Thi. Well, I will die,

In spite of all your potions! One of you sleep; Lie down and sleep here, that I may behold What blessed rest it is my eyes are robb'd of! See, he can sleep, sleep any where, sleep now, When he that wakes for him can never slumber! Is't not a dainty case?

2 Doctor. Your grace shall feel it.

Thi. Oh, never, never I ! The eyes of Heaven See but their certain motions, and then sleep; The rages of the ocean have their slumbers, And quiet silver calms; each violence Crowns in his end a peace; but my fix'd fires Shall never, never set!-Who's that?

The touch of nature in you, tenderness! 'Tis all the soul of woman, all the sweetness: Forget not, I beseech you, what are children, Nor how you have groan'd for them; to what love

They are born inheritors, with what care kept; And, as they rise to ripeness, still remember How they imp out your age! and when time calls you,

That as an autumn flower you fall, forget not How round about your hearse they hang, like penons!

Brun. Holy fool,

Mart. No, woman,

Soldiers.

With my sword's point.

Brun. I wish no more of Heaven,
Nor hope no more, but a sufficient anger
To torture thee!

Mart. See, she that makes you see, sir!
And to your misery, still see your mother,
The mother of your woes, sir, of your waking,
The mother of your peoples' cries and curses,
Your murdering mother, your malicious mother!
Thi. Physicians, half my state to sleep an hour
now!

Is it so, mother?

Brun. Yes, it is so, son;

And, were it yet again to do, it should be.
Mart. She nods again; swinge her!
Thi. But, mother,

(For yet I love that reverence, and to death
Dare not forget you have been so) was this,
This endless misery, this cureless malice,
This snatching from me all my youth together,
All that you made me for, and happy mothers
Crown'd with eternal time are proud to finish,
Done by your will?

Brun. It was, and by that will—————

Thi. Oh, mother, do not lose your name! forget not

Or what I ought to be; but what I am,
A woman in her liberal will defeated,

In all her greatness cross'd, in pleasure blasted!
My angers have been laugh'd at, my ends slighted,
And all those glories that had crown'd my for-

tunes,

Suffer'd by blasted virtue to be scatter'd :
I am the fruitful mother of these angers,
And what such have done, read, and know thy
ruin!

Thi. Heav'n forgive you!

Mart. She tells you true; for millions of her
mischiefs

Are now apparent: Protaldye we have taken,
An equal agent with her, to whose care,
After the damn'd defeat on you, she trusted
Enter Messenger.

The bringing-in of Leonor the bastard,
Son to your murder'd brother: Her physician
By this time is attach'd to that damn'd devil.

Mess. 'Tis like he will be so; for ere we came,
Fearing an equal justice for his mischiefs,
He drench'd himself.

Brun. He did like one of mine then!

Thi. Must I still see these miseries? no night To hide me from their horrors? That Protaldye See justice fall upon!

Brun. Now I could sleep too.

Mart. I'll give you yet more poppy: Bring the lady,

Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE. Cle. Here's nor lords nor ladies!

Dion. Credit me, gentlemen, I wonder at it. They received strict charge from the king to attend here. Besides, it was boldly published, that no officer should forbid any gentlemen, that desire to attend and hear.

Cle. Can you guess the cause?

Dion. Sir, it is plain, about the Spanish prince, that's come to marry our kingdom's heir, and be our sovereign.

Thra. Many, that will seem to know much, say, she looks not on him like a maid in love,

Dion. Oh, sir, the multitude (that seldom know any thing but their own opinions) speak that, they would have; but the prince, before his own approach, received so many confident messages from the state, that I think she's resolved to be ruled.

Cle. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both these kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria.

Dion. Sir, it is, without controversy, so meant. But 'twill be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these kingdoms with safety, the right heir to one of them living, and living so virtuously; especially, the people admiring the bravery of his mind, and lamenting his injuries. Cle. Who? Philaster?

Dion, Yes; whose father, we all know, was by our late king of Calabria unrighteously deposed from his fruitful Sicily. Myself drew some blood in those wars, which I would give my hand to be washed from.

