Diph. You are the brother to the king, my lord; We'll take your word.

Lys. Strato, thou hast some skill in poetry: What think'st thou of the masque? will it be well? Strat. As well as masque can be.

Lys. As masque can be?

Strat. Yes; they must commend their king, and speak in praise

Of the assembly; bless the bride and bridegroom In person of some god. They are tied to rules Of flattery.

Cle. See, good my lord, who is return'd!

Enter MELANTIUS.

Lys. Noble Melantius! the land, by me,
Welcomes thy virtues home to Rhodes.
Thou, that with blood abroad buy'st us our peace!

The breath of kings is like the breath of gods;
My brother wish'd thee here, and thou art here.
He will be too kind, and weary thee
With often welcomes. But the time doth give thee
A welcome above his, or all the world's.

Mel. My lord, my thanks; but these scratch'd
limbs of mine

Have spoke my love and truth unto my friends,
More than my tongue e'er could. My mind's the
It ever was to you: Where I find worth,
I love the keeper till he let it go,
And then I follow it.

Diph. Hail, worthy brother!
He, that rejoices not at your return
In safety, is mine enemy for ever.
Mel. I thank thee, Diphilus.

I sent for thee to exercise thine arms

[same

But thou art

[faulty;

With me at Patria: Thou camest not, Diphilus ; 'Twas ill.

Diph. My noble brother, my excuse

Is my king's strict command; which you, my lord,
Can witness with me.

Lys. 'Tis true, Melantius;
He might not come, till the solemnity
Of this great match was past.

Diph. Have you heard of it?

Mel. Yes. I have given cause to those that envy My deeds abroad, to call me gamesome:

I have no other business here at Rhodes.
Lys. We have a masque to-night, and you must
A soldier's measure.
[tread

Mel. These soft and silken wars are not for me:
The music must be shrill, and all confused,
That stirs my blood; and then I dance with arms.
But is Amintor wed?

Diph. This day.

Mel. All joys upon him! for he is friend.
my
Wonder not that I call a man so young my friend:
His worth is great; valiant he is, and temperate;

And one that never thinks his life his own,
If his friend need it. When he was a boy,
As oft as I returned (as, without boast,

I brought home conquest) he would gaze upon me,
And view me round, to find in what one limb
The virtue lay to do those things he heard.
Then would he wish to see my sword, and feel
The quickness of the edge, and in his hand
Weigh it: He oft would make me smile at this.
His youth did promise much, and his ripe years
Will see it all perform'd.

Enter ASPATIA.

Hail, maid and wife!

Thou fair Aspatia, may the holy knot
That thou hast tied to-day, last till the hand
Of age undo it! may'st thou bring a race

B

Unto Amintor, that may fill the world

In safety! Victory sits on his sword,

Successively with soldiers!

Asp. My hard fortunes

Deserve not scorn; for I was never proud

When they were good.

Mel. How's this?

Lys. You are mistaken,

For she is not married.

Mel. You said Amintor was.

Diph. 'Tis true; but

Mel. Pardon me, I did receive

Letters at Patria from my Amintor,
That he should marry her.

Diph. And so it stood

In all opinion long; but your arrival

Made me imagine you had heard the change. Mel. Who hath he taken then?

Lys. A lady, sir,

[Exit.

That bears the light about her, and strikes dead With flashes of her eye: the fair Evadne,

Your virtuous sister.

Mel. Peace of heart betwixt them!

But this is strange.

Lys. The king my brother did it

To honour you; and these solemnities
Are at his charge.

Mel. 'Tis royal, like himself. But I am sad
My speech bears so unfortunate a sound
To beautiful Aspatia. There is rage
Hid in her father's breast, Calianax,

Bent long against me; and he should not think,
If I could call it back, that I would take
So base revenges, as to scorn the state
Of his neglected daughter. Holds he still
His greatness with the king?

Lys. Yes. But this lady

Walks discontented, with her watery eyes
Bent on the earth. The unfrequented woods
Are her delight; and when she sees a bank
Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell
Her servants what a pretty place it were
To bury lovers in; and make her maids
Pluck 'em, and strew her over like a corse.
She carries with her an infectious grief,
That strikes all her beholders; she will sing
The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard,
And sigh, and sing again; and when the rest
Of our young ladies, in their wanton blood,
Tell mirthful tales in course, that fill the room
With laughter, she will, with so sad a look,
Bring forth a story of the silent death
Of some forsaken virgin, which her grief
Will put in such a phrase, that, ere she end,
She'll send them weeping, one by one, away.

