And yet die full of children; he that reads me
When I am ashes, is my Son in wishes,
And those chaste dames that keep my memory,
Singing my yearly requiems, are my Daughters.
_Thier._ Then there is nothing wanting but my knowledg[e].
And what I must doe, Lady?
_Ordel._ You are the King, Sir,
And what you do I'll suffer, and that blessing
That you desire, the gods showr on the Kingdom.
_Thier._ Thus much before I strike then, for I must kill you,
The gods have will'd it so, they're made the blessing
Must make _France_ young again, and me a man,
Keep up your strength still nobly.
_Ordel._ Fear me not.
_Thier._ And meet death like a measure.
_Ordel._ I am stedfast.
_Thier._ Thou shalt be sainted woman, and thy Tomb
Cut out in Chrystal, pure and good as thou art;
And on it shall be graven every age,
Succeeding Peers of _France_ that rise by thy fall,
Tell thou liest there like old and fruitful nature.
Darest thou behold thy happiness?
_Ordel._ I dare Sir.
_Thier._ Ha? [_Pul[l]s off her veil, lets fall his sword._
_Mar._ Oh Sir, you must not doe it.
_Thier._ No, I dare not.
There is an Angel keeps that Paradice,
A fiery Angel friend; oh virtue, virtue,
Ever and endless virtue.
_Ordel._ Strike, Sir, strike;
And if in my poor death fair _France_ may merit,
Give me a thousand blows, be killing me
A thousand days.
_Thier._ First let the earth be barren,
And man no more remembred, rise _Ordella_,
The nearest to thy maker, and the purest
That ever dull flesh shewed us,--oh my heart-strings. [_Exit._
_Mart._ I see you full of wonder, therefore noblest,
And truest amongst Women, I will tell you
The end of this strange accident.
_Ordel._ Amazement
Has so much wove upon my heart, that truly
I feel my self unfit to hear, oh Sir,
My Lord has slighted me.
_Mart._ Oh no sweet Lady.
_Ordel._ Robb'd me of such a glory by his pity,
And most unprovident respect.
_Mart._ Dear Lady,
It was not meant to you.
_Ordel._ Else where the day is,
And hours distinguish time, time runs to ages,
And ages end the world, I had been spoken.
[_Mart._] I'll tell you what it was, if but your patience
Will give me hearing.
_Ordel._ If I have transgrest,
Forgive me, Sir.
_Mart._ Your noble Lord was counsel'd,
Grieving the barrenness between you both,
And all the Kingdom with him, to seek out
A man that knew the secrets of the gods,
He went, found such [a] one, and had this answer,
That if he wou'd have issue, on this morning,
For this hour was prefixt him, he should kill
The first he met, being Female, from the Temple;
And then he should have children, the mistake
Is now too perfect, Lady.
_Ordel._ Still 'tis I, Sir,
For may this work be done by common women?
Durst any but my self that knew the blessing,
And felt the benefit, assume this [dying]
In any other, 't'ad been lost, and nothing,
A curse and not a blessing; I was figur'd;
And shall a little fondness barr my purchase?
_Mart._ Where should he then seek children?
_Ordel._ Where they are
In wombs ordain'd for issues, in those beauties
That bless a marriage-bed, and makes it proceed
With kisses that conceive, and fruitful pleasures;
Mine like a grave, buries those loyal hopes,
And to a grave it covets.
_Mart._ You are too good,
Too excellent, too honest; rob not us
And those that shall hereafter seek example,
Of such inestimable worthies in woman.
Your Lord of such obedience, all of honor
In coveting a cruelty is not yours,
A Will short of your Wisdom; make not error
A Tomb-stone of your virtues, whose fair life
Deserves a constellation: your Lord dare not;
He cannot, ought not, must not run this hazard,
He makes a separation, nature shakes at,
The gods deny, and everlasting justice
Shrinks back, and sheaths her sword at.
_Ordel._ All's but talk, Sir,
I find to what I am reserv'd, and needful,
And though my Lord's compassion makes me poor,
And leaves me in my best use, yet a strength
Above mine own, or his dull fondness finds me;
The gods have given it to me. [_Draws a knife._
_Mart._ Self-destruction!
