Chapter XXXI: Act III: , Scene 1

_Enter_ HERMIONE, IRENE; PINDARUS _following_.

PIN. Tell my Lord Lysicles
I will attend him in the walks. Where's this
Ungrateful child whom the just gods have curs'd
So much, they will not let her take the blessings they
Do offer?

HER. Here, sir, on
Her knees, begging your pardon or your pity.

PIN. Canst thou hope either from my injur'd patience,
Vex'd by thy folly into rage and madness?
What colour now to cover disobedience?
Is Lysicles unworthy? or your knowledge,
Does it pierce farther than the eyes of all
Into Eugenie's virtues? I tremble,
When I think thou may'st have cause
To know him to thy shame. Do not confess it!
By the just gods, if I do come to know it,
I'll sacrifice thee on thy mother's tomb.

HER. What secret sin calls down this punishment?
That I should be accused of a fault
I dare not hear the sound of. Add not, sir,
Suspicions of new crimes unto your rage;
The faults I have committed are enough to arm
Your justice. Bring me to the tomb,
And kill me there; my mother's ghost will smile
To see my blood shed to preserve my faith.

PIN. Your faith!

HER. Yes, sir.
Nor is my disobedience so swoll'n
As you esteem it by your passion:
I now obey your general commands,
Of doing virtuously in loving him
You did applaud whilst my poor brother liv'd.

PIN. But you are not the same; 'twas never meant
He should enjoy you if your brother died.

HER. I was not made acquainted with so much;
But, strengthen'd by your approbation,
Gave up my will to his, and vows to heaven,
To know no other man for husband.

PIN. Nor I no child, if you continue thus:
Nor will I argue more to make you doubt,
I am not resolute in my intents:
Alive or dead, I'll give thee to the hands
Of Lysicles. [_Exit_ PINDARUS.

HER. Good gods' if you are mov'd with tears,
Grant this a trial only of the weak proportion
Of virtue you have lent me, not the overthrow.

IRE. How is it, dearest cousin?

HER. As with a martyr, almost as much pleased with
Knowledge [of] what I dare to suffer for Eugenio,
As griev'd with my affliction. Fortune in her
Malice has given me yet a field to exercise
My faith and love to him I do adore.

IRE. Whilst you believe you have such cause to grieve,
All comforts seem importunate; but yet Prince Lysicles----

HER. But what! Forbear; I fear thy thoughts
Are poison, which thou wouldest fain infuse
To wound my constancy.

IRE. Sure, there is magic in that mystic name;
It could not else divide us from our reason:
What law, what faith, can bind us to remove
Love of ourselves and reverence to our parents?
You must forgive this; your Eugenio,
If he were here, must speak as I do now,
Granting his love be great as his profession,
For that must have reflection on your peace,
Not bargaining for his own happiness
With the price of the entire destruction
Of yours. What is't you fear? Report?
It will reproach your being obstinate.
Or breach of faith d'you fear?
The gods for you have made it not a fault,
Proposing such an object as Prince Lysicles.

HER. Who ever had a misery like mine?
All that are griev'd have yet the liberty
And ease of their complaints, or pitying friends;
I am excluded both; for my misfortune
Is mask'd with happiness, and if I grieve,
Such comforts as we give to those complain
Of being too rich, have I--smiles of contempt.

IRE. If it be thus, retire into your reason,
And for a time forget your passion.
D'you think that all the names of virtue shrink
Into the sound of constancy? Must this
Make you forget the debt that you do owe
Unto your father, friends, and to yourself;
Their house's honour and your happiness?
Is Lysicles less worthy than his rival?

HER. No more: their virtues, that exceed all other men's,
In them are equal.

IRE. But yet their fortune is not?

HER. It is confess'd. Nor ever any man
Had juster claim than he against her;
Rich in all virtues, that make men desir'd,
Her narrow hand excludes him, unwonted to bestow
Her treasure there, where an excess of merit
Would make her gifts but seem the pay of virtue,
Not favours of her partial love.

_Enter_ ACANTHE _the Moor_.

O, you are welcome! Here behold a rock,
That stands the shake of the impetuous winds
And the swoll'n seas.

MOOR. Have there been any new storms since I went?

HER. O yes; and more endangering songs of Sirens!
A flourishing land propos'd, on which I might
Have shipwreck'd with delight.

MOOR. I think I understand you.

