Ant. Call in the Magician. Enter Magician with a Bowl. I must, and will obtain her, I am ashes else. Are all the Philters in? Charms, Powders, Roots?

Mag. They are all in; and now I only stay The invocation of some helping Spirits.

Ant. To your work then, and dispatch.

Mag. Sit still, and fear not.

Leu. I shall ne'r endure these sights.

Ant. Away with the Woman: go wait without. [Exit.

Leu. When the Devil's gone, pray call me.

Ant. Be sure you make it powerful enough.

Mag. Pray doubt not— He Conjures.

A SONG

Rise from the Shades below,
All you that prove
The helps of looser Love;
Rise and bestow
Upon this Cup, what ever may compel
By powerful Charm, and unresisted Spell,
A Heart un-warm'd to melt in Loves desires.
Distill into this Liquor all your fires:
Heats, longings, tears,
But keep back frozen fears;
That she may know, that has all power defied,
Art is a power that will not be denied.

The ANSWER

I Obey, I Obey,
And am come to view the day,
Brought along, all may compel,
All the Earth has, and our Hell:
Here's a little, little Flower,
This will make her sweat an hour,
Then unto such flames arise,
A thousand joys will not suffice.
Here's the powder of the Moon,
With which she caught Endymion;
The powerful tears that Venus cryed,
When the Boy Adonis _dyed,
Here's Medea's Charm, with which
Jasons heart she did bewitch,
Omphale this Spell put in,
When she made the Libyan spin.
This dull root pluckt from Lethe flood,
Purges all pure thoughts, and good.
These I stir thus, round, round, round,
Whilst our light feet beat the ground.

Mag. Now Sir, 'tis full, and whosoever drinks this
Shall violently doat upon your person,
And never sleep nor eat unsatisfied:
So many hours 'twill work, and work with Violence;
And those expired, 'tis done. You have my art, Sir.

Enter Leucippe.

Ant. See him rewarded liberally—Leucippe.
Here, take this bowl, and when she calls for Wine next,
Be sure you give her this, and see her drink it;
Delay no time when she calls next.

Leu. I shall, Sir.

Ant. Let none else touch it on your life.

Leu. I am charg'd, Sir.

Ant. Now if she have an antidote art let her 'scape me. [Exeunt.

SCENA IV

Enter Leontius, Lieutenant, Gent.

1 Gent. There's the door, Lieutenant, if you dare do any thing.

Leo. Here's no man waits.

1 Gent. H' as given a charge that none shall, Nor none shall come within the hearing of him: Dare ye go forward?

Lieu. Let me put on my Skull first. My head's almost beaten into th' pap of an Apple. Are there no Guns i'th' door?

Leo. The Rogue will do it. And yet I know he has no Stomach to't.

Lieu. What loop-holes are there when I knock for stones, For those may pepper me? I can perceive none.

Leo. How he views the Fortification.

Lieu. Farewel Gentlemen, If I be kill'd—

Leo. We'll see thee buried bravely.

Lieu. Away, how should I know that then? I'll knock softly.
Pray heaven he speak in a low voice now to comfort me:
I feel I have no heart to't:—Is't well, Gentlemen?
Colonel, my Troop—

Leo. A little louder.

Lieu. Stay, stay; Here is a window, I will see, stand wide. By – he's charging of a Gun.

Leo. There's no such matter. There's no body in this room.

Lieu. O 'twas a fire-shovel:
Now I'll knock louder; if he say who's there?
As sure he has so much manners, then will I answer him
So finely & demurely; my Troop Colonel— [knocks louder.

1 Gent. Knock louder, Fool, he hears not.

Lieu. You fool, do you. Do and you dare now.

1 Gent. I do not undertake it.

Lieu. Then hold your peace, and meddle with your own matters.

Leo. Now he will knock. [Knocks louder.

Lieu. Sir, Sir, will't please you hear Sir? Your Grace, I'll look again, what's that?

Leo. He's there now. Lord! How he stares! I ne'r yet saw him thus alter'd: Stand now, and take the Troop.

Lieu. Would I were in't,
And a good horse under me: I must knock again,
The Devil's at my fingers ends: he comes now.
Now Colonel, if I live—

Leo. The Troop's thine own Boy.

