged a man of a most strong and searching 
 brain, and, his years considered, the most judicious wit these 
 later ages have produced : he died young, for (which was an 
 invaluable loss to this nation) he left the world when he was 
 not full thirty years old. Master Fletcher survived, and 
 lived till almost fifty ; whereof the , world now enjoys the 
 benefit. It was once in my thoughts to have printed Master 
 Fletcher's works by themselves, because single and alone he 
 would make a just volume ; but, since never parted while 
 they lived, I conceived it not equitable to separate their 
 ashes. 
 
 It becomes not me to say, though it be a known truth, 
 that these authors had not only high unexpressible gifts of 
 nature, but also excellent acquired parts, being furnished 
 with arts and sciences by that liberal education they 
 had at the university, which, sure, is the best place to 
 make a great wit understand itself ; this their works will 
 soon make evident. I was very ambitious to have got 
 Master Beaumont's picture ; but could not possibly, though 
 I spared no inquiry in those noble families whence he was 
 descended, as also among those gentlemen that were his 
 acquaintance when he was of the Inner-Temple : the best 
 pictures, and those most like him, you'll find in this volume. 
 This figure of Master Fletcher was cut by several original 
 pieces, which his friends lent me ; but withal they tell me, 
 that his unimitable soul did shine through his countenance 
 in such air and spirit, that the painters confessed it was not 
 easy to express him : as much as could be you have here, 
 and the graver hath done his part. 
 
 Whatever I have seen of Master Fletcher's own hand is 
 free from interlining ; and his friends affirm he never writ 
 any one thing twice : it seems he had that rare felicity to 
 prepare and perfect all first in his own brain ; to shape and 
 attire his notions, to add or lop off, before he committed one
 
 xl 
 
 THE STATIONER TO THE READERS. 
 
 word to writing, and never touched pen till all was to stand 
 as firm and immutable as if engraven in brass or marble. 
 But I keep you too long from those friends of his, whom 'tis 
 fitter for you to read ; only accept of the honest endeavours 
 of 
 
 One that is a servant to you all, 
 
 HUMPHREY MOSELEY. 
 
 AT THE PRINCE'S ARMS, IN ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, 
 February i^/h, 1646.
 
 THE fMAIV'S 
 
 Beau. Si F. i.
 
 HE MAID'S TRAGEDY was probably pro- 
 duced on the stage about 1610-11; the first 
 extant edition was published in 1619. It was 
 the joint work of both dramatists, some critics 
 (as Mr. Fleay) ascribing to Beaumont more 
 than three-fourths. The play was very popular 
 and was revived at the Restoration, for Pepys 
 saw it at the beginning of 1667. It was not, 
 however, suited to the taste of Charles II., and was pro- 
 hibited by the Lord Chamberlain, Cibber surmises " because 
 the killing of the king while the tragical death of Charles 
 the First was then so fresh in people's memory was an 
 
 object too horribly impious for a public entertainment 
 
 Others," he observes, " have given out that a repenting 
 mistress, in a romantic revenge of her dishonour, killing 
 the king on the very bed he expected her to come into, 
 was shewing a too dangerous example to other Evadnes 
 then shining at Court m the same rank of royal distinc- 
 tion ; who, if ever their consciences should have run equally 
 mad, might have had frequent opportunities of putting the 
 expiation of their frailty into the like execution." 
 
 The play was acted again towards the close of Charles's 
 reign, with a new fifth act by Waller in rhyme, and it con- 
 tinued to be revived at intervals, in adaptations, up to 1837.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON/E. 
 
 KING. 
 
 LYSIPPUS, his Brother. 
 
 AMINTOR. 
 
 MELANTIUS, ) ., ~ 
 
 ' > Brothers to EVADNE. 
 DIPHILUS, ) 
 
 CALIANAX, Father of ASPATIA. 
 
 CLEON. 
 
 STRATO. 
 
 DIAGORAS. 
 
 Lords, Gentlemen, Servants, &c. 
 
 EVADNE, Sister to MELANTIUS. 
 ASPATIA, betrothed to AMINTOR. 
 
 OLYMPIAS, 
 
 DULA, Attendant on EVADNE. 
 
 Ladies. 
 
 Characters in the Masque. 
 Night, Cynthia, Neptune, yolus, Sea Gods. 
 
 SCENE. The City of RHODES.
 
 THE fMA I T>'S TT(A G.ET) Y. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter LYSIPPUS, DIPHILUS, CLEON and STRATO. 
 LE. The rest are making ready, sir. 
 
 Lys. So let them ; 
 There's time enough. 
 
 Diph. You are the brother to the King, 
 
 my lord ; 
 
 We'll take your word. 
 Lys. Strato, thou hast some skill in poetry ; 
 What think'st thou of the masque ? will it be well ? 
 Stra. As well as masques can be. 
 Lys. As masques can be ! 
 Stra. Yes ; they must commend their king, and speak 
 
 in praise 
 
 Of the assembly, bless the bride and bridegroom 
 In person of some god ; they're tied to rules 
 Of flattery. 
 
 Cle. See, good my lord, who is returned ! 
 
 Enter MELANTIUS. 
 
 Lys. Noble Melantius, the land by me 
 Welcomes thy virtues home to Rhodes;
 
 6 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT i. 
 
 Thou that with blood abroad buy'st us our peace ! 
 The breath of kings is like the breath of gods ; 
 My brother wished thee here, and thou art here : 
 He will be too kind, and weary thee 
 With often welcomes ; but the time doth give thee 
 A welcome above his or all the world's. 
 
 Mel. My lord, my thanks ; but these scratched limbs 
 
 of mine 
 
 Have spoke my love and truth unto my friends, 
 More than my tongue e'er could. My mind's the 
 
 same 
 
 It ever was to you : where I find worth, 
 I love the keeper till he let it go, 
 And then I follow it. 
 
 Diph. Hail, worthy brother ! 
 He that rejoices not at your return 
 In safety is mine enemy for ever. 
 
 Mel. I thank thee, Diphilus. But thou art faulty : 
 I sent for thee to exercise thine arms 
 With me at Patria ; thou cam'st not, Diphilus ; 
 Twas ill. 
 
 Diph. My noble brother, my excuse 
 Is my king's strict command, which you, my lord, 
 Can witness with me. 
 
 Lys. 'Tis most true, Melantius ; 
 He might not come till the solemnities 
 Of this great match were past. 
 
 Diph. Have you heard of it ? 
 
 Mel. Yes, and have given cause to those that here 
 Envy my deeds abroad to call me gamesome ; 
 I have no other business here at Rhodes. 
 
 Lys. We have a masque to-night, and you must 
 
 tread 
 A soldier's measure. 1 
 
 Mel. These soft and silken wars are not for me : 
 The music must be shrill and all confused 
 
 1 A slow stately dance.
 
 SCENE i.] 7 HE MAWS TRAGEDY. 7 
 
 That stirs my blood ; and then I dance with arms. 
 But is Amintor wed ? 
 
 Diph. This day. 
 
 Mel. All joys upon him ! for he is my friend. 
 Wonder not that I call a man so young my friend : 
 His worth is great ; valiant he is and temperate ; 
 And one that never thinks his life his own, 
 If his friend need it. When he was a boy, 
 As oft as I returned (as, without boast, 
 I brought home conquest), he would gaze upon me 
 And view me round, to find in what one limb 
 The virtue lay to do those things he heard ; 
 Then would he wish to see my sword, and feel 
 The quickness of the edge, and in his hand 
 Weigh it : he oft would make me smile at this. 
 His youth did promise much, and his ripe years 
 Will see it all performed. 
 
 Enter ASPATIA, passing over the Stage. 
 
 Hail, maid and wife ! 
 Thou fair Aspatia, may the holy knot, 
 That thou hast tied to-day, last till the hand 
 Of age undo it ! may'st thou bring a race 
 Unto Amintor, that may fill the world 
 Successively with soldiers ! 
 
 Asp. My hard fortunes 
 Deserve not scorn, for I was never proud 
 When they were good. Exit. 
 
 Mel. How's this ? 
 
 Lys. You are mistaken, sir ; 
 She is not married. 
 
 Mel. You said Amintor was. 
 
 Diph. 'Tis true ; but 
 
 Mel. Pardon me ; I did receive 
 Letters at Patria from my Amintor, 
 That he should marry her. 
 
 Diph. And so it stood
 
 8 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT I. 
 
 In all opinion long ; but your arrival 
 
 Made me imagine you had heard the change. 
 
 Mel. Who hath he taken then ? 
 
 Lys. A lady, sir, 
 
 That bears the light above her, and strikes dead 
 With flashes of her eye ; the fair Evadne, 
 Your virtuous sister. 
 
 Mel. Peace of heart betwixt them ! 
 But this is strange. 
 
 Lys. The King, my brother, did it 
 To honour you ; and these solemnities 
 Are at his charge. 
 
 Mel. 'Tis royal, like himself. But I am sad 
 My speech bears so unfortunate a sound 
 To beautiful Aspatia. There is rage 
 Hid in her father's breast, Calianax, 
 Bent long against me ; and he should not think, 
 If I could call it back, that I would take 
 So base revenges, as to scorn the state 
 Of his neglected daughter. Holds he still 
 His greatness with the King ? 
 
 Lys. Yes. But this lady 
 Walks discontented, with her watery eyes 
 Bent on the earth. The unfrequented woods 
 Are her delight ; where, when she sees a bank 
 Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell 
 Her servants what a pretty place it were 
 To bury lovers in ; and make her maids 
 Pluck 'em, and strow her over like a corse. 
 She carries with her an infectious grief, 
 That strikes all her beholders : she will sing 
 The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard, 
 And sigh, and sing again ; and when the rest 
 Of our young ladies, in their wanton blood, 
 Tell mirthful tales in course, 1 that fill the room 
 With laughter, she will, with so sad a look, 
 
 1 i.e. In turn.
 
 SCENE I.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 Bring forth a story of the silent death 
 Of some forsaken virgin, which her grief 
 Will put in such a phrase that, ere she end, 
 She'll send them weeping one by one away. 
 
 Mel. She has a brother under my command, 
 Like her ; a face as womanish as hers ; 
 But with a spirit that hath much outgrown 
 The number of his years. 
 
 Cle. My lord, the bridegroom ! 
 
 Enter AMINTOR. 
 
 Mel, I might run fiercely, not more hastily, 
 Upon my foe. I love thee well, Amintor ; 
 My mouth is much too narrow for my heart ; 
 I joy to look upon those eyes of thine ; 
 Thou art my friend, but my disordered speech 
 Cuts off my love. 
 
 Amin. Thou art Melantius ; 
 All love is spoke in that. A sacrifice, 
 To thank the gods Melantius is returned 
 In safety ! Victory sits on his sword, 
 As she was wont : may she build there and dwell ; 
 And may thy armour be, as it hath been, 
 Only thy valour and thine innocence ! 
 What endless treasures would our enemies give, 
 That I might hold thee still thus ! 
 
 Mel. I am poor 
 
 In words ; but credit me, young man, thy mother 
 Could do no more but weep for joy to see thee 
 After long absence : all the wounds I have 
 Fetched not so much away, nor all the cries 
 Of widowed mothers. But this is peace, 
 And that was war. 
 
 Amin. Pardon, thou holy god 
 Of marriage-bed, and frown not, I am forced, 
 In answer of such noble tears as those, 
 To weep upon my wedding-day !
 
 io THE MAID'S l^RAGEDY. [ACT I. 
 
 Mel. I fear thou art grown too fickle ; for I hear 
 A lady mourns for thee ; men say, to death ; 
 Forsaken of thee ; on what terms I know not. 
 
 Amin. She had my promise ; but the King forbad it, 
 And made me make this worthy change, thy sister, 
 Accompanied with graces far above her ; 
 With whom I long to lose my lusty youth, 
 And grow old in her arms. 
 
 Mel. Be prosperous ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Seru. My lord, the masquers rage for you. 
 Lys. We are gone. Cleon, Strato, Diphilus ! 
 Amin. We'll all attend you. 
 
 [Exeunt LYSIPPUS, CLEON, STRATO, DIPHILUS, 
 and Servant. 
 
 We shall trouble you 
 With our solemnities. 
 
 Mel. Not so, Arnintor : 
 But if you laugh at my rude carriage 
 In peace, I'll do as much for you in war, 
 When you come thither. Yet I have a mistress 
 To bring to your delights ; rough though I am, 
 I have a mistress, and she has a heart 
 She says ; but, trust me, it is stone, no better ; 
 There is no place that I can challenge in't. 
 But you stand still, and here my way lies. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. A Hall in the Palace, with a Gallery full 
 of Spectators. 
 
 CALIANAX and DIAGORAS discovered. 
 
 Cat. Diagoras, look to the doors better, for shame ! 
 you let in all the world, and anon the King will rail at
 
 SCENE ii.] THE MAIDS TRAGEDY. 11 
 
 me. Why, veiy well said. By Jove, the King will have 
 the show i' the court. 
 
 Diag. Why do you swear so, my lord ? you know he'll 
 have it here. 
 
 Cal. By this light, if he be wise, he will not. 
 
 Diag. And if he will not be wise, you are forsworn.- 
 
 Cul. One may wear his heart out with swearing, and 
 get thanks on no side. I'll be gone, look to't who will. 
 
 Diag. My lord, I shall never keep them out. Pray, stay; 
 your looks will terrify them. 
 
 Cal. My looks terrify them, you coxcombly ass, you 
 I'll be judged by all the company whether thou hast not 
 a worse face than I. 
 
 Diag. I mean, because they know you and your 
 office. 
 
 Cal. Office ! I would I could put it off ! I am sure I 
 sweat quite through my office. I might have made room 
 -at my daughter's wedding : they ha' near killed her 
 among them ; and now I must do service for him that 
 hath forsaken her. Serve that will. [Exit. 
 
 Diag. He's so humorous since his daughter was for- 
 saken ! [Knocking within.'] Hark, hark ! there, there ! 
 so, so ! codes, codes ! What now ? 
 
 Mel. [within.] Open the door. 
 
 Diag. Who's there? 
 
 Mel. [within.] Melantius. 
 
 Diag. I hope your lordship brings no troop with you ; 
 for, if you do, I must return them. [Opens the door. 
 
 Enter MELANTIUS and a Lady. 
 
 Mel. None but this lady, sir. 
 
 Diag. The ladies are all placed above, save those that 
 come in the King's troop : the best of Rhodes sit there, 
 and there's room. 
 
 Mel. I thank you, sir. When I have seen you placed, 
 madam, I must attend the King ; but, the masque done, 
 I'll wait on you again.
 
 12 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT 
 
 Diag. [opening another door] Stand back there ! 
 Room for my Lord Melantius ! [Exeunt MELANTIUS 
 and Lady.] Pray, bear back this is no place for such 
 youths and their trulls let the doors shut again. No ! 
 do your heads itch ? I'll scratch them for you. [Shuts 
 the door.] So, now thrust and hang. [Knocking within.] 
 Again ! who is't now ? I cannot blame my Lord 
 Calianax for going away : would he were here ! he would 
 run raging among them, and break a dozen wiser heads 
 than his own in the twinkling of an eye. What's the 
 news now ? 
 
 [Voice within.] I pray you, can you help me to the 
 speech of the master-cook ? 
 
 Diag. If I open the door, I'll cook some of your 
 calves-head's. Peace, rogues ! [Knocking within.] 
 Again ! who is't ? 
 
 Mel. [within.] Melantius. 
 
 Re-enter CALIANAX. 
 
 Cal. Let him not in. 
 
 Diag. O, my lord, I must. [Opening the door] Make 
 room there for my lord. 
 
 Re-enter MELANTIUS. 
 
 Is your lady placed ? 
 
 Mel. Yes, sir. 
 
 I thank you. My Lord Calianax, well met : 
 Your causeless hate to me I hope is buried. 
 
 Cal. Yes, I do service for your sister here, 
 That brings my own poor child to timeless death : 
 She loves your friend Amintor ; such another 
 False-hearted lord as you. 
 
 Mel. You do me wrong, 
 A most unmanly one, and I am slow 
 In taking vengeance : but be well advised. 
 
 Cal. It may be so. Who placed the lady there 
 So near the presence of the King ?
 
 SCENE ii.] THE MAI US TRAGEDY. 13 
 
 Mel. I did. 
 
 CaL My lord, she must not sit there. 
 
 MeL Why? 
 
 CaL The place is kept for women of more worth. 
 
 Mel. More worth than she ! It misbecomes your age 
 And place to be thus womanish : forbear ! 
 A\ 7 hat you have spoke, I am content to think 
 The palsy shook your tongue to. 
 
 CaL Why, 'tis well, 
 If I stand here to place men's wenches. 
 
 MeL I 
 
 Shall quite forget this place, thy age, my safety, 
 And, thorough all, cut that poor sickly week 
 Thou hast to live away from thee. 
 
 CaL Nay, I know you can fight for your whore. 
 
 MeL Bate me the King, and, be he flesh and blood, 
 He lies that says it ! Thy mother at fifteen 
 Was black and sinful to her. 
 
 Diag. Good my lord 
 
 MeL Some god pluck threescore years from that 
 
 fond * man, 
 
 That I may kill him, and not stain mine honour ! 
 It is the curse of soldiers, that in peace 
 They shall be braved by such ignoble men, 
 As, if the land were troubled, would with tears 
 And knees beg succour from 'em. Would the blood, 
 That sea of blood, that I have lost in fight, 
 Were running in thy veins, that it might make thee 
 Apt to say less, or able to maintain, 
 Should'st thou say more ! This Rhodes, I see, is nought 
 But a place privileged to do men wrong. 
 
 CaL Ay, you may say your pleasure. 
 
 Enter AMINTOR. 
 Amin. What vile injury 
 
 1 '-Foolish.
 
 14 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT i. 
 
 Has stirred my worthy friend, who is as slow 
 To fight with words as he is quick of hand ? 
 
 Mel. That heap of age, which I should reverence 
 If it were temperate, but testy years 
 Are most contemptible. 
 
 Amin. Good sir, forbear. 
 
 Cal. There is just such another as yourself. 
 
 Amin. He will wrong you, or me, or any man, 
 And talk as if he had no life to lose, 
 Since this our match. The King is coming in ; 
 I would not for more wealth than I enjoy 
 He should perceive you raging : he did hear 
 You were at difference now, which hastened him. 
 
 \Hautboys play within. 
 
 Cal. Make room there ! 
 
 Enter King, EVADNE, ASPATIA, Lords and Ladies. 
 
 King. Melantius, thou art welcome, and my love 
 Is with thee still : but this is not a place 
 To brabble J in. Calianax, join hands. 
 
 Cal. He shall not have my hand. 
 
 King. This is no time 
 To force you to it. I do love you both : 
 Calianax, you look well to your office ; 
 And you, Melantius, are welcome home. 
 Begin the masque. 
 
 Mel. Sister, I joy to see you and your choice ; 
 You looked with my eyes when you took that man : 
 Be happy in him ! 
 
 Evad. O, my dearest brother, 
 Your presence is more joyful than this day 
 Can be unto me. {Recorders* play. 
 
 1 Quarrel. Flageolets.
 
 SCENE II.] THE MAWS TRAGEDY. 15 
 
 THE MASOUE. 
 
 NIGHT rises in mists. 
 
 Night. Our reign is come ; for in the raging sea 
 The sun is drowned, and with him fell the Day. 
 Bright Cynthia, hear my voice ! I am the Night, 
 For whom them bear's! about thy borrowed light : 
 Appear ! no longer thy pale visage shroud, 
 But strike thy silver horns quite through a cloud, 
 And send a beam upon my swarthy face, 
 By which I may discover all the place 
 And persons, and how many longing eyes 
 Are come to wait on our solemnities. 
 
 Enter CYNTHIA. 
 
 How dull and black am I ! I could not find 
 This beauty without thee, I am so blind : 
 Methinks they show like to those eastern streaks, 
 That warn us hence before the morning breaks. 
 Back, my pale servant ! for these eyes know how 
 To shoot far more and quicker rays than thou. 
 
 Cynth. Great queen, they be a troop for whom alone 
 One of my clearest moons I have put on ; 
 A troop, that looks as if thyself and I 
 Had plucked our reins in and our whips laid by, 
 To gaze upon these mortals, that appear 
 Brighter than we. 
 
 Night. Then let us keep 'em here ; 
 And never more our chariots drive away, 
 But hold our places and outshine the Day. 
 
 Cynth. Great queen of shadows, you are pleased to speak 
 Of more than may be done : we may not break 
 The gods' decrees ; but, when our time is come, 
 Must drive away, and give the Day our room.
 
 1 6 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT i. 
 
 Yet, whilst our reign lasts, let us stretch our power 
 
 To give our servants one contented hour, 
 
 With such unwonted solemn grace and state, 
 
 As may for ever after force them hate 
 
 Our brother's glorious beams, and wish the Night 
 
 Crowned with a thousand stars and our cold light : 
 
 For almost all the world their service bend 
 
 To Phoebus, and in vain my light I lend, 
 
 Gazed on unto my setting from my rise 
 
 Almost of none but of unquiet eyes. 
 
 Night. Then shine at full, fair queen, and by thy power 
 Produce a birth, to crown this happy hour, 
 Of nymphs and shepherds ; let their songs discover, 
 Easy and sweet, who is a happy lover ; 
 Or, if thou woo't, then call thine own Endymion 
 From the sweet flowery bed he lies upon, 
 On Latmus' top, thy pale beams drawn away, 
 And of his long night let him make a day. 
 
 Cynth. Thou dream'st, dark queen ; that fair boy was not 
 
 mine, 
 
 Nor went I down to kiss him. Ease and wine 
 Have bred these bold tales : poets, when they rage, 
 Turn gods to men, and make an hour an age. 
 But I will give a greater state and glory, 
 And raise to time a nobler memory 
 Of what these lovers are. Rise, rise, I say, 
 Thou power of deeps, thy surges laid away, 
 Neptune, great king of waters, and by me 
 Be proud to be commanded ! 
 
 NEPTUNE rises. 
 
 Nept. Cynthia, see, 
 
 Thy word hath fetched me-hither : let me know 
 Why I ascend. 
 
 Cynth. Doth this majestic show 
 Give thee no knowledge yet ? 
 
 Nept. Yes, now I see 
 
 Something intended, Cynthia, worthy thee. 
 Go on ; I'll be a helper. 
 
 Cynth. Hie thee then, 
 And charge the W : nd fly from his rocky den,
 
 SCENE ii.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 17 
 
 Let loose his subjects ; only Boreas, 
 
 Too foul for our intention, as he was, 
 
 Still keep him fast chained : we must have none here 
 
 But vernal blasts and gentle winds appear, 
 
 Such as blow flowers, and through the glad boughs sing 
 
 Many soft welcomes to the lusty spring ; 
 
 These are our music. Next, thy watery race 
 
 Bring on in couples (we are pleased to grace 
 
 This noble night), each in their richest things 
 
 Your own deeps or the broken vessel brings : 
 
 Be prodigal, and 1 shall be as kind 
 
 And shine at full upon you. 
 
 ' Nept. Ho, the Wind! 
 
 Commanding yolus ! 
 
 Enter ^OLUS out of a Rock. 
 
 sol. Great Neptune ! 
 
 Nept. He. 
 
 ^Eol. What is thy will ? 
 
 Nept. We do command thee free 
 Favonius and thy milder winds, to wait 
 Upon our Cynthia ; but tie Boreas strait, 
 He's too rebellious. 
 
 sEol. I shall do it. 
 
 Nept. Do. [Exit yEOLUS into the rock. 
 
 dLol. \within.~} Great master of the flood and all below, 
 
 Thy full command has taken. Ho, the Main ! 
 
 Neptune ! 
 
 Nept. Here. 
 
 Re-enter yoLUS, followed by FAVONIUS and other Winds. 
 
 &ol. Boreas has broke his chain, 
 And, struggling, with the rest has got away. 
 
 Nept. Let him alone, I'll take him up at sea ; 
 I will not long be thence. Go once again, 
 And call out of the bottoms of the main 
 Blue Proteus and the rest ; charge them put on 
 Their greatest pearls, and the most sparkling stone 
 The beaten rock breeds ; tell this night is done 
 By me a solemn honour to the Moon : 
 Fly, like a full sail. 
 
 I am gone. \_Eocit. 
 
 Beau. & F. i. C
 
 1 8 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT i. 
 
 Cynth. Dark Night, 
 
 Strike a full silence, do a thorough right 
 To this great chorus, that our music may 
 Touch high as Heaven, and make the east break day 
 At midnight. [Music. 
 
 P'iRST SONG. 
 During which PROTEUS and other Sea-deities enter. 
 
 Cynthia, to thy power and thee 
 
 We obey. 
 Joy to this great company ! 
 
 And no day 
 Come to steal this night away, 
 
 Till the rites of love are ended, 
 And the lusty bridegroom say, 
 Welcome, light, of all befriended ! 
 
 Pace out, you watery powers below ; 
 
 Let your feet, 
 Like the galleys when they row, 
 
 Even beat. 
 Let your unknown measures, set 
 
 To the still winds, tell to all, 
 That gods are come, immortal, great, 
 
 To honour this great nuptial. [A Measure. 
 
 SECOND SONG. 
 
 Hold back thy hours, dark Night, till we have done ; 
 
 The Day will come too soon : 
 Young maids will curse thee, if thou steal'st away, 
 And leav'st their losses open to the day : 
 
 Stay, stay, and hide 
 
 The blushes of the bride. 
 
 Stay, gentle Night, and with thy darkness cover 
 
 The kisses of her lover ; 
 
 Stay, and confound her tears and her shrill cryings 
 Her weak denials, vows, and often- dyings ; 
 
 Stay, and hide all : 
 
 But help not, though she call. 
 
 Nipt. Great queen of us and Heaven, hear what I bring 
 To make this hour a full one, if not her measure.
 
 SCENE II.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 19 
 
 Cynth. Speak, sea's king. 
 
 Nept. The tunes my Amphitrite joys to have, 
 When she will dance upon the rising wave, 
 And court me as she sails. My Tritons, play 
 Music to lay a storm ! I'll lead the way. 
 
 [A Measure, NEPTUNE leading it. 
 
 THIRD SONG. 
 
 To bed, to bed. Come, Hymen, lead the bride, 
 And lay her by her husband's side ; 
 Bring in the virgins every one, 
 That grieve to lie alone ; 
 
 That they may kiss while they may say a maid ; 
 To-morrow 'twill be other kissed and said, 
 Hesperus, be long a-shining, 
 Whilst these lovers are a-twining. 
 sEol. [fPfM/*.] Ho, Neptune ! 
 Nept. yEolus ! 
 
 Re-enter ^EoLUS. 
 /Eol. The sea goes high, 
 Boreas hath raised a storm : go and apply 
 Thy trident ; else, I prophesy, ere day 
 Many a tall * ship will be cast away. 
 Descend with all the gods and all their power, 
 To strike a calm. [Exit. 
 
 Cynth. We thank you for this hour : 
 My favour to you all. To gratulate 
 So great a service, done at my desire, 
 Ye shall have many floods, fuller and higher 
 Than you have wished for ; and no ebb shall dare 
 To let the Day see where your dwellings are. 
 Now back unto your governments in haste, 
 Lest your proud charge should swell above the waste, 
 And win upon the island. 
 Nept. We obey. 
 
 [NEPTUNE descends with PROTEUS, &*c: Exeunt 
 
 FAVONIUS and other Winds. 
 
 Cynth. Hold up thy head, dead Night; see'st thou not Day? 
 The east begins to lighten : I must down, 
 And give my brother place. 
 Night. Oh, I could frown 
 
 1 Fine. 
 
 C 2
 
 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY, 
 
 [ACT i. 
 
 To see the Day, the Day that flings his light 
 Upon my kingdom and contemns old Night ! 
 Let him go on and flame ! I hope to see 
 Another wild-fire in his axle-tree, 
 And all fall drenched. But I forget ; speak, queen : 
 The Day grows on ; I must no more be seen. 
 
 Cynth. Heave up thy drowsy head again, and see 
 A greater light, a greater majesty, 
 Between our set and us ! whip up thy team : 
 The Day breaks here, and yon sun-flaring stream 
 Shot from the south. Which way wilt thou go ? say. 
 
 Night. I'll vanish into mists. 
 
 Cynth. I into Day. \_Exeunt NIGHT and CYNTHIA. 
 
 King. Take lights there ! Ladies, get the bride to 
 
 bed. 
 
 We will not see you laid ; good night, Amintor ; 
 We'll ease you of that tedious ceremony : 
 Were it my case, I should think time run slow. 
 If thou be'st noble, youth, get me a boy, 
 That may defend my kingdom from my foes. 
 
 Amin. All happiness to you ! 
 
 King. Good night, Melantius. {Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE \.-Ante-room to EVADNE'S Bed-chamber. 
 
 Enter EVADNE, ASPATIA, DULA, and Ladies. 
 
 ULA. Madam, shall we undress you for 
 
 this fight ? 
 The wars are naked that you must make 
 
 to-night. 
 
 Evad. You are very merry, Dula. 
 Dula. I should be far merrier, madam, 
 If it were with me as it is with you. 
 Evad. How's that ? 
 Dula. That I might go 
 To bed with him with credit that you do. 
 Evad. Why, how now, wench ? 
 Dula. Come, ladies, will you help ? 
 Evad. I am soon undone. 
 Dula. And as soon done : 
 Good store of clothes will trouble you at both. 
 Evad. Art thou drunk, Dula? 
 Dula. Why, here's none but we. 
 Evad. Thou think'st belike there is no modesty 
 When we're alone. 
 
 Dula. Ay, by my troth, you hit my thoughts aright. 
 Evad. You prick me, lady. 
 \st Lady. 'Tis against my will. 
 Dula. Anon you must endure more and lie still ; 
 You're best to practise.
 
 22 THE MAW'S TRAGEDY. [ACT 11. 
 
 Evad. Sure, this wench is mad. 
 
 Dula. No, faith", this is a trick that I have had 
 Since I was fourteen. 
 
 Evad. 'Tis high time to leave it. 
 
 Dula. Nay, now I'll keep it till the trick leave me. 
 A dozen wanton words, put in your head, 
 Will make you livelier in your husband's bed. 
 
 Evad. Nay, faith, then take it. 
 
 Dula. Take it, madam ! where ? 
 We all, I hope, will take it that are here. 
 
 Evad. Nay, then, I'll give you o'er. 
 
 Dula. So will I make 
 The ablest man in Rhodes, or his heart ache. 
 
 Evad. Wilt take my place to-night ? 
 
 Dula. I'll hold your cards 
 'Gainst any two I know. 
 
 Evad. What wilt thou do ? 
 
 Dula. Madam, we'll do't, and make 'em leave play 
 too. 
 
 Evad. Aspatia, take her part. 
 
 Dula. I will refuse it : 
 She will pluck down a side ; she will not use it. 
 
 Evad. Why, do, I prithee. 
 
 Dula. You will find the play 
 Quickly, because your head lies well that way. 
 
 Evad. I thank thee, Dula. Would thou couldst instil 
 Some of thy mirth into Aspatia ! 
 Nothing but sad thoughts in her breast do dwell : 
 Methinks, a mean betwixt you would do well. 
 
 Dula. She is in love : hang me, if I were so, 
 But I could run my country. I love too 
 To do those things that people in love do. 
 
 Asp. It were a timeless smile should prove my 
 
 cheek : 
 
 It were a fitter hour for me to laugh, 
 When at the altar the religious priest 
 Were pacifying the offended powers
 
 SCENE i.] THE MAWS TRAGEDY. 23 
 
 With sacrifice, than now. This should have been 
 My rite ; and all your hands have been employed 
 In giving me a spotless offering 
 To young Amintor's bed, as we are now 
 For you. Pardon, Evadne : would my worth 
 Were great as yours, or that the King, or he, 
 Or both, thought so ! Perhaps he found me worth- 
 less : 
 
 But till he did so, in these ears of mine, 
 These credulous ears, he poured the sweetest words 
 That art or love could frame. If he were false, 
 Pardon it, Heaven ! and, if I did want 
 Virtue, you safely may forgive that too ; 
 For I have lost none that I had from you. 
 Evad. Nay, leave this sad talk, madam. 
 Asp. Would I could ! 
 Then should I leave the cause. 
 
 Evad. See, if you have not spoiled all Dula's mirth ! 
 Asp. Thou think'st thy heart hard ; but, if thou be'st 
 
 caught, 
 
 Remember me ; thou shalt perceive a fire 
 Shot suddenly into thee. 
 
 Dula. That's not so good ; 
 Let 'em shoot anything but fire, I fear 'em not. 
 Asp. Well, wench, thou may'st be taken. 
 Evad. Ladies, good-night : I'll do the rest myself. 
 Dula. Nay, let your lord do some. 
 Asp. [singing.'] Lay a garland on my hearse 
 
 Of the dismal yew 
 
 Evad. That's one of your sad songs, madam. 
 Asp. Believe me, 'tis a very pretty one. 
 Evad. How is it, madam ? 
 Asp. [singing.] 
 
 Lay a garland on my hearse 
 
 Of the dismal yew ; 
 Maidens, willow-branches bear ; 
 Say T died true.
 
 24 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT n. 
 
 My love was false, but I was firm 
 
 From my hour of birth : 
 Upon my buried body lie 
 
 Lightly, gentle earth ! 
 
 Evad. Fie on it, madam ! the words are so strange, 
 
 they 
 
 Are able to make one dream of hobgoblins. 
 " I could never have the power " sing that, Dula. 
 
 Dula. \_singin g.~\ 
 
 I could never have the power 
 To love one above an hour, 
 But my heart would prompt mine eye 
 On some other man to fly. 
 Venus, fix mine eyes fast, 
 Or, if not, give me all that I shall see at last ! 
 
 Evad. So, leave me now. 
 
 Dula. Nay, we must see you laid. 
 
 Asp. Madam, good night. May all the marriage-joys 
 That longing maids imagine in their beds 
 Prove so unto you ! May no discontent 
 Grow 'twixt your love and you ! but, if there do, 
 Inquire of me, and I will guide your moan ; 
 Teach you an artificial way to grieve, 
 To keep your sorrow waking. Love your lord 
 No worse than I : but, if you love so well, 
 A'las, you may displease him ! so did I. 
 This is the last time you shall look on me. 
 Ladies, farewell. As soon as I am dead, 
 Come all and watch one night about my hearse ; 
 Bring each a mournful story and a tear, 
 To offer at it when I go to earth ; 
 With flattering ivy clasp my coffin round ; 
 Write on my brow my fortune ; let my bier 
 Be borne by virgins, that shall sing by course * 
 The truth of maids and perjuries of men. 
 
 1 i.e. By turns.
 
 SCENE I.] THE MAIDS TRAGEDY. 25 
 
 Evad. Alas, I pity thee. 
 
 All. Madam, good night. [Exit EVADNE. 
 
 isf Lady. Come, we'll let in the bridegroom. 
 
 Dula. Where's my lord ? 
 
 Enter AMINTOR. 
 
 \st Lady. Here, take this light. 
 
 Dula. He'll find her in the dark. 
 
 \st Lady. Your lady's scarce a-bed yet ; you must 
 help her. 
 
 Asp. Go, and be happy in your lady's love. 
 May all the wrongs that you have done to me 
 Be utterly forgotten in my death ! 
 I'll trouble you no more ; yet I will take 
 A parting kiss, and will not be denied. [Kisses AMINTOR. 
 You'll come, my lord, and see the virgins weep 
 When I am laid in earth, though you yourself 
 Can know no pity. Thus I wind myself 
 Into this willow-garland, and am prouder 
 That I was once your love, though now refused, 1 
 Than to have had another true to me. 
 So with my prayers I leave you, and must try 
 Some yet unpractised way to grieve and die. [Exit 
 
 Dula. Come, ladies, will you go ? 
 
 All. Good night, my lord. 
 
 Amin. Much happiness unto you all ! 
 
 \_Exeunt DULA and Ladies. 
 I did that lady wrong. Methinks, I feel 
 A grief shoot suddenly through all my veins ; 
 Mine eyes rain : this is strange at such a time. 
 It was the King first moved me to't ; but he 
 Has not my will in keeping. Why do I 
 Perplex myself thus ? Something whispers me, 
 Go not to bed. My guilt is not so great 
 As mine own conscience too sensible 
 Would make me think ; I only brake a promise, 
 
 1 Rejected.
 
 26 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT n. 
 
 And 'twas the King enforced me. Timorous flesh, 
 Why shak'st thou so ? Away, my idle fears ! 
 
 Re-enter EVADNE. 
 
 Yonder she is, the lustre of whose eye 
 Can blot away the sad remembrance 
 Of all these things. Oh, my Evadne, spare 
 That tender body ; let it not take cold ! 
 The vapours of the night shall not fall here. 
 To bed, my love : Hymen will punish us 
 For being slack performers of his rites. 
 Cam'st thou to call me ? 
 
 Evad. No. 
 
 Amin. Come, come, my love; 
 And let us lose ourselves to one another. 
 Why art thou up so long ? 
 
 Evad. I am not well. 
 
 Amin. To bed then ; let me wind thee in these arms 1 
 Till I have banished sickness. 
 
 Evad. Good my lord, 
 I cannot sleep. 
 
 Amin. Evadne, we will watch ; 
 I mean no sleeping. 
 
 Evad. I'll not go to bed. 
 
 Amin. I prithee, do. 
 
 Evad. I will not for the world. 
 
 Amin. Why, my dear love ? 
 
 Evad. Why ! I have sworn I will not. 
 
 Amin. Sworn ! 
 
 Evad. Ay. 
 
 Amin. How ? sworn, Evadne ! 
 
 Evad. Yes, sworn, Amintor ; and will swear again, 
 If you will wish to hear me. 
 
 Amin. To whom have you sworn this ? 
 
 Evad. If I should name him, the matter were not 
 great. 
 
 Amin. Come, this is but the coyness of a bride.
 
 SCENE i.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 27 
 
 Evad. The coyness of a bride ! 
 
 Amin. How prettily 
 That frown becomes thee ! 
 
 Evad. Do you like it so ? 
 
 Amin. Thou canst not dress thy face in such a look 
 But I shall like it. 
 
 Evad. What look likes you best ? 
 
 Amin. Why do you ask ? 
 
 Evad. That I may show you one less pleasing to you. 
 
 A mm. How's that ? 
 
 Evad. That I may show you one less pleasing to you. 
 
 Amin. I prithee, put thy jests in milder looks ; 
 It shows as thou wert angry. 
 
 Evad. So perhaps 
 I am indeed. 
 
 Amin. Why, who has done thee wrong ? 
 Name me the man, and by thyself I swear, 
 Thy yet unconquered self, I will revenge thee ! 
 
 Evad. Now I shall try thy truth. If thou dost love me, 
 Thou weigh'st not any thing compared with me : 
 Life, honour, joys eternal, all delights 
 This world can yield, or hopeful people feign, 
 Or in the life to come, are light as air 
 To a true lover when his lady frowns, 
 And bids him do this. Wilt thou kill this man ? 
 Swear, my Amintor, and I'll kiss the sin 
 Off from thy lips. 
 
 Amin. I will not swear, sweet love, 
 Till I do know the cause. 
 
 Evad. I would thou wouldst. 
 Why, it is thou that wrong'st me ; I hate thee ; 
 Thou should'st have killed thyself. 
 
 Amin. If I should know that, I should quickly kill 
 The man you hated. 
 
 Evad. Know it, then, and do't. 
 
 Amin. Oh, no ! what look soe'er thou shall put on 
 To try my faith, I shall not think thee false ;
 
 28 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT IT. 
 
 I cannot find one blemish in thy face, 
 
 Where falsehood should abide. Leave, and to bed. 
 
 If you have sworn to any of the virgins 
 
 That were your old companions to preserve 
 
 Your maidenhead a night, it may be done 
 
 Without this means. 
 
 Evad. A maidenhead, Amintor, 
 At my years ! 
 
 Amin. Sure she raves ; this cannot be 
 Her natural temper. \Aside?[ Shall I call thy maids ? 
 Either thy healthful sleep hath left thee long, 
 Or else some fever rages in thy blood. 
 
 Evad. Neither, Amintor : think you I am mad, 
 Because I speak the truth ? 
 Amin. Is this the truth ? 
 Will you not lie with me to-night ? 
 
 Evad. To night ! 
 
 You talk as if you thought I would hereafter. 
 Amin. Hereafter ! yes, I do. 
 Evad. You are deceived. 
 Put off amazement, and with patience mark 
 What I shall utter, for the oracle 
 Knows nothing truer : 'tis not for a night 
 Or two that I forbear thy bed, but ever. 
 Amin. I dream. Awake, Amintor ! 
 Evad. You hear right : 
 I sooner will find out the beds of snakes, 
 And with my youthful blood warm their cold flesh, 
 Letting them curl themselves about my limbs, 
 Than sleep one night with thee. This is not feigned, 
 Nor sounds it like the coyness of a bride. 
 
 Amin. Is flesh so earthly to endure all this ? 
 Are these the joys of marriage? Hymen, keep 
 This story, that will make succeeding youth 
 Neglect thy ceremonies, from all ears ; 
 Let it not rise up, for thy shame and mine 
 To after-ages : we will scorn thy laws,
 
 SCENE i.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 29 
 
 If thou no better bless them. Touch the heart 
 
 Of her that thou hast sent me, or the world 
 
 Shall know this : not an altar then will smoke 
 
 In praise of thee ; we will adopt us sons ; 
 
 Then virtue shall inherit, and not blood. 
 
 If we do lust, we'll take the next we meet, 
 
 Serving ourselves as other creatures do ; 
 
 And never take note of the female more, 
 
 Nor of her issue. I do rage in vain ; 
 
 She can but jest. \_Aside.~\ Oh, pardon me, my love ! 
 
 So dear the thoughts are that I hold of thee, 
 
 That I must break forth. Satisfy my fear ; 
 
 It is a pain, beyond the hand of death, 
 
 To be in doubt : confirm it with an oath, 
 
 If this be true. 
 
 Evad. Do you invent the form : 
 Let there be in it all the binding words 
 Devils and conjurers can put together, 
 And I will take it. I have sworn before, 
 And here by all things holy do again, 
 Never to be acquainted with thy bed ! 
 Is your doubt over now ? 
 
 Amin. I know too much : would I had doubted still ! 
 Was ever such a marriage-night as this ! 
 You powers above, if you did ever mean 
 Man should be used thus, you have thought a way 
 How he may bear himself, and save his honour : 
 Instruct me in it ; for to my dull eyes 
 There is no mean, no moderate course to run ; 
 I must live scorned, or be a murderer : 
 Is there a third ? Why is this night so calm ? 
 Why does not Heaven speak in thunder to us, 
 And drown her voice ? 
 
 Evad, This rage will do no good. 
 
 Amin. Evadne, hear me. Thou hast ta'en an oath, 
 But such a rash one, that to keep it were 
 Worse than to swear it : call it back to thee ;
 
 30 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT n 
 
 Such vows as that never ascend to Heaven ; 
 
 A tear or two will wash it quite away. 
 
 Have mercy on my youth, my hopeful youth, 
 
 If thou be pitiful ! for, without boast, 
 
 This land was proud of me : what lady was there, 
 
 That men called fair and virtuous in this isle, 
 
 That would have shunned my love ? It is in thee 
 
 To make me hold this worth. Oh, we vain men, 
 
 That trust out all our reputation 
 
 To rest upon the weak and yielding hand 
 
 Of feeble woman ! But thou art not stone ; 
 
 Thy flesh is soft, and in thine eyes doth dwell 
 
 The spirit of love ; thy heart cannot be hard. 
 
 Come, lead me from the bottom of despair 
 
 To all the joys thou hast ; I know thou wilt ; 
 
 And make me careful lest the sudden change 
 
 O'ercome my spirits. 
 
 Evad. When I call back this oath, 
 The pains of hell environ me ! 
 
 Amin. 1 sleep, and am too temperate. Come to bed ! 
 Or by those hairs, which, if thou hadst a soul 
 Like to thy locks, were threads for kings to wear 
 About their arms 
 
 Evad. Why, so perhaps they are. 
 
 Amin. I'll drag thee to rny bed, and make thy tongue 
 Undo this wicked oath, or on thy flesh 
 I'll print a thousand wounds to let out life ! 
 
 Evad. I fear thee not : do what thou dar'st to me ! 
 Every ill-sounding word or threatening look 
 Thou shew'st to me will be revenged at full. 
 
 Amin. It will not sure, Evadne ? 
 
 Evad. Do not you hazard that. 
 
 Amin. Have you your champions ? 
 
 Evad. Alas, Amintor, think'st thou I forbear 
 To sleep with thee, because I have put on 
 A maiden's strictness ? Look upon these cheeks, 
 And thou shalt find the hot and rising blood
 
 SCENE i.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 31 
 
 Unapt for such a vow.- No ; in this heart 
 
 There dwells as much desire and as much will 
 
 To put that wished act in practice as e'er yet 
 
 Was known to woman ; and they have been shown 
 
 Both. But it was the folly of thy youth 
 
 To think this beauty, to what land soe'er 
 
 It shall be called, shall stoop to any second. 
 
 I do enjoy the best, and in that height 
 
 Have sworn to stand or die : you guess the man. 
 
 Amin. No ; let me know the man that wrongs me so, 
 That I may cut his body into motes, 1 
 And scatter it before the northern wind. 
 
 Evad. You dare not strike him. 
 
 Amin. Do not wrong me so : 
 Yes, if his body were a poisonous plant 
 That it were death to touch, I have a soul 
 Will throw me on him. 
 
 Evad. Why, it is the King. 
 
 Amin. The King ! 
 
 Evad. What will you do now ? 
 
 Amin. Tis not the King ! 
 
 Evad. What did he make this match for, dull Amintor? 
 
 Amin. Oh, thou hast named a word, that wipes away 
 All thoughts revengeful ! In that sacred word, 
 "The King," there lies a terror : what frail man 
 Dares lift his hand against it ? Let the gods 
 Speak to him when they please : till when, let us 
 Suffer and wait. 
 
 Evad. Why should you fill yourself so full of heat, 
 And haste so to my bed ? I am no virgin. 
 
 Amin. What devil put it in thy fancy, then, 
 To marry me ? 
 
 Evad. Alas, I must have one 
 To father children, and to bear the name 
 Of husband to me, that my sin may be 
 More honourable ! 
 
 1 Mites.
 
 32 THE MAIDS TRAGEDY. [ACT n. 
 
 Amin. What strange thing am I ! 
 
 Evad. A miserable one ; one that myself 
 Am sorry for. 
 
 Amin. Why, show it then in this : 
 If thou hast pity, though thy love be none, 
 Kill me ; and all true lovers, that shall live 
 In after ages crossed in their desires, 
 Shall bless thy memory, and call thee good, 
 Because such mercy in thy heart was found, 
 To rid a lingering wretch. 
 
 Evad. I must have one 
 To fill thy room again, if thou wert dead ; 
 Else, by this night, I would ! I pity thee. 
 
 Amin. These strange and sudden injuries have fallen 
 So thick upon me, that I lose all sense 
 Of what they are. Methinks, I am not wronged ; 
 Nor is it aught, if from the censuring world 
 I can but hide it. Reputation, 
 Thou art a word, no more ! But thou hast shown 
 An impudence so high, that to the world 
 I fear thou wilt betray or shame thyself. 
 
 Evad. To cover shame, I took thee ; never fear 
 That I would blaze myself. 
 
 Amin. Nor let the King 
 
 Know I conceive he wrongs me ; then mine honour 
 Will thrust me into action, though my flesh 
 Could bear with patience. And it is some ease 
 To me in these extremes, that I knew this 
 Before I touched thee ; else, had all the sins 
 Of mankind stood betwixt me and the King, 
 I had gone through 'em to his heart and thine. 
 I have left one desire : 'tis not his crown 
 Shall buy me to thy bed, now I resolve l 
 He has dishonoured thee. Give me thy hand : 
 Be careful of thy credit, and sin close ; 
 'Tis all I wish. Upon thy chamber-floor 
 
 1 i.e. Now that I am convinced.
 
 SCENE ir.] THE MAWS TRAGEDY. 33 
 
 I'll rest to-night, that morning visitors 
 May think we did as married people use : 
 And. prithee, smile upon me when they come, 
 And seem to toy, as if thou hadst been pleased 
 With what we did. 
 
 Evad. Fear not ; I will do this. 
 
 Amin. Come, let us practise ; and, as wantonly 
 As ever longing bride and bridegroom met, 
 Let's laugh and enter here. 
 
 Evad. I am content. 
 
 Amin. Down all the swellings of my troubled heart ! 
 When we walk thus intwined, let all eyes see 
 If ever lovers better did agree. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. An Apartment in the House 0/CALIANAX. 
 
 Enter ASPATIA, ANTIPHILA, and OLYMPIAS. 
 
 Asp. Away, you are not sad ! force it no further. 
 Good gods, how well you look ! Such a full colour 
 Young bashful brides put on : sure, you are new married ! 
 
 Ant. Yes, madam, to your grief. 
 
 Asp. Alas, poor wenches ! 
 Go learn to love first ; learn to lose yourselves ; 
 Learn to be flattered, and believe and bless 
 The double tongue that did it ; make a faith 
 Out of the miracles of ancient lovers, 
 Such as spake truth, and died in't ; and, like me, 
 Believe all faithful, and be miserable. 
 Did you ne'er love yet, wenches ? Speak, Olympias : 
 Thou hast an easy temper, fit for stamp. 
 
 Olym. Never. 
 
 Asp. Nor you, Antiphila ? 
 
 Ant. Nor I. 
 
 Asp. Then, my good girls, be more than women, wise ; 
 
 Beau. & F. i.
 
 34 ftiE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT H. 
 
 At least be more than I was ; and be sure 
 
 You credit any thing the light gives life to, 
 
 Before a man. Rather believe the sea 
 
 Weeps for the ruined merchant, when he roars ; 
 
 Rather, the wind courts but the pregnant sails, 
 
 When the strong cordage cracks ; rather, the sun 
 
 Comes but to kiss the fruit in wealthy autumn, 
 
 When all falls blasted. If you needs must love, 
 
 (Forced by ill fate,) take to your maiden-bosoms 
 
 Two dead-cold aspics, and of them make lovers : 
 
 They cannot flatter nor forswear ; one kiss 
 
 Makes a long peace for all. But man. 
 
 Oh, that beast man ! Come, let's be sad, my girls : 
 
 That down-cast of thine eye, Olympias, 
 
 Shows a fine so'rrow. Mark, Antiphila ; 
 
 Just such another was the nymph CEnone, 
 
 When Paris brought home Helen. Now, a tear; 
 
 And then thou art a piece expressing fully 
 
 The Carthage queen, when from a cold sea-rock, 
 
 Full with her sorrow, she tied fast her eyes 
 
 To the fair Trojan ships ; and, having lost them, 
 
 Just as thine eyes do, down stole a tear. Antiphila, 
 
 What would this wench do, if she were Aspatia ? 
 
 Here she would stand, till some more pitying god 
 
 Turned her to marble ! 'Tis enough, my wench ! 
 
 Show me the piece of needlework you wrought. 
 
 Ant. Of Ariadne, madam? 
 
 Asp. Yes, that piece. 
 
 This should be Theseus ; h'as a cozening face. 
 You meant him for a man ? 
 
 Ant. He was so, madam. 
 
 Asp. Why, then, 'tis well enough. Never look back ; 
 You have a full wind and a false heart, Theseus. 
 Does not the story say, his keel was split, 
 Or his masts spent, or some kind rock or other 
 Met with his vessel ? 
 
 Ant. Not as I remember.
 
 SCENE II.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 35 
 
 Asp. It should have been so. Could the gods know this, 
 And not, of all their number, raise a storm ? 
 But they are all as evil. This false smile 
 Was well expressed ; just such another caught me. 
 You shall not go so. 
 Antiphila, in this place work a quicksand, 
 And over it a shallow smiling water, 
 And his ship ploughing it ; and then a Fear : 
 Do that Fear bravely, wench. 
 
 Ant. 'Twill wrong the story. 
 
 Asp. 'Twill make the story, wronged by wanton poets, 
 Live long and be believed. But whtre's the lady ? 
 
 Ant. There, madam. 
 
 Asp. Fie, you have missed it here, Antiphila ; 
 You are much mistaken, wench : 
 These colours are not dull and pale enough 
 To show a soul so full of misery 
 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 desert ; and let all about me 
 Tell that I am forsaken. Do my face 
 (If thou had'st 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 j and behind me, 
 Make all a desolation. See, see, 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.
 
 36 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT li. 
 
 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 whores, 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 heat 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 'em, a trim cheating soldier ; 
 I'll maul that rascal ; h'as 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. 
 
 1 Stalking horse.
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. Ante-room to EVADNE'S Bed-chamber. 
 
 Enter CLEON, STRATA, and DIPHILUS. 
 
 LE. Your sister is not up yet. 
 
 Diph. Oh, brides must take their morn- 
 ing's rest ; the night is troublesome. 
 
 Stra. But not tedious. 
 
 Diph. What odds, he has not my sister's 
 maidenhead to-night ? 
 
 Stra. None ; it's odds against any bridegroom living, 
 
 he ne'er gets it while he lives. 
 Diph. You're merry with my sister; you'll please to 
 
 allow me the same freedom with your mother. 
 Stra. She's at your service. 
 Diph. Then she's merry enough of herself; she needs 
 
 no tickling. Knock at the door. 
 Stra. We shall interrupt them. 
 Diph. No matter ; they have the year before them. 
 
 [STRATA knocks at the door. 
 Good morrow, sister. Spare yourself to-day ; 
 The night will come again. 
 
 Enter AMINTOR. 
 
 Amin. Who's there ? my brother ! I'm no readier ' yet. 
 Your sister is but now up. 
 
 Diph. You look as you had lost your eyes to-night : 
 I think you have not slept 
 
 1 i.e. No more dressed.
 
 38 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT in. 
 
 Amin. I'faith I have not 
 
 Diph. You have done better, then. 
 
 Amin. We ventured for a boy ; when he is twelve, 
 He shall command against the foes of Rhodes. 
 Shall we be merry ? 
 
 Stra. You cannot ; you want sleep. 
 
 Amin. 'Tis true. But she, 
 As if she had drank Lethe, or had made 
 Even with Heaven, did fetch so still a sleep, 
 So sweet and sound [Aside. 
 
 Diph. What's that ? 
 
 Amin. Your sister frets 
 
 This morning ; and does turn her eyes upon me, 
 As people on their headsman. She does chafe, 
 And kiss, and chafe again, and clap my cheeks : 
 She's in another world. 
 
 Diph. Then I had lost : I was about to lay 
 You had not got her maidenhead to-night. 
 
 Amin. Ha ! does he not mock me ? [Aside.'] You 
 
 had lost indeed ; 
 I do not use to bungle. 
 
 Cko. You do deserve her. 
 
 Amin. I laid my lips to hers, and that wild breath, 
 That was so rude and rough to me last night, 
 Was sweet as April. I'll be guilty too, 
 If these be the effects. [Aside. 
 
 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
 
 SCENE I.] THE MAWS TRAGEDY. 39 
 
 Of that it knows so well ? There's nothing here 
 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 'em 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 have 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 : 
 It is the prettiest sport ! 
 
 Amin. Evadne ! 
 
 Evad. [within.] My lord? 
 
 Amin. Come forth, my love : 
 Your brothers do attend to wish you joy.
 
 40 THE MAI US TRAGEDY. [ACT rn. 
 
 Evad. [within] I am not ready yet. 
 
 Amin. Enough, enough. 
 
 Evad. \ivithiri\ They'll 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. ' 
 
 Diph. Oh, sister, what have you done ? 
 
 Evad. I done ! why, what have I done ? 
 
 Stra. My Lord Amintor swears you are no maid 
 now. 
 
 Evad. Pish! 
 
 Stra. I'faith, he does. 
 
 Evad. I knew I should be mocked. 
 
 Diph. With a truth. 
 
 Evad. If 'twere to do again, 
 In faith I would not marry. 
 
 Amin. Nor I, by Heaven ! 
 
 Diph. Sister, Dula swears 
 She heard you cry two rooms off. 
 
 Evad. Fie, how you talk ! 
 
 Diph. Let's see you walk. 
 
 Evad. By my troth you're spoiled. 
 
 Mel. Amintor. 
 
 Amin. Ha ! 
 
 Mel. Thou art sad. 
 
 Amin. Who, I ? I thank you for that. 
 Shall Diphilus, thou, and I, sing a catch ? 
 
 Mel. How ! 
 
 Amin. Prithee, let's. 
 
 Mel. Nay, that's too much the other way. 
 
 Amin. I'm 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,
 
 SCENE i.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 41 
 
 Would you had all such wives, and all the world, 
 That I might be no wonder ! You're 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. 
 
 Amin. Well ! how can I be other, 
 When she 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. 
 
 Amin. What says my love ? I must obey. 
 
 Evad. You do it scurvily, 'twill be perceived. 
 
 Cleo. My lord, the King is here. 
 
 Amin. Where ? 
 
 Stra. And his brother. 
 
 Enter KING and LYSIPPUS. 
 
 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. 
 How liked you your night's rest ? 
 
 Evad. Ill, sir. 
 
 Amin. Ay, 'deed, 
 She took but little. 
 
 Lys. You'll let her take more, 
 And thank her too, shortly. 
 
 King. Amintor, wert thou truly honest till 
 Thou wert married ? 
 
 Amin. Yes, sir. 
 
 King. Tell me, then, how shows 
 The sport unto thee ? 
 
 Amin. Why, well. 
 
 King. What did you do ?
 
 42 THE MAWS TRAGEDY. [ACT in. 
 
 Amin. No more, nor less, than other couples use ; 
 You know what 'tis ; it has but a coarse name. 
 
 King, But, prithee, I should think, by her black eye, 
 And her red cheek, she should be quick and stirring 
 In this same business; ha? 
 
 Amin. I cannot tell ; 
 I ne'er tried other, sir ; but I perceive 
 She is as quick as you delivered. 
 
 King. Well, 
 
 You will trust me then, Amintor, to choose 
 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 is 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. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the KING, AMINTOR, and EVADNE 
 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 ! {Aside. 
 
 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 to talk, and not be jealous. [.Retires.
 
 SCENE I.] THE MAWS TRAGEDY. 43 
 
 King. How do you like Amintor ? 
 
 Evad. As I did, sir. 
 
 King. How's that ? 
 
 Evad. As one that, to fulfil your pleasure, 
 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 
 Will not excuse you : thou hast taken oaths, 
 So great, methought, they did not well become 
 A woman's month, that thou wouldst 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, Ibade 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 ! he says himself so. 
 
 Evad. He lies. 
 
 King. He does not. 
 
 Evad. By this light, he does,
 
 44 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT in. 
 
 Strangely and basely ! and I'll prove it so : 
 
 I did not only shun him for a night, 
 
 But told him I would never close with him. 
 
 King. Speak lower ; it is false. 
 
 Evad. I am no man 
 To answer with a blow ; or, if I were, 
 You are the King. But urge me not ; 'tis most true. 
 
 King. Do not I know the uncontrolled 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 with look for. 
 
 Evad. Stay, sir ! Amintor ! You shall hear. 
 Amintor ! 
 
 Amin. [coming forward.] What, my love ? 
 
 Evad. Amintor, thou hast an ingenious l look, 
 And shouldst 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 ? 
 
 Evad. The king and me 
 
 Amin. Oh, Heaven ! 
 
 Evad. Who should live long, and love without distaste, 
 Were it not for such pickthanks 2 as thyself. 
 
 1 Ingenuous. - Officious fellows.
 
 SCENE i.] THE MAWS TRAGEDY. 4$ 
 
 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 limbs through all the land, 
 To show how nobly I have freed myself. 
 
 King. Draw not thy sword ; thou know'st I cannot fear 
 A subject's hand ; but thou shalt feel the weight 
 Of this, if thou dost rage. 
 
 Amin. The weight of that ! 
 If you have any worth, for Heaven's sake, think 
 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
 
 46 THE MAWS TRAGEDY. [ACT HI. 
 
 Amongst my sorrows, ere my treacherous hand 
 
 Touch holy things ! But why (I know not what 
 
 I have to say) why did you choose 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 dar'st 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 mayst 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 bitter 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 l you lay not with her ; 
 And so I leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Evad. You must needs be prating ; 
 And see what follows ! 
 
 1 i.e> Convinced.
 
 SCENE n.] THE MAWS TRAGEDY. 47 
 
 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. 
 
 Amin. I hate mine as much. 
 This 'tis to break a troth ! I should be glad, 
 If all this tide of grief would make me mad. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter MELANTIUS. 
 
 Mel. I'll know the cause of all Amintor's griefs, 
 Or friendship shall be idle. 
 
 Enter CALIANAX. 
 
 Cal. Oh, Melantius, 
 My daughter will die ! 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Md. 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 ? 
 
 [Throws down his cloak, and draws his sword.
 
 48 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT III. 
 
 Mel. Why wilt thou dote 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. 
 
 Mel. 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 'mongst cowards, but durst never fight. [Aside. 
 
 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. [Aside. 
 
 Mel. Sir, will you be gone ? 
 
 Cal. I dare not stay ; but I will go home, and beat 
 My servants all over for this. 
 
 [Aside takes tip his cloak, sheaths his word, 
 and exit. 
 
 Mel. This old fellow haunts me. 
 But the distracted carriage of mine Amintor 
 Takes deeply on me. I will find the cause : 
 I fear his conscience cries, he wronged Aspatia.
 
 SCENE II.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 49 
 
 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. \_Aside. 
 
 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't ? 
 
 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, Melantius ! 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 cheeks 
 Inevitable ' colour, in her heart 
 A prison for all virtue ? Are not you, 
 
 1 Irresistible. 
 Beau. & F. i. E
 
 50 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT in. 
 
 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. 
 
 Amin. Melantius, stay : you shall know what that is. 
 
 Mel. See ; how you played with friendship ! be advised 
 How you give cause unto yourself to say 
 You have lost a friend. 
 
 Amin. Forgive what I have done ; 
 For I am so o'ergone with injuries 
 Unheard of, that I lose consideration 
 Of what I ought to do. Oh, oh ! 
 
 Mel. Do not weep. 
 
 What is it ? May I once but know the man 
 Hath turned my friend thus ! 
 
 Amin. I had spoke at first, 
 But that
 
 SCENE II.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 Mel. But what ? 
 
 Amin. I held it most unfit 
 For you to know. Faith, do not know it yet. 
 
 Mel. Thou see'st 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 
 
 Mel. Well said. 
 
 Amin. You will wish't unknown, 
 When you have heard it. 
 
 Mel. No. 
 
 Amin. Is much to blame, 
 And to the King has given her honour up, 
 And lives in whoredom with him. 
 
 Mel. How is this ? 
 
 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,
 
 52 THE MAIDS TRAGEDY. [ACT in. 
 
 With what unwillingness I go to scourge 
 
 This railer, whom my folly hath called friend ? 
 
 I will not take thee basely : thy" sword 
 
 \Draws his 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 
 Provide not blows but words to qualify 
 The men they wronged. Thou hast a guilty cause. 
 
 Amin. Thou pleasest me ; for so much more like 
 
 this 
 
 Will raise my anger up above my griefs, 
 (Which is a passion easier to be borne,) 
 And I shall then be happy. 
 
 Mel. Take, then, more 
 To raise thine anger : 'tis mere cowardice 
 Makes thee not draw ; and I will leave thee dead, 
 However. But if thou art so much pressed 
 With guilt and fear as not to dare to fight, 
 I'll make thy memory loathed, and fix a scandal 
 Upon thy name for ever. 
 
 Amin. [Drawing his sword. ] Then I draw, 
 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.
 
 SCENE II.] THE MAI&S TRAGEDY. 53 
 
 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 ! 
 
 \_Sheaths his sword. 
 
 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 ; 
 
 \_Sheaths his sword. 
 And I shall do a foul act on myself, 
 Through these disgraces. 
 
 Mel. Better half the land 
 Were buried quick J 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. 
 
 1 Alive.
 
 54 THE MAWS TRAGEDY. [AC ill. 
 
 I go thus from thee, and will never cease 
 My vengeance till I find thy heart at peace. 
 
 Amin. It must not be so. Stay. Mine eyes would tell 
 How loth I am to this ; but, love and tears, 
 Leave me awhile ! for I have hazarded 
 All that this world calls happy. Thou hast wrought 
 A secret from me, under name of friend, 
 Which art could ne'er have found, nor torture wrung 
 From out my bosom. Give it me again ; 
 For I will find it, wheresoe'er it lies, 
 Hid in the mortal'st part : invent a way 
 To give it back. 
 
 Mel. Why would you have it back ? 
 I will to death pursue him with revenge. 
 
 Amin. Therefore I call it back from thee ; for I know 
 Thy blood so high, that thou wilt stir in this, 
 And shame me to posterity. Take to thy weapon ! 
 
 [Draws his sword. 
 
 Mel. Hear thy friend, that bears more years than 
 thou. 
 
 Amin. I will not hear : but draw, or I 
 
 Mel. Amintor ! 
 
 Amin. Draw, then ; for I am full as resolute' 
 As fame and honour can enforce me be : 
 I cannot linger. Draw ! 
 
 Mel. [Drawing his sword.~\ I do. But is not 
 My share of credit equal with thine, 
 If I do stir ? 
 
 Amin. No ; for it will be called 
 Honour in thee to spill thy sister's blood, 
 If she her birth abuse ; and, on the King 
 A brave revenge : but on me, that have walked 
 With patience in it, it will fix the name 
 Of fearful cuckold. Oh, that word ! Be quick. 
 
 Mel. Then, join with me. 
 
 Amin. I dare not do a sin, or else I would. 
 Be speedy.
 
 SCENE ii.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 55 
 
 Mel. Then, dare not fight with me ; for that's a sin. 
 His grief distracts him. Call thy thoughts again, 
 And to thyself pronounce the name of friend, 
 And see what that will work. I will not fight. 
 
 Amin. You must. 
 
 Mel. \Sheathing his sword\ I will be killed first. 
 
 Though my passions 
 
 Offered the like to you, 'tis not this earth 
 Shall buy my reason to it. Think awhile, 
 For you are (I must weep when I speak that) 
 Almost besides yourself. 
 
 Amin. [Sheathing his sword.~\ Oh, my soft temper ! 
 So many sweet words from thy sister's mouth, 
 I am afraid would make me take her to 
 Embrace, and pardon her. I am mad indeed, 
 And know not what I do. Yet, have a care 
 Of me in what thou dost. 
 
 Mel. Why, thinks my friend 
 I will forget his honour ? or, to save 
 The bravery of our house, will lose his fame, 
 And fear to touch the throne of majesty ? 
 
 Amin. A curse will follow that ; but rather live 
 And suffer with me. 
 
 Mel. I will do what worth 
 Shall bid me, and no more. 
 
 Amin. Faith, I am sick, . 
 And desperately I hope ; yet, leaning thus, 
 I feel a kind of ease. 
 
 Mel. Come, take again 
 Your mirth about you. 
 
 Amin. I shall never do't. 
 
 Mel. I warrant you ; look up ; we'll walk together ; 
 Put thine arm here ; all shall be well again. 
 
 Amin. Thy love (oh, wretched .') ay, thy love 
 
 Melantius ; 
 Why, I have nothing else. 
 
 Mel. Be merry, then. [Exeunt.
 
 56 THE MAIDS TRAGEDY. [ACT ill. 
 
 Re-enter MELANTIUS. 
 
 Mel. This worthy young man may do violence 
 Upon himself; but I have cherished him 
 To my best power, and sent him smiling from me, 
 To counterfeit again. Sword, hold thine edge ; 
 My heart will never fail me. 
 
 Enter DIPHILUS. 
 
 Diphilus ! 
 Thou com'st as sent. 
 
 Diph. Yonder has been such laughing. 
 
 Mel. Betwixt whom ? 
 
 Diph. Why, our sister and the King 
 I thought their spleens would break; they laughed 
 
 us all 
 Out of the room. 
 
 Mel. They must weep, Diphilus. 
 
 Diph. Must they ? 
 
 Mel. They must. 
 
 Thou art my brother ; and, if I did believe 
 Thou hadst a base thought, I would rip it out, 
 Lie where it durst. 
 
 Diph. You should not ; I would first 
 Mangle myself and find it. 
 
 Mel. That was spoke 
 
 According to our strain. 1 Come, join thy hands to mine, 
 And swear a firmness to what project I 
 Shall lay before thee. 
 
 Diph. You do wrong us both : 
 People hereafter shall not say, there passed 
 A bond, more than our loves, to tie our lives 
 And deaths together. 
 
 Mel. It is as nobly said as I would wish. 
 Anon I'll tell you wonders : we are wronged. 
 
 Diph. But I will tell you now, we'll right ourselves. 
 
 1 Race, lineage.
 
 SCENE n.] THE MAWS TRAGEDY. 57 
 
 Mel. Stay not : prepare the armour in my house ; 
 And what friends you can draw unto our side, 
 Not knowing of the cause, make ready too. 
 Haste, Diphilus, the time requires it, haste ! 
 
 [Exit DIPHILUS. 
 
 I hope my cause is just ; I know my blood 
 Tells me it is ; and I will credit it. 
 To take revenge, and lose myself withal, 
 Were idle ; and to scape impossible, 
 Without I had the fort, which (misery !) 
 Remaining in the hands of my old enemy 
 Calianax but I must have it. See, 
 
 Re-enter CALIANAX. 
 
 Where he comes shaking by me ! Good my lord, 
 Forget your spleen to me ; I never wronged you, 
 But would have peace with every man. 
 
 Cal. 'Tis well ; 
 If I durst fight, your tongue would lie at quiet. 
 
 Mel. You're touchy without cause. 
 
 Cal. Do you mock me ? 
 
 Mel. By mine honour, I speak truth. 
 
 Cal. Honour ! where is it ? 
 
 Mel. See, what starts you make 
 Into your idle hatred, to my love 
 And freedom to you. I come with resolution 
 To obtain a suit of you. 
 
 Cal. A suit of me ! 
 'Tis very like it should be granted, sir. 
 
 Mel. Nay, go not hence : 
 'Tis this ; you have the keeping of the fort, 
 And I would wish you, by the love you ought 
 To bear unto me, to deliver it 
 Into my hands. 
 
 Cal. I am in hope thou art mad, 
 To talk to me thus. 
 
 Mel. But there is a reason
 
 58 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT in. 
 
 To move you to it : I would kill the King, 
 That wronged you and your daughter. 
 
 Cal. Out, traitor ! 
 
 Mel. Nay, 
 
 But stay : I cannot scape, the deed once done, 
 Without I have this fort. 
 
 Cal. And should I help thee ? 
 Now thy treacherous mind betrays itself. 
 
 Mel. Come, delay me not ; 
 Give me a sudden answer, or already 
 Thy last is spoke ! refuse not offered love, 
 When it comes clad in secrets. 
 
 Cal. If I say 
 
 I will not, he will kill me ; I do see't 
 Writ in his looks ; and should I say I will, 
 He'll run and tell the King. [Aside]! do not shun 
 Your friendship, dear Melantius ; but this cause 
 Is weighty : give me but an hour to think. 
 
 Mel. Take it. I know this goes unto the King; 
 But I am armed. \_Aside, and exit. 
 
 Cal. Methinks I feel myself ' 
 But twenty now again. This fighting fool 
 Wants policy : I shall revenge my girl, 
 And make her red again. I pray my legs 
 Will last that pace that I will carry them : 
 I shall want breath before I find the King. [Exit.
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 SCENE I. An Apartment of EVADNE. 
 
 EVADNE and Ladies discovered. Enter MELANTIUS. 
 EL. Save you ! 
 
 Evad. Save you, sweet brother ! 
 
 Mel. In my blunt eye, methinks, you 
 
 look Evadne 
 Evad. Come, you would make me 
 
 blush. 
 
 Mel. I would, Evadne ; I shall displease my ends else. 
 Evad. You shall, if you commend me ; I am bashful. 
 Come, sir, how do I look ? 
 
 Mel. I would not have your women hear me 
 Break into commendation of you ; 'tis not seemly. 
 
 Evad. Go wait me in the gallery. [Exeunt Ladies. 
 
 Now speak. 
 
 Mel. I'll lock the door first. 
 Evad. Why? 
 
 Mel. I will not have your gilded things, that dance 
 In visitation with their Milan skins, 1 
 Choke up my business. 
 
 Evad. You are strangely disposed, sir. 
 Mel. Good madam, not to make you merry. 
 Evad. No ; if you praise me, it will make me sad. 
 Mel. Such a sad commendation I have for you. 
 
 Supposed to have reference to gloves manufactured at Milan.
 
 60 THE MAWS TRAGEDY. [ACT iv. 
 
 Evad. Brother, 
 The court hath made you witty, and learn to riddle. 
 
 Mel. I praise the court for't : has it learnt you nothing ? 
 
 Evad. Me ! 
 
 Mel. Ay, Evadne ; thou art young and handsome, 
 A lady of a sweet complexion, 
 And such a flowing carriage, that it cannot 
 Choose but inflame a kingdom. 
 
 Evad. Gentle brother ! 
 
 Mel. 'Tis yet in thy repentance, foolish woman, 
 To make me gentle. 
 
 Evad. How is this ? 
 
 Mel. 'Tis base ; 
 
 And I could blush, at these years, thorough all 
 My honoured scars, to come to such a parley. 
 
 Evad. I understand you not. 
 
 Mel. You dare not, fool ! 
 They that commit thy faults fly the remembrance. 
 
 Evad. My faults, sir ! I would have you know, I care not 
 If they were written here, here in my forehead. 
 
 Mel. Thy body is too little for the story ; 
 The lusts of which would fill another woman, 
 Though she had twins within her. 
 
 Evad. This is saucy : 
 Look you intrude no more ! there lies your way. 
 
 MeL Thou art my way, and I will tread upon thee, 
 Till I find truth out. 
 
 E-vad. What truth is that you look for ? 
 
 MeL Thy long-lost honour. Would the gods had set me 
 Rather to grapple with the plague, or stand 
 One of their loudest bolts ! Come, tell me quickly, 
 Do it without enforcement, and take heed 
 You swell me not above my temper. 
 
 Evad. How, sir ! 
 Where got you this report? 
 
 MeL Where there was people, 
 In every place.
 
 SCENE I.] THE MAW'S TRAGEDY. 61 
 
 Evad. They and the seconds of it are base people : 
 Believe them not, they lied. 
 
 Mel. Do not play with mine anger, do not, wretch ! 
 
 [Seizes her. 
 
 I come to know that desperate fool that drew thee 
 From thy fair life : be wise, and lay him open. 
 
 Evad. Unhand me, and learn manners ! such another 
 Forgetfulness forfeits your life. 
 
 Mel. Quench me this mighty humour, and then tell me 
 Whose whore you are ; for you are one, I know it. 
 Let all mine honours perish but I'll find him, 
 Though he lie locked up in thy blood ! Be sudden ; 
 There is no facing it ; and be not flattered ; 
 The burnt air, when the Dog reigns, is not fouler 
 Than thy contagious name, till thy repentance 
 (If the gods grant thee any) purge thy sickness. 
 
 Evad. Begone ! you are my brother ; that's your safety. 
 
 Mel. I'll be a wolf first : 'tis, to be thy brother, 
 An infamy below the sin of coward. 
 I am as far from being part of thee 
 As thou art from thy virtue : seek a kindred 
 'Mongst sensual beasts, and make a goat thy brother ; 
 A goat is cooler. Will you tell me yet ? 
 
 Evad. If you stay here and rail thus, I shall tell you 
 I'll have you whipped ! Get you to your command, 
 And there preach to your sentinels, and tell them 
 What a brave man you are : I shall laugh at you. 
 
 Mel. You're grown a glorious whore ! Where be your 
 
 fighters ? 
 
 What mortal fool durst raise thee to this daring, 
 And I alive ! By my just sword, he had safer 
 Bestrid a billow when the angry North 
 Ploughs up the sea, or made Heaven's fire his foe ! 
 Work me no higher. Will you discover yet ? 
 
 Evad. The fellow's mad. Sleep, and speak sense. 
 
 Mel. Force my swol'n heart no further : I would save 
 Your great maintainers are not here, they dare not : [thee.
 
 62 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT iv. 
 
 Would they were all, and armed ! I would speak loud ; 
 Here's one should thunder to 'em ! Will you tell me ? 
 Thou hast no hope to scape : he that dares most, 
 And damns away his soul to do thee service, 
 Will sooner snatch meat from a hungry lion 
 Than come to rescue thee ; thou hast death about thee ; 
 He has undone thine honour, poisoned thy virtue, 
 And, of a lovely rose, left thee a canker. 1 
 Evad. Let me consider. 
 Mel. Do, whose child thou wert, 
 
 Whose honour thou hast murdered, whose grave opened, 
 And so pulled on the gods, that in their justice 
 They must restore him flesh again and life, 
 And raise his dry bones to revenge this scandal. 
 
 Evad. The gods are not of my mind ; they had better 
 Let 'em lie sweet still in the earth ; they'll stink here. 
 
 Mel. Do you raise mirth out of my easiness ? 
 Forsake me, then, all weaknesses of nature, 
 
 \^Draws his sword. 
 
 That make men women ! Speak, you whore, speak truth, 
 Or, by the dear soul of thy sleeping father, 
 This sword shall be thy lover ! tell, or I'll kill thee ; 
 And, when thou hast told all, thou wilt deserve it. 
 Evad. You will not murder me ? 
 Mel. No ; 'tis a justice, and a noble one, 
 To put the light out of such base offenders. 
 Evad. Help ! 
 
 Mel. By thy foul self, no human help shall help thee, 
 If thou criest ! When I have killed thee, as I 
 Have vowed to do, if thou confess not, naked 
 As thou hast left thine honour will I leave thee, 
 That on thy branded flesh the world may read 
 Thy black shame and my justice. Wilt thou bend yet ? 
 Evad. Yes. 
 
 1 The word "canker " was frequently used by poets of this period 
 (and is still used in some parts of England) either for the fruit of the 
 dog-rose or for a gall often found on it.
 
 SCENE ].] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 63 
 
 Mel. \Raising her.} Up, and begin your story. 
 
 Evad. Oh, I am miserable ! 
 
 Mel. 'Tis true, thou art. Speak truth still. 
 
 Evad. I have offended : noble sir, forgive me ! 
 
 Mel. With what secure slave ? 
 
 Evad. Do not ask me, sir ; 
 Mine own remembrance is a misery 
 Too mighty for me. 
 
 Mel. Do not fall back again ; 
 My sword's unsheathed yet. 
 
 Evad. What shall I do ? 
 
 Mel. Be true, and make your fault less. 
 
 Evad. I dare not tell. 
 
 Mel. Tell, or I'll be this day a-killing thee. 
 
 Evad. Will you forgive me, then ? 
 
 Mel. Stay ; I must ask mine honour first. 
 I have too much foolish nature in me : speak. 
 
 Evad. Is there none else here ? 
 
 Mel. None but a fearful conscience ; that's too many. 
 Whois't? 
 
 Evad. Oh, hear me gently ! It was the King. 
 
 MeL No more. My worthy father's and my services 
 Are liberally rewarded ! King, I thank thee ! 
 For all my dangers and my wounds thou hast paid me 
 In my own metal : these are soldiers' thanks ! 
 How long have you lived thus, Evadne ? 
 
 Evad. Too long. 
 
 Mel. Too late you find it. Can you be very sorry ? 
 
 Evad. Would I were half as blameless ! 
 
 Mel. Evadne, thou wilt to thy trade again. 
 
 Evad. First to my grave. 
 
 Mel. Would gods thou hadst been so blest ! 
 Dost thou not hate this King now ? prithee hate him : 
 Couldst thou not curse him ? I command thee, curse him ; 
 Curse till the gods hear, and deliver him 
 To thy just wishes. Yet I fear, Evadne, 
 You had rather play your game out.
 
 64 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT iv. 
 
 Evad. No ; I feel 
 
 Too many sad confusions here, to let in 
 Any loose flame hereafter. [anger, 
 
 Mel. Dost thou not feel, 'mongst all those, one brave 
 That breaks out nobly, and directs thine arm 
 To kill this base King ? 
 
 Evad. All the gods forbid it ! 
 
 Mel. No, all the gods require it ; 
 They are dishonoured in him. 
 
 Evad. 'Tis too fearful. 
 
 Mel. You're valiant in his bed, and bold enough 
 To be a stale whore, and have your madam's name 
 Discourse for grooms and pages ; and hereafter, 
 When his cool majesty hath laid you by, 
 To be at pension with some needy sir 
 For meat and coarser clothes ; thus far you know 
 No fear. Come, you shall kill him. 
 
 Evad. Good sir ! 
 
 Mel. An 'twere to kiss him dead, thou'dst smother him : 
 Be wise, and kill him. Canst thou live, and know 
 What noble minds shall make thee, see thyself 
 Found out with every finger, made the shame 
 Of all successions, and in this great ruin 
 Thy brother and thy noble husband broken ? 
 Thou shalt not live thus. Kneel, and swear to help me, 
 When I call thee to it ; or, by all 
 Holy in Heaven and earth, thou shalt not live 
 To breathe a full hour longer ; not a thought ! 
 Come, 'tis a righteous oath. Give me thy hands, 
 And, both to Heaven held up, swear, by that wealth 
 This lustful thief stole from thee ; when I say it, 
 To let his foul soul out. 
 
 Evad. Here I swear it ; {Kneels. 
 
 And, all you spirits of abused ladies, 
 Help me in this performance ! [none 
 
 Mel. \_Raising her ^\ Enough. This must be known to 
 But you and I, Evadne ; not to your lord,
 
 SCENE I.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 65 
 
 Though he be wise and noble, and a fellow 
 
 Dares step as far into a worthy action 
 
 As the most daring, ay, as far as justice. 
 
 Ask me not why. Farewell. \Exit- 
 
 Evad. Would I could say so to my black disgrace ! 
 Oh, where have I been all this time ? how friended, 
 That I should lose myself thus desperately, 
 And none for pity show me how I wandered ? 
 There is not in the compass of the light 
 A more unhappy creature : sure, I am monstrous ; 
 For I have done those follies, those mad mischiefs, 
 Would dare 1 a woman. Oh, my loaden soul, 
 Be not so cruel to me ; choke not up 
 The way to my repentance ! 
 
 Enter AMINTOK. 
 
 Oh, my lord ! 
 
 A win. How now ? 
 
 Evad. My much abused lord ! [Kneels- 
 
 Amin. This cannot be ! 
 
 Evad. I do not kneel to live ; I dare not hope it ; 
 The wrongs I did are greater. Look upon me, 
 Though I appear with all my faults. 
 
 Amin. Stand up. 
 
 This is a new way to beget more sorrows : 
 Heaven knows I have too many. Do not mock me : 
 Though I am tame, and bred up with my wrongs, 
 Which are my foster-brothers, I may leap, 
 Like a hand-wolf, 2 into my natural wildness, 
 And do an outrage : prithee, do not mock me. 
 
 Evad. My whole life is so leprous, it infects 
 All my repentance. I would buy your pardon, 
 Though at the highest set, 3 even with my life : 
 That slight contrition, that's no sacrifice 
 For what I have committed. 
 
 Amin. Sure, I dazzle : 
 
 1 Frighten. ; i.e. A tame wolf. J Stake. 
 
 Beau. & F. i. v
 
 66 THE MAIUS TRAGEDY. [ACT iv. 
 
 There cannot be a faith in that foul woman, 
 
 That knows no god more mighty than her mischiefs. 
 
 Thou dost still worse, still number on thy faults, 
 
 To press my poor heart thus. Can I believe 
 
 There's any seed of virtue in that woman 
 
 Left to shoot up, that dares go on in sin 
 
 Known, and so known as thine is ? Oh, Evadne ! 
 
 Would there were any safety in thy sex, 
 
 That I might put a thousand sorrows off, 
 
 And credit thy repentance ! but I must not : 
 
 Thou hast brought me to that dull calamity, 
 
 To that strange misbelief of all the world 
 
 And all things that are in it, that I fear 
 
 I shall fall like a tree, and find my grave, 
 
 Only remembering that 1 grieve. 
 
 Evad. My lord, 
 
 Give me your griefs : you are an innocent, 
 A soul as white as Heaven ; let not my sins 
 Perish your noble youth. I do not fall here 
 To shadow by dissembling with my tears, 
 (As all say women can,) or to make less 
 What my hot will hath done, which Heaven and you 
 Know to be tougher than the hand of time 
 Can cut from man's remembrances ; no, I do not ; 
 I do appear the same, the same Evadne, 
 Brest in the shames I lived in, the same monster. 
 But these are names of honour to what I am ; 
 I do present myself the foulest creature, 
 Most poisonous, dangerous, and despised of men, 
 Lerna e'er bred or Nilus. I am hell, 
 Till you, my dear lord, shoot your light into me, 
 The beams of your forgiveness ; I am soul-sick, 
 And wither with the fear of one condemned. 
 Till I have got your pardon. 
 
 Amin. Rise, Evadne 
 
 Those heavenly powers that put this good into thee 
 Grant a continuance of it ! I forgive thee :
 
 SCENE i.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 67 
 
 Make thyself worthy of it ; and take heed, 
 
 Take heed, Evadne, this be serious. 
 
 Mock not the powers above, that can and dare 
 
 Give thee a great example of their justice 
 
 To all ensuing ages, if thou playest 
 
 With thy repentance, the best sacrifice. 
 
 Evzd. I have done nothing good to win belief, 
 My life hath been so faithless. All the creatures, 
 Made for Heaven's honours, have their ends, and good ones 
 All but the cozening crocodiles, false women : 
 They reign here like those plagues, those killing sores, 
 Men pray against ; and when they die, like tales 
 111 told and unbelieved, they pass away, 
 And go to dust forgotten. But, my lord, 
 Those short days I shall number to my rest 
 (As many must not see me) shall, though too late, 
 Though in my evening, yet perceive a will. 
 Since I can do no good, because a woman, 
 Reach constantly at something that is near it : 
 I will redeem one minute of my age, 
 Or, like another Niobe, I'll weep. 
 Till I am water. 
 
