SCENE II.

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Transcriber's Notes:

1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.

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A SELECT COLLECTION

OF

OLD ENGLISH PLAYS.

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY ROBERT DODSLEY

IN THE YEAR 1744.

_FOURTH EDITION_,

NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED

WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS,

AND NEW NOTES

BY

W. CAREW HAZLITT.

BENJAMIN BLOM, INC.

New York

First published 1874-1876

Reissued 1964 by Benjamin Blom, Inc.

L.C. Catalog Card No.: 64-14702

_Printed in U.S.A. by_

NOBLE OFFSET PRINTERS, INC.

NEW YORK 3, N. Y.

CONTENTS

Page

THE REBELLION 1

LUST'S DOMINION or THE LASCIVIOUS QUEEN 93

ANDROMANA or THE MERCHANT'S WIFE 193

LADY ALIMONY 273

THE PARSON'S WEDDING 369

THE REBELLION.

_EDITION._

_The Rebellion; a Tragedy: As it was acted nine dayes together,

and divers times since, with good applause, by his Majesties

Company of Revells. Written by Thomas Rawlins. London: Printed

by I. Okes, for Daniell Frere, and are to be sold at the Signe

of the Red Bull in Little Brittaine._ 1640, 4^o.[1]

INTRODUCTION.

THOMAS RAWLINS, author of "The Rebellion," was a medallist by

profession, and afterwards became an engraver of the Mint, a

vocation which, in his preface, he prefers to the threadbare

occupation of a poet. [He also employed his talents occasionally

in engraving frontispieces and portraits for books, of which

several signed specimens are known.[2] It is said that he died in

1670.] It is an argument, as well of his personal respectability,

as of his easy circumstances, that no fewer than eleven copies of

prefatory verses, by the wits of the time, are prefixed to the

old edition. Notwithstanding the popularity of the piece, [which,

as it appears from the introductory poems, was composed by

Rawlins in early life,] and several passages of real merit, it

was [only once] republished, perhaps because rebellion soon

assumed the whole kingdom for its stage.

[Besides his play, Rawlins published in 1648 an octavo volume of

poems, written also in his youth, under the title of

"Calanthe."[3]]

TO THE WORSHIPFUL, AND HIS HONOURED KINSMAN,

ROBERT DUCIE,[4]

OF ASTON, IN THE COUNTY OF STAFFORD,

ESQUIRE;

SON TO SIR R. DUCIE, KNIGHT AND BARONET, DECEASED.

SIR,--Not to boast of any perfections, I have never yet been

owner of ingratitude, and would be loth envy should tax me now,

having at this time opportunity to pay part of that debt I owe

your love. This tragedy had at the presentment a general

applause; yet I have not that want of modesty as to conclude it

wholly worthy your patronage, although I have been bold to fix

your name unto it. Yet, however, your charity will be famous in

protecting this plant from the breath of Zoilus, and forgiving

this my confidence, and your acceptance cherish a study of a more

deserving piece, to quit the remainder of the engagement. In

Your kinsman, ready to serve you,

THOMAS RAWLINS.

TO THE READER.

READER, if courteous, I have not so little faith as to fear thy

censure, since thou knowest youth hath many faults, whereon I

depend, although my ignorance of the stage is also a sufficient

excuse. If I have committed any, let thy candour judge mildly of

them; and think not those voluntary favours of my friends (by

whose compulsive persuasions I have published this) are

commendations of my seeking, or through a desire in me to

increase the volume, but rather a care that you (since that I

have been over-entreated to present it to you) might find therein

something worth your time. Take no notice of my name, for a

second work of this nature shall hardly bear it. I have no desire

to be known by a threadbare cloak, having a calling that will

maintain it woolly. Farewell.

TO HIS LOVING FRIEND THE AUTHOR,

UPON HIS TRAGEDY "THE REBELLION."

To praise thee, friend, and show the reason why,

Issues from honest love, not flattery.

My will is not to flatter, nor for spite

To praise or dispraise, but to do thee right

Proud daring rebels in their impious way

Of Machiavellian darkness this thy play

Exactly shows; speaks thee truth's satirist,

Rebellion's foe, time's honest artist.

Thy continu'd scenes, parts, plots, and language can

Distinguish (worthily) the virtuous man

From the vicious villain, earth's fatal ill,

Intending mischievous traitor Machiavel.

Him and his treach'rous 'complices, that strove

(Like the gigantic rebels war 'gainst Jove)

To disenthrone Spain's king (the Heaven's anointed),

By stern death all were justly disappointed.

Plots meet with counterplots, revenge and blood:

Rebels' ruin makes thy tragedy good.

NATH. RICHARDS.[5]

TO HIS WORTHY ESTEEMED MASTER,

THOMAS RAWLINS, ON HIS "REBELLION."

I may not wonder, for the world does know,

What poets can, and ofttimes reach unto.

They oft work miracles: no marvel, then,

Thou mak'st thy tailor here a nobleman:

Would all the trade were honest too; but he

Hath learn'd the utmost of the mystery,

Filching with cunning industry the heart

Of such a beauty, which did prove the smart

Of many worthy lovers, and doth gain

That prize which others labour'd for in vain.

Thou mak'st him valiant too, and such a spirit,

As every noble mind approves his merit.

But what renown th' hast given his worth, 'tis fit

The world should render to thy hopeful wit,

And with a welcome plaudit entertain

This lovely issue of thy teeming brain.

That their kind usage to this birth of thine

May win so much upon thee, for each line

Thou hast bequeath'd the world, thou'lt give her ten,

And raise more high the glory of thy pen.

Accomplish these our wishes, and then see

How all that love the arts will honour thee.

C. G.[6]

TO MY FRIEND MASTER RAWLINS,

UPON THIS PLAY, HIS WORK.

Friend, in the fair completeness of your play

Y' have courted truth; in these few lines to say

Something concerning it, that all may know

I pay no more of praise than what I owe.

'Tis good, and merit much more fair appears

Appareled in plain praise, than when it wears

A complimental gloss. Tailors may boast

Th' have gain'd by your young pen what they long lost

By the old proverb, which says, _Three to a man_:

But to your vindicating muse, that can

Make one a man, and a man noble, they

Must wreaths of bays as their due praises pay.

ROBERT DAVENPORT.[7]

TO THE AUTHOR, ON HIS "REBELLION."

Thy play I ne'er saw: what shall I say then?

I in my vote must do as other men,

And praise those things to all, which common fame

Does boast of such a hopeful growing flame

Which, in despite of flattery, shall shine,

Till envy at thy glory do repine:

And on Parnassus' cliffy top shall stand,

Directing wand'ring wits to wish'd-for land;

Like a beacon o' th' Muses' hill remain,

That still doth burn, no lesser light retain;

To show that other wits, compar'd with thee,

Is but Rebellion i' th' high'st degree.

For from thy labours (thus much I do scan)

A tailor is ennobled to a man.

R. W.[8]

TO HIS DEAR FRIEND, MR. THOMAS RAWLINS.

To see a springot of thy tender age

With such a lofty strain to word a stage;

To see a tragedy from thee in print,

With such a world of fine meanders in't,

Puzzles my wond'ring soul; for there appears

Such disproportion 'twixt thy lines and years,

That when I read thy lines, methinks I see

The sweet-tongued Ovid fall upon his knee,

With (_parce precor_) every line and word

Runs in sweet numbers of its own accord:

But I am wonder-struck that all this while

Thy unfeather'd quill should write a tragic style.

This above all my admiration draws,

That one so young should know dramatic laws.

'Tis rare, and therefore is not for the span

Or greasy thumbs of every common man.

The damask rose, that sprouts before the spring,

Is fit for none to smell at but a king.

Go on, sweet friend; I hope in time to see

Thy temples rounded with the Daphnean tree.

And if men ask who nurs'd thee, I'll say thus,

It was the ambrosian spring of Pegasus.

ROBERT CHAMBERLAIN.[9]

TO HIS FRIEND, MASTER THOMAS RAWLINS,

ON HIS PLAY CALLED "THE REBELLION."

I will not praise thee, friend, nor is it fit,

Lest I be said to flatter what y' have writ:

For some will say I writ to applaud thee,

That when I print, thou may'st do so for me.

Faith, they're deceiv'd, thou justly claim'st thy bays:

Virtue rewards herself; thy work's thy praise.

T. JOURDAN.[10]

TO THE AUTHOR, MASTER THOMAS RAWLINS.

Kind friend, excuse me, that do thus intrude,

Thronging thy volume with my lines so rude.

Applause is needless here, yet this I owe,

As due to th' Muses; thine ne'er su'd (I know)

For hands, nor voice, nor pen, nor other praise

Whatsoe'er by mortals us'd, thereby to raise

An author's name eternally to bliss.

Were't rightly scann'd (alas!) what folly 'tis!

As if a poet's single work alone

Wants power to lift him to the spangled throne

Of highest Jove; or needs their lukewarm fires,

To cut his way or pierce the circled spheres.

Foolish presumption! whosoe'er thou art,

Thus fondly deem'st of poet's princely art,

Here needs no paltry petty pioneer's skill

To fortify; nay, thy mellifluous quill

Strikes Momus with amaze and silence deep,

And doom'd poor Zoilus to the Lethean sleep.

Then ben't dismay'd, I know thy book will live,

And deathless trophies to thy name shall give.

Who doubts, where Venus and Minerva meet

In every line, how pleasantly they greet?

Strewing thy paths with roses, red and white,

To deck thy silver-streams of fluent wit;

And entertain the graces of thy mind.

O, may thy early head sweet shelter find

Under the umbrage of those verdant bays,

Ordain'd for sacred poesy's sweet lays!

Such are thy lines, in such a curious dress,

Compos'd so quaintly, that, if I may guess,

None save thine own should dare t' approach the press.

I. GOUGH.[11]

TO THE INGENIOUS AUTHOR.

A sour and austere kind of men there be,

That would outlaw the laws of poesy;

And from a commonwealth's well-govern'd lists

Some grave and too much severe Platonists

Would exclude poets, and have enmity

With the soul's freedom, ingenuity.

These are so much for wisdom, they forget

That Heaven allow'th the use of modest wit.

These think the author of a jest alone

Is the man that deserves damnation;

Holding mirth vicious, and to laugh a sin:

Yet we must give these cynics leave to grin.

What will they think, when they shall see thee in

The plains of fair Elysium? sit among

A crowned troop of poets, and a throng

Of ancient bards, which soul-delighting choir

Sings daily anthems to Apollo's lyre?

Amongst which thou shalt sit, and crowned thus,

Shalt laugh at Cato and Democritus.

Thus shall thy bays be superscrib'd: my pen

Did not alone make plays, but also men.

E. B.[12]

TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR.

Bless me, you sacred Sisters! What a throng

Of choice encomiums 's press'd? such as was sung

When the sweet singer Stesichorus liv'd;

Upon whose lips the nightingale surviv'd.

What makes my sickly fancy hither hie

(Unless it be for shelter), when the eye

Of each peculiar artist makes a quest

After my slender judgment? then a jest

Dissolves my thoughts to nothing, and my pains

Has its reward in adding to my stains.

But as the river of Athamas can fire

The sullen wood, and make its flames aspire,

So the infused comfort I receive

By th' tie of friendship, prompts me to relieve

My fainting spirits, and with a full sail

Rush 'mongst your argosies; despite of hail

Or storms of critics, friend, to thee I come:

I know th' hast harbour, I defy much room:

Besides, I'll pay thee for't in grateful verse,

Since that thou art wit's abstract, I'll rehearse:

Nothing shall wool your ears with a long phrase

Of a sententious folly; for to raise

Sad pyramids of flattery, that may be

Condemn'd for the sincere prolixity.

Let envy turn her mantle, and expose

Her rotten entrails to infect the rose,

Or pine--like greenness of thy extant wit:

Yet shall thy Homer's shield demolish it.

Upon thy quill as on an eagle's wing,

Thou shalt be led through th' air's sweet whispering:

And with thy pen thou shalt engrave thy name

(Better than pencil) in the list of fame.

I. TATHAM.[13]

ON MASTER RAWLINS AND HIS TAILOR, IN "THE REBELLION."

In what a strange dilemma stood my mind,

When first I saw the tailor, and did find

It so well-fraught with wit! but when I knew

The noble tailor to proceed from you,

I stood amaz'd, as one with thunder struck,

And knew not which to read; you or your book.

I wonder how you could, being of our race,

So eagle-like look Phoebus in the face.

I wonder how you could, being so young,

And teeming yet, encounter with so strong

And firm a story; 'twould indeed have prov'd

A subject for the wisest, that had lov'd

To suck at Aganippe. But go on,

My best of friends; and as you have begun

With that is good, so let your after-times

Transcendent be. Apollo he still shines

On the best wits; and if a Momus chance

On this thy volume scornfully to glance,

Melpomene will defend, and you shall see,

That virtue will at length make envy flee.

I. KNIGHT.[14]

TO HIS INGENIOUS FRIEND, MASTER RAWLINS,

THE AUTHOR OF "THE REBELLION."

What need I strive to praise thy worthy frame,

Or raise a trophy to thy lasting name?

Were my bad wit with eloquence refin'd,

When I have said my most, the most's behind.

But that I might be known for one of them,

Which do admire thy wit and love thy pen,

I could not better show forth my good-will,

Than to salute you with my virgin quill,

And bring you something to adorn your head

Among a throng of friends, who oft have read

Your learned poems, and do honour thee

And thy bright genius. How like a curious tree

Is thy sweet fancy, bearing fruit so rare

The learned still will covet. Momus no share

Shall have of it; but end his wretched days

In grief, 'cause now he seeth th' art crown'd with bays.

JO. MERIELL.[15]

DRAMATIS PERSONA†.

_A Cupid._

KING OF SPAIN.

ANTONIO, _a count_.

MACHIAVEL, _a count_.

ALERZO, }

FULGENTIO, } _three Spanish colonels_.

PANDOLPHO, }

PETRUCHIO, _Governor of Filford_.

RAYMOND (_a Moor_), _General of the French army_.

LEONIS, }

GILBERTI, } _three French colonels_.

FIRENZO, }

SEBASTIANO, _Petruchio's son, in the disguise of a tailor called

Giovanno_.

OLD TAILOR.

VERMIN, _his man_.

_Three Tailors more._

_Captain of the Banditti._

_Two Ruffians and a Bravo._

PHILIPPA, _the Moor's wife_.

AURISTELLA, _Machiavel's wife_.

EVADNE, _Antonio's sister_.

AURELIA, _Sebastiano's sister_.

_Nurse, attendant on Evadne._

_Attendants._

SCENE--_Seville._

THE REBELLION.

ACT I., SCENE 1.

_Enter severally_, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, _and_ PANDOLPHO.

ALER. Colonel?

FUL. Signor Alerzo?

ALER. Here.

PAN. Signors, well-met:

The lazy morn has scarcely trimm'd herself

To entertain the sun; she still retains

The slimy tincture of the banish'd night:

I hardly could discern you.

ALER. But you appear fresh as a city bridegroom,

That has sign'd his wife a warrant for the

Grafting of horns; how fares Belinda

After the weight of so much sin? you lay with her

To-night; come, speak, did you take up on trust,

Or have you pawn'd a colony of oaths?

Or an embroidered belt? or have you ta'en

The courtier's trick, to lay your sword at mortgage?

Or perhaps a feather? 'twill serve in traffic,

To return her ladyship a fan, or so.

PAN. Y' are merry.

FUL. Come, be free,

Leave modesty for women to gild

Their pretty thriving art of plentitude,

To enrich their husbands' brows with cornucopias.

A soldier, and thus bashful! Pox! be open.

PAN. Had I the pox, good colonel, I should stride

Far opener than I do; but pox o' the fashion!

ALER. Count Antonio.

[_To them enter_ ANTONIO.

FUL. Though he appear fresh as a bloom

That newly kiss'd the sun, adorn'd with pearly

Drops, flung from the hand of the rose-finger'd morn,

Yet in his heart lives a whole host of valour.

PAN. He appears

A second Mars.

ALER. More powerful, since he holds wisdom

And valour captive.

FUL. Let us salute him.

[_Whilst they salute_ ANTONIO, _enters_ COUNT MACHIAVEL.

MACH. Ha! how close they strike, as if they heard

A winged thunderbolt [that] threaten'd his death,

And each ambitious were to lose his life;

So it might purchase him a longer being:

Their breath engenders like two peaceful winds,

That join a friendly league, and fill the air

With silken music;

I may pass by, and scarce be spar'd a look,

Or any else but young Antonio.

Rise from thy scorching den, thou soul of mischief!

My blood boils hotter than the poison'd flesh

Of Hercules cloth'd in the Centaur's shirt:

Swell me, revenge, till I become a hill,

High as Olympus' cloud-dividing top;

That I might fall, and crush them into air.

I'll observe.

[_Exit behind the hangings._

ANT. Command, I prythee, all[16]

This little world I'm master of contains,

And be assur'd 'tis granted; I have a life,

I owe to death; and in my country's cause I should----

FUL. Good sir, no more,

This ungrateful land owes you too much already.

ALER. And you still bind it in stronger bonds.

PAN. Your noble deeds that, like to thoughts, outstrip

The fleeting clouds, dash all our hopes of payment:

We are poor, but in unprofitable thanks;

Nay, that cannot rehearse enough your merit.

ANT. I dare not hear this; pardon, bashful ears,

For suffering such a scarlet to o'erspread

Your burning portals.

Gentlemen, your discourses taste of court,

They have a relish of known flattery;

I must deny to understand their folly:

Your pardon, I must leave you:

Modesty commands.

FUL. Your honour's vassals.

ANT. O good colonel, be more a soldier,

Leave compliments for those that live at ease,

To stuff their table-books; and o'er a board,

Made gaudy with some pageant, beside custards,

Whose quaking strikes a fear into the eaters,

Dispute 'em in a fashionable method.

A soldier's language should be (as his calling)

Rough, to declare he is a man of fire.

Farewell without the straining of a sinew,

No superstitious cringe! adieu!

[_Exit._

ALER. Is't not a hopeful lord?

Nature to him has chain'd the people's hearts;

Each to his saint offers a form of prayer

For young Antonio.

PAN. And in that loved name pray for the kingdom's good.

FUL. Count Machiavel!

_Enter_ MACHIAVEL _from behind the hangings_.

ALER. Let's away.

[_Exeunt_: _manet_ MACHIAVEL.

MACH. Heart, wilt not burst with rage, to see these slaves

Fawn like to whelps on young Antonio,

And fly from me as from infection? Death,

Confusion, and the list of all diseases, wait upon your lives

Till you be ripe for hell, which when it gapes,

May it devour you all: stay, Machi'vel,

Leave this same idle chat, it becomes woman

That has no strength, but what her tongue

Makes a monopoly; be more a man,

Think, think; in thy brain's mint

Coin all thy thoughts to mischief:

That may act revenge at full.

Plot, plot, tumultuous thoughts, incorporate;

Beget a lump, howe'er deform'd, that may at length,

Like to a cub lick'd by the careful dam,

Become (like to my wishes) perfect vengeance.

Antonio, ay, Antonio--nay, all,

Rather than lose my will, shall headlong fall

Into eternal ruin; my thoughts are high.

Death, sit upon my brow; let every frown

Banish a soul that stops me of a crown.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ EVADNE _and_ NURSE.

EVAD. The tailor yet return'd, nurse?

NUR. Madam, not yet.

EVAD. I wonder why he makes gowns so imperfect;

They need so many says.

NUR. Truly, in sooth, and in good deed, la, madam,

The stripling is in love: deep, deep in love.

EVAD. Ha!

Does his soul shoot with an equal dart

From the commanding bow of love's great god,

Keep passionate time with mine? or has

She spi'd my error to reflect with eager beams

Of thirsty love upon a tailor, being myself

Born high? [_Aside._]----I must know more--

In love, good nurse, with whom?

NUR. Truly, madam, 'tis a fortune,

Cupid, good lad--prais'd be his godhead for't,

Has thrown upon me, and I am proud on't;

O, 'tis a youth jocund as sprightly May,

One that will do discreetly with a wife,

Board her without direction from the stars,

Or counsel from the moon to do for physic;

No, he's a back;--O, 'tis a back indeed!

EVAD. Fie! this becomes you not.

NUR. Besides, he is of all that conquering calling,

A tailor, madam: O, 'tis a taking trade!

What chambermaid--with reverence may

I speak of those lost maidenheads--

Could long hold out against a tailor?

EVAD. Y' are uncivil.

NUR. What aged female, for

I must confess I am worn threadbare--

Would not be turn'd, and live a marriage life,

To purchase heaven?

EVAD. Heaven----

NUR. Yes, my dear madam, heaven; whither,

My most sweet lady, but to heaven? hell's a

Tailor's warehouse; he has the keys, and sits

In triumph cross-legg'd o'er the mouth:

It is no place of horror,

There's no flames made blue with brimstone;

But the bravest silks, so fashionable--

O, I do long to wear such properties!

EVAD. Leave your talk,

One knocks: go, see.

[_Knocks within._

NUR. O, 'tis my love! I come.

[_Exit._

EVAD. A tailor; fie! blush, my too tardy soul,

And on my brow place a becoming scorn,

Whose fatal sight may kill his mounting hopes.

Were he but one that, when 'twas said he's born,

Had been born noble, high,

Equal in blood to that our house boasts great;

I'd fly into his arms with as much speed

As an air-cutting arrow to the stake.

But, O, he comes! my fortitude is fled.

_Enter_ NURSE _and_ GIOVANNO _with a gown_.

GIO. Yonder she is, and walks, yet in sense strong enough to

maintain argument; she's under my cloak; for the best part of a

lady, as this age goes, is her clothes; in what reckoning ought

we tailors to be esteemed then, that are the master-workmen to

correct nature! You shall have a lady, in a dialogue with some

gallant touching his suit, the better part of man, so suck the

breath that names the skilful tailor, as if it nourished her.

Another Donna fly from the close embracements of her lord, to be

all-over-measured by her tailor. One will be sick, forsooth, and

bid her maid deny her to this don, that earl, the other marquis,

nay, to a duke; yet let her tailor lace and unlace her gown, so

round the skirts to fit her to the fashion. Here's one has in my

sight made many a noble don to hang the head, dukes and

marquises, three in a morning, break their fasts on her denials;

yet I, her tailor, blessed be the kindness of my loving stars, am

ushered; she smiles, and says I have stayed too long, and then

finds fault with some slight stitch, that eyelet-hole's too

close, then must I use my bodkin, 'twill never please else; all

will not do. I must take it home for no cause but to bring it her

again next morning. We tailors are the men, spite o' the proverb,

ladies cannot live without. It is we

That please them best in their commodity:

There's magic in our habits, tailors can

Prevail 'bove him honour styles best of man.

EVAD. Bid him draw near.

NUR. Come hither, love, sweet chuck:

My lady calls.

GIO. What means this woman? sure, she loves me too,

Tailors shall speed, had they no tongues to woo:

Women would sue to them.

[_Aside._]

EVAD. What, have you done it now?

GIO. Madam, your gown by my industry

Is purg'd of errors.

EVAD. Lord, what a neat methodical way you have

To vent your phrases; pray, when did you commence?

GIO. What mean you, madam?

EVAD. Doctor, I mean; you speak so physical.

NUR. Nay, madam, 'tis a youth, I praise my stars

For their kind influence, a woman may be proud on,

And I am.

O, 'tis a youth in print, a new Adonis.

And I could wish, although my glass tells me

I'm wondrous fair, I were a Venus for him.

GIO. O lady, you are more fairer by far.

NUR. La you there, madam!

GIO. Where art thou, man? art thou transform'd,

Or art thou grown so base, that

This ridiculous witch should think I love her?

[_Aside._]

EVAD. Leave us.

NUR. I go.

Duck, I'll be here anon;

I will, dove.

[_Exit._

GIO. At your best leisure.

Protect me, manhood, lest my glutted sense,

Feeding with such an eager appetite on

Your rare beauty, [and] breaking the sluices,

Burst into a flood of passionate tears.

I must, I will enjoy her, though a

Destroying clap from Jove's artillery were the reward:

And yet, dull-daring sir, by your favour, no,

He must be more than savage can attempt

To injure so much spotless innocence:

Pardon, great powers, the thought of such offence.

[_Aside._]

EVAD. When Sebastiano, clad in conquering steel,

And in a phrase able to kill, or from a coward's heart

Banish a thought of fear, woo'd me,

[He] won not so much on my captive soul

As this youth's silence does.

Help me, some power, out of this tangling maze,

I shall be lost else.

[_Aside._

GIO. Fear, to the breast of women; build

Thy throne on their soft hearts; mine must not be

Thy slave.--[_Aside._] Your pleasure, madam?

EVAD. I have a question must be directly answer'd;

No excuse, but from thy heart a truth.

GIO. Command me, madam; were it a secret,

On whose hinges hung the casements of my life,

Yet your command shall be obey'd to the least

Scruple.

EVAD. I take your word:

My aged nurse tells me you love her:

Answer; is't a truth?

GIO. She's jealous, I'll try;

As oracle.

EVAD. Ha!

GIO. 'Tis so, I'll further; I love her, madam,

With as rich a flame as anchorites

Do saints they offer prayers unto.

I hug her memory as I would embrace

The breath of Jove when it pronounced me

Happy, or prophet that should speak my

After-life great, even with adoration deified.

EVAD. My life, like to a bubble i' th' air,

Dissolv'd by some uncharitable wind,

Denies my body warmth: your breath

Has made me nothing.

[_She faints._

GIO. Rather let me lose all external being.

Madam, good madam.

EVAD. You say you love her.

GIO. Madam, I do.

Can any love the beauty of a stone,

Set by some curious artist in a ring,

But he must attribute some [virtue] to

The file that adds unto the lustre?

You appear like to a gem, cut by the

Steady hand of careful nature into such

Beauteous tablets, that dull art,

Famous in skilful flattery, is become

A novice in what fame proclaim'd him doctor;

He can't express one spark of your great lustre.

Madam, those beauties that, but studied on

By their admirers, are deifi'd, serve

But as spots to make your red and white

Envi'd of cloister'd saints.

EVAD. Have I, ungrateful man, like to the sun,

That from the heavens sends down his

Cherishing beams on some religious plant,

That with a bow, the worship of the

Thankful, pays the preserver of his life

And growth: but thou, unthankful man,

In scorn of me, to love a calendar of many

Years.[17]

GIO. Madam, upon my knees, a superstitious rite,

The Heathens us'd to pay their gods, I offer up

A life, that until now ne'er knew a price--

Made dear because you love it.

EVAD. Arise;

It is a ceremony due unto none but heaven.

GIO. Here I'll take root, and grow into my grave,

Unless, dear goddess, you forget to be

Cruel to him adores you with a zeal,

Equal to that of hermits.

EVAD. I believe you, and thus exchange a devout vow

Humbly upon my knees, that, though the

Thunder of my brother's rage should force divorce,

Yet in my soul to love you; witness all

The wing'd inhabitants of the highest heaven!

GIO. If sudden lightning, such as vengeful Jove

Clears the infectious air with, threaten'd to scorch

My daring soul to cinders, if I

Did love you, lady, I would love you, spite

Of the dogged fates or any power those curs'd

Hags set to oppose me.

_To them enter_ NURSE.

EVAD. Be thyself again.

NUR. Madam, your brother.

EVAD. Fie! you have done it ill; our brother, say you?

Pray you, take it home and mend it.

GIO. Madam, it shall be done; I take my leave.

Love, I am made thy envy; I am he

This vot'ress prays unto, as unto thee:

Tailors are more than men; and here's the odds:

They make fine ladies: ladies make them gods:

And so they are not men, but far above them.

This makes the tailors proud; then ladies love them.

[_Exit._

ANTONIO _meets him_.

ANT. What's he that pass'd?

EVAD. My tailor.

ANT. There's something in his face I (sure) should know.

But, sister, to your beads; pray for distress'd Seville;

Whilst I mount some watchtower,

To o'erlook our enemies: religion's laws

Command me fight for my lov'd country's cause.

[_Exit._

EVAD. Love bids me pray, and on his altars make

A sacrifice for my lov'd tailor's sake.

[_Exit._

_Alarum._ _Enter_ RAYMOND, PHILIPPA, LEONIS, GILBERTI, _and_

FIRENZO.

RAY. Stand.

LEO. Stand.

GIL. Stand.

FIR. Give the word through the army, stand there.

WITHIN. Stand, stand, stand, stand, ho!

RAY. Bid the drum cease, whilst we embrace our love:

Come, my Philippa, like the twins of war,

Lac'd in our steelly corselets, we're become

The envy of those brain-begotten gods

Mouldy antiquity lifted to heaven;

Thus we exchange our breath.

[_Kiss._

PHIL. My honour'd lord,

Duty commands, I pay it back again.

'Twill waste me into smoke else.

Can my body retain that breath that would

Consume an army dress'd in a rougher habit?

Pray, deliver (come, I'm a gentle thief)

The breath you stole.

[_He kisses her._

RAY. Restore back mine. [_She kisses him._] So, go,

pitch our tent, we'll

Have a combat i' th' field of love with thee

Philippa, ere we meet the foe: thou art

A friendly enemy. How say you, lords?

Does not my love appear

Like to the issue of the brain of Jove,

Governess of arms and arts, Minerva!

Or a selected beauty from a troop of Amazons?

LORDS. She is a mine of valour.

PHIL. Lords, spare your praises till, like Bradamant,

The mirror of our sex, I make the foe

Of France and us crouch like a whelp,

Awed by the heaving of his master's hand;

My heart runs through my arm, and when I deal

A blow, it sinks a soul.

My sword flies nimbler than the bolts of Jove,

And wounds as deep. Spain, thy proud host shall feel

Death has bequeath'd his office to my steel.

RAY. Come on, brave lords; upon your general's word,

Philippa loves no parley like the sword.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ GIOVANNO, OLD TAILOR, VERMIN, _and two more_.

GIO. Come, bullies, come; we must forsake the use of nimble

shears, and now betake us to our Spanish needles, stiletto

blades, and prove the proverb lies, lies in his throat: one

tailor can erect sixteen, nay more, of upstart gentlemen, known

by their clothes, and leave enough materials in hell to damn a

broker.

O. TAI. We must to the wars, my boys.

VER. How, master, to the wars?

O. TAI. Ay, to the wars, Vermin; what say'st thou to that?

VER. Nothing, but that I had rather stay at home: O, the good

penny-bread at breakfasts that I shall lose! Master, good master,

let me alone to live with honest John, noble John Black.

2D TAI. Wilt thou disgrace thy worthy calling, Vermin?

VER. No, but I am afraid my calling will disgrace me: I shall be

gaping for my morning's loaf and dram of ale, I shall; and now

and then look for a cabbage-leaf or an odd remnant to clothe my

bashful buttocks.

O. TAI. You shall.

VER. Yes, marry; why, I hope poor Vermin must be fed, and will be

fed, or I'll torment you.

GIO. Master, I take privilege from your love to hearten on my

fellows.

O. TAI. Ay, ay, do, do, good boy.

[_Exit._

GIO. Come, my bold fellows, let us eternise,

For our country's good, some noble act,

That may by time be regist'red at full:

And as the year renews, so shall our fame

Be fresh to after-times: the tailor's name,

So much trod under and the scorn of all,

Shall by this act be high, whilst others fall.

3D TAI. Come, Vermin, come.

VER. Nay, if Vermin slip from the back of a tailor, spit him with

a Spanish needle: or torment him in the louse's engine--your two

thumb-nails.

[_Exit all but_ GIOVANNO.

GIO. The city's sieged, and thou thus chain'd

In airy fetters of a lady's love!

It must not be: stay, 'tis Evadne's love;

Her life is with the city ruined, if

The French become victorious:

Evadne must not die: her chaster name,

That once made cold, now doth my blood inflame.

[_Exit._

ACT II., SCENE 1.

_A table and chairs._

_Enter_ (_after a shout crying_ ANTONIO) _the_ GOVERNOR _and_

COUNT MACHIAVEL.

GOV. Hell take their spacious throats! we shall ere long

Be pointed as a prodigy!

Antonio is the man they load with praise,

And we stand as a cypher to advance

Him by a number higher.

MACH. Now, Mach'vel, plot his ruin.

[_Aside._

It is not to be borne; are not you our

Master's substitute? then why should he

Usurp a privilege without your leave

To preach unto the people a doctrine

They ought not hear?

He incites 'em not to obey your charge,

Unless it be to knit a friendly league

With the opposing French, laying before 'em

A troop of feigned dangers will ensue,

If we do bid 'em battle.

GOV. Dares he do this?

MACH. 'Tis done already;

Smother your anger, and you shall see here

At the council-board he'll break into a

Passion, which [_Aside_] I'll provoke him to.

_To them_ ANTONIO, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, _and_ PANDOLPHO: _they

sit in council_.

GOV. Never more need, my worthy partners in

The dangerous brunts of iron war, had we

Of counsel: the hot-reined French, led by

That haughty Moor, upon whose sword sits victory

Enthroned, daily increase;

And, like the army of another Xerxes,

Make the o'erburthen'd earth groan at their weight.

We cannot long hold out; nor have we hope

Our royal master can raise up their siege,

Ere we be forc'd to yield:

My lord, your counsel; 'tis a desperate grief.

MACH. And must, my lord, find undelay'd release?

Noble commanders, since that war's grim god,

After our sacrifice of many lives,

Neglects our offerings, and repays our service

With loss; 'tis good to deal with policy.

He's no true soldier, that deals heedless blows

With the endangering of his life; and may

Walk in a shade of safety, yet o'erthrow

His towering enemy.

Great Alexander made the then known world

Slave to his powerful will more by the help

Of politic wit

Than by the rough compulsion of the sword.

Troy, that endur'd the Grecians ten years' siege,

By policy was fir'd, and became like to

A lofty beacon all on flame.

GOV. Hum, hum!

MACH. Suppose the French be mark'd for conquerors?

Stars have been cross'd, when at a natural birth

They dart prodigious beams; their influence,

Like to the flame of a new-lighted taper,

Has with the breath of policy been blown

Out,--even to nothing.

FUL. Hum, hum!

ALER. This has been studied.

[_Aside._]

PAN. He's almost out.

[_Aside._]

GOV. Good.

But to the matter. You counsel?

MACH. 'Tis this, my lord,

That straight, before the French have pitched their tents,

Or rais'd a work before our city walls--

As yet their ships have not o'erspread the sea--

We send a regiment, that may with speed

Land on the marshes, and begirt their backs,

Whilst we open our gates, and with a strong assault

Force 'em retreat into the arms of death:

So the revengeful earth shall be their tomb,

That did erewhile trample her teeming womb.

GOV. Machiavel speaks oracle; what says Antonio?

ANT. Nothing.

GOV. How?

ANT. Nothing.

MACH. It takes; revenge,

I hug thee; young lord, thou art lost.

[_Aside._

GOV. Speak, Antonio, your counsel.

ANT. Nothing.

GOV. How?

ANT. So;

And could my wish obtain a sudden grant

From yon tribunal, I would crave my senses

Might be all steeped in Lethe, to forget

What Machiavel has spoken.

MACH. Ha! it takes unto my wish.

[_Aside._

Why, Antonio?

ANT. Because you speak

Not like a man, that were possess'd with a

Mere soldier's heart, much less a soul guarded

With subtle sinews. O madness! can there be

In nature such a prodigy, so senseless,

So much to be wondered at,

As can applaud or lend a willing ear

To that my blushes do betray? I've been

Tardy to hear your childish policy.

GOV. Antonio, you're too bold; this usurp'd liberty

To abuse a man of so much merit is not

Seemly in you: nay, I'll term it sauciness.

ANT. Nay, then, my lord, I claim the privilege

Of a councillor, and will object.

This my prophetic fear whisper'd my heart:

When from a watchtow'r I beheld the French

Erect their spears which, like a mighty grove,

Denied my eyes any other object:

The tops show'd by a stolen reflection from

The sun like diamonds, or as the glorious

Gilder of the day should deign a lower visit.

Then my warm blood, that used to play like

Summer, felt a change; grey-bearded winter

Froze my very soul, till I became,

Like the Pyrenian hills, wrapp'd in a robe of ice:

My arctic[18] fears froze me into a statue.

ALER. Cowardly Antonio!

FUL. I have lost my faith,

And can behold him now without a wonder.

GOV. Antonio, y' are too long, and rack our patience;

Your counsel?

ANT. I fear'd--but what? not our proud enemies:

No, did they burthen all our Spanish world,

And I, poor I, only surviv'd to threat defiance

In the mounseers'[19] teeth, and stand defendant

For my country's cause, naked, unarm'd,

I'd through their bragging host, and pay my life

A sacrifice to death for my loved country's safety.

ALER. Fulgentio, thou hast not lost

Thy faith?

[_Aside._]

FUL. No, I'm reform'd; he's valiant.

[_Aside._]

GOV. Antonio, your counsel?

MACH. Ay, your counsel?

ANT. Our foes increase to an unreckon'd number;

We less than nothing, since we have no hope

To arrive a number, that may cope with

Half their army.

'Tis my counsel we strike a league:

'Tis wisdom to sue peace, where powerful fate

Threatens a ruin: lest [we] repent too late.

FUL. 'Tis god-like counsel.

[_Aside._

ALER. And becomes the tongue of young Antonio.

[_Aside._

GOV. Antonio, let me tell you, you have lost

Your valiant heart; I can with safety now

Term you a coward.

ANT. Ha!

GOV. Nay, more,

Since by your oratory you strive

To rob your country of a glorious conquest,

That may to after-times beget a fear,

Even with the thought should awe the trembling

World, you are a traitor.

ANT. Ha! my lord! coward and traitor! 'tis a damned lie,

And in the heart of him dares say't again

I'll write his error.

