You credit anything the light gives light to,
Before a man. Rather believe the sea
Weeps for the ruin'd merchant, when he roars;
Rather, the wind courts but the pregnant sails,
When the strong cordage cracks; rather, the sun
Comes but to kiss the fruit in wealthy autumn,
When all falls blasted. If you needs must love,
(Forced by ill fate) take to your maiden bosoms
Two dead-cold aspicks, and of them make lovers :
They cannot flatter, nor forswear; one kiss
Makes a long peace for all. But man,

You are much mistaken, wench:
These colours are not dull and pale enough
To shew a soul so full of misery
As this sad lady's was. Do it by me;

Do it again, by me, the lost Aspatia,

And you shall find all true but the wild island.
Suppose I stand upon the sea-beach now,

Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind,

Wild as that desart; and let all about me
Be teachers of my story. Do my face

Now, a tear;

To the fair Trojan ships; and, having lost them, Just as thine eyes do, down stole a tear. Antiphila, What would this wench do, if she were Aspatia? Here she would stand, till some more pitying god Turn'd her to marble! 'Tis enough, my wench! Shew me the piece of needlework you wrought. Ant. Of Ariadne, madam?

Asp. Yes, that piece.—

This should be Theseus; he has a cozening face: You meant him for a man?

Ant. He was so, madam.

Asp. Why, then, 'tis well enough. Never look back:

You have a full wind, and a false heart, Theseus! Does not the story say, his keel was split,

Or his masts spent, or some kind rock or other Met with his vessel?

Ant. Not as I remember.

Asp. It should have been so. Could the gods know this,

And not, of all their number, raise a storm?
But they are all as ill! This false smile
Was well express'd; just such another caught me!
You shall not go [on] so, Antiphila :
In this place work a quicksand,
And over it a shallow smiling water,

And his ship ploughing it; and then a Fear:
Do that Fear to the life, wench.

Ant. 'Twill wrong the story.

Asp. "Twill make the story, wrong'd by wanton poets,

Live long, and be believed. But where's the lady? Ant. There, madam.

Asp. Fie you have miss'd it here, Antiphila;

Thus, thus, Antiphila : Strive to make me look
Like Sorrow's monument! And the trees about me,
Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks
Groan with continual surges; and, behind me,
Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches!
A miserable life of this poor picture!
Olym. Dear madam!

Asp. I have done. Sit down ; and let us
Upon that point fix all our eyes; that point there.
Make a dull silence, till you feel a sudden sadness
Give us new souls.

Enter CALIANAX.

Cal. The king may do this, and he may not do it:

My child is wrong'd, disgraced.-Well, how now, huswives!

What, at your ease? Is this a time to sit still? Up, you young lazy whores, up, or I'll swinge you! Olym. Nay, good my lord.

Cal. You'll lie down shortly. Get you in, and work!

What, are you grown so resty you want heats?

We shall have some of the court-boys heat you

shortly.

Ant. My lord, we do no more than we are charged.

It is the lady's pleasure we be thus
In grief she is forsaken.

Cal. There's a rogue too!

A young dissembling slave! Well, get you in!
I'll have a bout with that boy. 'Tis high time
Now to be valiant; I confess my youth
Was never prone that way. What, made an ass?
A court-stale? Well, I will be valiant,
And beat some dozen of these whelps; I will!
And there's another of 'em, a trim cheating soldier ;
I'll maul that rascal; he has out-braved me twice:
But now, I thank the gods, I am valiant.—
Go, get you in! I'll take a course with all.

[Exeunt.

them.-Good-morrow, sister! Spare yourself today; the night will come again.

Enter AMINTOR.

Amin. Who's there? my brother! I'm no readier

yet.

Your sister is but now up.

Diph. You look as you had lost your eyes tonight:

I think you have not slept.

Amin. I'faith I have not

Diph. You have done better, then.

Amin. We ventured for a boy: When he is twelve,

He shall command against the foes of Rhodes.
Shall we be merry?

Stra. You cannot; you want sleep.

Amin. 'Tis true.-But she,

As if she had drank Lethe, or had made

Even with Heaven, did fetch so still a sleep,
So sweet and sound-

Diph. What's that?

Amin. Your sister frets

[Aside.

