Oli. That for my love you should turn Hermit Lidian,
 As much amazes me, as your report Clarange's dead.
Lidi. He is so, and all comforts
 My youth can hope for, Madam, with him buried;
 Nor had I ever left my cell, but that
 He did injoin me at his death to shed
 Some tears of friendship on his Monument,
 And those last Rites perform'd, he did [b]equeath you
 As the best legacie a friend could give,
 Or I indeed could wish to my embraces.
Oli. 'Tis still more strange, is there no foul play in it?
 I must confess I am not sorry Sir
 For your fair fortune; yet 'tis fit I grieve
 The most untimely death of such a Gentleman,
 He was my worthy Servant.
Lid. And for this acknowledgment, if I could prize you at
 A higher rate I should, he was my friend:
 My dearest friend.
Oli. But how should I be assur'd Sir
 (For slow belief is the best friend of truth)
 Of this Gentlemans death? if I should credit it,
 And afterward it fall out contrary,
 How am I sham'd? how is your vertue tainted?
Lid. There is a Frier that came along with me,
 His business to deliver you a Letter
 From dead Clarange: You shall hear his Testimonie.
 Father, my reverend Father, look upon him,
 Such holy men are Authors of no Fables.

Enter Clarange, (with a Letter writ out) and Frier.

Oli. They should not be, their lives and their opinions,
 Like brightest purest flames should still burn upwards,
 To me Sir? [delivers the Letter.
Clar. If you are the fair Olinda—
Frier. I do not like these cross points.
Clar. Give me leave, I am nearest to my self. What I have plotted
 Shall be pursu'd: you must not over-rule me.
Oli Do you put the first hand to your own undoing?
 Play to betray your game? Mark but this letter.
 Lady I am come to claim your noble promise, [Reads.
 If you be Mistris of your word, ye are mine,
 I am last return'd: your riddle is dissolv'd,
 And I attend your faith. Your humble servant Clarange.
 Is this the Frier that saw him dead?
Lid. 'Tis he.
Clarange on my life: I am defeated:
 Such reverend habits juggle? my true sorrow
 For a false friend not worth a tear derided?
Fri. You have abus'd my trust.
Oli. It is not well, nor like a Gentleman.
Clar. All stratagems
 In love, and that the sharpest war, are lawfull,
 By your example I did change my habit,
 Caught you in your own toyle, and triumph in it,
 And what by policy's got, I will maintain
 With valour, no Lisander shall come in again to fetch you off.
Lid. His honour'd name
 Pronounc'd by such a treacherous tongue is tainted,
 Maintain thy treason with thy sword? With what
 Contempt I hear it! in a Wilderness
 I durst encounter it, and would, but that
 In my retired hours, not counterfeited
 As thy religious shape was, I have learn'd
 When Justice may determine such a cause,
 And of such weight as this fair Lady is,
 Must not be put to fortune, I appeal
 Unto the King, and he whose wisedom knows
 To do his subjects right in their estates,
 As graciously with judgement will determine
 In points of honour.
Oli. I'le steer the same course with you.
Clar. I'le stand the tryal.
Fri. What have you done? or what intend you?
Cla. Ask not; I'le come off with honour. [Exeunt.

Enter Beronte, Clarinda, Malfort, a Bar set forth, Officers.

Ber. Be constant in your proofs: should you shrink back now,
 Your life must answer it, nor am I safe.
 My honour being engag'd to make that good
 Which you affirm.
Clar. I am confident, so dearly
 I honour'd my dead Lord, that no respect,
 Or of my Ladies bounties (which were great ones
 I must confess) nor of her former life,
 For while that she was chast, indeed I lov'd her,
 Shall hinder me from lending my assistance
 Unto your just revenge—mine own I mean, [Aside.
 If Leon keep far off enough, all's secure:
 Lisander dares not come in, modest blushes
 Parted with me long since, and impudence
 Arm'd with my hate, unto her innocence shall be
 The weapon I will fight with now.
Ber. The rack
 Being presented to you, you'l roar out
 What you conceal yet.
Mal. Conceal? I know nothing
 But that I shall be hang'd, and that I look for,
 It is my destiny, I ever had
 A hanging look; and a wise woman told me,
 Though I had not the heart to do a deed
 Worthy the halter, in my youth or age,
 I should take a turn with a wry mouth, and now
 'Tis come about: I have pen'd mine own ballad
 Before my condemnation, in fear
 Some rimer should prevent me: here's my Lady?
 Would I were in heaven, or a thousand miles hence,
 That I might not blush to look on her.

