Philaster Part 9

_Phi_. 'Tis false, O Heaven 'tis false: it cannot be, Can it? Speak Gentlemen, for love of truth speak; Is't possible? can women all be d.a.m.n'd?

_Di_. Why no, my Lord.

_Phi_. Why then it cannot be.

_Di_. And she was taken with her boy.

_Phi_. What boy?

_Di_. A Page, a boy that serves her.

_Phi_. Oh good G.o.ds, a little boy?

_Di_. I, know you him my Lord?

_Phi_. h.e.l.l and sin know him? Sir, you are deceiv'd; I'le reason it a little coldly with you; If she were l.u.s.tful, would she take a boy, That knows not yet desire? she would have one Should meet her thoughts and knows the sin he acts, Which is the great delight of wickedness; You are abus'd, and so is she, and I.

_Di_. How you my Lord?

_Phi_. Why all the world's abus'd In an unjust report.

_Di_. Oh n.o.ble Sir your vertues Cannot look into the subtil thoughts of woman.

In short my Lord, I took them: I my self.

_Phi_. Now all the Devils thou didst flie from my rage, Would thou hadst ta'ne devils ingendring plagues: When thou didst take them, hide thee from my eyes, Would thou hadst taken Thunder on thy breast, When thou didst take them, or been strucken dumb For ever: that this foul deed might have slept in silence.

_Thra_. Have you known him so ill temper'd?

_Cle_. Never before.

_Phi_. The winds that are let loose, From the four several corners of the earth, And spread themselves all over sea and land, Kiss not a chaste one. What friend bears a sword To run me through?

_Di_. Why, my Lord, are you so mov'd at this?

_Phi_. When any falls from vertue I am distract, I have an interest in't.

_Di_. But good my Lord recal your self, And think what's best to be done.

_Phi_. I thank you. I will do it; Please you to leave me, I'le consider of it: Tomorrow I will find your lodging forth, And give you answer The readiest way.

_Di_. All the G.o.ds direct you.

_Thra_. He was extream impatient.

_Cle_. It was his vertue and his n.o.ble mind.

[_Exeunt_ Di. Cle. _and_ Thra.

_Phi_. I had forgot to ask him where he took them, I'le follow him. O that I had a sea Within my breast, to quench the fire I feel; More circ.u.mstances will but fan this fire; It more afflicts me now, to know by whom This deed is done, than simply that 'tis done: And he that tells me this is honourable, As far from lies, as she is far from truth.

O that like beasts, we could not grieve our selves, With that we see not; Bulls and Rams will fight, To keep their Females standing in their sight; But take 'em from them, and you take at once Their spleens away; and they will fall again Unto their Pastures, growing fresh and fat, And taste the waters of the springs as sweet, As 'twas before, finding no start in sleep.

But miserable man; See, see you G.o.ds,

[_Enter_ Bellario.

He walks still; and the face you let him wear When he was innocent, is still the same, Not blasted; is this justice? Do you mean To intrap mortality, that you allow Treason so smooth a brow? I cannot now Think he is guilty.

_Bell_. Health to you my Lord; The Princess doth commend her love, her life, And this unto you.

_Phi_. Oh _Bellario_, Now I perceive she loves me, she does shew it In loving thee my boy, she has made thee brave.

_Bell_. My Lord she has attired me past my wish, Past my desert, more fit for her attendant, Though far unfit for me, who do attend.

_Phi_. Thou art grown courtly boy. O let all women That love black deeds, learn to dissemble here, Here, by this paper she does write to me, As if her heart were Mines of Adamant To all the world besides, but unto me, A maiden snow that melted with my looks.

Tell me my boy how doth the Princess use thee?

For I shall guess her love to me by that.

_Bell_. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were Something allied to her; or had preserv'd Her life three times by my fidelity.

As mothers fond do use their only sons; As I'de use one, that's left unto my trust, For whom my life should pay, if he met harm, So she does use me.

_Phi_. Why, this is wondrous well: But what kind language does she feed thee with?

_Bell_. Why, she does tell me, she will trust my youth With all her loving secrets; and does call me Her pretty servant, bids me weep no more For leaving you: shee'l see my services Regarded; and such words of that soft strain, That I am nearer weeping when she ends Than ere she spake.

_Phi_. This is much better still.

_Bell_. Are you ill my Lord?

_Phi_. Ill? No _Bellario_.

_Bell_. Me thinks your words Fall not from off your tongue so evenly, Nor is there in your looks that quietness, That I was wont to see.

_Phi_. Thou art deceiv'd boy: And she stroakes thy head?

_Bell_. Yes.

_Phi_. And she does clap thy cheeks?

_Bell_. She does my Lord.

_Phi_. And she does kiss thee boy? ha!

_Bell_. How my Lord?

_Phi_. She kisses thee?

_Bell_. Not so my Lord.

_Phi_. Come, come, I know she does.