Now all good Angels bless thee, oh sweet Lady,
You are abus'd, this is a way to shame you,
And with you all that knows you, all that loves you,
To ruin all you build, would you be famous?
Is that your end?
_Ordel._ I would be what I should be.
_Mart._ Live and confirm the gods then, live and be loaden
With more than Olive[s]bear, or fruitful Autumn;
This way you kill your merit, kill your cause,
And him you would raise life to, where, or how
Got you these bloudy thoughts? what Devil durst
Look on that Angel face, and tempt? doe you know
What is't to die thus, how you strike the Stars,
And all good things above, do you feel
What follows a self-bloud, whether you venture,
And to what punishment? excellent Lady,
Be not thus cozen'd, do not fool your self,
The Priest was never his own sacrifice,
But he that thought his hell here.
_Ordel._ I am counsell'd.
_Mart._ And I am glad on't, lie, I know you dare not.
_Ordel._ I never have done yet.
_Mart._ Pray take my comfort,
Was this a soul to lose? two more such women
Would save their sex; see, she repents and prayes,
Oh hear her, hear her, if there be a faith
Able to reach your mercies, she hath sent it.
_Ordel._ Now good _Martel_ confirm me.
_Mart._ I will Lady,
And every hour advise you, for I doubt
Whether this plot be heavens, or hells; your mother
And I will find it, if it be in mankind
To search the center of it: in the mean time
I'll give you out for dead, and by your self,
And shew the instrument, so shall I find
A joy that will betray her.
_Ordel._ Do what's fittest;
And I will follow you.
_Mart._ Then ever live
Both able to engross all love, and give. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Brunhalt, Protaldye.
_Brun._ I'm in labour
To be deliver'd of that burthenous project
I have so long gone with; ha, here's the Midwife,
Or life, or death.
_Enter_ Lecure.
_Lecu._ If in the supposition
Of her death in whose life you die, you ask me,
I think you are safe.
_Brun._ Is she dead?
_Lecu._ I have us'd
All means to make her so, I saw him waiting
At the Temple door, and us'd such Art within,
That only she of all her Sex was first
Giv'n up unto his fury.
_Brun._ Which if love
Or fear made him forbear to execute
The vengeance he determin'd, his fond pity
Shall draw it on himself, for were there left
Not any man but he, to serve my pleasures,
Or from me to receive commands, which are
The joyes for which I love life, he should be
Remov'd, and I alone left to be Queen
O'er any part of goodness that's left in me.
_Lecu._ If you are so resolv'd, I have provided
A means to s[h]ip him hence: look upon this,
But touch it sparingly, for this once us'd,
Say but to dry a tear, will keep the eye-lid
From closing, until death perform that office.
_Brun._ Give't me, I may have use [of 't], and on you
I'll make the first experiment: if one sigh
Or heavy look beget the least suspition,
Childish compassion can thaw the Ice
Of your so long congeal'd and flinty hardness.
Slight, go on constant, or I shall.
_Prot._ Best Lady,
We have no faculties which are not yours.
_Lecu._ Nor will be any thing without you.
_B[r]un._ Be so, and we will stand or fall together, for
Since we have gone so far, that death must stay
The journey, which we wish should never end;
And innocent, or guilty, we must die,
When we do so, let's know the reason why.
_Enter_ Thierry _and_ Courtiers.
_Lecu._ The King.
_Thier._ We'll be alone.
_Prot._ I would I had
A Convoy too, to bring me safe off.
For rage although it be allai'd with sorrow,
Appears so dreadful in him, that I shake
To look upon't.
_Brun._ Coward I will meet it,
And know from whence 't has birth: Son, kingly _Thierry_.
_Thier._ Is cheating grown so common among men?
And thrives so well here, that the gods endeavour
To practise it above?
_Brun._ Your Mother.
_Thier._ Ha! or are they only careful to revenge,
Not to reward? or when, for your offences
We study satisfaction, must the cure
Be worse than the disease?
_Brun._ Will you not hear me?