This morning; and does turn her eyes upon me, As people on their headsman. She does chafe, And kiss, and chafe again, and clap my cheeks; She's in another world.

Diph. Then I had lost: I was about to lay You had not got her maidenhead to-night. Amin. Ha! he does not mock me? [Aside.]— You had lost, indeed;

And that is nearer.

Amin. Dear Melantius!

Let me behold thee. Is it possible?
Mel. What sudden gaze is this?
Amin. "Tis wond'rous strange!

Mel. Why does thine eye desire so strict a view Of that it knows so well? There's nothing here That is not thine.

Amin. I wonder, much, Melantius,

To see those noble looks, that make me think
How virtuous thou art: And, on the sudden,

'Tis strange to me thou shouldst have worth and

honour;

Or not be base, and false, and treacherous,
And every ill. But-

Mel. Stay, stay, my friend;

I fear this sound will not become our loves.

No more; embrace me.

Amin. Oh, mistake me not:

I know thee to be full of all those deeds
That we frail men call good; but, by the course
Of nature, thou shouldst be as quickly changed
As are the winds; dissembling as the sea,
That now wears brows as smooth as virgins' be,
Tempting the merchant to invade his face,
And in an hour calls his billows up,
And shoots 'em at the sun, destroying all
He carries on him.-Oh, how near am I
To utter my sick thoughts!

[Aside.

Mel. But why, my friend, should I be so by nature?

Amin. I have wed thy sister, who hath virtuous thoughts

Enough for one whole family; and, 'tis strange
That you should feel no want.

Mel. Believe me, this compliment's too cunning for me.

Diph. What should I be then, by the course of nature,

They having both robb'd me of so much virtue? Stra. Oh, call the bride, my lord Amintor, That we may see her blush, and turn her eyes down:

'Tis the prettiest sport!

Amin. Evadne !

Evad. [within.] My lord!

Amin. Come forth, my love!

Your brothers do attend to wish you joy. Evad. I am not ready yet.

Amin. Enough, enough.

Evad. They'll mock me.

Amin. 'Faith, thou shalt come in.

Enter EvaDNE.

men,

'Would you had all such wives, and all the world,
That I might be no wonder! You are all sad:
What, do you envy me? I walk, methinks,
On water, and ne'er sink, I am so light.
Mel. 'Tis well you are so.

Amin. Well? how can I be other,

When she looks thus ?-Is there no music there? Let's dance.

Mel. Why, this is strange, Amintor!

Amin. I do not know myself; yet I could wish My joy were less.

Diph. I'll marry too, if it will make one thus. Erid. Amintor, hark.

[Aside

Amin. I cannot tell;

I ne'er try'd other, sir; but I perceive

She is as quick as you delivered.

King. Well, you will trust me then, Amintor,

To chuse a wife for you again?

Amin. No, never, sir.

King. Why? like you this so ill?

Amin. So well I like her.

For this I bow my knee in thanks to you,
And unto heaven will pay my grateful tribute
Hourly; and do hope we shall draw out
A long contented life together here,
And die both, full of grey hairs, in one day :
For which the thanks are yours. But if the powers
That rule us please to call her first away,
Without pride spoke, this world holds not a wife
Worthy to take her room.

King. I do not like this.--All forbear the room, But you, Amintor, and your lady.

[Exeunt all but the KING, AMINTOR, and Evadne. I have some speech with you, that may concern Your after living well.

Amin. [aside.] He will not tell me that he lies with her?

If he do, something heavenly stay my heart,
For I shall be apt to thrust this arm of mine
To acts unlawful!

King. You will suffer me to talk with her,
Amintor, and not have a jealous pang?
Amin. Sir, I dare trust my wife with whom she
To talk, and not be jealous.

[dares

[EVADNE and the KING speak apart. King. How do you like

Amintor?

Evad. As I did, sir.

King. How is that?

Evad. As one that, to fulfil your will and pleaI have given leave to call me wife and love. [sure, King. I see there is no lasting faith in sin; They, that break word with heaven, will break again With all the world, and so dost thou with me.

Evad. How, sir?

King. This subtle woman's ignorance Will not excuse you: thou hast taken oaths, So great, methought, they did not well become A woman's mouth, that thou wouldst ne'er enjoy A man but me.

