SCENE I.[4196

_Enter_ ITHOCLES _and_ ARMOSTES.

_Ith._ Forbear your inquisition: curiosity Is of too subtle and too searching nature, In fears of love too quick, too slow of credit.— I am not what you doubt me.

_Arm._ Nephew, be, then, As I would wish;—all is not right.—Good heaven 5 Confirm your resolutions for dependence On worthy ends, which may advance your quiet!

_Ith._ I did the noble Orgilus much injury, But griev’d Penthea more: I now repent it,— Now, uncle, now; this “now” is now too late. So provident is folly in sad issue, 11 That after-wit, like bankrupts’ debts, stands tallied, Without all possibilities of payment. Sure, he’s an honest, very honest gentleman; A man of single[4197] meaning.

_Arm._ I believe it: 15 Yet, nephew, ’tis the tongue informs our ears; Our eyes can never pierce into the thoughts, For they are lodg’d too inward:—but I question No truth in Orgilus.—The princess, sir.

_Ith._ The princess! ha!

_Arm._ With her the Prince of Argos. 20

_Enter_ NEARCHUS, _leading_ CALANTHA; AMELUS, CHRISTALLA, PHILEMA.

_Near._ Great fair one, grace my hopes with any instance Of livery,[4198] from the allowance of your favour; This little spark— [_Attempts to take a ring from her finger._]

_Cal._ A toy!

_Near._ Love feasts on toys, For Cupid is a child;—vouchsafe this bounty: It cannot be deni’d.

_Cal._ You shall not value, 25 Sweet cousin, at a price, what I count cheap; So cheap, that let him take it who dares stoop for ’t, And give it at next meeting to a mistress: She’ll thank him for ’t, perhaps. _Casts the ring to_ ITHOCLES.

_Ame._ The ring, sir, is The princess’s; I could have took it up. 30

_Ith._ Learn manners, prithee.—To the blessed owner, Upon my knees— _Kneels and offers it to_ CALANTHA.

_Near._ Y’ are saucy.

_Cal._ This is pretty! I am, belike, “a mistress”—wondrous pretty! Let the man keep his fortune, since he found it; He’s worthy on ’t.—On, cousin!

_Ith._ [_to_ AMELUS.] Follow, spaniel; 35 I’ll force ye to a fawning else.

_Ame._ You dare not.

_Exeunt_. Manent_ ITH. _and_ ARM.

_Arm._ My lord, you were too forward.

_Ith._ Look ye, uncle, Some such there are whose liberal contents Swarm without care in every sort of plenty; Who after full repasts can lay them down 40 To sleep; and they sleep, uncle: in which silence Their very dreams present ’em choice of pleasures, Pleasures—observe me, uncle—of rare object; Here heaps of gold, there increments of honours, Now change of garments, then the votes of people; 45 Anon varieties of beauties, courting, In flatteries of the night, exchange of dalliance: Yet these are still but dreams. Give me felicity Of which my senses waking are partakers, A real, visible, material happiness; 50 And then, too, when I stagger in expectance Of the least comfort that can cherish life.—— I saw it, sir, I saw it; for it came From her own hand.

_Arm._ The princess threw it t’ ye.

_Ith._ True; and she said—well I remember what— 55 Her cousin prince would beg it.

_Arm._ Yes, and parted In anger at your taking on ’t.

_Ith._ Panthea, O, thou hast pleaded with a powerful language! I want a fee to gratify thy merit; But I will do—

_Arm._ What is ’t you say?

_Ith._ In anger! 60 In anger let him part; for could his breath, Like whirlwinds, toss such servile slaves as lick The dust his footsteps print into a vapour, It durst not stir a hair of mine, it should not; I’d rend it up by th’ roots first. To be anything 65 Calantha smiles on, is to be a blessing More sacred than a petty prince of Argos Can wish to equal, or in worth or title.

_Arm._ Contain yourself, my lord: Ixion, aiming To embrace Juno, bosom’d but a cloud, 70 And begat Centaurs; ’t is an useful moral. Ambition hatch’d in clouds of mere opinion Proves but in birth a prodigy.