_Thier._ To lose th' ability to perform those duties
For which I entertain'd the name of Husband,
Ask'd more than common sorrow; but t'impose
For the redress of that defect, a torture
In marking her to death, for whom alone
I felt that weakness as a want, requires
More than the making the head bald: or falling
Thus flat upon the earth, or cursing that way,
Or praying this, oh such a Scene of grief,
And so set down, (the world the stage to act on)
May challenge a Tragedian better practis'd
Than I am to express it; for my cause
Of passion is so strong, and my performance
So weak, that though the part be good, I fear
Th'ill acting of it, will defraud it of
The poor reward it may deserve, mens pity.
_Brun._ I have given you way thus long, a King, and what
Is more, my Son, and yet a slave to that
Which only triumphs over cowards sorrow,
For shame look up.
_Thier._ Is't you, look down on me:
And if that you are capable to receive it,
Let that return to you, that have brought forth
One mark'd out only for it: what are these?
Come they upon your privilege to tread on
The Tomb of my afflictions?
_Prot._ No, not we Sir.
_Thier._ How dare you then omit the ceremony
Due to the funeral of all my hopes,
Or come unto the marriage of my sorrows,
But in such colours as may sort with them?
_Prot._ Alas; we will wear any thing.
_Brun._ This is madness
Take but my counsel.
_Thier._ Yours? dare you again
Though arm'd with th' authority of a mother,
Attempt the danger that will fall on you
If such another syllable awake it?
Goe, and with yours be safe, I have such cause
Of grief, nay more, to love it, that I will not
Have such as these be sharers in it.
_Lecu._ Madam.
_Prot._ Another time were better.
_Brun._ Do not sti[r],
For I must be resolv'd, and will, be statues.
_Enter_ Martel.
_Thier._ I, thou art welcome, and upon my soul
Thou art an honest man, do you see, he has tears
To lend to him whom prodigal expence
Of sorrow, has made bankrupt of such treasure,
Nay, thou dost well.
_Mart._ I would it might excuse
The ill I bring along.
_Thier._ Thou mak'st me smile
I[n] the heighth of my calamities, as if
There could be the addition of an Atome,
To the gyant-body of my miseries.
But try, for I will hear thee, all sit down, 'tis death
To any that shall dare to interrupt him
In look, gesture, or word.
_Mart._ And such attention
As is due to the last, and the best story
That ever was deliver'd, will become you,
The griev'd _Ordella_, (for all other titles
But take away from that) having from me
Prompted by your last parting groan, enquir'd,
What drew it from you, and the cause soon learn'd:
For she whom barbarism could deny nothing,
With such prevailing earnestness desir'd it,
'Twas not in me, though it had been my death,
To hide it from her, she I say, in whom
All was, that _Athens_, _Rome_, or warlike _Sparta_,
Have registred for good in their best Women:
But nothing of their ill, knowing her self
Mark'd out, (I know not by what power, but sure
A cruel one) to dye, to give you children;
Having first with a setled countenance
Look'd up to Heaven, and then upon her self,
(It being the next best object) and then smil'd,
As if her joy in death to do you service,
Would break forth, in despight of the much sorrow
She shew'd she had to leave you: and then taking
Me by the hand, this hand which I must ever
Love better than I have done, since she touch'd it,
Go said she, to my Lord, (and to goe to him
Is such a happiness I must not hope for)
And tell him that he too much priz'd a trifle
Made only worthy in his love, and her
Thankful acceptance, for her sake to rob
The Orphan Kingdom of such guardians, as
Must of necessity descend [from] him;
And therefore in some part of recompence
Of his much love, and to shew to the world
That 'twas not her fault only, but her fate,
That did deny to let her be the mother
Of such most certain blessings: yet for proof,
She did not envy her, that happy her,
That is appointed to them, her [q]uick end
Should make way for her, which no sooner spoke,
But in a moment this too ready engine
Made such a battery in the choisest Castle
That ever nature made to defend life,
That strait it shook, and sunk.
_Thier._ Stay, dares any
Presume to shed a tear before me? or
Ascribe that worth unto themselves to merit:
To do so for her? I have done, now on.
