ACT III., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ HERMIONE, IRENE; PINDARUS _following_.

PIN. Tell my Lord Lysicles I will attend him in the walks. Where's this Ungrateful child whom the just gods have curs'd So much, they will not let her take the blessings they Do offer?

HER. Here, sir, on Her knees, begging your pardon or your pity.

PIN. Canst thou hope either from my injur'd patience, Vex'd by thy folly into rage and madness? What colour now to cover disobedience? Is Lysicles unworthy? or your knowledge, Does it pierce farther than the eyes of all Into Eugenie's virtues? I tremble, When I think thou may'st have cause To know him to thy shame. Do not confess it! By the just gods, if I do come to know it, I'll sacrifice thee on thy mother's tomb.

HER. What secret sin calls down this punishment? That I should be accused of a fault I dare not hear the sound of. Add not, sir, Suspicions of new crimes unto your rage; The faults I have committed are enough to arm Your justice. Bring me to the tomb, And kill me there; my mother's ghost will smile To see my blood shed to preserve my faith.

PIN. Your faith!

HER. Yes, sir. Nor is my disobedience so swoll'n As you esteem it by your passion: I now obey your general commands, Of doing virtuously in loving him You did applaud whilst my poor brother liv'd.

PIN. But you are not the same; 'twas never meant He should enjoy you if your brother died.

HER. I was not made acquainted with so much; But, strengthen'd by your approbation, Gave up my will to his, and vows to heaven, To know no other man for husband.

PIN. Nor I no child, if you continue thus: Nor will I argue more to make you doubt, I am not resolute in my intents: Alive or dead, I'll give thee to the hands Of Lysicles. [_Exit_ PINDARUS.

HER. Good gods' if you are mov'd with tears, Grant this a trial only of the weak proportion Of virtue you have lent me, not the overthrow.

IRE. How is it, dearest cousin?

HER. As with a martyr, almost as much pleased with Knowledge [of] what I dare to suffer for Eugenio, As griev'd with my affliction. Fortune in her Malice has given me yet a field to exercise My faith and love to him I do adore.

IRE. Whilst you believe you have such cause to grieve, All comforts seem importunate; but yet Prince Lysicles----

HER. But what! Forbear; I fear thy thoughts Are poison, which thou wouldest fain infuse To wound my constancy.

IRE. Sure, there is magic in that mystic name; It could not else divide us from our reason: What law, what faith, can bind us to remove Love of ourselves and reverence to our parents? You must forgive this; your Eugenio, If he were here, must speak as I do now, Granting his love be great as his profession, For that must have reflection on your peace, Not bargaining for his own happiness With the price of the entire destruction Of yours. What is't you fear? Report? It will reproach your being obstinate. Or breach of faith d'you fear? The gods for you have made it not a fault, Proposing such an object as Prince Lysicles.

HER. Who ever had a misery like mine? All that are griev'd have yet the liberty And ease of their complaints, or pitying friends; I am excluded both; for my misfortune Is mask'd with happiness, and if I grieve, Such comforts as we give to those complain Of being too rich, have I--smiles of contempt.

IRE. If it be thus, retire into your reason, And for a time forget your passion. D'you think that all the names of virtue shrink Into the sound of constancy? Must this Make you forget the debt that you do owe Unto your father, friends, and to yourself; Their house's honour and your happiness? Is Lysicles less worthy than his rival?

HER. No more: their virtues, that exceed all other men's, In them are equal.

IRE. But yet their fortune is not?

HER. It is confess'd. Nor ever any man Had juster claim than he against her; Rich in all virtues, that make men desir'd, Her narrow hand excludes him, unwonted to bestow Her treasure there, where an excess of merit Would make her gifts but seem the pay of virtue, Not favours of her partial love.

_Enter_ ACANTHE _the Moor_.

O, you are welcome! Here behold a rock, That stands the shake of the impetuous winds And the swoll'n seas.

MOOR. Have there been any new storms since I went?

HER. O yes; and more endangering songs of Sirens! A flourishing land propos'd, on which I might Have shipwreck'd with delight.

MOOR. I think I understand you.

HER. You must needs: It was Prince Lysicles, presented in his lustre, 'Gainst whom I arm'd the virtues of my friend And my own faith, irresolute to whom The victory should yield. At last I left My heart, the prize to both divided.

