THE
MAIDS TRAGEDY.
Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

Persons Represented in the Play.

King.

Lysippus, brother to the King.

Amintor, a Noble Gentleman.

Evadne, Wife to Amintor.

        Malantius}
        Diphilius} Brothers to Evadne.
Aspatia, troth-plight wife to Amnitor.

        Calianax, an old humorous Lord, and
                  Father to Aspatia.
        Cleon}
        Strato} Gentlemen.
Diagoras, a Servant.

        Antiphila}
        Olympias} waiting Gentlewomen to Aspatia.
Dula, a Lady.

        Night}
        Cynthia}
        Neptune}
        Eolus} Maskers.
* * * * *

Actus primus. Scena prima.

Enter Cleon, Strato, Lysippus, Diphilus.

Cleon. The rest are making ready Sir.

Strat. So let them, there's time enough.

Diph. You are the brother to the King, my Lord, we'll take your word.

Lys. Strato, thou hast some skill in Poetry, What thinkst thou of a Mask? will it be well?

Strat. As well as Mask can be.

Lys. As Mask can be?

Strat. Yes, they must commend their King, and speak in praise of the Assembly, bless the Bride and Bridegroom, in person of some God; th'are tyed to rules of flattery.

Cle. See, good my Lord, who is return'd!

Lys. Noble Melantius!

[Enter Melantius.

The Land by me welcomes thy vertues home to Rhodes, thou that with blood abroad buyest us our peace; the breath of King is like the breath of Gods; My brother wisht thee here, and thou art here; he will be too kind, and weary thee with often welcomes; but the time doth give thee a welcome above this or all the worlds.

Mel. My Lord, my thanks; but these scratcht limbs of mine have spoke my love and truth unto my friends, more than my tongue ere could: my mind's the same it ever was to you; where I find worth, I love the keeper, till he let it go, And then I follow it.

Diph. Hail worthy brother!
                 He that rejoyces not at your return
                 In safety, is mine enemy for ever.
Mel. I thank thee Diphilus: but thou art faulty;
                  I sent for thee to exercise thine armes
                 With me at Patria: thou cam'st not Diphilus: 'Twas
                  ill.
Diph. My noble brother, my excuse
                 Is my King's strict command, which you my Lord
                 Can witness with me.
Lys. 'Tis true Melantius,
                 He might not come till the solemnity
                 Of this great match were past.
Diph. Have you heard of it?

Mel. Yes, I have given cause to those that
                 Envy my deeds abroad, to call me gamesome;
                  I have no other business here at Rhodes.
Lys. We have a Mask to night,
                  And you must tread a Soldiers measure.
Mel. These soft and silken wars are not for me;
                  The Musick must be shrill, and all confus'd,
                  That stirs my blood, and then I dance with armes:
                  But is Amintor Wed?
Diph. This day.
Mel. All joyes upon him, for he is my friend:
                  Wonder not that I call a man so young my friend,
                  His worth is great; valiant he is, and temperate,
                  And one that never thinks his life his own,
                  If his friend need it: when he was a boy,
                  As oft as I return'd (as without boast)
                  I brought home conquest, he would gaze upon me,
                  And view me round, to find in what one limb
                  The vertue lay to do those things he heard:
                  Then would he wish to see my Sword, and feel
                  The quickness of the edge, and in his hand
                  Weigh it; he oft would make me smile at this;
                  His youth did promise much, and his ripe years
                  Will see it all perform'd.
[Enter Aspatia, passing by.

Melan. Hail Maid and Wife!
                 Thou fair Aspatia, may the holy knot
                 That thou hast tyed to day, last till the hand
                 Of age undo't; may'st thou bring a race
                 Unto Amintor that may fill the world
                 Successively with Souldiers.
Asp. My hard fortunes
                 Deserve not scorn; for I was never proud
                 When they were good.
[Exit Aspatia.

Mel. How's this?

Lys. You are mistaken, for she is not married.

Mel. You said Amintor was.

Diph. 'Tis true; but

Mel. Pardon me, I did receive
                  Letters at Patria, from my Amintor,
                  That he should marry her.
Diph. And so it stood,
                  In all opinion long; but your arrival
                  Made me imagine you had heard the change.
Mel. Who hath he taken then?

Lys. A Lady Sir,
                  That bears the light above her, and strikes dead
                  With flashes of her eye; the fair Evadne your
                  vertuous Sister.
Mel. Peace of heart betwixt them: but this is strange.

Lys. The King my brother did it
                  To honour you; and these solemnities
                  Are at his charge.
Mel. 'Tis Royal, like himself;
                  But I am sad, my speech bears so unfortunate a sound
                  To beautiful Aspatia; there is rage
                  Hid in her fathers breast; Calianax
                  Bent long against me, and he should not think,
                  If I could call it back, that I would take
                  So base revenges, as to scorn the state
                  Of his neglected daughter: holds he still his greatness
                  with the King?
Lys. Yes; but this Lady
                  Walks discontented, with her watry eyes
                  Bent on the earth: the unfrequented woods
                  Are her delight; and when she sees a bank
                  Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell
                  Her servants what a pretty place it were
                  To bury lovers in, and make her maids
                  Pluck'em, and strow her over like a Corse.
                  She carries with her an infectious grief
                  That strikes all her beholders, she will sing
                  The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard,
                  And sigh, and sing again, and when the rest
                  Of our young Ladies in their wanton blood,
                  Tell mirthful tales in course that fill the room
                  With laughter, she will with so sad a look
                  Bring forth a story of the silent death
                  Of some forsaken Virgin, which her grief
                  Will put in such a phrase, that ere she end,
                  She'l send them weeping one by one away.
Mel. She has a brother under my command
                  Like her, a face as womanish as hers,
                  But with a spirit that hath much out-grown
                  The number of his years.
[Enter Amintor.

Cle. My Lord the Bridegroom!

Mel. I might run fiercely, not more hastily
                  Upon my foe: I love thee well Amintor,
                  My mouth is much too narrow for my heart;
                   I joy to look upon those eyes of thine;
                  Thou art my friend, but my disorder'd speech cuts off
                  my love.
Amin. Thou art Melantius;
                  All love is spoke in that, a sacrifice
                  To thank the gods, Melantius is return'd
                  In safety; victory sits on his sword
                  As she was wont; may she build there and dwell,
                  And may thy Armour be as it hath been,
                  Only thy valour and thy innocence.
                  What endless treasures would our enemies give,
                  That I might hold thee still thus!
Mel. I am but poor in words, but credit me young man,
                  Thy Mother could no more but weep, for joy to see thee
                  After long absence; all the wounds I have,
                  Fetch not so much away, nor all the cryes
                  Of Widowed Mothers: but this is peace;
                  And what was War?
Amin. Pardon thou holy God
                  Of Marriage bed, and frown not, I am forc't
                  In answer of such noble tears as those,
                  To weep upon my Wedding day.
Mel. I fear thou art grown too sick; for I hear
                  A Lady mourns for thee, men say to death,
                  Forsaken of thee, on what terms I know not.
Amin. She had my promise, but the King forbad it,
                  And made me make this worthy change, thy Sister
                  Accompanied with graces above her,
                  With whom I long to lose my lusty youth,
                  And grow old in her arms.
Mel. Be prosperous.

[Enter Messenger.

Messen. My Lord, the Maskers rage for you.

Lys. We are gone. Cleon, Strata, Diphilus.

Amin. Wee'l all attend you, we shall trouble you
                 With our solemnities.
Mel. Not so Amintor.
                 But if you laugh at my rude carriage
                 In peace, I'le do as much for you in War
                When you come thither: yet I have a Mistress
                 To bring to your delights; rough though I am,
                 I have a Mistress, and she has a heart,
                 She saies, but trust me, it is stone, no better,
                 There is no place that I can challenge in't.
                 But you stand still, and here my way lies.
[Exit.

Enter Calianax with Diagoras.

Cal. Diagoras, look to the doors better for shame, you let in all the world, and anon the King will rail at me; why very well said, by Jove the King will have the show i'th' Court.

Diag. Why do you swear so my Lord? You know he'l have it here.

Cal. By this light if he be wise he will not.

Diag. And if he will not be wise, you are forsworn.

Cal. One may wear his heart out with swearing, and get thanks on no side, I'le be gone, look to't who will.

Diag. My Lord, I will never keep them out.
                 Pray stay, your looks will terrifie them.
Cal. My looks terrifie them, you Coxcombly Ass you! I'le be judg'd by all the company whether thou hast not a worse face than I—

Diag. I mean, because they know you and your Office.

Cal. Office! I would I could put it off, I am sure I sweat quite through my Office, I might have made room at my Daughters Wedding, they had near kill'd her among them. And now I must do service for him that hath forsaken her; serve that will. [Exit Calianax.

Diag. He's so humourous since his daughter was forsaken:
                 hark, hark, there, there, so, so, codes, codes.
                 What now?
                                                 [Within. knock within.
Mel. Open the door.

Diag. Who's there?

Mel. Melantius.

Diag. I hope your Lordship brings no troop with you,
                 for if you do, I must return them.
                                                       [Enter Melantius.
Mel. None but this Lady Sir. [And a Lady.

Diag. The Ladies are all plac'd above, save those that
                 come in the Kings Troop, the best of Rhodes sit there,
                 and there's room.
Mel. I thank you Sir: when I have seen you plac'd
                 Madam, I must attend the King; but the Mask done, I'le
                 wait on you again.
Diag. Stand back there, room for my Lord Melantius, pray bear back, this is no place for such youths and their Truls, let the doors shut agen; I, do your heads itch? I'le scratch them for you: so now thrust and hang: again, who is't now? I cannot blame my Lord Calianax for going away; would he were here, he would run raging among them, and break a dozen wiser heads than his own in the twinkling of an eye: what's the news now?

[Within.

I pray can you help me to the speech of the Master Cook?

Diag. If I open the door I'le cook some of your Calvesheads. Peace Rogues.—again,—who is't?

Mel. Melantius within. Enter Calianax to Melantius.

Cal. Let him not in.

Diag. O my Lord I must; make room there for my
                  Lord; is your Lady plac't?
Mel. Yes Sir, I thank you my Lord Calianax: well met,
                  Your causless hate to me I hope is buried.
Cal. Yes, I do service for your Sister here, That brings my own poor Child to timeless death; She loves your friend Amintor, such another false-hearted Lord as you.

Mel. You do me wrong, A most unmanly one, and I am slow In taking vengeance, but be well advis'd.

Cal. It may be so: who placed the Lady there so near the presence of the King?

Mel. I did.

Cal. My Lord she must not sit there.

Mel. Why?

Cal. The place is kept for women of more worth.
Mel. More worth than she? it mis-becomes your Age
                 And place to be thus womanish; forbear;
                 What you have spoke, I am content to think
                 The Palsey shook your tongue to.
Cal. Why 'tis well if I stand here to place mens wenches.

Mel. I shall forget this place, thy Age, my safety, and through all, cut that poor sickly week thou hast to live, away from thee.

Cal. Nay, I know you can fight for your Whore.

Mel. Bate the King, and be he flesh and blood, He lyes that saies it, thy mother at fifteen Was black and sinful to her.

Diag. Good my Lord!

Mel. Some god pluck threescore years from that fond man,
                That I may kill him, and not stain mine honour;
                It is the curse of Souldiers, that in peace
                They shall be brain'd by such ignoble men,
                As (if the Land were troubled) would with tears
                And knees beg succour from 'em: would that blood
                (That sea of blood) that I have lost in fight,
                Were running in thy veins, that it might make thee
                Apt to say less, or able to maintain,
                Shouldst thou say more,—This Rhodes I see is nought
                But a place priviledg'd to do men wrong.
Cal. I, you may say your pleasure.

[Enter Amintor.

Amint. What vilde injury
                  Has stirr'd my worthy friend, who is as slow
                  To fight with words, as he is quick of hand?
Mel. That heap of age which I should reverence
                  If it were temperate: but testy years
                  Are most contemptible.
Amint. Good Sir forbear.

Cal. There is just such another as your self.

Amint. He will wrong you, or me, or any man,
                 And talk as if he had no life to lose
                 Since this our match: the King is coming in,
                 I would not for more wealth than I enjoy,
                 He should perceive you raging, he did hear
                 You were at difference now, which hastned him.
Cal. Make room there.

Hoboyes play within.

Enter King, Evadne, Aspatia, Lords and Ladies.

King. Melantius, thou art welcome, and my love Is with thee still; but this is not a place To brabble in; Calianax, joyn hands.

Cal. He shall not have my hand.

King. This is no time
                 To force you to't, I do love you both:
                  Calianax, you look well to your Office;
                 And you Melantius are welcome home; begin the Mask.
Mel. Sister, I joy to see you, and your choice,
                 You lookt with my eyes when you took that man;
                 Be happy in him.
[Recorders.

Evad. O my dearest brother! Your presence is more joyful than this day can be unto me.

The Mask.

Night rises in mists.

Nigh. Our raign is come; for in the raging Sea
                 The Sun is drown'd, and with him fell the day:
                 Bright Cinthia hear my voice, I am the Night
                 For whom thou bear'st about thy borrowed light;
                 Appear, no longer thy pale visage shrowd,
                 But strike thy silver horn through a cloud,
                 And send a beam upon my swarthy face,
                 By which I may discover all the place
                 And persons, and how many longing eyes
                 Are come to wait on our solemnities.
[Enter Cinthia.

                 How dull and black am I! I could not find
                 This beauty without thee, I am so blind;
                 Methinks they shew like to those Eastern streaks
                 That warn us hence before the morning breaks;
                 Back my pale servant, for these eyes know how
                 To shoot far more and quicker rayes than thou.
Cinth. Great Queen, they be a Troop for whom alone
                 One of my clearest moons I have put on;
                 A Troop that looks as if thy self and I
                 Had pluckt our rains in, and our whips laid by
                 To gaze upon these Mortals, that appear
                 Brighter than we.
  Night. Then let us keep 'em here,
                 And never more our Chariots drive away,
                 But hold our places, and out-shine the day.
  Cinth. Great Queen of shadows, you are
                 pleas'd to speak
                 Of more than may be done; we may not break
                 The gods decrees, but when our time is come,
                 Must drive away and give the day our room.
                 Yet whil'st our raign lasts, let us stretch our power
                 To give our servants one contented hour,
                 With such unwonted solemn grace and state,
                 As may for ever after force them hate
                 Our brothers glorious beams, and wish the night
                 Crown'd with a thousand stars, and our cold light:
                 For almost all the world their service bend
                 To Phoebus and in vain my light I lend,
                 Gaz'd on unto my setting from my rise
                 Almost of none, but of unquiet eyes.
Nigh. Then shine at full, fair Queen, and by thy power
                 Produce a birth to crown this happy hour;
                 Of Nymphs and Shepherds let their songs discover,
                 Easie and sweet, who is a happy Lover;
                 Or if thou woot, then call thine own Endymion
                 From the sweet flowry bed he lies upon,
                 On Latmus top, thy pale beams drawn away,
                 And of this long night let him make a day.
Cinth. Thou dream'st dark Queen, that fair boy was not mine,
                 Nor went I down to kiss him; ease and wine
                 Have bred these bold tales; Poets when they rage,
                 Turn gods to men, and make an hour an age;
                 But I will give a greater state and glory,
                 And raise to time a noble memory
                 Of what these Lovers are; rise, rise, I say,
                 Thou power of deeps, thy surges laid away,
                 Neptune great King of waters, and by me
                 Be proud to be commanded.
[Neptune rises.