 Amin. I am now dissolved : 
 My frozen soul melts. May each sin thou hast, 
 Find a new mercy ! Rise; I am at peace. [EVADNE rises. 
 Hadst thou been thus, thus excellently good, 
 Before that devil-king tempted thy frailty, 
 Sure thou hadst made a star. Give me thy hand : 
 From this time I will know thee ; and, as far 
 As honour gives me leave, be thy Amintor. 
 When we meet next, I will salute thee fairly, 
 And pray the gods to give thee happy days : 
 My charity shall go along with thee, 
 Though my embraces must be far from thee. 
 I should have killed thee, but this sweet repentance 
 Locks up my vengeance : for which thus I kiss thee 
 
 \Kisses her. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE MAWS TRAGEDY. [ACT iv. 
 
 The last kiss we must take :" and would to Heaven 
 The holy priest that gave our hands together 
 Had given us equal virtues ! Go, Evadne ; 
 The gods thus part our bodies. Have a care 
 My honour falls no farther: I am well, then. 
 
 Evad. All the dear joys here, and above hereafter, 
 Crown thy fair soul ! Thus I take leave, my lord ; 
 And never shall you see the foul Evadne, 
 Till she have tried all honoured mean?, that may 
 Set her in rest and wash her stains away. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. ^4 Hall in the Palace. 
 
 A Banquet spread. Hautboys play within. Enter 
 KING and CALIANAX. 
 
 King. I cannot tell how I should credit this 
 From you, that are his enemy. 
 
 CaL 1 am sure 
 
 He said it tome ; and I'll justify it 
 What way he dares oppose but with my sword. 
 
 King. But did he break, without all circumstance, 
 To you, his foe, that he would have the fort, 
 To kill me, and then scape ? 
 
 CaL If he deny it, 
 I'll make him blush : 
 
 King. It sounds incredibly. 
 
 Cat. Ay, so does every thing I say of late. 
 
 King. Not so, Calianax. 
 
 Cal. Yes, I should sit 
 Mute, whilst a rogue with strong arms cuts your throat. 
 
 King. Well, I will try him ; and, if this be true, 
 I'll pawn my life I'll find it; if 't be false, 
 And that you clothe your hate in such a lie,
 
 SCENE II.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 69 
 
 You shall hereafter dote in your own house, 
 Not in the court. 
 
 CaL Why, if it bs a lie, 
 
 Mine ears are false, for I'll be sworn I heard it. 
 Old men are good for nothing : you were best 
 Put me to death for hearing, and free him 
 For meaning it. You would have trusted me 
 Once, but the time is altered. 
 
 King. And will still, 
 
 Where I may do with justice to the world : 
 You have no witness. 
 
 CaL Yes, myself. 
 
 King. No more, 
 I mean, there were that heard it. 
 
 CaL How ? no more ! 
 
 Would you have more ? why, am not I enough 
 To hang a thousand rogues ? 
 
 King. But so you may 
 Hang honest men too, if you please. 
 
 CaL I may ! 
 
 'Tis like I will do so : there are a hundred 
 Will swear it for a need too, if I say it 
 
 King. Such witnesses we need not. 
 
 CaL And 'tis hard 
 If my word cannot hang a boisterous knave. 
 
 King. Enough. Where's Strato ? 
 
 Enter STRATO. 
 
 Strato. Sir? 
 
 King. Why, whcre's all the company ? Call Amintor in ; 
 Evadne. Where's my brother, and Melantius? 
 Bid him come too ; and Diphilus. Call all 
 That are without there. [Exit S I - R ATO. 
 
 If he should desire 
 
 The combat of you, 'tis not in the power 
 Of all our laws to hinder it, unless 
 We mean to quit 'em. 
 
 CaL Why, if you do think
 
 70 THE MAWS TRAGEDY. [ACT iv. 
 
 'Tis fit an old man and a councillor 
 
 To fight for what he says, then you may grant it. 
 
 Enter AMINTOR, EVADNE, MELANTIUS, DIPHILUS, 
 LYSIPPUS, CLEON, STRATO, and DIAGORAS. 
 
 King. Come, sirs ! Amintor, thou art yet a bride- 
 groom, 
 
 And I will use thee so; thou shalt sit down. 
 Evadne, sit ; and you, Amintor, too ; 
 This banquet is for you, sir. Who has brought 
 A merry tale about him, to raise laughter 
 Amongst our wine ? Why, Strato, where art thou ? 
 Thou wilt chop out with them unseasonably, 
 When I desire 'em not. 
 
 Slra. 'Tis my ill luck, sir, so to spend them, then. 
 
 King. Reach me a bowl of wine. Melantius, thou 
 Art sad. 
 
 Mel. I should be, sir, the merriest here, 
 But I have ne'er a story of mine own 
 Worth telling at this time. 
 
 King. Give me the wine. 
 Melantius, I am now considering 
 How easy 'twere for any man we trust 
 To poison one of us in such a bowl. 
 
 Mel. I think it were not hard, sir, for a knave. 
 
 Cal. Such as you are. [Aside. 
 
 King. I' faith, 'twere easy. It becomes us well 
 To get plain-dealing men about ourselves ; 
 Such as you all are here. Amintor, to thee ; 
 And to thy fair Evadne. \_Drinks. 
 
 Mel. Have you thought 
 Of this, Calianax? [Apart to him. 
 
 Cal. Yes, marry, have I. 
 
 Mel. And what's your resolution ? 
 
 Cal. You shall have it, 
 Sou ndly, I warrant you, \Aside. 
 
 King. Reach to Amintor, Strato.
 
 SCENE ii.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 7\ 
 
 Amin. Here, my love ; 
 
 [Drinks, and then /lands the cup to EVADNE. 
 This wine will do thee wrong, for it will set 
 Blushes upon thy cheeks ; and, till thou dost 
 A fault, 'twere pity. 
 
 King. Yet I wonder much 
 At the strange desperation of these men, 
 That dare attempt such acts here in our state : 
 He could not scape that did it. 
 
 Mel. Were he known, 
 Impossible. 
 
 King. It would be known, Melantius. 
 
 Mel. It ought to be. If he got then away, 
 He must wear all our lives upon his sword : 
 He need not fly the island ; he must leave 
 No one alive. 
 
 King. No ; 1 should think no man 
 Could kill me, and scape clear, but that old man. 
 
 Cal. But I ! Heaven bless me ! I ! should I, my liege ? 
 
 King. I do not think thou wouldst; but yet thou mightst, 
 For thou hast in thy hands the means to scape, 
 By keeping of the fort. He has, Melantius, 
 And he has kept it well. 
 
 Mel. From cobwebs, sir, 
 'Tis clean swept : I can find no other art 
 In keeping of it now : 'twas ne'er besieged 
 Since he commanded. 
 
 Cal. I shall be sure 
 
 Of your good word : but I have kept it safe 
 From such as you. 
 
 Mel. Keep your ill temper in : 
 I speak no malice ; had my brother kept it, 
 I should have said as much. 
 
 King. You are not merry. 
 Brother, drink wine. Sit you all still : Calianax, 
 
 [Apart to him 
 I cannot trust thus : I have thrown out words,
 
 72 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT iv. 
 
 That would have fetched warm blood upon the cheeks 
 Of guilty men, and he is never moved ; 
 He knows no such thing. 
 
 Cal. Impudence may scape, 
 When feeble virtue is accused. 
 
 King. He must, 
 
 If he were guilty, feel an alteration 
 At this our whisper, whilst we point at him : 
 You see he does not. 
 
 Cal. Let him hang himself; 
 What care I what he does ? this he did say. 
 
 King. Melantius, you can easily conceive 
 What I have meant ; for men that are in fault 
 Can subtly apprehend when others aim 
 At what they do amiss : but I forgive 
 Freely before this man, Heaven do so too ! 
 I will not touch thee, so much as with shame 
 Of telling it. Let it be so no more. 
 
 Cal. Why, this is very fine ! 
 
 Mel. I cannot tell 
 
 What 'tis you mean ; but I am apt enough 
 Rudely to thrust into an ignorant fault. 
 But let me know it : happily 'tis nought 
 But misconstruction ; and, where I am clear, 
 I will not take forgiveness of the gods, 
 Much less of you. 
 
 King. Nay, if you stand so stiff, 
 I shall call back my mercy. 
 
 Mel. I want smoothness 
 To thank a man for pardoning of a crime 
 I never knew. 
 
 King. Not to instruct your knowledge, but to show you 
 My ears are every where ; you meant to kill me, 
 And get the fort to scape. 
 
 Mel Pardon me, sir ; 
 
 My bluntness will be pardoned. You preserve 
 A race of idle people here about you,
 
 SCKNE II.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 73 
 
 Facers l and talkers, to defame the worth 
 
 Of those that do things worthy. The man that uttered this 
 
 Had perished without food, be't who it will, 
 
 But for this arm, that fenced him from the foe : 
 
 And if I thought you gave a faith to this, 
 
 The plainness of my nature would speak more. 
 
 Give me a pardon (for you ought to do't) 
 
 To kill him that spake this. 
 
 Ca!. Ay, that will be 
 The end of all : then I am fairly paid 
 For all my care and service. 
 
 Mel. That old man, 
 Who calls me enemy, and of whom I 
 (Though I will never match my hate so low) 
 Have no good thought, would yet, I think, excuse me, 
 And swear he thought me wronged in this. 
 
 Cal. Who, I ? 
 
 Thou shameless fellow ! didst thou not speak to me 
 Of it thyself? 
 
 Mel. Oh, then it came from him ! 
 
 Cal. From me ! who should it come from but from me ? 
 
 Mel. Nay, I believe your malice is enough : 
 But I have lost my anger. Sir, I hope 
 You are well satisfied. 
 
 King. Lysippus, cheer 
 Amintor and his lady : there's no sound 
 Comes from you ; I will come and do't myself. 
 
 Amin. You have done already, sir, for me, I thank you. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 King. Melantius, I do credit this from him, 
 How slight soe'er you make't. 
 
 Mel. ' 1'is strange you should. 
 
 Cal. 'Tis strange he should believe an old man's word 
 That never lied in's life ! 
 
 Mel. I talk not to thee. 
 Shall the wild words of this distempered man, 
 
 1 Shameless braggarts.
 
 74 THE M AID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT iv 
 
 Frantic with age and sorrow, make a breach 
 
 Betwixt your majesty and me? 'Twas wrong 
 
 To hearken to him ; but to credit him, 
 
 As much at least as I have power to bear. 
 
 But pardon me whilst I speak only truth, 
 
 I may commend myself I have bestowed 
 
 My careless blood with you, and should be loth 
 
 To think an action that would make me lose 
 
 That and my thanks too. When I was a boy, 
 
 I thrust myself into my country's cause, 
 
 And did a deed that plucked five years from time, 
 
 And styled me man then. And for you, my King, 
 
 Your subjects all have fed by virtue of 
 
 My arm : this sword of mine hath ploughed the ground; 
 
 And reaped the fruit in peace ; 
 
 And you yourself have lived at home in ease. 
 
 So terrible I grew, that without swords, 
 
 My name hath fetched you conquest : and my heart 
 
 And limbs are still the same ; my will as great 
 
 To do you service. Let me not be paid 
 
 With such a strange distrust. 
 
 King. Melantius, 
 I held it great injustice to believe 
 Thine enemy, and did not ; if I did, 
 I do not ; let that satisfy. What, struck 
 With sadness all ? More wine ! 
 
 Cal. A few fine words 
 Have overthrown my truth. Ah, thou'rt a villain ! 
 
 Mel. Why, thou wert better let me have the fort : 
 
 \Apart to him. 
 
 Dotard, I will disgrace thee thus for ever ; 
 There shall no credit lie upon thy words : 
 Think better, and deliver it. 
 
 Cal. My liege, 
 
 He's at me now again to do it. Speak ; 
 Deny it, if thou canst. Examine him 
 W T hilst he is hot ; for, if he cool again, 
 He will forswear it.
 
 SCENE ii.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 75 
 
 J&ng. This is lunacy, 
 I hope, Melantius. 
 
 Mel. He hath lost himself 
 Much, since his daughter missed the happiness 
 My sister gained ; and, though he call me foe, 
 I pity him. 
 
 Cal. Pity ! a pox upon you ! 
 
 Mel. Mark his disordered words : and at the masque 
 Diagoras knows he raged and railed at me, 
 And called a lady "whore," so innocent 
 She understood him not. But it becomes 
 Both you and me too to forgive distraction : 
 Pardon him, as I do. 
 
 Cal. I'll not speak for thee, 
 For all thy cunning. If you will be safe, 
 Chop off his head ; for there was never known 
 So impudent a rascal. 
 
 King. Some, that love him, 
 Get him to bed. Why, pity should not let 
 Age make itself contemptible ; we must be 
 All old. Have him away. 
 
 Mel. Calianax, \Apart to him. 
 
 The King believes you ; come, you shall go home, 
 And rest ; you have done well. You'll give it up, 
 When I have used you thus a month, I hope. 
 
 Cal. Now, now, 'tis plain, sir ; he does move me still : 
 He says, he knows I'll give him up the fort, 
 When he has used me thus a month. I am mad, 
 Am I not, still? 
 
 All. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Cal. I shall be mad indeed, if you do thus. 
 Why should you trust a sturdy fellow there 
 (That has no virtue in him, all's in his sword) 
 Before me ? Do but take his weapons from him, 
 And he's an ass ; and I am a very fool, 
 Both with 'em and without 'em, as you use me. 
 
 All. Ha, ha, ha !
 
 76 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT iv. 
 
 King. 'Tis well, Calianax : but if you use 
 This once again, I shall entreat some other 
 To see your offices be well discharged. 
 Be merry, gentlemen. It grows somewhat late. - 
 Amintor, thou wouldst be a-bed again. 
 
 Amin. Yes, sir. 
 
 King. And you, Evadne. Let me take 
 Thee in my arms, Melantius, and believe 
 Thou art, as thou deserv'st to be, my friend 
 Still and for ever. Good Calianax, 
 Sleep soundly ; it will bring thee to thyself. 
 
 \_Exeunt all except MELANTIUS and CALIANAX. 
 
 Cal. Sleep soundly ! I sleep soundly now, I hope ; 
 I could not be thus else. How dar'st thou stay 
 Alone with me, knowing how thou hast used me ? 
 
 Mel. You cannot blast me with your tongue, and that's 
 The strongest part you have about you. 
 
 Cal. I 
 
 Do look for some great punishment for this ; 
 For I begin to forget all my hate, 
 And take't unkindly that mine enemy 
 Should use me so extraordinarily scurvily. 
 
 Mel. I shall melt too, if you begin to take 
 Unkindnesses : I never meant you hurt. 
 
 Cal. Thou'lt anger me again. Thou wretched rogue, 
 Meant me no hurt ! disgrace me, with the King ! 
 Lose all my offices ! This is no hurt, 
 Is it ? I prithee, what dost thou call hurt ? 
 
 Mel. To poison men, because they love me not ; 
 To r.a!l the credit of men's wives in question ; 
 To murder children betwixt me and land ; 
 This is all hurt. 
 
 Cal. All this thou think'st is sport; 
 For mine is worse : but use thy will with me ; 
 For betwixt grief and anger I could cry. 
 
 Mel. Be wise, then, and be safe ; thou may'st revenge 
 
 Cal. Ay, o' the King : I would revenge of thee.
 
 SCENE II.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 77 
 
 Mel. That you must plot yourself. 
 
 Cal. I'm a fine plotter. 
 
 Mel. The short is, I will hold thee with the King 
 In this perplexity, till peevishness 
 And thy disgrace have laid thee in thy grave : 
 But if thou wilt deliver up the fort, 
 I'll take thy trembling body in my arms, 
 And bear thee over dangers : thou shalt hold 
 Thy wonted state. 
 
 Cal. If I should tell the King, 
 Canst thou deny \ again ? 
 
 Mel. Try, and believe. 
 
 Cal. Nay, then, thou canst bring any thing about. 
 Melantius, thou shalt have the fort. 
 
 Mel. Why, well. 
 
 Here let our hate be buried ; and this hand 
 Shall right us both. Give me thy aged breast 
 To compass. 
 
 Cal. Nay, I do not love thee yet ; 
 I cannot well endure to look on thee ; 
 And if I thought it were a courtesy, 
 Thou shouldst not have it. But I am disgraced ; 
 My offices are to be ta'en away ; 
 And, if I did but hold this fort a day, 
 I do believe t!:e King would take it from me, 
 And give it thee, things are so strangely carried. 
 Ne'er thank me for't ; but yet the King shall know 
 There was some such thing in't I told him of, 
 And that I was an honest man. 
 
 Mel. He'll buy 
 That knowledge very dearly. 
 
 Re-etiter DIPHILUS. 
 
 Diphilus, 
 What news with thee ? 
 
 Diph. This were a night indeed 
 To do it in : the King hath sent for her.
 
 78 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT iv. 
 
 Mel. She shall perform it, then. Go, Diphilus, 
 And take from this good man, my worthy friend, 
 The fort ; he'll give it thee. 
 
 Diph. Have you got that ? 
 
 Cal. Art thou of the same breed ? canst thou deny 
 This to the King too ? 
 
 Diph. With a confidence 
 As great as his. 
 
 Cal. Faith, like enough. 
 
 Mel. Away, and use him kindly. 
 
 Cal. Touch not me ; 
 
 I hate the Avhole strain. If thou follow me 
 A great way off, I'll give thee up the fort ; 
 And hang yourselves. 
 
 Mel. Begone. 
 
 Diph. He's finely wrought. 
 
 [Exeunt CALIANAX and DIPHILUS. 
 
 Mel. This is a night, spite of astronomers, 1 
 To do the deed in. I will wash the stain 
 That rests upon our house off with his blood. 
 
 Re-enter AMINTOR. 
 
 Aniin. Melantius, now assist me : if thou be'st 
 That which thou s.iy'st, assist me. I have lost 
 All my distempers, and have found a rage 
 So pleasing ! Help me. 
 
 Mel. Who can see him thus, [friend ? 
 
 And not swear vengeance ? \AsiJe.~\ What's the matter, 
 
 Amin. Out with thy sword ; and, hand in hand with me, 
 Rush to the chamber of this hated King, 
 And sink him with the weight of all his sins 
 To hell for ever. 
 
 Mel. 'Twere a rash attempt, 
 Not to be done with safety. Let your reason 
 Plot your revenge, and not your passion. 
 
 1 i.e. Astrologers.
 
 SCENE li.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 79 
 
 Amin. If thou refusest me in these extremes, 
 Thou art no friend. He sent for her to me ; 
 By Heaven, to me, myself ! and, I must tell you, 
 I love her as a stranger : there is worth 
 In that vile woman, worthy things, Melantius ; 
 And she repents. I'll do't myself alone, 
 
 [Draws his sword. 
 Though I be slain. Farewell. 
 
 Mel. He'll overthrow 
 
 My whole design with madness [Aside~\. Amintor, 
 Think what thou dost : I dare as much as valour ; 
 But 'tis the King, the King, the King, Amintor, 
 With whom thou fightest ! I know he is honest, 
 And this will work with him. [Aside. 
 
 Amin. I cannot tell \_Lets fall his sivord. 
 
 What thou hast said ; but thou hast charmed my sword 
 Out of my hand, and left me shaking here, 
 Defenceless. 
 Mel. I will take it up for thee. 
 
 [Takes up the sword, a /id gives it to AMINTOR. 
 Amin. What a wild beast is uncollected man ! 
 The thing that we call honour bears us all 
 Headlong unto sin, and yet itself is nothing. 
 Mel. Alas, how variable are thy thoughts ! 
 Amin. Just like my fortunes. I was run to that 
 I purposed to have chid thee for. Some plot, 
 I did distrust, thou hadst against the King, 
 By that old fellow's carriage. But take heed ; 
 There's not the least limb growing to a King 
 But carries thunder in it. 
 
 Mel, I have none 
 Against him. 
 
 Amin. Why, come, then ; and still remember 
 We may not think revenge. 
 
 Md. I will remember. . [Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in the Pa'tice. 
 Enter EVADNE and a Gentleman of the Bed-chamber. 
 
 VAD. Sir, is the King a-bed ? 
 Gent. Madam, an hour ago. 
 Evad. Give me the key, then, and let 
 'Tis the King's pleasure, [none be near ; 
 Gent. I understand you, madam; would 
 
 'twere mine ! 
 I must not wish good rest unto your ladyship. 
 Evad. You talk, you talk. 
 Gent. 'Tis all I dare do, madam ; but the King 
 Will wake, and then, methinks 
 
 Evad. Saving your imagination, pray, good night, sir. 
 Gent. A good night be it, then, and a long one, 
 
 madam. 
 I am gone. [ Exeunt stvcratty 
 
 SCENE II. The Bed-chamber. The KING discovered in 
 Bed, asleep. 
 
 Enter EVADNE. 
 
 Evad. The night grows horrible ; and all about me 
 Like my black purpose. Oh, the conscience 
 Of a lost virgin, whither wilt thou pull me?
 
 SCENE ii.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 81 
 
 To what things dismal as the depth of hell 
 
 Wilt thou provoke me ? Let no woman dare 
 
 From this hour be disloyal, if her heart be flesh, 
 
 If she have blood, and can fear. 'Tis a daring 
 
 Above that desperate fool's that left his peace, 
 
 And went to sea to fight : 'tis so many tins, 
 
 An age cannot repent 'em ; and so great, 
 
 The gods want mercy for. Yet I must through 'em : 
 
 I have begun a slaughter on my honour, 
 
 And I must end it there. He sleeps. Good Heavens ! 
 
 Why give you peace to this untemperate beast, 
 
 That hath so long transgressed you ? I must kill him, 
 
 And I will do it bravely : the mere joy 
 
 Tells me, I merit in it. Yet I must not 
 
 Thus tamely do it, as he sleeps that were 
 
 To rock him to another world : my vengeance 
 
 Shall take him waking, and then lay before him 
 
 The number of his wrongs and punishments : 
 
 I'll shape his sins like Furies, till I waken 
 
 His evil angel, his sick conscience, 
 
 And then I'll strike him dead. King, by your leave : 
 
 [Ties his arms /<? tht bed. 
 
 I dare not trust your strength ; your grace and I 
 Must grapple upon even terms no more. 
 So, if he rail me not from my resolution, 
 I shall be strong enough. My lord the King ! 
 My lord ! He sleeps, as if he meant to wake 
 No more. My lord ! Is he not dead already ? 
 Sir! My lord! 
 
 King. Who's that ? 
 
 Evad. Oh, you sleep soundly, sir ! 
 
 King. My dear Evadne, 
 I have been dreaming of thee : come to bed. 
 
 Evad. I am come at length, sir ; but how welcome ? 
 
 King. What pretty new device is this, Evadne ? 
 What, do you tie me to you ? By my love, 
 This is a quaint one. Come, my dear, and kiss me ; 
 
 Beau. & F. i. O
 
 82 THE MAWS TRAGEDY. [ACT v. 
 
 I'll be thy Mars ; to bed, my queen of love : 
 Let us be caught together, that the gods 
 May see and envy our embraces. 
 
 Evad. Stay, sir, stay ; 
 
 You are too hot, and I have brought you physic 
 To temper your high veins. 
 
 King. Prithee, to bed, then ; let me take it warm ; 
 There thou shalt know the state of my body better. 
 
 Evad. I know you have a surfeited foul body ; 
 And you must bleed. \_Draivs a knijc. 
 
 King. Bleed ! 
 
 Evad. Ay, you shall bleed. Lie still; and, if the devil, 
 Your lust, will give you leave, repent. This steel 
 Comes to redeem the honour that you stole, 
 King, my fair name ; which nothing but thy death 
 Can answer to the world. 
 King. How's this, Evadne ? 
 Evad. I am not she ; nor bear I in this breast 
 So much cold spirit to be called a woman : 
 I am a tiger ; I am any thing 
 That knows not pity. Stir not : if thou dost, 
 I'll take thee unprepared, thy fears upon thee, 
 That make thy sins look double, and so send thee 
 (By my revenge, I will !) to look those torments 
 Prepared for such black souls. 
 
 King. Thou dost not mean this ; 'tis impossible ; 
 Thou art too sweet and gentle. 
 
 Evad. No, I am not : 
 I am as foul as thou art, and can number 
 As many such hells here. I was once fair, 
 Once I was lovely ; not a blowing rose 
 More chastely sweet, till thou, thou, thou, foul canker, 
 (Stir not) didst poison me. I was a world of virtue, 
 Till your cursed court and you (Hell bless you for't) 
 With your temptations on temptations 
 Made me give up mine honour ; for which, King, 
 I am come to kill thee.
 
 SCENE ii.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 83 
 
 King, No ! 
 Evad. I am. 
 King. Thou art not ! 
 
 I prithee speak not these things : thou art gentle, 
 And wert not meant thus rugged. 
 
 Evad. Peace, and hear me. 
 Stir nothing but your tongue, and that for mercy 
 To those above us ; by whose lights I vow, 
 Those blessed fires that shot to see our sin, 
 If thy hot soul had substance with thy blood, 
 I would kill that too ; which, being past my steel, 
 My tongue shall reach, Thou art a shameless villain ; 
 A thing out of the overcharge of nature, 
 Sent, like a thick cloud, to disperse a plague 
 Upon weak catching women ; such a tyrant, 
 That for his lust would sell away his subjects, 
 Ay, all his Heaven hereafter ! 
 
 King. Hear, Evadne, 
 Thou soul of sweetness, hear ! I am thy King. 
 
 Evad. Thou art my shame ! Lie still ; there's none 
 
 about you, 
 
 Within your cries ; all promises of safety 
 Are but deluding dreams. Thus, thus, thou foul man, 
 Thus I begin my vengeance ! [Stabs him. 
 
 King. Hold, Evadne ! 
 I do command thee hold. 
 
 Evad. I do not mean, sir, 
 To part so fairly with you ; we must change 
 More of these love-tricks yet. 
 King. What bloody villain 
 Provoked thee to this murder ? 
 Evad. Thou, thou monster '. 
 King. Oh! 
 Evad. Thou kept'st me brave ' at court, and whored 
 
 me, King ; 
 
 Then married me to a young noble gentleman, 
 And whored me still. 
 
 1 Finely apparelled.
 
 84 THE MAI US TRAGEDY. [ACT v. 
 
 King. Evadne, pity me ! 
 
 Evad. Hell take me, then ! This for my lord Amin- 
 tor. \_Stabs him. 
 
 This for my noble brother ! and this stroke 
 For the most wronged of women ! 
 
 King. Oh ! I die. [Dies. 
 
 Evad. Die all our faults together ! I forgive thee. [Exit. 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen of 'the Bed-chamber. 
 
 \st Gent. Come, now she's gone, let's enter; the King 
 
 expects it, and will be angry. 
 2nd Gent. Tis a fine wench ; we'll have a snap at her 
 
 one of these nights, as she goes from him. 
 ist Gent. Content. How quickly he had done with 
 her ! I see kings can do no more that way than 
 other mortal people. 
 
 2nd Gent. How fast he is ! I cannot hear him breathe. 
 ist Gent. Either the tapers give a feeble light, 
 Or he looks very pale. 
 
 2nd Gent. And so he does : 
 Pray Heaven he be well ; let's look. Alas ! 
 He's stiff, wounded, and dead ! Treason, treason 
 ist Gent. Run forth and call. 
 2nd Gent. Treason, treason ! 
 ist Gent. This will be laid on us : 
 Who can believe a woman could do this ? 
 
 Enter CLEON and LYSIPPUS. 
 
 Cleon. How now ! where's the traitor ? 
 
 ist Gent. Fled, fled away ; but there her woeful act 
 Lies still. 
 
 Cleon. Her act ! a woman ! 
 
 Lys. Where's the body ? 
 
 ist Gent. There. 
 
 Lys. Farewell, thou worthy man ! There were two 
 
 bonds 
 That tied our loves, a brother and a king,
 
 SCENE II.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 85 
 
 The least of which might fetch a flood of tears ; 
 
 But such the misery of greatness is, 
 
 They have no time to mourn ; then, pardon me ! 
 
 Enter STRATO. 
 Sirs, which way went she ? 
 
 Slra. Never follow her ; 
 For she, alas ! was but the instrumenf. 
 News is now brought in, that Melantius 
 Has got the fort, and stands upon the wall, 
 And with a loud voice calls those few that pass 
 At this dead time of night, delivering 
 The innocence of this act. 
 
 Lys. Gentlemen, 
 I am your King. 
 
 Stra. We do acknowledge it. 
 
 Lys. I would I were not ! Follow, all ; for this 
 Must have a sudden stop. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. Before the Citadel. 
 
 Enter MELANTIUS, DIPHILUS, and CALIANAX, on tfie 
 Walls. 
 
 Mel. If the dull people can believe I am armed, 
 (Be constant, Diphilus,) now we have time 
 Either to bring our banished honours home, 
 Or create new ones in our ends. 
 
 Diph. I fear not ; 
 My spirit lies not that way. Courage, Calianax ! 
 
 Cal. Would I had any ! you should quickly know it. 
 
 Mel. Speak to the people ; thou art eloquent. 
 
 Cal. 'Tis a fine eloquence to come to the gallows : 
 You were born to be my end ; the devil take you ! 
 Now must I hang for company. 'Tis strange, 
 I should be old, and neither wise nor valiant. - . '
 
 86 THE MAW'S TRAGEDY. [ACT v. 
 
 Enter LYSIPPUS, CLEON, STRATO, DIAGORAS, and 
 Guard. 
 
 Lys. See where he stands, as boldly confident 
 As if he had his full command about him. 
 
 Stra. He looks as if he had the better cause, sir ; 
 Under your gracious pardon, let me speak it ! 
 Though he be mighty-spirited, and forward 
 To all great things, to all things of that danger 
 Worse men shake at the telling of, yet certainly 
 I do believe him noble, and this action 
 Rather pulled on than sought : his mind was ever 
 As worthy as his hand. 
 
 Lys. 'Tis my fear too. 
 Heaven forgive all ! Summon him, Lord Cleon. 
 
 Cleon. Ho, from the walls there ! 
 
 Mel. Worthy Cleon, welcome : 
 We could have wished you here, lord ; you are honest. 
 
 Cal. Well, thou art as flattering a knave, though 
 
 I dare not tell thee so [Aside. 
 
 Lys. Melantius ! 
 
 Mel. Sir? 
 
 Lys. I am sorry that we meet thus ; our old love 
 Never required such distance. Pray to Heaven, 
 You have not left yourself, and sought this safety 
 More out of fear than honour ! You have lost 
 A noble master ; which your faith, Melantius, 
 Some think might have preserved : yet you know best. 
 
 Cal. When time was, I was mad : some that dares 
 
 fight, 
 I hope will pay this rascal. [Aside. 
 
 Mel. Royal young man, those tears look lovely on thee : 
 Had they been shed for a deserving one, 
 They had been lasting monuments. Thy brother, 
 Whilst he was good, I called him King, and served him 
 With that strong faith, that most unwearied valour, 
 Pulled people from the farthest sun to seek him,
 
 SCENE HI.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 87 
 
 And beg his friendship : I was then his soldier. 
 But since his hot pride drew him to disgrace me, 
 And brand my noble actions with his lust, 
 (That never-cured dishonour of my sister, 
 Base stain of whore, and, which is worse, the joy 
 To make it still so,) like myself, thus I 
 Have flung him off with my allegiance ; 
 And stand here mine own justice, to revenge 
 What I have suffered in him, and this old man 
 Wronged almost to lunacy. 
 
 Cal. Who, I ? 
 
 You would draw me in. I have had no wrong ; 
 I do disclaim ye all. 
 
 Mel. The short is this. 
 Tis no ambition to lift up myself 
 Urgeth me thus ; I do desire again 
 To be a subject, so I may be free : 
 If not, I know my strength, and will unbuild 
 This goodly town. Be speedy, and be wise, 
 In a reply. 
 
 Stra. Be sudden, sir, to tie 
 All up again. What's done is past recall, 
 And past you to revenge ; and there are thousands 
 That wait for such a troubled hour as this. 
 Throw him the blank. 
 
 Lys. Melantius, write in that 
 Thy choice : my seal is at it. 
 
 {Throws a paper to MELANTIUS. 
 
 Mel. It was our honours drew us to this act, 
 Not gain ; and we will only work our pardons. 
 
 Cal. Put my name in too. 
 
 Diph. You disclaimed us all 
 But now, Calianax. 
 
 Cal. That is all cine ; 
 I'll not be hanged hereafter by a trick : 
 I'll have it in. 
 
 Mel. You shall, you si all.
 
 83 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT v. 
 
 Corne to the back gate, and we'll call you King, 
 And give you up the fort. 
 
 Lys. Away, away. \_Excunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A nk-room to AM i NTOR'S Apartments. 
 
 Enter ASP ATI A, in male apparel, and with artificial 
 scars on her face. 
 
 Asp. This is my fatal hour. Heaven may forgive 
 My rash attempt, that causelessly hath laid 
 Griefs on me that will never let me rest, 
 And put a woman's heart into my breast. 
 It is more honour for you that I die ; 
 For she that can endure the misery 
 That I have on me, and be patient too, 
 May live and laugh at all that you can do. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 God save you, sir ! 
 
 Sir. And you, sir ! What's your business ? 
 
 Asp. With you, sir, now ; to do me the fair office 
 To help me to your lord. 
 
 Ser. What, would you serve him ? 
 
 Asp. I'll do him any service ; but, to haste, 
 For my affairs are earnest, I desire 
 To speak with him. 
 
 Ser. Sir, because you are in such haste, I would 
 Be loth delay you longer : you can not. 
 
 Asp. It shall become you, though, to tell your lord. 
 
 Ser. Sir, he will speak with nobody ; 
 But in particular, I have in charge, 
 About no weighty matters. 
 
 Asp. This is most strange. 
 
 Art thou gold-proof? there's fcr thee ; help me to him. 
 
 [Gives money. 
 
 Ser. Pray be not angry, sir : I'll do my best. [Exit.
 
 SCENE iv.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 89 
 
 Asp. How stubbornly this fellow answered me ! 
 There is a vile dishonest trick in man, 
 More than in woman. All the men I meet 
 Appear thus to me, are all harsh and rude, 
 And have a subtilty in every thing, 
 Which love could never know; but we fond women 
 Harbour the easiest and the smoothest thoughts, 
 And think all shall go so. It is unjust 
 That men and women should be matched together. 
 
 Enter AMINTOR with Servant. 
 
 Amin. Where is he ? 
 
 Ser. There, my lord. 
 
 Amin. What would you, sir ? 
 
 Asp. Please it your lordship to command your man 
 Out of the room, I shall deliver things 
 Worthy your hearing. 
 
 Amin. Leave us. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Asp. Oh, that that shape 
 Should bury falsehood in it ! [Aside. 
 
 Amin. Now your will, sir. 
 
 Asp. When you know me, my lord, you needs must guess 
 My business ; and I am not hard to -know ; 
 For, till the chance of war marked this smooth face 
 With these few blemishes, people would call me 
 My sister's picture, and her mine. In short, 
 I am brother to the wronged Aspatia. 
 
 Amin. The wronged Aspatia ! would thou wert so too 
 Unto the wronged Amintor ! Let me kiss \Kisses her hand. 
 That hand of thine, in honour that I bear 
 Unto the wronged Aspatia. Here I stand 
 That did it. Would he could not ! Gentle youth, 
 Leave me ; for there is something in thy looks 
 That calls my sins in a most hideous form 
 Into my mind ; and I have grief enough 
 Without thy help. 
 
 Asp. I would I could with credit !
 
 90 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT v. 
 
 Since I was twelve years old, I had not seen 
 
 My sister till this hour I now arrived : 
 
 She sent for me to see her marriage ; 
 
 A woful one ! but they that are above 
 
 Have ends in everything. She used few words, 
 
 But yet enough to make me understand 
 
 The baseness of the injury you did her. 
 
 That little training I have had is war : 
 
 I may behave myself rudely in peace ; 
 
 I would not, though. I shall not need to tell you, 
 
 I am but young, and would be loath to lose 
 
 Honour, that is not easily gained again. 
 
 Fairly I mean to deal : the age is strict 
 
 For single combats ; and we shall be stopped, 
 
 If it be published. If you like your s\vord, 
 
 Use it ; if mine appear a better to you, 
 
 Change ; for the ground is this, and this the time, 
 
 To end our difference. [Draws her sword. 
 
 Amin. Charitable youth, 
 If thou be'st such, think not I will maintain 
 So strange a wrong : and, for thy sister's sake, 
 Know, that I could not think that desperate thing' 
 I durst not do; yet,- to enjoy this world, 
 I would not see her ; for, beholding thee,- 
 I am I know not what. If I have aught 
 That may content thee, take it, and begone, 
 For death is not so terrible as thou ; 
 Thine eyes shoot guilt into me. 
 
 Asp. Thus, she swore, 
 
 Thou wouldst behave thyself, and give me words 
 That would fetch tears into mine eyes ; and so 
 Thou dost indeed. But yet she bade me watch, 
 Lest I were cozened ; and be sure to fight 
 Ere I returned. 
 
 Amin. That must not be with me. 
 For her I'll die directly ; but against her 
 Will never hazard it.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 91 
 
 Asp. You must be urged. 
 I do not deal uncivilly with those 
 That dare to fight ; but such a one as you 
 Must be used thus. [Strikes him. 
 
 Amin. I prithee, youth, take heed. 
 Thy sister is a thing to me so much 
 Above mine honour, that I can endure 
 All this Good gods ! a blow I can endure ; 
 But stay not, lest thou draw a timeless death 
 Upon thyself. 
 
 Asp. Thou art some prating fellow ; 
 One that hath studied out a trick to talk, 
 And move soft hearted people ; to be kicked, 
 
 \_Kicks him. 
 
 Thus to be kicked. Why should he be so slow 
 In giving me my death ? \A*ide. 
 
 Amin. A man can bear 
 
 No more, and keep his flesh. Forgive me, then ! 
 I would endure yet, if I could. Now show 
 
 \_Draivs his sword. 
 
 The spirit thou pretend'st, and understand 
 Thou hast no hour to live. 
 
 [They fight ; ASPATIA is wounded. 
 What dost thou mean ? 
 
 Thou canst not fight : the blows thou mak'st at me 
 Are quite besides ; and those I offer at thee, 
 Thou spread's! thine arms, and tak'st upon thy breast, 
 Alas, defenceless ! 
 
 Asp. I have got enough, 
 And my desire. There is no place so fit 
 For me to die as here. [Falls. 
 
 Enter EVADNE, her hands bloody, U'ith a knife. 
 
 Evad. Amintor, I am loaden with events, 
 That fly to make thee happy ; I have joys, 
 That in a moment can call back thy wrongs, 
 And settle thee in thy free state again.
 
 92 THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. [ACT v 
 
 It is Evadne still that follows thee, 
 But not her mischiefs. 
 
 Amin. Thou canst not fool me to believe again ; 
 But thou hast looks and things so full of news, 
 That I am stayed. 
 
 Evad. Noble Amintor, put off thy amaze, 
 Let thine eyes loose, and speak. Am I not fair ? 
 Looks not Evadne beauteous with these rites now ? 
 Were those hours half so lovely in thine eyes 
 When our hands met before the holy man ? 
 I was too foul inside to look fair then : 
 Since I knew ill, I was not free till now. 
 
 Amin. There is presage of some important thing ;t!-*. 
 About thee, which, it seems, thy tongue hath lost : 
 Thy hands are bloody, and thou hast a knife. 
 
 Evad. In this consists thy happiness and mine : 
 Joy to Amintor! for the King is dead. 
 
 Amin. Those have most power to hurt us, that we love ; 
 We lay our sleeping lives within their arms. 
 Why, thou hast raised up mischief to his height, 
 And found one to out-name thy other faults ; 
 Thou hast no intermission of thy sins, 
 But all thy life is a continued ill : 
 Black is thy colour now, disease thy nature. 
 Joy to Amintor! Thou hast touched a life, 
 The very name of which had power to chain 
 Up all my rage, and calm my wildest wrongs. 
 
 Evad. 'Tis done ; and, since I could not find a way . 
 To meet thy love so clear as through his life, 
 I cannot now repent it. 
 
 Amin. Couldst thou procure the gods to speak to me, 
 To bid me love this woman and forgive, 
 I think I should fall out with them. Behold, 
 Here lies a youth whose wounds bleed in my breast, 
 Sent by his violent fate to fetch his death 
 From my slow hand ! And, to augment my woe. 
 You now are present, stained with a king's blood - - .
 
 SCENE iv.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 93 
 
 Violently shed. This keeps night here, 
 And throws an unknown wilderness about me. 
 
 Asp. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Amin. No more ; pursue me not. 
 
 Evad. Forgive me, then, 
 And take me to thy bed : we may not part. \_Kneels. 
 
 Amin. Forbear, be wise, and let my rage go this way. 
 
 Evad. 'Tis you that I would stay, not it. 
 
 Amin. Take heed ; 
 It will return with me. 
 
 Evad. If it must be, 
 I shall not fear to meet it : take me home. 
 
 Amin. Thou monster of cruelty, forbear ! 
 
 Evad. For Heaven's sake look more calm : thine eyes 
 
 are sharper 
 Than thou canst make thy sword. 
 
 Amin. Away, away ! 
 
 Thy knees are more to me than violence ; 
 I am worse than sick to see knees follow me 
 For that I must not grant. For Heaven's sake, stand. 
 Evad. Receive me, then. 
 
 Amin. I dare not stay thy language : 
 In midst of all my anger and my grief, 
 Thou dost awake something that troubles me, 
 And says, I loved thee once. I dare not stay : 
 There is no end of woman's reasoning. [Retiring. 
 
 Evad. [rising] Amintor, thou shall love me now again : 
 Go ; I am calm. Farewell, and peace for ever ! 
 Evadne, whom thou hat'st, will die for thee. [Stabs herse/f. 
 
 Amin. [returning] I have a little human nature yet, 
 That's left for thee, that bids me stay thy hand. 
 
 'Evad. Thy hand was welcome, but it came too late. 
 Oh, I am lost ! the heavy sleep makes haste. [Dies. 
 
 Asp. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Amin. This earth of mine doth tremble, and I feel 
 A stark affrighted motion in my blood ; 
 My soul grows weary of her house, and I
 
 94 THE MAI&S TRAGEDY. [ACT v. 
 
 All over am a trouble to myself. 
 
 There is some hidden power in these dead things, 
 
 That calls my flesh unto 'em ; I am cold : 
 
 Be resolute and bear 'em company. 
 
 There's something yet, which I am loath to leave : 
 
 There's man enough in me to meet the fears 
 
 That death can bring ; and yet would it were done ! 
 
 I can find nothing in the whole discourse 
 
 Of death, I durst not meet the boldest way ; 
 
 Yet still, betwixt the reason and the act, 
 
 The wrong I to Aspatia did stands up ; 
 
 I have not such another fault to answer : 
 
 Though she may justly arm herself with scorn 
 
 And hate of me, my soul will part less troubled, 
 
 When I have paid to her in tears my sorrow : 
 
 I will not leave this act unsatisfied, 
 
 If all that's left in me can answer it. 
 
 Asp. Was it a dream? there stands Amintor still ; 
 Or I dream still. 
 
 Amin. How dost thou ? speak ; receive my love and 
 
 help. 
 
 Thy blood climbs up to his old place again ; 
 There's hope of thy recovery. 
 
 Asp. Did you not name Aspatia ? 
 
 Amin. I did. 
 
 A. p. And talked of tears and sorrow unto her? 
 
 Amin. 'Tis true ; and, till these happy signs in thee 
 Did stay my course, 'twas thither I was going. 
 
 Asp. Thou art there already, and these wounds are hers : 
 Those threats I brought with me sought not revenge, 
 But came to fetch this blessing from thy hand : 
 I am Aspatia yet. 
 
 Amin. Dare my soul ever look abroad again ? 
 
 Asp. I shall sure live, Amintor ; I am well ; 
 A kind of healthful joy wanders within me. 
 
 Amin. The world wants lives to excuse thy loss ; 
 Come, let me bear thee to some place of help.
 
 SCENE iv.] THE MAID'S TRAGEDY. 95 
 
 Asp. Amintor, thou must stay ; I must rest here ; 
 My strength begins to disobey my will. 
 How dost thou, my best soul ? I would fain live 
 Now, if I could : wouldst thou have loved me, then ? 
 
 Amin. Alas, 
 All that I am's not worth a hair from thee ! 
 
 Asp. Give me thy hand-; mine hands grope up and down, 
 And cannot find thee ; I am wondrous sick : 
 Have I thy hand, Amintor? 
 
 Amin. Thou greatest blessing of the world, thou hast. 
 
 Asp. I do believe thee better than my sense. 
 Oh, I must go ! farewell ! {Dies. 
 
 Amin. She swoons. Aspatia ! Help ! for Heaven's 
 
 sake, water, 
 
 Such as may chain life ever to this frame ! 
 Aspatia, speak ! What, no help yet ? I fool ; 
 I'll chafe her temples. Yet there's nothing stirs : 
 Some hidden power tell her, Amintor calls, 
 And let her answer me ! Aspatia, speak ! 
 I have heard, if there be any life, but bow 
 The body thus, and it will show itself. 
 Oh, she is gone ! I will not leave her yet. 
 Since out of justice we must challenge nothing, 
 I'll call it mercy, if you'll pity me, 
 You heavenly powers, and lend for some few years 
 The blessed soul to this fair seat again ! 
 No comfort comes ; the gods deny me too. 
 I'll bow the body once again. Aspatia ! 
 The soul is fled for ever ; and I wrong 
 Myself, so long to lose her company. 
 Must I talk now? Here's to be with thee, love ! 
 
 \Stabs himself. 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Sen'. This is a great grace to my lord, to have the new 
 king come to him : I must tell him he is entering. Oh, 
 Heaven ! Help, help !
 
 96 THE MAI&S TRAGEDY. [ACT v- 
 
 Enter LYSIPPUS, MELANTIUS, CALIANAX, CLEON, 
 DIPHILUS, and STRATO. 
 
 Lys. Where's Amintor ? 
 
 Sen*. Oh, there, there ! 
 
 Lys. How strange is this ! 
 
 Cat. What should we do here ? 
 
 Me!. These deaths are such acquainted things with 
 
 me, 
 
 That yet my heart dissolves not. May I stand 
 Stiff here for ever ! Eyes, call up your tears ! 
 This is Amintor : heart, he was my friend ; 
 Melt ! now it flows. Amintor, give a word 
 To call me to thee. 
 
 Amin. Oh ! 
 
 Mel. Melantius calls his friend Amintor. Oh, 
 Thy arms are kinder to me than thy tongue ! 
 Speak, speak ! 
 
 Amin. What? 
 
 Mel. That little word was worth all the sounds 
 That ever I shall hear again. 
 
 Diph. Oh, brother, 
 
 Here lies your sister slain ! you lose yourself 
 In sorrow there. 
 
 Mel. Why, Diphilus, it is 
 A thing to laugh at, in respect of this : 
 Here was my sister, father, brother, son ; 
 All that I had. Speak once again ; what youth 
 Lies slain there by thee ? 
 
 Amin. Tis Aspatia. 
 
 My last is said. Let me give up my soul 
 Into thy bosom. [Dies. 
 
 Cal. What's that ? what's that ? Aspatia ! 
 
 Mel. I never did 
 
 Repent the greatness of my heart till now ; 
 It will not burst at need. 
 
 Cal. My daughter dead here too ! And you have all
 
 SCENE iv.] THE MAI US TRAGEDY. 97 
 
 fine new tricks to grieve ; but I ne'er kne\v any but direct 
 crying. 
 
 Mel. I am a prattler : but no more. [Offers to stab himself. 
 
 Diph. Hold, brother ! 
 
 Lys. Stop him. 
 
 Dip/i. Fie, how unmanly was this offer in you ! 
 Does this become our strain ? ! 
 
 Cal. I know not what the matter is, but I am grown 
 very kind, and am friends with you all now. You have 
 given me that among you will kill me quickly ; but I'll go 
 home, and live as long as I can. [Exit. 
 
 Mel. His spirit is but poor that can be kept 
 From death for want of weapons. 
 Is not my hands a weapon good enough 
 To stop my breath ? or, if you tie down those, 
 I vow, Amintor, I will never eat, 
 Or drink, or sleep, or have to do with that 
 That may preserve life ! This I swear to keep. 
 
 Lys. Look to him, though, and bear those bodies in. 
 May this a fair example be to me, 
 To rule with temper ; for on lustful kings 
 Unlooked-for sudden deaths from Heaven are sent ; 
 But cursed is he that is their instrument. ^Exeunt. 
 
 1 Race. 
 
 Beau. & F. i.
 
 T HI LASTED 
 
 OR, 
 
 LOVE LIES ABLEEDING. 
 
 H 2
 
 HE play of Philaster is supposed to have 
 been first acted in 1608. It was origin- 
 ally performed at the Globe and afterwards 
 at the Bankside. On the title page of the 
 earlier editions (those of 1620 and sub- 
 sequently) Beaumont's name is mentioned 
 first, and it is probable that he wrote the 
 larger part of the play. It was very popular, and went 
 through a comparatively large number of editions. After 
 the Restoration it was revived, and various adaptations of it 
 were made at subsequent dates.
 
 DRAMA TIS PERSON 
 
 KlXG. 
 
 PHILASTER, Heir to the Crcwn of Sicily. 
 
 PHARAMOND, Prince of Spain. 
 
 DlON, a Lord. 
 
 CLEREMONT. 
 
 THRASILINE. 
 
 An old Captain. 
 
 Citizens. 
 
 A Country Fellow. 
 
 Tsvo Woodmen. 
 
 Guard, Attendants. 
 
 ARETHUSA, Daughter of the King. 
 
 EUPHRASIA, Daughter of DION, disguised as a Page under 
 
 the name of BELLARIO. 
 MEGRA, a Court Lady. 
 GALATEA, a Lady attending the Princess. 
 Two other Ladies. 
 
 SCENE. MESSINA and its neighbourhood.
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. The Presence Chamber in the Palace. 
 Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE. 
 
 LE. Here's nor lords nor ladies. 
 
 Dion. Credit me, gentlemen, I wonder 
 at it. They received strict charge from 
 the King to attend here : besides, it 
 was boldly published, that no officer 
 should forbid any gentleman that de- 
 sired to attend and hear. 
 
 Cle. Can you guess the cause ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, it is plain, about the Spanish Prince, that's 
 come to marry our kingdom's heir and be our sove- 
 reign. 
 
 Thra. Many, that will seem to know much, say she 
 looks not on him like a maid in love. 
 
 Dion. Oh, sir, the multitude, that seldom know any 
 thing but their own opinions, speak that they would 
 have ; but the prince, before his own approach, received 
 so many confident messages from the state, that I think 
 she's resolved to be ruled. 
 
 Cle. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both 
 these kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria. 
 
 Dion. Sir, it is without controversy so meant. But 'twill
 
 104 PHILASTER. [ACT i. 
 
 be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these 
 kingdoms with safety, the right heir to one of them living, 
 and living so virtuously ; especially, the people admiring 
 the bravery of his mind and lamenting his injuries. 
 
 C/e. Who, Philaster ? 
 
 Dion. Yes; whose father, we all know, was by our 
 late King of Calabria unrighteously deposed from his 
 fruitful Sicily. Myself drew some blood in those wars, 
 which I would give my hand to be washed from. 
 
 Cle. Sir, my ignorance in state-policy will not let me 
 know why, Philaster being heir to one of these kingdoms, 
 the King should suffer him to walk abroad with such 
 free liberty. 
 
 Dion. Sir, it seems your nature is more constant than 
 to inquire after state-news. But the King, of late, made 
 a hazard of both the kingdoms, of Sicily and his own, 
 with offering but to imprison Philaster ; at which the 
 city was in arms, not to be charmed down by any state- 
 order or proclamation, till they saw Philaster ride 
 through the streets pleased and without a guard ; at 
 which they threw their hats and their arms from them ; 
 some to make bonfires, some to drink, all for his 
 deliverance : which wise men say is the cause the King 
 labours to bring in the power of a foreign nation to awe 
 his own with. 
 
 Enter GALATEA, a Lady, and MEGRA. 
 
 Thra. See, the ladies ! What's the first ? 
 
 Dion. A wise and modest gentlewoman that attends 
 the princess. 
 
 Cle. The second ? 
 
 Dion. She is one that may stand still discreetly 
 enough, and ill-favouredly dance her measure ; simper 
 when she is courted by her friend, and slight her hus- 
 band. 
 
 Cle. The last ? 
 
 Dion. Marry, I think she is one whom the state keeps
 
 SCENE i.j PHILASTER. 105 
 
 for the agents of our confederate princes ; she'll cog 1 
 and lie with a whole army, before the league shall break. 
 Her name is common through the kingdom, and the 
 trophies of her dishonour advanced beyond Hercules' 
 Pillars. She loves to try the several constitutions of 
 men's bodies ; and, indeed, has destroyed the worth of 
 her own body by making experiment upon it for the 
 good of the commonwealth. 
 
 Cle. She's a profitable member. 
 
 Meg. Peace, if you love me : you shall see these 
 gentlemen stand their ground and not court us. 
 
 Gal. What if they should ? 
 
 La. What if they should ! 
 
 Meg. Nay, let her alone. What if they should ! Why, 
 if they should, I say they were never abroad : what 
 foreigner would do so? it writes them directly untravelled. 
 
 Gal. Why, what if they be ? 
 
 La. What if they be ! 
 
 Meg. Good madam, let her go on. What if they be ! 
 why, if they be, I will justify, they cannot maintain 
 discourse with a judicious lady, nor make a leg' 2 nor say 
 " excuse me." 
 
 Gal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Meg. Do you laugh, madam ? 
 
 Dion. Your desires upon you, ladies ! 
 
 Meg. Then you must sit beside us. 
 
 Dion. I shall sit near you then, lady. 
 
 Meg. Near me, perhaps : but there's a lady endures 
 no stranger; and to me you appear a very strange fellow. 
 
 La. Methinks he's not so strange ; he would quickly 
 be acquainted. 
 
 Thra. Peace, the King ! 
 
 Enter KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, and Attendants. 
 
 King. To give a stronger testimony of love 
 Than sickly promises (which commonly 
 
 1 Cheat, cajole. : Bow.
 
 106 PHILASTER. [ACT i. 
 
 In princes find both birth and burial 
 
 In one breath) we have drawn you, worthy sir, 
 
 To make your fair endearments to our daughter, 
 
 And worthy services known to our subjects, 
 
 Now loved and wondered at ; next, our intent 
 
 To plant you deeply our immediate heir 
 
 Both to our blood and kingdoms. For this lady, " 
 
 (The best part of your life, as you confirm me, 
 
 And I believe,) though her few years and sex 
 
 Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes, 
 
 Desires without desire, discourse and knowledge 
 
 Only of what herself is to herself, 
 
 Make her feel moderate health ; and when she sleeps, 
 
 In' making no ill day, knows no ill dreams : 
 
 Think not, dear sir, these undivided parts, 
 
 That must mould up a virgin, are put on 
 
 To show her so, as borrowed ornaments, 
 
 To speak her perfect love to you, or add 
 
 An artificial shadow to her nature 
 
 No, sir ; 
 
 I boldly dare proclaim her yet no woman. 
 
 But woo her still, and think her modesty 
 
 A sweeter mistress than the offered language 
 
 Of any dame, were she a queen, whose eye 
 
 Speaks common loves and comforts to her servants. 1 
 
 Last, noble son (for so I now must call you), 
 
 What I have done thus public, is not only 
 
 To add a comfort in particular 
 
 To you or me, but all ; and to confirm 
 
 The nobles and the gentry of these kingdoms 
 
 By oath to your succession, which shall be 
 
 Within this month at most. 
 
 Thra. This will be hardly done. 
 
 Cle. It must be ill done, if it be done. 
 
 Dion, When 'tis at best, 'twill be but half done, whilst 
 So brave a gentleman is wronged and flung oft". 
 
 1 Lovers.
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 107 
 
 Thra. I fear. 
 
 Cle. Who does not ? 
 
 Dion. I fear not for myself, and yet I fear too : 
 Well, we shall see, we shall see. No more. 
 
 Pha. Kissing your white hand, mistress. I take leave 
 To thank your royal father ; and thus far 
 To be my own free trumpet. Understand, 
 Great King, and these your subjects, mine that must be, 
 (For so deserving you have spoke me, sir, 
 And so deserving I dare speak myself,) 
 To what a person, of what eminence, 
 Ripe expectation, of what faculties, 
 Manners and virtues, you would wed your kingdoms ; 
 You in me have your wishes. Oh, this country ! 
 By more than all my hopes, I hold it happy ; 
 Happy in their dear memories that have been 
 Kings great and good ; happy in yours that is ; 
 And from you (as a chronicle to keep 
 Your noble name from eating age) do I 
 Opine myself most happy. Gentlemen, 
 Believe me in a word, a prince's word, 
 There shall be nothing to make up a kingdom 
 Mighty and flourishing, defenced, feared, 
 Equal to be commanded and obeyed, 
 But through the travails of my life I'll find it, 
 And tie it to this country. And I vow 
 My reign shall be so easy to the subject, 
 That every man shall be his prince himself 
 And his own law yet I his prince and law. 
 And, dearest lady, to your dearest self 
 (Dear in the choice of him whose name and lustre 
 Must make you more and mightier) let me say, 
 You are the blessed'st living ; for, sweet princess, 
 You shall enjoy a man of men to be 
 Your servant ; you shall make him yours, for whom 
 Great queens must die. 
 
 Thra. Miraculous !
 
 loS PHILASTER. [ACT i. 
 
 Cle. This speech calls him Spaniard, being nothing 
 but a large inventory of his own commendations. 
 
 Dion. I wonder what's his price ; for certainly 
 He'll sell himself, he has so praised his shape. 
 But here conies one more worthy those large speeches, 
 
 Enter PHILASTER. 
 
 Than the large speaker of them. 
 
 Let me be swallowed quick, if I can find, 
 
 In all the anatomy of yon man's virtues, 
 
 One sinew sound enough to promise for him, 
 
 He shall be constable. By this sun, he'll ne'er make king 
 
 Unless it be for trifles, in my poor judgment. 
 
 Phi. [kneeling.] Right noble sir, as low as my obedience, 
 And with a heart as loyal as my knee, 
 I beg your favour. 
 
 King. Rise ; you have it, sir. [PHILASTER rises. 
 
 Dion. Mark but the King, how pale he looks with fear ! 
 Oh, this same whorsDn conscience, how it jades us ! 
 
 King. Speak your intents, sir. 
 
 Phi. Shall I speak 'em freely ? 
 Be still my royal sovereign. 
 
 King. As a subject, 
 We give you freedom. 
 
 Dion. Now it heats. 
 
 Phi. Then thus I turn 
 
 My language to you, prince ; you, foreign man ! 
 Ne'er stare nor put on wonder, for you must 
 Endure me, and you shall. This earth you tread upon 
 (A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princess), 
 By my dead father (oh, I had a father, 
 Whose memory I bow to !) was not left 
 To your inheritance, and I up and living 
 Having myself about me and my sword, 
 The souls of all my name and memories, 
 These arms and some few friends beside the gods- 
 To part so calmly with it, and sit still
 
 SCENE i.] PHILASTER. 109 
 
 And say, " I might have been." I tell thee, Pharamond, 
 When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten, 
 And my name ashes : for, hear me, Pharamond ! 
 This very ground thou goest on, this fat earth, 
 My father's friends made fertile with their faiths, 
 Before that day of shame shall gape and swallow 
 Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave, 
 Into her hidden bowels ; prince, it shall ; 
 By Nemesis, it shall ! 
 
 Pha, He's mad ; beyond cure, mad. 
 
 Dion. Here is a fellow has some fire in's veins : 
 The outlandish prince looks like a tooth-drawer. 
 
 Phi. Sir prince of popinjays, 1 I'll make it well 
 Appear to you I am not mad. 
 
 King. You displease us : 
 You are too bold. 
 
 Phi. No, sir, I am too tame, 
 Too much a turtle, a thing born without passion, 
 A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud 
 Sails over, and makes nothing. 
 
 King. I do not fancy this. 
 Call our physicians : sure, he's somewhat tainted. 
 
 Thra. I do not think 'twill prove so. 
 
 Dion. H'as given him a general purge already, 
 For all the right he has ; and now he means 
 To let him blood. Be constant, gentlemen : 
 By these hilts, I'll run his hazard, 
 Although I run my name out of the kingdom ! 
 
 Cle. Peace, we are all one soul. 
 
 Pha. What you have seen in me to stir offence, 
 I cannot find, unless it be this lady, 
 Offered into mine arms with the succession ; 
 Which I must keep, (though it hath pleased your fury 
 To mutiny within you,) without disputing 
 Your genealogies, or taking knowledge 
 
 1 Parrots.
 
 no PHILASTER. [ACT I. 
 
 Whose branch you are : the King will leave it me, 
 And I dare make it mine. You have your answer. 
 
 Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to him 
 That made the world his, and couldst see no sun 
 Shine upon any thing but thine ; were Pharamond 
 As truly valiant as I feel him cold, 
 And ringed among the choicest of his friends 
 (Such as would blush to talk such serious follies, 
 Or back such bellied commendations), 
 And from this presence, spite of all these bugs, 1 
 You should hear further from me. 
 
 King, Sir, you wrong the prince ; I gave you not this 
 
 freedom 
 
 To brave our best friends : you deserve our frown. 
 Go to ; be better tempered. 
 
 Phi. It must be, sir, when I am nobler used. 
 
 Gal. Ladies, 
 
 This would have been a pattern of succession, 
 Had he ne'er met this mischief. By my life, 
 He is the worthiest the true name of man 
 This day within my knowledge. 
 
 Meg. I cannot tell what you may call your knowledge ; 
 But the other is the man set in mine eye : 
 Oh, 'tis a prince of wax ! 2 
 
 Gal. A dog it is. 
 
 King. Philaster, tell me 
 The injuries you aim at in your riddles. 
 
 Phi. If you had my eyes, sir, and sufferance, 
 My griefs upon you and my broken fortunes, 
 My wants great, and now nought but hopes and fears 
 My wrongs would make ill riddles to be laughed at. 
 Dare you be still my king, and right me not ? 
 
 King. Give me your wrongs in private. 
 
 Phi. Take them, 
 And ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas. 
 
 [They talk apart, 
 
 1 Bugbears, 2 Handsome, smart,
 
 SCENE i.] PHILASTER. in 
 
 Cle. He dares not stand the shock. 
 
 Dion. I cannot blame him ; there's danger in't. 
 Every man in this age has not a soul of crystal, for all 
 men to read their actions through : men's hearts and 
 faces are so far asunder, that they hold no intelligence. 
 Do but view yon stranger well, and you shall see a fever 
 through all his bravery, and feel him shake like a true 
 tenant : if he give not back his crown again upon the 
 report of an elder-gun, I have no augury. 
 
 King. Go to ; 
 
 Be more yourself, as you respect our favour ; 
 You'll stir us else. Sir, I must have you know, 
 That you are, and shall be, at our pleasure, what 
 Fashion we will put upon you. Smooth your brow, 
 Or by the gods 
 
 Phi. I am dead, sir ; you're my fate. It was not I 
 Said, I was wronged : I carry all about me 
 My weak stars lead me to, all my weak fortunes. 
 Who dares in all this presence speak, (that is 
 But man of flesh, and may be mortal,) tell me, 
 I do not most entirely love this prince, 
 And honour his full virtues ! 
 
 King. Sure, he's possessed. 
 
 Phi. Yes, with my father's spirit. It's here, O King, 
 A dangerous spirit ! now he tells me, King, 
 I was a king's heir, bids me be a king, 
 And whispers to me, these are all my subjects. 
 'Tis strange he will not let me sleep, but dives 
 Into my fancy, and there gives me shapes 
 That kneel and do me service, cry me king : 
 But I'll suppress him ; he's a factious spirit, 
 And will undo me. Noble sir, your hand ; 
 I am your servant. 
 
 King. Away ! I do not like this : 
 I'll make you tamer, or I'll dispossess you 
 Both of your life and spirit. For this time
 
 ii2 PHILASTER. [ACT i. 
 
 I pardon your wild speech, without so much 
 As your imprisonment. 
 
 [Exeunt KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Dion. I thank you, sir ! you dare not for the people. 
 
 Gal. Ladies, what think you now of this brave fellow ? 
 
 Meg. A pretty talking fellow, hot at hand. But eye 
 yon stranger : is he not a fine complete gentleman ? Oh, 
 these strangers, I do affect them strangely ! they do the 
 rarest home-things, and please the fullest ! As I live. I 
 could love all the nation over and over for his sake. 
 
 Gal. Pride comfort your poor head-piece, lady ! 'tis a 
 weak one, and had need of a night-cap. 
 
 [Exeunt GALATEA, MEGRA and Lady. 
 
 Dion. See, how his fancy labours ! Has he not 
 Spoke home and bravely ? what a dangerous train 
 Did he give fire to ! how he shook the King, 
 Made his soul melt within him, and his blood 
 Run into whey ! it stood upon his brow 
 Like a cold winter-dew. 
 
 Phi. Gentlemen, 
 
 You have no suit to me ? I am no minion : 
 You stand, methinks, like men that would be courtiers, 
 If I could well be flattered at a price, 
 Not to undo your children. You're all honest : 
 Go, get you home again, and make your country 
 A virtuous court, to which your great ones may, 
 In their diseased age, retire and live recluse. 
 
 Cle. How do you, worthy sir ? 
 
 Phi. Well, very well ; 
 And so well that, if the King please, I find 
 I may live many years. 
 
 Dion. The King must please, 
 Whilst we know what you are and who you are, 
 Your wrongs and virtues. Shrink not, worthy sir, 
 But add your father to you ; in whose name 
 We'll waken all the gods, and conjure up
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 113 
 
 The rods of vengeance, the abused people, 
 Who, like to raging torrents, shall swell high, 
 And so begirt the dens of these male-dragons, 
 That, through the strongest safety, they shall beg 
 For mercy at your sword's point. 
 
 Phi. Friends, no more ; 
 Our ears may be corrupted ; tis an age 
 We dare not trust our wills to. Do you love me ? 
 
 Thra. Do we love Heaven and honour ? 
 
 Phi. My Lord Dion, you had 
 A virtuous gentlewoman called you father ; 
 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 mistaken. 
 
 Lady. If you be called Philaster, 'tis to you. 
 
 Phi. Kiss her fair hand, arid say I will attend her. 
 
 [Exit Lady. 
 
 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 cheeks may steal my soul out ; 
 There's all the danger in't : but, be what may, 
 Her single name hath armed me. [Exit. 
 
 Beau. & F. I
 
 ii4 PHILASTER. [ACT i. 
 
 Dion. Go on, 
 
 And be as truly happy as thou'rt fearless ! 
 Come, gentlemen, let's make our friends acquainted, 
 Lest the King prove false. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. ARETHUSA'S Apartment in the Palace. 
 Enter ARETHUSA and a Lady. 
 
 Are. Comes he not ? 
 
 Lady. Madam ? 
 
 Are. Will Philaster come ? 
 
 Lady. Dear madam, you were wont to credit me 
 At first. 
 
 Are. But didst thou tell me so ? 
 I am forgetful, and my woman's strength 
 Is so o'ercharged with dangers like to grow 
 About my marriage, that these under-things 
 Dare not abide in such a troubled sea. 
 How looked he when he told thee he would come ? 
 
 Lady. Why, well. 
 
 Are. And not a little fearful ? 
 
 Lady. Fear, madam ! sure, he knows not what it is. 
 
 Are. You are all of his faction ; the whole court 
 Is bold in praise of him ; whilst I 
 May live neglected, and do noble things, 
 As fools in strife throw gold into the sea, 
 Drowned in the doing. But, I know he fears. 
 
 Lady. Fear, madam ! melhought, his looks hid more 
 Of love than fear. 
 
 Are. Of love ! to whom ? to you ? 
 Did you deliver those plain words I sent, 
 With such a winning gesture and quick look 
 That you have caught him ? 
 Lady. Madam, I mean to you.
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. 115 
 
 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 ! 
 
 L-ady. Madam, I think I hear him. 
 
 Are. Bring him in. [Exit Lady. 
 
 You gods, that would not have your dooms withstood, 
 Whose holy wisdoms at this time it is, 
 To make the passion of a feeble maid 
 The way unto your justice, I obey. 
 
 Re-enter Lady with PHILASTER. 
 
 Lady. Here is my Lord Philaster. 
 
 Are. Oh, 'tis well. 
 Withdraw yourself. [Exit Lady. 
 
 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 loath to speak them. Have you known 
 That I have aught detracted from your worth ? 
 Have I in person wronged you ? or have set 
 My baser instruments to throw disgrace 
 Upon your virtues ? 
 
 Phi. Never, madam, you. 
 
 Are. Why, then, should you, in such a public place, 
 Injure a princess, and a scandal lay 
 Upon my fortunes, famed to be so great, 
 Calling a great part of my dowry- in question ? 
 
 Phi. Madam, this truth which I shall speak will be 
 Foolish : but, for your fair and virtuous self,
 
 n6 PHIL ASTER. [ACT i. 
 
 I could afford myself to have no right 
 To any thing you wished. 
 
 Are. Philaster, know, 
 I must enjoy these kingdoms. 
 
 Phi. Madam, both ? 
 
 Are. Both, or I die : by fate, I die, Philaster, 
 If I not calmly may enjoy them both. 
 
 Phi. I would do much to save that noble life : 
 Yet would be loath to have posterity 
 Find in our stories, that Philaster gave 
 His right unto a sceptre and a crown 
 To save a lady's longing. 
 
 Are. Nay, then, hear : J 
 I must and will have them, and more 
 
 Phi. What more ? 
 
 Are. Or lose that little life the gods prepared 
 To trouble this poor piece of earth withal. 
 
 Phi. Madam, what more ? 
 
 Are. Turn, then, away thy face. 
 
 Phi. No. 
 
 Are. Do. 
 
 Phi. I can endure it. Turn away my face ! 
 I never yet saw enemy that looked 
 So dreadfully, but that I thought myself 
 As great a basilisk as he; or spake 
 So horribly, but that I thought my tongue 
 Bore thunder underneath, as much as his ; 
 Nor beast that I could turn from : shall I then 
 Begin to fear sweet sounds ? a lady's voice, 
 Whom I do love ? Say, you would have my life ; 
 Why, I will give it you ; for 'tis to me 
 A thing so loathed, and unto you that ask 
 Of so poor use, that I shall make no price : 
 If you entreat, I will unmovedly hear. 
 
 Are. Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks. 
 
 Phi. I do. 
 
 Are. Then know, I must have them and thee.
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. \\ 
 
 Phi. And me ? 
 
 Are. Thy love ; without which, all the land 
 Discovered yet will serve me for no use 
 But to be buried in. 
 
 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 ! 
 But how this passion should proceed from you 
 So violently, would amaze a man 
 That would be jealous. 
 
 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 
 In seeking how I came thus : 'tis the gods, 
 The gods, that make me so ; and, sure, our love 
 Will be the nobler and the better blest, 
 In that the secret justice of the gods 
 Is mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss ; 
 Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us, 
 And we should part without it. 
 
 Phi. Twill be ill 
 I should abide here long. 
 
 Are. 'Tis true ; and worse 
 You should come often. How shall we devise 
 To hold intelligence, that our true loves, 
 On any new occasion, may agree 
 What path is best to tread ? 
 
 Phi. I have a boy, 
 
 Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent, 
 Not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck, 
 I found him sitting by a fountain's side,
 
 n8 PHILASTER. [ACT I. 
 
 Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst, 
 
 And paid the nymph again as much in tears. 
 
 A garland lay him by, made by himself 
 
 Of many several flowers bred in the vale, 
 
 Stuck in that mystic order that the rareness 
 
 Delighted me : but ever when he turned 
 
 His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep, 
 
 As if he meant to make 'em grow again. 
 
 Seeing such pretty helpless innocence 
 
 Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story : 
 
 He told me that his parents gentle died, 
 
 Leaving him to the mercy of the fields, 
 
 Which gave him roots ; and of the crystal springs, 
 
 Which did not stop their courses ; and the sun, 
 
 Which still, he thanked him, yielded him his light. 
 
 Then took he up his garland, and did show 
 
 What every flower, as country-people hold, 
 
 Did signify, and how all, ordered thus, 
 
 Expressed his grief; and, to my thoughts, did read 
 
 The prettiest lecture of his country-art 
 
 That could be wished : so that methought I could 
 
 Have studied it. I gladly entertained 
 
 Him, who was glad to follow ; and have got 
 
 The trustiest, loving' st, and the gentlest boy 
 
 That ever master kept. Him will I send 
 
 To wait on you, and bear our hidden love. 
 
 Re enter Lady. 
 
 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 pointed out 
 
 Are. Dear, hide thyself. [for me. 
 
 Bring in the prince. \_Exit Lady. 
 
 Phi. Hide me from Pharamond ! 
 When thunder speaks, which is the voice of Jove, 
 Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not j
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. 119 
 
 And shall a stranger-prince have leave to brag 
 Unto a foreign nation, that he made 
 Philaster hide himself? 
 
 Are. He cannot know it. 
 
 Phi. Though it should sleep for ever to the world, 
 It is a simple sin to hide myself, 
 Which will for ever on my conscience lie. 
 
 Are. Then, good Philaster, give him scope and way 
 In what he says ; for he is apt to speak 
 What you are loath to hear : for my sake, do. 
 
 Phi. I will. 
 
 Re-enter Lady with PHARAMOND. 
 
 Pha. My princely mistress, as true lovers ought, 
 I come to kiss these fair hands, and to show, [Exit Lady. 
 In outward ceremonies, the dear love 
 Writ in my heart. 
 
 Phi. If I shall have an answer no directlier, 
 I am gone. 
 
 Pha. To what would he have answer ? 
 
 Are. To his claim unto the kingdom. 
 
 Pha. Sirrah, I forbare you before the King 
 
 Phi. Good sir, do so still : I would not talk with you. 
 
 Pha. But now the time is fitter : do but offer 
 To make mention of right to any kingdom, 
 Though it be scarce habitable 
 
 Phi. Good sir, let me go. 
 
 Pha. And by my sword 
 
 Phi. Peace, Pharamond ! if thou 
 
 Are. Leave us, Philaster. 
 
 Phi. I have done. \_Going. 
 
 Pha. You are gone ! by Heaven I'll fetch you back. 
 
 Phi. You shall not need. \Returning. 
 
 Pha. What now ? 
 
 Phi. Know, Pharamond, 
 I loathe to brawl with such a blast as thou, 
 Who art nought but a valiant voice ; but if
 
 I2D PHILASTRR. [ACT i. 
 
 Thou shalt provoke me further, men shall say, 
 " Thou wert," and not lament it. 
 
 Pha. Do you slight 
 
 My greatness so, and in the chamber of 
 The princess ? 
 
 Phi. It is a place to which I must confess 
 I owe a reverence ; but were't the church, 
 Ay, at the altar, there's no place so safe, 
 Where thou dar'st injure me, but I dare kill thee : 
 And for your greatness, know, sir, I can grasp 
 You and your greatness thus, thus into nothing. 
 Give not a word, not a word back ! Farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Pha. 'Tis an odd fellow, madam ; we must stop 
 His mouth with some office when we are married. 
 
 Are. You were best make him your controller. 
 
 Pha. I think he would discharge it well. But, madam, 
 I hope our hearts are knit ; and yet so slow 
 The ceremonies of state are, that 'twill be long 
 Before our hands be so. If then you please, 
 Being agreed in heart, let us not wait 
 For dreaming form, but take a little stolen 
 Delights, and so prevent ' our joys to come. 
 
 Arc. If you dare speak such thoughts, 
 I must withdraw in honour. \Exit. 
 
 Pha. The constitution of my body will never hold out 
 till the wedding ; I must seek elsewhere. \Exit. 
 
 1 Anticipate.
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter PHILASTER and BELLARIO. 
 
 H I. 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 conster 
 A simple innocence in me, perhaps 
 Might have been craft, the cunning of a boy 
 Hardened in lies and theft : yet ventured you 
 To part my miseries and me ; for which, 
 I never can expect to serve a lady 
 That bears more honour in her breast than you. 
 
 Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee. Thou art young, 
 And bear'st a childish overflowing love 
 To them that clap thy cheeks and speak thee fair yet ; 
 But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions, 
 Thou wilt remember best those careful friends 
 That placed thee in the noblest way of life. 
 She is a princess I prefer thee to. 
 
 Bel. In that small time that I have seen the world,
 
 122 PHILASTER. [ACT ii. 
 
 I never knew a man hasty to part with 
 A servant he thought trusty : I remember, 
 My father would prefer the boys he kept 
 To greater men than he ; but did it not 
 Till they were grown too saucy for himself, 
 
 Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all 
 In thy behaviour. 
 
 Bel. Sir, if I have made 
 A fault in ignorance, instruct my youth : 
 I shall be willing, if not apt, to learn ; 
 Age and experience will adorn my mind s 
 With larger knowledge ; and if I have done 
 A wilful fault, think me not past all hope 
 For once. What master holds so strict a hand 
 Over his boy, that he will part with him 
 Without one warning ? Let me be corrected, 
 To break my stubbornness, if it be so, 
 Rather than turn me off ; and I shall mend. 
 
 Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay, 
 That, trust me, I could weep to part with thee. 
 Alas, I do not turn thee off ! thou know'st 
 It is my business that doth call thee hence ; 
 And when thou art with her, thou dwell'st with me. 
 Think so, and 'tis so : and when time is full, 
 That thou hast well discharged this heavy trust, 
 Laid on so weak a one, I will again 
 With joy receive thee ; as I live, I will ! 
 Nay, weep not, gentle boy. Tis more than time 
 Thou didst attend the princess. 
 
 Bel. I am gone. 
 
 But since I am to part with you, my lord, 
 And none knows whether I shall live to do 
 More service for you, take this little prayer : 
 Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs ! 
 May sick men, if they have your wish, be well ; 
 And Heaven hate those you curse, though I be one ! 
 
 \_Exif.
 
 SCENE ii.] PHILASTER, 123 
 
 Phi. The love of boys unto their lords is strange ; 
 I have read wonders of it : yet this boy 
 For my sake (if a man may judge by looks 
 And speech) would out-do story. I may see 
 A day to pay him for his loyalty. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. A Gallery in the Palace. 
 
 Enter PHARAMOND. 
 
 Pha. Why should these ladies stay so long? They 
 must come this way : I know the queen employs 'em 
 not ; for the reverend mother sent me word, they would 
 all be for the garden. If they should all prove honest l 
 now, I were in a fair taking ; I was never so long without 
 sport in my life, and, in my conscience, 'tis not my fault. 
 Oh, for our country ladies ! 
 
 Enter GALATEA. 
 
 Here's one bolted ; I'll hound at her. \Aside.~\ Madam ! 
 
 Gal. Your grace ! 
 
 Pha. Shall I not be a trouble ? 
 
 Gal. Not to me, sir. 
 
 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 : 
 But, good prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag ; 
 These two I bar ; 
 
 And then, I think, I shall have sense enough 
 To answer all the weighty apophthegms 
 Your royal blood shall manage. 
 
 Pha. Dear lady, can you love ? 
 
 Gal. Dear prince ! how dear ? I ne'er cost you a 
 
 1 Chaste.
 
 124 PHILASTER. [ACT n. 
 
 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 l 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 
 
 Pha. You mistake me, lady. [doings. 
 
 Gal. Lord, I do so : would you or I could help it ! 
 
 Pha. You're very dangerous bitter, like a potion. 
 
 Gal. No, sir, I do not mean to purge you, though 
 I mean to purge a little time on you. 
 
 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 your 
 grace means growing to fatness ; and then your only 
 remedy (upon my knowledge, prince) is, in a morning) 
 a cup of neat white wine brewed with carduus, 2 then 
 fast till supper; about eight you may eat; use exercise, 
 and keep a sparrow-hawk ; you can shoot in a tiller : :| but, 
 of all, your grace must fly phlebotomy, 4 fresh pork, 
 conger, and clarified whey ; they are all duller of the 
 vital spirits. 
 
 Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while. 
 
 Gal. "Pis very true, sir; I talk of you. 
 
 Pha. This is a crafty wench ; I like her wit well ; 'twill 
 be rare to stir up a leaden appetite : she's a Danae, and 
 must be courted in a shower of gold \Aside.~\- Madam, 
 look here ; all these, and more than 
 
 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. [Takes gold. 
 
 Pha. Lady, lady ! 
 
 1 Wire was much in vogue in women's head-dresses of the time. 
 
 2 Thistle. :I A steel or cross bow. 4 Blood letting.
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. 125 
 
 Gal. She's coming, sir, behind, will take white money. 1 
 Yet for ah 1 this I'll match ye. 
 
 \Aside. Exit 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. Ten 
 such camphire constitutions 2 as this would call the golden 
 age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill- 
 faced husband to get his own children ; and what a 
 mischief that would breed, let all consider ! 
 
 Enter MEGRA. 
 
 Here's another : if she be of the same last, the devil 
 shall pluck her on. \Aside^\ 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; sure this wench is 
 free. \Aside. 
 
 If your more serious business do not call you, 
 . Let me hold quarter with you ; we will talk 
 An hour out quickly. 
 
 Meg. What would your grace talk of? 
 
 Pha. Of some such pretty subject as yourself : 
 I'll go no further than your eye, or lip ; 
 There's theme enough for one man for an age. 
 
 Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even, 
 
 smooth, 
 
 Young enough, ripe enough, and red enough, 
 Or my glass wrongs me. 
 
 Pha. Oh, they are two twinned cherries dyed in blushes 
 Which those fair suns above with their bright beams 
 Reflect upon and ripen. Sweetest beauty, 
 Bow down those branches, that the longing taste 
 Of the faint looker-on may meet those blessings, 
 And taste and live. 
 
 Meg. Oh, delicate sweet prince ! 
 She that hath snow enough about her heart 
 
 1 A cant term for silver coin. : i.e., Cold constitutions.
 
 126 PHILASTER. [ACT 11. 
 
 To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off, 
 May be a nun without probation. [Aside.] Sir, 
 You have in such neat poetry gathered a kiss, 
 That if I had but five lines of that number, 
 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, but you shall not ; 
 I'll prompt you first. [Kisses her.] Can you do it now ? 
 
 Meg. Methinks 'tis easy, now you ha ! done't before me ; 
 But yet I should stick at it. 
 
 Pha. Stick till to-morrow ; 
 I'll never part you, sweetest. But we lose time : 
 Can you love me ? 
 
 Meg. Love you, my lord \ how would you have me 
 love you ? 
 
 Pha. I'll teach you in a short sentence, 'cause I will 
 not load your memory : this is all ; love me, and lie with me. 
 
 Meg. Was it lie with you, you said ? 'tis impossible. 
 
 Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour : if I 
 do not teach you to do it as easily in one night as you'll 
 go to bed, I'll lose my royal blood for't. 
 
 M(g. Why, prince, you have a lady of your own 
 That yet wants teaching. 
 
 Pha. I'll sooner teach a mare the old measures, 1 than 
 teach her anything belonging to the function. She's 
 afraid to lie with herself, if she have but any masculine 
 imaginations about her. I know, when we are married, I 
 must ravish her. 
 
 Meg. By my honour, that's a foul fault, indeed ; 
 But time and your good help will wear it out, sir. 
 
 Pha. And for any other I see, excepting your dear 
 self, dearest lady, I had rather be Sir Tim the school- 
 master, and leap a dairy maid. 
 
 Meg. Has your grace seen the court-star, Galatea ? 
 
 1 A stately dance.
 
 SCENE in.] PHILASTER. 127 
 
 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 
 'em out of the kingdom. They talk of Jupiter ; he's 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. To your bed. If you mistrust my faith, you do 
 me the unnoblest wrong. 
 
 Meg. I dare not, prince, I dare not. 
 
 Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal 
 'em ; 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. [Gives her a ring' 
 
 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 severally- 
 
 Re-enter GALATEA. 
 
 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 Towsabel, I'll fit 
 you for't. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. ARETHUSA'S Apartment in the Palace. 
 Enter ARETHUSA and a Lady. 
 
 Are. Where's the boy ? 
 Lady. Within, madam.
 
 128 PHILASTER. [ACT n. 
 
 Are. Gave you him gold to buy him clothes ? 
 Lady. I did. 
 
 Are. And has he done't ? 
 Lady. Yes, madam. 
 
 Are. 'Tis a pretty sad-talking boy, is it not ? 
 Asked you his name ? 
 Lady. No, madam. 
 
 Enter GALATEA. 
 
 Are. Oh, you are welcome. What good news ? 
 
 Gal. As good as any one can tell your grace, 
 That says, she has done that you would have wished. 
 
 Are. Hast thou discovered ? 
 
 Gal. I have strained a point 
 Of modesty for you. 
 
 Are. I prithee, how ? 
 
 Gal. In listening after bawdry. I see, let a lady 
 Live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find 
 A lawful time to hearken after bawdry. 
 Your prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on't ! 
 
 Are. With whom ? 
 
 Gal. Why, with the lady I suspected : 
 I can tell the time and place. 
 
 Are. Oh, when, and where ? 
 
 Gal. To-night, his lodging. 
 
 Are. Run thyself into the presence ; mingle there again 
 With other ladies ; leave the rest to me. {Exit GALATEA. 
 If destiny (to whom we dare not say, 
 Why thou didst this,) have not decreed it so, 
 In lasting leaves (whose smallest characters 
 Were never altered yet), this match shall break. \Aside 
 Where's the boy? 
 
 Lady. Here, madam, 
 
 Enter BELLARIO, richly dressed. 
 
 Are. Sir, 
 You are sad to change your service ; is't not so ?
 
 SCENE in.] PHILASTER. 129 
 
 Bel. Madam, I have not changed ; I wait on you, 
 To do him service. 
 
 Are. Thou disclaim'st in me. 
 Tell me thy name. 
 
 Bel. Bellario. 
 
 Are. Thou canst sing and play ? 
 
 Bel. If grief will give me leave, madam, I can. 
 