Enter Dorilaus, Calista, Olinda.

Dor. You behold this preparation, and the enemies
 Who are to fight against your life, yet if
 You bring no witness here, that may convince ye
 Of breach of faith to your Lords bed, and hold up
 Unspotted hands before the King, this tryal
 You are to undergo, will but refine,
 And not consume your honour.
Cal. How confirm'd
 I am here, whatsoever Fate falls on me,
 You shall have ample testimony; till the death
 Of my dear Lord, to whose sad memory
 I pay a mourning widows tears, I liv'd
 Too happy in my holy-day trim of glorie,
 And courted with felicitie, that drew on me,
 With other helps of nature, as of fortune,
 The envie, not the love of most that knew me,
 This made me to presume too much, perhaps
 Too proud; but I am humbled; and if now
 I do make it apparent, I can bear
 Adversity with such a constant patience
 As will set off my innocence, I hope Sir,
 In your declining age, when I should live
 A comfort to you, you shall have no cause,
 How e're I stand accus'd, to hold your honour
 Ship-wrack'd in such a Daughter.
Oli. O best friend, my honour's at the stake too, for—
Dor. Be silent; the King.

Enter King, Lemure, and Attendants.

Lem. Sir, if you please to look upon
 The Prisoner, and the many services
 Her Father hath done for you—
King. We must look on
 The cause, and not the persons. Yet beholding
 With an impartial eye, th' excelling beauties
 Of this fair Lady, which we did believe
 Upon report, but till now never saw 'em,
 It moves a strange kind of compassion in me;
 Let us survey you nearer, she's a book
 To be with care perus'd; and 'tis my wonder,
 If such mishapen guests, as lust and murther,
 At any price should ever find a lodging
 In such a beauteous Inne! Mistake us not,
 Though we admire the outward structure, if
 The rooms be foul within, expect no favour.
 I were no man, if I could look on beautie
 Distress'd, without some pity; but no King,
 If any superficial gloss of feature
 Could work me to decline the course of Justice.
 But to the cause, Cleander's death, what proofs
 Can you produce against her?
Ber. Royal Sir, touching that point my Brothers death,
 We build on suppositions.
King. Suppositions? how? Is such a Lady Sir to be condemn'd
 On suppositions?
Ber. They are well grounded Sir:
 And if we make it evident she is guilty
 Of the first crime we charge her with, Adulterie,
 That being the parent, it may find belief,
 That murther was the issue.
King. We allow
 It may be so; but that it may be, must not
 Infer a necessary consequence
 To cast away a Ladies life. What witnesses
 To make this good?
Ber. The principal, this woman,
 For many years her servant; she hath taken
 Her oath in Court. Come forward.
King. By my Crown a lying face.
Clar. I swore Sir for the King:
 And if you are the partie, as I do
 Believe you are, for you have a good face,
 How ever mine appears, swearing for you Sir,
 I ought to have my oath pass.
King. Impudent too? well, what have you sworn?
Clar. That this Lady was
 A goodly tempting Lady, as she is:
 How thinks your Majestie? and I her servant,
 Her officer as one would say, and trusted
 With her closest Chamber-service; that Lisander
 Was a fine timber'd Gentleman, and active,
 That he cou'd do fine gambolls
 To make a Lady merrie; that this pair,
 A very loving couple, mutually
 Affected one another: so much for them Sir.
 That I, a simple waiting-woman, having taken
 My bodily oath, the first night of admittance
 Into her Ladiships service, on her slippers,
 (That was the book) to serve her will in all things,
 And to know no Religion but her pleasure,
 'Tis not yet out of fashion with some Ladies;
 That I, as the premisses shew, being commanded
 To do my function, in conveyance of
 Lisander to her chamber, (my Lord absent,
 On a pretended sickness) did the feat,
 (It cannot be deny'd) and at dead mid-night
 Left 'em together: what they did, some here
 Can easily imagine! I have said, Sir.
Dor. The Devils Oratrix.
King. Then you confess you were her Bawd?
Clar. That's course, her Agent Sir.
King. So, goodie Agent? and you think there is
 No punishment due for you[r] agentship?
Clar. Let her suffer first,
 Being my better, for adulterie,
 And I'le endure the Mulct impos'd on Bawds,
 Call it by the worst name.
Cal. Live I to hear this?
King. Take her aside. Your answer to this Lady?
Cal. Heav'n grant me patience: to be thus confronted,
 (O pardon Royal Sir a womans passion)
 By one, and this the worst of my mis-fortunes,
 That was my slave, but never to such ends Sir,
 Would give a statue motion into furie:
 Let my pass'd life, my actions, nay intentions,
 Be by my grand accuser justly censur'd,
 (For her I scorn to answer) and if they
 Yield any probability of truth
 In that she urges, then I will confess
 A guilty cause; the peoples voyce, which is
 The voyce of truth, my husbands tenderness
 In his affection to me, that no dotage
 But a reward, of humbleness, the friendship
 Echo'd through France between him and Lisander,
 All make against her; for him, in his absence,
 (What ever imputation it draw on me)
 I must take leave to speak: 'tis true, he lov'd me,
 But not in such a wanton way, his reason
 Master'd his passions: I grant I had
 At mid-night conference with him; but if he
 Ever receiv'd a farther favour from me,
 Than what a Sister might give to a Brother,
 May I sink quick: and thus much, did he know
 The shame I suffer for him, with the loss
 Of his life for appearing, on my soul
 He would maintain.