Nep. Cinthia, see, Thy word hath fetcht me hither, let me know why I ascend.

Cinth. Doth this majestick show
                   Give thee no knowledge yet?
Nep. Yes, now I see.
                   Something intended (Cinthia) worthy thee;
                   Go on, I'le be a helper.
Cinth. Hie thee then,
                   And charge the wind flie from his Rockie Den.
                   Let loose thy subjects, only Boreas
                   Too foul for our intention as he was;
                   Still keep him fast chain'd; we must have none here
                   But vernal blasts, and gentle winds appear,
                   Such as blow flowers, and through the glad Boughs sing
                   Many soft welcomes to the lusty spring.
                   These are our musick: next, thy watry race
                   Bring on in couples; we are pleas'd to grace
                   This noble night, each in their richest things
                   Your own deeps or the broken vessel brings;
                   Be prodigal, and I shall be as kind,
                   And shine at full upon you.
Nep. Ho the wind
                   Commanding Eolus!
[Enter Eolus out of a Rock.

Eol. Great Neptune!

Nep. He.

Eol. What is thy will?

Nep. We do command thee free Favonius and thy milder winds to wait Upon our Cinthia, but tye Boreas straight; He's too rebellious.

Eol. I shall do it.

Nep. Do, great master of the flood, and all below,
                   Thy full command has taken.
Eol. Ho! the main;
                   Neptune.
Nep. Here.

Eol. Boreas has broke his chain,
                  And struggling with the rest, has got away.
Nep. Let him alone, I'le take him up at sea;
                  He will not long be thence; go once again
                  And call out of the bottoms of the Main,
                  Blew Proteus, and the rest; charge them put on
                  Their greatest pearls, and the most sparkling stone
                  The bearing Rock breeds, till this night is done
                  By me a solemn honour to the Moon;
                  Flie like a full sail.
Eol. I am gone.

Cin. Dark night,
                  Strike a full silence, do a thorow right
                  To this great Chorus, that our Musick may
                  Touch high as heaven, and make the East break day
                  At mid-[n]ight.
[Musick.

SONG.
                  Cinthia to thy power, and them we obey.
                  Joy to this great company, and no day
                  Come to steal this night away,
                  Till the rites of love are ended,
                  And the lusty Bridegroom say,
                  Welcome light of all befriended.
                  Pace out you watry powers below, let your feet
                  Like the Gallies when they row, even beat.
                  Let your unknown measures set
                  To the still winds, tell to all
                  That Gods are come immortal great,
                  To honour this great Nuptial.
The Measure. Second Song.

                  Hold back thy hours dark night, till we have done,
                             The day will come too soon;
                  Young Maids will curse thee if thou steal'st away,
                             And leav'st their blushes open to the day.
                             Stay, stay, and hide the blushes of the Bride.
                  Stay gentle night, and with thy darkness cover
                             The kisses of her Lover.
                  Stay, and confound her tears, and her shrill cryings,
                             Her weak denials, vows, and often dyings;
                             Stay and hide all, but help not though she
                             call.
Nep. Great Queen of us and Heaven,
                  Hear what I bring to make this hour a full one,
                  If not her measure.
Cinth. Speak Seas King.

Nep. Thy tunes my Amphitrite joyes to have,
                   When they will dance upon the rising wave,
                   And court me as the sails, my Trytons play
                   Musick to lead a storm, I'le lead the way.
Song. Measure.

                 _To bed, to bed; come Hymen, lead the Bride,
                      And lay her by her Husbands side:
                      Bring in the Virgins every one
                      That grieve to lie alone:
                 That they may kiss while they may say, a maid,
                      To morrow 'twill be other, kist and said:
                      Hesperus be long a shining,
                      Whilst these Lovers are a twining_.
Eol. Ho! Neptune!

Nept. Eolus!

Eol. The Seas go hie,
                 Boreas hath rais'd a storm; go and applie
                 Thy trident, else I prophesie, ere day
                 Many a tall ship will be cast away:
                 Descend with all the Gods, and all their power to
                 strike a cal[m].
Cin. A thanks to every one, and to gratulate
                 So great a service done at my desire,
                 Ye shall have many floods fuller and higher
                 Than you have wisht for; no Ebb shall dare
                 To let the day see where your dwellings are:
                 Now back unto your Government in haste,
                 Lest your proud charge should swell above the waste,
                 And win upon the Island.
Nep. We obey.

[Neptune descends, and the Sea-gods.

Cinth. Hold up thy head dead night; seest thou not day?
                 The East begins to lighten, I must down
                 And give my brother place.
Nigh. Oh! I could frown
                  To see the day, the day that flings his light
                  Upon my Kingdoms, and contemns old Night;
                  Let him go on and flame, I hope to see
                  Another wild-fire in his Axletree;
                  And all false drencht; but I forgot, speak Queen.
                  The day grows on I must no more be seen.
Cin. Heave up thy drowsie head agen, and see
                   A greater light, a greater Majestie,
                   Between our sect and us; whip up thy team;
                   The day breaks here, and you some flashing stream
                   Shot from the South; say, which way wilt thou go?
Nigh. I'le vanish into mists. [Exeunt.

Cin. I into day. [Finis Mask.

King. Take lights there Ladies, get the Bride to bed;
                  We will not see you laid, good night Amintor,
                  We'l ease you of that tedious ceremony;
                  Were it [my] case, I should think time run slow.
                  If thou beest noble, youth, get me a boy,
                  That may defend my Kingdom from my foes.
Amin. All happiness to you.

King. Good night Melantius. [Exeunt.

Actus Secundus.

Enter Evadne, Aspatia, Dula, and other Ladies.

Dul. Madam, shall we undress you for this fight?
                  The Wars are nak'd that you must make to night.
Evad. You are very merry Dula.

Dul. I should be far merrier Madam, if it were with me as it is with you.

Eva. Why how now wench?

Dul. Come Ladies will you help?

Eva. I am soon undone.

Dul. And as soon done: Good store of Cloaths will trouble you at both.

Evad. Art thou drunk Dula?

Dul. Why here's none but we.

Evad. Thou think'st belike, there is no modesty When we are alone.

Dul. I by my troth you hit my thoughts aright.

Evad. You prick me Lady.

Dul. 'Tis against my will,
                   Anon you must endure more, and lie still.
                   You're best to practise.
Evad. Sure this wench is mad.

Dul. No faith, this is a trick that I have had Since I was fourteen.

Evad. 'Tis high time to leave it.

Dul. Nay, now I'le keep it till the trick leave me;
                   A dozen wanton words put in your head,
                   Will make you lively in your Husbands bed.
Evad. Nay faith, then take it.

Dul. Take it Madam, where? We all I hope will take it that are here.

Evad. Nay then I'le give you o're.

Dul. So will I make
                  The ablest man in Rhodes, or his heart to ake.
Evad. Wilt take my place to night?

Dul. I'le hold your Cards against any two I know.

Evad. What wilt thou do?

Dul. Madam, we'l do't, and make'm leave play too.

Evad. Aspatia, take her part.

Dul. I will refuse it.
                 She will pluck down a side, she does not use it.
Evad. Why, do.

Dul. You will find the play
                 Quickly, because your head lies well that way.
Evad. I thank thee Dula, would thou could'st instill
                 Some of thy mirth into Aspatia:
                 Nothing but sad thoughts in her breast do dwell,
                 Methinks a mean betwixt you would do well.
Dul. She is in love, hang me if I were so,
                 But I could run my Country, I love too
                 To do those things that people in love do.
Asp. It were a timeless smile should prove my cheek,
                 It were a fitter hour for me to laugh,
                 When at the Altar the Religious Priest
                 Were pacifying the offended powers
                 With sacrifice, than now, this should have been
                 My night, and all your hands have been imployed
                 In giving me a spotless offering
                 To young Amintors bed, as we are now
                 For you: pardon Evadne, would my worth
                 Were great as yours, or that the King, or he,
                 Or both thought so, perhaps he found me worthless,
                 But till he did so, in these ears of mine,
                 (These credulous ears) he pour'd the sweetest words
                 That Art or Love could frame; if he were false,
                 Pardon it heaven, and if I did want
                 Vertue, you safely may forgive that too,
                 For I have left none that I had from you.
Evad. Nay, leave this sad talk Madam.

Asp. Would I could, then should I leave the cause.

Evad. See if you have not spoil'd all Dulas mirth.

Asp. Thou think'st thy heart hard, but if thou beest caught, remember me; thou shalt perceive a fire shot suddenly into thee.

Dul. That's not so good, let'm shoot any thing but fire, I fear'm not.

Asp. Well wench, thou mayst be taken.

Evad. Ladies good night, I'le do the rest my self.

Dul. Nay, let your Lord do some.

Asp. Lay a Garland on my Hearse of the dismal Yew.

Evad. That's one of your sad songs Madam.

Asp. Believe me, 'tis a very pretty one.

Evad. How is it Madam?

SONG.
Asp_. Lay a Garland on my Hearse of the dismal yew;
                 Maidens, Willow branches bear; say I died true:
                 My Love was false, but I was firm from my hour of birth;
                 Upon my buried body lay lightly gentle earth_.
Evad. Fie on't Madam, the words are so strange, they are able to make one Dream of Hobgoblins; I could never have the power, Sing that Dula.

Dula_. I could never have the power
                  To love one above an hour,
                  But my heart would prompt mine eye
                  On some other man to flie;_
                  Venus, fix mine eyes fast,
                  Or if not, give me all that I shall see at last.
Evad. So, leave me now.

Dula. Nay, we must see you laid.

Asp. Madam good night, may all the marriage joys
                 That longing Maids imagine in their beds,
                 Prove so unto you; may no discontent
                 Grow 'twixt your Love and you; but if there do,
                 Enquire of me, and I will guide your moan,
                 Teach you an artificial way to grieve,
                 To keep your sorrow waking; love your Lord
                 No worse than I; but if you love so well,
                 Alas, you may displease him, so did I.
                 This is the last time you shall look on me:
                 Ladies farewel; as soon as I am dead,
                 Come all and watch one night about my Hearse;
                 Bring each a mournful story and a tear
                 To offer at it when I go to earth:
                 With flattering Ivie clasp my Coffin round,
                 Write on my brow my fortune, let my Bier
                 Be born by Virgins that shall sing by course
                 The truth of maids and perjuries of men.
Evad. Alas, I pity thee. [Exit Evadne.

Omnes. Madam, goodnight.

1 Lady. Come, we'l let in the Bridegroom.

Dul. Where's my Lord?

1 Lady. Here take this light.

[Enter Amintor.

Dul. You'l find her in the dark.

1 Lady. Your Lady's scarce a bed yet, you must help her.

Asp. Go and be happy in your Ladies love;
                 May all the wrongs that you have done to me,
                 Be utterly forgotten in my death.
                  I'le trouble you no more, yet I will take
                 A parting kiss, and will not be denied.
                 You'l come my Lord, and see the Virgins weep
                 When I am laid in earth, though you your self
                 Can know no pity: thus I wind my self
                  Into this willow Garland, and am prouder
                  That I was once your Love (though now refus'd)
                  Than to have had another true to me.
                  So with my prayers I leave you, and must try
                  Some yet unpractis'd way to grieve and die.
Dul. Come Ladies, will you go? [Exit Aspatia.

Om. Goodnight my Lord.

Amin. Much happiness unto you all.

[Exeunt Ladies.

                   I did that Lady wrong; methinks I feel
                   Her grief shoot suddenly through all my veins;
                   Mine eyes run; this is strange at such a time.
                   It was the King first mov'd me to't, but he
                   Has not my will in keeping—why do I
                   Perplex my self thus? something whispers me,
                   Go not to bed; my guilt is not so great
                   As mine own conscience (too sensible)
                   Would make me think; I only brake a promise,
                   And 'twas the King that forc't me: timorous flesh,
                   Why shak'st thou so? away my idle fears.
[Enter Evadne.

                  Yonder she is, the lustre of whose eye
                  Can blot away the sad remembrance
                  Of all these things: Oh my Evadne, spare
                  That tender body, let it not take cold,
                  The vapours of the night will not fall here.
                  To bed my Love; Hymen will punish us
                  For being slack performers of his rites.
                  Cam'st thou to call me?
Evad. No.

Amin. Come, come my Love, And let us lose our selves to one another. Why art thou up so long?

Evad. I am not well.

Amint. To bed then let me wind thee in these arms, Till I have banisht sickness.

Evad. Good my Lord, I cannot sleep.

Amin. Evadne, we'l watch, I mean no sleeping.

Evad. I'le not go to bed.

Amin. I prethee do.

Evad. I will not for the world.

Amin. Why my dear Love?

Evad. Why? I have sworn I will not.

Amin. Sworn!

Evad. I.

Amint. How? Sworn Evadne?

Evad. Yes, Sworn Amintor, and will swear again If you will wish to hear me. 0 Amin. To whom have you Sworn this?

Evad. If I should name him, the matter were not great.

Amin. Come, this is but the coyness of a Bride.

Evad. The coyness of a Bride?

Amin. How prettily that frown becomes thee!

Evad. Do you like it so?

Amin. Thou canst not dress thy face in such a look But I shall like it.

Evad. What look likes you best?

Amin. Why do you ask?

Evad. That I may shew you one less pleasing to you.

Amin. How's that?

Evad. That I may shew you one less pleasing to you.

Amint. I prethee put thy jests in milder looks. It shews as thou wert angry.

Evad. So perhaps I am indeed.

