Abbildungen der Seite
[ocr errors]

That love black deeds, learn to diffemble here !
Here, by this paper she does write to me,
As if her heart were mines of adamant
To all the world besides ; but, unto me,
A maiden snow that melted with my looks.
Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee?
For I shall guefs her love to me by that.

Bel. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were
Something allied to her, or had preserv'd
Her life three times by my fidelity :
As mothers fond do use their only sons ;
As I'd use one that's left unto my trụst,
For whom my life should pay, if he met harm ;
So she does use me.

Phi. Why, this is wondrous well! But what kind language does she feed thee with ?

Bel. Why, she does tell me, she will trust my youth
With all her loving secrets; and does call me
Her pretty servant; bids me weep no more
For leaving you ; she'll see my services
Rewarded ; and such words of that soft strain,
That I am nearer weeping when she ends
Than ere she spake.

Phi. This is much better still.
Bel. Are you not ill, my lord?
Phi. Ill! no, Bellario.


Bel. Methinks


Fall not from off your tongue fo evenly,
Nor is there in your looks that quietness,
That I was wont 'to see.

Phi. Thou art deceiv’d, boy:
And she strokes thy head ?

Belo Yes.
Phi. And does clap thy cheeks?
Bel. She does, my lord.
Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy ? ha ?
Bel. How, my lord !
Phi. She kiffes thee?
Bel. Not so, my lord.
Phi. Come, come, I know she does.
Bel. No, by my life.'”
Phi. Why, then she does not love mie; come,

she does,
I bad her do it; I charg'a her by all charms
Of love between us, by the hope of peace
We should enjoy, to yield thee all delights.
Tell me, gentle boy,
Is The not past compare ? Is not her breath
Sweet as Arabian winds, when fruits are ripe?
Is she not all a lasting mine of joy?

Bel. Ay, now I fee why my disturbed thoughts Were so perplex'd. When first I went to her,

My heart held augury ; you are abus'd;
Some villain has abus'd you: I do fee
Whereto you tend: Fall rocks upon his head,
That put this to you! 'tis some subtle train,
To bring that noble frame of yours to nought.
Phi. Thou think'st, I will be angry with thee;

Thou shalt know all my drift: I hate her more
Than I love happiness; and plac'd thee there,

pry with narrow cyes into her deeds. Hast thou discover'd ? Is she fall’n to lust, As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to me.

Bel. My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent: Had fhe a fin that way, hid from the world, Beyond the name of sin, I would not aid Her base desires; but what I came to know As servant to her, I would not reveal, To make my life last ages.

Phi. Oh, my heart !
This is a salve worse than the main disease.
Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least
That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart
To know it; I will see thy thoughts as plain
As I do now thy face.

Bel. Why, fo you do.
She is (for aught I know) by all the gods,


As chaste as ice; but were the foul as hell,
And did I know it thus, the breath of kings,
The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass,
Should draw it from me.

Pbi. Then it is no time
To dally with thee; I will take thy life,
For I do hate thee; I could curse thee now.

Bel. If you do hate, you could not curseme worse;
The gods have not a punishment in store
Greater for me, than is your hate.

Phi. Fy, fy ! So young and so diffembling ! Tell me when And where thou didst poffefs her, or let plagues Fall on me straight, if I destroy thee not !

Bel. Heav'n knows, I never did : And when I lie To save my life, may I live long and loath'd ! Hew me afunder, and, whilft I can think, I'll love those pieces you have cut away, Better than those that grow; and kiss those limbs, Because you made them fo.

Phi. Fear'ft thou not death?
Can boys contemn that?

Bel. Oh, what boy is he
Can be content to live to be a man,
That sees the best of men thus passionate,
Thus without reason?
E 3


[ocr errors]

Phi. Oh, but thou doft not know
What 'tis to die.''}

Bel. Yes, I do know, my lord ;
'Tis less than to be born; a lasting fleep,
A quiet resting from all jealousy;
A thing we all pursue : I know, besides,
It is but giving over of a game
That must be loft.

Phi, But there are pains, false boy,
For perjur'd fouls; think but on these, and then
Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.

Bel. May they fall all upon me whilft I live,
If I be perjur'd, or have ever thought
Of that you charge me with ! If I be false,
Send me to suffer in those punishments
You speak of! kill me.

Phi. Oh, what should I do?
Why, who can but believe him ? He does swear
So earnestly, that if it were not true,
The gods would not endure him. Rife, Bellario;
Thy protestations are so deep, and thou
Doft look so truly, when thou' utter'ft them,
That though I know 'em false as were my hopes,
I cannot urge thee further : But thou wert
To blame to injure me; for I must love
Thy honeft looks, and take 'no vengeance on

« ZurückWeiter »