And hear me curse my self, or but behold
The vengeance I will take for't _Oriana_,
And then in peace forsake me: Jealousie,
Thou loathsome vomit of the fiends below,
What desperate hunger made me to receive thee
Into my heart, and soul? I'll let thee forth,
And so in death find ease; and does my fault then
Deserve no greater punishment? no, I'll live
To keep thee for a fury to torment me,
And make me know what hell is on the earth:
All joyes and hopes forsake me; all mens malice,
And all the plagues they can inflict, I wish it
Fall thick upon me: let my tears be laught at,
And may mine enemies smile to hear me groane;
And dead, may I be pitied of none. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Tertia._
_Enter_ Collonna _and_ Lucinda.
_Luc._ Pray you Sir why was the Ordnance of the Fort
Discharg'd so sodainly?
_Col._ 'Twas the Governors pleasure,
In honor of the _Dane_, a custom us'd,
To speak a Soldiers welcome.
_Luc._ 'Tis a fit one:
But is my Master here too?
_Col._ Three days since.
_Luc._ Might I demand without offence, so much,
Is't pride in him (however now a slave)
That I am not admitted to his presence?
_Col._ His curtesie to you, and to mankind
May easily resolve you, he is free
From that poor vice which only empty men
Esteem a virtue.
_Luc._ What's the reason then,
As you imagine, Sir?
_Col._ Why I [will] tell you;
You are a woman of a tempting beauty,
And he, however virtuous, as a man
Subject to humane frailties; and how far
They may prevail upon him, should he see you,
He is not ignorant: and therefore chooses,
With care t'avoid the cause that may produce
Some strange effect, which will not well keep ranck
With the rare temperance, which is admired
In his life hitherto.
_Luc._ This much increases
My strong desire to see him.
_Col._ It should rather
Teach you to thank the Prophet that you worship,
That you are such a mans, who though he may
Do any thing which youth and heat of blood
Invites him to, yet dares not give way to them:
Your entertainment's Noble, and not like
Your present fortune; and if all those tears
Which made grief lovely in you, in the relation
Of the sad story, that forc'd me to weep too,
Your husbands hard fate were not counterfeit;
You should rejoyce that you have means to pay
A chast life to his memory, and bring to him
Those sweets, which while he liv'd, he could not tast of;
But if you wantonly bestow them on
Another man you offer violence
To him, though dead; and his griev'd spirit will suffer
For your immodest looseness.
_Luc._ Why, I hope, Sir,
My willingness to look on him, to whom
I owe my life and service, is no proof
Of any unchast purpose.
_Col._ So I wish too,
And in the confidence it is not, Lady,
I dare the better tell you he will see you
This night, in which by him I am commanded,
To bring you to his chamber, to what end
I easily should guess, were I _Miranda_;
And therefore, though I can yield little reason,
(But in a general love to womens goodness)
Why I should be so tender of your honor,
I willingly would bestow some counsail of you,
And would you follow it?
_Luc._ Let me first hear it,
And then I can resolve you.
_Col._ My advice then
Is, that you would not, (as most Ladies use
When they prepare themselves for such encounters)
Study to add, by artificial dressings
To native excellence; yours (without help)
But seen as it is now, would make a Hermit
Leave his deaths head, and change his after hopes
Of endless comforts for a few short minutes
Of present pleasures; to prevent which, Lady,
Practice to take away from your perfections,
And to preserve your chastity unstain'd,
The most deform'd shape that you can put on
To cloud your bodies fair gifts, or your minds,
(It being laboured to so chast an end)
Will prove the fairest ornament.
_Luc._ To take from
The workmanship of Heaven is an offence
As great, as to endeavor to add to it;
Of which, I'll not be guilty: Chastity
That lodges in deformity, appears rather
A mulct impos'd by nature, than a blessing;
And 'tis commendable only when it conquers,
Though nere so oft assaulted, in resistance:
For me, I'll therefore so dispose my self,
That if I hold out, it shall be with honor;
Or if I yield, _Miranda_ shall find something
To make him love his victory. [_Exit._
_Col._ With what cunning
This woman argues for her own damnation!
Nor should I hold it for a miracle,
Since they are all born _Sophisters_ to maintain
That lust is lawful, and the end and use
Of their creation: would I never had
Hop'd better of her; or could not believe,
Though seen the ruin, I must ever grieve. [_Exit._
_Scæna Quarta._
_Enter_ Miranda, Norandine, _Servants with Lights_.