Amint. Why, who has done thee wrong?
                 Name me the man, and by thy self I swear,
                 Thy yet unconquer'd self, I will revenge thee.
Evad. Now I shall try thy truth; if thou dost love me,
                 Thou weigh'st not any thing compar'd with me;
                 Life, Honour, joyes Eternal, all Delights
                 This world can yield, or hopeful people feign,
                 Or in the life to come, are light as Air
                 To a true Lover when his Lady frowns,
                 And bids him do this: wilt thou kill this man?
                 Swear my Amintor, and I'le kiss the sin off from
                 thy lips.
Amin. I will not swear sweet Love,
                 Till I do know the cause.
Evad. I would thou wouldst;
                 Why, it is thou that wrongest me, I hate thee,
                 Thou shouldst have kill'd thy self.
Amint. If I should know that, I should quickly kill
                 The man you hated.
Evad. Know it then, and do't.

Amint. Oh no, what look soe're thou shalt put on,
                 To try my faith, I shall not think thee false;
                 I cannot find one blemish in thy face,
                 Where falsehood should abide: leave and to bed;
                 If you have sworn to any of the Virgins
                 That were your old companions, to preserve
                 Your Maidenhead a night, it may be done without this
                 means.
Evad. A Maidenhead Amintor at my years?

Amint. Sure she raves, this cannot be
                 Thy natural temper; shall I call thy maids?
                 Either thy healthful sleep hath left thee long,
                 Or else some Fever rages in thy blood.
Evad. Neither Amintor; think you I am mad,
                 Because I speak the truth?
Amint. Will you not lie with me to night?

Evad. To night? you talk as if I would hereafter.

Amint. Hereafter? yes, I do.

Evad. You are deceiv'd, put off amazement, and with patience mark
                  What I shall utter, for the Oracle
                  Knows nothing truer, 'tis not for a night
                  Or two that I forbear thy bed, but for ever.
Amint. I dream,—awake Amintor!

Evad. You hear right,
                  I sooner will find out the beds of Snakes,
                  And with my youthful blood warm their cold flesh,
                  Letting them curle themselves about my Limbs,
                  Than sleep one night with thee; this is not feign'd,
                  Nor sounds it like the coyness of a Bride.
Amin. Is flesh so earthly to endure all this?
                 Are these the joyes of Marriage? Hymen keep
                 This story (that will make succeeding youth
                 Neglect thy Ceremonies) from all ears.
                 Let it not rise up for thy shame and mine
                 To after ages; we will scorn thy Laws,
                 If thou no better bless them; touch the heart
                 Of her that thou hast sent me, or the world
                 Shall know there's not an Altar that will smoak
                 In praise of thee; we will adopt us Sons;
                 Then vertue shall inherit, and not blood:
                 If we do lust, we'l take the next we meet,
                 Serving our selves as other Creatures do,
                 And never take note of the Female more,
                 Nor of her issue. I do rage in vain,
                 She can but jest; Oh! pardon me my Love;
                 So dear the thoughts are that I hold of thee,
                 That I must break forth; satisfie my fear:
                 It is a pain beyond the hand of death,
                 To be in doubt; confirm it with an Oath, if this be true.
Evad. Do you invent the form:
                  Let there be in it all the binding words
                  Devils and Conjurers can put together,
                  And I will take it; I have sworn before,
                  And here by all things holy do again,
                  Never to be acquainted with thy bed.
                  Is your doubt over now?
Amint. I know too much, would I had doubted still;
                  Was ever such a marriage night as this!
                  You powers above, if you did ever mean
                  Man should be us'd thus, you have thought a way
                  How he may bear himself, and save his honour:
                  Instruct me in it; for to my dull eyes
                  There is no mean, no moderate course to run,
                   I must live scorn'd, or be a murderer:
                  Is there a third? why is this night so calm?
                  Why does not Heaven speak in Thunder to us,
                  And drown her voice?
Evad. This rage will do no good.

Amint. Evadne, hear me, thou hast ta'ne an Oath,
                 But such a rash one, that to keep it, were
                 Worse than to swear it; call it back to thee;
                 Such vows as those never ascend the Heaven;
                 A tear or two will wash it quite away:
                 Have mercy on my youth, my hopeful youth,
                  If thou be pitiful, for (without boast)
                 This Land was proud of me: what Lady was there
                 That men call'd fair and vertuous in this Isle,
                 That would have shun'd my love? It is in thee
                 To make me hold this worth—Oh! we vain men
                 That trust out all our reputation,
                 To rest upon the weak and yielding hand
                 Of feeble Women! but thou art not stone;
                 Thy flesh is soft, and in thine eyes doth dwell
                 The spirit of Love, thy heart cannot be hard.
                 Come lead me from the bottom of despair,
                 To all the joyes thou hast; I know thou wilt;
                 And make me careful, lest the sudden change
                 O're-come my spirits.
Evad. When I call back this Oath, the pains of hell inviron me.

Amin. I sleep, and am too temperate; come to bed, or by Those hairs, which if thou hast a soul like to thy locks, Were threads for Kings to wear about their arms.

Evad. Why so perhaps they are.

Amint. I'le drag thee to my bed, and make thy tongue
                  Undo this wicked Oath, or on thy flesh
                  I'le print a thousand wounds to let out life.
Evad. I fear thee not, do what thou dar'st to me;
                   Every ill-sounding word, or threatning look
                   Thou shew'st to me, will be reveng'd at full.
Amint. It will not sure Evadne.

Evad. Do not you hazard that.

Amint. Ha'ye your Champions?

Evad. Alas Amintor, thinkst thou I forbear
                  To sleep with thee, because I have put on
                  A maidens strictness? look upon these cheeks,
                  And thou shalt find the hot and rising blood
                  Unapt for such a vow; no, in this heart
                  There dwels as much desire, and as much will
                  To put that wisht act in practice, as ever yet
                  Was known to woman, and they have been shown
                  Both; but it was the folly of thy youth,
                  To think this beauty (to what Land soe're
                  It shall be call'd) shall stoop to any second.
                  I do enjoy the best, and in that height
                  Have sworn to stand or die: you guess the man.
Amint. No, let me know the man that wrongs me so,
                  That I may cut his body into motes,
                  And scatter it before the Northern wind.
Evad. You dare not strike him.

Amint. Do not wrong me so;
                  Yes, if his body were a poysonous plant,
                  That it were death to touch, I have a soul
                  Will throw me on him.
Evad. Why 'tis the King.

Amint. The King!

Evad. What will you do now?

Amint. 'Tis not the King.

Evad. What, did he make this match for dull Amintor?

Amint. Oh! thou hast nam'd a word that wipes away
                  All thoughts revengeful: in that sacred name,
                  The King, there lies a terror: what frail man
                  Dares lift his hand against it? let the Gods
                  Speak to him when they please;
                  Till then let us suffer and wait.
Evad. Why should you fill your self so full of heat,
                  And haste so to my bed? I am no Virgin.
Amint. What Devil put it in thy fancy then
                  To marry me?
Evad. Alas, I must have one
                  To Father Children, and to bear the name
                  Of Husband to me, that my sin may be more honourable.
Amint. What a strange thing am I!

Evad. A miserable one; one that my self am sorry for.

Amint. Why shew it then in this,
                   If thou hast pity, though thy love be none,
                   Kill me, and all true Lovers that shall live
                   In after ages crost in their desires,
                   Shall bless thy memory, and call thee good,
                   Because such mercy in thy heart was found,
                   To rid a lingring Wretch.
Evad. I must have one
                   To fill thy room again, if thou wert dead,
                   Else by this night I would: I pity thee.
Amint. These strange and sudden injuries have faln
                  So thick upon me, that I lose all sense
                  Of what they are: methinks I am not wrong'd,
                  Nor is it ought, if from the censuring World
                   I can but hide it—Reputation,
                  Thou art a word, no more; but thou hast shown
                  An impudence so high, that to the World
                   I fear thou wilt betray or shame thy self.
Evad. To cover shame I took thee, never fear
                  That I would blaze my self.
Amint. Nor let the King
                  Know I conceive he wrongs me, then mine honour
                  Will thrust me into action, that my flesh
                  Could bear with patience; and it is some ease
                  To me in these extreams, that I knew this
                  Before I toucht thee; else had all the sins
                  Of mankind stood betwixt me and the King,
                   I had gone through 'em to his heart and thine.
                   I have lost one desire, 'tis not his crown
                   Shall buy me to thy bed: now I resolve
                   He has dishonour'd thee; give me thy hand,
                   Be careful of thy credit, and sin close,
                   'Tis all I wish; upon thy Chamber-floore
                   I'le rest to night, that morning visiters
                   May think we did as married people use.
                   And prethee smile upon me when they come,
                   And seem to toy, as if thou hadst been pleas'd
                   With what we did.
Evad. Fear not, I will do this.

Amint. Come let us practise, and as wantonly As ever loving Bride and Bridegroom met, Lets laugh and enter here.

Evad. I am content.

Amint. Down all the swellings of my troubled heart.
                  When we walk thus intwin'd, let all eyes see
                  If ever Lovers better did agree.
[Exit.

Enter Aspatia, Antiphila and Olympias.

Asp. Away, you are not sad, force it no further; Good Gods, how well you look! such a full colour Young bashful Brides put on: sure you are new married.

Ant. Yes Madam, to your grief.

Asp. Alas! poor Wenches.
                  Go learn to love first, learn to lose your selves,
                  Learn to be flattered, and believe, and bless
                  The double tongue that did it;
                  Make a Faith out of the miracles of Ancient Lovers.
                  Did you ne're love yet Wenches? speak Olympias,
                  Such as speak truth and dy'd in't,
                  And like me believe all faithful, and be miserable;
                  Thou hast an easie temper, fit for stamp.
Olymp. Never.

Asp. Nor you Antiphila?

Ant. Nor I.

Asp. Then my good Girles, be more than Women, wise. At least be more than I was; and be sure you credit any thing 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 (forc'd 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, Oh that beast man! Come lets be sad my Girles; That down cast of thine eye, Olympias, Shews a fine sorrow; mark Antiphila, Just such another was the Nymph Oenone, When Paris brought home Helen: now a tear, And then thou art a piece expressing fully The Carthage Queen, when from a cold Sea Rock, Full with her sorrow, she tyed fast her eyes 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 Needle-work you wrought.

Ant. Of Ariadne, Madam?

Asp. Yes that piece. This should be Theseus, h'as a cousening 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 ha' 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
                  exprest;
                  Just such another caught me; you shall not go
                  so Antiphila,
                  In this place work a quick-sand,
                  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 believ'd; but where's the Lady?

Ant. There Madam.

Asp. Fie, you have mist it here Antiphila,
                 You are much mistaken Wench;
                 These colours are not dull and pale enough,
                 To shew a soul so full of misery
                 As this sad Ladies was; do it by me,
                 Do it again by me the lost Aspatia,
                 And you shall find all true but the wild Island;
                 I stand upon the Sea breach now, and think
                 Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind,
                 Wild as that desart, and let all about me
                 Tell that I am forsaken, do my face
                 (If thou hadst ever feeling of a sorrow)
                 Thus, thus, Antiphila strive to make me look
                 Like sorrows monument; and the trees about me,
                 Let them be dry and leaveless; 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, disgrac'd: well, how now Huswives?
                 What at your ease? is this a time to sit still? up you
                 young
                 Lazie Whores, up or I'le sweng you.
Olym. Nay, good my Lord.

Cal. You'l lie down shortly, get you in and work;
                 What are you grown so resty? you want ears,
                 We shall have some of the Court boys do that Office.
Ant. My Lord we do no more than we are charg'd:
                 It is the Ladies pleasure we be thus in grief;
                 She is forsaken.
                 Cal. There's a Rogue too,
                 A young dissembling slave; well, get you in,
                 I'le 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 souldier,
                 I'le maul that Rascal, h'as out-brav'd me twice;
                 But now I thank the Gods I am valiant;
                 Go, get you in, I'le take a course with all.
[Exeunt Omnes.

Actus Tertius.

Enter Cleon, Strato, Diphilus.

Cle. Your sister is not up yet.

Diph. Oh, Brides must take their mornings rest, The night is troublesome.

Stra. But not tedious.

Diph. What odds, he has not my Sisters maiden-head to
                 night?
Stra. No, it's odds against any Bridegroom living, he
                 ne're gets it while he lives.
Diph. Y'are merry with my Sister, you'l please to allow
                 me the same freedom with your Mother.
Stra. She's at your service.

Diph. Then she's merry enough of her self, she needs no tickling; knock at the door.

Stra. We shall interrupt them.

Diph. No matter, they have the year before them. Good morrow Sister; spare your self to day, the night will come again.

[Enter Amintor.

Amint. Who's there, my Brother? I am no readier yet,
                 your Sister is but now up.
Diph. You look as you had lost your eyes to night; I
                 think you ha' not slept.
Amint. I faith I have not.

Diph. You have done better then.

Amint. We ventured for a Boy; when he is Twelve,
                 He shall command against the foes of Rhodes.
Stra. You cannot, you want sleep.
                                                              [Aside.
Amint. 'Tis true; but she
                 As if she had drunk Lethe, or had made
                 Even with Heaven, did fetch so still a sleep,
                 So sweet and sound.
Diph. What's that?

Amint. Your Sister frets 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 Maiden-head to night.
Amint. Ha! he does not mock me; y'ad lost indeed;
                 I do not use to bungle.
Cleo. You do deserve her.

Amint. I laid my lips to hers, and [t]hat wild breath That was rude and rough to me, last night

[_Aside.

                 Was sweet as April; I'le be guilty too,
                 If these be the effects.
[Enter Melantius.

Mel. Good day Amintor, for to me the name Of Brother is too distant; we are friends, And that is nearer.

Amint. Dear Melantius! Let me behold thee; is it possible?

Mel. What sudden gaze is this?

Amint. 'Tis wonderous 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.
 Amint. I wonder much Melantius,
                 To see those noble looks that make me think
                 How vertuous 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.
Amint. 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 chang'd
                 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. O how near am I
[Aside.

To utter my sick thoughts!

Mel. But why, my Friend, should I be so by Nature?

Amin. I have wed thy Sister, who hath vertuous thoughts Enough for one whole family, and it is strange That you should feel no want.

Mel. Believe me, this complement'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 vertue?

Strat. O call the Bride, my Lord Amintor, that we may see her blush, and turn her eyes down; it is the prettiest sport.

Amin. Evadne!

Evad. My Lord! [Within.

Amint. Come forth my Love,
                 Your Brothers do attend to wish you joy.
Evad. I am not ready yet.

Amint. Enough, enough.

Evad. They'l mock me.

Amint. Faith thou shalt come in.

[Enter Evadne.

