_Lat._ Save you Master, save you Gentlemen,

You are casting for this preparation;

This joyfull supper for the royal Brothers:

I'm glad I have met you fitly, for to your charge

My bountifull brave Butler, I must deliver

A Bevie of young Lasses, that must look on

This nights solemnity, and see the two Dukes,

Or I shall lose my credit; you have Stowage?

_But._ For such freight I'le find room, and be your servant.

_Coo._ Bring them, they shall not starve here, I'le send 'em victuals

Shall work you a good turn, though't be ten days hence, Sir.

_Lat._ God a mercy noble Master.

_Coo._ Nay, I'le do't.

_Yeo._ And wine they shall not want, let 'em drink like Ducks.

_Lat._ What misery it is that minds so royal,

And such most honest bounties, as yours are,

Should be confin'd thus to uncertainties?

_But._ I, were the State once setled, then we had places.

_Yeo._ Then we could shew our selves, and help our friends, Sir.

_Coo._ I, then there were some savour in't, where now

We live between two stools, every hour ready

To tumble on our noses; and for ought we know yet,

For all this Supper, ready to fast the next day.

_Lat._ I would fain speak unto you out of pitie,

Out of the love I bear you, out of honesty,

For your own goods; nay, for the general blessing.

_Coo._ And we would as fain hear you, pray go forward.

_Lat._ Dare you but think to make your selves up certainties

Your places and your credits ten times doubled,

The Princes favour, _Rollo_'s?

_But._ A sweet Gentleman.

_Yeo._ I, and as bounteous, if he had his right too.

_Coo._ By the mass, a Royal Gentleman indeed Boyes,

He'd make the chimneys smoak.

_Lat._ He would do't friends,

And you too, if he had his right, true Courtiers;

What could you want then? dare you?

_Coo._ Pray you be short Sir.

_Lat._ And this my soul upon't, I dare assure you,

If you but dare your parts.

_Coo._ Dare not me Monsieur,

For I that fear nor fire nor water, Sir,

Dare do enough, a man would think.

_Yeo._ Believ't, Sir;

But make this good upon us you have promis'd,

You shall not find us flinchers.

_Lat._ Then I'le be sudden.

_Pant._ What may this mean? and whither would he drive us?

_Lat._ And first, for what you must do, because all danger

Shall be apparantly ty'd up and muzl'd,

The matter seeming mighty: there's your pardons.

_Pant._ Pardons? Is't come to that? gods defend us.

_Lat._ And here's five hundred Crowns in bounteous earnest,

And now behold the matter. [_Latorch gives each a paper._

_But._ What are these, Sir?

_Yeo._ And of what nature? to what use?

_Lat._ Imagine.

_Coo._ Will they kill Rats? they eat my pyes abominably,

Or work upon a woman cold as Christmas?

I have an old Jade sticks upon my fingers,

May I taste them?

_Lat._ Is your will made?

And have you said your prayers? for they'le pay you:

And now to come up to you, for your knowledge,

And for the good you never shall repent you

If you be wise men now.

_Coo._ Wise as you will, Sir.

_Lat._ These must be put then into the several meats

Young _Otto_ loves, by you into his wine, Sir,

Into his bread by you, by you into his linnen.

Now if you desire, you have found the means

To make you, and if you dare not, you have

Found your ruine; resolve me e're you go.

_But._ You'l keep your faith with us.

_Lat._ May I no more see light else.

_Coo._ Why 'tis done then!

_But._ 'Tis done.

_Pant._ 'Tis done which shall be undone.

_Lat._ About it then, farewel, y'are all of one mind.

_Coo._ All?

_All._ All, All.

_Lat._ Why then, all happie. [_Exit._

_But._ What did we promise him?

_Yeo._ Do you ask that now?

_But._ I would be glad to know what 'tis.

_Pan._ I'le tell you,

It is to be all villains, knaves, and traytors.

_Coo._ Fine wholsome titles.

_Pan._ But if you dare, go forward.

_Coo._ We may be hang'd, drawn, and quarter'd.

_Pan._ Very true, Sir.

_Coo._ What a goodly swing I shall give the gallows? yet

I think too, this may be done, and yet we may be rewarded,

not with a rope, but with a royal master: and yet we may

be hang'd too.

_Yeo._ Say it were done; who is it done for? is it not for _Rollo_?

And for his right?

_Coo._ And yet we may be hang'd too.

_But._ Or say he take it, say we be discover'd?

[_Yeo._] Is not the same man bound still to protect us?

Are we not his?

_But._ Sure, he will never fail us.

_Coo._ If he do, friends, we shall find that will hold us.

And yet me thinks, this prologue to our purpose,

These crowns should promise more: 'tis easily done,

As easie as a man would roast an egge,

If that be all; for look you, Gentlemen,

Here stand my broths, my finger slips a little,

Down drops a dose, I stir him with my ladle,

And there's a dish for a Duke: _Olla Podrida_.

Here stands a bak'd meat, he wants a little seasoning,

A foolish mistake; my Spice-box, Gentlemen,

And put in some of this, the matter's ended;

Dredge you a dish of plovers, there's the Art on't.

_Yeo._ Or as I fill my wine.

_Coo._ 'Tis very true, Sir,

Blessing it with your hand, thus quick and neatly first, 'tis past

And done once, 'tis as easie

For him to thank us for it, and reward us.

_Pan._ But 'tis a damn'd sin.

_Coo._ O, never fear that.

The fire's my play-fellow, and now I am resolv'd, boyes.

_But._ Why then, have with you.

_Yeo._ The same for me.

_Pan._ For me too.

_Coo._ And now no more our worships, but our Lordships.

_Pan._ Not this year, on my knowledge, I'le unlord you. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter Servant, and Sewer._

_Ser._ Perfume the room round, and prepare the table,

Gentlemen officers, wait in your places.

_Sew._ Make room there,

Room for the Dukes meat. Gentlemen, be bare there,

Clear all the entrance: Guard, put by those gapers,

And Gentlemen-ushers, see the gallery clear,

The Dukes are coming on.

_Hoboys_, a banquet.

_Enter_ Sophia, _between_ Rollo, _and_ Otto, Aubry,

Latorch, Gis[b]ert, Baldwin, _Attendants_,

Hamond, Matilda, Edith.

_Ser._ 'Tis certainly inform'd.

_Ot._ Reward the fellow, and look you mainly to it.

_Ser._ My life for yours, Sir.

_Soph._ Now am I straight, my Lords, and young again,

My long since blasted hopes shoot out in blossomes,

The fruits of everlasting love appearing;

Oh! my blest boys, the honour of my years,

Of all my cares, the bounteous fair rewarders.

Oh! let me thus imbrace you, thus for ever

Within a Mothers love lock up your friendships:

And my sweet sons, once more with mutual twinings,

As one chaste bed begot you, make one body:

Blessings from heaven in thousand showrs fall on you.

_Aub._ Oh! womans goodness never to be equall'd,

May the most sinfull creatures of thy sex

But kneeling at thy monument, rise saints.

_Soph._ Sit down my worthy sons; my Lords, your places.

I, now me thinks the table's nobly furnisht;

Now the meat nourishes; the wine gives spirit;

And all the room stuck with a general pleasure,

Shews like the peacefull boughs of happiness.

_Aub._ Long may it last, and from a heart fill'd with it

Full as my cup; I give it round, my Lords.

_Bald._ And may that stubborn heart be drunk with sorrow

Refuses it; men dying now should take it,

And by the vertue of this ceremony

Shake off their miseries, and sleep in peace.

_Rol._ You are sad, my noble Brother.

_Ot._ No, indeed, Sir.

_Soph._ No sadness my son this day.

_Rol._ Pray you eat,

Something is here you have lov'd; taste of this dish,

It will prepare your stomach.

_Ot._ Thank you brother: I am not now dispos'd to eat.

_Rol._ Or that,

You put us out of heart man, come, these bak't meats

Were ever your best dyet.

_Ot._ None, I thank you.

_Soph._ Are you well, noble child?

_Ot._ Yes, gracious Mother.

_Rol._ Give him a cup of wine, then, pledge the health,

Drink it to me, I'le give it to my Mother.

_Soph._ Do, my best child.

_Ot._ I must not, my best Mother,

Indeed I dare not: for of late, my body

Has been much weakned by excess of dyet;

The promise of a feaver hanging on me,

And even now ready, if not by abstinence--

_Rol._ And will you keep it in this general freedom;

A little health preferr'd before our friendship?

_Ot._ I pray you excuse me, Sir.

_Rol._ Excuse your self Sir,

Come 'tis your fear, and not your favour Brother,

And you have done me a most worthy kindness

My Royal Mother, and you noble Lords;

Here, for it now concerns me to speak boldly;

What faith can be expected from his vows,

From his dissembling smiles, what fruit of friendship

From all his dull embraces, what blest issue,

When he shall brand me here for base suspicion?

He takes me for a poysoner.

_Sop._ Gods defend it son.

_Rol._ For a foul knave, a villain, and so fears me.

_Ot._ I could say something too.

_Sop._ You must not so Sir,

Without your great forgetfulness of vertue;

This is your Brother, and your honour'd Brother.

_Rol._ If he please so.

_Sop._ One noble Father, with as noble thoughts,

Begot your minds and bodies: one care rockt you,

And one truth to you both was ever sacred;

Now fye my _Otto_, whither flyes your goodness?

Because the right hand has the power of cutting,

Shall the left presently cry out 'tis maimed?

They are one my child, one power, and one performance,

And joyn'd together thus, one love, one body.

_Aub._ I do beseech your grace, take to your thoughts

More certain counsellors than doubts or fears,

They strangle nature, and disperse themselves

(If once believ'd) into such foggs and errours

That the bright truth her self can never sever:

Your Brother is a royal Gentleman

Full of himself, honour, and honesty,

And take heed Sir, how nature bent to goodness,

(So streight a Cedar to himself) uprightness

Be wrested from his true use, prove not dangerous.

_Rol._ Nay my good Brother knows I am too patient.

_Lat._ Why should your grace think him a poysoner?

Has he no more respect to piety?

And but he has by oath ty'd up his fury

Who durst but think that thought?

_Aub._ Away thou firebrand.

_Lat._ If men of his sort, of his power, and place

The eldest son in honour to this Dukedom.

_Bald._ For shame contain thy tongue, thy poysonous to[n]gue

That with her burning venome will infect all,

And once more blow a wilde fire through the Dukedom.

_Gis._ _Latorch_, if thou be'st honest, or a man,

Contain thy self.

_Aub._ Go to, no more, by Heaven

You'le find y'have plai'd the fool else, not a word more.

_Sop._ Prethee sweet son.

_Rol._ Let him alone sweet Mother, and my Lords

To make you understand how much I honour

This sacred peace, and next my innocence,

And to avoid all further difference

Discourse may draw on to a way of danger

I quit my place, and take my leave for this night,

Wishing a general joy may dwell among you.

_Aub._ Shall we wait on your grace?

_Rol._ I dare not break you, _Latorch_. [_Ex._ Rol. _and_ Lat.

_Ot._ Oh Mother that your tenderness had eyes,

Discerning eyes, what would this man appear then?

The tale of _Synon_ when he took upon him

To ruine _Troy_; with what a cloud of cunning

He hid his heart, nothing appearing outwards,

But came like innocence, and dropping pity,

Sighs that would sink a Navie, and had tales

Able to take the ears of Saints, belief too,

And what did all these? blew the fire to _Ilium_.

His crafty art (but more refin'd by study)

My Brother has put on: oh I could tell you

But for the reverence I bear to nature,

Things that would make your honest blood run backward.

_Sop._ You dare tell me?

_Ot._ Yes, in your private closet

Where I will presently attend you; rise

I am a little troubled, but 'twill off.

_Sop._ Is this the joy I look'd for?

_Ot._ All will mend,

Be not disturb'd dear Mother, I'le not fail you.

[_Ex._ Sop. _and_ Otto.

_Bald._ I do not like this.

_Aub._ That is still in our powers,

But how to make it so that we may like it.

_Bald._ Beyond us ever; _Latorch_ me thought was busie,

That fellow, if not lookt to narrowly, will do a suddain mischief.

_Aub._ Hell look to him,

For if there may be a Devil above all, yet

That Rogue will make him; keep you up this night,

And so will I, for much I fear a danger.

_Bald._ I will, and in my watches use my prayers. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Sophia, Otto, Matillda, Edith.

_Ot._ You wonder Madam, that for all the shews

My Brother _Rollo_ makes of hearty love

And free possession of the Dukedom 'twixt us;

I notwithstanding should stand still suspicious,

As if beneath those veils, he did convey

Intents and practices of hate, and treason?

_So[p]._ It breeds indeed my wonder.

_Ot._ Which makes mine,

Since it is so safe and broad a beaten way,

Beneath the name of friendship to betray.

_Sop._ Though in remote and further off affections,

These falsehoods are so common, yet in him

They cannot so force nature.

_Ot._ The more near

The bands of truth bind, the more oft they sever,

Being better cloaks to cover falsehood over.

_Sop._ It cannot be, that fruits the tree so blasting

Can grow in nature; take heed gentle Son

Lest some suborn'd suggester of these treasons,

Believ'd in him by you, provok'd the rather

His tender envies, to such foul attempts;

Or that your too much love to rule alone

Breed not in him this jealous passion;

There is not any ill we might not bear

Were not our good held at a price too dear.

_Ot._ So apt is treachery to be excused,

That innocence is still aloud abused,

The fate of vertue even her friends perverts,

To plead for vice oft times against their hearts,

Heavens blessing is her curse, which she must bear

That she may never love.

_Sop._ Alas, my son, nor fate, nor heaven it self,

Can or would wrest my whole care of your good

To any least secureness in your ill:

What I urge issues from my curious fear;

Lest you should make your means to scape your snare.

Doubt of sincereness is the only mean

Not to incense it, but corrupt it clean.

_Ot._ I rest as far from wrong of sincereness,

As he flyes from the practice, trust me Madam,

I know by their confessions, he suborn'd,

What I should eat, drink, touch, or only have scented,

This evening feast was poysoned, but I fear

This open violence more, that treacherous oddes

Which he in his insatiate thirst of rule

Is like to execute.

_Sop._ Believe it Son,

If still his stomach be so foul to feed

On such gross objects, and that thirst to rule

The state alone be yet unquench'd in him,

Poysons and such close treasons ask more time

Than can suffice his fiery spirits hast:

And were there in him such desire to hide

So false a practice, there would likewise rest

Conscience and fear in him of open force,

And therefore close nor open you need fear.

_Mat._ Good Madam, stand not so inclin'd to trust

What proves his tendrest thoughts to doubt it just,

Who knows not the unbounded flood and sea,

In which my Brother _Rollo_'s appetites

Alter and rage with every puffe and breath?

His swelling blood exhales, and therefore hear,

What gives my temperate Brother cause to use

His readiest circumspection, and consult

For remedy against all his wicked purposes;

If he arm, arm, if he strew mines of treason,

Meet him with countermines, it is justice still

(For goodness sake) t'encounter ill with ill.

_Sop._ Avert from us such justice, equal heaven,

And all such cause of justice.

_Ot._ Past all doubt

(For all the sacred privilege of night)

This is no time for us to sleep or rest in;

Who knows not all things holy are prevented

With ends of all impietie, all but

Lust, gain, ambition.

_Enter_ Rollo, _armed, and_ Latorch.

_Rol._ Perish all the world

E're I but lose one foot of possible Empire,

Be slights and colour us'd by slaves and wretches,

I am exempt by birth from both these curbs,

And since above them in all justice, since

I sit above in power, where power is given,

Is all the right suppos'd of Earth and Heaven.

_Lat._ Prove both Sir, see the traytor.

_Ot._ He comes arm'd, see Mother, now your confidence.

_Sop._ What rage affects this monster?

_Rol._ Give me way or perish.

_Sop._ Make thy way viper, if thou thus affect it.

_Ot._ This is a treason like thee.

_Rol._ Let her go.

_Sop._ Embrace me, wear me as thy shield, my Son;

And through my breast let his rude weapon run,

To thy lives innocence.

_Ot._ Play not two parts,

Treacher and coward both; but yield a sword,

And let thy arming thee be odds enough

Against my naked bosom.

