King. Gentlemen, who saw the prince? Cle. So please you, sir, he’s gone to see the city And the new platform, with some gentlemen Attending on him. King. Is the princess ready To bring her prisoner out? Thra. She waits your grace.5 King. Tell her we stay. Exit Thrasiline. Dion. [Aside.] King, you may be deceiv’d yet. The head you aim at cost more setting on Than to be lost so lightly. If it must off,— Like a wild overflow, that swoops before him A golden stack, and with it shakes down bridges,10 Cracks the strong hearts of pines, whose cable-roots Held out a thousand storms, a thousand thunders, And, so made mightier, takes whole villages Upon his back, and in that heat of pride14 Charges strong towns, towers, castles, palaces, And lays them desolate; so shall thy head, Thy noble head, bury the lives of thousands, That must bleed with thee like a sacrifice, In thy red ruins.

Enter Arethusa, Philaster, Bellario in a robe and garland [and Thrasiline].

King. How now? What masque is this?20 Bel. Right royal sir, I should Sing you an epithalamion of these lovers, But having lost my best airs with my fortunes, And wanting a celestial harp to strike This blessed union on, thus in glad story25 I give you all. These two fair cedar-branches, The noblest of the mountain where they grew, Straightest and tallest, under whose still shades The worthier beasts have made their lairs, and slept Free from the fervour of the Sirian star30 And the fell thunder-stroke, free from the clouds When they were big with humour, and deliver’d In thousand spouts their issues to the earth; Oh, there was none but silent quiet there! Till never-pleased Fortune shot up shrubs,35 Base under-brambles, to divorce these branches; And for a while they did so, and did reign Over the mountain, and choke up his beauty With brakes, rude thorns and thistles, till the sun Scorcht them even to the roots and dried them there.40 And now a gentle gale hath blown again, That made these branches meet and twine together, Never to be divided. The god that sings His holy numbers over marriage-beds Hath knit their noble hearts; and here they stand45 Your children, mighty King; and I have done. King. How, how? Are. Sir, if you love it in plain truth, (For now there is no masquing in ’t,) this gentleman, The prisoner that you gave me, is become My keeper, and through all the bitter throes50 Your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him, Thus nobly hath he struggled, and at length Arrived here my dear husband. King. Your dear husband!— Call in the Captain of the Citadel— There you shall keep your wedding. I’ll provide55 A masque shall make your Hymen turn his saffron Into a sullen coat, and sing sad requiems To your departing souls. Blood shall put out your torches; and, instead Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks,60 An axe shall hang, like a prodigious meteor, Ready to crop your loves’ sweets. Hear, you gods! From this time do I shake all title off Of father to this woman, this base woman; And what there is of vengeance in a lion65 Chaft among dogs or robb’d of his dear young, The same, enforc’d more terrible, more mighty, Expect from me! Are. Sir, by that little life I have left to swear by,69 There’s nothing that can stir me from myself. What I have done, I have done without repentance, For death can be no bugbear unto me, So long as Pharamond is not my headsman. Dion. [Aside.] Sweet peace upon thy soul, thou worthy maid, Whene’er thou diest! For this time I’ll excuse thee,75 Or be thy prologue. Phi. Sir, let me speak next; And let my dying words be better with you Than my dull living actions. If you aim At the dear life of this sweet innocent, You are a tyrant and a savage monster,80 [That feeds upon the blood you gave a life to;][3263] Your memory shall be as foul behind you, As you are living; all your better deeds Shall be in water writ, but this in marble;84 No chronicle shall speak you, though your own, But for the shame of men. No monument, Though high and big as Pelion, shall be able To cover this base murder: make it rich With brass, with purest gold, and shining jasper, Like the Pyramides; lay on epitaphs90 Such as make great men gods; my little marble, That only clothes my ashes, not my faults, Shall far outshine it. And for after-issues, Think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms, That they will give you more for your mad rage95 To cut off, unless it be some snake, or something Like yourself, that in his birth shall strangle you. Remember my father, King! There was a fault, But I forgive it. Let that sin persuade you To love this lady; if you have a soul,100 Think, save her, and be saved. For myself, I have so long expected this glad hour, So languisht under you, and daily withered, That, Heaven knows, it is a joy to die; I find a recreation in’t.105

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Where is the King? King. Here. Mess. Get you to your strength, And rescue the Prince Pharamond from danger; He’s taken prisoner by the citizens, Fearing[3264] the Lord Philaster. Dion. [Aside.] Oh, brave followers! Mutiny, my fine dear countrymen, mutiny!110 Now, my brave valiant foremen, shew your weapons In honour of your mistresses!