MACH. 'Tis as I would have't.

[_Aside._

FUL. Noble Antonio!

[_Aside._

ALER. Brave-spirited lord!

[_Aside._

FUL. The mirror of a soldier!

[_Aside._

GOV. O, are you mov'd, sir? has the deserved name

Of traitor prick'd you?

ANT. Deserv'd?

GOV. Yes.

MACH. Yes.

ANT. Machiavel, thou liest; hadst thou a heart

Of harden'd steel, my powerful arm

Should pierce it.

[_They fight all in a confused manner_: ANTONIO _kills the_

GOVERNOR, MACHIAVEL _falls_.

ALER. The governor

Slain by Antonio's hand?

FUL. No, by the hand of justice; fly, fly, my lord!

ALER. Send for a chirurgeon to dress Count Machiavel:

He must be now our governor; the king

Signed it in the dead governor's commission.

[_Exeunt._

ANT. Now I repent too late my rash contempt:

The horror of a murtherer will still

Follow my guilty thoughts, fly where I will.

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

MACH. I'm wounded; else, coward Antonio,

Thou shouldst not fly from my revengeful arm:

But may my curses fall upon thy head,

Heavy as thunder! may'st thou die

Burthen'd with ulcerous sins, whose very weight

May sink thee down to hell,

Beneath the reach of smooth-fac'd mercy's arm!

[_A shout within, crying_ ANTONIO.

Confusion choke your rash officious throats!

And may that breath that speaks his loathed name

Beget a plague, whose hot infectious air

May scald you up to blisters, which foretel

A purge of life! Up, Machiavel,

Thou hast thy will, howe'er cross fate

Divert the people's hearts; they must perforce

Sue to that shrine our liking shall erect.

The governor is dead, Antonio's lost

To anything but death; 'tis our glad fate

To gripe the staff of what we look'd for--state.

My blood's ambitious, and runs through my veins,

Like nimble water through a leaden pipe

Up to some barren mountain. I must have more;

All wealth, in my thoughts, to a crown is poor.

_Enter_ GIOVANNO, EVADNE, _and_ NURSE.

GIO. 'Tis a neat gown, and fashionable, madam; is't not, love?

NUR. Upon my virginity, wonderful handsome: dear, when we are

married, I'll have such a one; shall I not, chicken, ha?

GIO. What else, kind nurse?

NUR. Truly you tailors are the most sanctified members of a

kingdom: how many crooked and untoward bodies have you set

upright, that they go now so straight in their lives and

conversation, as the proudest on them all?

GIO. That's certain, none prouder.

EVAD. How mean you, sir?

GIO. Faith, madam, your crooked movables in artificial bodies,

that rectify the deformity of nature's overplus, as bunching

backs: or scarcity, as scanty shoulders--are the proudest

creatures; you shall have them jet it with an undaunted boldness;

for the truth is, what they want in substance they have in air:

they will scold the tailor out of his art, and impute the defect

of nature to his want of skill, though his labour make her

appearance pride-worthy.

NUR. Well said, my bird's-nye, stand for the credit of tailors

whilst thou livest; wilt thou not, chuck? Ha, say'st thou, my

dear?

GIO. I were ungrateful else.

EVAD. Nurse, pray leave us, your presence makes your sweetheart

negligent of what he comes about; pray, be won to leave us here.

NUR. Madam, your will's obey'd:

Yet I can hardly pass from thee, my love,

At such a sudden warning.

GIO. Your eager love may be termed dotage;

For shame! confine[20] yourself to less expressions,

[And] leave my lady.

NUR. A kiss, and then I go; so, farewell, my duck.

[_Exit._

GIO. Death, she has left a scent to poison me;

Love her, said she? is any man so mad to hug a disease,

Or embrace a colder image than Pygmalion's,

Or play with the bird of

Frosty antiquity? not I:

Her gums stink worse than a pest-house,

And more danger of infecting.

[_Aside._

As I'm a mortal tailor, and your servant, madam,

Her breath has tainted me: I dare not salute

Your ladyship.

EVAD. Come, you are loth to part with't, 'tis so sweet.

GIO. Sweet, say you, madam? a muster of diseases

Can't smell worse than her rotten teeth.

Excuse my boldness, to defer your longing;

Thus I am new-created with your breath.

[_Kisses._

My gaping pores will ne'er be satisfied.

Again!--they still are hungry.

EVAD. My dear friend, let not thy lovely person

March with the scolding peace-affrighting drum:

War is too cruel: come, I'll chain

You here--here in my arms; and stifle you

With kisses; you sha' not go--by this, you sha' not go.

GIO. By this, I must.

[_He kisses her._

EVAD. I'll smother that harsh breath.

[_She kisses him._

GIO. Again I countercheck it.

[_Kiss._

_Enter_ ANTONIO, _as pursued; he sees them, and stands

amazed_.

ANT. O sister! ha!

What killing sight is this? cannot be she.

Sister.

EVAD. O my dear friend, my brother! w' are undone.

ANT. Degenerate girl, lighter than wind or air!

Canst thou forget thy birth? or, 'cause thou'rt fair,

Art privileg'd, dost think, with such a zeal

To grasp an under-shrub? dare you exchange

Breath with your tailors without fear of vengeance

From the disturbed ghosts of our dead parents,

For their blood's injury? or are your favours

Grown prostitute to all? my unkind fate

Grieves me not half so much as thee forgetful.

GIO. Sir, if on me this language, I must tell you,

You are too rash to censure. My unworthiness,

That makes me[21] seem so ugly in your eyes,

Perhaps hangs in these clothes, and's shifted off with them.

I am as noble, but that I hate to make

Comparisons, as any you can think worthy

To be call'd her husband.

ANT. Shred of a slave, thou liest!

GIO. Sir, I am hasty too; yet, in the presence of

My mistress [I] can use a temper.

ANT. [O] brave! your mistress!

_Enter_ MACHIAVEL _with Officers_.

MACH. Lay hold on him!

Ere we presume to meet the enemy,

We'll purge the city; lest the wrath of Heaven

Fall heavy on us. Antonio, I arrest thee

Of capital treason 'gainst the king and realm.

To prison with him!

EVAD. O my lost brother!

GIO. 'Tis but an error; treason, d'ye call it, to kill

The governor in heat of blood, and not intended?

For my Evadne's sake, something I'll do

Shall save his life.

[_Exit._

MACH. To prison with him!

ANT. Farewell, Evadne, as thou lovest the peace

Of our dead ancestors, cease to love

So loath'd a thing; a tailor!

Why, 'tis the scorn of all; therefore be rul'd

By thy departing brother, do not mix

With so much baseness.

Come, officers, bear me e'en where you please,

My oppress'd conscience nowhere can have ease.

[_Exit with Officers._

MACH. Lady, we here enjoin you to

Your chamber

As a prisoner, to wait a further censure;

Your brother's fault has pull'd a punishment

Upon your head, which you must suffer.

EVAD. E'en what you please, your tyranny can't bear

A shape so bad to make Evadne fear:

Strong innocence shall guard my afflicted soul,

Whose constancy shall tyranny control.

[_Exeunt. A noise within, crying Rescue, rescue! Enter_

ANTONIO _and Guard; to them_ GIOVANNO _and_ TAILORS,

_and rescue him, and beat them off_.

_Enter an_ OFFICER, _meeting_ MACHIAVEL.

OFF. A troop of tailors by force have ta'en

Antonio from us, and have borne him (spite

Of the best resistance we could make) unto some

Secret place; we cannot find him.

MACH. Screech-owl, dost know what thou hast said?

Death! find him, or you die! O my cross stars!

He must not live to torture our vex'd sense,

But die; though he'd no fault but innocence.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ GIOVANNO, ANTONIO, _and the_ OLD TAILOR.

GIO. Can this kindness merit your love?

Do I deserve your sister?

ANT. My sister! worthy tailor, 'tis a gift lies not in me to

give: ask something else, 'tis thine, although it be gained with

the quite extinguishing of this--this breath you gave me.

GIO. Have not I----

ANT. Speak no further; I confess you have been all unto me, life

and being; I breathe but with your licence: will no price buy out

your interest in me but her love? I tell thee, tailor, I have

blood runs in me, Spain cannot match for greatness next her

kings. Yet, to requite thy love, I'll call thee friend; be thou

Antonio's friend--a favour nobles have thirsted for: will this

requite thee?

GIO. Sir, this may, but----

ANT. My sister, thou wouldst say, most worthy tailor; she's not

mine to give; honour spake in my dying father: 'tis a sentence

that's registered here in Antonio's heart--I must not wed her but

to one in blood calls honour father. Prythee, be my friend;

forget I have a sister; in love I'll be more than a brother,

though not to mingle blood.

GIO. May I not call her mistress?

ANT. As a servant, far from the thoughts of wedlock.

GIO. I'm yours, friend: I am proud on't; you shall find

That, though a tailor, I've an honest mind.

Pray, master, help my lord unto a suit; his life

Lies at your mercy.

1ST TAI. I'll warrant you.

ANT. But for thy men.

1ST TAI. O, they are proud in that they rescu'd you,

And my blood of honour; since you are pleas'd

To grace the now declining trade of tailors

By being shrouded in their homely clothes,

And deck a shop-board with your noble person;

The taunting scorns the foul-mouth'd world can throw

Upon our needful calling shall be answered:

They injure honour, since your honour is a

Noble practitioner in our mystery.

GIO. Cheer up, Antonio, take him in.

The rest will make him merry; I'd go try

The temper of a sword upon some shield

That guards a foe. Pray for my good success.

[_Exit._

1ST TAI. Come, come, my lord, leave melancholy

To hired slaves, that murther at a price:

Yours was----

ANT. No more: flatter not [so] my sin.

1ST TAI. You are too strict a convertite; let's in.

[_Exit._

_After a confused noise within, enter_ RAYMOND,

LEONIS, GILBERTI, _hastily_.

RAY. What means this capering echo?

Or whence did this so lively counterfeit

Of thunder break out [in] to liberty?

GIL. 'Tis from the city.

RAY. It cannot be their voice should outroar Jove;

Our army, like a basilisk, has struck

Death through their eyes; our number, like a wind,

Broke from the icy prison of the north,

Has froze the portals to their shivering hearts;

They scarce have breath enough to speak't

They live.

[_A shout within._

GIL. 'Tis certainly from thence.

LEO. Y' are deceived, poor Spaniards! Fear

Has chang'd their elevated gait to a dejection:

They're planet-struck.

RAY. 'Tis from our jocund fleet, my genius prompts me;

They have already plough'd th' unruly seas,

And with their breasts, proof 'gainst the battering

Waves, dash'd the big billows into angry froth,

And, spite of the contentious foul-mouth'd gods

Of sea and wind, have reach'd the city frontiers,

And [have] begirt her navigable skirts.

Again! 'tis so.

[_Again within._

GIL. My creed's another way;

I have no faith but to the city.

_Alarum._ _Enter a_ SOLDIER _bloody_.

LEO. Here's one:

Now we shall know. Ha! he appears

Like one compos'd of horror.

RAY. What speaks thy troubled front?

LEO. Speak, crimson meteor.

RAY. Speak, prodigy, or on my sword thou fall'st.

SOL. The bold Spaniards, setting aside all cold acknowledgment of

any odds, or notice of the number our army is made proud with,

sends from their walls more lightning than great Jove affrights

the trembling world with, when the air is turn'd to mutiny.

RAY. Villain, thou liest; 'twere madness to believe thee. Foolish

Spain may, like those giants that heap hill on hill, mountain on

mountain, to pluck Jove from heaven, who with a hand of vengeance

flung 'em down beneath the centre, and those cloud-contemning

mounts heav'd by the strength of their ambitious arms, became

their monuments; so Spain's rash folly from this arm of mine

shall find their graves amongst the rubbish of their ruin'd

cities.

_Enter a second_ SOLDIER.

What, another! thy hasty news?

2D MESS. The daring enemies have through their gates made a

victorious sally: all our troops have jointly, like the dust

before the wind, made a dishonoured flight. Hark!

[_Alarum within._]

The conquering foe makes hitherward.

RAY. Run to my tent, fetch my Philippa, slave. Why movest thou

not?

2D MESS. The enemy's upon us.

RAY. Shall I send thy coward soul down the vaults of horror? Fly,

villain, or thou diest!

[_Strikes him._

_Alarum._ _Enter_ MACHIAVEL, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, PANDOLPHO,

_with_ PHILIPPA _prisoner_, GIOVANNO _with_ TAILOR.

MACH. Let one post to my castle, and conduct

My lady; tell her I have a prisoner would become

Proud in her forc'd captivity, to wait

Upon her beauty: fly, let not the tardy clouds outsail thee.

PHIL. Canst thou, proud man, think that Philippa's heart

Is humbled with her fortunes? No, didst thou

Bring all the rough tortures

From the world's childhood to this hour invented,

And on my resolute body, proof against pain,

Practis'd Sicilian tyranny, my giant thoughts

Should, like a cloud of wind-contemning smoke,

Mingle with heaven:

And not a look so base as to be pitied

Shall give you cause of triumph.

ALER. 'Fore heaven, a fiery girl.

FUL. A masculine spirit.

PAN. An Amazon.

RAY. See, my Philippa, her rich colour's fled, and like that soul

The furrow-fronted fates have made an anvil

To forge diseases on, she's lost herself

With her fled beauty; yet, pale as she stands,

She adds more glory to our churlish foe,

Than bashful Titan to the eastern world.

Spaniards, she is a conquest; Rome,

When her two-neck'd eagles aw'd the world,

Would have swum through her[22] own blood to purchase:

Nor must you enjoy that gem the superstitious gods

Would quarrel for, but through my heart.

Courage, brave friends, they're valiant that can fly

I' th' mouth of danger; 'tis they win, though die.

GIO. This Moor speaks truth,

Wrapp'd in a voice of thunder.

RAY. Speak, my Philippa, what untutor'd slave

Durst lay a rugged hand upon thy softness?

PHIL. 'Twas the epitome of Hercules:

No big Colossus, yet for strength far bigger:

A little person, great with matchless valour.

RAY. What pains thou takest to praise

Thine enemy!

PHIL. 'Twere sin to rob him that has wasted so his blood for

praise: this noble soldier, he 'twas made me captive; nor can he

boast 'twas in an easy combat; for my good sword, now ravish'd

from mine arm, forc'd crimson drops that, like a gory sweat,

buried his manly body in oblivion: those that were skill'd in his

effigies, as drunk with Lethe, had forgot 'twas he; till by the

drawing of the rueful curtain, they saw in him their error.

RAY. A common soldier, owner of a strength worthy

Such praise? Dares he cope with the

French general single?

PHIL. My lord, you must strike quick and sure.

RAY. Why pause you? my Philippa must not stay

Captivity's infection.

MACH. We have the day.

RAY. Not till you conquer me: which if my arm

Be not by witchcraft robb'd of his late strength,

Shall spin your labour to an ample length.

MACH. Upon him, then.

GIO. Odds is dishonourable combat: my lads,

Lets one to one; I am for the Moor.

ALER. Thee!

FUL. Tailor, you are too saucy.

GIO. Saucy?

ALER. Untutor'd groom, mechanic slave!

GIO. You have protection by the governor's presence,

Else, my plum'd estridges,[23] 'tis not your feathers,

More weighty than your beads, should stop

My vengeance, but I'd text my wrong

In bloody characters upon your pamper'd flesh.

FUL. You would?

GIO. By heaven, I would!

FUL. You'd be advis'd, and render up your life

A sacrifice to patience.

GIO. Musk-cat, I'd make your civet worship stink

First in your perfumed buff.

ALER. Phlegmatic slave!

GIO. Bloodless commanders.

FUL. }

PAN. } How?

ALER. }

GIO. So.

FUL. }

PAN. } Let's reward his boldness.

ALER. }

[_They fall upon_ GIOVANNO.

MACH. Whence this rashness?

RAY. Bless'd occasion! let's on 'em.

[_The French whisper. The French fly upon 'em: they turn to

their Guard, and beat 'em off._

ACT III., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ MACHIAVEL, FULGENTIO, PANDOLPHO, ALERZO, GIOVANNO,

_with_ RAYMOND _prisoner, and the rest of the_ TAILORS.

ALL THE TAI. A tailor, a tailor, a tailor!

GIO. Raymond, y' are now my prisoner:

Blind chance has favour'd, where your thoughts

Had hope she meant to ruin

From our discord, which Heaven has made victorious,

You meant to strike a harmony should glad you.

ALER. 'Tis not to be borne: a tailor!

[_Whisper._

FUL. 'Twas an affront galls me to think on't: besides,

His saucy valour might have ruin'd all

Our forward fortunes, had the French been stronger:

Let him be banish'd.

MACH. It shall be so;

My fears are built on grounds,

Stronger than Atlas' shoulders: this same tailor

Retains a spirit like the lost Antonio;

Whose sister we will banish in pretence

Of love to justice; 'tis a good snare to trap

The vulgar hearts: his and her goods, to gild

My lawless doings, I'll give the poor, whose tongues

Are i' their bellies; which being full,

Is tipp'd with heartless prayers; but, empty,

A falling planet is less dangerous; they'll down

To hell for curses. You tailor!

GIO. My lord.

MACH. Deliver up your prisoner.

GIO. Y' are obey'd.

MACH. So: now we command, on forfeit of thy life,

You be not seen on any ground

Our master's title circles within three days:

Such a factious spirit we must not nourish;

Lest, like the fabl'd serpent, [once] grown warm

In your conceited worth, you sting

Your country's breast, that nurs'd your valour.

GIO. This my reward?

ALER. More than thy worth deserves.

GIO. Pomander-box, thou liest!

FUL. Go purge yourself; your country vomits you.

GIO. Slaves, y' are not worth my anger.

FUL. Go vent your spleen 'mongst satires; pen a

Pamphlet, and call't the "Scourge of Greatness."

ALER. Or "Spain's Ingratitude."

GIO. Ye are not worth my breath,

Else I should curse you; but I must weep,

Not that I part from thee, unthankful Spain,

But my Evadne: well, it must be so:

Heart, keep thy still tough temper, spite of woe.

[_Exit._

MACH. My house shall be your prison. Attend 'em, colonel.

[_Exeunt_ RAYMOND, PHILIPPA, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, PANDOLPHO,

GIOVANNO,[24] &c. _Manent_ TAILORS.

FUL. Please you walk.

1ST. TAI. My servant banish'd?

3D TAI. Famish'd, master? nay, faith, and a tailor come to be

famish'd, 'tis a hard world: no bread in this world here, ho, to

save the renown'd corpse of a tailor from famishing! 'Tis no

matter for drink: give me bread.

2D TAI. Thou hast a gut would swallow a peck-loaf.

3D TAI. Ay, marry would it with vantage; I tell truth, and, as

the proverb says, shame the devil; if our hell afford a devil,

but I see none, unless he appear in a delicious remnant of nim'd

satin, and, by my faith, that's a courteous devil that suffers

the brokers to hang him in their ragged wardrobe; and used to

sell his devilship for money: I tell truth. A tailor, and lie?

faith, I scorn that.

1ST TAI. Leave your discovery.

3D TAI. Master, a traveller, you know, is famous for lying; and

having travelled as far as hell, may not I make description of

the unknown land?

1ST TAI. My brain is busy, Sebastiano must not tread an unknown

land to find a grave. Unfortunate Sebastiano! First to lose

thyself in a disguise, unfitting for thy birth, and then thy

country for thy too much valour:

There's danger in being virtuous in this age

Led by those sinful actors; the plunged stage

Of this vice-bearing world would headlong fall,

But charitable virtue bears up all.

I must invent: I ha't so:--

As he's a tailor, he is banish'd Spain,

As Sebastiano, 'tis revok'd again.

[_Exit cum suis._

_Enter_ MACHIAVEL _solus_.

MACH. How subtle are my springes! they take all

With what swift speed unto my chaffy bait

Do all fowls fly unto their hasty ruin?

Clap, clap your wings and flutter, greedy fools,

Whilst I laugh at your folly; I have a wire

Set for the Moor and his ambitious consort;

Which if my wife would second, they are sure.

_Enter_ AURISTELLA.

AUR. What must she second?

MACH. Art thou there, my love?

We're in a path that leads us to a height,

We may confront the sun, and with a breath

Extinguish common stars; be but thou rul'd,

The light, that does create day to this city,

Must be deriv'd from us.

AUR. You fire my soul,

And to my airy wings add quicker feathers:

What task would not I run to be call'd queen?

Did the life-blood of all our family,

Father and mother, stand as a quick wall

To stop my passage to a throne,

I'd with a poignard ope their azure veins,

And squeeze their active blood up into clods,

Till they become as cold as winter's snow;

And as a bridge upon their trunks I'd go.

MACH. Our souls are twins, and thirst with equal heat

For deity: kings are in all things gods,

Saving mortality.

AUR. To be a queen, what danger would I run!

I'd spend my life like to a barefoot nun,

So I might sit above the lesser stars

Of small nobility, but for a day.

MACH. 'Tis to be done, sweet love, a nearer way:

I have already with the sugar'd baits

Of justice, liberality, and all

The fox-like gins that subtle statesmen set

To catch the hearts o' th' giddy multitude:

Which, if it fail, as cautious policy

Forbids, I build too strongly on their drunk,

Uncertain votes. I'd have thee break with my

Great prisoner's wife, as I will do with him;

Promise (the states equal divided) half

Himself shall rule:

So that if need compel us to take arms,

We may have forces from the realm of France,

To seat us in the chair of government.

AUR. I never shall endure to walk as equal

With proud Philippa, no; my ambitious soul

Boils in a thirsty flame of total glory:

I must be all without a second flame

To dim our lustre.

MACH. Still my very soul!

Think'st thou I can endure competitor,

Or let an Ethiop sit by Machiavel's side

As partner in his honour? no, as I

Have seen i' the commonwealth of players,

One that did act the Theban Creon's part:

With such a life I became ravish'd, and on

Raymond mean to plot what he did on

The cavilling boys of Oedipus,

Whilst we grasp the whole dignity.

AUR. As how, sweet Machiavel?

MACH. It is not ripe, my love.

The king, I hear, applauds my justice;

Wherefore I've sent order that Count Antonio,

Once being taken, be sent to Filford Mill;

There ground to death.

AUR. What for his sister?

MACH. Thy envy: she I have banish'd;

And her goods, to guard a shower of curses

From my head, I have given the poor.

AUR. Good policy, let's home to our designs:

I hate to be officious, yet my frown

Shall be dissolv'd to flattery for a crown.

[_Exit._

MACH. Attend your lady. So, her forward spleen,

Tickled with thought of greatness makes the scene

Attempts run smooth: the haughty Moor shall be

The ladder, on whose servile back I'll mount

To greatness. If calm peace deny me easy way,

Rough war shall force it; which done, Raymond

And his Philippa must go seek an empire in

Elysium; for to rule predominant belongs

Alone to me: slaves are unworthy rule,

What state would set a crown upon a mule?

[_Exit._

ANTONIO, _disguised, sitting in a closet_.

ANT. My soul is heavy, and my eyelids feel

The weighty power of lazy Morpheus:

Each element, that breathes a life within me,

Runs a contrary course, and conspire[s]

To counterfeit a chaos: whilst the frame

And weak supporters of my inward man

Crack as beneath the weight of Atlas' burthen.

A sudden change! how my blear'd eyelids strive

To force a sleep 'gainst nature! O you powers,

That rule the better thoughts, if you have ought

To act on my frail body, let it be

With eagles' speed, or, if your wills so please,

Let my forepass'd and undigested wrongs

O'erwhelm my thoughts, and sink me to the ground

With their no less than death's remembrances.

Cease, bastard slave, to clog my senses

With the leaden weights of an unwilling sleep,

Unless thy raw-bon'd brother join his force,

And make a separation 'twixt

My airy soul and my all-earthly body;

I am o'ercome; Heaven work your wills;

My breath submits to this, as 'twould submit to death.

[_Sleeps._

_Soft music_; LOVE _descends half-way, then speaks_.

LOVE. Sleep, entranced man, but be

Wakeful in thy fancy; see,

Love hath left his palace fair,

And beats his wings against the air,

To ease thy panting breast of ill:

Love's a physician, and his[25] will

Must be obey'd: therefore with haste

To Flanders fly; the echoing blast

Of fame shall usher thee along,

And leave thee pester'd in a throng

Of searching troubles, which shall be

But bugbears to thy constancy.

_Enter from one side Death, and from the other side_ AURELIA;

_Death strikes three times at_ ANTONIO, _and_ AURELIA

_diverts it_. _Exeunt severally._

What this same shadow seems to be,

In Flanders thou shalt real see;

The maid that seem'd to conquer death,

And give thee longer lease of breath,

Doats on thy air; report hath been

Lavish in praising thee unseen.

Make haste to Flanders; time will be

Accus'd of slothfulness, if she

Be longer tortur'd: do not stay,

My power shall guide thee on the way.

[_Ascendat._[26]

_Enter_ GIOVANNO _and the_ OLD TAILOR.

GIO. He is asleep.

O. TAI. See how he struggles, as if some visions had

Assum'd a fuller shape of horror than

His troubled thoughts.[27]

GIO. His conscience gripes him to [a] purpose:

See, [see,] he wakes; let us observe.

ANT. Stay, gentle pow'r, leave hostage that thy promise

Thou wilt perform, and I will offer to

Thy deity

More than my lazy heart has offer'd yet.

But stay, Antonio, can thy easy faith

Give credit to a dream? an airy vision,

Fram'd by a strangeling[28] fancy, to delude weak sense

With a gay nothing? Recollect thyself;

Advise thee by thy fears; it may force hence

This midnight's shade of grief, and gild

It with a morn as full of joy as does

Bright Phoebus to our eastern world, when blushing

He arises from the lap of sea-green Thetis

To give a new day birth.

GIO. Why, how now, friend? what, talking to thyself?

ANT. O Giovanno, 'tis my unpartial thoughts,

That rise in war against my guilty conscience;

O, it stings me!

O. TAI. Be more a man, shrink not beneath a weight

So light a child may bear it; for, believe me,

If my prophetic fear deceive me not,

You'd done an act Spain should for ever praise,

Had you kill'd Machiavel too.

ANT. As how, good master--I must call you so?

This is your livery.

O. TAI. O, y' are a noble tailor. But to Machiavel--

It was my chance, being sent for by his wife

To take the measure of their noble prisoner,

Who, when I came, was busy being plac'd

Into a room, where I might easily hear

Them talk of crowns and kingdoms,

And of two that should be partners in this

End of Spain.

GIO. Who were they?

O. TAI. Machiavel and Raymond! At last Machiavel laugh'd,

Saying: for this I made the governor

To cross Antonio at the council-board;

Knowing that one must, if not both, should die.

ANT. Did he say this?

O. TAI. He did, and added more, [and] under

A feigned show of love to justice,

[He] banished your sister.

GIO. Is Evadne banish'd?

O. TAI. She is; and, as I guess, to Flanders;

Her woman too has left her.

ANT. Nay, droop not, friend: host, pray, tell proud

Mach'vel I have a sword left to chastise

A traitor: come, let's go seek Evadne.

GIO. O Antonio! the sudden grief almost distracts

Thy friend; but come, let's go, each several [way,]

And meet at Filford: if thou findest Evadne,

Bear her unto the castle.

[_Exit._

ANT. Farewell, good master.

[_Exit._

O. TAI. O, you honour me.

Bootless were all persuasions, they'll not stay.

I'll to the king; this treason may become,

Like a disease, out of the reach of physic,

And may infect past cure, if let alone.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ RAYMOND _and_ PHILIPPA.

PHIL. Erect thy head, my Raymond; be more tall

Than daring Atlas, but more safely wise:

Sustain no burthen but the politic care

Of being great: till thou achieve the city's

Axletree, and wave it as thou list.

RAY. Hast thou no skill in magic, that thou fall'st

So just upon my thoughts? thy tongue is tipp'd

Like nature's miracle, that draws the steel

With unresisted violence: I cannot keep

A secret to myself, but thy prevailing

Rhetoric ravishes and leaves my breast

Like to an empty casket,

That once was bless'd with keeping of a jewel

I durst not trust the air with, 'twas so precious:

Pray, be careful.

PHIL. You do not doubt me?

RAY. No, were you a woman made of such coarse ingredients as the

common, which in our trivial phrase we call mere women, I would

not trust thee with a cause so weighty, that the discovery did

endanger this--this hair that, when 'tis gone, a lynx's [eye]

cannot miss it: but you are--I want expressions, 'tis not common

words can speak you truly--you are more than woman.

PHIL. My lord, you know my temper, and how to win upon my heart.

RAY. I must be gone, and post a messenger:

France must supply what wants to make thee great--

An army, my Philippa, which these people,

Snoring in pride of their last victory,

Do not so much as dream on:

Nor shall, till they be forced to yield their voices

At our election; which will be ere long.

PHIL. O, 'tis an age, I'd rather have it said,

Philippa than a prisoner were dead.

[_Exit._

_Enter a Criminal Judge and Officers, with_ ANTONIO; PETRUCHIO

_and_ AURELIA _meet him, with Servants_.

JUD. Captain Petruchio, take this condemn'd man

Into your charge; it is Antonio, once

A Spanish count, till his rash folly with

His life made forfeit of his honour; he

Was found travelling to your castle;

'Twas Heaven's will that his own feet should with

A willing pace conduct him to his ruin:

For the murther he must be ground to death

In Filford Mill, of which you are the governor:

Here my commission in its end gives strength

To yours. He is your charge: farewell.

His death must be with speed.

[_Exit with his._[29]

ANT. Deceive me not, good glasses, [for] your lights

In my esteem never till now was precious,

It is the same, it is the very same

I sleeping saw.

AUR. Is this the man fame speaks so nobly of?

O love, Aurelia never until now

Could say he knew thee; I must dissemble it.

[_Aside._

PET. Come, sir, to my castle.

AUR. Fie on you, sir; to kill a governor, it is a fact death

cannot appear too horrible to punish.

ANT. Can this be truth? O shallow, shallow man,

To credit air! believe there can be substance in

A cloud of thick'ned smoke, as truth

Hid in a dream; yes, there is truth that, like

A scroll fetch'd from an oracle,

Betrays the double-dealing of the gods;

Dreams, that speak all of joy, do turn to grief,

And such bad fate deludes my light belief.

PET. Away with him.

[_Exeunt._

AURELIA _sola_.

AUR. Oft have I heard my brother with a tongue

Proud of the office, praise this lovely lord;

And my trapp'd soul did with as eager haste

Draw in the breath; and now, O Aurelia!

Buried with him must all the joy thou hast

For ever sleep; and with a pale consumption,

Pitying him wilt thou thyself be ruin'd?

He must not die; if there be any way

Reveal'd to the distressed, I will find it.

Assist a poor lost virgin, some good power,

And lead her to a path, whose secret tract

May guide both him and me unto our safety.

Be kind, good wits, I never until now

Put you to any trouble; 'tis your office

To help at need this little world you live by:

Not yet! O dulness! do not make me mad--

I have't, bless'd brains! now shall a woman's wit

Wrestle with fate, and if my plot but hit,

Come off with wreaths: my duty, nay, my all,

I must forsake, lest my Antonio fall.

[_Exit._

ACT IV., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ GIOVANNO _mad, solus_.

Not find Evadne! sure, some wanton wind

Has snatch'd her from the earth into the air!

Smooth Zephyr fans the tresses of her hair,

Whilst slick[30] Favonius plays the fawning slave,

And hourly dies, making her breasts his grave.

O false Evadne! is Giovanno's love,

That has outdone all merit for thy sake,

So light that wind outweighs it?

No, no, [no,] no; Evadne is all virtue,

Sweet as the breath of roses; and as chaste

As virgin lilies in their infancy.

Down, you deluding ministers of air,

Evadne is not light, though she be fair.

Dissolve that counterfeit: ha, ha, ha, ha!

See how they shrink! why so, now I will love you:

Go search into the hollows of the earth,

And find my love, or I will chain you up

To eternity: see, see, who's this?

O, I know him now. So, ho, ho! so, ho, ho!

Not hear? 'Tis Phaeton: no, 'tis an heir

Got, since his father's death, into a cloak

Of gold outshines the sun; the headstrong horses of

Licentious youth have broke their reins, and drawn

Him through the signs of all libidinousness.

See, from the whorish front of CapreA|

He's tumbling down as low as beggary.

O, are you come, grim Tartar Rhadamanth!

Go, ask of Pluto, if he have not ta'en

Evadne to his smoky commonwealth,

And ravish'd her? Begone, why stir you not?

Ha, ha, ha! the devil is afraid.

EVAD. Help, a rape!

[_Within._

BAN. Stop her mouth.

GIO. Who calls for help? 'tis my Evadne; ay,

It was her voice that gave the echo life,

That cried a rape. Devil, dost love a wench?

Who was thy pander, ha? What saucy fiend

Durst lay his unpar'd fangs on my Evadne?

Come, I'll swim unarmed o'er Acheron,

And sink grim Charon in his ferry boat.

EVAD. Murder! a rape!

[_Within._

GIO. I come, I come.

[_Exit._

_Enter the_ BANDIT _dragging_ EVADNE _by the hair: she drops

a scarf_. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ GIOVANNO _again_.

GIO. I cannot find her yet. The king of flames

Protests she is not there: but hang him, rogue,

They say he'll lie. O, how my glutted spleen

Tickles to think how I have paid the slave!

I made him lead me into every hole:

Ha, ha, ha! what crying was there there?

Here on a wheel, turn'd by a fury's hand,

Hangs a distracted statesman, that had spent

The little wit Heaven to strange purpose lent him

To suppress right, make beggars, and get means

To be a traitor. Ha, ha, ha! And here

A usurer, fat with the curses of so many heirs

His extortion had undone, sat to the chin

In a warm bath, made of new-melted gold;

And now and then a draught pass'd through his throat.

He fed upon his god; but he being angry

Scalded his chaps. Right against him

Stood a fool'd gallant, chain'd unto a post,

And lash'd by folly for his want of wit.

The reeling drunkard and plump glutton stood

Making of faces, close by Tantalus:

But drank and fed on air. The whoremaster,

Tied to a painted punk, was by a fury,

Termed insatiate lust, whipped with a blade

Of fire. And here----

What's here? 'tis my Evadne's veil; 'tis hers, I know't:

Some slave has ravish'd my Evadne! Well,

There breathes not such an impious slave in hell.

Nay, it is hers, I know it too-too plain.

Your breath is lost: 'tis hers: you speak in vain.

[_Exit._

_Thunder and lightning._ _Enter the_ BANDIT, _with_ EVADNE

_by the hair_.

CAPT. Come, bring her forward; tie her to that tree, each man

shall have his turn: come, minion, you must [now] squench the

raging flames of my concupiscence: what, do you weep, you

puritanical punk? I shall tickle mirth into you by and by.

Trotter, good Trotter, post unto my cell, make compound of

muskadine and eggs; for the truth is I am a giant in my promises,

but in the act a pigmy: I am old, and cannot do as I have done;

good Trotter, make all convenient speed.

TROT. Faith, master, if you cannot, here's them that can ferret

in a coney-burrow without a provocative; I'll warrant you, good

master.

CAPT. No more, I say, it is a parcel of excellent mutton: I'll

cut it up myself. Come, minion.

[_Exit_ TROTTER. _The Captain takes his dagger and winds it

about her hair, and sticks it in the ground. Thunder and

lightning._

EVAD. Kill me! O, kill me! Rather let me die

Than live to see the jewel that adorns

The souls of virtuous virgins ravish'd from me.

Do not add sin to sin, and at a price

That ruins me, and not enriches you,

Purchase damnation: do not, do not do't.

Sheathe here your sword, and my departing soul,

Like your good angel, shall solicit Heaven

To dash out your offences: let my flight

Be pure and spotless: do not injure that

Manhood would blush to think on: it is all

A maid's divinity: wanting her life,

She's a fair corse; wanting her chastity,

A spotted soul of living infamy.

CAPT. Hang chastity!

3D BAN. A very voice.

_Enter_ TROTTER.

TROT. O captain, captain! yonder is the mad Orlando the furious,

and I think he takes me for----What do you call him?

CAPT. What, Medor?[31]

TROT. Ay, ay, Medor: the devil Medor him, he has so nuddled[32]

me----O, here he comes: I'll be gone.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ GIOVANNO.

GIO. Stay, satyr, stay; you are too light of foot,

I cannot reach your paces, prythee, stay.

What goddess have you there? Sure, 'tis Evadne!

Are you the dragons that ne'er sleep, but watch

The golden fruit of the Hesperides?

Ha! then I am Hercules; fly ye! Sure,

That face dwelt on Evadne's shoulders.

[_He beats them off, and unbinds_ EVADNE.

EVAD. O thou preserver of near-lost Evadne!

What must my weakness pay?

GIO. 'Tis [she,] 'tis she; she must not know I'm mad.

EVAD. Assist me, some good pow'r; it is my friend.

[_Aside._]

Make me but wise enough to resolve myself.

GIO. It may be 'tis not she; I'll ask her name.

What are you call'd, sweet goddess?

EVAD. They that know me mortal term me Evadne.

GIO. 'Tis she: ay, ay, 'tis she.

EVAD. Pray you, sir, unto the bond of what I owe you, which is a

poor distressed virgin's life, add this one debt: [tell me,] what

are you?

GIO. Not worth your knowledge: I am a poor, a very, very poor

despised thing: but say, I pray, are you sure your name's Evadne?

EVAD. 'Tis questionless my tailor. [_Aside._] I am she; receive

me to your arms not alter'd in my heart, though in my clothes.

