Chapter 6

_Are_. Sir, they did plot together to take hence This harmless life; should it pass unreveng'd, I should to earth go weeping: grant me then (By all the love a Father bears his Child) Their custodies, and that I may appoint Their tortures and their death.

_Di_. Death? soft, our Law will not reach that, for this fault.

_King_. 'Tis granted, take 'em to you, with a Guard. Come Princely _Pharamond_, this business past, We may with more security go on to your intended match.

_Cle_. I pray that this action lose not _Philaster_ the hearts of the people.

_Di_. Fear it not, their overwise heads will think it but a trick.

[_Exeunt Omnes_.

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima_.

_Enter_ Dion, Cleremont, _and_ Thrasiline.

_Thra_. Has the King sent for him to death?

_Di_. Yes, but the King must know, 'tis not in his power to war with Heaven.

_Cle_. We linger time; the King sent for _Philaster_ and the Headsman an hour ago.

_Thra_. Are all his wounds well?

_Di_. All they were but scratches; but the loss of bloud made him faint.

_Cle_. We dally Gentlemen.

_Thra_. Away.

_Di_. We'l scuffle hard before he perish.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Philaster, Arethusa, _and_ Bellario.

_Are_. Nay dear _Philaster_ grieve not, we are well.

_Bell_. Nay good my Lord forbear, we are wondrous well.

_Phi_. Oh _Arethusa_! O _Bellario_! leave to be kind: I shall be shot from Heaven, as now from Earth, If you continue so; I am a man, False to a pair of the most trusty ones That ever earth bore, can it bear us all? Forgive and leave me, but the King hath sent To call me to my death, Oh shew it me, And then forget me: And for thee my boy, I shall deliver words will mollifie The hearts of beasts, to spare thy innocence.

_Bell_. Alas my Lord, my life is not a thing Worthy your noble thoughts; 'tis not a life, 'Tis but a piece of child-hood thrown away: Should I out-live, I shall then out-live Vertue and honour. And when that day comes, If ever I should close these eyes but once, May I live spotted for my perjury, And waste my limbs to nothing.

_Are_. And I (the woful'st maid as ever was, Forc'd with my hands to bring my Lord to death) Do by the honour of a Virgin swear, To tell no hours beyond it.

_Phi_. Make me not hated so.

_Are_. Come from this prison, all joyful to our deaths.

_Phi_. People will tear me when they find you true To such a wretch as I; I shall die loath'd. Injoy your Kingdoms peaceably, whil'st I For ever sleep forgotten with my faults, Every just servant, every maid in love Will have a piece of me if you be true.

_Are_. My dear Lord say not so.

_Bell_. A piece of you? He was not born of women that can cut it and look on.

_Phi_. Take me in tears betwixt you, For my heart will break with shame and sorrow.

_Are_. Why 'tis well.

_Bell_. Lament no more.

_Phi_. What would you have done If you had wrong'd me basely, and had found My life no price, compar'd to yours? For love Sirs, Deal with me truly.

_Bell_. 'Twas mistaken, Sir.

_Phi_. Why if it were?

_Bell_. Then Sir we would have ask'd you pardon.

_Phi_. And have hope to enjoy it?

_Are_. Injoy it? I.

_Phi_. Would you indeed? be plain.

_Bell_. We would my Lord.

_Phi_. Forgive me then.

_Are_. So, so.

_Bell_. 'Tis as it should be now.

_Phi_. Lead to my death.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ King, Dion, Cleremont, _and_ Thrasiline.

_King_. Gentlemen, who saw the Prince?

_Cle_. So please you Sir, he's gone to see the City, And the new Platform, with some Gentlemen Attending on him.

_King_. Is the Princess ready To bring her prisoner out?

_Thra_. She waits your Grace.

_King_. Tell her we stay.

_Di_. King, you may be deceiv'd yet: The head you aim at cost more setting on Than to be lost so slightly: If it must off Like a wild overflow, that soops before him A golden Stack, and with it shakes down Bridges, Cracks the strong hearts of _Pines_, whose Cable roots Held out a thousand Storms, a thousand Thunders, And so made mightier, takes whole Villages Upon his back, and in that heat of pride, Charges strong Towns, Towers, Castles, Palaces, And layes them desolate: so shall thy head, Thy noble head, bury the lives of thousands That must bleed with thee like a sacrifice, In thy red ruines.

_Enter_ Phil. Are. _and_ Bell, _in a Robe and Garland_.

_King_. How now, what Mask is this?