Enter Demetrius, a Pistol.

Dem. What desperate fool, ambitious of his ruine?

Lieu. Your Father would desire ye, Sir, to come to dinner.

Dem. Thou art no more.

Lieu. Now, now, now, now.

Dem. Poor Coxcomb: Why do I aim at thee? [Exit.

Leo. His fear has kill'd him.

Enter Leucippe with a Bowl.

2 Gent. I protest he's almost stiff: bend him and rub him, Hold his Nose close, you, if you be a woman, Help us a little: here's a man near perish'd.

Leu. Alas alas, I have nothing here about me. Look to my Bowl; I'll run in presently And fetch some water: bend him, and set him upwards.

Leo. A goodly man— [Exit. Here's a brave heart: he's warm again: you shall not Leave us i'th' lurch so, Sirrah.

2 Gent. Now he breaths too.

Leo. If we had but any drink to raise his Spirits. What's that i'th' Bowl? upon my life, good Liquor, She would not own it else.

1 Gent. He sees.

Leo. Look up Boy. And take this Cup, and drink it off; I'll pledge thee. Guide it to his mouth, he swallows heartily.

2 Gent. Oh! fear and sorrow's dry; 'tis off—

Leo. Stand up man.

Lieu. Am I not shot?

Leo. Away with him, and chear him: Thou hast won thy Troop.

Lieu. I think I won it bravely.

Leo. Go, I must see the Prince, he must not live thus; And let me hear an hour hence from ye. Well, Sir— [Exeunt Gent. and Lieu.

Enter Leucippe with water.

Leu. Here, here: where's the sick Gentleman?

Leo. He's up, and gone, Lady.

Leu. Alas, that I came so late.

Leo. He must still thank ye; Ye left that in a Cup here did him comfort.

Leu. That in the Bowl?

Leo. Yes truly, very much comfort, He drank it off, and after it spoke lustily.

Leu. Did he drink it all?

Leo. All off.

Leu. The Devil choak him; I am undone: h'as twenty Devils in him; Undone for ever, left he none?

Leo. I think not.

Leu. No, not a drop: what shall become of me now?
Had he no where else to swound? a vengeance swound him:
Undone, undone, undone: stay, I can lye yet
And swear too at a pinch, that's all my comfort.
Look to him; I say look to him, & but mark what follows. [Ex.

Enter Demetrius.

Leo. What a Devil ails the Woman? here comes the Prince again,
With such a sadness on his face, as sorrow,
Sorrow her self but poorly imitates.
Sorrow of Sorrows on that heart that caus'd it.

Dem. Why might she not be false and treacherous to me?
And found so by my Father? she was a Woman,
And many a one of that Sex, young and fair,
As full of faith as she, have fallen, and foully.

Leo. It is a Wench! O that I knew the circumstance.

Dem. Why might not, to preserve me from this ruine,
She having lost her honour, and abused me,
My father change the forms o'th' coins, and execute
His anger on a fault she ne'r committed,
Only to keep me safe? why should I think so?
She never was to me, but all obedience,
Sweetness, and love.

Leo. How heartily he weeps now!
I have not wept this thirty years, and upward;
But now, if I should be hang'd I cannot hold from't
It grieves me to the heart.

Dem. Who's that that mocks me?

Leo. A plague of him that mocks ye: I grieve truly,
Truly, and heartily to see you thus, Sir:
And if it lay in my power, gods are my witness,
Who e'r he be that took your sweet peace from you;
I am not so old yet, nor want I spirit—

Dem.No more of that, no more Leontius, Revenges are the gods: our part is sufferance: Farewell, I shall not see thee long.

Leo. Good Sir, tell me the cause, I know there is a woman in't; Do you hold me faithful? dare you trust your Souldier? Sweet Prince, the cause?

Dem. I must not, dare not tell it, And as thou art an honest man, enquire not.

Leo. Will ye be merry then?

Dem. I am wondrous merry.

Leo. 'Tis wondrous well: you think now this becomes ye.
Shame on't, it does not, Sir, it shews not handsomely;
If I were thus; you would swear I were an Ass straight;
A wooden ass; whine for a Wench?

Dem. Prithee leave me.

Leo. I will not leave ye for a tit.