_Rol._ Loose his hold.

_Mat._ Forbear base murtherer.

_Rol._ Forsake our Mother.

_Sop._ Mother, dost thou name me, and put'st off nature thus?

_Rol._ Forsake her traytour,

Or by the spouse of nature through hers

This leads unto thy heart.

_Ot._ Hold.

_Sop._ Hold me still.

_Ot._ For twenty hearts and lives I will not hazard

One drop of blood in yours.

_Sop._ Oh thou art lost then.

_Ot._ Protect my innocence, Heaven.

_Sop._ Call out murther.

_Mat._ Be murthered all, but save him.

_Ed._ Murther, murther.

_Rol._ Cannot I reach you yet?

_Ot._ No, fiend.

_Rol._ _Latorch_, rescue, I'me down.

_Lat._ Up then, your sword cools Sir,

Ply it i'th' flame, and work your ends out.

_Rol._ Ha, have at [you] there Sir.

_Enter_ Aubrey.

_Aub._ Author of prodigies, what sights are these?

_Ot._ Oh give me a weapon, _Aubrey_.

_Sop._ Oh part 'em, part 'em.

_Aub._ For Heavens sake no more.

_Ot._ No more resist his fury, no rage can

Add to his mischief done. [_Dyes._

_Sop._ Take spirit my _Otto_,

Heaven will not see thee dye thus.

_Mat._ He is dead, and nothing lives but death of every goodness.

_Sop._ Oh he hath slain his Brother, curse him heaven.

_Rol._ Curse and be cursed, it is the fruit of cursing,

_Latorch_, take off here, bring too, of that blood

To colour o're my shirt, then raise the Court

And give it out how he attempted us

In our bed naked: shall the name of Brother

Forbid us to inlarge our state and powers?

Or place affects of blood above our reason?

That tells us all things good against another,

Are good in the same line against a Brother. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Gisbert, Baldwin.

_Gis._ What affairs inform these out-cries?

_Aub._ See and grieve.

_Gis._ Prince _Otto_ slain!

_Bal._ Oh execrable slaughter!

What hand hath author'd it?

_Aub._ Your Scholars, _Baldwin_.

_Bald._ Unjustly urg'd, Lord _Aubrey_, as if I,

For being his Schoolmaster, must own this doctrine,

You are his Counsellours, did you advise him

To this foul parricide?

_Gis._ If rule affect this licence, who would live

To worse, than dye in force of his obedience?

_Bal._ Heavens cold and lingring spirit to punish sin,

And humane blood so fiery to commit it,

One so outgoes the other, it will never

Be turn'd to fit obedience.

_Aub._ Burst it then

With his full swing given, where it brooks no bound,

Complaints of it are vain; and all that rests

To be our refuge (since our powers are strengthless)

Is to conform our wills to suffer freely,

What with our murmurs we can never master;

Ladys, be pleased with what heavens pleasure suffers,

Erect your princely countenances and spirits,

And to redress the mischiefs now resistless,

Sooth it in shew, rather than curse or cross it;

Which all amends, and vow to it your best,

But till you may perform it, let it rest.

_Gis._ Those temporizings are too dull and servile,

To breath the free air of a manly soul,

Which shall in me expire in execrations,

Before for any life I sooth a murtherer.

_Bal._ Pour lives before him, till his own be dry

Of all lives services and humane comforts;

None left that looks at heaven is half so base

To do those black and hellish actions grace.

_Enter_ Rollo, Lat. Ham. _and Guard_.

_Rol._ Haste _Latorch_

And raise the Citie as the Court is rais'd,

Proclaiming the abhor'd conspiracy

In plot against my life.

_Lat._ I haste my Lord. [_Exit._

_Rol._ You there that mourn upon the justly slain,

Arise and leave it if you love your lives,

And hear from me what (kept by you) may save you.

_Mat._ What will the Butcher do? I will not stir.

_Rol._ Stir, and unforc't stir, or stir never more:

Command her, you grave Beldam, that know better

My deadly resolutions, since I drew them

From the infective fountain of your own,

Or if you have forgot, this fiery prompter

Shall fix the fresh impression on your heart.

_Sop._ Rise Daughter, serve his will in what we may,

Lest what we may not he enforce the rather,

Is this all you command us?

_Rol._ This addition only admitted, that when I endeavour

To quit me of this slaughter, you presume not

To cross me with a syllable for your souls;

Murmur, nor think against it, but weigh well,

It will not help your ill, but help to more,

And that my hand wrought thus far to my will,

Will check at nothing till his circle fill.

_Mat._ Fill it, so I consent not, but who sooths it

Consents, and who consents to tyrannie, does it.

_Rol._ False traytress die then with him.

_Aub._ Are you mad, to offer at more blood, and make your self

More horrid to your people? I'le proclaim,

It is not as your instrument will publish.

_Rol._ Do, and take that along with you--so nimble!

Resign my sword, and dare not for thy soul

To offer what thou insolently threatnest;

One word, proclaiming cross to what _Latorch_

Hath in Commission, and intends to publish.

_Aub._ Well, Sir, not for your threats, but for your good,

Since more hurt to you would more hurt your Country,

And that you must make Vertue of the need

That now compels you, I'll consent as far

As silence argues to your will proclaimed:

And since no more Sons of your Princely Father

Survive to rule but you, and that I wish

You should rule like your Father, with the love

And zeal of all your Subjects; this foul slaughter

That now you have committed made ashamed

With that fair blessing, that in place of plagues,

Heaven trys our mending disposition with:

Take here your sword, which now use like a Prince,

And no more like a Tyrant.

_Rol._ This sounds well, live and be gracious with us.

_Gis._ _and Bal._ Oh Lord _Aubrey_.

_Mat._ He flatter thus?

_Sop._ He temporizes fitly.

_Rol._ Wonder invades me; do you two think much,

That he thus wisely, and with need consents

To what I authour for your Countries good?

You being my Tutor, you my Chancellour.

_Gis._ Your Chancellour is not your Flatterer, Sir.

_Bal._ Nor is it your Tutors part to shield such doctrine.

_Rol._ Sir, first know you,

In praise of your pure Oratory that rais'd you,

That when the people, who I know by this

Are rais'd out of their rests, and hastening hither

To witness what is done here, are arrived

With our _Latorch_, that you, _ex tempore_,

Shall fashion an Oration to acquit

And justifie this forced fact of mine;

Or for the proud refusal lose your head.

_Gis._ I fashion an Oration to acquit you?

Sir, know you then, that 'tis a thing less easie

To excuse a parricide than to commit it.

_Rol._ I do not wish you, Sir, to excuse me,

But to accuse my Brother, as the cause

Of his own slaughter by attempting mine.

_Gis._ Not for the World, I should pour blood on blood;

It were another murther to accuse

Him that fell innocent.

_Rol._ Away with him, hence, hail him straight to execution.

_Aub._ Far flye such rigour, your amendful hand.

_Rol._ He perishes with him that speaks for him;

Guard do your office on him, on your lives pain.

_Gis._ Tyrant, 'twill haste thy own death.

_Rol._ Let it wing it,

He threatens me, Villains tear him piece-meal hence.

_Guard._ Avant Sir.

_Ham._ Force him hence.

_Rol._ Dispatch him, Captain,

And bring me instant word he is dispatched,

And how his Rhetorick takes it.

_Ham._ I'll not fail, Sir.

_Rol._ Captain, besides remember this in chief;

That being executed, you deny

To all his friends the Rites of Funeral,

And cast his Carkass out to Dogs and Fowls.

_Ham._ 'Tis done, my Lord.

_Rol._ Upon your life not fail.

_Bal._ What impious daring is there here of Heaven!

_Rol._ Sir, now prepare your self, against the people

Make here their entry, to discharge the Oration,

He hath denied my will.

_Bal._ For fear of death? ha, ha, ha.

_Rol._ Is death ridiculous with you?

Works misery of Age this, or thy judgment?

_Bal._ Judgment, false Tyrant.

_Rol._ You'll make no Oration then?

_Bal._ Not to excuse, but aggravate thy murder if thou wilt,

Which I will so enforce, I'll make thee wreak it

(With hate of what thou win'st by't) on thy self,

With such another justly merited murther.

_Rol._ I'll answer you anon.

_Enter_ Latorch.

_Lat._ The Citizens are hasting, Sir, in heaps, all full resolved,

By my perswasion of your Brothers Treasons.

_Rol._ Honest _Latorch_.

_Enter_ Hamond.

_Ham._ See, Sir, here's _Gisberts_ head.

_Rol._ Good speed; was't with a Sword?

_Ham._ An Axe, Sir.

_Rol._ An Axe? 'twas vilely done, I would have had

My own fine Headsman done it with a Sword;

Go, take this Dotard here, and take his head

Off with a Sword.

_Ham._ Your Schoolmaster?

_Rol._ Even he.

_Bal._ For teaching thee no better; 'tis the best

Of all thy damned justices; away,

Captain, I'll follow.

_Ed._ Oh stay there, Duke, and in the midst of all thy blood and fury,

Hear a poor Maids Petitions, hear a Daughter,

The only Daughter of a wretched Father;

Oh stay your haste as you shall need this mercy.

_Rol._ Away with this fond woman.

_Ed._ You must hear me

If there be any spark of pity in you,

If sweet humanity and mercy rule you;

I do confess you are a Prince, your anger

As great as you, your Execution greater.

_Rol._ Away with him.

_Ed._ Oh Captain, by thy manhood,

By her soft soul that bare thee, I do confess, Sir,

Your doom of justice on your foes most righteous;

Good noble Prince look on me.

_Rol._ Take her from me.

_Ed._ A curse upon his life that hinders me;

May Fathers Blessing never fall upon him,

May Heaven never hear his Prayers: I beseech you,

Oh Sir, these few tears beseech you; these chast hands woo you,

That never yet were heav'd but to things holy,

Things like your self, you are a god above us;

Be as a God then, full of saving mercy;

Mercy, Oh mercy, for his sake mercy;

That when your stout heart weeps shall give you pity;

Here I must grow.

_Rol._ By Heaven, I'll strike thee, woman.

_Ed._ Most willingly, let all thy anger seek me,

All the most studied torments, so this good man,

This old man, and this innocent escape thee.

_Rol._ Carry him away I say.

_Ed._ Now blessing on thee, Oh sweet pity,

I see it in thy Eyes, I charge you Souldiers

Even by the Princes power, release my Father,

The Prince is merciful, why do you hold him?

He is old, why do you hurt him? speak, Oh speak, Sir;

Speak as you are a man; a mans life hangs, Sir,

A friends life, and a foster life upon you:

'Tis but a word, but mercy quickly spoke, Sir;

Oh speak, Prince, speak.

_Rol._ Will no man here obey me?

Have I no rule yet? as I live he dyes

That does not execute my will, and suddenly.

_Bal._ All that thou canst do takes but one short hour from me.

_Rol._ Hew off her hands.

_Ham._ Lady hold off.

_Ed._ Nay, hew 'em,

Hew off my innocent hands as he commands you.

[_Exeunt Guard, Count_ Baldwin.

They'll hang the faster on for Deaths convulsion.

Thou seed of Rocks, will nothing move thee then?

Are all my tears lost? all my righteous Prayers

Drown'd in thy drunken wrath? I stand thus then,

Thus boldly, bloody Tyrant,

And to thy face in Heavens high Name defie thee;

And may sweet mercy when thy soul sighs for it,

When under thy black mischiefs thy flesh trembles,

When neither strength, nor youth, nor friends, nor gold

Can stay one hour, when thy most wretched Conscience

Wak'd from her dream of death, like fire shall melt thee,

When all thy Mothers tears, thy Brothers wounds,

Thy Peoples fears and curses, and my loss,

My aged fathers loss shall stand before thee.

_Rol._ Save him I say, run, save him, save her Father,

Fly, and redeem his head. [_Exit_ Latorch.

_Ed._ May then that pity,

That comfort thou expect'st from Heaven, that mercy

Be lockt up from thee, fly thee, howling find thee,

Despair, Oh my sweet father, storms of terrours,

Blood till thou burst again.

_Rol._ Oh fair sweet anger.

_Enter_ Latorch _and_ Hamond _with a Head_.

_Lat._ I am too late, Sir, 'twas dispatch'd before,

And his Head is here.

_Rol._ And my Heart there; go bury him,

Give him fair Rites of Funeral, decent Honours.

_Ed._ Wilt thou not take me, Monster? highest Heaven

Give him a punishment fit for his mischief.

_Lat._ I fear thy Prayer is heard, and he rewarded:

Lady, have patience, 'twas unhappy speed;

Blame not the Duke, 'twas not his fault, but Fates;

He sent, you know, to stay it, and commanded

In care of you, the heavy object hence

Soon as it came: have better thoughts of him.

_Enter Citizens._

_1 Cit._ Where's this young Traytor?

_Lat._ Noble Citizens, here,

And here the wounds he gave your soveraign Lord.

_1 Cit._ This Prince of force must be

Belov'd of Heaven, whom Heaven hath thus preserv'd.

_2 Cit._ And if he be belov'd of Heaven, you know,

He must be just, and all his actions so.

_Rol._ Concluded like an Oracle, Oh how great

A grace of Heaven is a wise Citizen!

For Heaven 'tis makes 'em wise, as't makes me just,

As it preserves me, as I now survive

By his strong hand to keep you all alive:

Your Wives, your Children, Goods and Lands kept yours,

That had been else preys to his tyrannous Power,

That would have prey'd on me, in Bed assaulted me

In sacred time of Peace; my Mother here,

My Sister, this just Lord, and all had felt

The certain Gulph of this Conspiracy,

Of which my Tutor and my Chancellour,

(Two of the gravest, and most counted honest

In all my Dukedom) were the monstrous Heads;

Oh trust no honest men for their sakes ever,

My politick Citizens, but those that breathe

The Names of Cut-throats, Usurers and Tyrants,

Oh those believe in, for the foul-mouth'd World

Can give no better terms to simple goodness:

Even me it dares blaspheme, and thinks me tyrannous

For saving my own life sought by my Brother;

Yet those that sought his life before by poyson

(Though mine own servants, hoping to please me)

I'll lead to death for't, which your Eyes shall see.

_1 Cit._ Why, what a Prince is here!

_2 Cit._ How just!

_3 Cit._ How gentle!

_Rol._ Well, now my dearest Subjects, or much rather

My Nerves, my Spirits, or my vital Blood;

Turn to your needful rests, and setled peace,

Fix'd in this root of steel, from whence it sprung

In Heavens great help and Blessing: but ere sleep

Bind in his sweet oblivion your dull senses,

The Name and Vertue of Heavens King advance

For yours, in chief, for my deliverance.

_Cit._ Heaven and his King save our most pious Soveraign.

[_Exeunt Citizens._

_Rol._ Thanks my good people. Mother, and kind Sister,

And you my noble Kinsmen, things born thus

Shall make ye all command what ever I

Enjoy in this my absolute Empire,

Take in the Body of my Princely Brother,

For whose Death, since his Fate no other way

Would give my eldest birth his supream Right;

We'll mourn the cruel influence it bears,

And wash his Sepulchre with kindly tears.

_Aub._ If this game end thus, Heavens will rule the set.

What we have yielded to, we could not let.

[_Exeunt omnes præter_ Latorch, _and_ Edith.

_Lat._ Good Lady rise, and raise your Spirits withal,

More high than they are humbled; you have cause,

As much as ever honour'd happiest Lady;

And when your Ears are freer to take in

Your most amendful and unmatched fortunes,

I'll make you drown a hundred helpless deaths

In Sea of one life pour'd into your Bosome;

With which shall flow into your arms, the Riches,

The Pleasures, Honours, and the rules of Princes;

Which though death stop your ears, methinks should open 'em,

Assay to forget death.

_Ed._ Oh slaughter'd Father.

_Lat._ Taste of what cannot be redress'd, and bless

The Fate that yet you curse so; since for that

You spake so movingly, and your sweet eyes

With so much Grace fill'd, that you set on fire

The Dukes affection, whom you now may rule

As he rules all his Dukedome, is't not sweet?

Does it not shine away your sorrows Clouds?

Sweet Lady, take wise heart, and hear and tell me.

_Ed._ I hear no word you speak.