_Ith._ I thank ye; Yet, with your licence, I should seem uncharitable To gentler fate, if, relishing the dainties 75 Of a soul’s settled peace, I were so feeble Not to digest it.

_Arm._ He deserves small trust Who is not privy-counsellor to himself.

_Re-enter_ NEARCHUS _and_ AMELUS, _with_ ORGILUS.

_Near._ Brave me!

_Org._ Your excellence mistakes his temper; For Ithocles in fashion of his mind 80 Is beautiful, soft, gentle, the clear mirror Of absolute perfection.

_Ame._ Was ’t your modesty Term’d any of the prince’s servants “spaniel”? Your nurse, sure, taught you other language.

_Ith._ Language!

_Near._ A gallant man-at-arms is here, a doctor 85 In feats of chivalry, blunt and rough-spoken, Vouchsafing not the fustian of civility, Which [less][4199] rash spirits style good manners!

_Ith._ Manners!

_Org._ No more, illustrious sir; ’tis matchless Ithocles.

_Near._ You might have understood who I am.

_Ith._ Yes. 90 I did; else—but the presence calm’d th’ affront— Y’ are cousin to the princess.

_Near._ To the king, too; A certain instrument that lent supportance To your colossic greatness—to that king too, You might have added.

_Ith._ There is more divinity In beauty than in majesty. 96

_Arm._ O fie, fie!

_Near._ This odd youth’s pride turns heretic in loyalty. Sirrah! low mushrooms never rival cedars. _Exeunt_ NEARCHUS _and_ AMELUS.

_Ith._ Come back!—What pitiful dull thing am I So to be tamely scolded at! come back!— 100 Let him come back, and echo once again That scornful sound of mushroom! painted colts— Like heralds’ coats gilt o’er with crowns and sceptres— May bait a muzzled lion.

_Arm._ Cousin, cousin, Thy tongue is not thy friend.

_Org._ In point of honour 105 Discretion knows no bounds. Amelus told me ’T was all about a little ring.

_Ith._ A ring The princess threw away, and I took up. Admit she threw ’t to me, what arm of brass Can snatch it hence? No; could he grind the hoop 110 To powder, ’a might sooner reach my heart Than steal and wear one dust on ’t.—Orgilus, I am extremely wrong’d.

_Org._ A lady’s favour Is not to be so slighted.

_Ith._ Slighted!

_Arm._ Quiet These vain unruly passions, which will render ye 115 Into a madness.

_Org._ Griefs will have their vent.

_Enter_ TECNICUS [_with a scroll_].

_Arm._ Welcome; thou com’st in season, reverend man, To pour the balsam of a suppling[4200] patience Into the festering wound of ill-spent fury.

_Org._ [_Aside._] What makes he here?

_Tec._ The hurts are yet but[4201] mortal, 120 Which shortly will prove deadly. To the king, Armostes, see in safety thou deliver This seal’d-up counsel; bid him with a constancy Peruse the secrets of the gods.—O Sparta, O Lacedaemon! double-nam’d, but one 125 In fate: when kingdoms reel,—mark well my saw,— Their heads must needs be giddy. Tell the king That henceforth he no more must inquire after My aged head; Apollo wills it so: I am for Delphos.

_Arm._ Not without some conference 130 With our great master?

_Tec._ Never more to see him: A greater prince commands me.—Ithocles, _When youth is ripe, and age from time doth part, The lifeless trunk shall wed the broken heart._

_Ith._ What ’s this, if understood?

_Tec._ List, Orgilus; 135 Remember what I told thee long before, These tears shall be my witness.

_Arm._ ’Las, good man!

_Tec. Let craft with courtesy a while confer, Revenge proves its own executioner._

_Org._ Dark sentences are for Apollo’s priests; I am not Oedipus.

_Tec._ My hour is come; 141 Cheer up the king; farewell to all.—O Sparta, O Lacedaemon! _Exit._

_Arm._ If prophetic fire Have warm’d this old man’s bosom, we might construe His words to fatal sense.

_Ith._ Leave to the powers 145 Above us the effects of their decrees; My burthen lies within me: servile fears Prevent no great effects.—Divine Calantha!