GIO. I do believe you, indeed I do; but stay, I don't. Are you a

maid, a virgin, pray, tell me? for my Evadne could not tell a

lie; speak, I shall love you, though that jewel's gone.

EVAD. I am as spotless, thank your happy self that sav'd

Me from those robbers, as the child which yet

Is but a jelly, 'tis so young.

GIO. No more, no more, trust me, I do believe you.

[They are] so many slaves, whose flaming appetites

Would in one night ravish a throng of virgins,

And never feel digression in their heat.

I'll after, and murder all.

EVAD. How do you?

GIO. Well, very well: belike, you think I am mad.

EVAD. You look distractedly.

GIO. 'Tis but your thoughts; indeed I am wondrous well.

How fair she looks after so foul a deed!

It cannot be she should be false to me:

No, thou art mad to think so. Fool, O fool!

Think'st thou those slaves, having so fair a mark,

Would not be shooting? Yes, they would: they have.

Evadne is fly-blown: I cannot love her.

[_Aside._]

EVAD. What say you, sweet?

GIO. The innocence that sits upon that face

Says she is chaste; the guilty cannot speak

So evenly as she does: guilty, said I?

Alas! it were not her fault, were she ravish'd.

O madness, madness! whither wilt thou bear me?

[_Aside._]

EVAD. His senses are unsettled; I'll go seek

Some holy man to rectify his wits.

Sweet, will you go unto some hermit's cell?

You look as you lack'd rest.

GIO. She speaks

Like to an angel, she's the same as when

I saw her first: as pure, as chaste. Did she

Retain the substance of a sinner--for she is none--

Her breath would then be sour, and betray

The rankness of the act: but her chaste sighs

Beget as sweet a dew as that of May.

Why weeps Evadne? truly I am not mad.

See, I am tame; pray, lead me where you please.

[_Exeunt._

_a banquet is set forth: enter_ PETRUCHIO, AURELIA, _with two

servants bringing_ ANTONIO _asleep in a chair, and set

him to the table_.

PET. The drink has done its part effectually;

'Twas a strong powder that could hold his senses

So fast, that this removing, so full of noise,

Had not the power to wake him.

AUR. Good father, let Aurelia, your daughter,

Do this same act of justice; let me tread

The pin:[33] the fact of his being so foul, so hateful,

Has lent me, though a maid, such fortitude.

PET. Thou hast thy wish, do't boldly; 'tis a deed

That, in the ignorance of elder ages,

Would be thought full of merit. Be not daunted.

AUR. I have a thought tells me it is religious

To sacrifice a murtherer to death;

Especially one that did act a deed

So generally accounted odious.

PET. By holy Jaques,[34] I am a governor,

And should my life (though by the hand of him

My duty does call king) be stroke i' th' air;

My injur'd corpse should not forsake the earth

Till I did see't reveng'd: be resolute, thy foot

Is guided by a power that, though unseen,

Is still a furtherer of good attempts.

AUR. Pray, sir, lend me the key of the back-ward,

For though my conscience tells me 'tis an act

I may hereafter boast of, yet I'll pass

Unto our Lady's chapel, when 'tis done,

To be confess'd, ere I am seen of any.

PET. I am proud to see thee so well given.

Take 'em, [my] girl, and with 'em take my prayers.

AUR. He wakes; pray, leave me, sir.

[_Exit_ PETRUCHIO.

So I'll make fast

The door: goodness, bear witness 'tis a potent

Power outweighs my duty.

ANT. Amazement! on what tenters do you stretch [me].

O, how this alteration wracks my reason! I m[ust try]

To find the axletree on which it hangs!

Am I asleep?

AUR. Shake off thy wonder; leave that seat; 'twas set

To sink thy body for ever from the eyes

Of human sight; to tell thee how would be

A fatal means to both our ruins----briefly,

My love has broke the bands of nature

With my father to give you being.

ANT. Happy, [O] happy vision! the bless'd preparative

To this same hour; my joy would burst me else.

AUR. Receive me to thy arms.

ANT. I would not wish to live but for thee: [but for thee,]

Life were a trouble; welcome to my soul.

AUR. Stand; I have a ceremony

To offer to our safety, ere we go.

[_She takes a dog, and ties it to the chair: she stamps: the

chair and dog descend: a pistol-shot within: a noise of

a mill._

Had not my love, like a kind branch

Of some o'erlooking tree, catch'd thee,

Thou'dst fallen, never to look upon the world again.

ANT. What shall I offer to my life's preserver?

AUR. Only thy heart, crown'd with a wreath of love.

Which I will ever keep; and in exchange

Deliver mine.

ANT. Thus I deliver: in this kiss receive't.

AUR. In the same form Aurelia yields up hers.

[_A noise._

ANT. What noise is that?

AUR. I fear my father.

ANT. What's to be done?

AUR. Through the back-ward, of which I have

The key, we'll suddenly make 'scape;

Then in two gowns, of which I am provided,

We'll clothe ourselves, till we be pass'd all fear.

ANT. Be't as you please: 'tis my good genius' will

That I obey--command; I'll follow still.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ PETRUCHIO _with servants_.

PET. She's gone unto her prayers; may every bead

Draw down a blessing on her, that like seed

May grow into a harvest: 'tis a girl

My age is proud of; she's indeed the model

Of her dead mother's virtues, as of shape.

Bear hence this banquet.

[_Exit with the banquet._

GIOVANNO _is discovered sleeping in the lap of_ EVADNE.

EVAD. Thou silent god, that with the leaden mace

Arresteth all save those prodigious birds,

That are fate's heralds to proclaim all ill;

Deafen Giovanno: let no fancied noise

Of ominous screech-owl's or night-raven's voice

Affright his quiet senses: let his sleep

Be free from horror or unruly dreams;

That may beget a tempest in the streams

Of his calm reason: let 'em run as smooth,

And with as great a silence, as those do

That never took an injury; where no wind

Had yet acquaintance: but like a smooth crystal

Dissolv'd into a water that ne'er frown'd,

Or knew a voice but music.

_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ AURELIA _in hermits' gowns_.

Holy hermits, for such your habits speak you,

Join your prayers with a distressed virgin's,

That the wits of this distracted young man may

Be settled.

ANT. Sure, 'tis my sister, and that

Sleeping man, Giovanno. She loves him still.

[_He wakes._

GIO. O, what a blessedness am I bereft of!

What pleasure has the least part of a minute

Stolen from my eyes? methought I did embrace

A brother and a friend; and both Antonio.

EVAD. Bless'd be those gentle powers that----

GIO. What, Evadne----have deceived my eyes,

Take heed, Evadne, worship not a dream,

'Tis of a smoky substance, and will shrink

Into the compass of report that 'twas,

And not reward the labour of a word.

Were it substantial! could I now but see

That man of men, I'd by my practice

Of religious prayers add to the calendar

One holy-day, and keep it once a year.

ANT. Behold Antonio!

EVAD. Brother!

[_To_ ANTONIO.

AUR. Brother!

[_To_ GIOVANNO.

ANT. What earthquake shakes my heart!

With what a speed she flew into his arms!

EVAD. Some power, that hearkens to the prayer of virgins,

Has been distill'd to pity at my fortunes,

And made Evadne happy.

AUR. Now my longing,

That was grown big, is with your sight delivered

Of a joy that will become a giant, and o'ercome me.

Welcome, thrice welcome, brother.

ANT. Ha, her brother! Fortune has bound me so

Much in their debts, I must despair to pay 'em:

Twice has my life been by these twins of goodness

Pluck'd from the hand of death; that fatal enmity

Between our houses here shall end,

Though my father at his death commanded me

To eternity of hatred.

What tie binds stronger than reprieve from death?

Come hither, friend. Now, brother, take her,

Thou'st been a noble tailor.

GIO. Be moderate, my joys, do not o'erwhelm me:

Here, take Aurelia: may you live happy!

O Antonio! this, this was the cause of my disguise;

Sebastiano could not win Evadne's love,

But Giovanno did; come now to our father's castle.

ANT. Pardon me; there is a bar, that does

Concern my life, forbids you as a friend

To think on going to any place

But to the tailor's house, which is not far.

Come: as we go, I will relate the cause.

AUR. Do, good brother.

EVAD. Go, good Sebastiano.

GIO. Sebastiano is your page, and bound to follow:

Lead on.

ANT. O noble temper, I admire thee! may

The world bring forth such tailors every day.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter three_ TAILORS _on a shop-board_.

1ST TAI. Come, come, let's work; for if my guesses point the

right, we shan't work long.

3D TAI. I care not how soon. I have a notable stomach to bread.

2D TAI. Dost hear, I suspect that courtier my master brought in

last night to be the king; which if it be, bullies, all the bread

in the town shan't satisfy us, for we will eat _Cum privilegio_.

1ST TAI. Come, let's have a device, a thing, a song, boy.

3D TAI. Come, an air----

THE SONG.

1ST TAI. _'Tis a merry life we live,

All our work is brought unto us;

Still are getting, never give,

For their clothes all men do woo us:

Yet (unkind) they blast our names

With aspersions of dishonour:

For which we make bold with their dames,

When we take our measure on her._

ALL TAI. _For which we, &c._

_Enter_ ANTONIO, GIOVANNO, _and the_ OLD TAILOR.

O. TAI. You see the life we live; (_To the_ TAILORS) cease.

ANT. O, 'tis a merry one.

GIO. It is no news to me, I have been us'd to't.

O. TAI. Now for discovery; the king as yet

Is ignorant of your names, and shall be

Till your merits beg your pardon.

My lord, you are for Machiavel; take this gown.

ANT. Pray for success.

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

O. TAI. You, in this French disguise, for proud Philippa;

This is her garment. I hear the king: begone:

The Frenchman's folly sit upon your tongue.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter the_ KING, EVADNE, _and_ AURELIA.

KING. Believe me, tailor, you've outstripp'd the court,

For such perfections live not everywhere;

Nature was vex'd (as she's a very shrew),

She made all others in an angry mood;

These only she can boast for masterpieces:

The rest want something or in mind or form,

These are precisely made: a critic jury

Of cavilling arts cannot condemn a scruple.

AUR. But that your entrance in this formal speech

Betray'd you are a courtier, I had been angry

At your rank flattery.

KING. Can you say so?

EVAD. Sir, she has spoke my meaning.

KING. Friend, what are those beauties call'd.

[_Aside._

O. TAI. Your grace's pardon.

KING. Are they oracle, or is the knowledge fatal?

But that I know thy faith, this denial

Would conjure a suspicion in my breast;

Use thy prerogative; 'tis thy own house,

In which you are a king, and I your guest.

Come, ladies.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ ANTONIO _disguised like a physician_.

ANT. This habit will do well, and less suspected;

Wrapp'd i' this cover lives a kingdom's plague;

They kill with licence; Machi'vel's proud dame,

'Tis famed, is sick: upon my soul, howe'er

Her health may be, the aguish commons cry;

She's a disease they groan for: this disguise

Shall sift her ebon soul, and if she be

Infectious, like a megrim or rot limb,

The sword of justice must divide the joint

That holds her to the state-endanger'd body--

She comes.

_Enter_ MACHIAVEL, AURISTELLA _leaning on his arm, with two

Servants_.

MACH. Look up, my Auristella;

Better the sun forsake his course to bless

With his continuing beams th' Antipodes,

And we grovel for ever in eternal night,

Than death eclipse thy rich and stronger light.

Seek some physician: horror to my soul!

She faints; I'd rather lose the issue of my hopes

Than Auristella.

ANT. Issue of his hopes? strange!--

[_Aside._

MACH. The crown's enjoyment can yield no content

Without the presence of my Auristella.

ANT. Crown's enjoyment!

O villain!

MACH. Why stir you not? fetch me some skilful man,

My kingdom shall reward him; if his art

Chain her departing soul unto her flesh

But for a day, till she be crown'd a queen:

Fly, bring him unto this walk.

ANT. Stay,

Most honoured count--now for a forged link

Of flattery to chain me to his love.

[_Aside._

Having with studious care gone o'er the art

Folly terms magic, which more sublime souls

Skill'd i' the stars know is above that mischief,

I find you're born to be 'bove vulgar greatness,

Even to a throne: but stay, let's fetch this lady.

MACH. All greatness without her is slavery.

ANT. Use modest violence.

AUR. O!

ANT. Stand wider, give her air.

MACH. God-like physician, I and all that's mine,

Will at thy feet offer a sacrifice.

ANT. Forfend it, goodness; I--nay all,

Ere many hours [do] make the now young day

A type of sparkling youth, shall on their knees

Pray for your highness.

MACH. Look up, my Auristella, and be great;

Rise with the sun, but never to decline.

AUR. What have you done?

MACH. Wak'd thee to be a queen.

AUR. A queen! O, don't dissemble; you have robb'd me

Of greater pleasure than the fancied bliss

Elysium owns: O, for a pleasure real, that

Would appear in all unto my dream: that I may

Frown, and then kill: smile, and create again.

Were there a hell, as doating age would have,

To fright from lawless courses heedless youth:

For such a short-liv'd happiness as that

I would be lost unto eternity.

MACH. The day grows old in hours:

Come, Auristella, to the capital;

The greybeard senate shall on humble knees

Pay a religious sacrifice of praise

Unto thy demi-deity: the stars

Have in a general senate made thee queen

Of this our world. Great master of thy art,

Confirm my love.

ANT. Madam----

MACH. Nay, hear him, love;

Believe me, he's a man that may

Be secretary to the gods; he is alone

In art; 'twere sin to name a second: all are

Dunces to him.

ANT. How easy is the faith of the ambitious!

[_Aside._

MACH. Follow me to the council.

[_Exit._

AUR. Are you the man my husband speaks so high of?

Are you skill'd i' the stars?

ANT. Yes, madam.

AUR. Your habit says, or you abuse the custom,[35]

You're a physician?

ANT. Madam, I'm both.[36]

AUR. And d'ye find no let that stops my rising?

ANT. Not any.

AUR. Away, your skill is dull--dull to derision.

There is a star fix'd i' the heaven of greatness,

That sparkles with a rich and fresher light

Than our sick and defective taper.

ANT. It may be so the horoscope is troubled.

AUR. Confusion take your horoscope and you!

Can you with all your art advise my fears,

How to confound this constellation?

ANT. Death, how she conjures!

[_Aside._

Madam, I must search into the planets.

AUR. Planet me no planets; be a physician,

And from your study of industrious poisons

Fetch me your best-experienc'd speedy one,

And bring it to me straight: what 'tis to do,

Like unresolved riddles, [is] hid from you.

[_Exit._

ANT. Planet, said I? upon my life, no planet

Is so swift as her never-resting evil--

That is her tongue: well, I'll not question

What the poison is for; if for herself,

The common hangman's eas'd the labour

Of a blow; for if she live, her head

Must certain off; the poison I'll go get,

And give it her, then to the king:

If Sebastiano's Frenchified disguise

Purchase the like discovery, our eyes

Will be too scanty; we had need to be

All eye to watch such haughty villany.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ GIOVANNO _and_ PHILIPPA.

GIO. Begare, madam, me make de gowne so brave; O, de hole

vorle[37] be me patron; me ha vorke for le grand duches le

Shevere, le royne de Francia, Spagna, de Angleter, and all d'

fine madamosels.

PHIL. Nay, monsieur, to deprive desert of praise is unknown

language; troth, I use it not; nay, it is very well.

GIO. Be me trot, a, madam, me ner do ill, de English man do ill,

de Spanere do, de Duch, de all do ill but your Franchman, and,

begare, he do incomparable brave.

PHIL. Y' are too proud on't.

GIO. Begare, me no proud i de vorle, me speak be me trot de trut,

ang me no lie: metra, madam, begare, you have de find bode a de

vorle, O de fine brave big ting me have ever measure, me waire

fit it so pat.[38]

_Enter_ RAYMOND.

PHIL. Welcome, my lord!

Shall I still long, yet lose my longing still?

Is there no art to mount the lofty seat?

No engine that may make us ever great?

Must we be still styl'd subjects, and for fear

Our closest whispers reach the awing ear,

Not trust the wind?

RAY. Be calm, my love;

Ha! who have we here? an eavesdropper?

GIO. Me, signor, be pover a jentle homa a Franch

A votre commandement.

PHIL. My tailor.

GIO. Oui, monsieur, de madam tailor.

RAY. Some happy genius does attend my wishes,

Or, spirit-like, a page conducts unto me

The ministers whose sweat must send me ease:[39]

Come hither, Frenchman, canst thou rule thy tongue?

Art not too much a woman?

GIO. No, begare, me show someting for de man.

RAY. Or canst thou be like a perverse one--profess doggedness?

Be as a dead man dumb, briefly be this:

A friend to France, and with a silent speed

Post to our now approaching armed friends:

Tell them that Raymond, ere the hasty sand

Of a short hour be spent, shall be impal'd,

And on his brow, a deputy for France,

Support a golden wreath of kingly cares:

Bid 'em make haste to pluck my partner down

Into his grave; begone, as thou nursest

In thy breast thoughts that do thirst

For nobleness: be secret, and thou'rt made;

If not, thou'rt nothing. Mark, 'tis Raymond says it:

And, as I live, I breathe not, if my deeds

Appear not in a horror 'bove my words.

GIO. Begare, me no ned de threaten, me be as close to your

secret, or my lady's secrets, as de skin to de flesh--de flesh to

de bone: if me tell, call me de--vat de ye call de moder o de

dog, de bich; call me de son o de bich.

_Enter_ FULGENTIO.

FUL. Count Machiavel waits your honour i' th' hall.

RAY. Do't, and be more than common in our favour;

Here, take this ring for thy more credit:

Farewell, be quick and secret.

[_Exeunt._

GIO. Folly go

From my tongue, the French so nigh. And thou,

Half-ruin'd Spain, so wretchedly provided:

[O] strange, yet not; all countries have bred monsters:

'Tis a proverb--plain as true, and aged as 'tis both:[40]

_One tainted sheep mars a whole flock._

Machiavel, that tainted beast, whose spreading ills

Infecteth all, and by infecting kills.

I'll to the French, what he intends to be

Our ruin shall confound their villany.

[_Exit._

ACT V., SCENE 1.

_Enter the_ KING, ANTONIO, OLD TAILOR, EVADNE, AURELIA. _The_

KING _and_ ANTONIO _whisper_.

KING. For this discovery be still Antonio;

The frowning law may with a furrowed face

Hereafter look upon, but ne'er shall touch

Thy condemn'd body. Here from a king's hand

Take thy Aurelia; our command shall smoothe

The rising billows of her father's rage,

And charm it to a calm: let one be sent

To certify our pleasure. We would see him.

O. TAI. Your grace's will shall be in all obey'd.

KING. Thy loyal love makes thy king poor.

O. TAI. Let not your judgment, royal sir, be question'd.

To term that love was but a subject's duty.

[_Exit._

KING. You sent the poison, did you?

ANT. Yes, and it like your grace; the apothecary

Call'd it a strong provocative to madness.

KING. Did not he question what you us'd it for?

ANT. O, my disguise sav'd him that labour, sir;

My habit, that was more physician than myself,

Told him 'twas to despatch some property,[41]

That had been tortur'd with five thousand drugs

To try experiment: another man

Shan't buy the quantity of so much ratsbane

Shall kill a flea, but shall be had, forsooth,

Before a justice, be question'd; nay, perhaps

Confin'd to peep through an iron grate:

When your physician may poison who [pleaseth him],

Not, _cum privilegio_: it is his trade.

_Enter_ GIOVANNO.

EVAD. O my Sebastiano!

GIO. Peace, my Evadne, the king must not yet know me.

EVAD. My brother has already made you known.

GIO. Will't please your highness?

KING. What, Sebastiano, to be still a king

Of universal Spain without a rival?

Yes, it does please me, and you ministers

Of my still growing greatness shall ere long

Find I am pleas'd with you, that boldly durst

Pluck from the fixed arm of sleeping justice.

Her long-sheath'd sword, and whet the rusty blade

Upon the bones of Mach'vel, and his

Confederate rebels.

GIO. That, my lord, is yet

To do: let him mount higher, that

His fall may be too deep for resurrection;[42]

They're gone to the great hall, whither will't please

Your grace disguis'd to go? your person by

Our care shall be secure. Their French troops I

Have sent as useless into France, by virtue

Of Raymond's ring, which he gave me to bid

The general by that token to march

To this city.

KING. What say the colonels?

Will they assist me?

ANT. Doubt not, my lord.

KING. Come, then, let's go guarded, with such as you

'Twere sin to fear, were all the world untrue.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ TAILORS.

O. TAI. Now for the credit of tailors.

3D TAI. Nay, master, and we do not act, as they say, with any

players in the globe of the world, let us be baited like a bull

for a company of strutting coxcombs: nay, we can act, I can tell

you.

O TAI. Well, I must to the king; see you be perfect. I'll move it

to his highness.

[_Exit._

1ST TAI. Now, my masters, are we to do; d'ye mark me? do--

3D TAI.[43] Do! what do?--Act, act, you fool you: do, said you,

what do? you a player, you a plasterer, a mere dirt-dauber, and

not worthy to be mentioned with Vermin, that exact actor: do, I

am asham'd on't, fie!

2D TAI. Well said, Vermin, thou ticklest him, faith.

4TH TAI. Do, pah!

1ST TAI. Well, play; we are to play a play.

3D TAI. Play a play a play, ha, ha, ha! O egredious

nonsensensical widgeon, thou shame to our cross-legged

corporation; thou fellow of a sound, play a play! why

forty-pound Golding of the beggars' theatre speaks better, yet

has a mark for the sage audience to exercise their dexterity, in

throwing of rotten apples, whilst my stout actor pockets, and

then eats up, the injury: play a play! it makes my worship laugh,

i' faith.

2D TAI. To him, Vermin; thou bitt'st him, i' faith.

1ST TAI. Well, act a play before the king.

2D TAI. What play shall we act?

3D TAI. To fret the French the more, we will act _Strange but

True, or the Stradling Mounsieur, with the Neapolitan gentleman

between his legs_.

2D TAI. That would not act well.

3D TAI. O giant of incomparable ignorance! that would not act

well, ha, ha! that would not do well, you ass, you!

2D TAI. You bit him for saying _do_: Vermin, leave biting; you'd

best.

1ST TAI. What say you to our Spanish Bilbo?

3D TAI. Who, Jeronimo?

1ST TAI. Ay.

3D TAI. That he was a mad rascal to stab himself.

1ST TAI. But shall we act him?

2D TAI. Ay, let us do him.

3D TAI. Do again, ha!

2D TAI. No, no, let us act him.

3D TAI. I am content.

1ST TAI. Who shall act the ghost?

3D TAI. Why, marry that will I--I Vermin.

1ST TAI. Thou dost not look like a ghost.

3D TAI. A little player's deceit, howe'er,[44] will do't. Mark me.

I can rehearse, make me rehearse some:[45]

"When this eternal substance of the soul

Did live emprison'd in my wanton flesh,

I was a tailor in the court of Spain."

2D TAI. Courtier Vermin in the court of Spain.

3D TAI. Ay, there's a great many courtiers _Vermin_ indeed:

Those are they beg poor men's livings;

But, I say, tailor Vermin is a court-tailor.

2D TAI. Who shall act Jeronimo?

3D TAI. That will I:

Mark if I do not gape wider than the widest

Mouth'd fowler of them all, hang me!

"Who calls Jeronimo from his naked bed? ha-ugh?"

Now for the passionate part--

"Alas! it is my son Horatio."

1ST TAI. Very fine: but who shall act Horatio?

2D TAI. Ay, who shall do your son?

3D TAI. What do, do again? well, I will act Horatio.

2D TAI. Why, you are his father.

3D TAI. Pray, who is fitter to act the son than the father

That begot him?

1ST TAI. Who shall act Prince Balthazar and the king?

3D TAI. I will do Prince Balthazar too: and, for the king,

Who but I? which of you all has such a face for a king,

Or such a leg to trip up the heels of a traitor?

2D TAI. You will do all, I think.

3D TAI. Yes, marry, will I; who but Vermin? yet I will

Leave all to play the king:

Pass by, Jeronimo!

2D TAI. Then you are for the king?

3D TAI. Ay, bully, ay.

1ST TAI. Let's go seek our fellows, and to this gear.

3D TAI. Come on then.

[_Exeunt._

_A table and stools set. Enter_ BRAVO.

BRA. Men of our needful profession, that deal in such commodities

as men's lives, had need to look about 'em ere they traffic: I am

to kill Raymond, the devil's cousin-german, for he wears the same

complexion: but there is a right devil that hath hired me--that's

Count Machiavel. Good table, conceal me; here will I wait my

watchword: but stay, have I not forgot it--_Then_--Ay, then is my

arm to enter. I hear them coming.

[_Goes under the table._

_Enter the_ KING, ANTONIO, OLD TAILOR, EVADNE, AURELIA,

_above_. MACHIAVEL, RAYMOND, PHILIPPA, AURISTELLA,

GIOVANNO, _the Colonels with a Guard below_.

MACH. Pray, take your seats.

RAY. [_To_ PHILIPPA.] Not well? prythee, retire.

PHIL. Sick, sick at heart.

AUR. Well-wrought poison! O, how joy swells me!

[_Aside._

ANT. You see, my lord, the poison is box'd up.

[_Above._

PHIL. Health wait upon this royal company.

KING. Knows she we are here?

ANT. O no, my lord, 'tis to the twins of treason:

Machiavel and Raymond.

FUL. Royal! there's something in't.

ALER. It smells rank o' th' traitor.

PAN. Are you i' th' wind on't?

AUR. Will you leave us?

PHIL. I cannot stay; O, I am sick to death!

[_Exit._

AUR. Or I'll never trust poison more.

[_Aside._

MACH. Pray, seat yourselves,

Gentlemen; though your deserts have merit,

[_They sit about the table._

And your worths have deserv'd nobly;

But ingratitude, that should be banish'd

From a prince's breast, is Philip's favourite.

KING. [_Above._] Philip, traitor! why not king? I am so.

ANT. Patience, good my lord; I'll down.

[_Exit._

MACH. It lives too near him:

You, that have ventur'd with expense of blood

And danger of your lives, to rivet him

Unto his seat with peace: you, that in war

He term'd his Atlases, and press'd with praises

Your brawny shoulders; call'd you his Colossuses,

And said your looks frighted tall war

Out of his territories: now in peace [behold]

The issue of your labour. This bad man--

Philip, I mean--made of ingratitude,

Wo' not afford a name, that may distinguish

Your worthy selves from cowards; [while]

Civet cats spotted with rats'-dung,

Or a face, like white broth strew'd o'er with currants

For a stirring caper or itching dance, to please

My lady Vanity, shall be made a smock-knight.

KING. [_Above._] Villain! must our disgrace mount thee?

FUL. To what tends this?

ALER. What means Count Machiavel?

_Enter_ ANTONIO _below_.

AUR. To be your king; fie on this circumstance!

My longing will not brook it: say,

Will you obey us as your kings and queens.

[_Aside._

FUL. My Lord Antonio!

ANT. Confine yourselves, the king is within hearing; therefore

make show of liking Machiavel's plot: let him mount high, his

fall will be the deeper: my life, you shall be safe.

[_Aside._

AUR. Say, are you agreed?

RAY. If not, we'll force you to't:

Speak, Frenchman, are our forces i' th' city?

GIO. Oui, mounsier.

ALER. }

FUL. } We acknowledge you our king.

PAN. }

KING. More traitors!

MACH. Why----_then_.

[_The_ BRAVO _stabs_ RAYMOND.

RAY. Ha! from whence this sudden mischief?

Did you not see a hand arm'd with the fatal

Ruin of my life?

GIO. Non pas, signor.

MACH. Ha, ha, ha! lay hold on those French soldiers:

Away with them!

[_Exeunt Guard with the French Colonels._

RAY. Was't thy plot, Machiavel? go laughing to thy grave.

[_Stabs him._

AUR. Alas! my lord is wounded.

RAY. Come hither, Frenchman, make a dying man

Bound to thy love; go to Philippa,

Sickly as she is, bring her unto me;

Or my flying soul will not depart in peace else:

Prythee, make haste: yet stay, I have not breath

To pay thy labour.

Shrink ye, you twin-born Atlases, that bear

This my near-ruin'd world; have you not strength

To bear a curse, whose breath may taint the air,

That this globe may feel an universal plague?

No; yet bear up, till with a vengeful eye

I outstare day, and from the dogged sky

Pluck my impartial star. O, my blood

Is frozen in my veins--farewell, revenge--me--

[_Dies._

ALER. They need no law.

FUL. Nor hangman.

PAN. They condemn and execute without a jury.

_Enter_ PHILIPPA _mad_.

PHIL. I come, I come; nay, fly not, for by hell

I'll pluck thee by the beard, and drag thee thus

Out of thy fiery cave. Ha! on yonder hill

Stand troops of devils waiting for my soul:

But I'll deceive 'em, and, instead of mine,

Send this same spotted tiger's.

[_Stabs_ AURISTELLA.

AUR. O!

PHIL. So, whilst they to hell

Are posting with their prize, I'll steal to heaven:

Wolf, dost thou grin? ha! is my Raymond dead?

So ho, so ho! come back

You sooty fiends, that have my Raymond's soul,

Or[46] lay it down, or I will force you do't:

No, won't you stir? by Styx, I'll bait you for't:

Where is my crown? Philippa was a queen,

Was she not, ha? Why so, where is my crown?

O, you have hid it--ha, was't thou

[_Overthrows the table._

That robb'd Philippa of her Raymond's life?

Nay, I will nip your wings, you shall not fly;

I'll pluck you by the guarded front, and thus

Sink you to hell before me.

[_Stabs the_ BRAVO.

BRAVO. O, O!

PHIL. What, down, ho, ho, ho!

Laugh, laugh, you souls that fry in endless flames;

Ha, whence this chilness--must I die? Nay, then

I come, I come; nay, weep not, for I come:

Sleep, injur'd shadow; O, death strikes [me] dumb!

[_Dies._

AUR. Machi'vel, thy hand, I can't repent, farewell:

My burthened conscience sinks me down to hell.

[_Dies._

MACH. I cannot tarry long, farewell; we'll meet,

Where we shall never part: if here be any

My life has injur'd, let your charity

Forgive declining Machi'vel: I'm sorry.

ANT. His penitence works strongly on my temper.

Off, disguise; see, falling count, Antonio forgives thee.

MACH. Antonio? O my shame!

Can you, whom I have injur'd most, pardon my guilt?

Give me thy hand yet nearer: this embrace

Betrays thee to thy death: ha, ha, ha!

[_Stabs him._

So weeps the Egyptian monster when it kills,

Wash'd in a flood of tears; couldst ever think

Machi'vel's repentance could come from his heart?

No, down, Colossus, author of my sin,

And bear the burthen mingled with thine own,

To finish thy damnation.

_Enter the_ KING, AURELIA, EVADNE, OLD TAILOR.

KING. Accursed villain! thou hast murther'd him,

That holds not one small drop of royal blood,

But what is worth thy life.

EVAD. O my brother!

GIO. Give him some air, the wound cannot be mortal.

AUR. Alas! he faints: O my Antonio!

Curs'd Machi'vel, may thy soul----

ANT. Peace, peace, Aurelia; be more merciful:

Men are apt to censure, and will condemn

Thy passion, call it madness, and say thou

Want'st religion: nay, weep not, sweet,

For every one must die: it was thy love

For to deceive the law, and give me life:

But death, you see, has reach'd me: O, I die;

Blood must have blood, so speaks the law of heaven:

I slew the governor; for which rash deed

Heaven, fate, and man thus make Antonio bleed.

[_Dies._

MACH. Sleep, sleep, great heart, thy virtue made me ill:

Authors of vice, 'tis fit the vicious kill:

But yet forgive me: O, my once great heart

Dissolves like snow, and lessens to a rheum,

Cold as the envious blasts of northern wind:

World, how I lov'd thee, 'twere a sin to boast;

Farewell, I now must leave thee; [for] my life

Grows empty with my veins: I cannot stand; my breath

Is, as my strength, weak; and both seiz'd by death.

Farewell, ambition! catching at a crown,

Death tripp'd me up, and headlong threw me down.

[_Dies._

KING. So falls an exhalation from the sky,

And's never miss'd because unnatural;

A birth begotten by incorporate ill;

Whose usher to the gazing world is wonder.

_Enter_ PETRUCHIO.

Alas! good man, thou'rt come unto a sight

Will try thy temper, whether joy or grief

Shall conquer most within thee; joy lies here,

Scatter'd in many heaps: these, when they liv'd,

Threaten'd to tear this balsam from our brow,

And rob our majesty of this elixir.

[_Points to his crown._

Is't not my right? Was I not heir to Spain?

PET. You are our prince, and may you live

Long to enjoy your right!

KING. But now look here, 'tis plain grief has a hand

Harder than joy; it presses out such tears.

Nay, rise.

PET. I do beseech your grace not to think me

Contriver of Antonio's 'scape from death;

'Twas my disloyal daughter's breach of duty.

KING. That's long since pardon'd.

PET. You're still merciful.

KING. Antonio was thy son; I sent for thee

For to confirm it, but he is dead:

Be merciful, and do not curse the hand

That gave it him, though it deserve it.

AUR. O my griefs, are you not strong enough

To break my heart? Pray, tell me--tell me true

Can it be thought a sin? or is it so

By my own hand to ease my breast of woe?

KING. Alas! poor lady, rise; thy father's here.

PET. Look up, Aurelia; ha! why do you kneel?

[_To_ GIOVANNO.

GIO. For a blessing.

PET. Why she is not Aurelia----do not mock me.

KING. But he is Sebastiano, and your son;

Late by our hand made happy by enjoying

The fair Evadne, dead Antonio's sister:

[Her,] for whose sake he became a tailor,

And so long lived in that mean disguise.

PET. My joy had been too great if he had liv'd;

The thrifty heavens mingle our sweets with gall,

Lest, being glutted with excess of good,

We should forget the giver. Rise, Sebastiano,

With thy happy choice; may'st thou live crown'd

With the enjoyment of those benefits

My prayers shall beg for [thee]: rise, Aurelia,

And in some place, bless'd with religious prayers,

Spend thy left remnant.[47]

AUR. You advise well: indeed, it was a fault

To break the bonds of duty and of law;

But love, O love! thou, whose all-conquering pow'r

Builds castles on the hearts of easy maids,

And makes 'em strong e'en to[48] attempt those dangers

That, but rehears'd before, would fright their souls

Into a jelly. Brother, I must leave you;

And, father, when I send to you a note

That shall desire a yearly stipend to

That holy place my tired feet has found

To rest them in, pray, confirm it.

And now, great king, Aurelia begs of you

To grace Antonio in the mournful march

Unto his grave, which be where you think fit:

We need not be interr'd both in one vault.

KING. Bless'd virgin, thy desires I will perform.

AUR. Then I leave you; my prayers shall still attend you,

As I hope yours shall accompany me.

Father, your blessing, and ere long expect

To hear where I am entertain'd a nun.

Brother and sister, to you both adieu;

Antonio dead, Aurelia marries new.

[_Exit._

PET. Farewell, [my] girl; when I remember thee,

The beads I drop shall be my tears.

_Enter_ VERMIN _in a cloak for the prologue_.

KING. She's to all virgins a true mirror.

They that would behold true love, reflect on her:

There 'tis engross'd.

3D TAI. Great king, our grace----

O. TAI. The king is sad, you must not act.

3D TAI. How? not act? Shall not Vermin act?

O. TAI. Yes, you shall act, but not now; the king is indispos'd.

3D TAI. Well, then, some other time, I, Vermin; the king will act

before the king.

O. TAI. Very good; pray, make your _exit_.

3D TAI. I'll muster up all the tailors in the town, and so tickle

their sides.

[_The_ KING _and_ GIOVANNO _whisper_.

O. TAI. Nay, thou'rt a right Vermin; go, be not troublesome.

[_Exit_ VERMIN.

GIO. Upon my truth and loyalty, great king, what they did was but

feign'd, merely words without a heart: 'twas by Antonio's counsel.

KING. Thou art all truth: rise.

[_The Colonels kneel._

OMNES. Long live King Philip in the calm of peace to exercise his

regal clemency!

KING. Take up Antonio's body, and let the rest

Find Christian burial: mercy befits a king.

Come, trusty tailor,

And to all countries let swift fame report

King Philip made a tailor's house his court.

O. TAI. Your grace much honours me.

KING. We can't enough pay thy alone deserts;

Kings may be poor when subjects are like thee,

So fruitful in all loyal virtuous deeds:

March with the body, we'll perform all rites

Of sable ceremony: that done,

We'll to our court, since all our own is won.

[_Exeunt._[49]

* * * * *

LUST'S DOMINION

OR

THE LASCIVIOUS QUEEN.

_EDITION._

_Lusts Dominion; or, The Lascivious Queen. A Tragedie. Written by

Christofer Marloe, Gent. London, Printed for F. K., and are to

be sold by Robert Pollard, at the sign of Ben Johnson's head,

on the back-side of the Old-Exchange._ 1657. 12^{mo}.

DRAMATIS PERSONA†.

ELEAZAR, _the Moor, Prince of Fez and Barbary_.

PHILIP, _King of Spain, father to Fernando, Philip, and Isabella_.

FERNANDO, _King of Spain_, }

} _sons to Philip_.

PHILIP, _Prince of Spain_, }

ALVERO, _a nobleman, and father-in-law to Eleazar, and father to

Hortenzo and Maria_.

MENDOZA, _the cardinal_.

CHRISTOFERO, }

} _two noblemen of Spain_.

RODERIGO, }

HORTENZO, _lover to Isabella, and son to Alvero_.

ZARACK, }

} _two Moors attending Eleazar_.

