Chapter XXXVI: Act IV: SCENE I,--The Walks

MELISSA, _after her_ OLINDA _and_ SABINA.

_Mel_. I must take this business up in time: This wild fellow begins to haunt my house again. Well, I'll be bold to say it, 'tis as easy to bring up a young lion without mischief, as a maidenhead of fifteen, to make it tame for an husband's bed. Not but that the young man is handsome, rich, and young, and I could be content he should marry one of them; but to seduce them both in this manner:--Well, I'll examine them apart, and if I can find out which he loves, I'll offer him his choice.--Olinda, come hither, child.

_Olin_. Your pleasure, madam?

_Met_. Nothing but for your good, Olinda; what think you of Celadon?

_Olin_. Why I think he's a very mad fellow; but yet I have some obligements to him: he teaches me new airs of the guitar, and talks wildly to me, and I to him.

_Mel_. But tell me in earnest, do you think he loves you?

_Olin_. Can you doubt it? There were never two so cut out for one another; we both love singing, dancing, treats, and music. In short, we are each other's counterpart.

_Mel_. But does he love you seriously?

_Olin_. Seriously?--I know not that; if he did, perhaps I should not love him: But we sit and talk, and wrangle, and are friends; when we are together, we never hold our tongues; and then we have always a noise of fiddles at our heels; he hunts me merrily, as the hound does the hare; and either this is love, or I know it not.

_Mel_. Well, go back, and call Sabina to me.

[_OLINDA goes behind_.

This is a riddle past my finding out: Whether he loves her, or no, is the question; but this, I am sure of, she loves him:--O my little favourite, I must ask you a question concerning Celadon: is he in love with you?

_Sab_. I think, indeed, he does not hate me; at least, if a man's word may be taken for it.

_Mel_. But what expressions has he made you?

_Sab_. Truly, the man has done his part: He has spoken civilly to me, and I was not so young but I understood him.

_Mel_. And you could be content to marry him?

_Sab_. I have sworn never to marry: besides he's a wild young man; yet, to obey you, mother, I would be content to be sacrificed.

_Mel_. No, no, we would but lead you to the altar.

_Sab_. Not to put off the gentleman neither; for if I have him not, I am resolved to die a maid, that's once, mother.

_Mel_. Both my daughters are in love with him, and I cannot yet find he loves either of them.

_Olin_. Mother, mother, yonder's Celadon in the walks.

_Mel_. Peace, wanton; you had best ring the bells for joy. Well, I'll not meet him, because I know not which to offer him; yet he seems to like the youngest best: I'll give him opportunity with her. Olinda, do you make haste after me.

_Olin_. This is something hard though.

[_Exit_ MEL.

_Enter_ CELADON.

_Cel_. You see, ladies, the least breath of yours brings me to you: I have been seeking you at your lodgings, and from thence came hither after you.

_Sab_. 'Twas well you found us.

_Cel_. Found you! half this brightness betwixt you two was enough to have lighted me; I could never miss my way: Here's fair Olinda has beauty enough for one family; such a voice, such a wit, so noble a stature, so white a skin!--

_Olin_. I thought he would be particular at last. [_Aside_.

_Cel_. And young Sabina, so sweet an innocence, such a rose-bud newly blown. This is my goodly palace of love, and that my little withdrawing room. A word, madam.--[_To_ SAB.

_Olin_. I like not this--[_Aside_.] Sir, if you are not too busy with my sister, I would speak with you.

_Cel_. I come, madam.

_Sab_. Time enough, sir; pray finish your discourse--and as you were a saying, sir,--

_Olin_. Sweet sir,--

_Sab_. Sister, you forget, my mother bid you make haste.

_Olin_. Well, go you, and tell her I am coming.

_Sab_. I can never endure to be the messenger of ill news; but, if you please, I'll send her word you won't come.

_Olin_. Minion, minion, remember this--[_Exit OLIN_.

_Sab_. She's horribly in love with you.

_Cel_. Lord, who could love that walking steeple! She's so high, that every time she sings to me, I am looking up for the bell that tolls to church.--Ha! give me my little fifth-rate, that lies so snug. She! hang her, a Dutch-built bottom: She's so tall, there's no boarding her. But we lose time--madam, let me seal my love upon your mouth. [_Kiss_] Soft and sweet, by heaven! sure you wear rose-leaves between your lips.

