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A fimple innocence in me, perhaps

Might have been craft, the cunning of a boy
Harden'd in lies and theft; yet ventur'd you
To part my miferies and me: For which,
I never can expect to ferve a lady,

That bears more honour in her breaft than you.
Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee; thou art young,
And bear'ft a childifh overflowing love

To them that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee fair.
But when thy judgment comes to rule those paffions,
Thou wilt remember best those careful friends
That plac'd thee in the nobleft way of life.
She is a princess I prefer thee to.

Bel. In that small time that I have feen the world,

I never knew a man hafty to part with
A fervant he thought trufty: I remember,
My father would prefer the boys he kept
To greater men than he; but did it not,
'Till they were grown too faucy for himself.
Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all
In thy behaviour.

Bel. Sir, if I have made

A fault of ignorance, inftruct my youth;
I fhall be willing, if not apt, to learn;
Age and experience will adorn my mind.
With larger knowledge: And if I have done

D 2

A wilful

A wilful fault, think me not past all hope
For once. What mafter holds fo ftrict a hand

Over his boy, that he will part with him
Without one warning? Let me be corrected,
To break my stubbornnefs, if it be fo,

Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.

Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay, That, trust me, I could weep to part with thee. Alas! I do not turn thee off; thou know'ft,

It is my business that doth call thee hence;

And, when thou art with her, thou dwell'ft with me;
Think fo, and 'tis fo; and when time is full,
That thou haft well difcharg'd this heavy truft,
Laid on fo weak a one, I will again

With joy receive thee; as I live, I will.

Nay, weep not, gentle boy. Tis more than time
Thou didst attend the princess.

Bel. I am gone;

But fince I am to part with you, my lord,

And none knows whether I fhall live to do

More fervice for you, take this little prayer:

Heav'n bless your loves, your fights, all your designs!
May fick men, if they have your wish, be well!
And Heav'n hate those you curfe, though I be one!

[Exit.

Phi. The love of boys unto their lords is strange!

1

I have read wonders of it! yet this boy,
For my fake (if a man may judge by looks
And speech) would out-do ftory. I

A day to pay him for his loyalty.

I may fee

Scene changes to Arethufa's apartment.

Enter Arethufa and a Lady.

Are. Where's the boy? where's Bellario?
Lady. Within, madam.

[Exit.

Are. Gave you him gold to buy him clothes? Lady. I did.

Are. And has he done't?

Lady. Madam, not yet.

Are. 'Tis a pretty fad-talking boy; is it not?

Enter Galatea.

Are: Oh, you are welcome! What good news? Gal. As good as any one can tell your grace, That fays fhe has done that you would have wish'd. Are. Haft thou difcover'd then?

Gal. I have. Your prince,

Brave Pharamond's disloyal.

Are. And with whom?

Gal. Ev'n with the lady we fufpect; with Megra.

Are. Oh, where? and when?

Gal. I can difcover all.

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Are. The king fhall know this; and if destiny, To whom we dare not say, 'It shall not be,' Have not decreed it fo in lafting leaves, Whose smallest characters were never chang'd, This hated match with Pharamond fhall break. Run back into the prefence, mingle there Again with other ladies; leave the reft

To me. Where is the boy?

Lady. Here, madam.

Enter Bellario.

[Exit Gal.

Are. Why art thou ever melancholy, Sir? You are fad to change your service: Is't not fo? Bel. Madam, I have not chang'd; I wait on you, To do him fervice.

Are. Thou disclaim'ft in me.

Tell me, Bellario, thou can't fing and play?

I

Bel. If grief will give me leave, madam, I can. Are. Alas! what kind of grief can thy years

know?

Had'ft a curft mafter when thou went'st to school? Thou art not capable of other grief:

Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be, When no breath troubles them: Believe me, boy, Care feeks out wrinkled brows and hollow eyes, And builds himself caves to abide in them.

Come,

Come, Sir, tell me truly, does your lord love me? Bel. Love, madam? I know not what it is.

Are. Canft thou know grief, and never yet knew'ft love?

Thou art deceiv'd, boy. Does he fpeak of me,
As if he wish'd me well?

Bel. If it be love;

To forget all respect of his own friends,
In thinking on your face; if it be love,
To fit cross-arm'd, and figh away the day,
Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud
And hastily, as men i'th' streets do fire;
If it be love, to weep himself away,

When he but hears of any lady dead,

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Or kill'd, because it might have been your chance;
If, when he goes to reft (which will not be)
'Twixt ev'ry prayer he fays, he names you once

As others drop a bead; be to be in love,
Then, madam, I dare fwear he loves you.
Are. Oh!

You are a cunning boy, taught to deceive,
For your lord's credit: But thou know'it a falfhood
That bears this found, is welcomer to me,
Than any truth, that fays, he loves me not.
Lead the way, boy. Do you attend me too;

'Tis thy lord's business haftes me thus. Away. [Exe.

D 4

Scene

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