_Mir._ I'll see you in your chamber. [_A Table out, two stools._
_Nor._ Pray ye no farther:
It is a ceremony I expect not,
I am no stranger here, I know my lodging,
An[d] have slept soundly there, when the _Turks_ Cannon
Playd thick upon't: O 'twas Royal Musick,
And to procure a sound sleep for a Souldier,
Worth forty of [y]our Fiddles. As you love me
Press it no farther.
_Mir._ You will overcome.
Wait on him carefully.
_Nor._ I have took since supper
A rouse or two too much, and by ----
It warms my blood.
_Mir._ You'll sleep the better for't.
_Nor._ ---- on't, I should, had but I a kind wench
To pull my Boot-hose off, and warm my night-cap,
There's no charm like it: I love old _Adams_ way;
Give me a diligent _Eve_, to wait towards bed-time,
Hang up your smooth chin page: and now I think on't,
Where is your _Turkish_ Prisoner?
_Mir._ In the Castle,
But yet I never saw her.
_Nor._ Fie upon you:
See her for shame; or hark ye, if you would
Perform the friends part to me, the friends part,
It being a fashion of the last edition,
Far from panderism, now send her to me;
You look strange on't, no entertainment's perfect
Without it on my word; no livery like it;
[I'll tell her, he lookes for it as duly
As for his fee;] there's no suit got without it,
Gold is an ass to't.
_Mir._ Go to bed, to bed.
_Nor._ Well, if she come, I doubt not to convert her,
If not, the sin lye on your head.
Good night. [_Exit_ Nor. _and Servants_.
_Enter_ Colonna _and_ Lucinda.
_Col._ There you shall find him Lady: you know what I have said,
And if you please you may make use.
_Luc._ No doubt Sir.
_[C]ol._ From hence I shall hear all.
_Mir._ Come hither young one.
Beshrew my heart: a handsome wench: come nearer,
A very handsome one: do not you grieve, Sweet,
You are a prisoner?
_Luc._ The loss of liberty
No doubt Sir, is a heavy and a sharp burden
To them that feel it truely: But your servant,
Your humble handmayd, never felt that rigor,
Thanks to that noble will: no want, no hunger,
(Companions still to slaves) no violence
Nor any unbeseeming act, we start at,
Have I yet [met] with; all content and goodness,
Civility, and sweetness of behaviour
Dwell round about me; therefore worthy Master,
I cannot say I grieve my liberty.
_Mir._ Do not you fancy me too cold a Soldier,
Too obstinate an enemy to youth,
That had so fair a jewel in my Cabinet,
And in so long a time, would nere look on it?
_Col._ What can she say now?
_Luc._ Sure I desir'd to see ye,
And with a longing wish.
_Col._ There's all her virtue.
_Luc._ Pursu'd that full desire to give ye thanks Sir,
The only Sacrifice I have left, and service,
For all the virtuous care you have kept me safe with.
_Col._ She holds well yet.
_Mir._ The pretty fool speaks finely:
Come sit down here.
_Luc._ O Sir, 'tis most unseemly.
_Mir._ I'll have it so: sit close, now tell me truly,
Did you ere love yet?
_Luc._ My years will answer that Sir.
_Mir._ And did you then love truly?
_Luc._ So I thought Sir.
_Mir._ Can ye love me so?
_Col._ Now!
_Luc._ With all my duty;
I were unworthy of those favors else,
You daily showre upon me.
_Mir._ What thinkst thou of me?
_Luc._ I think ye are a truly worthy Gentleman,
A pattern, and a pride to the age ye live in,
Sweet as the commendations all men give ye.
_Mir._ A pretty flattering rogue, dare ye kiss that sweet man
Ye speak so sweetly of? Come.
_Col._ Farewell virtue.
_Mir._ What hast thou got between thy lips? kiss once more.
Sure thou hast a spell there.
_Luc._ More than ere I knew Sir.
_Col._ All hopes go now.
_Mir._ I must tell you a thing in your ear, and you must hear me,
And hear me willingly, and grant me so too,
'Twill not be worth my asking else.
_Luc._ It must be
A very hard thing Sir, and from my power,
I shall deny your goodness.
_Mir._ 'Tis a good wench; I must lye with ye Lady.
_Luc._ 'Tis something strange:
For yet in all my life I knew no bedfellow.
_Mir._ You will quickly find that knowledge.
_Luc._ To what end Sir?
