Phi. Away, away; there is no danger in him: Alas, he had rather sleep to shake his fit off. Look ye, friends, how gently he leads. Upon

my word,

He's tame enough, he needs no further watching. Good my friends, go to your houses,

And by me have your pardons, and my love; And know there shall be nothing in my power You may deserve, but you shall have your wishes. To give you more thanks, were to flatter you. Continue still your love; and, for an earnest, Drink this.

All. Long may'st thou live, brave prince! brave prince! brave prince!

[Exeunt PHILASTER and PHARAMOND. Cap. Go thy ways! Thou art the king of courtesy!

Fall off again, my sweet youths. Come,
And every man trace to his house again,

And hang his pewter up; then to the tavern,
And bring your wives in muffs. We will have

music;

her;

She is thy right too; and forget to urge
My vexed soul with that I did before.

Phi. Sir, it is blotted from my memory,
Past and forgotten.-For you, prince of Spain,
Whom I have thus redeem'd, you have full leave
To make an honourable voyage home.

And if you would go furnish'd to your realm
With fair provision, I do see a lady,
Methinks, would gladly bear you company:
How like you this piece?

Meg. Sir, he likes it well;

For he hath tried it, and found it worth
His princely liking.

I know your meaning. I am not the first
That Nature taught to seek a fellow forth:
Can shame remain perpetually in me,

And not in others? or, have princes salves
To cure ill names, that meaner people want?
Phi. What mean you?

Meg. You must get another ship,

To bear the princess and her boy together.
Dion. How now!

Meg. Others took me, and I took her and him At that all women may be ta'en some time. Ship us all four, my lord; we can endure Weather and wind alike.

King. Clear thou thyself, or know not me for father.

Are. This earth, how false it is! What means is left for me

To clear myself? It lies in your belief.
My lords, believe me; and let all things else
Struggle together to dishonour me.

Bel. Oh, stop your ears, great king, that I may speak

As freedom would; then I will call this lady
As base as are her actions! Hear me, sir:
Believe your heated blood when it rebels
Against your reason, sooner than this lady.
Meg. By this good light, he bears it hand-
somely.

Phi. This lady? I will sooner trust the wind
With feathers, or the troubled sea with pearl,
Than her with any thing. Believe her not!
Why, think you, if I did believe her words,
I would outlive'em? Honour cannot take
Revenge on you; then, what were to be known
But death?

King. Forget her, sir, since all is knit
Between us. But I must request of you
One favour, and will sadly be denied.1
Phi. Command, whate'er it be.
King. Swear to be true

To what you promise.

Phi. By the powers above,

Let it not be the death of her or him,

And it is granted.

King. Bear away that boy

To torture: I will have her clear'd or buried. Phi. Oh, let me call my words back, worthy sir!

Ask something else! Bury my life and right
In one poor grave; but do not take away
My life and fame at once.

King. Away with him! It stands irrevocable.
Phi. Turn all your eyes on me : Here stands
a man,

The falsest and the basest of this world.

Set swords against this breast, some honest man, For I have lived till I am pitied!

My former deeds were hateful, but this last
Is pitiful; for I, unwillingly,

Have given the dear preserver of my life
Unto his torture! Is it in the power

Of flesh and blood to carry this, and live?

That I may gaze upon thee. Art thou she,
Or else her murderer? Where wert thou born?
Bel. In Siracusa.

Dion. What's thy name?

Bel. Euphrasia.

Dion. Oh, 'tis just, 'tis she!

Now I do know thee. Oh that thou hadst died, And I had never seen thee nor my shame!

How shall I own thee? Shall this tongue of mine

E'er call thee daughter more?

Bel. 'Would I had died indeed; I wish it too: And so I must have done by vow, ere published What I have told, but that there was no means To hide it longer. Yet I joy in this,

The princess is all clear.

King. What have you done?

Dion. All is discover'd.

Phi. Why then hold you me?

[He offers to stab himself.

All is discover'd! Pray you, let me go.

King. Stay him.

Are. What is discover'd?

Dion. Why, my shame!

It is a woman. Let her speak the rest.

Phi. How? That again!

Dion. It is a woman.

Are. And for me,

I have a power to pardon sins, as oft As any man has power to wrong me.

Cle. Noble and worthy!

Phi. But, Bellario,

(For I must call thee still so) tell me why Though didst conceal thy sex? It was a fault;

A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds
Of truth outweigh'd it. All these jealousies
Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discover'd
What now we know.