BALTHAZAR, }

COLE, }

} _two friars_.

CRAB, }

EMMANUEL, _King of Portugal_.

CAPTAIN, SOLDIERS, _cum aliis_.

_Two Pages attending the queen._

THE QUEEN-MOTHER OF SPAIN, _and wife to King Philip_.

ISABELLA, _the Infanta of Spain_.

MARIA, _wife to Eleazar, and daughter to Alvero_.

_The Scene, Spain._

PREFACE.

[This play was printed in 12^o, 1657 and 1661, with the name of

Christopher Marlowe on the title as the author, than which few

things are more improbable. Yet Dilke, who printed the piece in

his series (1816), believed it to be really by Marlowe, and

considered it superior to his "Faustus." He observes:] "In

particular passages, and some whole scenes, 'Faustus' has great

beauties; but it must have been principally indebted for its

success to the superstitious ignorance of the times; 'Lust's

Dominion' is a much better play." Dilke continues, "It was

altered by Mrs Behn, and performed at the Duke of York's Theatre

in 1671, under the title of 'Abdelazar;' and probably furnished

hints for the admirable tragedy of 'The Revenge.' But,

notwithstanding the luxuriance of imagery in the first scenes,

the exquisite delicacy of the language that is throughout given

to Maria, and the great beauty of parts, 'it has too much of

"King Cambyses'" vein--rape, and murder, and superlatives;' and

if the stage be intended as a portraiture of real character, such

representations tend only to excite a disgust and abhorrence of

human nature: with the exception of the innocent Maria, the

fiery Philip, Isabella, Alvero, and Hortenzo, there is not one

with whom our feelings hold communion. The open representation of

the Devil in 'Faustus' is less offensive than the introduction of

him here in the garb of a Moor; but the philanthropy of our

ancestors was not shocked at any representation of an African or

an Israelite."

Mr Collier[50] remarks, "Thomas Dekker, in partnership with

William Haughton and John Day, was the author of 'The Spanish

Moor's Tragedy,' which Malone, by a strange error, calls 'The

Spanish Morris,' but he gives the right date, January 1599-1600.

The mistake was more important than it may appear at first sight,

as 'The Spanish Moor's Tragedy' was most likely the production

called 'Lust's Dominion,' not printed until 1657, and falsely

attributed to Marlowe. A Spanish Moor is the hero of it, and the

date in Henslowe, of January 1599-1600, corresponds with that of

a tract upon which some of the scenes are even verbally founded.

That Marlowe, who was killed in 1593, and could not, therefore,

be the author of it, requires no further proof."

LUST'S DOMINION;

OR,

THE LASCIVIOUS QUEEN.

ACT I., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ ZARACK, BALTHAZAR, _two Moors, taking tobacco; music

sounding within_. _Enter_ QUEEN-MOTHER OF SPAIN _with two_

PAGES. ELEAZAR, _sitting on a chair, suddenly draws the

curtain_.[51]

ELE. On me does music spend this sound! on me,

That hate all unity! ah, Zarack! [ah,] Balthazar!

QUEEN-M. My gracious lord.

ELE. Are you there with your beagles! hark, you slaves!

Did not I bind you on your lives to watch

That none disturb'd us?

QUEEN-M. Gentle Eleazar.

ELE. There, off: is't you that deaf me with this noise?

[_Exeunt two Moors._

QUEEN-M. Why is my love's aspA"ct so grim and horrid?

Look smoothly on me;

Chime out your softest strains of harmony,

And on delicious music's silken wings

Send ravishing delight to my love's ears,

That he may be enamoured of your tunes.

Come, let's kiss.

ELE. Away, away!

QUEEN-M. No, no says ay; and twice away says stay:

Come, come, I'll have a kiss; but if you strive,

For one denial you shall forfeit five.

ELE. Nay, prythee, good queen, leave me;

I am now sick and heavy, dull[52] as lead.

QUEEN-M. I'll make thee lighter by taking something from thee.

ELE. Do: take from me this ague and these fits

That, hanging on me,

Shake me in pieces, and set all my blood

A-boiling with the fire of rage: away, away!

Thou believ'st I jest,

And laugh'st to see

My wrath wear antic shapes! Begone, begone!

QUEEN-M. What means my love?

Burst all those wires, burn all those instruments;

For they displease my Moor. Art thou now pleas'd?

Or wert thou now disturb'd? I'll wage all Spain

To one sweet kiss, this is some new device

To make me fond and long. O, you men

Have tricks to make poor women die for you.

ELE. What, die for me? away!

QUEEN-M. Away, what way? I prythee, speak more kindly;

Why dost thou frown? at whom?

ELE. At thee.

QUEEN-M. At me!

O, why at me? For each contracted frown

A crooked wrinkle interlines my brow:

Spend but one hour in frowns, and I shall look

Like to a beldame of one hundred years.

I prythee, speak to me, and chide me not.

I prythee, chide, if I have done amiss;

But let my punishment be this and this.

[_Kiss._

I prythee, smile on me, if but awhile,

Then frown on me, I'll die: I prythee, smile.

Smile on me, and these two wanton boys,

These pretty lads that do attend on me,

Shall call thee Jove, shall wait upon thy cup,

And fill thee nectar: their enticing eyes

Shall serve as crystal, wherein thou may'st see

To dress thyself, if thou wilt smile on me.

Smile on me, and with coronets of pearl

And bells of gold, circling their pretty arms,

In a round ivory fount these two shall swim,

And dive to make thee sport:

Bestow one smile, one little, little smile,

And in a net of twisted silk and gold

In my all-naked arms thyself shall lie.

ELE. Why, what to do? Lust's arms do stretch so wide

That none can fill them. I lie there? away![53]

QUEEN-M. Where hast thou learn'd this language, that can say

No more but two rude words, _away, away_?

Am I grown ugly now?

ELE. Ugly as hell.

QUEEN-M. Thou lov'dst me once.

ELE. That can thy bastards tell.

QUEEN-M. What is my sin? I will amend the same.

ELE. Hence, strumpet! use of sin makes thee past shame.

QUEEN-M. Strumpet!

ELE. Ay, strumpet.

QUEEN-M. Too true 'tis, woe is me;

I am a strumpet, but made so by thee.

ELE. By me!

No, no, by these young bawds: fetch thee a glass,

And thou shalt see the balls of both thine eyes

Burning in fire of lust. By me! There's here,

Within this hollow cistern of thy breast,

A spring of hot blood: have not I, to cool it,

Made an extraction to the quintessence

Even of my soul: melted all my spirits,

Ravish'd my youth, deflow'r'd my lovely cheeks,

And dried this, this to an anatomy,

Only to feed your lust?--these boys have ears--

[_In a whisper._]

Yet wouldst thou murder me.

QUEEN-M. I murder thee!

ELE. I cannot ride through the Castilian streets

But thousand eyes, through windows and through doors,

Throw killing looks at me; and every slave

At Eleazar darts a finger out,

And every hissing tongue cries, "There's the Moor;

That's he that makes a cuckold of our king;

There goes the minion of the Spanish queen;

That's the black prince of devils; there goes he

That on smooth boys, on masques and revellings,

Spend[s] the revenues of the King of Spain."

Who arms this many-headed beast but you?

Murder and lust are twins, and both are thine.

Being weary of me, thou wouldst worry me,

Because some new love makes thee loathe thine old.

QUEEN-M. Eleazar!

ELE. Harlot, I'll not hear thee speak.

QUEEN-M. I'll kill myself unless thou hear'st me speak.

My husband-king upon his deathbed lies,

Yet have I stol'n from him to look on thee:

A queen hath made herself thy concubine,

Yet dost thou now abhor me; hear me speak,

Else shall my sons plague thy adult'rous wrongs,

And tread upon thy heart for murdering me:

This tongue hath murder'd me. Cry murder, boys.

[_The_ QUEEN _shouts_.]

TWO BOYS. Murder! the queen's murder'd!

ELE. Love, slaves, peace!

TWO BOYS. Murder! the queen's murder'd!

ELE. Stop your throats!

Hark! hush, you squaller. Dear love, look up:

Our chamber-window stares into the court,

And every wide-mouth'd ear, hearing this news,

Will give alarum to the cuckold king:

I did dissemble when I chid my love,

And that dissembling was to try my love.

QUEEN-M. Thou call'dst me strumpet.

ELE. I'll tear out my tongue

From this black temple for blaspheming thee.

QUEEN-M. And when I woo'd thee but to smile on me,

Thou cri'dst away, away, and frown'dst upon me.

ELE. Come, now

I will kiss thee; now I'll smile upon thee;

Call to thy ashy cheeks their wonted red;

Come, frown not, pout not; smile, smile upon me,

And with my poniard will I stab my flesh,

And quaff carouses to thee of my blood;

Whilst in moist nectar kisses thou dost pledge me.

How now, why star'st thou thus?

[_Knock._

_Enter_ ZARACK.

ZAR. The king is dead!

ELE. Ah, dead! [ah, dead!] You hear this?

Is't true, is't true? The king [is] dead!

Who dare knock thus?

ZAR. It is the cardinal

Making inquiry if the queen were here.

Ele. See, she is here, [go] tell him; and yet [no--]

Zarack, stay.

_Enter_ BALTHAZAR.

BAL. Don Roderigo's come to seek the queen.

ELE. Why should Roderigo seek her here?

BAL. The king hath swooned thrice; and, being recovered,

Sends up and down the court to seek her grace.

ELE. The king was dead with you. [_To_ ZARACK.] Run, and with a

voice

Erected high as mine, say thus, thus threaten,

To Roderigo and the cardinal:

Seek no queens here, I'll broach them, if they do,

Upon my falchion's point:

[_Knock again._

Again! more knocking!

ZAR. Your father is at hand, my gracious lord.

ELE. Lock all the chambers, bar him out, you apes:

Hither, a vengeance! stir, Eugenia,

You know your old walk underground; away!

So down, hie to the king; quick, quick, you squalls,

Crawl with your dam i' th' dark; dear love, farewell:

One day I hope to shut you up in hell.

[ELEAZAR _shuts them in_.

SCENE II.

_Enter_ ALVERO.

ALV. Son Eleazar, saw you not the queen?

ELE. Hah!

ALV. Was not the queen here with you?

ELE. Queen with me!

Because, my lord, I'm married to your daughter,

You, like your daughter, will grow jealous:

The queen with me! with me a Moor, a devil,

A slave of Barbary, a dog--for so

Your silken courtiers christen me. But, father,

Although my flesh be tawny, in my veins

Runs blood as red, as royal, as the best

And proudest in Spain; there does, old man.

My father, who with his empire lost his life,

And left me captive to a Spanish tyrant,--

O! Go tell him, _Spanish tyrant_; tell him, do.

He that can lose a kingdom, and not rave,

He's a tame jade; I am not: tell old Philip

I call him tyrant; here's a sword and arms,

A heart, a head, and so, pish!--'tis but death.

Old fellow, she's not here: but ere I die,

Sword, I'll bequeath thee a rich legacy.

ALV. Watch fitter hours to think on wrongs than now;

Death's frozen hand holds royal Philip's heart;

Half of his body lies within a grave;

Then do not now by quarrels shake that state,

Which is already too much ruinate.

Come, and take leave of him, before he die.

[_Exit._

ELE. I'll follow you. Now, purple villany,

Sit like a robe imperial on my back,

That under thee I closelier may contrive

My vengeance; foul deeds hid do sweetly thrive.

Mischief, erect thy throne, and sit in state

Here, here upon this head; let fools fear fate,

Thus I defy my stars. I care not, I,

How low I tumble down, so I mount high:

Old Time, I'll wait bareheaded at thy heels,

And be a footboy to thy winged hours;

They shall not tell one minute out in sands,

But I'll set down the number; I'll still wake,

And waste these balls of sight by tossing them

In busy observations upon thee.

Sweet opportunity! I'll bind myself

To thee in base apprenticehood so long,

Till on thy naked scalp grow hair as thick

As mine; and all hands shall lay hold on thee,

If thou wilt lend me but thy rusty scythe,

To cut down all that stand within my wrongs

And my revenge. Love, dance in twenty forms

Upon my beauty, that this Spanish dame

May be bewitch'd and doat; her amorous flames

Shall blow up the old king, consume his sons,

And make all Spain a bonfire. This

Tragedy being acted, hers doth begin:

To shed a harlot's blood can be no sin.

[_Exit._

SCENE III.

_The Curtain being drawn, there appears in his bed_ KING

PHILIP, _with his Lords; the_ PRINCESS ISABELLA _at the

feet_, MENDOZA, ALVERO, HORTENZO, FERNANDO, RODERIGO;

_and to them enter_ QUEEN _in haste_.

QUEEN-M. Whose was that screech-owl's voice that, like the sound

Of a hell-tortur'd soul, rung through mine ears

Nothing but horrid shrieks, nothing but death?

Whilst I, vailing my knees to the cold earth,

Drowning my wither'd cheeks in my warm tears,

And stretching out my arms to pull from heaven

Health for the royal majesty of Spain,

All cried, the majesty of Spain is dead!

That last word _dead_ struck through the echoing air

Rebounded on my heart, and smote me down

Breathless to the cold earth, and made me leave

My prayers for Philip's life; but, thanks to heaven,

I see him live, and lives (I hope) to see

Unnumber'd years to guide this empery.

KING P. The number of my years ends in one day:

Ere this sun's down, all a king's glory sets,

For all our lives are but death-counterfeits.

Father Mendoza, and you peers of Spain,

Dry your wet eyes; for sorrow wanteth force

T' inspire a breathing soul in a dead corse;

Such is your king. Where's Isabella, our daughter?

MEN. At your bed's feet, confounded in her tears.

KING P. She of your grief the heaviest burthen bears;

You can but lose a king, but she a father.

QUEEN-M. She bear the heaviest burthen! O, say rather

I bear, and am borne down; my sorrowing

Is for a husband's loss, loss of a king.

KING P. No more. Alvero, call the princess hither.

ALV. Madam, his majesty doth call for you.

KING P. Come hither, Isabella, reach a hand,

Yet now it shall not need: instead of thine,

Death, shoving thee back, clasps his hands in mine,

And bids me come away: I must, I must,

Though kings be gods on earth, they turn to dust.

Is not Prince Philip come from Portugal?

ROD. The prince as yet is not return'd, my lord.

KING P. Commend me to him, if I ne'er behold him.

This tells the order of my funeral;

Do it as 'tis set down; embalm my body;

Though worms do make no difference of flesh,

Yet kings are curious here to dig their graves;

Such is man's frailty: when I am embalm'd,

Apparel me in a rich royal robe,

According to the custom of the land;

Then place my bones within that brazen shrine,

Which death hath builded for my ancestors;

I cannot name death, but he straight steps in

And pulls me by the arm.

FER. His grace doth faint;

Help me, my lords, softly to raise him up.

_Enter_ ELEAZAR, _and stands sadly by_.

KING P. Lift me not up, I shortly must go down.

When a few dribbling minutes have run out,

Mine hour is ended. King of Spain, farewell;

You all acknowledge him your sovereign?

ALL. When you are dead, we will acknowledge him.

KING P. Govern this kingdom well; to be a king

Is given to many, but to govern well

Granted to few. Have care to Isabel;

Her virtue was King Philip's looking-glass;

Reverence the queen your mother; love your sister

And the young prince your brother: even that day,

When Spain shall solemnise my obsequies,

And lay me up in earth, let them crown you.

Where's Eleazar, Don Alvero's son?

FER. Yonder, with cross'd arms, stands he malcontent.

KING P. I do commend him to thee for a man

Both wise and warlike; yet beware of him:

Ambition wings his spirit; keep him down.

What will not men attempt to win a crown?

Mendoza is protector of thy realm,

I did elect him for his gravity;

I trust he'll be a father to thy youth.

Call help, Fernando, now I faint indeed.

FER. My lords!

KING. P. Let none with a distracted voice

Shriek out, and trouble me in my departure.

Heaven's hands, I see, are beckoning for my soul;

I come, I come; thus do the proudest die;

Death hath no mercy, life no certainty.

[_Dies._

MEN. As yet his soul's not from her temple gone:

Therefore forbear loud lamentation.

QUEEN-M. O, he's dead, he's dead! lament and die;

In her king's end begins Spain's misery.

ISA. He shall not end so soon. Father, dear father!

FER. Forbear, sweet Isabella: shrieks are vain.

ISA. You cry forbear; you by his loss of breath

Have won a kingdom, you may cry forbear:

But I have lost a father and a king,

And no tongue shall control my sorrowing.

HOR. Whither, good Isabella?

ISA. I will go

Where I will languish in eternal woe.

HOR. Nay, gentle love.

ISA. Talk not of love to me,

The world and the world's pride henceforth I'll scorn.

[_Exit._

HOR. My love shall follow thee; if thou deny'st

To live with poor Hortenzo as his wife,

I'll never change my love, but change my life.

_Enter_ PHILIP _hastily_.

PHIL. I know he is not dead; I know proud death

Durst not behold such sacred majesty.

Why stand you thus distracted? Mother, brother,

My Lord Mendoza, where's my royal father?

QUEEN-M. Here lies the temple of his royal soul.

FER. Here's all that's left of Philip's majesty;

Wash you his tomb with tears: Fernando's moan,

Hating a partner, shall be spent alone.

[_Exit._

PHIL. O happy father! miserable son!

Philip is gone to joy, Philip's forlorn:

He dies to live, my life with woe is torn.

QUEEN-M. Sweet son.

PHIL. Sweet mother: O, how I now do shame

To lay on one so foul so fair a name:

Had you been a true mother, a true wife,

This king had not so soon been robb'd of life.

QUEEN-M. What means this rage, my son?

PHIL. Call not me your son.

My father, whil'st he liv'd, tir'd his strong arms

In bearing Christian armour 'gainst the Turks,

And spent his brains in warlike stratagems

To bring confusion on damn'd infidels:

Whilst you, that snorted here at home, betray'd

His name to everlasting infamy;

Whilst you at home suffer'd his bedchamber

To be a brothelry; whilst you at home

Suffer'd his queen to be a concubine,

And wanton red-cheek'd boys to be her bawds;

Whilst she, reeking in that lecher's arms----

ELE. Me!

PHIL. Villain, 'tis thee;

Thou hell-begotten fiend, at thee I stare.

QUEEN-M. Philip, thou art a villain to dishonour me.

PHIL. Mother, I am no villain: 'tis this villain

Dishonours you and me, dishonours Spain,

Dishonours all these lords; this devil is he,

That----

ELE. What! O, pardon me, I must throw off

All chains of duty, wert thou ten kings' sons;

Had I as many souls as I have sins,

As this from hence, so they from this should fly,

In just revenge of this indignity.

PHIL. Give way, or I'll make way upon your bosoms.

ELE. Did my dear sovereign live, sirrah, that tongue----

QUEEN-M. Did but King Philip live, traitor, I'd tell----

PHIL. A tale that should rid both your souls to hell.

Tell Philip's ghost, that Philip tells his queen,

That Philip's queen is a Moor's concubine;

Did the king live, I'd tell him how you two

Ripp'd up the entrails of his treasury

With masques and antic revellings.

ELE. Words insupportable! dost hear me, boy?

QUEEN-M. Stand you all still, and see me thus trod down?

PHIL. Stand you all still, yet let this devil stand here?

MEN. Forbear, sweet prince. Eleazar, I am now

Protector to Fernando, King of Spain;

By that authority, and by consent

Of all these peers, I utterly deprive thee

Of all those royalties thou holdst in Spain.

QUEEN-M. Cardinal, who lends thee this commission?

ELE. Cardinal, I'll shorten thee by the head for this.

PHIL. Forward, my Lord Mendoza; damn the fiend.

ELE. Princes of Spain, consent you to this pride?

ALL. We do.

QUEEN-M. For what cause? Let his faith be tried.

MEN. His treasons need no trial, they're too plain.

Come not within the court; for, if you do,

To beg with Indian slaves I'll banish you.

[_Exeunt all but_ ALVERO, QUEEN _and_ ELEAZAR.

SCENE IV.

ALV. Why should my son be banished?

_Enter_ MARIA.

QUEEN-M. Of that dispute not now. Alvero,

I'll to the king my son; it shall be tried,

If Castile's king can cool a cardinal's pride.

[_Exeunt_ QUEEN _and_ ALVERO.

ELE. If I digest this gall--O my Maria,

I am whipp'd, and rack'd, and torn upon the wheel

Of giddy Fortune; she and her minions

Have got me down, and treading on my bosom,

They cry, _Lie still_: the cardinal

(O rare!) would bandy me away from Spain,

And banish me to beg--ay, beg with slaves.

MARIA. Conquer with patience these indignities.

ELE. Patience! ha, ha! yes, yes, an honest cardinal!

MARIA. Yet smother [still] the grief, and seek revenge.

ELE. Ha! banish me! s'foot, why, say they do,

There's Portugal--a good air, and France--a fine country,

Or Barbary--rich, and has Moors; the Turk,

Pure devil, and allows enough to fat

The sides of villany--good living there!

I can live there, and there, and there;

Troth, 'tis a villain can live anywhere.

But say I go from hence: I leave behind me

A cardinal that will laugh; I leave behind me

A Philip that will clap his hands for joy.

And dance lavoltoes through the Castile court;

But the deep'st wound of all is this, I leave

My wrongs, dishonours, and my discontents--

O, unreveng'd; my bedrid enemies

Shall never be rais'd up by the strong physical

Curing of my sword; therefore stay still;

Many have hearts to strike, that dare not kill

Leave me, Maria. Cardinal, this disgrace

Shall dye thy soul as inky as my face.

Pish!--hence, Maria.

_Enter_ ALVERO.

MARIA. To the king I'll fly,

He shall revenge my lord's indignity.

[_Exit._

ALV. Mendoza woos the king to banish thee.

Startle thy wonted spirits, awake thy soul,

And on thy resolution fasten wings,

Whose golden feathers may outstrip their hate.

ELE. I'll tie no golden feathers to my wings.

ALV. Shall they thus tread thee down, which once were glad

To lacquey by thy conquering chariot-wheels?

ELE. I care not: I can swallow more sour wrongs.

ALV. If they triumph o'er thee, they'll spurn me down.

ELE. Look: spurn again!

ALV. What ice hath cool'd that fire,

Which sometimes made thy thoughts to heaven aspire?

This patience had not wont to dwell with thee.

_Enter_ FERNANDO _and_ MARIA.

ELE. 'Tis right, but now the world is chang'd, you see;

Though I seem dead to you, here lives a fire----

No more, here comes the king and my Maria:

The Spaniard loves my wife; she swears to me

She's chaste as the white moon; well, if she be;

Well, too, if she be not, I care not, I;

I'll climb up by that love to dignity.

FER. Thou woo'st me to revenge thy husband's wrong,

I woo thy fair self not to wrong thyself;

Swear but to love me, and to thee I'll swear

To crown thy husband with a diadem.

MARIA. Such love as I dare yield, I'll not deny.

FER. When in the golden arms of majesty--

I am broke off--yonder thy husband stands;

I'll set him free, if thou unite my bands;

So much for that. Durst then the cardinal

Put on such insolence? tell me, fair madam,

Where's your most valiant husband?

ELE. He sees me, and yet inquires for me.

MARIA. Yonder, my lord.

FER. Eleazar, I have in my breast writ down

From her report your late receiv'd disgrace;

My father lov'd you dearly, so will I.

ELE. True, for my wife's sake.

[_Aside._

FER. This indignity

Will I have interest in; for, being your king,

You shall perceive I'll curb my underling.

This morning is our coronation, and

[Our] father's funeral solemnised.

Be present, step into your wonted place,

We'll gild your dim disgraces with our grace.

[_Exeunt._

ELE. I thank my sovereign that you love my wife;

I thank thee, wife, that thou wilt lock my head

In such strong armour to bear off all blows;

Who dare say such wives are their husbands' foes?

Let's see now, by her falling I must rise;

Cardinal, you die if the king bid me live;

Philip, you die for railing at me;

Proud lord, you die, that with Mendoza cried,

Banish the Moor.

And you, my loving liege, you're best sit fast:

If all these live not, you must die at last.

ACT II., SCENE 1.

_Enter two_ LORDS, PHILIP, MENDOZA, ELEAZAR, _with him the_

KING _crowned_; QUEEN-MOTHER, ALVERO, ZARACK, BALTHAZAR,

_and Attendants_.

MEN. Why stares this devil thus, as if pale death

Had made his eyes the dreadful messengers

To carry black destruction to the world?

Was he not banish'd Spain?

PHIL. Your sacred mouth

Pronounc'd the sentence of his banishment:

Then spurn the villain forth.

ELE. Who spurns the Moor,

Were better set his foot upon the devil.

Do spurn me, and this confounding arm of wrath

Shall, like a thunderbolt breaking the clouds,

Divide his body from his soul! Stand back.

Spurn Eleazar!

ROD. Shall we bear this pride?

ALV. Why not? he underwent much injury.

MEN. What injury have we perform'd, proud lord?

ELE. Proud cardinal, my unjust banishment.

MEN. 'Twas we that did it, and our words are laws.

KING. 'Twas we repeal'd him, and our words are laws.

ZAR. BAL. If not, these are.

[_All the Moors draw._

PHIL. How! threaten'd and outdar'd!

KING. Shall we give arm to hostile violence?

Sheathe your swords, sheathe them: it's we command.

ELE. Grant Eleazar justice, my dread liege.

MEN. Eleazar hath had justice from our hands,

And he stands banish'd from the court of Spain.

KING. Have you done justice? Why, Lord Cardinal,

From whom do you derive authority

To banish him the court without our leave?

MEN. From this, the staff of our protectorship;

From this, which the last will of your dead father

Committed to our trust; from this high place,

Which lifts Mendoza's spirits beyond the pitch

Of ordinary honour, and from this----

[KING _takes the staff from_ MENDOZA, _and gives it to_

ELEAZAR.

KING. Which too much overweening insolence

Hath quite ta'en from thee. Eleazar, up,

And from us sway this staff of Regency.

ALL. How's this!

PHIL. Dare sons presume to break their father's will?

KING. Dare subjects countercheck their sovereign's will?

'Tis done, and who gainsays it, is a traitor.

PHIL. I do, Fernando, yet am I no traitor.

MEN. Fernando, I am wrong'd; by Peter's chair,

Mendoza vows revenge. I'll lay aside

My cardinal's hat, and in a wall of steel,

The glorious livery of a soldier,

Fight for my late-lost honour.

KING. Cardinal!

MEN. King! thou shalt be no king for wronging me.

The Pope shall send his bulls through all thy realm,

And pull obedience from thy subjects' hearts,

To put on armour of the Mother Church.

Curses shall fall like lightnings on thy head,

Bell, book, and candle: holy water, prayers,

Shall all chime vengeance to the court of Spain,

Till they have power to conjure down that fiend,

That damn'd Moor, that devil, that Lucifer,

That dares aspire the staff the card'nal sway'd.

ELE. Ha, ha, ha! I laugh yet, that the cardinal's vex'd.

PHIL. Laugh'st thou, base slave! the wrinkles of that scorn

Thine own heart's blood shall fill. Brother, farewell;

Since you disprove the will our father left

For base lust of a loathed concubine.

ELE. Ha! concubine! who does Prince Philip mean?

PHIL. [_To_ ELEAZAR.] Thy wife. [_To_ ALVERO.] Thy daughter.

Base, aspiring lords,

Who to buy honour are content to sell

Your names to infamy, your souls to hell.

And stamp you now? Do, do, for you shall see

I go for vengeance, and she'll come with me.

ELE. Stay, for she's here already, see, proud boy.

[_They both draw._

QUEEN-M. Hold! stay this fury; if you long for blood,

Murder me first. Dear son, you are a king;

Then stay the violent tempest of their wrath.

KING. Shall kings be oversway'd in their desires?

ROD. Shall subjects be oppress'd by tyranny?

QUEEN-M. No state shall suffer wrong; then hear me speak:

Mendoza, you have sworn you love the queen;

Then by that love I charge you leave these arms.

Eleazar, for those favours I have given you,

Embrace the cardinal, and be friends with him.

ELE. And have my wife call'd strumpet to my face!

QUEEN-M. 'Twas rage made his tongue err; do you not know

The violent love Mendoza bears the queen?

Then speak him fair, for in that honey'd breath

I'll lay a bait shall train him to his death.

[_Aside._

Come, come, I see your looks give way to peace;

Lord Cardinal, begin; and [_Aside_] for reward,

Ere this fair setting sun behold his bride,

Be bold to challenge love, yet be denied.

MEN. That promise makes me yield.

[_Aside._]

My gracious lord,

Though my disgrace hath graven its memory

On every Spaniard's eye, yet shall the duty

I owe your sacred highness, and the love

My country challengeth, make me lay by

Hostile intendments, and return again

To the fair circle of obedience.

KING. Both pardon and our favour bids you welcome;

And for some satisfaction for your wrongs,

We here create you Salamanca's Duke:

But first, as a true sign all grudges die,

Shake hands with Eleazar, and be friends;

This union pleaseth us. Now, brother Philip,

You are included in this league of love,

So is Roderigo. To forget all wrongs,

Your castle for awhile shall bid us welcome;

Eleazar, shall it not? It is enough.

Lords, lead the way, that [_Aside_] whilst you feast yourselves,

Fernando may find time all means to prove,

To compass fair Maria for our love.

[_Exeunt omnes._

SCENE II.

QUEEN-MOTHER _and_ ELEAZAR.

ELE. Madam, a word: now have you wit or spirit?

QUEEN-M. Both.

ELE. Set them both to a most gainful task.

Our enemies are in my castle-work.

QUEEN-M. Ay; but the king's there too; it's dangerous pride

To strike at those that crouch by a lion's side.

ELE. Remove them.

QUEEN-M. How?

ELE. How! a thousand ways:

By poison, or by this [_Points to his sword_]; but every groom

Has skill in such base traffic; no, our policies

Must look more strange, must fly with loftier wings;

Vengeance, the higher it falls, more honour brings;

But you are cold--you dare not do.

QUEEN-M. I dare.

ELE. You have a woman's heart; look you, this hand--

[_Takes her hand._

O, 'tis too little to strike home.

QUEEN-M. At whom?

ELE. Your son.

QUEEN-M. Which son? the king?

ELE. Angels of heaven

Stand like his guard about him! how, the king!

Not for so many worlds as there be stars

Sticking upon th' embroider'd firmament.

The king! he loves my wife, and should he die,

I know none else would love her; let him live

In heaven.[54]

[_Aside_.

Good Lord Philip----

QUEEN-M. He shall die.

ELE. How? good, good.

QUEEN-M. By this hand.

ELE. When? good, good; when?

QUEEN-M. This night, if Eleazar give consent.

ELE. Why, then, this night Philip shall not live

To see you kill him! Is he not your son?

A mother be the murd'rer of a brat

That liv'd within her! ha!

QUEEN-M. 'Tis for thy sake.

ELE. Pish! What excuses cannot damn'd sin make

To save itself! I know you love him well;

But that he has an eye, an eye, an eye.

To others, our two hearts seem to be lock'd

Up in a case of steel; upon our love others

Dare not look; or, if they dare, they cast

Squint, purblind glances. Who care, though all see all,

So long as none dare speak? But Philip

Knows that iron ribs of our villains

Are thin: he laughs to see them, like this hand,

With chinks and crevices; how [with] a villanous,

A stabbing, [a] desperate tongue the boy dare speak:

A mouth, a villanous mouth! let's muzzle him.

QUEEN-M. How?

ELE. Thus:

Go you, and with a face well-set do

In good sad colours, such as paint out

The cheek of that foul penitence, and with a tongue

Made clean and glib, cull from their lazy swarm

Some honest friars whom that damnation, gold,

Can tempt to lay their souls to the stake;

Seek such--they are rank and thick.

QUEEN-M. What then? I know such--what's the use?

ELE. This is excellent!

Hire these to write books, preach, and proclaim abroad

That your son Philip is a bastard.

QUEEN-M. How?

ELE. A bastard. Do you know a bastard? do't:

Say conscience spake with you, and cried out do't;

By this means shall you thrust him from all hope

Of wearing Castile's diadem, and, that spur

Galling his sides, he will fly out and fling,

And grind the cardinal's heart to a new edge

Of discontent; from discontent grows treason,

And on the stalk of treason, death: he's dead,

By this blow and by you; yet no blood shed.

Do't then; by this trick he is gone.

We stand more sure in climbing high;

Care not who fall, 'tis real policy: are you

Arm'd to do this, ha?

QUEEN-M. Sweet Moor, it is done.

ELE. Away then; work with boldness and with speed:

On greatest actions greatest dangers feed.

[_Exit_ QUEEN-MOTHER.

Ha, ha! I thank thee, provident creation,

That seeing[55] in moulding me thou didst intend

I should prove villain; thanks to thee and nature,

That skilful workman: thanks for my face:

Thanks that I have not wit to blush!

What, Zarack! ho, Balthazar!

_Enter the two_ MOORS.

BOTH. My lord.

ELE. Nearer. So: silence!

Hang both your greedy ears upon my lips;

Let them devour my speech, suck in my breath, and in.

Who let's it break prison, here is his death.

This night the card'nal shall be murder'd.

BOTH. Where?

ELE. And to fill up a grave Philip dies.

BOTH. Where?

ELE. Here.

BOTH. By whom?

ELE. By thee, and, slave, by thee.

Have you [the] hearts and hands to execute?

BOTH. Here's both.

1ST MOOR. He dies, were he my father.

ELE. Ho, away.

Stay--go, go--stay; see me no more till night.

Your cheeks are black; let not your souls look white.

BOTH. Till night?

ELE. Till night: a word! the Mother-Queen

Is trying, if she can, with fire of gold

Warp the green consciences of two covetous friars

To preach abroad Philip's bastardy.

_1st Moor._ His bastardy! who was his father?

ELE. Who?

Search for these friars: hire them to work with you.

Their holy callings will approve the fact

Most good and meritorious: sin shines clear,

When her black face religion's mask doth wear.

Here comes the queen--good--and the friars.

SCENE III.

_Enter two friars_, CRAB _and_ COLE, _and_ QUEEN-MOTHER.

COLE. Your son a bastard? say, we do;

But how then shall we deal with you?

I tell you, as I said before,

His being a bastard, you are so poor

In honour and in name, that time

Can never take away the crime.

QUEEN-M. I grant that, friar; yet rather I'll endure

The wound of infamy to kill my name,

Than to see Spain bleeding with civil swords.

The boy is proud, ambitious; he woos greatness;

He takes up Spanish hearts on trust to pay them,

When he shall finger Castile's crown. O, then,

Were it not better my disgrace were known,

Than such a base aspirer fill the throne?

COLE. Ha, brother Crab, what think you?

CRAB. As you, dear brother Cole.

COLE. Then we agree.

Cole's judgment is as Crab's, you see.

Lady, we swear to speak and write

What you please, so all go right.

QUEEN-M. Then, as we gave directions, spread abroad

In Cadiz, Madrid, Granada, and Medina,

And all the royal cities of the realm,

Th' ambitious hopes of that proud bastard Philip:

And sometimes, as you see occasion,

Tickle the ears of the rude multitude

With Eleazar's praise; gild his virtues,

Naples' recovery, and his victories

Achiev'd against the Turkish Ottoman.

Will you do this for us?

ELE. Say, will you?

BOTH. Ay.

ELE. Why start you back and stare?

Ha! are you afraid?

COLE. O, no, sir, no! but, truth to tell,

Seeing your face, we thought of hell.

ELE. Hell is a dream.

COLE. But none do dream in hell.

ELE. Friars, stand to her and me; and by your sin

I'll shoulder out Mendoza from his seat,

And of two friars create you cardinals.

O, how would cardinals' hats on their heads sit?

COLE. This face would look most goodly under it.

Friar[s] Crab and Cole do swear

In those circles still to appear,

In which she or you do charge us rise;

For you our lives we'll sacrifice.

_Valete, gaudete:

Si pereamus, flete;

Orate pro nobis,

Oremus pro vobis._

Cole will be burnt and Crab be press'd,

Ere they prove knaves; thus are you cross'd and bless'd.

ELE. Away! you know. [_Exeunt_ FRIARS.] Now, madam, none shall

throw

Their leaden envy in an opposite scale,

To weigh down our true golden happiness.

QUEEN-M. Yes, there is one.

ELE. One! who?

Give me his name, and I will turn

It to a magic spell to bind

Him here, here. Who?

QUEEN-M. Your wife Maria.

ELE. Ha! my Maria!

QUEEN-M. She's

The Hellespont divides my love and me:

She being cut off----

ELE. Stay, stay; cut off!

Let's think upon't; my wife!

Humph! kill her too!

QUEEN-M. Does her love make thee cold?

ELE. Had I a thousand wives, down go they all.

She dies; I'll cut her off. Now, Balthazar!

_Enter_ BALTHAZAR.

BAL. Madam, the king entreats your company.

QUEEN-M. His pleasure be obey'd. Dear love, farewell;

Remember your Maria.

[_Exit._

ELE. Dear,[56] adieu;

With this I'll guard her, whilst it stabs at you.

[_Points to his sword._

My lord,[57] the friars are won to join with us.

Be prosperous! about it, Balthazar.

BAL. The watchword?

ELE. O, the word; let it be _Treason_.

When we cry treason, break ope chamber doors:

Kill Philip and the cardinal. Hence!

BAL. I fly.

[_Exit._

ELE. Murder, now ride in triumph; darkness, horror,

Thus I invoke your aid; your act begin;

Night is a glorious robe for th' ugliest sin.

SCENE IV.

_Enter_ COLE _and_ CRAB _in trousers; the_ CARDINAL _in one

of their weeds, and_ PHILIP _putting on the other_.