 Are. Alas, what kind of grief can thy years know ? 
 Hadst thou a curst T master when thou went'st to school ? 
 Thou art not capable of other grief; 
 Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be 
 When no breath troubles them : believe me, boy, 
 Care seeks out wrinkled brows and hollow eyes, 
 And builds himself caves, to abide in them. 
 Come, sir, tell me truly, does your lord love me ? 
 
 Eel. Love, madam ! I know not what it is. 
 
 Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew'st 
 
 love? 
 
 Thou art deceived, boy. Does he speak of me 
 As if he wished me well ? 
 
 Bel. If it be love 
 
 To forget all respect of his own friends 
 In thinking of your face ; if it be love 
 To sit cross-armed and sigh away the day, 
 Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud 
 And hastily as men i' the streets do fire ; 
 If it be love to weep himself away 
 When he but hears of any lady dead 
 Or killed, because it might have been your chance ; 
 If, when he goes to rest (which will not be), 
 'Twixt every prayer he says, to name you once, 
 As others drop a bead, be to be in love, 
 Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you. 
 
 Are. Oh you're a cunning boy, and taught to He 
 For your lord's credit ! but thou know'st a lie 
 That bears this sound is welcomer to me 
 
 1 Cross. 
 
 Beau. & F. i. tr
 
 130 PHILASTER. [ACT n- 
 
 Than any truth that says he loves me not. 
 
 Lead the way, boy. Do you attend me too. 
 
 ' Tis thy lord's business hastes me thus. Away ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. Before PHARAMOND'S Lodging in the Court 
 of the Palace. 
 
 Enter DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, MEGRA, and 
 GALATEA. 
 
 Dion. Come, ladies, shall we talk a round ? As men 
 Do walk a mile, women should talk an hour 
 After supper : 'tis their exercise. 
 
 Gal. 'Tis late. 
 
 Meg. ' Tis all 
 My eyes will do to lead me to my bed. 
 
 Gal. I fear, they are so heavy, you'il scarce find 
 The way to your own lodging with 'em to-night. 
 
 Enter PHARAMOND. 
 
 Thra. The prince ! 
 
 Pha. Not a-bed, ladies ? you're good sitters-up : 
 What think you of a pleasant dream, to last 
 Till morning ? [it. 
 
 Meg. I should choose, my lord, a pleasing wake before 
 
 Enter ARETHUSA and BELLARIO. 
 
 Are. 'Tis well, my lord; you're courting of these ladies. 
 Is't not late, gentlemen ? 
 
 Cle. Yes, madam. 
 
 Are. Wait you there. [Exit. 
 
 Meg. She's jealous, as I live. [Asufc\ Look you, my 
 The princess has a Hylas, an Adonis. [lord, 
 
 Pha. His form is angel-like. 
 
 Meg. Why, this is he that must, when you are wed,
 
 SCENE IV.] PHILASTER. 131 
 
 Sit by your pillow, like young Apollo, with 
 
 His hand and voice binding your thoughts in sleep ; 
 
 The princess does provide him for you and for herself. 
 
 Pha. I find no music in these boys. 
 
 Meg. Nor I : 
 
 They, can do little, and that small they do, 
 They have not wit to hide. 
 
 Dion. Serves he the princess ? 
 
 Thra. Yes. 
 
 Dion. 'Tis a sweet boy : how brave l she keeps him ! 
 
 Pha. Ladies all, good rest ; I mean to kill a buck 
 To-morrow morning ere you've done your dreams. 
 
 Meg. All happiness attend your grace ! [Exit PHARA- 
 MOND.] Gentlemen, good rest. Come, shall we go to 
 bed? 
 
 Gal. Yes. All good night. 
 
 Dion. May your dreams be true to you ! 
 
 [Exeunt GALATEA and ME'GRA, 
 What shall we do, gallants ? ''tis late. The King 
 Is up still : see, he comes ; a guard along with him. 
 
 Enter KING with ARETHUSA, Guards, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Look your intelligence be true. 
 
 Are. Upon my life, it is : and I do hope 
 Your highness will not tie me to a man 
 That in the heat of wooing throws me off, 
 And takes another. 
 
 Dion. What should this mean ? 
 
 King. If it be true, 
 
 That lady had been better have embraced 
 Cureless diseases. Get you to your rest : 
 You shall be righted. [Exeunt ARETHUSA and BELLARIO.] 
 
 Gentlemen, draw near ; 
 We shall employ you. Is young Pharamond 
 Come to his lodging ? 
 
 Dion. I saw him enter there. 
 
 1 Finely attired. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 PHILASTER. [ACT n. 
 
 King. Haste, some of you, and cunningly discover 
 If Megra be in her lodging. [Exit. 
 
 Cle. Sir, 
 She parted hence but now, with other ladies. 
 
 King. If she be there, we shall not need to make 
 A vain discovery of our suspicion. 
 You gods, I see that who unrighteously 
 Holds wealth or state from others shall be cursed 
 In that which meaner men are blest withal : 
 Ages to come shall know no male of him 
 Left to inherit, and his name shall be 
 Blotted from earth ; if he have any child, 
 It shall be crossly matched ; the gods themselves 
 Shall sow wild strife betwixt her lord and her. 
 Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin 
 I have committed ; let it not fall 
 Upon this understanding child of mine ! 
 She has not broke your laws. But how can I 
 Look to be heard of gods that must be just, 
 Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong ? [Aside. 
 
 Remitter DION. 
 
 Dion. Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she is 
 within but they, I think, are bawds. I told 'em, I must 
 speak with her ; they laughed, and said, their lady lay 
 speechless. I said, my business was important ; they 
 said, their lady was about it. I grew hot, and cried, my 
 business was a matter that concerned life and death ; they 
 answered, so was sleeping, at which their lady was. I 
 urged again, she had scarce time to be so since last I saw 
 her : they smiled again, and seemed to imstruct me that 
 sleeping was nothing but lying down and winking. 
 Answers more direct I could not get : in short, sir, I 
 think she is not there. 
 
 King. 'Tis then no time to dally. You o' the guard, 
 Wait at the back door of the prince's lodging, 
 And see that none pass thence, upon your lives. 
 
 [Exeunt Guards.
 
 SCENE iv.] PH1LASTER. 133 
 
 Knock, gentlemen ; knock loud ; louder yet. 
 
 [DION, CLER., &c. knock at the door of PHARA- 
 
 MOND'S Lodging. 
 
 What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing ? 
 I'll break your meditations. Knock again. 
 Not yet ? I do not think he sleeps, having this 
 Larum by him. Once more. Pharamond ! prince ! 
 
 [PHARAMOND appears at a window. 
 Pha. What saucy groom knocks at this dead of 
 
 night ? 
 
 Where be our waiters ? By my vexed soul, 
 He meets his death that meets me, for this boldness. 
 King. Prince, prince, you wrong your thoughts; we 
 
 are your friends : 
 Come down. 
 
 Pha. The King ! 
 
 King. The same, sir. Come down, sir : 
 We have cause of present counsel with you. 
 
 Enter PHARAMOND beloiv. 
 
 Pha. If your grace please 
 To use me, I'll attend you to your chamber. 
 
 King. No, 'tis too late, prince ; I'll make bold with 
 yours. 
 
 Pha. I have some private reasons to myself 
 Make me unmannerly, and say you cannot. 
 Nay, press not forward, gentlemen ; he must 
 Come through my life that comes here. 
 
 King. Sir, be resolved 1 I must and will come. Enter. 
 
 Pha. I will not be dishonoured : 
 He that enters, enters upon his death. 
 Sir, 'tis a sign you make no stranger of me, 
 To bring these renegadoes to my chamber 
 At these unseasoned hours. 
 
 King. Why do you 
 Chafe yourself so ? you are not wronged nor shall be ; 
 
 1 Convinced.
 
 134 PHILASTER. [ACT u. 
 
 Only I'll search your lodging, for some cause 
 To ourself known. Enter, I say. 
 
 Pha. I say, no. [MEGRA appears at a window. 
 
 Meg. Let 'em enter, prince, let 'em enter ; 
 I am up and ready a : I know their business ; 
 'Tis the poor breaking of a lady's honour 
 They hunt so hotly after; let 'em enjoy it. 
 You have your business, gentlemen ; I lay here. 
 Oh, my lord the King, this is not noble in you 
 To make public the weakness of a woman ! 
 
 King. Come down. 
 
 Meg. I dare, my lord. Your hootings and your 
 
 clamours, 
 
 Your private whispers and your broad fleerings, 
 Can no more vex my soul than this base carriage : 
 But I have vengeance yet in store for some 
 Shall, in the most contempt you can have of me, 
 Be joy and nourishment. 
 
 King. Will you come down ? 
 
 Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst ; but I shall wring you, 
 If my skill fail me not. [Exit above. 
 
 King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness. ; 
 You have wronged a worthy lady : but, no more. v 
 Conduct him to my lodging and to bed. 
 
 \Exeunt PHARAMOND and Attendants. 
 
 Cle. Get him another wench, and you bring him to bed 
 indeed. 
 
 Dion. 'Tis strange a man cannot ride a stage 
 Or two, to breathe himself, without a warrant. 
 If his gear hold, that lodgings be searched thus, 
 Pray Heaven we may lie with our own wives in safety, 
 That they be not by some trick of state mistaken ! 
 
 Enter MEGRA below. 
 
 King. Now, lady of honour, where's your honour now? 
 No man can fit your palate but the prince : 
 
 1 i.e. Dressed.
 
 SCENE iv.] PHILASTER. 135 
 
 Thou most ill-shrouded rottenness, thou piece 
 Made by a. painter and a 'pothecary, 
 Thou troubled sea of lust, thou wilderness 
 Inhabited by wild thoughts, thou swoln cloud 
 Of infection, thou ripe mine of all diseases, 
 Thou all-sin, all-hell, and last all-devils, tell me, 
 Had you none to pull on with your courtesies 
 But he that must be mine, and wrong my daughter? 
 By all the gods, all these, and all the pages, 
 And all the court, shall hoot thee through the court, 
 Fling rotten oranges, make ribald rhymes, 
 And sear thy name with candles upon walls ! 
 Do you laugh, Lady Venus ? 
 
 Meg. Faith, sir, you must pardon me ; 
 I cannot choose but laugh to see you merry. 
 If you do this, O King ! nay, if you dare do it, ' 
 By all those gods you swore by, and as many 
 More of my own, I will have fellows, and such 
 Fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth ! 
 The princess, your dear daughter, shall stand by me 
 On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing, : 
 Urge me no more ; I know her and her haunts, 
 Her lays, leaps, and outlays, and will discover all ; 
 Nay, will dishonour her. I know the boy 
 She keeps ; a handsome boy, about eighteen ; 
 Know what she doe's with him, where, and when. 
 Come, sir, you put me to a woman's madness, 
 The glory of a fury ; and if I do not 
 Do't to the height 
 
 King. What boy is this she raves at ? 
 
 Meg. Alas ! good-minded prince, you know not these 
 
 things ! 
 
 I am loth to reveal 'em. Keep this fault, 
 As you would keep your health from the hot air 
 Of the corrupted people, or, by Heaven, 
 I will not fall alone. What I have known 
 Shall be as public as a print ; all tongues
 
 136 PHILASTER. [ACT II. 
 
 Shall speak it as they do the language they 
 
 Are born in, as free and commonly ; I'll set it, 
 
 Like a prodigious star, for all to gaze at, 
 
 And so high and glowing, that other kingdoms far and 
 
 foreign 
 
 Shall read it there, nay, travel with it, till they find 
 No tongue to make it more, nor no more people ; 
 And then behold the fall of your fair princess ! 
 
 King. Has she a boy ? 
 
 Cle. So please your grace, I have seen a boy wait on 
 A fair boy. [ ner j 
 
 King, Go, get you to your quarter : 
 For this time I will study to forget you. 
 
 Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I'll study 
 To forget you. [Exeunt KING and MEGRA, severally. 
 
 Cle. Why, here's a male spirit fit for Hercules. If ever 
 there be Nine Worthies of women, this wench shall ride 
 astride and be their captain. 
 
 Dion. Sure, she has a garrison of devils in her tongue, 
 she uttereth such balls of wild-fire : she has so nettled 
 the King, that all the doctors in the country will scarce 
 cure him. That boy was a strange-found-out antidote to 
 cure her infection ; that boy, that princess' boy ; that 
 brave, chaste, virtuous lady's boy ; and a fair boy, a well- 
 spoken boy ! All these considered, can make nothing 
 else but there I leave you, gentlemen. 
 
 Thra. Nay, we'll go wander with you. [Exeunt
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. The Court of the Palace. 
 
 Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE. 
 
 LE. Nay, doubtless, 'tis true. 
 
 Dion. Ay ; and 'tis the gods 
 That raised this punishment, to scourge 
 
 the King 
 
 With his own issue. Is it not a shame 
 For us that should write noble in the 
 For us that should be freemen, to behold [land,. 
 
 A man that is the bravery of his age, 
 Philaster, pressed down from his royal right 
 By this regardless King? and only look 
 And see the sceptre ready to be cast 
 Into the hands of that lascivious lady 
 That lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be married 
 To yon strange prince, who, but that people please 
 To let him be a prince, is born a slave 
 In that which should be his most noble part, 
 His mind ? 
 
 Thra, That man that would not stir with you 
 To aid Philaster, let the gods forget 
 That such_a creature walks upon the earth ! 
 
 Cle. Philaster is too backward in 't himself. 
 The gentry do await it, and the people, 
 Against their nature, are all bent for him, 
 And like a field of standing corn, that's moved 
 With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way.
 
 138 PHILASTER. [ACT in. 
 
 Dion. The only cause that draws Philaster back 
 From this attempt is the fair princess' love, 
 Which he admires, and we can now confute. 
 
 Thra. Perhaps he'll not believe it. 
 
 Dion. Why, gentlemen, 
 'Tis without question so. 
 
 Cle. Ay, 'tis past speech, 
 She lives dishonestly : but how shall we, 
 If he be curious, 1 work upon his faith ? 
 
 Thra. We all are satisfied within ourselves. 
 
 Dion. Since it is true, and tends to his own good, 
 I'll make this new report to be my knowledge ; 
 I'll say I know it ; nay, I'll swear I saw it. 
 
 Cle. It will be best. 
 
 Thra. 'Twill move him. 
 
 Dion. Here he comes. 
 
 Enter PHILASTER. 
 
 Good morrow to your honour : we have spent 
 Some time in seeking you. 
 
 Phi. My worthy friends, 
 You that can keep your memories to know 
 Your friend in miseries, and cannot frown 
 On men disgraced for virtue, a go.od day 
 Attend you all ! What service may I do 
 Worthy your acceptation ? 
 
 Dion. My good lord, 
 
 We come to urge that virtue, which we know 
 Lives in your breast, forth. Rise, and make a head : 
 The nobles and the people are all dulled 
 With this usurping King ; and not a man, 
 That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing 
 As virtue, but will second your attempts. 
 
 Phi. How honourable is this love in you 
 To me that have deserved none ! Know, my friends, 
 (You, that were born to shame your poor Philaster 
 
 1 Scrupulous.
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 139 
 
 With too much courtesy,) I could afford 
 To melt myself in thanks : but my designs 
 Are not yet ripe : suffice it, that ere long 
 I shall employ your loves ; but yet the time 
 Is short of what I would. 
 
 Dion. The time is fuller, sir, than you expect ; 
 That which hereafter will not, perhaps, be reached 
 By violence may now be caught. As for the King, 
 You know the people have long hated him ; 
 But now the princess, whom they loved 
 
 Phi. Why, what of her ? 
 
 Dion. Is loathed as much as he. 
 
 Phi. By what strange means ? 
 
 Dion. She's known a whore. 
 
 Phi. Thou liest. 
 
 Dion. My lord 
 
 Phi. Thou liest, 
 
 [Offers to draw his sword : they hold him. 
 And thou shall feel it ! I had thought thy mind 
 Had been of honour. Thus to rob a lady 
 Of her good name, is an infectious sin 
 Not to be pardoned : be it falsa as hell, 
 'Twill never be redeemed, if it be sown 
 Amongst the people, fruitful to increase 
 All evil they shall hear. Let me alone 
 That I may cut off falsehood whilst it springs ! 
 Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man 
 That utters this, and I will scale them all, 
 And from the utmost top fall on his neck, 
 Like thunder from a cloud. 
 
 Dion. This is most strange : 
 Sure, he does love her. 
 
 Phi. I do love fair truth : 
 She is my mistress, and who injures her 
 Draws vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my arms. 
 
 Thra. Nay, good my lord, be patient. 
 
 Cle. Sir, remember this is your honoured friend,
 
 140 PHILASTER. [ACT III. 
 
 That comes to do his service, and will show you 
 Why he uttered this 
 
 Phi. I ask you pardon, sir ; 
 My zeal to truth made me unmannerly : 
 Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you, 
 Behind your back, untruly, I had been 
 As much distempered and enraged as now. 
 
 Dion. But this, my lord, is truth. 
 
 Phi. Oh, say not so ! 
 
 Good sir, forbear to say so ; 'tis then truth, 
 That all womankind is false : urge it no more ; 
 It is impossible. Why should you think 
 The princess light ? 
 
 Dion. Why, she was taken at it. 
 
 Phi. 'Tis false ! by Heaven, 'tis false ! it cannot be ! 
 Can it ? Speak, gentlemen ; for love of truth, speak ! 
 Is't possible ? Can women all be damned ? 
 
 Dion. Why, no, my lord. 
 
 Phi. Why, then, it cannot be. 
 
 Dion. And she was taken with her boy. 
 
 Phi. What boy? 
 
 Dion. A page, a boy that serves her. 
 
 Phi. Oh, good gods ! 
 A little boy ? 
 
 Dion. Ay ; know you him my lord ? 
 
 Phi. Hell and sin know him ! [Aside.} Sir you are 
 
 deceived ; 
 
 I'll reason it a little coldly with you : 
 If she were lustful, would she take a boy, 
 That knows not yet desire ? she would have one 
 Should meet her thoughts and know the sin he acts, 
 Which is the great delight of wickedness. 
 You are abused, and so is she, and I. 
 
 Dion. How you, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. Why, all the world's abused 
 In an unjust report. 
 
 Dion. Oh, noble sir, your virtues
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 141 
 
 Cannot look into the subtle thoughts of woman ! 
 In short, my lord, I took them; I myself. 
 
 Phi. Now, all the devils, thou didst ! Fly from my rage \ 
 Would thou hadst ta'en devils engendering plagues, 
 When thou did'st take them ! Hide thee from my eyes I 
 Would thou hadst taken thunder on thy breast, 
 When thou didst take them ; or been strucken dumb 
 For ever ; that this foul deed might have slept 
 In silence ! 
 
 Thra. Have you known him so ill-tempered ? 
 
 Cle. Never before. 
 
 Phi. The winds, that are let loose 
 From the four several corners of the earth, 
 And spread themselves all over sea and land, 
 Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a sword 
 To run me thorough ? 
 
 Dion. Why, my lord, are you 
 So moved at this ? 
 
 Phi. When any fall from virtue, 
 I am distract ; I have an interest in 't. 
 
 Dion. But, good my lord, recall yourself, and think 
 What's best to be done. 
 
 Phi. I thank you ; I will do it : 
 Please you to leave me ; I'll consider of it. 
 To-morrow I will find your lodging forth, 
 And give you answer. 
 
 Dion. All the gods direct you 
 The readiest way ! 
 
 Thra. He was extreme impatient. 
 
 Cle. It was his virtue and his noble mind. 
 
 [Exeunt DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE. 
 
 Phi. I had forgot to ask him where he took them ; 
 I'll follow him. Oh, that I had a sea 
 Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel ! 
 More circumstances will but fan this fire : 
 It more afflicts me now, to know by whom 
 This deed is done, than simply that 'tis done j
 
 142 PHILASTER. [ACT in. 
 
 And he that tells me this is honourable, 
 As far from lies as she is far from truth. 
 Oh, that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves 
 With that we see not ! Bulls and rams will fight 
 To keep their females, standing in their sight ; 
 But take 'em 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 waters of the springs as sweet 
 As 'twas before, finding no start in sleep : 
 But miserable man 
 
 Enter BELLARIO. 
 
 See, see, you gods, 
 
 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. \^Asidc.. 
 
 Bel, Health to you, my lord ! 
 The princess doth commend her love, her life, 
 And this, unto you. \Gives a letter. 
 
 Phi. Oh, Bellario, 
 
 Now I perceive she loves me ! she does show it 
 In loving thee, my boy : she has made thee brave. 1 
 
 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. [Aside^ 
 Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee ? 
 For I shall guess her love to me by that. 
 
 1 i.e. Dressed him finely.
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 143 
 
 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 aot ill, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. 111? no, Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Methinks your words 
 Fall not from off your tongue so evenly, 
 Nor is there in your looks that quietness 
 That 1 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 ! 
 
 Bel. How, my lord ? 
 
 Phi. She kisses thee ? 
 
 Bel. Not so, my lord. 
 
 Phi. Come, come, I know she does. 
 
 Eel. No, by my life. [does 
 
 Phi. Why then she does not love me. Come, she 
 I bade her do it ; I charged her, by all charms 
 Of love between us, by the hope of peace
 
 H4 PHILASTER. [ACT in. 
 
 We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights 
 Naked as to her bed ; I took her oath 
 Thou should'st enjoy her. Tell me, gentle boy, 
 Is she not paralleless ? is not her breath 
 Sweet as Arabian winds when fruits are ripe ? 
 Are not her breasts two liquid ivory balls ? 
 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 the lust of sparrows or of goats, 
 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 ! 
 
 This is a salve worse than the main disease. 
 Tell me thy thoughts ; for I will know the least 
 
 [Draws his sword. 
 
 That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart 
 To know it : I will see thy thoughts as plain 
 As I do now thy face. 
 
 Bel. Why, so you do. 
 
 She is (for aught I know) by all the gods, [Kneels. 
 
 As chaste as ice ! but were she foul as hell,
 
 SCENE I.] PHILASTER. 145 
 
 And I did know it thus, the breath of kings, 
 The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass, 
 Should draw it from me. 
 
 Phi. Then it is no time 
 To dally with thee ; I will take thy life, 
 For I do hate thee : I could curse thee now. 
 
 Bel. If you do hate, you could not curse me worse ; 
 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 cut away 
 Better than those that grow, and kiss those limbs 
 Because you made 'em so. 
 
 Phi. Fear'st 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, 
 
 Beau. & F. i T
 
 146 PHILASTER. [ACT in. 
 
 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. [Sheaths his sword.} 
 Rise, Bellario : [BELLARIO rises. 
 
 Thy protestations are so deep, and thou 
 Dost look so truly when thou utter'st them, 
 That, though I know 'em 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 cheek?, . 
 
 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 tender'st me, 
 Let me not see thee. 
 
 Bel. I will fly as far 
 As there is morning, ere I give distaste 
 To that most honoured mind. But through these tears, 
 Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see 
 A world of treason practised upon you, 
 And her, and me. Farewell for evermore ! 
 If you shall hear that sorrow struck me dead, 
 And after find me loyal, let there be 
 A tear shed from you in my memory, 
 And I shall rest at peace. 
 
 Phi. Blessing be with thee, [shall I 
 
 Whatever thou deserv'st ! {Exit EELLARIO.] Oh, where 
 Go bathe this body ? Nature too unkind ; 
 That made no medicine for a troubled mind ! \_Exit.
 
 SCENE ii.] PHILASTER. 147 
 
 SCENE II. ARETHUSA'S Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter ARETHUSA. 
 
 Are. I marvel my boy comes not back again : 
 But that I know my love will question him 
 Over and over, how I slept, waked, talked, 
 How I remembered him when his dear name 
 Was last spoke, and how when I sighed, wept, sung, 
 And ten thousand such, I should be angry at his stay. 
 
 Enter KING. 
 
 King. \Vhat, 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 away. 
 
 Are. Sir! 
 
 King. Put him away. H'as done you that good service 
 Shames me to speak of. 
 
 Are. Good sir, let me understand you. 
 
 King. If you fear me, 
 Show it in duty ; put away that boy. 
 
 Are. Let me have reason for it, sir, and then 
 Your will is my command. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 PHIL ASTER. [ACT in. 
 
 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 1 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 ; 
 There be foul whispers stirring. Cast him off, 
 And suddenly : do it ! Farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Are. Where may a maiden live securely free, 
 Keeping her honour fair ? Not with the living ; 
 They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams, 
 And make 'em 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. 
 
 Enter PHILASTER. 
 
 Phi. Peace to your fairest thoughts, dearest mistress ! 
 
 Are. Oh, my dearest servant, 1 I have a war within me ! 
 
 Phi. He must be more than man that makes these 
 
 crystals 
 
 Run into rivers. Sweetest fair, the cause ? 
 And, as I am your slave, tied to your goodness, 
 Your creature, made again from what I was 
 And newly-spirited, I'll right your honour. 
 
 Are. Oh, my best love, that boy ! 
 
 Phi. What boy ? 
 
 Are. The pretty boy you gave me 
 
 Phi. What of him? 
 
 1 Lover.
 
 SCENE ii.] PHILASTER. 149 
 
 Are. Must be no more mine. 
 
 Phi. Why? 
 
 Are. They are jealous of him. 
 
 Phi. Jealous ! who ? 
 
 Are. The King. 
 
 Phi. Oh, my fortune ! 
 Then 'tis no idle jealousy. \_Aside.~\ 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, bracelets ? lose his health in service? 
 Wake tedious nights in stories of your praise ? 
 Who shall now 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-lids, making me dream, and cry, 
 " Oh, my dear, dear Philaster ! " 
 
 Phi. Oh, my heart ! 
 
 Would he had broken thee, that made me know 
 This lady was not loyal ! [Aside.'] Mistress, 
 Forget the boy ; I'll get thee a far better. 
 
 Are. Oh, never, never such a boy again 
 As my 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 ? 
 
 Arc. 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 !
 
 J5o PH1LASTER. [ACT in. 
 
 Hast thou a medicine to restore my wits, 
 When I have lost 'em ? If not, leave to talk, 
 And do thus. 
 
 Are. Do what, sir ? would you sleep ? 
 
 Phi. For ever, Arethusa. Oh, you 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 
 Under a woman's falsehood ? Oh, that boy, 
 That cursed boy ! None but a villain boy 
 To ease your lust ? 
 
 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 beas!s 
 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 scor- 
 pions, 
 
 Both heal and poison ; how your thoughts are woven 
 With thousand changes in one subtle web, 
 And worn so by you ; how that foolish man, 
 That reads the story of a woman's face 
 And dies believing it, is lost for ever ;
 
 SCENE ir.] PHILASTER. 151 
 
 How all the good you have is but a shadow, 
 
 I' the morning with you, and at night behind you 
 
 Past and forgotten ; how your vows are fronts, 
 
 Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone ; 
 
 How you are, being taken all together, 
 
 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. 
 
 Are. Be merciful, ye gods, and strike me dead ! 
 What way have I deserved this ? Make my breast 
 Transparent as pure crystal, that the world, 
 Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought 
 My heart holds. Where shall a woman turn her eyes, 
 To find out constancy ? 
 
 Enter BELLARIO. 
 
 Save me, how black 
 
 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 let out all the hope of future joys.
 
 152 FHILASTER. [ACT in. 
 
 You need not bid me fly ; I came to pirt, 
 To take my latest leave. Farewell for ever ! 
 I durst not run away in honesty 
 From such a lady, like a boy that stole 
 Or made some grievous fault. The power of gods 
 Assist you in your sufferings ! Hasty time 
 Reveal the truth to your abused lord 
 And mine, that he may know your worth ; whilst I 
 Go seek out some forgotten place to die ! [JSxifJlELUtRlO. 
 Are. Peace guide thee ! Thou hast overthrown me 
 
 once ; 
 
 Yet, if I had another Troy to lose, 
 Thou, or another villain with thy looks, 
 Might talk me out of it, and send me naked, 
 My hair dishevelled, through the fiery streets. 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Lady. Madam, the King would hunt, and calls for 
 
 you 
 With earnestness. 
 
 Are. I am in tune to hunt ! 
 Diana, if thou canst rage with a maid 
 As with a man, 1 let me discover thee 
 Bathing, and turn me to a fearful hind, 
 That I may die pursued by cruel hounds, 
 And have my story written in my wounds ! {Exeunt. 
 
 1 Actceon.
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. Before the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, GALATEA, MEGRA, 
 DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, and Attendants. 
 
 ING. What, are the hounds before and 
 
 all the woodmen, 
 
 Our horses ready and our bows bent ? 
 Dion. All, sir. 
 
 King. You are cloudy, sir : come, we 
 have forgotten \To PHARAMOND. 
 
 Your venial trespass ; let not that sit 
 Upon your spirit ; here's none dare utter it. [heavy 
 
 Dion. He looks like an old surfeited stallion after his 
 leaping, dull as a dormouse. See how he sinks ! The 
 wench has shot him between wind and water, and, I 
 hope, sprung a leak. 
 
 Thra. He needs no teaching, he strikes sure enough : 
 his greatest fault is, he hunts too much in the purlieus ; 
 would he would leave off poaching ! 
 
 Dion. And for his horn, h'as left it at the lodge where 
 he lay late. Oh, he's a precious limehound ! 1 turn him 
 loose upon the pursuit of a lady, and if he lose her, hang 
 him up 'i the slip. When my fox-bitch Beauty grows 
 proud, I'll borrow him. 
 
 King. Is your boy turned away ? 
 Are. You did command, sir, 
 And I obeyed you. 
 
 1 A hound of the chase, so called from the lyam or leash by 
 which it was led. Dyce.
 
 154 PHILASTER. [ACT iv. 
 
 King. 'Tis well done. Hark ye further. 
 
 [They talk apart. 
 
 Cle. Is't possible this fellow should repent? methinks, 
 that were not noble in him ; and yet he looks like a 
 mortified member, as if he had a sick man's salve * in's 
 mouth. If a worse man had done this fault now, some 
 physical justice or other would presently (without the 
 help of an almanack) have opened the obstructions of 
 his liver, and let him blood with a dog-whip. 
 
 Dion. See, see how modestly yon lady looks, as if she 
 came from churching with her neighbour ! Why, what a 
 devil can a man see in her face but that she's honest ! 2 
 
 Thra. Troth, no great matter to speak of; a foolish 
 twinkling with the eye, that spoils her coat ; but he must 
 be a cunning herald that finds it. 
 
 Dion. See how they muster one another ! Oh, there's 
 a rank regiment where the devil carries the colours and 
 his dam drum-major ! now the world and the flesh come 
 behind with the carriage. 3 
 
 Cle. Sure this lady has a good turn done her against 
 her will ; before she was common talk, now none dare 
 say cantharides can stir her. Her face looks like a 
 warrant, willing and commanding all tongues, as they 
 will answer it, to be tied up and bolted when this lady 
 means to let herself loose. As I live, she has got her a 
 goodly protection and a gracious ; and may use her body 
 discreetly, for her health's sake, once a week, excepting 
 Lent and dog-days. Oh, if they were to be got for 
 money, what a great sum would come out of the city for 
 these licences ! 
 
 King. To horse, to horse ! we lose the morning, gentle- 
 men. [Exeunt. 
 
 1 An allusion to a religious work of the time, entitled The Sicke 
 Maiis Salve, often referred to with ridicule by our early dramatists. 
 
 2 Chaste. ;| i.e. The baggage.
 
 SCENK n.j PHILASTER. 155 
 
 SCENE II. A Forest. 
 
 Enter two Woodmen. 
 
 \st Wood. What, have you lodged the deer? 
 
 2nd Wood. Yes, they are ready for the bow. 
 
 isf Wood. Who shoots? 
 
 2nd Wood. The princess. 
 
 \st Wood. No, she'll hunt. 
 
 2nd Wood. She'll take a stand, I say. 
 
 isf Wood. Who else? 
 
 2nd Wood. Why, the young stranger-prince. 
 
 ist Wood. He shall shoot in a stone-bow l for me. 
 I never loved his beyond-sea-ship since he forsook the 
 say, 2 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, his steward would have 
 the velvet-head 3 into the bargain, to turf 4 his hat withal. 
 I think he should love venery ; he is an old Sir Tristrem ; 
 for, if you be remembered, he forsook the stag once to 
 strike a rascal rniching 5 in a meadow, and her he killed 
 in the eye. Who shoots else ? 
 
 2nd Wood. The Lady Galatea. 
 
 ist Wood. That's a good wench, an she would not 
 chide us for tumbling of her women in the brakes. She's 
 liberal, and, by my bow, they say she's honest 6 ; and 
 whether that be a fault, I have nothing to do. There's 
 all? 
 
 2nd Wood. No, one more; Megra. 
 
 isf Wood. That's a firker 7 i'faith, boy ; there's a wench 
 will ride her haunches as hard after a kennel of hounds 
 as a hunting saddle, and when she comes home, get 'em 
 clapt, and all is well again. I have known her lose 
 
 1 A cross-bow for shooting stones. 
 
 2 i.e. The assay or slitting of the deer, in order to test the quality 
 of the flesh, which involved a fee of iov. to the keeper. 
 
 3 Ileferring to the pile on a hart's horns when they first shoot forth. 
 * Re-cover. 5 Creeping stealthily. 6 Chaste. ' A fast one.
 
 156 PHILASTER. [ACT iv. 
 
 herself three times in one afternoon (if the woods have 
 been answerable), and it has been work enough for one 
 man to find her, and he has sweat for it 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 
 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, 
 Beaten with winds, chaste as the hardened rocks 
 Whereon she dwelt, that might have strewed my bed 
 With leaves and reeds, and with the skins of beasts, 
 Our neighbours, and have borne at her big breasts 
 My large coarse issue ! This had been a life 
 Free from vexation. 
 
 Enter BELLARIO. 
 
 Bel. Oh, wicked men ! 
 An innocent may walk safe among beasts ; 
 Nothing assaults me here. See, my grieved lord 
 Sits as his soul were searching out a way 
 To leave his body ! \Aside.~\ 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!
 
 SCENE II.] PHILASTER. 157 
 
 Go, sell those misbeseeming clothes thou wear'st, 
 And feed thyself with them. 
 
 Bel. Alas, ray 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 looked'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 loath to grow in rage : 
 This way, or that way ? 
 
 Bel. Any will serve ; but I will choose to have 
 That path in chase that leads unto my grave. 
 
 \_Exennt severally. 
 
 Enter on one side DION, and on the other the two 
 Woodmen. 
 
 Dion. This is the strangest sudden chance ! You, 
 
 woodmen ! 
 
 ist Wood. My Lord Dion ? 
 
 Dion. Saw you a lady come this way on a sable horse 
 studded with stars of white ? 
 
 2nd Wood. Was she not young and tall ? 
 
 Dion. Yes. Rode she to the wood or to the plain ? 
 
 2nd Wood. Faith my lord, we saw none. 
 
 [Exeunt Woodmen. 
 Dion. Pox of your questions then ! 
 
 Enter CLEREMONT. 
 What, is she found ?
 
 158 PHILASTER. [ACT iv. 
 
 Cle. Nor will be, I think. 
 
 Dion. Let him seek his daughter himself. She cannot 
 stray about a little necessary natural business, but the 
 whole court must be in arms : when she has done, we 
 shall have peace. 
 
 Cle. There's already a thousand fatherless tales amongst 
 us. Some say, her horse ran 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, THRASILINE, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Where is she ? . 
 
 Cle. Sir, I cannot tell. 
 
 King. How's that ? 
 Answer me so again ! 
 
 Cle. Sir, shall I lie? 
 
 King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me that. 
 I say again, where is she? Mutter not ! 
 Sir, speak you ; where is she ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, I do not know. 
 
 King. Speak that again so boldly, and, by 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 show 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 ! show 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 ; you have let me lose
 
 SCENE ii.] PHILASTER. 159 
 
 The jewel of my life. Go, bring her to me, 
 And set her here before me : 'tis the King 
 Will have it so ; whose breath can still the winds, 
 Uncloud the sun, charm down the swelling sea, 
 And stop the floods of heaven. Speak, can it not ? 
 
 Dion. No. 
 
 King. No ! cannot the breath of kings do this ? 
 
 Dion. No ; nor smell sweet itself, if once the lungs 
 Be but corrupted. 
 
 King. Is it so' ? Take heed ! 
 
 Dion. Sir, take you heed how you dare the powers 
 That must be just. 
 
 King. Alas ! what are we kings ! 
 Why do you gods place us above the rest, 
 To be served, flattered, and adored, till we 
 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 punished ; 
 Yet would not thus be punished : let me choose 
 My way, and lay it on ! 
 
 Dion. He articles with the gods. Would somebody 
 would draw bonds for the performance of covenants 
 betwixt them ! \Asidf. 
 
 Enter PHARAMOND, GALATEA, 
 
 'King. What, is she found ? 
 
 Pha. No : we have ta'en her horse ; 
 He galloped empty by. There is 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.
 
 i6o PHILASTRR. [ACT iv. 
 
 Pha. If I have her not, 
 By this hand, there shall be no more Sicily. 
 
 Dion. What, will he carry it to Spain in's pocket ? 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Pha. I will not leave one man alive, but the King, 
 A cook, and a tailor. 
 
 Dion. Yet you may do well to spare your lady-bed- 
 fellow ; and her you may keep for a spawner. [Aside. 
 
 King. I see 
 The injuries I have done must be revenged. [Aside. 
 
 Dion. Sir, this is not the way to find her out. 
 
 King. Run all, disperse yourselves. The man that 
 
 finds her, 
 Or (if she be killed), the traitor, I'll make him great. 
 
 Dion. I know some would give five thousand pounds 
 to find her. \_Aside. 
 
 Pha. Come, let us seek. 
 
 King. Each man a several way ; 
 Here I myself. 
 
 Dion. Come, gentlemen, we here. 
 
 Cle. Lady, you must go search too. 
 
 Meg. I had rather be searched myself. 
 
 \_Exennt severally. 
 
 SCENE III. Another part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter ARETHUSA. 
 
 Are. Where am I now ? Feet, find me out a way, 
 Without the counsel of my troubled head : 
 I'll follow you boldly about these woods, 
 O'er mountains, thorough brambles, pits, and floods. 
 Heaven, I hope, will ease me : I am sick. \_Sits down, 
 
 Enter BELLARIO. 
 Bel. Vender's my lady. Heaven knows I want
 
 SCENE in.] rHILASTER. K.I 
 
 Nothing, because I do not wish to live ; 
 Yet I will try her charity. 
 
 \_Aside.~\- Oh hear, 
 
 You that have plenty ! from that flowing store 
 Drop some on dry ground. See, the lively red 
 Is gone to guard her heart ! I fear she faints. 
 Madam ? look up ! She breathes not. Open once more 
 Those rosy twins, and send unto my lord 
 Your latest farewell ! Oh, she stirs. How is it, 
 Madam ? speak comfort. 
 
 Are. 'Tis not gently done, 
 To put me in a miserable life, 
 And hold me there : I prithee, let me go ; 
 I shall do best without thee ; I am well. 
 
 Enter PHILASTER. 
 
 Phi. I am to blame to be so much in rage : 
 I'll tell her coolly when and where I heard 
 This killing truth. I will be temperate 
 
 In speaking, and as just in hearing. 
 
 Oh, monstrous ! Tempt me not, ye gods ! good gods, 
 Tempt not a frail man ! What's he, that has a heart, 
 But he must ease it here ! 
 
 Bel. My lord, help, help ! 
 The princess ! 
 
 Are. I am well : forbear. 
 
 Phi. Let me love lightning, let me be embraced 
 And kissed by scorpions, or adore the eyes 
 Of basilisks, rather than trust the tongues 
 Of hell-bred women ! Some good god look down, 
 And shrink these veins up ; stick me here a stone, 
 Lasting to ages in the memory 
 Of this damned act ! 
 
 \_Aside.~\ Hear me, you wicked ones ! 
 You have put hills of fire into this breast, 
 Not to be quenched with tears ; for which may guilt 
 Sit on your bosoms ! at your meals and beds 
 
 Beau. & F. i. M
 
 1 62 PHILASTER. [ACT iv. 
 
 Despair await you ! What, before my face ? 
 Poison of asps between your lips ! diseases 
 Be your best issues ! Nature make a curse, 
 And throw it on you ! 
 
 Arc. Dear Philaster, leave 
 To be enraged, and hear me. 
 
 Phi. I have done ; 
 
 Forgive my passion. Not the calmed sea, 
 When JEolus locks up his windy brood, 
 Is less disturbed than I : I'll make you know it. 
 Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword, 
 
 \_Offers his drawn sword. 
 And search how temperate a heart I have ; 
 '\ hen you and this your boy may live and reign 
 In lust without control. Wilt thou, Bellario ? 
 I prithee kill me ; thou art poor, and may'st 
 Nourish ambitious thoughts ; when I am dead, 
 ' Thy way were freer. Am I raging now ? 
 If I were mad, I should desire to live. 
 Sirs, 1 feel my pulse, whether you have known 
 A man in a more equal tune to die. 
 
 Bel. Alas, my lord, your pulse keeps madman's time ! 
 So does your tongue. 
 
 Phi. You will not kill me, then ? 
 
 Are. Kill you ! 
 
 Bel. Not for a world. 
 
 Phi. I blame not thee, 
 
 Bellario : thou hast done but that which gods 
 Would have transformed themselves to do. Be gone, 
 Leave me without reply ; this is the last 
 Of all our meetings \Exit BELLARIO.] Kill me with this 
 Be wise, or worse will follow : we are two [sword ; 
 
 Earth cannot bear at once. Resolve to do, 
 Or suffer. 
 
 Are. If my fortune be so good to let me fall 
 
 1 Sir was formerly a term of address to women as well as to men. 
 Weber.
 
 SCENE in.] PHILASTER. 163 
 
 Upon thy hand, I shall have peace in death. 
 Yet tell me this, will there be no slanders, 
 No jealousies in the other world ; no ill there ? 
 
 Phi. No. 
 
 Are. Show me, then, the way. 
 
 Phi. Then guide my feeble hand, 
 You that have power to do it, for I must 
 Perform a piece of justice ! If your youth 
 Have any way offended Heaven, let prayers 
 Short and effectual reconcile you to it. 
 
 Are. I am prepared. 
 
 Enter a Country Fellow. 
 
 C. Fell. I'll see the King, if he be in the forest ; I 
 have hunted him these two hours ; if I should come 
 home and not see him, my sisters would laugh at me. I 
 can see nothing but people better horsed than myself, 
 that out ride me ; I can hear nothing but shouting. 
 These kings had need of good brains ; this whooping 
 is able to put a mean man out of his wits. There's a 
 courtier with his sword drawn; by this hand, upon a 
 woman, I think ! [Aside. 
 
 Phi. Are you at peace ? 
 
 Are. With heaven and earth. 
 
 Phi. May they divide thy soul and body ! [ Wounds her. 
 
 C. Fell. Hold, dastard ! strike a woman ! Thou'rt a 
 craven, I warrant thee : thou wouldst be loth to play 
 half a dozen venies 1 at wasters 2 with a good fellow for a 
 broken head. 
 
 Phi. Leave us, good friend. 
 
 Are. What ill-bred man art thou, to intrude thyself 
 Upon our private sports, our recreations ? 
 
 C. Fell. God 'uds me, I understand you not ; but 
 I know the rogue has hurt you. 
 
 Phi. Pursue thy own affairs : it will be ill 
 
 1 Bouts. ' : Backsword or singlestick. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 PHILASTER. [ACT iv. 
 
 To multiply blood upon my head ; which thou 
 Wilt force me to. 
 
 C. Fell. I know not your rhetoric ; but I can lay it on, 
 if you touch the woman. 
 
 Phi. Slave, take what thou deservest ! [They fight. 
 
 Are. Heavens guard my lord ! 
 
 C. Fell. Oh, do you breathe ? 
 
 Phi. I hear the tread of people. I am hurt : 
 The gods take part against me : could this boor 
 Have held me thus else ? I must shift for life, 
 Though I do loathe it. I would find a course 
 To lose it rather by my will than force [Aside and exit. 
 
 C. Fell. I cannot follow the. rogue. I pray thee, wench, 
 come and kiss me now. 
 
 Enter PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, 
 and Woodmen. 
 
 Pha. What art thou ? 
 
 C. Fell. Almost killed I am for a foolish woman a 
 knave has hurt her. 
 
 Pha. The princess, gentlemen ! Where's the wound, 
 Is it dangerous ? [madam ! 
 
 Are. He has not hurt me. 
 
 C. Fell. I' faith, she lies ; h'as hurt her in the breast ; 
 look else. 
 
 Pha. O, sacred spring of innocent blood ! 
 
 Dion. 'Tis above wonder ! who should dare this ? 
 
 Are. I felt it not. 
 
 Pha. Speak, villain, who has hurt the princess ? 
 
 C. Fell. Is it the princess ? 
 
 Dion. Ay. 
 
 C. Fell. Then I have seen something yet. 
 Pha. But who has hurt her ? 
 
 C. Fell. I told you, a rogue ; I ne'er saw him before, I. 
 
 Pha. Madam, who did it ? 
 
 Are. Some dishonest wretch ; 
 Alas, I know him not, and do forgive him !
 
 SCENE iv.] PtilLASfER. 6j 
 
 C. Fell. He's hurt too ; he cannot go far ; I made my 
 father's old fox * fly about his ears. 
 
 Pha. How will you have me kill him ? 
 
 Are. Not at all ; 
 'Tis some distracted fellow. 
 
 Pha, By this hand, 
 
 I'll leave ne'er a piece of him bigger- than a nut, 
 And bring him all to you in my hat. 
 
 Are. Nay, good sir, 
 
 If you do take him, bring him quick 2 to me, 
 And I will study for a punishment 
 Great as his fault. 
 
 Pha. I will. 
 
 Are. But swear. 
 
 Pha. By all my love, I will. 
 Wo odmen, conduct the princess to the King, 
 And bear that wounded fellow to dressing. - 
 
 Come, gentlemen, we'll follow the chase close. 
 
 Exeunt on one side PHARAMOND, DION, CLERE- 
 MONT, and THRASILINE ; exit on the other 
 ARETHUSA attended by the First Woodman. 
 C. Fell. I pray you, friend, let me see the King. 
 znd Wood. That you shall, and receive thanks. 
 C. Fell. If I get clear with this, I'll go see no more gay 
 sights. [ Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE I V. A not her part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter BELLARIO. 
 
 Bel. A heaviness near death sits on my brow, 
 And I must sleep. Bear me, thou gentle bank, 
 For ever, if thou wilt. You sweet ones all, \_Lies down. 
 Let me unworthy press you : I could wish 
 
 1 Broad sword. - Alive.
 
 166 PHIL ASTER. [ACT iv. 
 
 1 rather were a corse strewed o'er with you 
 
 Than quick above you. Dulness shuts mine eyes, 
 
 And I am giddy : oh, that I could take 
 
 So sound a sleep that I might never wake ! [Sleeps. 
 
 Enter PHILASTER. 
 
 Phi. I have done ill ; my conscience calls me false, 
 To strike at her that would not strike at me. 
 When I did fight, methought I heard her pray 
 The gods to guard me. She may be abused, 
 And I a loathed villain : if she be, 
 She will conceal who hurt her. He has wounds 
 And cannot follow ; neither knows he me. 
 Who's this ? Bellario sleeping ! If thou be'st 
 Guilty, there is no justice that thy sleep 
 Should be so sound, and mine, whom thou hast wronged, 
 
 [Cry wit /tin. 
 
 So broken. Hark ! I am pursued. You gods 
 I'll take this offered means of my escape : 
 They have no mark to know me but my blood, 
 If she be true ; if false, let mischief light 
 On all the world at once ! Sword, print my wounds 
 Upon this sleeping boy ! I have none, I think, 
 Are mortal, nor would I lay greater on thee. 
 
 [ Wounds BELLARIO. 
 
 Bel. Oh, death, I hope, is come ! Blest be that hand ! 
 It meant me well. Again, for pity's sake ! 
 
 Phi. I have caught myself; [Fa Us. 
 
 The loss of blood hath stayed my flight. Here, here, 
 Is he that struck thee : take thy full revenge ; 
 Use me, as I did mean thee, worse than death ; 
 I'll teach thee to revenge. This luckless hand 
 Wounded the princess ; tell my followers 1 
 Thou didst receive these hurts in staying me, 
 And I will second thee ; get a reward. 
 
 Bel. Fly, fly, my lord, and save yourself ! 
 
 1 Pursuers.
 
 SCENE iv.] PHfLASTER 167 
 
 Phi. How's this ? 
 Wouldst thou I should be safe ? 
 
 Bel. Else were it vain 
 
 For me to live. These little wounds I have 
 Have not bled much : reach me that noble hand ; 
 I'll help to cover you. 
 
 Phi. Art thou then true to me ? 
 
 Bel. Or let me perish loathed ! Come, my good lord, 
 Creep in amongst those bushes : who does know 
 But that the gods may save your much-loved breath ? 
 
 Phi. Then I shall die for grief, if not for this, 
 That I have wounded thee. What wilt thou do ? 
 
 Bel. Shift for myself well. Peace ! I hear 'em come. 
 
 [PHILASTER creeps into a bush. 
 [ Voices within.} Follow, follow, follow ! that way they went. 
 
 Bel. With my own wounds I'll bloody my own sword. 
 I need not counterfeit to fall ; Heaven knows 
 That I can stand no longer. [Falls. 
 
 Enter PHARAMOND, DION, CLEREMONT, and 
 THRASILINE. 
 
 Pha. To this place we have tracked him by his blood. 
 
 Cle. Yonder, my lord, creeps one away. 
 
 Dion. Stay, sir ! what are you ? 
 
 Bel. A wretched creature, wounded in these woods 
 By beasts : relieve me, if your names be men, 
 Or I shall perish. 
 
 Dion. This is he, my lord, 
 Upon my soul, that hurt her : 'tis the boy, 
 That wicked boy, that served her. 
 
 Pha. Oh, thou damned 
 
 In thy creation ! what cause couldst thou shape 
 To hurt the princess ? 
 
 Bel. Then I am betrayed. 
 
 Dion. Betrayed ! no, apprehended. 
 
 Bel. I confess, 
 (Urge it no more) that, big with evil thoughts,
 
 1 63 PHILASTER. [ACT iv. 
 
 I set upon her, and did take my aim, 
 Her death. For charity let fall at once 
 The punishment you mean, and do not load 
 This weary flesh with tortures. 
 
 Pha. I will know 
 Who hired thee to this deed. 
 
 Bel. Mine own revenge. 
 
 Pha. Revenge ! for what ? 
 
 Bel. It pleased her to receive 
 Me as her page, and, when my fortunes ebbed, 
 That men strid o'er them careless, she did shower 
 Her welcome graces on me, and did swell 
 My fortunes till they overflowed their banks, 
 Threatening the men that crossed 'em ; when, as swift 
 As storms arise at sea, she turned her eyes 
 To burning suns upon me, and did dry 
 The streams she had bestowed, leaving me worse 
 And more contemned than other little brooks, 
 Because I had been great. In short, I knew 
 I could not live, and therefore did desire 
 To die revenged. 
 
 Pha. If tortures can be found 
 Long as thy natural life, resolve to feel 
 The utmost rigour. 
 
 Cle. Help to lead him hence. 
 
 [PHILASTER creeps out of the bush. 
 Phi. Turn back, you ravishers of innocence ! 
 Know ye the price of that you bear away 
 So rudely ? 
 
 Pha. Who's that ? 
 Dion. Tis the Lord Philaster. 
 Phi. 'Tis not the treasure of all kings in one, 
 The wealth of Tagus, nor the rocks of pearl 
 That pave the court of Neptune, can weigh down 
 That virtue. It was I that hurt the princess. 
 Place me, some god, upon a pyramis ! 
 
 1 Pyramid.
 
 SCENE iv.] PHfLASTER. 169 
 
 Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice 
 Loud as your thunder to me, that from thence 
 I may discourse to all the under-world 
 The worth that dwells in him ! 
 
 Pha. How's this? 
 
 Bel. My lord, some man 
 Weary of life, that would be glad to die. 
 
 Phi. Leave these untimely courtesies, Bellario. 
 
 Bel. Alas, he's mad ! Come, will you lead me on? 
 
 Phi. By all the oaths that men ought most, to keep, 
 And gods do punish most when men do break, 
 He touched her not. Take heed, Bellario, 
 How thou dost drown the virtues thou hast shown 
 With perjury. By all that's good, 'twas I ! 
 You know she stood betwixt me and my right. 
 
 Pha. Thy own tongue be thy judge ! 
 
 Cle. It was Philaster. 
 
 Dion. Is't not a brave boy ? 
 Well, sirs, I fear me we were all deceived. 
 
 Phi. Have I no friend here ? 
 
 Dion. Yes. 
 
 Phi. Then show it : some 
 Good body lend a hand to draw us nearer. 
 Would you have tears shed for you when you die ? 
 Then lay me gently on his neck, that there 
 I may weep floods and breathe forth my spirit. 
 'Tis not the wealth of Plutus, nor the gold [Embraces BEL. 
 Locked in the heart of earth, can buy away 
 This arm-full from me : this had been a ransom 
 To have redeemed the great Augustus Caesar, 
 Had he been taken. You hard-hearted men, 
 More stony than these mountains, can you see 
 Such clear pure blood drop, and not cut your flesh 
 To stop his life ? to bind whose bitter wounds, 
 Queens ought to tear their hair, and with their tears 
 Bathe 'em. Forgive me, thou that art the wealth 
 Of poor Philaster !
 
 t7<3 PHIL ASTER. [ACT IV. 
 
 Enter KING, ARETHUSA, and Guard. 
 
 King. Is the villain ta'en ? 
 
 Pha. Sir, here be two confess the deed ; but sure 
 It was Philaster. 
 
 Phi. Question it no more ; 
 It was. 
 
 King. The fellow that did fight with him, 
 Will tell us that. 
 
 Are. Aye me ! I know he will. 
 
 King. Did not you know him ? 
 
 Art. Sir, if it was he, 
 1 le was disguised. 
 
 Phi. I was so. Oh, m) stars, 
 That I should live still. [Aside. 
 
 King. Thou ambitious fool, 
 Thou that hast laid a train or thy own life ! 
 Now I do mean to do, I'll leave to talk. 
 Bear them to prison. 
 
 Are. Sir, they did plot together to take hence 
 This harmless life ; should it pass unrevenged, 
 I should to earth go weeping : grant me, then, 
 By all the love a father bears his child, 
 Their custodies, and that I may appoint 
 Their tortures and their deaths. 
 
 Dion. Death ! Soft ; our law will not reach that for 
 this fault. 
 
 King. 'Tis granted ; take 'em to you with a guard. 
 Come, princely Pharamond, this business past, 
 We may with more security go on 
 To your intended match. 
 [Exeunt all except DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE. 
 
 Cle. I pray that this action lose not Philaster the 
 hearts of the people. 
 
 Dion. Fear it not ; their over-wise heads will think it 
 but a trick. [Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. Before the Palace. 
 Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE. 
 
 HRA. Has the King sent for him to 
 death? 
 
 Dion. Yes ; but the King must know 
 'tis not in his power to war with Heaven. 
 Cle. We linger time ; the King sent 
 for Philaster and the headsman an 
 Thra. Are all his wounds well ? [hour ago. 
 
 Dion. All ; they were but scratches ; but the loss of 
 blood made him faint. 
 
 Cle. We dally, gentlemen. 
 
 Thra. Away ! 
 
 Dion. We'll scuffle hard before he perish. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Prison. 
 
 Enter PHILASTER, ARETHUSA, and BELLARIO. 
 
 Are. Nay, dear Philaster, grieve not ; we are well. 
 
 Bel. Nay, good my lord, forbear; we are wondrous well. 
 
 Phi. Oh, Arethusa, oh, Bellario, 
 Leave to be kind ! 
 
 I shall be shut from Heaven, as now from earth, 
 If you continue so. I am a man 
 False to a pair of the most trusty ones 
 That ever earth bore : can it bear us all ? 
 Forgive, and leave me. But the King hath sent
 
 l;2 PH1LAST&R. [ACT V. 
 
 To call me to my death : oh, shew it me, 
 And then forget me ! and for thee, my boy, 
 I shall deliver words will mollify 
 The hearts of beasts to spare thy innocence. 
 
 Bel. Alas, my lord, my life is not a thing 
 Worthy your noble thoughts ! 'tis not a life, 
 'Tis but a piece of childhood thrown away. 
 Should I outlive you, I should then outlive 
 Virtue and honour ; and when that day comes, 
 If ever I shall close these eyes but once, 
 May I live spotted for my perjury, 
 And waste my limbs to nothing ! 
 
 Are. And I (the woful'st maid that ever was, 
 Forced with my hands to bring my lord to death) 
 Do by the honour of a virgin swear 
 To tell no hours beyond it ! 
 
 Phi. Make me not hated so. 
 
 Are. Come from this prison all joyful to our deaths ! 
 
 Phi. People will tear me, when they find you true 
 To such a wretch as I ; I shall die loathed. 
 Enjoy your kingdoms peaceably, whilst I 
 For ever sleep forgotten with my faults : 
 Every just servant, every maid in love. 
 Will have a piece of me, if you be true. 
 
 Are. My dear lord, say not so. 
 
 Bel. A piece of you ! 
 He was not born of woman that can cut 
 It and look on. 
 
 Phi. Take me in tears betwixt you, for my heart 
 Will break with shame and sorrow. 
 
 Are. Why, 'tis well. 
 
 Bel. Lament no more. 
 
 Phi. Why, what would you have done 
 If you had wronged me basely, and had found 
 Your life no price compared to mine ? for love; sirs, 
 Deal with me truly. 
 
 Bel. 'Twas mistaken, sir.
 
 SCENE in.] PH1LASTER. 173 
 
 Phi. Why, if it were ? 
 Btl. Then, sir, we would have asked 
 You pardon. 
 
 Phi. And have hope to enjoy it ? 
 
 Are. Enjoy it ! ay. 
 
 Phi. Would you indeed ? be plain. 
 
 Bel. We would, my lord, 
 
 Phi. Forgive me, then. 
 
 Are. So, so. 
 
 Bel. 'Tis as it should be now. 
 
 Phi. Lead to my death. {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 1 1 1 . A State-room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING, DION, CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 King. Gentlemen, who saw the prince ? 
 
 Cle. So please you, sir, he's gone to see the city 
 And the new platform, with some gentlemen 
 Attending on him. 
 
 King. Ts the princess ready 
 To bring her prisoner out ? 
 
 Thra. She waits your grace. 
 
 King. Tell her we stay. {Exit THRASILINE. 
 
 Dion. King, you may be deceived yet : 
 The head you aim at cost more setting on 
 Than to be lost so lightly. If it must off; 
 Like a wild overflow, that swoops before him 
 A golden stack, and with it shakes down bridges, 
 Cracks the strong hearts of pines, whose cable-roots 
 Held out a thousand storms, a thousand thunders, 
 And, so made mightier, takes whole villages 
 Upon his back, and in that heat of pride 
 Charges strong towns, towers, castles, palaces, 
 And lays them desolate ; so shall thy head,
 
 174 PHILASTKR. [-CT v. 
 
 Thy noble head, bury the lives of thousands, 
 
 That must bleed with thee like a sacrifice, 
 
 In thy red ruins. \_Aside, 
 
 Enter ARETHUSA, PHILASTER, BELLARIO in a robe and 
 garland, and THRASILINE. 
 
 King. How now ? what masque is this ? 
 
 Bel. Right royal sir, I should 
 Sing you an epithalamium of these lovers, 
 But having lost my best airs with my fortunes, 
 And wanting a celestial harp to strike 
 This blessed union on, thus in glad story 
 I give you all. These two fair cedar-branches 
 The noblest of the mountain where they grew, 
 Straightest and tallest, under whose still shades 
 The worthier beasts have made their lairs, and slept 
 Free from the fervour of the Sirian star 
 And the fell thunder-stroke, free from the clouds, 
 When they were big with humour, and delivered, 
 In thousand spouts their issues to the earth ; 
 Oh, there was none but silent there ! . 
 Till never-pleased Fortune shot up shrubs, 
 Base under-b rambles, to divorce these branches ; 
 And for a while they did so, and did reign 
 Over the mountain, and choke up his beauty 
 With brakes, rude thorns and thistles, till the sun 
 Scorched them even to the roots and dried them there : 
 And now a gentle gale hath blown again, 
 That made these branches meet and twine together, 
 Never to be divided. The god that sings 
 His holy numbers over marriage-beds 
 Halh knit their noble hearts ; and here they stand 
 Your children, mighty King : and I have done. 
 
 Kin%. How, how? 
 
 Are. Sir, if you love it in plain truth, 
 (For now there is no masquing in't,) this gentleman, 
 The prisoner that you gave me, is become
 
 SCENE in.] PHILASTER. 175 
 
 My keeper, and through all the bitter throes 
 Your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him, 
 Thus nobly hath he struggled, and at length 
 Arrived here my dear husband. 
 King. Your dear husband ! 
 Call in the Captain of the Citadel. 
 There you shall keep your wedding. I'll provide 
 A masque shall make your Hymen turn his saffron 
 Into a sullen coat, and sing sad requiems 
 To your departing souls ; 
 Blood shall put out your torches ; and, instead 
 Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks, 
 An axe shall hang like a prodigious meteor, 
 Ready to crop your loves' sweets. Hear, you gods ! 
 From this time do I shake all title off 
 Of father to this woman, this base woman ; 
 And what there is of vengeance in a lion 
 Chafed among dogs or robbed of his dear young, 
 The same, enforced more terrible, more mighty, 
 Expect from me ! 
 
 Are. Sir, by that little life I have left to swear by, 
 There's nothing that can stir me from myself. 
 What I have done, I have done without repentance ; 
 
 For death can be no bugbear unto me, 
 
 So long as Pharamond is not my headsman. 
 
 Dion. Sweet peace upon thy soul, thou worthy maid, 
 
 Whene'er thou diest ! For this time I'll excuse thee, 
 
 Or be thy prologue. [Aside. 
 
 Phi. Sir, let me speak next ; 
 
 And let my dying words be better with you 
 
 Than my dull living actions. If you aim 
 
 At the dear life of this sweet innocent, 
 
 You are a tyrant and a savage monster, 
 
 That feeds upon the blood you gave a life to ; 
 
 Your memory shall be as foul behind you, 
 
 As you are living ; all your better deeds 
 
 Shall be in water writ, but this in marble ;
 
 1 76 PH1LASTER. [ACT V. 
 
 No chronicle shall speak you, though your own, 
 But for the shame of men. No monument, 
 Though high and big as Pelion, shall be able 
 To cover this base murder : make it rich 
 With brass, with purest gold and shining jasper, 
 Like the Pyramids ; lay on epitaphs 
 Such as make great men gods ; my little marble 
 That only clothes my ashes, not my faults, 
 Shall far outshine it. And for after- issues, 
 Think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms, 
 That they will give you more for your mad rage 
 To cut off, unless it be some snake, or something 
 Like yourself, that in his birth shall strangle you. 
 Remember my father, King! there was a fault, 
 But I forgive it : let that sin persuade you 
 To love this lady ; if you have a soul, 
 Think, save her, and be saved. For myself, 
 I have so long expected this glad hour, 
 So languished under you, and daily withered, 
 That, Heaven knows, it is a joy to die ; 
 I find a recreation in't. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. Where is the King ? 
 
 King. Here. 
 
 Gent. Get you to your strength, 
 And rescue the Prince Pharamond from danger ; 
 He's taken prisoner by the citizens, 
 Fearing 1 the Lord Philaster. 
 
 Dion. Oh, brave followers.! 
 Mutiny, my fine dear countrymen, mutiny ! 
 Now, my brave valiant foremen, shew your weapons 
 In honour of your mistresses ! [Aside. 
 
 Enter a Second Gentleman. 
 2nd Gent. Arm, arm, arm, arm ! 
 1 i.e. Fearing for.
 
 SCENE in.] PHILASTER. 177 
 
 King. A thousand devils take 'em ! 
 
 Dion. A thousand blessings on 'em ! [Aside. 
 
 znd Gent. Arm, O King ! The city is in mutiny, 
 Led by an old grey ruffian, who comes on 
 In rescue of the Lord Philaster. 
 
 King. Away to the citadel ! I'll see them safe, 
 And then cope with these burghers. Let the guard 
 And all the gentlemen give strong attendance. 
 
 [Exeunt all except DION, CLEREMONT, and 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 beat 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-lacks, 1 if you continue, and 
 fall not back upon the first broken skin, I'll have you 
 chronicled and chronicled, and cut and chronicled, and 
 all-to-be-praised and sung in sonnets, and bawled in new 
 brave ballads, that all tongues shall troul you in sacula 
 saculorum, my kind can-carriers. 
 
 Thra. What, if a toy 2 take 'em i' the heels now, and they 
 run all away, and cry, " the devil take the hind most ? " 
 
 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 reign to keep the gentlemen at home 
 unbound in easy frieze ! may the moths branch 3 their 
 velvets, and their silks only to be worn before sore eyes ! 
 may their false lights undo 'em, and discover presses, 
 holes, stains, and oldness in their stuffs, and make them 
 
 1 i.e. Shopkeepers, who were in the habit of -thus addressing 
 passers-by. 2 Whim. 3 i.e. Eat away a figure on the surface. 
 
 Beau. & F. i N
 
 1 78 PHILASTER. [ACT v. 
 
 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 goatish l Latin they write in 
 their bonds and may they write that false, and lose their 
 debts ! 
 
 Re-enter 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 'em 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 CLEREMONT. 
 
 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, 1 
 that at Michaelmas shall come up fat and kicking. [Aside. 
 
 King. What they will do with this poor prince, the 
 gods know, and I fear. 
 
 Dion. Why, sir, they'll flay him, and make church- 
 buckets of's skin, to quench rebellion ; then clap a rivet 
 in's sconce, and hang him up for a sign. 
 
 Enter PHILASTER and CLEREMONT. 
 
 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, 
 
 1 Barbarous. 2 Meaning to fatten a brace of geese.
 
 SCENE iv.] PHILASTER. T7$ 
 
 Let first your goodness know it. Calm the people, 
 
 And be what you were born to : take your love, 
 
 And with her my repentance, all 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. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Street. 
 
 Enter an old Captain and Citizens with PHARAMOND 
 prisoner. 
 
 Cap. Come, my brave myrmidons, let us fall on ! 
 Let your caps swarm, my boys, and your nimble tongues 
 Forget your mother gibberish of " what do you lack," 
 And set your mouths ope, 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 ding-a-dings, 
 My pairs of dear indentures, kings of clubs, 1 
 
 1 Clubs were the customary weapons of the London shopkeepers 
 and apprentices. 
 
 N 2
 
 i8o PHILASTER. [ACT V. 
 
 Than your cold water-camlets, or your paintings 
 Spitted with copper. Let not your hasty silks, 
 Or your branched cloth of bodkin, or your tissues, 
 Dearly beloved of spiced cake and custard, 
 Your Robin Hoods, Scarlets, and Johns, tie your affec- 
 tions 
 
 In darkness to your shops. No, dainty duckers * 
 Up with your three-piled spirits, your wrought valours ; 2 
 And let your uncut cholers make the King feel 
 The measure of your mightiness. Philaster ! 
 Cry, my rose-nobles, 3 cry ! 
 
 AIL 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, 4 
 And let a man of war, an argosy, 
 Hull and cry cockles. 5 
 
 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's-words, 6 or that soldered crown 
 Shall be scratched with a musket. 7 Dear prince Pippin, 
 Down with your noble blood, or, as I live, 
 I'll have you coddled. Let him loose, my spirits : 
 Make us a round ring with your bills, 8 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 see, sweet prince ?) 
 I could hock your grace, and hang you up cross-legged, 
 Like a hare at a poulter's, and do this with this wiper. 9 
 
 Pha. You will not see me murdered, wicked villains ? 
 
 1 Cringers. 
 
 2 Velures, velvet. " Three-pile " was velvet of the finest quality. 
 
 3 A play upon the word. Rose-nobles were gold coins stamped 
 with a rose, and worth i6.y. 
 
 4 A small vessel. Ital. , fusta. 5 Crow over them. 
 
 6 Swaggering words. ' A male sparrow-hawk. 
 
 8 Halberds. 9 Hand towel.
 
 SCENE iv.j PHILASTER. 181 
 
 \st Cii. Yes, indeed, will we, sir ; we have not seen one 
 For 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 satin, 
 And between every flower a mortal cut. 
 Your royalty shall ravel ! Jag him, gentlemen ; 
 I'll have him cut to the kell, 1 then down the seams. 
 O 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, 
 Nay, rny beyond-sea sir, we will proclaim you : 
 You would be king ! 
 
 Thou tender heir apparent to a church-ale, 
 Thou slight prince of single sarcenet, 
 Thou royal ring-tail, fit to fly at nothing 
 But poor men's poultry, and have every boy 
 Beat thee from that too with his bread and butter ! 
 
 Pha. Gods keep me from these hell-hounds ! 
 
 \st Cit. Shall's geld him, captain ? 
 
 Cap. No, you shall spare his dowcets, my dear 
 
 donsels ; 3 
 
 As you respect the ladies, let them flourish : 
 The curses of a longing woman kill 
 As speedy as a plague, boys. 
 
 \st Cit I'll have a leg, that's certain. 
 
 2nd Cit. I'll have an arm. 
 
 $rd Cit. I'll have his nose, and at mine own charge 
 
 build 
 A college and clap it upon the gate. 3 
 
 1 i.e. The caul about the hart's paunch. " Youths. 
 
 3 In allusion to Brazen Nose College, Oxford,
 
 1 82 PHIL ASTER. [ACT v. 
 
 4//$ Cit. I'll have his little gut to string a kit 1 
 
 with : 
 For certainly a royal gut will sound like silver. 
 
 Pha. Would they were in thy belly, and I past 
 My pain 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. 
 
 isf Cit. Captain, I'll give you the trimming of your 
 
 two-hand sword, 
 And let me have his skin to make false scabbards. 
 
 2nd Cit. He had no horns, sir, had he ? 
 
 Cap. No, sir, he's a pollard : 
 What wouldst thou do with horns ? 
 
 2nd Cit. Oh, if he had had, 
 
 I would have made rare hafts and whistles of 'em ; 
 But his shin-bones, if they be sound, shall serve me. 
 
 Enter PHILASTER. 
 
 All. Long live Philaster, the brave Prince Philaster ! 
 
 Phi. I thank you, gentlemen. But why are these 
 Rude weapons brought abroad, to teach your hands 
 Uncivil trades ? 
 
 Cap. My royal Rosicleer, 
 
 We are thy myrmidons, thy guard, thy roarers ; - 
 And when thy noble body is in durance, 
 Thus do we clap our musty murrions 3 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. 
 
 1 A contraction of " cittern," a kind of guitar. 
 
 i.e., Roaring boys, a cant name for the Mohawks of the day, 
 
 3 Morions, steel caps.
 
 SCENE iv.] PHIL ASTER. 183 
 
 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 f heir gummed golls, 1 and cry " We are your ser- 
 vants ? " 
 
 Is the court navigable, and the presence stuck 
 With flags of friendship ? If not, we are thy castle, 
 And this man sleeps. 
 
 Phi. I am what I desire to be, your friend ; 
 I 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 prisonment, cold, hunger, sickness 
 Of all sorts, of all dangers, and all together, 
 The worst company of the worst men, madness, 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 nature, 
 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. 
 
 yd Cit. Good sir, take heed he does not hurt you ; 
 He is a fierce man, I can tell you, sir. 
 
 Cap. Prince, by your leave, I'll have a surcingle,'- 
 And mail 3 you like a hawk. 
 
 Phi. Away, away, there is no danger in him : 
 Alas, he had rather sleep to shake his fit off! 
 Look you, friends, how gently he leads ! Upon my word, 
 
 1 Hands, to which gum or perfume had been applied. Dyce. 
 A band, or girth. 3 Pinion,
 
 1 84 ' PHILASTER. [ACT v. 
 
 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. [Gives money. 
 
 All. Long mayst thou live, brave prince, brave prince, 
 brave prince ! [Exeunt PHIL, and PHAR. 
 
 Cap. Go thy ways, 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. 
 
 SCENE V. An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter KING, ARETHUSA, GALATEA, MEGRA, DION, 
 CLEREMONT, THRASILINE, BELLARIO, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Is it appeased ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, all is quiet as this 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 !
 
 SCENE v.] PHILASTER. 185 
 
 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. Sir, he likes it well, 
 For he hath tried it, and hath found it worth 
 His princely liking. We were ta'en a-bed ; 
 I know your meaning. I am not the first 
 That nature taught to seek a fellow forth ; 
 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 her boy together. 
 
 Dion. How now ! 
 
 Meg. Others took me, and I took her and him 
 At that all women may be ta'en some time : 
 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 ;
 
 1 86 PHILASTER. [ACT v. 
 
 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 are 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 handsomely. 
 
 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 'em ? 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 word back, worthy sir ! 
 Ask something else : bury my life and right 
 In one poor grave ; but do not take away 
 My life and fame at once. 
 
 King. Away with him ! It stands irrevnc; ble. 
 
 Phi. Turn all your eyes on me : here stands a man, 
 The falsest and the basest of this world. 
 Set swords against this breast, some honest man, 
 For I have lived till I am pitied ! 
 My former deeds were hateful ; but this last 
 Is pitiful, for I unwillingly
 
 SCENE v.] PHILASTER. 187 
 
 Have given the dear preserver of my life 
 
 Unto his torture. Is it in the power 
 
 Of flesh and blood to carry this, and live ? 
 
 \Offers to stab himselj. 
 
 Are. Dear sir, be patient yet ! Oh, stay that hand ! 
 
 King. Sirs, strip that boy. 
 
 Dion. Come, sir ; your tender flesh 
 Will try your constancy. 
 
 Bel. Oh, kill me, gentlemen ! 
 
 Dion. No. Help, sirs. 
 
 Bel. Will you torture me ? 
 
 King. Haste there ; 
 Why stay you ? 
 
 1 el. Then I shall not break my vow, 
 You know, just gods, though I discover all. 
 
 King. How's that ? will he confess ? 
 
 Dion. Sir, so he says. 
 
 King. Speak then. 
 
 Bel. Great King, if you command 
 This lord to talk with me alone, my tongue, 
 Urged by my heart, shall utter all the thoughts 
 My youth hath known ; and stranger things than these 
 You hear not often. 
 
 King. Walk aside with him. 
 
 [DION and BELLARIO walk apart. 
 
 Dion. Why speak'st 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, drest alike.
 
 i88 PHILASTER. [ACT v. 
 
 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 scape this torture. 
 
 Dion. But thou speak'st 
 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 it possible ? Draw near, 
 That I may gaze upon thee. Art thou she, 
 Or else her murderer ? 1 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. 
 
 Phi. Why then hold you me ? \Offers to stab himself. 
 All is discovered ! Pray you, let me go. 
 
 King. Stay him. 
 
 Are. What is discovered ? 
 
 Dion. Why, my shame. 
 It is a woman : let her speak the rest. 
 
 1 In some barbarous countries, it was believed that the murderer 
 inherited the form and qualities of his victim, Mason,
 
 SCENE V.] PHILASTER. 189 
 
 Phi. How ? that again ! 
 
 Dion. It is a woman. 
 
 Phi. Blessed be you powers that favour innocence ! 
 
 King. Lay hold upon that lady. [MEGRA is seized. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 Bd. 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. \Kneels. 
 
 Phi. [raising hini\ Take it freely ; for I know, 
 Though what thou didst were undiscreetly 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,
 
 190 PH1LASTER. [ACT V. 
 
 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-cote 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 
 Within our kingdom, where and when thou wilt, 
 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,
 
 SCENE v.] PHILASTER. 191 
 
 Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady 
 Drest 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, 
 Cursed be the wife that hates her ! 
 
 Phi. I grieve such virtue 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. 
 
 King. Set her at liberty. But leave the court ; 
 This is no place for such. You, Pharamond, 
 Shall have free passage, and a conduct home 
 Worthy so great a prince. When you come there, 
 Remember 'twas your faults that lost you her, 
 And not my purposed will. 
 
 Pha. I do confess, 
 Renowned sir. 
 
 King. Last, join your hands in one. Enjoy, Philaster, 
 This kingdom, which is yours, and, after me, 
 Whatever I call mine. My blessing on you ! 
 All happy hours be at your marriage-joys, 
 That you may grow yourselves over all lands, 
 And live to see your plenteous branches spring 
 Wherever there is sun ! Let princes learn 
 By this to rule the passions of their blood 1 ; 
 For what Heaven wills can never be withstood. 
 
 \Exeitnt.
 
 THE WILV-GOOSE CHcASE. 
 
 u. & F. - t.
 
 HE Comedy of The Wild-Goose Chase, 
 produced in 1621, was probably written 
 by Fletcher alone. It was successful 
 from the first, and we are told by the 
 actors Lowen and Taylor, who origi- 
 nally published the play, that the author 
 himself, " in despite of his innate 
 modesty," could not refrain from joining with the crowded 
 audience in " applauding this rare issue of his brain." 
 The play could not be found when the first folio was pub- 
 lished ; as the Stationer in his address to the readers 
 remarks, that " The Wild-Goose Chase hath long been 
 lost, and I fear irrecoverably ; for a person of quality 
 borrowed it from the actors many years since, and by the 
 negligence of a servant, it was never returned." The play 
 on its discovery was hailed as one of Fletcher's master- 
 pieces. Farquhar's Inconstant is taken from The Wild- 
 Goose Chase.
 
 DE CARD, a noble staid Gentleman, that, being newly 
 lighted from his Travels, assists his Sister ORIANA in 
 her chase of MIRABEL the WILD-GOOSE. 
 
 LA CASTRE, the indulgent Father to MIRABEL. 
 
 MIRABEL, the WILD-GOOSE, a travelled Monsieur, and 
 great defier of all Ladies in the way of Marriage, other- 
 wise their much loose Servant, at last caught by the 
 despised ORIANA. 
 
 PINAC, his Fellow-Traveller, of a lively spirit, and Servant 
 to the no less sprightly LlLLIA BIANCA. 
 
 BELLEUR, Companion to both, of a stout bluni numour, in 
 love with ROSALURA. 
 
 NANTOLET, Father to ROSALURA and LILLIA BIANCA. 
 
 LUGIER, the rough and confident Tutor to the Ladies, and 
 chief engine to entrap the WILD-GOOSE. 
 
 A Young Man disguised as a Factor. 
 
 Gentlemen, Foot-Boy, Singing-Boy, Two Men disguised as 
 Merchants, Priest, Servants. 
 
 ORIANA, the fair betrothed of MIRABEL, and witty follower 
 
 of the Chase. 
 ROSALURA, \ 
 LILLIA BIANCA, j the ^ Daughters of NANTOLET. 
 
 PETELLA, their Waiting- Woman. 
 MARIANA, an English Courtezan. 
 Four Women. 
 
 SCENE, PARIS.
 
 THE WILV-G.OOSE CHcASE. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 SCENE I. A Hall in the House of LA CASTRE. 
 
 Enter DE GARD and a Footboy. 
 
 E GARD. Sirrah, you know I have 
 
 rid hard ; stir my horse well, 
 And let him want no litter. 
 
 F. Boy, I am sure I have run hard ; 
 Would somebody would walk me, and 
 
 see me littered, 
 For I think my fellow-horse cannot in reason 
 Desire more rest, nor take up his chamber before me : 
 But we are the beasts now, and the beasts are our 
 
 masters. 
 De Gard. When you have done, step to the ten-crown 
 
 ordinary 
 
 F. Boy. With all my heart, sir ; for I have a twenty- 
 crown stomach. 
 
 De Gard. And there bespeak a dinner. 
 F. Boy. [going.'] Yes, sir, presently. 
 De Gard. For whom, I beseech you, sir ? 
 F. Boy. For myself, I take it, sir. 
 De Gard. In truth, you shall not take it; 'tis not 
 meant for you :
 
 1 9 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT r. 
 
 There's for your provender [Gives money.'] : bespeak 
 
 a dinner 
 
 For Monsieur Mirabel and his companions ; 
 They'll be in town within this hour. When you have 
 
 done, sirrah, 
 
 Make ready all things at my lodging for me, 
 And wait me there. 
 
 F. Boy. The ten-crown ordinary ? 
 
 De Card. Yes, sir, if you have not forgot it 
 
 F. Boy. I'll forget my feet first : 
 'Tis the best part of a footman's faith. \_Exit. 
 
 De Gard. These youths, 
 For all they have been in Italy to learn thrift, 
 And seem to wonder at men's lavish ways, 
 Yet they cannot rub off old friends, their French itches : 
 They must meet sometimes to disport their bodies 
 With good wine and good women, and good store too : 
 Let 'em be what they will, they are armed at all points, 
 And then hang saving, let the sea grow high ! 
 This ordinary can fit 'em of all sizes. 
 They must salute their country with old customs. 
 
 Enter LA CASTRE and ORIANA. 
 
 OH. Brother ! 
 
 De Gard. My dearest sister ! 
 
 OH. Welcome, welcome ! 
 Indeed, you are welcome home, most welcome ! 
 
 De Gard. Thank you. 
 You are grown a handsome woman, Oriana 
 (Blush at your faults) : I am wondrous glad to see 
 
 you. 
 
 Monsieur La Castre, let not my affection 
 To my fair sister make me held unmannerly : 
 I am glad to see you well, to see you lusty, 
 Good health about you, and in fair company ; 
 Believe me, I am proud 
 
 La Cast. Fair sir, I thank you.
 
 SCENE I.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 199 
 
 Monsieur De Card, you are welcome from your journey; 
 Good men have stillgood welcome : give me your hand, sir : 
 Once more, you are welcome home. You look still 
 younger. 
 
 De Card. Time has no leisure to look after us ; 
 We wander every where ; age cannot find us. 
 
 La Cast, And how does all? 
 
 De Card. All well, sir, and all lusty. 
 
 La Cast. I hope my son be so : I doubt not, sir, 
 But you have often seen him in your journeys, 
 And bring me some fair news. 
 
 De Gard. Your son is well, sir, 
 And grown a proper gentleman ; he is well and lusty. 
 Within this eight hours I took leave of him, 
 And over-hied him, having some slight business 
 That forced me out o' the way : I can assure you, 
 He will be here to-night. 
 
 La Cast. You make me glad, sir, 
 For, o' my faith, I almost long to see him : 
 Methinks, he has been away 
 
 De Gard. 'Tis but your tenderness ; 
 What are three years ? a love-sick wench will allow it. 
 His friends, that went out with him, are come back too, 
 Belleur and young Pinac. He bid me say little, 
 Because he means to be his own glad messenger. 
 
 La Cast. I thank you for this news, sir : he shall be 
 
 welcome, 
 
 And his friends too : indeed, I thank you heartily : 
 And how (for I dare say you will not flatter him) 
 Has Italy wrought on him ? has he mewed ' yet 
 His wild fantastic toys ? they say, that climate 
 Is a great purger of those humorous fluxes : 
 How is he improved, I pray you ? 
 
 De Gard. No doubt, sir, well ; 
 H'as borne himself a full and noble gentleman : 
 To speak him farther is beyond my charter. 
 
 1 i.e. Moulted, cast off.
 
 200 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT i. 
 
 La Cast. I am glad to hear so much good. Come, I see 
 You long to enjoy your sister ; yet I must entreat you, 
 Before I go, to sup with me to-night, 
 And must not be denied. 
 De Gard. I am your servant. 
 La Cast. Where you shall meet fair, merry, and noble 
 
 company ; 
 
 My neighbour Nantolet and his two fair daughters. 
 De Gard. Your supper's seasoned well, sir : I shall 
 
 wait upon you. 
 La Cast. Till then I'll leave ye : and you're once more 
 
 welcome. 
 
 Dt Gard. I thank you, noble sir ! \Exit LA CASTRE. 
 Now, Oriana, 
 
 How have you done since I went ? have ye had your 
 And your mind free ? [health well ? 
 
 Ori. You see, I am not bated ; 
 Merry, and eat my meat. 
 
 De Gard. A good preservative. 
 And how have you been used ? You know, Oriana, 
 Upon my going out, at your request, 
 I left your portion in La Castre's hands, 
 The main means you must stick to : for that reason, 
 And 'tis no little one, I ask you, sister, 
 With what humanity he entertains you, 
 And how you find his courtesy ? 
 
 Ori. Most ready : 
 I can assure you, sir, I am used most nobly. 
 
 De Gard. I am glad to hear it: but, I prithee, tell me 
 And tell me true, what end had you, Oriana, 
 In trusting your money here ? he is no kinsman, 
 Nor any tie upon him of a guardian ; 
 Nor dare I think you doubt my prodigality. 
 
 Ori. No, certain, sir; none of all this provoked 1 me; 
 Anothsr private reason. 
 De Gard. 'Tis not private, 
 
 1 Incited.
 
 SCENE I.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 201 
 
 Nor carried so ; 'tis common, my fair sister ; 
 Your love to Mirabel : your blushes tell it : 
 'Tis too much known, and spoken of too largely ; 
 And with no little shame I wonder at it 
 Ori. Is it a shame to love ? 
 De Gard. To love undiscreetly : 
 A virgin should be tender of her honour, 
 Close, and secure. 
 
 Ori. I am as close as can be, 
 And stand upon as strong and honest guards too ; 
 Unless this warlike age need a portcullis : 
 Yet, I confess, I love him. 
 De Gard. Hear the people. 
 Ori. Now, I say, hang the people ! he, that dares 
 Believe what they say, dares be mad, and give 
 His mother, nay, his own wife, up to rumour : 
 All grounds of truth they build on is a tavern, 
 And their best censure's sack, sack in abundance ; 
 For, as they drink, they think : they ne'er speak modestly. 
 Unless the wine be poor, or they want money : 
 Believe them ! believe Amadis de Gaul, 
 The Knight o' the Sun, or Palmerin of England ; 
 For these, to them, are modest and true stories. 
 Pray, understand me ; if their tongues be truth, 
 And if in vino veritas be an oracle, 
 What woman is, or has been ever, honest ? 
 Give 'em but ten round cups, they'll swear Lucretia 
 Died not for want of power to resist Tarquin, 
 But want of pleasure, that he stayed no longer ; 
 And Portia, that was famous for her piety 
 To her loved lord, they'll face you out, died o' the pox. 
 De Gard. Well, there is something, sister. 
 Ori. If there be, brother, 
 
 'Tis none of their things ; 'tis not yet so monstrous : 
 My thing is marriage ; and, at his return, 
 I hope to put their squint eyes right again. 
 