Mel. Good morrow Sister; he that understands Whom you have wed, need not to wish you joy. You have enough, take heed you be not proud.

Diph. O Sister, what have you done!

Evad. I done! why, what have I done?

Strat. My Lord Amintor swears you are no Maid now.

Evad. Push!

Strat. I faith he does.

Evad. I knew I should be mockt.

Diph. With a truth.

Evad. If 'twere to do again, in faith I would not marry.

Amint. Not I by Heaven. [Aside.

Diph. Sister, Dula swears she heard you cry two rooms off.

Evad. Fie how you talk!

Diph. Let's see you walk.

Evad. By my troth y'are spoil'd.

Mel. Amintor!

Amint. Ha!

Mel. Thou art sad.

Amint. Who I? I thank you for that, shall Diphilus, thou and I sing a catch?

Mel. How!

Amint. Prethee let's.

Mel. Nay, that's too much the other way.

Amint. I am so lightned with my happiness: how dost thou Love? kiss me.

Evad. I cannot love you, you tell tales of me.

Amint. Nothing but what becomes us: Gentlemen,
                 Would you had all such Wives, and all the world,
                 That I might be no wonder; y'are all sad;
                 What, do you envie me? I walk methinks
                 On water, and ne're sink, I am so light.
Mel. 'Tis well you are so.

Amint. Well? how can I be other, when she looks thus? Is there no musick there? let's dance.

Mel. Why? this is strange, Amintor!

Amint. I do not know my self; Yet I could wish my joy were less.

Diph. I'le marry too, if it will make one thus.

Evad. Amintor, hark. [Aside.

Amint. What says my Love? I must obey.

Evad. You do it scurvily, 'twill be perceiv'd.

Cle. My Lord the King is here.

[Enter King and Lysi.

Amint. Where?

Stra. And his Brother.

King. Good morrow all. Amintor, joy on, joy fall thick upon thee! And Madam, you are alter'd since I saw you, I must salute you; you are now anothers; How lik't you your nights rest?

Evad. Ill Sir.

Amint. I! 'deed she took but little.

Lys. You'l let her take more, and thank her too shortly.

King. Amintor, wert thou truly honest Till thou wert Married?

Amint. Yes Sir.

King. Tell me then, how shews the sport unto thee?

Amint. Why well.

King. What did you do?

Amint. No more nor less than other couples use; You know what 'tis; it has but a course name.

King. But prethee, I should think by her black eye, And her red cheek, she should be quick and stirring In this same business, ha?

Amint. I cannot tell, I ne're try'd other Sir, but I perceive
                 She is as quick as you delivered.
King. Well, you'l trust me then Amintor,
                 To choose a Wife for you agen?
Amint. No never Sir.

King. Why? like you this so ill?

Amint. 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 to hope we shall draw out
                 A long contented life together here,
                 And die both full of gray hairs in one day;
                 For which the thanks is 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. I have some speech with
                 You, that may concern your after living well.
                 Amint. 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!
Amint. Sir, I dare trust my Wife
                 With whom she dares to talk, and not be jealous.
King. How do you like Amintor?

Evad. As I did Sir.

King. How's that!

Evad. As one that to fulfil your will and pleasure, I have given leave to call me Wife and Love.

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 subtile Womans ignorance
                 Will not excuse you; thou hast taken Oaths
                 So great, methought they did not well become
                 A Womans mouth, that thou wouldst ne're 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 mine eyes; but if I ever yet
                 Toucht any other, Leprosie 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, it is 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 ha'not.

King. Impudence! he saies himself so.

Evad. He lyes.

King. He does not.

Evad. By this light he does, strangely and basely, and I'le 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'm no man to answer with a blow; Or if I were, you are the King; but urge me not, 'tis most true.

King. Do not I know the uncontrouled thoughts
                 That youth brings with him, when his bloud is high
                 With expectation and desires 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 ruine 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. It is dissembling.

King. Take him; farewel; henceforth I am thy foe; And what disgraces I can blot thee, look for.

Evad. Stay Sir; Amintor, you shall hear, Amintor.

Amint. What my Love?

Evad. Amintor, thou hast an ingenious look, And shouldst be vertuous; it amazeth me, That thou canst make such base malicious lyes.

Amint. What my dear Wife?

Evad. Dear Wife! I do despise thee; Why, nothing can be baser, than to sow Dissention amongst Lovers.

Amint. Lovers! who?

Evad. The King and me.

Amint. O Heaven!

Evad. Who should live long, and love without distaste,
                 Were it not for such pickthanks as thy self!
                 Did you lie with me? swear now, and be punisht in hell
                 For this.
Amint. The faithless Sin I made
                 To fair Aspatia, is not yet reveng'd,
                 It follows me; I will not lose a word
                 To this wild Woman; but to you my King,
                 The anguish of my soul thrusts out this truth,
                 Y'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 lyed.

Amint. 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!
                 It is not death; nor can that satisfie,
                 Unless I send your lives through all the Land,
                 To shew how nobly I have freed my self.
King. Draw not thy Sword, thou knowest I cannot fear
                 A subjects hand; but thou shalt feel the weight of this
                 If thou dost rage.
Amint. The weight of that?
                 If you have any worth, for Heavens sake think
                 I fear not Swords; for as you are meer man,
                 I dare as easily kill you for this deed,
                 As you dare think to do it; but there is
                 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 murther 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 choose out me
                 To make thus wretched? there were thousand fools
                 Easie to work on, and of state enough within the Island.
Evad. I would not have a fool, it were no credit for me.

Amint. Worse and worse!
                 Thou that dar'st talk unto thy Husband thus,
                 Profess thy self 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.
                 But there were wise ones too, you might have ta'ne
                 another.
King. No; for I believe thee honest, as thou wert valiant.

Amint. All the happiness
                 Bestow'd 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.
Amint. A Baud! hold my breast, a bitter curse
                 Seize me, if I forget not all respects
                 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 leave you.
[Exit King.

Evad. You must be prating, and see what follows.

Amint. Prethee vex me not. Leave me, I am afraid some sudden start Will pull a murther on me.

Evad. I am gone; I love my life well.

[Exit Evadne.

Amint. I hate mine as much.
                 This 'tis to break a troth; I should be glad
                 If all this tide of grief would make me mad.
[Exit.

Enter Melantius.

Mel. I'le know the cause of all Amintors griefs, Or friendship shall be idle.

[Enter Calianax.

Cal. O Melantius, my Daughter will die.

Mel. Trust me, I am sorry; would thou hadst ta'ne her room.

Cal. Thou art a slave, a cut-throat slave, a bloody treacherous slave.

Melan. Take heed old man, thou wilt be heard to rave,
                 And lose thine Offices.
Cal. I am valiant grown
                 At all these years, and thou art but a slave.
Mel. Leave, some company will come, and I respect
                 Thy years, not thee so much, that I could wish
                 To laugh at thee alone.
Cal. I'le spoil your mirth, I mean to fight with thee;
                 There lie my Cloak, this was my Fathers Sword,
                 And he durst fight; are you prepar'd?
Mel. Why? wilt thou doat thy self out of thy life?
                 Hence get thee to bed, have careful looking to, and eat
                 warm things, and trouble not me: my head is full of
                 thoughts more weighty than thy life or death can be.
Cal. You have a name in War, when you stand safe
                 Amongst a multitude; but I will try
                 What you dare do unto a weak old man
                 In single fight; you'l ground I fear: Come draw.
Mel. I will not draw, unless thou pul'st thy death
                 Upon thee with a stroke; there's no one blow
                 That thou canst give, hath strength enough to kill me.
                 Tempt me not so far then; the power of earth
                 Shall not redeem thee.
Cal. 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 testie trick I had,
                 Amongst 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, I would beat him, till he ask me mercy.

Mel. Sir, will you be gone?

Cal. I dare not stay, but I will go home, and beat my servants all over for this.

[Exit Calianax.

Mel. This old fellow haunts me,
                 But the distracted carriage of mine Amintor
                 Takes deeply on me, I will find the cause;
                 I fear his Conscience cries, he wrong'd Aspatia.
Enter Amintor.

Amint. Mens eyes are not so subtil to perceive
                 My inward misery; I bear my grief
                 Hid from the World; how art thou wretched then?
                 For ought 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 charge our souls in talk.
Amint. Melantius, I can tell thee a good jest of Strato and
                 a Lady the last day.
Mel. How wast?

Amint. Why such an odd one.

Mel. I have long'd to speak with you, not of an idle jest that's forc'd, but of matter you are bound to utter to me.

Amint. What is that my friend?

Mel. I have observ'd, your words fall from your tongue
                 Wildly; and all your carriage,
                 Like one that strove to shew his merry mood,
                 When he were ill dispos'd: 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're with smiles, and 'twill not be. What is it?
Amint. A sadness here! what cause
                 Can fate provide for me, to make me so?
                 Am I not lov'd 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 vertue? are not you,
                 Which is above all joyes, 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 unexprest a joy
                 In chast embraces, that you will indeed appear another.
Mel. You may shape, Amintor,
                 Causes to cozen the whole world withal,
                 And your self 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 here? a friend
                 Is nothing, Heaven! I would ha' told that man
                 My secret sins; I'le search an unknown Land,
                 And there plant friendship, all is withered here;
                 Come with a complement, I would have fought,
                 Or told my friend he ly'd, ere sooth'd him so;
                 Out of my bosom.
Amint. But there is nothing.

Mel. Worse and worse; farewel; From this time have acquaintance, but no friend.

Amint. Melantius, stay, you shall know what that is.

Mel. See how you play'd with friendship; be advis'd How you give cause unto your self to say, You ha'lost a friend.

Amint. Forgive what I have done;
                 For I am so ore-gone with injuries
                 Unheard of, that I lose consideration
                 Of what I ought to do—oh—oh.
Mel. Do not weep; what is't?
                 May I once but know the man
                 Hath turn'd my friend thus?
Amint. I had spoke at first, but that.

Mel. But what?

Amint. I held it most unfit
                 For you to know; faith do not know it yet.
Mel. Thou seest my love, that will keep company
                 With thee in tears; hide nothing then from me;
                 For when I know the cause of thy distemper,
                 With mine own armour I'le adorn my self,
                 My resolution, and cut through thy foes,
                 Unto thy quiet, till I place thy heart
                 As peaceable as spotless innocence. What is it?
Amint. Why, 'tis this—it is too big
                 To get out, let my tears make way a while.
Mel. Punish me strangely heaven, if he escape
                 Of life or fame, that brought this youth to this.
Amint. Your Sister.

Mel. Well said.

Amint. You'l wish't unknown, when you have heard it.

Mel. No.

Amint. Is much to blame,
                 And to the King has given her honour up,
                 And lives in Whoredom with him.
Mel. How, this!
                 Thou art run mad with injury indeed,
                 Thou couldst not utter this else; speak again,
                 For I forgive it freely; tell thy griefs.
Amint. She's wanton; I am loth to say a Whore,
                 Though it be true.
Mel. Speak yet again, before mine anger grow
                 Up beyond throwing down; what are thy griefs?
Amint. By all our friendship, these.

Mel. What? am I tame?
                 After mine actions, shall the name of friend
                 Blot all our family, and strike the brand
                 Of Whore upon my Sister unreveng'd?
                 My shaking flesh be thou a Witness for me,
                 With what unwillingness I go to scourge
                 This Rayler, whom my folly hath call'd Friend;
                 I will not take thee basely; thy sword
                 Hangs near thy hand, draw it, that I may whip
                 Thy rashness to repentance; draw thy sword.
Amint. Not on thee, did thine anger swell as high
                 As the wild surges; thou shouldst do me ease
                 Here, and Eternally, if thy noble hand
                 Would cut me from my sorrows.
Mel. This is base and fearful! they that use to utter lyes,
                 Provide not blows, but words to qualifie
                 The men they wrong'd; thou hast a guilty cause.
Amint. Thou pleasest me; for so much more like this,
                 Will raise my anger up above my griefs,
                 Which is a passion easier to be born,
                 And I shall then be happy.
Mel. Take then more to raise thine anger. 'Tis meer
                 Cowardize makes thee not draw; and I will leave thee
                 dead
                 However; but if thou art so much prest
                 With guilt and fear, as not to dare to fight,
                 I'le make thy memory loath'd, and fix a scandal
                 Upon thy name for ever.
Amint. Then I draw,
                 As justly as our Magistrates their Swords,
                 To cut offenders off; I knew before
                 'Twould grate your ears; but it was base in you
                 To urge a weighty secret from your friend,
                 And then rage at it; I shall be at ease
                 If I be kill'd; and if you fall by me,
                 I shall not long out-live you.
Mel. Stay a while.
                 The name of friend is more than family,
                 Or all the world besides; I was a fool.
                 Thou searching humane nature, that didst wake
                 To do me wrong, thou art inquisitive,
                 And thrusts me upon questions that will take
                 My sleep away; would I had died ere known
                 This sad dishonour; pardon me my friend;
                 If thou wilt strike, here is a faithful heart,
                 Pierce it, for I will never heave my hand
                 To thine; behold the power thou hast in me!
                 I do believe my Sister is a Whore,
                 A Leprous one, put up thy sword young man.
Amint. How should I bear it then, she being so?
                 I fear my friend that you will lose me shortly;
                 And I shall do a foul action my self
                 Through these disgraces.
Mel. Better half the Land
                 Were buried quick together; no, Amintor,
                 Thou shalt have ease: O this Adulterous King
                 That drew her to't! where got he the spirit
                 To wrong me so?
Amint. What is it then to me,
                 If it be wrong to you!
Mel. Why, not so much: the credit of our house
                 Is thrown away;
                 But from his Iron Den I'le waken death,
                 And hurle him on this King; my honesty
                 Shall steel my sword, and on its horrid point
                 I'le wear my cause, that shall amaze the eyes
                 Of this proud man, and be too glittering
                 For him to look on.
Amint. I have quite undone my fame.

Mel. Dry up thy watry eyes,
                 And cast a manly look upon my face;
                 For nothing is so wild as I thy friend
                 Till I have freed thee; still this swelling breast;
                 I go thus from thee, and will never cease
                 My vengeance, till I find my heart at peace.
Amint. It must not be so; stay, mine eyes would tell
                 How loth I am to this; but love and tears
                 Leave me a while, for I have hazarded
                 All this world calls happy; thou hast wrought
                 A secret from me under name of Friend,
                 Which Art could ne're have found, nor torture wrung
                 From out my bosom; give it me agen,
                 For I will find it, wheresoe're it lies
                 Hid in the mortal'st part; invent a way to give it back.
Mel. Why, would you have it back?
                 I will to death pursue him with revenge.
Amint. Therefore I call it back from thee; for I know Thy blood so high, that thou wilt stir in this, and shame me To posterity: take to thy Weapon.

