Thy tender youth: A love from me to thee
Is firm whate'er thou doft: It troubles me,
That I have call'd the blood out of thy cheeks,
That did fo well become them. But, good boy,
Let me not fee thee more: Something is done,
That will distract me, that will make me mad,
If I behold thee; if thou tender'st me,
Let me not see thee..

Bel. I will fly as far

1

As there is morning, ere I give distaste

To that moft honour'd mind. But thro' these tears, Shed at my hopeless parting, I can fee

A world of treafon practis'd upon you,

And her, and me. Farewell, for evermore!
If you fhall hear, that forrow ftruck me dead,
And after find me loyal, let there be

A tear fhed from you in my memory,
And I fhall reft at peace.

>

[Exit Bel.

Phi. Bleffing be with thee,
Whatever thou deferv'ft! Oh, where fhall I
Go bathe this body? Nature, too unkind,
That made no med'cine for a troubled mind!

Scene, Arethufa's apartment.

Enter Arethufa..

༢",, 』

[Exit Phi.

эт

Are. I marvel, my boy comes not back again.

But that I know my love will question him
Over and over; how I flept, wak’d, talk'd!
How I remember'd him, when his dear name
Was laft fpoke! and how, when I figh'd,wept, fung,
And ten thousand fuch! Ifhould be angry at his stay.

Enter King,

King. What, at your meditations! Who attends you?

Are. None but my fingle self, I need no guard; I do no wrong, nor fear none.

King. Tell me, have you not a boy?

Are. Yes, Sir.

King. What kind of boy?

Are. A page, a waiting-boy.

King, A handsome boy?

Are. I think he be not ugly;

Well qualified, and dutiful, I know him;

I took him not for beauty.

King, He fpeaks, and fings, and plays?"
Are. Yes, Sir.

King. About eighteen?

Are. I never afk'd his age.

King. Is he full of fervice?

Are. By your pardon, why do you ask?
King. Put him away.

Are

Are. Sir!

King. Put him away; h'has done you that good

fervice

Shames me to speak of.

Art. Good Sir, let me understand you.

King. If you fear me,

Shew it in duty; put away that boy.

Are. Let me have reafon for it, Sir, and then Your will is my command,

King. Do you not blush to afk it? Caft him off,
Or I fhall do the fame to you. You're one
Shame with me, and fo near unto myfelf,
That, by my life, I dare not tell myself
What you have done.

Are. What have I done, my lord?
King. Underftand me well;

There be foul whispers stirring; caft him off,
And fuddenly do it. Farewell.

[Exit King,

Are. Where may a maiden live fecurely free, Keeping her honour fafe? Not with the living: They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams, And make 'em truths: They draw a nourishment Out of defamings, grow upon difgraces, And when they fee a virtue fortified Strongly above the battery of their tongues, Oh, how they caft to fink it! and defeated

(Soul

(Soul-fick with poifon) ftrike the monuments Where noble names lie fleeping!

Phi. Peace to your fairest thoughts, my deareft miftrefs!

Are. Oh, my dear fervant, I have a war within me. Phi. He must be more than man, that makes

thefe crystals

Run into rivers. Sweeteft fair, the caufe?

And as I am your flave, tied to your goodness, kā

Your creature made again from what I was,

And newly spirited, I'll right your honours.
Are. Oh, my best love; that boy!

Are. They are jealous of him.

Phi. Jealous! who?

Are. The king.

Phi. Oh, my fortune!

Then 'tis no idle jealoufy. Let him go.

Are. Oh, cruel,

Are you hard-hearted too? Who fhall now tell you,

How

,

How much I lov'd you? Who fhall fwear it to you,
And weep the tears I fend?. Who fhall now bring

you

Letters, rings, bracelets, lofe his health in service?
Wake tedious nights in ftories of your praise?
Who now shall fing your crying elegies,
And strike a fad foul into fenfeless pictures,
And make them mourn? Who fhall take up his lute,
And touch it, till he crown a filent fleep

Upon my eyelid, making me dream and cry,
Oh, my dear, dear Philaster!

Phi. Oh, my heart!

'Would he had broken thee, that made thee know

This lady was not loyal! Mistress, forget

The boy, I'll get thee a far better one.

Are. Oh, never, never, such a boy again,

As my Bellario.

Phi. 'Tis but your fond affection.

Are. With thee, my boy, farewell for ever
All fecrecy in fervants! Farewell faith,

And all defire to do well for itself!

Let all that shall fucceed thee, for thy wrongs,

Sell and betray chaste love!

Phi. And all this paffion for a boy?

Are. He was your boy; you gave him to me, and The lofs of fuch must have a mourning for,

Phi.