 De Gard. Marriage ? 'tis true his father is a rich man,
 
 ,202 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT I. 
 
 Rich both in land and money ; he his heir, 
 A young and handsome man, I must confess, too ; 
 But of such qualities, and such wild flings, 
 Such admirable imperfections, sister, 
 (For all his travel and bought experience,) 
 I should be loth to own him for my brother : 
 Methinks, a rich mind in a state indifferent 
 Would prove the better fortune. 
 
 On. If he be wild, 
 
 The reclaiming him to good and honest, brother, 
 Will make much for my honour ; which, if I prosper, 
 Shall be the study of my love, and life too. 
 
 De Gard. You say well ; would he thought as well, 
 
 and loved too ! 
 
 He marry ! he'll be hanged first ; he knows no more 
 What the conditions and the ties of love are, 
 The honest purposes and grounds of marriage, 
 Nor will know, nor ever be brought to endeavour, 
 Than I do how to build a church : he was ever 
 A loose and strong defier of all order ; 
 His loves are wanderers, they knock at each door, 
 And taste each dish, but are no residents. 
 Or say, he may be brought to think of marriage, 
 (As 'twill be no small labour), thy hopes are strangers : 
 I know there is a laboured match now followed, 
 Now at this time, for which he was sent for home too : 
 Be not abused ; Nantelot has two fair daughters, 
 And he must take his choice. 
 
 Ori. Let him take freely : 
 For all this I despair not ; my mind tells me 
 That I, and only I, must make him perfect ; 
 And in that hope I rest. 
 
 De Gard. Since you're so confident, 
 Prosper your hope ! I'll be no adversary ; 
 Keep yourself fair and right, he shall not wrong you. 
 
 Ori. When I forget my virtue, no man know me ! 
 
 \Exeunt severally.
 
 SCENE II.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 203 
 
 SCENE II. A Street, before the same House. 
 
 Enter MIRABEL, PINAC, BELLEUR, and Servants. 
 
 Mir. Welcome to Paris, once more, gentlemen ! 
 We have had a merry and a lusty ordinary, 
 And wine, and good meat, and a bouncing reckoning ; 
 And let it go for once ; 'tis a good physic : 
 Only the wenches are not for my diet ; 
 They are too lean and thin, their embraces brawn-fallen."' 
 Give me the plump Venetian, fat and lusty, 
 That meets me soft and supple ; smiles upon me, 
 As if a cup of full wine leaped to kiss me : 
 These slight things I affect not. 
 
 Pin. They are ill-built ; 
 Pin-buttocked, like your dainty Barbaries, 
 And weak i' the pasterns ; they'll endure no hardness. 
 
 Mir. There's nothing good or handsome bred amongst 
 
 us : 
 
 Till we are travelled, and live abroad, we are coxcombs. 
 You talk of France a slight unseasoned country, 
 Abundance of gross food, which makes us blockheads ; 
 We are fair set out indeed, and so are fore-horses : 
 Men say, we are great courtiers, men abuse us ; 
 We are wise, and valiant \.oo,non credo, signer ; 
 Our women the best linguists, they are parrots ; 
 O' this side the Alps they are nothing but mere drolleries.- 
 Ha ! Roma la Santa, Italy for my money ! 
 Their policies, their customs, their frugalities, 
 Their courtesies so open, yet so reserved too, 
 As, when you think you are known best, you're a 
 
 stranger ; 
 
 Their very pick-teeth speak more man than we do, 
 And season of more salt. 
 
 Pin. 'Tis a brave country ; 
 
 1 Feeble. 2 Puppets.
 
 204 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT I. 
 
 Not pestered with your stubborn precise puppies, 
 
 That turn all useful and allowed contentments 
 
 To scabs and scruples hang 'em, capon-worshippers ! 
 
 Bel. I like that freedom well, and like their women 
 
 too, 
 
 And would fain do as others do ; but I am so bashful, 
 So naturally an ass ! Look ye, I can look upon 'em, 
 And very willingly I go to see 'em, 
 (There's no man willinger), and I can kiss 'em, 
 And make a shift 
 
 Mir. But, if they chance to flout you, 
 Or say, " You are too bold ! fie, sir, remember ! 
 I pray, sit farther off " 
 
 Bel. 'Tis true I am humbled, 
 I am gone ; I confess ingenuously, I am silenced ; 
 The spirit of amber ' cannot force me answer. 
 
 Pin. Then would I sing and dance 
 
 Bel. You have wherewithal, sir. 
 
 Pin. And charge her up again. 
 
 Bel. I can be hanged first : 
 Yet, where I fasten well, I am a tyrant. 
 
 Mir. Why, thou dar'st fight ? 
 
 Bel. Yes, certainly, I dare fight, 
 And fight with any man at any weapon : 
 Would the other were no more ! but, a pox on't ! 
 When I am sometimes in my height of hope, 
 And reasonable valiant that way, my heart hardened, 
 Some scornful jest or other chops between me 
 And my desire : what would you have me to do, then, 
 gentlemen ? 
 
 Mir. Belleur, you must be bolder : travel three years, 
 And bring home such a baby to betray you 
 As bashfulness ! a great fellow, and a soldier ! 
 
 Bel. You have the gift of impudence ; be thankful ; 
 Every man has not the like talent. I will study, 
 And, if it may be revealed to me 
 
 1 Amber was considered to be a strong provocative. Weber.
 
 SCENE IL] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 205 
 
 Mir. Learn of me, 
 
 And of Pinac : no doubt, you'll find employment ; 
 Ladies will look for courtship. 
 
 Pin. 'Tis but fleshing, 
 But standing one good brunt or two. Hast thou any 
 
 mind to marriage ? 
 We'll provide thee some soft-natured wench, that's dumb 
 
 too. 
 Mit. Or an old woman that cannot refuse thee in 
 
 charity. 
 Bel. A dumb woman, or an old woman, that were 
 
 eager, 
 And cared not for discourse, I were excellent at. 
 
 Mir. You must now put on boldness (there's no 
 
 avoiding it), 
 
 And stand all hazards, fly at all games bravely ; 
 They'll say, you went out like an ox, and returned like an 
 
 ass, else. 
 
 Bel. I shall make danger, sure. 
 Mir. I am sent for home now ; 
 
 I know it is to marry ; but my father shall pardon me : 
 Although it be a weighty ceremony, 
 And may concern me hereafter in my gravity, 
 I will not lose the freedom of a traveller : 
 A new strong lusty bark cannot ride at one anchor. 
 Shall I make divers suits to show to the same eyes ? 
 'Tis dull and homespun ; study several pleasures, 
 And want employments for 'em ? I'll be hanged first ! 
 Tie me to one smock ? make my travels fruitless ? 
 I'll none of that ; for every fresh behaviour, 
 By your leave, father, I must have a fresh mistress, 
 And a fresh favour ' too. 
 
 Bel. I like that passingly ; 
 As many as you will, so they be willing, 
 Willing, and gentle, gentle. 
 Pin. There's no reason 
 
 1 Countenance.
 
 206 THE* WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT 
 
 A gentleman, and a traveller, should be clapt up, 
 (For 'tis a kind of bilboes to be married), 
 Before he manifest to the world his good parts : 
 Tug ever, like a rascal, at one oar ? 
 Give me the Italian liberty ! 
 
 Mir. That I study, 
 
 And that I will enjoy. Come, go in, gentlemen ; 
 There mark how I behave myself, and follow. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the House of LA CASTRE. 
 
 Enter LA CASTRE, NANTOLET, LUGIER, ROSALURA, and 
 LILLIA BIANCA. 
 
 La Cast. You and your beauteous daughters are most 
 
 welcome : 
 Beshrew my blood, they are fair ones ! Welcome 
 
 beauties, 
 Welcome, sweet birds. 
 
 Nant. They are bound much to your courtesies. 
 
 La Cast. I hope we shall be nearer acquainted. 
 
 Nant. That's my hope too : 
 For, certain, sir, I much desire your alliance. 
 You see 'em ; they are no gypsies : for their breeding, 
 It has not been so coarse but they are able 
 To rank themselves with women of fair fashion ; 
 Indeed, they have been trained well. 
 
 Lug. Thank me. 
 
 Nant. Fit for the heirs of that state I shall leave 'em ; 
 To say more, is to sell 'em. They say, your son, 
 Now he has travelled, must be wondrous curious 
 And choice in what he takes ; these are no coarse ones. 
 Sir, here's a merry wench let him look to himself 
 All heart, i' faith may chance to startle him ; 
 For all his care, and travelled caution,
 
 SCENE in.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 207 
 
 May creep into his eye : if he love gravity, 
 Affect ,1 solemn face, there's one will fit him. 
 
 La Cast. So young and so demure ? 
 
 Nant. She is my daughter, 
 Else I would tell you, sir, she is a mistress 
 Both of those manners, and that modesty, 
 You would wonder at : she is no often-speaker, 
 But, when she does, she speaks well ; nor no reveller, 
 Yet she can dance, and has studied the court elements, 
 And sings, as some say, handsomely; if a woman, 
 With the decency of her sex, may be a scholar, 
 I can assure you, sir, she understands too. 
 
 La Cast. These are fit garments, sir. 
 
 Lug. Thank them that cut 'em : 
 Yes, they are handsome women ; they have handsome 
 
 parts too, 
 Pretty becoming parts. 
 
 La Cast. 'Tis like they have, sir. 
 
 Lug. Yes, yes, and handsome education they have had 
 
 too, 
 
 Had it abundantly ; they need not blush at it : 
 I taught it, I'll avouch it. 
 
 La Cast. You say well, sir. 
 
 Lug. I know what I say, sir, and I say but right, sir : 
 1 am no trumpet of their commendations 
 Before their father ; else I should say farther. 
 
 La Cast. Pray you, what's this gentleman ? 
 
 Nant. One that lives with me, sir ; 
 A man well bred and learned, but blunt and bitter ; 
 Yet it offends no wise man ; I take pleasure in't . 
 Many fair gifts he has, in some of which, 
 That lie most easy to their understandings 
 H'as handsomely bred up my girls, I thank him. 
 
 Lug. I have put it to 'em, that's my part, I have urged 
 
 it; 
 It seems, they are of years now to take hold on't. % 
 
 Nant. He's wond'rous blunt.
 
 2o8 7WE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT i. 
 
 La Cast. By my faith, I was afraid of him : 
 Does he not fall out with the gentlewomen sometimes ? 
 
 Nant. No, no ; he's that way moderate and discreet, 
 sir. 
 
 Ros. If he did, we should be too hard for him. 
 
 Lug. Well said, sulphur ! 
 Too hard for thy husband's head, if he wear not armour. 
 
 Nant. Many of these bickerings, sir. 
 
 La Cast. I am glad, they are no oracles : 
 Sure as I live, he beats them, he's so puissant. 
 
 Enter MIRABEL, PINAC, BELLEUR, DE CARD, and 
 ORIANA. 
 
 Ori. Well, if you do forget 
 
 Mir. Prithee, hold thy peace : 
 
 I know thou art a pretty wench ; I know thou lov'st me ; 
 Preserve it till we have a fit time to discourse on't, 
 And a fit place ; I'll ease thy heart, I warrant thee : 
 Thou seest I have much to do now. 
 
 Ori. I am answered, sir : 
 With me you shall have nothing on these conditions. 
 
 De Gard. Your father and your friends. 
 
 La Cast. You are welcome home, sir ; 
 Bless you, you are very welcome ! Pray, know this 
 
 gentleman, 
 And these fair ladies. 
 
 Nant. Monsieur Mirabel, 
 I am much affected with your fair return, sir ; 
 You bring a general joy. 
 
 Mir. I bring you service, 
 And these bright beauties, sir. 
 
 Nant. Welcome home, gentlemen, 
 Welcome with all my heart ! 
 
 Bel. 6 Pin. We thank you, sir. 
 
 La Cast. Your friends will have their share too. 
 
 Bel. Sir, we hope 
 They'll look upon u, though we show like strangers.
 
 SCENE in.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 209 
 
 Nant. Monsieur De Card ; I must salute you also, 
 And this fair gentlewoman : you are welcome from your 
 
 travel too ; 
 All welcome, all. 
 
 De Card. We render you our loves, sir, 
 The best wealth we bring home. By your favours, 
 
 beauties. 
 One of these two : you know my meaning. 
 
 Ori. Well, sir ; 
 
 They are fair and handsome, I must needs confess it, 
 And, let it prove the worst, I shall live after it : 
 Whilst I have meat and drink, love cannot starve me ; 
 For, if I die o' the first fit, I am unhappy, 
 And worthy to be buried with my heels upward. 
 
 Mir. To marry, sir? 
 
 La Cast. You know I am an old man, 
 And every hour declining to my grave, 
 One foot already in ; more sons I have not, 
 Nor more I dare not seek whilst you are worthy ; 
 In you lies all my hope, and all my name, 
 The making good or wretched of my memory, 
 The safety of my state. 
 
 Mir. And you have provided, 
 
 Out of this tenderness, these handsome gentlewomen, 
 Daughters to this rich man, to take my choice of? 
 
 La Cast. \ have, dear son. 
 
 Mir. 'Tis true, you are old and feebled ; 
 Would you were young again, and in full vigour ! 
 I love a bounteous father's life, a long one ; 
 I am none of those that, when they shoot to ripe- 
 ness, 
 
 Do what they can to break the boughs they grew on ; 
 I wish you many years, and many riches, 
 And pleasures to enjoy 'em : but, for marriage, 
 I neither yet believe in't, nor affect it, 
 Nor think it fit. 
 
 La Cast. You will render me your reasons ? 
 
 Beau. & F. i. f
 
 2io THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT i. 
 
 Mir. Yes, sir, both short and pithy, and these they 
 
 are : 
 You would have me marry a maid ? 
 
 La Cast. A maid ! what else ? 
 
 Mir. Yes, there be things called widows, dead men's 
 
 wills, 
 
 I never loved to prove those ; nor never longed yet 
 To be buried alive in another man's cold monument. 
 And there be maids appearing, and maids being ; 
 The appearing are fantastic things, mere shadows ; 
 And, if you mark 'em well, they want their heads too ; 
 Only the world, to cozen misty eyes, 
 Has clapt 'em on new faces : the maids being 
 A man may venture on, if he be so mad to marry, 
 If he have neither fear before his eyes, nor fortune ; 
 And let him take heed how he gather these too ; 
 For, look you, father, they are just like melons, 
 Musk -melons are the emblems of these maids ; 
 Now they are ripe, now cut 'em, they taste pleasantly, 
 And are a dainty fruit, digested easily ; 
 Neglect this present time, and come to-morrow, 
 They are so ripe they are rotten gone, their sweetness 
 Run into humour, and their taste to surfeit. 
 
 La Cast. Why, these are now ripe, son. 
 
 Mir. I'll try them presently, 
 And, if I like their taste 
 
 La Cast. 'Pray you, please yourself, sir. 
 
 Mir. That liberty is my due, and I'll maintain it. 
 Lady, what think you of a handsome man now? 
 
 Ros. A wholesome too, sir ? 
 
 Mir. That's as you make your bargain. 
 A handsome, wholesome man, then, and a kind man, 
 To cheer your heart up, to rejoice you, lady? 
 
 Ros. Yes, sir, I love rejoicing. 
 
 Mir. To lie close to you ? 
 Close as a cockle ? keep the cold nights from you ? 
 
 Ros. That will be looked for too ; our bodies ask it. -
 
 SCENE in.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 21 1 
 
 Mir. And get two boys at every birth ? 
 Ros. That's nothing ; 
 
 I have known a cobbler do it, a poor thin cobbler, 
 A cobbler out of mouldy cheese perform it, 
 Cabbage, and coarse black bread : methinks, a gentleman 
 Should take foul scorn to have a nawl * out-name him. 
 Two at a birth ! why, every house-dove has it : 
 That man that feeds well, promises as well too, 
 I should expect indeed something of worth from : 
 You talk of two ! 
 
 Mir. She would have me get two dozen, 
 Like buttons, at a birth. [Aside. 
 
 Ros. You love to brag, sir : 
 If you proclaim these offers at your marriage, 
 (You are a pretty-timbered man, take heed,) 
 They may be taken hold of, and expected, 
 Yes, if not hoped for at a higher rate too. 
 
 Mir. I will take heed, and thank you for your counsel. 
 Father, what think you ? 
 
 La Cast. 'Tis a merry gentlewoman ; 
 Will make, no doubt, a good wife. 
 
 Mir. Not for me : 
 
 I marry her, and, happily, get nothing ; 
 In what a state am I then, father ? I shall suffer, 
 For any thing I hear to the contrary, more majontm ; 
 I were as sure to be a cuckold, father, 
 A gentleman of antler 
 
 La Cast. Away, away, fool I 
 
 Mir. As I am sure to fail her expectation. 
 I had rather get the pox than get her babies. 
 
 La Cast. You are much to blame : if this do not affect 
 
 - you, 
 
 Pray, try the other ; she's of a more demure way. 
 Bel. That I had tmt the audacity to talk thus ! 
 I love that plain-spoken gentlewoman admirably ; 
 And, certain, X could -go as near to please her, 
 
 1 Awl. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT i. 
 
 If down-right doing she has a per'lous countenance 
 
 If I could meet one that would believe me, 
 
 And take my honest meaning without circumstance- 
 
 \Aside. 
 
 Mir. You shall have your will, sir ; I will try the other; 
 But 'twill be to small use. I hope, fair lady, 
 (For, methinks, in your eyes I see more mercy,) 
 You will enjoin your lover a less penance ; 
 And though I'll promise much, as men are liberal, 
 And vow an ample sacrifice of service, 
 Yfct your discretion, and your tenderness, 
 And thriftiness in love, good huswife's carefulness 
 To keep the stock entire 
 
 Lil. Good sir, speak louder, 
 That these may witness, too, you talk of nothing : 
 I should be loth alone to bear the burthen 
 Of so much indiscretion. 
 
 Mir. Hark you, hark you ; 
 'Ods-bobs, you are angry, lady. 
 
 Lil. Angry ! no, sir ; 
 I never owned an anger to lose poorly. 
 
 Mir. But you can love, for all this ; and delight too, 
 For all your set austerity, to hear 
 Of a good husband, lady? 
 
 Lil. You say true, sir ; 
 
 For, by my troth, I have heard of none these ten years, 
 They are so rare ; and there are so many, sir, 
 So many longing women on their knees too, 
 That pray the dropping-down of these good husbands 
 The dropping-down from Heaven ; for they are not bred 
 
 here 
 That you may guess at all my hope, but hearing 
 
 Mir. Why may not I be one ? 
 
 Lil. You were near 'em once, sir, 
 
 When you came o'er the Alps ; those are near Heaven : 
 But since you missed that happiness, there's no hope of 
 you.
 
 SCENE HI.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 213 
 
 Mir. Can you love a man ? 
 
 Z/7. Yes, if the man be lovely, 
 
 That is, be honest, modest : I would have him valiant, 
 His anger slow, but certain for his honour ; 
 Travelled he should be, but through himself exactly, 
 For 'tis fairer to know manners well than countries ; 
 He must be no vain talker, nor no lover 
 To hear himself talk ; they are brags of a wanderer, 
 Of one finds no retreat for fair behaviour. 
 Would you learn more ? 
 
 Mir. Yes. 
 
 Li!. Learn to hold your peace, then : 
 Fond l girls are got with tongues, women with tempers. 
 
 Mir. Women, with I know what ; but let that vanish : 
 Go thy way, good-wife Bias ! sure, thy husband 
 Must have a strong philosopher's stone, he will ne'er 
 
 please thee else. 
 
 Here's a starched piece of austerity ! Do you hear, father? 
 Do you hear this moral lecture ? 
 
 La Cast. Yes, and like it. 
 
 Mir. Why, there's your judgment now ; there's an old 
 
 bolt shot ! 
 
 This thing must have the strangest observation, 
 (Do you mark me, father?) when she is married once, 
 The strangest custom too of admiration 
 On all she does and speaks, 'twill be past sufferance ; 
 I must not lie with her in common language, 
 Nor cry, " Have at thee, Kate ! " I shall be hissed then ; 
 Nor eat my meat without the sauce of sentences, 
 Your powdered beef and problems, a rare diet ! 
 My first son, Monsieur Aristotle, I know it, 
 Great master of the metaphysics, or so ; 
 The second, Solon, and the best law-setter ; 
 And I must look - Egyptian god-fathers, 
 Which will be no small trouble : my eldest daughter, 
 Sappho, or such a fiddling kind of poetess, 
 
 1 Foolish. 2 i.e. Look out.
 
 214 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT 1. 
 
 And brought up, invita Minerva, at her needle ! 
 My dogs must look their names too, and all Spartan, 
 Lelaps, Melampus ; no more Fox and Bawdy-face. 
 I married to a sullen set of sentences ! 
 To one that weighs her words and her behaviours 
 In the gold- weights of discretion ! I'll be hanged first. 
 
 La Cast, Prithee, reclaim thyself. 
 
 Mir. Pray you, give me time, then : 
 If they can set me any thing to play at, 
 That seems fit for a gamester, have at the fairest, 
 Till I see more, and try more ! 
 
 La Cast. Take your time, then ; 
 I'll bar you no fair liberty. Come, gentlemen ; 
 And, ladies, come ; to all, once more, a welcome ! 
 And now let's in to supper. 
 
 {.Exeunt LA CASTRE, NANTOLET, LUGIER, ROSA- 
 LURA, and LILLIA BIANCA. 
 
 Mir. How dost like 'em ? 
 
 Pin. They are fair enough, but of so strange be- 
 haviours 
 
 Mir. Too strange for me : I must have those have 
 
 mettle, 
 And mettle to my mind. Come, let's be merry. 
 
 Bel. Bless me from this woman ! I would stand the 
 
 cannon, ." - 
 
 Before ten words of hers. 
 
 \Exeunt MIRABEL, PINAC, and BELLEUR. 
 
 De Gard. Do you find him now ? 
 Do you think he will be ever firm ? 
 
 On. I fear not. \Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. A Garden belonging to the House of L\ CASTRE. 
 Enter MIRABEL, PINAC, and BELLEUR. 
 
 IR. Ne'er tell me of this happiness ; 'tis 
 
 nothing ; 
 The state they bring with being sought- 
 
 to, scurvy : 
 I had rather make mine own play, and 
 
 I will do. 
 
 My happiness is in mine own content, 
 And the despising of such glorious ' trifles, 
 As I have done a thousand more. For my humour, 
 Give me a good free fellow, that sticks to me, 
 A jovial fair companion ; there's a beauty ! 
 For women, I can have too many of them ; 
 Good women too, as the age reckons 'em, 
 More than I have employment for. 
 Pin. You are happy. 
 
 Mir. My only fear is, that I must be forced, 
 Against my nature, to conceal myself: 
 Health and an able body are two jewels. 
 
 Pin. If either of these two women were offered to me 
 
 now, 
 
 I would think otherwise, and do accordingly ; 
 Yes, and recant my heresies ; I would, sir ; 
 And be more tender of opinion, 
 And put a little of my travelled liberty 
 
 1 i.e. Vain-glorious.
 
 216 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT n. 
 
 Out of the way, and look upon 'em seriously. 
 Methinks, this grave-carried wench 
 
 Bel. Methinks, the other, 
 
 The home-spoken gentlewoman, that desires to be fruitful, 
 That treats of the full manage of the matter, 
 (For there lies all my aim,) that wench, methinks, 
 If I were but well set on, for she is affable, 
 If I were but hounded right, and one to teach me 
 She speaks to the matter, and comes home to the 
 
 point 
 
 Now do I know I have such a body to please her 
 As all the kingdom cannot fit her with, I am sure on't, 
 If I could but talk myself into her favour. 
 
 Mir. That's easily done. 
 
 Bel. That's easily said ; would 'twere done ! 
 You should see then how I would lay about me. 
 If I were virtuous, it would never grieve me, 
 Or any thing that might justify my modesty ; 
 But when my nature is prone to do a charity, 
 And my calf's tongue will not help me 
 
 Mir. Will ye go to 'em ? 
 They cannot but take it courteously. 
 
 Pin. I'll do my part, 
 
 Though I am sure 'twill be the hardest I e'er played yet ; 
 A way I never tried too, which will stagger me ; 
 And, if it do not shame me, I am happy. 
 
 Mir. Win 'em, and wear 'em ; I give up my interest 
 
 Pin. What say you, Monsieur Belleur ? 
 
 Bel. Would I could say, 
 
 Or sing, or any thing that were but handsome ! 
 I would be with her presently ! 
 
 Pin. Yours is no venture ; 
 A merry ready wench. 
 
 Bel. A vengeance squibber ; 
 She'll fleer me out of faith too. 
 
 Mir. I'll be near thee ; 
 Pluck up thy heart ; I'll second thee at all brunts.
 
 SCENE i.l THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 217 
 
 Be angry, if she abuse thee, and beat her a little ; 
 Some women are won that way. 
 
 Bel. Pray, be quiet, 
 
 And let me think : I am resolved to go on ; 
 But how I shall get off again 
 
 Mir. I am persuaded 
 Thou wilt so please her, she will go near to ravish thee. 
 
 Bel. I would 'twere come to that once ! Let me pray 
 a little. 
 
 Mir. Now, for thine honour, Pinac, board me this 
 
 modesty ; 
 
 Warm but this frozen snow-ball, 'twill be a conquest 
 (Although I know thou art a fortunate wencher, 
 And hast done rarely in thy days) above all thy ven- 
 tures. 
 
 Bel. You will be ever near ? 
 
 Mir. At all necessities ; 
 And take thee off, and set thee on again, boy, 
 And cherish thee, and stroke thee. 
 
 Bel. Help me out too ; 
 For I know I shall stick i' the mire. If you see us close 
 
 once, 
 
 Be gone, and leave me to my fortune, suddenly, 
 For I am then determined to do wonders. 
 Farewell, and fling an old shoe. How my heart throbs ! 
 Would I were drunk ! Farewell, Pinac : Heaven send us 
 A joyful and a merry meeting, man ! 
 
 Pin. Farewell, 
 
 And cheer thy heart up ; and remember, Belleur, 
 They are but women. 
 
 Bel. I had rather they were lions. 
 
 Mir. About it ; I'll be with you instantly. 
 
 [Exeunt BELLEUR and PINAC. 
 
 Enter ORIANA. 
 
 Shall I ne'er be at rest ? no peace of conscience ? 
 No quiet for these creatures ? am I ordained
 
 118 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT IT. 
 
 To be devoured quick l by these she-cannibals ? 
 Here's another they call handsome ; I care not for her, 
 I ne'er look after her : when 1 am half-tippled, 
 It may be I should turn her, and peruse her ; 
 Or, in my want of women, I might call for her ; 
 But to be haunted when I have no fancy, 
 No maw to the matter \Aside^\ Now, why do you follow 
 me? 
 
 OH. I hope, sir, 'tis no blemish to my virtue ; 
 Nor need you, out of scruple, ask that question, 
 If you remember you, before your travel, 
 The contract you tied to me : 'tis my love, sir, 
 That makes me seek you, to confirm your memory ; 
 And, that being fair and good, I cannot suffer. 
 I come to give you thanks too. 
 
 Mir. For what, prithee ? 
 
 Ori. For that fair piece of honesty you showed, sir, 
 That constant nobleness. 
 
 Mir. How ? for I am short-headed. 
 
 Ori. I'll tell you then ; for refusing that free offer 
 Of Monsieur Nantolet's, those handsome beauties, 
 Those two prime ladies, that might well have pressed you 
 If not to have broken, yet to have bowed your promise. 
 I know it was for my sake, for your faith-sake, 
 You slipt 'em off; your honesty compelled you ; 
 And let me tell ye, sir, it showed most handsomely. 
 
 Mir. And let me tell thee, there was no such matter ; 
 Nothing intended that way, of that nature : 
 I have more to do with my honesty than to fool it, 
 Or venture it in such leak barks as women. 
 I put 'em off because I loved 'em not, 
 Because they are too queasy for my temper, 
 And not for thy sake, nor the contract-sake, 
 Nor vows, nor oaths ; I have made a thousand of 'em ; 
 They are things indifferent, whether kept or broken ; 
 Mere venial slips, that grow not near the conscience ; 
 
 1 Alive.
 
 SCENE i.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 119 
 
 Nothing concerns those tender parts ; they are trifles ; 
 
 For, as I think, there was never man yet hoped for 
 
 Either constancy or secrecy from a woman, 
 
 Unless it were an ass ordained for sufferance ; 
 
 Nor to contract with such can be a tie-all ; 
 
 So let them know again ; for 'tis a justice, 
 
 And a main point of civil policy, 
 
 Whate'er we say or swear, they being reprobates, 
 
 Out of the state of faith, we are clear of all sides, 
 
 And 'tis a curious blindness to believe us. 
 
 Ori. You do not mean this, sure ? 
 
 Mir. Yes, sure, and certain ; 
 And hold it positively, as a principle, 
 As ye are strange things, and made of strange fires and 
 
 fluxes, 
 
 So we are allowed as strange ways to obtain ye, 
 But not to hold ; we are all created errant. 
 
 Ori. You told me other tales. 
 
 Mir. I not deny it ; 
 
 I have tales of all sorts for all sorts of women, 
 And protestations likewise of all sizes, 
 As they have vanities to make us coxcombs : 
 If I obtain a good turn, so it is, 
 I am thankful for it ; if I be made an ass, 
 The 'mends are in mine own hands, or the surgeon's, 
 And there's an end on't. 
 
 Ori. Do not you love me, then ? 
 
 Mir. As I love others ; heartily I love thee ; 
 When I am high and lusty, I love thee cruelly : 
 After I have made a plenteous meal, and satisfied 
 My senses with all delicates, come to me, 
 And thou shalt see how I love thee. 
 
 Ori. Will not you marry me ? 
 
 Mir. No, certain, no, for any thing I know yet : 
 I must not lose my liberty, dear lady, 
 And, like a wanton slave, cry for more shackles. 
 What should I marry for ? do I want any thing ?
 
 220 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT n. 
 
 Am I an inch the farther from my pleasure ? 
 
 Why should I be at charge to keep a wife of mine own, 
 
 When other honest married men will ease me, 
 
 And thank me too, and be beholding l to me ? 
 
 Thou think'st I am mad for a maidenhead ; thou art 
 
 cozened : 
 
 Or, if I were addicted to that diet, 
 Can you tell me where I should have one ? thou art 
 
 eighteen now, 
 
 And, if thou hast thy maidenhead yet extant:, 
 Sure, 'tis as big as cods-head ; and those grave dishes 
 I never love to deal withal. Dost thou see this book 
 
 here ? [Shows a book. 
 
 Look over all these ranks ; all these are women, 
 Maids, and pretenders to maidenheads; these are my 
 
 conquests ; 
 
 All these I swore to marry, as I swore to thee, 
 With the same reservation, and most righteously : 
 Which I need not have done neither ; for, alas, they made 
 
 no scruple, 
 
 And I enjoyed 'em at my will, and left 'em : 
 Some of 'em are married since, and were as pure maids 
 
 again, 
 
 Nay, o' my conscience, better than they were bred for ; 
 The rest, fine sober women. 
 
 Ori. Are you not ashamed, sir ? 
 
 Mir. No, by my troth, sir " ; there's no shame belongs 
 
 to it; 
 
 I hold it as commendable to be wealthy in pleasure, 
 As others do in rotten sheep and pasture. 
 
 Enter DE CARD. 
 
 Ori. Are all my hopes come to this ? is there no faith, 
 No truth, nor modesty, in men ? [ Weeps. 
 
 De Gard. How now, sister? 
 
 1 i.e. Beholden. - See note ante, p. 162.
 
 SCENE i.] THE WILJi-GOOSE CHASE. 221 
 
 Why weeping thus ? did I not prophesy ? 
 Come, tell me why 
 
 Ori. I am not well ; pray you pardon me. \_Exit. 
 
 De Gard. Now, Monsieur Mirabel, what ails my 
 
 sister ? 
 You have been playing the wag with her. 
 
 Mir. As I take it, 
 
 She is crying for a cod-piece. Is she gone ? 
 Lord, what an age is this ! I was calling for you ; 
 For, as I live, I thought she would have ravished me. 
 
 De Gard. You are merry, sir. 
 
 Mir. Thou know'st this book, De Gard, this inventory ? 
 
 De Gard. The debt-book of your mistresses; I re- 
 member it. 
 
 Mir. Why, this was it that angered her ; she was 
 
 stark mad 
 
 She found not her name here ; and cried downright 
 Because I would not pity her immediately, 
 And put her in my list. 
 
 De Gard. Sure, she had more modesty. 
 
 Mir. Their modesty is anger to be overdone ; 
 They'll quarrel sooner for precedence here, 
 And take it in more dudgeon to be slighted, 
 Than they will in public meetings ; 'tis their natures : 
 And, alas, I have so many to despatch yet, 
 And to provide myself for my affairs too, 
 That, in good faith 
 
 De Gard. Be not too glorious foolish ; 
 Sum not your travels up with vanities ; 
 It ill becomes your expectation : l 
 Temper your speech, sir : whether your loose story 
 Be true or false, (for you are so free, I fear it,) 
 Name not my sister in't, I must not hear it ; 
 Upon your danger, name her not ! I hold her 
 A gentlewoman of those happy parts and carriage, 
 A good man's tongue may be right proud to speak her. 
 
 1 i.e. The expectation formed of you.
 
 222 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT it. 
 
 Mir. Your sister, sir ! do you blench at that ? do you 
 
 cavil ? 
 Do you hold her such a piece she may not be played 
 
 withal ? 
 
 I have had an hundred handsomer and nobler 
 Have sued to me, too, for such a courtesy ; 
 Your sister comes i' the rear. Since you are so angry, 
 And hold your sister such a strong recusant, 
 I tell you, I may do it ; and, it may be, will too ; 
 It may be, have too ; there's my free confession ; 
 Work upon that now ! 
 
 De Gard. If I thought you had, I would work, 
 And work such stubborn work should make your heart 
 
 ache : 
 
 But I believe you, as I ever knew you, 
 A glorious talker, and a legend-maker 
 Of idle tales and trifles ; a depraver 
 Of your own truth : their honours fly about you ! 
 And so, I take my leave ; but with this caution, 
 Your sword be surer than your tongue ; you'll smart else. 
 
 Mir. I laugh at thee, so little I respect thee ; 
 And I'll talk louder, and despise thy sister ; 
 Set up a chamber-maid that shall outshine her, 
 And carry her in my coach too, and that will kill her. 
 Go, get thy rents up, go ! 
 
 De Gard. You are a fine gentleman ! \Exit. 
 
 Mir. Now, have at my two youths ! I'll see how they 
 
 do; 
 
 How they behave themselves ; and then I'll study 
 What wench shall love rne next, and when I'll lose her. 1 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 1 (let rid of her.
 
 SCENE ii.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 223 
 
 SCENE II. A Hall in the House of NANTOLET. 
 Enter PINAC and Servant. 
 
 Pin. Art thou her servant, sayest thou ? 
 
 Serv. Her poor creature ; 
 But servant to her horse, sir. 
 
 Pin. Canst thou show me 
 
 The way to her chamber, or where I may conveniently 
 See her, or come to talk to her ? 
 
 Serv. That I can, sir; 
 But the question is, whether I will or no. 
 
 Pin. Why, I'll content thee. 
 
 Serv. Why, I'll content thee, then ; now you come to 
 me. 
 
 Pin. There's for your diligence. [Gives money. 
 
 Serv. There's her chamber, sir, 
 
 And this way she comes out ; stand you but here, sh\ 
 You have her at your prospect or your pleasure. 
 
 Pin. Is she not very angry? 
 
 Serv. You'll find that quickly : 
 May be, she'll call you saucy, scurvy fellow, 
 Or some such familiar name ; may be, she knows you, 
 And will fling a piss-pot at you, or a pantofle, 1 
 According as you are in acquaintance : if she like yo'i, 
 May be she'll look upon you ; may be no ; 
 And two months hence call for you. 
 
 Pin. This is fine. 
 She is monstrous proud, then? 
 
 Serv. She is a little haughty ; 
 Of a small body, she has a mind well mounted. 
 Can you speak Greek ? 
 
 Pin. No, certain. 
 
 Serv. Get you gone, then ! 
 And talk of stars, and firmaments, and fire-drakes ? 
 Do you remember who was Adam's schoolmaster, 
 
 , - - .. * Slipper.
 
 224 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT n. 
 
 And who taught Eve to spin ? she knows all these, 
 
 And will run you over the beginning o' the world 
 
 As familiar as a fiddler. 
 
 Can you sit seven hours together, and say nothing ? 
 
 Which she will do, and, when she speaks, speak oracles, 
 
 Speak things that no man understands, nor herself neither. 
 Pin. Thou mak'st me wonder. 
 Serv. Can you smile ? 
 Pin. Yes, willingly ; 
 
 For naturally I bear a mirth about me. 
 
 Serv. She'll ne'er endure you, then ; she is never 
 merry ; 
 
 If she see one laugh, she'll swoon past aqua vita. 
 
 Never come near her, sir ; if you chance to venture, 
 
 And talk not like a doctor, you are damned too. 
 
 I have told you enough for your crown, and so, good 
 speed you ! \Exit. 
 
 Pin. I have a pretty task, if she be thus curious, 
 
 As, sure, it seems she is ! If I fall off now, 
 
 I shall be laughed at fearfully ; if I go forward, 
 
 I can but be abused, and that I look for ; 
 
 And yet I may hit right, but 'tis unlikely. 
 
 Stay : in what mood and figure shall I attempt her ? 
 
 A careless way ? no, no, that will not waken her ; 
 
 Besides, her gravity will give me line still, 
 
 And let me lose myself; yet this way often 
 
 Has hit, and handsomely. A wanton method ? 
 
 Ay, if she give it leave to sink into her consideration : 
 
 But there's the doubt : if it but stir her blood once, 
 
 And creep into the crannies of her fancy, 
 
 Set her a-gog but, if she chance to slight it, 
 
 And by the power of her modesty fling it back, 
 
 I shall appear the arrant'st rascal to her, 
 
 The most licentious knave ! for I shall talk lewdly. 
 
 To bear myself austerely ? rate my words ? 
 
 And fling a general gravity about me, 
 
 As if I meant to give laws ? but this I cannot do,
 
 SCENE ii.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE, 225 
 
 This is a way above my understanding ; 
 
 Or, if I could, 'tis odds she'll think I mock her ; 
 
 For serious and sad things are ever still suspicious. 
 
 Well, I'll say something : 
 
 But learning I have none, and less good manners, 
 
 Especially for ladies. Well, I'll set my best face. 
 
 I hear some coming. This is the first woman 
 
 I ever feared yet, the first face that shakes me. [Retires. 
 
 Enter LILLIA BIANCA and PETELLA. 
 
 Lil. Give me my hat, Petella ; take this veil off, 
 This sullen cloud ; it darkens my delights. 
 Come, wench, be free, and let the music warble : 
 Play me some lusty measure. 
 
 [Music within, to which presently LILLIA dances. 
 
 Pin. This is she, sure, 
 The very same I saw, the very woman, 
 The gravity I wondered at. Stay, stay ; 
 Let me be sure. Ne'er trust me, but she danceth ! 
 Summer is in her face now, and she skippeth ! 
 I'll go a little nearer. 
 
 [Aside, and then advances a little. 
 
 Lil. Quicker time, fellows ! 
 I cannot find my legs yet. Now, Petella ! 
 
 Enter MIRABEL, and remains at the side of t tie stage. 
 
 Pin. I am amazed ; I am foundered in my fancy ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Mir. Ha ! say you so ? is this your gravity ? 
 This the austerity you put upon you ? 
 I'll see more o' this sport. [Aside. 
 
 Lil. A song now ! 
 
 Enter a Singing-Boy. 
 
 Call in for a merry and a light song ; 
 And sing it with a liberal spirit. 
 
 Beau. & F.- 1. Q
 
 226 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT n, 
 
 S. Boy. Yes, madam. 
 
 Lil. And be not amazed, sirrah, but take us for your 
 own company. \A song by the Boy, who then exit. 
 Let's walk ourselves : come, wench : would we had a 
 man or two ! 
 
 Pin, Sure, she has spied me, and will abuse me dread- 
 fully : 
 
 She has put on this for the purpose : yet I will try her. 
 
 [Aside, and then advances. 
 Madam, I would be loth my rude intrusion, 
 Which I must crave a pardon for 
 
 Lil. Oh, you are welcome, 
 You are very welcome, sir ! we want such a one. 
 Strike up again.! I dare presume you dance well : 
 Quick, quick, sir, quick ! the time steals on. 
 
 Pin. I would talk with you. 
 
 Lil. Talk as you dance. [They dance. 
 
 Mir. She'll beat him off his legs first. 
 This is the finest masque ! \_Aside, 
 
 Lil. Now, how do you, sir ? 
 
 Pin. You have given me a shrewd heat. 
 
 Lil. I'll give you a hundred. 
 Come, sing now, sing : for I know you sing well ; 
 I see you have a singing face. 
 
 Pin. A fine modesty ! 
 If I could, she'd never give me breath [Aside.] Madam, 
 
 would 
 I might sit and recover ! 
 
 Lil. Sit here, and sing now ; 
 Let's do things quickly, sir, and handsomely. 
 Sit close, wench, close. Begin, begin. 
 
 Pin. I am lessoned. [A song by PINAC. 
 
 Lil. 'Tis very pretty, i' faith. Give me some wine now. 
 
 Pin. I would fain speak to you, 
 
 Lil. You shall drink first, believe me. 
 Here's to you a lusty health. [They drink. 
 
 Pin. I thank you, lady.
 
 SCENE II.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 227 
 
 Would I were off again ! I smell my misery ; 
 
 I was never put to this rack :I shall be drunk too.[Asirfe. 
 
 Mir. If thou be'st not a right one, I have lost mine 
 
 aim much : 
 I thank Heaven that I have 'scaped thee. To her, 
 
 Pinac ! 
 
 For thou art as sure to have her, and to groan for her 
 I'll see how my other youth does. This speeds trim'y : 
 A fine grave gentlewoman, and worth much honour ! 
 
 [Aside, and then exit. 
 
 Lil. Now, how do you like me, sir ? 
 
 Pin. I like you rarely. 
 
 Lil. You see, sir, though sometimes we are grave and 
 
 silent, 
 
 And put on sadder dispositions, 
 
 Yet we are compounded of free parts, and sometimes too 
 Our lighter, airy, and our fiery mettles 
 Break out, and show themselves : and what think you of 
 that, sir? 
 
 Pin. Good lady, sit (for I am very weary), 
 And then I'll tell you. 
 
 Lil. Fie ! a young man idle ! 
 Up, and walk ; be still in action ; 
 The motions of the body are fair beauties ; 
 Besides, 'tis cold. 'Ods me, sir, let's walk faster ! 
 What think you now of the Lady Felicia ? 
 And Bellafronte, the duke's fair daughter ? ha ! 
 Are they not handsome things ? There is Duarta, 
 And brown Olivia 
 
 Pin. I know none of 'em. 
 
 Lil. But brown must not be cast away, 1 sir. If young 
 
 Lelia 
 
 Had kept herself till this day from a husband, 
 Why, what a beauty, sir ! You know Isinena, 
 The fair gem of Saint-Germains ? 
 
 1 This is said by Weber to have been a proverbial expression of 
 the time. 
 
 Q2
 
 228 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT n. 
 
 Pin. By my troth, I do not. 
 
 ///. And, then, I know, you must hear of Brisac, 
 How unlike a gentleman 
 
 Pin. As I live, I have heard nothing. 
 
 LiL Strike me another galliard ! ] 
 
 Pin. By this light, I cannot ! 
 In troth, I have sprained my leg, madam. 
 
 Lil. Now sit you down, sir, [out ? 
 
 And tell me why you came hither ? why you chose me 
 What is your business ? your errand ? despatch, despatch . 
 May be, you are some gentleman's man, (and I mistook 
 
 you,) 
 
 That have brought me a letter, or a haunch of venison, 
 Sent me from some friend of mine. 
 
 Pin. Do I look like a carrier ? 
 You might allow me, what I am, a gentleman. 
 
 Lil. Cry you mercy, sir ! I saw you yesterday ; 
 You are new-come out of travel ; I mistook you : 
 And how do all our impudent friends in Italy ? 
 
 Pin. Madam, I came with duty, and fair courtesy, 
 Service, and honour to you. 
 
 Lil. You came to jeer me. 
 
 You see I am merry, sir ; I have changed my copy ; 
 None of the sages now : and, pray you, proclaim it ; 
 Fling on me what aspersion you shall please, sir, 
 Of wantonness or wildness ; I look for it ; 
 And tell the world I am an hypocrite, 
 Mask in a forced and borrowed shape ; I expect it ; 
 But not to have you believed : for, mark you, sir, 
 I have won a nobler estimation, 
 A stronger tie, by my discretion, 
 Upon opinion (howe'er you think I forced it) 
 Than either tongue or act of yours can slubber, 
 And, when I please, I will be what I please, sir, 
 
 1 Described by Sir John Davies as 
 
 "A gallant daunce. . . 
 With lofty turnes and capriols in the ayre. ''
 
 SCENE in.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 229 
 
 So I exceed not mean ; l and none shall brand it, 
 Either with scorn or shame, but shall be slighted. 
 
 Pin. Lady, I come to love you. 
 
 Lil. Love yourself, sir ; 
 
 Ann, when I want observers,-' I'll send for you. 
 Heigh-ho ! my fit's almost off; for we do all by fits, sir : 
 If you be weary, sit till I come again to you. 
 
 [Exit with PETELLA. 
 
 Pin. This is a wench of a dainty spirit ; but 
 Hang me, if I know yet either what to think 
 Or make of her : she had her will of me, 
 And baited me abundantly, I thank her ; 
 And, I confess, I never was so blurted, 3 
 Nor never so abused : 1 must bear mine own sins. 
 You talk of travels; here's a curious country ! 
 Yet I will find her out, or forswear my faculty. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. A Garden belonging to the House of NAN- 
 TOLET, with a Summer-house in the back-ground. 
 
 Enter ROSALURA and ORIANA. 
 
 Ros. Ne'er vex yourself, nor grieve; you are a fool, then. 
 
 Ori. I am sure I am made so : yet, before I suffer 
 Thus like a girl, and give him leave to triumph 
 
 Ros. You say right ; for, as long as he perceives you 
 Sink under his proud scornings, he'll laugh at you. 
 For me, secure yourself; and, for my sister, 
 I partly know her mind too : howsoever, 
 To obey my father, we have made a tender 
 Of our poor beauties to the travelled monsieur ; 
 Yet two words to a bargain. He slights us 
 As skittish things, and we shun him as curious. 4 
 
 1 Moderation. - Admirers. ;i Contemptuously treated. 
 
 4 Fastidious.
 
 230 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT n. 
 
 May be, my free behaviour turns his stomach, 
 And makes him seem to doubt a loose opinion ' : 
 I must be so sometimes, though all the world saw it. 
 On. Why should not you ? are our minds only 
 measured ? 
 
 As long as here you stand secure 
 
 JRos. You say true ; 
 
 As long as mine own conscience makes no question, 
 What care I for report ? that woman's miserable, 
 That's good or bad for their tongues' sake. Come, let's 
 
 retire, 
 
 And get my veil, wench. By my troth, your sorrow, 
 And the consideration of men's humorous ir.addings, 
 Have put me into a serious contemplation. 
 On'. Come, faith, let's sit and think. 
 Ros. That's all my business. 
 
 \They go into the summer-house, and sit down, 
 ROSAIAJRA having taken her veil from a 
 table, and put it on. 
 
 Enter MIRABEL and BELLEUR. 
 
 Mir. Why stand'st thou peeping here ? thou great 
 slug, forward ! 
 
 Bel. She is there ; peace ! 
 
 Mir. Why stand'st thou here, then, 
 Sneaking and peaking 2 as thou wouldst steal linen ? 
 Hast thou not place and time ? 
 
 Bel. I had a rare speech 
 Studied, and almost ready; and your violence 
 Has beat it out of my brains. 
 
 Mir. Hang your rare speeches ! 
 Go me on like a man. 
 
 Bel. Let me set my beard up. 
 How has Pinac performed ? 
 
 Mir. He has won already ; 
 He stands not thrumming of caps thus. 
 
 1 Reputation. 2 Prying.
 
 SCENE in.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 231 
 
 Bel. Lord, what should I ail ! 
 What a cold I have over my stomach ! would I _- had 
 
 some hum ! * 
 
 Certain I have a great mind to be at her, 
 A mighty mind. 
 
 Mir. On, fool ! 
 
 Bel. Good words, I beseech you ; 
 For I will not be abused by both. 
 
 Mir. Adieu, then 
 
 (I will not trouble you ; I see you are valiant) ; 
 And work your own way. 
 
 Bel. Hist, hist ! I will be ruled ; 
 I will, i' faith ; I will go presently : 
 Will you forsake me now, and leave me i' the suds? 
 You know I am false-hearted this way : I beseech you, 
 Good sweet Mirabel I'll cut your throat, if you leave 
 
 me, 
 Indeed I will- -sweet-heart 
 
 Mir. I will be ready, 
 
 Still at thine elbow. Take a man's heart to thee, 
 And speak thy mind ; the plainer still the better : 
 She is a woman of that free behaviour, 
 Indeed, that common courtesy, she cannot deny thee ; 
 Go bravely on. 
 
 Bel. Madam keep close about me, 
 Still at my back Madam, sweet madam 
 
 Ros. Ha! 
 What noise is that ? what saucy sound to trouble me ? 
 
 Mir. What said she ? 
 
 Bel. I am saucy. 
 
 [ROSALURA and ORIANA rise and come forward. 
 
 Mir. Tis the better. 
 
 Bel. She comes ; must I be saucy still ? 
 
 Mir. More saucy. 
 
 Ros. Still troubled with these vanities ? Heaven bless 
 us ! 
 
 1 Very strong ale.
 
 232 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT n. 
 
 What are we born to ? Would you speak with any of 
 
 my people ? 
 Go in, sir; I am busy. 
 
 Bel. This is riot she, sure : 
 
 Is this two children at a birth ? I'll be hanged, then : 
 Mine was a merry gentlewoman, talked daintily, 
 Talked of those matters that befitted women ; 
 This is a parcel prayer-book. 1 I'm served sweetly ! 
 And now I am to look to ; I was prepared for th' other way. 
 
 Ros. Do you know that man ? 
 
 Oi'i. Sure, I have seen him, lady. 
 
 Ros. Methinks 'tis pity such a lusty fellow 
 Should wander up and down, and want employment. 
 
 Bel. She takes me for a rogue ! You may do well, 
 
 madam, 
 
 To stay this wanderer, and set him a-work, forsooth ; 
 He can do something that may please your ladyship : 
 I have heard of women that desire good breedings, 
 Two at a birth, or so. 
 
 Ros. The fellow's impudent. 
 
 Ori. Sure, he is crazed. 
 
 Ros. I have heard of men too that have had good 
 
 manners ; 
 
 Sure, this is want of grace : indeed, 'tis great pity 
 The young man has been bred so ill ; but this lewd age 
 Is full of such examples. 
 
 Bel. I am foundered, 
 And some shall rue the setting of me on. 
 
 Mir. Ha ! so bookish, lady? is it possible? 
 Turned holy at the heart too ? I'll be hanged then : 
 Why, this is such a feat, such an activity, 
 Such fast and loose ! 2 a veil too for your knavery ? 
 O Die, Dio ! 
 
 Ros. What do you take me for, sir ? 
 
 1 i.e. Partly a prayer-book. 
 
 * The name of a cheating game which survives to-day in what is 
 Known as " pricking the garter. :>
 
 SCENE in.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 233 
 
 Mir. An hypocrite, a wanton, a dissembler, 
 Howe'er you seem ; and thus you are to be handled ! 
 Mark me, Belleur; and this you love, I know it. 
 
 \Attempts to remove the veil. 
 
 Ros. Stand off, bold sir ! 
 
 Mir. You wear good clothes to this end, 
 Jewels ; love feasts and masques. 
 
 Ros. You are monstrous saucy. 
 
 Mir. All this to draw on fools : and- thus, thus, lady, 
 
 \Attempts to remove the veil. 
 You are to be lulled. 
 
 Bel. Let her alone, I'll swinge you else, 
 I will, i' faith ! for, though I cannot skill o' this matter 
 Myself, I will not see another do it before me, 
 And do it worse. 
 
 Ros. Away ! you are a vain thing : 
 You have travelled far, sir, to return again 
 A windy and poor bladder. You talk of women, 
 That are not worth the favour of a common one, 
 The grace of her grew in an hospital ! 
 Against a thousand such blown fooleries 
 I am able to maintain good women's honours, 
 Their freedoms, and their fames, and I will do it 
 
 Mir. She has almost struck me dumb too. 
 
 Ros. And declaim 
 
 Against your base malicious tongues, your noises, 
 For they are nothing else. You teach behaviours ! 
 Or touch us for our freedoms ! Teach yourselves manners, 
 Truth and sobriety, and live so clearly 
 That our lives may shine in ye ; and then task us. 
 It seems ye are hot ; the suburbs will supply ye : 
 Good women scorn such gamesters. 1 So, I'll leave ye. 
 I am sorry to see this : faith, sir, live fairly. 
 
 \Exit with ORIANA. 
 
 Mir. This woman, if she hold on, may be virtuous ; 
 'Tis almost possible : we'll have a new day. 
 
 1 Dissolute fellows.
 
 234- THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT n. 
 
 Bel. You brought me on, you forced me to this foolery : 
 I am shamed, I am scorned, I am flurted ; yes, I am so : 
 Though I cannot talk to a woman like your worship, 
 And use my phrases and my learned figures, 
 Yet I can fight with any man. 
 
 Mir. Fie ! 
 
 Bel. I can, sir; 
 And I will fight. 
 
 Mir. With whom ? 
 
 Bel. With you ; with any man ; 
 For all men now will laugh at me. 
 
 Mir. Prithee, be moderate. 
 
 Bel. And I'll beat all men. Come, 
 
 Mir. I love thee dearly. 
 
 Bel. I will beat all that love ; love has undone me : 
 Never tell me ; I will not be a history. 
 
 Mir. Thou art not. 
 
 Bel. 'Sfoot, I will not ! Give me room, 
 And let me see the proudest of ye jeer me ; 
 And I'll begin with you first. 
 
 Mir. Prithee, Belleur 
 If I do not satisfy thee 
 
 Bel. Well, look you do. 
 But, now I think on't better, 'tis impossible : 
 I must beat somebody ; I am mauled myself, 
 And I ought in justice 
 
 Mir. No, no, no ; you are cozened : 
 But walk, and let me talk to thee. 
 
 Bel. Talk wisely, 
 
 And see that no man laugh, upon no occasion ; 
 For I shall think then 'tis at me. 
 
 Mir. I warrant thee. 
 
 Bel Nor no more talk of this. 
 
 Mir. Dost think I am maddish ? 
 
 Bel. I must needs fight yet; for I find it concerns me: 
 A pox on't : I must fight. 
 
 Mir. I' faith, thou shalt not. \_Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 . SCENE I A public Walk. 
 Enter DE CARD and LUGIER. 
 
 E CARD. I know you are a scholar, and 
 
 can do wonders. 
 
 Lug. There's no great scholarship be- 
 longs to this, sir ; 
 
 What I am, I am. I pity your poor sister, 
 And heartily I hate these travellers, 
 These gim-cracks, made of mops and motions : 
 There's nothing in their houses here but hummings ; 
 A bee has more brains. I grieve and vex too 
 The insolent licentious carriage 
 Of this out-facing fellow Mirabel ; 
 And I am mad to see him prick his plumes up. 
 
 De Gard. His wrongs you partly know. 
 
 Lug. Do not you stir, sir ; 
 Since he has begun with wit, let wit revenge it : 
 Keep your sword close ; we'll cut his throat a new way, 
 I am ashamed the gentlewoman should suffer 
 Such base lewd wrongs. 
 
 De Gard. I will be ruled ; he shall live, 
 And left to your revenge. 
 
 Lug. Ay, ay, I'll fit him : 
 
 He makes a common scorn of handsome women ; 
 Modesty and good manners are his May-games ; 
 He takes up maidenheads with a new commission, 
 The church-warrant's out of date. Follow my counsel, 
 For I am zealous in the cause.
 
 236 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT in. 
 
 De Gard. I will, sir, 
 
 And will be still directed ; for the truth is, 
 My sword will make my sister seem more monstrous : 
 Besides, there is no honour won on reprobates. 
 
 Lug, You are i' the right. The slight he has showed my 
 
 pupils 
 
 Sets me a-fire too. Go ; I'll prepare your sister, 
 And as I told you 
 
 De Gard. Yes ; all shall be fit, sir. 
 
 Lug. And seriously, and handsomely. 
 
 De Gard. I warrant you. 
 
 Lug. A little counsel more. [ Whispers. 
 
 De Gard. "Pis well. 
 
 Lug. Most stately : 
 See that observed ; and then 
 
 De Gard. I have you every way. 
 
 Lug. Away, then, and be ready. 
 
 De Gard. With all speed, sir. 
 
 Lug. We'll learn to travel too, may be, beyond him. 
 
 [Exit DE GARD. 
 
 Enter LILLIA BIANCA, ROSALURA, and ORIANA. 
 
 Good day, fair beauties ! 
 
 Lil. You have beautified us, 
 
 We thank you, sir ; you have set us off most gallantly 
 With your grave precepts. 
 
 Ros. We expected husbands 
 Out of your documents and taught behaviours, 
 Excellent husbands ; thought men would run stark mad 
 Men of all ages and all states ; we expected [on us, 
 
 An inundation of desires and offers, 
 A torrent of trim suitors; all we did, 
 Or said, or purposed, to be spells about us, 
 Spells to provoke. 
 
 Lil. You have provoked us finely ! 
 We followed your directions, we did rarely, 
 We were stately, coy, demure, careless, light, giddy, 
 And played at all points : this, you swore, would carry.
 
 SCENE I.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 237 
 
 Ros. We made love, and contemned love ; now seemed 
 
 holy, 
 
 With such a reverent put-on reservation 
 Which could not miss, according to your principles ; 
 Now gave more hope again ; now close, now public, 
 Still up and down we beat it like a billow ; 
 And ever those behaviours you read to us, 
 Subtle and new : but all this will not help us. 
 
 Lil. They help to hinder us of all acquaintance, 
 They have frighted off all friends. What am' I better 
 For all my learning, if I love a dunce, 
 A handsome dunce? to what use serves my reading? 
 You should have taught me what belongs to horses, 
 Dogs, dice, hawks, banquets, masques, free and fair 
 
 meetings, 
 To have studied gowns and dressings. 
 
 Lug. Ye are not mad, sure ! 
 
 Ros. We shall be, if we follow your encouragements : 
 I'll take mine own way now. 
 
 Lil. And I my fortune ; 
 
 We may live maids else till the moon drop millstones : 
 I see, your modest women are taken for monsters ; 
 A dowry of good breeding is worth nothing. 
 
 Lug. Since ye take it so to th' heart, pray ye, give me 
 
 leave yet, 
 
 And ye shall see how I'll convert this heretic : 
 Mark how this Mirabel 
 
 Lil. Name him no more ; 
 For, though I long for a husband, I hate him, 
 And would be married sooner to a monkey, 
 Or to a Jack of Straw, than such a juggler. 
 
 Ros. I am of that mind too : he is too nimble, 
 And plays at fast and loose too learnedly, 
 For a plain-meaning woman ; that's the truth on't. 
 Here's one too, that we love well, would be angry ; 
 
 [Pointing to ORIANA. 
 And reason why. No, no, we will not trouble you,
 
 238 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT in. 
 
 Nor him at this time : may he make you happy ! 
 We'll turn ourselves loose now to our fair fortunes ; 
 And the downright way 
 
 Lil. The winning way we'll follow ; 
 We'll bait that men may bite fair, and not be frighted : 
 Yet we'll not be carried so cheap neither ; we'll have 
 
 some sport,. 
 Some mad-morris or other for our money, tutor. 
 
 Lng. 'Tis like enough : prosper your own devices ! 
 Ye are old enough to choose. But, for this gentlewoman, 
 So please her give me leave 
 
 Ori. I shall be glad, sir, 
 To find a friend whose pity may direct me. 
 
 Lug. I'll do my best, and faithfully deal for you ; 
 But then you must be ruled. 
 
 Ori. In all, I vow to you. 
 
 JRos. Do, do : he has a lucky hand sometimes, I'll 
 
 assure you, 
 And hunts the recovery of a lost lover deadly. 
 
 Lug. You must away straight. 
 
 Ori. Yes. 
 
 Lug. And I'll instruct you : 
 Here you can know no more. 
 
 OH. By your leave, sweet ladies ; 
 And all our fortunes arrive at our own wishes ! 
 
 Lil. Amen, amen ! 
 
 Lug. I must borrow your man. 
 
 Lil. Pray, take him ; 
 
 He is within : to do her good, take any thing, 
 Take us and all. 
 
 Lug. No doubt, ye may find takers ; 
 And so, we'll leave ye to your own disposes. 
 
 \Exeunt LUGIER and ORIANA. 
 
 Lil. Now, which way, wench ? 
 
 Ros. We'll go a brave way, fear not ; 
 A safe and sure way too ; and yet a by-way. 
 I must confess I have a great mind to be married
 
 SCENE i.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 239 
 
 Lil. So have I too a grudging * of good-will that way, 
 And would as fain be despatched. But this Monsieur 
 Quicksilver 
 
 Ros. No, no ; we'll bar him, bye and main : - let him 
 
 trample ; 
 
 There is no safety in his surquedry : 3 
 An army-royal of women are too few for him ; 
 He keeps a journal of his gentleness, 
 And will go near to print his fair despatches, 
 And call it his " Triumph over time and women : " 
 Let him pass out of memory ! What think you 
 Of his two companions ? 
 
 Lil. Pinac, methinks, is reasonable ; 
 A little modesty he has brought home with him, 
 And might be taught, in time, some handsome duty. 
 
 Ros. They say, he is a wencher too. 
 
 Lil. I like him better ; 
 
 A free light touch or two becomes a gentleman, 
 And sets him seemly off: so he exceed not, 
 But keep his compass clear, he may be looked at. 
 I would not marry a man that must be taught, 
 And conjured up with kisses ; the best game 
 Is played still by the best gamesters. 
 
 Ros. Fie upon thee ! 
 What talk hast thou ! 
 
 Lil. Are not we alone, and merry ? 
 Why should we be ashamed to speak what we think ? Thy 
 
 gentleman, 
 The tall fat fellow, he that came to see thee 
 
 Ros. Is't not a goodly man ? 
 
 Lil. A wondrous goodly ! 
 
 H'as weight enough, I warrant thee : mercy upon me, 
 What a serpent wilt thou seem under such a St. George ! 
 
 Ros. Thou art a fool ! give me a man brings mettle, 
 Brings substance with him, needs no broths to lare 4 him. 
 
 1 Secret inclination. 2 A gambling phrase. 
 
 3 Conceit. 4 i.e. To fatten. Dyce.
 
 240 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT in. 
 
 These little fellows shew like fleas in boxes, 
 Hop up and down, and keep a stir to vex us : 
 Give me the puissant pike ; take you the small shot. 
 
 Lit. Of a great thing, I have not seen a duller ; 
 Therefore, methinks, sweet sister 
 
 Jtos. Peace, he's modest ; 
 
 A bashfulness ; which is a point of grace, wench : 
 But, when these fellows come to moulding, sister, 
 To heat, and handling As I live, I like him ; 
 And, methinks, I could form him. 
 
 Lit. Peace ; the fire- drake. 
 
 Enter MIRABEL. 
 
 Mir. Bless ye, sweet beauties, sweet incomparable 
 
 ladies, 
 
 Sweet wits, sweet humours ! bless you, learned lady ! 
 And you, most holy nun, bless your devotions ! 
 
 Lll. And bless your brains, sir, your most pregnant 
 
 brains, sir ! 
 
 They are in travel ; may they be delivered 
 Of a most hopeful wild-goose ! 
 
 Ros. Bless your manhood ! 
 They say you are a gentleman of action, 
 A fair accomplished man, and a rare engineer ; 
 You have a trick to blow up maidenheads, 
 A subtle trick, they say abroad. 
 
 Mir. I have, lady. 
 
 Ros. And often glory in their ruins. 
 
 Mir. Yes, forsooth ; 
 
 I have a speedy trick, please you to try it ; 
 My engine will despatch you instantly. 
 
 Ros. I would I were a woman, sir, fit for you ! 
 -As there be such, no doubt, may engine you too ; 
 May, with a counter-mine, blow up your valour : 
 But, in good faith, sir, we are both too honest ; 
 And, the plague is, we cannot be persuaded ;
 
 SCENE I.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 241 
 
 For, look you, if we thought it were a glory 
 To be the last of all your lovely ladies 
 
 Mir. Come, come, leave prating : this has spoiled your 
 
 market ! 
 
 This pride and puft-up heart will make ye fast, ladies, 
 Fast when ye are hungry too. 
 
 Itos. The more our pain, sir. 
 
 Lil. The more our health, I hope too. 
 
 Mir. Your behaviours 
 
 Have made men stand amazed ; those men that loved ye, 
 Men of fair states ' and parts. Your strange conversions 
 Into I know not what, nor how, nor wherefore ; 
 Your scorns of those that came to visit ye ; 
 Your studied whim-whams, and your fine set faces 
 What have these got ye ? proud and harsh opinions : 
 A travelled monsieur was the strangest creature, 
 The wildest monster to be wondered at ; 
 His person made a public scoff, his knowledge 
 (As if he had been bred 'mongst bears or bandogs 4 ) 
 Shunned and avoided ; his conversation snuffed at ; 
 What harvest brings all this ? 
 
 Ros. I pray you, proceed, sir. 
 
 Mir. Now ye shall see in what esteem a traveller, 
 An understanding gentleman, and a monsieur, 
 Is to be held ; and, to your griefs, confess it, 
 Both to your griefs and galls. 
 
 Lil. In what, I pray you, sir ? 
 We would be glad to understand your excellence. 
 
 Mir. Go on, sweet ladies ; it becomes ye rarely ! 
 For me, I have blest me from ye ; scoff on seriously ; 
 And note the man ye mocked. You, Lady Learning, 
 Note the poor traveller that came to visit you, 
 That flat unfurnished fellow ; note him throughly ; 
 You may chance to see him anon. 
 
 ///. 'Tis very likely. 
 
 1 Estates. 
 
 1 Dogs that were kept chained up to increase their fierceness. 
 Beau. & F. i. R
 
 -J42 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT in 
 
 Mir. And see him courted by a travelled lady, 
 Held dear and honoured by a virtuous virgin ; 
 May be, a beauty not far short of yours neither ; 
 It may be, clearer. 
 
 Lil. Not unlikely: 
 
 Mir. Younger : 
 
 As killing eyes as yours, a wit as poignant ; 
 May be, a state to that may top your fortune : 
 Inquire how she thinks of him, how she holds him ; 
 His good parts, in what precious price already ; 
 Being a stranger to him, how she courts him ; 
 A stranger to his nation too, how she dotes on him ; 
 Inquire of this ; be sick to know : curse, lady, 
 And keep your chamber ; cry, and curse : a sweet one, 
 A thousand in yearly land, well bred, well friended, 
 Travelled, and highly followed for her fashions. 
 
 Lil. Bless his good fortune, sir ! 
 
 Mir. This scurvy fellow, 
 
 I think they call his name Pinac, this serving-man 
 That brought you venison, as I take it, madam, 
 Note but this scab : 'tis strange that this coarse creature, 
 That has no more set-off but his jugglings, 
 His travelled tricks 
 
 Lil. Good sir, I grieve not at him, 
 Nor envy not his fortune : yet I wonder : 
 He's handsome ; yet I see no such perfection. 
 
 Mir. Would I had his fortune ! for 'tis a woman 
 Of that sweet-tempered nature, and that judgment, 
 Besides her state, that care, clear understanding, 
 And such a -wife to bless him 
 
 Ros. Pray you, whence is she ? 
 
 Mir. Of England, and a most accomplished lady ; 
 So modest that men's eyes are frighted at her, 
 And such a noble carriage 
 
 Enter a Boy. 
 
 How now, sirrah ?
 
 S.CENE I.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 243 
 
 Boy. Sir, the great English lady 
 
 Mir. What of her, sir ? 
 
 Boy. Has newly left her coach, and coming this way, 
 Where you may see her plain : Monsieur Pinac 
 The only man that leads her. 
 
 Mir. He is much honoured ; 
 Would I had such a favour ! [Exit Boy. 
 
 Enter PINAC, MARIANA, and Attendants. 
 
 Now vex, ladies, 
 
 Envy, and vex, and rail ! 
 
 JRos. You are short of us, sir. 
 
 Mir. Bless your fair fortune, sir ! 
 
 Pin. I nobly thank you. 
 
 Mir. Is she married, friend ? 
 
 Pin. No, no. 
 
 Mir. A goodly lady ; 
 A sweet and delicate aspe'ct ! Mark, mark, and 
 
 wonder ! 
 Hast thou any hope of her ? 
 
 Pin. A little. 
 
 Mir. Follow close, then ; 
 Lose not that hope. 
 
 Pin. To you, sir. [MARIANA courtsies to MIRABEL. 
 
 Mir. Gentle lady ! 
 
 Ros. She is fair, indeed. 
 
 Lil. I have seen a fairer ; yet 
 She is well. 
 
 Ros. Her clothes sit handsome too. 
 
 Lil. She dresses prettily. 
 
 Ros. And, by my faith, she is rich ; she looks still 
 
 sweeter : 
 A well-bred woman, I warrant her. 
 
 Lil. Do you hear, sir ? 
 May I crave this gentlewoman's name ? 
 
 Pin. Mariana, lady. 
 
 Lil. I will not say I owe you a quarrel, monsieur, 
 
 B 2
 
 244 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT in. 
 
 For making me your stale : l a noble gentleman 
 Would have had more courtesy, at least more faith, 
 Than to turn off his mistress at first trial : 
 You know not what respect I might have showed you ; 
 I find you have worth. 
 
 Pin. I cannot stay to answer you ; 
 You see my charge. I am beholding - to you 
 For all your merry tricks you put upon me, 
 Your bobs, 3 and base accounts : I came to love you, 
 To woo you, and to serve you ; I am much indebted to 
 
 you 
 
 For dancing me off my legs, and then for walking me ; 
 For telling me strange tales I never heard of, 
 More to abuse me ; for mistaking me, 
 When you both knew I was a gentleman, 
 And one deserved as rich a match as you are. 
 
 Li!. Be not so bitter, sir. 
 
 Pin. You see this lady : 
 
 She is young enough and fair enough to please me ; 
 A woman of a loving mind, a quiet, 
 And one that weighs the worth of him that loves her ; 
 I am content with this, and bless my fortune : 
 Your curious wits, and beauties 
 
 Lil. Faith, see me once more. 
 
 Pin. I dare not trouble you. 
 
 Lil. May I speak to your lady ? 
 
 Pin. I pray you, content yourself: I know you are bitter, 
 And, in your bitterness, you may abuse her ; 
 Which if she comes to know (for she understands you not), 
 It may treed such a quarrel to your kindred, 
 And such an indiscretion fling on you too 
 (For she is nobly friended) 
 
 Lil. I could eat her. [Aside. 
 
 Pin. Rest as you are, a modest noble gentlewoman, 
 And afford your honest neighbours some of your prayers. 
 [Exeunt PIN AC, MARIANA, and Attendants. 
 
 1 Stalking-horse. Beholden. 3 Sneers.
 
 SCENE I.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 245 
 
 Mir. What think you now ? 
 
 Lil. Faith, she's a pretty whiting ; 
 She has got a pretty catch too. 
 
 Mir. You are angry, 
 Monstrous angry now, grievously angry; 
 And the pretty heart does swell now. 
 
 Lil. No, in troth, sir. 
 
 Mir. And it will cry anon, " A pox upon it ! " 
 And it will curse itself, and eat no meat, lady ; 
 And it will sigh. 
 
 Lil. Indeed, you are mistaken ; 
 It will be very merry. 
 
 Ros. Why, sir, do you think 
 There are no more men living, nor no handsomer, 
 Than he or you ? By this light, there be ten thousand, 
 Ten thousand thousand ! comfort yourself, dear monsieur; 
 Faces, and bodies, wits, and all abiliments ! 
 There are so many we regard 'em not. 
 
 Mir. That such a noble lady I could burst now ! 
 So far above such trifles 
 
 Enter BELLEUR and two Gentlemen. 
 
 Bel. You did laugh at me ; 
 And I know why ye laughed. 
 
 \st Gent. I pray you, be satisfied : 
 If we did laugh, we had some private reason, 
 And not at you. 
 
 2nd Gent. Alas, we know you not, sir ! 
 
 Bel. I'll make you know me. Set your faces soberly ; 
 Stand this way, and look sad ; I'll be no May-game ; 
 Sadder, demurer yet. 
 
 Ros. What is the matter ? 
 What ails this gentleman ? 
 
 Bel. Go off now backward, that I may behold ye ; 
 And not a simp:r, on your lives ! 
 
 [Exeunt Gentlemen, walking backwards. 
 1 Accomplishments.
 
 246 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT ill. 
 
 Lil. He's mad, sure. 
 
 Bel. Do you observe me too ? 
 
 Mir. I may look on you. 
 
 Bel. Why do you grin ? I know your mind. 
 
 Mir. You do not. 
 
 You are strangely humorous : is there no mirth nor pleasure 
 But you must be the object ? 
 
 Bel. Mark, and observe me. Wherever I am named, 
 The very word shall raise a general sadness, 
 For the disgrace this scurvy woman did me, 
 This proud pert thing : take heed you laugh not at me 
 Provoke me not ; take heed. 
 
 Ros. I would fain please you ; 
 Do any thing to keep you quiet. 
 
 Bel. Hear me. 
 Till I receive a satisfaction 
 Equal to the disgrace and scorn you gave me, 
 You are a wretched woman ; till thou woo'st me, 
 And I scorn thee as much, as seriously 
 Jeer and abuse thee ; ask what gill ' thou art, 
 Or any baser name ; I will proclaim thee, 
 I will so sing thy virtue, so be-paint thee 
 
 Ros. Nay, good sir, be more modest. 
 
 Bel. Do you laugh again ? 
 Because you are a woman, you are lawless, 
 And out of compass of an honest anger. 
 
 Ros. Good sir, have a better belief of me. 
 
 Lil. Away, dear sister ! \Exit with ROSALURA. 
 
 Mir. Is not this better now, this seeming madness, 
 Than falling out with your friends ? 
 
 Bel. Have I not frighted her ? 
 
 Mir. Into Ler right wits, I warrant thee : follow this 
 
 humour, 
 And thou shalt see how prosperously 'twill guide thee. 
 
 Bel. I am glad I have found a way to woo yet ; I was 
 afraid once 
 
 1 A wanton wench.
 
 SCENE I.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 247 
 
 I never should have made a civil suitor. 
 Well, I'll about it still. 
 
 Mir. Do, do, and prosper. [Exit BELLEUR. 
 
 What sport do I make with these fools ! what pleasure 
 Feeds me, and fats my sides at their poor innocence ! 
 Wooing and wiving hang it ! give me mirth, 
 Witty and dainty mirth ! I shall grow in love, sure, 
 With mine own happy head. _<;' 
 
 Enter LUGIER, disguised. 
 
 Who's this? [Aside.'] To me, sir? 
 What youth is this ? [Aside. 
 
 Lug. Yes, sir, I would speak with you, 
 If your name be Monsieur Mirabel. 
 
 Mir. You have hit it : 
 Your business, I beseech you ? 
 
 Lug. This it is, sir; 
 
 There is a gentlewoman hath long time affected you, 
 And loved you dearly. 
 
 Mir. Turn over, and end that story ; 
 'Tis long enough : I have no faith in women, sir. 
 
 Lug. It seems so, sir. I do not come to woo for her, 
 Or sing her praises, though she well deserve 'em ; 
 I come to tell you, you have been cruel to her, 
 Unkind and cruel, false of faith, and careless ; 
 Taking more pleasure in abusing her, 
 Wresting her honour to your wild disposes, 
 Than noble in requiting her affection : 
 Which, as you are a man. I must desire you 
 (A gentleman of rank) not to persist in, 
 No more tp load her fair name with your injuries. 
 
 Mir. Why, I beseech you, sir ? 
 
 Lug. Good sir, I'll tell you. 
 And I'll be short ; I'll tell you because I love you, 
 Because I would have you shun the shame may follow. 
 There is a nobleman, new come lo town, sir, 
 A noble and a great man, that affects her,
 
 248 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT ill 
 
 (A countryman of mine, a brave Savoyan, 
 Nephew to the duke) and so much honours her, 
 That 'twill be dangerous to pursue your old way, 
 To touch at any thing concerns her honour, 
 Believe, most dangerous : her name is Oriana, 
 And this great man will marry her : take heed, sir ; 
 For howsoe'er her brother, a staid gentleman, 
 Lets things pass upon better hopes, this lord, sir, 
 Is of that fiery and that poignant metal, 
 (Especially provoked on by affection) 
 That 'twill be hard but you are wise. 
 
 Mir. A lord, sir ? 
 
 Lug. Yes, and a noble lord. 
 
 Mir. Send her good fortune ! 
 This will not stir her lord : a baroness ! 
 Say you so ? say you so ? by'r lady, a brave title ! 
 Top and top-gallant now ! save her great ladyship ! 
 I was a poor servant of hers, I must confess, sir, 
 And in those days I thought I might be jovy, 1 
 And make a little bold to call in to her ; 
 But, basta 2 / now I know my rules and distance ; 
 Yet, if she want an usher, such an implement, 
 One that is throughly paced, a clean-made gentleman, 
 Can hold a hanging up with approbation, 
 Plant his hat formally, and wait with patience, 
 I do beseech you, sir 
 
 Lug. Sir, leave your scoffing, 
 And, as you are a gentleman, deal fairly : 
 I have given you a friend's counsel ; so, I'll leave you. 
 
 Mir. But, hark you, hark you, sir ; is't possible 
 I may believe what you say ? 
 
 Lug. You may choose, sir. 
 
 Mir. No baits? no fish-hooks, sir? no gins? no nooses? 
 No pitfals to catch puppies? 
 
 Lug. I tell you certain : 
 
 You may believe ; if not, stand to the danger ! [Exit. 
 1 Jovial. " Ital. Enough.
 
 SCENE i.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 249 
 
 Mir. A lord of Savoy, says he ? the duke's nephew ? 
 A man so mighty ? by lady, 1 a fair marriage ! 
 By my faith, a handsome fortune ! I must leave prating : 
 For, to confess the truth, I have abused her, 
 For which I should be sorry, but that will seem scurvy. 
 I must confess she was, ever since I knew her, 
 As modest as she was fair ; I am sure she loved me ; 
 Her means good, and her breeding excellent; 
 And for my sake she has refused fair matches : 
 I may play the fool finely. Stay : who are these ? 
 
 Re-enter DK CARD, with ORIANA, both of them disguised, 
 and in rich dresses ; and Attendants. 
 
 'Tis she, I am sure ; and that the lord, it should seem ; 
 
 He carries a fair port, is a handsome man too. 
 
 I do begin to feel I am a. coxcomb. \_Aside 
 
 On. Good my lord, choose a nobler ; for I know 
 I am so far below your rank and honour, 
 That what you can say this way I must credit 
 But spoken to beget yourself sport. Alas, sir, 
 I am so far off from deserving you, 
 My beauty so unfit for your affection, 
 That I am grown the scorn of common railers, 
 Of such injurious things that, when they cannot 
 Reach at my person, lie with my reputation ! 
 I am poor, besides. 
 
 De Gard. You are all wealth and goodness ; 
 And none but such as are the scum of men, 
 The ulcers of an honest state, spite-weavers, 
 That live on poison only, like swoln spiders, 
 Dare once profane such excellence, such sweetness. 
 
 Mir. This man speaks loud indeed. 
 
 De Gard. Name but the men, lady ; 
 Let me but know these poor and base depravers, 
 Lay but to my revenge their persons open, 
 And you shall see how suddenly, how fully, 
 
 1 i.e. By our la'y.
 
 250 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. " [ACT in. 
 
 For your most beauteous sake, how direfully, 
 I'll handle their despites. Is this thing one ? 
 
 Be what he will 
 
 Mir. Sir? 
 
 De Gard. Dare your malicious tongue, sir 
 
 Mir. I know you not, nor what you mean. 
 
 On. Good my lord 
 
 De Gard. If he, or any he 
 
 Ori. I beseech your honour 
 This gentleman's a stranger to my knowledge ; 
 And, no* doubt, sir, a worthy man. 
 
 De Gard. Your mercy ! 
 But, had he been a tainter of your honour, 
 A blaster of those beauties reign within you 
 But we shall find a fitter time. Dear lady, 
 As soon as I have freed you from your guardian, 
 And done some honoured offices unto you, 
 I'll take you with those faults the world flings on you, 
 And dearer than the whole world I'll esteem you ! 
 
 [Exit with ORIANA and Attendants. 
 
 Mir. This is a thundering lord : I am glad I 'scaped 
 
 him. 
 
 How lovingly the \vench disclaimed my villany ! 
 I am vexed now heartily that he shall have her ; 
 Not that I care to marry, or to lose her, 
 But that this bilbo-lord J shall reap that maidenhead 
 That was my due ; that he shall rig and top her : 
 I'd give a thousand crowns now, he might miss her. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Sen 1 . Nay, if I bear your blows, and keep your counsel, 
 You have good luck, sir : I teach you to strike lighter. 
 
 Mir. Come hither, honest fellow : canst thou tell me 
 Where this great lord lies? this Savoy lord? thou mett'st 
 He now went by thee, certain. [him ; 
 
 1 Bilbo signifies sword, Bilboa in Spain having been famous for 
 the manufacture of these weapons. The phrase here means bluster- 
 ing or swaggering lord.
 
 SCENE i.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 251 
 
 Serv. Yes, he did, sir; 
 I know him, and I know you are fooled. 
 
 Mir. Come hither : 
 Here's all this, give me truth. [Gives money. 
 
 Serv. Not for your money, 
 
 (And yet that may do much) but I have been beaten, 
 And by the worshipful contrivers beaten, and I'll tell you: 
 This is no lord, no Savoy lord. 
 
 Mir. Go forward. 
 
 Serv. This is a trick, and put upon you grossly 
 By one Lugier : the lord is Monsieur De Card, sir, 
 An honest gentleman, and a neighbour here : 
 Their ends you understand better than I, sure. 
 
 Mir. Now I know him ; know him now plain. 
 
 Seni. I have discharged my colours; so, God b' wi' 
 you, sir ! [Exit. 
 
 Mir. What a purblind puppy was I ! now I remember 
 
 him ; 
 
 All the whole cast on's face, though it were umbered, 
 And masked with patches : what a dunder-whelp, 
 To let him domineer thus ! how he strutted, 
 And what a load of lord he clapt upon him ! 
 Would I had him here again ! I would so bounce him, 
 I would so thank his lordship for his lewd l plot ! 
 Do they think to carry it away, with a great band made 
 
 of bird-pots, 2 
 
 And a pair of pin-buttocked breeches ? Ha ! 'tis he 
 again ; 
 
 MIRABEL sings. 
 " He comes, he comes, he comes ! have at him ! 
 
 Re-enter DE GARD, ORIANA, both disguised as before, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 My Savoy lord, why dost thou frown on me ? 
 And will that favour never sweeter be ? 
 
 Vile. 
 2 i.e. A band of musicians performing on bird-pots. Weber.
 
 252 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT in. 
 
 Wilt thou, I say, for ever play the fool ? 
 De Card, be wise, and, Savoy, go to school ! 
 My lord De Card, I thank you for your antic ; 
 My lady bright, that will be sometimes frantic ; 
 You worthy train, that wait upon this pair, 
 Send you more wit, and them a bouncing bair ! " l 
 
 And so I take my humble leave of your honours ! [Exit, 
 
 De Card. We are discovered ; there's no remedy : 
 Lillia Bianca's man, upon my life. 
 In stubbornness, because Lugier corrected him 
 A shameless slave ! plague on him for a rascal ! 
 
 Ori. I was in a perfect hope. The bane on't is now, 
 He will make mirth on mirth, to persecute us. 
 
 De Gard. We must be patient : I am vexed to the 
 
 proof too. 
 I'll try once more ; then, if I fail, here's one speaks. 
 
 \_Puts his hand on his sword. 
 
 On. Let me be lost and scorned first ! 
 
 De Gard. Well, we'll consider. 
 Away, and let me shift ; I shall be hooted else. \^Ex(unt. 
 
 1 Bairn.
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. A Street before the Lodging of PlNAC. 
 
 Enter LUGIER, LILLIA BIANCA, and Servant, carrying 
 a willow garland. 
 
 UG. Faint not, but do as I direct you : 
 
 trust me ; 
 Believe me too ; for what I have told 
 
 you, lady, 
 
 As true as you are Lillia, is authentic ; 
 I know it, I have found it : 'tis a poor 
 Flies off for one repulse. These travellers [courage 
 
 Shall find, before we have done, a home-spun wit, 
 A plain French understanding, may cope with 'em. 
 They have had the better yet, thank your sweet squire 
 
 here ! 
 
 And let 'em brag. You would be revenged ? 
 Lil. Yes, surely. 
 Lug. And married too ? 
 Lil. I think so. 
 Lug. Then be counselled ; 
 You know how to proceed. I have other irons 
 Heating as well as yours, and I will strike 
 Three blows with one stone home. Be ruled, and happy; 
 And so, I leave you : now is the time. 
 
 Lil. I am ready, 
 If he do come to dor 1 me. [Exit LUGIER. 
 
 1 i.e. Mock me.
 
 254 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Serv. Will you stand here, 
 And let the people think you are God knows what 
 
 mistress ? 
 Let boys and prentices presume upon you ? 
 
 Lil. Prithee, hold thy peace. 
 