Bel My father oft would speak
Your worth and virtue; and, as I did grow
More and more apprehensive, I did thirst
To see the man so praised; but yet all this
Was but a maiden longing, to be lost

As soon as found; till sitting in my window.
Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god,
I thought (but it was you), enter our gates.
My blood flew out, and back again as fast,
As I had puff'd it forth, and suck'd it in
Like breath. Then was I call'd away in haste
To entertain you. Never was a man,
Heaved from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, raised
So high in thoughts as I. You left a kiss,
Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep
From you for ever. I did hear you talk,
Far above singing! After you were gone,
I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd
What stirr'd it so. Alas! I found it love:
Yet far from lust; for could I but have lived
In presence of you, I had had my end.
For this I did delude my noble father

With a feign'd pilgrimage, and dress'd myself
In habit of a boy; and, for I knew

My birth no match for you, I was past hope
Of having you; and understanding well,
That when I made discovery of my sex,
I could not stay with you, I made a vow,
By all the most religious things a maid
Could call together, never to be known,
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.

Bel. 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.

Are. I, Philaster,

Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady Dress'd like a page to serve you; nor will I

King. Lay hold upon that lady.

Phi. It is a woman, sir! Hark, gentlemen!

Live free as I do. She that loves my lord,
Curst be the wife that hates her!

Phi. I grieve such virtue should be laid in earth

[MEGRA is seized.

It is a woman! Arethusa, take

My soul into thy breast, that would be gone With joy. It is a woman! Thou art fair, And virtuous still to ages, in despite

Without an heir. Hear me, my royal father: Wrong not the freedom of our souls so much, To think to take revenge of that base woman; Her malice cannot hurt us. Set her free

Of malice.

As she was born, saving from shame and sin.

Phi. The gods are just.

King. Set her at liberty; but leave the court; This is no place for such! You, Pharamond, Shall have free passage, and a conduct home

The virtue of our age, I bend my knee

there,

For mercy.

Phi. Take it freely; for, I know, Though what thou didst were indiscreetly done, 'Twas meant well.

1 apprehensive-quick to apprehend or understand.WEBER.

ACT I.-SCENE I.

The Camp of Arbaces, on the Frontiers of
Armenia.

Enter MARDONIUS and BESSUS.1

Mar. Bessus, the king has made a fair hand on't; he has ended the wars at a blow. 'Would my sword had a close basket hilt, to hold wine, and the blade would make knives; for we shall have nothing but eating and drinking.

Bes. We, that are commanders, shall do well enough.

Mar. 'Faith, Bessus, such commanders as thou may. I had as lieve set thee perdu" for a pudding i' th' dark, as Alexander the Great.

Bes. I love these jests exceedingly.

Mar. 1 think thou lov'st 'em better than quarrelling, Bessus; I'll say so much in thy behalf. And yet thou'rt valiant enough upon a retreat: I think thou would'st kill any man that stopp'd thee, an thou couldst.

Bes. But was not this a brave combat, Mardonius? Mar. Why, didst thou see it?

1 Bessus is by Theobald considered a fine copy of Shakespeare's inimitable Falstaff. perdu-from the French enfans perdus, forlorn hope.' Here it means in ambush. 3an-if.

Bes. You stood with me.

Mar. I did so; but methought thou wink'd'st every blow they strake.1

Bes. Well, I believe there are better soldiers than I, that never saw two princes fight in lists.

Mar. By my troth, I think so too, Bessus; many a thousand. But, certainly, all that are worse than thou have seen as much.

Bes. 'Twas bravely done of our king.

Mar. Yes, if he had not ended the wars. I'm glad thou dar'st talk of such dangerous businesses. Bes. To take a prince prisoner in the heart of his own country, in single combat!

Mar. See how thy blood cruddles at this! I think thou couldst be contented to be beaten i'

this passion.

Bes. Shall I tell you truly?
Mar. Ay.

Bes. I could willingly venture for it.

Mar. Hum! no venture neither, good Bessus. Bes. Let me not live, if I do not think it is a braver piece of service than that I'm so famed for.

Mar. Why, art thou famed for any valour?
Bes. I famed? Ay, I warrant you.

Mar. I am very heartily glad on't. I have been with thee ever since thou cam'st to the wars, and this is the first word that ever I heard on't. Pr'ythee, who fames thee?

conscience, thou deserv'st it not.

Bes. I ha' done good service.

Mar. I do not know how thou may'st wait of a man in's chamber, or thy agility in shifting a trencher; but otherwise no service, good Bessus. Bes. You saw me do the service yourself. Mar. Not so hasty, sweet Bessus! Where was it? is the place vanish'd?

Bes. At Bessus' Desperate Redemption. Mar. Bessus' Desperate Redemption! where's that?

Bes. There, where I redeem'd the day; the place bears my name.