_Arm._ The gods be still propitious! _Exeunt_ ITHOCLES _and_ ARMOSTES.

_Org._ Something oddly The book-man prated, yet ’a talk’d it weeping; _Let craft with courtesy a while confer,_ 151 _Revenge proves its own executioner._ Con it again;—for what? It shall not puzzle me; ’T is dotage of a withered brain.—Penthea Forbade me not her presence; I may see her, And gaze my fill. Why see her, then, I may, 156 When, if I faint to speak—I must be silent. _Exit._

[SCENE II.][4202]

_Enter_ BASSANES, GRAUSIS, _and_ PHULAS.

_Bass._ Pray, use your recreations, all the service I will expect is quietness amongst ye; Take liberty at home, abroad, at all times, And in your charities appease the gods, Whom I, with my distractions, have offended. 5

_Grau._ Fair blessings on thy heart!

_Phu._ [_Aside._] Here ’s a rare change! My lord, to cure the itch, is surely gelded; The cuckold in conceit hath cast his horns.

_Bass._ Betake ye to your several occasions; And wherein I have heretofore been faulty, 10 Let your constructions mildly pass it over. Henceforth I ’ll study reformation,—more I have not for employment.

_Grau._ O, sweet man! Thou art the very “Honeycomb of Honesty.”[4203]

_Phu._ The “Garland of Good-will.”—Old lady, hold up 15 Thy reverend snout, and trot behind me softly, As it becomes a moil[4204] of ancient carriage.

_Exeunt_ GRAUSIS _and_ PHULAS.

_Bass._ Beasts, only capable of sense, enjoy The benefit of food and ease with thankfulness; Such silly creatures, with a grudging, kick not Against the portion nature hath bestow’d: 21 But men, endow’d with reason and the use Of reason, to distinguish from the chaff Of abject scarcity the quintessence, Soul, and elixir of the earth’s abundance, 25 The treasures of the sea, the air, nay, heaven, Repining at these glories of creation Are verier beasts than beasts; and of those beasts The worst am I: I, who was made a monarch Of what a heart could wish for,—a chaste wife,— 30 Endeavour’d what in me lay to pull down That temple built for adoration only, And level ’t in the dust of causeless scandal. But, to redeem a sacrilege so impious, Humility shall pour, before the deities 35 I have incenst, a largess of more patience Than their displeased altars can require: No tempests of commotion shall disquiet The calms of my composure.

_Enter_ ORGILUS.

_Org._ I have found thee, Thou patron of more horrors than the bulk 40 Of manhood, hoop’d about with ribs of iron, Can cram within thy breast: Penthea, Bassanes, Curst by thy jealousies,—more, by thy dotage,— Is left a prey to words.

_Bass._ Exercise Your trials for addition to my penance; 45 I am resolv’d.

_Org._ Play not with misery Past cure: some angry minister of fate hath Depos’d the empress of her soul, her reason, From its most proper throne; but, what ’s the miracle More new, I, I have seen it, and yet live! 50

_Bass._ You may delude my senses, not my judgment; ’T is anchor’d into a firm resolution; Dalliance of mirth or wit can ne’er unfix it: Practise[4205] yet further.

_Org._ May thy death of love to her Damn all thy comforts to a lasting fast 55 From every joy of life! Thou barren rock, By thee we have been split in ken[4206] of harbour.

_Enter_ ITHOCLES, PENTHEA _her hair about her ears_, [ARMOSTES,] PHILEMA, _and_ CHRISTALLA.

_Ith._ Sister, look up; your Ithocles, your brother, Speaks t’ ye; why do you weep? Dear, turn not from me.— Here is a killing sight; lo, Bassanes, 60 A lamentable object!

_Org._ Man, dost see ’t? Sports are more gamesome; am I yet in merriment? Why dost not laugh?

_Bass._ Divine and best of ladies, Please to forget my outrage; mercy ever Cannot but lodge under a roof so excellent. 65 I have cast off that cruelty of frenzy Which once appear’d imposture,[4207] and then juggled To cheat my sleeps of rest.

_Org._ Was I in earnest?