HER. You must needs:
It was Prince Lysicles, presented in his lustre,
'Gainst whom I arm'd the virtues of my friend
And my own faith, irresolute to whom
The victory should yield. At last I left
My heart, the prize to both divided.

MOOR. To both divided!

HER. Yes, the prince hath the adoration of my heart,
Eugenio the love.

MOOR. What fires, what seas, must your Eugenio pass,
To make him worthy you? Methinks I feel
His soul sigh for a trial of his faith.

HER. We both have had satiety of that:
But can you bring no comfort? Have the gods
Shut up their oracles as well as mercy?
Though they will give no ease, they might advise,
That we may put off misery by death.

MOOR. They seldom let us know what is to come,
That we may still implore their aid to help us:
Yet something I can tell; if hope or force
Shall make you deviate from your resolve,
You are the subject of their hate: or if
You measure your or their affection
By merit or advantages of fortune,
You are the mark of all disasters.

HER. I have complained unjustly of the gods:
They favour me so much, they do applaud
My resolution for Eugenio.
Merit in others! I will close my eyes
From the bless'd sun, before they shall take in
An object that may startle my firm faith.

MOOR. Be constant, and be happy; when you meet
With opposition that may shake your judgment,
Remember what affliction 'tis to weep
A fault irreparable; and think not
Reason can pacify your father's rage;
You must oppose your passion unto his,
And love will be victorious, being the noblest.
To-morrow I will bring more certain counsel. [_Exit._

HER. Where cannot virtue dwell? What a still shade
Hath she found out to live securely in,
From the attempts of men? Come, my Irene,
Though thou hast spoken treason 'gainst my love,
Because[360] thine did produce it, I must thank thee.
Let's in, and fortify ourselves with some sad tale
Of those whose perjur'd loves have made them live
Hated, and die most miserable. [_Exit_ HERMIONE.

_Enter_ PHILLIDA.

PHIL. If I should weep, as my lady does, for all the servants I
have lost!

IRE. Thou wouldst weep in thy grave, Phillida; yet the worst
is, thou wilt lose more within this seven years than thou hast
got in ten; for men are changeable, sweet Phillida.

PHIL. And our faces were not, 'twere no matter. They should
make haste, or we should overtake them, or prevent them. A
commodity of beauty, that would last forty years, would bear a
good price, madam.

IRE. By Venus, would it, Phillida! as high as that of honour.

PHIL. But is not my lady a strange woman to weep thus for one
servant, when she has another in his place? For my part, I
could never find such differences in men--to be sad when I had
any.

IRE. And thy word may be taken as soon as any wench's in
Greece, or there be slanderers in the world. But she affects
constancy.

PHIL. Some ill-favoured woman, that meant to preserve her last
purchase, which her want of beauty forfeited, invented that
name.

IRE. Thou'rt in the right, Phillida; this inconstancy is a
monster without teeth, for it devours none, makes no son wear
happy mourning, nor mother childless: and, for my part, I am
of opinion that the gods give a blessing to it; for none live
happier than those that have greatest abundance of it.

PHIL. What is got by this whining constancy, but the loss of
that beauty for one servant, which would procure us the vows,
[the] sacrifice, and service of a thousand?

IRE. Enough of this; wert thou with Ergasto?

PHIL. Yes, and told him that my lady sent for him: but to what
intent did you make me lie?

IRE. Thou art so good-natured, that thou wilt pardon such a
trifle for one reason; but I have two: the first is, I would
fain speak with him; the other, knowing my cousin to be in an
ill humour, if he press to see her, I hope she will give him
such an answer, that he shall never dare to speak to her more.

PHIL. These men have less reason than mice: they would know
else how to shift places, and shelter themselves from a storm.
If I were a man, and lost the happiness of seeing my mistress
two days, I should lose the desire the third. [_Aside._] Do you
sigh, madam? You are in love too.

IRE. As far as goes to sighing, but no dying, for their
breeches.

PHIL. I'll be your compurgator for the handle of a fan; I know
love has brought many into the world, but let out none. Has he
pierced you, ha?

IRE. O no, my skin was always proof against his dart; but he
once found me laughing, and so thrust it down to my heart.

PHIL. Look to it, though 'tis but a little weapon, yet I have
known it make greater swellings than the sting of a bee. Do you
long for a man?

IRE. Yes, a husbandman, and let the gods after take care for my
children.

PHIL. You'll find enou' to do it: is the Moor still with my
lady?

