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Bell. If you do hate, you could not curse me The gods have not a punishment in store [worse. Greater for me than is your hate.

Phil. Fie, fie! so young and so dissembling. Tell me when and where ****

Or plagues fall on me if I destroy thee not!
Bell. Heav'n knows I never did; and when I lie
To save my life, may I live long and loathed !
Hew me asunder; and, whilst I can think,
I'll love those pieces you have cut away
Better than those that grow, and kiss those limbs
Because you made them so.

Phil. Fear'st thou not death? Can boys contemn
Bell. Oh, what boy is he

Can be content to live to be a man,

That sees the best of men thus passionate,

Thus without reason?

Phil. Oh, but thou dost not know

What 'tis to die!

Bell. Yes, I do know, my lord:

'Tis less than to be born-a lasting sleep, A quiet resting from all jealousy,

A thing we all pursue. I know, besides,


It is but giving o'er a game that must be lost.
Phil. But there are pains, false boy,

For perjured souls. Think but on these, and then
Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.

Bell. May they fall all upon me whilst I live, If I be perjured, or have ever thought Of that you charge me with! If I be false, Send me to suffer in those punishments You speak of kill me!

Phil. Oh! what should I do?

Why who can but believe him? he does swear
So earnestly, that if it were not true
The gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario;
Thy protestations are so deep, and thou
Dost look so truly when thou utter'st them,
That though I know 'em false as were my hopes,
I cannot urge thee farther; but thou wert
To blame to injure me, for I must love
Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon
Thy tender youth. A love from me to thee
So firm, whate'er thou dost, it troubles me
That I have call'd the blood out of thy cheeks,
That did so well become thee; but, good boy,
Let me not see thee more. Something is done
That will distract me, that will make me mad,
If I behold thee. If thou tender'st me,
Let me not see thee.

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In the last scene of Philaster, the supposed youth, Bellario, is obliged to confess her sex, and accounts thus for her assumed disguise.

Phil. But, Bellario,

(For I must call thee still so) tell me why
Thou didst conceal thy sex? It was a fault-
A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds
Of truth outweigh'd it. All these jealousies
Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discover'd
What now we know.

Bell. My father oft would speak

Your worth and virtue; and as I did grow
More and more apprehensive, I did thirst
To see the man so praised; but yet all this
Was but a maiden longing, to be lost
As soon as found, till, sitting at my window,
Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god,
I thought, but it was you, enter our gates;
My blood flew out and back again as fast
As I had puff'd it forth, and suck'd it in
Like breath; then was I call'd away in haste
To entertain you: never was a man,
Heaved from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, raised
So high in thoughts as I. You left a kiss
Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep
From you for ever.
I did hear you talk
Far above singing! After you were gone,
I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd
What stirr'd it so. Alas! I found it love,
Yet far from lust; for, could I but have lived
In presence of you, I had had my end.
For this I did delude my noble father
With a feign'd pilgrimage, and dress'd myself
In habit of a boy; and, for I knew
My birth no match for you, I was past hope
Of having you; and understanding well,
That when I made discovery of my sex
I could not stay with you, I made a vow,
By all the most religious things a maid
Could call together, never to be known
Whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes
For other than I seem'd, that I might ever
Abide with you; then sat I by the fount
Where first you took me up.

King. Search out a match

Within our kingdom where and when thou wilt,
And I will pay thy dowry; and thyself
Wilt well deserve him.

Bell. Never, sir, will I

Marry it is a thing within my vow:

But if I may have leave to serve the princess,
To see the virtues of her lord and her,
I shall have hope to live.

Arethusa. I, Philaster,

Cannot be jealous, though you had a lady, Dress'd like a page, to serve you; nor will I Suspect her living here. Come, live with me, Live free as I do she that loves my lord, Curst be the wife that hates her!

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Abig. SEE how scornfully he passes by me,
With what an equipage canonical,

As though he had broken the heart of Bellarmine,
Or added something to the singing brethren;
'Tis scorn, I know it, and deserve it, Master Roger.
Rog. Fair gentlewoman, my name is Roger.
Abig. Then, gentle Roger-

Rog. Ungentle Abigail——

Abig. Why, Master Roger, will you set your wit To a weak woman's?

Rog. You are weak, indeed;

For so the poet sings.

Abig. I do confess

My weakness, sweet Sir Roger.
Rog. Good, my lady's

Gentlewoman, or my good lady's gentlewoman,
(This trope is lost to you now) leave your prating,
You have a season of your first mother in you,
And, surely, had the devil been in love,
He had been abused too. Go, Dalilah,
You make men fools, and wear fig-breeches.