_Lat._ Prepare to hear then,

And be not barr'd up from your self, nor add

To your ill fortune with your far worse judgment;

Make me your servant to attend with all joys,

Your sad estate, till they both bless and speak it:

See how they'll bow to you, make me wait, command me

To watch out every minute, for the stay

Your modest sorrow fancies, raise your graces,

And do my hopes the honour of your motion,

To all the offered heights that now attend you:

Oh how your touches ravish! how the Duke

Is slain already with your flames embrac'd!

I will both serve and visit you, and often.

_Ed._ I am not fit, Sir.

_Lat._ Time will make you, Lady.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter the Guard, 3 or 4 Boys, then the Sheriff, Cook,_

_Yeoman of the Cellar, Butler, Pantler to execution._

_1 Guard._ Come, bring in these fellows, on, away with 'em.

_2 Guard._ Make room before there, room for the Prisoners.

_1 Boy._ Let's run before, Boys, we shall have no places else.

_2 Boy._ Are these the youths?

_Cook._ These are the youths you look for,

And, pray my honest friends, be not so hasty,

There will be nothing done till we come, I assure you.

_3 Boy._ Here's a wise hanging; are there no more?

_Butl._ Do you hear, Sir? you may come in for your share

if you please.

_Cook._ My friend, if you be unprovided of a hanging,

You look like a good fellow, I can afford you

A reasonable penny-worth.

_2 Boy._ Afore, afore, Boys, here's enough to make us sport.

_Yeom._ 'Pox take you,

Do you call this sport? are these your recreations?

Must we be hang'd to make you mirth?

_Cook._ Do you hear?

You Custard Pate, we go to't for high Treason,

An honourable fault: thy foolish Father

Was hang'd for stealing Sheep.

_Boys._ Away, away, Boys.

_Cook._ Do you see how that sneaking Rogue looks now?

You, Chip, Pantler, you peaking Rogue, that provided us

these Necklaces; you poor Rogue, you costive Rogue, you.

_Pant._ Pray, pray, fellows.

_Cook._ 'Pray for thy crusty soul? where's your reward now,

Goodman Manchet, for your fine discovery?

I do beseech you, Sir, where are your Dollers?

Draw with your fellows and be hang'd.

_Yeom._ He must now;

For now he shall be hang'd first, that's his comfort,

A place too good for thee, thou meal-mouth'd Rascal.

_Coo._ Hang handsomly for shame, come, leave your praying,

You peaking Knave, and dye like a good Courtier,

Dye honestly, and like a man; no preaching,

With I beseech you take example by me,

I liv'd a lewd man, good People. 'Pox on't,

Dye me as if thou hadst din'd, say Grace, and God be with you.

_Guard._ Come, will you forward?

_Cook._ Good Mr. Sheriff, your leave, this hasty work

Was ne'r done well; give us so much time as but to sing

Our own Ballads, for we'll trust no man,

Nor no tune but our own; 'twas done in Ale too,

And therefore cannot be refus'd in Justice.

Your penny-pot Poets are such pelting thieves,

They ever hang men twice; we have it here, Sir,

And so must every Merchant of our Voyage.

He'll make a sweet return else of his Credit.

_Yeom._ One fit of our own mirth, and then we are for you.

_Guard._ Make haste then, dispatch.

_Yeom._ There's day enough, Sir.

_Cook._ Come, Boys, sing chearfully, we shall ne'r sing younger.

We have chosen a loud tune too, because it should like well.

The SONG.

_Come, For[t]une's a Whore, I care not who tell her,_

_Would offer to strangle a Page of the Celler,_

_That should by his Oath to any Mans thinking,_

_And place, have had a defence for his drinking;_

_But thus she does still, when she pleases to palter,_

_Instead of his Wages, she gives him a Halter._

Three merry Boys, and three merry Boys, and three merry Boys are we,

As ever did sing in a hempen string under the Gallow-tree.

II.

_But I that was so lusty,_

_And ever kept my Bottles,_

_That neither they were musty,_

_And seldome less than Pottles;_

_For me to be thus stopt now,_

_With Hemp instead of Cork, Sir,_

_And from the Gallows lopt now,_

_Shews that there is a fork, Sir,_

_In death, and this the token,_

_Man may be two ways killed,_

_Or like the Bottle, broken,_

_Or like the Wine, be spilled._

Three merry Boys, &c.

III.

_Oh yet but look on the Master Cook, the glory of the Kitchin,_

_In sowing whose fate, at so lofty a rate, no Taylor e'r had

stitching,_

_For though he makes the Man, the Cook yet makes the Dishes,_

_The which no Taylor can, wherein I have my wishes,_

_That I who at so many a Feast, have pleas'd so many tasters,_

_Should now my self come to be drest, a dish for you my Masters._

Three merry Boys, &c.

_Cook._ There's a few Copies for you; now farewel friends:

And good Mr. Sheriff let me not be printed

With a brass Pot on my head.

_But._ March fair, march fair, afore, good Captain _Pantler_.

IV.

_Pant._ _Oh man or beast, or you at least,_

_That wear or brow or antler,_

_Prick up your ears, unto the tears_

_Of me poor_ Paul _the Pantler,_

_That thus am clipt, because I chipt_

_The cursed Crust of Treason_

_With Loyal Knife; Oh doleful strife,_

_To hang thus without reason._

_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Aubrey, _and_ Latorch.

_Aub._ _Latorch_, I have waited here to speak with you,

And you must hearken; set not forth your leg

Of haste, nor put your face of business on;

An honester affair than this I urge too,

You will not easily think on; and 'twill be

Reward to entertain it; 'tis your fortune

To have our Masters ear above the rest

Of us that follow him, but that no man envies;

For I have well considered, Truth sometimes

May be convey'd in by the same Conduits

That Falshood is; These courses that he takes

Cannot but end in ruine; Empire got

By blood and violence, must so be held;

And how unsafe that is, he first will prove,

That toiling still to remove Enemies

Makes himself more; It is not now a Brother,

A faithful Councellour of estate or two,

That are his danger, they are far dispatch'd;

It is a multitude that begin to fear,

And think what began there must end in them;

For all the fine Oration that was made 'em,

And they are not an easie Monster quell'd.

Princes may pick their suffering Nobles out;

And one by one employ 'em to the block; but when they

once grow formidable to their Clowns, and Coblers, ware

then, guard themselves; if thou durst tell him this, _Latorch_,

the service would not discredit the good name you hold with

men, besides the profit to your Master, and the publick.

_Lat._ I conceive not so, Sir:

They are airy fears; and why should I object them unto his fancy?

Wound what is yet sound? your counsels colour not,

With reason of state, where all that's necessary still is just.

The actions of the Prince, while they succeed,

Should be made good, and glorified; not question'd.

Men do but shew their ill affections, that--

_Aub._ What? speak out.

_Lat._ Do murmur against their Masters.

_Aub._ Is this to me?

_Lat._ It is to whosoever mislikes of the Dukes courses.

_Aub._ I! is't so? at your stateward, Sir?

_Lat._ I'm sworn to hear nothing may prejudice the Prince.

_Aub._ Why do you? or have you, ha?

_Lat._ I cannot tell, mens hearts shew in their words sometimes.

_Aub._ I ever thought thee

Knave of the Chamber, art thou the Spye too?

_Lat._ A watchman for the State, and one that's known,

Sir, to be rightly affected.

_Aub._ Bawd of the State;

No less than of thy masters lusts. I now

See nothing can redeem thee; dost thou mention

Affection, or a Heart, that ne'r hadst any?

Knowst not to love or hate, but by the State,

As thy Prince does't before thee? that dost never

Wear thy own face, but put'st on his, and gather'st

Baits for his Ears: liv'st wholly at his beck,

And e're thou dar'st utter a thought's thine own,

Must expect his; creep'st forth and wad'st into him

As if thou wert to pass a Ford, there proving

Yet if thy tongue may step on safely or no;

Then bring'st his vertue asleep, and stay'st the wheel

Both of his reason and judgment, that they move not,

Whit'st over all his vices; and at last

Dost draw a Cloud of words before his eyes,

Till he can neither see thee nor himself?

Wretch, I dare give him honest counsels, I,

And love him while I tell him truth; old _Aubrey_

Dares goe the straightest way, which still's the shortest,

Walk on the thorns thou scatter'st, Parasite,

And tread 'em into nothing: and if thou

Then let'st a look fall, of the least dislike,

I'll rip thy Crown up with my Sword at height,

And pluck thy skin over thy face, in sight

Of him thou flatter'st; unto thee I speak it,

Slave, against whom all Laws should now conspire,

And every Creature that hath sense, be arm'd,

As 'gainst the common Enemy of Mankind;

That sleep'st within thy Masters Ear, and whisper'st

'Tis better for him to be fear'd than lov'd;

Bid'st him trust no mans friendship, spare no blood

That may secure him: 'tis no cruelty

That hath a specious end; for Soveraignty

Break all the Laws of kind; if it succeed,

An honest, noble, and praise-worthy deed;

While he that takes thy poysons in, shall feel

Their virulent workings in a point of time,

When no Repentance can bring aid, but all

His spirits shall melt, with what his Conscience burn'd,

And dying in flatterers arms, shall fall unmourn'd.

There's matter for you now.

_Lat._ My Lord, this makes not for loving of my Master.

_Aub._ Loving? no;

They hate ill Princes most that make them so.

_Enter_ Rollo, Hamond, Allan, _Guard_.

_Rol._ I'll hear no more.

_Ham._ Alas, 'tis for my Brother: I beseech your Highness.

_Rol._ How, a Brother? had not I one my self? did title

Move me when it was fit that he should dye? away.

_All._ Brother, lose no word more, leave my good Cause

T' upbraid the Tyrant, I'm glad I'm faln

Now in those times that will'd some great example

T' assure men we can dye for honesty.

_Rol._ Sir, you are brave, 'pray that you hold your neck

As bravely forth anon unto your Headsman.

_All._ Would he would strike as bravely, and thou by,

Rollo, 'twould make thee quake to see me dye.

_Aub._ What's his offence?

_Ham._ For giving _Gisbert_ burial, who was sometimes his Master.

_All._ Yes, Lord _Aubrey_,

My gratitude and humanity are my crimes.

_Rol._ Why bear you him not hence?

_Aub._ My Lord, (stay Souldiers)

I do beseech your Highness, do not lose

Such men for such slight causes. This is one

Has still been faithful to you, a try'd soul

In all your fathers Battles; I have seen him

Bestride a friend against a score of Foes,

And look, he looks as he would kill his hundred

For you, Sir, were you in some danger.

_All._ Till he kill'd his Brother, his Chancellour, then his

Master, to which he can add nought to equal _Nero_,

But killing of his Mother.

_Aub._ Peace, brave Fool,

Thou valiant Ass: here is his Brother too, Sir,

A Captain of your Guard, hath serv'd you long,

With the most noble witness of his truth

Mark'd in his face, and every part about him,

That turns not from an enemy. But view him,

Oh do not grieve him, Sir, if you do mean

That he shall hold his place: it is not safe

To tempt such spirits, and let them wear their Swords,

You'll make your Guards your terrours by these Acts,

And throw more hearts off from you than you hold;

And I must tell you, Sir, (with my old freedom,

And my old faith to boot) you have not liv'd so

But that your state will need such men, such hands

Of which here's one, shall in an hour of tryal,

Do you more certain service with a stroke,

Than the whole bundle of your flatterers

With all the unsavory unction of their tongues.

_Rol._ Peace, talker.

_Aub._ One that loves you yet, my Lord,

And would not see you pull on your own ruines.

Mercy becomes a Prince, and guards him best,

Awe and affrights are never tyes of Love;

And when men begin to fear the Prince, they hate him.

_Rol._ Am I the Prince, or you?

_Aub._ My Lord, I hope I have not utter'd ought should

urge that question.

_Rol._ Then practise your obedience, see him dead.

_Aub._ My Lord?

_Rol._ I'll hear no more.

_Aub._ I'm sorry then; there's no small despair, Sir, of their

Safety, whose ears are blockt up against truth; come, captain.

_Ham._ I thank you, Sir.

_Aub._ For what? for seeing thy brother die a man, and honest?

Live thou so, Captain, I will assure thee,

Although I die for't too; come-- [_Ex. all but_ Rol. & Lat.

_Rol._ Now _Latorch_, what do you think?

_Lat._ That _Aubrey_'s speech and manners sound somewhat of the

boldest.

_Rol._ 'Tis his custome.

_Lat._ It may be so, and yet be worth a fear.

_Rol._ If we thought so, it should be worth his life, and quickly too.

_Lat._ I dare not, Sir, be authour

Of what I would be, 'tis so dangerous:

But with your Highness favour and your licence.

_Rol._ He talks, 'tis true; he is licens'd: leave him,

We now are Duke alone, _Latorch_, secur'd;

Nothing left standing to obscure our prospect,

We look right forth, beside, and round about us,

And see it ours with pleasure: only one

Wish'd joy there wants to make us to possess it,

And that is _Edith_, _Edith_, she that got me

In blood and tears, in such an opposite minute,

As had I not at once felt all the flames

And shafts of Love shot in me (his whole armory)

I should have thought him as far off as Death.

_Lat._ My Lord, expect a while, your happiness

Is nearer than you think it, yet her griefs

Are green and fresh, your vigilant _Latorch_

Hath not been idle; I have leave already

To visit her, and send to her.

_Rol._ My life.

_Lat._ And if I find not out as speedy ways,

And proper instruments to work and bring her

To your fruition; that she be not watch'd

Tame to your Highness wish, say you have no servant

Is capable of such a trust about you,

Or worthy to be Secretary of your pleasure.

_Rol._ Oh my _Latorch_, what shall I render thee

For all thy travels, care, and love?

_Lat._ Sir, one suit, which I will ever importune, till you grant me.

_Rol._ About your Mathematicians?

_Lat._ Yes, to have

The Scheme of your Nativity judg'd by them,

I have't already erected; O my Lord,

You do not know the labour of my fears,

My doubts for you are such as cannot hope

Any security, but from the Stars;

Who, being rightly ask'd, can tell man more

Than all power else, there being no power beyond them.

_Rol._ All thy petitions still are care of us,

Ask for thy self.

_Lat._ What more can concern me, than this?

_Rol._ Well, rise true honest man, and go then,

We'l study our selves a means how to reward thee.

_Lat._ Your grace is now inspir'd; now, now your highness

Begins to live, from this hour count your joyes:

But, Sir, I must have warrants, with blanks figur'd,

To put in names, such as I like.

_Rol._ You shall.

_Lat._ They dare not else offer, Sir, at your figure?

Oh I shall bring you wonders; there's a Frier

_Rusee_, an admirable man, another

A Gentleman, and then _Lafiske_,

The mirrour of his time; 'twas he that set it.

But there's one _Norbret_, (him I never saw)

Has made a mirrour, a meer Looking-glass,

In shew you'ld think't no other; the form oval,

As I am given to understand by letter,

Which renders you such shapes, and those so differing,

And some that will be question'd and give answers;

Then has he set it in a frame, that wrought

Unto the revolutions of the Stars,

And so compact by due proportions

Unto their harmony, doth move alone

A true automaton; thus _Dædalus_ Statues,

Or _Vulcans_ Tools--

_Rol._ Dost thou believe this?

_Lat._ Sir? why, what should stay my faith, or turn my sense?

He has been about it above twenty years,

Three sevens, the powerfull, and the perfect numbers;

And Art and time, Sir, can produce such things.

What do I read there of _Hiarbas_ banquet?

The great Gymnosophist, that had his Butlers

And carvers of pure gold waiting at table?

The images of _Mercury_, too, that spoke?

The wooden door that flew? a snake of brass

That hist? and birds of Silver that did sing?

All those new done by the Mathematicks,

Without which there's no science, nor no truth.

_Rol._ You are in your sphear, _Latorch_: and rather

Than I'le contend w'ye for it, I'le believe it,

Y'have won upon me that I wish to see

My fate before me now, what e're it be.

_Lat._ And I'le endeavour, you shall know with speed,

For which I should have one of trust go with me,

If you please, _Hamond_, that I may by him

Send you my first dispatches; after I

Shall bring you more, and as they come still more.