IRE. I left her with her.

PHIL. 'Tis a shame such people should be suffered near the
Court.

IRE. Why, prythee?

PHIL. As 'tis, there be so many inquisitive rascals, that we
have much ado to keep matters secret; but if in despite of our
care they be divulged, we shall be defamed on the Exchanges.

IRE. Thou hast reason, but she is secret as the night she
resembles.

PHIL. Is she? I would fain ask her one question: but 'tis no
matter: 'tis but taking physic at the worst.

IRE. If thou talk'st a little longer, I shall guess as much as
she knows. But who's here?

[ERGASTO, PHORMIO, CLEON, _talking at the door_.

PHOR. Ne'er fright me with the lightning of her eyes; on me she
may open or shut her eyes as she please, but my happiness is
not at her disposing.

CLE. If thou provest a lover, my next song is begun.

PHOR. I will not deny but I may love her, if she please. But if
she be not pleased with my love, if it continue two hours, I'll
give her leave to tie me to her monkey.

CLE. Look, Ergasto has found two of the ladies, and has set his
face to begin to them.

PHOR. In verse or prose?

CLE. We shall hear, if we draw nearer. A good evening, ladies!

IRE. We thank you, my lords; but if we were superstitious, your
company were no good omen.

PHOR. Why, I beseech you?

IRE. Nay, I am no expositor; you come, my lord, to see my
cousin Hermione.

ERG. I do, madam, and should be proud to hear I live in her
memory.

IRE. Can you doubt it? I'll assure you you do; she's never
troubled with anything, but you presently are called into the
comparison with it; her teeth cannot ache, but she swears it is
almost as great a vexation as your love: if any die, out of her
pity to save the tears of a few mourners, she wishes it were
you.

ERG. If I heard her desire it, she should quickly have her wish.

IRE. She would be glad on't, o' my conscience, though the
scruple, of having you do anything for her sake would trouble
her a little; yet I can teach you to make advantage of all this.

PHOR. What advantage, my delicate sweet lady?

IRE. A very great one; for, first, I believe he desires nothing
more than to be assured she esteems him for her servant.

PHOR. Right; but does this usage show it?

IRE. Most evidently; for, being thus severe to none else, 'tis
manifest she confesseth a power over him, and pays his services
with this coin of scorn and contempt, and having her stamp
upon't, he is bound to accept it.

CLE. What think you of this, Phormio?

PHOR. A most excellent girl! would she were poor.

CLE. Why poor?

PHOR. She would live rarely by her----

CLE. What?

PHOR. Wit! I would be a good customer.

IRE. 'Twould please you to hear with what arguments she
justifies this cruelty, and swears it is not revenge enough for
spoiling her good nature.

ERG. I spoil her good nature?

PHOR. Nay, let her go on; I'll hearken an age.

IRE. Yes, you, by suff'ring her undeserved scorn, have bred
such a delight and habit of it in her, that she can hardly
forbear it when she strives to be complaisant to her best
friends; and, to say truth, we are all endangered by such as
you, when we see that frowns procure us knees, and kind usage
scarce gets us two good-morrows.

PHOR. If ever there were a Sybil at sixteen, this lady is one.
By this day, you have a high place in my heart.

IRE. In your heart!

PHOR. Nay, despise it not, you'll find good company there.

IRE. But I love to be alone.

PHOR. And I would fain meet you when you are so. Will you give
me leave to speak with your scholar? [HERMIONE _and_ ACANTHE
_above_.

IRE. If you be his friend, teach him to be wise.

PHOR. For your sake, I will do all I can. Ergasto, wilt thou
be happy? Marry this lady! Wilt thou be revenged on thy proud
mistress? Marry her! Wilt thou be sure to father wise children?
Do as I bid thee.

ERG. I will deal truly with thee: she has taken my heart out of
Hermione's keeping.

PHOR. Be thankful, and bestow it upon her in recompense; she
will accept it, doubt not; she has taken such pains to redeem
it. Look how she casts her eyes upon thee! She's thine own for
ever, and has been long.

ERG. I am desperately in love.

PHOR. Marry, and get out of it; there may be some little
straining at the first offer of the present; but if she send
not for it before you get home, I'll ne'er trust my eyes more.

[PHILLIDA _steals away_, CLEON _follows_.

ERG. I'll attempt it, let what will follow.

PHOR. Be confident, and prosper.

ERG. Madam, what would you expect from him you had redeemed
from captivity?