Abig. Well, well, hard-hearted man, you may Upon the weak infirmities of woman,


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[about you,

Rog. I was a Christian fool, then.
Do you remember what a dance you led me,
How I grew qualm'd in love, and was a dunce;
Could not expound but once a quarter, and then
was out too-

And then, out of the stir you put me in,
I pray'd for my own royal issue.
Remember all this.

Abig. Oh, be as then you were.

Rog. I thank you for it.

Surely I will be wiser, Abigail,
And, as the Ethnic poet sings,

You do

I will not lose my oil and labour too.
You're for the worshipful, I take it, Abigail.

Abig. Oh, take it so, and then I am for thee. Rog. I like these symptoms well, and this humbling also,

They are symptoms of contrition, as a father saith. If I should fall into my fit again,

Would you not shake me into a quotidian coxcomb, Would you not use me scurvily again,

And give me possets with purging comfits in them? I tell thee, gentlewoman,thou hast been harder to me Than a long chapter with a pedigree.

Abig. Oh, curate, cure me;

I will love thee better, dearer, longer!
I will do anything-betray the secrets
Of the main household to thy reformation;
My lady shall look lovingly on thy learning;
And when due time shall point thee for a parson,

I will convert thy eggs to penny custards,
And thy tithe goose shall graze and multiply.
Rog. I am mollified,

As well shall testify this faithful kiss.
But have a great care, Mistress Abigail,
How you depress the spirit any more,
With your rebukes and mocks, for certainly
The edge of such a folly cuts itself.

Abig. Oh, Sir, you've pierced me thorough! Here A recantation to those malicious faults

[I vow

I ever did against you. Never more
Will I despise your learning; never more
Pin cards and cony tails upon your cassock;
Never again reproach your reverend nightcap,
And call it by the mangy name of murrion;
Never your reverend person more, and say
You look like one of Baal's priests i' the hanging;
Never again, when you say grace, laugh at you,
Nor put you out at pray'rs; never cramp you more
With the great book of Martyrs; nor, when you ride,
soap and thistles for you-No, my Roger,
These faults shall be corrected and amended,
As by the tenor of my tears appears.



Jul. My mind's unquiet; while Antonio
My nephew's abroad, my heart's not at home;
Only my fears stay with me-bad company,

But I cannot shift 'em off. This hatred
Betwixt the house of Bellides and us
Is not fair war-'tis civil, but uncivil;
We are near neighbours, were of love as near,
Till a cross misconstruction ('twas no more
In conscience,) put us so far asunder.

I would 'twere reconciled; it has lasted
Too many sunsets: if grace might moderate,
Man should not lose so many days of peace
To satisfy the anger of one minute.

I could repent it heartily. I sent
The knave to attend my Antonio too,

Yet he returns no comfort to me neither.

Bust. No, I must not.
Jul. Ha! he is come.
Bust. I must not :

"Twill break his heart to hear it.

Jul. How there's bad tidings.

I must obscure and hear it: he'll not tell it
For breaking of my heart. It's half split already.

Bust. I havespied him. Now to knock down a don With a lie a silly, harmless lie: 'twill be Valiantly done, and nobly, perhaps.

Jul. I cannot hear him now.

Bust. Oh, the bloody days that we live in!
The envious, malicious, deadly days
That we draw breath in.

Jul. Now I hear too loud.

Bust. The children that never shall be born may rue,

For men that are slain now, might have lived
To have got children that might have cursed
Their fathers.

Jul. Oh, my posterity is ruin'd.

Bust. Oh, sweet Antonio!

Jul. O dear Antonio !

Bust. Yet it was nobly done of both parts, When he and Lisauro met.

Jul. Oh, death has parted them!

Bust. Welcome, my mortal foe! says one;

My deadly enemy! says t'other. Off go their doublets,
They in their shirts, and their swords stark naked.
Here lies Antonio-here lies Lisauro.
He comes upon him with an embroccado,

Then he puts by with a puncta reversa. Lisauro
Recoils me two paces, and some six inches back
Takes his career, and then-Oh !-

Jul. Oh !

Bust. Runs Antonio

Quite through.

Jul. Oh, villain !

Bust. Quite through, between the arm

And the body, so that he had no hurt at that bout. Jul. Goodness be praised!

Bust. But then, at next encounter,

He fetches me up Lisauro; Lisauro

Makes out a lunge at him, which he thinking
To be a passado, Antonio's foot
Slipping down-oh! down▬▬

Jul, Oh, now thou art lost!

Bust. Oh, but the quality of the thing; both gentlemen,

Both Spanish Christians-yet one man to shedJul. Say his enemy's blood.