_Rol._ Take your way,

Choose your own means, and be it prosperous to us.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ Rusee, _de_ Bube, _la_ Fiske, Norbret, Pippeau.

_Rus._ Come, bear up Sirs, we shall have better days,

My Almanack tells me.

_Bub._ What is that? your rump?

_Rus._ It never itch'd in vain yet, slide _la Fiske_,

Throw off thy sluggish face, I cannot abide

To see thee look like a poor Jade i'th' pound,

That saw no meat these three days.

_Fiske._ 'Slight, to me

It seems thirteen dayes since I saw any.

_Rus._ How?

_Fis._ I can't remember that I ever saw

Or meat or mony, you may talk of both

To open a mans stomach or his purse,

But feed 'em still with air.

_Bub._ Friar, I fear

You do not say your Office well a dayes.

_Nor._ Pox, he feeds

With leachery, and lives upon th' exchange

Of his two Eggs and Puddings with the market women.

_Rus._ And what do you Sir, with the Advocates wife,

Whom you perswade, upon your Doctoral bed,

To take the Mathematical trance so often?

_Fis._ Come, we are stark naught all, bad's the best of us,

Four of the seven deadly spots we are;

Besides our Leachery, we are envious,

And most, most gluttonous when we have it thus,

Most covetous now we want it; then our Boy

He is a fifth spot, sloth and he undoes us.

_Bub._ 'Tis true, the child was wont to be industrious,

And now and then sent to a Merchants wife

Sick of the Husband, or a swearing Butler

That mist of his Bowls, a crying Maid

Had lost a Silver spoon; the Curry comb

Sometimes was wanting; there was something gotten;

But now--

_Pip._ What now? Did not I yester-morning

Bring you in a Cardecu there from the Peasant,

Whose ass I had driven aside, and hid, that you

Might conjure for him? and then last night,

Six Soulz from the Cooks wife, you shar'd among you

To set a figure for the Pestle I stole,

It is not at home yet; these things, my Masters,

In a hard time, they would be thought on: you

Talk of your lands and Castles in the air,

Of your twelve houses there: but it is I

That bring you in your rents for 'em, 'tis _Pippeau_

That is your bird-call.

_Nor._ Faith he does well,

And cuts through the Elements for us, I must needs say

In a fine dextrous line.

_Fis._ But not as he did

At first, then he would sail with any wind

Int' every Creek and Corner.

_Pip._ I was light then,

New built and rigg'd when I came to you, Gentlemen,

But now with often and far venturing for you

Here be leaks sprung, and whole Planks wanting see you;

If you'l new sheath me again, yet I am for you

To any bog or sleights, where e're you'l send me,

For as I am, where can this ragged Bark

Put in for any service; 'less it be

O'th' Isle of Rogues, and there turn Pirate for you.

_Nor._ Faith he says reason, Fryer, you must leave

Your neat crisp Claret, and fall to your Cyder

A while; and you _la Fiske_, your larded Capons

And Turkys for a time, and take a good

Clean Tripe in your way; _de Bube_ too must content him with

wholsom two souz'd petitoes, no more Crown Ordinaries,

till we have cloath'd our Infant.

_Bub._ So you'l keep

Your own good motions, Doctor, your dear self.

_Fis._ Yes, for we all do know the Latitude

Of your Concupiscence.

_Rus._ Here about your belly.

_Bub._ You'l pick a bottle open or a whimsey,

As soon as the best of us.

_Fis._ And dip your wrist-bands,

(For Cuffs y'have none) as comely in the sauce [_The Bell rings._

As any Courtier--hark, the Bell, who is there?

_Rus._ Good luck I do conjure thee; Boy look out.

_Pip._ They are Gallants, courtiers, one of 'em is

[_Exit and enter again._

Of the Dukes bed-chamber.

_Rus._ _Latorch_, down,

On with your gown, there's a new suite arriv'd, [_To Norbret._

Did I not tell you, Sons of hunger? Crowns,

Crowns are coming toward you, wine and wenches

You shall have once again, and Fidlers:

Into your studyes close; each lay his ear

To his door, and as you hear me to prepare you

So come, and put me on that visard only.

_Enter_ Latorch, Hamond.

_Lat._ You'l not be far hence Captain, when the

Business is done you shall receive present dispatch.

_Ham._ I'le walk Sir, in the Cloyster. [_Exit._

_Rus._ Monsieur _Latorch_; my Son,

The Stars are happy still that guide you hither.

_Lat._ I'me glad to hear their Secretary say so,

My learned Father _Russe_, where's _la Fiske_,

Monsieur _de Bube_, how do they?

_Rus._ At their studyes,

They are the Secretaries of the Stars, Sir,

Still at their books, they will not be pull'd off,

They stick like cupping glasses; if ever men

Spoke with the tongue of destiny, 'tis they.

_Lat._ For loves sake let's salute 'em.

_Rus._ Boy, go see,

Tell them who's here, say, that their friends do challenge

Some portion of their time, this is our minute,

Pray 'em they'l spare it: they are the Sun and Moon

Of knowledge; pity two such noble lights

Should live obscur'd here in an University,

Whose beams were fit to'illumine any court

Of Christendom.

_Enter la_ Fisk, _de_ Bube, _and_ Pippeau.

_Lat._ The Duke will shortly know 'em.

_Fis._ Well, look upon the Astrolabe; you'l find it

Four Almucanturies at least.

_Bub._ It is so.

_Rus._ Still of their learned stuff, they care for nothing,

But how to know, as negli[g]ent of their bodies

In dyet, or else, especially in their cloaths,

As if they had no change.

_Pip._ They have so little

As well may free them from the name of shifters.

_Fis._ Monsieur _Latorch_?

_Lat._ How is it, learned Gentlemen, with both your vertues?

_Bub._ A most happy hour, when we see you, Sir.

_Lat._ When you hear me then

It will be happier; the Duke greets you both

Thus, and though you may touch no mony, Father,

Yet you may take it.

_Rus._ 'Tis his highness bounty,

But yet to me, and these that have put off

The world, superfluous.

_Fis._ We have heard of late of his highness good success.

_Bub._ And gratulate it.

_Lat._ Indeed he hath scap'd a strange Conspiracy,

Thanks to his Stars; which Stars he prayes by me,

You would again consult, and make a Judgement

On what you lately erected for my love.

_Rus._ Oh, Sir, we dare not.

_Fis._ For our lives.

_Bub._ It is the Princes Scheam.

_Lat._ T'incounter with that fear,

Here's to assure you, his Signet, write your names,

And be secured all three.

_Bu[b]._ We must intreat some time, Sir.

_Lat._ I must then intreat it, be as present as you can.

_Fis._ Have you the Scheam here?

_Lat._ Yes.

_Rus._ I would you had Sir another warrant.

_Lat._ What would that do?

_Rus._ Marry we have a Doctor Sir, that in this business

Would not perform the second part.

_Lat._ Not him that you writ to me of?

_Rus._ The very same.

_Lat._ I should have made it, Sir, my suit to see him,

Here is a warrant Father, I conceiv'd

That he had solely applyed himself to Magick.

_Rus._ And to their studies too Sir, in this field

He was initiated, but we shall hardly

Draw him from his chair.

_Lat._ Tell him he shall have gold.

_Fis._ Oh, such a syllable would make him to forswear

Ever to breath in your sight.

_Lat._ How then?

_Fis._ Sir, he if you do please to give him any thing,

Must have't convey'd under a paper.

_Rus._ Or left behind some book in his study.

_Bub._ Or in some old wall.

_Fis._ Where his familiars may tell him of it, and that pleases him,

Sir.

_Bub._ Or else I'le go and assay him.

_Lat._ Take gold with you.

_Rus._ That will not be amiss; give it the Boy, Sir,

He knows his holes, and how to bait his Spirits.

_Pip._ We must lay in several places, Sir.

_Rus._ That's true, that if one come not, the other may hit.

_Lat._ Well, go then, is he so learned, Gentlemen?

_Fis._ The very top of our profession; mouth of the fates,

Pray Heaven his Spirits be in a good humor to take,

They'l fling the gold about the house else.

_Bub._ I, and beat the Fryer if he go not well

Furnisht with holy-water.

_Fis._ Sir, you must observe him.

_Bub._ Not cross him in a word, for then he's gone.

_Fis._ If he do come, which is a hazard, yet--

Mass he's here, this is speed.

_Enter_ Norb[re]t, Russ, Pippeau.

_Nor._ Where is our Scheme,

Let's see, dispatch, nay fumbling now, who's this?

_Rus._ Chief Gentleman of the Dukes Chamber, Doctor.

_Nor._ Oh, let him be, good even to him, he's a courtier,

I'le spare his complement, tell him: what's here?

The geniture Nocturnal, Longitude

At forty nine and ten minutes? How are the cardins?

_Fis._ Libra in twenty four, forty four minutes,

And Capricorn.

_Nor._ I see it, see the Planets,

Where, how are they dispos'd? the Sun and _Mercury_,

Mars with the Dragons tail in the third house,

And _pars Fortunæ_ in the _Imo Cœli_,

Then _Jupiter_ in the twelfth, the _Cacodemon_.

_Bub._ And _Venus_ in the second _Inferna Porta_.

_Nor._ I see it, peace, then _Saturn_ in the Fifth,

_Luna_ i'th' Seventh, and much of _Scorpio_,

Then _Mars_ his _Gaudium_, rising in th'ascendent,

And joyn'd with _Libra_ too, the house of _Venus_,

And [_Imum_] _Cœli_, _Mars_ his exaltation

In the seventh house, _Aries_ being his natural house

And where he is now seated, and all these shew him

To be the Almuten.

_Rus._ Yes, he's Lord of the Geniture,

Whether you examine it by _Ptolomeys_ way,

Or _Messethales_, _Lael_, or _Alkindus_.

_Fis._ No other Planet hath so many dignities

Either by himself, or in regard of the Cusps.

_Nor._ Why hold your tongue then if you know it; _Venus_

The Lady of the Horoscope, being _Libra_,

The other part, _Mars_ rules: So that the geniture,

Being Nocturnal, _Luna_ is the highest,

None else being in sufficient dignity,

She being in _Aries_ in the Seventh house,

Where _Sol_ exalted, is the Alchoroden.

_Bub._ Yes, for you see he hath his Termin

In the degrees where she is, and enjoyes

By that, six dignities.

_Fis._ Which are clearly more

Than any else that view her in the Scheam.

_Nor._ Why I saw this, and could have told you too,

That he beholds her with a Trine aspect

Here out of Sagittary, almost partile,

And how that _Mars_ out of the self same house,

(But another Sign) here by a Platique aspect

Looks at the Hilege, with a Quartile ruling

The house where the Sun is; all this could I

Have told you, but that you'll outrun me; and more,

That this same Quartile aspect to the Lady of life,

Here in the seventh, promises some danger,

_Cauda Draconis_ being so near _Mars_,

And _Caput Algol_ in the house of Death.

_Lat._ How, Sir? I pray you clear that.

_Nor._ What is the question first?

_Rus._ Of the Dukes life, what dangers threaten him?

_Nor._ Apparent, and those suddain, when the Hyley

Or Alchorodon by direction come

To a Quartile opposition of the place

Where _Mars_ is in the Geniture (which is now

At hand) or else oppose to _Mars_ himself; expect it.

_Lat._ But they may be prevented.

_Nor._ Wisdom only

That rules the Stars, may do it; for _Mars_ being

Lord of the Geniture in _Capricorn_,

Is, if you mark it, now a _Sextile_ here,

With _Venus_ Lady of the Horoscope.

So she being in her Exilium, which is _Scorpio_,

And _Mars_ his Gaudium, is o'rerul'd by him,

And clear debilitated five degrees

Beneath her ordinary power, so

That, at the most she can but mitigate.

_Lat._ You cannot name the persons bring this danger?

_Nor._ No, that the Stars tell us not, they name no man,

That is a work, Sir, of another place.

_Rus._ Tell him whom you suspect, and he'll guess shrewdly.

_Lat._ Sir, we do fear one _Aubrey_; if 'twere he

I should be glad; for we should soon prevent him.

_Fis._ I know him, the Dukes Kinsman, a tall man?

Lay hold of't _Norbret_.

_Nor._ Let me pause a little,

Is he not near of kin unto the Duke?

_Lat._ Yes, reverend Sir.

_Nor._ 'Fart for your reverence, keep it till then; and somewhat high

of stature?

_Lat._ He is so.

_Nor._ How old is he?

_Fis._ About seven and fifty.

_Nor._ His head and beard inclining to be grey.

_Lat._ Right, Sir.

_Fis._ And fat?

_Nor._ He is somewhat corpulent, is he not?

_Lat._ You speak the man, Sir.

_Nor._ Well, look to him, farewel. [_Exit_ Norb.

_Lat._ Oh, it is _Aubrey_; Gentlemen, I pray you,

Let me receive this under all your hands.

_Rus._ Why, he will shew you him in his Magick glass

If you intreat him, and but gratifie

A spirit or two more.

_Lat._ He shall eat gold

If he will have it, so shall you all; there's that

Amongst you first, let me have this to send

The Duke in the mean time; and then what sights

You please to shew; I'le have you so rewarded

As never Artists were, you shall to Court

Along with me, and there wait you[r] fortunes.

_Bub._ We have a pretty part of't in our pockets;

Boy we will all be new, you shall along too. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter_ Sophia, Matilda, _and_ Edith.

_Mat._ Good Madam, hear the suit that _Edith_ urges,

With such submiss beseeches; nor remain

So strictly bound to sorrow for your son,

That nothing else, though never so befitting,

Obtains your ears, or observation.

_Sop._ What would she say? I hear.

_Edith._ My suit is, Madam,

That you would please to think as well of justice

Due to your sons revenge, as of more wrong added

To both your selves for it, in only grieving.

Th' undaunted power of Princes should not be

Confin'd in deedless cold calamity;

Anger, the Twin of sorrow, in your wrongs

Should not be smother'd, when his right of birth

Claims th' Air as well, and force of coming forth.

_Sop._ Sorrow is due already, anger never

Should be conceived but where it may [be] born

In some fact fit t'employ his active flame,

That else consumes who bears it, and abides

Like a false star that quenches as it glides.

_Ed._ I have such means t'employ it as your wish

Can think no better, easier, or securer;

And such as but th' honours I intend

To your partakings, I alone could end:

But your parts in all dues to crying blood

For vengeance in the shedder, are much greater:

And therefore should work your hands to his slaughter.

For your consent to which, 'twere infinite wrong

To your severe and most impartial justice,

To move you to forget so false a son

As with a Mothers duty made you curse him.

_Mat._ _Edith_, he is forgot, for any son

Born of my Mother, or to me a Brother.

For should we still perform our rights to him

We should partake his wrongs, and as foul be

In blood and damned parricide as he.

And therefore tell the happy means that Heaven

Puts in thy hand, for all our long'd for freedom

From so abhorr'd and impious a monster.

_Sop._ Tell what she will, I'le lend nor hand nor ear

To whatsoever Heaven puts in her power. [_Exit_ Sophia.

_Mat._ How strange she is to what she chiefly wishes!

Sweet _Edith_ be not any thought the more

Discourag'd in thy purpose, but assured,

Her heart and prayers are thine; and that we two

Shall be enough to all we wish to do.

_Edith._ Madam, my self alone, I make no doubt

Shall be afforded power enough from Heaven

To end the murtherer: all I wish of you,

Is but some richer Ornaments and Jewels

Than I am able to provide my self,

To help out the defects of my poor Beauty,

That yet hath been enough, as now it is,

To make his fancy mad with my desire.

But you know, Madam, Women never can

Be too fair to torment an amorous man;

And this mans torments I would heighten still,

Till at their highest he be fit to kill.

_Mat._ Thou shalt have all my Jewels and my Mothers,

And thou shalt paint too, that his bloods desire

May make him perish in a painted fire;

Hast thou been with him yet?

_Edith._ Been with him? no;

I set that hour back to haste more his longing;

But I have promis'd to his instruments,

The admittance of a visit at our house,

Where yet I would receive him with all lustre

My sorrow would give leave to, to remove

Suspicion of my purpose.