Dem. Leontius?

Leo. For that you may have any where for six pence, And a dear penny-worth too.

Dem. Nay, then you are troublesome.

Leo. Not half so troublesom as you are to your self, Sir;
Was that brave Heart made to pant for a placket:
And now i'th' dog-days too, when nothing dare love!
That noble Mind to melt away and moulder
For a hey nonny, nonny! Would I had a Glass here,
To shew ye what a pretty toy ye are turn'd to.

Dem. My wretched Fortune.

Leo. Will ye but let me know her?
I'll once turn Bawd: go to, they are good mens offices,
And not so contemptible as we take 'em for:
And if she be above ground, and a Woman;
I ask no more; I'll bring her o' my back, Sir,
By this hand I will, and I had as lieve bring the Devil,
I care not who she be, nor where I have her;
And in your arms, or the next Bed deliver her,
Which you think fittest, and when you have danc'd your galliard.

Dem. Away, and fool to them are so affected: O thou art gone, and all my comfort with thee! Wilt thou do one thing for me?

Leo. All things i'th' World, Sir, Of all dangers.

Dem. Swear.

Leo. I will.

Dem. Come near me no more then.

Leo. How?

Dem. Come no more near me: Thou art a plague-sore to me. [Exit.

Leo. Give you good ev'n Sir; If you be suffer'd thus, we shall have fine sport. I will be sorry yet.

Enter 2 Gentlemen.

1 Gent. How now, how does he?

Leo. Nay, if I tell ye, hang me, or any man else That hath his nineteen wits; he has the bots I think, He groans, and roars, and kicks.

2 Gent. Will he speak yet?

Leo. Not willingly:
Shortly he will not see a man; if ever
I look'd upon a Prince so metamorphos'd,
So juggl'd into I know not what, shame take me;
This 'tis to be in love.

1 Gent. Is that the cause on't?

Leo. What is it not the cause of but bear-baitings?
And yet it stinks much like it: out upon't;
What giants, and what dwarffs, what owls and apes,
What dogs, and cats it makes us? men that are possest with it,
Live as if they had a Legion of Devils in 'em,
And every Devil of a several nature;
Nothing but Hey-pass, re-pass: where's the Lieutenant?
Has he gather'd up the end on's wits again?

1 Gent. He is alive: but you that talk of wonders, Shew me but such a wonder as he is now.

Leo. Why? he was ever at the worst a wonder.

2 Gent. He is now most wonderful; a Blazer now, Sir.

Leo. What ails the Fool? and what Star reigns now Gentlemen We have such Prodigies?

2 Gent. 'Twill pose your heaven-hunters;
He talks now of the King, no other language,
And with the King as he imagines, hourly.
Courts the King, drinks to the King, dies for the King,
Buys all the Pictures of the King, wears the Kings colours.

Leo. Does he not lye i'th' King street too?

1 Gent. He's going thither,
Makes prayers for the King, in sundry languages,
Turns all his Proclamations into metre;
Is really in love with the King, most dotingly,
And swears Adonis was a Devil to him:
A sweet King, a most comely King, and such a King—

2 Gent. Then down on's marrow-bones; O excellent King
Thus he begins, Thou Light, and Life of Creatures,
Angel-ey'd King, vouchsafe at length thy favour;
And so proceeds to incision: what think ye of this sorrow?

1 Gent. Will as familiarly kiss the King['s] horses As they pass by him: ready to ravish his footman.

Leo. Why, this is above Ela? But how comes this?

1 Gent. Nay that's to understand yet, But thus it is, and this part but the poorest, 'Twould make a man leap over the Moon to see him act these.

2 Gent. With sighs as though his heart would break: Cry like a breech'd boy, not eat a bit.

Leo. I must go see him presently, For this is such a gig, for certain, Gentlemen, The Fiend rides on a Fiddle-stick.

2 Gent. I think so.

Leo. Can ye guide me to him for half an hour? I am his To see the miracle.

1 Gent. We sure shall start him. [Exeunt.

SCENA V

Enter Antigonus and Leucippe.

Ant. Are you sure she drank it?

Leu. Now must I lye most confidently. Yes Sir, she has drunk it off.

Ant. How works it with her?

Leu. I see no alteration yet.