_Sab_. Lord, Lord, what's the matter with me! my breath grows so short, I can scarce speak to you.

_Cel_. No matter, give me thy lips again, and I'll speak for thee.

_Sab_. You don't love me--

_Cel_. I warrant thee; sit down by me, and kiss again,--She warms faster than Pygmalion's image. [_Aside_]--[_Kiss_.]--Ay marry, sir, this was the original use of lips; talking, eating, and drinking came in by and by.

_Sab_. Nay, pray be civil; will you be at quiet?

_Cel_. What, would you have me sit still, and look upon you, like a little puppy-dog, that's taught to beg with his fore-leg up?

_Enter_ FLORIMEL.

_Flo_. Celadon the faithful! in good time, sir,--

_Cel_. In very good time, Florimel; for heaven's sake, help me quickly.

_Flo_. What's the matter?

_Cel_. Do you not see? here's a poor gentlewoman in a swoon! (Swoon away.) I have been rubbing her this half hour, and cannot bring her to her senses.

_Flo_. Alas! how came she so?

_Cel_. Oh barbarous! do you stay to ask questions? run, for charity.

_Flo_. Help, help! alas! poor lady--[_Exit_ FLO.

_Sab_. Is she gone?

_Cel_. Ay, thanks be to my wit, that helped me at a pinch; I thank heaven, I never pumpt for a lye in all my life yet.

_Sab_. I am afraid you love her, Celadon!

_Cel_. Only as a civil acquaintance, or so; but, however, to avoid slander, you had best be gone before she comes again.

_Sab_. I can find a tongue as well as she.

_Cel_. Ay, but the truth is, I am a kind of scandalous person, and for you to be seen in my company--stay in the walks, by this kiss I'll be with you presently.

_Enter_ FLORIMEL _running_.

_Flo_. Help, help!--I can find nobody.

_Cel_. Tis needless now, my dear; she's recovered, and gone off; but so wan and weakly,--

_Flo_.Umph! I begin to smell a rat.--What was your business here, Celadon?

_Cel_. Charity, Christian charity; you saw I was labouring for life with her.

_Flo_. But how came you hither?--Not that I care this, but only to be satisfied. [_Sings_.

_Cel_. You are jealous, in my conscience!

_Flo_. Who, I jealous!--then I wish this sigh may be the last that ever I may draw. [_Sighs_.

_Cel_. But why do you sigh, then?

_Flo_. Nothing but a cold, I cannot fetch my breath well. But what will you say, if I wrote the letter you had, to try your faith?

_Cel_. Hey day! this is just the devil and the sinner; you lay snares for me, and then punish me for being taken: Here's trying a man's faith indeed!--What, do you think I had the faith of a stock, or of a stone? Nay, an you go to tantalize a man--I love upon the square, I can endure no tricks to be used to me.

[OLINDA _and_ SABINA _at the door peeping_.

_Olin_. and _Sab_. Celadon! Celadon!

_Flo_. What voices are those?

_Cel_. Some comrades of mine, that call me to play.--Pox on them, they'll spoil all. [_Aside_.

_Flo_. Pray, let's see them.

_Cel_. Hang them, tatterdemallions! they are not worth your sight.--Pray, gentlemen, begone; I'll be with you immediately.

_Sab_. No; we'll stay here for you.

_Flo_. Do your gentlemen speak with treble voices? I am resolved to see what company you keep.

_Cel_. Nay, good my dear.

[_He lays hold of her to pull her back, she lays hold of_ OLINDA, _by whom_ SABINA _holds; so that, he pulling, they all come in_.

_Flo_. Are these your comrades? [Sings.] _'Tis Strephon calls, what would my love?_ Why do you not roar out, like a great bass-viol, _Come follow to the myrtle-grove_.--Pray, sir, which of these fair ladies is it, for whom you were to do the courtesy? for it were unconscionable to leave you to them both:--What, a mans but a man, you know.

_Olin_. The gentleman may find an owner.

_Sab_. Though not of you.

_Flo_. Pray, agree whose the lost sheep is, and take him.

_Cel_. 'Slife, they'll cry me anon, and tell my marks.

_Flo_. Troth, I pity your highness there; I perceive he has left you for the little one: Methinks he should have been afraid to break his neck, when he fell so high as from you to her.

_Sab_. Well, my drolling lady, I may be even with you.