MOOR. To both divided!

HER. Yes, the prince hath the adoration of my heart, Eugenio the love.

MOOR. What fires, what seas, must your Eugenio pass, To make him worthy you? Methinks I feel His soul sigh for a trial of his faith.

HER. We both have had satiety of that: But can you bring no comfort? Have the gods Shut up their oracles as well as mercy? Though they will give no ease, they might advise, That we may put off misery by death.

MOOR. They seldom let us know what is to come, That we may still implore their aid to help us: Yet something I can tell; if hope or force Shall make you deviate from your resolve, You are the subject of their hate: or if You measure your or their affection By merit or advantages of fortune, You are the mark of all disasters.

HER. I have complained unjustly of the gods: They favour me so much, they do applaud My resolution for Eugenio. Merit in others! I will close my eyes From the bless'd sun, before they shall take in An object that may startle my firm faith.

MOOR. Be constant, and be happy; when you meet With opposition that may shake your judgment, Remember what affliction 'tis to weep A fault irreparable; and think not Reason can pacify your father's rage; You must oppose your passion unto his, And love will be victorious, being the noblest. To-morrow I will bring more certain counsel. [_Exit._

HER. Where cannot virtue dwell? What a still shade Hath she found out to live securely in, From the attempts of men? Come, my Irene, Though thou hast spoken treason 'gainst my love, Because[360] thine did produce it, I must thank thee. Let's in, and fortify ourselves with some sad tale Of those whose perjur'd loves have made them live Hated, and die most miserable. [_Exit_ HERMIONE.

_Enter_ PHILLIDA.

PHIL. If I should weep, as my lady does, for all the servants I have lost!

IRE. Thou wouldst weep in thy grave, Phillida; yet the worst is, thou wilt lose more within this seven years than thou hast got in ten; for men are changeable, sweet Phillida.

PHIL. And our faces were not, 'twere no matter. They should make haste, or we should overtake them, or prevent them. A commodity of beauty, that would last forty years, would bear a good price, madam.

IRE. By Venus, would it, Phillida! as high as that of honour.

PHIL. But is not my lady a strange woman to weep thus for one servant, when she has another in his place? For my part, I could never find such differences in men--to be sad when I had any.

IRE. And thy word may be taken as soon as any wench's in Greece, or there be slanderers in the world. But she affects constancy.

PHIL. Some ill-favoured woman, that meant to preserve her last purchase, which her want of beauty forfeited, invented that name.

IRE. Thou'rt in the right, Phillida; this inconstancy is a monster without teeth, for it devours none, makes no son wear happy mourning, nor mother childless: and, for my part, I am of opinion that the gods give a blessing to it; for none live happier than those that have greatest abundance of it.

PHIL. What is got by this whining constancy, but the loss of that beauty for one servant, which would procure us the vows, [the] sacrifice, and service of a thousand?

IRE. Enough of this; wert thou with Ergasto?

PHIL. Yes, and told him that my lady sent for him: but to what intent did you make me lie?

IRE. Thou art so good-natured, that thou wilt pardon such a trifle for one reason; but I have two: the first is, I would fain speak with him; the other, knowing my cousin to be in an ill humour, if he press to see her, I hope she will give him such an answer, that he shall never dare to speak to her more.

PHIL. These men have less reason than mice: they would know else how to shift places, and shelter themselves from a storm. If I were a man, and lost the happiness of seeing my mistress two days, I should lose the desire the third. [_Aside._] Do you sigh, madam? You are in love too.

IRE. As far as goes to sighing, but no dying, for their breeches.

PHIL. I'll be your compurgator for the handle of a fan; I know love has brought many into the world, but let out none. Has he pierced you, ha?

IRE. O no, my skin was always proof against his dart; but he once found me laughing, and so thrust it down to my heart.

PHIL. Look to it, though 'tis but a little weapon, yet I have known it make greater swellings than the sting of a bee. Do you long for a man?

IRE. Yes, a husbandman, and let the gods after take care for my children.

PHIL. You'll find enou' to do it: is the Moor still with my lady?

IRE. I left her with her.

PHIL. 'Tis a shame such people should be suffered near the Court.