Ant. There will be, For he is the greatest Artist living made it. Where is she now?

Leu. She is ready to walk out, Sir.

Ant. Stark mad, I know she will be.

Leu. So I hope, Sir.

Ant. She knows not of the Prince?

Leu. Of no man living—

Ant. How do I look? how do my cloaths become me? I am not very grey.

Leu. A very youth, Sir,
Upon my maiden-head as smug as April:
Heaven bless that sweet face, 'twill undo a thousand;
Many a soft heart must sob yet, e'r that wither,
Your Grace can give content enough.

Enter Celia with a Book.

Ant. I think so.

Leu. Here she comes, Sir.

Ant. How shall I keep her off me? Go, & perfume the room: make all things ready. [Ex. Leu.

Cel. No hope yet of the Prince! no comfort of him!
They keep me mew'd up here, as they mew mad folks,
No company but my afflictions.
This royal Devil again! strange, how he haunts me!
How like a poyson'd potion his eyes fright me!
Has made himself handsome too.

Ant. Do you look now, Lady? You will leap anon.

Cel. Curl'd and perfum'd? I smell him; He looks on's legs too, sure he will cut a caper; God-a-mercy, dear December.

Ant. O do you smile now; I knew it would work with you; come hither pretty one.

Cel. Sir.

Ant. I like those courtesies well; come hither and kiss me.

Cel. I am reading, Sir, of a short Treatise here,
That's call'd the Vanity of Lust: has your Grace seen it?
He says here, that an Old Mans loose desire
Is like the Glow-worms light, the Apes so wonder'd at:
Which when they gather'd sticks, and laid upon't,
And blew, and blew, turn'd tail, and went out presently:
And in another place he calls their loves,
Faint Smells of dying Flowers, carry no comforts;
They're doting, stinking foggs, so thick and muddy,
Reason with all his beams cannot beat through 'em.

Ant. How's this? is this the potion? you but fool still; I know you love me.

Cel. As you are just and honest; I know I love and honour you: admire you.

Ant. This makes against me, fearfully against me.

Cel. But as you bring your power to persecute me,
Your traps to catch mine innocence to rob me,
As you lay out your lusts to overwhelm me,
Hell never hated good, as I hate you, Sir;
And I dare tell it to your face: What glory
Now after all your Conquests got, your Titles,
The ever-living memories rais'd to you,
Can my defeat be? my poor wrack, what triumph?
And when you crown your swelling Cups to fortune,
What honourable tongue can sing my story?
Be as your Emblem is, a g[l]orious Lamp
Set on the top of all, to light all perfectly:
Be as your office is, a god-like Justice,
Into all shedding equally your Vertues.

Ant. She has drencht me now; now I admire her goodness; So young, so nobly strong, I never tasted: Can nothing in the power of Kings perswade ye?

Cel. No, nor that power command me.

Ant. Say I should force ye? I have it in my will.

Cel. Your will's a poor one;
And though it be a King's Will, a despised one.
Weaker than Infants legs, your will's in swadling Clouts,
A thousand ways my will has found to check ye;
A thousand doors to 'scape ye, I dare dye, Sir;
As suddenly I dare dye, as you can offer:
Nay, say you had your Will, say you had ravish'd me,
Perform'd your lust, what had you purchas'd by it?
What Honour won? do you know who dwells above, Sir,
And what they have prepar'd for men turn'd Devils?
Did you never hear their thunder? start and tremble,
Death sitting on your bloud, when their fires visit us.
Will nothing wring you then do you think? sit hard here,
And like a Snail curl round about your Conscience,
Biting and stinging: will you not roar too late then?
Then when you shake in horrour of this Villainy,
Then will I rise a Star in Heaven, and scorn ye.

Ant. Lust, how I hate thee now! and love this sweetness! Will you be my Queen? can that price purchase ye?

Cel. Not all the World, I am a Queen already,
Crown'd by his Love, I must not lose for Fortune;
I can give none away, sell none away, Sir,
Can lend no love, am not mine own Exchequer;
For in anothers heart my hope and peace lies.