_Mat._ Thou shalt have

All I can add, sweet wench, in Jewels, tyres,

I'le be my self thy dresser; nor may I

Serve my own love with a contracted Husband

More sweetly, nor more amply than maist thou

Thy forward will with his bewitch'd affections:

Affect'st thou any personal aid of mine

My noblest _Edith_?

_Edith._ Nought but your kind prayers

For full effect and speed of my affair.

_Mat._ They are thine, my _Edith_, as for me, my own;

For thou well know'st, if blood shed of the best

Should cool and be forgotten, who would fear

To shed blood still? or where, alas, were then

The endless love we owe to worthy men?

_Ed._ Love of the worthiest ever bless your highness. [_Exe._

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Rollo _with a glass_, Aubrey, _and Servants_.

_Rol._ I never studied my glass till now,

It is exceeding well; now leave me; Cousin,

How takes your eye the object?

_Aub._ I have learn'd

So much Sir of the Courtier, as to say

Your person does become your habit;

But being called unto it by a noble War,

Would grace an armour better.

_Rol._ You are still

For that great Art of which you are the Master;

Yet I must tell you, that to the encounters

We oft attempt, arm'd only thus, we bring

As troubled blood, fears mixt with flatt'ring hopes,

The danger in the service too as great,

As when we are to charge quite through and through

The body of an Army.

_Aub._ I'le not argue

How you may rank the dangers, but will die in't,

The ends which they arrive at, are as distant

In every circumstance, as far as honour

Is from shame and repentance.

_Rol._ You are sowr?

_Aub._ I would speak my free thoughts, yet not appear so;

Nor am I so ambitious of the title

Of one that dares talk any thing that was

Against the torrent of his own opinion,

That I affect to speak ought may offend you:

And therefore gracious Sir, be pleas'd to think

My manners or discretion have inform'd me

That I was born, in all good ends, to serve you:

And not to check at what concerns me not:

I look not with sore eyes on your rich out-side,

Nor rack my thoughts to find out to what purpose

'Tis now employ'd; I wish it may be good,

And that, I hope, offends not for a subject

Towards his Prince in things indifferent;

To use the austereness of a censuring _Cato_

Is arrogance, not freedom.

_Rol._ I commend

This temper in you, and will cherish it.

_Enter_ Hamond _with Letters_.

They come from _Rome_, _Latorch_ imployed you?

_Ham._ True Sir.

_Rol._ I must not now be troubled with a thought

Of any new design; good _Aubrey_ read 'em,

And as they shall direct you, use my power,

Or to reply or execute.

_Aub._ I will, Sir.

_Rol._ And Captain bring a squadron of our Guard

To th' house that late was _Baldwins_, and there wait me.

_Ham._ I shall.

_Rol._ Some two hours hence.

_Ham._ With my best care.

_Rol._ Inspire me Love, and be thy deity,

Or scorn'd or fear'd, as now thou favour'st me. [_Exit_ Rollo.

_Ham._ My stay to do my duty, may be wrongs

Your Lordships privacy.

_Aub._ Captain, your love

Is ever welcome; I intreat your patience

While I peruse these.

_Ham._ I attend your pleasure.

_Aub._ How's this, a plot on me?

_Ham._ What is contain'd

In th' letters that I brought, that thus transports him?

_Aub._ To be wrought on by Rogues, and have my head

Brought to the Axe by Knaves that cheat for bread?

The Creatures of a Parasite, a slave;

I find you here _Latorch_, not wonder at it;

But that this honest Captain should be made

His instrument, afflicts me; I'le make trial

Whether his will or weakness made him do it.

Captain you saw the Duke when he commanded

I should do what these letters did direct me,

And I presume you think I'le not neglect

For fear or favour, to remove all dangers

How near soever that man can be to me

From whom they should have birth.

_Ham._ It is confirm'd.

_Aub._ Nor would you Captain, I believe, refuse,

Or for respect of thankfulness, or hopes,

To use your sword with fullest confidence

Where he shall bid you strike.

_Ham._ I never have done.

_Aub._ Nor will I think--

_Ham._ I hope it is not question'd.

_Aub._ The means to have it so, is now propos'd you.

Draw, so, 'tis well, and next cut off my head.

_Ham._ What means your Lordship?

_Aub._ 'Tis, Sir, the Dukes pleasure:

My innocence hath made me dangerous,

And I must be remov'd, and you the man

Must act his will.

_Ham._ I'le be a Traytor first, before I serve it thus.

_Aub._ It must be done,

And that you may not doubt it, there's your warrant,

But as you read, remember _Hamond_, that

I never wrong'd one of your brave profession;

And, though it be not manly, I must grieve

That man of whose love I was most ambitious

Could find no object of his hate but me.

_Ham._ It is no time to talk now, honour'd Sir,

Be pleas'd to hear thy servant, I am wrong'd,

And cannot, being now to serve the Duke,

Stay to express the manner how; but if

I do not suddenly give you strong proofs,

Your life is dearer to me than my own,

May I live base, and dye so: Sir, your pardon. [_Exit_ Ham.

_Aub._ I am both waies ruin'd, both waies mark't for slaughter

On every side, about, behind, before me,

My certain fate is fix't: were I a Knave now,

I could avoid this: had my actions

But meer relations to their own ends, I could 'scape now:

Oh honesty! thou elder child of vertue,

Thou seed of Heaven, why to acquire thy goodness

Should malice and distrust stick thorns before us,

And make us swim unto thee, hung with hazards?

But Heaven is got by suffering, not disputing;

Say he knew this before-hand, where am I then?

Or say he does [not] know it, where's my Loyalty?

I know his nature, troubled as the Sea,

And as the Sea devouring when he's vex'd,

And I know Princes are their own expounders.

Am I afraid of death? of dying nobly?

Of dying in mine innocence uprightly?

Have I met death in all his forms, and fears,

Now on the points of Swords, now pitch'd on Lances?

In fires, and storms of Arrows, Battels, breaches,

And shall I now shrink from him, when he courts me

Smiling and full of sanctity? I'le meet him;

My Loyal hand and heart shall give this to him,

And though it bear beyond what Poets feign

A punishment, duty shall meet that pain;

And my most constant heart to do him good,

Shall check at neither pale affright nor bloud.

_Enter Messenger._

_Mess._ The Dutchess presently would crave your presence.

_Aub._ I come; and _Aubrey_ now resolve to keep

Thy honour living, though thy body sleep. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ Edith, _a Boy, and a Banquet set out_.

_Edith._ Now for a Fathers murther, and thy ruine,

All chastity shall suffer if he raign;

Thou blessed soul, look down, and steel thy Daughter,

Look on the sacrifice she comes to send thee,

And through the bloudy clouds behold my piety,

Take from my cold heart fear, from my sex pity,

And as I wipe these tears off, shed for thee,

So all remembrance may I lose of mercy;

Give me a womans anger bent to bloud,

The wildness of the winds to drown his prayers,

Storm-like may my destruction fall upon him,

My rage like roving billows as they rise,

Pour'd on his soul to sink it, give me flattery,

(For yet my constant soul ne'r knew dissembling)

Flattery the food of Fools, that I may rock him

And lull him in the Down of his desires;

That in the height of all his hopes and wishes,

His Heaven forgot, and all his lusts upon him,

My hand, like thunder from a cloud, may seize him.

I hear him come, go boy, and entertain him.

_Enter Rollo._

SONG.

_Take, Oh take those lips away_

_That so sweetly were forsworn,_

_And those eyes, like break of day,_

_Lights that do mislead the Morn,_

_But my kisses bring again,_

_Seals of love, though seal'd in vain._

_Hide, Oh hide those hills of Snow,_

_Which thy frozen blossome bears,_

_On whose tops the Pinks that grow_

_Are of those that_ April _wears,_

_But first set my poor heart free,_

_Bound in those Ivy chains by thee._

_Rol._ What bright star, taking beauties form upon her,

In all the happy lustre of Heavens glory,

Has drop'd down from the Skye to comfort me?

Wonder of nature, let it not prophane thee

My rude hand touch thy beauty, nor this kiss,

The gentle sacrifice of love and service,

Be offer'd to the honour of thy sweetness.

_Edi._ My gracious Lord, no deity dwells here,

Nor nothing of that vertue, but obedience,

The servant to your will affects no flattery.

_Rol._ Can it be flattery to swear those eyes

Are loves eternal lamps he fires all hearts with?

That tongue the smart string to his bow? those sighs

The deadly shafts he sends into our souls?

Oh, look upon me with thy spring of beauty.

_Edi._ Your grace is full of game.

_Rol._ By Heaven, my _Edith_,

Thy Mother fed on Roses when she bred thee.

_Ed._ And thine on brambles that have prick'd her heart out.

_Rol._ The sweetness of the Arabian wind still blowing

Upon the treasures of perfumes and spices,

In all their pride and pleasures call thee Mistris.

_Edi._ Wil't please you sit Sir?

_Rol._ So you please sit by me.

Fair gentle maid, there is no speaking to thee,

The excellency that appears upon thee

Tyes up my tongue: pray speak to me.

_Edi._ Of what Sir?

_Rol._ Of any thing, any thing is excellent.

Will you take my directions? speak of love then;

Speak of thy fair self _Edith_; and while thou speak'st,

Let me, thus languishing, give up my self wench.

_Edi._ H'as a strange cunning tongue, why do you sigh Sir?

How masterly he turns himself to catch me!

_Rol._ The way to Paradise, my gentle maid,

Is hard and crooked, scarce Repentance finding,

With all her holy helps, the door to enter,

Give me thy hand, what dost thou feel?

_Edi._ Your tears Sir.

You weep extreamly; strengthen me now justice.

Why are these sorrows Sir?

_Rol._ Thou't never love me

If I should tell thee, yet there's no way left

Ever to purchase this blest Paradise,

But swimming thither in these tears.

_Edi._ I stagger.

_Rol._ Are they not drops of blood?

_Edi._ No.

_Rol._ They're for blood then,

For guiltless blood, and they must drop, my _Edith_,

They must thus drop, till I have drown'd my mischiefs.

_Edi._ If this be true, I have no strength to touch him.

_Rol._ I prethee look upon me, turn not from me;

Alas I do confess I'me made of mischiefs,

Begot with all mans miseries upon me;

But see my sorrows, maid, and do not thou,

Whose only sweetest sacrifice is softness,

Whose true condition, tenderness of nature.

_Edi._ My anger melts, Oh, I shall lose my justice.

_Rol._ Do not thou learn to kill with cruelty,

As I have done, to murther with thy eyes,

(Those blessed eyes) as I have done with malice,

When thou hast wounded me to death with scorn,

(As I deserve it Lady) for my true love,

When thou hast loaden me with earth for ever,

Take heed my sorrows, and the stings I suffer;

Take heed my nightly dreams of death and horrour

Pursue thee not: no time shall tell thy griefs then,

Nor shall an hour of joy adde to thy beauties.

Look not upon me as I kill'd thy Father,

As I was smear'd in blood, do not thou hate me,

But thus in whiteness of my wash't repentance,

In my hearts tears and truth of love to _Edith_,

In my fair life hereafter.

_Edi._ He will fool me.

_Rol._ Oh with thine Angel eyes behold and close me,

Of Heaven we call for mercy and obtain it;

To Justice for our right on Earth and have it;

Of thee I beg for love, save me, and give it.

_Edi._ Now heaven thy help, or I am gone for ever,

His tongue has turn'd me into melting pity.

_Enter_ Hamond, _and_ Guard.

_Ham._ Keep the doors safe, and upon pain of death

Let no man enter till I give the word.

_Guard._ We shall Sir. [_Exeunt._

_Ham._ Here he is in all his pleasure; I have my wish.

_Rol._ How now? why dost thou stare so?

_Edi._ A help, I hope.

_Rol._ What dost thou here? who sent thee?

_Ham._ My Brother, and the base malicious Office

Thou mad'st me do to _Aubrey_; pray.

_Rol._ Pray?

_Ham._ Pray; pray if thou canst pray, I shall kill thy soul else,

Pray suddenly.

_Rol._ Thou can'st not be so trayterous.

_Ham._ It is a Justice; stay Lady;

For I perceive your end; a womans hand

Must not rob me of vengeance.

_Edi._ 'Tis my glory.

_Ham._ 'Tis mine, stay, and share with me; by the gods, _Rollo_,

There is no way to save thy life.

_Rol._ No?

_Ham._ No, it is so monstrous, no repentance cures it.

_Rol._ Why then thou shalt kill her first, and what this blood

Will cast upon thy cursed head.

_Ham._ Poor Guard Sir.

_Edi._ Spare not brave Captain.

_Rol._ Fear, or the Devil has thee.

_Ham._ Such fear Sir as you gave your honor'd Mother,

When your most vertuous Brother, shield-like, held her;

Such I'le give you, put her away.

_Rol._ I will not, I will not die so tamely.

_Ham._ Murtherous villain, wilt thou draw seas of blood upon thee?

_Edi._ Fear not, kill him good Captain, any way dispatch

Him, my body's honor'd with that sword that through me,

Sends his black soul to Hell: Oh, but for one hand.

_Ham._ Shake him off bravely.

_Edi._ He's too strong, strike him.

_Ham._ Oh, am I with you Sir? now keep you from him,

What, has he got a knife?

_Edi._ Look to him Captain, for now he will be mischievous.

_Ham._ Do you smile Sir?

Do's it so tickle you? have at you once more.

_Edi._ O bravely thrust; take heed he come not in Sir;

To him again, you give him too much respite.

_Rol._ Yet will you save my life, and I'le forgive thee,

And give thee all, all honours, all advancements,

Call thee my friend.

_Ed._ Strike, strike, and hear him not,

His tongue will tempt a Saint.

_Rol._ Oh for my soul sake.

_Edi._ Save nothing of him.

_Ham._ Now for your farewel,

Are you so wary? take you that.

_Rol._ Thou, that too;

Oh thou hast kill'd me basely, basely, basely. [_Dyes._

_Edi._ The just reward of murther falls upon thee.

How do you Sir? has he not hurt you?

_Ham._ No, I feel not any thing.

_Aub._ I charge you let us passe. [_Within._

_Gua._ You cannot yet Sir.

_Aub._ I'le make way then.

_Gua._ We are sworn to our Captain, and till he give the word.

_Enter_ Sophia, Matilda, Aubrey, _Lords and attendants_.

_Ham._ Now let them in there.

_Sop._ Oh, here he lies,

Sorrow on sorrow seeks me, Oh, in his blood he lyes.

_Aub._ Had you spoke sooner

This might have been prevented;

Take the Dutchess,

And lead her off, this is no sight for her eyes.

_Mat._ Oh, bravely done wench.

_Edi._ There stands the noble doer.

_Mat._ My honour ever seek thee for thy justice,

Oh 'twas a deed of high and brave adventure,

A justice even for heaven to envy at,

Farewel my sorrows, and my tears take truce,

My wishes are come round: Oh bloody Brother,

Till this hour never beauteous; till thy life,

Like a full sacrifi[c]e for all thy mischiefs,

Flow'd from thee in these rivers, never righteous:

Oh how my eyes are quarri'd with their joys now!

My longing heart even leaping out for lightness!

But dye thy black sins with thee, I forgive thee.

_Aub._ Who did this deed?

_Ham._ I, and I'le answer it. [_Dies._

_Edi._ He faints, oh that same cursed knife has kill'd him.

_Aub._ How?

_Edi._ He snatch'd it from my hand, for whom I bore it,

And as they grappl'd.

_Aub._ Justice is ever equal,

Had it not been on him, th'adst dy'd too honest.

Did you know of his death?

_Edi._ Yes, and rejoyce in't.

_Aub._ I'me sorry for your youth then; though the strictness

Of Law shall not fall on you, that of life

Must presently, go to a Cloyster, carry her,

And there for ever lead your life in penitence.

_Edi._ Best Father to my soul, I give you thanks, Sir,

And now my fair revenges have their ends,

My vows shall be my kin, my prayers my friends. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Latorch, _and_ Juglers.

_Lat._ Stay there, I'le step in and prepare the Duke.

_Nor._ We shall have brave rewards?

_Fis._ That is without question.

_Lat._ By this time where's my huffing friend Lord _Aubrey_?