_Pen._ Sure, if we were all Sirens, we should sing pitifully. And ’t were a comely music, when in parts 70 One sung another’s knell. The turtle sighs When he hath lost his mate; and yet some say He must be dead first. ’T is a fine deceit To pass away in a dream; indeed, I ’ve slept With mine eyes open a great while. No falsehood 75 Equals a broken faith; there ’s not a hair Sticks on my head but, like a leaden plummet, It sinks me to the grave. I must creep thither; The journey is not long.

_Ith._ But, thou, Penthea, Hast many years, I hope, to number yet, 80 Ere thou canst travel that way.

_Bass._ Let the sun first Be wrapp’d up in an everlasting darkness, Before the light of nature, chiefly form’d For the whole world’s delight, feel an eclipse So universal!

_Org._ Wisdom, look ye, begins 85 To rave!—Art thou mad too, antiquity?

_Pen._ Since I was first a wife, I might have been Mother to many pretty prattling babes; They would have smil’d when I smil’d, and for certain I should have cri’d when they cri’d:—truly, brother, 90 My father would have pick’d me out a husband, And then my little ones had been no bastards; But ’t is too late for me to marry now, I am past child-bearing; ’t is not my fault.

_Bass._ Fall on me, if there be a burning Aetna, 95 And bury me in flames! Sweats hot as sulphur Boil through my pores! Affliction hath in store No torture like to this.

_Org._ Behold a patience! Lay by thy whining gray dissimulation, Do something worth a chronicle; show justice Upon the author of this mischief; dig out 101 The jealousies that hatch’d this thraldom first With thine own poniard. Every antic rapture Can roar as thine does.

_Ith._ Orgilus, forbear.

_Bass._ Disturb him not; it is a talking motion[4208] Provided for my torment. What a fool am I 106 To bandy[4209] passion! Ere I ’ll speak a word, I will look on and burst.

_Pen._ I lov’d you once. [_To_ ORGILUS.]

_Org._ Thou didst, wrong’d creature: in despite of malice, For it I love thee ever.

_Pen._ Spare your hand; 110 Believe me, I ’ll not hurt it.

_Org._ My[4210] heart too.

[_Pen._] Complain not though I wring it hard. I ’ll kiss it; O, ’t is a fine soft palm!—hark, in thine ear; Like whom do I look, prithee?—Nay, no whispering. Goodness! we had been happy; too much happiness 115 Will make folk proud, they say—but that is he— _Points at_ ITHOCLES. And yet he paid for ’t home; alas, his heart Is crept into the cabinet of the princess; We shall have points[4211] and bride-laces. Remember, When we last gather’d roses in the garden, 120 I found my wits; but truly you lost yours. That ’s he, and still ’t is he. [_Again pointing at_ ITHOCLES.]

_Ith._ Poor soul, how idly Her fancies guide her tongue!

_Bass._ [_Aside._] Keep in, vexation, And break not into clamour.

_Org._ [_Aside._] She has tutor’d me: Some powerful inspiration checks my laziness.— 125 Now let me kiss your hand, griev’d beauty.

_Pen._ Kiss it.— Alack, alack, his lips be wondrous cold. Dear soul, h’as lost his colour: have ye seen A straying heart? All crannies! every drop Of blood is turned to an amethyst, 130 Which married bachelors hang in their ears.

_Org._ Peace usher her into Elysium!— If this be madness, madness is an oracle. _Exit._

_Ith._ Christalla, Philema, when slept my sister, Her ravings are so wild?

_Chris._ Sir, not these ten days. 135

_Phil._ We watch by her continually; besides, We can not any way pray her to eat.

_Bass._ O, misery of miseries!

_Pen._ Take comfort; You may live well, and die a good old man. By yea and nay, an oath not to be broken, 140 If you had join’d our hands once in the temple,— ’T was since my father died, for had he liv’d He would have done ’t,—I must have call’d you father.— O, my wrack’d honour! ruin’d by those tyrants, A cruel brother and a desperate dotage! 145 There is no peace left for a ravish’d wife Widow’d by lawless marriage; to all memory Penthea’s, poor Penthea’s name is strumpeted: But since her blood was season’d by the forfeit Of noble shame with mixtures of pollution, 150 Her blood—’t is just—be henceforth never height’ned With taste of sustenance! Starve; let that fulness Whose plurisy[4212] hath fever’d faith and modesty— Forgive me; O, I faint! [_Falls into the arms of her_ Attendants.]

