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 straight command; which you, my lord,

Can witness with me.

Lys. 'Tis true, Melantius;

He might not come, till the solemnity
Of this great match was past.

Diph. Have you heard of it?

Mel. Yes. I have given cause to those, that 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.

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,

me:

The music must be shrill, and all confused,
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 by.

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! mayest 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.

Mel. How is this?

Lys. You are mistaken,

For 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

[Exit,

In all opinion long; but your arrival
Made me imagine, you had heard the change.
Mel, Who hath he taken then?

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 them, and strew her over like a corse.
She carries with her an infectious grief,
That strikes all her beholders; she will sing
The mournfull'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, that fill the room
With laughter, she will, with so sad a look,
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 out-grown
The number of his years.

Enter AMINtor.

Cle. My lord, the bridegroom!

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 disorder'd speech Cuts off my love.

Amin. Thou art Melantius;

All love is spoke in that. A sacrifice,
To thank the gods Melantius is return'd

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 thy innocence!

What endless treasures would our enemies give,
That I might hold thee stin thus !

Mel. I am but 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,
Fetch'd 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 forc'd,

E

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.

Enter CALIANAX with DIAGORAS. Cal. Diagoras, look to the doors better, for shame! you let in all the world, and anon the king will rail at me-why, very well said-by Jove, the king will have the show in the court. Diag. Why do you swear so, my lord? You know, he will 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.

Cal. One may wear out his heart with swearing, and get thanks on no side. I'll be gonelook to it, 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 will 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 have near killed her among them; and now I must do service for him, that hath forsaken her. Serve, that will. [Exit.

Diag. He is so humourous since his daughter was forsaken. Hark, hark! there, there! so, so, Codes, Codes! [Knock within.] 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.

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.

Diag. Stand back there-room for my lord Melantius-pray, bear back-this is no place for such youths and their trulls-let the doors shut again.-No!-do your heads itch! I will scratch them for you. So, now thrust and hang.Again! who is it now?-I cannot blame my ford 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?

Within.] I pray you, can you help me to the speech of the master-cook?

Diag. If I open the door, I will cook some of your calves heads. Peace, rogues !—Again! who is it?

Mel. [Within.] Melantius.

Enter CALIANAX.

Cal. Let him not in.

Diag. O, my lord, I must.-Make room there for my lord.

Enter MELANTIUS.

Is your lady placed?

Mel. Yes, sir,

[To MEL.

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?
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 mis-becomes

your age,

And place, to be thus womanish. Forbear!
What you have spoke, I am content to think
The palsy shook your tongue to.

Cal. Why, it is well, if I stand here to place men's wenches.

Mel. I shall 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 the king, and be he flesh and blood, He lyes, that says it! Thy mother at fifteen Was black and sinful to her.

rence,

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. Cal. Make room there! [Hautboys play within. 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 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

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 CINTHIA.

How dull and black am I! I could not find
This beauty without thee, I am so blind.
Methinks, they shew 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.
Cinth. 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 pluck'd 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 out-shine the day.

Cinth. 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.

Night. Then shine at full, fair queen, and by thy pow'r

Produce a birth, to crown this happy hour,
Of nymphs and shepherds: Let their songs dis-

But vernal blasts, and gentle winds appear; Such as blow flow'rs, and thro' 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 I shall be as kind,
And shine at full upon you.

Nept. Ho the wind-commanding Œolus!

Enter EOLUS, out of a rock.

Fol. Great Neptune?

Nept. He.

Eol. What is thy will?

Nept. We do command thee free

Favonius, and thy milder winds, to wait

Upon our Cinthia; but tie Borcas straight; He's too rebellious.

SONG.

Hold back thy hours, dark Night, till we have

done:

The day will come too soon; Young maids will curse thee, if thou stealʼst 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, tho' she call.

Nept. Great queen of us and heav'n, hear what I bring

To make this hour a full one,
If not o'ermeasure.

Cinth. Speak, sea's king.

Nept. The tunes my Amphitrite joys to have, When they will dance upon the rising wave, And court me as the sails. My Tritons, play Music to lead a storm; I'll lead the way.

SONG.

[Measure.

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, kiss'd, and said.
Hesperus be long a-shining,

Whilst these lovers are a-twining.

Eol. Ho! Neptune!
Nept. Holus!

Eol. The seas go high,

Boreas hath rais'd 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.

Cinth. A thanks to every one, and to gratulate So great a service, done at my desire, Ye shall have many floods, fuller and higher Than you have wished for; no ebb shall dare To let the day see, where your dwellings are. Now back unto your government in haste, Lest your proud charge should swell above the waste,

And win upon the island.

Nept. We obey.

[NEPTUNE descends, and the sea gods. Cinth. Hold up thy head, dead Night: seest thou not day?

The east begins to lighten: I must down,
And give my brother place.

Night. Oh, I could frown

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 axletree;

Dula. I will refuse it.

[Exeunt.

She will pluck down aside; she does not use it, Evad. Why, do.

Dula. You will find the play

Quickly, because your head lies well that way. Evad. I thank thee, Dula; 'would, thou could'st 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

With sacrifice, than now. This should have been My night and all your hands have been employed

In giving me a spotless offering

aright.

Evad. You prick me, lady.

Dula. 'Tis against my will:

Anon you must endure more, and lie still:
You're best to practise.

Ecad. 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.
Erad. Nay, then, I'll give you o'er.

Dula. So will I make

The ablest man in Rhodes, or his heart ake.
Evad. Wilt take my place to-night?

Dala. I'll hold your cards 'gainst any two I know.
Ecad. What wilt thou do?

Dula. Madam, we'll do't, and make 'em leave play two. Evad. Aspatia, take her part.

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 worthless:

But, till he did so, in these ears of mine,
These credulous ears, he pour'd 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