Evad. I never did swear so;

You do me wrong.

King. Day and night have heard it.

Evad. I swore indeed, that I would never love A man of lower place; but, if your fortune Should throw you from this height, I bade you

trust

I would forsake you, and would bend to him
That won your throne: I love with my ambition,
Not with my eyes. But, if I ever yet

Touch'd any other, leprosy light here
Upon my face; which for your royalty

I would not stain !

King. Why, thou dissemblest, and it is In me to punish thee.

Evad. Why, 'tis in me,

Then, not to love you, which will more afflict
Your body than your punishment can mine.

King. But thou hast let Amintor lie with thee.
Evad. I have not.

King. Impudence! he says himself so.
Evad. He lies.

King. He does not.

Evad. By this light he does,

Strangely and basely! and I'll prove it so.

I did not shun him for a night; but told him,

I would never close with him.

King, Speak lower; 'tis false.

Evad. I am no man

To answer with a blow; or, if I were,

You are the king! But urge me not; 'tis most

true.

[high

King. Do not I know the uncontrolled thoughts That youth brings with him, when his blood is With expectation, and desire of that He long hath waited for? Is not his spirit, Though he be temperate, of a valiant strain As this our age hath known? What could he do, If such a sudden speech had met his blood, But ruin thee for ever, if he had not kill'd thee? He could not bear it thus. He is as we, Or any other wrong'd man. Evad. 'Tis dissembling.

King. Take him! farewell! henceforth I am thy foe;

And what disgraces I can blot thee with look for. Evad. Stay, sir !-Amintor!-You shall hear. -Amintor!

Amin. [coming forward.] What, my love? Evad. Amintor, thou hast an ingenuous look, And shouldst be virtuous: It amazeth me, That thou canst make such base malicious lies! Amin. What, my dear wife!

Evad. Dear wife! I do despise thee. Why, nothing can be baser than to sow Dissention amongst lovers.

Amin. Lovers! who?

Evad. The king and me.

Amin. O, God!

Evad. Who should live long, and love without distaste,

Were it not for such pickthanks as thyself.
Did you lie with me? Swear now, and be punish'd
In hell for this!

Amin. The faithless sin I made

To fair Aspatia, is not yet revenged;
It follows me.-I will not lose a word
To this vile woman: But to you, my king,
The anguish of my soul thrusts out this truth,
You are a tyrant! And not so much to wrong
An honest man thus, as to take a pride
In talking with him of it.

Evad. Now, sir, see
How loud this fellow lied.

Amin. You that can know to wrong, should know how men

Must right themselves: What punishment is due
From me to him that shall abuse my bed?
Is it not death? Nor can that satisfy,
Unless I send your limbs through all the land,
To show how nobly I have freed myself.
King. Draw not thy sword: thou know'st I
cannot fear

A subject's hand; but thou shalt feel the weight
Of this, if thou dost rage.

Amin. The weight of that!

But there is

If you have any worth, for Heaven's sake, think
I fear not swords; for as you are mere man,
I dare as easily kill you for this deed,
As you dare think to do it.
Divinity about you, that strikes dead
My rising passions: As you are my king,
I fall before you, and present my sword
To cut mine own flesh, if it be your will.
Alas! I am nothing but a multitude

Of walking griefs! Yet, should I murder you,
I might before the world take the excuse
Of madness: For, compare my injuries,
And they will well appear too sad a weight
For reason to endure! But, fall I first
Amongst my sorrows, ere my treacherous hand
Touch holy things! But why (I know not what
I have to say) why did you chuse out me

To make thus wretched? There were thousand
Easy to work on, and of state enough,
Within the island.

Evad. I would not have a fool;

It were no credit for me.

Amin. Worse and worse!

Thou, that dar'st talk unto thy husband thus,
Profess thyself a whore, and, more than so,
Resolve to be so still-It is my fate

To bear and bow beneath a thousand griefs,
To keep that little credit with the world!

[fools

And trouble not me: My head is full of thoughts,

More weighty than thy life or death can be.

But there were wise ones too; you might have ta'en Another.

King. No: for I believe thee honest,

As thou wert valiant.

Amin. All the happiness

Bestowed upon me turns into disgrace.
Gods, take your honesty again, for I

Am loaden with it!-Good my lord the king,
Be private in it.