Mar. Pr'ythee, who christen'd it?
Bes. The soldier.2

Mar. If I were not a very merrily disposed man, what would become of thee? One that had but a grain of choler in the whole composition of his body, would send thee of an errand to the worms, for putting thy name upon that field. Did not I beat thee there, i' th' head o'th' troops, with a truncheon, because thou wouldst needs run away with thy company, when we should charge the enemy?

Bes. True; but I did not run.

Mar. Right, Bessus: I beat thee out on't. Bes. But came not I up when the day was gone, and redeem'd all?

Mar. Thou knowest, and so do I, thou meant'st to fly, and thy fear making thee mistake, thou ran'st upon the enemy; and a hot charge thou gavest; as, I'll do thee right, thou art furious in running away; and, I think, we owe thy fear for our victory. If I were the king, and were sure thou wouldst mistake always, and run away upon the enemy, thou shouldst be general, by this light. Bes. You'll never leave this till I fall foul.

Mar. No more such words, dear Bessus; for though I have ever known thee a coward, and therefore durst never strike thee, yet if thou proceed'st, I will allow thee valiant, and beat thee.

Bes. Come, come, our king's a brave fellow.

Mar. He is so, Bessus; I wonder how thou com'st to know it. But, if thou wert a man of understanding, I would tell thee, he is vainglorious and humble, and angry and patient, and merry and dull, and joyful and sorrowful, in extremities, in an hour. Do not think me thy friend for this; for if I cared who knew it, thou shouldst not hear it, Bessus. Here he is, with the prey in his foot.

Enter ARBACES, TIGRANES, two Gentlemen, and

Attendants.

Arb. Thy sadness, brave Tigranes, takes away From my full victory. Am I become Of so small fame, that any man should grieve When I o'ercome him? They that placed me here, Intended it an honour, large enough For the most valiant living, but to dare Oppose me single, though he lost the day. What should afflict you? You are free as I. To be my prisoner, is to be more free

Have held me long, and taught me, though a youth,
The way to victory. She was a pretty child;
Then, I was little better; but now fame
Cries loudly on her, and my messengers
Make me believe she is a miracle.

She'll make you shrink, as I did, with a stroke

But of her eye, Tigranes.

Tigr. Is it the course of

Iberia to use their prisoners thus?

Had fortune thrown my name above Arbaces',
I should not thus have talk'd; for in Armenia,
We hold it base. You should have kept your

temper

Till you saw home again, where 'tis the fashion, Perhaps, to brag.

Arb. Be you my witness, earth, Need I to brag? Doth not this captive prince Speak me sufficiently, and all the acts That I have wrought upon his suffering land? Should I then boast? Where lies that foot of

ground

Within his whole realm, that I have not past, Fighting and conquering. Far then from me Be ostentation. I could tell the world, How I have laid his kingdom desolate, By this sole arm, propp'd by divinity; Stript him out of his glories; and have sent The pride of all his youth to people graves; And made his virgins languish for their loves; If I would brag. Should I, that have the power To teach the neighbour world humility, Mix with vainglory?

Mar. Indeed, this is none!

[Aside.

Arb. Tigranes, no; did I but take delight To stretch my deeds as others do, on words, I could amaze my hearers.

Mar. So you do.

[Aside.

Arb. But he shall wrong his and my modesty, That thinks me apt to boast. After an act Fit for a god to do upon his foe, A little glory in a soldier's mouth

Is well becoming; be it far from vain. Mar. 'Tis pity that valour should be thus drunk. [Aside.

Arb. I offer you my sister, and you answer, I do insult. A lady that no suit, Nortreasure, nor thy crown, could purchase thee, But that thou fought'st with me.

Tigr. Though this be worse

Than that you spoke before, it strikes not me;
But, that you think to over-grace me with
The marriage of your sister, troubles me.
I would give worlds for ransoms, were they mine,

Rather than have her.

Arb. See, if I insult

That am the conqueror, and for a ransom
Offer rich treasure to the conquered,
Which he refuses, and I bear his scorn!
It cannot be self-flattery to say,
The daughters of your country, set by her,
Would see their shame, run home, and blush to

death

Than you were formerly. And never think,
The man I held worthy to combat me
Shall be used servilely. Thy ransom is
To take my only sister to thy wife:

A heavy one, Tigranes; for she is

A lady, that the neighbour princes send

At their own foulness. Yet she is not fair, Nor beautiful; those words express her not: They say, her looks have something excellent, That wants a name. Yet were she odious, Her birth deserves the empire of the world. Sister to such a brother; that hath ta'en Victory prisoner, and throughout the earth

She durst not leave him. Nature did her wrong, To print continual conquest on her cheeks,