Mel. Hear thy friend, that bears more years than thou.

Amint. I will not hear: but draw, or I——

Mel. Amintor.

Amint. Draw then, for I am full as resolute As fame and honour can inforce me be; I cannot linger, draw.

Mel. I do—but is not
                 My share of credit equal with thine if I do stir?
Amint. No; for it will be cal'd
                 Honour in thee to spill thy Sisters blood,
                 If she her birth abuse, and on the King
                 A brave revenge: but on me that have walkt
                 With patience in it, it will fix the name
                 Of fearful Cuckold—O that word! be quick.
Mel. Then joyn with me.

Amint. I dare not do a sin, or else I would: be speedy.

Mel. Then dare not fight with me, for that's a sin.
                 His grief distracts him; call thy thoughts agen,
                 And to thy self pronounce the name of friend,
                 And see what that will work; I will not fight.
Amint. You must.

Mel. I will be kill'd first, though my passions
                 Offred the like to you; 'tis not this earth
                 Shall buy my reason to it; think a while,
                 For you are (I must weep when I speak that)
                 Almost besides your self.
Amint. Oh my soft temper!
                 So many sweet words from thy Sisters mouth,
                 I am afraid would make me take her
                 To embrace, and pardon her. I am mad indeed,
                 And know not what I do; yet have a care
                 Of me in what thou doest.
Mel. Why thinks my friend I will forget his honour, or to save
                 The bravery of our house, will lose his fame,
                 And fear to touch the Throne of Majesty?
Amint. A curse will follow that, but rather live
                 And suffer with me.
Mel. I will do what worth shall bid me, and no more.

Amint. Faith I am sick, and desperately I hope, Yet leaning thus, I feel a kind of ease.

Mel. Come take agen your mirth about you.

Amint. I shall never do't.

Mel. I warrant you, look up, wee'l walk together,
                 Put thine arm here, all shall be well agen.
Amint. Thy Love, O wretched, I thy Love, Melantius;
                 why, I have nothing else.
Mel. Be merry then.

[Exeunt. Enter Melantius agen.

Mel. This worthy young man may do violence
                 Upon himself, but I have cherisht him
                 To my best power, and sent him smiling from me
                 To counterfeit again; Sword hold thine edge,
                 My heart will never fail me: Diphilus,
                 Thou com'st as sent.
[Enter Diphilus.

Diph. Yonder has been such laughing.

Mel. Betwixt whom?

Diph. Why, our Sister and the King, I thought their spleens would break, They laught us all out of the room.

Mel. They must weep, Diphilus.

Diph. Must they?

Mel. They must: thou art my Brother, and if I did believe Thou hadst a base thought, I would rip it out, Lie where it durst.

Diph. You should not, I would first mangle my self and find it.

Mel. That was spoke according to our strain; come
                 Joyn thy hands to mine,
                 And swear a firmness to what project I shall lay
                 before thee.
Diph. You do wrong us both;
                 People hereafter shall not say there past
                 A bond more than our loves, to tie our lives
                 And deaths together.
Mel. It is as nobly said as I would wish;
                 Anon I'le tell you wonders; we are wrong'd.
Diph. But I will tell you now, wee'l right our selves.

Mel. Stay not, prepare the armour in my house;
                 And what friends you can draw unto our side,
                 Not knowing of the cause, make ready too;
                 Haste Diphilus, the time requires it, haste.
[Exit Diphilus.

                 I hope my cause is just, I know my blood
                 Tells me it is, and I will credit it:
                 To take revenge, and lose my self withal,
                 Were idle; and to scape impossible,
                 Without I had the fort, which misery
                 Remaining in the hands of my old enemy
                 Calianax, but I must have it, see
[Enter Calianax.

                 Where he comes shaking by me: good my Lord,
                 Forget your spleen to me, I never wrong'd you,
                 But would have peace with every man.
Cal. 'Tis well;
                 If I durst fight, your tongue would lie at quiet.
Mel. Y'are touchie without all cause.

Cal. Do, mock me.

Mel. By mine honour I speak truth.

Cal. Honour? where is't?

Mel. See what starts you make into your hatred to my love and freedom to you.— I come with resolution to obtain a suit of you.

Cal. A suit of me! 'tis very like it should be granted, Sir.

Mel. Nay, go not hence;
                 'Tis this; you have the keeping of the Fort,
                 And I would wish you by the love you ought
                 To bear unto me, to deliver it into my hands.
Cal. I am in hope that thou art mad, to talk to me thus.

Mel. But there is a reason to move you to it. I would kill the King that wrong'd you and your daughter.

Cal. Out Traytor!

Mel. Nay but stay; I cannot scape, the deed once done,
                 Without I have this fort.
Cal. And should I help thee? now thy treacherous mind
                 betrays it self.
Mel. Come, delay me not;
                 Give me a sudden answer, or already
                 Thy last is spoke; refuse not offered love,
                 When it comes clad in secrets.
Cal. If I say I will not, he will kill me, I do see't writ In his looks; and should I say I will, he'l run and tell the King: I do not shun your friendship dear Melantius, But this cause is weighty, give me but an hour to think.

Mel. Take it—I know this goes unto the King,
                 But I am arm'd.
                                                         [Ex. Melant.
Cal. Me thinks I feel my self
                 But twenty now agen; this fighting fool
                 Wants Policy; I shall revenge my Girl,
                 And make her red again; I pray, my legs
                 Will last that pace that I will carry them,
                 I shall want breath before I find the King.
Actus Quartus.

Enter Melantius, Evadne, and a Lady.

Mel. Save you.

Evad. Save you sweet Brother.

Mel. In my blunt eye methinks you look Evadne.

Evad. Come, you would make me blush.

Mel. I would Evadne, I shall displease my ends else.

Evad. You shall if you command me; I am bashful;
                 Come Sir, how do I look?
Mel. I would not have your women hear me
                 Break into commendation of you, 'tis not seemly.
Evad. Go wait me in the Gallery—now speak.

Mel. I'le lock the door first.

[Exeunt Ladies.

Evad. Why?

Mel. I will not have your guilded things that dance in visitation with their Millan skins choke up my business.

Evad. You are strangely dispos'd Sir.

Mel. Good Madam, not to make you merry.

Evad. No, if you praise me, 'twill make me sad.

Mel. Such a sad commendation I have for you.

Evad. Brother, the Court hath made you witty, And learn to riddle.

Mel. I praise the Court for't; has it learned you nothing?

Evad. Me?

Mel. I Evadne, thou art young and handsom,
                 A Lady of a sweet complexion,
                 And such a flowing carriage, that it cannot
                 Chuse but inflame a Kingdom.
Evad. Gentle Brother!

Mel. 'Tis yet in thy remembrance, foolish woman, To make me gentle.

Evad. How is this?

Mel. 'Tis base, And I could blush at these years, through all My honour'd scars, to come to such a parly.

Evad. I understand you not.

Mel. You dare not, Fool;
                 They that commit thy faults, fly the remembrance.
Evad. My faults, Sir! I would have you know I care not
                 If they were written here, here in my forehead.
Mel. Thy body is too little for the story,
                 The lusts of which would fill another woman,
                 Though she had Twins within her.
Evad. This is saucy;
                 Look you intrude no more, there lies your way.
Mel. Thou art my way, and I will tread upon thee,
                 Till I find truth out.
Evad. What truth is that you look for?

Mel. Thy long-lost honour: would the Gods had set me
                 One of their loudest bolts; come tell me quickly,
                 Do it without enforcement, and take heed
                 You swell me not above my temper.
Evad. How Sir? where got you this report?

Mel. Where there was people in every place.

Evad. They and the seconds of it are base people; Believe them not, they lyed.

Mel. Do not play with mine anger, do not Wretch, I come to know that desperate Fool that drew thee From thy fair life; be wise, and lay him open.

Evad. Unhand me, and learn manners, such another
                 Forgetfulness forfeits your life.
Mel. Quench me this mighty humour, and then tell me
                 Whose Whore you are, for you are one, I know it.
                 Let all mine honours perish but I'le find him,
                 Though he lie lockt up in thy blood; be sudden;
                 There is no facing it, and be not flattered;
                 The burnt air, when the Dog raigns, is not fouler
                 Than thy contagious name, till thy repentance
                 (If the Gods grant thee any) purge thy sickness.
Evad. Be gone, you are my Brother, that's your safety.

Mel. I'le be a Wolf first; 'tis to be thy Brother
                 An infamy below the sin of a Coward:
                 I am as far from being part of thee,
                 As thou art from thy vertue: seek a kindred
                 Mongst sensual beasts, and make a Goat thy Brother,
                 A Goat is cooler; will you tell me yet?
Evad. If you stay here and rail thus, I shall tell you,
                 I'le ha' you whipt; get you to your command,
                 And there preach to your Sentinels,
                 And tell them what a brave man you are; I shall laugh
                 at you.
Mel. Y'are grown a glorious Whore; where be your
                 Fighters? what mortal Fool durst raise thee to this
                 daring,
                 And I alive? by my just Sword, h'ad safer
                 Bestride a Billow when the angry North
                 Plows up the Sea, or made Heavens fire his food;
                 Work me no higher; will you discover yet?
Evad. The Fellow's mad, sleep and speak sense.

Mel. Force my swollen heart no further; I would save thee; your great maintainers are not here, they dare not, would they were all, and armed, I would speak loud; here's one should thunder to 'em: will you tell me? thou hast no hope to scape; he that dares most, and damns away his soul to do thee service, will sooner fetch meat from a hungry Lion, than come to rescue thee; thou hast death about thee: h'as undone thine honour, poyson'd thy vertue, and of a lovely rose, left thee a canker.

Evad. Let me consider.

Mel. Do, whose child thou wert,
                 Whose honour thou hast murdered, whose grave open'd,
                 And so pull'd on the Gods, that in their justice
                 They must restore him flesh again and life,
                 And raise his dry bones to revenge his scandal.
Evad. The gods are not of my mind; they had better
                 let 'em lie sweet still in the earth; they'l stink here.
Mel. Do you raise mirth out of my easiness?
                 Forsake me then all weaknesses of Nature,
                 That make men women: Speak you whore, speak truth,
                 Or by the dear soul of thy sleeping Father,
                 This sword shall be thy lover: tell, or I'le kill thee:
                 And when thou hast told all, thou wilt deserve it.
Evad. You will not murder me!

Mel. No, 'tis a justice, and a noble one, To put the light out of such base offenders.

Evad. Help!

Mel. By thy foul self, no humane help shall help thee,
                 If thou criest: when I have kill'd thee, as I have
                 Vow'd to do, if thou confess not, naked as thou hast
                 left
                 Thine honour, will I leave thee,
                 That on thy branded flesh the world may read
                 Thy black shame, and my justice; wilt thou bend yet?
Evad. Yes.

Mel. Up and begin your story.

Evad. Oh I am miserable.

Mel. 'Tis true, thou art, speak truth still.

Evad. I have offended, noble Sir: forgive me.

Mel. With what secure slave?

Evad. Do not ask me Sir. Mine own remembrance is a misery too mightie for me.

Mel. Do not fall back again; my sword's unsheath'd yet.

Evad. What shall I do?

Mel. Be true, and make your fault less.

Evad. I dare not tell.

Mel. Tell, or I'le be this day a killing thee.

Evad. Will you forgive me then?

Mel. Stay, I must ask mine honour first, I have too much foolish nature in me; speak.

Evad. Is there none else here?

Mel. None but a fearful conscience, that's too many. Who is't?

Evad. O hear me gently; it was the King.

Mel. No more. My worthy father's and my services
                 Are liberally rewarded! King, I thank thee,
                 For all my dangers and my wounds, thou hast paid me
                 In my own metal: These are Souldiers thanks.
                 How long have you liv'd thus Evadne?
Evad. Too long.

Mel. Too late you find it: can you be sorry?

Evad. Would I were half as blameless.

Mel. Evadne, thou wilt to thy trade again.

Evad. First to my grave.

Mel. Would gods th'hadst been so blest:
                 Dost thou not hate this King now? prethee hate him:
                 Couldst thou not curse him? I command thee curse him,
                 Curse till the gods hear, and deliver him
                 To thy just wishes: yet I fear Evadne;
                 You had rather play your game out.
Evad. No, I feel
                 Too many sad confusions here to let in any loose flame
                 hereafter.
Mel. Dost thou not feel amongst all those one brave anger
                 That breaks out nobly, and directs thine arm to kill
                 this base King?
Evad. All the gods forbid it.

Mel. No, all the gods require it, they are dishonoured in him.

Evad. 'Tis too fearful.

Mel. Y'are valiant in his bed, and bold enough
                 To be a stale whore, and have your Madams name
                 Discourse for Grooms and Pages, and hereafter
                 When his cool Majestie hath laid you by,
                 To be at pension with some needy Sir
                 For meat and courser clothes, thus far you know no fear.
                 Come, you shall kill him.
Evad. Good Sir!

Mel. And 'twere to kiss him dead, thou'd smother him;
                 Be wise and kill him: Canst thou live and know
                 What noble minds shall make thee see thy self
                 Found out with every finger, made the shame
                 Of all successions, and in this great ruine
                 Thy brother and thy noble husband broken?
                 Thou shalt not live thus; kneel and swear to help me
                 When I shall call thee to it, or by all
                 Holy in heaven and earth, thou shalt not live
                 To breath a full hour longer, not a thought:
                 Come 'tis a righteous oath; give me thy hand,
                 And both to heaven held up, swear by that wealth
                 This lustful thief stole from thee, when I say it,
                 To let his foul soul out.
Evad. Here I swear it,
                 And all you spirits of abused Ladies
                 Help me in this performance.
Mel. Enough; this must be known to none
                 But you and I Evadne; not to your Lord,
                 Though he be wise and noble, and a fellow
                 Dares step as far into a worthy action,
                 As the most daring, I as far as Justice.
                 Ask me not why. Farewell.
[Exit Mel.

Evad. Would I could say so to my black disgrace.
                 Oh where have I been all this time! how friended,
                 That I should lose my self thus desperately,
                 And none for pity shew me how I wandred?
                 There is not in the compass of the light
                 A more unhappy creature: sure I am monstrous,
                 For I have done those follies, those mad mischiefs,
                 Would dare a woman. O my loaden soul,
                 Be not so cruel to me, choak not up
[Enter Amintor.

The way to my repentance. O my Lord.