 Serv. Stand at his door that hates you ? 
 
 LiL Prithee, leave prating. 
 
 Serv. Pray you, go to the tavern : I'll give you a pint 
 
 of wine there. 
 
 If any of the mad-cap gentlemen should come by, 
 That take up women upon special warrant, 
 You were in a wise case now. 
 
 LiL Give me the garland ; 
 And wait you here. 
 
 \Takes the garland from Servant, ivho retires. 
 
 Enter MIRABEL, PINAC, MARIANA, Priest, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Mir. She is here to seek thee, sirrah : 
 I told thee what would follow ; she is mad for thee : 
 Show, and advance. So early stirring, lady ? 
 It shows a busy mind, a fancy troubled : 
 A willow garland too ? is't possible ? 
 Tis pity so much ^beauty should lie musty ; 
 But 'tis not to be helped now. 
 
 Lil. The more's my misery. 
 Good fortune to you, lady ! you deserve it ; 
 To me, too-late repentance ! I have sought it. 
 I do not envy, though I grieve a little, 
 You are mistress of that happiness, those joys, 
 That might have been, had I been wise but fortune 
 
 Pin. She understands you not ; pray you, do not 
 
 trouble her : 
 And do not cross me like a hare thus ; 'tis as ominous. 
 
 LiL I come not to upbraid your levity 
 (Though you made show of love, and though I liked you), 
 To claim an interest (we are yet both strangers ;
 
 SCENE I.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 255 
 
 But what we might have been, had you persevered, sir !) 
 
 To be an eye-sore to your loving lady : 
 
 This garland shows I give myself forsaken 
 
 (Yet, she must pardon me, 'tis most unwillingly ;) 
 
 And all the power and interest I had in you 
 
 (As, I persuade myself, somewhat you loved me) 
 
 Thus patiently I render up, I offer 
 
 To her that must enjoy you, and so bless you ; 
 
 Only, I heartily desire this courtesy, 
 
 And would not be denied, to wait upon you 
 
 This day, to see you tied, then no more trouble you. 
 
 Pin. It needs not, lady. 
 
 Lil. Good sir, grant me so much. 
 
 Pin. 'Tis private, and we make no invitation. 
 
 Lil. My presence, sir, shall not proclaim it public. 
 
 Pin. May be, 'tis not in town. 
 
 Lil. I have a coach, sir, 
 And a most ready will to do you service. 
 
 Mir. Strike now or never ; make it sure : I tell thee, 
 
 \_Aside to PINAC. 
 She will hang herself, if she have thee not. 
 
 Pin. Pray you, sir,. 
 
 Entertain my noble mistress : only a word or two 
 With this importunate woman, and I'll relieve you. 
 Now you see what your flings are, and your fancies, 
 Your states, and your wild stubbornness ; now you find 
 What 'tis to gird and kick at men's fair services, 
 To raise your pride to such a pitch and glory 
 That goodness shows like gnats, scorned under you : 
 'Tis ugly, naught ; a self-will in a woman, 
 Chained to an overweening thought, is pestilent, 
 Murders fair fortune first, then fair opinion. 1 
 There stands a pattern, a true patient pattern, 
 Humble and sweet. 
 
 Lil. I can but grieve my ignorance : 
 Repentance, some say too, is the best sacrifice ; 
 Reputation.
 
 256 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE, [ACT iv. 
 
 For, sure, sir, if my chance had been so happy 
 (As I confess I was mine own destroyer) 
 As to have arrived at you, I will not prophesy, 
 But certain, as I think, I should have pleased you ; 
 Have made you as much wonder at my courtesy, 
 My love, and duty, as I have disheartened you. 
 Some hours we have of youth, and some of folly ; 
 And being free-born maids, we take a liberty, 
 And, to maintain that, sometimes we strain highly. 
 
 Pin. Now you talk reason. 
 
 Lil. But, being yoked and governed, 
 Married, and those light vanities purged from us, 
 How fair we grow ! how gentle, and how tender, 
 We twine about those loves that shoot up with us ! 
 A sullen woman fear, that talks not to you ; 
 She has a sad and darkened soul, loves dully : 
 A merry and a free wench, give her liberty, 
 Believe her, in the lightest form she appears to you, 
 Believe her excellent, though she despise you ; 
 Let but these fits and flashes pass, she will show to you 
 As jewels rubbed from dust, or gold new burnished : 
 Such had I been, had you believed. 
 
 Pin. Is't possible ? 
 
 Lil. And to your happiness, I dare assure you, 
 If true love be accounted so : your pleasure, 
 Your will, and your command, had tied my motions : 
 But that hope's gone. I know you are young and giddy, 
 And, till you have a wife can govern with you, 
 You sail upon this world's sea light and empty, 
 Your bark in danger daily. 'Tis not the name neither 
 Of wife can steer you, but the noble nature, 
 The diligence, the care, the love, the patience : 
 She makes the pilot, and preserves the husband, 
 That knows and reckons every rib he is built on. 
 But this I tell you, to my shame. 
 
 Pin. I admire you ; 
 And now am sorry that I aim beyond you.
 
 SCENE I.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 257 
 
 Mir. So, so, so : fair and softly ! she is thine own,' boy ; 
 
 [Aside to him. 
 She comes now without lure. 
 
 Pin. But that it must needs 
 Be reckoned to me as a wantonness, 
 Or worse, a madness, to forsake a blessing, 
 A blessing of that hope 
 
 Lil. I dare not urge you ; 
 And yet, dear sir 
 
 Pin. 'Tis most certain, I had rather, 
 If 'twere in mine own choice for you are my country- 
 woman, 
 
 A neighbour here, born by me ; she a stranger, 
 And who knows how her friends 
 
 Lil. Do as you please, sir; 
 If you be fast, not all the world I love you. 
 It is most true, and clear I would persuade you ; 
 And I shall love you still. 
 
 Pin. Go, get before me 
 
 So much you have won upon me do it presently : 
 Here's a- priest ready I'll have you. 
 
 Lil. Not now, sir; 
 
 No, you shall pardon me. Advance your lady ; 
 I dare not hinder your most high preferment : 
 'Tis honour enough for me I have unmasked you. 
 
 Pin. How's that ? 
 
 Lil. I have caught you, sir. Alas, I am no states- 
 woman, 
 
 Nor no great traveller ! yet I have found you : 
 I have found your lady too, your beauteous lady ; 
 I have found her birth and breeding too, her discipline, 
 Who brought her over, and who kept your lady, 
 And, when he laid her by, what virtuous nunnery 
 Received her in : I have found all these. Are you blank 
 
 now? 
 
 Methinks, such travelled wisdoms should not fool thus, 
 Such excellent indiscretions ! 
 
 Beau & F. i. S
 
 258 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Mir. How could she know this ? 
 
 Lil. 'Tis true she is English-born ; but most part 
 
 French now, 
 
 And so I hope you will find her to your comfort. 
 Alas, I am ignorant of what she cost you ! 
 The price of these hired clothes I do not know, gentle- 
 men ! 
 
 Those jewels are the broker's, how you stand bound 
 for 'em ! 
 
 Pin. Will you make this good ? 
 
 Lil. Yes, yes ; and to her face, sir, 
 That she is an English whore, a kind of fling-dust, 
 One of your London light-o'-loves, 1 a right one ; 
 Came over in thin pumps and half a petticoat, 
 One faith, and one smock, with a broken haberdasher : 
 I know all this without a conjurer : 
 Her name is Jumping Joan, an ancient sin-weaver ; 
 She was first a lady's chambermaid, there slipped, 
 And broke her leg above the knee ; departed, 
 And set up shop herself ; stood the fierce conflicts 
 Of many a furious term ; there lost her colours, 
 And last shipped over hither. 
 
 Mir. We are betrayed ! 
 
 Lil. Do you come to fright me with this mystery ? 
 To stir me with a stink none can endure, sir ? 
 I pray you, proceed ; the wedding will become you : 
 Who gives the lady ? you ? an excellent father ! 
 A careful man, and one that knows a beauty ! 
 Send you fair shipping, sir ! and so, I'll leave you : 
 Be wise and manly ; then I may chance to love you ! 
 
 [Exit with Servant. 
 
 Mir. As I live, I am ashamed this wench has reached 
 
 me, 
 
 Monstrous ashamed ; but there's no remedy. 
 This skewed-eyed carrion 
 
 1 Loose women. " Light o' Love " was the name of an old dance 
 tune, and a proverbial phrase for levity.
 
 SCENE II.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE, 25 
 
 Pin. This I suspected ever. 
 Come, come, uncase ; we have no more use of you ; 
 Your clothes must back again. 
 
 Mart. Sir, you shall pardon me ; 
 'Tis not our English use to be degraded. 
 If you will visit me, and take your venture, 
 You shall have pleasure for your properties : 
 And so, sweetheart [Exit. 
 
 Mir. Let her go, and the devil go with her ! 
 We have never better luck with these preludiums. 
 Come, be not daunted ; think she is but a woman, 
 And, let her have the devil's wit, we'll reach her ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Public Walk. 
 Enter ROSALURA and LUGIER. 
 
 Ros. You have now redeemed my good opinion, tutor, 
 And you stand fair again. 
 
 Lug. I can but labour, 
 
 And sweat in your affairs. I am sure Belleur 
 Will be here instantly, and use his anger, 
 His wonted harshness. 
 
 Ros. I hope he will not beat me. 
 
 Lug. No, sure, he has more manners. Be you ready. 
 
 Ros. Yes, yes, I am ; and am resolved to fit him, 
 With patience to outdo all he can offer. 
 But how does Oriana ? 
 
 Lug. Worse and worse still; 
 There is a sad house for her ; she is now, 
 Poor lady, utterly distracted. 
 
 Ros. Pity, 
 
 Infinite pity ! 'tis a handsome lady : 
 That Mirabel's a beast, worse than a monster, 
 If this affliction work not. 
 
 s 2
 
 260 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Enter LILLTA BIANCA. 
 LiL Are you ready ? 
 
 Belleur is coming on here, hard behind me : 
 I have no leisure to relate my fortune ; 
 Only I wish you may come off as handsomely. 
 Upon the sign, you know what. 
 Ros. Well, well ; leave me. 
 
 [Exeunt LILLIA BIANCA and LUGIER. 
 
 Enter BELLEUR. 
 
 Bel. How now ? 
 
 Ros. You are welcome, sir. 
 
 Bel. 'Tis well you have manners. 
 
 That court'sy again, and hold your countenance staidly : 
 That look's too light ; take heed : so ; sit you down now ; 
 And, to confirm me that your gall is gone, 
 Your bitterness dispersed, (for so I'll have it) 
 Look on me stedfastly, and, whatsoe'er I say to you, 
 Move not, nor alter in your face ; you are gone, then ; 
 For, if you do express the least distaste, 
 Or show an angry wrinkle, (mark me, woman ! 
 We are now alone,) I will so conjure thee, 
 The third part of my execution 
 Cannot be spoke. 
 
 Ros. I am at your dispose, sir. 
 
 Bel. Now rise, and woo me a little ; let me hear that 
 
 faculty : 
 
 But touch me not ; nor do not lie, I charge you. 
 Begin now. 
 
 Ros. If so mean and poor a beauty 
 May ever hope the grace 
 
 Bel. You cog, 1 you flatter ; 
 
 Like a lewd 2 thing, you lie : " May hope that grace ! " 
 Why, what grace canst thou hope for ? Answer not ; 
 For, if thou dost, and liest again, I'll swinge thee. 
 
 1 Cheat, cajole. 2 Vile.
 
 SCENE IT.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 261 
 
 Do not I know thee for a pestilent woman ? 
 A proud at both ends ? Be not angry, 
 Nor stir not, o' your life. 
 
 Ros. I am counselled, sir! 
 
 Bel. Art thou not now (confess, for I'll have the truth 
 
 out) 
 
 As much unworthy of a man of merit, 
 Or any of ye all, nay, of mere man, 
 Though he were crooked, cold, all wants upon him, 
 Nay, of any dishonest thing that bears that figure, 
 As devils are of mercy ? 
 
 Ros. We are unworthy. 
 
 Bel. Stick to that truth, and it may chance to save thee. 
 And is it not our bounty that we take ye ? 
 That we are troubled, vexed, or tortured with ye, 
 Our mere and special bounty ? 
 
 Has. Yes. 
 
 Bel. Our pity, 
 
 That for your wickedness we swinge ye soundly ; 
 Your stubbornness and stout hearts, we belabour ye ? 
 Answer to that ! 
 
 Ros. I do confess your pity. 
 
 Bel. And dost not thou deserve in thine own person, 
 Thou impudent, thou pert Do not change countenance. 
 
 Ros. I dare not, sir. 
 
 Bel. For, if you do 
 
 Ros. I am settled. 
 
 Bel. Thou wagtail, peacock, puppy, look on me : 
 I am a gentleman. 
 
 Ros. It seems no less, sir. 
 
 Bel. And dar'st thou in thy surquedry * 
 
 Ros. I beseech you ! 
 It was my weakness, sir, I did not view you, 
 I took not notice of your noble parts, 
 Nor called your person nor your fashion proper. 
 
 Bel. This is some amends yet. 
 
 1 Presumption.
 
 262 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Ros. I shall mend, sir, daily, 
 And study to deserve. 
 
 Bel. Come a little nearer : 
 Canst thou repent thy villany ? 
 
 Ros. Most seriously. 
 
 Bet. And be ashamed ? 
 
 Ros. I am ashamed. 
 
 Bel. Cry. 
 
 Ros. It will be hard to do, sir. 
 
 Bet. Cry now instantly ; 
 
 Cry monstrously, that all the town may hear thee 
 Cry seriously, as if thou hadst lost thy monkey ; 
 And, as I like thy tears 
 
 Ros. Now ! [ To those within. 
 
 Bel. How ! how ! do you jeer me ? 
 Have you broke your bounds again, dame ? 
 
 Enter LILLIA BIANCA, with four Women, laughing. 
 
 Ros. Yes, and laugh at you, 
 And laugh most heartily. 
 
 Bel. What are these ? whirlwinds ? 
 Is hell broke loose, and all the Furies fluttered ? 
 Am I 'greased * once again ? 
 
 Ros. Yes, indeed are you ; 
 And once again you shall be, if you quarrel : 
 Do you come to vent your fury on a virgin ? 
 Is this your manhood, sir ? 
 
 isf Worn. Let him do his best ; 
 Let's see the utmost of his indignation; 
 I long to see him angry. Come, proceed, sir. 
 
 \The women display knives. 
 Hang him, he dares not stir; a man of timber ! 
 
 2nd Worn. Come hither to fright maids with thy bull- 
 faces ! 
 
 To threaten gentlewomen ! Thou a man ! a Maypole, 
 A great dry pudding. 
 
 1 Gulled, Dyce,
 
 SCENE II.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 263 
 
 Worn. Come, come, do your worst, sir ; 
 Be angry, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Bel. The Lord deliver me ! 
 
 4//fc Worn. Do but look scurvily upon this lady, 
 Or give us one foul word ! We are all mistaken ; 
 This is some mighty dairy-maid in man's clothes. 
 
 Lil. I am of that mind too. 
 
 Bel. What will they do to me ? \_Aside. 
 
 Lil. And hired to come and abuse us : a man has 
 
 manners ; 
 
 A gentleman, civility and breeding : 
 Some tinker's trull, with a beard glued on. 
 
 \st Worn. Let's search him, 
 And, as we find him 
 
 Bel. Let me but depart from ye, 
 Sweet Christian women ! 
 
 Lil. Hear the thing speak, neighbours. 
 
 Bel. 'Tis but a small request : if e'er I trouble ye, 
 If e'er I talk again of beating women, 
 Or beating any thing that can but turn to me ; 
 Of ever thinking of a handsome lady 
 But virtuously and well ; of ever speaking 
 But to her honour, this I'll promise ye, 
 I will take rhubarb, and purge choler * mainly, 
 Abundantly I'll purge. 
 
 Lil. I'll send you broths, sir. 
 
 Bel. I will be laughed at, and endure it patiently ; 
 I will do any thing. 
 
 Ros. I'll be your bail, then. 
 
 When you come next to woo, pray you, come not 
 And furnished like a bear-ward." [boisterously, 
 
 Bel. No, in truth, forsooth. 
 Ros. I scented you long since. 
 Bel. I was to blame, sure : 
 I will appear a gentleman. 
 
 1 Bile, the supposed cause of anger and other passions. 
 3 Bear-keeper.
 
 264 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Ros. 'Tis the best for you, 
 For a true noble gentleman's a brave thing. 
 Upon that hope, we quit you. You fear seriously ? 
 
 Bel. Yes, truly do I ; I confess I fear you, 
 And honour you, and any thing. 
 
 Ros. Farewell, then. 
 
 Worn. And, when you come to woo next, bring more 
 mercy. 
 
 \Exeunt all except BELLEUR. 
 
 Bel. A dairy-maid ! a tinker's trull ! Heaven bless me ! 
 Sure, if I had provoked 'em, they had quartered me. 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen. 
 
 I am a most ridiculous ass, now I perceive it ; 
 A coward, and a knave too. 
 
 ist Gent. Tis the mad gentleman ; 
 Let's set our faces right. 
 
 Bel. No, no ; laugh at me, 
 And laugh aloud. 
 
 2nd Gent. We are better mannered, sir. 
 
 Bel. I do deserve it ; call me patch * and puppy, 
 And beat me, if you please. 
 
 \st Gent. No, indeed ; we know you. 
 
 Bel. 'Death, do as I would have ye ! 
 
 znd Gent. You are an ass, then, 
 A coxcomb, and a calf ! 
 
 Bel. I am a great calf. 
 Kick me a little now: why, when? \_They kick htm.~\ 
 
 Sufficient. 
 
 Now laugh aloud, and scorn, me. So good b' wi' ye ! 
 And ever, when ye meet me, laugh. 
 
 Gentlemen. We will, sir. 
 
 \Exeunt on one side, the two Gentlemen ; on 
 the other, BELLEUR. 
 
 1 i.e. Fool.
 
 SCENE in.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 265 
 
 SCENE III. A Hallin the House o/L\ CASTRE. 
 
 Enter NANTOLET, LA CASTRE, DE CARD, LUGIER, and 
 MIRABEL. 
 
 Mir. Your patience, gentlemen ; why do ye bait me ? 
 
 Nant. Is't not a shame you are so stubborn-hearted, 
 So stony and so dull, to such a lady, 
 Of her perfections and her misery ? 
 
 Lug. Does she not love you ? does not her distraction 
 For your sake only, her most pitied lunacy 
 Of all but you, show ye ? does it not compel you ? 
 
 Mir. Soft and fair, gentlemen ; pray ye, proceed 
 temperately. 
 
 Lug. If you have any feeling, any sense in you, 
 The least touch of a noble heart 
 
 La Cast. Let him alone : 
 It is his glory that he can kill beauty. 
 You bear my stamp, but not my tenderness ; 
 Your wild unsavoury courses let that in you ! J 
 For shame, be sorry, though you cannot cure her ; 
 Show something of a man, of a fair nature. 
 
 Mir. Ye make me mad ! 
 
 De Gard. Let me pronounce this to you ; 
 You take a strange felicity in slighting 
 And wronging women, which my poor sister feels now ; 
 Heaven's hand be gentle on her ! Mark me, sir ; 
 That very hour she dies (there's small hope otherwise), 
 That minute, you and I must grapple for it ; 
 Either your life or mine. 
 
 Mir. Be not so hot, sir ; 
 I am not to be wrought on by these policies, 
 In truth, I am not ; nor do I fear the tricks, 
 Or the high-sounding threats, of a Savoyan. 
 I glory not in cruelty, (ye wrong me,) 
 Nor grow up watered with the tears of women. 
 
 1 i.e. Prevent your having such tenderness. Dyce.
 
 266 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT iv. 
 
 This let me tell ye, howsoe'er I show to ye, 
 Wild, as ye please to call it, or self-willed, 
 When I see cause, I can both do and suffer, 
 Freely and feelingly, as a true gentleman. 
 
 Enter ROSALURA and LILLIA BIANCA. 
 
 Ros. Oh, pity, pity ! thousand, thousand pities ! 
 
 LiL Alas, poor soul, she will die ! she is grown sense- 
 She will not know nor speak now. [less ; 
 
 Ros. Die for love ! 
 
 And love of such a youth! I would die for a dog first : 
 He that kills me, I'll give him leave to eat me ; 
 I'll know men better, ere I sigh for any of 'em. 
 
 Lit. You have done a worthy act, sir, a most famous ; 
 You have killed a maid the wrong way ; you are a 
 conqueror. 
 
 Ros. A conqueror ! a cobbler ! hang him, sowter ! l 
 Go hide thyself, for shame ! go lose thy memory ! 
 Live not 'mongst men ; thou art a beast, a monster, 
 A blatant beast ! 
 
 Lil. If you have yet any honesty, 
 Or ever heard of any, take my counsel; 
 Off with your garters, and seek out a bough, 
 A handsome bough, for I would have you hang like a 
 
 gentleman ; 
 
 And write some doleful matter to the world, 
 A warning to hard-hearted men. 
 
 Mir. Out, kittlings ! 
 What caterwauling's here ! what gibing ! 
 Do you think my heart is softened with a black santis ? 2 
 Show me some reason. 
 
 Servants bring in OKI ANA on a couch. 
 Ros. Here then, here is a reason. 
 
 1 Cobbler, 
 
 - i.e. Elack-sanctus, a burlesque hymn performed with all kinds 
 of discordant noises; hence the term came to be applied to "any 
 extreme or horrible dinne.'' Halliwell- Phillips.
 
 SCENE in.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 267 
 
 Nant. Now, if you be a man, let this sight shake you ! 
 
 La Cast. Alas, poor gentlewoman ! Do you know 
 me, lady? 
 
 Lug. How she looks up, and stares ! 
 
 Ori. I know you very well ; 
 You are my godfather : and that's the monsieur. 
 
 De Gard. And who am I ? 
 
 Ori. You are Amadis de Gaul, sir. 
 Oh, oh, my heart ! Were you never in love, sweet lady ? 
 And do you never dream of flowers and gardens ? 
 I dream of walking fires : take heed ; it comes now. 
 Who's that? Pray, stand away. I have seen that face, 
 
 sure. 
 How light my head is ! 
 
 Ros. Take some rest. 
 
 Ori. I cannot ; 
 
 For I must be up to-morrow to go to church, 
 And I must dress me, put my new gown on, 
 And be as fine to meet my love ! Heigh-ho ! 
 Will not you tell me where my love lies buried ? 
 
 Mir. He is not dead. Beshrew my heart, she stirs 
 me ! \Aside. 
 
 Ori. He is dead to me. 
 
 Mir. Is't possible my nature 
 
 Should be so damnable to let her suffer ? \_Aside. 
 
 Give me your hand. 
 
 Ori. How soft you feel, how gentle ! 
 I'll tell you your fortune, friend. 
 
 Mir. How she stares on me ! 
 
 Ori. You have a flattering face, but 'tis a fine one ; 
 I warrant you may have a hundred sweethearts. 
 Will you pray for me ? I shall die to-morrow ; 
 And will you ring the bells ? 
 
 Mir. I am most unworthy, 
 I do confess, unhappy. Do you know me ? 
 
 Ori. I would I did ! 
 
 Mir. Oh, fair tears, how ye take me !
 
 268 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Ori. Do you weep too ? you have not lost your lover ? 
 You mock me : I'll go home and pray. 
 
 Mir. Pray you, pardon me j 
 Or, if it please you to consider justly, 
 Scorn me, for I deserve it ; scorn and shame me, 
 Sweet Oriana ! 
 
 Lil. Let her alone ; she trembles : 
 Her fits will grow more strong, if you provoke her. 
 
 La Cast. Certain she knows you not, yet loves to see 
 
 you. 
 How she smiles now ! 
 
 Enter BELLEUR. 
 
 Bel. Where are you ? Oh, why do not you laugh ? 
 
 come, laugh at me : 
 
 Why a devil art thou sad, and such a subject, 
 Such a ridiculous subject, as I am, 
 Before thy face ? 
 
 Mir. Prithee, put off this lightness ; 
 This is no time for mirth, nor place; I have used too 
 
 much on't : 
 
 I have undone myself and a sweet lady, 
 By being too indulgent to my foolery, 
 Which truly I repent. Look here. 
 Bel. What ails she ? 
 Mir. Alas, she is mad ! 
 Bel. Mad! 
 
 Mir. Yes, too sure ; for me too. 
 Bel. Dost thou wonder at that? by this good light, 
 
 they are all so ; 
 They are cozen ing-mad, they are brawling-mad, they are 
 
 proud-mad ; 
 
 They are all, all mad : I came from a world of mad women, 
 Mad as March hares : get 'em in chains, then deal with 'em. 
 There's one that's mad ; she seems well, but she is dog- 
 mad. 
 Is she dead, dost think ?
 
 SCENE in.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 269 
 
 Mir. Dead ! Heaven forbid ! 
 
 Bel. Heaven further it ! 
 
 For, till they be key-cold dead, there's no trusting of 'em : 
 Whate'er they seem, or howsoe'er they carry it, 
 Till they be chap-fain, and their tongues at peace, 
 Nailed in their coffins sure ; I'll ne'er believe 'em. 
 Shall I talk with her ? 
 
 Mir. No, dear friend, be quiet, 
 And be at peace a while. 
 
 Bel I'll walk aside, 
 
 And come again anon. But take heed to her : 
 You say she is a woman ? 
 
 Mir. Yes. 
 
 Bel. Take great heed ; 
 For, if she do not cozen thee, then hang me : 
 Let her be mad, or what she will, she'll cheat thee ! 
 
 Mir. Away, wild fool ! \_Exit BELLEUR. 
 
 How vile this shows in him now ! 
 Now take my faith, (before ye all I speak it,) 
 And with it my repentant love. 
 
 La Cast. This seems well 
 
 Mir. Were but this lady clear again, whose sorrows 
 My very heart melts for, were she but perfect, 
 (For thus to marry her would be two miseries,) 
 Before the richest and the noblest beauty, 
 France or the world could show me, I would take her : 
 As she is now, my tears and prayers shall wed her. 
 
 De Gard. This makes some small amends. 
 
 Ros. She beckons to you ; 
 To us, too, to go off. 
 
 Nant. Let's draw aside all. 
 
 \_Exeunt all except ORIANA and MIRABEL. 
 
 On'. Oh, my 'best friend ! I would fain 
 
 Mir. What ! she speaks well, 
 And with another voice. [Aside. 
 
 Ori. But I am fearful, 
 And shame a little stops my tongue
 
 270 . THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Mir. Speak boldly. 
 
 On. Tell you, I am well. I am perfect well (pray 
 
 you, mock not) 
 
 And that I did this to provoke your nature ; 
 Out of my infinite and restless love, 
 To win your pity. Pardon me ! 
 
 Mir. Go forward : 
 Who set you on ? 
 
 Ori. None, as I live, no creature ; 
 Not any knew or ever dreamed what I meant. 
 Will you be mine ? 
 
 Mir. 'Tis true, I pity you ; 
 But, when I marry you, you must be wiser. 
 Nothing but tricks ? devices ? 
 
 Ori. Will you shame me ? 
 
 Mir. Yes, marry, will I. Come near, come near ! a 
 
 miracle ! 
 
 The woman's well ; she was only mad for marriage, 
 Stark mad to be stoned to death : give her good counsel. 
 Will this world never mend ? Are you caught, damsel ? 
 
 Enter BELLEUR, NANTOLET, LA CASTRE, DE GARD, 
 
 LUGIER, ROSALURA, and LlLLIA BlANCA. 
 
 Bel. How goes it now ? 
 
 Mir. Thou art a kind of prophet ; 
 The woman's well again, and would have gulled me ; 
 Well, excellent well, and not a taint upon her. 
 
 Bel. Did not I tell you ? let 'em be what can be, 
 Saints, devils, any thing, they will abuse us : 
 Thou wert an ass to believe her so long, a coxcomb : 
 Give 'em a minute, they'll abuse whole millions. 
 
 Mir. And am not I a rare physician, gentlemen, 
 That can cure desperate mad minds ? 
 
 De Gard. Be not insolent. 
 
 Mir. Well, go thy ways : from this hour I disclaim thee, 
 Unless thou hast a trick above this ; then I'll love thee. 
 You owe me for your cure. Pray, have a care of her,
 
 SCENE in.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 271 
 
 For fear she fall into relapse. Come, Belleur ; 
 We'll set up bills to cure diseased virgins. 
 
 Bel. Shall we be merry ? 
 
 Mir. Yes. 
 
 Bel. But I'll no more projects : 
 If we could make 'em mad, it were some mastery. 
 
 {Exeunt MIRABEL and BELLEUR. 
 
 Lil. I am glad she is well again. 
 
 Ros. So am I, certain. 
 Be not ashamed. 
 
 Ori. I shall never see a man more. 
 
 De Gard. Come, you are a fool : had you but told 
 
 me this trick, 
 He should not have gloried thus. 
 
 Lug. He shall not long, neither. 
 
 La Cast. Be ruled, and be at peace : you have my 
 
 consent, 
 And what power I can work with. 
 
 Nant. Come, leave blushing ; 
 
 We are your friends : an honest way compelled you : 
 Heaven will not see so true a love unrecompensed. 
 Come in, and slight him too. 
 
 Lug. The next shall hit him. [Exeunt..
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. A Street, before the House of LA CASTRE. 
 
 Enter DE GARD and LUGIER. 
 
 E GARD. 'Twill be discovered. 
 
 Lug. That's the worst can happen : 
 If there be any way to reach, and work 
 
 upon him, 
 Upon his nature suddenly, and catch 
 
 him That he loves, 
 Though he dissemble it, and would show contrary, 
 And will at length relent, I'll lay my fortune ; 
 Nay, more, my life. 
 De Gard. Is she won ? 
 Lug. Yes, and ready, 
 And my designments set. 
 
 De Gard. They are now for travel ; 
 All for that game again ; they have forgot wooing. 
 Lug. Let 'em ; we'll travel with 'em. 
 De Gard. Where's his father ? 
 
 Lug. Within ; he knows my mind too, and allows ' it, 
 Pities your sister's fortune most sincerely, 
 And has appointed, for our more assistance, 
 Some of his secret friends. 
 De Gard. Speed the plough ! 
 Lug. Well said ! 
 And be you serious too. 
 
 1 Approves.
 
 SCENE I/.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 273 
 
 De Card. I shall be diligent. 
 
 Lug. Let's break the ice for one, the rest will drink too 
 (Believe me, sir) of the same cup. My young gentle- 
 women 
 Wait but who sets the game a-foot : though they seem 
 
 stubborn, 
 
 Reserved, and proud now, yet I know their hearts, 
 Their pulses how they beat, and for what cause, sir, 
 And how they long to venture their abilities 
 In a true quarrel ; husbands they must and will have, 
 Or nunneries and thin collations 
 To cool their bloods. Let's all about our business ; 
 And, if this fail, let nature work. 
 
 De Gard. You have armed me. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Public Walk. 
 Enter MIRABEL, NANTOLET, and LA CASTRF. 
 
 La Cast. Will you be wilful, then ? 
 
 Mir. Pray, sir, your pardon ; 
 For I must travel. Lie lazy here, 
 Bound to a wife ! chained to her subtleties, 
 Her humours, and her wills, which a're mere fetters ! 
 To have her to-day pleased, to-morrow peevish, 
 The third day mad, the fourth rebellious ! 
 You see before they are married, what moriscoes, 1 
 What masques and mummeries they put upon us : 
 To be tied here, and suffer their lavoltas ! 2 
 
 Nant. 'Tis your own seeking. 
 
 Mir. Yes, to get my freedom. 
 Were they as I could wish 'em 
 
 1 Morris-dances, so called from being originally in imitation of 
 Moorish dances. Dyce. 
 
 2 Bounding waltzes. 
 
 Beau. & F. i. T
 
 274 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT v. 
 
 La Cast. Fools and meacocks, 1 
 To endure what you think fit to put upon 'em. 
 Come, change your mind. 
 
 Mir. Not before I have changed air, father. 
 When I know women worthy of my company, 
 I will return again, and wait upon 'em ; 
 Till then, dear sir, I'll amble all the world over, 
 And run all hazards, misery, and poverty, 
 So I escape the dangerous bay of matrimony. 
 
 Enter PINAC and BELLEUR. 
 
 Pin. Are you resolved ? 
 
 Mir. Yes, certain ; I will out again. 
 
 Pin. We are for you, sir ; we are your servants once 
 
 more : 
 
 Once more we'll seek our fortune in strange countries; 
 Ours is too scornful for us. 
 
 Bel. Is there ne'er a land 
 That you have read or heard of (for I care not how far it 
 
 be, 
 
 Nor under what pestiferous star it lies), 
 A happy kingdom, where there are no women ? 
 Nor have been ever ? nor no mention 
 Of any such lewd things with lewder qualities ? 
 For thither would I travel ; where 'tis felony 
 To confess he had a mother ; a mistress, treason. 
 
 La Cast. Are you for travel too ? 
 
 Bel. For any. thing, 
 
 For living in the moon, and stopping hedges, 2 
 Ere I stay here to be abused and baffled. 
 
 Nant. Why did ye not break your minds to me ? they 
 are my daughters ; 
 
 1 i.e., Dastardly creatures. A common word of Derision more 
 particularly applied to submissive husbands. IVeber.- 
 
 ' 2 An allusion to the popular idea of the Man in the Moon, with 
 his bundle of sticks, which Belleur supposes to be intended for 
 mending hedges with. Weber.
 
 SCENE II.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 275 
 
 And, sure, I think I should have that command over 
 
 'em, 
 
 To see 'em well bestowed : I know ye are gentlemen, 
 Men of fair parts and states l ; I know your parents : 
 
 And, had ye told me of your fair affections 
 
 Make but one trial more, and let me second ye. 
 
 Be!. No ; I'll make hob- nails first, and mend old 
 
 kettles. 
 
 Can you lend me an armour of high proof, to appear in, 
 And two or three field-pieces to defend me ? 
 The king's guard are mere pigmies. 
 
 Nant. They will not eat you. 
 
 Bel. Yes, and you too, and twenty fatter monsieurs, 
 If their high stomachs hold : they came with chopping- 
 
 knives, 
 
 To cut me into rands and sirloins, and so powder me. 
 Come, shall we go ? 
 
 Nant You cannot be so discourteous, 
 If ye intend to go, as not to visit 'em, 
 And take your leaves. 
 
 Mir. That we dare do, and civilly, 
 And thank 'em too. 
 
 Pin. Yes, sir, we know that honesty. 2 
 
 BeL I'll come i' the rear, forty foot off, I'll assure you, 
 With a good gun in my hand ; I'll no more Amazons, 
 I mean, no more of their frights : I'll make my three 
 
 legs, 3 
 
 Kiss my hand twice, and, if I smell no danger, 
 If the interview be clear, may be I'll speak to her; 
 I'll wear a privy coat too, and behind me, 
 To make those parts secure, a bandog. 4 
 
 La Cast. You are a merry gentleman. 
 
 Bel. A wary gentleman, I do assure you ; 
 I have been warned ; and must be armed. 
 La Cast. Well, son, 
 
 Estates. ~ Good breeding. Ft:, honnetete. 3 Bows. 
 
 See note ante, p. 241.
 
 276 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT v. 
 
 These are your hasty thoughts ; when I see you are bent 
 
 to it, 
 Then I'll believe, and join with you : so, we'll leave 
 
 you. 
 
 There's a trick will make you stay. [Aside. 
 
 Nant. I hope so. [Aside. 
 
 [Exeunt LA CASTRE and NANTOLET. 
 
 Mir. We have won immortal fame now, if we leave 
 
 'em. 
 
 Pin. You have ; but we have lost. 
 Mir. Pinac, thou art cozened : 
 I know they love ye ; and to gain ye handsomely, 
 Not to be thought to yield, they would give millions : 
 Their father's willingness, that must needs show ye. 
 
 Pin. If I thought so 
 
 Mir. You shall be hanged, you recreant ! 
 Would you turn renegado now ? 
 
 Bel. No ; let's away, boys, 
 Out of the air and tumult of their villanies. 
 Though I were mairied to that grasshopper, 
 And had her fast by the legs, I should think she would 
 cozen me. 
 
 Enter a Young Man, disguised as a Factor. 
 
 Y. Man. Monsieur Mirabel, I take it ? 
 
 Mir. You're i' the right, sir. 
 
 Y. Man. I am come to seek you, sir ; I have been at 
 
 your father's, 
 And, understanding you were here 
 
 Mir. You are welcome. 
 May I crave your name ? 
 
 Y. Man. Fosse, sir, and your servant. 
 That you may know me better, I am factor 
 To your old merchant, Leverdure. 
 
 Mir. How does he ? 
 
 Y. Man. Well, sir, I hope ; he is now at Orleans, 
 About some business.
 
 SCENE II.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 277 
 
 Mir. You are once more welcome. 
 Your master's a right honest man, and one 
 I am much beholding to, and must very shortly 
 Trouble his love again. 
 
 Y. Man. You may be bold, sir. 
 
 Mir. Your business, if you please now ? 
 
 Y. Man. This, it is, sir. 
 I know you well remember in your travel 
 A Genoa merchant 
 
 Mir. I remember many. 
 
 Y. Man. But this man, sir, particularly ; your own 
 
 benefit 
 
 Must needs imprint him in you ; one Alberto, 
 A gentleman you saved from being murdered 
 A little from Bologna : 
 
 I was then myself in Italy, and supplied you ; 
 Though happily you have forgot me now. 
 
 Mir. No, I remember you, 
 And that Alberto too ; a noble gentleman : 
 More to remember were to thank myself, sir. 
 What of that gentleman ? 
 
 Y. Man. He is dead. 
 
 Mir. I am sorry. 
 
 Y. Man. But on his death-bed, leaving to his sister 
 All that he had, beside some certain jewels, 
 Which, with a ceremony, he bequeathed to you, 
 In grateful memory, he commanded strictly 
 His sister, as she loved him and his peace, 
 To see those jewels safe and true delivered, 
 And, with them, his last love. She, as tender to 
 Observe his will, not trusting friend nor servant 
 With such a weight, is come herself to Paris, 
 And at my master's house. 
 
 Mir. You tell me a wonder. 
 
 K Man. I tell you a truth, sir. She is young and 
 
 handsome, 
 And well attended ; of much state and riches ;
 
 278 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT V. 
 
 So loving and obedient to her brother, 
 
 That, on my conscience, if he had given her also, 
 
 She would most willingly have made her tender. 
 
 Mir. May not I see her? 
 Y. Man. She desires it heartily. 
 
 Mir. And presently ? 
 Y. Man. She is now about some business, 
 Passing accounts of some few debts here owing, 
 And buying jewels of a merchant. 
 
 Mir. Is she wealthy ? 
 
 Y. Man. I would you had her, sir, at all adventure ! 
 Her brother had a main state. 
 
 Mir. And fair too ? 
 
 Y. Man. The prime of all those parts of Italy, 
 For beauty and for courtesy. 
 
 Mir. I must needs see her. [her ; 
 
 Y. Man. 'Tis all her business, sir. You may now see 
 But to-moirow will be fitter for your visitation, 
 For she is not yet prepared. 
 
 Mir. Only her sight, sir : 
 And, when you shall think fit, for further visit. 
 
 Y. Man. Sir, you may see her, and I'll wait your 
 coming. 
 
 Mir. And I'll be with you instantly; I know the 
 
 house ; - 
 Meantime, 'rny love and thanks, sir. 
 
 Y. Man. Your poor servant. [Exit. 
 
 Pin. Thou hast the strangest luck ! what was that 
 Alberto ? 
 
 Mir. An honest noble merchant, 'twas my chance 
 To rescue from some rogues had almost slain him ; 
 And he in kindness to remember this ! 
 
 Bel. Now we shall have you 
 For all your protestations and your forwardness, 
 Find out strange fortunes in this lady's eyes, 
 And new enticements to put off your journey ; 
 And who shall have honour then ?
 
 SCENE ii.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 27 
 
 Mir. No, no, never fear it : 
 I must needs see her to receive my legacy. 
 
 Bel. If it be tied up in her smock, Heaven help thee ! 
 May not we see too ? 
 
 Mir. Yes, afore we go : 
 I must be known myself, ere I be able 
 To make thee welcome. Wouldst thou see more women ? 
 I thought you had been out of love with all. 
 
 Bel. I may bs 
 
 (I find that), with the least encouragement ; 
 Yet I desire to see whether all countries 
 Are naturally possessed with the same spirits, 
 For, if they be, I'll take a monastery, 
 And never travel : for I had rather be a friar, 
 And live mewed up, than be a fool, and flouted. 
 
 Mir. Well, well, I'll meet ye anon, then tell you more, 
 
 boys; 
 
 However, stand prepared, prest J for our journey ; 
 For certain we shall go, I think, when I have seen her, 
 And viewed her well. 
 
 Pin. Go, go, and we'll wait for you ; 
 Your fortune directs ours. 
 
 Bel. You shall find us i' the tavern, 
 Lamenting in sack and sugar for our losses. 
 If she be right Italian, and want servants, 2 
 You may prefer the properest man : how I could 
 Worry a woman now ! 
 
 Pin. Come, come, leave prating : 
 You may have enough to do, without this boasting. 
 
 \Exeunt, on one side, PINAC and BELLEUR ; on 
 the other, MIRABEL. 
 
 1 Ready. - i.e. Lovers.
 
 280 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT V. 
 
 SCENE 1 11. A Room in the House of NANTOLET. 
 Enter LUGIER, DE GARD, ROSALURA, and LILLIA 
 
 BlANCA. 
 
 Lug. This is the last adventure. 
 
 De Gard. And the happiest, 
 As we hope, too. 
 
 Ros. We should be glad to find it. 
 
 Lil. Who shall conduct us thither ? 
 
 Liig. Your man is ready, 
 
 For I must not be seen ; no, nor this gentleman ; 
 That may beget suspicion ; all the rest 
 Are people of no doubt. I would have ye, ladies, 
 Keep your old liberties, and as we instruct ye. 
 Come, look not pale ; you shall not lose your wishes, 
 Nor beg 'em neither ; but be yourselves and happy. 
 
 Ros. I tell you true, I cannot hold off longer, 
 Nor give no more hard language. 
 
 De Gard. You shall not need. 
 
 Ros. I love the gentleman, and must now show it : 
 Shall I beat a proper man out of heart ? 
 
 Lug. There's none advises you. 
 
 Lil. Faith, I repent me too. 
 
 Lug. Repent, and spoil all ; 
 Tell what you know, you had best ! 
 
 Lil. I'll tell what I think ; 
 For, if he ask me now, if I can love him, 
 I'll tell him, yes, I can. The man's a kind man, 
 And out of his true honesty affects me : 
 Although he played the fool, which I requited, 
 Must I still hold him at the staff's end ? 
 
 Lug. You are two strange women. 
 
 Ros. We may be, if we fool still. 
 
 Lug. Dare ye believe me ? 
 Follow but this advice I have set you in now,
 
 SCENE iv.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE, 281 
 
 And if ye lose Would ye yield now so basely ? 
 Give up without your honours saved ? 
 
 De Gard. Fie, ladies ! 
 Preserve your freedom still. 
 
 Lil. Well, well, for this time. 
 
 Lug. And carry that full state 
 
 Ros. That's as the wind stands ; 
 If it begin to chop about, and scant us, 
 Hang me, but I know what I'll do ! Come, direct us ; 
 I make no doubt we shall do handsomely. 
 
 De Gard. Some part o' the way we'll wait upon ye, 
 
 ladies ; 
 The rest your man supplies. 
 
 Lug. Do well, I'll honour ye. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Room in a neighbouring House, 
 with a Gallery. 
 
 ORIANA disguised as an Italian lady, and two persons 
 disguised as Merchants, discovered above. Enter, 
 below, the Young Man disguised as a Factor, and 
 MIRABEL. 
 
 Y. Man. Look you, sir, there she is ; you see how busy. 
 Methinks you are infinitely bound to her for her journey. 
 
 Mir. How gloriously she shows ! she is a tall woman. 
 
 Y. Man. Of a fair size, sir. My master not being at 
 
 home, 
 
 I have been so out of my wits to get her company ! 
 I mean, sir, of her own fair sex and fashion 
 
 Mir. Afar off, she is most fair too. 
 
 Y. Man. Near, most excellent 
 At length, I have entreated two fair ladies 
 (And happily you know 'em), the young daughters 
 Of Monsieur Nantolet.
 
 282 ' THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT v. 
 
 Mir. I know 'em well, sir. 
 What are those? jewels? 
 
 Y.Man. All. 
 
 Mir. They make a rich show. 
 
 Y. Man. There is a matter of ten thousand pounds too 
 Was owing here : you see those merchants with her ; 
 They have brought it in now. 
 
 Mir. How handsomely her shape shows ! 
 
 Y. Man. Those are still neat ; your Italians are most 
 
 curious. 
 Now she looks this way. 
 
 Mir. She has a goodly presence ; 
 How full of courtesy ! Well, sir, I'll leave you ; 
 And, if I may be bold to bring a friend or two, 
 Good noble gentlemen 
 
 Y. Man. No doubt, you may, sir ; 
 For you have most command. 
 
 Mir. I have seen a wonder ! \Exit. 
 
 On. Is he gone ? 
 
 Y. Man. Yes. 
 
 On. How? 
 
 Y. Mem. Taken to the utmost : 
 A wonder dwells about him. 
 
 Ori. He did not guess at me ? 
 
 Y. Man. No, be secure ; you show another woman. 
 He is gone to fetch his friends. 
 
 Ori. Where are the gentlewomen ? 
 
 Enter, below, ROSALURA, LILLIA BIANCA, and Servant. 
 
 Y. Man. Here, here : now they are come, 
 Sit still, and let them see you. 
 
 Ros. Pray you, where's my friend, sir? 
 
 Y. Man. She is within, ladies ; but here's another 
 
 gentlewoman, 
 
 A stranger to this town : so please you visit her, 
 'Twill be well taken. 
 
 Lil. Where is she?
 
 SCENE iv.j THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 283 
 
 Y. Man. There, above, ladies. 
 
 Sent. Bless me, what thing is this ? two pinnacles 
 Upon her pate ! is't not a glade ' to catch woodcocks ? 
 
 Ros. Peace, you rude knave ! 
 
 Serv. What a bouncing bum she has too ! 
 There's sail enough for a carrack. 2 
 
 Ros. What is this lady ? 
 For, as I live, she is a goodly woman. 
 
 K Man. Guess, guess. 
 
 Lil. I have not seen a nobler presence. 
 
 Serv. 'Tis a lusty wench : now could I spend my 
 
 forty-pence, 
 
 With all my heart, to have but one fling at her, 
 To give her but one swashing blow. 
 
 Lil. You rascal ! 
 
 Serv. Ay, that's all a man has for's good will : 'twill be 
 
 long enough 
 Before you cry, " Come, Anthony, and kiss me." 
 
 Lil. I'll have you whipt. 
 
 Ros. Has my friend seen this lady ? 
 
 Y. Man. Yes, yes, and is well known to her. 
 
 Ros. I much admire her presence. 
 
 Lil. So do I too ; 
 
 For, I protest, she is the handsomest, 
 The rarest, and the newest to mine eye, 
 That ever I saw yet. 
 
 Ros. I long to know her ; 
 My friend shall do that kindness. 
 
 Ori. So she shall, ladies : 
 Come, pray ye, come up. 
 
 Ros. Oh me ! 
 
 Lil. Hang me, if I knew her ! 
 Were I a man myself, I should now love you ; 
 Nay, I should dote. 
 
 1 The servant is comparing the space between the pinnacles to the 
 glade or opening cut in a wood, where nets were spread to catch 
 woodcocks. Mason. 
 
 A large ship of burden.
 
 284 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT V. 
 
 Ros. I dare not trust mine eyes ; 
 For, as I live, you are the strangest altered ! 
 I must come up to know the truth. 
 
 Serv. So must I, lady : 
 For I'm a kind of unbeliever too. 
 
 Lil. Get you gone, sirrah ; 
 
 And what you have seen be secret in ; you are paid else ! 
 No more of your long tongue. 
 
 Y. Man. Will ye go in, ladies, 
 
 And talk with her ? These venturers will come straight. 
 Away with this fellow ! 
 
 Lil. There, sirrah ; go, disport you. 
 Serv. I would the trunk-hosed woman ! would go with 
 me. 
 
 [Exeunt, on one side, ROSALURA, LILLIA BIANCA, 
 and the Young Man disguised as a Factor; 
 on the other, Servant. 
 
 SCENE V. The Street, before the same House. 
 
 Enter MIRABEL, PINAC, and BELLEUR. 
 
 Pin. Is she so glorious handsome ? 
 
 Mir. You would wonder ; 
 Our women look like gipsies, like gills 2 to her ; 
 Their clothes and fashions beggarly, and bankrupt, 
 Base, old, and scurvy. 
 
 Bel. How looks her face ? 
 
 Mir. Most heavenly ; 
 And the becoming motion of her body 
 So sets her off ! 
 
 Bel. Why then, we shall stay. 
 
 Mir. Pardon me, 
 
 1 i.e. The woman with the large breeches, which must have been 
 visible below Oriana's gown. Dyce. 2 Sluts.
 
 SCENE vi.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 285 
 
 That's more than I know ; if she be that woman 
 She appears to be 
 
 Bel. As 'tis impossible. 
 
 Mir. I shall then tell ye more. 
 
 Pin. Did you speak to her ? 
 
 Mir. No, no, I only saw her ; she was busy : 
 Now I go for that end ; and mark her, gentlemen, 
 If she appear not to ye one of the sweetest, 
 The handsomest, the fairest in behaviour ! 
 We shall meet the two wenches there too ; they come to 
 
 visit her, 
 To wonder, as we do. 
 
 Pin. Then we shall meet 'em. 
 
 Bel. I had rather meet two bears. 
 
 Mir. There you may take your leaves, despatch that 
 
 business, 
 And, as ye find their humours 
 
 Pin. Is your love there too ? 
 
 Mir. No, certain ; she has no great heart to set out 
 
 again. 
 This is the house ; I'll usher ye. 
 
 Bel. I'll bless me, 
 And take a good-heart, if I can. 
 
 Mir. Come, nobly. \Exeunt into the house. 
 
 SCENE VI. A Room in the same House. 
 
 Enter the Young Man disguised as a Factor, ROSALURA, 
 LILLIA BIANCA, and ORIANA disguised as before. 
 
 Y. Man. They are come in. Sit you two off, as 
 
 strangers. 
 There, lady. Where's the boy ? 
 
 Enter Boy. 
 
 Be ready, sirrah,
 
 286 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT v. 
 
 And clear your pipes. The music now ; they enter. 
 
 \_-M~usic within. 
 Enter MIRABEL, PIN AC, and BELLEUR. 
 
 Pin. What a state she keeps ! how far off they sit from 
 
 her! 
 
 How rich she is ! ay, marry, this shows bravely ! 
 Bel. She is a lusty wench, and may allure a good 
 
 man ; 
 But, if she have a tongue, I'll not give two-pence for 
 
 her. 
 
 There sits my Fury ; how I shake to see her ! 
 Y. Man. Madam, this is the gentleman. 
 Mir. How sweet she kisses ! 
 
 [MIRABEL salutes ORIANA. 
 She has a spring dwells on her lips, a paradise ! 
 This is the legacy. 
 
 Song by the Boy, while he presents a casket to MIRABEL. 
 
 From the honoured dead I bring 
 Thus his love and last offering. 
 Take it nobly, 'tis your due, 
 From a friendship ever true ; 
 From a faith, &c. 
 
 Ori, Most noble sir, 
 
 This from my now-dead brother, as his love, 
 And grateful memory of your great benefit ; 
 From me my thanks, my wishes, and my service. 
 Till I am more acquainted, I am silent ; 
 Only I dare say this, you are truly noble. 
 
 Mir. What should I think ? 
 
 Pin. Think you have a handsome fortune : 
 Would I had such another ! 
 
 Ros. Ye are well met, gentlemen ; 
 We hear ye are for travel. 
 
 Pin. You hear true, lady; 
 And come to take our leaves.
 
 SCENE vi.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 287 
 
 Lil. We'll along with ye : 
 
 We see you are grown so witty by your journey, 
 We cannot choose but step out too : this lady 
 We mean to wait upon as far as Italy. 
 
 Bel. I'll travel into Wales, amongst the mountains, 
 In hope they cannot find me. 
 
 Ros. If you .go further, . 
 
 So good and free society we hold ye, 
 We'll jog along too. 
 
 Pin. Are you so valiant, lady ? 
 
 Lil. And we'll be merry, sir, and laugh. 
 
 Pin. It may be 
 We'll go by sea. 
 
 Lil. Why, 'tis the only voyage : 
 I love a sea-voyage, and a blustering tempest ; 
 And let all split ! 
 
 Pin. This is a dainty damosel ! 
 I think 'twill tame you. Can you ride post ? 
 
 Lil. Oh, excellently ! I am never weary that way : 
 A hundred mile a-day is nothing with me. 
 
 Bel. I'll travel und'er ground. Do you hear, sweet 
 
 lady? 
 I find it will be dangerous for a woman. 
 
 Ros. No danger, sir, I warrant ; I love to be under. 
 
 Bel. I see she will abuse me all the world over. 
 But say we pass through Germany, and drink hard ? 
 
 Ros. We'll learn to drink, and swagger too. 
 
 Bel. She'll beat me ! 
 Lady, I'll live at home. 
 
 Ros. And I'll live with thee ; 
 And we'll keep house together. 
 
 Bel. I'll keep hounds first : 
 And those I hate right heartily. 
 
 Pin. I go for Turkey ; 
 And so, it may be, up into Persia. 
 
 Lil. We cannot know too much ; I'll travel with you. 
 
 Pin. And you'll abuse me ?
 
 288 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT v. 
 
 Lil. Like enough. 
 
 Pin. 'Tis dainty ! 
 
 Bel. I will live in a bawdy-house. 
 
 Ros. I dare come to you. 
 
 Bel. Say I am disposed to hang myself? 
 
 Ros. There I'll leave you. 
 
 Bel. I am glad I know how to avoid you. 
 
 Mir. May I speak yet ? 
 
 Y. Man. She beckons to you, 
 
 Mir. Lady, I could wish I knew to recompense, 
 Even with the service of my life, those pains, 
 And those high favours you have thrown upon me : 
 Till I be more desertful in your eye, 
 And till my duty shall make known I honour you, 
 Noblest of women, do me but this favour, 
 To accept this back again, as a poor testimony. 
 
 [Offering the casket. 
 
 On. I must have you too with 'em ; else the will, 
 That says they must rest with you, is infringed, sir ; 
 Which, pardon me, I dare not do. 
 
 Mir. Take me then, 
 And take me with the truest love. 
 
 Ori. 'Tis certain 
 
 My brother loved you dearly, and I ought 
 As dearly to preserve that love : but, sir, 
 Though I were willing, these are but your ceremonies. 
 
 Mir. As I have life, I speak my soul ! 
 
 Ori. I like you : 
 
 But how you can like me, without I have testimony, 
 A stranger to you 
 
 Mir. I'll marry you immediately ; 
 A fair state * I dare promise you. 
 
 Bel. Yet she'll cozen thee. 
 
 Ori. Would some fair gentleman durst promise for 
 
 you ! 
 Mir. By all that's good 
 
 1 Estate.
 
 SCENE vi.] THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 289 
 
 Enter LA CASTRE, NANTOLET, LUGIER, and DE GARD. 
 
 LA CAST., NANT., &c., And we'll make up the rest, 
 
 lady. 
 Or/. Then Oriana takes you ; nay, she has caught 
 
 you : 
 
 If you start now, let all the world cry shame on you ! 
 I have out-travelled you. 
 
 Bel. Did not I say she would cheat thee ? 
 
 Mir. I thank you : I am pleased you have deceived 
 
 me, 
 
 And willingly I swallow it, and joy in't ; 
 And yet, perhaps, I knew you. Whose plot was this ? 
 
 Lug. He is not ashamed that cast ! it : he that executed, 
 Followed your father's will. 
 
 Mir. What a world's this ! 
 Nothing but craft and cozenage ! 
 Ori. Who begun, sir ? 
 
 Mir. Well ; I do take thee upon mere compassion ; 
 And I do think I shall love thee : as a testimony, 
 I'll burn my book, and turn a new leaf over. 
 But these fine clothes you shall wear still. 
 Ori. I obey you, sir, in all. 
 Nant. And how, how, daughters? what say you to 
 
 these gentlemen ? 
 What say ye, gentlemen, to the girls? 
 Pin. By my troth if she can love me 
 Li!. How long ? 
 
 Pin. Nay, if once you love 
 
 Lit. Then take me, 
 And take your chance. 
 
 Pin. Most willingly : you are mine, lady ; 
 
 And, if I use you not, that you may love me 
 
 Lil. A match, i' faith. 
 
 Pin. Why, now you travel with me. 
 
 Ros. How that thing stands ! 
 
 1 Contrived. 
 Beau. & F. i. O
 
 290 THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE. [ACT v. 
 
 Bel. It will, if you urge it : 
 Bless your five wits ! 
 
 Ros. Nay, prithee, stay ; I'll have thee. 
 
 BeL You must ask me leave first. 
 
 Ros. Wilt thou use me kindly, 
 And beat me but once a week ? 
 
 Bel. If you deserve no more. 
 
 Ros. And wilt thou get me with child ? 
 
 Bel. Dost thou ask me seriously ? 
 
 Ros. Yes, indeed do I. 
 
 Bel. Yes, I will get thee with child : come, presently, 
 An't be but in revenge, I'll do thee that courtesy, 
 Will, if thou wilt fear God and me, have at thee ! 
 
 Ros. I'll love you, and I'll honour you. 
 
 Bel. I am pleased, then. 
 
 Mir. This wild-goose-chase is done ; we have won o' 
 
 both sides. 
 
 Brother, your love : and now to church of all hands ; 
 Let's lose no time. 
 
 Pin. Our travelling lay by. 
 
 BeL No more for Italy ; for the Low Countries, I. 
 
 [Exeunt.
 
 THIET^BJ ANV THEOVOljET. 
 
 U 2
 
 S3) 
 
 | HE tragedy of Thierry and Theodore t was 
 first published anonymously in 1621. 
 Although brought out after Beaumont's 
 death (at the Blackfriars Theatre), and 
 the Epilogue speaks of " our poet," it has 
 been considered probable that Beaumont 
 had a share in the production of the play. The latter was 
 reprinted in 1648 with Fletcher's name only on the title-page, 
 but the year following it was re-issued with a new title-page, 
 on which the joint names were given. 
 
 A previous play had been written on the same subject, as 
 in a note by Henslowe, " of all suche bookes as belong to 
 the Stocke, and such as I have bought since the 3d of 
 March, 1598," the play of Brunhowlle is mentioned. 
 
 The plot of Thierry and Theodoret is derived from the 
 French chronicles in the reign of Clotaire the Second.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 THIERRY, King of France. 
 
 THEODORET, his Brother, Prince of Austracia. 
 
 MARTELL, Follower and Friend to THEODORET. 
 
 DE VITRY, a disbanded Officer. 
 
 PROTALDY, Paramour to BRUNHALT. 
 
 LECURE, her Physician. 
 
 BAWDBER, a Pandar. 
 
 Huntsmen. 
 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Doctors. 
 
 Revellers. 
 
 Courtiers. 
 
 Priest. 
 
 Post. 
 
 Gentlemen, Attendants. 
 
 BRUNHALT, Mother to THIERRY and THEODORET. 
 ORDELLA, Queen to THIERRY. 
 MEMBERGE, Daughter to THEODORET. 
 Ladies. 
 
 SCENE. AUSTRACIA and FKANCE.
 
 THIET^KJ APD THEO f DOT(ET. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. An Apartment in the Palace of THEODORET. 
 Enter THEODORET, BRUNHALT, and BAWDBER. 
 
 RUN. Tax me with these hot taintures ! l 
 
 Theod. You're too sudden ; 
 I do but gently tell you what becomes 
 
 you, 
 And what may bend your honour ; how 
 
 these courses, 
 Of loose and lazy pleasures, not suspected, 
 But done and known ; your mind that grants no limit, 
 (And all your actions follow.) which loose people, 
 That see but through a mist of circumstance, 
 Dare term ambitious ; all your ways hide sores 
 Opening in the end to nothing but ulcers. 
 Your instruments like these may call the world, 
 And with a fearful clamour, to examine 
 Why, and to what we govern. From example, 
 If not for virtue's sake, you may be honest : 
 There have been great ones, good ones; and 'tis necessary, 
 Because you are yourself, and by yourself 
 
 1 Taints.
 
 296 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT I. 
 
 A self-piece from the touch of power and justice, 
 You should command yourself. You may imagine 
 (Which cozens all the world, but chiefly women) 
 The name of greatness glorifies your actions, 
 And strong power, like a pent-house, promises 
 To shade you from opinion. Take heed, mother ; 
 And let us all take heed : these most abuse us. 
 The sins we do, people behold through optics 
 Which show them ten times more than common vices, 
 And often multiply them : then what justice 
 Dare we inflict upon the weak offenders, 
 When we are thieves ourselves ? 
 
 Brun. This is Martell, 
 
 Studied and penned unto you ; whose base person, 
 I charge you by the love you owe a mother, 
 And as you hope for blessings from her prayers, 
 Neither to give belief to nor allowance. 
 Next, I tell you, sir, you, from whom obedience 
 Is so far fled that you dare tax a mother, 
 Nay, further, brand her honour with your slanders, 
 And break into the treasures of her credit, 
 Your easiness is abused, your faith freighted 
 With lies, malicious lies ; your merchant Mischief; 
 He that ne'er knew more trade than tales, and tumbling 
 Suspicions into honest hearts. What you, or he, 
 Or all the world, dare lay upon my worth, 
 This for your poor opinions ! I am she, 
 And so will bear myself, whose truth and whiteness 
 Shall ever stand as far from these detections 
 As you from duty. Get you better servants, 
 People of honest actions, without ends, 
 And whip these knaves away ; they eat your favours, 
 And turn 'em unto poisons. My known credit, 
 Whom all the courts o' this side Nile have envied, 
 And happy she could cite me, brought in question, 
 Now in my hours of age and reverence, 
 When rather superstition should be rendered 1
 
 SCENE i.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 297 
 
 And by a rush that one day's warmth 
 
 Hath shot up to this swelling ! Give me justice, 
 
 Which is his life. 
 
 Theod. This is an impudence, 
 (And he must tell you, that till now, mother, 
 Brought you a son's obedience, and now breaks it) 
 Above the sufferance of a son. 
 
 Baw. Bless us ! 
 
 For I do now begin to feel myself 
 Turning into a halter, and the ladder 
 Turning from me, one pulling at my legs too. \Asidc. 
 
 Theod. These truths are no man's tales, but all men's 
 
 troubles : 
 They are, though your strange greatness would out-stare 
 
 'em : 
 
 Witness the daily libels, almost ballads, 
 In every place, almost in every province, 
 Are made upon your lust ; tavern-discourses ; 
 Crowds crammed with whispers ; nay, the holy temples 
 Are not without your curses. Now you would blush ; 
 But your black tainted blood dare not appear, 
 For fear I should fright that too. 
 
 Brun. Oh, ye gods ! 
 
 Theod. Do not abuse their names : they see your 
 
 actions ; 
 
 And your concealed sins, though you work like moles, 
 Lie level to their justice. 
 
 Bi~un. Art thou a son ? 
 
 Theod. The more my shame is of so bad a mother, 
 And more your wretchedness you let me be so. 
 But, woman, (for a mother's name hath left me, 
 Since you have left your honour,) mend these ruins, 
 And build again that broken fame, and fairly, 
 
 Your most intemperate fires have burnt ; and quickly, 
 Within these ten days, take a monastery, 
 A most strict house ; a house where none may whisper, 
 Where no more light is known but what may make you
 
 298 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT l. 
 
 Believe there is a day ; where no hope dwells, 
 Nor comfort but in tears 
 
 Brun. Oh, misery ! 
 
 Theod. And there to cold repentance and starved 
 
 penance 
 
 Tie your succeeding days: or, curse me Heaven, 
 If all your gilded knaves, brokers, 1 and bedders, 
 Even he you built from nothing, strong Protaldy, 
 Be not made ambling geldings ! all your maids, 
 If that name do not shame 'em, fed with sponges 
 To suck away their rankness ! and yourself 
 Only to empty pictures and dead arras 
 Offer your old desires ! 
 
 Brun, I will not curse you, 
 Nor lay a prophecy upon your pride, 
 Though Heaven might grant me both ; unthankful, no ! 
 I nourished you ; 'twas I, poor I, groaned for you ; 
 'Twas I felt what you suffered ; I lamented 
 When sickness or sad hours held back your sweetness ; 
 'Twas I payed for your sleeps, I watched your wakings ; 
 My daily cares and fears that rid, played, walked, 
 Discoursed, discovered, fed and fashioned you 
 To what you are ; and am I thus rewarded ? 
 
 Theod. But that I know these tears, I could dote on 'em, 
 And kneel to catch 'em as they fall, then knit 'em 
 Into an armlet, ever to be honoured : 
 But, woman, they are dangerous drops, deceitful, 
 Full of the weeper, anger and ill nature. 
 
 Brun. In my last hours despised ! 
 
 Theod. That text should tell 
 How ugly it becomes you to err thus : 
 Your flames are spent, nothing but smoke maintains 
 
 you; 
 
 And those your favour and your bounty suffers, 
 Lie not with you, they do but lay lust on you, 
 And then embrace you as they caught a palsy ; 
 
 1 Pandars.
 
 SCENE i.J THIERRY AND THEODORET. 299 
 
 Your power they may love, and, like Spanish jennets, 
 Commit with such a gust 
 
 Baw. I would take whipping, 
 And pay a fine now ! \Aside and exit. 
 
 Theod. But were you once disgraced, 
 Or fallen in wealth, like leaves they would fly from you, 
 And become browse for every beast. You willed me 
 To stock myself with better friends and servants : 
 With what face dare you see me, or any mankind, 
 That keep a race of such unheard-of relics, 
 Bawds, leechers, leeches, female fornications, 
 And children in their rudiments to vices, 
 Old men to show examples, and (lest art 
 Should lose herself in act) to call back custom ? 
 Leave these, and live like Niobe ; I told you how ; 
 And when your eyes have dropt away remembrance 
 Of what you were, I am your son : perform it. [Ext/. 
 
 Brun. Am I a woman, and no more power in me 
 To tie this tiger up ? a soul to no end ? 
 Have I got shame, and lost my will ? Brunhalt, 
 From this accursed hour forget thou bor'st him, 
 Or any part of thy blood gave him living ! 
 Let him be to thee an antipathy, 
 A thing thy nature sweats at and turns backward ; 
 Throw all the mischiefs on him that thyself, 
 Or women worse than thou art, have invented, 
 And kill him drunk or doubtful ! 
 
 Re-enter BAWDBER, with PROTALDY, and LECURE. 
 
 Baiv. Such a sweat 
 
 I never was in yet : dipt of my minstrels, 
 My toys to prick up wenches withal ! Uphold me ; 
 It runs like snow-balls through me. 
 
 Brun. Now, my varlets, 
 My slaves, my running thoughts, my executions ! 
 
 Ba:j. Lord, how she looks ! 
 
 Brun. Hell take ye all !
 
 300 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT i. 
 
 Baw. We shall be gelt. 
 
 Brun. Your mistress, 
 
 Your old and honoured mistress, you tired curtals, 1 
 Suffers for your base sins. I must be cloistered, 
 Mewed up to make me virtuous : who can help this ? 
 Now you stand still, like statues ! Come, Protaldy, 
 One kiss before I perish ; kiss me strongly ; 
 
 .-.. ii [PROTALDY kisses tier. 
 
 Another, and a third ! 
 
 Lee. I fear not gelding, 
 As long as she holds this way. 
 
 Brun. The young courser, 
 
 That unlicked lump of mine, will win thy mistress : 
 Must I be chaste, Protaldy? 
 
 Prot. Thus, and thus, lady. \Kisses her. 
 
 Brun. It shall be so : let him seek fools for vestals ; 
 Here is my cloister. 
 
 Lee. But what safety, madam, 
 Find you in staying here ? 
 
 Brun. Thou hast hit my meaning : 
 I will to Thierry, son of my blessings, 
 And there complain me, tell my tale so subtilely, 
 That the cold stones shall sweat, and statues mourn ; 
 And thou shalt weep, Protaldy, in my witness, 
 And there forswear 
 
 Baw. Yes ; any thing but gelding. 
 I am not yet in quiet, noble lady : 
 Let it be done to-night, for without doubt 
 To-morrow we are capons. 
 
 Brun. Sleep shall not seize me, 
 Nor any food befriend me but thy kisses, 
 Ere I forsake this desert. I live honest ! 
 He may as well bid dead men walk. I humbled ! 
 Or bent below my power, let night-dogs tear me, 
 And goblins ride me in my sleep to jelly, 
 Ere I forsake my sphere ! 
 
 1 Nags.
 
 SCENE ii.] THIERRY AND THRODORET. 301 
 
 Lee. This place you will. 
 
 Brun. What's that to you or any ? 
 You dose, ye powdered pigsbones, rhubarb-glister, 
 Must you know my designs ? a college on you 
 The proverb makes but fools. 
 
 Prof. But, noble lady 
 
 Brun. You are a saucy ass too ! Off I will not, 
 If you but anger me, till a sow-gelder 
 Have cut you all like colts. Hold me, and kiss me, 
 For I am too much troubled. Make up my treasure, 
 And get me horses private ; come, about it ! \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A not her Apartment tn the same. 
 
 Enter THEODORET, MARTELL, and Attendants. 
 
 Theod. Though I assure myself, Martell, your counsel 
 Had no end but allegiance and my honour, 
 Yet I am jealous I have passed the bounds 
 Of a son's duty : for, suppose her worse 
 Than your report, not by bare circumstance 
 But evident proof confirmed, has given her out ; 
 Yet since all weaknesses in a kingdom are 
 No more to be severely punished than 
 The faults of kings are by the Thunderer, 
 As oft as they offend, to be revenged ; 
 If not for piety, yet for policy, 
 Since some are of necessity to be spared, 
 I might, and now I wish I had not looked 
 With such strict eyes into her follies. 
 
 Mar. Sir, 
 
 A duty well discharged is never followed 
 By sad repentance ; nor did your highness ever 
 Make payment of the debt you owed her, better 
 Than in your late reproofs, not of her, but
 
 302 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT I. 
 
 Those crimes that made her worthy of reproof. 
 The most remarkable point in which kings differ 
 From private men, is that they not alone 
 Stand bound to be in themselves innocent, 
 But that all such as are allied to them 
 In nearness or dependence, by their care 
 Should be free from suspicion of all crime : 
 And you have reaped a double benefit 
 From this last great act : first, in the restraint . 
 Of her lost pleasures, you remove the example 
 From others of the like licentiousness ; 
 Then, when 'tis known that your severity 
 Extended to your mother, who dares hope for 
 The least indulgence or connivance in 
 The easiet slips that may prove dangerous 
 To you or to the kingdom ? 
 
 Theod. I must grant 
 Your reasons good, Martell, if, as she is 
 My mother, she had been my subject, or 
 That only here she could make challenge to 
 A place of being : but I know her temper, 
 And fear (if such a word become a king) 
 That, in discovering her, I have let loose 
 A tigress, whose rage, being shut up in darkness, 
 Was grievous only to herself; which, brought 
 Into the view of light, her cruelty, 
 Provoked by her own shame, will turn on him 
 That foolishly presumed to let her see 
 The loathed shape of her own deformity. 
 
 Mar. Beasts of that nature, when rebellious threats 
 Begin to appear only in their eyes, 
 Or any motion that may give suspicion 
 Of the least violence, should be chained up ; 
 Their fangs and teeth, and all their means of hurt, 
 Pared off and knocked out ; and, so made unable 
 To do ill, they would soon begin to loathe it. 
 I'll apply nothing ; but had your grace done,
 
 SCENE II.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 303 
 
 Or would do yet, what your less-forward zeal 
 In words did only threaten, far less danger 
 Would grow from acting it on her than may 
 Perhaps have being from her apprehension 
 Of what may once be practised : for, believe it, 
 Who, confident of his own power, presumes 
 To spends threats on an enemy that hath means 
 To shun the worst they can effect, gives armour 
 To keep off his own strength ; nay, more, disarms 
 Himself, and lies unguarded against all harms 
 Or doubt or malice may produce. 
 
 Theod. 'Tis true : 
 
 And such a desperate cure I would have used, 
 If the intemperate patient had not been 
 So near me as a mother ; but to her, 
 And from me, gentle unguents only were 
 To be applied ; and as physicians, 
 When they are sick of fevers, eat themselves 
 Such viands as by their directions are 
 Forbid to others, though alike diseased ; 
 So she, considering what she is, may challenge 
 Those cordials to restore her, by her birth 
 And privilege, which at no suit must be 
 Granted to others. 
 
 Mar. May your pious care 
 Effect but what it aimed at ! I am silent 
 
 Enter DE VITRY. 
 
 Theod. What laughed you at, sir ? 
 
 De Vit. I have some occasion, 
 I should not else ; and the same cause perhaps 
 That makes me do so, may beget in you 
 A contrary effect. 
 
 Theod. Why, what's the matter? 
 
 De Vit. I see, and joy to see, that sometimes poor men 
 (And most of such are good) stand more indebted 
 For means to breathe to such as are held vicious,
 
 304 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT I. 
 
 Than those that wear, like hypocrites, on their high 
 
 foreheads 
 The ambitious titles of just men and virtuous. 
 
 Mar, Speak to the purpose. 
 
 De Vit. Who would e'er have thought 
 The good old queen, your highness' reverend mother, 
 Into whose house (which was an academe, j'al r 
 In which all principles of lust were practised) 
 No soldier might presume to set his foot ; 
 At whose most blessed intercession 
 All offices in the state were charitably 
 Conferred on pandars, o'er-worn chamber-wrestlers, 
 And such physicians as knew how to kill 
 With safety, under the pretence of saving, 
 And such-like children of a monstrous peace ; 
 That she, I say, should at the length provide 
 That men of war and honest younger brothers, 
 That would not owe their feeding to their codpiece, 
 Should be esteemed of more than moths, or drones, 
 Or idle vagabonds ! 
 
 Theod. I am glad to hear it ; 
 Prithee, what course takes she to do this ? 
 
 De Vit. One 
 
 That cannot fail : she and her virtuous train, 
 
 
 
 With her jewels and all that was worthy the carrying, 
 The last night left the court ; and, as 'tis more 
 Than said, for 'tis confirmed by such as met her, 
 She's fled unto your brother. 
 
 Theod. How! 
 
 De Vit. Nay, storm not ; 
 For if that wicked tongue of hers hath not 
 Forgot its pace, and Thierry be a prince 
 Of such a fiery temper as report 
 Has given him out for, you shall have cause to use 
 Such poor men as myself, and thank us too 
 For coming to you and without petitions : 
 Pray Heaven reward the good old woman for't !
 
 SCENE II.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 305 
 
 Mar. I foresaw this. 
 
 Theod. I hear a tempest coming, 
 That sings mine and my kingdom's ruin. Haste, 
 And cause a troop of horse to fetch her back 
 Yet stay : why should I use means to bring in 
 A plague that of herself hath left me ? Muster 
 Our soldiers up ; we'll stand upon our guard ; 
 For we shall be attempted. Yet forbear : 
 The inequality of our powers will yield me 
 Nothing but loss in their defeature. Something 
 Must be done, and done suddenly. Save your labour : 
 In this I'll use no counsel but mine own ; 
 That course, though dangerous, is best. Command 
 Our daughter be in readiness to attend us. 
 Martell, your company, and, honest Vitry, 
 Thou wilt along with me ? 
 
 De Vit. Yes, any where ; 
 To be worse than I am here, is past my fear. [Exeunt. 
 
 Beau. & F. i
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. Before the Palace ^/THIERRY. 
 
 Enter THIERRY, BRUNHALT, BAWDBER, LECURE, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 >HI. You are here in a sanctuary ; and 
 
 that viper 
 
 (Who since he hath forgot to be a son, 
 I much disdain to think of as a brother) 
 Had better, in despite of all the gods, 
 To have razed their temples and 
 spurned down their altars, 
 
 Than, in his impious abuse of you, 
 
 To have called on my just anger. 
 Brun. Princely son, 
 
 And in this worthy of a nearer name, 
 
 I have in the relation of my wrongs 
 
 Been modest, and no word my tongue delivered 
 
 To express my insupportable injuries 
 
 But gave my heart a wound : nor has my grief . 
 
 Being from what I suffer ; but that he, 
 
 Degenerate as he is, should be the actor 
 
 Of my extremes, and force me to divide 
 
 The fires of brotherly affection, 
 
 Which should make but one flame. 
 Thi. That part of his, 
 
 As it deserves, shall burn no more, if or 
 
 The tears of orphans, widows, or all such 
 
 As dare acknowledge him to be their lord, 
 
 Joined to your wrongs, with his heart-blood have power
 
 SCENE I.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 307 
 
 To put it out : and you, in these your servants, 
 
 Who in our favours shall find cause to know, 
 
 In that they left not you, how dear we hold them, 
 
 Shall give Theodoret to understand 
 
 His ignorance of the priceless jewel which 
 
 He did possess in you, mother, in you ; 
 
 Of which I am more proud to be the owner, 
 
 Than if the absolute rule of all the world 
 
 Were offered to this hand. Once more, you are welcome 
 
 Which with all ceremony due to greatness 
 
 I would make known, but that our just revenge 
 
 Enter PROTALDY with Soldiers. 
 
 Admits not of delay. Your hand, lord-general ! 
 
 Brun. Your favour and his merit, I may say, 
 Have made him such : but I am jealous how 
 Your subjects will receive it. 
 
 Thi. How ! my subjects ? 
 
 What do you make of me ? Oh Heaven ! my subjects ? 
 How base should I esteem the name of prince, 
 If that poor dust were anything before 
 The whirlwind of my absolute command ! 
 Let 'em be happy, and rest so contented, 
 They pay the tribute of their hearts and knees 
 To such a prince, that not alone has power 
 To keep his own, but to increase it ; that, 
 Although he hath a body may add to 
 The famed night-labour of strong Hercules, 
 Yet is the master of a continence 
 That so can temper it, that I forbear 
 Their daughters and their wives ; whose hands, though 
 As yet have never drawn by unjust mean [strong, 
 
 Their proper wealth into my treasury 
 But I grow glorious and let them beware 
 That, in their least repining at my pleasures, 
 They change not a mild prince (for, if provoked, 
 I dare and will be so) into a tyrant. 
 
 X 2
 
 308 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT II. 
 
 Brun. You see there's hope that we shall rule again, 
 
 \_Apart to LECURE and BAWDBER. 
 And your fallen fortunes rise. 
 
 Saw. I hope your highness 
 
 Is pleased that I should still hold my place with you ; 
 For I have been so long used to provide you 
 Fresh bits of flesh since mine grew stale, that surely, 
 If cashiered now, I shall prove a bad cater 
 In the fish-market of cold Chastity. 
 
 Lee. For me, I am your own ; nor, since I first 
 Knew what it was to serve you, have remembered 
 I had a soul, but such a one whose essence 
 Depended wholly on your highness' pleasure ; 
 And therefore, madam 
 
 Brun. Rest assured you are 
 Such instruments we must not lose. 
 
 Lee. Baw. Our service. 
 
 Thi. You have viewed them then ? what's your 
 
 opinion of them ? 
 
 In this dull time of peace we have prepared 'em 
 Apt for the war ; ha ? 
 
 Prof. Sir, they have limbs 
 
 That promise strength sufficient, and rich armours, 
 The soldier's best-loved wealth : more, it appears 
 They have been drilled, nay, very prettily drilled ; 
 For many of them can discharge their musquets 
 Without the danger of throwing off their heads, 
 Or being offensive to the standers-by 
 By sweating too much backwards ; nay, I find 
 They know the right and left-hand file, and may 
 With some impulsion no doubt be brought 
 To pass the A, B, C, of war, and come 
 Unto the horn-book. 
 
 Thi. Well, that care is yours ; 
 And see that you affect it. 
 
 Prof. I am slow 
 To promise much ; but if within ten days,
 
 SCENE I.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 309 
 
 By precepts and examples, not drawn from 
 Worm-eaten precedents of the Roman wars, 
 But from mine own, I make them not transcend 
 All that e'er yet bore arms, let it be said, 
 Protaldy brags, which would be unto me 
 As hateful as to be esteemed a coward : 
 For, sir, few captains know the way to win 'em, 
 And make the soldiers valiant. You shall see me 
 Lie with them in their trenches, talk, and drink, 
 And be together drunk ; and, what seems stranger, 
 We'll sometimes wench together, which, once practised, 
 And with some other rare and hidden arts, 
 They being all made mine, I'll breathe into them 
 Such fearless resolution and such fervour, 
 That though I brought them to besiege a fort 
 Whose walls were steeple-high and cannon-proof, 
 Not to be undermined, they should fly up 
 Like swallows ; and, the parapet once won, 
 For proof of their obedience, if I willed them, 
 They should leap down again ; and, what is more, 
 By some directions they should have from me, 
 Not break their necks. 
 
 Thi. This is above belief. 
 
 Brun. Sir, on my knowledge, though he hath spoke 
 He's able to do more. [much, 
 
 Lee. She means on her. \_Aside. 
 
 Brun. And howsoever, in his thankfulness 
 For some few favours done him by myself, 
 He left Austracia ; not Theodoret, 
 Though he was chiefly aimed at, could have laid, 
 With all his dukedom's power, that shame upon him, 
 Which, in his barbarous malice to my honour, ' 
 He swore with threats to effect. 
 
 Thi. I cannot but 
 
 Believe you, madam. Thou art one degree 
 Grown nearer to my heart, and I am proud 
 To have in thee so glorious a plant
 
 310 THIERRY AND THEODOREJ. [ACT n. 
 
 Transported hither : in thy conduct we 
 Go on assured of conquest ; our remove 
 Shall be with the next sun. 
 
 Enter THEODORET, MEMBERGE, MARTELL, and 
 DE VITRY. 
 
 Lee. Amazement leave me ! 
 Tis ife. 
 
 Baw. We are again undone ! 
 
 Prot. Our guilt 
 Hath no assurance nor defence. 
 
 Baw. If now 
 
 Your ever-ready wit fail to protect us, 
 We shall be all discovered. 
 
 Brun. Be not so 
 
 In your amazement and your foolish fears : 
 I am prepared for't. 
 
 Theod. How ! not one poor welcome, 
 In answer of so long a journey made 
 Only to see you, brother ? 
 
 Thi, I have stood 
 
 Silent thus long, and am yet unresolved 
 Whether to entertain thee on my sword, 
 As fits a parricide of a mother's honour ; 
 Or whether, being a prince, I yet stand bound 
 (Though thou art here condemned) to give thee hearing 
 Before I execute. What foolish hope, 
 Nay, pray you, forbear, or desperate madness rather, 
 (Unless thou com'st assured I stand in debt 
 As far to all impiety as thyself,) 
 Has made thee bring thy neck unto the axe ? 
 Since looking only here, it cannot but 
 Draw fresh blood from thy seared-up conscience, 
 To make thee sensible of that horror which 
 They ever bear about them, that, like Nero 
 Like, said I ? thou art worse, since thou dar'st strive 
 n her defame to murder thine alive.
 
 SCENE I.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 311 
 
 Theod. That she that long since had the boldness to 
 Be a bad woman, (though I wish some other 
 Should so report her,) could not want the cunning, 
 Since they go hand in hand, to lay fair colours 
 On her black crimes, I was resolved ' before ; 
 Nor make I doubt but that she hath impoisoned 
 Your good opinion of me, and so far 
 Incensed your rage against me, that too late 
 I come to plead my innocence. 
 
 Brun. To excuse 
 Thy impious scandals rather. 
 
 Prof. Rather forced 
 With fear to be compelled to come. 
 
 Thi. Forbear ! 
 
 Theod. This moves not me ; and yet, had I not been 
 Transported on my own integrity, 
 I neither am so odious to my subjects, 
 Nor yet so barren of defence, but that 
 By force I could have justified my guilt, 
 Had I been faulty. But since innocence 
 Is to itself an hundred thousand guards, 
 And that there is no son but though he owe 
 That name to an ill mother, but stands bound 
 Rather to take away, with his own danger, 
 From the number of her faults, than, for his own 
 Security, to add unto them ; this, 
 This hath made me, to prevent the expense 
 Of blood on both sides, the injuries, the rapes, 
 (Pages that ever wait upon the war,) 
 The account of all which, since you are the cause, 
 Believe it, would have been required from you ; 
 Rather, I say, to offer up my daughter, 
 Who living only could revenge my death, 
 With my heart-blood, a sacrifice to your anger, 
 Than that you should draw on your head more curses 
 Than yet you have deserved. 
 
 1 Convinced. Meaning also to assure and satisfy. See p. 313.
 
 3i2 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT n. 
 
 Thi. I do begin 
 
 To feel an alteration in my nature, 
 And, in his full-sailed confidence, a shower 
 Of gentle rain, that, falling on the fire 
 Of my hot rage, hath quenched it. Ha ! I would 
 Once more speak roughly to him, and I will ; 
 Yet there is something whispers to me, that 
 I have said too much. \_Aside.~\ How is my heart 
 
 divided 
 
 Between the duty of a son and love 
 Due to a brother ! Yet I am swayed here, 
 And must ask of you, how 'tis possible 
 You can affect me, that have learned to hate 
 Where .you should pay all love ? 
 
 Theod. Which, joined with duty, 
 Upon my knees I should be proud to tender, 
 Had she not used herself so many swords 
 To cut those bonds that tied me to it. 
 
 Thi. Fie, 
 No more of that ! 
 
 . Theod. Alas, it is a theme 
 I take no pleasure to discourse of ! would 
 It could as soon be buried to the world, 
 As it should die to me ! nay, more, I wish 
 (Next to my part of Heaven) that she would spend 
 The last part of her life so here, that all 
 Indifferent judges might condemn me for 
 A most malicious slanderer, nay, text it 
 Upon my forehead, If you hate me, mother, 
 Put me to such a shame ; pray you, do ! Believe it, 
 There is no glory that may fall upon me, 
 Can equal the delight I should receive 
 In that disgrace ; provided the repeal 
 Of your long-banished virtues and good name 
 Ushered me to it. 
 