Enter Lisander, and Alcidon.

Lisa. And will, thou clear example of womens pureness.
King. Though we hold her such,
 Thou hast express'd thy self a desperate fool,
 To thrust thy head into the Lions jawes,
 The justice of thy King.
Lisa. I came prepar'd for't,
 And offer up a guilty life to clear
 Her innocence; the oath she took, I swear to;
 And for Cleander's death, to purge my self
 From any colour malice can paint on me,
 Or that she had a hand in't, I can prove
 That fatal night when he in his own house fell,
 And many daies before, I was distant from it
 A long daies journey.
Clarin. I am caught.
Ber. If so,
 How came your sword into this stewards hands? stand forth.
Mal. I have heard nothing that you spake:
 I know I must dye, and what kind of death
 Pray you resolve me, I shall go away else
 In a qualm; I am very faint.

Enter Leon, Servants, and Guard.

King. Carry him off, his fear will kill him. [Ex. with Mal.
Dor. Sir, 'twas my ambition,
 My Daughters reputation being wounded
 I'th' general opinion, to have it
 Cur'd by a publick trial; I had else
 Forborn your Majesties trouble: I'le bring forth
 Cleander's murtherer, in a wood I heard him
 As I rode sadly by, unto himself
 With some compunction, though this devil had none,
 Lament what he had done, cursing her lust,
 That drew him to that blody fact.
Le. To lessen
 The foulness of it, for which I know justly
 I am to suffer, and with my last breath
 To free these innocents, I do confess all;
 This wicked woman only guilty with me.
Clari. Is't come to this? thou puling Rogue, dye thou
 With prayers in thy mouth; I'le curse the laws
 By which I suffer, all I grieve for is,
 That I dye unreveng'd.
Leon. But one word more Sir,
 And I have done; I was by accident where
 Lisander met with Cloridon, and C[h]rysanthes,
 Was an ear witness when he sought for peace,
 Nay, begg'd it upon colder terms than can
 Almost find credit, his past deeds considered,
 But they deaf to his reasons, severally
 Assaulted him, but such was his good fortune,
 That both fell under it; upon my death
 I take it uncompel'd, that they were guilty
 Of their own violent ends; and he against
 His will, the instrument.
Alci. This I will swear too, for I was not far off.
Dor. They have alledg'd
 As much to wake your sleeping mercy, Sir,
 As all the Advocates of France can plead
 In his defence.
King. The criminal judge shall sentence
 These to their merits—with mine own hand, Lady,
 I take you from the bar and do my self
 Pronounce you innocent. [Ex. with Leon, and Clari.
All. Long live the King.
King. And to confirm you stand high in our favour,
 And as some recompence for what you have
 With too much rigour in your trial suffered;
 Ask what you please, becoming me to grant,
 And be possest of 't.
Cal. Sir, I dare not doubt
 Your royal promise, in a King it is
 A strong assurance, that emboldens me
 Upon my humble knees to make my boon,
 Lisander's pardon.
Dor. My good Genius did prompt her to it.
Le[m]. At your feet thus prostrate, I second her petition.
Alci. Never King
 Pour'd forth his mercie on a worthier subject.
Ber. To witness my repentance for the wrong
 In my unjust suspicion I did both;