Mel. She has a brother under my command,
Like her; a face as womanish as hers;
But with a spirit that hath much outgrown
The number of his years.

Enter AMINTOR.

Cle. My lord, the bridegroom! Mel. I might run fiercely, not more hastily, Upon my foe. I love thee well, Amintor; My mouth is much too narrow for my heart; I joy to look upon those eyes of thine; Thou art my friend, but my disorder'd speech Cuts off my love.

Amin. Thou art Melantius;

All love is spoke in that. A sacrifice,

To thank the gods Melantius is return'd

As she was wont: May she build there and dwell; And may thy armour be, as it hath been,

Only thy valour and thine innocence !

What endless treasures would our enemies give, That I might hold thee still thus !

Mel. I am but poor

In words; but credit me, young man, thy mother
Could do no more but weep for joy to see thee
After long absence: All the wounds I have
Fetch'd not so much away, nor all the cries
Of widowed mothers. But this is peace,
And that was war.

Amin. Pardon, thou holy god

Of marriage bed, and frown not, I am forced,
In answer of such noble tears as those,
To weep upon my wedding-day.

Mel. I fear thou'rt grown too fickle; for I hear A lady mourns for thee; men say, to death; Forsaken of thee; on what terms I know not.

Amin. She had my promise; but the king forbade it,

And made me make this worthy change, thy sister,
Accompanied with graces far above her;

With whom I long to lose my lusty youth,
And grow old in her arms.

Mel. Be prosperous !

SCENE II.-A large Hall in the same, with a Gallery full of Spectators.

Enter CALIANAX, with DIAGORAS at the Door. Cal. Diagoras, look to the doors better for shame; you let in all the world, and anon the king will rail at me-why, very well said-by Jove, the king will have the show i' th' court.

Diag. Why do you swear so, my lord? You know, he'll have it here.

Cal. By this light, if he be wise, he will not. Diag. And if he will not be wise, you are for

have made room at my daughter's wedding: they
have near kill'd her among them; and now I must
do service for him that hath forsaken her. Serve
that will.
[Exit.
Diag. He's so humorous since his daughter was
forsaken-Hark, hark! there, there! so, so! Codes,
codes! [Knock within.]
What now?

Mel. [within.] Open the door.
Diag. Who's there?

Mel. [within.] Melantius.

Diag. I hope your lordship brings no troop with you; for, if you do, I must return them.

[Opens the door. Persons endeavour to rush in.

Enter MELANTIUS and a Lady.

Mel. None but this lady, sir.

Diag. The ladies are all placed above, save those that come in the king's troop: The best of Rhodes sit there, and there's room.

Mel. I thank you, sir.-When I have seen you placed, madam, I must attend the king; but, the masque done, I'll wait on you again.

[Exit with the Lady into the gallery. Diag. Stand back there!-Room for my lord Melantius !-pray, bear back-this is no place for such youths and their trulls-let the doors shut again.-No!-do your heads itch? I'll scratch them for you. [Shuts the door.]-So, now thrust and hang. [Knocking.] Again! who is't now?— I cannot blame my lord Calianax for going away: 'Would he were here! he would run raging among them, and break a dozen wiser heads than his own, in the twinkling of an eye.-What's the news now?

[Within.] I pray you, can you help me to the speech of the master-cook?

Diag. If I open the door, I'll cook some of your calves-heads. Peace, rogues! [Knocking.] -Again! who is't?

Mel. [within.] Melantius.

Enter CALIANAX.

Mel. I shall forget this place, thy age, my safety, And, thorough all, cut that poor sickly week, Thou hast to live, away from thee.

Col. Nay, I know you can fight for your whore. Mel. Bate the king, and be he flesh and blood, He lies, that says it! Thy mother at fifteen Was black and sinful to her.

Diag. Good my lord!

Mel. Some god pluck threescore years from that fond man,

That I may kill him and not stain mine honour.
It is the curse of soldiers, that in peace
They shall be braved by such ignoble men,
As, if the land were troubled, would with tears
And knees beg succour from 'em. 'Would, that
blood,

That sea of blood, that I have lost in fight,
Were running in thy veins, that it might make thee
Apt to say less, or able to maintain,

Should'st thou say more! This Rhodes, I see, is

nought

But a place privileged to do men wrong. Cal. Ay, you may say your pleasure.