Cle. Sir, my ignorance in state policy will not let me know, why, Philaster being heir to one of these kingdoms, the king should suffer him to walk abroad with such free liberty.

Dion. Sir, it seems your nature is more constant than to enquire after state news. But the king, of late, made a hazard of both the kingdoms, of Sicily and his own, with offering but to imprison Philaster. At which the city was in arms, not to be charmed down by any state order or

proclamation, till they saw Philaster ride through the streets pleased, and without a guard; at which they threw their hats, and their arms from them; some to make bonfires, some to drink, all for his deliverance. Which, wise men say, is the cause, the king labours to bring in the power of a foreign nation, to awe his own with.

Enter GALATEA, MEGRA, and a Lady. Thra. See, the ladies. What's the first? Dion. A wise and modest gentlewoman that attends the princess.

Cle. The second?

Dion. She is one that may stand still discreetly enough, and ill-favour'dly dance her measure; simper when she is courted by her friend, and slight her husband.

Cle. The last?

Dion. Marry, I think she is one whom the state keeps for the agents of our confederate princes. She'll cog and lye with a whole army, before the league shall break: Her name is common through the kingdom, and the trophies of her dishonour advanced beyond Hercules' pillars. She loves to try the several constitutions of men's bodies; and indeed, has destroyed the worth of her own body, by making experiments upon it, for the good of the commonwealth.

Cle. She is a profitable member.

La. Peace, if you love me! You shall see these gentlemen stand their ground, and not court us. Gal. What if they should?

Meg. What if they should?

La. Nay, let her alone. What if they should? Why, if they should, I say they were never abroad.

What foreigner would do so? it writes them
Directly untravelled.

Gal. Why, what if they be?

Meg. What if they be?

La. Good madam, let her go on.

What if

they be? Why if they be, I will justify, they cannot maintain discourse with a judicious lady, nor make a leg, nor say excuse me.

Gal. Ha, ha, ha!

To plant you deeply, our immediate heir,
Both to our blood and kingdoms. For this lady
(The best part of your life, as you confirm me,
And I believe) though her few years and sex
Yet teach her nothing but her fears and blushes,
Desires without desire, discourse and knowledge
Only of what herself is to herself,
Make her feel moderate health; and when she
sleeps,

In making no ill day, knows no ill dreams.
Think not, dear sir, these undivided parts,
That must mould up a virgin, are put on
To shew her so, as borrowed ornaments,
To speak her perfect love to you, or add
An artificial shadow to her nature:
No, sir; I boldly dare proclaim her, yet
No woman. But woo her still, and think her
modesty

A sweeter mistress than the offered language
Of any dame, were she a queen, whose eye
Speaks common loves and comforts to her ser-

vants.

Last, noble son (for so I now must call you),
What I have done this public, is not only
To add a comfort in particular
To you or me, but all; and to confirm
The nobles, and the gentry of these kingdoms,
By oath to your succession, which shall be
Within this month at most.

Thra. This will be hardly done.
Cle. It must be ill done, if it be done.
Dion. When 'tis at best, 'twill be but
half done, whilst

So brave a gentleman's wronged, and
flung off.

Thra. I fear.

Cle. Who does not?

Dion. I fear not for myself, and yet I

fear too.

Well, we shall see, we shall see. No more.

>Aside.

Pha. Kissing your white hand, mistress, I take
leave

To thank your royal father; and thus far
To be my own free trumpet. Understand,
Great king, and these your subjects, mine that
must be,

(For so deserving you have spoke me, sir,
And so deserving I dare speak myself)
To what a person, of what eminence,
Ripe expectation, of what faculties,
Manners and virtues, you would wed your king-
doms:

You in me have your wishes. Oh, this country!
By more than all my hopes I hold it happy;
Happy, in their dear memories, that have been
Kings great and good; happy in yours, that is;
And from you (as a chronicle to keep
Your noble name from eating age) do I
Open myself most happy. Gentlemen,
Believe me in a word, a prince's word,
There shall be nothing to make up a kingdom
Mighty and flourishing, defenced, feared,
Equal to be commanded and obeyed,
But through the travels of my life I'll find it,
And tie it to this country. And I vow

Dion. I wonder what's his price? For certainly He'll sell himself, he has so praised his shape.-But here comes one, more worthy those large speeches,

Than the large speaker of them.