_Flo_. Not this ten years, by the growth, yet.

_Sab_. Can flesh and blood endure this!

_Flo_. How now, my amazon _in decimo sexto_!

_Olin_. Do you affront my sister?

_Flo_. Ay; but thou art so tall, I think I shall never affront thee.

_Sab_. Come away, sister; we shall be jeered to death else. [_Exeunt_ OLIN. _and_ SAB.

_Flo_. Why do you look that way? You can't forbear leering after the forbidden fruit.--But whene'er I take a wencher's word again!

_Cel_. A wencher's word!--Why should you speak so contemptibly of the better half of mankind? I'll stand up for the honour of my vocation.

_Flo_. You are in no fault, I warrant!--'Ware my busk[A].

[Footnote A: The now almost forgotten _busk_ was a small slip of steel or wood, used to stiffen the stays. Florimel threatens to employ it as a rod of chastisement.]

_Cel_. Not to give a fair lady the lie, I am in fault; but otherwise--Come, let us be friends, and let me wait on you to your lodgings.

_Flo_. This impudence shall not save you from my table-book. _Item_, A month more for this fault. [_They walk to the door_.

_1 Sold. [within.]_ Stand!--

_2 Sold_. Stand, give the word!

_Cel_. Now, what's the meaning of this, trow?--guards set!

_1 Sold_. Give the word, or you cannot pass:--These are they, brother; let's in and seize them.

_The two Soldiers enter_.

_1 Sold_. Down with him!

_2 Sold_. Disarm him!_Cel_. How now, rascals?-- [_Draws, and beats one off, and catches the other_. Ask your life, you villain. _2 Sold_. Quarter! quarter!

_Cel_. Was ever such an insolence?

_2 Sold_. We did but our duty;--here we were set to take a gentleman and lady, that would steal a marriage without the queen's consent, and we thought you had been they. [_Exit Sold_.

_Flo_. Your cousin Philocles, and the princess Candiope, on my life! for I heard the queen give private orders to Lysimantes, and name them twice or thrice.

_Cel_. I know a score or two of madcaps here hard by, whom I can pick up from taverns, and gaming-houses, and bordels; those I'll bring to aid him,--Now, Florimel, there's an argument for wenching: Where would you have had so many honest men together, upon the sudden, for a brave employment?

_Flo_. You'll leave me then, to take my fortune?

_Cel_. No:--If you will, I'll have you into the places aforesaid, and enter you into good company.

_Flo_. 'Thank you, sir; here's a key, will let me through this back-door to my own lodgings.

_Cel_. If I come off with life, I'll see you this evening; if not,--adieu, Florimel!

_Flo_. If you come not, I shall conclude you are killed; or taken, to be hanged for a rebel to-morrow morning: and then I'll honour your memory with a lampoon, instead of an epitaph.

_Cel_. No, no! I trust better in my fate: I know I am reserved to do you a courtesy. [_Exit_ CEL.

[_As_ FLORIMEL _is unlocking the door to go out,_ FLAVIA _opens it against her, and enters to her, followed by a Page_.

_Fla_. Florimel, do you hear the news?

_Flo_. I guess they are in pursuit of Philocles.

_Fla_. When Lysimantes came with the queen's orders, He refused to render up Candìope; And, with some few brave friends he had about him, Is forcing of his way through all the guards.

_Flo_. A gallant fellow!--I'll in, will you with me?-- Hark! the noise comes this way!

_Fla_. I have a message from the queen to Lysimantes.-- I hope I may be safe among the soldiers.

_Flo_. Oh, very safe!--Perhaps some honest fellow in the tumult may take pity of thy maidenhead, or so.--Adieu! [_Exit_ FLO.

_Page_. The noise comes nearer, madam.

_Fla_. I am glad on't.--This message gives me the opportunity of speaking privately with Lysimantes.

_Enter_ PHILOCLES _and_ CANDIOPE, _with three Friends, pursued by_ LYSIMANTES, _and Soldiers_.

_Lys_. What is it renders you thus obstinate? You have no hope of flight, and to resist is full as vain.

_Phil_. I'll die rather than yield her up.

_Fla_. My lord!

_Lys_. How now? some new message from the queen?-- Retire a while to a convenient distance.

[_To the Soldiers_. LYS. _and_ FLAV. _whisper_.