IRE. Why, prythee?

PHIL. As 'tis, there be so many inquisitive rascals, that we have much ado to keep matters secret; but if in despite of our care they be divulged, we shall be defamed on the Exchanges.

IRE. Thou hast reason, but she is secret as the night she resembles.

PHIL. Is she? I would fain ask her one question: but 'tis no matter: 'tis but taking physic at the worst.

IRE. If thou talk'st a little longer, I shall guess as much as she knows. But who's here?

[ERGASTO, PHORMIO, CLEON, _talking at the door_.

PHOR. Ne'er fright me with the lightning of her eyes; on me she may open or shut her eyes as she please, but my happiness is not at her disposing.

CLE. If thou provest a lover, my next song is begun.

PHOR. I will not deny but I may love her, if she please. But if she be not pleased with my love, if it continue two hours, I'll give her leave to tie me to her monkey.

CLE. Look, Ergasto has found two of the ladies, and has set his face to begin to them.

PHOR. In verse or prose?

CLE. We shall hear, if we draw nearer. A good evening, ladies!

IRE. We thank you, my lords; but if we were superstitious, your company were no good omen.

PHOR. Why, I beseech you?

IRE. Nay, I am no expositor; you come, my lord, to see my cousin Hermione.

ERG. I do, madam, and should be proud to hear I live in her memory.

IRE. Can you doubt it? I'll assure you you do; she's never troubled with anything, but you presently are called into the comparison with it; her teeth cannot ache, but she swears it is almost as great a vexation as your love: if any die, out of her pity to save the tears of a few mourners, she wishes it were you.

ERG. If I heard her desire it, she should quickly have her wish.

IRE. She would be glad on't, o' my conscience, though the scruple, of having you do anything for her sake would trouble her a little; yet I can teach you to make advantage of all this.

PHOR. What advantage, my delicate sweet lady?

IRE. A very great one; for, first, I believe he desires nothing more than to be assured she esteems him for her servant.

PHOR. Right; but does this usage show it?

IRE. Most evidently; for, being thus severe to none else, 'tis manifest she confesseth a power over him, and pays his services with this coin of scorn and contempt, and having her stamp upon't, he is bound to accept it.

CLE. What think you of this, Phormio?

PHOR. A most excellent girl! would she were poor.

CLE. Why poor?

PHOR. She would live rarely by her----

CLE. What?

PHOR. Wit! I would be a good customer.

IRE. 'Twould please you to hear with what arguments she justifies this cruelty, and swears it is not revenge enough for spoiling her good nature.

ERG. I spoil her good nature?

PHOR. Nay, let her go on; I'll hearken an age.

IRE. Yes, you, by suff'ring her undeserved scorn, have bred such a delight and habit of it in her, that she can hardly forbear it when she strives to be complaisant to her best friends; and, to say truth, we are all endangered by such as you, when we see that frowns procure us knees, and kind usage scarce gets us two good-morrows.

PHOR. If ever there were a Sybil at sixteen, this lady is one. By this day, you have a high place in my heart.

IRE. In your heart!

PHOR. Nay, despise it not, you'll find good company there.

IRE. But I love to be alone.

PHOR. And I would fain meet you when you are so. Will you give me leave to speak with your scholar? [HERMIONE _and_ ACANTHE _above_.

IRE. If you be his friend, teach him to be wise.

PHOR. For your sake, I will do all I can. Ergasto, wilt thou be happy? Marry this lady! Wilt thou be revenged on thy proud mistress? Marry her! Wilt thou be sure to father wise children? Do as I bid thee.

ERG. I will deal truly with thee: she has taken my heart out of Hermione's keeping.

PHOR. Be thankful, and bestow it upon her in recompense; she will accept it, doubt not; she has taken such pains to redeem it. Look how she casts her eyes upon thee! She's thine own for ever, and has been long.

ERG. I am desperately in love.

PHOR. Marry, and get out of it; there may be some little straining at the first offer of the present; but if she send not for it before you get home, I'll ne'er trust my eyes more.

[PHILLIDA _steals away_, CLEON _follows_.

ERG. I'll attempt it, let what will follow.

PHOR. Be confident, and prosper.

ERG. Madam, what would you expect from him you had redeemed from captivity?

