Ith. Look ye, uncle :

Some such there are, whose liberal contents
Swarm without care in every sort of plenty;
Who, after full repasts, can lay them down
Tosleep; and they sleep, uncle: in which silence
Their very dreams present 'em choice of pleasures:
Pleasures, (observe me uncle!) of rare object:
Here heaps of gold, there increments of honours;
Now change of garments, then the votes of people;
Anon varieties of beauties, courting,

In flatteries of the night, exchange of dalliance;
Yet these are still but dreams: give me felicity
Of which my senses waking are partakers;
A real, visible, material happiness:
And then too, when I stagger in expectance
Of the least comfort that can cherish life.-
I saw it, sir, I saw it; for it came
From her own hand.

Arm. The princess threw it to you.

Ith. True, and she said-well I remember what!

Her cousin prince would beg it?

Arm. Yes, and parted

In anger at your taking on't.

Ith. Penthea,

Oh! thou hast pleaded with a powerful language:
I want a fee to gratify thy merit.
But I will do-

Arm. What is't you say?

Ith. In anger?

In anger let him part; for could his breath,
Like whirlwinds, toss such servile slaves, as lick
The dust his footsteps print, into a vapour,
It durst not stir a hair of mine; it should not;
I'd rend it up by th' roots first. To be any thing
Calantha smiles on, is to be a blessing
More sacred than a petty prince of Argos
Can wish to equal, or in worth, or title.

Arm. Contain yourself, my lord: Ixion aiming

To embrace Juno, bosomed but a cloud,
And begat Centaurs: 'tis an useful moral;
Ambition, hatched in clouds of mere opinior,
Proves but in birth a prodigy.

Ith. I thank ye;

Yet, with your licence, I should seem unchari

table

To gentler fate, if, relishing the dainties
Of a soul's settled peace, I were so feeble
Not to digest it.

Arm. He deserves small trust,
Who is not privy counsellor to himself.

Enter NEARCHUS, ORGILUS, and AMELUS.
Near. Brave me?

Org. Your excellence mistakes his temper;
For Ithocles, in fashion of his mind,
Is beautiful, soft, gentle, the clear mirror
Of absolute perfection.

Ame. Was't your modesty

Thy reverend snout, and trot behind me softly,
As it becomes a moil of ancient carriage.
[Exeunt GRA. and PHU.
Bass. Beasts, only capable of sense, enjoy
The benefit of food and ease with thankfulness:
Such silly creatures with a grudging kick not
Against the portion nature hath bestowed:
But men, endowed with reason, and the use
Of reason, to distinguish from the chaff
Of abject scarcity, the quintessence,
Soul, and elixir of the earth's abundance,
The treasures of the sea, the air, nay heaven,
Repining at these glories of creation,

Are verier beasts than beasts; and of those beasts
The worst am I: I, who was made a monarch
Of what a heart could wish, of a chaste wife,
Endeavoured what in me lay, to pull down
That temple built for adoration only,
And level in the dust of causeless scandal.
But to redeem a sacrilege so impious,
Humility shall pour before the deities:
I have incensed a largess of more patience
Than their displeased altars can require.
No tempests of commotion shall disquiet
The calms of my composure.

Your trials for addition to my penance:
I am resolv❜d.

Org. Play not with misery

Past cure: some angry minister of fate hath Deposed the empress of her soul, her reason, From its most proper throne. But, what's the miracle

More new, I, I have seen it, and yet live.

Bass. You may delude my senses, not my judgment:

'Tis anchor'd into a firm resolution;
Dalliance of mirth or wit can ne'er unfix it:
Practise no further.

Org. May the death of love to her
Damn all thy comforts to a lasting fast
From every joy of life! Thou barren rock,
By thee we have been split in ken of harbour.

Enter PENTHEA, with her hair flying, ITHOCLES,
PHILEMA and CHRYSTALLA.

Ith. Sister, look up; your Ithocles, your brother,

Speaks to you: Why do you weep? Dear, turn

not from me!

Here is a killing sight; to Bassanes

A lamentable object!

Org. Man, dost see't?

Bass. Divine and best of ladies, Please to forget my outrage: mercy ever Cannot but lodge under a roof so excellent: I have cast off that cruelty of frenzy Which once appeared, impostor, and then juggled To cheat my sleeps of rest..

Org. Was I in earnest?

