King. Swear to be true

To what you promise.

Phi. By the Pow'rs above,

Let it not be the death of her or him,

And it is granted.

King. Bear away the boy

To torture. I will have her clear'd or buried.
Phi. Oh, let me call my words back, worthy sir;
Ask something else: bury my life and right

In one poor grave; but do not take away
My life and fame at once.

King. Away with him, it stands irrevocable.
Bel. Oh, kill me, gentlemen!

"Dion. No, help, sirs.”

Bel. Will you torture me?

King. Haste thee; why stay you?

Bel. Then I shall not break my vow,

You know, just gods, though I discover all.
King. How's that? Will he confess?

Dion. Sir, so he says.

King. Speak then.

Bel. Great king, if you command

This lord to talk with me alone, my tongue,
Urg'd by my heart, shall utter all the thoughts

My youth hath known, and stranger things than these
You hear not often.

King. Walk aside with him.

[Dion and Bel. walk aside together.

Dion. Why speak'st thou not?

Bel. Know you this face, my lord?

Dion. No.

Bel. Have you not seen it, nor the like? Dion. Yes, I have seen the like, but readily I know not where.

Bel. I have been often told

In court, of one Euphrasia, a lady,

And daughter to you; betwixt whom and me, They that would flatter my bad face, would swear There was such strange resemblance, that we two Could not be known asunder, drest alike.

Dion. By Heav'n, and so there is.

Bel. For her fair sake,

Who now doth spend the spring-time of her life
In holy pilgrimage, move to the king,

That I may 'scape this torture.

Dion. But thou speak'st

As like Euphrasia, as thou dost look.

How came it to thy knowledge that she lives

In pilgrimage?

Bel. I know it not, my lord.

But I have heard it, yet do scarce believe it.

Dion. Oh, my shame, is it possible? Draw near, That I may gaze upon thee: art thou she?

"Or else her murderer ?" Where wert thou born? Bel. In Siracusa.

Dion. What's thy name?

Bel. Euphrasia.

Dion. 'Tis just; 'tis she; now I do know thee; oh, That thou hadst died, and I had never seen

Thee nor my shame.

Bel. Would I had died, indeed! I wish it too; And so I must have done by vow, ere published

What I have told; but that there was no means

To hide it longer; yet I joy in this,

The princess is all clear.

King. What have you done?

Dion. All is discover'd.

Are. What is discover'd?

Dion. Why, my shame;

It is a woman; let her speak the rest.

Phi. How! that again.

Dion. It is a woman.

Phi. Blest be you pow'rs that favour innocence ! It is a woman, sir! hark, gentlemen!

It is a woman. Arethusa, take

My soul into thy breast, that would be gone
With joy; it is a woman-thou art fair,
And virtuous still to ages, 'spight of malice.
King. Speak you; where lies his shame ?
Bel. I am his daughter.

Phi. The gods are just.

But, Bellario,

(For I must call thee still so) tell me, why
Thou didst conceal thy sex; it was a fault;
A fault, Bellario, though thy other deeds
Of truth outweigh'd it: all these jealousies
Had flown to nothing, if thou hadst discover'd,
What now we now.

Bel. My father oft would speak

Your worth and virtue, and as I did grow
More and more apprehensive, I did thirst
To see the man so prais'd; but yet all this
Was but a maiden-longing, to be lost

As soon as found; till sitting in my window,
Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god
I thought (but it was you) enter our gates;
My blood flew out, and back again as fast,
As I had puff'd it forth and suck'd it in
Like breath; then was I call'd away in haste
To entertain you. Never was a man,
Heav'd from a sheep-cote to a sceptre, rais'd
So high in thoughts as I; you left a kiss
Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep
From you for ever; I did hear you talk,
Far above singing; after you were gone,
I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd
What stirr'd it so: alas! I found it love;
Yet far from ill, for could I have but liv'd
In presence of you, I had had my end;
For this I did delude my noble father
With a feign'd pilgrimage, and dress'd myself
In the habit of a boy; and, for I knew
My birth no match for you, I was past hope
Of having you and understanding well
That when I made discovery of my sex,
I could not stay with you; I made a vow,
By all the most religious things a maid
Could call together, never to be known,

Whilst there was hope to hide me from mens' eyes, For other than I seem'd, that I might ever

Abide with you; then sat I by the fount,

Where first you took me up.

King. Search out a match

Within our kingdom, where and when thou wilt,

And I will pay thy dowry; and thyself
Wilt well deserve him.

Bel. Never, sir, will I

Marry; it is a thing within my vow.

Phi. I grieve, such virtues should be laid in earth Without an heir. Hear me, my royal father. Wrong not the freedom of our souls so much, To think to take revenge of that base woman; Her malice cannot hurt us; set her free As she was born, saving from shame and sin.

King. Well! Be it so. You, Pharamond, Shall have free passage, and a conduct home Worthy so great a prince; when you come there, Remember, 'twas your faults that lost you her, And not my purpos'd will.

Pha. I do confess it ;

And let this confession

Spread an oblivion o'er my follies past.
King. It shall-All is forgot ;

Now join your hands in one. Enjoy, Philaster,
This kingdom, which is yours, and after me
Whatever I call mine; my blessing on you!
All happy hours be at your marriage-joys,
That you may grow yourselves over all lands,
And live to see your plenteous branches spring
Wherever there is sun !- -Let princes learn
By this to rule the passions of their blood;
For, what Heav'n wills, can never be withstood.

THE END.