Act 3 — Scene I.[3220]

Cle. Nay, doubtless, ’t is true. Dion. Ay; and ’t is the gods That rais’d this punishment, to scourge the King With his own issue. Is it not a shame For us that should write noble in the land,5 For us that should he freemen, to behold A man that is the bravery of his age, Philaster, prest down from his royal right By this regardless King? and only look And see the sceptre ready to be cast10 Into the hands of that lascivious lady That lives in lust with a smooth boy, now to be married To yon strange prince, who, but that people please To let him be a prince, is born a slave In that which should be his most noble part,15 His mind? Thra. That man that would not stir with you To aid Philaster, let the gods forget That such a creature walks upon the earth! Cle. Philaster is too backward in ’t himself. The gentry do await it, and the people,20 Against their nature, are all bent for him, And like a field of standing corn, that ’s moved With a stiff gale, their heads bow all one way. Dion. The only cause that draws Philaster back From this attempt is the fair princess’ love,25 Which he admires, and we can now confute. Thra. Perhaps he ’ll not believe it. Dion. Why, gentlemen, ’t is without question so. Cle. Ay, ’t is past speech she lives dishonestly. But how shall we, if he be curious,[3221] work30 Upon his faith? Thra. We all are satisfied within ourselves. Dion. Since it is true, and tends to his own good, I’ll make this new report to be my knowledge; I’ll say I know it; nay, I ’ll swear I saw it.35 Cle. It will be best. Thra. ’T will move him.

Dion. Here he comes. Good morrow to your honour: we have spent Some time in seeking you. Phi. My worthy friends, You that can keep your memories to know Your friend in miseries, and cannot frown40 On men disgrac’d for virtue, a good day Attend you all! What service may I do Worthy your acceptation? Dion. My good lord, We come to urge that virtue, which we know Lives in your breast, forth. Rise, and make a head;[3222]45 The nobles and the people are all dull’d With this usurping king; and not a man, That ever heard the word, or knew such a thing As virtue, but will second your attempts. Phi. How honourable is this love in you50 To me that have deserv’d none! Know, my friends, (You, that were born to shame your poor Philaster With too much courtesy.) I could afford To melt myself in thanks: but my designs Are not yet ripe. Suffice it, that ere long55 I shall employ your loves; but yet the time Is short of what I would. Dion. The time is fuller, sir, than you expect; That which hereafter will not, perhaps, be reach’d By violence, may now be caught. As for the King,60 You know the people have long hated him; But now the princess, whom they lov’d—— Phi. Why, what of her? Dion. Is loath’d as much as he. Phi. By what strange means? Dion. She ’s known a whore. Phi. Thou liest. Dion. My lord——-65 Phi. Thou liest, Offers to draw and is held. And thou shalt feel it! I had thought thy mind Had been of honour. Thus to rob a lady Of her good name is an infectious sin Not to be pardon’d. Be it false as hell,70 ’T will never be redeem’d, if it be sown Amongst the people, fruitful to increase All evil they shall hear. Let me alone That I may cut off falsehood whilst it springs! Set hills on hills betwixt me and the man75 That utters this, and I will scale them all, And from the utmost top fall on his neck, Like thunder from a cloud. Dion. This is most strange: Sure, he does love her. Phi. I do love fair truth. She is my mistress, and who injures her80 Draws vengeance from me. Sirs, let go my arms. Thra. Nay, good my lord, be patient. Cle. Sir, remember this is your honour’d friend, That comes to do his service, and will show you Why he utter’d this. Phi. I ask your pardon, sir;85 My zeal to truth made me unmannerly: Should I have heard dishonour spoke of you, Behind your back, untruly, I had been As much distemper’d and enrag’d as now. Dion. But this, my lord, is truth. Phi. Oh, say not so!90 Good sir, forbear to say so: ’t is then truth, That womankind is false: urge it no more; It is impossible. Why should you think The princess light? Dion. Why, she was taken at it.94 Phi. ’T is false! by Heaven, ’t is false! It cannot be! Can it? Speak, gentlemen; for God’s love, speak! Is ’t possible? Can women all be damn’d? Dion. Why, no, my lord. Phi. Why, then, it cannot be. Dion. And she was taken with her boy. Phi. What boy?99 Dion. A page, a boy that serves her. Phi. Oh, good gods! A little boy? Dion. Ay; know you him my lord? Phi. [Aside.] Hell and sin know him!