Actus Secundus. Scena Prima

Enter Philaster and Bellario.

 
Phi. And thou shalt find her honourable boy,
                Full of regard unto thy tender youth,
                For thine own modesty; and for my sake,
                Apter to give, than thou wilt be to ask, I, or deserve.
 
 
Bell. Sir, you did take me up when I was nothing;
                And only yet am something, by being yours;
                You trusted me unknown; and that which you are apt
                To conster a simple innocence in me,
                Perhaps, might have been craft; the cunning of a boy
                Hardened in lies and theft; yet ventur'd you,
                To part my miseries and me: for which,
                I never can expect to serve a Lady
                That bears more honour in her breast than you.
 
 
Phi. But boy, it will prefer thee; thou art young,
                And bearest a childish overflowing love
                To them that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee fair yet:
                But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions,
                Thou wilt remember best those careful friends
                That plac'd thee in the noblest way of life;
                She is a Princess I prefer thee to.
 
 
Bell. In that small time that I have seen the world,
                I never knew a man hasty to part
                With a servant he thought trusty; I remember
                My Father would prefer the boys he kept
                To greater men than he, but did it not,
                Till they were grown too sawcy for himself.
 
 
Phi. Why gentle boy, I find no fault at all in thy behaviour.
 
 
Bell. Sir, if I have made
                A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth;
                I shall be willing, if not apt to learn;
                Age and experience will adorn my mind
                With larger knowledge: And if I have done
                A wilful fault, think me not past all hope
                For once; what Master holds so strict a hand
                Over his boy, that he will part with him
                Without one warning? Let me be corrected
                To break my stubbornness if it be so,
                Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.
 
 
Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay,
                That (trust me) I could weep to part with thee.
                Alas! I do not turn thee off; thou knowest
                It is my business that doth call thee hence,
                And when thou art with her thou dwel'st with me:
                Think so, and 'tis so; and when time is full,
                That thou hast well discharged this heavy trust,
                Laid on so weak a one, I will again
                With joy receive thee; as I live, I will;
                Nay weep not, gentle boy; 'Tis more than time
                Thou didst attend the Princess.
 
 
Bell. I am gone;
                But since I am to part with you my Lord,
                And none knows whether I shall live to do
                More service for you; take this little prayer;
                Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs.
                May sick men, if they have your wish, be well;
                And Heavens hate those you curse, though I be one.
 

[Exit.

 
Phi. The love of boyes unto their Lords is strange,
                I have read wonders of it; yet this boy
                For my sake, (if a man may judge by looks,
                And speech) would out-do story. I may see
                A day to pay him for his loyalty.
 

[Exit Phi.

Enter Pharamond.

Pha. Why should these Ladies stay so long? They must come this way; I know the Queen imployes 'em not, for the Reverend Mother sent me word they would all be for the Garden. If they should all prove honest now, I were in a fair taking; I was never so long without sport in my life, and in my conscience 'tis not my fault: Oh, for our Country Ladies! Here's one boulted, I'le hound at her.

Enter Galatea.

 
Gal. Your Grace!
 
 
Pha. Shall I not be a trouble?
 
 
Gal. Not to me Sir.
Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick; by this sweet hand.
 

Gal. You'l be forsworn Sir, 'tis but an old glove. If you will talk at distance, I am for you: but good Prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag; these two I bar, and then I think, I shall have sence enough to answer all the weighty Apothegmes your Royal blood shall manage.

 
Pha. Dear Lady, can you love?
 

Gal. Dear, Prince, how dear! I ne're cost you a Coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a Banquet; here's no Scarlet Sir, to blush the sin out it was given for: This wyer mine own hair covers: and this face has been so far from being dear to any, that it ne're cost penny painting: And for the rest of my poor Wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand behind it, to make the jealous Mercers wife curse our good doings.

 
Pha. You mistake me Lady.
 
 
Gal. Lord, I do so; would you or I could help it.
 

Pha. Do Ladies of this Country use to give no more respect to men of my full being?

Gal. Full being! I understand you not, unless your Grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, Prince) is in a morning a Cup of neat White-wine brew'd with Carduus, then fast till supper, about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a Sparrow-hawk, you can shoot in a Tiller; but of all, your Grace must flie Phlebotomie, fresh Pork, Conger, and clarified Whay; They are all dullers of the vital spirits.

 
Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while.
 
 
Gal. 'Tis very true Sir, I talk of you.
 

Pha. This is a crafty wench, I like her wit well, 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite, she's a Danae, and must be courted in a showr of gold. Madam, look here, all these and more, than—

Gal. What have you there, my Lord? Gold? Now, as I live tis fair gold; you would have silver for it to play with the Pages; you could not have taken me in a worse time; But if you have present use my Lord, I'le send my man with silver and keep your gold for you.