Bust. His hair may come

By divers casualties, though he never go
Into the field with his foe; but a man
To lose nine ounces and two drams of blood
At one wound, thirteen and a scruple at another,
And to live till he die in cold blood; yet the surgeon
That cured him said, that if pia mater had not
Been perish'd, he had been a lives man
Till this day.

Jul. There he concludes-he is gone.

Bust. But all this is nothing,-now I come to

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With telling of a tale. Oh, foul tale! no, be silent,
Furthermore, there is the charge of burial. [tale.
Every one will cry blacks, blacks, that had
But the least finger dipt in his blood, though ten
Degrees removed when 'twas done. Moreover,
The surgeons that made an end of him will be paid
Sugar-plums and sweet-breads; yet, say I,
The man may recover again, and die in his bed.
Jul. What motley stuff is this? Sirrah, speak
What hath befallen my dear Antonio ! [truth.
Restrain your pity in concealing it;

Tell me the danger full. Take off your care
Of my receiving it; kill me that way,

I'll forgive my death! What thou keep'st back from truth,

Thou shalt speak in pain: do not look to find
A limb in his right place, a bone unbroke,
Nor so much flesh unbroil'd of all that mountain,
As a worm might sup on-despatch or be despatch'd.
Bust. Alas, Sir, I know nothing but that Antonio
Is a man of God's making to this hour;
"Tis not two since I left him so.

Jul. Where didst thou leave him?

Bust. In the same clothes he had on when he went from you.

Jul. Does he live?

Bust. I saw him drink.

Jul. Is he not wounded?

Bust. He may have a cut i' the leg by this time, For Don Martino and he were at whole slashes. Jul. Met he not with Lisauro?

Bust. I do not know her.

Jul. Her! Lisauro is a man, as he is.
Bust. I saw ne'er a man like him.
Jul. Didst thou not discourse

A fight betwixt Antonio and Lisauro?
Bust. Ay, to myself:

I hope a man may give himself the lie
If it please him.

Jul. Didst thou lie then?

Bust. As sure as you live now.

Jul. I live the happier by it. When will he return?

Bust. That he sent me to tell you-within these Ten days at farthest.

Jul. Ten days! he's not wont

To be absent two.

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Bust. Safe, do you hear! take notice What plight you find me in. If there want but a Or a steak of me, look to 't.

Jul. If my nephew

Return not in his health to-morrow, To the rack.


thou goest

Bust. Let me go to the manger first, I'd rather eat oats than hay.






Persons of the scene-ROLLO, Duke of Normandy; HAMOND, Captain of the Guard; BALDWIN, Tutor of the Prince; EDITH, BALDWIN'S Daughter.

Rollo. Go, take this dotard here (pointing to Baldwin), and take his head

Off with a sword.

Ham. Your schoolmaster!
Rollo. Even he.

Bald. For teaching thee no better: 'tis the best
Of all thy damned justices. Away!
Captain, I'll follow.

Edith. O stay there, Duke,

And, in the midst of all thy blood and fury,
Hear a poor maid's petition-hear a daughter,
The only daughter of a wretched father!

Oh! stay your haste, as I shall need your mercy.
Rollo. Away with this fond woman!
Edith. You must hear me,

If there be any spark of pity in you;
If sweet humanity and mercy rule you.

I do confess you are a prince-your anger
As great as you, your execution greater.
Rollo. Away with him!

Edith. Oh, Captain, by thy manhood,

By her soft soul that bare thee-I do confess, Sir, Your doom of justice on your foes most righteous. Good, noble Prince, look on me.

Rollo. Take her from me.

Edith. A curse upon his life that hinders me!
May father's blessing never fall upon him!
May heav'n ne'er hear his prayers! I beseech you-
O Sir, these tears beseech you—these chaste hands
woo you,

That never yet were heaved but to things holy,
Things like yourself. You are a god above us,
Be as a god, then, full of saving mercy.
Mercy! Oh, mercy! Sir-for his sake mercy,
That, when your stout heart weeps, shall give you
Here I must grow.


Rollo. By heaven I'll strike thee, woman! Edith. Most willingly-let all thy anger seize me, All the most studied tortures, so this good man, This old man, and this innocent escape thee. Rollo. Carry him away, I say.

Edith. Now blessing on thee! Oh, sweet pity, I see it in thine eyes. I charge you, soldiers, Ev'n by the Prince's power, release my father! The Prince is merciful-why do you hold him? The Prince forgets his fury-why do you tug him!

He is old-why do you hurt him? Speak, oh speak,
Sir !

Speak, as you are a man-a man's life hangs, Sir,
A friend's life, and a foster life, upon you.
Tis but a word, but mercy-quickly spoke, Sir.
Oh speak, Prince, speak!