IRE. The disposing of his liberty.

ERG. 'Tis just; but this may be no great favour to the slave, if his misery be only altered, not lessened.

PHOR. You are little curious! Why do you not ask who this concerns? Well, I'll tell you; you have redeemed Ergasto, and he kneels to know your commands.

[_Whilst he kneels_, HERMIONE _and the_ MOOR _look down from the window_.

MOOR. You may believe her, madam, she loves him; now you may revenge her, persuading you to leave Eugenio, by smiling on Ergasto; 'twill advance your cousin's ends too, if you do as I'll advise you, whilst we descend.

IRE. 'Tis festival to-day, my lords, and so I admit this mirth. But to-morrow, I will tell you, I am no more inclined to love than my cousin Hermione.

ERG. But you can suffer yourself to be beloved?

IRE. I think I can.

PHOR. He'll ask no more, but leave the rest to his respects and services.

IRE. But you consider not whom you may offend in this mirth.

ERG. I'll ne'er consider whom I offend in loving you: I wish her beauty centupled, that my first obligation to you might be leaving her. By this fair hand, I'll never name any but you for mistress.

IRE. I may believe you when time and your actions shall tell it me as well as your words.

PHOR. You wrong your beauty to expect an assurance from time. Ordinary faces require it to perfect the impressions they make; yours strikes like lightning in an instant. If he did not adore you till now, you must attribute it to some fascination; but, his judgment cleared, he will be forced to continue the adoration he has begun.

_Enter_ HERMIONE, MOOR, PHILLIDA, CLEON: _they_ _find_ ERGASTO _kneeling_.

PHOR. Who's that?

ERG. The Moor you heard of.

PHOR. I have a strange capricio of love entered me: I must court that shade.

HER. How now, my lord! Courting another mistress! I see I must lock up my winds, or you will seek the nearest harbour.

ERG. Excluded by your rigour, madam, I was entreating your fair cousin to present my vows.

HER. Was it no more?

ERG. No more! you cannot doubt it, madam. Turn in your eyes upon your beauties and perfections, and they will tell you how impossible it is to lose the empire they have gained upon our hearts and wills. Fortune and want of merit may make me lose the hope of your fair graces, but never so much traitor as to pay homage to any other beauty, or change the resolution I have fixed to be your servant only.

HER. I thank you, sir; my sex will be my pardon if I return not equal thanks. We think, if any manumit, before we license them to part, they do usurp a power is ours by nature. The posture I found you in was more than ordinary courtship gives.

ERG. You might condemn it, had not you been the cause on't. I ne'er think of your name but with a reverence great as I pay the gods; and they allow us bending to their images when we transfer our vows. The fair Irene is worthy all have not the hope of you; but whilst you give me leave to cherish that ambition, I must not own so great an injury as to admit the proffered love of those who are so distant from your merit.

HER. 'Twas unkindly done to undermine me.

ERG. In her presence I will confirm this to you.

HER. You shall oblige me, since she has wronged me; Irene, hark you.

[_They talk in private. After a long whisper,_ _the_ MOOR _strives to go from_ PHORMIO; _he_ _holds her_.

PHOR. In the name of darkness, d'ye think I am not in earnest, that you coy it thus?

MOOR. Forbear; uncivil lord. [_She goes from him._

CLE. Dost thou not see that all the fire is out of the coal? If thou wouldst have it burn, lay thy lips to the spark that's left, and blow it into flame.

PHOR. What wouldst thou have me do?

CLE. Kiss her.

PHOR. Not for five hundred crowns.

CLE. Wouldst lie with her, and not kiss her?

PHOR. Yes, and can give reasons for't, besides experience; and when this act is known--this resolute encounter, rich widows of threescore will not doubt my prowess.

[HERMIONE, IRENE, ERGASTO, _break off their_ _private talk_.

IRE. As I live, he swore all this to me.

HER. Hide thee, inconstant man, thou art so false Thy oaths do serve thee for no other use But to condemn thee, not to get belief: Be gone, and leave to love till thou hast found The way to truth, and let not vanity cozen you To believe that I am mov'd, because you change: A thousand other imperfections Have made me hate thee; yet I chose this way To let thee know't that, deprehended with the Black mark upon thee, thou may'st not dare To trouble me again.