FRIARS. Put on, my lord, and fly, or else you die.

PHIL. I will not, I will die first. Cardinal,

Prythee, good cardinal, pluck off, friars; slave!

Murder us two! he shall not, by this sword.

CAR. My lord, you will endanger both our lives.

PHIL. I care not; I'll kill some before I die.

Away! s'heart! take your rags! Moor, devil, come.

FRIARS. My lord, put on, or else----

PHIL. God's foot! come, help.

CAR. Ambitious villain! Philip, let us fly

Into the chamber of the mother-queen.

PHIL. Thunder beat down the lodgings.

CAR. Else

Let's break into the chamber of the king.

PHIL. Agreed.

A pox upon these lousy gabardines.

Agreed; I am for you, Moor; stand side by side;

Come, hands off; leave your ducking.[58] Hell cannot fright

Their spirits that do desperately fight.

COL. You are too rash, you are too hot;

Wild desperateness doth valour blot.

The lodging of the king's beset

With staring faces black as jet,

And hearts of iron: your deaths are vow'd,

If you fly that way; therefore shroud

Your body in friar Cole's grey weed;

For is't not madness, man, to bleed,

When you may 'scape untouch'd away?

Here's hell, here's heaven: here if you stay,

You're gone, you're gone; friar Crab and I

Will here dance friskin, whilst you fly.

Gag us, bind us, come put on;

The gag's too wide; so gone, gone, gone!

PHIL. O, well, I'll come again. Lord Cardinal,

Take you the castle, I'll to Portugal.

I vow I'll come again, and if I do----

CAR. Nay, good my lord.

PHIL. Black devil, I'll conjure you.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_To the_ FRIARS _making a noise, gagged and bound, enter_

ELEAZAR, ZARACK, BALTHAZAR, _and other Moors, all with

their swords drawn_.

ELE. Guard all the passages. Zarack, stand there;

There Balthazar, there you. The friars?

Where have you plac'd the friars?

ALL. My lord, a noise![59]

BAL. The friars are gagg'd and bound.

ELE. 'Tis Philip and the cardinal; shoot:--ha! stay--

Unbind them. Where's Mendoza and the prince?

COLE. Santa Maria, who can tell!

By Peter's keys, they bound us well,

And having crack'd our shaven crowns,

They have escap'd you in our gowns.

ELE. Escap'd! escap'd away! I am glad, it's good;

I would their arms may turn to eagles' wings,

To fly as swift as time. Sweet air, give way:

Winds, leave your two-and-thirty palaces,

And meeting all in one, join all your might

To give them speedy and a prosperous flight.

Escaped, friars! which way?

BOTH. This way.

ELE. Good!

Alas, what sin is't to shed innocent blood?

For look you, holy men, it is the king:

The king, the king. See, friars, sulphury wrath

Having once entered into royal breasts,

Mark how it burns. The queen, Philip's mother.

O, most unnatural! will have you two

Divulge abroad that he's a bastard. O,

Will you do it?

CRAB. What says my brother friar?

COLE. A prince's love is balm, their wrath is fire.

CRAB. 'Tis true; but yet I'll publish no such thing;

What fool would lose his soul to please a king?

ELE. Keep there--good, there; yet, for it wounds my soul

To see the miserablest wretch to bleed,

I counsel you, in care unto your lives,

T' obey the mother-queen; for by my life,

I think she has been prick'd [in] her conscience.

O, it has stung her for some fact misdone,

She would not else disgrace herself and son.

Do't therefore; hark! she'll work your deaths else, hate

Bred in woman is insatiate. Do't, friars.

CRAB. Brother Cole, zeal sets me in a flame:

I'll do't.

COLE. And I: his baseness we'll proclaim.

[_Exeunt_ FRIARS.

ELE. Do, and be damn'd; Zarack and Balthazar,

Dog them at the heels; and when their poisonous breath

Hath scatter'd this infection on the hearts

Of credulous Spaniards, here reward them thus:

[_Points to his sword._

Slaves too much trusted do grow dangerous.

Why this shall feed and fat suspicion

And my policy.

I'll ring through all the court this loud alarum,

That they contriv'd the murder of the king,

The queen, and me; and, being undermin'd,

To 'scape the blowing up, they fled. O, good!

There, there, thou there, cry treason; each one take

A several door; your cries my music make.

BAL. Where is the king? treason pursues him.

_Enter_ ALVERO _in his shirt, his sword drawn_.

ELE. Where is the sleeping queen?

Rise, rise, and arm against the hand of treason.

ALV. Whence comes this sound of treason?

_Enter the_ KING _in his shirt, his sword drawn_.

KING. Who frights our quiet slumbers with

This heavy noise?

_Enter_ QUEEN _in her night attire_.

QUEEN-M. Was it a dream, or did the sound

Of monster treason call me from my rest?

KING. Who rais'd this rumour? Eleazar, you?

ELE. I did, my liege, and still continue it,

Both for your safety and mine own discharge.

KING. Whence comes the ground then?

ELE. From the cardinal

And the young prince who, bearing in his mind

The true idea of his late disgrace

In putting him from the protectorship,

And envying the advancement of the Moor,

Determined this night to murder you;

And for your highness lodged within my castle,

They would have laid the murder on my head.

KING. The cardinal and my brother! bring them forth:

Their lives shall answer this ambitious practice.

ELE. Alas! my lord, it is impossible;

For when they saw I had discovered them,

They train'd two harmless friars to their lodgings,

Disrob'd them, gagg'd them, bound them to two posts,

And in their habits did escape the castle.

KING. The cardinal is all ambition,

And from him doth our brother gather heart.

QUEEN-M. Th' ambition of the one infects the other,

And, in a word, they both are dangerous:

But might your mother's counsel stand in force,

I would advise you, send the trusty Moor

To fetch them back, before they have seduc'd

The squint-ey'd multitude from true allegiance,

And drawn them to their dangerous faction.

KING. It shall be so. Therefore, my state's best prop,

Within whose bosom I durst trust my life,

Both for my safety and thine own discharge,

Fetch back those traitors; and till your return

Ourself will keep your castle.

ELE. My liege, the tongue of true obedience

Must not gainsay his sovereign's impose.

By heaven! I will not kiss the cheek of sleep,

Till I have fetched those traitors to the court!

KING. Why, this sorts right: he gone, his beauteous wife

Shall sail into the naked arms of love.

[_Aside._

QUEEN-M. Why, this is as it should be; he once gone,

His wife, that keeps me from his marriage-bed,

Shall by this hand of mine be murdered.

[_Aside._

KING. This storm is well-nigh past; the swelling clouds

That hang so full of treason, by the wind

In awful majesty are scattered.

Then each man to his rest. Good night, sweet friend!

Whilst thou pursu'st the traitors that are fled,

Fernando means to warm thy marriage-bed.

[_Exeunt._

ELE. Many good nights consume and damn your souls!

I know he means to cuckold me this night,

Yet do I know no means to hinder it:

Besides, who knows whether the lustful king,

Having my wife and castle at command,

Will ever make surrender back again?

But if he do not, with my falchion's point

I'll lance those swelling veins, in which hot lust

Does keep his revels; and with that warm blood,

Where Venus' bastard cooled his swelt'ring spleen,

Wash the disgrace from Eleazar's brow.

SCENE VI.

_Enter_ MARIA.

MARIA. Dear Eleazar!

ELE. If they lock the gates,

I'll toss a ball of wildfire o'er the walls.

MARIA. Husband! sweet husband!

ELE. Or else swim o'er the moat,

And make a breach th[o]rough the flinty sides

Of the rebellious walls.

MARIA. Hear me, dear heart.

ELE. Or undermine the chamber where they lie,

And by the violent strength of gunpowder

Blow up the castle and th' incestuous couch,

In which lust wallows; but my labouring thoughts,

Wading too deep in bottomless extremes,

Do drown themselves in their own stratagems.

MARIA. Sweet husband, dwell not upon circumstance,

When weeping sorrow, like an advocate,

Importunes you for aid; look in mine eye,

There you shall see dim grief swimming in tears,

Invocating succour. O, succour!

ELE. Succour! zounds! for what?

MARIA. To shield me from Fernando's unchaste love,

Who with uncessant prayers importun'd me----

ELE. To lie with you! I know't.

MARIA. Then seek some means how to prevent it.

ELE. 'Tis [im]possible:

For, to the end that his unbridled lust

Might have more free access unto thy bed,

This night he hath enjoined me

To fetch back Philip and the cardinal.

MARIA. Then this ensuing night shall give an end

To all my sorrows; for before foul lust

Shall soil the fair complexion of mine honour,

This hand shall rob Maria of her life.

ELE. Not so, dear soul; for in extremities

Choose out the least: and ere the hand of death

Should suck this ivory palace of thy life,

Embrace my counsel, and receive this poison

Which, in the instant he attempts thy love,

Then give it him: do, do,

Do poison him. [_Aside_.] He gone, thou'rt next--

Be sound in resolution, and farewell.

By one and one I'll ship you all to hell.

[_Aside._]

Spain, I will drown thee with thine own proud blood,

Then make an ark of carcases: farewell!

Revenge and I will sail in blood to hell.

[_Exit._

MARIA. Poison the king! alas! my trembling hand

Would let the poison fall; and through my cheeks

Fear, suited in a bloodless livery,

Would make the world acquainted with my guilt.

But thanks, prevention: I have found a means,

Both to preserve my royal sovereign's life

And keep myself a true and loyal wife.

[_Exit._

ACT III., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ QUEEN-MOTHER _with a torch_.

QUEEN-M. Fair eldest child of love, thou spotless night,

Empress of silence, and the queen of sleep,

Who with thy black cheeks' pure complexion,

Mak'st lovers' eyes enamour'd of thy beauty,

Thou art like my Moor; therefore will I adore thee

For lending me this opportunity,

O, with the soft-skinn'd negro. Heavens, keep back

The saucy staring day from the world's eye,

Until my Eleazar make return:

Then in his castle shall he find his wife

Transform'd into a strumpet by my son:

Then shall he hate her, whom he would not kill;

Then shall I kill her, whom I cannot love.

The king is sporting with his concubine.

Blush not, my boy; be bold like me thy mother.

But their delights torture my soul like devils,

Except her shame be seen: wherefore awake!

Christophero! Roderigo! raise the court;

Arise, you peers of Spain; Alvero, rise;

Preserve your country from base infamies.

_Enter at several doors, with lights and rapiers drawn_,

ALVERO, RODERIGO, _and_ CHRISTOPHERO, _with others_.

ALL. Who rais'd these exclamations through the court?

QUEEN-M. Sheathe up your swords; you need not swords, but eyes

To intercept this treason.

ALV. What's the treason?

Who are traitors? ring the larum-bell;

Cry _Arm_ through all the city: once before

The horrid cry of treason did affright

Our sleeping spirits.

QUEEN-M. Stay;

You need not cry _Arm, arm!_ for this black deed

Works treason to your king, to me, to you,

To Spain, and all that shall in Spain ensue.

This night Maria (Eleazar's wife)

Hath drawn the king by her lascivious looks

Privately to a banquet; I (unseen)

Stood and beheld him in her lustful arms;

O God! shall bastards wear Spain's diadem?

If you can kneel to baseness, vex them not;

If you disdain to kneel, wash off this blot.

ROD. Let's break into the chamber, and surprise her.

ALV. O miserable me! do, do, break in;

My country shall not blush at my child's sin.

QUEEN-M. Delay is nurse to danger, follow me;

Come you and witness to her villany.

ALV. Hapless Alvero, how art thou undone

In a light daughter and a stubborn son!

[_Exeunt_ OMNES.

SCENE II.

_Enter_ KING, _with his rapier drawn in one hand, leading_

MARIA, _seeming affrighted, in the other_.

MARIA. O, kill me, ere you stain my chastity.

KING. My hand holds death; but love sits in mine eye.

Exclaim not, dear Maria; do but hear me.

Though thus in dead of night, as I do now,

The lustful Tarquin stole to the chaste bed

Of Collatine's fair wife, yet shall thou be

No Lucrece, nor thy king a Roman slave,

To make rude villany thine honour's grave.

MARIA. Why from my bed have you thus frighted me?

KING. To let thee view a bloody horrid tragedy.

MARIA. Begin it, then; I'll gladly lose my life,

Rather than be an emperor's concubine.

KING. By my high birth, I swear thou shalt be none;

The tragedy I'll write with my own hand;

A king shall act it, and a king shall die,

Except sweet mercy's beam shine from thine eye.

If this affright thee, it shall sleep for ever.

If still thou hate me, thus this noble blade

This royal purple temple shall invade.

MARIA. My husband is from hence: for his sake spare me.

KING. Thy husband is no Spaniard: thou art one:

So is Fernando; then for country's sake,

Let me not spare thee: on thy husband's face

Eternal night in gloomy shades doth dwell;

But I'll look on thee like the gilded sun,

When to the west his fiery horses run.

MARIA. True, here you look on me with sunset eyes,

For by beholding you my glory dies.

KING. Call me thy morning then; for, like the morn,

In pride Maria shall through Spain be borne.

[_Music plays within._

This music was prepar'd to please thine ears:[60]

Love me, and thou shalt hear no other sounds.

[_A banquet brought in._

Lo, here's a banquet set with mine own hands;

Love me, and thus I'll feast thee like a queen.

I might command thee, being thy sovereign;

But love me, and I'll kneel and sue to thee,

And circle this white forehead with the crown

Of Castile, Portugal, and Arragon,

And all those petty kingdoms which do bow

Their tributary knees to Philip's heir.

MARIA. I cannot love you whilst my husband lives.

KING. I'll send him to the wars, and in the front

Of some main army shall he nobly die.

MARIA. I cannot love you if you murder him.

KING. For thy sake then I'll call a parliament,

And banish by a law all Moors from Spain.

MARIA. I'll wander with him into banishment.

KING. It shall be death for any negro's hand

To touch the beauty of a Spanish dame.

Come, come, what needs such cavils with a king?

Night blinds all jealous eyes, and we may play.

Carouse that bowl to me: I'll pledge all this;

Being down, we'll make it more sweet with a kiss.

Begin, I'll lock all doors: begin, Spain's queen:

[_Locks the doors._

Love's banquet is most sweet when 'tis least seen.

MARIA. O thou conserver of my honour's life:

Instead of poisoning him, drown him in sleep.

Because I'll quench the flames of wild desire,

I'll drink this off--let fire conquer love's fire.

[_Aside._

KING. Were love himself in real substance here,

Thus would I drink him down; let your sweet strings

Speak louder: pleasure is but a slave to kings,

In which love swims. Maria, kiss thy king:

Circle me in this ring of ivory;

O, I grow dull, and the cold hand of sleep

Hath thrust his icy fingers in my breast,[61]

And made a frost within me. Sweet, one kiss

To thaw this deadness that congeals my soul.

MAR. Your majesty hath overwatch'd yourself.

He sleeps already--not the sleep of death,

But a sweet slumber, which the powerful drug

Instill'd through all his spirits. O bright day,

Bring home my dear lord ere his king awake,

Else of his unstain'd bed he'll shipwreck make.

[_Offers to go._

_Enter_ OBERON, _and_ FAIRIES _dancing before him; and Music

with them_.

MARIA. O me! what shapes are these?

OBER. Stay, stay, Maria.

MARIA. My sovereign lord awake, save poor Maria.

OBER. He cannot save thee: save that pain;

Before he wake, thou shalt be slain:

His mother's hand shall stop thy breath,

Thinking her own son is done to death:

And she that takes away thy life,

Does it to be thy husband's wife:

Adieu, Maria, we must hence:

Embrace thine end with patience.

Elves and fairies make no stand,

Till you come in fairyland.

[_Exeunt dancing and singing._

MARIA. Fairies or devils, whatsoe'er you be,

Thus will I hide me from your company.

[_Offers to go._

SCENE III.

_To her enter_ QUEEN-MOTHER _suddenly, with_ ALVERO _and_

RODERIGO _with rapiers_.

QUEEN-M. Lay hold upon the strumpet! where's the king?

Fernando! son! Ah me! your king is dead!

Lay hands upon the murd'ress.

MARIA. Imperious queen,

I am as free from murder as thyself;

Which I will prove, if you will hear me speak.

The king is living.

ROD. If he liv'd, his breath would beat within his breast.

QUEEN-M. The life he leads, Maria, thou shalt soon participate.

MARIA. O father, save me!

ALV. Thou'rt no child of mine.

Hadst thou been owner of Alvero's spirit,

Thy heart would not have entertain'd a thought

That had convers'd with murder: yet mine eyes,

Howe'er my tongue wants words, brimful with tears

Entreat her further trial.

QUEEN-M. To what end?

Here lies her trial; from this royal breast

Hath she stolen all comfort--all the life

Of every bosom in the realm of Spain.

ROD. She's both a traitor and [a] murd'ress.

QUEEN-M. I'll have her forthwith strangled.

ALV. Hear her speak.

QUEEN-M. To heaven let her complain, if she have wrong;

I murder but the murd'ress of my son.

ALL. We murder [but] the murd'ress of our king.[62]

ALV. Ah me! my child! O, O, cease your torturing!

MARIA. Heaven ope your windows, that my spotless soul,

Riding upon the wings of innocence,

May enter Paradise. Fairies, farewell;

Fernando's death in mine you did foretell.

[_She dies._ KING _wakes_.

KING. Who calls Fernando? Love--Maria, speak;

O, whither art thou fled? Whence flow these waters,

That fall like winter-storms from the drown'd eyes?

ALV. From my Maria's death.

KING. My Maria dead!

Damn'd be the soul to hell that stopp'd her breath.

Maria! O me! who durst murder thee?

QUEEN-M. I thought my dear Fernando had been dead,

And in my indignation murder'd her.

KING. I was not dead, until you murder'd me

By killing fair Maria.

QUEEN-M. Gentle son----

KING. Ungentle mother, you a deed have done

Of so much ruth, that no succeeding age

Can ever clear you of. O my dear love!

Yet heavens can witness thou wert never mine.

Spain's wonder was Maria.

QUEEN-M. Sweet, have done.

KING. Have done! for what? For shedding zealous tears

Over the tomb of virtuous chastity?

You cry _Have done_, now I am doing good;

But cried _Do on_, when you were shedding blood.

Have you done, mother? Yes, yes, you have done

That which will undo your unhappy son.

ROD. These words become you not, my gracious lord.

KING. These words become not me! no more it did

Become you, lords, to be mute standers-by,

When lustful fury ravish'd chastity:

It ill becomes me to lament her death;

But it became you well to stop her breath!

Had she been fair, and not so virtuous,

This deed had not been half so impious.

ALV. But she was fair in virtue, virtuous fair. O me!

KING. O me! she was true honour's heir.

Hence, beldam, from my presence! all, fly hence;

You are all murderers. Come, poor innocent,

Clasp thy cold hand in mine; for here I'll lie,

And since I liv'd for her, for her I'll die.

SCENE IV.

_Enter_ ELEAZAR _with a torch, his rapier drawn_.

ELE. Bar up my castle gates! fire and confusion

Shall girt these Spanish curs. Was I for this

Sent to raise power against a fugitive?

To have my wife deflower'd? Zounds! where's my wife?

My slaves cry out she's dallying with the king:

Stand by; where is your king? Eleazar's bed

Shall scorn to be an Emperor's brothelry.

QUEEN-M. Be patient, Eleazar; here's the king.

ELE. Patience and I am foes. Where's my Maria?

ALV. Here is her hapless corse, that was Maria.

KING. Here lies Maria's body, here her grave,

Her dead heart in my breast a tomb shall have.

ELE. Now, by the proud complexion of my cheeks,

Ta'en from the kisses of the amorous sun,

Were he ten thousand kings that slew my love,

Thus should my hand, plum'd with revenge's wings,

Requite mine own dishonour and her death.

[_Stabs the_ KING.

QUEEN-M. Ah me! my son!

ALL. The king is murder'd!

Lay hold on the damn'd traitor.

ELE. In his breast,

That dares but dart a finger at the Moor,

I'll bury this sharp steel, yet reeking warm

With the unchas'd[63] blood of that lecher-king,

That threw my wife in an untimely grave.

ALV. She was my daughter, and her timeless grave

Did swallow down my joys as deep as yours.

But thus----

ELE. But what? Bear injuries that can:

I'll wear no forked crest.

ROD. Damn this black fiend! cry treason through the court:

The king is murder'd.

ELE. He that first opes his lips, I'll drive his words

Down his wide throat upon my rapier's point.

The king is murder'd, and I'll answer it.

I am dishonour'd, and I will revenge it.

Bend not your dangerous weapons at my breast;

Think where you are: this castle is the Moor's;

You are environ'd with a wall of flint,

The gates are lock'd, portcullises let down;

If Eleazar spend one drop of blood,

[ZARACK _and_ BALTHAZAR _above with calivers_.[64]]

On those high turret-tops my slaves stand arm'd,

And shall confound your souls with murd'ring shot:

Or if you murder me, yet underground

A villain, that for me will dig to hell,

Stands with a burning linstock in his fist,

Who, firing gunpowder, up in the air

Shall fling your torn and mangled carcases.

QUEEN-M. O, sheathe your weapons: though my son be slain,

Yet save yourselves; choose a new sovereign.

ALL. Prince Philip is our sovereign, choose him king!

ELE. Prince Philip shall not be my sovereign.

Philip's a bastard, and Fernando's dead.

Mendoza sweats to wear Spain's diadem:

Philip has sworn confusion to this realm.

They both are up in arms; war's flames do shine

Like lightning in the air. Wherefore, my lords,

Look well on Eleazar; value me,

Not by my sunburnt cheeks, nor by my birth,

But by my loss of blood,

Which I have sacrific'd in Spain's defence.

Then look on Philip and the cardinal;

Look on those gaping curs, whose wide throats

Stand stretch'd wide open like the gates of death,

To swallow you, your country, children, wives.

Philip cries fire and blood: the cardinal

Cries likewise fire and blood. I'll quench those flames.

The Moor cries blood and fire, and that shall burn,

Till Castile, like proud Troy, to cinders turn.

ROD. Lay by these ambages; what seeks the Moor?

ELE. A kingdom, Castile's crown.

ALV. Peace, devil; for shame!

QUEEN-M. Peace, doating lord, for shame! O misery,

When Indian slaves thirst after empery!

Princes and peers of Spain, we are beset

With horror on each side; [if] you deny him,

Death stands at all our backs: we cannot fly him.

Crown Philip king: the crown upon his head

Will prove a fiery meteor; war and vengeance

And desolation will invade our land.

Besides, Prince Philip is a bastard born.

O, give me leave to blush at mine own shame;

But I, for love to you, love to fair Spain,

Choose rather to rip up a queen's disgrace

Than, by concealing it, to set the crown

Upon a bastard's head: wherefore, my lords,

By my consent, crown that proud blackamoor.

Since Spain's bright glory must so soon grow dim--

Since it must end, let it end all in him.

ALL. Eleazar shall be king!

ALV. O treachery!

Have you so soon ras'd out Fernando's love?

So soon forgot the duty of true peers?

So soon, so soon, buried a mother's name,

That you will crown him king that slew your king?

ELE. Will you hear him or me? who shall be king?

ALL. Eleazar shall be Castile's sovereign!

ALV. Do, do: make haste to crown him. Lords, adieu:

Here hell must be, when the devil governs you.

[_Exit._

ELE. By heaven's great star, which Indians do adore,

But that I hate to hear the giddy world

Shame, that I waded to a crown through blood,

I'd not digest his pills: but since, my lords,

You have chosen Eleazar for your king,

Invest me with a general applause.

ALL. Live, Eleazar, Castile's royal king!

ROD. A villain and a base-born fugitive.

[_Aside._]

CHRIS. A bloody tyrant and usurping slave.

[_Aside._]

ELE. Thanks to you all: 'tis not the Spanish crown

That Eleazar strives for, but Spain's peace.

Amongst you I'll divide her empery:

Christofero shall wear Granada's crown;

To Roderigo I'll give Arragon;

Naples, Navarre, and fair Jerusalem

I'll give to other three; and then our viceroys

Shall shine about our bright Castilian crown,

As stars about the sun. Cry all, arm, arm;

Prince Philip and the cardinal do ride

Like Jove in thunder; in a storm we'll meet them.

Go, levy powers; if any man must fall,

My death shall first begin the funeral.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_Enter_ ZARACK _and_ BALTHAZAR, _with calivers_.

BAL. Is thy cock ready, and thy powder dry?

ZAR. My cock stands perching like a cock o' the game, with a red

coal for his crest, instead of a comb; and for my powder, 'tis

but touch and take.

BAL. I have tickling gear too; anon I'll cry, here I have it, and

yonder I see it. But, Zarack, is't policy for us to kill these

bald-pates?

ZAR. Is't policy for us to save ourselves? If they live, we die.

Is't not wisdom then to send them to heaven, rather than be sent

ourselves? Come, you black slave, be resolute. This way they

come; here they will stand, and yonder will I stand.

BAL. And in yonder hole I.

ZAR. Our amiable faces cannot be seen if we keep close; therefore

hide your cock's head, lest his burning cock's-comb betray us.

But soft; which of the two shall be thy white?[65]

BAL. That black villain friar Cole.

ZAR. I shall have a sharp piece of service; friar Crab shall be

my man. Farewell, and be resolute.

BAL. Zounds! Zarack, I shall never have the heart to do it.

ZAR. You rogue, think who commands--Eleazar. Who shall

rise--Balthazar. Who shall die--a lousy friar. Who shall

live--our good lord and master, the negro-king of Spain.

BAL. Cole, thou art but a dead man, and shalt turn to ashes.

[_Exit._

ZAR. Crab, here's that shall make vinegar of thy carcase.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ CRAB _and_ COLE, _two friars, with a rout of

stinkards following them_.

CRAB. Ah! brother, 'tis best so. Now we have drawn them to a

head, we'll begin here i' the market-place. Tut, so long as we be

commanded by the mother-queen, we'll say her son is a bastard,

an' he were ten Philips.

COLE. Take you one market-form, I'll take another.

CRAB. No, God's-so',[66] we must both keep one form.

COLE. Ay, in oration, but not in station. Mount, mount.

1ST STINK. Well, my masters, you know him not so well as I, on my

word. Friar Crab is a sour fellow.

2D STINK. Yet he may utter sweet doctrine, by your leave. But

what think you of friar Cole?

1ST STINK. He? all fire: an' he be kindled once, a hot catholic.

3D STINK. And you mark him, he has a zealous nose, and richly

inflamed.

1ST STINK. Peace, you rogues! Now they begin.

CRAB. _Incipe, Frater._

COLE. _Non ego, Domine._

CRAB. _Nec ego._

COLE. _Quare?_

CRAB. _Quia?_

COLE. _QuA|so._

ALL. Here's a queasy beginning, methinks. Silence! silence!

CRAB. Brethren, citizens, and market-folks of Seville.

COLE. Well-beloved and honoured Castilians.

CRAB. It is not unknown to you.

COLE. I am sure you are not ignorant.

CRAB. How villanous and strong!

COLE. How monstrous and huge!

CRAB. The faction of Prince Philip is.

COLE. Philip, that is a bastard.

CRAB. Philip, that is a dastard.

COLE. Philip, that killed your king.

CRAB. Only to make himself king.

COLE. And, by Gad's blessed lady, you are all damned, and you

suffer it.

1ST STINK. Friar Cole says true: he speaks out to the heat of his

zeal: look how he glows!

2D STINK. Well, friar Crab for my money; he has set my teeth an

edge against this bastard.

1ST STINK. O, his words are like vergis to whet a man's stomach.

ALL. Silence! silence!

CRAB. Now contrariwise.

COLE. Your noble king the Moor----

CRAB. Is a valiant gentleman;

COLE. A noble gentleman;

CRAB. An honourable gentleman;

COLE. A fair black gentleman.

CRAB. A friend to Castilians,

COLE. A champion for Castilians,

CRAB. A man fit to be a king.

COLE. If he were not borne down by him that would be king, who

(as I said before) is a bastard, and no king.

1ST STINK. What think you, my masters? Do you mark his words

well?

CRAB. Further, compare them together.

ALL. S'blood! there's no comparison between them.

COLE. Nay, but hear us, good countrymen.

ALL. Hear friar Cole! hear friar Cole!

COLE. Set[67] that bastard and Eleazar together.

1ST STINK. How? mean you by the ears?

CRAB. No, but compare them.

COLE. Do but compare them.

2D STINK. Zounds! we say again, comparisons are odious.

1ST STINK. But say on, say on.

[_Pieces go off; friars die._

ALL. Treason! treason! every man shift for himself. This is

Philip's treason. Arm, arm, arm!

[_Exeunt._

SCENE VI.

_Enter_ ELEAZAR, ZARACK, _and_ BALTHAZAR.

ELE. Zarack and Balthazar, are they despatch'd?

ZAR. We saw 'em sprawl, and turn up the white of the eye.

ELE. So shall they perish that lay countermines

To cross our high designments: by their habits

The cardinal and Philip 'scap'd our nets,

And by your hands they tasted our revenge.

_Enter_ QUEEN-MOTHER.

Here comes the queen; away! under our wings

You shall stand safe, and brave the proudest kings.

[_Exeunt._

QUEEN-M. O, fly, my Eleazar; save thy life,

Else 'point a guard about thee; the mad people,

Tempestuous like the sea, run up and down,

Some crying _kill the bastard_, some, _the Moor_;

Some cry, _God save King Philip_; and some cry,

_God save the Moor_, some others, _he shall die_.

ELE. Are these your fears? Thus blow them into air.

I rushed amongst the thickest of their crowds,

And with a countenance majestical,

Like the imperious sun, dispers'd their clouds;

I have perfumed the rankness of their breath,

And by the magic of true eloquence

Transform'd this many-headed Cerberus,

This pied chamelion, this beast multitude,

Whose power consists in number, pride in threats,

Yet melt like snow when majesty shines forth,

This heap of fools who, crowding in huge swarms,

Stood at our court gates like a heap of dung,

Reeking and shouting out contagious breath

Of power to poison all the elements--

This wolf I held by th' ears, and made him tame,

And made them tremble at the Moor's great name:

No, we must combat with a grimmer foe;

That damn'd Mendoza overturns our hopes.

He loves you dearly.

QUEEN-M. By his secret letters

He hath entreated me to leave the court,

And fly into his arms.

ELE. The world cannot devise a stratagem

Sooner to throw confusion on his pride.

Subscribe to his desires, and in dead night

Steal to his castle; swear to him his love

Hath drawn you thither; undermine his soul,

And learn what villanies are there laid up;

Then for your pleasure walk to take the air:

Near to the castle I'll in ambush lie,

And seem by force to take you prisoner:

This done, I have a practice (plotted here)

Shall rid him of his life and us of fear.

About it, madam, this is all in all;

We cannot stand, unless Mendoza fall.

[_Exeunt._

ACT IV., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ EMANUEL, _King of Portugal_, PRINCE PHILIP, MENDOZA,

ALVERO, _with drums and soldiers marching_.

K. OF PORT. Poor Spain! how is the body of thy peace

Mangled and torn by an ambitious Moor.

How is thy prince and councillors abus'd,

And trodden under the base foot of scorn.

Wrong'd lords, Emanuel of Portugal partakes

A falling share in all your miseries;

And though the tardy hand of slow delay

Withheld us from preventing your mishaps

Yet shall revenge dart black confusion

Into the bosom of that damned fiend.

PHIL. But is it possible our mother-queen

Should countenance his ambition?

ALV. Her advice is as a steersman to direct his course;

Besides, as we by circumstance have learnt,

She means to marry him.

PHIL. Then, here upon my knees,

I pluck allegiance from her; all that love,

Which by innative duty I did owe her,

Shall henceforth be converted into hate.

This will confirm the world's opinion

That I am base-born, and the damned Moor

Had interest in my birth; this wrong alone

Gives new fire to the cinders of my rage;

I may be well transform'd from what I am,

When a black devil is husband to my dam.

K. OF PORT. Prince, let thy rage give way to patience,

And set a velvet brow upon the face

Of wrinkled anger: our keen swords

Must right these wrongs, and not light airy words.

PHIL. Yet words may make the edge of rage more sharp,

And whet a blunted courage with revenge.

ALV. Here's none wants whetting, for our keen resolves

Are steel'd unto the back with double wrongs;

Wrongs that would make a handless man take arms:

Wrongs that would make a coward resolute.

CAR. Why, then, join all our several wrongs in one,

And from these wrongs assume a firm resolve

To send this devil to damnation.

[_Drums afar off._

PHIL. I hear the sound of his approaching march.

Stand fair; Saint Jacques for the right of Spain!

_Enter the_ MOOR, RODERIGO, CHRISTOFERO, _with drums,

colours, and soldiers marching bravely_.

ELE. Bastard of Spain!

PHIL. Thou true-stamp'd son of hell,

Thy pedigree is written in thy face.

[_Alarum and a battle; the_ MOOR _prevails: all exeunt_.

SCENE II.

_Enter_ PHILIP _and_ CARDINAL.

PHIL. Move forward with your main battalion,

Or else all's lost.

CAR. I will not move a foot.

PHIL. S'heart! will you lose the day?

CAR. You lose your wits,

You're mad; it is no policy.

PHIL. You lie.

CAR. Lie!

PHIL. Lie! a pox upon't, cardinal, come on,

Second the desperate vanguard which is mine,

And where I'll die or win. Follow my sword

The bloody way I lead it, or, by heaven,

I'll play the devil, and mar all! we'll turn our backs

Upon the Moors, and set on thee; ay, thee,

Thee, cardinal! s'heart! thee.

CAR. Your desperate arm

Hath almost thrust quite through the heart of hope:

Our fortunes lie a-bleeding by your rash

And violent onset.

PHIL. O, O, s'life! s'foot! will you [not] fight?

CAR. We will not hazard all upon one cast.

PHIL. You will not?

CAR. No.

PHIL. Coward!

CAR. By deeds I'll try.

Whether your venomous tongue says true. Farewell;

Courage shines both in this and policy.

[_Exit._

PHIL. To save thy skin whole, that's thy policy.

You whoreson fat-chapp'd guts, Ill melt away

That larded body by the heat of fight,

Which I'll compel thee to, or else by flying:

To work which I'll give way to the proud foe.

Whilst I stand laughing to behold you run.

Cardinal, I'll do't, I'll do't; a Moor, a Moor!

Philip cries a Moor! holla! la! whoo!

_Enter_ KING OF PORTUGAL.

K. OF PORT. Prince Philip! Philip!

PHIL. Here: plague, where's the Moor?

K. OF PORT. The Moor's a devil: never did horrid fiend,

Compell'd by some magician's mighty charm,

Break through the prisons of the solid earth

With more strange horror than this prince of hell,

This damned negro, lion-like doth rush

Through all, and spite of all knit opposition.

PHIL. Puh, puh! where, where?

I'll meet him: where? You mad me!

'Tis not his arm

That acts such wonders, but our cowardice.

This cardinal, O, this cardinal is a slave.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN.

CAPT. Sound a retreat, or else the day is lost!

PHIL. I'll beat that dog to death that sounds retreat.

K. OF PORT. Philip!

PHIL. I'll tear his heart out that dares name that sound.

K. OF PORT. Sound a retreat.

PHIL. Who's that? you tempt my sword, sir;

Continue this alarum, fight pell-mell;

Fight, kill, be damn'd. This fat-back, coward cardinal

Lies heavy on my shoulders; this, ay, this,

Shall fling him off. Sound a retreat? Zounds! you mad me!

Ambition plumes the Moor, whilst black despair,

Offering to tear from him the diadem

Which he usurps, makes him to cry at all,

And to act deeds beyond astonishment.

But Philip is the night that darks his glories:

This sword, yet reeking with his negro's blood,

Being grasp'd by equity and this strong arm,

Shall through and through.

ALL. Away, then!

PHIL. From before me.

Stay, stand, stand fast: fight. A Moor, a Moor.

SCENE III.

_Enter_ ELEAZAR, ZARACK, BALTHAZAR, RODERIGO, CHRISTOFERO,

_and others; they fight: Moors are all beat in. Exeunt

omnes. Manet_ ELEAZAR, _weary; a Moor lies slain_.

ELE. O, for more work, more souls to post to hell,

That I might pile up Charon's boat so full,

Until it topple o'er! O, 'twould be sport

To see them sprawl through the black slimy lake.

Ha, ha! there's one going thither: sirrah! you,

You slave, who kill'd thee? How he grins! this breast,

Had it been temper'd and made proof like mine,

It never would have been a mark for fools

To hit afar off with their dastard bullets.

But thou didst well; thou knew'st I was thy lord,

And out of love and duty to me here,

Where I fell weary, thou laidst down thyself

To bear me up thus: God-a-mercy, slave,

A king for this shall give thee a rich grave.

_As he sits down, enter_ PHILIP _with a broken sword_.

PHIL. I'll wear thee to the pommel, but I'll find

The subject of mine honour and revenge.

Moor, 'tis for thee I seek! come, now, now take me

At good advantage. Speak! where art thou?

ELE. Here!

PHIL. Fate and revenge, I thank you. Rise!

ELE. Leave and live.

PHIL. Villain, it is Philippo that bids rise.

ELE. It had been good for thee to have hid thy name;

For the discovery, like to a dangerous charm,

Hurts him that finds it. Wherefore do those bloodhounds,

Thy rage and valour, chase me?

PHIL. Why? to kill thee.

ELE. With that? what, a blunt axe! Think'st thou, I'll let

Thy fury take a full blow at this head,

Having these arms? Be wise, go change thy weapon.

PHIL. O sir!

ELE. I'll stay thy coming.

PHIL. Thou'lt be damn'd first.

ELE. By all our Indian gods----

PHIL. Puh! never swear.