 Thi. See, she shows herself 
 An easy mother, which her tears confirm.
 
 SCENE r.J THIERRY AND THEODORET. 313 
 
 Theod. 'Tis a good sign ; the comfortableBt rain 
 I ever saw. 
 
 Thi. Embrace Why, this is well : 
 
 [THEODORET embraces BRUNHALT. 
 May never more but love in you, and duty 
 On your part, rise between you ! 
 
 Baw. Do you hear, lord-general ? 
 Does not your new-stamped honour on the sudden 
 Begin to grow sick ? 
 
 Prot. Yes ; I find it fit, 
 
 That, putting off my armour, I should think of 
 Some honest hospital to retire to. 
 
 Baw. Sure, 
 
 Although I am a bawd, yet being a lord, 
 They cannot whip me for't : what's your opinion ? 
 
 Lee. The beadle will resolve you, for I cannot : 
 There's something that more near concerns myself, 
 That calls upon me. 
 
 Mart. Note but yonder scarabs, 
 That lived upon the dung of her base pleasures ; 
 How from the fear that she may yet prove honest 
 Hang down their wicked heads ! 
 
 De Vit. What's that to me ? 
 Though they and all the polecats of the court 
 Were trussed together, I perceive not how 
 It can advantage me a card ecu, 1 
 To help to keep me honest. [A horn sounded within. 
 
 Enter a Post. 
 
 Thi. How ! from whence ? 
 
 Post. [Giving letters to THI.] These letters will resolve 
 
 your grace. 
 
 Thi. What speak they ? [Reads. 
 
 How all things meet to make me this day happy ! 
 See, mother, brother, to your reconcilement 
 Another blessing, almost equal to it, 
 
 1 i.e. Quart d'tcw, the quarter of a crown.
 
 3 14 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT n. 
 
 Is coming towards me ! my contracted wife 
 Ordella, daughter of wise Datarick, 
 The King of Arragon, is on our confines : 
 Then to arrive at such a time, when you 
 Are happily here to honour with your presence 
 Our long-deferred but much-wished nuptial, 
 Falls out above expression ! Heaven be pleased 
 That I may use these blessings poured on me 
 With moderation ! 
 
 Brun. Hell and Furies aid me, 
 That I may have power to avert the plagues, 
 That press upon me ! [Aside. 
 
 Thi. Two days' journey, say'st thou? 
 We will set forth to meet her. In the meantime, 
 See all things be prepared to entertain her. 
 Nay, let me have your companies ; there's a forest 
 In the midway shall yield us hunting sport, 
 To ease our travel. I'll not have a brow 
 But shall wear mirth upon it ; therefore clear them : 
 We'll wash away all sorrow in glad feasts ; 
 And the war we meant to men, we'll make on beasts. 
 
 [Exeunt all but BRUNHALT, BAWDBER, PROTALDY, 
 and LECURE. 
 
 Brun. Oh, that I had the magic to transform you 
 Into the shape of such, that your own hounds 
 Might tear you piece-meal ! Are you so stupid? 
 No word of comfort ? Have I fed you, moths, 
 From my excess of moisture with such cost, 
 And can you yield no other retribution, 
 But to devour your maker ? pandar, sponge, 
 Impoisoner, all grown barren ? 
 
 Prof. You yourself, 
 
 That are our mover, and for whom alone 
 We live, have failed yourself in giving way 
 To the reconcilement of your sons. 
 
 Lee. Which if 
 You had prevented, or would teach us how
 
 SCENE i.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 315 
 
 They might again be severed, we could easily 
 Remove all other hindrances that stop 
 The passage of your pleasures. 
 
 Baw. And for me, 
 If I fail in my office to provide you 
 Fresh delicates, hang me ! 
 
 Brun. Oh, you are dull, and find not 
 The cause of my vexation ! their reconcilement 
 Is a mock castle built upon the sand 
 By children, which, when I am pleased to o'erthrow, 
 I can with ease spurn down. 
 
 Lee. If so, from whence 
 Grows your affliction ? 
 
 Bntn. My grief comes along 
 With the new queen, in whose grace all my power 
 Must suffer shipwreck. For me now, 
 That hitherto have kept the first, to know 
 A second place, or yield the least precedence 
 To any other, 's death ; to have my sleeps 
 Less enquired after, or my rising up 
 Saluted with less reverence, or my gates 
 Empty of suitors, or the King's great favours 
 To pass through any hand but mine, or he 
 Himself to be directed by another, 
 Would be to me do you understand me yet ? 
 No means to prevent this ? 
 
 Prof. Fame gives her out 
 To be a woman of a chastity 
 Not to be wrought upon ; and therefore, madam, 
 For me, though I have pleased you, to attempt her, 
 Were to no purpose. 
 
 Brun. Tush, some other way ! 
 
 Baw. Faith, I know none else ; all my bringing up 
 Aimed at no other learning. 
 
 Lee. Give me leave ; 
 
 If my heart fail me not, I have thought on 
 A speeding project.
 
 316 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT u. 
 
 Brun. What is't ? but effect it, 
 And thou shalt be my ^Esculapius ; 
 Thy image shall be set up in pure gold, 
 To which I will fall down, and worship it. 
 
 Lee. The lady is fair ? 
 
 Brun. Exceeding fair. 
 
 Lee. And young ? 
 
 Brun. Some fifteen at the most. 
 
 Lee. And loves the King 
 With equal ardour ? 
 
 Brun. More ; she dotes on him. 
 
 Lee. Well, then ; what think you if I make a drink, 
 Which, given unto him on the bridal-night, 
 Shall for five days so rob his faculties 
 Of all ability to pay that duty 
 Which new-made wives expect, that she shall swear 
 She is not matched to a man ? 
 
 Prot. 'Twere rare. 
 
 Lee. And then, 
 
 If she have any part of woman in her, 
 She'll or fly out, or at least give occasion 
 Of such a breach which ne'er can be made up ; 
 Since he that to all else did never fail 
 Of as much as could be performed by man, 
 Proves only ice to her. 
 
 Brun. 'Tis excellent, 
 
 Baw. The physician 
 Helps ever at dead lift : a fine calling, 
 That can both raise and take down : out upon thee ! 
 
 Brun. For this one service, I am ever thine : 
 Prepare it ; I will give it him myself. 
 For you, Protaldy, 
 
 By this kiss and our promised, sport at night, 
 I do conjure you to bear up, not minding 
 The opposition of Theodoret, 
 Or any of his followers : whatsoe'er 
 You are, yet appear valiant, and make good
 
 SCENE II.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 317 
 
 The opinion that is had of you. For myself 
 
 In the new queen's remove being made secure, 
 
 Fear not, I'll make the future building sure. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. A Forest, winding of horns within. 
 Enter THEODORET and THIERRY. 
 
 Theod. This stag stood well and cunningly. 
 
 Thi. My horse, 
 
 I am sure, has found it, for her sides are blooded 
 From flank to shoulder. Where's the troop ? 
 
 Theod. Passed homeward, 
 
 Enter MA.RTELL. 
 
 Weary and tired as we are. Now, Martell ; 
 Have you remembered what we thought of? 
 
 Mart. Yes, sir; I have snigled 1 him; and if there be 
 Any desert in his blood beside the itch, 
 Or manly heat but what decoctions, 
 Leeches, and cullises 2 have crammed into him, 
 Your lordship shall know perfect. 
 
 Thi. What is that? 
 May not I know too ? 
 
 Theod. Yes, sir ; to that end 
 We cast the project. 
 
 Thi. Whatis't? 
 
 Mart. A desire, sir, 
 
 Upon the gilded flag your grace's favour 
 Has stuck up for a general ; and to inform you 
 (For this hour he shall pass the test) what valour, 
 Staid judgment, soul, or safe discretion, 
 Your mother's wandering eyes and your obedience 
 
 1 See Isaac Walton's account of " snigling " for eels, The Corn- 
 pleat Angler, ch. 13. 2 Restorative broths. Fr. coulis.
 
 318 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT II. 
 
 Have flung upon us ; to assure your knowledge, 
 He can be, dare be, shall be, must be nothing 
 (Load him with piles of honours, set him off 
 With all the cunning foils that may deceive us) 
 But a poor, cold, unspirited, unmannered, 
 Unhonest, unaffected, undone fool, 
 And most unheard-of coward ; a mere lump 
 Made to load beds withal, and, like a nightmare, 
 Ride ladies that forget to say their prayers ; 
 One that dares only be diseased and in debt ; 
 Whose body mews 1 more plasters every month, 
 Than women do old faces. 
 
 Thi. No more ; I know him : 
 I now repent my error. Take your time, 
 And try him home, ever thus far reserved, 
 You tie your anger up. 
 
 Mart. I lose it else, sir. 
 
 Thi. Bring me his sword fair-taken without violence, 
 (For that will best declare him) 
 
 Theod. That's the thing. 
 
 Thi. And my best horse is thine. 
 
 Mart. Your grace's servant. [Exit. 
 
 Theod. You'll hunt no more, sir ? 
 
 Thi. Not to-day ; the weather 
 Is grown too warm ; besides, the dogs are spent : 
 We'll take a cooler morning. Let's to horse, 
 And halloo in the troop. [Exeunt. Horns winded within. 
 
 SCENE II 1. A no ther part of the Forest. 
 Enter two Huntsmen. 
 
 ist Hunt. Ay, marry, Twainer, 
 This woman gives indeed ; these are the angels 2 
 That are the keepers' saints. 
 
 1 Sheds. z A quibble on the coin so named.
 
 SCENE in.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 319 
 
 2nd Hunt. I like a woman 
 That handles the deer's dowsets with discretion, 
 And pays us by proportion. 
 
 ist Hunt. "Pis no treason 
 To think this good old lady has a stump yet 
 That may require a coral. 
 
 znd Hunt. And the bells too ; 
 She has lost a friend of me else. 
 
 Enter PROTALDY. 
 
 But here's the clerk : 
 No more, for fear o' the bell-ropes. 
 
 Prof. How now, keepers ? 
 Saw you the King ? 
 
 ist Hunt. Yes, sir ; he's newly mounted, 
 And, as we take it, ridden home. 
 
 Prof. Farewell, then. [Exeunt Huntsmen. 
 
 Enter MARTELL. 
 
 Mart. My honoured lord, fortune has made me happy 
 To meet with such a man of men to side me. 
 
 Prot. How, sir ? I know you not, 
 Nor what your fortune means. 
 
 Mart. Few words shall serve : 
 I am betrayed, sir ; innocent and honest, 
 Malice and violence are both against me, 
 Basely and foully laid for ; for my life, sir ; 
 Danger is now about me, now in my throat, sir. 
 
 Prot. Where, sir. 
 
 Mart. Nay, I fear not ; 
 
 And let it now pour down in storms upon me, 
 I have met a noble guard. 
 
 Prot. Your meaning, sir ? 
 For I have present business. 
 
 Mart. Oh, my lord, 
 Your honour cannot leave a gentleman, 
 At least a fair design of this brave nature,
 
 320 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT II. 
 
 To which your worth is wedded, your profession 
 Hatched in and made one piece, in such a peril. 
 There are but six, my lord. 
 
 Prof. What six ? 
 
 Mart. Six villains, 
 Sworn and in pay to kill me. 
 
 Prof. Six? 
 
 Mart. Alas, sir, 
 
 What can six do, or six score, now you are present ? 
 Your name will blow 'em off: say they have shot too ; 
 Who dare present a piece ? your valour's proof, sir. 
 
 Prof. No, I'll assure you, sir, nor my discretion 
 Against a multitude. 'Tis true, I dare fight 
 Enough, and well enough, and long enough; 
 But wisdom, sir, and weight of what is on me, 
 In which I am no more mine own nor your's, sir, 
 Nor, as I take it, any single danger 
 But what concerns my place, tells me directly, 
 Beside my person, my fair reputation, 
 If I -thrust into crowds and seek occasions, 
 Suffers opinion. Six ? why Hercules 
 Avoided two, man : yet, not to give example, 
 But only for your present danger's sake, sir, 
 Were there but four, sir, I cared not if I killed 'em ; 
 They'll serve to whet my sword. 
 
 Mart. There are but four, sir ; 
 I did mistake them : but four such as Europe, 
 Excepting your great valour 
 
 Prot. Well considered, 
 I will not meddle with 'em ; four in honour 
 Are equal with four scores, beside : they are people 
 Only directed by their fury. 
 
 Mart. So much nobler 
 Shall be your way of justice. 
 
 Prot. That I find not. 
 
 Mart. You will not leave me thus ? 
 
 Prot. I would not leave you ;
 
 SCENE ill.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 321 
 
 But, look you, sir, men of my place and business 
 Must not be questioned thus. 
 
 Mart, You cannot pass, sir, 
 
 Now they have seen me with you, without danger : 
 They are here, sir, within hearing. Take but two. 
 
 Prof. Let the law take 'em ! Take a tree, sir I 
 Will take my horse that you may keep with safety, 
 If they have brought no hand-saws. Within this hour 
 I'll send you rescue and a toil to take 'em. 
 
 Mart. You shall not go so poorly : stay but one, sir. 
 
 Prof. I have been so hampered with these rescues, 
 So hewed and tortured, that the truth is, sir, 
 I have mainly vowed against 'em : yet for your sake, 
 If, as you say, there be but one, I'll stay 
 And see fair play o' both sides. 
 
 Mart. There is no more, sir, 
 And, as I doubt, a base one too. 
 
 Prof. Fie on him ! 
 Go, lug him out by the ears. 
 
 Mart. [Seizing him by the ears.] Yes, this is he, sir ; 
 The basest in the kingdom. 
 
 Prof. Do you know me ? 
 
 Mart. Yes, for a general fool, a knave, a coward, 
 An upstart stallion, bawd, beast, barking puppy, 
 That dares not bite. 
 
 Pi of. The best man best knows patience. 
 
 Mart. [Kicking ///'///.] Yes, this way, sir. Now draw 
 
 your sword and right you, 
 Or render it to me ; for one you shall do. 
 
 Prof. If wearing it may do you any honour, 
 I shall be glad to grace you ; there it is, sir. 
 
 [Gives his sword. 
 
 Mart. Now get you home, and tell your lady-mistress, 
 She has shot up a sweet mushroom : quit your place too, 
 And say you are counselled well ; thou wilt be beaten else 
 By thine own lanceprisadoes, 1 when they know thee, 
 
 1 Petty officers of foot. 
 Beau. & F. i. Y
 
 322 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT II. 
 
 That tuns of oil of roses will not cure thee. 
 Go, get you to your foining work at court, 
 And learn to sweat again and eat dry mutton ; 
 And armour like a frost will search your bones 
 And make you roar, you rogue. Not a reply, 
 For, if you do, your ears go of. 
 
 Prof. Still patience ! \Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE IV. A Hall in the Palace of THIERRY. 
 A Banquet set out. Loud music within. 
 
 Enter THIERRY, ORDELLA, BRUNHALT, THEODORET, 
 LECURE, BAWDBER, and Attendants. 
 
 Thi. It is your place ; and though in all things else 
 You may and ever shall command me, yet 
 In this I'll be obeyed. 
 
 Ord. Sir, the consent 
 
 That made me yours shall never teach me to 
 Repent I am so ; yet, be you but pleased 
 To give me leave to say so much, the honour 
 You offer me were better given to her, 
 To whom you owe the power of giving. 
 
 Thi. Mother, 
 
 You hear this, and rejoice in such a blessing 
 That pays to you so large a share of duty. 
 But, fie ! no more ! for as you hold a place 
 Nearer my heart than she, you must sit nearest 
 To all those graces that are in the power 
 Of majesty to bestow. 
 
 Brun. Which I'll provide 
 Shall be short-lived. [Aside.] Lecure. 
 
 Lee. I have it ready. 
 
 Brun. 'Tis well ; wait on our cup. 
 
 Lee. You honour me.
 
 SCENE iv.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 323 
 
 Thi, We are dull ; no object to provoke mirth ? 
 
 Theod. Mar tell, 
 
 If you remember, sir, will grace your feast 
 With something that will yield matter of mirth, 
 Fit for no common view. 
 
 Thi. Touching Protaldy? 
 
 Thcod. You have it. 
 
 Brun. What of him ? I fear his baseness, 
 In spite of all the titles that my favours 
 Have clothed him with, will make discovery 
 Of what is yet concealed. [Aside, 
 
 Enter MARTELL with PROTALDY'S sword. 
 
 Theod. Look, sir, he has it : 
 Nay, we shall have peace, when so great a soldier 
 As the renowned Protaldy will give up 
 His sword rather than use it. 
 
 Brim. 'Twas thy plot, 
 Which I will turn on thine own head. \Aside. 
 
 Thi. Pray you, speak ; 
 How won you him to part from 't ? 
 
 Mait. Won him, sir ? 
 He would have yielded it upon his knees, 
 Before he would have hazarded the exchange 
 Of a fillip of the forehead. Had you willed me, 
 I durst have undertook he should have sent you 
 His nose, provided that the loss of it 
 Might have saved the rest of his face. He is, sir, 
 The most unutterable coward that e'er nature 
 Blessed with hard shoulders; which were only given 
 
 him 
 To the ruin of bastinadoes. 
 
 Thi. Possible? 
 
 Theod. Observe but how she frets ! 
 
 Mart. Why, believe it, 
 But that I know the shame of this disgrace 
 Will make the beast to live with such, and never
 
 324 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT n. 
 
 Presume to come more among men, I'll hazard 
 My life upon it, that a boy of twelve 
 Should scourge him hither like a parish-top, 1 
 And make him dance before you. 
 
 Bmn. Slave, thou liest ! 
 
 Thou dar'st as well speak treason in the hearing 
 Of those that have the power to punish it, 
 As the least syllable of this before him : 
 But 'tis thy hate to me. 
 
 Mart. Nay, pray you, madam ; 
 I have no ears to hear you, though a foot 
 To let you understand what he is. 
 
 Brim. Villain ! 
 
 Theod. You are too violent. 
 
 Enter PROTALDY. 
 
 Prot. The worst that can come 
 Is blanketing ; for beating and such virtues 
 I have been long acquainted with. \_Aside. 
 
 Mart. Oh, strange ! 
 
 Baiv. Behold the man you talk of ! 
 
 Brun. Give me leave ! 
 
 Or free thyself think in what place you are 
 From the foul imputation that is laid 
 Upon thy valour be bold, I'll protect you 
 Or here I vow deny it or forswear it 
 These honours which thou wear'st unworthily 
 Which, be but impudent enough and keep them 
 Shall be torn from thee with thy eyes. 
 
 Prot. I have it. 
 
 My valour ? is there any here, beneath 
 The style of king, dares question it ? 
 
 Thi. This is rare ! 
 
 Prot. Which of my actions, which have still been 
 
 noble, 
 Has rendered me suspected ? 
 
 1 A large top provided by the parish officers for general use.
 
 SCENE IV.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 325 
 
 Thi. Nay, Martell, 
 You must not fall off. 
 
 Mart. Oh, sir, fear it not : 
 Do you know this sword ? 
 
 Prot. Yes. 
 
 Mart. Pray you, on what terms 
 Did you part with it ? 
 
 Prot. Part with it, say you ? 
 
 Mart. So. 
 
 Thi. Nay, study not an answer ; confess freely. 
 
 Prot, Oh, I remember 't now. At the stag's fall, 
 As we to-day were hunting, a poor fellow, 
 (And, now I view you better, I may say 
 Much of your pitch,) this silly wretch I spoke of, 
 With his petition falling at my feet, 
 (Which much against my will he kissed,) desired 
 That, as a special means for his preferment, 
 I would vouchsafe to let him use my sword 
 To cut off the stag's head. 
 
 Brun. Will you hear that ? 
 
 Baw. This lie bears a similitude of truth. 
 
 Prot, I, ever courteous (a great weakness in me), 
 Granted his humble suit. 
 
 Mart. Oh, impudence ! 
 
 Thi, This change is excellent. 
 
 Mart. A word with you. 
 Deny it not ! I was that man disguised ; 
 You know my temper, and, as you respect 
 A daily cudgelling for one whole year, 
 Without a second pulling by the ears, 
 Or tweaks by the nose, or the most precious balm 
 You used of patience, (patience, do you mark me ?) 
 Confess before these kings with what base fear 
 Thou didst deliver it. 
 
 Prot. Oh, I shall burst ! 
 And, if I have not instant liberty 
 To tear this fellow limb by limb, the wrong
 
 326 THIERRY AND THEODORET. {ACT n. 
 
 Will break my heart, although Herculean 
 
 And somewhat bigger ! There's my gage : pray you here 
 
 Let me redeem my credit ! . 
 
 Thi. Ha, ha ! Forbear ! 
 
 Mart. Pray you, let me take it up ; and if I do not, 
 Against all odds of armour and of weapon?, 
 With this make him confess it on his knees, 
 Cut off my head. 
 
 Prof. No, that's my office. 
 
 Baw. Fie, 
 You take the hangman's place ! 
 
 Ord. Nay, good my lord, 
 Let me atone this difference : do not suffer 
 Our bridal night to be the Centaurs' feast. 
 You are a knight, and bound by oath to grant 
 All just suits unto ladies : for my sake 
 Forget your supposed wrong. 
 
 Prof. Well, let him thank you : 
 For your sake he shall live, perhaps a day ; 
 And may be, on submission, longer : 
 
 T/ieod. Nay, 
 Martell, you must be patient. 
 
 Mart. I am yours ; 
 And this slave shall be once more mine. 
 
 Thi. Sit all: 
 
 One health, and so to bed ; for I too long 
 Defer my choicest delicates. 
 
 Bruit. Which, if poison 
 Have any power, thou shalt, like Tantalus, 
 Behold, and never taste \Aside\ Be careful. 
 
 Lcc. Fear not. 
 
 Brim. Though it be rare in our sex, yet for once 
 I will begin a health. 
 
 Thi. Let it come freely ! 
 
 Brim. Lecure, the cup ! Here, to the son we hope 
 This night shall be an embrion ! \Drinks. 
 
 Thi. You have named
 
 SCENE iv.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 327 
 
 A blessing that I most desired : I pledge you. 
 Give me a larger cup ; that is too little 
 Unto so great a good. 
 
 Brim. Nay, then you wrong me ; 
 Follow as I began. 
 
 Thi. Well, as you please. Drinks. 
 
 Bmn. Is't done ? 
 
 Lee. Unto your wish, I warrant you ; 
 For this night I durst trust him with my mother. 
 
 Thi. So, 'tis gone round. Lights ! " \They rise. 
 
 Brun. Pray you, use my service. 
 
 Ord. ' Pis that which I shall ever owe you, madam, 
 And must have none from you : pray, pardon me. 
 
 Thi. Good rest to all ! 
 
 Theod. And to you pleasant labour ! 
 Martell, your company. Madam, good night. 
 
 [Exeunt all but BRUN., PROT., LEG., and BAWD. 
 
 Brun. Nay, you have cause to blush ; but I will hide it. 
 And, what's more, I forgive you. Is't not pity, 
 That thou, that art the first to enter combat 
 With any woman, and what's more, o'ercome her, 
 (In which she is best pleased,) should be so fearful 
 To meet a man ? 
 
 Prot. Why, would you have me lose 
 That blood that's dedicated to your service, 
 In any other quarrel ? 
 
 Brun. No, reserve it ; 
 As I will study to preserve thy credit. 
 You, sirrah, be 't your care to find out one 
 That's poor, though valiant, that at any rate 
 Will, to redeem my servant's reputation, 
 Receive a public baffling. 1 
 
 Baw. Would your highness 
 Were pleased to inform me better of your purpose ! 
 
 Brun. Why, one, sir, that would thus be boxed or 
 kicked ; [Strikes and kicks him. 
 
 Do you apprehend me now ? 
 
 1 Affront.
 
 328 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT n. 
 
 Baw. I feel you, madam. 
 The man that shall receive this from my lord, 
 Shall have a thousand crowns ? 
 
 Prof. He shall. 
 
 Baw. Besides, 
 
 His day of bastinadoing past o'er, 
 He shall not lose your grace nor your good favour ? 
 
 Brun. That shall make way to it. 
 
 Baw. It must be a man 
 Of credit in the court, that is to be 
 The foil unto your valour ? 
 
 Prot. True, it should. 
 
 Baw. And if he have place there, 'tis not the worse ? 
 
 Brun. 'Tis much the better. 
 
 Baw. If he be a lord, 
 'Twill be the greater grace ? 
 
 Brun. Thou'rt in the right. 
 
 Baw. Why, then, behold that valiant man and lord 
 That for your sake will take a cudgelling ! 
 For be assured, when it is spread abroad 
 That you have dealt with me, they'll give you out 
 For one of the Nine Worthies. 
 
 Brun. Out, you pandar ! 
 Why, to beat thee is only exercise 
 For such as do affect it : lose not time 
 In vain replies, but do it. Come, my solace, 
 Let us to bed ; and, our desires once quenched, 
 We'll there determine of Theodoret's death, 
 For he's the engine used to ruin us. 
 Yet one word more ; Lecure, art thou assured 
 The potion will work ? 
 
 Lee. My life upon it ! 
 
 Brun. Come, my Protaldy, then, glut me with 
 Those best delights of man, that are denied 
 To her that does expect them, being a bride ! \Excunt.
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. An Apartment in the Palace of THIERRY. 
 
 Enter THIERRY and ORDELLA, as from bed. 
 
 >HI. Sure, I have drunk the blood of 
 
 elephants ; 
 The tears of mandrakes ' and the 
 
 marble-dew, 
 Mixed in my draught, have quenched 
 
 my natural heat, 
 And left no spark of fire but in mine eyes, 
 With which I may behold my miseries. 
 Ye wretched flames which play upon my sight, 
 Turn inward ! make me all one piece, though earth ! 
 My tears shall overwhelm you else too. 
 
 Ord. What moves my lord to this strange sadness ? 
 If any late discerned want in me 
 Give cause to your repentance, care and duty 
 Shall find a painful way lo recompense. 
 
 Thi. Are you yet frozen, veins ? feel you a breath, 
 Whose temperate heat would make the north star reel, 
 Her icy pillars thawed, and do you not melt ? 
 Draw nearer, yet nearer, 
 That from thy barren kiss thou may'st confess 
 I have not heat enough to make a blush. 
 
 Ord. Speak nearer .to my understanding, like a 
 
 husband. 
 
 Thi. How should he speak the language of a husband, 
 Who wants the tongue and organs of his voice ? 
 
 1 Plants regarding which many superstitions were current, among 
 others one that they shrieked when pulled up by the roots.
 
 330 THIERRY AND 7HEODORET. [ACT in. 
 
 Ord. It is a phrase will part with the same ease 
 From you with that you now deliver. 
 
 ThL Bind not 
 
 His ears up with so dull a charm, who hath 
 No other sense left open : why should thy words 
 Find more restraint than thy free-speaking actions, 
 Thy close embraces, and thy midnight sighs, 
 The silent orators to slow desire ? 
 
 Ord. Strive not to win content from ignorance, 
 Which must be lost in knowledge. Heaven can witness, 
 My farthest hope of good reached at your pleasure, 
 Which seeing alone may in your look be read : 
 Add not a doubtful comment to a text, 
 That in itself is direct and easy. 
 
 ThL Oh, thou hast drunk the juice of hemlock too ! 
 Or did upbraided Nature make this pair, 
 To shew she had not quite forgot her first 
 Justly-praised workmanship, the first chaste couple, 
 Before the want of joy taught guilty sight 
 A way, through shame and sorrow, to delight ? 
 Say, may we mix, as in their innocence 
 When turtles kissed to confirm happiness, 
 Not to beget it ? 
 
 Ord. I know no bar. 
 
 ThL Should I believe thee, yet thy pulse beats 
 
 woman, 
 
 And says, the name of wife did promise thee 
 The blest reward of duty to thy mother ; 
 Who gave so often witness of her joy, 
 When she did boast thy likeness to her husband. 
 
 Ord. Tis true, 
 
 That, to bring forth a second to yourself, 
 Was only worthy of my virgin-loss ; 
 And should I prize you less unpatterned, sir, 
 Than being exemplified ? Is't not more honour 
 To be possessor of unequalled virtue 
 Than what is paralleled ? Give me belief;
 
 SCENE I.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 331 
 
 The name of mother knows no way of good 
 
 More than the end in me : who weds for lust 
 
 Is oft a widow : when I married you, 
 
 I lost the name of maid to gain a title 
 
 Above the wish of change, which that part can 
 
 Only maintain is still the same in man. 
 
 His virtue and his calm society ; 
 
 Which no grey hairs can threaten to dissolve, 
 
 Nor wrinkles bury. 
 
 Thi. Confine thyself to silence, lest thou take 
 That part of reason from me is only left 
 To give persuasion to me I am a man ; 
 Or say, thou hast never seen the rivers haste 
 With gladsome speed to meet the amorous sea. 
 
 Ord, Ne'er but to praise the coolness of their streams- 
 
 Thi. Nor viewed the kids, taught by their lustful fires, 
 Pursue each other through the wanton lawns, 
 And liked the sport. 
 
 Ord. As it made way unto their envied rest, 
 With weary knots binding their harmless eyes. 
 
 Thi. Nor do you know the reason why the dove, 
 One of the pair your hands wont hourly feed, 
 So often dipt l and kissed her happy mate ? 
 
 Ord. Unless it were to welcome his wished sight, 
 Whose absence only gave her mourning voice. 
 
 Thi. And you could, dove-like, to a single object 
 Bind your loose spirits ? to one ? nay, such a one 
 Whom only eyes and ears must flatter good, 
 Your surer sense made useless ? nay, myself, 
 As in my all of good, already known ? 
 
 Ord. Let proof plead for me : let me be mewed up 
 Where never eye may reach me but your own ; 
 And when I shall repent but in my looks ; 
 If sigh 
 
 Thi. Or shed a tear that's warm ? 
 
 Ord. But in your sadness 
 
 1 Embraced.
 
 332 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT in. 
 
 Thi. Or when you hear the birds call for their mates, 
 Ask if it be Saint Valentine, their coupling day ? 
 
 Ord. If any thing may make a thought suspected 
 Of knowing any happiness but you, 
 Divorce me by the title of Most Falsehood ! 
 
 Thi. Oh, who would know a wife, 
 That might have such a friend ! Posterity. 
 Henceforth lose the name of blessing, and leave 
 The earth inhabited 1 to people Heaven ! 
 
 Enter THEODORET, BRUNHALT, MARTELL, and 
 PROTALDY. 
 
 Mart. All happiness to Thierry and Ordella ! 
 
 Thi. 'Tis a desire but borrowed from me; my happiness 
 Shall be the period of all good men's wishes, 
 Which friends, nay, dying fathers shall bequeath, 
 And in my one give all. Is there a duty 
 Belongs to any power of mine, or love 
 To any virtue I have right to ? Here, place it here ; 
 Ordella's name shall only bear command, 
 Rule, title, sovereignty. 
 
 Brun. What passion sways my son ? 
 
 Thi. Oh, mother, she has doubled every good 
 The travail of your blood made possible 
 To my glad being ! 
 
 Pro/. He should have done 
 Little to her, he is so light-hearted. [Aside. 
 
 Thi. Brother, friends, if honour unto shame, 
 If wealth to want, enlarge the present sense, 
 My joys are unbounded. Instead of question, 
 Let it be envy not to bring a present 
 To the high offering of our mirth ! banquets and masques 
 Keep waking our delights, mocking night's malice, 
 Whose dark brow would fright pleasure from us ! our court 
 Be but one stage of revels, and each eye 
 The scene where our content moves ! 
 
 1 Meaning here " uninhabited."
 
 SCENE I. THIERRY AND THEODORET. 333 
 
 Theod. There shall want 
 Nothing to express our shares in your delight, sir. 
 
 Mart. Till now I ne'er repented the estate 
 Of widower. 
 
 T/ii. Music, why art thou so 
 Slow-voiced ? It stays thy presence, my Ordella ; 
 This chamber is a sphere too narrow for 
 Thy all-moving virtue. Make way, free way, I say ! 
 Who must alone her sex's want supply, 
 Had need to have a room both large and high. 
 
 Mart. This passion's above utterance. 
 
 Theod. Nay, credulity. 
 
 \Exeunt all but THIERRY and BRUNHALT. 
 
 Brun. Why, son, what mean you ? 
 Are you a man ? 
 
 Thi. No, mother, I am no man : 
 Were I a man, how could I be thus happy ? 
 
 Bnin. How can a wife be author of this joy then ? 
 
 Thi. That, being no man, I am married to no woman : 
 The best of men in full ability 
 Can only hope to satisfy a wife ; 
 And, for that hope ridiculous, I in my want, 
 And such defective poverty, that to her bed 
 From my first cradle brought no strength but thought, 
 Have met a temperance beyond her's that rocked me, 
 Necessity being her bar ; where * this 
 Is so much senseless of my deprived fire, 
 She knows it not a loss by her desire. 
 
 Brun. It is beyond my admiration. 
 
 Thi. Beyond your sex's faith : 
 The unripe virgins of our age, to hear it, 
 Will dream themselves to women, and convert 
 The example to a miracle. 
 
 Brun. Alas, 'tis your defect moves my amazement ! 
 But what ill can be separate from ambition ? 
 Cruel Theodoret ! 
 
 1 I.e. Whereas.
 
 334 THIERRY AND THEODORE T. [ACT in. 
 
 Till. What of my brother ? 
 
 Brim. That to his name your barrenness adds rule ] 
 Who, loving the effect, would not be strange 1 
 In favouring the cause : look on the profit, 
 And gain will quickly point the mischief out. 
 
 Thi. The name of father, to what I possess, 
 Is shame and care. 
 
 Brun. Were we begot to single happiness, 
 I grant you ; but from such a wife, such virtue, 
 To get an heir, what hermit would not find 
 Deserving argument to break his vow, 
 Even in his age, of chastity ? 
 
 Thi. You teach a deaf man language. 
 
 Brun. The cause found out, the malady may cease. 
 Have you heard of one Leforte ? 
 
 Thi. A learned astronomer, great magician, 
 Who lives hard-by retired. 
 
 Brun. Repair to him with the just hour and place 
 Of your nativity : fools are amazed at fate ; 
 Griefs, but concealed, are never desperate. 
 
 Thi. You have timely wakened me ; nor shall I sleep 
 Without the satisfaction of his art. 
 
 Brun. Wisdom prepares you to 't. [Exit THIERRY. 
 
 Enter LECURE. 
 
 Lecure, met happily ! 
 
 Lee. The ground answers your purpose, the conveyance 
 Being secure and easy, falling just 
 Behind the state ~ set for Theodoret. 
 
 Brun. 'Tis well : 
 
 Your trust invites you to a second charge ; 
 You know Leforte's cell ? 
 
 Lee. Who constellated your fair birth. 
 
 Brun. Enough ; I see thou know'st him. Where is 
 
 Lee. I left him careful of the project cast [Bawdber? 
 Tc raise Protaldy's credit. 
 
 1 Backward. - Throne.
 
 SCENE ft.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 335 
 
 Brun. A sore that must be plastered ; in whose wound 
 Others shall find their graves think themselves sound. 
 Your ear and quickest apprehension ! \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. The Presence Chamber in the Palace oj 
 THIERRY. 
 
 Enter BAWDBER and Servant. 
 
 Baw. This man of war will advance ? 
 
 Serv. His hour's upon the stroke. 
 
 Baiu. Wind him back, as you favour my ears : I love 
 no noise in my head ; my brains have hitherto been 
 employed in silent businesses. 
 
 Serv. The gentleman is within your reach, sir. 
 
 Enter I)K VITRY. 
 
 Baw, Give ground, whilst I drill my wits to the 
 encounter. \Exit Servant.] De Vitry, I take it. 
 
 De Vit. All that's left of him. 
 
 Baw. Is there another parcel of you ? If it be at 
 pawn, I will gladly redeem it, to make you wholly mine. 
 
 De Vit. You seek too hard a pennyworth. 
 
 Baw. You do ill to keep such distance ; your parts 
 have been long known to me, howsoever you please to 
 forget acquaintance. 
 
 De Vit. I must confess, I have been subject to lewd 
 company. 
 
 Baw. Thanks for your good remembrance ! You have 
 been a soldier, De Vitry, and borne arms. 
 
 De Vit. A couple of unprofitable ones, that have only 
 served to get me a stomach to my dinner. 
 
 Baw. Much good may it do you, sir ! 
 
 De Vit. You should have heard me say, I had dined
 
 33b THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT in. 
 
 first : I have built on an unwholesome ground, raised up 
 a house before I knew a tenant, marched to meet weari- 
 ness, fought to find want and hunger. 
 
 Saw. 'Tis time you put up your sword, and run away 
 For meat, sir : nay, if I had not withdrawn, 
 Ere now I might have kept the fast with you ; 
 But since the way to thrive is never late, 
 What is the nearest course to profit, think you ? 
 De Vit. It may be your worship will say bawdry. 
 Baw. True sense, bawdry. 
 
 De Vit. Why, is there five kinds of 'em? I never knew 
 but one. 
 
 Baiv. I'll show you a new way of prostitution : Fall 
 
 back ! further yet ! further ! There is fifty crowns ; do 
 
 but as much to Protaldy, the queen's favourite, they are 
 
 doubled. [Gives money. 
 
 De Vit. But thus much ? 
 
 Baw. Give him but an affront as he comes to the 
 presence, and in his drawing make way, like a true bawd, 
 to his valour, the sum's thy own ; if you take a scratch in 
 the arm or so, every drop of blood weighs down a ducat. 
 De Vit. After that rate, I and my friends would beggar 
 the kingdom. 
 
 Sir, you have made me blush to see my want, 
 Whose cure is such a cheap and easy purchase : 
 This is male-bawdry, belike. 
 
 Enter PROTALDY and a Lady. 
 
 Baw. See ! you shall not be long earning your wages ; 
 your work's before your eyes. 
 
 De Vit. Leave it to my handling ; I'll fall upon 't 
 instantly. 
 
 Baw. What opinion 1 will the managing of this affair 
 bring to my wisdom ! my invention tickles with appre- 
 hension on't ! [Aside. 
 
 Prof. These are the joys of marriage, lady, 
 
 1 Reputation.
 
 SCENE II.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 337 
 
 Whose sights are able to dissolve virginity. 
 
 Speak freely ; 
 
 Do you not envy the bride's felicity ? 
 
 Lady. How should I, being partner of 't ? 
 
 Prot. What you 
 
 Enjoy is but the banquet's view ; the taste 
 Stands from your palate : if he impart by day 
 So much of his content, think what night gave ! 
 
 De Vit. Will you have a relish of wit, lady ? 
 
 Baw. This is the man. 
 
 Lady. If it be not dear, sir. 
 
 De Vit. If you affect cheapness, how can you prize 
 this sullied ware so much ? Mine is fresh, my own, not 
 retailed. 
 
 Prot. You are saucy, sirrah ! 
 
 De Vit. The fitter to be in the dish with such dry 
 stockfish as you are. [PROTALDY strikes him.'] How ! 
 strike ? 
 
 Baw. Remember the condition, as you look for pay- 
 ment ! 
 
 De Vit. That box was left out of the bargain. 
 
 [Strikes PROTALDY. 
 
 Prot. Help, help, help ! 
 
 Baw. Plague of the scrivener's running hand ! what a 
 blow is this to my reputation ! 
 
 Enter THIERRY, THEODORET, BRUNHALT, ORDELLA, 
 MEMBERGE, KARTELL, Attendants, and Guards. 
 
 Thi. What villain dares this outrage ? 
 
 De Vit. Hear me, sir. This creature hired me with 
 fifty crowns in hand to let Protaldy have the better of me 
 at single rapier on a made quarrel : he, mistaking the 
 weapon, lays me over the chaps with his club-fist, for 
 which I was bold to teach him the art of memory. 
 
 Thi. Theod. Martell, &c. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Theod. Your general, mother, will display himself, 
 Spite of our peace, I see. 
 
 Beau. & F. i. Z
 
 338 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT in. 
 
 Thi. Forbear these civil jars. Fie, Protaldy, 
 So open in your projects ? Avoid our presence, sirrah ! 
 
 De Vit. Willingly. If you have any more wages to 
 earn, you see I can take pains. 
 
 Theod. There's somewhat for thy labour 
 More than was promised. Ha, ha, ha! {Exit DE VITRY. 
 
 Baw. Where could I wish myself now ? in the Isle of 
 Dogs, so I might scape scratching ; for I see by her cat's 
 eyes I shall be clawed fearfully. 
 
 Thi. We'll hear no more on't. Music, drown all sad- 
 ness ! \_Soft music. 
 Command the revellers in. {Exit an Attendant. 
 At what a rate I'd purchase 
 My mother's absence, to give my spleen full liberty ! 
 
 [THIERRY and THEODORET seat themselves, each 
 in his state. 
 
 Enter several Revellers. 
 
 Brun. Speak not a thought's delay! it names thy ruin. 
 
 \Apart to PROTALDY. 
 Prot. I had thought my life had borne more value 
 
 with you. 
 
 Brun. Thy loss carries mine with 't; let that secure thee. 
 The vault is ready, and the door conveys to 't 
 Falls just behind his chair; the blow once given, 
 Thou art unseen. 
 
 Prot. I cannot feel more than I fear, I'm sure. 
 Brun. Be gone, and let them laugh their own destruc- 
 tion. [PROTALDY withdraws. 
 Thi. You'll add unto her rage. 
 Th(od. 'Sfoot, I shall burst, 
 Unless I vent myself : ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Brun. Me, sir? \To one of the Revellers. 
 
 You never could have found a time to invite 
 More willingness in my dispose to pleasure. 
 
 Memb. Would you would please to make some other 
 choice ! [ To another of the Revellers.
 
 SCENE II.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 339 
 
 Rev. 'Tis a disgrace would dwell upon me, lady, 
 Should you refuse. 
 
 Memb. Your reason conquers. My grandmother's 
 
 looks 
 
 Have turned all air to earth in me ; they sit 
 Upon my heart, like night-charms, black and heavy. 
 
 \Aside. They dance. 
 
 Thi. You are too much libertine. 
 
 Theod. The fortune of the fool persuades my laughter 
 More than his cowardice : Avas ever rat 
 Ta'en by the tail thus ? ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Thi. Forbear, I say ! 
 
 Prot. \_Risingfrom the trap-door behind THEODORET'S 
 state.] No eye looks this way; I will wink and 
 strike, 
 Lest I betray myself. [Stabs THEOUORET, and disappears- 
 
 Thsod. Ha ! did you not see one near me ? 
 
 Thi. How ! near you ? why do you look so pale, 
 
 brother ? 
 Treason, treason ! [THEODORET dies. 
 
 Memb. Oh, my presage ! Father ! 
 
 Ord. Brother ! 
 
 Mart. Prince, noble prince ! 
 
 Thi. Make the gates sure ! search into every angle 
 And corner of the court ! Oh, my shame ! Mother, 
 Your son is slain, Theodoret, noble Theodoret, 
 Here in my arms, too weak a sanctuary 
 'Gainst treachery and murder ! Say, is the traitor taken? 
 
 ist Guard. No man hath passed the chamber, on my 
 life, sir. 
 
 Thi. Set present fire unto the place, that all 
 Unseen may perish in this mischief! Who 
 Moves slow to it shall add unto the flame. 
 
 Brun. What mean you ? give me your private hearing. 
 
 Thi. Persuasion is a partner in the crime ; 
 I will renounce my claim unto a mother, 
 If you make offer on't. 
 
 z 2
 
 340 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT in. 
 
 Brim. Ere a torch can take flame, I will produce 
 The author of the fact. 
 
 Thi. Withdraw but for your lights. 
 
 Mcmb. Oh, my too-true suspicion ! 
 
 [Exeunt all except THIERRY and BRUNHALT. 
 
 Thi. Speak ! where's the engine to this horrid. act? 
 
 Brun. Here you do behold her ; upon whom 
 Make good your causeless rage ! The deed was done 
 By my incitement, and not yet repented. 
 
 Thi. Whither did nature start when you conceived 
 A birth so unlike woman ? say, what part 
 Did not consent to make a son of him, 
 Reserved itself within you to his ruin ? 
 
 Brun. Ha, ha ! a son of mine! do not dissever 
 Thy father's dust, shaking his quiet urn, 
 To which thy breath would send so foul an issue : 
 My son ! thy brother ! 
 
 Thi. Was not Theodoret my brother ? 
 Or is thy tongue confederate with thy heart 
 To speak and do only things monstrous ? 
 
 Brun. Hear me, and thou shalt make thine own belief. 
 Thy still-with-sorrow-mentioned father lived 
 Three careful years in hope of wished heirs, 
 When I conceived, being from his jealous fear 
 Enjoined to quiet home. One fatal day, 
 Transported with my pleasure to the chase, 
 I forced command, and in pursuit of game 
 Fell from my horse, lost both my child and hopes. 
 Despair, which only in his love saw life 
 Worthy of being, from a gardener's arms 
 Snatched this unlucky brat, and called it mine ; 
 When the next year repaid my loss with thee, 
 But in thy wrongs preserved my misery ; 
 Which that 1 might diminish though not end, 
 My sighs and wet eyes from thy father's will 
 Bequeathed this largest part of his dominions 
 Of France unto thee ; and only left Austracia
 
 SCENE II.] THIERRY AND THEODORE7. 341 
 
 Unto that changeling, whose life affords 
 
 Too much of ill 'gainst me to prove my words, 
 
 And call him stranger. 
 
 Thi. Come, do not weep : I must, nay, do believe you ; 
 And, in my father's satisfaction, count it 
 Merit, not wrong or loss. 
 
 Brun. You do but flatter ; there is anger yet 
 Flames in your eyes. 
 
 Thi. See, I will quench it, and confess that you 
 Have suffered double travail for me. 
 
 Brun. You will not fire the house then ? 
 
 Thi. Rather reward the author who gave cause 
 Of knowing such a secret ; my oath and duty 
 Shall be assurance on 't. 
 
 Brun. Protaldy, rise, 
 
 Good faithful servant ! Heaven knows how hardly 
 He was drawn to this attempt. 
 
 PROTALDY rises from the Trap-door. 
 
 Thi. Protaldy ? He had 
 A gardener's fate, I'll swear, fell by thy hand : 
 Sir, we do owe unto you for this service. 
 
 Brun. Why look'st thou so dejected ? 
 
 Prof. I want a little 
 Shift, lady ; nothing else. 
 
 Enter MARTELL and Attendants. 
 
 Mart. The fires are ready ; 
 Please it your grace withdraw, whilst we perform 
 Your pleasure. 
 
 Thi. Reserve them for the body : since 
 He had the fate to live and die a prince, 
 He shall not lose the title in his funeral. 
 
 \Exitwith BRUN HALT and PROTALDY. 
 
 Mart. His fate to live a prince ? Thou old impiety, 
 Made up by lust and mischief ! Take up the body. 
 
 [Exett/it with the body ^/"THEODORET.
 
 342 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT in. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the Dwelling of LE FORTE. 
 Enter LECURE disguised as LE FORTE, and Servant. 
 
 Lee. Dost think Le Forte 's sure enough ? 
 
 Serv. As bonds can make him. I have turned his 
 eyes to the east, and left him gaping after the morning- 
 star : his head is a mere astrolabe ; his eyes stand for the 
 poles ; the gag in his mouth being the coachman, his 
 five teeth have the nearest resemblance to Charles' 
 wain. 
 
 Lee. Thou hast cast 'a figure 
 Which shall raise thee. Direct my hair a little : 
 And in my likeness to him read a fortune 
 Suiting thy largest hopes. 
 
 Serv. You are so far 'bove likeness, you are the same : 
 If you love mirth, persuade him from himself; 
 'Tis but an astronomer ' out of the way, 
 And lying will bear the better place for 't. 
 
 Lee. I 
 
 Have profitabler use in hand. Haste to 
 The queen, and tell her how you left me changed ! 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 Who would not serve this virtuous active queen ? 
 She that loves mischief 'bove the man that does it, 
 And him above her pleasure, yet knows no Heaven 
 else. 
 
 Enter THIERRY. 
 
 Thi. How well this loneness suits the art I seek, 
 Discovering secret and succeeding fate, 
 Knowledge that puts all lower happiness on, 
 With a remiss and careless hand ! [Aside. 
 
 Fair peace unto your meditations, father ! 
 Lcc. The same to you you bring, sir ! 
 Thi. Drawn by your much-famed skill, I come to 
 know 
 
 1 Astrologer.
 
 SCENE in.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 313 
 
 Whether the man who owes 1 this character 
 
 Shall e'er have issue. [Gives scroll. 
 
 Lee. A resolution - falling with most ease 
 Of any doubt you could have named. He is a prince 
 Whose fortune you inquire. 
 
 2 hi. He is nobly born. 
 
 Lee. He had a dukedom lately fallen unto him 
 By one called brother, who has left a daughter. 
 
 Thi. The question is of heirs, not lands. 
 
 Lee. Heirs? yes; 
 He shall have heirs. 
 
 Thi. Begotten of his body ? Why look'st thou pale ? 
 Thou canst not suffer in his want. 
 
 Lee. Nor thou ; 
 
 I neither can nor will give farther knowledge 
 To thee. 
 
 Thi. Thou must: I am the man myself, 
 Thy sovereign ; who must owe unto thy wisdom 
 In the concealing of my barren shame. 
 
 Lee. Your grace doth wrong your stars : if this be 
 
 yours, 
 You may have children. 
 
 Thi. Speak it again. 
 
 Lee. You may have fruitful issue. 
 
 Thi. By whom ? when ? how ? 
 
 Lee. It was the fatal means first struck my blood 
 With the cold hand of wonder, when I read it 
 Printed upon your birth. 
 
 Thi. Can there be any way unsmooth, has end 
 So fair and good ? 
 
 Lee. We, that behold the sad aspects of Heaven 
 Leading sense-blinded men, feel grief enough 
 To know, though not to speak, their miseries. 
 
 Thi. Sorrow must lose a name, where mine finds 
 life: 
 
 1 Owns : the character is the calculation of his nativity. 
 
 2 Solution.
 
 344 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT in. 
 
 If not in thee, at least ease pain with speed, 
 Which must know no cure else. 
 
 Lee. Then thus : 
 
 The first of females which your eye shall meet, 
 Before the sun next rise, coming from out 
 The temple of Diana, being slain, you live 
 Father of many sons. 
 
 Thi. Call'st thou this sadness ? can I beget a son 
 Deserving less than to give recompense 
 Unto so poor a loss ? Whate'er thou art, 
 Rest peaceable, blest creature, born to be 
 Mother of princes, whose grave shall be more fruitful 
 
 [Exit LECURE. 
 
 Than others' marriage-beds ! Methinks his art 
 Should give her form and happy figure to me ; 
 I long to see my happiness : he 's gone. 
 As I remember, he named my brother's daughter : 
 Were it my mother, 'twere a gainful death 
 Could give Ordella's virtue living breath. [Exit.
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. Before the Temple of Diana. 
 Enter THIERRY and MARTELL. 
 
 ART. Your grace is early stirring. 
 
 Thi. How can he sleep, 
 Whose happiness is laid up in an hour 
 He knows comes stealing toward him? 
 Oh, Martell, [wishes 
 
 Is 't possible the longing bride, whose 
 Out-run her fears, can, on that day she 's married, 
 Consume in slumbers ? or his arms rust in ease, 
 That hears the charge, and see the honoured purchase ' 
 Ready to gild his valour ? Mine is more, 
 A power above these passions : this day France 
 (France, that in want of issue withers with us, 
 And, like an aged river, runs his head 
 Into forgotten ways) again I ransom, 
 And his fair course turn right : this day, Thierry. 
 The son of France, whose manly powers like prisoners 
 Have been tied up and fettered, by one death, 
 Gives life to thousand ages ; this day beauty, 
 The envy of the world, the pleasure, glory, 
 Content above the world, desire beyond it, 
 Are made mine own and useful. 
 
 Mart. Happy woman 
 That dies to do these things ! 
 Thi. But ten times happier 
 That lives to do the greater ! Oh, Martell, 
 The gods have heard me now ! and those that scorned me, 
 1 Booty.
 
 346 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT iv. 
 
 Mothers of many children, and blest fathers, 
 That see their issues like the stars unnumbered, 
 Their comforts more than them, shall in my praises 
 Now teach their infants songs; and tell their ages 
 From such a son of mine, or such a queen, 
 That chaste Ordella brings me. Blessed marriage, 
 The chain that links two holy loves together ! 
 And in the marriage more than blest Ordella, 
 That conies so near the sacrament itself, 
 The priests doubt whether purer ! 
 
 Mart. Sir, you are lost. 
 
 Thi. I prithee, let me be so. 
 
 Mart. The day wears ; 
 
 And those that have been offering early prayers 
 Are now retiring homeward. 
 
 Thi. Stand, and mark then. 
 
 Mart. Is it the first must suffer ? 
 
 Thi. The first woman. 
 
 Mart. What h-and shall do it, sir ? 
 
 Thi. This hand, Martell ; 
 For who less dare presume to give the gods 
 An incense of this offering ? 
 
 Mart. Would I were she ! 
 For such a way to die, and such a blessing, 
 Can never crown my parting. 
 
 Two Men from the Temple pass over Ihe Stage. 
 
 Thi. What are those ? 
 Mart. Men, men, sir, men. 
 Thi. The plagues of men light on 'em ! 
 They cross my -hopes like hares ! 
 
 A Pries t//w// the Temple passes over the Stage. 
 
 Who's that ? 
 Mart. A priest, sir. 
 Thi. Would he were gelt !
 
 SCENE I.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 34? 
 
 Mart. May not these rascals serve, sir, 
 Well hanged and quartered ? 
 Thi. No. 
 Mart. Here comes a woman. 
 
 Enter from the Temple ORDELLA, veiled. 
 
 Thi. Stand, and behold her then. 
 
 Mart. I think, a fair one, 
 
 Thi. Move not, whilst I prepare her. May her peace, 
 (Like his whose innocence the gods are pleased with, 
 And offering at their altars gives his soul 
 Far purer than those fires,) pull Heaven upon her ! 
 You holy powers, no human spot dwell in her ! 
 No love of any thing but you and goodness 
 Tie her to earth ! fear be a stranger to her, 
 And all weak blood's affections but thy hope 
 Let her bequeath to women ! Hear me, Heaven ! 
 Give her a spirit masculine and noble, 
 Fit for yourselves to ask and me to offer ! 
 Oh, let her meet my blow, dote on her death ; 
 And, as a wanton vine bows to the pruner, 
 That by his cutting off more may increase, 
 So let her fall to raise me fruit ! Hail, woman, 
 The happiest and the best (if thy dull will 
 Do not abuse thy fortune) France e'er found yet ! 
 
 Ord. She 's more than dull, sir, less and worse than 
 That may inherit such an infinite [woman, 
 
 As you propound, a greatness so near goodness, 
 And brings a will to rob her. 
 
 Thi. Tell me this, then ; 
 Was there e'er woman yet, or may be found, 
 That for fair fame, unspotted memory, 
 For virtue's sake, and only for itself-sake, 
 Has or dare make a story ? 
 
 Ord. Many dead, sir ; 
 Living, I think, as many. 
 
 Thi. Say, the kingdom
 
 348 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT iv. 
 
 May from a woman's will receive a blessing, 
 The king and kingdom, not a private safety, 
 A general blessing, lady ? 
 
 Ord. A general curse 
 Light on her heart denies it ! 
 
 Thi. Full of honour, 
 And such examples as the former ages 
 Were but dim shadows of and empty figures ? 
 
 Ord. You strangely stir me, sir ; and were my weakness 
 In any other flesh but modest woman's, 
 You should not ask more questions. May I do it ? 
 
 Thi. You may ; and, what is more, you must. 
 
 Ord. I joy in't 
 
 Above a moderate gladness. Sir, you promise 
 It shall be honest ? 
 
 Thi. As ever time discovered. 
 
 Ord. Let it be what it may then, what it dare, 
 I have a mind will hazard it. 
 
 Thi. But, hark you ; 
 What may that woman merit makes this blessing ? 
 
 Ord. Only her duty, sir. 
 
 Thi. Tis terrible ! 
 
 Ord. 'Tis so much the more noble. 
 
 Thi. 'Tis full of fearful shadows. 
 
 Ord. So is sleep, sir, 
 
 Or any thing that's merely ours and mortal ; 
 We were begotten gods else : but those fears, 
 Feeling but once the fires of nobler thoughts, 
 Fly, like the shapes of clouds we form, to nothing. 
 
 Thi. Suppose it death ! 
 
 Ord. I do. 
 
 Thi. And endless parting 
 
 With all we can call ours, with all our sweetness, 
 With youth, strength, pleasure, people, time, nay, reason ? 
 For in the silent grave, no conversation, 
 No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers, 
 No careful father's counsel j nothing's heard
 
 SCENE I.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 349 
 
 Nor nothing is, but all oblivion, 
 
 Dust and an endless darkness : and dare you, woman, 
 
 Desire this place ? 
 
 Ord. 'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest : 
 Children begin it to us, strong men seek it, 
 And kings from height of all their painted glories 
 Fall like spent exhalations to this centre : 
 And those are fools that fear it, or imagine 
 A few unhandsome pleasures or life's profits 
 Can recompense this place ; and mad that stay it, 
 Till age blow out their lights, or rotten humours 
 Bring them dispersed to the earth. 
 
 Thi. Then you can suffer ? 
 
 Ord. As willingly as say it. 
 
 Tin. Martell, a wonder ! 
 
 Here is a woman that dares die. Yet, tell me, 
 Are you a wife ? 
 
 Ord. I am, sir. 
 
 Thi. And have children ? 
 She sighs and weeps. 
 
 Ord. Oh, none, sir ! 
 
 Thi. Dare you venture, 
 For a poor barren praise you ne'er shall hear, 
 To part with these sweet hopes ? 
 
 Ord. With all but Heaven, 
 And yet die full of children : he that reads me, 
 When I am ashes, is my son in wishes, 
 And those chaste dames that keep my memory, 
 Singing my yearly requiems, are my daughters. 
 
 Thi. Then there is nothing wanting but my know- 
 And what I must do, lady. [ledge, 
 
 Ord. You are the King, sir, 
 And what you do I'll suffer ; and that blessing 
 That you desire, the gods shower on the kingdom ! 
 
 Thi. Thus much before I strike, then ; for I must kill 
 
 you, 
 The gods have willed it so : they've made the blessing
 
 350 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT iv. 
 
 Must make France young again and me a man. 
 Keep up your strength still nobly. 
 
 Ord. Fear me not. 
 
 Thi. And meet death like a measure. 1 
 
 Ord. I am steadfast. 
 
 Thi. Thou shalt be sainted, woman ; and thy tomb 
 Cut out in crystal, pure and good as thou art ; 
 And on it shall be graven, every age, 
 Succeeding peers of France that rise by thy fall, 
 Till thou liest there like old and fruitful Nature. 
 Dar'st thou behold thy happiness ? 
 
 Ord. I dare, sir. \_Pullsoffhcrevil. 
 
 Thi. Ha! \_Letsfall his sword. 
 
 Mart. Oh, sir, you must not do it ! 
 
 Thi. No, I dare not ! 
 There is an angel keeps that paradise, 
 A fiery angel, friend. Oh, virtue, virtue, 
 Ever and endless virtue ! 
 
 Ord. Strike, sir, strike ! [Kneels. 
 
 And if in my poor death fair France may merit, 
 Give me a thousand blows ! be killing me 
 A thousand days ! 
 
 Thi. First, let the earth be barren, 
 And man no more remembered ! Rise, Ordella, 
 
 \_Raises her. 
 
 The nearest to thy Maker ; and the purest 
 That ever dull flesh showed us ! Oh, my heartstrings ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Mart. I see you full of wonder ; therefore, noblest 
 And truest among women, I will tell you 
 The end of this strange accident. 
 
 Ord. Amazement 
 
 Has so much won upon my heart, that truly 
 I feel myself unfit to hear. Oh, sir, 
 My lord has slighted me ! 
 
 Mart. Oh, no, sweet lady ! 
 
 1 The measure was a solemn stately dance.
 
 SCENE i.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 351 
 
 Ord. Robbed me of such a glory by his pity 
 And most improvident respect 
 
 Mart. Dear lady, 
 It was not meant to you. 
 
 Ord. Else where the day is, 
 And hours distinguish time, time runs to ages, 
 And ages end the world, I had been spoken. 
 
 Matt. I'll tell you what it was, if but your patience 
 Will give me hearing. 
 
 Ord. If I have transgressed, 
 Forgive me, sir ! 
 
 Mart. Your noble lord was counselled 
 (Grieving the barrenness between you both, 
 And all the kingdom with him) to seek out 
 A man that knew the secrets of the gods : 
 He went, found such an one, and had this answer; 
 That, if he would have issue, on this morning, 
 (For this hour was prefixed him), he should kill 
 The first he met, being female, from the temple, 
 And then he should have children. The mistake 
 Is now too perfect, lady. 
 
 Ord. Still 'tis I, sir ; 
 
 For may this work be done by common women ? 
 Durst any but myself, that knew the blessing 
 And felt the benefit, assume this dying? 
 In any other 't had been lost and nothing, 
 A curse and not a blessing : I was figured ; 
 And shall a little fondness bar my purchase ? 
 
 Mart. Where should he then seek children ? 
 
 Ord. Where they are ; 
 
 In wombs ordained for issues ; in those beauties 
 That bless a marriage-bed, and make it proud 
 With kisses that conceive and fruitful pleasures : 
 Mine, like a grave, buries those loyal hopes, 
 And to a grave it covets. 
 
 Mart. You are too good, 
 Too excellent, too honest. Rob not us,
 
 352 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT iv. 
 
 And those that shall hereafter seek example, 
 Of such inestimable worths in woman, 
 Your lord of such obedience, all of honour, 
 In coveting a cruelty is not yours, 
 A will short of your wisdom ! make not error 
 A tombstone of your virtues, whose fair life 
 Deserves a constellation ! Your lord dare not, 
 He cannot, ought not, must not run this hazard ; 
 He makes a separation Nature shakes at, 
 The gods deny, and everlasting Justice 
 Shrinks back and sheathes her sword at. 
 
 Ord. All's but talk, sir ; 
 I find to what I am reserved and needful : 
 And though my lord's compassion makes me poor, 
 And leaves me in my best use, yet a strength 
 Above mine own, or his dull fondness, finds me ; 
 The gods have given it to me. [Draws a dagger. 
 
 Mart. Self-destruction ? {Holds her, 
 
 Now all good angels bless thee ! Oh, sweet lady, 
 You are abused 1 ! this is a way to shame you, 
 And with you all that know you, all that love you ; 
 To ruin all you build ! Would you be famous ? 
 Is that your end ? 
 
 Ord. I would be what I should be. 
 
 Mart. Live, and confirm the gods then ! live, and be 
 
 loaden 
 
 With more than olives bear or fruitful autumn ! 
 This way you kill your merit, kill your cause, 
 And him you would raise life to. Where or how 
 Got you these bloody thoughts ? what devil durst 
 Look on that angel-face, and tempt? do you know 
 What 'tis to die thus ? how you strike the stars 
 And all good things above ? do you feel 
 What follows a self-blood ? whither you venture, 
 And to what punishment ? Excellent lady, 
 Be not thus cozened, do not fool yourself ! 
 
 1 Deceived.
 
 SCENE ii.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 353 
 
 The priest was never his own sacrifice, 
 But he that thought his hell here. 
 
 Ord. I am counselled. 
 
 Mart. And I am glad on 't ; lie, I know, you dare not. 
 
 Ord. I never have done yet. 
 
 Mart. Pray, take my comfort. 
 Was this a soul to lose? two more such women 
 Would save their sex. See, she repents and prays ! 
 Oh, hear her, hear her ! if there be a faith 
 Ableto reach your mercies, she hath sent it. 
 
 Ord. Now, good Martell, confirm me. 
 
 Mart. I will, lady, 
 
 And every hour advise you ; for I doubt 
 Whether this plot be Heaven's, or hell's your mother, 
 And I will find it, if it be in mankind 
 To search the centre of it. In the mean time, 
 I'll give you out for dead, and by yourself, 
 And show the instrument ; so shall I find 
 A joy that will betray her. 
 
 Ord. Do what's fittest, 
 And I will follow you. 
 
 Mart. Then ever live 
 Both able to engross all love and give ! \Ex,eunt. 
 
 SCENE I l.An Apartment in the Palace ^/THIERRY. 
 Enter BRUNHALT and PROTALDY. 
 
 Brun. I am in labour 
 To be delivered of that burthenous project 
 I have so long gone with. Ha, here's the midwife ! 
 
 Enter LECURE. 
 Or life, or death ? 
 
 Lee. If in the supposition 
 Of her death in whose life you die, you ask me, 
 I think you are safe. 
 
 Beau. & F.-i. A A
 
 354 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT iv. 
 
 Brun. Is she dead ? 
 
 Lee. I have used 
 
 All means to make her so : I saw him waiting 
 At the temple-door, and used such art within, 
 That only she of all her sex was first 
 Given up unto his fury. 
 
 Brun. Which if love 
 Or fear made him forbear to execute 
 The vengeance he determined, his fond pity 
 Shall draw it on himself; for were there left 
 Not any man but he, to serve my pleasures, 
 Or from me to receive commands, (which are 
 The joys for which I love life,) he should be 
 Removed, and I alone left to be queen 
 O'er any part of goodness that's left in me. 
 
 Lee. If you are so resolved, I have provided 
 A means to ship him hence : Look upon this, 
 
 [Showing a handkerchief. 
 But touch it sparingly ; for this once used, 
 Say but to dry a tear, will keep the eye-lid 
 From closing until death perform that office. 
 
 Brun. Give 't me, I may have use of 't ; and on you 
 
 [Taking the handkerchief. 
 I'll make the first experiment, if one sigh 
 Or heavy look beget the least suspicion, 
 Childish compassion can thaw the ice 
 Of your so-long-congealed and flinty hardness : 
 'Slight, go on constant, or I shall ! 
 
 Prot. Best lady, 
 We have no faculties which are not yours. 
 
 Lee. Nor will be any thing without you. 
 
 Brun. Be so, 
 
 And we will stand or fall together ; for 
 Since we have gone so far that death must stay 
 The journey, which we wish should never end, 
 And innocent or guilty we must die, 
 When we do so, let's know the reason why.
 
 SCENE ir.l THIERRY AND THEODORET. 355 
 
 Enter THIERRY and Courtiers. 
 
 Lee. The King. 
 
 Thi. We'll be alone. \Exeunt Courtiers. 
 
 Prot. I would I had 
 A convoy too, to bring me safe off ! 
 For rage, although it be allayed with sorrow, 
 Appears so dreadful in him, that I shake 
 To look upon it. 
 
 Brim. Coward, I will meet it, 
 And know from whence 't has birth. Son, kingly Thierry ! 
 
 Thi. Is cheating grown so common among men, 
 And thrives so well here, that the gods endeavour 
 To practise it above ? 
 
 Brun. Your mother ! 
 
 Thi. Ha! 
 
 Or are they only careful to revenge, 
 Not to reward ? or when for our offences 
 We study satisfaction, must the cure 
 Be worse than the disease ? 
 
 Brun. Will you not hear me ? 
 
 Thi. To lose the ability to perform those duties 
 For which I entertained the name of husband, 
 Asked more than common sorrow ; but to impose, 
 For the redress of that defect, a torture, 
 In marking her to death for whom alone 
 I felt that weakness as a want, requires 
 More than the making the head bald, or falling 
 
 \Tears his hair, and throws himself on the ground, 
 Thus flat upon the earth, or cursing that way, 
 Or praying this. Oh, such a scene of grief, 
 And so set down, (the world the stage to act on,) 
 May challenge a tragedian better practised 
 Than I am to express it ! for my cause 
 Of passion is so strong, and my performance 
 So weak, that though the part be good, I fear 
 The ill acting of it will defraud it of 
 The poor reward it may deserve, men's pity. 
 
 A A 2
 
 356 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT iv. 
 
 Brun. I have given you way thus long : a king, and, 
 
 what 
 
 Is more, my son, and yet a slave to that 
 Which only triumphs over cowards, sorrow ? 
 For shame, look up ! 
 
 Thi. Is't you ? look down on me ! 
 And if that you are capable to receive it, 
 Let that return to you that have brought forth 
 One marked out only for it ! What are these ? 
 Come they, upon your privilege, to tread on 
 The tomb of my afflictions ? 
 
 Prof. No, not we, sir. 
 
 Thi. How dare you then omit the ceremony 
 Due to the funeral of all my hopes ? 
 Or come unto the marriage of my sorrows, 
 But in such colours as may sort with them ? 
 
 Prof. Alas, we will wear any thing. 
 
 Brun. This is madness : 
 Take but my counsel. 
 
 Thi. Yours ? dare you again, 
 Though armed with the authority of a mother, 
 Attempt the danger that will fall on you, 
 If sueh another syllable awake it ? 
 Go, and with yours be safe ; I have such cause 
 Of grief, (nay, more, to love it,) that I will not 
 Have such as these be sharers in it. 
 
 Lee. Madam 
 
 Prof. Another time were better. 
 
 Brun. Do not stir, 
 For I must be resolved, and will : be statues ! 
 
 Enter MARTELL. 
 
 Thi. Ay, thou art welcome ; and upon my soul 
 1'hou art an honest man. Do you see ? he has tears 
 To lend to him whom prodigal expense 
 Of sorrow has made bankrupt of such treasure. 
 Nay, thou dost well.
 
 SCENE II.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 357 
 
 Mart. I would it might excuse 
 The ill I bring alon'g ! 
 
 Thi. Thou mak'st me smile 
 I' the height of my calamities : as if 
 There coijld be the addition of an atom 
 To the giant body of my miseries ! 
 But try ; for I will hear thee. All sit down : 'tis death 
 
 [They seat themselves. 
 To any that shall dare to interrupt him 
 In look, gesture, or word. 
 
 Mart. And such attention 
 As is due to the last and the best story 
 That ever was delivered, will become you. 
 The grieved Ordella (for all other titles 
 But take away from that) having from me, 
 Prompted by your last parting groan, inquired 
 What drew it from you, and the cause soon learned, 
 For she, whom barbarism could deny nothing, 
 With such prevailing earnestness desired it, 
 Twas not in me, though it had been my death, 
 To hide it from her ; she, I say, in whom 
 All was that Athens, Rome, or warlike Sparta, 
 Have registered for good in their best women, 
 But nothing of their ill ; knowing herself 
 Marked out (I know not by what power, but sure 
 A cruel one) to die to give you children ; 
 Having first with a settled countenance 
 Looked up to Heaven, and then upon herself, 
 (It being the next best object,) and then smiled, 
 As if her joy in death to do you service 
 Would break forth in despite of the much sorrow 
 She showed she had to leave you ; and then taking 
 Me by the hand, (this hand which I must ever 
 Love better than I have done, since she touched it,) 
 " Go," said she, " to my lord, (and to go to him 
 Is such a happiness I must not hope for,) 
 And tell him that he too much prized a trifle
 
 35 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT IV. 
 
 Made only worthy in his love and her 
 
 Thankful acceptance, for her sake to rob 
 
 The orphan kingdom of such guardians as 
 
 Must of necessity descend from him ; 
 
 And therefore in some part of recompense 
 
 Of his much love, and to show to the world 
 
 That 'twas not her fault only, but her fate, 
 
 That did deny to let her be the mother 
 
 Of such most certain blessings ; yet, for proof 
 
 She did not envy her, that happy her 
 
 That is appointed to them, her quick end 
 
 Should make way for her." Which no sooner spoke, 
 
 But in a moment this too-ready engine 
 
 [Shows a dagger. 
 
 Made such a battery in the choicest castle 
 That ever Nature made to defend life, 
 That straight it shook and sunk. 
 
 Thi. Stay ! dares any 
 Presume to shed a tear before me ? or 
 Ascribe that worth unto themselves, to merit, 
 To do so for her ? I have done ; now on ! 
 
 Mart. Fallen thus, once more she smiled, as if that 
 
 death 
 
 For her had studied a new way to sever 
 The soul and body without sense of pain ; 
 And then, " Tell him," quoth she, " what you have 
 
 seen, 
 
 And with what willingness 'twas done ; for which 
 My last request unto him is, that he 
 Would instantly make choice of one (most happy 
 In being so chosen) to supply my place ; 
 By whom if Heaven bless him with a daughter, 
 In my remembrance let it bear my name." 
 Which said, she died. 
 
 Thi. I hear this, and yet live ! 
 
 Heart, art thou thunder-proof ? will nothing break thee ? 
 She's dead ; and what her entertainment may be
 
 SCENE ii.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 359 
 
 In the other world without me is uncertain ; 
 And dare I stay here unresolved ? l 
 
 \Draivs his sword. They hold him. 
 
 Mart. Oh, sir ! 
 
 Brun. Dear son ! 
 
 Prof. Great King ! 
 
 Thi. Unhand me ! am I fallen 
 So low that I have lost the power to be 
 Disposer of my own life ? 
 
 Mart. Be but pleased 
 To borrow so much time of sorrow as 
 To call to mind her last request, for whom 
 (I must confess a loss beyond expression) 
 You turn your hand upon yourself : 'twas hers, 
 And dying hers, that you should live, and happy 
 In seeing little models of yourself, 
 By matching with another : and will you 
 Leave any thing that she desired ungranted ? 
 And suffer such a life, that was laid down 
 For your sake only, to be fruitless ? 
 
 Thi. Oh, 
 
 Thou dost throw charms upon me, against which 
 I cannot stop my ears, Bear witness, Heaven, 
 That not desire of life, nor love of pleasures, 
 Nor any future comforts, but to give 
 Peace to her blessed spirit, in satisfying 
 Her last demand, makes me defer our meeting ! 
 "Which in my choice, and sudden choice, shall be 
 To all apparent. 
 
 Brun. How ! do I remove one mischief, 
 To draw upon my head a greater ? \Apart. 
 
 Thi. Go, 
 
 Thou only good man, to whom for herself 
 Goodness is dear : and prepare to inter it 
 In her that was Oh, my heart ! my Ordella ; 
 A monument worthy to be the casket 
 Of such a jewel. 
 
 1 Unsatisfied.
 
 360 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT TV. 
 
 Mart. Your command, that makes way 
 Unto my absence, is a welcome one ; 
 For, but yourself, there's nothing here Martell 
 Can take delight to look on : yet some comfort 
 Goes back with me to her, who, though she want it, 
 Deserves all blessings. [Exit. 
 
 Brun. So soon to forget 
 The loss of such a wife, believe it, will 
 Be censured in the world. 
 
 Thi. Pray you, no more ! 
 There is no argument you can use to cross it, 
 But does increase in me such a suspicion 
 I would not cherish. Who's that ? 
 
 Enter MEMBERGE. 
 
 Memb. One no guard 
 
 Can put back from access, whose tongue no threats 
 Nor prayers can silence ; a bold suitor, and 
 For that which, if you are yourself, a king, 
 You were made so to grant it, justice, justice ! 
 
 Thi. With what assurance dare you hope for that 
 Which is denied to me ? or how can I 
 Stand bound to be just unto such as are 
 Beneath me, that find none from those that are 
 Above me? 
 
 Memb. There is justice : 'twere unfit 
 That any thing but vengeance should fall on him, 
 That, by his giving way to more than murder, 
 (For my dear father's death was parricide,) 
 Makes it his own. 
 
 Brun. I charge you, hear her not ! [Heaven ; 
 
 Memb. Hell cannot stop just prayers from entering 
 I must and will be heard. Sir, but remember 
 That he that by her plot fell was your brother ; 
 And the place where, your palace, against all 
 The invio'able rights of hospitality ; 
 Your word, a king's word, given up for his safety ;
 
 SCENE II.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 361 
 
 His innocence, his protection ; and the gods 
 Bound to revenge the impious breach of such 
 So great and sacred bonds : and can you wonder 
 (That, in not punishing such a horrid murder, 
 You did it) that Heaven's favour is gone from you ? 
 Which never will return until his blood 
 Be washed away in hers. 
 
 Brun. Drag hence the wretch ! 
 
 Thi. Forbear. With what variety 
 Of torments do I meet ! Oh, thou hast opened 
 A book, in which, writ down in bloody letters, 
 My conscience finds that I am worthy of 
 More than I undergo ! but I'll begin, 
 For my Ordella's sake, and for thine own, 
 To make less Heaven's great anger. Thou hast lost 
 A father, I to thee am so ; the hope 
 Of a good husband, in me have one ; nor 
 Be fearful I am still no man ; already 
 That weakness is gone from me. 
 
 Brun. That it might 
 
 Have ever grown inseparably upon thee ! [Aside. 
 
 What will you do ? Is such a thing as this 
 Worthy the loved Ordella's place ? the daughter 
 Of a poor gardener ? 
 
 Memb. Your son ! - 
 
 Thi. The power 
 To take away that lowness is in me. 
 
 Brun. Stay yet ; for rather than thou shall add 
 Incest unto thy other sins, I will, 
 With hazard of my own life, utter all : 
 Theodoret was thy brother. 
 
 Thi. You denied it 
 
 Upon your oath ; nor will I now believe you : 
 Your Protean turnings cannot change my purpose. 
 
 Memb. And for me, be assured the means to be 
 Revenged on thee, vile hag, admits no thought 
 But what tends to it. [Exit.
 
 362 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT IV. 
 
 Brun. Is it come to that ? 
 
 Then have at the last refuge ! \Aside^\ Art thou grown 
 Insensible in ill, that thou goest on 
 Without the least compunction ? There, take that ! 
 
 [Gives him the handkerchief. 
 To witness that thou hadst a mother, which 
 Foresaw thy cause of grief and sad repentance, 
 That, so soon after blest Ordella's death, 
 Without a tear, thou canst embrace another, 
 Forgetful man ! 
 
 Thi. Mine eyes, when she is named, 
 Cannot forget their tribute, and your gift 
 Is not unuseful now. 
 
 Lee. He's past all cure ; 
 That only touch is death. 
 
 Thi. This night I'll keep it ; 
 To-morrow I will send it you and full 
 Of my affliction. [Exit. 
 
 Brun. Is the poison mortal? 
 
 Lee. Above the help of physic. 
 
 Brun. To my wish. 
 
 Now for our own security. You, Protaldy, 
 Shall this night post towards Austracia 
 With letters to Theodoret's bastard son, 
 In which he will make known what for his rising 
 We have done to Thierry : no denial 
 Nor no excuse in such acts must be thought of, 
 Which all dislike, and all again commend 
 When they are brought unto a happy end. [Exeunt.
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I.A Forest. 
 Enter DE VITRY and four Soldiers. 
 
 E VIT. No war, no money, no master ! 
 banished the court, not trusted in the 
 city, whipt out of the country, in what 
 a triangle runs our misery ! Let me hear 
 which of you has the best voice to beg 
 in, for other hopes or fortunes I see you have not. Be 
 not nice ; nature provided you with tones for the pur- 
 pose ; the people's charity was your heritage, and I 
 would see which of you deserves his birthright. 
 
 AIL We understand you not, captain. 
 
 De Vit. You see this cardecu, the last, and the only 
 quintessence of fifty crowns, distilled in the limbeck of 
 your guardage ; of which happy piece thou shalt be 
 treasurer. [Gives it to ist Soldier.] Now, he that can 
 soonest persuade him to part with ; t, enjoys it, possesses 
 it, and with it me and my future countenance. 
 
 \st Sold, If they want art to persuade it, I'll keep it 
 myself. 
 
 De Vit. So you be not a partial judge in your own 
 cause, you shall. 
 
 All. A match ! 
 
 2nd Sold. I'll begin to you. Brave sir, be proud to 
 make him happy by your liberality, whose tongue vouch- 
 safes now to petition, was never heard before less than to 
 command. I am a soldier by profession, a gentleman by
 
 364 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT V. 
 
 birth, and an officer by place ; whose poverty blushes to 
 be the cause that so high a virtue should descend to the 
 pity of your charity. 
 
 \st Sold. In any case keep your high style : it is not 
 charity to shame any man, much less a virtue of your 
 eminence; wherefore, preserve your worth, and I'll 
 preserve my money. 
 
 yd Sold. You persuade ; you are shallow : give way 
 to merit. Ah, by the bread of God, man, thou hast a 
 bonny countenance and a blithe, promising mickle good 
 to a sicker womb that has trod a long and a sore ground 
 to meet with friends, that will owe much to thy reverence 
 when they shall hear of thy courtesy to their wandering 
 countryman. 
 
 \st Sold. You that will use your friends so hardly to 
 bring them in debt, sir, will deserve worse of a stranger ; 
 wherefore, pead on, * pead on, I say. 
 
 tfh Sold. It is the Welsh must do't, I see. Comrade, 
 man of urship, St. Tavy be her patron, the gods of the 
 mountains keep her cow and her cupboard ; may she 
 never want the green of the leek nor the fat of the onion, 
 if she part with her bounties to him that is a great deal 
 away from her cousins and has two big suits in law to 
 recover her heritage ! 
 
 isl Sold. Pardon me, sir ; I will have nothing to do 
 with your suits ; it comes within the statute of mainten- 
 ance. Home to your cousins, and sow garlic and hemp- 
 seed ; and one will stop your hunger, the other end your 
 suits. Gammawas/i, comrade, gammawash ! 
 
 4th Sold. 'Foot, he'll hoard all for himself. 
 
 De Vit. Yes, let him. Now comes my turn ; I'll see 
 if he can answer me. Save you, sir ! they say you have 
 that I want, money. 
 
 ist Sold. And that you are like to want, for aught I 
 perceive yet. 
 
 De Vit. Stand, deliver ! 
 
 1 i.e. Pad on, foot it on. Seward.
 
 SCENE i.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 365 
 
 ist So/d. 'Foot, what mean you ? You will not rob the 
 exchequer ? 
 
 De Vit. Do you prate ? 
 
 ist Sold. Hold, hold ! here, captain ! 
 
 [Gives thecardecu. * 
 
 znd Sold. Why, I could have done this before you. 
 
 yd Sold. And I. 
 
 4/7* Sold. And I. 
 
 De Vit. You have done this ! " Brave man, be proud 
 to make him happy ! " " By the bread of God, man, thou 
 hast a bonny countenance ! " " Comrade, man of urship, 
 St. Tavy be her patron ! " Out upon you, you uncurried 
 colts ! walking cans, that have no souls in you, but a little 
 rosin to keep your ribs sweet and hold in liquor ! - 
 
 All. Why, what would you have us to do, captain ? 
 
 De Vit. Beg, beg, and keep constables waking, wear 
 out stocks and whipcord, maunder 3 for buttermilk, die of 
 the jaundice, yet have the cure about you, lice, large lice, 
 begot of your own dust and the heat of the bi ick-kilns ! May 
 you starve, and fear of the gallows (which is a gentle con- 
 sumption to it) only prevent it ! or may you fall upon your 
 fear, and be hanged for selling those purses to keep you 
 from famine, whose monies my valour empties, and be 
 east without other evidence ! Here is my fort, my castle 
 of defence : who comes by shall pay me toll ; the first 
 purse is your mittimus, slaves. 
 
 2nd Sold. The purse ! 'foot, we'll share in the money, 
 captain, if any come within a furlong of our fingers. 
 
 \th Sold. Did you doubt but we could steal as well as 
 yourself? did not I speak Welsh ? 
 
 yd Sold. We are thieves from our cradles, and will 
 die so. 
 
 De Vit. Then you will not beg again ? 
 
 1 See note ante, p. 313. 
 
 2 Seward points out that the metaphor is taken from the old 
 English black-jacks made of stiffened leather and lined with rosin, 
 and which Erasmus from their shape called boots. 
 
 3 Beg.
 
 366 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT v. 
 
 All. Yes, as you did : " Stand and deliver ! " 
 
 2nd Sold. Hark ! here comes handsel : 'tis a trade 
 quickly set up, and as soon cast down. 
 
 De Vit. Have goodness in your minds, varlets, and 
 to 't like men ! He that has more money than we, cannot 
 be our friend, and I hope there is no law for spoiling the 
 enemy. 
 
 $rd Sold. You need not instruct us farther ; your 
 example pleads enough. 
 
 De Vit. Disperse yourselves ; and, as their company 
 is, fall on ! 
 
 2nd Sold. Come there a band of 'em, I'll charge single. 
 
 [Exeunt Soldiers. 
 
 Enter PROTALDY. 
 
 Prof. 'Tis wonderful dark. I have lost my man, and 
 dare not call for him, lest I should have more followers 
 than I would pay wages to. What throes am I in, in this 
 travel ! these be honourable adventures ! Had I that 
 honest blood in my veins again, queen, that your feats 
 and these frights have drained from me, honour should 
 pull hard ere it drew me into, these brakes. 
 
 De lit. Who goes there ? 
 
 Prot. Heigh-ho ! here's a pang of preferment. 
 
 De Vit. 'Heart, who goes there ? 
 
 Prot. He that has no heart to your acquaintance. 
 What shall I do with my jewels and my letters? My 
 codpiece, that's too loose ; good, my boots. [Aside, and 
 puts jewels and letters into his boots.] Who is 't that spoke 
 to me ? here's a friend. 
 
 De Vit. We shall find that presently. Stand, as you 
 love your safety, stand ! 
 
 Prot. That unlucky word of standing has brought me to 
 all this. [Aside.] Hold, or I shall never stand you. 
 
 Re-enter Soldiers. 
 De Vit. I should know that voice. Deliver !
 
 SCENE I.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 367 
 
 Prof. All that I have is at your service, gentlemen ; 
 and much good may it do you ! 
 
 De Vit. Zowns, down with him ! Do you prate ? 
 Prot. Keep your first word, as you are gentlemen, and 
 let me stand ! Alas, what do you mean ? 
 
 znd Sold. To tie you to us, sir, bind you in the knot of 
 
 friendship. {They bind PROTALDY. 
 
 Prot. Alas, sir, all the physic in Europe cannot bind me. 
 
 De Vit. You should have jewels about you, stones, 
 
 precious stones. 
 