ERG. Madam!

HER. There may be some that for their secret sins The gods will punish, making them love you: Choose amongst them. Irene, I will hope, though she Be credulous, will learn by this how far 'tis safe to trust you.

MOOR. This was well manag'd.

PHOR. What mountain have you pierc'd, That hath sent forth this wind, since I left you?

ERG. I have undone myself for ever.

PHOR. As how?

ERG. I told Hermione I never lov'd Irene.

CLE. Did she hear it?

ERG. O yes! it might have been forsworn else.

CLE. The devil thou hast!

ERG. Ask him; he made me do't.

CLE. What course will you take to redeem your fault?

ERG. A precipice, as being ashamed to live any longer.

PHOR. A halter you shall as soon! Come, come, I'll intercede, and be your surety. Look, she stays to pardon you; down on your knees.

[_She goes away_; PHORMIO _pulls her back_; ERGASTO _kneels, holds up his hands, his cloak_ _over his face_.

PHOR. O my sweet lady! be merciful, like the gods you resemble. They have as often pardon in their hands as thunder; and the truth is, if they will not forgive this fault of inconstancy, they must live alone, or at least without men. This was the last gasp of his dying friendship to her; and now he is entirely yours.

IRE. He has not wronged me.

PHOR. Fie! say not so; that's as great an injury as not pardoning him: he has, and shall come naked to receive his punishment. See, he dares not look for comfort; let him take it in at his ears.

IRE. Pray content yourself with the time you have made me lose, and let me go.

PHOR. Never, till you pardon him.

IRE. I will do anything for my release; if he has offended me, let him learn hereafter to speak truer than he swears; and in time he may get credit.

PHOR. 'Tis enough.

ERG. Is she gone?

PHOR. Yes.

ERG. How did she look?

PHOR. Faith, ashamed; she loved you so well, and sorry she had no reason to love you better.

ERG. 'Tis an excellent lady.

PHOR. If I could make jointures, I would not take this pains for your honour. Cleon, whither slip you?

CLE. After Phillida.

PHOR. And what success?

CLE. Pox on't! these waiting-women will not deal, unless they have earnest in their hands, and I was unprovided.

PHOR. Away, unthrift![361] [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[360] [So for the metre; the old copy and Dodsley, _'cause_.]

[ACT IV., SCENE 1.]

_Enter_ LYSICLES.

LYS. This is the hour powerful Acanthe promis'd I should once more behold my lost Milesia.

Pardon me, Reason, that my wither'd hopes Rebel against thy force; a happiness So mighty is oppos'd unto thy doubts, That I'll divest myself for ever of thee, Rather than not believe impossibles, That bring such comforts to my languish'd soul. Hail, holy treasurer of all the wealth Nature e'er lent the world! be still the envy Of the proud monuments that do enclose The glorious titles of great conquerors. Let no profane air pierce thee but my sighs;

[MILESIA _riseth like a ghost_.

Let them have entrance, whilst my tears do warm Thy colder marble. Ha! what miracle! Are the gods pleas'd to work to ease affliction? The phoenix is created from her ashes, Pure as the flames that made 'em: still the same, The same Milesia! Heaven does confess in this, That she can only add unto thy beauty By making it immortal. Let it be lawful for thy Lysicles To touch thy sacred hand, and with it guide My wandering soul unto that part of heaven Thy beauty does enlighten.

GHOST. Forbear, and hear me. If you approach, I vanish---- Impious, inconstant Lysicles! Cannot This miracle of my reassuming A mortal shape persuade thee there are gods To punish falsehood, that thou still persistest In thy dissembling? Do not I know Thy heart is swoll'n with vows thou hast laid up For thy Hermione? whom thou wouldst persuade Thy narrow heart is capable of love, By mocking of my ashes, and erecting tombs To me, which are indeed but trophies of thy dead Conquer'd love and virtue.