Amin. How now?

Evad. My much abused Lord! [Kneels.

Amin. This cannot be.

Evad. I do not kneel to live, I dare not hope it;
                 The wrongs I did are greater; look upon me
                 Though I appear with all my faults.
Amin. Stand up.
                 This is no new way to beget more sorrow;
                 Heaven knows I have too many; do not mock me;
                 Though I am tame and bred up with my wrongs,
                 Which are my foster-brothers, I may leap
                 Like a hand-wolf into my natural wilderness,
                 And do an out-rage: pray thee do not mock me.
Evad. My whole life is so leprous, it infects
                 All my repentance: I would buy your pardon
                 Though at the highest set, even with my life:
                 That slight contrition, that's no sacrifice
                 For what I have committed.
Amin. Sure I dazle:
                 There cannot be a faith in that foul woman
                 That knows no God more mighty than her mischiefs:
                 Thou dost still worst, still number on thy faults,
                 To press my poor heart thus. Can I believe
                 There's any seed of Vertue in that woman
                 Left to shoot up, that dares go on in sin
                 Known, and so known as thine is, O Evadne!
                 Would there were any safety in thy sex,
                 That I might put a thousand sorrows off,
                 And credit thy repentance: but I must not;
                 Thou hast brought me to the dull calamity,
                 To that strange misbelief of all the world,
                 And all things that are in it, that I fear
                 I shall fall like a tree, and find my grave,
                 Only remembring that I grieve.
Evad. My Lord,
                 Give me your griefs: you are an innocent,
                 A soul as white as heaven: let not my sins
                 Perish your noble youth: I do not fall here
                 To shadow by dissembling with my tears,
                 As all say women can, or to make less
                 What my hot will hath done, which heaven and you
                 Knows to be tougher than the hand of time
                 Can cut from mans remembrance; no I do not;
                 I do appear the same, the same Evadne,
                 Drest in the shames I liv'd in, the same monster.
                 But these are names of honour, to what I am;
                 I do present my self the foulest creature,
                 Most poysonous, dangerous, and despis'd of men,
                 Lerna e're bred, or Nilus; I am hell,
                 Till you, my dear Lord, shoot your light into me,
                 The beams of your forgiveness: I am soul-sick,
                 And [wither] with the fear of one condemn'd,
                 Till I have got your pardon.
Amin. Rise Evadne,
                 Those heavenly powers that put this good into thee,
                 Grant a continuance of it: I forgive thee;
                 Make thy self worthy of it, and take heed,
                 Take heed Evadne this be serious;
                 Mock not the powers above, that can and dare
                 Give thee a great example of their justice
                 To all ensuing eyes, if thou plai'st
                 With thy repentance, the best sacrifice.
Evad. I have done nothing good to win belief,
                 My life hath been so faithless; all the creatures
                 Made for heavens honours have their ends, and good ones,
                 All but the cousening Crocodiles, false women;
                 They reign here like those plagues, those killing sores
                 Men pray against; and when they die, like tales
                 Ill told, and unbeliev'd, they pass away,
                 And go to dust forgotten: But my Lord,
                 Those short dayes I shall number to my rest,
                 (As many must not see me) shall though too late,
                 Though in my evening, yet perceive a will,
                 Since I can do no good because a woman,
                 Reach constantly at some thing that is near it;
                 I will redeem one minute of my age,
                 Or like another Niobe I'le weep till I am water.
Amin. I am now dissolved:
                 My frozen soul melts: may each sin thou hast,
                 Find a new mercy: Rise, I am at peace:
                 Hadst thou been thus, thus excellently good,
                 Before that devil King tempted thy frailty,
                 Sure thou hadst made a star: give me thy hand;
                 From this time I will know thee, and as far
                 As honour gives me leave, be thy Amintor:
                 When we meet next, I will salute thee fairly,
                 And pray the gods to give thee happy dayes:
                 My charity shall go along with thee,
                 Though my embraces must be far from thee.
                 I should ha' kill'd thee, but this sweet repentance
                 Locks up my vengeance, for which thus I kiss thee,
                 The last kiss we must take; and would to heaven
                 The holy Priest that gave our hands together,
                 Had given us equal Vertues: go Evadne,
                 The gods thus part our bodies, have a care
                 My honour falls no farther, I am well then.
Evad. All the dear joyes here, and above hereafter
                 Crown thy fair soul: thus I take leave my Lord,
                 And never shall you see the foul Evadne
                 Till sh'ave tryed all honoured means that may
                 Set her in rest, and wash her stains away.
[Exeunt.

Banquet. Enter King, Calianax. Hoboyes play within.

King. I cannot tell how I should credit this
                 From you that are his enemy.
Cal. I am sure he said it to me, and I'le justifie it
                 What way he dares oppose, but with my sword.
King. But did he break without all circumstance
                 To you his foe, that he would have the Fort
                 To kill me, and then escape?
Cal. If he deny it, I'le make him blush.

King. It sounds incredibly.

Cal. I, so does every thing I say of late.

King. Not so Calianax.

Cal. Yes, I should sit
                 Mute, whilst a Rogue with strong arms cuts your throat.
King. Well, I will try him, and if this be true
                 I'le pawn my life I'le find it; if't be false,
                 And that you clothe your hate in such a lie,
                 You shall hereafter doat in your own house, not in the
                 Court.
Cal. Why if it be a lie,
                 Mine ears are false; for I'le be sworn I heard it:
                 Old men are good for nothing; you were best
                 Put me to death for hearing, and free him
                 For meaning of it; you would ha' trusted me
                 Once, but the time is altered.
King. And will still where I may do with justice to the world;
                 You have no witness.
Cal. Yes, my self.

King. No more I mean there were that heard it.

Cal. How no more? would you have more? why am Not I enough to hang a thousand Rogues?

King. But so you may hang honest men too if you please.

Cal. I may, 'tis like I will do so; there are a hundred will swear it for a need too, if I say it.

King. Such witnesses we need not.

Cal. And 'tis hard if my Word cannot hang a boysterous knave.

King. Enough; where's Strato?

Stra. Sir!

Enter Strato.

King. Why where's all the company? call Amintor in. Evadne, where's my Brother, and Melantius? Bid him come too, and Diphilus; call all

[Exit Strato.

                 That are without there: if he should desire
                 The combat of you, 'tis not in the power
                 Of all our Laws to hinder it, unless we mean to
                 quit 'em.
Cal. Why if you do think
                 'Tis fit an old Man and a Counsellor,
                 To fight for what he sayes, then you may grant it.
Enter Amin. Evad. Mel. Diph. [Lisip.] Cle. Stra. Diag.

King. Come Sirs, Amintor thou art yet a Bridegroom,
                 And I will use thee so: thou shalt sit down;
                 Evadne sit, and you Amintor too;
                 This Banquet is for you, sir: Who has brought
                 A merry Tale about him, to raise a laughter
                 Amongst our wine? why Strato, where art thou?
                 Thou wilt chop out with them unseasonably
                 When I desire 'em not.
Strato. 'Tis my ill luck Sir, so to spend them then.

King. Reach me a boul of wine: Melantlius, thou art sad.

Amin. I should be Sir the merriest here, But I ha' ne're a story of mine own Worth telling at this time.

King. Give me the Wine. Melantius, I am now considering How easie 'twere for any man we trust To poyson one of us in such a boul.

Mel. I think it were not hard Sir, for a Knave.

Cal. Such as you are.

King. I' faith 'twere easie, it becomes us well
                 To get plain dealing men about our selves,
                 Such as you all are here: Amintor, to thee
                 And to thy fair Evadne.
Mel. Have you thought of this Calianax?

[Aside.

Cal. Yes marry have I.

Mel. And what's your resolution?

Cal. Ye shall have it soundly?

King. Reach to Amintor, Strato.

Amin. Here my love,
                 This Wine will do thee wrong, for it will set
                 Blushes upon thy cheeks, and till thou dost a
                 fault, 'twere pity.
King. Yet I wonder much
                 Of the strange desperation of these men,
                 That dare attempt such acts here in our State;
                 He could not escape that did it.
Mel. Were he known, unpossible.

King. It would be known, Melantius.

Mel. It ought to be, if he got then away
                 He must wear all our lives upon his sword,
                 He need not fly the Island, he must leave no one alive.
King. No, I should think no man
                 Could kill me and scape clear, but that old man.
Cal. But I! heaven bless me: I, should I my Liege?

King. I do not think thou wouldst, but yet thou might'st,
                 For thou hast in thy hands the means to scape,
                 By keeping of the Fort; he has, Melantius, and he has
                 kept it well.
Mel. From cobwebs Sir,
                 'Tis clean swept: I can find no other Art
                 In keeping of it now, 'twas ne're besieg'd since he
                 commanded.
Cal. I shall be sure of your good word,
                 But I have kept it safe from such as you.
Mel. Keep your ill temper in, I speak no malice; had my brother kept it I should ha' said as much.

King. You are not merry, brother; drink wine, Sit you all still! Calianax, [Aside. I cannot trust thus: I have thrown out words That would have fetcht warm blood upon the cheeks Of guilty men, and he is never mov'd, he knows no such thing.

Cal. Impudence may scape, when feeble vertue is accus'd.

King. He must, if he were guilty, feel an alteration At this our whisper, whilst we point at him, You see he does not.

Cal. Let him hang himself,
                 What care I what he does; this he did say.
King. Melantius, you cannot easily conceive
                 What I have meant; for men that are in fault
                 Can subtly apprehend when others aime
                 At what they do amiss; but I forgive
                 Freely before this man; heaven do so too:
                 I will not touch thee so much as with shame
                 Of telling it, let it be so no more.
Cal. Why this is very fine.

Mel. I cannot tell
                 What 'tis you mean, but I am apt enough
                 Rudely to thrust into ignorant fault,
                 But let me know it; happily 'tis nought
                 But misconstruction, and where I am clear
                 I will not take forgiveness of the gods, much less
                of you.
King. Nay if you stand so stiff, I shall call back my mercy.

Mel. I want smoothness To thank a man for pardoning of a crime I never knew.

King. Not to instruct your knowledge, but to shew you my ears are every where, you meant to kill me, and get the Fort to scape.

Mel. Pardon me Sir; my bluntness will be pardoned:
                 You preserve
                 A race of idle people here about you,
                 Eaters, and talkers, to defame the worth
                 Of those that do things worthy; the man that uttered
                 this
                 Had perisht without food, be't who it will,
                 But for this arm that fenc't him from the foe.
                 And if I thought you gave a faith to this,
                 The plainness of my nature would speak more;
                 Give me a pardon (for you ought to do't)
                 To kill him that spake this.
Cal. I, that will be the end of all,
                 Then I am fairly paid for all my care and service.
Mel. That old man who calls me enemy, and of whom I
                 (Though I will never match my hate so low)
                 Have no good thought, would yet I think excuse me,
                 And swear he thought me wrong'd in this.
Cal. Who I, thou shameless fellow! didst thou not speak to me of it thy self?

Mel. O then it came from him.

Cal. From me! who should it come from but from me?

Mel. Nay, I believe your malice is enough, But I ha' lost my anger. Sir, I hope you are well satisfied.

King. Lisip. Chear Amintor and his Lady; there's no sound Comes from you; I will come and do't my self.

Amin. You have done already Sir for me, I thank you.

King. Melantius, I do credit this from him, How slight so e're you mak't.

Mel. 'Tis strange you should.

Cal. 'Tis strange he should believe an old mans word,
                 That never lied in his life.
Mel. I talk not to thee;
                 Shall the wild words of this distempered man,
                 Frantick with age and sorrow, make a breach
                 Betwixt your Majesty and me? 'twas wrong
                 To hearken to him; but to credit him
                 As much, at least, as I have power to bear.
                 But pardon me, whilst I speak only truth,
                 I may commend my self—I have bestow'd
                 My careless blood with you, and should be loth
                 To think an action that would make me lose
                 That, and my thanks too: when I was a boy,
                 I thrust my self into my Countries cause,
                 And did a deed that pluckt five years from time,
                 And stil'd me man then: And for you my King,
                 Your subjects all have fed by vertue of my arm.
                 This sword of mine hath plow'd the ground,
                 And reapt the fruit in peace;
                 And your self have liv'd at home in ease:
                 So terrible I grew, that without swords
                 My name hath fetcht you conquest, and my heart
                 And limbs are still the same; my will is great
                 To do you service: let me not be paid
                 With such a strange distrust.
King. Melantius, I held it great injustice to believe
                  Thine Enemy, and did not; if I did,
                   I do not, let that satisfie: what struck
                  With sadness all? More Wine!
Cal. A few fine words have overthrown my truth:
                  Ah th'art a Villain.
Mel. Why thou wert better let me have the Fort,
                  Dotard, I will disgrace thee thus for ever;
[Aside.

                  There shall no credit lie upon thy words;
                  Think better and deliver it.
Cal. My Liege, he's at me now agen to do it; speak, Deny it if thou canst; examine him Whilst he's hot, for he'l cool agen, he will forswear it.

King. This is lunacy I hope, Melantius.

Mel. He hath lost himself Much since his Daughter mist the happiness My Sister gain'd; and though he call me Foe, I pity him.

Cal. Pity! a pox upon you.

King. Mark his disordered words, and at the Mask.

Mel. Diagoras knows he raged, and rail'd at me,
                   And cal'd a Lady Whore, so innocent
                   She understood him not; but it becomes
                   Both you and me too, to forgive distraction,
                   Pardon him as I do.
Cal. I'le not speak for thee, for all thy cunning, if you
                  will be safe chop off his head, for there was never
                  known so impudent a Rascal.
King. Some that love him, get him to bed: Why, pity
                  should not let age make it self contemptible; we must
                  be all old, have him away.
Mel. Calianax, the King believes you; come, you shall go
                 Home, and rest; you ha' done well; you'l give it up
                 When I have us'd you thus a moneth I hope.
Cal. Now, now, 'tis plain Sir, he does move me still;
                 He sayes he knows I'le give him up the Fort,
                 When he has us'd me thus a moneth: I am mad,
                  Am I not still?
Omnes. Ha, ha, ha!

Cal. I shall be mad indeed, if you do thus;
                  Why would you trust a sturdy fellow there
                  (That has no vertue in him, all's in his sword)
                  Before me? do but take his weapons from him,
                  And he's an Ass, and I am a very fool,
                  Both with him, and without him, as you use me.
Omnes. Ha, ha, ha!

King. 'Tis well Calianax; but if you use This once again, I shall intreat some other To see your Offices be well discharg'd. Be merry Gentlemen, it grows somewhat late. Amintor, thou wouldest be abed again.