_Bell_. Right Royal Sir, I should Sing you an Epithalamium of these lovers, But having lost my best ayres with my fortunes, And wanting a celestial Harp to strike This blessed union on; thus in glad story I give you all. These two fair Cedar-branches, The noblest of the Mountain, where they grew Straightest and tallest, under whose still shades The worthier beasts have made their layers, and slept Free from the _Syrian_ Star, and the fell Thunder-stroke, Free from the Clouds, when they were big with humour, And delivered in thousand spouts, their issues to the earth: O there was none but silent quiet there! Till never pleas'd fortune shot up shrubs, Base under brambles to divorce these branches; And for a while they did so, and did raign Over the Mountain, and choakt up his beauty With Brakes, rude Thornes and Thistles, till thy Sun Scorcht them even to the roots, and dried them there: And now a gentle gale hath blown again That made these branches meet, and twine together, Never to be divided: The god that sings His holy numbers over marriage beds, Hath knit their noble hearts, and here they stand Your Children mighty King, and I have done.

_King_. How, how?

_Are_. Sir, if you love it in plain truth, For there is no Masking in't; This Gentleman The prisoner that you gave me is become My keeper, and through all the bitter throws Your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him, Thus nobly hath he strangled, and at length Arriv'd here my dear Husband.

_King_. Your dear Husband! call in The Captain of the Cittadel; There you shall keep Your Wedding. I'le provide a Mask shall make Your Hymen turn his Saffron into a sullen Coat, And sing sad Requiems to your departing souls: Bloud shall put out your Torches, and instead Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks, An Ax shall hang like a prodigious Meteor Ready to crop your loves sweets. Hear you gods: From this time do I shake all title off, Of Father to this woman, this base woman, And what there is of vengeance, in a Lion Cast amongst Dogs, or rob'd of his dear young, The same inforc't more terrible, more mighty, Expect from me.

_Are_. Sir, By that little life I have left to swear by, There's nothing that can stir me from my self. What I have done, I have done without repentance, For death can be no Bug-bear unto me, So long as _Pharamond_ is not my headsman.

_Di_. Sweet peace upon thy soul, thou worthy maid When ere thou dyest; for this time I'le excuse thee, Or be thy Prologue.

_Phi_. Sir, let me speak next, And let my dying words be better with you Than my dull living actions; if you aime At the dear life of this sweet Innocent, Y'are a Tyrant and a savage Monster; Your memory shall be as foul behind you As you are living, all your better deeds Shall be in water writ, but this in Marble: No Chronicle shall speak you, though your own, But for the shame of men. No Monument (Though high and big as _Pelion_) shall be able To cover this base murther; make it rich With Brass, with purest Gold, and shining Jasper, Like the Pyramids, lay on Epitaphs, Such as make great men gods; my little marble (That only cloaths my ashes, not my faults) Shall far out shine it: And for after issues Think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms, That they will give you more, for your mad rage To cut off, unless it be some Snake, or something Like your self, that in his birth shall strangle you. Remember, my Father King; there was a fault, But I forgive it: let that sin perswade you To love this Lady. If you have a soul, Think, save her, and be saved, for my self, I have so long expected this glad hour, So languisht under you, and daily withered, That heaven knows it is my joy to dye, I find a recreation in't.

_Enter a_ Messenger.

_Mess_. Where's the King?

_King_. Here.

_Mess_. Get you to your strength, And rescue the Prince _Pharamond_ from danger, He's taken prisoner by the Citizens, Fearing the Lord _Philaster_.

_Di_. Oh brave followers; Mutiny, my fine dear Country-men, mutiny, Now my brave valiant foremen, shew your weapons In honour of your Mistresses.

[_Enter another_ Messenger.

_Mess_. Arm, arm, arm.

_King_. A thousand devils take 'em.

_Di_. A thousand blessings on 'em.

_Mess_. Arm O King, the City is in mutiny, Led by an old Gray Ruffin, who comes on In rescue of the Lord _Philaster_.

[_Exit with_ Are. Phi. Bell.

_King_. Away to the Cittadel, I'le see them safe, And then cope with these Burgers: Let the Guard And all the Gentlemen give strong attendance.

[_Ex. King_.

[_Manent_ Dion, Cleremont, Thrasiline.

_Cle_. The City up! this was above our wishes.

_Di_. I and the Marriage too; by my life, This noble Lady has deceiv'd us all, a plague upon my self; a thousand plagues, for having such unworthy thoughts of her dear honour: O I could beat my self, or do you beat me and I'le beat you, for we had all one thought.

_Cle_. No, no, 'twill but lose time.