 I join in the same suit.
Lis. The life you give,
 Still ready to lay down for your service,
 Shall be against your enemies imploy'd,
 Nor hazarded in brawles.
All. Mercie, dread Sir.
King. So many pressing me, and with such reasons
 Moving compassion, I hope it will not
 Be censur'd levity in me, though I borrow
 In this from justice to relieve my mercy;
 I grant his pardon at your intercession,
 But still on this condition; you Lisander,
 In expiation of your guilt, shall build
 A monument for my Cloridon, and C[h]rysanthes:
 And never henceforth draw a Sword, but when
 By us you are commanded, in defence of
 The flower de Luce, and after one years sorrow
 For your dear friend, Cleander's wretched fate,
 Marry Calista.

Enter Lidian.

Lis. On your sacred hand, I vow to do it seriously.
Lid. Great Sir, stay,
 Leave not your seat of justice, till you have
 Given sentence in a cause as much important
 As this you have determined.
King. Lidian?

Enter Clarange, and Frier.

Lid. He Sir, your humblest subject, I accuse Clarange
 Of falshood in true friendship at the height;
 We both were suiters to this Lady, both
 Injoyn'd one pennance.
Clar. Trouble not the King
 With an unnecessarie repetition
 Of what the court's familiar with already.
Kin. Clarange?
Dor. With a shaven crown?
Olin. Most strange.
Clar. Look on thy rival, your late servant, Madam,
 But now devoted to a better Mistris,
 The Church, whose orders I have took upon me:
 I here deliver up my interest to her;
 And what was got with cunning as you thought,
 I simply thus surrender: heretofore,
 You did outstrip me in the race of friendship,
 I am your equal now.
Dor. A suit soon ended.
Clar. And joyning thus your hands, I know both willing,
 I may do in the Church my Friers Office
 In marrying you.
Lid. The victory is yours, Sir.
King. It is a glorious one, and well sets of[f]
 Our Scene of mercy; to the dead we tender
 Our sorrow, to the living ample wishes
 Of future happiness: 'tis a Kings duty
 To prove himself a Father to his subjects:
 And I shall hold it if this well succeed,
 A meritorious, and praise worthy deed. [Exeunt.

Prologue.

A Story, and a known one, long since writ,
 Truth must take place, and by an able wit,
 Foul mouth'd detraction daring not deny
 To give so much to Fletcher's memory;
 If so, some may object, why then do you
 Present an old piece to us for a new?
 Or wherefore will your profest Writer be
 (Not tax'd of theft before) a Plagiary?
 To this he answers in his just defence,
 And to maintain to all our Innocence,
 Thus much, though he hath travell'd the same way,
 Demanding, and receiving too the pay
 For a new Poem, you may find it due,
 He having neither cheated us, nor you;
 He vowes, and deeply, that he did no[t] spare
 The utmost of his strengths, and his best care
 In the reviving it, and though his powers
 Could not as he desired, in three short hours
 Contract the Subject, and much less express
 The changes, and the various passages
 That will be look'd for, you may hear this day
 Some Scenes that will confirm it is a play,
 He being ambitious that it should be known
 What's good was Fletcher's, and what ill his own.