Thou know'st 'tis for a kingdom which we fight,

And for that who'll not venture to hell-gates?

Come, Moor, I'm arm'd with more than complete steel--

The justice of my quarrel: when I look

Upon my father's wrongs, my brother's wounds,

My mother's infamy, Spain's misery,

And lay my finger here; O, 'tis too dull

To let out blood enough to quench them all.

But when I see your face, and know what fears

Hang on thy troubled soul, like leaden weights,

To make it sink, I know this finger's touch

Has strength to throw thee down; I know this iron

Is sharp and long enough to reach that head.

Fly not, devil; if thou do----

ELE. How? fly? O, base!

PHIL. Come then.

ELE. Stay, Philip; whosoe'er begat thee----

PHIL. Why, slave, a king begat me.

ELE. May be so;

But I'll be sworn thy mother was a queen;

For her sake will I kill thee nobly.

Fling me thy sword; there's mine. I scorn to strike

A man disarm'd.

PHIL. For this dishonouring me,

I'll give thee one stab more.

ELE. I'll run away,

Unless thou change that weapon, or take mine.

PHIL. Neither.

ELE. Farewell.

PHIL. S'heart! stay; and if you dare,

Do as I do, oppose thy naked breast

Against this poniard; see! here's this for thine.

ELE. I am for thee, Philip.

PHIL. Come, nay, take more ground,

That with a full career thou may'st strike home.

ELE. Thou'lt run away then?

PHIL. Ha!

ELE. Thou'lt run away then?

PHIL. Faith I will; but first on this I'll bear

Thy panting heart, thy head upon thy spear.

ELE. Come.

_Enter_ CARDINAL _and_ KING OF PORTUGAL _on the one, and_

MOORS _on the other side_.

CAR. Side, upon the Moors.

1ST MOOR. Side, upon the cardinal.

PHIL. Hold, cardinal; strike not any of our side.

ELE. Hold, Moors; strike not any of our side.

PHIL. We two will close this battle.

ELE. Come, agreed.

Stand, armies, and give aim, whilst we two bleed.

CAR. With poniards! 'tis too desperate, dear Philip.

PHIL. Away! have at the Moor! s'heart! let me come.

KING OF P. Be arm'd with manly weapons: 'tis for slaves

To dig their own and such unworthy graves.

ELE. I am for thee any way: thus or, see, thus;

Here try the vigour of thy sinewy arm.

The day is ours already; brainless heads

And bleeding bodies, like a crown, do stand

About the temples of our victory.

Yet, Spaniards, if you dare, we'll fight it out

Thus, man to man alone. I'll first begin

And conquer, or in blood wade up to the chin.

PHIL. Let not a weapon stir but his and mine.

ELE. Nor on this side; conquest in blood shall shine.

[_Alarum; they fight, the Moor is struck down, which his side

seeing, step all in and rescue him; the rest join, and

drive in the Moors. Alarum continuing, Spaniards and

Moors, with drums and colours, fly over the stage, pursued

by_ PHILIP, CARDINAL, KING OF PORTUGAL, _and others_.

_Enter_ ZARACK, CHRISTOFERO, _and_ ELEAZAR, _at several doors_.

CHRIS. Where is my lord?

ZAR. Where is my sovereign?

ELE. What news brings Zarack and Christofero?

ZAR. O, fly, my lords, fly, for the day is lost!

ELE. There are three hundred and odd days in a year,

And cannot we lose one of them? come, fight.

CHRIS. The lords have left us, and the soldiers faint;

You are round-beset with proud fierce enemies;

Death cannot be prevented but by flight.

ELE. He shall, Christofero. I have yet left

One stratagem that, in despite of fate,

Shall turn the wheel of war about once more.

The mother-queen hath all this while sat sadly

Within our tent, expecting to whose bosom

White-winged peace and victory will fly:

Her have I us'd as a fit property

To stop this dangerous current; her have I sent,

Arm'd with love's magic, to enchant the cardinal,

And bind revenge down with resistless charms;

By this time does she hang about his neck,

And by the witchcraft of a cunning kiss

Has she disarm'd him. Hark! they sound retreat;

She has prevail'd; a woman's tongue and eye

Are weapons stronger than artillery.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

_Enter_ CARDINAL, QUEEN-MOTHER, SOLDIERS, _drums and colours_.

QUEEN-M. By all those sighs which thou, like passionate tunes,

Hast often to my dull ears offered,

By all thy hopes to enjoy my royal bed,

By all those mourning lines which thou hast sent,

Weeping in black, to tell thy languishment;

By love's best, richest treasure, which I swear

I will bestow, and which none else shall wear,

As the most prized jewel, but thyself;

By that bright fire which, flaming through thine eyes,

From thy love-scorched bosom does arise,

I do conjure thee, let no churlish sound,

With war's lewd horror my desires confound.

Dear, dear Mendoza; thus I do entreat,

That still thou wouldst continue this retreat;

I'll hang upon thee, till I hear thee say,

Woman, prevail; or chiding, cri'st _Away_.

CAR. Is there no trick in this, forg'd by the Moor?

QUEEN-M. I would the Moor's damnation were the ransom

Of all the innocent blood that has been shed

In this black day: I care not for the Moor;

Love to my kingdom's peace makes me put on

This habit of a suppliant; shall I speed?

CAR. You shall, were it to have my bosom bleed;

I have no power to spare the negro's head,

When I behold the wounds which his black hand

Has given mine honour: but when I look on you,

I have no power to hate him; since your breath

Dissolves my frozen heart, being spent for him;

In you my life must drown itself or swim.

You have prevail'd: drum, swiftly hence; call back

Our fierce-pursuing troops, that run to catch

The laurel wreath of conquest: let it stand

Awhile untouch'd by any soldier's hand.

[_Exit drum._

Away! stay you and guard us. Where's the Moor?

I'll lose what I have got, a victor's prize,

Yielding myself a prisoner to your eyes.

QUEEN-M. Mine eyes shall quickly grant you liberty.

The Moor stays my return; I'll put on wings,

And fetch him; to make peace belongs to kings.

_As she goes out, enter_ ELEAZAR, ZARACK, BALTHAZAR, _and

Soldiers well armed; at sight of each other, all draw_.

CAR. Soldiers, call back the drum: we are betray'd.

ELE. Moors, stand upon your guard; avoid, look back.

QUEEN-M. What means this jealousy? Mendoza, Moor,

Lay by your weapons and embrace; the sight

Of this and this begets suspicion.

Eleazar, by my birth, he comes in peace:

Mendoza, by mine honour, so comes he.

CAR. Discharge these soldiers then.

ELE. And these.

[_Soldiers stand aloof._

CAR. Away!

ELE. Go!

QUEEN-M. Soul, rejoice, to see this glorious day.

[_She joins them together; they embrace._

CAR. Your virtues work this wonder. I have met

At her most dear command: what's your desires?

ELE. Peace and your honour'd arms: how loathingly

I sounded the alarums, witness heaven.

'Twas not to strike your breast, but to let out

The rank blood of ambition. That Philip

Makes you his ladder, and being climb'd so high

As he may reach a diadem, there you lie.

He's base-begotten,--that's his mother's sin.

QUEEN-M. God pardon it.

ELE. Ah! amen. But he's a bastard,

And rather than I'll kneel to him, I'll saw

My legs off by the thighs, because I'll stand

In spite of reverence: he's a bastard, he's!

And to beat down his usurpation

I have thrown about this thunder: but, Mendoza,

The people hate him for his birth;

He only leans on you, you are his pillar;

You gone, he walks on crutches, or else falls.

Then shrink from under him; are not they

Fools that, bearing others up, themselves seem low,

Because they above sit high; why, you do so.

CAR. 'Tis true.

QUEEN-M. Behold this error with fix'd eyes.

CAR. 'Tis true. Well?

ELE. O, have you found it? Have you smelt

The train of powder that must blow you up,

Up into air? What air? Why this, a breath;

Look you; in this time may a king meet death.

[Have] an eye to't, check it, check it.

CAR. How?

ELE. How? thus--

Steal from the heat of that incestuous blood,

Where ravish'd honour and Philippo lies;

Leave him; divide this huge and monstrous body

Of armed Spaniards into limbs thus big:

Part man from man, send every soldier home;

I'll do the like: peace with an olive branch

Shall fly with dovelike wings about all Spain;

The crown, which I as a good husband keep,

I will lay down upon the empty chair;

Marry you the queen, and fill it: for my part,

These knees are yours, sir.

CAR. Is this sound?

ELE. From my heart.

CAR. If you prove false----

ELE. If I do, let fire fall----

CAR. Amen.

ELE. Upon thy head [_Aside_]; and so it shall.

CAR. All of myself is yours; soldiers, begone.

ELE. And that way you.

CAR. The rest I will divide:

The lords shall be convented.

ELE. Good.

CAR. Let's meet.

QUEEN-M. Where?

ELE. Here anon: this [_Aside_] is thy winding-sheet.

[_Exit_ CARDINAL. _The Moor walks up and down musing._

QUEEN-M. What shape will this prodigious womb bring forth,

Which groans with such strange labour?

ELE. Excellent!

QUEEN-M. Why, Eleazar, art thou rapt with joys,

Or does thy sinking policy make to shore?

ELE. Ha!

QUEEN-M. Eleazar, madman! hear'st thou, Moor?

ELE. Well so; you turn my brains; you mar the face

Of my attempts i' the making; for this chaos,

This lump of projects, ere it be lick'd over,

'Tis like a bear's conception; stratagems,

Being but begot and not got out, are like

Charg'd cannons not discharg'd--they do no harm

Nor good. True policy, breeding in the brain,

Is like a bar of iron, whose ribs being broken

And soften'd in the fire, you then may forge it

Into a sword to kill, or to a helmet to defend,

Life. 'Tis therefore wit to try all fashions,

Ere you apparel villany. But--but

I ha' suited him; fit, fit, O, fit!

QUEEN-M. How, prythee, how?

ELE. Why, thus;--yet, no;--let's hence

My heart is nearest of my council, yet

I scarce dare trust my heart with't; what I do,

It shall look old the hour wherein 'tis born;

Wonders twice seen are garments overworn.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_Enter_ CARDINAL _at one door_; PHILIPPO _half-armed, and two_

SOLDIERS _following him with the rest of the armour; the_

CARDINAL, _seeing him, turns back again_.

PHIL. Sirrah! you, cardinal! coward! run away!

So ho, ho! what, cardinal!

CAR. I am not for your lure.

[_Exit._

PHIL. For that then, O, [_Touching his sword_] that it had

nail'd thy heart

Up to the pommel to the earth; come, arm me.

Ha! 'sfoot! when all our swords were royally gilt with blood,

When with red sweat, that trickled from our wounds,

We had dearly earn'd a victory; when hell

Had from their hinges heav'd off her iron gates,

To bid the damn'd Moor and the devils enter,

Then to lose all, then to sound base retreat;

Why, soldiers, ha!

1ST SOL. I am glad of it, my lord.

PHIL. Ha, glad! art glad I am dishonoured,

That thou and he [have me] dishonoured?

1ST SOL. Why, my lord,

I am glad that you so cleanly did come off.

PHIL. Thou hast a lean face and a carrion heart;

A plague on him and thee too: then, 'sheart! then

To crack the very heart-strings of our army--

To quarter it in pieces--I could tear my hair,

And in cursing spend my soul;

Cardinal! what, Judas! come, we'll fight,

Till there be left but one; if I be he,

I'll die a glorious death.

1ST SOL. So will I, I hope, in my bed.

[_Aside._]

2D SOL. Till there be but one left, my lord? Why, that's now; for

all our fellows are crawled home; some with one leg, some ne'er

an arm, some with their brains beaten out, and glad they 'scaped

so.

PHIL. But, my dear countrymen, you'll stick to me?

1ST SOL. Stick! ay, my lord, stick like bandogs, till we be

pulled off.

PHIL. That's nobly said: I'll lead you but to death,

Where I'll have greatest share; we shall win fame

For life, and that doth crown a soldier's name.

1ST SOL. How! to death, my lord? Not I, by Gad's-lid: I have a

poor wife and children at home, and, if I die, they beg: and do

you think I'll see her go up and down the wide universal world?

PHIL. For every drop of blood which thou shalt lose,

Coward, I'll give thy wife a wedge of gold.

2D SOL. Hang him, meacock! my lord, arm yourself; I'll fight for

you, till I have not an eye to see the fire in my touch-hole.

PHIL. Be thou a king's companion; thou and I

Will dare the cardinal and the Moor to fight

In single combat; shall we, ha?

2D SOL. Agreed.

PHIL. We'll beat'm to hell-gate; shall we, ha?

2D SOL. Hell-gate's somewhat too hot, somewhat too hot; the

porter's a knave: I'd be loth to be damned for my conscience;

I'll knock any body's costard, so I knock not there, my lord;

hell-gates!

PHIL. A pox upon such slaves!

1ST SOL. Hang him, a peasant! my lord, you see I am but a scrag;

my lord, my legs are not of the biggest, nor the least, nor the

best that e'er were stood upon--nor the worst; but they are of

God's making; and for your sake, if ever we put our enemies to

flight again, by Gad's-lid, if I run not after them like a tiger,

hough[68] me.

PHIL. But wilt thou stand to't ere they fly, ha, wilt thou?

1ST SOL. Will I, quoth-a! by this hand and the honour of a

soldier.

PHIL. And by a soldier's honour I will load thee

With Spanish pistolets: to have this head,

Thy face, and all thy body stuck with scars,

Why 'tis a sight more glorious than to see

A lady hung with diamonds. If thou lose

A hand, I'll send this after; if an arm,

I'll lend thee one of mine; come then, let's fight.

A mangled, lame, true soldier is a gem

Worth CA|sar's empire, though fools spurn at them.

1ST SOL. Yet, my lord, I have seen lame soldiers not worth the

crutches they leant upon; hands and arms, quoth-he! Zounds! not

I. I'll double my files, or stand sentry, or so; but I'll be

hanged and quartered, before I'll have my members cut off.

2D SOL. And I too: hold thee there.

PHIL. Hold you both there; away, you rogues, you dirt!

[_Beats them both in._

Thus do I tread upon you; out, begone!

One valiant is an host: fight then alone.

_Enter_ CARDINAL, ALVERO, CHRISTOFERO, _and Soldiers_.

CAR. Prince Philip.

PHIL. For the crown of Spain, come all.

CAR. We come in love and peace.

PHIL. But come in war;

Bring naked swords, not laurel boughs, in peace!

Plague on your rank peace! will you fight and cry,

Down with the Moor? and then I'm yours; I'll die.

I have a heart, two arms, a soul, a head;

I'll lay that down; I'll venture all--'sfoot, all!

Come, tread upon me, so that Moor may fall.

CAR. By heaven, that Moor shall fall.

PHIL. Thy hand and thine.

[_Flings down his weapons._

Give me but half your hearts, you have all mine;

By heaven, shall he fall?

CAR. Yes, upon thee,

Like to the ruins of a tower, to grind

Thy body into dust. Traitor and bastard,

I do arrest thee of high treason.

PHIL. Ha!

Traitor and bastard! and by thee? my weapons!

CAR. Lay hands upon him!

PHIL. Ah! you're best do so.

CAR. Alvero, there's the warrant; to your hands

The prisoner is committed. Lords, let's part:

Look to him, on your life.

[_Exeunt_ CARDINAL, _&c._

_Manent_ PHILIP _and_ ALVERO.

PHIL. Heart! heart! heart! heart!

[_Tears the warrant._

The devil and his dam, the Moor and my mother,

Their warrant I will not obey: old greybeard,

Thou shalt not be my jailer; there's no prison,

No dungeon deep enough, no grates so strong,

That can keep in a man so mad with wrong.

What, dost thou weep?

ALV. I would fain shed a tear,

But from mine eyes so many show'rs are gone;

Grief drinks my tears so fast, that here's not one.

You must to prison.

PHIL. Dost thou speak to me?

ALV. You must to prison.

PHIL. And from thence to death.

I thought I should have had a tomb hung round

With tatter'd colours, broken spears; I thought

My body should have fallen down full of wounds;

But one can kill an emperor, fool; then why

Wouldst thou have many? Curse, be mad, and die.

[_Exeunt._

ACT V., SCENE I.

_Enter_ RODERIGO _and_ CHRISTOFERO, _two bare-headed before

them_; CARDINAL _alone_; ZARACK _and_ BALTHAZAR _bearing

the crown on a cushion_; ELEAZAR _next_; QUEEN-MOTHER

_after him; other Lords after her_; ALVERO, _sad, meets

them_.

CAR. Alvero, 'tis the pleasure of the king,

Of the queen-mother, and these honoured states,

To ease you of Philippo; there's a warrant

Sent to remove him to a stronger guard.

ALV. I thank you; you shall rid me of much care.

ELE. Sit down, and take your place.

ALV. If I might have the place I like best,

It should be my grave.

[_Sits down. The Moors stand aside with the crown_: ELEAZAR,

_rising, takes it_.

ELE. Stand in voice-reach, away!

BOTH MOORS. We are gone.

[_Exeunt._

ELE. Princes of Spain, if in this royal court

There sit a man that, having laid his hold

So fast on such a jewel, and dare wear it

In the contempt of envy, as I dare,

Yet uncompell'd (as freely as poor pilgrims

Bestow their prayers) would give such wealth away;

Let such a man step forth; what, do none rise?

No, no, for kings indeed are deities;

And who'd not (as the sun) in brightness shine?

To be the greatest is to be divine.

Who, among millions, would not be the mightiest,

To sit in godlike state: to have all eyes

Dazzled with admiration, and all tongues

Shouting loud prayers: to rob every heart

Of love: to have the strength of every arm:

A sovereign's name? why, 'tis a sovereign charm

This glory roundabout me hath thrown beams:

I have stood upon the top of fortune's wheel,

And backward turn'd the iron screw of fate.

The destinies have spun a silken thread

About my life; yet, noble Spaniards, see

_Hoc tantum tanti_, thus I cast aside

The shape of majesty, and on my knee

[_Kneels: the_ CARDINAL _fetches the crown, and sets it on

the chair_.

To this imperial state lowly resign

This usurpation: wiping off your fears,

Which stuck so hard upon me; let a hand,

A right and royal hand, take up this wreath,

And guard it; right is of itself most strong;

No kingdom got by cunning can stand long.

CAR. Proceed to new election of a king.

ALL. Agreed.

ELE. Stay, peers of Spain: if young Philippo

Be Philip's son, then is he Philip's heir;

Then must his royal name be set in gold;

Philip is then the diamond to that ring.

But if he be a bastard, here's his seat,

For baseness has no gall, till it grow great.

First, therefore, let him blood, if he must bleed,

Yet in what vein you strike him, best take heed;

The Portugal's his friend; you saw he came,

At holding up a finger, arm'd: this peace

Rid hence his dangerous friendship; he's at home.

But when he hears that Philip is tied up.

Yet hears not why, he'll catch occasion's lock,

And on that narrow bridge make shift to lead

A scrambling army through the heart of Spain:

Look to't; being in, he'll hardly out again.

Therefore first prove and then proclaim him bastard.

ALV. How shall we prove it?

ELE. He that put him out to making,

I am sure can tell; if not,

Then she that shap'd him can: here's the queen-mother,

Being prick'd in conscience, and preferring Spain

Before her own respect, will name the man.

If he be noble, and a Spaniard born,

He'll hide th' apparent scars of their infamies

With the white hand of marriage; that and time

Will eat the blemish off: say, shall it?

ALL. No.

CAR. Spaniard or Moor, the saucy slave shall die.

HOR. Death is too easy for such villany.

ELE. Spaniard or Moor, the saucy slave shall die?

I would he might; I know myself am clear,

As is the new-born infant. Madam, stand forth.

Be bold to speak: shame in the grave wants sense,

Heaven with sin's greatest forfeits can dispense.

QUEEN-M. Would I were cover'd with the veil of night,

You might not see red shame sit on my cheeks;

But being Spain's common safety stands for truth,

Hiding my weeping eyes, I blush and say,

Philippo's father sits here.

ROD. Here! name him.

QUEEN-M. The Lord Mendoza did beget that son;

O, let not this dishonour further run.

ALV. What, Cardinal Mendoza?

QUEEN-M. Yes, yes, even he.

ELE. Spaniard or Moor, the saucy slave shall die.

CAR. I Philip's father?

[_Comes down, the rest talk._

QUEEN-M. Nay, deny me not;

Now may a kingdom and my love be got.

CAR. Those eyes and tongue bewitch me, shame lie here;

That love has sweetest taste that is bought dear.

CHRIS. What answers Lord Mendoza to the queen?

CAR. I confess guilty, Philip is my son;

Her majesty hath nam'd the time and place.

ALV. To you, but not to us; go forward, madam.

QUEEN-M. Within the circle of twice ten years since,

Your deceas'd king made war in Barbary,

Won Tunis, conquer'd Fez, and hand to hand

Slew great Abdela, King of Fez, and father

To that Barbarian prince.

ELE. I was but young, but now methinks

I see my father's wounds: poor Barbaria!

No more--

QUEEN-M. In absence of my lord, mourning his want,

To me alone, being in my private walk--

I think at Salamanca:--yes, 'twas there;

Enters Mendoza, under show of shrift,[69]

Threatens my death if I denied his lust;

In fine, by force he won me to his will:

I wept, and cried for help, but all in vain.

Mendoza there abus'd the bed of Spain.

ELE. Spaniard or Moor, that saucy slave shall die.

ALV. Why did you not complain of this vile act?

QUEEN-M. Alas! I was alone, young, full of fear,

Bashful and doubtful of my own defame;

Knowing King Philip rash and jealous,

I hid his sins, thinking to hide my shame.

HOR. What says the cardinal?

CAR. Such a time there was;

'Tis pass'd: I'll make amends with marriage,

And satisfy with trentals,[70] dirges, prayers,

The offended spirit of the wronged king.

[QUEEN _and they talk_.

ELE. Spaniard or Moor, the saucy slave shall die.

O, 'twould seem best it should be thus, Mendoza;

She to accuse, I urge, and both conclude

Your marriage, like a comic interlude.

Lords, will you hear this hateful sin confess'd,

And not impose upon the ravisher death,

The due punishment? O, it must be so.

ALV. What does the queen desire?

QUEEN-M. Justice, revenge,

On vile Mendoza for my ravishment.

I kiss the cold earth with my humble knees,

From whence I will not rise, till some just hand

Cast to the ground the traitor cardinal.

ALL. Stand forth, Mendoza.

ELE. Swells your heart so high?

Down, lecher; if you will not stand, then lie.

CAR. You have betray'd me by my too much trust;

I never did this deed of rape and lust.

ROD. Your tongue confess'd it.

CAR. True, I was entic'd.

ELE. Entic'd! do you believe that?

QUEEN-M. Justice, lords;

Sentence the cardinal for his hateful sin.

ALV. We will assemble all the states of Spain,

And as they judge, so justice shall be done.

ELE. A guard! To prison with the cardinal.

_Enter_ ZARACK, BALTHAZAR, _and others_.

CAR. Damn'd slave, my tongue shall go at liberty

To curse thee, ban that strumpet; dogs, keep off.

ELE. Hist, hist! on, on!

QUEEN-M. I cannot brook his sight.

ALV. You must to prison, and be patient.

CAR. Weep'st thou, Alvero? all struck dumb? My fears

Are that those drops will change to bloody tears.

This woman and this serpent----

QUEEN-M. Drag him hence.

CAR. Who dares lay hands upon me? Lords of Spain,

Let your swords bail me: this false queen did lie.

ELE. Spaniard or Moor, the saucy slave shall die.

CAR. I'll fight thee, damned hellhound, for my life.

ELE. Spaniard or Moor, the saucy slave shall die.

CAR. I'll prove upon thy head----

ELE. The slave shall die.

CAR. Lords, stop this villain's throat.

ELE. Shall die, shall die.

CAR. Hear me but speak.

ELE. Away.

ALV. Words are ill-spent,

Where wrong sits judge; you're arm'd, if innocent.

CAR. Well then, I must to prison: Moor, no more.

Heavens, thou art just! Prince Philip I betray'd,

And now myself fall; guile with guile is paid.

[_Exit._

QUEEN-M. Philip being prov'd a bastard, who shall sit

Upon this empty throne?

ELE. Strumpet, not you.

QUEEN-M. Strumpet! and I not sit there, who [shall] then?

ELE. Down!

Back! if she touch it, she'll bewitch the chair;

This throne belongs to Isabel the fair.

Bring forth the princess dress'd in royal robes,

The true affecter of Alvero's son,

Virtuous Hortenzo. Lords, behold your queen.

SCENE II.

_Enter_ ISABELLA _in royal robes, and_ HORTENZO.

QUEEN-M. Thou villain, what intend'st thou, savage slave?

ELE. To advance virtue thus, and thus to tread

On lust, on murder, on adultery's head.

Look, lords, upon your sovereign Isabel;

Though all may doubt the fruits of such a womb,

Is she not like King Philip? Let her rule.

QUEEN-M. She rule!

ELE. She rule: ay, she.

QUEEN-M. A child

To sway an empire? I am her protectress;

I'll pour black curses on thy damned head

If thou wrong'st me. Lords, lords!

ELE. Princes of Spain,

Be deaf, be blind; hear not, behold her not;

She kill'd my virtuous wife.

QUEEN-M. He kill'd your king.

ELE. 'Twas in my just wrath.

QUEEN-M. 'Twas to get his crown.

ELE. His crown! why, here 'tis: thou slew'st my Maria,

To have access to my unstained bed.

QUEEN-M. O heaven!

ELE. 'Tis true: how often have I stopp'd

Thy unchaste songs from passing through mine ears.

How oft, when thy luxurious arms have twin'd

About my jetty neck, have I cried out:

Away, those scalding veins burn me--'tis true.

QUEEN-M. Devil, 'tis a lie!

ELE. Thou slew'st my sweet Maria;

Alvero, 'twas thy daughter, 'twas; Hortenzo,

She was thy sister; justice, Isabella;

This serpent poison'd thy dear father's bed,

Setting large horns on his imperial head.

QUEEN-M. Hear me!

ELE. Ha, why?

ALV. Madam, you shall be heard

Before the courts, before the courts of Spain.

ELE. A guard! a guard!

_Enter two Moors and others._

QUEEN-M. A guard! for what? for whom?

HOR. To wait on you;

So many great sins must not wait with few.

QUEEN-M. Keep me in prison! dare you, lords?

ALV. O no!

Were your cause strong, we would not arm you so;

But honour fainting needeth many hands;

Kingdoms stand safe when mischief lies in bands.

You must to prison.

[_Exeunt._

QUEEN-M. Must I! must I! Slave,

I'll damn thee, ere thou triumph'st o'er my grave.

[_Exit with a guard._

SCENE III.

_Manet_ ELEAZAR.

ELE. Do, do, my jocund spleen

It does, it will, it shall. I have at one throw

Rifled away the diadem of Spain;

'Tis gone, and there's no more to set but this

At all. Then, at this last cast, I'll sweep up

My former petty losses, or lose all,

Like to a desperate gamester.

_Enter_ ZARACK.

Ha, how? fast?

ZAR. Except their bodies turn to airy spirits,

And fly through windows, they are safe, my lord:

If they can eat through locks and bars of iron,

They may escape; if not, then not.

ELE. O Zarack!

Wit is a thief; there's picklock policy,

To whom all doors fly open; therefore go;

In our name charge the keeper to resign

His office; and if he have tricks of cruelty,

Let him bequeath 'em at his death--for kill him.

Turn all thy body into eyes,

And watch them; let those eyes, like fiery comets,

Sparkle out nothing but the death of kings.

And ah! now thus: thou know'st I did invent

A torturing iron chain.

ZAR. O, for necks, my lord?

ELE. Ay; that, that, that; away, and yoke them. Stay,

_Enter_ BALTHAZAR.

Here's Balthazar: go both, teach them to preach

Through an iron pillory. I'll spread a net

To catch Alvero; O, he is old and wise;

They are unfit to live that have sharp eyes.

Hortenzo, Roderigo, to't to't: all

They have supple knees, sleek'd brows, but hearts of gall;

The bitterness shall be wash'd off with blood:

Tyrants swim safest in a crimson flood.

BAL. I come to tell your grace that Isabella

Is with Hortenzo arm in arm at hand;

Zarack and I may kill them now with ease.

Is't done? and then 'tis done.

ZAR. Murther thou the man,

And I'll stab her.

ELE. No, I'll speed[71] her myself.

Arm in arm? so, so; look upon this ring;

Whoever brings this token to your hands,

Regard not for what purpose, seize on them,

And chain them to the rest: they come--away!

Murder, be proud; and, tragedy, laugh on,

I'll seek a stage for thee to jet[72] upon.

_Enter_ ISABELLA _and_ HORTENZO; _seeing the Moor, they turn

back_.

ELE. My lord, my Lord Hortenzo.

HOR. Ah, is't you?

Trust me, I saw you not.

ELE. What makes your grace so sad?

HOR. She grieves for the imprison'd queen her mother

And for Philippo; in the sandy heap

That wait upon an hour, there are not found

So many little bodies, as those sighs

And tears which she hath every minute spent,

Since her lov'd brother felt imprisonment.

ELE. Pity, great pity; would it lay in me

To give him liberty.

ISA. It does.

ELE. In me!

Free him, your mother-queen and cardinal too.

In me? alas! not me; no, no, in you!

Yet, for I'll have my conscience white and pure,

Here, madam, take this ring; and if my name

Can break down castle-walls and open gates,

Take it, and do't; fetch them all forth,--and yet

'Tis unfit you should go.

HOR. That happy office I'll execute myself.

ELE. Will you? Would I

Stood gracious in their sight! Well, go:

Do what you will: Hortenzo, if this charm

Unbinds them, here 'tis: lady, you and I

Aloof will follow him, and when we meet,

Speak for me, for I'll kiss Philippo's feet.

HOR. I shall be proud to see all reconcil'd.

[_Exit._

ELE. Alas, my lord! why, true; go, go.

ISA. Make haste, dear love.

ELE. Hortenzo is a man

Compos'd of sweet proportion; has a foot,

A leg, a hand, a face, an eye, a wit--

The best, Hortenzo, in the Spanish court.

O, he's the nonpareil.

ISA. Your tongue had wont

To be more sparing in Hortenzo's praise.

ELE. Ah! I may curse his praises, rather ban

Mine own nativity: why did this colour

Dart in my flesh so far! O, would my face

Were of Hortenzo's fashion; else would yours

Were as black as mine is.

ISA. Mine like yours? why?

ELE. Hark,

I love you; yes, faith, I said this--I love you.

I do--leave him.

ISA. Damnation! vanish from me.

ELE. Coy!

Were you as hard as flint, O, you should yield

Like soften'd wax; were you as pure as fire,

I'd touch you; yes, I'll taint you: see you this?

I'll bring you to this lure.

ISA. If I want hands

To kill myself, before thou dost it, do.

ELE. I'll cut away your hands. Well, my desire

Is raging as the sea, and mad as fire.

Will you?

ISA. Torment me not, good devil.

ELE. Will you.

ISA. I'll tear mine eyes out, if they tempt thy lust.

ELE. Do.

ISA. Touch me not; these knives----

ELE. Ha, ha! kill yourself,

Because I jest with you! I wrong Hortenzo.

Settle your thoughts, 'twas but a trick to try

That which few women have, true constancy.

ISA. If then my speeches taste of gall----

ELE. Nay, faith,

You are not bitter; no; you should have rail'd,

Have spit upon me, spurn'd me; you're not bitter:

Why, do you think that I would nurse a thought,

To hurt your honour? If that thought had brains,

I'd beat them out. But come; by this Hortenzo

Is fast.

ISA. Ha! fast?

ELE. Ay, fast--in Philip's arms;

Wrestling together for the prize of love;

By this they're on the way: I'll be your guard;

Come, follow me; I'll lead you in the van,

Where [_Aside_] thou shalt see four chins upon one chain.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

HORTENZO, QUEEN-MOTHER, CARDINAL, _and_ PHILIP, _chained by

the necks_. ZARACK _and_ BALTHAZAR _busy about fastening_

HORTENZO.

HOR. You damned ministers of villany,

Sworn to damnation by the book of hell;

You maps of night, you element of devils,

Why do you yoke my neck with iron chains?

BAL. Many do borrow chains, but you have this

Gratis for nothing.

CAR. Slaves, unbind us.

BOTH. No.

[_Exeunt the two Moors._

PHIL. I am impatient; veins, why crack you not,

And tilt your blood into the face of heaven,

To make red clouds, like ensigns in the sky,

Displaying a damn'd tyrant's cruelty!

Yet can I laugh in my extremest pangs

Of blood and spirit to see the cardinal

Keep rank with me, and my vile mother-queen,

To see herself where she would have me seen.

Good fellowship, i' faith!

HOR. And I can tell,

True misery loves a companion well.

PHIL. Thou left'st me to the mercy of a Moor

That hath damnation dyed upon his flesh;

'Twas well; thou, mother, didst unmotherly

Betray thy true son to false bastardy;

Thou left'st me then: now thou art found and staid,

And thou, who didst betray me, art betray'd.

A plague upon you all!

CAR. Thou cursest them

Whom I may curse: first, may I curse myself,

Too credulous of loyalty and love;

Next may I curse the Moor, more than a devil;

And last thy mother, mother of all evil.

QUEEN-M. All curses and all crosses light on thee!

What need I curse myself, when all curse me?

I have been deadly impious, I confess:

Forgive me, and my sin will seem the less.

This heavy chain, which now my neck assaults,

Weighs ten times lighter than my heavy faults.

PHIL. Hortenzo, I commend myself to thee;

Thou that are near'st, stand'st furthest off from me.

HOR. That mould of hell, that Moor, has chain'd me here;

'Tis not myself, but Isabel I fear.

SCENE V.

_Enter_ ELEAZAR, ISABELLA, ZARACK, _and_ BALTHAZAR.

ELE. It's strange!

Will not Prince Philip come with Hortenzo?

ZAR. He swears he'll live and die there.

ELE. Marry, and shall.

[_Aside_.

I pray, persuade him, you, to leave the place.

A prison! why, it's hell. 'Las, here they be!

Ha! they are they, i' faith; see, see, see, see.

ALL. Moor, devil, toad, serpent!

ELE. O sweet airs, sweet voices!

ISA. O my Hortenzo!

ELE. Do not these birds sing sweetly, Isabella?

O, how their spirits would leap aloft and spring,

Had they their throats at liberty to sing!

PHIL. Damnation dog thee!

CAR. Furies follow thee!

QUEEN-M. Comets confound thee!

HOR. And hell swallow thee!

ELE. Sweeter and sweeter still. O harmony!

Why, there's no music like to misery.

ISA. Hast thou betrayed me thus?

ELE. Not I, not I.

PHIL. Sirrah hedgehog.

ELE. Ha! I'll hear thee presently.

ISA. Hear me then, hellhound; slaves, unchain my love,

Or by----

ELE. By what? Is't not rare walking here?

Methinks this stage shows like a tennis-court;

Does it not, Isabel? I'll show thee how--

Suppose that iron chain to be the line,

The prison-doors the hazard, and their heads,

Scarce peeping o'er the line, suppose the balls!

Had I a racket now of burnish'd steel,

How smoothly could I bandy every ball

Over this globe of earth, win set, and all.

PHIL. How brisk the villain jets in villany!

ELE. Prating! he's proud because he wears a chain:

Take it off, Balthazar, and take him hence.

[_They unbind him._

PHIL. And whither then, you dog?

ISA. Pity my brother.

ELE. Pity him! no; away!

PHIL. Ay, come, do come.[73] I pray thee kill me: come.

ELE. I hope to see

Thy own hands do that office. Down with him!

PHIL. Is there another hell?

TWO MOORS. Try, try; he's gone.

ELE. So him next, he next, and next him; and then----

ALL. Worse than damnation! fiend, monster of men!

ELE. Why, when! Down, down!

CAR. Slave, as thou thrust me down

Into this dungeon, so sink thou to hell.

QUEEN-M. Amen, amen.

ELE. Together so; and you--

ISA. O, pity my Hortenzo!

HOR. Farewell, my Isabel; my life, adieu.

ALL. Mischief and horror let the Moor pursue!

ELE. A concert! that amain;[74] play that amain;

Amain, amain. No; so soon fallen asleep!

Nay, I'll not lose this music; sirrah, sirrah,

Take thou a drum, a trumpet thou; and hark,

Mad them with villanous sounds.

ZAR. Rare sport; let's go.

[_Exeunt_ ZARACK _and_ BALTHAZAR.

ELE. About it: music will do well in woe.

How like you this?

ISA. Set my Hortenzo free,

And I'll like anything.

ELE. A fool, a fool.

Hortenzo free! why, look you, he free! no;

Then must he marry you; you must be queen,

He in a manner king; these dignities,

Like poison, make men swell; this ratsbane honour,

O, 'tis so sweet! they'll lick it, till all burst:

He will be proud; and pride, you know, must fall.

Come, come, he shall not; no, no, 'tis more meet

To keep him down safe standing on his feet.

ISA. Eleazar!

ELE. Mark, the imperial chair of Spain

Is now as empty as a miser's alms:

Be wise, I yet dare sit in't; it's for you,

If you will be for me; there's room for two.

Do--meditate--muse on't: its best for thee

To love me, live with me, and lie with me.

ISA. Thou know'st I'll first lie in the arms of death.

My meditations are how to revenge

Thy bloody tyrannies. I fear thee not,

Inhuman slave, but to thy face defy

Thy lust, thy love, thy barbarous villany.

ELE. Zarack.

_Enter_ ZARACK.

ZAR. My lord.