 \st Sold. Captain, away ! there's company within 
 hearing ; if you stay longer, we are surprised. 
 
 De Vit. Let the devil come, I'll pillage this frigate a 
 little better yet. 
 
 2nd Sold. 'Foot, we are lost ! they are upon us. 
 De Vit. Ha ! upon us ? Make the least noise, 'tis thy 
 parting gasp ! 
 
 $rd Sold. Which way shall we make, sir ? 
 De Vit. Every man his own : do you hear? only bind 
 me before you go, and when the company's past, make to 
 this place again. This carvel * should have better lading 
 in him. You are slow ; why do you not tie harder ? 
 
 [They bind DE VITRY. 
 
 isl Sold. You are sure enough, I warrant you, sir. 
 De Vit. Darkness befriendyou ! away! [Exeunt Soldiers. 
 Prot. What tyrants have I met with ! they leave me 
 alone in the dark, yet would not have me cry. I shall 
 grow wondrous melancholy, if I stay long here without 
 company. I was wont to get a nap with saying my 
 prayers ; I'll see if they will work upon me now : but then 
 if I should talk in my sleep, and they hear me, they would 
 make a recorder 2 of my windpipe, slit my throat 
 Heaven be praised ! I hear some noise ; it may be new 
 purchase, 3 and then I shall have fellows. 
 
 De Vit. They are gone past hearing : now to task, De 
 
 1 A curvelf or caravel, was a small, light ship fitted like a galley. 
 
 2 Flageolet. 3 Booty.
 
 368 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT v. 
 
 Vitry ! \_Asidc.~] Help, help, as you are men, help ! some 
 charitable hand relieve a poor distressed miserable 
 wretch ! Thieves, wicked thieves, have robbed me, bound 
 me. 
 
 Prot, 'Foot, would they had gagged you too ! your noise 
 will betray us, and fetch them again. 
 
 De Vit. What blessed tongue spake to me ? where, 
 where are you, sir ? 
 
 Prot. A plague of your bawling throat ! we are well 
 enough, if you have the grace to be thankful for 't. Do 
 but snore to me, and 'tis as much as I desire, to pass 
 away time with till morning ; then talk as loud as you 
 please, sir : I am bound not to stir wherefore, lie still 
 and snore, I say. 
 
 De Vit. Then you have met with thieves, too, I see. 
 
 Prot. And desire to meet with no more of them. 
 
 De Vit. Alas, what can we suffer more ? they are far 
 enough by this time ; have they not all, all that we have, 
 sir? 
 
 Prot. No, by my faith, have they not, sir. I gave 
 them one trick to boot for their learning : my boots, sir, 
 my boots ! I have saved my stock and my jewels in them, 
 and therefore desire to hear no more of them. 
 
 De Vit. Now, blessing on your wit, sir ! what a dull 
 slave was I, dreamed not of your conveyance ! Help to 
 unbind me, sir, and I'll undo you ; my life for yours, no 
 worse thief than myself meets you again this night ! 
 
 Prot. Reach me thy hands. 
 
 De Vit. Here, sir, here [PROTALDY unbinds DE VITRY'S 
 hands]. I could beat my brains out, that could not think 
 of boots, boots, sir, widetopt boots; I shall love them 
 the better whilst I live. But are you sure your jewels are 
 here, sir ? 
 
 Prot. Sure, sayst thou ? ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 De Vit. So ho, illo ho ! 
 
 Soldiers \withhi\. Here, captain, here ! 
 
 Prot. 'Foot, what do you mean, sir ?
 
 SCENE I.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 369 
 
 Re-enter Soldiers. 
 
 De Vit. A trick to boot, say you ? \Takes out jewels 
 from PROTALDY'S boots.] Here, you dull slaves, pur- 
 chase, purchase ! the soul of the rock, diamonds, 
 sparkling diamonds ! 
 
 Prot. I am betrayed, lost, past recovery lost ! \AsideJ] 
 As you are men 
 
 De Vit, Nay, rook, since you will be prating, we'll 
 share your carrion with you. Have you any other 
 conveyance now, sir ? 
 
 ist Sold. \Taking out letters from PROTALDY'S boots, .] 
 'Foot, here are letters, epistles, familiar epistles : we'll 
 see what treasure is in them ; they are sealed sure. 
 
 Prof. Gentlemen, as you are gentlemen, spare my 
 letters, and take all willingly, all ! I'll give you a release, 
 a general release, and meet you here to-morrow with as 
 much more. 
 
 De Vit. Nay, since you have your tricks and your 
 conveyances, we will not leave a wrinkle of you un- 
 searched. 
 
 Prot. Hark ! there comes company ; you will be 
 betrayed. As you love your safeties, beat out my brains; 
 I shall betray you else. 
 
 De Vit. [Reading the letters.] Treason, unheard-of 
 treason ! monstrous, monstrous villanies ! 
 
 Prot. I confess myself a traitor ; show yourselves good 
 subjects, and hang me up for 't. 
 
 ist Sold. If it be treason, the discovery will get our 
 pardon, captain. 
 
 De Vit. Would we were all lost, hanged, 
 Quartered, to save this one, one innocent prince ! 
 Thierry's poisoned, by his mother poisoned, 
 The mistress to this stallion ; 
 Who, by that poison, ne'er shall sleep again ! 
 
 2nd Sold. 'Foot, let us mince him by piece-meal till he 
 eat himself up. 
 
 Beau. & F.-i. B B
 
 3?o THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT v. 
 
 yd Sold. Let us dig out his heart with needles, and 
 half broil him like a muscle. 
 
 Prof. Such another, and I prevent you ; my blood's 
 settled already. 
 
 De Vit. Here is that shall remove it ! Toad, viper ! 
 Drag him unto Martell ! 
 Unnatural parricide ! cruel, bloody woman ! 
 
 Soldiers. On, you dog-fish, leech, caterpillar ! 
 
 De Vit. A longer sight of him will make my rage 
 Turn pity, and with his sudden end prevent 
 Revenge and torture ! Wicked, wicked Brunhalt ! 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II. An Apartment in the Palace ^/THIERRY. 
 
 Enter BAWDBER and three Courtiers. 
 
 isf Cour. Not sleep at all? no means? 
 
 2nd Cour. No art can do it ? 
 
 Baiv. I will assure you, he can sleep no more 
 Than a hooded hawk ; a sentinel to him, 
 Or one of the city-constables, are tops. 
 
 yd Cour. How came he so ? 
 
 Baiv. They are too wise that dare know : 
 Something's amiss ; Heaven help all ! 
 
 ist Cour. What cures has he ? 
 
 Baw. Armies of those we call physicians ; 
 Some with clysters, some with lettice-caps, 1 
 Some posset-drinks, some pills ; twenty consulting here 
 About a drench, as many here to blood him. 
 Then comes a don of Spain, and he prescribes 
 More cooling opium than would kill a Turk, 
 Or quench a whore i' the dog-days ; after him, 
 A wise Italian, and he cries, " Tie unto him 
 
 1 Applications of lettuce used as a soporific.
 
 SCENE ii.] THIERRY AND THEODORES 37! 
 
 A woman of fourscore, whose bones are marble. 
 Whose blood snow-water, not so much heat about her 
 As may conceive a prayer ! " after him, 
 An English doctor with a bunch of pot-herbs, 
 And he cries out, " Endive and succory, 
 With a few mallow-roots and butter-milk ! " 
 And talks of oil made of a churchman's charity. 
 Yet still he wakes. 
 
 \st Cour. But your good honour has a prayer in store, 
 If all should fail ? 
 
 Baw. I could have prayed and handsomely, but age 
 And an ill memory 
 
 yd Cour. Has spoiled your primmer. 
 
 Baw. Yet if there be a man of faith i' the court, 
 And can pray for a pension 
 
 THIERRY is brought in on a couch> with Doctors and 
 Attendants. 
 
 2nd Cour. Here's the King, sir ; 
 And those that will pray without pay. 
 
 Baw. Then pray for me too. 
 
 \st Doc. How does your grace now feel yourself? 
 
 ThL What's that ? 
 
 \st Doc. Nothing at all, sir, but your fancy. 
 
 Thi. Tell me, 
 
 Can ever these eyes more, shut up in slumbers, 
 Assure my soul there is sleep ? is there night 
 And rest for human labours ? do not you 
 And all the world, as I do, out-stare Time, 
 And live, like funeral lamps, never extinguished ? 
 Is there a grave ? (and do not flatter me, 
 Nor fear to tell me truth,) and in that grave 
 Is there a hope I shall sleep ? can I die ? 
 Are not my miseries immortal ? Oh, 
 The happiness of him that drinks his water, 
 After his weary day, and sleeps for ever ! 
 Why do you crucify me thus with faces, 
 
 BB a
 
 372 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT v. 
 
 And gaping strangely upon one another ! 
 When shall I rest ? 
 
 znd Doc. Oh, sir, be patient ! 
 
 Thi. Am I not patient ? have I not endured 
 More than a mangy dog, among your doses ? 
 Am I not now your patient ? Ye can make 
 Unwholesome fools sleep for a garded footcloth, 1 
 Whores for a hot sin-offering ; yet I must crave, 
 That feed ye and protect ye and proclaim ye. 
 Because my power is far above your searching, 
 Are my diseases so ? can ye cure none 
 But those of equal ignorance ? dare ye kill me ? 
 
 \st Doc. We do beseech your grace be more re- 
 claimed ! 2 
 This talk doth but distemper you. 
 
 Thi. Well, I will die, 
 
 In spite of all your potions. One of you sleep ; 
 Lie down and sleep here, that I may behold 
 What blessed rest it is my eyes are robbed of. 
 
 [An Attendant lies down. 
 See, he can sleep, sleep anywhere, sleep now, 
 When he that wakes for him can never slumber ! 
 Is't not a dainty ease ? 
 
 2nd Doc. Your grace shall feel it. 
 
 Thi. Oh, never I, never ! The eyes of Heaven 
 See but their certain motions, and then sleep : 
 The rages of the ocean have their slumbers 
 And quiet silver calms ; each violence 
 Crowns in his end a peace ; but my fixed fires 
 Shall never, never set ! Who's that ? 
 
 Enter MARTELL, BRUNHALT, DE VITRY, and Guards, 
 
 Mart. No, woman, 
 Mother of mischief, no ! the day shall die first, 
 
 1 A trimmed housing for a horse, serving to protect the rider's 
 feet. Dyce says these footcloths were much affected by the phy- 
 sicians of the time. 
 
 2 A term of falconry, used here in the sense of calm or gentle.
 
 SCENE ii.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 373 
 
 And all good things live in a worse than thou art, 
 Ere thou shalt sleep ! Dost thou see him ? 
 
 Brun. Yes, and curse him ; 
 And all that love him, fool, and all live by him. 
 
 Mart. Why art thou such a monster ? 
 
 Brun. Why art thou 
 So tame a knave to ask me ? 
 
 Mart. Hope of hell, 
 
 By this fair holy light, and all his wrongs, 
 Which are above thy years, almost thy vices, 
 Thou shalt not rest, not feel more what is pity, 
 Know nothing necessary, meet no society 
 But what shall curse and crucify thee, feel in thyself 
 Nothing but what thou art, bane and bad conscience, 
 Till this man rest ; but for whose reverence, 
 Because thou art his mother, I would say, 
 Whore, this shall be ! Do you nod ? I'll waken you 
 With my sword's point. 
 
 Brun. I wish no more of Heaven, 
 Nor hope no more, but a sufficient anger 
 To torture thee ! 
 
 Mart. See, she that makes you see, sir ! 
 And, to your misery, still see your mother, 
 The mother of your woes, sir, of your waking, 
 The mother of your people's cries and curses, 
 Your murdering mother, your malicious mother ! 
 
 Thi. Physicians, half my state to sleep an hour now ! 
 Is it so, mother ? 
 
 Brun. Yes, it is so, son ; 
 And, were it yet again to do, it should be. 
 
 Mart. She nods again ; swinge her ! 
 
 Thi. But, mother, 
 
 (For yet I love that reverence, and to death 
 Dare not forget you have been so) was this, 
 This endless misery, this cureless malice, 
 This snatching from me all my youth together, 
 All that you made me for, and happy mothers
 
 374 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT V. 
 
 Crowned with eternal time are proud to finish, 
 Done by your will ? 
 
 Brun. It was, and by that will 
 
 Thi. Oh, mother, do not lose your name ! forget not 
 The touch of nature in you, tenderness ! 
 'Tis all the soul of woman, all the sweetness : 
 Forget not, I beseech you, what are children, 
 Nor how you have groaned for them ; to what love 
 They are born inheritors, with what care kept ; 
 And, as they rise to ripeness, still remember 
 How they imp out your age ! and when time calls you, 
 That as an autumn-flower you fall, forget not 
 How round about your hearse they hang like pennons ! 
 
 Brun. Holy fool, 
 
 Whose patience to prevent my wrongs has killed thee, 
 Preach not to me of punishments or fears, 
 Or what I ought to be ; but what I am, 
 A woman in her liberal J will defeated, 
 In all her greatness crossed, in pleasure blasted ! 
 My angers have been laughed at, my ends slighted, 
 And all those glories that had crowned my fortunes, 
 Suffered by blasted virtue to be scattered : 
 I am the fruitful mother of these angers, 
 And what such have done read, and know thy ruin ! 
 
 Thi. Heaven forgive you ! 
 
 Mart. She tells you true ; for millions of her mischiefs 
 Are now apparent. Protaldy we have taken, 
 An equal agent with her, to whose care, 
 After the damned defeat on you, she trusted 
 The bringing-in of Leonor the bastard, 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Son to your murdered brother : her physician 
 By this time is attached too, that damned devil ! 
 Gent. 'Tis like he will be so ; for ere we came, 
 Fearing an equal justice for his mischiefs, 
 He drenched himself. 
 
 1 Licentious.
 
 SCENE II.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 375 
 
 Brun. He did like one of mine then ! 
 
 Thi. Must I still see these miseries ? no night 
 To hide me from their horrors ? That Protaldy 
 See justice fall upon ! 
 
 Brun. Now I could sleep too. 
 
 Mart, I'll give you yet more poppy. Bring the lady, 
 And Heaven in her embraces give him quiet ! 
 
 An Attendant brings in ORDELLA veiled. 
 
 Madam, unveil yourself. 
 
 Ord. [ Unveiling herself ^\ I do forgive you ; 
 And though you sought my blood, yet I'll pray for 
 you. 
 
 Brun. Art thou alive ? 
 
 Mart. Now could you sleep ? 
 
 Brun. For ever. 
 
 Mart. Go carry her without wink of. sleep or qukt 
 Where her strong knave Protaldy's broke o' the wheel, 
 And let his cries and roars be music to her ! 
 I mean to waken her. 
 
 Thi. Do her no wrong ! 
 
 Mart. No, right, as you love justice ! 
 
 Brun. I will think ; 
 
 And if there be new curses in old nature, 
 I have a soul dare send them ! 
 
 Mart. Keep her waking? 
 
 [Exit BRUNHALT with Gentleman and Guards. 
 
 Thi. What's that appears so sweetly? there's that 
 face . 
 
 Mart. Be moderate, lady ! 
 
 Thi. That angel's face 
 
 Mart. Go nearer. 
 
 Thi. Martell, I cannot last long. See, the soul 
 (I see it perfectly) of my Ordella, 
 The heavenly figure of her sweetness, there ! 
 Forgive me, gods ! It comes ! Divinest substance ! 
 Kneel, kneel, kneel, every one ! Saint of thy sex,
 
 376 THIERRY AND THEODORET. [ACT v. 
 
 If it be for my cruelty thou comest 
 Do ye see her, ho ? 
 
 Mart. Yes, sir ; and you shall know her. 
 
 Thi. Down, down again ! to be revenged for blood. 
 Sweet spirit, I am ready. She smiles on me : 
 Oh, blessed sign of peace ! 
 
 Mart. Go nearer, lady. 
 
 Ord. I come to make you happy. 
 
 Thi. Hear you that, sirs ? 
 
 She comes to crown my soul. Away, get sacrifice ! 
 Whilst I with holy honours 
 
 Mart. She's alive, sir. 
 
 Thi. In everlasting life ; I know it, friend : 
 Oh, happy, happy soul ! 
 
 Ord. Alas, I live, sir ! 
 A mortal woman still. 
 
 Thi. Can spirits weep too ? 
 
 Mart. She is no spirit, sir ; pray, kiss her. Lady, 
 Be very gentle to him ! 
 
 Thi. Stay ! She is warm ; 
 
 And by my life, the same lips ! Tell me, brightness, 
 Are you the same Ordella still ? 
 
 Mart. The same, sir, 
 Whom Heavens and my good angel stayed from ruin. 
 
 Thi. Kiss me again ! 
 
 Ord. The same still, still your servant. 
 
 Thi. ; Tis she ! I know her now, Martell. Sit down, 
 
 sweet. 
 
 Oh, blest and happiest woman ! A dead slumber 
 Begins to creep upon me. Oh, my jewel ! 
 
 Ord. Oh, sleep, my lord ! 
 
 Thi. My joys are too much for me ! 
 
 Re-enter Gentleman, with MEMBERGE. 
 
 Gent. Brunhalt, impatient of her constraint to see 
 Protaldy tortured, has choked herself. 
 
 Mart. No more : 
 Her sins go with her !
 
 SCENE ii.] THIERRY AND THEODORET. 
 
 377 
 
 Thi. Love, I must die ; I faint : 
 Close up my glasses ! 
 
 T st Doc. The queen faints too, and deadly. 
 
 Thi. One dying kiss ! 
 
 Ord. My last, sir, and my dearest : 
 And now close my eyes too ! 
 
 Thi. Thou perfect woman ! 
 
 Martell, the kingdom's yours : take Memberge to you, 
 And keep my line alive. Nay, weep not, lady.-- 
 Take me ! I go. \_Dies. 
 
 Ord. Take me too ! Farewell, honour ! [.Dies. 
 
 2nd Doc. They are gone for ever. 
 
 Mart. The peace of happy souls go after them ! 
 Bear them unto their last beds, whilst I study 
 A tomb to speak their loves whilst old Time lasteth. 
 I am your king in sorrows. 
 
 All. We your subjects ! 
 
 Mart. De Vitry, for your services be near us. 
 Whip out these instruments of this mad mother 
 From court and all good people ; and, because 
 She was born noble, let that title find her 
 A private grave, but neither tongue nor honour. 
 And now lead on. They that shall read this story 
 Shall find that virtue lives in good, not glory. [Exeunt.
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 OUR poet knows you will be just, but we 
 Appeal to mercy ; he desires that ye 
 Would not distaste his Muse, because of late 
 Transplanted, which would grow here, if no fat 
 Have an unlucky bode. Opinion 
 Comes hither but on crutches yet, the sun 
 Hath lent no beam to warm us ; if this play 
 Proceed more fortunate, we'll crown the day 
 And love that brought you hither. Tis in you 
 To make a little sprig of laurel grow 
 And spread into a grove, where you may sit 
 And hear soft stories, when by blasting it 
 You gain no honour, though our ruins lie 
 To tell the spoils of your offended eye. 
 If not for what we are, (for, alas, here 
 No Roscius moves to charm your eyes or ear !) 
 Yet as you hope hereafter to see plays, 
 Encourage us, and give our poet bays.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF THE 
 
 TESTLE.
 
 ALONE ascribed the production of The 
 Knight of the Burning Pestle to the year 
 161 1, as Burre, the Stationer, in his dedica- 
 tion prefixed to the first edition of the play 
 published in 1613, says he had privately 
 fostered it in his bosom these two years. 
 That the play was a failure in the first instance is evident 
 from Burre's remark that " the world for want of judgment 
 or not understanding the privy mask of irony about it (which 
 showed it was no offspring of any vulgar brain), utterly 
 rejected it." 
 
 It is uncertain whether The Knight of the Burning Pestle 
 was the joint composition of Beaumont and Fletcher, as in 
 one part of Burre's dedication its " parents " are spoken of, 
 while elsewhere allusion is made to its " father." The first 
 edition appears to have been published anonymously, but 
 when on the revival of the play in 1635, a new edition was 
 called for, the names of Beaumont and Fletcher were given 
 together on the title page. 
 
 Although Don Quixote (published in 1605, translated into 
 English in 1612) no doubt furnished the leading idea of this 
 comedy, its main purpose was evidently to ridicule the 
 military ardour of the citizens of London as exhibited in 
 Heywood's Four Prentices of London, Kyd's Spanish 
 Tragedy, and other popular dramas. After the revival of the 
 play by Her Majesty's servants at the Private House in 
 Drury Lane, in 1635, it continued to be performed at intervals 
 until the suppression of the theatres under the Common- 
 wealth. On the Restoration it again took possession of the 
 stage, and was acted at the King's House, when according 
 to Langbaine a new prologue was spoken by Nell Gwynne.
 
 TO THE READERS OF THIS COMEDY. l 
 
 GENTLEMEN ; 
 
 HE world is so nice in these our times, that 
 for apparel there is no fashion ; for music 
 (which is a rare art, though now slighted) 
 no instrument ; for diet, none but the French 
 kickshaws that are delicate ; and for plays, 
 no invention but that which now runneth an 
 invective way, touching some particular persons, or else it is 
 contemned before it is thoroughly understood. This is all 
 that I have to say : that the author had no intent to wrong 
 any one in this comedy ; but, as a merry passage, here and 
 there interlaced it with delight, which he hopes will please 
 all, and be hurtful to none. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 2 
 
 HERE the bee can suck no honey, she leaves 
 her sting behind ; and where the bear cannot 
 find origanum to heal his grief, he blasteth 
 all other leaves with his breath. We fear it 
 is like to fare so with us ; that, seeing you 
 cannot draw from our labours sweet content, 
 you leave behind you a sour mislike, and with open reproach 
 blame our good meaning, because you cannot reap the 
 wonted mirth. Our intent was at this time to move inward 
 delight, not outward lightness ; and to breed (if it might be) 
 soft smiling, not loud laughing ; knowing it, to the wise, to 
 be a great pleasure to. hear counsel mixed with wit, as to the 
 foolish, to have sport mingled with rudeness. They were 
 banished the theatre of Athens, and from Rome hissed, that 
 brought parasites on the stage with apish actions, or fools 
 with uncivil habits, or courtezans with immodest words. We 
 have endeavoured to be as far from unseemly speeches, to 
 make your ears glow, as we hope you will be free from 
 unkind reports, or mistaking the authors' intention, (who 
 never aimed at any one particular in this play,) to make our 
 cheeks blush. And thus I leave it, and thee to thine own 
 censure, to like or dislike. VALE. 
 
 1 From the Second Edition, 1635. 
 
 Idem.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 His Sons. 
 
 SPEAKER OF THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 A CITIZEN. 
 
 His WIFE. 
 
 RALPH, his Apprentice. 
 
 Boys. 
 
 VENTUREWELL, a Merchant. 
 
 HUMPHREY. 
 
 MERRYTHOUGHT. 
 
 JASPER, 
 
 MICHAEL, 
 
 TlM > ) A 
 GEORGE, j Apprentices. 
 
 Host. 
 
 Tapster. 
 
 Barber. 
 
 Three Men, supposed captives. 
 
 Sergeant. 
 
 WILLIAM HAMMERTON. 
 
 GEORGE GREENGOOSE. 
 
 Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 LUCE, Daughter of VENTUREWELL. 
 
 MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT. 
 
 Woman, supposed a captive. 
 
 POMPIONA, Daughter of the King of Moldavia. 
 
 SCENE London and the neighbouring Country, excepting 
 Act IF., Scene //., where it is in MOLDAVIA.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF THE 
 
 TESTLE. 
 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 Smeral Gentlemen sitting on Stools upon the Staged The 
 Citizen, his Wife, and RALPH sitting beloiv among the 
 Audience. 
 
 Enter Speaker of the Prologue. 
 
 PEAKER OF PROL. From all that's 
 near the court, from all that's great, 
 Within the compass of the city-walls, 
 We now have brought our scene - " 
 
 Citizen leaps on the Stage. 
 
 Cit. Hold your peace, goodman boy ! 
 
 S. of Prol. What do you mean, sir? 
 
 Cit. That you have no good meaning : this seven 
 years there hath been plays at this house, I have observed 
 it, you have still girds at citizens ; and now you call your 
 play "The London Merchant." Down with your title, 
 boy ! down with your title ! 
 
 S. of Prol. Are you a member of the noble city? 
 
 Cit. I am. 
 
 1 The practice of accommodating gallants with seats on the stage 
 is often alluded to in old plays. Weber.
 
 384 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 
 
 S. of Prol. And a freeman ? 
 
 Cit. Yea, and a grocer. 
 
 6". of Prol. So, grocer, then, by your sweet favour, we 
 intend no abuse to the city. 
 
 Cit. No, sir ! yes, sir : if you were not resolved to play 
 the Jacks, what need you study for new subjects, pur- 
 posely to abuse your betters ? why could not you be 
 contented, as well as others, with "The legend of 
 Whittington," or " The Life and Death of Sir Thomas 
 Gresham, with the building of the Royal Exchange," or 
 "The story of Queen Eleanor, with the rearing of London 
 Bridge upon woolsacks ? " 
 
 S. of Prol. You seem to be an understanding man : 
 what would you have us do, sir ? 
 
 Cit. Why, present something notably in honour of the 
 commons of the city. 
 
 xS. of Prol. Why, what do you say to " The Life and 
 Death of fat Drake, or the Repairing of Fleet-privies ? " 
 
 Cit. I do not like that ; but I will have a citizen, and 
 he shall be of my own trade. 
 
 S. of Prol. Oh, you should have told us your mind a 
 month since ; our play is ready to begin now. 
 
 Cit. 'Tis all one for that ; I will have a grocer, and he 
 shall do admirable things. 
 
 S. of Prol. What will you have him do? 
 
 Cit. Marry, I will have him 
 
 Wife, \below I\ Husband, husband ! 
 
 Ralph, [below J\ Peace, mistress. 
 
 Wife, \below '.] Hold thy peace, Ralph ; I know what I 
 do, I warrant ye. Husband, husband ! 
 
 Cit. What sayst thou, cony ? 
 
 Wife. \belowJ\ Let him kill a lion with a pestle, hus- 
 band ! let him kill a lion with a pestle ! 
 
 Cit. So he shall. I'll have him kill a lion with a 
 pestle. 
 
 Wife. \belowJ\ Husband ! shall I come up, husband ? 
 Cit. Ay, cony. Ralph, help your mistress this way.
 
 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 385 
 
 Pray, gentlemen, make her a little room. I pray you, sir, 
 lend me your hand to help up my wife : I thank you, 
 sir. So. [Wife comes on the Stage. 
 
 Wife. By your leave, gentlemen all ; I'm something 
 troublesome : I'm a stranger here ; I was ne'er at one of 
 these plays, as they say, before ; but I should have seen 
 " Jane Shore " once ; and my husband hath promised 
 me, any time this twelvemonth, to carry me to " The 
 Bold Beauchamps," but in truth he did not. I pray you, 
 bear with me. 
 
 Cif. Boy, let my wife and I have a couple of stools ; 
 and then begin ; and let the grocer do rare things. 
 
 [Stools are brought. 
 
 S. of Pro!. But, sir, we have never a boy to play him : 
 every one hath a part already. 
 
 Wife. Husband, husband, for God's sake, let Ralph 
 play him ! beshrew me, if I do not think he will go beyond 
 them all. 
 
 Cif. Well remembered, wife. Come up, Ralph. I'll 
 tell you, gentlemen ; let them but lend him a suit of 
 reparel and necessaries, and, by gad, if any of them all 
 blow wind in the tail on him, I'll be hanged. 
 
 [RALPH comes on the Stage. 
 
 Wife. I pray you, youth, let him have a suit of 
 reparel ! I'll be sworn, gentlemen, my husband tells you 
 true : he will act you sometimes at our house, that all the 
 neighbours cry out on him ; he will fetch you up a 
 couraging part so in the garret, that we are all as feared, 
 I warrant you, that we quake again : we'll fear our 
 children with him ; if they be never so unruly, do but 
 cry, " Ralph comes, Ralph comes ! " to them, and they'll 
 be as quiet as lambs. Hold up thy head, Ralph ; show 
 the gentlemen what thou canst do ; speak a huffing part ; 
 I warrant you, the gentlemen will accept of it. 
 
 Cif. Do, Ralph, do. 
 
 Ralph. " By Heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap 
 To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon ; 
 
 Beau. & F. i. C C
 
 386 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE, 
 
 Or dive into the bottom of the sea, 
 
 Where never fathom-line touched any ground, 
 
 And pluck up drowned honour from the lake of hell." 
 
 Cit. How say you, gentlemen, is it not as I told 
 you? 
 
 Wife. Nay, gentlemen, he hath played before, my 
 husband says, Mucedorus, before the wardens of our 
 company. 
 
 . Cit. Ay, and he should have played Jeronimo with a 
 shoemaker for a wager. 
 
 S. of Prol. He shall have a suit of apparel, if he will 
 go in. 
 
 'Cit. In, Ralph, in, Ralph ; and set out the grocery in 
 their kind, if thou lovest me. \Exit RALPH. 
 
 Wife. I warrant, our Ralph will look finely when he's 
 dressed. 
 
 S. of Prol. But what will you have it called ? 
 
 Cit. " The Grocer's Honour." 
 
 S. of Prol. Methinks "The Knight of the Burning 
 Pestle " were better. 
 
 Wife. I'll be sworn, husband, that's as good a name as 
 can be. 
 
 Cit. Let it be so. Begin, begin ; my wife and I will 
 sit down. 
 
 S. of 'Prol. I pray you, do. 
 
 Cit. What stately music have you ? you have shawms ? ' 
 
 S. of Prol. Shawms ! no. 
 
 Cit. No ! I'm a thief, if my mind did not give -me so. 
 Ralph -plays a stately part, and he must needs have 
 shawms : I'll be at the charge of them myself, rather than 
 we'll be without them. 
 
 S. of Prol. So you are like to be. 
 
 Cit. Why, and so I will be : there's two shillings ; 
 [Gives money.] let's have the waits of Southwark ; they 
 are as rare fellows as any are in England ; and that will 
 
 1 The shawm was a pipe resembling a hautboy with a protuberance 
 in the middle.
 
 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE, 387 
 
 fetch them all o'er the water with a vengeance, as if they 
 were mad. 
 
 S. of ProL You shall have thqm. Will you sit down, 
 then? 
 
 Cit. Ay. Come, wife. 
 
 Wife. Sit you merry all, gentlemen ; I'm bold to sit 
 amongst you for my ease. [Citizen and Wife sit down. 
 
 S. of Prut. " From all that's near the court, from all 
 
 that's great, 
 
 Within the compass of the city-walls, 
 We now have brought our scene. Fly far from hence 
 All private taxes, 1 immodest phrases, 
 Whatever may but show like vicious ! 
 For wicked mirth never true pleasure brings, 
 But honest minds are pleased with honest things." 
 
 Thus much for that we do ; but for Ralph's part you 
 must answer for yourself. 
 
 Cit. Take you no care for Ralph ; he'll discharge him- 
 self, I warrant you. \Exit Speaker of Prologue. 
 Wife. I'faith, gentlemen, I'll give my word for Ralph. 
 
 1 i.e. Charges on individuals. 
 
 C c 2
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in the House 0/VENTUREWELL. 
 
 Enter VENTUREWELL and JASPER. 
 
 ENT. Sirrah, I'll make you know you are 
 
 my prentice, 
 
 And whom my charitable love redeemed 
 Even from the fall of fortune ; gave thee 
 
 heat 
 
 And growth, to be what now thou art, 
 new-cast thee ; 
 
 Adding the trust of all I have, at home, 
 In foreign staples, or upon the sea, 
 To thy direction ; tied the good opinions 
 Both of myself and friends to thy endeavours ; 
 So fair were thy beginnings. But with these, 
 As I remember, you had never charge 
 To love your master's daughter, and even then 
 When I had found a wealthy husband for her ; 
 I take it, sir, you had not : but, however, 
 I'll break the neck of that commission, 
 And make you know you are but a merchant's factor. 
 
 Jasp. Sir, I do liberally confess I am yours, 
 Bound both by love and duty to your service, 
 In which my labour hath been all my profit : 
 I have not lost in bargain, nor delighted
 
 SC. I.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 389 
 
 To wear your honest gains upon my back ; 
 
 Nor have I given a pension to my blood, 
 
 Or lavishly in play consumed your stock ; 
 
 These, and the miseries that do attend them, 
 
 I dare with innocence proclaim are strangers 
 
 To all my temperate actions. For your daughter, 
 
 If there be any love to my deservings 
 
 Borne by her virtuous self, I cannot stop it ; 
 
 Nor am I able to refrain her wishes, 
 
 She's private to herself, and best of knowledge 
 
 Whom she will make so happy as to sigh for : 
 
 Besides, I cannot think you mean to match her 
 
 Unto a fellow of so lame a presence, 
 
 One that hath little left of nature in him. 
 
 Vent. 'Tis very well, sir : I can tell your wisdom 
 How all this shall be cured. 
 
 Jasp. Your care becomes you. 
 Vent. And thus it shall be, sir: I here discharge 
 
 you 
 
 My house and service ; take your liberty ; 
 And when I want a son, I'll send for you. \Exit. 
 
 Jasp. These be the fair rewards of them that love ! 
 Oh, you that live in freedom, never prove 
 The travail of a mind led by desire ! 
 
 Enter LUCE. 
 
 Luce. Why, how now, friend ? struck with my father's 
 thunder ! 
 
 Jasp. Struck, and struck dead, unless the remedy 
 Be full of speed and virtue ; I am now, 
 What I expected long, no more your father's. 
 
 Luce. But mine. 
 
 Jasp. But yours, and only yours, I am ; 
 That's all I have to keep me from the statute. 
 You dare be constant still ? 
 
 Luce. Oh, fear me not '. 
 In this I dare be better than a woman :
 
 390 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT . I. 
 
 Nor shall his anger nor his offers move me, 
 Were they both equal to a prince's power. 
 
 Jasp. You know my rival ! 
 
 Luce. Yes, and love him dearly ; 
 Even as I love an ague or foul weather : 
 I prithee, Jasper, fear him not. 
 
 Jasp. Oh, no ! 
 
 I do not mean to do him so much kindness. 
 But to our own desires : you know the plot 
 We both agreed on ? 
 
 Luce. Yes, and will perform 
 My part exactly. 
 
 Jasp. I desire no more. 
 Farewell, and keep my heart ; 'tis yours. 
 
 Luce. I take it ; 
 He must do miracles makes me forsake it. 
 
 {Exeunt severally . 
 
 \Cit. Fie upon 'em, little infidels ! what a matter's here 
 now ! Well, I'll be hanged for a halfpenny, if there be 
 not some abomination knavery in this play. Well ; let 
 'em look to't ; Ralph must come, and if there be any 
 
 tricks a-brewing 
 
 Wife. Let 'em brew and bake too, husband, a' God's 
 name ; Ralph will find all out, I warrant you, an they 
 were older than they are. \Enter Boy.] I pray, my 
 pretty youth, is Ralph ready ? 
 Boy. He will be presently. 
 
 Wife. Now, I pray you, make my commendations 
 unto him, and withal carry him this stick of liquorice : 
 tell him his mistress sent it to him ; and bid him bite a 
 piece ; 'twill open his pipes the better, say.] [Exit Boy.
 
 SC. ii.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 391 
 
 SCENE II. Another Room in the House of 
 VENTUREWELL. 
 
 Enter VENTUREWELL and HUMPHREY. 
 
 Vent. Come, sir, she's yours ; upon ray faith, she's 
 
 yours ; 
 
 You have my hand : for other idle lets ' 
 Between your hopes and her, thus with a wind 
 They are scattered and no more. My wanton prentice, 
 That like a bladder blew himself with love, 
 I have let out, and sent him to discover 
 New masters yet unknown. 
 
 Hum. I thank you, sir, 
 Indeed, I thank you, sir ; and, ere I stir, 
 It shall be known, however you do deem, 
 I am of gentle blood, and gentle seem. 
 
 Vent. Oh, sir, I know it certain. 
 
 Hum. Sir, my friend, 
 
 Although, as writers say, all things have end, 
 And that we call a pudding hath his two, 
 Oh, let it not seem strange, I pray, to you, 
 If in this bloody simile I put 
 My love, more endless than frail things or gut ! 
 
 \Wife. Husband, I prithee, sweet lamb, tell me one 
 thing; but tell me truly. Stay, youths, I beseech you, 
 till I question my husband. 
 
 Cit. What is it, mouse ? 
 
 Wife. Sirrah, didst thou ever see a prettier child ? 
 how it behaves itself, I warrant ye, and speaks and 
 looks, and perts up the head ! I pray you, brother, with 
 your favour, were you never none of Master Moncaster's 
 scholars ? 
 
 at. Chicken, I prithee heartily, contain ~ thyself : the 
 childer are pretty childer ; but when Ralph comes, 
 
 lamb 
 
 1 Hindrances. - Restrain.
 
 392 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT i. 
 
 Wife. Ay, when Ralph comes, cony ! Well, my youth, 
 you may proceed.] 
 
 Vent. Well, sir, you know my love, and rest, I hope, 
 Assured of my consent ; get but my daughter's, 
 And wed her when you please. You must be bold, 
 And clap in close unto her : come, I know 
 You have language good enough to win a wench. 
 
 [ Wife. A whoreson tyrant ! h'as been an old stringer 
 in 's days, I warrant him.] 
 
 Hum. I take your gentle offer, and withal 
 Yield love again for love reciprocal. 
 
 Vent, What, Luce ! within there ! 
 
 Enter LUCE. 
 
 Luce. Called you, sir ? 
 
 Vent. I did : 
 
 Give entertainment to this gentleman ; 
 And see you be not froward. To her, sir : 
 My presence will but be an eye-sore to you. [Exit. 
 
 Hum. Fair Mistress Luce, how do you ? are you well ? 
 Give me your hand, and then I pray you tell 
 How doth your little sister and your brother ; 
 And whether you love me or any other. 
 
 Luce. Sir, these are quickly answered. 
 
 Hum. So they are, 
 
 Where women are not cruel. But how far 
 Is it now distant from the place we are in, 
 Unto that blessed place, your father's warren ? 
 
 Luce. What makes you think of that, sir ? 
 
 Hum. Even that face ; 
 For, stealing rabbits whilom in that place, 
 God Cupid, or the keeper, I know not whether, 
 Unto my cost and charges brought you thither, 
 And there began 
 
 Luce. Your game, sir. 
 
 Hum. Let no game, 
 Or any thing that tendeth to the same,
 
 SC. II.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 393 
 
 Be ever more remembered, thou fair killer, 
 For whom I sate me down, and brake my tiller. 1 
 
 [ Wife, There's a kind gentleman, I warrant you : when 
 will you do as much for me, George ?] 
 
 Luce. Beshrew me, sir, I am sorry for your losses, 
 But, as the proverb says, I cannot cry : 
 I would you had not seen me ! 
 
 Hum. So would I, 
 Unless you had more maw to do me good. 
 
 Luce. Why, cannot this strange passion be withstood ; 
 Send for a constable, and raise the town. 
 
 Hum. Oh, no ! my valiant love will batter down 
 Millions of constables, and put to flight 
 Even that great watch of Midsummer-day at night. 2 
 
 Luce. Beshrew me, sir, 'twere good I yielded, then ; 
 Weak women cannot hope, where valiant men 
 Have no resistance. 
 
 Hum. Yield, then ; I am full 
 Of pity, though I say it, and can pull 
 Out of my pocket thus a pair of gloves. 
 Look, Luce', look ; the dog's tooth nor the dove's 
 Are not so white as these ; and sweet they be, 
 And whipt about with silk, as you may see. 
 If you desire the price, shoot from your eye 
 A beam to this place, and you shall espy 
 F S, which is to say, my sweetest honey, 
 They cost me three and twopence, or no money. 
 
 Luce. Well, sir, I take them kindly, and I thank you : 
 What would you more ? 
 
 Hum, Nothing. 
 
 Luce. Why, then, farewell. 
 
 Hum. Nor so, nor so ; for, lady, I must tell, 
 Before we part, for what we met together : 
 God grant me time and patience and fair weather ! 
 
 1 Crossbow. 
 
 2 The annual military muster of the citizens with the object of 
 forming a regular guard for the city during the ensuing twelve- 
 month.
 
 394 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT I. 
 
 Luce. Speak, and declare your mind in terms so 
 brief. 
 
 Hum. I shall : then, first and foremost, for relief 
 I call to you, if that you can afford it ; 
 I care not at what price, for, on my word, it 
 Shall be repaid again, although it cost me 
 More then I'll speak of now ; for love hath tost me 
 In furious blanket like a tennis-ball, 
 And now I rise aloft, and now I fall. 
 
 Luce. Alas, good gentleman, alas the day ! 
 
 Hum. I thank you heartily ; and, as I say, 
 Thus do I still continue without rest, 
 I' the morning like a man, at night a beast, 
 Roaring and bellowing mine own disquiet, 
 That much I fear, forsaking of. my diet 
 Will bring me presently to that quandary, 
 I shall bid all adieu. 
 
 Luce. Npw, by St. Mary, 
 That were great pity ! 
 
 Hum. So it were, beshrew me ; 
 Then, ease me, lusty Luce, and pity show me. 
 
 Luce. Why, sir, you know my will is nothing worth 
 Without my father's grant ; get his consent, 
 And then you may with assurance try me. 
 
 Hum. The worshipful your sire will not deny me ; 
 For I have asked him, and he hath replied, 
 " Sweet Master Humphrey, Luce shall be thy bride." 
 
 Luce. Sweet Master Humphrey, then I am content. 
 
 Hum. And so am I, in truth. 
 
 Luce. Yet take me with you ; l 
 There is another clause must be annexed, 
 And this it is : I swore, and will perform it, 
 No man shall ever joy me as his wife 
 But he that stole me hence. If you dare venture, 
 I am yours (you need not fear ; my father loves 
 you) ; 
 
 1 Hear me out, understand me fully.
 
 SC-. HI.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 395 
 
 If not, farewell for ever ! 
 
 Hum. Stay, nymph, stay : 
 I have a double gelding, coloured bay, 
 Sprung by his father from Barbarian kind ; 
 Another for myself, though somewhat blind, 
 Yet true as trusty tree. 
 
 Luce. I am satisfied ; 
 
 And so I give my hand. Our course must lie 
 Through Walthanvforest, where I have a friend 
 Will entertain us. So, farewell, Sir Humphrey, 
 And think upon your business. \_Exit. 
 
 Hum. Though I die, 
 I am resolved to venture life and limb 
 For one so young, so fair, so kind, so trim. [xit. 
 
 [ Wife. By my faith and troth, George, and as I am 
 virtuous, it is e'en the kindest young man that ever trod 
 on shoe-leather. Well, go thy ways ; if thou hast her 
 not, 'tis not thy fault, i' faith. 
 
 Cit. I prithee, mouse, be patient ; 'a shall have her, 
 or I'll make some of 'em smoke for't. 
 
 Wife. That's my good lamb, George. Fie, this stinking 
 tobacco kills me ! would there were none in England ! 
 Now, I pray, gentlemen, what good does this stinking 
 tobacco do you? nothing, I warrant you: make chimneys 
 o' your faces ! ] 
 
 SCENE III. A Grocers Shop. 
 
 Enter RALPH, as a Grocer, reading Palme rin of England, 
 with TIM and GEORGE. 
 
 \Wife. Oh, husband, husband, now, now! there's 
 Ralph, there's Ralph. 
 
 at. Peace, fool! let Ralph alone. Hark you, Ralph; 
 do not strain yourself too much at the first. Peace ! 
 Begin, Ralph.]
 
 396 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT I. 
 
 Ralph. \Reads^\ Then Palmerin and Trineus, snatching 
 their lances from their dwarfs, and clasping their helmets 
 galloped amain after the giant ; and Palmerin, having 
 gotten a sight of him, came posting amain, saying, 'Stay, 
 traitorous thief ! for thou mayst not so carry away her, 
 that is worth the .greatest lord in the world ; ' and, with 
 these words, gave him a blow on the shoulder, that he 
 struck him besides his elephant. And Trineus, coming 
 to the knight that had Agricola behind him, set him 
 soon besides his horse, with his neck broken in the fall ; 
 so that the princess, getting out of the throng, between 
 joy and grief, said, "All happy knight, the mirror of all 
 such as follow arms, now may I be well assured of the 
 love thou bearest me." I wonder why the kings do not 
 raise an army of fourteen or fifteen hundred thousand 
 men, as big as the army that the Prince of Portigo 
 brought against Rosicleer, and destroy these giants ; 
 they do much hurt to wandering damsels, that go in 
 quest of their knights. 
 
 [ Wife. Faith, husband, and Ralph says true ; for they 
 say the King of Portugal cannot sit at his meat, but the 
 giants and the ettins 1 will come and snatch it from 
 him. 
 
 Cit. Hold thy tongue. On, Ralph !] 
 
 Ralph. And certainly those knights are much to be 
 commended, who, neglecting their possessions, wander 
 with a squire and a dwarf through the deserts to relieve 
 poor ladies. 
 
 [ Wife. Ay, by my faith, are they, Ralph ; let 'em say 
 what they will, they are indeed. Our knights neglect 
 their possessions well enough, but they do not the 
 rest] 
 
 Ralph. There are no such courteous and fair well- 
 spoken knights in this age : they will call one " the 
 son of a whore," that Palmerin of England would have 
 called "fair sir;" and one that Rosicleer would have 
 
 1 Giants who were likewise cannibals.
 
 SC. HI.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 397 
 
 called "right beauteous damsel," they will call "damned 
 bitch." 
 
 \Wife. I'll be sworn will they, Ralph; they have 
 called me so an hundred times about a scurvy pipe of 
 tobacco.] 
 
 Ralph. But what brave spirit could be content to sit in 
 his shop, with a flappet of wood, and a blue apron before 
 him, selling mithridatum and dragon's-water to visited 
 houses 1 that might pursue feats of arms, and, through his 
 noble achievements, procure such a famous history to be 
 written of his heroic prowess ? 
 
 [ Cit. Well said, Ralph ; some more of those words, Ralph ! 
 
 Wife. They go finely, by my troth.] 
 
 Ralph. Why should not I, then, pursue this course, 
 both for the credit of myself and our company? for 
 amongst all the worthy books of achievements, I do not 
 call to mind that I yet read of a grocer-errant : I will be 
 the said knight. Have you heard of any that hath 
 wandered unfurnished of his squire and dwarf? My 
 elder prentice Tim shall be my trusty squire, and little 
 George my dwarf. Hence, my blue apron ! Yet, in 
 remembrance of my former trade, upon my shield shall 
 be portrayed a Burning Pestle, and I will be called the 
 Knight of the Burning Pestle. 
 
 [ Wife. Nay, I dare swear thou wilt not forget thy old 
 trade ; thou wert ever meek.] 
 
 Ralph. Tim! 
 
 Tim. Anon. 
 
 Ralph. My beloved squire, and George my dwarf, I 
 charge you that from henceforth you never call me by 
 any other name but " the right courteous and valiant 
 Knight of the Burning Pestle ; " and that you never call 
 any female by the name of a woman or wench, but " fair 
 lady," if she have her desires, if not, "distressed damsel;" 
 that you call all forests and heaths "deserts," and all 
 horses " palfreys." 
 
 1 i.e. Visited by the plague.
 
 398 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [^CT I. 
 
 [ Wife. This is very fine, faith. Do the gentlemen like 
 Ralph, think you, husband ? 
 
 Cit. Ay, I warrant thee ; the players would give all 
 the shoes in their shop for him.] 
 
 Ralph. My beloved squire Tim, stand out. Admit 
 this were a desert, and over it a knight errant pricking, 1 
 and I should bid you inquire of his intents, what would 
 you say ? 
 
 Tim. Sir, my master sent me to know whither you are 
 riding ? 
 
 Ralph. No, thus: "Fair sir, the right courteous and 
 valiant Knight of the Burning Pestle commanded me to 
 inquire upon what adventure you are bound, whether to 
 relieve some distressed damsel, or otherwise." 
 
 \Cit. Whoreson blockhead, cannot remember ! 
 
 Wife. I'faith, and Ralph told him on't before : all the 
 gentlemen heard him. Did he not, gentlemen ? did not 
 Ralph tell him on't ?] 
 
 George. Right courteous and valiant Knight of the 
 Burning Pestle, here is a distressed damsel to have a 
 halfpenny-worth of pepper. 
 
 [ Wife. That's a good boy ! see, the little boy can hit 
 it; by my troth, it's a fine child.] 
 
 Ralph. Relieve her, with all courteous language. Now 
 shut up shop ; no more my prentices, but my trusty 
 squire and dwarf. I must bespeak my shield and arming 
 pestle. \Exeunt TIM and GEORGE. 
 
 \jCit. Go thy ways, Ralph ! As I'm a true man, thou 
 art the best on 'em all. 
 Wife. Ralph, Ralph ! 
 
 Ralph. What say you, mistress ? 
 Wife. I prithee, come again quickly, sweet Ralph. 
 
 Ralph. By and by.] [Exit. 
 
 1 Spurring.
 
 SC. iv.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 399 
 
 SCENE IV. A Rozm in MERRYTHOUGHT'S House. 
 
 Enter MISTRESS MERRYTHOUGHT and JASPER. 
 
 Mist. Met: Give thee my blessing ! no, I'll ne'er give 
 thee my blessing ; I'll see thee hanged first ; it shall 
 ne'er be said I gave thee my blessing. Thou art thy 
 father's own son, of the right blood of the Merrythoughts. 
 I may curse the time that e'er I knew thy father; he hath 
 spent all his own and mine too ; and when I tell him of 
 it, he laughs, and dances, and sings, and cries, "A merry 
 heart lives long-a." And thou art a wastethrift, and art 
 run away from thy master that loved thee well, and art 
 come to me ; and I have laid up a little for my younger 
 son Michael, and thou thinkest to bezzle 1 that, but thou 
 shalt never be able to do it. Come hither, Michael ! 
 
 Enter MICHAEL. 
 
 Come, Michael, down on thy knees ; thou shalt have 
 my blessing. 
 
 Mich. [Kneels J\ I pray you, mother, pray to God to 
 bless me. 
 
 Mist. Mer. God bless thee ! but Jasper shall never 
 have my blessing ; he shall be hanged first : shall he not, 
 Michael ? how sayst thou ? 
 
 Mich. Yes, forsooth, mother, and grace of God. 
 
 Mist. Mer. That's a good boy ! 
 
 [ Wife. I' faith, it's a fine-spoken child.] 
 
 Jasp. Mother, though you forget a parent's love, 
 I must preserve the duty of a child. 
 I ran not from my master, nor return 
 To have your stock maintain my idleness. 
 
 [ Wife. Ungracious child, I warrant him ; hark, how 
 he chops logic with his mother ! Thou hadst best tell 
 her she lies ; do, tell her she lies. 
 
 Cit. If he were my son, I would hang him up by the 
 
 1 Squander.
 
 400 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE, [ACT I. 
 
 heels, and flay him, and salt him, whoreson halter- 
 sack. 1 ] 
 
 Jasp. My coming only is to beg your love, 
 Which I must ever, though I never gain it ; 
 And, howsoever you esteem of me, 
 There is no drop of blood hid in these veins 
 But, I remember well, belongs to you 
 That brought me forth, and would be glad for you 
 To rip them all again, and let it out. 
 
 Mist, Mer. I'faith, I had sorrow enough for thee, God 
 knows ; but I'll hamper thee well enough. Get thee in, 
 thou vagabond, get thee in, and learn of thy brother 
 Michael. \_Excunt JASPER and MICHAEL. 
 
 Mer, [Singing within.'] 
 
 Nose, nose, jolly red nose, 
 
 And who gave thee this jolly red nose ? 
 
 Mist. Mer. Hark, my husband ! he's singing and hoit- 
 ing ; and I'm fain to cark and care, and all little enough. 
 Husband ! Charles ! Charles Merrythought ! 
 
 Enter MERRYTHOUGHT. 
 
 Mer. [Sings.'] 
 
 Nutmegs and ginger, cinnamon and cloves ; 
 And they gave me this jolly red nose. 
 
 Mist. Mer. If you would consider your state, you 
 would have little list to sing, i-wis. 
 
 Mer. It should never be considered, while it were an 
 estate, if I thought it would spoil my singing. 
 
 Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou do, Charles ? thou art 
 an old man, and thou canst not work, and thou hast 
 not forty shillings left, and thou eatest good meat, and 
 drinkest good drink, and laughest. 
 
 Mer. And will do. 
 
 Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou come by it, Charles ? 
 
 Mer. How ! why, how have I done hitherto these 
 forty years ? I never came into my dining room, but, at 
 
 1 Gallows-bird.
 
 sc, iv.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE, 401 
 
 eleven and six o'clock, I found excellent meat and drink 
 o' the table ; my clothes were never worn out, but next 
 morning a tailor brought me a new suit : and without 
 question it will be so ever ; use makes perfectness. If 
 all should fail, it is but a little straining myself extra- 
 ordinary, and laugh myself to death. 
 
 [ Wife. It's a foolish old man this ; is not he, George ? 
 
 Cit. Yes, cony. 
 
 Wife. Give me a penny i' the purse while I live, 
 George. 
 
 Cit. Ay, by lady, cony, hold thee there.] 
 
 Mist. Mer. Well, Charles ; you promised to provide for 
 Jasper, and I have laid up for Michael. I pray you, pay 
 Jasper his portion : he's come home, and he shall not 
 consume Michael's stock ; he says his master turned him 
 away, but, I promise you truly, I think he ran away. 
 
 [ Wife, No, indeed, Mistress Merrythought ; though he 
 be a notable gallows, yet I'll assure you his master did 
 turn him away, even in this place ; 'twas, i'faith, within this 
 half-hour, about his daughter ; my husband was by. 
 
 Cit. Hang him, rogue ! he served him well enough : 
 love his master's daughter ! By my troth, cony, if there 
 were a thousand boys, thou wouldst spoil them all with 
 taking their parts ; let his mother alone with him. 
 
 Wife. Ay, George; but yet truth is truth.] 
 
 Mer. Where is Jasper ? he's welcome, however. Call 
 him in ; he shall have his portion. Is he merry ? 
 
 Mist. Mer. Ah, foul chive l him, he is too merry ! 
 Jasper ! Michael ! 
 
 Re-enter JASPER and MICHAEL. 
 
 Mer. Welcome, Jasper ! though thou runnest away, 
 welcome ! God bless thee ! 'Tis thy mother's mind 
 thou shouldst receive thy portion; thou hast been abroad, 
 and I hope hast learned experience enough to govern it ; 
 thou art of sufficient years ; hold thy hand one, two, 
 
 1 111 luck to him. 
 Beau. & F. i. D D
 
 402 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT i. 
 
 three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, there is ten 
 shillings for thee.' [Gives money '.] Thrust thyself into 
 the world with that, and take some settled course : if 
 fortune cross thee, thou hast a retiring place ; come 
 home to me ; I have twenty shillings left. Be a good 
 husband ; that is, wear ordinary clothes, eat the best 
 meat, and drink the best drink ; be merry, and give 
 to the poor, and, believe me, thou hast no end of thy 
 goods. 
 
 Jasp. Long may you live free from all thought of ill, 
 And long have cause to be thus merry still ! 
 But, father 
 
 Mer. No more words, Jasper ; get thee gone. 
 Thou hast my blessing ; thy father's spirit upon thee ! 
 Farewell, Jasper ! [Sings. 
 
 But yet, or ere you part (oh, cruel !) 
 
 Kiss me, kiss me, sweeting, mine own dear jewel ! 
 So, now begone ; no words. [Exit JASPER. 
 
 Mist, Mer, So, Michael, now get thee gone too. 
 
 Mich. Yes, forsooth, mother ; but I'll have my father's 
 blessing first. 
 
 Mist. Mer. No, Michael; 'tis no matter for his blessing; 
 -thou hast my blessing ; begone. I'll fetch my money and 
 jewels, and follow thee ; I'll stay no longer with him, I 
 warrant thee. [Exit MICHAEL.] Truly, Charles, I'll be 
 gone too. 
 
 Mer. What ! you will not ? 
 
 Mist. Mer. Yes, indeed will I. 
 
 Mer. [Sings. ~\ 
 
 Heigh-ho, farewell, Nan ! 
 I'll never trust wench more again, if I can. 
 
 Mist. Mer. You shall not think, when all your own is 
 gone, to spend that I have been scraping up for Michael. 
 
 Mer. Farewell, good wife ; I expect it not : all I have 
 to do in this world, is to be merry ; which I shall, if the 
 ground be not taken from me ; and if it be, [Sings.
 
 SC. iv.] KNIGHT OF THE BURN I KG PESTLE. 403 
 
 When earth and seas from me are reft, 
 The skies aloft for me are left. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 [ Wife. I'll be sworn he's a merry old gentleman for all 
 that. \_Music^\ Hark, hark, husband, hark ! fiddles, 
 fiddles ! now surely they go finely. They say 'tis present 
 death for these fiddlers, to tune their rebecks ! before the 
 great Turk's grace ; it's not, George ? \Enter a Boy and 
 dances .] But, look, look ! here's a youth dances ! Now, 
 good youth, do a turn o' the toe. Sweetheart, i'faith, I'll 
 have Ralph come and do some of his gambols. He'll 
 ride the wild mare 2 gentlemen, 'twould do your hearts 
 good to see him. I thank you, kind youth ; pray, bid 
 Ralph come. 
 
 Cit. Peace, cony ! Sirrah, you scurvy boy, bid the 
 
 players send Ralph ; or, by God's an they do not, 
 
 I'll tear some of their periwigs beside their heads : this is 
 all riff-raff.] [Exit Boy. 
 
 1 A kind of violin. 2 The game of see-saw. 
 
 I) D 2
 
 ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in the House of VENTUREWELL. 
 Enler VENTUREWELL and HUMPHREY. 
 
 ENT. And how, faith, how goes it now, 
 
 son Humphrey ? 
 
 Hum. Right worshipful, and my be- 
 loved friend 
 
 And father dear, this matter's at an end. 
 Vent. 'Tis well : it should be so : I'm 
 
 glad the girl 
 Is found so tractable. 
 
 Hum. Nay, she must whirl 
 From hence (and you must wink ; for so, I say, 
 The story tells,) to-morrow before day. 
 
 [ Wife. George, dost thou think in thy conscience now 
 'twill be a match ? tell me but what thou thinkest, sweet 
 rogue. Thou seest the poor gentleman, dear heart, how 
 it labours and throbs, I warrant you, to be at rest ! I'll go 
 move the father for't. 
 
 Cit. No, no ; I prithee, sit still, honeysuckle ; thou'lt 
 spoil all. If he deny him, I'll bring half-a-dozen good 
 fellows myself, and in the shutting of an evening, 
 knock 't up, and there's an end. 
 
 Wife. I'll buss thee for that, i'faith, boy. Well, George, 
 well, you have been a wag in your days, I warrant you ; 
 but God forgive you, and I do with all my heart.]
 
 sc. i.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 405 
 
 Vent. How was it, son ? you told me that to-morrow 
 Before day-break, you must convey her hence. 
 
 Hum. I must, I must ; and thus it is agreed : 
 Your daughter rides upon a brown-bay steed, 
 I on a sorrel, which I bought of Brian, 
 The honest host of the Red roaring Lion, 
 In Waltham situate. Then, if you may, 
 Consent in seemly sort ; lest, by delay, 
 The Fatal Sisters come, and do the office, 
 And then you'll sing another song. 
 
 Vent. Alas, 
 
 Why should you be thus full of grief to me. 
 That do as willing as yourself agree 
 To any thing, so it be good and fair? 
 Then, steal her when you will, if such a pleasure 
 Content you both ; I'll sleep and never see it, 
 To make your joys more full. But tell me why 
 You may not here perform your marriage ? 
 
 [ Wife. God's blessing o' thy soul, old man ! i'faith, 
 thou art loath to part true hearts. I see 'a has her, 
 George ; and I'm as glad on't ! Well, go thy ways, 
 Humphrey, for a fair-spoken man ; I believe thou hast 
 not thy fellow within the walls of London ; an I should 
 say the suburbs too, I should not lie. Why dost not 
 rejoice with me, George ? 
 
 Cit. If I could but see Ralph again, I were as merry 
 as mine host, i'faith.] 
 
 Hum. The cause you seem to ask, I thus declare 
 Help me, O Muses nine ! Your daughter sware 
 A foolish oath, and more it was the pity ; 
 Yet no one but myself within this city 
 Shall dare to say so, but a bold defiance 
 Shall meet him, were he of the noble science ; ' 
 And yet she sware, and yet why did she swear ? 
 Truly, I cannot tell, unless it were 
 For her own ease ; for, sure, sometimes an oath, 
 
 1 i.f. The noble science of defence meaning a master of fencing.
 
 406 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT IT. 
 
 Being sworn thereafter, is like cordial broth ; 
 
 And this it was she swore, never to marry 
 
 But such a one whose mighty arm could carry 
 
 (As meaning me, for I am such a one) 
 
 Her bodily away, through stick and stone, 
 
 Till both of us arrive, at her request, 
 
 Some ten miles off, in the wild Waltham-forest. 
 
 Vent. If this be all, you shall not need to fear 
 Any denial in your love : proceed ; 
 I'll neither follow, nor repent the deed. 
 
 Hum. Good night, twenty good nights, and twenty 
 
 more, 
 
 And twenty more good nights, that makes three-score ! 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCEN E 1 1. Waltham Forest. 
 
 Enter Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL. 
 
 Mist. Mer. Come, Michael ; art thou not weary, boy ? 
 
 Mich. No, forsooth, mother, not I. 
 
 Mist. Mer. Where be we now, child ? 
 
 Mich. Indeed, forsooth, mother, I cannot tell, unless we 
 be at Mile-End : Is not all the world Mile-End, mother? 
 
 Mist. Mer. No, Michael, not all the world, boy ; but I 
 can assure thee, Michael, Mile-End is a goodly matter : 
 there has been a pitchfield, my child, between the 
 naughty Spaniels and the Englishmen ; and the Spaniels 
 ran away, Michael, and the Englishmen followed : my 
 neighbour Coxstone was there, boy, and killed them all 
 with a birding-piece. 
 
 Mich. Mother, forsooth 
 
 Mist. Mer. What says my white boy ? ' 
 
 Mich. Shall not my father go with us too ? 
 
 1 A term of endearment.
 
 sc. ii.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE, 407 
 
 Mht. Mer. No, Michael, let thy father go snick-up ; l 
 he shall never come between a pair of sheets with me 
 again while he lives ; let him stay at home, and sing for 
 his supper, boy. Come, child, sit down, and I'll show 
 my boy fine knacks, indeed. [They sit down : and she 
 takes out a casket.] Look here, Michael ; here's a ring, 
 and here's a brooch, and here's a bracelet, and here's two 
 rings more, and here's money and gold by th'eye, my boy. 
 
 Mich. Shall I have all this, mother ? 
 
 Mist Mer. Ay, Michael, thou shall have all, Michael. 
 
 [Cit. How likest thou this, wench ? 
 Wife. I cannot tell ; I would have Ralph, George ; 
 I'll see no more else, indeed, la ; and I pray you, let the 
 youths understand so much by word of mouth ; for, I tell 
 you truly, I'm afraid o' my boy. Come, come, George, 
 let's be merry and wise : the child's a fatherless child ; 
 and say they should put him into a strait pair of gaskins, 2 
 'twere worse than knot-grass ; 3 he would never grow after 
 it] 
 
 Enter RALPH, TIM, and GEORGE. 
 
 [Cit. Here's Ralph, here's Ralph ! 
 
 Wife. How do you do, Ralph? you are welcome, 
 Ralph, as I may say ; it's a good boy, hold up thy head, 
 and be not afraid ; we are thy friends, Ralph ; the gentle- 
 men will praise thee, Ralph, if thou playest thy part with 
 audacity. Begin, Ralph, a' God's name !] 
 
 Ralph. My trusty squire, unlace my helm ; give me 
 
 my hat. 
 Where are we, or what desert may this be ? 
 
 George. Mirror of knighthood, this is, as I take it, the 
 perilous Waltham-down ; in whose bottom stands the 
 enchanted valley. 
 
 Mist. Mer. Oh, Michael, we are betrayed, we are 
 betrayed ! here be giants ! Fly, boy ! fly, boy, fly ! 
 
 [Exit with MICHAEL leaving the casket. 
 
 1 i.e. Go-hang. 2 i.e. Hose, breeches. Dyce. 
 
 3 An infusion of knot-grass was supposed to prevent the growth 
 of any animal.
 
 4o8 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT II. 
 
 Ralph. Lace on my helm again. What noise is this ? 
 A gentle lady, flying the embrace 
 Of some uncourteous knight ! I will relieve her. 
 Go, squire, and say, the Knight, that wears this Pestle 
 In honour of all ladies, swears revenge 
 Upon that recreant coward that pursues her ; 
 Go, comfort her, and that same gentle squire 
 That bears her company. 
 
 Tim. I go, brave knight. [Exit. 
 
 Ralph. My trusty dwarf and friend, reach me my shield ; 
 And hold it while I swear. First, by my knighthood ; 
 Then by the soul of Amadis de Gaul, 
 My famous ancestor ; then by my sword 
 The beauteous Brionella girt about me ; 
 By this bright burning Pestle, of mine honour 
 The living trophy ; and by all respect 
 Due to distressed damsels ; here I vow 
 Never to end the quest of this fair lady 
 And that forsaken squire till by my valour 
 I gain their liberty ! 
 
 George. Heaven bless the knight 
 That thus relieves poor errant gentlewomen ! [Exeunt. 
 
 [ Wife. Ay, marry, Ralph, this has some savour in't : 1 
 would see the proudest of them all offer to carry his 
 books after him. But, George, I will not have him go 
 away so soon ; I shall be sick if he go away, that I shall : 
 call Ralph again, George, call Ralph again ; I prithee, 
 sweetheart, let him come fight before me, and let's ha' 
 some drums and some trumpets, and let him kill all that 
 comes near him, an thou 'lovest me, George ! 
 
 Cit. Peace a little, bird : he shall kill them all, an they 
 were twenty more on 'em than there are.] 
 
 Enter JASPER. 
 
 Jasp. Now, Fortune, if thou be'st not only ill, 
 Show me thy better face, and bring about 
 Thy desperate wheel, that I may climb at length,
 
 SC. in.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 409 
 
 And stand. This is our place of meeting, 
 
 If love have any constancy. Oh, age, 
 
 Where only wealthy men are counted happy ! 
 
 How shall I please thee, how deserve thy smiles, 
 
 When I am only rich in misery ? 
 
 My father's blessing and this little coin 
 
 Is my inheritance ; a strong revenue ! 
 
 From earth thou art, and to the earth I give thee : 
 
 [ Throivs away the money. 
 There grows and multiply, whilst fresher air 
 Breeds me a fresher fortune. How ! illusion ? 
 
 \_Sces the casket. 
 
 What, hath the devil coined himself before me ? 
 'Tis metal good, it rings well ; I am waking, 
 And taking too, I hope. Now, God's dear bbssing 
 Upon his heart that left it here ! 'tis mine ; 
 These pearls, I take it, were not left for swine. 
 
 [Exit with the casket. 
 
 [ Wife. I do not like that this unthrifty youth should 
 embezzle away the money ; the poor gentlewoman his 
 mother will have a heavy heart for it, God knows. 
 
 Cit. And reason good, sweetheart. 
 
 Wife. But let him go ; I'll tell Ralph a tale in's ear 
 shall fetch him again with a wanion, 1 I warrant him, if he 
 be above ground ; and besides, George, here are a 
 number of sufficient gentlemen can witness, and myself, 
 and yourself, and the musicians, if we be called in 
 question. 
 
 SCENE II I. Another part of the Forest.. 
 
 Enter RALPH and GEORGE. 
 
 But here comes Ralph, George ; thou shall "hear him 
 speak as he were an emperal.] 
 
 1 i.e. With a vengeance. Dyce.
 
 410 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT n. 
 
 Ralph. Comes not sir squire again ? 
 
 George'^Right courteous knight, 
 Your squire doth come, and with him comes the lady, 
 And the Squire of Damsels, as I take it. 
 
 Enter TIM, Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL. 
 
 Ralph. Madam, if any service or devoir 
 Of a poor errant knight may right your wrongs, 
 Command it ; I am prest 1 to give you succour ; 
 For to that holy end I bear my armour. 
 
 Mist. Mer. Alas, sir, I am a poor gentlewoman, and I 
 have lost my money in this forest ! 
 
 Ralph. Desert, you would say, lady ; and not lost 
 Whilst I have sword and lance. Dry up your tears, 
 Which ill befit the beauty of that face, 
 And tell the story, if I may request it, 
 Of your disastrous fortune. 
 
 Mist. Mer. Out, alas ! I left a thousand pound, a 
 thousand pound, e'en all the money I had laid up for 
 this youth, upon the sight of your mastership, you looked 
 so grim, and, as I may say it, saving your presence, more 
 like a giant than a mortal man. 
 
 Ralph. I am as you are, lady ; so are they ; 
 All mortal. But why weeps this gentle squire ? 
 
 Mist. Mer. Has he not cause to weep, do you think, 
 when he hath lost his inheritance ? 
 
 Ralph. Young hope of valour, weep not ; I am here 
 That will confound thy foe, and pay it dear 
 Upon his coward head, that dares deny 
 Distressed squires and ladies equity. 
 I have but one horse, on which shall ride 
 This fair lady behind me, and before 
 This courteous squire : fortune will give us more 
 Upon our next adventure. Fairly speed 
 Beside us, squire and dwarf, to do us need ! \_Exeunt. 
 
 \Cit. Did not I tell you, Nell, what your man would 
 
 1 Ready.
 
 sc. iv.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 411 
 
 do ? by the faith of my body, wench, for clean action and 
 good delivery, they may all cast their caps at him. 
 
 Wife. And so they may, i'faith ; for I dare speak it 
 boldly, the twelve companies of London cannot match 
 him, timber for timber. Well, George, an he be not 
 inveigled by some of these paltry players, I ha' much 
 marvel : but, George, we ha' done our parts, if the boy 
 have any grace to be thankful. 
 
 Cit. Yes, I warrant thee, duckling.] 
 
 SCENE \\.-Anotherpart of the Forest. 
 Enter HUMPHREY and LUCE. 
 
 Hum. Good Mistress Luce, however I in fault am 
 For your lame horse, you're welcome unto Waltham ; 
 But which way now to go, or what to say, 
 I know not truly, till it be broad day. 
 
 Luce. Oh, fear not, Master Humphrey ; I am guide 
 For this place good enough. 
 
 Hum. Then, up and ride ; 
 Or, if it please you, walk, for your repose 
 Or sit, or, if you will, go pluck a rose ; 
 Either of which shall be indifferent 
 To your good friend and Humphrey, whose consent 
 Is so entangled ever to your will, 
 As the poor harmless horse is to the mill. 
 
 Luce. Faith, an you say the word, we'll e'en sit down, 
 And take a nap. 
 
 Hum. 'Tis better in the town, 
 Where we may nap together ; for, believe me, 
 To sleep without a snatch would mickle grieve me. 
 
 Luce. You're merry, Master Humphrey. 
 
 Hum. So I am, 
 And have been ever merry from my dam. 
 
 Luce. Your nurse had the less labour.
 
 412 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT n. 
 
 Hum. Faith, it may be, 
 Unless it were by chance I did beray ' me. 
 
 Enter JASPER. 
 
 Jasp. Luce ! dear friend Luce ! 
 
 Luce. Here, Jasper. 
 
 Jasp. You are mine. 
 
 Hum. If it be so, my friend, you use me fine : 
 What do you think I am ? 
 
 Jasp. An arrant noddy, 
 
 Hum. A word of obloquy ! Now, by God's body, 
 I'll tell thy master ; for I know thee well. 
 
 Jasp. Nay, an you be so forward for to tell, 
 Take that, and that ; and tell him, sir, I gave it : 
 And say, I paid you well. \Beats him. 
 
 Hum. Oh, sir, I have it, 
 And do confess the payment ! Pray, be quiet. 
 
 Jasp. Go, get you to your night-cap and the diet, 
 To cure your beaten bones. 
 
 Luce. Alas, poor Humphrey ; 
 
 Get thee some wholesome broth, with sage and comfrey ; 
 A little oil of roses and a feather 
 To 'noint thy back withal. 
 
 Hum. When I came hither, 
 Would I had gone to Paris with John Dory ! 2 
 
 Luce. Farewell, my pretty nump ; I am very sorry 
 I cannot bear thee company. 
 
 Hum. Farewell : 
 The devil's dam was ne'er so banged in hell. 
 
 \Exeunt LUCE and JASPER. 
 
 [ Wife. This young Jasper will prove me another thing, 
 o' my conscience, an he may be suffered. George, dost 
 not see, George, how 'a swaggers, and flies at the very 
 
 1 Befoul. 
 
 2 John Dory, according to the legend, engaged with the King of 
 France to bring the crew of an English ship prisoners to Paris, but 
 was himself captured whilst making ihe attempt. The song and tune 
 were for a long time popular in England.
 
 SC. v.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 413 
 
 heads o' folks, as he were a dragon ? Well, if I do not do 
 his lesson for wronging the poor gentleman, I am no true 
 woman. His friends that brought him up might have 
 been better occupied, i-wis, than have taught him these 
 fegaries : he's e'en in the high way to the gallows, God 
 bless him ! 
 
 Cit. You're too bitter, cony ; the young man may do 
 well enough for all this. 
 
 Wife. Come hither, Master Humphrey ; has he hurt 
 you ? now, beshrew his fingers for't ! Here, sweetheart, 
 here's some green ginger for thee. Now, beshrew my 
 heart, but 'a has peppernel in's head, as big as a pullet's 
 egg ! Alas, sweet lamb, how thy temples beat ! Take 
 the peace on him, sweetheart, take the peace on him. 
 
 at. No, no ; you talk like a foolish woman : I'll ha' 
 Ralph fight with him, and swinge him up well-favouredly. 
 Sirrah boy, come hither. [Enter Boy.] Let Ralph 
 come in and fight with Jasper. 
 
 Wife. Ay, and beat him well ; he's an unhappy boy. 
 
 Boy. Sir, you must pardon ; the plot of our play lies 
 contrary ; and 'twill hazard the spoiling of our play. 
 
 Cit. Plot me no plots ! I'll ha' Ralph come out ; I'll 
 make your house too hot for you else. 
 
 Boy. Why, sir, he shall ; but if any thing fall out of 
 order, the gentlemen must pardon us. 
 
 Cit. Go your ways, goodman boy ! \Exit Boy.] I'll 
 hold him a penny, he shall have his bellyful of fighting 
 now. Ho, here comes Ralph ! no more !] 
 
 SCENE \.-Anotherpart of the Forest. 
 
 Enter RALPH, Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT, MICHAEL, 
 TIM, and GEORGE. 
 
 Ralph. What knight is that, squire? ask him if he 
 keep
 
 414 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT II. 
 
 The passage, bound by love of lady fair, 
 Or else but prickant. 1 
 
 Hum. Sir, I am no knight, 
 But a poor gentleman, that this same night 
 Had stolen from me, on yonder green, 
 My lovely wife, and suffered (to be seen 
 Yet extant on my shoulders) such a greeting, 
 That whilst I live I shall think of that meeting. 
 
 [ Wife. Ay, Ralph, he beat him unmercifully, Ralph ; 
 an thou sparest him, Ralph, I would thou vvert hanged. 
 
 Cit. No more, wife, no more.] 
 
 Ralph. Where is the caitiff-wretch hath done this 
 
 deed? 
 
 Lady, your pardon ; that I may proceed ; 
 Upon the quest of this injurious knight. 
 And thou, fair squire, repute me not the wo:se, 
 In leaving the great venture of the purse 
 And the rich casket, till some better leisure. 
 
 Hum. Here comes the broker hath purloined my 
 treasure. 
 
 Enler JASPER and LUCE. 
 
 Ralph. Go, squire, and tell him I am here, 
 An errant knight-at-arms, to crave delivery 
 Of that fair lady to her own knight's arms. 
 If he deny, bid him take choice of ground, 
 And so defy him. 
 
 Tim. From the Knight that bears 
 The Golden Pestle, I defy thee, knight, 
 Unless thou make fair restitution 
 Of that bright lady. 
 
 Jasp. Tell the knight that sent thee, 
 He is an ass ; and I will keep the wench, 
 And knock his head-piece. 
 
 Ralph. Knight, thou art but dead, 
 If thou recall not thy uncourteous terms. 
 
 1 i.e. Pricking or spurring along. Weber.
 
 SC. VI.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 415 
 
 [ Wife. Break 's pate, Ralph ; break 's pate, Ralph, 
 soundly !] 
 
 Jasp. Come, knight ; I am ready for you. Now your 
 Pestle [Snatches away his pestle t 
 Shall try what temper, sir, your mortar's of. 
 With that he stood upright in his stirrups, and gave the 
 Knight of the calf-skin such a knock \_Knocks RALPH 
 down.^\ that he forsook his horse, and down he fell; and 
 then he leaped upon him, and plucking off his helmet 
 
 Hum. Nay, an my noble knight be down so soon, 
 Though I can scarcely go, I needs must run. \Exit. 
 
 [ Wife. Run, Ralph, run, Ralph ; run for thy life, boy ; 
 Jasper comes, Jasper comes !] Exit RALPH. 
 
 Jasp. Come Luce, we must have other arms for you : 
 Humphrey, and Golden Pestle, both adieu ! [Exeunt. 
 
 [ Wife. Sure the devil (God bless us !) is in this sprin- 
 gald i l Why, George, didst ever see such a fire-drake ? 2 
 I am afraid my boy's miscarried : if he be, though he 
 were Master Merrythought's son a thousand times, if 
 there be any law in England, I'll make some of them 
 smart for't. 
 
 Cit. No, no ; I have found out the matter, sweetheart ; 
 as sure as we are here, he is enchanted : he could no more 
 have stood in Ralph's hands than I can in my lord 
 mayor's. I'll have a ring to discover all enchantments, 
 and Ralph shall beat him yet : be no more vexed, for it 
 shall be so.] 
 
 SCENE VI. Before the Bell-Inn, Waltham. 
 
 Enter RALPH, Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT, MICHAEL, 
 TIM, and GEORGE. 
 
 [ Wife. Oh, husband, here's Ralph again ! Stay, Ralph 
 again, let me speak with thee. How dost thou, Ralph? art 
 1 Youth. Fiery dragon.
 
 416 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT n. 
 
 thou not shrewdly hurt ? the foul great lungies * laid un- 
 mercifully on thee : there's some sugar-candy for thee. 
 Proceed ; thou shalt have another bout with him. 
 
 Cit. If Ralph had him at the fencing-school, if he did 
 not make a puppy of him, and drive him up and down 
 the school, he should ne'er come in my shop more.] 
 
 Mist. Met: Truly Master Knight of the Burning Pestle, 
 I am weary. 
 
 Mich. Indeed, la, mother, and I am very hungry. 
 
 Ralph. Take comfort, gentle dame, and your fair 
 
 squire ; 
 
 For in this desert there must needs be placed 
 Many strong castles, held by courteous knights ; 
 And till I bring you safe to one of those, 
 I swear by this my order ne'er to leave you. 
 
 [ Wife. Well said, Ralph ! George, Ralph was ever 
 comfortable, was he not ? 
 
 Cit. Yes, duck. 
 
 Wife. I shall ne'er forget him. When he had lost our 
 child, (you know it was strayed almost alone to Puddle- 
 Wharf, and the criers were abroad for it, and there it had 
 drowned itself but for a sculler,) Ralph was the most 
 comfortablest to me : " Peace, mistress," says he, " let it 
 go; I'll get you another as good." Did he not, George, 
 did he not say so ? 
 
 Cit. Yes, indeed did he, mouse.] 
 
 George. I would we had a mess of pottage and a pot 
 of drink, squire, and were going to bed ! 
 
 Tim. Why, we are at Waltham-town's end, and that's 
 the Bell-Inn. 
 
 George. Take courage, valiant knight, damsel, and 
 
 squire ! 
 
 I have discovered, not a stone's cast off, 
 An ancient castle, held by the old knight 
 Of the most holy order of the Bell, 
 Who gives to all knights-errant entertain : 
 
 1 Tall, awkward lout.
 
 sc. vi.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 417 
 
 There plenty is of food, and all prepared 
 
 By the white hands of his own lady dear. 
 
 He hath three squires that welcome all his guests ; 
 
 The first, hight Chamberlino, who will see 
 
 Our beds prepared, and bring us snowy sheets, 
 
 Where never footman stretched his buttered hams ; 
 
 The second, hight Tapstero, who will see 
 
 Our pots full filled, and no froth therein ; 
 
 The third, a gentle squire, Ostlero hight, 
 
 Who will our palfreys slick with wisps of straw, 
 
 And in the manger put them oats enough, 
 
 And never grease their teeth with candle-snuff. 1 
 
 [ Wife. That same dwarfs a pretty boy, but the squire's 
 a groutnol. 2 ] 
 
 Ralph. Knock at the gates, my squire, with stately 
 lance. [TiM knocks at the door. 
 
 Enter TAPSTER. 
 
 Tap. Who's there ? You're welcome, gentlemen : will 
 you see a room ? 
 
 George. Right courteous and valiant Knight of the 
 Burning Pestle, this is the Squire Tapstero. 
 
 Ralph. Fair Squire Tapstero, I a wandering knight, 
 Hight of the Burning Pestle, in the quest 
 Of this fair lady's casket and wrought purse, 
 Losing myself in this vast wilderness, 
 Am to this castle well by fortune brought ; 
 Where, hearing of the goodly entertain 
 Your knight of holy order of the Bell 
 Gives to all damsels and all errant knights, 
 I thought to knock, and now am bold to enter. 
 
 Tap. An't please you see a chamber, you are very 
 welcome. \_Exeunt. 
 
 [ Wife. George, I would have something done, and I 
 cannot tell what it is. 
 
 1 A common trick of the ostlers of the time to prevent the horses 
 from eating the hay. Weber. * Blockhead. 
 
 Beau. & F. i. E E
 
 4i 8 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT n. 
 
 Cit. What is it, Nell ? 
 
 Wife. Why, George, shall Ralph beat nobody again ? 
 prithee, sweetheart, let him. 
 
 Cit. So he shall, Nell ; and if I join with him, we'll 
 knock them all.] 
 
 SCENE VII. A Room in the House of VENTUREWELL. 
 
 Etiter HUMPHREY and VENTUREWELL. 
 
 [Wife. Oh, George, here's Master Humphrey again 
 now that lost Mistress Luce, and Mistress Luce's father. 
 Master Humphrey will do somebody's errand, I warrant 
 him.] 
 
 Hum. Father, it's true in arms I ne'er shall clasp her ; 
 For she is stoln away by your man Jasper. 
 
 [ Wife. I thought he would tell him.] 
 
 Vent. Unhappy that I am, to lose my child ! 
 Now I begin to think on Jasper's words, 
 Who oft hath urged to me thy foolishness : 
 Why didst thou let her go ? thou lov'st her not, 
 That wouldst bring home thy life, and not bring her. 
 
 Hum. Father, forgive me. Shall I tell you true ? 
 Look on my shoulders, they are black and blue : 
 Whilst to and fro fair Luce and I were winding, 
 He came and basted me with a hedge-binding. 
 
 Vent. Get men and horses straight : we will be there 
 Within this hour. You know the place again ? 
 
 Hum. I know the place where "he my loins did 
 
 swaddle ; 
 I'll get six horses, and to each a saddle. 
 
 Vent. Mean time I will go talk with Jasper's father. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 [ Wife. George, what wilt thou lay with me now, that 
 Master Humphrey has not Mistress Luce yet? speak, 
 George, what wilt thou lay with me ?
 
 SC. Vlli.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 419 
 
 Cit. No, Nell ; I warrant thee, Jasper is at Puckeridge 
 with her by this. 
 
 Wife. Nay, George, you must consider Mistress Luce's 
 feet are tender ; and besides 'tis dark ; and, I promise 
 you truly, I do not see how he should get out of Waltham- 
 forest with her yet. 
 
 Cit. Nay, cony, what wilt thou lay with me, that 
 Ralph has her not yet ? 
 
 Wife. I will not lay against Ralph, honey, because I 
 have not spoken with him.J 
 
 SCENE VIII. A Room in MERRYTHOUGHT'S House. 
 
 Enter MERRYTHOUGHT. 
 
 [Wife. But look, George, peace! here comes the merry 
 old gentleman again.] 
 Met: [Sings.} 
 
 When it was grown to dark midnight, 
 
 And all were fast asleep, 
 In came Margaret's grimly ghost, 
 And stood at William's feet. 
 
 I have money, and meat, and drink beforehand, till to- 
 morrow at noon ; why should I be sad ? methinks I have 
 half-a-dozen jovial spirits within me ! 
 
 [Sings.~\ I am three merry men, and three merry men ! 
 To what end should any man be sad in this world ? give 
 me a man that when he goes to hanging cries, 
 
 Troul the black bowl to me ! 
 
 and a woman that will sing a catch in her travail ! I 
 have seen a man come by my door with a serious face, in 
 a black cloak, without a hat-band, carrying his head as if 
 he looked for pins in the street ; I have looked out of my 
 window half a year after, and have spied that man's head 
 upon London-bridge. 'Tis vile : never trust a tailor that 
 
 E E 2
 
 420 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT n. 
 
 does not sing at his work ; his mind is of nothing but 
 filching. 
 
 [ Wife. Mark this, George ; 'tis worth noting ; Godfrey 
 my tailor, you know, never sings, and he had fourteen 
 yards to make this gown : and I'll be sworn, Mistress 
 Penistone the draper's wife had one made with twelve.] 
 
 Mer. \_Sing s.] 
 
 Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood, 
 
 More than wine, or sleep, or food ; 
 
 Let each man keep his heart at ease 
 
 No man dies of that disease. 
 