_Lys_. O Flavia, 'tis impossible! the queen in love with Philocles!

_Fla_. I have suspected it before; but now My ears and eyes are witnesses. This hour I overheard her, to Asteria, Making such sad complaints of her hard fate!-- For my part, I believe, you lead him back But to his coronation.

_Lys_. Hell take him first!

_Fla_. Presently after this she called for me, And bid me run, and, with strict care, command you, On peril of your life, he had no harm: But, sir, she spoke it with so great concernment, Methought I saw love, anger, and despair, All combating at once upon her face.

_Lys_. Tell the queen,--I know not what, I am distracted so.-- But go, and leave me to my thoughts.-- [_Exit_ FLAVIA. Was ever such amazing news, Told in so strange and critical a moment?-- What shall I do?-- Does she love Philocles, who loves not her; And loves not Lysimantes, who prefers her Above his life?--What rests, but that I take This opportunity, which she herself Has given me, to kill this happy rival!-- Assist me, soldiers!

_Phil_. They shall buy me dearly.

_Cand_. Ah me, unhappy maid!

_Enter _CELADON, _with his Friends, unbuttoned and reeling_.

_Cel_. Courage, my noble cousin! I have brought A band of blades, the bravest youths of Syracuse; Some drunk, some sober, all resolved to run Your fortune to the utmost.--Fall on, mad boys!

_Lys_. Hold a little!--I'm not secure of victory against these desperate ruffians.

_Cel_. No, but I'll secure you! They shall cut your throat for such another word of them. Ruffians, quoth a'! call gamesters, whoremasters, and drunkards, ruffians!

_Lys_. Pray, gentlemen, fall back a little.

_Cel_. O ho, are they gentlemen now with you!--Speak first to your gentlemen soldiers to retire; And then I'll speak to my gentlemen ruffians. [CEL. _signs to his party_. There's your disciplined men now.--[_They sign, and the Soldiers retire on both sides_. Come, gentlemen, let's lose no time: While they are talking, let's have one merry main before we die, for mortality sake.

_1 Fr_. Agreed! here's my cloak for a table.

_2 Fr_. And my hat for a box.

[_They lie down and throw_.

_Lys_. Suppose I killed him! 'Twould but exasperate the queen the more: He loves not her, nor knows he she loves him:-- sudden thought is come into my head,-- So to contrive it, that this Philocles, And these his friends, shall bring to pass that for me, Which I could never compass.--True, I strain A point of honour; but then her usage to me-- It shall be so.-- Pray, Philocles, command your soldiers off; As I will mine: I've somewhat to propose, Which you perhaps may like.

_Can_. I will not leave him.

_Lys_. 'Tis my desire you should not.

_Phil_. Cousin, lead off your friends.

_Cel_. One word in your ear, coz:--Let me advise you, either make your own conditions, or never agree with him: his men are poor rogues, they can never stand before us.

[_Exeunt all but_ Lys. Phil. _and_ Cand.

_Lys_. Suppose some friend, ere night, Should bring you to possess all you desire; And not so only, but secure forever The nation's happiness?

_Phil_. I would think of him, As some god or angel.

_Lys_. That god or angel you and I may be to one another. We have betwixt us An hundred men; the citadel you govern: What were it now to seize the queen?

_Phil_. O impiety! to seize the queen!-- To seize her, said you?

_Lys_. The word might be too rough,--I meant, secure her.

_Phil_. Was this your proposition?-- And had you none to make it to but me?

_Lys_. Pray hear me out, ere you condemn me!-- I would not the least violence were offered Her person. Two small grants is all I ask; To make me happy in herself, and you In your Candiope.

_Cand_. And will not you do this, my Philocles?-- Nay, now my brother speaks but reason.

_Phil_. Interest makes all seem reason, that leads to it. Interest, that does the zeal of sects create, To purge a church, and to reform a state.

_Lys_. In short, the queen hath sent to part you two:-- What more she means to her, I know not.

_Phil_. To her, alas!--Why, will not you protect her?

_Lys_. With you I can; but where's my power alone?

_Cand_. You know she loves me not: You lately heard her, How she insulted over me: How she Despised that beauty, which you say I have.-- I see, she purposes my death.

_Phil_. Why do you fright me with it? 'Tis in your brother's power to let us 'scape, And then you run no danger.

_Lys_. True, I may; But then my head must pay the forfeit of it.