_Arm._ Be not so wilful, Sweet niece, to work thine own destruction.

_Ith._ Nature 155 Will call her daughter monster!—What! not eat? Refuse the only ordinary means Which are ordain’d for life? Be not, my sister, A murderess to thyself.—Hear’st thou this, Bassanes?

_Bass._ Foh! I am busy; for I have not thoughts 160 Enow to think: all shall be well anon. ’T is tumbling in my head; there is a mastery In art to fatten and keep smooth the outside; Yes, and to comfort up the vital spirits 164 Without the help of food, fumes or perfumes, Perfumes or fumes. Let her alone; I ’ll search out The trick on ’t.

_Pen._ Lead me gently; heavens reward ye. Griefs are sure friends; they leave without control Nor cure nor comforts for a leprous soul. _Exeunt the_ maids _supporting_ PENTHEA.

_Bass._ I grant ye; and will put in practice instantly 170 What you shall still admire: ’t is wonderful, ’T is super-singular, not to be match’d; Yet, when I ’ve done ’t, I ’ve done ’t:—ye shall all thank me. _Exit._

_Arm._ The sight is full of terror.

_Ith._ On my soul Lies such an infinite clog of massy dulness, 175 As that I have not sense enough to feel it.— See, uncle, th’ angry[4213] thing returns again; Shall ’s welcome him with thunder? We are haunted, And must use exorcism to conjure down This spirit of malevolence.

_Arm._ Mildly, nephew, 180

_Enter_ NEARCHUS _and_ AMELUS.

_Near._ I come not, sir, to chide your late disorder, Admitting that th’ inurement to a roughness In soldiers of your years and fortunes, chiefly, So lately prosperous, hath not yet shook off The custom of the war in hours of leisure; 185 Nor shall you need excuse, since y’ are to render Account to that fair excellence, the princess, Who in her private gallery expects it From your own mouth alone: I am a messenger But to her pleasure.

_Ith._ Excellent Nearchus, 190 Be prince still of my services, and conquer Without the combat of dispute; I honour ye.

_Near._ The king is on a sudden indispos’d, Physicians are call’d for; ’t were fit, Armostes, You should be near him.

_Arm._ Sir, I kiss your hands. 195 _Exeunt_ ITHOCLES _and_ ARMOSTES.

_Near._ Amelus, I perceive Calantha’s bosom Is warm’d with other fires than such as can Take strength from any fuel of the love I might address to her. Young Ithocles, Or ever I mistake, is lord ascendant 200 Of her devotions; one, to speak him truly, In every disposition nobly fashioned.

_Ame._ But can your highness brook to be so rivall’d, Considering the inequality of the persons? 204

_Near._ I can, Amelus; for affections injur’d By tyranny or rigour of compulsion, Like tempest-threat’ned trees unfirmly rooted, Ne’er spring to timely growth: observe, for instance, Life-spent Penthea and unhappy Orgilus.

_Ame._ How does your grace determine?

_Near._ To be jealous 210 In public of what privately I ’ll further; And though they shall not know, yet they shall find it. _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][4214]

_Enter_ HEMOPHIL _and_ GRONEAS _leading_ AMYCLAS, _and placing him in a chair_; _followed by_ ARMOSTES [_with a box_], CROTOLON, _and_ PROPHILUS.

_Amy._ Our daughter is not near?

_Arm._ She is retir’d, sir, Into her gallery.

_Amy._ Where ’s the prince our cousin?

_Pro._ New walk’d into the grove, my lord.

_Amy._ All leave us Except Armostes, and you, Crotolon; We would be private.

_Pro._ Health unto your majesty! 5

_Exeunt_ PROPHILUS, HEMOPHIL, _and_ GRONEAS.

_Amy._ What! Tecnicus is gone?