LYS. No more, bless'd shape! I shall not think that thou descendst from heaven, If thou continuest thus in doubt of me; Nor can there be a hell where such forms are. The knowledge how thou com'st here doth disturb me; Yet such a reverence I do owe thy image, That I will lay before thee all my thoughts, Spotless as truth. Then thou shalt tell the shades, How fortune, though it made my love unhappy, Could not diminish it, nor press it one degree From the proud height it was arrived to. How I did nightly pray to this sad tomb, Bringing and taking fire of constant love From the cold ashes. How, when encompass'd With thousand horrors, death had been a rest [from], I did prefer a loath'd life, to revenge myself And her upon the murderer.

GHOST. I shall desire to live if this be true; Nothing can add a comfort where I am, But the assurance of your love. I know Faith is not tied to pass the confines Of this life; yet Hermione's happiness Does trouble me. You'll think I lov'd You living, when (dead) I am jealous of you.

LYS. Milesia, bless'd saint, now I am sure thou art What thou resemblest, and dost know my secret'st thought. But as the gods, of which thou art a part, Are not content with our hearts' sacrifice, Unless our words confess it; hear me then: If my thoughts e'er consented to replant My love, may your dire thunder light Upon my head, and sink it down so low, I may not see thy glories. I confess My words have sacrific'd to deities I ne'er ador'd. Those strains of love My tears and friendship to the best of men, I hope have cancell'd. For my Eugenio I did pretend a love unto Hermione, Who else had sold herself unto the rage Of her offended father. Had you liv'd, You would have pardon'd, when infidelity, But personated, did preserve a faith So holy as theirs was; this is my fault.

GHOST. My glory and my happiness!

LYS. Yet this, as oft I wept as I was forc'd (For his dear cause) to injure sacred love; Yet durst not but decline his severe laws, When my friend's life excus'd the pious error.

GHOST. Did you suspect her, that you conceal'd this from her?

LYS. There is but one Milesia; besides, If true, I meant her fears should aid My false disguise, which her quick-sighted father Would else have pierc'd, who hates Eugenio, And loves no virtue but what shines through wealth.

GHOST. My best, best Lysicles, I am again in love, Thy holy flame doth lend me light to see My closed fires. Why did not fate give me So large a field to exercise my faith? I envy thee this trial, and would be Expos'd to dangers, that have yet no name, That I might meet thy love with equal merit.

LYS. The cause takes all away, and want of power Excuseth what I cannot yet express. But how our loves came to so sad a period, As yet in clouds I have only seen [shown.]

GHOST. My uncle's cruelty and hate of you procur'd our separation.

LYS. But how knew he our loves? Though torment since Have wrung it from me, my joys ever flow'd silent And calm.

GHOST. I know it; but we were betray'd By one that serv'd me, and the doubt's confirm'd By the Moor you spake with yesterday.

LYS. Ha! how came she to know it? She was not here?

GHOST. All that I ever did she's conscious of; And jealous of your love unto Hermione, Did place me here, to search into your thoughts; And now is prouder of this discovery, Than if a crown were added to her [brows].

LYS. To what strange laws does heaven confine itself, That it will suffer them that dare be damn'd To have power over those it has selected? My tears and sacrifice could never gain So much upon its mercy, as to lend Thy happy sight for one faint minute's comfort; Yet those that sell themselves to hell, can force Thy quiet rest for inquisition On innocence. And to what purpose serves Faith and religious secrecy, When magic mocks and frustrates all our vows? This Moor then was confederate with your uncle's passion?

GHOST. She is the cause that I do walk in shades.

LYS. And I will be that she shall walk in hell. With her I will begin, then seek revenge Under the ruins of thy uncle's house. All men that dare to name him, and not curse His memory, shall feel the power Of my despised hate and friendship.

GHOST. My dearest Lysicles, promise to be But temperate in your anger, and I will Discover more than you yet hop'd to know.

LYS. As justice, that's concern'd to punish crimes, I will.

GHOST. Then know I was betray'd. O love! here's company, I must retire. [_Sinks._

_Enter_ PINDARUS _and_ SERVANTS.

PIN. Talking to graves at night, and making love i' th' day? My lord, I nor my daughter have deserved this.

LYS. Pardon me, sir, I could do no less, being to take An everlasting farewell, but give this Visit to her memory. Reserve your censure Till ten days be over, and if I do not Satisfy you, condemn me. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ HERMIONE _and_ PHILLIDA.

HER. [Here,] Philly, take thy lute, and sing the song Was given thee last. [_Exit_ PHILLIDA.