—Sir, you are deceiv’d: I’ll reason it a little coldly with you. If she were lustful, would she take a boy, That knows not yet desire? She would have one105 Should meet her thoughts and know the sin he acts, Which is the great delight of wickedness. You are abus’d,[3223] and so is she, and I. Dion. How you, my lord? Phi. Why, all the world ’s abus’d109 In an unjust report. Dion. Oh, noble sir, your virtues Cannot look into the subtle thoughts of woman! In short, my lord, I took them; I myself. Phi. Now, all the devils, thou didst! Fly from my rage! Would thou hadst ta’en devils engend’ring plagues, When thou did’st take them! Hide thee from mine eyes!115 Would thou hadst taken thunder on thy breast, When thou didst take them; or been strucken dumb For ever; that this foul deed might have slept In silence! Thra. Have you known him so ill-temper’d? Cle. Never before. Phi. The winds that are let loose120 From the four several corners of the earth, And spread themselves all over sea and land, Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a sword To run me thorough? Dion. Why, my lord, are you So mov’d at this? Phi. When any fall from virtue,125 I am distract; I have an interest in ’t. Dion. But, good my lord, recall yourself, and think What’s best to be done. Phi. I thank you; I will do it. Please you to leave me; I’ll consider of it. To-morrow I will find your lodging forth,130 And give you answer. Dion. All the gods direct you The readiest way! Thra. He was extreme impatient. Cle. It was his virtue and his noble mind. Exeunt Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline. Phi. I had forgot to ask him where he took them; I’ll follow him. Oh that I had a sea135 Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel! More circumstances will but fan this fire: It more afflicts me now, to know by whom This deed is done, than simply that ’t is done; And he that tells me this is honourable,140 As far from lies as she is far from truth. Oh, that, like beasts, we could not grieve ourselves With that we see not! Bulls and rams will fight To keep their females standing in their sight; But take ’em from them, and you take at once145 Their spleens away; and they will fall again Unto to their pastures, growing fresh and fat, And taste the waters of the springs as sweet As ’t was before, finding no start in sleep;149 But miserable man—— Enter Bellario. See, see, you gods, He walks still; and the face you let him wear When he was innocent is still the same, Not blasted! Is this justice? Do you mean To intrap mortality, that you allow Treason so smooth a brow? I cannot now155 Think he is guilty. Bel. Health to you, my lord! The princess doth commend her love, her life, And this, unto you. Gives a letter. Phi. Oh, Bellario, Now I perceive she loves me: she does show it In loving thee, my boy, she has made thee brave.160 Bel. My lord, she has attir’d me past my wish, Past my desert; more fit for her attendant, Though far unfit for me who do attend. Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy.—Oh, let all women,164 That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here, Here, by this paper! She does write to me As if her heart were mines of adamant To all the world besides; but, unto me, A maiden-snow that melted with my looks.— Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee?170 For I shall guess her love to me by that. Bel. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were, Something allied to her, or had preserv’d Her life three times by my fidelity; As mothers fond do use their only sons,175 As I ’d use one that’s left unto my trust, For whom my life should pay if he met harm, So she does use me. Phi. Why, this is wondrous well: But what kind language does she feed thee with? Bel. Why, she does tell me she will trust my youth180 With all her loving secrets, and does call me Her pretty servant; bids me weep no more For leaving you; she ’ll see my services Regarded: and such words of that soft strain That I am nearer weeping when she ends185 Than ere she spake. Phi. This is much better still. Bel. Are you not ill, my lord? Phi. Ill? No, Bellario. Bel. Methinks your words Fall not from off your tongue so evenly. Nor is there in your looks that quietness190 That I was wont to see. Phi. Thou art deceiv’d, boy: And she strokes thy head? Bel. Yes. Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks? Bel. She does, my lord. Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy? ha! Bel. How, my lord?194 Phi. She kisses thee? Bel. Never, my lord, by heaven. Phi. That ’s strange, I know she does. Bel. No, by my life. Phi. Why then she does not love me. Come, she does. I bade her do it; I charg’d her, by all charms Of love between us, by the hope of peace We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights200 Naked as to her bed; I took her oath Thou shouldst enjoy her. Tell me, gentle boy, Is she not parallelless? Is not her breath Sweet as Arabian winds when fruits are ripe? Are not her breasts two liquid ivory balls?205 Is she not all a lasting mine of joy? Bel. Ay, now I see why my disturbed thoughts Were so perplex’d. When first I went to her, My heart held augury. You are abus’d; Some villain has abus’d you; I do see210 Whereto you tend. Fall rocks upon his head That put this to you! ’T is some subtle train To bring that noble frame of yours to nought. Phi. Thou think’st I will be angry with thee. Come,214 Thou shalt know all my drift. I hate her more Than I love happiness, and plac’d thee there To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds. Hast thou discovered? Is she fallen to lust, As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to me. Bel. My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent.220 Had she the lust of sparrows or of goats, Had she a sin that way, bid from the world, Beyond the name of lust, I would not aid Her base desires; but what I came to know As servant to her, I would not reveal,225 To make my life last ages. Phi. Oh, my heart! This is a salve worse than the main disease.— Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart To know it. I will see thy thoughts as plain230 As I do now thy face. Bel. Why, so you do. She is (for aught I know) by all the gods, As chaste as ice! But were she foul as hell, And I did know it thus, the breath of kings, The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass,235 Should draw it from me. Phi. Then it is no time To dally with thee; I will take thy life, For I do hate thee. I could curse thee now. Bel. If you do hate, you could not curse me worse; The gods have not a punishment in store240 Greater for me than is your hate. Phi. Fie, fie, So young and so dissembling! Tell me when And where thou didst enjoy her, or let plagues Fall on me, if I destroy thee not! Draws his sword. Bel. By heaven, I never did; and when I lie245 To save my life, may I live long and loath’d! Hew me asunder, and, whilst I can think, I’ll love those pieces you have cut away Better than those that grow, and kiss those limbs249 Because you made ’em so. Phi. Fear’st thou not death? Can boys contemn that? Bel. Oh, what boy is he Can be content to live to be a man, That sees the best of men thus passionate, Thus without reason? Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know What ’t is to die. Bel. Yes, I do know, my lord:255 ’T is less than to be born; a lasting sleep; A quiet resting from all jealousy, A thing we all pursue. I know, besides, It is but giving over a game259 That must be lost. Phi. But there are pains, false boy, For perjur’d souls. Think but on those, and then Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all. Bel. May they fall all upon me whilst I live, If I be perjur’d, or have ever thought Of that you charge me with! If I be false,265 Send me to suffer in those punishments You speak of; kill me! Phi. Oh, what should I do? Why, who can but believe him? He does swear So earnestly, that if it were not true, The gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario:270 Thy protestations are so deep, and thou Dost look so truly when thou utter’st them, That, though I know ’em false as were my hopes, I cannot urge thee further. But thou wert To blame to injure me, for I must love275 Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon Thy tender youth. A love from me to thee Is firm, whate’er thou dost; it troubles me That I have call’d the blood out of thy cheeks, That did so well become thee. But, good boy, Let me not see thee more: something is done281 That will distract me, that will make me mad, If I behold thee. If thou tender’st me, Let me not see thee. Bel. I will fly as far As there is morning, ere I give distaste285 To that most honour’d mind. But through these tears, Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see A world of treason practis’d upon you, And her, and me. Farewell for evermore!289 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, And I shall rest in peace. Exit. Phi. Blessing be with thee, Whatever thou deserv’st! Oh, where shall I Go bathe this body? Nature too unkind;295 That made no medicine for a troubled mind! Exit.