I cannot urge thee farther; but thou wert Bell. I will fly as far As there is morning, ere I give distaste To that most honour'd mind; but through these tears, Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see A world of treason practised upon you, And her, and me. Farewel 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, Phil. Blessing be with thee, In the last scene of Philaster, the supposed youth, Bellario, is obliged to confess her sex, and accounts thus for her assumed disguise, Philaster. But, Bellario, (For I must call thee still so) tell me why Thou didst conceal thy sex? It was a fault- Bell. My father oft would speak Your worth and virtue; and as I did grow I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd For this I did delude my noble father With a feign'd pilgrimage, and dress'd myself My birth no match for you, I was past hope you, Whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes, For other than I seem'd, 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. Bell. 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. Arethusa. I, Philaster, Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady, Suspect her living here. Come, live with me, Live free as I do : she that loves my lord, Curst be the wife that hates her! THE RECONCILEMENT OF MR. ROGER, THE CURATE, AND ABIGAIL. FROM THE SCORNFUL LADY, SCENE I. ACT IV. Abig. SEE how scornfully he passes by me, As though he had broken the heart of Bellarmine, Rog. Ungentle Abigail Abig. Why, Master Roger, will you set your wit To a weak woman's? Rog. You are weak, indeed; For so the poet sings. Abig. I do confess My weakness, sweet Sir Roger. Rog. Good, my lady's Gentlewoman, or my good lady's gentlewoman, And, surely, had the devil been in love, You make men fools, and wear fig-breeches. Abig. Well, well, hard-hearted man, you may dilate Upon the weak infirmities of woman, These are fit texts: but once there was a time- Rog. Ay, they were pearls once with you. Abig. Saving your presence, sir, so they are still. Rog. Nay, nay, I do beseech you, leave your cogging; What they are, they are They serve me without spectacles—I thank 'em. Rog. I do not think I can ; You're like a copyhold with nine lives in't. Abig. You were wont to wear a Christian fear about you, For your own worship's sake. Do Rog. I was a Christian fool, then. you remember what a dance you led me, How I grew qualm'd in love, and was a dunce; Could not expound but once a quarter, and then was out too And then, out of the stir you put me in, I pray'd for my own royal issue. You do Abig. Oh, be as then you were. Surely I will be wiser, Abigail, |