Pen. Sure, if we were all sirens, we should sing pitifully;

And 'twere a comely musick, when in parts
One sung another's knell: the turtle sighs
When he hath lost his mate; and yet some say.
He must be dead first: 'tis a fine deceit
To pass away in a dream: indeed I've slept
With mine eyes open a great while. No false-
hood

Equals a broken faith; there's not a hair
Sticks on my head, but, like a leaden plummet,
It sinks me to the grave. I must creep thither;
The journey is not long.

Ith. But thou, Penthea,

Hast many years, I hope, to number yet, Ere thou canst travel that way.

Bass. Let the sun first

Be wrapped up in an everlasting darkness,
Before the light of nature, chiefly formed
For the whole world's delight, feel an eclipse
So universal.

Org. Wisdom, look ye,

Begins to rave:-art thou mad too, antiquity?

Pen. Since I was first a wife, I might have been Mother to many pretty prattling babes:

They would have smil'd, when I smil'd; and, for certain,

I should have cried when they cried. Truly, bro ther,

My father would have picked me out a husband,
And then my little ones had been no bastards:
But 'tis too late for me to marry now.
I am past child-bearing: 'tis not my fault.

Bass. Fall on me, if there be a burning Etna, And bury me in flames; sweats, hot as sulphur, Boil through my pores! Affliction hath in store No torture like to this.

Org. Behold a patience!

Lay by thy whining, gray dissimulation,
Do something worth a chronicle; shew justice
Upon the author of this mischief; dig out
The jealousies that hatched this thraldom first
With thine own poniard: every antick rapture
Can roar as thine does.

Believe me, I'll not hurt it. Org. Pain my heart too!

Pen, Complain not though I wring it hard: I'll kiss it;

Oh, 'tis a fine soft palm.-Hark in thine ear! Like whom do I look, pr'ythee? Nay, no whispering.

Goodness! we had been happy : too much happi

ness

Will make folk proud, they say.-But that is
he:- [Pointing to ITHOCLES.
And yet he paid for't home. Alas! his heart
Is crept into the cabinet of the princess;
We shall have points and bride-laces. Remember
When we last gathered roses in the garden,
I found my wits, but truly you lost yours.
That's he, and still 'tis he.

Ith. Poor soul, how idly
Her fancies guide her tongue!
Bass. Keep in vexation,
And break not into clamour.

Org. She has tutor❜d me:

[Aside.

Some powerful inspiration checks my laziness.
Now let me kiss your hand, grieved beauty.
Pen. Kiss it.-

Alack, alack, his lips be wond'rous cold;
Dear soul, he's lost his colour: Have ye seen
A straying heart? All crannies, every drop
Of blood is turned to an amethyst,
Which married batchelors hang in their ears.
Org. Peace usher her into Elysium!
If this be madness, madness is an oracle.

[Erit ORG.

Ith. Christalla, Philema, when slept my sister? Her ravings are so wild!

Christ. Sir, not these ten days.

Phi. We watch by her continually; besides, We cannot any way pray her to eat,

Bass. Oh, misery of miseries!
Pen, Take comfort,

You may live well, and die a good old man :
By yea and nay, an oath not to be broken,
If you had joined our hands once in the temple,
('Twas since my father died, for had he lived
He would have done't,) I must have called you
father.

Oh, my wreck'd honour, ruin'd by those tyrants,
A cruel brother and a desperate dotage!
There is no peace left for a ravish'd wife
Widowed by lawless marriage; to all memory,
Penthea's, poor Penthea's name is strumpeted:
But since her blood was seasoned by the forfeit
Of noble shame, with mixtures of pollution,
Her blood-'tis just,-be henceforth never
heightened

With taste of sustenance. Now let that fulness
Whose pleurisy hath fevered faith and modesty-
Forgive me!-Oh! I faint.

Arm. Be not so wilful,

Sweet niece, to work thine own destruction.
Ith. Nature

Will call her daughter monster. What? not eat?
Refuse the only ordinary means

Which are ordained for life? Be not, my sister,

A murtheress to thyself.-Hear'st thou this, Bassanes?

Bass. Foh! I am busy; for I have not thoughts Enough to think. All shall be well anon; 'Tis tumbling in my head: there is a mastery In art, to fatten and keep smooth the outside; Yes, and to comfort up the vital spirits Without the help of food, fumes or perfumes,— Perfumes or fumes. Let her alone! I'll search out

The trick on't.

Pen. Lead me gently; heavens reward ye. Griefs are sure friends; they leave, without controul,

Nor cure nor comforts for a leprous soul.