 He that would his body keep 
 
 From diseases, must not weep ; 
 
 But whoever laughs and sings, 
 
 Never he his body brings 
 
 Into fevers, gouts, or rheums, 
 
 Or lingeringly his lungs consumes, 
 
 Or meets with aches in the bone, 
 
 Or catarrhs or griping stone ; 
 
 But contented lives for aye ; 
 
 The more he laughs, the more he may. 
 
 [ Wife. Look, George ; how sayst thou by this, George ? 
 is't not a fine old man ? Now, God's blessing o' thy sweet 
 lips ! When wilt thou be so merry, George ? faith, thou 
 art the frowningest little thing, when thou art angry, in a 
 country. 
 
 Cit. Peace, cony ; thou shall see him taken down too, 
 I warrant thee. 
 
 Enter VENTUREWELL. 
 Here's Luce's father come now.] 
 Mer. [Sitigs.~\ 
 
 As you came from Walsingham, 
 
 From that holy land, 
 There met you not with my true, love 
 
 By the way as you came ?
 
 sc. viii.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 421 
 
 Vent. Oh, Master Merrythought, my daughter's gone ! 
 This mirth becomes you not ; my daughter's gone ! 
 Mer. [Sings."] 
 
 Why, an if she be, what care I ? 
 Or let her come, or go, or tarry. 
 
 Vent. Mock not my misery ; it is your son 
 (Whom I have made my own, when all forsook him) 
 Has stoln my only joy, my child, away. 
 Mer. [Sings.] 
 
 He set her on a milk-white steed, 
 
 And himself upon a grey ; 
 He never turned his face again, 
 But he bore her quite away. 
 
 Vent. Unworthy of the kindness I have shown 
 To thee and thine ! too late I well perceive 
 Thou art consenting to my daughter's loss. 
 
 Mer. Your daughter ! what a stir's here wi' your 
 daughter ? Let her go, think no more on her, but sing 
 loud. If both my sons were on the gallows, I would 
 sing, [Sings. 
 
 Down, down, down they fall ; 
 Down, and arise they never shall. 
 
 Vent. Oh, might I behold her once again, 
 And she once more embrace her aged sire ! 
 
 Mer. Fie, how scurvily this goes ! " And she once more 
 embrace her aged sire ? " You'll make a dog on her, will 
 ye ? she cares much for her aged sire, I warrant you. 
 
 [Sings. 
 
 She cares not for her daddy, nor 
 She cares not for her mammy, 
 For she is, she is, she is, she is 
 My lord of Lowgave's lassy. 
 
 Vent. For this thy scorn I will pursue that son 
 Of thine to death. 
 
 Mer. Do ; and when you ha' killed him, [Sings.
 
 422 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT 11. 
 
 Give him flowers enow, palmer, give him flowers enow ; 
 Give him red, and white, and blue, green, and yellow. 
 
 Vent, I'll fetch my daughter 
 
 Mer. I'll hear no more o' your daughter ; it spoils my 
 mirth. 
 
 Vent. I say, I'll fetch my daughter. 
 
 Mer. [Sings. ~\ 
 
 Was never man for lady's sake, 
 
 Down, down, 
 Tormented as I poor Sir Guy, 
 
 De derry down, 
 For Lucy's sake, that lady bright, 
 
 Down, down, 
 As ever men beheld with eye, 
 
 De derry down. 
 
 Vent. I'll be revenged, by Heaven ! [Exeunt severally. 
 
 [ Wife. How dost thou like this, George ? 
 
 Cit. Why, this is well, cony ; but if Ralph were hot 
 once, thou shouldst see more. [Music. 
 
 Wife. The fiddlers go again, husband. 
 
 Cit. Ay, Nell ; but this is scurvy music. I gave the 
 whoreson gallows money, and I think he has not got me 
 the waits of Southwark : if I hear 'em not anon, I'll twinge 
 him by the ears. You musicians, play Baloo ! 
 
 Wife. No, good George, let's ha' Lachrymse ! 
 
 Cit. Why, this is it, cony. 
 
 Wife. It's all the better, George. Now, sweet lamb, 
 what story is that painted upon the cloth ? the Confutation 
 of St. Paul ? 
 
 Cit. No, lamb ; that's Ralph and Lucrece. 
 
 Wife. Ralph and Lucrece ! which Ralph ? our Ralph ? 
 
 Cit. No, mouse ; that was a Tartarian. 
 
 Wife. A Tartarian ! Well, I would the fiddlers had 
 done, that we might see our Ralph again !]
 
 ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCEN E I. Waltham-forest. 
 
 Enter JASPER and LUCE. 
 
 ASP. Come, my dear dear; though we 
 
 have lost our way, 
 We have not lost ourselves. Are you 
 
 not weary 
 With this night's wandering, broken from 
 
 your rest, 
 
 And frighted with the terror that attends 
 The darkness of this wild unpeopled place ? 
 
 Luce. No, my best friend ; I cannot either fear, 
 Or entertain a weary thought, whilst you 
 (The end of all my full desires) stand by me : 
 Let them that lose their hopes, and live to languish 
 Amongst the number of forsaken lovers, 
 Tell the long weary steps, and number time, 
 Start at a shadow, and shrink up their blood, 
 Whilst I (possessed with all content and quiet) 
 Thus take my pretty love, and thus embrace him. 
 
 Jasp. You have caught me, Luce, so fast, that, whilst 
 I shall become your faithful prisoner, [I live, 
 
 And wear these chains for ever. Come, sit down, 
 And rest your body, too, too delicate 
 For these disturbances. \They sit down^\ So : will you 
 Come, do not be more able than you are ; [sleep ? 
 
 I know you are not skilful in these watches,
 
 424 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT lit. 
 
 For women are no soldiers : be not nice, 
 But take it ; sleep, I say. 
 
 Liice. I cannot sleep ; 
 Indeed, I cannot, friend. 
 
 Jasp. Why, then, we'll sing, 
 And try how that will work upon our senses. 
 
 Luce. I'll sing, or say, or any thing but sleep. 
 
 Jasp. Come, little mermaid, rob me of my heart 
 With that enchanting voice. 
 
 Luce. You mock me, Jasper. {They sing. 
 
 Jasp. Tell me, dearest, what is love ? 
 Luce. 'Tis a lightning from above ; 
 'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire, 
 'Tis a boy they call Desire ; 
 'Tis a smile 
 Doth beguile 
 Jasp. The poor hearts of men that prove. 
 
 Tell me more, are women true ? 
 Luce. Some love change, and so do you. 
 Jasp. Are they fair and never kind ? 
 Luce. Yes, when men turn with the wind. 
 Jasp. Are they froward ? 
 
 Luce. Ever toward 
 
 Those that love, to love anew. 1 
 
 Jasp. Dissemble it no more ; I see the god 
 Of heavy sleep lay on his heavy mace 
 Upon your eyelids. 
 
 Luce. I am very heavy. [Sleeps. 
 
 Jasp. Sleep, sleep ; and quiet rest crown thy sweet 
 
 thoughts ! 
 
 Keep from her fair blood distempers, starlings, 
 Horrors, and fearful shapes ! let all her dreams 
 Be joys, and chaste delights, embraces, wishes, 
 
 1 This song with variations and an additional stanza occurs in 
 Beaumont and Fletcher's olnv The Cadtain, Act ii., sc. 2.
 
 SC. I.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 425 
 
 And such new pleasures as the ravished soul 
 Gives to the senses ! So ; my charms have took. 
 Keep her, you powers divine, whilst I contemplate 
 Upon the wealth and beauty of her mind ! 
 She is only fair and constant, only kind, 
 And only to thee, Jasper. Oh, my joys ! 
 Whither will you transport me ? let not fulness 
 Of my poor buried hopes come up together 
 And overcharge my spirits ! I am weak. 
 Some say (however ill) the sea and women 
 Are governed by the moon ; both ebb and flow, 
 Both full of changes ; yet to them that know", 
 And truly judge, these but opinions are, 
 And heresies, to bring on pleasing war 
 Between our tempers, that without these were 
 Both void of after-love and present fear ; 
 Which are the best of Cupid. Oh, thou child 
 Bred from despair, I dare not entertain thee, 
 Having a love without the faults of women, 
 And greater in her perfect goods than men ! 
 Which to make good, and please myself the stronger, 
 Though certainly I am certain of her love, 
 I'll try her, that the world and memory 
 May sing to after-times her constancy. 
 
 [Draws his sword. 
 Luce ! Luce ! awake ! 
 
 Luce. Why do you fright me, friend, 
 With those distempered looks ? what makes your sword 
 Drawn in your hand ? who hath offended you ? 
 I prithee, Jasper, sleep ; thou art wild with watching. 
 
 Jasp. Come, make your way to Heaven,andbidtheworld, 
 With all the villanies that stick upon it, 
 Farewell ; you're for another life. 
 
 Luce. Oh, Jasper, 
 
 How have my tender years committed evil, 
 Especially against the man I love, 
 Thus to be cropped untimely ?
 
 426 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT in. 
 
 Jasp. Foolish girl. 
 
 Canst thou imagine I could love his daughter 
 That flung me from my fortune into nothing ? 
 Discharged me his service, shut the doors 
 Upon my poverty, and scorned my prayers, 
 Sending me, like a boat without a mast, 
 To sink or swim ? Come ; by this hand you die ; 
 I must have life and blood, to satisfy 
 Your father's wrongs. 
 
 [ Wife. Away, George, away ! raise the watch at Lud- 
 gate, and bring a mittimus from the justice for this 
 desperate villain ! Now, I charge you, gentlemen, see 
 the king's peace kept ! Oh, my heart, what a varlet's 
 this, to offer manslaughter upon the harmless gentle- 
 woman ! 
 
 Cit. I warrant thee, sweetheart, we'll have him ham- 
 pered.] 
 
 Luce. Oh, Jasper, be not cruel ! 
 If thou wilt kill me, smile, and do it quickly, 
 And let not many deaths appear before me ; 
 I am a woman, made of fear and love, 
 A weak, weak woman ; kill not with thy eyes, 
 They shoot me through and through : strike, I am ready ; 
 And, dying, still I love thee. 
 
 Enter VENTUREWELL, HUMPHREY, and Attendants. 
 
 Vent. Whereabouts? 
 
 Jasp. No more of this ; now to myself again. [Aside. 
 Hum. There, there he stands, with sword, like martial 
 
 knight, 
 
 Drawn in his hand ; therefore beware the fight, 
 You that be wise ; for, were I good Sir Bevis, 
 I would not stay his coming, by your leaves. 
 Vent. Sirrah, restore my daughter ! 
 Jasp. Sirrah, no. 
 Vent. Upon him, then ! 
 
 [They attack JASPER, and force LUCE from him.
 
 sc. ii.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 427 
 
 [ Wife. So ; down with him, down with him, down 
 with him ! cut him i' the leg, boys, cut him i' the leg ! ] 
 
 Vent. Come your ways, minion : I'll provide a cage 
 For you, you're grown so tame. Horse her away. 
 
 Hum. Truly, I'm glad your forces have the day. 
 
 [Exeunt all except JASPER. 
 
 Jasp. They are gone, and I am hurt ; my love is lost, 
 Never to get again. Oh, me unhappy ! 
 Bleed, bleed and die ! I cannot. Oh, rny folly, 
 Thou hast betrayed me ! Hope, where art thou fled ? 
 Tell me, if thou be'st any where remaining, 
 Shall I but see my love again ? Oh, no ! 
 She will not deign to look upon her butcher, 
 Nor is it fit she should ; yet I must venture. 
 Oh, Chance, or Fortune, or whate'er thou art, 
 That men adore for powerful, hear my cry, 
 And let me loving live, or losing die ! [Exit. 
 
 [ Wife. Is 'a gone, George ? 
 
 Cit. Ay, cony. 
 
 Wife. Marry, and let him go, sweetheart. By the faith 
 o' my body, 'a has put me into such a fright, that I 
 tremble (as they say) as 'twere an aspen-leaf. Look o' 
 my little finger, George, how it shakes. Now, in truth, 
 every member of my body is the worse for't. 
 
 Cit. Come, hug in mine arms, sweet mouse ; he shall 
 not fright thee any more. Alas, mine own dear heart, 
 how it quivers !] 
 
 SCENE II. A Room in the Bell-Inn, Waltham. 
 
 Enter Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT, RALPH, MICHAEL, TIM, 
 GEORGE, Host, and Tapster. 
 
 [ Wife, Oh, Ralph ! how dost thou, Ralph ? How 
 hast thou slept to-night ? has the knight used thee well ?
 
 428 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT in. 
 
 Cit. Peace, Nell ; let Ralph alone.] 
 
 Tap. Master, the reckoning is not paid. 
 
 Ralph. Right courteous knight, who, for the order's 
 
 sake 
 
 Which thou hast ta'en, hang'st out the holy Bell, 
 As I this flaming Pestle bear about, 
 We render thanks to your puissant self, 
 Your beauteous lady, and your gentle squires, 
 For thus refreshing of our wearied limbs, 
 Stiffened with hard achievements in wild desert. 
 
 Tap. Sir, there is twelve shillings to pay. 
 
 Ralph. Thou merry Squire Tapstero, thanks to thee 
 For comforting our souls with double jug : 
 And, if adventurous fortune prick thee forth, 
 Thou jovial squire, to follow feats of arms, 
 Take heed thou tender every lady's cause, 
 Every true knight, and every damsel fair ; 
 But spill the blood of treacherous Saracens, 
 And false enchanters that with magic spells 
 Have done to death full many a noble knight. 
 
 Host. Thou valiant Knight of the Burning Pestle, give 
 ear to me ; there is twelve shillings to pay, and, as I am 
 a true knight, I will not bate a penny. 
 
 [Wife. George, I prithee, tell me, must Ralph pay 
 twelve shillings now ? 
 
 Cit. No, Nell, no ; nothing but the old knight is merry 
 with Ralph. 
 
 Wife. Oh, is't nothing else? Ralph will be as merry as he.] 
 
 Ralph. Sir Knight, this mirth of yours becomes you 
 
 well ; 
 
 But, to requite this liberal courtesy, 
 If any of your squires will follow arms, 
 He shall receive from my heroic hand 
 A knighthood, by the virtue of this Pestle. 
 
 Host. Fair knight, I thank you for your noble offer : 
 Therefore, gentle knight, 
 Twelve shillings you must pay, or I must cap you.
 
 SC. ii.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 429 
 
 [ Wife. Look, George ! did not I tell thee as much ? 
 the knight of the Bell is in earnest. Ralph shall not be 
 beholding ' to him : give him his money, George, and let 
 him go snick up. 2 
 
 Cit. Cap Ralph ! no. Hold your hand, Sir Knight of 
 the Bell ; there's your money [gives money] : have you 
 any thing to say to Ralph now ? Cap Ralph ! 
 
 Wife. I would you should know it, Ralph has friends 
 that will not suffer him to be capt for ten times so much, 
 and ten times to the end of that. Now take thy course, 
 Ralph.] 
 
 Mist. Mer. Come, Michael ; thou and I will go home 
 to thy father ; he hath enough left to keep us a day or 
 two, and we'll set fellows abroad to cry our purse and 
 our casket : shall we, Michael ? 
 
 Mich. Ay, I pray, mother ; in truth my feet are full of 
 chilblains with travelling. 
 
 [ Wife. Faith, and those chilblains are a foul trouble. 
 Mistress Merrythought, when your youth comes home, 
 let him rub all the soles of his feet, and his heels, and his 
 ancles, with a mouse-skin ; or, if none of your people can 
 catch a mouse, when he goes to bed, let him roll his feet 
 in the warm embers, and, I warrant you, he shall be 
 well ; and you may make him put his fingers between his 
 toes, and smell to them ; it's very sovereign for his head, 
 if he be costive.] 
 
 Mist. Mer. Master Knight of the Burning Pestle, my 
 son Michael and I bid you farewell: I thank your 
 worship heartily for your kindness. 
 
 Ralph. Farewell, fair lady, and your tender Squire. 
 If pricking through these deserts, I do hear 
 Of any traitorous knight, who through his guile 
 Hath light upon your casket and your purse, 
 I will despoil him of them, and restore them. 
 
 Mist. Mer. I thank your worship. 
 
 \Exit with MICHAEL. 
 
 1 i.e. Beholden. * i.e. Go hang.
 
 430 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT in. 
 
 Ralph. Dwarf, bear my shield ; squire, elevate my 
 
 lance : 
 And now farewell, you Knight of holy Bell. 
 
 \Cit. Ay, ay, Ralph, all is paid.] 
 
 Ralph. But yet, before I go, speak, worthy knight, 
 If aught you do of sad adventures know, 
 Where errant knight may through his prowess win 
 Eternal fame, and free some gentle souls 
 From endless bonds of steel and lingering pain. 
 
 Host. Sirrah, go to Nick the barber, and bid him 
 prepare himself, as I told you before, quickly. 
 
 Tap. I am gone, sir. \Exit. 
 
 Host. Sir Knight, this wilderness affordeth none 
 But the great venture, where full many a knight 
 Hath tried his prowess, and come off with shame ; 
 And where I would not have you lose your life 
 Against no man, but furious fiend of hell. 
 
 Ralph. Speak on, Sir Knight ; tell what he is and 
 
 where : 
 
 For here I vow, upon my blazing badge, 
 Never to blaze a day in quietness, 
 But bread and water will I only eat, 
 And the green herb and rock shall be my couch, 
 Till I have quelled that man, or beast, or fiend, 
 That works such damage to all errant knights. 
 
 Host. Not far from hence, near to a craggy cliff, 
 At the north end of this distressed town, 
 There doth stand a lowly house, 
 Ruggedly builded, and in it a cave 
 In which an ugly giant now doth won, 1 
 Ycleped Barbarossa : in his hand 
 He shakes a naked lance of purest steel, 
 With sleeves turned up ; and him before he wears 
 A motley garment, to preserve his clothes 
 From blood of those knights which he massacres 
 And ladies gent : 2 without his door doth hang 
 
 1 Dwell. 2 Pretty ; courteous ; noble.
 
 sc. II.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 431 
 
 A copper basin on a prickant spear ; 
 At which no sooner gentle knights can knock, 
 But the shrill sound fierce Barbarossa hears, 
 And rushing forth, brings in the errant knight, 
 And sets him down in an enchanted chair ; 
 Then with an engine, which he hath prepared, 
 With forty teeth, he claws his courtly crown ; 
 Next makes him wink, and underneath his chin 
 He plants a brazen piece of mighty bord, 1 
 And knocks his bullets round about his cheeks ; 
 Whilst with his fingers, and an instrument 
 With which he snaps his hair off, he doth fill 
 The wretch's ears with a most hideous noise : 
 Thus every knight-adventurer he doth trim, 
 And now no creature dares encounter him. 
 
 Ralph. In God's name, I will fight with him. Kind sir, 
 Go but before me to this dismal cave, 
 Where this huge giant Barbarossa dwells, 
 And, by that virtue that brave Rosicleer 
 That damned brood of ugly giants slew, 
 And Palmerin Frannarco overthrew, 
 I doubt not but to curb this traitor foul, 
 And to the devil send his guilty soul. 
 
 Host. Brave-sprighted knight, thus far I will perform 
 This your request ; I'll bring you within sight 
 Of this most loathsome place, inhabited 
 By a more loathsome man ; but dare not stay, 
 For his main force swoops all he sees away. 
 
 Ralph. Saint George, set on before ! march squire and 
 page ! \Exeunt. 
 
 [ Wife. George, dost think Ralph will confound the 
 giant ? 
 
 Cit. I hold my cap to a farthing he does : why, Nell, I 
 
 saw him wrestle with the great Dutchman, and hurl him. 
 
 Wife. Faith, and that Dutchman was a goodly man, if 
 
 all things were answerable to his bigness. And yet they 
 
 1 Circumference,
 
 43? KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT HI. 
 
 say there was a Scotchman higher than he, and that they 
 two and a knight met, and saw one another for nothing. 
 But of all the sights that ever were in London, since I 
 was married, methinks the little child that was so fair 
 grown about the members was the prettiest ; that and the 
 hermaphrodite. 
 
 Cit. Nay, by your leave, Nell, Ninivie l was better. 
 
 Wife. Ninivie ! oh, that was the story of Jone and the 
 wall, 2 was it not, George ? 
 
 Cit. Yes, lamb.] 
 
 
 SCENE III. The Street before MERRYTHOUGHT'S House. 
 
 Enter Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT. 
 
 \_Wife. Look, George, here comes mistress Merry- 
 thought again ! and I would have Ralph come and fight 
 with the giant ; I tell you true, I long to see't. 
 
 Cit. Good Mistress Merrythought, begone, I pray you, 
 for my sake ; I pray you, forbear a little ; you shall have 
 audience presently ; I have a little business. 
 
 Wife. Mistress Merrythought, if it please you to refrain 
 your passion a little, till Ralph have despatched the giant 
 out of the way, we shall think ourselves much bound to 
 you. \Exit Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT.] I thank you, good 
 Mistress Merrythought. 
 
 Cit. Boy, come hither. [Enter Boy.] Send away Ralph 
 and this whoreson giant quickly. 
 
 Boy. In good faith, sir, we cannot ; you'll utterly spoil 
 our play, and make it to be hissed ; and it cost money ; 
 you will not suffer us to go on with our plot. I pray, 
 gentlemen, rule him. 
 
 Cit. Let him come now and despatch this, and I'll 
 trouble you no more. 
 
 1 i.e. The puppet-show of Nineveh. - Jonah and the whale.
 
 sc. iv.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 433 
 
 Boy. Will you give me your hand of that ? 
 
 Wife. Give him thy hand, George, do ; and I'll kiss 
 him. I warrant thee, the youth means plainly. 
 
 Boy. I'll send him to you presently. 
 
 Wife. [Kissing him.~\ I thank you, little youth. [Exit 
 Boy.] Faith, the child hath a sweet breath, George ; but I 
 think it be troubled with the worms ; carduus benedictus 
 and mare's milk were the only thing in the world for't. 
 
 SCENE IV. Before a Barber's Shop, Waltham. 
 Enter RALPH, HOST, TIM, and GEORGE. 
 
 Wife. Oh, Ralph's here, George ! God send thee 
 good luck, Ralph !] 
 
 Host. Puissant knight, yonder his mansion is. 
 Lo, where the spear and copper basin are ! 
 Behold that string, on which hangs many a tooth, 
 Drawn from the gentle jaw of wandering knights ! 
 I dare not stay to sound ; he will appear. [Exit. 
 
 Ralph. Oh, faint not, heart ! Susan, my lady dear, 
 The cobbler's maid in Milk-street, for whose sake 
 I take these arms, oh, let the thought of thee 
 Carry thy knight through all adventurous deeds ; 
 And, in the honour of thy beauteous self, 
 May I destroy this monster Barbarossa ! 
 Knock, squire, upon the basin, till it break 
 With the shrill strokes, or till the giant speak. 
 
 [TiM knocks upon the basin. 
 
 Enter Barber. 
 
 [ Wife. Oh, George, the giant, the giant ! Now, Ralph, 
 for thy life !] 
 
 Bar. What fond ' unknowing wight is this, that dares 
 So rudely knock at Barbarossa's cell, 
 Where no man comes but leaves his fleece behind ? 
 
 1 Foolish. 
 Beau. & F. i. K F
 
 434 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT in. 
 
 Ralph. I, traitorous caitiff, who am sent by fate 
 To punish all the sad enormities 
 Thou hast committed against ladies gent 
 And errant knights. Traitor to God and men, 
 Prepare thyself ; this is the dismal hour 
 Appointed for thee to give strict account 
 Of all thy beastly treacherous villanies. 
 
 Bar. Fool-hardy knight, full soon thou shalt aby 
 This fond reproach : thy body will I bang ; 
 
 [ Takes down his pole. 
 
 And, lo, upon that string thy teeth shall hang ! 
 Prepare thyself, for dead soon shalt thou be. 
 
 Ralph. Saint George for me ! {They fight. 
 
 Bar. Gargantua for me ! 
 
 [ Wife. To him, Ralph, to him ! hold up the giant ; 
 set out thy leg before, Ralph ! 
 
 Cit. Falsify a blow, Ralph, falsify a blow ! the giant 
 lies open on the left side. 
 
 Wife. Bear't off, bear't off still ! there, boy ! 
 Oh, Ralph's almost down, Ralph's almost down !] 
 
 Ralph. Susan, inspire me ! now have up again. 
 
 [ Wife. Up, up, up, up, up ! so, Ralph ! down with 
 him, down with him, Ralph ! 
 
 Cit. Fetch him o'er the hip, boy ! 
 
 [RALPH knocks down the Barber. 
 
 Wife. There, boy ! kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, Ralph ! 
 
 Cit. No, Ralph ; get all out of him first.] 
 
 Ralph. Presumptuous man, see to what desperate end 
 Thy treachery hath brought thee ! The just gods, 
 Who never prosper those that do despise them, 
 For all the villainies which thou hast done 
 To knights and ladies, now have paid thee home 
 By my stiff arm, a knight adventurous. 
 But say, vile wretch, before I send thy soul 
 To sad Avernus, (whither it must go) 
 What captives holdst thou in thy sable cave ? 
 
 Bar. Go in, and free them all; thou hast the day.
 
 sc. IV.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 435 
 
 Ralph. Go, squire and dwarf, search in this dreadful cave, 
 And free the wretched prisoners from their bonds. 
 
 [Exeunt TIM and GEORGE. 
 Bar. I crave for mercy, as thou art a knight, 
 And scorn'st to spill the blood of those that beg. 
 
 Ralph. Thou show'd'st no mercy, nor shall thou have 
 
 any; 
 Prepare thyself, for thou shalt surely die. 
 
 Re-enter TIM leading a Man winking, with a Basin 
 under his Chin. 
 
 Tim. Behold, brave knight, here is one prisoner, 
 Whom this vile man hath used as you see. 
 
 [ Wife, This is the first wise word I heard the squire 
 speak.] 
 
 Ralph. Speak what thou art, and how thou hast been 
 
 used, 
 That I may give him condign punishment. 
 
 Man. I am a knight that took my journey post 
 Northward from London ; and in courteous wise 
 This giant trained me to his loathsome den, 
 Under pretence of killing of the itch ; 
 And all my body with a powder strewed, 
 That smarts and stings ; and cut away my beard, 
 And my curled locks wherein were ribands tied ' ; 
 And with a water washed my tender eyes, 
 (Whilst up and down about me still he skipt,) 
 Whose virtue is, that, till my eyes be wiped 
 With a dry cloth, for this my foul disgrace, 
 I shall not dare to look a dog i' the face. 2 
 
 [ Wife. Alas, poor knight ! Relieve him, Ralph ; re- 
 lieve poor knights, whilst you live.] 
 
 Ralph. My trusty squire, convey him to the town, 
 Where he may find relief. Adieu, fair knight. 
 
 [Exeunt Man with TIM, who presently re-enters. 
 
 1 A habit with the gallants of the time. 
 
 2 It must be remembered that barbers were also surgeons. 
 
 F F 2
 
 436 KNIGH7 OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT in. 
 
 Re-enter GEORGE, leading a second Man, with a patch 
 over his nose. 
 
 George. Puissant Knight, of the Burning Pestle hight, 
 See here another wretch, whom this foul beast 
 Hath scotched and scored in this inhuman wise. 
 
 Ralph. Speak me thy name, and eke thy place of 
 
 birth, 
 And what hath been thy usage in this cave. 
 
 2nd Man. I am a knight, Sir Pockhole is my name, 
 And by my birth I am a Londoner, 
 Free by my copy, but my ancestors 
 Were Frenchmen all ; and riding hard this way 
 Upon a trotting horse, my bones did ache ; 
 And I, faint knight, to ease my weary limbs, 
 Light at this cave ; when straight this furious fiend, 
 With sharpest instrument of purest steel, 
 Did cut the gristle of my nose away, 
 And in the place this velvet plaster stands : 
 Relieve me, gentle knight, out of his hands ! 
 
 [ Wife. Good Ralph, relieve Sir Pockhole, and send 
 him away ; for in truth his breath stinks.] 
 
 Ralph. Convey him straight after the other knight. 
 Sir Pockhole, fare you well. 
 
 2nd Man, Kind sir, good night. 
 
 [Exit with GEORGE, who presently re-enters. 
 
 yd Man \within\. Deliver us ! \Crieswithin. 
 
 Woman \within\ Deliver us ! 
 
 [ Wife. Hark, George, what a woeful cry there is ! I 
 think some woman lies-in there.] 
 
 yd Man \withiri\. Deliver us ! 
 
 Women \withiti\. Deliver us ! 
 
 Ralph. What ghastly noise is this ? Speak, Barba- 
 
 rossa, 
 Or, by this blazing steel, thy head goes off ! 
 
 Bar. Prisoners of mine, whom I in diet keep. 
 Send lower down into the cavs,
 
 SC. IV.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 437 
 
 And in a tub that's heated smoking hot, 
 There may they find them, and deliver them. 
 
 Ralph. Run, squire and dwarf; deliver them with 
 speed. [Exeunt TIM and GEORGE. 
 
 [ Wife. But will not Ralph kill this giant ? Surely I am 
 afraid, if he let him go, he will do as much hurt as ever 
 he did. 
 
 Cit. Not so, mouse, neither, if he could convert him. 
 
 Wife. Ay, George, if he could convert him ; but a 
 giant is not so soon converted as one of us ordinary peo- 
 ple. There's a pretty tale of a witch, that had the devil's 
 mark about her, (God bless us !) that had a giant to her 
 son, that was called Lob-lie-by-the-fire ; didst never hear 
 it, George? 
 
 Cit. Peace, NeSl, here comes the prisoners.] 
 
 Re-enter TIM, leading a third Man, with a glass of lotion 
 in his hand, and GEORGE leading a Woman, with 
 diet-bread and drink in her hand. 
 
 George. Here be these pined wretches, manful knight, 
 That for this six weeks have not seen a wight. 
 
 Ralph. Deliver what you are, and how you came 
 To this sad cave, and what your usage was ? 
 
 yd Man. I am an errant knight that followed arms 
 With spear and shield ; and in my tender years 
 I stricken was with Cupid's fiery shaft, 
 And fell in love with this my lady dear, 
 And stole her from her friends in Turnbull-street, 1 
 And bore her up and down from town to town, 
 Where we did eat and drink, and music hear ; 
 Till at the length at this unhappy town 
 We did arrive, and coming to this cave, 
 This beast us caught, and put us in a tub, 
 Where we this two months sweat, and should have done 
 Another month, if you had not relieved us. 2 
 
 1 The resort of prostitutes and low characters. 
 This was a common method of treating syphilis.
 
 438 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT in. 
 
 Woman. This bread and water hath our diet been, 
 Together with a rib cut from a neck 
 Of burned mutton ; hard hath been our fare : 
 Release us from this ugly giant's snare ! 
 
 yd Man. This hath been all the food we have re- 
 ceived ; 
 
 But only twice a-day, for novelty, 
 He gave a spoonful of this hearty broth 
 To each of us, through this same slender quill. 
 
 \Pulls out a syringe. 
 
 Ralph. From this infernal monster you shall go, 
 That useth knights and gentle ladies so ! 
 Convey them hence. 
 
 [3rd Man and Woman are led off by TIM and 
 GEORGE, who presently re-enfer. 
 
 \Cit. Cony, I can tell thee, the gentlemen like Ralph. 
 
 Wife. Ay, George, I see it well enough. Gentlemen, 
 I thank you all heartily for gracing my man Ralph ; and 
 I promise you, you shall see him oftener.] 
 
 Bar. Mercy, great knight ! I do recant my ill, 
 And henceforth never gentle blood will spill. 
 
 Ralph. I give thee mercy ; but yet shalt thou swear 
 Upon my Burning Pestle, to perform 
 Thy promised uttered. 
 
 Bar. I swear and kiss. \Kisses the Pestle. 
 
 Ralph. Depart, then, and amend. [Exit Barber. 
 Come, squire and dwarf ; the sun grows towards his set, 
 And we have many more adventures yet. [Exeunt. 
 
 [Cit. Now Ralph is in this humour, I know he would 
 ha' beaten all the boys in the house, if they had been set 
 on him. 
 
 Wife. Ay, George, but it is well as it is : I warrant 
 you, the gentlemen do consider what it is to overthrow a 
 giant.]
 
 SC. v.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 439 
 
 SCENE V.The Street bejore MERRYTHOUGHT'S House. 
 
 Enter Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL. 
 
 [ Wife. But, look, George ; here comes Mistress Merry- 
 thought, and her son Michael. Now you are welcome, 
 Mistress Merrythought ; now Ralph has done, you may 
 go on.] 
 
 Mist. Mer. Mick, my boy 
 
 Mich. Ay, forsooth, mother. 
 
 Mist. Mer. Be merry, Mick ; we are at home now ; 
 where, I warrant you, you shall find the house flung out 
 of the windows. [Music within.] Hark ! hey, dogs, hey ! 
 this is the old world, i' faith, with my husband. If I get 
 in among them, I'll play them such a lesson, that they 
 shall have little list to come scraping hither again Why, 
 Master Merrythought ! husband ! Charles Merrythought ! 
 
 Mer. [Appearing above, and singing] 
 
 If you will sing, and dance, and laugh, 
 
 And hollow, and laugh again, 
 And then cry, " there, boys, there ! " why, then, 
 
 One, two, three, and four, 
 
 We shall be merry within this hour. 
 
 Mist. Mer. Why, Charles, do you not know your own 
 natural wife? I say, open the door, and turn me out 
 those mangy companions ; 'tis more than time that they 
 were fellow and fellow-like with you. You are a gentle- 
 man, Charles, and an old man, and father of two children ; 
 and I myself, (though I say it) by my mother's side 
 niece to a worshipful gentleman and a conductor ; he 
 has been three times in his majesty's service at Chester, 
 and is now the fourth time, God bless him and his 
 charge, upon his journey. 
 Mer. [Sings.] 
 
 Go from my window, love, go ; 
 
 Go from my window, my dear !
 
 440 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT in. 
 
 The wind and the rain 
 Will drive you back again ; 
 You cannot ;be lodged here. 
 
 Hark you, Mistress Merrythought, you that walk upon 
 adventures, and forsake your husband, because he sings 
 with never a penny in his purse; what, shall I think 
 myself the worse ? Faith, no, I'll be merry. You come 
 not here; here's none but lads of mettle, lives of a 
 hundred years and upwards; care never drunk their 
 bloods, nor want made them warble " Heigh-ho, my 
 heart is heavy." 
 
 Mist. Mer. Why, Master Merrythought, what am I, 
 that you should laugh me to scorn thus abruptly ? am I 
 not your fellow-feeler, as we may say, in all our miseries ? 
 your comforter in health and sickness ? have I not 
 brought you children ? are they not like you, Charles ? 
 look upon thine own image, hard-hearted man ! and yet 
 
 for all this 
 
 Mer. [Stags.] 
 
 Begone, begone, my juggy, my puggy, 
 
 Begone, my love, my dear ! 
 The weather is warm, 
 'Twill do thee no harm : 
 
 Thou canst not be lodged here. 
 
 Be merry, boys ! some light music, and more wine ! 
 
 [Exit abcve. 
 
 [ Wife. He's not in earnest, I hope, George, is he ? 
 
 Cit. What if he be, sweetheart ? 
 
 Wife. Marry, if he be, George, I'll make bold to tell 
 him he's an ingrant old man to use his bed-fellow so 
 scurvily. 
 
 at. What ! how does he use her, honey ? 
 
 Wife. Marry, come up, sir saucebox ! I think you'll 
 take his part, will you not ? Lord, how hot you have 
 grown ! you are a fine man, an' you had a fine dog ; it 
 becomes you sweetly !
 
 C. v.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 441 
 
 Cit. Nay, prithee, Nell, chide not; for, as I am an 
 honest man and a true Christian grocer, I do not like his 
 doings. } 
 
 Wife. I cry you mercy, then, George ! you know we 
 are all frail and full of infirmities. D'ye hear, Master 
 Merrythought ? may I crave a word with you ?] 
 
 Mer. [Appearing above^\ Strike up lively, lads ! 
 
 [Wife. I had not thought, in truth, Master Merry- 
 thought, that a man of your age and discretion, as I may 
 say, being a gentleman, and therefore known by your 
 gentle conditions, 1 could have used so little respect to 
 the weakness of his wife ; for your wife is your own flesh, 
 the staff of your age, your yoke-fellow, with whose help 
 you draw through the mire of this transitory world ; nay, 
 she's your own rib : and again ] 
 
 Mer. [Sings.] 
 
 I come not hither for thee to teach, 
 I have no pulpit for thee to preach, 
 I would thou hadst kissed me under the breech, 
 As thou art a lady gay. 
 
 [ Wife. Marry, with a vengeance ! I am heartily sorry 
 for the poor gentlewoman : but if I were thy wife, i' 
 faith, greybeard, i'faith 
 
 Cit. I prithee, sweet honeysuckle, be content. 
 
 Wife. Give me such words, that am a gentlewoman 
 born ! hang him, hoary rascal ! Get me some drink, 
 George ; I am almost molten with fretting : now, beshrew 
 his knave's heart for it !] [Exit Citizen. 
 
 Mer.. Play me a light lavolta.- Come, be frolic. 
 Fill the good fellows wine. 
 
 Mist. Mer. Why, Master Merrythought, are you dis- 
 posed to make me wait here ? You'll open, I hope ; I'll 
 fetch them that shall open else. 
 
 Mer. Good woman, if you will sing, I'll give you 
 something ; if not 
 
 1 Qualities. " A lively dance.
 
 442 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT in. 
 
 [Sings.] You are no love for me, Margaret, 
 
 I am no love for you. 
 
 Come aloft, boys, aloft ! [Exit above. 
 
 Mist. Mer. Now a churl's fart in your teeth, sir ! 
 Come, Mick, we'll not trouble him ; 'a shall not ding us 
 i' the teeth with his bread and his broth, that he shall 
 not. Come, boy ; I'll provide for thee, I warrant thee. 
 We'll go to Master Venturewell's, the merchant : I'll get 
 his letter to mine host of the Bell in Waltham ; there I'll 
 place thee with the tapster : will not that do well for thee, 
 Mick ? and let me alone for that old cuckoldly knave 
 your father ; I'll use him in his kind, I warrant ye. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Re-enter Citizen with Beer. 
 
 [ Wife. Come, George, where's the beer ? 
 
 Cit. Here, love. 
 
 Wife. This old fornicating fellow will not out of my 
 mind yet. Gentlemen, I'll begin to you all ; and I 
 desire more of your acquaintance with all my heart. 
 \Drinks.~\ Fill the gentlemen some beer, George. \Enter 
 Boy.] Look, George, the little boy's come again : me- 
 thinks he looks something like the Prince of Orange in 
 his long stocking, if he had a little harness l about his 
 neck. George, I will have him dance fading. Fading, 
 is a fine jig, 2 I'll assure you, gentlemen. Begin, brother.. 
 [Boy dances.] Now 'a capers, sweetheart ! Now a turn o" 
 the toe, and then tumble ! cannot you tumble, youth ? 
 
 Boy. No, indeed, forsooth. 
 
 Wife. Nor eat fire ? 
 
 Boy. Neither. 
 
 Wife. Why, then, I thank you heartily ; there's two- 
 pence to buy you points 3 withal.] 
 
 1 Armour. 
 
 2 The dance took its name from the burden of an Irish song, and 
 both were of a licentious description. 
 
 3 Tagged laces used to attach the hose or breeches to the doublet.
 
 ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. A Street. 
 
 Enter JASPER and Boy. 
 
 ASP. There, boy, deliver this; but do it 
 
 well. 
 
 Hast thou provided me four lusty fellows, 
 [Gives a letter. 
 
 Able to carry me? and art thou perfect 
 In all thy business? 
 Boy. Sir, you need not fear ; 
 I have my lesson here, and cannot miss it : 
 The men are ready for you, and what else 
 Pertains to this employment. 
 
 Jasp. There, my boy ; 
 Take it, but buy no land. [Gives money. 
 
 Boy. Faith, sir, 'twere rare 
 To see so young a purchaser. I fly, 
 And on my wings carry your destiny. 
 Jasp. Go, and be happy! [Exit Boy.] Now, my latest 
 
 hope, 
 
 Forsake me not, but fling thy anchor out, 
 And let it hold ! Stand fixed, thou rolling stone, 
 Till I enjoy my dearest ! Hear me, all 
 You powers, that rule in men, celestial ! [Exit. 
 
 Wife. Go thy ways ; thou art as crooked a sprig as 
 ever grew in London. I warrant him, he'll come to 
 some naughty end or other ; for his looks say no less :
 
 444 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PES TLE. [ACT IV. 
 
 besides, his father (you know, George) is none of the 
 best ; you heard him take me up like a flirt-gill, 1 and 
 sing bawdy songs upon me; but, i'faith, if I live, 
 George, 
 
 Cit. Let me alone, sweetheart : I have a trick in my 
 head shall lodge him in the Arches 2 for one year, and 
 make him sing peccavi ere I leave him; and yet he shall 
 never know who hurt him neither. 
 
 Wife. Do, my good George, do ! 
 
 Cit. What shall we have Ralph do now, boy? 
 
 Boy. You shall have what you will, sir. 
 
 Cit. Why, so, sir ; go and fetch me him then, and let 
 the Sophy of Persia come and christen him a child. 3 
 
 Boy. Believe me, sir, that will not do so well ; 'tis 
 stale ; it has been had before at the Red Bull. 4 
 
 Wife. George, let Ralph travel over great hills, and let 
 him be very weary, and come to the King of Cracovia's 
 house, covered with black velvet ; and there let the king's 
 daughter stand in her window, all in beaten gold, comb- 
 ing her golden locks with a comb of ivory ; and let her 
 spy Ralph, and fall in love with him, and come down to 
 him, and carry him into her father's house ; and then let 
 Ralph talk with her. 
 
 Cit. Well said, Nell; it shall be so. Boy, let's ha't 
 done quickly. 
 
 Boy. Sir, if you will imagine all this to be done already, 
 you shall hear them talk together; but we cannot present 
 a house covered with black velvet, and a lady in beaten 
 gold. 
 
 Cit. Sir boy, let's ha't as you can, then. 
 
 Boy. Besides, it will show ill-favoured ly to have a 
 grocer's prentice to court a king's daughter. 
 
 Cit. Will it so, sir? you are well read in histories! I 
 
 1 A loose woman. 
 
 2 The prison of the Court of Arches. 
 
 3 An allusion to an incident in an old play called The Travailes 
 of the Three English Brothers. 
 
 4 A playhouse of the time.
 
 sc. ii.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 445 
 
 pray you, what was Sir Dagonet ? was not he prentice to 
 a grocer in London ? Read the play of " The Four 
 Prentices of London," where they toss their pikes so. 
 I pray you, fetch him in, sir, fetch him in. 
 
 Boy. It shall be done. It is not our fault, gentlemen. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Wife. Now we shall see fine doings, I warrant ye, 
 George.] 
 
 SCENE II. A Hall in the King of Moldavia's Court. 
 
 Enter POMPIONA, RALPH, TIM, and GEORGE. 
 
 [ Wife. Oh, here they come ! how prettily the King of 
 Cracovia's daughter is dressed ! 
 
 Cit. Ay, Nell, it is the fashion of that country, I 
 warrant ye.] 
 
 Pomp. Welcome, Sir Knight, unto my father's court, 
 King of Moldavia ; unto me Pompiona, 
 His daughter dear ! But, sure, you do not like 
 Your entertainment, that will stay with us 
 No longer but a night. 
 
 Ralph. Damsel right fair, 
 I am on many sad adventures bound, 
 That call me forth into the wilderness ; 
 Besides, my horse's back is something galled, 
 Which will enforce me ride a sober pace. 
 But many thanks, fair lady, be to you 
 For using errant knight with courtesy ! 
 
 Pomp. But say, brave knight, what is your name and 
 birth ? 
 
 Ralph. My name is Ralph ; I am an Englishman, 
 (As true as steel, a hearty Englishman,) 
 And prentice to a grocer in the Strand 
 By deed indent, of which I have one part : 
 But fortune calling me to follow arms.
 
 446 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT iv. 
 
 On me this only order I did take 
 
 Of Burning Pestle, which in all men's eyes 
 
 I bear, confounding ladies' enemies. 
 
 Pomp. Oft have I heard of your brave countrymen, 
 And fertile soil and store of wholesome food ; 
 My father oft will tell me of a drink 
 In England found, and nipitato l called, 
 Which driveth all the sorrow from your hearts. 
 
 Ralph. Lady, 'tis true ; you need not lay your lips 
 To better nipitato than there is. 
 
 Pomp. And of a wild fowl he will often speak, 
 Which powdered-beef-and-mustard called is : 
 For there have been great wars 'twixt us and you ; 
 But truly, Ralph, it was not 'long of me. 
 Tell me then, Ralph, could you contented be 
 To wear a lady's favour in your shield ? 
 
 Ralph. I am a knight of a religious order, 
 And will not wear a favour of a lady 
 That trusts in Antichrist and false traditions. 
 
 \_Cit. Well said, Ralph ! convert her, if thou canst.] 
 
 Ralph. Besides, I have a lady of my own 
 In merry England, for whose virtuous sake 
 I took these arms; and Susan is her name, 
 A cobbler's maid in Milk Street ; whom I vow 
 Ne'er to forsake whilst life and Pestle last. 
 
 Pomp. Happy that cobbling dame, whoe'er she be, 
 That for her own, dear Ralph, hath gotten thee ! 
 Unhappy 1, that ne'er shall see the day 
 To see thee more, that bear'st my heart away ! 
 
 Ralph. Lady, farewell ; I needs must take my leave. 
 
 Pomp. Hard-hearted Ralph, that ladies dost deceive ! 
 
 \Cit. Hark thee, Ralph : there's money for thee [Gives 
 money] ; give something in the King of Cracovia's house; 
 be not beholding to him.] 
 
 Ralph. Lady, before I go, I must remember 
 Your father's officers, who truth to tell, 
 
 1 Strong liquor. The term was usually applied to strong ale.
 
 SC. in.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 447 
 
 Have been about me very diligent : 
 
 Hold up thy snowy hand, thou princely maid ! 
 
 There's twelve-pence for your father's chamberlain ; 
 
 And another shilling for his cook, 
 
 For, by my troth, the goose was roasted well ; 
 
 And twelve-pence for your father's horse-keeper, 
 
 For 'nointing my horse-back, and for his butter 
 
 There is another shilling ; to the maid 
 
 That washed my boot-hose there's an English groat 
 
 And two-pence to the boy that wiped my boots ; 
 
 And last, fair lady, there is for yourself 
 
 Three-pence, to buy you pins at Bumbo-fair. 
 
 Pomp. Full many thanks ; and I will keep them safe 
 Till all the heads be off, for thy sake, Ralph. 
 
 Ralph. Advance, my squire and dwarf ! I cannot stay. 
 
 Pomp. Thou kill'st my heart in passing thus away. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 [ Wife. I commend Ralph yet, that he will not stoop to 
 a Cracovian ; there's properer ! women in London than 
 any are there, I-wis. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the House 0/"V*ENTUREWELL. 
 
 Enter VENTUREWELL, HUMPHREY, LUCE, and Boy. 
 
 Wife. But here comes Master Humphrey and his love 
 again now, George. 
 
 Cit. Ay, cony; peace.] 
 
 Vent. Go, get you up ; I will not be entreated ; 
 And, gossip mine, I'll keep you sure hereafter 
 From gadding out again with boys and unthrifts : 
 Come, they are women's tears ; I know your fashion. 
 Go, sirrah, lock her in, and keep the key 
 Safe as you love your life. [Exeunt LUCE and Boy. 
 
 1 Handsomer.
 
 448 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Now, my son Humphrey, 
 You may both rest assured of my love 
 In this, and reap your own desire. 
 
 Hum. I see this love you speak of, through your 
 
 daughter, 
 
 Although the hole be little ; and hereafter 
 Will yield the like in all I may or can, 
 Fitting a Christian and a gentleman. 
 
 Vent. I do believe you, my good son, and thank 
 
 you; 
 For 'twere an impudence to think you flattered. 
 
 Hum. It were, indeed ; but shall I tell you why ? 
 I have been beaten twice about the lie. 
 
 Vent. Well, son, no more of compliment. My 
 
 daughter 
 
 Is yours again : appoint the time and take her ; 
 We'll have no stealing for it ; I myself 
 And some few of our friends will see you married. 
 
 Hum. I would you would, i'faith ! for, be it known, 
 I ever was afraid to lie alone. 
 
 Vent. Some three days hence, then. 
 
 Hum. Three days ! let me see : 
 Tis somewhat of the most ; yet I agree, 
 Because I mean against the appointed day 
 To visit all my friends in new array. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Sir, there's a gentlewoman without would speak 
 with your worship. 
 Vent. What is she ? 
 Serv. Sir, I asked her not 
 Vent. Bid her come in. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Enter Mistress MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL. 
 
 Mist. Mer. Peace be to your worship ! I come as a 
 poor suitor to you, sir, in the behalf of this child. 
 Vent. Are you not wife to Merrythought ?
 
 SC. in.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 449 
 
 Mist. Mer. Yes, truly. Would I had ne'er seen his 
 eyes ! he has undone me and himself and his children ; 
 and there he lives at home, and sings and hoits and 
 revels among his drunken companions ! but, I warrant 
 you, where to get a penny to put bread in his mouth he 
 knows not : and therefore, if it like your worship, I 
 would entreat your letter to the honest host of the Bell in 
 Waltham, that I may place my child under the protection 
 of his tapster, in some settled course of life. 
 
 Vent. I'm glad the heavens have heard my prayers. 
 
 Thy husband, 
 
 When I was ripe in sorrows, laughed at me ; 
 Thy son, like an unthankful wretch, I having 
 Redeemed him from his fall, and made him mine, 
 To show his love again, first stole my daughter, 
 Then wronged this gentleman, and, last of all, 
 Gave me that grief had almost brought me down 
 Unto my grave, had not a stronger hand 
 Relieved my sorrows. Go, and weep as I did, 
 And be unpitied ; for I here profess 
 An everlasting hate to all thy name. 
 
 Mist. Mer. Will you so, sir? how say you by that? 
 Come, Mick ; let him keep his wind to cool his pottage 
 We'll go to thy nurse's, Mick : she knits silk stocking?, 
 boy ; and we'll knit too, boy, and be beholding to none 
 of them all. \Exit with MICHAEL. 
 
 Enter Boy. 
 
 Boy. Sir, I take it you are the master of this house. 
 
 Vent. How then, boy ? 
 
 Boy. Then to yourself, sir, comes this letter. 
 
 [Gives letter. 
 
 Vent. From whom, my pretty boy ? 
 Boy. From him that was your servant ; but no more 
 Shall that name ever be, for he is dead : 
 Grief of your purchased anger broke his heart. 
 I saw him die, and from his hand received 
 
 Beau. & F. i. G G
 
 450 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT iv, 
 
 This paper, with a charge to bring it hither : 
 Read it, and satisfy yourself in all. 
 
 Vent. \Reads.~\ Sir, that I have wronged your love I 
 must confess; in which I have purchased to myself, be- 
 sides mine own undoing, the ill opinion of my friends. 
 Let not your anger, good sir, outlive me, but suffer me to 
 rest in peace with your forgiveness : let my body (if a 
 dying man may so much prevail with you) be brought to 
 your daughter, that she may truly know my hot flames 
 are now buried, and withal receive a testimony of the 
 zeal I bore her virtue. Farewell for ever, and be ever 
 happy ! JASPER. 
 
 God's hand is great in this : I do forgive him ; 
 Yet I am glad he's quiet, where I hope 
 He will not bite again. Boy, bring the body, 
 And let him have his will, if that be all. 
 
 Boy. 'Tis here without, sir. 
 
 Vent. So, sir ; if you please, 
 You may conduct it in ; I do not fear it. 
 
 Hum. I'll be your usher, boy ; for, though I say it, 
 He owed me something once, and well did pay it. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. Another Room in the House of 
 VENTUREWELL. 
 
 Enter LUCE. 
 
 Luce. If there be any punishment inflicted 
 Upon the miserable, more than yet I feel, 
 Let it together seize me, and at once 
 Press down my soul ! I cannot bear the pain 
 Of these delaying tortures. Thou that art 
 The end of all, and the sweet rest of all, 
 Come, come, oh, Death ! bring me to thy peace, 
 And blot out all the memory I nourish
 
 SC. iv.j KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 451 
 
 Both of my father and my cruel friend ! 
 Oh, wretched maid, still living to be wretched, 
 To be a say to Fortune in her changes, 
 And grow to number times and woes together ! 
 How happy had I been, if, being born, 
 My grave had been my cradle ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. By your leave, 
 
 Young mistress ; here's a boy hath brought a coffin : 
 What 'a would say, I know not ; but your father 
 Charged me to give you notice. Here they come. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Boy, and two Men bearing a Coffin. 
 
 Luce. For me I hope 'tis come, and 'tis most welcome. 
 
 Boy. Fair mistress, let me not add greater grief 
 To that great store you have already. Jasper 
 (That whilst he lived was yours, now dead 
 And here enclosed) commanded me to bring 
 His body hither, and to crave a tear 
 From those fair eyes, (though he deserved not pity,) 
 To deck his funeral ; for so he bid me 
 Tell her for whom he died. 
 
 Luce. He shall have many. 
 Good friends, depart a little, whilst I take 
 My leave of this dead man, that once I loved. 
 
 \Exennt Boy and Men. 
 Hold yet a little, life ! and then I give thee 
 To thy first heavenly being. Oh, my friend ! 
 Hast thou deceived me thus, and got before me ? 
 I shall not long be after. But, believe me, 
 Thou wert too cruel, Jasper, 'gainst thyself, 
 In punishing the fault I could have pardoned, 
 With so untimely death : thou didst not wrong me, 
 But ever wert most kind, most true, most loving ; 
 And I the most unkind, most false, most cruel ! 
 Didst thou but ask a tear ? I'll give thee all, 
 
 c G 2
 
 452 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Even all my eyes can pour down, all my sighs, 
 
 And all myself, before thou goest from me : 
 
 These are but sparing rites ; but if thy soul 
 
 Be yet about this place, and can behold 
 
 And see what I prepare to deck thee with, 
 
 It shall go up, borne on the wings of peace, 
 
 And satisfied. First will I sing thy dirge, 
 
 Then kiss thy pale lips, and then die myself, 
 
 And fill one coffin and one grave together. \_Sings. 
 
 Come, you whose loves are dead, 
 
 And, whiles I sing, 
 
 Weep, and wring 
 Every hand, and every head 
 Bind with cypress and sad yew ; 
 Ribands black and candles blue 
 For him that was of men most true ! 
 
 Come with heavy moaning, 
 
 And on his grave 
 
 Let him have 
 
 Sacrifice of sighs and groaning ; 
 Let him have fair flowers enow, 
 White and purple, green and yellow, 
 For him that was of men most true ! 
 
 Thou sable cloth, sad cover of my joys, 
 I lift thee up, and thus I meet with death. 
 
 \Removestke Cloth, and JASPER rises out of the 
 Coffin. 
 
 Jasp. And thus you meet the living. 
 
 Luce. Save me, Heaven ! 
 
 Jasp. Nay, do not fly me, fair ; I am no spirit : 
 Look better on me ; do you know me yet ? 
 
 Luce. Oh, thou dear shadow of my friend ! 
 
 Jasp. Dear substance, 
 I swear I am no shadow ; feel my hand, 
 It is the same it was ; I am your Jasper, 
 Your Jasper that's yet living, and yet loving.
 
 SC. iv.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE, 453 
 
 Pardon my rash attempt, my foolish proof 
 
 I put in practice of your constancy ; 
 
 For sooner should my sword have drunk my blood, 
 
 And set my soul at liberty, than drawn 
 
 The least drop from that body : for which boldness 
 
 Doom me to any thing ; if death, I take it, 
 
 And willingly. 
 
 Luce. This death I'll give you for it ; [Kisses him. 
 
 So, now I am satisfied you are no spirit, 
 But my own truest, truest, truest friend : 
 Why do you come thus to me ? 
 
 Jasp. First, to see you ; 
 Then to convey you hence. 
 
 Luce. It cannot be ; 
 
 For I am locked up here, and watched at all hours, 
 That 'tis impossible for me to scape. 
 
 Jasp. Nothing more possible. Within this coffin 
 Do you convey yourself : let me alone, 
 I have the wits of twenty men about me ; 
 Only I crave the shelter of your closet 
 A little, and then fear me not. 1 Creep in, 
 That they may presently convey you hence : 
 Fear nothing, dearest love ; I'll be your second ; 
 
 [LucE lies down in the Coffin, and JASPER covers 
 
 her with the doth. 
 Lie close ; so ; all goes well yet. Boy ! 
 
 Re-enter Boy and Men. 
 
 Boy. At hand, sir. 
 
 Jasp. Convey away the coffin, and be wary. 
 Boy. 'Tis done already. [Exeunt Men with the Coffin. 
 Jasp. Now must I go conjure. [Exit into a Closet- 
 Enter VENTUREWELL. 
 Vent. Boy, boy ! 
 Boy. Your servant, sir. 
 
 1 i.e. Fear not for me.
 
 454 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Vent. Do me this kindness, boy ; (hold, here's a crown;) 
 Before thou bury the body of this fellow, 
 Carry it to his old merry father, and salute him 
 From me, and bid him sing ; he hath cause. 
 
 Boy. I will, sir. 
 
 Vent. And then bring me word what tune he is in, 
 And have another crown ; but do it truly. 
 I have fitted him a bargain now will vex him. 
 
 Boy. God bless your worship's health, sir ! 
 
 Vent. Farewell, boy ! \_Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE V. A Street before MERRYTHOUGHT'S House. 
 
 Enter MERRYTHOUGHT. 
 
 [ Wife. Ah, old Merrythought, art thou there again ? 
 let's hear some of thy songs.] 
 
 Mer. [Sings.'] 
 
 Who can sing a merrier note 
 Than he that cannot change a groat ? 
 Not a denier left, and yet my heart leaps : I do wonder 
 yet, as old as I am, that any man will follow a trade, or 
 serve, that may sing and laugh, and walk the streets. 
 My wife and both my sons are I know not where ; I have 
 nothing left, nor know I how to come by meat to supper ; 
 yet am I merry still, for I know I shall find it upon the 
 table at six o'clock ; therefore, hang thought ! [Sings. 
 
 I would not be a serving-man 
 
 To carry the cloak-bag still, 
 Nor would I be a falconer 
 
 The greedy hawks to fill ; 
 But I would be in a good house, 
 
 And have a good master too ; 
 But I would eat and drink of the best, 
 
 And no work would I do.
 
 SC. v.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 455 
 
 This is it that keeps life and soul together, mirth ; this is 
 the philosopher's stone that they write so much on, that 
 keeps a man ever young. 
 
 Enter Boy. 
 
 Boy. Sir, they say they know all your money is gone, 
 and they will trust you for no more drink. 
 
 Mer. Will they not ? let 'em choose ! The best is, I 
 have mirth at home, and need not send abroad for that ; 
 let them keep their drink to themselves. [Sings. 
 
 For Jillian of Berry, she dwells on a hill, 
 And she hath good beer and ale to sell, 
 And of good fellows she thinks no ill ; 
 
 And thither will we go now, now, now, 
 
 And thither will we go now. 
 
 And when you have made a little stay, 
 
 You need not ask what is to pay, 
 
 But kiss your hostess, and go your way ; 
 
 And thither will we go now, now, now, 
 
 And thither will we go now. 
 
 Enter another Boy. 
 
 2nd Boy. Sir, I can get no bread for supper. 
 
 Mer. Hang bread and supper ! let's preserve our 
 mirth, and we shall never feel hunger, I'll warrant you. 
 Let's have a catch, boys; follow me, come. [T/iey sing. 
 
 Ho, ho, nobody at home ! 
 Meat, nor drink, nor money ha' we none. 
 Fill the pot, Eedy, 
 Never more need I. 
 
 Mer. So, boys ; enough. Follow me : Let's change 
 our place, and we shall laugh afresh. [Exeunt. 
 
 [ Wife. Let him go, George ; 'a shall not have any 
 countenance from us, nor a good word from any i' the 
 company, if I may strike stroke in't.
 
 456 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT iv. 
 
 Cit. No more 'a sha'not, love. But, Nell, I will have 
 Ralph do a very notable matter now, to the eternal 
 honour and glory of all grocers. Sirrah ! you there, 
 boy ! Can none of you hear ? 
 
 Enter Boy. 
 
 Boy. Sir, your pleasure ? 
 
 Cit. Let Ralph come out on May-day in the morning, 
 and speak upon a conduit, with all his scarfs about him, 
 and his feathers, and his rings, and his knacks. 
 
 Boy. Why, sir, you do not think of our plot ; what will 
 become of that, then? 
 
 Cit. Why, sir, I care not what become on't : I'll have 
 him come out, or I'll fetch him out myself; I'll have 
 something done in honour of the city : besides, he hath 
 been long enough upon adventures. Bring him out 
 quickly ; or, if I come in amongst you 
 
 Boy. Well, sir, he shall come out ; but if our play mis- 
 carry, sir, you are like to pay for't. 
 
 Cit. Bring him away then ! [Exit Boy. 
 
 Wife. This will be brave, i'faith ! George, shall not he 
 dance the morris too, for the credit of the Strand ? 
 
 Cit. No, sweetheart, it will be too much for the boy. 
 Oh, there he is, Nell ! he's reasonable well in reparel : 
 but he has not rings enough.] 
 
 Enter RALPH, dressed as a May-lord. 
 
 Ralph. London, to thee I do present the merry month 
 
 of May ; 
 Let each true subject be content to hear me what 
 
 I say : 
 For from the top of conduit-head, as plainly may 
 
 appear, 
 I will both tell my name to you, and wherefore I came 
 
 here. 
 
 My name is Ralph, by due descent though not ignoble I 
 Yet far inferior to the stock of gracious grocery ;
 
 SC. v.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 457 
 
 And by the common counsel of my fellows in the 
 
 Strand, 
 With gilded staff and crossed scarf, the May-lord here I 
 
 stand. 
 Rejoice, oh, English hearts, rejoice ! rejoice, oh, lovers 
 
 dear ! 
 Rejoice, oh, city, town, and country ! rejoice, eke every 
 
 shire ! 
 For now the fragrant flowers do spring and sprout in 
 
 seemly sort, 
 The little birds do sit and sing, the lambs do make fine 
 
 sport ; 
 And now the birchen-tree doth bud, that makes the 
 
 schoolboy cry ; 
 The morris rings, while hobby-horse doth foot it 
 
 feateously ; 
 The lords and ladies now abroad, for their disport and 
 
 _ play, 
 Do kiss sometimes upon the grass, and sometimes in the 
 
 hay; 
 Now butter with a leaf of sage is good to purge the 
 
 blood ; 
 
 Fly Venus and phlebotomy, for they are neither good ; 
 Now little fish on tender stone begin to cast their bellies, 
 And sluggish snails, that erst were mewed, 1 do creep out 
 
 of their shellies ; 
 The rumbling rivers now do warm, for little boys to 
 
 paddle ; 
 The sturdy steed now goes to grass, and up they hang his 
 
 saddle ; 
 The heavy hart, the bellowing buck, the rascal, 2 and the 
 
 pricket, 3 
 Are now among the yeoman's peas, and leave the fearful 
 
 thicket : 
 
 1 Shut up, confined. 
 
 2 A lean deer, fit neither to hunt nor kill. 
 
 3 A buck in his second year.
 
 458 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT iv. 
 
 And be like them, oh, you, I say, of this same noble 
 
 town, 
 And lift aloft your velvet heads, and slipping off your 
 
 gown, 
 With bells on legs, and napkins clean unto your shoulders 
 
 tied, 1 
 With scarfs and garters as you please, and " Hey for our 
 
 town ! " cried. 
 March out, and show your willing minds, by twenty and 
 
 by twenty, 
 To Hogsdon 2 or to Newington, where ale and cakes are 
 
 plenty; 
 And let it ne'er be said for shame, that we the youths of 
 
 London 
 Lay thrumming of our caps at home, and left our custom 
 
 undone. 
 Up, then, I say, both young and old, both man and maid 
 
 a-maying, 
 With drums, and guns that bounce aloud, and merry 
 
 tabor playing ! 
 Which to prolong, God save our king,, and send his 
 
 country peace, 
 And root out treason from the land ! and so, my friends, 
 
 I cease. [Exit. 
 
 1 Part of the morris-dancer's attire. 2 Hoxton.
 
 ACT THE FIFTH. 
 SCENE I. A Room in the House of VENTUREWELL. 
 
 Enter VENTUREWELL. 
 
 ENT. I will have no great store of com- 
 pany at the wedding ; a couple of neigh- 
 bours and their wives ; and we will have 
 a capon in stewed broth, with marrow, 
 and a good piece of beef stuck with 
 rosemary. 
 
 Enter JASPER, wth his Face mealed. 
 
 Jasp. Forbear thy pains, fond l man ! it is too late. 
 Vent. Heaven bless me ! Jasper ! 
 
 Jasp. Ay, I am his ghost, 
 Whom thou hast injured for his constant love ; 
 Fond worldly wretch ! who dost not understand 
 In death that true hearts cannot parted be. 
 First know, thy daughter is quite borne away 
 On wings of angels, through the liquid air, 
 To far out of thy reach, and never more 
 Shalt thou behold her face : but she and I 
 Will in another world enjoy our loves ; 
 Where neither father's anger, poverty, 
 Nor any cross that troubles earthly men, 
 Shall make us sever our united hearts. 
 And never shall thou sit or be alone 
 
 1 Foolish.
 
 460 KNIGHT OF TflE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT v. 
 
 In any place, but I will visit thee 
 
 With ghastly looks, and put into thy mind 
 
 The great offences which thou didst to me : 
 
 When thou art at thy table with thy friends, 
 
 Merry in heart, and filled with swelling wine, 
 
 I'll come in midst of all thy pride and mirth, 
 
 Invisible to all men but thyself, 
 
 And whisper such a sad tale in thine ear 
 
 Shall make thee let the cup fall from thy hand, 
 
 And stand as mute and pale as death itself. 
 
 Vent. Forgive me, Jasper ! Oh, what might I do, 
 Tell me, to satisfy thy troubled ghost ? 
 
 Jasp. There is no means; too late thou think'st of 
 
 this. 
 Vent. But tell me what were best for me to do ? 
 
 Jasp. Repent thy deed, and satisfy my father, 
 And beat fond Humphrey out of thy doors. [Exit. 
 
 [ Wife. Look, George ; his very ghost would have folks 
 beaten.] 
 
 Enter HUMPHREY. 
 
 Hum. Father, my bride is gone, fair Mistress Luce : 
 My soul's the fount of vengeance, mischief's sluice. 
 
 Vent. Hence, fool, out of my sight with thy fond 
 
 passion ! 
 Thou hast undone me. [Beats him. 
 
 Hum. Hold, my father dear, 
 For Luce thy daughter's sake, that had no peer ! 
 
 Vent. Thy father, fool ! there's some blows more ; be- 
 gone. [Beats him. 
 Jasper, I hope thy ghost be well appeased 
 To see thy will performed. Now will I go 
 To satisfy thy father for thy wrongs. [Aside and exit. 
 
 Hum. What shall I do ? I have been beaten twice, 
 And Mistress Luce is gone. Help me, device ! 
 Since my true-love is gone, I never more, 
 Whilst I do live, upon the sky will pore ;
 
 SC. I.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 461 
 
 But in the dark will wear out my shoe-soles 
 
 In passion l in Saint Faith's church under Paul's. [Exit. 
 
 [ Wife. George, call Ralph hither ; if you love me, call 
 Ralph hither : I have the bravest thing for him to do, 
 George ; prithee, call him quickly. 
 
 Cit. Ralph ! why, Ralph, boy ! 
 
 Enter RALPH. 
 
 Ralph. Here, sir. 
 
 Cit. Come hither, Ralph ; come to thy mistress, boy. 
 
 Wife. Ralph, I would have thee call all the youths 
 together in battle-ray, with drums, and guns, and flags, 
 and march to Mile-End in pompous fashion, and there 
 exhort your soldiers to be merry and wise, and to keep 
 their beards from burning, Ralph ; and then skirmish, 
 and let your flags fly, and cry, " Kill, kill, kill ! " My 
 husband shall lend you his jerkin, Ralph, and there's a 
 scarf; for the rest, the house shall furnish you, and we'll 
 pay for't. Do it bravely, Ralph ; and think before whom 
 you perform, and what person you represent. 
 
 Ralph. I warrant you, mistress ; if I do it not, for the 
 honour of the city and the credit of my master, let me 
 never hope for freedom ! 
 
 Wife. 'Tis well spoken, i'faith. Go thy ways ; thou art 
 a spark indeed. 
 
 Cit. Ralph, Ralph, double your files bravely, Ralph \ 
 
 Ralph. I warrant you, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Cit. Let him look narrowly to his service ; I shall take 
 him else. I was there myself a pikeman once, in the 
 hottest of the day, wench ; had my feather shot sheer 
 away, the fringe of my pike burnt off with powder, my 
 pate broken with a scouring-stick, and yet, I thank God, 
 I am here. [Drums within. 
 
 Wife. Hark, George, the drums ! 
 
 Cit. Ran, tan, tan, tan, tan, tan ! Oh, wench, an thou 
 hadst but seen little Ned of Aldgate, Drum-Ned, how he 
 
 1 Sorrow.
 
 462 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT v. 
 
 made it roar again, and laid on like a tyrant, and then 
 struck softly till the ward came up, and then thundered 
 again, and together we go ! " Sa, sa, sa, bounce ! " quoth 
 the guns ; " Courage, my hearts ! " quoth the captains ; 
 " Saint George ! " quoth the pikemen ; and withal, here 
 they lay, and there they lay : and yet for all this I am 
 here, wench. 
 
 Wife. Be thankful for it, George ; for indeed 'tis 
 wonderful.] 
 
 SCENE 1 1 . A Street (and afterwards Mile-Emt). 
 
 Enter RALPH and Company of Soldiers (among whom 
 are WILLIAM HAMMERTON, and GEORGE GREEX- 
 GOOSE), with drums and colours. 
 
 Ralph. March fair, my hearts ! Lieutenant, beat the 
 rear up. Ancient, 1 let your colours fly ; but have a great 
 care of the butchers' hooks at Whitechapel ; they have 
 been the death of many a fair ancient. Open your files, 
 that I may take a view both of your persons and munition. 
 Sergeant, call a muster. 
 
 Serg. A stand ! William Hammerton, pewterer ! 
 
 Ham. Here, captain ! 
 
 Ralph. A corselet and a Spanish pike ; 'tis well : can 
 you shake it with a terror ? 
 
 Ham. I hope so, captain. 
 
 Ralph. Charge upon me. [He charges on Ralph.] 
 'Tis with the weakest : but more strength, William 
 Hammerton, more strength. As you were again .'Pro- 
 ceed, Sergeant. 
 
 Serg. George Greengoose, poulterer ! 
 
 Green. Here ! 
 
 1 Said to be a corruption of ensign, and meaning both a flag and 
 its bearer.
 
 sc. ii.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 463 
 
 Ralph. Let me see your piece, neighbour Greengoose : 
 when was she shot in ? 
 
 Green. An't like you, master captain, I made a shot 
 even now, partly to scour her, and partly for audacity. 
 
 Ralph. It should seem so certainly, for her breath is 
 yet inflamed ; besides, there is a main fault in the touch- 
 hole, it runs and stinketh ; and I tell you moreover, and 
 believe it, ten such touch-holes would breed the pox in 
 the army. Get you a feather, neighbour, get you a feather, 
 sweet oil, and paper, and your piece may do well enough 
 yet. Where's your powder ? 
 
 Green. Here. 
 
 Ralph. What, in a paper ! as I am a soldier and a 
 gentleman, it craves a martial court ! you ought to die 
 for't. Where's your horn ? answer me to that. 
 
 Green. An't like you, sir, I was oblivious. 
 
 Ralph. It likes me not you should be so ; 'tis a shame 
 for you, and a scandal to all our neighbours, being a man 
 of worth and estimation, to leave your horn behind you : 
 I am afraid 'twill breed example. . But let me tell you no 
 more on't. Stand, till I view you all. What's become 
 o' the nose of your flask ? 
 
 \st Sold. Indeed, la, captain, 'twas blown away with 
 powder. 
 
 Ralph. Put on a new one at the city's charge. Where's 
 the stone of this piece ? 
 
 2nd Sold. The drummer took it out to light tobacco. 
 
 Ralph. 'Tis a fault, my friend ; put it in again. You 
 want a nose, and you a stone. Sergeant, take a note 
 on't, for I mean to stop it in the pay. Remove, and 
 march ! \They march.'] Soft and fair, gentlemen, soft 
 and fair ! double your files ! as you were ! faces about ! 
 Now, you with the sodden face, keep in there! Look to your 
 match, sirrah, it will be in your fellow's flask anon. So ; 
 make a crescent now ; advance your pikes ; stand and 
 give ear ! Gentlemen, countrymen, friends, and my 
 fellow-soldiers, I have brought you this day, from the shops
 
 464 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT v. 
 
 of security and the counters of content, to measure out in 
 these furious fields honour by the ell, and prowess by the 
 pound. Let it not, oh, let it not, I say, be told hereafter, 
 the noble issue of this city fainted ; but bear yourselves in 
 this fair action like men, valiant men, and free men ! Fear 
 not the face of the enemy, nor the noise of the guns, for, be- 
 lieve me, brethren, the rude rumbling of a brewer's cart is 
 far more terrible, of which you have a daily experience ; 
 neither let the stink of powder offend you, since a more 
 valiant slink is nightly with you. 
 To a resolved mind his home is every where : 
 I speak not this to take away 
 The hope of your return ; for you shall see 
 (I do not doubt it) and that very shortly 
 Your loving wives again and your sweet children, 
 Whose care doth bear you company in baskets. 
 Remember, then, whose cause you have in hand, 
 And, like a sort l of true-born scavengers, 
 Scour me this famous realm of enemies. 
 I have no more to say but this : stand to your tacklings, 
 lads, and show to the world you can as well brandish a 
 sword as shake an apron. Saint George, and. on, my 
 hearts ! 
 
 AIL - Saint George, Saint George ! {Exeunt. 
 
 [ Wife. 'Twas well done, Ralph ! I'll send thee a cold 
 capon a-field and a bottle of March beer; and, it may be, 
 come myself to see thee. 
 
 Cit. Nell, the boy hath deceived me much ; I did not 
 think it had been in him. He has performed such a 
 matter, wench, that, if I live, next year I'll have him 
 captain of the galley-foist, 2 or I'll want my will.] 
 
 1 Baud. The old name for the Lord Mayor's barge.
 
 sc. in.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 465 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in MERRYTHOUGHT'S House. 
 Enter MERRYTHOUGHT. 
 
 Mer. Yet, I thank God, I break not a wrinkle more 
 than I had. Not a stoop, boys? Care, live with cats : I defy 
 thee ! My heart is as sound as an oak ; and though I 
 want drink to wet my whistle, I can sing ; [Sings. 
 
 Come no more there, boys, come no more there ; 
 For we shall never whilst we live come any more there. 
 
 Enter Boy, and two Men bearing a Coffin. 
 
 Boy. God save you, sir ! 
 Mer. It's a brave boy. Canst thou sing? 
 Boy. Yes, sir, I can sing ; but 'tis not so necessary at 
 this time. 
 
 Mer. [Sings.] Sing we, and chant it ; 
 
 Whilst love doth grant it. 
 
 Boy. Sir, sir, if you knew what I have brought you, you 
 would have little list to sing. 
 
 Mer. [Sings.] Oh, the Mimon round, 
 
 Full long I have thee sought, 
 
 And now I have thee found, 
 And what hast thou here brought ? 
 
 Boy. A coffin, sir, and your dead son Jasper in it. 
 
 \Exit wit.'i Men. 
 Mer. Dead ! [Sings.] 
 
 Why, farewell he ! 
 Thou wast a bonny boy, 
 And I did love thee. 
 
 Enter JASPER. 
 
 Jasp. Then, I pray you, sir, do so still. 
 
 Mer. Jasper's ghost ! [Sings. 
 
 Thou art welcome from Stygian lake so soon ; [done. 
 Declare to me what wondrous things in Pluto's court are 
 
 Beau. & F. i. H II
 
 466 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT v. 
 
 fasp. By my troth, sir, I ne'er came there ; 'tis too hot 
 for me, sir. 
 
 Mer. A merry ghost, a very merry ghost ! [Sings. 
 
 And where is your true love ? Oh, where is yours ? 
 Jasp. Marry, look you, sir ! 
 
 [Removes the cloth, and LUCE rises out of the Coffin. 
 Mer. Ah, ha ! art thou good at that, i faith ? [Sings. 
 With hey, trixy, terlery-whiskin, 
 The -world it runs on wheels : 
 
 When the young man's , J 
 
 Up goes the maiden's heels. 
 
 Mrs. MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL within. 
 
 Mist. Mer. [within.'] What, Master Merrythought ! will 
 you not let's in ? what do you think shall become of us ? 
 Mer. [Sings."] 
 
 What voice is that that calleth at our door ? 
 
 Mist. Mer. [within.~\ You know me well enough ; I am 
 sure I have not been such a stranger to you. 
 Mtr. [Sings.] 
 
 And some they whistled, and some they sung, 
 
 Hey, down, down ! 
 And some did loudly say, 
 Ever as the Lord Barnet's horn blew, 
 Away, Musgrave, away ! 
 
 Mist. Mer. [within.'] You will not have us starve here, 
 will you, Master Merrythought ? 
 
 Jasp. Nay, good sir, be persuaded ; she is my mother : 
 If her offences have been great against you, 
 Let your own love remember she is yours, 
 And so forgive her. 
 
 Luce. Good Master Merrythought, 
 Let me entreat you ; I will not be denied. 
 
 Mist. Mer. \ivithin.~\ Why, Master Merrythought, will 
 you be a vexed thing still ? 
 
 1 This line is so printed in the early editions.
 
 sc. in.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 467 
 
 Mcr. Woman, I take you to my love again ; but you 
 shall sing before you enter ; therefore despatch your song 
 and so come in. 
 
 Mist. Mer. \within.~\ Well, you must have your will, 
 
 when all's done. Mick, what song canst thou sing, boy? 
 
 Mich, [within.] I can sing none, forsooth, but 'A 
 
 Lady's Daughter, of Paris properly,' [Sings within. 
 
 It was a lady's daughter, &c. 
 
 MERRYTHOUGHT opens the Door ; enter Mistress 
 
 MERRYTHOUGHT and MICHAEL. 
 
 Mer. Come, you're welcome home. again. [Sings. 
 
 If such danger be in playing, 
 
 And jest must to earnest turn, 
 You shall go no more a-maying 
 
 Vent, [within .] Are you within, sir? Master Merry- 
 thought ! 
 
 Jasp. It is my master's voice : good sir, go hold him 
 In talk, whilst we convey ourselves into 
 Some inward room. [Exit with LUCE. 
 
 Mer. What are you ? are you merry ? 
 You must be very merry, if you enter. 
 
 Vent, [within.'] I am, sir. 
 
 Mer. Sing, then. 
 
 Vent, [within.] Nay, good sir, open to me. 
 
 Mer. Sing, I say, 
 Or, by the merry heart, you come not in ! 
 
 Vent, [within.] Well, sir, I'll sing. [Sings. 
 
 Fortune, my foe, &c. 
 
 MERRYTHOUGHT opens the Door : Enter VENTUREWELL. 
 
 Mer. You are welcome, sir, you are welcome : you see 
 your entertainment; pray you, .be merry. 
 
 Vent. Oh, Master Merrythought, I'm come to ask 
 
 you 
 
 Forgiveness for the wrongs I offered you, 
 And your most virtuous son ! they're infinite ;
 
 468 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. [ACT v. 
 
 Yet my contrition shall be more than they : 
 
 I do confess my hardness broke his heart, 
 
 For which just Heaven hath given me punishment 
 
 More than my age can carry ; his wandering spirit, 
 
 Not yet at rest, pursues me every where, 
 
 Crying, " I'll haunt thee for thy cruelty." 
 
 My daughter, she is gone, I know not how, 
 
 Taken invisible, and whether living 
 
 Or in the grave, 'tis yet uncertain to me. 
 
 Oh, Master Merrythought, these are the weights 
 
 Will sink me to my grave ! forgive me, sir. 
 
 Mer. Why, sir, I do forgive you ; and be merry : 
 And if the wag in's lifetime played the knave, 
 Can you forgive him too ? 
 
 Vent. With all my heart, sir. 
 
 Mer. Speak it again, and heartily. 
 
 Vent. I do, sir ; 
 Now, by my soul, I do. 
 
 Re-enter LUCE and JASPER. 
 Mer. \_Sin gs.~\ 
 
 With that came out his paramour ; 
 She was as white as the lily flower : 
 Hey, troul, troly, loly ! 
 With that came out her own dear knight ; 
 He was as true as ever did fight, &c. 
 
 Sir, if you will forgive 'em, clap their hands together; 
 there's no more to be said i' the matter. 
 
 Vent. I do, I do. 
 
 \_Cit. I do not like this. Peace, boys ! Hear me, one 
 of you : every body's part is come to an end but Ralph's, 
 and he's left out. 
 
 Boy. ; Tis 'long of yourself, sir ; we have nothing to do 
 with his part. 
 
 Cit. Ralph, come away ! Make an end on him, as you 
 have done of the rest, boys ; come.
 
 SC. HI.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 469 
 
 Wife. Now, good husband, let him come out and 
 die. 
 
 Cif. He shall, Nell. Ralph, come away quickly, and 
 die, boy ! 
 
 Boy. 'Twill be very unfit he should die, sir, upon no 
 occasion and in a comedy too. 
 
 Cit. Take you no care of that, sir boy ; is not his part 
 at an end, think you, when he's dead? Come away, 
 Ralph !] 
 
 Enter RALPH, with a forked Arrow through his Head. 
 
 Ralph. When I was mortal, this my costive corps 
 Did lap up figs and raisins in the Strand; 
 Where sitting, I espied a lovely dame, 
 Whose master wrought with lingel ' and with awl, 
 And underground he vamped many a boot. 
 Straight did her love prick forth me, tender sprig, 
 To follow feats of arms in warlike wise 
 Through Waltham-desert ; where I did perform 
 Many achievements, and did lay on ground 
 Huge Barbarossa, that insulting giant, 
 And all his captives soon set at liberty. 
 Then honour pricked me from my native soil 
 Into Moldavia, where I gained the love 
 Of Pompiona, his beloved daughter; 
 But yet proved constant to the black thumbed maid 
 Susan, and scorned Pompiona's love ; 
 Yet liberal I was, and gave her pins, 
 And money for her father's officers. 
 I then returned home, and thrust myself 
 In action, and by all men chosen was 
 Lord of the May, where I did flourish it, 
 With scarfs and rings, and posy in my hand. 
 After this action I preferred was, 
 And chosen city-captain at Mile-End, 
 
 1 Shoemaker's thread.
 
 470 KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE, [ACT v. 
 
 With hat and feather, and with leading-staff, 
 
 And trained my men, and brought them all off clear, 
 
 Save one man that berayed him 1 with the noise. 
 
 But all these things I Ralph did undertake 
 
 Only for my beloved Susan's sake. 
 
 Then coming home, and sitting in my shop 
 
 With apron blue, Death came into my stall 
 
 To cheapen aquavitce ; but ere I 
 
 Could take the bottle down and fill a taste, 
 
 Death caught a pound of pepper in his hand, 
 
 And sprinkled all my face and body o'er, 
 
 And in an instant vanished away. 
 
 \Cit. Tis a pretty fiction, i'faith.] 
 
 Ralph. Then took I up my bow and shaft in hand, 
 And walked into Moorfields to cool myself : 
 But there grim cruel Death met me again, 
 And shot this forked arrow through my head ; 
 And now I faint ; therefore be warned by me, 
 My fellows every one, of forked heads ! 
 Farewell, all you good boys in merry London ! 
 Ne'er shall we more upon Shrove-Tuesday meet, 
 And pluck down houses of iniquity ; 
 My pain increaseth ; I shall never more 
 Hold open, whilst another pumps both legs, 
 Nor daub a satin gown with rotten eggs ; 
 Set up a stake, oh, never more I shall ! 
 I die ! fly, fly, my soul, to Grocers' Hall ! 
 Oh, oh, oh, &c. 3 
 
 [ Wife. Well said, Ralph ! do your obeisance to the 
 gentlemen, and go your ways : well said, Ralph !] 
 
 [RALPH rises, makes obeisance, and exit. 
 
 1 Befouled himself. 
 
 2 Attacking houses of ill-fame was a favourite occupation of the 
 London prentices on Shrove Tuesday. 
 
 3 This speech is a parody of the speech of Andrea's Ghost in The 
 Spanish Tragedy : 
 
 " When this eternal substance of my soul 
 Did live imprisoned in my wanton flesh," etc.
 
 sc. in.] KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 471 
 
 Mer. Methinks all we, thus kindly and unexpectedly 
 reconciled, should not depart l without a song. 
 Vent, A good motion. 
 Mer. Strike up, then ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Better music ne'er was known 
 
 Than a quire of hearts in one. 
 
 Let each other, that hath been 
 
 Troubled with the gall or spleen, 
 
 Learn of us to keep his brow 
 
 Smooth and plain, as ours are now : 
 
 Sing, though before the hour of dying ; 
 
 He shall rise, and then be crying, 
 
 " Hey, ho, 'tis nought but mirth 
 
 That keeps the body from the earth!" [Exeunt. 
 
 tfit&r^' 
 
 Cit. Come, Nell, shall we go? the play's done. 
 
 Wife. Nay, by my faith, George, I have more manners 
 than so ; I'll speak to these gentlemen first. I thank you 
 all, gentlemen, for your patience and countenance to 
 Ralph, a poor fatherless child ; and if I might see you at 
 my house, it should go hard but I would have a bottle of 
 wine and a pipe of tobacco for you : for, truly, I hope you 
 do like the youth, but I would be glad to know the truth ; 
 I refer it to your own discretions, whether you will 
 applaud him or no ; for I will wink, and whilst you shall 
 do what you will. I thank you with all my heart. God 
 give you good night ! Come, George. [Exeunt. 
 
 1 i.e. Part.
 
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