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, MEGRA, and a Lady. 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-favour'dly dance her measure; simper when she is courted by her friend, and slight her husband.

Cle. The last?

Dion, Marry, I think she is one whom the state keeps for the agents of our confederate princes. She'll cog and lye 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 experiments upon it, for the good of the commonwealth.

Cle. She is a profitable member.

La. Peace, if you love me! You shall see these gentlemen stand their ground, and not court us. Gal. What if they should? Meg. What if they should?

La. 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?

Meg. What if they be?

La. 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, nor say excuse me.

Gal. Ha, ha, ha!

La. Do you laugh, madam? Dion. Your desires upon you, ladies. La. Then you must sit beside us. Dion. I shall sit near you then, lady, La. Near me, perhaps: But there's a lady endures no stranger; and to me you appear a very strange fellow.

Meg. Methinks, he's not so strange; he would quickly be acquainted.

Thra. Peace, the king.

Enter KING, PHARAMOND, ARETHUSA, and train.

King. To give a stronger testimony of love Than sickly promises (which commonly 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 shew 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 commion loves and comforts to her ser-

vants.

Last, noble son (for so I now must call you),
What I have done this 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's wronged, and
flung off.

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.

Aside.

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
Open 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 travels of my life I'll find it,
And tie it to this country. And I vow

Dion. I wonder what's his price? For certainly He'll sell himself, he has so praised his shape.But here comes one, more worthy those large speeches,

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 never make king

Unless it be for trifles, in my poor judgment.
Phi. 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.

Dion. Mark but the king, how pale he looks with fear!

Oh! this same whorson conscience, how it jades us!

King. Speak your intents, sir.

Phi. Shall I speak them 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, besides the
gods;

To part so calmly with it, and sit still,

And say, 'I might have been.' I tell thee, Pha

ramond,

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 his veins : The outlandish prince looks like a tooth-drawer. Phi. Sir prince of poppingjays, 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 is somewhat tainted. Thra. I do not think 'twill prove so.

Dion. He has 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

Whose branch you are. The king will leave it

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 th' other is the man set in my eye.
Oh, 'tis a prince of wax!

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,

Phi. Take them, And ease me of a load would bow strong Atlas. 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 recreant. 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 are my fate. It was
not I

Said, I was wrong'd: 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 is 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 life and spirit. For this time
I pardon your wild speech, without so much
As your imprisonment.

[Ex. King, PHA. and ARE. 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.

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 you could well be flattered at a price
Not to undo your children. You are 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 may live many years.

I

Dion. The king must please,

Whilst we know what you are, and who you are,
Your wrongs and injuries. Shrink not, worthy sir,
But add your father to you: In whose name,
We'll waken all the gods, and conjure up
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. 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 face may steal my soul

out:

There's all the danger in it. But, be what may, Her single name hath armed me. [Exit PHI. Dion. Go on :

And be as truly happy as thou art fearless. Come, gentlemen, let's make our friends acquainted,

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.

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? Lady. Madam, I think I hear him.

Are. Bring him in.-

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 loth to speak them. Have you known
That I have ought 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.

Phi. I can't 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 it is of me
A thing so loathed, and unto you, that ask,
Of so poor use, that I will 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.
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,

place,

In seeking how I came thus: 'Tis the gods,

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 side,

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 bay,
Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness
Delighted me: But ever when he turned
His tender eyes upon them, he would weep,
As if he meant to make them 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 shew
What every flower, as country people hold,
Did signify; and how all, ordered thus,
Expressed his grief: And, to my thoughts, did

read

Are. What will you do, Philaster, with your self?

Phi. Why, that, which all the gods have appointed out for me.

Are. Dear, hide thyself. Bring in the prince. Phi. Hide me from Pharamond ! When thunder speaks, which is the voice of Jove, Though I do reverence, yet I hide me not; 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 mysel

Are. Then, good Philaster, give him scope and

Pha. My princely mistress, as true lovers ought, I come to kiss these fair hands; and to shew, 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 time is fitter: Do but offer
To make mention of your 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.

Pha. You are gone: By heav'n, I'll fetch you back.

Phi. You shall not need.
Pha. What now?

Phi. Know, Pharamond,

I loath to brawl with such a blast as thou, Who art nought but a valiant voice: But, if 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 it 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 PHILASTER.

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.
Are. If you dare speak such thoughts,

I must withdraw in honour.

[Exit. Pha. The constitution of my body will never hold out till the weddin! I must seek elsewhere.

[Exit.