_Mir._ Art thou so innocent, thou canst not guess at it?
Did thy dreams never direct thee?
_Luc._ 'Faith none yet Sir.
_Mir._ I'll tell thee then: I would meet thy youth, and pleasure;
Give thee my youth for that, by heaven she fires me,
And teach thy fair white arms, like wanton Ivies
A thousand new embraces.
_Luc._ Is that all Sir?
And say I should try, may we not lie quietly?
Upon my conscience I could.
_Mir._ That's as we make it.
_Luc._ Grant that, that likes ye best, what would ye do, then?
_Mir._ What would I do? certainly I am no baby,
Nor brought up for a Nun; hark in thine ear.
_Luc._ Fie, fie, Sir.
_Mir._ I would get a brave boy on thee,
A warlike boy.
_Luc._ Sure we shall get ill Christians.
_Mir._ We'll mend 'em in the breeding then.
_Luc._ Sweet Master.
_Col._ Never belief in woman come near me more.
_Luc._ My best and noblest Sir, if a poor Virgin,
(For yet by ---- I am so) should chance so far
(Seeing your excellence, and able sweetness)
To forget her self, and slip into your bosome,
Or to your bed, out of a doting on ye,
Take it the best way; have you that cruel heart,
That murd'ring mind too?
_Mir._ Yes by my troth (sweet) have I,
To lie with her.
_Luc._ And do you think it well done?
_Mir._ That's as she'll think when 'tis done; come to bed wench,
For thou art so pretty, and so witty a companion,
We must not part to night.
_Luc._ Faith let me go Sir,
And think better on't.
_Mir._ Yfaith thou shalt not;
I warrant thee I'll think on't.
_Luc._ I have heard 'em say here,
You are a Maid too.
_Mir._ I am sure I am, wench,
If that will please thee.
_Luc._ I have seen a wonder,
And would you loose that for a little wantonness,
(Consider my sweet Master, like a man, now,)
For a few honied kisses, sleight embraces,
That glory of your youth that crown of sweetness?
Can ye deliver that unvalued treasure?
Would ye forsake, to seek your own dishonor,
What gone, no age recovers, nor repentance,
To a poor stranger?
_Col._ Hold there again, thou art perfect.
_Luc._ I know you do but try me.
_Mir._ And I know
I'll try you a great deal farther: prethee to bed;
I love thee, and so well: come kiss me once more;
Is a maiden-head ill bestow'd o'me?
_Luc._ What's this Sir?
_Mir._ Why, 'tis the badge (my Sweet) of that holy Order
I shortly must receive, the Cross of _Malta_.
_Luc._ What virtue has it?
_Mir._ All that we call virtuous.
_Luc._ Who gave it first?
_Mir._ He that gave all, to save us.
_Luc._ Why then 'tis holy too?
_Mir._ True sign of holiness,
The badge of all his Soldiers that profess him.
_Luc._ The badge of all his Soldiers that profess him,
Can 't save in dangers?
_Mir._ Yes.
_Luc._ In troubles comfort?
_Mir._ You say true, sweet.
_Luc._ In sicknes, restore health?
_Mir._ All this it can do.
_Luc._ Preserve from evils that afflict our frailties.
_Mir._ I hope she will be _Christian_: all these truly.
_Luc._ Why are you sick then, sick to death with lust?
In danger to be lost? no holy thought,
In all that heart, nothing but wandring frailties
Wild as the wind, and blind as death or ignorance,
Inhabit there.
_Mir._ Forgive me heaven, she says true.
_Luc._ Dare ye profess that badge, prophane that goodness?
_Col._ Thou hast redeem'd thy self again, most rarely.
_Luc._ That holiness and truth ye make me wonder at?
Blast all the bounty heaven gives, that remembrance.
_Col._ O excellent woman.
_Luc._ Fling it from ye quickly,
If ye be thus resolv'd; I see a virtue
Appear in't like a sword, both edges flaming
That will consume ye, and your thoughts, to ashes,
Let them profess it that are pure, and noble,
Gentle, and just of thought, that build the cross,
Not those that break it, by ---- if ye touch me,
Even in the act, I'll make that cross, and curse ye.
_Mir._ You shall not (fair) I did dissemble with ye,
And but to try your faith, I fashion'd all this:
Yet something you provokt me: this fair cross:
By me (if he but please to help, first gave it)
Shall nee'r be worn upon a heart corrupted;
Go to your rest, my modest, honest servant,
My fair, and virtuous maid, and sleep secure there,
For when you suffer, I forget this sign here.