Ant. Your fair hands, Lady? for yet I am not pure enough To touch these Lips, in that sweet Peace ye spoke of. Live now for ever, and I to serve your Vertues—

Cel. Why now you show a god! now I kneel to ye;
This Sacrifice of Virgins Joy send to ye:
Thus I hold up my hands to Heaven that touch'd ye,
And pray eternal Blessings dwell about ye.

Ant. Vertue commands the Stars: rise more than Vertue; Your present comfort shall be now my business.

Cel. All my obedient service wait upon ye. [Ex. severally.

SCENA VI

Enter Leontius, Gentlemen, and Lieutenant.

Leo. Hast thou clean forgot the Wars?

Lieu. Prithee hold thy peace.

1 Gent. His mind's much elevated now.

Leo. It seems so. Sirrah.

Lieu. I am so troubled with this Fellow.

Leo. He will call me Rogue anon.

1 Gent. 'Tis ten to one else.

Lieu. O King that thou knew'st I lov'd thee, how I lov'd thee. And where O King, I barrel up thy beauty.

Leo. He cannot leave his Sutlers trade, he woos in't.

Lieu. O never, King.

Leo. By this hand, when I consider—

Lieu. My honest friend, you are a little sawcy.

1 Gent. I told you you would have it.

Lieu. When mine own worth—

Leo. Is flung into the ballance, and found nothing.

Lieu. And yet a Soldier.

Leo. And yet a sawcy one.

Lieu. One that has followed thee.

Leo. Fair and far off.

Lieu. Fought for thy grace.

Leo. 'Twas for some grief, you lye Sir.

Lieu. He's the son of a whore denies this: will that satisfie ye?

Leo. Yes, very well.

Lieu. Shall then that thing that honours thee? How miserable a thing soever, yet a thing still; And though a thing of nothing, thy thing ever.

Leo. Here's a new thing.

2 Gent. He's in a deep dump now.

Leo. I'le fetch him out on't. When's the King's birth-day?

Lieu. When e're it be, that day I'le dye with ringing. And there's the resolution of a Lover. [Exit.

Leo. A goodly resolution sure I take it.
He is bewitch'd, or moop'd, or his brains melted,
Could he find no body to fall in love with; but the King,
The good old King, to doat upon him too?
Stay, now I remember, what the fat woman warn'd me,
Bid me remember, and look to him too:
I'le hang if she have not a hand in this: he's conjured,
Goe after him, I pity the poor Rascal,
In the mean time I'le wait occasion
To work upon the Prince.

2 Gent. Pray doe that seriously. [Ex. severally.

SCENA VII

Enter Antigonus, Menippus, Lords.

Lord. He's very ill.

Ant. I am very sorry for't, And much ashamed I have wronged her innocence, Menippus, guide her to the Princes lodgings, There leave her to his love again.

Men. I am glad Sir.

Lord. He will speak to none.

Ant. O I shall break that silence; Be quick, take fair attendance.

Men. Yes Sir presently. [Exit.

Ant. He will find his tongue, I warrant ye; his health too; I send a physick will not fail.

Lord. Fair work it.

Ant. We hear the Princes mean to visit us In way of truce.

Lord. 'Tis thought so.

Ant. Come: let's in then, And think upon the noblest wayes to meet 'em. [Exeunt.

SCENA VIII

Enter Leontius.

Leo. There's no way now to get in: all the light stopt too;
Nor can I hear a sound of him, pray Heaven
He use no violence: I think he has more Soul,
Stronger, and I hope nobler: would I could but see once,
This beauty he groans under, or come to know
But any circumstance. What noise is that there?
I think I heard him groan: here are some coming;
A woman too, I'le stand aloof, and view 'em.

Enter Menippus, Celia, Lords.

Cel. Well, some of ye have been to blame in this point, But I forgive ye: The King might have pickt out too Some fitter woman to have tri'd his valour.

Men. 'Twas all to the best meant, Lady.

Cel. I must think so, For how to mend it now: he's here you tell me?

Men. He's Madam, and the joy to see you only Will draw him out.

Leo. I know that womans tongue,
I think I have seen her face too: I'le goe nearer:
If this be she, he has some cause of sorrow:
'Tis the same face; the same, most excellent woman.

Cel. This should be Lord Leontius: I remember him.

Leo. Lady, I think ye know me.

