diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:25 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:25 -0700 |
| commit | cad2f4907b5ea8918edeba1ec768b48186f61c5b (patch) | |
| tree | 90874018b1cef44a9cc1487f8fae1060a5f7d8d5 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 10388-0.txt | 13503 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/10388-8.txt | 13926 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/10388-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 194584 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/10388.txt | 13926 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/10388.zip | bin | 0 -> 194552 bytes |
8 files changed, 41371 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10388-0.txt b/10388-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3934c31 --- /dev/null +++ b/10388-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13503 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10388 *** + +A COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. I + +In Four Volumes + + +EDITED BY + +A.H. BULLEN. + + +1882-1889 + + + +CONTENTS: + +The Tragedy of Nero +The Mayde's Metamorphosis +The Martyr'd Souldier +The Noble Souldier + + + + +_PREFACE_. + + +Most of the Plays in the present Collection have not been reprinted, +and some have not been printed at all. In the second volume there will +be published for the first time a fine tragedy (hitherto quite unknown) +by Massinger and Fletcher, and a lively comedy (also quite unknown) +by James Shirley. The recovery of these two pieces should be of +considerable interest to all students of dramatic literature. + +The Editor hopes to give in Vol. III. an unpublished play of Thomas +Heywood. In the fourth volume there will be a reprint of the _Arden of +Feversham_, from the excessively rare quarto of 1592. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE _TRAGEDY OF NERO_. + + +Of the many irreparable losses sustained by classical literature few are +more to be deplored than the loss of the closing chapters of Tacitus' +_Annals_. Nero, it is true, is a far less complex character than +Tiberius; and there can be no question that Tacitus' sketch of Nero is +less elaborate than his study of the elder tyrant. Indeed, no historical +figure stands out for all time with features of such hideous vividness +as Tacitus' portrait of Tiberius; nowhere do we find emphasised with +such terrible earnestness, the stoical poet's anathema against tyrants +"Virtutem videant intabescantque relicta." Other writers would have +turned back sickened from the task of following Tiberius through mazes +of cruelty and craft. But Tacitus pursues his victim with the patience +of a sleuth-hound; he seems to find a ruthless satisfaction in stripping +the soul of its coverings; he treads the floor of hell and watches with +equanimity the writhings of the damned. The reader is at once strangely +attracted and repelled by the pages of Tacitus; there is a weird +fascination that holds him fast, as the glittering eye of the Ancient +Mariner held the Wedding Guest. It was owing partly, no doubt, to the +hideousness of the subject that the Elizabethan Dramatists shrank from +seeking materials in the _Annals_; but hardly the abominations of Nero +or Tiberius could daunt such daring spirits as Webster or Ford. Rather +we must impute their silence to the powerful mastery of Tacitus; it was +awe that held them from treading in the historian's steps. Ben Jonson +ventured on the enchanted ground; but not all the fine old poet's wealth +of classical learning, not his observance of the dramatic proprieties +nor his masculine intellect, could put life into the dead bones of +Sejanus or conjure up the muffled sinister figure of Tiberius. Where Ben +Jonson failed, the unknown author of the _Tragedy of Nero_ has, to some +extent, succeeded. + +After reading the first few opening-lines the reader feels at once that +this forgotten old play is the work of no ordinary man. The brilliant +scornful figure of Petronius, a character admirably sustained +throughout, rivets his attention from the first. In the blank verse +there is the true dramatic ring, and the style is "full and heightened." +As we read on we have no cause for disappointment. The second scene +which shows us the citizens hurrying to witness the triumphant entry of +Nero, is vigorous and animated. Nero's boasting is pitched in just the +right key; bombast and eloquence are equally mixt. If he had been living +in our own day Nero might possibly have made an ephemeral name for +himself among the writers of the Sub-Swinburnian School. His longer +poems were, no doubt, nerveless and insipid, deserving the scornful +criticism of Tacitus and Persius; but the fragments preserved by Seneca +shew that he had some skill in polishing far-fetched conceits. Our +playwright has not fallen into the error of making Nero "out-Herod +Herod"; through the crazy raptures we see the ruins of a nobler nature. +Poppaea's arrowy sarcasms, her contemptuous impatience and adroit tact +are admirable. The fine irony of the following passage is certainly +noticeable:-- + + "_Pop_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe + Honors, safe spoyles, worm without dust or blood. + + _Nero_. What, mocke ye me, Poppaea. + + _Pop_. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in earnest: + I hate that headie and adventurous crew + That goe to loose their owne to purchase but + The breath of others and the common voyce; + Them that will loose their hearing for a sound, + That by death onely seeke to get a living, + Make skarres their beautie and count losse of Limmes + The commendation of a proper man, + And so goe halting to immortality,-- + Such fooles I love worse then they doe their lives." + +It is indeed strange to find such lines as those in the work of an +unknown author. The verses gain strength as they advance, and the +diction is terse and keen. This one short extract would suffice to show +that the writer was a literary craftsman of a very high order. + +In the fourth scene, where the conspirators are met, the writer's power +is no less strikingly shown. Here, if anywhere, his evil genius might +have led him astray; for no temptation is stronger than the desire to +indulge in rhetorical displays. Even the author of _Bothwell_, despite +his wonderful command of language, wearies us at times by his vehement +iteration. Our unknown playwright has guarded himself against this +fault; and, steeped as he was to the lips in classical learning, his +abstinence must have cost him some trouble. My notes will shew that he +had not confined himself to Tacitus, but had studied Suetonius and Dion +Cassius, Juvenal and Persius. He makes no parade of his learning, but we +see that he has lived among his characters, leaving no source of +information unexplored. The meeting of the conspirators is brought +before our eyes with wonderful vividness. Scevinus' opening speech glows +and rings with indignation. Seneca, in more temperate language, bewails +the fall of the high hopes that he had conceived of his former pupil, +finely moralizing that "High fortunes, like strong wines, do trie their +vessels." Some spirited lines are put into Lucan's mouth:-- + + "But to throw downe the walls and Gates of Rome + To make an entrance for an Hobby-horse; + To vaunt to th'people his ridiculous spoyles; + To come with Lawrell and with Olyves crown'd + For having been the worst of all the singers, + Is beyond Patience!" + +In another passage the grandiloquence and the vanity of the poet of the +_Pharsalia_ are well depicted. + +The second act opens with Antonius' suit to Poppaea, which is full of +passion and poetry, but is not allowed to usurp too much room in the +progress of the play. Then, in fine contrast to the grovelling servility +of the Emperor's creatures, we see the erect figure of the grand stoic +philosopher, Persius' tutor, Cornutus, whose free-spokenness procures +him banishment. Afterwards follows a second conference of the +conspirators, in which scene the author has followed closely in the +steps of Tacitus. + +One of the most life-like passages in the play is at the beginning of +the third act, where Nimphidius describes to Poppaea how the weary +audience were imprisoned in the theatre during Nero's performance, with +guards stationed at the doors, and spies on all sides scanning each +man's face to note down every smile or frown. Our author draws largely +upon Tacitus and the highly-coloured account of Suetonius; but he has, +besides, a telling way of his own, and some of his lines are very happy. +Poppaea's wit bites shrewdly; and even Nimphidius' wicked breast must +have been chilled at such bitter jesting as:-- + + "How did our Princely husband act _Orestes_? + Did he not wish againe his Mother living? + _Her death would add great life unto his part_." + +As Nero approaches his crowning act of wickedness, the burning of Rome, +his words assume a grim intensity. The invocation to the severe powers +is the language of a man at strife at once with the whole world and +himself. In the representation of the burning of Rome it will perhaps be +thought that the author hardly rises to the height of his theme. The +Vergilian simile put into the mouth of Antonius is distinctly misplaced; +but as our author so seldom offends in this respect he may be pardoned +for the nonce. It may seem a somewhat crude treatment to introduce a +mother mourning for her burnt child, and a son weeping over the body of +his father; but the naturalness of the language and the absence of +extravagance must be commended. Some of the lines have the ring of +genuine pathos, as here:-- + + "Where are thy counsels, where thy good examples? + _And that kind roughness of a Father's anger_?" + +The scene immediately preceding contains the noble speech of Petronius +quoted by Charles Lamb in the _Specimens_. In a space of twenty lines +the author has concentrated a world of wisdom. One knows not whether to +admire more the justness of the thought or the exquisite finish of the +diction. Few finer things have been said on the _raison d'être_ of +tragedy from the time when Aristotle in the _Poetics_ formulated his +memorable dictum. The admirable rhythmical flow should be noted. There +is a rare suppleness and strength in the verses; we could not put one +line before another without destroying the effect of the whole; no verse +stands out obstinately from its fellows, but all are knit firmly, yet +lightly, together: and a line of magnificent strength fitly closes a +magnificent passage. Hardly a sonnet of Shakespeare or Mr. Rossetti +could be more perfect. + +At the beginning of the fourth act, when the freedman Milichus discloses +Piso's conspiracy, Nero's trepidation is well depicted. It is curious +that among the conspirators the author should not have introduced the +dauntless woman, Epicharis, who refused under the most cruel tortures to +betray the names of her accomplices, and after biting out her tongue +died from the sufferings that she had endured on the rack. "There," as +mad Hieronymo said, "you could show a passion." Even Tacitus, who +upbraids the other conspirators with pusillanimity, marks his admiration +of this noble woman. No reader will quarrel with the playwright if he +has thought fit to paint the conspirators in brighter colours than the +historian had done. When Scevinus is speaking we seem to be listening to +the voice of Shakespeare's Cassius: witness the exhortation to Piso,-- + + "O _Piso_ thinke, + Thinke on that day when in the _Parthian_ fields + Thou cryedst to th'flying Legions to turne + And looke Death in the face; he was not grim, + But faire and lovely when he came in armes." + +The character of Piso, for whom Tacitus shows such undisguised contempt, +is drawn with kindliness and sympathy. Seneca, too, who meets with +grudging praise from the stern historian, stands out ennobled in the +play. His bearing in the presence of death is admirably dignified; and +the polite philosopher, whose words were so faultless and whose deeds +were so faulty, could hardly have improved upon the chaste diction of +the farewell address assigned him by the playwright. + +While Seneca's grave wise words are still ringing in our ears we are +called to watch a leave-taking of a different kind. No reader of the +_Annals_ can ever forget the strange description of the end of +Petronius;--how the man whose whole life had "gone, like a revel, by" +neither faltered, when he heard his doom pronounced, nor changed a whit +his wonted gaiety; but dying, as he had lived, in abandoned luxury, sent +under seal to the emperor, in lieu of flatteries, the unblushing record +of their common vices. The obscure playwright is no less impressive than +the world-renowned historian. While Antonius and Enanthe are picturing +to themselves the consternation into which Petronius will be thrown by +the emperor's edict, the object of their commiseration presents himself. +Briefly dismissing the centurion, he turns with kindling cheek to his +scared mistress--"Come, let us drink and dash the posts with wine!" +Then he discourses on the blessings of death; he begins in a +semi-ironical vein, but soon, forgetful of his auditors, is borne away +on the wings of ecstacy. The intense realism of the writing is +appalling. He speaks as a "prophet new inspired," and we listen in +wonderment and awe. The language is amazingly strong and rich, and the +imagination gorgeous. + +At the beginning of the fifth act comes the news of the rising of Julius +Vindex. Like a true coward Nero makes light of the distant danger; but +when the rumours fly thick and fast he gives way to womanish +passionateness, idly upbraiding the gods instead of consulting for his +own safety. His despair and terror when he perceives the inevitable doom +are powerfully rendered. The fear of the after-world makes him long for +annihilation; his imagination presents to him "the furies arm'd with +linkes, with whippes, with snakes," and he dreads to meet his mother and +those "troopes of slaughtered friends" before the tribunal of the Judge + + "That will not leave unto authoritie, + Nor favour the oppressions of the great." + +But, fine as it undoubtedly is, the closing scene of the play bears no +comparison with the pathetic narrative of Suetonius. Riding out, +muffled, from Rome amid thunder and lightning, attended but by four +followers, the doomed emperor hears from the neighbouring camp the +shouts of the soldiers cursing the name of Nero and calling down +blessings on Galba. Passing some wayfarers on the road, he hears one of +them whisper, "Hi Neronem persequuntur;" and another asks, "Ecquid in +urbe novi de Nerone?" Further on his horse takes fright, terrified by +the stench from a corpse that lay in the road-side: in the confusion the +emperor's face is uncovered, and at that moment he is recognized and +saluted by a Praetorian soldier who is riding towards the City. Reaching +a by-path, they dismount and make their way hardly through reeds and +thickets. When his attendant, Phaon, urged him to conceal himself in a +sandpit, Nero "negavit se vivum sub terram iturum;" but soon, creeping +on hands and knees into a cavern's mouth, he spread a tattered coverlet +over himself and lay down to rest. And now the pangs of hunger and +thirst racked him; but he refused the coarse bread that his attendants +offered, only taking a draught of warm water. Then he bade his +attendants dig his grave and get faggots and fire, that his body might +be saved from indignities; and while these preparations were being made +he kept moaning "qualis artifex pereo!" Presently comes a messenger +bringing news that Nero had been adjudged an "enemy" by the senate and +sentenced to be punished "more majorum." Enquiring the nature of the +punishment, and learning that it consisted in fastening the criminal's +neck to a fork and scourging him, naked, to death, the wretched emperor +hastily snatched a pair of daggers and tried the edges; but his courage +failed him and he put them by, saying that "not yet was the fatal moment +at hand." At one time he begged some one of his attendants to show him +an example of fortitude by dying first; at another he chid himself for +his own irresolution, exclaiming: [Greek: "ou prepei Neroni, ou +prepei--naephein dei en tois toioutois--age, egeire seauton."] But now +were heard approaching the horsemen who had been commissioned to bring +back the emperor alive. The time for wavering was over: hurriedly +ejaculating the line of Homer, + + [Greek: "Hippon m'okypodon amphi ktypos ouata ballei,"] + +he drove the steel into his throat. To the centurion, who pretended that +he had come to his aid and who vainly tried to stanch the wound, he +replied "_Sero_, et _Haec est fides_!" and expired. + +Such is the tragic tale of horror told by Suetonius. Nero's last words +in the play "O _Rome_, farewell," &c., seem very poor to "_Sero_ et _Haec +est fides_"; but, if the playwright was young and inexperienced, we can +hardly wonder that his strength failed him at this supreme moment. +Surely the wonder should rather be that we find so many noble passages +throughout this anonymous play. Who the writer may have been I dare not +conjecture. In his fine rhetorical power he resembles Chapman; but he +had a far truer dramatic gift than that great but chaotic writer. He is +never tiresome as Chapman is, who, when he has said a fine thing, seems +often to set himself to undo the effect. His gorgeous imagination and +his daring remind us of Marlowe; the leave-taking of Petronius is +certainly worthy of Marlowe. He is like Marlowe, too, in another +way,--he has no comic power and (wiser, in this respect, than Ford) is +aware of his deficiency. We find in _Nero_ none of those touches of +swift subtle pathos that dazzle us in the _Duchess of Malfy_; but we +find strokes of sarcasm no less keen and trenchant. Sometimes in the +ring of the verse and in turns of expression, we seem to catch +Shakespearian echoes; as here-- + + "Staid men suspect their wisedome or their faith, + To whom our counsels we have not reveald; + And while (our party seeking to disgrace) + They traitors call us, each man treason praiseth + _And hateth faith, when Piso is a traitor_." (iv. i); + +or here-- + + "'Cause you were lovely therefore did I love: + O, if to Love you anger you so much, + You should not have such cheekes nor lips to touch: + You should not have your snow nor curral spy'd;-- + _If you but look on us, in vain you chide: + We must not see your Face, nor heare your speech: + Now, while you Love forbid, you Love doe teach_." + +I am inclined to think that the tragedy of _Nero_ was the first and last +attempt of some young student, steeped in classical learning and +attracted by the strange fascination of the _Annals_,--of one who, +failing to gain a hearing at first, never courted the breath of +popularity again; just as the author of _Joseph and his Brethren_, when +his noble poem fell still-born from the press, turned contemptuously +away and preserved thenceforward an unbroken silence. It should be +noticed that the 4to. of 1633 is not really a new edition; it is merely +the 4to. of 1624, with a new title-page. In a copy bearing the later +date I found a few unimportant differences of reading; but no student of +the Elizabethan drama needs to be reminded that _variae lectiones_ not +uncommonly occur in copies of the same edition. The words "newly written" +on the title-page are meant to distinguish the _Tragedy of Nero_ from +the wretched _Tragedy of Claudius Tiberius Nero_ published in 1607. + +But now I will bring my remarks to a close. It has been at once a pride +and a pleasure to me to rescue this fine old play from undeserved +oblivion. There is but one living poet whose genius could treat worthily +the tragical story of Nero's life and death. In his three noble sonnets, +"The Emperor's Progress," Mr. Swinburne shows that he has pondered the +subject deeply: if ever he should give us a Tragedy of Nero, we may be +sure that one more deathless contribution would be added to our dramatic +literature. + + + + +_Addenda_ and _Corrigenda_. + + +After _Nero_ had been printed I found among the Egerton MSS. (No. 1994), +in the British Museum, a transcript in a contemporary hand. The precious +folio to which it belongs contains fifteen plays: of these some will be +printed entire in Vols. II and III, and a full account of the other +pieces will be given in an appendix to Vol. II. The transcript of _Nero_ +is not by any means so accurate as the printed copy; and sometimes we +meet with the most ridiculous mistakes. For instance, on p. 82 for +"Beauties sweet _Scarres_" the MS. gives "Starres"; on p. 19 for "Nisa" +("not _Bacchus_ drawn from _Nisa_") we find "Nilus"; and in the line +"Nor us, though _Romane, Lais_ will refuse" (p. 81) the MS. pointlessly +reads "Ladies will refuse." On the other hand, many of the readings are +a distinct improvement, and I am glad to find some of my own emendations +confirmed. But let us start _ab initio_:-- + +p. 13, l. 4. 4to. Imperiall tytles; MS. Imperial stuffe. + +p. 14, l. 3. 4to. small grace; MS. sale grace.--The allusion in the +following line to the notorious "dark lights" makes the MS. reading +certain.--Lower down for "and other of thy blindnesses" the MS. gives +"another": neither reading is intelligible. + +p. 17, l. 5. MS. rightly gives "_cleave_ the ayre." + +p. 30, l. 2. "Fatu[m']st in partibus illis || Quas sinus abscondit. +Petron."--added in margin of MS. + +p. 31, l. 17. 4to. _or_ bruised in my fall; MS. _I_ bruised in my +fall! + +p. 32, l. 4. 4to. Shoulder pack't Peleus; MS. Shoulder peac'd. The +MS. confirms my emendation "shoulder-piec'd." + +p. 32, l. 13. 4to. shoutes and noyse; MS. shoutes and triumphs.--From +this point to p. 39 (last line but one) the MS. is defective. + +p. 40, l. 8. 4to. _our_ visitation; MS. _or_ visitation. + +p. 42, l. 11. 4to. others; MS. ours. + +p. 46, l. 22. 4to. Wracke out; MS. wreake not. + +p. 47, l. 17. 4to. Toth' the point of _Agrippa_; MS. tooth' +prince [sic] of Agrippinas. + +p. 54, l. 2. 4to. _Pleides_ burnes; _Jupiter Saturne_ burnes; MS. +_Alcides_ burnes, _Jupiter Stator_ burnes. + +p. 54, l. 23. 4to. thee gets; in MS. _gets_ has been corrected, by +a different hand, into _Getes_. + +p. 54, l. 26. 4to. the most condemned; MS. the ------ condemned: +a blank is unfortunately left in the MS. + +p. 56, l. 20. 4to. writhes; MS. wreathes. + +p. 59, l. 1. MS. I now command the souldyer _of the_ Cyttie. + +p. 61, l. 13. The MS. preserves the three following lines, not found in +the printed copy-- + + "High spirits soaring still at great attempts, + And such whose wisdomes, to their other wrongs, + Distaste the basenesse of the government." + +p. 62, l. 15. 4to. are we; MS. arowe. + +p. 66, l. 4 "Sed quis custodiet ipsos || Custodes. Juvenal"--noted in +margin of MS. + +p. 68, l. 15. 4to. Galley-asses? MS. gallowses. + +p. 69, l. 1. The MS. makes the difficulty even greater by reading-- + + "Silver colour [sic] on the _Medaean_ fields + Not _Tiber_ colour." + +p. 75, l. 2. 4to. One that in whispering oreheard; MS. one that this +fellow whispring I oreharde. + +p. 78, l. 22. 4to. from whence _it_ first let down; MS. from whence _at_ +first let down. + +p. 80. In note (1) for "Eilius Italicus" read "Silius Italicus." + +p. 127. In note (2) for "_Henry IV_" read _I Henry IV_. + +p. 182, l. 6. Dele [?]. The sense is quite plain if we remember that +soldiers degraded on account of misconduct were made "pioners": vid. +commentators on _Othello_, iii. 3. Hence "pioner" is used for "the +meanest, most ignorant soldier." + +p. 228. In note (2) for "earlle good wine" read "Earlle good-wine." + +p. 236. In note (2) after "[Greek: _staphis_] and" add "[Greek: +_agria_]." + +p. 255. The lines "To the reader of this Play" are also found at the end +of T. Heywood's "Royal King and Loyal Subject." + +p. 257, l. 1. I find (on turning to Mr. Arbor's _Transcript_) that the +_Noble Spanish Souldier_ had been previously entered on the Stationers' +Registers (16 May, 1631), by John Jackman, as a work of Dekker's. Since +the sheets have been passing through the press, I have become convinced +that Dekker's share was more considerable than I was willing to allow in +the prefatory _Note_. + +p. 276. Note (2) is misleading; the reading of the 4to "flye-boat" is no +doubt right. "Fly-boat" comes from Span. filibote, flibote--a +fast-sailing vessel. The Dons hastily steer clear of the rude soldier. + +p. 294. In note (1) for "Bayford ballads" read "Bagford Ballads." + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF NERO, + + +_Newly Written_. + + +Imprinted at _London_ by _Augustine Mathewes_, and _John Norton_, for +_Thomas Jones_, and are to bee sold at the blacke Raven in the Strand, +1624. + + + + +The Tragedie of Nero. + + + +_Actus Primus_. + + + Enter _Petronius Arbyter, Antonius Honoratus_. + +_Petron_. Tush, take the wench +I showed thee now, or else some other seeke. +What? can your choler no way be allayed +But with Imperiall tytles? +Will you more tytles[1] unto _Caesar_ give? + +_Anto_. Great are thy fortunes _Nero_, great thy power, +Thy Empyre lymited with natures bounds; +Upon thy ground the Sunne doth set and ryse; +The day and night are thine, +Nor can the Planets, wander where they will, +See that proud earth that feares not _Caesars_ name. +Yet nothing of all this I envy thee; +But her, to whom the world unforst obayes, +Whose eye's more worth then all it lookes upon; +In whom all beautyes Nature hath enclos'd +That through the wide Earth or Heaven are dispos'd. + +_Petron_. Indeed she steales and robs each part o'th world +With borrowed beauties to enflame thine eye: +The Sea, to fetch her Pearle, is div'd into; +The Diomond rocks are cut to make her shine; +To plume her pryde the Birds do naked sing: +When my Enanthe, in a homely gowne-- + +_Anto_. Homely, I faith. + +_Petron_. I, homely in her gowne, +But looke vpon her face and that's set out +With no small grace; no vayled shadowes helpe. +Foole! that hadst rather with false lights and darke +Beguiled be then see the ware thou buyest. + + _Poppea_ royally attended, and passe over the Stage in State. + +_Anto_. Great Queene[2], whom Nature made to be her glory, +Fortune got eies and came to be thy servant, +Honour is proud to be thy tytle; though +Thy beauties doe draw up my soule, yet still +So bright, so glorious is thy Maiestie +That it beates downe againe my clyming thoughts. + +_Petron_. Why, true; +And other of thy blindnesses thou seest[?] +Such one to love thou dar'st not speake unto. +Give me a wench that will be easily had +Not woed with cost, and being sent for comes: +And when I have her foulded in mine armes +Then _Cleopatra_ she, or _Lucres_ is; +Ile give her any title. + +_Anto_. Yet not so much her greatnesse and estate +My hopes disharten as her chastitie. + +_Petron_. Chastitie! foole! a word not knowne in Courts. +Well may it lodge in meane and countrey homes +Where povertie and labour keepes them downe, +Short sleepes and hands made hard with _Thuscan_ Woll, +But never comes to great mens Pallaces +Where ease and riches stirring thoughts beget, +Provoking meates and surfet wines inflame; +Where all there setting forth's but to be wooed, +And wooed they would not be but to be wonne. +Will one man serve _Poppea_? nay, thou shalt +Make her as soone contented with an [one?] eye. + + _Nimphidius_ to them. + +_Nimph_. Whil'st _Nero_ in the streetes his Pageants shewes +I to his fair wives chambers sent for am. +You gracious Starres that smiled on my birth, +And thou bright Starre more powerful then them all, +Whose favouring smiles have made me what I am, +Thou shalt my God, my Fate and fortune be. + [Ex. _Nimph_. + +_Anto_. How sausely yon fellow +Enters the Empresse Chamber. + +_Petron_. I, and her too, _Antonius_, knowest thou him? + +_Anto_. What? knowe the only favorite of the Court? +Indeed, not many dayes ago thou mightest +Have not unlawfully askt that question. + +_Petron_. Why is he rais'd?[3] + +_Anto_. That have I sought in him +But never peece of good desert could find. +He is _Nimphidia's_ sonne, the free'd woman, +Which basenesse to shake off he nothing hath +But his own pride? + +_Petron_. You remember when _Gallus, Celsus_, +And others too, though now forgotten, were +Great in _Poppeas_ eyes? + +_Anton_. I doe, and did interpret it in them +An honorable favor she bare vertue. +Or parts like vertue. + +_Petron_. The cause is one of theirs and this man's Grace. +I once was great in wavering smiles of Court; +I fell, because I knew. Since have I given +My time to my owne pleasures, and would now +Advise thee, too, to meane and safe delights: +The thigh's as soft the sheepes back covereth +As that with crimson and with Gold adorn'd. +Yet, cause I see that thy restraind desires +Cannot their owne way choose, come thou with me; +Perhaps He shew thee means of remedie. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + +1 _Rom_. Whither so fast, man? Whither so fast? + +2 _Rom_. Whither but where your eares do lead you? +To _Neros_ Triumphs and the shouts you heare. + +1 _Rom_ Why? comes he crown'd with _Parthian_ overthrow +And brings he _Volegesus_ with him chain'd? + +2 _Rom_. _Parthian_ overthrowne! why he comes crownd +For victories which never Roman wonne; +For having Greece in her owne arts overthrowne, +In Singing, Dauncing, Horse-rase, Stage-playing. +Never, O Rome had never such a Prince. + +1 _Rom_. Yet, I have heard, our ancestors were crown'd +For other Victories. + +2 _Rom_. None of our ancestors were ere like him. + + _Within: Nero, Apollo, Nero, Hercules_![4] + +1 _Rom_. Harke how th'applauding shouts doe cleave the ayre,[5] +This idle talke will make me loose the sight. + + Two _Romans_ more to them. + +3 _Rom_. Whither goe you? alls done i'th Capytall, +And _Nero_, having there his tables hung +And Garlands up, is to the Pallace gone. +'Twas beyond wonder; I shall never see, +Nay, I never looke to see the like againe: +Eighteen hundred and eight Crownes +For severall victories, and the place set downe +Where, and in what, and whom he overcame. + +4 _Rom_. That was set down ith' tables that were borne +Upon the Souldiers speares. + +1 _Rom_. O made, and sometimes use[d] for other Ends! + +2 _Rom_. But did he winne them all with singing? + +3 _Rom_. Faith, all with singing and with stage-playing. + +1 _Rom_. So many Crowns got with a song! + +4 _Rom_. But did you marke the Greek Musitians +Behind his Chariot, hanging downe their heads, +Sham'd and overcome in their professions? +O Rome was never honour'd so before. + +3 _Rom_. But what was he that rode ith' Chariot with him? + +4 _Rom_. That was _Diodorus_ the Mynstrill that he favours. + +3 _Rom_. Was there ever such a Prince! + +2 _Rom_. O _Nero Augustus_, the true _Augustus!_ + +3 _Rom_. Nay, had you seen him as he rode along +With an _Olimpicke_ Crowne upon his head +And with a _Pythian_ on his arme, you would have thought, +Looking on one, he had _Apollo_ seem'd, +On th'other, _Hercules_. + +2 _Rom_. I have heard my father oft repeat the Triumphs +Which in _Augustus Caesars_ tymes were showne +Upon his Victorie ore the _Illirians_; +But it seemes it was not like to this. + +3 & 4 _Rom_. Push,[6] it could not be like this. + +2, 3 & 4 _Rom_. O _Nero, Appollo, Nero, Hercules! + + [Exeunt 2, 3 & 4 Rom. + + Manet Primus_. + +1 _Rom_. Whether _Augustus_ Triumph greater was +I cannot tell; his Triumphs cause, I know, +Was greater farre and farre more Honourable. +What are wee People, or our flattering voyces +That always shame and foolish things applaud, +Having no sparke of Soule? All eares and eyes, +Pleased with vaine showes, deluded by our sences, +Still enemies to wisedome and to goodnesse. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + Enter _Nero, Poppea, Nimphidius, Epaphroditus, + Neophilus_ and others. + +_Nero_. Now, fayre _Poppea_, see thy Nero shine +In bright _Achaias_ spoyles and Rome in him. +The _Capitall_ hath other Trophies seene +Then it was wont; not spoyles with blood bedew'd +Or the unhappy obsequies of Death, +But such as _Caesars_ cunning, not his force, +Hath wrung from _Greece_ too bragging of her art. + +_Tigell_. And in this strife the glories all your owne, +Your tribunes cannot share this prayse with you; +Here your _Centurions_ hath no part at all, +Bootless your Armies and your Eagles were; +No Navies helpt to bring away this conquest. + +_Nimph_. Even Fortunes selfe, Fortune the Queene of Kingdomes, +That Warrs grim valour graceth with her deeds, +Will claime no portion in this Victorie. + +_Nero_. Not _Bacchus_[7] drawn from Nisa downe with Tigers, +Curbing with viny rains their wilful heads +Whilst some doe gape upon his Ivy Thirse, +Some on the dangling grapes that crowne his head, +All praise his beautie and continuing youth; +So strooke amased India with wonder +As _Neroes_ glories did the Greekish townes, +_Elis_ and _Pisa_ and the rich _Micenae, +Junonian Argos_ and yet _Corinth_ proud +Of her two Seas; all which ore-come did yeeld +To me their praise and prises of their games. + +_Poppea_. Yet in your _Greekish_ iourney, we do heare, +_Sparta_ and _Athens_, the two eyes of _Greece_, +Neither beheld your person or your skill; +Whether because they did afford no games +Or for their too much gravitie. + +_Nero_. Why, what +Should I have seene in them? but in the one +Hunger, black pottage and men hot to die +Thereby to rid themselves of misery: +And what in th'other? but short Capes, long Beards; +Much wrangling in things needlesse to be knowne, +Wisedome in words and onely austere faces. +I will not be Aieceleaus nor Solon. +Nero was there where he might honour win; +And honour hath he wonn and brought from _Greece_ +Those spoyles which never Roman could obtaine, +Spoyles won by witt and _Tropheis_ of his skill. + +_Nimph_. What a thing he makes it to be a Minstrill! + +_Poppea_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe +Honors, safe spoyles, won without dust or blood. + +_Nero_. What, mock ye me, _Poppea_? + +_Poppea_. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in earnest: +I hate that headie and adventurous crew +That goe to loose their owne to purchase but +The breath of others and the common voyce; +Them that will loose their hearing for a sound, +That by death onely seeke to get a living, +Make skarrs there beautie and count losse of Limmes +The commendation of a proper man, +And soe goe halting to immortality-- +Such fooles I love worse then they doe their lives. + +_Nero_. But now, _Poppea_, having laid apart +Our boastfull spoyles and ornaments of Triumph, +Come we like _Jove_ from _Phlegra_-- + +_Poppea_. O Giantlike comparison! + +_Nero_. When after all his Fiers and wandering darts +He comes to bath himselfe in _Juno's_ eyes. +But thou, then wrangling _Juno_ farre more fayre, +Stayning the evening beautie of the Skie +Or the dayes brightnesse, shall make glad thy _Caesar_, +Shalt make him proud such beauties to Inioy. + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manet Nimphidius solus_. + +_Nimph_. Such beauties to inioy were happinesse +And a reward sufficient in itselfe, +Although no other end or hopes were aim'd at; +But I have other: tis not _Poppeas_ armes +Nor the short pleasures of a wanton bed +That can extinguish mine aspiring thirst +To _Neroes_ Crowne. By her love I must climbe, +Her bed is but a step unto his Throne. +Already wise men laugh at him and hate him; +The people, though his Mynstrelsie doth please them, +They feare his cruelty, hate his exactions, +Which his need still must force him to encrease; +The multitude, which cannot one thing long +Like or dislike, being cloy'd with vanitie +Will hate their own delights; though wisedome doe not +Even wearinesse at length will give them eyes. +Thus I, by _Neroes_ and _Poppeas_ favour +Rais'd to the envious height of second place, +May gaine the first. Hate must strike Nero downe, +Love make _Nimphidius_ way unto a Crowne. + + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Enter Seneca, Scevinus, Lucan and Flavius_. + +_Scevin_. His first beginning was his Fathers death; +His brothers poysoning and wives bloudy end +Came next; his mothers murther clos'd up all. +Yet hitherto he was but wicked, when +The guilt of greater evills tooke away the shame +Of lesser, and did headlong thrust him forth +To be the scorne and laughter to the world. +Then first an Emperour came upon the stage +And sung to please Carmen and Candle-sellers, +And learnt to act, to daunce, to be a Fencer, +And in despight o'the Maiestie of Princes +He fell to wrastling and was soyl'd with dust +And tumbled on the earth with servile hands. + +_Seneca_. He sometimes trayned was in better studies +And had a child-hood promis'd other hopes: +High fortunes like stronge wines do trie their vessels. +Was not the Race and Theatre bigge enough +To have inclos'd thy follies heere at home? +O could not _Rome_ and _Italie_ containe +Thy shame, but thou must crosse the seas to shewe it? + +_Scevin_. And make them that had wont to see our Consuls, +With conquering Eagles waving in the field, +Instead of that behold an Emperor dauncing, +Playing oth' stage and what else but to name +Were infamie. + +_Lucan_. O _Mummius_, O _Flaminius_, +You whom your vertues have not made more famous +Than _Neros_ vices, you went ore to Greece +But t'other warres, and brought home other conquests; +You _Corinth_ and _Micaena_ overthrew, +And _Perseus_ selfe, the great _Achilles_ race, +Orecame; having _Minervas_ stayned Temples +And your slayne Ancestors of Troy reveng'd. + +_Seneca_. They strove with Kings and Kinglike adversaries, +Were even in their Enemies made happie; +The _Macedonian_ Courage tryed of old +And the new greatnesse of the _Syrian_ power: +But he for _Phillip_ and _Antiochus_ +Hath found more easie enemies to deale with-- +_Terpnus_,[8] _Pammenes_,[9] and a rout of Fidlers. + +_Scevin_. Why, all the begging Mynstrills by the way +He tooke along with him and forc'd to strive +That he might overcome, Imagining +Himselfe Immortall by such victories. + +_Flav_. The Men he carried over were enough +T'have put the Parthian to his second flight +Or the proud Indian taught the Roman Yoke. + +_Scevin_. But they were _Neroes_ men, like _Nero_ arm'd +With Lutes and Harps and Pipes and Fiddle-cases, +Souldyers to th'shadow traynd and not the field. + +_Flav_. Therefore they brought spoyles of such Soldyers worthy. + +_Lucan_. But to throw downe the walls[10] and Gates of Rome +To make an entrance for an Hobby-horse; +To vaunt to th'people his rediculous spoyles; +To come with Lawrell and with Olyves crown'd +For having beene the worst of all the Singers, +Is beyond Patience. + +_Scevin_. I, and anger too. +Had you but seene him in his Chariot ryde, +That Chariot in which _Augustus_ late +His Triumphs ore so many Nations shew'd, +And with him in the same a Minstrell plac'd +The whil'st the people, running by his side, +'_Hayle thou Olimpick Conqueror_' did cry, +'_O haile thou Pithian_!' and did fill the sky +With shame and voices Heaven would not have heard. + +_Seneca_. I saw't, but turn'd away my eyes and eares, +Angry they should be privie to such sights. +Why do I stand relating of the storie +Which in the doing had enough to grieve me? +Tell on and end the tale, you whom it pleaseth; +Mee mine own sorrow stops from further speaking. +_Nero_, my love doth make thy fault and my griefe greater. + [_Ex. Sen_. + +_Scevin_. I doe commend in Seneca this passion; +And yet me thinkes our Countries miserie +Doth at our hands crave somewhat more then teares. + +_Lucan_. Pittie, though't doth a kind affection show, +If it end there, our weaknesse makes us know. + +_Flav_. Let children weepe and men seeke remedie. + +_Scevin_. Stoutly, and like a soldier, _Flavius_; +Yet to seeke remedie to a Princes ill +Seldome but it doth the Phisitian kill. + +_Flav_. And if it doe, _Scevinus_, it shall take +But a devoted soule from _Flavius_, +Which to my Countrey and the Gods of Rome +Alreadie sacred is and given away. +Deathe is no stranger unto me, I have +The doubtfull hazard in twelve Battailes throwne; +My chaunce was life. + +_Lucan_. Why doe we go to fight in Brittanie +And end our lives under another Sunne? +Seeke causelesse dangers out? The German might +Enioy his Woods and his owne Allis drinke, +Yet we walke safely in the streets of Rome; +_Bonduca_ hinders not but we might live, +Whom we do hurt. Them we call enemies, +And those our Lords that spoyle and murder us. + +_Scevin_. Nothing is hard to them that dare to die. +This nobler resolution in you, Lords, +Heartens me to disclose some thoughts that I-- +The matter is of waight and dangerous. + +_Lucan_. I see you feare us _Scaevinus_.[11] + +_Scevin_. Nay, nay, although the thing be full of feare. + +_Flav_. Tell it to faithfull Eares what eare it bee. + +_Scevin_. Faith, let it goe, it will but trouble us, +Be hurtfull to the speaker and the hearer. + +_Lucan_. If our long friendship or the opinion-- + +_Scevin_. Why should I feare to tell them? +Why, is he not a Parricide a Player? +Nay, _Lucan_, is he not thine Enemie? +Hate not the Heavens as well as men to see +That condemn'd head? And you, O righteous Gods, +Whither so ere you now are fled and will +No more looke downe upon th'oppressed Earth; +O severe anger of the highest Gods +And thou, sterne power to whom the Greekes assigne +Scourges and swords to punish proud mens wrongs, +If you be more then names found out to awe us +And that we doe not vainely build you alters, +Aid that iust arme that's bent to execute +What you should doe. + +_Lucan_. Stay, y'are carried too much away, _Scevinus_. + +_Scevin_. Why, what will you say for him? hath[12] he not +Sought to suppresse your Poem, to bereave +That honour every tongue in duty paid it. +Nay, what can you say for him, hath he not +Broacht his owne wives (a chast wives) breast and torne +With Scithian hands his Mothers bowels up? +The inhospitable _Caucasus_ is milde; +The More, that in the boyling desert seekes +With blood of strangers to imbrue his iawes, +Upbraides the Roman now with barbarousnesse. + +_Lucan_. You are to earnest: +I neither can nor will I speake for him; +And though he sought my learned paynes to wrong +I hate him not for that; My verse shall live +When _Neroes_ body shall be throwne in Tiber, +And times to come shall blesse those[13] wicked armes. +I love th'unnatural wounds from whence did flow +Another Cirrha,[14] a new Hellicon. +I hate him that he is Romes enemie, +An enemie to Vertue; sits on high +To shame the seate: and in that hate my life +And blood I'le mingle on the earth with yours. + +_Flav_. My deeds, _Scevinus_, shall speake my consent, + +_Scevin_. Tis answerd as I lookt for, Noble Poet, +Worthy the double Lawrell. Flavius, +Good lucke, I see, doth vertuous meanings ayde, +And therefore have the Heavens forborne their duties +To grace our swords with glorious blood of Tyrants. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Primi_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + + + _Enter Petronius solus_. + +Here waites _Poppea_ her _Nimphidius_ comming +And hath this garden and these walkes chose out +To blesse her with more pleasures then their owne. +Not only Arras hangings and silke beds[15] +Are guilty of the faults we blame them for: +Somewhat these arbors and you trees doe know +Whil'st your kind shades you to these night sports show. +Night sports? Faith, they are done in open day +And the Sunne see'th and envieth their play. +Hither have I Love-sicke _Antonius_ brought +And thrust him on occasion so long sought; +Shewed him the Empresse in a thicket by, +Her loves approach waiting with greedie Eye; +And told him, if he ever meant to prove +The doubtfull issue of his hopelesse Love, +This is the place and time wherein to try it; +Women will heere the suite that will deny it. +The suit's not hard that she comes for to take; +Who (hot in lust of men) doth difference make? +At last loath, willing, to her did he pace: +Arme him, _Priapus_, with thy powerfull Mace. +But see, they comming are; how they agree +Heere will I harken; shroud me, gentle tree. + + _Enter Poppea and Antonius_. + +_Anton_. Seeke not to grieve that heart which is thine owne. +In Loves sweete fires let heat of rage burne out; +These brows could never yet to wrinkle learne, +Nor anger out of such faire eyes look forth. + +_Poppea_. You may solicit your presumptious suites; +You duety may, and shame too, lay aside; +Disturbe my privacie, and I forsooth +Must be afeard even to be angry at you! + +_Anton_. What shame is't to be mastred by such beautie? +Who but to serve you comes, how wants he dutie? +Or, if it be a shame, the shame is yours; +The fault is onely in your Eies, they drew me: +Cause you were lovely therefore did I love. +O, if to Love you anger you so much, +You should not have such cheekes nor lips to touch, +You should not have your snow nor currall spy'd;-- +If you but looke on us in vaine you chide. +We must not see your face, nor heare your speech; +Now, whilst you Love forbid, you Love do teach. + +_Petron_. He doth better than I thought he would. + +_Poppea_. I will not learne my beauties worth of you; +I know you neither are the first nor greatest +Whom it hath mov'd: He whom the World obayes +Is fear'd with anger of my threatening eyes. +It is for you afarre off to adore it, +And not to reach at it with sawsie hands: +Feare is the Love that's due to God and Princes. + +_Petron_. All this is but to edge his appetite. + +_Anton_. O doe not see thy faire in that false glasse +Of outward difference; Looke into my heart. +There shalt thou see thy selfe Inthroaned set +In greater Maiesty then all the pompe +Of _Rome_ or _Nero_. Tis not the crowching awe +And Ceremony with which we flatter Princes +That can to Loves true duties be compar'd. + +_Poppea_. Sir, let me goe or He make knowne your Love +To them that shall requite it but with hate. + +_Petron_. On, on, thou hast the goale; the fort is beaten; +Women are wonne when they begin to threaten. + +_Anton_. Your Noblenesse doth warrant me from that, +Nor need you others helpe to punish me +Who by your forehead am condem'd or free. +They that to be revendg'd do bend their minde +Seeke always recompence in that same kind +The wrong was done them; Love was mine offence, +In that revenge, in that seeke recompence. + +_Poppea_. Further to answere will still cause replyes, +And those as ill doe please me as your selfe. +If you'le an answere take that's breefe and true, +I hate my selfe if I be lov'd of you. + [_Exit Popp_. + +_Petron_. What, gone? but she will come againe sure: no? +It passeth cleane my cunning, all my rules: +For Womens wantonnesse there is no rule. +To take her in the itching of her Lust, +A propper young man putting forth himselfe! +Why, Fate! there's Fate and hidden providence +In cod piece matters. + +_Anton_. O unhappy Man! +What comfort have I now, _Petronius?_ + +_Petron_. Council your selfe; Ile teach no more but learne. + +_Anton_. This comfort yet: He shall not so escape +Who causeth my disgrace, _Nimphidius_; +Whom had I here--Well, for my true-hearts love +I see she hates me. And shall I love one +That hates me, and bestowes what I deserve +Upon my rivall? No; farewell _Poppea_, +Farewell _Poppea_ and farewell all Love: +Yet thus much shall it still prevaile in me +That I will hate _Nimphidius_ for thee. + +_Petron_. Farewell to her, to my _Enanthe_ welcome. +Who now will to my burning kisses stoope, +Now with an easie cruelty deny +That which she, rather then the asker, would +Have forced from her then begin[16] her selfe. +Their loves that list upon great Ladies set; +I still will love the Wench that I can get. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Nero, Tigellinus, Epaphroditus_, and _Neophilus_. + +_Nero_. _Tigellinus_, said the villaine _Proculus_[17] +I was throwne downe in running? + +_Tigell_. My Lord, he said that you were crown'd for that +You could not doe. + +_Nero_. For that I could not doe? +Why, _Elis_ saw me doe't, and doe't it with wonder +Of all the Iudges and the lookers on; +And yet to see--A villaine! could not doe't? +Who did it better? I warrant you he said +I from the Chariot fell against my will. + +_Tigell_. He said, My Lord, you were throwne out of it +All crusht and maim'd and almost bruis'd to death. + +_Nero_. Malicious Rogue! when I fell willingly +To show of purpose with what little hurt +Might a good rider beare a forced fall. +How sayest thou, _Tigellinus_? I am sure +Thou hast in driving as much skill as he. + +_Tigell_. My Lord, you greater cunning shew'd in falling +Then had you sate. + +_Nero_. I know I did; or[18] bruised in my fall? +Hurt! I protest I felt no griefe in it. +Goe, _Tigellinus_, fetch the villaines head. +This makes me see his heart in other things. +Fetch me his head; he nere shall speake againe. [_Ex. Tigell_. +What doe we Princes differ from the durt +And basenesse of the common Multitude +If to the scorne of each malicious tongue +We subiect are: For that I had no skill,[19] +Not he that his farre famed daughter set +A prise to Victoria and had bin Crown'd +With thirteene Sutors deaths till he at length +By fate of Gods and Servants treason fell, +(Shoulder pack't[20] _Pelops_, glorying in his spoyles) +Could with more skill his coupled horses guide. +Even as a Barke that through the mooving Flood +Her linnen wings and the forc't ayre doe beare; +The Byllowes fome, she smoothly cutts them through; +So past my burning Axeltree along: +The people follow with their Eyes and Voyce, +And now the wind doth see it selfe outrun +And the Clouds wonder to be left behind, +Whilst the void ayre is fild with shoutes and noyse, +And _Neroes_ name doth beate the brazen Skie; +_Jupiter_ envying loath doth heare my praise. +Then their greene bowes and Crownes of Olive wreaths, +The Conquerors praise, they give me as my due. +And yet this Rogue sayth No, we have no skill. + + _Enter a servant to them_. + +_Servant_. My Lord, the Stage and all the furniture-- + +_Nero_. I have no skill to drive a Chariot! +Had he but robde me, broke my treasurie: +The red-Sea's mine, mine are the _Indian_ stones, +The Worlds mine owne; then cannot I be robde? +But spightfully to undermine my fame, +To take away my arte! he would my life +As well, no doubt, could he tould (tell?) how. + + _Enter Tigellinus_ with _Proculus head_. + +_Neoph_. My Lord, +_Tigellinus_ is backe come with _Proculus head_. + (_Strikes him_.) + +_Nero_. O cry thee mercie, good _Neophilus_; +Give him five hundred sesterces for amends. +Hast brought him, Tigellinus? + +_Tigell_. Heres his head, my Lord. + +_Nero_. His tongue had bin enough. + +_Tigell_. I did as you commanded me, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Thou toldst not me, though, he had such a nose![21] +Now are you quiet and have quieted me: +This tis to be commander of the World. +Let them extoll weake pittie that do neede it, +Let meane men cry to have Law and Iustice done +And tell their griefes to Heaven that heares them not: +Kings must upon the Peoples headlesse courses +Walk to securitie and ease of minde. +Why, what have we to doe with th'ayrie names +(That old age and _Philosophers_ found out) +Of _Iustice_ and ne're certaine Equitie? +The God's revenge themselves and so will we; +Where right is scand Authoritie's orethrowne: +We have a high prerogative above it. +Slaves may do what is right, we what we please: +The people will repine and think it ill, +But they must beare, and praise too, what we will. + + _Enter Cornutus[22] to them_. + +_Neoph_. My Lord, _Cornutus_ whom you sent for's come. + +_Nero_. Welcome, good _Cornutus_. +Are all things ready for the stage, +As I gave charge? + +_Corn_. They only stay your coming. + +_Nero_. _Cornutus_, I must act to day _Orestes_. + +_Corn_. You have done that alreadie, and too truely. (_Aside_.) + +_Nero_. And when our Sceane is done I meane besides +To read some compositions of my owne, +Which, for the great opinion I my selfe +And _Rome_ in generall of thy Judgment hath, +Before I publish them Ile shew them thee. + +_Corn_. My Lord, my disabilities-- + +_Nero_. I know thy modestie: +Ile only shew thee now my works beginning.-- +Goe see, _Epaphroditus_, +Musick made ready; I will sing to day.-- [_Exit Epa. +Cornutus_, I pray thee come neere +And let me heare thy Judgement in my paynes. +I would have thee more familiar, good _Cornutus_; +_Nero_ doth prise desert and more esteemes +Them that in knowledge second him, then power. +Marke with what style and state my worke begins. + +_Corn_. Might not my Interruption offend, +Whats your workes name, my Lord? what write you of? + +_Nero_. I meane to write the deeds of all the Romans. + +_Corn_. Of all the Romans? A huge argument. + +_Nero_. I have not yet bethought me of a title:-- + (_he reades_,) + + "_You Enthrall Powers which[23] the wide Fortunes doon + Of Empyre-crown'd seaven-Mountaine-seated Rome, + Full blowne Inspire me with_ Machlaean[24] _rage + That I may bellow out_ Romes _Prentisage; + As[25] when the_ Menades _do fill their Drums + And crooked hornes with_ Mimalonean _hummes + And_ Evion[26] _do Ingeminate around, + Which reparable Eccho doth resound_." + +How doest thou like our Muses paines, _Cornutus_? + +_Corn_. The verses have more in them than I see: +Your work, my Lord, I doubt will be too long. + +_Nero_. Too long? + +_Tigell_. Too long? + +_Corn_. I, if you write the deedes of all the _Romans_. +How many Bookes thinke you t'include it in? + +_Nero_. I thinke to write about foure hundred Bookes. + +_Corn_. Four hundred! Why, my Lord, they'le nere be read.[27] + +_Nero_. Hah! + +_Tigell_. Why, he whom you esteeme so much, _Crisippus_, +Wrote many more. + +_Corn_. But they were profitable to common life +And did Men Honestie and Wisedome teach. + +_Nero_. _Tigellinus_! + + [Exit _Nero and Tigell_. + +_Corn_. See with what earnestnesse he crav'd my Judgment, +And now he freely hath it how it likes him. + +_Neoph_. The Prince is angry, and his fall is neere; +Let us begon lest we partake his ruines. + + [_Exeunt omnes praeter Cornu_. + + _Manet Cornutus solus_. + +What should I doe at Court? I cannot lye. +Why didst thou call me, _Nero_, from my Booke; +Didst thou for flatterie of _Cornutus_ looke? +No, let those purple Fellowes that stand by thee +(That admire shew and things that thou canst give) +Leave to please Truth and Vertue to please thee. +_Nero_, there is no thing in thy power _Cornutus_ +Doth wish or fear. + + _Enter Tigellinus to him_. + +_Tigell_. Tis _Neroes_ pleasure that you straight depart +To _Giara_, and there remaine confin'd: +Thus he, out of his Princely Clemencie, +Hath Death, your due, turn'd but to banishment. + +_Corn_. Why, _Tigellinus_? + +_Tigell_. I have done, upon your perill go or stay. + [_Ex. Ti_. + +_Corn_. And why should Death or Banishment be due +For speaking that which was requir'd, my thought? +O why doe Princes love to be deceiv'd +And even do force abuses on themselves? +Their Eares are so with pleasing speech beguil'd +That Truth they mallice, Flatterie truth account, +And their owne Soule and understanding lost +Goe, what they are, to seeke in other men. +Alas, weake Prince, how hast thou punisht me +To banish me from thee? O let me goe +And dwell in _Taurus_, dwell in _Ethiope_ +So that I doe not dwell at _Rome_ with thee. +The farther still I goe from hence, I know, +The farther I leave Shame and Vice behind. +Where can I goe but I shall see thee, Sunne? +And _Heaven_ will be as neere me still as here. +Can they so farre a knowing soule exyle +That her owne roofe she sees not ore her head? + + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Piso, Scevinus, Lucan, Flavius_. + +_Piso_. Noble Gentlemen, what thankes, what recompence +Shall hee give you that give to him the world? +One life to them that must so many venture, +And that the worst of all, is too meane paye; +Yet can give no more. Take that, bestow it +Upon your service. + +_Lucan_. O _Piso_, that vouchsafest +To grace our headlesse partie with thy name, +Whom having our conductor[28] we need not +Have fear'd to goe against[29] the well try'd vallor +Of Julius or stayednesse of _Augustus_, +Much lesse the shame and Womanhood of _Nero_; +When we had once given out that our pretences +Were all for thee, our end to make thee Prince, +They thronging came to give their names, Men, Women, +Gentlemen, People, Soldiers, Senators,[30] +The Campe and Cittie grew asham'd that _Nero_ +And _Piso_ should be offered them together. + +_Scevin_. We seeke not now (as in the happy dayes +Oth' common wealth they did) for libertie; +O you deere ashes, _Cassius_ and _Brutus_, +That was with you entomb'd, their let it rest. +We are contented with the galling yoke +If they will only leave us necks to beare it: +We seeke no longer freedome, we seeke life; +At least, not to be murdred, let us die +On Enemies swords. Shall we, whom neither +The _Median_ Bow nor _Macedonian_ Speare +Nor the fierce _Gaul_ nor painted _Briton_ could +Subdue, lay down our neckes to tyrants axe? +Why doe we talke of Vertue that obay +Weaknesse and Vice? + +_Piso_. Have patience, good _Scevinus_. + +_Lucan_. Weaknesse and servile Government we hitherto +Obeyed have, which, that we may no longer, +We have our lives and fortunes now set up, +And have our cause with _Pisoes_ credit strengthned. + +_Flav_. Which makes it doubtfull whether love to him +Or _Neroes_ hatred hath drawne more unto us. + +_Piso_. I see the good thoughts you have of me, Lords. +Lets now proceede to th'purpose of our meeting: +I pray you take your places. +Lets have some paper brought. + +_Scevin_. Whose within? + + _Enter Milichus to them_. + +_Mill_. My Lord. + +_Scevin_. Some Inke and Paper. + + [_Exit Mili_. + + _Enter againe with Incke and Paper_. + +_Flav_. Whose that, _Scevinus_? + +_Scevin_. It is my freed man, _Milichus_. + +_Lucan_. Is he trustie? + +_Scevin_. I, for as great matters as we are about. + +_Piso_. And those are great ones. + +_Lucan_. I aske not that we meane to need his trust; +Gaine hath great soveraigntie ore servile mindes. + +_Scevin_. O but my benefits have bound him to me. +I from a bondman have his state not onely +Advanct to freedome but to wealth and credit. + +_Piso_. _Mili_. waite ith' next chamber till we call. + [_abscondit se_. +The thing determinde on, our meeting now +Is of the meanes and place, due circumstance +As to the doing of things: 'tis required +So done it names the action.[31] + +_Mili_. I wonder (_aside_) +What makes this new resort to haunt our house. +When wonted _Lucius Piso_ to come hither, +Or _Lucan_ when so oft as now of late? + +_Piso_. And since the field and open shew of armes +Disliked you, and that for the generall good +You meane to end all styrres in end of him; +That, as the ground, must first be thought upon. + +_Mill_. Besides, this comming cannot be for forme, (_aside_) +Our (Mere?) visitation; they goe aside +And have long conferences by themselves. + +_Lucan_. _Piso_, his coming to your house at Baiae[32] +To bathe and banquet will fit meanes afford, +Amidst his cups, to end his hated life: +Let him die drunke that nere liv'd soberly. + +_Piso_. O be it farre that I should staine my Table +And Gods of Hospitalitie with blood. +Let not our cause (now Innocent) be soyld +With such a plot, nor _Pisoes_ name made hatefull. +What place can better fit our action +Then his owne house, that boundlesse envied heape +Built with the spoyles and blood of Cittizens, +That hath taken up the Citie, left no roome +For _Rome_ to stand on? _Romanes_ get you gone +And dwell at _Veiae_, if that _Veiae_ too +This (His?) house ore runne not.[33] + +_Lucan_. But twill be hard to doe it in his house +And harder to escape, being done. + +_Piso_. Not so: +_Rufus_, the Captaine of the Guard, 's with us, +And divers other oth' _Praetorian_ band +Already made (named?); many, though unacquainted +With our intents, have had disgrace and wrongs +Which grieve them still; most will be glad of change, +And even they that lov'd him best, when once +They see him gone, will smile oth' comming times, +Let goe things past and looke to their owne safetie: +Besides, th'astonishment and feare will be +So great, so sodaine that 'twill hinder them +From doing anything. + +_Mili_. No private businesse can concerne them all: (_aside_) +Their countenances are troubled and looke sad; +Doubt and importance in their face is read. + +_Lucan_. Yet still, I think it were +Safer t'attempt him private and alone. + +_Flav_. But 'twill not carry that opinion with it; +'Twill seeme more foule and come from private malice. +_Brutus_ and they, to right the common cause, +Did chuse a publike place. + +_Scevin_.[34] Our deed is honest, why should it seeke corners? +Tis for the people done, let them behold it; +Let me have them a witnesse of my truth +And love to th'Common-wealth. The danger's greater, +So is the glory. Why should our pale counsels +Tend whether feare rather then vertue calls them? +I doe not like these cold considerings. +First let our thoughts looke up to what is honest, +Next to what's safe. If danger may deterre us +Nothing that's great or good shall ere be done: +And, when we first gave hands upon this deed, +To th'common safetie we our owne gave up. +Let no man venture on a princes death, +How bad soever, with beliefe to escape; +Dispaire must be our hope, fame o[u]r reward. +To make the generall liking to concurre +With others (ours?) were even to strike him in his shame +Or (as he thinks) his glory, on the stage, +And so too truly make't a Tragedy; +When all the people cannot chuse but clap +So sweet a close, and 'twill not _Caesar_ be +That shall be slaine, a _Roman_ Prince; +Twill be _Alcmaeon_ or blind Oedipus. + +_Mili_. And if it be of publique matters 'tis not (_aside_) +Like to be talke or idle fault finding, +On which the coward onely spends his wisedome: +These are all men of action and of spirit, +And dare performe what they determine on. + +_Lucan_. What thinke you of _Poppaea, Tigellinus_ +And th'other odious Instruments of Court? +Were it not best at once to rid them all? + +_Scevin_. In _Caesars_ ruine _Anthony_ was spared; +Lets not our cause with needlesse blood distaine. +One onely mov'd, the change will not appeare; +When too much licence given to the sword, +Though against ill, will make even good men feare. +Besides, things setled, you at pleasure may +By Law and publique Iudgement have them rid. + +_Mili_. And if it be but talke oth' State 'tis Treason. (_aside_) +Like it they cannot, that they cannot doe: +If seeke to mend it, and remoove the Prince, +That's highest Treason: change his Councellours, +That's alteration of the Government, +The common cloke that Treasons muffled in: +If laying force aside, to seeke by suite +And faire petition t'have the State reform'd, +That's tutering of the Prince and takes away +Th' one his person, this his Soveraigntie. +Barely in private talke to shew dislike +Of what is done is dangerous; therefore the action +Mislike you cause the doer likes you not. +Men are not fit to live ith' state they hate. + +_Piso_. Though we would all have that imployment sought, +Yet, since your worthy forwardnesse _Scevinus_[35] +Prevents us and so Nobly beggs for danger, +Be this (thine?) the chosen hand to doe the deed; +The fortune of the Empire speed your sword. + +_Scevin_. Vertue and Heaven speed it. You home-borne +Gods of our countrey, _Romulus_ and _Vesta_, +That _Thuscan Tiber_ and Romes towers defends, +Forbid not yet at length a happie end +To former evils; let this hand revenge +The wronged world; enough we now have suffered. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manet Milichus solus_. + +_Mili_. Tush, all this long Consulting's more then words, +It ends not there; th'have some attempt, some plot +Against the state: well, I'le observe it farther +And, if I find it, make my profit of it. + [_Exit_. + +_Finis Actus Secundus. [Sic.]_ + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + + + _Enter Poppea solus. [Sic.]_ + +_Poppea_. I lookt _Nimphidius_ would have come ere this. +Makes he no greater hast to our embraces, +Or doth the easiness abate his edge? +Or seeme we not as faire still as we did? +Or is he so with _Neroes_ playing wonne +That he before _Poppea_ doth preferre it? +Or doth he think to have occasion still, +Still to have time to waite on our stolne meetings? + + _Enter Nimphidius to her_. + +But see, his presence now doth end those doubts. +What is't, _Nimphidius_, hath so long detain'd you? + +_Nimphid_. Faith, Lady, causes strong enough, +High walls, bard dores, and guards of armed men. + +_Poppea_. Were you Imprisoned, then, as you were going +To the Theater? + +_Nimphid_. Not in my going, Lady, +But in the Theater I was imprisoned. +For after he was once upon the Stage +The Gates[36] were more severely lookt into +Then at a town besieg'd: no man, no cause +Was Currant, no, nor passant. At other sights +The striefe is only to get in, but here +The stirre was all in getting out againe. +Had we not bin kept to it so I thinke +'Twould nere have been so tedious, though I know +'Twas hard to judge whether his doing of it +Were more absurd then 'twas for him[37] to doe it. +But when we once were forct to be spectators, +Compel'd to that which should have bin a pleasure, +We could no longer beare the wearisomnesse: +No paine so irksome as a forct delight. +Some fell down dead or seem'd at least to doe so, +Under that colour to be carried forth. +Then death first pleasur'd men, the shape all feare +Was put on gladly; some clomb ore the walls +And so, by falling, caught in earnest that +Which th'other did dissemble. There were women[38] +That (being not able to intreat the guard +To let them passe the gates) were brought to bed +Amidst the throngs of men, and made _Lucina_ +Blush to see that unwonted companie. + +_Poppea_. If 'twere so straightly kept how got you forth? + +_Nimphid_. Faith, Lady, I came pretending hast +In Face and Countenance, told them I was sent +For things bith' Prince forgot about the sceane, +Which both my credit made them to beleeve +And _Nero_ newly whispered me before. +Thus did I passe the gates; the danger, Ladie, +I have not yet escapt. + +_Poppea_. What danger meane you? + +_Nimphid_. The danger of his anger when he knowes +How I thus shranke away; for there stood knaves, +That put downe in their Tables all that stir'd +And markt in each there cheerefulnesse or sadnesse. + +_Poppea_. I warrant He excuse you; but I pray +Lett's be a little better for your sight. +How did our Princely husband act _Orestes_? +Did he not wish againe his mother living? +Her death would adde great life unto his part. +But come, I pray; the storie of your sight. + +_Nimph_. O doe not drive me to those hatefull paines. +Lady, I was too much in seeing vext; +Let it not be redoubled with the telling. +I now am well and heare, my eares set free; +O be mercifull, doe not bring me backe +Unto my prison, at least free your selfe. +It will not passe away, but stay the time; +Wracke out the houres in length. O give me leave: +As one that wearied with the toyle at sea +And now on wished shore hath firm'd his foote, +He lookes about and glads his thoughts and eyes +With sight oth' greene cloath'd ground and leavy trees, +Of flowers that begge more then the looking on, +And likes these other waters narrow shores; +So let me lay my wearines in these armes, +Nothing but kisses to this mouth discourse, +My thoughts be compast in those circl'd Eyes, +Eyes on no obiect looke but on these Cheekes; +Be blest my hands with touch of those round brests +Whiter and softer than the downe of Swans. +Let me of thee and of thy beauties glory +An[39] endless tell, but never wearying story. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Nero, Epaphroditus, Neophilus_. + +_Nero_. Come Sirs, I faith, how did you like my acting? +What? wast not as you lookt for? + +_Epaphr_. Yes, my Lord, and much beyond. + +_Nero_. Did I not doe it to the life? + +_Epaphr_. The very doing never was so lively +As was this counterfeyting. + +_Nero_. And when I came +Toth' point of _Agripp[40]--Clytemnestras_ death, +Did it not move the feeling auditory? + +_Epaphr_. They had beene stones whom that could not have mov'd. + +_Nero_. Did not my voice hold out well to the end, +And serv'd me afterwards afresh to sing with? + +_Neoph_. We know _Appollo_ cannot match your voice. + +_Epaphr_. By Jove! I thinke you are the God himselfe +Come from above to shew your hidden arts +And fill us men with wonder of your skill. + +_Nero_. Nay, faith, speake truely, doe not flatter me; +I know you need not; flattery's but where +Desert is meane. + +_Epaphr_. I sweare by thee, O _Caesar_, +Then whom no power of heaven I honour more, +No mortall Voice can passe or equall thine. + +_Nero_. They tell of _Orpheus_, when he tooke his Lute +And moov'd the noble Ivory with his touch, +_Hebrus_ stood still, _Pangea_ bow'd his head, +_Ossa_ then first shooke off his snowe and came +To listen to the moovings of his song; +The gentle _Popler_ tooke the baye along, +And call'd the _Pyne_ downe from his Mountaine seate; +The _Virgine Bay_, although the Arts she hates +Oth' _Delphick_ God, was with his voice orecome; +He his twice-lost _Euridice_ bewailes +And _Proserpines_ vaine gifts, and makes the shores +And hollow caves of forrests now untreed +Beare his griefe company, and all things teacheth +His lost loves name; Then water, ayre, and ground +_Euridice, Euridice_ resound. +These are bould tales, of which the Greeks have store; +But if he could from Hell once more returne +And would compare his hand and voice with mine, +I, though himselfe were iudge, he then should see +How much the _Latine_ staines the _Thracian_ lyar. +I oft have walkt by _Tibers_ flowing bankes +And heard the Swan sing her own epitaph: +When she heard me she held her peace and died. +Let others raise from earthly things their praise; +Heaven hath stood still to hear my happy ayres +And ceast th'eternall Musicke of the _Spheares_ +To marke my voyce and mend their tunes by mine. + +_Neoph_. O divine voice! + +_Epaphr_. Happy are they that heare it! + + _Enter Tigellinus to them_. + +_Nero_. But here comes _Tigellinus_; come, thy bill. +Are there so many? I see I have enemies. + +_Epaphr_. Have you put _Caius_ in? I saw him frowne. + +_Neoph_. And in the midst oth' Emperors action. +_Gallus_ laught out, and as I thinke in scorne. + +_Nero_. _Vespasian_[41] too asleepe? was he so drowsie? +Well, he shall sleepe the Iron sleepe of death. +And did _Thrasea_ looke so sourely on us? + +_Tigell_. He never smilde, my Lord, nor would vouchsafe +With one applause to grace your action. + +_Nero_. Our action needed not be grac'd by him: +Hee's our old enemie and still maligns us. +'Twill have an end, nay it shall have an end. +Why, I have bin too pittifull, too remisse; +My easinesse is laught at and contemn'd. +But I will change it; not as heretofore +By singling out them one by one to death: +Each common man can such revenges have; +A Princes anger must lay desolate +Citties, Kingdomes consume, Roote up mankind. +O could I live to see the generall end, +Behold the world enwrapt in funerall flame, +When as the _Sunne_ shall lend his beames to burne +What he before brought forth, and water serve +Not to extinguish but to nurse the fire; +Then, like the _Salamander_, bathing me +In the last Ashes of all mortall things +Let me give up this breath. _Priam_ was happie, +Happie indeed; he saw his _Troy_ burnt +And _Illion_ lye on heapes, whilst thy pure streames +(Divine _Scamander_) did run _Phrygian_ blood, +And heard the pleasant cries of _Troian_ mothers. +Could I see _Rome_ so! + +_Tigell_. Your Maiestie may easily, +Without this trouble to your sacred mind. + +_Nero_. What may I easily doe? Kill thee or him: +How may I rid you all? Where is the Man +That will all others end and last himselfe? +O that I had thy Thunder in my hand, +Thou idle Rover, I'de[42] not shoote at trees +And spend in woods my unregarded vengeance, +Ide shevire them downe upon their guilty roofes +And fill the streetes with bloody burials. +But 'tis not Heaven can give me what I seeke; +To you, you hated kingdomes of the night, +You severe powers that not like those above +Will with faire words or childrens cryes be wonne, +That have a stile beyond that Heaven is proud off, +Deriving not from Art a makers Name +But in destruction power and terror shew, +To you I flye for succour; you, whose dwellings +For torments are belyde, must give me ease. +Furies, lend me your fires; no, they are here, +They must be other fires, materiall brands +That must the burning of my heat allay. +I bring to you no rude unpractiz'd hands, +Already doe they reeke with mothers' blood. +Tush, that's but innocent[43] to what now I meane: +Alasse, what evell could those yeeres commit! +The world in this shall see my setled wit. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Seneca, Petronius_. + +_Seneca. Petronius_, you were at the _Theater_? + +_Petron_. _Seneca_, I was, and saw your Kingly Pupyll +In Mynstrills habit stand before the Iudges +Bowing those hands which the worlds Scepter hold, +And with great awe and reverence beseeching +Indifferent hearing and an equall doome. +Then Caesar doubted first to be oreborne; +And so he ioyn'd himselfe to th'other singers +And straightly all other Lawes oth' Stage observ'd, +As not (though weary) to sit downe, not spit, +Not wipe his sweat off but with what he wore.[44] +Meane time how would he eye his adversaries, +How he would seeke t'have all they did disgract; +Traduce them privily, openly raile at them; +And them he could not conquer so he would +Corrupt with money to doe worse then he. +This was his singing part: his acting now. + +_Seneca_. Nay, even end here, for I have heard enough; +I[45] have a Fidler heard him, let me not +See him a Player, nor the fearefull voyce +Of _Romes_ great Monarch now command in Iest-- +Our Prince be _Agamemnon_[46] in a Play! + +_Petron_. Why,[47] _Seneca_, 'Tis better in [a] Play +Be _Agamemnon_ than himselfe indeed. +How oft, with danger of the field beset +Or with home mutineys, would he unbee +Himselfe; or, over cruel alters weeping, +Wish that with putting off a vizard hee +Might his true inward sorrow lay aside. +The showes of things are better then themselves. +How doth it stirre this ayery part of us +To heare our Poets tell imagin'd fights +And the strange blowes that fained courage gives! +When I[48] _Achilles_ heare upon the Stage +Speake Honour and the greatnesse of his soule, +Me thinkes I too could on a _Phrygian_ Speare +Runne boldly and make tales for after times; +But when we come to act it in the deed +Death mars this bravery, and the ugly feares +Of th'other world sit on the proudest browe, +And boasting Valour looseth his red cheeke. + + _A Romane to them_. + +_Rom_. Fire, fire! helpe, we burne! + +2 _Rom_. Fire, water, fire, helpe, fire! + +_Seneca_. Fire? Where? + +_Petron_. Where? What fire? + +_Rom_. O round about, here, there, on every side +The girdling flame doth with unkind embraces +Compasse the Citie. + +_Petron_. How came this fire? by whom? + +_Seneca_. Wast chance or purpose? + +_Petron_. Why is't not quencht? + +_Rom_. Alas, there are a many there with weapons, +And whether it be for pray or by command +They hinder, nay, they throwe on fire-brands.[49] + + _Enter Antonius to them_. + +_Anton_. The fire increaseth and will not be staid, +But like a stream[50] that tumbling from a hill +Orewhelmes the fields, orewhelmes the hopefull toyle +Oth' husbandman and headlong beares the woods; +The unweeting Shepheard on a Rocke afarre +Amazed heares the feareful noyse; so here +Danger and Terror strive which shall exceed. +Some cry and yet are well; some are kild silent; +Some kindly runne to helpe their neighbours house, +The whilest their own's afire;[51] some save their goods +And leave their dearer pledges in the flame; +One takes his little sonnes with trembling hands; +Tother his house-Gods saves, which could not him; +All bann the doer, and with wishes kill +Their absent Murderer. + +_Petron_. What, are the _Gauls_ returnd? +Doth _Brennus_ brandish fire-brands againe? + +_Seneca_. What can Heaven now unto our suffrings adde? + + _Enter another Romane to them_. + +_Rom_. O all goes downe, _Rome_ falleth from the Roofe; +The winds aloft, the conquering flame turnes all +Into it selfe. Nor doe the Gods escape; +_Plei[a]des_ burnes; _Iupiter, Saturne_ burnes; +The Altar now is made a sacrifice, +And _Vesta_ mournes to see her Virgin fires +Mingle with prophane ashes. + +_Seneca_. Heaven, hast thou set this end to Roman greatnesse? +Were the worlds spoyles for this to Rome devided +To make but our fires bigger? +You Gods, whose anger made us great, grant yet +Some change in misery. We begge not now +To have our Consull tread on _Asian_ Kings +Or spurne the quivered _Susa_ at their feet; +This we have had before: we beg to live, +At least not thus to die. Let _Cannae_[52] come, +Let _Allias_[53] waters turne again to blood: +To these will any miseries be light. + +_Petron_. Why with false _Auguries_ have we bin deceiv'd? +Why was our Empire told us should endure +With Sunne and Moone in time, in brightnesse pass them, +And that our end should be oth' world and it? +What, can Celestiall Godheads double too? + +_Seneca_. _O Rome_, the envy late +But now the pitie of the world! the _Getes_[54]? +The men of _Cholcos_ at thy sufferings grive; +The shaggy dweller in the _Scithian_ Rockes, +The _Mosch_[55] condemned to perpetual snowes, +That never wept at kindreds burials +Suffers with thee and feeles his heart to soften. +O should the _Parthyan_ heare these miseries +He would (his low and native hate apart[56]) +Sit downe with us and lend an Enemies teare +To grace the funerall fires of ending Rome. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Soft Musique. Enter Nero above alone with a Timbrell_. + +I, now my _Troy_ lookes beautious in her flames; +The _Tyrrhene_ Seas are bright with _Roman_ fires +Whilst the amazed Mariner afarre, +Gazing on th'unknowne light, wonders what starre +Heaven hath begot to ease the aged Moone. +When _Pirrhus_, stryding ore the cynders, stood +On ground where _Troy_ late was, and with his Eye +Measur'd the height of what he had throwne downe,-- +A Citie great in people and in power, +Walls built with hands of God--he now forgive[s] +The ten yeares length and thinkes his wounds well heald, +Bath'd in the blood of _Priams_ fifty sonnes. +Yet am not I appeas'd; I must see more +Then Towers and Collomns tumble to the ground; +'Twas not the high built walls and guiltlesse stones +That _Nero_ did provoke: themselves must be the wood +To feed this fire or quench it with their blood. + + _Enter a Woman with a burnt Child_. + +_Wom_. O my deare Infant, O my Child, my Child, +Unhappy comfort of my nine moneths paines; +And did I beare thee only for the fire, +Was I to that end made a mother? + +_Nero_. I, now begins the sceane that I would have. + + _Enter a Man bearing another dead_. + +_Man_. O Father, speake yet; no, the mercilesse blowe +Hath all bereft speech, motion, sense and life. + +_Wom_. O beauteous innocence, whitenes ill blackt, +How to be made a coale didst thou deserve? + +_Man_. O reverend wrinckles, well becoming palenesse, +Why hath death now lifes colours given thee +And mockes thee with the beauties of fresh youth? + +_Wom_. Why wert thou given me to be tane away +So soone, or could not Heaven tell how to punish +But first by blessing mee? + +_Man_. Why where thy years +Lengthened so long to be cut off untimely? + +_Nero_. Play on, play on, and fill the golden skies +With cryes and pitie, with your blood; Mens Eyes[57]-- + +_Wom_. Where are thy flattering smiles, thy pretty kisses, +And armes that wont to writhe about my necke? + +_Man_. Where are thy counsels? where thy good example, +And that kind roughnes of a Father's anger? + +_Wom_. Whom have I now to leane my old age on? + +_Man_. Who shall I now have to set right my youth? +Gods, if yee be not fled from Heaven, helpe us. + +_Nero_. I like this Musique well; they like not mine. +Now in the teare[s] of all men let me sing, +And make it doubtfull to the Gods above +Whether the Earth be pleas'd or doe complaine. + + (_Within, cantat_.) + +_Man_. But may the man that all this blood hath shed +Never bequeath to th'earth an old gray head; +Let him untimely be cut off before. +And leave a course like this, all wounds and gore; +Be there no friends at hand, no standers by +In love or pittie mov'd to close that Eye: +O let him die, the wish and hate of all, +And not a teare to grace his Funerall. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Wom_. Heaven, you will heare (that which the world doth scorn) +The prayers of misery and soules forlorne. +Your anger waxeth by delaying stronger, +O now for mercy be despis'd no longer; +Let him that makes so many Mothers childlesse +Make his unhappy in her fruitfulnesse. +Let him no issue leave to beare his name +Or sonne to right a Fathers wronged fame; +Our flames to quit be righteous in your yre, +And when he dies let him want funerall fire. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Nero_. Let Heaven do what it will, this I have done. +Already doe you feel my furies waight: +Rome is become a grave of her late greatnes; +Her clowdes of smoke have tane away the day, +Her flames the night. +Now, unbeleaving Eyes, what crave you more? + + _Enter Neophilus to him_. + +_Neoph_. O save your selfe, my Lord: your Pallace burnes. + +_Nero_. My Pallace? how? what traiterous hand? + + _Enter Tigellinus to them_. + +_Tigell_. O flie, my Lord, and save your selfe betimes. +The winde doth beate the fire upon your house, +The eating flame devoures your double gates; +Your pillars fall, your golden roofes doe melt; +Your antique Tables and Greeke Imagery +The fire besets; and the smoake, you see, +Doth choake my speech: O flie and save your life. + +_Nero_. Heaven thou dost strive, I see, for victory. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 5.) + + + _Enter Nimphidius solus_. + +See how Fate workes unto their purpos'd end +And without all selfe-Industry will raise +Whom they determine to make great and happy. +_Nero_ throwes down himselfe, I stirre him not; +He runnes unto destruction, studies wayes +To compasse danger and attaine the hate +Of all. Bee his owne wishis on his head, +Nor _Rome_ with fire more then revenges burne. +Let me stand still or lye or sleepe, I rise. +_Poppea_ some new favour will seeke out +My wakings to salute; I cannot stirre +But messages of new preferment meet me. +Now she hath made me Captaine of the Guard +So well I beare me in these night Alarmes +That she imagin'd I was made for Armes. +I now command the Souldier,[58] he the Citie: +If any chance doe turne the Prince aside +(As many hatreds, mischiefes threaten him) +Ours is his wife; his seat and throwne is ours: +He's next in right that hath the strongest powers. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 6.) + + + _Enter Scevinus, Milichus_. + +_Scevin_. O _Troy_ and O yee soules of our forefathers +Which in your countreys fires were offered up, +How neere your Nephews[59] to your fortunes come. +Yet they were _Grecian_ hands began your flame; +But that our Temples and our houses smoake, +Our Marble buildings turne to be our Tombes, +Burnt bones and spurnt at Courses fill the streets, +Not _Pirrhus_ nor thou, _Hanniball_, art Author: +Sad _Rome_ is ruin'd by a _Romane_ hand. +But if to _Neroes_ end this onely way +Heavens Justice hath chose out, and peoples love +Could not but by these feebling ills be mov'd, +We doe not then at all complaine; our harmes +On this condition please us; let us die +And cloy the _Parthian_ with revenge and pitie. + +_Mili_. My Master hath seald up his Testament; +Those bond-men which he liketh best set free; +Given money, and more liberally then he us'd. +And now, as if a farewell to the world +Were meant, a sumpteous banquet hath he made; +Yet not with countenance that feasters use, +But cheeres his friends the whilest himselfe lookes sad. + +_Scevin_. I have from Fortunes Temple[60] tane this sword; +May it be fortunate and now at least, +Since it could not prevent, punish the Evill. +To _Rome_ it had bin better done before, +But though lesse helping now they'le praise it more. +Great Soveraigne of all mortall actions. +Whom only wretched men and Poets blame, +Speed thou the weapon which I have from thee. +'Twas not amid thy Temple Monuments +In vaine repos'd; somewhat I know't hath done: +O with new honours let it be laid up. +Strike bouldly, arme; so many powerful prayers +Of dead and living hover over thee. + +_Mili_. And though sometimes with talk impertinent +And idle fances he would fame a mirth, +Yet is it easie seene somewhat is heere +The which he dares not let his face make shew of. + +_Scevin_. Long want of use[61] hath made it dull and blunt.-- +See, _Milichus_, this weapon better edg'd. + +_Mili_. Sharpning of swords? When must wee then have blowes? +Or meanes my Master, _Cato_-like, to exempt +Himselfe from power of Fates and, cloy'd with life, +Give the Gods backe their unregarded gift? +But he hath neither _Catoes_ mind nor cause; +A man given ore to pleasures and soft ease. +Which makes me still to doubt how in affaires +Of Princes he dares meddle or desires. + +_Scevin_. We shall have blowes on both sides.--_Milichus_, +Provide me store of cloathes to bind up wounds.-- +What an't be heart for heart; Death is the worst. +The Gods sure keepe it, hide from us that live. +How sweet death is because we should goe on +And be their bailes.--There are about the house +Some stones that will stanch blood; see them set up.-- +This world I see hath no felicitie: +Ile trie the other. + +_Mili_. _Neroes_ life is sought;[62] +The sword's prepar'd against anothers breast, +The helpe for his. It can be no private foe, +For then 'twere best to make it knowne and call +His troupes of bond and freed men to his aide. +Besides his Counsellors, _Seneca_ +And _Lucan_, are no Managers of quarrels. + +_Scevin_. Me thinkes I see him struggling on the ground, +Heare his unmanly outcries and lost prayers +Made to the Gods which turne their heads away. +_Nero_, this day must end the worlds desires +And head-long send thee to unquenched fires. [_Exit_. + +_Mili_. Why doe I further idly stand debating? +My proofes are but too many and too frequent, +And Princes Eares still to suspitions open. +Who ever, being but accus'd, was quit? +For States are wise and cut of ylls that may be. +Meane men must die that t'other may sleepe sound. +Chiefely that[63] rule whose weaknes, apt to feares, +And bad deserts of all men makes them know +There's none but is in heart what hee's accused. + [_Exit_. + +_Finis Actus Tertii_. + + + +_Actus Quartus. + + + Enter Nero, Poppaea, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus, + and Epaphroditus_. + +_Nero_. This kisse, sweete love Ile force from thee, and this; +And of such spoiles and victories be prowder +Than if I had the fierce _Pannonian_ +Or gray-eyed _German_ ten times overcome. +Let _Iulius_ goe and fight at end oth' world +And conquer from the wilde inhabitants +Their cold and poverty, whilst _Nero_ here +Makes other warres, warres where the conquerd gaines, +Where to orecome is to be prisoner. +O willingly I give my freedome up +And put on my owne chaines, +And am in love with my captivitie. +Such _Venus_ is when on the sandy shore +Of _Xanthus_ or on _Idas_ pleasant greene +She leades the dance; her the Nymphes all a-rowe[64] +And smyling graces do accompany. +If _Bacchus_ could his stragling Mynion +Grace with a glorious wreath of shining Starres, +Why should not Heaven my _Poppaea_ Crowne? +The Northerne teeme shall move into a round, +New constellations rise to honour thee; +The earth shall wooe thy favours and the Sea +Lay his rich shells and treasure at thy feete. +For thee _Hidaspis_ shall throw up his gold, +_Panchaia_ breath the rich delightful smells; +The _Seres_ and the feather'd man of _Inde_ +Shall their fine arts and curious labours bring; +And where the Sunn's not knowne _Poppaeas_ name +Shall midst their feasts and barbarous pompe be sung. + +_Poppea_. I, now I am worthy to be Queene oth' world, +Fairer then _Venus_ or the _Bacchus_ love; +But you'le anon unto your cutt-boy[65] _Sporus_, +Your new made woman; to whom now, I heare, +You are wedded too. + +_Nero_. I wedded? + +_Poppaea_. I, you wedded. +Did you not heare the words oth' _Auspyces_? +Was not the boy in bride-like garments drest? +Marriage bookes seald as 'twere for yssue to +Be had betweene you? solemne feasts prepar'd, +While all the Court with _God-give-you-Ioy_ sounds? +It had bin good _Domitius_ your Father +Had nere had other wife. + +_Nero_. Your froward, foole; y'are still so bitter. +Whose that? + + _Enter Milichus to them_. + +_Nimph_. One that it seemes, my Lord, doth come in hast. + +_Nero_. Yet in his face he sends his tale before him. +Bad newes thou tellest? + +_Mili_. 'Tis bad I tell, but good that I can tell it +Therefore your Maiestie will pardon me +If I offend your eares to save your life. + +_Nero_. Why? is my life indangerd? +How ends the circumstance? thou wrackst my thoughts. + +_Mili_. My Lord, your life is conspir'd against. + +_Nero_. By whom? + +_Mili_. I must be of the world excus'd in this, +If the great dutie to your Maiestie, +Makes me all other lesser to neglect. + +_Nero_. Th'art a tedious fellow. Speake: by whom? + +_Mili_. By my Master. + +_Nero_. Who's thy Master? + +_Mili_. _Scevinus_. + +_Poppea_. _Scevinus_? why should he conspire?-- +Unlesse he thinke that likenesse in conditions +May make him, too, worthy oth' Empire thought. + +_Nero_. Who are else in it? + +[_Mili_]. I thinke _Natalis, Subrius, Flavus_,[66] +_Lucan, Seneca, and Lucius Piso, +Asper_ and _Quintilianus_. + +_Nero_. Ha done, +Thou'ilt reckon all Rome anone; and so thou maist, +Th'are villaines all, Ile not trust one of them. +O that the _Romanes_ had all but one necke! + +_Poppea_. _Pisoes_ slie creeping into mens affections +And popular arts have given long cause of doubt; +And th'others late observed discontents, +Risen from misinterpreted disgraces, +May make us credit this relation. + +_Nero_. Where are they? come they not upon us yet? +See the Guard doubled, see the Gates shut up. +Why, they'le surprise us in our Court anon. + +_Mili_. Not so, my Lord; they are at _Pisoes_ house +And thinke themselves yet safe and undiscry'd. + +_Nero_. Lets thither then, +And take them in this false security. + +_Tigell_. 'Twere better first to publish them traytors. + +_Nimph_. That were to make them so +And force them all upon their Enemies. +Now without stirre or hazard theyle be tane +And boldly triall dare and law demaund; +Besides, this accusation may be forg'd +By mallice or mistaking. + +_Poppea_. What likes you doe, _Nimphidius_, out of hand: +Two waies distract when either would prevaile. +If they, suspecting but this fellowes absence, +Should try the Citie and attempt their friends +How dangerous might _Pisoes_ favour be? + +_Nimph_. I to himselfe[67] would make the matter cleare +Which now upon one servants credit stands. +The Cities favour keepes within the bonds +Of profit, they'le love none to hurt themselves; +Honour and friendship they heare others name, +Themselves doe neither feele nor know the same. +To put them yet (though needlesse) in some feare +Weele keepe their streets with armed companies; +Then, if they stirre, they see their wives and houses +Prepar'd a pray to th'greedy Souldier. + +_Poppea_. Let us be quicke then, you to _Pisoes_ house, +While I and _Tigellinus_ further sift +This fellowes knowledge. + + [_Ex. omnes praeter Nero_. + +_Nero_. Looke to the gates and walles oth' Citie; looke +The river be well kept; have watches set +In every passage and in every way.-- +But who shall watch these watches? What if they, +Begin and play the Traitors first? O where shall I +Seeke faith or them that I may wisely trust? +The Citie favours the conspirators; +The Senate in disgrace and feare hath liv'd; +The Camp--why? most are souldiers that he named; +Besides, he knowes not all, and like a foole +I interrupted him, else had he named +Those that stood by me. O securitie, +Which we so much seeke after, yet art still +To Courts a stranger and dost rather choose +The smoaky reedes and sedgy cottages +Then the proud roofes and wanton cost of kings. +O sweet dispised ioyes of poverty, +A happines unknowne unto the Gods! +Would I had rather in poore _Gabii_[68] bin +Or _Ulubrae_ a ragged Magistrate, +Sat as a Iudge of measures and of corne +Then the adored Monarke of the world. +Mother, thou didst deservedly in this, +That from a private and sure state didst raise +My fortunes to this slippery hill of greatnesse +Where I can neither stand nor fall with life. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Piso, Lucan, Scevinus, Flavius_. + +_Flav_. But, since we are discover'd, what remaines +But put our lives upon our hands? these swords +Shall try us Traitors or true Citizens. + +_Scevin_. And what should make this hazard doubt successe? +Stout men are oft with sudden onsets danted: +What shall this Stage-player be? + +_Lucan_. It is not now +_Augustus_ gravitie nor _Tiberius_ craft, +But _Tigellinus_ and _Chrisogonus_, +Eunuckes and women that we goe against. + +_Scevin_. This for thy owne sake, this for ours we begg, +That thou wilt suffer him to be orecome; +Why shouldst thou keepe so many vowed swords +From such a hated throate? + +_Flav_. Or shall we feare +To trust unto the Gods so good a cause? + +_Lucan_. By this we may ourselves Heavens favour promise +Because all noblenesse and worth on earth +We see's on our side. Here the _Fabys_ sonne, +Here the _Corvini_ are and take that part +There noble Fathers would, if now they liv'd. +There's not a soule that claimes Nobilitie, +Either by his or his forefathers merit, +But is with us; with us the gallant youth +Whom passed dangers or hote bloud makes bould; +Staid men suspect their wisdome or their faith +To whom our counsels we have not reveald; +And while (our party seeking to disgrace) +They traitors call us, each man treason praiseth +And hateth faith when _Piso_ is a traitor. + +_Scevin_. And,[69] at adventure, what by stoutnesse can +Befall us worse than will by cowardise? +If both the people and the souldier failde us +Yet shall we die at least worthy our selves, +Worthy our ancestors. O _Piso_ thinke, +Thinke on that day when in the _Parthian_ fields +Thou cryedst to th'flying Legions to turne +And looke Death in the face; he was not grim +But faire and lovely when he came in armes. +O why there di'd we not on _Syrian_ swords? +Were we reserv'd to prisons and to chaines? +Behold the Galley-asses in every street; +And even now they come to clap on yrons. +Must _Pisoes_ head be shewed upon a pole? +Those members torne, rather then _Roman_-like +And _Piso_-like with weapons in our hands +Fighting in throng of enemies to die? +And that it shall not be a civill warre +_Nero_ prevents, whose cruelty hath left +Few Citizens; we are not Romans now +But Moores, and Jewes, and utmost Spaniards, +And _Asiaes_ refuse[70] that doe fill the Citie. + +_Piso_. Part of us are already tak'n; the rest +Amaz'd and seeking holes. Our hidden ends +You see laid open; Court and Citie arm'd +And for feare ioyning to the part they feare. +Why should we move desperate and hopelesse armes +And vainely spill that noble bloud that should +Christall _Rubes_[71] and the _Median_ fields, +Not _Tiber_ colour? And the more your show be, +Your loves and readinesse to loose your lives, +The lother I am to adventure them. +Yet am I proud you would for me have dy'd; +But live, and keepe your selves to worthier ends. +No Mother but my owne shall weepe my death +Nor will I make, by overthrowing us, +Heaven guiltie of more faults yet; from the hopes +Your owne good wishes rather then the thing +Doe make you see, this comfort I receive +Of death unforst. O friends I would not die +When I can live no longer; 'tis my glory +That free and willing I give up this breath, +Leaving such courages as yours untri'd. +But to be long in talk of dying would +Shew a relenting and a doubtfull mind: +By this you shall my quiet thoughts intend; +I blame not Earth nor Heaven for my end.[72] + (_He dies_.) + +_Lucan_. O that this noble courage had bin shewne +Rather on enemies breasts then on thy owne. + +_Scevin_. But sacred and inviolate be thy will, +And let it lead and teach us. +This sword I could more willingly have thrust +Through _Neroes_ breast; that fortune deni'd me, +It now shall through _Scevinus_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Tigellinus solus_. + +What multitudes of villaines are here gotten +In a conspiracy, which _Hydra_ like +Still in the cutting off increaseth more. +The more we take the more are still appeach[t], +And every man brings in new company. +I wonder what we shall doe with them all! +The prisons cannot hold more then they have, +The Iayles are full, the holes with Gallants stincke; +Strawe and gold lace together live, I thinke. +'Twere best even shut the gates oth' Citie up +And make it all one Iayle; for this I am sure, +There's not an honest man within the walles. +And, though the guilty doth exceed the free,[73] +Yet through a base and fatall cowardise +They all assist in taking one another +And by their owne hands are to prison led. +There's no condition nor degree of men +But here are met; men of the sword and gowne, +_Plebeians, Senators_, and women too; +Ladies that might have slaine him with their eye +Would use their hands; Philosophers +And Polititians. Polititians? +Their plot was laid too short. Poets would now +Not only write but be the arguments +Of Tragedies. The Emperour's much pleased: +But[74] some have named _Seneca_; and I +Will have _Petronius_. One promise of pardon +Or feare of torture will accusers find. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Enter Nimphidius, Lucan, Scevinus, with a guard_. + +_Nimph_. Though _Pisoes_ suddennesse and guilty hand +Prevented hath the death he should have had, +Yet you abide it must. + +_Lucan_. O may the earth lye lightly on his Course, +Sprinckle his ashes with your flowers and teares; +The love and dainties of mankind is gone. + +_Scevin_. What onely now we can, we'le follow thee +That way thou lead'st and waite on thee in death; +Which we had done had not these hindred us. + +_Nimph_. Nay, other ends your grievous crimes awaite, +Ends which the law and your deserts exact. + +_Scevin_. What have we deserved? + +_Nimph_. That punishment that traitors unto Princes, +And enemies to the State they live, in merit. + +_Scevin_. If by the State this government you meane +I iustly am an enemy unto it. +That's but to _Nero_, you and _Tigellinus_. +That glorious world that even beguiles the wise, +Being lookt into, includes but three or foure +Corrupted men, which were they all remov'd +'Twould for the common State much better be. + +_Nimph_. Why, what can you ith' government mislike, +Unlesse it grieve you that the world's in peace +Or that our arm[i]es conquer without blood? +Hath not his power with forraine visitations +And strangers honour more acknowlldg'd bin +Then any was afore him? Hath not hee +Dispos'd of frontier kingdomes with successe? +Given away Crownes, whom he set up availing? +The rivall seat of the _Arsacidae_, +That thought their brightnesse equall unto ours, +Is't crown'd by him, by him doth raigne? +If we have any warre it's beyond _Rhene_ +And _Euphrates_, and such whose different chances +Have rather serv'd for pleasure and discourse +Then troubled us. At home the Citie hath +Increast in wealth, with building bin adorn'd, +The arts have flourisht and the Muses sung; +And that his Iustice and well tempered raigne +Have the best Iudges pleas'd, the powers divine, +Their blessings and so long prosperitie +Of th'Empire under him enough declare. + +_Scevin_. You freed the State from warres abroad, but 'twas +To spoile at home more safely and divert +The _Parthian_ enmitie on us; and yet +The glory rather and the spoyles of warre +Have wanting bin, the losse and charge we have. +Your peace is full of cruelty and wrong; +Lawes taught to speake to present purposes; +Wealth and faire houses dangerous faults become; +Much blood ith' Citie and no common deaths, +But Gentlemen and Consulary houses. +On _Caesars_ owne house looke: hath that bin free? +Hath he not shed the blood he calls divine? +Hath not that neerenes which should love beget +Always on him bin cause of hate and feare? +Vertue and power suspected and kept downe? +They, whose great ancestors this Empire made, +Distrusted in the government thereof? +A happy state where _Decius_ is a traytor, +_Narcissus_ true! nor onley wast unsafe +T'offend the Prince; his freed men worse were feard, +Whose wrongs with such insulting pride were heard +That even the faultie it made innocent +If we complain'd that was it selfe a crime, +I, though it were to _Caesars_ benefit: +Our writings pry'd into, falce guiltines +Thinking each taxing pointed out it selfe; +Our private whisperings listned after; nay, +Our thoughts were forced out of us and punisht; +And had it bin in you to have taken away +Our understanding as you did our speech, +You would have made us thought this honest too. + +_Nimph_. Can malice narrow eyes +See anything yet more it can traduce? + +_Scevin_. His long continued taxes I forbeare, +In which he chiefely showed him to be Prince; +His robbing Alters,[75] sale of Holy things, +The Antique Goblets of adored rust +And sacred gifts of kings and people sold. +Nor was the spoile more odious than the use +They were imployd on; spent on shame and lust, +Which still have bin so endless in their change +And made us know a divers servitude. +But that he hath bin suffered so long +And prospered, as you say; for that to thee, +O Heaven, I turne my selfe and cry, "No God +Hath care of us." Yet have we our revenge, +As much as Earth may be reveng'd on Heaven: +Their divine honour _Nero_ shall usurpe, +And prayers and feasts and adoration have +As well as _Iupiter_. + +_Nimph_. Away, blaspheming tongue, +Be ever silent for thy bitternesse. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 5.) + + + _Enter Nero, Poppaea, Tigellinus, Flavius, Neophilus, + Epaphroditus, and a yong man_. + +_Nero_. What could cause thee, +Forgetfull of my benefits and thy oath, +To seeke my life? + +_Flav_. _Nero_, I hated thee: +Nor was there any of thy souldiers +More faithful, while thou faith deserv'dst, then I. +Together did I leave to be a subject, +And thou a Prince. Caesar was now become +A Player on the Stage, a Waggoner, +A burner of our houses and of us, +A Paracide of Wife and Mother.[76] + +_Tigell_. Villaine, dost know where and of whom thou speakst? + +_Nero_. Have you but one death for him? Let it bee +A feeling one; _Tigellinus_, bee't[77] +Thy charge, and let me see thee witty in't. + +_Tigell_. Come, sirrah; +Weele see how stoutly you'le stretch out your necke. + +_Flav_. Wold thou durst strike as stoutly. + [_Exit Tigell. and Flav_. + +_Nero_. And what's hee there? + +_Epaphr_. One that in whispering oreheard[78] +What pitie 'twas, my Lord, that _Pisoe_ died. + +_Nero_. And why was't pitie, sirrah, _Pisoe_ died? + +_Yong_. My Lord, 'twas pitie he deserv'd to die. + +_Poppaea_. How much this youth my _Otho_ doth resemble; (_aside_.) +_Otho_ my first, my best love who is now +(Under pretext of governing) exyl'd +To _Lucitania_, honourably banish't. + +_Nero_. Well, if you be so passionate, +Ile make you spend your pitie on your Prince +And good men, not on traytors. + +_Yong_. The Gods forbid my Prince should pitie need. +Somewhat the sad remembrance did me stirre +Oth' fraile and weake condition of our kind, +Somewhat his greatnesse; then whom yesterday +The world but _Caesar_ could shew nothing higher. +Besides, some vertues and some worth he had, +That might excuse my pitie to an end +So cruell and unripe. + +_Poppaea_. I know not how this stranger moves my mind. (_Aside_.) +His face me thinkes is not like other mens, +Nor do they speake thus. Oh, his words invade +My weakned senses and overcome my heart. + +_Nero_. Your pitie shewes your favour and your will, +Which side you are inclinde too, had you[79] power: +You can but pitie, else should _Caesar_ feare. +Your ill affection then shall punisht bee. +Take him to execution; he shall die +That the death pities of mine enemie. + +_Yong_. This benefit at least +Sad death shall give, to free me from the power +Of such a government; and if I die +For pitying humane chance and _Pisoes_ end +There will be some too that will pitie mine. + +_Poppaea_. O what a dauntlesse looke, what sparkling eyes, (_aside.)_ +Threating in suffering! sure some noble blood +Is hid in ragges; feares argues a base spirit; +In him what courage and contempt of death! +And shall I suffer one I love to die? +He shall not die.--Hands of this man! Away! +_Nero_, thou shalt not kill this guiltlesse man. + +_Nero_. He guiltlesse? Strumpet! + + (_Spurns her, and Poppaea falls_.) + +She is in love with the smooth face of the boy. + +_Neoph_. Alas, my Lord, you have slaine her. + +_Epaphr_. Helpe, she dies. + +_Nero_. _Poppaea, Poppaea_, speake, I am not angry; +I did not meane to hurt thee; speake, sweet love. + +_Neoph_. She's dead, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Fetch her againe, she shall not die: +Ile ope the Iron gates of hell +And breake the imprison'd shaddowes of the deepe, +And force from death this farre too worthy pray. +She is not dead: +The crimson red that like the morning shone, +When from her windowes (all with Roses strewde) +She peepeth forth, forsakes not yet her cheekes; +Her breath, that like a hony-suckle smelt, +Twining about the prickled Eglintine, +Yet moves her lips; those quicke and piercing eyes, +That did in beautie challenge heaven's eyes,[80] +Yet shine as they were wont. O no, they doe not; +See how they grow obscure. O see, they close +And cease to take or give light to the world. +What starres so ere you are assur'd to grace +The[81] firmament (for, loe, the twinkling fires +Together throng and that cleare milky space, +Of stormes and _Phiades_ and thunder void, +Prepares your roome) do not with wry aspect +Looke on your _Nero_, who in blood shall mourne +Your lucklesse fate, and many a breathing soule +Send after you to waite upon their Queene. +This shall begin; the rest shall follow after, +And fill the streets with outcryes and with slaughter. + + [_Exeunt_.] + + + +(SCENE 6.) + + + _Enter Seneca with two of his friends_. + +_Seneca_. What meanes your mourning, this ungrateful sorrow? +Where are your precepts of _Philosophie_, +Where our prepared resolution +So many yeeres fore-studied against danger? +To whom is _Neroes_ cruelty unknowne, +Or what remained after mothers blood +But his instructors death? Leave, leave these teares; +Death from me nothing takes but what's a burthen, +A clog to that free sparke of Heavenly fire. +But that in _Seneca_ the which you lov'd, +Which you admir'd, doth and shall still remaine, +Secure of death, untouched of the grave. + +1 _Friend_. Weele not belie our teares; we waile not thee, +It is our selves and our owne losse we grieve: +To thee what losse in such a change can bee? +Vertue is paid her due by death alone. +To our owne losses do we give these teares, +That loose thy love, thy boundlesse knowledge loose, +Loose the unpatternd sample of thy vertue, +Loose whatsoev'r may praise or sorrow move. +In all these losses yet of this we glory, +That 'tis thy happinesse that makes us sorry. + +2 _Friend_. If there be any place for Ghosts of good men, +If (as we have bin long taught) great mens soules +Consume not with their bodies, thou shalt see +(Looking from out the dwellings of the ayre) +True duties to thy memorie perform'd; +Not in the outward pompe of funerall, +But in remembrance of thy deeds and words, +The oft recalling of thy many vertues. +The Tombe that shall th'eternall relickes keepe +Of _Seneca_ shall be his hearers hearts. + +_Seneca_. Be not afraid, my soule; goe cheerefully +To thy owne Heaven, from whence it first let downe. +Thou loathly[82] this imprisoning flesh putst on; +Now, lifted up, thou ravisht shalt behold +The truth of things at which we wonder here, +And foolishly doe wrangle on beneath; +And like a God shalt walk the spacious ayre, +And see what even to conceit's deni'd. +Great soule oth' world, that through the parts defus'd +Of this vast All, guid'st what thou dost informe; +You blessed mindes that from the _[S]pheares_ you move, +Looke on mens actions not with idle eyes, +And Gods we goe to, aid me in this strife +And combat of my flesh that, ending, I +May still shew _Seneca_ and my selfe die. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 7.) + + + _Enter Antonius, Enanthe_. + +_Anton_. Sure this message of the Princes, +So grievous and unlookt for, will appall +_Petronius_ much. + +_Enan_. Will not death any man? + +_Anton_. It will; but him so much the more +That, having liv'd to his pleasure, shall forgoe +So delicate a life. I doe not marvell[83] +That _Seneca_ and such sowre fellowes can +Leave that they never tasted, but when we +That have the _Nectar_ of thy kisses felt, +That drinkes away the troubles of this life, +And but one banquet make[s] of forty yeeres, +Must come to leave this;--but, soft, here he is. + + _Enter Petronius and a Centurion_. + +_Petron_. Leave me a while, _Centurion_, to my friends; +Let me my farewell take, and thou shalt see +_Neroes_ commandement quickly obaid in mee. [_Ex. Centur_. +--Come, let us drinke and dash the posts with wine! +Here throw your flowers; fill me a swelling bowle +Such as _Mecenas_ or my _Lucan_ dranke +On _Virgills_ birth day.[84] + +_Enan_. What meanes, _Petronius_, this unseasonable +And causelesse mirth? Why, comes not from the Prince +This man to you a messenger of death? + +_Petron_. Here, faire _Enanthe_, whose plumpe, ruddy cheeke +Exceeds the grape!--It makes this[85]--here, my geyrle. (_He drinks_.) +--And thinkst thou death a matter of such harme? +Why, he must have this pretty dimpling chin, +And will pecke out those eyes that now so wound. + +_Enan_. Why, is it not th'extreamest of all ills? + +_Petron_. It is indeed the last and end of ills. +The Gods, before th'would let us tast deaths Ioyes, +Plact us ith' toyle and sorrowes of this world, +Because we should perceive th'amends and thanke them; +Death, the grim knave, but leades you to the doore +Where, entred once, all curious pleasures come +To meete and welcome you. +A troope of beauteous Ladies, from whose eyes +Love thousand arrows, thousand graces shootes, +Puts forth theire fair hands to you and invites +To their greene arbours and close shadowed walkes,[86] +Whence banisht is the roughness of our yeeres! +Onely the west wind blowes, its[87] ever Spring +And ever Sommer. There the laden bowes +Offer their tempting burdens to your hand, +Doubtful your eye or tast inviting more. +There every man his owne desires enioyes; +Fair _Lucrese_ lies by lusty _Tarquins_ side, +And woes him now againe to ravish her. +Nor us, though _Romane, Lais_ will refuse; +To _Corinth_[88] any man may goe; no maske, +No envious garment doth those beauties hide, +Which Nature made so moving to be spide. +But in bright Christall, which doth supply all, +And white transparent vailes they are attyr'd, +Through which the pure snow underneath doth shine; +(Can it be snowe from whence such flames arise?) +Mingled with that faire company shall we +On bankes of _Violets_ and of _Hiacinths_, +Of loves devising, sit and gently sport; +And all the while melodious Musique heare, +And Poets songs that Musique farre exceed, +The old _Anaiccan_[89] crown'd with smiling flowers, +And amorous _Sapho_ on her Lesbian Lute +Beauties sweet Scarres and Cupids godhead sing. + +_Anton_. What? be not ravisht with thy fancies; doe not +Court nothing, nor make love unto our feares. + +_Petron_. Is't nothing that I say? + +_Anton_. But empty words. + +_Petron_. Why, thou requir'st some instance of the eye. +Wilt thou goe with me, then, and see that world +Which either will returne thy old delights, +Or square thy appetite anew to theirs? + +_Anton_. Nay, I had rather farre believe thee here; +Others ambition such discoveries seeke. +Faith, I am satisfied with the base delights +Of common men. A wench, a house I have, +And of my own a garden: Ile not change +For all your walkes and ladies and rare fruits. + +_Petron_. Your pleasures must of force resign to these: +In vaine you shun the sword, in vaine the sea, +In vaine is _Nero_ fear'd or flattered. +Hether you must and leave your purchast houses, +Your new made garden and your black browd wife, +And of the trees thou hast so quaintly set, +Not one but the displeasant Cipresse shall +Goe with thee.[90] + +_Anton_. Faith 'tis true, we must at length; +But yet, _Petronius_, while we may awhile +We would enjoy them; those we have w'are sure of, +When that thou talke of's doubtful and to come. + +_Petron_. Perhaps thou thinkst to live yet twenty yeeres, +Which may unlookt for be cut off, as mine; +If not, to endlesse time compar'd is nothing. +What you endure must ever, endure now; +Nor stay not to be last at table set. +Each best day of our life at first doth goe, +To them succeeds diseased age and woe; +Now die your pleasures, and the dayes you[91] pray +Your rimes and loves and jests will take away. +Therefore, my sweet, yet thou wilt goe with mee, +And not live here to what thou wouldst not see. + +_Enan_. Would y'have me then [to] kill my selfe, and die, +And goe I know not to what places there? + +_Petron_. What places dost thou feare? +Th'ill-favoured lake they tell thee thou must passe, +And the[92] blacke frogs that croake about the brim? + +_Enan_. O, pardon, Sir, though death affrights a woman, +Whose pleasures though you timely here divine, +The paines we know and see. + +_Petron_. The paine is lifes; death rids that paine away. +Come boldly, there's no danger in this foord; +Children passe through it. If it be a paine +You have this comfort that you past it are. + +_Enan_. Yet all, as well as I, are loath to die. + +_Petron_. Judge them by deed, you see them doe't apace. + +_Enan_. I, but 'tis loathly and against their wils. + +_Petron_. Yet know you not that any being dead +Repented them and would have liv'd againe. +They then there errors saw and foolish prayers, +But you are blinded in the love of life; +Death is but sweet to them that doe approach it. +To me, as one that tak'n with _Delphick_ rage, +When the divining God his breast doth fill, +He sees what others cannot standing by, +It seemes a beauteous and pleasant thing.-- +Where is my deaths Phisitian? + +_Phisi_. Here, my Lord. + +_Petron_. Art ready? + +_Phisi_. I, my Lord. + +_Petron_. And I for thee: +Nero, my end shall mocke thy tyranny. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Quarti_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + + + _Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus, + Epaphroditus and other attendants_. + +_Nero_. Enough is wept, _Poppaea_, for thy death, +Enough is bled: so many teares of others +Wailing their losses have wipt mine away. +Who in the common funerall of the world +Can mourne on[e] death? + +_Tigell_. Besides, Your Maiestie this benefit +In their diserved punishment shall reape, +From all attempts hereafter to be freed. +Conspiracy is how for ever dasht, +Tumult supprest, rebellion out of heart; +In _Pisoes_ death danger it selfe did die. + +_Nimph_. _Piso_ that thought to climbe by bowing downe, +By giving a way to thrive, and raising others +To become great himselfe, hath now by death +Given quiet to your thoughts and feare to theirs +That shall from treason their advancement plot; +Those dangerous heads that his ambition leand on; +And they by it crept up and from their meannesse +Thought in this stirre to rise aloft, are off. +Now peace and safetie waite upon your throne; +Securitie hath wall'd your seat about; +There is no place for feare left. + +_Nero_. Why, I never feard them. + +_Nimph_. That was your fault: +Your Maiestie might give us leave to blame +Your dangerous courage and that noble soule +To prodigall[93] of it selfe. + +_Nero_. A Princes mind knowes neither feare nor hope: +The beames of royall Maiestie are such +As all eyes are with it amaz'd and weakened, +But it with nothing. I at first contemn'd +Their weak devises and faint enterprise. +Why, thought they against him to have prevail'd +Whose childhood was from _Messalinas_ spight +By Dragons[94] (that the earth gave up), preserv'd? +Such guard my cradle had, for fate had then +Pointed me out to be what now I am. +Should all the Legions and the provinces, +In one united, against me conspire +I could disperce them with one angry eye; +My brow's an host of men. Come, _Tigellinus_, +Let turne this bloody banquet _Piso_ meant us +Into a merry feast; weele drink and challenge +Fortune.--Whose that _Neophilus_? + + _Enter a Roman_. + +_Neoph_. A Currier from beyond the Alpes, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Newes of some German victory, belike, +Or Britton overthrow. + +_Neoph_. The letters come from France. + +_Nimph_. Why smiles your Maiestie? + +_Nero_. So, I smile? I should be afraid; there's one +In Armes, _Nimphidius_. + +_Nimph_. What, arm'd against your Maiestie? + +_Nero_. Our lieutenant of the Province, _Julius Vindex_. + +_Tigell_. Who? that guiddy French-man? + +_Nimph_. His Province is disarm'd, my Lord; he hath +No legion nor a souldier under him. + +_Epaphr_. One that by blood and rapine would repaire +His state consum'd in vanities and lust. + + _Enter another Roman_. + +_Tigell_. He would not find out three to follow him. + +_A Mess_. More newes, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Is it of _Vindex_ that thou hast to say? + +_Mess_. _Vindex_ is up and with him France in Armes; +The Noblemen and people throng to th'cause; +Money and Armour Cities doe conferre; +The countrey doth send in provision; +Young men bring bodies, old men lead them forth; +Ladies doe coine their Iewels into pay; +The sickle now is fram'd into a sword +And drawing horses are to manage taught; +France nothing doth but warre and fury breath. + +_Nero_. All this fierce talk's but "Vindex doth rebell"; +And I will hang him. + +_Tigell_. How long came you forth after the other messenger? + +_Mess_. Foure dayes, but by the benefit of sea and +Weather am arrivd with him. + +_Nimph_. How strong was _Vindex_ at your setting forth? + +_Mess_. He was esteem'd a hundred thousand. + +_Tigell_. Men enough. + +_Nimph_. And souldiers few enough; +Tumultuary troops, undisciplin'd, +Untrain'd in service; to wast victuals good, +But when they come to look on warres black wounds, +And but afarre off see the face of death-- + +_Nero_. It falles out for my empty coffers well, +The spoyle of such a large and goodly Province +Enricht with trade and long enioyed peace. + +_Tigell_. What order will your Maiestie have taken +For levying forces to suppresse this stirre? + +_Nero_. What order should we take? weele laugh and drinke. +Thinkst thou it fit my pleasures be disturb'd +When any French-man list to breake his necke! +They have not heard of _Pisoes_ fortune yet; +Let that Tale fight with them. + +_Nimph_. What order needs? Your Maiestie shal finde +This French heat quickly of it selfe grow cold. + +_Nero_. Come away: +Nothing shall come that this nights sport shall stay. + + [_Ex. Ner. Nimph. Tig. and attendants_. + + + _Mane[n]t Neophilus, Epaphroditus_. + +_Neoph_. I wonder what makes him so confident +In this revolt now growne unto a warre, +And ensignes in the field; when in the other, +Being but a plot of a conspiracie, +He shew'd himselfe so wretchedly dismaid? + +_Epaphr_. Faith, the right nature of a coward to set light +Dangers that seeme farre off. _Piso_ was here, +Ready to enter at the Presence doore +And dragge him out of his abused chaire; +And then he trembled. _Vindex_ is in France, +And many woods and seas and hills betweene. + +_Neoph_. 'Twas strange that _Piso_ was so soone supprest. + +_Epaphr_. Strange? strange indeed; for had he but come up +And taken the Court in that affright and stirre +While unresolv'd for whom or what to doe, +Each on [of?] the other had in iealousie +(While as apaled Maiestie not yet +Had time to set the countenance), he would +Have hazarded the royall seat. + +_Neoph_. Nay, had it without hazard; all the Court +Had for him bin and those disclos'd their love +And favour in the cause, which now to hide +And colour their good meanings ready were +To shew their forwardnesse against it most. + +_Epaphr_. But for a stranger with a naked province, +Without allies or friends ith' state, to challenge +A Prince upheld with thirty Legions, +Rooted in foure discents of Ancestors +And foureteene yeares continuance of raigne, +Why it is-- + + _Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus to them_. + +_Nero_. Galba and Spaine? What? Spaine and Gal[b]a too? + + [_Ex. Ner. Nimph_. + +_Epaph_. I pray thee, _Tigellinus_, what furie's this? +What strange event, what accident hath thus +Orecast your countenances? + +_Tigell_. Downe we were set at table and began +With sparckling bowles to chase our feares away, +And mirth and pleasure lookt out of our eyes; +When, loe, a breathless messenger arrives +And tells how _Vindex_ and the powers of France +Have _Sergius Galba_ chosen Emperor; +With what applause the Legions him receive; +That Spaines revolted, Portingale hath ioyn'd; +As much suspected is of Germany. +But _Nero_, not abiding out the end, +Orethrew the tables, dasht against the ground +The cuppe which he so much, you know, esteem'd; +Teareth his haire and with incensed rage +Curseth false men and Gods the lookers on. + +_Neoph_. His rage, we saw, was wild and desperate. + +_Epaph_. O you unsearched wisedomes which doe laugh +At our securitie and feares alike, +And plaine to shew our weaknesse and your power +Make us contemne the harmes which surest strike; +When you our glories and our pride undoe +Our overthrow you make ridiculous too. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Nimphidius solus_. + +Slow making counsels and the sliding yeere +Have brought me to the long foreseene destruction +Of this misled young man. His State is shaken +And I will push it on; revolted France +Nor the coniured Provinces of Spaine +Nor his owne guilt shall like to me oppresse him. +I to his easie yeelding feares proclaime +New German mutenys and all the world +Rowsing it selfe in hate of _Neroes_ name; +I his distracted counsels doe disperce +With fresh despaires; I animate the Senate +And the people, to ingage them past recall +In preiudice of _Nero_: and in briefe +Perish he must,--the fates and I resolve it. +Which to effect I presently will goe +Proclaime a _Donative_ in _Galbaes_ name. + + _Enter Antoneus to him_. + +_Anton_. Yonders _Nimphidius_, our Commander, now. +I with respect must speake and smooth my brow. +--Captaine, all haile. + +_Nimph_. _Antoneus_, well met. +Your place of _Tribune_ in this Anarchi. + +_Anton_. This Anarchy, my Lord? is _Nero_ dead? + +_Nimph_. This Anarchy, this yet unstiled time +While Galba is unseased of the Empire +Which _Nero_ hath forsooke. + +_Anton_. Hath _Nero_ then resign'd the Empire? + +_Nimph_. In effect he hath for he's fled to _Egypt_. + +_Anton_. My Lord, you tell strange newes to me. + +_Nimph_. But nothing strange to mee, +Who every moment knew of his despaires. +The Curriers came so fast with fresh alarmes +Of new revolts that he, unable quite +To beare his feares which he had long conceal'd, +Is now revolted from himselfe and fled. + +_Anton_. Thrust with report and rumours from his seat! +My Lord, you know the Campe depends on you +As you determine. + +_Nimph_. There it lies _Antonius_. +What should we doe? it boots not to relie +On Neroes stinking fortunes; and to sit +Securely looking on were to receive +An Emperor from Spaine: which how disgracefull +It were to us who, if we waigh our selves, +The most materiall accessions are +Of all the Roman Empire. Which disgrace +To cover we must ioyne ourselves betimes, +And therefore seeme to have created _Galba_. +Therefore He straight proclaime a _Donative_ +Of thirty thousand sesterces a man. + +_Anton_. I thinke so great a gift was never heard of. +_Galba_, they say, is frugally inclinde: +Will he avow so great a gift as this? + +_Nimph_. Howere he like of it he must avow it, +If by our promise he be once ingaged; +And since the souldiers care belongs to mee, +I will have care of them and of their good. +Let them thank me if I through this occasion +Procure for them so great a donative. + [_Ex. Nimph_. + +_Anton_. So you be thankt it skils not who prevaile, +_Galba_ or _Nero_,--traitor to them both. +You give it out that _Neroes_ fled to _Egypt_, +Who, with the frights of your reports amaz'd, +By our device doth lurke for better newes, +Whilst you inevitably doe betray him. +Workes he all this for _Galba_ then? Not so: +I have long seene his climbing to the Empire +By secret practises of gracious women. +And other instruments of the late Court. +That was his love to her that me refus'd; +And now by this he would [gain?] give the souldiers favour. +Now is the time to quit _Poppaeas_ scorne +And his rivallity. Ile straight reveale +His treacheries to _Galbaes_ agents here. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Tigellinus with the Guard_. + +_Tigell_. You see what issue things doe sort unto; +Yet may we hope not only impunitie +But with our fellowes part oth' guift proclaim'd. + + _Nero meets them_. + +_Nero_. Whether goe you? stay, my friends; +'Tis Caesar calls you; stay, my loving friends. + +_Tigell_. We were his slaves, his footstooles, and must crouch +But now with such observance to his feet; +It is his misery that calles us friends. + +_Nero_. And moves you not the misery of a Prince? +O stay, my friends, stay, harken to the voyce +Which once yee knew. + +_Tigell_. Harke to the peoples cryes, +Harke to the streets that _Galba, Galba_, ring. + +_Nero_. The people may forsake me without blame, +I did them wrong to make you rich and great, +I tooke their houses to bestow on you; +Treason in them hath name of libertie: +Your fault hath no excuse, you are my fault +And the excuse of others treachery. + +_Tigell_. Shall we with staying seeme his tyrannies +T'uphold, as if we were in love with them? +We are excus'd (unlesse we stay too long) +As forced Ministers and a part of wrong. + + [_Ex. praeter Nero_. + +_Nero_. O now I see the vizard from my face, +So lovely and so fearefull, is fall'n off, +That vizard, shadow, nothing, Maiestie, +Which, like a child acquainted with his feares, +But now men trembled at and now contemne. +_Nero_ forsaken is of all the world, +The world of truth. O fall some vengeance downe +Equall unto their falsehoods and my wrongs! +Might I accept the Chariot of the Sunne +And like another _Phaeton_ consume +In flames of all the world, a pile of Death +Worthy the state and greatnesse I have lost! +Or were I now but Lord of my owne fires +Wherein false Rome yet once againe might smoake +And perish, all unpitied of her Gods, +That all things in their last destruction might +Performe a funerall honour to their Lord! +O _Iove_ dissolve with _Caesar Caesars_ world; +Or you whom _Nero_ rather should invoke, +Blacke _Chaos_ and you fearefull shapes beneath, +That with a long and not vaine envy have +Sought to destroy this worke of th'other Gods; +Now let your darknesse cease the spoyles of day, +And the worlds first contention end your strife. + + _Enter two Romanes to him_. + +1 _Rom_. Though others, bound with greater benefits, +Have left your changed fortunes and doe runne +Whither new hopes doe call them, yet come we. + +_Nero_. O welcome come you to adversitie; +Welcome, true friends. Why, there is faith on earth; +Of thousand servants, friends and followers, +Yet two are left. Your countenance, me thinks, +Gives comfort and new hopes. + +2 _Rom_. Doe not deceive your thoughts: +My Lord, we bring no comfort,--would we could,-- +But the last duty to performe and best +We ever shall, a free death to persuade, +To cut off hopes of fearcer cruelty +And scorne, more cruell to a worthy soule. + +1 _Rom_. The Senate have decreed you're punishable +After the fashion of our ancestors, +Which is, your necke being locked in a forke, +You must be naked whipt and scourg'd to death. + +_Nero_. The Senate thus decreed? they that so oft +My vertues flattered have and guifts of mine, +My government preferr'd to ancient times, +And challenge[d] _Numa_ to compare with me,-- +Have they so horrible an end sought out? +No, here I beare which shall prevent such shame; +This hand shall yet from that deliver me, +And faithfull be alone unto his Lord. +Alasse, how sharp and terrible is death! +O must I die, must now my senses close? +For ever die, and nere returne againe, +Never more see the Sunne, nor Heaven, nor Earth? +Whither goe I? What shall I be anone? +What horred iourney wandrest thou, my soule, +Under th'earth in darke, dampe, duskie vaults? +Or shall I now to nothing be resolv'd? +My feares become my hopes; O would I might. +Me thinkes I see the boyling _Phlegeton_ +And the dull poole feared of them we feare, +The dread and terror of the Gods themselves; +The furies arm'd with linkes, with whippes, with snakes, +And my owne furies farre more mad then they, +My mother and those troopes of slaughtred friends. +And now the Iudge is brought unto the throne, +That will not leave unto Authoritie +Nor favour the oppressions of the great! + +1 _Rom_. These are the idle terrors of the night, +Which wise men (though they teach) doe not beleeve, +To curbe our pleasures faine[d] and aide the weake. + +2 _Rom_. Deaths wrongfull defamation, which would make +Us shunne this happy haven of our rest, +This end of evils, as some fearefull harme. + +1 _Rom_. Shadowes and fond imaginations, +Which now (you see) on earth but children feare. + +2 _Rom_. Why should our faults feare punishment from them? +What doe the actions of this life concerne +The tother world, with which is no commerce? + +1 _Rom_. Would Heaven and Starres necessitie compell +Us to doe that which after it would punish? + +2 _Rom_. Let us not after our lives end beleeve +More then you felt before it. + +_Nero_. If any words had[95] made me confident +And boldly doe for hearing others speake +Boldly, this might.[96] But will you by example +Teach me the truth of your opinion +And make me see that you beleeve yourselves? +Will you by dying teach me to beare death +With courage? + +1 _Rom_. No necessitie of death +Hangs ore our heads, no dangers threaten us +Nor Senates sharpe decree nor _Galbaes_ arms. + +2 _Rom_. Is this the thankes, then, thou dost pay our love? +Die basely as such a life deserv'd; +Reserve thy selfe to punishment, and scorne +Of Rome and of thy laughing enemies. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manet Nero_. + +_Nero_. They hate me cause I would but live. What was't +You lov'd, kind friends, and came to see my death? +Let me endure all torture and reproach +That earth or _Galbaes_ anger can inflict; +Yet hell and _Rodamanth_ are more pittilesse. + + _The first Romane to him_. + +_Rom_. Though not deserv'd, yet once agen I come +To warne thee to take pitie on thy selfe. +The troopes by the Senate sent descend the hill +And come. + +_Nero_. To take me and to whip me unto death! +O whither shall I flye? + +_Rom_. Thou hast no choice. + +_Nero_. O hither must I flye: hard is his happe +Who from death onely must by death escape. +Where are they yet? O may not I a little +Bethinke my selfe? + +_Rom_. They are at hand; harke, thou maist heare the noise. + +_Nero_. O _Rome_, farewell! farewell, you Theaters +Where I so oft with popular applause +In song and action--O they come, I die. + (_He falls on his sword_.) + +_Rom_. So base an end all iust commiseration +Doth take away: yet what we doe now spurne +The morning Sunne saw fearefull to the world. + + _Enter some of Galbaes friends, Antoneus and others, + with Nimphidius bound_. + +_Gal_. You both shall die together, Traitors both +He to the common wealth and thou to him +And worse to a good Prince.--What? is he dead? +Hath feare encourag'd him and made him thus +Prevent our punishment? Then die with him: +Fall thy aspiring at thy Master's feete. + (_He kils Nimph_). + +_Anton_. Who, though he iustly perisht, yet by thee +Deserv'd it not; nor ended there thy treason, +But even thought oth' Empire thou conceiv'st. +_Galbaes_ disgrace[d] in receiving that +Which the sonne of _Nimphidia_ could hope. + +_Rom_. Thus great bad men above them find a rod: +People, depart and say there is a God. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +FINIS. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE MAYDES METAMORPHOSIS. + + +The anonymous comedy of the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ (1600), usually +attributed to Lilly, shews few traces of the mannerisms of the graceful +but insipid Euphuist. It is just such a play as George Wither or William +Browne might have written in very early youth. The writer was evidently +an admirer of Spenser, and has succeeded in reproducing on his Pan-pipe +some thin, but not unpleasing, echoes of his master's music. Mr. Edmund +W. Gosse has suggested that the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ may be an early +work of John Day; and no one is better able to pronounce on such a point +than Mr. Gosse. The scene at the beginning of Act ii., and the gossip of +the pages in Acts ii. and iii., are certainly very much in Day's manner. +The merciless harrying of the word "kind" at the beginning of Act v. +reminds one of similar elaborate trifling in _Humour out of Breath_; +and the amoebaean rhymes in the contention between Gemulo and Silvio +(Act i.) are, in their sportive quaintness, as like Day's handiwork as +they are unlike Lilly's. In reading the pretty echo-scene, in Act iv., +the reader will recall a similar scene in _Law Trickes_ (Act v., Sc. I). +On the other hand, the delightful songs of the fairies[97] (in Act iii.), +if not written by Lilly, were at least suggested by the fairies' song in +_Endymion_. It would be hard to say what Lilly might not have achieved +if he had not stultified himself by his detestable pedantry: his songs +(_O si sic omnia_) are hardly to be matched for silvery sweetness. + +Mr. Gosse thinks that the rhymed heroics, in which the _Maydes +Metamorphosis_ is mainly written, bear strong traces of Day's style; and +as Mr. Gosse, who is at once a poet and a critic, judges by his ear and +not by his thumb, his opinion carries weight. Day's capital work, the +_Parliament of Bees_, is incomparably more workmanlike than the _Maydes +Metamorphosis_; but the latter, it should be remembered, is beyond all +doubt a very juvenile performance. Turning over some old numbers of a +magazine, I found a reviewer of Mr. Tennyson's _Princess_ complaining +"that we could have borne rather more polish!" How the fledgling poet +of the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ would have fared at the reviewer's hands +I tremble to think. But though his rhymes are occasionally slipshod, +and the general texture is undeniably thin, still there is something +attractive in the young writer's shy tentativeness. The reader who +comes to a perusal with the expectation of getting some substantial +diet, will be grievously mistaken; but those who are content if they +can catch and hold fast a fleeting flavour will not regret the +half-hour spent in listening to the songs of the elves and the prattle +of the pages in this quaint old pastoral. + + + + +THE MAYDES METAMORPHOSIS. + + +_As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles_. + +LONDON: Printed by _Thomas Creede_, for _Richard Oliue_, dwelling +in long Lane. 1600. + + + +_THE PROLOGUE. + +The manifold, great favours we have found, + By you to us poore weaklings still extended; +Whereof your vertues have been only ground, + And no desert in us to be so friended; +Bindes us some way or other to expresse, + Though all our all be else defeated quite +Of any meanes save duteous thankefulnes, + Which is the utmost measure of our might: +Then, to the boundlesse ocean of your woorth + This little drop of water we present; +Where though it never can be singled foorth, + Let zeale be pleader for our good intent. + Drops not diminish but encrease great floods, + And mites impaire not but augment our goods_. + + + + +The Maydes Metamorphosis. + + + +_Actus Primus_. + + + _Enter Phylander, Orestes, Eurymine_. + +_Eurymine_. _Phylander_ and _Orestes_, what conceyt +Troubles your silent mindes? Let me intreat, +Since we are come thus farre, as we do walke +You would deuise some prettie pleasant talke; +The aire is coole, the euening high and faire: +Why should your cloudie lookes then shew dispaire? + +_Phy_. Beleeue me, faire _Eurimine_, my skill +Is simple in discourse, and vtterance ill; +_Orestes_, if he we were disposde to trie, +Can better manage such affaires than I. + +_Eu_. Why then, _Orestes_, let me crave of you +Some olde or late done story to renew: +Another time you shall request of me +As good, if not a greater, curtesie. + +_Or_. Trust me, as now (nor can I shew a reason) +All mirth vnto my mind comes out of season; +For inward I am troubled in such sort +As all vnfit I am to make report +Of any thing may breed the least delight; +Rather in teares I wish the day were night, +For neither can myself be merry now +Nor treat of ought that may be likte of you. + +_Eu_. Thats but your melancholike old disease, +That neuer are disposde but when ye please. + +_Phy_. Nay, mistresse, then, since he denies the taske, +My selfe will strait complish what ye aske; +And, though the pleasure of my tale be small, +Yet may it serue to passe the time withall. + +_Eu_. Thanks, good _Phylander_; when you please, say on: +Better I deeme a bad discourse then none. + +_Phy_. Sometime there liu'd a Duke not far from hence, +Mightie in fame and vertues excellence; +Subiects he had as readie to obey +As he to rule, beloued eueryway; +But that which most of all he gloried in +(Hope of his age and comfort of his kin) +Was the fruition of one onely sonne, +A gallant youth, inferior vnto none +For vertue shape or excellence of wit, +That after him vpon his throne might sit. +This youth, when once he came to perfect age, +The Duke would faine have linckt in marriage +With diuers dames of honourable blood +But stil his fathers purpose he withstood. + +_Eu_. How? was he not of mettal apt to loue? + +_Phy_. Yes, apt enough as wil the sequel proue; +But so the streame of his affection lay +As he did leane a quite contrary way, +Disprouing still the choice his father made, +And oftentimes the matter had delaid; +Now giuing hope he would at length consent, +And then again excusing his intent. + +_Eu_. What made him so repugnant in his deeds? + +_Phy_. Another loue, which this disorder breeds; +For euen at home, within his father's Court, +The Saint was shrinde whom he did honor most; +A louely dame, a virgin pure and chaste, +And worthy of a Prince to be embrac'te, +Had but her birth (which was obscure, they said) +Answerd her beautie; this their opinion staid. +Yet did this wilful youth affect her still +And none but she was mistres of his will: +Full often did his father him disswade +From liking such a mean and low-born mayde; +The more his father stroue to change his minde +The more the sonne became with fancy blinde. + +_Eu_. Alas, how sped the silly Louers then? + +_Phy_. As might euen grieue the rude vnciuilst men: +When here vpon to weane his fixed heart +From such dishonour to his high desert +The Duke had labourd but in vaine did striue, +Thus he began his purpose to contriue: +Two of his seruants, of vndoubted trvth, +He bound by vertue of a solemne oath +To traine the silly damzel out of sight +And there in secret to bereaue her quite-- + +_Eu_. Of what? her life? + +_Phy_. Yes, Madame, of her life, +Which was the cause of all the former strife. + +_Eu_. And did they kill her? + +_Phy_. You shall heare anon; +The question first must be discided on +In your opinion: whats your iudgement? say. +Who were most cruell, those that did obay +Or he who gaue commandment for the fact? + +_Eu_. In each of them it was a bloody act, +Yet they deserue (to speake my minde of both) +Most pardon that were bound thereto by oath. + +_Phy_. It is enough; we do accept your doome +To passe vnblam'd what ere of you become. + +_Eu_. To passe vnblam'de what ere become of me! +What may the meaning of these speeches be? + +_Phy_. _Eurymine_, my trembling tongue doth faile, +My conscience yrkes, my fainting sences quaile, +My faltring speech bewraies my guiltie thought +And stammers at the message we haue brought. + +_Eu_. Ay me! what horror doth inuade my brest! + +_Or_. Nay then, _Phylander_, I will tell the rest: +Damzell, thus fares thy case; demand not why, +You must forthwith prepare your selfe to dye; +Therefore dispatch and set your mind at rest. + +_Eu_. _Phylander_, is it true or doth he iest? + +_Phy_. There is no remedie but you must dye: +By you I framde my tragicke history. +The Duke my maister is the man I meant, +His sonne the Prince, the mayde of meane discent +Your selfe, on whom _Ascanio_ so doth doate +As for no reason may remoue his thought +Your death the Duke determines by vs two, +To end the loue betwixt his sonne and you; +And for this cause we trainde you to this wood, +Where you must sacrifice your dearest blood. + +_Eu_. Respect my teares. + +_Orest_. We must regard our oath. + +_Eu_. My tender yeares. + +_Or_. They are but trifles both. + +_Eu_. Mine innocency. + +_Or_. That would our promise breake; +Dispatch forthwith, we may not heare you speake. + +_Eu_. If neither teares nor innocency moue, +Yet thinke there is a heavenly power aboue. + +_Orest_. A done, and stand not preaching here all day. + +_Eu_. Then, since there is no remedie, I pray +Yet, good my masters, do but stay so long +Till I haue tane my farewell with a song +Of him whom I shall neuer see againe. + +_Phy_. We will affoord that respit to your paine. + +_Eu_. But least the feare of death appall my mind, +Sweet gentlemen, let me this fauour find, +That you wil vale mine eyesight with this scarfe; +That, when the fatall stroke is aymde at me, +I may not start but suffer patiently. + +_Orest_. Agreed, giue me; Ile shadow ye from feare, +If this may do it. + +_Eu_. Oh, I would it might, +But shadowes want the power to do that right. + + _Shee sings_. + + Ye sacred Fyres and powers aboue, + Forge of desires, working loue, + Cast downe your eye, cast downe your eye, + Vpon a Mayde in miserie. + My sacrifice is louers blood, + And from eyes salt teares a flood; + All which I spend, all which I spend, + For thee, _Ascanio_, my deare friend: + And though this houre I must feele + The bitter power of pricking steele, + Yet ill or well, yet ill or well, + To thee, _Ascanio_, still farewell. + + _Orestes offers to strike her with his Rapier, + and is stayed by Phylander_. + +_Orest_. What meanes, _Phylander_? + +_Phy_. Oh, forbeare thy stroke; +Her pitious mone and gesture might prouoke +Hard flint to ruthe. + +_Orest_. Hast thou forgot thy oath? + +_Phy_. Forgot it? no! + +_Or_. Then wherefore doest thou interrupt me so? + +_Phy_. A sudden terror ouercomes my thought. + +_Or_. Then suffer me that stands in feare of nought. + +_Phy_. Oh, hold, _Orestes_; heare my reason first. + +_Or_. Is all religion of thy vowe forgot? +Do as thou wilt, but I forget it not. + +_Phy_. _Orestes_, if thou standest vpon thine oath, +Let me alone to answere for vs both. + +_Or_. What answer canst thou giue? I wil not stay. + +_Phy_. Nay, villain; then my sword shall make me way. + +_Or_. Wilt thou in this against thy conscience striue? + +_Phy_. I will defend a woman while I liue, +A virgin and an innocent beside; +Therefore put vp or else thy chaunce abide. + +_Or_. Ile neuer sheath my sword vnles thou show, +Our oath reserued, we may let her go. + +_Phy_. That will I do, if truth may be of force. + +_Or_. And then will I be pleasd to graunt remorse. + +_Eu_. Litle thought I, when out of doore I went, +That thus my life should stand on argument. + +_Phy_. A lawfull oath in an vnlawfull cause +Is first dispenc't withall by reasons lawes; +Then, next, respect must to the end be had, +Because th'intent doth make it good or bad. +Now here th'intent is murder as thou seest, +Which to perform thou on thy oath reliest; +But, since the cause is wicked and vniust, +Th'effect must likewise be held odious: +We swore to kill, and God forbids to kill; +Shall we be rulde by him or by man's will? +Beside it is a woman is condemde; +And what is he, that is a man indeed, +That can endure to see a woman bleed? + +_Or_. Thou hast preuaild; _Eurymine_, stand vp; +I will not touch thee for a world of gold. + +_Phy_. Why now thou seemst to be of humane mould; +But, on our graunt, faire mayd, that you shall liue, +Will you to vs your faithfull promise giue +Henceforth t'abandon this your Country quite, +And neuer more returne into the sight +Of fierce _Telemachus_, the angry Duke, +Where by we may be voyd of all rebuke? + +_Eur_. Here do I plight my chaste vnspotted hand, +I will abiure this most accursed land: +And vow henceforth, what fortune ere betide, +Within these woods and desarts to abide. + +_Phy_. Now wants there nothing but a fit excuse +To sooth the Duke in his concern'd abuse; +That he may be perswaded she is slaine, +And we our wonted fauour still maintaine. + +_Orest_. It shall be thus: within a lawne hard by, +Obscure with bushes, where no humane eye +Can any way discouer our deceit, +There feeds a heard of Goates and country neate. +Some Kidde or other youngling will we take +And with our swords dispatch it for her sake; +And, hauing slaine it, rip his panting breast +And take the heart of the vnguiltie beast, +Which, to th'intent our counterfeit report +May seeme more likely, we will beare to court +And there protest, with bloody weapons drawne, +It was her heart. + +_Phy_. Then likewise take this Lawne, +Which well _Telemachus_ did know she wore, +And let it be all spotted too with gore. +How say you, mistresse? will you spare the vale? + +_Eur_. That and what else, to verifie your tale. +And thankes, _Phylander_ and _Orestes_ both, +That you preserue me from a Tyrants wroth. + +_Phy_. I would it were within my power, I wis, +To do you greater curtesie than this; +But what we cannot by our deeds expresse +In heart we wish, to ease your heauinesse. + +_Eur_. A double debt: yet one word ere ye go, +Commend me to my deare _Ascanio_. +Whose loyall loue and presence to forgoe +Doth gall me more than all my other woe. + +_Orest_. Our liues shall neuer want to do him good. + +_Phy_. Nor yet our death if he in daunger stood: + +_Or_. And, mistresse, so good fortune be your guide, +And ought that may be fortunate beside. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Eu_. The like I wish vnto your selues againe, +And many happy days deuoyd of paine.-- +And now _Eurymine_ record thy state, +So much deiected and opprest by fate. +What hope remaines? wherein hast thou to ioy? +Wherein to tryumph but thine owne annoy? +If euer wretch might tell of miserie +Then I, alas, poore I, am only she; +Vnknowne of parents, destitute of friends, +Hopefull of nought but what misfortune sends; +Banisht, to liue a fugitiue alone +In vncoth[98] paths and regions neuer knowne. +Behold, _Ascanio_, for thy only sake, +These tedious trauels I must undertake. +Nor do I grudge; the paine seemes lesse to mee +In that I suffer this distresse for thee. + + _Enter Siluio, a Raunger_. + +_Sil_. Well met, fair Nymph, or Goddesse if ye bee; +Tis straunge, me thinkes, that one of your degree +Should walke these solitary groues alone. + +_Eu_. It were no maruel, if you knew my mone. +But what are you that question me so far? + +_Sil_. My habit telles you that, a Forrester; +That, hauing lost a heard of skittish Deire, +Was of good hope I should haue found them heere. + +_Eu_. Trust me, I saw not any; so farewell. + +_Sil_. Nay stay, and further of your fortunes tell; +I am not one that meanes you any harme. + + _Enter Gemulo, the Shepheard_. + +_Ge_. I thinke my boy be fled away by charme. +Raunger, well met; within thy walke, I pray, +Sawst thou not _Mopso_ my vnhappie boy. + +_Sil_. Shepheard, not I: what meanst to seeke him heere? + +_Ge_. Because the wagge, possest with doubtful feare +Least I would beate him for a fault he did, +Amongst those trees I do suspect hees hid. +But how now, Raunger? you mistake, I trowe; +This is a Lady and no barren Dowe. + +_Sil_. It is indeede, and (as it seemes) distrest; +Whose griefe to know I humbly made request, +But she as yet will not reueale the same. + +_Ge_. Perhaps to me she will: speak, gentle dame; +What daunger great hath driuen ye to this place? +Make knowne your state, and looke what slender grace +A Shepheards poore abilitee may yeeld +You shall be sure of ere I leaue the feeld. + +_Eur_. Alas good Sir the cause may not be known +That hath inforste me to be here alone. + +_Sil_. Nay, feare not to discouer what you are; +It may be we may remedie your care. + +_Eur_. Since needs you will that I renew my griefe, +Whether it be my chance to finde reliefe +Or not, I wreake not: such my crosses are +As sooner I expect to meet despaire. +Then thus it is: not farre from hence do dwell +My parents, of the world esteemed well, +Who with their bitter threats my grant had won +This day to marrie with a neighbours son, +And such a one to whom I should be wife +As I could neuer fancie in my life: +And therefore, to auoid that endlesse thrall, +This morne I came away and left them all. + +_Sil_. Now trust me, virgin, they were much vnkinde +To seeke to match you so against your minde. + +_Ge_. It was, besides, vnnatural constraint: +But, by the tenure of your just complaint, +It seems you are not minded to returne, +Nor any more to dwell where you were borne. + +_Eur_. It is my purpose if I might obtaine +A place of refuge where I might remain. + +_Sil_. Why, go with me; my Lodge is not far off, +Where you shall haue such hospitalitie +As shall be for your health and safetie. + +_Ge_. Soft, Raunger; you do raunge beyond your skill. +My house is nearer, and for my good will, +It shall exceed a woodmans woodden stuffe: +Then go with me, Ile keep you safe enough. + +_Sil_. Ile bring her to a bower beset with greene. + +_Ge_. And I an arbour may delight a Queene. + +_Sil_. Her dyet shall be Venson at my boord. + +_Ge_. Young Kid and Lambe we shepheards can affoord. + +_Sil_. And nothing else? + +_Ge_. Yes; raunging, now and then +A Hog, a Goose, a Capon, or a Hen. + +_Sil_. These walkes are mine amongst the shadie trees. + +_Ge_. For that I haue a garden full of Bees, +Whose buzing musick with the flowers sweet +Each euen and morning shall her sences greet. + +_Sil_. The nightingale is my continuall clocke. + +_Ge_. And mine the watchfull sin-remembring cocke. + +_Sil_. A Hunts vp[99] I can tune her with my hounds. + +_Ge_. And I can shew her meads and fruitfull grounds. + +_Sil_. Within these woods are many pleasant springs. + +_Ge_. Betwixt yond dales the Eccho daily sings. + +_Sil_. I maruell that a rusticke shepheard dare +With woodmen then audaciously compare. +Why, hunting is a pleasure for a King, +And Gods themselves sometime frequent the thing. +_Diana_ with her bowe and arrows keene +Did often vse the chace in Forrests greene, +And so, alas, the good Athenian knight +And swifte _Acteon_ herein tooke delight, +And _Atalanta_, the Arcadian dame, +Conceiu'd such wondrous pleasure in the game +That, with her traine of Nymphs attending on, +She came to hunt the Bore of _Calydon_. + +_Ge_. So did _Apollo_ walke with shepheards crooke, +And many Kings their sceptres haue forsooke +To lead the quiet life we shepheards tooke (?), +Accounting it a refuge for their woe. + +_Sil_. But we take choice of many a pleasant walke, +And marke the Deare how they begin to stalke; +When each, according to his age and time,[100] +Pricks vp his head and bears a Princely minde. +The lustie Stag, conductor of the traine, +Leads all the heard in order downe the plaine; +The baser rascals[101] scatter here and there +As not presuming to approach so neere. + +_Ge_. So shepheards sometimes sit vpon a hill +Or in the cooling shadow of a mill, +And as we sit vnto our pipes we sing +And therewith make the neighboring groues to ring; +And when the sun steales downward to the west +We leave our chat and whistle in the fist, +Which is a signall to our stragling flocke +As Trumpets sound to men in martiall shocke. + +_Sil_. Shall I be thus outfaced by a swaine? +Ile haue a guard to wayt vpon her traine, +Of gallant woodmen clad in comely greene, +The like whereof hath seldome yet bene seene. + +_Ge_. And I of shepheards such a lustie crew +As neuer Forrester the like yet knew, +Who for their persons and their neate aray +Shal be as fresh as is the moneth of May. +Where are ye there, ye merry noted swaines? +Draw neare a while, and whilst vpon the plaines +Your flocks do gently feed, lets see your skill +How you with chaunting can sad sorrow kill. + + _Enter shepheards singing_. + +_Sil_. Thinks _Gemulo_ to beare the bell away +By singing of a simple Rundelay? +No, I have fellowes whose melodious throats +Shall euen as far exceed those homely notes +As doth the Nightingale in musicke passe +The most melodious bird that euer was: +And, for an instance, here they are at hand; +When they have done let our deserts be scand. + + _Enter woodmen and sing_. + +_Eu_. Thanks to you both; you both deserue so well +As I want skill your worthinesse to tell. +And both do I commend for your good will, +And both Ile honor, loue, and reuerence still; +For neuer virgin had such kindnes showne +Of straungers, yea, and men to her vnknowne. +But more, to end this sudden controuersie, +Since I am made an Vmpire in the plea, +This is my verdite: Ile intreate of you +A Cottage for my dwelling, and of you +A flocke to tend; and so, indifferent, +My gratefull paines on either shal be spent. + +_Sil_. I am agreed, and, for the loue I beare, +Ile boast I haue a Tenant is so faire. + +_Ge_. And I will hold it as a rich possession +That she vouchsafes to be of my profession. + +_Sil_. Then, for a sign that no man here hath wrong, +From hence lets all conduct her with a song. + +_The end of the First Act_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + + + _Enter Ascanio, and Ioculo his Page_. + + +_Asca_. Away, _Ioculo_. + +_Io_. Here, sir, at hand. + +_Asca. Ioculo_, where is she? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. When went she? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. Which way went she? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. Where should I seeke her? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. When shall I find her? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. A vengeance take thee, slaue, what dost thou know? + +_Io_. Marry, sir, that I doo know. + +_Asca_. What, villiane? + +_Io_. And[102] you be so testie, go looke. What a coyles here with you? +If we knew where she were what need we seeke her? I think you are a +lunaticke: where were you when you should haue lookt after her? now you +go crying vp and downe after your wench like a boy that had lost his +horne booke. + +_Asca_. Ah, my sweet Boy! + +_Io_. Ah, my sweet maister! nay, I can giue you as good words as you can +giue me; alls one for that. + +_Asca_. What canst thou giue me no reliefe? + +_Io_. Faith, sir, there comes not one morsel of comfort from my lips to +sustaine that hungry mawe of your miserie: there is such a dearth at +this time. God amend it! + +_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, my brest is full of griefe, +And yet my hope that only wants reliefe. + +_Io_. Your brest and my belly are in two contrary kaies; you walke to +get stomacke to your meate, and I walke to get meate to my stomacke; +your brest's full and my belli's emptie. If they chance to part in this +case, God send them merry meeting,--that my belly be ful and your brest +empty. + +_Asca_. Boy, for the loue that euer thou didst owe +To thy deare master, poore _Ascanio_. +Racke thy proou'd wits vnto the highest straine, +To bring me backe _Eurymine_ againe. + +_Io_. Nay, master, if wit could do it I could tell you more; but if it +euer be done the very legeritie[103] of the feete must do it; these ten +nimble bones must do the deed. Ile trot like a little dog; theres not +a bush so big as my beard, but Ile be peeping in it; theres not a +coate[104] but Ile search every corner; if she be aboue, or beneath, +ouer the ground or vnder, Ile finde her out. + +_Asca_. Stay, _Ioculo_; alas, it cannot be: +If we should parte I loose both her and thee. +The woods are wide; and, wandering thus about, +Thou maist be lost and not my loue found out. + +_Io_. I pray thee let me goe. + +_Asca_. I pray thee stay. + +_Io_. I faith Ile runne. + +_Asca_. And doest not know which way. + +_Io_. Any way, alls one; Ile drawe drie foote;[105] if you send not to +seeke her you may lye here long enough before she comes to seeke you. +She little thinkes that you are hunting for her in these quarters. + +_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, before I leaue my Boy, +Of this worlds comfort now my only ioy. +Seest thou this place? vpon this grassie bed, +With summers gawdie dyaper bespred, (_He lyes downe_.) +Vnder these shadowes shall my dwelling be, +Till thou returne, sweet _Ioculo_, to me. + +_Io_. And, if my conuoy be not cut off by the way, it shall not be long +before I be with you. + (_He speakes to the people_.) +Well, I pray you looke to my maister, for here I leaue him amongst you; +and if I chaunce to light vpon the wench, you shall heare of me by the +next winde. + [_Exit Ioculo_. + + _Ascanio solus_. + +_Asca_. In vaine I feare, I beate my braines about, +Proouing by search to finde my mistresse out. +_Eurymine, Eurymine_, retorne, +And with thy presence guild the beautious morne! +And yet I feare to call vpon thy name: +The pratling Eccho, should she learne the same, +The last words accent shiele no more prolong +But beare that sound vpon her airie tong. +Adorned with the presence of my loue +The woods, I feare, such secret power shal proue +As they'll shut vp each path, hide euery way, +Because they still would haue her go astray, +And in that place would alwaies haue her seene +Only because they would be euer greene, +And keepe the wingged Quiristers still there +To banish winter cleane out of the yeare. +But why persist I to bemone my state, +When she is gone and my complaint too late? +A drowsie dulnes closeth vp my sight; +O powerfull sleepe, I yeeld vnto thy might. + (_He falls asleepe_.) + + _Enter Iuno and Iris_. + +_Iuno_. Come hither, _Iris_. + +_Iris_. _Iris_ is at hand, +To attend _Ioues_ wife, great _Iunos_ hie command. + +_Iuno_. _Iris_, I know I do thy seruice proue, +And euer since I was the wife of _Ioue_ +Thou hast bene readie when I called still, +And alwayes most obedient to my will: +Thou seest how that imperiall Queene of loue +With all the Gods how she preuailes aboue, +And still against great _Iunos_ hests doth stand +To haue all stoupe and bowe at her command; +Her Doues and Swannes and Sparrowes must be graced +And on Loues Aultar must be highly placed; +My starry Peacocks which doth beare my state, +Scaresly alowd within his pallace gate. +And since herselfe she doth preferd doth see, +Now the proud huswife will contend with mee, +And practiseth her wanton pranckes to play +With this _Ascanio_ and _Eurymine_. +But Loue shall know, in spight of all his skill, +_Iuno_'s a woman and will haue her will. + +_Iris_. What is my Goddesse will? may _Iris_ aske? + +_Iuno_. _Iris_, on thee I do impose this taske +To crosse proud _Venus_ and her purblind Lad +Vntill the mother and her brat be mad; +And with each other set them so at ods +Till to their teeth they curse and ban the Gods. + +_Iris_. Goddes, the graunt consists alone in you. + +_Iuno_. Then mark the course which now you must pursue. +Within this ore-growne Forrest there is found +A duskie Caue[106], thrust lowe into the ground, +So vgly darke, so dampie and [so] steepe +As, for his life, the sunne durst neuer peepe +Into the entrance; which doth so afright +The very day that halfe the world is night. +Where fennish fogges and vapours do abound +There _Morpheus_ doth dwell within the ground; +No crowing Cocke or waking bell doth call, +Nor watchful dogge disturbeth sleepe at all; +No sound is heard in compasse of the hill; +But euery thing is quiet, whisht,[107] and still. +Amid the caue vpon the ground doth lie +A hollow plancher,[108] all of Ebonie, +Couer'd with blacke, whereon the drowsie God +Drowned in sleepe continually doth nod. +Go, _Iris_, go and my commandment take +And beate against the doores till sleepe awake: +Bid him from me in vision to appeare +Vnto _Ascanio_, that lieth slumbring heare, +And in that vision to reueale the way, +How he may finde the faire _Eurymine_. + +_Iris_. Madam, my service is at your command. + +_Iuno_. Dispatch it then, good _Iris_, out of hand, +My Peacocks and my Charriot shall remaine +About the shore till thou returne againe. + [_Exit Iuno_. + +_Iris_. About the businesse now that I am sent, +To sleepes black Caue I will incontinent;[109] +And his darke cabine boldly will I shake +Vntill the drowsie lumpish God awake, +And such a bounsing at his Caue Ile keepe +That if pale death seaz'd on the eyes of sleepe +Ile rowse him up; that when he shall me heare +He make his locks stand vp on end with feare. +Be silent, aire, whilst _Iris_ in her pride +Swifter than thought vpon the windes doth ride. +What _Somnus_! what _Somnus, Somnus_! + (_Strikes. Pauses a little_) +What, wilt thou not awake? art thou still so fast? +Nay then, yfaith, Ile haue another cast. +What, _Somnus! Somnus_! I say. + (_Strikes againe_) + +_Som_. Who calles at this time of the day? +What a balling dost thou keepe! +A vengeance take thee, let me sleepe. + +_Iris_. Vp thou drowsie God I say +And come presently away, +Or I will beate vpon this doore +That after this thou sleep'st no more. + +_Som_. Ile take a nap and come annon. + +_Iris_. Out, you beast, you blocke, you stone! +Come or at thy doore Ile thunder +Til both heaven and hel do wonder. +_Somnus_, I say! + +_Som_. A vengeance split thy chaps asunder! + + _Enter Somnus_. + +_Iris_. What, _Somnus_! + +_Som_. _Iris_, I thought it should be thee. +How now, mad wench? what wouldst with me? + +_Iris_. From mightie _Iuno, Ioues_ immortall wife, +_Somnus_, I come to charge thee on thy life +That thou vnto this Gentleman appeere +And in this place, thus as he lyeth heere, +Present his mistres to his inward eies +In as true manner as thou canst deuise. + +_Som_. I would thou wert hangd for waking me. +Three sonnes I haue; the eldest _Morpheus_ hight, +He shewes of man the shape or sight; +The second, _Icelor_, whose beheasts +Doth shewe the formes of birds and beasts; +_Phantasor_ for the third, things lifeles hee: +Chuse which like thee of these three. + +_Iris_. _Morpheus_; if he in humane shape appeare. + +_Som_. _Morpheus_, come forth in perfect likenes heere +Of--how call ye the Gentlewoman? + +_Iris. Eurymine_. + +_Som_. Of _Eurymine_; and shewe this Gentleman +What of his mistres is become. + (_Kneeling downe by Ascanio_.) + + _Enter Eurymine, to be supposed Morpheus_. + +_Mor_. My deare _Ascanio_, in this vision see +_Eurymine_ doth thus appeare to thee. +As soone as sleepe hath left thy drowsie eies +Follow the path that on thy right hand lies: +An aged Hermit thou by chaunce shalt find +That there hath bene time almost out of mind, +This holy man, this aged reuerent Father, +There in the woods doth rootes and simples gather; +His wrinckled browe tells strenghts past long ago, +His beard as white as winters driuen snow. +He shall discourse the troubles I haue past, +And bring vs both together at the last +Thus she presents her shadow to thy sight +That would her person gladly if she might. + +_Iris_. See how he catches to embrace the shade. + +_Mor_. This vision fully doth his powers inuade; +And, when the heate shall but a little slake, +Thou then shalt see him presently awake. + +_Som_. Hast thou ought else that I may stand in sted? + +_Iris_. No, _Somnus_, no; go back unto thy bed; +_Iuno_, she shall reward thee for thy paine. + +_Som_. Then good night, _Iris_; Ile to rest againe. + +_Iris_. _Morpheus_, farewell; to _Iuno_ I will flie. + +_Mor_. And I to sleepe as fast as I can hie. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Ascanio starting sayes_. + +_Eurymine_! Ah, my good Angell, stay! +O vanish not so suddenly away; +O stay, my Goddess; whither doest thou flie? +Returne, my sweet _Eurymine_, tis I. +Where art thou? speake; Let me behold thy face. +Did I not see thee in this very place, +Euen now? Here did I not see thee stand? +And heere thy feete did blesse the happie land? +_Eurymine_, Oh wilt thou not attend? +Flie from thy foe, _Ascanio_ is thy friend: +The fearfull hare so shuns the labouring hound, +And so the Dear eschues the Huntsman wound; +The trembling Foule so flies the Falcons gripe, +The Bond-man so his angry maisters stripe. +I follow not as _Phoebus Daphne_ did, +Nor as the Dog pursues the trembling Kid. +Thy shape it was; alas, I saw not thee! +That sight were fitter for the Gods then mee. +But, if in dreames there any truth be found, +Thou art within the compas of this ground. +Ile raunge the woods and all the groues about, +And neuer rest vntill I find thee out. [_Exit_. + + _Enter at one doore Mopso singing_. + +_Mop_. Terlitelo,[110] Terlitelo, tertitelee, terlo. + So merrily this sheapheards Boy + His home that he can blow, + Early in a morning, late, late in an euening; + And euer sat this little Boy + So merrily piping. + + _Enter at the other doore Frisco singing_. + +_Fris_. Can you blow the little home? + Weell, weell and very weell; + And can you blow the little home + Amongst the leaues greene? + + _Enter Ioculo in the midst singing_. + +_Io_. Fortune,[111] my foe, why doest thou frowne on mee? + And will my fortune neuer better bee? + Wilt thou, I say, for euer breed my paine, + And wilt thou not restore my Ioyes againe? + +_Frisco_. Cannot a man be merry in his owne walke +But a must be thus encombred? + +_Io_. I am disposed to be melancholly, +And I cannot be priuate for one villaine or other. + +_Mop_. How the deuel stumbled this case of rope-ripes[112] into my way? + +_Fris_. Sirrha what art thou? and thou? + +_Io_. I am a page to a Courtier. + +_Mop_. And I a Boy to a Shepheard. + +_Fris_. Thou art the Apple-Squier[113] to an Eawe, +And thou sworne brother to a bale[114] of false dice. + +_Io_. What art thou? + +_Fris_. I am Boy to a Raunger. + +_Io_. An Out-lawe by authoritie, one that neuer sets marke of his own +goods nor neuer knowes how he comes by other mens. + +_Mop_. That neuer knowes his cattell but by their hornes. + +_Fris_. Sirrha, so you might haue said of your maister sheep. + +_Io_. I, marry, this takes fier like touch powder, and goes off with +a huffe. + +_Fris_. They come of crick-cracks, and shake their tayles like a squib. + +_Io_. Ha, you Rogues, the very steele of my wit shall strike fier from +the flint of your vnderstandings; haue you not heard of me? + +_Mop_. Yes, if you be the _Ioculo_ that I take you for, we haue heard +of your exployts for cosoning of some seuen and thirtie Alewiues in the +Villages here about. + +_Io_. A wit as nimble as a Sempsters needle or a girles finger at her +Buske poynt. + +_Mop_. Your iest goes too low, sir. + +_Fris_. O but tis a tickling iest. + +_Io_. Who wold haue thought to haue found this in a plaine villaine +that neuer woare better garment than a greene Ierkin? + +_Fris_. O Sir, though you Courtiers haue all the honour you haue not +all the wit. + +_Mop_. Soft sir, tis not your witte can carry it away in this company. + +_Io_. Sweet Rogues, your companie to me is like musick to a wench at +midnight when she lies alone and could wish,--yea, marry could she. + +_Fris_. And thou art as welcome to me as a new poking stick to a +Chamber mayd. + +_Mop_. But, soft; who comes here? + + _Enter the Faieries, singing and dauncing_. + + By the moone we sport and play, + With the night begins our day; + As we daunce, the deaw doth fall; + Trip it little vrchins all, + Lightly as the little Bee, + Two by two and three by three: + And about go wee, and about go wee.[115] + +_Io_. What Mawmets[116] are these? + +_Fris_. O they be the Fayries that haunt these woods. + +_Mop_. O we shall be pincht most cruelly. + +1 _Fay_. Will you haue any musick sir? + +2 _Fay_. Will you haue any fine musicke? + +3 _Fay_. Most daintie musicke? + +_Mop_. We must set a face on't now; there's no flying; no, Sir, +we are very merrie, I thanke you. + +1 _Fay_. O but you shall, Sir. + +_Fris_. No, I pray you, saue your labour. + +2 _Fay_. O, Sir, it shall not cost you a penny. + +_Io_. Where be your Fiddles? + +3 _Fay_. You shall haue most daintie Instruments, Sir. + +_Mop_. I pray you, what might I call you? + +1 _Fay_. My name is _Penny_. + +_Mop_. I am sorry I cannot purse you. + +_Fris_. I pray you sir what might I call you? + +2 _Fay_. My name is _Cricket_.[117] + +_Fris_. I would I were a chimney for your sake. + +_Io_. I pray you, you prettie little fellow, whats your name? + +3 _Fay_. My name is little, little _Pricke_. + +_Io_. Little, little _Pricke?_ ô you are a daungerous Fayrie, and +fright all little wenches in the country out of their beds. I care not +whose hand I were in, so I were out of yours. + +1 _Fay_. I do come about the coppes + Leaping vpon flowers toppes; + Then I get vpon a Flie, + Shee carries me aboue the skie, + And trip and goe. + +2 _Fay_. When a deaw drop falleth downe + And doth light vpon my crowne, + Then I shake my head and skip + And about I trip. + +3 _Fay_. When I feele a girle a sleepe + Vnderneath her frock I peepe. + There to sport, and there I play, + Then I byte her like a flea; + And about I skip. + +_Io_. I, I thought where I should haue you. + +_1 Fay_. Wilt please you daunce, sir. + +_Io_. Indeed, sir, I cannot handle my legges. + +2 _Fay_. O you must needs daunce and sing, +Which if you refuse to doe +We will pinch you blacke and blew; +And about we goe. + + _They all daunce in a ring and sing, as followeth_. + + Round about, round about, in a fine ring a, + Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a: + Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a, + All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a. + + Round about, round about, in a fine Ring a, + Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a: + Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a, + All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a. + + We haue daunc't round about in a fine Ring a, + We haue daunc't lustily and thus we sing a; + All about, in and out, ouer this Greene a, + Too and fro, trip and go, to our braue Queene a. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + +(SCENE I.) + + + _Enter Appollo and three Charites_. + +1 _Cha_. No, No, great _Phoebus_; this your silence tends +To hide your griefe from knowledge of your friends, +Who, if they knew the cause in each respect, +Would shewe their utmost skill to cure th'effect: + +_Ap_. Good Ladyes, your conceites in iudgement erre: +Because you see me dumpish, you referre +The reason to some secret griefe of mine: +But you haue seene me melancholy many a time: +Perhaps it is the glowing weather now +That makes me seeme so ill at ease to you. + +1 _Cha_. Fine shifts to cover that you cannot hide! +No, _Phoebus_; by your looks may be discride +Some hid conceit that harbors in your thought +Which hath therein some straunge impression wrought, +That by the course thereof you seeme to mee +An other man then you were wont to bee. + +_Ap_. No, Ladies; you deceiue yourselues in mee: +What likelihood or token do ye see +That may perswade it true that you suppose? + +2 _Cha_. _Appollo_ hence a great suspition growes:-- +Yeare not so pleasaunt now as earst in companie; +Ye walke alone and wander solitarie; +The pleasaunt toyes we did frequent sometime +Are worne away and growne out of prime; +Your Instrument hath lost his siluer sound, +That rang of late through all this grouie ground; +Your bowe, wherwith the chace you did frequent, +Is closde in case and long hath been unbent. +How differ you from that _Appollo_ now +That whilom sat in shade of Lawrell bowe, +And with the warbling of your Iuorie Lute +T'alure the Fairies for to daunce about! +Or from th'_Appollo_ that with bended bowe +Did many a sharp and wounding shaft bestowe +Amidst the Dragon _Pithons_ scalie wings, +And forc't his dying blood to spout in springs! +Beleeue me, _Phebus_, who sawe you then and now +Would thinke there were a wondrous change in you. + +_Ap_. Alas, faire dames, to make my sorows plain +Would but reuiue an auncient wound again, +Which grating presently vpon my minde +Doth leaue a fear of former woes behinde. + +3 _Cha_. _Phoebus_, if you account vs for the same +That tender thee and loue _Appollo's_ name, +Poure forth to vs the fountaine of your woe +Fro whence the spring of these your sorows flowe; +If we may any way redresse your mone +Commaund our best, harme we will do you none. + +_Ap_. Good Ladies, though I hope for no reliefe +He shewe the ground of this my present griefe: +This time of yeare, or there about it was, +(Accursed be the time, tenne times, alas!) +When I from _Delphos_ tooke my iourney downe +To see the games in noble Sparta Towne. +There saw I that wherein I gan to ioy, +_Amilchars_ sonne, a gallant comely boy +(Hight _Hiacinth_), full fifteene yeares of age, +Whom I intended to haue made my Page; +And bare as great affection to the boy +As euer _Ioue_ in _Ganimede_ did ioy. +Among the games my selfe put in a pledge, +To trie my strength in throwing of the sledge; +Which, poysing with my strained arme, I threw +So farre that it beyond the other flew: +My _Hiacinth_, delighting in the game, +Desierd to proue his manhood in the same, +And, catching ere the sledge lay still on ground, +With violent force aloft it did rebound +Against his head and battered out his braine; +And so alas my louely boy was slaine. + +1 _Cha_. Hard hap, O _Phoebus_; but, sieth it's past & gone, +We wish ye to forbeare this frustrate mone. + +_Ap_. Ladies, I knowe my sorrowes are in vaine, +And yet from mourning can I not refraine. + +1 _Cha_. _Eurania_ some pleasant song shall sing +To put ye from your dumps. + +_Ap_. Alas, no song will bring +The least reliefe to my perplexed minde. + +2 _Cha_. No, _Phoebus_? what other pastime shall we finde +To make ye merry with? + +_Ap_. Faire dames, I thanke you all; +No sport nor pastime can release my thrall. +My grief's of course; when it the course hath had, +I shall be merrie and no longer sad. + +1 _Cha_. What will ye then we doo? + +_Ap_. And please ye, you may goe, +And leaue me here to feed vpon my woe. + +2 _Cha_. Then, _Phoebus, we can but wish ye wel againe. + + [_Exeunt Charites_. + +_Ap_. I thanke ye, gentle Ladies, for your paine.-- +O _Phoebus_, wretched thou, thus art thou faine +With forg'de excuses to conceale thy paine. +O, _Hyacinth_, I suffer not these fits +For thee, my Boy; no, no, another sits +Deeper then thou in closet of my brest, +Whose sight so late hath wrought me this unrest. +And yet no Goddesse nor of heauenly kinde +She is, whose beautie thus torments my minde; +No Fayrie Nymph that haunts these pleasaunt woods, +No Goddesse of the flowres, the fields, nor floods: +Yet such an one whom iustly I may call +A Nymph as well as any of them all. +_Eurymine_, what heauen affoords thee heere? +So may I say, because thou com'st so neere, +And neerer far vnto a heauenly shape +Than she of whom _Ioue_ triumph't in the Rape. +Ile sit me downe and wake my griefe againe +To sing a while in honour of thy name. + + THE SONG. + + Amidst the mountaine Ida groues, + Where _Paris_ kept his Heard, + Before the other Ladies all + He would haue thee prefer'd. + _Pallas_, for all her painting, than + Her face would seeme but pale, + Then _Iuno_ would haue blush't for shame + And _Venus_ looked stale. + _Eurymine_, thy selfe alone + Shouldst beare the golden ball; + So far would thy most heauenly forme + Excell the others all; + O happie _Phoebus_! happie then, + Most happie should I bee + If faire _Eurymine_ would please + To ioyne in loue with mee. + + _Enter Eurymine_. + +_Eu_. Although there be such difference in the chaunge +To Hue in Court and desart woods to raunge, +Yet in extremes, wherein we cannot chuse, +An extreame refuge is not to refuse. +Good gentlemen, did any see my heard? +I shall not finde them out I am afeard; +And yet my maister wayteth with his bowe +Within a standeing, for to strike a Doe. +You saw them not, your silence makes me doubt; +I must goe further till I finde them out. + +_Ap_. What seeke you, prettie mayde? + +_Eu_. Forsooth, my heard of Deere. + +_Ap_. I sawe them lately, but they are not heere. + +_Eu_. I pray, sir, where? + +_Ap_. An houre agoe, or twaine, +I sawe them feeding all aboue the plaine. + +_Eu_. So much the more the toile to fetch them in. +I thanke you, sir. + +_Ap_. Nay, stay, sweet Nymph, with mee. + +_Eu_. My busines cannot so dispatched bee. + +_Ap_. But pray ye, Maide, it will be verie good +To take the shade in this vnhaunted wood. +This flouring bay, with branches large and great, +Will shrowd ye safely from the parching heat. + +_Eu_. Good sir, my busines calls me hence in haste. + +_Ap_. O stay with him who conquered thou hast, +With him whose restles thoughts do beat on thee, +With him that ioyes thy wished face to see, +With him whose ioyes surmount all ioyes aboue +If thou wouldst thinke him worthie of thy loue. + +_Eu_. Why, Sir, would you desire another make, +And weare that garland for your mistres sake? + +_Ap_. No, Nymph; although I loue this laurel tree, +My fancy ten times more affecteth thee: +And, as the bay is alwaies fresh and greene, +So shall my loue as fresh to thee be seene. + +_Eu_. Now truly, sir, you offer me great wrong +To hold me from my busines here so long. + +_Ap_. O stay, sweet Nymph; with more aduisement view +What one he is that for thy grace doth sue. +I am not one that haunts on hills or Rocks, +I am no shepheard wayting on my flocks, +I am no boystrous Satyre, no nor Faune, +That am with pleasure of thy beautie drawne: +Thou dost not know, God wot, thou dost not know +The wight whose presence thou disdainest so. + +_Eu_. But I may know, if you wold please to tell. + +_Ap_. My father in the highest heauen doth dwell +And I am knowne the sonne of _Ioue_ to bee, +Whereon the folke of _Delphos_ honor mee. +By me is knowne what is, what was, and what shall bee; +By me are learnde the Rules of harmonie; +By me the depth of Phisicks lore is found, +And power of Hearbes that grow vpon the ground; +And thus, by circumstances maist thou see +That I am _Phoebus_ who doth fancie thee. + +_Eu_. No, sir; by these discourses may I see +You mock me with a forged pedegree. +If sonne you bee to _Ioue_, as erst ye said, +In making loue vnto a mortall maide +You work dishonour to your deitie. +I must be gonne; I thanke ye for your curtesie. + +_Ap_. Alas, abandon not thy Louer so! + +_Eu_. I pray, sir, hartily giue me leaue to goe. + +_Ap_. The way ore growne with shrubs and bushes thick, +The sharpened thornes your tender feete will pricke, +The brambles round about your traine will lappe, +The burs and briers about your skirts will wrappe. + +_Eu_. If, _Phoebus_, thou of _Ioue_ the ofspring be, +Dishonor not thy deitie so much +With profered force a silly mayd to touch; +For doing so, although a god thou bee, +The earth and men on earth shall ring thy infamie. + +_Ap_. Hard speech to him that loueth thee so well. + +_Eu_. What know I that? + +_Ap_. I know it and can tell, +And feel it, too. + +_Eu_. If that your loue be such +As you pretend, so feruent and so much, +For proofe thereof graunt me but one request. + +_Ap_. I will, by _Ioue_ my father, I protest, +Provided first that thy petition bee +Not hurtfull to thy selfe, nor harme to mee. +For so sometimes did _Phaeton_ my sonne +Request a thing whereby he was vndone; +He lost his life through craving it, and I +Through graunting it lost him, my sonne, thereby. + +_Eu_. Thus, _Phoebus_, thus it is; if thou be hee +That art pretended in thy pedegree, +If sonne thou be to _Iove_, as thou doest fame, +And chalengest that tytle not in vaine, +Now heer bewray some signe of godhead than, +And chaunge me straight from shape of mayd to man. + +_Ap_. Alas! what fond desire doth moue thy minde +To wish thee altered from thy native kinde, +If thou in this thy womans form canst move +Not men but gods to sue and seeke thy love? +Content thyselfe with natures bountie than, +And covet not to beare the shape of man. +And this moreover will I say to thee: +Fairer man then mayde thou shalt neuer bee. + +_Eu_. These vaine excuses manifestly showe +Whether you usurp _Appollos_ name or no. +Sith my demaund so far surmounts your art, +Ye ioyne exceptions on the other part. + +_Ap_. Nay, then, my doubtles Deitie to prove, +Although thereby for ever I loose my Love, +I graunt thy wish: thou art become a man, +I speake no more then well perform I can. +And, though thou walke in chaunged bodie now, +This penance shall be added to thy vowe: +Thyself a man shalt love a man in vaine, +And, loving, wish to be a maide againe. + +_Eu_. _Appollo_, whether I love a man or not, +I thanke ye: now I will accept my lot; +And, sith my chaunge hath disappointed you, +Ye are at libertie to love anew. + [_Exit_. + +_Ap_. If ever I love, sith now I am forsaken, +Where next I love it shall be better taken. +But, what so ere my fate in loving bee, +Yet thou maist vaunt that _Phoebus_ loved thee. + [_Exit Appollo_. + + _Enter Ioculo, Frisco, and Mopso, at three severall doores_. + +_Mop_. _Ioculo_, whither iettest thou? +Hast thou found thy maister? + +_Io_. _Mopso_, wel met; hast thou found thy mistresse? + +_Mop_. Not I, by Pan. + +_Io_. Nor I, by Pot. + +_Mop_. Pot? what god's that? + +_Io_. The next god to Pan; and such a pot it may be as he shall haue +more servants then all the Pannes in a Tinker's shop. + +_Mop_. _Frisco_, where hast thou beene frisking? hast thou found-- + +_Fris_. I haue found,-- + +_Io_. What hast thou found, _Frisco_? + +_Fris_. A couple of crack-roapes. + +_Io_. And I. + +_Mop_. And I. + +_Fris_. I meane you two. + +_Io_. I you two. + +_Mop_. And I you two. + +_Fris_. Come, a trebble conjunction: all three, all three. + + (_They all imbrace each other_) + +_Mop_. But _Frisco_, hast not found the faire shepheardesse, +thy maister's mistresse? + +_Fris_. Not I, by God,--_Priapus_, I meane. + +_Io_. _Priapus_, quoth a? Whatt'in[118] a God might that bee? + +_Fris_. A plaine God, with a good peg to hang a shepheardesse bottle +vpon. + +_Io_. Thou, being a Forrester's Boy, shouldst sweare by the God of +the woods. + +_Fris_. My Maister sweares by _Siluanus_; I must sweare by his poore +neighbour. + +_Io_. And heer's a shepheard's swaine sweares by a Kitchen God, Pan. + +_Mop_. Pan's the shepheardes God; but thou swearest by Pot: what God's +that? + +_Io_. The God of good-fellowship. Well, you haue wicked maisters, that +teach such little Boyes to sweare so young. + +_Fris_. Alas, good old great man, wil not your maister swear? + +_Io_. I neuer heard him sweare six sound oaths in all my life. + +_Mop_. May hap he cannot because hee's diseas'd. + +_Fris_. Peace, _Mopso_. I will stand too't hee's neither +brave Courtier, bouncing Cavalier, nor boone Companion +if he sweare not some time; for they will +sweare, forsweare, and sweare. + +_Io_. How sweare, forsweare, and sweare? how is +that? + +_Fris_. They'll sweare at dyce, forsweare their debts, and sweare when +they loose their labour in love. + +_Io_. Well, your maisters have much to answer for that bring ye up so +wickedly. + +_Fris_. Nay, my maister is damn'd, I'll be sworne, for his verie soule +burnes in the firie eye of his faire mistresse. + +_Io_. My maister is neither damnde nor dead, and yet is in the case of +both your maisters, like a woodden shepheard and a sheepish woodman; +for he is lost in seeking of a lost sheepe and spent in hunting a Doe +that hee would faine strike. + +_Fris_. Faith, and I am founderd with slinging to and fro with Chesnuts, +Hazel-nuts, Bullaze and wildings[119] for presents from my maister to +the faire shepheardesse. + +_Mop_. And I am tierd like a Calf with carrying a Kidde every weeke to +the cottage of my maister's sweet Lambkin. + +_Io_. I am not tierd, but so wearie I cannot goe with following a +maister that followes his mistresse, that followes her shadow, that +followes the sunne, that followes his course. + +_Fris_. That follows the colt, that followed the mare the man rode on +to Midleton. Shall I speake a wise word? + +_Mop_. Do, and wee will burne our caps. + +_Fris_. Are not we fooles? + +_Io_. Is that a wise word? + +_Fris_. Giue me leave; are not we fooles to weare our young feete to old +stumps, when there dwells a cunning man in a Cave hereby who for a bunch +of rootes, a bagge of nuts, or a bushell of crabs will tell us where +thou shalt find thy maister, and which of our maisters shall win the +wenche's favour? + +_Io_. Bring me to him, _Frisco_: I'll give him all the poynts at my hose +to poynt me right to my maister. + +_Mop_. A bottle of whey shall be his meed if he save me labour for +posting with presents. + + _Enter Aramanthus with his Globe, &c_. + +_Fris_. Here he comes: offend him not, _Ioculo_, for feare he turne thee +to a Iacke an apes. + +_Mop_. And thee to an Owle. + +_Io_. And thee to a wood-cocke. + +_Fris_. A wood-cocke an Owle and an Ape. + +_Mop_. A long bill a broade face and no tayle. + +_Io_. Kisse it, Mopso, and be quiet: Ile salute him civilly. Good speed, +good man. + +_Aram_. Welcome, bad boy. + +_Fris_. He speakes to thee, _Ioculo_. + +_Io_. Meaning thee, _Frisco_. + +_Aram_. I speake and meane not him, nor him, nor thee; But speaking so, +I speake and meane all three. + +_Io_. If ye be good at Rimes and Riddles, old man, expound me this:-- + + These two serve two, those two serve one; + Assoyle[120] me this and I am gone. + +_Aram_. You three serve three; those three do seeke to one; +One shall her finde; he comes, and she is gone. + +_Io_. This is a wise answer: her going caused his comming; +For if she had nere gone he had nere come. + +_Mop_. Good maister wizard, leave these murlemewes and tel _Mopso_ +plainly whether _Gemulo_ my maister, that gentle shepheard, shall win +the love of the faire shepheardesse, his flocke-keeper, or not; and Ile +give ye a bottle of as good whey as ere ye laid lips to. + +_Fris_. And good father Fortune-teller, let _Frisco_ knowe whether +_Siluio_ my maister, that lustie Forrester, shall gaine that same gay +shepheardesse or no. Ile promise ye nothing for your paines but a bag +full of nuts, and if I bring a crab or two in my pocket take them for +advantage. + +_Io_. And gentle maister wise-man, tell _Ioculo_ if his noble maister +_Ascanio_, that gallant courtier, shal be found by me, and she found by +him for whom he hath lost his father's favour and his owne libertie and +I my labour; and Ile give ye thankes, for we courtiers neither giue nor +take bribes. + +_Aram_. I take your meaning better then your speech, +And I will graunt the thing you doo beseech. +But, for the teares of Lovers be no toyes, +He tell their chaunce in parables to boyes. + +_Fris_. In what ye will lets heare our maisters' luck. + +_Aram_. Thy maister's Doe shall turne unto a Buck; (_To Frisco_.) +Thy maister's Eawe be chaunged to a Ram; (_To Mopso_.) +Thy maister seeks a maide and findes a man, (_To Ioculo_.) +Yet for his labor shall he gaine his meede; +The other two shall sigh to see him speede. + +_Mop_. Then my maister shall not win the shepheardesse? + +_Aram_. No, hast thee home and bid him right his wrong, +The shepheardesse will leave his flock ere long. + +_Mop_. Ile run to warne my master of that. + [_Exit_. + +_Fris_. My maister wood-man takes but woodden paines to no purpose, +I thinke: what say ye, shall he speed? + +_Aram_. No, tell him so, and bid him tend his Deare +And cease to woe: he shall not wed this yeare. + +_Fris_. I am not sorie for it; farewell, _Ioculo_. + [_Exit_. + +_Io_. I may goe with thee, for I shall speed even so too by staying +behinde. + +_Aram_. Better, my Boy, thou shalt thy maister finde +And he shall finde the partie he requires, +And yet not find the summe of his desires. +Keep on that way; thy maister walkes before, +Whom, when thou findst, loose him good Boy no more. + + [_Exit ambo_. + + + + +_Actus Quartus_. + + + _Enter Ascanio and Ioculo_. + +_Asca_. Shall then my travell ever endles prove, +That I can heare no tydings of my Love? +In neither desart, grove, nor shadie wood +Nor obscure thicket where my foote hath trod? +But every plough-man and rude shepheard swain +Doth still reply unto my greater paine? +Some Satyre, then, or Godesse of this place, +Some water Nymph vouchsafed me so much grace +As by some view, some signe, or other sho, +I may haue knowledge if she lives or no. + +_Eccho_. No. + +_Asca_. Then my poore hart is buried too in wo: +Record it once more if the truth be so. + +_Eccho_. So. + +_Asca_. How? that _Eurymine_ is dead, or lives? + +_Eccho_. Lives. + +_Asca_. Now, gentle Goddesse, thou redeem'st my soule +From death to life: Oh tell me quickly, where? + +_Eccho_. Where? + +_Asca_. In some remote far region or else neere? + +_Eccho_. Neere. + +_Asca_. Oh, what conceales her from my thirstie eyes? +Is it restraint or some unknown disguise? + +_Eccho_. Disguise. + +_Io_. Let me be hang'd my Lord, but all is lyes. + +_Eccho_. Lyes. + +_Io_. True we are both perswaded thou doest lye. + +_Eccho_. Thou doest lye. + +_Io_. Who? I? + +_Eccho_. Who? I? + +_Io_. I, thou. + +_Eccho_. I, thou. + +_Io_. Thou dar'st not come and say so to my face. + +_Eccho_. Thy face. + +_Io_. He make you then for ever prating more. + +_Eccho_. More. + +_Io_. Will ye prate more? Ile see that presently. + +_Asca_. Stay, _Ioculo_, it is the Eccho, Boy, +That mocks our griefe and laughes at our annoy. +Hard by this grove there is a goodly plaine +Betwixt two hils, still fresh with drops of raine, +Where never spreading Oake nor Poplar grew +Might hinder the prospect or other view, +But all the country that about it lyes +Presents it selfe vnto our mortall eyes; +Save that vpon each hill, by leavie trees, +The Sun at highest his scorching heat may leese: +There, languishing, my selfe I will betake +As heaven shal please and only for her sake. + +_Io_. Stay, maister; I have spied the fellow that mocks vs all this +while: see where he sits. + + _Aramanthus sitting_. + +_Asca_. The very shape my vision told me off, +That I should meet with as I strayed this way. + +_Io_. What lynes he drawes? best go not over farre. + +_Asca_. Let me alone; thou doest but trouble mee. + +_Io_. Youle trouble vs all annon, ye shall see. + +_Asca_. God speed, faire Sir. + +_Io_. My Lord, do ye not mark +How the skie thickens and begins to darke? + +_Asca_. Health to ye, Sir. + +_Io_. Nay, then, God be our speed. + +_Ara_. Forgive me, Sir; I sawe ye not indeed. + +_Asca_. Pardon me rather for molesting you. + +_Io_. Such another face I never knew. + +_Ara_. Thus, studious, I am wont to passe the time +By true proportion of each line from line. + +_Io_. Oh now I see he was learning to spell: +Theres A. B. C. in midst of his table. + +_Asca_. Tell me, I pray ye, sir, may I be bold to crave. +The cause of your abode within this cave? + +_Ara_. To tell you that, in this extreme distresse, +Were but a tale of Fortunes ficklenesse. +Sometime I was a Prince of _Lesbos_ Ile +And liv'd beloved, whilst my good stars did smile; +But clowded once with this world's bitter crosse +My joy to grife, my gaine converts to losse. + +_Asca_. Forward, I pray ye; faint not in your tale. + +_Io_. It will not all be worth a cup of Ale. + +_Ara_. A short discourse of that which is too long, +How ever pleasing, can never seeme but wrong; +Yet would my tragicke story fit the stage: +Pleasaunt in youth but wretched in mine age, +Blinde fortune setting vp and pulling downe, +Abusde by those my selfe raisde to renowne: +But that which wrings me neer and wounds my hart, +Is a false brothers base vnthankfull part. + +_Asca_. A smal offence comparde with my disease; +No doubt ingratitude in time may cease +And be forgot: my grief out lives all howres, +Raining on my head continual, haplesse showers. + +_Ara_. You sing of yours and I of mine relate, +To every one seemes worst his owne estate. +But to proceed: exiled thus by spight, +Both country I forgoe and brothers sight, +And comming hither, where I thought to live, +Yet here I cannot but lament and greeve. + +_Asca_. Some comfort yet in this there doth remaine, +That you have found a partner in your paine. + +_Ara_. How are your sorrowes subiect? let me heare. + +_Asca_. More overthrowne and deeper in dispaire +Than is the manner of your heavie smart, +My carelesse griefe doth ranckle at my hart; +And, in a word to heare the summe of all, +I love and am beloved, but there-withall +The sweetnesse of that banquet must forgo, +Whose pleasant tast is chaungde with bitter wo. + +_Ara_. A conflict but to try your noble minde; +As common vnto youth as raine to winde. + +_Asca_. But hence it is that doth me treble wrong, +Expected good that is forborne so long +Doth loose the vertue which the vse would prove. + +_Ara_. Are you then, sir, despised of your Love? + +_Asca_. No; but deprived of her company, +And for my careles negligence therein +Am bound to doo this penaunce for my sin; +That, if I never finde where she remaines, +I vowe a yeare shal be my end of paines. + +_Ara_. Was she then lost within this forrest here? + +_Asca_. Lost or forlorn, to me she was right deere: +And this is certaine; vnto him that could +The place where she abides to me vnfold +For ever I would vow my selfe his friend, +Never revolting till my life did end. +And there fore, sir (as well I know your skill) +If you will give me physicke for this ill +And shewe me if _Eurymine_ do live, +It were a recompence for all my paine, +And I should thinke my ioyes were full againe. + +_Ara_. They know the want of health that have bene sick: +My selfe, sometimes acquainted with the like, +Do learne in dutie of a kinde regard +To pittie him whose hap hath bene so hard, +How long, I pray ye, hath she absent bene? + +_Asca_. Three days it is since that my Love was seene. + +_Io_. Heer's learning for the nonce that stands on ioynts; +For all his cunning Ile scarse give two poynts. + +_Ara_. _Mercurio regnante virum, sub-sequente Luna Faeminum +designat_. + +_Io_. Nay, and you go to Latin, then tis sure my maister shall finde +her if he could tell where. + +_Ara_. I cannot tell what reason it should bee, +But love and reason here doo disagree: +By proofe of learned principles I finde +The manner of your love's against all kinde; +And, not to feede ye with uncertaine ioy, +Whom you affect so much is but a Boy. + +_Io_. A Riddle for my life, some antick Iest? +Did I not tell ye what his cunning was? + +_Asca_. I love a Boy? + +_Ara_. Mine art doth tell me so. + +_Asca_. Adde not a fresh increase vnto my woe. + +_Ara_. I dare avouch, what lately I have saide, +The love that troubles you is for no maide. + +_Asca_. As well I might be said to touch the skie, +Or darke the horizon with tapestrie, +Or walke upon the waters of the sea, +As to be haunted with such lunacie. + +_Ara_. If it be false mine Art I will defie. + +_Asca_. Amazed with grief my love is then transform'd. + +_Io_. Maister, be contented; this is leape yeare: +Women weare breetches, petticoats are deare; +And thats his meaning, on my life it is. + +_Asca_. Oh God, and shal my torments never cease? + +_Ara_. Represse the fury of your troubled minde; +Walke here a while, your Lady you may finde. + +_Io_. A Lady and a Boy, this hangs wel together, +Like snow in harvest, sun-shine and foule weather. + + _Enter Eurymine singing_. + +_Eu_. _Since[121] hope of helpe my froward starres denie, + Come, sweetest death, and end my miserie; + He left his countrie, I my shape have lost; + Deare is the love that hath so dearly cost_. + +Yet can I boast, though _Phoebus_ were uniust, +This shift did serve to barre him from his lust. +But who are these alone? I cannot chuse +But blush for shame that anyone should see +_Eurymine_ in this disguise to bee. + +_Asca_. It is (is't[122] not?) my love _Eurymine_. + +_Eury_. Hark, some one hallows: gentlemen, adieu; +In this attire I dare not stay their view. + [_Exit_. + +_Asca_. My love, my ioy, my life! +By eye, by face, by tongue it should be shee: +Oh I, it was my love; Ile after her, +And though she passe the eagle in her flight +Ile never rest till I have gain'd her sight. + [_Exit_. + +_Ara_. Love carries him and so retains his minde +That he forgets how I am left behind. +Yet will I follow softly, as I can, +In hope to see the fortune of the man. + [_Exit_. + +_Io_. Nay let them go, a Gods name, one by one; +With all my heart I am glad to be alone. +Here's old[123] transforming! would with all his art +He could transform this tree into a tart: +See then if I would flinch from hence or no; +But, for it is not so, I needs must go. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Silvio and Gemulo_. + +_Sil_. Is it a bargaine _Gemulo_ or not? + +_Ge_. Thou never knew'st me breake my word, I wot, +Nor will I now, betide me bale or blis. + +_Sil_. Nor I breake mine: and here her cottage is, +Ile call her forth. + +_Ge_. Will _Silvio_ be so rude? + +_Sil_. Never shall we betwixt ourselves conclude +Our controversie, for we overweene. + +_Ge_. Not I but thou; for though thou iet'st in greene, +As fresh as meadow in a morne of May, +And scorn'st the shepheard for he goes in gray. +But, Forrester, beleeve it as thy creede, +My mistresse mindes my person not my weede. + +_Sil_. So 'twas I thought: because she tends thy sheepe +Thou thinkst in love of thee she taketh keepe; +That is as townish damzels, lend the hand +But send the heart to him aloofe doth stande: +So deales _Eurymine_ with _Silvio_. + +_Ge_. Al be she looke more blithe on _Gemulo_ +Her heart is in the dyall of her eye, +That poynts me hers. + +_Sil_. That shall we quickly trye. +_Eurymine_! + +_Ge_. _Erynnis_, stop thy throte; +Unto thy hound thou hallowst such a note. +I thought that shepheards had bene mannerlesse, +But wood-men are the ruder groomes I guesse. + +_Sil_. How shall I call her swaine but by her name? + +_Ge_. So _Hobinoll_ the plowman calls his dame. +Call her in Carroll from her quiet coate. + +_Sil_. Agreed; but whether shall begin his note? + +_Ge_. Draw cuttes. + +_Sil_. Content; the longest shall begin. + +_Ge_. Tis mine. + +_Sil_. Sing loude, for she is farre within. + +_Ge_. Instruct thy singing in thy forrest waies, +Shepheards know how to chant their roundelaies. + +_Sil_. Repeat our bargain ere we sing our song, +Least after wrangling should our mistresse wrong: +If me she chuse thou must be well content, +If thee she chuse I give the like consent. + +_Ge_. Tis done: now, _Pan_ pipe, on thy sweetest reede, +And as I love so let thy servaunt speede.-- + + _As little Lambes lift up their snowie sides + When mounting Lark salutes the gray eyed morne-- + +Sil. As from the Oaken leaves the honie glides + Where nightingales record upon the thorne-- + +Ge. So rise my thoughts-- + +Sil. So all my sences cheere-- + +Ge. When she surveyes my flocks + +Sil. And she my Deare. + +Ge. Eurymine! + +Sil. Eurymine! + +Ge. Come foorth-- + +Sil. Come foorth-- + +Ge. Come foorth and cheere these plaines-- + + (And both sing this together when they have sung it single.) + +Sil. The wood-mans Love + +Ge. And Lady of the Swaynes. + + Enter Eurymine_. + +Faire Forester and lovely shepheard Swaine, +Your Carrolls call _Eurymine_ in vaine, +For she is gone: her Cottage and her sheepe +With me, her brother, hath she left to keepe, +And made me sweare by _Pan_, ere she did go, +To see them safely kept for _Gemulo_. + + (_They both looke straungely upon her, apart each from other_.) + +_Ge_. What, hath my Love a new come Lover than? + +_Sil_. What, hath my mistresse got another man? + +_Ge_. This Swayne will rob me of _Eurymine_. + +_Sil_. This youth hath power to win _Eurymine_. + +_Ge_. This straungers beautie beares away my prize. + +_Sil_. This straunger will bewitch her with his eies. + +_Ge_. It is _Adonis_. + +_Sil_. It is _Ganymede_. + +_Ge_. My blood is chill. + +_Sil_. My hearte is colde as Leade. + +_Eu_. Faire youthes, you have forgot for what ye came: +You seeke your Love, shee's gone. + +_Ge_. The more to blame. + +_Eu_. Not so; my sister had no will to go +But that our parents dread commaund was so. + +_Sil_. It is thy sense: thou art not of her kin, +But as my Ryvall com'ste my Love to win. + +_Eu_. By great _Appollos_ sacred Deitie, +That shepheardesse so neare is Sib[124] to me +As I ne may (for all the world) her wed; +For she and I in one selfe wombe were bred. +But she is gone, her flocke is left to mee. + +_Ge_. The shepcoat's mine and I will in and see. + +_Sil_. And I. + + [_Exeunt Silvio and Gemulo_. + +_Eu_. Go both, cold comfort shall you finde: +My manly shape hath yet a womans minde, +Prone to reveale what secret she doth know. +God pardon me, I was about to show +My transformation: peace, they come againe. + + _Enter Silvio and Gemulo_. + +_Sil_. Have ye found her? + +_Ge_. No, we looke in vaine. + +_Eu_. I told ye so. + +_Ge_. Yet heare me, new come Swayne. +Albe thy seemly feature set no sale +But honest truth vpon thy novell tale, +Yet (for this world is full of subtiltee) +We wish ye go with vs for companie +Unto a wise man wonning[125] in this wood, +Hight _Aramanth_, whose wit and skill is good, +That he may certifie our mazing doubt +How this straunge chaunce and chaunge hath fallen out. + +_Eu_. I am content; have with ye when ye will. + +_Sil_. Even now. + +_Eu_. Hee'le make ye muse if he have any skill. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + + + _Enter Ascanio and Eurymine_. + +_Asca_. _Eurymine_, I pray, if thou be shee, +Refraine thy haste and doo not flie from mee. +The time hath bene my words thou would'st allow +And am I growne so loathsome to thee now? + +_Eu_. _Ascanio_, time hath bene, I must confesse, +When in thy presence was my happinesse, +But now the manner of my miserie +Hath chaung'd that course that so it cannot be. + +_Asca_. What wrong have I contrived, what iniurie +To alienate thy liking so from mee? +If thou be she whom sometime thou didst faine, +And bearest not the name of friend in vaine, +Let not thy borrowed guise of altred kinde +Alter the wonted liking of thy minde, +But though in habit of a man thou goest +Yet be the same _Eurymine_ thou wast. + +_Eu_. How gladly would I be thy Lady still, +If earnest vowes might answere to my will. + +_Asca_. And is thy fancie alterd with thy guise? + +_Eu_. My kinde, but not my minde in any wise. + +_Asca_. What though thy habit differ from thy kinde, +Thou maiest retain thy wonted loving minde. + +_Eu_. And so I doo. + +_Asca_. Then why art thou so straunge, +Or wherefore doth thy plighted fancie chaunge? + +_Eu_. _Ascanio_, my heart doth honor thee. + +_Asca_. And yet continuest stil so strange to me? + +_Eu_. Not strange, so far as kind will give me leave. + +_Asca_. Unkind that kind that kindnesse doth bereave: +Thou saist thou lovest me? + +_Eu_. As a friend his friend, +And so I vowe to love thee to the end. + +_Asca_. I wreake not of such love; love me but so +As faire _Eurymine_ loved _Ascanio_. + +_Eu_. That love's denide vnto my present kinde. + +_Asca_. In kindely shewes vnkinde I doo thee finde: +I see thou art as constant as the winde. + +_Eu_. Doth kinde allow a man to love a man? + +_Asca_. Why, art thou not _Eurymine_? + +_Eu_. I am. + +_Asca_. _Eurymine_ my love? + +_Eu_. The very same. + +_Asca_. And wast thou not a woman then? + +_Eu_. Most true. + +_Asca_. And art thou changed from a woman now? + +_Eu_. Too true. + +_Asca_. These tales my minde perplex. +Thou art _Eurymine_? + +_Eu_. In name, but not in sexe. + +_Asca_. What then? + +_Eu_. A man. + +_Asca_. In guise thou art, I see. + +_Eu_. The guise thou seest doth with my kinde agree. + +_Asca_. Before thy flight thou wast a woman tho? + +_Eu_. True, _Ascanio_. + +_Asca_. And since thou art a man? + +_Eu_. Too true, deare friend. + +_Asca_. Then I have lost a wife. + +_Eu_. But found a friend whose dearest blood and life +Shal be as readie as thine owne for thee; +In place of wife such friend thou hast of mee. + + _Enter Ioculo and Aramanthus_. + +_Io_. There they are: maister, well overtane, +I thought we two should never meete againe: +You went so fast that I to follow thee +Slipt over hedge and ditch and many a tall tree. + +_Ara_. Well said, my Boy: thou knowest not how to lie. + +_Io_. To lye, Sir? how say you, was it not so? +You were at my heeles, though farre off, ye know. +For, maister, not to counterfayt with ye now, +Hee's as good a footeman as a shackeld sow. + +_Asca_. Good, Sir, y'are welcome: sirrha, hold your prate. + +_Ara_. What speed in that I told to you of late? + +_Asca_. Both good and bad, as doth the sequel prove: +For (wretched) I have found and lost my love, +If that be lost which I can nere enjoy. + +_Io_. Faith, mistresse, y'are too blame to be so coy +The day hath bene--but what is that to mee!-- +When more familiar with a man you'ld bee. + +_Ara_. I told ye you should finde a man of her, +Or else my rule did very strangely erre. + +_Asca_. Father, the triall of your skill I finde: +My Love's transformde into another kinde: +And so I finde and yet have lost my love. + +_Io_. Ye cannot tell, take her aside and prove. + +_Asca_. But, sweet _Eurymine_, make some report +Why thou departedst from my father's court, +And how this straunge mishap to thee befell: +Let me entreat thou wouldst the processe tell. + +_Eu_. To shew how I arrived in this ground +Were but renewing of an auncient wound,-- +Another time that office Ile fulfill; +Let it suffice, I came against my will, +And wand'ring here, about this forrest side, +It was my chaunce of Phoebus to be spide; +Whose love, because I chastly did withstand, +He thought to offer me a violent hand; +But for a present shift, to shun his rape, +I wisht myself transformde into this shape, +Which he perform'd (God knowes) against his will: +And I since then have wayld my fortune still, +Not for misliking ought I finde in mee, +But for thy sake whose wife I meant to bee. + +_Asca_. Thus have you heard our woful destenie, +Which I in heart lament and so doth shee. + +_Ara_. The fittest remedie that I can finde +Is this, to ease the torment of your minde: +Perswade yourselves the great _Apollo_ can +As easily make a woman of a man +As contrariwise he made a man of her. + +_Asca_. I think no lesse. + +_Ara_. Then humble suite preferre +To him; perhaps our prayers may attaine +To have her turn'd into her forme againe. + +_Eu_. But _Phoebus_ such disdain to me doth beare +As hardly we shal win his graunt I feare. + +_Ara_. Then in these verdant fields, al richly dide +With natures gifts and _Floras_ painted pride, +There is a goodly spring whose crystall streames, +Beset with myrtles, keepe backe _Phoebus_ beames: +There in rich seates all wrought of Ivory +The Graces sit, listening the melodye, +The warbling Birds doo from their prettie billes +Vnite in concord as the brooke distilles,[126] +Whose gentle murmure with his buzzing noates +Is as a base unto their hollow throates: +Garlands beside they weare upon their browes, +Made of all sorts of flowers earth allowes, +From whence such fragrant sweet perfumes arise +As you would sweare that place is Paradise. +To them let us repaire with humble hart, +And meekly show the manner of your smart: +So gratious are they in _Apollos_ eies +As their intreatie quickly may suffice +In your behalfe. Ile tell them of your states +And crave their aides to stand your advocates. + +_Asca_. For ever you shall bind us to you than. + +_Ara_. Come, go with me; Ile doo the best I can. + +_Io_. Is not this hard luck, to wander so long +And in the end to finde his wife markt wrong! + + _Enter Phylander_. + +_Phy_. A proper iest as ever I heard tell! +In sooth me thinkes the breech becomes her well; +And might it not make their husbands feare them[127] +Wold all the wives in our town might weare them. +Tell me, youth, art a straunger here or no? + +_Io_. Is your commission, sir, to examine me so? + +_Phy_. What, is it thou? now, by my troth, wel met. + +_Io_. By your leave it's well overtaken yet. + +_Phy_. I litle thought I should a found thee here. + +_Io_. Perhaps so, sir. + +_Phy_. I prethee speake: what cheere? + +_Io_. What cheere can here be hopte for in these woods, +Except trees, stones, bryars, bushes or buddes? + +_Phy_. My meaning is, I fane would heare thee say +How thou doest, man: why, thou tak'st this another way. + +_Io_. Why, then, sir, I doo as well as I may: +And, to perswade ye that welcome ye bee, +Wilt please ye sir to eate a crab with mee? + +_Phy_. Beleeve me, _Ioculo_, reasonable hard cheere. + +_Io_. _Phylander_, tis the best we can get here. +But when returne ye to the court againe? + +_Phy_. Shortly, now I have found thee. + +_Io_. To requite your paine +Shall I intreat you beare a present from me? + +_Phy_. To whom? + +_Io_. To the Duke. + +_Phy_. What shall it be? + +_Io_. Because Venson so convenient doth not fall, +A pecke of Acornes to make merry withal. + +_Phy_. What meanst thou by that? + +_Io_. By my troth, sir, as ye see, +Acornes are good enough for such as hee. +I wish his honour well, and to doo him good, +Would he had eaten all the acorns in the wood. + +_Phy_. Good word, _Ioculo_, of your Lord and mine. + +_Io_. As may agree with such a churlish swine. +How dooes his honor? + +_Phy_. Indifferently well. + +_Io_. I wish him better. + +_Phy_. How? + +_Io_. Vice-gerent in Hell. + +_Phy_. Doest thou wish so for ought that he hath done? + +_Io_. I, for the love he beares unto his sonne. + +_Phy_. Hees growne of late as fatherly and milde +As ever father was unto his childe, +And sent me forth to search the coast about +If so my hap might be to finde him out; +And if _Eurymine_ alive remaine +To bring them both vnto the Court againe. +Where is thy maister? + +_Io_. Walking about the ground. + +_Phy_. Oh that his Love _Eurymine_ were found. + +_Io_. Why, so she is; come follow me and see; +He bring ye strait where they remaining bee. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter three or foure Muses, Aramanthus, Ascanio, + Silvio, and Gemulo_. + +_Asca_. Cease your contention for _Eurymine_, +Nor word nor vowes can helpe her miserie; +But he it is, that did her first transform, +Must calme the gloomy rigor of this storme, +Great _Phoebus_ whose pallace we are neere. +Salute him, then, in his celestiall sphere, +That with the notes of cheerful harmonie +He may be mov'd to shewe his Deitie. + +_Sil_. But wheres _Eurymine_? have we lost her sight? + +_As_. Poore soule! within a cave, with feare affright, +She sits to shun _Appollos_ angry view +Until she sees what of our prayers ensue, +If we can reconcile his love or no, +Or that she must continue in her woe. + +1 _Mu_. Once have we tried, _Ascanio_, for thy sake, +And once againe we will his power awake, +Not doubting but, as he is of heavenly race, +At length he will take pitie on her case. +Sing therefore, and each partie, from his heart, +In this our musicke beare a chearfull part. + + SONG. + + _All haile, faire Phoebus, in thy purple throne! + Vouchsafe the regarding of our deep mone; + Hide not, oh hide not, thy comfortable face, + But pittie, but pittie, a virgins poore case_. + + _Phoebus appeares_. + +1 _Mu_. Illustrate bewtie, Chrystall heavens eye, +Once more we do entreat thy clemencie +That, as thou art the power of us all, +Thou wouldst redeeme _Eurymine_ from thrall. +Graunt, gentle God, graunt this our small request, +And, if abilitie in us do rest, +Whereby we ever may deserve the same, +It shall be seene we reverence _Phoebus_ name. + +_Phoe_. You sacred sisters of faire Helli[c]on, +On whom my favours evermore have shone, +In this you must have patience with my vow: +I cannot graunt what you aspire unto, +Nor wast my fault she was transformed so, +But her own fond desire, as ye well know. +We told her, too, before her vow was past +That cold repentance would ensue at last; +And, sith herselfe did wish the shape of man, +She causde the abuse, digest it how she can. + +2 _Mu_. Alas, if unto her you be so hard, +Yet of _Ascanio_ have some more regard, +And let him not endure such endlesse wrong +That hath pursude her constant love so long. + +_Asca_. Great God, the greevous travells I have past +In restlesse search to finde her out at last; +My plaints, my toiles, in lieu of my annoy +Have well deserv'd my Lady to enjoy. +Penance too much I have sustaind before; +Oh _Phoebus_, plague me not with any more, +Nor be thou so extreame now at the worst +To make my torments greater than at the first. +My father's late displeasure is forgot, +And there's no let nor any churlish blot +To interrupt our ioyes from being compleat, +But only thy good favour to intreat. +In thy great grace it lyes to make my state +Most happie now or most infortunate. + +1 _Mu_. Heavenly _Apollo_, on our knees I pray +Vouchsafe thy great displeasure to allay. +What honor to thy Godhead will arise +To plague a silly Lady in this wise? +Beside it is a staine unto thy Deitie +To yeeld thine owne desires the soveraigntie: +Then shew some grace vnto a wofull Dame, +And in these groves our tongues shall sound thy fame. + +_Phoe_. Arise, deare Nourses of divinest skill, +You sacred Muses of _Pernassus_ hill; +_Phoebus_ is conquerd by your deare respect +And will no longer clemency neglect. +You have not sude nor praide to me in vaine; +I graunt your willes: she is a mayde againe. + +_Asca_. Thy praise shal never die whilst I do live. + +2 _Mu_. Nor will we slack perpetual thankes to give. + +_Phoe_. _Thalia_, neare the cave where she remaines +The Fayries keepe: request them of their paines, +And in my name bid them forthwith provide +From that darke place to be the Ladies guide; +And in the bountie of their liberall minde +To give her cloathes according to her kinde. + +1 _Mu_. I goe, divine _Apollo_. + [_Exit_. + +_Phoe_. Haste againe: +No time too swift to ease a Lovers paine. + +_Asca_. Most sacred _Phoebus_, endles thankes to thee +That doest vouchsafe so much to pittie mee; +And, aged father, for your kindnesse showne +Imagine not your friendship ill bestowne: +The earth shall sooner vanish and decay +Than I will prove unthankfull any way. + +_Ara_. It is sufficient recompence to me +If that my silly helpe have pleasurde thee; +If you enioy your Love and hearts desire +It is enough, nor doo I more require. + +_Phoe_. Grave _Aramanthus_, now I see thy face, +I call to minde how tedious a long space +Thou hast frequented these sad desarts here; +Thy time imployed in heedful minde I bear, +The patient sufferance of thy former wrong, +Thy poore estate and sharpe exile so long, +The honourable port thou bor'st some time +Till wrongd thou wast with undeserved crime +By them whom thou to honour didst advaunce: +The memory of which thy heavy chaunce +Provokes my minde to take remorse on thee. +Father, henceforth my clyent shalt thou bee +And passe the remnant of thy fleeting time +With Lawrell wreath among the Muses nine; +And, when thy age hath given place to fate, +Thou shalt exchange thy former mortall state +And after death a palme of fame shalt weare, +Amongst the rest that live in honor here. +And, lastly, know that faire _Eurymine_, +Redeemed now from former miserie, +Thy daughter is, whom I for that intent +Did hide from thee in this thy banishment +That so she might the greater scourge sustaine +In putting _Phoebus_ to so great a paine. +But freely now enioy each others sight: +No more _Eurymine_: abandon quite +That borrowed name, as _Atlanta_ she is calde.-- +And here's the[128] woman, in her right shape instalde. + +_Asca_. Is then my Love deriv'de of noble race? + +_Phoe_. No more of that; but mutually imbrace. + +_Ara_. Lives my _Atlanta_ whom the rough seas wave +I thought had brought unto a timelesse grave? + +_Phoe_. Looke not so straunge; it is thy father's voyce, +And this thy Love; _Atlanta_, now rejoice. + +_Eu_. As in another world of greater blis +My daunted spirits doo stand amazde at this. +So great a tyde of comfort overflowes +As what to say my faltering tongue scarse knowes, +But only this, vnperfect though it bee;-- +Immortall thankes, great _Phoebus_, unto thee. + +_Phoe_. Well, Lady, you are retransformed now, +But I am sure you did repent your vow. + +_Eury_. Bright Lampe of glory, pardon my rashenesse past. + +_Phoe_. The penance was your owne though I did fast. + + _Enter Phylander and Ioculo_. + +_Asca_. Behold, deare Love, to make your ioyes abound, +Yonder _Phylander_ comes. + +_Io_. Oh, sir, well found; +But most especially it glads my minde +To see my mistresse restorde to kinde. + +_Phy_. My Lord & Madame, to requite your pain, +_Telemachus_ hath sent for you againe: +All former quarrels now are trodden doune, +And he doth smile that heretofore did frowne. + +_Asca_. Thankes, kinde _Phylander_, for thy friendly newes, +Like _Junos_ balme that our lifes blood renewes. + +_Phoe_. But, Lady, first ere you your iourney take, +Vouchsafe at my request one grant to make. + +_Eu_. Most willingly. + +_Phoe_. The matter is but small: +To wear a bunch of Lawrell in your Caull[129] +For _Phoebus_ sake, least else I be forgot; +And thinke vpon me when you see me not. + +_Eu_. Here while I live a solemn oath I make +To Love the Lawrell for _Appollo's_ sake. + +_Ge_. Our suite is dasht; we may depart, I see. + +_Phoe_. Nay _Gemulo_ and _Silvio_, contented bee: +This night let me intreate ye you will take +Such cheare as I and these poore Dames can make: +To morrow morne weele bring you on your way. + +_Sil_. Your Godhead shall commaund vs all to stay. + +_Phoe_. Then, Ladies, gratulate this happie chaunce +With some delightful tune and pleasaunt daunce, +Meane-space upon his Harpe will _Phoebus_ play; +So both of them may boast another day +And make report that, when their wedding chaunc'te, +_Phoebus_ gave musicke and the Muses daunc'te. + + + THE SONG. + + _Since painfull sorrowes date hath end + And time hath coupled friend with friend, + Reioyce we all, reioyce and sing, + Let all these groaves of_ Phoebus _ring: + Hope having wonne, dispaire is vanisht, + Pleasure revives and care is banisht: + Then trip we all this Roundelay, + And still be mindful of the bay_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +FINIS. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE _MARTYR'D SOULDIER_. + + +Anthony A. Wood, in his _Athenae Oxonienses_ (ed. Bliss, III., 740), +after giving an account of James Shirley, adds:--"I find one Henry +Shirley, gent., author of a play called the _Martyr'd Souldier_, London, +1638, 4to.; which Henry I take to be brother or near kinsman to James." +Possibly a minute investigation might discover some connection between +Henry Shirley and the admirable writer who closes with dignity the long +line of our Old Dramatists; but hitherto Wood's conjecture remains +unsupported. On Sept. 9, 1653, four plays of Henry Shirley's were +entered on the _Stationers' Lists_, but they were never published: the +names of these are,-- + + 1. _The Spanish Duke of Lerma_. + 2. _The Duke of Guise_. + 3. _The Dumb Bawd_. + 4. _Giraldo the Constant Lover_. + +Among the Ashmolean MSS. (Vol. 38. No. 88) are preserved forty-six +lines[130] signed with the name of "Henrye Sherley." They begin thus:-- + + "Loe, Amorous style, affect my pen: + For why? I wright of fighting men; + The bloody storye of a fight + Betwixt a Bayliffe and a Knight," &c. + +My good friend Mr. S.L. Lee, of Balliol, kindly took the trouble to +transcribe the forty-six lines; but he agrees with me that they are not +worth printing. + +The _Martyr'd Souldier_, then, being his sole extant production, it must +be confessed that Henry Shirley's claim to attention is not a very +pressing one. Yet there is a certain dignity of language in this old +play that should redeem it from utter oblivion. It was unfortunate for +Henry Shirley that one of the same name should have been writing at the +same time; for in such cases the weakest must go to the wall. Mr. +Frederick Tennyson's fame has been eclipsed by the Laureate's; and there +was little chance of a hearing for the author of the _Martyr'd Souldier_ +when James Shirley was at work. From the address _To the Courteous +Reader_, it would seem that Henry Shirley did not seek for popularity: +"his Muse," we are told, was "seldome seene abroad." Evidently he was +not a professional playwright. In his attempts to gain the ear of the +groundlings he is often coarse without being comic; and sometimes (a +less pardonable fault) he is tedious. But in the person of Hubert we +have an attractive portrait of an impetuous soldier, buoyed up with +self-confidence and hugging perils with a frolic gaiety; yet with +springs of tenderness and pity ready to leap to light. The writer +exhibits some skill in showing how this fiery spirit is tamed by the +gentle maiden, Bellina. When the news comes that Hubert has been made +commander of the King's forces against the Christians, we feel no +surprise to see that in the ecstacy of the moment he has forgotten his +former vows. It is quite a touch of nature to represent him hastening to +acquaint Bellina with his newly-conferred honour and expecting her to +share his exultation. But the maiden's entreaties quickly wake his +slumbering conscience; and, indeed, such earnestness is in her words +that a heart more stubborn than Hubert's might well have been moved:-- + + "You courted me to love you; now I woe thee + To love thy selfe, to love a thing within thee + More curious than the frame of all this world, + More lasting than this Engine o're our heads + Whose wheeles have mov'd so many thousand yeeres: + This thing is thy soule for which I woe thee!" + +Henceforward his resolution is fixed: he is no longer a soldier of +fortune, "seeking the bubble reputation," but the champion of the weak +against the strong, the lively image of a Christian Hero warring +steadfastly against the powers of evil. + +Though the chief interest of the play is centred in Hubert the other +characters, also, are fairly well drawn. There is ample matter for +cogitation in watching the peaceful end of Genzerick, who spends his +dying moments in steeling his son's heart against the Christians. The +consultation between the physicians, in Act 3, amusingly ridicules the +pomposity of by-gone medical professors. Eugenius, the good bishop, is a +model of patience and piety; and all respect is due to the Saintly +Victoria and her heroic husband. The songs, too, are smoothly written. + + + + +THE MARTYR'D SOULDIER: + + +As it was sundry times Acted with a + generall applause at the Private + house in Drury lane, and at + other publicke Theaters. + + +_By the Queenes Majesties servants_. + +The Author H. SHIRLEY Gent. + + + _LONDON_: +Printed by _I. Okes_, and are to be sold by + _Francis Eglesfield_ at his house in _Paul's_ + Church-yard at the Signe of the + Mary-gold. 1638. + + + + +To the right Worshipful Sir Kenelme Digby, _Knight_. + + +Sir, + +Workes of this Nature may fitly be compared to small and narrow +_rivolets_ that at first derive themselves to greater _Rivers_ and +afterwards are discharged into the Maine _Ocean_. So Poesie rising from +_obscure_ and almost unminded beginnings hath often advanc'd it _Selfe_ +even to the thrones of _Princes_: witnesse that ever-living _Worke_ of +renowned _Virgil_, so much admired and favoured by magnificent +_Augustus_. Nor can I much wonder that great men, and those of Excellent +parts, have so often preferred _Poesie_, it being indeed the sweetest +and best _speaker_ of all Noble Actions. + +Nor were they wont in ancient times to preferre those their _Workes_ to +them they best knew, but unto some Person highly endued with Vallour, +Learning, and such other Graces as render one man farre more Excellent +then many others. And this, I hope, may excuse my boldnesse in this +Dedication, being so much a stranger to your Worships knowledge, onely +presuming upon your Noble temper, ever apt to cherrish well-affected +studies. Likewise this peice seemeth to have a more speciall kind of +relation to your _Selfe_, more then to many others, it being an exact +and _perfect patterne_ of a truly Noble and War-lick Chieftian. + +When it first appeared upon the _Stage_ it went off with Applause and +favour, and my hope is it may yeild your Worship as much content as my +_selfe_ can wish, who ever rest to be commanded by your Worship, + +_In all duty and observance_, + +I.K.[131] + + + +TO THE COURTEOUS READER. + +_To make too large an explanation of this following Poem were but to +beguile thy appetite and somewhat dull thy expectation; but the work it +selfe being now an Orphant, and wanting him to protect that first begot +it, it were an iniury to his memory to passe him unspoken of. For the +man his Muse was much courted but no common mistresse; and though but +seldome seene abroad yet ever much_ admired _at. This worke, not the +meanest of his labours, has much adorned not only one but many Stages, +with such a generall applause as it hath drawne even the Rigid Stoickes +of the Time, who, though not for pleasure yet for profit have gathered +something out of his plentifull Vineyard. My hopes are it wil prove no +lesse pleasing to the_ Reader _then it has formerly beene to the_ +Spectators; _and, so prooving, I have my aime and full desire. +Farewell_. + + + + +The Actors Names. + + +_Genzerick_, King of the _Vandals_. +_Anthonio_ | +_Damianus_ | 3 Noble men. +_Cosmo_ | +_Hubert_, A brave Commander. +_Henerick_, the Prince. +_Bellizarius_, the Generall. +_Eugenius_, a Christian Bishop. +_Epidaurus_, a Lord. +2 Physitians. +2 Pagans. +1 Camell-driver. +2 Camell-driver. +_Victoria_, Wife to _Bellizarius_. +_Bellina_, his Daughter. +A Souldier. +2 Angels. +2 Christians tonguelesse. +Clowne. +Constable. +3 Watchmen. +3 Huntsmen. +3 Other Camell-drivers. +Officers and Souldiers. + + + + +The Martyr'd Souldier. + + +_Actus Primus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Genzerick King of the Vandalls, sicke on his + bed, Anthony, Damianus, Cosmo, and Lords_. + +_King_. Away, leave off your golden Flatteries, +I know I cannot live, there's one lies here +Brings me the newes; my glories and my greatnes +Are come to nothing. + +_Anth_. Be not your selfe the Bell +To tolle you to the Grave; and the good Fates, +For ought we see, may winde upon your bottome[132] +A thred of excellent length. + +_Cosm_. We hope the Gods have not such rugged hands +To snatch yee from us. + +_King_. _Cosmo, Damianus_, and _Anthony_; you upon whom +The _Vandall_ State doth leane, for my back's too weake; +I tell you once agen that surly Monarch, +Who treads on all Kings throats, hath sent to me +His proud Embassadours: I have given them Audience +Here in our Chamber Royall. Nor could that move me, +To meete Death face to face, were my great worke +Once perfected in _Affrick_ by my sonne; +I meane that generall sacrifice of Christians, +Whose blood would wash the Temples of our gods +And win them bow downe their immortall eyes +Upon our offerings. Yet, I talke not idly, +Yet, _Anthonie_, I may; for sleepe, I think, +Is gone out of my kingdome, it is else fled +To th'poore; for sleepe oft takes the harder bed +And leaves the downy pillow of a King. + +_Cosm_. Try, Sir, if Musick can procure you[133] rest. + +_King_. _Cosmo_, 'tis sinne to spend a thing so precious +On him that cannot weare it. No, no; no Musick; +But if you needs will charme my o're-watcht eyes, +Now growne too monstrous for their lids to close, +If you so long to fill these Musick-roomes +With ravishing sounds indeed; unclaspe that booke, +Turne o're that Monument of Martyrdomes, +Read there how _Genzerick_ has serv'd the gods +And made their Altars drunke with Christians blood, +Whil'st their loath'd bodies flung in funerall piles +Like Incense burnt in Pyramids of fire; +And when their flesh and bones were all consum'd +Their ashes up in whirle-winds flew i'th Ayre +To show that of foure Elements not one had care +Of them, dead or alive. Read, _Anthony_. + +_Anth_. 'Tis swelld to a faire Volume. + +_King_. Would I liv'd +To add a second part too't. Read, and listen: +No _Vandall_ ere writ such a Chronicle. + +_Anth_. Five hundred[134] broyl'd to death in Oyle and Lead: +Seven hundred flead alive, their Carkasses +Throwne to King _Genzericks_ hounds. + +_King_. Ha, ha, brave hunting. + +_Anth_. Upon the great day of _Apollo's_ feast, +The fourth Moneth of your Reigne. + +_King_. O give me more, +Let me dye fat with laughing. + +_Anth_. Thirty faire Mothers, big with Christian brats, +Upon a scaffold in the Palace plac'd +Had first their dugges sear'd off, their wombes ript up, +About their miscreant heads their first borne Sonnes +Tost as a Sacrifice to _Jupiter_, +On his great day and the Ninth Month of _Genzerick_. + +_King_. A Play; a Comicall Stage our Palace was. +Any more? oh, let me surfeit. + +_Anth_. Foure hundred Virgins ravisht. + +_King_. Christian Whores; common, 'tis common. + +_Anth_. And then their trembling bodies tost on the Pikes +Of those that spoyl'd 'em, sacrific'd to _Pallas_. + +_King_. More, more; hang Mayden-heads, Christian Maiden-heads. + +_Anth_. This leafe is full of tortur'd Christians: +Some pauncht, some starv'd, some eyes and braines bor'd out, +Some whipt to death, some torne by Lyons. + +_King_. _Damianus_, I cannot live to heare my service out; +Such haste the Gods make to reward me. + +_Omnes_. Looke to the King. (_Shouts within_.) + + _Enter Hubert_. + +_King_. What shouts are these? see, _Cosmo_. + +_Cosmo_. Good newes, my Lord; here comes _Hubert_ from the warres. + +_Hub_. Long life and health wait ever on the King. + +_King_. _Hubert_, thy wishes are come short of both. +Hast thou good newes? be briefe then and speake quickly: +I must else heare thee in another World. + +_Hub_. In briefe, then, know: _Henrick_, your valiant sonne, +With _Bellizarius_ and my selfe come laden +With spoiles to lay them at your feet. +What lives the sword spar'd serve to grace your Triumph, +Till from your lips they have the doome of death. + +_King_. What are they? + +_Hub_. Christians, and their Chiefe a Church-man, +_Eugenius_, Bishop of _Carthage_, and with him +Seven hundred Captives more, all Christians. + +_King_. Hold, Death; let me a little taste these ioyes, +Then take me ravisht hence. Glad mine eyes, _Hubert_, +With the victorious Boy. + +_Hub_. Your Starre comes shining. + [_Exit Hubert_. + +_King_. Lift me a little higher, yet more: +Doe the Immortall Powers poure blessings downe, +And shall I not returne them? + +_Omnes_. See, they come. + + _A Flourish; Enter Henricke the Prince, Bellizarius, Hubert, + leading Eugenius in Chaines with other Prisoners and Souldiers_. + +_King_. I have now liv'd my full time; tell me, my _Henricke_,[135] +Thy brave successe, that my departing soule +May with the story blesse another world +And purchase me a passage. + +_Hen_. O, great Sir, +All we have done dyes here if that you dye, +And heaven, before too prodigal to us, +Shedding beames over-glorious on our heads, +Is now full of Eclipses. + +_King_. No, boy; thy presence +Has fetcht life home to heare thee. + +_Hen_. Then, Royal Father, thus: +Before our Troopes had reacht the _Affrick_ bounds, +Wearied with tedious Marches and those dangers +Which waite on glorious Warre, the _Affricans_ +A farre had heard our Thunder, whilst their Earth +Did feele an earth-quake in the peoples feares +Before our Drummes came near them. Yet, spight of terrour, +They fortifi'd their Townes, cloathed all their fields +With warres best bravery, armed Souldiers. +At this we made a stand, for their bold troopes +Affronted us with steele, dar'd us to come on +And nobly fierd our resolution. + +_King_. So, hasten; there's in me a battaile too; +Be quicke, or I shall fall. + +_Hen_. Forefend it heaven. +Now, _Bellizarius_, come; here stand, just here; +And on him, I beseech you, fixe your eye, +For you have much to pay to this brave man. + +_Hub_. Nothing to me? + +_Hen_. Ile give you him in wonder. + +_Hub_. Hang him out in a painted cloth for a monster. + +_Bel_. My Lord, wrong not your selfe to throw on me +The honours which are all yours. + +_Hub_. Is he the Divell? all! + +_Bel_. Cast not your eyes on me, Sir, but on him; +And seale this to your soule: never had King +A Sonne that did to his Crowne more honours bring. + +_Hen_. Stay, _Bellizarius_; I'me too true to honour +To scant it in the blazing: though to thee +All that report can render leaves thee yet-- + +_Hub_. A brave man: you are so too, you both fought; +And I stood idle? + +_Hen_. No, Sir. + +_Hub_. Here's your battaile then, and here's your conquest: +What need such a coyle? + +_Bel_. Yet, _Hubert_, it craves more Arethmaticke +Than in one figure to be found. + +_King_. _Hubert_, thou art too busie. + +_Hub_. So was I in the battaile. + +_King_. Prethee peace. + +_Hen_. The Almarado was on poynt to sound; +But then a Herald from their Tents flew forth, +Being sent to question us for what we came; +And [At?] which, I must confesse, being all on fire +We cryed for warre and death. Backe rode the Herald +As lightning had persu'd him. But the Captaines, +Thinking us tir'd with marching, did conceive +Rest would make difficult what easie now +Quicke charge might drive us to. So, like a storme +Beating upon a wood of lustie Pines, +Which though they shake they keepe their footing fast, +Our pikes their horses stood. Hot was the day +In which whole fields of men were swept away, +As by sharpe Sithes are cut the golden corne +And in as short time. It was this mans sword +Hew'd ways to danger; and when danger met him +He charm'd it thence, and when it grew agen +He drove it back agen, till at the length +It lost the field. Foure long hours this did hold, +In which more worke was done than can be told. + +_Bel_. But let me tell your Father how the first feather +That Victory herselfe pluckt from her wings, +She stuck it in your Burgonet. + +_Hub_. Brave still! + +_Hen_. No, _Bellizarius_; thou canst guild thy honours +Borne[136] from the reeking breasts of _Affricans_, +When I aloof[137] stood wondering at those Acts +Thy sword writ in the battaile, which were such +Would make a man a souldier but to read 'em. + +_Hub_. And what to read mine? is my booke claspt up? + +_Bel_. No, it lyes open, where in texed letters read +Each Pioner [?] that your unseason'd valour +Had thrice ingag'd our fortunes and our men +Beyond recovery, had not this arme redeem'd you. + +_Hub_. Yours? + +_Bel_. For which your life was lost for doing more +Than from the Generals mouth you had command. + +_Hub_. You fill my praise with froth, as Tapsters fill +Their cut-throat Cans; where, give me but my due, +I did as much as you, or you, or any. + +_Bel_. Any? + +_Hub_. Yes, none excepted. + +_Bel_. The Prince was there. + +_Hub_. And I was there: since you draw one another +I will turne Painter too and draw my selfe. +Was it not I that when the maine Battalia +Totter'd and foure great squadrons put to rout, +Then reliev'd them? and with this arme, this sword, +And this affronting brow put them to flight, +Chac'd em, slew thousands, tooke some few and drag'd em +As slaves, tyed to my saddle bow with Halters? + +_Hen_. Yes, Sir, 'tis true; but, as he sayes, your fury +Left all our maine Battalia welnigh lost. +For had the foe but re-inforct againe +Our courages had beene seiz'd (?), any Ambuskado +Cut you and your rash troopes off; if-- + +_Hub_. What 'if'? +Envy, not honour, still inferres these 'ifs.' +It thriv'd and I returnd with Victory. + +_Bel_. You? + +_Hub_. I, _Bellizarius_, I; I found your troopes +Reeling and pale and ready to turne Cowards, +But you not in the head; when I (brave sir) +Charg'd in the Reere and shooke their battaile so +The Fever never left them till they fell. +I pulled the Wings up, drew the rascals on, +Clapt 'em and cry'd 'follow, follow.' This is the hand +First toucht the Gates, this foote first tooke the City; +This Christian Church-man snacht I from the Altar +And fir'd the Temple. 'Twas this sword was sheath'd +In panting bosomes both of young and old; +Fathers, sonnes, mothers, virgins, wives and widowes: +Like death I havocke cryed so long till I +Had left no monuments of life or buildings +But these poore ruins. What these brave Spirits did +Was like to this, I must confesse 'tis true, +But not beyond it. + +_King_. You have done nobly all. +Nor let the Generall thinke I soyle his worth +In that I raise this forward youth so neare +Those honours he deserves from _Genzericke_; +For he may live to serve my _Henrick_ thus, +And growing vertue must not want reward. +You both allow these deeds he so much boasts of? + +_Hen_. Yes, but not equal to the Generals. + +_King_. The spoyles they equally shall both divide; +The Generall chuse, 'tis his prerogative. +_Bellizarius_ be Viceregent over all +Those conquerd parts of _Affrick_ we call ours; +_Hubert_ the Master of my _Henricks_ Horse +And President of what the _Goths_ possesse. +Let this our last will stand. + + _Bel_. We are richly paid. + + _Hub_. Who earnes it must have wages. + + _King_. Ile see you imbrac'd too. + + _Hub_. With all my heart. + + _King_. And _Bellizarius_ +Make him thy Scholler. + + _Hub_. His Scholler! + + _King_. There's stuffe in him +Which temper'd well would make him a noble fellow. +Now for these Prisoners: 'tis my best sacrifice +My pious zeale can tender to the Gods. +I censure thus: let all be naked stript, +Then to the midst of the vaste Wildernesse +That stands 'twixt us and wealthy _Persia_ +They shall be driven, and there wildly venture +As Famine or the fury of the Beasts +Conspires to use them. Which is that Bishop? + + _Hub_. Stand forth: this is _Eugenius_. + + _Eug_. I stand forth +Daring all tortures, kissing Racks and Wheeles +And Flames, to whom I offer up this body. +You keepe us from our Crownes of Martyrdomes +By this delaying: dispatch us hence. + + _King_. Not yet, Sir: +Away with them, stay him; and if our Gods +Can win this Christian Champion, now so stout, +To fight upon their sides, give him reward; +Our Gods will reach him praise. + + _Eug_. Your Gods! wretched soules! + +_King_. My worke is done; and, Henricke, as thou lov'st +Thy Fathers soule, see every thing perform'd. +This last iniunction tyes thee: so, farewell. +Let those I hated in thy hate still dwell, +I meane the Christians. + (_Dyes_.) + + _Hen_. Oh, what a deale of greatnesse +Is struck down at one blow. + + _Hub_. Give me a battell: +'Tis brave being struck downe there. + + _Anth_. _Henrick_, my Lord, +And now my Soveraigne, I am by office bound +To offer to your Royall hands this Crowne +Which on my knees I tender, all being ready +To set it on your head. + + _Omnes_. Ascend your throne: +Long live the King of _Vandals_ and of _Goths_, +The mighty _Henrick_. + + _Hen_. What must now be done? + + _Anth_. By me each Officer of State resignes +The Patten that he holds his office by, +To be dispos'd as best shall please your Grace. + + _Hen_. And I returne them back to all their trusts. +I rise in clouds, my Morning is begun +From the eternall set of a bright sunne. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Drumnel flourish: Enter Victoria and Bellina with servants_. + +To gratulate his safe and wisht Arrival. +Let Musick with her sweet-tongu'd Rhetorick +Take out those horrours which the loud clamoures +Of Warres harsh harmony hath long besieg'd +His tender sences with. Your Father's come, _Bellina_. + +_Bell_. I feele the ioy of it with you, sweet Mother, +And am as ready to receive a blessing from him +As you his chaste imbraces. + +_Vic_. So, so, bestirre; +Let all our loves and duties be exprest +In our most diligent and active care. + + _Enter Bellizarius_. + +Here comes my comfort-bringer, +My _Bellizarius_. + +_Belliz_. Dearest _Victoria_; +My second ioy, take thou a Fathers blessing. + +_Vic_. Not wounded, Sir, I hope? + +_Belliz_. No, _Victoria_; +Those were Rewards that we bestow'd on others; +We gave, but tooke none backe. Had we not you +At home to heare our noble Victories +Our Fame should want her Crowne, although she flew +As high as yonder Axle tree above +And spred in latitude throughout the world. +We have subdu'd those men of strange beleefe +Which Christians call themselves; a race of people +--This must I speake of them--as resolute +And full of courage in their bleeding falls +As should they tryumph for a Victory. +When the last groanes of many thousand mett +And like commixed Whirlwindes fill'd our eares. +As it from us rais'd not a dust of pitty +So did it give no terrour to the rest +That did but live to see their fellows dye. +In all our rigours and afflicting tortures +We cannot say that we the men subdu'd, +Because their ioy was louder than our conquest. +And still more worke of blood we must expect; +Like _Hydra's_ Heads by cutting off they double; +As seed that multiplies, such are their dead-- +Next Moone a sheafe of Christians in ones stead. + +_Vic_. This is a bloody Trade, my _Bellizarius_; +Would thou wouldst give it over. + +_Belliz_. 'Tis worke, _Victoria_, that must be done. +These are the battailes of our blessing, +Pleasing gods and goddesses who for our service +Render us these Conquests. +Our selves and our affaires we may neglect, +But not our Deities, which these Christians +Prophane deride and scoffe at; would new Lawes +Bring in and a new God make. + +_Vic_. No, my Lord; +I have heard say they never make their Gods, +But they serve 'em, they say, that did make them: +All made-gods they dispise. + +_Belliz_. Tush, tush, _Victoria_, let not thy pitty +Turne to passions; they'le not deserve thy sorrow. +How now? What's the newes? + + _Enter a Souldier_. + +_Sold_. Strange, my Lord, beyond a wonder, +For 'tis miraculous. Since you forsooke +The bloody fight and horrour of the Christians, +One tortur'd wretch, whose sight was quite extinct, +His eyes no farther seeing than his hands, +Is now by that _Eugenius_, whom they call +Their holy Bishop, cleerely restor'd again +To the astonishment of all your Army, +Who faintly now recoyle with feare and terrour +Not daring to offend so great a power. + +_Belliz_. Ha! 'tis strange thou tell'st me. + +_Vic_. Oh, take heed, my Lord; +It is no warring against heavenly Powers +Who can command their Conquest when they please. +They can forbeare the Gyants that throw stones, +And smile upon their follies; but when they frowne +Their angers fall downe perpendicular +And strike their weake Opposer into nothing: +The Thunder tells us so. + +_Belliz_. Pray leave me all; I shall have company +When you are gone, enough to fill the roome. + +_Vic_. The holiest powers give thee their best direction. + + [_Exeunt: Manet Bellizarius_. + +_Belliz_. What power is that can fortifie a man +To ioy in death, since all we can expect +Is but fruition of the ioyes of life? +If Christians hoped not to become immortall +Why should they seeke for death? +O, then instruct me some Divine power; +Thou that canst give the sight unto the blind, +Open my blind iudgement _Thunder: Enter an Angel_. +That I may see a way to happinesse. +Ha, this is a dreadfull answer; this may chide +The relapse in my blood that 'gins to faint +From[138] further persecution of these people. +Oh shall I backe and double tyranny? (_Thunder_.) +A louder threat[e]ning! oh mould these voyces +Into articulate words, that I may know +Thy meaning better. Shall I quench the flames +Of blood and vengeance, and my selfe become +A penetrable Christian? my life lay downe +Amongst their sufferings? (_Musicke_.) +Ha, these are sweet tunes. + +_Ang_. _Bellizarius_! + +_Belliz_. It names me, too. + +_Ang_. Sheath up thy cruelty; no more pursue +In bloody forrage these oppressed Christians, +For now the Thunder will take their part. +Remaine in peace and Musicke is thy banquet, +Or thy selfe number 'mongst their martyring groanes +And thou art numbred with these blessed ones. + +_Belliz_. What heavenly voyce is this? shall my eares onely +Be blest with raptures, not mine eyes enioy +The sight of that Celestiall presence +From whence these sweet sounds come? + +_Ang_. Yes, thou shalt see; nay, then, 'tis lost agen. + (_Bel. kneeles_.) +Rise; this is enough; be constant Souldier: +Thy heart's a Christian, to death persever +And then enioy the sight of Angels ever. + [_Exit_. + +_Belliz_. Oh, let me flye into that happy place. +Prepare your tortures now, you scourge of Christians, +For _Bellizarius_ the Christians torturer; +Centuple all that I have ever done; +Kindle the fire and hacke at once with swords; +Teare me by piece-meales, strangle, and extend +My every limbe and ioynt; nay, devise more +Than ever did my bloody Tyrannies. +Oh let me ever lose the sight of men +That I may see an Angell once agen. + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + +(SCENE I.) + + + _Enter Hubert and Damianus_. + +_Hub_. For[139] looke you, _Damianus_, though _Henricke_, now king, did +in the battaile well and _Bellizarius_ enough for a Generall, did not I +tell 'em home? + +_Dam_. I heard it. + +_Hub_. They shall not make bonefires of their owne glories and set up +for me a poore waxe candle to shew mine. I am full of Gold now: what +shall I doe with it, _Damianus_? + +_Dam_. What doe Marriners after boone voyages, but let all flye; and +what Souldiers, when warres are done, but fatten peace? + +_Hub_. Pox of Peace! she has churles enough to fatten her. I'll make a +Shamoyes Doublet, embroydered all over with flowers of gold. In these +dayes a woman will not looke upon a man if he be not brave. Over my +Doublet a _Soldado_ Cassacke of Scarlet, larded thicke with Gold Lace; +Hose of the same, cloake of the same, too, lasht up this high and richly +lined. There was a Lady, before I went, was working with her needle a +Scarffe for mee; but the Wagtaile has left her nest. + +_Dam_. No matter; there's enough such birds everywhere. + +_Hub_. Yes, women are as common as glasses in Tavernes, and often drunke +in and more often crackt. I shall grow lazy if I fight not; I would +faine play with halfe a dozen Fencers, but it should be at sharpe.[140] + +_Dam_. And they are all for foyles. + +_Hub_. Foyl'd let 'em be then. + +_Dam_. You have had fencing enough in the field, and for women the +Christians fill'd[141] your markets. + +_Hub_. Yes, and those markets were our Shambles. Flesh enough! +It made me weary of it. Since I came home +I have beene wondrous troubled in my sleepes, +And often heard to sigh in dead of night +As if my heart would cracke. You talk of Christians: +Ile tell you a strange thing, a kind of melting in +My soule, as 'twere before some heavenly fire, +When in their deaths (whom they themselves call Martyrs) +It was all rocky. Nothing, they say, can soften +A Diamond but Goates blood;[142] they perhaps were Lambs +In whose blood I was softened. + +_Dam_. Pray tell how. + +_Hub_. I will: after some three hours being in _Carthage_ +I rusht into a Temple. Starr'd all with lights; +Which with my drawne sword rifling, in a roome +Hung full of Pictures, drawne so full of sweetnesse +They struck a reverence in me, found I a woman, +A Lady all in white; the very Candles +Took brightnesse from her eyes and those cleare Pearles +Which in aboundance falling on her cheekes +Gave them a lovely bravery. At my rough entrance +She shriek'd and kneel'd, and holding up a paire +Of Ivory fingers begg't that I would not +(Though I did kill) dishonour her, and told me +She would pray for me. Never did Christian +So near come to my heart-strings; I let my Sword +Fall from me, stood astonish't, and not onely +Sav'd her my selfe but guarded her from others. + +_Dam_. Done like a Souldier. + +_Hub_. Blood is not ever +The wholsom'st Wine to drinke. Doubtlesse these Christians +Serve some strange Master, and it needes must bee +A wonderfull sweete wages which he paies them; +And though men murmour, get they once here footing, +Then downe goes our Religion, downe our Altars, +And strange things be set up.--I cannot tell: +We, held so pure, finde wayes enough to hell. +Fall out what can, I care not; Ile to _Bellizarius_. + +_Dam_. Will you? pray carry to him my best wishes. + +_Hub_. I can carry anything but Blowes, Coles,[143] my Drink, and that +clapper of the Divell, the tongue of a Scould. Farewell. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Flourish: Enter the King, Antony, Cosmo, all about + the King, and Bellizarius_. + +_King_. They swarme like Bees about us, insomuch +Our People cannot sacrifice nor give Incense +But with interruptions; they still are buzzing thus, +Saying: Their Gods delight not in vaine showes +But intellectual thoughts pure and unstain'd, +Therefore reduce them from their heresies +Or build our prison walls with Christians bones. +What thinkes our _Bellizarius_, he that was wont +To be more swift to execute than we to command? +Why sits not _Bellizarius_? + +_Belliz_. I dare not. + +_King_. Protect me, Iove! Who dare gainesay it? + +_Belliz_. I must not. + +_King_. Say we command it? + +_Belliz_. Truth is, I neither can nor will. + +_Omn_. Hee's mad. + +_Belliz_. Yes, I am mad +To see such Wolvish Tyrants as you are +Pretend a Justice and condemne the iust. +Oh you white soules that hover in the aire, +Who through my blindnesse were made death his[144] prey; +Be but appeas'd, you spotlesse Innocents, +Till with my blood I have made a true atonement, +And through those tortures, by this braine devis'd, +In which you perisht, I may fall as you +To satisfie your yet fresh bleeding memories +And meete you in that garden where content +Dwels onely. I, that in blood did glory, +Will now spend blood to heighten out your story. + +_Anton_. Why, _Bellizarius_-- + +_Belliz_. Hinder me not: +I'me in a happy progresse, would not change my guest +Nor be deterr'd by Moles and Wormes that cannot see +Such as you are. Alas, I pitty you. + +_Dam_. The King's in presence. + +_Belliz_. I talke of one that's altitudes above him, +That owes[145] all Principalities: he is no King +That keepes not his decrees, nor am I bound +In duty to obey him in unwist acts. + +_King_. All leave the roome. + +_Omnes_. We obey your highnesse. + [_Exeunt Lords_. + +_King_. Sir, nay. Sir; good _Bellizarius_. + +_Belliz_. In that I doe obey. + +_King_. Doe you make scruple, then, of our command? + +_Belliz_. Yes, Sir, where the act's unjust and impure. + +_King_. Why, then, are we a king, if not obey'd? + +_Belliz_. You are plac'd on earth but as a Substitute +To a Diviner being as subiects are to you; +And are so long a king to be obey'd +As you are iust. + +_King_. Good _Bellizarius_, wherein doe I digresse? +Have I not made thee great, given thee authority +To scourge those mis-beleevers, those wild Locusts +That thus infect our Empire with their Scismes? +The World is full of _Bellizarius_ deedes. +Succeeding times will Canonize thy Acts +When they shall read what great ones thou hast done +In honour of us and our sacred gods; +For which, next unto _Iove_, they gave a Laurell +To _Bellizarius_, whose studious braine +Fram'd all these wracks and tortures for these Christians. +Hast thou not all our Treasure in thy power? +Who but your selfe commands as [us?], _Bellizarius_? +Then whence, my _Bellizarius_, comes this change? + +_Belliz_. Poore King, I sorrow for thy weakned sence, +Wishing thy eye-sight cleare that Eagle-like, +As I doe now, thou might'st gaze on the Sunne, +The Sunne of brightnesse, Sunne of peace, of plenty. +Made you me great in that you made me miserable, +Thy selfe more wretched farre? in that thy hand +The Engine was to make me persecute +Those Christian soules whom I have sent to death, +For which I ever, ever shall lament? + +_King_. Ha, what's this?--Within there! + +_Belliz_. Nay, heare me, _Henrick_, and when thou hast heard me out +With _Bellizarius_ thinke that thou art blest +If that with me thou canst participate. + +_King_. Thou art mad. + +_Belliz_. No; 'tis thou art mad, +And with thy frenzie make this Kingdome franticke. +Forgive me, thou great Power in whom I trust, +Forgive me, World, and blot out all my deeds +From those black Kalends; else, when I lye dead, +My Name will ever lie in obliquie. +Is it a Sinne that can make great men good? +Is prophanation turn'd to sanctity, +Vices to vertues? if such disorder stand +Then _Bellizarius_ Acts may be held iust; +Otherwise nothing. + +_King_. Some Furie hath possest my _Bellizarius_ +That thus he railes. Oh, my dearest, +Call on great _Iupiter_. + +_Belliz_. Alas, poore Idoll! +On him! on him that is not, unlesse made: +Had I your _Iove_ I'de tosse him in the Ayre, +Or sacrifice him to his fellow-gods +And see what he could doe to save himselfe. +You call him Thunderer, shaker of _Olympus_, +The onely and deare Father of all gods; +When silly love is shooke with every winde, +A fingers touch can hurle him from his Throne. +Is this a thing to be ador'd or pray'd too? + +_King_. My love turnes now to rage.--Attendance there, + _Enter all the Lords_. +And helpe to binde this mad man, that's possest!-- +By the powers that we adore thou dyest. + +_Belliz_. Here me, thou ignorant King, you dull-brain'd Lords, +Oh heare me for your owne sakes, for your soules sake: +Had you as many gods as you have dayes, +As once the _Assyrians_ had, yet have yee nothing. +Such service as they gave such you may give, +And have reward as had the blinde _Molossians_: +A Toad one day they worship; one of them drunke +A health with 's god and poyson'd so himselfe. +Therefore with me looke up, and as regenerate soules-- + +_Dam_. Can you suffer this? +This his affront will scare up the devotion +Of all your people. He that persecuted +Become a convertite! + +_Belliz_. 'Tis ioy above my ioy: oh, had you scene +What these eyes saw, you would not then +Disswade me from it; nor will I leave that power +By whom I finde such infinite contentments. + +_Hen_. _Epidophorus_; your eare:--see't done. + +_Epi_. It shall, my Lord. + [_Exit Epi_. + +_Hen_. Then by the gods +And all the powers the _Vandals_ doe adore, +Thou hast not beene more terrible to the world +Than to thy selfe I now will make thee. + +_Belliz_. I dare thy worst; +I have a Christian armour to protect me. +You cannot act so much as I will suffer. + +_Hen_. Ile try your patience + + _Enter Epido, two Christians and officers_. + +_Epi_. 'Tis done, my Lord, as you directed. + +_Hen_. They are come: +Make signes you'le yet deny your Christianity (_They make signes_.) +And kneele with us to sacred _Iupiter_. +No? make them then a Sacrifice to _Iupiter_ +For all the wrongs by _Bellizarius_ done. +Dispatch, I say; to the fire with them. + +_Belliz_. Alas, good men! tonguelesse? you'le yet be heard; +The sighes of your tun'd soules are musicall, +And whil'st I breath, as now my tears I shed, +My prayers He send up for you; 'twas I that mangl'd you. +How soone the bodies Organ leaves the sound! +The Life's next too't; a Needles point ends that, +A small thing does it. Now you have quiet roomes +No wrangling, all husht. Now make me a fellow +In this most patient suffering. + +_Hen_. Beare them unto the fire, and place him neere +To fright him. + (_Flourish.)_ + +_Belliz_. On, fellow Souldiers! +Your fires will soon be quencht, and for your wrongs +You shall, above, all speake with Angels tongues. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Clowne, Constable and three watchmen_. + +_Clown_. You[146] that are borne Pagans both by father and mother, the +true sonnes of Infidelity, sit downe by me your officiall, or to come +nearer to the efficacy of the word, your undermost Iaylor or staller; +--the word is Lordly and significant. + +_Omnes_. O brave Master, yfaith. + +_Clowne_. Therefore sit downe; and as by vertue of our place we have +Authority given, so let us as officers doe, knaves of our function as +of others; let us, I say, be unbounded in our Authority, having the +Lawes, I meane the Keyes, in our owne hands. + +_Const_. Friend, friend, you are too forward in your Authority; your +command is limited where I am in place: for though you are the +Lieutenants man know, sir, that I am Master of the worke and Constable +Royall under the Kings Maiesty. + +_Omnes_. Marry is hee. + +_Const_. If their testimonie will not satisfie, here my Title: At this +place, in this time, and upon this occasion I am Prince over these +Publicans, Lord over these Larroones,[147] Regent of these Rugs,[148] +Viceroy over these Vagabonds, King of these Caterpillars; and indeed, +being a Constable, directly Soveraigne over these my Subiects. + +2 _Off_. If all these stiles, so hard to climbe over, belong to the +office of a Constable, what kin is he to the Divell? + +_Const_. Why to the Devill, my friend? + +_Clown_. Ile tell you: because a Constable is King of Nights and the +other is Prince of Darknesse. + +_Const_. Darke as it is, by the twilight of my Lanthorne methinks I see +a company of Woodcocks. + +_2 Off_. How can you discerne them? + + _Enter Epidophorus, Victoria and Bellina_. + +_Clown_. Oh excellent well, by their bills: see, see, here comes the +Lieutenant. + +_Epi_. Well sayd, my friends: you keep good watch, I see. + +_Clown_. Yes, Sir, we Officers have breath as strong as Garlick: no +Christian by their good wills dare come neare us. + +_Epi_. 'Tis well, forbeare.-- +Oh, Madam, had you scene with what a vehemency +He did blaspheme the gods, +Like to a man pearcht on some lofty Spire +Amazed which way to relieve himselfe, +You would have stood, as did the King, amaz'd. + +_Vict_. God grant him liberty, +And with that give us privacy; I doubt not +But our sweet conference shall work much on him. + +_Epi_. _Iove_ grant it: Ile leave the roome. + [_Exit Epi_. + +_Clown_. A Iaylor seldome lookes for a bribe but hee's prevented. + + [_Exeunt Officers_. + + _Enter Bellizarius in his night-gown, with Epidophorus_. + +_Epi_. My Lord, your Lady and her most beauteous daughter +Are come to visit you, and here attend. + +_Belliz_. My Wife and Daughter? oh welcome, love, +And blessing Crowne thee, my beloved _Bellina_. + +_Vict_. My Lord, pray leave us. + +_Epi_. Your will be your owne Law. + [_Exit Epidoph_. + +_Vict_. Why study you, my Lord? why is your eye fixt +On your _Bellina_ more than on me? + +_Belliz_. Good, excellent good: +What pretty showes our fancies represent us! +My faire _Bellina_ shines like to an Angel; +Has such a brightnesse in her Christall eyes +That even the radiancy duls my sight. +See, my _Victoria_, lookes she not sweetly? + +_Vict_. Shee does, my Lord; but not much better than she was wont. + +_Belliz_. Oh shee but beginnes to shine as yet, +But will I hope ere long be stellified. +Alas, my _Victoria_, thou look'st nothing like her. + +_Vict_. Not like her? why, my Lord? + +_Belliz_. Marke and Ile tell thee how: +Thou art too much o'er growne with sinne and shame, +Hast pray'd too much, offered too much devotion +To him and those that can nor helpe nor hurt, +Which my _Bellina_ has not: +Her yeares in sinne are not, as thine are, old; +Therefore me thinks she's fairer farre than thou. + +_Vict_. I, my Lord, guided by you and by your precepts, +Have often cal'd on _Iupiter_. + +_Belliz_. I, there's the poynt: +My sinnes like Pullies still drew me downewards: +'Twas I that taught thee first to Idolize, +And unlesse that I can with-draw thy mind +From following that I did with tears intreat, +I'me lost, for ever lost, lost in my selfe and thee. +Oh, my _Bellina_! + +_Bellina_. Why, Sir! +Shall we not call on _Iove_ that gives us food, +By whom we see the heavens have all their Motions? + +_Belliz_. Shee's almost lost too: alas! my Girle, +There is a higher _Iove_ that rules 'bove him. +Sit, my _Victoria_, sit, my faire _Bellina_, +And with attention hearken to my dreame: +Methought one evening, sitting on a fragrant Virge, +Close by there ranne a silver gliding streame: +I past the Rivolet and came to a Garden, +A Paradise, I should say (for lesse it could not be); +Such sweetnesse the world contains not as I saw; +_Indian Aramaticks_ nor _Arabian_ Gummes +Were nothing sented unto this sweet bower. +I gaz'd about, and there me thought I saw +Conquerors and Captives, Kings and meane men; +I saw no inequality in their places. +Casting mine eye on the other side the Palace, +Thousands I saw my selfe had sent to death; +At which I sigh'd and sob'd, I griev'd and groan'd. +Ingirt with Angels were those glorious Martyrs +Whom this ungentle hand untimely ended, +And beckon'd to me as if heaven had said, +"Beleeve as they and be thou one of them"; +At which my heart leapt, for there me thought I saw, +As I suppos'd, you two like to the rest: +With that I wak'd and resolutely vow'd +To prosecute what I in thought had seene. + +_Bellina_. 'Twas a sweet dreame; good Sir, make use of it. + +_Vict_. And I with _Bellizarius_ am resolv'd +To undergoe the worst of all afflictions, +Where such a glory bids us to performe. + +_Belliz_. Now blessings crowne yee both +The first stout Martyr has[149] his glorious end +Though stony-hard yet speedy; when ours comes +I shall tryumph in our affliction. +This adds some comfort to my troubled soule: +I, that so many have depriv'd of breath, +Shall winne two soules to accompany me in death. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + + + _Enter Clowne and Huntsmen severally_. + +1 _Hunt_. Ho, rise, sluggards! so, so, ho! so, ho! + +2 _Hunt_. So ho, ho! we come. + +_Clown_. Morrow, iolly wood-men. + +_Omnes_. Morrow, morrow. + +_Clown_. Oh here's a Morning like a grey ey'd Wench, able to intice a +man to leap out of his bed if he love hunting, had he as many cornes on +his toes as there are Cuckolds in the City. + +1 _Hunt_. And that's enough in conscience to keepe men from going, were +his Boots as wide as the black Iacks[150] or Bombards tost by the Kings +Guard. + +2 _Hunt_. Are the swift Horses ready? + +_Clown_. Yes, and better fed than taught; for one of 'em had like to +have kickt my iigumbobs as I came by him. + +2 _Hunt_. Where are the Dogges? + +_Clown_. All coupled, as Theeves going to a Sessions, and are to be +hang'd if they be found faulty. + +2 _Hunt_. What Dogges are they? + +_Clown_. A packe of the bravest _Spartan_ Dogges in the world; if they +do but once open and spend[151] there gabble, gabble, gabble it will +make the Forest ecchoe as if a Ring of Bells were in it; admirably +flewd[152], by their eares you would take 'em to be singing boyes; and +for Dewlaps they are as bigge as Vintners bags in which they straine +Ipocras. + +_Omnes_. There, boy. + +_Clown_. And hunt so close and so round together that you may cover +'em all with a sheete. + +2 _Hunt_. If it be wide enough. + +_Clown_. Why, as wide as some four or five Acres, that's all. + +1 _Hunt_. And what's the game to day? + +_Clown_. The wilde Boare. + +1 _Hunt_. Which of 'em? the greatest? I have not seene him. + +_Clown_. Not seene him? he is as big as an Elephant. + +2 _Hunt_. Now will he build a whole Castle full of lies. + +_Clown_. Not seen him? I have. + +_Omnes_. No, no; seene him? as big as an Elephant? + +_Clown_. The backe of him is as broad--let me see--as a pretty Lighter. + +1 _Hun_. A Lighter? + +_Clown_. Yes; and what do you think the Brissells are worth? + +2 _Hunt_. Nothing. + +_Clown_. Nothing? one Shoemaker offer'd to finde me and the Heire-male +of my body 22 yeeres, but to have them for his owne ends. + +2 _Hunt_. He would put Sparabiles[153] into the soales then? + +_Clown_. Not a Bill, not a Sparrow. The Boares head is so huge that a +Vintner but drawing that picture and hanging it up for a Signe it fell +down and broke him. + +1 _Hunt_. Oh horrible! + +_Clown_. He has two stones so bigge, let me see (a Poxe), thy head is but +a Cherry-stone to the least of' em. + +2 _Hunt_. How long are his Tuskes? + +_Clown_. Each of them as crooked and as long as a Mowers sith. + +1 _Hunt_. There's a Cutter. + +_Clown_. And when he whets his Tuskes you would sweare there were a sea +in's belly, and that his chops were the shore to which the Foame was +beaten: if his Foame were frothy Yest 'twere worth tenne groats a paile +for Bakers. + +1 _Hunt_. What will the King do with him if he kill him? + +_Clown_. Bake him, and if they put him in one Pasty a new Oven must be +made, with a mouth as wide as the gates of the City. (_Horne_.) + +_Omnes_. There boy, there boy. + + _Hornes and Noise within: Enter Antony meeting Damianus_. + +_Ant_. _Cosmo_ had like beene kild; the Boare receiving[154] +A Speare full in the Flanke from _Cosmo's_ hand, +Foaming with rage he ranne at him, unhorst him +And had, but that he fell behinde an Oake +Of admirable greatnesse, torne out his bowels; +His very Tuskes, striking into the tree, +Made the old Champion[155] shake. + + [_Enter Cosmo_. + +_Dam_. Where are the Dogges? + +_Cosmo_. No matter for the Curres: +I scapt well, but cannot finde the King. + +_Anton_. When did you see him? + +_Cosmo_. Not since the Boare tos'd up +Both horse and rider. + + _Enter Epidophorus and all the Huntsmen in a hurry_. + +_Epi_. A Liter for the King; the King is hurt. + +_Ant_. How? + +_Epi_. No man knowes: some say stung by an Adder +As from his horse he fell; some cry, by the Boare. + +_Anton_. The Boare never came neare him. + +_Dam_. The King's Physitians! + +_Cosmo_. Runne for the King's Physitians. + +_Epi_. Conduct us to him. + +_Anton_. A fatall hunting when a King doth fall: +All earthly pleasures are thus washt in gall. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Eugenius discovered sitting loaden with many Irons, + a Lampe burning by him; then enter Clowne with a + piece of browne bread and a Carret roote_. + +_Eugen_. Is this my Dyet? + +_Clown_. Yes, marry is it; though it be not Dyet bread[156] 'tis bread, +'tis your dinner; and though this be not the roote of all mischiefe yet +'tis a Carret, and excellent good meate if you had powderd Beefe to it. + +_Eugen_. I am content with this. + +_Clown_. If you bee not I cannot helpe it; for I am threatned to be +hang'd if I set but a Tripe before you or give you a bone to gnaw. + +_Eugen_. For me thou shalt not suffer. + +_Clown_. I thank you; but were not you better be no good Christian, as +I am, and so fill your belly as to lie here and starve and be hang'd +thus in Chaines? + +_Eugen_. No, 'tis my tryumph; all these Chaines to me +Are silken Ribbonds, this course bread a banquet; +This gloomy Dungeon is to me more pleasing +Than the Kings Palace; and cou'd I winne thy soule +To shake off her blacke ignorance, thou, as I doe, +Would'st feele thirst, hunger, stripes and Irons nothing, +Nay, count death nothing. Let me winne thee to me. + +_Clown_. Thank yee for that: winne me from a Table full of good meat to +leape at a crust! I am no Scholler, and you (they say) are a great one; +and schollers must eate little, so shall you. What a fine thing is it +for me to report abroad of you that you are no great feeder, no +Cormorant! What a quiet life is it when a womans tongue lies still! and +is't not as good when a mans teeth lyes still? + +_Eugen_. Performe what thou art bidden; if thou art charg'd +To starve me, Ile not blame thee but blesse heaven. + +_Clown_. If you were starv'd what hurt were that to you? + +_Eugen_. Not any; no, not any. + +_Clown_. Here would be your praise when you should lie dead: they would +say, he was a very good man but alas! had little or nothing in him. + +_Eugen_. I am a slave to any misery +My Iudges doome me too. + +_Clown_. If you bee a slave there's more slaves in the world than you. + +_Eugen_. Yes, thousands of brave fellows slaves to their vices; +The Usurer to his gold, drunkards to Wine, +Adulterers to their lust. + +_Clown_. Right, Sir; so in Trades: the Smith is a slave to the +Ironmonger, the itchy silk-weaver to the Silke-man, the Cloth-worker +to the Draper, the Whore to the Bawd, the Bawd to the Constable, and +the Constable to a bribe. + +_Eugen_. Is it the kings will that I should be thus chain'd? + +_Clown_. Yes indeed, Sir. I can tell you in some countries they are held +no small fooles that goe in Chaines. + +_Eugen_. I am heavy. + +_Clown_. Heavy? how can you chuse, having so much Iron upon you? + +_Eugen_. Death's brother and I would have a little talk +So thou wouldst leave us. + +_Clown_. With all my heart; let Deaths sister talke with you, too, and +shee will, but let not me see her, for I am charg'd to let no body come +into you. If you want any water give mee your Chamber pot; Ile fill it. + [_Exit_. + +_Eugen_. No, I want none, I thanke thee. +Oh sweet affliction, thou blest booke, being written +By Divine fingers! you Chaines that binde my body +To free my soule; you Wheeles that wind me up +To an eternity of happinesse, +Mustre my holy thoughts; and, as I write, +Organ of heavenly Musicke to mine ears, +Haven to my Shipwracke, balme to my wounds, +Sunne-beames which on me comfortably shine +When Clouds of death are covering me; (so gold, +As I by thee, by fire is purified; +So showres quicken the Spring; so rough Seas +Bring Marriners home, giving them gaines and ease); +Imprisonment, gyves, famine, buffetings, +The Gibbet and the Racke; Flint stones, the Cushions +On which I kneele; a heape of Thornes and Briers, +The Pillow to my head; a nasty prison, +Able to kill mankinde even with the Smell: +All these to me are welcome. You are deaths servants; +When comes your Master to me? Now I am arm'd for him. +Strengthen me that Divinity that enlightens +The darknesse of my soule, strengthen this hand +That it may write my challenge to the world +Whom I defie; that I may on this paper +The picture draw of my confession. +Here doe I fix my Standard, here bid Battaile +To Paganisme and infidelity. + + _Musicke; enter Angel_. + +Mustre my holy thoughts, and, as I write, +In this brave quarrell teach me how to fight. + + (_As he is writing an Angel comes and stands before + him: soft musick; he astonisht and dazeld_.) + +This is no common Almes to prisoners; +I never heard such sweetnesse--O mine eyes! +I, that am shut from light, have all the light +Which the world sees by; here some heavenly fire +Is throwne about the roome, and burnes so clearely, +Mine eye-bals drop out blasted at the sight. + + (_He falls flat on the earth, and whilst a Song is heard + the Angel writes, and vanishes as it ends_.) + + I. SONG. + + _What are earthly honours + But sins glorious banners? + Let not golden gifts delight thee, + Let not death nor torments fright thee; + From thy place thy Captaine gives thee + When thou faintest he relieves thee. + Hearke, how the Larke + Is to the Morning singing; + Harke how the Bells are ringing. + It is for joy that thou to Heaven art flying: + This is not life, true life is got by dying_. + +_Eugen_. The light and sound are vanisht, but my feare +Sticks still upon my forehead: what's written here? (_Reads_.) + + Goe, and the bold Physitian play; + But touch the King and drive away + The paine he feeles; but first assay + To free the Christians: if the King pay + Thy service ill, expect a day + When for reward thou shalt not stay. + +All writ in golden Letters and cut so even +As if some hand had hither reacht from Heaven +To print this Paper. + + _Enter Epidophorus_. + +_Epi_. Come, you must to the King. + +_Eugen_. I am so laden with Irons +I scarce can goe. + +_Epi_. Wyer-whips shall drive you, +The King is counsell'd for his health to bath him +In the warme blood of Christians; and you, I thinke, +Must give him ease. + +_Eugen_. Willingly; my fetters +Hang now, methinks, like feathers at my heeles. +On, any whither; I can runne, sir. + +_Epi_. Can you? not very farre, I feare. + +_Eugen_. No windes my Faith shake, nor rock[s] split in sunder: +The poore ship's tost here, my strong Anchor's yonder. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Bellizarius and Hubert_. + +_Hub_. My Lord? + +_Belliz_. Ha! + +_Hub_. Affraid in a close room where no foe comes +Unlesse it be a Weezle or a Rat +(And those besiege your Larder or your Pantry), +Whom the arm'd Foe never frighted in the field? + +_Belliz_. 'Tis true, my Lord, there danger was a safety; here +To be secure I thinke most dangerous. +Or what could[157] famine, wounds or all th'extreames +That still attend a Souldiers actions +Could not destroy, one sillable from a Kings breath +Can thus, thus easily win. + +_Hub_. Oh, 'tis their long observed policy +To turne away these roaring boyes +When they intend to rock licentious thoughts +In a soft roome, where every long Cushion is +Embroydered with old Histories of peace, +And all the hangings of Warre thrust into the Wardrobe +Till they grow musty or moth-eaten. + +_Belliz_. One of those rusty Monuments am I. + +_Hub_. A little oyle of favour will secure thee agen, +And make thee shine as bright as in that day +We wonne the famous battaile 'gainst the Christians. + + _Enter Bellina and kneeles weeping_. + +_Belliz_. Never, _Hubert_, never. +What newes now, Girle? thy heart +So great it cannot tell me? + +_Hub_. Sfoot, why shouldst thou be troubled, that art thus visited? Let +the King put me into any roome, the closer the better, and turne but +such a keeper to me, and if ever I strive to runne away, though the +doores be open, may the Virgins curse destroy me, and let me lamentably +and most unmanly dye of the Greene-sicknesse. + +_Belliz_. My blessing bring thee patience, gentle Girle; +It is the best thy wronged Father can +Invoke for thee.--Tis my _Bellina, Hubert_: +Know her, honour'd Sir, and pittie her. + +_Hub_. How sweetly she becomes the face of woe! +Shee teacheth misery to court her beauty +And to affliction lends a lovely looke. +Happy folkes would sell their blessings for her griefes +But to be sure to meete them thus. + +_Bellina_. My honourd Father, your griev'd Daughter thus +Thrice every day to Heaven lifts her poore hand +And payes her vowes to the incensed Powers +For your release and happy patience, +And will grow old in vowes unto those Powers +Till they fall on me loaden with my wishes. + +_Belliz_. Thou art the comfort of my Treasure, Girle: +Wee'le live together, if it please the King, +And tell sad Stories of thy wretched Mother; +Give equall sighes to one anothers griefe, +And by discourse of happinesse to come +Trample upon our present miseries. + +_Hub_. There is a violent fire runnes round about me, +Which my sighes blow to a consuming flame. +To be her Martyr is a happinesse, +The sainted souls would change their merit for it. +Methinkes griefe dwells about her purest eyes, +As if it begg'd a pardon for those teares +Exhausted hence and onely due to love: +Her Vaile hangs like a Cloud over her face, +Through which her beauty, like a glimmering Starre, +Gives a transparent lustre to the night, +As if no sorrow could Ecclipse her light: +Her lips, as they discourse, methinks, looke pale +For feare they should not kisse agen; but, met, +They blush for joy, as happy Lovers doe +After a long divorce when they encounter. + +_Belliz_. Noble Lord, if you dare lose so much precious time +As to be companion to my misery +But one poor houre, +And not esteeme your selfe too prodigall +For that expence, this wretched Maid my Child +Shall waite upon you with her sorrows stories; +Vouchsafe but you to heare it. + +_Hub_. Yes, with full eare. + +_Belliz_. To your best thoughts I leave you; +I will but read, and answer this my Letter. + [_Exit. Belliz_. + +_Bellina_. Why do you, seeme to loose your eyes on me? +Here's nothing but a pile of wretchednesse; +A branch that every way is shooke at roote +And would (I think) even fall before you now, +But that Divinity which props it up +Inspires it full of comfort, since the Cause +My father suffers for gives a full glory +To his base fetters of Captivity. +And I beseech you, Sir, if there but dwell +So much of Vertue in you as your lookes +Seeme to expresse possesse your honour'd thoughts, +Bestow your pitty on us, not your scorne; +And wish, for goodnesse sake and your soules weale, +You were a sharer in these sufferings, +So the same cause expos'd your fortunes too't. + +_Hub_. Oh, happy woman, know I suffer more, +And for a cause as iust. + +_Bellina_. Be proud then of that tryumph; but I am yet +A stranger to the Character of what +You say you suffer for. Is it for Conscience? + +_Hub_. For love, divine perfection. + +_Bellina_. If of Heaven's love, how rich is your reward! + +_Hub_. Of Heaven's best blessing, your most perfect selfe. + +_Bellina_. Alas, Sir, here perfection keeps no Court, +Love dresses here no wanton amorous bowers; +Sorrow has made perpetuall winter here, +And all my thoughts are Icie, past the reach +Of what Loves fires can thaw. + +_Hub_. Oh doe but take away a part of that +My breast is full of, of that holy fire +The Queene of Loves faire Altar holds not purer +Nor more effectuall; and, sweet, if then +You melt not into passion for my wounds, +Effuse your Virgin vowes to chaine mine ears, +Weepe on my necke and with your fervent sighes +Infuse a soule of comfort into me; +He break the Altar of the foolish God, +Proclaime them guilty of Idolatry +That sacrifice to _Cytheraeas_ sonne. + +_Bellina_. Did not my present fortunes and my vowes, +Register'd in the Records of Heaven, +Tye me too strictly from such thoughts as these, +I feare me I should softly yeeld to what +My yet condition has beene stranger to. +To love, my Lord, is to be miserable. + +_Hub_. Oh to thy sweetnesse Envy would prove kind, +Tormentor humble, no pale Murderer; +And the Page of death a smiling Courtier. +_Venus_ must then, to give thee noble welcome, +Perfume her Temple with the breath of Nunnes, +Not _Vesta's_ but her owne; with Roses strow +The paths that bring thee to her blessed shrine; +Cloath all her Altares in her richest Robes +And hang her walles with stories of such loves +Have rais'd her Tryumphs; and 'bove all at last +Record this day, the happy day in which +_Bellina_ prov'd to love a Convertite. +Be mercifull and save me. + +_Bellina_. You are defil'd with Seas of Christians blood, +An enemy to Heaven and which is good; +And cannot be a loving friend to me. + +_Hub_. If I have sinn'd forgive me, you iust powers: +My ignorance, not cruelty has don't. +And here I vow my selfe to be hereafter +What ere _Bellina_ shall instruct me in: +For she was never made but to possesse +The highest Mansion 'mongst your Dignities, +Nor can Heaven let her erre. + +_Bellina_. On that condition thus I spread my armes, +Whose chaste embraces ne're toucht man before; +And will to _Hubert_ all the favour shew +His vertuous love can covet. +I will be ever his; goe thou to Warre, +These hands shall arme thee; and Ile watch thy Tent +Till from the battaile thou bring'st victory. +In peace Ile sit by thee and read or sing +Stanzaes of chaste love, of love purifi'd +From desires drossie blacknesse; nay when our clouds +Of ignorance are quite vanisht, and that a holy +Religious knot between us may be tyed, +_Bellina_ here vowes to be _Hubert's_ bride: +Else doe I sweare perpetuall chastity. + +_Hub_. Thy vowes I seale, be thou my ghostly Tutor; +And, all my actions levell'd to thy thoughts, +I am thy Creature. + +_Bellina_. Let Heaven, too, but now propitious prove +And for thy soule thou hast wonne a happy love. +Come, shall we to my Father. + + [_Exeunt_. + + (_Soft Musick_) + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Enter the King on his bed, two Physitians, + Anthony Damianus and Cosmo_. + +_King_. Are you Physitians? +Are you those men that proudly call your selves +The helps of Nature? + +_Ant_. Oh, my good Lord, have patience. + +_King_. What should I doe? lye like a patient Asse? +Feele my selfe tortur'd by this diffused poyson, +But tortur'd more by these unsavoury drugges? + +_Ant_. Come one of you your selves and speake to him. + +1 _Phys_. How fares your Highnesse? + +_King_. Never worse:--What's he? + +_Dami_. One of your Highnesse Doctors. + +_King_. Come, sit neare me; +Feele my pulse once again and tell me, Doctor, +Tell me in tearmes that I may understand,-- +I doe not love your gibberish,--tell me honestly +Where the Cause lies, and give a Remedy, +And that with speed; or in despight of Art, +Of Nature, you and all your heavenly motions, +Ile recollect so much of life into me +As shall give space to see you tortur'd. +Some body told me that a Bath of mans blood +Would restore me. Christians shall pay for't; +Fetch the Bishop hither, he shall begin. + +_Cosm_. Hee's gone for. + +_King_. What's my disease? + +1 _Phys_. My Lord, you are poyson'd. + +_King_. I told thee so my selfe, and told thee how: +But what's the reason that I have no helpe? +The Coffers of my Treasury are full, +Or, if they were not, tributary Christians +Bring in sufficient store to pay your fees, +If that you gape at. + +2 _Phys_. Wilt please your Highnesse then to take this Cordiall? +Gold never truely did you good till now. + +_King_. 'Tis gone. + +2 _Phys_. My Lord, it was the perfectst tincture +Of Gold that ever any Art produc'd: +With it was mixt a true rare Quintessence +Extracted out of Orientall Bezar,[158] +And with it was dissolv'd the Magisteriall +Made of the Horne _Armenia_ so much boast of; +Which, though dull Death had usurp't Natures right, +Is able to create new life agen. + +_King_. Why does it good on men and not on Kings? +We have the selfe-same passages for Nature +With mortall men; our pulses beate like theirs: +We are subiect unto passions as they are. +I finde it now, but to my griefe I finde, +Life stands not with us on such ticklish points, +What is't, because we are Kings, Life takes it leave +With greater state? No, no; the envious Gods +Maligne our happinesse. Oh that my breath had power +With my last words to blast their Deities. + +1 _Phys_. The Cordiall that you tooke requires rest: +For healths sake, good my Lord, repose your selfe. + +_King_. Yes, any thing for health; draw round the Curtaines. + +_Dami_. Wee'le watch by him whilst you two doe consult. + +1 _Phys_. What guesse you by that Urine? + +2 _Phys_. Surely Death! + +1 _Phys_. Death certaine, without contradiction, +For though the Urin be a whore and lies, +Yet where I finde her in all parts agree +With other Symtomes of apparent death +Ile give her faith. Pray, Sir, doe but marke +These black Hypostacies;[159] it plainely shewes +Mortification generally through the spirits; +And you may finde the Pulse to shew as much +By his uncertainty of time and strength. + +2 _Phys_. We finde the spirits often suffisticated +By many accidents, but yet not mortified; +A sudden feare will doe it. + +1 _Phys_. Very right; +But there's no malitious humour mixt +As in the king: Sir, you must understand +A Scorpion stung him: now a Scorpion is +A small compacted creature in whom Earth +Hath the predominance, but mixt with fire, +So that in him _Saturne_ and _Mars_ doe meet. +This little Creature hath his severall humours, +And these their excrements; these met together, +Enflamed by anger, made a deadly poison; +And by how much the creatures body's lesse +By so much is the force of Venome more, +As Lightning through a windows Casement +Hurts more than that which enters at the doore. + +2 _Phys_. But for the way to cure it? + +1 _Phys_. I know none; +Yet Ancient Writers have prescrib'd us many: +As _Theophrastus_ holds most excellent +Diophoratick[160] Medicines to expell +Ill vapours from the noble parts by sweate; +But _Avices_ and also _Rabby Roses_[161] +Doe thinke it better by provoking Urin, +Since by the Urine blood may well be purg'd, +And spirits from the blood have nutriment, +But for my part I ever held opinion +In such a case the Ventosities are best. + +2 _Phys_. They are indeed, and they doe farre exceede-- + +1 _Phys_. All the great curious Cataphlasmes, +Or the live taile of a deplum[e]d Henne, +Or your hot Pigeons or your quartered whelpes;[162] +For they by a meere forc'd attractive power +Retaine that safely which by force was drawne, +Whereas the other things I nam'd before +Do lose their vertue as they lose their heat. + +2 _Phys_. The ventosities shall be our next intensions. + +_Anton_. Pray, Gentlemen, attend his Highnesse. + +_King_. Your next intentions be to drowne your selves: +Dogge-leaches all! I see I am not mortall, +For I with patience have thus long endur'd +Beyond the strength of all mortality; +But now the thrice heate furnace of my bosome +Disdaineth bounds: doe not I scorch you all? +Goe, goe, you are all but prating Mountebankes, +Quack-salvers and Imposures; get you all from me. + +2 _Phys_. These Ventosities, my lord, will give you ease. + +_King_. A vengeance on thy Ventosities and thee! + + _Enter Eugenius_. + +_Anton_. The Bishop, Sir, is come. + +_King_. Christian, thy blood +Must give me ease and helpe. + +_Eugen_. Drinke then thy fill: +None of the Fathers that begot sweet Physick, +That Divine Lady, comforter to man, +Invented such a medicine as man's blood; +A drinke so pretious should not be so spilt: +Take mine, and Heaven pardon you the guilt. + +_King_. A Butcher! see his throat cut. + +_Eugen_. I am so farre from shrinking that mine owne hands +Shall bare my throat; and am so farre from wishing +Ill to you that mangle me, that before +My blood shall wash these Rushes, +King, I will cure thee. + +1 _Phys_. You cure him? + +_King_. Speak on, fellow. + +_Eugen_. If I doe not +Restore your limbs to soundnesse, drive the poyson +From the infected part, study your tortures +To teare me peece-meale yet be kept alive. + +_King_. O reverent man, come neare me; worke this wonder, +Aske gold, honours, any, any thing +The sublunary treasures of this world +Can yeeld, and they are thine. + +_Eugen_. I will doe nothing without a recompence. + +_King_. A royall one. + +_Omnes_. Name what you would desire. + +_King_. Stand by; you trouble him. +A recompence can my Crowne bring thee, take it; +Reach him my Crowne and plant it on his head. + +_Eugen_. No; here's my bargaine-- + +_King_. Quickly, oh speake quickly.-- +Off with the good man's Irons. + +_Eugen_. Free all those Christians which are now thy slaves, +In all thy Cittadels, Castles, Fortresses; +Those in _Bellanna_ and _Mersaganna_, +Those in _Alempha_ and in _Hazanoth_, +Those in thy Gallies, those in thy Iayles and Dungeons. + +_King_. Those any where: my signet, take my signet, +And free all on your lives, free all the Christians. +What dost thou else desire? + +_Eugen_. This; that thy selfe trample upon thy Pagan Gods. + +_Omnes_. Sir! + +_King_. Away. + +_Eugen_. Wash your soule white by wading in the streame +Of Christian gore. + +_King_. I will turne Christian. + +_Dam_. Better wolves worry this accursed-- + +_King_. Better +Have Bandogs[163] worry all of you, than I +To languish in a torment that feedes on me +As if the Furies bit me. Ile turn Christian, +And, if I doe not, let the Thunder pay +My breach of promise. Cure me, good old man, +And I will call thee father; thou shalt have +A king come kneeling to thee every Morning +To take a blessing from thee, and to heare thee +Salute him as a sonne. +When, when is this wonder? + +_Eugen_. Now; you are well, Sir. + +_King_. Ha! + +_Eugen_. Has your paine left you? + +_King_. Yes; see else, _Damianus, Antony, +Cosmo_; I am well. + +_Omnes_. He does it by inchantment. + +1 _Phys_. By meere Witch-Craft. + +_Eugen_. Thy payment for my cure. + +_King_. What? + +_Eugen_. To turne Christian, +And set all Christian slaves at liberty. + +_King_. Ile hang and torture all-- +Call backe the Messenger sent with our signet. +For thy selfe, thou foole, should I allow +Thee life thou wouldst be poyson'd by our +Colledge of Physitians. Let him not touch me +Nor ever more come neare me; and to be sure +Thy sorceries shall not strike me, stone him to death. + + (_They binde him to a stake, and fetch stones in baskets_.) + +_Omnes. When? + +_King_. Now, here presently. + +_Eugen_. Ingratefull man! + +_King_. Dispatch, his voyce is horrid in our eares; +Kill him, hurle all, and in him kill my feares. + +_Eugen_. I would thy feares were ended. + +_King_. Why thus delay you? + +_Dam_. The stones are soft as spunges. + +_Anton_. Not any stone here +Can raze his skin. + +_Dam_. See, Sir. + +_Cosmo_. Thankes, heavenly preservation. + +_King_. Mockt by a hell-hound! + +_Omnes_. This must not be endur'd, Sir. + +_King_. Unbinde the wretch; +Naile him to the earth with Irons. Cannot death strike him? +New studied tortures shall. + +_Eugen_. New tortures bring, +They all to me are but a banquetting. + [_Exit_. + +_Anton_. But are you well, indeed, Sir? + +_King_. Passing well: +Though my Physitian fetcht the cure from hell; +All's one, I am glad I have it. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quartus_. + + + _Enter Antony, Cosmo, Hubert, and Damianus_. + +_Anton_. You, noble Hubert, are the man[164] chosen out +From all our _Vandal_ Leaders to be chiefe +O'er a new army, which the King will raise +To roote out from our land these Christians +That over-runne us. + +_Cosmo_. 'Tis a glory, _Hubert_, +Will raise your fame and make you like our gods, +To please whom you must do this. + +_Dam_. And in doing +Be active as the fire and mercilesse +As is the boundlesse Ocean when it swallows +Whole Townes and of them leaves no Monuments. + +_Hub_. When shall mine eyes be happy in the sight +Of this brave Pagentry? + +_Cosmo_. The King sayes instantly. + +_Hub_. And must I be the Generall? + +_Omnes_. Onely you. + +_Hub_. I shall not then at my returning home +Have sharers in my great acts: to the Volume +My Sword in bloody Letters shall text downe +No name must stand but mine; no leafe turn'd o'er +But _Huberts_ workes are read and none but mine. +_Bellizarius_ shall not on his Clouds of fire +Fly flaming round about the staring World +Whilst I creepe on the earth. Flatter me not: +Am I to goe indeed? + +_Anton_. The King so sweares. + +_Hub_. A Kings word is a Statute graven in Brasse, +And if he breakes that Law I will in Thunder +Rouze his cold spirit. I long to ride in Armour, +And looking round about me to see nothing +But Seas and shores, the Seas of Christians blood, +The shoares tough Souldiers. Here a wing flies out +Soaring at Victory; here the maine Battalia +Comes up with as much horrour and hotter terrour +As if a thick-growne Forrest by enchantment +Were made to move, and all the Trees should meete +Pell mell, and rive their beaten bulkes in sunder, +As petty Towers doe being flung downe by Thunder. +Pray, thanke the King, and tell him I am ready +To cry a charge; tell him I shall not sleepe +Till that which wakens Cowards, trembling with feare, +Startles me, and sends brave Musick to mine eare; +And that's the Drumme and Trumpet. + +_Ant_. This shall be told him. + +_Dam_. And all the _Goths_ and _Vandalls_ shall strike Heaven +With repercussive Ecchoes of your name, +Crying, a _Hubert_! + +_Hub_. Deafe me with that sound: +A Souldier, though he falls in the Field, lives crown'd. + +_Cosmo_. Wee'le to the King and tell him this. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter Bellina_. + +_Hub_. Doe.--Oh, my _Bellina_, +If ever, make me happy now; now tye +Strong charmes about my full-plum'd Burgonet +To bring me safe home. I must to the Warres. + +_Bellina_. What warres? we have no warres but in our selves; +We fighting with our sinnes, our sinnes with us; +Yet they still get the Victory. Who are in Armes +That you must to the Field? + +_Hub_. The Kings Royall thoughts +Are in a mutiny amongst themselves, +And nothing can allay them but a slaughter, +A general massacre of all the Christians +That breath in his Dominion. I am the Engine +To worke this glorious wonder. + +_Bellina_. Forefend it Heaven! +Last time you sat by me within my bower +I told you of a Pallace wall'd with gold. + +_Hub_. I doe remember it. + +_Bellina_. The floore of sparkling Diamonds, and the roofe +Studded with Stanes shining as bright as fire. + +_Hub_. True. + +_Bellina_. And I told you one day I would shew you +A path should bring you thither. + +_Hub_. You did indeed. + +_Bellina_. And will you now neglect a lease of this +To lye in a cold field, a field of murder? +Say thou shouldst kill ten thousand Christians; +They goe but as Embassadors to Heaven +To tell thy cruelties, and on yon Battlements +They all will stand on rowes, laughing to see +Thee fall into a pit as bottomlesse +As the Heavens are in extension infinite. + +_Hub_. More, prethee, more: I had forgot this Musick. + +_Bellina_. Say thou shouldst win the day, yet art thou lost, +For ever lost; an everlasting slave +Though thou com'st home a laurel'd Conqueror. +You courted me to love you; now I woe thee +To love thy selfe, to love a thing within thee +More curious than the frame of all this world, +More lasting than this Engine o're our heads, +Whose wheeles have mov'd so many thousand yeeres: +This thing is thy soule, for which I woe thee. + +_Hub_. Thou woest, I yeeld, and in that yeelding love thee, +And for that love Ile be the Christians guide: +I am their Captaine, come, both _Goth_ and _Vandall_; +Nay, come the King, I am the Christians Generall. + +_Bellina_. Not yet, till your Commission be faire drawne; +Not yet, till on your brow you beare the Print +Of a rich golden seale. + +_Hub_. Get me that seale, then. + +_Bellina_. There is an _Aqua fortis_ (an eating water) +Must first wash off thine infidelity, +And then th'art arm'd. + +_Hub_. O let me, then, be arm'd. + +_Bellina_. Thou shalt; +But on thy knees thou gently first shall sweare +To put no Armour on but what I beare. + +_Hub_. By this chaste clasping of our hands I sweare. + +_Bellina_. We then thus hand in hand will fight a battaile +Worth all the pitch-fields, all the bloody banquets, +The slaughter and the massacre of Christians, +Of whom such heapes so quickly never fell. +Brave onset! be thy end not terrible. + +_Hub_. This kindled fire burne in us, till as deaths slaves +Our bodies pay their tributes to their graves. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Clowne and two Pagans_. + +_Clown_. Come, fellow Pagans; death meanes to fare well to-day, for he +is like to have rost-meate to his supper, two principal dishes; many a +knight keepes a worse Table: first, a brave Generall Carbonadoed[165], +then a fat Bishop broyl'd, whose Rochet[166] comes in fryed for the +second course, according to the old saying, _A plumpe greazie Prelate +fries a fagot daintily_. + +1 _Pag_. Oh! the Generall _Bellizarius_ for my money; hee has a fiery +Spirit, too; hee will roast soakingly within and without. + +_Clown_. Methinks Christians make the bravest Bonefires of any people +in the Universe; as a _Jew_ burnes pretty well, but if you marke him he +burnes upward; the fire takes him by the Nose first. + +2 _Pag_. I know some Vintners then are _Jewes_ + +_Clown_. Now, as your _Jew_ burnes upward, your _French-man_ burnes +downewards like a Candle and commonly goes out with a stinke like a +snuffe; and what socket soever it light in it, must be well cleans'd +and pick't before it can be us'd agen. But _Bellizarius_, the brave +Generall, will flame high and cleare like a Beacon; but your Puritane +_Eugenius_ will burne blew, blew like a white-bread sop in _Aqua Vitae_. +Fellow Pagans, I pray let us agree among ourselves about the sharing of +those two. + +2 _Pag_. I, 'tis fit. + +_Clown_. You know I am worshipfull by my place; the under-keeper may +write Equire if he list at the bottome of the paper: I doe cry first +the Generalls great Scarfe to make me a short Summer-cloake, and the +Bishops wide sleeves to make me a Holy-dayes shirt. + +1 _Pag_. Having a double voyce we cannot abridge you of a double share. + +_Clown_. You, that so well know what belongs to reverence, the Breeches +be[167] yours, whether Bishops or Generalls; but with this Provizo, +because we will all share of both parties, as I have lead the way, I +clayming the Generalls and the Bishops sleeves, so he that chuses the +Generalls Doublet shall weare the Generalls Breeches. + +2 _Pag_. A match. + +_Clown_. Nay, 'twill be farre from a match, that's certaine; but it will +make us to be taken for men of note, what company soever we come in. + + The Souldier and the Scholler, peekt up so, + Will make _tam Marti quam Mercurio_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter the King, Antony, Damianus, and Cosmo; + Victoria meetes the King_. + +_Vict_. As you are Vice-gerent to that Maiesty +By whom Kings reigne on earth, as you would wish +Your heires should sit upon your Throne, your name +Be mentioned in the Chronicle of glory; +Great King, vouchsafe me hearing. + +_King_. Speake. + +_Vict_. My husband, +The much, too much wrong'd _Bellizarius_, +Hath not deserv'd the measure of such misery +Which is throwne on him. Call, oh call to minde +His service, how often he hath fought +And toyl'd in warres to give his Country peace. +He has not beene a flatterer of the Time, +Nor Courted great ones for their glorious Vices; +He hath not sooth'd blinde dotage in the World, +Nor caper'd on the Common-wealths dishonour; +He has not peeld the rich nor flead the poore, +Nor from the heart-strings of the Commons drawne +Profit to his owne Coffers; he never brib'd +The white intents of mercy; never sold +Iustice for money, to set up his owne +And utterly undoe whole families. +Yet some such men there are that have done thus: +The mores the pitty. + +_King_. To the poynt. + +_Vict_. Oh, Sir, +_Bellizarius_ has his wounds emptied of blood, +Both for his Prince and Countrey: to repeat +Particulars were to do iniury +To your yet mindfull gratitude. His Life, +His liberty, 'tis that I plead for--that; +And since your enemies and his could never +Captive the one and triumph in the other, +Let not his friends--his King--commend a cruelty, +Strange to be talkt of, cursed to be acted. +My husband, oh! my husband _Bellizarius_, +For him I begge. + +_King_. Lady, rise up; we will be gracious +To thy suit,--Cause _Bellizarius_ +And the Bishop be brought hither instantly. + [_Exit for him_. + +_Vict_. Now all the blessings due to a good King +Crowne you with lasting honours. + +_King_. If thou canst +Perswade thy husband to recant his errours, +He shall not onely live, but in our favoures +Be chiefe. Wilt undertake it? + +_Vict_. Undertake it, Sir, +On these conditions? You shall your selfe +Be witnesse with what instance I will urge him +To pitty his owne selfe, recant his errours. + +_Anton_. So doing he will purchase many friends. + +_Dam_. Life, love, and liberty. + +_Vict_. But tell me, pray, Sir; +What are those errours which he must recant? + +_King_. His hatred to those powers to which we bow, +On whom we all depend, he has kneel'd to them; +Let him his base Apostacy recant, +Recant his being a Christian, and recant +The love he beares to Christians. + +_Vict_. If he deny +To doe all this, or any poynt of this, +Is there no mercy for him? + +_King_. Couldst thou shed +A Sea of teares to drowne my resolution, +He dyes; could this fond man lay at my foote +The kingdomes of the earth, he dyes; he dyes +Were he my sonne, my father. Bid him recant, +Else all the Torments cruelty can invent +Shall fall on him. + +_Vict_. No sparke of pitty? + +_King_. None. + +_Vict_. Well, then, but mark what paines Ile take to winne him, +To winne him home; Ile set him in a way +The Clouds shall clap to finde what went astray. + +_Anton_. Doe this, and we are all his. + +_King_. Doe this, I sweare to jewell him in my bosome. +--See where he comes. + + _Enter Epidophorus with Bellizarius and Eugenius_. + +_Belliz_. And whither now? Is Tyranny growne ripe +To blow us to our graves yet? + +_King_. _Bellizarius_, +Thy wife has s'ud for mercy, and has found it; +Speake, Lady, tell him how. + +_Belliz_. _Victoria_ too! +Oh, then I feare the striving to expresse +The virtue of a good wife hath begot +An utter ruine of all goodnesse in thee. +What wou'dst thou say, poore woman? +My Lord the King, +Nothing can alter your incensed rage +But recantation? + +_King_. Nothing. + +_Vict_. Recantation! sweet +Musicke; _Bellizarius_, thou maist live; +The King is full of royall bounty--like +The ambition of mortality--examine; +That recantation is--a toy. + +_King_. None hinder her; now ply him. + +_Vict_. To lose the portage[168] in these sacred pleasures +That knowes no end; to lose the fellowship +Of Angels; lose the harmony of blessings +Which crowne all Martyrs with eternity! +Wilt thou not recant? + +_King_. I understand her not. + +_Omnes_. Nor I. + +_Vict_. Thy life hath hitherto beene, my dear husband, +But a disease to thee; thou hast indeed +Mov'd on the earth like other creeping wormes +Who take delight in worldly surfeits, heate +Their blood with lusts, their limbes with proud attyres; +Fe[e]d on their change of sinnes; that doe not use +Their pleasure[s] but enjoy them, enjoy them fully +In streames that are most sensuall and persever +To live so till they die, and to die never[169]. + +_King_. What meanes all this? + +_Anton_. Art in thy right wits, woman? + +_Vict_. Such beasts are those about thee; take then courage; +If ever in thy youth thy soule hath set +By the Worlds tempting fires, as these men doe, +Recant that errour. + +_King_. Ha! + +_Vict_. Hast thou in battaile tane a pride in blood? +Recant that errour. Hast thou constant stood +In a bad cause? clap a new armour on +And fight now in a good. Oh lose not heaven +For a few minutes in a Tyrants eye; +Be valiant and meete death: if thou now losest +Thy portion laid up for thee yonder, yonder, +For breath or honours here, oh thou dost sell +Thy soule for nothing. Recant all this, +And then be rais'd up to a Throne of blis. + +_Anton_. We are abus'd, stop her mouth. + +_Belliz_. _Victoria_, +Thou nobly dost confirme me, hast new arm'd +My resolution, excellent _Victoria_. + +_Eugen_. Oh happy daughter, thou in this dost bring +That _Requiem_ to our soules which Angels sing. + +_Dam_. Can you endure this wrong, Sir? + +_Cosmo_. Be out-brav'd by a seducing Strumpet? + +_King_. Binde her fast; +Weele try what recantation you can make. +Hagge, in the presence of your brave holy Champion +And thy Husband, +One of my Cammell drivers shall take from thee +The glory of thy honesty and honour. +Call in the Peasant. + +_Vict_. _Bellizarius_, +_Eugenius_, is there no guard above us +That will protect me from a rape? 'tis worse +Than worlds of tortures. + +_Eugen_. Fear not, _Victoria_; +Be thou a chaste one in thy minde, thy body +May like a Temple of well tempered steele +Be batter'd, not demolishe'd. + +_Belliz_. Tyrant, be mercifull; +And if thou hast no other vertue in thee +Deserving memory to succeeding ages, +Yet onely thy not suffering such an out-rage +Shall adde praise to thy name. + +_King_. Where is the Groome? + +_Eugen_. Oh sure the Sunne will darken +And not behold a deed so foule and monstrous. + + _Enter Epidophorus with a Slave_. + +_Epi_. Here is the Cammell driver. + +_Omnes_. Stand forth, sirrah. + +_Epi_. Be bould and shrink not; this is she. + +1 _Cam_. And I am hee. Is't the kings pleasure that +I should mouse[170] her, and before all these people? + +_King_. No; 'tis considered better; unbinde the fury +And dragge her to some corner; 'tis our pleasure, +Fall to thy businesse freely. + +1 _Cam_. Not too freely neither: I fare hard and drinke water; so doe +the _Indians_, yet who fuller of Bastards? so doe the _Turkes_, yet who +gets greater Logger-heads? Come, wench; Ile teach thee how to cut up +wild fowle. + +_Vict_. Guard me, you heavens. + +_Belliz_. Be mine eyes lost for ever. + +1 _Cam_. Is that her husband? + +_Epi_. Yes. + +1 _Cam_. No matter; some husbands are so base, they keepe the doore +whilst they are Cuckolded; but this is after a more manlier way, for +he stands bound to see it done. + +_King_. Haile her away. + +1 _Cam_. Come, Pusse! Haile her away? which way? yon way? my Camells +backs cannot climbe it. + +_Anton_. The fellow is struck mad. + +1 _Cam_. That way? it lookes into a Mill-pond, +Whirre! how the Wheels goe and the Divell grindes. +No, this way. + +_King_. Keepe the slave back! + +_1 Cam_. Backe, keep me backe! there sits my wife kembing her haire, +which curles like a witches felt-locks[171]! all the Neets in't are +Spiders, and all the Dandruffe the sand of a Scriveners Sand-boxe. +Stand away; my whore shall not be lousie; let me come noynt her with +Stavesucre[172]. + +_King_. Defend me, lop his hands off! + +_Omnes_. Hew him in pieces + +_King_. What has he done? + +_Anton_. Sir, beate out his owne braines. + +_Vict_. You for his soule must answer. + +_King_. Fetch another. + +_Eugen_. Tempt not the wrath supernall to fall downe +And crush thee in thy throne. + + _Enter 2 Cammell drivers_. + +_King_. Peace, sorcerous slave: +Sirra, take hence this Witch and ravish her. + +2 _Cam_. A Witch? Witches are the Divels sweete hearts. + +_King_. Doe it, be thou Master of much gold. + +2 _Cam_. Shall I have gold to doe it? in some Countries I heare whole +Lordships are spent upon a fleshly device, yet the buyer in the end had +nothing but French Repentance and the curse of Chyrurgery for his money. +Let me finger my gold; Ile venture on, but not give her a penny. Womans +flesh was never cheaper; a man may eate it without bread; all Trades +fall, so doe they. + +_Epi_. Look you, Sir, there's your gold. + +2 _Cam_. Ile tell money after my father. Oh I am strucke blinde! + +_Omnes_. The fellow is bewitcht, Sir. + +_Eugen_. Great King, impute not +This most miraculous delivery +To witch-craft; 'tis a gentle admonition +To teach thy heart obey it. + +_King_. Lift up the slave; +Though he has lost his sight, his feeling is not; +He dyes unlesse he ravish her. + +_Epi_. Force her into thy armes or else thou dyest. + +2 _Cam_. I have lost my hearing, too. + +_King_. Fetch other slaves. + +_Epi_. Thou must force her. + +2 _Cam_. Truely I am hoarse with driving my Cammells, and nothing does +me good but sirrop of Horehound. + + _Enter two Slaves_. + +_Epi_. Here are two slaves will doe it indeed. + +2. Which is shee? + +_King_. This creature; she has beauty to intice you +And enough to feast you all; seize her all three +And ravish her by turnes. + +_Slaves_. A match. + + [_They dance antiquely, and Exeunt_. + +_King_. Hang up these slaves; I am mock't by her and them; +They dance me into anger. Heard you not musicke? + +_Anton_. Yes, sure, and most sweet melody. + +_Vict_. 'Tis the heavens play +And the Clowdes dance for ioy thy cruelty +Has not tane hold upon me. + +_King_. Hunger then shall: +Leade them away, dragge her to some loathed dungeon +And for three days give her no food. +Load her with Irons. + +_Epi_. They shall. + +_Eugen_. Come, fellow souldiers, halfe the fight is past: +The bloodiest battell comes to an end at last. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + + + _Enter Epidophorus and Clowne_. + +_Epi_. Have any Christian soule broke from my Iayle +This night, and gone i'the dark to find out heaven? +Are any of my hated prisoners dead? + +_Clown_. Dead? yes; and five more come into the world instead of one. +These Christians are like Artichoaks of _Jerusalam_; they over-runne +any ground they grow in. + +_Epi_. Are they so fruitfull? + +_Clown_. Fruitfull! a Hee Christian told me that amongst them the young +fellowes are such Earing rioted[173] Rascals that they will runne into +the parke of Matrimony at sixteene; are Bucks of the first head at +eighteenes and by twenty carry in some places their hornes on their +backs. + +_Epi_. On their backs? What kind of Christians are they? + +_Clown_. Marry, these are Christian Butchers, who when their Oxen are +flead throw their skinnes on their shoulders. + +_Epi_. I thought they had beene Cuckolds. + +_Clown_. Amongst them? no; there's no woman, that's a true Christian, +will horne her husband. There dyed to night no lesse than six and a +halfe in our Iayle. + +_Epi_. How? six and a halfe? + +_Clown_. One was a girle of thirteene, with child. + +_Epi_. Thy tidings fats me. + +_Clown_. You may have one or two of 'em drest to your Dinner to make +you more fat. + +_Epi_. Unhallowed slave! let a _Jew_ eate Pork, when +I but touch a Christian. + +_Clown_. You are not of my dyet: Would I had a young Loyne of Porke to +my Supper, and two Loynes of a pretty sweate Christian after Supper. + +_Epi_. Would thou mightst eate and choake. + +_Clown_. Never at such meate; it goes downe without chawing. + +_Epi_. We have a taske in hand, to kill a Serpent +Which spits her poyson in our kingdomes face. +And that we speake not of (?); lives still +That Witch _Victoria_, wife to _Bellizarius_? +Is Death afraid to touch the Hagge? does hunger +Tremble to gnaw her flesh off, dry up her blood +And make her eate her selfe in Curses, ha? + +_Clown_. Ha? your mouth gapes as if you would eate me. The King +commanded she should be laden with Irons,--I have laid two load upon +her; then to pop her into the Dungeon,--I thrust her downe as deepe as +I could; then to give her no meate,--alas my cheekes cry out, I have +meate little enough for my selfe. Three days and three nights has her +Cupboard had no victuals in it; I saw no lesse than Fifty sixe Mice +runne out of the hole she lies in, and not a crumme of bread or bit of +cheese amongst them. + +_Epi_. 'Tis the better. + +_Clown_. I heard her one morning cough pittifully; upon which I gave her +a messe of Porredge piping-hot. + +_Epi_. Thou Dog, 'tis Death. + +_Clown_. Nay but, Sir, I powr'd 'em downe scalding as they were on her +head, because they say they are good for a cold, and I thinke that +kill'd her; for to try if she were alive or no I did but even now tye a +Crust to a packe-threed on a pinne, but shee leapt not at it; so that I +am sure shee's worms meate by this. + +_Epi_. Rewards in golden showers shall raine upon us, +Be thy words true: fall downe and kisse the earth. + +_Clown_. Kisse earth? Why? and so many wenches come to the Iayle? + +_Epi_. Slave, downe and clap thy eare to the caves mouth +And make me glad or heavy; if she speake not +I shall cracke my ribs and spend my spleene in laughter; +But if thou hear'st her pant I am gon. + +_Clown_. Farewell, then. + +_Epi_. Breaths shee? + +_Clown_. No, Sir; her winde instrument is out of tune. + +_Epi_. Call, cal. + +_Clown_. Do you heare, you low woman? hold not downe your head so for +shame; creepe not thus into a corner, no honest woman loves to be +fumbling thus in the darke. Hang her; she has no tongue. + +_Epi_. Would twenty thousand of their sexe had none. + +_Clown_. Foxe, foxe, come out of your hole. + + _An Angel ascends from the cave, singing_. + +_Epi_. Horrour! what's this? + +_Clown_. Alas, I know not what my selfe am. + + ANGEL SINGS. + + _Fly, darknesse, fly in spight of Caves; + Truth can thrust her armes through Graves. + No Tyrant shall confine + A white soule that's divine + And does more brightly shine + Than Moone or Sunne; + She lasts when they are done_. + +_Epi_. I am bewitcht, +Mine Eyes faile me; lead me to [the] King. + +_Clown_. And tell we heard a Mermaide sing. + + [_Exeunt_. + + ANGEL SINGS. + + _Goe, fooles, and let your feares + Glow as your sins[174] and eares; + The good, how e're trod under, + Are Lawreld safe in thunder; + Though lockt up in a Den + One Angel frees you from an host of men_. + + _The Angel descends as the King enters, who comes + in with his Lords, Epidophorus and the Clowne_. + +_King_. Where is this piece of witchcraft? + +_Epi_. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir, + +_Clown_. 'Twas here, just at the Caves mouth, where shee lyes. + +_Anton_. What manner of thing was it? + +_Epi_. An admirable face, and when it sung +All the Clouds danc't methought above our heads, + +_Clown_. And all the ground under my heeles quak't like a Bogge. + +_King_. Deluded slaves! these are turn'd Christians, too. + +_Epi_. The prisoners in my Iayle will not say so. + +_Clown_. Turnd Christians! it has ever beene my profession to fang[175] +and clutch and to squeeze: I was first a Varlet[176], then a Bumbaily, +now an under Iailor. Turn'd Christian! + +_King_. Breake up the Iron passage of the Cave +And if the sorceresse live teare her in pieces. + + _The Angel ascends agen_. + +_Epi_. See, 'tis come agen. + +_King_. It staggers me. + +_Omnes_. Amazement! looke to the King. + + + ANGEL SINGS. + + _She comes, she comes, she comes! + No banquets are so sweete as Martyrdomes. + She comes!_ + + (_Angel descends_.) + +_Anton_. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir, agen. + +_Dam_. Meere Negromancy. + +_Cosmo_. This is the apparition of some divell +Stealing a glorious shape, and cryes 'she comes'! + +_Clown_. If all divels were no worse, would I were amongst 'em. + +_King_. Our power is mockt by magicall impostures; +They shall not mock our tortures. Let _Eugenius_ +And _Bellizarius_ fright away these shadowes +Rung from sharp tortures: drag them hither. + +_Epi_. To th'stake? + +_Clown_. As Beares are? + +_King_. And upon your lives +My longings feast with her, though her base limbes +Be in a thousand pieces. + +_Clown_. She shall be gathered up. + + [_Exit. Epid. and Clowne_. + + (_Victoria rises out of the cave, white_.) + +_Vict_. What's the Kings will? I am here. +Are your tormentors ready to give battaile? +I am ready for them, and though I lose +My life hope to winne the day. + +_King_. What art thou? + +_Vict_. An armed Christian. + +_King_. What's thy name? + +_Vict_. _Victoria_: in my name there's conquest writ: +I therefore feare no threat[e]nings! but pray +That thou maist dye a good king. + +_Omnes_. This is not she, Sir. + +_King_. It is, but on her brow some Deity sits. +What are those Fayries dressing up her haire, +Whilst sweeter spirits dancing in her eyes +Bewitcheth me to them? + + _Enter Epidophorus, Bellizarius, Eugenius, and Clowne_. + +Oh _Victoria_, love me! +And see, thy Husband, now a slave whose life +Hangs at a needles poynt, shall live, so thou +Breath but the doome.--Trayters! what sorcerous hand +Has built upon this inchantment of a Christian +To make me doat upon the beauty of it? +How comes she to this habite? Went she thus in? + +_Epi_. No, Sir, mine owne hande stript her into rags. + +_Clown_. For any meat shee has eaten her face needes not make you doate; +and for cleane linen Ile sweare it was not brought into the Iaile, for +there they scorne to shift once a weeke. + +_King_. _Bellizarius_, woe thy wife that she would love me, +And thou shalt live. + +_Belliz_. I will.--_Victoria_, +By all those chaste fires kindled in our bosomes +Through which pure love shin'd on our marriage night; +Nay, with a bolder conjuration, +By all those thornes and bryers which thy soft feet +Tread boldly on to finde a path to heaven, +I begge of thee, even on my knee I beg, +That thou wouldst love this King, take him by th'hand, +Warme his in thine, and hang about his necke, +And seale ten thousand kisses on his cheeke, +So he will tread his false gods under foote. + +_Omnes_. Oh, horrible! + +_King_. Bring tortures. + +_Belliz_. So he will wash his soule white, as we doe, +And fight under our Banner (bloody red), +And hand in hand with us walke martyred. + +_Anton_. They mocke you. + +_King_. Stretch his body up by th'armes, +And at his feete hang plummets. + +_Clown_. He shall be well shod for stroveling, I warrant you. + +_Cosmo_. _Eugenius_, bow thy knee before our _Jove_, +And the King gives thee mercy. + +_Dam_. Else stripes and death. + +_Eugen_. We come into the world but at one doore, +But twenty thousand gates stand open wide +To give us passage hence: death then is easie, +And I defie all tortures. + +_King_. Then fasten the Cative; +I care not for thy wife: Get from mine eyes +Thou tempting _Lamia_. But, _Bellizarius_, +Before thy bodyes frame be puld in pieces, +Wilt thou forsake the errours thou art drencht in? + +_Belliz_. Errours? thou blasphemous and godlesse man, +From the great Axis maist thou as easie +With one arme plucke the Universall Globe, +As from my Center move me. There's my figure; +They are waves that beat a rock insensible +With an infatigable patience. +My breast dares all your arrowes; shoote,--shoote, all; +Your tortures are but struck against the wall, +Which, backe rebounding, hit your selves. + +_King_. Up with him. + +_Belliz_. Lay on more waights; that hangman which more brings +Addes active feathers to my soaring wings. + + (_They draw him up_.) + +_King_. _Victoria_, yet save him. + +_Vict_. Keepe on thy flight, +And be a bird of Paradise. + +_Omnes_. Give him more Irons. + +_Belliz_. More, more. + +_King_. Let him then goe; love thou and be my Queene, +Daine but to love me. + +_Vict_. I am going to live with a farre greater King. + +_King_. Binde the coy strumpet; she dyes, too. +Let her braines be beaten on an Anvill: +For some new plagues for her! + +_Omnes_. Vexe him. + +_Belliz_. Doe more. + +_Vict_. Heavens, pardon you. + +_Eugen_. And strengthen him in all his sufferings. + + _Two Angels descend_. + + 2 ANGEL SINGS. + + _Come, oh come, oh come away; + A Quire of Angels for thee stay; + A home where Diamonds borrow light, + Open stands for thee this night, + Night? no, no; here is ever day: + Come, oh come, oh come, oh come away_. + +1 _Ang_. This battaile is thy last; fight well, and winne +A Crowne set full of Starres. + +_Belliz_. I spy an arme +Plucking [me] up to heaven; more waights, you are best; +I shall be gone else. + +_Vict_. Doe, Ile follow thee. + +_King_. Is he not yet dispatcht? + +_Belliz_. Yes, King, I thanke thee; +I have all my life time trod on rotten ground, +And still so deepe beene sinking that my soule +Was oft like to bee lost; but now I see +A guide, sweete guide, a blessed messenger +Who having brought me up a little way +Up yonder hill, I then am sure to buy +For a few stripes here rich eternity. + + 2 ANGEL SINGS. + + _Victory, victory! hell is beaten downe, + The Martyr has put on a golden Crowne; + Ring Bels of Heaven, him welcome hither, + Circle him Angels round together_. + +1 _Angel_. Follow! + +_Vict_. I will; what sacred voice cryes 'follow'! +I am ready: Oh send me after him. + +_King_. Thou shalt not, +Till thou hast fed my lust. + +_Vict_. Thou foole, thou canst not; +All my mortality is shaken off; +My heart of flesh and blood is gone; my body +Is chang'd; this face is not that once was mine. +I am a Spirit, and no racke of thine +Can touch me. + +_King_. Not a racke of mine shall touch thee. +Why should the world loose such a paire of Sunnes +As shine out from thine eyes? Why art thou cruell, +To make away thy selfe and murther mee? +Since whirle-winds cannot shake thee thou shalt live, +And Ile fanne gentle gales upon thy face. +Fetch me a day bed, rob the earths perfumes +Of all the ravishing sweetes to feast her sence; +Pillowes of roses shall beare up her head; +O would a thousand springs might grow in one +To weave a flowry mantle o're her limbes +As she lyes downe. + + _Enter two Angels about the bed_. + +_Vict_. O that some rocke of Ice +Might fall on me and freeze me into nothing. + +_King_. Enchant our [her?] eares with Musicke; would I had skill +To call the winged musitians of the aire +Into these roomes! they all should play to thee +Till golden slumbers danc'd upon thy browes, +Watching to close thine eye-lids. + +_Ang_. These Starres must shine no more; soule, flye away. +Tyrant, enioy but a cold lumpe of clay. + +_King_. My charmes worke; shee sleepes, +And lookes more lovely now she sleepes. +Against she wakes, Invention, grow thou poore, +Studying to finde a banquet which the gods +Might be invited to. I need not court her now +For a poor kisse; her lips are friendly now, +And with the warme breath sweeting all the Aire, +Draw mee thus to them.--Ha! the lips of Winter +Are not so cold. + +_Anton_. She's dead, Sir. + +_King_. Dead? + +_Dam_. As frozen as if the North-winde had in spight +Snatcht her hence from you. + +_King_. Oh; I have murthered her! +Perfumes some creature kill: she has so long +In that darke Dungeon suck't pestiferous breath, +The sweete has stifled her. Take hence the body, +Since me it hated it shall feele my hate: +Cast her into the fire; I have lost her, +And for her sake all Christians shall be lost +That subjects are to me: massacre all, +But thou, _Eugenius_, art the last shall fall +This day; and in mine eye, though it nere see more, +Call on thy helper which thou dost adore. + + _A Thunder-bolt strikes him_. + +_Omnes_. The King is strucke with thunder! + +_Eugen_. Thankes, Divine Powers; +Yours be the triumph and the wonder ours. + +_Anton_. Unbinde him till a new King fill the throne; +And he shall doome him. + + _A Hubert, a Hubert, a Hubert_! + + _Flourish: Enter Hubert, armed with shields and swords. + Bellina and a company of Souldiers with him_. + +_Hub_. What meanes this cry, 'a Hubert'? Where's your King? + +_Omnes_. Strucke dead by thunder. + +_Hub_. So I heare; you see, then, +There is an arme more rigorous than your _Iove_, +An arme stretcht from above to beate down Gyants, +The mightiest Kings on _Earth_, for all their shoulders +Carry _Colossi_ heads: the memory +Of _Genzericks_ name dyes here: _Henricke_ gives buriall +To the successive glory of that race +Who had both voyce and title to the Crowne, +And meanes to guard it.--Who must now be King? + +_Anton_. We know not till we call the Lords together. + +_Hub_. What Lords? + +_Cosmo_. Our selves and others. + +_Hub_. Who makes you Lords? +The Tree upon whose boughs your honours grew, +Your Lordships and your lives, is falne to th'ground. + +_Dam_. We stand on our owne strength. + +_Hub_. Who must be King? + + _Within: A Hubert, a Hubert a Hubert_! + +_Hub_. Deliver to my hand that reverent [_sic_] man. + +_Epi_. Take him and torture him, for he cald down Vengeance +On _Henricks_ head. + +_Hub_. Good _Eugenius_, lift thy hands up, +For thou art say'd from _Henricke_ and from these. +You heare what ecchoes +Rebound from earth to heaven, from heaven to earth, +Casting the name of King onely on me? +This golden apple is a tempting fruit; +It is within my reach; this sword can touch it, +And lop the weake branch off on which it hangs. +Which of you all would spurne at such a Starre, +Lay it i'th the dust when 'tis let down from heaven +For him to weare? + +_Anton_. Who then must weare that Starre? + + _Within: Hubert, Hubert, Hubert_! + +_Hub_. The Oracle tells you; Oracle? 'tis a voyce +From above tells you; for the peoples tongues, +When they pronounce good things, are ty'd to chaines +Of twenty thousand linkes, which chaines are held +By one supernall hand, and cannot speake +But what that hand will suffer. I have then +The people on my side; I have the souldiers; +I have that army which your rash young King +Had bent against the Christians,--they now are mine: +I am the Center, and they all are lines +Meeting in me. If, therefore, these strong sinewes, +The Souldiers and the Commons, have a vertue +To lift me into the Throne, Ile leape into it. +Will you consent or no? be quick in answer; +I must be swift in execution else. + +_Omnes_. Let us consult. + +_Hub_. Doe, and doe't quickly. + +_Eugen_. O noble Sir, if you be King shoot forth +Bright as a Sunne-beame, and dry up these vapours +That choake this kingdome; dry the seas of blood +Flowing from Christians, and drinke up the teares +Of those alive, halfe slaughter'd in their feares. + +_Hub_. Father, Ile not offend you.--Have you done? +So long chusing one Crowne? + +_Anton_. Let Drums and Trumpets proclaime +_Hubert_ our King! + +_Omnes_. Sound Drummes and Trumpets! + +_Hub_. I have it, then, as well by voyce as sword; +For should you holde it backe it will be mine. +I claime it, then, by conquest; fields are wonne +By yeelding as by strokes: Yet, noble _Vandals_, +I will lay by the Conquest and acknowledge +That your hands and your hearts the pinnacles are +On which my greatnesse mounts unto this height. +And now in sight of you and heaven I sweare +By those new sacred fires kindled within me, +'Tis not your ho[o]pe of Gold my brow desires; +A thronging Court to me is but a Cell; +These popular acclamations, which thus dance +I'th Aire, should passe by me as whistling windes +Playing with leaves of trees. I'me not ambitious +Of Titles glorious and maiesticall; +But what I doe is to save blood, save you; +I meane to be a husband for you all, +And fill you all with riches. + +_Epi_. 'Tis that we thirst for; +For all our bagges are emptied in these warres +Rais'd by seditious Christians. + +_Hub_. Peace, thou foole: +They are not bags of gold, that melts in fire, +Which I will fill your coffers with; my treasury +Are riches for your soules; my armes are spread +Like wings to protect Christians. What have you done? +Proclaim'd a Christian King; and Christian Kings +Should not be bloody. + +_Omnes_. How? turn'd Christian? + +_Eugen_. O blest King! happy day! + +_Omnes_. Must we forsake our Gods then? + +_Hub_. Violent streames +Must not bee stopt by violence; there's an art +To meete and put by the most boysterous wave; +'Tis now no policy for you to murmure +Nor will I threaten. A great counsell by you +Shall straight be cal'd to set this frame in order +Of this great state. + +_Omnes_. To that we all are willing. + +_Hub_. Are you then willing this noble maid +Shall be my Queene? + +_Omnes_. With all our hearts. + +_Hub_. By no hand but by thine will we be crown'd: +Come, my _Bellina_. + +_Bellina_. Your vow is past to me that I should ever +Preserve my virgin honour, that you would never +Tempt me unto your bed. + +_Hub_. That vow I keepe: +I vow'd so long as my knees bow'd to _Iove_ +To let you be your selfe; but, excellent Lady, +I now am seal'd a Christian as you are: +And you have sworne oft that, when upon my forehead +That glorious starre was stucke, you would be mine +In holy wedlocke. Come, sweete, you and I +Shall from our loynes produce a race of Kings, +And ploughing up false gods set up one true; +Christians unborne crowning both me and you +With praise as now with gold. + +_Bellina_. A fortunate day; +A great power prompts me on and I obey. + + (_Flourish_) + +_Omnes_. Long live _Hubert_ and _Bellina_, King and Queene +Of Goths and Vandals. + +_Hub_. Two royall Iewels you give me, this and this: +Father, your hand is lucky, I am covetous +Of one Gift more: After your sacred way +Make you this Queene a wife: our Coronation +Is turn'd into a bridall. + +_Omnes_. All ioy and happinesse. + +_Hub_. To guard your lives will I lay out mine owne, +And like Vines plant you round about my throne. + +_The end of the fift and last Act_. + + + +To the Reader of this Play now come in Print. + +That this play's old 'tis true; but now if any +Should for that cause despise it we have many +Reasons, both iust and pregnant, to maintaine +Antiquity, and those, too, not all vaine. +We know (and not long since) there was a time +Strong lines were not lookt after, but, if Rime, +O then 'twas excellent. Who but beleeves +That Doublets with stuft bellies and big sleeves +And those Trunk-hose[177] which now our life doth scorne +Were all in fashion and with custome worne? +And what's now out of date who is't can tell +But it may come in fashion and sute well? +With rigour therefore iudge not but with reason, +Since what you read was fitted to that season. + + + +The Epilogue. + +_As in a Feast, so in a Comedy, +Two Sences must be pleas'd; in both the Eye; +In Feasts the Eye and Taste must be invited, +In Comedies the Eye and Eare delighted: +And he that only seekes to please but either, +While both he doth not please, he pleaseth neither. +What ever Feast could every guest content, +When as t'each man each Taste is different? +But lesse a Scene, when nought but as 'tis newer +Can please, where Guests are more and Dishes fewer. +Yet in this thought, this thought the Author eas'd; +Who once made all, all rules all never pleas'd.[178] +Faine would we please the best, if not the many; +And sooner will the best be pleas'd then any. +Our rest we set[179] in pleasing of the best; +So we wish you, what you may give us, Rest_. + + +FINIS. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE NOBLE SOULDIER. + + +In December, 1633, Nicholas Vavasour entered the _Noble Spanish +Souldier_ on the Stationers' Registers as a work of Dekker's; and in the +following year the same publisher brought out the _Noble Soldier_ with +the initials _S.R_. on the title-page. The running-title of the piece is +_The Noble Spanish Souldier_. There is nothing to hinder us from +supposing that Dekker, unwilling to take the credit due to his dead +friend, informed the publisher of the mistake. Possibly the play had +undergone some revision at Dekker's hands. + +Samuel Rowley was at once an actor and a playwright. The first mention +of him is in a list of the Lord Admiral's players, March 8, 1597-8 +(Henslowe's _Diary_, ed. Collier, p. 120). On the sixteenth of November, +1599, Rowley bound himself to play solely for Henslowe 'for a year and +as much as to Shraftide' (_Diary_, p. 260). In 1603 we find him among +Prince Henry's players (Collier's _Annals of the Stage_, i. 351): he is +still belonging to the same company in 1607 (Shakespeare Society's +Papers, iv. 44). Six years later, 1613, he is among the Palsgrave's +players (_Annals of the Stage_, i. 381).[180] + +Francis Meres in _Palladis Tamia_ (1598), enumerating 'the best for +comedy,' mentions a certain Maister _Rowley_ once a rare scholar of +learned Pembrooke Hall in Cambridge. It has been conjectured that the +allusion is to Samuel Rowley; but a more likely candidate for the honour +is Ralph Rowley, who is known to have been a Fellow of Pembroke Hall. We +do not learn from any other source that Ralph Rowley wrote plays; but, +like another Academic worthy in whose company he is mentioned, 'Dr. +Gager of Oxforde', he may have composed some Latin pieces that the world +was content to let die. Of Samuel Rowley as a playwright we hear nothing +before December, 1601, when he was writing for Henslowe a scriptural +play on the subject of _Judas_ in company with his fellow-actor William +Borne--or Birde, for the name is variously written (Henslowe's _Diary_, +p. 205). In July of the following year an entry occurs in the +_Diary_--'Lent unto Samwell Rowley and Edward Jewbe to paye for the +Booke of Samson, vi 1.' Samuel Rowley and Edward Jewby often acted as +paymasters for Henslowe; but I suspect that in the present instance the +money went into their own pockets. Two months later we certainly find +our author receiving the sum of seven pounds in full payment 'for his +playe of Jhoshua' (Henslowe's _Diary_, p. 226). In November of the same +year he was employed with William Birde to make additions to Marlowe's +_Faustus_ (ibid. p. 228). On July 27, 1623, Sir Henry Herbert licensed +'for the Palsgrave's players a tragedy of Richard the Third, or the +English Profit with the Reformation, by Samuel Rowley'; and, again, on +October 29 of the same year 'for the Palsgrave players a new comedy +called Hard Shifte for Husbands, or Bilboes the Best Blade, written by +Samuel Rowley.' Another of our author's pieces, 'Hymen's Holiday, or +Cupid's Fagaries,' is mentioned in a list of plays which belonged to the +Cock-pit in 1639. None of these plays has come down; but in 1605 there +was published 'When You See Me You Know Me; or the famous Chronicle +Historic of King Henry VIII. with the Birth and virtuous Life of Edward +Prince of Wales. By Samuel Rowley.' This play was again printed in 1632; +and a few years ago it was elaborately edited by Prof. Karl Eltze, +who--whatever may be his merits as a critic--is acknowledged on every +hand to be a most accomplished scholar. + +The piece now reprinted will need some indulgence at the reader's hands. +Its blemishes are not a few; and no great exercise of critical ability +is required to discover that the language is often strained and the +drawing extravagant. The atmosphere in which the action of the piece +moves is hot and heavy. Sebastian's presence in the third act brings +with it a ray of sunlight; but he is quickly gone, and the gloom settles +down more hopelessly than before. Onaelia, the forsaken lady, is so +vixenish that she moves our sympathies only in a moderate degree. In +both choices the King seems to have been equally unfortunate; and it may +be doubted whether he could be 'happy with either were t'other fair +charmer away.' Baltazar, the Noble Soldier, is something of a bore. At +first we are a little suspicious of him, for he seems to 'protest too +much'; and even when these suspicions are set at rest his strut and +swagger continue to be offensive. + +But though the _Noble Souldier_ is not a play over which one would +linger long or to which one would care often to return, yet it is +impossible not to be struck by the power that marks so much of the +writing. Here is an example of our author at his best:-- + + 'You should, my Lord, be like these robes you weare, + Pure as the Dye and like that reverend shape; + Nurse thoughts as full of honour, zeale and purity. + You should be the Court-Diall and direct + The king with constant motion; be ever beating + (Like to Clocke-Hammers) on his Iron heart + To make it sound cleere and to feel remorse: + You should unlocke his soule, wake his dead conscience + Which, like a drowsie Centinell, gives leave + For sinnes vast army to beleaguer him: + His ruines will be ask'd for at your hands.'--(i. 2.) + +There is the true dramatic ring in those lines; the words come straight +from the heart and strike home. The swift sudden menace in the last line +is more effective than pages of rhetoric. + +The _Noble Souldier_ affords a good illustration of the sanctity +attached by our ancestors to marriage-contracts. On this subject the +reader will find some interesting remarks in Mr. Spalding's _Elizabethan +Demonology_ (pp. 3-7). + + + + +THE NOBLE SOVLDIER, + + OR, + +A CONTRACT BROKEN, JUSTLY REVENG'D. + +_A TRAGEDY. + + +Written by_ S.R. + + _Non est, Lex Iustior Ulla, + Quam Nescis Artifices, Arte perire Sua. + + + LONDON_: +Printed for _Nicholas Vavasour_, and are to be + sold at his shop in the _Temple_, neere the + Church. 1634. + + + + + _The_ Printer _to the_ Reader. + +Understanding Reader, I present this to your view which has received +applause in Action. The Poet might conceive a compleat satisfaction upon +the Stages approbation. But the Printer rests not there, knowing that +that which was acted and approved upon the Stage might be no less +acceptable in Print. It is now communicated to you whose leisure and +knowledge admits of reading and reason: Your Judgment now this +_Posthumus_ assures himself will well attest his predecessors endevours +to give content to men of the ablest quality, such as intelligent +readers are here conceived to be. I could have troubled you with a +longer epistle, but I feare to stay you from the booke, which affords +better words and matter than I can. So, the work modestly depending in +the skale of your Judgment, the Printer for his part craves your pardon, +hoping by his promptness to doe you greater service as conveniency shall +enable him to give you more or better testimony of his entirenesse +towards you. N.V. + + + +Dramatis Personae. + + +_King of Spaine. +Cardinall. +Duke of Medina_. + +Marquesse _Daenia, | +Alba, | +Roderigo, | Dons of Spayne. +Valasco, | +Lopez_. | + +_Queene_, A Florentine. +_Onaelia_, Neece to _Medina_, the Contracted Lady. +_Sebastian_, Her Sounne. +_Malateste_, A Florentine. +_Baltazar_, The Souldier. +_A Poet_. +_Cockadillio_, A foolish Courtier. +_A Fryer_. + +[To make the list complete we should add-- + +_Cornego. +Carlo. +Alanzo. +Signer No_.] + + + + +THE NOBLE SPANISH SOULDIER. + + +_Actus Primus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter in Magnificent state, to the sound of lowd + musicke, the King and Queene as from Church, + attended by the Cardinall, Count Malateste, Daenia, + Roderigo, Valasco, Alba, Carlo, and some waiting + Ladies. The King and Queen with Courtly + Complements salute and part; she with one halfe + attending her; King, Cardinall and th'other halfe + stay, the King seeming angry and desirous to be + rid of them too.--King, Cardinal, Daenia, &c_. + +_King_. Give us what no man here is master of, +Breath; leave us, pray: my father Cardinall +Can by the Physicke of Philosophy +Set al agen in order. Leave us, pray. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Card_. How is it with you, Sir? + +_King_. As with a Shippe +Now beat with stormes, now safe the stormes are vanisht; +And having you my Pylot I not onely +See shore but harbour. I to you will open +The booke of a blacke sinne deepe-printed in me. +Oh, father, my disease lyes in my soule. + +_Card_. The old wound, Sir? + +_King_. Yes, that; it festers inward: +For though I have a beauty to my bed +That even Creation envies at, as wanting +Stuffe to make such another, yet on her pillow +I lye by her but an Adulterer +And she as an Adulteresse. Shee's my Queene +And wife, yet but my strumpet, tho the Church +Set on the seale of Mariage: good _Onaelia_, +Neece to our Lord high Constable of Spaine, +Was precontracted mine. + +_Card_. Yet when I stung +Your Conscience with remembrance of the Act, +Your eares were deafe to counsell. + +_King_. I confesse it. + +_Card_. Now to unty the knot with your new Queene +Would shake the Crowne halfe from your head. + +_King_. Even Troy +(Tho she hath wept her eyes out) wud find teares +To wayle my kingdomes ruines. + +_Card_. What will you doe then? + +_King_. She has that Contract written, seal'd by you +And other Churchmen (witnesses untoo't). +A kingdome should be given for that paper. + +_Card_. I wud not, for what lyes beneath the Moone, +Be made a wicked Engine to breake in pieces +That holy Contract. + +_King_. 'Tis my soules ayme to tye it +Vpon a faster knot. + +_Card_. I do not see +How you can with safe conscience get it from her. + +_King_. Oh, I know +I wrastle with a Lyonesse: to imprison her +And force her too't I dare not. Death! what King +Did ever say I dare not? I must have it. +A Bastard have I by her; and that Cocke +Will have (I feare) sharpe spurres, if he crow after +Him that trod for him. Something must be done +Both to the Henne and Chicken: haste you therefore +To sad _Onaelia_; tell her I'm resolv'd +To give my new Hawke bells and let her flye; +My Queene I'm weary of and her will marry. +To this our Text adde you what glosse you please; +The secret drifts of Kings are depthlesse Seas. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _A Table set out cover'd with blacke: two waxen tapers: + the Kings Picture at one end, a Crucifix at the other: + Onaelia walking discontentedly weeping to the Crucifix, + her Mayd with her: to them Cornego_. + + SONG. + +Quest. _Oh sorrow, sorrow, say, where dost thou dwell_? + +Answ. _In the lowest roome of Hell_. + +Quest. _Art thou borne of Humane race_? + +Answ. _No, no, I have a furier[181] face_. + +Quest. _Art thou in City, Towne or Court_? + +Answ. _I to every place resort_. + +Quest. _O why into the world is sorrow sent_? + +Answ. _Men afflicted best repent_. + +Quest. _What dost thou feed on_? + +Answ. _Broken sleepe_. + +Quest. _What tak'st thou pleasure in_? + +Answ. _To weepe, + To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groane, + To wring my hands, to sit alone_. + +Quest. _Oh when, oh when shall sorrow quiet have?_ + +Answ. _Never, never, never, never, + Never till she finds a grave_. + + _Enter Cornego_. + +_Corn_. No lesson, Madam, but Lacrymae's?[182] If you had buried nine +husbands, so much water as you might squeeze out of an Onyon had been +teares enow to cast away upon fellowes that cannot thanke you. Come, +be joviall. + +_Onae_. Sorrow becomes me best. + +_Corn_. A suit of laugh and lye downe[183] would weare better. + +_Onae_. What should I doe to be merry, _Cornego_? + +_Corn_. Be not sad. + +_Onae_. But what's the best mirth in the world? + +_Corn_. Marry, this: to see much, say little, doe little, get little, +spend little and want nothing. + +_Onae_. Oh, but there is a mirth beyond all these: +This picture has so vex'd me I'me half mad. +To spite it therefore I'le sing any song +Thy selfe shalt tune: say then, what mirth is best? + +_Corn_. Why then, Madam, what I knocke out now is the very Maribone +of mirth; and this it is. + +_Onae_. Say on. + +_Corn_. The best mirth for a Lawyer is to have fooles to his Clients; +for Citizens to have Noblemen pay their debts; for Taylors to have store +of Sattin brought in for them--how little soere their hours are--they'll +be sure to have large yards: the best mirth for bawds is to have fresh +handsome whores, and for whores to have rich guls come aboard their +pinnaces, for then they are sure to build Gully-Asses. + +_Onae_. These to such soules are mirth, but to mine none: Away! + + [_Exit Corn_. + + _Enter Cardinall_. + +_Car_. Peace to you, Lady. + +_Onae_. I will not sinne so much as hope for peace: +And 'tis a mocke ill suits your gravity. + +_Card_. I come to knit the nerves of your lost strength, +To build your ruines up, to set you free +From this your voluntary banishment, +And give new being to your murd'red fame. + +_Onae_. What _Aesculapius_ can doe this? + +_Card_. The King--'tis from the King I come. + +_Onae_. A name I hate: +Oh I am deafe now to your Embassie. + +_Card_. Heare what I speake. + +_Onae_. Your language, breath'd from him, +Is deaths sad doome upon a wretch condemn'd. + +_Car_. Is it such poyson? + +_Onae_. Yes; and, were you christall, +What the King fills you with, wud make you breake. +You should, my Lord, be like these robes you weare, +Pure as the Dye and like that reverend shape; +Nurse thoughts as full of honour, zeale and purity. +You should be the Court-Diall and direct +The King with constant motion; be ever beating +(Like to Clocke-Hammers) on his Iron heart, +To make it sound cleere and to feele remorse: +You should unlocke his soule, wake his dead conscience +Which, like a drowsie Centinell, gives leave +For sinnes vast army to beleaguer him. +His ruines will be ask'd for at your hands. + +_Car_. I have rais'd up a scaffolding to save +Both him and you from falling: doe but heare me. + +_Onae_. Be dumbe for ever. + +_Car_. Let your feares thus dye: +By all the sacred relliques of the Church +And by my holy orders, what I minister +Is even the spirit of health. + +_Onae_. I'le drinke it downe into my soule at once. + +_Car_. You shall. + +_Onae_. But sweare. + +_Car_. What conjurations can more bind mine oath? + +_Onae_. But did you sweare in earnest? + +_Car_. Come, you trifle. + +_Onae_. No marvell, for my hopes have bin so drown'd +I still despaire. Say on. + +_Car_. The King repents. + +_Onae_. Pray, that agen, my Lord. + +_Car_. The King repents. + +_Onae_. His wrongs to me? + +_Car_. His wrongs to you: the sense +Of sinne has pierc'd his soule. + +_Onae_. Blest penitence! + +_Car_. 'Has turn'd his eyes[184] into his leprous bosome, +And like a King vowes execution +On all his traiterous passions. + +_Onae_. God-like Justice! + +_Car_. Intends in person presently to begge +Forgivenesse for his Acts of heaven and you. + +_Onae_. Heaven pardon him; I shall. + +_Car_. Will marry you. + +_Onae_. Umph! marry me? will he turne Bigamist? +When, when? + +_Car_. Before the morrow Sunne hath rode +Halfe his dayes journey; will send home his Queene +As one that staines his bed and can produce +Nothing but bastard Issue to his Crowne.-- +Why, how now? lost in wonder and amazement? + +_Onae_. I am so stor'd with joy that I can now +Strongly weare out more yeares of misery +Than I have liv'd. + + _Enter King_. + +_Car_. You need not: here's the King. + +_King_. Leave us. + [_Exit Car_. + +_Onae_. With pardon, Sir, I will prevent you +And charge upon you first. + +_King_. 'Tis granted; doe.-- +But stay; what meane these Embleames of distresse? +My Picture so defac'd! oppos'd against +A holy Crosse! roome hung in blacke, and you +Drest like chiefe Mourner at a Funerall! + +_Onae_. Looke backe upon your guilt (deare Sir), and then +The cause that now seemes strange explaines it selfe. +This and the Image of my living wrongs +Is still confronted by me to beget +Griefe like my shame, whose length may outlive Time: +This Crosse the object of my wounded soule, +To which I pray to keepe me from despaire, +That ever, as the sight of one throwes up +Mountaines of sorrowes on my accursed head, +Turning to that, Mercy may checke despaire +And bind my hands from wilfull violence. + +_King_. But who hath plaid the Tyrant with me thus, +And with such dangerous spite abus'd my picture? + +_Onae_. The guilt of that layes claime, Sir, to your selfe; +For, being by you ransack'd of all my fame, +Rob'd of mine honour and deare chastity, +Made by you[r] act the shame of all my house, +The hate of good men and the scorne of bad, +The song of Broome-men and the murdering vulgar, +And left alone to beare up all these ills +By you begun, my brest was fill'd with fire +And wrap'd in just disdaine; and, like a woman, +On that dumb picture wreak'd I my passions. + +_King_. And wish'd it had beene I. + +_Onae_. Pardon me, Sir: +My wrongs were great and my revenge swell'd high. + +_King_. I will descend and cease to be a King, +To leave my judging part; freely confessing +Thou canst not give thy wrongs too ill a name. +And here, to make thy apprehension full +And seat thy reason in a sound beleefe, +I vow to morrow (e're the rising sunne +Begin his journey), with all Ceremonies +Due to the Church, to scale our Nuptials; +To prive[185] thy sonne, with full consent of State, +Spaines heire Apparant, borne in wedlock vowes. + +_Onae_. And will you sweare to this? + +_King_. By this I sweare. + +_Onae_. Oh you have sworne false oathes upon that booke. + +_King_. Why, then by this. + +_Onae_. Take heed you print it deeply. +How for your concubine (Bride, I cannot say)? +She staines your bed with black Adultery; +And though her fame maskes in a fairer shape +Then mine to the worlds eye, yet (King) you know +Mine honour is less strumpetted than hers, +However butcher'd in opinion. + +_King_. This way for her: the contract (which thou hast) +By best advice of all our Cardinals +To day shall be enlarg'd till it be made +Past all dissolving: then to our Counsell-Table +Shall she be call'd, that read aloud, she told +The Church commands her quicke returne for _Florence_, +With such a dower as _Spaine_ received with her; +And that they will not hazard heavens dire curse +To yeeld to a match unlawfull, which shall taint +The issue of the King with Bastardy. +This done, in State Majestic come you forth +(Our new-crown'd Queene) in sight of all our Peeres. +--Are you resolv'd? + +_Onae_. To doubt of this were Treason +Because the King has sworne it. + +_King_. And will keepe it. +Deliver up the Contract then, that I +May make this day end with my misery. + +_Onae_. Here, as the dearest Jewell of my fame, +Lock'd I this parchment from all viewing eyes; +This your Indenture held alone the life +Of my suppos'd dead honour: yet (behold) +Into your hands I redeliver it. +Oh keepe it, Sir, as you should keepe that vow +To which (being sign'd by Heaven) even Angels bowe. + +_King_. 'Tis in the Lions pawe, and who dares snatch it? +Now to your Beads and Crucifix agen. + +_Onae_. Defend me, heaven! + +_King_. Pray there may come Embassadors from _France_: +Their followers are good Customers. + +_Onae_. Save me from madnesse! + +_King_. 'Twill raise the price being the Kings Mistris. + +_Onae_. You doe but counterfeit to mocke my joyes. + +_King_. Away, bold strumpet. + +_Onae_. Are there eyes in heaven to see this? + +_King_. Call and try: here's a whore curse, +To fall in that beleefe which her sunnes nurse. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Cornego_. + +_Corn_. How now? what quarter of the Moone has she cut out now? My Lord +puts me into a wise office, to be a mad womans keeper! Why, Madam? + +_Onae_. Ha! where is the King, thou slave? + +_Corn_. Let go your hold or I'le fall upon you, as I am a man. + +_Onae_. Thou treacherous caitiffe, where's the King? + +_Corn_. Hee's gone, but no so farre gone as you are. + +_Onae_. Cracke all in sunder, oh you battlements, +And grind me into powder! + +_Corn_. What powder? come, what powder? when did you ever see a woman +grinded into powder? I am sure some of your sex powder men and pepper +'em too. + +_Onae_. Is there a vengeance +Yet lacking to my ruine? let it fall, +Now let it fall upon me! + +_Corn_. No, there has too much falne upon you already. + +_Onae_. Thou villaine, leave thy hold! Ile follow him: +Like a rais'd ghost I'le haunt him, breake his sleepe, +Fright him as hee's embracing his new Leman +Till want of rest bids him runne mad and dye, +For making oathes Bawds to his perjury. + +_Corn_. Pray be more reason'd: if he made any Bawdes he did ill, for +there is enough of that fly-blowne flesh already. + +_Onae_. I'me now left naked quite: +All's gone, all, all! + +_Corn_. No, Madam, not all; for you cannot be rid of me.--Here comes +your Uncle. + + _Enter Medina_. + +_Onae_. Attir'd in robes of vengeance are you, Uncle? + +_Med_. More horrors yet? + +_Onae_. 'Twas never full till now: +And in this torrent all my hopes lye drown'd. + +_Med_. Instruct me in this cause. + +_Onae_. The King! the Contract! + [_Exit_. + +_Corn_. There's cud enough for you to chew upon. + [_Exit_. + +_Med_. What's this? a riddle? how? the King, the Contract? +The mischiefe I divine which, proving true, +Shall kindle fires in Spaine to melt his Crowne +Even from his head: here's the decree of fate,-- +A blacke deed must a blacke deed expiate. + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA[186]. + + + _Enter Baltazar, slighted by Dons_. + +_Bal_. Thou god of good Apparell, what strange fellowes +Are bound to do thee honour! Mercers books +Shew mens devotions to thee; heaven cannot hold +A Saint so stately. Do not my Dons know +Because I'me poor in clothes? stood my beaten Taylor +Playting my rich hose, my silke stocking-man +Drawing upon my Lordships Courtly calfe +Payres of Imbroydered things whose golden clockes +Strike deeper to the faithfull shop-keepers heart +Than into mine to pay him;--had my Barbour +Perfum'd my louzy thatch here and poak'd out +My Tuskes more stiffe than are a cats muschatoes-- +These pide-winged Butterflyes had known me then. +Another flye-boat?[187] save thee, Illustrious Don. + + _Enter Don Roderigo_. + +Sir, is the king at leisure to speake Spanish +With a poore Souldier? + +_Ro_. No. + +_Bal_. No! sirrah you, no; +You Don with th'oaker face, I wish to ha thee +But on a Breach, stifling with smoke and fire, +And for thy 'No' but whiffing Gunpowder +Out of an Iron pipe, I woo'd but ask thee +If thou wood'st on, and if thou didst cry No +Thou shudst read Canon-Law; I'de make thee roare +And weare cut-beaten-sattyn: I woo'd pay thee +Though thou payst not thy mercer,--meere Spanish Jennets! + + _Enter Cockadillio_. + +Signeor, is the king at leisure? + +_Cock_. To doe what? + +_Balt_. To heare a Souldier speake. + +_Cock_. I am no eare-picker +To sound his hearing that way. + +_Bal_. Are you of Court, Sir? + +_Cock_. Yes, the kings Barber. + +_Bal_. That's his eare picker.--Your name, I pray? + +_Cock_. Don _Cockadillio_. +If, Souldier, thou hast suits to begge at Court +I shall descend so low as to betray +Thy paper to the hand Royall. + +_Bal_. I begge, you whorson muscod! my petition +Is written on my bosome in red wounds. + +_Cock_. I am no Barbar-Surgeon. + [_Exit_. + +_Bal_. You yellow-hammer! why, shaver! +That such poore things as these, onely made up +Of Taylors shreds and Merchants Silken rags +And Pothecary drugs (to lend their breaths +Sophisticated smells, when their ranke guts +Stink worse than cowards in the heat of battaile) +--Such whalebond-doublet-rascals that owe more +To Landresses and Sempstress for laced Linnen +Then all their race, from their great grand-father +To this their reigne, in clothes were ever worth; +These excrements of Silke-wormes! oh that such flyes +Doe buzze about the beames of Majesty! +Like earwigs tickling a kings yeelding eare +With that Court-Organ (Flattery), when a souldier +Must not come neere the Court gates twenty score, +But stand for want of clothes (tho he win Towns) +Amongst the Almesbasket-men! his best reward +Being scorn'd to be a fellow to the blacke gard[188]. +Why shud a Souldier, being the worlds right arme, +Be cut thus by the left, a Courtier? +Is the world all Ruffe and Feather and nothing else? +Shall I never see a Taylor give his coat with a difference from a + gentleman? + + _Enter King, Alanzo, Carlo, Cockadillio_. + +_King_. My _Baltazar_! +Let us make haste to meet thee: how art thou alter'd! +Doe you not know him? + +_Alanz_. Yes, Sir; the brave Souldier +Employed against the Moores. + +_King_. Halfe turn'd Moore! +I'le honour thee: reach him a chair--that Table: +And now _Aeneas_-like let thine own Trumpet +Sound forth thy battell with those slavish Moores. + +_Bal_. My musicke is a Canon; a pitcht field my stage; Furies the +Actors, blood and vengeance the scaene; death the story; a sword +imbrued with blood the pen that writes; and the Poet a terrible +buskind Tragical fellow with a wreath about his head of burning +match instead of Bayes. + +_King_. On to the Battaile! + +_Bal_. 'Tis here, without bloud-shed: This our maine Battalia, this +the Van, this the Vaw[189], these the wings: here we fight, there they +flye; here they insconce, and here our sconces lay 17 Moours on the +cold earth. + +_King_. This satisfies mine eye, but now mine eare +Must have his musicke too; describe the battaile. + +_Bal_. The Battaile? Am I come from doing to talking? The hardest part +for a Souldier to play is to prate well; our Tongues are Fifes, Drums, +Petronels, Muskets, Culverin and Canon; these are our Roarers; the +Clockes which wee goe by are our hands: thus we reckon tenne, our +swords strike eleven, and when steele targets of proofe clatter one +against another, then 'tis noone; that's the height and the heat of +the day of battaile. + +_King_. So. + +_Bal_. To that heat we came, our Drums beat, Pikes were shaken and +shiver'd, swords and Targets clash'd and clatter'd, Muskets ratled, +Canons roar'd, men dyed groaning, brave laced Jerkings and Feathers +looked pale, totter'd[190] rascals fought pell mell; here fell a wing, +there heads were tost like foot-balls; legs and armes quarrell'd in the +ayre and yet lay quietly on the earth; horses trampled upon heaps of +carkasses, Troopes of Carbines tumbled wounded from their horses; we +besiege Moores and famine us; Mutinies bluster and are calme. I vow'd +not to doff mine Armour, tho my flesh were frozen too't and turn'd into +Iron, nor to cut head nor beard till they yeelded; my hayres and oath +are of one length, for (with _Caesar_) thus write I mine owne story, +_Veni, vidi, vici_. + +_King_. A pitch'd field quickly fought: our hand is thine +And 'cause thou shalt not murmur that thy blood +Was lavish'd forth for an ingrateful man, +Demand what we can give thee and 'tis thine. + + (_Onaelia beats at the doore_.) + +_Onae_. Let me come in! I'le kill that treacherous king, +The murderer of mine honour: let me come in! + +_King_. What womans voyce is that? + +_Omnes_. _Medina's_ Neece. + +_King_. Bar out that fiend. + +_Onae_. I'le teare him with my nayles! +Let me come in, let me come in! helpe, helpe me! + +_King_. Keepe her from following me: a gard! + +_Alanz_. They are ready, Sir. + +_King_. Let a quicke summons call our Lords together; +This disease kills me. + +_Bal_. Sir, I would be private with you. + +_King_. Forbear us, but see the dores well guarded. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Bal_. Will you, Sir, promise to give me freedome of speech? + +_King_. Yes, I will; take it, speake any thing: 'tis pardoned. + +_Bal_. You are a whoremaster: doe you send me to winne Townes for you +abroad, and you lose a kingdome at home? + +_King_. What kingdome? + +_Bal_. The fayrest in the world, the kingdom of your Fame, your honour. + +_King_. Wherein? + +_Bal_. I'le be plaine with you: much mischiefe is done by the mouth of +a Canon, but the fire begins at a little touch-hole: you heard what +Nightingale sung to you even now? + +_King_. Ha, ha, ha! + +_Bal_. Angels err'd but once and fell; but you, Sir, spit in heaven's +face every minute and laugh at it. Laugh still and follow your courses; +doe; let your vices run like your kennels of hounds yelping after you, +till they plucke downe the fayrest head in the heard, everlasting bliss. + +_King_. Any more? + +_Bal_. Take sinne as the English Snuffe Tobacco, and scornfully blow +the smoke in the eyes of heaven; the vapour flyes up in clowds of +bravery, but when 'tis out the coal is blacke (your conscience) and the +pipe stinkes: a sea of Rose-water cannot sweeten your corrupted bosome. + +_King_. Nay, spit thy venome. + +_Bal_. 'Tis _Aqua Coelestis_, no venome; for, when you shall claspe up +those wo books, never to be open'd againe; when by letting fall that +Anchor, which can never more bee weighed up, your mortall Navigation +ends: then there's no playing at spurne-point[191] with thunderbolts: +a Vintner then for unconscionable reckoning or a Taylor for unreasonable +_Items_ shall not answer in halfe that feare you must. + +_King_. No more. + +_Bal_. I will follow Truth at the heels, tho her foot beat my gums in +peeces. + +_King_. The Barber that drawes out a Lion's tooth +Curseth his Trade; and so shalt thou. + +_Bal_. I care not. + +_King_. Because you have beaten a few base-borne Moores +Me think'st thou to chastise? what's past I pardon, +Because I made the key to unlocke thy railing. +But if thou dar'st once more be so untun'd, +Ile send thee to the Gallies.--Who are without, there? +How now? + + _Enter Lords drawne_. + +_Omnes_. In danger, Sir? + +_King_. Yes, yes, I am; but 'tis no point of weapon +Can rescue me. Goe presently and summon +All our chiefe Grandoes[192], Cardinals and Lords +Of _Spaine_ to meet in counsell instantly. +We call'd you forth to execute a businesse +Of another straine,--but 'tis no matter now. +Thou dyest when next thou furrowest up our brow. + +_Bal_. Go! dye! + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Cardinal, Roderigo, Alba,[193] Dania, Valasco_. + +_King_. I find my Scepter shaken by enchantments +Charactred in this parchment, which to unloose +I'le practise only counter-charmes of fire +And blow the spells of lightning into smoake: +Fetch burning Tapers. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Card_. Give me Audience, Sir; +My apprehension opens me a way +To a close fatall mischiefe worse then this +You strive to murder: O this act of yours +Alone shall give your dangers life, which else +Can never grow to height; doe, Sir, but read +A booke here claspt up, which too late you open'd, +Now blotted by you with foul marginall notes. + +_King_. Art fratricide? + +_Car_. You are so, Sir. + +_King_. If I be, +Then here's my first mad fit. + +_Card_. For Honours sake, +For love you beare to conscience-- + +_King_. Reach the flames: +Grandoes and Lords of _Spaine_ be witnesse all +What here I cancell; read, doe you know this bond? + +_Omnes_. Our hands are too't. + +_Daen_. 'Tis your confirmed contract +With my sad kinswoman: but wherefore, Sir, +Now is your rage on fire, in such a presence +To have it mourne in ashes? + +_King_. Marquesse _Daenia_, +Wee'll lend that tongue when this no more can speake. + +_Car_. Deare Sir. + +_King_. I am deafe, +Playd the full consort of the Spheares unto me +Vpon their lowdest strings.--Go; burne that witch +Who would dry up the tree of all Spaines Glories +But that I purge her sorceries by fire: +Troy lyes in Cinders; let your Oracles +Now laugh at me if I have beene deceiv'd +By their ridiculous riddles. Why, good father, +(Now you may freely chide) why was your zeale +Ready to burst in showres to quench our fury? + +_Card_. Fury, indeed; you give it a proper name. +What have you done? clos'd up a festering wound +Which rots the heart: like a bad Surgeon, +Labouring to plucke out from your eye a moate, +You thrust the eye clean out. + +_King_. Th'art mad _ex tempore_: +What eye? which is that wound? + +_Car_. That Scrowle, which now +You make the blacke Indenture of your lust, +Altho eat up in flames, is printed here, +In me, in him, in these, in all that saw it, +In all that ever did but heare 'twas yours: +That scold of the whole world (Fame) will anon +Raile with her thousand tongues at this poore Shift +Which gives your sinne a flame greater than that +You lent the paper; you to quench a wild fire +Cast oyle upon it. + +_King_. Oyle to blood shall turne; +I'le lose a limbe before the heart shall mourne. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manent Daenia, Alba_. + +_Daen_. Hee's mad with rage or joy. + +_Alb_. With both; with rage +To see his follies check'd, with fruitlesse joy +Because he hopes his Contract is cut off +Which Divine Justice more exemplifies. + + _Enter Medina_. + +_Med_. Where's the king? + +_Daen_. Wrapt up in clouds of lightning. + +_Med_. What has he done? saw you the Contract torne, +As I did heare a minion sweare he threatened? + +_Alb_. He tore it not but burnt it. + +_Med_. Openly? + +_Daen_. And heaven with us to witnesse. + +_Med_. Well, that fire +Will prove a catching flame to burne his kingdome. + +_Alb_. Meet and consult. + +_Med_. No more, trust not the ayre +With our projections, let us all revenge +Wrongs done to our most noble kinswoman: +Action is honours language, swords are tongues, +Which both speake best and best do right our wrongs. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Onaelia one way, Cornego another_. + +_Cor_. Madam, there's a beare without to speake with you. + +_Onae_. A Beare. + +_Cor_. Its a Man all hairye and thats as bad. + +_Onae_. Who ist? + +_Cor_. Tis one Master Captaine _Baltazar_. + +_Onae_. I doe not know that _Baltazar_. + +_Cor_. He desires to see you; and if you love a water-spaniel before +he be shorne, see him. + +_Onae_. Let him come in. + + _Enter Baltazar_. + +_Cor_. Hist; a ducke, a ducke[194]; there she is, Sir. + +_Bal_. A Souldiers good wish blesse you, Lady. + +_Onae_. Good wishes are most welcome, Sir, to me; +So many bad ones blast me. + +_Bal_. Doe you not know me? + +_Onae_. I scarce know my selfe. + +_Bal_. I ha beene at Tennis, Madam, with the king. I gave him 15 and all +his faults, which is much, and now I come to tosse a ball with you. + +_Onae_. I am bandyed too much up and downe already. + +_Cor_. Yes, she has beene strucke under line, master Souldier. + +_Bal_. I conceit you: dare you trust your selfe along with me? + +_Onae_. I have been laden with such weights of wrong +That heavier cannot presse me: hence, _Cornego_. + +_Corn_. Hence _Cornego_, stay Captaine! when man and woman are put +together some egge of villany is sure to be sate upon. + [_Exit_. + +_Bal_. What would you say to him should kill this man that hath you +so dishonoured? + +_Onae_. Oh, I woo'd crowne him +With thanks, praise, gold, and tender of my life. + +_Bal_. Shall I bee that Germane Fencer[195] and beat all the knocking +boyes before me? shall I kill him? + +_Onae_. There's musick in the tongue that dares but speak it. + +_Bal_. That fiddle then is in me; this arme can doo't by ponyard, +poyson, or pistoll; but shall I doo't indeed? + +_Onae_. One step to humane blisse is sweet revenge. + +_Bal_. Stay; what made you love him? + +_Onae_. His most goodly shape +Married to royall virtues of his mind. + +_Bal_. Yet now you would divorce all that goodnesse; and why? for a +little letchery of revenge? it's a lye: the Burre that stickes in your +throat is a throane: let him out of his messe of Kingdomes cut out but +one, and lay Sicilia, Arragon, Naples or any else upon your trencher, +and you'll prayse Bastard[196] for the sweetest wine in the world and +call for another quart of it. 'Tis not because the man has left you +but because you are not the woman you would be, that mads you: a +shee-cuckold is an untameable monster. + +_Onae_. Monster of men thou art: thou bloudy villaine, +Traytor to him who never injur'd thee, +Dost thou professe Armes and art bound in honour +To stand up like a brazen wall to guard +Thy King and Country, and wood'st thou ruine both? + +_Bal_. You spurre me on too't. + +_Onae_. True; +Worse am I then the horrid'st fiend in hell +To murder him whom once I lov'd too well: +For tho I could runne mad, and teare my haire, +And kill that godlesse man that turn'd me vile; +Though I am cheated by a perjurous Prince +Who has done wickednesse at which even heaven +Shakes when the Sunne beholds it; O yet I'de rather +Ten thousand poyson'd ponyards stab'd my brest +Then one should touch his: bloudy slave! I'le play +My selfe the Hangman and will Butcher thee +If thou but prick'st his finger. + +_Bal_. Saist thou me so? give me thy goll[197], thou art a noble girle: +I did play the Devils part and roare in a feigned voyce, but I am the +honestest Devill that ever spet fire. I would not drinke that infernall +draught of a kings blood, to goe reeling to damnation, for the weight +of the world in Diamonds. + +_Onae_. Art thou not counterfeit? + +_Bal_. Now, by my skarres, I am not. + +_Onae_. I'le call thee honest Souldier, then, and woo thee +To be an often Visitant. + +_Bal_. Your servant: +Yet must I be a stone upon a hill, +For tho I doe no good I'le not lye still. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Malateste and the Queene_. + +_Mal_. When first you came from Florence wud the world +Had with an universal dire eclipse +Bin overwhelm'd, no more to gaze on day, +That you to Spaine had never found the way, +Here to be lost for ever. + +_Queen_. We from one climate +Drew suspiration: as thou then hast eyes +To read my wrongs, so be thy head an Engine +To raise up ponderous mischiefe to the height, +And then thy hands the Executioners. +A true Italian Spirit is a ball +Of Wild-fire, hurting most when it seemes spent; +Great ships on small rocks beating oft are rent; +And so let Spaine by us. But, _Malateste_, +Why from the Presence did you single me +Into this Gallery? + +_Mal_. To shew you, Madam, +The picture of your selfe, but so defac'd +And mangled by proud Spanyards it woo'd whet +A sword to arme the poorest Florentine +In your just wrongs. + +_Queen_. As how? let's see that picture. + +_Mal_. Here 'tis then: Time is not scarce foure dayes old +Since I and certaine Dons (sharp-witted fellowes +And of good ranke) were with two Jesuits +(Grave profound Schollers) in deepe argument +Of various propositions; at the last +Question was mov'd touching your marriage +And the Kings precontract. + +_Queen_. So; and what followed? + +_Mal_. Whether it were a question mov'd by chance +Or spitefully of purpose (I being there +And your own Country-man) I cannot tell; +But when much tossing +Had bandyed both the King and you, as pleas'd +Those that tooke up the Rackets, in conclusion +The Father Jesuits (to whose subtile Musicke +Every eare there was tyed) stood with their lives +In stiffe defence of this opinion-- +Oh, pardon me if I must speake their language. + +_Queen_. Say on. + +_Mal_. That the most Catholike King in marrying you +Keepes you but as his whore. + +_Queen_. Are we their Theames? + +_Mal_. And that _Medina's_ Neece, _Onaelia_, +Is his true wife: her bastard sonne, they said, +(The King being dead) should claim and weare the Crowne; +And whatsoever children you shall beare +To be but bastards in the highest degree, +As being begotten in Adultery. + +_Queen_. We will not grieve at this, but with hot vengeance +Beat down this armed mischiefe. _Malateste_, +What whirlewinds can we raise to blow this storme +Backe in their faces who thus shoot at me? + +_Mal_. If I were fit to be your Counsellor +Thus would I speake: feigne that you are with childe,-- +The mother of the Maids, and some worne Ladies +Who oft have guilty beene to court great bellies, +May (tho it be not so) get you with childe +With swearing that 'tis true. + +_Queen_. Say 'tis beleev'd, +Or that it so doth prove. + +_Mal_. The joy thereof, +Together with these earth-quakes which will shake +All Spaine if they their Prince doe dis-inherit, +So borne, of such a Queene, being onely daughter +To such a brave spirit as the Duke of Florence;-- +All this buzz'd into the King, he cannot chuse +But charge that all the Bels in Spaine eccho up +This joy to heaven; that Bone-fires change the night +To a high Noone with beames of sparkling flames; +And that in Churches Organs (charm'd with prayers) +Speake lowd for your most safe delivery. + +_Queen_. What fruits grow out of these? + +_Mal_. These; you must sticke +(As here and there spring weeds in banks of flowers) +Spies amongst the people, who shall lay their eares +To every mouth and steale to you their whisperings. + +_Queen_. So. + +_Mal_. 'Tis a plummet to sound Spanish hearts +How deeply they are yours: besides a ghesse +Is hereby made of any faction +That shall combine against you; which the King seeing, +If then he will not rouze him like a Dragon +To guard his golden fleece and rid his Harlot +And her base bastard hence, either by death +Or in some traps of state insnare them both,-- +Let his owne ruines crush him. + +_Queen_. This goes to tryall; +Be thou my Magicke booke, which reading o're +Their counterspells wee'll breake; or if the King +Will not by strong hand fix me in his Throne +But that I must be held Spaines blazing Starre, +Be it an ominous charme to call up warre. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Cornego, Onaelia_. + +_Corn_. Here's a parcell of mans flesh has beene hanging up and downe +all this morning to speake with you. + +_Onae_. Is't not some executioner? + +_Corn_. I see nothing about him to hang in but's garters. + +_Onae_. Sent from the king to warne me of my death: +I prethe bid him welcome. + +_Cor_. He says he is a Poet. + +_Onae_. Then bid him better welcome: +Belike he's come to write my Epitaph,-- +Some[198] scurvy thing, I warrant: welcome, Sir. + + _Enter Poet_. + +_Poet_. Madam[199], my love presents this book unto you. + +_Onae_. To me? I am not worthy of a line, +Vnlesse at that line hang some hooke to choake me. +'To the most honoured Lady--_Onaelia_' +Fellow, thou lyest, I'me most dishonoured: +Thou shouldst have writ 'To the most wronged Lady': +The Title of this booke is not to me; +I teare it therefore as mine Honour's torne. + +_Cor_. Your Verses are lam'd in some of their feet, Master Poet. + +_Onae_. What does it treate of? + +_Poet_. Of the sollemne Triumphs +Set forth at Coronation of the Queene. + +_Onae_. Hissing (the Poets whirle-wind) blast thy lines! +Com'st thou to mocke my Tortures with her Triumphs? + +_Poet_. 'Las, Madam! + +_Onae_. When her funerals are past +Crowne thou a Dedication to my joyes, +And thou shalt sweare each line a golden verse. +--_Cornego_, burne this Idoll. + +_Cor_. Your booke shall come to light, Sir. + [_Exit_. + +_Onae_. I have read legends of disastrous Dames: +Will none set pen to paper for poore me? +Canst write a bitter Satyre? brainlesse people +Doe call 'em Libels: dar'st thou write a Libell? + +_Poet_. I dare mix gall and poyson with my Inke. + +_Onae_. Doe it then for me. + +_Poet_. And every line must be +A whip to draw blood. + +_Onae_. Better. + +_Poet_. And to dare +The stab from him it touches. He that writes +Such Libels (as you call 'em) must lance[200] wide +The sores of mens corruptions, and even search +To'th quicke for dead flesh or for rotten cores: +A Poets Inke can better cure some sores +Then Surgeons Balsum. + +_Onae_. Vndertake that Cure +And crowne thy verse with Bayes. + +_Poet_. Madam, I'le doo't; +But I must have the parties Character. + +_Onae_. The king. + +_Poet_. I doe not love to pluck the quils +With which I make pens, out of a Lions claw. +The King! shoo'd I be bitter 'gainst the king +I shall have scurvy ballads made of me +Sung to the Hanging Tune[201]. I dare not, Madam. + +_Onae_. This basenesse follows your profession: +You are like common Beadles, apt to lash +Almost to death poore wretches not worth striking, +But fawne with slavish flattery on damn'd vices, +So great men act them: you clap hands at those, +Where the true Poet indeed doth scorne to guild +A gawdy Tombe with glory of his Verse +Which coffins stinking Carrion; no, his lines +Are free as his Invention; no base feare +Can shape his penne to Temporize even with Kings; +The blacker are their crimes he lowder sings. +Goe, goe, thou canst not write; 'tis but my calling +The Muses helpe, that I may be inspir'd. +Cannot a woman be a Poet, Sir? + +_Poet_. Yes, Madam, best of all; for Poesie +Is but a feigning; feigning is to lye, +And women practise lying more than men. + +_Onae_. Nay, but if I shoo'd write I woo'd tell truth: +How might I reach a lofty straine? + +_Poet_. Thus, Madam: +Bookes, Musick, Wine, brave Company and good Cheere +Make Poets to soare high and sing most cleare. + +_Onae_. Are they borne Poets? + +_Poet_. Yes. + +_Onae_. Dye they? + +_Poet_. Oh, never dye. + +_Onae_. My misery is then a Poet sure, +For time has given it an Eternity.-- +What sorts of Poets are there? + +_Poet_. Two sorts, Lady; +The great Poets and the small Poets. + +_Onae_. Great and small! +Which doe you call the great? the fat ones? + +_Poet_. No, but such as have great heads, which, emptied forth, +Fill all the world with wonder at their lines-- +Fellowes which swell big with the wind of praise: +The small ones are but shrimpes of Poesie. + +_Onae_. Which in the kingdome now is the best Poet? + +_Poet_. Emulation. + +_Onae_. Which the next? + +_Poet_. Necessity. + +_Onae_. And which the worst? + +_Poet_. Selfe-love. + +_Onae_. Say I turne Poet, what should I get? + +_Poet_. Opinion. + +_Onae_. 'Las I have got too much of that already. +Opinion is my Evidence, Judge and Jury; +Mine owne guilt and opinion now condemne me. +I'le therefore be no Poet; no, nor make +Ten Muses of your nine, I sweare, for this; +Verses, tho freely borne, like slaves are sold; +I Crowne thy lines with Bayes, thy love with gold: +So fare thou well. + +_Poet_. Our pen shall honour you. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Cornego_. + +_Cor_. The Poets booke, Madam, has got the Inflammation of the Livor, +it dyed of a burning Feaver. + +_Onae_. What shall I doe, _Cornego_? for this Poet +Has fill'd me with a fury: I could write +Strange Satyrs now against Adulterers +And Marriage-breakers. + +_Cor_. I beleeve you, Madam.--But here comes your Vncle. + + _Enter Medina, Alanzo, Carlo, Alba, Sebastian, Daenia_. + +_Med_. Where's our Neece? +Turne your braines round and recollect your spirits, +And see your Noble friends and kinsmen ready +To pay revenge his due. + +_Onae_. That word Revenge +Startles my sleepy Soule, now thoroughly wakend +By the fresh object of my haplesse childe +Whose wrongs reach beyond mine. + +_Seb_. How doth my sweet mother? + +_Onae_. How doth my prettiest boy? + +_Alanz_. Wrongs, like greate whirlewinds, +Shake highest Battlements? few for heaven woo'd care +Shoo'd they be ever happy; they are halfe gods +Who both in good dayes and good fortune share. + +_Onae_. I have no part in either. + +_Carl_. You shall in both, +Can Swords but cut the way. + +_Onae_. I care not much, so you but gently strike him, +And that my Child escape the light[e]ning. + +_Med_. For that our Nerves are knit: is there not here +A promising face of manly princely vertues? +And shall so sweet a plant be rooted out +By him that ought to fix it fast i'the ground? +_Sebastian_, +What will you doe to him that hurts your mother? + +_Seb_. The King my father shall kill him, I trow. + +_Daen_. But, sweet Coozen, the King loves not your mother. + +_Seb_. I'le make him love her when I am a King. + +_Med_. La you, there's in him a Kings heart already. +As, therefore, we before together vow'd, +Lay all your warlike hands upon my Sword +And sweare. + +_Seb_. Will you sweare to kill me, Vncle? + +_Med_. Oh, not for twenty worlds. + +_Seb_. Nay, then, draw and spare not, for I love fighting. + +_Med_. Stand in the midst, sweet Cooz; we are your guard; +These Hammers shall for thee beat out a Crowne, +If hit all right. Sweare therefore, noble friends +By your high bloods, by true Nobility, +By what you owe Religion, owe to your Country, +Owe to the raising your posterity; +By love you beare to vertue and to Armes +(The shield of Innocence) sweare not to sheath +Your Swords, when once drawne forth-- + +_Onae_. Oh, not to kill him +For twenty thousand worlds! + +_Med_. Will you be quiet?-- +Your Swords, when once drawne forth, till they ha forc'd +Yon godlesse, perjurous, perfidious man-- + +_Onae_. Pray raile not at him so. + +_Med_. Art mad? y'are idle:--till they ha forc'd him +To cancell his late lawlesse bond he seal'd +At the high Altar to his Florentine Strumpet, +And in his bed lay this his troth-plight wife. + +_Onae_. I, I, that's well; pray sweare. + +_Omnes_. To this we sweare. + +_Seb_. Vncle, I sweare too. + +_Med_. Our forces let's unite; be bold and secret, +And Lion-like with open eyes let's sleepe: +Streames smooth and slowly running are most deep. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter King; Queen, Malateste, Valesco, Lopez_. + +_King_. The Presence doore be guarded; let none enter +On forfeit of your lives without our knowledge. +Oh, you are false physitians all unto me, +You bring me poyson but no antidotes. + +_Queen_. Your selfe that poyson brewes. + +_King_. Prethe, no more. + +_Queen_. I will, I must speake more. + +_King_. Thunder aloud. + +_Queen_. My child, yet newly quickened in my wombe, +Is blasted with the fires of Bastardy. + +_King_. Who? who dares once but thinke so in his dreame? + +_Mal_. _Medina's_ faction preached it openly. + +_King_. Be curst he and his Faction: oh, how I labour +For these preventions! but, so crosse is Fate, +My ills are ne're hid from me but their Cures. +What's to be done? + +_Queen_. That which being left undone, +Your life lyes at the stake: let 'em be breathlesse, +Both brat and mother. + +_King_. Ha! + +_Mal_. She playes true Musicke, Sir: +The mischiefes you are drench'd in are so full +You need not feare to add to 'em; since now +No way is left to guard thy rest secure +But by a meanes like this. + +_Lop_. All Spaine rings forth +_Medina's_ name and his Confederates. + +_Rod_. All his Allyes and friends rush into troopes +Like raging Torrents. + +_Val_. And lowd Trumpet forth +Your perjuries; seducing the wild people +And with rebellious faces threatning all. + +_King_. I shall be massacred in this their spleene +E're I have time to guard my selfe; I feele +The fire already falling: where's our guard? + +_Mal_. Planted at Garden gate, with a strict charge +That none shall enter but by your command. + +_King_. Let 'em be doubled: I am full of thoughts, +A thousand wheeles tosse my incertaine feares; +There is a storme in my hot boyling braines +Which rises without wind; a horrid one. +What clamor's that? + +_Queen_. Some treason: guard the King! + + _Enter Baltazar drawne; one of the Guard fals_. + +_Bal_. Not in? + +_Mal_. One of your guard's slaine: keepe off the murderer! + +_Bal_. I am none, Sir. + +_Val_. There's a man drop'd down by thee. + +_King_. Thou desperate fellow, thus presse in upon us! +Is murder all the story we shall read? +What King can stand when thus his subjects bleed! +What hast thou done? + +_Bal_. No hurt. + +_King_. Plaid even the Wolfe +And from a fold committed to my charge +Stolne and devour'd one of the flocke. + +_Bal_. Y'ave sheepe enow for all that, Sir; I have kill'd none tho; or, +if I have, mine owne blood shed in your quarrels may begge my pardon; +my businesse was in haste to you. + +_King_. I woo'd not have thy sinne scoar'd on my head +For all the Indian Treasury. I prethee tell me, +Suppose thou hast our pardon, O, can that cure +Thy wounded conscience? can there my pardon helpe thee? +Yet, having deserv'd well both of Spaine and us, +We will not pay thy worth with losse of life, +But banish thee for ever. + +_Bal_. For a Groomes death? + +_King_. No more; we banish thee our Court and kingdome: +A King that fosters men so dipt in blood +May be call'd mercifull but never good: +Begone upon thy life. + +_Bal_. Well: farewell. [_Exit_. + +_Val_. The fellow is not dead but wounded, Sir. + +_Queen_. After him, _Malateste_; in our lodging +Stay that rough fellow; hee's the man shall doo't: +Haste, or my hopes are lost. [_Exit Mal_. +Why are you sad, Sir? + +_King_. For thee, _Paullina_, swell my troubled thoughts, +Like billowes beaten by too (two?) warring winds. + +_Queen_. Be you but rul'd by me, I'le make a calme +Smooth as the brest of heaven. + +_King_. Instruct me how. + +_Queen_. You (as your fortunes tye you) are inclin'd +To have the blow given. + +_King_. Where's the Instrument? + +_Queen_. 'Tis found in _Baltazar_. + +_King_. Hee's banished. + +_Queen_. True, +But staid by me for this. + +_King_. His spirit is hot +And rugged, but so honest that his soule +Will ne're turn devill to do it. + +_Queen_. Put it to tryall: +Retire a little: hither I'le send for him, +Offer repeale and favours if he doe it; +But if deny, you have no finger in't, +And then his doome of banishment stands good. + +_King_. Be happy in thy workings; I obey. [_Exit_. + +_Queen_. Stay, _Lopez_. + +_Lop_. Madam. + +_Queen_. Step to our Lodging, _Lopez_, +And instantly bid _Malateste_ bring +The banish'd _Baltazar_ to us. + +_Lop_. I shall. [_Exit_. + +_Queen_. Thrive my blacke plots; the mischiefes I have set +Must not so dye; Ills must new Ills beget. + + _Enter Malateste and Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Now! what hot poyson'd Custard must I put my Spoone into now? + +_Queen_. None, for mine honour now is thy protection. + +_Mal_. Which, Noble Souldier, she will pawn for thee +But never forfeit. + +_Bal_. 'Tis a faire gage; keepe it. + +_Queen_. Oh, _Baltazar_, I am thy friend, and mark'd thee +When the King sentenc'd thee to banishment: +Fire sparkled from thine eyes of rage and griefe; +Rage to be doom'd so for a Groome so base, +And griefe to lose thy country. Thou hast kill'd none: +The Milke-sop is but wounded, thou art not banish'd. + +_Bal_. If I were I lose nothing; I can make any Countrey mine. I have +a private Coat for _Italian_ Steeletto's, I can be treacherous with the +_Wallowne_, drunke with the _Dutch_, a Chimney-sweeper with the _Irish_, +a Gentleman with the _Welsh_[202] and turne arrant theefe with the +_English_: what then is my Country to me? + +_Queen_. The King, who (rap'd with fury) banish'd thee, +Shall give thee favours, yeeld but to destroy +What him distempers. + +_Bal_. So; and what's the dish I must dresse? + +_Queen_. Onely the cutting off a paire of lives. + +_Bal_. I love no Red-wine healths. + +_Mal_. The King commands it; you are but Executioner. + +_Bal_. The Hang-man? An office that will hold as long as hempe lasts: +why doe not you begge the office, Sir? + +_Queen_. Thy victories in field shall never crowne thee +As this one Act shall. + +_Bal_. Prove but that, 'tis done. + +_Queen_. Follow him close; hee's yeelding. + +_Mal_. Thou shalt be call'd thy Countries Patriot +For quenching out a fire now newly kindling +In factious bosomes; and shalt thereby save +More Noble Spanyards lives than thou slew'st Moores. + +_Queen_. Art thou not yet converted? + +_Bal_. No point. + +_Queen_. Read me then: +_Medina's_ Neece, by a contract from the King, +Layes clayme to all that's mine, my Crowne, my bed; +A sonne she has by him must fill the Throne +If her great faction can but worke that wonder. +Now heare me-- + +_Bal_. I doe with gaping eares. + +_Queen_. I swell with hopefull issue to the King. + +_Bal_. A brave Don call you mother. + +_Mal_. Of this danger +The feare afflicts the King. + +_Bal_. Cannot much blame him. + +_Queen_. If therefore by the riddance of this Dame-- + +_Bal_. Riddance? oh! the meaning on't is murder. + +_Mal_. Stab her or so, that's all. + +_Queen_. That Spaine be free from frights, the King from feares, +And I, now held his Infamy, be called Queene; +The Treasure of the kingdome shall lye open +To pay thy Noble darings. + +_Bal_. Come, Ile doo't, provided I heare _Jove_ call to me tho he rores; +I must have the King's hand to this warrant, else I dare not serve it +upon my Conscience. + +_Queen_. Be firme, then; behold the King is come. + + _Enter King_. + +_Bal_. Acquaint him. + +_Queen_. I found the metal hard, but with oft beating +Hees now so softened he shall take impression +From any seale you give him. + +_King_. _Baltazar_, +Come hither, listen; whatsoe're our Queene +Has importun'd thee to, touching _Onaelia_ +(Neece to the Constable) and her young sonne, +My voyce shall second it and signe her promise. + +_Bal_. Their riddance? + +_King_. That. + +_Bal_. What way? by poyson? + +_King_. So. + +_Bal_. Starving, or strangling, stabbing, smothering? + +_Queen_. Good. + +_King_. Any way, so 'tis done. + +_Bal_. But I will have, Sir, +This under your owne hand; that you desire it, +You plot it, set me on too't. + +_King_. Penne, Inke and paper. + +_Bal_. And then as large a pardon as law and wit +Can engrosse for me. + +_King_. Thou shalt ha my pardon. + +_Bal_. A word more, Sir; pray will you tell me one thing? + +_King_. Yes, any thing, deare _Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Suppose I have your strongest pardon, can that cure my wounded +Conscience? can there your pardon help me? You not onely knocke the +Ewe a'th head, but cut the Innocent Lambes throat too: yet you are no +Butcher! + +_Queen_. Is this thy promis'd yeelding to an Act +So wholesome for thy Country? + +_King_. Chide him not. + +_Bal_. I woo'd not have this sinne scor'd on my head +For all the Indaean Treasury. + +_King_. That song no more: +Doe this and I will make thee a great man. + +_Bal_. Is there no farther trick in't, but my blow, your purse, +and my pardon? + +_Mal_. No nets upon my life to entrap thee. + +_Bal_. Then trust me, these knuckles worke it. + +_King_. Farewell, be confident and sudden. + +_Bal_. Yes; +Subjects may stumble when Kings walk astray: +Thine Acts shall be a new Apocrypha. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quartus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Medina, Alba and Daenia, met by Baltazar + with a Ponyard and a Pistoll_. + +_Bal_. You meet a _Hydra_; see, if one head failes; +Another with a sulphurous beake stands yawning. + +_Med_. What hath rais'd up this Devill? + +_Bal_. A great mans vices, that can raise all hell. +What woo'd you call that man, who under-saile +In a most goodly ship wherein he ventures +His life, fortunes and honours, yet in a fury +Should hew the Mast downe, cast Sayles over-boord, +Fire all the Tacklings, and to crowne this madnesse +Shoo'd blow up all the Deckes, burne th'oaken ribbes +And in that Combat 'twixt two Elements +Leape desperately and drowne himselfe i'th Seas,-- +What were so brave a fellow? + +_Omnes_. A brave blacke villaine. + +_Bal_. That's I; all that brave blacke villaine dwels in me, +If I be that blacke villaine; but I am not: +A Nobler Character prints out my brow, +Which you may thus read: I was banish'd Spaine +For emptying a Court-Hogshead, but repeal'd +So I woo'd (e're my reeking Iron was cold) +Promise to give it a deepe crimson dye +In--none heare?--stay--no, none heare. + +_Med_. Whom then? + +_Bal_. Basely to stab a woman, your wrong'd Neece, +And her most innocent sonne _Sebastian_. + +_Alb_. The Boare now foames with whetting. + +_Daen_. What has blunted +Thy weapons point at these? + +_Bal_. My honesty, +A signe at which few dwell, pure honesty. +I am a vassaile to _Medina's_ house; +He taught me first the A, B, C of warre[203] +E're I was Truncheon-high I had the stile +Of beardlesse Captaine, writing then but boy: +And shall I now turne slave to him that fed me +With Cannon-bullets, and taught me, Estridge[204]-like, +To digest Iron and Steele? no: yet I yeelded +With willow-bendings to commanding breaths. + +_Med_. Of whom? + +_Bal_. Of King and Queene: with supple Hams +And an ill-boading looke I vow'd to doo't; +Yet, lest some choake-peare[205] of State-policy +Shoo'd stop my throat and spoyle my drinking-pipe, +See (like his cloake) I hung at the Kings elbow +Till I had got his hand to signe my life. + +_Daen_. Shall we see this and sleepe? + +_Alb_. No, whilst these wake. + +_Med_. 'Tis the Kings hand. + +_Bal_. Thinke you me a quoyner? + +_Med_. No, no, thou art thy selfe still, Noble _Baltazar_; +I ever knew thee honest, and the marke +Stands still upon thy forehead. + +_Bal_. Else flea the skin off. + +_Med_. I ever knew thee valiant and to scorne +All acts of basenesse: I have seene this man +Write in the field such stories with his sword +That our best chiefetaines swore there was in him +As 'twere a new Philosophy of fighting, +His deeds were so Puntillious. In one battell, +When death so nearely mist my ribs, he strucke +Three horses stone-dead under me: this man +Three times that day (even through the jawes of danger) +Redeem'd me up, and (I shall print it ever) +Stood o're my body with _Colossus_ thighes +Whilst all the Thunder-bolts which warre could throw +Fell on his head; and, _Baltazar_, thou canst not +Be now but honest still and valiant still +Not to kill boyes and women. + +_Bal_. My byter here eats no such meat. + +_Med_. Goe, fetch the mark'd-out Lambe for slaughter hither; +Good fellow souldier, ayd him--and stay--marke, +Give this false fire to the beleeving King, +That the child's sent to heaven but that the mother +Stands rock'd so strong with friends ten thousand billowes +Cannot once shake her. + +_Bal_. This I'le doe. + +_Med_. Away; +Yet one word more; your Counsel, Noble friends; +Harke, _Baltazar_, because nor eyes nor tongues +Shall by loud Larums that the poore boy lives +Question thy false report, the child shall closely, +Mantled in darknesse, forthwith be conveyed +To the Monastery of Saint _Paul_. + +_Omnes_. Good. + +_Med_. Dispatch then; be quicke. + +_Bal_. As Lightning. [_Exit_. + +_Alb_. This fellow is some Angell drop'd from heaven +To preserve Innocence. + +_Med_. He is a wheele +Of swift and turbulent motion; I have trusted him, +Yet will not hang on him to many plummets +Lest with a headlong Cyre (Gyre?) he ruines all. +In these State-consternations, when a kingdome +Stands tottering at the Center, out of suspition +Safety growes often. Let us suspect this fellow; +And that, albeit he shew us the Kings hand, +It may be but a tricke. + +_Daen_. Your Lordship hits +A poyson'd nayle i'th head: this waxen fellow +(By the Kings hand so bribing him with gold) +Is set on skrews, perhaps is made his Creature +To turne round every way. + +_Med_. Out of that feare +Will I beget truth; for my selfe in person +Will sound the Kings brest. + +_Carl_. How! your selfe in person. + +_Alb_. That's half the prize he gapes for. + +_Med_. I'le venture it, +And come off well, I warrant you, and rip up +His very entrailes, cut in two his heart +And search each corner in't; yet shall not he +Know who it is cuts up th'Anatomy. + +_Daen_. 'Tis an exploit worth wonder. + +_Carl_. Put the worst; +Say some Infernall voyce shoo'd rore from hell +The Infant's cloystering up. + +_Alb_. 'Tis not our danger +Nor the imprison'd Prince's, for what Theefe +Dares by base sacrilege rob the Church of him? + +_Carl_. At worst none can be lost but this slight fellow. + +_Med_. All build on this as on a stable Cube: +If we our footing keepe we fetch him forth +And Crowne him King; if up we fly i'th ayre +We for his soules health a broad way prepare. + +_Daen_. They come. + + _Enter Baltazar and Sebastian_. + +_Med_. Thou knowest where +To bestow him, _Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Come Noble[206] Boy. + +_Alb_. Hide him from being discovered. + +_Bal_. Discover'd? woo'd there stood a troope of Moores +Thrusting the pawes of hungry Lions forth +To seize this prey, and this but in my hand; +I should doe something. + +_Seb_. Must I goe with this blacke fellow, Vncle? + +_Med_. Yes, pretty Coz; hence with him, _Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Sweet child, within few minutes I'le change thy fate +And take thee hence, but set thee at heavens gate. + [_Exeunt Bal. and Seb_. + +_Med_. Some keepe aloof and watch this Souldier. + +_Carl_. I'le doo't. + +_Daen_. What's to be done now? + +_Med_. First to plant strong guard +About the mother, then into some snare +To hunt this spotted Panther and there kill him. + +_Daen_. What snares have we can hold him? + +_Med_. Be that care mine: +Dangers (like Starres) in darke attempts best shine. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Cornego, Baltazar_. + +_Cor_. The Lady Onaelia dresseth the stead[207] of her commendations in +the most Courtly Attire that words can be cloth'd with, from her selfe +to you by me. + +_Bal_. So, Sir; and what disease troubles her now? + +_Cor_. The King's Evill; and here she hath sent something to you wrap'd +up in a white sheet; you need not feare to open it, 'tis no coarse. + +_Bal_. What's here? a letter minc'd into five morsels? +What was she doing when thou camest from her? + +_Cor_. At the pricke-song[208]. + +_Bal_. So methinks, for here's nothing but sol-Re-fa-mi. +What Crochet fils her head now, canst tell? + +_Cor_. No Crochets, 'tis onely the Cliffe has made her mad. + +_Bal_. What instrument playd she upon? + +_Cor_. A wind instrument, she did nothing but sigh. + +_Bal_. Sol, Ra, me, Fa, Mi. + +_Cor_. My wit has alwayes had a singing head; I have found out her Note, +Captaine. + +_Bal_. The tune? come. + +_Cor_. Sol, my soule; re, is all rent and torne like a raggamuffin; me, +mend it, good Captaine; fa, fa,--whats fa, Captaine? + +_Bal_. Fa? why, farewell and be hang'd. + +_Cor_. Mi, Captaine, with all my heart. Have I tickled my Ladies +Fiddle well? + +_Bal_. Oh, but your sticke wants Rozen to make the string sound +clearely. No, this double Virginall being cunningly touch'd, another +manner of Jacke[209] leaps up then is now in mine eye. Sol, Re, me, fa, +mi--I have it now; _Solus Rex me facit miseram_. Alas, poore Lady! tell +her no Pothecary in Spaine has any of that _Assa Fetida_ she writes for. + +_Cor_. _Assa Fetida_? what's that? + +_Bal_. A thing to be taken in a glister-pipe? + +_Cor_. Why, what ayles my Lady? + +_Bal_. What ayles she? why, when she cryes out _Solus Rex me facit +miseram_, she sayes in the Hypocronicall language that she is so +miserably tormented with the wind-Chollicke that it rackes her +very soule. + +_Cor_. I said somewhat cut her soule in pieces. + +_Bal_. But goe to her and say the oven is heating. + +_Cor_. And what shall be bak'd in't? + +_Bal_. Carpe pies, and besides tell her the hole in her Coat shall be +mended; and tell her if the Dyall of good dayes goe true, why then +bounce Buckrum. + +_Cor_. The Divell lyes sicke of the Mulligrubs. + +_Bal_. Or the Cony is dub'd, and three sheepskins-- + +_Cor_. With the wrong side outward. + +_Bal_. Shall make the Fox a Night-cap. + +_Cor_. So the Goose talkes French to the Buzzard. + +_Bal_. But, Sir, if evill dayes justle our prognostication to the wall, +then say there's a fire in the whore-masters Cod-peece. + +_Cor_. And a poyson'd Bagge-pudding in Tom Thumbes belly. + +_Bal_. The first cut be thine: farewell! + +_Cor_. Is this all? + +_Bal_. Woo't not trust an Almanacke? + +_Cor_. Nor a Coranta[210] neither, tho it were seal'd with Butter; +and yet I know where they both lye passing well. + + _Enter Lopez_. + +_Lop_. The King sends round about the Court to seek you. + +_Bal_. Away, Otterhound. + +_Cor_. Dancing Beare, I'me gone. [_Exit_. + + _Enter King attended_. + +_King_. A private roome.-- [_Exeunt Omnes_. +Is't done? hast drawne thy two edg'd sword out yet? + +_Bal_. No, I was striking at the two Iron Barres that hinder your +passage; and see, Sir. [_Drawes_. + +_King_. What meanst thou? + +_Bal_. The edge abated? feele. + +_King_. No, no, I see it. + +_Bal_. As blunt as Ignorance. + +_King_. How? put up--So--how? + +_Bal_. I saw by chance, hanging in Cardinall _Alvarez_ Gallery, +a picture of hell. + +_King_. So; what of that? + +_Bal_. There lay upon burnt straw ten thousand brave fellowes, all +starke naked, some leaning upon Crownes, some on Miters, some on bags +of gold; Glory in another Corner lay like a feather beaten in the +raine; Beauty was turn'd into a watching Candle that went out stinking; +Ambition went upon a huge high paire of stilts but horribly rotten; +some in another nooke were killing Kings, and some having their elbowes +shov'd forward by Kings to murther others: I was (methought) halfe in +hell my selfe whilst I stood to view this peece. + +_King_. Was this all? + +_Bal_. Was't not enough to see that? a man is more healthfull that eats +dirty puddings than he that feeds on a corrupted Conscience. + +_King_. Conscience! what's that? a Conjuring booke ne're open'd +Without the readers danger: 'tis indeed +A scare-crow set i'th world to fright weake fooles. +Hast thou seene fields pav'd o're with carkasses +Now to be tender-footed, not to tread +On a boyes mangled quarters and a womans? + +_Bal_. Nay, Sir, I have search'd the records of the Low-Countries and +finde that by your pardon I need not care a pinne for Goblins; and +therefore I will doo't, Sir: I did but recoyle because I was double +charg'd. + +_King_. No more; here comes a Satyre with sharpe hornes. + + _Enter Cardinall, and Medina like a French Doctor_. + +_Car_. Sir, here's a Frenchman charg'd with some strange businesse +Which to your close eare onely hee'll deliver, +Or else to none. + +_King_. A Frenchman? + +_Med_. We, Mounsire. + +_King_. Cannot he speake the Spanish? + +_Med_. Si Signior, vr Poco:--Monsir, Acoutez in de Corner; me come for +offer to your Bon gace mi trez humble service. By gar no John fidleco +shall put into your neare braver Melody dan dis vn petite pipe shall +play upon to your great bon Grace. + +_King_. What is the tune you'll strike up? touch the string. + +_Med_. Dis; me ha run up and downe mane Countrie and learne many fine +ting and mush knavery; now more and all dis me know you ha jumbla de +fine vench and fill her belly wid a Garsoone: her name is le Madame-- + +_King_. _Onaelia_. + +_Med_. She by gar: Now, Monsire, dis Madam send for me to helpe her +Malady, being very naught of her corpes (her body). Me know you no +point love a dis vensh; but, royall Monsire, donne Moy ten towsand +French Crownes, she shall kicke up her taile, by gar, and beshide lye +dead as dog in the shannell. + +_King_. Speake low. + +_Med_. As de bagge-pipe when the winde is puff, Garbeigh. + +_King_. Thou nam'st ten thousand Crownes; I'le treble them, +Rid me but of this leprosie: thy name? + +_Med_. Monsire Doctor _Devile_. + +_King_. Shall I a second wheele adde to this mischiefe +To set it faster going? if one breake, +Th'other may keepe his motion. + +_Med_. Esselent fort boone. + +_King_. _Baltazar_, +To give thy Sword an edge againe, this Frenchman +Shall whet thee on, that if thy pistoll faile, +Or ponyard, this can send the poyson home. + +_Bal_. Brother _Cain_, wee'll shake hands. + +_Med_. In de bowle of de bloody busher: tis very fine wholesome. + +_King_. And more to arme your resolution, +I'le tune this Churchman so that he shall chime +In sounds harmonious. Merit to that man +Whose hand has but a finger in that act. + +_Bal_. That musicke were worth hearing. + +_King_. Holy Father, +You must give pardon to me in unlocking +A Cave stuft full with Serpents which my State +Threaten to poyson; and it lyes in you +To breake their bed with thunder of your voyce. + +_Car_. How, princely sonne? + +_King_. Suppose an universall +Hot Pestilence beat her mortiferous wings +Ore all my Kingdome, am I not bound in soule +To empty all our Achademes of Doctors +And Aesculapian Spirits to charme this plague? + +_Car_. You are. + +_King_. Or had the Canon made a breach +Into our rich Escuriall, down to beat it +About our eares, shoo'd I to stop this breach +Spare even our richest Ornaments, nay our Crowne, +Could it keepe bullets off? + +_Car_. No, Sir, you should not. + +_King_. This Linstocke[211] gives you fire: shall then that strumpet +And bastard breathe quicke vengeance in my face, +Making my kingdome reele, my subjects stagger +In their obedience, and yet live? + +_Car_. How? live! +Shed not their bloods to gaine a kingdome greater +Then ten times this. + +_Med_. Pishe, not mattera how Red-cap and his wit run. + +_King_. As I am Catholike King I'le have their hearts +Panting in these two hands. + +_Car_. Dare you turne Hang-man? +Is this Religion Catholicke, to kill, +What even bruit beasts abhorre to doe, your owne! +To cut in sunder wedlockes sacred knot +Tyed by heavens fingers! to make Spaine a Bonfire +To quench which must a second Deluge raine +In showres of blood, no water! If you doe this +There is an Arme Armipotent that can fling you +Into a base grave, and your Pallaces +With Lightning strike and of their Ruines make +A Tombe for you, unpitied and abhorr'd. +Beare witnesse, all you Lamps Coelestiall, +I wash my hands of this. (_Kneeling_.) + +_King_. Rise, my goon Angell, +Whose holy tunes beat from me that evill spirit +Which jogs mine elbow.--Hence, thou dog of hell! + +_Med_. Baw wawghe. + +_King_. Barke out no more, thou Mastiffe; get you all gone, +And let my soule sleepe.--There's gold; peace, see it done. + [_Exit_. + + _Manent Medina, Baltazar, Cardinall_. + +_Bal_. Sirra, you Salsa-Perilla Rascall, Toads-guts, you whorson pockey +French Spawne of a bursten-bellyed Spyder, doe you heare, Monsire? + +_Med_. Why doe you barke and snap at my Narcissus as if I were de +Frenshe doag? + +_Bal_. You Curre of _Cerberus_ litter, (_strikes him_), you'll poyson +the honest Lady? doe but once toot[212] into her chamber-pot and I'll +make thee looke worse then a witch does upon a close-stoole. + +_Car_. You shall not dare to touch him, stood he here +Single before thee. + +_Bal_. I'le cut the Rat into Anchovies. + +_Car_. I'le make thee kisse his hand, imbrace him, love him, +And call him-- + (_Medina discovers_) + +_Bal_. The perfection of all Spanyards; Mars in little; the best booke +of the art of Warre printed in these Times: as a French Doctor I woo'd +have given you pellets for pills, but as my noblest Lord rip my heart +out in your service. + +_Med_. Thou art the truest Clocke +That e're to time paidst tribute, honest Souldier. +I lost mine owne shape and put on a French +Onely to try thy truth and the kings falshood, +Both which I find. Now this great Spanish volume +Is open'd to me, I read him o're and o're, +Oh what blacke Characters are printed in him! + +_Car_. Nothing but certaine ruine threat your Neece, +Without prevention; well this plot was laid +In such disguise to sound him; they that know +How to meet dangers are the lesse afraid: +Yet let me counsell you not to text downe +These wrongs in red lines. + +_Med_. No, I will not, father: +Now that I have Anatomiz'd his thoughts +I'le read a lecture on 'em that shall save +Many mens lives, and to the kingdome Minister +Most wholesome Surgery: here's our Aphorisme,[213]-- +These letters from us in our Neeces name, +You know, treat of a marriage. + +_Car_. There's the strong Anchor +To stay all in this tempest. + +_Med_. Holy Sir, +With these worke you the King and so prevaile +That all these mischiefes _Hull_ with Flagging saile. + +_Car_. My best in this I'le doe. + +_Med_. Souldier, thy brest +I must locke better things in. + +_Bal_. Tis your chest with 3 good keyes to keep it from opening, +an honest hart, a daring hand and a pocket which scornes money. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter King, Cardinall with letters_, [_Valasco and Lopez_.] + +_King_. Commend us to _Medina_, say his letters +Right pleasing are, and that (except himselfe) +Nothing could be more welcome: counsell him +(To blot the opinion out of factious numbers) +Onely to have his ordinary traine +Waiting upon him; for, to quit all feares +Vpon his side of us, our very Court +Shall even but dimly shine with some few Dons, +Freely to prove our longings great to peace. + +_Car_. The Constable expects some pawne from you +That in this Fairy circle shall rise up +No Fury to confound his Neece nor him. + +_King_. A King's word is engag'd. + +_Car_. It shall be taken. [_Exit_. + +_King_. _Valasco_, call the Captaine of our Guard, +Bid him attend us instantly. + +_Val_. I shall. [_Exit_. + +_King_. _Lopez_, come hither: see +Letters from _Duke Medina_, both in the name +Of him and all his Faction, offering peace, +And our old love (his Neece) _Onaelia_ +In Marriage with her free and faire consent +To _Cockadillio_, a Don of Spaine. + +_Lop_. Will you refuse this? + +_King_. My Crowne as soone: they feele their sinowy plots +Belike to shrinke i'th joynts, and fearing Ruine +Have found this Cement out to piece up all, +Which more endangers all. + +_Lop_. How, Sir! endangers? + +_King_. Lyons may hunted be into the snare, +But if they once breake loose woe be to him +That first seiz'd on 'em. A poore prisoner scornes +To kisse his Jaylor; and shall a King be choak'd +With sweete-meats by false Traytors! no, I will fawne +On them as they stroake me, till they are fast +But in this paw, and then-- + +_Lop_. A brave revenge.-- +The Captaine of your Guard. + + _Enter Captaine_. + +_King_. Vpon thy life +Double our Guard this day, let every man +Beare a charg'd Pistoll hid; and at a watch-word +Given by a Musket, when our selfe sees Time, +Rush in; and if _Medina's_ Faction wrastle +Against your forces, kill; but if yeeld, save. +Be secret. + +_Alanz_. I am charm'd, Sir. + [_Exit_. + +_King_. Watch, _Valasco_; +If any weare a Crosse, Feather or Glove +Or such prodigious signes of a knit Faction, +Table their names up; at our Court-gate plant +Good strength to barre them out if once they swarme: +Doe this upon thy life. + +_Val_. Not death shall fright me. + + [_Exeunt Valasco and Lopez_. + + _Enter Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. 'Tis done, Sir. + +_King_. Death! what's done? + +_Bal_. Young Cub's flayd, +But the shee-fox shifting her hole is fled; +The little Iackanapes the boy's braind. + +_King_. _Sebastian_? + +_Bal_. He shall ne're speake more Spanish. + +_King_. Thou teachest me to curse thee. + +_Bal_. For a bargaine you set your hand to? + +_King_. Halfe my Crowne I'de lose were it undone. + +_Bal_. But half a Crowne? that's nothing: +His braines sticke in my conscience more than yours. + +_King_. How lost I the French Doctor? + +_Bal_. As French-men lose their haire: here was too hot staying for him. + +_King_. Get thou, too, from my sight: the Queen wu'd see thee. + +_Bal_. Your gold, Sir. + +_King_. Goe with _Judas_ and repent. + +_Bal_. So men hate whores after lusts heat is spent; I'me gone, Sir. + +_King_. Tell me true,--is he dead? + +_Bal_. Dead. + +_King_. No matter; 'tis but morning of revenge; +The Sun-set shall be red and Tragicall. [_Exit_. + +_Bal_. Sinne is a Raven croaking[214] her owne fall. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Medina, Daenia, Alba, Carlo and the Faction, + with Rosemary in their hats_. + +_Med_. Keepe lock'd the doore and let none enter to us +But who shares in our fortunes. + +_Daen_. Locke the dores. + +_Alb_. What entertainment did the King bestow +Vpon your letters and the Cardinals? + +_Med_. With a devouring eye he read 'em o're +Swallowing our offers into his empty bosome +As gladly as the parched earth drinks healths +Out of the cup of heaven. + +_Carl_. Little suspecting +What dangers closely lye enambushed. + +_Daen_. Let not us trust to that; there's in his brest +Both Fox and Lion, and both those beasts can bite: +We must not now behold the narrowest loope-hole +But presently suspect a winged bullet +Flyes whizzing by our eares. + +_Med_. For when I let +The plummet fall to sound his very soule +In his close-chamber, being French-Doctor-like, +He to the Cardinals eare sung sorcerous notes; +The burthen of his song to mine was death, +_Onaelia's_ murder and _Sebastians_. +And thinke you his voyce alters now? 'Tis strange +To see how brave this Tyrant shewes in Court, +Throan'd like a god: great men are petty starres +Where his rayes shine; wonder fills up all eyes +By sight of him: let him but once checke sinne, +About him round all cry "oh excellent king! +Oh Saint-like man!" but let this King retire +Into his Closet to put off his robes, +He like a Player leaves his parte off, too: +Open his brest and with a Sunne-beame search it, +There's no such man; this King of gilded clay +Within is uglinesse, lust, treachery, +And a base soule tho reard Colossus-high. + + (_Baltazar beats to come in_.) + +_Daen_. None till he speakes and that we know his voyce: +Who are you? + +_Within Bal_. An honest house-keeper in Rosemary-lane, too, +If you dwell in the same parish. + +_Med_. Oh 'tis our honest Souldier, give him entrance. + + _Enter Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Men show like coarses[215] for I meet few but are stuck with +Rosemary: everyone ask'd mee who was married to-day, and I told 'em +Adultery and Repentance, and that shame and a Hangman followed 'em +to Church. + +_Med_. There's but two parts to play: shame has done hers +But execution must close up the Scaene, +And for that cause these sprigs are worne by all, +Badges of Mariage, now of Funerall, +For death this day turns Courtier. + +_Bal_. Who must dance with him? + +_Med_. The King, and all that are our opposites; +That dart or this must flye into the Court, +Either to shoote this blazing starre from Spaine +Or else so long to wrap him up in clouds +Till all the fatall fires in him burne out, +Leaving his State and conscience cleere from doubt +Of following uprores. + +_Alb_. Kill not but surprize him. + +_Carl_. Thats my voyce still. + +_Med_. Thine, Souldier. + +_Bal_. Oh, this Collicke of a kingdome! when the wind of treason gets +amongst the small guts, what a rumbling and a roaring it keepes! and +yet, make the best of it you can, it goes out stinking. Kill a King! +King! + +_Daen_. Why? + +_Bal_. If men should pull the Sun out of heaven every time 'tis +ecclips'd, not all the Wax nor Tallow in Spaine woo'd serve to make +us Candles for one yeare. + +_Med_. No way to purge the sicke State but by opening a veine. + +_Bal_. Is that your French Physicke? if every one of us shoo'd be +whip'd according to our faults, to be lasht at a carts taile would be +held but a flea-biting. + + _Enter Signeor No:[216] Whispers Medina_. + +_Med_. What are you? come you from the King? + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. No? more no's? I know him, let him enter. + +_Med_. Signeor, I thanke your kind Intelligence. +The newes long since was sent into our eares, +Yet we embrace your love; so fare you well. + +_Carl_. Will you smell to a sprig of Rosemary? + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. Will you be hang'd? + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. This is either Signeor No, or no Signeor. + +_Med_. He makes his love to us a warning-peece +To arme our selves against we come to Court, +Because the guard is doubled. + +_Omnes_. Tush, we care not. + +_Bal_. If any here armes his hand to cut off the head, let him first +plucke out my throat. In any Noble Act Ile wade chin-deepe with you: +but to kill a King! + +_Med_. No, heare me-- + +_Bal_. You were better, my Lord, saile 500 times to _Bantam_[217] in +the West-Indies than once to _Barathrum_ in the Low-Countries. It's +hot going under the line there; the Callenture of the soule is a most +miserable madnesse. + +_Med_. Turne, then, this wheele of Fate from shedding blood, +Till with her owne hand Iustice weyes all. + +_Bal_. Good. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + +_Queen_. Must then his Trul be once more sphear'd in Court +To triumph in my spoyles, in my ecclipses? +And I like moaping _Iuno_ sit whilst _Iove_ +Varies his lust into five hundred shapes +To steale to his whores bed? No, _Malateste_; +Italian fires of Iealousie burn my marrow: +For to delude my hopes the leacherous King +Cuts out this robe of cunning marriage +To cover his Incontinence, which flames +Hot (as my fury) in his black desires. +I am swolne big with child of vengeance now, +And, till deliver'd, feele the throws of hell. + +_Mal_. Iust is your Indignation, high and noble, +And the brave heat of a true Florentine. +For Spaine Trumpets abroad her Interest +In the Kings heart, and with a black cole drawes +On every wall your scoff'd at injuries. +As one that has the refuse of her sheets, +And the sick Autumne of the weakned King, +Where she drunke pleasures up in the full spring. + +_Queen_. That, _Malateste_, That, That Torrent wracks me; +But _Hymens_ Torch (held downe-ward) shall drop out, +And for it the mad Furies swing their brands +About the Bride-chamber. + +_Mal_. The Priest that joyns them +Our Twin-borne malediction. + +_Queen_. Lowd may it speake. + +_Mal_. The herbs and flowers to strew the wedding way +Be Cypresse, Eugh, cold Colloquintida. + +_Queen_. Henbane and Poppey, and that magicall weed[218] +Which Hags at midnight watch to catch the seed. + +_Mal_. To these our execrations, and what mischiefe +Hell can but hatch in a distracted braine +Ile be the Executioner, tho it looke +So horrid it can fright e'ne murder backe. + +_Queen_. Poyson his whore to day, for thou shalt wait +On the Kings Cup, and when, heated with wine, +He cals to drinke the Brides health, Marry her +Alive to a gaping grave. + +_Mal_. At board? + +_Queen_. At board. + +_Mal_. When she being guarded round about with friends, +Like a faire Iland hem'd with Rocks and Seas,-- +What rescue shall I find? + +_Queen_. Mine armes? dost faint? +Stood all the Pyrenaean hills, that part +Spaine and our Country, on each others shoulders, +Burning with Aetnean flame, yet thou shouldst on, +As being my steele of resolution +First striking sparkles from my flinty brest. +Wert thou to catch the horses of the Sunne +Fast by their bridles and to turne back day, +Wood'st thou not doo't (base coward) to make way +To the Italians second blisse, revenge? + +_Mal_. Were my bones threatned to the wheele of torture, +Ile doo't. + + _Enter Lopes_. + +_Queen_. A ravens voyce, and it likes me well. + +_Lop_. The King expects your presence. + +_Mal_. So, so, we come, +To turne this Brides day to a day of doome. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _A Banquet set out, Cornets sounding; Enter at one + dore Lopez, Valasco, Alanzo, No: after them King, + Cardinall, with Don Cockadillio, Bridegroome; + Queene and Malateste after. At the other dore + Alba, Carlo, Roderigo, Medina and Daenia, leading + Onaelia as Bride, Cornego and Iuanna after; + Baltazar alone; Bride and Bridegroome kisse, + and by the Cardinall are join'd hand in hand: + King is very merry, hugging Medina very lovingly_. + +_King_. For halfe Spaines weight in Ingots I'de not lose +This little man to day. + +_Med_. Nor for so much +Twice told, Sir, would I misse your kingly presence, +Mine eyes have lost th'acquaintance of your face +So long, and I so little late read o're +That Index of the royall book your mind, +That scarce (without your Comment) can I tell +When in those leaves you turne o're smiles or frownes. + +_King_. 'Tis dimnesse of your sight, no fault i'th letter; +_Medina_, you shall find that free from Errata's: +And for a proofe, +If I could breath my heart in welcomes forth, +This Hall should ring naught else. Welcome, _Medina_; +Good Marquesse _Daenia_, Dons of Spaine all welcome! +My dearest love and Queene, be it your place +To entertaine the Bride and doe her grace. + +_Queen_. With all the love I can, whose fire is such, +To give her heat, I cannot burne too much. + +_King_. Contracted Bride and Bridegroome sit; +Sweet flowres not pluck'd in season lose their scent, +So will our pleasures. Father Cardinall, +Methinkes this morning new begins our reigne. + +_Car_. Peace had her Sabbath ne're till now in Spaine. + +_King_. Where is our noble Souldier, _Baltazar_? +So close in conference with that Signior? + +_No_. No. + +_King_. What think'st thou of this great day _Baltazar_? + +_Bal_. Of this day? why, as of a new play, if it ends well all's well. +All men are but Actors; now if you, being the King, should be out of +your part, or the Queene out of hers or your Dons out of theirs, here's +No wil never be out of his. + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. 'Twere a lamentable peece of stuffe to see great Statesmen +have vile Exits; but I hope there are nothing but plaudities in all +your Eyes. + +_King_. Mine, I protest, are free. + +_Queen_. And mine, by heaven! + +_Mal_. Free from one goode looke till the blow be given. + +_King_. Wine; a full Cup crown'd to _Medina's_ health! + +_Med_. Your Highnesse this day so much honors me +That I, to pay you what I truly owe, +My life shall venture for it. + +_Daen_. So shall mine. + +_King_. _Onaelia_, you are sad: why frownes your brow? + +_Onae_. A foolish memory of my past ills +Folds up my looke in furrowes of old care, +But my heart's merry, Sir. + +_King_. Which mirth to heighten +Your Bridegroome and your selfe first pledge this health +Which we begin to our high Constable. + + (_Three Cups fild: 1 to the King, 2 to the Bridegroome, + 3 to Onaelia, with whom the King complements_.) + +_Queen_. Is't speeding? + +_Mal_. As all our Spanish figs[219] are. + +_King_. Here's to _Medina's_ heart with all my heart. + +_Med_. My hart shal pledge your hart i'th deepest draught +That ever Spanyard dranke. + +_King_. _Medina_ mockes me +Because I wrong her with the largest Bowle: +Ile change with thee, _Onaelia_. + + (_Mal. rages_) + +_Queen_. Sir, you shall not. + +_King_. Feare you I cannot fetch it off? + +_Queen_. _Malateste_! + +_King_. This is your scorne to her, because I am doing +This poorest honour to her.--Musicke sound! +It goes were it ten fadoms to the ground. + + _Cornets. King drinkes; Queen and Mal. storms_. + +_Mal_. Fate strikes with the wrong weapon. + +_Queen_. Sweet royall Sir, no more: it is too deepe. + +_Mal_. Twill hurt your health, Sir. + +_King_. Interrupt me in my drinke! 'tis off. + +_Mal_. Alas, Sir, +You have drunke your last: that poyson'd bowle I fill'd, +Not to be put into your hand but hers. + +_King_. Poyson'd? + +_Omnes_. Descend black speckled soule to hell. + (_kil Mal. dyes_.) + +_Mal_. The Queene has sent me thither? + +_Card_. What new furie shakes now her snakes locks? + +_Queen_. I, I, tis I, +Whose soule is torne in peeces till I send +This Harlot home. + +_Car_. More Murders? save the lady. + +_Balt_. Rampant? let the Constable make a mittimus. + +_Med_. Keepe 'em asunder. + +_Car_. How is it royall sonne? + +_King_. I feele no poyson yet; only mine eyes +Are putting out their lights: me thinks I feele +Deaths Icy fingers stroking downe my face; +And now I'me in a mortall cold sweat. + +_Queen_. Deare my Lord. + +_King_. Hence! call in my Physicians. + +_Med_. Thy Physician, Tyrant, +Dwels yonder: call on him or none. + +_King_. Bloody _Medina_! stab'st thou, _Brutus_, too? + +_Daen_. As hee is so are we all. + +_King_. I burne; +My braines boyle in a Caldron: O, one drop +Of water now to coole me! + +_Onae_. Oh, let him have Physicians! + +_Med_. Keepe her backe. + +_King_. Physicians for my soule: I need none else. +You'll not deny me those? Oh, holy Father, +Is there no mercy hovering in a cloud +For me, a miserable King, so drench'd +In perjury and murder? + +_Car_. Oh, Sir, great store. + +_King_. Come downe, come quickly downe. + +_Car_. I'll forthwith send +For a grave Fryer to be your Confessor. + +_King_. Doe, doe. + +_Car_. And he shall cure your wounded soule: +--Fetch him, good Souldier. + +_Bal_. So good a work I'le hasten. + +_King_. _Onaelia_! oh, shee's drown'd in tears. _Onaelia_! +Let me not dye unpardoned at thy hands. + + _Enter Baltazar, Sebastian as a Fryer, with others_. + +_Car_. Here comes a better Surgeon. + +_Seb_. Haile my good Sonne! +I come to be thy ghostly Father. + +_King_. Ha! +My child? tis my _Sebastian_, or some spirit +Sent in his shape to fright me. + +_Bal_. 'Tis no gobling, Sir, feele: your owne flesh and blood, and much +younger than you tho he be bald, and calls you son. Had I bin as ready +to cut his sheeps throat as you were to send him to the shambles, he +had bleated no more. There's lesse chalke upon you[r] score of sinnes +by these round o'es. + +_King_. Oh, my dul soule, looke up; thou art somewhat lighter. +Noble _Medina_, see, _Sebastian_ lives: +_Onaelia_, cease to weepe, _Sebastian_ lives. +Fetch me my Crowne: my sweetest pretty Fryer, +Can my hands doo't, He raise thee one step higher. +Th'ast beene in heavens house all this while, sweet boy? + +_Seb_. I had but coarse cheere. + +_King_. Thou couldst nere fare better: +Religious houses are those hyves where Bees +Make honey for mens soules. I tell thee, Boy, +A Fryery is a Cube which strongly stands, +Fashioned by men, supported by heavens hands: +Orders of holy Priest-hood are as high, +I'th eyes of Angels, as a Kings dignity. +Both these unto a Crowne give the full weight, +And both are thine: you that our Contract know, +See how I scale it with this Marriage; +My blessing and Spaines kingdome both be thine. + +_Omnes_. Long live _Sebastian_! + +_Onae_. Doff that Fryers course gray, +And since hee's crown'd a king, clothe him like one. + +_King_. Oh no; those are right Soveraigne Ornaments: +Had I been cloth'd so I had never fill'd +Spaine's Chronicle with my blacke Calumny. +My worke is almost finish'd: where's my Queene? + +_Queen_. Heere, peece-meale torne by Furies. + +_King_. _Onaelia_! +Your hand, _Paulina_, too; _Onaelia_, yours: +This hand (the pledge of my twice broken faith), +By you usurp'd, is her Inheritance. +My love is turn'd, see, as my fate is turn'd: +Thus they to day laugh, yesterday which mourn'd: +I pardon thee my death. Let her be sent +Backe into Florence with a trebled dowry. +Death comes: oh, now I see what late I fear'd; +A Contract broke, tho piec'd up ne're so well, +Heaven sees, earth suffers, but it ends in hell. + (_Moritur_.) + +_Onae_. Oh, I could dye with him! + +_Queen_. Since the bright spheare +I mov'd in falls, alas, what make I here? + [_Exit_. + +_Med_. The hammers of blacke mischiefe now cease beating, +Yet some irons still are heating. You, Sir Bridegroome, +(Set all this while up as a marke to shoot at) +We here discharge you of your bed fellow: +She loves no Barbars washing. + +_Cock_. My Balls are sav'd then. + +_Med_. Be it your charge, so please you, reverend Sir, +To see the late Queene safely sent to Florence: +My Neece _Onaelia_, and that trusty Souldier, +We doe appoint to guard the infant King. +Other distractions Time must reconcile; +The State is poyson'd like a Crocodile. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +FINIS. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] The title, I suppose, of "Cuckold." + +[2] Tacitus in a few words gives a most masterly description of Poppea: +--"Huic mulieri cuncta alia fuere praeter honestum animum: quippe +mater eius, aetatis suae feminas pulchritudine supergressa, gloriam +pariter et formam dederat: opes claritudini generis sufficiebant: sermo +comis, nec absurdum ingenium: modestiam praeferre et lascivia uti: rarus +in publicum egressus, idque velata parte oris, ne satiaret aspectum, vel +quia sic decebat. Famae numquam pepercit, maritos et adulteros non +distinguens, neque affectui suo aut alieno obnoxia: unde utilitas +ostenderetur, illuc libidinem transtulit."--Ann. XIII. 45. + +[3] 4to. Why? Is he rais'd. + +[4] Cf. Dion Cassius, [Greek: X G] 20. + +[5] 4to. cleare th'ayre. + +[6] "Push" and "pish" are used indifferently by Elizabethan writers. + +[7] Cf. Verg. Aen. vi. 805-6:-- + + "Nec qui pampineis victor iuga flectit habenis, + Liber, agens celso Nysae de vertice tigres." + +[8] 4to. Turpuus. (Vid. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 20.) + +[9] Tacitus (Ann. xvi. 14) mentions an astrologer of this name, who was +banished by Nero. + +[10] Vid. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 25. + +[11] 4tos. _Servinus_. + +[12] Tacit. Ann. xv. 49. + +[13] By those "wicked armes" is meant, I suppose, the struggle between +Caesar and Pompey. Posterity will think the horrors of civil war +compensated by the pleasure of reading Lucan's epic! + +[14] 4tos. Ciria. + +[15] 4tos. beeds. + +[16] 4tos. begins. + +[17] A certain Volusius Proculus was one of the infamous agents in the +murder of Agrippina, and afterwards betrayed the fearless woman +Epicharis who confided to him the secret of Piso's conspiracy; but no +one of this name was executed by Nero. + +[18] Quy. How! bruised, &c. + +[19] Quy. Say that I had no skill!--If the reading of the 4tos. is right +the meaning must be, "As for his saying that I had no skill." + +[20] A copy of the 1633 4to. gives "shoulder-eac't," which is hardly +less intelligible than the reading in the text. Everybody knows that +Pelops received an ivory shoulder for the one that was consumed; but the +word "shoulder-packt" conveys no meaning. "Shoulder-pieced," i.e., +"fitted with an (ivory) shoulder," would be a shade more intelligible; +but it is a very ugly compound. + +[21] Dion Cassius ([Greek: XB]. 14. ed. Bekker) reports this brutal gibe +of Nero's; Rubellius Plautus was the luckless victim:--[Greek: "ho de +dae Neron kai gelota kai skommata, ta ton syngenon kaka hepoieito ton +goun Plauton apokteinas, hepeita taen kephalaen autou prosenechtheisan oi +idon, 'ouk haedein,' hephae 'oti megalaen rina eichen,' osper pheisamenos +an autou ei touto proaepistato."] + +[22] Persius' tutor, immortalised in his pupil's Fifth Satire. + +[23] Quy. with. + +[24] _Machlaean_--a word coined from [Greek: machlos] (sc. libidinosus). + +[25] Partly a translation from Persius, Sat. I. 11. 99-102:-- + + "Torva Mimalloneis implerunt cornua bombis, + Et raptum vitulo caput ablatura superbo + Bassaris, et lyncem Maenas flexura corymbis + Euion ingeminat: reparabilis assonat Echo"; + +which lines are supposed to be a parody of some verses of Nero. Persius' +comment-- + + "summa delumbe saliva + Hoc natat: in labris et in udo est Maenas et Attis; + Nec pluteum caedit, nec demorsos sapit ungues"-- + +agrees with the judgment of Tacitus (Ann. xiv. 16). Suetonius (Vit. Ner. +52), who had seen some of Nero's MSS., speaks of the extreme care that +had been given to correction; and the few verses preserved by Seneca +make against the estimate of Tacitus and Persius. + +[26] 4tos. Ennion. + +[27] Vid. Dion Cassius [Greek: XB]. 29. + +[28] 4tos. conductors. + +[29] 4tos. again. + +[30] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 48. + +[31] The 4to. points the passage thus:-- + + "The thing determinde on our meeting now, + Is of the meanes, and place, due circumstance, + As to the doing of things t'is requir'd, + So done, it names the action." + +The words "t'is requir'd ... action," I take to mean, "The assassination +must be accomplished in such a way as to appear an act of patriotism and +make the actors famous." + +[32] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 52 + +[33] Cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 49:--"Mirum et vel praecipue notabile inter +haec fuerit, nihil eum patientius quam maledicta et convitia hominum +tulisse, neque in ullos lemorem quam qui se dictis aut carminibus +lucessissent exstitisse. Multa Graece Latineque proscripta aut vulgata +sunt, sicut illa:-- + + * * * * * + _Roma domus fiet: Veios migrate Quirites, Si non et + Veios occupat ista domus_." + +[34] 4tos. _Servi_. + +[35] 4tos. Servinus. + +[36] Cf. Tac. Ann. xvi. 5; and Sueton. Vit Ner. 23. + +[37] 4to. time. + +[38] Cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 23. "Itaque et enixae quaedam in spectaculis +dicuntur, et multi taedio audiendi laudandique, clausis oppidorum +portis, aut furtim desiluisse de muro aut morte simulata funere elati." + +[39] 4tos. And. + +[40] The 4tos. give "_Agrippa_," which is nonsense. By a slip of the +tongue, Nero was going to say "Agrippina's death," when he hastily +corrected himself. Tacitus and Suetonius tell us that Nero was always +haunted with the memory of his murdered mother. + +[41] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xvi. 5. "Ferebantque Vespasianum, tamquam somno +conniveret, a Phoebo liberto increpitum aegreque meliorum precibus +obtectum, mox imminentem perniciem maiore fato effugisse." + +[42] 4tos. _Ile_. + +[43] 4to. 1624. innocents. + +[44] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xvi. 4. + +[45] 4to. I'd. + +[46] 4to. 1624. Aegamemnon. + +[47] This magnificent speech is quoted in Charles Lamb's _Specimens_. + +[48] 4tos. I'd. + +[49] "Nec quisquam defendere audebat, crebris multorum minis restinguere +prohibentium, et quia alii palam faces iaciebant atque esse sibi +auctorem vociferabantur, sive ut raptus licentius exercerent, seu +jussu."--Tac. Ann. xv. 37. + +[50] The simile is from Vergil, Aen. ii. 304-308-- + + "In segetem veluti quum flamma furentibus Austris + Incidit; aut rapidus montano flumine torrens + Sternit agros, sternit sata laeta boumque labores, + Praecipitesque trahit silvas: stupet inscius alto + Accipiens sonitum saxi de vertice pastor." + +[51] The author may have had in his mind a passage in Dion Cassius' +description of the fire:--[Greek: thorybos te oun exaisios pantachou +pantas katelambanen, kai dietrichon ohi men tae ohi de tae hosper +emplaektoi, kai allois tines epamynontes epynthanonto ta oikoi kaiomena +kai heteroi prin kai akousai hoti ton spheteron ti empepraestai, + +emanthanon, hoti apololen. XB. 16]. + +[52] 4tos. _Cannos_. + +[53] 4tos. _Allius_. + +[54] The 4tos. give "thee gets." I feel confident that my emendation +restores the true reading. + +[55] The reading of the 4tos. is the, "The most condemned," &c. A tribe +named the "Moschi" (of whom mention is made in Herodotus) dwelt a little +to the south of the Colchians. + +[56] So the 4tos. "Low hate" is nonsense. "_Long_ and native hate" would +be spiritless; while "_bow and arrow laid_ apart" involves far too +violent a change. I reluctantly give the passage up. + +[57] I suppose that the sentence is left unfinished; but perhaps it is +more likely that the text is corrupt. + +[58] Quy. I now command the _Souldiery i'the Citie_. + +[59] Sc. descendants. Vid. Nares, s.v. + +[60] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 53. + +[61] 4tos. losse. + +[62] 4tos. soft. + +[63] Quy. they.