_Mart._ Fall'n thus, once more she smil'd, as if that death
For her had studied a new way to sever
The soul and body, without sense of pain;
And then tell him (quoth she) what you have seen,
And with what willingness 'twas done: for which
My last request unto him is, that he
Would instantly make choice of one (most happy
In being so chosen) to supply my place,
By whom if heaven bless him with a daughter,
In my remembrance let it bear my name
Which said she dy'd.
_Thier._ I hear this, and yet live;
Heart! art thou thunder proof, will nothing break thee?
She's dead, and what her entertainment may be
In th'other world without me is uncertain,
And dare I stay here unresolv'd?
_Mart._ Oh Sir!
_Brun._ Dear son.
_Prot._ Great King.
_Thier._ Unhand me, am I fall'n
So low, that I have lost the power to be
Disposer of my own life?
_Mart._ Be but pleas'd
To borrow so much time of sorrow, as
To call to mind her last request, for whom
(I must confess a loss beyond expression)
You turn your hand upon your self, 'twas hers
And dying hers, that you should live and happy
In seeing little models of your self,
By matching with another, and will you
Leave any thing that she desir'd ungranted?
And suffer such a life that was [l]aid down
For your sake only to be fruitless?
_Thier._ Oh thou dost throw charms upon me, against which
I cannot stop my ears, bear witness heaven
That not desire of life, nor love of pleasure[s]
Nor any future comforts, but to give
Peace to her blessed spirit in satisfying
Her last demand, makes me defer our meeting,
Which in my choice, and suddain choice shall be
To all apparent.
_Brun._ How? doe I remove one mischief
To draw upon my head a greater?
_Thier._ Go, thou only good man, to whom for her self
Goodness is dear, and prepare to interr it
In her that was; oh my heart! my _Ordella_,
A monument worthy to be the casket
Of such a jewel.
_Mart._ Your command that makes way
Unto my absence is a welcome one,
For but your self there's nothing here _Martel_,
Can take delight to look on; yet some comfort
Goes back with me to her, who though she want it
Deserves all blessings. [_Exit._
_Brun._ So soon to forget
The loss of such a wife, believe it will
Be censur'd in the world.
_Thier._ Pray you no more,
There is no arg[u]ment you can use to cross it,
But does increase in me such a suspition
I would not cherish--who's that?
_Enter_ Memberge.
_Memb._ One, no guard
Can put back from access, whose tongue no threats
Nor praises can silence, a bold suitor, and
For that which if you are your self, a King,
You were made so to grant it, Justice, Justice.
_Thier._ With what assurance dare you hope for that
Which is deny'd to me? or how can I
Stand bound to be just, unto such as are
Beneath me, that find none from those that are
Above me?
_Memb._ There is justice, 'twere unfit
That any thing but vengeance should fall on him,
That by his giving way to more than murther,
(For my dear fathers death was parricide)
Makes it his own.
_Brun._ I charge you hear her not.
_Memb._ Hell cannot stop just prayers from ent'ring heaven,
I must and will be heard Sir; but remember
That he that by her plot fell, was your brother,
And the place where, your Palace, against all
Th' inviolable rites of hospitality,
Your word, a Kings word, given up for his safety,
His innocence, his protection, and the gods
Bound to revenge the impious breach of such
So great and sacred bonds; and can you wonder,
(That in not punishing such a horrid murther
You did it) that heavens favour is gone from you?
Which never will return, until his bloud
Be wash'd away in hers.
_Brun._ Drag hence the wretch.
_Thier._ Forbear, with what variety
Of torments do I meet! oh thou hast open'd
A Book, in which writ down in bloudy Letters,
My conscience finds that I am worthy of
More than I undergoe, but I'll begin
For my _Ordella_'s sake, and for thine own
To make less heavens great anger: thou hast lost
A father, I to thee am so; the hope
Of a good Husband, in me have one; nor
Be fearful I am still no man, already
That weakness is gone from me.
_Brun._ That it might [_Aside._
Have ever grown inseparably upon thee,
What will you do? Is such a thing as this
Worthy the lov'd _Ordella_'s place, the daughter
Of a poor Gardener?
