Lest I were cozen'd; 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.

Asp. You must be urg'd.

I do not deal uncivilly with those,
That dare to fight; but such a one as you
Must be us'd thus.
[She 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 kick'd
[She kicks him.

Thus, to be kick'd!-Why should he be so slow In giving me my death?

[Aside.

Amin. A man can bear No more, and keep his flesh. I would endure yet, if I could. Now shew The spirit thou pretend'st, and understand, Thou hast no hour to live.What dost thou mean?

Forgive me then!

[They fight.

Thou canst not fight: The blows thou mak❜st at me Are quite besides; and those, I offer at thee, Thou spread'st 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.

Enter EVADNE, her hands bloody, with 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.
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 stay'd.

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 within to look fair then: Since I knew ill, I was not free till now.

Amin. There is presage of some important thing 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 pow'r 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 touch'd a life,
The very name of which had pow'r 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, stain'd with a king's blood,
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.

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'm 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 lov'd thee once.' I dare not stay;
There is no end of woman's reasoning.

[Leaves her.

Evad. Amintor, thou shalt love me now again: Go; I am caim. Farewell, and peace for ever! Evadne, whom thou hat'st, will die for thee. [Kills herself.

Amin. I have a little human nature yet, That's left for thee, that bids me stay thy hand. [Returns.

Evad. Thy hand was welcome, but it came too

late.

Or drink, or sleep, or have to do with that, That may preserve life! This I swear to keep.

Lys. Look to him tho', 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 curst is he, that is their instrument.

[Exeunt omnes.

SCENE I.

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,
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 shew 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 penn'd 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 mis-
chief;

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 fa-

vours,

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?
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
Tucking into a halter, and the ladder
Turning from me, one pulling at my legs too.
Theod. These truths are no man's tales, but
all mens' 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 cram'd 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 conceal'd sins, though you work like moles,

Lie level to their justice.

Brun. 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

Believe there is a day; where no hope dwells, Nor comfort but in tears

Brun. Oh, misery!

Theod. And there to cold repentance, and
starv❜d penance,

Tie your succeeding days: Or curse me, Heaven,
If all your gilded knaves, brokers, and bedders,
Even he you built from nothing, strong Protaldye,
Be not made ambling geldings! all your maids,
If that name do not shame 'em, fed with spunges
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 Heav'n might grant me both; unthankful,

I

no!

nourish'd you; 'twas I, poor I, groan'd for you; 'Twas I felt what you suffer'd; I lamented When sickness or sad hours held back your sweetness;

'Twas I pay'd for your sleeps; I watch'd your

wakings;

My daily cares and fears that rid, play'd, walk'd,
Discours'd, discover'd, fed and fashion'd 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 honour'd:
But, woman, they are dangerous drops, deceitful,
Full of the weeper, anger and ill nature.

Brun. In my last hours despis'd?
Theod. That text should tell
How ugly it becomes you to err thus:
Your flames are spent, nothing but smoke main-
tains 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; Your power they may love, and like Spanish jennets

Commit with such a gust

Baw. I would take whipping,

And

pay a fine now!

[Exit.

Theod. But were you once disgrac'd, Or fall'n in wealth, like leaves they would fly

from you,

And become browse for every beast. You will'd 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, lechers, leeches, female fornications,
And children in their rudiments to vices,
Old men to shew 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