IRE. The disposing of his liberty.

ERG. 'Tis just; but this may be no great favour to the slave,
if his misery be only altered, not lessened.

PHOR. You are little curious! Why do you not ask who this
concerns? Well, I'll tell you; you have redeemed Ergasto, and
he kneels to know your commands.

[_Whilst he kneels_, HERMIONE _and the_ MOOR
_look down from the window_.

MOOR. You may believe her, madam, she loves him; now you may
revenge her, persuading you to leave Eugenio, by smiling on
Ergasto; 'twill advance your cousin's ends too, if you do as
I'll advise you, whilst we descend.

IRE. 'Tis festival to-day, my lords, and so I admit this mirth.
But to-morrow, I will tell you, I am no more inclined to love
than my cousin Hermione.

ERG. But you can suffer yourself to be beloved?

IRE. I think I can.

PHOR. He'll ask no more, but leave the rest to his respects and
services.

IRE. But you consider not whom you may offend in this mirth.

ERG. I'll ne'er consider whom I offend in loving you: I wish
her beauty centupled, that my first obligation to you might be
leaving her. By this fair hand, I'll never name any but you for
mistress.

IRE. I may believe you when time and your actions shall tell it
me as well as your words.

PHOR. You wrong your beauty to expect an assurance from time.
Ordinary faces require it to perfect the impressions they make;
yours strikes like lightning in an instant. If he did not
adore you till now, you must attribute it to some fascination;
but, his judgment cleared, he will be forced to continue the
adoration he has begun.

_Enter_ HERMIONE, MOOR, PHILLIDA, CLEON: _they_
_find_ ERGASTO _kneeling_.

PHOR. Who's that?

ERG. The Moor you heard of.

PHOR. I have a strange capricio of love entered me: I must
court that shade.

HER. How now, my lord! Courting another mistress! I see I must
lock up my winds, or you will seek the nearest harbour.

ERG. Excluded by your rigour, madam, I was entreating your fair
cousin to present my vows.

HER. Was it no more?

ERG. No more! you cannot doubt it, madam. Turn in your eyes
upon your beauties and perfections, and they will tell you how
impossible it is to lose the empire they have gained upon our
hearts and wills. Fortune and want of merit may make me lose
the hope of your fair graces, but never so much traitor as to
pay homage to any other beauty, or change the resolution I have
fixed to be your servant only.

HER. I thank you, sir; my sex will be my pardon if I return not
equal thanks. We think, if any manumit, before we license them
to part, they do usurp a power is ours by nature. The posture I
found you in was more than ordinary courtship gives.

ERG. You might condemn it, had not you been the cause on't.
I ne'er think of your name but with a reverence great as I
pay the gods; and they allow us bending to their images when
we transfer our vows. The fair Irene is worthy all have not
the hope of you; but whilst you give me leave to cherish that
ambition, I must not own so great an injury as to admit the
proffered love of those who are so distant from your merit.

HER. 'Twas unkindly done to undermine me.

ERG. In her presence I will confirm this to you.

HER. You shall oblige me, since she has wronged me; Irene, hark
you.

[_They talk in private. After a long whisper,_
_the_ MOOR _strives to go from_ PHORMIO; _he_
_holds her_.

PHOR. In the name of darkness, d'ye think I am not in earnest,
that you coy it thus?

MOOR. Forbear; uncivil lord. [_She goes from him._

CLE. Dost thou not see that all the fire is out of the coal?
If thou wouldst have it burn, lay thy lips to the spark that's
left, and blow it into flame.

PHOR. What wouldst thou have me do?

CLE. Kiss her.

PHOR. Not for five hundred crowns.

CLE. Wouldst lie with her, and not kiss her?

PHOR. Yes, and can give reasons for't, besides experience; and
when this act is known--this resolute encounter, rich widows of
threescore will not doubt my prowess.

[HERMIONE, IRENE, ERGASTO, _break off their_
_private talk_.

IRE. As I live, he swore all this to me.

HER. Hide thee, inconstant man, thou art so false
Thy oaths do serve thee for no other use
But to condemn thee, not to get belief:
Be gone, and leave to love till thou hast found
The way to truth, and let not vanity cozen you
To believe that I am mov'd, because you change:
A thousand other imperfections
Have made me hate thee; yet I chose this way
To let thee know't that, deprehended with the
Black mark upon thee, thou may'st not dare
To trouble me again.