ELE. Where's Balthazar?

ZAR. A-drumming.

ELE. I have made them rave and curse, and so guard her.

Your court shall be this prison; guard her, slaves,

With open eyes: defy me! see my veins

Struck't out, being overheated with my blood,

Boiling in wrath; I'll tame you.

ISA. Do, do.

ELE. Ha,

I will! and once more fill a kingdom's throne.

Spain, I'll new-mould thee: I will have a chair

Made all of dead men's bones; and the ascents

Shall be the heads of Spaniards set in ranks:

I will have Philip's head, Hortenzo's head,

Mendoza's head, thy mother's head, and this--

This head, that is so cross, I'll have't.

The scene wants actors; I'll fetch more, and clothe it

In rich cothurnal pomp: a tragedy

Ought to be grave: graves this shall beautify.

Moor, execute to th' life my dread commands;

Vengeance, awake, thou hast much work in hand.

[_Exit._

ZAR. I am weary of this office and this life;

It is too thirsty, and I would your blood

Might 'scape the filling out. By heaven, I swear,

I scorn these blows and his rebukes to bear.

ISA. O Zarack, pity me; I love thee well;

Love deserves pity; pity Isabel.

ZAR. What would you have me do?

ISA. To kill this Moor.

ZAR. I'll cast an eye of death upon my face;

I'll be no more his slave. Swear to advance me,

And, by yon setting sun, this hand and this

Shall rid you of a tyrant.

ISA. By my birth,

No Spaniard's honour'd place shall equal thine.

ZAR. I'll kill him then.

ISA. And Balthazar?

ZAR. And he.

ISA. I pray thee, first fetch Philip and Hortenzo

Out of that hell; they two will be most glad

To aid thee in this execution.

ZAR. My Lord Philippo and Hortenzo, rise.

Your hands; so, talk to her: at my return

This sword shall reek with blood of Balthazar.

[_Exit._

PHIL. Three curses (like three commendations

To their souls) I send: thy tortured brother;

Does curse the cardinal, the Moor, thy mother.

ISA. Curse not at all! dear souls, revenge is hot,

And boils in Zarack's brains; the plot is cast

Into the mould of hell: you freemen are:

Zarack will kill the Moor and Balthazar.

HOR. How can that relish?

ISA. I'll tell you how:

I did profess, ay, and protested too,

I lov'd him well; what will not sorrow do!

Then he profess'd, ay, and protested too,

To kill them both; what will not devils do!

PHIL. Then I profess, ay, and protest it too,

That here's for him; what will not Philip do!

HOR. See where he comes.

_Enter the two Moors._

BAL. Zarack, what do I see?

Hortenzo and Philippo? who did this?

ZAR. I, Balthazar.

BAL. Thou art half-damn'd for it;[75]

I'll to my lord.

ZAR. I'll stop you on your way;

Lie there, thy tongue shall tell no tales to-day.

[_Stabs him._

PHIL. Nor thine to-morrow: this revenge was well.

[_Stabs him._

By this time both the slaves shake hands in hell.

ISA. Philippo and Hortenzo, stand you still?

What, doat you both? Cannot you see your play?

Well fare a woman then to lead the way.

Once rob the dead; put the Moors' habits on,

And paint your faces with the oil of hell:

So, waiting on the tyrant----

PHIL. Come, no more,

'Tis here and here: room there below; stand wide,

Bury them well, since they so godly died.

HOR. Away then, fate: now let revenge be plac'd.

PHIL. Here.

HOR. And here; a tyrant's blood doth sweetly taste.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE VI.

_Enter_ ELEAZAR, ALVERO, RODERIGO, CHRISTOFERO, _and other

Lords_.

ELE. What, I imprison! Who?

ALL. Philip and Hortenzo.

ELE. Philip and Hortenzo! ha, ha, ha!

ROD. Why laughs the Moor?

ELE. I laugh, because you jest:

Laugh at a jest. Who, I imprison them?

I prize their lives with weights, their necks with chains,

Their hands with manacles! do I all this?

Because my face is in night's colour dyed,

Think you my conscience and my soul is so?

Black faces may have hearts as white as snow;

And 'tis a general rule in moral schools,[76]

The whitest faces have the blackest souls.

ALV. But touching my Hortenzo----

ELE. Good old man,

I never touch'd him; do not touch me then

With thy Hortenzo.

CHRIS. Where's Philip too?

ELE. And where is Philip too?

I pray, I pray, is Philip a tame Spaniard?

What, can I Philip him hither, hither make him fly?

First, where's Hortenzo? Where's Philip too?

ROD. And where is Isabel? She was with you.

ELE. And where is Isabel? She was with me!

_Enter_ PHILIP _and_ HORTENZO, _like Moors_.

And so are you; yet are you well, you see:

But in good time, see where their keepers come.

Come hither, Zarack; Balthazar, come hither:

Zarack, old Lord Alvero asks of thee

Where young Hortenzo is.

HOR. My lord, set free.

ELE. O, is he so? Come hither, Balthazar:

Lord Christofero here would ask of thee

Where Prince Philippo is.

PHIL. My lord, set free.

ELE. O, is he so?

Roderigo asketh me for Isabel.

PHIL. I say, my lord, she's free.

ELE. O, is she so?

PHIL. Believe me, lords.

HOR. And me.

PHIL. I set Philippo----

HOR. I, Hortenzo free.

ELE. My lords, because you shall believe me too,

Go to the castle: I will follow you.

ALV. Thanks to the mighty Moor; and, for his fame,

Be more in honour than thou art in name:

But let me wish the other prisoners well,

The queen and cardinal: let all have right,

Let law absolve them, or dissolve them quite.

ELE. Grave man, thy grey hairs paint out gravity,

Thy counsels wisdom, thy wit policy.

There let us meet, and with a general brain

Erect the peace of spirit and of Spain.

ALV. Then will Spain flourish.

ELE. Ay, when it is mine.

ROD. O heavenly meeting!

ELE. We must part in hell.

[_Aside._

CHRIS. True peace of joy.

[_Exeunt._

_Manent_ ELEAZAR, PHILIP, _and_ HORTENZO.

ELE. 'Tis a dissembling knell;

Farewell, my lords; meet there; so, ha, ha, ha!

[_Draws his rapier._

Now, tragedy, thou minion of the night,

Rhamnusia's[77] pew-fellow, to thee I'll sing

Upon a harp made of dead Spanish bones,

The proudest instrument the world affords;

When thou in crimson jollity shalt bathe

Thy limbs, as black as mine, in springs of blood

Still gushing from the conduit-head of Spain.

To thee, that never blushest, though thy cheeks

Are full of blood--O Saint Revenge, to thee

I consecrate my murders, all my stabs,

My bloody labours, tortures, stratagems,

The volume of all wounds that wound from me;

Mine is the stage, thine is the tragedy.

Where am I now? O, at the prison; true.

Zarack and Balthazar, come hither; see,

Survey my library. I study, ha,

Whilst you two sleep; marry, 'tis villany.

Here's a good book, Zarack, behold it well,

It's deeply written, for 'twas made in hell:

Now, Balthazar, a better book for thee;

But for myself, this, this, the best of all;

And therefore do I claim it every day,

For fear the readers steal the art away.

Where thou stand'st now, there must Hortenzo hang,

Like Tantalus in a maw-eating pang.

There, Balthazar, must Prince Philip stand,

Like damn'd Prometheus; and to act his part,

Shall have a dagger sticking at his heart.

But in my room I'll set the cardinal,

And he shall preach repentance to them all.

Ha, ha, ha!

PHIL. Damnation tickles him; he laughs again.

Philip must stand there, and bleed to death.

Well, villain, I only laugh to see

That we shall live to outlaugh him and thee.

ELE. O, fit, fit, fit! stay, a rare jest, rare jest!

Zarack, suppose thou art Hortenzo now;

I pray thee stand in passion of a pang,

To see, by thee, how quaintly he would hang.

HOR. I am Hortenzo; tut, tut, fear not, man;

Thou lookest like Zarack.

[_Aside._

ELE. Ay, Hortenzo,

He shall hang here, i' faith; come, Zarack, come,

And, Balthazar, take thou Philippo's room:

First let me see you plac'd.

PHIL. We're plac'd.

ELE. Slaves; ha, ha, ha!

You are but players, that[78] must end the play;

How like Hortenzo and Philippo! ha!

Stand my two slaves, were they as black as you.

Well, Zarack, I'll unfix thee first of all,

Thou shalt help me to play the cardinal:

This iron engine on his head I'll clap,

Like a pope's mitre or a cardinal's cap;

Then manacle his hands, as thou dost mine;

So, so, I pray thee, Zarack, set him free,

That both of you may stand and laugh at me.

PHIL. 'Tis fine, i' faith; call in more company;

Alvero, Roderigo, and the rest:

Who will not laugh at Eleazar's jest?

ELE. What? Zarack, Balthazar!

PHIL. Ah! anon, anon;

We have not laugh'd enough: it's but begun.

[_Knocking._

Who knocks?

ELE. Unmanacle my hands, I say.

PHIL. Then shall we mar our mirth, and spoil the play.

[_Knocking again._

Who knocks?

ALV. [_Within._] Alvero.

PHIL. Let Alvero in.

ELE. And let me out.

_Enter all below._

PHIL. I thank you for that flout,[79]

To let Alvero in, and let you out.

ELE. Villains! slaves! am not I your lord, the Moor?

And Eleazar?

QUEEN-M. And the devil of hell;

And more than that, and Eleazar too.

ELE. And, devil's dam, what do I here with you?

QUEEN-M. My tongue shall torture thee.

ELE. I know thee then;

All women's tongues are tortures unto men.

QUEEN-M. Spaniards, this was the villain; this is he

Who, through enticements of alluring lust

And glory, which makes silly women proud

And men malicious, did incense my spirit

Beyond the limits of a woman's mind

To wrong myself and that lord cardinal;

And (that which sticks more near unto my blood),

He that was nearest to my blood, my son,

To dispossess him of his right by wrong:

O, that I might embrace him on this breast,

Which did enclose him, when he first was born:

No greater happiness can heav'n show'r upon

Me than to circle in these arms of mine

That son, whose royal blood I did defame,

To crown with honour an ambitious Moor.

PHIL. Thus then thy happiness is complete;

[_Embraces her._

Behold thy Philip ransom'd from that prison,

In which the Moor had cloistered him.

HOR. And here's Hortenzo.

ELE. Then am I betrayed and cosen'd in

My own designs: I did contrive

Their ruin; but their subtle policy

Hath blasted my ambitious thoughts. Villains!

Where's Zarack? Where's Balthazar?

What have you done with them?

PHIL. They're gone to Pluto's kingdom, to provide

A place for thee, and to attend thee there.

But, lest they should be tired with too long

Expecting hopes, come, brave spirits of Spain,

This is the Moor, the actor of these evils;

Thus thrust him down to act among the devils.

[_Stabs him._

ELE. And am I thus despatch'd!

Had I but breath'd the space of one hour longer,

I would have fully acted my revenge:

But O, now pallid death bids me prepare,

And haste to Charon for to be his fare.

I come, I come: but ere my glass is run,

I'll curse you all, and, cursing, end my life.

May'st thou, lascivious queen, whose damned charms

Bewitch'd me to the circle of thy arms,

Unpiti'd die, consum'd with loathed lust,

Which thy venereous mind hath basely nurs'd:

And for you, Philip, may your days be long,

But clouded with perpetual misery:

May thou, Hortenzo, and thy Isabel

Be fetch'd alive by furies into hell,

There to be damn'd for ever. O, I faint;

Devils, come claim your right, and when I am

Confin'd within your kingdom, then shall I

Outact you all in perfect villany.

[_Dies._

PHIL. Take down his body, while his blood streams forth;

His acts are pass'd, and our last act is done.

Now do I challenge my hereditary right

To the roy'l Spanish throne, usurp'd by him,

In which, in all your sights, I thus do plant myself.

Lord Cardinal, and you the queen my mother,

I pardon all those crimes you have committed.

QUEEN-M. I'll now repose myself in peaceful rest,

And fly unto some solitary residence,

Where I'll spin out the remnant of my life

In true contrition for my pass'd offences.

PHIL. And now, Hortenzo, to close up your wound,

I here contract my sister unto thee,

With comic joy to end a tragedy.

And, for the barbarous Moor and his black train,

Let all the Moors be banished from Spain.

* * * * *

ANDROMANA

OR

THE MERCHANT'S WIFE.

_EDITION._

_Andromana; or, The Merchant's Wife. The Scene Iberia. By J. S.

London: Printed for John Bellinger; and are to be sold at his

shop, in Clifford's Inn Lane, in Fleet-street. 1660. 4^o._

This play was printed in the year 1660, and has the letters J. S.

in the title-page. Chetwood, in his "British Theatre," p. 47,

says that it was revived in 1671, when a prologue was spoken

before it, in which were the following lines--

"'Twas Shirley's muse that labour'd for its birth,

Though now the sire rests in the silent earth."

[But there is in fact no authority whatever for believing it to

be from Shirley's pen; nor is it included in Gifford and Dyce's

edition of that writer.[80]]

The plot is taken from the story of Plangus, in Sir Philip

Sydney's "Arcadia." The same subject had before been made use of

by Beaumont and Fletcher in their play of "Cupid's Revenge."

DRAMATIS PERSONA†.

EPHORBAS, _King of Iberia_.

PLANGUS, _his son_.

EUBULUS, }

ANAMEDES, } _three lords, and councillors to the king_.

RINATUS, }

INOPHILUS, _son to Rinatus, and friend to the prince_.

ZOPIRO, }

NICETES, } _captains_.

ARAMNES, }

ARTESIO, _an informing courtier_.

ANDROMANA, _a merchant's wife_.

LIBACER, _her servant_.

_Messenger._

_Captains and Soldiers._

_Scene, Iberia._

ANDROMANA

OR

THE FATAL AND DESERVED END OF DISLOYALTY AND AMBITION.

ACT I., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ NICETES _and_ ARAMNES.

NIC. I have observ'd it too; but the cause is

As unknown to me as actions done

In countries not found out yet.

ARA. Some wench, my life to a brass farthing!

NIC. As like as may be:

We soldiers are all given that way; especially,

When our blood boils high, and [our] pulses beat

Alarms to Cupid's battles; we are apter

To sally on a young [in]flaming girl,

Than on an enemy that braves it

Before our trenches.

ARA. I ask it not to know his privacies; for if

His freedom doth not acquaint me with them,

Let them be secret still: yet I could wish

An opportunity to tell him

A little circumspection would

Be handsome, and set a gloss upon all.

Times might be chosen of less public notice:

It looks so poorly in a prince to be

Thus careless of his own affairs: men do

So talk on it. Here comes Inophilus;

If anybody knows, it must be he.

_Enter_ INOPHILUS.

INO. Your servant, captains. Saw you the prince to-day?

NIC. Not we: we hop'd to hear of him from you.

INO. 'Tis strange a man, adorn'd with so much wisdom,

Should on the sudden fall off from the care

Of his own fame! I am his friend, and so,

I know, are you; but to speak plainly to you,

He's grown my wonder now as much

As other men's. I, that have found a sweetness

In his company beyond whatever

Lovers dream of in a mistress, that as

He spoke, methought have smell'd the air perfum'd;

Nor could have wished a joy greater

Than living with him, next those of heaven;

And those preferr'd the more, because I knew

Plangus would be there.

I say, even I of late am grown out of love

With anything that's mortal; since I've found

Plangus so far beneath (I will not say

My expectations) but the assurances

All good men had of future gallantry.

He's melancholy now, and hath thrown off

The spirit which so well became him; and all

That sweetness which bewitch'd men's hearts is grown

So rugged, so incompos'd to all commerce,

Men fear he'll shortly quarrel with himself.

Nay more, he doth not answer the fondness

Of his father's love with half that joy

He us'd to do.

ARA. 'Tis now about a week I have observ'd

This alteration; it shakes him, like an ague,

Once in two days, but holds him longer

Than a fit o' th' gout. They whisper about the court

As if the king had chid him for it,

And now at length [had] found his haunts----

INO. A poor discovery! Who might not find 'em out,

That would be so uncivil? I was about

To follow him, but thought it an ignoble way,

Beneath the name of friendship, and so desisted.

About four days ago, meeting him i' th' long gallery,

I ask'd him how he did? Taking me by the hand,

He wrung it, and after a sigh or two, told me,

"Not very well, but he had business"--and so we parted.

I saw him not again in twenty hours after;

And then I ask'd him where he'd been so long?

He told me (as if he was ashamed

To deny me such a poor request) I must not know:

And when I told him his often absence was observ'd,

Is it? (saith he) I cannot help it; but it shall

No more be so; and at the last he stole away:

Since when I saw him not.

NIC. O this wicked peace! Inophilus,

Is there no hopes of war?

To lie at home to see our armours rust;

We could keep the prince sober and merry too,

If he would but exchange his court for a camp.

INO. The king is old, and doats upon his son;

Is loth to venture him to danger:

Yet at this time there is occasion.

The Argives have refus'd to pay their tribute,

And are for certain preparing for invasion:

Some say they have got into Iberia already.

ARA. Nay, then there's hopes;

If we could but find the prince with a buff-coat again,

I should be once more merry.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ EPHORBAS _the King_, RINATUS, EUBULUS, _and_ ARAMNES,

_three Lords_.

EPH. See the ambassadors entertain'd

With such an evenness as should be us'd to men

We neither fear nor love; let neither

Too much obsequiousness teach them insolency,

Nor any ill-usage brand us with incivility:

Stay you, Rinatus.

[_He sighs. Exeunt_ EUBULUS _and_ ARAMNES.

Open thy bosom, and receive torrents of sorrow,

That lie like rocks of lead upon my soul;

Honest Rinatus, experience bids me trust thee

With a mighty secret. Thou canst not choose

But know my son of late is much retir'd.

I do not like that youth should be thus melancholy:

Let them enjoy themselves; for age will come,

Whose impotency will deny all pleasures.

I do believe he loves me. Ha?

RIN. Yes, doubtless, better than sick men health;

Or those who are penn'd up in darkness

Love the sun.

EPH. I speak not, as if I thought he did not;

For thou know'st I humour him, afford him

Liberty enough; I never chide him, nor express

The least dislike of any action. Am not I a gentle father?

Methinks, were I a son again to such a father,

I should not think he liv'd too long; shouldst thou, Rinatus?

RIN. No more doth he, upon my soul:

One command of yours would make him venture upon

Lightning, nay, almost make him act a sin,

A thing he fears to name.

EPH. I do believe thee:

But yet, methinks, should he be grown so impious,

There might be found excuses.

A crown is a temptation; especially so near one:

'Tis not with princes as with other sons;

And I am told too--

Hath not my hand the palsy?--

Doth a crown become grey hairs? To be a king

Might make some men forswear all conscience.

But I know Plangus hath far nobler thoughts;

And yet an empire might excuse a parricide.

RIN. Sir, sure, you are a stranger to your son;

For, give me leave to say, your fears are vain:

So great a virtue as the prince's cannot

Anticipate his hopes by any sin.

Honour and duty have been acquainted with him now

Too long to be divorc'd. Some sycophants there are

(Such creatures still will haunt the court), I know,

Love not the prince, because he loves not them.

Sir, shut your ears to them: they will betray you

To your ruin. Jealousy's a disease

Should be below a king, as that which seizeth

On the basest spirits. O, shut it from your soul!

One may read in story what dire effects

The fury hath brought forth. Kings make away

Their only sons, and princes their fathers;

And when they have done, they may despair at leisure.

EPH. I do not think Plangus

Hath plots or on my crown or me;

He was virtuous always, and is still, I hope:

But why is he so much from court then, and alone too?

I do but ask the question.

RIN. It can be no design, believe me, sir;

For crowns are won by other courses.

Aspirers must grow popular, be hedg'd about

With their confederates. Then would he flatter you,

Be jolly still, as if no melancholy thought were in him.

A guilty conscience would then teach him policy,

And he would seek to take suspicion from all his carriages;

Innocence makes him careless now.

EPH. Thou hast almost resolv'd me,

The tempest in my soul is almost laid,

And wants but time to calm it.

Youth hath its whimsies, nor are we

To examine all their paths too strictly.

We went awry ourselves when we were young.

RIN. Sir!

EPH. Thou may'st be gone, Rinatus.

[_Exit_ RINATUS.

SCENE III.

EPHORBAS _solus_.

The blessing of an honest servant!

This Rinatus is truer unto me.

He loves the king as well as I Ephorbas;

And may I live but to reward him,

For he's too honest for a court.

_Enter_ ARTESIO.

How now, Artesio? thy looks speak strong amazement;

I am with child to hear the news: prythee,

Be quick in the delivery.

ART. The prince, an't please your majesty----

EPH. What of him, Artesio?

ART. I have observ'd, is much retir'd of late.

EPH. So have I too; this is no news.

ART. And I can whisper in your ear the cause.

'Twas chance, no policy of mine, betray'd his privacies:

Ill-offices are not the engines I desire

To rise by, only love to the young prince

Makes me reveal them.

EPH. Nay, nay, without apology;

If it were treason, it should not go down

The sooner for all the gilded preparation.

Nor am I of so feminine a humour

As to mistrust affection delivered bluntly:

Plain meaning should be plainly told;

Bad wares may have false lights, good can abide the day.

ART. But I know the nature of my office;

Though kings still hug suspicion in their bosoms,

They hate the causers; love to hear secrets too,

Yet the revealers still fare the worse,

Being either thought guilty of ends or weakness;

And so esteem'd by those they tell them to

Either unfit or dangerous to be trusted.

Perhaps, sir, when the prince and you are friends again

You'll tell me that, had my love been real,

I should have whisper'd the prince's errors to himself.

EPH. Without a syllable of prologue more,

Or I shall verify your fears.

ART. In this brave city (take it as brief as may be)

There lives a beauty, fit to command

Them that command the world,

And might be Alexander's mistress, were he yet alive,

And had added empires as large as his desires:

She's but a private merchant's wife;

Yet the prince is so far gravell'd in her affection,

I fear----

EPH. Then there is hopes I may recall him:

Love is a childish evil, though the effects

Are dangerous. A prince's errors grown public

Will be scandalous. Poor boy! perhaps

The jealous husband may commit a murder;

I would not have him cut off so young:

Love should be princes' recreation, not their business.

What physic must we give him for his cure?

ART. I dare not counsel you;

But in my poor judgment some gentle

Fatherly persuasions will work upon so good a nature.

EPH. Couldst thou but possibly effect, how I

Might take him napping?

ART. That is beyond my skill:

But I can show you the house and time he walks

From hence in, which will be about an hour

Hence; for then her husband comes home from

The Rialto.

EPH. Time will not tarry for a king; let's go.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

INO. What is become of this young prince? or where

Doth he bestow himself? Doth he walk invisible?

Where have I [not] been to look him? the horses

Are in the stables, his page and I at home too,

That us'd to be as inseparable companions.

_Enter_ NICETES, ARAMNES.

ARA. Well met, gentlemen! where is the hermit Plangus?

NIC. We cannot tell, nor have we been to seek him.

If at the court, we should hear presently; if not,

We might be too officious in his search, and our

Inquiry might make his absence

But so much the more notorious; and I'm confident

He's well: his virtue guards him still from all mischances.

INO. Though his company's the dearest thing I love,

Yet for his good I could digest his absence,

But that I doubt a mighty mischief might spring

From this small grain of indiscretion.

The king is old, and there are knaves about the court

That (if he knew it not) would tell him so:

And men, conscious to themselves of a deficiency,

Are still most jealous of a growing worth.

Perhaps a thinking father (for plodding

Is old age's sickness) may take notice of

His son's retirement, and misconstrue it so:

Nothing is impossible: heaven send it otherwise!

ARA. This care becomes you, sir; but I dare swear

'Tis needless: the king is but an ill dissembler; and had he

But the least thought of such a thing, he'd hide it

Less than the sun conceals his brightness:

Besides, a man as great as Ephorbas is, whose rule

Of living hath been directed by the line

Of virtue, cannot mistrust that vice in his

Own son, of which himself was never guilty;

Had his younger years been tainted with inordinate

Desires, or had his crown been the effect

Of some audacious crime, perhaps his guilty

Conscience might have mistrusted.

But 'tis impossible, where there is no guilt,

To fear a punishment.

INO. You speak my hopes:

But this for certain, gentlemen: the king,

Who was admired for his matchless sleeping,

Whose night no noise disturb'd, and it was difficult

To wake before his hour, sleeps but unquietly of late,

Will start at midnight, and cry _Plangus_:

Is greedy after news, and walks unevenly,

And sometimes on the sudden looks behind him;

And when one speaks to him, scarcely marks one syllable.

Surely the mind of some distemper shakes

His soul into this looseness.

_Enter_ MESSENGER.

MES. My lord, the prince desires

To meet you half an hour hence i' th' gallery.

INO. Me?

MES. Yes, my lord.

INO. I shall. Your servant, captains.

ALL. Yours, my lord.

[_Exeunt at several doors._

SCENE V.

PLANGUS, ANDROMANA.

PLAN. It cannot be so late.

AND. Believe't, the sun is set, my dear,

And candles have usurp'd the office of the day.

PLAN. Indeed, methinks a certain mist,

Like darkness, hangeth[81] on my eyelids.

But too great lustre may undo the sight:

A man may stare so long upon the sun

That he may look his eyes out; and certainly

'Tis so with me: I have so greedily

Swallow'd thy light that I have spoil'd my own.

AND. Why shouldst thou tempt me to my ruin thus?

As if thy presence were less welcome to me

Than day to one who, 'tis so long ago

He saw the sun, hath forgot what light is.

Love of thy presence makes me wish this absence.

Phoebus himself must suffer an eclipse,

And clouds are still foils to the brightest splendour:

Some short departure will (like [to] a river

Stopp'd) make the current of our pleasures run

The higher at our next meeting.

PLAN. Alas, my dearest! tell those so

That know not what it is to part from blessing;

Bid not him surfeit to taste health's sweetness,

That knows what 'tis to groan under a disease.

AND. Then let us stand and outface danger,

Since you will have it so; despise report,

And contemn scandals into nothing,

Which vanish with the breath that utters 'em;

Love is above these vanities. Should the

Innocent thing my husband take thee here,

He could not spite me but by growing jealous;

And jealousy's black[est] effect would be a cloister,

Perhaps to kill me too: but that's impossible--

I cannot die so long as Plangus loves me.

Yet say this piece of earth should play the coward,

And fall at some unlucky stroke,

Love would transport my better half to its centre

[In] Plangus' heart, and I should live in him.

But, sir, you have a fame to lose, which should be

A prince's only care and darling: which

Should have an eternity beyond his life:

If he should take that from you, I should be

Killed indeed.

PLAN. Why dost thou use

These arguments to bid me go,

Yet chain me to thy tongue, while the angel-like

Music of thy voice, ent'ring my thirsty ears,

Charms up my fears to immobility?

'Tis more impossible for me to leave thee

Than for this carcase to quoit[82] away its gravestone,

When it lies destitute of a soul t' inform it.

Mariners might with far greater ease

Hear whole shoals of Sirens singing,

And not leap out to their destruction,

Than I forsake so dangerous a sweetness.

AND. I will be dumb then.

PLAN. I will be deaf first. I have thought a way now,

I'll run from hence, and leave my soul behind me.

It shall be so--and yet it shall not neither:

What! shall a husband banish a prince his house

For fear? A husband! 'tis but an airy title;

I will command there shall be no such thing,

And then Andromana is mine, or his,

Or any man's she will herself. These ceremonies

Fetter the world, and I was born to free it.

Shall man, that noble creature, be afraid

Of words, things himself made? Shall sounds,

A thing of seven small letters, give check

T'a prince's will?

AND. Did you not promise me, dear sir?

Have you not sworn, too, you would not stay

beyond the time?

Have oaths no more validity with princes?

Let me not think so.

PLAN. Come, I will go; thou shalt not ask in vain.

But let us kiss at parting; it may be

Our last, perhaps--

I cannot now move one foot, though all the furies

Should whip me forward with their snakes.

Woman, thou stol'st my heart--just now thou stol'st it.

A cannon bullet might have kiss'd my lips,

And left me as much life.

[_The_ KING, _having listened, comes in softly_.

Are we betray'd?

What art? speak, or resolve to die.

KING. A well-wisher of the prince's.

PLAN. The king? It cannot be!

[_He starts._

KING. Though thou hast thrown all nature off,

I cannot what's my duty. Ungracious boy!

Hadst been the offspring of a sinful bed,

Thou might'st have claim'd adult'ry as inheritance;

Lust would have been thy kinsman,

And what enormity thy looser life

Could have been guilty of had found excuse

In an unnatural conception.

Prythee, hereafter seek another father:

Ephorbas cannot call him son that makes

Lust his deity. Had I but known

(But we are hoodwink'd still to all mischances)

I should have had a son that would make it

His study to embrace corruption, and

Take delight in unlawful sheets. I would

Have hugg'd a monster in mine arms

Before thy mother. Good, O heavens!

What will this world come to at last?

When princes, that should be the patterns

Of all virtue, lead up the dance to vice!

What shall we call our own, when our own wives

Banish their faith, and prove false to us?

Have I with so much care promis'd myself

So pleasing a spring of comfort, and are all

Those blossoms nipp'd, and buds burnt up by th' fire

Of lust and sin?--

Have I thus long laboured against the billows,

That did oppose my growing hopes,

And must I perish in the haven's mouth?

No gulf but this to be devoured in?

Could not youth's inclination find out

Another rock to split itself upon?

Hadst thou hugg'd drunkenness, the wit

Or mirth of company might have excus'd it.

Prodigality had been a sin a prince

Might have been proud in compared to this.

Or had thy greener years incited thee

To treason and attempt a doubting father's crown,

T' had been a noble vice. Ambition

Runs through the veins of princes; it brings forth

Acts [as] great as themselves and it; spurs on

To honour, and resolves great things.

But this--this lechery is such a thing, sin is

Too brave a name for it. A prince (I might say son,[83]

But let that pass), and dare to show himself

To nought but darkness and black chambers,

Whose motions, like some planet, are all eccentric:

Not two hours together in his own sphere,

The court?--but I am tame to talk thus;

Begone, with as much speed as a coward would

Avoid his death; and never more presume

To look upon this woman, [upon] this whore:

Thou losest both thy eyes and me else.

[PLANGUS _is going out, but comes again._

PLAN. [O] sir, the reverence that I owe my father,

And the injury I have done this gentlewoman,

Had charm'd me up to silence; but I must

Speak something for her honour:

When I have done, command me to the altar.

Whilst (I confess) you tainted me with sin,

I did applaud you, and condemn myself--

It looked like a father's care--but when

You us'd that term of whore to her that stands there,

I would have given ten thousand kingdoms,

You had had no more relation to me

Than hath the northern to the southern pole. I should

Have flown to my revenge swifter than lightning.

But I forbear; and pray, imagine not

What I had done----

KING. Upon my life, she's very handsome.

[_Aside._

PLAN. To be a whore is more unknown to her,

Than what is done in the Antipodes;

She is so pure she cannot think a sin,

Nor ever heard the name to understand it.

KING. No doubt, these private meetings were to read

Her moral lectures, and teach her chastity!

PLAN. Nay, give me leave, sir. I do not say

My addresses have been all so virtuous;

For whatsoever base desires a flaming

Beauty could kindle in a heart, were all alive

In me, and prompted me to seek some ease

By quenching burnings hotter than A†tna.

Imagine but a man that had drunk mercury,

And had a fire within his bones,

Whose blood was hotter than the melted ore!

If he should wish for drink, nay, steal it too,

Could you condemn him?

EPH. Marri'd, do they say?

[_Aside._

PLAN. I did endure a heat seas could not cool;

It would have kill'd a salamander.

Then, taught both impudence and wit,

I singled out my foe, us'd all the arts

That love could think upon, and in the end

Found a most absolute repulse.

KING. Well, Plangus, youth excuses the first fault;

But a relapse exceeds all pardon.

[_Exeunt_ KING _and_ PLANGUS.

SCENE VI.

AND. Curs'd be old age, and he that first

Number'd fourscore!

What devil has betray'd us to a doating fool?

Did I but now promise myself, what hopes

Ambitious thoughts could reach; and shall I sink

Down to my first foundation without the pleasure of

A tasted greatness? Death and disgrace!

I dare provoke the utmost of your malice,

After the sweetness of some sharp revenge.

_Enter_ LIBACER _in haste_.

LIB. Madam, my master.

AND. You may both hang together.

LIB. Why, this it is, if a man should kill his father

For you, he should be thus rewarded; as soon as

Your turn's served, I may be hang'd that did it.

AND. Since he is dead, how was it done?

LIB. Why, nothing; only as he was taking water

At the Rialto, his foot slipp'd a little,

And he came tumbling in the sea;

Whence he was taken up, but not alive.

AND. Heav'n prospers not these courses,

I see it plainly; let them be acted with as much closeness,

Or to what end soever, they never thrive. Libacer,

We are undone, undone; the king hath found

His son here, and I have lost him to eternity.

LIB. You women are the shallowest creatures;

You never look beyond the present.

Rome was not built in one day, madam;

Greatness is never sweet that comes too easily.

Should Plangus be a fool now, and obey his father--

Pox o' this virtue, it spoils most men living.

We have hopes yet: revenge is something;

And if my old trade fail not.

Princes are mortal as well as other men;

Yet my soul inspires me with half a confidence

That Leon hath not died in vain. I use to see

As far into mischief as another: I'll go to him,

And if I bring him not within this half hour,

As hot and eager on the scent as e'er he was,

Take me and hang me at my coming home--

Madam, here is a messenger from court.

[_As he is going out he meets_ ARTESIO.

AND. If from thence, I may be bold to ask

How Plangus, the noblest prince alive, doth?

ART. Madam, as well as soldiers can

That are sick for honour; I suppose by this time

H' hath left the court, and is gone in quest for glory,

Which h' intends to ravish from young Argo's brow,

The valiant leader of the Argives' army.

AND. I'm confident then, sir,

Your business is not to me; if anybody else

Hath sent you, sir, be pleas'd to spare the message,

And tell them, I neither have learned the tricks

O' th' court, nor yet intend it; I want no new gowns,

And have heard men forswear themselves

In better language and to better purpose

Than gaining of a lady's honour.

ART. Madam, my business is from the king,

Who doth entreat you would be pleas'd to bless

The court this afternoon with your fair presence,

And bring an answer; I must not stay for one.

[_Exit_ ARTESIO.

AND. Now we do see an end of all our mischiefs;

The prince hath gone from court, and the king

Hath sent for us. Doth not the name

Strike terror to thy curdling blood?

LIB. No, by my troth, not at all.

As far as I see, you're better than you were.

I'll lay my life the old man would turn gamester.

Take my counsel, play deep, or not at all:

Not an ace under a kingdom. Your grace,

I hope, will remember your poor friends.

AND. If I do find any such thing,

Let me alone to melt his ice.

Go, get me mourning with all haste.

[_Exit_ LIBACER.

Let froward Fortune do her worst; I shall

Create my greatness, or attempting fall:

And when I fall, I will deserve my ruin.

[_Exit._

ACT II., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ PLANGUS, NICETES, ARAMNES.

NIC. What, sir, and are you melancholy, when fate

Hath shower'd a happiness so unexpected on us?

This ugly, sneaking peace is the soldier's rock

He splits his fortunes on. Bawdry's a virtue to't.

Pox o' these beaver hats, they make one's headache

Worse than a cap of steel: and bear not off a knock

The tenth part so well.

PLAN. You're mad for fighting, gentlemen,

And we shall have enough of it.

The Argives, fifty thousand strong,

Have like a whirlwind borne down all before 'em;

And I, with thirteen thousand, that remain

Undisbanded of the last expedition,

Have command to fight that multitude

Of old tough soldiers: while ours,

In a month or two, won't have pick'd up that valour

That in this idle time hath slipp'd from them.

They have forgot what noise a musket makes;

And start if they but hear a drum.

Are these fellows either enow, or fit,

On whom a kingdom's safety should be built?

Indeed, were they to encounter some mistress,

Or storm a brothel-house, perhaps they'd venture;

But for my part I yield; nor would I oppose my father:

If he sees good we perish, I am already

Sacrific'd; yet our enemies shall dearly purchase

Their victory. Pray look to your charge, Nicetes,

And you, Aramnes, with all care and speed; and when

You come into the field, then let me see

This countenance, that frowning smile, and I

Shall like it: I love a man runs laughing

Upon death. But we lose time in talk.

[_Exeunt_ NICETES _and_ ARAMNES.

SCENE II.

_Enter_ INOPHILUS.

INO. Your servant, captains. Sir, pray a word with you.

PLAN. Prythee, be short, Inophilus; thou know'st

My business.

INO. Sir, I am mad to see your tameness:

A man bound up by magic is not so still as you;

Nothing was ever precipitated thus,

And yet refus'd to see its ruin.

PLAN. Thou art tedious, I shall not tarry.

INO. You are made general.

PLAN. I know it.

INO. Against the Argives.

PLAN. So.

INO. With thirteen thousand men, no more, sir.

PLAN. I am glad on't, the honour is the greater.

INO. The danger is the greater; you will be kill'd, sir,

And lose your army.

PLAN. Is this all? I care not.

INO. But so do I, and so do all your friends.

I smell a rat, sir; there's juggling in this business;

I am as confident of it as I am alive.

The king might within this twenty-four hours

Have made a peace on fair conditions.

PLAN. But dishonourable.

INO. And would not--

On a sudden useth the ambassadors scurvily,

And provokes the Argives, yet himself

In no posture of defence.

PLAN. But----

INO. Pray give me leave, sir.

