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
Phlébotomie, 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. ’Tis a pretty sad talking lad, is it not?
Askt you his name?

La. No Madam.

[ Enter Galatea.

Are. O you are welcome, what good news?

Gal. As good as any one can tell your Grace,
That saies she hath done that you would have wish’d.

Are. Hast thou discovered?

Gal. I have strained a point of modesty for you.

Are. I prethee how?

Gal. In listning after bawdery; I see, let a Lady live
never so modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful
time, to harken after bawdery; your Prince, brave
Pharamond, was so hot on’t.

Are. With whom?

Gal. Why, with the Lady I suspect: I can tell the time and place.

Are. O when, and where?

Gal. To night, his Lodging.

Are. Run thy self into the presence, mingle there again
With other Ladies, leave the rest to me:
If destiny (to whom we dare not say,
Why thou didst this) have not decreed it so
In lasting leaves (whose smallest Characters
Were never altered:) yet, this match shall break.
Where’s the boy?

La. Here Madam.

[ Enter Bellario.

Are. Sir, you are sad to change your service, is’t not so?

Bell. Madam, I have not chang’d; I wait on you,
To do him service.

Are. Thou disclaim’st in me;
Tell me thy name.

Bell. Bellario.

Are. Thou canst sing, and play?

Bell. If grief will give me leave, Madam, I can.

Are. Alas! what kind of grief can thy years know?
Hadst thou a curst master, when thou went’st to School?
Thou art not capable of other grief;
Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be,
When no reath troubles them: believe me boy,
Care seeks out wrinkled brows, and hollow eyes,
And builds himself caves to abide in them.
Come Sir, tell me truly, does your Lord love me?

Bell. Love Madam? I know not what it is.

Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew’st love?
Thou art deceiv’d boy; does he speak of me
As if he wish’d me well?

Bell. If it be love,
To forget all respect of his own friends,
In thinking of your face; if it be love
To sit cross arm’d and sigh away the day,
Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud
And hastily, as men i’the streets do fire:
If it be love to weep himself away,
When he but hears of any Lady dead,
Or kill’d, because it might have been your chance;
If when he goes to rest (which will not be)
’Twixt every prayer he saies, to name you once
As others drop a bead, be to be in love;
Then Madam, I dare swear he loves you.

Are. O y’are a cunning boy, and taught to lie,
For your Lords credit; but thou knowest, a lie,
That bears this sound, is welcomer to me,
Than any truth that saies he loves me not.
Lead the way Boy: Do you attend me too;
’Tis thy Lords business hasts me thus; Away.

[Exeunt.

Enter Dion, Cleremont, Thrasilin, Megra and Galatea.

Di. Come Ladies, shall we talk a round? As men
Do walk a mile, women should take an hour
After supper: ’Tis their exercise.

Gal. Tis late.

Meg. ’Tis all
My eyes will do to lead me to my bed.

Gal. I fear they are so heavy, you’l scarce find
The way to your lodging with ’em to night.

[ Enter Pharamond.

Thra. The Prince.

Pha. Not a bed Ladies? y’are good sitters up;
What think you of a pleasant dream to last
Till morning?

Meg. I should choose, my Lord, a pleasing wake before it.

[Enter Arethusa and Bellario.

Are. ’Tis well my Lord y’are courting of Ladies.
Is’t not late Gentlemen?

Clé. Yes Madam.

Are. Wait you there.
[Exit Arethusa.

Meg. She’s jealous, as I live; look you my Lord,
The Princess has a Hilas, an Adonis.

Pha. His form is Angel-like.

Meg. Why this is he, must, when you are wed,
Sit by your pillow, like young Apollo, with
His hand and voice, binding your thoughts in sleep;
The Princess does provide him for you, and for her self.

Pha. I find no musick in these boys.

Meg. Nor I.
They can do little, and that small they do,
They have not wit to hide.

Di. Serves he the Princess?

Thra. Yes.