ERG. Madam!

HER. There may be some that for their secret sins
The gods will punish, making them love you:
Choose amongst them. Irene, I will hope, though she
Be credulous, will learn by this how far 'tis safe to trust you.

MOOR. This was well manag'd.

PHOR. What mountain have you pierc'd,
That hath sent forth this wind, since I left you?

ERG. I have undone myself for ever.

PHOR. As how?

ERG. I told Hermione I never lov'd Irene.

CLE. Did she hear it?

ERG. O yes! it might have been forsworn else.

CLE. The devil thou hast!

ERG. Ask him; he made me do't.

CLE. What course will you take to redeem your fault?

ERG. A precipice, as being ashamed to live any longer.

PHOR. A halter you shall as soon! Come, come, I'll intercede,
and be your surety. Look, she stays to pardon you; down on your
knees.

[_She goes away_; PHORMIO _pulls her back_; ERGASTO
_kneels, holds up his hands, his cloak_
_over his face_.

PHOR. O my sweet lady! be merciful, like the gods you resemble.
They have as often pardon in their hands as thunder; and the
truth is, if they will not forgive this fault of inconstancy,
they must live alone, or at least without men. This was the
last gasp of his dying friendship to her; and now he is
entirely yours.

IRE. He has not wronged me.

PHOR. Fie! say not so; that's as great an injury as not
pardoning him: he has, and shall come naked to receive his
punishment. See, he dares not look for comfort; let him take it
in at his ears.

IRE. Pray content yourself with the time you have made me lose,
and let me go.

PHOR. Never, till you pardon him.

IRE. I will do anything for my release; if he has offended me,
let him learn hereafter to speak truer than he swears; and in
time he may get credit.

PHOR. 'Tis enough.

ERG. Is she gone?

PHOR. Yes.

ERG. How did she look?

PHOR. Faith, ashamed; she loved you so well, and sorry she had
no reason to love you better.

ERG. 'Tis an excellent lady.

PHOR. If I could make jointures, I would not take this pains
for your honour. Cleon, whither slip you?

CLE. After Phillida.

PHOR. And what success?

CLE. Pox on't! these waiting-women will not deal, unless they
have earnest in their hands, and I was unprovided.

PHOR. Away, unthrift![361] [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[360] [So for the metre; the old copy and Dodsley, _'cause_.]

[ACT IV., SCENE 1.]

_Enter_ LYSICLES.

LYS. This is the hour powerful Acanthe promis'd
I should once more behold my lost Milesia.

Pardon me, Reason, that my wither'd hopes
Rebel against thy force; a happiness
So mighty is oppos'd unto thy doubts,
That I'll divest myself for ever of thee,
Rather than not believe impossibles,
That bring such comforts to my languish'd soul.
Hail, holy treasurer of all the wealth
Nature e'er lent the world! be still the envy
Of the proud monuments that do enclose
The glorious titles of great conquerors.
Let no profane air pierce thee but my sighs;

[MILESIA _riseth like a ghost_.

Let them have entrance, whilst my tears do warm
Thy colder marble. Ha! what miracle!
Are the gods pleas'd to work to ease affliction?
The phoenix is created from her ashes,
Pure as the flames that made 'em: still the same,
The same Milesia! Heaven does confess in this,
That she can only add unto thy beauty
By making it immortal.
Let it be lawful for thy Lysicles
To touch thy sacred hand, and with it guide
My wandering soul unto that part of heaven
Thy beauty does enlighten.

GHOST. Forbear, and hear me. If you approach, I vanish----
Impious, inconstant Lysicles! Cannot
This miracle of my reassuming
A mortal shape persuade thee there are gods
To punish falsehood, that thou still persistest
In thy dissembling? Do not I know
Thy heart is swoll'n with vows thou hast laid up
For thy Hermione? whom thou wouldst persuade
Thy narrow heart is capable of love,
By mocking of my ashes, and erecting tombs
To me, which are indeed but trophies of thy dead
Conquer'd love and virtue.

LYS. No more, bless'd shape!
I shall not think that thou descendst from heaven,
If thou continuest thus in doubt of me;
Nor can there be a hell where such forms are.
The knowledge how thou com'st here doth disturb me;
Yet such a reverence I do owe thy image,
That I will lay before thee all my thoughts,
Spotless as truth. Then thou shalt tell the shades,
How fortune, though it made my love unhappy,
Could not diminish it, nor press it one degree
From the proud height it was arrived to.
How I did nightly pray to this sad tomb,
Bringing and taking fire of constant love
From the cold ashes. How, when encompass'd
With thousand horrors, death had been a rest [from],
I did prefer a loath'd life, to revenge myself
And her upon the murderer.