_Phil_. O wretched Philocles! whither would love Hurry thee headlong?

_Lys_. Cease these exclamations. There's no danger on your side: 'tis but to Live without my sister; resolve that, And you have shot the gulf.

_Phil_. To live without her! Is that nothing, think you? The damned in hell endure no greater pain, Than seeing heaven from far with hopeless eyes.

_Cand_. Candiope must die, and die for you:-- See it not unrevenged at least.

_Phil_. Ha, unrevenged! On whom should I revenge it?-- But yet she dies, and I may hinder it? 'Tis I then murder my Candiope:-- And yet, should I take arms against my queen! That favoured me, raised me to what I am?-- Alas! it must not be.

_Lys_. He cools again.--[_Aside_. True, she once favoured you; But now I am informed. She is besotted on an upstart wretch So far, that she intends to make him master Both of her crown and person.

_Phil_. Knows he that! Then, what I dreaded most is come to pass.--[_Aside_. I am convinced of the necessity; Let us make haste to raze That action from the annals of her reign: No motive but her glory could have wrought me. I am a traitor to her, to preserve her From treason to herself: Yet heaven knows, With what a heavy heart Philocles turns reformer. But have care This fault of her strange passion take no air. Let not the vulgar blow upon her fame.

_Lys_. I will be careful:--Shall we go, my lord?

_Phil_. Time wastes apace; each first prepare his men.-- Come, my Candiope. [_Exeunt_ PHIL. _and_ CAND.

_Lys_. This ruins him forever with the queen; The odium's half his, the profit all my own. Those who, like me, by others' help would climb, To make them sure, must dip them in their crime. [_Exit_.

SCENE II.--_The Queen's apartments_.

_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA.

_Queen_. No more news yet from Philocles?

_Ast_. None, madam, since Flavia's return.

_Queen_. O, my Asteria! if you loved me, sure You would say something to me of my Philocles! I could speak ever of him.

_Ast_. Madam, you commanded me no more to name him to you.

_Queen_. Then I command you now, speak of nothing else:-- I charge you here, on your allegiance, tell me What I should do with him?

_Ast_. When you gave orders that he should be taken, You seemed resolved how to dispose of him.

_Queen_. Dull Asteria! not to know, Mad people never think the same thing twice!-- Alas! I'm hurried restless up and down:-- I was in anger once, and then I thought I had put into shore: But now a gust of love blows hard against me, And bears me off again.

_Ast_. Shall I sing the song, you made of Philocles, And called it _Secret Love_?

_Queen_. Do; for that's all kindness. And while thou singest it, I can think nothing but what pleases me.

SONG.

_I feed a flame within, which so torments me, That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me: 'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love if, That I had rather die, than once remove it.

Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it; My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses, But they fall silently, like dew on roses.

Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel, My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel: And while I suffer this to give him quiet, My faith rewards my love, though he deny it.

On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me; While I conceal my love no frown can fright me: To be more happy, I dare not aspire; Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher_.

_Queen_. Peace!--Methinks I hear the noise Of clashing swords, and clattering arms below.

_Enter_ FLAVIA.

Now; what news, that you press in so rudely?

_Fla_. Madam, the worst that can be:-- Your guards upon the sudden are surprised, Disarmed; some slain; all scattered.

_Queen_. By whom?

_Fla_. Prince Lysimantes, and Lord Philocles.

_Queen_. It cannot be; Philocles is a prisoner.

_Fla_. What my eyes saw,--

_Queen_. Pull them out; they are false spectacles.

_Ast_. O, virtue! impotent and blind as fortune! Who would be good, or pious, if this queen, Thy great example, suffers!

_Queen_. Peace, Asteria! accuse not virtue; She has but given me a great occasion Of showing what I am, when fortune leaves me.

_Ast_. Philocles to do this!

_Queen_. Ay, Philocles!--I must confess 'twas hard!-- But there's a fate in kindness, Still to be least returned, where most 'tis given.-- Where's Candiope?

_Fla_. Philocles was whispering to her.

_Queen_. Hence, screech-owl!--Call my guards quickly there!-- Put them apart in several prisons!-- Alas! I had forgot, I have no guards, But those which are my jailors. Never 'till now unhappy queen! The use of power, till lost, is seldom known; Now, I should strike, I find my thunder gone. [_Exeunt Queen and_ FLAV.