_Song._

_Where did you borrow that last sigh_ _And that relenting groan?_ _For those that sigh, and not for love,_ _Usurp what's not their own._ _Love's arrows sooner armour pierce,_ _Than your soft snowy skin;_ _Your eyes can only teach us love,_ _But cannot take it in._

_The song being ended, re-enter_ PHILLIDA.

PHIL. O madam! call all your sorrows to you, you are Not sad enough to hear the news I bring.

HER. Would it were killing, that my death might end My fears, as my life has my hopes.

PHIL. You mistake me, madam; Eugenio is returned.

HER. Eugenio returned! thou hast reason, Phillida, I should be dead with sorrow: 'tis not fit we hear his name without a miracle. Where is he? Send to bring him hither.

PHIL. He waits on your commands without.

HER. Bring him in. Good gods! If you can suffer me one minute's joy, Give it me now, and let excess of happiness Finish what sorrow cannot. But where's this happiness I fain would dream of? Eugenio is return'd, That I may look on him, and not be his, And call our faiths in vain to aid our loves.

[ACT IV., SCENE 2.]

_Enter_ EUGENIO _and_ PHILLIDA.

EUG. May the gods give you, madam, a content As high as you have power to bestow On those you favour, and then your happiness Will be as great as is your beauty.

HER. O my best lord! you now behold a face Too much acquainted with my sad heart's grief Not to be stain'd with't. Sure, you cannot Know it?--I pray, say you do not--you'll wrong Two things I am most proud of--my just grief And your young love--which could not grow, Nourish'd with such poor heat as now it gives. I have a story that will break your heart When you have heard it, and mine, ere I Deliver it. Prince Lysicles to-morrow marries me, Or I must leave my duty or my life. Forgive me, that I dare to utter this.

EUG. Madam, forbear your tears: they are a ransom Too mighty to redeem the greatest faith The gods were ever witness to. I know Whereto you tend: you would have me untie The knot that bound our loves, and I will do't, Though it be fasten'd to my strings of life. Be happy in your choice: give to his merit What once you promis'd to my perfect love, By which I only did pretend my claim. I do release you, as I know heaven has; Who in his justice cannot have consented To a longer faith in you; you must not be The conquest of a miserable man, O'er whom their cruel'st influences reign.

HER. Some saving power close up my drowned eyes, Which death had long since shut, had not the love And hope of seeing you preserv'd them open. Have I been false for this to all my friends? That you should think I can be so to you? Add not By your suspicions a crime to our misfortune.

EUG. Of you I can have none, but what excuse you: You had made me miserable, had not your faith Yielded to those assaults; as worth and greatness Titles your father's rage; and your own judgment Did shake and raze it. With what disturbed mind Should I have look'd on you my heart ador'd, And love made miserable? Still you weep---- But these are tears your fortune did lay up To ease your misery, had you continued mine. And your suns, clear'd from their last clouds, They will more freely shine on your Lysicles. For myself, my love in his last act shall recompense The injuries 't has done to your repose, By killing me; then must injustice fly, And hale inconstancy along with her, From your fair conquer'd soul they now possess?

HER. O my griefs! Now I perceive the gods decreed you endless, Since they have made him add unto my torment, Whose memory before did make the sharpest glorious. Tears and sighs and groans, farewell. They ne'er were spent but when I fear'd for you; And, you being lost, I have no use of them. Here, take this paper: 'tis the last legacy My love shall ever give you: 'twas design'd When I conceived you worthy. If you Believe her words, whose faith was never lost, though you Ungratefully have flung it off. If so you be not That you accuse me for, you there shall find A story that will punish your suspicion.

[_He reads, and then kneels, and she turns from_ _him._

EUG. You that by powerful prayers have diverted An imminent ruin, inspire me with fit words To appease my injur'd mistress. Hear me: I do not kneel for mercy, but to beg Your leave to die: I must not live, when Pardons make my offence most horrible, and hell Is here without them; take a middle way If you incline to mercy, and forget me.

HER. Rise; this is worse than your doubts were.

EUG.[362] Turn not your face away; would you revenge? Then let my eyes dwell on't. What punishment Can there be greater than for me to see The beauty I have lost by my own fault? Look then upon me.

