Are. 'Tis not gently done,
To put me in a miserable life,
And hold me there; I pray thee let me go,
I shall do best without thee; I am well.
Enter Philaster.
Phil. I am to blame to be so much in rage,
I'le tell her coolely, when and where I heard
This killing truth. I will be temperate
In speaking, and as just in hearing.
Oh monstrous! Tempt me not ye gods, good gods
Tempt not a frail man, what's he, that has a heart
But he must ease it here?
Bell. My Lord, help the Princess.
Are. I am well, forbear.
Phi. Let me love lightning, let me be embrac'd
And kist by Scorpions, or adore the eyes
Of Basilisks, rather than trust to tongues,
And shrink these veins up; stick me here a stone
Lasting to ages in the memory
Of this damn'd act. Hear me you wicked ones,
You have put the hills on fire into this breast,
Not to be quench'd with tears, for which may guilt
Sit on your bosoms; at your meals, and beds,
Despair await you: what, before my face?
Poyson of Aspes between your lips; Diseases
Be your best issues; Nature make a Curse
And throw it on you.
Are. Dear Philaster, leave
To be enrag'd, and hear me.
Phi. I have done;
Forgive my passion, not the calm'd sea,
When Æolus locks up his windy brood,
Is less disturb'd than I, I'le make you know it.
Dear Arethusa, do but take this sword,
And search how temperate a heart I have;
Then you and this your boy, may live and raign
In lust without control; Wilt thou Bellario?
I prethee kill me; thou art poor, and maist
Nourish ambitious thoughts, when I am dead:
This way were freer; Am I raging now?
If I were mad I should desire to live;
Sirs, feel my pulse; whether have you known
A man in a more equal tune to die?
Bel. Alas my Lord, your pulse keeps madmans time,
So does your tongue.
Phi. You will not kill me then?