Where's that good Gentleman? oh, I could laugh now,

And burst my self with meer imagination;

A wise man, and a valiant man, a just man;

To suffer himself be juggl'd out of the world,

By a number of poor Gipseys? farewel Swash-buckler,

For I know thy mouth is cold enough by this time;

A hundred of ye I can shave as neatly,

And ne'r draw bloud in shew: now shall my honour,

My power and vertue walk alone: my pleasure

Observ'd by all, all knees bend to my worship,

All sutes to me as Saint of all their fortunes,

Prefer'd and crowded to, what full place of credit,

And what place now? your Lordship? no, 'tis common,

But that I'le think to morrow on; now for my business.

_Aub._ Who's there?

_Lat._ Dead, my Master dead? _Aubrey_ alive too?

_Gua._ _Latorch_, Sir.

_Aub._ Seize his body.

_Lat._ My Master dead?

_Aub._ And you within this halfhour,

Prepare your self good Devil, you must to it,

Millions of gold shall not redeem thy mischief,

Behold the Justice of thy practice, villain;

The mass of murthers thou hast drawn upon us:

Behold thy doctrine; you look now for reward, Sir,

To be advanc'd, I'm sure, for all your labours?

And you shall have it, make his gallows higher

By ten foot at the least, and then advance him.

_Lat._ Mercy, mercy.

_Aub._ 'Tis too late fool,

Such as you meant for me, away with him. [_He is led out._

What gaping knaves are these, bring 'em in fellows,

Now, what are you?

_Nor._ Mathematicians, if it please your Lordship.

_Aub._ And you drew a figure?

_Fis._ We have drawn many.

_Aub._ For the Duke, I mean; Sir _Latorchs_ knaves you are.

_Nor._ We know the Gentleman.

_Aub._ What did he promise you?

_Nor._ We are paid already.

_Aub._ But I will see you better paid, go whip them.

_Nor._ We do beseech your Lordship, we were hir'd.

_Aub._ I know you were, and you shall have your hire;

Whip 'em extremely, whip that Doctor there,

Till he record himself a Rogue.

_Nor._ I am one, Sir.

_Aub._ Whip him for being one, and when th'are whip't,

Lead 'em to the gallows to see their patron hang'd;

Away with them. [_They are led out._

_Nor._ Ah, good my Lord.

_Aub._ Now to mine own right, Gentlemen.

_1 Lord._ You have the next indeed, we all confess it,

And here stand ready to invest you with it.

_2 Lord._ Which to make stronger to you, and the surer

Than bloud or mischiefs dare infringe again,

Behold this Lady, Sir, this noble Lady,

Full of the bloud as you are, of that nearness,

How blessed would it be?

_Aub._ I apprehend you, and so the fair _Matilda_ dare accept

Me her ever constant servant.

_Mat._ In all pureness,

In all humility of heart and services,

To the most noble _Aubrey_, I submit me.

_Aub._ Then this is our first tye, now to our business.

_1 Lord._ We are ready all to put the honour on you, Sir.

_Aub._ These sad rites must be done first, take up the bodys,

This, as he was a Prince, so Princely funeral

Shall wait upon him: on this honest Captain,

The decency of arms; a tear for him too.

_So, sadly on, and as we view his blood,_

_May his Example in our Rule raise good._

THE

Wild-Goose Chase;

A

COMEDY.

Persons Represented in the Play.

De-Gard, _A Noble stay'd' Gentleman that being newly lighted from his

Travels, assists his Sister_ Oriana _in her chase of_ Mirabel

_the_ Wild-Goose.

La-Castre, _the Indulgent Father to_ Mirabell.

Mirabell, _the_ Wild-Goose, _a Travell'd Monsieur, and great defyer of

all Ladies in the way of Marriage, otherwise their much loose

servant, at last caught by the despis'd_ Oriana.

Pinac, _his fellow Traveller, of a lively spirit, and Servant to the no

less sprightly_ Lillia-Bianca.

Belleur, _Companion to both, of a stout blunt humour, in love with_

Rosalura.

Nantolet, _Father to_ Rosalura _and_ Lillia-Bianca.

Lugier, _the rough and confident Tutor to the Ladies, and chief Engine to

entrap the_ Wild-Goose.

Oriana, _the fair betroth'd of_ Mirabell, _and witty follower of the_

Chase.

Rosalura, } _the Airie Daughters of_ Nantolet.

Lillia-Bianca, }

Petella, _their Waiting-woman_.

Mariana, _an English Courtezan_.

_A young Factor._

_Page._

_Servants._

_Singing-Boy._

_Two Merchants._

_Priest._

_Four Women._

_The Scene_ Paris.

The Actors were,

_Robert Benfield._

_John Lowin._

_William Trigg._

_Richard Robinson._

_William Penn._

_Sander Gough._

_Joseph Taylor._

_Hilliard Swanston._

Mr. _Shank_.

_Thomas Pollard._

_Stephen Hammerton._

_John Hony-man._

_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._

_Enter Monsieur_ De Gard, _and a Foot-Boy_.

[_De Ga._] Sirrah, you know I have rid hard; stir my Horse well

And let him want no Litter.

_Boy._ I am sure I have run hard,

Would some body would walk me, & see me Litter'd;

For I think my fellow-horse, cannot in reason

Desire more rest, nor take up his Chamber before me,

But we are the Beasts now, and the Beasts are our Masters.

_De Ga._ When you have done, step to the Ten-Crown _Ordinary_.

_Boy._ With all my heart, Sir,

For I have a Twenty Crown stomach.

_De Ga._ And there bespeak a dinner.

_Boy._ Yes Sir, presently.

_De Ga._ For whom, I beseech you, Sir?

_Boy._ For my self, I take it, Sir.

_De Ga._ In truth ye shall not take it, 'tis not meant for you,

There's for your Provender: Bespeak a Dinner

For _Monsieur Mirabell_, and his Companions,

They'll be in Town within this hour.

When you have done, Sirrah,

Make ready all things at my Lodging, for me,

And wait me there.

_Boy._ The Ten Crown _Ordinary_?

_De Ga._ Yes Sir, if you have not forgot it.

_Boy._ I'le forget my feet first;

'Tis the best part of a Foot-mans faith. [_Exit Boy._

_De Ga._ These youths

For all they have been in _Italy_, to learn thrift,

And seem to wonder at mens lavish waies,

Yet they cannot rub off old friends, their French itches;

They must meet sometimes to disport their Bodies

With good Wine, and good Women; and good store too.

Let 'em be what they will, they are Arm'd at all points,

And then hang saving. Let the Sea grow high,

This _Ordinary_ can fit 'em of all sizes,

_Enter_ La-Castre _and_ Oriana.

They must salute their Country with old customes.

_Ori._ Brother.

_De Ga._ My dearest Sister.

_Ori._ Welcome, welcome:

Indeed ye are welcome home, most welcome.

_De Ga._ Thank ye,

You are grown a handsome woman, _Oriana_,

(Blush at your faults) I am wondrous glad to see ye.

Monsieur _La-Castre_: Let not my Affection

To my fair Sister, make me be held unmannerly:

I am glad to see ye well, to see ye lusty,

Good health about ye, and in fair company,

Believe me, I am proud--

_La-Cast._ Fair Sir, I thank ye:

Monsieur _de Gard_, you are welcome from your journey,

Good men, have still good welcome: give me your hand, Sir.

Once more, you are welcome home: you look still younger.

_De Ga._ Time has no leasure to look after us.

We wander every where: Age cannot find us.

_La-Cast._ And how does all?

_De Ga._ All well, Sir; and all lusty.

_La-Cast._ I hope my Son be so, I doubt not, Sir,

But you have often seen him in your journeys,

And bring me some fair News.

_De Ga._ Your Son is well, Sir,

And grown a proper Gentleman: he is well, and lusty,

Within this eight hours, I took leave of him,

And over-ey'd him, having some slight business

That forc'd me out o'th' way: I can assure you

He will be here to night.

_La-Cast._ Ye make me glad, Sir,

For o' my faith, I almost long to see him,

Me thinks he has been away--

_De Ga._ 'Tis but your tenderness;

What are three years? a love-sick wench will allow it:

His friends that went out with him are come back too;

_Belleur_, and young _Pinac_: he bid me say little,

Because he means to be his own glad Messenger.

_La-Ca._ I thank ye for this news, Sir, he shall be welcome,

And his friends too: indeed I thank you heartily:

And how (for I dare say, you will not flatter him)

Has _Italy_ wrought on him? has he mew'd yet

His wild fantastick Toyes? they say that Climate

Is a great purger of those humorous Fluxes.

How is he improved, I pray ye?

_De Ga._ No doubt, Sir, well.

H'as born himself a full, and noble Gentleman,

To speak him farther is beyond my Charter.

_La-Cast._ I am glad to hear so much good; Come, I see

You long to enjoy your Sister: yet I must intreat ye

Before I go, to sup with me to night

And must not be deni'd.

_De Ga._ I am your servant.

_La-C._ Where you shall meet fair, merry, and noble Company.

My neighbour _Natolet_, and his two fair Daughters.

_De G._ Your supper's season'd well, Sir. I shall wait upon ye.

_La-C._ Till then I'le leave ye: and y'are once more welcome.

_De G._ I thank ye, noble Sir. Now, _Oriana_, [_Exit._

How have ye done since I went? have ye had your health well?

And your mind free?

_Oria._ You see I am not bated;

Merry, and eat my meat.

_De G._ A good preservative.

And how have you been us'd? You know, _Oriana_,

Upon my going out, at your request,

I left your Portion in _La-Castre_'s hands,

(The main Means you must stick to) for that reason

(And 'tis no little one) I ask ye, Sister,

With what humanity he entertains ye,

And how ye find his courtesie?

_Oria._ Most ready.

I can assure you, Sir, I am us'd most nobly.

_De G._ I am glad to hear it: But I prethee tell me,

(And tell me true) what end had you, _Oriana_,

In trusting your mony here? He is no Kinsman,

Nor any tie upon him of a Guardian;

Nor dare I think ye doubt my prodigality.

_Or._ No, certain, Sir, none of all this provoked me;

Another private reason.

_De G._ 'Tis not private,

Nor carryed so: 'tis common (my fair Sister)

Your love to _Mirabel_; your blushes tell it:

'Tis too much known, and spoken of too largely;

And with no little shame I wonder at it.

_Oria._ Is it a shame to love?

_De G._ To love undiscreetly:

A Virgin should be tender of her honour,

Close, and secure.

_Oria._ I am as close as can be,

And stand upon as strong and honest guards too;

Unless this Warlike Age need a Port-cullis:

Yet I confess, I love him.

_De G._ Hear the people.

_Oria._ Now I say hang the people: He that dares

Believe what they say, dares be mad, and give

His Mother, nay his own Wife up to Rumor;

All grounds of truth they build on, is a Tavern,

And their best censure's Sack, Sack in abundance:

For as they drink, they think: they ne're speak modestly

Unless the wine be poor, or they want mony.

Believe them? believe _Amadis de Gaul_,

The Knight o'th' Sun, or _Palmerin_ of _England_;

For these, to them, are modest, and true stories.

Pray understand me; if their tongues be truth,

And if in _Vino veritas_ be an Oracle,

What Woman is, or has been ever honest?

Give 'em but ten round cups, they'll swear _Lucretia_

Dy'd not for want of power to resist _Tarquin_,

But want of Pleasure, that he stay'd no longer:

And _Portia_, that was famous for her Piety

To her lov'd Lord, they'll face ye out, dy'd o'th' Pox.

_De G._ Well, there is something, Sister.

_Oria._ If there be, Brother,

'Tis none of their things, 'tis not yet so monstrous;

My thing is Marriage: And at his return

I hope to put their squint-eyes right again.

_De G._ Marriage? 'tis true; his Father is a rich man;

Rich both in land and money: he his heir,

A young and handsome man, I must confess too;

But of such qualities, and such wild flings,

Such admirable imperfections, Sister,

(For all his Travel, and bought experience)

I should be loth to own him for my Brother:

Methinks a rich mind in a state indifferent

Would prove the better fortune.

_Oria._ If he be wild,

The reclaiming him to good, and honest, (Brother)

Will make much for my honour; which, if I prosper,

Shall be the study of my love, and life too.

_De G._ Ye say well; would he thought as well, and loved too.

He Marry? he'll be hanged first: he knows no more

What the conditions and the ties of Love are,

The honest purposes and grounds of Marriage,

Nor will know, nor be ever brought t' endeavour,

Than I do how to build a Church; he was ever

A loose and strong defier of all order,

His Loves are wanderers, they knock at each door,

And taste each dish, but are no residents:

Or say he may be brought to think of Marriage,

(As 'twill be no small labour) thy hopes are strangers.

I know there is a labour'd match, now follow'd,

(Now at this time, for which he was sent for home too)

Be not abus'd, _Natolet_ has two fair Daughters,

And he must take his choice.

_Or._ Let him take freely;

For all this I despair not; my mind tells me

That I, and only I, must make him perfect;

And in that hope I rest.

_De-Gar._ Since y'are so confident,

Prosper your hope; I'll be no adversary;

Keep your self fair and right, he shall not wrong ye.

_Or._ When I forget my vertue, no man know me.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ Mirabel, Pinac, Bellure, _and Servants_.

_Mir._ Welcome to _Paris_ once more, Gentlemen;

We have had a merry and a lusty Ordinary,

And Wine, and good meat, and a bounsing Reckoning;

And let it go for once; 'Tis a good Physick,

Only the Wenches are not for my diet,

They are too lean and thin; their embraces brawn-faln.

Give me the plump _Venetian_, fat, and lusty,

That meets me soft and supple; smiles upon me,

As if a Cup of full Wine leapt to kiss me;

These slight things I affect not.

_Pin._ They are ill built;

Pin-buttockt, like your dainty Barbaries,

And weak i'th' pasterns; they'll endure no hardness.

_Mir._ There's nothing good, or handsom bred amongst us:

Till we are travel'd, and live abroad, we are Coxcombs:

Ye talk of _France_, a slight unseason'd Country,

Abundance of gross food, which makes us Block-heads:

We are fair set out indeed, and so are fore-horses:

Men say we are great Courtiers, men abuse us:

We are wise, and valiant too, _non credo, Seignior_:

Our Women the best Linguists, they are Parrats;

O' this side the _Alpes_ they are nothing but meer Drolleries:

Ha, _Roma la Santa, Italy_ for my money,

Their policies, their customs, their frugalities,

Their courtesies so open, yet so reserved too,

As when ye think y'are known best, ye are a stranger;

The very pick-teeth speak more man than we do,

And season of more salt.

_Pin._ 'Tis a brave Country:

Not pester'd with your stubborn precise Puppies,

That turn all useful and allow'd contentments

To scabs and scruples; hang 'em Capon-worshippers.

_Bel._ I like that freedom well, and like their Women too,

And would fain do as others do; but I am so bashful,

So naturally an Ass: Look ye, I can look upon 'em,

And very willingly I go to see 'em,

(There's no man willinger) and I can kiss 'em,

And make a shift--

_Mir._ But if they chance to flout ye,

Or say ye are too bold; fie, Sir, remember;

I pray sit farther off;--

_Bel._ 'Tis true, I am humbled,

I am gone, I confess ingenuously I am silenced,

The spirit of Amber cannot force me answer.

_Pin._ Then would I sing and dance.

_Bel._ You have wherewithal, Sir.

_Pin._ And charge her up again.

_Bel._ I can be hang'd first;

Yet where I fasten well I am a tyrant.

_Mir._ Why, thou darst fight?

_Bel._ Yes, certainly, I dare fight;

And fight with any man at any weapon,

Would the other were no more; but a pox on't,

When I was sometimes in my height of hope,

And reasonable valiant that way, my heart harden'd,

Some scornful jest or other chops between me

And my desire: what would ye have me to do then, Gentlemen?

_Mir._ _Belvere_, you must be bolder: Travel three years,

And bring home such a Baby to betray ye

As bashfulness? a great fellow, and a Souldier?

_Bel._ You have the gift of impudence, be thankful;

Every man has not the like talent: I will study

And if it may be reveal'd to me.

_Mir._ Learn of me,

And of _Pinac_: no doubt you'll find employment;

Ladies will look for Courtship.