GHOST. I shall desire to live if this be true;
Nothing can add a comfort where I am,
But the assurance of your love. I know
Faith is not tied to pass the confines
Of this life; yet Hermione's happiness
Does trouble me. You'll think I lov'd
You living, when (dead) I am jealous of you.

LYS. Milesia, bless'd saint, now I am sure thou art
What thou resemblest, and dost know my secret'st thought.
But as the gods, of which thou art a part,
Are not content with our hearts' sacrifice,
Unless our words confess it; hear me then:
If my thoughts e'er consented to replant
My love, may your dire thunder light
Upon my head, and sink it down so low,
I may not see thy glories. I confess
My words have sacrific'd to deities
I ne'er ador'd. Those strains of love
My tears and friendship to the best of men,
I hope have cancell'd. For my Eugenio
I did pretend a love unto Hermione,
Who else had sold herself unto the rage
Of her offended father. Had you liv'd,
You would have pardon'd, when infidelity,
But personated, did preserve a faith
So holy as theirs was; this is my fault.

GHOST. My glory and my happiness!

LYS. Yet this, as oft I wept as I was forc'd
(For his dear cause) to injure sacred love;
Yet durst not but decline his severe laws,
When my friend's life excus'd the pious error.

GHOST. Did you suspect her, that you conceal'd this from her?

LYS. There is but one Milesia; besides,
If true, I meant her fears should aid
My false disguise, which her quick-sighted father
Would else have pierc'd, who hates Eugenio,
And loves no virtue but what shines through wealth.

GHOST. My best, best Lysicles, I am again in love,
Thy holy flame doth lend me light to see
My closed fires. Why did not fate give me
So large a field to exercise my faith?
I envy thee this trial, and would be
Expos'd to dangers, that have yet no name,
That I might meet thy love with equal merit.

LYS. The cause takes all away, and want of power
Excuseth what I cannot yet express.
But how our loves came to so sad a period,
As yet in clouds I have only seen [shown.]

GHOST. My uncle's cruelty and hate of you procur'd our separation.

LYS. But how knew he our loves? Though torment since
Have wrung it from me, my joys ever flow'd silent
And calm.

GHOST. I know it; but we were betray'd
By one that serv'd me, and the doubt's confirm'd
By the Moor you spake with yesterday.

LYS. Ha! how came she to know it? She was not here?

GHOST. All that I ever did she's conscious of;
And jealous of your love unto Hermione,
Did place me here, to search into your thoughts;
And now is prouder of this discovery,
Than if a crown were added to her [brows].

LYS. To what strange laws does heaven confine itself,
That it will suffer them that dare be damn'd
To have power over those it has selected?
My tears and sacrifice could never gain
So much upon its mercy, as to lend
Thy happy sight for one faint minute's comfort;
Yet those that sell themselves to hell, can force
Thy quiet rest for inquisition
On innocence. And to what purpose serves
Faith and religious secrecy,
When magic mocks and frustrates all our vows?
This Moor then was confederate with your uncle's passion?

GHOST. She is the cause that I do walk in shades.

LYS. And I will be that she shall walk in hell.
With her I will begin, then seek revenge
Under the ruins of thy uncle's house.
All men that dare to name him, and not curse
His memory, shall feel the power
Of my despised hate and friendship.

GHOST. My dearest Lysicles, promise to be
But temperate in your anger, and I will
Discover more than you yet hop'd to know.

LYS. As justice, that's concern'd to punish crimes, I will.

GHOST. Then know I was betray'd.
O love! here's company, I must retire. [_Sinks._

_Enter_ PINDARUS _and_ SERVANTS.

PIN. Talking to graves at night, and making love i' th' day?
My lord, I nor my daughter have deserved this.

LYS. Pardon me, sir, I could do no less, being to take
An everlasting farewell, but give this
Visit to her memory. Reserve your censure
Till ten days be over, and if I do not
Satisfy you, condemn me. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ HERMIONE _and_ PHILLIDA.

HER. [Here,] Philly, take thy lute, and sing the song
Was given thee last. [_Exit_ PHILLIDA.