_Arm._ He is to Delphos; And to your royal hands presents this box.

_Amy._ Unseal it, good Armostes; therein lie The secrets of the oracle; out with it: [ARMOSTES _takes out the scroll_.] Apollo live our patron! Read, Armostes. 10

Arm. [_reads._] _The plot in which the vine takes root Begins to dry from head to foot; The stock soon withering, want of sap Doth cause to quail the budding grape; But from the neighbouring elm a dew 15 Shall drop, and feed the plot anew._

_Amy._ That is the oracle: what exposition Makes the philosopher?

_Arm._ This brief one only. [_Reads._] _The plot is Sparta, the dri’d vine the king; The quailing grape his daughter; but the thing 20 Of most importance, not to be reveal’’d, Is a near prince, the elm: the rest conceal’d._ TECNICUS.

_Amy._ Enough; although the opening of this riddle Be but itself a riddle, yet we construe How near our labouring age draws to a rest. 25 But must Calantha quail too? that young grape Untimely budded! I could mourn for her; Her tenderness hath yet deserv’d no rigour So to be crost by fate.

_Arm._ You misapply, sir,— With favour let me speak it,—what Apollo 30 Hath clouded in hid sense. I here conjecture Her marriage with some neighb’ring prince, the dew Of which befriending elm shall ever strengthen Your subjects with a sovereignty of power.

_Crot._ Besides, most gracious lord, the pith of oracles 35 Is to be then digested when th’ events Expound their truth, not brought as soon to light As utter’’d. Truth is child of Time; and herein I find no scruple, rather cause of comfort, With unity of kingdoms.

_Amy._ May it prove so, 40 For weal of this dear nation!—Where is Ithocles?— Armostes, Crotolon, when this wither’d vine Of my frail carcass, on the funeral pile Is fir’d into its ashes, let that young man Be hedg’d about still with your cares and loves. 45 Much owe I to his worth, much to his service.—— Let such as wait come in now.

_Arm._ All attend here!

_Enter_ CALANTHA, ITHOCLES, PROPHILUS, ORGILUS, EUPHRANEA, HEMOPHIL, _and_ GRONEAS.

_Cal._ Dear sir! king! father!

_Ith._ O my royal master!

_Amy._ Cleave not my heart, sweet twins of my life’s solace, With your forejudging fears; there is no physic 50 So cunningly restorative to cherish The fall of age, or call back youth and vigour, As your consents in duty. I will shake off This languishing disease of time, to quicken Fresh pleasures in these drooping hours of sadness. 55 Is fair Euphranea married yet to Prophilus?

_Crot._ This morning, gracious lord.

_Org._ This very morning; Which, with your highness’ leave, you may observe too, Our sister looks, methinks, mirthful and sprightly. As if her chaster fancy could already 60 Expound the riddle of her gain in losing A trifle maids know only that they know not. Pish! prithee, blush not; ’tis but honest change Of fashion in the garment, loose for strait, And so the modest maid is made a wife. 65 Shrewd business—is’t not, sister?

_Euph._ You are pleasant.

_Amy._ We thank thee, Orgilus; this mirth becomes thee. But wherefore sits the court in such a silence? A wedding without revels is not seemly.

_Cal._ Your late indisposition, sir, forbade it. 70

_Amy._ Be it thy charge, Calantha, to set forward The bridal sports, to which I will be present; If not, at least consenting.—Mine own Ithocles, I have done little for thee yet.

_Ith._ Y’ have built me To the full height I stand in.

_Cal._ [_Aside._] Now or never!— 75 May I propose a suit?

_Amy._ Demand, and have it.

_Cal._ Pray, sir, give me this young man, and no further Account him yours than he deserves in all things To be thought worth mine: I will esteem him According to his merit.

_Amy._ Still thou ’rt my daughter, 80 Still grow’st upon my heart.—[_To_ ITHOCLES.] Give me thine hand;— Calantha, take thine own: in noble actions Thou ’lt find him firm and absolute.—I would not Have parted with thee, Ithocles, to any But to a mistress who is all what I am. 85

_Ith._ A change, great king, most wisht for, ’cause the same.