Di. ’Tis a sweet boy, how brave she keeps him!

Pha. Ladies all good rest; I mean to kill a Buck
To morrow morning, ere y’ave done your dreams.

Meg. All happiness attend your Grace, Gentlemen good rest,
Come shall we to bed?

Gal. Yes, all good night.

[Ex. Gal. and Meg.

Di. May your dreams be true to you;
What shall we do Gallants? ’Tis late, the King
Is up still, see, he comes, a Guard along
With him.

[Enter King, Arethusa and Guard.

King. Look your intelligence be true.

Are. Upon my life it is: and I do hope,
Your Highness will not tye me to a man,
That in the heat of wooing throws me off,
And takes another.

Di. What should this mean?

King. If it be true,
That Lady had been better have embrac’d
Cureless Diseases; get you to your rest,

[Ex. Are. and Bel.

You shall be righted: Gentlemen draw near,
We shall imploy you: Is young Pharamond
Come to his lodging?

Di. I saw him enter there.

King. Haste some of you, and cunningly discover,
If Megra be in her lodging.

Clé. Sir,
She parted hence but now with other Ladies.

King. If she be there, we shall not need to make
A vain discovery of our suspicion.
You gods I see, that who unrighteously
Holds wealth or state from others, shall be curst,
In that, which meaner men are blest withall:
Ages to come shall know no male of him
Left to inherit, and his name shall be
Blotted from earth; If he have any child,
It shall be crossly matched: the gods themselves
Shall sow wild strife betwixt her Lord and her,
Yet, if it be your wills, forgive the sin
I have committed, let it not fall
Upon this understanding child of mine,
She has not broke your Laws; but how can I,
Look to be heard of gods, that must be just,
Praying upon the ground I hold by wrong?

[ Enter Dion.

Di. Sir, I have asked, and her women swear she is within,
but they I think are bawds; I told ’em I must speak
with her: they laught, and said their Lady lay speechless.
I said, my business was important; they said their Lady
was about it: I grew hot, and cryed my business was a
matter that concern’d life and death; they answered, so
was sleeping, at which their Lady was; I urg’d again, she
had scarce time to be so since last I saw her; they smil’d
again, and seem’d to instruct me, that sleeping was
nothing but lying down and winking: Answers more direct
I could not get: in short Sir, I think she is not there.

King. ‘Tis then no time to dally: you o’th’ Guard,
Wait at the back door of the Princes lodging,
And see that none pass thence upon your lives.
Knock Gentlemen: knock loud: louder yet:
What, has their pleasure taken off their hearing?
I’le break your meditations: knock again:
Not yet? I do not think he sleeps, having this
Larum by him; once more, Pharamond, Prince.

[Pharamond above.

Pha. What sawcy groom knocks at this dead of night?
Where be our waiters? By my vexed soul,
He meets his death, that meets me, for this boldness.

K. Prince, you wrong your thoughts, we are your friends,
Come down.

Pha. The King?

King. The same Sir, come down,
We have cause of present Counsel with you.

Pha. If your Grace please to use me, I’le attend you
To your Chamber.
[Pha. below.

King. No, ’tis too late Prince, I’le make bold with yours.

Pha. I have some private reasons to my self,
Makes me unmannerly, and say you cannot;
Nay, press not forward Gentlemen, he must come
Through my life, that comes here.

King. Sir be resolv’d, I must and will come. Enter.

Pha. I will not be dishonour’d;
He that enters, enters upon his death;
Sir, ’tis a sign you make no stranger of me,
To bring these Renegados to my Chamber,
At these unseason’d hours.

King. Why do you
Chafe your self so? you are not wrong’d, nor shall be;
Onely I’le search your lodging, for some cause
To our self known: Enter I say.

Pha. I say no.
[Meg. Above.