 
Pha. Lady, Lady.
 

Gal. She's coming Sir behind, will take white mony. Yet for all this I'le match ye.

[Exit Gal. behind the hangings.

Pha. If there be two such more in this Kingdom, and near the Court, we may even hang up our Harps: ten such Camphire constitutions as this, would call the golden age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill fac't Husband to get his own Children, and what a mischief that will breed, let all consider.

[ Enter Megra.

 
                Here's another; if she be of the same last, the Devil
                shall pluck her on. Many fair mornings, Lady.
 
 
Meg. As many mornings bring as many dayes,
                Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your Grace.
 
 
Pha. She gives good words yet; Sure this wench is free.
                If your more serious business do not call you,
                Let me hold quarter with you, we'll take an hour
                Out quickly.
 
 
Meg. What would your Grace talk of?
 
 
Pha. Of some such pretty subject as your self.
                I'le go no further than your eye, or lip,
                There's theme enough for one man for an age.
 
 
Meg. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even,
                Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, red enough,
                Or my glass wrongs me.
 
 
Pha. O they are two twin'd Cherries died in blushes,
                Which those fair suns above, with their bright beams
                Reflect upon, and ripen: sweetest beauty,
                Bow down those branches, that the longing taste,
                Of the faint looker on, may meet those blessings,
                And taste and live.
 
 
Meg. O delicate sweet Prince;
                She that hath snow enough about her heart,
                To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off,
                May be a Nun without probation.
                Sir, you have in such neat poetry, gathered a kiss,
                That if I had but five lines of that number,
                Such pretty begging blanks, I should commend
                Your fore-head, or your cheeks, and kiss you too.
 
 
Pha. Do it in prose; you cannot miss it Madam.
 
 
Meg. I shall, I shall.
 
 
Pha. By my life you shall not.
                I'le prompt you first: Can you do it now?
 
 
Meg. Methinks 'tis easie, now I ha' don't before;
                But yet I should stick at it.
 
 
Pha. Stick till to morrow.
                I'le ne'r part you sweetest. But we lose time,
                Can you love me?
 

Meg. Love you my Lord? How would you have me love you?

Pha. I'le teach you in a short sentence, cause I will not load your memory, that is all; love me, and lie with me.

 
Meg. Was it lie with you that you said? 'Tis impossible.
 

Pha. Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour; if I do not teach you to do it as easily in one night, as you'l go to bed, I'le lose my Royal blood for't.

Meg. Why Prince, you have a Lady of your own, that yet wants teaching.

Pha. I'le sooner teach a Mare the old measures, than teach her any thing belonging to the function; she's afraid to lie with her self, if she have but any masculine imaginations about her; I know when we are married, I must ravish her.

Meg. By my honour, that's a foul fault indeed, but time and your good help will wear it out Sir.

Pha. And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest Lady, I had rather be Sir _Tim _the Schoolmaster, and leap a Dairy-maid.

 
Meg. Has your Grace seen the Court-star Galatea?
 

Pha. Out upon her; she's as cold of her favour as an apoplex: she sail'd by but now.

 
Meg. And how do you hold her wit Sir?
 

Pha. I hold her wit? The strength of all the Guard cannot hold it, if they were tied to it, she would blow 'em out of the Kingdom, they talk of Jupiter, he's but a squib cracker to her: Look well about you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. But speak sweet Lady, shall I be freely welcome?

 
Meg. Whither?
 

Pha. To your bed; if you mistrust my faith, you do me the unnoblest wrong.

 
Meg. I dare not Prince, I dare not.
 

Pha. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal 'em, and what you dare imagine you can want, I'le furnish you withal: give two hours to your thoughts every morning about it. Come, I know you are bashful, speak in my ear, will you be mine? keep this, and with it me: soon I will visit you.

Meg. My Lord, my Chamber's most unsafe, but when 'tis night I'le find some means to slip into your lodging: till when—

 
Pha. Till when, this, and my heart go with thee.
 

[Ex. several ways.

_Enter _Galatea from behind the hangings.

Gal. Oh thou pernicious Petticoat Prince, are these your vertues? Well, if I do not lay a train to blow your sport up, I am no woman; and Lady Towsabel I'le fit you for't.

[Exit Gal.

_Enter _Arethusa and a Lady.

 
Are. Where's the boy?
 
 
La. Within Madam.
 
 
Are. Gave you him gold to buy him cloaths?
 
 
La. I did.
 
 
Are. And has he don't?
 
 
La. Yes Madam.
 

Are