_Cal._ [_Aside to_ Ithocles.] Th’ art mine. Have I now kept my word?

_Ith._ [_Aside to_ Calantha.] Divinely.

_Org._ Rich fortunes guard, [the][4215] favour of a princess Rock thee, brave man, in ever-crowned plenty! Y’ are minion of the time; be thankful for it.— 90 [_Aside._] Ho! here’s a swing in destiny—apparent! The youth is up on tiptoe, yet may stumble.

_Amy._ On to your recreations.—Now convey me Unto my bed-chamber: none on his forehead Wear a distempered look.

_All._ The gods preserve ye! 95

_Cal._ [_Aside to_ ITHOCLES.] Sweet, be not from my sight.

_Ith._ [_Aside to_ CALANTHA.] My whole felicity!

_Exeunt carrying out the king._ ORGILUS _stays_ ITHOCLES.

_Org._ Shall I be bold, my lord?

_Ith._ Thou canst not, Orgilus, Call me thine own; for Prophilus must henceforth Be all thy sister’s: friendship, though it cease not 100 In marriage, yet is oft at less command Than when a single freedom can dispose it.

_Org._ Most right, my most good lord, my most great lord, My gracious princely lord, I might add, royal.

_Ith._ Royal! A subject royal?

_Org._ Why not, pray, sir? 105 The sovereignty of kingdoms in their nonage Stoop’d to desert, not birth; there ’s as much merit In clearness of affection as in puddle Of generation: you have conquer’d love Even in the loveliest; if I greatly err not, 110 The son of Venus hath bequeath’d his quiver To Ithocles his manage,[4216] by whose arrows Calantha’s breast is open’d.

_Ith._ Can ’t be possible?

_Org._ I was myself a piece of suitor once, And forward in preferment too; so forward 115 That, speaking truth, I may without offence, sir, Presume to whisper that my hopes, and—hark ye— My certainty of marriage stood assured With as firm footing—by your leave—as any’s Now at this very instant—but—

_Ith._ ’T is granted: 120 And for a league of privacy between us, Read o’er my bosom and partake a secret; The princess is contracted mine.

_Org._ Still, why not? I now applaud her wisdom: when your kingdom Stands seated in your will, secure and settled, 125 I dare pronounce you will be a just monarch; Greece must admire and tremble.

_Ith._ Then the sweetness Of so imparadis’d a comfort, Orgilus! It is to banquet with the gods.

_Org._ The glory Of numerous children, potency of nobles, 130 Bent knees, hearts pav’d to tread on!

_Ith._ With a friendship So dear, so fast as thine.

_Org._ I am unfitting For office; but for service—

_Ith._ We ’ll distinguish Our fortunes merely in the title; partners In all respects else but the bed.

_Org._ The bed! 135 Forfend it Jove’s own jealousy!—till lastly We slip down in the common earth together, And there our beds are equal; save some monument To show this was the king, and this the subject.— _Soft sad music._ List, what sad sounds are these,—extremely sad ones? 140

_Ith._ Sure, from Penthea’s lodgings.

_Org._ Hark! a voice too.

A SONG [_within_].

O, no more, no more, too late Sighs are spent; the burning tapers Of a life as chaste as fate, Pure as are unwritten papers, 145 Are burnt out: no heat, no light Now remains; ’t is ever night.

Love is dead; let lovers’ eyes, Lock’d in endless dreams, Th’ extremes of all extremes, 150 Ope no more, for now Love dies, Now Love dies,—implying Love’s martyrs must be ever, ever dying.

_Ith._ O, my misgiving heart!

_Org._ A horrid stillness Succeeds this deathful air; let ’s know the reason: 155 Tread softly; there is mystery in mourning. _Exeunt._

SCENE [IV].[4217]

_Enter_ CHRISTALLA and PHILEMA, _bringing in_ PENTHEA _in a chair_, _veiled_: _two other_ Servants _placing two chairs_, _one on the one side_, _and the other with an engine[4218] on the other_. _The Maids sit down at her feet, mourning. The Servants go out_: _meet them_ ITHOCLES _and_ ORGILUS.