Amin. Yes Sir.

King. And you Evadne; let me take thee in my arms, Melantius, and believe thou art as thou deservest to be, my friend still, and for ever. Good Calianax, Sleep soundly, it will bring thee to thy self.

[Exeunt omnes. Manent Mel. and Cal.

Cal. Sleep soundly! I sleep soundly now I hope,
                  I could not be thus else. How dar'st thou stay
                 Alone with me, knowing how thou hast used me?
Mel. You cannot blast me with your tongue,
                 And that's the strongest part you have about you.
Cal. I do look for some great punishment for this,
                 For I begin to forget all my hate,
                 And tak't unkindly that mine enemy
                 Should use me so extraordinarily scurvily.
Mel. I shall melt too, if you begin to take
                  Unkindnesses: I never meant you hurt.
Cal. Thou'lt anger me again; thou wretched rogue,
                  Meant me no hurt! disgrace me with the King;
                  Lose all my Offices! this is no hurt,
                  Is it? I prethee what dost thou call hurt?
Mel. To poyson men because they love me not;
                  To call the credit of mens Wives in question;
                  To murder children betwixt me and land; this is
                  all hurt.
Cal. All this thou think'st is sport;
                  For mine is worse: but use thy will with me;
                  For betwixt grief and anger I could cry.
Mel. Be wise then, and be safe; thou may'st revenge.

Cal. I o'th' King? I would revenge of thee.

Mel. That you must plot your self.

Cal. I am a fine plotter.

Mel. The short is, I will hold thee with the King In this perplexity, till peevishness And thy disgrace have laid thee in thy grave: But if thou wilt deliver up the Fort, I'le take thy trembling body in my arms, And bear thee over dangers; thou shalt hold thy wonted state.

Cal. If I should tell the King, can'st thou deny't again?

Mel. Try and believe.

Cal. Nay then, thou can'st bring any thing about: Thou shalt have the Fort.

Mel. Why well, here let our hate be buried, and This hand shall right us both; give me thy aged breast to compass.

Cal. Nay, I do not love thee yet:
                   I cannot well endure to look on thee:
                  And if I thought it were a courtesie,
                  Thou should'st not have it: but I am disgrac'd;
                  My Offices are to be ta'ne away;
                  And if I did but hold this Fort a day,
                  I do believe the King would take it from me,
                  And give it thee, things are so strangely carried;
                  Nere thank me for't; but yet the King shall know
                  There was some such thing in't I told him of;
                  And that I was an honest man.
Mel. Hee'l buy that knowledge very dearly.

[Enter Diphilus.

What news with thee?

Diph. This were a night indeed to do it in; The King hath sent for her.

Mel. She shall perform it then; go Diphilus, And take from this good man, my worthy friend, The Fort; he'l give it thee.

Diph. Ha' you got that?

Cal. Art thou of the same breed? canst thou deny This to the King too?

Diph. With a confidence as great as his.

Cal. Faith, like enough.

Mel. Away, and use him kindly.

Cal. Touch not me, I hate the whole strain: if thou follow me a great way off, I'le give thee up the Fort; and hang your selves.

Mel. Be gone.

Diph. He's finely wrought.

[Exeunt Cal. Diph.

Mel. This is a night in spite of Astronomers To do the deed in; I will wash the stain That rests upon our House, off with his blood.

Enter Amintor.

Amin. Melantius, now assist me if thou beest That which thou say'st, assist me: I have lost All my distempers, and have found a rage so pleasing; help me.

Mel. Who can see him thus, And not swear vengeance? what's the matter friend?

Amin. Out with thy sword; and hand in hand with me Rush to the Chamber of this hated King, And sink him with the weight of all his sins to hell for ever.

Mel. 'Twere a rash attempt,
                  Not to be done with safety: let your reason
                  Plot your revenge, and not your passion.
Amint. If thou refusest me in these extreams,
                   Thou art no friend: he sent for her to me;
                   By Heaven to me; my self; and I must tell ye
                   I love her as a stranger; there is worth
                   In that vile woman, worthy things, Melantius;
                   And she repents. I'le do't my self alone,
                   Though I be slain. Farewell.
Mel. He'l overthrow my whole design with madness:
                  Amintor, think what thou doest; I dare as much as
                  valour;
                  But 'tis the King, the King, the King, Amintor,
                  With whom thou fightest; I know he's honest,
[Aside.

And this will work with him.

Amint. I cannot tell What thou hast said; but thou hast charm'd my sword Out of my hand, and left me shaking here defenceless.

Mel. I will take it up for thee.

Amint. What a wild beast is uncollected man! The thing that we call Honour, bears us all Headlong unto sin, and yet it self is nothing.

Mel. Alas, how variable are thy thoughts!

Amint. Just like my fortunes: I was run to that
                  I purpos'd to have chid thee for.
                  Some Plot I did distrust thou hadst against the King
                  By that old fellows carriage: but take heed,
                  There is not the least limb growing to a King,
                  But carries thunder in it.
Mel. I have none against him.

Amint. Why, come then, and still remember we may not think revenge.

Mel. I will remember.

Actus Quintus.

Enter Evadne and a Gentleman.

Evad. Sir, is the King abed?

Gent. Madam, an hour ago.

Evad. Give me the key then, and let none be near;
                   'Tis the Kings pleasure.
Gent. I understand you Madam, would 'twere mine.
                   I must not wish good rest unto your Ladiship.
Evad. You talk, you talk.

Gent. 'Tis all I dare do, Madam; but the King will wake, and then.

Evad. Saving your imagination, pray good night Sir.

Gent. A good night be it then, and a long one Madam;
                  I am gone.
Evad. The night grows horrible, and all about me
                   Like my black purpose: O the Conscience
                                                            [King abed.
                   Of a lost Virgin; whither wilt thou pull me?
                   To what things dismal, as the depth of Hell,
                   Wilt thou provoke me? Let no [woman] dare
                   From this hour be disloyal: if her heart
                   Be flesh, if she have blood, and can fear, 'tis a daring
                   Above that desperate fool that left his peace,
                   And went to Sea to fight: 'tis so many sins
                   An age cannot prevent 'em: and so great,
                   The gods want mercy for: yet I must through 'em.
                   I have begun a slaughter on my honour,
                   And I must end it there: he sleeps, good heavens!
                   Why give you peace to this untemperate beast
                   That hath so long transgressed you? I must kill him,
                   And I will do't bravely: the meer joy
                   Tells me I merit in it: yet I must not
                   Thus tamely do it as he sleeps: that were
                   To rock him to another world: my vengeance
                   Shall take him waking, and then lay before him
                   The number of his wrongs and punishments.
                   I'le shake his sins like furies, till I waken
                   His evil Angel, his sick Conscience:
                   And then I'le strike him dead: King, by your leave:
[Ties his armes to the bed.

                   I dare not trust your strength: your Grace and I
                   Must grapple upon even terms no more:
                   So, if he rail me not from my resolution,
                   I shall be strong enough.
                   My Lord the King, my Lord; he sleeps
                   As if he meant to wake no more, my Lord;
                   Is he not dead already? Sir, my Lord.
King. Who's that?

Evad. O you sleep soundly Sir!

King. My dear Evadne, I have been dreaming of thee; come to bed.

Evad. I am come at length Sir, but how welcome?

King. What pretty new device is this Evadne?
                  What do you tie me to you by my love?
                  This is a quaint one: Come my dear and kiss me;
                  I'le be thy Mars to bed my Queen of Love:
                  Let us be caught together, that the Gods may see,
                  And envy our embraces.
Evad. Stay Sir, stay,
                   You are too hot, and I have brought you Physick
                   To temper your high veins.
King. Prethee to bed then; let me take it warm,
                   There you shall know the state of my body better.
Evad. I know you have a surfeited foul body,
                  And you must bleed.
King. Bleed!

Evad. I, you shall bleed: lie still, and if the Devil,
                 Your lust will give you leave, repent: this steel
                 Comes to redeem the honour that you stole,
                 King, my fair name, which nothing but thy death
                 Can answer to the world.
King. How's this Evadne?

Evad. I am not she: nor bear I in this breast
                  So much cold Spirit to be call'd a Woman:
                  I am a Tyger: I am any thing
                  That knows not pity: stir not, if thou dost,
                  I'le take thee unprepar'd; thy fears upon thee,
                  That make thy sins look double, and so send thee
                  (By my revenge I will) to look those torments
                  Prepar'd for such black souls.
King. Thou dost not mean this: 'tis impossible:
                  Thou art too sweet and gentle.
Evad. No, I am not:
                  I am as foul as thou art, and can number
                  As many such hells here: I was once fair,
                  Once I was lovely, not a blowing Rose
                  More chastly sweet, till tho[u], thou, thou, foul
                  Canker,
                  (Stir not) didst poyson me: I was a world of vertue,
                  Till your curst Court and you (hell bless you for't)
                  With your temptations on temptations
                  Made me give up mine honour; for which (King)
                  I am come to kill thee.
King. No.

Evad. I am.

King. Thou art not.
                  I prethee speak not these things; thou art gentle,
                  And wert not meant thus rugged.
Evad. Peace and hear me.
                  Stir nothing but your tongue, and that for mercy
                  To those above us; by whose lights I vow,
                  Those blessed fires that shot to see our sin,
                  If thy hot soul had substance with thy blood,
                  I would kill that too, which being past my steel,
                  My tongue shall teach: Thou art a shameless Villain,
                  A thing out of the overchange of Nature;
                  Sent like a thick cloud to disperse a plague
                  Upon weak catching women; such a tyrant
                  That for his Lust would sell away his Subjects,
                  I, all his heaven hereafter.
King. Hear Evadne,
                  Thou soul of sweetness! hear, I am thy King.
Evad. Thou art my shame; lie still, there's none about you,
                  Within your cries; all promises of safety
                  Are but deluding dreams: thus, thus, thou foul man,
                  Thus I begin my vengeance.
[Stabs him.

King. Hold Evadne! I do command thee hold.

Evad. I do not mean Sir, To part so fairly with you; we must change More of these love-tricks yet.

King. What bloody villain Provok't thee to this murther?

Evad. Thou, thou monster.

King. Oh!

Evad. Thou kept'st me brave at Court, and Whor'd me; Then married me to a young noble Gentleman; And Whor'd me still.

King. Evadne, pity me.

Evad. Hell take me then; this for my Lord Amintor; This for my noble brother: and this stroke For the most wrong'd of women.

[Kills him.

King. Oh! I die.

Evad. Die all our faults together; I forgive thee.

[Exit.

Enter two of the Bed-Chamber.

1. Come now she's gone, let's enter, the King expects
                  it, and will be angry.
2. 'Tis a fine wench, we'I have a snap at her one of these
                  nights as she goes from him.
1. Content: how quickly he had done with her! I see
                  Kings can do no more that way than other mortal people.
2. How fast he is! I cannot hear him breathe.

1. Either the Tapers give a feeble light, or he looks very pale.

2. And so he does, pray Heaven he be well. Let's look: Alas! he's stiffe, wounded and dead: Treason, Treason!

1. Run forth and call.

[Exit Gent.

2. Treason, Treason!

1. This will be laid on us: who can believe A Woman could do this?

Enter Cleon and Lisippus.

Cleon. How now, where's the Traytor?

1. Fled, fled away; but there her woful act lies still.

Cle. Her act! a Woman!

Lis. Where's the body?

1. There.

Lis. Farewel thou worthy man; there were two bonds
                  That tyed our loves, a Brother and a King;
                  The least of which might fetch a flood of tears:
                  But such the misery of greatness is,
                  They have no time to mourn; then pardon me.
                  Sirs, which way went she?
[Enter Strato.

Strat. Never follow her,
                  For she alas! was but the instrument.
                  News is now brought in, that Melantius
                  Has got the Fort, and stands upon the wall;
                  And with a loud voice calls those few that pass
                  At this dead time of night, delivering
                  The innocent of this act.
Lis. Gentlemen, I am your King.

Strat. We do acknowledge it.

Lis. I would I were not: follow all; for this must have a sudden stop.

[Exeunt

Enter Melant. Diph. and Cal. on the wall.

Mel. If the dull people can believe I am arm'd,
                  Be constant Diphilus; now we have time,
                  Either to bring our banisht honours home,
                  Or create new ones in our ends.
Diph. I fear not;
                 My spirit lies not that way. Courage Calianax.
Cal. Would I had any, you should quickly know it.

Mel. Speak to the people; thou art eloquent.

Cal. 'Tis a fine eloquence to come to the gallows;
                  You were born to be my end; the Devil take you.
                  Now must I hang for company; 'tis strange
                  I should be old, and neither wise nor valiant.
Enter Lisip. Diag. Cleon, Strat. Guard.

Lisip. See where he stands as boldly confident,
                  As if he had his full command about him.
Strat. He looks as if he had the bet[t]er cause; Sir,
                  Under your gracious pardon let me speak it;
                  Though he be mighty-spirited and forward
                  To all great things; to all things of that danger
                  Worse men shake at the telling of; yet certainly
                  I do believe him noble, and this action
                  Rather pull'd on than sought; his mind was ever
                  As worthy as his hand.
Lis. 'Tis my fear too;
                 Heaven forgive all: summon him Lord Cleon.
Cleon. Ho from the walls there.

Mel. Worthy Cleon, welcome;
                 We could have wisht you here Lord; you are honest.
Cal. Well, thou art as flattering a knave, though I dare not tell you so.

[Aside.

Lis. Melantius!

Mel. Sir.

Lis. I am sorry that we meet thus; our old love
                  Never requir'd such distance; pray Heaven
                  You have not left your self, and sought this safety
                  More out of fear than honour; you have lost
                  A noble Master, which your faith Melantius,
                  Some think might have preserv'd; yet you know best.
Cal. When time was I was mad; some that dares
                  Fight I hope will pay this Rascal.
Mel. Royal young man, whose tears look lovely on thee;
                  Had they been shed for a deserving one,
                  They had been lasting monuments. Thy Brother,
                  Whil'st he was good, I call'd him King, and serv'd him
                  With that strong faith, that most unwearied valour;
                  Pul'd people from the farthest Sun to seek him;
                  And by his friendship, I was then his souldier;
                  But since his hot pride drew him to disgrace me,
                  And brand my noble actions with his lust,
                  (That never cur'd dishonour of my Sister,
                  Base stain of Whore; and which is worse,
                  The joy to make it still so) like my self;
                  Thus have I flung him off with my allegiance,
                  And stand here mine own justice to revenge
                  What I have suffered in him; and this old man
                  Wrong'd almost to lunacy.
Cal. Who I? you'd draw me in: I have had no wrong,
                  I do disclaim ye all.
Mel. The short is this;
                  'Tis no ambition to lift up my self,
                  Urgeth me thus; I do desire again
                  To be a subject, so I may be freed;
                  If not, I know my strength, and will unbuild
                  This goodly Town; be speedy, and be wise, in a reply.
Strat. Be sudden Sir to tie
                  All again; what's done is past recal,
                  And past you to revenge; and there are thousands
                  That wait for such a troubled hour as this;
                  Throw him the blank.
Lis. Melantius, write in that thy choice,
                  My Seal is at it.
Mel. It was our honour drew us to this act,
                  Not gain; and we will only work our pardon.
Cal. Put my name in too.