Rollo. Will no man here obey me?

Have I no rule yet? As I live, he dies
That does not execute my will, and suddenly.
Bald. All thou canst do takes but one short hour
Rollo. Hew off her hands!
[from me.

Ham. Lady, hold off.

Edith. No, hew 'em ;

Hew off my innocent hands, as he commands you,
They'll hang the faster on for death's convulsion.
[Exit BALDWIN with the guard.
Thou seed of rocks, will nothing move thee then?
Are all my tears lost, all my righteous prayers
Drown'd in thy drunken wrath? I stand up thus,
Thus boldly, bloody tyrant !

And to thy face, in heav'n's high name, defy thee;
And may sweet mercy, when thy soul sighs for it,
When under thy black mischiefs thy flesh trembles,
When neither strength, nor youth, nor friends,
nor gold,

Can stay one hour; when thy most wretched conscience,

Waked from her dream of death, like fire shall melt thee;

When all thy mother's tears, thy brother's wounds, Thy people's fears and curses, and my loss,

My aged father's loss, shall stand before thee :

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Ferret. Here he is, pumping for it. Ginks. H' has cough'd the second time, 'tis but And then it comes. [once more,

Ferret. So out with all! Expect nowHig. That thou art chosen, venerable Clause, Our king, and sovereign monarch of the maunders, Thus we throw up our nab-cheats first for joy, And then our filches; last we clap our fambles_ Three subject signs-we do it without envy. For who is he here, did not wish thee chosen ? Now thou art chosen, ask them-all will say so

Nay, swear't 'tis for the King: but let that pass.
When last in conference at the bouzing kena,
This other day, we sat about our dead prince,
Of famous memory (rest go with his rags!)
And that I saw thee at the table's end,

Rise moved, and gravely leaning on one crutch,
Lift t'other, like a sceptre, at my head;

I then presaged thou shortly wouldst be king.
And now thou art so-but what need presage
To us, that might have read it in thy beard,
As well as he that chose thee? By that beard,
Thou wert found out and mark'd for sovereignty!
Oh, happy beard! but happier Prince, whose beard
Was so remark'd, as marking out our Prince,
Not bating us a hair. Long may it grow,
And thick and fair, that who lives under it
May live as safe as under beggars' bush,
Of which this is the thing, that but the type.
Omnes. Excellent, excellent orator! Forward,
good Higgen-

Give him leave to spit-the fine, well-spoken

Hig. This is the beard, the bush, or bushy beard, Under whose gold and silver reign 'twas said So many ages since, we all should smile. No impositions, taxes, grievances ! Knots in a state, and whips unto a subject, Lie lurking in this beard, but all kemb'db out. If, now, the beard be such, what is the Prince That owes the beard? A father? no-a grandfather? Nay, the great-grandfather of you his people. He will not force away your hens, your bacon, When you have ventured hard for't; nor take from The fattest of your puddings. Under him Each man shall eat his own stol'n eggs and butter, In his own shade or sunshine, and enjoy His own dear doll doxy, or mort at night In his own straw, with his own shirt or sheet, That he hath filch'd that day-ay, and possess What he can purchase-back or belly cheats To his own prop. He will have no purveyors For pigs and poultry.


Clause. That we must have, my learned orator, It is our will-and every man to keep In his own path and circuit.

Hig. Do you hear?


You must hereafter maund on your own pads, he Clause. And what they get there is their own; To give good words

Hig. Do you mark, to cut been whids, That is the second law.




SEE that huge battle moving from the mountains,
Their gilt coats shine like dragon scales, their march
Like a rough tumbling storm; see 'em, * * *
And then see Rome no more. Say they fail ; look,
Look where the armed carts stand, a new army!
a Alehouse.-b Combed.

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yield, lady;

You must adore and fear the power of Rome.

Bond. If Rome be earthly, why should any knee With bending adoration worship her? She's vicious, and your partial selves confess Aspires the height of all impiety. Therefore 'tis fitter I should reverence The thatched houses where the Britons dwell In careless mirth; where the bless'd household gods See nought but chaste and simple purity. 'Tis not high power that makes a place divine, Nor that the men from gods derive their line; But sacred thoughts, in holy bosoms stored, Make people noble, and the place adored. Suet. Beat the wall deeper. Bond. Beat it to the centre, We will not sink one thought.

Suet. I'll make ye.

Bond. No.

2nd Daughter. Oh, mother, these are fearful hours!-speak gently.

e The Roman who makes this speech is supposed to be reclining, overcome with fatigue, and going to snatch a momentary repose.

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