Epilogue.

Still doubtfull, and perplex'd too, whether he
 Hath done Fletcher right in this Historie,
 The Poet sits within, since he must know it,
 He with respect desires that you would shew it
 By some accustomed sign, if from our action,
 Or his indeavours you meet satisfaction,
 With ours he hath his ends, we hope the best,
 To make that certainty in you doth rest.

THE
PILGRIM.

A
COMEDY.

Persons Represented in the Play.

WOMEN.

The Scene Spain.

The principal Actors were,

Actus Primus. Scena Prima.

Enter Alphonso, Curio, and Seberto.

Curio Signior Alphonso, ye are too rugged to her,
 Believe too full of harshness.
Alph. Yes, it seems so.
Seb. A Father of so sweet a child, so happy,
 Fye, Sir, so excellent in all endowments,
 In blessedness of beauty, such a mirror.
Alph. She is a fool, away.
Seb. Can ye be angry?
 Can any wind blow rough, upon a blossom
 So fair, and tender? Can a Fathers nature,
 A noble Fathers too?
Alp. All this is but prating:
 Let her be rul'd; let her observe my humour,
 With my eyes let her see; with my ears listen;
 I am her Father: I begot her, bred her,
 And I will make her—
Cur. No doubt ye may compel her,
 But what a mischievous, unhappy fortune
 May wait upon this will of yours, as commonly
 Such forcings ever end in hates and ruines.
Alph. Is't not a man I wish her to? a strong man?
 What can she have? what could she have? a Gentleman?
 A young man? and an able man? a rich man?
 A handsome man? a valiant man? do you mark me?
 None of your pieced-companions, your pin'd-Gallants,
 That flie to fitters, with every flaw of weather:
 None of your impt bravadoes: what can she ask more?
 Is not a metal'd man fit for a woman?
 A strong chin'd-man? I'le not be fool'd, nor flurted.
Seb. I grant ye Roderigo is all these,
 And a brave Gentleman: must it therefore follow
 Upon necessity she must doat upon him?
 Will ye allow no liberty in choosing?
Cur. Alas she is tender yet.
Alp. Enough, enough, enough, Sir:
 She is malleable: she'll endure the hammer,
 And why not that strong workman that strikes deepest?
 Let me know that! she is fifteen, with the vantage,
 And if she be not ready now for marriage—
Seb. You know he is a banish'd man: an Out-law;
 And how he lives: his nature rough, and bloody
 By customary Rapines: now, her sweet humour
 That is as easie as a calm, and peaceful,
 All her affections, like the dews on Roses,
 Fair as the flowers themselves: as sweet and gentle:
 How would you have these meet?
Alp. A bed, a bed, Sir:
 Let her be the fairest Rose, and the sweetest,
 Yet I know this fair Rose must have her prickles:
 I grant ye Roderigo is an out-Law.
 An easie composition calls him in again,
 He is a valiant man, and he is a rich man,
 And loves the fool: a little rough by custom:
 She'l like him ten times better. She'l doat upon him,
 If ere they come to grapling, run mad for him;
 But there is another in the wind, some Castrel
 That hovers over her, and dares her daily,
 Some flickring slave.
Cur. I dare not think so poorly.
Alp. Something there is, and must be: but I shall scent it
 And hunt it narrowly.
Seb. I never saw her yet
 Make offer at the least glance of affection,
 But still so modest, wise—
Alp. They are wise to gull us.
 There was a fellow, old Ferando's son,
 I must confess handsome, but my enemy,
 And the whole family I hate: young Pedro,
 That fellow I have seen her gaze upon,
 And turn, and gaze again, and make such offers,
 As if she would shoot her eyes like Meteors at him:
 But that cause stands removed.
Cur. You need not doubt him,
 For long since as 'twas thought on a griev'd Conscience,
 He left his Father, and his Friends: more pity:
 For truth reports he was a noble Gentleman.
Alp. Let him be what he will: he was a beggar,
 And there I'le leave him.
Seb. The more the Court must answer;
 But certainly I think, though she might favour him,
 And love his goodness, as he was an honest man:
 She never with loose eyes stuck on his person.
Alp. She is so full of Conscience too, and charity,
 And outward holiness, she will undo me:
 Relieves more Beggars, than an Hospital;

Enter Alinda, and Juletta.