King. Thou may'st live, Amintor,
Free as thy king, if thou wilt wink at this,
And be a means that we may meet in secret.

Amin. A bawd! Hold, hold, my breast! A
Seize me, if I forget not all respects [bitter curse
That are religious, on another word
Sounded like that; and, through a sea of sins,
Will wade to my revenge, though I should call
Pains here, and after life, upon my soul !
King, Well, I am resolute you lay not with her;
And so I leave you.
[Exit KING.

Tempt me not so far then: The power of earth Shall not redeem thee.

Cal. [aside.] I must let him alone:

He's stout and able; and, to say the truth,
However I may set a face, and talk,

I am not valiant. When I was a youth,

I kept my credit with a testy trick

I had, 'mongst cowards, but durst never fight. Mel. I will not promise to preserve your life, If you do stay.

Cal. I would give half my land

That I durst fight with that proud man a little. If I had men to hold him, I would beat him Till he ask'd me mercy.

Mel. Sir, will you be gone?

Cal. I dare not stay; but I'll go home, and beat My servants all over for this. [Exit CALIANAX

Mel. This old fellow haunts me!

But the distracted carriage of my Amintor
Takes deeply on me: I will find the cause.
I fear his conscience cries, he wrong'd Aspatia.

Enter AMINTOR.

Amin. Men's eyes are not so subtle to perceive My inward misery: I bear my grief

Hid from the world. How art thou wretched then?
For aught I know, all husbands are like me ;
And every one I talk with of his wife,

Is but a well dissembler of his woes,

As I am. 'Would I knew it ! for the rareness
Afflicts me now.

Mel. Amintor, we have not enjoy'd our friendship of late,

For we were wont to change our souls in talk.
Amin. Melantius, I can tell thee a good jest
Of Strato and a lady the last day.

Mel. How was't?

Amin. Why, such an odd one!

Mel. I have long'd to speak with you;

Not of an idle jest, that's forced, but of matter
You are bound to utter to me.

Amin. What is that, my friend?
Mel. I have observed your words

Fall from your tongue wildly; and all your carriage
Like one that strove to show his merry mood,
When he were ill disposed: You were not wont
To put such scorn into your speech, or wear
Upon your face ridiculous jollity.

Some sadness sits here, which your cunning would
Cover o'er with smiles, and 'twill not be.
What is it!

Amin. A sadness here! what cause
Can fate provide for me, to make me so
Am I not loved through all this isle? The king
Rains greatness on me. Have I not received
A lady to my bed, that in her eye
Keeps mounting fire, and on her tender cheeks
Inevitable colour, in her heart

A prison for all virtue? Are not you,
Which is above all joys, my constant friend?
What sadness can I have? No; I am light,
And feel the courses of my blood more warm
And stirring than they were. 'Faith, marry too:
And you will feel so unexpress'd a joy
In chaste embraces, that you will indeed
Appear another.

Mel. You may shape, Amintor,
Causes to cozen the whole world withal,
And yourself too: but 'tis not like a friend,

To hide your soul from me. 'Tis not your nature
To be thus idle: I have seen you stand
As you were blasted, 'midst of all your mirth;
Call thrice aloud, and then start, feigning joy
So coldly!-World, what do I hear? a friend
Is nothing. Heaven, I would have told that man
My secret sins! I'll search an unknown land,
And there plant friendship; all is wither'd here.
Come with a compliment! I would have fought,
Or told my friend "he lied," ere sooth'd him so.
Out of my bosom !

Amin. But there is nothing

Mel. Worse and worse! farewell! From this time have acquaintance, but no friend. Amin. Melantius, stay: You shall know what it is.

Mel. See, how you play'd with friendship! Be
advised

How you give cause unto yourself to say,
You have lost a friend.

pany

With thee in tears! hide nothing, then, from me :
For when I know the cause of thy distemper,
With mine old armour I'll adorn myself,
My resolution, and cut through my foes,
Unto thy quiet; till I place thy heart
As peaceable as spotless innocence.
What is it?

Amin. Why, 'tis this-It is too big
To get out--Let my tears make way awhile.
Mel. Punish me strangely, Heaven, if he 'scape
Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this!
Amin. Your sister-