Cel. Speak soft, good Souldier:
I do, and know ye worthy, know ye noble;
Know not me yet openly, as you love me;
But let me see ye again, I'le satisfie ye:
I am wondrous glad to see those eyes.

Leo. You have charged me.

Cel. You shall know where I am.

Leo. I will not off yet:
She goes to knock at's door: This must be she
The fellow told me of: right glad I am on't,
He will bolt now for certain.

Cel. Are ye within Sir? I'le trouble you no more: I thank your courtesie, Pray leave me now.

All. Me. We rest your humble servants. [Ex. Me. &c.

Cel. So now my jives are off: pray Heaven he be here! Master, my royal Sir: do you hear who calls ye? Love, my Demetrius.

Leo. These are pretty quail-pipes, The Cock will Crow anon.

Cel. Can ye be drowsie, When I call at your Window?

Leo. I hear him stirring: Now he comes wondring out.

Enter Demetrius.

Dem. 'Tis Celias sound sure: The sweetness of that tongue draws all hearts to it; There stands the shape too.

Le[o]. How he stares upon her!

Dem. Ha? do mine eyes abuse me? 'Tis she, the living Celia: your hand Lady?

Cel. What should this mean?

Dem. The very self same Celia.

Cel. How do ye Sir?

Dem. Only turn'd brave. I heard you were dead my dear one, compleat, She is wondrous brave, a wondrous gallant Courtier.

Cel. How he surveyes me round? here has been foul play.

Dem. How came she thus?

Cel. It was a kind of death Sir, I suffered in your absence, mew'd up here, And kept conceal'd I know not how.

Dem. 'Tis likely: How came you hither Celia? wondrous gallant: Did my Father send for ye?

Cel. So they told me Sir, And on command too.

Dem. I hope you were obedient?

Cel. I was so ever.

Dem. And ye were bravely us'd?

Cel. I wanted nothing:
My maiden-head to a mote i'th' Sun, he's jealous:
I must now play the knave with him, though I dye for't,
'Tis in my nature.

Dem. Her very eyes are alter'd: Jewels, and rich ones too, I never saw yet— And what were those came for ye?

Cel. Monstrous jealous: Have I liv'd at the rate of these scorn'd questions? They seem'd of good sort, Gentlemen.

Dem. Kind men?

Cel. They were wondrous kind: I was much beholding to 'em; There was one Menippus Sir.

Dem. Ha?

Cel. One Menippus, A notable merry Lord, and a good companion.

Dem. And one Charinthus too?

Cel. Yes, there was such a one.

Dem. And Timon?

Cel. 'Tis most true.

Dem. And thou most treacherous: My Fathers bawds by–they never miss course; And were these daily with ye?

Cel. Every hour Sir.

Dem. And was there not a Lady, a fat Lady?

Cel. O yes; a notable good wench.

Dem. The Devil fetch her.

Cel. 'Tis ev'n the merriest wench—

Dem. Did she keep with ye too?

Cel. She was all in all; my bed-fellow, eat with me, Brought me acquainted.

Dem. You are well know[n] here then?

Cel. There is no living here a stranger I think.

Dem. How came ye by this brave gown?

Cel. This is a poor one:
Alas, I have twenty richer: do you see these jewels?
Why, they are the poorest things, to those are sent me,
And sent me hourly too.

Dem. Is there no modestie? No faith in this fair Sex?

Leo. What will this prove too? For yet with all my wits, I understand not.

Dem. Come hither; thou art dead indeed, lost, tainted;
All that I left thee fair, and innocent,
Sweet as thy youth, and carrying comfort in't;
All that I hoped for vertuous, is fled from thee,
Turn'd black, and bankrupt.

Leo. 'By'r Lady, this cuts shrewdly.

Dem. Thou art dead, for ever dead; sins surfeit slew thee;
The ambition of those wanton eyes betrai'd thee;
Go from me, grave of honour; go thou foul one,
Thou glory of thy sin; go thou despis'd one,
And where there is no vertue, nor no virgin;
Where Chastity was never known, nor heard of;
Where nothing reigns but impious lust, and looser faces.
Go thither, child of bloud, and sing my doating.

Cel. You do not speak this seriously I hope Sir; I did but jest with you.