--The passage, despite its obscurity of expression, +seems to me intelligible; but I dare not venture to paraphrase it. + +[64] 4tos. are we. + +[65] "Call me cut" meant commonly nothing more than Falstaff's "call +me horse"; but as applied to Sporus the term "cutt-boy" was literally +correct. For what follows in the text cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. cap. 28. + +[66] 4to. Subius, Flavius. + +[67] Quy. "I, [sc. aye] to himselfe; 'twould make the matter +cleare," &c. + +[68] 4tos. _Gallii_. Our author is imitating Juvenal +(Sat. x. ll. 99-102):-- + + "Huius qui trahitur praetextam sumere mavis, + An Fidenarum Gabiorumque esse potestas + Et de mensura ius dicere, vasa minora + Frangere, pannosus vacuis Aedilis Ulubris?" + +[69] Cf. Tacitus, Annals, xv. 59. + +[70] 4tos. refuge. + +[71] Quy. _Euphrates_. + +[72] According to Tacitus, Piso retired to his house and there opened +his veins. Vid. Ann. xv. 59. + +[73] Cf. Shakespeare, "Make mad the guilty and appal the free." +Hamlet, II. 2. + +[74] So the 4tos; but Quy. + + "The Emperour's much pleas'd + _That_ some have named _Seneca_." + +[75] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 45; Sueton. Vit. Ner. 32. + +[76] In Tacitus' account (Ann. xv. 67) the climax is curious:-- +"'Oderam te,' inquit; 'nec quisquam tibi fidelior militum fuit dum +amari meruisti: odisse coepi, postquam parricida matris et uxoris, +auriga et histrio et incendiarius extitisti.'" + +[77] The verses would run better thus:-- + + "A feeling one; _Tigellinus_, bee't thy charge, + And let me see thee witty in't. + + _Tigell_. Come, sirrah; + Weele see." &c. + +[78] Quy. was oreheard to say. + +[79] 4tos. your. + +[80] Quy. even skies. + +[81] Quy. I'the firmament. + +[82] 4tos. loath by. + +[83] Martial, in a clever but coarse epigram (lib. xi. 56), ridicules +the Stoic's contempt of death:-- + + "Hanc tibi virtutem fracta facit urceus ansa, + Et tristis nullo qui tepet igne focus, + Et teges et cimex et nudi sponda grabati, + Et brevis atque eadem nocte dieque toga. + O quam magnus homo es, qui faece rubentis aceti + Et stipula et nigro pane carere potes. + * * * * * + Rebus in angustis facile est contemnere vitam: + Fortiter ille facit qui miser esse potest." + +[84] Cf. Juv. Sat. v. 36, 37:-- + + "Quale coronati Thrasea Helvidiusque bibebant, + Brutorum et Cassi natalibus." + +The younger Pliny (Ep. iii. 7) relates that Eilius Italicus religiously +observed Vergil's birthday. + +[85] The 4tos. punctuate thus:-- + + "Here faire _Enanthe_, whose plumpe ruddy cheeke + Exceeds the grape, it makes this; here my geyrle." + +Petronius is speaking hurriedly. He begins to answer _Enanthe's_ +question: "it makes this" (i.e. "means this"), he says, but breaks off +his explanation, and pledges his mistress. + +[86] 4tos. walles. + +[87] 4tos. Ith. + +[88] "Non cuivis homini contingit adire Corinthum." Horat. Epist. i. 17, +36 ([Greek: ou pantos andros es Korinthon esth' ho plous]). + +[89] Quy. Th'old _Anicean_ (sc. Anacreon). + +[90] A paraphrase of Horace's well-known lines: + + "Linquenda tellus, et domus, et placens + Uxor; neque harum, quas colis, arborum, + Te, praeter invisas cupressos, + Ulla brevem dominum sequeter." + +--Odes, ii. 14, ll. 21-29. + +[91] 4to. your. + +[92] 4tos. thy. + +[93] Cf. Horace, Od. i. 12, ll. 37, 38:-- + + "Regulum, et Scauros _animaeque magnae + Prodigum_ Paulum." + +[94] Vid. Tacitus, Ann. xi. 11; Sueton. Vit. Ner. 6. + +[95] 4tos. have. + +[96] 4tos. night. + +[97] The punning on the fairies' names recalls Bottom's pleasantries +(M.N.D. iii. 1), and the resemblance is certainly too close to be +accidental. + +[98] "Uncoth" here = wild, unfrequented; Cf. _As You Like It_, ii. 6, +"If this _uncouth_ forest yield anything savage," &c. + +[99] A "Hunts up" was a hunting song, a réveillée, to rouse the hunters. +An example of a "_Hunts up_" may be found, set to music by J. Bennet, in +a collection of Ravenscroft, 1614. + +[100] Quy. "kind;" but our author is not very particular about his +rhymes. + +[101] "Rascal" was the regular name for a lean deer (_As You like It_, +iii. 3, &c.). + +[102] The whole scene is printed as verse in the 4to. + +[103] This very uncommon word (French: légèreté) occurs in _Henry V_. +(iv. i. l. 23). + +[104] More commonly written "cote," a cottage. + +[105] To "draw dry foot" meant to follow by the scent. +(_Com. of Errors_, iv. 2.) + +[106] No doubt the writer had in his mind the description of +"Morpheus house" in the _Faerie Queene_ (Book i., Canto I). + +[107] "Whisht" (more commonly "whist") = hushed, stilled. Cf. Milton, +_Ode on the Nativity_:-- + + "The winds with wonder _whist_ + Smoothly the waters kist." + +[108] "Plancher" (Fr. planche) = a plank. Cf. _Arden of Feversham_, +I. i. "Whilst on the _planchers_ pants his weary body," Shakespeare +(_Measure for Measure_, iv. 1) has "a _planched_ gate." + +[109] "Incontinent" = immediately. The expression is very common +(_Richard II_., v. 6, &c.). + +[110] These verses and Frisco's "Can you blow the little horne"? are +evidently fragments of Old Ballads--to be recovered, let us hope, +hereafter. + +[111] These four lines are from the old ballad of _Fortune my foe_, +which will be found printed entire in the _Bagford Ballads_ (Ed. J.W. +Ebsworth, part iv. pp. 962-3); the music is given in Mr. W. Chappell's +_Popular Music of the Olden Time_, I. 162. Mr. Ebsworth writes me:-- +"I have ascertained (assuredly) that what I at first thought to be a +reference to 'Fortune my foe' in the Stationers' Registers, 1565-66, +entered to John Charlewood (_Arber's Transcripts_, l. 310), as 'of one +complaining of ye mutabilitie of Fortune' is _not_ 'Fortune my foe,' but +one of Lempill's ballads, printed by R. Lekpriwicke (_sic_), and still +extant in the Huth Collections--the true title being 'Ane Complaint vpon +Fortoun;' beginning 'Inconstant world, fragill and friuolus.'" + +[112] Nares quotes from Chapman's _May Day_, "Lord, how you roll in your +_rope-ripe_ terms." Minshew explains the word as "one ripe for a rope, +or for whom the gallows groans." I find the expression "to rowle in +their ropripe termes" in William Bullein's rare and curious "Dialogue +both pleasaunt and pietiful," 1573, p. 116. + +[113] A very common term for a pimp. + +[114] "Bale of dice"--a pair of dice; the expression occurs in the +_New Inn_, I. 3, &c. + +[115] This song is set to music in an old collection by Ravenscroft, +1614. + +[116] More usually written "mammets," i.e., puppets (_Rom. & Jul_. +iii. 5; though, no doubt, in _Hen. IV_., ii. 3, Gifford was right +in connecting the word with Lat. mamma). + +[117] Cf. Drayton's _Fairy Wedding_:-- + + "Besides he's deft and wondrous airy, + And of the noblest of the fairy! + Chiefe of the Crickets of much fame + In fairy a most ancient name." + +So in _Merry Wives_, v. 5, l. 47. + +[118] Quy. What kind o' God, &c. + +[119] "There is a kind of crab-tree also or _wilding_ that in like +manner beareth twice a yeare." Holland's Plinie, b. xvi. + +[120] "Assoyle" usually = _absolve_; here _resolve, explain_. + +[121] The italics are my own, as I suppose that the four lines were +intended to be sung. + +[122] 4to. It is, it is not, &c. + +[123] The sense of "fine, rare," rather than that of "frequent, +abundant" (as Nares explains), would seem to suit the passages in +Shakespeare and elsewhere where the word is used colloquially. + +[124] "Sib" = akin. Possibly the word still lingers in the North +Country: Sir Walter Scott uses it in the _Antiquary_, &c. + +[125] "Wonning" sc. dwelling (Germ. wohnen). Spenser frequently uses +the word. + +[126] A Spenserian passage (as Mr. Collier has pointed out): vid. F.Q., +B. 2. C. xii. 71. + +[127] 4to. then. + +[128] 4to. And here she woman. + +[129] "Caul" = part of a lady's head-dress: "reticulum crinale vel +retiolum," Withals' Dictionarie, 1608 (quoted by Nares). + +[130] "The battaile. The Combattantes Sir Ambrose Vaux, knight, and +Glascott the Bayley of Southwarke: the place the Rule of the Kings +Bench." + +[131] In some copies the name "John Kirke" is given in full. + +[132] _Bottom_ = a ball of worsted. George Herbert in a letter to his +mother says: "Happy is he whose _bottom_ is wound up, and laid ready +for work in the New Jerusalem." So in the _Virgin Martyr_ (v. 1),--"I, +before the Destinies my _bottom_ did wind up, would flesh myself once +more upon some one remarkable above all these." + +[133] 4to. your. + +[134] Cf. the catalogue of torments in the _Virgin Martyr_ (v. 1). + +[135] The 4to prints the passage thus:-- + + "I have now livd my full time; + Tell me, my _Henricke_, thy brave successe, + That my departing soule + May with thy story," &c. + +Several times further on I shall have to alter the irregular arrangement +of the 4to in order to restore the blank verse; but I shall not think it +necessary to note the alteration. + +[136] 4to, Horne. + +[137] 4to, Aloft. + +[138] The 4to gives '_The_ further,' and in the next line +'_Or_ further.' + +[139] The whole of this scene is printed as verse in the 4to. I have +printed the early part as prose, that the reader's eye may not be +vexed by metrical monstrosities. + +[140] Sharpe i.e. sword. Vid. Halliwell's Dictionary. + +[141] 4to. field. + +[142] Sir Thomas Browne in _Vulgar Errors_ (Book 2, cap. 5) discusses +this curious superstition at length:--'And first we hear it in every +mouth, and in many good authors read it, that a diamond, which is the +hardest of stones, not yielding unto steel, emery, or any thing but its +own powder, is yet made soft, or broke by the blood of a goat. Thus much +is affirmed by Pliny, Solinus, Albertus, Cyprian, Austin, Isidore, and +many Christian writers: alluding herein unto the heart of man, and the +precious blood of our Saviour, who was typified by the goat that was +slain, and the scape goat in the wilderness: and at the effusion of +whose blood, not only the hard hearts of his enemies relented, but the +stony rocks and veil of the temple were shattered,' &c. + +[143] The expression, to 'carry coals' (i.e. to put up with insults) is +too common to need illustration. + +[144] 4to. deaths prey. The change restores the metre. + +[145] 'Owe' for 'own' is very common in Shakespeare. + +[146] The 4to. prints this scene throughout as verse. + +[147] 'Larroones,' from Fr. _larron_ (a thief). Cf. Nabbes' _Bride_, +iii. 3. 'Remercie, Monsieur. Voe call a me Cooke now! de greasie +_Larone_!' + +[148] Quy. rogues. + +[149] Quy. had. There seems to be a reference to Stephen's martyrdom +described in _The Acts_. + +[150] "Black Jack" and "bombard" were names given to wide leathern +drinking-vessels. + +[151] A term in venery. + +[152] A hound's chaps were called "flews". + +[153] 'Sparabiles,' nails used by shoemakers. Nares quotes Herrick: + + Cob clouts his shoes, and, as the story tells, + His thumb-nailes par'd afford him sperrables.' + +The word is of uncertain derivation. + +[154] 4to. recovering. + +[155] 'Champion' is the old form of 'champain.' + +[156] 'Diet-bread' was the name given to a sort of sweet seedcake: +Vid. Nares' Glossary. + +[157] Quy. Oh! what cold, famine, &c. + +[158] For an account of the "bezoar nut" and the Unicorn's horn vid. +Sir Thomas Browne's "Vulgar Errors," book iii. cap. xxiii. + +[159] Vid. Liddell and Scott, s.v. [Greek: hypostasis]. + +[160] Sc. diaphoretick ([Greek: diaphoraetikos]), causing perspiration. + +[161] _Rabby Roses_ is no doubt a corruption of _Averroes_, the famous +editor of Aristotle, and author of numerous treatises on theological and +medical subjects. + +[162] Sir Thomas Browne (_Vulgar Errors_, I. vii.) quotes from Pierius +another strange cure for a scorpion's bite, "to sit upon an ass with +one's face towards his tail, for so the pain leaveth the man and passeth +into the beast." + +[163] "Bandogs" (or, more correctly speaking, "band-dogs")--dogs that +had to be kept chained on account of their fierceness. + +[164] (4to): men. + +[165] 'Carbonardoed'--cut into collops for grilling: a common +expression. + +[166] 'Rochet.' + +"A linen vest, like a surplice, worn by bishops, under their satin +robes. The word, it is true, is not obsolete, nor the thing disused, but +it is little known."--Nares. ("Lent unto thomas Dowton, the 11 of Aprel +1598, to bye tafitie to macke a _Rochet_ for the beshoppe in earlle good +wine, xxiiii s." Henslowe's Diary, ed. Collier, p. 122.) + +[167] (4to): by. + +[168] The word "portage" occurs in a difficult passage of +_Pericles_, iii. 1,-- + + "Even at the first + Thy loss is more than can thy _portage_ quit + With all thou canst find here." + +If there be no corruption in the passage of _Pericles_, the meaning can +only be (as Steevens explained) "thy safe arrival at the port of life." +Our author's use of the word "portage" is even more perplexing than +Shakespeare's; "Thy portion" would give excellent sense; but, with the +passage of _Pericles_ before us, we cannot suppose that there is a +printer's error. [In _Henry V_. 3, i, we find 'portage' for +'port-holes.'] + +[169] Quy. ever? + +[170] The subst. _mouse_ is sometimes found as an innocent term of +endearment, but more often in a wanton sense (like the Lat. passer). + +[171] 'Felt locks'--matted locks, commonly called "elf-locks": the +various forms "felted," "felter'd" and "feutred" are found. + +[172] 'Stavesucre' (said to be a corruption of [Greek: staphis]. and +usually written 'Staves-acre') a kind of lark-spur considered +efficacious in destroying lice. Cf. Marlowe's _Dr. Faustus_ (i. 4)-- +'Stavesacre? that's good to kill vermin; then belike, if I serve you, +I shall be lousy.' + +[173] Quy. early-rioting. + +[174] Ought we to read 'fins'? Webster (_Duchess of Malfi_, ii. 1) has +the expression the '_fins_ of her eye-lids'; it is found also in the +_Malcontent_ (i. 1), The confusion between the 'f' and the long 's' is +very common. + +[175] Shakespeare uses the verb 'fang' (_Timon of Athens_, iv. 3) in the +sense of 'seize, clutch.' + +[176] Varlet--'the serjeant-at-mace to the city counters was so called,' +Halliwell (who, however, gives no instance of this use). + +[177] 'Trunk-hose' wide breeches stuffed with wool, &c. + +[178] I can make nothing of this verse: the obscurity is not at all +removed by putting a comma after 'rules.' Doubtless the passage is +corrupt. + +[179] _Our rest we set_ in pleasing, &c., i.e., we have made up our +mind to please. The metaphor is taken from primero (a game, seemingly, +not unlike the Yankee 'poker'), where to 'set up rest' meant to stand +on one's cards; but the expression was also used in a military sense. +Vid: Furness' Variorum Shakesp., _Rom. & Iul_., iv. 5. + +[180] In Vol. IX. of the _Transactions of the Royal Historical Society_ +is an elaborate paper (since reprinted for private circulation) by the +Rev. F.G. Fleay 'On the Actor Lists, 1538-1642.' The learned writer +tells us nothing new about Samuel Rowley; but his essay well deserves +a careful study. + +[181] Quy. a _fury's_ face. + +[182] 'Lacrymae'--one of the many allusions to John Dowland's musical +work of that name. + +[183] 'Laugh and lay down' (more usually written 'lie down') was the +name of a game at cards. A prose-tract by 'C.T.,' published in 1605, is +entitled 'Laugh and Lie Down: or the World's Folly.' The expression, it +need hardly be said, is often used in a wanton sense. + +[184] 4to. joyes. + +[185] Quy. prove. + +[186] Much of this scene is found, almost word for word, in colloquy 4 +of John Day's _Parliament of Bees_. + +[187] One of the characters in the _New Inn_ is Fly, 'the Parasite of +the Inn'; and in the _Virgin Martyr_ (ii. 2) we also find the word 'fly' +used (like Lat. musca) for an inquisitive person. In the text I suspect +we should read 'fly-about' for flye-boat. + +[188] 'Blacke gard' was the name given to the lowest drudges who rode +amongst the pots and pans in royal processions: vid. Gifford's _Jonson_, +II. 169. + +[189] The compositor seems to have been dozing: the word 'Vaw' points to +the reading 'Vaward,' and probably the passage ran--'this the Vaward, +this the Rearward.' + +[190] 'Totter'd' i.e. tatter'd. Cf. _Richard II_. (iii. 3) 'the castle's +totter'd battlements' (the reading of the 4to.; the Folios give +'tatter'd'). In _King John_ (v. 5) I think, with Staunton, that the +expression 'tott'ring colours' means 'drooping colours' rather than, as +usually explained, 'tattered.' + +[191] 'Spurn-point--An old game mentioned in a curious play called +_Apollo Shroving_, 12mo., Lond. 1627, p. 49.' Halliwell. + +[192] 'Grandoes'--I find the word so spelt in Heywood's _A Challenge for +Beauty_--'I, and I assure your Ladiship, ally'de to the best Grandoes of +_Spaine_.' (_Works_, v. 18.) + +[193] 4to. _Albia_. + +[194] Cornego is telling the Captain to 'duck'--to make his bow--to +Onaelia. + +[195] Nares quotes from the _Owles Almanacke_, 1618, p. 6, an allusion +to this worthy,--'Since the _German fencer_ cudgell'd most of our +English fencers, now about 5 moneths past.' + +[196] It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that 'bastard' was the +name of a sweet Spanish wine. + +[197] 'Goll'--A cant expression for 'hand': it is found continually in +our old writers. + +[198] The words 'Some scurvy thing, I warrant' should no doubt be given +to Cornego. + +[199] The conversation between Onaelia and the Poet very closely +resembles, in parts, _Character_ 5 of John Day's _Parliament of Bees_. + +[200] 4to lanch. + +[201] 'The Hanging Tune' i.e. the tune of 'Fortune my Foe,' to which +were usually sung ballads relating to murders. The music of 'Fortune my +Foe,' is given in Mr. Chappell's 'Popular Music of the Olden Time'; and +the words may be seen in the 'Bayford Ballads' (edited by Mr. Ebsworth, +our greatest master of ballad-lore). + +[202] Cf. Dekker's _Match me in London_ (Dramatic Works, iv. 180)-- + + 'I doe speake _English_ + When I'de move pittie; when dissemble, _Irish_; + _Dutch_ when I reele; and tho I feed on scalions + _If I should brag Gentility I'de gabble Welch_.' + +[203] Cf. Day's _Parliament of Bees_, Character 4. + +[204] 'Estridge' is the common form of 'ostrich' among the Elizabethans +(I Henry IV., iv. 1, &c). + +[205] "Poire d'angoisse. _A choke-Peare; or a wild soure Peare_." +Cotgrave. + +[206] 4to. Moble. + +[207] Quy. head. + +[208] "Prick-song"--"harmony written or pricked down, in opposition to +plain-song, where the descant rested with the will of the singer." +Chappell's _Popular Music_, &c., I. 51. + +[209] The keys of the 'virginal' were called 'Jacks.' For a description +of the 'virginal' see Mr. Chappell's _Popular Music_, &c. I, 103. + +[210] 'Coranta' i.e. curranto, news-sheet: Ben Jonson's 'Staple of News' +gives us a good notion of the absurdities that used to be circulated. + +[211] 'Linstocke' (or, more correctly, 'lint-stock')--a stick for +holding a gunner's match. + +[212] Toot--to pry into: 'tooter' was formerly the name for a 'tout' +(vid. Todd's Johnson). + +[213] 'Aphorisme. _An Aphorisme (or generall rule in Physicke)_.' +Cotgrave. + +[214] 4to. creaking. + +[215] Rosemary was used at marriages and funerals. + +[216] Day dedicates his _Humour out of Breath_ to 'Signeor Nobody': +'Signeor No,' the shorter form, is not unfrequently found (e.g. _Ile of +Guls_, p. 59--my reprint). To whatever advantage _No_ may have appeared +on the stage, he certainly is a pitiful object in print. + +[217] _Baltazar's_ notions of Geography are vague. A most interesting +account of Bantam, the capital of Java, may be seen in Vol. v. of +Hakluyt's 'Collection of early Voyages,' ed. 1812. It occurs in the +_Description of a Voyage made by certain Ships of Holland to the East +Indies &c. ... Translated out of Dutch into English by W.P. London_. +1589. 'The towne,' we are told, 'is not built with streetes nor the +houses placed in order, but very foule, lying full of filthy water, +which men must passe through or leap over for they have no bridges.' +For the people--'it is a very lying and theevish kind of people, not +in any sort to be trusted.' + +[218] The 'magical weed' I take to be hemlock; cf. Ben Jonson's _Masque +of Queens_-- + + 'And I have been plucking, plants among, + Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue + Night-shade, moon-wort, libbard's bane + And twice, by the dogs, was like to be ta'en.' + +[219] The poisoned 'Spanish fig' acquired considerable notoriety among +the early Dramatists: cf. Webster, _White_ Devil (p. 30, ed. Dyce, +1857.) 'I do look now for a _Spanish fig_ or an Italian salad daily': +Dekker. (iv. 213, Pearson) 'Now doe I looke for a fig': whether Pistol's +allusion (Henry V, iii. 6) is to the poisoned fig may be doubted. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Old English Plays, Vol. I, by Various + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10388 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4b4bb95 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10388 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10388) diff --git a/old/10388-8.txt b/old/10388-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11bb461 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10388-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13926 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Old English Plays, Vol. I, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Old English Plays, Vol. I + A Collection of Old English Plays + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December 5, 2003 [EBook #10388] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. I *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +A COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. I + +In Four Volumes + + +EDITED BY + +A.H. BULLEN. + + +1882-1889 + + + +CONTENTS: + +The Tragedy of Nero +The Mayde's Metamorphosis +The Martyr'd Souldier +The Noble Souldier + + + + +_PREFACE_. + + +Most of the Plays in the present Collection have not been reprinted, +and some have not been printed at all. In the second volume there will +be published for the first time a fine tragedy (hitherto quite unknown) +by Massinger and Fletcher, and a lively comedy (also quite unknown) +by James Shirley. The recovery of these two pieces should be of +considerable interest to all students of dramatic literature. + +The Editor hopes to give in Vol. III. an unpublished play of Thomas +Heywood. In the fourth volume there will be a reprint of the _Arden of +Feversham_, from the excessively rare quarto of 1592. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE _TRAGEDY OF NERO_. + + +Of the many irreparable losses sustained by classical literature few are +more to be deplored than the loss of the closing chapters of Tacitus' +_Annals_. Nero, it is true, is a far less complex character than +Tiberius; and there can be no question that Tacitus' sketch of Nero is +less elaborate than his study of the elder tyrant. Indeed, no historical +figure stands out for all time with features of such hideous vividness +as Tacitus' portrait of Tiberius; nowhere do we find emphasised with +such terrible earnestness, the stoical poet's anathema against tyrants +"Virtutem videant intabescantque relicta." Other writers would have +turned back sickened from the task of following Tiberius through mazes +of cruelty and craft. But Tacitus pursues his victim with the patience +of a sleuth-hound; he seems to find a ruthless satisfaction in stripping +the soul of its coverings; he treads the floor of hell and watches with +equanimity the writhings of the damned. The reader is at once strangely +attracted and repelled by the pages of Tacitus; there is a weird +fascination that holds him fast, as the glittering eye of the Ancient +Mariner held the Wedding Guest. It was owing partly, no doubt, to the +hideousness of the subject that the Elizabethan Dramatists shrank from +seeking materials in the _Annals_; but hardly the abominations of Nero +or Tiberius could daunt such daring spirits as Webster or Ford. Rather +we must impute their silence to the powerful mastery of Tacitus; it was +awe that held them from treading in the historian's steps. Ben Jonson +ventured on the enchanted ground; but not all the fine old poet's wealth +of classical learning, not his observance of the dramatic proprieties +nor his masculine intellect, could put life into the dead bones of +Sejanus or conjure up the muffled sinister figure of Tiberius. Where Ben +Jonson failed, the unknown author of the _Tragedy of Nero_ has, to some +extent, succeeded. + +After reading the first few opening-lines the reader feels at once that +this forgotten old play is the work of no ordinary man. The brilliant +scornful figure of Petronius, a character admirably sustained +throughout, rivets his attention from the first. In the blank verse +there is the true dramatic ring, and the style is "full and heightened." +As we read on we have no cause for disappointment. The second scene +which shows us the citizens hurrying to witness the triumphant entry of +Nero, is vigorous and animated. Nero's boasting is pitched in just the +right key; bombast and eloquence are equally mixt. If he had been living +in our own day Nero might possibly have made an ephemeral name for +himself among the writers of the Sub-Swinburnian School. His longer +poems were, no doubt, nerveless and insipid, deserving the scornful +criticism of Tacitus and Persius; but the fragments preserved by Seneca +shew that he had some skill in polishing far-fetched conceits. Our +playwright has not fallen into the error of making Nero "out-Herod +Herod"; through the crazy raptures we see the ruins of a nobler nature. +Poppaea's arrowy sarcasms, her contemptuous impatience and adroit tact +are admirable. The fine irony of the following passage is certainly +noticeable:-- + + "_Pop_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe + Honors, safe spoyles, worm without dust or blood. + + _Nero_. What, mocke ye me, Poppaea. + + _Pop_. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in earnest: + I hate that headie and adventurous crew + That goe to loose their owne to purchase but + The breath of others and the common voyce; + Them that will loose their hearing for a sound, + That by death onely seeke to get a living, + Make skarres their beautie and count losse of Limmes + The commendation of a proper man, + And so goe halting to immortality,-- + Such fooles I love worse then they doe their lives." + +It is indeed strange to find such lines as those in the work of an +unknown author. The verses gain strength as they advance, and the +diction is terse and keen. This one short extract would suffice to show +that the writer was a literary craftsman of a very high order. + +In the fourth scene, where the conspirators are met, the writer's power +is no less strikingly shown. Here, if anywhere, his evil genius might +have led him astray; for no temptation is stronger than the desire to +indulge in rhetorical displays. Even the author of _Bothwell_, despite +his wonderful command of language, wearies us at times by his vehement +iteration. Our unknown playwright has guarded himself against this +fault; and, steeped as he was to the lips in classical learning, his +abstinence must have cost him some trouble. My notes will shew that he +had not confined himself to Tacitus, but had studied Suetonius and Dion +Cassius, Juvenal and Persius. He makes no parade of his learning, but we +see that he has lived among his characters, leaving no source of +information unexplored. The meeting of the conspirators is brought +before our eyes with wonderful vividness. Scevinus' opening speech glows +and rings with indignation. Seneca, in more temperate language, bewails +the fall of the high hopes that he had conceived of his former pupil, +finely moralizing that "High fortunes, like strong wines, do trie their +vessels." Some spirited lines are put into Lucan's mouth:-- + + "But to throw downe the walls and Gates of Rome + To make an entrance for an Hobby-horse; + To vaunt to th'people his ridiculous spoyles; + To come with Lawrell and with Olyves crown'd + For having been the worst of all the singers, + Is beyond Patience!" + +In another passage the grandiloquence and the vanity of the poet of the +_Pharsalia_ are well depicted. + +The second act opens with Antonius' suit to Poppaea, which is full of +passion and poetry, but is not allowed to usurp too much room in the +progress of the play. Then, in fine contrast to the grovelling servility +of the Emperor's creatures, we see the erect figure of the grand stoic +philosopher, Persius' tutor, Cornutus, whose free-spokenness procures +him banishment. Afterwards follows a second conference of the +conspirators, in which scene the author has followed closely in the +steps of Tacitus. + +One of the most life-like passages in the play is at the beginning of +the third act, where Nimphidius describes to Poppaea how the weary +audience were imprisoned in the theatre during Nero's performance, with +guards stationed at the doors, and spies on all sides scanning each +man's face to note down every smile or frown. Our author draws largely +upon Tacitus and the highly-coloured account of Suetonius; but he has, +besides, a telling way of his own, and some of his lines are very happy. +Poppaea's wit bites shrewdly; and even Nimphidius' wicked breast must +have been chilled at such bitter jesting as:-- + + "How did our Princely husband act _Orestes_? + Did he not wish againe his Mother living? + _Her death would add great life unto his part_." + +As Nero approaches his crowning act of wickedness, the burning of Rome, +his words assume a grim intensity. The invocation to the severe powers +is the language of a man at strife at once with the whole world and +himself. In the representation of the burning of Rome it will perhaps be +thought that the author hardly rises to the height of his theme. The +Vergilian simile put into the mouth of Antonius is distinctly misplaced; +but as our author so seldom offends in this respect he may be pardoned +for the nonce. It may seem a somewhat crude treatment to introduce a +mother mourning for her burnt child, and a son weeping over the body of +his father; but the naturalness of the language and the absence of +extravagance must be commended. Some of the lines have the ring of +genuine pathos, as here:-- + + "Where are thy counsels, where thy good examples? + _And that kind roughness of a Father's anger_?" + +The scene immediately preceding contains the noble speech of Petronius +quoted by Charles Lamb in the _Specimens_. In a space of twenty lines +the author has concentrated a world of wisdom. One knows not whether to +admire more the justness of the thought or the exquisite finish of the +diction. Few finer things have been said on the _raison d'�tre_ of +tragedy from the time when Aristotle in the _Poetics_ formulated his +memorable dictum. The admirable rhythmical flow should be noted. There +is a rare suppleness and strength in the verses; we could not put one +line before another without destroying the effect of the whole; no verse +stands out obstinately from its fellows, but all are knit firmly, yet +lightly, together: and a line of magnificent strength fitly closes a +magnificent passage. Hardly a sonnet of Shakespeare or Mr. Rossetti +could be more perfect. + +At the beginning of the fourth act, when the freedman Milichus discloses +Piso's conspiracy, Nero's trepidation is well depicted. It is curious +that among the conspirators the author should not have introduced the +dauntless woman, Epicharis, who refused under the most cruel tortures to +betray the names of her accomplices, and after biting out her tongue +died from the sufferings that she had endured on the rack. "There," as +mad Hieronymo said, "you could show a passion." Even Tacitus, who +upbraids the other conspirators with pusillanimity, marks his admiration +of this noble woman. No reader will quarrel with the playwright if he +has thought fit to paint the conspirators in brighter colours than the +historian had done. When Scevinus is speaking we seem to be listening to +the voice of Shakespeare's Cassius: witness the exhortation to Piso,-- + + "O _Piso_ thinke, + Thinke on that day when in the _Parthian_ fields + Thou cryedst to th'flying Legions to turne + And looke Death in the face; he was not grim, + But faire and lovely when he came in armes." + +The character of Piso, for whom Tacitus shows such undisguised contempt, +is drawn with kindliness and sympathy. Seneca, too, who meets with +grudging praise from the stern historian, stands out ennobled in the +play. His bearing in the presence of death is admirably dignified; and +the polite philosopher, whose words were so faultless and whose deeds +were so faulty, could hardly have improved upon the chaste diction of +the farewell address assigned him by the playwright. + +While Seneca's grave wise words are still ringing in our ears we are +called to watch a leave-taking of a different kind. No reader of the +_Annals_ can ever forget the strange description of the end of +Petronius;--how the man whose whole life had "gone, like a revel, by" +neither faltered, when he heard his doom pronounced, nor changed a whit +his wonted gaiety; but dying, as he had lived, in abandoned luxury, sent +under seal to the emperor, in lieu of flatteries, the unblushing record +of their common vices. The obscure playwright is no less impressive than +the world-renowned historian. While Antonius and Enanthe are picturing +to themselves the consternation into which Petronius will be thrown by +the emperor's edict, the object of their commiseration presents himself. +Briefly dismissing the centurion, he turns with kindling cheek to his +scared mistress--"Come, let us drink and dash the posts with wine!" +Then he discourses on the blessings of death; he begins in a +semi-ironical vein, but soon, forgetful of his auditors, is borne away +on the wings of ecstacy. The intense realism of the writing is +appalling. He speaks as a "prophet new inspired," and we listen in +wonderment and awe. The language is amazingly strong and rich, and the +imagination gorgeous. + +At the beginning of the fifth act comes the news of the rising of Julius +Vindex. Like a true coward Nero makes light of the distant danger; but +when the rumours fly thick and fast he gives way to womanish +passionateness, idly upbraiding the gods instead of consulting for his +own safety. His despair and terror when he perceives the inevitable doom +are powerfully rendered. The fear of the after-world makes him long for +annihilation; his imagination presents to him "the furies arm'd with +linkes, with whippes, with snakes," and he dreads to meet his mother and +those "troopes of slaughtered friends" before the tribunal of the Judge + + "That will not leave unto authoritie, + Nor favour the oppressions of the great." + +But, fine as it undoubtedly is, the closing scene of the play bears no +comparison with the pathetic narrative of Suetonius. Riding out, +muffled, from Rome amid thunder and lightning, attended but by four +followers, the doomed emperor hears from the neighbouring camp the +shouts of the soldiers cursing the name of Nero and calling down +blessings on Galba. Passing some wayfarers on the road, he hears one of +them whisper, "Hi Neronem persequuntur;" and another asks, "Ecquid in +urbe novi de Nerone?" Further on his horse takes fright, terrified by +the stench from a corpse that lay in the road-side: in the confusion the +emperor's face is uncovered, and at that moment he is recognized and +saluted by a Praetorian soldier who is riding towards the City. Reaching +a by-path, they dismount and make their way hardly through reeds and +thickets. When his attendant, Phaon, urged him to conceal himself in a +sandpit, Nero "negavit se vivum sub terram iturum;" but soon, creeping +on hands and knees into a cavern's mouth, he spread a tattered coverlet +over himself and lay down to rest. And now the pangs of hunger and +thirst racked him; but he refused the coarse bread that his attendants +offered, only taking a draught of warm water. Then he bade his +attendants dig his grave and get faggots and fire, that his body might +be saved from indignities; and while these preparations were being made +he kept moaning "qualis artifex pereo!" Presently comes a messenger +bringing news that Nero had been adjudged an "enemy" by the senate and +sentenced to be punished "more majorum." Enquiring the nature of the +punishment, and learning that it consisted in fastening the criminal's +neck to a fork and scourging him, naked, to death, the wretched emperor +hastily snatched a pair of daggers and tried the edges; but his courage +failed him and he put them by, saying that "not yet was the fatal moment +at hand." At one time he begged some one of his attendants to show him +an example of fortitude by dying first; at another he chid himself for +his own irresolution, exclaiming: [Greek: "ou prepei Neroni, ou +prepei--naephein dei en tois toioutois--age, egeire seauton."] But now +were heard approaching the horsemen who had been commissioned to bring +back the emperor alive. The time for wavering was over: hurriedly +ejaculating the line of Homer, + + [Greek: "Hippon m'okypodon amphi ktypos ouata ballei,"] + +he drove the steel into his throat. To the centurion, who pretended that +he had come to his aid and who vainly tried to stanch the wound, he +replied "_Sero_, et _Haec est fides_!" and expired. + +Such is the tragic tale of horror told by Suetonius. Nero's last words +in the play "O _Rome_, farewell," &c., seem very poor to "_Sero_ et _Haec +est fides_"; but, if the playwright was young and inexperienced, we can +hardly wonder that his strength failed him at this supreme moment. +Surely the wonder should rather be that we find so many noble passages +throughout this anonymous play. Who the writer may have been I dare not +conjecture. In his fine rhetorical power he resembles Chapman; but he +had a far truer dramatic gift than that great but chaotic writer. He is +never tiresome as Chapman is, who, when he has said a fine thing, seems +often to set himself to undo the effect. His gorgeous imagination and +his daring remind us of Marlowe; the leave-taking of Petronius is +certainly worthy of Marlowe. He is like Marlowe, too, in another +way,--he has no comic power and (wiser, in this respect, than Ford) is +aware of his deficiency. We find in _Nero_ none of those touches of +swift subtle pathos that dazzle us in the _Duchess of Malfy_; but we +find strokes of sarcasm no less keen and trenchant. Sometimes in the +ring of the verse and in turns of expression, we seem to catch +Shakespearian echoes; as here-- + + "Staid men suspect their wisedome or their faith, + To whom our counsels we have not reveald; + And while (our party seeking to disgrace) + They traitors call us, each man treason praiseth + _And hateth faith, when Piso is a traitor_." (iv. i); + +or here-- + + "'Cause you were lovely therefore did I love: + O, if to Love you anger you so much, + You should not have such cheekes nor lips to touch: + You should not have your snow nor curral spy'd;-- + _If you but look on us, in vain you chide: + We must not see your Face, nor heare your speech: + Now, while you Love forbid, you Love doe teach_." + +I am inclined to think that the tragedy of _Nero_ was the first and last +attempt of some young student, steeped in classical learning and +attracted by the strange fascination of the _Annals_,--of one who, +failing to gain a hearing at first, never courted the breath of +popularity again; just as the author of _Joseph and his Brethren_, when +his noble poem fell still-born from the press, turned contemptuously +away and preserved thenceforward an unbroken silence. It should be +noticed that the 4to. of 1633 is not really a new edition; it is merely +the 4to. of 1624, with a new title-page. In a copy bearing the later +date I found a few unimportant differences of reading; but no student of +the Elizabethan drama needs to be reminded that _variae lectiones_ not +uncommonly occur in copies of the same edition. The words "newly written" +on the title-page are meant to distinguish the _Tragedy of Nero_ from +the wretched _Tragedy of Claudius Tiberius Nero_ published in 1607. + +But now I will bring my remarks to a close. It has been at once a pride +and a pleasure to me to rescue this fine old play from undeserved +oblivion. There is but one living poet whose genius could treat worthily +the tragical story of Nero's life and death. In his three noble sonnets, +"The Emperor's Progress," Mr. Swinburne shows that he has pondered the +subject deeply: if ever he should give us a Tragedy of Nero, we may be +sure that one more deathless contribution would be added to our dramatic +literature. + + + + +_Addenda_ and _Corrigenda_. + + +After _Nero_ had been printed I found among the Egerton MSS. (No. 1994), +in the British Museum, a transcript in a contemporary hand. The precious +folio to which it belongs contains fifteen plays: of these some will be +printed entire in Vols. II and III, and a full account of the other +pieces will be given in an appendix to Vol. II. The transcript of _Nero_ +is not by any means so accurate as the printed copy; and sometimes we +meet with the most ridiculous mistakes. For instance, on p. 82 for +"Beauties sweet _Scarres_" the MS. gives "Starres"; on p. 19 for "Nisa" +("not _Bacchus_ drawn from _Nisa_") we find "Nilus"; and in the line +"Nor us, though _Romane, Lais_ will refuse" (p. 81) the MS. pointlessly +reads "Ladies will refuse." On the other hand, many of the readings are +a distinct improvement, and I am glad to find some of my own emendations +confirmed. But let us start _ab initio_:-- + +p. 13, l. 4. 4to. Imperiall tytles; MS. Imperial stuffe. + +p. 14, l. 3. 4to. small grace; MS. sale grace.--The allusion in the +following line to the notorious "dark lights" makes the MS. reading +certain.--Lower down for "and other of thy blindnesses" the MS. gives +"another": neither reading is intelligible. + +p. 17, l. 5. MS. rightly gives "_cleave_ the ayre." + +p. 30, l. 2. "Fatu[m']st in partibus illis || Quas sinus abscondit. +Petron."--added in margin of MS. + +p. 31, l. 17. 4to. _or_ bruised in my fall; MS. _I_ bruised in my +fall! + +p. 32, l. 4. 4to. Shoulder pack't Peleus; MS. Shoulder peac'd. The +MS. confirms my emendation "shoulder-piec'd." + +p. 32, l. 13. 4to. shoutes and noyse; MS. shoutes and triumphs.--From +this point to p. 39 (last line but one) the MS. is defective. + +p. 40, l. 8. 4to. _our_ visitation; MS. _or_ visitation. + +p. 42, l. 11. 4to. others; MS. ours. + +p. 46, l. 22. 4to. Wracke out; MS. wreake not. + +p. 47, l. 17. 4to. Toth' the point of _Agrippa_; MS. tooth' +prince [sic] of Agrippinas. + +p. 54, l. 2. 4to. _Pleides_ burnes; _Jupiter Saturne_ burnes; MS. +_Alcides_ burnes, _Jupiter Stator_ burnes. + +p. 54, l. 23. 4to. thee gets; in MS. _gets_ has been corrected, by +a different hand, into _Getes_. + +p. 54, l. 26. 4to. the most condemned; MS. the ------ condemned: +a blank is unfortunately left in the MS. + +p. 56, l. 20. 4to. writhes; MS. wreathes. + +p. 59, l. 1. MS. I now command the souldyer _of the_ Cyttie. + +p. 61, l. 13. The MS. preserves the three following lines, not found in +the printed copy-- + + "High spirits soaring still at great attempts, + And such whose wisdomes, to their other wrongs, + Distaste the basenesse of the government." + +p. 62, l. 15. 4to. are we; MS. arowe. + +p. 66, l. 4 "Sed quis custodiet ipsos || Custodes. Juvenal"--noted in +margin of MS. + +p. 68, l. 15. 4to. Galley-asses? MS. gallowses. + +p. 69, l. 1. The MS. makes the difficulty even greater by reading-- + + "Silver colour [sic] on the _Medaean_ fields + Not _Tiber_ colour." + +p. 75, l. 2. 4to. One that in whispering oreheard; MS. one that this +fellow whispring I oreharde. + +p. 78, l. 22. 4to. from whence _it_ first let down; MS. from whence _at_ +first let down. + +p. 80. In note (1) for "Eilius Italicus" read "Silius Italicus." + +p. 127. In note (2) for "_Henry IV_" read _I Henry IV_. + +p. 182, l. 6. Dele [?]. The sense is quite plain if we remember that +soldiers degraded on account of misconduct were made "pioners": vid. +commentators on _Othello_, iii. 3. Hence "pioner" is used for "the +meanest, most ignorant soldier." + +p. 228. In note (2) for "earlle good wine" read "Earlle good-wine." + +p. 236. In note (2) after "[Greek: _staphis_] and" add "[Greek: +_agria_]." + +p. 255. The lines "To the reader of this Play" are also found at the end +of T. Heywood's "Royal King and Loyal Subject." + +p. 257, l. 1. I find (on turning to Mr. Arbor's _Transcript_) that the +_Noble Spanish Souldier_ had been previously entered on the Stationers' +Registers (16 May, 1631), by John Jackman, as a work of Dekker's. Since +the sheets have been passing through the press, I have become convinced +that Dekker's share was more considerable than I was willing to allow in +the prefatory _Note_. + +p. 276. Note (2) is misleading; the reading of the 4to "flye-boat" is no +doubt right. "Fly-boat" comes from Span. filibote, flibote--a +fast-sailing vessel. The Dons hastily steer clear of the rude soldier. + +p. 294. In note (1) for "Bayford ballads" read "Bagford Ballads." + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF NERO, + + +_Newly Written_. + + +Imprinted at _London_ by _Augustine Mathewes_, and _John Norton_, for +_Thomas Jones_, and are to bee sold at the blacke Raven in the Strand, +1624. + + + + +The Tragedie of Nero. + + + +_Actus Primus_. + + + Enter _Petronius Arbyter, Antonius Honoratus_. + +_Petron_. Tush, take the wench +I showed thee now, or else some other seeke. +What? can your choler no way be allayed +But with Imperiall tytles? +Will you more tytles[1] unto _Caesar_ give? + +_Anto_. Great are thy fortunes _Nero_, great thy power, +Thy Empyre lymited with natures bounds; +Upon thy ground the Sunne doth set and ryse; +The day and night are thine, +Nor can the Planets, wander where they will, +See that proud earth that feares not _Caesars_ name. +Yet nothing of all this I envy thee; +But her, to whom the world unforst obayes, +Whose eye's more worth then all it lookes upon; +In whom all beautyes Nature hath enclos'd +That through the wide Earth or Heaven are dispos'd. + +_Petron_. Indeed she steales and robs each part o'th world +With borrowed beauties to enflame thine eye: +The Sea, to fetch her Pearle, is div'd into; +The Diomond rocks are cut to make her shine; +To plume her pryde the Birds do naked sing: +When my Enanthe, in a homely gowne-- + +_Anto_. Homely, I faith. + +_Petron_. I, homely in her gowne, +But looke vpon her face and that's set out +With no small grace; no vayled shadowes helpe. +Foole! that hadst rather with false lights and darke +Beguiled be then see the ware thou buyest. + + _Poppea_ royally attended, and passe over the Stage in State. + +_Anto_. Great Queene[2], whom Nature made to be her glory, +Fortune got eies and came to be thy servant, +Honour is proud to be thy tytle; though +Thy beauties doe draw up my soule, yet still +So bright, so glorious is thy Maiestie +That it beates downe againe my clyming thoughts. + +_Petron_. Why, true; +And other of thy blindnesses thou seest[?] +Such one to love thou dar'st not speake unto. +Give me a wench that will be easily had +Not woed with cost, and being sent for comes: +And when I have her foulded in mine armes +Then _Cleopatra_ she, or _Lucres_ is; +Ile give her any title. + +_Anto_. Yet not so much her greatnesse and estate +My hopes disharten as her chastitie. + +_Petron_. Chastitie! foole! a word not knowne in Courts. +Well may it lodge in meane and countrey homes +Where povertie and labour keepes them downe, +Short sleepes and hands made hard with _Thuscan_ Woll, +But never comes to great mens Pallaces +Where ease and riches stirring thoughts beget, +Provoking meates and surfet wines inflame; +Where all there setting forth's but to be wooed, +And wooed they would not be but to be wonne. +Will one man serve _Poppea_? nay, thou shalt +Make her as soone contented with an [one?] eye. + + _Nimphidius_ to them. + +_Nimph_. Whil'st _Nero_ in the streetes his Pageants shewes +I to his fair wives chambers sent for am. +You gracious Starres that smiled on my birth, +And thou bright Starre more powerful then them all, +Whose favouring smiles have made me what I am, +Thou shalt my God, my Fate and fortune be. + [Ex. _Nimph_. + +_Anto_. How sausely yon fellow +Enters the Empresse Chamber. + +_Petron_. I, and her too, _Antonius_, knowest thou him? + +_Anto_. What? knowe the only favorite of the Court? +Indeed, not many dayes ago thou mightest +Have not unlawfully askt that question. + +_Petron_. Why is he rais'd?[3] + +_Anto_. That have I sought in him +But never peece of good desert could find. +He is _Nimphidia's_ sonne, the free'd woman, +Which basenesse to shake off he nothing hath +But his own pride? + +_Petron_. You remember when _Gallus, Celsus_, +And others too, though now forgotten, were +Great in _Poppeas_ eyes? + +_Anton_. I doe, and did interpret it in them +An honorable favor she bare vertue. +Or parts like vertue. + +_Petron_. The cause is one of theirs and this man's Grace. +I once was great in wavering smiles of Court; +I fell, because I knew. Since have I given +My time to my owne pleasures, and would now +Advise thee, too, to meane and safe delights: +The thigh's as soft the sheepes back covereth +As that with crimson and with Gold adorn'd. +Yet, cause I see that thy restraind desires +Cannot their owne way choose, come thou with me; +Perhaps He shew thee means of remedie. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + +1 _Rom_. Whither so fast, man? Whither so fast? + +2 _Rom_. Whither but where your eares do lead you? +To _Neros_ Triumphs and the shouts you heare. + +1 _Rom_ Why? comes he crown'd with _Parthian_ overthrow +And brings he _Volegesus_ with him chain'd? + +2 _Rom_. _Parthian_ overthrowne! why he comes crownd +For victories which never Roman wonne; +For having Greece in her owne arts overthrowne, +In Singing, Dauncing, Horse-rase, Stage-playing. +Never, O Rome had never such a Prince. + +1 _Rom_. Yet, I have heard, our ancestors were crown'd +For other Victories. + +2 _Rom_. None of our ancestors were ere like him. + + _Within: Nero, Apollo, Nero, Hercules_![4] + +1 _Rom_. Harke how th'applauding shouts doe cleave the ayre,[5] +This idle talke will make me loose the sight. + + Two _Romans_ more to them. + +3 _Rom_. Whither goe you? alls done i'th Capytall, +And _Nero_, having there his tables hung +And Garlands up, is to the Pallace gone. +'Twas beyond wonder; I shall never see, +Nay, I never looke to see the like againe: +Eighteen hundred and eight Crownes +For severall victories, and the place set downe +Where, and in what, and whom he overcame. + +4 _Rom_. That was set down ith' tables that were borne +Upon the Souldiers speares. + +1 _Rom_. O made, and sometimes use[d] for other Ends! + +2 _Rom_. But did he winne them all with singing? + +3 _Rom_. Faith, all with singing and with stage-playing. + +1 _Rom_. So many Crowns got with a song! + +4 _Rom_. But did you marke the Greek Musitians +Behind his Chariot, hanging downe their heads, +Sham'd and overcome in their professions? +O Rome was never honour'd so before. + +3 _Rom_. But what was he that rode ith' Chariot with him? + +4 _Rom_. That was _Diodorus_ the Mynstrill that he favours. + +3 _Rom_. Was there ever such a Prince! + +2 _Rom_. O _Nero Augustus_, the true _Augustus!_ + +3 _Rom_. Nay, had you seen him as he rode along +With an _Olimpicke_ Crowne upon his head +And with a _Pythian_ on his arme, you would have thought, +Looking on one, he had _Apollo_ seem'd, +On th'other, _Hercules_. + +2 _Rom_. I have heard my father oft repeat the Triumphs +Which in _Augustus Caesars_ tymes were showne +Upon his Victorie ore the _Illirians_; +But it seemes it was not like to this. + +3 & 4 _Rom_. Push,[6] it could not be like this. + +2, 3 & 4 _Rom_. O _Nero, Appollo, Nero, Hercules! + + [Exeunt 2, 3 & 4 Rom. + + Manet Primus_. + +1 _Rom_. Whether _Augustus_ Triumph greater was +I cannot tell; his Triumphs cause, I know, +Was greater farre and farre more Honourable. +What are wee People, or our flattering voyces +That always shame and foolish things applaud, +Having no sparke of Soule? All eares and eyes, +Pleased with vaine showes, deluded by our sences, +Still enemies to wisedome and to goodnesse. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + Enter _Nero, Poppea, Nimphidius, Epaphroditus, + Neophilus_ and others. + +_Nero_. Now, fayre _Poppea_, see thy Nero shine +In bright _Achaias_ spoyles and Rome in him. +The _Capitall_ hath other Trophies seene +Then it was wont; not spoyles with blood bedew'd +Or the unhappy obsequies of Death, +But such as _Caesars_ cunning, not his force, +Hath wrung from _Greece_ too bragging of her art. + +_Tigell_. And in this strife the glories all your owne, +Your tribunes cannot share this prayse with you; +Here your _Centurions_ hath no part at all, +Bootless your Armies and your Eagles were; +No Navies helpt to bring away this conquest. + +_Nimph_. Even Fortunes selfe, Fortune the Queene of Kingdomes, +That Warrs grim valour graceth with her deeds, +Will claime no portion in this Victorie. + +_Nero_. Not _Bacchus_[7] drawn from Nisa downe with Tigers, +Curbing with viny rains their wilful heads +Whilst some doe gape upon his Ivy Thirse, +Some on the dangling grapes that crowne his head, +All praise his beautie and continuing youth; +So strooke amased India with wonder +As _Neroes_ glories did the Greekish townes, +_Elis_ and _Pisa_ and the rich _Micenae, +Junonian Argos_ and yet _Corinth_ proud +Of her two Seas; all which ore-come did yeeld +To me their praise and prises of their games. + +_Poppea_. Yet in your _Greekish_ iourney, we do heare, +_Sparta_ and _Athens_, the two eyes of _Greece_, +Neither beheld your person or your skill; +Whether because they did afford no games +Or for their too much gravitie. + +_Nero_. Why, what +Should I have seene in them? but in the one +Hunger, black pottage and men hot to die +Thereby to rid themselves of misery: +And what in th'other? but short Capes, long Beards; +Much wrangling in things needlesse to be knowne, +Wisedome in words and onely austere faces. +I will not be Aieceleaus nor Solon. +Nero was there where he might honour win; +And honour hath he wonn and brought from _Greece_ +Those spoyles which never Roman could obtaine, +Spoyles won by witt and _Tropheis_ of his skill. + +_Nimph_. What a thing he makes it to be a Minstrill! + +_Poppea_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe +Honors, safe spoyles, won without dust or blood. + +_Nero_. What, mock ye me, _Poppea_? + +_Poppea_. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in earnest: +I hate that headie and adventurous crew +That goe to loose their owne to purchase but +The breath of others and the common voyce; +Them that will loose their hearing for a sound, +That by death onely seeke to get a living, +Make skarrs there beautie and count losse of Limmes +The commendation of a proper man, +And soe goe halting to immortality-- +Such fooles I love worse then they doe their lives. + +_Nero_. But now, _Poppea_, having laid apart +Our boastfull spoyles and ornaments of Triumph, +Come we like _Jove_ from _Phlegra_-- + +_Poppea_. O Giantlike comparison! + +_Nero_. When after all his Fiers and wandering darts +He comes to bath himselfe in _Juno's_ eyes. +But thou, then wrangling _Juno_ farre more fayre, +Stayning the evening beautie of the Skie +Or the dayes brightnesse, shall make glad thy _Caesar_, +Shalt make him proud such beauties to Inioy. + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manet Nimphidius solus_. + +_Nimph_. Such beauties to inioy were happinesse +And a reward sufficient in itselfe, +Although no other end or hopes were aim'd at; +But I have other: tis not _Poppeas_ armes +Nor the short pleasures of a wanton bed +That can extinguish mine aspiring thirst +To _Neroes_ Crowne. By her love I must climbe, +Her bed is but a step unto his Throne. +Already wise men laugh at him and hate him; +The people, though his Mynstrelsie doth please them, +They feare his cruelty, hate his exactions, +Which his need still must force him to encrease; +The multitude, which cannot one thing long +Like or dislike, being cloy'd with vanitie +Will hate their own delights; though wisedome doe not +Even wearinesse at length will give them eyes. +Thus I, by _Neroes_ and _Poppeas_ favour +Rais'd to the envious height of second place, +May gaine the first. Hate must strike Nero downe, +Love make _Nimphidius_ way unto a Crowne. + + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Enter Seneca, Scevinus, Lucan and Flavius_. + +_Scevin_. His first beginning was his Fathers death; +His brothers poysoning and wives bloudy end +Came next; his mothers murther clos'd up all. +Yet hitherto he was but wicked, when +The guilt of greater evills tooke away the shame +Of lesser, and did headlong thrust him forth +To be the scorne and laughter to the world. +Then first an Emperour came upon the stage +And sung to please Carmen and Candle-sellers, +And learnt to act, to daunce, to be a Fencer, +And in despight o'the Maiestie of Princes +He fell to wrastling and was soyl'd with dust +And tumbled on the earth with servile hands. + +_Seneca_. He sometimes trayned was in better studies +And had a child-hood promis'd other hopes: +High fortunes like stronge wines do trie their vessels. +Was not the Race and Theatre bigge enough +To have inclos'd thy follies heere at home? +O could not _Rome_ and _Italie_ containe +Thy shame, but thou must crosse the seas to shewe it? + +_Scevin_. And make them that had wont to see our Consuls, +With conquering Eagles waving in the field, +Instead of that behold an Emperor dauncing, +Playing oth' stage and what else but to name +Were infamie. + +_Lucan_. O _Mummius_, O _Flaminius_, +You whom your vertues have not made more famous +Than _Neros_ vices, you went ore to Greece +But t'other warres, and brought home other conquests; +You _Corinth_ and _Micaena_ overthrew, +And _Perseus_ selfe, the great _Achilles_ race, +Orecame; having _Minervas_ stayned Temples +And your slayne Ancestors of Troy reveng'd. + +_Seneca_. They strove with Kings and Kinglike adversaries, +Were even in their Enemies made happie; +The _Macedonian_ Courage tryed of old +And the new greatnesse of the _Syrian_ power: +But he for _Phillip_ and _Antiochus_ +Hath found more easie enemies to deale with-- +_Terpnus_,[8] _Pammenes_,[9] and a rout of Fidlers. + +_Scevin_. Why, all the begging Mynstrills by the way +He tooke along with him and forc'd to strive +That he might overcome, Imagining +Himselfe Immortall by such victories. + +_Flav_. The Men he carried over were enough +T'have put the Parthian to his second flight +Or the proud Indian taught the Roman Yoke. + +_Scevin_. But they were _Neroes_ men, like _Nero_ arm'd +With Lutes and Harps and Pipes and Fiddle-cases, +Souldyers to th'shadow traynd and not the field. + +_Flav_. Therefore they brought spoyles of such Soldyers worthy. + +_Lucan_. But to throw downe the walls[10] and Gates of Rome +To make an entrance for an Hobby-horse; +To vaunt to th'people his rediculous spoyles; +To come with Lawrell and with Olyves crown'd +For having beene the worst of all the Singers, +Is beyond Patience. + +_Scevin_. I, and anger too. +Had you but seene him in his Chariot ryde, +That Chariot in which _Augustus_ late +His Triumphs ore so many Nations shew'd, +And with him in the same a Minstrell plac'd +The whil'st the people, running by his side, +'_Hayle thou Olimpick Conqueror_' did cry, +'_O haile thou Pithian_!' and did fill the sky +With shame and voices Heaven would not have heard. + +_Seneca_. I saw't, but turn'd away my eyes and eares, +Angry they should be privie to such sights. +Why do I stand relating of the storie +Which in the doing had enough to grieve me? +Tell on and end the tale, you whom it pleaseth; +Mee mine own sorrow stops from further speaking. +_Nero_, my love doth make thy fault and my griefe greater. + [_Ex. Sen_. + +_Scevin_. I doe commend in Seneca this passion; +And yet me thinkes our Countries miserie +Doth at our hands crave somewhat more then teares. + +_Lucan_. Pittie, though't doth a kind affection show, +If it end there, our weaknesse makes us know. + +_Flav_. Let children weepe and men seeke remedie. + +_Scevin_. Stoutly, and like a soldier, _Flavius_; +Yet to seeke remedie to a Princes ill +Seldome but it doth the Phisitian kill. + +_Flav_. And if it doe, _Scevinus_, it shall take +But a devoted soule from _Flavius_, +Which to my Countrey and the Gods of Rome +Alreadie sacred is and given away. +Deathe is no stranger unto me, I have +The doubtfull hazard in twelve Battailes throwne; +My chaunce was life. + +_Lucan_. Why doe we go to fight in Brittanie +And end our lives under another Sunne? +Seeke causelesse dangers out? The German might +Enioy his Woods and his owne Allis drinke, +Yet we walke safely in the streets of Rome; +_Bonduca_ hinders not but we might live, +Whom we do hurt. Them we call enemies, +And those our Lords that spoyle and murder us. + +_Scevin_. Nothing is hard to them that dare to die. +This nobler resolution in you, Lords, +Heartens me to disclose some thoughts that I-- +The matter is of waight and dangerous. + +_Lucan_. I see you feare us _Scaevinus_.[11] + +_Scevin_. Nay, nay, although the thing be full of feare. + +_Flav_. Tell it to faithfull Eares what eare it bee. + +_Scevin_. Faith, let it goe, it will but trouble us, +Be hurtfull to the speaker and the hearer. + +_Lucan_. If our long friendship or the opinion-- + +_Scevin_. Why should I feare to tell them? +Why, is he not a Parricide a Player? +Nay, _Lucan_, is he not thine Enemie? +Hate not the Heavens as well as men to see +That condemn'd head? And you, O righteous Gods, +Whither so ere you now are fled and will +No more looke downe upon th'oppressed Earth; +O severe anger of the highest Gods +And thou, sterne power to whom the Greekes assigne +Scourges and swords to punish proud mens wrongs, +If you be more then names found out to awe us +And that we doe not vainely build you alters, +Aid that iust arme that's bent to execute +What you should doe. + +_Lucan_. Stay, y'are carried too much away, _Scevinus_. + +_Scevin_. Why, what will you say for him? hath[12] he not +Sought to suppresse your Poem, to bereave +That honour every tongue in duty paid it. +Nay, what can you say for him, hath he not +Broacht his owne wives (a chast wives) breast and torne +With Scithian hands his Mothers bowels up? +The inhospitable _Caucasus_ is milde; +The More, that in the boyling desert seekes +With blood of strangers to imbrue his iawes, +Upbraides the Roman now with barbarousnesse. + +_Lucan_. You are to earnest: +I neither can nor will I speake for him; +And though he sought my learned paynes to wrong +I hate him not for that; My verse shall live +When _Neroes_ body shall be throwne in Tiber, +And times to come shall blesse those[13] wicked armes. +I love th'unnatural wounds from whence did flow +Another Cirrha,[14] a new Hellicon. +I hate him that he is Romes enemie, +An enemie to Vertue; sits on high +To shame the seate: and in that hate my life +And blood I'le mingle on the earth with yours. + +_Flav_. My deeds, _Scevinus_, shall speake my consent, + +_Scevin_. Tis answerd as I lookt for, Noble Poet, +Worthy the double Lawrell. Flavius, +Good lucke, I see, doth vertuous meanings ayde, +And therefore have the Heavens forborne their duties +To grace our swords with glorious blood of Tyrants. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Primi_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + + + _Enter Petronius solus_. + +Here waites _Poppea_ her _Nimphidius_ comming +And hath this garden and these walkes chose out +To blesse her with more pleasures then their owne. +Not only Arras hangings and silke beds[15] +Are guilty of the faults we blame them for: +Somewhat these arbors and you trees doe know +Whil'st your kind shades you to these night sports show. +Night sports? Faith, they are done in open day +And the Sunne see'th and envieth their play. +Hither have I Love-sicke _Antonius_ brought +And thrust him on occasion so long sought; +Shewed him the Empresse in a thicket by, +Her loves approach waiting with greedie Eye; +And told him, if he ever meant to prove +The doubtfull issue of his hopelesse Love, +This is the place and time wherein to try it; +Women will heere the suite that will deny it. +The suit's not hard that she comes for to take; +Who (hot in lust of men) doth difference make? +At last loath, willing, to her did he pace: +Arme him, _Priapus_, with thy powerfull Mace. +But see, they comming are; how they agree +Heere will I harken; shroud me, gentle tree. + + _Enter Poppea and Antonius_. + +_Anton_. Seeke not to grieve that heart which is thine owne. +In Loves sweete fires let heat of rage burne out; +These brows could never yet to wrinkle learne, +Nor anger out of such faire eyes look forth. + +_Poppea_. You may solicit your presumptious suites; +You duety may, and shame too, lay aside; +Disturbe my privacie, and I forsooth +Must be afeard even to be angry at you! + +_Anton_. What shame is't to be mastred by such beautie? +Who but to serve you comes, how wants he dutie? +Or, if it be a shame, the shame is yours; +The fault is onely in your Eies, they drew me: +Cause you were lovely therefore did I love. +O, if to Love you anger you so much, +You should not have such cheekes nor lips to touch, +You should not have your snow nor currall spy'd;-- +If you but looke on us in vaine you chide. +We must not see your face, nor heare your speech; +Now, whilst you Love forbid, you Love do teach. + +_Petron_. He doth better than I thought he would. + +_Poppea_. I will not learne my beauties worth of you; +I know you neither are the first nor greatest +Whom it hath mov'd: He whom the World obayes +Is fear'd with anger of my threatening eyes. +It is for you afarre off to adore it, +And not to reach at it with sawsie hands: +Feare is the Love that's due to God and Princes. + +_Petron_. All this is but to edge his appetite. + +_Anton_. O doe not see thy faire in that false glasse +Of outward difference; Looke into my heart. +There shalt thou see thy selfe Inthroaned set +In greater Maiesty then all the pompe +Of _Rome_ or _Nero_. Tis not the crowching awe +And Ceremony with which we flatter Princes +That can to Loves true duties be compar'd. + +_Poppea_. Sir, let me goe or He make knowne your Love +To them that shall requite it but with hate. + +_Petron_. On, on, thou hast the goale; the fort is beaten; +Women are wonne when they begin to threaten. + +_Anton_. Your Noblenesse doth warrant me from that, +Nor need you others helpe to punish me +Who by your forehead am condem'd or free. +They that to be revendg'd do bend their minde +Seeke always recompence in that same kind +The wrong was done them; Love was mine offence, +In that revenge, in that seeke recompence. + +_Poppea_. Further to answere will still cause replyes, +And those as ill doe please me as your selfe. +If you'le an answere take that's breefe and true, +I hate my selfe if I be lov'd of you. + [_Exit Popp_. + +_Petron_. What, gone? but she will come againe sure: no? +It passeth cleane my cunning, all my rules: +For Womens wantonnesse there is no rule. +To take her in the itching of her Lust, +A propper young man putting forth himselfe! +Why, Fate! there's Fate and hidden providence +In cod piece matters. + +_Anton_. O unhappy Man! +What comfort have I now, _Petronius?_ + +_Petron_. Council your selfe; Ile teach no more but learne. + +_Anton_. This comfort yet: He shall not so escape +Who causeth my disgrace, _Nimphidius_; +Whom had I here--Well, for my true-hearts love +I see she hates me. And shall I love one +That hates me, and bestowes what I deserve +Upon my rivall? No; farewell _Poppea_, +Farewell _Poppea_ and farewell all Love: +Yet thus much shall it still prevaile in me +That I will hate _Nimphidius_ for thee. + +_Petron_. Farewell to her, to my _Enanthe_ welcome. +Who now will to my burning kisses stoope, +Now with an easie cruelty deny +That which she, rather then the asker, would +Have forced from her then begin[16] her selfe. +Their loves that list upon great Ladies set; +I still will love the Wench that I can get. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Nero, Tigellinus, Epaphroditus_, and _Neophilus_. + +_Nero_. _Tigellinus_, said the villaine _Proculus_[17] +I was throwne downe in running? + +_Tigell_. My Lord, he said that you were crown'd for that +You could not doe. + +_Nero_. For that I could not doe? +Why, _Elis_ saw me doe't, and doe't it with wonder +Of all the Iudges and the lookers on; +And yet to see--A villaine! could not doe't? +Who did it better? I warrant you he said +I from the Chariot fell against my will. + +_Tigell_. He said, My Lord, you were throwne out of it +All crusht and maim'd and almost bruis'd to death. + +_Nero_. Malicious Rogue! when I fell willingly +To show of purpose with what little hurt +Might a good rider beare a forced fall. +How sayest thou, _Tigellinus_? I am sure +Thou hast in driving as much skill as he. + +_Tigell_. My Lord, you greater cunning shew'd in falling +Then had you sate. + +_Nero_. I know I did; or[18] bruised in my fall? +Hurt! I protest I felt no griefe in it. +Goe, _Tigellinus_, fetch the villaines head. +This makes me see his heart in other things. +Fetch me his head; he nere shall speake againe. [_Ex. Tigell_. +What doe we Princes differ from the durt +And basenesse of the common Multitude +If to the scorne of each malicious tongue +We subiect are: For that I had no skill,[19] +Not he that his farre famed daughter set +A prise to Victoria and had bin Crown'd +With thirteene Sutors deaths till he at length +By fate of Gods and Servants treason fell, +(Shoulder pack't[20] _Pelops_, glorying in his spoyles) +Could with more skill his coupled horses guide. +Even as a Barke that through the mooving Flood +Her linnen wings and the forc't ayre doe beare; +The Byllowes fome, she smoothly cutts them through; +So past my burning Axeltree along: +The people follow with their Eyes and Voyce, +And now the wind doth see it selfe outrun +And the Clouds wonder to be left behind, +Whilst the void ayre is fild with shoutes and noyse, +And _Neroes_ name doth beate the brazen Skie; +_Jupiter_ envying loath doth heare my praise. +Then their greene bowes and Crownes of Olive wreaths, +The Conquerors praise, they give me as my due. +And yet this Rogue sayth No, we have no skill. + + _Enter a servant to them_. + +_Servant_. My Lord, the Stage and all the furniture-- + +_Nero_. I have no skill to drive a Chariot! +Had he but robde me, broke my treasurie: +The red-Sea's mine, mine are the _Indian_ stones, +The Worlds mine owne; then cannot I be robde? +But spightfully to undermine my fame, +To take away my arte! he would my life +As well, no doubt, could he tould (tell?) how. + + _Enter Tigellinus_ with _Proculus head_. + +_Neoph_. My Lord, +_Tigellinus_ is backe come with _Proculus head_. + (_Strikes him_.) + +_Nero_. O cry thee mercie, good _Neophilus_; +Give him five hundred sesterces for amends. +Hast brought him, Tigellinus? + +_Tigell_. Heres his head, my Lord. + +_Nero_. His tongue had bin enough. + +_Tigell_. I did as you commanded me, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Thou toldst not me, though, he had such a nose![21] +Now are you quiet and have quieted me: +This tis to be commander of the World. +Let them extoll weake pittie that do neede it, +Let meane men cry to have Law and Iustice done +And tell their griefes to Heaven that heares them not: +Kings must upon the Peoples headlesse courses +Walk to securitie and ease of minde. +Why, what have we to doe with th'ayrie names +(That old age and _Philosophers_ found out) +Of _Iustice_ and ne're certaine Equitie? +The God's revenge themselves and so will we; +Where right is scand Authoritie's orethrowne: +We have a high prerogative above it. +Slaves may do what is right, we what we please: +The people will repine and think it ill, +But they must beare, and praise too, what we will. + + _Enter Cornutus[22] to them_. + +_Neoph_. My Lord, _Cornutus_ whom you sent for's come. + +_Nero_. Welcome, good _Cornutus_. +Are all things ready for the stage, +As I gave charge? + +_Corn_. They only stay your coming. + +_Nero_. _Cornutus_, I must act to day _Orestes_. + +_Corn_. You have done that alreadie, and too truely. (_Aside_.) + +_Nero_. And when our Sceane is done I meane besides +To read some compositions of my owne, +Which, for the great opinion I my selfe +And _Rome_ in generall of thy Judgment hath, +Before I publish them Ile shew them thee. + +_Corn_. My Lord, my disabilities-- + +_Nero_. I know thy modestie: +Ile only shew thee now my works beginning.-- +Goe see, _Epaphroditus_, +Musick made ready; I will sing to day.-- [_Exit Epa. +Cornutus_, I pray thee come neere +And let me heare thy Judgement in my paynes. +I would have thee more familiar, good _Cornutus_; +_Nero_ doth prise desert and more esteemes +Them that in knowledge second him, then power. +Marke with what style and state my worke begins. + +_Corn_. Might not my Interruption offend, +Whats your workes name, my Lord? what write you of? + +_Nero_. I meane to write the deeds of all the Romans. + +_Corn_. Of all the Romans? A huge argument. + +_Nero_. I have not yet bethought me of a title:-- + (_he reades_,) + + "_You Enthrall Powers which[23] the wide Fortunes doon + Of Empyre-crown'd seaven-Mountaine-seated Rome, + Full blowne Inspire me with_ Machlaean[24] _rage + That I may bellow out_ Romes _Prentisage; + As[25] when the_ Menades _do fill their Drums + And crooked hornes with_ Mimalonean _hummes + And_ Evion[26] _do Ingeminate around, + Which reparable Eccho doth resound_." + +How doest thou like our Muses paines, _Cornutus_? + +_Corn_. The verses have more in them than I see: +Your work, my Lord, I doubt will be too long. + +_Nero_. Too long? + +_Tigell_. Too long? + +_Corn_. I, if you write the deedes of all the _Romans_. +How many Bookes thinke you t'include it in? + +_Nero_. I thinke to write about foure hundred Bookes. + +_Corn_. Four hundred! Why, my Lord, they'le nere be read.[27] + +_Nero_. Hah! + +_Tigell_. Why, he whom you esteeme so much, _Crisippus_, +Wrote many more. + +_Corn_. But they were profitable to common life +And did Men Honestie and Wisedome teach. + +_Nero_. _Tigellinus_! + + [Exit _Nero and Tigell_. + +_Corn_. See with what earnestnesse he crav'd my Judgment, +And now he freely hath it how it likes him. + +_Neoph_. The Prince is angry, and his fall is neere; +Let us begon lest we partake his ruines. + + [_Exeunt omnes praeter Cornu_. + + _Manet Cornutus solus_. + +What should I doe at Court? I cannot lye. +Why didst thou call me, _Nero_, from my Booke; +Didst thou for flatterie of _Cornutus_ looke? +No, let those purple Fellowes that stand by thee +(That admire shew and things that thou canst give) +Leave to please Truth and Vertue to please thee. +_Nero_, there is no thing in thy power _Cornutus_ +Doth wish or fear. + + _Enter Tigellinus to him_. + +_Tigell_. Tis _Neroes_ pleasure that you straight depart +To _Giara_, and there remaine confin'd: +Thus he, out of his Princely Clemencie, +Hath Death, your due, turn'd but to banishment. + +_Corn_. Why, _Tigellinus_? + +_Tigell_. I have done, upon your perill go or stay. + [_Ex. Ti_. + +_Corn_. And why should Death or Banishment be due +For speaking that which was requir'd, my thought? +O why doe Princes love to be deceiv'd +And even do force abuses on themselves? +Their Eares are so with pleasing speech beguil'd +That Truth they mallice, Flatterie truth account, +And their owne Soule and understanding lost +Goe, what they are, to seeke in other men. +Alas, weake Prince, how hast thou punisht me +To banish me from thee? O let me goe +And dwell in _Taurus_, dwell in _Ethiope_ +So that I doe not dwell at _Rome_ with thee. +The farther still I goe from hence, I know, +The farther I leave Shame and Vice behind. +Where can I goe but I shall see thee, Sunne? +And _Heaven_ will be as neere me still as here. +Can they so farre a knowing soule exyle +That her owne roofe she sees not ore her head? + + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Piso, Scevinus, Lucan, Flavius_. + +_Piso_. Noble Gentlemen, what thankes, what recompence +Shall hee give you that give to him the world? +One life to them that must so many venture, +And that the worst of all, is too meane paye; +Yet can give no more. Take that, bestow it +Upon your service. + +_Lucan_. O _Piso_, that vouchsafest +To grace our headlesse partie with thy name, +Whom having our conductor[28] we need not +Have fear'd to goe against[29] the well try'd vallor +Of Julius or stayednesse of _Augustus_, +Much lesse the shame and Womanhood of _Nero_; +When we had once given out that our pretences +Were all for thee, our end to make thee Prince, +They thronging came to give their names, Men, Women, +Gentlemen, People, Soldiers, Senators,[30] +The Campe and Cittie grew asham'd that _Nero_ +And _Piso_ should be offered them together. + +_Scevin_. We seeke not now (as in the happy dayes +Oth' common wealth they did) for libertie; +O you deere ashes, _Cassius_ and _Brutus_, +That was with you entomb'd, their let it rest. +We are contented with the galling yoke +If they will only leave us necks to beare it: +We seeke no longer freedome, we seeke life; +At least, not to be murdred, let us die +On Enemies swords. Shall we, whom neither +The _Median_ Bow nor _Macedonian_ Speare +Nor the fierce _Gaul_ nor painted _Briton_ could +Subdue, lay down our neckes to tyrants axe? +Why doe we talke of Vertue that obay +Weaknesse and Vice? + +_Piso_. Have patience, good _Scevinus_. + +_Lucan_. Weaknesse and servile Government we hitherto +Obeyed have, which, that we may no longer, +We have our lives and fortunes now set up, +And have our cause with _Pisoes_ credit strengthned. + +_Flav_. Which makes it doubtfull whether love to him +Or _Neroes_ hatred hath drawne more unto us. + +_Piso_. I see the good thoughts you have of me, Lords. +Lets now proceede to th'purpose of our meeting: +I pray you take your places. +Lets have some paper brought. + +_Scevin_. Whose within? + + _Enter Milichus to them_. + +_Mill_. My Lord. + +_Scevin_. Some Inke and Paper. + + [_Exit Mili_. + + _Enter againe with Incke and Paper_. + +_Flav_. Whose that, _Scevinus_? + +_Scevin_. It is my freed man, _Milichus_. + +_Lucan_. Is he trustie? + +_Scevin_. I, for as great matters as we are about. + +_Piso_. And those are great ones. + +_Lucan_. I aske not that we meane to need his trust; +Gaine hath great soveraigntie ore servile mindes. + +_Scevin_. O but my benefits have bound him to me. +I from a bondman have his state not onely +Advanct to freedome but to wealth and credit. + +_Piso_. _Mili_. waite ith' next chamber till we call. + [_abscondit se_. +The thing determinde on, our meeting now +Is of the meanes and place, due circumstance +As to the doing of things: 'tis required +So done it names the action.[31] + +_Mili_. I wonder (_aside_) +What makes this new resort to haunt our house. +When wonted _Lucius Piso_ to come hither, +Or _Lucan_ when so oft as now of late? + +_Piso_. And since the field and open shew of armes +Disliked you, and that for the generall good +You meane to end all styrres in end of him; +That, as the ground, must first be thought upon. + +_Mill_. Besides, this comming cannot be for forme, (_aside_) +Our (Mere?) visitation; they goe aside +And have long conferences by themselves. + +_Lucan_. _Piso_, his coming to your house at Baiae[32] +To bathe and banquet will fit meanes afford, +Amidst his cups, to end his hated life: +Let him die drunke that nere liv'd soberly. + +_Piso_. O be it farre that I should staine my Table +And Gods of Hospitalitie with blood. +Let not our cause (now Innocent) be soyld +With such a plot, nor _Pisoes_ name made hatefull. +What place can better fit our action +Then his owne house, that boundlesse envied heape +Built with the spoyles and blood of Cittizens, +That hath taken up the Citie, left no roome +For _Rome_ to stand on? _Romanes_ get you gone +And dwell at _Veiae_, if that _Veiae_ too +This (His?) house ore runne not.[33] + +_Lucan_. But twill be hard to doe it in his house +And harder to escape, being done. + +_Piso_. Not so: +_Rufus_, the Captaine of the Guard, 's with us, +And divers other oth' _Praetorian_ band +Already made (named?); many, though unacquainted +With our intents, have had disgrace and wrongs +Which grieve them still; most will be glad of change, +And even they that lov'd him best, when once +They see him gone, will smile oth' comming times, +Let goe things past and looke to their owne safetie: +Besides, th'astonishment and feare will be +So great, so sodaine that 'twill hinder them +From doing anything. + +_Mili_. No private businesse can concerne them all: (_aside_) +Their countenances are troubled and looke sad; +Doubt and importance in their face is read. + +_Lucan_. Yet still, I think it were +Safer t'attempt him private and alone. + +_Flav_. But 'twill not carry that opinion with it; +'Twill seeme more foule and come from private malice. +_Brutus_ and they, to right the common cause, +Did chuse a publike place. + +_Scevin_.[34] Our deed is honest, why should it seeke corners? +Tis for the people done, let them behold it; +Let me have them a witnesse of my truth +And love to th'Common-wealth. The danger's greater, +So is the glory. Why should our pale counsels +Tend whether feare rather then vertue calls them? +I doe not like these cold considerings. +First let our thoughts looke up to what is honest, +Next to what's safe. If danger may deterre us +Nothing that's great or good shall ere be done: +And, when we first gave hands upon this deed, +To th'common safetie we our owne gave up. +Let no man venture on a princes death, +How bad soever, with beliefe to escape; +Dispaire must be our hope, fame o[u]r reward. +To make the generall liking to concurre +With others (ours?) were even to strike him in his shame +Or (as he thinks) his glory, on the stage, +And so too truly make't a Tragedy; +When all the people cannot chuse but clap +So sweet a close, and 'twill not _Caesar_ be +That shall be slaine, a _Roman_ Prince; +Twill be _Alcmaeon_ or blind Oedipus. + +_Mili_. And if it be of publique matters 'tis not (_aside_) +Like to be talke or idle fault finding, +On which the coward onely spends his wisedome: +These are all men of action and of spirit, +And dare performe what they determine on. + +_Lucan_. What thinke you of _Poppaea, Tigellinus_ +And th'other odious Instruments of Court? +Were it not best at once to rid them all? + +_Scevin_. In _Caesars_ ruine _Anthony_ was spared; +Lets not our cause with needlesse blood distaine. +One onely mov'd, the change will not appeare; +When too much licence given to the sword, +Though against ill, will make even good men feare. +Besides, things setled, you at pleasure may +By Law and publique Iudgement have them rid. + +_Mili_. And if it be but talke oth' State 'tis Treason. (_aside_) +Like it they cannot, that they cannot doe: +If seeke to mend it, and remoove the Prince, +That's highest Treason: change his Councellours, +That's alteration of the Government, +The common cloke that Treasons muffled in: +If laying force aside, to seeke by suite +And faire petition t'have the State reform'd, +That's tutering of the Prince and takes away +Th' one his person, this his Soveraigntie. +Barely in private talke to shew dislike +Of what is done is dangerous; therefore the action +Mislike you cause the doer likes you not. +Men are not fit to live ith' state they hate. + +_Piso_. Though we would all have that imployment sought, +Yet, since your worthy forwardnesse _Scevinus_[35] +Prevents us and so Nobly beggs for danger, +Be this (thine?) the chosen hand to doe the deed; +The fortune of the Empire speed your sword. + +_Scevin_. Vertue and Heaven speed it. You home-borne +Gods of our countrey, _Romulus_ and _Vesta_, +That _Thuscan Tiber_ and Romes towers defends, +Forbid not yet at length a happie end +To former evils; let this hand revenge +The wronged world; enough we now have suffered. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manet Milichus solus_. + +_Mili_. Tush, all this long Consulting's more then words, +It ends not there; th'have some attempt, some plot +Against the state: well, I'le observe it farther +And, if I find it, make my profit of it. + [_Exit_. + +_Finis Actus Secundus. [Sic.]_ + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + + + _Enter Poppea solus. [Sic.]_ + +_Poppea_. I lookt _Nimphidius_ would have come ere this. +Makes he no greater hast to our embraces, +Or doth the easiness abate his edge? +Or seeme we not as faire still as we did? +Or is he so with _Neroes_ playing wonne +That he before _Poppea_ doth preferre it? +Or doth he think to have occasion still, +Still to have time to waite on our stolne meetings? + + _Enter Nimphidius to her_. + +But see, his presence now doth end those doubts. +What is't, _Nimphidius_, hath so long detain'd you? + +_Nimphid_. Faith, Lady, causes strong enough, +High walls, bard dores, and guards of armed men. + +_Poppea_. Were you Imprisoned, then, as you were going +To the Theater? + +_Nimphid_. Not in my going, Lady, +But in the Theater I was imprisoned. +For after he was once upon the Stage +The Gates[36] were more severely lookt into +Then at a town besieg'd: no man, no cause +Was Currant, no, nor passant. At other sights +The striefe is only to get in, but here +The stirre was all in getting out againe. +Had we not bin kept to it so I thinke +'Twould nere have been so tedious, though I know +'Twas hard to judge whether his doing of it +Were more absurd then 'twas for him[37] to doe it. +But when we once were forct to be spectators, +Compel'd to that which should have bin a pleasure, +We could no longer beare the wearisomnesse: +No paine so irksome as a forct delight. +Some fell down dead or seem'd at least to doe so, +Under that colour to be carried forth. +Then death first pleasur'd men, the shape all feare +Was put on gladly; some clomb ore the walls +And so, by falling, caught in earnest that +Which th'other did dissemble. There were women[38] +That (being not able to intreat the guard +To let them passe the gates) were brought to bed +Amidst the throngs of men, and made _Lucina_ +Blush to see that unwonted companie. + +_Poppea_. If 'twere so straightly kept how got you forth? + +_Nimphid_. Faith, Lady, I came pretending hast +In Face and Countenance, told them I was sent +For things bith' Prince forgot about the sceane, +Which both my credit made them to beleeve +And _Nero_ newly whispered me before. +Thus did I passe the gates; the danger, Ladie, +I have not yet escapt. + +_Poppea_. What danger meane you? + +_Nimphid_. The danger of his anger when he knowes +How I thus shranke away; for there stood knaves, +That put downe in their Tables all that stir'd +And markt in each there cheerefulnesse or sadnesse. + +_Poppea_. I warrant He excuse you; but I pray +Lett's be a little better for your sight. +How did our Princely husband act _Orestes_? +Did he not wish againe his mother living? +Her death would adde great life unto his part. +But come, I pray; the storie of your sight. + +_Nimph_. O doe not drive me to those hatefull paines. +Lady, I was too much in seeing vext; +Let it not be redoubled with the telling. +I now am well and heare, my eares set free; +O be mercifull, doe not bring me backe +Unto my prison, at least free your selfe. +It will not passe away, but stay the time; +Wracke out the houres in length. O give me leave: +As one that wearied with the toyle at sea +And now on wished shore hath firm'd his foote, +He lookes about and glads his thoughts and eyes +With sight oth' greene cloath'd ground and leavy trees, +Of flowers that begge more then the looking on, +And likes these other waters narrow shores; +So let me lay my wearines in these armes, +Nothing but kisses to this mouth discourse, +My thoughts be compast in those circl'd Eyes, +Eyes on no obiect looke but on these Cheekes; +Be blest my hands with touch of those round brests +Whiter and softer than the downe of Swans. +Let me of thee and of thy beauties glory +An[39] endless tell, but never wearying story. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Nero, Epaphroditus, Neophilus_. + +_Nero_. Come Sirs, I faith, how did you like my acting? +What? wast not as you lookt for? + +_Epaphr_. Yes, my Lord, and much beyond. + +_Nero_. Did I not doe it to the life? + +_Epaphr_. The very doing never was so lively +As was this counterfeyting. + +_Nero_. And when I came +Toth' point of _Agripp[40]--Clytemnestras_ death, +Did it not move the feeling auditory? + +_Epaphr_. They had beene stones whom that could not have mov'd. + +_Nero_. Did not my voice hold out well to the end, +And serv'd me afterwards afresh to sing with? + +_Neoph_. We know _Appollo_ cannot match your voice. + +_Epaphr_. By Jove! I thinke you are the God himselfe +Come from above to shew your hidden arts +And fill us men with wonder of your skill. + +_Nero_. Nay, faith, speake truely, doe not flatter me; +I know you need not; flattery's but where +Desert is meane. + +_Epaphr_. I sweare by thee, O _Caesar_, +Then whom no power of heaven I honour more, +No mortall Voice can passe or equall thine. + +_Nero_. They tell of _Orpheus_, when he tooke his Lute +And moov'd the noble Ivory with his touch, +_Hebrus_ stood still, _Pangea_ bow'd his head, +_Ossa_ then first shooke off his snowe and came +To listen to the moovings of his song; +The gentle _Popler_ tooke the baye along, +And call'd the _Pyne_ downe from his Mountaine seate; +The _Virgine Bay_, although the Arts she hates +Oth' _Delphick_ God, was with his voice orecome; +He his twice-lost _Euridice_ bewailes +And _Proserpines_ vaine gifts, and makes the shores +And hollow caves of forrests now untreed +Beare his griefe company, and all things teacheth +His lost loves name; Then water, ayre, and ground +_Euridice, Euridice_ resound. +These are bould tales, of which the Greeks have store; +But if he could from Hell once more returne +And would compare his hand and voice with mine, +I, though himselfe were iudge, he then should see +How much the _Latine_ staines the _Thracian_ lyar. +I oft have walkt by _Tibers_ flowing bankes +And heard the Swan sing her own epitaph: +When she heard me she held her peace and died. +Let others raise from earthly things their praise; +Heaven hath stood still to hear my happy ayres +And ceast th'eternall Musicke of the _Spheares_ +To marke my voyce and mend their tunes by mine. + +_Neoph_. O divine voice! + +_Epaphr_. Happy are they that heare it! + + _Enter Tigellinus to them_. + +_Nero_. But here comes _Tigellinus_; come, thy bill. +Are there so many? I see I have enemies. + +_Epaphr_. Have you put _Caius_ in? I saw him frowne. + +_Neoph_. And in the midst oth' Emperors action. +_Gallus_ laught out, and as I thinke in scorne. + +_Nero_. _Vespasian_[41] too asleepe? was he so drowsie? +Well, he shall sleepe the Iron sleepe of death. +And did _Thrasea_ looke so sourely on us? + +_Tigell_. He never smilde, my Lord, nor would vouchsafe +With one applause to grace your action. + +_Nero_. Our action needed not be grac'd by him: +Hee's our old enemie and still maligns us. +'Twill have an end, nay it shall have an end. +Why, I have bin too pittifull, too remisse; +My easinesse is laught at and contemn'd. +But I will change it; not as heretofore +By singling out them one by one to death: +Each common man can such revenges have; +A Princes anger must lay desolate +Citties, Kingdomes consume, Roote up mankind. +O could I live to see the generall end, +Behold the world enwrapt in funerall flame, +When as the _Sunne_ shall lend his beames to burne +What he before brought forth, and water serve +Not to extinguish but to nurse the fire; +Then, like the _Salamander_, bathing me +In the last Ashes of all mortall things +Let me give up this breath. _Priam_ was happie, +Happie indeed; he saw his _Troy_ burnt +And _Illion_ lye on heapes, whilst thy pure streames +(Divine _Scamander_) did run _Phrygian_ blood, +And heard the pleasant cries of _Troian_ mothers. +Could I see _Rome_ so! + +_Tigell_. Your Maiestie may easily, +Without this trouble to your sacred mind. + +_Nero_. What may I easily doe? Kill thee or him: +How may I rid you all? Where is the Man +That will all others end and last himselfe? +O that I had thy Thunder in my hand, +Thou idle Rover, I'de[42] not shoote at trees +And spend in woods my unregarded vengeance, +Ide shevire them downe upon their guilty roofes +And fill the streetes with bloody burials. +But 'tis not Heaven can give me what I seeke; +To you, you hated kingdomes of the night, +You severe powers that not like those above +Will with faire words or childrens cryes be wonne, +That have a stile beyond that Heaven is proud off, +Deriving not from Art a makers Name +But in destruction power and terror shew, +To you I flye for succour; you, whose dwellings +For torments are belyde, must give me ease. +Furies, lend me your fires; no, they are here, +They must be other fires, materiall brands +That must the burning of my heat allay. +I bring to you no rude unpractiz'd hands, +Already doe they reeke with mothers' blood. +Tush, that's but innocent[43] to what now I meane: +Alasse, what evell could those yeeres commit! +The world in this shall see my setled wit. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Seneca, Petronius_. + +_Seneca. Petronius_, you were at the _Theater_? + +_Petron_. _Seneca_, I was, and saw your Kingly Pupyll +In Mynstrills habit stand before the Iudges +Bowing those hands which the worlds Scepter hold, +And with great awe and reverence beseeching +Indifferent hearing and an equall doome. +Then Caesar doubted first to be oreborne; +And so he ioyn'd himselfe to th'other singers +And straightly all other Lawes oth' Stage observ'd, +As not (though weary) to sit downe, not spit, +Not wipe his sweat off but with what he wore.[44] +Meane time how would he eye his adversaries, +How he would seeke t'have all they did disgract; +Traduce them privily, openly raile at them; +And them he could not conquer so he would +Corrupt with money to doe worse then he. +This was his singing part: his acting now. + +_Seneca_. Nay, even end here, for I have heard enough; +I[45] have a Fidler heard him, let me not +See him a Player, nor the fearefull voyce +Of _Romes_ great Monarch now command in Iest-- +Our Prince be _Agamemnon_[46] in a Play! + +_Petron_. Why,[47] _Seneca_, 'Tis better in [a] Play +Be _Agamemnon_ than himselfe indeed. +How oft, with danger of the field beset +Or with home mutineys, would he unbee +Himselfe; or, over cruel alters weeping, +Wish that with putting off a vizard hee +Might his true inward sorrow lay aside. +The showes of things are better then themselves. +How doth it stirre this ayery part of us +To heare our Poets tell imagin'd fights +And the strange blowes that fained courage gives! +When I[48] _Achilles_ heare upon the Stage +Speake Honour and the greatnesse of his soule, +Me thinkes I too could on a _Phrygian_ Speare +Runne boldly and make tales for after times; +But when we come to act it in the deed +Death mars this bravery, and the ugly feares +Of th'other world sit on the proudest browe, +And boasting Valour looseth his red cheeke. + + _A Romane to them_. + +_Rom_. Fire, fire! helpe, we burne! + +2 _Rom_. Fire, water, fire, helpe, fire! + +_Seneca_. Fire? Where? + +_Petron_. Where? What fire? + +_Rom_. O round about, here, there, on every side +The girdling flame doth with unkind embraces +Compasse the Citie. + +_Petron_. How came this fire? by whom? + +_Seneca_. Wast chance or purpose? + +_Petron_. Why is't not quencht? + +_Rom_. Alas, there are a many there with weapons, +And whether it be for pray or by command +They hinder, nay, they throwe on fire-brands.[49] + + _Enter Antonius to them_. + +_Anton_. The fire increaseth and will not be staid, +But like a stream[50] that tumbling from a hill +Orewhelmes the fields, orewhelmes the hopefull toyle +Oth' husbandman and headlong beares the woods; +The unweeting Shepheard on a Rocke afarre +Amazed heares the feareful noyse; so here +Danger and Terror strive which shall exceed. +Some cry and yet are well; some are kild silent; +Some kindly runne to helpe their neighbours house, +The whilest their own's afire;[51] some save their goods +And leave their dearer pledges in the flame; +One takes his little sonnes with trembling hands; +Tother his house-Gods saves, which could not him; +All bann the doer, and with wishes kill +Their absent Murderer. + +_Petron_. What, are the _Gauls_ returnd? +Doth _Brennus_ brandish fire-brands againe? + +_Seneca_. What can Heaven now unto our suffrings adde? + + _Enter another Romane to them_. + +_Rom_. O all goes downe, _Rome_ falleth from the Roofe; +The winds aloft, the conquering flame turnes all +Into it selfe. Nor doe the Gods escape; +_Plei[a]des_ burnes; _Iupiter, Saturne_ burnes; +The Altar now is made a sacrifice, +And _Vesta_ mournes to see her Virgin fires +Mingle with prophane ashes. + +_Seneca_. Heaven, hast thou set this end to Roman greatnesse? +Were the worlds spoyles for this to Rome devided +To make but our fires bigger? +You Gods, whose anger made us great, grant yet +Some change in misery. We begge not now +To have our Consull tread on _Asian_ Kings +Or spurne the quivered _Susa_ at their feet; +This we have had before: we beg to live, +At least not thus to die. Let _Cannae_[52] come, +Let _Allias_[53] waters turne again to blood: +To these will any miseries be light. + +_Petron_. Why with false _Auguries_ have we bin deceiv'd? +Why was our Empire told us should endure +With Sunne and Moone in time, in brightnesse pass them, +And that our end should be oth' world and it? +What, can Celestiall Godheads double too? + +_Seneca_. _O Rome_, the envy late +But now the pitie of the world! the _Getes_[54]? +The men of _Cholcos_ at thy sufferings grive; +The shaggy dweller in the _Scithian_ Rockes, +The _Mosch_[55] condemned to perpetual snowes, +That never wept at kindreds burials +Suffers with thee and feeles his heart to soften. +O should the _Parthyan_ heare these miseries +He would (his low and native hate apart[56]) +Sit downe with us and lend an Enemies teare +To grace the funerall fires of ending Rome. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Soft Musique. Enter Nero above alone with a Timbrell_. + +I, now my _Troy_ lookes beautious in her flames; +The _Tyrrhene_ Seas are bright with _Roman_ fires +Whilst the amazed Mariner afarre, +Gazing on th'unknowne light, wonders what starre +Heaven hath begot to ease the aged Moone. +When _Pirrhus_, stryding ore the cynders, stood +On ground where _Troy_ late was, and with his Eye +Measur'd the height of what he had throwne downe,-- +A Citie great in people and in power, +Walls built with hands of God--he now forgive[s] +The ten yeares length and thinkes his wounds well heald, +Bath'd in the blood of _Priams_ fifty sonnes. +Yet am not I appeas'd; I must see more +Then Towers and Collomns tumble to the ground; +'Twas not the high built walls and guiltlesse stones +That _Nero_ did provoke: themselves must be the wood +To feed this fire or quench it with their blood. + + _Enter a Woman with a burnt Child_. + +_Wom_. O my deare Infant, O my Child, my Child, +Unhappy comfort of my nine moneths paines; +And did I beare thee only for the fire, +Was I to that end made a mother? + +_Nero_. I, now begins the sceane that I would have. + + _Enter a Man bearing another dead_. + +_Man_. O Father, speake yet; no, the mercilesse blowe +Hath all bereft speech, motion, sense and life. + +_Wom_. O beauteous innocence, whitenes ill blackt, +How to be made a coale didst thou deserve? + +_Man_. O reverend wrinckles, well becoming palenesse, +Why hath death now lifes colours given thee +And mockes thee with the beauties of fresh youth? + +_Wom_. Why wert thou given me to be tane away +So soone, or could not Heaven tell how to punish +But first by blessing mee? + +_Man_. Why where thy years +Lengthened so long to be cut off untimely? + +_Nero_. Play on, play on, and fill the golden skies +With cryes and pitie, with your blood; Mens Eyes[57]-- + +_Wom_. Where are thy flattering smiles, thy pretty kisses, +And armes that wont to writhe about my necke? + +_Man_. Where are thy counsels? where thy good example, +And that kind roughnes of a Father's anger? + +_Wom_. Whom have I now to leane my old age on? + +_Man_. Who shall I now have to set right my youth? +Gods, if yee be not fled from Heaven, helpe us. + +_Nero_. I like this Musique well; they like not mine. +Now in the teare[s] of all men let me sing, +And make it doubtfull to the Gods above +Whether the Earth be pleas'd or doe complaine. + + (_Within, cantat_.) + +_Man_. But may the man that all this blood hath shed +Never bequeath to th'earth an old gray head; +Let him untimely be cut off before. +And leave a course like this, all wounds and gore; +Be there no friends at hand, no standers by +In love or pittie mov'd to close that Eye: +O let him die, the wish and hate of all, +And not a teare to grace his Funerall. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Wom_. Heaven, you will heare (that which the world doth scorn) +The prayers of misery and soules forlorne. +Your anger waxeth by delaying stronger, +O now for mercy be despis'd no longer; +Let him that makes so many Mothers childlesse +Make his unhappy in her fruitfulnesse. +Let him no issue leave to beare his name +Or sonne to right a Fathers wronged fame; +Our flames to quit be righteous in your yre, +And when he dies let him want funerall fire. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Nero_. Let Heaven do what it will, this I have done. +Already doe you feel my furies waight: +Rome is become a grave of her late greatnes; +Her clowdes of smoke have tane away the day, +Her flames the night. +Now, unbeleaving Eyes, what crave you more? + + _Enter Neophilus to him_. + +_Neoph_. O save your selfe, my Lord: your Pallace burnes. + +_Nero_. My Pallace? how? what traiterous hand? + + _Enter Tigellinus to them_. + +_Tigell_. O flie, my Lord, and save your selfe betimes. +The winde doth beate the fire upon your house, +The eating flame devoures your double gates; +Your pillars fall, your golden roofes doe melt; +Your antique Tables and Greeke Imagery +The fire besets; and the smoake, you see, +Doth choake my speech: O flie and save your life. + +_Nero_. Heaven thou dost strive, I see, for victory. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 5.) + + + _Enter Nimphidius solus_. + +See how Fate workes unto their purpos'd end +And without all selfe-Industry will raise +Whom they determine to make great and happy. +_Nero_ throwes down himselfe, I stirre him not; +He runnes unto destruction, studies wayes +To compasse danger and attaine the hate +Of all. Bee his owne wishis on his head, +Nor _Rome_ with fire more then revenges burne. +Let me stand still or lye or sleepe, I rise. +_Poppea_ some new favour will seeke out +My wakings to salute; I cannot stirre +But messages of new preferment meet me. +Now she hath made me Captaine of the Guard +So well I beare me in these night Alarmes +That she imagin'd I was made for Armes. +I now command the Souldier,[58] he the Citie: +If any chance doe turne the Prince aside +(As many hatreds, mischiefes threaten him) +Ours is his wife; his seat and throwne is ours: +He's next in right that hath the strongest powers. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 6.) + + + _Enter Scevinus, Milichus_. + +_Scevin_. O _Troy_ and O yee soules of our forefathers +Which in your countreys fires were offered up, +How neere your Nephews[59] to your fortunes come. +Yet they were _Grecian_ hands began your flame; +But that our Temples and our houses smoake, +Our Marble buildings turne to be our Tombes, +Burnt bones and spurnt at Courses fill the streets, +Not _Pirrhus_ nor thou, _Hanniball_, art Author: +Sad _Rome_ is ruin'd by a _Romane_ hand. +But if to _Neroes_ end this onely way +Heavens Justice hath chose out, and peoples love +Could not but by these feebling ills be mov'd, +We doe not then at all complaine; our harmes +On this condition please us; let us die +And cloy the _Parthian_ with revenge and pitie. + +_Mili_. My Master hath seald up his Testament; +Those bond-men which he liketh best set free; +Given money, and more liberally then he us'd. +And now, as if a farewell to the world +Were meant, a sumpteous banquet hath he made; +Yet not with countenance that feasters use, +But cheeres his friends the whilest himselfe lookes sad. + +_Scevin_. I have from Fortunes Temple[60] tane this sword; +May it be fortunate and now at least, +Since it could not prevent, punish the Evill. +To _Rome_ it had bin better done before, +But though lesse helping now they'le praise it more. +Great Soveraigne of all mortall actions. +Whom only wretched men and Poets blame, +Speed thou the weapon which I have from thee. +'Twas not amid thy Temple Monuments +In vaine repos'd; somewhat I know't hath done: +O with new honours let it be laid up. +Strike bouldly, arme; so many powerful prayers +Of dead and living hover over thee. + +_Mili_. And though sometimes with talk impertinent +And idle fances he would fame a mirth, +Yet is it easie seene somewhat is heere +The which he dares not let his face make shew of. + +_Scevin_. Long want of use[61] hath made it dull and blunt.-- +See, _Milichus_, this weapon better edg'd. + +_Mili_. Sharpning of swords? When must wee then have blowes? +Or meanes my Master, _Cato_-like, to exempt +Himselfe from power of Fates and, cloy'd with life, +Give the Gods backe their unregarded gift? +But he hath neither _Catoes_ mind nor cause; +A man given ore to pleasures and soft ease. +Which makes me still to doubt how in affaires +Of Princes he dares meddle or desires. + +_Scevin_. We shall have blowes on both sides.--_Milichus_, +Provide me store of cloathes to bind up wounds.-- +What an't be heart for heart; Death is the worst. +The Gods sure keepe it, hide from us that live. +How sweet death is because we should goe on +And be their bailes.--There are about the house +Some stones that will stanch blood; see them set up.-- +This world I see hath no felicitie: +Ile trie the other. + +_Mili_. _Neroes_ life is sought;[62] +The sword's prepar'd against anothers breast, +The helpe for his. It can be no private foe, +For then 'twere best to make it knowne and call +His troupes of bond and freed men to his aide. +Besides his Counsellors, _Seneca_ +And _Lucan_, are no Managers of quarrels. + +_Scevin_. Me thinkes I see him struggling on the ground, +Heare his unmanly outcries and lost prayers +Made to the Gods which turne their heads away. +_Nero_, this day must end the worlds desires +And head-long send thee to unquenched fires. [_Exit_. + +_Mili_. Why doe I further idly stand debating? +My proofes are but too many and too frequent, +And Princes Eares still to suspitions open. +Who ever, being but accus'd, was quit? +For States are wise and cut of ylls that may be. +Meane men must die that t'other may sleepe sound. +Chiefely that[63] rule whose weaknes, apt to feares, +And bad deserts of all men makes them know +There's none but is in heart what hee's accused. + [_Exit_. + +_Finis Actus Tertii_. + + + +_Actus Quartus. + + + Enter Nero, Poppaea, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus, + and Epaphroditus_. + +_Nero_. This kisse, sweete love Ile force from thee, and this; +And of such spoiles and victories be prowder +Than if I had the fierce _Pannonian_ +Or gray-eyed _German_ ten times overcome. +Let _Iulius_ goe and fight at end oth' world +And conquer from the wilde inhabitants +Their cold and poverty, whilst _Nero_ here +Makes other warres, warres where the conquerd gaines, +Where to orecome is to be prisoner. +O willingly I give my freedome up +And put on my owne chaines, +And am in love with my captivitie. +Such _Venus_ is when on the sandy shore +Of _Xanthus_ or on _Idas_ pleasant greene +She leades the dance; her the Nymphes all a-rowe[64] +And smyling graces do accompany. +If _Bacchus_ could his stragling Mynion +Grace with a glorious wreath of shining Starres, +Why should not Heaven my _Poppaea_ Crowne? +The Northerne teeme shall move into a round, +New constellations rise to honour thee; +The earth shall wooe thy favours and the Sea +Lay his rich shells and treasure at thy feete. +For thee _Hidaspis_ shall throw up his gold, +_Panchaia_ breath the rich delightful smells; +The _Seres_ and the feather'd man of _Inde_ +Shall their fine arts and curious labours bring; +And where the Sunn's not knowne _Poppaeas_ name +Shall midst their feasts and barbarous pompe be sung. + +_Poppea_. I, now I am worthy to be Queene oth' world, +Fairer then _Venus_ or the _Bacchus_ love; +But you'le anon unto your cutt-boy[65] _Sporus_, +Your new made woman; to whom now, I heare, +You are wedded too. + +_Nero_. I wedded? + +_Poppaea_. I, you wedded. +Did you not heare the words oth' _Auspyces_? +Was not the boy in bride-like garments drest? +Marriage bookes seald as 'twere for yssue to +Be had betweene you? solemne feasts prepar'd, +While all the Court with _God-give-you-Ioy_ sounds? +It had bin good _Domitius_ your Father +Had nere had other wife. + +_Nero_. Your froward, foole; y'are still so bitter. +Whose that? + + _Enter Milichus to them_. + +_Nimph_. One that it seemes, my Lord, doth come in hast. + +_Nero_. Yet in his face he sends his tale before him. +Bad newes thou tellest? + +_Mili_. 'Tis bad I tell, but good that I can tell it +Therefore your Maiestie will pardon me +If I offend your eares to save your life. + +_Nero_. Why? is my life indangerd? +How ends the circumstance? thou wrackst my thoughts. + +_Mili_. My Lord, your life is conspir'd against. + +_Nero_. By whom? + +_Mili_. I must be of the world excus'd in this, +If the great dutie to your Maiestie, +Makes me all other lesser to neglect. + +_Nero_. Th'art a tedious fellow. Speake: by whom? + +_Mili_. By my Master. + +_Nero_. Who's thy Master? + +_Mili_. _Scevinus_. + +_Poppea_. _Scevinus_? why should he conspire?-- +Unlesse he thinke that likenesse in conditions +May make him, too, worthy oth' Empire thought. + +_Nero_. Who are else in it? + +[_Mili_]. I thinke _Natalis, Subrius, Flavus_,[66] +_Lucan, Seneca, and Lucius Piso, +Asper_ and _Quintilianus_. + +_Nero_. Ha done, +Thou'ilt reckon all Rome anone; and so thou maist, +Th'are villaines all, Ile not trust one of them. +O that the _Romanes_ had all but one necke! + +_Poppea_. _Pisoes_ slie creeping into mens affections +And popular arts have given long cause of doubt; +And th'others late observed discontents, +Risen from misinterpreted disgraces, +May make us credit this relation. + +_Nero_. Where are they? come they not upon us yet? +See the Guard doubled, see the Gates shut up. +Why, they'le surprise us in our Court anon. + +_Mili_. Not so, my Lord; they are at _Pisoes_ house +And thinke themselves yet safe and undiscry'd. + +_Nero_. Lets thither then, +And take them in this false security. + +_Tigell_. 'Twere better first to publish them traytors. + +_Nimph_. That were to make them so +And force them all upon their Enemies. +Now without stirre or hazard theyle be tane +And boldly triall dare and law demaund; +Besides, this accusation may be forg'd +By mallice or mistaking. + +_Poppea_. What likes you doe, _Nimphidius_, out of hand: +Two waies distract when either would prevaile. +If they, suspecting but this fellowes absence, +Should try the Citie and attempt their friends +How dangerous might _Pisoes_ favour be? + +_Nimph_. I to himselfe[67] would make the matter cleare +Which now upon one servants credit stands. +The Cities favour keepes within the bonds +Of profit, they'le love none to hurt themselves; +Honour and friendship they heare others name, +Themselves doe neither feele nor know the same. +To put them yet (though needlesse) in some feare +Weele keepe their streets with armed companies; +Then, if they stirre, they see their wives and houses +Prepar'd a pray to th'greedy Souldier. + +_Poppea_. Let us be quicke then, you to _Pisoes_ house, +While I and _Tigellinus_ further sift +This fellowes knowledge. + + [_Ex. omnes praeter Nero_. + +_Nero_. Looke to the gates and walles oth' Citie; looke +The river be well kept; have watches set +In every passage and in every way.-- +But who shall watch these watches? What if they, +Begin and play the Traitors first? O where shall I +Seeke faith or them that I may wisely trust? +The Citie favours the conspirators; +The Senate in disgrace and feare hath liv'd; +The Camp--why? most are souldiers that he named; +Besides, he knowes not all, and like a foole +I interrupted him, else had he named +Those that stood by me. O securitie, +Which we so much seeke after, yet art still +To Courts a stranger and dost rather choose +The smoaky reedes and sedgy cottages +Then the proud roofes and wanton cost of kings. +O sweet dispised ioyes of poverty, +A happines unknowne unto the Gods! +Would I had rather in poore _Gabii_[68] bin +Or _Ulubrae_ a ragged Magistrate, +Sat as a Iudge of measures and of corne +Then the adored Monarke of the world. +Mother, thou didst deservedly in this, +That from a private and sure state didst raise +My fortunes to this slippery hill of greatnesse +Where I can neither stand nor fall with life. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Piso, Lucan, Scevinus, Flavius_. + +_Flav_. But, since we are discover'd, what remaines +But put our lives upon our hands? these swords +Shall try us Traitors or true Citizens. + +_Scevin_. And what should make this hazard doubt successe? +Stout men are oft with sudden onsets danted: +What shall this Stage-player be? + +_Lucan_. It is not now +_Augustus_ gravitie nor _Tiberius_ craft, +But _Tigellinus_ and _Chrisogonus_, +Eunuckes and women that we goe against. + +_Scevin_. This for thy owne sake, this for ours we begg, +That thou wilt suffer him to be orecome; +Why shouldst thou keepe so many vowed swords +From such a hated throate? + +_Flav_. Or shall we feare +To trust unto the Gods so good a cause? + +_Lucan_. By this we may ourselves Heavens favour promise +Because all noblenesse and worth on earth +We see's on our side. Here the _Fabys_ sonne, +Here the _Corvini_ are and take that part +There noble Fathers would, if now they liv'd. +There's not a soule that claimes Nobilitie, +Either by his or his forefathers merit, +But is with us; with us the gallant youth +Whom passed dangers or hote bloud makes bould; +Staid men suspect their wisdome or their faith +To whom our counsels we have not reveald; +And while (our party seeking to disgrace) +They traitors call us, each man treason praiseth +And hateth faith when _Piso_ is a traitor. + +_Scevin_. And,[69] at adventure, what by stoutnesse can +Befall us worse than will by cowardise? +If both the people and the souldier failde us +Yet shall we die at least worthy our selves, +Worthy our ancestors. O _Piso_ thinke, +Thinke on that day when in the _Parthian_ fields +Thou cryedst to th'flying Legions to turne +And looke Death in the face; he was not grim +But faire and lovely when he came in armes. +O why there di'd we not on _Syrian_ swords? +Were we reserv'd to prisons and to chaines? +Behold the Galley-asses in every street; +And even now they come to clap on yrons. +Must _Pisoes_ head be shewed upon a pole? +Those members torne, rather then _Roman_-like +And _Piso_-like with weapons in our hands +Fighting in throng of enemies to die? +And that it shall not be a civill warre +_Nero_ prevents, whose cruelty hath left +Few Citizens; we are not Romans now +But Moores, and Jewes, and utmost Spaniards, +And _Asiaes_ refuse[70] that doe fill the Citie. + +_Piso_. Part of us are already tak'n; the rest +Amaz'd and seeking holes. Our hidden ends +You see laid open; Court and Citie arm'd +And for feare ioyning to the part they feare. +Why should we move desperate and hopelesse armes +And vainely spill that noble bloud that should +Christall _Rubes_[71] and the _Median_ fields, +Not _Tiber_ colour? And the more your show be, +Your loves and readinesse to loose your lives, +The lother I am to adventure them. +Yet am I proud you would for me have dy'd; +But live, and keepe your selves to worthier ends. +No Mother but my owne shall weepe my death +Nor will I make, by overthrowing us, +Heaven guiltie of more faults yet; from the hopes +Your owne good wishes rather then the thing +Doe make you see, this comfort I receive +Of death unforst. O friends I would not die +When I can live no longer; 'tis my glory +That free and willing I give up this breath, +Leaving such courages as yours untri'd. +But to be long in talk of dying would +Shew a relenting and a doubtfull mind: +By this you shall my quiet thoughts intend; +I blame not Earth nor Heaven for my end.[72] + (_He dies_.) + +_Lucan_. O that this noble courage had bin shewne +Rather on enemies breasts then on thy owne. + +_Scevin_. But sacred and inviolate be thy will, +And let it lead and teach us. +This sword I could more willingly have thrust +Through _Neroes_ breast; that fortune deni'd me, +It now shall through _Scevinus_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Tigellinus solus_. + +What multitudes of villaines are here gotten +In a conspiracy, which _Hydra_ like +Still in the cutting off increaseth more. +The more we take the more are still appeach[t], +And every man brings in new company. +I wonder what we shall doe with them all! +The prisons cannot hold more then they have, +The Iayles are full, the holes with Gallants stincke; +Strawe and gold lace together live, I thinke. +'Twere best even shut the gates oth' Citie up +And make it all one Iayle; for this I am sure, +There's not an honest man within the walles. +And, though the guilty doth exceed the free,[73] +Yet through a base and fatall cowardise +They all assist in taking one another +And by their owne hands are to prison led. +There's no condition nor degree of men +But here are met; men of the sword and gowne, +_Plebeians, Senators_, and women too; +Ladies that might have slaine him with their eye +Would use their hands; Philosophers +And Polititians. Polititians? +Their plot was laid too short. Poets would now +Not only write but be the arguments +Of Tragedies. The Emperour's much pleased: +But[74] some have named _Seneca_; and I +Will have _Petronius_. One promise of pardon +Or feare of torture will accusers find. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Enter Nimphidius, Lucan, Scevinus, with a guard_. + +_Nimph_. Though _Pisoes_ suddennesse and guilty hand +Prevented hath the death he should have had, +Yet you abide it must. + +_Lucan_. O may the earth lye lightly on his Course, +Sprinckle his ashes with your flowers and teares; +The love and dainties of mankind is gone. + +_Scevin_. What onely now we can, we'le follow thee +That way thou lead'st and waite on thee in death; +Which we had done had not these hindred us. + +_Nimph_. Nay, other ends your grievous crimes awaite, +Ends which the law and your deserts exact. + +_Scevin_. What have we deserved? + +_Nimph_. That punishment that traitors unto Princes, +And enemies to the State they live, in merit. + +_Scevin_. If by the State this government you meane +I iustly am an enemy unto it. +That's but to _Nero_, you and _Tigellinus_. +That glorious world that even beguiles the wise, +Being lookt into, includes but three or foure +Corrupted men, which were they all remov'd +'Twould for the common State much better be. + +_Nimph_. Why, what can you ith' government mislike, +Unlesse it grieve you that the world's in peace +Or that our arm[i]es conquer without blood? +Hath not his power with forraine visitations +And strangers honour more acknowlldg'd bin +Then any was afore him? Hath not hee +Dispos'd of frontier kingdomes with successe? +Given away Crownes, whom he set up availing? +The rivall seat of the _Arsacidae_, +That thought their brightnesse equall unto ours, +Is't crown'd by him, by him doth raigne? +If we have any warre it's beyond _Rhene_ +And _Euphrates_, and such whose different chances +Have rather serv'd for pleasure and discourse +Then troubled us. At home the Citie hath +Increast in wealth, with building bin adorn'd, +The arts have flourisht and the Muses sung; +And that his Iustice and well tempered raigne +Have the best Iudges pleas'd, the powers divine, +Their blessings and so long prosperitie +Of th'Empire under him enough declare. + +_Scevin_. You freed the State from warres abroad, but 'twas +To spoile at home more safely and divert +The _Parthian_ enmitie on us; and yet +The glory rather and the spoyles of warre +Have wanting bin, the losse and charge we have. +Your peace is full of cruelty and wrong; +Lawes taught to speake to present purposes; +Wealth and faire houses dangerous faults become; +Much blood ith' Citie and no common deaths, +But Gentlemen and Consulary houses. +On _Caesars_ owne house looke: hath that bin free? +Hath he not shed the blood he calls divine? +Hath not that neerenes which should love beget +Always on him bin cause of hate and feare? +Vertue and power suspected and kept downe? +They, whose great ancestors this Empire made, +Distrusted in the government thereof? +A happy state where _Decius_ is a traytor, +_Narcissus_ true! nor onley wast unsafe +T'offend the Prince; his freed men worse were feard, +Whose wrongs with such insulting pride were heard +That even the faultie it made innocent +If we complain'd that was it selfe a crime, +I, though it were to _Caesars_ benefit: +Our writings pry'd into, falce guiltines +Thinking each taxing pointed out it selfe; +Our private whisperings listned after; nay, +Our thoughts were forced out of us and punisht; +And had it bin in you to have taken away +Our understanding as you did our speech, +You would have made us thought this honest too. + +_Nimph_. Can malice narrow eyes +See anything yet more it can traduce? + +_Scevin_. His long continued taxes I forbeare, +In which he chiefely showed him to be Prince; +His robbing Alters,[75] sale of Holy things, +The Antique Goblets of adored rust +And sacred gifts of kings and people sold. +Nor was the spoile more odious than the use +They were imployd on; spent on shame and lust, +Which still have bin so endless in their change +And made us know a divers servitude. +But that he hath bin suffered so long +And prospered, as you say; for that to thee, +O Heaven, I turne my selfe and cry, "No God +Hath care of us." Yet have we our revenge, +As much as Earth may be reveng'd on Heaven: +Their divine honour _Nero_ shall usurpe, +And prayers and feasts and adoration have +As well as _Iupiter_. + +_Nimph_. Away, blaspheming tongue, +Be ever silent for thy bitternesse. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 5.) + + + _Enter Nero, Poppaea, Tigellinus, Flavius, Neophilus, + Epaphroditus, and a yong man_. + +_Nero_. What could cause thee, +Forgetfull of my benefits and thy oath, +To seeke my life? + +_Flav_. _Nero_, I hated thee: +Nor was there any of thy souldiers +More faithful, while thou faith deserv'dst, then I. +Together did I leave to be a subject, +And thou a Prince. Caesar was now become +A Player on the Stage, a Waggoner, +A burner of our houses and of us, +A Paracide of Wife and Mother.[76] + +_Tigell_. Villaine, dost know where and of whom thou speakst? + +_Nero_. Have you but one death for him? Let it bee +A feeling one; _Tigellinus_, bee't[77] +Thy charge, and let me see thee witty in't. + +_Tigell_. Come, sirrah; +Weele see how stoutly you'le stretch out your necke. + +_Flav_. Wold thou durst strike as stoutly. + [_Exit Tigell. and Flav_. + +_Nero_. And what's hee there? + +_Epaphr_. One that in whispering oreheard[78] +What pitie 'twas, my Lord, that _Pisoe_ died. + +_Nero_. And why was't pitie, sirrah, _Pisoe_ died? + +_Yong_. My Lord, 'twas pitie he deserv'd to die. + +_Poppaea_. How much this youth my _Otho_ doth resemble; (_aside_.) +_Otho_ my first, my best love who is now +(Under pretext of governing) exyl'd +To _Lucitania_, honourably banish't. + +_Nero_. Well, if you be so passionate, +Ile make you spend your pitie on your Prince +And good men, not on traytors. + +_Yong_. The Gods forbid my Prince should pitie need. +Somewhat the sad remembrance did me stirre +Oth' fraile and weake condition of our kind, +Somewhat his greatnesse; then whom yesterday +The world but _Caesar_ could shew nothing higher. +Besides, some vertues and some worth he had, +That might excuse my pitie to an end +So cruell and unripe. + +_Poppaea_. I know not how this stranger moves my mind. (_Aside_.) +His face me thinkes is not like other mens, +Nor do they speake thus. Oh, his words invade +My weakned senses and overcome my heart. + +_Nero_. Your pitie shewes your favour and your will, +Which side you are inclinde too, had you[79] power: +You can but pitie, else should _Caesar_ feare. +Your ill affection then shall punisht bee. +Take him to execution; he shall die +That the death pities of mine enemie. + +_Yong_. This benefit at least +Sad death shall give, to free me from the power +Of such a government; and if I die +For pitying humane chance and _Pisoes_ end +There will be some too that will pitie mine. + +_Poppaea_. O what a dauntlesse looke, what sparkling eyes, (_aside.)_ +Threating in suffering! sure some noble blood +Is hid in ragges; feares argues a base spirit; +In him what courage and contempt of death! +And shall I suffer one I love to die? +He shall not die.--Hands of this man! Away! +_Nero_, thou shalt not kill this guiltlesse man. + +_Nero_. He guiltlesse? Strumpet! + + (_Spurns her, and Poppaea falls_.) + +She is in love with the smooth face of the boy. + +_Neoph_. Alas, my Lord, you have slaine her. + +_Epaphr_. Helpe, she dies. + +_Nero_. _Poppaea, Poppaea_, speake, I am not angry; +I did not meane to hurt thee; speake, sweet love. + +_Neoph_. She's dead, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Fetch her againe, she shall not die: +Ile ope the Iron gates of hell +And breake the imprison'd shaddowes of the deepe, +And force from death this farre too worthy pray. +She is not dead: +The crimson red that like the morning shone, +When from her windowes (all with Roses strewde) +She peepeth forth, forsakes not yet her cheekes; +Her breath, that like a hony-suckle smelt, +Twining about the prickled Eglintine, +Yet moves her lips; those quicke and piercing eyes, +That did in beautie challenge heaven's eyes,[80] +Yet shine as they were wont. O no, they doe not; +See how they grow obscure. O see, they close +And cease to take or give light to the world. +What starres so ere you are assur'd to grace +The[81] firmament (for, loe, the twinkling fires +Together throng and that cleare milky space, +Of stormes and _Phiades_ and thunder void, +Prepares your roome) do not with wry aspect +Looke on your _Nero_, who in blood shall mourne +Your lucklesse fate, and many a breathing soule +Send after you to waite upon their Queene. +This shall begin; the rest shall follow after, +And fill the streets with outcryes and with slaughter. + + [_Exeunt_.] + + + +(SCENE 6.) + + + _Enter Seneca with two of his friends_. + +_Seneca_. What meanes your mourning, this ungrateful sorrow? +Where are your precepts of _Philosophie_, +Where our prepared resolution +So many yeeres fore-studied against danger? +To whom is _Neroes_ cruelty unknowne, +Or what remained after mothers blood +But his instructors death? Leave, leave these teares; +Death from me nothing takes but what's a burthen, +A clog to that free sparke of Heavenly fire. +But that in _Seneca_ the which you lov'd, +Which you admir'd, doth and shall still remaine, +Secure of death, untouched of the grave. + +1 _Friend_. Weele not belie our teares; we waile not thee, +It is our selves and our owne losse we grieve: +To thee what losse in such a change can bee? +Vertue is paid her due by death alone. +To our owne losses do we give these teares, +That loose thy love, thy boundlesse knowledge loose, +Loose the unpatternd sample of thy vertue, +Loose whatsoev'r may praise or sorrow move. +In all these losses yet of this we glory, +That 'tis thy happinesse that makes us sorry. + +2 _Friend_. If there be any place for Ghosts of good men, +If (as we have bin long taught) great mens soules +Consume not with their bodies, thou shalt see +(Looking from out the dwellings of the ayre) +True duties to thy memorie perform'd; +Not in the outward pompe of funerall, +But in remembrance of thy deeds and words, +The oft recalling of thy many vertues. +The Tombe that shall th'eternall relickes keepe +Of _Seneca_ shall be his hearers hearts. + +_Seneca_. Be not afraid, my soule; goe cheerefully +To thy owne Heaven, from whence it first let downe. +Thou loathly[82] this imprisoning flesh putst on; +Now, lifted up, thou ravisht shalt behold +The truth of things at which we wonder here, +And foolishly doe wrangle on beneath; +And like a God shalt walk the spacious ayre, +And see what even to conceit's deni'd. +Great soule oth' world, that through the parts defus'd +Of this vast All, guid'st what thou dost informe; +You blessed mindes that from the _[S]pheares_ you move, +Looke on mens actions not with idle eyes, +And Gods we goe to, aid me in this strife +And combat of my flesh that, ending, I +May still shew _Seneca_ and my selfe die. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 7.) + + + _Enter Antonius, Enanthe_. + +_Anton_. Sure this message of the Princes, +So grievous and unlookt for, will appall +_Petronius_ much. + +_Enan_. Will not death any man? + +_Anton_. It will; but him so much the more +That, having liv'd to his pleasure, shall forgoe +So delicate a life. I doe not marvell[83] +That _Seneca_ and such sowre fellowes can +Leave that they never tasted, but when we +That have the _Nectar_ of thy kisses felt, +That drinkes away the troubles of this life, +And but one banquet make[s] of forty yeeres, +Must come to leave this;--but, soft, here he is. + + _Enter Petronius and a Centurion_. + +_Petron_. Leave me a while, _Centurion_, to my friends; +Let me my farewell take, and thou shalt see +_Neroes_ commandement quickly obaid in mee. [_Ex. Centur_. +--Come, let us drinke and dash the posts with wine! +Here throw your flowers; fill me a swelling bowle +Such as _Mecenas_ or my _Lucan_ dranke +On _Virgills_ birth day.[84] + +_Enan_. What meanes, _Petronius_, this unseasonable +And causelesse mirth? Why, comes not from the Prince +This man to you a messenger of death? + +_Petron_. Here, faire _Enanthe_, whose plumpe, ruddy cheeke +Exceeds the grape!--It makes this[85]--here, my geyrle. (_He drinks_.) +--And thinkst thou death a matter of such harme? +Why, he must have this pretty dimpling chin, +And will pecke out those eyes that now so wound. + +_Enan_. Why, is it not th'extreamest of all ills? + +_Petron_. It is indeed the last and end of ills. +The Gods, before th'would let us tast deaths Ioyes, +Plact us ith' toyle and sorrowes of this world, +Because we should perceive th'amends and thanke them; +Death, the grim knave, but leades you to the doore +Where, entred once, all curious pleasures come +To meete and welcome you. +A troope of beauteous Ladies, from whose eyes +Love thousand arrows, thousand graces shootes, +Puts forth theire fair hands to you and invites +To their greene arbours and close shadowed walkes,[86] +Whence banisht is the roughness of our yeeres! +Onely the west wind blowes, its[87] ever Spring +And ever Sommer. There the laden bowes +Offer their tempting burdens to your hand, +Doubtful your eye or tast inviting more. +There every man his owne desires enioyes; +Fair _Lucrese_ lies by lusty _Tarquins_ side, +And woes him now againe to ravish her. +Nor us, though _Romane, Lais_ will refuse; +To _Corinth_[88] any man may goe; no maske, +No envious garment doth those beauties hide, +Which Nature made so moving to be spide. +But in bright Christall, which doth supply all, +And white transparent vailes they are attyr'd, +Through which the pure snow underneath doth shine; +(Can it be snowe from whence such flames arise?) +Mingled with that faire company shall we +On bankes of _Violets_ and of _Hiacinths_, +Of loves devising, sit and gently sport; +And all the while melodious Musique heare, +And Poets songs that Musique farre exceed, +The old _Anaiccan_[89] crown'd with smiling flowers, +And amorous _Sapho_ on her Lesbian Lute +Beauties sweet Scarres and Cupids godhead sing. + +_Anton_. What? be not ravisht with thy fancies; doe not +Court nothing, nor make love unto our feares. + +_Petron_. Is't nothing that I say? + +_Anton_. But empty words. + +_Petron_. Why, thou requir'st some instance of the eye. +Wilt thou goe with me, then, and see that world +Which either will returne thy old delights, +Or square thy appetite anew to theirs? + +_Anton_. Nay, I had rather farre believe thee here; +Others ambition such discoveries seeke. +Faith, I am satisfied with the base delights +Of common men. A wench, a house I have, +And of my own a garden: Ile not change +For all your walkes and ladies and rare fruits. + +_Petron_. Your pleasures must of force resign to these: +In vaine you shun the sword, in vaine the sea, +In vaine is _Nero_ fear'd or flattered. +Hether you must and leave your purchast houses, +Your new made garden and your black browd wife, +And of the trees thou hast so quaintly set, +Not one but the displeasant Cipresse shall +Goe with thee.[90] + +_Anton_. Faith 'tis true, we must at length; +But yet, _Petronius_, while we may awhile +We would enjoy them; those we have w'are sure of, +When that thou talke of's doubtful and to come. + +_Petron_. Perhaps thou thinkst to live yet twenty yeeres, +Which may unlookt for be cut off, as mine; +If not, to endlesse time compar'd is nothing. +What you endure must ever, endure now; +Nor stay not to be last at table set. +Each best day of our life at first doth goe, +To them succeeds diseased age and woe; +Now die your pleasures, and the dayes you[91] pray +Your rimes and loves and jests will take away. +Therefore, my sweet, yet thou wilt goe with mee, +And not live here to what thou wouldst not see. + +_Enan_. Would y'have me then [to] kill my selfe, and die, +And goe I know not to what places there? + +_Petron_. What places dost thou feare? +Th'ill-favoured lake they tell thee thou must passe, +And the[92] blacke frogs that croake about the brim? + +_Enan_. O, pardon, Sir, though death affrights a woman, +Whose pleasures though you timely here divine, +The paines we know and see. + +_Petron_. The paine is lifes; death rids that paine away. +Come boldly, there's no danger in this foord; +Children passe through it. If it be a paine +You have this comfort that you past it are. + +_Enan_. Yet all, as well as I, are loath to die. + +_Petron_. Judge them by deed, you see them doe't apace. + +_Enan_. I, but 'tis loathly and against their wils. + +_Petron_. Yet know you not that any being dead +Repented them and would have liv'd againe. +They then there errors saw and foolish prayers, +But you are blinded in the love of life; +Death is but sweet to them that doe approach it. +To me, as one that tak'n with _Delphick_ rage, +When the divining God his breast doth fill, +He sees what others cannot standing by, +It seemes a beauteous and pleasant thing.-- +Where is my deaths Phisitian? + +_Phisi_. Here, my Lord. + +_Petron_. Art ready? + +_Phisi_. I, my Lord. + +_Petron_. And I for thee: +Nero, my end shall mocke thy tyranny. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Quarti_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + + + _Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus, + Epaphroditus and other attendants_. + +_Nero_. Enough is wept, _Poppaea_, for thy death, +Enough is bled: so many teares of others +Wailing their losses have wipt mine away. +Who in the common funerall of the world +Can mourne on[e] death? + +_Tigell_. Besides, Your Maiestie this benefit +In their diserved punishment shall reape, +From all attempts hereafter to be freed. +Conspiracy is how for ever dasht, +Tumult supprest, rebellion out of heart; +In _Pisoes_ death danger it selfe did die. + +_Nimph_. _Piso_ that thought to climbe by bowing downe, +By giving a way to thrive, and raising others +To become great himselfe, hath now by death +Given quiet to your thoughts and feare to theirs +That shall from treason their advancement plot; +Those dangerous heads that his ambition leand on; +And they by it crept up and from their meannesse +Thought in this stirre to rise aloft, are off. +Now peace and safetie waite upon your throne; +Securitie hath wall'd your seat about; +There is no place for feare left. + +_Nero_. Why, I never feard them. + +_Nimph_. That was your fault: +Your Maiestie might give us leave to blame +Your dangerous courage and that noble soule +To prodigall[93] of it selfe. + +_Nero_. A Princes mind knowes neither feare nor hope: +The beames of royall Maiestie are such +As all eyes are with it amaz'd and weakened, +But it with nothing. I at first contemn'd +Their weak devises and faint enterprise. +Why, thought they against him to have prevail'd +Whose childhood was from _Messalinas_ spight +By Dragons[94] (that the earth gave up), preserv'd? +Such guard my cradle had, for fate had then +Pointed me out to be what now I am. +Should all the Legions and the provinces, +In one united, against me conspire +I could disperce them with one angry eye; +My brow's an host of men. Come, _Tigellinus_, +Let turne this bloody banquet _Piso_ meant us +Into a merry feast; weele drink and challenge +Fortune.--Whose that _Neophilus_? + + _Enter a Roman_. + +_Neoph_. A Currier from beyond the Alpes, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Newes of some German victory, belike, +Or Britton overthrow. + +_Neoph_. The letters come from France. + +_Nimph_. Why smiles your Maiestie? + +_Nero_. So, I smile? I should be afraid; there's one +In Armes, _Nimphidius_. + +_Nimph_. What, arm'd against your Maiestie? + +_Nero_. Our lieutenant of the Province, _Julius Vindex_. + +_Tigell_. Who? that guiddy French-man? + +_Nimph_. His Province is disarm'd, my Lord; he hath +No legion nor a souldier under him. + +_Epaphr_. One that by blood and rapine would repaire +His state consum'd in vanities and lust. + + _Enter another Roman_. + +_Tigell_. He would not find out three to follow him. + +_A Mess_. More newes, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Is it of _Vindex_ that thou hast to say? + +_Mess_. _Vindex_ is up and with him France in Armes; +The Noblemen and people throng to th'cause; +Money and Armour Cities doe conferre; +The countrey doth send in provision; +Young men bring bodies, old men lead them forth; +Ladies doe coine their Iewels into pay; +The sickle now is fram'd into a sword +And drawing horses are to manage taught; +France nothing doth but warre and fury breath. + +_Nero_. All this fierce talk's but "Vindex doth rebell"; +And I will hang him. + +_Tigell_. How long came you forth after the other messenger? + +_Mess_. Foure dayes, but by the benefit of sea and +Weather am arrivd with him. + +_Nimph_. How strong was _Vindex_ at your setting forth? + +_Mess_. He was esteem'd a hundred thousand. + +_Tigell_. Men enough. + +_Nimph_. And souldiers few enough; +Tumultuary troops, undisciplin'd, +Untrain'd in service; to wast victuals good, +But when they come to look on warres black wounds, +And but afarre off see the face of death-- + +_Nero_. It falles out for my empty coffers well, +The spoyle of such a large and goodly Province +Enricht with trade and long enioyed peace. + +_Tigell_. What order will your Maiestie have taken +For levying forces to suppresse this stirre? + +_Nero_. What order should we take? weele laugh and drinke. +Thinkst thou it fit my pleasures be disturb'd +When any French-man list to breake his necke! +They have not heard of _Pisoes_ fortune yet; +Let that Tale fight with them. + +_Nimph_. What order needs? Your Maiestie shal finde +This French heat quickly of it selfe grow cold. + +_Nero_. Come away: +Nothing shall come that this nights sport shall stay. + + [_Ex. Ner. Nimph. Tig. and attendants_. + + + _Mane[n]t Neophilus, Epaphroditus_. + +_Neoph_. I wonder what makes him so confident +In this revolt now growne unto a warre, +And ensignes in the field; when in the other, +Being but a plot of a conspiracie, +He shew'd himselfe so wretchedly dismaid? + +_Epaphr_. Faith, the right nature of a coward to set light +Dangers that seeme farre off. _Piso_ was here, +Ready to enter at the Presence doore +And dragge him out of his abused chaire; +And then he trembled. _Vindex_ is in France, +And many woods and seas and hills betweene. + +_Neoph_. 'Twas strange that _Piso_ was so soone supprest. + +_Epaphr_. Strange? strange indeed; for had he but come up +And taken the Court in that affright and stirre +While unresolv'd for whom or what to doe, +Each on [of?] the other had in iealousie +(While as apaled Maiestie not yet +Had time to set the countenance), he would +Have hazarded the royall seat. + +_Neoph_. Nay, had it without hazard; all the Court +Had for him bin and those disclos'd their love +And favour in the cause, which now to hide +And colour their good meanings ready were +To shew their forwardnesse against it most. + +_Epaphr_. But for a stranger with a naked province, +Without allies or friends ith' state, to challenge +A Prince upheld with thirty Legions, +Rooted in foure discents of Ancestors +And foureteene yeares continuance of raigne, +Why it is-- + + _Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus to them_. + +_Nero_. Galba and Spaine? What? Spaine and Gal[b]a too? + + [_Ex. Ner. Nimph_. + +_Epaph_. I pray thee, _Tigellinus_, what furie's this? +What strange event, what accident hath thus +Orecast your countenances? + +_Tigell_. Downe we were set at table and began +With sparckling bowles to chase our feares away, +And mirth and pleasure lookt out of our eyes; +When, loe, a breathless messenger arrives +And tells how _Vindex_ and the powers of France +Have _Sergius Galba_ chosen Emperor; +With what applause the Legions him receive; +That Spaines revolted, Portingale hath ioyn'd; +As much suspected is of Germany. +But _Nero_, not abiding out the end, +Orethrew the tables, dasht against the ground +The cuppe which he so much, you know, esteem'd; +Teareth his haire and with incensed rage +Curseth false men and Gods the lookers on. + +_Neoph_. His rage, we saw, was wild and desperate. + +_Epaph_. O you unsearched wisedomes which doe laugh +At our securitie and feares alike, +And plaine to shew our weaknesse and your power +Make us contemne the harmes which surest strike; +When you our glories and our pride undoe +Our overthrow you make ridiculous too. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Nimphidius solus_. + +Slow making counsels and the sliding yeere +Have brought me to the long foreseene destruction +Of this misled young man. His State is shaken +And I will push it on; revolted France +Nor the coniured Provinces of Spaine +Nor his owne guilt shall like to me oppresse him. +I to his easie yeelding feares proclaime +New German mutenys and all the world +Rowsing it selfe in hate of _Neroes_ name; +I his distracted counsels doe disperce +With fresh despaires; I animate the Senate +And the people, to ingage them past recall +In preiudice of _Nero_: and in briefe +Perish he must,--the fates and I resolve it. +Which to effect I presently will goe +Proclaime a _Donative_ in _Galbaes_ name. + + _Enter Antoneus to him_. + +_Anton_. Yonders _Nimphidius_, our Commander, now. +I with respect must speake and smooth my brow. +--Captaine, all haile. + +_Nimph_. _Antoneus_, well met. +Your place of _Tribune_ in this Anarchi. + +_Anton_. This Anarchy, my Lord? is _Nero_ dead? + +_Nimph_. This Anarchy, this yet unstiled time +While Galba is unseased of the Empire +Which _Nero_ hath forsooke. + +_Anton_. Hath _Nero_ then resign'd the Empire? + +_Nimph_. In effect he hath for he's fled to _Egypt_. + +_Anton_. My Lord, you tell strange newes to me. + +_Nimph_. But nothing strange to mee, +Who every moment knew of his despaires. +The Curriers came so fast with fresh alarmes +Of new revolts that he, unable quite +To beare his feares which he had long conceal'd, +Is now revolted from himselfe and fled. + +_Anton_. Thrust with report and rumours from his seat! +My Lord, you know the Campe depends on you +As you determine. + +_Nimph_. There it lies _Antonius_. +What should we doe? it boots not to relie +On Neroes stinking fortunes; and to sit +Securely looking on were to receive +An Emperor from Spaine: which how disgracefull +It were to us who, if we waigh our selves, +The most materiall accessions are +Of all the Roman Empire. Which disgrace +To cover we must ioyne ourselves betimes, +And therefore seeme to have created _Galba_. +Therefore He straight proclaime a _Donative_ +Of thirty thousand sesterces a man. + +_Anton_. I thinke so great a gift was never heard of. +_Galba_, they say, is frugally inclinde: +Will he avow so great a gift as this? + +_Nimph_. Howere he like of it he must avow it, +If by our promise he be once ingaged; +And since the souldiers care belongs to mee, +I will have care of them and of their good. +Let them thank me if I through this occasion +Procure for them so great a donative. + [_Ex. Nimph_. + +_Anton_. So you be thankt it skils not who prevaile, +_Galba_ or _Nero_,--traitor to them both. +You give it out that _Neroes_ fled to _Egypt_, +Who, with the frights of your reports amaz'd, +By our device doth lurke for better newes, +Whilst you inevitably doe betray him. +Workes he all this for _Galba_ then? Not so: +I have long seene his climbing to the Empire +By secret practises of gracious women. +And other instruments of the late Court. +That was his love to her that me refus'd; +And now by this he would [gain?] give the souldiers favour. +Now is the time to quit _Poppaeas_ scorne +And his rivallity. Ile straight reveale +His treacheries to _Galbaes_ agents here. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Tigellinus with the Guard_. + +_Tigell_. You see what issue things doe sort unto; +Yet may we hope not only impunitie +But with our fellowes part oth' guift proclaim'd. + + _Nero meets them_. + +_Nero_. Whether goe you? stay, my friends; +'Tis Caesar calls you; stay, my loving friends. + +_Tigell_. We were his slaves, his footstooles, and must crouch +But now with such observance to his feet; +It is his misery that calles us friends. + +_Nero_. And moves you not the misery of a Prince? +O stay, my friends, stay, harken to the voyce +Which once yee knew. + +_Tigell_. Harke to the peoples cryes, +Harke to the streets that _Galba, Galba_, ring. + +_Nero_. The people may forsake me without blame, +I did them wrong to make you rich and great, +I tooke their houses to bestow on you; +Treason in them hath name of libertie: +Your fault hath no excuse, you are my fault +And the excuse of others treachery. + +_Tigell_. Shall we with staying seeme his tyrannies +T'uphold, as if we were in love with them? +We are excus'd (unlesse we stay too long) +As forced Ministers and a part of wrong. + + [_Ex. praeter Nero_. + +_Nero_. O now I see the vizard from my face, +So lovely and so fearefull, is fall'n off, +That vizard, shadow, nothing, Maiestie, +Which, like a child acquainted with his feares, +But now men trembled at and now contemne. +_Nero_ forsaken is of all the world, +The world of truth. O fall some vengeance downe +Equall unto their falsehoods and my wrongs! +Might I accept the Chariot of the Sunne +And like another _Phaeton_ consume +In flames of all the world, a pile of Death +Worthy the state and greatnesse I have lost! +Or were I now but Lord of my owne fires +Wherein false Rome yet once againe might smoake +And perish, all unpitied of her Gods, +That all things in their last destruction might +Performe a funerall honour to their Lord! +O _Iove_ dissolve with _Caesar Caesars_ world; +Or you whom _Nero_ rather should invoke, +Blacke _Chaos_ and you fearefull shapes beneath, +That with a long and not vaine envy have +Sought to destroy this worke of th'other Gods; +Now let your darknesse cease the spoyles of day, +And the worlds first contention end your strife. + + _Enter two Romanes to him_. + +1 _Rom_. Though others, bound with greater benefits, +Have left your changed fortunes and doe runne +Whither new hopes doe call them, yet come we. + +_Nero_. O welcome come you to adversitie; +Welcome, true friends. Why, there is faith on earth; +Of thousand servants, friends and followers, +Yet two are left. Your countenance, me thinks, +Gives comfort and new hopes. + +2 _Rom_. Doe not deceive your thoughts: +My Lord, we bring no comfort,--would we could,-- +But the last duty to performe and best +We ever shall, a free death to persuade, +To cut off hopes of fearcer cruelty +And scorne, more cruell to a worthy soule. + +1 _Rom_. The Senate have decreed you're punishable +After the fashion of our ancestors, +Which is, your necke being locked in a forke, +You must be naked whipt and scourg'd to death. + +_Nero_. The Senate thus decreed? they that so oft +My vertues flattered have and guifts of mine, +My government preferr'd to ancient times, +And challenge[d] _Numa_ to compare with me,-- +Have they so horrible an end sought out? +No, here I beare which shall prevent such shame; +This hand shall yet from that deliver me, +And faithfull be alone unto his Lord. +Alasse, how sharp and terrible is death! +O must I die, must now my senses close? +For ever die, and nere returne againe, +Never more see the Sunne, nor Heaven, nor Earth? +Whither goe I? What shall I be anone? +What horred iourney wandrest thou, my soule, +Under th'earth in darke, dampe, duskie vaults? +Or shall I now to nothing be resolv'd? +My feares become my hopes; O would I might. +Me thinkes I see the boyling _Phlegeton_ +And the dull poole feared of them we feare, +The dread and terror of the Gods themselves; +The furies arm'd with linkes, with whippes, with snakes, +And my owne furies farre more mad then they, +My mother and those troopes of slaughtred friends. +And now the Iudge is brought unto the throne, +That will not leave unto Authoritie +Nor favour the oppressions of the great! + +1 _Rom_. These are the idle terrors of the night, +Which wise men (though they teach) doe not beleeve, +To curbe our pleasures faine[d] and aide the weake. + +2 _Rom_. Deaths wrongfull defamation, which would make +Us shunne this happy haven of our rest, +This end of evils, as some fearefull harme. + +1 _Rom_. Shadowes and fond imaginations, +Which now (you see) on earth but children feare. + +2 _Rom_. Why should our faults feare punishment from them? +What doe the actions of this life concerne +The tother world, with which is no commerce? + +1 _Rom_. Would Heaven and Starres necessitie compell +Us to doe that which after it would punish? + +2 _Rom_. Let us not after our lives end beleeve +More then you felt before it. + +_Nero_. If any words had[95] made me confident +And boldly doe for hearing others speake +Boldly, this might.[96] But will you by example +Teach me the truth of your opinion +And make me see that you beleeve yourselves? +Will you by dying teach me to beare death +With courage? + +1 _Rom_. No necessitie of death +Hangs ore our heads, no dangers threaten us +Nor Senates sharpe decree nor _Galbaes_ arms. + +2 _Rom_. Is this the thankes, then, thou dost pay our love? +Die basely as such a life deserv'd; +Reserve thy selfe to punishment, and scorne +Of Rome and of thy laughing enemies. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manet Nero_. + +_Nero_. They hate me cause I would but live. What was't +You lov'd, kind friends, and came to see my death? +Let me endure all torture and reproach +That earth or _Galbaes_ anger can inflict; +Yet hell and _Rodamanth_ are more pittilesse. + + _The first Romane to him_. + +_Rom_. Though not deserv'd, yet once agen I come +To warne thee to take pitie on thy selfe. +The troopes by the Senate sent descend the hill +And come. + +_Nero_. To take me and to whip me unto death! +O whither shall I flye? + +_Rom_. Thou hast no choice. + +_Nero_. O hither must I flye: hard is his happe +Who from death onely must by death escape. +Where are they yet? O may not I a little +Bethinke my selfe? + +_Rom_. They are at hand; harke, thou maist heare the noise. + +_Nero_. O _Rome_, farewell! farewell, you Theaters +Where I so oft with popular applause +In song and action--O they come, I die. + (_He falls on his sword_.) + +_Rom_. So base an end all iust commiseration +Doth take away: yet what we doe now spurne +The morning Sunne saw fearefull to the world. + + _Enter some of Galbaes friends, Antoneus and others, + with Nimphidius bound_. + +_Gal_. You both shall die together, Traitors both +He to the common wealth and thou to him +And worse to a good Prince.--What? is he dead? +Hath feare encourag'd him and made him thus +Prevent our punishment? Then die with him: +Fall thy aspiring at thy Master's feete. + (_He kils Nimph_). + +_Anton_. Who, though he iustly perisht, yet by thee +Deserv'd it not; nor ended there thy treason, +But even thought oth' Empire thou conceiv'st. +_Galbaes_ disgrace[d] in receiving that +Which the sonne of _Nimphidia_ could hope. + +_Rom_. Thus great bad men above them find a rod: +People, depart and say there is a God. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +FINIS. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE MAYDES METAMORPHOSIS. + + +The anonymous comedy of the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ (1600), usually +attributed to Lilly, shews few traces of the mannerisms of the graceful +but insipid Euphuist. It is just such a play as George Wither or William +Browne might have written in very early youth. The writer was evidently +an admirer of Spenser, and has succeeded in reproducing on his Pan-pipe +some thin, but not unpleasing, echoes of his master's music. Mr. Edmund +W. Gosse has suggested that the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ may be an early +work of John Day; and no one is better able to pronounce on such a point +than Mr. Gosse. The scene at the beginning of Act ii., and the gossip of +the pages in Acts ii. and iii., are certainly very much in Day's manner. +The merciless harrying of the word "kind" at the beginning of Act v. +reminds one of similar elaborate trifling in _Humour out of Breath_; +and the amoebaean rhymes in the contention between Gemulo and Silvio +(Act i.) are, in their sportive quaintness, as like Day's handiwork as +they are unlike Lilly's. In reading the pretty echo-scene, in Act iv., +the reader will recall a similar scene in _Law Trickes_ (Act v., Sc. I). +On the other hand, the delightful songs of the fairies[97] (in Act iii.), +if not written by Lilly, were at least suggested by the fairies' song in +_Endymion_. It would be hard to say what Lilly might not have achieved +if he had not stultified himself by his detestable pedantry: his songs +(_O si sic omnia_) are hardly to be matched for silvery sweetness. + +Mr. Gosse thinks that the rhymed heroics, in which the _Maydes +Metamorphosis_ is mainly written, bear strong traces of Day's style; and +as Mr. Gosse, who is at once a poet and a critic, judges by his ear and +not by his thumb, his opinion carries weight. Day's capital work, the +_Parliament of Bees_, is incomparably more workmanlike than the _Maydes +Metamorphosis_; but the latter, it should be remembered, is beyond all +doubt a very juvenile performance. Turning over some old numbers of a +magazine, I found a reviewer of Mr. Tennyson's _Princess_ complaining +"that we could have borne rather more polish!" How the fledgling poet +of the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ would have fared at the reviewer's hands +I tremble to think. But though his rhymes are occasionally slipshod, +and the general texture is undeniably thin, still there is something +attractive in the young writer's shy tentativeness. The reader who +comes to a perusal with the expectation of getting some substantial +diet, will be grievously mistaken; but those who are content if they +can catch and hold fast a fleeting flavour will not regret the +half-hour spent in listening to the songs of the elves and the prattle +of the pages in this quaint old pastoral. + + + + +THE MAYDES METAMORPHOSIS. + + +_As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles_. + +LONDON: Printed by _Thomas Creede_, for _Richard Oliue_, dwelling +in long Lane. 1600. + + + +_THE PROLOGUE. + +The manifold, great favours we have found, + By you to us poore weaklings still extended; +Whereof your vertues have been only ground, + And no desert in us to be so friended; +Bindes us some way or other to expresse, + Though all our all be else defeated quite +Of any meanes save duteous thankefulnes, + Which is the utmost measure of our might: +Then, to the boundlesse ocean of your woorth + This little drop of water we present; +Where though it never can be singled foorth, + Let zeale be pleader for our good intent. + Drops not diminish but encrease great floods, + And mites impaire not but augment our goods_. + + + + +The Maydes Metamorphosis. + + + +_Actus Primus_. + + + _Enter Phylander, Orestes, Eurymine_. + +_Eurymine_. _Phylander_ and _Orestes_, what conceyt +Troubles your silent mindes? Let me intreat, +Since we are come thus farre, as we do walke +You would deuise some prettie pleasant talke; +The aire is coole, the euening high and faire: +Why should your cloudie lookes then shew dispaire? + +_Phy_. Beleeue me, faire _Eurimine_, my skill +Is simple in discourse, and vtterance ill; +_Orestes_, if he we were disposde to trie, +Can better manage such affaires than I. + +_Eu_. Why then, _Orestes_, let me crave of you +Some olde or late done story to renew: +Another time you shall request of me +As good, if not a greater, curtesie. + +_Or_. Trust me, as now (nor can I shew a reason) +All mirth vnto my mind comes out of season; +For inward I am troubled in such sort +As all vnfit I am to make report +Of any thing may breed the least delight; +Rather in teares I wish the day were night, +For neither can myself be merry now +Nor treat of ought that may be likte of you. + +_Eu_. Thats but your melancholike old disease, +That neuer are disposde but when ye please. + +_Phy_. Nay, mistresse, then, since he denies the taske, +My selfe will strait complish what ye aske; +And, though the pleasure of my tale be small, +Yet may it serue to passe the time withall. + +_Eu_. Thanks, good _Phylander_; when you please, say on: +Better I deeme a bad discourse then none. + +_Phy_. Sometime there liu'd a Duke not far from hence, +Mightie in fame and vertues excellence; +Subiects he had as readie to obey +As he to rule, beloued eueryway; +But that which most of all he gloried in +(Hope of his age and comfort of his kin) +Was the fruition of one onely sonne, +A gallant youth, inferior vnto none +For vertue shape or excellence of wit, +That after him vpon his throne might sit. +This youth, when once he came to perfect age, +The Duke would faine have linckt in marriage +With diuers dames of honourable blood +But stil his fathers purpose he withstood. + +_Eu_. How? was he not of mettal apt to loue? + +_Phy_. Yes, apt enough as wil the sequel proue; +But so the streame of his affection lay +As he did leane a quite contrary way, +Disprouing still the choice his father made, +And oftentimes the matter had delaid; +Now giuing hope he would at length consent, +And then again excusing his intent. + +_Eu_. What made him so repugnant in his deeds? + +_Phy_. Another loue, which this disorder breeds; +For euen at home, within his father's Court, +The Saint was shrinde whom he did honor most; +A louely dame, a virgin pure and chaste, +And worthy of a Prince to be embrac'te, +Had but her birth (which was obscure, they said) +Answerd her beautie; this their opinion staid. +Yet did this wilful youth affect her still +And none but she was mistres of his will: +Full often did his father him disswade +From liking such a mean and low-born mayde; +The more his father stroue to change his minde +The more the sonne became with fancy blinde. + +_Eu_. Alas, how sped the silly Louers then? + +_Phy_. As might euen grieue the rude vnciuilst men: +When here vpon to weane his fixed heart +From such dishonour to his high desert +The Duke had labourd but in vaine did striue, +Thus he began his purpose to contriue: +Two of his seruants, of vndoubted trvth, +He bound by vertue of a solemne oath +To traine the silly damzel out of sight +And there in secret to bereaue her quite-- + +_Eu_. Of what? her life? + +_Phy_. Yes, Madame, of her life, +Which was the cause of all the former strife. + +_Eu_. And did they kill her? + +_Phy_. You shall heare anon; +The question first must be discided on +In your opinion: whats your iudgement? say. +Who were most cruell, those that did obay +Or he who gaue commandment for the fact? + +_Eu_. In each of them it was a bloody act, +Yet they deserue (to speake my minde of both) +Most pardon that were bound thereto by oath. + +_Phy_. It is enough; we do accept your doome +To passe vnblam'd what ere of you become. + +_Eu_. To passe vnblam'de what ere become of me! +What may the meaning of these speeches be? + +_Phy_. _Eurymine_, my trembling tongue doth faile, +My conscience yrkes, my fainting sences quaile, +My faltring speech bewraies my guiltie thought +And stammers at the message we haue brought. + +_Eu_. Ay me! what horror doth inuade my brest! + +_Or_. Nay then, _Phylander_, I will tell the rest: +Damzell, thus fares thy case; demand not why, +You must forthwith prepare your selfe to dye; +Therefore dispatch and set your mind at rest. + +_Eu_. _Phylander_, is it true or doth he iest? + +_Phy_. There is no remedie but you must dye: +By you I framde my tragicke history. +The Duke my maister is the man I meant, +His sonne the Prince, the mayde of meane discent +Your selfe, on whom _Ascanio_ so doth doate +As for no reason may remoue his thought +Your death the Duke determines by vs two, +To end the loue betwixt his sonne and you; +And for this cause we trainde you to this wood, +Where you must sacrifice your dearest blood. + +_Eu_. Respect my teares. + +_Orest_. We must regard our oath. + +_Eu_. My tender yeares. + +_Or_. They are but trifles both. + +_Eu_. Mine innocency. + +_Or_. That would our promise breake; +Dispatch forthwith, we may not heare you speake. + +_Eu_. If neither teares nor innocency moue, +Yet thinke there is a heavenly power aboue. + +_Orest_. A done, and stand not preaching here all day. + +_Eu_. Then, since there is no remedie, I pray +Yet, good my masters, do but stay so long +Till I haue tane my farewell with a song +Of him whom I shall neuer see againe. + +_Phy_. We will affoord that respit to your paine. + +_Eu_. But least the feare of death appall my mind, +Sweet gentlemen, let me this fauour find, +That you wil vale mine eyesight with this scarfe; +That, when the fatall stroke is aymde at me, +I may not start but suffer patiently. + +_Orest_. Agreed, giue me; Ile shadow ye from feare, +If this may do it. + +_Eu_. Oh, I would it might, +But shadowes want the power to do that right. + + _Shee sings_. + + Ye sacred Fyres and powers aboue, + Forge of desires, working loue, + Cast downe your eye, cast downe your eye, + Vpon a Mayde in miserie. + My sacrifice is louers blood, + And from eyes salt teares a flood; + All which I spend, all which I spend, + For thee, _Ascanio_, my deare friend: + And though this houre I must feele + The bitter power of pricking steele, + Yet ill or well, yet ill or well, + To thee, _Ascanio_, still farewell. + + _Orestes offers to strike her with his Rapier, + and is stayed by Phylander_. + +_Orest_. What meanes, _Phylander_? + +_Phy_. Oh, forbeare thy stroke; +Her pitious mone and gesture might prouoke +Hard flint to ruthe. + +_Orest_. Hast thou forgot thy oath? + +_Phy_. Forgot it? no! + +_Or_. Then wherefore doest thou interrupt me so? + +_Phy_. A sudden terror ouercomes my thought. + +_Or_. Then suffer me that stands in feare of nought. + +_Phy_. Oh, hold, _Orestes_; heare my reason first. + +_Or_. Is all religion of thy vowe forgot? +Do as thou wilt, but I forget it not. + +_Phy_. _Orestes_, if thou standest vpon thine oath, +Let me alone to answere for vs both. + +_Or_. What answer canst thou giue? I wil not stay. + +_Phy_. Nay, villain; then my sword shall make me way. + +_Or_. Wilt thou in this against thy conscience striue? + +_Phy_. I will defend a woman while I liue, +A virgin and an innocent beside; +Therefore put vp or else thy chaunce abide. + +_Or_. Ile neuer sheath my sword vnles thou show, +Our oath reserued, we may let her go. + +_Phy_. That will I do, if truth may be of force. + +_Or_. And then will I be pleasd to graunt remorse. + +_Eu_. Litle thought I, when out of doore I went, +That thus my life should stand on argument. + +_Phy_. A lawfull oath in an vnlawfull cause +Is first dispenc't withall by reasons lawes; +Then, next, respect must to the end be had, +Because th'intent doth make it good or bad. +Now here th'intent is murder as thou seest, +Which to perform thou on thy oath reliest; +But, since the cause is wicked and vniust, +Th'effect must likewise be held odious: +We swore to kill, and God forbids to kill; +Shall we be rulde by him or by man's will? +Beside it is a woman is condemde; +And what is he, that is a man indeed, +That can endure to see a woman bleed? + +_Or_. Thou hast preuaild; _Eurymine_, stand vp; +I will not touch thee for a world of gold. + +_Phy_. Why now thou seemst to be of humane mould; +But, on our graunt, faire mayd, that you shall liue, +Will you to vs your faithfull promise giue +Henceforth t'abandon this your Country quite, +And neuer more returne into the sight +Of fierce _Telemachus_, the angry Duke, +Where by we may be voyd of all rebuke? + +_Eur_. Here do I plight my chaste vnspotted hand, +I will abiure this most accursed land: +And vow henceforth, what fortune ere betide, +Within these woods and desarts to abide. + +_Phy_. Now wants there nothing but a fit excuse +To sooth the Duke in his concern'd abuse; +That he may be perswaded she is slaine, +And we our wonted fauour still maintaine. + +_Orest_. It shall be thus: within a lawne hard by, +Obscure with bushes, where no humane eye +Can any way discouer our deceit, +There feeds a heard of Goates and country neate. +Some Kidde or other youngling will we take +And with our swords dispatch it for her sake; +And, hauing slaine it, rip his panting breast +And take the heart of the vnguiltie beast, +Which, to th'intent our counterfeit report +May seeme more likely, we will beare to court +And there protest, with bloody weapons drawne, +It was her heart. + +_Phy_. Then likewise take this Lawne, +Which well _Telemachus_ did know she wore, +And let it be all spotted too with gore. +How say you, mistresse? will you spare the vale? + +_Eur_. That and what else, to verifie your tale. +And thankes, _Phylander_ and _Orestes_ both, +That you preserue me from a Tyrants wroth. + +_Phy_. I would it were within my power, I wis, +To do you greater curtesie than this; +But what we cannot by our deeds expresse +In heart we wish, to ease your heauinesse. + +_Eur_. A double debt: yet one word ere ye go, +Commend me to my deare _Ascanio_. +Whose loyall loue and presence to forgoe +Doth gall me more than all my other woe. + +_Orest_. Our liues shall neuer want to do him good. + +_Phy_. Nor yet our death if he in daunger stood: + +_Or_. And, mistresse, so good fortune be your guide, +And ought that may be fortunate beside. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Eu_. The like I wish vnto your selues againe, +And many happy days deuoyd of paine.-- +And now _Eurymine_ record thy state, +So much deiected and opprest by fate. +What hope remaines? wherein hast thou to ioy? +Wherein to tryumph but thine owne annoy? +If euer wretch might tell of miserie +Then I, alas, poore I, am only she; +Vnknowne of parents, destitute of friends, +Hopefull of nought but what misfortune sends; +Banisht, to liue a fugitiue alone +In vncoth[98] paths and regions neuer knowne. +Behold, _Ascanio_, for thy only sake, +These tedious trauels I must undertake. +Nor do I grudge; the paine seemes lesse to mee +In that I suffer this distresse for thee. + + _Enter Siluio, a Raunger_. + +_Sil_. Well met, fair Nymph, or Goddesse if ye bee; +Tis straunge, me thinkes, that one of your degree +Should walke these solitary groues alone. + +_Eu_. It were no maruel, if you knew my mone. +But what are you that question me so far? + +_Sil_. My habit telles you that, a Forrester; +That, hauing lost a heard of skittish Deire, +Was of good hope I should haue found them heere. + +_Eu_. Trust me, I saw not any; so farewell. + +_Sil_. Nay stay, and further of your fortunes tell; +I am not one that meanes you any harme. + + _Enter Gemulo, the Shepheard_. + +_Ge_. I thinke my boy be fled away by charme. +Raunger, well met; within thy walke, I pray, +Sawst thou not _Mopso_ my vnhappie boy. + +_Sil_. Shepheard, not I: what meanst to seeke him heere? + +_Ge_. Because the wagge, possest with doubtful feare +Least I would beate him for a fault he did, +Amongst those trees I do suspect hees hid. +But how now, Raunger? you mistake, I trowe; +This is a Lady and no barren Dowe. + +_Sil_. It is indeede, and (as it seemes) distrest; +Whose griefe to know I humbly made request, +But she as yet will not reueale the same. + +_Ge_. Perhaps to me she will: speak, gentle dame; +What daunger great hath driuen ye to this place? +Make knowne your state, and looke what slender grace +A Shepheards poore abilitee may yeeld +You shall be sure of ere I leaue the feeld. + +_Eur_. Alas good Sir the cause may not be known +That hath inforste me to be here alone. + +_Sil_. Nay, feare not to discouer what you are; +It may be we may remedie your care. + +_Eur_. Since needs you will that I renew my griefe, +Whether it be my chance to finde reliefe +Or not, I wreake not: such my crosses are +As sooner I expect to meet despaire. +Then thus it is: not farre from hence do dwell +My parents, of the world esteemed well, +Who with their bitter threats my grant had won +This day to marrie with a neighbours son, +And such a one to whom I should be wife +As I could neuer fancie in my life: +And therefore, to auoid that endlesse thrall, +This morne I came away and left them all. + +_Sil_. Now trust me, virgin, they were much vnkinde +To seeke to match you so against your minde. + +_Ge_. It was, besides, vnnatural constraint: +But, by the tenure of your just complaint, +It seems you are not minded to returne, +Nor any more to dwell where you were borne. + +_Eur_. It is my purpose if I might obtaine +A place of refuge where I might remain. + +_Sil_. Why, go with me; my Lodge is not far off, +Where you shall haue such hospitalitie +As shall be for your health and safetie. + +_Ge_. Soft, Raunger; you do raunge beyond your skill. +My house is nearer, and for my good will, +It shall exceed a woodmans woodden stuffe: +Then go with me, Ile keep you safe enough. + +_Sil_. Ile bring her to a bower beset with greene. + +_Ge_. And I an arbour may delight a Queene. + +_Sil_. Her dyet shall be Venson at my boord. + +_Ge_. Young Kid and Lambe we shepheards can affoord. + +_Sil_. And nothing else? + +_Ge_. Yes; raunging, now and then +A Hog, a Goose, a Capon, or a Hen. + +_Sil_. These walkes are mine amongst the shadie trees. + +_Ge_. For that I haue a garden full of Bees, +Whose buzing musick with the flowers sweet +Each euen and morning shall her sences greet. + +_Sil_. The nightingale is my continuall clocke. + +_Ge_. And mine the watchfull sin-remembring cocke. + +_Sil_. A Hunts vp[99] I can tune her with my hounds. + +_Ge_. And I can shew her meads and fruitfull grounds. + +_Sil_. Within these woods are many pleasant springs. + +_Ge_. Betwixt yond dales the Eccho daily sings. + +_Sil_. I maruell that a rusticke shepheard dare +With woodmen then audaciously compare. +Why, hunting is a pleasure for a King, +And Gods themselves sometime frequent the thing. +_Diana_ with her bowe and arrows keene +Did often vse the chace in Forrests greene, +And so, alas, the good Athenian knight +And swifte _Acteon_ herein tooke delight, +And _Atalanta_, the Arcadian dame, +Conceiu'd such wondrous pleasure in the game +That, with her traine of Nymphs attending on, +She came to hunt the Bore of _Calydon_. + +_Ge_. So did _Apollo_ walke with shepheards crooke, +And many Kings their sceptres haue forsooke +To lead the quiet life we shepheards tooke (?), +Accounting it a refuge for their woe. + +_Sil_. But we take choice of many a pleasant walke, +And marke the Deare how they begin to stalke; +When each, according to his age and time,[100] +Pricks vp his head and bears a Princely minde. +The lustie Stag, conductor of the traine, +Leads all the heard in order downe the plaine; +The baser rascals[101] scatter here and there +As not presuming to approach so neere. + +_Ge_. So shepheards sometimes sit vpon a hill +Or in the cooling shadow of a mill, +And as we sit vnto our pipes we sing +And therewith make the neighboring groues to ring; +And when the sun steales downward to the west +We leave our chat and whistle in the fist, +Which is a signall to our stragling flocke +As Trumpets sound to men in martiall shocke. + +_Sil_. Shall I be thus outfaced by a swaine? +Ile haue a guard to wayt vpon her traine, +Of gallant woodmen clad in comely greene, +The like whereof hath seldome yet bene seene. + +_Ge_. And I of shepheards such a lustie crew +As neuer Forrester the like yet knew, +Who for their persons and their neate aray +Shal be as fresh as is the moneth of May. +Where are ye there, ye merry noted swaines? +Draw neare a while, and whilst vpon the plaines +Your flocks do gently feed, lets see your skill +How you with chaunting can sad sorrow kill. + + _Enter shepheards singing_. + +_Sil_. Thinks _Gemulo_ to beare the bell away +By singing of a simple Rundelay? +No, I have fellowes whose melodious throats +Shall euen as far exceed those homely notes +As doth the Nightingale in musicke passe +The most melodious bird that euer was: +And, for an instance, here they are at hand; +When they have done let our deserts be scand. + + _Enter woodmen and sing_. + +_Eu_. Thanks to you both; you both deserue so well +As I want skill your worthinesse to tell. +And both do I commend for your good will, +And both Ile honor, loue, and reuerence still; +For neuer virgin had such kindnes showne +Of straungers, yea, and men to her vnknowne. +But more, to end this sudden controuersie, +Since I am made an Vmpire in the plea, +This is my verdite: Ile intreate of you +A Cottage for my dwelling, and of you +A flocke to tend; and so, indifferent, +My gratefull paines on either shal be spent. + +_Sil_. I am agreed, and, for the loue I beare, +Ile boast I haue a Tenant is so faire. + +_Ge_. And I will hold it as a rich possession +That she vouchsafes to be of my profession. + +_Sil_. Then, for a sign that no man here hath wrong, +From hence lets all conduct her with a song. + +_The end of the First Act_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + + + _Enter Ascanio, and Ioculo his Page_. + + +_Asca_. Away, _Ioculo_. + +_Io_. Here, sir, at hand. + +_Asca. Ioculo_, where is she? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. When went she? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. Which way went she? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. Where should I seeke her? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. When shall I find her? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. A vengeance take thee, slaue, what dost thou know? + +_Io_. Marry, sir, that I doo know. + +_Asca_. What, villiane? + +_Io_. And[102] you be so testie, go looke. What a coyles here with you? +If we knew where she were what need we seeke her? I think you are a +lunaticke: where were you when you should haue lookt after her? now you +go crying vp and downe after your wench like a boy that had lost his +horne booke. + +_Asca_. Ah, my sweet Boy! + +_Io_. Ah, my sweet maister! nay, I can giue you as good words as you can +giue me; alls one for that. + +_Asca_. What canst thou giue me no reliefe? + +_Io_. Faith, sir, there comes not one morsel of comfort from my lips to +sustaine that hungry mawe of your miserie: there is such a dearth at +this time. God amend it! + +_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, my brest is full of griefe, +And yet my hope that only wants reliefe. + +_Io_. Your brest and my belly are in two contrary kaies; you walke to +get stomacke to your meate, and I walke to get meate to my stomacke; +your brest's full and my belli's emptie. If they chance to part in this +case, God send them merry meeting,--that my belly be ful and your brest +empty. + +_Asca_. Boy, for the loue that euer thou didst owe +To thy deare master, poore _Ascanio_. +Racke thy proou'd wits vnto the highest straine, +To bring me backe _Eurymine_ againe. + +_Io_. Nay, master, if wit could do it I could tell you more; but if it +euer be done the very legeritie[103] of the feete must do it; these ten +nimble bones must do the deed. Ile trot like a little dog; theres not +a bush so big as my beard, but Ile be peeping in it; theres not a +coate[104] but Ile search every corner; if she be aboue, or beneath, +ouer the ground or vnder, Ile finde her out. + +_Asca_. Stay, _Ioculo_; alas, it cannot be: +If we should parte I loose both her and thee. +The woods are wide; and, wandering thus about, +Thou maist be lost and not my loue found out. + +_Io_. I pray thee let me goe. + +_Asca_. I pray thee stay. + +_Io_. I faith Ile runne. + +_Asca_. And doest not know which way. + +_Io_. Any way, alls one; Ile drawe drie foote;[105] if you send not to +seeke her you may lye here long enough before she comes to seeke you. +She little thinkes that you are hunting for her in these quarters. + +_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, before I leaue my Boy, +Of this worlds comfort now my only ioy. +Seest thou this place? vpon this grassie bed, +With summers gawdie dyaper bespred, (_He lyes downe_.) +Vnder these shadowes shall my dwelling be, +Till thou returne, sweet _Ioculo_, to me. + +_Io_. And, if my conuoy be not cut off by the way, it shall not be long +before I be with you. + (_He speakes to the people_.) +Well, I pray you looke to my maister, for here I leaue him amongst you; +and if I chaunce to light vpon the wench, you shall heare of me by the +next winde. + [_Exit Ioculo_. + + _Ascanio solus_. + +_Asca_. In vaine I feare, I beate my braines about, +Proouing by search to finde my mistresse out. +_Eurymine, Eurymine_, retorne, +And with thy presence guild the beautious morne! +And yet I feare to call vpon thy name: +The pratling Eccho, should she learne the same, +The last words accent shiele no more prolong +But beare that sound vpon her airie tong. +Adorned with the presence of my loue +The woods, I feare, such secret power shal proue +As they'll shut vp each path, hide euery way, +Because they still would haue her go astray, +And in that place would alwaies haue her seene +Only because they would be euer greene, +And keepe the wingged Quiristers still there +To banish winter cleane out of the yeare. +But why persist I to bemone my state, +When she is gone and my complaint too late? +A drowsie dulnes closeth vp my sight; +O powerfull sleepe, I yeeld vnto thy might. + (_He falls asleepe_.) + + _Enter Iuno and Iris_. + +_Iuno_. Come hither, _Iris_. + +_Iris_. _Iris_ is at hand, +To attend _Ioues_ wife, great _Iunos_ hie command. + +_Iuno_. _Iris_, I know I do thy seruice proue, +And euer since I was the wife of _Ioue_ +Thou hast bene readie when I called still, +And alwayes most obedient to my will: +Thou seest how that imperiall Queene of loue +With all the Gods how she preuailes aboue, +And still against great _Iunos_ hests doth stand +To haue all stoupe and bowe at her command; +Her Doues and Swannes and Sparrowes must be graced +And on Loues Aultar must be highly placed; +My starry Peacocks which doth beare my state, +Scaresly alowd within his pallace gate. +And since herselfe she doth preferd doth see, +Now the proud huswife will contend with mee, +And practiseth her wanton pranckes to play +With this _Ascanio_ and _Eurymine_. +But Loue shall know, in spight of all his skill, +_Iuno_'s a woman and will haue her will. + +_Iris_. What is my Goddesse will? may _Iris_ aske? + +_Iuno_. _Iris_, on thee I do impose this taske +To crosse proud _Venus_ and her purblind Lad +Vntill the mother and her brat be mad; +And with each other set them so at ods +Till to their teeth they curse and ban the Gods. + +_Iris_. Goddes, the graunt consists alone in you. + +_Iuno_. Then mark the course which now you must pursue. +Within this ore-growne Forrest there is found +A duskie Caue[106], thrust lowe into the ground, +So vgly darke, so dampie and [so] steepe +As, for his life, the sunne durst neuer peepe +Into the entrance; which doth so afright +The very day that halfe the world is night. +Where fennish fogges and vapours do abound +There _Morpheus_ doth dwell within the ground; +No crowing Cocke or waking bell doth call, +Nor watchful dogge disturbeth sleepe at all; +No sound is heard in compasse of the hill; +But euery thing is quiet, whisht,[107] and still. +Amid the caue vpon the ground doth lie +A hollow plancher,[108] all of Ebonie, +Couer'd with blacke, whereon the drowsie God +Drowned in sleepe continually doth nod. +Go, _Iris_, go and my commandment take +And beate against the doores till sleepe awake: +Bid him from me in vision to appeare +Vnto _Ascanio_, that lieth slumbring heare, +And in that vision to reueale the way, +How he may finde the faire _Eurymine_. + +_Iris_. Madam, my service is at your command. + +_Iuno_. Dispatch it then, good _Iris_, out of hand, +My Peacocks and my Charriot shall remaine +About the shore till thou returne againe. + [_Exit Iuno_. + +_Iris_. About the businesse now that I am sent, +To sleepes black Caue I will incontinent;[109] +And his darke cabine boldly will I shake +Vntill the drowsie lumpish God awake, +And such a bounsing at his Caue Ile keepe +That if pale death seaz'd on the eyes of sleepe +Ile rowse him up; that when he shall me heare +He make his locks stand vp on end with feare. +Be silent, aire, whilst _Iris_ in her pride +Swifter than thought vpon the windes doth ride. +What _Somnus_! what _Somnus, Somnus_! + (_Strikes. Pauses a little_) +What, wilt thou not awake? art thou still so fast? +Nay then, yfaith, Ile haue another cast. +What, _Somnus! Somnus_! I say. + (_Strikes againe_) + +_Som_. Who calles at this time of the day? +What a balling dost thou keepe! +A vengeance take thee, let me sleepe. + +_Iris_. Vp thou drowsie God I say +And come presently away, +Or I will beate vpon this doore +That after this thou sleep'st no more. + +_Som_. Ile take a nap and come annon. + +_Iris_. Out, you beast, you blocke, you stone! +Come or at thy doore Ile thunder +Til both heaven and hel do wonder. +_Somnus_, I say! + +_Som_. A vengeance split thy chaps asunder! + + _Enter Somnus_. + +_Iris_. What, _Somnus_! + +_Som_. _Iris_, I thought it should be thee. +How now, mad wench? what wouldst with me? + +_Iris_. From mightie _Iuno, Ioues_ immortall wife, +_Somnus_, I come to charge thee on thy life +That thou vnto this Gentleman appeere +And in this place, thus as he lyeth heere, +Present his mistres to his inward eies +In as true manner as thou canst deuise. + +_Som_. I would thou wert hangd for waking me. +Three sonnes I haue; the eldest _Morpheus_ hight, +He shewes of man the shape or sight; +The second, _Icelor_, whose beheasts +Doth shewe the formes of birds and beasts; +_Phantasor_ for the third, things lifeles hee: +Chuse which like thee of these three. + +_Iris_. _Morpheus_; if he in humane shape appeare. + +_Som_. _Morpheus_, come forth in perfect likenes heere +Of--how call ye the Gentlewoman? + +_Iris. Eurymine_. + +_Som_. Of _Eurymine_; and shewe this Gentleman +What of his mistres is become. + (_Kneeling downe by Ascanio_.) + + _Enter Eurymine, to be supposed Morpheus_. + +_Mor_. My deare _Ascanio_, in this vision see +_Eurymine_ doth thus appeare to thee. +As soone as sleepe hath left thy drowsie eies +Follow the path that on thy right hand lies: +An aged Hermit thou by chaunce shalt find +That there hath bene time almost out of mind, +This holy man, this aged reuerent Father, +There in the woods doth rootes and simples gather; +His wrinckled browe tells strenghts past long ago, +His beard as white as winters driuen snow. +He shall discourse the troubles I haue past, +And bring vs both together at the last +Thus she presents her shadow to thy sight +That would her person gladly if she might. + +_Iris_. See how he catches to embrace the shade. + +_Mor_. This vision fully doth his powers inuade; +And, when the heate shall but a little slake, +Thou then shalt see him presently awake. + +_Som_. Hast thou ought else that I may stand in sted? + +_Iris_. No, _Somnus_, no; go back unto thy bed; +_Iuno_, she shall reward thee for thy paine. + +_Som_. Then good night, _Iris_; Ile to rest againe. + +_Iris_. _Morpheus_, farewell; to _Iuno_ I will flie. + +_Mor_. And I to sleepe as fast as I can hie. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Ascanio starting sayes_. + +_Eurymine_! Ah, my good Angell, stay! +O vanish not so suddenly away; +O stay, my Goddess; whither doest thou flie? +Returne, my sweet _Eurymine_, tis I. +Where art thou? speake; Let me behold thy face. +Did I not see thee in this very place, +Euen now? Here did I not see thee stand? +And heere thy feete did blesse the happie land? +_Eurymine_, Oh wilt thou not attend? +Flie from thy foe, _Ascanio_ is thy friend: +The fearfull hare so shuns the labouring hound, +And so the Dear eschues the Huntsman wound; +The trembling Foule so flies the Falcons gripe, +The Bond-man so his angry maisters stripe. +I follow not as _Phoebus Daphne_ did, +Nor as the Dog pursues the trembling Kid. +Thy shape it was; alas, I saw not thee! +That sight were fitter for the Gods then mee. +But, if in dreames there any truth be found, +Thou art within the compas of this ground. +Ile raunge the woods and all the groues about, +And neuer rest vntill I find thee out. [_Exit_. + + _Enter at one doore Mopso singing_. + +_Mop_. Terlitelo,[110] Terlitelo, tertitelee, terlo. + So merrily this sheapheards Boy + His home that he can blow, + Early in a morning, late, late in an euening; + And euer sat this little Boy + So merrily piping. + + _Enter at the other doore Frisco singing_. + +_Fris_. Can you blow the little home? + Weell, weell and very weell; + And can you blow the little home + Amongst the leaues greene? + + _Enter Ioculo in the midst singing_. + +_Io_. Fortune,[111] my foe, why doest thou frowne on mee? + And will my fortune neuer better bee? + Wilt thou, I say, for euer breed my paine, + And wilt thou not restore my Ioyes againe? + +_Frisco_. Cannot a man be merry in his owne walke +But a must be thus encombred? + +_Io_. I am disposed to be melancholly, +And I cannot be priuate for one villaine or other. + +_Mop_. How the deuel stumbled this case of rope-ripes[112] into my way? + +_Fris_. Sirrha what art thou? and thou? + +_Io_. I am a page to a Courtier. + +_Mop_. And I a Boy to a Shepheard. + +_Fris_. Thou art the Apple-Squier[113] to an Eawe, +And thou sworne brother to a bale[114] of false dice. + +_Io_. What art thou? + +_Fris_. I am Boy to a Raunger. + +_Io_. An Out-lawe by authoritie, one that neuer sets marke of his own +goods nor neuer knowes how he comes by other mens. + +_Mop_. That neuer knowes his cattell but by their hornes. + +_Fris_. Sirrha, so you might haue said of your maister sheep. + +_Io_. I, marry, this takes fier like touch powder, and goes off with +a huffe. + +_Fris_. They come of crick-cracks, and shake their tayles like a squib. + +_Io_. Ha, you Rogues, the very steele of my wit shall strike fier from +the flint of your vnderstandings; haue you not heard of me? + +_Mop_. Yes, if you be the _Ioculo_ that I take you for, we haue heard +of your exployts for cosoning of some seuen and thirtie Alewiues in the +Villages here about. + +_Io_. A wit as nimble as a Sempsters needle or a girles finger at her +Buske poynt. + +_Mop_. Your iest goes too low, sir. + +_Fris_. O but tis a tickling iest. + +_Io_. Who wold haue thought to haue found this in a plaine villaine +that neuer woare better garment than a greene Ierkin? + +_Fris_. O Sir, though you Courtiers haue all the honour you haue not +all the wit. + +_Mop_. Soft sir, tis not your witte can carry it away in this company. + +_Io_. Sweet Rogues, your companie to me is like musick to a wench at +midnight when she lies alone and could wish,--yea, marry could she. + +_Fris_. And thou art as welcome to me as a new poking stick to a +Chamber mayd. + +_Mop_. But, soft; who comes here? + + _Enter the Faieries, singing and dauncing_. + + By the moone we sport and play, + With the night begins our day; + As we daunce, the deaw doth fall; + Trip it little vrchins all, + Lightly as the little Bee, + Two by two and three by three: + And about go wee, and about go wee.[115] + +_Io_. What Mawmets[116] are these? + +_Fris_. O they be the Fayries that haunt these woods. + +_Mop_. O we shall be pincht most cruelly. + +1 _Fay_. Will you haue any musick sir? + +2 _Fay_. Will you haue any fine musicke? + +3 _Fay_. Most daintie musicke? + +_Mop_. We must set a face on't now; there's no flying; no, Sir, +we are very merrie, I thanke you. + +1 _Fay_. O but you shall, Sir. + +_Fris_. No, I pray you, saue your labour. + +2 _Fay_. O, Sir, it shall not cost you a penny. + +_Io_. Where be your Fiddles? + +3 _Fay_. You shall haue most daintie Instruments, Sir. + +_Mop_. I pray you, what might I call you? + +1 _Fay_. My name is _Penny_. + +_Mop_. I am sorry I cannot purse you. + +_Fris_. I pray you sir what might I call you? + +2 _Fay_. My name is _Cricket_.[117] + +_Fris_. I would I were a chimney for your sake. + +_Io_. I pray you, you prettie little fellow, whats your name? + +3 _Fay_. My name is little, little _Pricke_. + +_Io_. Little, little _Pricke?_ � you are a daungerous Fayrie, and +fright all little wenches in the country out of their beds. I care not +whose hand I were in, so I were out of yours. + +1 _Fay_. I do come about the coppes + Leaping vpon flowers toppes; + Then I get vpon a Flie, + Shee carries me aboue the skie, + And trip and goe. + +2 _Fay_. When a deaw drop falleth downe + And doth light vpon my crowne, + Then I shake my head and skip + And about I trip. + +3 _Fay_. When I feele a girle a sleepe + Vnderneath her frock I peepe. + There to sport, and there I play, + Then I byte her like a flea; + And about I skip. + +_Io_. I, I thought where I should haue you. + +_1 Fay_. Wilt please you daunce, sir. + +_Io_. Indeed, sir, I cannot handle my legges. + +2 _Fay_. O you must needs daunce and sing, +Which if you refuse to doe +We will pinch you blacke and blew; +And about we goe. + + _They all daunce in a ring and sing, as followeth_. + + Round about, round about, in a fine ring a, + Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a: + Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a, + All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a. + + Round about, round about, in a fine Ring a, + Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a: + Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a, + All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a. + + We haue daunc't round about in a fine Ring a, + We haue daunc't lustily and thus we sing a; + All about, in and out, ouer this Greene a, + Too and fro, trip and go, to our braue Queene a. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + +(SCENE I.) + + + _Enter Appollo and three Charites_. + +1 _Cha_. No, No, great _Phoebus_; this your silence tends +To hide your griefe from knowledge of your friends, +Who, if they knew the cause in each respect, +Would shewe their utmost skill to cure th'effect: + +_Ap_. Good Ladyes, your conceites in iudgement erre: +Because you see me dumpish, you referre +The reason to some secret griefe of mine: +But you haue seene me melancholy many a time: +Perhaps it is the glowing weather now +That makes me seeme so ill at ease to you. + +1 _Cha_. Fine shifts to cover that you cannot hide! +No, _Phoebus_; by your looks may be discride +Some hid conceit that harbors in your thought +Which hath therein some straunge impression wrought, +That by the course thereof you seeme to mee +An other man then you were wont to bee. + +_Ap_. No, Ladies; you deceiue yourselues in mee: +What likelihood or token do ye see +That may perswade it true that you suppose? + +2 _Cha_. _Appollo_ hence a great suspition growes:-- +Yeare not so pleasaunt now as earst in companie; +Ye walke alone and wander solitarie; +The pleasaunt toyes we did frequent sometime +Are worne away and growne out of prime; +Your Instrument hath lost his siluer sound, +That rang of late through all this grouie ground; +Your bowe, wherwith the chace you did frequent, +Is closde in case and long hath been unbent. +How differ you from that _Appollo_ now +That whilom sat in shade of Lawrell bowe, +And with the warbling of your Iuorie Lute +T'alure the Fairies for to daunce about! +Or from th'_Appollo_ that with bended bowe +Did many a sharp and wounding shaft bestowe +Amidst the Dragon _Pithons_ scalie wings, +And forc't his dying blood to spout in springs! +Beleeue me, _Phebus_, who sawe you then and now +Would thinke there were a wondrous change in you. + +_Ap_. Alas, faire dames, to make my sorows plain +Would but reuiue an auncient wound again, +Which grating presently vpon my minde +Doth leaue a fear of former woes behinde. + +3 _Cha_. _Phoebus_, if you account vs for the same +That tender thee and loue _Appollo's_ name, +Poure forth to vs the fountaine of your woe +Fro whence the spring of these your sorows flowe; +If we may any way redresse your mone +Commaund our best, harme we will do you none. + +_Ap_. Good Ladies, though I hope for no reliefe +He shewe the ground of this my present griefe: +This time of yeare, or there about it was, +(Accursed be the time, tenne times, alas!) +When I from _Delphos_ tooke my iourney downe +To see the games in noble Sparta Towne. +There saw I that wherein I gan to ioy, +_Amilchars_ sonne, a gallant comely boy +(Hight _Hiacinth_), full fifteene yeares of age, +Whom I intended to haue made my Page; +And bare as great affection to the boy +As euer _Ioue_ in _Ganimede_ did ioy. +Among the games my selfe put in a pledge, +To trie my strength in throwing of the sledge; +Which, poysing with my strained arme, I threw +So farre that it beyond the other flew: +My _Hiacinth_, delighting in the game, +Desierd to proue his manhood in the same, +And, catching ere the sledge lay still on ground, +With violent force aloft it did rebound +Against his head and battered out his braine; +And so alas my louely boy was slaine. + +1 _Cha_. Hard hap, O _Phoebus_; but, sieth it's past & gone, +We wish ye to forbeare this frustrate mone. + +_Ap_. Ladies, I knowe my sorrowes are in vaine, +And yet from mourning can I not refraine. + +1 _Cha_. _Eurania_ some pleasant song shall sing +To put ye from your dumps. + +_Ap_. Alas, no song will bring +The least reliefe to my perplexed minde. + +2 _Cha_. No, _Phoebus_? what other pastime shall we finde +To make ye merry with? + +_Ap_. Faire dames, I thanke you all; +No sport nor pastime can release my thrall. +My grief's of course; when it the course hath had, +I shall be merrie and no longer sad. + +1 _Cha_. What will ye then we doo? + +_Ap_. And please ye, you may goe, +And leaue me here to feed vpon my woe. + +2 _Cha_. Then, _Phoebus, we can but wish ye wel againe. + + [_Exeunt Charites_. + +_Ap_. I thanke ye, gentle Ladies, for your paine.-- +O _Phoebus_, wretched thou, thus art thou faine +With forg'de excuses to conceale thy paine. +O, _Hyacinth_, I suffer not these fits +For thee, my Boy; no, no, another sits +Deeper then thou in closet of my brest, +Whose sight so late hath wrought me this unrest. +And yet no Goddesse nor of heauenly kinde +She is, whose beautie thus torments my minde; +No Fayrie Nymph that haunts these pleasaunt woods, +No Goddesse of the flowres, the fields, nor floods: +Yet such an one whom iustly I may call +A Nymph as well as any of them all. +_Eurymine_, what heauen affoords thee heere? +So may I say, because thou com'st so neere, +And neerer far vnto a heauenly shape +Than she of whom _Ioue_ triumph't in the Rape. +Ile sit me downe and wake my griefe againe +To sing a while in honour of thy name. + + THE SONG. + + Amidst the mountaine Ida groues, + Where _Paris_ kept his Heard, + Before the other Ladies all + He would haue thee prefer'd. + _Pallas_, for all her painting, than + Her face would seeme but pale, + Then _Iuno_ would haue blush't for shame + And _Venus_ looked stale. + _Eurymine_, thy selfe alone + Shouldst beare the golden ball; + So far would thy most heauenly forme + Excell the others all; + O happie _Phoebus_! happie then, + Most happie should I bee + If faire _Eurymine_ would please + To ioyne in loue with mee. + + _Enter Eurymine_. + +_Eu_. Although there be such difference in the chaunge +To Hue in Court and desart woods to raunge, +Yet in extremes, wherein we cannot chuse, +An extreame refuge is not to refuse. +Good gentlemen, did any see my heard? +I shall not finde them out I am afeard; +And yet my maister wayteth with his bowe +Within a standeing, for to strike a Doe. +You saw them not, your silence makes me doubt; +I must goe further till I finde them out. + +_Ap_. What seeke you, prettie mayde? + +_Eu_. Forsooth, my heard of Deere. + +_Ap_. I sawe them lately, but they are not heere. + +_Eu_. I pray, sir, where? + +_Ap_. An houre agoe, or twaine, +I sawe them feeding all aboue the plaine. + +_Eu_. So much the more the toile to fetch them in. +I thanke you, sir. + +_Ap_. Nay, stay, sweet Nymph, with mee. + +_Eu_. My busines cannot so dispatched bee. + +_Ap_. But pray ye, Maide, it will be verie good +To take the shade in this vnhaunted wood. +This flouring bay, with branches large and great, +Will shrowd ye safely from the parching heat. + +_Eu_. Good sir, my busines calls me hence in haste. + +_Ap_. O stay with him who conquered thou hast, +With him whose restles thoughts do beat on thee, +With him that ioyes thy wished face to see, +With him whose ioyes surmount all ioyes aboue +If thou wouldst thinke him worthie of thy loue. + +_Eu_. Why, Sir, would you desire another make, +And weare that garland for your mistres sake? + +_Ap_. No, Nymph; although I loue this laurel tree, +My fancy ten times more affecteth thee: +And, as the bay is alwaies fresh and greene, +So shall my loue as fresh to thee be seene. + +_Eu_. Now truly, sir, you offer me great wrong +To hold me from my busines here so long. + +_Ap_. O stay, sweet Nymph; with more aduisement view +What one he is that for thy grace doth sue. +I am not one that haunts on hills or Rocks, +I am no shepheard wayting on my flocks, +I am no boystrous Satyre, no nor Faune, +That am with pleasure of thy beautie drawne: +Thou dost not know, God wot, thou dost not know +The wight whose presence thou disdainest so. + +_Eu_. But I may know, if you wold please to tell. + +_Ap_. My father in the highest heauen doth dwell +And I am knowne the sonne of _Ioue_ to bee, +Whereon the folke of _Delphos_ honor mee. +By me is knowne what is, what was, and what shall bee; +By me are learnde the Rules of harmonie; +By me the depth of Phisicks lore is found, +And power of Hearbes that grow vpon the ground; +And thus, by circumstances maist thou see +That I am _Phoebus_ who doth fancie thee. + +_Eu_. No, sir; by these discourses may I see +You mock me with a forged pedegree. +If sonne you bee to _Ioue_, as erst ye said, +In making loue vnto a mortall maide +You work dishonour to your deitie. +I must be gonne; I thanke ye for your curtesie. + +_Ap_. Alas, abandon not thy Louer so! + +_Eu_. I pray, sir, hartily giue me leaue to goe. + +_Ap_. The way ore growne with shrubs and bushes thick, +The sharpened thornes your tender feete will pricke, +The brambles round about your traine will lappe, +The burs and briers about your skirts will wrappe. + +_Eu_. If, _Phoebus_, thou of _Ioue_ the ofspring be, +Dishonor not thy deitie so much +With profered force a silly mayd to touch; +For doing so, although a god thou bee, +The earth and men on earth shall ring thy infamie. + +_Ap_. Hard speech to him that loueth thee so well. + +_Eu_. What know I that? + +_Ap_. I know it and can tell, +And feel it, too. + +_Eu_. If that your loue be such +As you pretend, so feruent and so much, +For proofe thereof graunt me but one request. + +_Ap_. I will, by _Ioue_ my father, I protest, +Provided first that thy petition bee +Not hurtfull to thy selfe, nor harme to mee. +For so sometimes did _Phaeton_ my sonne +Request a thing whereby he was vndone; +He lost his life through craving it, and I +Through graunting it lost him, my sonne, thereby. + +_Eu_. Thus, _Phoebus_, thus it is; if thou be hee +That art pretended in thy pedegree, +If sonne thou be to _Iove_, as thou doest fame, +And chalengest that tytle not in vaine, +Now heer bewray some signe of godhead than, +And chaunge me straight from shape of mayd to man. + +_Ap_. Alas! what fond desire doth moue thy minde +To wish thee altered from thy native kinde, +If thou in this thy womans form canst move +Not men but gods to sue and seeke thy love? +Content thyselfe with natures bountie than, +And covet not to beare the shape of man. +And this moreover will I say to thee: +Fairer man then mayde thou shalt neuer bee. + +_Eu_. These vaine excuses manifestly showe +Whether you usurp _Appollos_ name or no. +Sith my demaund so far surmounts your art, +Ye ioyne exceptions on the other part. + +_Ap_. Nay, then, my doubtles Deitie to prove, +Although thereby for ever I loose my Love, +I graunt thy wish: thou art become a man, +I speake no more then well perform I can. +And, though thou walke in chaunged bodie now, +This penance shall be added to thy vowe: +Thyself a man shalt love a man in vaine, +And, loving, wish to be a maide againe. + +_Eu_. _Appollo_, whether I love a man or not, +I thanke ye: now I will accept my lot; +And, sith my chaunge hath disappointed you, +Ye are at libertie to love anew. + [_Exit_. + +_Ap_. If ever I love, sith now I am forsaken, +Where next I love it shall be better taken. +But, what so ere my fate in loving bee, +Yet thou maist vaunt that _Phoebus_ loved thee. + [_Exit Appollo_. + + _Enter Ioculo, Frisco, and Mopso, at three severall doores_. + +_Mop_. _Ioculo_, whither iettest thou? +Hast thou found thy maister? + +_Io_. _Mopso_, wel met; hast thou found thy mistresse? + +_Mop_. Not I, by Pan. + +_Io_. Nor I, by Pot. + +_Mop_. Pot? what god's that? + +_Io_. The next god to Pan; and such a pot it may be as he shall haue +more servants then all the Pannes in a Tinker's shop. + +_Mop_. _Frisco_, where hast thou beene frisking? hast thou found-- + +_Fris_. I haue found,-- + +_Io_. What hast thou found, _Frisco_? + +_Fris_. A couple of crack-roapes. + +_Io_. And I. + +_Mop_. And I. + +_Fris_. I meane you two. + +_Io_. I you two. + +_Mop_. And I you two. + +_Fris_. Come, a trebble conjunction: all three, all three. + + (_They all imbrace each other_) + +_Mop_. But _Frisco_, hast not found the faire shepheardesse, +thy maister's mistresse? + +_Fris_. Not I, by God,--_Priapus_, I meane. + +_Io_. _Priapus_, quoth a? Whatt'in[118] a God might that bee? + +_Fris_. A plaine God, with a good peg to hang a shepheardesse bottle +vpon. + +_Io_. Thou, being a Forrester's Boy, shouldst sweare by the God of +the woods. + +_Fris_. My Maister sweares by _Siluanus_; I must sweare by his poore +neighbour. + +_Io_. And heer's a shepheard's swaine sweares by a Kitchen God, Pan. + +_Mop_. Pan's the shepheardes God; but thou swearest by Pot: what God's +that? + +_Io_. The God of good-fellowship. Well, you haue wicked maisters, that +teach such little Boyes to sweare so young. + +_Fris_. Alas, good old great man, wil not your maister swear? + +_Io_. I neuer heard him sweare six sound oaths in all my life. + +_Mop_. May hap he cannot because hee's diseas'd. + +_Fris_. Peace, _Mopso_. I will stand too't hee's neither +brave Courtier, bouncing Cavalier, nor boone Companion +if he sweare not some time; for they will +sweare, forsweare, and sweare. + +_Io_. How sweare, forsweare, and sweare? how is +that? + +_Fris_. They'll sweare at dyce, forsweare their debts, and sweare when +they loose their labour in love. + +_Io_. Well, your maisters have much to answer for that bring ye up so +wickedly. + +_Fris_. Nay, my maister is damn'd, I'll be sworne, for his verie soule +burnes in the firie eye of his faire mistresse. + +_Io_. My maister is neither damnde nor dead, and yet is in the case of +both your maisters, like a woodden shepheard and a sheepish woodman; +for he is lost in seeking of a lost sheepe and spent in hunting a Doe +that hee would faine strike. + +_Fris_. Faith, and I am founderd with slinging to and fro with Chesnuts, +Hazel-nuts, Bullaze and wildings[119] for presents from my maister to +the faire shepheardesse. + +_Mop_. And I am tierd like a Calf with carrying a Kidde every weeke to +the cottage of my maister's sweet Lambkin. + +_Io_. I am not tierd, but so wearie I cannot goe with following a +maister that followes his mistresse, that followes her shadow, that +followes the sunne, that followes his course. + +_Fris_. That follows the colt, that followed the mare the man rode on +to Midleton. Shall I speake a wise word? + +_Mop_. Do, and wee will burne our caps. + +_Fris_. Are not we fooles? + +_Io_. Is that a wise word? + +_Fris_. Giue me leave; are not we fooles to weare our young feete to old +stumps, when there dwells a cunning man in a Cave hereby who for a bunch +of rootes, a bagge of nuts, or a bushell of crabs will tell us where +thou shalt find thy maister, and which of our maisters shall win the +wenche's favour? + +_Io_. Bring me to him, _Frisco_: I'll give him all the poynts at my hose +to poynt me right to my maister. + +_Mop_. A bottle of whey shall be his meed if he save me labour for +posting with presents. + + _Enter Aramanthus with his Globe, &c_. + +_Fris_. Here he comes: offend him not, _Ioculo_, for feare he turne thee +to a Iacke an apes. + +_Mop_. And thee to an Owle. + +_Io_. And thee to a wood-cocke. + +_Fris_. A wood-cocke an Owle and an Ape. + +_Mop_. A long bill a broade face and no tayle. + +_Io_. Kisse it, Mopso, and be quiet: Ile salute him civilly. Good speed, +good man. + +_Aram_. Welcome, bad boy. + +_Fris_. He speakes to thee, _Ioculo_. + +_Io_. Meaning thee, _Frisco_. + +_Aram_. I speake and meane not him, nor him, nor thee; But speaking so, +I speake and meane all three. + +_Io_. If ye be good at Rimes and Riddles, old man, expound me this:-- + + These two serve two, those two serve one; + Assoyle[120] me this and I am gone. + +_Aram_. You three serve three; those three do seeke to one; +One shall her finde; he comes, and she is gone. + +_Io_. This is a wise answer: her going caused his comming; +For if she had nere gone he had nere come. + +_Mop_. Good maister wizard, leave these murlemewes and tel _Mopso_ +plainly whether _Gemulo_ my maister, that gentle shepheard, shall win +the love of the faire shepheardesse, his flocke-keeper, or not; and Ile +give ye a bottle of as good whey as ere ye laid lips to. + +_Fris_. And good father Fortune-teller, let _Frisco_ knowe whether +_Siluio_ my maister, that lustie Forrester, shall gaine that same gay +shepheardesse or no. Ile promise ye nothing for your paines but a bag +full of nuts, and if I bring a crab or two in my pocket take them for +advantage. + +_Io_. And gentle maister wise-man, tell _Ioculo_ if his noble maister +_Ascanio_, that gallant courtier, shal be found by me, and she found by +him for whom he hath lost his father's favour and his owne libertie and +I my labour; and Ile give ye thankes, for we courtiers neither giue nor +take bribes. + +_Aram_. I take your meaning better then your speech, +And I will graunt the thing you doo beseech. +But, for the teares of Lovers be no toyes, +He tell their chaunce in parables to boyes. + +_Fris_. In what ye will lets heare our maisters' luck. + +_Aram_. Thy maister's Doe shall turne unto a Buck; (_To Frisco_.) +Thy maister's Eawe be chaunged to a Ram; (_To Mopso_.) +Thy maister seeks a maide and findes a man, (_To Ioculo_.) +Yet for his labor shall he gaine his meede; +The other two shall sigh to see him speede. + +_Mop_. Then my maister shall not win the shepheardesse? + +_Aram_. No, hast thee home and bid him right his wrong, +The shepheardesse will leave his flock ere long. + +_Mop_. Ile run to warne my master of that. + [_Exit_. + +_Fris_. My maister wood-man takes but woodden paines to no purpose, +I thinke: what say ye, shall he speed? + +_Aram_. No, tell him so, and bid him tend his Deare +And cease to woe: he shall not wed this yeare. + +_Fris_. I am not sorie for it; farewell, _Ioculo_. + [_Exit_. + +_Io_. I may goe with thee, for I shall speed even so too by staying +behinde. + +_Aram_. Better, my Boy, thou shalt thy maister finde +And he shall finde the partie he requires, +And yet not find the summe of his desires. +Keep on that way; thy maister walkes before, +Whom, when thou findst, loose him good Boy no more. + + [_Exit ambo_. + + + + +_Actus Quartus_. + + + _Enter Ascanio and Ioculo_. + +_Asca_. Shall then my travell ever endles prove, +That I can heare no tydings of my Love? +In neither desart, grove, nor shadie wood +Nor obscure thicket where my foote hath trod? +But every plough-man and rude shepheard swain +Doth still reply unto my greater paine? +Some Satyre, then, or Godesse of this place, +Some water Nymph vouchsafed me so much grace +As by some view, some signe, or other sho, +I may haue knowledge if she lives or no. + +_Eccho_. No. + +_Asca_. Then my poore hart is buried too in wo: +Record it once more if the truth be so. + +_Eccho_. So. + +_Asca_. How? that _Eurymine_ is dead, or lives? + +_Eccho_. Lives. + +_Asca_. Now, gentle Goddesse, thou redeem'st my soule +From death to life: Oh tell me quickly, where? + +_Eccho_. Where? + +_Asca_. In some remote far region or else neere? + +_Eccho_. Neere. + +_Asca_. Oh, what conceales her from my thirstie eyes? +Is it restraint or some unknown disguise? + +_Eccho_. Disguise. + +_Io_. Let me be hang'd my Lord, but all is lyes. + +_Eccho_. Lyes. + +_Io_. True we are both perswaded thou doest lye. + +_Eccho_. Thou doest lye. + +_Io_. Who? I? + +_Eccho_. Who? I? + +_Io_. I, thou. + +_Eccho_. I, thou. + +_Io_. Thou dar'st not come and say so to my face. + +_Eccho_. Thy face. + +_Io_. He make you then for ever prating more. + +_Eccho_. More. + +_Io_. Will ye prate more? Ile see that presently. + +_Asca_. Stay, _Ioculo_, it is the Eccho, Boy, +That mocks our griefe and laughes at our annoy. +Hard by this grove there is a goodly plaine +Betwixt two hils, still fresh with drops of raine, +Where never spreading Oake nor Poplar grew +Might hinder the prospect or other view, +But all the country that about it lyes +Presents it selfe vnto our mortall eyes; +Save that vpon each hill, by leavie trees, +The Sun at highest his scorching heat may leese: +There, languishing, my selfe I will betake +As heaven shal please and only for her sake. + +_Io_. Stay, maister; I have spied the fellow that mocks vs all this +while: see where he sits. + + _Aramanthus sitting_. + +_Asca_. The very shape my vision told me off, +That I should meet with as I strayed this way. + +_Io_. What lynes he drawes? best go not over farre. + +_Asca_. Let me alone; thou doest but trouble mee. + +_Io_. Youle trouble vs all annon, ye shall see. + +_Asca_. God speed, faire Sir. + +_Io_. My Lord, do ye not mark +How the skie thickens and begins to darke? + +_Asca_. Health to ye, Sir. + +_Io_. Nay, then, God be our speed. + +_Ara_. Forgive me, Sir; I sawe ye not indeed. + +_Asca_. Pardon me rather for molesting you. + +_Io_. Such another face I never knew. + +_Ara_. Thus, studious, I am wont to passe the time +By true proportion of each line from line. + +_Io_. Oh now I see he was learning to spell: +Theres A. B. C. in midst of his table. + +_Asca_. Tell me, I pray ye, sir, may I be bold to crave. +The cause of your abode within this cave? + +_Ara_. To tell you that, in this extreme distresse, +Were but a tale of Fortunes ficklenesse. +Sometime I was a Prince of _Lesbos_ Ile +And liv'd beloved, whilst my good stars did smile; +But clowded once with this world's bitter crosse +My joy to grife, my gaine converts to losse. + +_Asca_. Forward, I pray ye; faint not in your tale. + +_Io_. It will not all be worth a cup of Ale. + +_Ara_. A short discourse of that which is too long, +How ever pleasing, can never seeme but wrong; +Yet would my tragicke story fit the stage: +Pleasaunt in youth but wretched in mine age, +Blinde fortune setting vp and pulling downe, +Abusde by those my selfe raisde to renowne: +But that which wrings me neer and wounds my hart, +Is a false brothers base vnthankfull part. + +_Asca_. A smal offence comparde with my disease; +No doubt ingratitude in time may cease +And be forgot: my grief out lives all howres, +Raining on my head continual, haplesse showers. + +_Ara_. You sing of yours and I of mine relate, +To every one seemes worst his owne estate. +But to proceed: exiled thus by spight, +Both country I forgoe and brothers sight, +And comming hither, where I thought to live, +Yet here I cannot but lament and greeve. + +_Asca_. Some comfort yet in this there doth remaine, +That you have found a partner in your paine. + +_Ara_. How are your sorrowes subiect? let me heare. + +_Asca_. More overthrowne and deeper in dispaire +Than is the manner of your heavie smart, +My carelesse griefe doth ranckle at my hart; +And, in a word to heare the summe of all, +I love and am beloved, but there-withall +The sweetnesse of that banquet must forgo, +Whose pleasant tast is chaungde with bitter wo. + +_Ara_. A conflict but to try your noble minde; +As common vnto youth as raine to winde. + +_Asca_. But hence it is that doth me treble wrong, +Expected good that is forborne so long +Doth loose the vertue which the vse would prove. + +_Ara_. Are you then, sir, despised of your Love? + +_Asca_. No; but deprived of her company, +And for my careles negligence therein +Am bound to doo this penaunce for my sin; +That, if I never finde where she remaines, +I vowe a yeare shal be my end of paines. + +_Ara_. Was she then lost within this forrest here? + +_Asca_. Lost or forlorn, to me she was right deere: +And this is certaine; vnto him that could +The place where she abides to me vnfold +For ever I would vow my selfe his friend, +Never revolting till my life did end. +And there fore, sir (as well I know your skill) +If you will give me physicke for this ill +And shewe me if _Eurymine_ do live, +It were a recompence for all my paine, +And I should thinke my ioyes were full againe. + +_Ara_. They know the want of health that have bene sick: +My selfe, sometimes acquainted with the like, +Do learne in dutie of a kinde regard +To pittie him whose hap hath bene so hard, +How long, I pray ye, hath she absent bene? + +_Asca_. Three days it is since that my Love was seene. + +_Io_. Heer's learning for the nonce that stands on ioynts; +For all his cunning Ile scarse give two poynts. + +_Ara_. _Mercurio regnante virum, sub-sequente Luna Faeminum +designat_. + +_Io_. Nay, and you go to Latin, then tis sure my maister shall finde +her if he could tell where. + +_Ara_. I cannot tell what reason it should bee, +But love and reason here doo disagree: +By proofe of learned principles I finde +The manner of your love's against all kinde; +And, not to feede ye with uncertaine ioy, +Whom you affect so much is but a Boy. + +_Io_. A Riddle for my life, some antick Iest? +Did I not tell ye what his cunning was? + +_Asca_. I love a Boy? + +_Ara_. Mine art doth tell me so. + +_Asca_. Adde not a fresh increase vnto my woe. + +_Ara_. I dare avouch, what lately I have saide, +The love that troubles you is for no maide. + +_Asca_. As well I might be said to touch the skie, +Or darke the horizon with tapestrie, +Or walke upon the waters of the sea, +As to be haunted with such lunacie. + +_Ara_. If it be false mine Art I will defie. + +_Asca_. Amazed with grief my love is then transform'd. + +_Io_. Maister, be contented; this is leape yeare: +Women weare breetches, petticoats are deare; +And thats his meaning, on my life it is. + +_Asca_. Oh God, and shal my torments never cease? + +_Ara_. Represse the fury of your troubled minde; +Walke here a while, your Lady you may finde. + +_Io_. A Lady and a Boy, this hangs wel together, +Like snow in harvest, sun-shine and foule weather. + + _Enter Eurymine singing_. + +_Eu_. _Since[121] hope of helpe my froward starres denie, + Come, sweetest death, and end my miserie; + He left his countrie, I my shape have lost; + Deare is the love that hath so dearly cost_. + +Yet can I boast, though _Phoebus_ were uniust, +This shift did serve to barre him from his lust. +But who are these alone? I cannot chuse +But blush for shame that anyone should see +_Eurymine_ in this disguise to bee. + +_Asca_. It is (is't[122] not?) my love _Eurymine_. + +_Eury_. Hark, some one hallows: gentlemen, adieu; +In this attire I dare not stay their view. + [_Exit_. + +_Asca_. My love, my ioy, my life! +By eye, by face, by tongue it should be shee: +Oh I, it was my love; Ile after her, +And though she passe the eagle in her flight +Ile never rest till I have gain'd her sight. + [_Exit_. + +_Ara_. Love carries him and so retains his minde +That he forgets how I am left behind. +Yet will I follow softly, as I can, +In hope to see the fortune of the man. + [_Exit_. + +_Io_. Nay let them go, a Gods name, one by one; +With all my heart I am glad to be alone. +Here's old[123] transforming! would with all his art +He could transform this tree into a tart: +See then if I would flinch from hence or no; +But, for it is not so, I needs must go. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Silvio and Gemulo_. + +_Sil_. Is it a bargaine _Gemulo_ or not? + +_Ge_. Thou never knew'st me breake my word, I wot, +Nor will I now, betide me bale or blis. + +_Sil_. Nor I breake mine: and here her cottage is, +Ile call her forth. + +_Ge_. Will _Silvio_ be so rude? + +_Sil_. Never shall we betwixt ourselves conclude +Our controversie, for we overweene. + +_Ge_. Not I but thou; for though thou iet'st in greene, +As fresh as meadow in a morne of May, +And scorn'st the shepheard for he goes in gray. +But, Forrester, beleeve it as thy creede, +My mistresse mindes my person not my weede. + +_Sil_. So 'twas I thought: because she tends thy sheepe +Thou thinkst in love of thee she taketh keepe; +That is as townish damzels, lend the hand +But send the heart to him aloofe doth stande: +So deales _Eurymine_ with _Silvio_. + +_Ge_. Al be she looke more blithe on _Gemulo_ +Her heart is in the dyall of her eye, +That poynts me hers. + +_Sil_. That shall we quickly trye. +_Eurymine_! + +_Ge_. _Erynnis_, stop thy throte; +Unto thy hound thou hallowst such a note. +I thought that shepheards had bene mannerlesse, +But wood-men are the ruder groomes I guesse. + +_Sil_. How shall I call her swaine but by her name? + +_Ge_. So _Hobinoll_ the plowman calls his dame. +Call her in Carroll from her quiet coate. + +_Sil_. Agreed; but whether shall begin his note? + +_Ge_. Draw cuttes. + +_Sil_. Content; the longest shall begin. + +_Ge_. Tis mine. + +_Sil_. Sing loude, for she is farre within. + +_Ge_. Instruct thy singing in thy forrest waies, +Shepheards know how to chant their roundelaies. + +_Sil_. Repeat our bargain ere we sing our song, +Least after wrangling should our mistresse wrong: +If me she chuse thou must be well content, +If thee she chuse I give the like consent. + +_Ge_. Tis done: now, _Pan_ pipe, on thy sweetest reede, +And as I love so let thy servaunt speede.-- + + _As little Lambes lift up their snowie sides + When mounting Lark salutes the gray eyed morne-- + +Sil. As from the Oaken leaves the honie glides + Where nightingales record upon the thorne-- + +Ge. So rise my thoughts-- + +Sil. So all my sences cheere-- + +Ge. When she surveyes my flocks + +Sil. And she my Deare. + +Ge. Eurymine! + +Sil. Eurymine! + +Ge. Come foorth-- + +Sil. Come foorth-- + +Ge. Come foorth and cheere these plaines-- + + (And both sing this together when they have sung it single.) + +Sil. The wood-mans Love + +Ge. And Lady of the Swaynes. + + Enter Eurymine_. + +Faire Forester and lovely shepheard Swaine, +Your Carrolls call _Eurymine_ in vaine, +For she is gone: her Cottage and her sheepe +With me, her brother, hath she left to keepe, +And made me sweare by _Pan_, ere she did go, +To see them safely kept for _Gemulo_. + + (_They both looke straungely upon her, apart each from other_.) + +_Ge_. What, hath my Love a new come Lover than? + +_Sil_. What, hath my mistresse got another man? + +_Ge_. This Swayne will rob me of _Eurymine_. + +_Sil_. This youth hath power to win _Eurymine_. + +_Ge_. This straungers beautie beares away my prize. + +_Sil_. This straunger will bewitch her with his eies. + +_Ge_. It is _Adonis_. + +_Sil_. It is _Ganymede_. + +_Ge_. My blood is chill. + +_Sil_. My hearte is colde as Leade. + +_Eu_. Faire youthes, you have forgot for what ye came: +You seeke your Love, shee's gone. + +_Ge_. The more to blame. + +_Eu_. Not so; my sister had no will to go +But that our parents dread commaund was so. + +_Sil_. It is thy sense: thou art not of her kin, +But as my Ryvall com'ste my Love to win. + +_Eu_. By great _Appollos_ sacred Deitie, +That shepheardesse so neare is Sib[124] to me +As I ne may (for all the world) her wed; +For she and I in one selfe wombe were bred. +But she is gone, her flocke is left to mee. + +_Ge_. The shepcoat's mine and I will in and see. + +_Sil_. And I. + + [_Exeunt Silvio and Gemulo_. + +_Eu_. Go both, cold comfort shall you finde: +My manly shape hath yet a womans minde, +Prone to reveale what secret she doth know. +God pardon me, I was about to show +My transformation: peace, they come againe. + + _Enter Silvio and Gemulo_. + +_Sil_. Have ye found her? + +_Ge_. No, we looke in vaine. + +_Eu_. I told ye so. + +_Ge_. Yet heare me, new come Swayne. +Albe thy seemly feature set no sale +But honest truth vpon thy novell tale, +Yet (for this world is full of subtiltee) +We wish ye go with vs for companie +Unto a wise man wonning[125] in this wood, +Hight _Aramanth_, whose wit and skill is good, +That he may certifie our mazing doubt +How this straunge chaunce and chaunge hath fallen out. + +_Eu_. I am content; have with ye when ye will. + +_Sil_. Even now. + +_Eu_. Hee'le make ye muse if he have any skill. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + + + _Enter Ascanio and Eurymine_. + +_Asca_. _Eurymine_, I pray, if thou be shee, +Refraine thy haste and doo not flie from mee. +The time hath bene my words thou would'st allow +And am I growne so loathsome to thee now? + +_Eu_. _Ascanio_, time hath bene, I must confesse, +When in thy presence was my happinesse, +But now the manner of my miserie +Hath chaung'd that course that so it cannot be. + +_Asca_. What wrong have I contrived, what iniurie +To alienate thy liking so from mee? +If thou be she whom sometime thou didst faine, +And bearest not the name of friend in vaine, +Let not thy borrowed guise of altred kinde +Alter the wonted liking of thy minde, +But though in habit of a man thou goest +Yet be the same _Eurymine_ thou wast. + +_Eu_. How gladly would I be thy Lady still, +If earnest vowes might answere to my will. + +_Asca_. And is thy fancie alterd with thy guise? + +_Eu_. My kinde, but not my minde in any wise. + +_Asca_. What though thy habit differ from thy kinde, +Thou maiest retain thy wonted loving minde. + +_Eu_. And so I doo. + +_Asca_. Then why art thou so straunge, +Or wherefore doth thy plighted fancie chaunge? + +_Eu_. _Ascanio_, my heart doth honor thee. + +_Asca_. And yet continuest stil so strange to me? + +_Eu_. Not strange, so far as kind will give me leave. + +_Asca_. Unkind that kind that kindnesse doth bereave: +Thou saist thou lovest me? + +_Eu_. As a friend his friend, +And so I vowe to love thee to the end. + +_Asca_. I wreake not of such love; love me but so +As faire _Eurymine_ loved _Ascanio_. + +_Eu_. That love's denide vnto my present kinde. + +_Asca_. In kindely shewes vnkinde I doo thee finde: +I see thou art as constant as the winde. + +_Eu_. Doth kinde allow a man to love a man? + +_Asca_. Why, art thou not _Eurymine_? + +_Eu_. I am. + +_Asca_. _Eurymine_ my love? + +_Eu_. The very same. + +_Asca_. And wast thou not a woman then? + +_Eu_. Most true. + +_Asca_. And art thou changed from a woman now? + +_Eu_. Too true. + +_Asca_. These tales my minde perplex. +Thou art _Eurymine_? + +_Eu_. In name, but not in sexe. + +_Asca_. What then? + +_Eu_. A man. + +_Asca_. In guise thou art, I see. + +_Eu_. The guise thou seest doth with my kinde agree. + +_Asca_. Before thy flight thou wast a woman tho? + +_Eu_. True, _Ascanio_. + +_Asca_. And since thou art a man? + +_Eu_. Too true, deare friend. + +_Asca_. Then I have lost a wife. + +_Eu_. But found a friend whose dearest blood and life +Shal be as readie as thine owne for thee; +In place of wife such friend thou hast of mee. + + _Enter Ioculo and Aramanthus_. + +_Io_. There they are: maister, well overtane, +I thought we two should never meete againe: +You went so fast that I to follow thee +Slipt over hedge and ditch and many a tall tree. + +_Ara_. Well said, my Boy: thou knowest not how to lie. + +_Io_. To lye, Sir? how say you, was it not so? +You were at my heeles, though farre off, ye know. +For, maister, not to counterfayt with ye now, +Hee's as good a footeman as a shackeld sow. + +_Asca_. Good, Sir, y'are welcome: sirrha, hold your prate. + +_Ara_. What speed in that I told to you of late? + +_Asca_. Both good and bad, as doth the sequel prove: +For (wretched) I have found and lost my love, +If that be lost which I can nere enjoy. + +_Io_. Faith, mistresse, y'are too blame to be so coy +The day hath bene--but what is that to mee!-- +When more familiar with a man you'ld bee. + +_Ara_. I told ye you should finde a man of her, +Or else my rule did very strangely erre. + +_Asca_. Father, the triall of your skill I finde: +My Love's transformde into another kinde: +And so I finde and yet have lost my love. + +_Io_. Ye cannot tell, take her aside and prove. + +_Asca_. But, sweet _Eurymine_, make some report +Why thou departedst from my father's court, +And how this straunge mishap to thee befell: +Let me entreat thou wouldst the processe tell. + +_Eu_. To shew how I arrived in this ground +Were but renewing of an auncient wound,-- +Another time that office Ile fulfill; +Let it suffice, I came against my will, +And wand'ring here, about this forrest side, +It was my chaunce of Phoebus to be spide; +Whose love, because I chastly did withstand, +He thought to offer me a violent hand; +But for a present shift, to shun his rape, +I wisht myself transformde into this shape, +Which he perform'd (God knowes) against his will: +And I since then have wayld my fortune still, +Not for misliking ought I finde in mee, +But for thy sake whose wife I meant to bee. + +_Asca_. Thus have you heard our woful destenie, +Which I in heart lament and so doth shee. + +_Ara_. The fittest remedie that I can finde +Is this, to ease the torment of your minde: +Perswade yourselves the great _Apollo_ can +As easily make a woman of a man +As contrariwise he made a man of her. + +_Asca_. I think no lesse. + +_Ara_. Then humble suite preferre +To him; perhaps our prayers may attaine +To have her turn'd into her forme againe. + +_Eu_. But _Phoebus_ such disdain to me doth beare +As hardly we shal win his graunt I feare. + +_Ara_. Then in these verdant fields, al richly dide +With natures gifts and _Floras_ painted pride, +There is a goodly spring whose crystall streames, +Beset with myrtles, keepe backe _Phoebus_ beames: +There in rich seates all wrought of Ivory +The Graces sit, listening the melodye, +The warbling Birds doo from their prettie billes +Vnite in concord as the brooke distilles,[126] +Whose gentle murmure with his buzzing noates +Is as a base unto their hollow throates: +Garlands beside they weare upon their browes, +Made of all sorts of flowers earth allowes, +From whence such fragrant sweet perfumes arise +As you would sweare that place is Paradise. +To them let us repaire with humble hart, +And meekly show the manner of your smart: +So gratious are they in _Apollos_ eies +As their intreatie quickly may suffice +In your behalfe. Ile tell them of your states +And crave their aides to stand your advocates. + +_Asca_. For ever you shall bind us to you than. + +_Ara_. Come, go with me; Ile doo the best I can. + +_Io_. Is not this hard luck, to wander so long +And in the end to finde his wife markt wrong! + + _Enter Phylander_. + +_Phy_. A proper iest as ever I heard tell! +In sooth me thinkes the breech becomes her well; +And might it not make their husbands feare them[127] +Wold all the wives in our town might weare them. +Tell me, youth, art a straunger here or no? + +_Io_. Is your commission, sir, to examine me so? + +_Phy_. What, is it thou? now, by my troth, wel met. + +_Io_. By your leave it's well overtaken yet. + +_Phy_. I litle thought I should a found thee here. + +_Io_. Perhaps so, sir. + +_Phy_. I prethee speake: what cheere? + +_Io_. What cheere can here be hopte for in these woods, +Except trees, stones, bryars, bushes or buddes? + +_Phy_. My meaning is, I fane would heare thee say +How thou doest, man: why, thou tak'st this another way. + +_Io_. Why, then, sir, I doo as well as I may: +And, to perswade ye that welcome ye bee, +Wilt please ye sir to eate a crab with mee? + +_Phy_. Beleeve me, _Ioculo_, reasonable hard cheere. + +_Io_. _Phylander_, tis the best we can get here. +But when returne ye to the court againe? + +_Phy_. Shortly, now I have found thee. + +_Io_. To requite your paine +Shall I intreat you beare a present from me? + +_Phy_. To whom? + +_Io_. To the Duke. + +_Phy_. What shall it be? + +_Io_. Because Venson so convenient doth not fall, +A pecke of Acornes to make merry withal. + +_Phy_. What meanst thou by that? + +_Io_. By my troth, sir, as ye see, +Acornes are good enough for such as hee. +I wish his honour well, and to doo him good, +Would he had eaten all the acorns in the wood. + +_Phy_. Good word, _Ioculo_, of your Lord and mine. + +_Io_. As may agree with such a churlish swine. +How dooes his honor? + +_Phy_. Indifferently well. + +_Io_. I wish him better. + +_Phy_. How? + +_Io_. Vice-gerent in Hell. + +_Phy_. Doest thou wish so for ought that he hath done? + +_Io_. I, for the love he beares unto his sonne. + +_Phy_. Hees growne of late as fatherly and milde +As ever father was unto his childe, +And sent me forth to search the coast about +If so my hap might be to finde him out; +And if _Eurymine_ alive remaine +To bring them both vnto the Court againe. +Where is thy maister? + +_Io_. Walking about the ground. + +_Phy_. Oh that his Love _Eurymine_ were found. + +_Io_. Why, so she is; come follow me and see; +He bring ye strait where they remaining bee. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter three or foure Muses, Aramanthus, Ascanio, + Silvio, and Gemulo_. + +_Asca_. Cease your contention for _Eurymine_, +Nor word nor vowes can helpe her miserie; +But he it is, that did her first transform, +Must calme the gloomy rigor of this storme, +Great _Phoebus_ whose pallace we are neere. +Salute him, then, in his celestiall sphere, +That with the notes of cheerful harmonie +He may be mov'd to shewe his Deitie. + +_Sil_. But wheres _Eurymine_? have we lost her sight? + +_As_. Poore soule! within a cave, with feare affright, +She sits to shun _Appollos_ angry view +Until she sees what of our prayers ensue, +If we can reconcile his love or no, +Or that she must continue in her woe. + +1 _Mu_. Once have we tried, _Ascanio_, for thy sake, +And once againe we will his power awake, +Not doubting but, as he is of heavenly race, +At length he will take pitie on her case. +Sing therefore, and each partie, from his heart, +In this our musicke beare a chearfull part. + + SONG. + + _All haile, faire Phoebus, in thy purple throne! + Vouchsafe the regarding of our deep mone; + Hide not, oh hide not, thy comfortable face, + But pittie, but pittie, a virgins poore case_. + + _Phoebus appeares_. + +1 _Mu_. Illustrate bewtie, Chrystall heavens eye, +Once more we do entreat thy clemencie +That, as thou art the power of us all, +Thou wouldst redeeme _Eurymine_ from thrall. +Graunt, gentle God, graunt this our small request, +And, if abilitie in us do rest, +Whereby we ever may deserve the same, +It shall be seene we reverence _Phoebus_ name. + +_Phoe_. You sacred sisters of faire Helli[c]on, +On whom my favours evermore have shone, +In this you must have patience with my vow: +I cannot graunt what you aspire unto, +Nor wast my fault she was transformed so, +But her own fond desire, as ye well know. +We told her, too, before her vow was past +That cold repentance would ensue at last; +And, sith herselfe did wish the shape of man, +She causde the abuse, digest it how she can. + +2 _Mu_. Alas, if unto her you be so hard, +Yet of _Ascanio_ have some more regard, +And let him not endure such endlesse wrong +That hath pursude her constant love so long. + +_Asca_. Great God, the greevous travells I have past +In restlesse search to finde her out at last; +My plaints, my toiles, in lieu of my annoy +Have well deserv'd my Lady to enjoy. +Penance too much I have sustaind before; +Oh _Phoebus_, plague me not with any more, +Nor be thou so extreame now at the worst +To make my torments greater than at the first. +My father's late displeasure is forgot, +And there's no let nor any churlish blot +To interrupt our ioyes from being compleat, +But only thy good favour to intreat. +In thy great grace it lyes to make my state +Most happie now or most infortunate. + +1 _Mu_. Heavenly _Apollo_, on our knees I pray +Vouchsafe thy great displeasure to allay. +What honor to thy Godhead will arise +To plague a silly Lady in this wise? +Beside it is a staine unto thy Deitie +To yeeld thine owne desires the soveraigntie: +Then shew some grace vnto a wofull Dame, +And in these groves our tongues shall sound thy fame. + +_Phoe_. Arise, deare Nourses of divinest skill, +You sacred Muses of _Pernassus_ hill; +_Phoebus_ is conquerd by your deare respect +And will no longer clemency neglect. +You have not sude nor praide to me in vaine; +I graunt your willes: she is a mayde againe. + +_Asca_. Thy praise shal never die whilst I do live. + +2 _Mu_. Nor will we slack perpetual thankes to give. + +_Phoe_. _Thalia_, neare the cave where she remaines +The Fayries keepe: request them of their paines, +And in my name bid them forthwith provide +From that darke place to be the Ladies guide; +And in the bountie of their liberall minde +To give her cloathes according to her kinde. + +1 _Mu_. I goe, divine _Apollo_. + [_Exit_. + +_Phoe_. Haste againe: +No time too swift to ease a Lovers paine. + +_Asca_. Most sacred _Phoebus_, endles thankes to thee +That doest vouchsafe so much to pittie mee; +And, aged father, for your kindnesse showne +Imagine not your friendship ill bestowne: +The earth shall sooner vanish and decay +Than I will prove unthankfull any way. + +_Ara_. It is sufficient recompence to me +If that my silly helpe have pleasurde thee; +If you enioy your Love and hearts desire +It is enough, nor doo I more require. + +_Phoe_. Grave _Aramanthus_, now I see thy face, +I call to minde how tedious a long space +Thou hast frequented these sad desarts here; +Thy time imployed in heedful minde I bear, +The patient sufferance of thy former wrong, +Thy poore estate and sharpe exile so long, +The honourable port thou bor'st some time +Till wrongd thou wast with undeserved crime +By them whom thou to honour didst advaunce: +The memory of which thy heavy chaunce +Provokes my minde to take remorse on thee. +Father, henceforth my clyent shalt thou bee +And passe the remnant of thy fleeting time +With Lawrell wreath among the Muses nine; +And, when thy age hath given place to fate, +Thou shalt exchange thy former mortall state +And after death a palme of fame shalt weare, +Amongst the rest that live in honor here. +And, lastly, know that faire _Eurymine_, +Redeemed now from former miserie, +Thy daughter is, whom I for that intent +Did hide from thee in this thy banishment +That so she might the greater scourge sustaine +In putting _Phoebus_ to so great a paine. +But freely now enioy each others sight: +No more _Eurymine_: abandon quite +That borrowed name, as _Atlanta_ she is calde.-- +And here's the[128] woman, in her right shape instalde. + +_Asca_. Is then my Love deriv'de of noble race? + +_Phoe_. No more of that; but mutually imbrace. + +_Ara_. Lives my _Atlanta_ whom the rough seas wave +I thought had brought unto a timelesse grave? + +_Phoe_. Looke not so straunge; it is thy father's voyce, +And this thy Love; _Atlanta_, now rejoice. + +_Eu_. As in another world of greater blis +My daunted spirits doo stand amazde at this. +So great a tyde of comfort overflowes +As what to say my faltering tongue scarse knowes, +But only this, vnperfect though it bee;-- +Immortall thankes, great _Phoebus_, unto thee. + +_Phoe_. Well, Lady, you are retransformed now, +But I am sure you did repent your vow. + +_Eury_. Bright Lampe of glory, pardon my rashenesse past. + +_Phoe_. The penance was your owne though I did fast. + + _Enter Phylander and Ioculo_. + +_Asca_. Behold, deare Love, to make your ioyes abound, +Yonder _Phylander_ comes. + +_Io_. Oh, sir, well found; +But most especially it glads my minde +To see my mistresse restorde to kinde. + +_Phy_. My Lord & Madame, to requite your pain, +_Telemachus_ hath sent for you againe: +All former quarrels now are trodden doune, +And he doth smile that heretofore did frowne. + +_Asca_. Thankes, kinde _Phylander_, for thy friendly newes, +Like _Junos_ balme that our lifes blood renewes. + +_Phoe_. But, Lady, first ere you your iourney take, +Vouchsafe at my request one grant to make. + +_Eu_. Most willingly. + +_Phoe_. The matter is but small: +To wear a bunch of Lawrell in your Caull[129] +For _Phoebus_ sake, least else I be forgot; +And thinke vpon me when you see me not. + +_Eu_. Here while I live a solemn oath I make +To Love the Lawrell for _Appollo's_ sake. + +_Ge_. Our suite is dasht; we may depart, I see. + +_Phoe_. Nay _Gemulo_ and _Silvio_, contented bee: +This night let me intreate ye you will take +Such cheare as I and these poore Dames can make: +To morrow morne weele bring you on your way. + +_Sil_. Your Godhead shall commaund vs all to stay. + +_Phoe_. Then, Ladies, gratulate this happie chaunce +With some delightful tune and pleasaunt daunce, +Meane-space upon his Harpe will _Phoebus_ play; +So both of them may boast another day +And make report that, when their wedding chaunc'te, +_Phoebus_ gave musicke and the Muses daunc'te. + + + THE SONG. + + _Since painfull sorrowes date hath end + And time hath coupled friend with friend, + Reioyce we all, reioyce and sing, + Let all these groaves of_ Phoebus _ring: + Hope having wonne, dispaire is vanisht, + Pleasure revives and care is banisht: + Then trip we all this Roundelay, + And still be mindful of the bay_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +FINIS. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE _MARTYR'D SOULDIER_. + + +Anthony A. Wood, in his _Athenae Oxonienses_ (ed. Bliss, III., 740), +after giving an account of James Shirley, adds:--"I find one Henry +Shirley, gent., author of a play called the _Martyr'd Souldier_, London, +1638, 4to.; which Henry I take to be brother or near kinsman to James." +Possibly a minute investigation might discover some connection between +Henry Shirley and the admirable writer who closes with dignity the long +line of our Old Dramatists; but hitherto Wood's conjecture remains +unsupported. On Sept. 9, 1653, four plays of Henry Shirley's were +entered on the _Stationers' Lists_, but they were never published: the +names of these are,-- + + 1. _The Spanish Duke of Lerma_. + 2. _The Duke of Guise_. + 3. _The Dumb Bawd_. + 4. _Giraldo the Constant Lover_. + +Among the Ashmolean MSS. (Vol. 38. No. 88) are preserved forty-six +lines[130] signed with the name of "Henrye Sherley." They begin thus:-- + + "Loe, Amorous style, affect my pen: + For why? I wright of fighting men; + The bloody storye of a fight + Betwixt a Bayliffe and a Knight," &c. + +My good friend Mr. S.L. Lee, of Balliol, kindly took the trouble to +transcribe the forty-six lines; but he agrees with me that they are not +worth printing. + +The _Martyr'd Souldier_, then, being his sole extant production, it must +be confessed that Henry Shirley's claim to attention is not a very +pressing one. Yet there is a certain dignity of language in this old +play that should redeem it from utter oblivion. It was unfortunate for +Henry Shirley that one of the same name should have been writing at the +same time; for in such cases the weakest must go to the wall. Mr. +Frederick Tennyson's fame has been eclipsed by the Laureate's; and there +was little chance of a hearing for the author of the _Martyr'd Souldier_ +when James Shirley was at work. From the address _To the Courteous +Reader_, it would seem that Henry Shirley did not seek for popularity: +"his Muse," we are told, was "seldome seene abroad." Evidently he was +not a professional playwright. In his attempts to gain the ear of the +groundlings he is often coarse without being comic; and sometimes (a +less pardonable fault) he is tedious. But in the person of Hubert we +have an attractive portrait of an impetuous soldier, buoyed up with +self-confidence and hugging perils with a frolic gaiety; yet with +springs of tenderness and pity ready to leap to light. The writer +exhibits some skill in showing how this fiery spirit is tamed by the +gentle maiden, Bellina. When the news comes that Hubert has been made +commander of the King's forces against the Christians, we feel no +surprise to see that in the ecstacy of the moment he has forgotten his +former vows. It is quite a touch of nature to represent him hastening to +acquaint Bellina with his newly-conferred honour and expecting her to +share his exultation. But the maiden's entreaties quickly wake his +slumbering conscience; and, indeed, such earnestness is in her words +that a heart more stubborn than Hubert's might well have been moved:-- + + "You courted me to love you; now I woe thee + To love thy selfe, to love a thing within thee + More curious than the frame of all this world, + More lasting than this Engine o're our heads + Whose wheeles have mov'd so many thousand yeeres: + This thing is thy soule for which I woe thee!" + +Henceforward his resolution is fixed: he is no longer a soldier of +fortune, "seeking the bubble reputation," but the champion of the weak +against the strong, the lively image of a Christian Hero warring +steadfastly against the powers of evil. + +Though the chief interest of the play is centred in Hubert the other +characters, also, are fairly well drawn. There is ample matter for +cogitation in watching the peaceful end of Genzerick, who spends his +dying moments in steeling his son's heart against the Christians. The +consultation between the physicians, in Act 3, amusingly ridicules the +pomposity of by-gone medical professors. Eugenius, the good bishop, is a +model of patience and piety; and all respect is due to the Saintly +Victoria and her heroic husband. The songs, too, are smoothly written. + + + + +THE MARTYR'D SOULDIER: + + +As it was sundry times Acted with a + generall applause at the Private + house in Drury lane, and at + other publicke Theaters. + + +_By the Queenes Majesties servants_. + +The Author H. SHIRLEY Gent. + + + _LONDON_: +Printed by _I. Okes_, and are to be sold by + _Francis Eglesfield_ at his house in _Paul's_ + Church-yard at the Signe of the + Mary-gold. 1638. + + + + +To the right Worshipful Sir Kenelme Digby, _Knight_. + + +Sir, + +Workes of this Nature may fitly be compared to small and narrow +_rivolets_ that at first derive themselves to greater _Rivers_ and +afterwards are discharged into the Maine _Ocean_. So Poesie rising from +_obscure_ and almost unminded beginnings hath often advanc'd it _Selfe_ +even to the thrones of _Princes_: witnesse that ever-living _Worke_ of +renowned _Virgil_, so much admired and favoured by magnificent +_Augustus_. Nor can I much wonder that great men, and those of Excellent +parts, have so often preferred _Poesie_, it being indeed the sweetest +and best _speaker_ of all Noble Actions. + +Nor were they wont in ancient times to preferre those their _Workes_ to +them they best knew, but unto some Person highly endued with Vallour, +Learning, and such other Graces as render one man farre more Excellent +then many others. And this, I hope, may excuse my boldnesse in this +Dedication, being so much a stranger to your Worships knowledge, onely +presuming upon your Noble temper, ever apt to cherrish well-affected +studies. Likewise this peice seemeth to have a more speciall kind of +relation to your _Selfe_, more then to many others, it being an exact +and _perfect patterne_ of a truly Noble and War-lick Chieftian. + +When it first appeared upon the _Stage_ it went off with Applause and +favour, and my hope is it may yeild your Worship as much content as my +_selfe_ can wish, who ever rest to be commanded by your Worship, + +_In all duty and observance_, + +I.K.[131] + + + +TO THE COURTEOUS READER. + +_To make too large an explanation of this following Poem were but to +beguile thy appetite and somewhat dull thy expectation; but the work it +selfe being now an Orphant, and wanting him to protect that first begot +it, it were an iniury to his memory to passe him unspoken of. For the +man his Muse was much courted but no common mistresse; and though but +seldome seene abroad yet ever much_ admired _at. This worke, not the +meanest of his labours, has much adorned not only one but many Stages, +with such a generall applause as it hath drawne even the Rigid Stoickes +of the Time, who, though not for pleasure yet for profit have gathered +something out of his plentifull Vineyard. My hopes are it wil prove no +lesse pleasing to the_ Reader _then it has formerly beene to the_ +Spectators; _and, so prooving, I have my aime and full desire. +Farewell_. + + + + +The Actors Names. + + +_Genzerick_, King of the _Vandals_. +_Anthonio_ | +_Damianus_ | 3 Noble men. +_Cosmo_ | +_Hubert_, A brave Commander. +_Henerick_, the Prince. +_Bellizarius_, the Generall. +_Eugenius_, a Christian Bishop. +_Epidaurus_, a Lord. +2 Physitians. +2 Pagans. +1 Camell-driver. +2 Camell-driver. +_Victoria_, Wife to _Bellizarius_. +_Bellina_, his Daughter. +A Souldier. +2 Angels. +2 Christians tonguelesse. +Clowne. +Constable. +3 Watchmen. +3 Huntsmen. +3 Other Camell-drivers. +Officers and Souldiers. + + + + +The Martyr'd Souldier. + + +_Actus Primus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Genzerick King of the Vandalls, sicke on his + bed, Anthony, Damianus, Cosmo, and Lords_. + +_King_. Away, leave off your golden Flatteries, +I know I cannot live, there's one lies here +Brings me the newes; my glories and my greatnes +Are come to nothing. + +_Anth_. Be not your selfe the Bell +To tolle you to the Grave; and the good Fates, +For ought we see, may winde upon your bottome[132] +A thred of excellent length. + +_Cosm_. We hope the Gods have not such rugged hands +To snatch yee from us. + +_King_. _Cosmo, Damianus_, and _Anthony_; you upon whom +The _Vandall_ State doth leane, for my back's too weake; +I tell you once agen that surly Monarch, +Who treads on all Kings throats, hath sent to me +His proud Embassadours: I have given them Audience +Here in our Chamber Royall. Nor could that move me, +To meete Death face to face, were my great worke +Once perfected in _Affrick_ by my sonne; +I meane that generall sacrifice of Christians, +Whose blood would wash the Temples of our gods +And win them bow downe their immortall eyes +Upon our offerings. Yet, I talke not idly, +Yet, _Anthonie_, I may; for sleepe, I think, +Is gone out of my kingdome, it is else fled +To th'poore; for sleepe oft takes the harder bed +And leaves the downy pillow of a King. + +_Cosm_. Try, Sir, if Musick can procure you[133] rest. + +_King_. _Cosmo_, 'tis sinne to spend a thing so precious +On him that cannot weare it. No, no; no Musick; +But if you needs will charme my o're-watcht eyes, +Now growne too monstrous for their lids to close, +If you so long to fill these Musick-roomes +With ravishing sounds indeed; unclaspe that booke, +Turne o're that Monument of Martyrdomes, +Read there how _Genzerick_ has serv'd the gods +And made their Altars drunke with Christians blood, +Whil'st their loath'd bodies flung in funerall piles +Like Incense burnt in Pyramids of fire; +And when their flesh and bones were all consum'd +Their ashes up in whirle-winds flew i'th Ayre +To show that of foure Elements not one had care +Of them, dead or alive. Read, _Anthony_. + +_Anth_. 'Tis swelld to a faire Volume. + +_King_. Would I liv'd +To add a second part too't. Read, and listen: +No _Vandall_ ere writ such a Chronicle. + +_Anth_. Five hundred[134] broyl'd to death in Oyle and Lead: +Seven hundred flead alive, their Carkasses +Throwne to King _Genzericks_ hounds. + +_King_. Ha, ha, brave hunting. + +_Anth_. Upon the great day of _Apollo's_ feast, +The fourth Moneth of your Reigne. + +_King_. O give me more, +Let me dye fat with laughing. + +_Anth_. Thirty faire Mothers, big with Christian brats, +Upon a scaffold in the Palace plac'd +Had first their dugges sear'd off, their wombes ript up, +About their miscreant heads their first borne Sonnes +Tost as a Sacrifice to _Jupiter_, +On his great day and the Ninth Month of _Genzerick_. + +_King_. A Play; a Comicall Stage our Palace was. +Any more? oh, let me surfeit. + +_Anth_. Foure hundred Virgins ravisht. + +_King_. Christian Whores; common, 'tis common. + +_Anth_. And then their trembling bodies tost on the Pikes +Of those that spoyl'd 'em, sacrific'd to _Pallas_. + +_King_. More, more; hang Mayden-heads, Christian Maiden-heads. + +_Anth_. This leafe is full of tortur'd Christians: +Some pauncht, some starv'd, some eyes and braines bor'd out, +Some whipt to death, some torne by Lyons. + +_King_. _Damianus_, I cannot live to heare my service out; +Such haste the Gods make to reward me. + +_Omnes_. Looke to the King. (_Shouts within_.) + + _Enter Hubert_. + +_King_. What shouts are these? see, _Cosmo_. + +_Cosmo_. Good newes, my Lord; here comes _Hubert_ from the warres. + +_Hub_. Long life and health wait ever on the King. + +_King_. _Hubert_, thy wishes are come short of both. +Hast thou good newes? be briefe then and speake quickly: +I must else heare thee in another World. + +_Hub_. In briefe, then, know: _Henrick_, your valiant sonne, +With _Bellizarius_ and my selfe come laden +With spoiles to lay them at your feet. +What lives the sword spar'd serve to grace your Triumph, +Till from your lips they have the doome of death. + +_King_. What are they? + +_Hub_. Christians, and their Chiefe a Church-man, +_Eugenius_, Bishop of _Carthage_, and with him +Seven hundred Captives more, all Christians. + +_King_. Hold, Death; let me a little taste these ioyes, +Then take me ravisht hence. Glad mine eyes, _Hubert_, +With the victorious Boy. + +_Hub_. Your Starre comes shining. + [_Exit Hubert_. + +_King_. Lift me a little higher, yet more: +Doe the Immortall Powers poure blessings downe, +And shall I not returne them? + +_Omnes_. See, they come. + + _A Flourish; Enter Henricke the Prince, Bellizarius, Hubert, + leading Eugenius in Chaines with other Prisoners and Souldiers_. + +_King_. I have now liv'd my full time; tell me, my _Henricke_,[135] +Thy brave successe, that my departing soule +May with the story blesse another world +And purchase me a passage. + +_Hen_. O, great Sir, +All we have done dyes here if that you dye, +And heaven, before too prodigal to us, +Shedding beames over-glorious on our heads, +Is now full of Eclipses. + +_King_. No, boy; thy presence +Has fetcht life home to heare thee. + +_Hen_. Then, Royal Father, thus: +Before our Troopes had reacht the _Affrick_ bounds, +Wearied with tedious Marches and those dangers +Which waite on glorious Warre, the _Affricans_ +A farre had heard our Thunder, whilst their Earth +Did feele an earth-quake in the peoples feares +Before our Drummes came near them. Yet, spight of terrour, +They fortifi'd their Townes, cloathed all their fields +With warres best bravery, armed Souldiers. +At this we made a stand, for their bold troopes +Affronted us with steele, dar'd us to come on +And nobly fierd our resolution. + +_King_. So, hasten; there's in me a battaile too; +Be quicke, or I shall fall. + +_Hen_. Forefend it heaven. +Now, _Bellizarius_, come; here stand, just here; +And on him, I beseech you, fixe your eye, +For you have much to pay to this brave man. + +_Hub_. Nothing to me? + +_Hen_. Ile give you him in wonder. + +_Hub_. Hang him out in a painted cloth for a monster. + +_Bel_. My Lord, wrong not your selfe to throw on me +The honours which are all yours. + +_Hub_. Is he the Divell? all! + +_Bel_. Cast not your eyes on me, Sir, but on him; +And seale this to your soule: never had King +A Sonne that did to his Crowne more honours bring. + +_Hen_. Stay, _Bellizarius_; I'me too true to honour +To scant it in the blazing: though to thee +All that report can render leaves thee yet-- + +_Hub_. A brave man: you are so too, you both fought; +And I stood idle? + +_Hen_. No, Sir. + +_Hub_. Here's your battaile then, and here's your conquest: +What need such a coyle? + +_Bel_. Yet, _Hubert_, it craves more Arethmaticke +Than in one figure to be found. + +_King_. _Hubert_, thou art too busie. + +_Hub_. So was I in the battaile. + +_King_. Prethee peace. + +_Hen_. The Almarado was on poynt to sound; +But then a Herald from their Tents flew forth, +Being sent to question us for what we came; +And [At?] which, I must confesse, being all on fire +We cryed for warre and death. Backe rode the Herald +As lightning had persu'd him. But the Captaines, +Thinking us tir'd with marching, did conceive +Rest would make difficult what easie now +Quicke charge might drive us to. So, like a storme +Beating upon a wood of lustie Pines, +Which though they shake they keepe their footing fast, +Our pikes their horses stood. Hot was the day +In which whole fields of men were swept away, +As by sharpe Sithes are cut the golden corne +And in as short time. It was this mans sword +Hew'd ways to danger; and when danger met him +He charm'd it thence, and when it grew agen +He drove it back agen, till at the length +It lost the field. Foure long hours this did hold, +In which more worke was done than can be told. + +_Bel_. But let me tell your Father how the first feather +That Victory herselfe pluckt from her wings, +She stuck it in your Burgonet. + +_Hub_. Brave still! + +_Hen_. No, _Bellizarius_; thou canst guild thy honours +Borne[136] from the reeking breasts of _Affricans_, +When I aloof[137] stood wondering at those Acts +Thy sword writ in the battaile, which were such +Would make a man a souldier but to read 'em. + +_Hub_. And what to read mine? is my booke claspt up? + +_Bel_. No, it lyes open, where in texed letters read +Each Pioner [?] that your unseason'd valour +Had thrice ingag'd our fortunes and our men +Beyond recovery, had not this arme redeem'd you. + +_Hub_. Yours? + +_Bel_. For which your life was lost for doing more +Than from the Generals mouth you had command. + +_Hub_. You fill my praise with froth, as Tapsters fill +Their cut-throat Cans; where, give me but my due, +I did as much as you, or you, or any. + +_Bel_. Any? + +_Hub_. Yes, none excepted. + +_Bel_. The Prince was there. + +_Hub_. And I was there: since you draw one another +I will turne Painter too and draw my selfe. +Was it not I that when the maine Battalia +Totter'd and foure great squadrons put to rout, +Then reliev'd them? and with this arme, this sword, +And this affronting brow put them to flight, +Chac'd em, slew thousands, tooke some few and drag'd em +As slaves, tyed to my saddle bow with Halters? + +_Hen_. Yes, Sir, 'tis true; but, as he sayes, your fury +Left all our maine Battalia welnigh lost. +For had the foe but re-inforct againe +Our courages had beene seiz'd (?), any Ambuskado +Cut you and your rash troopes off; if-- + +_Hub_. What 'if'? +Envy, not honour, still inferres these 'ifs.' +It thriv'd and I returnd with Victory. + +_Bel_. You? + +_Hub_. I, _Bellizarius_, I; I found your troopes +Reeling and pale and ready to turne Cowards, +But you not in the head; when I (brave sir) +Charg'd in the Reere and shooke their battaile so +The Fever never left them till they fell. +I pulled the Wings up, drew the rascals on, +Clapt 'em and cry'd 'follow, follow.' This is the hand +First toucht the Gates, this foote first tooke the City; +This Christian Church-man snacht I from the Altar +And fir'd the Temple. 'Twas this sword was sheath'd +In panting bosomes both of young and old; +Fathers, sonnes, mothers, virgins, wives and widowes: +Like death I havocke cryed so long till I +Had left no monuments of life or buildings +But these poore ruins. What these brave Spirits did +Was like to this, I must confesse 'tis true, +But not beyond it. + +_King_. You have done nobly all. +Nor let the Generall thinke I soyle his worth +In that I raise this forward youth so neare +Those honours he deserves from _Genzericke_; +For he may live to serve my _Henrick_ thus, +And growing vertue must not want reward. +You both allow these deeds he so much boasts of? + +_Hen_. Yes, but not equal to the Generals. + +_King_. The spoyles they equally shall both divide; +The Generall chuse, 'tis his prerogative. +_Bellizarius_ be Viceregent over all +Those conquerd parts of _Affrick_ we call ours; +_Hubert_ the Master of my _Henricks_ Horse +And President of what the _Goths_ possesse. +Let this our last will stand. + + _Bel_. We are richly paid. + + _Hub_. Who earnes it must have wages. + + _King_. Ile see you imbrac'd too. + + _Hub_. With all my heart. + + _King_. And _Bellizarius_ +Make him thy Scholler. + + _Hub_. His Scholler! + + _King_. There's stuffe in him +Which temper'd well would make him a noble fellow. +Now for these Prisoners: 'tis my best sacrifice +My pious zeale can tender to the Gods. +I censure thus: let all be naked stript, +Then to the midst of the vaste Wildernesse +That stands 'twixt us and wealthy _Persia_ +They shall be driven, and there wildly venture +As Famine or the fury of the Beasts +Conspires to use them. Which is that Bishop? + + _Hub_. Stand forth: this is _Eugenius_. + + _Eug_. I stand forth +Daring all tortures, kissing Racks and Wheeles +And Flames, to whom I offer up this body. +You keepe us from our Crownes of Martyrdomes +By this delaying: dispatch us hence. + + _King_. Not yet, Sir: +Away with them, stay him; and if our Gods +Can win this Christian Champion, now so stout, +To fight upon their sides, give him reward; +Our Gods will reach him praise. + + _Eug_. Your Gods! wretched soules! + +_King_. My worke is done; and, Henricke, as thou lov'st +Thy Fathers soule, see every thing perform'd. +This last iniunction tyes thee: so, farewell. +Let those I hated in thy hate still dwell, +I meane the Christians. + (_Dyes_.) + + _Hen_. Oh, what a deale of greatnesse +Is struck down at one blow. + + _Hub_. Give me a battell: +'Tis brave being struck downe there. + + _Anth_. _Henrick_, my Lord, +And now my Soveraigne, I am by office bound +To offer to your Royall hands this Crowne +Which on my knees I tender, all being ready +To set it on your head. + + _Omnes_. Ascend your throne: +Long live the King of _Vandals_ and of _Goths_, +The mighty _Henrick_. + + _Hen_. What must now be done? + + _Anth_. By me each Officer of State resignes +The Patten that he holds his office by, +To be dispos'd as best shall please your Grace. + + _Hen_. And I returne them back to all their trusts. +I rise in clouds, my Morning is begun +From the eternall set of a bright sunne. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Drumnel flourish: Enter Victoria and Bellina with servants_. + +To gratulate his safe and wisht Arrival. +Let Musick with her sweet-tongu'd Rhetorick +Take out those horrours which the loud clamoures +Of Warres harsh harmony hath long besieg'd +His tender sences with. Your Father's come, _Bellina_. + +_Bell_. I feele the ioy of it with you, sweet Mother, +And am as ready to receive a blessing from him +As you his chaste imbraces. + +_Vic_. So, so, bestirre; +Let all our loves and duties be exprest +In our most diligent and active care. + + _Enter Bellizarius_. + +Here comes my comfort-bringer, +My _Bellizarius_. + +_Belliz_. Dearest _Victoria_; +My second ioy, take thou a Fathers blessing. + +_Vic_. Not wounded, Sir, I hope? + +_Belliz_. No, _Victoria_; +Those were Rewards that we bestow'd on others; +We gave, but tooke none backe. Had we not you +At home to heare our noble Victories +Our Fame should want her Crowne, although she flew +As high as yonder Axle tree above +And spred in latitude throughout the world. +We have subdu'd those men of strange beleefe +Which Christians call themselves; a race of people +--This must I speake of them--as resolute +And full of courage in their bleeding falls +As should they tryumph for a Victory. +When the last groanes of many thousand mett +And like commixed Whirlwindes fill'd our eares. +As it from us rais'd not a dust of pitty +So did it give no terrour to the rest +That did but live to see their fellows dye. +In all our rigours and afflicting tortures +We cannot say that we the men subdu'd, +Because their ioy was louder than our conquest. +And still more worke of blood we must expect; +Like _Hydra's_ Heads by cutting off they double; +As seed that multiplies, such are their dead-- +Next Moone a sheafe of Christians in ones stead. + +_Vic_. This is a bloody Trade, my _Bellizarius_; +Would thou wouldst give it over. + +_Belliz_. 'Tis worke, _Victoria_, that must be done. +These are the battailes of our blessing, +Pleasing gods and goddesses who for our service +Render us these Conquests. +Our selves and our affaires we may neglect, +But not our Deities, which these Christians +Prophane deride and scoffe at; would new Lawes +Bring in and a new God make. + +_Vic_. No, my Lord; +I have heard say they never make their Gods, +But they serve 'em, they say, that did make them: +All made-gods they dispise. + +_Belliz_. Tush, tush, _Victoria_, let not thy pitty +Turne to passions; they'le not deserve thy sorrow. +How now? What's the newes? + + _Enter a Souldier_. + +_Sold_. Strange, my Lord, beyond a wonder, +For 'tis miraculous. Since you forsooke +The bloody fight and horrour of the Christians, +One tortur'd wretch, whose sight was quite extinct, +His eyes no farther seeing than his hands, +Is now by that _Eugenius_, whom they call +Their holy Bishop, cleerely restor'd again +To the astonishment of all your Army, +Who faintly now recoyle with feare and terrour +Not daring to offend so great a power. + +_Belliz_. Ha! 'tis strange thou tell'st me. + +_Vic_. Oh, take heed, my Lord; +It is no warring against heavenly Powers +Who can command their Conquest when they please. +They can forbeare the Gyants that throw stones, +And smile upon their follies; but when they frowne +Their angers fall downe perpendicular +And strike their weake Opposer into nothing: +The Thunder tells us so. + +_Belliz_. Pray leave me all; I shall have company +When you are gone, enough to fill the roome. + +_Vic_. The holiest powers give thee their best direction. + + [_Exeunt: Manet Bellizarius_. + +_Belliz_. What power is that can fortifie a man +To ioy in death, since all we can expect +Is but fruition of the ioyes of life? +If Christians hoped not to become immortall +Why should they seeke for death? +O, then instruct me some Divine power; +Thou that canst give the sight unto the blind, +Open my blind iudgement _Thunder: Enter an Angel_. +That I may see a way to happinesse. +Ha, this is a dreadfull answer; this may chide +The relapse in my blood that 'gins to faint +From[138] further persecution of these people. +Oh shall I backe and double tyranny? (_Thunder_.) +A louder threat[e]ning! oh mould these voyces +Into articulate words, that I may know +Thy meaning better. Shall I quench the flames +Of blood and vengeance, and my selfe become +A penetrable Christian? my life lay downe +Amongst their sufferings? (_Musicke_.) +Ha, these are sweet tunes. + +_Ang_. _Bellizarius_! + +_Belliz_. It names me, too. + +_Ang_. Sheath up thy cruelty; no more pursue +In bloody forrage these oppressed Christians, +For now the Thunder will take their part. +Remaine in peace and Musicke is thy banquet, +Or thy selfe number 'mongst their martyring groanes +And thou art numbred with these blessed ones. + +_Belliz_. What heavenly voyce is this? shall my eares onely +Be blest with raptures, not mine eyes enioy +The sight of that Celestiall presence +From whence these sweet sounds come? + +_Ang_. Yes, thou shalt see; nay, then, 'tis lost agen. + (_Bel. kneeles_.) +Rise; this is enough; be constant Souldier: +Thy heart's a Christian, to death persever +And then enioy the sight of Angels ever. + [_Exit_. + +_Belliz_. Oh, let me flye into that happy place. +Prepare your tortures now, you scourge of Christians, +For _Bellizarius_ the Christians torturer; +Centuple all that I have ever done; +Kindle the fire and hacke at once with swords; +Teare me by piece-meales, strangle, and extend +My every limbe and ioynt; nay, devise more +Than ever did my bloody Tyrannies. +Oh let me ever lose the sight of men +That I may see an Angell once agen. + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + +(SCENE I.) + + + _Enter Hubert and Damianus_. + +_Hub_. For[139] looke you, _Damianus_, though _Henricke_, now king, did +in the battaile well and _Bellizarius_ enough for a Generall, did not I +tell 'em home? + +_Dam_. I heard it. + +_Hub_. They shall not make bonefires of their owne glories and set up +for me a poore waxe candle to shew mine. I am full of Gold now: what +shall I doe with it, _Damianus_? + +_Dam_. What doe Marriners after boone voyages, but let all flye; and +what Souldiers, when warres are done, but fatten peace? + +_Hub_. Pox of Peace! she has churles enough to fatten her. I'll make a +Shamoyes Doublet, embroydered all over with flowers of gold. In these +dayes a woman will not looke upon a man if he be not brave. Over my +Doublet a _Soldado_ Cassacke of Scarlet, larded thicke with Gold Lace; +Hose of the same, cloake of the same, too, lasht up this high and richly +lined. There was a Lady, before I went, was working with her needle a +Scarffe for mee; but the Wagtaile has left her nest. + +_Dam_. No matter; there's enough such birds everywhere. + +_Hub_. Yes, women are as common as glasses in Tavernes, and often drunke +in and more often crackt. I shall grow lazy if I fight not; I would +faine play with halfe a dozen Fencers, but it should be at sharpe.[140] + +_Dam_. And they are all for foyles. + +_Hub_. Foyl'd let 'em be then. + +_Dam_. You have had fencing enough in the field, and for women the +Christians fill'd[141] your markets. + +_Hub_. Yes, and those markets were our Shambles. Flesh enough! +It made me weary of it. Since I came home +I have beene wondrous troubled in my sleepes, +And often heard to sigh in dead of night +As if my heart would cracke. You talk of Christians: +Ile tell you a strange thing, a kind of melting in +My soule, as 'twere before some heavenly fire, +When in their deaths (whom they themselves call Martyrs) +It was all rocky. Nothing, they say, can soften +A Diamond but Goates blood;[142] they perhaps were Lambs +In whose blood I was softened. + +_Dam_. Pray tell how. + +_Hub_. I will: after some three hours being in _Carthage_ +I rusht into a Temple. Starr'd all with lights; +Which with my drawne sword rifling, in a roome +Hung full of Pictures, drawne so full of sweetnesse +They struck a reverence in me, found I a woman, +A Lady all in white; the very Candles +Took brightnesse from her eyes and those cleare Pearles +Which in aboundance falling on her cheekes +Gave them a lovely bravery. At my rough entrance +She shriek'd and kneel'd, and holding up a paire +Of Ivory fingers begg't that I would not +(Though I did kill) dishonour her, and told me +She would pray for me. Never did Christian +So near come to my heart-strings; I let my Sword +Fall from me, stood astonish't, and not onely +Sav'd her my selfe but guarded her from others. + +_Dam_. Done like a Souldier. + +_Hub_. Blood is not ever +The wholsom'st Wine to drinke. Doubtlesse these Christians +Serve some strange Master, and it needes must bee +A wonderfull sweete wages which he paies them; +And though men murmour, get they once here footing, +Then downe goes our Religion, downe our Altars, +And strange things be set up.--I cannot tell: +We, held so pure, finde wayes enough to hell. +Fall out what can, I care not; Ile to _Bellizarius_. + +_Dam_. Will you? pray carry to him my best wishes. + +_Hub_. I can carry anything but Blowes, Coles,[143] my Drink, and that +clapper of the Divell, the tongue of a Scould. Farewell. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Flourish: Enter the King, Antony, Cosmo, all about + the King, and Bellizarius_. + +_King_. They swarme like Bees about us, insomuch +Our People cannot sacrifice nor give Incense +But with interruptions; they still are buzzing thus, +Saying: Their Gods delight not in vaine showes +But intellectual thoughts pure and unstain'd, +Therefore reduce them from their heresies +Or build our prison walls with Christians bones. +What thinkes our _Bellizarius_, he that was wont +To be more swift to execute than we to command? +Why sits not _Bellizarius_? + +_Belliz_. I dare not. + +_King_. Protect me, Iove! Who dare gainesay it? + +_Belliz_. I must not. + +_King_. Say we command it? + +_Belliz_. Truth is, I neither can nor will. + +_Omn_. Hee's mad. + +_Belliz_. Yes, I am mad +To see such Wolvish Tyrants as you are +Pretend a Justice and condemne the iust. +Oh you white soules that hover in the aire, +Who through my blindnesse were made death his[144] prey; +Be but appeas'd, you spotlesse Innocents, +Till with my blood I have made a true atonement, +And through those tortures, by this braine devis'd, +In which you perisht, I may fall as you +To satisfie your yet fresh bleeding memories +And meete you in that garden where content +Dwels onely. I, that in blood did glory, +Will now spend blood to heighten out your story. + +_Anton_. Why, _Bellizarius_-- + +_Belliz_. Hinder me not: +I'me in a happy progresse, would not change my guest +Nor be deterr'd by Moles and Wormes that cannot see +Such as you are. Alas, I pitty you. + +_Dam_. The King's in presence. + +_Belliz_. I talke of one that's altitudes above him, +That owes[145] all Principalities: he is no King +That keepes not his decrees, nor am I bound +In duty to obey him in unwist acts. + +_King_. All leave the roome. + +_Omnes_. We obey your highnesse. + [_Exeunt Lords_. + +_King_. Sir, nay. Sir; good _Bellizarius_. + +_Belliz_. In that I doe obey. + +_King_. Doe you make scruple, then, of our command? + +_Belliz_. Yes, Sir, where the act's unjust and impure. + +_King_. Why, then, are we a king, if not obey'd? + +_Belliz_. You are plac'd on earth but as a Substitute +To a Diviner being as subiects are to you; +And are so long a king to be obey'd +As you are iust. + +_King_. Good _Bellizarius_, wherein doe I digresse? +Have I not made thee great, given thee authority +To scourge those mis-beleevers, those wild Locusts +That thus infect our Empire with their Scismes? +The World is full of _Bellizarius_ deedes. +Succeeding times will Canonize thy Acts +When they shall read what great ones thou hast done +In honour of us and our sacred gods; +For which, next unto _Iove_, they gave a Laurell +To _Bellizarius_, whose studious braine +Fram'd all these wracks and tortures for these Christians. +Hast thou not all our Treasure in thy power? +Who but your selfe commands as [us?], _Bellizarius_? +Then whence, my _Bellizarius_, comes this change? + +_Belliz_. Poore King, I sorrow for thy weakned sence, +Wishing thy eye-sight cleare that Eagle-like, +As I doe now, thou might'st gaze on the Sunne, +The Sunne of brightnesse, Sunne of peace, of plenty. +Made you me great in that you made me miserable, +Thy selfe more wretched farre? in that thy hand +The Engine was to make me persecute +Those Christian soules whom I have sent to death, +For which I ever, ever shall lament? + +_King_. Ha, what's this?--Within there! + +_Belliz_. Nay, heare me, _Henrick_, and when thou hast heard me out +With _Bellizarius_ thinke that thou art blest +If that with me thou canst participate. + +_King_. Thou art mad. + +_Belliz_. No; 'tis thou art mad, +And with thy frenzie make this Kingdome franticke. +Forgive me, thou great Power in whom I trust, +Forgive me, World, and blot out all my deeds +From those black Kalends; else, when I lye dead, +My Name will ever lie in obliquie. +Is it a Sinne that can make great men good? +Is prophanation turn'd to sanctity, +Vices to vertues? if such disorder stand +Then _Bellizarius_ Acts may be held iust; +Otherwise nothing. + +_King_. Some Furie hath possest my _Bellizarius_ +That thus he railes. Oh, my dearest, +Call on great _Iupiter_. + +_Belliz_. Alas, poore Idoll! +On him! on him that is not, unlesse made: +Had I your _Iove_ I'de tosse him in the Ayre, +Or sacrifice him to his fellow-gods +And see what he could doe to save himselfe. +You call him Thunderer, shaker of _Olympus_, +The onely and deare Father of all gods; +When silly love is shooke with every winde, +A fingers touch can hurle him from his Throne. +Is this a thing to be ador'd or pray'd too? + +_King_. My love turnes now to rage.--Attendance there, + _Enter all the Lords_. +And helpe to binde this mad man, that's possest!-- +By the powers that we adore thou dyest. + +_Belliz_. Here me, thou ignorant King, you dull-brain'd Lords, +Oh heare me for your owne sakes, for your soules sake: +Had you as many gods as you have dayes, +As once the _Assyrians_ had, yet have yee nothing. +Such service as they gave such you may give, +And have reward as had the blinde _Molossians_: +A Toad one day they worship; one of them drunke +A health with 's god and poyson'd so himselfe. +Therefore with me looke up, and as regenerate soules-- + +_Dam_. Can you suffer this? +This his affront will scare up the devotion +Of all your people. He that persecuted +Become a convertite! + +_Belliz_. 'Tis ioy above my ioy: oh, had you scene +What these eyes saw, you would not then +Disswade me from it; nor will I leave that power +By whom I finde such infinite contentments. + +_Hen_. _Epidophorus_; your eare:--see't done. + +_Epi_. It shall, my Lord. + [_Exit Epi_. + +_Hen_. Then by the gods +And all the powers the _Vandals_ doe adore, +Thou hast not beene more terrible to the world +Than to thy selfe I now will make thee. + +_Belliz_. I dare thy worst; +I have a Christian armour to protect me. +You cannot act so much as I will suffer. + +_Hen_. Ile try your patience + + _Enter Epido, two Christians and officers_. + +_Epi_. 'Tis done, my Lord, as you directed. + +_Hen_. They are come: +Make signes you'le yet deny your Christianity (_They make signes_.) +And kneele with us to sacred _Iupiter_. +No? make them then a Sacrifice to _Iupiter_ +For all the wrongs by _Bellizarius_ done. +Dispatch, I say; to the fire with them. + +_Belliz_. Alas, good men! tonguelesse? you'le yet be heard; +The sighes of your tun'd soules are musicall, +And whil'st I breath, as now my tears I shed, +My prayers He send up for you; 'twas I that mangl'd you. +How soone the bodies Organ leaves the sound! +The Life's next too't; a Needles point ends that, +A small thing does it. Now you have quiet roomes +No wrangling, all husht. Now make me a fellow +In this most patient suffering. + +_Hen_. Beare them unto the fire, and place him neere +To fright him. + (_Flourish.)_ + +_Belliz_. On, fellow Souldiers! +Your fires will soon be quencht, and for your wrongs +You shall, above, all speake with Angels tongues. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Clowne, Constable and three watchmen_. + +_Clown_. You[146] that are borne Pagans both by father and mother, the +true sonnes of Infidelity, sit downe by me your officiall, or to come +nearer to the efficacy of the word, your undermost Iaylor or staller; +--the word is Lordly and significant. + +_Omnes_. O brave Master, yfaith. + +_Clowne_. Therefore sit downe; and as by vertue of our place we have +Authority given, so let us as officers doe, knaves of our function as +of others; let us, I say, be unbounded in our Authority, having the +Lawes, I meane the Keyes, in our owne hands. + +_Const_. Friend, friend, you are too forward in your Authority; your +command is limited where I am in place: for though you are the +Lieutenants man know, sir, that I am Master of the worke and Constable +Royall under the Kings Maiesty. + +_Omnes_. Marry is hee. + +_Const_. If their testimonie will not satisfie, here my Title: At this +place, in this time, and upon this occasion I am Prince over these +Publicans, Lord over these Larroones,[147] Regent of these Rugs,[148] +Viceroy over these Vagabonds, King of these Caterpillars; and indeed, +being a Constable, directly Soveraigne over these my Subiects. + +2 _Off_. If all these stiles, so hard to climbe over, belong to the +office of a Constable, what kin is he to the Divell? + +_Const_. Why to the Devill, my friend? + +_Clown_. Ile tell you: because a Constable is King of Nights and the +other is Prince of Darknesse. + +_Const_. Darke as it is, by the twilight of my Lanthorne methinks I see +a company of Woodcocks. + +_2 Off_. How can you discerne them? + + _Enter Epidophorus, Victoria and Bellina_. + +_Clown_. Oh excellent well, by their bills: see, see, here comes the +Lieutenant. + +_Epi_. Well sayd, my friends: you keep good watch, I see. + +_Clown_. Yes, Sir, we Officers have breath as strong as Garlick: no +Christian by their good wills dare come neare us. + +_Epi_. 'Tis well, forbeare.-- +Oh, Madam, had you scene with what a vehemency +He did blaspheme the gods, +Like to a man pearcht on some lofty Spire +Amazed which way to relieve himselfe, +You would have stood, as did the King, amaz'd. + +_Vict_. God grant him liberty, +And with that give us privacy; I doubt not +But our sweet conference shall work much on him. + +_Epi_. _Iove_ grant it: Ile leave the roome. + [_Exit Epi_. + +_Clown_. A Iaylor seldome lookes for a bribe but hee's prevented. + + [_Exeunt Officers_. + + _Enter Bellizarius in his night-gown, with Epidophorus_. + +_Epi_. My Lord, your Lady and her most beauteous daughter +Are come to visit you, and here attend. + +_Belliz_. My Wife and Daughter? oh welcome, love, +And blessing Crowne thee, my beloved _Bellina_. + +_Vict_. My Lord, pray leave us. + +_Epi_. Your will be your owne Law. + [_Exit Epidoph_. + +_Vict_. Why study you, my Lord? why is your eye fixt +On your _Bellina_ more than on me? + +_Belliz_. Good, excellent good: +What pretty showes our fancies represent us! +My faire _Bellina_ shines like to an Angel; +Has such a brightnesse in her Christall eyes +That even the radiancy duls my sight. +See, my _Victoria_, lookes she not sweetly? + +_Vict_. Shee does, my Lord; but not much better than she was wont. + +_Belliz_. Oh shee but beginnes to shine as yet, +But will I hope ere long be stellified. +Alas, my _Victoria_, thou look'st nothing like her. + +_Vict_. Not like her? why, my Lord? + +_Belliz_. Marke and Ile tell thee how: +Thou art too much o'er growne with sinne and shame, +Hast pray'd too much, offered too much devotion +To him and those that can nor helpe nor hurt, +Which my _Bellina_ has not: +Her yeares in sinne are not, as thine are, old; +Therefore me thinks she's fairer farre than thou. + +_Vict_. I, my Lord, guided by you and by your precepts, +Have often cal'd on _Iupiter_. + +_Belliz_. I, there's the poynt: +My sinnes like Pullies still drew me downewards: +'Twas I that taught thee first to Idolize, +And unlesse that I can with-draw thy mind +From following that I did with tears intreat, +I'me lost, for ever lost, lost in my selfe and thee. +Oh, my _Bellina_! + +_Bellina_. Why, Sir! +Shall we not call on _Iove_ that gives us food, +By whom we see the heavens have all their Motions? + +_Belliz_. Shee's almost lost too: alas! my Girle, +There is a higher _Iove_ that rules 'bove him. +Sit, my _Victoria_, sit, my faire _Bellina_, +And with attention hearken to my dreame: +Methought one evening, sitting on a fragrant Virge, +Close by there ranne a silver gliding streame: +I past the Rivolet and came to a Garden, +A Paradise, I should say (for lesse it could not be); +Such sweetnesse the world contains not as I saw; +_Indian Aramaticks_ nor _Arabian_ Gummes +Were nothing sented unto this sweet bower. +I gaz'd about, and there me thought I saw +Conquerors and Captives, Kings and meane men; +I saw no inequality in their places. +Casting mine eye on the other side the Palace, +Thousands I saw my selfe had sent to death; +At which I sigh'd and sob'd, I griev'd and groan'd. +Ingirt with Angels were those glorious Martyrs +Whom this ungentle hand untimely ended, +And beckon'd to me as if heaven had said, +"Beleeve as they and be thou one of them"; +At which my heart leapt, for there me thought I saw, +As I suppos'd, you two like to the rest: +With that I wak'd and resolutely vow'd +To prosecute what I in thought had seene. + +_Bellina_. 'Twas a sweet dreame; good Sir, make use of it. + +_Vict_. And I with _Bellizarius_ am resolv'd +To undergoe the worst of all afflictions, +Where such a glory bids us to performe. + +_Belliz_. Now blessings crowne yee both +The first stout Martyr has[149] his glorious end +Though stony-hard yet speedy; when ours comes +I shall tryumph in our affliction. +This adds some comfort to my troubled soule: +I, that so many have depriv'd of breath, +Shall winne two soules to accompany me in death. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + + + _Enter Clowne and Huntsmen severally_. + +1 _Hunt_. Ho, rise, sluggards! so, so, ho! so, ho! + +2 _Hunt_. So ho, ho! we come. + +_Clown_. Morrow, iolly wood-men. + +_Omnes_. Morrow, morrow. + +_Clown_. Oh here's a Morning like a grey ey'd Wench, able to intice a +man to leap out of his bed if he love hunting, had he as many cornes on +his toes as there are Cuckolds in the City. + +1 _Hunt_. And that's enough in conscience to keepe men from going, were +his Boots as wide as the black Iacks[150] or Bombards tost by the Kings +Guard. + +2 _Hunt_. Are the swift Horses ready? + +_Clown_. Yes, and better fed than taught; for one of 'em had like to +have kickt my iigumbobs as I came by him. + +2 _Hunt_. Where are the Dogges? + +_Clown_. All coupled, as Theeves going to a Sessions, and are to be +hang'd if they be found faulty. + +2 _Hunt_. What Dogges are they? + +_Clown_. A packe of the bravest _Spartan_ Dogges in the world; if they +do but once open and spend[151] there gabble, gabble, gabble it will +make the Forest ecchoe as if a Ring of Bells were in it; admirably +flewd[152], by their eares you would take 'em to be singing boyes; and +for Dewlaps they are as bigge as Vintners bags in which they straine +Ipocras. + +_Omnes_. There, boy. + +_Clown_. And hunt so close and so round together that you may cover +'em all with a sheete. + +2 _Hunt_. If it be wide enough. + +_Clown_. Why, as wide as some four or five Acres, that's all. + +1 _Hunt_. And what's the game to day? + +_Clown_. The wilde Boare. + +1 _Hunt_. Which of 'em? the greatest? I have not seene him. + +_Clown_. Not seene him? he is as big as an Elephant. + +2 _Hunt_. Now will he build a whole Castle full of lies. + +_Clown_. Not seen him? I have. + +_Omnes_. No, no; seene him? as big as an Elephant? + +_Clown_. The backe of him is as broad--let me see--as a pretty Lighter. + +1 _Hun_. A Lighter? + +_Clown_. Yes; and what do you think the Brissells are worth? + +2 _Hunt_. Nothing. + +_Clown_. Nothing? one Shoemaker offer'd to finde me and the Heire-male +of my body 22 yeeres, but to have them for his owne ends. + +2 _Hunt_. He would put Sparabiles[153] into the soales then? + +_Clown_. Not a Bill, not a Sparrow. The Boares head is so huge that a +Vintner but drawing that picture and hanging it up for a Signe it fell +down and broke him. + +1 _Hunt_. Oh horrible! + +_Clown_. He has two stones so bigge, let me see (a Poxe), thy head is but +a Cherry-stone to the least of' em. + +2 _Hunt_. How long are his Tuskes? + +_Clown_. Each of them as crooked and as long as a Mowers sith. + +1 _Hunt_. There's a Cutter. + +_Clown_. And when he whets his Tuskes you would sweare there were a sea +in's belly, and that his chops were the shore to which the Foame was +beaten: if his Foame were frothy Yest 'twere worth tenne groats a paile +for Bakers. + +1 _Hunt_. What will the King do with him if he kill him? + +_Clown_. Bake him, and if they put him in one Pasty a new Oven must be +made, with a mouth as wide as the gates of the City. (_Horne_.) + +_Omnes_. There boy, there boy. + + _Hornes and Noise within: Enter Antony meeting Damianus_. + +_Ant_. _Cosmo_ had like beene kild; the Boare receiving[154] +A Speare full in the Flanke from _Cosmo's_ hand, +Foaming with rage he ranne at him, unhorst him +And had, but that he fell behinde an Oake +Of admirable greatnesse, torne out his bowels; +His very Tuskes, striking into the tree, +Made the old Champion[155] shake. + + [_Enter Cosmo_. + +_Dam_. Where are the Dogges? + +_Cosmo_. No matter for the Curres: +I scapt well, but cannot finde the King. + +_Anton_. When did you see him? + +_Cosmo_. Not since the Boare tos'd up +Both horse and rider. + + _Enter Epidophorus and all the Huntsmen in a hurry_. + +_Epi_. A Liter for the King; the King is hurt. + +_Ant_. How? + +_Epi_. No man knowes: some say stung by an Adder +As from his horse he fell; some cry, by the Boare. + +_Anton_. The Boare never came neare him. + +_Dam_. The King's Physitians! + +_Cosmo_. Runne for the King's Physitians. + +_Epi_. Conduct us to him. + +_Anton_. A fatall hunting when a King doth fall: +All earthly pleasures are thus washt in gall. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Eugenius discovered sitting loaden with many Irons, + a Lampe burning by him; then enter Clowne with a + piece of browne bread and a Carret roote_. + +_Eugen_. Is this my Dyet? + +_Clown_. Yes, marry is it; though it be not Dyet bread[156] 'tis bread, +'tis your dinner; and though this be not the roote of all mischiefe yet +'tis a Carret, and excellent good meate if you had powderd Beefe to it. + +_Eugen_. I am content with this. + +_Clown_. If you bee not I cannot helpe it; for I am threatned to be +hang'd if I set but a Tripe before you or give you a bone to gnaw. + +_Eugen_. For me thou shalt not suffer. + +_Clown_. I thank you; but were not you better be no good Christian, as +I am, and so fill your belly as to lie here and starve and be hang'd +thus in Chaines? + +_Eugen_. No, 'tis my tryumph; all these Chaines to me +Are silken Ribbonds, this course bread a banquet; +This gloomy Dungeon is to me more pleasing +Than the Kings Palace; and cou'd I winne thy soule +To shake off her blacke ignorance, thou, as I doe, +Would'st feele thirst, hunger, stripes and Irons nothing, +Nay, count death nothing. Let me winne thee to me. + +_Clown_. Thank yee for that: winne me from a Table full of good meat to +leape at a crust! I am no Scholler, and you (they say) are a great one; +and schollers must eate little, so shall you. What a fine thing is it +for me to report abroad of you that you are no great feeder, no +Cormorant! What a quiet life is it when a womans tongue lies still! and +is't not as good when a mans teeth lyes still? + +_Eugen_. Performe what thou art bidden; if thou art charg'd +To starve me, Ile not blame thee but blesse heaven. + +_Clown_. If you were starv'd what hurt were that to you? + +_Eugen_. Not any; no, not any. + +_Clown_. Here would be your praise when you should lie dead: they would +say, he was a very good man but alas! had little or nothing in him. + +_Eugen_. I am a slave to any misery +My Iudges doome me too. + +_Clown_. If you bee a slave there's more slaves in the world than you. + +_Eugen_. Yes, thousands of brave fellows slaves to their vices; +The Usurer to his gold, drunkards to Wine, +Adulterers to their lust. + +_Clown_. Right, Sir; so in Trades: the Smith is a slave to the +Ironmonger, the itchy silk-weaver to the Silke-man, the Cloth-worker +to the Draper, the Whore to the Bawd, the Bawd to the Constable, and +the Constable to a bribe. + +_Eugen_. Is it the kings will that I should be thus chain'd? + +_Clown_. Yes indeed, Sir. I can tell you in some countries they are held +no small fooles that goe in Chaines. + +_Eugen_. I am heavy. + +_Clown_. Heavy? how can you chuse, having so much Iron upon you? + +_Eugen_. Death's brother and I would have a little talk +So thou wouldst leave us. + +_Clown_. With all my heart; let Deaths sister talke with you, too, and +shee will, but let not me see her, for I am charg'd to let no body come +into you. If you want any water give mee your Chamber pot; Ile fill it. + [_Exit_. + +_Eugen_. No, I want none, I thanke thee. +Oh sweet affliction, thou blest booke, being written +By Divine fingers! you Chaines that binde my body +To free my soule; you Wheeles that wind me up +To an eternity of happinesse, +Mustre my holy thoughts; and, as I write, +Organ of heavenly Musicke to mine ears, +Haven to my Shipwracke, balme to my wounds, +Sunne-beames which on me comfortably shine +When Clouds of death are covering me; (so gold, +As I by thee, by fire is purified; +So showres quicken the Spring; so rough Seas +Bring Marriners home, giving them gaines and ease); +Imprisonment, gyves, famine, buffetings, +The Gibbet and the Racke; Flint stones, the Cushions +On which I kneele; a heape of Thornes and Briers, +The Pillow to my head; a nasty prison, +Able to kill mankinde even with the Smell: +All these to me are welcome. You are deaths servants; +When comes your Master to me? Now I am arm'd for him. +Strengthen me that Divinity that enlightens +The darknesse of my soule, strengthen this hand +That it may write my challenge to the world +Whom I defie; that I may on this paper +The picture draw of my confession. +Here doe I fix my Standard, here bid Battaile +To Paganisme and infidelity. + + _Musicke; enter Angel_. + +Mustre my holy thoughts, and, as I write, +In this brave quarrell teach me how to fight. + + (_As he is writing an Angel comes and stands before + him: soft musick; he astonisht and dazeld_.) + +This is no common Almes to prisoners; +I never heard such sweetnesse--O mine eyes! +I, that am shut from light, have all the light +Which the world sees by; here some heavenly fire +Is throwne about the roome, and burnes so clearely, +Mine eye-bals drop out blasted at the sight. + + (_He falls flat on the earth, and whilst a Song is heard + the Angel writes, and vanishes as it ends_.) + + I. SONG. + + _What are earthly honours + But sins glorious banners? + Let not golden gifts delight thee, + Let not death nor torments fright thee; + From thy place thy Captaine gives thee + When thou faintest he relieves thee. + Hearke, how the Larke + Is to the Morning singing; + Harke how the Bells are ringing. + It is for joy that thou to Heaven art flying: + This is not life, true life is got by dying_. + +_Eugen_. The light and sound are vanisht, but my feare +Sticks still upon my forehead: what's written here? (_Reads_.) + + Goe, and the bold Physitian play; + But touch the King and drive away + The paine he feeles; but first assay + To free the Christians: if the King pay + Thy service ill, expect a day + When for reward thou shalt not stay. + +All writ in golden Letters and cut so even +As if some hand had hither reacht from Heaven +To print this Paper. + + _Enter Epidophorus_. + +_Epi_. Come, you must to the King. + +_Eugen_. I am so laden with Irons +I scarce can goe. + +_Epi_. Wyer-whips shall drive you, +The King is counsell'd for his health to bath him +In the warme blood of Christians; and you, I thinke, +Must give him ease. + +_Eugen_. Willingly; my fetters +Hang now, methinks, like feathers at my heeles. +On, any whither; I can runne, sir. + +_Epi_. Can you? not very farre, I feare. + +_Eugen_. No windes my Faith shake, nor rock[s] split in sunder: +The poore ship's tost here, my strong Anchor's yonder. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Bellizarius and Hubert_. + +_Hub_. My Lord? + +_Belliz_. Ha! + +_Hub_. Affraid in a close room where no foe comes +Unlesse it be a Weezle or a Rat +(And those besiege your Larder or your Pantry), +Whom the arm'd Foe never frighted in the field? + +_Belliz_. 'Tis true, my Lord, there danger was a safety; here +To be secure I thinke most dangerous. +Or what could[157] famine, wounds or all th'extreames +That still attend a Souldiers actions +Could not destroy, one sillable from a Kings breath +Can thus, thus easily win. + +_Hub_. Oh, 'tis their long observed policy +To turne away these roaring boyes +When they intend to rock licentious thoughts +In a soft roome, where every long Cushion is +Embroydered with old Histories of peace, +And all the hangings of Warre thrust into the Wardrobe +Till they grow musty or moth-eaten. + +_Belliz_. One of those rusty Monuments am I. + +_Hub_. A little oyle of favour will secure thee agen, +And make thee shine as bright as in that day +We wonne the famous battaile 'gainst the Christians. + + _Enter Bellina and kneeles weeping_. + +_Belliz_. Never, _Hubert_, never. +What newes now, Girle? thy heart +So great it cannot tell me? + +_Hub_. Sfoot, why shouldst thou be troubled, that art thus visited? Let +the King put me into any roome, the closer the better, and turne but +such a keeper to me, and if ever I strive to runne away, though the +doores be open, may the Virgins curse destroy me, and let me lamentably +and most unmanly dye of the Greene-sicknesse. + +_Belliz_. My blessing bring thee patience, gentle Girle; +It is the best thy wronged Father can +Invoke for thee.--Tis my _Bellina, Hubert_: +Know her, honour'd Sir, and pittie her. + +_Hub_. How sweetly she becomes the face of woe! +Shee teacheth misery to court her beauty +And to affliction lends a lovely looke. +Happy folkes would sell their blessings for her griefes +But to be sure to meete them thus. + +_Bellina_. My honourd Father, your griev'd Daughter thus +Thrice every day to Heaven lifts her poore hand +And payes her vowes to the incensed Powers +For your release and happy patience, +And will grow old in vowes unto those Powers +Till they fall on me loaden with my wishes. + +_Belliz_. Thou art the comfort of my Treasure, Girle: +Wee'le live together, if it please the King, +And tell sad Stories of thy wretched Mother; +Give equall sighes to one anothers griefe, +And by discourse of happinesse to come +Trample upon our present miseries. + +_Hub_. There is a violent fire runnes round about me, +Which my sighes blow to a consuming flame. +To be her Martyr is a happinesse, +The sainted souls would change their merit for it. +Methinkes griefe dwells about her purest eyes, +As if it begg'd a pardon for those teares +Exhausted hence and onely due to love: +Her Vaile hangs like a Cloud over her face, +Through which her beauty, like a glimmering Starre, +Gives a transparent lustre to the night, +As if no sorrow could Ecclipse her light: +Her lips, as they discourse, methinks, looke pale +For feare they should not kisse agen; but, met, +They blush for joy, as happy Lovers doe +After a long divorce when they encounter. + +_Belliz_. Noble Lord, if you dare lose so much precious time +As to be companion to my misery +But one poor houre, +And not esteeme your selfe too prodigall +For that expence, this wretched Maid my Child +Shall waite upon you with her sorrows stories; +Vouchsafe but you to heare it. + +_Hub_. Yes, with full eare. + +_Belliz_. To your best thoughts I leave you; +I will but read, and answer this my Letter. + [_Exit. Belliz_. + +_Bellina_. Why do you, seeme to loose your eyes on me? +Here's nothing but a pile of wretchednesse; +A branch that every way is shooke at roote +And would (I think) even fall before you now, +But that Divinity which props it up +Inspires it full of comfort, since the Cause +My father suffers for gives a full glory +To his base fetters of Captivity. +And I beseech you, Sir, if there but dwell +So much of Vertue in you as your lookes +Seeme to expresse possesse your honour'd thoughts, +Bestow your pitty on us, not your scorne; +And wish, for goodnesse sake and your soules weale, +You were a sharer in these sufferings, +So the same cause expos'd your fortunes too't. + +_Hub_. Oh, happy woman, know I suffer more, +And for a cause as iust. + +_Bellina_. Be proud then of that tryumph; but I am yet +A stranger to the Character of what +You say you suffer for. Is it for Conscience? + +_Hub_. For love, divine perfection. + +_Bellina_. If of Heaven's love, how rich is your reward! + +_Hub_. Of Heaven's best blessing, your most perfect selfe. + +_Bellina_. Alas, Sir, here perfection keeps no Court, +Love dresses here no wanton amorous bowers; +Sorrow has made perpetuall winter here, +And all my thoughts are Icie, past the reach +Of what Loves fires can thaw. + +_Hub_. Oh doe but take away a part of that +My breast is full of, of that holy fire +The Queene of Loves faire Altar holds not purer +Nor more effectuall; and, sweet, if then +You melt not into passion for my wounds, +Effuse your Virgin vowes to chaine mine ears, +Weepe on my necke and with your fervent sighes +Infuse a soule of comfort into me; +He break the Altar of the foolish God, +Proclaime them guilty of Idolatry +That sacrifice to _Cytheraeas_ sonne. + +_Bellina_. Did not my present fortunes and my vowes, +Register'd in the Records of Heaven, +Tye me too strictly from such thoughts as these, +I feare me I should softly yeeld to what +My yet condition has beene stranger to. +To love, my Lord, is to be miserable. + +_Hub_. Oh to thy sweetnesse Envy would prove kind, +Tormentor humble, no pale Murderer; +And the Page of death a smiling Courtier. +_Venus_ must then, to give thee noble welcome, +Perfume her Temple with the breath of Nunnes, +Not _Vesta's_ but her owne; with Roses strow +The paths that bring thee to her blessed shrine; +Cloath all her Altares in her richest Robes +And hang her walles with stories of such loves +Have rais'd her Tryumphs; and 'bove all at last +Record this day, the happy day in which +_Bellina_ prov'd to love a Convertite. +Be mercifull and save me. + +_Bellina_. You are defil'd with Seas of Christians blood, +An enemy to Heaven and which is good; +And cannot be a loving friend to me. + +_Hub_. If I have sinn'd forgive me, you iust powers: +My ignorance, not cruelty has don't. +And here I vow my selfe to be hereafter +What ere _Bellina_ shall instruct me in: +For she was never made but to possesse +The highest Mansion 'mongst your Dignities, +Nor can Heaven let her erre. + +_Bellina_. On that condition thus I spread my armes, +Whose chaste embraces ne're toucht man before; +And will to _Hubert_ all the favour shew +His vertuous love can covet. +I will be ever his; goe thou to Warre, +These hands shall arme thee; and Ile watch thy Tent +Till from the battaile thou bring'st victory. +In peace Ile sit by thee and read or sing +Stanzaes of chaste love, of love purifi'd +From desires drossie blacknesse; nay when our clouds +Of ignorance are quite vanisht, and that a holy +Religious knot between us may be tyed, +_Bellina_ here vowes to be _Hubert's_ bride: +Else doe I sweare perpetuall chastity. + +_Hub_. Thy vowes I seale, be thou my ghostly Tutor; +And, all my actions levell'd to thy thoughts, +I am thy Creature. + +_Bellina_. Let Heaven, too, but now propitious prove +And for thy soule thou hast wonne a happy love. +Come, shall we to my Father. + + [_Exeunt_. + + (_Soft Musick_) + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Enter the King on his bed, two Physitians, + Anthony Damianus and Cosmo_. + +_King_. Are you Physitians? +Are you those men that proudly call your selves +The helps of Nature? + +_Ant_. Oh, my good Lord, have patience. + +_King_. What should I doe? lye like a patient Asse? +Feele my selfe tortur'd by this diffused poyson, +But tortur'd more by these unsavoury drugges? + +_Ant_. Come one of you your selves and speake to him. + +1 _Phys_. How fares your Highnesse? + +_King_. Never worse:--What's he? + +_Dami_. One of your Highnesse Doctors. + +_King_. Come, sit neare me; +Feele my pulse once again and tell me, Doctor, +Tell me in tearmes that I may understand,-- +I doe not love your gibberish,--tell me honestly +Where the Cause lies, and give a Remedy, +And that with speed; or in despight of Art, +Of Nature, you and all your heavenly motions, +Ile recollect so much of life into me +As shall give space to see you tortur'd. +Some body told me that a Bath of mans blood +Would restore me. Christians shall pay for't; +Fetch the Bishop hither, he shall begin. + +_Cosm_. Hee's gone for. + +_King_. What's my disease? + +1 _Phys_. My Lord, you are poyson'd. + +_King_. I told thee so my selfe, and told thee how: +But what's the reason that I have no helpe? +The Coffers of my Treasury are full, +Or, if they were not, tributary Christians +Bring in sufficient store to pay your fees, +If that you gape at. + +2 _Phys_. Wilt please your Highnesse then to take this Cordiall? +Gold never truely did you good till now. + +_King_. 'Tis gone. + +2 _Phys_. My Lord, it was the perfectst tincture +Of Gold that ever any Art produc'd: +With it was mixt a true rare Quintessence +Extracted out of Orientall Bezar,[158] +And with it was dissolv'd the Magisteriall +Made of the Horne _Armenia_ so much boast of; +Which, though dull Death had usurp't Natures right, +Is able to create new life agen. + +_King_. Why does it good on men and not on Kings? +We have the selfe-same passages for Nature +With mortall men; our pulses beate like theirs: +We are subiect unto passions as they are. +I finde it now, but to my griefe I finde, +Life stands not with us on such ticklish points, +What is't, because we are Kings, Life takes it leave +With greater state? No, no; the envious Gods +Maligne our happinesse. Oh that my breath had power +With my last words to blast their Deities. + +1 _Phys_. The Cordiall that you tooke requires rest: +For healths sake, good my Lord, repose your selfe. + +_King_. Yes, any thing for health; draw round the Curtaines. + +_Dami_. Wee'le watch by him whilst you two doe consult. + +1 _Phys_. What guesse you by that Urine? + +2 _Phys_. Surely Death! + +1 _Phys_. Death certaine, without contradiction, +For though the Urin be a whore and lies, +Yet where I finde her in all parts agree +With other Symtomes of apparent death +Ile give her faith. Pray, Sir, doe but marke +These black Hypostacies;[159] it plainely shewes +Mortification generally through the spirits; +And you may finde the Pulse to shew as much +By his uncertainty of time and strength. + +2 _Phys_. We finde the spirits often suffisticated +By many accidents, but yet not mortified; +A sudden feare will doe it. + +1 _Phys_. Very right; +But there's no malitious humour mixt +As in the king: Sir, you must understand +A Scorpion stung him: now a Scorpion is +A small compacted creature in whom Earth +Hath the predominance, but mixt with fire, +So that in him _Saturne_ and _Mars_ doe meet. +This little Creature hath his severall humours, +And these their excrements; these met together, +Enflamed by anger, made a deadly poison; +And by how much the creatures body's lesse +By so much is the force of Venome more, +As Lightning through a windows Casement +Hurts more than that which enters at the doore. + +2 _Phys_. But for the way to cure it? + +1 _Phys_. I know none; +Yet Ancient Writers have prescrib'd us many: +As _Theophrastus_ holds most excellent +Diophoratick[160] Medicines to expell +Ill vapours from the noble parts by sweate; +But _Avices_ and also _Rabby Roses_[161] +Doe thinke it better by provoking Urin, +Since by the Urine blood may well be purg'd, +And spirits from the blood have nutriment, +But for my part I ever held opinion +In such a case the Ventosities are best. + +2 _Phys_. They are indeed, and they doe farre exceede-- + +1 _Phys_. All the great curious Cataphlasmes, +Or the live taile of a deplum[e]d Henne, +Or your hot Pigeons or your quartered whelpes;[162] +For they by a meere forc'd attractive power +Retaine that safely which by force was drawne, +Whereas the other things I nam'd before +Do lose their vertue as they lose their heat. + +2 _Phys_. The ventosities shall be our next intensions. + +_Anton_. Pray, Gentlemen, attend his Highnesse. + +_King_. Your next intentions be to drowne your selves: +Dogge-leaches all! I see I am not mortall, +For I with patience have thus long endur'd +Beyond the strength of all mortality; +But now the thrice heate furnace of my bosome +Disdaineth bounds: doe not I scorch you all? +Goe, goe, you are all but prating Mountebankes, +Quack-salvers and Imposures; get you all from me. + +2 _Phys_. These Ventosities, my lord, will give you ease. + +_King_. A vengeance on thy Ventosities and thee! + + _Enter Eugenius_. + +_Anton_. The Bishop, Sir, is come. + +_King_. Christian, thy blood +Must give me ease and helpe. + +_Eugen_. Drinke then thy fill: +None of the Fathers that begot sweet Physick, +That Divine Lady, comforter to man, +Invented such a medicine as man's blood; +A drinke so pretious should not be so spilt: +Take mine, and Heaven pardon you the guilt. + +_King_. A Butcher! see his throat cut. + +_Eugen_. I am so farre from shrinking that mine owne hands +Shall bare my throat; and am so farre from wishing +Ill to you that mangle me, that before +My blood shall wash these Rushes, +King, I will cure thee. + +1 _Phys_. You cure him? + +_King_. Speak on, fellow. + +_Eugen_. If I doe not +Restore your limbs to soundnesse, drive the poyson +From the infected part, study your tortures +To teare me peece-meale yet be kept alive. + +_King_. O reverent man, come neare me; worke this wonder, +Aske gold, honours, any, any thing +The sublunary treasures of this world +Can yeeld, and they are thine. + +_Eugen_. I will doe nothing without a recompence. + +_King_. A royall one. + +_Omnes_. Name what you would desire. + +_King_. Stand by; you trouble him. +A recompence can my Crowne bring thee, take it; +Reach him my Crowne and plant it on his head. + +_Eugen_. No; here's my bargaine-- + +_King_. Quickly, oh speake quickly.-- +Off with the good man's Irons. + +_Eugen_. Free all those Christians which are now thy slaves, +In all thy Cittadels, Castles, Fortresses; +Those in _Bellanna_ and _Mersaganna_, +Those in _Alempha_ and in _Hazanoth_, +Those in thy Gallies, those in thy Iayles and Dungeons. + +_King_. Those any where: my signet, take my signet, +And free all on your lives, free all the Christians. +What dost thou else desire? + +_Eugen_. This; that thy selfe trample upon thy Pagan Gods. + +_Omnes_. Sir! + +_King_. Away. + +_Eugen_. Wash your soule white by wading in the streame +Of Christian gore. + +_King_. I will turne Christian. + +_Dam_. Better wolves worry this accursed-- + +_King_. Better +Have Bandogs[163] worry all of you, than I +To languish in a torment that feedes on me +As if the Furies bit me. Ile turn Christian, +And, if I doe not, let the Thunder pay +My breach of promise. Cure me, good old man, +And I will call thee father; thou shalt have +A king come kneeling to thee every Morning +To take a blessing from thee, and to heare thee +Salute him as a sonne. +When, when is this wonder? + +_Eugen_. Now; you are well, Sir. + +_King_. Ha! + +_Eugen_. Has your paine left you? + +_King_. Yes; see else, _Damianus, Antony, +Cosmo_; I am well. + +_Omnes_. He does it by inchantment. + +1 _Phys_. By meere Witch-Craft. + +_Eugen_. Thy payment for my cure. + +_King_. What? + +_Eugen_. To turne Christian, +And set all Christian slaves at liberty. + +_King_. Ile hang and torture all-- +Call backe the Messenger sent with our signet. +For thy selfe, thou foole, should I allow +Thee life thou wouldst be poyson'd by our +Colledge of Physitians. Let him not touch me +Nor ever more come neare me; and to be sure +Thy sorceries shall not strike me, stone him to death. + + (_They binde him to a stake, and fetch stones in baskets_.) + +_Omnes. When? + +_King_. Now, here presently. + +_Eugen_. Ingratefull man! + +_King_. Dispatch, his voyce is horrid in our eares; +Kill him, hurle all, and in him kill my feares. + +_Eugen_. I would thy feares were ended. + +_King_. Why thus delay you? + +_Dam_. The stones are soft as spunges. + +_Anton_. Not any stone here +Can raze his skin. + +_Dam_. See, Sir. + +_Cosmo_. Thankes, heavenly preservation. + +_King_. Mockt by a hell-hound! + +_Omnes_. This must not be endur'd, Sir. + +_King_. Unbinde the wretch; +Naile him to the earth with Irons. Cannot death strike him? +New studied tortures shall. + +_Eugen_. New tortures bring, +They all to me are but a banquetting. + [_Exit_. + +_Anton_. But are you well, indeed, Sir? + +_King_. Passing well: +Though my Physitian fetcht the cure from hell; +All's one, I am glad I have it. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quartus_. + + + _Enter Antony, Cosmo, Hubert, and Damianus_. + +_Anton_. You, noble Hubert, are the man[164] chosen out +From all our _Vandal_ Leaders to be chiefe +O'er a new army, which the King will raise +To roote out from our land these Christians +That over-runne us. + +_Cosmo_. 'Tis a glory, _Hubert_, +Will raise your fame and make you like our gods, +To please whom you must do this. + +_Dam_. And in doing +Be active as the fire and mercilesse +As is the boundlesse Ocean when it swallows +Whole Townes and of them leaves no Monuments. + +_Hub_. When shall mine eyes be happy in the sight +Of this brave Pagentry? + +_Cosmo_. The King sayes instantly. + +_Hub_. And must I be the Generall? + +_Omnes_. Onely you. + +_Hub_. I shall not then at my returning home +Have sharers in my great acts: to the Volume +My Sword in bloody Letters shall text downe +No name must stand but mine; no leafe turn'd o'er +But _Huberts_ workes are read and none but mine. +_Bellizarius_ shall not on his Clouds of fire +Fly flaming round about the staring World +Whilst I creepe on the earth. Flatter me not: +Am I to goe indeed? + +_Anton_. The King so sweares. + +_Hub_. A Kings word is a Statute graven in Brasse, +And if he breakes that Law I will in Thunder +Rouze his cold spirit. I long to ride in Armour, +And looking round about me to see nothing +But Seas and shores, the Seas of Christians blood, +The shoares tough Souldiers. Here a wing flies out +Soaring at Victory; here the maine Battalia +Comes up with as much horrour and hotter terrour +As if a thick-growne Forrest by enchantment +Were made to move, and all the Trees should meete +Pell mell, and rive their beaten bulkes in sunder, +As petty Towers doe being flung downe by Thunder. +Pray, thanke the King, and tell him I am ready +To cry a charge; tell him I shall not sleepe +Till that which wakens Cowards, trembling with feare, +Startles me, and sends brave Musick to mine eare; +And that's the Drumme and Trumpet. + +_Ant_. This shall be told him. + +_Dam_. And all the _Goths_ and _Vandalls_ shall strike Heaven +With repercussive Ecchoes of your name, +Crying, a _Hubert_! + +_Hub_. Deafe me with that sound: +A Souldier, though he falls in the Field, lives crown'd. + +_Cosmo_. Wee'le to the King and tell him this. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter Bellina_. + +_Hub_. Doe.--Oh, my _Bellina_, +If ever, make me happy now; now tye +Strong charmes about my full-plum'd Burgonet +To bring me safe home. I must to the Warres. + +_Bellina_. What warres? we have no warres but in our selves; +We fighting with our sinnes, our sinnes with us; +Yet they still get the Victory. Who are in Armes +That you must to the Field? + +_Hub_. The Kings Royall thoughts +Are in a mutiny amongst themselves, +And nothing can allay them but a slaughter, +A general massacre of all the Christians +That breath in his Dominion. I am the Engine +To worke this glorious wonder. + +_Bellina_. Forefend it Heaven! +Last time you sat by me within my bower +I told you of a Pallace wall'd with gold. + +_Hub_. I doe remember it. + +_Bellina_. The floore of sparkling Diamonds, and the roofe +Studded with Stanes shining as bright as fire. + +_Hub_. True. + +_Bellina_. And I told you one day I would shew you +A path should bring you thither. + +_Hub_. You did indeed. + +_Bellina_. And will you now neglect a lease of this +To lye in a cold field, a field of murder? +Say thou shouldst kill ten thousand Christians; +They goe but as Embassadors to Heaven +To tell thy cruelties, and on yon Battlements +They all will stand on rowes, laughing to see +Thee fall into a pit as bottomlesse +As the Heavens are in extension infinite. + +_Hub_. More, prethee, more: I had forgot this Musick. + +_Bellina_. Say thou shouldst win the day, yet art thou lost, +For ever lost; an everlasting slave +Though thou com'st home a laurel'd Conqueror. +You courted me to love you; now I woe thee +To love thy selfe, to love a thing within thee +More curious than the frame of all this world, +More lasting than this Engine o're our heads, +Whose wheeles have mov'd so many thousand yeeres: +This thing is thy soule, for which I woe thee. + +_Hub_. Thou woest, I yeeld, and in that yeelding love thee, +And for that love Ile be the Christians guide: +I am their Captaine, come, both _Goth_ and _Vandall_; +Nay, come the King, I am the Christians Generall. + +_Bellina_. Not yet, till your Commission be faire drawne; +Not yet, till on your brow you beare the Print +Of a rich golden seale. + +_Hub_. Get me that seale, then. + +_Bellina_. There is an _Aqua fortis_ (an eating water) +Must first wash off thine infidelity, +And then th'art arm'd. + +_Hub_. O let me, then, be arm'd. + +_Bellina_. Thou shalt; +But on thy knees thou gently first shall sweare +To put no Armour on but what I beare. + +_Hub_. By this chaste clasping of our hands I sweare. + +_Bellina_. We then thus hand in hand will fight a battaile +Worth all the pitch-fields, all the bloody banquets, +The slaughter and the massacre of Christians, +Of whom such heapes so quickly never fell. +Brave onset! be thy end not terrible. + +_Hub_. This kindled fire burne in us, till as deaths slaves +Our bodies pay their tributes to their graves. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Clowne and two Pagans_. + +_Clown_. Come, fellow Pagans; death meanes to fare well to-day, for he +is like to have rost-meate to his supper, two principal dishes; many a +knight keepes a worse Table: first, a brave Generall Carbonadoed[165], +then a fat Bishop broyl'd, whose Rochet[166] comes in fryed for the +second course, according to the old saying, _A plumpe greazie Prelate +fries a fagot daintily_. + +1 _Pag_. Oh! the Generall _Bellizarius_ for my money; hee has a fiery +Spirit, too; hee will roast soakingly within and without. + +_Clown_. Methinks Christians make the bravest Bonefires of any people +in the Universe; as a _Jew_ burnes pretty well, but if you marke him he +burnes upward; the fire takes him by the Nose first. + +2 _Pag_. I know some Vintners then are _Jewes_ + +_Clown_. Now, as your _Jew_ burnes upward, your _French-man_ burnes +downewards like a Candle and commonly goes out with a stinke like a +snuffe; and what socket soever it light in it, must be well cleans'd +and pick't before it can be us'd agen. But _Bellizarius_, the brave +Generall, will flame high and cleare like a Beacon; but your Puritane +_Eugenius_ will burne blew, blew like a white-bread sop in _Aqua Vitae_. +Fellow Pagans, I pray let us agree among ourselves about the sharing of +those two. + +2 _Pag_. I, 'tis fit. + +_Clown_. You know I am worshipfull by my place; the under-keeper may +write Equire if he list at the bottome of the paper: I doe cry first +the Generalls great Scarfe to make me a short Summer-cloake, and the +Bishops wide sleeves to make me a Holy-dayes shirt. + +1 _Pag_. Having a double voyce we cannot abridge you of a double share. + +_Clown_. You, that so well know what belongs to reverence, the Breeches +be[167] yours, whether Bishops or Generalls; but with this Provizo, +because we will all share of both parties, as I have lead the way, I +clayming the Generalls and the Bishops sleeves, so he that chuses the +Generalls Doublet shall weare the Generalls Breeches. + +2 _Pag_. A match. + +_Clown_. Nay, 'twill be farre from a match, that's certaine; but it will +make us to be taken for men of note, what company soever we come in. + + The Souldier and the Scholler, peekt up so, + Will make _tam Marti quam Mercurio_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter the King, Antony, Damianus, and Cosmo; + Victoria meetes the King_. + +_Vict_. As you are Vice-gerent to that Maiesty +By whom Kings reigne on earth, as you would wish +Your heires should sit upon your Throne, your name +Be mentioned in the Chronicle of glory; +Great King, vouchsafe me hearing. + +_King_. Speake. + +_Vict_. My husband, +The much, too much wrong'd _Bellizarius_, +Hath not deserv'd the measure of such misery +Which is throwne on him. Call, oh call to minde +His service, how often he hath fought +And toyl'd in warres to give his Country peace. +He has not beene a flatterer of the Time, +Nor Courted great ones for their glorious Vices; +He hath not sooth'd blinde dotage in the World, +Nor caper'd on the Common-wealths dishonour; +He has not peeld the rich nor flead the poore, +Nor from the heart-strings of the Commons drawne +Profit to his owne Coffers; he never brib'd +The white intents of mercy; never sold +Iustice for money, to set up his owne +And utterly undoe whole families. +Yet some such men there are that have done thus: +The mores the pitty. + +_King_. To the poynt. + +_Vict_. Oh, Sir, +_Bellizarius_ has his wounds emptied of blood, +Both for his Prince and Countrey: to repeat +Particulars were to do iniury +To your yet mindfull gratitude. His Life, +His liberty, 'tis that I plead for--that; +And since your enemies and his could never +Captive the one and triumph in the other, +Let not his friends--his King--commend a cruelty, +Strange to be talkt of, cursed to be acted. +My husband, oh! my husband _Bellizarius_, +For him I begge. + +_King_. Lady, rise up; we will be gracious +To thy suit,--Cause _Bellizarius_ +And the Bishop be brought hither instantly. + [_Exit for him_. + +_Vict_. Now all the blessings due to a good King +Crowne you with lasting honours. + +_King_. If thou canst +Perswade thy husband to recant his errours, +He shall not onely live, but in our favoures +Be chiefe. Wilt undertake it? + +_Vict_. Undertake it, Sir, +On these conditions? You shall your selfe +Be witnesse with what instance I will urge him +To pitty his owne selfe, recant his errours. + +_Anton_. So doing he will purchase many friends. + +_Dam_. Life, love, and liberty. + +_Vict_. But tell me, pray, Sir; +What are those errours which he must recant? + +_King_. His hatred to those powers to which we bow, +On whom we all depend, he has kneel'd to them; +Let him his base Apostacy recant, +Recant his being a Christian, and recant +The love he beares to Christians. + +_Vict_. If he deny +To doe all this, or any poynt of this, +Is there no mercy for him? + +_King_. Couldst thou shed +A Sea of teares to drowne my resolution, +He dyes; could this fond man lay at my foote +The kingdomes of the earth, he dyes; he dyes +Were he my sonne, my father. Bid him recant, +Else all the Torments cruelty can invent +Shall fall on him. + +_Vict_. No sparke of pitty? + +_King_. None. + +_Vict_. Well, then, but mark what paines Ile take to winne him, +To winne him home; Ile set him in a way +The Clouds shall clap to finde what went astray. + +_Anton_. Doe this, and we are all his. + +_King_. Doe this, I sweare to jewell him in my bosome. +--See where he comes. + + _Enter Epidophorus with Bellizarius and Eugenius_. + +_Belliz_. And whither now? Is Tyranny growne ripe +To blow us to our graves yet? + +_King_. _Bellizarius_, +Thy wife has s'ud for mercy, and has found it; +Speake, Lady, tell him how. + +_Belliz_. _Victoria_ too! +Oh, then I feare the striving to expresse +The virtue of a good wife hath begot +An utter ruine of all goodnesse in thee. +What wou'dst thou say, poore woman? +My Lord the King, +Nothing can alter your incensed rage +But recantation? + +_King_. Nothing. + +_Vict_. Recantation! sweet +Musicke; _Bellizarius_, thou maist live; +The King is full of royall bounty--like +The ambition of mortality--examine; +That recantation is--a toy. + +_King_. None hinder her; now ply him. + +_Vict_. To lose the portage[168] in these sacred pleasures +That knowes no end; to lose the fellowship +Of Angels; lose the harmony of blessings +Which crowne all Martyrs with eternity! +Wilt thou not recant? + +_King_. I understand her not. + +_Omnes_. Nor I. + +_Vict_. Thy life hath hitherto beene, my dear husband, +But a disease to thee; thou hast indeed +Mov'd on the earth like other creeping wormes +Who take delight in worldly surfeits, heate +Their blood with lusts, their limbes with proud attyres; +Fe[e]d on their change of sinnes; that doe not use +Their pleasure[s] but enjoy them, enjoy them fully +In streames that are most sensuall and persever +To live so till they die, and to die never[169]. + +_King_. What meanes all this? + +_Anton_. Art in thy right wits, woman? + +_Vict_. Such beasts are those about thee; take then courage; +If ever in thy youth thy soule hath set +By the Worlds tempting fires, as these men doe, +Recant that errour. + +_King_. Ha! + +_Vict_. Hast thou in battaile tane a pride in blood? +Recant that errour. Hast thou constant stood +In a bad cause? clap a new armour on +And fight now in a good. Oh lose not heaven +For a few minutes in a Tyrants eye; +Be valiant and meete death: if thou now losest +Thy portion laid up for thee yonder, yonder, +For breath or honours here, oh thou dost sell +Thy soule for nothing. Recant all this, +And then be rais'd up to a Throne of blis. + +_Anton_. We are abus'd, stop her mouth. + +_Belliz_. _Victoria_, +Thou nobly dost confirme me, hast new arm'd +My resolution, excellent _Victoria_. + +_Eugen_. Oh happy daughter, thou in this dost bring +That _Requiem_ to our soules which Angels sing. + +_Dam_. Can you endure this wrong, Sir? + +_Cosmo_. Be out-brav'd by a seducing Strumpet? + +_King_. Binde her fast; +Weele try what recantation you can make. +Hagge, in the presence of your brave holy Champion +And thy Husband, +One of my Cammell drivers shall take from thee +The glory of thy honesty and honour. +Call in the Peasant. + +_Vict_. _Bellizarius_, +_Eugenius_, is there no guard above us +That will protect me from a rape? 'tis worse +Than worlds of tortures. + +_Eugen_. Fear not, _Victoria_; +Be thou a chaste one in thy minde, thy body +May like a Temple of well tempered steele +Be batter'd, not demolishe'd. + +_Belliz_. Tyrant, be mercifull; +And if thou hast no other vertue in thee +Deserving memory to succeeding ages, +Yet onely thy not suffering such an out-rage +Shall adde praise to thy name. + +_King_. Where is the Groome? + +_Eugen_. Oh sure the Sunne will darken +And not behold a deed so foule and monstrous. + + _Enter Epidophorus with a Slave_. + +_Epi_. Here is the Cammell driver. + +_Omnes_. Stand forth, sirrah. + +_Epi_. Be bould and shrink not; this is she. + +1 _Cam_. And I am hee. Is't the kings pleasure that +I should mouse[170] her, and before all these people? + +_King_. No; 'tis considered better; unbinde the fury +And dragge her to some corner; 'tis our pleasure, +Fall to thy businesse freely. + +1 _Cam_. Not too freely neither: I fare hard and drinke water; so doe +the _Indians_, yet who fuller of Bastards? so doe the _Turkes_, yet who +gets greater Logger-heads? Come, wench; Ile teach thee how to cut up +wild fowle. + +_Vict_. Guard me, you heavens. + +_Belliz_. Be mine eyes lost for ever. + +1 _Cam_. Is that her husband? + +_Epi_. Yes. + +1 _Cam_. No matter; some husbands are so base, they keepe the doore +whilst they are Cuckolded; but this is after a more manlier way, for +he stands bound to see it done. + +_King_. Haile her away. + +1 _Cam_. Come, Pusse! Haile her away? which way? yon way? my Camells +backs cannot climbe it. + +_Anton_. The fellow is struck mad. + +1 _Cam_. That way? it lookes into a Mill-pond, +Whirre! how the Wheels goe and the Divell grindes. +No, this way. + +_King_. Keepe the slave back! + +_1 Cam_. Backe, keep me backe! there sits my wife kembing her haire, +which curles like a witches felt-locks[171]! all the Neets in't are +Spiders, and all the Dandruffe the sand of a Scriveners Sand-boxe. +Stand away; my whore shall not be lousie; let me come noynt her with +Stavesucre[172]. + +_King_. Defend me, lop his hands off! + +_Omnes_. Hew him in pieces + +_King_. What has he done? + +_Anton_. Sir, beate out his owne braines. + +_Vict_. You for his soule must answer. + +_King_. Fetch another. + +_Eugen_. Tempt not the wrath supernall to fall downe +And crush thee in thy throne. + + _Enter 2 Cammell drivers_. + +_King_. Peace, sorcerous slave: +Sirra, take hence this Witch and ravish her. + +2 _Cam_. A Witch? Witches are the Divels sweete hearts. + +_King_. Doe it, be thou Master of much gold. + +2 _Cam_. Shall I have gold to doe it? in some Countries I heare whole +Lordships are spent upon a fleshly device, yet the buyer in the end had +nothing but French Repentance and the curse of Chyrurgery for his money. +Let me finger my gold; Ile venture on, but not give her a penny. Womans +flesh was never cheaper; a man may eate it without bread; all Trades +fall, so doe they. + +_Epi_. Look you, Sir, there's your gold. + +2 _Cam_. Ile tell money after my father. Oh I am strucke blinde! + +_Omnes_. The fellow is bewitcht, Sir. + +_Eugen_. Great King, impute not +This most miraculous delivery +To witch-craft; 'tis a gentle admonition +To teach thy heart obey it. + +_King_. Lift up the slave; +Though he has lost his sight, his feeling is not; +He dyes unlesse he ravish her. + +_Epi_. Force her into thy armes or else thou dyest. + +2 _Cam_. I have lost my hearing, too. + +_King_. Fetch other slaves. + +_Epi_. Thou must force her. + +2 _Cam_. Truely I am hoarse with driving my Cammells, and nothing does +me good but sirrop of Horehound. + + _Enter two Slaves_. + +_Epi_. Here are two slaves will doe it indeed. + +2. Which is shee? + +_King_. This creature; she has beauty to intice you +And enough to feast you all; seize her all three +And ravish her by turnes. + +_Slaves_. A match. + + [_They dance antiquely, and Exeunt_. + +_King_. Hang up these slaves; I am mock't by her and them; +They dance me into anger. Heard you not musicke? + +_Anton_. Yes, sure, and most sweet melody. + +_Vict_. 'Tis the heavens play +And the Clowdes dance for ioy thy cruelty +Has not tane hold upon me. + +_King_. Hunger then shall: +Leade them away, dragge her to some loathed dungeon +And for three days give her no food. +Load her with Irons. + +_Epi_. They shall. + +_Eugen_. Come, fellow souldiers, halfe the fight is past: +The bloodiest battell comes to an end at last. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + + + _Enter Epidophorus and Clowne_. + +_Epi_. Have any Christian soule broke from my Iayle +This night, and gone i'the dark to find out heaven? +Are any of my hated prisoners dead? + +_Clown_. Dead? yes; and five more come into the world instead of one. +These Christians are like Artichoaks of _Jerusalam_; they over-runne +any ground they grow in. + +_Epi_. Are they so fruitfull? + +_Clown_. Fruitfull! a Hee Christian told me that amongst them the young +fellowes are such Earing rioted[173] Rascals that they will runne into +the parke of Matrimony at sixteene; are Bucks of the first head at +eighteenes and by twenty carry in some places their hornes on their +backs. + +_Epi_. On their backs? What kind of Christians are they? + +_Clown_. Marry, these are Christian Butchers, who when their Oxen are +flead throw their skinnes on their shoulders. + +_Epi_. I thought they had beene Cuckolds. + +_Clown_. Amongst them? no; there's no woman, that's a true Christian, +will horne her husband. There dyed to night no lesse than six and a +halfe in our Iayle. + +_Epi_. How? six and a halfe? + +_Clown_. One was a girle of thirteene, with child. + +_Epi_. Thy tidings fats me. + +_Clown_. You may have one or two of 'em drest to your Dinner to make +you more fat. + +_Epi_. Unhallowed slave! let a _Jew_ eate Pork, when +I but touch a Christian. + +_Clown_. You are not of my dyet: Would I had a young Loyne of Porke to +my Supper, and two Loynes of a pretty sweate Christian after Supper. + +_Epi_. Would thou mightst eate and choake. + +_Clown_. Never at such meate; it goes downe without chawing. + +_Epi_. We have a taske in hand, to kill a Serpent +Which spits her poyson in our kingdomes face. +And that we speake not of (?); lives still +That Witch _Victoria_, wife to _Bellizarius_? +Is Death afraid to touch the Hagge? does hunger +Tremble to gnaw her flesh off, dry up her blood +And make her eate her selfe in Curses, ha? + +_Clown_. Ha? your mouth gapes as if you would eate me. The King +commanded she should be laden with Irons,--I have laid two load upon +her; then to pop her into the Dungeon,--I thrust her downe as deepe as +I could; then to give her no meate,--alas my cheekes cry out, I have +meate little enough for my selfe. Three days and three nights has her +Cupboard had no victuals in it; I saw no lesse than Fifty sixe Mice +runne out of the hole she lies in, and not a crumme of bread or bit of +cheese amongst them. + +_Epi_. 'Tis the better. + +_Clown_. I heard her one morning cough pittifully; upon which I gave her +a messe of Porredge piping-hot. + +_Epi_. Thou Dog, 'tis Death. + +_Clown_. Nay but, Sir, I powr'd 'em downe scalding as they were on her +head, because they say they are good for a cold, and I thinke that +kill'd her; for to try if she were alive or no I did but even now tye a +Crust to a packe-threed on a pinne, but shee leapt not at it; so that I +am sure shee's worms meate by this. + +_Epi_. Rewards in golden showers shall raine upon us, +Be thy words true: fall downe and kisse the earth. + +_Clown_. Kisse earth? Why? and so many wenches come to the Iayle? + +_Epi_. Slave, downe and clap thy eare to the caves mouth +And make me glad or heavy; if she speake not +I shall cracke my ribs and spend my spleene in laughter; +But if thou hear'st her pant I am gon. + +_Clown_. Farewell, then. + +_Epi_. Breaths shee? + +_Clown_. No, Sir; her winde instrument is out of tune. + +_Epi_. Call, cal. + +_Clown_. Do you heare, you low woman? hold not downe your head so for +shame; creepe not thus into a corner, no honest woman loves to be +fumbling thus in the darke. Hang her; she has no tongue. + +_Epi_. Would twenty thousand of their sexe had none. + +_Clown_. Foxe, foxe, come out of your hole. + + _An Angel ascends from the cave, singing_. + +_Epi_. Horrour! what's this? + +_Clown_. Alas, I know not what my selfe am. + + ANGEL SINGS. + + _Fly, darknesse, fly in spight of Caves; + Truth can thrust her armes through Graves. + No Tyrant shall confine + A white soule that's divine + And does more brightly shine + Than Moone or Sunne; + She lasts when they are done_. + +_Epi_. I am bewitcht, +Mine Eyes faile me; lead me to [the] King. + +_Clown_. And tell we heard a Mermaide sing. + + [_Exeunt_. + + ANGEL SINGS. + + _Goe, fooles, and let your feares + Glow as your sins[174] and eares; + The good, how e're trod under, + Are Lawreld safe in thunder; + Though lockt up in a Den + One Angel frees you from an host of men_. + + _The Angel descends as the King enters, who comes + in with his Lords, Epidophorus and the Clowne_. + +_King_. Where is this piece of witchcraft? + +_Epi_. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir, + +_Clown_. 'Twas here, just at the Caves mouth, where shee lyes. + +_Anton_. What manner of thing was it? + +_Epi_. An admirable face, and when it sung +All the Clouds danc't methought above our heads, + +_Clown_. And all the ground under my heeles quak't like a Bogge. + +_King_. Deluded slaves! these are turn'd Christians, too. + +_Epi_. The prisoners in my Iayle will not say so. + +_Clown_. Turnd Christians! it has ever beene my profession to fang[175] +and clutch and to squeeze: I was first a Varlet[176], then a Bumbaily, +now an under Iailor. Turn'd Christian! + +_King_. Breake up the Iron passage of the Cave +And if the sorceresse live teare her in pieces. + + _The Angel ascends agen_. + +_Epi_. See, 'tis come agen. + +_King_. It staggers me. + +_Omnes_. Amazement! looke to the King. + + + ANGEL SINGS. + + _She comes, she comes, she comes! + No banquets are so sweete as Martyrdomes. + She comes!_ + + (_Angel descends_.) + +_Anton_. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir, agen. + +_Dam_. Meere Negromancy. + +_Cosmo_. This is the apparition of some divell +Stealing a glorious shape, and cryes 'she comes'! + +_Clown_. If all divels were no worse, would I were amongst 'em. + +_King_. Our power is mockt by magicall impostures; +They shall not mock our tortures. Let _Eugenius_ +And _Bellizarius_ fright away these shadowes +Rung from sharp tortures: drag them hither. + +_Epi_. To th'stake? + +_Clown_. As Beares are? + +_King_. And upon your lives +My longings feast with her, though her base limbes +Be in a thousand pieces. + +_Clown_. She shall be gathered up. + + [_Exit. Epid. and Clowne_. + + (_Victoria rises out of the cave, white_.) + +_Vict_. What's the Kings will? I am here. +Are your tormentors ready to give battaile? +I am ready for them, and though I lose +My life hope to winne the day. + +_King_. What art thou? + +_Vict_. An armed Christian. + +_King_. What's thy name? + +_Vict_. _Victoria_: in my name there's conquest writ: +I therefore feare no threat[e]nings! but pray +That thou maist dye a good king. + +_Omnes_. This is not she, Sir. + +_King_. It is, but on her brow some Deity sits. +What are those Fayries dressing up her haire, +Whilst sweeter spirits dancing in her eyes +Bewitcheth me to them? + + _Enter Epidophorus, Bellizarius, Eugenius, and Clowne_. + +Oh _Victoria_, love me! +And see, thy Husband, now a slave whose life +Hangs at a needles poynt, shall live, so thou +Breath but the doome.--Trayters! what sorcerous hand +Has built upon this inchantment of a Christian +To make me doat upon the beauty of it? +How comes she to this habite? Went she thus in? + +_Epi_. No, Sir, mine owne hande stript her into rags. + +_Clown_. For any meat shee has eaten her face needes not make you doate; +and for cleane linen Ile sweare it was not brought into the Iaile, for +there they scorne to shift once a weeke. + +_King_. _Bellizarius_, woe thy wife that she would love me, +And thou shalt live. + +_Belliz_. I will.--_Victoria_, +By all those chaste fires kindled in our bosomes +Through which pure love shin'd on our marriage night; +Nay, with a bolder conjuration, +By all those thornes and bryers which thy soft feet +Tread boldly on to finde a path to heaven, +I begge of thee, even on my knee I beg, +That thou wouldst love this King, take him by th'hand, +Warme his in thine, and hang about his necke, +And seale ten thousand kisses on his cheeke, +So he will tread his false gods under foote. + +_Omnes_. Oh, horrible! + +_King_. Bring tortures. + +_Belliz_. So he will wash his soule white, as we doe, +And fight under our Banner (bloody red), +And hand in hand with us walke martyred. + +_Anton_. They mocke you. + +_King_. Stretch his body up by th'armes, +And at his feete hang plummets. + +_Clown_. He shall be well shod for stroveling, I warrant you. + +_Cosmo_. _Eugenius_, bow thy knee before our _Jove_, +And the King gives thee mercy. + +_Dam_. Else stripes and death. + +_Eugen_. We come into the world but at one doore, +But twenty thousand gates stand open wide +To give us passage hence: death then is easie, +And I defie all tortures. + +_King_. Then fasten the Cative; +I care not for thy wife: Get from mine eyes +Thou tempting _Lamia_. But, _Bellizarius_, +Before thy bodyes frame be puld in pieces, +Wilt thou forsake the errours thou art drencht in? + +_Belliz_. Errours? thou blasphemous and godlesse man, +From the great Axis maist thou as easie +With one arme plucke the Universall Globe, +As from my Center move me. There's my figure; +They are waves that beat a rock insensible +With an infatigable patience. +My breast dares all your arrowes; shoote,--shoote, all; +Your tortures are but struck against the wall, +Which, backe rebounding, hit your selves. + +_King_. Up with him. + +_Belliz_. Lay on more waights; that hangman which more brings +Addes active feathers to my soaring wings. + + (_They draw him up_.) + +_King_. _Victoria_, yet save him. + +_Vict_. Keepe on thy flight, +And be a bird of Paradise. + +_Omnes_. Give him more Irons. + +_Belliz_. More, more. + +_King_. Let him then goe; love thou and be my Queene, +Daine but to love me. + +_Vict_. I am going to live with a farre greater King. + +_King_. Binde the coy strumpet; she dyes, too. +Let her braines be beaten on an Anvill: +For some new plagues for her! + +_Omnes_. Vexe him. + +_Belliz_. Doe more. + +_Vict_. Heavens, pardon you. + +_Eugen_. And strengthen him in all his sufferings. + + _Two Angels descend_. + + 2 ANGEL SINGS. + + _Come, oh come, oh come away; + A Quire of Angels for thee stay; + A home where Diamonds borrow light, + Open stands for thee this night, + Night? no, no; here is ever day: + Come, oh come, oh come, oh come away_. + +1 _Ang_. This battaile is thy last; fight well, and winne +A Crowne set full of Starres. + +_Belliz_. I spy an arme +Plucking [me] up to heaven; more waights, you are best; +I shall be gone else. + +_Vict_. Doe, Ile follow thee. + +_King_. Is he not yet dispatcht? + +_Belliz_. Yes, King, I thanke thee; +I have all my life time trod on rotten ground, +And still so deepe beene sinking that my soule +Was oft like to bee lost; but now I see +A guide, sweete guide, a blessed messenger +Who having brought me up a little way +Up yonder hill, I then am sure to buy +For a few stripes here rich eternity. + + 2 ANGEL SINGS. + + _Victory, victory! hell is beaten downe, + The Martyr has put on a golden Crowne; + Ring Bels of Heaven, him welcome hither, + Circle him Angels round together_. + +1 _Angel_. Follow! + +_Vict_. I will; what sacred voice cryes 'follow'! +I am ready: Oh send me after him. + +_King_. Thou shalt not, +Till thou hast fed my lust. + +_Vict_. Thou foole, thou canst not; +All my mortality is shaken off; +My heart of flesh and blood is gone; my body +Is chang'd; this face is not that once was mine. +I am a Spirit, and no racke of thine +Can touch me. + +_King_. Not a racke of mine shall touch thee. +Why should the world loose such a paire of Sunnes +As shine out from thine eyes? Why art thou cruell, +To make away thy selfe and murther mee? +Since whirle-winds cannot shake thee thou shalt live, +And Ile fanne gentle gales upon thy face. +Fetch me a day bed, rob the earths perfumes +Of all the ravishing sweetes to feast her sence; +Pillowes of roses shall beare up her head; +O would a thousand springs might grow in one +To weave a flowry mantle o're her limbes +As she lyes downe. + + _Enter two Angels about the bed_. + +_Vict_. O that some rocke of Ice +Might fall on me and freeze me into nothing. + +_King_. Enchant our [her?] eares with Musicke; would I had skill +To call the winged musitians of the aire +Into these roomes! they all should play to thee +Till golden slumbers danc'd upon thy browes, +Watching to close thine eye-lids. + +_Ang_. These Starres must shine no more; soule, flye away. +Tyrant, enioy but a cold lumpe of clay. + +_King_. My charmes worke; shee sleepes, +And lookes more lovely now she sleepes. +Against she wakes, Invention, grow thou poore, +Studying to finde a banquet which the gods +Might be invited to. I need not court her now +For a poor kisse; her lips are friendly now, +And with the warme breath sweeting all the Aire, +Draw mee thus to them.--Ha! the lips of Winter +Are not so cold. + +_Anton_. She's dead, Sir. + +_King_. Dead? + +_Dam_. As frozen as if the North-winde had in spight +Snatcht her hence from you. + +_King_. Oh; I have murthered her! +Perfumes some creature kill: she has so long +In that darke Dungeon suck't pestiferous breath, +The sweete has stifled her. Take hence the body, +Since me it hated it shall feele my hate: +Cast her into the fire; I have lost her, +And for her sake all Christians shall be lost +That subjects are to me: massacre all, +But thou, _Eugenius_, art the last shall fall +This day; and in mine eye, though it nere see more, +Call on thy helper which thou dost adore. + + _A Thunder-bolt strikes him_. + +_Omnes_. The King is strucke with thunder! + +_Eugen_. Thankes, Divine Powers; +Yours be the triumph and the wonder ours. + +_Anton_. Unbinde him till a new King fill the throne; +And he shall doome him. + + _A Hubert, a Hubert, a Hubert_! + + _Flourish: Enter Hubert, armed with shields and swords. + Bellina and a company of Souldiers with him_. + +_Hub_. What meanes this cry, 'a Hubert'? Where's your King? + +_Omnes_. Strucke dead by thunder. + +_Hub_. So I heare; you see, then, +There is an arme more rigorous than your _Iove_, +An arme stretcht from above to beate down Gyants, +The mightiest Kings on _Earth_, for all their shoulders +Carry _Colossi_ heads: the memory +Of _Genzericks_ name dyes here: _Henricke_ gives buriall +To the successive glory of that race +Who had both voyce and title to the Crowne, +And meanes to guard it.--Who must now be King? + +_Anton_. We know not till we call the Lords together. + +_Hub_. What Lords? + +_Cosmo_. Our selves and others. + +_Hub_. Who makes you Lords? +The Tree upon whose boughs your honours grew, +Your Lordships and your lives, is falne to th'ground. + +_Dam_. We stand on our owne strength. + +_Hub_. Who must be King? + + _Within: A Hubert, a Hubert a Hubert_! + +_Hub_. Deliver to my hand that reverent [_sic_] man. + +_Epi_. Take him and torture him, for he cald down Vengeance +On _Henricks_ head. + +_Hub_. Good _Eugenius_, lift thy hands up, +For thou art say'd from _Henricke_ and from these. +You heare what ecchoes +Rebound from earth to heaven, from heaven to earth, +Casting the name of King onely on me? +This golden apple is a tempting fruit; +It is within my reach; this sword can touch it, +And lop the weake branch off on which it hangs. +Which of you all would spurne at such a Starre, +Lay it i'th the dust when 'tis let down from heaven +For him to weare? + +_Anton_. Who then must weare that Starre? + + _Within: Hubert, Hubert, Hubert_! + +_Hub_. The Oracle tells you; Oracle? 'tis a voyce +From above tells you; for the peoples tongues, +When they pronounce good things, are ty'd to chaines +Of twenty thousand linkes, which chaines are held +By one supernall hand, and cannot speake +But what that hand will suffer. I have then +The people on my side; I have the souldiers; +I have that army which your rash young King +Had bent against the Christians,--they now are mine: +I am the Center, and they all are lines +Meeting in me. If, therefore, these strong sinewes, +The Souldiers and the Commons, have a vertue +To lift me into the Throne, Ile leape into it. +Will you consent or no? be quick in answer; +I must be swift in execution else. + +_Omnes_. Let us consult. + +_Hub_. Doe, and doe't quickly. + +_Eugen_. O noble Sir, if you be King shoot forth +Bright as a Sunne-beame, and dry up these vapours +That choake this kingdome; dry the seas of blood +Flowing from Christians, and drinke up the teares +Of those alive, halfe slaughter'd in their feares. + +_Hub_. Father, Ile not offend you.--Have you done? +So long chusing one Crowne? + +_Anton_. Let Drums and Trumpets proclaime +_Hubert_ our King! + +_Omnes_. Sound Drummes and Trumpets! + +_Hub_. I have it, then, as well by voyce as sword; +For should you holde it backe it will be mine. +I claime it, then, by conquest; fields are wonne +By yeelding as by strokes: Yet, noble _Vandals_, +I will lay by the Conquest and acknowledge +That your hands and your hearts the pinnacles are +On which my greatnesse mounts unto this height. +And now in sight of you and heaven I sweare +By those new sacred fires kindled within me, +'Tis not your ho[o]pe of Gold my brow desires; +A thronging Court to me is but a Cell; +These popular acclamations, which thus dance +I'th Aire, should passe by me as whistling windes +Playing with leaves of trees. I'me not ambitious +Of Titles glorious and maiesticall; +But what I doe is to save blood, save you; +I meane to be a husband for you all, +And fill you all with riches. + +_Epi_. 'Tis that we thirst for; +For all our bagges are emptied in these warres +Rais'd by seditious Christians. + +_Hub_. Peace, thou foole: +They are not bags of gold, that melts in fire, +Which I will fill your coffers with; my treasury +Are riches for your soules; my armes are spread +Like wings to protect Christians. What have you done? +Proclaim'd a Christian King; and Christian Kings +Should not be bloody. + +_Omnes_. How? turn'd Christian? + +_Eugen_. O blest King! happy day! + +_Omnes_. Must we forsake our Gods then? + +_Hub_. Violent streames +Must not bee stopt by violence; there's an art +To meete and put by the most boysterous wave; +'Tis now no policy for you to murmure +Nor will I threaten. A great counsell by you +Shall straight be cal'd to set this frame in order +Of this great state. + +_Omnes_. To that we all are willing. + +_Hub_. Are you then willing this noble maid +Shall be my Queene? + +_Omnes_. With all our hearts. + +_Hub_. By no hand but by thine will we be crown'd: +Come, my _Bellina_. + +_Bellina_. Your vow is past to me that I should ever +Preserve my virgin honour, that you would never +Tempt me unto your bed. + +_Hub_. That vow I keepe: +I vow'd so long as my knees bow'd to _Iove_ +To let you be your selfe; but, excellent Lady, +I now am seal'd a Christian as you are: +And you have sworne oft that, when upon my forehead +That glorious starre was stucke, you would be mine +In holy wedlocke. Come, sweete, you and I +Shall from our loynes produce a race of Kings, +And ploughing up false gods set up one true; +Christians unborne crowning both me and you +With praise as now with gold. + +_Bellina_. A fortunate day; +A great power prompts me on and I obey. + + (_Flourish_) + +_Omnes_. Long live _Hubert_ and _Bellina_, King and Queene +Of Goths and Vandals. + +_Hub_. Two royall Iewels you give me, this and this: +Father, your hand is lucky, I am covetous +Of one Gift more: After your sacred way +Make you this Queene a wife: our Coronation +Is turn'd into a bridall. + +_Omnes_. All ioy and happinesse. + +_Hub_. To guard your lives will I lay out mine owne, +And like Vines plant you round about my throne. + +_The end of the fift and last Act_. + + + +To the Reader of this Play now come in Print. + +That this play's old 'tis true; but now if any +Should for that cause despise it we have many +Reasons, both iust and pregnant, to maintaine +Antiquity, and those, too, not all vaine. +We know (and not long since) there was a time +Strong lines were not lookt after, but, if Rime, +O then 'twas excellent. Who but beleeves +That Doublets with stuft bellies and big sleeves +And those Trunk-hose[177] which now our life doth scorne +Were all in fashion and with custome worne? +And what's now out of date who is't can tell +But it may come in fashion and sute well? +With rigour therefore iudge not but with reason, +Since what you read was fitted to that season. + + + +The Epilogue. + +_As in a Feast, so in a Comedy, +Two Sences must be pleas'd; in both the Eye; +In Feasts the Eye and Taste must be invited, +In Comedies the Eye and Eare delighted: +And he that only seekes to please but either, +While both he doth not please, he pleaseth neither. +What ever Feast could every guest content, +When as t'each man each Taste is different? +But lesse a Scene, when nought but as 'tis newer +Can please, where Guests are more and Dishes fewer. +Yet in this thought, this thought the Author eas'd; +Who once made all, all rules all never pleas'd.[178] +Faine would we please the best, if not the many; +And sooner will the best be pleas'd then any. +Our rest we set[179] in pleasing of the best; +So we wish you, what you may give us, Rest_. + + +FINIS. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE NOBLE SOULDIER. + + +In December, 1633, Nicholas Vavasour entered the _Noble Spanish +Souldier_ on the Stationers' Registers as a work of Dekker's; and in the +following year the same publisher brought out the _Noble Soldier_ with +the initials _S.R_. on the title-page. The running-title of the piece is +_The Noble Spanish Souldier_. There is nothing to hinder us from +supposing that Dekker, unwilling to take the credit due to his dead +friend, informed the publisher of the mistake. Possibly the play had +undergone some revision at Dekker's hands. + +Samuel Rowley was at once an actor and a playwright. The first mention +of him is in a list of the Lord Admiral's players, March 8, 1597-8 +(Henslowe's _Diary_, ed. Collier, p. 120). On the sixteenth of November, +1599, Rowley bound himself to play solely for Henslowe 'for a year and +as much as to Shraftide' (_Diary_, p. 260). In 1603 we find him among +Prince Henry's players (Collier's _Annals of the Stage_, i. 351): he is +still belonging to the same company in 1607 (Shakespeare Society's +Papers, iv. 44). Six years later, 1613, he is among the Palsgrave's +players (_Annals of the Stage_, i. 381).[180] + +Francis Meres in _Palladis Tamia_ (1598), enumerating 'the best for +comedy,' mentions a certain Maister _Rowley_ once a rare scholar of +learned Pembrooke Hall in Cambridge. It has been conjectured that the +allusion is to Samuel Rowley; but a more likely candidate for the honour +is Ralph Rowley, who is known to have been a Fellow of Pembroke Hall. We +do not learn from any other source that Ralph Rowley wrote plays; but, +like another Academic worthy in whose company he is mentioned, 'Dr. +Gager of Oxforde', he may have composed some Latin pieces that the world +was content to let die. Of Samuel Rowley as a playwright we hear nothing +before December, 1601, when he was writing for Henslowe a scriptural +play on the subject of _Judas_ in company with his fellow-actor William +Borne--or Birde, for the name is variously written (Henslowe's _Diary_, +p. 205). In July of the following year an entry occurs in the +_Diary_--'Lent unto Samwell Rowley and Edward Jewbe to paye for the +Booke of Samson, vi 1.' Samuel Rowley and Edward Jewby often acted as +paymasters for Henslowe; but I suspect that in the present instance the +money went into their own pockets. Two months later we certainly find +our author receiving the sum of seven pounds in full payment 'for his +playe of Jhoshua' (Henslowe's _Diary_, p. 226). In November of the same +year he was employed with William Birde to make additions to Marlowe's +_Faustus_ (ibid. p. 228). On July 27, 1623, Sir Henry Herbert licensed +'for the Palsgrave's players a tragedy of Richard the Third, or the +English Profit with the Reformation, by Samuel Rowley'; and, again, on +October 29 of the same year 'for the Palsgrave players a new comedy +called Hard Shifte for Husbands, or Bilboes the Best Blade, written by +Samuel Rowley.' Another of our author's pieces, 'Hymen's Holiday, or +Cupid's Fagaries,' is mentioned in a list of plays which belonged to the +Cock-pit in 1639. None of these plays has come down; but in 1605 there +was published 'When You See Me You Know Me; or the famous Chronicle +Historic of King Henry VIII. with the Birth and virtuous Life of Edward +Prince of Wales. By Samuel Rowley.' This play was again printed in 1632; +and a few years ago it was elaborately edited by Prof. Karl Eltze, +who--whatever may be his merits as a critic--is acknowledged on every +hand to be a most accomplished scholar. + +The piece now reprinted will need some indulgence at the reader's hands. +Its blemishes are not a few; and no great exercise of critical ability +is required to discover that the language is often strained and the +drawing extravagant. The atmosphere in which the action of the piece +moves is hot and heavy. Sebastian's presence in the third act brings +with it a ray of sunlight; but he is quickly gone, and the gloom settles +down more hopelessly than before. Onaelia, the forsaken lady, is so +vixenish that she moves our sympathies only in a moderate degree. In +both choices the King seems to have been equally unfortunate; and it may +be doubted whether he could be 'happy with either were t'other fair +charmer away.' Baltazar, the Noble Soldier, is something of a bore. At +first we are a little suspicious of him, for he seems to 'protest too +much'; and even when these suspicions are set at rest his strut and +swagger continue to be offensive. + +But though the _Noble Souldier_ is not a play over which one would +linger long or to which one would care often to return, yet it is +impossible not to be struck by the power that marks so much of the +writing. Here is an example of our author at his best:-- + + 'You should, my Lord, be like these robes you weare, + Pure as the Dye and like that reverend shape; + Nurse thoughts as full of honour, zeale and purity. + You should be the Court-Diall and direct + The king with constant motion; be ever beating + (Like to Clocke-Hammers) on his Iron heart + To make it sound cleere and to feel remorse: + You should unlocke his soule, wake his dead conscience + Which, like a drowsie Centinell, gives leave + For sinnes vast army to beleaguer him: + His ruines will be ask'd for at your hands.'--(i. 2.) + +There is the true dramatic ring in those lines; the words come straight +from the heart and strike home. The swift sudden menace in the last line +is more effective than pages of rhetoric. + +The _Noble Souldier_ affords a good illustration of the sanctity +attached by our ancestors to marriage-contracts. On this subject the +reader will find some interesting remarks in Mr. Spalding's _Elizabethan +Demonology_ (pp. 3-7). + + + + +THE NOBLE SOVLDIER, + + OR, + +A CONTRACT BROKEN, JUSTLY REVENG'D. + +_A TRAGEDY. + + +Written by_ S.R. + + _Non est, Lex Iustior Ulla, + Quam Nescis Artifices, Arte perire Sua. + + + LONDON_: +Printed for _Nicholas Vavasour_, and are to be + sold at his shop in the _Temple_, neere the + Church. 1634. + + + + + _The_ Printer _to the_ Reader. + +Understanding Reader, I present this to your view which has received +applause in Action. The Poet might conceive a compleat satisfaction upon +the Stages approbation. But the Printer rests not there, knowing that +that which was acted and approved upon the Stage might be no less +acceptable in Print. It is now communicated to you whose leisure and +knowledge admits of reading and reason: Your Judgment now this +_Posthumus_ assures himself will well attest his predecessors endevours +to give content to men of the ablest quality, such as intelligent +readers are here conceived to be. I could have troubled you with a +longer epistle, but I feare to stay you from the booke, which affords +better words and matter than I can. So, the work modestly depending in +the skale of your Judgment, the Printer for his part craves your pardon, +hoping by his promptness to doe you greater service as conveniency shall +enable him to give you more or better testimony of his entirenesse +towards you. N.V. + + + +Dramatis Personae. + + +_King of Spaine. +Cardinall. +Duke of Medina_. + +Marquesse _Daenia, | +Alba, | +Roderigo, | Dons of Spayne. +Valasco, | +Lopez_. | + +_Queene_, A Florentine. +_Onaelia_, Neece to _Medina_, the Contracted Lady. +_Sebastian_, Her Sounne. +_Malateste_, A Florentine. +_Baltazar_, The Souldier. +_A Poet_. +_Cockadillio_, A foolish Courtier. +_A Fryer_. + +[To make the list complete we should add-- + +_Cornego. +Carlo. +Alanzo. +Signer No_.] + + + + +THE NOBLE SPANISH SOULDIER. + + +_Actus Primus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter in Magnificent state, to the sound of lowd + musicke, the King and Queene as from Church, + attended by the Cardinall, Count Malateste, Daenia, + Roderigo, Valasco, Alba, Carlo, and some waiting + Ladies. The King and Queen with Courtly + Complements salute and part; she with one halfe + attending her; King, Cardinall and th'other halfe + stay, the King seeming angry and desirous to be + rid of them too.--King, Cardinal, Daenia, &c_. + +_King_. Give us what no man here is master of, +Breath; leave us, pray: my father Cardinall +Can by the Physicke of Philosophy +Set al agen in order. Leave us, pray. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Card_. How is it with you, Sir? + +_King_. As with a Shippe +Now beat with stormes, now safe the stormes are vanisht; +And having you my Pylot I not onely +See shore but harbour. I to you will open +The booke of a blacke sinne deepe-printed in me. +Oh, father, my disease lyes in my soule. + +_Card_. The old wound, Sir? + +_King_. Yes, that; it festers inward: +For though I have a beauty to my bed +That even Creation envies at, as wanting +Stuffe to make such another, yet on her pillow +I lye by her but an Adulterer +And she as an Adulteresse. Shee's my Queene +And wife, yet but my strumpet, tho the Church +Set on the seale of Mariage: good _Onaelia_, +Neece to our Lord high Constable of Spaine, +Was precontracted mine. + +_Card_. Yet when I stung +Your Conscience with remembrance of the Act, +Your eares were deafe to counsell. + +_King_. I confesse it. + +_Card_. Now to unty the knot with your new Queene +Would shake the Crowne halfe from your head. + +_King_. Even Troy +(Tho she hath wept her eyes out) wud find teares +To wayle my kingdomes ruines. + +_Card_. What will you doe then? + +_King_. She has that Contract written, seal'd by you +And other Churchmen (witnesses untoo't). +A kingdome should be given for that paper. + +_Card_. I wud not, for what lyes beneath the Moone, +Be made a wicked Engine to breake in pieces +That holy Contract. + +_King_. 'Tis my soules ayme to tye it +Vpon a faster knot. + +_Card_. I do not see +How you can with safe conscience get it from her. + +_King_. Oh, I know +I wrastle with a Lyonesse: to imprison her +And force her too't I dare not. Death! what King +Did ever say I dare not? I must have it. +A Bastard have I by her; and that Cocke +Will have (I feare) sharpe spurres, if he crow after +Him that trod for him. Something must be done +Both to the Henne and Chicken: haste you therefore +To sad _Onaelia_; tell her I'm resolv'd +To give my new Hawke bells and let her flye; +My Queene I'm weary of and her will marry. +To this our Text adde you what glosse you please; +The secret drifts of Kings are depthlesse Seas. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _A Table set out cover'd with blacke: two waxen tapers: + the Kings Picture at one end, a Crucifix at the other: + Onaelia walking discontentedly weeping to the Crucifix, + her Mayd with her: to them Cornego_. + + SONG. + +Quest. _Oh sorrow, sorrow, say, where dost thou dwell_? + +Answ. _In the lowest roome of Hell_. + +Quest. _Art thou borne of Humane race_? + +Answ. _No, no, I have a furier[181] face_. + +Quest. _Art thou in City, Towne or Court_? + +Answ. _I to every place resort_. + +Quest. _O why into the world is sorrow sent_? + +Answ. _Men afflicted best repent_. + +Quest. _What dost thou feed on_? + +Answ. _Broken sleepe_. + +Quest. _What tak'st thou pleasure in_? + +Answ. _To weepe, + To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groane, + To wring my hands, to sit alone_. + +Quest. _Oh when, oh when shall sorrow quiet have?_ + +Answ. _Never, never, never, never, + Never till she finds a grave_. + + _Enter Cornego_. + +_Corn_. No lesson, Madam, but Lacrymae's?[182] If you had buried nine +husbands, so much water as you might squeeze out of an Onyon had been +teares enow to cast away upon fellowes that cannot thanke you. Come, +be joviall. + +_Onae_. Sorrow becomes me best. + +_Corn_. A suit of laugh and lye downe[183] would weare better. + +_Onae_. What should I doe to be merry, _Cornego_? + +_Corn_. Be not sad. + +_Onae_. But what's the best mirth in the world? + +_Corn_. Marry, this: to see much, say little, doe little, get little, +spend little and want nothing. + +_Onae_. Oh, but there is a mirth beyond all these: +This picture has so vex'd me I'me half mad. +To spite it therefore I'le sing any song +Thy selfe shalt tune: say then, what mirth is best? + +_Corn_. Why then, Madam, what I knocke out now is the very Maribone +of mirth; and this it is. + +_Onae_. Say on. + +_Corn_. The best mirth for a Lawyer is to have fooles to his Clients; +for Citizens to have Noblemen pay their debts; for Taylors to have store +of Sattin brought in for them--how little soere their hours are--they'll +be sure to have large yards: the best mirth for bawds is to have fresh +handsome whores, and for whores to have rich guls come aboard their +pinnaces, for then they are sure to build Gully-Asses. + +_Onae_. These to such soules are mirth, but to mine none: Away! + + [_Exit Corn_. + + _Enter Cardinall_. + +_Car_. Peace to you, Lady. + +_Onae_. I will not sinne so much as hope for peace: +And 'tis a mocke ill suits your gravity. + +_Card_. I come to knit the nerves of your lost strength, +To build your ruines up, to set you free +From this your voluntary banishment, +And give new being to your murd'red fame. + +_Onae_. What _Aesculapius_ can doe this? + +_Card_. The King--'tis from the King I come. + +_Onae_. A name I hate: +Oh I am deafe now to your Embassie. + +_Card_. Heare what I speake. + +_Onae_. Your language, breath'd from him, +Is deaths sad doome upon a wretch condemn'd. + +_Car_. Is it such poyson? + +_Onae_. Yes; and, were you christall, +What the King fills you with, wud make you breake. +You should, my Lord, be like these robes you weare, +Pure as the Dye and like that reverend shape; +Nurse thoughts as full of honour, zeale and purity. +You should be the Court-Diall and direct +The King with constant motion; be ever beating +(Like to Clocke-Hammers) on his Iron heart, +To make it sound cleere and to feele remorse: +You should unlocke his soule, wake his dead conscience +Which, like a drowsie Centinell, gives leave +For sinnes vast army to beleaguer him. +His ruines will be ask'd for at your hands. + +_Car_. I have rais'd up a scaffolding to save +Both him and you from falling: doe but heare me. + +_Onae_. Be dumbe for ever. + +_Car_. Let your feares thus dye: +By all the sacred relliques of the Church +And by my holy orders, what I minister +Is even the spirit of health. + +_Onae_. I'le drinke it downe into my soule at once. + +_Car_. You shall. + +_Onae_. But sweare. + +_Car_. What conjurations can more bind mine oath? + +_Onae_. But did you sweare in earnest? + +_Car_. Come, you trifle. + +_Onae_. No marvell, for my hopes have bin so drown'd +I still despaire. Say on. + +_Car_. The King repents. + +_Onae_. Pray, that agen, my Lord. + +_Car_. The King repents. + +_Onae_. His wrongs to me? + +_Car_. His wrongs to you: the sense +Of sinne has pierc'd his soule. + +_Onae_. Blest penitence! + +_Car_. 'Has turn'd his eyes[184] into his leprous bosome, +And like a King vowes execution +On all his traiterous passions. + +_Onae_. God-like Justice! + +_Car_. Intends in person presently to begge +Forgivenesse for his Acts of heaven and you. + +_Onae_. Heaven pardon him; I shall. + +_Car_. Will marry you. + +_Onae_. Umph! marry me? will he turne Bigamist? +When, when? + +_Car_. Before the morrow Sunne hath rode +Halfe his dayes journey; will send home his Queene +As one that staines his bed and can produce +Nothing but bastard Issue to his Crowne.-- +Why, how now? lost in wonder and amazement? + +_Onae_. I am so stor'd with joy that I can now +Strongly weare out more yeares of misery +Than I have liv'd. + + _Enter King_. + +_Car_. You need not: here's the King. + +_King_. Leave us. + [_Exit Car_. + +_Onae_. With pardon, Sir, I will prevent you +And charge upon you first. + +_King_. 'Tis granted; doe.-- +But stay; what meane these Embleames of distresse? +My Picture so defac'd! oppos'd against +A holy Crosse! roome hung in blacke, and you +Drest like chiefe Mourner at a Funerall! + +_Onae_. Looke backe upon your guilt (deare Sir), and then +The cause that now seemes strange explaines it selfe. +This and the Image of my living wrongs +Is still confronted by me to beget +Griefe like my shame, whose length may outlive Time: +This Crosse the object of my wounded soule, +To which I pray to keepe me from despaire, +That ever, as the sight of one throwes up +Mountaines of sorrowes on my accursed head, +Turning to that, Mercy may checke despaire +And bind my hands from wilfull violence. + +_King_. But who hath plaid the Tyrant with me thus, +And with such dangerous spite abus'd my picture? + +_Onae_. The guilt of that layes claime, Sir, to your selfe; +For, being by you ransack'd of all my fame, +Rob'd of mine honour and deare chastity, +Made by you[r] act the shame of all my house, +The hate of good men and the scorne of bad, +The song of Broome-men and the murdering vulgar, +And left alone to beare up all these ills +By you begun, my brest was fill'd with fire +And wrap'd in just disdaine; and, like a woman, +On that dumb picture wreak'd I my passions. + +_King_. And wish'd it had beene I. + +_Onae_. Pardon me, Sir: +My wrongs were great and my revenge swell'd high. + +_King_. I will descend and cease to be a King, +To leave my judging part; freely confessing +Thou canst not give thy wrongs too ill a name. +And here, to make thy apprehension full +And seat thy reason in a sound beleefe, +I vow to morrow (e're the rising sunne +Begin his journey), with all Ceremonies +Due to the Church, to scale our Nuptials; +To prive[185] thy sonne, with full consent of State, +Spaines heire Apparant, borne in wedlock vowes. + +_Onae_. And will you sweare to this? + +_King_. By this I sweare. + +_Onae_. Oh you have sworne false oathes upon that booke. + +_King_. Why, then by this. + +_Onae_. Take heed you print it deeply. +How for your concubine (Bride, I cannot say)? +She staines your bed with black Adultery; +And though her fame maskes in a fairer shape +Then mine to the worlds eye, yet (King) you know +Mine honour is less strumpetted than hers, +However butcher'd in opinion. + +_King_. This way for her: the contract (which thou hast) +By best advice of all our Cardinals +To day shall be enlarg'd till it be made +Past all dissolving: then to our Counsell-Table +Shall she be call'd, that read aloud, she told +The Church commands her quicke returne for _Florence_, +With such a dower as _Spaine_ received with her; +And that they will not hazard heavens dire curse +To yeeld to a match unlawfull, which shall taint +The issue of the King with Bastardy. +This done, in State Majestic come you forth +(Our new-crown'd Queene) in sight of all our Peeres. +--Are you resolv'd? + +_Onae_. To doubt of this were Treason +Because the King has sworne it. + +_King_. And will keepe it. +Deliver up the Contract then, that I +May make this day end with my misery. + +_Onae_. Here, as the dearest Jewell of my fame, +Lock'd I this parchment from all viewing eyes; +This your Indenture held alone the life +Of my suppos'd dead honour: yet (behold) +Into your hands I redeliver it. +Oh keepe it, Sir, as you should keepe that vow +To which (being sign'd by Heaven) even Angels bowe. + +_King_. 'Tis in the Lions pawe, and who dares snatch it? +Now to your Beads and Crucifix agen. + +_Onae_. Defend me, heaven! + +_King_. Pray there may come Embassadors from _France_: +Their followers are good Customers. + +_Onae_. Save me from madnesse! + +_King_. 'Twill raise the price being the Kings Mistris. + +_Onae_. You doe but counterfeit to mocke my joyes. + +_King_. Away, bold strumpet. + +_Onae_. Are there eyes in heaven to see this? + +_King_. Call and try: here's a whore curse, +To fall in that beleefe which her sunnes nurse. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Cornego_. + +_Corn_. How now? what quarter of the Moone has she cut out now? My Lord +puts me into a wise office, to be a mad womans keeper! Why, Madam? + +_Onae_. Ha! where is the King, thou slave? + +_Corn_. Let go your hold or I'le fall upon you, as I am a man. + +_Onae_. Thou treacherous caitiffe, where's the King? + +_Corn_. Hee's gone, but no so farre gone as you are. + +_Onae_. Cracke all in sunder, oh you battlements, +And grind me into powder! + +_Corn_. What powder? come, what powder? when did you ever see a woman +grinded into powder? I am sure some of your sex powder men and pepper +'em too. + +_Onae_. Is there a vengeance +Yet lacking to my ruine? let it fall, +Now let it fall upon me! + +_Corn_. No, there has too much falne upon you already. + +_Onae_. Thou villaine, leave thy hold! Ile follow him: +Like a rais'd ghost I'le haunt him, breake his sleepe, +Fright him as hee's embracing his new Leman +Till want of rest bids him runne mad and dye, +For making oathes Bawds to his perjury. + +_Corn_. Pray be more reason'd: if he made any Bawdes he did ill, for +there is enough of that fly-blowne flesh already. + +_Onae_. I'me now left naked quite: +All's gone, all, all! + +_Corn_. No, Madam, not all; for you cannot be rid of me.--Here comes +your Uncle. + + _Enter Medina_. + +_Onae_. Attir'd in robes of vengeance are you, Uncle? + +_Med_. More horrors yet? + +_Onae_. 'Twas never full till now: +And in this torrent all my hopes lye drown'd. + +_Med_. Instruct me in this cause. + +_Onae_. The King! the Contract! + [_Exit_. + +_Corn_. There's cud enough for you to chew upon. + [_Exit_. + +_Med_. What's this? a riddle? how? the King, the Contract? +The mischiefe I divine which, proving true, +Shall kindle fires in Spaine to melt his Crowne +Even from his head: here's the decree of fate,-- +A blacke deed must a blacke deed expiate. + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA[186]. + + + _Enter Baltazar, slighted by Dons_. + +_Bal_. Thou god of good Apparell, what strange fellowes +Are bound to do thee honour! Mercers books +Shew mens devotions to thee; heaven cannot hold +A Saint so stately. Do not my Dons know +Because I'me poor in clothes? stood my beaten Taylor +Playting my rich hose, my silke stocking-man +Drawing upon my Lordships Courtly calfe +Payres of Imbroydered things whose golden clockes +Strike deeper to the faithfull shop-keepers heart +Than into mine to pay him;--had my Barbour +Perfum'd my louzy thatch here and poak'd out +My Tuskes more stiffe than are a cats muschatoes-- +These pide-winged Butterflyes had known me then. +Another flye-boat?[187] save thee, Illustrious Don. + + _Enter Don Roderigo_. + +Sir, is the king at leisure to speake Spanish +With a poore Souldier? + +_Ro_. No. + +_Bal_. No! sirrah you, no; +You Don with th'oaker face, I wish to ha thee +But on a Breach, stifling with smoke and fire, +And for thy 'No' but whiffing Gunpowder +Out of an Iron pipe, I woo'd but ask thee +If thou wood'st on, and if thou didst cry No +Thou shudst read Canon-Law; I'de make thee roare +And weare cut-beaten-sattyn: I woo'd pay thee +Though thou payst not thy mercer,--meere Spanish Jennets! + + _Enter Cockadillio_. + +Signeor, is the king at leisure? + +_Cock_. To doe what? + +_Balt_. To heare a Souldier speake. + +_Cock_. I am no eare-picker +To sound his hearing that way. + +_Bal_. Are you of Court, Sir? + +_Cock_. Yes, the kings Barber. + +_Bal_. That's his eare picker.--Your name, I pray? + +_Cock_. Don _Cockadillio_. +If, Souldier, thou hast suits to begge at Court +I shall descend so low as to betray +Thy paper to the hand Royall. + +_Bal_. I begge, you whorson muscod! my petition +Is written on my bosome in red wounds. + +_Cock_. I am no Barbar-Surgeon. + [_Exit_. + +_Bal_. You yellow-hammer! why, shaver! +That such poore things as these, onely made up +Of Taylors shreds and Merchants Silken rags +And Pothecary drugs (to lend their breaths +Sophisticated smells, when their ranke guts +Stink worse than cowards in the heat of battaile) +--Such whalebond-doublet-rascals that owe more +To Landresses and Sempstress for laced Linnen +Then all their race, from their great grand-father +To this their reigne, in clothes were ever worth; +These excrements of Silke-wormes! oh that such flyes +Doe buzze about the beames of Majesty! +Like earwigs tickling a kings yeelding eare +With that Court-Organ (Flattery), when a souldier +Must not come neere the Court gates twenty score, +But stand for want of clothes (tho he win Towns) +Amongst the Almesbasket-men! his best reward +Being scorn'd to be a fellow to the blacke gard[188]. +Why shud a Souldier, being the worlds right arme, +Be cut thus by the left, a Courtier? +Is the world all Ruffe and Feather and nothing else? +Shall I never see a Taylor give his coat with a difference from a + gentleman? + + _Enter King, Alanzo, Carlo, Cockadillio_. + +_King_. My _Baltazar_! +Let us make haste to meet thee: how art thou alter'd! +Doe you not know him? + +_Alanz_. Yes, Sir; the brave Souldier +Employed against the Moores. + +_King_. Halfe turn'd Moore! +I'le honour thee: reach him a chair--that Table: +And now _Aeneas_-like let thine own Trumpet +Sound forth thy battell with those slavish Moores. + +_Bal_. My musicke is a Canon; a pitcht field my stage; Furies the +Actors, blood and vengeance the scaene; death the story; a sword +imbrued with blood the pen that writes; and the Poet a terrible +buskind Tragical fellow with a wreath about his head of burning +match instead of Bayes. + +_King_. On to the Battaile! + +_Bal_. 'Tis here, without bloud-shed: This our maine Battalia, this +the Van, this the Vaw[189], these the wings: here we fight, there they +flye; here they insconce, and here our sconces lay 17 Moours on the +cold earth. + +_King_. This satisfies mine eye, but now mine eare +Must have his musicke too; describe the battaile. + +_Bal_. The Battaile? Am I come from doing to talking? The hardest part +for a Souldier to play is to prate well; our Tongues are Fifes, Drums, +Petronels, Muskets, Culverin and Canon; these are our Roarers; the +Clockes which wee goe by are our hands: thus we reckon tenne, our +swords strike eleven, and when steele targets of proofe clatter one +against another, then 'tis noone; that's the height and the heat of +the day of battaile. + +_King_. So. + +_Bal_. To that heat we came, our Drums beat, Pikes were shaken and +shiver'd, swords and Targets clash'd and clatter'd, Muskets ratled, +Canons roar'd, men dyed groaning, brave laced Jerkings and Feathers +looked pale, totter'd[190] rascals fought pell mell; here fell a wing, +there heads were tost like foot-balls; legs and armes quarrell'd in the +ayre and yet lay quietly on the earth; horses trampled upon heaps of +carkasses, Troopes of Carbines tumbled wounded from their horses; we +besiege Moores and famine us; Mutinies bluster and are calme. I vow'd +not to doff mine Armour, tho my flesh were frozen too't and turn'd into +Iron, nor to cut head nor beard till they yeelded; my hayres and oath +are of one length, for (with _Caesar_) thus write I mine owne story, +_Veni, vidi, vici_. + +_King_. A pitch'd field quickly fought: our hand is thine +And 'cause thou shalt not murmur that thy blood +Was lavish'd forth for an ingrateful man, +Demand what we can give thee and 'tis thine. + + (_Onaelia beats at the doore_.) + +_Onae_. Let me come in! I'le kill that treacherous king, +The murderer of mine honour: let me come in! + +_King_. What womans voyce is that? + +_Omnes_. _Medina's_ Neece. + +_King_. Bar out that fiend. + +_Onae_. I'le teare him with my nayles! +Let me come in, let me come in! helpe, helpe me! + +_King_. Keepe her from following me: a gard! + +_Alanz_. They are ready, Sir. + +_King_. Let a quicke summons call our Lords together; +This disease kills me. + +_Bal_. Sir, I would be private with you. + +_King_. Forbear us, but see the dores well guarded. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Bal_. Will you, Sir, promise to give me freedome of speech? + +_King_. Yes, I will; take it, speake any thing: 'tis pardoned. + +_Bal_. You are a whoremaster: doe you send me to winne Townes for you +abroad, and you lose a kingdome at home? + +_King_. What kingdome? + +_Bal_. The fayrest in the world, the kingdom of your Fame, your honour. + +_King_. Wherein? + +_Bal_. I'le be plaine with you: much mischiefe is done by the mouth of +a Canon, but the fire begins at a little touch-hole: you heard what +Nightingale sung to you even now? + +_King_. Ha, ha, ha! + +_Bal_. Angels err'd but once and fell; but you, Sir, spit in heaven's +face every minute and laugh at it. Laugh still and follow your courses; +doe; let your vices run like your kennels of hounds yelping after you, +till they plucke downe the fayrest head in the heard, everlasting bliss. + +_King_. Any more? + +_Bal_. Take sinne as the English Snuffe Tobacco, and scornfully blow +the smoke in the eyes of heaven; the vapour flyes up in clowds of +bravery, but when 'tis out the coal is blacke (your conscience) and the +pipe stinkes: a sea of Rose-water cannot sweeten your corrupted bosome. + +_King_. Nay, spit thy venome. + +_Bal_. 'Tis _Aqua Coelestis_, no venome; for, when you shall claspe up +those wo books, never to be open'd againe; when by letting fall that +Anchor, which can never more bee weighed up, your mortall Navigation +ends: then there's no playing at spurne-point[191] with thunderbolts: +a Vintner then for unconscionable reckoning or a Taylor for unreasonable +_Items_ shall not answer in halfe that feare you must. + +_King_. No more. + +_Bal_. I will follow Truth at the heels, tho her foot beat my gums in +peeces. + +_King_. The Barber that drawes out a Lion's tooth +Curseth his Trade; and so shalt thou. + +_Bal_. I care not. + +_King_. Because you have beaten a few base-borne Moores +Me think'st thou to chastise? what's past I pardon, +Because I made the key to unlocke thy railing. +But if thou dar'st once more be so untun'd, +Ile send thee to the Gallies.--Who are without, there? +How now? + + _Enter Lords drawne_. + +_Omnes_. In danger, Sir? + +_King_. Yes, yes, I am; but 'tis no point of weapon +Can rescue me. Goe presently and summon +All our chiefe Grandoes[192], Cardinals and Lords +Of _Spaine_ to meet in counsell instantly. +We call'd you forth to execute a businesse +Of another straine,--but 'tis no matter now. +Thou dyest when next thou furrowest up our brow. + +_Bal_. Go! dye! + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Cardinal, Roderigo, Alba,[193] Dania, Valasco_. + +_King_. I find my Scepter shaken by enchantments +Charactred in this parchment, which to unloose +I'le practise only counter-charmes of fire +And blow the spells of lightning into smoake: +Fetch burning Tapers. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Card_. Give me Audience, Sir; +My apprehension opens me a way +To a close fatall mischiefe worse then this +You strive to murder: O this act of yours +Alone shall give your dangers life, which else +Can never grow to height; doe, Sir, but read +A booke here claspt up, which too late you open'd, +Now blotted by you with foul marginall notes. + +_King_. Art fratricide? + +_Car_. You are so, Sir. + +_King_. If I be, +Then here's my first mad fit. + +_Card_. For Honours sake, +For love you beare to conscience-- + +_King_. Reach the flames: +Grandoes and Lords of _Spaine_ be witnesse all +What here I cancell; read, doe you know this bond? + +_Omnes_. Our hands are too't. + +_Daen_. 'Tis your confirmed contract +With my sad kinswoman: but wherefore, Sir, +Now is your rage on fire, in such a presence +To have it mourne in ashes? + +_King_. Marquesse _Daenia_, +Wee'll lend that tongue when this no more can speake. + +_Car_. Deare Sir. + +_King_. I am deafe, +Playd the full consort of the Spheares unto me +Vpon their lowdest strings.--Go; burne that witch +Who would dry up the tree of all Spaines Glories +But that I purge her sorceries by fire: +Troy lyes in Cinders; let your Oracles +Now laugh at me if I have beene deceiv'd +By their ridiculous riddles. Why, good father, +(Now you may freely chide) why was your zeale +Ready to burst in showres to quench our fury? + +_Card_. Fury, indeed; you give it a proper name. +What have you done? clos'd up a festering wound +Which rots the heart: like a bad Surgeon, +Labouring to plucke out from your eye a moate, +You thrust the eye clean out. + +_King_. Th'art mad _ex tempore_: +What eye? which is that wound? + +_Car_. That Scrowle, which now +You make the blacke Indenture of your lust, +Altho eat up in flames, is printed here, +In me, in him, in these, in all that saw it, +In all that ever did but heare 'twas yours: +That scold of the whole world (Fame) will anon +Raile with her thousand tongues at this poore Shift +Which gives your sinne a flame greater than that +You lent the paper; you to quench a wild fire +Cast oyle upon it. + +_King_. Oyle to blood shall turne; +I'le lose a limbe before the heart shall mourne. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manent Daenia, Alba_. + +_Daen_. Hee's mad with rage or joy. + +_Alb_. With both; with rage +To see his follies check'd, with fruitlesse joy +Because he hopes his Contract is cut off +Which Divine Justice more exemplifies. + + _Enter Medina_. + +_Med_. Where's the king? + +_Daen_. Wrapt up in clouds of lightning. + +_Med_. What has he done? saw you the Contract torne, +As I did heare a minion sweare he threatened? + +_Alb_. He tore it not but burnt it. + +_Med_. Openly? + +_Daen_. And heaven with us to witnesse. + +_Med_. Well, that fire +Will prove a catching flame to burne his kingdome. + +_Alb_. Meet and consult. + +_Med_. No more, trust not the ayre +With our projections, let us all revenge +Wrongs done to our most noble kinswoman: +Action is honours language, swords are tongues, +Which both speake best and best do right our wrongs. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Onaelia one way, Cornego another_. + +_Cor_. Madam, there's a beare without to speake with you. + +_Onae_. A Beare. + +_Cor_. Its a Man all hairye and thats as bad. + +_Onae_. Who ist? + +_Cor_. Tis one Master Captaine _Baltazar_. + +_Onae_. I doe not know that _Baltazar_. + +_Cor_. He desires to see you; and if you love a water-spaniel before +he be shorne, see him. + +_Onae_. Let him come in. + + _Enter Baltazar_. + +_Cor_. Hist; a ducke, a ducke[194]; there she is, Sir. + +_Bal_. A Souldiers good wish blesse you, Lady. + +_Onae_. Good wishes are most welcome, Sir, to me; +So many bad ones blast me. + +_Bal_. Doe you not know me? + +_Onae_. I scarce know my selfe. + +_Bal_. I ha beene at Tennis, Madam, with the king. I gave him 15 and all +his faults, which is much, and now I come to tosse a ball with you. + +_Onae_. I am bandyed too much up and downe already. + +_Cor_. Yes, she has beene strucke under line, master Souldier. + +_Bal_. I conceit you: dare you trust your selfe along with me? + +_Onae_. I have been laden with such weights of wrong +That heavier cannot presse me: hence, _Cornego_. + +_Corn_. Hence _Cornego_, stay Captaine! when man and woman are put +together some egge of villany is sure to be sate upon. + [_Exit_. + +_Bal_. What would you say to him should kill this man that hath you +so dishonoured? + +_Onae_. Oh, I woo'd crowne him +With thanks, praise, gold, and tender of my life. + +_Bal_. Shall I bee that Germane Fencer[195] and beat all the knocking +boyes before me? shall I kill him? + +_Onae_. There's musick in the tongue that dares but speak it. + +_Bal_. That fiddle then is in me; this arme can doo't by ponyard, +poyson, or pistoll; but shall I doo't indeed? + +_Onae_. One step to humane blisse is sweet revenge. + +_Bal_. Stay; what made you love him? + +_Onae_. His most goodly shape +Married to royall virtues of his mind. + +_Bal_. Yet now you would divorce all that goodnesse; and why? for a +little letchery of revenge? it's a lye: the Burre that stickes in your +throat is a throane: let him out of his messe of Kingdomes cut out but +one, and lay Sicilia, Arragon, Naples or any else upon your trencher, +and you'll prayse Bastard[196] for the sweetest wine in the world and +call for another quart of it. 'Tis not because the man has left you +but because you are not the woman you would be, that mads you: a +shee-cuckold is an untameable monster. + +_Onae_. Monster of men thou art: thou bloudy villaine, +Traytor to him who never injur'd thee, +Dost thou professe Armes and art bound in honour +To stand up like a brazen wall to guard +Thy King and Country, and wood'st thou ruine both? + +_Bal_. You spurre me on too't. + +_Onae_. True; +Worse am I then the horrid'st fiend in hell +To murder him whom once I lov'd too well: +For tho I could runne mad, and teare my haire, +And kill that godlesse man that turn'd me vile; +Though I am cheated by a perjurous Prince +Who has done wickednesse at which even heaven +Shakes when the Sunne beholds it; O yet I'de rather +Ten thousand poyson'd ponyards stab'd my brest +Then one should touch his: bloudy slave! I'le play +My selfe the Hangman and will Butcher thee +If thou but prick'st his finger. + +_Bal_. Saist thou me so? give me thy goll[197], thou art a noble girle: +I did play the Devils part and roare in a feigned voyce, but I am the +honestest Devill that ever spet fire. I would not drinke that infernall +draught of a kings blood, to goe reeling to damnation, for the weight +of the world in Diamonds. + +_Onae_. Art thou not counterfeit? + +_Bal_. Now, by my skarres, I am not. + +_Onae_. I'le call thee honest Souldier, then, and woo thee +To be an often Visitant. + +_Bal_. Your servant: +Yet must I be a stone upon a hill, +For tho I doe no good I'le not lye still. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Malateste and the Queene_. + +_Mal_. When first you came from Florence wud the world +Had with an universal dire eclipse +Bin overwhelm'd, no more to gaze on day, +That you to Spaine had never found the way, +Here to be lost for ever. + +_Queen_. We from one climate +Drew suspiration: as thou then hast eyes +To read my wrongs, so be thy head an Engine +To raise up ponderous mischiefe to the height, +And then thy hands the Executioners. +A true Italian Spirit is a ball +Of Wild-fire, hurting most when it seemes spent; +Great ships on small rocks beating oft are rent; +And so let Spaine by us. But, _Malateste_, +Why from the Presence did you single me +Into this Gallery? + +_Mal_. To shew you, Madam, +The picture of your selfe, but so defac'd +And mangled by proud Spanyards it woo'd whet +A sword to arme the poorest Florentine +In your just wrongs. + +_Queen_. As how? let's see that picture. + +_Mal_. Here 'tis then: Time is not scarce foure dayes old +Since I and certaine Dons (sharp-witted fellowes +And of good ranke) were with two Jesuits +(Grave profound Schollers) in deepe argument +Of various propositions; at the last +Question was mov'd touching your marriage +And the Kings precontract. + +_Queen_. So; and what followed? + +_Mal_. Whether it were a question mov'd by chance +Or spitefully of purpose (I being there +And your own Country-man) I cannot tell; +But when much tossing +Had bandyed both the King and you, as pleas'd +Those that tooke up the Rackets, in conclusion +The Father Jesuits (to whose subtile Musicke +Every eare there was tyed) stood with their lives +In stiffe defence of this opinion-- +Oh, pardon me if I must speake their language. + +_Queen_. Say on. + +_Mal_. That the most Catholike King in marrying you +Keepes you but as his whore. + +_Queen_. Are we their Theames? + +_Mal_. And that _Medina's_ Neece, _Onaelia_, +Is his true wife: her bastard sonne, they said, +(The King being dead) should claim and weare the Crowne; +And whatsoever children you shall beare +To be but bastards in the highest degree, +As being begotten in Adultery. + +_Queen_. We will not grieve at this, but with hot vengeance +Beat down this armed mischiefe. _Malateste_, +What whirlewinds can we raise to blow this storme +Backe in their faces who thus shoot at me? + +_Mal_. If I were fit to be your Counsellor +Thus would I speake: feigne that you are with childe,-- +The mother of the Maids, and some worne Ladies +Who oft have guilty beene to court great bellies, +May (tho it be not so) get you with childe +With swearing that 'tis true. + +_Queen_. Say 'tis beleev'd, +Or that it so doth prove. + +_Mal_. The joy thereof, +Together with these earth-quakes which will shake +All Spaine if they their Prince doe dis-inherit, +So borne, of such a Queene, being onely daughter +To such a brave spirit as the Duke of Florence;-- +All this buzz'd into the King, he cannot chuse +But charge that all the Bels in Spaine eccho up +This joy to heaven; that Bone-fires change the night +To a high Noone with beames of sparkling flames; +And that in Churches Organs (charm'd with prayers) +Speake lowd for your most safe delivery. + +_Queen_. What fruits grow out of these? + +_Mal_. These; you must sticke +(As here and there spring weeds in banks of flowers) +Spies amongst the people, who shall lay their eares +To every mouth and steale to you their whisperings. + +_Queen_. So. + +_Mal_. 'Tis a plummet to sound Spanish hearts +How deeply they are yours: besides a ghesse +Is hereby made of any faction +That shall combine against you; which the King seeing, +If then he will not rouze him like a Dragon +To guard his golden fleece and rid his Harlot +And her base bastard hence, either by death +Or in some traps of state insnare them both,-- +Let his owne ruines crush him. + +_Queen_. This goes to tryall; +Be thou my Magicke booke, which reading o're +Their counterspells wee'll breake; or if the King +Will not by strong hand fix me in his Throne +But that I must be held Spaines blazing Starre, +Be it an ominous charme to call up warre. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Cornego, Onaelia_. + +_Corn_. Here's a parcell of mans flesh has beene hanging up and downe +all this morning to speake with you. + +_Onae_. Is't not some executioner? + +_Corn_. I see nothing about him to hang in but's garters. + +_Onae_. Sent from the king to warne me of my death: +I prethe bid him welcome. + +_Cor_. He says he is a Poet. + +_Onae_. Then bid him better welcome: +Belike he's come to write my Epitaph,-- +Some[198] scurvy thing, I warrant: welcome, Sir. + + _Enter Poet_. + +_Poet_. Madam[199], my love presents this book unto you. + +_Onae_. To me? I am not worthy of a line, +Vnlesse at that line hang some hooke to choake me. +'To the most honoured Lady--_Onaelia_' +Fellow, thou lyest, I'me most dishonoured: +Thou shouldst have writ 'To the most wronged Lady': +The Title of this booke is not to me; +I teare it therefore as mine Honour's torne. + +_Cor_. Your Verses are lam'd in some of their feet, Master Poet. + +_Onae_. What does it treate of? + +_Poet_. Of the sollemne Triumphs +Set forth at Coronation of the Queene. + +_Onae_. Hissing (the Poets whirle-wind) blast thy lines! +Com'st thou to mocke my Tortures with her Triumphs? + +_Poet_. 'Las, Madam! + +_Onae_. When her funerals are past +Crowne thou a Dedication to my joyes, +And thou shalt sweare each line a golden verse. +--_Cornego_, burne this Idoll. + +_Cor_. Your booke shall come to light, Sir. + [_Exit_. + +_Onae_. I have read legends of disastrous Dames: +Will none set pen to paper for poore me? +Canst write a bitter Satyre? brainlesse people +Doe call 'em Libels: dar'st thou write a Libell? + +_Poet_. I dare mix gall and poyson with my Inke. + +_Onae_. Doe it then for me. + +_Poet_. And every line must be +A whip to draw blood. + +_Onae_. Better. + +_Poet_. And to dare +The stab from him it touches. He that writes +Such Libels (as you call 'em) must lance[200] wide +The sores of mens corruptions, and even search +To'th quicke for dead flesh or for rotten cores: +A Poets Inke can better cure some sores +Then Surgeons Balsum. + +_Onae_. Vndertake that Cure +And crowne thy verse with Bayes. + +_Poet_. Madam, I'le doo't; +But I must have the parties Character. + +_Onae_. The king. + +_Poet_. I doe not love to pluck the quils +With which I make pens, out of a Lions claw. +The King! shoo'd I be bitter 'gainst the king +I shall have scurvy ballads made of me +Sung to the Hanging Tune[201]. I dare not, Madam. + +_Onae_. This basenesse follows your profession: +You are like common Beadles, apt to lash +Almost to death poore wretches not worth striking, +But fawne with slavish flattery on damn'd vices, +So great men act them: you clap hands at those, +Where the true Poet indeed doth scorne to guild +A gawdy Tombe with glory of his Verse +Which coffins stinking Carrion; no, his lines +Are free as his Invention; no base feare +Can shape his penne to Temporize even with Kings; +The blacker are their crimes he lowder sings. +Goe, goe, thou canst not write; 'tis but my calling +The Muses helpe, that I may be inspir'd. +Cannot a woman be a Poet, Sir? + +_Poet_. Yes, Madam, best of all; for Poesie +Is but a feigning; feigning is to lye, +And women practise lying more than men. + +_Onae_. Nay, but if I shoo'd write I woo'd tell truth: +How might I reach a lofty straine? + +_Poet_. Thus, Madam: +Bookes, Musick, Wine, brave Company and good Cheere +Make Poets to soare high and sing most cleare. + +_Onae_. Are they borne Poets? + +_Poet_. Yes. + +_Onae_. Dye they? + +_Poet_. Oh, never dye. + +_Onae_. My misery is then a Poet sure, +For time has given it an Eternity.-- +What sorts of Poets are there? + +_Poet_. Two sorts, Lady; +The great Poets and the small Poets. + +_Onae_. Great and small! +Which doe you call the great? the fat ones? + +_Poet_. No, but such as have great heads, which, emptied forth, +Fill all the world with wonder at their lines-- +Fellowes which swell big with the wind of praise: +The small ones are but shrimpes of Poesie. + +_Onae_. Which in the kingdome now is the best Poet? + +_Poet_. Emulation. + +_Onae_. Which the next? + +_Poet_. Necessity. + +_Onae_. And which the worst? + +_Poet_. Selfe-love. + +_Onae_. Say I turne Poet, what should I get? + +_Poet_. Opinion. + +_Onae_. 'Las I have got too much of that already. +Opinion is my Evidence, Judge and Jury; +Mine owne guilt and opinion now condemne me. +I'le therefore be no Poet; no, nor make +Ten Muses of your nine, I sweare, for this; +Verses, tho freely borne, like slaves are sold; +I Crowne thy lines with Bayes, thy love with gold: +So fare thou well. + +_Poet_. Our pen shall honour you. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Cornego_. + +_Cor_. The Poets booke, Madam, has got the Inflammation of the Livor, +it dyed of a burning Feaver. + +_Onae_. What shall I doe, _Cornego_? for this Poet +Has fill'd me with a fury: I could write +Strange Satyrs now against Adulterers +And Marriage-breakers. + +_Cor_. I beleeve you, Madam.--But here comes your Vncle. + + _Enter Medina, Alanzo, Carlo, Alba, Sebastian, Daenia_. + +_Med_. Where's our Neece? +Turne your braines round and recollect your spirits, +And see your Noble friends and kinsmen ready +To pay revenge his due. + +_Onae_. That word Revenge +Startles my sleepy Soule, now thoroughly wakend +By the fresh object of my haplesse childe +Whose wrongs reach beyond mine. + +_Seb_. How doth my sweet mother? + +_Onae_. How doth my prettiest boy? + +_Alanz_. Wrongs, like greate whirlewinds, +Shake highest Battlements? few for heaven woo'd care +Shoo'd they be ever happy; they are halfe gods +Who both in good dayes and good fortune share. + +_Onae_. I have no part in either. + +_Carl_. You shall in both, +Can Swords but cut the way. + +_Onae_. I care not much, so you but gently strike him, +And that my Child escape the light[e]ning. + +_Med_. For that our Nerves are knit: is there not here +A promising face of manly princely vertues? +And shall so sweet a plant be rooted out +By him that ought to fix it fast i'the ground? +_Sebastian_, +What will you doe to him that hurts your mother? + +_Seb_. The King my father shall kill him, I trow. + +_Daen_. But, sweet Coozen, the King loves not your mother. + +_Seb_. I'le make him love her when I am a King. + +_Med_. La you, there's in him a Kings heart already. +As, therefore, we before together vow'd, +Lay all your warlike hands upon my Sword +And sweare. + +_Seb_. Will you sweare to kill me, Vncle? + +_Med_. Oh, not for twenty worlds. + +_Seb_. Nay, then, draw and spare not, for I love fighting. + +_Med_. Stand in the midst, sweet Cooz; we are your guard; +These Hammers shall for thee beat out a Crowne, +If hit all right. Sweare therefore, noble friends +By your high bloods, by true Nobility, +By what you owe Religion, owe to your Country, +Owe to the raising your posterity; +By love you beare to vertue and to Armes +(The shield of Innocence) sweare not to sheath +Your Swords, when once drawne forth-- + +_Onae_. Oh, not to kill him +For twenty thousand worlds! + +_Med_. Will you be quiet?-- +Your Swords, when once drawne forth, till they ha forc'd +Yon godlesse, perjurous, perfidious man-- + +_Onae_. Pray raile not at him so. + +_Med_. Art mad? y'are idle:--till they ha forc'd him +To cancell his late lawlesse bond he seal'd +At the high Altar to his Florentine Strumpet, +And in his bed lay this his troth-plight wife. + +_Onae_. I, I, that's well; pray sweare. + +_Omnes_. To this we sweare. + +_Seb_. Vncle, I sweare too. + +_Med_. Our forces let's unite; be bold and secret, +And Lion-like with open eyes let's sleepe: +Streames smooth and slowly running are most deep. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter King; Queen, Malateste, Valesco, Lopez_. + +_King_. The Presence doore be guarded; let none enter +On forfeit of your lives without our knowledge. +Oh, you are false physitians all unto me, +You bring me poyson but no antidotes. + +_Queen_. Your selfe that poyson brewes. + +_King_. Prethe, no more. + +_Queen_. I will, I must speake more. + +_King_. Thunder aloud. + +_Queen_. My child, yet newly quickened in my wombe, +Is blasted with the fires of Bastardy. + +_King_. Who? who dares once but thinke so in his dreame? + +_Mal_. _Medina's_ faction preached it openly. + +_King_. Be curst he and his Faction: oh, how I labour +For these preventions! but, so crosse is Fate, +My ills are ne're hid from me but their Cures. +What's to be done? + +_Queen_. That which being left undone, +Your life lyes at the stake: let 'em be breathlesse, +Both brat and mother. + +_King_. Ha! + +_Mal_. She playes true Musicke, Sir: +The mischiefes you are drench'd in are so full +You need not feare to add to 'em; since now +No way is left to guard thy rest secure +But by a meanes like this. + +_Lop_. All Spaine rings forth +_Medina's_ name and his Confederates. + +_Rod_. All his Allyes and friends rush into troopes +Like raging Torrents. + +_Val_. And lowd Trumpet forth +Your perjuries; seducing the wild people +And with rebellious faces threatning all. + +_King_. I shall be massacred in this their spleene +E're I have time to guard my selfe; I feele +The fire already falling: where's our guard? + +_Mal_. Planted at Garden gate, with a strict charge +That none shall enter but by your command. + +_King_. Let 'em be doubled: I am full of thoughts, +A thousand wheeles tosse my incertaine feares; +There is a storme in my hot boyling braines +Which rises without wind; a horrid one. +What clamor's that? + +_Queen_. Some treason: guard the King! + + _Enter Baltazar drawne; one of the Guard fals_. + +_Bal_. Not in? + +_Mal_. One of your guard's slaine: keepe off the murderer! + +_Bal_. I am none, Sir. + +_Val_. There's a man drop'd down by thee. + +_King_. Thou desperate fellow, thus presse in upon us! +Is murder all the story we shall read? +What King can stand when thus his subjects bleed! +What hast thou done? + +_Bal_. No hurt. + +_King_. Plaid even the Wolfe +And from a fold committed to my charge +Stolne and devour'd one of the flocke. + +_Bal_. Y'ave sheepe enow for all that, Sir; I have kill'd none tho; or, +if I have, mine owne blood shed in your quarrels may begge my pardon; +my businesse was in haste to you. + +_King_. I woo'd not have thy sinne scoar'd on my head +For all the Indian Treasury. I prethee tell me, +Suppose thou hast our pardon, O, can that cure +Thy wounded conscience? can there my pardon helpe thee? +Yet, having deserv'd well both of Spaine and us, +We will not pay thy worth with losse of life, +But banish thee for ever. + +_Bal_. For a Groomes death? + +_King_. No more; we banish thee our Court and kingdome: +A King that fosters men so dipt in blood +May be call'd mercifull but never good: +Begone upon thy life. + +_Bal_. Well: farewell. [_Exit_. + +_Val_. The fellow is not dead but wounded, Sir. + +_Queen_. After him, _Malateste_; in our lodging +Stay that rough fellow; hee's the man shall doo't: +Haste, or my hopes are lost. [_Exit Mal_. +Why are you sad, Sir? + +_King_. For thee, _Paullina_, swell my troubled thoughts, +Like billowes beaten by too (two?) warring winds. + +_Queen_. Be you but rul'd by me, I'le make a calme +Smooth as the brest of heaven. + +_King_. Instruct me how. + +_Queen_. You (as your fortunes tye you) are inclin'd +To have the blow given. + +_King_. Where's the Instrument? + +_Queen_. 'Tis found in _Baltazar_. + +_King_. Hee's banished. + +_Queen_. True, +But staid by me for this. + +_King_. His spirit is hot +And rugged, but so honest that his soule +Will ne're turn devill to do it. + +_Queen_. Put it to tryall: +Retire a little: hither I'le send for him, +Offer repeale and favours if he doe it; +But if deny, you have no finger in't, +And then his doome of banishment stands good. + +_King_. Be happy in thy workings; I obey. [_Exit_. + +_Queen_. Stay, _Lopez_. + +_Lop_. Madam. + +_Queen_. Step to our Lodging, _Lopez_, +And instantly bid _Malateste_ bring +The banish'd _Baltazar_ to us. + +_Lop_. I shall. [_Exit_. + +_Queen_. Thrive my blacke plots; the mischiefes I have set +Must not so dye; Ills must new Ills beget. + + _Enter Malateste and Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Now! what hot poyson'd Custard must I put my Spoone into now? + +_Queen_. None, for mine honour now is thy protection. + +_Mal_. Which, Noble Souldier, she will pawn for thee +But never forfeit. + +_Bal_. 'Tis a faire gage; keepe it. + +_Queen_. Oh, _Baltazar_, I am thy friend, and mark'd thee +When the King sentenc'd thee to banishment: +Fire sparkled from thine eyes of rage and griefe; +Rage to be doom'd so for a Groome so base, +And griefe to lose thy country. Thou hast kill'd none: +The Milke-sop is but wounded, thou art not banish'd. + +_Bal_. If I were I lose nothing; I can make any Countrey mine. I have +a private Coat for _Italian_ Steeletto's, I can be treacherous with the +_Wallowne_, drunke with the _Dutch_, a Chimney-sweeper with the _Irish_, +a Gentleman with the _Welsh_[202] and turne arrant theefe with the +_English_: what then is my Country to me? + +_Queen_. The King, who (rap'd with fury) banish'd thee, +Shall give thee favours, yeeld but to destroy +What him distempers. + +_Bal_. So; and what's the dish I must dresse? + +_Queen_. Onely the cutting off a paire of lives. + +_Bal_. I love no Red-wine healths. + +_Mal_. The King commands it; you are but Executioner. + +_Bal_. The Hang-man? An office that will hold as long as hempe lasts: +why doe not you begge the office, Sir? + +_Queen_. Thy victories in field shall never crowne thee +As this one Act shall. + +_Bal_. Prove but that, 'tis done. + +_Queen_. Follow him close; hee's yeelding. + +_Mal_. Thou shalt be call'd thy Countries Patriot +For quenching out a fire now newly kindling +In factious bosomes; and shalt thereby save +More Noble Spanyards lives than thou slew'st Moores. + +_Queen_. Art thou not yet converted? + +_Bal_. No point. + +_Queen_. Read me then: +_Medina's_ Neece, by a contract from the King, +Layes clayme to all that's mine, my Crowne, my bed; +A sonne she has by him must fill the Throne +If her great faction can but worke that wonder. +Now heare me-- + +_Bal_. I doe with gaping eares. + +_Queen_. I swell with hopefull issue to the King. + +_Bal_. A brave Don call you mother. + +_Mal_. Of this danger +The feare afflicts the King. + +_Bal_. Cannot much blame him. + +_Queen_. If therefore by the riddance of this Dame-- + +_Bal_. Riddance? oh! the meaning on't is murder. + +_Mal_. Stab her or so, that's all. + +_Queen_. That Spaine be free from frights, the King from feares, +And I, now held his Infamy, be called Queene; +The Treasure of the kingdome shall lye open +To pay thy Noble darings. + +_Bal_. Come, Ile doo't, provided I heare _Jove_ call to me tho he rores; +I must have the King's hand to this warrant, else I dare not serve it +upon my Conscience. + +_Queen_. Be firme, then; behold the King is come. + + _Enter King_. + +_Bal_. Acquaint him. + +_Queen_. I found the metal hard, but with oft beating +Hees now so softened he shall take impression +From any seale you give him. + +_King_. _Baltazar_, +Come hither, listen; whatsoe're our Queene +Has importun'd thee to, touching _Onaelia_ +(Neece to the Constable) and her young sonne, +My voyce shall second it and signe her promise. + +_Bal_. Their riddance? + +_King_. That. + +_Bal_. What way? by poyson? + +_King_. So. + +_Bal_. Starving, or strangling, stabbing, smothering? + +_Queen_. Good. + +_King_. Any way, so 'tis done. + +_Bal_. But I will have, Sir, +This under your owne hand; that you desire it, +You plot it, set me on too't. + +_King_. Penne, Inke and paper. + +_Bal_. And then as large a pardon as law and wit +Can engrosse for me. + +_King_. Thou shalt ha my pardon. + +_Bal_. A word more, Sir; pray will you tell me one thing? + +_King_. Yes, any thing, deare _Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Suppose I have your strongest pardon, can that cure my wounded +Conscience? can there your pardon help me? You not onely knocke the +Ewe a'th head, but cut the Innocent Lambes throat too: yet you are no +Butcher! + +_Queen_. Is this thy promis'd yeelding to an Act +So wholesome for thy Country? + +_King_. Chide him not. + +_Bal_. I woo'd not have this sinne scor'd on my head +For all the Indaean Treasury. + +_King_. That song no more: +Doe this and I will make thee a great man. + +_Bal_. Is there no farther trick in't, but my blow, your purse, +and my pardon? + +_Mal_. No nets upon my life to entrap thee. + +_Bal_. Then trust me, these knuckles worke it. + +_King_. Farewell, be confident and sudden. + +_Bal_. Yes; +Subjects may stumble when Kings walk astray: +Thine Acts shall be a new Apocrypha. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quartus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Medina, Alba and Daenia, met by Baltazar + with a Ponyard and a Pistoll_. + +_Bal_. You meet a _Hydra_; see, if one head failes; +Another with a sulphurous beake stands yawning. + +_Med_. What hath rais'd up this Devill? + +_Bal_. A great mans vices, that can raise all hell. +What woo'd you call that man, who under-saile +In a most goodly ship wherein he ventures +His life, fortunes and honours, yet in a fury +Should hew the Mast downe, cast Sayles over-boord, +Fire all the Tacklings, and to crowne this madnesse +Shoo'd blow up all the Deckes, burne th'oaken ribbes +And in that Combat 'twixt two Elements +Leape desperately and drowne himselfe i'th Seas,-- +What were so brave a fellow? + +_Omnes_. A brave blacke villaine. + +_Bal_. That's I; all that brave blacke villaine dwels in me, +If I be that blacke villaine; but I am not: +A Nobler Character prints out my brow, +Which you may thus read: I was banish'd Spaine +For emptying a Court-Hogshead, but repeal'd +So I woo'd (e're my reeking Iron was cold) +Promise to give it a deepe crimson dye +In--none heare?--stay--no, none heare. + +_Med_. Whom then? + +_Bal_. Basely to stab a woman, your wrong'd Neece, +And her most innocent sonne _Sebastian_. + +_Alb_. The Boare now foames with whetting. + +_Daen_. What has blunted +Thy weapons point at these? + +_Bal_. My honesty, +A signe at which few dwell, pure honesty. +I am a vassaile to _Medina's_ house; +He taught me first the A, B, C of warre[203] +E're I was Truncheon-high I had the stile +Of beardlesse Captaine, writing then but boy: +And shall I now turne slave to him that fed me +With Cannon-bullets, and taught me, Estridge[204]-like, +To digest Iron and Steele? no: yet I yeelded +With willow-bendings to commanding breaths. + +_Med_. Of whom? + +_Bal_. Of King and Queene: with supple Hams +And an ill-boading looke I vow'd to doo't; +Yet, lest some choake-peare[205] of State-policy +Shoo'd stop my throat and spoyle my drinking-pipe, +See (like his cloake) I hung at the Kings elbow +Till I had got his hand to signe my life. + +_Daen_. Shall we see this and sleepe? + +_Alb_. No, whilst these wake. + +_Med_. 'Tis the Kings hand. + +_Bal_. Thinke you me a quoyner? + +_Med_. No, no, thou art thy selfe still, Noble _Baltazar_; +I ever knew thee honest, and the marke +Stands still upon thy forehead. + +_Bal_. Else flea the skin off. + +_Med_. I ever knew thee valiant and to scorne +All acts of basenesse: I have seene this man +Write in the field such stories with his sword +That our best chiefetaines swore there was in him +As 'twere a new Philosophy of fighting, +His deeds were so Puntillious. In one battell, +When death so nearely mist my ribs, he strucke +Three horses stone-dead under me: this man +Three times that day (even through the jawes of danger) +Redeem'd me up, and (I shall print it ever) +Stood o're my body with _Colossus_ thighes +Whilst all the Thunder-bolts which warre could throw +Fell on his head; and, _Baltazar_, thou canst not +Be now but honest still and valiant still +Not to kill boyes and women. + +_Bal_. My byter here eats no such meat. + +_Med_. Goe, fetch the mark'd-out Lambe for slaughter hither; +Good fellow souldier, ayd him--and stay--marke, +Give this false fire to the beleeving King, +That the child's sent to heaven but that the mother +Stands rock'd so strong with friends ten thousand billowes +Cannot once shake her. + +_Bal_. This I'le doe. + +_Med_. Away; +Yet one word more; your Counsel, Noble friends; +Harke, _Baltazar_, because nor eyes nor tongues +Shall by loud Larums that the poore boy lives +Question thy false report, the child shall closely, +Mantled in darknesse, forthwith be conveyed +To the Monastery of Saint _Paul_. + +_Omnes_. Good. + +_Med_. Dispatch then; be quicke. + +_Bal_. As Lightning. [_Exit_. + +_Alb_. This fellow is some Angell drop'd from heaven +To preserve Innocence. + +_Med_. He is a wheele +Of swift and turbulent motion; I have trusted him, +Yet will not hang on him to many plummets +Lest with a headlong Cyre (Gyre?) he ruines all. +In these State-consternations, when a kingdome +Stands tottering at the Center, out of suspition +Safety growes often. Let us suspect this fellow; +And that, albeit he shew us the Kings hand, +It may be but a tricke. + +_Daen_. Your Lordship hits +A poyson'd nayle i'th head: this waxen fellow +(By the Kings hand so bribing him with gold) +Is set on skrews, perhaps is made his Creature +To turne round every way. + +_Med_. Out of that feare +Will I beget truth; for my selfe in person +Will sound the Kings brest. + +_Carl_. How! your selfe in person. + +_Alb_. That's half the prize he gapes for. + +_Med_. I'le venture it, +And come off well, I warrant you, and rip up +His very entrailes, cut in two his heart +And search each corner in't; yet shall not he +Know who it is cuts up th'Anatomy. + +_Daen_. 'Tis an exploit worth wonder. + +_Carl_. Put the worst; +Say some Infernall voyce shoo'd rore from hell +The Infant's cloystering up. + +_Alb_. 'Tis not our danger +Nor the imprison'd Prince's, for what Theefe +Dares by base sacrilege rob the Church of him? + +_Carl_. At worst none can be lost but this slight fellow. + +_Med_. All build on this as on a stable Cube: +If we our footing keepe we fetch him forth +And Crowne him King; if up we fly i'th ayre +We for his soules health a broad way prepare. + +_Daen_. They come. + + _Enter Baltazar and Sebastian_. + +_Med_. Thou knowest where +To bestow him, _Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Come Noble[206] Boy. + +_Alb_. Hide him from being discovered. + +_Bal_. Discover'd? woo'd there stood a troope of Moores +Thrusting the pawes of hungry Lions forth +To seize this prey, and this but in my hand; +I should doe something. + +_Seb_. Must I goe with this blacke fellow, Vncle? + +_Med_. Yes, pretty Coz; hence with him, _Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Sweet child, within few minutes I'le change thy fate +And take thee hence, but set thee at heavens gate. + [_Exeunt Bal. and Seb_. + +_Med_. Some keepe aloof and watch this Souldier. + +_Carl_. I'le doo't. + +_Daen_. What's to be done now? + +_Med_. First to plant strong guard +About the mother, then into some snare +To hunt this spotted Panther and there kill him. + +_Daen_. What snares have we can hold him? + +_Med_. Be that care mine: +Dangers (like Starres) in darke attempts best shine. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Cornego, Baltazar_. + +_Cor_. The Lady Onaelia dresseth the stead[207] of her commendations in +the most Courtly Attire that words can be cloth'd with, from her selfe +to you by me. + +_Bal_. So, Sir; and what disease troubles her now? + +_Cor_. The King's Evill; and here she hath sent something to you wrap'd +up in a white sheet; you need not feare to open it, 'tis no coarse. + +_Bal_. What's here? a letter minc'd into five morsels? +What was she doing when thou camest from her? + +_Cor_. At the pricke-song[208]. + +_Bal_. So methinks, for here's nothing but sol-Re-fa-mi. +What Crochet fils her head now, canst tell? + +_Cor_. No Crochets, 'tis onely the Cliffe has made her mad. + +_Bal_. What instrument playd she upon? + +_Cor_. A wind instrument, she did nothing but sigh. + +_Bal_. Sol, Ra, me, Fa, Mi. + +_Cor_. My wit has alwayes had a singing head; I have found out her Note, +Captaine. + +_Bal_. The tune? come. + +_Cor_. Sol, my soule; re, is all rent and torne like a raggamuffin; me, +mend it, good Captaine; fa, fa,--whats fa, Captaine? + +_Bal_. Fa? why, farewell and be hang'd. + +_Cor_. Mi, Captaine, with all my heart. Have I tickled my Ladies +Fiddle well? + +_Bal_. Oh, but your sticke wants Rozen to make the string sound +clearely. No, this double Virginall being cunningly touch'd, another +manner of Jacke[209] leaps up then is now in mine eye. Sol, Re, me, fa, +mi--I have it now; _Solus Rex me facit miseram_. Alas, poore Lady! tell +her no Pothecary in Spaine has any of that _Assa Fetida_ she writes for. + +_Cor_. _Assa Fetida_? what's that? + +_Bal_. A thing to be taken in a glister-pipe? + +_Cor_. Why, what ayles my Lady? + +_Bal_. What ayles she? why, when she cryes out _Solus Rex me facit +miseram_, she sayes in the Hypocronicall language that she is so +miserably tormented with the wind-Chollicke that it rackes her +very soule. + +_Cor_. I said somewhat cut her soule in pieces. + +_Bal_. But goe to her and say the oven is heating. + +_Cor_. And what shall be bak'd in't? + +_Bal_. Carpe pies, and besides tell her the hole in her Coat shall be +mended; and tell her if the Dyall of good dayes goe true, why then +bounce Buckrum. + +_Cor_. The Divell lyes sicke of the Mulligrubs. + +_Bal_. Or the Cony is dub'd, and three sheepskins-- + +_Cor_. With the wrong side outward. + +_Bal_. Shall make the Fox a Night-cap. + +_Cor_. So the Goose talkes French to the Buzzard. + +_Bal_. But, Sir, if evill dayes justle our prognostication to the wall, +then say there's a fire in the whore-masters Cod-peece. + +_Cor_. And a poyson'd Bagge-pudding in Tom Thumbes belly. + +_Bal_. The first cut be thine: farewell! + +_Cor_. Is this all? + +_Bal_. Woo't not trust an Almanacke? + +_Cor_. Nor a Coranta[210] neither, tho it were seal'd with Butter; +and yet I know where they both lye passing well. + + _Enter Lopez_. + +_Lop_. The King sends round about the Court to seek you. + +_Bal_. Away, Otterhound. + +_Cor_. Dancing Beare, I'me gone. [_Exit_. + + _Enter King attended_. + +_King_. A private roome.-- [_Exeunt Omnes_. +Is't done? hast drawne thy two edg'd sword out yet? + +_Bal_. No, I was striking at the two Iron Barres that hinder your +passage; and see, Sir. [_Drawes_. + +_King_. What meanst thou? + +_Bal_. The edge abated? feele. + +_King_. No, no, I see it. + +_Bal_. As blunt as Ignorance. + +_King_. How? put up--So--how? + +_Bal_. I saw by chance, hanging in Cardinall _Alvarez_ Gallery, +a picture of hell. + +_King_. So; what of that? + +_Bal_. There lay upon burnt straw ten thousand brave fellowes, all +starke naked, some leaning upon Crownes, some on Miters, some on bags +of gold; Glory in another Corner lay like a feather beaten in the +raine; Beauty was turn'd into a watching Candle that went out stinking; +Ambition went upon a huge high paire of stilts but horribly rotten; +some in another nooke were killing Kings, and some having their elbowes +shov'd forward by Kings to murther others: I was (methought) halfe in +hell my selfe whilst I stood to view this peece. + +_King_. Was this all? + +_Bal_. Was't not enough to see that? a man is more healthfull that eats +dirty puddings than he that feeds on a corrupted Conscience. + +_King_. Conscience! what's that? a Conjuring booke ne're open'd +Without the readers danger: 'tis indeed +A scare-crow set i'th world to fright weake fooles. +Hast thou seene fields pav'd o're with carkasses +Now to be tender-footed, not to tread +On a boyes mangled quarters and a womans? + +_Bal_. Nay, Sir, I have search'd the records of the Low-Countries and +finde that by your pardon I need not care a pinne for Goblins; and +therefore I will doo't, Sir: I did but recoyle because I was double +charg'd. + +_King_. No more; here comes a Satyre with sharpe hornes. + + _Enter Cardinall, and Medina like a French Doctor_. + +_Car_. Sir, here's a Frenchman charg'd with some strange businesse +Which to your close eare onely hee'll deliver, +Or else to none. + +_King_. A Frenchman? + +_Med_. We, Mounsire. + +_King_. Cannot he speake the Spanish? + +_Med_. Si Signior, vr Poco:--Monsir, Acoutez in de Corner; me come for +offer to your Bon gace mi trez humble service. By gar no John fidleco +shall put into your neare braver Melody dan dis vn petite pipe shall +play upon to your great bon Grace. + +_King_. What is the tune you'll strike up? touch the string. + +_Med_. Dis; me ha run up and downe mane Countrie and learne many fine +ting and mush knavery; now more and all dis me know you ha jumbla de +fine vench and fill her belly wid a Garsoone: her name is le Madame-- + +_King_. _Onaelia_. + +_Med_. She by gar: Now, Monsire, dis Madam send for me to helpe her +Malady, being very naught of her corpes (her body). Me know you no +point love a dis vensh; but, royall Monsire, donne Moy ten towsand +French Crownes, she shall kicke up her taile, by gar, and beshide lye +dead as dog in the shannell. + +_King_. Speake low. + +_Med_. As de bagge-pipe when the winde is puff, Garbeigh. + +_King_. Thou nam'st ten thousand Crownes; I'le treble them, +Rid me but of this leprosie: thy name? + +_Med_. Monsire Doctor _Devile_. + +_King_. Shall I a second wheele adde to this mischiefe +To set it faster going? if one breake, +Th'other may keepe his motion. + +_Med_. Esselent fort boone. + +_King_. _Baltazar_, +To give thy Sword an edge againe, this Frenchman +Shall whet thee on, that if thy pistoll faile, +Or ponyard, this can send the poyson home. + +_Bal_. Brother _Cain_, wee'll shake hands. + +_Med_. In de bowle of de bloody busher: tis very fine wholesome. + +_King_. And more to arme your resolution, +I'le tune this Churchman so that he shall chime +In sounds harmonious. Merit to that man +Whose hand has but a finger in that act. + +_Bal_. That musicke were worth hearing. + +_King_. Holy Father, +You must give pardon to me in unlocking +A Cave stuft full with Serpents which my State +Threaten to poyson; and it lyes in you +To breake their bed with thunder of your voyce. + +_Car_. How, princely sonne? + +_King_. Suppose an universall +Hot Pestilence beat her mortiferous wings +Ore all my Kingdome, am I not bound in soule +To empty all our Achademes of Doctors +And Aesculapian Spirits to charme this plague? + +_Car_. You are. + +_King_. Or had the Canon made a breach +Into our rich Escuriall, down to beat it +About our eares, shoo'd I to stop this breach +Spare even our richest Ornaments, nay our Crowne, +Could it keepe bullets off? + +_Car_. No, Sir, you should not. + +_King_. This Linstocke[211] gives you fire: shall then that strumpet +And bastard breathe quicke vengeance in my face, +Making my kingdome reele, my subjects stagger +In their obedience, and yet live? + +_Car_. How? live! +Shed not their bloods to gaine a kingdome greater +Then ten times this. + +_Med_. Pishe, not mattera how Red-cap and his wit run. + +_King_. As I am Catholike King I'le have their hearts +Panting in these two hands. + +_Car_. Dare you turne Hang-man? +Is this Religion Catholicke, to kill, +What even bruit beasts abhorre to doe, your owne! +To cut in sunder wedlockes sacred knot +Tyed by heavens fingers! to make Spaine a Bonfire +To quench which must a second Deluge raine +In showres of blood, no water! If you doe this +There is an Arme Armipotent that can fling you +Into a base grave, and your Pallaces +With Lightning strike and of their Ruines make +A Tombe for you, unpitied and abhorr'd. +Beare witnesse, all you Lamps Coelestiall, +I wash my hands of this. (_Kneeling_.) + +_King_. Rise, my goon Angell, +Whose holy tunes beat from me that evill spirit +Which jogs mine elbow.--Hence, thou dog of hell! + +_Med_. Baw wawghe. + +_King_. Barke out no more, thou Mastiffe; get you all gone, +And let my soule sleepe.--There's gold; peace, see it done. + [_Exit_. + + _Manent Medina, Baltazar, Cardinall_. + +_Bal_. Sirra, you Salsa-Perilla Rascall, Toads-guts, you whorson pockey +French Spawne of a bursten-bellyed Spyder, doe you heare, Monsire? + +_Med_. Why doe you barke and snap at my Narcissus as if I were de +Frenshe doag? + +_Bal_. You Curre of _Cerberus_ litter, (_strikes him_), you'll poyson +the honest Lady? doe but once toot[212] into her chamber-pot and I'll +make thee looke worse then a witch does upon a close-stoole. + +_Car_. You shall not dare to touch him, stood he here +Single before thee. + +_Bal_. I'le cut the Rat into Anchovies. + +_Car_. I'le make thee kisse his hand, imbrace him, love him, +And call him-- + (_Medina discovers_) + +_Bal_. The perfection of all Spanyards; Mars in little; the best booke +of the art of Warre printed in these Times: as a French Doctor I woo'd +have given you pellets for pills, but as my noblest Lord rip my heart +out in your service. + +_Med_. Thou art the truest Clocke +That e're to time paidst tribute, honest Souldier. +I lost mine owne shape and put on a French +Onely to try thy truth and the kings falshood, +Both which I find. Now this great Spanish volume +Is open'd to me, I read him o're and o're, +Oh what blacke Characters are printed in him! + +_Car_. Nothing but certaine ruine threat your Neece, +Without prevention; well this plot was laid +In such disguise to sound him; they that know +How to meet dangers are the lesse afraid: +Yet let me counsell you not to text downe +These wrongs in red lines. + +_Med_. No, I will not, father: +Now that I have Anatomiz'd his thoughts +I'le read a lecture on 'em that shall save +Many mens lives, and to the kingdome Minister +Most wholesome Surgery: here's our Aphorisme,[213]-- +These letters from us in our Neeces name, +You know, treat of a marriage. + +_Car_. There's the strong Anchor +To stay all in this tempest. + +_Med_. Holy Sir, +With these worke you the King and so prevaile +That all these mischiefes _Hull_ with Flagging saile. + +_Car_. My best in this I'le doe. + +_Med_. Souldier, thy brest +I must locke better things in. + +_Bal_. Tis your chest with 3 good keyes to keep it from opening, +an honest hart, a daring hand and a pocket which scornes money. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter King, Cardinall with letters_, [_Valasco and Lopez_.] + +_King_. Commend us to _Medina_, say his letters +Right pleasing are, and that (except himselfe) +Nothing could be more welcome: counsell him +(To blot the opinion out of factious numbers) +Onely to have his ordinary traine +Waiting upon him; for, to quit all feares +Vpon his side of us, our very Court +Shall even but dimly shine with some few Dons, +Freely to prove our longings great to peace. + +_Car_. The Constable expects some pawne from you +That in this Fairy circle shall rise up +No Fury to confound his Neece nor him. + +_King_. A King's word is engag'd. + +_Car_. It shall be taken. [_Exit_. + +_King_. _Valasco_, call the Captaine of our Guard, +Bid him attend us instantly. + +_Val_. I shall. [_Exit_. + +_King_. _Lopez_, come hither: see +Letters from _Duke Medina_, both in the name +Of him and all his Faction, offering peace, +And our old love (his Neece) _Onaelia_ +In Marriage with her free and faire consent +To _Cockadillio_, a Don of Spaine. + +_Lop_. Will you refuse this? + +_King_. My Crowne as soone: they feele their sinowy plots +Belike to shrinke i'th joynts, and fearing Ruine +Have found this Cement out to piece up all, +Which more endangers all. + +_Lop_. How, Sir! endangers? + +_King_. Lyons may hunted be into the snare, +But if they once breake loose woe be to him +That first seiz'd on 'em. A poore prisoner scornes +To kisse his Jaylor; and shall a King be choak'd +With sweete-meats by false Traytors! no, I will fawne +On them as they stroake me, till they are fast +But in this paw, and then-- + +_Lop_. A brave revenge.-- +The Captaine of your Guard. + + _Enter Captaine_. + +_King_. Vpon thy life +Double our Guard this day, let every man +Beare a charg'd Pistoll hid; and at a watch-word +Given by a Musket, when our selfe sees Time, +Rush in; and if _Medina's_ Faction wrastle +Against your forces, kill; but if yeeld, save. +Be secret. + +_Alanz_. I am charm'd, Sir. + [_Exit_. + +_King_. Watch, _Valasco_; +If any weare a Crosse, Feather or Glove +Or such prodigious signes of a knit Faction, +Table their names up; at our Court-gate plant +Good strength to barre them out if once they swarme: +Doe this upon thy life. + +_Val_. Not death shall fright me. + + [_Exeunt Valasco and Lopez_. + + _Enter Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. 'Tis done, Sir. + +_King_. Death! what's done? + +_Bal_. Young Cub's flayd, +But the shee-fox shifting her hole is fled; +The little Iackanapes the boy's braind. + +_King_. _Sebastian_? + +_Bal_. He shall ne're speake more Spanish. + +_King_. Thou teachest me to curse thee. + +_Bal_. For a bargaine you set your hand to? + +_King_. Halfe my Crowne I'de lose were it undone. + +_Bal_. But half a Crowne? that's nothing: +His braines sticke in my conscience more than yours. + +_King_. How lost I the French Doctor? + +_Bal_. As French-men lose their haire: here was too hot staying for him. + +_King_. Get thou, too, from my sight: the Queen wu'd see thee. + +_Bal_. Your gold, Sir. + +_King_. Goe with _Judas_ and repent. + +_Bal_. So men hate whores after lusts heat is spent; I'me gone, Sir. + +_King_. Tell me true,--is he dead? + +_Bal_. Dead. + +_King_. No matter; 'tis but morning of revenge; +The Sun-set shall be red and Tragicall. [_Exit_. + +_Bal_. Sinne is a Raven croaking[214] her owne fall. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Medina, Daenia, Alba, Carlo and the Faction, + with Rosemary in their hats_. + +_Med_. Keepe lock'd the doore and let none enter to us +But who shares in our fortunes. + +_Daen_. Locke the dores. + +_Alb_. What entertainment did the King bestow +Vpon your letters and the Cardinals? + +_Med_. With a devouring eye he read 'em o're +Swallowing our offers into his empty bosome +As gladly as the parched earth drinks healths +Out of the cup of heaven. + +_Carl_. Little suspecting +What dangers closely lye enambushed. + +_Daen_. Let not us trust to that; there's in his brest +Both Fox and Lion, and both those beasts can bite: +We must not now behold the narrowest loope-hole +But presently suspect a winged bullet +Flyes whizzing by our eares. + +_Med_. For when I let +The plummet fall to sound his very soule +In his close-chamber, being French-Doctor-like, +He to the Cardinals eare sung sorcerous notes; +The burthen of his song to mine was death, +_Onaelia's_ murder and _Sebastians_. +And thinke you his voyce alters now? 'Tis strange +To see how brave this Tyrant shewes in Court, +Throan'd like a god: great men are petty starres +Where his rayes shine; wonder fills up all eyes +By sight of him: let him but once checke sinne, +About him round all cry "oh excellent king! +Oh Saint-like man!" but let this King retire +Into his Closet to put off his robes, +He like a Player leaves his parte off, too: +Open his brest and with a Sunne-beame search it, +There's no such man; this King of gilded clay +Within is uglinesse, lust, treachery, +And a base soule tho reard Colossus-high. + + (_Baltazar beats to come in_.) + +_Daen_. None till he speakes and that we know his voyce: +Who are you? + +_Within Bal_. An honest house-keeper in Rosemary-lane, too, +If you dwell in the same parish. + +_Med_. Oh 'tis our honest Souldier, give him entrance. + + _Enter Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Men show like coarses[215] for I meet few but are stuck with +Rosemary: everyone ask'd mee who was married to-day, and I told 'em +Adultery and Repentance, and that shame and a Hangman followed 'em +to Church. + +_Med_. There's but two parts to play: shame has done hers +But execution must close up the Scaene, +And for that cause these sprigs are worne by all, +Badges of Mariage, now of Funerall, +For death this day turns Courtier. + +_Bal_. Who must dance with him? + +_Med_. The King, and all that are our opposites; +That dart or this must flye into the Court, +Either to shoote this blazing starre from Spaine +Or else so long to wrap him up in clouds +Till all the fatall fires in him burne out, +Leaving his State and conscience cleere from doubt +Of following uprores. + +_Alb_. Kill not but surprize him. + +_Carl_. Thats my voyce still. + +_Med_. Thine, Souldier. + +_Bal_. Oh, this Collicke of a kingdome! when the wind of treason gets +amongst the small guts, what a rumbling and a roaring it keepes! and +yet, make the best of it you can, it goes out stinking. Kill a King! +King! + +_Daen_. Why? + +_Bal_. If men should pull the Sun out of heaven every time 'tis +ecclips'd, not all the Wax nor Tallow in Spaine woo'd serve to make +us Candles for one yeare. + +_Med_. No way to purge the sicke State but by opening a veine. + +_Bal_. Is that your French Physicke? if every one of us shoo'd be +whip'd according to our faults, to be lasht at a carts taile would be +held but a flea-biting. + + _Enter Signeor No:[216] Whispers Medina_. + +_Med_. What are you? come you from the King? + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. No? more no's? I know him, let him enter. + +_Med_. Signeor, I thanke your kind Intelligence. +The newes long since was sent into our eares, +Yet we embrace your love; so fare you well. + +_Carl_. Will you smell to a sprig of Rosemary? + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. Will you be hang'd? + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. This is either Signeor No, or no Signeor. + +_Med_. He makes his love to us a warning-peece +To arme our selves against we come to Court, +Because the guard is doubled. + +_Omnes_. Tush, we care not. + +_Bal_. If any here armes his hand to cut off the head, let him first +plucke out my throat. In any Noble Act Ile wade chin-deepe with you: +but to kill a King! + +_Med_. No, heare me-- + +_Bal_. You were better, my Lord, saile 500 times to _Bantam_[217] in +the West-Indies than once to _Barathrum_ in the Low-Countries. It's +hot going under the line there; the Callenture of the soule is a most +miserable madnesse. + +_Med_. Turne, then, this wheele of Fate from shedding blood, +Till with her owne hand Iustice weyes all. + +_Bal_. Good. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + +_Queen_. Must then his Trul be once more sphear'd in Court +To triumph in my spoyles, in my ecclipses? +And I like moaping _Iuno_ sit whilst _Iove_ +Varies his lust into five hundred shapes +To steale to his whores bed? No, _Malateste_; +Italian fires of Iealousie burn my marrow: +For to delude my hopes the leacherous King +Cuts out this robe of cunning marriage +To cover his Incontinence, which flames +Hot (as my fury) in his black desires. +I am swolne big with child of vengeance now, +And, till deliver'd, feele the throws of hell. + +_Mal_. Iust is your Indignation, high and noble, +And the brave heat of a true Florentine. +For Spaine Trumpets abroad her Interest +In the Kings heart, and with a black cole drawes +On every wall your scoff'd at injuries. +As one that has the refuse of her sheets, +And the sick Autumne of the weakned King, +Where she drunke pleasures up in the full spring. + +_Queen_. That, _Malateste_, That, That Torrent wracks me; +But _Hymens_ Torch (held downe-ward) shall drop out, +And for it the mad Furies swing their brands +About the Bride-chamber. + +_Mal_. The Priest that joyns them +Our Twin-borne malediction. + +_Queen_. Lowd may it speake. + +_Mal_. The herbs and flowers to strew the wedding way +Be Cypresse, Eugh, cold Colloquintida. + +_Queen_. Henbane and Poppey, and that magicall weed[218] +Which Hags at midnight watch to catch the seed. + +_Mal_. To these our execrations, and what mischiefe +Hell can but hatch in a distracted braine +Ile be the Executioner, tho it looke +So horrid it can fright e'ne murder backe. + +_Queen_. Poyson his whore to day, for thou shalt wait +On the Kings Cup, and when, heated with wine, +He cals to drinke the Brides health, Marry her +Alive to a gaping grave. + +_Mal_. At board? + +_Queen_. At board. + +_Mal_. When she being guarded round about with friends, +Like a faire Iland hem'd with Rocks and Seas,-- +What rescue shall I find? + +_Queen_. Mine armes? dost faint? +Stood all the Pyrenaean hills, that part +Spaine and our Country, on each others shoulders, +Burning with Aetnean flame, yet thou shouldst on, +As being my steele of resolution +First striking sparkles from my flinty brest. +Wert thou to catch the horses of the Sunne +Fast by their bridles and to turne back day, +Wood'st thou not doo't (base coward) to make way +To the Italians second blisse, revenge? + +_Mal_. Were my bones threatned to the wheele of torture, +Ile doo't. + + _Enter Lopes_. + +_Queen_. A ravens voyce, and it likes me well. + +_Lop_. The King expects your presence. + +_Mal_. So, so, we come, +To turne this Brides day to a day of doome. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _A Banquet set out, Cornets sounding; Enter at one + dore Lopez, Valasco, Alanzo, No: after them King, + Cardinall, with Don Cockadillio, Bridegroome; + Queene and Malateste after. At the other dore + Alba, Carlo, Roderigo, Medina and Daenia, leading + Onaelia as Bride, Cornego and Iuanna after; + Baltazar alone; Bride and Bridegroome kisse, + and by the Cardinall are join'd hand in hand: + King is very merry, hugging Medina very lovingly_. + +_King_. For halfe Spaines weight in Ingots I'de not lose +This little man to day. + +_Med_. Nor for so much +Twice told, Sir, would I misse your kingly presence, +Mine eyes have lost th'acquaintance of your face +So long, and I so little late read o're +That Index of the royall book your mind, +That scarce (without your Comment) can I tell +When in those leaves you turne o're smiles or frownes. + +_King_. 