_Di_. You say true, are your swords sharp? Well my dear Country-men, what ye lack, if you continue and fall not back upon the first broken shin, I'le have you chronicled, and chronicled, and cut and chronicled and all to be prais'd, and sung in Sonnets, and bath'd in new brave Ballads, that all tongues shall troule you _in Saecula Saeculorum_ my kind Can-carriers.

_Thra_. What if a toy take 'em i'th' heels now, and they run all away, and cry the Devil take the hindmost?

_Di_. Then the same Devil take the foremost too, and sowce him for his breakfast; if they all prove Cowards, my curses fly amongst them and be speeding. May they have Murreins raign to keep the Gentlemen at home unbound in easie freeze: May the Moths branch their Velvets, and their Silks only be worn before sore eyes. May their false lights undo 'em, and discover presses, holes, stains, and oldness in their Stuffs, and make them shop-rid: May they keep Whores and Horses, and break; and live mued up with necks of Beef and Turnips: May they have many children, and none like the Father: May they know no language but that gibberish they prattle to their Parcels, unless it be the goarish Latine they write in their bonds, and may they write that false, and lose their debts.

_Enter the_ King.

_King_. Now the vengeance of all the gods confound them; how they swarm together! what a hum they raise; Devils choak your wilde throats; If a man had need to use their valours, he must pay a Brokage for it, and then bring 'em on, they will fight like sheep. 'Tis _Philaster_, none but _Philaster_ must allay this heat: They will not hear me speak, but fling dirt at me, and call me Tyrant. Oh run dear friend, and bring the Lord _Philaster_: speak him fair, call him Prince, do him all the courtesie you can, commend me to him. Oh my wits, my wits!

[_Exit_ Cle.

_Di_. Oh my brave Countrymen! as I live, I will not buy a pin out of your walls for this; Nay, you shall cozen me, and I'le thank you; and send you Brawn and Bacon, and soil you every long vacation a brace of foremen, that at _Michaelmas_ shall come up fat and kicking.

_King_. What they will do with this poor Prince, the gods know, and I fear.

_Di_. Why Sir: they'l flea him, and make Church Buckets on's skin to squench rebellion, then clap a rivet in's sconce, and hang him up for a sign.

_Enter_ Cleremont _with_ Philaster.

_King_. O worthy Sir forgive me, do not make Your miseries and my faults meet together, To bring a greater danger. Be your self, Still sound amongst Diseases, I have wrong'd you, And though I find it last, and beaten to it, Let first your goodness know it. Calm the people, And be what you were born to: take your love, And with her my repentance, and my wishes, And all my prayers, by the gods my heart speaks this: And if the least fall from me not perform'd, May I be struck with Thunder.

_Phi_. Mighty Sir, I will not do your greatness so much wrong, As not to make your word truth; free the Princess, And the poor boy, and let me stand the shock Of this mad Sea breach, which I'le either turn Or perish with it.

_King_. Let your own word free them.

_Phi_. Then thus I take my leave kissing your hand, And hanging on your Royal word: be Kingly, And be not moved Sir, I shall bring your peace, Or never bring my self back.

_King_. All the gods go with thee.

[_Exeunt Omnes_.

_Enter an old Captain and Citizens with_ Pharamond.

_Cap_. Come my brave Mirmidons let's fall on, let our caps Swarm my boys, and you nimble tongues forget your mothers Gibberish, of what do you lack, and set your mouths Up Children, till your Pallats fall frighted half a Fathom, past the cure of Bay-salt and gross Pepper. And then cry _Philaster_, brave _Philaster_, Let _Philaster_ be deeper in request, my ding-dongs, My pairs of dear Indentures, King of Clubs, Than your cold water Chamblets or your paintings Spitted with Copper; let not your hasty Silks, Or your branch'd Cloth of Bodkin, or your Tishues, Dearly belov'd of spiced Cake and Custard, Your Robin-hoods scarlets and Johns, tie your affections In darkness to your shops; no, dainty Duckers, Up with your three pil'd spirits, your wrought valours. And let your un-cut Coller make the King feel The measure of your mightiness _Philaster_. Cry my Rose nobles, cry.

_All_. Philaster, Philaster.

_Cap_. How do you like this my Lord Prince, these are mad boys, I tell you, these are things that will not strike their top-sayles to a Foist. And let a man of war, an Argosie hull and cry Cockles.

_Pha_. Why you rude slave, do you know what you do?