_Song._

_Where did you borrow that last sigh_
_And that relenting groan?_
_For those that sigh, and not for love,_
_Usurp what's not their own._
_Love's arrows sooner armour pierce,_
_Than your soft snowy skin;_
_Your eyes can only teach us love,_
_But cannot take it in._

_The song being ended, re-enter_ PHILLIDA.

PHIL. O madam! call all your sorrows to you, you are
Not sad enough to hear the news I bring.

HER. Would it were killing, that my death might end
My fears, as my life has my hopes.

PHIL. You mistake me, madam; Eugenio is returned.

HER. Eugenio returned! thou hast reason, Phillida, I should
be dead with sorrow: 'tis not fit we hear his name without a
miracle. Where is he? Send to bring him hither.

PHIL. He waits on your commands without.

HER. Bring him in. Good gods!
If you can suffer me one minute's joy,
Give it me now, and let excess of happiness
Finish what sorrow cannot. But where's this happiness
I fain would dream of? Eugenio is return'd,
That I may look on him, and not be his,
And call our faiths in vain to aid our loves.

[ACT IV., SCENE 2.]

_Enter_ EUGENIO _and_ PHILLIDA.

EUG. May the gods give you, madam, a content
As high as you have power to bestow
On those you favour, and then your happiness
Will be as great as is your beauty.

HER. O my best lord! you now behold a face
Too much acquainted with my sad heart's grief
Not to be stain'd with't. Sure, you cannot
Know it?--I pray, say you do not--you'll wrong
Two things I am most proud of--my just grief
And your young love--which could not grow,
Nourish'd with such poor heat as now it gives.
I have a story that will break your heart
When you have heard it, and mine, ere I
Deliver it. Prince Lysicles to-morrow marries me,
Or I must leave my duty or my life.
Forgive me, that I dare to utter this.

EUG. Madam, forbear your tears: they are a ransom
Too mighty to redeem the greatest faith
The gods were ever witness to. I know
Whereto you tend: you would have me untie
The knot that bound our loves, and I will do't,
Though it be fasten'd to my strings of life.
Be happy in your choice: give to his merit
What once you promis'd to my perfect love,
By which I only did pretend my claim.
I do release you, as I know heaven has;
Who in his justice cannot have consented
To a longer faith in you; you must not be
The conquest of a miserable man,
O'er whom their cruel'st influences reign.

HER. Some saving power close up my drowned eyes,
Which death had long since shut, had not the love
And hope of seeing you preserv'd them open.
Have I been false for this to all my friends?
That you should think I can be so to you? Add not
By your suspicions a crime to our misfortune.

EUG. Of you I can have none, but what excuse you:
You had made me miserable, had not your faith
Yielded to those assaults; as worth and greatness
Titles your father's rage; and your own judgment
Did shake and raze it. With what disturbed mind
Should I have look'd on you my heart ador'd,
And love made miserable? Still you weep----
But these are tears your fortune did lay up
To ease your misery, had you continued mine.
And your suns, clear'd from their last clouds,
They will more freely shine on your Lysicles.
For myself, my love in his last act shall recompense
The injuries 't has done to your repose,
By killing me; then must injustice fly,
And hale inconstancy along with her,
From your fair conquer'd soul they now possess?

HER. O my griefs!
Now I perceive the gods decreed you endless,
Since they have made him add unto my torment,
Whose memory before did make the sharpest glorious.
Tears and sighs and groans, farewell.
They ne'er were spent but when I fear'd for you;
And, you being lost, I have no use of them.
Here, take this paper: 'tis the last legacy
My love shall ever give you: 'twas design'd
When I conceived you worthy. If you
Believe her words, whose faith was never lost, though you
Ungratefully have flung it off. If so you be not
That you accuse me for, you there shall find
A story that will punish your suspicion.

[_He reads, and then kneels, and she turns from_
_him._

EUG. You that by powerful prayers have diverted
An imminent ruin, inspire me with fit words
To appease my injur'd mistress. Hear me:
I do not kneel for mercy, but to beg
Your leave to die: I must not live, when
Pardons make my offence most horrible, and hell
Is here without them; take a middle way
If you incline to mercy, and forget me.

HER. Rise; this is worse than your doubts were.

EUG.[362] Turn not your face away; would you revenge?
Then let my eyes dwell on't. What punishment
Can there be greater than for me to see
The beauty I have lost by my own fault?
Look then upon me.