_1 Ser._ [_Aside to_ ORGILUS.] ’T is done; that on her right hand.

_Org._ Good: begone. [_Exeunt_ Servants.]

_Ith._ Soft peace enrich this room!

_Org._ How fares the Lady?

_Phil._ Dead!

_Chris._ Dead!

_Phil._ Starv’d!

_Chris._ Starv’d!

_Ith._ Me miserable!

_Org._ Tell us How parted she from life.

_Phil._ She call’d for music, And begg’d some gentle voice to tune a farewell 5 To life and griefs: Christalla touch’d the lute; I wept the funeral song.

_Chris._ Which scarce was ended But her last breath seal’d up these hollow sounds, “O, cruel Ithocles and injur’d Orgilus!” So down she drew her veil, so died.

_Ith._ So died! 10

_Org._ Up! you are messengers of death; go from us; Here ’s woe enough to court without a prompter: Away: and—hark ye—till you see us next, No syllable that she is dead.—Away, Keep a smooth brow. _Exeunt_ CHRISTALLA _and_ PHILEMA_._ My lord,—

_Ith._ Mine only sister! 15 Another is not left me.

_Org._ Take that chair; I ’ll seat me here in this: between us sits The object of our sorrows; some few tears We ’ll part among us: I perhaps can mix One lamentable story to prepare ’em.— 20 There, there; sit there, my lord.

_Ith._ Yes, as you please.

ITHOCLES _sits down, and is catcht in the engine_.

What means this treachery?

_Org._ Caught! you are caught, Young master; ’t is thy throne of coronation, Thou fool of greatness! See, I take this veil off; Survey a beauty wither’d by the flames 25 Of an insulting Phaëton, her brother.

_Ith._ Thou mean’st to kill me basely?

_Org._ I foreknew The last act of her life, and train’d thee hither To sacrifice a tyrant to a turtle. You dreamt of kingdoms, did ye? How to bosom 30 The delicacies of a youngling princess; How with this nod to grace that subtle courtier, How with that frown to make this noble tremble, And so forth; whiles Penthea’s groans and tortures, Her agonies, her miseries, afflictions, 35 Ne’er toucht upon your thought: as for my injuries, Alas, they were beneath your royal pity; But yet they liv’d, thou proud man, to confound thee. Behold thy fate; this steel! [_Draws a dagger._]

_Ith._ Strike home! A courage As keen as thy revenge shall give it welcome: But prithee faint not; if the wound close up, 41 Tent[4219] it with double force, and search it deeply. Thou look’st that I should whine and beg compassion, As loth to leave the vainness of my glories. A statelier resolution arms my confidence, 45 To cozen thee of honour; neither could I With equal trial of unequal fortune By hazard of a duel; ’t were a bravery Too mighty for a slave intending murder. On to the execution, and inherit 50 A conflict with thy horrors.

_Org._ By Apollo, Thou talk’st a goodly language! for requital I will report thee to thy mistress richly. And take this peace along: some few short minutes Determin’d, my resolves shall quickly follow 55 Thy wrathful ghost; then, if we tug for mastery, Penthea’s sacred eyes shall lend new courage. Give me thy hand: be healthful in thy parting From lost mortality! thus, thus I free it. _Kills him._

_Ith._ Yet, yet, I scorn to shrink.

_Org._ Keep up thy spirit: 60 I will be gentle even in blood; to linger Pain, which I strive to cure, were to be cruel. [_Stabs him again._]

_Ith._ Nimble in vengeance, I forgive thee. Follow Safety, with best success: O, may it prosper!— Penthea, by thy side thy brother bleeds; 65 The earnest of his wrongs to thy forc’d faith. Thoughts of ambition, or delicious banquet With beauty, youth, and love, together perish In my last breath, which on the sacred altar Of a long-look’d-for peace—now—moves—to heaven. _Dies._ 70

_Org._ Farewell, fair spring of manhood! Henceforth welcome Best expectation of a noble suff’rance. I ’ll lock the bodies safe, till what must follow Shall be approv’d.—Sweet twins, shine stars for ever!— In vain they build their hopes whose life is shame: 75 No monument lasts but a happy name. _Exit._