Meg. Let ’em enter Prince,
Let ’em enter, I am up, and ready; I know their business,
’Tis the poor breaking of a Ladies honour,
They hunt so hotly after; let ’em enjoy it.
You have your business Gentlemen, I lay here.
O my Lord the King, this is not noble in you
To make publick the weakness of a Woman.

King. Come down.

Meg. I dare my Lord; your whootings and your clamors,
Your private whispers, and your broad fleerings,
Can no more vex my soul, than this base carriage;
But I have vengeance yet in store for some,
Shall in the most contempt you can have of me,
Be joy and nourishment.

King. Will you come down?

Meg. Yes, to laugh at your worst: but I shall wrong you,
If my skill fail me not.

King. Sir, I must dearly chide you for this looseness,
You have wrong’d a worthy Lady; but no more,
Conduct him to my lodging, and to bed.

Clé. Get him another wench, and you bring him to bed in deed.

Di. ’Tis strange a man cannot ride a Stagg
Or two, to breath himself, without a warrant:
If this geer hold, that lodgings be search’d thus,
Pray heaven we may lie with our own wives in safety,
That they be not by some trick of State mistaken.

[ Enter with Megra.

King. Now Lady of honour, where’s your honour now?
No man can fit your palat, but the Prince.
Thou most ill shrowded rottenness; thou piece
Made by a Painter and a Pothecary;
Thou troubled sea of lust; thou wilderness,
Inhabited by wild thoughts; thou swoln cloud
Of Infection; them ripe Mine of all Diseases;
Thou all Sin, all Hell, and last, all Devils, tell me,
Had you none to pull on with your courtesies,
But he that must be mine, and wrong my Daughter?
By all the gods, all these, and all the Pages,
And all the Court shall hoot thee through the Court,
Fling rotten Oranges, make ribald Rimes,
And sear thy name with Candles upon walls:
Do you laugh Lady Venus?

Meg. Faith Sir, you must pardon me;
I cannot chuse but laugh to see you merry.
If you do this, O King; nay, if you dare do it;
By all these gods you swore by, and as many
More of my own; I will have fellows, and such
Fellows in it, as shall make noble mirth;
The Princess, your dear Daughter, shall stand by me
On walls, and sung in ballads, any thing:
Urge me no more, I know her, and her haunts,
Her layes, leaps, and outlayes, and will discover all;
Nay will dishonour her. I know the boy
She keeps, a handsome boy; about eighteen:
Know what she does with him, where, and when.
Come Sir, you put me to a womans madness,
The glory of a fury; and if I do not
Do it to the height?

King. What boy is this she raves at?

Meg. Alas! good minded Prince, you know not these things?
I am loth to reveal ’em. Keep this fault
As you would keep your health from the hot air
Of the corrupted people, or by heaven,
I will not fall alone: what I have known,
Shall be as publick as a print: all tongues
Shall speak it as they do the language they
Are born in, as free and commonly; I’le set it
Like a prodigious star for all to gaze at,
And so high and glowing, that other Kingdoms far
and Forreign
Shall read it there, nay travel with it, till they find
No tongue to make it more, nor no more people;
And then behold the fall of your fair Princess.

King. Has she a boy?

Clé. So please your Grace I have seen a boy wait
On her, a fair boy.

King. Go get you to your quarter:
For this time I’le study to forget you.

Meg. Do you study to forget me, and I’le study
To forget you.

[Ex. King, Meg. and Guard.

Clé. Why here’s a Male spirit for Hercules, if ever there
be nine worthies of women, this wench shall ride
astride, and be their Captain.

Di. Sure she hath a garrison of Devils in her tongue, she
uttereth such balls of wild-fire. She has so netled the
King, that all the Doctors in the Country will scarce
cure him. That boy was a strange found out antidote to
cure her infection: that boy, that Princess boy: that brave,
chast, vertuous Ladies boy: and a fair boy, a well spoken
boy: All these considered, can make nothing else ­but
there I leave you Gentlemen.

Thra. Nay we’l go wander with you.

[Exeunt.