_Col._ A man of men too: O most perfect Gentleman!
_Luc._ All sweet rest to you sir; I am half a _Christian_,
The other half, I'll pray for; then for you, Sir.
_Mir._ This is the fowlest play I'll shew, good night, sweet.
[_Exeunt._
_Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Mountferrat _and_ Rocca.
_Mount._ The Sun's not set yet?
_Roc._ No Sir.
_Mount._ Would it were,
Never to rise again to light the world.
And yet, to what vain purpose do I wish it.
Since though I were inviron'd with thick mists,
Black as _Cymerian_ darkness, or my crimes,
There is that here, upon which as an anvile
Ten thousand hammers strike, and every spark
They force from it, to me's an other Sun
To light me to my shame?
_Roc._ Take hope, and comfort.
_Mount._ They are aides indeed, but yet as far from me,
As I from being innocent: this cave fashion'd
By provident nature, in this solid Rock
To be a den for beasts, alone, receives me,
And having prov'd an enemy to mankind,
All humane helps forsake me.
_Roc._ I'll nee'r leave you,
And wish you would call back that noble courage
That old invincible fortitude of yours
That us'd to shrink at nothing.
_Mount._ Then it did not.
But 'twas when I was honest; then in the height
Of all my happiness, of all my glories,
Of all delights, that made life pretious to me
I durst dye _Rocca_; death it self then to me
Was nothing terrible, because I knew,
The fame of a good Knight would ever live
Fresh on my memory; but since I fell
From my integrity, and dismis'd those guards,
Those strong assurances of innocence,
That constancy fled from me, and what's worse,
Now I am loathsome to my self; and life
A burthen to me, rack'd with sad remembrance
Of what I have done, and my present horrors
Unsufferable to me, tortur'd with despair
That I shall nee'r find mercy: hell about me,
Behind me, and before me, yet I dare not,
Still fearing worse, put off my wretched Being.
_Ent[e]r_ Abdella.
_Roc._ To see this would deter a doubtful man
From mischievous intents, much more the practice
Of what is wicked: here's the Moore, look up Sir,
Some ease may come from her.
_Mount._ New trouble rather,
And I expect it.
_Abd._ Who is this? _Mountferrat?_
Rise up for shame, and like a river dri'd up
With a long drought, from me, your bounteous Sea
Receive those tides of comfort that flow to you;
If ever I look[t] lovely: if desert.
Could ever challenge welcome; if revenge,
And unexpected wreak, were ever pleasing
Or could endear the giver of such blessings,
All these I come adorn'd with, and, as due,
Make challenge of those so long wish'd embraces
Which you (unkind) have hitherto deny'd me.
_Mount._ Why, what have you done for me?
_Abd._ Made _Gomera_
As truely miserable, as you thought him happy,
Could you wish more?
_Mount._ As if his sickness could
Recover me; the injuries I receiv'd
Were _Oriana's_.
_Abd._ She has paid dear for 'em,
She's dead.
_Mount._ How?
_Abd._ Dead; my hate could reach no farther:
Taking advantage of her in a swoon,
Under pretence to give a Cordial to her
I poyson'd her: what stupid dulness is this?
What you should entertain with sacrifice,
Can you receive so coldly?
_Mount._ Bloody deeds
Are grateful offerings, pleasing to the devill,
And thou, in thy black shape, and bla[c]ker actions
Being hels perfect character, art delighted
To do what I thought infinitely wicked,
Tremble to hear: thou hast, in this taen from me
All means to make amends with penitence,
To her wrong'd virtues, and dispoil'd me of
The poor remainder of that hope was left me,
For all I have already, or must suffer.
_Abd._ I did it for the best.
_Mount._ For thy worst ends,
And be assur'd but that, I think to kill thee
Would but prevent, what thy despair must force thee
To do unto thy self, and so to add to
Thy most assur'd damnation, thou wert dead now.
But get thee from my sight: and if lust of me
Did ever fire thee (love I cannot call it)
Leap down from those steep Rocks, or take advantage
Of the next tree to hang thy self, and then
I may laugh at it.
_Abd._ In the mean time
I must be bold, to do so much for you, ha, ha.
_Mount._ Why grinst thou, devil?
_Abd._ That 'tis in my power,
To punish thy ingratitude; I made trial
But how you stood affected, and since I know
I'm us'd only for a property,
I can, and will revenge it to the full.
