_Rod_. Nor I. _Phil_. I say not so: The garments that she weares mine eye should know. What Lady's this that hides her heavenly face? Here are no Basilisks with killing eyes: You need not hide your beauty: sweet, look up, Me thinks I have an interest in these lookes. What's here? a Leper amongst Noble men? What creatures thys? why stayes she in this place? Oh, tis no marvell though she hide her face, For tis infectious: let her leave the presence, Or Leprosie will cleave unto us all. _Bel_. O let me leave the presence, gentle father, When Philip bids his Bellamira goe. _Phil_. My Bellamira! _Lew_. How? my sonnes belov'd! _Phil_. Is this my love? was this your beauteous child? _Nav_. My child. _Ferd_. My sister. _Pem_. Beauteous Bellamira. _Nav_. Spotted. _Ferd_. Disfigured. _Pem_. Made a loathsome Leper. _Rod_. How came this sudden alteration? For she was comely, lovely, beautiful, When the day left his Charriot to the night. _Nav_. That heaven doth know, and onely Bellamira. Daughter, I charge thee, tell me how it came. _Bell_. Burbon, oh Burbon,-- _Lew_. Did he doe the deed? _Bell_. He came into my Tent at dead of night And rubd my face with an infectuous herbe Because I would not graunt unto his love. I cry'd for helpe, but none did succour me. _Rod_.--I know he did and laugh to thinke on [i]t. _Lew_. And he shall rue his treason. _Phil_. Threaten not; Leave the revenge to me whom it concernes. Tis I am robd of a delicious looke, A heavenly sparkling brow, a starry eye, A countenance fayrer than Auroraes lookes When all the East is guilded with her blush. Tis I will be reveng'd, but not before I have espoused my lovely Bellamira. _Lew_. Espoused her! _Nav_. How? marry a face deform'd! _Ferd_. A leprous creature! _Pem_. An infectuous mayd! _Rod_. One whose sores are perchance incureable! _Phil_. Be they incureable, it is my Love, And for my sake she hath indur'd this wrong; And should I now forsake her thus distrest I could not merit a true Lovers name. To shew I love her I will marry her Before the moneth expire, nay in the morne: Delayes, perchance, may make her think I scorne. _Bel_. Marry with me? fetch me a looking glasse That I may see how sweet a bride I am. Oh I detest my selfe. Deare, hate me, too: I am not to be maryed but to death. Though I were Empresse of the spacious world Ide lay my selfe and kingdome at thy feet. Live, noble Philip, joy some happy match; Tis my unworthinesse makes me deny thee. _Phil_. Thinkst thou, because thy face is spotted, so Thou art not worthy of thy Philips love? Thy face to me was but a Mar[e]s[c]hall To lodge thy sacred person in my mind, Which long agoe is surely chambred there. And now what needs an outward Harbinger? I doe affect, not superficially: My love extendeth further than the skin. The inward Bellamira tis I seeke, And unto her will Philip be espousde. _Nav_. Oh admirable love! _Lew_. O my deare sonne, Thou makest me famous by thy loyalty.