As freedom would,
then I will call this Lady
As base as be her
actions, hear me Sir,
Believe your hated
bloud when it rebels
Against your reason
sooner than this Lady.
Meg.
By this good light he bears it hansomely.
Phi.
This Lady? I will sooner trust the wind
With Feathers, or
the troubled Sea with Pearl,
Than her with any
thing; believe her not!
Why think you, if
I did believe her words;
I would outlive
'em: honour cannot take
Revenge on you,
then what were to be known
But death?
King. Forget her Sir, since
all is knit
Between us: but
I must request of you
One favour, and
will sadly be denied.
Phi.
Command what ere it be.
King.
Swear to be true to what you promise.
Phi.
By the powers 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.
O let me call my words back, worthy Sir,
Ask something else,
bury my life and right (once.
In one poor grave,
but do not take away my life and fame at
King.
Away with him, it stands irrevocable.
Phi.
Turn all your eyes on me, here stands a man
The falsest and
the basest of this world:
Set swords against
this breast some honest man,
For I have liv'd
'till I am pitied,
My former deeds
are hateful, but this last
Is pitifull, for
I unwillingly
Have given the dear
preserver of my life
Unto his Torture:
is it in the power [Offers
to kill himself.
Of flesh and blood,
to carry this and live?
Are.
Dear Sir be patient yet, or stay that hand.
King.
Sirs, strip that boy.
Di.
Come Sir, your tender flesh will try your constancie.
Bell.
O kill me gentlemen. Di.
No, help Sirs.
Bell.
Will you Torture me?
King.
Hast there, why stay you?
Bell.
Then I shall not break my vow,
You know just gods,
though I discover all.
King.
How's that? Will he confess?
Di.
Sir, so he says. King.
Speak then.
Bell.
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.
Di.
Why speak'st thou not?
Bell.
Know you this face my Lord?
Di.
No. Bell.
Have you not seen it, nor the like?
Di.
Yes, I have seen the like, but readily
I know not where.
Bell.
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.
Di.
By Heaven and so there is.
Bell.
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. Di.
But thou speak'st
As like Euphrasia
as thou dost look,
How came it to thy
knowledge that she lives in Pilgrimage?
Bell.
I know it not my Lord,
But I have heard
it, and do scarce believe it.
Di.
Oh my shame, is't possible? Draw near,
That I may gaze
upon thee, art thou she?
Or else her Murderer?
where wert thou born?
Bell.
In Siracusa. Di.
What's thy name?
Bell.
Euphrasia.
(hadst died
Di.
O 'tis just, 'tis she now, I do know thee, Oh that
thou
And I had never
seen thee nor my shame, |
How
shall I own thee? shall this tongue of mine
E're call thee Daughter
more?
Bell.
Would I had died indeed, I wish it too,
And so I must have
done by vow, e're 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?
Di.
All is discovered. Phi.
Why then hold you me?
Di.
All is discovered, pray you let me go. He
offers to
King.
Stay him. Are.
What is discovered? stab
himself.
Di.
Why my shame, it is a woman, let her speak the rest.
Phi.
How! that again. Di.
It is a woman.
Phi.
Blest be you powers that favour innocence.
King.
Lay hold upon that Lady.
Phi.
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 vertuous still
to ages, in despight of malice.
King.
Speak you, where lies his shame?
Bell.
I am his Daughter. Phi.
The Gods are just.
Di.
I dare accuse none, but before you two
The vertue of our
age, I bend my knee
For mercy.
Phi. Take it freely; for
I know,
Though what thou
didst were undiscreetly done,
'Twas meant well.
Are.
And for me,
I have a power to
pardon sins as oft
As any man has power
to wrong me.
Cle.
Noble and worthy. Phi.
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 discovered,
What now we know.
Bell.
My Father would oft speak
Your worth and vertue,
and as I did grow
More and more apprehensive,
I did thirst
To see the man so
rais'd, but yet all this
Was but a Maiden
longing to be lost
As soon as sound,
till sitting in my window,
Printing my thoughts
in Lawne, I saw a God
I thought (but it
was you) enter our Gates,
My bloud flew out,
and back again as fast
As I had pust it
sorth, and suck't it in
Like breath, then
was I call'd away in hast
To entertain you.
Never was a man
Heav'd from a Sheep-coat
to a Scepter 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 stir'd it so,
Alas I found it love,
Yet far from lust,
for could I have but liv'd
["lust" is crossed out in MS and "ills"
written in it's place]
In presence of you,
I had had my end,
For this I did delude
my noble Father
With a feign'd Pilgrimage,
and drest my self
In 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 sate 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 thy self
Wilt well deserve
him.
Bell.
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