_Memb._ Your Son.
_Thier._ The power
To take away that lowness is in me.
_Brun._ Stay yet, for rather than [that] thou shalt add
Incest unto thy other sins, I will
With hazard of my own life, utter all,
_Theodoret_ was thy Brother.
_Thier._ You deny'd it
Upon your oath, nor will I now believe you,
Your Protean turnings cannot change my purpose.
_Memb._ And for me, be assur'd the means to be
Reveng'd on thee, vile hag, admits no thought,
But what tends to it.
_Brun._ Is it come to that?
Then have at the last refuge: art thou grown
Insensible in [i]ll, that thou goest on
Without the least compunction? there, take that
To witness, that thou hadst a mother, which
Foresaw thy cause of grief, and sad repentance,
That so soon after blest _Ordella_'s death
Without a tear thou canst imbrace another,
Forgetful man.
_Thier._ Mine eyes when she is nam'd
Cannot forget their tribute, and your gift
Is not unuseful now.
_Lecu._ He's past all cure, that only touch is death.
_Thier._ This night I'll keep it,
To morrow I will send it you, and full of my affliction.
[_Exit_ Thierry.
_Brun._ Is the poison mortal?
_Lecu._ Above the help of Physick.
_Brun._ To my wish,
Now for our own security, you _Protaldye_
Shall this night post towards _Austracia_,
With Letters to _Theodorets_ bastard son,
In which we will make known what for his rising
We have done to _Thierry_: no denial,
Nor no excuse in such acts must be thought of,
Which all dislike, and all again commend
When they are brought unto a happy end. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Devitry _and four Soldiers_.
_Devi._ No War, no Money, no Master; banish'd the Court, not
trusted in the City, whipt out of the Countrey, in what a triangle
runs our misery: let me hear which of you has the best voice to
beg in, for other hopes or fortunes I see you have not; be not
nice, nature provided you with tones for the purpose, the peoples
charity was your heritage, and I would see which of you deserves
his birth-right.
_Omnes._ We understand you not Captain.
_Devit._ You see this cardicue, the last, and the only quintessence
of 50 Crowns, distill'd in the limbeck of your gardage, of which
happy piece thou shalt be treasurer: now he that can soonest
perswade him to part with't, enjoyes it, possesses it, and with it,
me and my future countenance.
_1._ If they want Art to perswade it, I'll keep it my self.
_Devit._ So you be not a partial judge in your own cause, you shall.
_Omnes._ A match.
_2._ I'll begin to you, brave Sir; be proud to make him happy by
your liberality, whose tongue vouchsafes now to petition, was never
heard before less than to command. I am a Soldier by profession, a
Gentleman by birth, and an Officer by place, whose poverty blushes
to be the cause, that so high a virtue should descend to the pity
of your charity.
_1._ In any case keep your high stile, it is not charity to shame
any man, much less a virtue of your eminence, wherefore preserve
your worth, and I'll preserve my money.
_3._ You perswade? you are shallow, give way to merit: ah by the
bread of [God] man, thou hast a bonny countenance and a blith,
promising mickle good to a sicker womb, that has trode a long and
a sore ground to meet with friends, that will owe much to thy
reverence, when they shall hear of thy courtesie to their wandring
countreyman.
_1._ You that will use your friends so hardly to bring them in
debt, Sir, will deserve worse of a stranger, wherefore pead on,
pead on, I say.
_4._ It is the Welch must do't, I see, comrade man of urship, _St.
Tavy_ be her Patron, the gods of the mountains keep her cow and her
cupboard; may she never want the green of the Leek, [nor] the fat
of the Onion, if she part with her bounties to him, that is a great
deal away from her cozines, and has two big suits in law to recover
her heritage.
_1._ Pardon me Sir, I will have nothing to do with your suits, it
comes within the statute of maintenance: home to your cozines, and
so[w]e garlick and hempseed, the one will stop your hunger; the
other end your suits, _gammawash comrade, gammawash_.
_4._ 'Foot he'll hoord all for himself.
_Vitry._ Yes, let him; now comes my turn, I'll see if he can answer
me: save you Sir, they say, you have that I want, Money.