_Pic._ 'Tis but fleshing,

But standing one good brunt or two: hast thou any mind to marriage?

We'l provide thee some soft-natur'd wench, that's dumb too.

_Mir._ Or an old woman that cannot refuse thee in charity.

_Bel._ A dumb woman, or an old woman, that were eager

And car'd not for Discourse, I were excellent at.

_Mi._ You must now put on boldness, there's no avoiding it;

And stand all hazards; flye at all games bravely;

They'll say you went out like an Oxe, and return'd like an Ass else.

_Bel._ I shall make danger sure.

_Mir._ I am sent for home now,

I know it is to marry, but my Father shall pardon me,

Although it be a witty Ceremony,

And may concern me hereafter in my Gravity;

I will not lose the freedom of a Traveller;

A new strong lusty Bark cannot ride at one Anchor;

Shall I make divers suits to shew to the same eyes?

'Tis dull and home-spun; Study several pleasures,

And want employments for 'em? I'll be hang'd first;

Tye me to one smock? make my travels fruitless?

I'll none of that; for every fresh behaviour,

By your leave, Father, I must have a fresh Mistriss,

And a fresh favour too.

_Bel._ I like that passingly;

As many as you will, so they be willing,

Willing, and gentle, gentle.

_Pin._ There's no reason

A Gentleman, and a Traveller should be clapt up,

For 'tis a kind of Bæboes to be married

Before he manifest to the World his good parts:

Tug ever like a Rascal at one Oar?

Give me the _Italian_ liberty.

_Mir._ That I study;

And that I will enjoy; Come, go in Gentlemen,

There mark how I behave my self, and follow. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter_ La-Castre, Natolet, Lugie[r], Rosa Lieura,

Lylia-Biancha.

_La-Cas._ You and your beauteous daughters are most welcome,

Beshrew my blood they are fair ones; welcom Beauties,

Welcome, sweet Birds.

_Nat._ They are bound much to your courtesies.

_La-Cas._ I hope we shall be nearer acquainted.

_Nat._ That's my hope too.

For certain, Sir, I much desire your Alliance:

You see 'em, they are no Gypsies, for their breeding,

It has not been so coarse, but they are able

To rank themselves with women of fair fashion;

Indeed they have been trained well.

_Lug._ Thank me.

_Nat._ Fit for the Heirs of that State I shall leave 'em;

To say more, is to sell 'em. They say your Son

Now he has travell'd must be wondrous curious,

And choice in what he takes: these are no coarse ones;

Sir, here's a merry wench, let him look to himself,

(All heart, i'faith) may chance to startle him;

For all his care, and travell'd caution,

May creep into his Eye; if he love Gravity,

Affect a solemn face, there's one will fit him.

_La-C._ So young, and so demure?

_Nat._ She is my Daughter,

Else I would tell you, Sir, she is a Mistriss

Both of those manners and that modesty

You would wonder at: She is no often Speaker,

But when she does, she speaks well; Nor no Reveller,

Yet she can dance, and has studied the Court Elements,

And sings, as some say, handsomely; if a woman,

With the decency of her Sex, may be a Scholar,

I can assure ye, Sir, she understands too.

_La-C._ These are fit Garments, Sir.

_Lug._ Thank them that cut 'em;

Yes, they are handsome women; they have handsome parts too;

Pretty becoming parts.

_La-C._ 'Tis like they have, Sir.

_Lug._ Yes, yes, and handsome Education they have had too,

Had it abundantly; they need not blush at it;

I taught it, I'll avouch it.

_La-C._ You say well, Sir.

_Lug._ I know what I say, Sir, and I say but right, Sir;

I am no Trumpet of their Commendations

Before their Father; else I should say farther.

_La-C._ 'Pray ye, what's this Gentleman?

_Nat._ One that lives with me, Sir;

A man well bred and learn'd, but blunt and bitter,

Yet it offends no wise man; I take pleasure in't:

Many fair gifts he has, in some of which

That lye most easie to their understandings,

H'as handsomely bred up my Girls, I thank him.

I have put it to 'em, that's my part, I have urg'd it,

It seems they are of years now to take hold on't.

He's wondrous blunt.

_La-C._ By my faith I was afraid of him:

Does he not fall out with the Gentlewomen sometimes?

_Nat._ No, no, he's that way moderate, and discreet, Sir.

_Ros._ If he did, we should be too hard for him.

_Lug._ Well said Sulphur:

Too hard for thy Husbands head if he wear not armour.

_Enter_ Mirabel, Pinac, De-Gard, [Belleur,] _and_ Oriana.

_Nat._ Many of these bickrings, Sir.

_La-C._ I am glad they are no Oracles;

Sure, as I live, he beats them, he's so puisant.

_Or._ Well, if ye do forget--

_Mir._ Prithee hold thy peace;

I know thou art a pretty wench; I know thou lov'st me,

Preserve it till we have a fit time to discourse on't,

And a fit place: I'll ease thy heart I warrant thee:

Thou seest I have much to do now.

_Or._ I am answer'd, Sir:

With me ye shall have nothing on these conditions.

_De-Gard._ Your Father and your friends.

_La-C._ You are welcome home, Sir;

'Bless ye, ye are very welcome:

'Pray know this Gentleman,

And these fair Ladies.

_Nat._ Monsieur _Mirabell_,

I am much affected with your fair return, Sir;

You bring a general joy.

_Mir._ I bring you service,

And these bright Beauties, Sir.

_Nat._ Welcome home, Gentlemen,

Welcome, with all my heart.

_Bel._ _Pin._ We thank ye, Sir.

_La-C._ Your friends will have their share too.

_Bel._ Sir, we hope

They'll look upon us, though we shew like strangers.

_Nat._ Monsieur _De-Gard_, I must salute you also,

And this fair Gentlewoman: you are welcome from your Travel too.

All welcome, all.

_De-Gard._ We render ye our loves, Sir:

The best Wealth we bring home: By your Favours, Beauties,

One of these two: you know my meaning.

_Or._ Well, Sir:

They are fair and handsom, I must needs confess it;

And let it prove the worst, I shall live after it,

Whilst I have meat and drink Love cannot starve me;

For if I dye o'th' first fit I am unhappy,

And worthy to be buried with my heels upward.

_Mir._ To marry, Sir?

_La-C._ You know I am an old man,

And every hour declining to my Grave,

One foot already in, more Sons I have not,

Nor more I dare not seek whilst you are worthy,

In you lies all my hope, and all my name,

The making good or wretched of my memory,

The safety of my state.

_Mir._ And you have provided

Out of this tenderness these handsom Gentlewomen,

Daughters to this rich man, to take my choice of?

_La-C._ I have, dear Son.

_Mir._ 'Tis true, ye are old, and feebled;

Would ye were young again, and in full vigor;

I love a bounteous Fathers life, a long one,

I am none of those that when they shoot to ripeness,

Do what they can to break the boughs they grew on;

I wish ye many years and many Riches,

And pleasures to enjoy 'em: But for Marriage,

I neither yet believe in't, nor affect it,

Nor think it fit.

_La-C._ You will render me your reasons?

_Mir._ Yes, Sir, both short and pithy, and these they are:

You would have me marry a Maid?

_La-C._ A Maid? what else?

_Mir._ Yes, there be things called Widows, dead mens Wills,

I never lov'd to prove those; nor never long'd yet

To be buried alive in another mans cold monument.

And there be maids appearing, and maids being:

The appearing are fantastick things, meer shadows;

And if you mark 'em well, they want their heads too;

Only the World to cozen misty eyes,

Has clapt 'em on new faces. The maids being,

A man may venture on, if he be so mad to marry;

If he have neither fear before his eyes, nor fortune;

And let him take heed how he gathers these too,

For look ye, father, they are just like melons,

Musk-melons are the emblems of these maids;

Now they are ripe, now cut 'em, they taste pleasantly,

And are a dainty fruit, digested easily:

Neglect this present time, and come to morrow,

They are so ripe they are rotten gone, their sweetness

Run into humour, and their taste to surfeit.

_La-C._ Why, these are now ripe, Son.

_Mir._ I'll try them presently,

And if I like their taste--

_La-C._ 'Pray ye please your self, Sir.

_Mir._ That liberty is my due, and I'll maintain it:

Lady, what think you of a handsom man now?

_Ros._ A wholsom too, Sir.

_Mir._ That's as you make your Bargain.

A handsom, wholsom man then, and a kind man,

To cheer your heart up, to rejoyce you, Lady?

_Ros._ Yes Sir, I love rejoycing.

_Mir._ To lye close to you?

Close as a Cockle? keep the cold nights from you?

_Ros._ That will be lookt for too, our bodies ask it.

_Mir._ And get two Boys at every Birth?

_Ros._ That's nothing,

I have known a Cobler do it, a poor thin Cobler;

A Cobler out of mouldy Cheese perform it,

Cabbage, and coarse black Bread; methinks a Gentleman

Should take foul scorn to have an awl outname him.

Two at a Birth? why, every house-Dove has it:

That man that feeds well, promises as well too,

I should expect indeed something of worth from.

Ye talk of two?

_Mir._ She would have me get two dozen,

Like Buttons, at a Birth.

_Ros._ You love to brag, Sir.

If you proclaim these offers at your Marriage,

You are a pretty timber'd man, take heed.

They may be taken hold of, and expected,

Yes, if not hoped for at a higher rate too.

_Mir._ I will take heed, and thank ye for your counsel:

Father, what think you?

_La-C._ 'Tis a merry Gentlewoman;

Will make, no doubt, a good wife.

_Mir._ Not for me:

I marry her, and happily get nothing;

In what a state am I then? Father, I shall suffer

For any thing I hear to the contrary, _more majorum_,

I were as sure to be a Cuckold, Father,

A Gentleman of Antler.

_La-C._ Away, away, fool.

_Mir._ As I am sure to fail her expectation,

I had rather get the Pox than get her Babies.

_La-C._ Ye are much to blame; if this do not affect ye,

'Pray try the other; she's of a more demure way.

_Bel._ That I had but the audacity to talk thus!

I love that plain-spoken Gentlewoman admirably,

And certain I could go as near to please her,

If down-right doing--she has a per'lous Countenance,

If I could meet one that would believe me,

And take my honest meaning without circumstance.

_Mir._ You shall have your will, Sir, I will try the other,

But 'twill be to small use. I hope, fair Lady

(For methinks in your eyes I see more mercy)

You will enjoin your Lover a less penance;

And though I'll promise much, as men are liberal,

And vow an ample sacrifice of service,

Yet your discretion, and your tenderness,

And thriftiness in Love, good huswives carefulness

To keep the stock entire--

_Lil._ Good Sir, speak louder,

That these may witness too ye talk of nothing,

I should be loth alone to bear the burthen

Of so much indiscretion.

_Mir._ Hark ye, hark ye;

Ods bobs, you are angry, Lady.

_Lil._ Angry? no, Sir;

I never own'd an anger to lose poorly.

_Mir._ But you can love for all this, and delight too,

For all your set-austerity, to hear

Of a good husband, Lady?

_Lil._ You say true, Sir:

For by my troth, I have heard of none these ten years,

They are so rare, and there are so many, Sir,

So many longing-women on their knees too,

That pray the dropping down of these good husbands,

The droping down from heaven; for they are not bred [here],

That you may guess at all my hope, but hearing--

_Mir._ Why may not I be one?

_Lil._ You were near 'em once, Sir,

When ye came over the _Alpes_; those are near Heaven;

But since ye miss'd that happiness, there is no hope of ye.

_Mir._ Can ye love a man?

_Lil._ Yes, if the man be lovely;

That is, be honest, modest; I would have him valiant,

His anger slow, but certain for his honour;

Travell'd he should be, but through himself exactly;

For 'tis fairer to know manners well than Countries;

He must be no vain Talker, nor no Lover

To hear himself talk, they are brags of a wanderer,

Of one finds no retreict for fair behaviour;

Would ye learn more?

_Mir._ Yes.

_Lil._ Learn to hold your peace then,

Fond Girls are got with tongues, women with tempers.

_Mir._ Women, with I know what; but let this vanish:

Go thy way good Wife _Bias_; sure thy Husband

Must have a strong Philosophers stone, he will ne'r please thee else.

Here's a starcht piece of austerity; do you hear, Father?

Do you hear this moral Lecture?

_La-C._ Yes, and like it.

_Mir._ Why, there's your judgment now; there's an old bolt shot:

This thing must have the strangest observation,

Do you mark me (father?) when she is married once,

The strangest custom too of admiration

On all she does and speaks, 'twill be past sufferance;

I must not lie with her in common language,

Nor cry have at thee, _Kate_, I shall be hiss'd then;

Nor eat my meat without the sawce of sentences,

Your powder'd Beef, and Problems, a rare diet;

My first Son, Monsieur _Aristotle_, I know it,

Great Master of the Metaphysicks, or so;

The second _Solon_, and the best Law-setter;

And I must look _Egyptian_ God-fathers,

Which will be no small trouble: my eldest daughter

_Sapho_, or such a fidling kind of Poetess,

And brought up, _invita Minerva_, at her needle.

My dogs must look their names too, and all _Spartan_,

_Lelaps_, _Melampus_; no more _Fox_ and _Baudiface_.

I married to a sullen set of sentences?

To one that weighs her words and her behaviours

In the gold-weights of discretion? I'll be hang'd first.

_La-C._ Prithee reclaim thy self.

_Mir._ 'Pray ye give me time then;

If they can set me any thing to play at,

That seems fit for a Gamester, have at the fairest

Till I see more, and try more.

_La-C._ Take your time then,

I'll bar ye no fair liberty: come Gentlemen,

And Ladies come: to all once more welcome,

And now let's in to supper.

_Mir._ How dost' like 'em?

_Pin._ They are fair enough, but of so strange behaviours.

_Mir._ Too strange for me; I must have those have mettle,

And mettle to my mind; Come, let's be merry.

_Bel._ 'Bless me from this woman: I would stand the Cannon

Before ten words of hers.

_De-Gar._ Do you find him now?

Do you think he will be ever firm?

_Or._ I fear not. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Mirabel, Pinac, Belleur.

_Mir._ Ne'r tell me of this happiness, 'tis nothing;

The state they bring with being sought to scurvey,

I had rather make mine own play, and I will do.

My happiness is in mine own content,

And the despising of such glorious trifles,

As I have done a thousand more. For my humour,

Give me a good free fellow, that sticks to me,

A jovial fair Companion; there's a Beauty:

For women, I can have too many of them;

Good women too, as the Age reckons 'em,

More than I have employment for.

_Pin._ You are happy.

_Mir._ My only fear is, that I must be forced

Against my nature, to conceal my self.

Health, and an able Body are two jewels.

_Pi._ If either of these two women were offered to me now,

I would think otherwise, and do accordingly:

Yes, and recant my heresies, I would fain, Sir;

And be more tender of opinion,

And put a little off my travel'd liberty

Out of the way, and look upon 'em seriously.

Methinks this grave carried wench.

_Bel._ Methinks the other,

The home-spoken Gentlewoman, that desires to be fruitful,

That treats of the full manage of the matter,

For there lies all my aim; that wench, methinks

If I were but well set on; for she is a fable,

If I were but hounded right, and one to teach me:

She speaks to th' matter, and comes home to th' point:

Now do I know I have such a body to please her,

As all the Kingdom cannot fit her with, I am sure on't,

If I could but talk my self into her favour.

_Mir._ That's easily done.

_Bel._ That's easily said, would 'twere done;

You should see then how I would lay about me;

If I were vertuous, it would never grieve me,

Or any thing that might justifie my modesty,

But when my nature is prone to do a charitie,

And my calfs-tongue will not help me.

_Mir._ Will ye go to 'em?

They cannot but take it courteously.

_Pi._ I'le do my part,

Though I am sure 'twill be the hardest I e're plaid yet,

A way I never try'd too, which will stagger me,

And if it do not shame me, I am happy.

_Mir._ Win 'em, and wear 'em, I give up my interest.

_Pi._ What say ye, _Monsieur Bellure_?

_Bel._ Would I could say,

Or sing, or any thing that were but handsom,

I would be with her presently.

_Pi._ Yours is no venture;

A merry ready wench.

_Bel._ A vengeance squibber;

She'l fleer me out of faith too.