Diph. You disclaim'd us but now, Calianax.

Cal. That's all one;
                  I'le not be hanged hereafter by a trick;
                  I'le have it in.
Mel. You shall, you shall;
                  Come to the back gate, and we'l call you King,
                  And give you up the Fort.
Lis. Away, away.

[Exeunt Omnes.

Enter Aspatia in mans apparel.

Asp. This is my fatal hour; heaven may forgive
                 My rash attempt, that causelesly hath laid
                 Griefs on me that will never let me rest:
                 And put a Womans heart into my brest;
                 It is more honour for you that I die;
                 For she that can endure the misery
                 That I have on me, and be patient too,
                 May live, and laugh at all that you can do.
                 God save you Sir.
                                                       [Enter Servant.
Ser. And you Sir; what's your business?

Asp. With you Sir now, to do me the Office To help me to you[r] Lord.

Ser. What, would you serve him?

Asp. I'le do him any service; but to haste, For my affairs are earnest, I desire to speak with him.

Ser. Sir, because you are in such haste, I would be loth delay you any longer: you cannot.

Asp. It shall become you tho' to tell your Lord.

Ser. Sir, he will speak with no body.

Asp. This is most strange: art thou gold proof? there's for thee; help me to him.

Ser. Pray be not angry Sir, I'le do my best.

[Exit.

Asp. How stubbornly this fellow answer'd me!
                 There is a vile dishonest trick in man,
                 More than in women: all the men I meet
                 Appear thus to me, are harsh and rude,
                 And have a subtilty in every thing,
                 Which love could never know; but we fond women
                 Harbor the easiest and smoothest thoughts,
                 And think all shall go so; it is unjust
                 That men and women should be matcht together.
Enter Amintor and his man.

Amint. Where is he!

Ser. There my Lord.

Amint. What would you Sir?

Asp. Please it your Lordship to command your man Out of the room; shall deliver things Worthy your hearing.

Amint. Leave us.

Asp. O that that shape should bury falshood in it.

[Aside.

Amint. Now your will Sir.

Asp. When you know me, my Lord, you needs must guess
                  My business! and I am not hard to know;
                  For till the change of War mark'd this smooth face
                  With these few blemishes people would call me
                  My Sisters Picture, and her mine; in short,
                  I am the brother to the wrong'd Aspatia.
Amint. The wrong'd Aspatia! would thou wert so too
                  Unto the wrong'd Amintor; let me kiss
                  That hand of thine in honour that I bear
                  Unto the wrong'd Aspatia: here I stand
                  That did it; would he could not; gentle youth
                  Leave me, for there is something in thy looks
                  That calls my sins in a most hideous form
                  Into my mind; and I have grief enough
                  Without thy help.
Asp. I would I could with credit:
                  Since I was twelve years old I had not seen
                  My Sister till this hour; I now arriv'd;
                  She sent for me to see her Marriage,
                  A woful one: but they that are above,
                  Have ends in every thing; she us'd few words,
                  But yet enough to make me understand
                  The baseness of the injury you did her.
                  That little training I have had is War;
                   I may behave my self rudely in Peace;
                   I would not though; I shall not need to tell you
                   I am but young; and you would be loth to lose
                  Honour that is not easily gain'd again.
                  Fairly I mean to deal; the age is strict
                  For single combats, and we shall be stopt
                  If it be publish't: if you like your sword,
                  Use it; if mine appear a better to you,
                  Change; for the ground is this, and this the time
                  To end our difference.
Amint. Charitable youth,
                  If thou be'st such, think not I will maintain
                  So strange a wrong; and for thy Sisters sake,
                  Know that I could not think that desperate thing
                  I durst not do; yet to enjoy this world
                  I would not see her; for beholding thee,
                  I am I know not what; if I have ought
                  That may content thee, take it and be gone;
                  For death is not so terrible as thou;
                  Thine eyes shoot guilt into me.
Asp. Thus she swore
                  Thou would'st behave thy self, and give me words
                  That would fetch tears into mine eyes, and so
                  Thou dost indeed; but yet she bade me watch,
                  Lest I were cousen'd, and be sure to fight ere I
                  return'd.
Amint. That must not be with me;
                  For her I'le die directly, but against her will never
                  hazard it.
Asp. You must be urg'd; I do not deal uncivilly with those that
                  Dare to fight; but such a one as you
                  Must be us'd thus.
[She strikes him.

Amint. Prethee youth take heed; Thy Sister is a thing to me so much Above mine honour, that I can endu[r]e All this; good gods—a blow I can endure; But stay not, lest thou draw a timely death upon thy self.

Asp. Thou art some prating fellow, One that hath studyed out a trick to talk And move soft-hearted people; to be kickt,

[She kicks him.

                  Thus to be kickt—why should he be so slow
                                                            [Aside.
                  In giving me my death?
Amint. A man can bear
                  No more and keep his flesh; forgive me then;
                   I would endure yet if I could; now shew
                  The spirit thou pretendest, and understand
                  Thou hast no honour to live:
[They fight.

                  What dost thou mean? thou canst not fight:
                  The blows thou mak'st at me are quite besides;
                  And those I offer at thee, thou spread'st thine arms,
                  And tak'st upon thy breast, Alas! defenceless.
Asp. I have got enough, And my desire; there's no place so fit for me to die as here.

Enter Evadne.

Evad. Amintor; I am loaden with events That flie to make thee happy; I have joyes

[Her hands bloody with a knife.

                 That in a moment can call back thy wrongs,
                 And settle thee in thy free state again;
                 It is Evadne still that follows thee, but not her
                 mischiefs.
Amint. Thou canst not fool me to believe agen;
                 But thou hast looks and things so full of news that
                 I am staid.
Evad. Noble Amintor, put off thy amaze;
                  Let thine eyes loose, and speak, am I not fair?
                  Looks not Evadne beauteous with these rites now?
                  Were those hours half so lovely in thine eyes,
                  When our hands met before the holy man?
                  I was too foul within to look fair then;
                  Since I knew ill, I was not free till now.
Amint. There is presage of some important thing
                  About thee, which it seems thy tongue hath lost:
                  Thy hands are bloody, and thou hast a knife.
Evad. In this consists thy happiness and mine;
                 Joy to Amintor, for the King is dead.
Amint. Those have most power to hurt us that we love,
                  We lay our sleeping lives within their arms.
                  Why, thou hast rais'd up mischief to this height,
                  And found out one to out-name thy other faults;
                  Thou hast no intermission of thy sins,
                  But all thy life is a continual ill;
                  Black is thy colour now, disease thy nature.
                  Joy to Amintor! thou hast toucht a life,
                  The very name of which had power to chain
                  Up all my rage, and calm my wildest wrongs.
Evad. 'Tis done; and since I could not find a way
                  To meet thy love so clear, as through his life,
                  I cannot now repent it.
Amint. Could'st thou procure the Gods to speak to me,
                  To bid me love this woman, and forgive,
                  I think I should fall out with them; behold
                  Here lies a youth whose wounds bleed in my brest,
                  Sent by his violent Fate to fetch his death
                  From my slow hand: and to augment my woe,
                  You now are present stain'd with a Kings blood
                  Violently shed: this keeps night here,
                  And throws an unknown wilderness about me.
Asp. Oh, oh, oh!

Amint. No more, pursue me not.

Evad. Forgive me then, and take me to thy bed. We may not part.

Amint. Forbear, be wise, and let my rage go this way.

Evad. 'Tis you that I would stay, not it.

Amint. Take heed, it will return with me.

Evad. If it must be, I shall not fear to meet it; take me home.

Amint. Thou monster of cruelty, forbear.

Evad. For heavens sake look more calm; Thine eyes are sharper than thou canst make thy sword.

Amint. Away, away, thy knees are more to me than violence.
                  I am worse than sick to see knees follow me
                  For that I must not grant; for heavens sake stand.
Evad. Receive me then.Amint. I dare not stay thy language;
                  In midst of all my anger and my grief,
                  Thou dost awake something that troubles me,
                  And sayes I lov'd thee once; I dare not stay;
                  There is no end of womens reasoning.
[Leaves her.

Evad. Amintor, thou shalt love me once again; Go, I am calm; farewell; and peace for ever. Evadne whom thou hat'st will die for thee.

[Kills her self.

Amint. I have a little humane nature yet
                  That's left for thee, that bids me stay thy hand.
                                                           [Returns.
Evad. Thy hand was welcome, but came too late;
                  Oh I am lost! the heavy sleep makes haste.
[She dies.

Asp. Oh, oh, oh!

Amint. This earth of mine doth tremble, and I feel
                  A stark affrighted motion in my blood;
                  My soul grows weary of her house, and I
                  All over am a trouble to my self;
                  There is some hidden power in these dead things
                  That calls my flesh into'em; I am cold;
                  Be resolute, and bear'em company:
                  There's something yet which I am loth to leave.
                  There's man enough in me to meet the fears
                  That death can bring, and yet would it were done;
                  I can find nothing in the whole discourse
                  Of death, I durst not meet the boldest way;
                  Yet still betwixt the reason and the act,
                  The wrong I to Aspatia did stands up,
                  I have not such a fault to answer,
                  Though she may justly arm with scorn
                  And hate of me, my soul will part less troubled,
                  When I have paid to her in tears my sorrow:
                  I will not leave this act unsatisfied,
                  If all that's left in me can answer it.
Asp. Was it a dream? there stands Amintor still:
                  Or I dream still.
Amint. How dost thou? speak, receive my love, and help:
                  Thy blood climbs up to his old place again:
                  There's hope of thy recovery.
Asp. Did you not name Aspatia?

Amint. I did.

Asp. And talkt of tears and sorrow unto her?

Amint. 'Tis true, and till these happy signs in thee
                  Did stay my course, 'twas thither I was going.
Asp. Th'art there already, and these wounds are hers:
                  Those threats I brought with me, sought not revenge,
                  But came to fetch this blessing from thy hand,
                   I am Aspatia yet.
Amint. Dare my soul ever look abroad agen?

Asp. I shall live Amintor; I am well:
                  A kind of healthful joy wanders within me.
Amint. The world wants lines to excuse thy loss:
                  Come let me bear thee to some place of help.
Asp. Amintor thou must stay, I must rest here,
                 My strength begins to disobey my will.
                 How dost thou my best soul? I would fain live,
                 Now if I could: would'st thou have loved me then?
Amint. Alas! all that I am's not worth a hair from thee.

Asp. Give me thy hand, mine hands grope up and down,
                 And cannot find thee; I am wondrous sick:
                 Have I thy hand Amintor?
Amint. Thou greatest blessing of the world, thou hast.
Asp. I do believe thee better than my sense.
                 Oh! I must go, farewell.
Amint. She swounds: Aspatia help, for Heavens sake water;
                  Such as may chain life for ever to this frame.
                  Aspatia, speak: what no help? yet I fool,
                  I'le chafe her temples, yet there's nothing stirs;
                  Some hidden Power tell her that Amintor calls,
                  And let her answer me: Aspatia, speak.
                  I have heard, if there be life, but bow
                  The body thus, and it will shew it self.
                  Oh she is gone! I will not leave her yet.
                  Since out of justice we must challenge nothing;
                  I'le call it mercy if you'l pity me,
                  You heavenly powers, and lend for some few years,
                  The blessed soul to this fair seat agen.
                  No comfort comes, the gods deny me too.
                   I'le bow the body once agen: Aspatia!
                  The soul is fled for ever, and I wrong
                  My self, so long to lose her company.
                  Must I talk now? Here's to be with thee love.
[Kills himself.

Enter Servant.

Ser. This is a great grace to my Lord, to have the new King come to him; I must tell him, he is entring. O Heaven help, help;

Enter Lysip. Melant. Cal. Cleon, Diph. Strato.

Lys. Where's Amintor?

Strat. O there, there.

Lys. How strange is this!

Cal. What should we do here?

Mel. These deaths are such acquainted things with me,
                 That yet my heart dissolves not. May I stand
                 Stiff here for ever; eyes, call up your tears;
                 This is Amintor: heart he was my friend;
                 Melt, now it flows; Amintor, give a word
                 To call me to thee.
Amint. Oh!

Mel. Melantius calls his friend Amintor; Oh thy arms Are kinder to me than thy tongue; Speak, speak.

Amint. What?

Mel. That little word was worth all the sounds
                  That ever I shall hear agen.
Diph. O brother! here lies your Sister slain;
                  You lose your self in sorrow there.
Mel. Why Diphilus, it is
                  A thing to laugh at in respect of this;
                  Here was my Sister, Father, Brother, Son;
                  All that I had; speak once again;
                  What youth lies slain there by thee?
Amint. 'Tis Aspatia.
                 My senses fade, let me give up my soul
                  Into thy bosom.
_Cal. What's that? what's that? Aspatia!

Mel. I never did repent the greatness of my heart till now; It will not burst at need.

Cal. My daughter dead here too! and you have all fine new tricks to grieve; but I ne're knew any but direct crying.

Mel. I am a pratler, but no more.

Diph. Hold Brother.

Lysip. Stop him.

Diph. Fie; how unmanly was this offer in you!
                 Does this become our strain?
Cal. I know not what the mat[t]er is, but I am
                 Grown very kind, and am friends with you;
                 You have given me that among you will kill me
                 Quickly; but I'le go home, and live as long as I can.
Mel. His spirit is but poor that can be kept
                  From death for want of weapons.
                  Is not my hand a weapon good enough
                  To stop my breath? or if you tie down those,
                  I vow Amintor I will never eat,
                  Or drink, or sleep, or have to do with that
                  That may preserve life; this I swear to keep.
Lysip. Look to him tho', and bear those bodies in.
                  May this a fair example be to me,
                  To rule with temper: for on lustful Kings
                  Unlookt for sudden deaths from heaven are sent!
                  But curst is he that is their instrument.
