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Bellario. Sir, if I have made

A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth;
I shall be willing, if not apt to learn.
Age and experience will adorn my mind
With larger knowledge; and if I have done
A wilful fault, think me not past all hope
For once.
What master holds so strict a hand
Over his boy, that he will part with him
Without one warning? Let me be corrected
To break my stubbornness, if it be so,
Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.

Philaster. 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'st

It is my business that doth call me hence;

And when thou art with her thou dwell'st with me:
Think so, and 'tis so. And when time is full
That thou hast well discharg'd this heavy trust
Laid on so 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.

Bellario. I am gone.

And since I am to part with you, my lord,
And none knows whether I shall live to do
More service for you, take this little prayer:
Heav'n bless your loves, your fights, all your designs!
May sick men, if they have your wish, be well;
And Heav'n hate those you curse, though I be one!

Philaster's mind being poisoned with jealousy that his Mistress is perfidiously attached to the Page, he tries to extort the supposed secret from Bellario.

Philaster.

See-see, you gods!

Enter BELLARIO.

He walks still, and the face you let him wear
When he was innocent is still the same-
Not blasted. Is this justice? Do you mean
T'entrap mortality, that you allow

Treason so smooth a brow?

Think he is guilty.

I cannot now

Bell. Health to you, my lord:

The princess doth commend to you her love, her life,

And this, unto you.

Phil. Oh, Bellario,

Now I perceive she loves me; she does shew it In loving thee, my boy: she's made thee brave. Bell. My lord, she has attir'd me past my wish, Past my desert, more fit for her attendantThough far unfit for me who do attend.

Phil. Thou art grown courtly, boy. Oh, let all

women

That love black deeds learn to dissemble 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 guess her love to me by that.

Bell. 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 trust,

For whom my life should pay if he met harm—
So she does use me.

Phil. Why, this is wond'rous well;

But what kind language does she feed thee with?
Bell. 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
Regarded; and such words of that soft strain,
That I am nearer weeping when she ends
Than ere she spake.

Phil. This is much better still.

Bell. Are you not ill, my lord?
Phil. Ill-no, Bellario.

Bell. Methinks your words

Fall not from off your tongue so evenly,

Nor is there in your looks that quietness

That I was wont to see.

Phil. Thou art deceiv'd, boy.

And she strokes thy head?

Bell. Yes.

.Phil. And does she clap thy cheeks?
Bell. She does, my lord..

Phil. And does she kiss thee, boy?-ha!

Bell. Not so, my lord.

Phil. Come, come, I know she does.
Bell. No, by my life.

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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.

Bell. Why, so you do.

She is (for aught I know), by all the gods,
As chaste as ice; but were she foul as hell,
And I did know it thus-the breath of kings,
The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass,
Should draw it from me.

Phil. Then it is no time

To dally with thee:-I will take thy life,

For I do hate thee. I could curse thee now.

Bell. If you do hate, you could not curse me worse. The gods have not a punishment in store

Greater for me than is your hate.

Phil Fie, fie! so young and so dissembling. Tell me when and where ****

Or plagues fall on me if I destroy thee not!

Bell. Heav'n knows I never did; and when I lie

To save my life, may I live long and loath'd!

Hew me asunder; and, whilst 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 so.

Phil. Fear'st thou not death? Can boys contemn that?

Bell. 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?

Phil. Oh, but thou dost not know
What 'tis to die!

Bell. Yes, I do know, my lord,

'Tis less than to be born-a lasting sleep,
A quiet resting from all jealousy,

A thing we all pursue. I know, besides,
It is but giving o'er a game that must be lost.
Phil. But there are pains, false boy,
For perjur'd souls. Think but on these, and then
Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.

Bell. May they fall all upon me whilst 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!

Phil. 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. Rise, Bellario; Thy protestations are so deep, and thou

Dost look so truly when thou utter'st them,

That though I know 'em false as were my hopes,

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