After this, you are on a sudden created general,

And pack'd away with a crowd of unhewn fellows,

Whose courage hangs as loose about them

As a slut's petticoats. Sir, he had other spirits

In the court created for such perils.

Excuse me, I know you fear not to meet destruction;

But where men are sure to perish,

'Twere well the persons were of less concernment.

He might have let you stay'd till you had gather'd

An army fit for your command, and sent

Some petty things upon this expedition

Whose loss would have been nothing, and of whom

It might have been recorded in our story

As an honour, that they died monuments

Of the king's folly. But let that pass;

You'll say perhaps, you only have a spirit

Fit for such undertakings? I wish you had not;

Your want then would not be half so grievous.

But here is the prodigy! you must fight them presently.

Come, 'tis a project put into the king's head

By some who have a plot on you and him.

PLAN. It may be so, Inophilus, and I believe

All this is true you tell me, and 't might startle

A man were less resolv'd than I.

But danger and I have been too long acquainted

To shun a meeting now; I am engaged, and

Cannot any ways come off with reputation.

Hadst told me this before, perhaps I might

Have thought on't; and yet I should not neither.

If the king thinks I am grown dangerous,

It is all one to me which way he takes

Me from his fears. He could not do it

Handsomer than thus; it makes less noise now--

But come, I must not fear such things, Inophilus:

The king hath more virtue and honour than

To do these actions, fit only for guilty souls;

Nor must I fear, when my Inophilus fights by me.

INO. Troth, sir, for all your compliment, if you've

No valour but what owes itself to my company, you're like

To make cold breakfast of your enemies:

I have other business than to throw away

My life, when there is so much odds against it:

I'll stay at home, and pray for you, that's all, sir.

PLAN. How! wilt not go then, Inophilus?

INO. The time hath been, I thought it better sport

To bustle through a bristly grove of pikes;

When I have courted rugged danger with

Hotter desires than handsome faces,

And thought no woman half so beautiful

As bloody gaping wounds:

But, sir,

To go and cast away myself now would not

Be gallant, nor an action worth my envy:

'Tis weakness to make those that seek my ruin

Laugh at my folly,

With jaws stretch'd wider than the gulf that swallows us.

I know when honour calls me, and when treason counterfeits

Her voice.

PLAN. Well, stay at home and freeze,

And lose all sense of glory in

A mistress' arms. Go, perish tamely, drunk

With sin and peace; and may'st thou, since thou dar'st

Not die with them,

Outlive thy noble friends.

INO. I thank you, sir, but I cannot be angry.

SCENE III.

_Enter_ NICETES _and_ ARAMNES, _with some Captains and

Soldiers_.

NIC. Yonder's the bones o' th' army ralli'd up

Together, but they look'd rather as if

They came home from being soundly beaten.

Methinks such tatter'd rogues should never conquer,

Victory would look so scurvily among 'em,

They'd so bedaub her if she wore clean linen.

CAPT. Sir, we wear as sound hearts in these torn breeches,

As e'er a courtier of them all.

We are not afraid of spoiling our hands for want

Of gloves, nor need we almond-butter, when

We go to bed. And though my lieutenant

Is pleased to be a little merry, you

Shall see us die as handsomely in these old clothes

As those wear better, and become our wounds

As well, and perhaps smell as sweet

When we are rotten.

PLAN. We hope it.

Captains and fellow-soldiers, we are proud

Of this occasion to try your valours;

You shall go no farther than your prince doth,

I'll be no bringer up of rears. Let not

The number of the foe affright you,

The more they are, the more will the honour be.

The lion scorns to prey upon a hare,

Nor is the blinking taper fit to try eagles' eyes.

The weight of glory makes our danger light.

When victory comes easily, 'tis half

A shame to conquer.

[_Soldiers shout, and exeunt._

INO. I'll stay at home, and grieve, that so many

Daring souls should die on such advantage.

[_Exit_ INOPHILUS.

SCENE IV.

_Enter the_ KING _solus_.

KING. Her husband dead too! Fates, let me die,

I am too happy to remain long thus

Without a ruin, great as the height I fell from.

Plangus was my only obstacle; but him I have

Removed. But love commanded:

His presence would have countermanded all attempts;

I need not fear his magic at this distance.

His looks and actions were one entire enchantment,

All[84]-powerful over a lady's heart.

I sent for her; but she's not come yet.

Who waits without?

_Enter_ ARTESIO.

ART. There's a mourning lady, sir,

Would speak with the king.

KING. Admit her, and begone.

SCENE V.

_Enter_ ANDROMANA _in mourning, with a hood over her face,

which she throws up when she sees the_ KING.

KING. So riseth Phoebus from the gloomy night,

While pale-fac'd Dian maketh haste to hide

Her borrow'd glory in some neighb'ring cloud,

Envying the beauty of the new-born day,

When darkness crowds into the other world.

Madam, why kneel you? You, at whose name monarchs

[_She kneels._

Themselves might tremble, and mortals bow

With reverence great as they pay to altars:

Sceptres should break in pieces and adore you;

At whose sight the sun and moon should blush

Themselves to blood and darkness, and falling

From their sphere, crush the audacious world to atoms,

For daring to behold a lustre so much greater

Than their own.

AND. Sir, give me leave to wonder

What sin I have committed, which calling

Down the vengeance of the gods,

Hath made me author of all this blasphemy.

Sir, I beseech your majesty, if you are angry

With your creature, speak some cruel word and blast me.

Scorn me not into the other world, where I have

Sins enough of my own to blush for, and shall not need

To dye his cheeks for other men's offences.

KING. Lady, though Parthian darts are not so sharp

As are those killing words; yet that breath, which

Utters them is sweeter than the morning dew.

I'll be dumb, for praises cannot add, but rather

Diminish Andromana's worth.

AND. I wonder now no longer at this language,

'Tis such as kings are bred in.

But I beseech you, sir, if there be aught

You will command your servant--if Andromana

Must do or suffer anything for great Ephorbas,

Lay by yourself a minute, and remember

A merchant's wife must hear you.

KING. Your husband Leon's dead, I hear, lady--

[_She weeps._

Nay, spare those pearls, madam; cast not away

Such treasure upon the memory of one

Who, if the best of men, deserves them not.

Come, come, forget these sorrows, lady,

And wear not mourning weeds before the world's

Destruction; hide not those fair eyes, whose splendour

Would enrich our court. Madam, though none

There be in court can merit such a beauty,

Yet I myself have taken pains to search

A husband for you: what think you of myself?

AND. Great sir, your care is, like yourself, all noble;

But suits with me no better

Than Phoebus' horses did with Phaeton,

Ruin'd the world and him. First, sir, you do

Debase yourself to honour her, whose worth

Is less considerable than lovers' oaths:

My husband's ashes are scarce cold yet,

And would your majesty have me forsake

My honour and his memory so soon? I have

Not paid oblations due to's ashes yet.

KING. You compliment away the worth we know

You have, Andromana: what say you to the prince?

AND. I say he is the prince, and great Ephorbas' son;

He's Plangus: and if you think there yet remains

A title that can be either better or greater,

I think him worthy of it.

KING. But dost [thou] think him worthy Andromana?

AND. O heavens! Is Jove worth heav'n,

Or doth the sun deserve to be a light

To all the world? Can virtue deserve honour,

Or labour riches? Can gods merit altars?

It might have been a puzzling question

To them whose ears have not been bless'd

With Plangus' worth. But this is so below him----

KING. But say he loves thee?

AND. I dare not say so:

For when I think a prince pretends to such poor things

As I am, I feel an ice runs through my veins,

And my blood curdles into flakes of snow,

And bids me fear him--not with an awe or reverence,

But as a spotted sinful thing, which is

The worse for being great. 'Tis such a fear,

As I should conceive 'gainst an armed ravisher.

KING. These things may be expected, lady, I confess,

From blood that boils in flames hot as the sun

In scorching Libra, or sturdy Hercules,

When he unmaiden'd fifty in one night;

But from a man whose years have tam'd those vices,

Whose love is dotage and not lust,

Who doth adore a handsome virtue, and pays

His vows to't, you should have other hopes.

Plangus is young, a soldier, and by consequence

Something which youth excuses. But Ephorbas

Hath left these toys behind him, when he shook off

His youth.

AND. Sir, now my fears are out. O virtue!

Are there just pow'rs which men adore, and throw

Away their pray'rs upon, that lend their eyes

To human actions? or was the name of heaven

Invented to still petty sinners?

Sir, sure, I am mistaken,

You are not great Ephorbas, sir, whose virtue

Is a theme of wonder to all neighbour nations;

Pray help me to him, I would see that angel;

The kingdom's honour and [all] good men's sanctuary.

But if you are the man, whom I have pray'd for

Oft'ner than I have slept; pray, sir, belie not

A virtue which I've hitherto admired.

KING. I see

You are a stranger, lady--give me leave

To say so--to Ephorbas;

But if a lady of thy melting years

Can love this greyness, I vow my sceptre,

Throne, kingdom, and myself are thine;

Thou'rt fit to be a queen.

[_She starts back._

AND. A queen! sir, have your subjects anger'd you?

Have they rebell'd, or done some sin that wants

A name? I'll cleave to the pavement, till I have begg'd

A vengeance great as their crime; but this

You mention is a punishment, which your subjects

Must study years to curse you for; no sin

Deserves it. You would blind my eyes with throwing gold

Before 'em,

Or set me up so high on the steep pinnacle

Of honour's temple, that you would have me not be

Able to look down on my own simplicity.

You can create me great, I know, sir,

But good you cannot. You might compel,

Entice me too, perhaps, to sin. But

Can you allay a gnawing conscience,

Or bind up bleeding reputation?

I did never hear that physic could afford

A remedy for a wounded honour.

EPH. Thou'rt a fool, Andromana. You must be mine.

Consider on't.

AND. You may command your vassal.

KING. That's kindly said.

AND. But--I humbly take my leave;

Goodness protect you!

[_Exit._

SCENE VI.

_Enter_ RINATUS, EUBULUS, _and_ ARAMNES.

EPH. Wait on that lady forth.

RIN. Would there were not a woman in the world,

So we had our prince again! Sir, are you mad?

Or have forgot you are a father? You

Have undone us all.

EPH. Why, what's the matter?

RIN. O sir, the prince----

EPH. He is not dead, Rinatus, is he?

RIN. Sir, if he be, 'tis you have murder'd him:

Was it for this you were so jealous t'other day?

May my Inophilus never pretend to virtue,

I'll teach him a more thriving art.

Come to the window a little, sir, and hear

How the good people curse you. As cold weather

As it is, some are so hard at it, they sweat again.

EPH. Prythee, unriddle; hast thou drunk hemlock,

Since I saw thee last?

RIN. I would not be in my wits for anything

I' th' world; my grief would kill me if I were.

He's mad that will speak sense or reason,

Now you have thrown away our prince thus:

Whose innocence was clearer than his own eyes:

Can you think how you have murder'd so much virtue,

And not blush yourself to death?

EPH. I think indeed I sent him general

Against the Argives; but--'twas his own desire.

RIN. 'Twas not his own desire, sir, to have

But thirteen thousand men, sir, was it?

Was that army fit to oppose great Argo?

There came a messenger just now, that saw

The prince not sixteen miles from hence

(For thither is the foe marched) draw up his men

T' engage the enemy.

EPH. For heav'n's sake,

Rinatus, post him back again, bid him retreat;

Command my son from me

Not to go on till greater forces follow him.

If it be possible, redeem the error;

I'd give my kingdom, life, or anything,

It were to do again.

RIN. I am glad to see this now;

Heav'n send it be n't too late!

EPH. Nay, stand not prating.

[_A horn within._

RIN. 'Tis from the army, sir. O heaven, I fear!

EPH. If from the army, prythee, put on better looks.

_Enter_ MESSENGER.

MES. Your son--nay more, your dying son--

Commanded me to bring you word,

He died true to his honour, king, and countrymen;

Nor let me stay to see the brightest lamp

Go out, that ever grac'd this orb.

[_The_ KING _faints_.

RIN. O heaven, the king! why this is worse, sir,

Than the other; let us not lose you both.

EPH. Let me but hear how 'twas he made his exit,

And then my glass is run: I will not live

One minute longer.

MES. Sir, thus it was----

'Tis scarce three hours ago, since the brave Plangus

Marched from Lixa with an army,

Whose souls were richer than their clothes by far,

Though their valour had put on all the bravery

That soldiers ever wore. The prince, whose presence

Breathed new fire into these flaming spirits,

Resolv'd to meet the enemy with his handful,

And with a winged speed fell down to th' Elean Straits,

Determining to try it with him there.[85] His soldiers also,

True sons of war, contemning so great odds,

When victory and their country was to crown

The conquerors, whetted their eager valours

With impatient expectation of the enemy

Who, trusting to his multitude, came on

Wing'd both with scorn and anger to see, that paucity

Should dare dispute victory against their odds.

Plangus who, though he saw, yet could not fear

Destruction, and scorn'd to avoid it,

When the king commanded him to meet it,

Marshall'd his army to the best advantage,

And having given Zopiro the left wing,

The body to Evarnes, himself chose out the right;

Because he would be opposite to Argo.

And keeping a reserve, as great as could be hop'd for

From so small a company--not above five hundred men,

He gave the command of them to Zenon,

Who with his fellows took it ill they should

Be so long idle, and had not the honour

To be thought worthy

To die with the most forward, and would, no question,

Have refused the charge; but that the smiling

Prince promis'd them they should have time to die.

Words here were useless, nor had he time to use them.

RIN. What, was Inophilus idle all this while?

MES. I only heard the prince wish, just as he

Spurred his horse against the valiant Argo,

He had fewer by a thousand men:

So he had Inophilus.

RIN. O traitorous boy!

MESS. The prince and Argo met; and like

Two mighty tides encountered. Here death

Put on her sable livery, and the two gallants,

Whose valour animated each army, bandied a long time

With equal force, till at last

Great Argo fell.

And, on a sudden, multitudes of men

Accompani'd him, so that the wing

Went presently to rout and execution.

Zopiro also and Evarnes, having slain

Their opposite leaders, breath'd death and destruction

To their reeling foes. Thus flush'd

With victory and blood, th' Iberians revell'd

Th[o]rough the flying field, till there came on

The enemy's reserve of twenty thousand men,

Who, fresh and lusty, grinded their teeth for anger

At their fellows' overthrow, and pouring on

Our weary soldiers, turn'd the stream of victory.

But the prince's valour and good fortune soon

O'ercame this opposition, and having rallied

His broken troops, went to relieve his friends,

Who had far'd worse; when presently he saw

Evarnes, who had pil'd up enemies about him,

As an obelisk of his own death and victory,

Fall bleeding at his foot, and having kiss'd it

With his dying lips, entreated him to save

Himself for a more happy day, and died.

'Twas not long after the gallant Zenon

Who had perform'd that day deeds of eternal fame,

And with his few, spite of opposition, thrice charg'd

And routed some thousands of the enemy,

Expir'd; which when the prince beheld,

Weeping for anger, he flew amongst his enemies,

Sustain'd only by the greatness of his courage,

For blood and strength had both forsook him;

He spent that spark of life was left in him,

In slaughter and revenge, when leaning on

His weapon's point, that dropp'd with blood as fast

As he, he then conjur'd me with all speed

Only to tell the king I saw him

Die worthy of his father and himself.

[_A horn without. A shout._

EPH. O heaven! what mean these acclamations?

What, do

[_A shout again._

The Iberians welcome their bloody conquerors

With so much joy?

SCENE VII.

_Enter_ PLANGUS, INOPHILUS, _and_ ZOPIRO, _Captains_.

EPH. O, O!

[_He faints._

RIN. O cowardly boy! for that base word includes

All baseness, doth not shame kill thee,

Or fear chill thy dastard blood to an ice,

At sight of that most noble injur'd ghost?

'Tis well, dear Plangus (if thy divinity deserve not

A more lasting name) that thou art come

To take revenge on that most traitorous son,

In's father's presence, who detests his baseness

More than thyself can do----

PLAN. Excuse us, dear Rinatus,

That wonder froze to such a silence,

If when we expected such a welcome

As had that Roman son whose mother died

For joy to see him, we found so cold

An entertainment, something made us look'd upon

So like an inconvenience, that we could

Not but put on some small amazement.

EPH. And do I hear thee speak again,

And see thee, or only dream a happiness,

Whose reality stars and my genius deny me?

Or art thou Plangus' angel, come to rouse

Me from despair?

PLAN. Sir, pray, believe it; and be not

Backward in th' entertainment of these soldiers,

If you esteem't a happiness; in a word,

You are a conqueror: and th' audacious Argives

Have paid their lives as sacrifices

To your offended sword.

EPH. A messenger of comfort to a despairing lover

Is a less acceptable thing than this thy presence;

If what yon fellow told me were untruth,

Thy welcome sight hath amply made amends

For those tormenting fears he put me to.

But if it were not, let me know what chance

Redeem'd you?

PLAN. If you have heard how things then went, when I

Sent away that messenger----

EPH. Yes, I have heard it.

PLAN. Then know, when death and our own fates had sworn

Our ruin, and we, like some strong wall that long

Resists the iron vomits of the flaming cannon,

At last shakes itself into a dreadful ruin

To those who throw it down; so had the Iberians,

With valour great as the cause they fought for,

Strove with a noble envy, who should first[86]

Outgo his fellow in slaughtering the Argives:

At last, oppress'd with multitude and toil,

We sunk under the unequal burden;

Then was our emulation chang'd, and who before

Strove to outdo each other, now eagerly contended

To run the race of death first. Sir, there it was

I (and many other braver captains) fell,

Being one wound from head to foot. O, then

It was Inophilus came in,

With about twenty other gallants, and with what speed

The nimble lightning flies from east to west,

Redeem'd this bleeding trunk, which the

Insulting Argive had encompass'd,

Blown up with victory and pride; he with

A gallantry like none but great Inophilus,

Being bravely back'd by his own soldiers,

Whose actions spoke them more than men, had not

Inophilus been by, redeem'd the honour

Of a bleeding day. And thus are[87] [now] our troops,

As little in number[88] as their valour great,

Enrich'd with victory, blood, and jewels,

Of which the opposite army wanted no store,

Return'd with the renown of an achievement,

As full of glory and honour to the conquerors,

As ruin to the Argives.

INO. My liege,

Had this action and my merit been so great

As our prince would make it, I then might

Own it, and expect reward.----

But it was so small, so much below my duty,

That I must, upon my knees, beg pardon

That I came no sooner.

EPH. This is a prodigy

Beyond whatever yet was wrote in story.

Inophilus, we have been too backward

In cherishing thy growing virtue, we will

Hereafter mend it.

And, dear Rinatus, be proud of thy brave son,

And let the people honour the remaining army;

We shall esteem it as a favour done to us.

We have a largess for your valorous captains,

You have not fought in vain.

This day let our court put on its greatest jollity,

And let none wear a discontented brow;

For where a frown is writ, we'll think it reason

To say, that face hath characters of treason.

[_Exeunt._

ACT III., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ PLANGUS _and_ INOPHILUS.

INO. But, sir, when you consider she's a woman----

PLAN. O dear Inophilus!

Let earth and heav'n forget there are such things;

Or if they ever name them, let it be

With a curse heavy as are the ills they act. A mandrake's note

Would ring a better peal of music in my ears,

Than those two syllables pronounc'd again.

INO. Pray, sir, put off this humour,

This peevish pet, and reason tamely. Sir,

You've lost a wench, and will you therefore lose

Yourself too? Hear me but patiently a word.[89]

PLAN. Prythee, go teach the galley-slaves that word,

Things that dare own no thought beyond their chains,

And stand in fear of whipping and wanting bread.

Bid them be tame and patient that fry in sulphur:

'Tis a word I've forsworn to know the meaning of;

Or if I must, 'tis but to shun it, and hate it more.

O, were thy wrongs as great as mine, Inophilus,

Or didst thou love but half so well as Plangus,

Thou wouldst instil into me the poison of revenge,

And puff me up with thought of vengeance

Till I did burst, and, like a breaking cloud,

Spread a contagion on those have injur'd me.

INO. Why, this were handsome in some country-fellow,

Whose soul is dirty as the thing he's mad for:

'Twere pretty in a lady that had lost her dog;

[Her dog;] but----

PLAN. I know what thou wouldst say--

But for Plangus. O, 'tis for none but him to

Be so. Those that have injur'd me are persons

I once held dearer than my eyes; but how much

Greater was my love, so much more is th' offence;

Wounds from our friends are deepest.

Had any but my father--and yet methinks

That name should have protected me; or was it

Made only to secure offenders?

My life was his, he gave it me: my honour, too,

I could have parted with; but, 'las, my love

Was none of mine, no more than vows made to

A deity and not perform'd. And for that creature,

Who must be lost for ills, through which I must

Make way to my revenge--

Had she betray'd my honour to anything

But him that gave me being, she had made

Me half amends, in that my way to vengeance

Had been open. Now I am spurr'd forward

To revenge by fury, and yet held in by the rein

Of a foolish piety, that doth no man good

But them that use it not.

'Tis like the miser's idol, it yielded him

No gold till he had broke the head off.

Nay, Inophilus, one secret more,

And the horror of it blow thee from earth to heaven,

Where there are no such things as women:

'Twill turn thy soul the inside outward:

I cannot get it out. Prythee what is't, Inophilus?

INO. Alas, I know not, sir.

PLAN. Do but imagine the worst of ills

Earth ever groan'd under; a sin nothing but woman,

Nay, such a woman as Andromana, durst think on;

And it is that.

INO. How revenge transports you!

Princes have lost their mistresses before,

Nay, and to those have not such right to them,

As hath Ephorbas to what Plangus hath.

Who could command her, if not Ephorbas?

PLAN. But I have--O Inophilus, I burst--

Yet it will out--dost thou not see it here?

[_Unbuttons his doublet._

O, I have known Andromana as

Ephorbas did last night.----

INO. Why, sir,

The sin done by your father is not yours,

If you could not help it.----

PLAN. Why, there it is:

'Tis that which gnaws me here.

But I swore by all the gods that she was

As innocent from my unclean embraces as is

The new-fall'n snow, or ermines that will meet

Ten deaths before one spot: I made my father think

The thoughts of angels were less innocent than she.

No, it was I betray'd him; his virtue was too great

To[90] have suspected it. How do I look, Inophilus?

INO. Like some bless'd man that, griev'd for others' sins,

Could,[91] out of a good nature, part with half

His own whiteness to purge the others' stains.

PLAN. Now thou soothest, and, like some flattering glass,

Present'st me to advantage. I am, in short,

One born to make Iberia unhappy.

Had I as black a face as is my soul, you would

Find in respect of it A†gyptians were snow-white.

Methinks I hear Heaven tell me I am slow,

And it is time I had begun revenge.

Ephorbas has done him wrong, who lov'd him

More than heaven or his happiness, and would

Have run out of the world to have left him

Free [to] whatever he would lay claim to, but

Andromana--

Nay, she also had been

His, so it could have been without a sin.

But she knew the sin she acted, and yet did it;

And [yet she] lives free from the stroke of thunder!

Is there such a thing as heaven, or such a one

As Justice dwells there? and can I ask the question?

O, the tameness of a conscience loaded with sin.

Which reasons and talks, when it should do!

But I will be reveng'd, and thus I begin. Inophilus,

[_He draws._

Be sure, when I am dead, to meet my ghost,

And do as that instructs thee. 'Twill tell all the particulars

Of my revenge, who must die first, who last, and

What way too. I have my lesson perfect.

[_He leans the pommel on the ground to fall on it_: INOPHILUS

_kicks it by with his foot_.

INO. Is this the revenge befits great Plangus?

PLAN. Had this been done two days ago, thou durst

As well have met the lightning naked

As have opposed my will thus.

[_He draws._

INO. Hear me;

Ask me no questions, nor answer me; or if you do,

By Heav'n, I'll never speak more. It is revenge

You'd have, and 'tis a great one, a very noble one,

To kill yourself! Be confident, your greatest foes

Wish nothing more.

When after-ages come to hear your story,

What will they say? Just as they did of Cato:

He durst not look great CA|sar in the face--

So Plangus was afraid, and died.

A very pretty story, and much to a man's credit:

For shame, dear Plangus (let friendship use that title):

Show your great soul the world believes you're master of--

And I dare swear you are in this action.

Nay, rally up yourself, and fight it stoutly.

Shake from your mind revenge, and having laid

That passion by, put on that virtue the world

Admires in you; 'tis now the time to show it.

The sun, broke from a cloud, doubles his light;

And fire, the more resisted, flames more bright.

Andromana has injur'd you; scorn her, therefore,

As though[92] she had done nothing; I'd not do her the favour

To have one thought of her, or could be troubled

At that she did. As for your father, sir,

Besides the tie of nature, he knows not

He hath wrong'd you: or if he doth,

'Tis love that caus'd him;

A word that once made an excuse with Plangus

For what offence soever.

PLAN. Thou hast wrought upon me,

And I am resolved to live a day or two more:

But if I like it not--well, I'll go try

To sleep a little; perhaps that may--I am

Strangely melancholy: prythee, lie down by me,

Inophilus, I'm safe while in thy company.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ PLANGUS, _as from sleep_.

PLAN. Lord! how this spirit of revenge still haunts me,

And tempts me with such promis'd opportunity,

And magnifies my injuries! Sometimes

It calls me coward, and tells me conscience,

In princes who are injur'd like myself,

Is but an excuse they find for what is in truth

Poorness of spirit or something baser.

It tells me 'tis a sin to be good, when all

The world is bad.

It makes me look upon myself, whilst wearing

This garb of virtue, like some old antiquary

In clothes that are out of fashion in Iberia.

But I will not yield to it: I know it is a greater glory

To a man's self (and he that courts opinion

Is of a vulgar spirit) to disobey than satisfy

An appetite which I know is sinful.

Good Heaven, guard me, how am I tempted

_Enter_ ANDROMANA.

To put on my former temper! but thus

I fling it from me.

[_Throws away his sword._

SCENE III.

AND. Why, how now, prince? if you part with your darling

So easily, there is small hopes but you

Have thrown all love behind you.

PLAN. Heaven, how she's alter'd!

I, that once swore Jove from the well-tun'd sphere

Ne'er heard such harmony as I did when

She spake: methinks I can now, in comparison

Of her voice, count screech-owls' music,

Or the croaking toad.

[_Aside._

AND. Who is't you speak of, sir?

PLAN. Tempt me not, madam, with another word;

For, by Heaven, you know I'm apt, being incens'd----

Wake not those wrongs, that bellow louder in

My soul than wretches in the brazen bull, or Jove

Who speaks in thunder; those wrongs my goodness

Had half laid aside--or if you do,

I have a soul dares what you dare tempt me to.

AND. Sir, I must speak,

Though Jove forbad me with a flash of lightning.

You think perhaps, sir, I have forgot my Plangus?

But, sir, I have infinitely injur'd you,

And could not satisfy my conscience--if I

Should say my love too, I should not lie--

Till I had ask'd your pardon.

PLAN. Madam, the fault's forgiven and forgotten,

Without you move me to remember't with

A worse apology. Live and enjoy your sins

And the angry gods. Nay, the severest plague

I wish you is, that you may die

Without one cross (for afflictions commonly teach

Virtues to them that know them not while prosperous)

Secure, without one thought or sense of a repentance.

AND. Methinks you have a steely temper on, to that

Which the other day you wore, when you were

More soft than down of bees. But, sir, if you

But knew the reason why I've done the action

Which you perhaps call treason to our loves,

You would forbear such language.

PLAN. Reason!

No doubt the man that robs a church, or profanes altars,

Hath reason for what he doth: to satisfy your lust,

You have that reason, madam.

AND. That I have loved you once,

I call Heaven, my own heart, and you to witness;

Now, by that love, by all those vows have pass'd

Betwixt us, hear me.

PLAN. O Heaven! is that a conjuration!

Things you have broke, with as much ease as politicians

Do maxims of religion! But I will hear,

To know you and to hate you more. Speak on.

AND. You know whilst Leon liv'd, whose due they were,

I out of love resign'd my love and honour

Unto your----

PLAN. Lust, madam.

AND. I know not, sir:

Your eloquence gave it that title then.

How many dangers walk'd I fearless through

To satisfy your pleasures, your very will--

Nay more, your word--nay, if I thought by sympathy

A thought of yours, that I imagin'd you

Might blush to speak, I made it straight my own,

And work'd and studied as much to put it into act,

As doth a gamester upon loss to compass money.

At last we were betray'd, sir, to your father's spies, who

Denied us afterwards those opportunities we stole

Before, befriended by my husband's ignorance.

Now was I brought to that which is the worst of ills,

A seeing, but not enjoying of that which I held dearest.

To see you daily, and to live without you,

Was a death many degrees beyond my own.

I knew the love was great, so great

I durst not own it. Nay more, I knew

It was noble too, so noble, I knew

My husband being dead, you would not stick

To ask your father's leave for public marriage.

PLAN. Heaven and the gods can witness I intended it.

AND. Nay, farther yet, I knew your father's love,

Which would not have denied you anything,

Would also have granted that.

PLAN. Madam, you riddle strangely.

AND. When I had

Forecast these easy possibilities, I yet

Foresaw one thing that crossed our designs--

That was a sense of honour I had in me.

Methought in honour I could not condescend

You should debase yourself so low. It pleas'd me

Better to be your mistress than your queen;

And stol'n embraces, without the scandal

Of a public eye, were sweeter than those

Which might bring upon me--for rising greatness

Is still envied--the rancour of the people,

And consequent distaste[93] against their prince.

Sir, now we may act safely what might have

Been less secure. Your father's name gives a protection----

Or, if that startle you, we'll call him husband!

PLAN. Are you in earnest?

AND. As serious as love can be.

PLAN. Then I want words to tell you how I hate you:

I would sooner meet MegA|ra 'tween a pair of sheets.

And can you think I should have so small pity,

As to be false unto my father's bed?

That I lov'd you once, I confess with shame;

And that I should have done so still, had you

Preserv'd those flames, I think of now with horror.

But for those sins, and whatsoever else

I must repent, I shall no doubt have great

Occasion, when I shall see th' kingdom

Envelop'd in those swarms of plagues your sins

Call down, and feel a share of them myself.

For heaven's sake, madam! for my father's sake,

Nay, for my own, if that have any interest,

Learn now at last a virtue, that may make us

As happy as much as hitherto unfortunate,

And render your story to posterity so burnish'd

With your shining goodness, that their eyes may not

Perceive the error of your former years.

Perhaps I then shall have a reverence for you,

As great as any son hath for a father's wife.

You wonder, lady, to see me talk thus different

From what you saw me half an hour ago.

I look'd upon myself as one that had lost

A blessing. But heaven hath been happier to me;

For I am now so far from thinking you one,

That I look upon you as a plague no sin

Of good Ephorbas could deserve. But love

To you----

AND. Sir!

PLAN. Answer me not in words, but deeds;

I know you always talk'd unhappily,[94]

And if your heart dare do what's ill,

I know it can well teach your tongue excuses.

[_Exit_ PLANGUS.

SCENE IV.

AND. And is my love then scorn'd?

The chaos of eternal night possess my breast,

That it may not see to startle at any

Undertakings, though they would make

Medusa's snakes curl into rings for fear.

If greatness have inspired me with thoughts

Of a more brave revenge, they shall be acted.

A husband's murder was such a puny sin,

I blush to speak it; but it was great enough

For a merchant's wife: a queen must be more

Daring in her revenge, nor must her wrath

Be pacifi'd under a whole kingdom's ruin.

SCENE V.

_Enter_ LIBACER.

My better genius, thou art welcome as

A draught of water to a thirsty man:

I ne'er had need of thee till now.

Muster those devils dwell within thy breast,

And let them counsel me to a revenge

As great as is my will to act it.

LIB. Madam, leave words. The rest you take

In breathing makes your anger cool. Out with it,

And if I do it not; if I startle at

Any ill to do you service, though it be

To kill my mother, let me be troubled with

The plague of a tender conscience, and lie

Sick of repentance a half year after.

AND. What need I tell thee more?

Plangus must die, and after him Ephorbas,

Because he is his father.

LIB. Madam, he shall. But give me leave to ask you

How he, for whom alone of all the world

You had a passion, is now become

An object of your hatred so great, as others

Must die because they have relation to him?

AND. The air is hot yet with those words I proffer'd him

In satisfaction, and he refus'd it.

What need I speak?

Is't safe that he should live knows so much by us?

LIB. He had been happy had he never known

What virtue meant. I wonder that paltry thing

Is not banish'd earth, it ne'er did any good yet.

Beggary's a blessing to't; whoe'er grew rich

By virtue? Madam, we are not troubled with it.

But to our business:--I have thought a way.

You know his father loves him. 'Tis he shall ruin him,

And let's alone for him.

AND. Pish! pish! that cannot be.

LIB. These women are always with their _cannots_.

What cannot be? Have you but read

The _Sophy_,[95] you will find that Haly

(O, how I hug that fellow's name!) ruin'd

Great Mirza by his father, and his father by his son.

That great politician, while all the court

Flam'd round about him, sat secure, and laugh'd,

Like those throw fireworks among the waving people

That have nothing but fire and smoke about them,

And yet not singe one hair. Indeed he fell at last,

'Tis true; but he was shallow in that part o' th' plot.

What have we his example [for] but to learn by it?

Praise Plangus to Ephorbas then so far,

That first he may fear for his kingdom;

And if you do proceed till he grew jealous of

His bed, 'twill do the better.

The king is coming, I must be gone.

[_Exit_ LIBACER.

SCENE VI.

_Enter_ EPHORBAS.

EPH. How fares Andromana?

I'm glad this greatness sits so well about thee;

My court was bless'd that hour I knew thee first.

We'll live and still grow happy; we shall flourish

Like some spreading tree that shall never cease

Till its proud height o'erlook the skies. I hope

I bad fair for a boy to-night. How happy

Should I count myself could I but leave

My kingdom something that had thy image in't.

AND. Sir, never think

Iberia can be happy in another son,

When such a prince as Plangus lives the heir,

Who is the subject of all men's pray'rs--nay,

The deserver too. There's not a man or woman

In the kingdom hath one good wish within their breast

But they straight bestow it upon Plangus:

A prince whom mothers show their little children

As something they should learn betime

To worship and admire.

EPH. I know, Andromana; but----

AND. Sir, virtue's perfection

Is at the height in him. Whatever after

Ages bear, or give the name of worth to,

Must, if compar'd to him, be but as foils

To set his glory off the brighter.

Nor are the men only thus taken with him;

There's not a lady in the land but sighs

With passion for him, and dreams on him a-nights.

Husbands grow jealous of him, yet with joy

That they are Plangus' rivals.

EPH. All this is nothing.

Men talk'd as loud of me when I was young.

AND. Yea, but they say, sir, you were

Not half so mincing in your carriage, nor so majestic.

Besides----

EPH. I hope they do not make comparisons.

[_Starts._

AND. Sir, I thought we could not have discours'd on a

More welcome theme than what is full of Plangus.

EPH. No more you cannot. Let him as a less star

Enjoy his splendour, but it must not be so great

To darken me; but, prythee, do they compare us then?

AND. You're discompos'd, sir!--I have done.

EPH. Nay, nothing

But the remembrance of a foolish dream--what say they?

AND. Why, sir, some went so far to say, they wonder'd

A lady of my years could marry the father,

Though a king, when I might have had Plangus himself.

EPH. They did not?

AND. Then I confess I blush'd, and had been out

Of temper, but that I thought it might be

The court fashion to talk boldly.

EPH. This story jump'd

Just with my dream to-night;[96] but methought I saw

Him threat'ning to kill me 'cause thou hadst married me----

But the young saucy boy shall know I hold

My sceptre strong enough to crush him into atoms.

Did they not name Inophilus?

AND. I think they did. He had some share

Of praises too; but it was so as gleanings

To a loading cart, they sometimes fell beside.

EPH. Then I am satisfied. 'Tis an aspiring youth: 'tis something

That unites Plangus and him so. I must

Be speedy in resolves.

[_Exit_ EPHORBAS.

SCENE VII.

AND. Who waits without there?

_Enter_ LIBACER.

O, art thou come? Stay, let me breathe, or else----

LIB. Nay, spare your pains, I know it all; I saw him

Drink it with as great greediness as usurers

Do unthrifts' lands, or jealous husbands confirm

Their cuckoldships by ocular testimony.

AND. It took most rarely,

Beyond our hopes. I'll leave the rest to thee,

Thou art so fortunate in all designs. Go on and prosper.

LIB. And I'll attend for an opportunity to meet

With Plangus, and betray him to ruin

As great as unavoidable.

[_Exeunt._

ACT IV., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ EPHORBAS, _solus_.

EPH. For aught I know, my bed may be the next;

Men are not bad by halves, nor doth one mischief

Stop a man in his career of sin.

There's as much reason i' th' one as th' other.

Doth he affect my kingdom, 'cause I'm old?

No, that's not it; he knows I must die shortly.

'Tis not a desire of rule, and glory of

Their bending knees makes him forget his duty.

He may as well covet Andromana, 'cause she's handsome.

He satisfies a lust alike in both. Well, let him be

My rival in the kingdom; 'tis but what

He was born to, and I must leave it him;

But for my wife he must excuse me--nay,

He shall [_Pauses._]----Yet now I think on't better,

The grounds are slender, and my suspicions slight;

No evidence against him but the people's love,

And that's no fault of his, unless deserving

Be a crime. Who is without there?

_Enter_ LIBACER.

Go, call in Plangus, and bid him not stay,

For I must speak with him.

[_Exit_ KING.

SCENE II.

LIB. Nay, then, all's dashed, if once he comes to parley.

I must not have them talk. But here he is.