Enter a Second Messenger.

2 Mess. Arm, arm, arm, arm! King. A thousand devils take ’em! Dion. [Aside.] A thousand blessings on ’em! 2 Mess. Arm, O King! The city is in mutiny,116 Led by an old gray ruffian, who comes on In rescue of the Lord Philaster. King. Away to the citadel! I’ll see them safe, And then cope with these burghers. Let the guard120 And all the gentlemen give strong attendance. Exeunt all except Dion, Cleremont, and Thrasiline. Cle. The city up! This was above our wishes. Dion. Ay, and the marriage too. By my life, This noble lady has deceiv’d us all. A plague upon myself, a thousand plagues,125 For having such unworthy thoughts of her dear honour! Oh, I could beat myself! Or do you beat me, And I’ll beat you; for we had all one thought.

Cle. No no, ’t will but lose time.129

Dion. You say true. Are your swords sharp? —Well, my dear countrymen What-ye-lacks,[3265] if you continue, and fall not back upon the first broken skin, I’ll have you chronicled and chronicled, and cut and chronicled, and all-to be-prais’d and sung in sonnets, and bawled135 in new brave ballads, that all tongues shall troll you in saecula saeculorum, my kind can-carriers.

Thra. What, if a toy[3266] take ’em i’ th’ heels now, and they run all away, and cry, “the devil take the hindmost”?140

Dion. Then the same devil take the foremost too, and souse him for his breakfast! If they all prove cowards, my curses fly among them, and be speeding! May they have murrains reign to keep the gentlemen at home unbound145 in easy frieze! May the moths branch[3267] their velvets, and their silks only be worn before sore eyes! May their false lights undo ’em, and discover presses,[3268] holes, stains, and oldness in their stuffs, and make them shop-rid!150 May they keep whores and horses, and break; and live mewed up with necks of beef and turnips! May they have many children, and none like the father! May they know no language but that gibberish they prattle to155 their parcels, unless it be the goatish Latin they write in their bonds—and may they write that false, and lose their debts!

Re-enter King.

King. Now the vengeance of all the gods confound them! How they swarm together!160 What a hum they raise!—Devils choke your wild throats!—If a man had need to use their valours, he must pay a brokage for it, and then bring ’em on, and they will fight like sheep. ’T is Philaster, none but Philaster, must allay this heat. They will not hear me speak, but166 fling dirt at me and call me tyrant. Oh, run, dear friend, and bring the Lord Philaster! Speak him fair; call him prince; do him all the courtesy you can; commend me to him. Oh, my170 wits, my wits!

Exit Cleremont.

Dion. [Aside.] Oh, my brave countrymen! as I live, I will not buy a pin out of your walls for this. Nay, you shall cozen me, and I’ll thank you, and send you brawn and bacon, and soil[3269] you every long vacation a brace of foremen,[3270]176 that at Michaelmas shall come up fat and kicking.

King. What they will do with this poor prince, the gods know, and I fear.180

Dion. [Aside.] Why, sir, they’ll flay him, and make church-buckets on’s skin, to quench rebellion; then clap a rivet in’s sconce, and hang him up for a sign.

Enter Cleremont with Philaster.

King. Oh, worthy sir, forgive me! Do not make185 Your miseries and my faults meet together, To bring a greater danger. Be yourself, Still sound amongst diseases. I have wrong’d you; And though I find it last, and beaten to it, Let first, your goodness know it. Calm the people,190 And be what you were born to. Take your love, And with her my repentance, all my wishes, And all my prayers. By the gods, my heart speaks this; And if the least fall from me not perform’d, May I be struck with thunder! Phi. Mighty sir,195 I will not do your greatness so much wrong, As not to make your word truth. Free the princess And the poor boy, and let me stand the shock Of this mad sea-breach, which I’ll either turn, Or perish with it. King. Let your own word free them.200 Phi Then thus I take my leave, kissing your hand, And hanging on your royal word. Be kingly, And be not mov’d, sir. I shall bring you peace Or never bring myself back. King. All the gods go with thee. Exeunt.

Notes in this chapter

Note 1 · A state-room in the palace.Note 2 · Q₁ Other edd. omit.Note 3 · I. e. fearing for.Note 4 · I. e. shopkeepers, who were in the habit of thus addressing passers-by.Note 5 · Trifle, whim.Note 6 · Eat patterns on.Note 7 · Creases.Note 8 · Fatten.Note 9 · Geese.