[Exit PENTHEA, supported by CHRIST. and

PHIL.

Bass. I grant ye; and will put in practice instantly

What you shall still admire: 'tis wonderful,
'Tis supersingular, not to be matched:
Yet, when I've done't, I've done't; ye shall all
thank me.

Arm. The sight is full of terror.
Ith. On my soul

[Brit.

Lies such an infinite clog of massy dulness,
As that I have not sense enough to feel it.
See, uncle! the angry thing returns again;
Shall's welcome him with thunder? We are
haunted,

And must use exorcising to conjure down
This spirit of malevolence.
Arm, Mildly, nephew.

Enter NEARCHUS and AMELUS.
Near. I come not, sir, to chide your late disor-
der;

Admitting that th' inurement to a roughness
In soldiers of your years and fortunes, chiefly
So lately prosperous, hath not yet shook off
The custom of the war in hours of leisure:
Nor shall you need excuse, since you're to render
Account to that fair excellence, the princess,
Who in her private gallery expects it
From your own mouth alone: I am a messenger
But to her pleasure.

Ith. Excellent Nearchus,

Be prince still of my services, and conquer,
Without the combat of dispute; I honour ye.

Near. The king is on a sudden indisposed; Physicians are called for: 'twere fit, Armostes, You should be near him,

Arm, Sir, I kiss your hands.

[Exeunt ITHOCLES and ARMOSTES, Near. Amelus, I perceive Calantha's bosom Is warm'd with other fires than such as can Take strength from any fuel of the love I might address to her; young Ithocles, Or ever I mistake, is lord ascendant Of her devotions; one, to speak him truly, In every disposition nobly fashioned.

Ame. But can your highness brook to be so rivall'd,

Considering the inequality of the persons?

Amy. Where's the prince, our cousin?

Proph. New walked unto the grove, my lord. Amy. All leave us,

Except Armostes, and you, Crotolon:

We would be private.

Proph. Health unto your majesty.

Amy. What? Tecnicus is gone?

Arm. He is, to Delphos ;

And to your royal hands presents this box.
Amy. Unseal it, good Ármostes; therein lie
The secrets of the oracle: out with it;
Apollo live our patron! Read, Armostes.
Arm. [Reads." The plot in which the vine
takes root,

Begins to dry from head to foot;
The stock, soon withering, want of sap
Doth cause to quail the budding grape:
But from the neighbouring elm a dew
Shall drop, and feed the plot anew."

Amy. That is the oracle; what exposition
Makes the philosopher?

Arm. This brief one only:

[Reads.] "The plot is Sparta, the dried vine the king;

The quailing grape his daughter; but the thing
Of most importance, not to be reveal'd,
Is a near prince, the elm: the rest conceal'd.
TECNICUS,"

Amy. Enough: although the opening of this riddle

Be but itself a riddle, yet we construe
How near our labouring age draws to a rest:
But must Calantha quail to that young grape,
Untimely budded? I could mourn for her;
Her tenderness hath yet deserved no rigour
So to be crost by fate.

Arm. You misapply, sir,

With favour let me speak it, what Apollo
Hath clouded in hid sense: I here conjecture
Her marriage with some neighbouring prince, the

dew

Of which befriending elm shall ever strengthen Your subjects with a sovereignty of power.

The fall of age, or call back youth and vigour,
As your consents in duty: I will shake off
This languishing disease of time, to quicken
Fresh pleasures in these drooping hours of sad-

Our sister looks, methinks, mirthful and sprightly;

As if her chaster fancy could already
Expound the riddle of her gain in losing

A trifle; maids know only that they know not.
Pish! prythee, blush not: 'tis but honest change
Of fashion in the garment, loose for straight,
And so the modest maid is made a wife.
Shrewd business,-is't not, sister?
Euph. You are pleasant.

Amy. We thank thee, Orgilus, this mirth be-
comes thee.

But wherefore sits the court in such a silence? A wedding without revels is not seemly.

Cal. Your late indisposition, sir, forbade it. Amy, Be it thy charge, Calantha, to set forward

The bridal sports, to which I will be present;
If not, at least consenting. Mine own Ithocles,
I have done little for thee yet.

Ith. You've built me

To the full height I stand in.
Cal. Now or never!-

May I propose a suit ?

Amy. Demand, and have it.

Cal. Pray, sir, give me this young man, and no farther