HER. No, I must yet keep
My anger to preserve my honour, and I dare not trust
That and my eyes at once, if they behold you.

EUG. Then hear a wretched man, that has outliv'd
So much his hopes, he knows not what to wish--
Whether to live or die; yet life for this
I only seek, that you may find I shrink not
To punish him your justice has condemn'd.

HER. Rise, I can hold out no longer; the bare
Sounds of your death dissolve my resolutions;
Forget my anger, as I will the cause.

EUG. Never; it shall live here to honour me,
Since pity of my love made you decline it:
But must----

HER. Yes, the virtuous Lysicles--for his respects to me,
Howe'er unhappy, challenged that name--
In your absence labours to marry me: yet death----

EUG. Wretched Eugenio! did thy coward fate
Not dare to strike thee, till thou turn'dst thy back?
Must I return from banishment to find
My hopes are banish'd? Did I for this love virtue,
Pursued her rugged paths, when danger made
Her horrid to the valiant to be ruin'd
By him that is most virtuous? Ye gods,
Was envy, malice, fortune impotent
To injure me, but you must raise up virtue to suppress
Me? If I suffer it, I shall deserve it.

HER. O my Eugenio! we are miserable,
Yet must not quarrel, love, to take or give
A seeming comfort: go, try all your power
Of hate or friendship to undo this match;
I'll give you leave to die first--anything,
But let not me have so much leave to change,
As to believe you think it possible. [_Exeunt._

[ACT IV., SCENE 3.]

_Enter_ LYSICLES _and_ SERVANT.

SER. The physician you sent for waits without.

LYS. Bring him in, and stay in the next room.

_Enter_ PHYSICIAN.

You are welcome: I must employ your trust and secrecy in
something that concerns me. You must procure me instantly a
powerful poison.

PHY. My lord!

LYS. Nay, no ceremonies of denial. I give you my intents, not
to be disputed, but obeyed. I know you walk not frequently in
these rough ways; but 'tis not want of knowledge, but your
will, makes you decline them.

PHY. My lord, I have observ'd you long, and see you
Wear your life like something you would fain
Put off. I will not undertake to counsel you, in
That your nearest friends have oft attempted
Without success: yet, if my life should issue
With the words I now will utter, I'll boldly tell
Your grace, I will not be a means to cut your
Days off, to make mine happy ever.

LYS. I did expect this from you; and to inform you
Briefly know, though I do loathe my life, I will
Not part with't willingly, till it does serve
Me to revenge my wrongs: and to assure you more,
I will not use your art against myself. Let
Your composition procure the greatest torture
Poison can force, for I must use it upon one
Our laws cannot condemn; because the circumstance
That makes him guilty, cannot be produc'd, but with
Expense of time; and my revenge will not
Admit it. By my honour, this is the cause.

PHY. If I
Were sure your enemies should only try
Th' effects of what I can do in your service,
The horrid'st tortures treason ever justified,
Should not exceed the sufferings of those
Should take the poison I can bring you.

LYS. Bring it me instantly; and if the pains of hell
Can be felt here, let your ingredients
Call them up. If his life were only
My aim and end, whilst I do wear this,
I'd not implore your aid;
But I must set him on the rack, that there
He may confess my inquisition justice.

PHY. An hour returns me with your commands
Perform'd. Yet I'll observe you farther. [_Aside._

LYS. So, this is the first degree to my revenge,
Which I will prosecute, till I have made
All that were guilty of my loss of peace,
Wash their impiety in their guilty blood.
All places where I meet them shall be altars,
On which I'll sacrifice the murderers,
To appease the spirit of my injur'd mistress:
And (the last victim) I will fall myself
Upon her sacred tomb, to expiate
The crimes I have committed in deferring
Justice thus long. This curs'd magician
Shall be the first--she did reveal our loves;
Milesia said she did; and if it were
Her blessed spirit, nothing but truth dwells in't.
If it were a phantom rais'd by her foul spells;
She pays the fault of her abusing me,
Insidiating with my Milesia's form,
To search, and then betray my resolution
Of serving my best friend. How now!

Enter SERVANT.

SER. Sir, Lord Pindarus would speak with you.

LYS. Where is he? [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[361] [The third act is not divided into scenes in the old copy, nor are the first and second; and it is difficult to fix the point where the second scene should open.]

[362] [Omitted in old copy, but supplied by Dodsley, and in a coeval hand inserted in the copy now used of the original edition.]