_1._ And that you are like to want, for ought I perceive yet.
_Vitry._ Stand, deliver.
_1._ 'Foot what mean you, you will not rob the Exchequer?
_Vitry._ Do you prate?
_1._ Hold, hold, here Captain.
_2._ Why I could have done this before you.
_3._ And I.
_4._ And I.
_Vit._ You have done this, brave man be proud to make him happy, by
the bread of God man, thou hast a bonny countenance, comrade man
of urship, _St. Tavy_ be her patron, out upon you, you uncurried
colts, walking cans that have no souls in you, but a little Rosin
to keep your ribs sweet, and hold in liquor.
_Omnes._ Why, what would you have us to do Captain?
_Devit._ Beg, beg, and keep Constables waking, wear out stocks
and whipcord, maunder for butter-milk, dye of the Jaundice, yet
have the cure about you, Lice, large Lice, begot of your own dust,
and the heat of the Brick-kills, may you starve, and fear of the
gallows, which is a gentle consumption to't, only preferr it, or
may you fall upon your fear, and be hanged for selling those purses
to keep you from famine, whose monies my valour empties, and be
cast without other evidence; here is my Fort, my Castle of defence,
who comes by shall pay me toll, the first purse is your mitimus
slaves.
_2._ The purse, 'foot we'll share in the money Captain, if any come
within a furlong of our fingers.
_4._ Did you doubt but we could steal as well as your self, did not
I speak Welsh?
_3._ We are thieves from our cradles, and will dye so.
_Vit._ Then you will not beg again.
_Omnes._ Yes, as you did, stand, and deliver.
_2._ Hark, here comes handsel, 'tis a Trade quickly set up, and as
soon cast down.
_Vitry._ Have goodness in your minds varlets, and to't like men; he
that has more money than we, cannot be our friend, and I hope there
is no law for spoiling the enemy.
_3._ You need not instruct us farther, your example pleads enough.
_Devitry._ Disperse your selves, and as their company is, fall on.
_2._ Come, there are a band of 'em, I'll charge single. [_Exit
Soldier[s]._
_Enter_ Protaldye.
_Prot._ 'Tis wonderful dark, I have lost my man, and dare not
call for him, lest I should have more followers than I would pay
wages to; what throws am I in, in this travel! these be honourable
adventures; had I that honest bloud in my veins again Queen, that
your feats and these frights have drain'd from me, honor should
pull hard, e'r it drew me into these brakes.
_Devitry._ Who goes there?
_Prot._ Hey ho, here's a pang of preferment.
_Devi._ 'Heart, who goes there?
_Prot._ He that has no heart to your acquaintance, what shall I do
with my Jewels and my Letter, my codpiece that's too loose, good,
my boots, who is't that spoke to me? here's a friend.
_Devit._ We shall find that presently, stand, as you love your
safety, stand.
_Prot._ That unlucky word of standing, has brought me to all this,
hold, or I shall never stand you.
_Devit._ I should know that voice, deliver.
_Enter Soldiers._
_Prot._ All that I have is at your service Gentlemen, and much good
may it do you.
_Devit._ Zones down with him, do you prate?
_Prot._ Keep your first word as you are Gentlemen, and let me
stand, alas, what do you mean?
_2._ To tye you to us Sir, bind you in the knot of friendship.
_Prot._ Alas Sir, all the physick in _Europe_ cannot bind me.
_Devit._ You should have jewels about you, stones, precious stones.
_1._ Captain away, there's company within hearing, if you stay
longer, we are surpriz'd.
_Devit._ Let the Devil come, I'll pillage this Fregat a little
better yet.
_2._ 'Foot we are lost, they are upon us.
_Devit._ Ha, upon us, make the least noise, 'tis thy parting gaspe.
_3._ Which way shall we make Sir?
_Devit._ Every man his own; do you hear, only bind me, bind me
before you goe, and when the company's past, make to this place
again, this karvel should have better lading in him, you are slow,
why do you not tye harder?
_1._ You are sure enough I warrant you Sir.
_Devit._ Darkness befriend you, away. [_Exit Soldiers._