Dem. Look not upon me, There is more hell in those eyes, than hell harbours; And when they flame, more torments.

Cel. Dare ye trust me? You durst once even with all you had: your love Sir? By this fair light I am honest.

Dem. Thou subtle Circe, Cast not upon the maiden light eclipses: Curse not the day.

Cel. Come, come, you shall not do this:
How fain you would seem angry now, to fright me;
You are not in the field among your Enemies;
Come, I must cool this courage.

Dem. Out thou impudence,
Thou ulcer of thy Sex; when I first saw thee,
I drew into mine eyes mine own destruction,
I pull'd into my heart that sudden poyson,
That now consumes my dear content to cinders:
I am not now Demetrius, thou hast chang'd me;
Thou, woman, with thy thousand wiles hast chang'd me;
Thou Serpent with thy angel-eyes hast slain me;
And where, before I touch'd on this fair ruine,
I was a man, and reason made, and mov'd me,
Now one great lump of grief, I grow and wander.

Cel. And as you are noble, do you think I did this?

Dem. Put all the Devils wings on, and flie from me.

Cel. I will go from ye, never more to see ye:
I will flie from ye, as a plague hangs o're me;
And through the progress of my life hereafter;
Where ever I shall find a fool, a false man,
One that ne're knew the worth of polish'd vertue;
A base suspecter of a virgins honour,
A child that flings away the wealth he cri'd for,
Him will I call Demetrius: that fool Demetrius,
That mad man a Demetrius; and that false man,
The Prince of broken faiths, even Prince Demetrius.
You think now, I should cry, and kneel down to ye,
Petition for my peace; let those that feel here
The weight of evil, wait for such a favour,
I am above your hate, as far above it,
In all the actions of an innocent life,
As the pure Stars are from the muddy meteors,
Cry when you know your folly: howl and curse then,
Beat that unmanly breast, that holds a false heart
When ye shall come to know, whom ye have flung from ye.

Dem. Pray ye stay a little.

Cel. Not your hopes can alter me.
Then let a thousand black thoughts muster in ye,
And with those enter in a thousand doatings;
Those eyes be never shut, but drop to nothing:
My innocence for ever haunt and fright ye:
Those arms together grow in folds; that tongue,
That bold bad tongue that barks out these disgraces.
When you shall come to know how nobly vertuous
I have preserv'd my life, rot, rot within ye.

Dem. What shall I doe?

Cel. Live a lost man for ever.
Go ask your Fathers conscience what I suffered,
And through what seas of hazards I sayl'd through:
Mine honour still advanced in spight of tempests,
Then take your leave of love; and confess freely,
You were never worthy of this heart that serv'd ye,
And so farewel ungratefull— [Exit.

Dem. Is she gone?

Leo. I'le follow her, and will find out this matter.– [Exit.

Enter Antigonus, and Lords.

Ant. Are ye pleas'd now? have you got your heart again? Have I restor'd ye that?

Dem. Sir even for Heaven sake, And sacred truth sake, tell me how ye found her.

Ant. I will, and in few words. Before I tri'd her,
'Tis true, I thought her most unfit your fellowship,
And fear'd her too: which fear begot that story
I told ye first: but since, like gold I toucht her.

Dem. And how dear Sir?

Ant. Heavens holy light's not purer:
The constancy and goodness of all women
That ever liv'd, to win the names of worthy,
This noble Maid has doubled in her: honour,
All promises of wealth, all art to win her,
And by all tongues imploy'd, wrought as much on her
As one may doe upon the Sun at noon day
By lighting Candles up: her shape is heavenly,
And to that heavenly shape her thoughts are angels.

Dem. Why did you tell me Sir?

Ant. 'Tis true, I err'd in't:
But since I made a full proof of her vertue,
I find a King too poor a servant for her.
Love her, and honour her; in all observe her.
She must be something more than time yet tells her:
And certain I believe him b[l]est, enjoyes her:
I would not lose the hope of such a Daughter,
To adde another Empire to my honour.– [Exit.

Dem. O wretched state! to what end shall I turn me?
And where begins my penance? now, what service
Will win her love again? my death must doe it:
And if that sacrifice can purge my follies,
Be pleas'd, O mightie Love, I dye thy servant— [Exit.