_Mir._ I'le be near thee;

Pluck up thy heart, I'le second thee at all brunts;

Be angry if she abuse thee, and beat her a little,

Some women are won that way.

_Bel._ Pray be quiet,

And let me think: I am resolv'd to go on;

But how I shall get off again--

_Mir._ I am perswaded

Thou wilt so please her, she will go near to ravish thee.

_Bel._ I would 'twere come to that once: let me pray a little.

_Mir._ Now for thine honour _Pinac_; board me this modesty,

Warm but this frozen snow-ball, 'twill be a conquest

(Although I know thou art a fortunate Wencher,

And hast done rarely in thy daies) above all thy ventures.

_Bel._ You will be ever near?

_Mir._ At all necessities,

And take thee off, and set thee on again, Boy;

And cherish thee, and stroak thee.

_Bel._ Help me out too?

For I know I shall stick i'th' mire: if ye see us close once,

Be gone, and leave me to my fortune, suddenly,

For I am then determin'd to do wonders.

Farewel, and fling an old shooe: how my heart throbs!

Would I were drunk: Farewel _Pinac_; Heaven send us

A joyfull and a merry meeting, man.

_Pi._ Farewel,

And chear thy heart up; and remember _Bellure_

They are but women.

_Bel._ I had rather they were Lyons. [_Exeunt._

_Mir._ About it; I'le be with you instantly.

_Enter_ Oriana.

Shall I ne'r be at rest? no peace of conscience?

No quiet for these creatures? Am I ordain'd

To be devour'd quick by these she-Canibals?

Here's another they call handsom, I care not for her,

I ne'r look after her: when I am half tipled

It may be I should turn her, and peruse her,

Or in my want of women, I might call for her;

But to be haunted when I have no fancie,

No maw to th' matter--Now, why do you follow me?

_Ori._ I hope, Sir, 'tis no blemish to my vertue,

Nor need you (out of scruple) ask that question,

If you remember ye, before your Travel

The contract you ty'd to me: 'tis my love, Sir,

That makes me seek ye, to confirm your memory,

And that being fair and good, I cannot suffer:

I come to give ye thanks too.

_Mir._ For what 'prethee?

_Ori._ For that fair piece of honesty ye shew'd, Sir,

That constant nobleness.

_Mir._ How? for I am short headed.

_Ori._ I'le tell ye then; for refusing that free offer

Of _Monsieur Natolets_; those handsom Beauties,

Those two prime Ladies, that might well have prest ye,

If not to have broken, yet to have bow'd your promise,

I know it was for my sake, for your faith sake,

You slipt 'em off: your honesty compell'd ye.

And let me tell ye, Sir, it shew'd most handsomly.

_Mir._ And let me tell thee, there was no such matter:

Nothing intended that way of that nature;

I have more to do with my honesty than to fool it,

Or venture it in such leak barks as women;

I put 'em off, because I lov'd 'em not,

Because they are too queazie for my temper,

And not for thy sake, nor the Contract sake,

Nor vows, nor oaths; I have made a thousand of 'em,

They are things indifferent, whether kept or broken;

Meer venial slips, that grow not near the conscience;

Nothing concerns those tender parts; they are trifles;

For, as I think, there was never man yet hop'd for

Either constancie, or secrecie, from a woman,

Unless it were an Ass ordain'd for sufferance;

Nor to contract with such can be a Tial;

So let them know again; for 'tis a Justice,

And a main point of civil policie,

What e're we say or swear, they being Reprobates,

Out of the state of faith, we are clear of all sides,

And 'tis a curious blindness to believe us.

_Ori._ You do not mean this sure?

_Mir._ Yes sure, and certain,

And hold it positively, as a Principle,

As ye are strange things, and made of strange fires and fluxes,

So we are allow'd as strange wayes to obtain ye,

But not to hold; we are all created Errant.

_Ori._ You told me other tales.

_Mir._ I not deny it;

I have tales of all sorts for all sorts of women,

And protestations likewise of all sizes,

As they have vanities to make us coxcombs;

If I obtain a good turn, so it is,

I am thankfull for it: if I be made an Ass,

The mends are in mine own hands, or the Surgeons,

And there's an end on't.

_Ori._ Do not you love me then?

_Mir._ As I love others, heartily I love thee,

When I am high and lusty, I love thee cruelly:

After I have made a plenteous meal, and satisfi'd

My senses with all delicates, come to me,

And thou shalt see how I love thee.

_Ori._ Will not you marry me?

_Mir._ No, certain, no, for any thing I know yet;

I must not lose my liberty, dear Lady,

And like a wanton slave cry for more shackles.

What should I marry for? Do I want any thing?

Am I an inch the farther from my pleasure?

Why should I be at charge to keep a wife of mine own,

When other honest married men will ease me?

And thank me too, and be beholding to me:

Thou thinkst I am mad for a Maiden-head, thou art cozen'd;

Or if I were addicted to that diet

Can you tell me where I should have one? thou art eighteen now,

And if thou hast thy Maiden-head yet extant,

Sure 'tis as big as Cods-head: and those grave dishes

I never love to deal withal: Do'st thou see this book here?

Look over all these ranks; all these are women,

Maids, and pretenders to Maiden-heads; these are my conquests,

All these I swore to marry, as I swore to thee,

With the same reservation, and most righteously,

Which I need not have done neither; for alas they made no scruple,

And I enjoy'd 'em at my will, and left 'em:

Some of 'em are married since, and were as pure maids again,

Nay o' my conscience better than they were bred for;

The rest fine sober women.

_Ori._ Are ye not asham'd, Sir?

_Mir._ No by my troth, Sir; there's no shame belongs to it;

I hold it as commendable to be wealthy in pleasure,

As others do in rotten sheep, and pasture.

_Enter_ de Gard.

_Ori._ Are all my hopes come to this? is there no faith?

No troth? nor modesty in men?

_de [G]a._ How now Sister,

Why weeping thus? did I not prophesie?

Come tell me why--

_Ori._ I am not well; 'pray ye pardon me. [_Exit._

_de Ga._ Now Monsieur _Mirabel_, what ails my Sister?

You have been playing the wag with her.

_Mir._ As I take it,

She is crying for a cod-piece; is she gone?

Lord, what an Age is this! I was calling for ye,

For as I live I thought she would have ravish'd me.

_de Ga._ Ye are merry Sir.

_Mir._ Thou know'st this book, _de Gard_, this Inventory.

_de Ga._ The debt-book of your Mistresses, I remember it.

_Mir._ Why this was it that anger'd her; she was stark mad

She found not her name here, and cry'd down-right,

Because I would not pity her immediately,

And put her in my list.

_de Ga._ Sure she had more modesty.

_Mir._ Their modesty is anger to be over-done;

They'l quarrel sooner for precedence here,

And take it in more dudgeon to be slighted,

Than they will in publique meetings; 'tis their natures:

And alas I have so many to dispatch yet,

And to provide my self for my affairs too,

That in good faith--

_de Gard._ Be not too glorious foolish;

Summe not your Travels up with vanities,

It ill becomes your expectation:

Temper your speech, Sir; whether your loose story

Be true, or false (for you are so free, I fear it)

Name not my Sister in't; I must not hear it;

Upon your danger name her not: I hold her

A Gentlewoman of those happy parts and carriage,

A good mans tongue may be right proud to speak her.

_Mir._ Your Sister, Sir? d'ye blench at that? d'ye cavil?

Do you hold her such a piece, she may not be play'd withal?

I have had an hundred handsomer and nobler,

Have su'd to me too for such a courtesie:

Your Sister comes i'th' rear: since ye are so angry,

And hold your Sister such a strong Recusant,

I tell ye I may do it, and it may be will too,

It may be have too, there's my free confession;

Work upon that now.

_de Gard._ If I thought ye had, I would work,

And work such stubborn work, should make your heart ake;

But I believe ye, as I ever knew ye,

A glorious talker, and a Legend maker

Of idle tales, and trifles; a depraver

Of your own truth; their honours fly about ye;

And so I take my leave, but with this caution,

Your sword be surer than your tongue, you'l smart else.

_Mir._ I laugh at thee, so little I respect thee;

And I'le talk louder, and despise thy Sister;

Set up a Chamber-maid that shall out-shine her,

And carry her in my Coach too, and that will kill her.

Go get thy Rents up, go.

_de Gard._ Ye are a fine Gentleman. [_Exit._

_Mir._ Now have at my two youths, I'le see how they do,

How they behave themselves, and then I'le study

What wench shall love me next, and when I'le lose her.

[_Exit._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ Pinac, _and a Servant_.

_Pinac._ Art thou her servant, saist thou?

_Ser._ Her poor creature,

But servant to her horse, Sir.

_Pinac._ Canst thou shew me

The way to her chamber? or where I may conveniently

See her, or come to talk to her?

_Ser._ That I can, Sir;

But the question is whether I will or no.

_Pinac._ Why I'le content thee.

_Ser._ Why I'le content thee then; now ye come to me.

_Pi._ There's for your diligence.

_Ser._ There's her chamber, Sir;

And this way she comes out; stand ye but here, Sir,

You have her at your prospect, or your pleasure.

_Pi._ Is she not very angry?

_Ser._ You'l find that quickly:

May be she'll call ye sawcy scurvey fellow,

Or some such familiar name: 'may be she knows ye,

And will fling a Piss-pot at ye, or a Pantofle,

According as ye are in acquaintance: if she like ye,

'May be she'll look upon ye, 'may be no,

And two moneths hence call for ye.

_Pinac._ This is fine.

She is monstrous proud then?

_Ser._ She is a little haughtie;

Of a small body, she has a mind well mounted.

Can ye speak Greek?

_Pinac._ No, certain.

_Ser._ Get ye gone then;

And talk of stars, and firmaments, and fire-drakes.

Do you remember who was _Adams_ School-master,

And who taught _Eve_ to spin? she knows all these,

And will run ye over the beginning o'th' world

As familiar as a Fidler.

Can ye sit seven hours together, and say nothing?

Which she will do, and when she speaks, speak Oracles;

Speak things that no man understands, nor her self neither.

_Pi._ Thou mak'st me wonder.

_Ser._ Can ye smile?

_Pi._ Yes willingly:

For naturally I bear a mirth about me.

_Ser._ She'l ne'r endure ye then; she is never merry;

If she see one laugh, she'll swound past _Aqua vitæ_:

Never come near her, Sir; if ye chance to venture,

And talk not like a Doctor, you are damn'd too;

I have told enough for your crown, and so good speed ye. [_Ex._

_Pi._ I have a pretty task, if she be thus curious,

As sure it seems she is; if I fall off now,

I shall be laugh'd at fearfully; if I go forward,

I can but be abus'd, and that I look for,

And yet I may hit right, but 'tis unlikely.

Stay, in what mood and figure shall I attempt her?

A careless way? no, no, that will not waken her;

Besides, her gravity will give me line still,

And let me lose my self; yet this way often

Has hit, and handsomly. A wanton method?

I, if she give it leave to sink into her consideration;

But there's the doubt: if it but stir her blood once,

And creep into the crannies of her phansie,

Set her a gog: but if she chance to slight it,

And by the pow'r of her modesty fling it back,

I shall appear the arrantst Rascal to her,

The most licentious knave, for I shall talk lewdly.

To bear my self austerely? rate my words,

And fling a general gravitie about me,

As if I meant to give Laws? but this I cannot do,

This is a way above my understanding;

Or if I could, 'tis odds she'll think I mock her;

For serious and sad things are ever still suspicious.

Well, I'le say something.

But learning I have none, and less good manners,

Especially for Ladies; well, I'le set my best face;

_Enter_ Lilia, Petella.

I hear some coming; this is the first woman

I ever fear'd yet, the first face that shakes me,

_Li._ Give me my hat _Petella_, take this veil off,

This sullen cloud, it darkens my delights;

Come wench be free, and let the Musick warble,

Play me some lusty measure.

_Pi._ This is she sure,

The very same I saw, the very woman,

The Gravitie I wonder'd at: Stay, stay,

Let me be sure; ne'r trust me, but she danceth,

Summer is in her face now, and she skippeth:

I'le go a little nearer.

_Li._ Quicker time fellows,

_Enter_ Mirabel.

I cannot find my legs yet, now _Petella_.

_Pi._ I am amaz'd, I am founder'd in my fancies.

_Mir._ Hah, say ye so; is this your gravitie?

This the austeritie ye put upon ye?

I'le see more o' this sport.

_Lil._ A Song now;

Call in for a merry, and a light Song,

And sing it with a liberal spirit.

_Enter a Man._

_Man._ Yes, Madam.

_Lil._ And be not amaz'd Sirrah, but take us for your own company.

Let's walk our selves: come wench, would we had a man or two.

_Pi._ Sure she has spi'd me, and will abuse me dreadfully,

She has put on this for the purpose; yet I will try her.

Madam, I would be loth my rude intrusion,

Which I must crave a pardon for--

_Lil._ O ye are welcom,

Ye are very welcom, Sir, we want such a one;

Strike up again: I dare presume ye dance well:

Quick, quick, Sir, quick, the time steals on.

_Pi._ I would talk with ye.

_Lil._ Talk as ye dance.

_Mir._ She'l beat him off his legs first,

This is the finest Masque.

_Lil._ Now how do ye, Sir?

_Pi._ You have given me a shrewd heat.

_Lil._ I'le give ye a hundred.

Come sing now, sing; for I know ye sing well,

I see ye have a singing face.

_Pi._ A fine Modesty!

If I could, she'd never give me breath,

Madam would I might sit and recover.

_Lil._ Sit here, and sing now,

Let's do things quickly, Sir, and handsomly,

Sit close wench, close, begin, begin. [_Song._

_Pi._ I am lesson'd.

_Lil._ 'Tis very pretty i'faith, give me some wine now.

_Pi._ I would fain speak to ye.

_Lil._ You shall drink first, believe me:

Here's to ye a lusty health.

_Pi._ I thank ye Lady,

Would I were off again; I smell my misery;

I was never put to this rack; I shall be drunk too.

_Mir._ If thou be'st not a right one, I have lost mine aim much:

I thank Heaven that I have scap'd thee; To her _Pinac_;

For thou art as sure to have her, and to groan for her--

I'le see how my other youth does; this speeds trimly:

A fine grave Gentlewoman, and worth much honour. [_Exit._

_Lil._ Now? how do ye like me, Sir?

_Pi._ I like ye rarely.

_Lil._ Ye see, Sir, though sometimes we are grave and silent,

And put on sadder dispositions,

Yet we are compounded of free parts, and sometimes too

Our lighter, airie, and our fierie mettles

Break out, and shew themselves; and what think you of that Sir?

_Pi._ Good Lady sit, for I am very weary;

And then I'le tell ye.

_Lil._ Fie, a young man idle?

Up, and walk; be still in action.

The motions of the body are fair beauties,

Besides 'tis cold; ods-me Sir, let's walk faster,

What think ye now of the Lady _Felicia_?

And _Bella-fronte_ the Dukes fair Daughter? ha?

Are they not handsom things? there is _Duarta_,

And brown _Olivia_.

_Pi._ I know none of 'em.

_Lil._ But brown must not be cast away, Sir; if young _Lelia_

Had kept her self till this day from a Husband,

Why what a Beauty, Sir! you know _Ismena_

The fair Jem of Saint _Germans_?

_Pi._ By my troth I do not.

_Lil._ And then I know you must hear of _Brisac_,

How unlike a Gentleman--

_Pi._ As I live I have heard nothing.

_Lil._ Strike me another Galliard.

_Pi._ By this light I cannot;

In troth I have sprain'd my leg, Madam.

_Lil._ Now sit ye down, Sir,

And tell me why ye came hither, why ye chose me out?

What is your business? your errant? dispatch, dispatch!

'May be ye are some Gentlemans man, and I mistook ye,

That have brought me a Letter, or a haunch of Venison,

Sent me from some friend of mine.

_Pi._ Do I look like a Carrier?

You might allow me what I am, a Gentleman.

_Lil._ Cry 'ye mercie, Sir, I saw ye yesterday,

You are new come out of Travel, I mistook ye;

And how do all our impudent friends in _Italie_?

_Pi._ Madam, I came with duty, and fair courtesie,

Service, and honour to ye.