SCENE II. [A forest. ]

Enter two Woodmen

1st Wood. What, have you lodged the deer?

2nd Wood. Yes, they are ready for the bow.

1st Wood. Who shoots?

2nd Wood. The princess.

1Ast Wood. No, she'll hunt.

2nd Wood. She'll take a stand, I say.

1st Wood. Who else?

2nd Wood. Why, the young stranger-prince.

1st Wood. He shall shoot in a stone-bow〖With a Cross-bow for shooting stones.〗 for me. I never lov'd his beyond-sea-ship since he forsook the say,〖The assay or slitting of the deer, in order to test the quality of the flesh, which involved a fee of ten shillings to the keeper.〗 for paying ten shillings. He was there at the fall of a deer, and would needs (out of his mightiness) give ten groats for the dowcets; marry, his steward would have the velvet-head〖The hart's horns, which are covered with velvet pile when new.〗 into the bargain, to turf〖Re-cover.〗 his hat withal. I think he should love venery; he is an old Sir Tristrem; for, if you be rememb'red, he forsook the stag once to strike a rascal〖A lean doe.〗 miching〖Creeping stealthily.〗 in a meadow, and her he killed in the eye. Who shoots else?

2nd Wood. The Lady Galatea.

1st Wood. That's a good wench. She's liberal, and, by the Gods, they say she's honest, and whether that be a fault, I have nothing to do. There's all?

2nd Wood. No, one more; Megra.

1st Wood. That's a firker,〖A fast one.〗 i'faith, boy. There's a wench will ride her haunches as hard after a kennel of hounds as a hunting saddle, and when she comes home, get 'em clapt, and all is well again. I have known her lose herself three times in one afternoon (if the woods have been answerable),〖Suitable.〗 and it has been work enough for one man to find her, and he has sweat for it. She rides well and she pays well. Hark! let's go. Exeunt.


Phi. Oh, that I had been nourish'd in these woods

With milt of goats and acorns, and not known

The right of crowns nor the dissembling trains

Of women's looks; but digg'd myself a cave,

Where I, my fire, my cattle, and my bed,

Might have been shut together in one shed;

And then had taken me some mountain-girl,

Beaten with winds, chaste as the hard'ned rocks

Whereon she dwelt, that might have strewed my bed

With leaves and reeds, and with the skins of beasts,

Our neighbours, and have borne at her big breasts

My large coarse issue! This had been a life

Free from vexation.


Bel. Oh, wicked men!

An innocent may walk safe among beasts;

Nothing assaults me here. See, my griev'd lord

Sits as his soul were searching out a way

To leave his body!—Pardon me, that must

Break thy last commandment; for I must speak.

You that are griev'd can pity; hear, my lord!

Phi. Is there a creature yet so miserable,

That I can pity?

Bel. Oh, my noble lord,

View my strange fortune, and bestow on me,

According to your bounty (if my service

Can merit nothing), so much as may serve

To keep that little piece I hold of life

From cold and hunger!

Phi. Is it thou? Be gone!

Go, sell those misbeseeming clothes thou wear'st,

and feed thyself with them.

Bel. Alas, my lord, I can get nothing for them.!

The silly country-people think 'tis treason

To touch such gay things.

Phi. Now, by the gods, this is

Unkindly done, to vex me with thy sight.

Thou'rt fallen again to thy dissembling trade;

How shouldst thou think to cozen me again?

Remains there yet a plague untried for me?

Even so thou wept'st, and looked'st, and spok'st when first

I took thee up.

Curse on the time! If thy commanding tears

Can work on any other, use thy art;

I'll not betray it. Which way wilt thou take,

That I may shun thee, for thine eyes are poison

To mine, and I am loath to grow in rage;

This way, or that way?

Bel. Any will serve; but I will choose to have

That path in chase that leads unto my grave. Exeunt severally.

Enter [on one side] DION, and [on the other]

the two Woodmen

Dion. This is the strangest sudden chance!—You, woodmen!

1st Wood. My lord Dion?

Dion. Saw you a lady come this way on a sable horse studded with stars of white?

2nd Wood. Was she not young and tall?

Dion. Yes. Rode she to the wood or to the plain?

2nd Wood. Faith, my lord, we say none. Exeunt Woodmen.

Dion. Pox of your questions then!


What, is she found?

Cle. Nor will be, I think.

Dion. Let him seek his daughter himself. She cannot stray about a little necessary natural business, but the whole court must be in arms. When she has done, we shall have peace.

Cle. There's already a thousand fatherless tales amongst us. Some say, her horse ran away with her; some, a wolf pursued her; others, 'twas a plot to kill her, and that arm'd men were seen in the wood: but questionless she rode away willingly.


King. Where is she?

Cle. Sir, I cannot tell.

King. How's that?

Answer me so again!

Cle. Sir, shall I lie?

King. Yes, lie and damn, rather than tell me that.

I say again, where is she? Mutter not!—

Sir, speak you; where is she?

Dion. Sir, I do not know.

King. Speak that again so boldly, and, by Heaven,

It is thy last!—You, fellows, answer me;

Where is she? Mark me, all; I am your King:

I wish to see my daughter; show her me;

I do command you all, as you are subjects,

To show her me! What! am I not your King?

If ay, then am I not to be obeyed?

Dion. Yes, if you command things possible and honest.

King. Things possible and honest! Hear me, thou,—

Thou traitor, that dar'st confine thy King to things

Possible and honest! Show her me,

Or, let me perish, if I cover not

All Sicily with blood!

Dion. Faith, I cannot,

Unless you tell me where she is.

King. You have betray'd me; you have let me lose

The jewel of my life. Go, bring her to me,

And set her here before me. 'Tis the King

Will have it so; whose breath can still the winds,

Uncloud the sun, charm down the swelling sea,

And stop the floods of heaven. Speak, can it not?

Dion. No.

King. No! cannot the breath of kings do this?

Dion. No; nor smell sweet itself, if once the lungs

Be but corrupted.

King. Is it so? Take heed!

Dion. Sir, take you heed how you dare the powers

That must be just.

King. Alas! what are we kings!

Why do you gods place us above the rest,

To be serv'd, flatter'd, and ador'd, till we

Believe we hold within our hands your thunder?

And when we come to try the power we have,

There's not a leaf shakes at our threatenings.

I have sinn'd, 'tis true, and here stand to be punish'd;

Yet would not thus be punish'd. Let me choose

My way, and lay it on!

Dion. [Aside.] He articles with the gods. Would somebody would draw bonds for the performance of covenants betwixt them!


King. What, is she found?

Pha. No; we have ta'en her horse;

He gallop'd empty by. There is some treason.

You, Galatea, rode with her into the wood;

Why left you her?

Gal. She did command me.

King. Command! you should not.

Gal. 'Twould ill become my fortunes and my birth

To disobey the daughter of my King.

King. You're all cunning to obey us for our hurt;

But I will have her.

Pha. If I have her not,

By this hand, there shall be no more Sicily.

Dion. [Aside.] What, will he carry it to Spain in's pocket?

Pha. I will not leave one man alive, but the King,

A cook, and a tailor.

King. [Aside.] I see the injuries I have done must be reveng'd.

Dion. Sir, this is not the way to find her out.

King. Run all, disperse yourselves. The man that finds her,

Or (if she be kill'd) the traitor, I'll make him great.

Dion. I know some would give five thousand pounds to find her.

Pha. Come, let us seek.

King. Each man a several way; here I myself.

Dion. Come, gentlemen, we here.

Cle. Lady, you must go search too.

Meg. I had rather be search'd myself. Exeunt [severally].

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