And all poor Rogues, that can but say their prayers,
 And tune their pipes to Lamentations,
 She thinks she is bound to dance to: good morrow to you,
 And that's as ye deserve too: you know my mind,
 And study to observe it: do it cheerfully,
 And readily, and home.
Alin. I shall obey ye.
 But, noble Sir.
Alp. Come, come, away with your flatteries,
 And your fine phrases.
Cur. Pray ye be gentle to her.
Alp. I know 'em; and know your feats: if you will find me
 Noble and loving, seek me in your duty,
 You know I am too indulgent.
Seb. Alas, poor Lady.
Alp. To your devotions: I take no good thing from you.
 Come Gentlemen; leave pitying, and moaning of her
 And praising of her vertues: and her whim-whams,
 It makes her proud, and sturdy.
Seb. Cur. Good hours wait on ye. [Exeunt.
Alin. I thank ye, Gentlemen: I want such comforts:
 I would thank you too Father: but your cruelty
 Hath almost made me senseless of my duty,
 Yet still I must know: would I had known nothing.
 What Poor attend my charity to day, wench?
Jul. Of all sorts, Madam; your open handed bounty
 Make's 'em flock every hour: some worth your pity,
 But others that have made a trade of begging.
Alin. Wench, if they ask it truly, I must give it:
 It takes away the holy use of charity
 To examine wants.
Jul. I would you would be merry:
 A cheerful giving hand, as I think, Madam,
 Requires a heart as chearful.
Alin. Alas Juletta,
 What is there to be merry at? what joy now,
 Unless we fool our own afflictions,
 And make them shew ridiculous?
Jul. Sure, Madam,
 You could not seem thus serious, if you were married,
 Thus sad, and full of thoughts.
Alin. Married? to whom, wench?
 Thou thinkst if there be a young handsome fellow,
 As those are plentiful, our cares are quenched then.
Jul. Madam, I think a lusty handsome fellow
 If he be kind, and loving, and a right one,
 Is even as good a Pill, to purge this melancholy,
 As ever Galen gave, I am sure more natural:
 And merrier for the heart, than Wine and Saffron:
 Madam, wanton youth is such a Cataplasme.
Alin. Who has been thy Tutor, Wench?
Jul. Even my own thoughts, Lady:
 For though I be bar'd the liberty of talking,
 Yet I can think unhappily, and as near the mark, Madam,
 'Faith, marry, and be merry.
Alin. Who will have me?
 Who will be troubled with a pettish Girl?
 It may be proud, and to that vice expenceful?
 Who can assure himself, I shall live honest?
Jul. Let every man take his fortune.
Alin. And o' my Conscience
 If once I grow to breeding, a whole Kingdom
 Will not contain my stock.
Jul. The more the merrier:
 'Tis brave to be a mother of new Nations.
Alin. Why, I should bury a hundred Husbands.
Jul. 'Tis no matter!
 As long as ye leave sufficient men to stock ye.
Alin. Is this thy mirth? are these the joyes of marriage?
 Away light-headed fool; are these contentments?
 If I could find a man—
Jul. You may a thousand.
Alin. Meer men I know I may: and there a Woman
 Has liberty, (at least she'l venture for it)
 To be a monster and become the time too;
 But to enjoy a man, from whose example
 (As from a compass) we may steer our fortunes,
 Our actions, and our age; and safe arrive at
 A memory that shall become our ashes,
 Such things are few, and far to seek; to find one
 That can but rightly mannage the wild beast, Woman,
 And sweetly govern with her. But no more of this, Wench,
 'Tis not for thy discourse: Let's in, and see
 What poor afflicted wait our charity. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter a Porter, 4 Beggers, Pedro, and a Pilgrim.