Let me be swallowed quick, if I can find,
In all the anatomy of yon man's virtues,
One sinew sound enough to promise for him,
He shall be constable.

By this sun, he'll never make king
Unless it be for trifles, in my poor judgment.
Phi. Right noble sir, as low as my obedience,
And with a heart as loyal as my knee,
I beg your favour.

king. Rise; you have it, sir.

Dion. Mark but the king, how pale he looks with fear!

Oh! this same whorson conscience, how it jades us!

King. Speak your intents, sir.

Phi. Shall I speak them freely?

Be still my royal sovereign.-
King. As a subject,

We give you freedom.
Dion. Now it heats.

Phi. Then thus I turn

My language to you, prince; you, foreign man!
Ne'er stare, nor put on wonder, for you must
Endure me, and you shall. This earth you tread
upon

(A dowry, as you hope, with this fair princess)
By my dead father (oh, I had a father,
Whose memory I bow to!) was not left
To your inheritance, and I up and living;
Having myself about me, and my sword,
The souls of all my name, and memories,
These arms, and some few friends, besides the
gods;

To part so calmly with it, and sit still,

And say, I might have been.' I tell thee, Pha

ramond,

When thou art king, look I be dead and rotten, And my name ashes: For, hear me, Pharamond! This very ground, thou goest on, this fat earth, My father's friends made fertile with their faiths, Before that day of shame, shall gape and swallow Thee and thy nation, like a hungry grave,

Into her hidden bowels. Prince, it shall; By Nemesis, it shall!

Pha. He's mad; beyond cure, mad.

Dion. Here is a fellow has some fire in his veins : The outlandish prince looks like a tooth-drawer. Phi. Sir prince of poppingjays, I'll make it well appear

To you, I am not mad.
King. You displease us :
You are too bold.

Phi. No, sir, I am too tame,

Too much a turtle, a thing born without passion,
A faint shadow, that every drunken cloud sails
over,
And makes nothing.

King. I do not fancy this.

Call our physicians: Sure he is somewhat tainted. Thra. I do not think 'twill prove so.

Dion. He has given him a general purge already, for all the right he has; and now he means to let him blood. Be constant, gentlemen: By these hilts, I'll run his hazard, although I run my name out of the kingdom.

Cle. Peace, we are all one soul.

Pha. What you have seen in me, to stir offence, I cannot find; unless it be this lady, Offered into mine arms, with the succession: Which I must keep, though it hath pleased your

fury

To mutiny within you; without disputing
Your genealogies, or taking knowledge

Whose branch you are. The king will leave it

me;

And I dare make it mine. You have your answer.
Phi. If thou wert sole inheritor to him,
That made the world his, and couldst see no sun
Shine upon any thing but thine; were Pharamond
As truly valiant as I feel him cold,

And ringed among the choicest of his friends
(Such as would blush to talk such serious follies,
Or back such bellied commendations,)
And from this presence, spite of all these bugs,
You should hear further from me.

King. Sir, you wrong the prince:

I gave you not this freedom to brave our best friends.

You deserve our frown. Go to; be better tempered.

Phi. It must be, sir, when I am nobler used.
Gal. Ladies,

This would have been a pattern of succession,
Had he ne'er met this mischief. By my life,
He is the worthiest the true name of man
This day within my knowledge.

Meg. I cannot tell what you may call your
knowledge;

But th' other is the man set in my eye.
Oh, 'tis a prince of wax!
Gal. A dog it is.

King. Philaster, tell me

The injuries you aim at, in your riddles.

Phi. If you had my eyes, sir, and sufferance, My griefs upon you, and my broken fortunes, My wants great, and now nought but hopes and

fears,