For understand, in thy contempt of me,
Those hopes of _Oriana_, which I could
Have chang'd to certainties, are lost for ever.
_Mount._ Why, lives she?
_Abd._ Yes, but never to _Mountferrat_,
Although it is in me, with as much ease
To give her freely up to thy possession,
As to remove this rush; which yet despair of:
For by [my] much wrong'd love, flattery, nor threats,
Tears, prayers, nor vowes, shall ever win me to it:
So with my curse I leave thee.
_Mount._ Prethee stay,
Thou know'st I dote on thee, and yet thou art
So peevish, and perverse, so apt to take
Triffles unkindly from me.
_Abd._ To perswade me
To break my neck, to hang, then damn my self,
With you are trifles.
_Mount._ 'Twas my melancholy
That made me speak I know not what: forgive,
I will redeem my fault.
_Roc._ Believe him Lady.
_Mount._ A thousand times I will demand thy pardon,
And keep the reckoning on thy lips with kisses.
_Abd._ There's something else, that would prevail more with me.
_Mount._ Thou shalt have all thy wishes do but bless me
With means to satisfie my mad desires
For once in _Oriana_ and for ever
I am thine, only thine my best _Abdella_.
_Abd._ Were I assur'd of this, and that you would
Having enjoy'd her--
_Mount._ Any thing: make choice of
Thine own conditions.
_Abd._ Swear then, that perform'd,
(To free me from all doubts and fears hereafter)
To give me leave to kill her.
_Mount._ That our safety
Must of necessity urge us to.
_Abd._ Then know
It was not poyson, but a sleeping potion
Which she receiv'd; yet of sufficient strength
So to bind up her sences, that no sign
Of life appear'd in her: and thus thought dead,
In her best habit, as the custom is
You know in _Malta_, with all ceremonies
She's buried in her families monument,
In the Temple of St. _John_; I'll bring you thither,
Thus, as you are disguis'd; some six hours hence
The potion will leave working.
_Roc._ Let us haste then.
_Mount._ Be my good angel, guide me.
_Abd._ But remember,
You keep your Oath.
_Mount._ As I desire to prosper
In what I undertake.
_Abd._ I ask no more. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Secunda._
_Enter_ Miranda, Norandine, _and_ Collonna.
_Col._ Here sir, I have got the Key; I borrow'd it
Of him that keeps the Church, the door is open.
_Mir._ Look to the horses then, and please the fellow.
After a few devotions, I'll retire.
Be not far off, there may be some use of ye,
Give me the light: come friend, a few good prayers
Were not bestow'd in vain now, even from you Sir.
Men that are bred in blood, have no way left 'em,
No bath, no purge, no time to wear it out
Or wash it off, but penitence, and prayer:
I am to take the order, and my youth
Loaden I must confess with many follies,
Circled and bound about with sins as many
As in the house of memory live figures.
My heart I'll open now, my faults confess,
And raise a new man, heaven, I hope, to a new life.
_Nor._ I have no great devotion, at this instant,
But for a prayer or two, I will not out Sir,
Hold up your finger, when you have pray'd enough.
_Mir._ Go you to that end.
_Nor._ I shall nee'r pray alone sure, I have been so us'd to
answer the Clerk: would I had a cushion, for I shall ne'r make
a good Hermit, and kneel till my knees are horn, these stones
are plaguy hard; where shall I begin now? for if I do not
observe a method, I shall be out presently.
_Ori._ Oh, oh.
_Nor._ What's that Sir? did ye hear?
_Mir._ Ha; to your prayers.
_Nor._ 'Twas here abouts, t'has put me clean aw[r]y now,
I shall nee'r get in again, ha, by Land,
And water, all children, and all women,
I there it was I left.
_Ori._ Oh, oh.
_Nor._ Never tell me Sir,
Here's something got amongst us.
_Mir._ I heard a groan:
A dismal one,--
_Ori._ Oh, oh.
_Nor._ Here, 'tis here Sir, 'tis here Sir;
A devil in the wall.
_Mir._ 'Tis some illusion
To fright us from devotion--
_Ori._ Oh, oh.
_Nor._ Why 'tis here,
The spirit of a huntesman choak'd with butter:
Here's a new tomb, new trickments too.
_Mir._ For certain,
This has not been three days here.
_Nor._ And a Tablet
With rimes upon't.