PHILOCLES _enters, and meets_ ASTERIA _going out_.

_Phil_. Asteria, where's the queen?

_Ast_. Ah, my lord! what have you done? I came to seek you.

_Phil_. Is it from her you come?

_Ast_. No; but on her behalf:--Her heart's too great, In this low ebb of fortune, to entreat.

_Phil_. Tis but a short eclipse, Which past, a glorious day will soon ensue.-- But I would ask a favour too from you.

_Ast_. When conquerors petition, they command: Those, that can captive queens, who can withstand?

_Phil_. She, with her happiness, might mine create; Yet seems indulgent to her own ill fate: But she in secret hates me, sure; for why, If not, should she Candiope deny?

_Ast_. If you dare trust my knowledge of her mind, She has no thoughts of you that are unkind.

_Phil_. I could my sorrows with some patience bear, Did they proceed from any one but her: But from the queen! whose person I adore, By duty much, by inclination more.

_Ast_. He is inclined already; did he know, That she loved him, how would his passion grow! [_Aside_.

_Phil_. That her fair hand with destiny combines! Fate ne'er strikes deep, but when unkindness joins: For, to confess the secret of my mind, Something so tender for the queen I find, That even Candiope can scarce remove, And, were she lower, I should call it love.

_Ast_. She charged me, not this secret to betray; But I best serve her, if I disobey. For, if he loves, 'twas for her interest done; If not, he'll keep it secret for his own. [_Aside._

_Phil_. Why are you in obliging me so slow?

_Ast_. The thing's of great importance, you would know; And you must first swear secresy to all.

_Phil_. I swear.

_Ast_. Yet hold; your oath's too general: Swear that Candiope shall never know.

_Phil_. I swear.

_Ast_. No; not the queen herself.

_Phil_. I vow.

_Ast_. You wonder why I am so cautious grown, In telling what concerns yourself alone: But spare my vow, and guess what it may be, That makes the queen deny Candiope: 'Tis neither heat, nor pride, that moves her mind; Methinks the riddle is not hard to find.

_Phil_. You seem so great a wonder to intend, As were, in me, a crime to apprehend.

_Ast_. 'Tis not a crime to know; but would be one, To prove ungrateful when your duty's known.

_Phil_. Why would you thus my easy faith abuse: I cannot think the queen so ill would chuse. But stay, now your imposture will appear; She has herself confessed she loved elsewhere: On some ignoble choice has placed her heart, One, who wants quality, and more, desert.

_Ast_. This, though unjust, you have most right to say; For, if you'll rail against yourself, you may.

_Phil_. Dull that I was! A thousand things now crowd my memory. That make me know it could be none but I. Her rage was love; and its tempestuous flame, Like lightning, showed the heaven from whence it came. But in her kindness my own shame I see; Have I dethroned her, then for loving me? I hate myself for that which I have done, Much more, discovered, than I did unknown. How does she brook her strange imprisonment?

_Ast_. As great souls should, that make their own content. The hardest term, she for your act could find, Was only this, O Philocles, unkind! Then, setting free a sigh, from her fair eyes She wiped two pearls, the remnant of wild showers, Which hung like drops upon the bells of flowers: And thanked the heavens, Which better did, what she designed, pursue, Without her crime, to give her power to you.

_Phil_. Hold, hold! you set my thoughts so near a crown, They mount above my reach, to pull them down: Here constancy, ambition there does move; On each side beauty, and on both sides love.

_Ast_. Methinks the least you can, is to receive This love with reverence, and your former leave.

_Phil_. Think but what difficulties come between!

_Ast_. 'Tis wondrous difficult to love a queen.

_Phil_. For pity, cease more reasons to provide, I am but too much yielding to your side; And, were my heart but at my own dispose, I should not make a scruple now to chuse.

_Ast_. Then if the queen will my advice approve, Her hatred to you shall expel her love.

_Phil_. Not to be loved by her as hard would be, As to be hated by Candiope.

_Ast_. I leave you to resolve while you have time; You must be guilty, but may chuse your crime. [_Exit_ ASTERIA.

_Phil_. One thing I have resolved; and that I'll do, Both for my love, and for my honour too; But then (ingratitude and falsehood weighed), I know not which would most my soul upbraid. Fate shoves me headlong down a rugged way; Unsafe to run, and yet too steep to stay. [_Exit_ PHIL.