PHILASTER

A monologue from Act V, Scene iii

by: Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

BELLARIO: Right royal sir, I should

sing you an epithalamion of these lovers,

But having lost my best airs with my fortunes,

And wanting a celestial harp to strike

This blessed union on, thus in glad story

I give you all. These two fair cedar branches,

The noblest of the mountain where they grew,

Straightest and tallest, under whose still shades

The worthier beasts have made their lairs, and slept

Free from [the fervor of] [1] the Sirian star

And the fell thunderstroke, free from the clouds

When they were big with humor [2], and delivered

In thousand spouts their issues to the earth

(O, there was none but silent quiet there),

Till never-pleaséd Fortune shot up shrubs,

Base underbrambles, to divorce these branches;

And for a while they did so, and did reign

Over the mountain, and choke up his beauty

With brakes, rude thorns, and thistles, till the sun

Scorched them even to the roots and dried them there.

And now a gentle gale hath blown again,

That made these branches meet and twine together,

Never to be divided. The god that sings

His holy numbers [3] over marriage beds

Hath knit their noble hearts; and here they stand,

Your children, mighty king; and I have done.

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1 From 1620 edn.

2 Moisture.

3 Verses.