_Mir._ I prethee read 'em _Norandine_.
_Nor._ An Epi--and Epi--taff. I think 'tis, I 'tis taff, an Epitaff.
Upon the most excell, excell--lent--and.
_Mir._ Thou canst not read.
_Nor._ I have spoyl'd mine eyes with gunpowder.
_Mir._ An _Epitaph_ upon the most virtuous, and excellent Lady
The honor of Chastity, _Oriana_.
_Nor._ The grand masters sister: how a devil came she here?
When slipt she out o'th'way, the stone's but half upon her.
_Mir._ 'Tis a sodain change: certain the mischief
_Mountferrat_ offer'd to her broak her heart-strings.
_Nor._ Would he were here, I would be the clerk my self,
And by this little light, I would bury him alive here:
Here's no lamenting now.
_Ori._ Oh, oh.
_Nor._ There 'tis.
_Mir._ Sure from the monument, the very stone groanes for her.
Oh, dear Lady: blessing of women, virtue of thy sex;
How art thou set for ever, how stol'n from us.
Babling, and prating now converse with women.
_Nor._ Sir, it rises, it looks up. [_She rises up._
_Mir._ Heaven bless us.
_Nor._ It is in womans cloathes, it rises higher.
_Mir._ It looks about, and wonders, sure she lives Sir.
'Tis she, 'tis _Oriana_, 'tis that Lady.
_Nor._ Shall I go to her?
_Ori._ Where am I!
_Mir._ Stand still.
_Ori._ What place is this?
_Nor._ She is as live as I am.
_Ori._ What smell of earth, and rotten bones, what dark place?
Lord, whither am I carried?
_Nor._ How she stares,
And sets her eyes upon him.
_Mir._ How is't dear Lady?
Do you know me, how she shakes!
_Ori._ You are a man.
_Mir._ A man that honors you.
_Ori._ A cruel man,
Ye are all cruel: are you in your grave too?
For there's no trusting cruel man, above ground.
_Nor._ Byr'Lady that goes hard.
_Mir._ To do you service
And to restore ye to the joys you were in.
_Ori._ I was in joyes indeed, and hope--
_Mir._ She sinks again
Again she's gone; she's gone: gone as a shadow,
She sinks for ever, friend.
_Nor._ She is cold now,
She is certainly departed, I must cry too.
_Mir._ The blessed angels guide thee: put the stone too,
Beauty thou art gone to dust, goodness to ashes.
_Nor._ Pray take it well: we must all have our hours Sir.
_Mir._ I, thus we are; and all our painted glory,
A buble that a boy blows in to th' ayr,
And there it breaks.
_Nor._ I am glad ye sav'd her honor yet.
_Mir._ Would I had sav'd her life now too: oh heaven
For such a blessing, such a timely blessing
O friend, what dear content 'twould be, what story
To keep my name from worms!
_Ori._ Oh, oh.
_Nor._ She lives again.
'Twas but a trance.
_Mir._ Pray ye call my man in presently
Help with the stone first, oh she stirs again.
Oh call my man away.
_Nor._ I fly, I fly Sir.
_Mir._ Upon my knees O heaven, O heaven I thank thee.
_Enter_ Colonna, _and_ Norand.
The living heat steals into every member;
Come help the Coffin out softly, and sodainly;
Where is the Clerk?
_Col._ Drunk above he is sure Sir.
_Mir._ Sirrah, you must be secret.
_Col._ As your soul Sir.
_Mir._ Softly good friend, take her into your armes.
_Nor._ Put in the crust again.
_Mir._ And bring her out there when I am a horseback
My man, and I will tenderly conduct her
Unto the Fort; stay you, and watch what issue,
And what inquirie's for the body.
_Nor._ Well Sir.
_Mir._ And when ye have done, come back to me.
_Nor._ I will.
_Mir._ Softly, oh softly.
_Nor._ She grows warmer still Sir.
_Col._ What shall I do with the Key?
_Mir._ Thou canst not stir now,
Leave it ith'door, go get the horses ready. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Rocca, Mountferrat, Abdella, _with a dark Lanthorn_.
_Roc._ The door's already open, the Key in it.
_Mount._ What were those past by?
_Roc._ Some scout of Soldiers, I think.
_Mount._ It may well be so, for I saw their horses:
They saw not us I hope.
_Abd._ No, no, we were close,
Beside they were far off.
_Mount._ What time of night is't?
_Abd._ Much about twelve I think.