_Cap_. My Pretty Prince of Puppets, we do know, And give your greatness warning, that you talk No more such Bugs-words, or that soldred Crown Shall be scratch'd with a Musket: Dear Prince Pippen, Down with your noble bloud; or as I live, I'le have you codled: let him lose my spirits, Make us a round Ring with your Bills my Hectors, And let us see what this trim man dares do. Now Sir, have at you; here I [lie], And with this swashing blow, do you swear Prince; I could hulk your Grace, and hang you up cross-leg'd, Like a Hare at a Poulters, and do this with this wiper.

_Pha_. You will not see me murder'd wicked Villains?

_1 Cit_. Yes indeed will we Sir, we have not seen one fo[r] a great while.

_Capt_. He would have weapons would he? give him a Broad-side my brave boyes with your pikes, branch me his skin in Flowers like a Satin, and between every Flower a mortal cut, your Royalty shall ravel, jag him Gentlemen, I'le have him cut to the kell, then down the seames, oh for a whip To make him Galoone-Laces, I'le have a Coach-whip.

_Pha_. O spare me Gentlemen.

_Cap_. Hold, hold, the man begins to fear and know himself, He shall for this time only be seal'd up With a Feather through his nose, that he may only see Heaven, and think whither he's going, Nay beyond-Sea Sir, we will proclaim you, you would be King Thou tender Heir apparent to a Church-Ale, Thou sleight Prince of single Sarcenet; Thou Royal Ring-tail, fit to fly at nothing But poor mens Poultry, and have every Boy Beat thee from that too with his Bread and Butter.

_Pha_. Gods keep me from these Hell-hounds.

_2 Cit_. Shall's geld him Captain?

_Cap_. No, you shall spare his dowcets my dear Donsels, As you respect the Ladies let them flourish; The curses of a longing woman kill as speedy as a Plague, Boys.

_1 Cit_. I'le have a Leg that's certain.

_2 Cit_. I'le have an Arm.

_3 Cit_. I'le have his Nose, and at mine own charge build a Colledge, and clap't upon the Gate.

_4 Cit_. I'le have his little Gut to string a Kit with, For certainly a Royal Gut will sound like silver.

_Pha_. Would they were in thy belly, and I past my pain once.

_5 Cit_. Good Captain let me have his Liver to feed Ferrets.

_Cap_. Who will have parcels else? speak.

_Pha_. Good gods consider me, I shall be tortur'd.

_1 Cit_. Captain, I'le give you the trimming of your hand-sword, and let me have his Skin to make false Scabbards.

_2_. He had no horns Sir had he?

_Cap_. No Sir, he's a Pollard, what would'st thou do with horns?

_Cit_. O if he had, I would have made rare Hafts and Whistles of 'em, but his Shin-bones if they be sound shall serve me.

[_Enter_ Philaster.

_All_. Long live _Philaster_, the brave Prince _Philaster_.

_Phi_. I thank you Gentlemen, but why are these Rude weapons brought abroad, to teach your hands Uncivil Trades?

_Cap_. My Royal Rosiclear, We are thy Mirmidons, thy Guard, thy Rorers, And when thy noble body is in durance, Thus do we clap our musty Murrions on, And trace the streets in terrour: Is it peace Thou _Mars_ of men? Is the King sociable, And bids thee live? Art thou above thy foemen, And free as _Phoebus_? Speak, if not, this stand Of Royal blood shall be abroach, atilt, and run Even to the lees of honour.

_Phi_. Hold and be satisfied, I am my self Free as my thoughts are, by the gods I am.

_Cap_. Art thou the dainty darling of the King? Art thou the _Hylas_ to our _Hercules_? Do the Lords bow, and the regarded scarlets, Kiss their Gumd-gols, and cry, we are your servants? Is the Court Navigable, and the presence struck With Flags of friendship? if not, we are thy Castle And this man sleeps.

_Phi_. I am what I desire to be, your friend, I am what I was born to be, your Prince.

_Pha_. Sir, there is some humanity in you, You have a noble soul, forget my name, And know my misery, set me safe aboard From these wild _Canibals_, and as I live, I'le quit this Land for ever: there is nothing, Perpetual prisonment, cold, hunger, sickness Of all sorts, all dangers, and all together The worst company of the worst men, madness, age, To be as many Creatures as a woman, And do as all they do, nay to despair; But I would rather make it a new Nature, And live with all those than endure one hour Amongst these wild Dogs.

_Phi_. I do pity you: Friends discharge your fears, Deliver me the Prince, I'le warrant you I shall be old enough to find my safety.

_3 Cit_. Good Sir take heed he does not hurt you, He's a fierce man I can tell you Sir.

_Cap_. Prince, by your leave I'le have a Sursingle, And Male you like a Hawke.

[_He stirs_.