HER. No, I must yet keep My anger to preserve my honour, and I dare not trust That and my eyes at once, if they behold you.

EUG. Then hear a wretched man, that has outliv'd So much his hopes, he knows not what to wish-- Whether to live or die; yet life for this I only seek, that you may find I shrink not To punish him your justice has condemn'd.

HER. Rise, I can hold out no longer; the bare Sounds of your death dissolve my resolutions; Forget my anger, as I will the cause.

EUG. Never; it shall live here to honour me, Since pity of my love made you decline it: But must----

HER. Yes, the virtuous Lysicles--for his respects to me, Howe'er unhappy, challenged that name-- In your absence labours to marry me: yet death----

EUG. Wretched Eugenio! did thy coward fate Not dare to strike thee, till thou turn'dst thy back? Must I return from banishment to find My hopes are banish'd? Did I for this love virtue, Pursued her rugged paths, when danger made Her horrid to the valiant to be ruin'd By him that is most virtuous? Ye gods, Was envy, malice, fortune impotent To injure me, but you must raise up virtue to suppress Me? If I suffer it, I shall deserve it.

HER. O my Eugenio! we are miserable, Yet must not quarrel, love, to take or give A seeming comfort: go, try all your power Of hate or friendship to undo this match; I'll give you leave to die first--anything, But let not me have so much leave to change, As to believe you think it possible. [_Exeunt._

[ACT IV., SCENE 3.]

_Enter_ LYSICLES _and_ SERVANT.

SER. The physician you sent for waits without.

LYS. Bring him in, and stay in the next room.

_Enter_ PHYSICIAN.

You are welcome: I must employ your trust and secrecy in something that concerns me. You must procure me instantly a powerful poison.

PHY. My lord!

LYS. Nay, no ceremonies of denial. I give you my intents, not to be disputed, but obeyed. I know you walk not frequently in these rough ways; but 'tis not want of knowledge, but your will, makes you decline them.

PHY. My lord, I have observ'd you long, and see you Wear your life like something you would fain Put off. I will not undertake to counsel you, in That your nearest friends have oft attempted Without success: yet, if my life should issue With the words I now will utter, I'll boldly tell Your grace, I will not be a means to cut your Days off, to make mine happy ever.

LYS. I did expect this from you; and to inform you Briefly know, though I do loathe my life, I will Not part with't willingly, till it does serve Me to revenge my wrongs: and to assure you more, I will not use your art against myself. Let Your composition procure the greatest torture Poison can force, for I must use it upon one Our laws cannot condemn; because the circumstance That makes him guilty, cannot be produc'd, but with Expense of time; and my revenge will not Admit it. By my honour, this is the cause.

PHY. If I Were sure your enemies should only try Th' effects of what I can do in your service, The horrid'st tortures treason ever justified, Should not exceed the sufferings of those Should take the poison I can bring you.

LYS. Bring it me instantly; and if the pains of hell Can be felt here, let your ingredients Call them up. If his life were only My aim and end, whilst I do wear this, I'd not implore your aid; But I must set him on the rack, that there He may confess my inquisition justice.

PHY. An hour returns me with your commands Perform'd. Yet I'll observe you farther. [_Aside._

LYS. So, this is the first degree to my revenge, Which I will prosecute, till I have made All that were guilty of my loss of peace, Wash their impiety in their guilty blood. All places where I meet them shall be altars, On which I'll sacrifice the murderers, To appease the spirit of my injur'd mistress: And (the last victim) I will fall myself Upon her sacred tomb, to expiate The crimes I have committed in deferring Justice thus long. This curs'd magician Shall be the first--she did reveal our loves; Milesia said she did; and if it were Her blessed spirit, nothing but truth dwells in't. If it were a phantom rais'd by her foul spells; She pays the fault of her abusing me, Insidiating with my Milesia's form, To search, and then betray my resolution Of serving my best friend. How now!

Enter SERVANT.

SER. Sir, Lord Pindarus would speak with you.

LYS. Where is he? [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[361] [The third act is not divided into scenes in the old copy, nor are the first and second; and it is difficult to fix the point where the second scene should open.]

[362] [Omitted in old copy, but supplied by Dodsley, and in a coeval hand inserted in the copy now used of the original edition.]