Enter AMINTOR.

Amin. What vile injury

Has stirr'd my worthy friend, who is as slow
To fight with words as he is quick of hand?
Mel. That heap of age, which I should reverence
If it were temperate; but testy years
Are most contemptible.

Amin. Good sir, forbear.

Cal. There is just such another as yourself.
Amin. He will wrong you, or me, or any man,
And talk as if he had no life to lose,
Since this our match. The king is coming in:
I would not for more wealth than I enjoy,
He should perceive you raging. He did hear
You were at difference now, which hastened him.
Cal. Make room there! [Hautboys play within.
Enter King, Evadne, AspatIA, Lords and Ladies.
King. Melantius, thou art welcome, and my love
Is with thee still: But this is not a place
To brabble in. Calianax, join hands.
Cal. He shall not have my hand.
King. This is no time

To force you to it. I do love you both:
Calianax, you look well to your office;
And you, Melantius, are welcome home.-
Begin the masque !

Mel. Sister, I joy to see you, and your choice.
You look'd with my eyes when you took that man:
Be happy in him!
[Recorders play.

Evad. O, my dearest brother!
Your presence is more joyful than this day
Can be unto me.

THE MASQUE.

NIGHT rises in mists.

Night. Our reign is come; for in the raging sea The sun is drown'd, and with him fell the Day. Bright Cynthia, hear my voice; I am the Night, For whom thou bear'st about thy borrow'd light. Appear; no longer thy pale visage shroud. But strike thy silver horns quite through a cloud And send a beam upon my swarthy face; By which I may discover all the place And persons, and how many longing eyes Are come to wait on our solemnities.

B 2

Enter CYNTHIA.

How dull and black am I! I could not find
This beauty without thee, I am so blind.
Methinks, they shew like to those eastern streaks
That warn us hence, before the morning breaks !
Back, my pale servant, for these eyes know how
To shoot far more and quicker rays than thou.
Cynth. Great queen, they be a troop for whom
alone

One of my clearest moons I have put on ;
A troop, that looks as if thyself and I
Had pluck'd our reins in, and our whips laid by,
To gaze upon these mortals, that appear
Brighter than we.

Night. Then let us keep 'em here;
And never more our chariots drive away,
But hold our places and outshine the day.

Cynth. Great queen of shadows, you are pleased
to speak

Of more than may be done: We may not break
The gods' decrees; but, when our time is come,
Must drive away, and give the day our room.
Yet, while our reign lasts, let us stretch our power
To give our servants one contented hour,
With such unwonted solemn grace and state,
As may for ever after force them hate

Our brother's glorious beams; and wish the night
Crown'd with a thousand stars, and our cold light:
For almost all the world their service bend
To Phoebus, and in vain my light I lend;
Gazed on unto my setting from my rise
Almost of none, but of unquiet eyes.

Night. Then shine at full, fair queen, and by
thy power

Produce a birth, to crown this happy hour,
Of nymphs and shepherds: Let their songs dis-

cover,

Easy and sweet, who is a happy lover.

Or, if thou woo't, then call thine own Endymion,
From the sweet flowery bed he lies upon,
On Latmus' top, thy pale beams drawn away,
And of this long night let him make a day.
Cynth. Thou dream'st, dark queen; that fair
boy was not mine,

Nor went I down to kiss him. Ease and wine
Have bred these bold tales: Poets, when they rage,
Turn gods to men, and make an hour an age.
But I will give a greater state and glory,
And raise to time a noble memory

Of what these lovers are. Rise, rise, I say,
Thou power of deeps; thy surges laid away,
Neptune, great king of waters, and by me
Be proud to be commanded.

Cynthia, to thy power and thee,
We obey.

Joy to this great company!
And no day

Come to steal this night away,

Till the rites of love are ended; And the lusty bridegroom say, Welcome, light, of all befriended.

Pace out, you watery powers below;
Let your feet,

Like the gallies when they row,
Even beat.

Let your unknown measures, set
To the still winds, tell to all,

That gods are come, immortal, great,

To honour this great nuptial.

[The Measure by the Sea-gods.

SECOND SONG.

Hold back thy hours, dark Night, till we have done:

The day will come too soon;

Young maids will curse thee if thou steal'st away, And leav'st their losses open to the day:

Stay, stay, and hide

The blushes of the bride.