Philaster | Page 7

will prefer thee; thou art young, And bearest a childish overflowing love To them that clap thy cheeks, and speak thee fair yet: But when thy judgment comes to rule those passions, Thou wilt remember best those careful friends That plac'd thee in the noblest way of life; She is a Princess I prefer thee to.
Bell. In that small time that I have seen the world, I never knew a man hasty to part With a servant he thought trusty; I remember My Father would prefer the boys he kept To greater men than he, but did it not, Till they were grown too sawcy for himself.
Phi. Why gentle boy, I find no fault at all in thy behaviour.
Bell. 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.
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 knowest It is my business that doth call thee hence, And when thou art with her thou dwel'st with me: Think so, and 'tis so; and when time is full, That thou hast well discharged 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.
Bell. I am gone; But 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; Heaven bless your loves, your fights, all your designs. May sick men, if they have your wish, be well; And Heavens hate those you curse, though I be one.
[Exit.
Phi. The love of boyes unto their Lords is strange, I have read wonders of it; yet this boy For my sake, (if a man may judge by looks, And speech) would out-do story. I may see A day to pay him for his loyalty.
[Exit Phi.
Enter Pharamond.
Pha. Why should these Ladies stay so long? They must come this way; I know the Queen imployes 'em not, for the Reverend Mother sent me word they would all be for the Garden. If they should all prove honest now, I were in a fair taking; I was never so long without sport in my life, and in my conscience 'tis not my fault: Oh, for our Country Ladies! Here's one boulted, I'le hound at her.
Enter Galatea.
Gal. Your Grace!
Pha. Shall I not be a trouble?
Gal. Not to me Sir.
Pha. Nay, nay, you are too quick; by this sweet hand.
Gal. You'l be forsworn Sir, 'tis but an old glove. If you will talk at distance, I am for you: but good Prince, be not bawdy, nor do not brag; these two I bar, and then I think, I shall have sence enough to answer all the weighty Apothegmes your Royal blood shall manage.
Pha. Dear Lady, can you love?
Gal. Dear, Prince, how dear! I ne're cost you a Coach yet, nor put you to the dear repentance of a Banquet; here's no Scarlet Sir, to blush the sin out it was given for: This wyer mine own hair covers: and this face has been so far from being dear to any, that it ne're cost penny painting: And for the rest of my poor Wardrobe, such as you see, it leaves no hand behind it, to make the jealous Mercers wife curse our good doings.
Pha. You mistake me Lady.
Gal. Lord, I do so; would you or I could help it.
Pha. Do Ladies of this Country use to give no more respect to men of my full being?
Gal. Full being! I understand you not, unless your Grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, Prince) is in a morning a Cup of neat White-wine brew'd with Carduus, then fast till supper, about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a Sparrow-hawk, you can shoot in a Tiller; but of all, your Grace must flie Phlebotomie, fresh Pork, Conger, and clarified Whay; They are all dullers of the vital spirits.
Pha. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while.
Gal. 'Tis very true Sir, I talk of you.
Pha. This is a crafty wench, I like her wit well, 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite, she's a Danae, and must be