'Tis dimnesse of your sight, no fault i'th letter; +_Medina_, you shall find that free from Errata's: +And for a proofe, +If I could breath my heart in welcomes forth, +This Hall should ring naught else. Welcome, _Medina_; +Good Marquesse _Daenia_, Dons of Spaine all welcome! +My dearest love and Queene, be it your place +To entertaine the Bride and doe her grace. + +_Queen_. With all the love I can, whose fire is such, +To give her heat, I cannot burne too much. + +_King_. Contracted Bride and Bridegroome sit; +Sweet flowres not pluck'd in season lose their scent, +So will our pleasures. Father Cardinall, +Methinkes this morning new begins our reigne. + +_Car_. Peace had her Sabbath ne're till now in Spaine. + +_King_. Where is our noble Souldier, _Baltazar_? +So close in conference with that Signior? + +_No_. No. + +_King_. What think'st thou of this great day _Baltazar_? + +_Bal_. Of this day? why, as of a new play, if it ends well all's well. +All men are but Actors; now if you, being the King, should be out of +your part, or the Queene out of hers or your Dons out of theirs, here's +No wil never be out of his. + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. 'Twere a lamentable peece of stuffe to see great Statesmen +have vile Exits; but I hope there are nothing but plaudities in all +your Eyes. + +_King_. Mine, I protest, are free. + +_Queen_. And mine, by heaven! + +_Mal_. Free from one goode looke till the blow be given. + +_King_. Wine; a full Cup crown'd to _Medina's_ health! + +_Med_. Your Highnesse this day so much honors me +That I, to pay you what I truly owe, +My life shall venture for it. + +_Daen_. So shall mine. + +_King_. _Onaelia_, you are sad: why frownes your brow? + +_Onae_. A foolish memory of my past ills +Folds up my looke in furrowes of old care, +But my heart's merry, Sir. + +_King_. Which mirth to heighten +Your Bridegroome and your selfe first pledge this health +Which we begin to our high Constable. + + (_Three Cups fild: 1 to the King, 2 to the Bridegroome, + 3 to Onaelia, with whom the King complements_.) + +_Queen_. Is't speeding? + +_Mal_. As all our Spanish figs[219] are. + +_King_. Here's to _Medina's_ heart with all my heart. + +_Med_. My hart shal pledge your hart i'th deepest draught +That ever Spanyard dranke. + +_King_. _Medina_ mockes me +Because I wrong her with the largest Bowle: +Ile change with thee, _Onaelia_. + + (_Mal. rages_) + +_Queen_. Sir, you shall not. + +_King_. Feare you I cannot fetch it off? + +_Queen_. _Malateste_! + +_King_. This is your scorne to her, because I am doing +This poorest honour to her.--Musicke sound! +It goes were it ten fadoms to the ground. + + _Cornets. King drinkes; Queen and Mal. storms_. + +_Mal_. Fate strikes with the wrong weapon. + +_Queen_. Sweet royall Sir, no more: it is too deepe. + +_Mal_. Twill hurt your health, Sir. + +_King_. Interrupt me in my drinke! 'tis off. + +_Mal_. Alas, Sir, +You have drunke your last: that poyson'd bowle I fill'd, +Not to be put into your hand but hers. + +_King_. Poyson'd? + +_Omnes_. Descend black speckled soule to hell. + (_kil Mal. dyes_.) + +_Mal_. The Queene has sent me thither? + +_Card_. What new furie shakes now her snakes locks? + +_Queen_. I, I, tis I, +Whose soule is torne in peeces till I send +This Harlot home. + +_Car_. More Murders? save the lady. + +_Balt_. Rampant? let the Constable make a mittimus. + +_Med_. Keepe 'em asunder. + +_Car_. How is it royall sonne? + +_King_. I feele no poyson yet; only mine eyes +Are putting out their lights: me thinks I feele +Deaths Icy fingers stroking downe my face; +And now I'me in a mortall cold sweat. + +_Queen_. Deare my Lord. + +_King_. Hence! call in my Physicians. + +_Med_. Thy Physician, Tyrant, +Dwels yonder: call on him or none. + +_King_. Bloody _Medina_! stab'st thou, _Brutus_, too? + +_Daen_. As hee is so are we all. + +_King_. I burne; +My braines boyle in a Caldron: O, one drop +Of water now to coole me! + +_Onae_. Oh, let him have Physicians! + +_Med_. Keepe her backe. + +_King_. Physicians for my soule: I need none else. +You'll not deny me those? Oh, holy Father, +Is there no mercy hovering in a cloud +For me, a miserable King, so drench'd +In perjury and murder? + +_Car_. Oh, Sir, great store. + +_King_. Come downe, come quickly downe. + +_Car_. I'll forthwith send +For a grave Fryer to be your Confessor. + +_King_. Doe, doe. + +_Car_. And he shall cure your wounded soule: +--Fetch him, good Souldier. + +_Bal_. So good a work I'le hasten. + +_King_. _Onaelia_! oh, shee's drown'd in tears. _Onaelia_! +Let me not dye unpardoned at thy hands. + + _Enter Baltazar, Sebastian as a Fryer, with others_. + +_Car_. Here comes a better Surgeon. + +_Seb_. Haile my good Sonne! +I come to be thy ghostly Father. + +_King_. Ha! +My child? tis my _Sebastian_, or some spirit +Sent in his shape to fright me. + +_Bal_. 'Tis no gobling, Sir, feele: your owne flesh and blood, and much +younger than you tho he be bald, and calls you son. Had I bin as ready +to cut his sheeps throat as you were to send him to the shambles, he +had bleated no more. There's lesse chalke upon you[r] score of sinnes +by these round o'es. + +_King_. Oh, my dul soule, looke up; thou art somewhat lighter. +Noble _Medina_, see, _Sebastian_ lives: +_Onaelia_, cease to weepe, _Sebastian_ lives. +Fetch me my Crowne: my sweetest pretty Fryer, +Can my hands doo't, He raise thee one step higher. +Th'ast beene in heavens house all this while, sweet boy? + +_Seb_. I had but coarse cheere. + +_King_. Thou couldst nere fare better: +Religious houses are those hyves where Bees +Make honey for mens soules. I tell thee, Boy, +A Fryery is a Cube which strongly stands, +Fashioned by men, supported by heavens hands: +Orders of holy Priest-hood are as high, +I'th eyes of Angels, as a Kings dignity. +Both these unto a Crowne give the full weight, +And both are thine: you that our Contract know, +See how I scale it with this Marriage; +My blessing and Spaines kingdome both be thine. + +_Omnes_. Long live _Sebastian_! + +_Onae_. Doff that Fryers course gray, +And since hee's crown'd a king, clothe him like one. + +_King_. Oh no; those are right Soveraigne Ornaments: +Had I been cloth'd so I had never fill'd +Spaine's Chronicle with my blacke Calumny. +My worke is almost finish'd: where's my Queene? + +_Queen_. Heere, peece-meale torne by Furies. + +_King_. _Onaelia_! +Your hand, _Paulina_, too; _Onaelia_, yours: +This hand (the pledge of my twice broken faith), +By you usurp'd, is her Inheritance. +My love is turn'd, see, as my fate is turn'd: +Thus they to day laugh, yesterday which mourn'd: +I pardon thee my death. Let her be sent +Backe into Florence with a trebled dowry. +Death comes: oh, now I see what late I fear'd; +A Contract broke, tho piec'd up ne're so well, +Heaven sees, earth suffers, but it ends in hell. + (_Moritur_.) + +_Onae_. Oh, I could dye with him! + +_Queen_. Since the bright spheare +I mov'd in falls, alas, what make I here? + [_Exit_. + +_Med_. The hammers of blacke mischiefe now cease beating, +Yet some irons still are heating. You, Sir Bridegroome, +(Set all this while up as a marke to shoot at) +We here discharge you of your bed fellow: +She loves no Barbars washing. + +_Cock_. My Balls are sav'd then. + +_Med_. Be it your charge, so please you, reverend Sir, +To see the late Queene safely sent to Florence: +My Neece _Onaelia_, and that trusty Souldier, +We doe appoint to guard the infant King. +Other distractions Time must reconcile; +The State is poyson'd like a Crocodile. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +FINIS. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] The title, I suppose, of "Cuckold." + +[2] Tacitus in a few words gives a most masterly description of Poppea: +--"Huic mulieri cuncta alia fuere praeter honestum animum: quippe +mater eius, aetatis suae feminas pulchritudine supergressa, gloriam +pariter et formam dederat: opes claritudini generis sufficiebant: sermo +comis, nec absurdum ingenium: modestiam praeferre et lascivia uti: rarus +in publicum egressus, idque velata parte oris, ne satiaret aspectum, vel +quia sic decebat. Famae numquam pepercit, maritos et adulteros non +distinguens, neque affectui suo aut alieno obnoxia: unde utilitas +ostenderetur, illuc libidinem transtulit."--Ann. XIII. 45. + +[3] 4to. Why? Is he rais'd. + +[4] Cf. Dion Cassius, [Greek: X G] 20. + +[5] 4to. cleare th'ayre. + +[6] "Push" and "pish" are used indifferently by Elizabethan writers. + +[7] Cf. Verg. Aen. vi. 805-6:-- + + "Nec qui pampineis victor iuga flectit habenis, + Liber, agens celso Nysae de vertice tigres." + +[8] 4to. Turpuus. (Vid. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 20.) + +[9] Tacitus (Ann. xvi. 14) mentions an astrologer of this name, who was +banished by Nero. + +[10] Vid. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 25. + +[11] 4tos. _Servinus_. + +[12] Tacit. Ann. xv. 49. + +[13] By those "wicked armes" is meant, I suppose, the struggle between +Caesar and Pompey. Posterity will think the horrors of civil war +compensated by the pleasure of reading Lucan's epic! + +[14] 4tos. Ciria. + +[15] 4tos. beeds. + +[16] 4tos. begins. + +[17] A certain Volusius Proculus was one of the infamous agents in the +murder of Agrippina, and afterwards betrayed the fearless woman +Epicharis who confided to him the secret of Piso's conspiracy; but no +one of this name was executed by Nero. + +[18] Quy. How! bruised, &c. + +[19] Quy. Say that I had no skill!--If the reading of the 4tos. is right +the meaning must be, "As for his saying that I had no skill." + +[20] A copy of the 1633 4to. gives "shoulder-eac't," which is hardly +less intelligible than the reading in the text. Everybody knows that +Pelops received an ivory shoulder for the one that was consumed; but the +word "shoulder-packt" conveys no meaning. "Shoulder-pieced," i.e., +"fitted with an (ivory) shoulder," would be a shade more intelligible; +but it is a very ugly compound. + +[21] Dion Cassius ([Greek: XB]. 14. ed. Bekker) reports this brutal gibe +of Nero's; Rubellius Plautus was the luckless victim:--[Greek: "ho de +dae Neron kai gelota kai skommata, ta ton syngenon kaka hepoieito ton +goun Plauton apokteinas, hepeita taen kephalaen autou prosenechtheisan oi +idon, 'ouk haedein,' hephae 'oti megalaen rina eichen,' osper pheisamenos +an autou ei touto proaepistato."] + +[22] Persius' tutor, immortalised in his pupil's Fifth Satire. + +[23] Quy. with. + +[24] _Machlaean_--a word coined from [Greek: machlos] (sc. libidinosus). + +[25] Partly a translation from Persius, Sat. I. 11. 99-102:-- + + "Torva Mimalloneis implerunt cornua bombis, + Et raptum vitulo caput ablatura superbo + Bassaris, et lyncem Maenas flexura corymbis + Euion ingeminat: reparabilis assonat Echo"; + +which lines are supposed to be a parody of some verses of Nero. Persius' +comment-- + + "summa delumbe saliva + Hoc natat: in labris et in udo est Maenas et Attis; + Nec pluteum caedit, nec demorsos sapit ungues"-- + +agrees with the judgment of Tacitus (Ann. xiv. 16). Suetonius (Vit. Ner. +52), who had seen some of Nero's MSS., speaks of the extreme care that +had been given to correction; and the few verses preserved by Seneca +make against the estimate of Tacitus and Persius. + +[26] 4tos. Ennion. + +[27] Vid. Dion Cassius [Greek: XB]. 29. + +[28] 4tos. conductors. + +[29] 4tos. again. + +[30] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 48. + +[31] The 4to. points the passage thus:-- + + "The thing determinde on our meeting now, + Is of the meanes, and place, due circumstance, + As to the doing of things t'is requir'd, + So done, it names the action." + +The words "t'is requir'd ... action," I take to mean, "The assassination +must be accomplished in such a way as to appear an act of patriotism and +make the actors famous." + +[32] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 52 + +[33] Cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 49:--"Mirum et vel praecipue notabile inter +haec fuerit, nihil eum patientius quam maledicta et convitia hominum +tulisse, neque in ullos lemorem quam qui se dictis aut carminibus +lucessissent exstitisse. Multa Graece Latineque proscripta aut vulgata +sunt, sicut illa:-- + + * * * * * + _Roma domus fiet: Veios migrate Quirites, Si non et + Veios occupat ista domus_." + +[34] 4tos. _Servi_. + +[35] 4tos. Servinus. + +[36] Cf. Tac. Ann. xvi. 5; and Sueton. Vit Ner. 23. + +[37] 4to. time. + +[38] Cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 23. "Itaque et enixae quaedam in spectaculis +dicuntur, et multi taedio audiendi laudandique, clausis oppidorum +portis, aut furtim desiluisse de muro aut morte simulata funere elati." + +[39] 4tos. And. + +[40] The 4tos. give "_Agrippa_," which is nonsense. By a slip of the +tongue, Nero was going to say "Agrippina's death," when he hastily +corrected himself. Tacitus and Suetonius tell us that Nero was always +haunted with the memory of his murdered mother. + +[41] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xvi. 5. "Ferebantque Vespasianum, tamquam somno +conniveret, a Phoebo liberto increpitum aegreque meliorum precibus +obtectum, mox imminentem perniciem maiore fato effugisse." + +[42] 4tos. _Ile_. + +[43] 4to. 1624. innocents. + +[44] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xvi. 4. + +[45] 4to. I'd. + +[46] 4to. 1624. Aegamemnon. + +[47] This magnificent speech is quoted in Charles Lamb's _Specimens_. + +[48] 4tos. I'd. + +[49] "Nec quisquam defendere audebat, crebris multorum minis restinguere +prohibentium, et quia alii palam faces iaciebant atque esse sibi +auctorem vociferabantur, sive ut raptus licentius exercerent, seu +jussu."--Tac. Ann. xv. 37. + +[50] The simile is from Vergil, Aen. ii. 304-308-- + + "In segetem veluti quum flamma furentibus Austris + Incidit; aut rapidus montano flumine torrens + Sternit agros, sternit sata laeta boumque labores, + Praecipitesque trahit silvas: stupet inscius alto + Accipiens sonitum saxi de vertice pastor." + +[51] The author may have had in his mind a passage in Dion Cassius' +description of the fire:--[Greek: thorybos te oun exaisios pantachou +pantas katelambanen, kai dietrichon ohi men tae ohi de tae hosper +emplaektoi, kai allois tines epamynontes epynthanonto ta oikoi kaiomena +kai heteroi prin kai akousai hoti ton spheteron ti empepraestai, + +emanthanon, hoti apololen. XB. 16]. + +[52] 4tos. _Cannos_. + +[53] 4tos. _Allius_. + +[54] The 4tos. give "thee gets." I feel confident that my emendation +restores the true reading. + +[55] The reading of the 4tos. is the, "The most condemned," &c. A tribe +named the "Moschi" (of whom mention is made in Herodotus) dwelt a little +to the south of the Colchians. + +[56] So the 4tos. "Low hate" is nonsense. "_Long_ and native hate" would +be spiritless; while "_bow and arrow laid_ apart" involves far too +violent a change. I reluctantly give the passage up. + +[57] I suppose that the sentence is left unfinished; but perhaps it is +more likely that the text is corrupt. + +[58] Quy. I now command the _Souldiery i'the Citie_. + +[59] Sc. descendants. Vid. Nares, s.v. + +[60] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 53. + +[61] 4tos. losse. + +[62] 4tos. soft. + +[63] Quy. they.--The passage, despite its obscurity of expression, +seems to me intelligible; but I dare not venture to paraphrase it. + +[64] 4tos. are we. + +[65] "Call me cut" meant commonly nothing more than Falstaff's "call +me horse"; but as applied to Sporus the term "cutt-boy" was literally +correct. For what follows in the text cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. cap. 28. + +[66] 4to. Subius, Flavius. + +[67] Quy. "I, [sc. aye] to himselfe; 'twould make the matter +cleare," &c. + +[68] 4tos. _Gallii_. Our author is imitating Juvenal +(Sat. x. ll. 99-102):-- + + "Huius qui trahitur praetextam sumere mavis, + An Fidenarum Gabiorumque esse potestas + Et de mensura ius dicere, vasa minora + Frangere, pannosus vacuis Aedilis Ulubris?" + +[69] Cf. Tacitus, Annals, xv. 59. + +[70] 4tos. refuge. + +[71] Quy. _Euphrates_. + +[72] According to Tacitus, Piso retired to his house and there opened +his veins. Vid. Ann. xv. 59. + +[73] Cf. Shakespeare, "Make mad the guilty and appal the free." +Hamlet, II. 2. + +[74] So the 4tos; but Quy. + + "The Emperour's much pleas'd + _That_ some have named _Seneca_." + +[75] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 45; Sueton. Vit. Ner. 32. + +[76] In Tacitus' account (Ann. xv. 67) the climax is curious:-- +"'Oderam te,' inquit; 'nec quisquam tibi fidelior militum fuit dum +amari meruisti: odisse coepi, postquam parricida matris et uxoris, +auriga et histrio et incendiarius extitisti.'" + +[77] The verses would run better thus:-- + + "A feeling one; _Tigellinus_, bee't thy charge, + And let me see thee witty in't. + + _Tigell_. Come, sirrah; + Weele see." &c. + +[78] Quy. was oreheard to say. + +[79] 4tos. your. + +[80] Quy. even skies. + +[81] Quy. I'the firmament. + +[82] 4tos. loath by. + +[83] Martial, in a clever but coarse epigram (lib. xi. 56), ridicules +the Stoic's contempt of death:-- + + "Hanc tibi virtutem fracta facit urceus ansa, + Et tristis nullo qui tepet igne focus, + Et teges et cimex et nudi sponda grabati, + Et brevis atque eadem nocte dieque toga. + O quam magnus homo es, qui faece rubentis aceti + Et stipula et nigro pane carere potes. + * * * * * + Rebus in angustis facile est contemnere vitam: + Fortiter ille facit qui miser esse potest." + +[84] Cf. Juv. Sat. v. 36, 37:-- + + "Quale coronati Thrasea Helvidiusque bibebant, + Brutorum et Cassi natalibus." + +The younger Pliny (Ep. iii. 7) relates that Eilius Italicus religiously +observed Vergil's birthday. + +[85] The 4tos. punctuate thus:-- + + "Here faire _Enanthe_, whose plumpe ruddy cheeke + Exceeds the grape, it makes this; here my geyrle." + +Petronius is speaking hurriedly. He begins to answer _Enanthe's_ +question: "it makes this" (i.e. "means this"), he says, but breaks off +his explanation, and pledges his mistress. + +[86] 4tos. walles. + +[87] 4tos. Ith. + +[88] "Non cuivis homini contingit adire Corinthum." Horat. Epist. i. 17, +36 ([Greek: ou pantos andros es Korinthon esth' ho plous]). + +[89] Quy. Th'old _Anicean_ (sc. Anacreon). + +[90] A paraphrase of Horace's well-known lines: + + "Linquenda tellus, et domus, et placens + Uxor; neque harum, quas colis, arborum, + Te, praeter invisas cupressos, + Ulla brevem dominum sequeter." + +--Odes, ii. 14, ll. 21-29. + +[91] 4to. your. + +[92] 4tos. thy. + +[93] Cf. Horace, Od. i. 12, ll. 37, 38:-- + + "Regulum, et Scauros _animaeque magnae + Prodigum_ Paulum." + +[94] Vid. Tacitus, Ann. xi. 11; Sueton. Vit. Ner. 6. + +[95] 4tos. have. + +[96] 4tos. night. + +[97] The punning on the fairies' names recalls Bottom's pleasantries +(M.N.D. iii. 1), and the resemblance is certainly too close to be +accidental. + +[98] "Uncoth" here = wild, unfrequented; Cf. _As You Like It_, ii. 6, +"If this _uncouth_ forest yield anything savage," &c. + +[99] A "Hunts up" was a hunting song, a r�veill�e, to rouse the hunters. +An example of a "_Hunts up_" may be found, set to music by J. Bennet, in +a collection of Ravenscroft, 1614. + +[100] Quy. "kind;" but our author is not very particular about his +rhymes. + +[101] "Rascal" was the regular name for a lean deer (_As You like It_, +iii. 3, &c.). + +[102] The whole scene is printed as verse in the 4to. + +[103] This very uncommon word (French: l�g�ret�) occurs in _Henry V_. +(iv. i. l. 23). + +[104] More commonly written "cote," a cottage. + +[105] To "draw dry foot" meant to follow by the scent. +(_Com. of Errors_, iv. 2.) + +[106] No doubt the writer had in his mind the description of +"Morpheus house" in the _Faerie Queene_ (Book i., Canto I). + +[107] "Whisht" (more commonly "whist") = hushed, stilled. Cf. Milton, +_Ode on the Nativity_:-- + + "The winds with wonder _whist_ + Smoothly the waters kist." + +[108] "Plancher" (Fr. planche) = a plank. Cf. _Arden of Feversham_, +I. i. "Whilst on the _planchers_ pants his weary body," Shakespeare +(_Measure for Measure_, iv. 1) has "a _planched_ gate." + +[109] "Incontinent" = immediately. The expression is very common +(_Richard II_., v. 6, &c.). + +[110] These verses and Frisco's "Can you blow the little horne"? are +evidently fragments of Old Ballads--to be recovered, let us hope, +hereafter. + +[111] These four lines are from the old ballad of _Fortune my foe_, +which will be found printed entire in the _Bagford Ballads_ (Ed. J.W. +Ebsworth, part iv. pp. 962-3); the music is given in Mr. W. Chappell's +_Popular Music of the Olden Time_, I. 162. Mr. Ebsworth writes me:-- +"I have ascertained (assuredly) that what I at first thought to be a +reference to 'Fortune my foe' in the Stationers' Registers, 1565-66, +entered to John Charlewood (_Arber's Transcripts_, l. 310), as 'of one +complaining of ye mutabilitie of Fortune' is _not_ 'Fortune my foe,' but +one of Lempill's ballads, printed by R. Lekpriwicke (_sic_), and still +extant in the Huth Collections--the true title being 'Ane Complaint vpon +Fortoun;' beginning 'Inconstant world, fragill and friuolus.'" + +[112] Nares quotes from Chapman's _May Day_, "Lord, how you roll in your +_rope-ripe_ terms." Minshew explains the word as "one ripe for a rope, +or for whom the gallows groans." I find the expression "to rowle in +their ropripe termes" in William Bullein's rare and curious "Dialogue +both pleasaunt and pietiful," 1573, p. 116. + +[113] A very common term for a pimp. + +[114] "Bale of dice"--a pair of dice; the expression occurs in the +_New Inn_, I. 3, &c. + +[115] This song is set to music in an old collection by Ravenscroft, +1614. + +[116] More usually written "mammets," i.e., puppets (_Rom. & Jul_. +iii. 5; though, no doubt, in _Hen. IV_., ii. 3, Gifford was right +in connecting the word with Lat. mamma). + +[117] Cf. Drayton's _Fairy Wedding_:-- + + "Besides he's deft and wondrous airy, + And of the noblest of the fairy! + Chiefe of the Crickets of much fame + In fairy a most ancient name." + +So in _Merry Wives_, v. 5, l. 47. + +[118] Quy. What kind o' God, &c. + +[119] "There is a kind of crab-tree also or _wilding_ that in like +manner beareth twice a yeare." Holland's Plinie, b. xvi. + +[120] "Assoyle" usually = _absolve_; here _resolve, explain_. + +[121] The italics are my own, as I suppose that the four lines were +intended to be sung. + +[122] 4to. It is, it is not, &c. + +[123] The sense of "fine, rare," rather than that of "frequent, +abundant" (as Nares explains), would seem to suit the passages in +Shakespeare and elsewhere where the word is used colloquially. + +[124] "Sib" = akin. Possibly the word still lingers in the North +Country: Sir Walter Scott uses it in the _Antiquary_, &c. + +[125] "Wonning" sc. dwelling (Germ. wohnen). Spenser frequently uses +the word. + +[126] A Spenserian passage (as Mr. Collier has pointed out): vid. F.Q., +B. 2. C. xii. 71. + +[127] 4to. then. + +[128] 4to. And here she woman. + +[129] "Caul" = part of a lady's head-dress: "reticulum crinale vel +retiolum," Withals' Dictionarie, 1608 (quoted by Nares). + +[130] "The battaile. The Combattantes Sir Ambrose Vaux, knight, and +Glascott the Bayley of Southwarke: the place the Rule of the Kings +Bench." + +[131] In some copies the name "John Kirke" is given in full. + +[132] _Bottom_ = a ball of worsted. George Herbert in a letter to his +mother says: "Happy is he whose _bottom_ is wound up, and laid ready +for work in the New Jerusalem." So in the _Virgin Martyr_ (v. 1),--"I, +before the Destinies my _bottom_ did wind up, would flesh myself once +more upon some one remarkable above all these." + +[133] 4to. your. + +[134] Cf. the catalogue of torments in the _Virgin Martyr_ (v. 1). + +[135] The 4to prints the passage thus:-- + + "I have now livd my full time; + Tell me, my _Henricke_, thy brave successe, + That my departing soule + May with thy story," &c. + +Several times further on I shall have to alter the irregular arrangement +of the 4to in order to restore the blank verse; but I shall not think it +necessary to note the alteration. + +[136] 4to, Horne. + +[137] 4to, Aloft. + +[138] The 4to gives '_The_ further,' and in the next line +'_Or_ further.' + +[139] The whole of this scene is printed as verse in the 4to. I have +printed the early part as prose, that the reader's eye may not be +vexed by metrical monstrosities. + +[140] Sharpe i.e. sword. Vid. Halliwell's Dictionary. + +[141] 4to. field. + +[142] Sir Thomas Browne in _Vulgar Errors_ (Book 2, cap. 5) discusses +this curious superstition at length:--'And first we hear it in every +mouth, and in many good authors read it, that a diamond, which is the +hardest of stones, not yielding unto steel, emery, or any thing but its +own powder, is yet made soft, or broke by the blood of a goat. Thus much +is affirmed by Pliny, Solinus, Albertus, Cyprian, Austin, Isidore, and +many Christian writers: alluding herein unto the heart of man, and the +precious blood of our Saviour, who was typified by the goat that was +slain, and the scape goat in the wilderness: and at the effusion of +whose blood, not only the hard hearts of his enemies relented, but the +stony rocks and veil of the temple were shattered,' &c. + +[143] The expression, to 'carry coals' (i.e. to put up with insults) is +too common to need illustration. + +[144] 4to. deaths prey. The change restores the metre. + +[145] 'Owe' for 'own' is very common in Shakespeare. + +[146] The 4to. prints this scene throughout as verse. + +[147] 'Larroones,' from Fr. _larron_ (a thief). Cf. Nabbes' _Bride_, +iii. 3. 'Remercie, Monsieur. Voe call a me Cooke now! de greasie +_Larone_!' + +[148] Quy. rogues. + +[149] Quy. had. There seems to be a reference to Stephen's martyrdom +described in _The Acts_. + +[150] "Black Jack" and "bombard" were names given to wide leathern +drinking-vessels. + +[151] A term in venery. + +[152] A hound's chaps were called "flews". + +[153] 'Sparabiles,' nails used by shoemakers. Nares quotes Herrick: + + Cob clouts his shoes, and, as the story tells, + His thumb-nailes par'd afford him sperrables.' + +The word is of uncertain derivation. + +[154] 4to. recovering. + +[155] 'Champion' is the old form of 'champain.' + +[156] 'Diet-bread' was the name given to a sort of sweet seedcake: +Vid. Nares' Glossary. + +[157] Quy. Oh! what cold, famine, &c. + +[158] For an account of the "bezoar nut" and the Unicorn's horn vid. +Sir Thomas Browne's "Vulgar Errors," book iii. cap. xxiii. + +[159] Vid. Liddell and Scott, s.v. [Greek: hypostasis]. + +[160] Sc. diaphoretick ([Greek: diaphoraetikos]), causing perspiration. + +[161] _Rabby Roses_ is no doubt a corruption of _Averroes_, the famous +editor of Aristotle, and author of numerous treatises on theological and +medical subjects. + +[162] Sir Thomas Browne (_Vulgar Errors_, I. vii.) quotes from Pierius +another strange cure for a scorpion's bite, "to sit upon an ass with +one's face towards his tail, for so the pain leaveth the man and passeth +into the beast." + +[163] "Bandogs" (or, more correctly speaking, "band-dogs")--dogs that +had to be kept chained on account of their fierceness. + +[164] (4to): men. + +[165] 'Carbonardoed'--cut into collops for grilling: a common +expression. + +[166] 'Rochet.' + +"A linen vest, like a surplice, worn by bishops, under their satin +robes. The word, it is true, is not obsolete, nor the thing disused, but +it is little known."--Nares. ("Lent unto thomas Dowton, the 11 of Aprel +1598, to bye tafitie to macke a _Rochet_ for the beshoppe in earlle good +wine, xxiiii s." Henslowe's Diary, ed. Collier, p. 122.) + +[167] (4to): by. + +[168] The word "portage" occurs in a difficult passage of +_Pericles_, iii. 1,-- + + "Even at the first + Thy loss is more than can thy _portage_ quit + With all thou canst find here." + +If there be no corruption in the passage of _Pericles_, the meaning can +only be (as Steevens explained) "thy safe arrival at the port of life." +Our author's use of the word "portage" is even more perplexing than +Shakespeare's; "Thy portion" would give excellent sense; but, with the +passage of _Pericles_ before us, we cannot suppose that there is a +printer's error. [In _Henry V_. 3, i, we find 'portage' for +'port-holes.'] + +[169] Quy. ever? + +[170] The subst. _mouse_ is sometimes found as an innocent term of +endearment, but more often in a wanton sense (like the Lat. passer). + +[171] 'Felt locks'--matted locks, commonly called "elf-locks": the +various forms "felted," "felter'd" and "feutred" are found. + +[172] 'Stavesucre' (said to be a corruption of [Greek: staphis]. and +usually written 'Staves-acre') a kind of lark-spur considered +efficacious in destroying lice. Cf. Marlowe's _Dr. Faustus_ (i. 4)-- +'Stavesacre? that's good to kill vermin; then belike, if I serve you, +I shall be lousy.' + +[173] Quy. early-rioting. + +[174] Ought we to read 'fins'? Webster (_Duchess of Malfi_, ii. 1) has +the expression the '_fins_ of her eye-lids'; it is found also in the +_Malcontent_ (i. 1), The confusion between the 'f' and the long 's' is +very common. + +[175] Shakespeare uses the verb 'fang' (_Timon of Athens_, iv. 3) in the +sense of 'seize, clutch.' + +[176] Varlet--'the serjeant-at-mace to the city counters was so called,' +Halliwell (who, however, gives no instance of this use). + +[177] 'Trunk-hose' wide breeches stuffed with wool, &c. + +[178] I can make nothing of this verse: the obscurity is not at all +removed by putting a comma after 'rules.' Doubtless the passage is +corrupt. + +[179] _Our rest we set_ in pleasing, &c., i.e., we have made up our +mind to please. The metaphor is taken from primero (a game, seemingly, +not unlike the Yankee 'poker'), where to 'set up rest' meant to stand +on one's cards; but the expression was also used in a military sense. +Vid: Furness' Variorum Shakesp., _Rom. & Iul_., iv. 5. + +[180] In Vol. IX. of the _Transactions of the Royal Historical Society_ +is an elaborate paper (since reprinted for private circulation) by the +Rev. F.G. Fleay 'On the Actor Lists, 1538-1642.' The learned writer +tells us nothing new about Samuel Rowley; but his essay well deserves +a careful study. + +[181] Quy. a _fury's_ face. + +[182] 'Lacrymae'--one of the many allusions to John Dowland's musical +work of that name. + +[183] 'Laugh and lay down' (more usually written 'lie down') was the +name of a game at cards. A prose-tract by 'C.T.,' published in 1605, is +entitled 'Laugh and Lie Down: or the World's Folly.' The expression, it +need hardly be said, is often used in a wanton sense. + +[184] 4to. joyes. + +[185] Quy. prove. + +[186] Much of this scene is found, almost word for word, in colloquy 4 +of John Day's _Parliament of Bees_. + +[187] One of the characters in the _New Inn_ is Fly, 'the Parasite of +the Inn'; and in the _Virgin Martyr_ (ii. 2) we also find the word 'fly' +used (like Lat. musca) for an inquisitive person. In the text I suspect +we should read 'fly-about' for flye-boat. + +[188] 'Blacke gard' was the name given to the lowest drudges who rode +amongst the pots and pans in royal processions: vid. Gifford's _Jonson_, +II. 169. + +[189] The compositor seems to have been dozing: the word 'Vaw' points to +the reading 'Vaward,' and probably the passage ran--'this the Vaward, +this the Rearward.' + +[190] 'Totter'd' i.e. tatter'd. Cf. _Richard II_. (iii. 3) 'the castle's +totter'd battlements' (the reading of the 4to.; the Folios give +'tatter'd'). In _King John_ (v. 5) I think, with Staunton, that the +expression 'tott'ring colours' means 'drooping colours' rather than, as +usually explained, 'tattered.' + +[191] 'Spurn-point--An old game mentioned in a curious play called +_Apollo Shroving_, 12mo., Lond. 1627, p. 49.' Halliwell. + +[192] 'Grandoes'--I find the word so spelt in Heywood's _A Challenge for +Beauty_--'I, and I assure your Ladiship, ally'de to the best Grandoes of +_Spaine_.' (_Works_, v. 18.) + +[193] 4to. _Albia_. + +[194] Cornego is telling the Captain to 'duck'--to make his bow--to +Onaelia. + +[195] Nares quotes from the _Owles Almanacke_, 1618, p. 6, an allusion +to this worthy,--'Since the _German fencer_ cudgell'd most of our +English fencers, now about 5 moneths past.' + +[196] It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that 'bastard' was the +name of a sweet Spanish wine. + +[197] 'Goll'--A cant expression for 'hand': it is found continually in +our old writers. + +[198] The words 'Some scurvy thing, I warrant' should no doubt be given +to Cornego. + +[199] The conversation between Onaelia and the Poet very closely +resembles, in parts, _Character_ 5 of John Day's _Parliament of Bees_. + +[200] 4to lanch. + +[201] 'The Hanging Tune' i.e. the tune of 'Fortune my Foe,' to which +were usually sung ballads relating to murders. The music of 'Fortune my +Foe,' is given in Mr. Chappell's 'Popular Music of the Olden Time'; and +the words may be seen in the 'Bayford Ballads' (edited by Mr. Ebsworth, +our greatest master of ballad-lore). + +[202] Cf. Dekker's _Match me in London_ (Dramatic Works, iv. 180)-- + + 'I doe speake _English_ + When I'de move pittie; when dissemble, _Irish_; + _Dutch_ when I reele; and tho I feed on scalions + _If I should brag Gentility I'de gabble Welch_.' + +[203] Cf. Day's _Parliament of Bees_, Character 4. + +[204] 'Estridge' is the common form of 'ostrich' among the Elizabethans +(I Henry IV., iv. 1, &c). + +[205] "Poire d'angoisse. _A choke-Peare; or a wild soure Peare_." +Cotgrave. + +[206] 4to. Moble. + +[207] Quy. head. + +[208] "Prick-song"--"harmony written or pricked down, in opposition to +plain-song, where the descant rested with the will of the singer." +Chappell's _Popular Music_, &c., I. 51. + +[209] The keys of the 'virginal' were called 'Jacks.' For a description +of the 'virginal' see Mr. Chappell's _Popular Music_, &c. I, 103. + +[210] 'Coranta' i.e. curranto, news-sheet: Ben Jonson's 'Staple of News' +gives us a good notion of the absurdities that used to be circulated. + +[211] 'Linstocke' (or, more correctly, 'lint-stock')--a stick for +holding a gunner's match. + +[212] Toot--to pry into: 'tooter' was formerly the name for a 'tout' +(vid. Todd's Johnson). + +[213] 'Aphorisme. _An Aphorisme (or generall rule in Physicke)_.' +Cotgrave. + +[214] 4to. creaking. + +[215] Rosemary was used at marriages and funerals. + +[216] Day dedicates his _Humour out of Breath_ to 'Signeor Nobody': +'Signeor No,' the shorter form, is not unfrequently found (e.g. _Ile of +Guls_, p. 59--my reprint). To whatever advantage _No_ may have appeared +on the stage, he certainly is a pitiful object in print. + +[217] _Baltazar's_ notions of Geography are vague. A most interesting +account of Bantam, the capital of Java, may be seen in Vol. v. of +Hakluyt's 'Collection of early Voyages,' ed. 1812. It occurs in the +_Description of a Voyage made by certain Ships of Holland to the East +Indies &c. ... Translated out of Dutch into English by W.P. London_. +1589. 'The towne,' we are told, 'is not built with streetes nor the +houses placed in order, but very foule, lying full of filthy water, +which men must passe through or leap over for they have no bridges.' +For the people--'it is a very lying and theevish kind of people, not +in any sort to be trusted.' + +[218] The 'magical weed' I take to be hemlock; cf. Ben Jonson's _Masque +of Queens_-- + + 'And I have been plucking, plants among, + Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue + Night-shade, moon-wort, libbard's bane + And twice, by the dogs, was like to be ta'en.' + +[219] The poisoned 'Spanish fig' acquired considerable notoriety among +the early Dramatists: cf. Webster, _White_ Devil (p. 30, ed. Dyce, +1857.) 'I do look now for a _Spanish fig_ or an Italian salad daily': +Dekker. (iv. 213, Pearson) 'Now doe I looke for a fig': whether Pistol's +allusion (Henry V, iii. 6) is to the poisoned fig may be doubted. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Old English Plays, Vol. I, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. I *** + +***** This file should be named 10388-8.txt or 10388-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/3/8/10388/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS," WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/10388-8.zip b/old/10388-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..abbf6f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10388-8.zip diff --git a/old/10388.txt b/old/10388.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba0d2ea --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10388.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13926 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Old English Plays, Vol. I, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Old English Plays, Vol. I + A Collection of Old English Plays + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December 5, 2003 [EBook #10388] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. I *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +A COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. I + +In Four Volumes + + +EDITED BY + +A.H. BULLEN. + + +1882-1889 + + + +CONTENTS: + +The Tragedy of Nero +The Mayde's Metamorphosis +The Martyr'd Souldier +The Noble Souldier + + + + +_PREFACE_. + + +Most of the Plays in the present Collection have not been reprinted, +and some have not been printed at all. In the second volume there will +be published for the first time a fine tragedy (hitherto quite unknown) +by Massinger and Fletcher, and a lively comedy (also quite unknown) +by James Shirley. The recovery of these two pieces should be of +considerable interest to all students of dramatic literature. + +The Editor hopes to give in Vol. III. an unpublished play of Thomas +Heywood. In the fourth volume there will be a reprint of the _Arden of +Feversham_, from the excessively rare quarto of 1592. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE _TRAGEDY OF NERO_. + + +Of the many irreparable losses sustained by classical literature few are +more to be deplored than the loss of the closing chapters of Tacitus' +_Annals_. Nero, it is true, is a far less complex character than +Tiberius; and there can be no question that Tacitus' sketch of Nero is +less elaborate than his study of the elder tyrant. Indeed, no historical +figure stands out for all time with features of such hideous vividness +as Tacitus' portrait of Tiberius; nowhere do we find emphasised with +such terrible earnestness, the stoical poet's anathema against tyrants +"Virtutem videant intabescantque relicta." Other writers would have +turned back sickened from the task of following Tiberius through mazes +of cruelty and craft. But Tacitus pursues his victim with the patience +of a sleuth-hound; he seems to find a ruthless satisfaction in stripping +the soul of its coverings; he treads the floor of hell and watches with +equanimity the writhings of the damned. The reader is at once strangely +attracted and repelled by the pages of Tacitus; there is a weird +fascination that holds him fast, as the glittering eye of the Ancient +Mariner held the Wedding Guest. It was owing partly, no doubt, to the +hideousness of the subject that the Elizabethan Dramatists shrank from +seeking materials in the _Annals_; but hardly the abominations of Nero +or Tiberius could daunt such daring spirits as Webster or Ford. Rather +we must impute their silence to the powerful mastery of Tacitus; it was +awe that held them from treading in the historian's steps. Ben Jonson +ventured on the enchanted ground; but not all the fine old poet's wealth +of classical learning, not his observance of the dramatic proprieties +nor his masculine intellect, could put life into the dead bones of +Sejanus or conjure up the muffled sinister figure of Tiberius. Where Ben +Jonson failed, the unknown author of the _Tragedy of Nero_ has, to some +extent, succeeded. + +After reading the first few opening-lines the reader feels at once that +this forgotten old play is the work of no ordinary man. The brilliant +scornful figure of Petronius, a character admirably sustained +throughout, rivets his attention from the first. In the blank verse +there is the true dramatic ring, and the style is "full and heightened." +As we read on we have no cause for disappointment. The second scene +which shows us the citizens hurrying to witness the triumphant entry of +Nero, is vigorous and animated. Nero's boasting is pitched in just the +right key; bombast and eloquence are equally mixt. If he had been living +in our own day Nero might possibly have made an ephemeral name for +himself among the writers of the Sub-Swinburnian School. His longer +poems were, no doubt, nerveless and insipid, deserving the scornful +criticism of Tacitus and Persius; but the fragments preserved by Seneca +shew that he had some skill in polishing far-fetched conceits. Our +playwright has not fallen into the error of making Nero "out-Herod +Herod"; through the crazy raptures we see the ruins of a nobler nature. +Poppaea's arrowy sarcasms, her contemptuous impatience and adroit tact +are admirable. The fine irony of the following passage is certainly +noticeable:-- + + "_Pop_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe + Honors, safe spoyles, worm without dust or blood. + + _Nero_. What, mocke ye me, Poppaea. + + _Pop_. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in earnest: + I hate that headie and adventurous crew + That goe to loose their owne to purchase but + The breath of others and the common voyce; + Them that will loose their hearing for a sound, + That by death onely seeke to get a living, + Make skarres their beautie and count losse of Limmes + The commendation of a proper man, + And so goe halting to immortality,-- + Such fooles I love worse then they doe their lives." + +It is indeed strange to find such lines as those in the work of an +unknown author. The verses gain strength as they advance, and the +diction is terse and keen. This one short extract would suffice to show +that the writer was a literary craftsman of a very high order. + +In the fourth scene, where the conspirators are met, the writer's power +is no less strikingly shown. Here, if anywhere, his evil genius might +have led him astray; for no temptation is stronger than the desire to +indulge in rhetorical displays. Even the author of _Bothwell_, despite +his wonderful command of language, wearies us at times by his vehement +iteration. Our unknown playwright has guarded himself against this +fault; and, steeped as he was to the lips in classical learning, his +abstinence must have cost him some trouble. My notes will shew that he +had not confined himself to Tacitus, but had studied Suetonius and Dion +Cassius, Juvenal and Persius. He makes no parade of his learning, but we +see that he has lived among his characters, leaving no source of +information unexplored. The meeting of the conspirators is brought +before our eyes with wonderful vividness. Scevinus' opening speech glows +and rings with indignation. Seneca, in more temperate language, bewails +the fall of the high hopes that he had conceived of his former pupil, +finely moralizing that "High fortunes, like strong wines, do trie their +vessels." Some spirited lines are put into Lucan's mouth:-- + + "But to throw downe the walls and Gates of Rome + To make an entrance for an Hobby-horse; + To vaunt to th'people his ridiculous spoyles; + To come with Lawrell and with Olyves crown'd + For having been the worst of all the singers, + Is beyond Patience!" + +In another passage the grandiloquence and the vanity of the poet of the +_Pharsalia_ are well depicted. + +The second act opens with Antonius' suit to Poppaea, which is full of +passion and poetry, but is not allowed to usurp too much room in the +progress of the play. Then, in fine contrast to the grovelling servility +of the Emperor's creatures, we see the erect figure of the grand stoic +philosopher, Persius' tutor, Cornutus, whose free-spokenness procures +him banishment. Afterwards follows a second conference of the +conspirators, in which scene the author has followed closely in the +steps of Tacitus. + +One of the most life-like passages in the play is at the beginning of +the third act, where Nimphidius describes to Poppaea how the weary +audience were imprisoned in the theatre during Nero's performance, with +guards stationed at the doors, and spies on all sides scanning each +man's face to note down every smile or frown. Our author draws largely +upon Tacitus and the highly-coloured account of Suetonius; but he has, +besides, a telling way of his own, and some of his lines are very happy. +Poppaea's wit bites shrewdly; and even Nimphidius' wicked breast must +have been chilled at such bitter jesting as:-- + + "How did our Princely husband act _Orestes_? + Did he not wish againe his Mother living? + _Her death would add great life unto his part_." + +As Nero approaches his crowning act of wickedness, the burning of Rome, +his words assume a grim intensity. The invocation to the severe powers +is the language of a man at strife at once with the whole world and +himself. In the representation of the burning of Rome it will perhaps be +thought that the author hardly rises to the height of his theme. The +Vergilian simile put into the mouth of Antonius is distinctly misplaced; +but as our author so seldom offends in this respect he may be pardoned +for the nonce. It may seem a somewhat crude treatment to introduce a +mother mourning for her burnt child, and a son weeping over the body of +his father; but the naturalness of the language and the absence of +extravagance must be commended. Some of the lines have the ring of +genuine pathos, as here:-- + + "Where are thy counsels, where thy good examples? + _And that kind roughness of a Father's anger_?" + +The scene immediately preceding contains the noble speech of Petronius +quoted by Charles Lamb in the _Specimens_. In a space of twenty lines +the author has concentrated a world of wisdom. One knows not whether to +admire more the justness of the thought or the exquisite finish of the +diction. Few finer things have been said on the _raison d'etre_ of +tragedy from the time when Aristotle in the _Poetics_ formulated his +memorable dictum. The admirable rhythmical flow should be noted. There +is a rare suppleness and strength in the verses; we could not put one +line before another without destroying the effect of the whole; no verse +stands out obstinately from its fellows, but all are knit firmly, yet +lightly, together: and a line of magnificent strength fitly closes a +magnificent passage. Hardly a sonnet of Shakespeare or Mr. Rossetti +could be more perfect. + +At the beginning of the fourth act, when the freedman Milichus discloses +Piso's conspiracy, Nero's trepidation is well depicted. It is curious +that among the conspirators the author should not have introduced the +dauntless woman, Epicharis, who refused under the most cruel tortures to +betray the names of her accomplices, and after biting out her tongue +died from the sufferings that she had endured on the rack. "There," as +mad Hieronymo said, "you could show a passion." Even Tacitus, who +upbraids the other conspirators with pusillanimity, marks his admiration +of this noble woman. No reader will quarrel with the playwright if he +has thought fit to paint the conspirators in brighter colours than the +historian had done. When Scevinus is speaking we seem to be listening to +the voice of Shakespeare's Cassius: witness the exhortation to Piso,-- + + "O _Piso_ thinke, + Thinke on that day when in the _Parthian_ fields + Thou cryedst to th'flying Legions to turne + And looke Death in the face; he was not grim, + But faire and lovely when he came in armes." + +The character of Piso, for whom Tacitus shows such undisguised contempt, +is drawn with kindliness and sympathy. Seneca, too, who meets with +grudging praise from the stern historian, stands out ennobled in the +play. His bearing in the presence of death is admirably dignified; and +the polite philosopher, whose words were so faultless and whose deeds +were so faulty, could hardly have improved upon the chaste diction of +the farewell address assigned him by the playwright. + +While Seneca's grave wise words are still ringing in our ears we are +called to watch a leave-taking of a different kind. No reader of the +_Annals_ can ever forget the strange description of the end of +Petronius;--how the man whose whole life had "gone, like a revel, by" +neither faltered, when he heard his doom pronounced, nor changed a whit +his wonted gaiety; but dying, as he had lived, in abandoned luxury, sent +under seal to the emperor, in lieu of flatteries, the unblushing record +of their common vices. The obscure playwright is no less impressive than +the world-renowned historian. While Antonius and Enanthe are picturing +to themselves the consternation into which Petronius will be thrown by +the emperor's edict, the object of their commiseration presents himself. +Briefly dismissing the centurion, he turns with kindling cheek to his +scared mistress--"Come, let us drink and dash the posts with wine!" +Then he discourses on the blessings of death; he begins in a +semi-ironical vein, but soon, forgetful of his auditors, is borne away +on the wings of ecstacy. The intense realism of the writing is +appalling. He speaks as a "prophet new inspired," and we listen in +wonderment and awe. The language is amazingly strong and rich, and the +imagination gorgeous. + +At the beginning of the fifth act comes the news of the rising of Julius +Vindex. Like a true coward Nero makes light of the distant danger; but +when the rumours fly thick and fast he gives way to womanish +passionateness, idly upbraiding the gods instead of consulting for his +own safety. His despair and terror when he perceives the inevitable doom +are powerfully rendered. The fear of the after-world makes him long for +annihilation; his imagination presents to him "the furies arm'd with +linkes, with whippes, with snakes," and he dreads to meet his mother and +those "troopes of slaughtered friends" before the tribunal of the Judge + + "That will not leave unto authoritie, + Nor favour the oppressions of the great." + +But, fine as it undoubtedly is, the closing scene of the play bears no +comparison with the pathetic narrative of Suetonius. Riding out, +muffled, from Rome amid thunder and lightning, attended but by four +followers, the doomed emperor hears from the neighbouring camp the +shouts of the soldiers cursing the name of Nero and calling down +blessings on Galba. Passing some wayfarers on the road, he hears one of +them whisper, "Hi Neronem persequuntur;" and another asks, "Ecquid in +urbe novi de Nerone?" Further on his horse takes fright, terrified by +the stench from a corpse that lay in the road-side: in the confusion the +emperor's face is uncovered, and at that moment he is recognized and +saluted by a Praetorian soldier who is riding towards the City. Reaching +a by-path, they dismount and make their way hardly through reeds and +thickets. When his attendant, Phaon, urged him to conceal himself in a +sandpit, Nero "negavit se vivum sub terram iturum;" but soon, creeping +on hands and knees into a cavern's mouth, he spread a tattered coverlet +over himself and lay down to rest. And now the pangs of hunger and +thirst racked him; but he refused the coarse bread that his attendants +offered, only taking a draught of warm water. Then he bade his +attendants dig his grave and get faggots and fire, that his body might +be saved from indignities; and while these preparations were being made +he kept moaning "qualis artifex pereo!" Presently comes a messenger +bringing news that Nero had been adjudged an "enemy" by the senate and +sentenced to be punished "more majorum." Enquiring the nature of the +punishment, and learning that it consisted in fastening the criminal's +neck to a fork and scourging him, naked, to death, the wretched emperor +hastily snatched a pair of daggers and tried the edges; but his courage +failed him and he put them by, saying that "not yet was the fatal moment +at hand." At one time he begged some one of his attendants to show him +an example of fortitude by dying first; at another he chid himself for +his own irresolution, exclaiming: [Greek: "ou prepei Neroni, ou +prepei--naephein dei en tois toioutois--age, egeire seauton."] But now +were heard approaching the horsemen who had been commissioned to bring +back the emperor alive. The time for wavering was over: hurriedly +ejaculating the line of Homer, + + [Greek: "Hippon m'okypodon amphi ktypos ouata ballei,"] + +he drove the steel into his throat. To the centurion, who pretended that +he had come to his aid and who vainly tried to stanch the wound, he +replied "_Sero_, et _Haec est fides_!" and expired. + +Such is the tragic tale of horror told by Suetonius. Nero's last words +in the play "O _Rome_, farewell," &c., seem very poor to "_Sero_ et _Haec +est fides_"; but, if the playwright was young and inexperienced, we can +hardly wonder that his strength failed him at this supreme moment. +Surely the wonder should rather be that we find so many noble passages +throughout this anonymous play. Who the writer may have been I dare not +conjecture. In his fine rhetorical power he resembles Chapman; but he +had a far truer dramatic gift than that great but chaotic writer. He is +never tiresome as Chapman is, who, when he has said a fine thing, seems +often to set himself to undo the effect. His gorgeous imagination and +his daring remind us of Marlowe; the leave-taking of Petronius is +certainly worthy of Marlowe. He is like Marlowe, too, in another +way,--he has no comic power and (wiser, in this respect, than Ford) is +aware of his deficiency. We find in _Nero_ none of those touches of +swift subtle pathos that dazzle us in the _Duchess of Malfy_; but we +find strokes of sarcasm no less keen and trenchant. Sometimes in the +ring of the verse and in turns of expression, we seem to catch +Shakespearian echoes; as here-- + + "Staid men suspect their wisedome or their faith, + To whom our counsels we have not reveald; + And while (our party seeking to disgrace) + They traitors call us, each man treason praiseth + _And hateth faith, when Piso is a traitor_." (iv. i); + +or here-- + + "'Cause you were lovely therefore did I love: + O, if to Love you anger you so much, + You should not have such cheekes nor lips to touch: + You should not have your snow nor curral spy'd;-- + _If you but look on us, in vain you chide: + We must not see your Face, nor heare your speech: + Now, while you Love forbid, you Love doe teach_." + +I am inclined to think that the tragedy of _Nero_ was the first and last +attempt of some young student, steeped in classical learning and +attracted by the strange fascination of the _Annals_,--of one who, +failing to gain a hearing at first, never courted the breath of +popularity again; just as the author of _Joseph and his Brethren_, when +his noble poem fell still-born from the press, turned contemptuously +away and preserved thenceforward an unbroken silence. It should be +noticed that the 4to. of 1633 is not really a new edition; it is merely +the 4to. of 1624, with a new title-page. In a copy bearing the later +date I found a few unimportant differences of reading; but no student of +the Elizabethan drama needs to be reminded that _variae lectiones_ not +uncommonly occur in copies of the same edition. The words "newly written" +on the title-page are meant to distinguish the _Tragedy of Nero_ from +the wretched _Tragedy of Claudius Tiberius Nero_ published in 1607. + +But now I will bring my remarks to a close. It has been at once a pride +and a pleasure to me to rescue this fine old play from undeserved +oblivion. There is but one living poet whose genius could treat worthily +the tragical story of Nero's life and death. In his three noble sonnets, +"The Emperor's Progress," Mr. Swinburne shows that he has pondered the +subject deeply: if ever he should give us a Tragedy of Nero, we may be +sure that one more deathless contribution would be added to our dramatic +literature. + + + + +_Addenda_ and _Corrigenda_. + + +After _Nero_ had been printed I found among the Egerton MSS. (No. 1994), +in the British Museum, a transcript in a contemporary hand. The precious +folio to which it belongs contains fifteen plays: of these some will be +printed entire in Vols. II and III, and a full account of the other +pieces will be given in an appendix to Vol. II. The transcript of _Nero_ +is not by any means so accurate as the printed copy; and sometimes we +meet with the most ridiculous mistakes. For instance, on p. 82 for +"Beauties sweet _Scarres_" the MS. gives "Starres"; on p. 19 for "Nisa" +("not _Bacchus_ drawn from _Nisa_") we find "Nilus"; and in the line +"Nor us, though _Romane, Lais_ will refuse" (p. 81) the MS. pointlessly +reads "Ladies will refuse." On the other hand, many of the readings are +a distinct improvement, and I am glad to find some of my own emendations +confirmed. But let us start _ab initio_:-- + +p. 13, l. 4. 4to. Imperiall tytles; MS. Imperial stuffe. + +p. 14, l. 3. 4to. small grace; MS. sale grace.--The allusion in the +following line to the notorious "dark lights" makes the MS. reading +certain.--Lower down for "and other of thy blindnesses" the MS. gives +"another": neither reading is intelligible. + +p. 17, l. 5. MS. rightly gives "_cleave_ the ayre." + +p. 30, l. 2. "Fatu[m']st in partibus illis || Quas sinus abscondit. +Petron."--added in margin of MS. + +p. 31, l. 17. 4to. _or_ bruised in my fall; MS. _I_ bruised in my +fall! + +p. 32, l. 4. 4to. Shoulder pack't Peleus; MS. Shoulder peac'd. The +MS. confirms my emendation "shoulder-piec'd." + +p. 32, l. 13. 4to. shoutes and noyse; MS. shoutes and triumphs.--From +this point to p. 39 (last line but one) the MS. is defective. + +p. 40, l. 8. 4to. _our_ visitation; MS. _or_ visitation. + +p. 42, l. 11. 4to. others; MS. ours. + +p. 46, l. 22. 4to. Wracke out; MS. wreake not. + +p. 47, l. 17. 4to. Toth' the point of _Agrippa_; MS. tooth' +prince [sic] of Agrippinas. + +p. 54, l. 2. 4to. _Pleides_ burnes; _Jupiter Saturne_ burnes; MS. +_Alcides_ burnes, _Jupiter Stator_ burnes. + +p. 54, l. 23. 4to. thee gets; in MS. _gets_ has been corrected, by +a different hand, into _Getes_. + +p. 54, l. 26. 4to. the most condemned; MS. the ------ condemned: +a blank is unfortunately left in the MS. + +p. 56, l. 20. 4to. writhes; MS. wreathes. + +p. 59, l. 1. MS. I now command the souldyer _of the_ Cyttie. + +p. 61, l. 13. The MS. preserves the three following lines, not found in +the printed copy-- + + "High spirits soaring still at great attempts, + And such whose wisdomes, to their other wrongs, + Distaste the basenesse of the government." + +p. 62, l. 15. 4to. are we; MS. arowe. + +p. 66, l. 4 "Sed quis custodiet ipsos || Custodes. Juvenal"--noted in +margin of MS. + +p. 68, l. 15. 4to. Galley-asses? MS. gallowses. + +p. 69, l. 1. The MS. makes the difficulty even greater by reading-- + + "Silver colour [sic] on the _Medaean_ fields + Not _Tiber_ colour." + +p. 75, l. 2. 4to. One that in whispering oreheard; MS. one that this +fellow whispring I oreharde. + +p. 78, l. 22. 4to. from whence _it_ first let down; MS. from whence _at_ +first let down. + +p. 80. In note (1) for "Eilius Italicus" read "Silius Italicus." + +p. 127. In note (2) for "_Henry IV_" read _I Henry IV_. + +p. 182, l. 6. Dele [?]. The sense is quite plain if we remember that +soldiers degraded on account of misconduct were made "pioners": vid. +commentators on _Othello_, iii. 3. Hence "pioner" is used for "the +meanest, most ignorant soldier." + +p. 228. In note (2) for "earlle good wine" read "Earlle good-wine." + +p. 236. In note (2) after "[Greek: _staphis_] and" add "[Greek: +_agria_]." + +p. 255. The lines "To the reader of this Play" are also found at the end +of T. Heywood's "Royal King and Loyal Subject." + +p. 257, l. 1. I find (on turning to Mr. Arbor's _Transcript_) that the +_Noble Spanish Souldier_ had been previously entered on the Stationers' +Registers (16 May, 1631), by John Jackman, as a work of Dekker's. Since +the sheets have been passing through the press, I have become convinced +that Dekker's share was more considerable than I was willing to allow in +the prefatory _Note_. + +p. 276. Note (2) is misleading; the reading of the 4to "flye-boat" is no +doubt right. "Fly-boat" comes from Span. filibote, flibote--a +fast-sailing vessel. The Dons hastily steer clear of the rude soldier. + +p. 294. In note (1) for "Bayford ballads" read "Bagford Ballads." + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF NERO, + + +_Newly Written_. + + +Imprinted at _London_ by _Augustine Mathewes_, and _John Norton_, for +_Thomas Jones_, and are to bee sold at the blacke Raven in the Strand, +1624. + + + + +The Tragedie of Nero. + + + +_Actus Primus_. + + + Enter _Petronius Arbyter, Antonius Honoratus_. + +_Petron_. Tush, take the wench +I showed thee now, or else some other seeke. +What? can your choler no way be allayed +But with Imperiall tytles? +Will you more tytles[1] unto _Caesar_ give? + +_Anto_. Great are thy fortunes _Nero_, great thy power, +Thy Empyre lymited with natures bounds; +Upon thy ground the Sunne doth set and ryse; +The day and night are thine, +Nor can the Planets, wander where they will, +See that proud earth that feares not _Caesars_ name. +Yet nothing of all this I envy thee; +But her, to whom the world unforst obayes, +Whose eye's more worth then all it lookes upon; +In whom all beautyes Nature hath enclos'd +That through the wide Earth or Heaven are dispos'd. + +_Petron_. Indeed she steales and robs each part o'th world +With borrowed beauties to enflame thine eye: +The Sea, to fetch her Pearle, is div'd into; +The Diomond rocks are cut to make her shine; +To plume her pryde the Birds do naked sing: +When my Enanthe, in a homely gowne-- + +_Anto_. Homely, I faith. + +_Petron_. I, homely in her gowne, +But looke vpon her face and that's set out +With no small grace; no vayled shadowes helpe. +Foole! that hadst rather with false lights and darke +Beguiled be then see the ware thou buyest. + + _Poppea_ royally attended, and passe over the Stage in State. + +_Anto_. Great Queene[2], whom Nature made to be her glory, +Fortune got eies and came to be thy servant, +Honour is proud to be thy tytle; though +Thy beauties doe draw up my soule, yet still +So bright, so glorious is thy Maiestie +That it beates downe againe my clyming thoughts. + +_Petron_. Why, true; +And other of thy blindnesses thou seest[?] +Such one to love thou dar'st not speake unto. +Give me a wench that will be easily had +Not woed with cost, and being sent for comes: +And when I have her foulded in mine armes +Then _Cleopatra_ she, or _Lucres_ is; +Ile give her any title. + +_Anto_. Yet not so much her greatnesse and estate +My hopes disharten as her chastitie. + +_Petron_. Chastitie! foole! a word not knowne in Courts. +Well may it lodge in meane and countrey homes +Where povertie and labour keepes them downe, +Short sleepes and hands made hard with _Thuscan_ Woll, +But never comes to great mens Pallaces +Where ease and riches stirring thoughts beget, +Provoking meates and surfet wines inflame; +Where all there setting forth's but to be wooed, +And wooed they would not be but to be wonne. +Will one man serve _Poppea_? nay, thou shalt +Make her as soone contented with an [one?] eye. + + _Nimphidius_ to them. + +_Nimph_. Whil'st _Nero_ in the streetes his Pageants shewes +I to his fair wives chambers sent for am. +You gracious Starres that smiled on my birth, +And thou bright Starre more powerful then them all, +Whose favouring smiles have made me what I am, +Thou shalt my God, my Fate and fortune be. + [Ex. _Nimph_. + +_Anto_. How sausely yon fellow +Enters the Empresse Chamber. + +_Petron_. I, and her too, _Antonius_, knowest thou him? + +_Anto_. What? knowe the only favorite of the Court? +Indeed, not many dayes ago thou mightest +Have not unlawfully askt that question. + +_Petron_. Why is he rais'd?[3] + +_Anto_. That have I sought in him +But never peece of good desert could find. +He is _Nimphidia's_ sonne, the free'd woman, +Which basenesse to shake off he nothing hath +But his own pride? + +_Petron_. You remember when _Gallus, Celsus_, +And others too, though now forgotten, were +Great in _Poppeas_ eyes? + +_Anton_. I doe, and did interpret it in them +An honorable favor she bare vertue. +Or parts like vertue. + +_Petron_. The cause is one of theirs and this man's Grace. +I once was great in wavering smiles of Court; +I fell, because I knew. Since have I given +My time to my owne pleasures, and would now +Advise thee, too, to meane and safe delights: +The thigh's as soft the sheepes back covereth +As that with crimson and with Gold adorn'd. +Yet, cause I see that thy restraind desires +Cannot their owne way choose, come thou with me; +Perhaps He shew thee means of remedie. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + +1 _Rom_. Whither so fast, man? Whither so fast? + +2 _Rom_. Whither but where your eares do lead you? +To _Neros_ Triumphs and the shouts you heare. + +1 _Rom_ Why? comes he crown'd with _Parthian_ overthrow +And brings he _Volegesus_ with him chain'd? + +2 _Rom_. _Parthian_ overthrowne! why he comes crownd +For victories which never Roman wonne; +For having Greece in her owne arts overthrowne, +In Singing, Dauncing, Horse-rase, Stage-playing. +Never, O Rome had never such a Prince. + +1 _Rom_. Yet, I have heard, our ancestors were crown'd +For other Victories. + +2 _Rom_. None of our ancestors were ere like him. + + _Within: Nero, Apollo, Nero, Hercules_![4] + +1 _Rom_. Harke how th'applauding shouts doe cleave the ayre,[5] +This idle talke will make me loose the sight. + + Two _Romans_ more to them. + +3 _Rom_. Whither goe you? alls done i'th Capytall, +And _Nero_, having there his tables hung +And Garlands up, is to the Pallace gone. +'Twas beyond wonder; I shall never see, +Nay, I never looke to see the like againe: +Eighteen hundred and eight Crownes +For severall victories, and the place set downe +Where, and in what, and whom he overcame. + +4 _Rom_. That was set down ith' tables that were borne +Upon the Souldiers speares. + +1 _Rom_. O made, and sometimes use[d] for other Ends! + +2 _Rom_. But did he winne them all with singing? + +3 _Rom_. Faith, all with singing and with stage-playing. + +1 _Rom_. So many Crowns got with a song! + +4 _Rom_. But did you marke the Greek Musitians +Behind his Chariot, hanging downe their heads, +Sham'd and overcome in their professions? +O Rome was never honour'd so before. + +3 _Rom_. But what was he that rode ith' Chariot with him? + +4 _Rom_. That was _Diodorus_ the Mynstrill that he favours. + +3 _Rom_. Was there ever such a Prince! + +2 _Rom_. O _Nero Augustus_, the true _Augustus!_ + +3 _Rom_. Nay, had you seen him as he rode along +With an _Olimpicke_ Crowne upon his head +And with a _Pythian_ on his arme, you would have thought, +Looking on one, he had _Apollo_ seem'd, +On th'other, _Hercules_. + +2 _Rom_. I have heard my father oft repeat the Triumphs +Which in _Augustus Caesars_ tymes were showne +Upon his Victorie ore the _Illirians_; +But it seemes it was not like to this. + +3 & 4 _Rom_. Push,[6] it could not be like this. + +2, 3 & 4 _Rom_. O _Nero, Appollo, Nero, Hercules! + + [Exeunt 2, 3 & 4 Rom. + + Manet Primus_. + +1 _Rom_. Whether _Augustus_ Triumph greater was +I cannot tell; his Triumphs cause, I know, +Was greater farre and farre more Honourable. +What are wee People, or our flattering voyces +That always shame and foolish things applaud, +Having no sparke of Soule? All eares and eyes, +Pleased with vaine showes, deluded by our sences, +Still enemies to wisedome and to goodnesse. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + Enter _Nero, Poppea, Nimphidius, Epaphroditus, + Neophilus_ and others. + +_Nero_. Now, fayre _Poppea_, see thy Nero shine +In bright _Achaias_ spoyles and Rome in him. +The _Capitall_ hath other Trophies seene +Then it was wont; not spoyles with blood bedew'd +Or the unhappy obsequies of Death, +But such as _Caesars_ cunning, not his force, +Hath wrung from _Greece_ too bragging of her art. + +_Tigell_. And in this strife the glories all your owne, +Your tribunes cannot share this prayse with you; +Here your _Centurions_ hath no part at all, +Bootless your Armies and your Eagles were; +No Navies helpt to bring away this conquest. + +_Nimph_. Even Fortunes selfe, Fortune the Queene of Kingdomes, +That Warrs grim valour graceth with her deeds, +Will claime no portion in this Victorie. + +_Nero_. Not _Bacchus_[7] drawn from Nisa downe with Tigers, +Curbing with viny rains their wilful heads +Whilst some doe gape upon his Ivy Thirse, +Some on the dangling grapes that crowne his head, +All praise his beautie and continuing youth; +So strooke amased India with wonder +As _Neroes_ glories did the Greekish townes, +_Elis_ and _Pisa_ and the rich _Micenae, +Junonian Argos_ and yet _Corinth_ proud +Of her two Seas; all which ore-come did yeeld +To me their praise and prises of their games. + +_Poppea_. Yet in your _Greekish_ iourney, we do heare, +_Sparta_ and _Athens_, the two eyes of _Greece_, +Neither beheld your person or your skill; +Whether because they did afford no games +Or for their too much gravitie. + +_Nero_. Why, what +Should I have seene in them? but in the one +Hunger, black pottage and men hot to die +Thereby to rid themselves of misery: +And what in th'other? but short Capes, long Beards; +Much wrangling in things needlesse to be knowne, +Wisedome in words and onely austere faces. +I will not be Aieceleaus nor Solon. +Nero was there where he might honour win; +And honour hath he wonn and brought from _Greece_ +Those spoyles which never Roman could obtaine, +Spoyles won by witt and _Tropheis_ of his skill. + +_Nimph_. What a thing he makes it to be a Minstrill! + +_Poppea_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe +Honors, safe spoyles, won without dust or blood. + +_Nero_. What, mock ye me, _Poppea_? + +_Poppea_. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in earnest: +I hate that headie and adventurous crew +That goe to loose their owne to purchase but +The breath of others and the common voyce; +Them that will loose their hearing for a sound, +That by death onely seeke to get a living, +Make skarrs there beautie and count losse of Limmes +The commendation of a proper man, +And soe goe halting to immortality-- +Such fooles I love worse then they doe their lives. + +_Nero_. But now, _Poppea_, having laid apart +Our boastfull spoyles and ornaments of Triumph, +Come we like _Jove_ from _Phlegra_-- + +_Poppea_. O Giantlike comparison! + +_Nero_. When after all his Fiers and wandering darts +He comes to bath himselfe in _Juno's_ eyes. +But thou, then wrangling _Juno_ farre more fayre, +Stayning the evening beautie of the Skie +Or the dayes brightnesse, shall make glad thy _Caesar_, +Shalt make him proud such beauties to Inioy. + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manet Nimphidius solus_. + +_Nimph_. Such beauties to inioy were happinesse +And a reward sufficient in itselfe, +Although no other end or hopes were aim'd at; +But I have other: tis not _Poppeas_ armes +Nor the short pleasures of a wanton bed +That can extinguish mine aspiring thirst +To _Neroes_ Crowne. By her love I must climbe, +Her bed is but a step unto his Throne. +Already wise men laugh at him and hate him; +The people, though his Mynstrelsie doth please them, +They feare his cruelty, hate his exactions, +Which his need still must force him to encrease; +The multitude, which cannot one thing long +Like or dislike, being cloy'd with vanitie +Will hate their own delights; though wisedome doe not +Even wearinesse at length will give them eyes. +Thus I, by _Neroes_ and _Poppeas_ favour +Rais'd to the envious height of second place, +May gaine the first. Hate must strike Nero downe, +Love make _Nimphidius_ way unto a Crowne. + + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Enter Seneca, Scevinus, Lucan and Flavius_. + +_Scevin_. His first beginning was his Fathers death; +His brothers poysoning and wives bloudy end +Came next; his mothers murther clos'd up all. +Yet hitherto he was but wicked, when +The guilt of greater evills tooke away the shame +Of lesser, and did headlong thrust him forth +To be the scorne and laughter to the world. +Then first an Emperour came upon the stage +And sung to please Carmen and Candle-sellers, +And learnt to act, to daunce, to be a Fencer, +And in despight o'the Maiestie of Princes +He fell to wrastling and was soyl'd with dust +And tumbled on the earth with servile hands. + +_Seneca_. He sometimes trayned was in better studies +And had a child-hood promis'd other hopes: +High fortunes like stronge wines do trie their vessels. +Was not the Race and Theatre bigge enough +To have inclos'd thy follies heere at home? +O could not _Rome_ and _Italie_ containe +Thy shame, but thou must crosse the seas to shewe it? + +_Scevin_. And make them that had wont to see our Consuls, +With conquering Eagles waving in the field, +Instead of that behold an Emperor dauncing, +Playing oth' stage and what else but to name +Were infamie. + +_Lucan_. O _Mummius_, O _Flaminius_, +You whom your vertues have not made more famous +Than _Neros_ vices, you went ore to Greece +But t'other warres, and brought home other conquests; +You _Corinth_ and _Micaena_ overthrew, +And _Perseus_ selfe, the great _Achilles_ race, +Orecame; having _Minervas_ stayned Temples +And your slayne Ancestors of Troy reveng'd. + +_Seneca_. They strove with Kings and Kinglike adversaries, +Were even in their Enemies made happie; +The _Macedonian_ Courage tryed of old +And the new greatnesse of the _Syrian_ power: +But he for _Phillip_ and _Antiochus_ +Hath found more easie enemies to deale with-- +_Terpnus_,[8] _Pammenes_,[9] and a rout of Fidlers. + +_Scevin_. Why, all the begging Mynstrills by the way +He tooke along with him and forc'd to strive +That he might overcome, Imagining +Himselfe Immortall by such victories. + +_Flav_. The Men he carried over were enough +T'have put the Parthian to his second flight +Or the proud Indian taught the Roman Yoke. + +_Scevin_. But they were _Neroes_ men, like _Nero_ arm'd +With Lutes and Harps and Pipes and Fiddle-cases, +Souldyers to th'shadow traynd and not the field. + +_Flav_. Therefore they brought spoyles of such Soldyers worthy. + +_Lucan_. But to throw downe the walls[10] and Gates of Rome +To make an entrance for an Hobby-horse; +To vaunt to th'people his rediculous spoyles; +To come with Lawrell and with Olyves crown'd +For having beene the worst of all the Singers, +Is beyond Patience. + +_Scevin_. I, and anger too. +Had you but seene him in his Chariot ryde, +That Chariot in which _Augustus_ late +His Triumphs ore so many Nations shew'd, +And with him in the same a Minstrell plac'd +The whil'st the people, running by his side, +'_Hayle thou Olimpick Conqueror_' did cry, +'_O haile thou Pithian_!' and did fill the sky +With shame and voices Heaven would not have heard. + +_Seneca_. I saw't, but turn'd away my eyes and eares, +Angry they should be privie to such sights. +Why do I stand relating of the storie +Which in the doing had enough to grieve me? +Tell on and end the tale, you whom it pleaseth; +Mee mine own sorrow stops from further speaking. +_Nero_, my love doth make thy fault and my griefe greater. + [_Ex. Sen_. + +_Scevin_. I doe commend in Seneca this passion; +And yet me thinkes our Countries miserie +Doth at our hands crave somewhat more then teares. + +_Lucan_. Pittie, though't doth a kind affection show, +If it end there, our weaknesse makes us know. + +_Flav_. Let children weepe and men seeke remedie. + +_Scevin_. Stoutly, and like a soldier, _Flavius_; +Yet to seeke remedie to a Princes ill +Seldome but it doth the Phisitian kill. + +_Flav_. And if it doe, _Scevinus_, it shall take +But a devoted soule from _Flavius_, +Which to my Countrey and the Gods of Rome +Alreadie sacred is and given away. +Deathe is no stranger unto me, I have +The doubtfull hazard in twelve Battailes throwne; +My chaunce was life. + +_Lucan_. Why doe we go to fight in Brittanie +And end our lives under another Sunne? +Seeke causelesse dangers out? The German might +Enioy his Woods and his owne Allis drinke, +Yet we walke safely in the streets of Rome; +_Bonduca_ hinders not but we might live, +Whom we do hurt. Them we call enemies, +And those our Lords that spoyle and murder us. + +_Scevin_. Nothing is hard to them that dare to die. +This nobler resolution in you, Lords, +Heartens me to disclose some thoughts that I-- +The matter is of waight and dangerous. + +_Lucan_. I see you feare us _Scaevinus_.[11] + +_Scevin_. Nay, nay, although the thing be full of feare. + +_Flav_. Tell it to faithfull Eares what eare it bee. + +_Scevin_. Faith, let it goe, it will but trouble us, +Be hurtfull to the speaker and the hearer. + +_Lucan_. If our long friendship or the opinion-- + +_Scevin_. Why should I feare to tell them? +Why, is he not a Parricide a Player? +Nay, _Lucan_, is he not thine Enemie? +Hate not the Heavens as well as men to see +That condemn'd head? And you, O righteous Gods, +Whither so ere you now are fled and will +No more looke downe upon th'oppressed Earth; +O severe anger of the highest Gods +And thou, sterne power to whom the Greekes assigne +Scourges and swords to punish proud mens wrongs, +If you be more then names found out to awe us +And that we doe not vainely build you alters, +Aid that iust arme that's bent to execute +What you should doe. + +_Lucan_. Stay, y'are carried too much away, _Scevinus_. + +_Scevin_. Why, what will you say for him? hath[12] he not +Sought to suppresse your Poem, to bereave +That honour every tongue in duty paid it. +Nay, what can you say for him, hath he not +Broacht his owne wives (a chast wives) breast and torne +With Scithian hands his Mothers bowels up? +The inhospitable _Caucasus_ is milde; +The More, that in the boyling desert seekes +With blood of strangers to imbrue his iawes, +Upbraides the Roman now with barbarousnesse. + +_Lucan_. You are to earnest: +I neither can nor will I speake for him; +And though he sought my learned paynes to wrong +I hate him not for that; My verse shall live +When _Neroes_ body shall be throwne in Tiber, +And times to come shall blesse those[13] wicked armes. +I love th'unnatural wounds from whence did flow +Another Cirrha,[14] a new Hellicon. +I hate him that he is Romes enemie, +An enemie to Vertue; sits on high +To shame the seate: and in that hate my life +And blood I'le mingle on the earth with yours. + +_Flav_. My deeds, _Scevinus_, shall speake my consent, + +_Scevin_. Tis answerd as I lookt for, Noble Poet, +Worthy the double Lawrell. Flavius, +Good lucke, I see, doth vertuous meanings ayde, +And therefore have the Heavens forborne their duties +To grace our swords with glorious blood of Tyrants. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Primi_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + + + _Enter Petronius solus_. + +Here waites _Poppea_ her _Nimphidius_ comming +And hath this garden and these walkes chose out +To blesse her with more pleasures then their owne. +Not only Arras hangings and silke beds[15] +Are guilty of the faults we blame them for: +Somewhat these arbors and you trees doe know +Whil'st your kind shades you to these night sports show. +Night sports? Faith, they are done in open day +And the Sunne see'th and envieth their play. +Hither have I Love-sicke _Antonius_ brought +And thrust him on occasion so long sought; +Shewed him the Empresse in a thicket by, +Her loves approach waiting with greedie Eye; +And told him, if he ever meant to prove +The doubtfull issue of his hopelesse Love, +This is the place and time wherein to try it; +Women will heere the suite that will deny it. +The suit's not hard that she comes for to take; +Who (hot in lust of men) doth difference make? +At last loath, willing, to her did he pace: +Arme him, _Priapus_, with thy powerfull Mace. +But see, they comming are; how they agree +Heere will I harken; shroud me, gentle tree. + + _Enter Poppea and Antonius_. + +_Anton_. Seeke not to grieve that heart which is thine owne. +In Loves sweete fires let heat of rage burne out; +These brows could never yet to wrinkle learne, +Nor anger out of such faire eyes look forth. + +_Poppea_. You may solicit your presumptious suites; +You duety may, and shame too, lay aside; +Disturbe my privacie, and I forsooth +Must be afeard even to be angry at you! + +_Anton_. What shame is't to be mastred by such beautie? +Who but to serve you comes, how wants he dutie? +Or, if it be a shame, the shame is yours; +The fault is onely in your Eies, they drew me: +Cause you were lovely therefore did I love. +O, if to Love you anger you so much, +You should not have such cheekes nor lips to touch, +You should not have your snow nor currall spy'd;-- +If you but looke on us in vaine you chide. +We must not see your face, nor heare your speech; +Now, whilst you Love forbid, you Love do teach. + +_Petron_. He doth better than I thought he would. + +_Poppea_. I will not learne my beauties worth of you; +I know you neither are the first nor greatest +Whom it hath mov'd: He whom the World obayes +Is fear'd with anger of my threatening eyes. +It is for you afarre off to adore it, +And not to reach at it with sawsie hands: +Feare is the Love that's due to God and Princes. + +_Petron_. All this is but to edge his appetite. + +_Anton_. O doe not see thy faire in that false glasse +Of outward difference; Looke into my heart. +There shalt thou see thy selfe Inthroaned set +In greater Maiesty then all the pompe +Of _Rome_ or _Nero_. Tis not the crowching awe +And Ceremony with which we flatter Princes +That can to Loves true duties be compar'd. + +_Poppea_. Sir, let me goe or He make knowne your Love +To them that shall requite it but with hate. + +_Petron_. On, on, thou hast the goale; the fort is beaten; +Women are wonne when they begin to threaten. + +_Anton_. Your Noblenesse doth warrant me from that, +Nor need you others helpe to punish me +Who by your forehead am condem'd or free. +They that to be revendg'd do bend their minde +Seeke always recompence in that same kind +The wrong was done them; Love was mine offence, +In that revenge, in that seeke recompence. + +_Poppea_. Further to answere will still cause replyes, +And those as ill doe please me as your selfe. +If you'le an answere take that's breefe and true, +I hate my selfe if I be lov'd of you. + [_Exit Popp_. + +_Petron_. What, gone? but she will come againe sure: no? +It passeth cleane my cunning, all my rules: +For Womens wantonnesse there is no rule. +To take her in the itching of her Lust, +A propper young man putting forth himselfe! +Why, Fate! there's Fate and hidden providence +In cod piece matters. + +_Anton_. O unhappy Man! +What comfort have I now, _Petronius?_ + +_Petron_. Council your selfe; Ile teach no more but learne. + +_Anton_. This comfort yet: He shall not so escape +Who causeth my disgrace, _Nimphidius_; +Whom had I here--Well, for my true-hearts love +I see she hates me. And shall I love one +That hates me, and bestowes what I deserve +Upon my rivall? No; farewell _Poppea_, +Farewell _Poppea_ and farewell all Love: +Yet thus much shall it still prevaile in me +That I will hate _Nimphidius_ for thee. + +_Petron_. Farewell to her, to my _Enanthe_ welcome. +Who now will to my burning kisses stoope, +Now with an easie cruelty deny +That which she, rather then the asker, would +Have forced from her then begin[16] her selfe. +Their loves that list upon great Ladies set; +I still will love the Wench that I can get. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Nero, Tigellinus, Epaphroditus_, and _Neophilus_. + +_Nero_. _Tigellinus_, said the villaine _Proculus_[17] +I was throwne downe in running? + +_Tigell_. My Lord, he said that you were crown'd for that +You could not doe. + +_Nero_. For that I could not doe? +Why, _Elis_ saw me doe't, and doe't it with wonder +Of all the Iudges and the lookers on; +And yet to see--A villaine! could not doe't? +Who did it better? I warrant you he said +I from the Chariot fell against my will. + +_Tigell_. He said, My Lord, you were throwne out of it +All crusht and maim'd and almost bruis'd to death. + +_Nero_. Malicious Rogue! when I fell willingly +To show of purpose with what little hurt +Might a good rider beare a forced fall. +How sayest thou, _Tigellinus_? I am sure +Thou hast in driving as much skill as he. + +_Tigell_. My Lord, you greater cunning shew'd in falling +Then had you sate. + +_Nero_. I know I did; or[18] bruised in my fall? +Hurt! I protest I felt no griefe in it. +Goe, _Tigellinus_, fetch the villaines head. +This makes me see his heart in other things. +Fetch me his head; he nere shall speake againe. [_Ex. Tigell_. +What doe we Princes differ from the durt +And basenesse of the common Multitude +If to the scorne of each malicious tongue +We subiect are: For that I had no skill,[19] +Not he that his farre famed daughter set +A prise to Victoria and had bin Crown'd +With thirteene Sutors deaths till he at length +By fate of Gods and Servants treason fell, +(Shoulder pack't[20] _Pelops_, glorying in his spoyles) +Could with more skill his coupled horses guide. +Even as a Barke that through the mooving Flood +Her linnen wings and the forc't ayre doe beare; +The Byllowes fome, she smoothly cutts them through; +So past my burning Axeltree along: +The people follow with their Eyes and Voyce, +And now the wind doth see it selfe outrun +And the Clouds wonder to be left behind, +Whilst the void ayre is fild with shoutes and noyse, +And _Neroes_ name doth beate the brazen Skie; +_Jupiter_ envying loath doth heare my praise. +Then their greene bowes and Crownes of Olive wreaths, +The Conquerors praise, they give me as my due. +And yet this Rogue sayth No, we have no skill. + + _Enter a servant to them_. + +_Servant_. My Lord, the Stage and all the furniture-- + +_Nero_. I have no skill to drive a Chariot! +Had he but robde me, broke my treasurie: +The red-Sea's mine, mine are the _Indian_ stones, +The Worlds mine owne; then cannot I be robde? +But spightfully to undermine my fame, +To take away my arte! he would my life +As well, no doubt, could he tould (tell?) how. + + _Enter Tigellinus_ with _Proculus head_. + +_Neoph_. My Lord, +_Tigellinus_ is backe come with _Proculus head_. + (_Strikes him_.) + +_Nero_. O cry thee mercie, good _Neophilus_; +Give him five hundred sesterces for amends. +Hast brought him, Tigellinus? + +_Tigell_. Heres his head, my Lord. + +_Nero_. His tongue had bin enough. + +_Tigell_. I did as you commanded me, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Thou toldst not me, though, he had such a nose![21] +Now are you quiet and have quieted me: +This tis to be commander of the World. +Let them extoll weake pittie that do neede it, +Let meane men cry to have Law and Iustice done +And tell their griefes to Heaven that heares them not: +Kings must upon the Peoples headlesse courses +Walk to securitie and ease of minde. +Why, what have we to doe with th'ayrie names +(That old age and _Philosophers_ found out) +Of _Iustice_ and ne're certaine Equitie? +The God's revenge themselves and so will we; +Where right is scand Authoritie's orethrowne: +We have a high prerogative above it. +Slaves may do what is right, we what we please: +The people will repine and think it ill, +But they must beare, and praise too, what we will. + + _Enter Cornutus[22] to them_. + +_Neoph_. My Lord, _Cornutus_ whom you sent for's come. + +_Nero_. Welcome, good _Cornutus_. +Are all things ready for the stage, +As I gave charge? + +_Corn_. They only stay your coming. + +_Nero_. _Cornutus_, I must act to day _Orestes_. + +_Corn_. You have done that alreadie, and too truely. (_Aside_.) + +_Nero_. And when our Sceane is done I meane besides +To read some compositions of my owne, +Which, for the great opinion I my selfe +And _Rome_ in generall of thy Judgment hath, +Before I publish them Ile shew them thee. + +_Corn_. My Lord, my disabilities-- + +_Nero_. I know thy modestie: +Ile only shew thee now my works beginning.-- +Goe see, _Epaphroditus_, +Musick made ready; I will sing to day.-- [_Exit Epa. +Cornutus_, I pray thee come neere +And let me heare thy Judgement in my paynes. +I would have thee more familiar, good _Cornutus_; +_Nero_ doth prise desert and more esteemes +Them that in knowledge second him, then power. +Marke with what style and state my worke begins. + +_Corn_. Might not my Interruption offend, +Whats your workes name, my Lord? what write you of? + +_Nero_. I meane to write the deeds of all the Romans. + +_Corn_. Of all the Romans? A huge argument. + +_Nero_. I have not yet bethought me of a title:-- + (_he reades_,) + + "_You Enthrall Powers which[23] the wide Fortunes doon + Of Empyre-crown'd seaven-Mountaine-seated Rome, + Full blowne Inspire me with_ Machlaean[24] _rage + That I may bellow out_ Romes _Prentisage; + As[25] when the_ Menades _do fill their Drums + And crooked hornes with_ Mimalonean _hummes + And_ Evion[26] _do Ingeminate around, + Which reparable Eccho doth resound_." + +How doest thou like our Muses paines, _Cornutus_? + +_Corn_. The verses have more in them than I see: +Your work, my Lord, I doubt will be too long. + +_Nero_. Too long? + +_Tigell_. Too long? + +_Corn_. I, if you write the deedes of all the _Romans_. +How many Bookes thinke you t'include it in? + +_Nero_. I thinke to write about foure hundred Bookes. + +_Corn_. Four hundred! Why, my Lord, they'le nere be read.[27] + +_Nero_. Hah! + +_Tigell_. Why, he whom you esteeme so much, _Crisippus_, +Wrote many more. + +_Corn_. But they were profitable to common life +And did Men Honestie and Wisedome teach. + +_Nero_. _Tigellinus_! + + [Exit _Nero and Tigell_. + +_Corn_. See with what earnestnesse he crav'd my Judgment, +And now he freely hath it how it likes him. + +_Neoph_. The Prince is angry, and his fall is neere; +Let us begon lest we partake his ruines. + + [_Exeunt omnes praeter Cornu_. + + _Manet Cornutus solus_. + +What should I doe at Court? I cannot lye. +Why didst thou call me, _Nero_, from my Booke; +Didst thou for flatterie of _Cornutus_ looke? +No, let those purple Fellowes that stand by thee +(That admire shew and things that thou canst give) +Leave to please Truth and Vertue to please thee. +_Nero_, there is no thing in thy power _Cornutus_ +Doth wish or fear. + + _Enter Tigellinus to him_. + +_Tigell_. Tis _Neroes_ pleasure that you straight depart +To _Giara_, and there remaine confin'd: +Thus he, out of his Princely Clemencie, +Hath Death, your due, turn'd but to banishment. + +_Corn_. Why, _Tigellinus_? + +_Tigell_. I have done, upon your perill go or stay. + [_Ex. Ti_. + +_Corn_. And why should Death or Banishment be due +For speaking that which was requir'd, my thought? +O why doe Princes love to be deceiv'd +And even do force abuses on themselves? +Their Eares are so with pleasing speech beguil'd +That Truth they mallice, Flatterie truth account, +And their owne Soule and understanding lost +Goe, what they are, to seeke in other men. +Alas, weake Prince, how hast thou punisht me +To banish me from thee? O let me goe +And dwell in _Taurus_, dwell in _Ethiope_ +So that I doe not dwell at _Rome_ with thee. +The farther still I goe from hence, I know, +The farther I leave Shame and Vice behind. +Where can I goe but I shall see thee, Sunne? +And _Heaven_ will be as neere me still as here. +Can they so farre a knowing soule exyle +That her owne roofe she sees not ore her head? + + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Piso, Scevinus, Lucan, Flavius_. + +_Piso_. Noble Gentlemen, what thankes, what recompence +Shall hee give you that give to him the world? +One life to them that must so many venture, +And that the worst of all, is too meane paye; +Yet can give no more. Take that, bestow it +Upon your service. + +_Lucan_. O _Piso_, that vouchsafest +To grace our headlesse partie with thy name, +Whom having our conductor[28] we need not +Have fear'd to goe against[29] the well try'd vallor +Of Julius or stayednesse of _Augustus_, +Much lesse the shame and Womanhood of _Nero_; +When we had once given out that our pretences +Were all for thee, our end to make thee Prince, +They thronging came to give their names, Men, Women, +Gentlemen, People, Soldiers, Senators,[30] +The Campe and Cittie grew asham'd that _Nero_ +And _Piso_ should be offered them together. + +_Scevin_. We seeke not now (as in the happy dayes +Oth' common wealth they did) for libertie; +O you deere ashes, _Cassius_ and _Brutus_, +That was with you entomb'd, their let it rest. +We are contented with the galling yoke +If they will only leave us necks to beare it: +We seeke no longer freedome, we seeke life; +At least, not to be murdred, let us die +On Enemies swords. Shall we, whom neither +The _Median_ Bow nor _Macedonian_ Speare +Nor the fierce _Gaul_ nor painted _Briton_ could +Subdue, lay down our neckes to tyrants axe? +Why doe we talke of Vertue that obay +Weaknesse and Vice? + +_Piso_. Have patience, good _Scevinus_. + +_Lucan_. Weaknesse and servile Government we hitherto +Obeyed have, which, that we may no longer, +We have our lives and fortunes now set up, +And have our cause with _Pisoes_ credit strengthned. + +_Flav_. Which makes it doubtfull whether love to him +Or _Neroes_ hatred hath drawne more unto us. + +_Piso_. I see the good thoughts you have of me, Lords. +Lets now proceede to th'purpose of our meeting: +I pray you take your places. +Lets have some paper brought. + +_Scevin_. Whose within? + + _Enter Milichus to them_. + +_Mill_. My Lord. + +_Scevin_. Some Inke and Paper. + + [_Exit Mili_. + + _Enter againe with Incke and Paper_. + +_Flav_. Whose that, _Scevinus_? + +_Scevin_. It is my freed man, _Milichus_. + +_Lucan_. Is he trustie? + +_Scevin_. I, for as great matters as we are about. + +_Piso_. And those are great ones. + +_Lucan_. I aske not that we meane to need his trust; +Gaine hath great soveraigntie ore servile mindes. + +_Scevin_. O but my benefits have bound him to me. +I from a bondman have his state not onely +Advanct to freedome but to wealth and credit. + +_Piso_. _Mili_. waite ith' next chamber till we call. + [_abscondit se_. +The thing determinde on, our meeting now +Is of the meanes and place, due circumstance +As to the doing of things: 'tis required +So done it names the action.[31] + +_Mili_. I wonder (_aside_) +What makes this new resort to haunt our house. +When wonted _Lucius Piso_ to come hither, +Or _Lucan_ when so oft as now of late? + +_Piso_. And since the field and open shew of armes +Disliked you, and that for the generall good +You meane to end all styrres in end of him; +That, as the ground, must first be thought upon. + +_Mill_. Besides, this comming cannot be for forme, (_aside_) +Our (Mere?) visitation; they goe aside +And have long conferences by themselves. + +_Lucan_. _Piso_, his coming to your house at Baiae[32] +To bathe and banquet will fit meanes afford, +Amidst his cups, to end his hated life: +Let him die drunke that nere liv'd soberly. + +_Piso_. O be it farre that I should staine my Table +And Gods of Hospitalitie with blood. +Let not our cause (now Innocent) be soyld +With such a plot, nor _Pisoes_ name made hatefull. +What place can better fit our action +Then his owne house, that boundlesse envied heape +Built with the spoyles and blood of Cittizens, +That hath taken up the Citie, left no roome +For _Rome_ to stand on? _Romanes_ get you gone +And dwell at _Veiae_, if that _Veiae_ too +This (His?) house ore runne not.[33] + +_Lucan_. But twill be hard to doe it in his house +And harder to escape, being done. + +_Piso_. Not so: +_Rufus_, the Captaine of the Guard, 's with us, +And divers other oth' _Praetorian_ band +Already made (named?); many, though unacquainted +With our intents, have had disgrace and wrongs +Which grieve them still; most will be glad of change, +And even they that lov'd him best, when once +They see him gone, will smile oth' comming times, +Let goe things past and looke to their owne safetie: +Besides, th'astonishment and feare will be +So great, so sodaine that 'twill hinder them +From doing anything. + +_Mili_. No private businesse can concerne them all: (_aside_) +Their countenances are troubled and looke sad; +Doubt and importance in their face is read. + +_Lucan_. Yet still, I think it were +Safer t'attempt him private and alone. + +_Flav_. But 'twill not carry that opinion with it; +'Twill seeme more foule and come from private malice. +_Brutus_ and they, to right the common cause, +Did chuse a publike place. + +_Scevin_.[34] Our deed is honest, why should it seeke corners? +Tis for the people done, let them behold it; +Let me have them a witnesse of my truth +And love to th'Common-wealth. The danger's greater, +So is the glory. Why should our pale counsels +Tend whether feare rather then vertue calls them? +I doe not like these cold considerings. +First let our thoughts looke up to what is honest, +Next to what's safe. If danger may deterre us +Nothing that's great or good shall ere be done: +And, when we first gave hands upon this deed, +To th'common safetie we our owne gave up. +Let no man venture on a princes death, +How bad soever, with beliefe to escape; +Dispaire must be our hope, fame o[u]r reward. +To make the generall liking to concurre +With others (ours?) were even to strike him in his shame +Or (as he thinks) his glory, on the stage, +And so too truly make't a Tragedy; +When all the people cannot chuse but clap +So sweet a close, and 'twill not _Caesar_ be +That shall be slaine, a _Roman_ Prince; +Twill be _Alcmaeon_ or blind Oedipus. + +_Mili_. And if it be of publique matters 'tis not (_aside_) +Like to be talke or idle fault finding, +On which the coward onely spends his wisedome: +These are all men of action and of spirit, +And dare performe what they determine on. + +_Lucan_. What thinke you of _Poppaea, Tigellinus_ +And th'other odious Instruments of Court? +Were it not best at once to rid them all? + +_Scevin_. In _Caesars_ ruine _Anthony_ was spared; +Lets not our cause with needlesse blood distaine. +One onely mov'd, the change will not appeare; +When too much licence given to the sword, +Though against ill, will make even good men feare. +Besides, things setled, you at pleasure may +By Law and publique Iudgement have them rid. + +_Mili_. And if it be but talke oth' State 'tis Treason. (_aside_) +Like it they cannot, that they cannot doe: +If seeke to mend it, and remoove the Prince, +That's highest Treason: change his Councellours, +That's alteration of the Government, +The common cloke that Treasons muffled in: +If laying force aside, to seeke by suite +And faire petition t'have the State reform'd, +That's tutering of the Prince and takes away +Th' one his person, this his Soveraigntie. +Barely in private talke to shew dislike +Of what is done is dangerous; therefore the action +Mislike you cause the doer likes you not. +Men are not fit to live ith' state they hate. + +_Piso_. Though we would all have that imployment sought, +Yet, since your worthy forwardnesse _Scevinus_[35] +Prevents us and so Nobly beggs for danger, +Be this (thine?) the chosen hand to doe the deed; +The fortune of the Empire speed your sword. + +_Scevin_. Vertue and Heaven speed it. You home-borne +Gods of our countrey, _Romulus_ and _Vesta_, +That _Thuscan Tiber_ and Romes towers defends, +Forbid not yet at length a happie end +To former evils; let this hand revenge +The wronged world; enough we now have suffered. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manet Milichus solus_. + +_Mili_. Tush, all this long Consulting's more then words, +It ends not there; th'have some attempt, some plot +Against the state: well, I'le observe it farther +And, if I find it, make my profit of it. + [_Exit_. + +_Finis Actus Secundus. [Sic.]_ + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + + + _Enter Poppea solus. [Sic.]_ + +_Poppea_. I lookt _Nimphidius_ would have come ere this. +Makes he no greater hast to our embraces, +Or doth the easiness abate his edge? +Or seeme we not as faire still as we did? +Or is he so with _Neroes_ playing wonne +That he before _Poppea_ doth preferre it? +Or doth he think to have occasion still, +Still to have time to waite on our stolne meetings? + + _Enter Nimphidius to her_. + +But see, his presence now doth end those doubts. +What is't, _Nimphidius_, hath so long detain'd you? + +_Nimphid_. Faith, Lady, causes strong enough, +High walls, bard dores, and guards of armed men. + +_Poppea_. Were you Imprisoned, then, as you were going +To the Theater? + +_Nimphid_. Not in my going, Lady, +But in the Theater I was imprisoned. +For after he was once upon the Stage +The Gates[36] were more severely lookt into +Then at a town besieg'd: no man, no cause +Was Currant, no, nor passant. At other sights +The striefe is only to get in, but here +The stirre was all in getting out againe. +Had we not bin kept to it so I thinke +'Twould nere have been so tedious, though I know +'Twas hard to judge whether his doing of it +Were more absurd then 'twas for him[37] to doe it. +But when we once were forct to be spectators, +Compel'd to that which should have bin a pleasure, +We could no longer beare the wearisomnesse: +No paine so irksome as a forct delight. +Some fell down dead or seem'd at least to doe so, +Under that colour to be carried forth. +Then death first pleasur'd men, the shape all feare +Was put on gladly; some clomb ore the walls +And so, by falling, caught in earnest that +Which th'other did dissemble. There were women[38] +That (being not able to intreat the guard +To let them passe the gates) were brought to bed +Amidst the throngs of men, and made _Lucina_ +Blush to see that unwonted companie. + +_Poppea_. If 'twere so straightly kept how got you forth? + +_Nimphid_. Faith, Lady, I came pretending hast +In Face and Countenance, told them I was sent +For things bith' Prince forgot about the sceane, +Which both my credit made them to beleeve +And _Nero_ newly whispered me before. +Thus did I passe the gates; the danger, Ladie, +I have not yet escapt. + +_Poppea_. What danger meane you? + +_Nimphid_. The danger of his anger when he knowes +How I thus shranke away; for there stood knaves, +That put downe in their Tables all that stir'd +And markt in each there cheerefulnesse or sadnesse. + +_Poppea_. I warrant He excuse you; but I pray +Lett's be a little better for your sight. +How did our Princely husband act _Orestes_? +Did he not wish againe his mother living? +Her death would adde great life unto his part. +But come, I pray; the storie of your sight. + +_Nimph_. O doe not drive me to those hatefull paines. +Lady, I was too much in seeing vext; +Let it not be redoubled with the telling. +I now am well and heare, my eares set free; +O be mercifull, doe not bring me backe +Unto my prison, at least free your selfe. +It will not passe away, but stay the time; +Wracke out the houres in length. O give me leave: +As one that wearied with the toyle at sea +And now on wished shore hath firm'd his foote, +He lookes about and glads his thoughts and eyes +With sight oth' greene cloath'd ground and leavy trees, +Of flowers that begge more then the looking on, +And likes these other waters narrow shores; +So let me lay my wearines in these armes, +Nothing but kisses to this mouth discourse, +My thoughts be compast in those circl'd Eyes, +Eyes on no obiect looke but on these Cheekes; +Be blest my hands with touch of those round brests +Whiter and softer than the downe of Swans. +Let me of thee and of thy beauties glory +An[39] endless tell, but never wearying story. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Nero, Epaphroditus, Neophilus_. + +_Nero_. Come Sirs, I faith, how did you like my acting? +What? wast not as you lookt for? + +_Epaphr_. Yes, my Lord, and much beyond. + +_Nero_. Did I not doe it to the life? + +_Epaphr_. The very doing never was so lively +As was this counterfeyting. + +_Nero_. And when I came +Toth' point of _Agripp[40]--Clytemnestras_ death, +Did it not move the feeling auditory? + +_Epaphr_. They had beene stones whom that could not have mov'd. + +_Nero_. Did not my voice hold out well to the end, +And serv'd me afterwards afresh to sing with? + +_Neoph_. We know _Appollo_ cannot match your voice. + +_Epaphr_. By Jove! I thinke you are the God himselfe +Come from above to shew your hidden arts +And fill us men with wonder of your skill. + +_Nero_. Nay, faith, speake truely, doe not flatter me; +I know you need not; flattery's but where +Desert is meane. + +_Epaphr_. I sweare by thee, O _Caesar_, +Then whom no power of heaven I honour more, +No mortall Voice can passe or equall thine. + +_Nero_. They tell of _Orpheus_, when he tooke his Lute +And moov'd the noble Ivory with his touch, +_Hebrus_ stood still, _Pangea_ bow'd his head, +_Ossa_ then first shooke off his snowe and came +To listen to the moovings of his song; +The gentle _Popler_ tooke the baye along, +And call'd the _Pyne_ downe from his Mountaine seate; +The _Virgine Bay_, although the Arts she hates +Oth' _Delphick_ God, was with his voice orecome; +He his twice-lost _Euridice_ bewailes +And _Proserpines_ vaine gifts, and makes the shores +And hollow caves of forrests now untreed +Beare his griefe company, and all things teacheth +His lost loves name; Then water, ayre, and ground +_Euridice, Euridice_ resound. +These are bould tales, of which the Greeks have store; +But if he could from Hell once more returne +And would compare his hand and voice with mine, +I, though himselfe were iudge, he then should see +How much the _Latine_ staines the _Thracian_ lyar. +I oft have walkt by _Tibers_ flowing bankes +And heard the Swan sing her own epitaph: +When she heard me she held her peace and died. +Let others raise from earthly things their praise; +Heaven hath stood still to hear my happy ayres +And ceast th'eternall Musicke of the _Spheares_ +To marke my voyce and mend their tunes by mine. + +_Neoph_. O divine voice! + +_Epaphr_. Happy are they that heare it! + + _Enter Tigellinus to them_. + +_Nero_. But here comes _Tigellinus_; come, thy bill. +Are there so many? I see I have enemies. + +_Epaphr_. Have you put _Caius_ in? I saw him frowne. + +_Neoph_. And in the midst oth' Emperors action. +_Gallus_ laught out, and as I thinke in scorne. + +_Nero_. _Vespasian_[41] too asleepe? was he so drowsie? +Well, he shall sleepe the Iron sleepe of death. +And did _Thrasea_ looke so sourely on us? + +_Tigell_. He never smilde, my Lord, nor would vouchsafe +With one applause to grace your action. + +_Nero_. Our action needed not be grac'd by him: +Hee's our old enemie and still maligns us. +'Twill have an end, nay it shall have an end. +Why, I have bin too pittifull, too remisse; +My easinesse is laught at and contemn'd. +But I will change it; not as heretofore +By singling out them one by one to death: +Each common man can such revenges have; +A Princes anger must lay desolate +Citties, Kingdomes consume, Roote up mankind. +O could I live to see the generall end, +Behold the world enwrapt in funerall flame, +When as the _Sunne_ shall lend his beames to burne +What he before brought forth, and water serve +Not to extinguish but to nurse the fire; +Then, like the _Salamander_, bathing me +In the last Ashes of all mortall things +Let me give up this breath. _Priam_ was happie, +Happie indeed; he saw his _Troy_ burnt +And _Illion_ lye on heapes, whilst thy pure streames +(Divine _Scamander_) did run _Phrygian_ blood, +And heard the pleasant cries of _Troian_ mothers. +Could I see _Rome_ so! + +_Tigell_. Your Maiestie may easily, +Without this trouble to your sacred mind. + +_Nero_. What may I easily doe? Kill thee or him: +How may I rid you all? Where is the Man +That will all others end and last himselfe? +O that I had thy Thunder in my hand, +Thou idle Rover, I'de[42] not shoote at trees +And spend in woods my unregarded vengeance, +Ide shevire them downe upon their guilty roofes +And fill the streetes with bloody burials. +But 'tis not Heaven can give me what I seeke; +To you, you hated kingdomes of the night, +You severe powers that not like those above +Will with faire words or childrens cryes be wonne, +That have a stile beyond that Heaven is proud off, +Deriving not from Art a makers Name +But in destruction power and terror shew, +To you I flye for succour; you, whose dwellings +For torments are belyde, must give me ease. +Furies, lend me your fires; no, they are here, +They must be other fires, materiall brands +That must the burning of my heat allay. +I bring to you no rude unpractiz'd hands, +Already doe they reeke with mothers' blood. +Tush, that's but innocent[43] to what now I meane: +Alasse, what evell could those yeeres commit! +The world in this shall see my setled wit. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Seneca, Petronius_. + +_Seneca. Petronius_, you were at the _Theater_? + +_Petron_. _Seneca_, I was, and saw your Kingly Pupyll +In Mynstrills habit stand before the Iudges +Bowing those hands which the worlds Scepter hold, +And with great awe and reverence beseeching +Indifferent hearing and an equall doome. +Then Caesar doubted first to be oreborne; +And so he ioyn'd himselfe to th'other singers +And straightly all other Lawes oth' Stage observ'd, +As not (though weary) to sit downe, not spit, +Not wipe his sweat off but with what he wore.[44] +Meane time how would he eye his adversaries, +How he would seeke t'have all they did disgract; +Traduce them privily, openly raile at them; +And them he could not conquer so he would +Corrupt with money to doe worse then he. +This was his singing part: his acting now. + +_Seneca_. Nay, even end here, for I have heard enough; +I[45] have a Fidler heard him, let me not +See him a Player, nor the fearefull voyce +Of _Romes_ great Monarch now command in Iest-- +Our Prince be _Agamemnon_[46] in a Play! + +_Petron_. Why,[47] _Seneca_, 'Tis better in [a] Play +Be _Agamemnon_ than himselfe indeed. +How oft, with danger of the field beset +Or with home mutineys, would he unbee +Himselfe; or, over cruel alters weeping, +Wish that with putting off a vizard hee +Might his true inward sorrow lay aside. +The showes of things are better then themselves. +How doth it stirre this ayery part of us +To heare our Poets tell imagin'd fights +And the strange blowes that fained courage gives! +When I[48] _Achilles_ heare upon the Stage +Speake Honour and the greatnesse of his soule, +Me thinkes I too could on a _Phrygian_ Speare +Runne boldly and make tales for after times; +But when we come to act it in the deed +Death mars this bravery, and the ugly feares +Of th'other world sit on the proudest browe, +And boasting Valour looseth his red cheeke. + + _A Romane to them_. + +_Rom_. Fire, fire! helpe, we burne! + +2 _Rom_. Fire, water, fire, helpe, fire! + +_Seneca_. Fire? Where? + +_Petron_. Where? What fire? + +_Rom_. O round about, here, there, on every side +The girdling flame doth with unkind embraces +Compasse the Citie. + +_Petron_. How came this fire? by whom? + +_Seneca_. Wast chance or purpose? + +_Petron_. Why is't not quencht? + +_Rom_. Alas, there are a many there with weapons, +And whether it be for pray or by command +They hinder, nay, they throwe on fire-brands.[49] + + _Enter Antonius to them_. + +_Anton_. The fire increaseth and will not be staid, +But like a stream[50] that tumbling from a hill +Orewhelmes the fields, orewhelmes the hopefull toyle +Oth' husbandman and headlong beares the woods; +The unweeting Shepheard on a Rocke afarre +Amazed heares the feareful noyse; so here +Danger and Terror strive which shall exceed. +Some cry and yet are well; some are kild silent; +Some kindly runne to helpe their neighbours house, +The whilest their own's afire;[51] some save their goods +And leave their dearer pledges in the flame; +One takes his little sonnes with trembling hands; +Tother his house-Gods saves, which could not him; +All bann the doer, and with wishes kill +Their absent Murderer. + +_Petron_. What, are the _Gauls_ returnd? +Doth _Brennus_ brandish fire-brands againe? + +_Seneca_. What can Heaven now unto our suffrings adde? + + _Enter another Romane to them_. + +_Rom_. O all goes downe, _Rome_ falleth from the Roofe; +The winds aloft, the conquering flame turnes all +Into it selfe. Nor doe the Gods escape; +_Plei[a]des_ burnes; _Iupiter, Saturne_ burnes; +The Altar now is made a sacrifice, +And _Vesta_ mournes to see her Virgin fires +Mingle with prophane ashes. + +_Seneca_. Heaven, hast thou set this end to Roman greatnesse? +Were the worlds spoyles for this to Rome devided +To make but our fires bigger? +You Gods, whose anger made us great, grant yet +Some change in misery. We begge not now +To have our Consull tread on _Asian_ Kings +Or spurne the quivered _Susa_ at their feet; +This we have had before: we beg to live, +At least not thus to die. Let _Cannae_[52] come, +Let _Allias_[53] waters turne again to blood: +To these will any miseries be light. + +_Petron_. Why with false _Auguries_ have we bin deceiv'd? +Why was our Empire told us should endure +With Sunne and Moone in time, in brightnesse pass them, +And that our end should be oth' world and it? +What, can Celestiall Godheads double too? + +_Seneca_. _O Rome_, the envy late +But now the pitie of the world! the _Getes_[54]? +The men of _Cholcos_ at thy sufferings grive; +The shaggy dweller in the _Scithian_ Rockes, +The _Mosch_[55] condemned to perpetual snowes, +That never wept at kindreds burials +Suffers with thee and feeles his heart to soften. +O should the _Parthyan_ heare these miseries +He would (his low and native hate apart[56]) +Sit downe with us and lend an Enemies teare +To grace the funerall fires of ending Rome. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Soft Musique. Enter Nero above alone with a Timbrell_. + +I, now my _Troy_ lookes beautious in her flames; +The _Tyrrhene_ Seas are bright with _Roman_ fires +Whilst the amazed Mariner afarre, +Gazing on th'unknowne light, wonders what starre +Heaven hath begot to ease the aged Moone. +When _Pirrhus_, stryding ore the cynders, stood +On ground where _Troy_ late was, and with his Eye +Measur'd the height of what he had throwne downe,-- +A Citie great in people and in power, +Walls built with hands of God--he now forgive[s] +The ten yeares length and thinkes his wounds well heald, +Bath'd in the blood of _Priams_ fifty sonnes. +Yet am not I appeas'd; I must see more +Then Towers and Collomns tumble to the ground; +'Twas not the high built walls and guiltlesse stones +That _Nero_ did provoke: themselves must be the wood +To feed this fire or quench it with their blood. + + _Enter a Woman with a burnt Child_. + +_Wom_. O my deare Infant, O my Child, my Child, +Unhappy comfort of my nine moneths paines; +And did I beare thee only for the fire, +Was I to that end made a mother? + +_Nero_. I, now begins the sceane that I would have. + + _Enter a Man bearing another dead_. + +_Man_. O Father, speake yet; no, the mercilesse blowe +Hath all bereft speech, motion, sense and life. + +_Wom_. O beauteous innocence, whitenes ill blackt, +How to be made a coale didst thou deserve? + +_Man_. O reverend wrinckles, well becoming palenesse, +Why hath death now lifes colours given thee +And mockes thee with the beauties of fresh youth? + +_Wom_. Why wert thou given me to be tane away +So soone, or could not Heaven tell how to punish +But first by blessing mee? + +_Man_. Why where thy years +Lengthened so long to be cut off untimely? + +_Nero_. Play on, play on, and fill the golden skies +With cryes and pitie, with your blood; Mens Eyes[57]-- + +_Wom_. Where are thy flattering smiles, thy pretty kisses, +And armes that wont to writhe about my necke? + +_Man_. Where are thy counsels? where thy good example, +And that kind roughnes of a Father's anger? + +_Wom_. Whom have I now to leane my old age on? + +_Man_. Who shall I now have to set right my youth? +Gods, if yee be not fled from Heaven, helpe us. + +_Nero_. I like this Musique well; they like not mine. +Now in the teare[s] of all men let me sing, +And make it doubtfull to the Gods above +Whether the Earth be pleas'd or doe complaine. + + (_Within, cantat_.) + +_Man_. But may the man that all this blood hath shed +Never bequeath to th'earth an old gray head; +Let him untimely be cut off before. +And leave a course like this, all wounds and gore; +Be there no friends at hand, no standers by +In love or pittie mov'd to close that Eye: +O let him die, the wish and hate of all, +And not a teare to grace his Funerall. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Wom_. Heaven, you will heare (that which the world doth scorn) +The prayers of misery and soules forlorne. +Your anger waxeth by delaying stronger, +O now for mercy be despis'd no longer; +Let him that makes so many Mothers childlesse +Make his unhappy in her fruitfulnesse. +Let him no issue leave to beare his name +Or sonne to right a Fathers wronged fame; +Our flames to quit be righteous in your yre, +And when he dies let him want funerall fire. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Nero_. Let Heaven do what it will, this I have done. +Already doe you feel my furies waight: +Rome is become a grave of her late greatnes; +Her clowdes of smoke have tane away the day, +Her flames the night. +Now, unbeleaving Eyes, what crave you more? + + _Enter Neophilus to him_. + +_Neoph_. O save your selfe, my Lord: your Pallace burnes. + +_Nero_. My Pallace? how? what traiterous hand? + + _Enter Tigellinus to them_. + +_Tigell_. O flie, my Lord, and save your selfe betimes. +The winde doth beate the fire upon your house, +The eating flame devoures your double gates; +Your pillars fall, your golden roofes doe melt; +Your antique Tables and Greeke Imagery +The fire besets; and the smoake, you see, +Doth choake my speech: O flie and save your life. + +_Nero_. Heaven thou dost strive, I see, for victory. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 5.) + + + _Enter Nimphidius solus_. + +See how Fate workes unto their purpos'd end +And without all selfe-Industry will raise +Whom they determine to make great and happy. +_Nero_ throwes down himselfe, I stirre him not; +He runnes unto destruction, studies wayes +To compasse danger and attaine the hate +Of all. Bee his owne wishis on his head, +Nor _Rome_ with fire more then revenges burne. +Let me stand still or lye or sleepe, I rise. +_Poppea_ some new favour will seeke out +My wakings to salute; I cannot stirre +But messages of new preferment meet me. +Now she hath made me Captaine of the Guard +So well I beare me in these night Alarmes +That she imagin'd I was made for Armes. +I now command the Souldier,[58] he the Citie: +If any chance doe turne the Prince aside +(As many hatreds, mischiefes threaten him) +Ours is his wife; his seat and throwne is ours: +He's next in right that hath the strongest powers. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 6.) + + + _Enter Scevinus, Milichus_. + +_Scevin_. O _Troy_ and O yee soules of our forefathers +Which in your countreys fires were offered up, +How neere your Nephews[59] to your fortunes come. +Yet they were _Grecian_ hands began your flame; +But that our Temples and our houses smoake, +Our Marble buildings turne to be our Tombes, +Burnt bones and spurnt at Courses fill the streets, +Not _Pirrhus_ nor thou, _Hanniball_, art Author: +Sad _Rome_ is ruin'd by a _Romane_ hand. +But if to _Neroes_ end this onely way +Heavens Justice hath chose out, and peoples love +Could not but by these feebling ills be mov'd, +We doe not then at all complaine; our harmes +On this condition please us; let us die +And cloy the _Parthian_ with revenge and pitie. + +_Mili_. My Master hath seald up his Testament; +Those bond-men which he liketh best set free; +Given money, and more liberally then he us'd. +And now, as if a farewell to the world +Were meant, a sumpteous banquet hath he made; +Yet not with countenance that feasters use, +But cheeres his friends the whilest himselfe lookes sad. + +_Scevin_. I have from Fortunes Temple[60] tane this sword; +May it be fortunate and now at least, +Since it could not prevent, punish the Evill. +To _Rome_ it had bin better done before, +But though lesse helping now they'le praise it more. +Great Soveraigne of all mortall actions. +Whom only wretched men and Poets blame, +Speed thou the weapon which I have from thee. +'Twas not amid thy Temple Monuments +In vaine repos'd; somewhat I know't hath done: +O with new honours let it be laid up. +Strike bouldly, arme; so many powerful prayers +Of dead and living hover over thee. + +_Mili_. And though sometimes with talk impertinent +And idle fances he would fame a mirth, +Yet is it easie seene somewhat is heere +The which he dares not let his face make shew of. + +_Scevin_. Long want of use[61] hath made it dull and blunt.-- +See, _Milichus_, this weapon better edg'd. + +_Mili_. Sharpning of swords? When must wee then have blowes? +Or meanes my Master, _Cato_-like, to exempt +Himselfe from power of Fates and, cloy'd with life, +Give the Gods backe their unregarded gift? +But he hath neither _Catoes_ mind nor cause; +A man given ore to pleasures and soft ease. +Which makes me still to doubt how in affaires +Of Princes he dares meddle or desires. + +_Scevin_. We shall have blowes on both sides.--_Milichus_, +Provide me store of cloathes to bind up wounds.-- +What an't be heart for heart; Death is the worst. +The Gods sure keepe it, hide from us that live. +How sweet death is because we should goe on +And be their bailes.--There are about the house +Some stones that will stanch blood; see them set up.-- +This world I see hath no felicitie: +Ile trie the other. + +_Mili_. _Neroes_ life is sought;[62] +The sword's prepar'd against anothers breast, +The helpe for his. It can be no private foe, +For then 'twere best to make it knowne and call +His troupes of bond and freed men to his aide. +Besides his Counsellors, _Seneca_ +And _Lucan_, are no Managers of quarrels. + +_Scevin_. Me thinkes I see him struggling on the ground, +Heare his unmanly outcries and lost prayers +Made to the Gods which turne their heads away. +_Nero_, this day must end the worlds desires +And head-long send thee to unquenched fires. [_Exit_. + +_Mili_. Why doe I further idly stand debating? +My proofes are but too many and too frequent, +And Princes Eares still to suspitions open. +Who ever, being but accus'd, was quit? +For States are wise and cut of ylls that may be. +Meane men must die that t'other may sleepe sound. +Chiefely that[63] rule whose weaknes, apt to feares, +And bad deserts of all men makes them know +There's none but is in heart what hee's accused. + [_Exit_. + +_Finis Actus Tertii_. + + + +_Actus Quartus. + + + Enter Nero, Poppaea, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus, + and Epaphroditus_. + +_Nero_. This kisse, sweete love Ile force from thee, and this; +And of such spoiles and victories be prowder +Than if I had the fierce _Pannonian_ +Or gray-eyed _German_ ten times overcome. +Let _Iulius_ goe and fight at end oth' world +And conquer from the wilde inhabitants +Their cold and poverty, whilst _Nero_ here +Makes other warres, warres where the conquerd gaines, +Where to orecome is to be prisoner. +O willingly I give my freedome up +And put on my owne chaines, +And am in love with my captivitie. +Such _Venus_ is when on the sandy shore +Of _Xanthus_ or on _Idas_ pleasant greene +She leades the dance; her the Nymphes all a-rowe[64] +And smyling graces do accompany. +If _Bacchus_ could his stragling Mynion +Grace with a glorious wreath of shining Starres, +Why should not Heaven my _Poppaea_ Crowne? +The Northerne teeme shall move into a round, +New constellations rise to honour thee; +The earth shall wooe thy favours and the Sea +Lay his rich shells and treasure at thy feete. +For thee _Hidaspis_ shall throw up his gold, +_Panchaia_ breath the rich delightful smells; +The _Seres_ and the feather'd man of _Inde_ +Shall their fine arts and curious labours bring; +And where the Sunn's not knowne _Poppaeas_ name +Shall midst their feasts and barbarous pompe be sung. + +_Poppea_. I, now I am worthy to be Queene oth' world, +Fairer then _Venus_ or the _Bacchus_ love; +But you'le anon unto your cutt-boy[65] _Sporus_, +Your new made woman; to whom now, I heare, +You are wedded too. + +_Nero_. I wedded? + +_Poppaea_. I, you wedded. +Did you not heare the words oth' _Auspyces_? +Was not the boy in bride-like garments drest? +Marriage bookes seald as 'twere for yssue to +Be had betweene you? solemne feasts prepar'd, +While all the Court with _God-give-you-Ioy_ sounds? +It had bin good _Domitius_ your Father +Had nere had other wife. + +_Nero_. Your froward, foole; y'are still so bitter. +Whose that? + + _Enter Milichus to them_. + +_Nimph_. One that it seemes, my Lord, doth come in hast. + +_Nero_. Yet in his face he sends his tale before him. +Bad newes thou tellest? + +_Mili_. 'Tis bad I tell, but good that I can tell it +Therefore your Maiestie will pardon me +If I offend your eares to save your life. + +_Nero_. Why? is my life indangerd? +How ends the circumstance? thou wrackst my thoughts. + +_Mili_. My Lord, your life is conspir'd against. + +_Nero_. By whom? + +_Mili_. I must be of the world excus'd in this, +If the great dutie to your Maiestie, +Makes me all other lesser to neglect. + +_Nero_. Th'art a tedious fellow. Speake: by whom? + +_Mili_. By my Master. + +_Nero_. Who's thy Master? + +_Mili_. _Scevinus_. + +_Poppea_. _Scevinus_? why should he conspire?-- +Unlesse he thinke that likenesse in conditions +May make him, too, worthy oth' Empire thought. + +_Nero_. Who are else in it? + +[_Mili_]. I thinke _Natalis, Subrius, Flavus_,[66] +_Lucan, Seneca, and Lucius Piso, +Asper_ and _Quintilianus_. + +_Nero_. Ha done, +Thou'ilt reckon all Rome anone; and so thou maist, +Th'are villaines all, Ile not trust one of them. +O that the _Romanes_ had all but one necke! + +_Poppea_. _Pisoes_ slie creeping into mens affections +And popular arts have given long cause of doubt; +And th'others late observed discontents, +Risen from misinterpreted disgraces, +May make us credit this relation. + +_Nero_. Where are they? come they not upon us yet? +See the Guard doubled, see the Gates shut up. +Why, they'le surprise us in our Court anon. + +_Mili_. Not so, my Lord; they are at _Pisoes_ house +And thinke themselves yet safe and undiscry'd. + +_Nero_. Lets thither then, +And take them in this false security. + +_Tigell_. 'Twere better first to publish them traytors. + +_Nimph_. That were to make them so +And force them all upon their Enemies. +Now without stirre or hazard theyle be tane +And boldly triall dare and law demaund; +Besides, this accusation may be forg'd +By mallice or mistaking. + +_Poppea_. What likes you doe, _Nimphidius_, out of hand: +Two waies distract when either would prevaile. +If they, suspecting but this fellowes absence, +Should try the Citie and attempt their friends +How dangerous might _Pisoes_ favour be? + +_Nimph_. I to himselfe[67] would make the matter cleare +Which now upon one servants credit stands. +The Cities favour keepes within the bonds +Of profit, they'le love none to hurt themselves; +Honour and friendship they heare others name, +Themselves doe neither feele nor know the same. +To put them yet (though needlesse) in some feare +Weele keepe their streets with armed companies; +Then, if they stirre, they see their wives and houses +Prepar'd a pray to th'greedy Souldier. + +_Poppea_. Let us be quicke then, you to _Pisoes_ house, +While I and _Tigellinus_ further sift +This fellowes knowledge. + + [_Ex. omnes praeter Nero_. + +_Nero_. Looke to the gates and walles oth' Citie; looke +The river be well kept; have watches set +In every passage and in every way.-- +But who shall watch these watches? What if they, +Begin and play the Traitors first? O where shall I +Seeke faith or them that I may wisely trust? +The Citie favours the conspirators; +The Senate in disgrace and feare hath liv'd; +The Camp--why? most are souldiers that he named; +Besides, he knowes not all, and like a foole +I interrupted him, else had he named +Those that stood by me. O securitie, +Which we so much seeke after, yet art still +To Courts a stranger and dost rather choose +The smoaky reedes and sedgy cottages +Then the proud roofes and wanton cost of kings. +O sweet dispised ioyes of poverty, +A happines unknowne unto the Gods! +Would I had rather in poore _Gabii_[68] bin +Or _Ulubrae_ a ragged Magistrate, +Sat as a Iudge of measures and of corne +Then the adored Monarke of the world. +Mother, thou didst deservedly in this, +That from a private and sure state didst raise +My fortunes to this slippery hill of greatnesse +Where I can neither stand nor fall with life. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Piso, Lucan, Scevinus, Flavius_. + +_Flav_. But, since we are discover'd, what remaines +But put our lives upon our hands? these swords +Shall try us Traitors or true Citizens. + +_Scevin_. And what should make this hazard doubt successe? +Stout men are oft with sudden onsets danted: +What shall this Stage-player be? + +_Lucan_. It is not now +_Augustus_ gravitie nor _Tiberius_ craft, +But _Tigellinus_ and _Chrisogonus_, +Eunuckes and women that we goe against. + +_Scevin_. This for thy owne sake, this for ours we begg, +That thou wilt suffer him to be orecome; +Why shouldst thou keepe so many vowed swords +From such a hated throate? + +_Flav_. Or shall we feare +To trust unto the Gods so good a cause? + +_Lucan_. By this we may ourselves Heavens favour promise +Because all noblenesse and worth on earth +We see's on our side. Here the _Fabys_ sonne, +Here the _Corvini_ are and take that part +There noble Fathers would, if now they liv'd. +There's not a soule that claimes Nobilitie, +Either by his or his forefathers merit, +But is with us; with us the gallant youth +Whom passed dangers or hote bloud makes bould; +Staid men suspect their wisdome or their faith +To whom our counsels we have not reveald; +And while (our party seeking to disgrace) +They traitors call us, each man treason praiseth +And hateth faith when _Piso_ is a traitor. + +_Scevin_. And,[69] at adventure, what by stoutnesse can +Befall us worse than will by cowardise? +If both the people and the souldier failde us +Yet shall we die at least worthy our selves, +Worthy our ancestors. O _Piso_ thinke, +Thinke on that day when in the _Parthian_ fields +Thou cryedst to th'flying Legions to turne +And looke Death in the face; he was not grim +But faire and lovely when he came in armes. +O why there di'd we not on _Syrian_ swords? +Were we reserv'd to prisons and to chaines? +Behold the Galley-asses in every street; +And even now they come to clap on yrons. +Must _Pisoes_ head be shewed upon a pole? +Those members torne, rather then _Roman_-like +And _Piso_-like with weapons in our hands +Fighting in throng of enemies to die? +And that it shall not be a civill warre +_Nero_ prevents, whose cruelty hath left +Few Citizens; we are not Romans now +But Moores, and Jewes, and utmost Spaniards, +And _Asiaes_ refuse[70] that doe fill the Citie. + +_Piso_. Part of us are already tak'n; the rest +Amaz'd and seeking holes. Our hidden ends +You see laid open; Court and Citie arm'd +And for feare ioyning to the part they feare. +Why should we move desperate and hopelesse armes +And vainely spill that noble bloud that should +Christall _Rubes_[71] and the _Median_ fields, +Not _Tiber_ colour? And the more your show be, +Your loves and readinesse to loose your lives, +The lother I am to adventure them. +Yet am I proud you would for me have dy'd; +But live, and keepe your selves to worthier ends. +No Mother but my owne shall weepe my death +Nor will I make, by overthrowing us, +Heaven guiltie of more faults yet; from the hopes +Your owne good wishes rather then the thing +Doe make you see, this comfort I receive +Of death unforst. O friends I would not die +When I can live no longer; 'tis my glory +That free and willing I give up this breath, +Leaving such courages as yours untri'd. +But to be long in talk of dying would +Shew a relenting and a doubtfull mind: +By this you shall my quiet thoughts intend; +I blame not Earth nor Heaven for my end.[72] + (_He dies_.) + +_Lucan_. O that this noble courage had bin shewne +Rather on enemies breasts then on thy owne. + +_Scevin_. But sacred and inviolate be thy will, +And let it lead and teach us. +This sword I could more willingly have thrust +Through _Neroes_ breast; that fortune deni'd me, +It now shall through _Scevinus_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Tigellinus solus_. + +What multitudes of villaines are here gotten +In a conspiracy, which _Hydra_ like +Still in the cutting off increaseth more. +The more we take the more are still appeach[t], +And every man brings in new company. +I wonder what we shall doe with them all! +The prisons cannot hold more then they have, +The Iayles are full, the holes with Gallants stincke; +Strawe and gold lace together live, I thinke. +'Twere best even shut the gates oth' Citie up +And make it all one Iayle; for this I am sure, +There's not an honest man within the walles. +And, though the guilty doth exceed the free,[73] +Yet through a base and fatall cowardise +They all assist in taking one another +And by their owne hands are to prison led. +There's no condition nor degree of men +But here are met; men of the sword and gowne, +_Plebeians, Senators_, and women too; +Ladies that might have slaine him with their eye +Would use their hands; Philosophers +And Polititians. Polititians? +Their plot was laid too short. Poets would now +Not only write but be the arguments +Of Tragedies. The Emperour's much pleased: +But[74] some have named _Seneca_; and I +Will have _Petronius_. One promise of pardon +Or feare of torture will accusers find. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Enter Nimphidius, Lucan, Scevinus, with a guard_. + +_Nimph_. Though _Pisoes_ suddennesse and guilty hand +Prevented hath the death he should have had, +Yet you abide it must. + +_Lucan_. O may the earth lye lightly on his Course, +Sprinckle his ashes with your flowers and teares; +The love and dainties of mankind is gone. + +_Scevin_. What onely now we can, we'le follow thee +That way thou lead'st and waite on thee in death; +Which we had done had not these hindred us. + +_Nimph_. Nay, other ends your grievous crimes awaite, +Ends which the law and your deserts exact. + +_Scevin_. What have we deserved? + +_Nimph_. That punishment that traitors unto Princes, +And enemies to the State they live, in merit. + +_Scevin_. If by the State this government you meane +I iustly am an enemy unto it. +That's but to _Nero_, you and _Tigellinus_. +That glorious world that even beguiles the wise, +Being lookt into, includes but three or foure +Corrupted men, which were they all remov'd +'Twould for the common State much better be. + +_Nimph_. Why, what can you ith' government mislike, +Unlesse it grieve you that the world's in peace +Or that our arm[i]es conquer without blood? +Hath not his power with forraine visitations +And strangers honour more acknowlldg'd bin +Then any was afore him? Hath not hee +Dispos'd of frontier kingdomes with successe? +Given away Crownes, whom he set up availing? +The rivall seat of the _Arsacidae_, +That thought their brightnesse equall unto ours, +Is't crown'd by him, by him doth raigne? +If we have any warre it's beyond _Rhene_ +And _Euphrates_, and such whose different chances +Have rather serv'd for pleasure and discourse +Then troubled us. At home the Citie hath +Increast in wealth, with building bin adorn'd, +The arts have flourisht and the Muses sung; +And that his Iustice and well tempered raigne +Have the best Iudges pleas'd, the powers divine, +Their blessings and so long prosperitie +Of th'Empire under him enough declare. + +_Scevin_. You freed the State from warres abroad, but 'twas +To spoile at home more safely and divert +The _Parthian_ enmitie on us; and yet +The glory rather and the spoyles of warre +Have wanting bin, the losse and charge we have. +Your peace is full of cruelty and wrong; +Lawes taught to speake to present purposes; +Wealth and faire houses dangerous faults become; +Much blood ith' Citie and no common deaths, +But Gentlemen and Consulary houses. +On _Caesars_ owne house looke: hath that bin free? +Hath he not shed the blood he calls divine? +Hath not that neerenes which should love beget +Always on him bin cause of hate and feare? +Vertue and power suspected and kept downe? +They, whose great ancestors this Empire made, +Distrusted in the government thereof? +A happy state where _Decius_ is a traytor, +_Narcissus_ true! nor onley wast unsafe +T'offend the Prince; his freed men worse were feard, +Whose wrongs with such insulting pride were heard +That even the faultie it made innocent +If we complain'd that was it selfe a crime, +I, though it were to _Caesars_ benefit: +Our writings pry'd into, falce guiltines +Thinking each taxing pointed out it selfe; +Our private whisperings listned after; nay, +Our thoughts were forced out of us and punisht; +And had it bin in you to have taken away +Our understanding as you did our speech, +You would have made us thought this honest too. + +_Nimph_. Can malice narrow eyes +See anything yet more it can traduce? + +_Scevin_. His long continued taxes I forbeare, +In which he chiefely showed him to be Prince; +His robbing Alters,[75] sale of Holy things, +The Antique Goblets of adored rust +And sacred gifts of kings and people sold. +Nor was the spoile more odious than the use +They were imployd on; spent on shame and lust, +Which still have bin so endless in their change +And made us know a divers servitude. +But that he hath bin suffered so long +And prospered, as you say; for that to thee, +O Heaven, I turne my selfe and cry, "No God +Hath care of us." Yet have we our revenge, +As much as Earth may be reveng'd on Heaven: +Their divine honour _Nero_ shall usurpe, +And prayers and feasts and adoration have +As well as _Iupiter_. + +_Nimph_. Away, blaspheming tongue, +Be ever silent for thy bitternesse. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 5.) + + + _Enter Nero, Poppaea, Tigellinus, Flavius, Neophilus, + Epaphroditus, and a yong man_. + +_Nero_. What could cause thee, +Forgetfull of my benefits and thy oath, +To seeke my life? + +_Flav_. _Nero_, I hated thee: +Nor was there any of thy souldiers +More faithful, while thou faith deserv'dst, then I. +Together did I leave to be a subject, +And thou a Prince. Caesar was now become +A Player on the Stage, a Waggoner, +A burner of our houses and of us, +A Paracide of Wife and Mother.[76] + +_Tigell_. Villaine, dost know where and of whom thou speakst? + +_Nero_. Have you but one death for him? Let it bee +A feeling one; _Tigellinus_, bee't[77] +Thy charge, and let me see thee witty in't. + +_Tigell_. Come, sirrah; +Weele see how stoutly you'le stretch out your necke. + +_Flav_. Wold thou durst strike as stoutly. + [_Exit Tigell. and Flav_. + +_Nero_. And what's hee there? + +_Epaphr_. One that in whispering oreheard[78] +What pitie 'twas, my Lord, that _Pisoe_ died. + +_Nero_. And why was't pitie, sirrah, _Pisoe_ died? + +_Yong_. My Lord, 'twas pitie he deserv'd to die. + +_Poppaea_. How much this youth my _Otho_ doth resemble; (_aside_.) +_Otho_ my first, my best love who is now +(Under pretext of governing) exyl'd +To _Lucitania_, honourably banish't. + +_Nero_. Well, if you be so passionate, +Ile make you spend your pitie on your Prince +And good men, not on traytors. + +_Yong_. The Gods forbid my Prince should pitie need. +Somewhat the sad remembrance did me stirre +Oth' fraile and weake condition of our kind, +Somewhat his greatnesse; then whom yesterday +The world but _Caesar_ could shew nothing higher. +Besides, some vertues and some worth he had, +That might excuse my pitie to an end +So cruell and unripe. + +_Poppaea_. I know not how this stranger moves my mind. (_Aside_.) +His face me thinkes is not like other mens, +Nor do they speake thus. Oh, his words invade +My weakned senses and overcome my heart. + +_Nero_. Your pitie shewes your favour and your will, +Which side you are inclinde too, had you[79] power: +You can but pitie, else should _Caesar_ feare. +Your ill affection then shall punisht bee. +Take him to execution; he shall die +That the death pities of mine enemie. + +_Yong_. This benefit at least +Sad death shall give, to free me from the power +Of such a government; and if I die +For pitying humane chance and _Pisoes_ end +There will be some too that will pitie mine. + +_Poppaea_. O what a dauntlesse looke, what sparkling eyes, (_aside.)_ +Threating in suffering! sure some noble blood +Is hid in ragges; feares argues a base spirit; +In him what courage and contempt of death! +And shall I suffer one I love to die? +He shall not die.--Hands of this man! Away! +_Nero_, thou shalt not kill this guiltlesse man. + +_Nero_. He guiltlesse? Strumpet! + + (_Spurns her, and Poppaea falls_.) + +She is in love with the smooth face of the boy. + +_Neoph_. Alas, my Lord, you have slaine her. + +_Epaphr_. Helpe, she dies. + +_Nero_. _Poppaea, Poppaea_, speake, I am not angry; +I did not meane to hurt thee; speake, sweet love. + +_Neoph_. She's dead, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Fetch her againe, she shall not die: +Ile ope the Iron gates of hell +And breake the imprison'd shaddowes of the deepe, +And force from death this farre too worthy pray. +She is not dead: +The crimson red that like the morning shone, +When from her windowes (all with Roses strewde) +She peepeth forth, forsakes not yet her cheekes; +Her breath, that like a hony-suckle smelt, +Twining about the prickled Eglintine, +Yet moves her lips; those quicke and piercing eyes, +That did in beautie challenge heaven's eyes,[80] +Yet shine as they were wont. O no, they doe not; +See how they grow obscure. O see, they close +And cease to take or give light to the world. +What starres so ere you are assur'd to grace +The[81] firmament (for, loe, the twinkling fires +Together throng and that cleare milky space, +Of stormes and _Phiades_ and thunder void, +Prepares your roome) do not with wry aspect +Looke on your _Nero_, who in blood shall mourne +Your lucklesse fate, and many a breathing soule +Send after you to waite upon their Queene. +This shall begin; the rest shall follow after, +And fill the streets with outcryes and with slaughter. + + [_Exeunt_.] + + + +(SCENE 6.) + + + _Enter Seneca with two of his friends_. + +_Seneca_. What meanes your mourning, this ungrateful sorrow? +Where are your precepts of _Philosophie_, +Where our prepared resolution +So many yeeres fore-studied against danger? +To whom is _Neroes_ cruelty unknowne, +Or what remained after mothers blood +But his instructors death? Leave, leave these teares; +Death from me nothing takes but what's a burthen, +A clog to that free sparke of Heavenly fire. +But that in _Seneca_ the which you lov'd, +Which you admir'd, doth and shall still remaine, +Secure of death, untouched of the grave. + +1 _Friend_. Weele not belie our teares; we waile not thee, +It is our selves and our owne losse we grieve: +To thee what losse in such a change can bee? +Vertue is paid her due by death alone. +To our owne losses do we give these teares, +That loose thy love, thy boundlesse knowledge loose, +Loose the unpatternd sample of thy vertue, +Loose whatsoev'r may praise or sorrow move. +In all these losses yet of this we glory, +That 'tis thy happinesse that makes us sorry. + +2 _Friend_. If there be any place for Ghosts of good men, +If (as we have bin long taught) great mens soules +Consume not with their bodies, thou shalt see +(Looking from out the dwellings of the ayre) +True duties to thy memorie perform'd; +Not in the outward pompe of funerall, +But in remembrance of thy deeds and words, +The oft recalling of thy many vertues. +The Tombe that shall th'eternall relickes keepe +Of _Seneca_ shall be his hearers hearts. + +_Seneca_. Be not afraid, my soule; goe cheerefully +To thy owne Heaven, from whence it first let downe. +Thou loathly[82] this imprisoning flesh putst on; +Now, lifted up, thou ravisht shalt behold +The truth of things at which we wonder here, +And foolishly doe wrangle on beneath; +And like a God shalt walk the spacious ayre, +And see what even to conceit's deni'd. +Great soule oth' world, that through the parts defus'd +Of this vast All, guid'st what thou dost informe; +You blessed mindes that from the _[S]pheares_ you move, +Looke on mens actions not with idle eyes, +And Gods we goe to, aid me in this strife +And combat of my flesh that, ending, I +May still shew _Seneca_ and my selfe die. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 7.) + + + _Enter Antonius, Enanthe_. + +_Anton_. Sure this message of the Princes, +So grievous and unlookt for, will appall +_Petronius_ much. + +_Enan_. Will not death any man? + +_Anton_. It will; but him so much the more +That, having liv'd to his pleasure, shall forgoe +So delicate a life. I doe not marvell[83] +That _Seneca_ and such sowre fellowes can +Leave that they never tasted, but when we +That have the _Nectar_ of thy kisses felt, +That drinkes away the troubles of this life, +And but one banquet make[s] of forty yeeres, +Must come to leave this;--but, soft, here he is. + + _Enter Petronius and a Centurion_. + +_Petron_. Leave me a while, _Centurion_, to my friends; +Let me my farewell take, and thou shalt see +_Neroes_ commandement quickly obaid in mee. [_Ex. Centur_. +--Come, let us drinke and dash the posts with wine! +Here throw your flowers; fill me a swelling bowle +Such as _Mecenas_ or my _Lucan_ dranke +On _Virgills_ birth day.[84] + +_Enan_. What meanes, _Petronius_, this unseasonable +And causelesse mirth? Why, comes not from the Prince +This man to you a messenger of death? + +_Petron_. Here, faire _Enanthe_, whose plumpe, ruddy cheeke +Exceeds the grape!--It makes this[85]--here, my geyrle. (_He drinks_.) +--And thinkst thou death a matter of such harme? +Why, he must have this pretty dimpling chin, +And will pecke out those eyes that now so wound. + +_Enan_. Why, is it not th'extreamest of all ills? + +_Petron_. It is indeed the last and end of ills. +The Gods, before th'would let us tast deaths Ioyes, +Plact us ith' toyle and sorrowes of this world, +Because we should perceive th'amends and thanke them; +Death, the grim knave, but leades you to the doore +Where, entred once, all curious pleasures come +To meete and welcome you. +A troope of beauteous Ladies, from whose eyes +Love thousand arrows, thousand graces shootes, +Puts forth theire fair hands to you and invites +To their greene arbours and close shadowed walkes,[86] +Whence banisht is the roughness of our yeeres! +Onely the west wind blowes, its[87] ever Spring +And ever Sommer. There the laden bowes +Offer their tempting burdens to your hand, +Doubtful your eye or tast inviting more. +There every man his owne desires enioyes; +Fair _Lucrese_ lies by lusty _Tarquins_ side, +And woes him now againe to ravish her. +Nor us, though _Romane, Lais_ will refuse; +To _Corinth_[88] any man may goe; no maske, +No envious garment doth those beauties hide, +Which Nature made so moving to be spide. +But in bright Christall, which doth supply all, +And white transparent vailes they are attyr'd, +Through which the pure snow underneath doth shine; +(Can it be snowe from whence such flames arise?) +Mingled with that faire company shall we +On bankes of _Violets_ and of _Hiacinths_, +Of loves devising, sit and gently sport; +And all the while melodious Musique heare, +And Poets songs that Musique farre exceed, +The old _Anaiccan_[89] crown'd with smiling flowers, +And amorous _Sapho_ on her Lesbian Lute +Beauties sweet Scarres and Cupids godhead sing. + +_Anton_. What? be not ravisht with thy fancies; doe not +Court nothing, nor make love unto our feares. + +_Petron_. Is't nothing that I say? + +_Anton_. But empty words. + +_Petron_. Why, thou requir'st some instance of the eye. +Wilt thou goe with me, then, and see that world +Which either will returne thy old delights, +Or square thy appetite anew to theirs? + +_Anton_. Nay, I had rather farre believe thee here; +Others ambition such discoveries seeke. +Faith, I am satisfied with the base delights +Of common men. A wench, a house I have, +And of my own a garden: Ile not change +For all your walkes and ladies and rare fruits. + +_Petron_. Your pleasures must of force resign to these: +In vaine you shun the sword, in vaine the sea, +In vaine is _Nero_ fear'd or flattered. +Hether you must and leave your purchast houses, +Your new made garden and your black browd wife, +And of the trees thou hast so quaintly set, +Not one but the displeasant Cipresse shall +Goe with thee.[90] + +_Anton_. Faith 'tis true, we must at length; +But yet, _Petronius_, while we may awhile +We would enjoy them; those we have w'are sure of, +When that thou talke of's doubtful and to come. + +_Petron_. Perhaps thou thinkst to live yet twenty yeeres, +Which may unlookt for be cut off, as mine; +If not, to endlesse time compar'd is nothing. +What you endure must ever, endure now; +Nor stay not to be last at table set. +Each best day of our life at first doth goe, +To them succeeds diseased age and woe; +Now die your pleasures, and the dayes you[91] pray +Your rimes and loves and jests will take away. +Therefore, my sweet, yet thou wilt goe with mee, +And not live here to what thou wouldst not see. + +_Enan_. Would y'have me then [to] kill my selfe, and die, +And goe I know not to what places there? + +_Petron_. What places dost thou feare? +Th'ill-favoured lake they tell thee thou must passe, +And the[92] blacke frogs that croake about the brim? + +_Enan_. O, pardon, Sir, though death affrights a woman, +Whose pleasures though you timely here divine, +The paines we know and see. + +_Petron_. The paine is lifes; death rids that paine away. +Come boldly, there's no danger in this foord; +Children passe through it. If it be a paine +You have this comfort that you past it are. + +_Enan_. Yet all, as well as I, are loath to die. + +_Petron_. Judge them by deed, you see them doe't apace. + +_Enan_. I, but 'tis loathly and against their wils. + +_Petron_. Yet know you not that any being dead +Repented them and would have liv'd againe. +They then there errors saw and foolish prayers, +But you are blinded in the love of life; +Death is but sweet to them that doe approach it. +To me, as one that tak'n with _Delphick_ rage, +When the divining God his breast doth fill, +He sees what others cannot standing by, +It seemes a beauteous and pleasant thing.-- +Where is my deaths Phisitian? + +_Phisi_. Here, my Lord. + +_Petron_. Art ready? + +_Phisi_. I, my Lord. + +_Petron_. And I for thee: +Nero, my end shall mocke thy tyranny. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Finis Actus Quarti_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + + + _Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus, Neophilus, + Epaphroditus and other attendants_. + +_Nero_. Enough is wept, _Poppaea_, for thy death, +Enough is bled: so many teares of others +Wailing their losses have wipt mine away. +Who in the common funerall of the world +Can mourne on[e] death? + +_Tigell_. Besides, Your Maiestie this benefit +In their diserved punishment shall reape, +From all attempts hereafter to be freed. +Conspiracy is how for ever dasht, +Tumult supprest, rebellion out of heart; +In _Pisoes_ death danger it selfe did die. + +_Nimph_. _Piso_ that thought to climbe by bowing downe, +By giving a way to thrive, and raising others +To become great himselfe, hath now by death +Given quiet to your thoughts and feare to theirs +That shall from treason their advancement plot; +Those dangerous heads that his ambition leand on; +And they by it crept up and from their meannesse +Thought in this stirre to rise aloft, are off. +Now peace and safetie waite upon your throne; +Securitie hath wall'd your seat about; +There is no place for feare left. + +_Nero_. Why, I never feard them. + +_Nimph_. That was your fault: +Your Maiestie might give us leave to blame +Your dangerous courage and that noble soule +To prodigall[93] of it selfe. + +_Nero_. A Princes mind knowes neither feare nor hope: +The beames of royall Maiestie are such +As all eyes are with it amaz'd and weakened, +But it with nothing. I at first contemn'd +Their weak devises and faint enterprise. +Why, thought they against him to have prevail'd +Whose childhood was from _Messalinas_ spight +By Dragons[94] (that the earth gave up), preserv'd? +Such guard my cradle had, for fate had then +Pointed me out to be what now I am. +Should all the Legions and the provinces, +In one united, against me conspire +I could disperce them with one angry eye; +My brow's an host of men. Come, _Tigellinus_, +Let turne this bloody banquet _Piso_ meant us +Into a merry feast; weele drink and challenge +Fortune.--Whose that _Neophilus_? + + _Enter a Roman_. + +_Neoph_. A Currier from beyond the Alpes, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Newes of some German victory, belike, +Or Britton overthrow. + +_Neoph_. The letters come from France. + +_Nimph_. Why smiles your Maiestie? + +_Nero_. So, I smile? I should be afraid; there's one +In Armes, _Nimphidius_. + +_Nimph_. What, arm'd against your Maiestie? + +_Nero_. Our lieutenant of the Province, _Julius Vindex_. + +_Tigell_. Who? that guiddy French-man? + +_Nimph_. His Province is disarm'd, my Lord; he hath +No legion nor a souldier under him. + +_Epaphr_. One that by blood and rapine would repaire +His state consum'd in vanities and lust. + + _Enter another Roman_. + +_Tigell_. He would not find out three to follow him. + +_A Mess_. More newes, my Lord. + +_Nero_. Is it of _Vindex_ that thou hast to say? + +_Mess_. _Vindex_ is up and with him France in Armes; +The Noblemen and people throng to th'cause; +Money and Armour Cities doe conferre; +The countrey doth send in provision; +Young men bring bodies, old men lead them forth; +Ladies doe coine their Iewels into pay; +The sickle now is fram'd into a sword +And drawing horses are to manage taught; +France nothing doth but warre and fury breath. + +_Nero_. All this fierce talk's but "Vindex doth rebell"; +And I will hang him. + +_Tigell_. How long came you forth after the other messenger? + +_Mess_. Foure dayes, but by the benefit of sea and +Weather am arrivd with him. + +_Nimph_. How strong was _Vindex_ at your setting forth? + +_Mess_. He was esteem'd a hundred thousand. + +_Tigell_. Men enough. + +_Nimph_. And souldiers few enough; +Tumultuary troops, undisciplin'd, +Untrain'd in service; to wast victuals good, +But when they come to look on warres black wounds, +And but afarre off see the face of death-- + +_Nero_. It falles out for my empty coffers well, +The spoyle of such a large and goodly Province +Enricht with trade and long enioyed peace. + +_Tigell_. What order will your Maiestie have taken +For levying forces to suppresse this stirre? + +_Nero_. What order should we take? weele laugh and drinke. +Thinkst thou it fit my pleasures be disturb'd +When any French-man list to breake his necke! +They have not heard of _Pisoes_ fortune yet; +Let that Tale fight with them. + +_Nimph_. What order needs? Your Maiestie shal finde +This French heat quickly of it selfe grow cold. + +_Nero_. Come away: +Nothing shall come that this nights sport shall stay. + + [_Ex. Ner. Nimph. Tig. and attendants_. + + + _Mane[n]t Neophilus, Epaphroditus_. + +_Neoph_. I wonder what makes him so confident +In this revolt now growne unto a warre, +And ensignes in the field; when in the other, +Being but a plot of a conspiracie, +He shew'd himselfe so wretchedly dismaid? + +_Epaphr_. Faith, the right nature of a coward to set light +Dangers that seeme farre off. _Piso_ was here, +Ready to enter at the Presence doore +And dragge him out of his abused chaire; +And then he trembled. _Vindex_ is in France, +And many woods and seas and hills betweene. + +_Neoph_. 'Twas strange that _Piso_ was so soone supprest. + +_Epaphr_. Strange? strange indeed; for had he but come up +And taken the Court in that affright and stirre +While unresolv'd for whom or what to doe, +Each on [of?] the other had in iealousie +(While as apaled Maiestie not yet +Had time to set the countenance), he would +Have hazarded the royall seat. + +_Neoph_. Nay, had it without hazard; all the Court +Had for him bin and those disclos'd their love +And favour in the cause, which now to hide +And colour their good meanings ready were +To shew their forwardnesse against it most. + +_Epaphr_. But for a stranger with a naked province, +Without allies or friends ith' state, to challenge +A Prince upheld with thirty Legions, +Rooted in foure discents of Ancestors +And foureteene yeares continuance of raigne, +Why it is-- + + _Enter Nero, Nimphidius, Tigellinus to them_. + +_Nero_. Galba and Spaine? What? Spaine and Gal[b]a too? + + [_Ex. Ner. Nimph_. + +_Epaph_. I pray thee, _Tigellinus_, what furie's this? +What strange event, what accident hath thus +Orecast your countenances? + +_Tigell_. Downe we were set at table and began +With sparckling bowles to chase our feares away, +And mirth and pleasure lookt out of our eyes; +When, loe, a breathless messenger arrives +And tells how _Vindex_ and the powers of France +Have _Sergius Galba_ chosen Emperor; +With what applause the Legions him receive; +That Spaines revolted, Portingale hath ioyn'd; +As much suspected is of Germany. +But _Nero_, not abiding out the end, +Orethrew the tables, dasht against the ground +The cuppe which he so much, you know, esteem'd; +Teareth his haire and with incensed rage +Curseth false men and Gods the lookers on. + +_Neoph_. His rage, we saw, was wild and desperate. + +_Epaph_. O you unsearched wisedomes which doe laugh +At our securitie and feares alike, +And plaine to shew our weaknesse and your power +Make us contemne the harmes which surest strike; +When you our glories and our pride undoe +Our overthrow you make ridiculous too. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Nimphidius solus_. + +Slow making counsels and the sliding yeere +Have brought me to the long foreseene destruction +Of this misled young man. His State is shaken +And I will push it on; revolted France +Nor the coniured Provinces of Spaine +Nor his owne guilt shall like to me oppresse him. +I to his easie yeelding feares proclaime +New German mutenys and all the world +Rowsing it selfe in hate of _Neroes_ name; +I his distracted counsels doe disperce +With fresh despaires; I animate the Senate +And the people, to ingage them past recall +In preiudice of _Nero_: and in briefe +Perish he must,--the fates and I resolve it. +Which to effect I presently will goe +Proclaime a _Donative_ in _Galbaes_ name. + + _Enter Antoneus to him_. + +_Anton_. Yonders _Nimphidius_, our Commander, now. +I with respect must speake and smooth my brow. +--Captaine, all haile. + +_Nimph_. _Antoneus_, well met. +Your place of _Tribune_ in this Anarchi. + +_Anton_. This Anarchy, my Lord? is _Nero_ dead? + +_Nimph_. This Anarchy, this yet unstiled time +While Galba is unseased of the Empire +Which _Nero_ hath forsooke. + +_Anton_. Hath _Nero_ then resign'd the Empire? + +_Nimph_. In effect he hath for he's fled to _Egypt_. + +_Anton_. My Lord, you tell strange newes to me. + +_Nimph_. But nothing strange to mee, +Who every moment knew of his despaires. +The Curriers came so fast with fresh alarmes +Of new revolts that he, unable quite +To beare his feares which he had long conceal'd, +Is now revolted from himselfe and fled. + +_Anton_. Thrust with report and rumours from his seat! +My Lord, you know the Campe depends on you +As you determine. + +_Nimph_. There it lies _Antonius_. +What should we doe? it boots not to relie +On Neroes stinking fortunes; and to sit +Securely looking on were to receive +An Emperor from Spaine: which how disgracefull +It were to us who, if we waigh our selves, +The most materiall accessions are +Of all the Roman Empire. Which disgrace +To cover we must ioyne ourselves betimes, +And therefore seeme to have created _Galba_. +Therefore He straight proclaime a _Donative_ +Of thirty thousand sesterces a man. + +_Anton_. I thinke so great a gift was never heard of. +_Galba_, they say, is frugally inclinde: +Will he avow so great a gift as this? + +_Nimph_. Howere he like of it he must avow it, +If by our promise he be once ingaged; +And since the souldiers care belongs to mee, +I will have care of them and of their good. +Let them thank me if I through this occasion +Procure for them so great a donative. + [_Ex. Nimph_. + +_Anton_. So you be thankt it skils not who prevaile, +_Galba_ or _Nero_,--traitor to them both. +You give it out that _Neroes_ fled to _Egypt_, +Who, with the frights of your reports amaz'd, +By our device doth lurke for better newes, +Whilst you inevitably doe betray him. +Workes he all this for _Galba_ then? Not so: +I have long seene his climbing to the Empire +By secret practises of gracious women. +And other instruments of the late Court. +That was his love to her that me refus'd; +And now by this he would [gain?] give the souldiers favour. +Now is the time to quit _Poppaeas_ scorne +And his rivallity. Ile straight reveale +His treacheries to _Galbaes_ agents here. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Tigellinus with the Guard_. + +_Tigell_. You see what issue things doe sort unto; +Yet may we hope not only impunitie +But with our fellowes part oth' guift proclaim'd. + + _Nero meets them_. + +_Nero_. Whether goe you? stay, my friends; +'Tis Caesar calls you; stay, my loving friends. + +_Tigell_. We were his slaves, his footstooles, and must crouch +But now with such observance to his feet; +It is his misery that calles us friends. + +_Nero_. And moves you not the misery of a Prince? +O stay, my friends, stay, harken to the voyce +Which once yee knew. + +_Tigell_. Harke to the peoples cryes, +Harke to the streets that _Galba, Galba_, ring. + +_Nero_. The people may forsake me without blame, +I did them wrong to make you rich and great, +I tooke their houses to bestow on you; +Treason in them hath name of libertie: +Your fault hath no excuse, you are my fault +And the excuse of others treachery. + +_Tigell_. Shall we with staying seeme his tyrannies +T'uphold, as if we were in love with them? +We are excus'd (unlesse we stay too long) +As forced Ministers and a part of wrong. + + [_Ex. praeter Nero_. + +_Nero_. O now I see the vizard from my face, +So lovely and so fearefull, is fall'n off, +That vizard, shadow, nothing, Maiestie, +Which, like a child acquainted with his feares, +But now men trembled at and now contemne. +_Nero_ forsaken is of all the world, +The world of truth. O fall some vengeance downe +Equall unto their falsehoods and my wrongs! +Might I accept the Chariot of the Sunne +And like another _Phaeton_ consume +In flames of all the world, a pile of Death +Worthy the state and greatnesse I have lost! +Or were I now but Lord of my owne fires +Wherein false Rome yet once againe might smoake +And perish, all unpitied of her Gods, +That all things in their last destruction might +Performe a funerall honour to their Lord! +O _Iove_ dissolve with _Caesar Caesars_ world; +Or you whom _Nero_ rather should invoke, +Blacke _Chaos_ and you fearefull shapes beneath, +That with a long and not vaine envy have +Sought to destroy this worke of th'other Gods; +Now let your darknesse cease the spoyles of day, +And the worlds first contention end your strife. + + _Enter two Romanes to him_. + +1 _Rom_. Though others, bound with greater benefits, +Have left your changed fortunes and doe runne +Whither new hopes doe call them, yet come we. + +_Nero_. O welcome come you to adversitie; +Welcome, true friends. Why, there is faith on earth; +Of thousand servants, friends and followers, +Yet two are left. Your countenance, me thinks, +Gives comfort and new hopes. + +2 _Rom_. Doe not deceive your thoughts: +My Lord, we bring no comfort,--would we could,-- +But the last duty to performe and best +We ever shall, a free death to persuade, +To cut off hopes of fearcer cruelty +And scorne, more cruell to a worthy soule. + +1 _Rom_. The Senate have decreed you're punishable +After the fashion of our ancestors, +Which is, your necke being locked in a forke, +You must be naked whipt and scourg'd to death. + +_Nero_. The Senate thus decreed? they that so oft +My vertues flattered have and guifts of mine, +My government preferr'd to ancient times, +And challenge[d] _Numa_ to compare with me,-- +Have they so horrible an end sought out? +No, here I beare which shall prevent such shame; +This hand shall yet from that deliver me, +And faithfull be alone unto his Lord. +Alasse, how sharp and terrible is death! +O must I die, must now my senses close? +For ever die, and nere returne againe, +Never more see the Sunne, nor Heaven, nor Earth? +Whither goe I? What shall I be anone? +What horred iourney wandrest thou, my soule, +Under th'earth in darke, dampe, duskie vaults? +Or shall I now to nothing be resolv'd? +My feares become my hopes; O would I might. +Me thinkes I see the boyling _Phlegeton_ +And the dull poole feared of them we feare, +The dread and terror of the Gods themselves; +The furies arm'd with linkes, with whippes, with snakes, +And my owne furies farre more mad then they, +My mother and those troopes of slaughtred friends. +And now the Iudge is brought unto the throne, +That will not leave unto Authoritie +Nor favour the oppressions of the great! + +1 _Rom_. These are the idle terrors of the night, +Which wise men (though they teach) doe not beleeve, +To curbe our pleasures faine[d] and aide the weake. + +2 _Rom_. Deaths wrongfull defamation, which would make +Us shunne this happy haven of our rest, +This end of evils, as some fearefull harme. + +1 _Rom_. Shadowes and fond imaginations, +Which now (you see) on earth but children feare. + +2 _Rom_. Why should our faults feare punishment from them? +What doe the actions of this life concerne +The tother world, with which is no commerce? + +1 _Rom_. Would Heaven and Starres necessitie compell +Us to doe that which after it would punish? + +2 _Rom_. Let us not after our lives end beleeve +More then you felt before it. + +_Nero_. If any words had[95] made me confident +And boldly doe for hearing others speake +Boldly, this might.[96] But will you by example +Teach me the truth of your opinion +And make me see that you beleeve yourselves? +Will you by dying teach me to beare death +With courage? + +1 _Rom_. No necessitie of death +Hangs ore our heads, no dangers threaten us +Nor Senates sharpe decree nor _Galbaes_ arms. + +2 _Rom_. Is this the thankes, then, thou dost pay our love? +Die basely as such a life deserv'd; +Reserve thy selfe to punishment, and scorne +Of Rome and of thy laughing enemies. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manet Nero_. + +_Nero_. They hate me cause I would but live. What was't +You lov'd, kind friends, and came to see my death? +Let me endure all torture and reproach +That earth or _Galbaes_ anger can inflict; +Yet hell and _Rodamanth_ are more pittilesse. + + _The first Romane to him_. + +_Rom_. Though not deserv'd, yet once agen I come +To warne thee to take pitie on thy selfe. +The troopes by the Senate sent descend the hill +And come. + +_Nero_. To take me and to whip me unto death! +O whither shall I flye? + +_Rom_. Thou hast no choice. + +_Nero_. O hither must I flye: hard is his happe +Who from death onely must by death escape. +Where are they yet? O may not I a little +Bethinke my selfe? + +_Rom_. They are at hand; harke, thou maist heare the noise. + +_Nero_. O _Rome_, farewell! farewell, you Theaters +Where I so oft with popular applause +In song and action--O they come, I die. + (_He falls on his sword_.) + +_Rom_. So base an end all iust commiseration +Doth take away: yet what we doe now spurne +The morning Sunne saw fearefull to the world. + + _Enter some of Galbaes friends, Antoneus and others, + with Nimphidius bound_. + +_Gal_. You both shall die together, Traitors both +He to the common wealth and thou to him +And worse to a good Prince.--What? is he dead? +Hath feare encourag'd him and made him thus +Prevent our punishment? Then die with him: +Fall thy aspiring at thy Master's feete. + (_He kils Nimph_). + +_Anton_. Who, though he iustly perisht, yet by thee +Deserv'd it not; nor ended there thy treason, +But even thought oth' Empire thou conceiv'st. +_Galbaes_ disgrace[d] in receiving that +Which the sonne of _Nimphidia_ could hope. + +_Rom_. Thus great bad men above them find a rod: +People, depart and say there is a God. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +FINIS. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE MAYDES METAMORPHOSIS. + + +The anonymous comedy of the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ (1600), usually +attributed to Lilly, shews few traces of the mannerisms of the graceful +but insipid Euphuist. It is just such a play as George Wither or William +Browne might have written in very early youth. The writer was evidently +an admirer of Spenser, and has succeeded in reproducing on his Pan-pipe +some thin, but not unpleasing, echoes of his master's music. Mr. Edmund +W. Gosse has suggested that the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ may be an early +work of John Day; and no one is better able to pronounce on such a point +than Mr. Gosse. The scene at the beginning of Act ii., and the gossip of +the pages in Acts ii. and iii., are certainly very much in Day's manner. +The merciless harrying of the word "kind" at the beginning of Act v. +reminds one of similar elaborate trifling in _Humour out of Breath_; +and the amoebaean rhymes in the contention between Gemulo and Silvio +(Act i.) are, in their sportive quaintness, as like Day's handiwork as +they are unlike Lilly's. In reading the pretty echo-scene, in Act iv., +the reader will recall a similar scene in _Law Trickes_ (Act v., Sc. I). +On the other hand, the delightful songs of the fairies[97] (in Act iii.), +if not written by Lilly, were at least suggested by the fairies' song in +_Endymion_. It would be hard to say what Lilly might not have achieved +if he had not stultified himself by his detestable pedantry: his songs +(_O si sic omnia_) are hardly to be matched for silvery sweetness. + +Mr. Gosse thinks that the rhymed heroics, in which the _Maydes +Metamorphosis_ is mainly written, bear strong traces of Day's style; and +as Mr. Gosse, who is at once a poet and a critic, judges by his ear and +not by his thumb, his opinion carries weight. Day's capital work, the +_Parliament of Bees_, is incomparably more workmanlike than the _Maydes +Metamorphosis_; but the latter, it should be remembered, is beyond all +doubt a very juvenile performance. Turning over some old numbers of a +magazine, I found a reviewer of Mr. Tennyson's _Princess_ complaining +"that we could have borne rather more polish!" How the fledgling poet +of the _Maydes Metamorphosis_ would have fared at the reviewer's hands +I tremble to think. But though his rhymes are occasionally slipshod, +and the general texture is undeniably thin, still there is something +attractive in the young writer's shy tentativeness. The reader who +comes to a perusal with the expectation of getting some substantial +diet, will be grievously mistaken; but those who are content if they +can catch and hold fast a fleeting flavour will not regret the +half-hour spent in listening to the songs of the elves and the prattle +of the pages in this quaint old pastoral. + + + + +THE MAYDES METAMORPHOSIS. + + +_As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles_. + +LONDON: Printed by _Thomas Creede_, for _Richard Oliue_, dwelling +in long Lane. 1600. + + + +_THE PROLOGUE. + +The manifold, great favours we have found, + By you to us poore weaklings still extended; +Whereof your vertues have been only ground, + And no desert in us to be so friended; +Bindes us some way or other to expresse, + Though all our all be else defeated quite +Of any meanes save duteous thankefulnes, + Which is the utmost measure of our might: +Then, to the boundlesse ocean of your woorth + This little drop of water we present; +Where though it never can be singled foorth, + Let zeale be pleader for our good intent. + Drops not diminish but encrease great floods, + And mites impaire not but augment our goods_. + + + + +The Maydes Metamorphosis. + + + +_Actus Primus_. + + + _Enter Phylander, Orestes, Eurymine_. + +_Eurymine_. _Phylander_ and _Orestes_, what conceyt +Troubles your silent mindes? Let me intreat, +Since we are come thus farre, as we do walke +You would deuise some prettie pleasant talke; +The aire is coole, the euening high and faire: +Why should your cloudie lookes then shew dispaire? + +_Phy_. Beleeue me, faire _Eurimine_, my skill +Is simple in discourse, and vtterance ill; +_Orestes_, if he we were disposde to trie, +Can better manage such affaires than I. + +_Eu_. Why then, _Orestes_, let me crave of you +Some olde or late done story to renew: +Another time you shall request of me +As good, if not a greater, curtesie. + +_Or_. Trust me, as now (nor can I shew a reason) +All mirth vnto my mind comes out of season; +For inward I am troubled in such sort +As all vnfit I am to make report +Of any thing may breed the least delight; +Rather in teares I wish the day were night, +For neither can myself be merry now +Nor treat of ought that may be likte of you. + +_Eu_. Thats but your melancholike old disease, +That neuer are disposde but when ye please. + +_Phy_. Nay, mistresse, then, since he denies the taske, +My selfe will strait complish what ye aske; +And, though the pleasure of my tale be small, +Yet may it serue to passe the time withall. + +_Eu_. Thanks, good _Phylander_; when you please, say on: +Better I deeme a bad discourse then none. + +_Phy_. Sometime there liu'd a Duke not far from hence, +Mightie in fame and vertues excellence; +Subiects he had as readie to obey +As he to rule, beloued eueryway; +But that which most of all he gloried in +(Hope of his age and comfort of his kin) +Was the fruition of one onely sonne, +A gallant youth, inferior vnto none +For vertue shape or excellence of wit, +That after him vpon his throne might sit. +This youth, when once he came to perfect age, +The Duke would faine have linckt in marriage +With diuers dames of honourable blood +But stil his fathers purpose he withstood. + +_Eu_. How? was he not of mettal apt to loue? + +_Phy_. Yes, apt enough as wil the sequel proue; +But so the streame of his affection lay +As he did leane a quite contrary way, +Disprouing still the choice his father made, +And oftentimes the matter had delaid; +Now giuing hope he would at length consent, +And then again excusing his intent. + +_Eu_. What made him so repugnant in his deeds? + +_Phy_. Another loue, which this disorder breeds; +For euen at home, within his father's Court, +The Saint was shrinde whom he did honor most; +A louely dame, a virgin pure and chaste, +And worthy of a Prince to be embrac'te, +Had but her birth (which was obscure, they said) +Answerd her beautie; this their opinion staid. +Yet did this wilful youth affect her still +And none but she was mistres of his will: +Full often did his father him disswade +From liking such a mean and low-born mayde; +The more his father stroue to change his minde +The more the sonne became with fancy blinde. + +_Eu_. Alas, how sped the silly Louers then? + +_Phy_. As might euen grieue the rude vnciuilst men: +When here vpon to weane his fixed heart +From such dishonour to his high desert +The Duke had labourd but in vaine did striue, +Thus he began his purpose to contriue: +Two of his seruants, of vndoubted trvth, +He bound by vertue of a solemne oath +To traine the silly damzel out of sight +And there in secret to bereaue her quite-- + +_Eu_. Of what? her life? + +_Phy_. Yes, Madame, of her life, +Which was the cause of all the former strife. + +_Eu_. And did they kill her? + +_Phy_. You shall heare anon; +The question first must be discided on +In your opinion: whats your iudgement? say. +Who were most cruell, those that did obay +Or he who gaue commandment for the fact? + +_Eu_. In each of them it was a bloody act, +Yet they deserue (to speake my minde of both) +Most pardon that were bound thereto by oath. + +_Phy_. It is enough; we do accept your doome +To passe vnblam'd what ere of you become. + +_Eu_. To passe vnblam'de what ere become of me! +What may the meaning of these speeches be? + +_Phy_. _Eurymine_, my trembling tongue doth faile, +My conscience yrkes, my fainting sences quaile, +My faltring speech bewraies my guiltie thought +And stammers at the message we haue brought. + +_Eu_. Ay me! what horror doth inuade my brest! + +_Or_. Nay then, _Phylander_, I will tell the rest: +Damzell, thus fares thy case; demand not why, +You must forthwith prepare your selfe to dye; +Therefore dispatch and set your mind at rest. + +_Eu_. _Phylander_, is it true or doth he iest? + +_Phy_. There is no remedie but you must dye: +By you I framde my tragicke history. +The Duke my maister is the man I meant, +His sonne the Prince, the mayde of meane discent +Your selfe, on whom _Ascanio_ so doth doate +As for no reason may remoue his thought +Your death the Duke determines by vs two, +To end the loue betwixt his sonne and you; +And for this cause we trainde you to this wood, +Where you must sacrifice your dearest blood. + +_Eu_. Respect my teares. + +_Orest_. We must regard our oath. + +_Eu_. My tender yeares. + +_Or_. They are but trifles both. + +_Eu_. Mine innocency. + +_Or_. That would our promise breake; +Dispatch forthwith, we may not heare you speake. + +_Eu_. If neither teares nor innocency moue, +Yet thinke there is a heavenly power aboue. + +_Orest_. A done, and stand not preaching here all day. + +_Eu_. Then, since there is no remedie, I pray +Yet, good my masters, do but stay so long +Till I haue tane my farewell with a song +Of him whom I shall neuer see againe. + +_Phy_. We will affoord that respit to your paine. + +_Eu_. But least the feare of death appall my mind, +Sweet gentlemen, let me this fauour find, +That you wil vale mine eyesight with this scarfe; +That, when the fatall stroke is aymde at me, +I may not start but suffer patiently. + +_Orest_. Agreed, giue me; Ile shadow ye from feare, +If this may do it. + +_Eu_. Oh, I would it might, +But shadowes want the power to do that right. + + _Shee sings_. + + Ye sacred Fyres and powers aboue, + Forge of desires, working loue, + Cast downe your eye, cast downe your eye, + Vpon a Mayde in miserie. + My sacrifice is louers blood, + And from eyes salt teares a flood; + All which I spend, all which I spend, + For thee, _Ascanio_, my deare friend: + And though this houre I must feele + The bitter power of pricking steele, + Yet ill or well, yet ill or well, + To thee, _Ascanio_, still farewell. + + _Orestes offers to strike her with his Rapier, + and is stayed by Phylander_. + +_Orest_. What meanes, _Phylander_? + +_Phy_. Oh, forbeare thy stroke; +Her pitious mone and gesture might prouoke +Hard flint to ruthe. + +_Orest_. Hast thou forgot thy oath? + +_Phy_. Forgot it? no! + +_Or_. Then wherefore doest thou interrupt me so? + +_Phy_. A sudden terror ouercomes my thought. + +_Or_. Then suffer me that stands in feare of nought. + +_Phy_. Oh, hold, _Orestes_; heare my reason first. + +_Or_. Is all religion of thy vowe forgot? +Do as thou wilt, but I forget it not. + +_Phy_. _Orestes_, if thou standest vpon thine oath, +Let me alone to answere for vs both. + +_Or_. What answer canst thou giue? I wil not stay. + +_Phy_. Nay, villain; then my sword shall make me way. + +_Or_. Wilt thou in this against thy conscience striue? + +_Phy_. I will defend a woman while I liue, +A virgin and an innocent beside; +Therefore put vp or else thy chaunce abide. + +_Or_. Ile neuer sheath my sword vnles thou show, +Our oath reserued, we may let her go. + +_Phy_. That will I do, if truth may be of force. + +_Or_. And then will I be pleasd to graunt remorse. + +_Eu_. Litle thought I, when out of doore I went, +That thus my life should stand on argument. + +_Phy_. A lawfull oath in an vnlawfull cause +Is first dispenc't withall by reasons lawes; +Then, next, respect must to the end be had, +Because th'intent doth make it good or bad. +Now here th'intent is murder as thou seest, +Which to perform thou on thy oath reliest; +But, since the cause is wicked and vniust, +Th'effect must likewise be held odious: +We swore to kill, and God forbids to kill; +Shall we be rulde by him or by man's will? +Beside it is a woman is condemde; +And what is he, that is a man indeed, +That can endure to see a woman bleed? + +_Or_. Thou hast preuaild; _Eurymine_, stand vp; +I will not touch thee for a world of gold. + +_Phy_. Why now thou seemst to be of humane mould; +But, on our graunt, faire mayd, that you shall liue, +Will you to vs your faithfull promise giue +Henceforth t'abandon this your Country quite, +And neuer more returne into the sight +Of fierce _Telemachus_, the angry Duke, +Where by we may be voyd of all rebuke? + +_Eur_. Here do I plight my chaste vnspotted hand, +I will abiure this most accursed land: +And vow henceforth, what fortune ere betide, +Within these woods and desarts to abide. + +_Phy_. Now wants there nothing but a fit excuse +To sooth the Duke in his concern'd abuse; +That he may be perswaded she is slaine, +And we our wonted fauour still maintaine. + +_Orest_. It shall be thus: within a lawne hard by, +Obscure with bushes, where no humane eye +Can any way discouer our deceit, +There feeds a heard of Goates and country neate. +Some Kidde or other youngling will we take +And with our swords dispatch it for her sake; +And, hauing slaine it, rip his panting breast +And take the heart of the vnguiltie beast, +Which, to th'intent our counterfeit report +May seeme more likely, we will beare to court +And there protest, with bloody weapons drawne, +It was her heart. + +_Phy_. Then likewise take this Lawne, +Which well _Telemachus_ did know she wore, +And let it be all spotted too with gore. +How say you, mistresse? will you spare the vale? + +_Eur_. That and what else, to verifie your tale. +And thankes, _Phylander_ and _Orestes_ both, +That you preserue me from a Tyrants wroth. + +_Phy_. I would it were within my power, I wis, +To do you greater curtesie than this; +But what we cannot by our deeds expresse +In heart we wish, to ease your heauinesse. + +_Eur_. A double debt: yet one word ere ye go, +Commend me to my deare _Ascanio_. +Whose loyall loue and presence to forgoe +Doth gall me more than all my other woe. + +_Orest_. Our liues shall neuer want to do him good. + +_Phy_. Nor yet our death if he in daunger stood: + +_Or_. And, mistresse, so good fortune be your guide, +And ought that may be fortunate beside. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Eu_. The like I wish vnto your selues againe, +And many happy days deuoyd of paine.-- +And now _Eurymine_ record thy state, +So much deiected and opprest by fate. +What hope remaines? wherein hast thou to ioy? +Wherein to tryumph but thine owne annoy? +If euer wretch might tell of miserie +Then I, alas, poore I, am only she; +Vnknowne of parents, destitute of friends, +Hopefull of nought but what misfortune sends; +Banisht, to liue a fugitiue alone +In vncoth[98] paths and regions neuer knowne. +Behold, _Ascanio_, for thy only sake, +These tedious trauels I must undertake. +Nor do I grudge; the paine seemes lesse to mee +In that I suffer this distresse for thee. + + _Enter Siluio, a Raunger_. + +_Sil_. Well met, fair Nymph, or Goddesse if ye bee; +Tis straunge, me thinkes, that one of your degree +Should walke these solitary groues alone. + +_Eu_. It were no maruel, if you knew my mone. +But what are you that question me so far? + +_Sil_. My habit telles you that, a Forrester; +That, hauing lost a heard of skittish Deire, +Was of good hope I should haue found them heere. + +_Eu_. Trust me, I saw not any; so farewell. + +_Sil_. Nay stay, and further of your fortunes tell; +I am not one that meanes you any harme. + + _Enter Gemulo, the Shepheard_. + +_Ge_. I thinke my boy be fled away by charme. +Raunger, well met; within thy walke, I pray, +Sawst thou not _Mopso_ my vnhappie boy. + +_Sil_. Shepheard, not I: what meanst to seeke him heere? + +_Ge_. Because the wagge, possest with doubtful feare +Least I would beate him for a fault he did, +Amongst those trees I do suspect hees hid. +But how now, Raunger? you mistake, I trowe; +This is a Lady and no barren Dowe. + +_Sil_. It is indeede, and (as it seemes) distrest; +Whose griefe to know I humbly made request, +But she as yet will not reueale the same. + +_Ge_. Perhaps to me she will: speak, gentle dame; +What daunger great hath driuen ye to this place? +Make knowne your state, and looke what slender grace +A Shepheards poore abilitee may yeeld +You shall be sure of ere I leaue the feeld. + +_Eur_. Alas good Sir the cause may not be known +That hath inforste me to be here alone. + +_Sil_. Nay, feare not to discouer what you are; +It may be we may remedie your care. + +_Eur_. Since needs you will that I renew my griefe, +Whether it be my chance to finde reliefe +Or not, I wreake not: such my crosses are +As sooner I expect to meet despaire. +Then thus it is: not farre from hence do dwell +My parents, of the world esteemed well, +Who with their bitter threats my grant had won +This day to marrie with a neighbours son, +And such a one to whom I should be wife +As I could neuer fancie in my life: +And therefore, to auoid that endlesse thrall, +This morne I came away and left them all. + +_Sil_. Now trust me, virgin, they were much vnkinde +To seeke to match you so against your minde. + +_Ge_. It was, besides, vnnatural constraint: +But, by the tenure of your just complaint, +It seems you are not minded to returne, +Nor any more to dwell where you were borne. + +_Eur_. It is my purpose if I might obtaine +A place of refuge where I might remain. + +_Sil_. Why, go with me; my Lodge is not far off, +Where you shall haue such hospitalitie +As shall be for your health and safetie. + +_Ge_. Soft, Raunger; you do raunge beyond your skill. +My house is nearer, and for my good will, +It shall exceed a woodmans woodden stuffe: +Then go with me, Ile keep you safe enough. + +_Sil_. Ile bring her to a bower beset with greene. + +_Ge_. And I an arbour may delight a Queene. + +_Sil_. Her dyet shall be Venson at my boord. + +_Ge_. Young Kid and Lambe we shepheards can affoord. + +_Sil_. And nothing else? + +_Ge_. Yes; raunging, now and then +A Hog, a Goose, a Capon, or a Hen. + +_Sil_. These walkes are mine amongst the shadie trees. + +_Ge_. For that I haue a garden full of Bees, +Whose buzing musick with the flowers sweet +Each euen and morning shall her sences greet. + +_Sil_. The nightingale is my continuall clocke. + +_Ge_. And mine the watchfull sin-remembring cocke. + +_Sil_. A Hunts vp[99] I can tune her with my hounds. + +_Ge_. And I can shew her meads and fruitfull grounds. + +_Sil_. Within these woods are many pleasant springs. + +_Ge_. Betwixt yond dales the Eccho daily sings. + +_Sil_. I maruell that a rusticke shepheard dare +With woodmen then audaciously compare. +Why, hunting is a pleasure for a King, +And Gods themselves sometime frequent the thing. +_Diana_ with her bowe and arrows keene +Did often vse the chace in Forrests greene, +And so, alas, the good Athenian knight +And swifte _Acteon_ herein tooke delight, +And _Atalanta_, the Arcadian dame, +Conceiu'd such wondrous pleasure in the game +That, with her traine of Nymphs attending on, +She came to hunt the Bore of _Calydon_. + +_Ge_. So did _Apollo_ walke with shepheards crooke, +And many Kings their sceptres haue forsooke +To lead the quiet life we shepheards tooke (?), +Accounting it a refuge for their woe. + +_Sil_. But we take choice of many a pleasant walke, +And marke the Deare how they begin to stalke; +When each, according to his age and time,[100] +Pricks vp his head and bears a Princely minde. +The lustie Stag, conductor of the traine, +Leads all the heard in order downe the plaine; +The baser rascals[101] scatter here and there +As not presuming to approach so neere. + +_Ge_. So shepheards sometimes sit vpon a hill +Or in the cooling shadow of a mill, +And as we sit vnto our pipes we sing +And therewith make the neighboring groues to ring; +And when the sun steales downward to the west +We leave our chat and whistle in the fist, +Which is a signall to our stragling flocke +As Trumpets sound to men in martiall shocke. + +_Sil_. Shall I be thus outfaced by a swaine? +Ile haue a guard to wayt vpon her traine, +Of gallant woodmen clad in comely greene, +The like whereof hath seldome yet bene seene. + +_Ge_. And I of shepheards such a lustie crew +As neuer Forrester the like yet knew, +Who for their persons and their neate aray +Shal be as fresh as is the moneth of May. +Where are ye there, ye merry noted swaines? +Draw neare a while, and whilst vpon the plaines +Your flocks do gently feed, lets see your skill +How you with chaunting can sad sorrow kill. + + _Enter shepheards singing_. + +_Sil_. Thinks _Gemulo_ to beare the bell away +By singing of a simple Rundelay? +No, I have fellowes whose melodious throats +Shall euen as far exceed those homely notes +As doth the Nightingale in musicke passe +The most melodious bird that euer was: +And, for an instance, here they are at hand; +When they have done let our deserts be scand. + + _Enter woodmen and sing_. + +_Eu_. Thanks to you both; you both deserue so well +As I want skill your worthinesse to tell. +And both do I commend for your good will, +And both Ile honor, loue, and reuerence still; +For neuer virgin had such kindnes showne +Of straungers, yea, and men to her vnknowne. +But more, to end this sudden controuersie, +Since I am made an Vmpire in the plea, +This is my verdite: Ile intreate of you +A Cottage for my dwelling, and of you +A flocke to tend; and so, indifferent, +My gratefull paines on either shal be spent. + +_Sil_. I am agreed, and, for the loue I beare, +Ile boast I haue a Tenant is so faire. + +_Ge_. And I will hold it as a rich possession +That she vouchsafes to be of my profession. + +_Sil_. Then, for a sign that no man here hath wrong, +From hence lets all conduct her with a song. + +_The end of the First Act_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + + + _Enter Ascanio, and Ioculo his Page_. + + +_Asca_. Away, _Ioculo_. + +_Io_. Here, sir, at hand. + +_Asca. Ioculo_, where is she? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. When went she? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. Which way went she? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. Where should I seeke her? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. When shall I find her? + +_Io_. I know not. + +_Asca_. A vengeance take thee, slaue, what dost thou know? + +_Io_. Marry, sir, that I doo know. + +_Asca_. What, villiane? + +_Io_. And[102] you be so testie, go looke. What a coyles here with you? +If we knew where she were what need we seeke her? I think you are a +lunaticke: where were you when you should haue lookt after her? now you +go crying vp and downe after your wench like a boy that had lost his +horne booke. + +_Asca_. Ah, my sweet Boy! + +_Io_. Ah, my sweet maister! nay, I can giue you as good words as you can +giue me; alls one for that. + +_Asca_. What canst thou giue me no reliefe? + +_Io_. Faith, sir, there comes not one morsel of comfort from my lips to +sustaine that hungry mawe of your miserie: there is such a dearth at +this time. God amend it! + +_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, my brest is full of griefe, +And yet my hope that only wants reliefe. + +_Io_. Your brest and my belly are in two contrary kaies; you walke to +get stomacke to your meate, and I walke to get meate to my stomacke; +your brest's full and my belli's emptie. If they chance to part in this +case, God send them merry meeting,--that my belly be ful and your brest +empty. + +_Asca_. Boy, for the loue that euer thou didst owe +To thy deare master, poore _Ascanio_. +Racke thy proou'd wits vnto the highest straine, +To bring me backe _Eurymine_ againe. + +_Io_. Nay, master, if wit could do it I could tell you more; but if it +euer be done the very legeritie[103] of the feete must do it; these ten +nimble bones must do the deed. Ile trot like a little dog; theres not +a bush so big as my beard, but Ile be peeping in it; theres not a +coate[104] but Ile search every corner; if she be aboue, or beneath, +ouer the ground or vnder, Ile finde her out. + +_Asca_. Stay, _Ioculo_; alas, it cannot be: +If we should parte I loose both her and thee. +The woods are wide; and, wandering thus about, +Thou maist be lost and not my loue found out. + +_Io_. I pray thee let me goe. + +_Asca_. I pray thee stay. + +_Io_. I faith Ile runne. + +_Asca_. And doest not know which way. + +_Io_. Any way, alls one; Ile drawe drie foote;[105] if you send not to +seeke her you may lye here long enough before she comes to seeke you. +She little thinkes that you are hunting for her in these quarters. + +_Asca_. Ah, _Ioculo_, before I leaue my Boy, +Of this worlds comfort now my only ioy. +Seest thou this place? vpon this grassie bed, +With summers gawdie dyaper bespred, (_He lyes downe_.) +Vnder these shadowes shall my dwelling be, +Till thou returne, sweet _Ioculo_, to me. + +_Io_. And, if my conuoy be not cut off by the way, it shall not be long +before I be with you. + (_He speakes to the people_.) +Well, I pray you looke to my maister, for here I leaue him amongst you; +and if I chaunce to light vpon the wench, you shall heare of me by the +next winde. + [_Exit Ioculo_. + + _Ascanio solus_. + +_Asca_. In vaine I feare, I beate my braines about, +Proouing by search to finde my mistresse out. +_Eurymine, Eurymine_, retorne, +And with thy presence guild the beautious morne! +And yet I feare to call vpon thy name: +The pratling Eccho, should she learne the same, +The last words accent shiele no more prolong +But beare that sound vpon her airie tong. +Adorned with the presence of my loue +The woods, I feare, such secret power shal proue +As they'll shut vp each path, hide euery way, +Because they still would haue her go astray, +And in that place would alwaies haue her seene +Only because they would be euer greene, +And keepe the wingged Quiristers still there +To banish winter cleane out of the yeare. +But why persist I to bemone my state, +When she is gone and my complaint too late? +A drowsie dulnes closeth vp my sight; +O powerfull sleepe, I yeeld vnto thy might. + (_He falls asleepe_.) + + _Enter Iuno and Iris_. + +_Iuno_. Come hither, _Iris_. + +_Iris_. _Iris_ is at hand, +To attend _Ioues_ wife, great _Iunos_ hie command. + +_Iuno_. _Iris_, I know I do thy seruice proue, +And euer since I was the wife of _Ioue_ +Thou hast bene readie when I called still, +And alwayes most obedient to my will: +Thou seest how that imperiall Queene of loue +With all the Gods how she preuailes aboue, +And still against great _Iunos_ hests doth stand +To haue all stoupe and bowe at her command; +Her Doues and Swannes and Sparrowes must be graced +And on Loues Aultar must be highly placed; +My starry Peacocks which doth beare my state, +Scaresly alowd within his pallace gate. +And since herselfe she doth preferd doth see, +Now the proud huswife will contend with mee, +And practiseth her wanton pranckes to play +With this _Ascanio_ and _Eurymine_. +But Loue shall know, in spight of all his skill, +_Iuno_'s a woman and will haue her will. + +_Iris_. What is my Goddesse will? may _Iris_ aske? + +_Iuno_. _Iris_, on thee I do impose this taske +To crosse proud _Venus_ and her purblind Lad +Vntill the mother and her brat be mad; +And with each other set them so at ods +Till to their teeth they curse and ban the Gods. + +_Iris_. Goddes, the graunt consists alone in you. + +_Iuno_. Then mark the course which now you must pursue. +Within this ore-growne Forrest there is found +A duskie Caue[106], thrust lowe into the ground, +So vgly darke, so dampie and [so] steepe +As, for his life, the sunne durst neuer peepe +Into the entrance; which doth so afright +The very day that halfe the world is night. +Where fennish fogges and vapours do abound +There _Morpheus_ doth dwell within the ground; +No crowing Cocke or waking bell doth call, +Nor watchful dogge disturbeth sleepe at all; +No sound is heard in compasse of the hill; +But euery thing is quiet, whisht,[107] and still. +Amid the caue vpon the ground doth lie +A hollow plancher,[108] all of Ebonie, +Couer'd with blacke, whereon the drowsie God +Drowned in sleepe continually doth nod. +Go, _Iris_, go and my commandment take +And beate against the doores till sleepe awake: +Bid him from me in vision to appeare +Vnto _Ascanio_, that lieth slumbring heare, +And in that vision to reueale the way, +How he may finde the faire _Eurymine_. + +_Iris_. Madam, my service is at your command. + +_Iuno_. Dispatch it then, good _Iris_, out of hand, +My Peacocks and my Charriot shall remaine +About the shore till thou returne againe. + [_Exit Iuno_. + +_Iris_. About the businesse now that I am sent, +To sleepes black Caue I will incontinent;[109] +And his darke cabine boldly will I shake +Vntill the drowsie lumpish God awake, +And such a bounsing at his Caue Ile keepe +That if pale death seaz'd on the eyes of sleepe +Ile rowse him up; that when he shall me heare +He make his locks stand vp on end with feare. +Be silent, aire, whilst _Iris_ in her pride +Swifter than thought vpon the windes doth ride. +What _Somnus_! what _Somnus, Somnus_! + (_Strikes. Pauses a little_) +What, wilt thou not awake? art thou still so fast? +Nay then, yfaith, Ile haue another cast. +What, _Somnus! Somnus_! I say. + (_Strikes againe_) + +_Som_. Who calles at this time of the day? +What a balling dost thou keepe! +A vengeance take thee, let me sleepe. + +_Iris_. Vp thou drowsie God I say +And come presently away, +Or I will beate vpon this doore +That after this thou sleep'st no more. + +_Som_. Ile take a nap and come annon. + +_Iris_. Out, you beast, you blocke, you stone! +Come or at thy doore Ile thunder +Til both heaven and hel do wonder. +_Somnus_, I say! + +_Som_. A vengeance split thy chaps asunder! + + _Enter Somnus_. + +_Iris_. What, _Somnus_! + +_Som_. _Iris_, I thought it should be thee. +How now, mad wench? what wouldst with me? + +_Iris_. From mightie _Iuno, Ioues_ immortall wife, +_Somnus_, I come to charge thee on thy life +That thou vnto this Gentleman appeere +And in this place, thus as he lyeth heere, +Present his mistres to his inward eies +In as true manner as thou canst deuise. + +_Som_. I would thou wert hangd for waking me. +Three sonnes I haue; the eldest _Morpheus_ hight, +He shewes of man the shape or sight; +The second, _Icelor_, whose beheasts +Doth shewe the formes of birds and beasts; +_Phantasor_ for the third, things lifeles hee: +Chuse which like thee of these three. + +_Iris_. _Morpheus_; if he in humane shape appeare. + +_Som_. _Morpheus_, come forth in perfect likenes heere +Of--how call ye the Gentlewoman? + +_Iris. Eurymine_. + +_Som_. Of _Eurymine_; and shewe this Gentleman +What of his mistres is become. + (_Kneeling downe by Ascanio_.) + + _Enter Eurymine, to be supposed Morpheus_. + +_Mor_. My deare _Ascanio_, in this vision see +_Eurymine_ doth thus appeare to thee. +As soone as sleepe hath left thy drowsie eies +Follow the path that on thy right hand lies: +An aged Hermit thou by chaunce shalt find +That there hath bene time almost out of mind, +This holy man, this aged reuerent Father, +There in the woods doth rootes and simples gather; +His wrinckled browe tells strenghts past long ago, +His beard as white as winters driuen snow. +He shall discourse the troubles I haue past, +And bring vs both together at the last +Thus she presents her shadow to thy sight +That would her person gladly if she might. + +_Iris_. See how he catches to embrace the shade. + +_Mor_. This vision fully doth his powers inuade; +And, when the heate shall but a little slake, +Thou then shalt see him presently awake. + +_Som_. Hast thou ought else that I may stand in sted? + +_Iris_. No, _Somnus_, no; go back unto thy bed; +_Iuno_, she shall reward thee for thy paine. + +_Som_. Then good night, _Iris_; Ile to rest againe. + +_Iris_. _Morpheus_, farewell; to _Iuno_ I will flie. + +_Mor_. And I to sleepe as fast as I can hie. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Ascanio starting sayes_. + +_Eurymine_! Ah, my good Angell, stay! +O vanish not so suddenly away; +O stay, my Goddess; whither doest thou flie? +Returne, my sweet _Eurymine_, tis I. +Where art thou? speake; Let me behold thy face. +Did I not see thee in this very place, +Euen now? Here did I not see thee stand? +And heere thy feete did blesse the happie land? +_Eurymine_, Oh wilt thou not attend? +Flie from thy foe, _Ascanio_ is thy friend: +The fearfull hare so shuns the labouring hound, +And so the Dear eschues the Huntsman wound; +The trembling Foule so flies the Falcons gripe, +The Bond-man so his angry maisters stripe. +I follow not as _Phoebus Daphne_ did, +Nor as the Dog pursues the trembling Kid. +Thy shape it was; alas, I saw not thee! +That sight were fitter for the Gods then mee. +But, if in dreames there any truth be found, +Thou art within the compas of this ground. +Ile raunge the woods and all the groues about, +And neuer rest vntill I find thee out. [_Exit_. + + _Enter at one doore Mopso singing_. + +_Mop_. Terlitelo,[110] Terlitelo, tertitelee, terlo. + So merrily this sheapheards Boy + His home that he can blow, + Early in a morning, late, late in an euening; + And euer sat this little Boy + So merrily piping. + + _Enter at the other doore Frisco singing_. + +_Fris_. Can you blow the little home? + Weell, weell and very weell; + And can you blow the little home + Amongst the leaues greene? + + _Enter Ioculo in the midst singing_. + +_Io_. Fortune,[111] my foe, why doest thou frowne on mee? + And will my fortune neuer better bee? + Wilt thou, I say, for euer breed my paine, + And wilt thou not restore my Ioyes againe? + +_Frisco_. Cannot a man be merry in his owne walke +But a must be thus encombred? + +_Io_. I am disposed to be melancholly, +And I cannot be priuate for one villaine or other. + +_Mop_. How the deuel stumbled this case of rope-ripes[112] into my way? + +_Fris_. Sirrha what art thou? and thou? + +_Io_. I am a page to a Courtier. + +_Mop_. And I a Boy to a Shepheard. + +_Fris_. Thou art the Apple-Squier[113] to an Eawe, +And thou sworne brother to a bale[114] of false dice. + +_Io_. What art thou? + +_Fris_. I am Boy to a Raunger. + +_Io_. An Out-lawe by authoritie, one that neuer sets marke of his own +goods nor neuer knowes how he comes by other mens. + +_Mop_. That neuer knowes his cattell but by their hornes. + +_Fris_. Sirrha, so you might haue said of your maister sheep. + +_Io_. I, marry, this takes fier like touch powder, and goes off with +a huffe. + +_Fris_. They come of crick-cracks, and shake their tayles like a squib. + +_Io_. Ha, you Rogues, the very steele of my wit shall strike fier from +the flint of your vnderstandings; haue you not heard of me? + +_Mop_. Yes, if you be the _Ioculo_ that I take you for, we haue heard +of your exployts for cosoning of some seuen and thirtie Alewiues in the +Villages here about. + +_Io_. A wit as nimble as a Sempsters needle or a girles finger at her +Buske poynt. + +_Mop_. Your iest goes too low, sir. + +_Fris_. O but tis a tickling iest. + +_Io_. Who wold haue thought to haue found this in a plaine villaine +that neuer woare better garment than a greene Ierkin? + +_Fris_. O Sir, though you Courtiers haue all the honour you haue not +all the wit. + +_Mop_. Soft sir, tis not your witte can carry it away in this company. + +_Io_. Sweet Rogues, your companie to me is like musick to a wench at +midnight when she lies alone and could wish,--yea, marry could she. + +_Fris_. And thou art as welcome to me as a new poking stick to a +Chamber mayd. + +_Mop_. But, soft; who comes here? + + _Enter the Faieries, singing and dauncing_. + + By the moone we sport and play, + With the night begins our day; + As we daunce, the deaw doth fall; + Trip it little vrchins all, + Lightly as the little Bee, + Two by two and three by three: + And about go wee, and about go wee.[115] + +_Io_. What Mawmets[116] are these? + +_Fris_. O they be the Fayries that haunt these woods. + +_Mop_. O we shall be pincht most cruelly. + +1 _Fay_. Will you haue any musick sir? + +2 _Fay_. Will you haue any fine musicke? + +3 _Fay_. Most daintie musicke? + +_Mop_. We must set a face on't now; there's no flying; no, Sir, +we are very merrie, I thanke you. + +1 _Fay_. O but you shall, Sir. + +_Fris_. No, I pray you, saue your labour. + +2 _Fay_. O, Sir, it shall not cost you a penny. + +_Io_. Where be your Fiddles? + +3 _Fay_. You shall haue most daintie Instruments, Sir. + +_Mop_. I pray you, what might I call you? + +1 _Fay_. My name is _Penny_. + +_Mop_. I am sorry I cannot purse you. + +_Fris_. I pray you sir what might I call you? + +2 _Fay_. My name is _Cricket_.[117] + +_Fris_. I would I were a chimney for your sake. + +_Io_. I pray you, you prettie little fellow, whats your name? + +3 _Fay_. My name is little, little _Pricke_. + +_Io_. Little, little _Pricke?_ o you are a daungerous Fayrie, and +fright all little wenches in the country out of their beds. I care not +whose hand I were in, so I were out of yours. + +1 _Fay_. I do come about the coppes + Leaping vpon flowers toppes; + Then I get vpon a Flie, + Shee carries me aboue the skie, + And trip and goe. + +2 _Fay_. When a deaw drop falleth downe + And doth light vpon my crowne, + Then I shake my head and skip + And about I trip. + +3 _Fay_. When I feele a girle a sleepe + Vnderneath her frock I peepe. + There to sport, and there I play, + Then I byte her like a flea; + And about I skip. + +_Io_. I, I thought where I should haue you. + +_1 Fay_. Wilt please you daunce, sir. + +_Io_. Indeed, sir, I cannot handle my legges. + +2 _Fay_. O you must needs daunce and sing, +Which if you refuse to doe +We will pinch you blacke and blew; +And about we goe. + + _They all daunce in a ring and sing, as followeth_. + + Round about, round about, in a fine ring a, + Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a: + Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a, + All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a. + + Round about, round about, in a fine Ring a, + Thus we daunce, thus we daunce, and thus we sing a: + Trip and go, too and fro, ouer this Greene a, + All about, in and out, for our braue Queene a. + + We haue daunc't round about in a fine Ring a, + We haue daunc't lustily and thus we sing a; + All about, in and out, ouer this Greene a, + Too and fro, trip and go, to our braue Queene a. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + +(SCENE I.) + + + _Enter Appollo and three Charites_. + +1 _Cha_. No, No, great _Phoebus_; this your silence tends +To hide your griefe from knowledge of your friends, +Who, if they knew the cause in each respect, +Would shewe their utmost skill to cure th'effect: + +_Ap_. Good Ladyes, your conceites in iudgement erre: +Because you see me dumpish, you referre +The reason to some secret griefe of mine: +But you haue seene me melancholy many a time: +Perhaps it is the glowing weather now +That makes me seeme so ill at ease to you. + +1 _Cha_. Fine shifts to cover that you cannot hide! +No, _Phoebus_; by your looks may be discride +Some hid conceit that harbors in your thought +Which hath therein some straunge impression wrought, +That by the course thereof you seeme to mee +An other man then you were wont to bee. + +_Ap_. No, Ladies; you deceiue yourselues in mee: +What likelihood or token do ye see +That may perswade it true that you suppose? + +2 _Cha_. _Appollo_ hence a great suspition growes:-- +Yeare not so pleasaunt now as earst in companie; +Ye walke alone and wander solitarie; +The pleasaunt toyes we did frequent sometime +Are worne away and growne out of prime; +Your Instrument hath lost his siluer sound, +That rang of late through all this grouie ground; +Your bowe, wherwith the chace you did frequent, +Is closde in case and long hath been unbent. +How differ you from that _Appollo_ now +That whilom sat in shade of Lawrell bowe, +And with the warbling of your Iuorie Lute +T'alure the Fairies for to daunce about! +Or from th'_Appollo_ that with bended bowe +Did many a sharp and wounding shaft bestowe +Amidst the Dragon _Pithons_ scalie wings, +And forc't his dying blood to spout in springs! +Beleeue me, _Phebus_, who sawe you then and now +Would thinke there were a wondrous change in you. + +_Ap_. Alas, faire dames, to make my sorows plain +Would but reuiue an auncient wound again, +Which grating presently vpon my minde +Doth leaue a fear of former woes behinde. + +3 _Cha_. _Phoebus_, if you account vs for the same +That tender thee and loue _Appollo's_ name, +Poure forth to vs the fountaine of your woe +Fro whence the spring of these your sorows flowe; +If we may any way redresse your mone +Commaund our best, harme we will do you none. + +_Ap_. Good Ladies, though I hope for no reliefe +He shewe the ground of this my present griefe: +This time of yeare, or there about it was, +(Accursed be the time, tenne times, alas!) +When I from _Delphos_ tooke my iourney downe +To see the games in noble Sparta Towne. +There saw I that wherein I gan to ioy, +_Amilchars_ sonne, a gallant comely boy +(Hight _Hiacinth_), full fifteene yeares of age, +Whom I intended to haue made my Page; +And bare as great affection to the boy +As euer _Ioue_ in _Ganimede_ did ioy. +Among the games my selfe put in a pledge, +To trie my strength in throwing of the sledge; +Which, poysing with my strained arme, I threw +So farre that it beyond the other flew: +My _Hiacinth_, delighting in the game, +Desierd to proue his manhood in the same, +And, catching ere the sledge lay still on ground, +With violent force aloft it did rebound +Against his head and battered out his braine; +And so alas my louely boy was slaine. + +1 _Cha_. Hard hap, O _Phoebus_; but, sieth it's past & gone, +We wish ye to forbeare this frustrate mone. + +_Ap_. Ladies, I knowe my sorrowes are in vaine, +And yet from mourning can I not refraine. + +1 _Cha_. _Eurania_ some pleasant song shall sing +To put ye from your dumps. + +_Ap_. Alas, no song will bring +The least reliefe to my perplexed minde. + +2 _Cha_. No, _Phoebus_? what other pastime shall we finde +To make ye merry with? + +_Ap_. Faire dames, I thanke you all; +No sport nor pastime can release my thrall. +My grief's of course; when it the course hath had, +I shall be merrie and no longer sad. + +1 _Cha_. What will ye then we doo? + +_Ap_. And please ye, you may goe, +And leaue me here to feed vpon my woe. + +2 _Cha_. Then, _Phoebus, we can but wish ye wel againe. + + [_Exeunt Charites_. + +_Ap_. I thanke ye, gentle Ladies, for your paine.-- +O _Phoebus_, wretched thou, thus art thou faine +With forg'de excuses to conceale thy paine. +O, _Hyacinth_, I suffer not these fits +For thee, my Boy; no, no, another sits +Deeper then thou in closet of my brest, +Whose sight so late hath wrought me this unrest. +And yet no Goddesse nor of heauenly kinde +She is, whose beautie thus torments my minde; +No Fayrie Nymph that haunts these pleasaunt woods, +No Goddesse of the flowres, the fields, nor floods: +Yet such an one whom iustly I may call +A Nymph as well as any of them all. +_Eurymine_, what heauen affoords thee heere? +So may I say, because thou com'st so neere, +And neerer far vnto a heauenly shape +Than she of whom _Ioue_ triumph't in the Rape. +Ile sit me downe and wake my griefe againe +To sing a while in honour of thy name. + + THE SONG. + + Amidst the mountaine Ida groues, + Where _Paris_ kept his Heard, + Before the other Ladies all + He would haue thee prefer'd. + _Pallas_, for all her painting, than + Her face would seeme but pale, + Then _Iuno_ would haue blush't for shame + And _Venus_ looked stale. + _Eurymine_, thy selfe alone + Shouldst beare the golden ball; + So far would thy most heauenly forme + Excell the others all; + O happie _Phoebus_! happie then, + Most happie should I bee + If faire _Eurymine_ would please + To ioyne in loue with mee. + + _Enter Eurymine_. + +_Eu_. Although there be such difference in the chaunge +To Hue in Court and desart woods to raunge, +Yet in extremes, wherein we cannot chuse, +An extreame refuge is not to refuse. +Good gentlemen, did any see my heard? +I shall not finde them out I am afeard; +And yet my maister wayteth with his bowe +Within a standeing, for to strike a Doe. +You saw them not, your silence makes me doubt; +I must goe further till I finde them out. + +_Ap_. What seeke you, prettie mayde? + +_Eu_. Forsooth, my heard of Deere. + +_Ap_. I sawe them lately, but they are not heere. + +_Eu_. I pray, sir, where? + +_Ap_. An houre agoe, or twaine, +I sawe them feeding all aboue the plaine. + +_Eu_. So much the more the toile to fetch them in. +I thanke you, sir. + +_Ap_. Nay, stay, sweet Nymph, with mee. + +_Eu_. My busines cannot so dispatched bee. + +_Ap_. But pray ye, Maide, it will be verie good +To take the shade in this vnhaunted wood. +This flouring bay, with branches large and great, +Will shrowd ye safely from the parching heat. + +_Eu_. Good sir, my busines calls me hence in haste. + +_Ap_. O stay with him who conquered thou hast, +With him whose restles thoughts do beat on thee, +With him that ioyes thy wished face to see, +With him whose ioyes surmount all ioyes aboue +If thou wouldst thinke him worthie of thy loue. + +_Eu_. Why, Sir, would you desire another make, +And weare that garland for your mistres sake? + +_Ap_. No, Nymph; although I loue this laurel tree, +My fancy ten times more affecteth thee: +And, as the bay is alwaies fresh and greene, +So shall my loue as fresh to thee be seene. + +_Eu_. Now truly, sir, you offer me great wrong +To hold me from my busines here so long. + +_Ap_. O stay, sweet Nymph; with more aduisement view +What one he is that for thy grace doth sue. +I am not one that haunts on hills or Rocks, +I am no shepheard wayting on my flocks, +I am no boystrous Satyre, no nor Faune, +That am with pleasure of thy beautie drawne: +Thou dost not know, God wot, thou dost not know +The wight whose presence thou disdainest so. + +_Eu_. But I may know, if you wold please to tell. + +_Ap_. My father in the highest heauen doth dwell +And I am knowne the sonne of _Ioue_ to bee, +Whereon the folke of _Delphos_ honor mee. +By me is knowne what is, what was, and what shall bee; +By me are learnde the Rules of harmonie; +By me the depth of Phisicks lore is found, +And power of Hearbes that grow vpon the ground; +And thus, by circumstances maist thou see +That I am _Phoebus_ who doth fancie thee. + +_Eu_. No, sir; by these discourses may I see +You mock me with a forged pedegree. +If sonne you bee to _Ioue_, as erst ye said, +In making loue vnto a mortall maide +You work dishonour to your deitie. +I must be gonne; I thanke ye for your curtesie. + +_Ap_. Alas, abandon not thy Louer so! + +_Eu_. I pray, sir, hartily giue me leaue to goe. + +_Ap_. The way ore growne with shrubs and bushes thick, +The sharpened thornes your tender feete will pricke, +The brambles round about your traine will lappe, +The burs and briers about your skirts will wrappe. + +_Eu_. If, _Phoebus_, thou of _Ioue_ the ofspring be, +Dishonor not thy deitie so much +With profered force a silly mayd to touch; +For doing so, although a god thou bee, +The earth and men on earth shall ring thy infamie. + +_Ap_. Hard speech to him that loueth thee so well. + +_Eu_. What know I that? + +_Ap_. I know it and can tell, +And feel it, too. + +_Eu_. If that your loue be such +As you pretend, so feruent and so much, +For proofe thereof graunt me but one request. + +_Ap_. I will, by _Ioue_ my father, I protest, +Provided first that thy petition bee +Not hurtfull to thy selfe, nor harme to mee. +For so sometimes did _Phaeton_ my sonne +Request a thing whereby he was vndone; +He lost his life through craving it, and I +Through graunting it lost him, my sonne, thereby. + +_Eu_. Thus, _Phoebus_, thus it is; if thou be hee +That art pretended in thy pedegree, +If sonne thou be to _Iove_, as thou doest fame, +And chalengest that tytle not in vaine, +Now heer bewray some signe of godhead than, +And chaunge me straight from shape of mayd to man. + +_Ap_. Alas! what fond desire doth moue thy minde +To wish thee altered from thy native kinde, +If thou in this thy womans form canst move +Not men but gods to sue and seeke thy love? +Content thyselfe with natures bountie than, +And covet not to beare the shape of man. +And this moreover will I say to thee: +Fairer man then mayde thou shalt neuer bee. + +_Eu_. These vaine excuses manifestly showe +Whether you usurp _Appollos_ name or no. +Sith my demaund so far surmounts your art, +Ye ioyne exceptions on the other part. + +_Ap_. Nay, then, my doubtles Deitie to prove, +Although thereby for ever I loose my Love, +I graunt thy wish: thou art become a man, +I speake no more then well perform I can. +And, though thou walke in chaunged bodie now, +This penance shall be added to thy vowe: +Thyself a man shalt love a man in vaine, +And, loving, wish to be a maide againe. + +_Eu_. _Appollo_, whether I love a man or not, +I thanke ye: now I will accept my lot; +And, sith my chaunge hath disappointed you, +Ye are at libertie to love anew. + [_Exit_. + +_Ap_. If ever I love, sith now I am forsaken, +Where next I love it shall be better taken. +But, what so ere my fate in loving bee, +Yet thou maist vaunt that _Phoebus_ loved thee. + [_Exit Appollo_. + + _Enter Ioculo, Frisco, and Mopso, at three severall doores_. + +_Mop_. _Ioculo_, whither iettest thou? +Hast thou found thy maister? + +_Io_. _Mopso_, wel met; hast thou found thy mistresse? + +_Mop_. Not I, by Pan. + +_Io_. Nor I, by Pot. + +_Mop_. Pot? what god's that? + +_Io_. The next god to Pan; and such a pot it may be as he shall haue +more servants then all the Pannes in a Tinker's shop. + +_Mop_. _Frisco_, where hast thou beene frisking? hast thou found-- + +_Fris_. I haue found,-- + +_Io_. What hast thou found, _Frisco_? + +_Fris_. A couple of crack-roapes. + +_Io_. And I. + +_Mop_. And I. + +_Fris_. I meane you two. + +_Io_. I you two. + +_Mop_. And I you two. + +_Fris_. Come, a trebble conjunction: all three, all three. + + (_They all imbrace each other_) + +_Mop_. But _Frisco_, hast not found the faire shepheardesse, +thy maister's mistresse? + +_Fris_. Not I, by God,--_Priapus_, I meane. + +_Io_. _Priapus_, quoth a? Whatt'in[118] a God might that bee? + +_Fris_. A plaine God, with a good peg to hang a shepheardesse bottle +vpon. + +_Io_. Thou, being a Forrester's Boy, shouldst sweare by the God of +the woods. + +_Fris_. My Maister sweares by _Siluanus_; I must sweare by his poore +neighbour. + +_Io_. And heer's a shepheard's swaine sweares by a Kitchen God, Pan. + +_Mop_. Pan's the shepheardes God; but thou swearest by Pot: what God's +that? + +_Io_. The God of good-fellowship. Well, you haue wicked maisters, that +teach such little Boyes to sweare so young. + +_Fris_. Alas, good old great man, wil not your maister swear? + +_Io_. I neuer heard him sweare six sound oaths in all my life. + +_Mop_. May hap he cannot because hee's diseas'd. + +_Fris_. Peace, _Mopso_. I will stand too't hee's neither +brave Courtier, bouncing Cavalier, nor boone Companion +if he sweare not some time; for they will +sweare, forsweare, and sweare. + +_Io_. How sweare, forsweare, and sweare? how is +that? + +_Fris_. They'll sweare at dyce, forsweare their debts, and sweare when +they loose their labour in love. + +_Io_. Well, your maisters have much to answer for that bring ye up so +wickedly. + +_Fris_. Nay, my maister is damn'd, I'll be sworne, for his verie soule +burnes in the firie eye of his faire mistresse. + +_Io_. My maister is neither damnde nor dead, and yet is in the case of +both your maisters, like a woodden shepheard and a sheepish woodman; +for he is lost in seeking of a lost sheepe and spent in hunting a Doe +that hee would faine strike. + +_Fris_. Faith, and I am founderd with slinging to and fro with Chesnuts, +Hazel-nuts, Bullaze and wildings[119] for presents from my maister to +the faire shepheardesse. + +_Mop_. And I am tierd like a Calf with carrying a Kidde every weeke to +the cottage of my maister's sweet Lambkin. + +_Io_. I am not tierd, but so wearie I cannot goe with following a +maister that followes his mistresse, that followes her shadow, that +followes the sunne, that followes his course. + +_Fris_. That follows the colt, that followed the mare the man rode on +to Midleton. Shall I speake a wise word? + +_Mop_. Do, and wee will burne our caps. + +_Fris_. Are not we fooles? + +_Io_. Is that a wise word? + +_Fris_. Giue me leave; are not we fooles to weare our young feete to old +stumps, when there dwells a cunning man in a Cave hereby who for a bunch +of rootes, a bagge of nuts, or a bushell of crabs will tell us where +thou shalt find thy maister, and which of our maisters shall win the +wenche's favour? + +_Io_. Bring me to him, _Frisco_: I'll give him all the poynts at my hose +to poynt me right to my maister. + +_Mop_. A bottle of whey shall be his meed if he save me labour for +posting with presents. + + _Enter Aramanthus with his Globe, &c_. + +_Fris_. Here he comes: offend him not, _Ioculo_, for feare he turne thee +to a Iacke an apes. + +_Mop_. And thee to an Owle. + +_Io_. And thee to a wood-cocke. + +_Fris_. A wood-cocke an Owle and an Ape. + +_Mop_. A long bill a broade face and no tayle. + +_Io_. Kisse it, Mopso, and be quiet: Ile salute him civilly. Good speed, +good man. + +_Aram_. Welcome, bad boy. + +_Fris_. He speakes to thee, _Ioculo_. + +_Io_. Meaning thee, _Frisco_. + +_Aram_. I speake and meane not him, nor him, nor thee; But speaking so, +I speake and meane all three. + +_Io_. If ye be good at Rimes and Riddles, old man, expound me this:-- + + These two serve two, those two serve one; + Assoyle[120] me this and I am gone. + +_Aram_. You three serve three; those three do seeke to one; +One shall her finde; he comes, and she is gone. + +_Io_. This is a wise answer: her going caused his comming; +For if she had nere gone he had nere come. + +_Mop_. Good maister wizard, leave these murlemewes and tel _Mopso_ +plainly whether _Gemulo_ my maister, that gentle shepheard, shall win +the love of the faire shepheardesse, his flocke-keeper, or not; and Ile +give ye a bottle of as good whey as ere ye laid lips to. + +_Fris_. And good father Fortune-teller, let _Frisco_ knowe whether +_Siluio_ my maister, that lustie Forrester, shall gaine that same gay +shepheardesse or no. Ile promise ye nothing for your paines but a bag +full of nuts, and if I bring a crab or two in my pocket take them for +advantage. + +_Io_. And gentle maister wise-man, tell _Ioculo_ if his noble maister +_Ascanio_, that gallant courtier, shal be found by me, and she found by +him for whom he hath lost his father's favour and his owne libertie and +I my labour; and Ile give ye thankes, for we courtiers neither giue nor +take bribes. + +_Aram_. I take your meaning better then your speech, +And I will graunt the thing you doo beseech. +But, for the teares of Lovers be no toyes, +He tell their chaunce in parables to boyes. + +_Fris_. In what ye will lets heare our maisters' luck. + +_Aram_. Thy maister's Doe shall turne unto a Buck; (_To Frisco_.) +Thy maister's Eawe be chaunged to a Ram; (_To Mopso_.) +Thy maister seeks a maide and findes a man, (_To Ioculo_.) +Yet for his labor shall he gaine his meede; +The other two shall sigh to see him speede. + +_Mop_. Then my maister shall not win the shepheardesse? + +_Aram_. No, hast thee home and bid him right his wrong, +The shepheardesse will leave his flock ere long. + +_Mop_. Ile run to warne my master of that. + [_Exit_. + +_Fris_. My maister wood-man takes but woodden paines to no purpose, +I thinke: what say ye, shall he speed? + +_Aram_. No, tell him so, and bid him tend his Deare +And cease to woe: he shall not wed this yeare. + +_Fris_. I am not sorie for it; farewell, _Ioculo_. + [_Exit_. + +_Io_. I may goe with thee, for I shall speed even so too by staying +behinde. + +_Aram_. Better, my Boy, thou shalt thy maister finde +And he shall finde the partie he requires, +And yet not find the summe of his desires. +Keep on that way; thy maister walkes before, +Whom, when thou findst, loose him good Boy no more. + + [_Exit ambo_. + + + + +_Actus Quartus_. + + + _Enter Ascanio and Ioculo_. + +_Asca_. Shall then my travell ever endles prove, +That I can heare no tydings of my Love? +In neither desart, grove, nor shadie wood +Nor obscure thicket where my foote hath trod? +But every plough-man and rude shepheard swain +Doth still reply unto my greater paine? +Some Satyre, then, or Godesse of this place, +Some water Nymph vouchsafed me so much grace +As by some view, some signe, or other sho, +I may haue knowledge if she lives or no. + +_Eccho_. No. + +_Asca_. Then my poore hart is buried too in wo: +Record it once more if the truth be so. + +_Eccho_. So. + +_Asca_. How? that _Eurymine_ is dead, or lives? + +_Eccho_. Lives. + +_Asca_. Now, gentle Goddesse, thou redeem'st my soule +From death to life: Oh tell me quickly, where? + +_Eccho_. Where? + +_Asca_. In some remote far region or else neere? + +_Eccho_. Neere. + +_Asca_. Oh, what conceales her from my thirstie eyes? +Is it restraint or some unknown disguise? + +_Eccho_. Disguise. + +_Io_. Let me be hang'd my Lord, but all is lyes. + +_Eccho_. Lyes. + +_Io_. True we are both perswaded thou doest lye. + +_Eccho_. Thou doest lye. + +_Io_. Who? I? + +_Eccho_. Who? I? + +_Io_. I, thou. + +_Eccho_. I, thou. + +_Io_. Thou dar'st not come and say so to my face. + +_Eccho_. Thy face. + +_Io_. He make you then for ever prating more. + +_Eccho_. More. + +_Io_. Will ye prate more? Ile see that presently. + +_Asca_. Stay, _Ioculo_, it is the Eccho, Boy, +That mocks our griefe and laughes at our annoy. +Hard by this grove there is a goodly plaine +Betwixt two hils, still fresh with drops of raine, +Where never spreading Oake nor Poplar grew +Might hinder the prospect or other view, +But all the country that about it lyes +Presents it selfe vnto our mortall eyes; +Save that vpon each hill, by leavie trees, +The Sun at highest his scorching heat may leese: +There, languishing, my selfe I will betake +As heaven shal please and only for her sake. + +_Io_. Stay, maister; I have spied the fellow that mocks vs all this +while: see where he sits. + + _Aramanthus sitting_. + +_Asca_. The very shape my vision told me off, +That I should meet with as I strayed this way. + +_Io_. What lynes he drawes? best go not over farre. + +_Asca_. Let me alone; thou doest but trouble mee. + +_Io_. Youle trouble vs all annon, ye shall see. + +_Asca_. God speed, faire Sir. + +_Io_. My Lord, do ye not mark +How the skie thickens and begins to darke? + +_Asca_. Health to ye, Sir. + +_Io_. Nay, then, God be our speed. + +_Ara_. Forgive me, Sir; I sawe ye not indeed. + +_Asca_. Pardon me rather for molesting you. + +_Io_. Such another face I never knew. + +_Ara_. Thus, studious, I am wont to passe the time +By true proportion of each line from line. + +_Io_. Oh now I see he was learning to spell: +Theres A. B. C. in midst of his table. + +_Asca_. Tell me, I pray ye, sir, may I be bold to crave. +The cause of your abode within this cave? + +_Ara_. To tell you that, in this extreme distresse, +Were but a tale of Fortunes ficklenesse. +Sometime I was a Prince of _Lesbos_ Ile +And liv'd beloved, whilst my good stars did smile; +But clowded once with this world's bitter crosse +My joy to grife, my gaine converts to losse. + +_Asca_. Forward, I pray ye; faint not in your tale. + +_Io_. It will not all be worth a cup of Ale. + +_Ara_. A short discourse of that which is too long, +How ever pleasing, can never seeme but wrong; +Yet would my tragicke story fit the stage: +Pleasaunt in youth but wretched in mine age, +Blinde fortune setting vp and pulling downe, +Abusde by those my selfe raisde to renowne: +But that which wrings me neer and wounds my hart, +Is a false brothers base vnthankfull part. + +_Asca_. A smal offence comparde with my disease; +No doubt ingratitude in time may cease +And be forgot: my grief out lives all howres, +Raining on my head continual, haplesse showers. + +_Ara_. You sing of yours and I of mine relate, +To every one seemes worst his owne estate. +But to proceed: exiled thus by spight, +Both country I forgoe and brothers sight, +And comming hither, where I thought to live, +Yet here I cannot but lament and greeve. + +_Asca_. Some comfort yet in this there doth remaine, +That you have found a partner in your paine. + +_Ara_. How are your sorrowes subiect? let me heare. + +_Asca_. More overthrowne and deeper in dispaire +Than is the manner of your heavie smart, +My carelesse griefe doth ranckle at my hart; +And, in a word to heare the summe of all, +I love and am beloved, but there-withall +The sweetnesse of that banquet must forgo, +Whose pleasant tast is chaungde with bitter wo. + +_Ara_. A conflict but to try your noble minde; +As common vnto youth as raine to winde. + +_Asca_. But hence it is that doth me treble wrong, +Expected good that is forborne so long +Doth loose the vertue which the vse would prove. + +_Ara_. Are you then, sir, despised of your Love? + +_Asca_. No; but deprived of her company, +And for my careles negligence therein +Am bound to doo this penaunce for my sin; +That, if I never finde where she remaines, +I vowe a yeare shal be my end of paines. + +_Ara_. Was she then lost within this forrest here? + +_Asca_. Lost or forlorn, to me she was right deere: +And this is certaine; vnto him that could +The place where she abides to me vnfold +For ever I would vow my selfe his friend, +Never revolting till my life did end. +And there fore, sir (as well I know your skill) +If you will give me physicke for this ill +And shewe me if _Eurymine_ do live, +It were a recompence for all my paine, +And I should thinke my ioyes were full againe. + +_Ara_. They know the want of health that have bene sick: +My selfe, sometimes acquainted with the like, +Do learne in dutie of a kinde regard +To pittie him whose hap hath bene so hard, +How long, I pray ye, hath she absent bene? + +_Asca_. Three days it is since that my Love was seene. + +_Io_. Heer's learning for the nonce that stands on ioynts; +For all his cunning Ile scarse give two poynts. + +_Ara_. _Mercurio regnante virum, sub-sequente Luna Faeminum +designat_. + +_Io_. Nay, and you go to Latin, then tis sure my maister shall finde +her if he could tell where. + +_Ara_. I cannot tell what reason it should bee, +But love and reason here doo disagree: +By proofe of learned principles I finde +The manner of your love's against all kinde; +And, not to feede ye with uncertaine ioy, +Whom you affect so much is but a Boy. + +_Io_. A Riddle for my life, some antick Iest? +Did I not tell ye what his cunning was? + +_Asca_. I love a Boy? + +_Ara_. Mine art doth tell me so. + +_Asca_. Adde not a fresh increase vnto my woe. + +_Ara_. I dare avouch, what lately I have saide, +The love that troubles you is for no maide. + +_Asca_. As well I might be said to touch the skie, +Or darke the horizon with tapestrie, +Or walke upon the waters of the sea, +As to be haunted with such lunacie. + +_Ara_. If it be false mine Art I will defie. + +_Asca_. Amazed with grief my love is then transform'd. + +_Io_. Maister, be contented; this is leape yeare: +Women weare breetches, petticoats are deare; +And thats his meaning, on my life it is. + +_Asca_. Oh God, and shal my torments never cease? + +_Ara_. Represse the fury of your troubled minde; +Walke here a while, your Lady you may finde. + +_Io_. A Lady and a Boy, this hangs wel together, +Like snow in harvest, sun-shine and foule weather. + + _Enter Eurymine singing_. + +_Eu_. _Since[121] hope of helpe my froward starres denie, + Come, sweetest death, and end my miserie; + He left his countrie, I my shape have lost; + Deare is the love that hath so dearly cost_. + +Yet can I boast, though _Phoebus_ were uniust, +This shift did serve to barre him from his lust. +But who are these alone? I cannot chuse +But blush for shame that anyone should see +_Eurymine_ in this disguise to bee. + +_Asca_. It is (is't[122] not?) my love _Eurymine_. + +_Eury_. Hark, some one hallows: gentlemen, adieu; +In this attire I dare not stay their view. + [_Exit_. + +_Asca_. My love, my ioy, my life! +By eye, by face, by tongue it should be shee: +Oh I, it was my love; Ile after her, +And though she passe the eagle in her flight +Ile never rest till I have gain'd her sight. + [_Exit_. + +_Ara_. Love carries him and so retains his minde +That he forgets how I am left behind. +Yet will I follow softly, as I can, +In hope to see the fortune of the man. + [_Exit_. + +_Io_. Nay let them go, a Gods name, one by one; +With all my heart I am glad to be alone. +Here's old[123] transforming! would with all his art +He could transform this tree into a tart: +See then if I would flinch from hence or no; +But, for it is not so, I needs must go. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Silvio and Gemulo_. + +_Sil_. Is it a bargaine _Gemulo_ or not? + +_Ge_. Thou never knew'st me breake my word, I wot, +Nor will I now, betide me bale or blis. + +_Sil_. Nor I breake mine: and here her cottage is, +Ile call her forth. + +_Ge_. Will _Silvio_ be so rude? + +_Sil_. Never shall we betwixt ourselves conclude +Our controversie, for we overweene. + +_Ge_. Not I but thou; for though thou iet'st in greene, +As fresh as meadow in a morne of May, +And scorn'st the shepheard for he goes in gray. +But, Forrester, beleeve it as thy creede, +My mistresse mindes my person not my weede. + +_Sil_. So 'twas I thought: because she tends thy sheepe +Thou thinkst in love of thee she taketh keepe; +That is as townish damzels, lend the hand +But send the heart to him aloofe doth stande: +So deales _Eurymine_ with _Silvio_. + +_Ge_. Al be she looke more blithe on _Gemulo_ +Her heart is in the dyall of her eye, +That poynts me hers. + +_Sil_. That shall we quickly trye. +_Eurymine_! + +_Ge_. _Erynnis_, stop thy throte; +Unto thy hound thou hallowst such a note. +I thought that shepheards had bene mannerlesse, +But wood-men are the ruder groomes I guesse. + +_Sil_. How shall I call her swaine but by her name? + +_Ge_. So _Hobinoll_ the plowman calls his dame. +Call her in Carroll from her quiet coate. + +_Sil_. Agreed; but whether shall begin his note? + +_Ge_. Draw cuttes. + +_Sil_. Content; the longest shall begin. + +_Ge_. Tis mine. + +_Sil_. Sing loude, for she is farre within. + +_Ge_. Instruct thy singing in thy forrest waies, +Shepheards know how to chant their roundelaies. + +_Sil_. Repeat our bargain ere we sing our song, +Least after wrangling should our mistresse wrong: +If me she chuse thou must be well content, +If thee she chuse I give the like consent. + +_Ge_. Tis done: now, _Pan_ pipe, on thy sweetest reede, +And as I love so let thy servaunt speede.-- + + _As little Lambes lift up their snowie sides + When mounting Lark salutes the gray eyed morne-- + +Sil. As from the Oaken leaves the honie glides + Where nightingales record upon the thorne-- + +Ge. So rise my thoughts-- + +Sil. So all my sences cheere-- + +Ge. When she surveyes my flocks + +Sil. And she my Deare. + +Ge. Eurymine! + +Sil. Eurymine! + +Ge. Come foorth-- + +Sil. Come foorth-- + +Ge. Come foorth and cheere these plaines-- + + (And both sing this together when they have sung it single.) + +Sil. The wood-mans Love + +Ge. And Lady of the Swaynes. + + Enter Eurymine_. + +Faire Forester and lovely shepheard Swaine, +Your Carrolls call _Eurymine_ in vaine, +For she is gone: her Cottage and her sheepe +With me, her brother, hath she left to keepe, +And made me sweare by _Pan_, ere she did go, +To see them safely kept for _Gemulo_. + + (_They both looke straungely upon her, apart each from other_.) + +_Ge_. What, hath my Love a new come Lover than? + +_Sil_. What, hath my mistresse got another man? + +_Ge_. This Swayne will rob me of _Eurymine_. + +_Sil_. This youth hath power to win _Eurymine_. + +_Ge_. This straungers beautie beares away my prize. + +_Sil_. This straunger will bewitch her with his eies. + +_Ge_. It is _Adonis_. + +_Sil_. It is _Ganymede_. + +_Ge_. My blood is chill. + +_Sil_. My hearte is colde as Leade. + +_Eu_. Faire youthes, you have forgot for what ye came: +You seeke your Love, shee's gone. + +_Ge_. The more to blame. + +_Eu_. Not so; my sister had no will to go +But that our parents dread commaund was so. + +_Sil_. It is thy sense: thou art not of her kin, +But as my Ryvall com'ste my Love to win. + +_Eu_. By great _Appollos_ sacred Deitie, +That shepheardesse so neare is Sib[124] to me +As I ne may (for all the world) her wed; +For she and I in one selfe wombe were bred. +But she is gone, her flocke is left to mee. + +_Ge_. The shepcoat's mine and I will in and see. + +_Sil_. And I. + + [_Exeunt Silvio and Gemulo_. + +_Eu_. Go both, cold comfort shall you finde: +My manly shape hath yet a womans minde, +Prone to reveale what secret she doth know. +God pardon me, I was about to show +My transformation: peace, they come againe. + + _Enter Silvio and Gemulo_. + +_Sil_. Have ye found her? + +_Ge_. No, we looke in vaine. + +_Eu_. I told ye so. + +_Ge_. Yet heare me, new come Swayne. +Albe thy seemly feature set no sale +But honest truth vpon thy novell tale, +Yet (for this world is full of subtiltee) +We wish ye go with vs for companie +Unto a wise man wonning[125] in this wood, +Hight _Aramanth_, whose wit and skill is good, +That he may certifie our mazing doubt +How this straunge chaunce and chaunge hath fallen out. + +_Eu_. I am content; have with ye when ye will. + +_Sil_. Even now. + +_Eu_. Hee'le make ye muse if he have any skill. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + + + _Enter Ascanio and Eurymine_. + +_Asca_. _Eurymine_, I pray, if thou be shee, +Refraine thy haste and doo not flie from mee. +The time hath bene my words thou would'st allow +And am I growne so loathsome to thee now? + +_Eu_. _Ascanio_, time hath bene, I must confesse, +When in thy presence was my happinesse, +But now the manner of my miserie +Hath chaung'd that course that so it cannot be. + +_Asca_. What wrong have I contrived, what iniurie +To alienate thy liking so from mee? +If thou be she whom sometime thou didst faine, +And bearest not the name of friend in vaine, +Let not thy borrowed guise of altred kinde +Alter the wonted liking of thy minde, +But though in habit of a man thou goest +Yet be the same _Eurymine_ thou wast. + +_Eu_. How gladly would I be thy Lady still, +If earnest vowes might answere to my will. + +_Asca_. And is thy fancie alterd with thy guise? + +_Eu_. My kinde, but not my minde in any wise. + +_Asca_. What though thy habit differ from thy kinde, +Thou maiest retain thy wonted loving minde. + +_Eu_. And so I doo. + +_Asca_. Then why art thou so straunge, +Or wherefore doth thy plighted fancie chaunge? + +_Eu_. _Ascanio_, my heart doth honor thee. + +_Asca_. And yet continuest stil so strange to me? + +_Eu_. Not strange, so far as kind will give me leave. + +_Asca_. Unkind that kind that kindnesse doth bereave: +Thou saist thou lovest me? + +_Eu_. As a friend his friend, +And so I vowe to love thee to the end. + +_Asca_. I wreake not of such love; love me but so +As faire _Eurymine_ loved _Ascanio_. + +_Eu_. That love's denide vnto my present kinde. + +_Asca_. In kindely shewes vnkinde I doo thee finde: +I see thou art as constant as the winde. + +_Eu_. Doth kinde allow a man to love a man? + +_Asca_. Why, art thou not _Eurymine_? + +_Eu_. I am. + +_Asca_. _Eurymine_ my love? + +_Eu_. The very same. + +_Asca_. And wast thou not a woman then? + +_Eu_. Most true. + +_Asca_. And art thou changed from a woman now? + +_Eu_. Too true. + +_Asca_. These tales my minde perplex. +Thou art _Eurymine_? + +_Eu_. In name, but not in sexe. + +_Asca_. What then? + +_Eu_. A man. + +_Asca_. In guise thou art, I see. + +_Eu_. The guise thou seest doth with my kinde agree. + +_Asca_. Before thy flight thou wast a woman tho? + +_Eu_. True, _Ascanio_. + +_Asca_. And since thou art a man? + +_Eu_. Too true, deare friend. + +_Asca_. Then I have lost a wife. + +_Eu_. But found a friend whose dearest blood and life +Shal be as readie as thine owne for thee; +In place of wife such friend thou hast of mee. + + _Enter Ioculo and Aramanthus_. + +_Io_. There they are: maister, well overtane, +I thought we two should never meete againe: +You went so fast that I to follow thee +Slipt over hedge and ditch and many a tall tree. + +_Ara_. Well said, my Boy: thou knowest not how to lie. + +_Io_. To lye, Sir? how say you, was it not so? +You were at my heeles, though farre off, ye know. +For, maister, not to counterfayt with ye now, +Hee's as good a footeman as a shackeld sow. + +_Asca_. Good, Sir, y'are welcome: sirrha, hold your prate. + +_Ara_. What speed in that I told to you of late? + +_Asca_. Both good and bad, as doth the sequel prove: +For (wretched) I have found and lost my love, +If that be lost which I can nere enjoy. + +_Io_. Faith, mistresse, y'are too blame to be so coy +The day hath bene--but what is that to mee!-- +When more familiar with a man you'ld bee. + +_Ara_. I told ye you should finde a man of her, +Or else my rule did very strangely erre. + +_Asca_. Father, the triall of your skill I finde: +My Love's transformde into another kinde: +And so I finde and yet have lost my love. + +_Io_. Ye cannot tell, take her aside and prove. + +_Asca_. But, sweet _Eurymine_, make some report +Why thou departedst from my father's court, +And how this straunge mishap to thee befell: +Let me entreat thou wouldst the processe tell. + +_Eu_. To shew how I arrived in this ground +Were but renewing of an auncient wound,-- +Another time that office Ile fulfill; +Let it suffice, I came against my will, +And wand'ring here, about this forrest side, +It was my chaunce of Phoebus to be spide; +Whose love, because I chastly did withstand, +He thought to offer me a violent hand; +But for a present shift, to shun his rape, +I wisht myself transformde into this shape, +Which he perform'd (God knowes) against his will: +And I since then have wayld my fortune still, +Not for misliking ought I finde in mee, +But for thy sake whose wife I meant to bee. + +_Asca_. Thus have you heard our woful destenie, +Which I in heart lament and so doth shee. + +_Ara_. The fittest remedie that I can finde +Is this, to ease the torment of your minde: +Perswade yourselves the great _Apollo_ can +As easily make a woman of a man +As contrariwise he made a man of her. + +_Asca_. I think no lesse. + +_Ara_. Then humble suite preferre +To him; perhaps our prayers may attaine +To have her turn'd into her forme againe. + +_Eu_. But _Phoebus_ such disdain to me doth beare +As hardly we shal win his graunt I feare. + +_Ara_. Then in these verdant fields, al richly dide +With natures gifts and _Floras_ painted pride, +There is a goodly spring whose crystall streames, +Beset with myrtles, keepe backe _Phoebus_ beames: +There in rich seates all wrought of Ivory +The Graces sit, listening the melodye, +The warbling Birds doo from their prettie billes +Vnite in concord as the brooke distilles,[126] +Whose gentle murmure with his buzzing noates +Is as a base unto their hollow throates: +Garlands beside they weare upon their browes, +Made of all sorts of flowers earth allowes, +From whence such fragrant sweet perfumes arise +As you would sweare that place is Paradise. +To them let us repaire with humble hart, +And meekly show the manner of your smart: +So gratious are they in _Apollos_ eies +As their intreatie quickly may suffice +In your behalfe. Ile tell them of your states +And crave their aides to stand your advocates. + +_Asca_. For ever you shall bind us to you than. + +_Ara_. Come, go with me; Ile doo the best I can. + +_Io_. Is not this hard luck, to wander so long +And in the end to finde his wife markt wrong! + + _Enter Phylander_. + +_Phy_. A proper iest as ever I heard tell! +In sooth me thinkes the breech becomes her well; +And might it not make their husbands feare them[127] +Wold all the wives in our town might weare them. +Tell me, youth, art a straunger here or no? + +_Io_. Is your commission, sir, to examine me so? + +_Phy_. What, is it thou? now, by my troth, wel met. + +_Io_. By your leave it's well overtaken yet. + +_Phy_. I litle thought I should a found thee here. + +_Io_. Perhaps so, sir. + +_Phy_. I prethee speake: what cheere? + +_Io_. What cheere can here be hopte for in these woods, +Except trees, stones, bryars, bushes or buddes? + +_Phy_. My meaning is, I fane would heare thee say +How thou doest, man: why, thou tak'st this another way. + +_Io_. Why, then, sir, I doo as well as I may: +And, to perswade ye that welcome ye bee, +Wilt please ye sir to eate a crab with mee? + +_Phy_. Beleeve me, _Ioculo_, reasonable hard cheere. + +_Io_. _Phylander_, tis the best we can get here. +But when returne ye to the court againe? + +_Phy_. Shortly, now I have found thee. + +_Io_. To requite your paine +Shall I intreat you beare a present from me? + +_Phy_. To whom? + +_Io_. To the Duke. + +_Phy_. What shall it be? + +_Io_. Because Venson so convenient doth not fall, +A pecke of Acornes to make merry withal. + +_Phy_. What meanst thou by that? + +_Io_. By my troth, sir, as ye see, +Acornes are good enough for such as hee. +I wish his honour well, and to doo him good, +Would he had eaten all the acorns in the wood. + +_Phy_. Good word, _Ioculo_, of your Lord and mine. + +_Io_. As may agree with such a churlish swine. +How dooes his honor? + +_Phy_. Indifferently well. + +_Io_. I wish him better. + +_Phy_. How? + +_Io_. Vice-gerent in Hell. + +_Phy_. Doest thou wish so for ought that he hath done? + +_Io_. I, for the love he beares unto his sonne. + +_Phy_. Hees growne of late as fatherly and milde +As ever father was unto his childe, +And sent me forth to search the coast about +If so my hap might be to finde him out; +And if _Eurymine_ alive remaine +To bring them both vnto the Court againe. +Where is thy maister? + +_Io_. Walking about the ground. + +_Phy_. Oh that his Love _Eurymine_ were found. + +_Io_. Why, so she is; come follow me and see; +He bring ye strait where they remaining bee. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter three or foure Muses, Aramanthus, Ascanio, + Silvio, and Gemulo_. + +_Asca_. Cease your contention for _Eurymine_, +Nor word nor vowes can helpe her miserie; +But he it is, that did her first transform, +Must calme the gloomy rigor of this storme, +Great _Phoebus_ whose pallace we are neere. +Salute him, then, in his celestiall sphere, +That with the notes of cheerful harmonie +He may be mov'd to shewe his Deitie. + +_Sil_. But wheres _Eurymine_? have we lost her sight? + +_As_. Poore soule! within a cave, with feare affright, +She sits to shun _Appollos_ angry view +Until she sees what of our prayers ensue, +If we can reconcile his love or no, +Or that she must continue in her woe. + +1 _Mu_. Once have we tried, _Ascanio_, for thy sake, +And once againe we will his power awake, +Not doubting but, as he is of heavenly race, +At length he will take pitie on her case. +Sing therefore, and each partie, from his heart, +In this our musicke beare a chearfull part. + + SONG. + + _All haile, faire Phoebus, in thy purple throne! + Vouchsafe the regarding of our deep mone; + Hide not, oh hide not, thy comfortable face, + But pittie, but pittie, a virgins poore case_. + + _Phoebus appeares_. + +1 _Mu_. Illustrate bewtie, Chrystall heavens eye, +Once more we do entreat thy clemencie +That, as thou art the power of us all, +Thou wouldst redeeme _Eurymine_ from thrall. +Graunt, gentle God, graunt this our small request, +And, if abilitie in us do rest, +Whereby we ever may deserve the same, +It shall be seene we reverence _Phoebus_ name. + +_Phoe_. You sacred sisters of faire Helli[c]on, +On whom my favours evermore have shone, +In this you must have patience with my vow: +I cannot graunt what you aspire unto, +Nor wast my fault she was transformed so, +But her own fond desire, as ye well know. +We told her, too, before her vow was past +That cold repentance would ensue at last; +And, sith herselfe did wish the shape of man, +She causde the abuse, digest it how she can. + +2 _Mu_. Alas, if unto her you be so hard, +Yet of _Ascanio_ have some more regard, +And let him not endure such endlesse wrong +That hath pursude her constant love so long. + +_Asca_. Great God, the greevous travells I have past +In restlesse search to finde her out at last; +My plaints, my toiles, in lieu of my annoy +Have well deserv'd my Lady to enjoy. +Penance too much I have sustaind before; +Oh _Phoebus_, plague me not with any more, +Nor be thou so extreame now at the worst +To make my torments greater than at the first. +My father's late displeasure is forgot, +And there's no let nor any churlish blot +To interrupt our ioyes from being compleat, +But only thy good favour to intreat. +In thy great grace it lyes to make my state +Most happie now or most infortunate. + +1 _Mu_. Heavenly _Apollo_, on our knees I pray +Vouchsafe thy great displeasure to allay. +What honor to thy Godhead will arise +To plague a silly Lady in this wise? +Beside it is a staine unto thy Deitie +To yeeld thine owne desires the soveraigntie: +Then shew some grace vnto a wofull Dame, +And in these groves our tongues shall sound thy fame. + +_Phoe_. Arise, deare Nourses of divinest skill, +You sacred Muses of _Pernassus_ hill; +_Phoebus_ is conquerd by your deare respect +And will no longer clemency neglect. +You have not sude nor praide to me in vaine; +I graunt your willes: she is a mayde againe. + +_Asca_. Thy praise shal never die whilst I do live. + +2 _Mu_. Nor will we slack perpetual thankes to give. + +_Phoe_. _Thalia_, neare the cave where she remaines +The Fayries keepe: request them of their paines, +And in my name bid them forthwith provide +From that darke place to be the Ladies guide; +And in the bountie of their liberall minde +To give her cloathes according to her kinde. + +1 _Mu_. I goe, divine _Apollo_. + [_Exit_. + +_Phoe_. Haste againe: +No time too swift to ease a Lovers paine. + +_Asca_. Most sacred _Phoebus_, endles thankes to thee +That doest vouchsafe so much to pittie mee; +And, aged father, for your kindnesse showne +Imagine not your friendship ill bestowne: +The earth shall sooner vanish and decay +Than I will prove unthankfull any way. + +_Ara_. It is sufficient recompence to me +If that my silly helpe have pleasurde thee; +If you enioy your Love and hearts desire +It is enough, nor doo I more require. + +_Phoe_. Grave _Aramanthus_, now I see thy face, +I call to minde how tedious a long space +Thou hast frequented these sad desarts here; +Thy time imployed in heedful minde I bear, +The patient sufferance of thy former wrong, +Thy poore estate and sharpe exile so long, +The honourable port thou bor'st some time +Till wrongd thou wast with undeserved crime +By them whom thou to honour didst advaunce: +The memory of which thy heavy chaunce +Provokes my minde to take remorse on thee. +Father, henceforth my clyent shalt thou bee +And passe the remnant of thy fleeting time +With Lawrell wreath among the Muses nine; +And, when thy age hath given place to fate, +Thou shalt exchange thy former mortall state +And after death a palme of fame shalt weare, +Amongst the rest that live in honor here. +And, lastly, know that faire _Eurymine_, +Redeemed now from former miserie, +Thy daughter is, whom I for that intent +Did hide from thee in this thy banishment +That so she might the greater scourge sustaine +In putting _Phoebus_ to so great a paine. +But freely now enioy each others sight: +No more _Eurymine_: abandon quite +That borrowed name, as _Atlanta_ she is calde.-- +And here's the[128] woman, in her right shape instalde. + +_Asca_. Is then my Love deriv'de of noble race? + +_Phoe_. No more of that; but mutually imbrace. + +_Ara_. Lives my _Atlanta_ whom the rough seas wave +I thought had brought unto a timelesse grave? + +_Phoe_. Looke not so straunge; it is thy father's voyce, +And this thy Love; _Atlanta_, now rejoice. + +_Eu_. As in another world of greater blis +My daunted spirits doo stand amazde at this. +So great a tyde of comfort overflowes +As what to say my faltering tongue scarse knowes, +But only this, vnperfect though it bee;-- +Immortall thankes, great _Phoebus_, unto thee. + +_Phoe_. Well, Lady, you are retransformed now, +But I am sure you did repent your vow. + +_Eury_. Bright Lampe of glory, pardon my rashenesse past. + +_Phoe_. The penance was your owne though I did fast. + + _Enter Phylander and Ioculo_. + +_Asca_. Behold, deare Love, to make your ioyes abound, +Yonder _Phylander_ comes. + +_Io_. Oh, sir, well found; +But most especially it glads my minde +To see my mistresse restorde to kinde. + +_Phy_. My Lord & Madame, to requite your pain, +_Telemachus_ hath sent for you againe: +All former quarrels now are trodden doune, +And he doth smile that heretofore did frowne. + +_Asca_. Thankes, kinde _Phylander_, for thy friendly newes, +Like _Junos_ balme that our lifes blood renewes. + +_Phoe_. But, Lady, first ere you your iourney take, +Vouchsafe at my request one grant to make. + +_Eu_. Most willingly. + +_Phoe_. The matter is but small: +To wear a bunch of Lawrell in your Caull[129] +For _Phoebus_ sake, least else I be forgot; +And thinke vpon me when you see me not. + +_Eu_. Here while I live a solemn oath I make +To Love the Lawrell for _Appollo's_ sake. + +_Ge_. Our suite is dasht; we may depart, I see. + +_Phoe_. Nay _Gemulo_ and _Silvio_, contented bee: +This night let me intreate ye you will take +Such cheare as I and these poore Dames can make: +To morrow morne weele bring you on your way. + +_Sil_. Your Godhead shall commaund vs all to stay. + +_Phoe_. Then, Ladies, gratulate this happie chaunce +With some delightful tune and pleasaunt daunce, +Meane-space upon his Harpe will _Phoebus_ play; +So both of them may boast another day +And make report that, when their wedding chaunc'te, +_Phoebus_ gave musicke and the Muses daunc'te. + + + THE SONG. + + _Since painfull sorrowes date hath end + And time hath coupled friend with friend, + Reioyce we all, reioyce and sing, + Let all these groaves of_ Phoebus _ring: + Hope having wonne, dispaire is vanisht, + Pleasure revives and care is banisht: + Then trip we all this Roundelay, + And still be mindful of the bay_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +FINIS. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE _MARTYR'D SOULDIER_. + + +Anthony A. Wood, in his _Athenae Oxonienses_ (ed. Bliss, III., 740), +after giving an account of James Shirley, adds:--"I find one Henry +Shirley, gent., author of a play called the _Martyr'd Souldier_, London, +1638, 4to.; which Henry I take to be brother or near kinsman to James." +Possibly a minute investigation might discover some connection between +Henry Shirley and the admirable writer who closes with dignity the long +line of our Old Dramatists; but hitherto Wood's conjecture remains +unsupported. On Sept. 9, 1653, four plays of Henry Shirley's were +entered on the _Stationers' Lists_, but they were never published: the +names of these are,-- + + 1. _The Spanish Duke of Lerma_. + 2. _The Duke of Guise_. + 3. _The Dumb Bawd_. + 4. _Giraldo the Constant Lover_. + +Among the Ashmolean MSS. (Vol. 38. No. 88) are preserved forty-six +lines[130] signed with the name of "Henrye Sherley." They begin thus:-- + + "Loe, Amorous style, affect my pen: + For why? I wright of fighting men; + The bloody storye of a fight + Betwixt a Bayliffe and a Knight," &c. + +My good friend Mr. S.L. Lee, of Balliol, kindly took the trouble to +transcribe the forty-six lines; but he agrees with me that they are not +worth printing. + +The _Martyr'd Souldier_, then, being his sole extant production, it must +be confessed that Henry Shirley's claim to attention is not a very +pressing one. Yet there is a certain dignity of language in this old +play that should redeem it from utter oblivion. It was unfortunate for +Henry Shirley that one of the same name should have been writing at the +same time; for in such cases the weakest must go to the wall. Mr. +Frederick Tennyson's fame has been eclipsed by the Laureate's; and there +was little chance of a hearing for the author of the _Martyr'd Souldier_ +when James Shirley was at work. From the address _To the Courteous +Reader_, it would seem that Henry Shirley did not seek for popularity: +"his Muse," we are told, was "seldome seene abroad." Evidently he was +not a professional playwright. In his attempts to gain the ear of the +groundlings he is often coarse without being comic; and sometimes (a +less pardonable fault) he is tedious. But in the person of Hubert we +have an attractive portrait of an impetuous soldier, buoyed up with +self-confidence and hugging perils with a frolic gaiety; yet with +springs of tenderness and pity ready to leap to light. The writer +exhibits some skill in showing how this fiery spirit is tamed by the +gentle maiden, Bellina. When the news comes that Hubert has been made +commander of the King's forces against the Christians, we feel no +surprise to see that in the ecstacy of the moment he has forgotten his +former vows. It is quite a touch of nature to represent him hastening to +acquaint Bellina with his newly-conferred honour and expecting her to +share his exultation. But the maiden's entreaties quickly wake his +slumbering conscience; and, indeed, such earnestness is in her words +that a heart more stubborn than Hubert's might well have been moved:-- + + "You courted me to love you; now I woe thee + To love thy selfe, to love a thing within thee + More curious than the frame of all this world, + More lasting than this Engine o're our heads + Whose wheeles have mov'd so many thousand yeeres: + This thing is thy soule for which I woe thee!" + +Henceforward his resolution is fixed: he is no longer a soldier of +fortune, "seeking the bubble reputation," but the champion of the weak +against the strong, the lively image of a Christian Hero warring +steadfastly against the powers of evil. + +Though the chief interest of the play is centred in Hubert the other +characters, also, are fairly well drawn. There is ample matter for +cogitation in watching the peaceful end of Genzerick, who spends his +dying moments in steeling his son's heart against the Christians. The +consultation between the physicians, in Act 3, amusingly ridicules the +pomposity of by-gone medical professors. Eugenius, the good bishop, is a +model of patience and piety; and all respect is due to the Saintly +Victoria and her heroic husband. The songs, too, are smoothly written. + + + + +THE MARTYR'D SOULDIER: + + +As it was sundry times Acted with a + generall applause at the Private + house in Drury lane, and at + other publicke Theaters. + + +_By the Queenes Majesties servants_. + +The Author H. SHIRLEY Gent. + + + _LONDON_: +Printed by _I. Okes_, and are to be sold by + _Francis Eglesfield_ at his house in _Paul's_ + Church-yard at the Signe of the + Mary-gold. 1638. + + + + +To the right Worshipful Sir Kenelme Digby, _Knight_. + + +Sir, + +Workes of this Nature may fitly be compared to small and narrow +_rivolets_ that at first derive themselves to greater _Rivers_ and +afterwards are discharged into the Maine _Ocean_. So Poesie rising from +_obscure_ and almost unminded beginnings hath often advanc'd it _Selfe_ +even to the thrones of _Princes_: witnesse that ever-living _Worke_ of +renowned _Virgil_, so much admired and favoured by magnificent +_Augustus_. Nor can I much wonder that great men, and those of Excellent +parts, have so often preferred _Poesie_, it being indeed the sweetest +and best _speaker_ of all Noble Actions. + +Nor were they wont in ancient times to preferre those their _Workes_ to +them they best knew, but unto some Person highly endued with Vallour, +Learning, and such other Graces as render one man farre more Excellent +then many others. And this, I hope, may excuse my boldnesse in this +Dedication, being so much a stranger to your Worships knowledge, onely +presuming upon your Noble temper, ever apt to cherrish well-affected +studies. Likewise this peice seemeth to have a more speciall kind of +relation to your _Selfe_, more then to many others, it being an exact +and _perfect patterne_ of a truly Noble and War-lick Chieftian. + +When it first appeared upon the _Stage_ it went off with Applause and +favour, and my hope is it may yeild your Worship as much content as my +_selfe_ can wish, who ever rest to be commanded by your Worship, + +_In all duty and observance_, + +I.K.[131] + + + +TO THE COURTEOUS READER. + +_To make too large an explanation of this following Poem were but to +beguile thy appetite and somewhat dull thy expectation; but the work it +selfe being now an Orphant, and wanting him to protect that first begot +it, it were an iniury to his memory to passe him unspoken of. For the +man his Muse was much courted but no common mistresse; and though but +seldome seene abroad yet ever much_ admired _at. This worke, not the +meanest of his labours, has much adorned not only one but many Stages, +with such a generall applause as it hath drawne even the Rigid Stoickes +of the Time, who, though not for pleasure yet for profit have gathered +something out of his plentifull Vineyard. My hopes are it wil prove no +lesse pleasing to the_ Reader _then it has formerly beene to the_ +Spectators; _and, so prooving, I have my aime and full desire. +Farewell_. + + + + +The Actors Names. + + +_Genzerick_, King of the _Vandals_. +_Anthonio_ | +_Damianus_ | 3 Noble men. +_Cosmo_ | +_Hubert_, A brave Commander. +_Henerick_, the Prince. +_Bellizarius_, the Generall. +_Eugenius_, a Christian Bishop. +_Epidaurus_, a Lord. +2 Physitians. +2 Pagans. +1 Camell-driver. +2 Camell-driver. +_Victoria_, Wife to _Bellizarius_. +_Bellina_, his Daughter. +A Souldier. +2 Angels. +2 Christians tonguelesse. +Clowne. +Constable. +3 Watchmen. +3 Huntsmen. +3 Other Camell-drivers. +Officers and Souldiers. + + + + +The Martyr'd Souldier. + + +_Actus Primus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Genzerick King of the Vandalls, sicke on his + bed, Anthony, Damianus, Cosmo, and Lords_. + +_King_. Away, leave off your golden Flatteries, +I know I cannot live, there's one lies here +Brings me the newes; my glories and my greatnes +Are come to nothing. + +_Anth_. Be not your selfe the Bell +To tolle you to the Grave; and the good Fates, +For ought we see, may winde upon your bottome[132] +A thred of excellent length. + +_Cosm_. We hope the Gods have not such rugged hands +To snatch yee from us. + +_King_. _Cosmo, Damianus_, and _Anthony_; you upon whom +The _Vandall_ State doth leane, for my back's too weake; +I tell you once agen that surly Monarch, +Who treads on all Kings throats, hath sent to me +His proud Embassadours: I have given them Audience +Here in our Chamber Royall. Nor could that move me, +To meete Death face to face, were my great worke +Once perfected in _Affrick_ by my sonne; +I meane that generall sacrifice of Christians, +Whose blood would wash the Temples of our gods +And win them bow downe their immortall eyes +Upon our offerings. Yet, I talke not idly, +Yet, _Anthonie_, I may; for sleepe, I think, +Is gone out of my kingdome, it is else fled +To th'poore; for sleepe oft takes the harder bed +And leaves the downy pillow of a King. + +_Cosm_. Try, Sir, if Musick can procure you[133] rest. + +_King_. _Cosmo_, 'tis sinne to spend a thing so precious +On him that cannot weare it. No, no; no Musick; +But if you needs will charme my o're-watcht eyes, +Now growne too monstrous for their lids to close, +If you so long to fill these Musick-roomes +With ravishing sounds indeed; unclaspe that booke, +Turne o're that Monument of Martyrdomes, +Read there how _Genzerick_ has serv'd the gods +And made their Altars drunke with Christians blood, +Whil'st their loath'd bodies flung in funerall piles +Like Incense burnt in Pyramids of fire; +And when their flesh and bones were all consum'd +Their ashes up in whirle-winds flew i'th Ayre +To show that of foure Elements not one had care +Of them, dead or alive. Read, _Anthony_. + +_Anth_. 'Tis swelld to a faire Volume. + +_King_. Would I liv'd +To add a second part too't. Read, and listen: +No _Vandall_ ere writ such a Chronicle. + +_Anth_. Five hundred[134] broyl'd to death in Oyle and Lead: +Seven hundred flead alive, their Carkasses +Throwne to King _Genzericks_ hounds. + +_King_. Ha, ha, brave hunting. + +_Anth_. Upon the great day of _Apollo's_ feast, +The fourth Moneth of your Reigne. + +_King_. O give me more, +Let me dye fat with laughing. + +_Anth_. Thirty faire Mothers, big with Christian brats, +Upon a scaffold in the Palace plac'd +Had first their dugges sear'd off, their wombes ript up, +About their miscreant heads their first borne Sonnes +Tost as a Sacrifice to _Jupiter_, +On his great day and the Ninth Month of _Genzerick_. + +_King_. A Play; a Comicall Stage our Palace was. +Any more? oh, let me surfeit. + +_Anth_. Foure hundred Virgins ravisht. + +_King_. Christian Whores; common, 'tis common. + +_Anth_. And then their trembling bodies tost on the Pikes +Of those that spoyl'd 'em, sacrific'd to _Pallas_. + +_King_. More, more; hang Mayden-heads, Christian Maiden-heads. + +_Anth_. This leafe is full of tortur'd Christians: +Some pauncht, some starv'd, some eyes and braines bor'd out, +Some whipt to death, some torne by Lyons. + +_King_. _Damianus_, I cannot live to heare my service out; +Such haste the Gods make to reward me. + +_Omnes_. Looke to the King. (_Shouts within_.) + + _Enter Hubert_. + +_King_. What shouts are these? see, _Cosmo_. + +_Cosmo_. Good newes, my Lord; here comes _Hubert_ from the warres. + +_Hub_. Long life and health wait ever on the King. + +_King_. _Hubert_, thy wishes are come short of both. +Hast thou good newes? be briefe then and speake quickly: +I must else heare thee in another World. + +_Hub_. In briefe, then, know: _Henrick_, your valiant sonne, +With _Bellizarius_ and my selfe come laden +With spoiles to lay them at your feet. +What lives the sword spar'd serve to grace your Triumph, +Till from your lips they have the doome of death. + +_King_. What are they? + +_Hub_. Christians, and their Chiefe a Church-man, +_Eugenius_, Bishop of _Carthage_, and with him +Seven hundred Captives more, all Christians. + +_King_. Hold, Death; let me a little taste these ioyes, +Then take me ravisht hence. Glad mine eyes, _Hubert_, +With the victorious Boy. + +_Hub_. Your Starre comes shining. + [_Exit Hubert_. + +_King_. Lift me a little higher, yet more: +Doe the Immortall Powers poure blessings downe, +And shall I not returne them? + +_Omnes_. See, they come. + + _A Flourish; Enter Henricke the Prince, Bellizarius, Hubert, + leading Eugenius in Chaines with other Prisoners and Souldiers_. + +_King_. I have now liv'd my full time; tell me, my _Henricke_,[135] +Thy brave successe, that my departing soule +May with the story blesse another world +And purchase me a passage. + +_Hen_. O, great Sir, +All we have done dyes here if that you dye, +And heaven, before too prodigal to us, +Shedding beames over-glorious on our heads, +Is now full of Eclipses. + +_King_. No, boy; thy presence +Has fetcht life home to heare thee. + +_Hen_. Then, Royal Father, thus: +Before our Troopes had reacht the _Affrick_ bounds, +Wearied with tedious Marches and those dangers +Which waite on glorious Warre, the _Affricans_ +A farre had heard our Thunder, whilst their Earth +Did feele an earth-quake in the peoples feares +Before our Drummes came near them. Yet, spight of terrour, +They fortifi'd their Townes, cloathed all their fields +With warres best bravery, armed Souldiers. +At this we made a stand, for their bold troopes +Affronted us with steele, dar'd us to come on +And nobly fierd our resolution. + +_King_. So, hasten; there's in me a battaile too; +Be quicke, or I shall fall. + +_Hen_. Forefend it heaven. +Now, _Bellizarius_, come; here stand, just here; +And on him, I beseech you, fixe your eye, +For you have much to pay to this brave man. + +_Hub_. Nothing to me? + +_Hen_. Ile give you him in wonder. + +_Hub_. Hang him out in a painted cloth for a monster. + +_Bel_. My Lord, wrong not your selfe to throw on me +The honours which are all yours. + +_Hub_. Is he the Divell? all! + +_Bel_. Cast not your eyes on me, Sir, but on him; +And seale this to your soule: never had King +A Sonne that did to his Crowne more honours bring. + +_Hen_. Stay, _Bellizarius_; I'me too true to honour +To scant it in the blazing: though to thee +All that report can render leaves thee yet-- + +_Hub_. A brave man: you are so too, you both fought; +And I stood idle? + +_Hen_. No, Sir. + +_Hub_. Here's your battaile then, and here's your conquest: +What need such a coyle? + +_Bel_. Yet, _Hubert_, it craves more Arethmaticke +Than in one figure to be found. + +_King_. _Hubert_, thou art too busie. + +_Hub_. So was I in the battaile. + +_King_. Prethee peace. + +_Hen_. The Almarado was on poynt to sound; +But then a Herald from their Tents flew forth, +Being sent to question us for what we came; +And [At?] which, I must confesse, being all on fire +We cryed for warre and death. Backe rode the Herald +As lightning had persu'd him. But the Captaines, +Thinking us tir'd with marching, did conceive +Rest would make difficult what easie now +Quicke charge might drive us to. So, like a storme +Beating upon a wood of lustie Pines, +Which though they shake they keepe their footing fast, +Our pikes their horses stood. Hot was the day +In which whole fields of men were swept away, +As by sharpe Sithes are cut the golden corne +And in as short time. It was this mans sword +Hew'd ways to danger; and when danger met him +He charm'd it thence, and when it grew agen +He drove it back agen, till at the length +It lost the field. Foure long hours this did hold, +In which more worke was done than can be told. + +_Bel_. But let me tell your Father how the first feather +That Victory herselfe pluckt from her wings, +She stuck it in your Burgonet. + +_Hub_. Brave still! + +_Hen_. No, _Bellizarius_; thou canst guild thy honours +Borne[136] from the reeking breasts of _Affricans_, +When I aloof[137] stood wondering at those Acts +Thy sword writ in the battaile, which were such +Would make a man a souldier but to read 'em. + +_Hub_. And what to read mine? is my booke claspt up? + +_Bel_. No, it lyes open, where in texed letters read +Each Pioner [?] that your unseason'd valour +Had thrice ingag'd our fortunes and our men +Beyond recovery, had not this arme redeem'd you. + +_Hub_. Yours? + +_Bel_. For which your life was lost for doing more +Than from the Generals mouth you had command. + +_Hub_. You fill my praise with froth, as Tapsters fill +Their cut-throat Cans; where, give me but my due, +I did as much as you, or you, or any. + +_Bel_. Any? + +_Hub_. Yes, none excepted. + +_Bel_. The Prince was there. + +_Hub_. And I was there: since you draw one another +I will turne Painter too and draw my selfe. +Was it not I that when the maine Battalia +Totter'd and foure great squadrons put to rout, +Then reliev'd them? and with this arme, this sword, +And this affronting brow put them to flight, +Chac'd em, slew thousands, tooke some few and drag'd em +As slaves, tyed to my saddle bow with Halters? + +_Hen_. Yes, Sir, 'tis true; but, as he sayes, your fury +Left all our maine Battalia welnigh lost. +For had the foe but re-inforct againe +Our courages had beene seiz'd (?), any Ambuskado +Cut you and your rash troopes off; if-- + +_Hub_. What 'if'? +Envy, not honour, still inferres these 'ifs.' +It thriv'd and I returnd with Victory. + +_Bel_. You? + +_Hub_. I, _Bellizarius_, I; I found your troopes +Reeling and pale and ready to turne Cowards, +But you not in the head; when I (brave sir) +Charg'd in the Reere and shooke their battaile so +The Fever never left them till they fell. +I pulled the Wings up, drew the rascals on, +Clapt 'em and cry'd 'follow, follow.' This is the hand +First toucht the Gates, this foote first tooke the City; +This Christian Church-man snacht I from the Altar +And fir'd the Temple. 'Twas this sword was sheath'd +In panting bosomes both of young and old; +Fathers, sonnes, mothers, virgins, wives and widowes: +Like death I havocke cryed so long till I +Had left no monuments of life or buildings +But these poore ruins. What these brave Spirits did +Was like to this, I must confesse 'tis true, +But not beyond it. + +_King_. You have done nobly all. +Nor let the Generall thinke I soyle his worth +In that I raise this forward youth so neare +Those honours he deserves from _Genzericke_; +For he may live to serve my _Henrick_ thus, +And growing vertue must not want reward. +You both allow these deeds he so much boasts of? + +_Hen_. Yes, but not equal to the Generals. + +_King_. The spoyles they equally shall both divide; +The Generall chuse, 'tis his prerogative. +_Bellizarius_ be Viceregent over all +Those conquerd parts of _Affrick_ we call ours; +_Hubert_ the Master of my _Henricks_ Horse +And President of what the _Goths_ possesse. +Let this our last will stand. + + _Bel_. We are richly paid. + + _Hub_. Who earnes it must have wages. + + _King_. Ile see you imbrac'd too. + + _Hub_. With all my heart. + + _King_. And _Bellizarius_ +Make him thy Scholler. + + _Hub_. His Scholler! + + _King_. There's stuffe in him +Which temper'd well would make him a noble fellow. +Now for these Prisoners: 'tis my best sacrifice +My pious zeale can tender to the Gods. +I censure thus: let all be naked stript, +Then to the midst of the vaste Wildernesse +That stands 'twixt us and wealthy _Persia_ +They shall be driven, and there wildly venture +As Famine or the fury of the Beasts +Conspires to use them. Which is that Bishop? + + _Hub_. Stand forth: this is _Eugenius_. + + _Eug_. I stand forth +Daring all tortures, kissing Racks and Wheeles +And Flames, to whom I offer up this body. +You keepe us from our Crownes of Martyrdomes +By this delaying: dispatch us hence. + + _King_. Not yet, Sir: +Away with them, stay him; and if our Gods +Can win this Christian Champion, now so stout, +To fight upon their sides, give him reward; +Our Gods will reach him praise. + + _Eug_. Your Gods! wretched soules! + +_King_. My worke is done; and, Henricke, as thou lov'st +Thy Fathers soule, see every thing perform'd. +This last iniunction tyes thee: so, farewell. +Let those I hated in thy hate still dwell, +I meane the Christians. + (_Dyes_.) + + _Hen_. Oh, what a deale of greatnesse +Is struck down at one blow. + + _Hub_. Give me a battell: +'Tis brave being struck downe there. + + _Anth_. _Henrick_, my Lord, +And now my Soveraigne, I am by office bound +To offer to your Royall hands this Crowne +Which on my knees I tender, all being ready +To set it on your head. + + _Omnes_. Ascend your throne: +Long live the King of _Vandals_ and of _Goths_, +The mighty _Henrick_. + + _Hen_. What must now be done? + + _Anth_. By me each Officer of State resignes +The Patten that he holds his office by, +To be dispos'd as best shall please your Grace. + + _Hen_. And I returne them back to all their trusts. +I rise in clouds, my Morning is begun +From the eternall set of a bright sunne. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Drumnel flourish: Enter Victoria and Bellina with servants_. + +To gratulate his safe and wisht Arrival. +Let Musick with her sweet-tongu'd Rhetorick +Take out those horrours which the loud clamoures +Of Warres harsh harmony hath long besieg'd +His tender sences with. Your Father's come, _Bellina_. + +_Bell_. I feele the ioy of it with you, sweet Mother, +And am as ready to receive a blessing from him +As you his chaste imbraces. + +_Vic_. So, so, bestirre; +Let all our loves and duties be exprest +In our most diligent and active care. + + _Enter Bellizarius_. + +Here comes my comfort-bringer, +My _Bellizarius_. + +_Belliz_. Dearest _Victoria_; +My second ioy, take thou a Fathers blessing. + +_Vic_. Not wounded, Sir, I hope? + +_Belliz_. No, _Victoria_; +Those were Rewards that we bestow'd on others; +We gave, but tooke none backe. Had we not you +At home to heare our noble Victories +Our Fame should want her Crowne, although she flew +As high as yonder Axle tree above +And spred in latitude throughout the world. +We have subdu'd those men of strange beleefe +Which Christians call themselves; a race of people +--This must I speake of them--as resolute +And full of courage in their bleeding falls +As should they tryumph for a Victory. +When the last groanes of many thousand mett +And like commixed Whirlwindes fill'd our eares. +As it from us rais'd not a dust of pitty +So did it give no terrour to the rest +That did but live to see their fellows dye. +In all our rigours and afflicting tortures +We cannot say that we the men subdu'd, +Because their ioy was louder than our conquest. +And still more worke of blood we must expect; +Like _Hydra's_ Heads by cutting off they double; +As seed that multiplies, such are their dead-- +Next Moone a sheafe of Christians in ones stead. + +_Vic_. This is a bloody Trade, my _Bellizarius_; +Would thou wouldst give it over. + +_Belliz_. 'Tis worke, _Victoria_, that must be done. +These are the battailes of our blessing, +Pleasing gods and goddesses who for our service +Render us these Conquests. +Our selves and our affaires we may neglect, +But not our Deities, which these Christians +Prophane deride and scoffe at; would new Lawes +Bring in and a new God make. + +_Vic_. No, my Lord; +I have heard say they never make their Gods, +But they serve 'em, they say, that did make them: +All made-gods they dispise. + +_Belliz_. Tush, tush, _Victoria_, let not thy pitty +Turne to passions; they'le not deserve thy sorrow. +How now? What's the newes? + + _Enter a Souldier_. + +_Sold_. Strange, my Lord, beyond a wonder, +For 'tis miraculous. Since you forsooke +The bloody fight and horrour of the Christians, +One tortur'd wretch, whose sight was quite extinct, +His eyes no farther seeing than his hands, +Is now by that _Eugenius_, whom they call +Their holy Bishop, cleerely restor'd again +To the astonishment of all your Army, +Who faintly now recoyle with feare and terrour +Not daring to offend so great a power. + +_Belliz_. Ha! 'tis strange thou tell'st me. + +_Vic_. Oh, take heed, my Lord; +It is no warring against heavenly Powers +Who can command their Conquest when they please. +They can forbeare the Gyants that throw stones, +And smile upon their follies; but when they frowne +Their angers fall downe perpendicular +And strike their weake Opposer into nothing: +The Thunder tells us so. + +_Belliz_. Pray leave me all; I shall have company +When you are gone, enough to fill the roome. + +_Vic_. The holiest powers give thee their best direction. + + [_Exeunt: Manet Bellizarius_. + +_Belliz_. What power is that can fortifie a man +To ioy in death, since all we can expect +Is but fruition of the ioyes of life? +If Christians hoped not to become immortall +Why should they seeke for death? +O, then instruct me some Divine power; +Thou that canst give the sight unto the blind, +Open my blind iudgement _Thunder: Enter an Angel_. +That I may see a way to happinesse. +Ha, this is a dreadfull answer; this may chide +The relapse in my blood that 'gins to faint +From[138] further persecution of these people. +Oh shall I backe and double tyranny? (_Thunder_.) +A louder threat[e]ning! oh mould these voyces +Into articulate words, that I may know +Thy meaning better. Shall I quench the flames +Of blood and vengeance, and my selfe become +A penetrable Christian? my life lay downe +Amongst their sufferings? (_Musicke_.) +Ha, these are sweet tunes. + +_Ang_. _Bellizarius_! + +_Belliz_. It names me, too. + +_Ang_. Sheath up thy cruelty; no more pursue +In bloody forrage these oppressed Christians, +For now the Thunder will take their part. +Remaine in peace and Musicke is thy banquet, +Or thy selfe number 'mongst their martyring groanes +And thou art numbred with these blessed ones. + +_Belliz_. What heavenly voyce is this? shall my eares onely +Be blest with raptures, not mine eyes enioy +The sight of that Celestiall presence +From whence these sweet sounds come? + +_Ang_. Yes, thou shalt see; nay, then, 'tis lost agen. + (_Bel. kneeles_.) +Rise; this is enough; be constant Souldier: +Thy heart's a Christian, to death persever +And then enioy the sight of Angels ever. + [_Exit_. + +_Belliz_. Oh, let me flye into that happy place. +Prepare your tortures now, you scourge of Christians, +For _Bellizarius_ the Christians torturer; +Centuple all that I have ever done; +Kindle the fire and hacke at once with swords; +Teare me by piece-meales, strangle, and extend +My every limbe and ioynt; nay, devise more +Than ever did my bloody Tyrannies. +Oh let me ever lose the sight of men +That I may see an Angell once agen. + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + +(SCENE I.) + + + _Enter Hubert and Damianus_. + +_Hub_. For[139] looke you, _Damianus_, though _Henricke_, now king, did +in the battaile well and _Bellizarius_ enough for a Generall, did not I +tell 'em home? + +_Dam_. I heard it. + +_Hub_. They shall not make bonefires of their owne glories and set up +for me a poore waxe candle to shew mine. I am full of Gold now: what +shall I doe with it, _Damianus_? + +_Dam_. What doe Marriners after boone voyages, but let all flye; and +what Souldiers, when warres are done, but fatten peace? + +_Hub_. Pox of Peace! she has churles enough to fatten her. I'll make a +Shamoyes Doublet, embroydered all over with flowers of gold. In these +dayes a woman will not looke upon a man if he be not brave. Over my +Doublet a _Soldado_ Cassacke of Scarlet, larded thicke with Gold Lace; +Hose of the same, cloake of the same, too, lasht up this high and richly +lined. There was a Lady, before I went, was working with her needle a +Scarffe for mee; but the Wagtaile has left her nest. + +_Dam_. No matter; there's enough such birds everywhere. + +_Hub_. Yes, women are as common as glasses in Tavernes, and often drunke +in and more often crackt. I shall grow lazy if I fight not; I would +faine play with halfe a dozen Fencers, but it should be at sharpe.[140] + +_Dam_. And they are all for foyles. + +_Hub_. Foyl'd let 'em be then. + +_Dam_. You have had fencing enough in the field, and for women the +Christians fill'd[141] your markets. + +_Hub_. Yes, and those markets were our Shambles. Flesh enough! +It made me weary of it. Since I came home +I have beene wondrous troubled in my sleepes, +And often heard to sigh in dead of night +As if my heart would cracke. You talk of Christians: +Ile tell you a strange thing, a kind of melting in +My soule, as 'twere before some heavenly fire, +When in their deaths (whom they themselves call Martyrs) +It was all rocky. Nothing, they say, can soften +A Diamond but Goates blood;[142] they perhaps were Lambs +In whose blood I was softened. + +_Dam_. Pray tell how. + +_Hub_. I will: after some three hours being in _Carthage_ +I rusht into a Temple. Starr'd all with lights; +Which with my drawne sword rifling, in a roome +Hung full of Pictures, drawne so full of sweetnesse +They struck a reverence in me, found I a woman, +A Lady all in white; the very Candles +Took brightnesse from her eyes and those cleare Pearles +Which in aboundance falling on her cheekes +Gave them a lovely bravery. At my rough entrance +She shriek'd and kneel'd, and holding up a paire +Of Ivory fingers begg't that I would not +(Though I did kill) dishonour her, and told me +She would pray for me. Never did Christian +So near come to my heart-strings; I let my Sword +Fall from me, stood astonish't, and not onely +Sav'd her my selfe but guarded her from others. + +_Dam_. Done like a Souldier. + +_Hub_. Blood is not ever +The wholsom'st Wine to drinke. Doubtlesse these Christians +Serve some strange Master, and it needes must bee +A wonderfull sweete wages which he paies them; +And though men murmour, get they once here footing, +Then downe goes our Religion, downe our Altars, +And strange things be set up.--I cannot tell: +We, held so pure, finde wayes enough to hell. +Fall out what can, I care not; Ile to _Bellizarius_. + +_Dam_. Will you? pray carry to him my best wishes. + +_Hub_. I can carry anything but Blowes, Coles,[143] my Drink, and that +clapper of the Divell, the tongue of a Scould. Farewell. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Flourish: Enter the King, Antony, Cosmo, all about + the King, and Bellizarius_. + +_King_. They swarme like Bees about us, insomuch +Our People cannot sacrifice nor give Incense +But with interruptions; they still are buzzing thus, +Saying: Their Gods delight not in vaine showes +But intellectual thoughts pure and unstain'd, +Therefore reduce them from their heresies +Or build our prison walls with Christians bones. +What thinkes our _Bellizarius_, he that was wont +To be more swift to execute than we to command? +Why sits not _Bellizarius_? + +_Belliz_. I dare not. + +_King_. Protect me, Iove! Who dare gainesay it? + +_Belliz_. I must not. + +_King_. Say we command it? + +_Belliz_. Truth is, I neither can nor will. + +_Omn_. Hee's mad. + +_Belliz_. Yes, I am mad +To see such Wolvish Tyrants as you are +Pretend a Justice and condemne the iust. +Oh you white soules that hover in the aire, +Who through my blindnesse were made death his[144] prey; +Be but appeas'd, you spotlesse Innocents, +Till with my blood I have made a true atonement, +And through those tortures, by this braine devis'd, +In which you perisht, I may fall as you +To satisfie your yet fresh bleeding memories +And meete you in that garden where content +Dwels onely. I, that in blood did glory, +Will now spend blood to heighten out your story. + +_Anton_. Why, _Bellizarius_-- + +_Belliz_. Hinder me not: +I'me in a happy progresse, would not change my guest +Nor be deterr'd by Moles and Wormes that cannot see +Such as you are. Alas, I pitty you. + +_Dam_. The King's in presence. + +_Belliz_. I talke of one that's altitudes above him, +That owes[145] all Principalities: he is no King +That keepes not his decrees, nor am I bound +In duty to obey him in unwist acts. + +_King_. All leave the roome. + +_Omnes_. We obey your highnesse. + [_Exeunt Lords_. + +_King_. Sir, nay. Sir; good _Bellizarius_. + +_Belliz_. In that I doe obey. + +_King_. Doe you make scruple, then, of our command? + +_Belliz_. Yes, Sir, where the act's unjust and impure. + +_King_. Why, then, are we a king, if not obey'd? + +_Belliz_. You are plac'd on earth but as a Substitute +To a Diviner being as subiects are to you; +And are so long a king to be obey'd +As you are iust. + +_King_. Good _Bellizarius_, wherein doe I digresse? +Have I not made thee great, given thee authority +To scourge those mis-beleevers, those wild Locusts +That thus infect our Empire with their Scismes? +The World is full of _Bellizarius_ deedes. +Succeeding times will Canonize thy Acts +When they shall read what great ones thou hast done +In honour of us and our sacred gods; +For which, next unto _Iove_, they gave a Laurell +To _Bellizarius_, whose studious braine +Fram'd all these wracks and tortures for these Christians. +Hast thou not all our Treasure in thy power? +Who but your selfe commands as [us?], _Bellizarius_? +Then whence, my _Bellizarius_, comes this change? + +_Belliz_. Poore King, I sorrow for thy weakned sence, +Wishing thy eye-sight cleare that Eagle-like, +As I doe now, thou might'st gaze on the Sunne, +The Sunne of brightnesse, Sunne of peace, of plenty. +Made you me great in that you made me miserable, +Thy selfe more wretched farre? in that thy hand +The Engine was to make me persecute +Those Christian soules whom I have sent to death, +For which I ever, ever shall lament? + +_King_. Ha, what's this?--Within there! + +_Belliz_. Nay, heare me, _Henrick_, and when thou hast heard me out +With _Bellizarius_ thinke that thou art blest +If that with me thou canst participate. + +_King_. Thou art mad. + +_Belliz_. No; 'tis thou art mad, +And with thy frenzie make this Kingdome franticke. +Forgive me, thou great Power in whom I trust, +Forgive me, World, and blot out all my deeds +From those black Kalends; else, when I lye dead, +My Name will ever lie in obliquie. +Is it a Sinne that can make great men good? +Is prophanation turn'd to sanctity, +Vices to vertues? if such disorder stand +Then _Bellizarius_ Acts may be held iust; +Otherwise nothing. + +_King_. Some Furie hath possest my _Bellizarius_ +That thus he railes. Oh, my dearest, +Call on great _Iupiter_. + +_Belliz_. Alas, poore Idoll! +On him! on him that is not, unlesse made: +Had I your _Iove_ I'de tosse him in the Ayre, +Or sacrifice him to his fellow-gods +And see what he could doe to save himselfe. +You call him Thunderer, shaker of _Olympus_, +The onely and deare Father of all gods; +When silly love is shooke with every winde, +A fingers touch can hurle him from his Throne. +Is this a thing to be ador'd or pray'd too? + +_King_. My love turnes now to rage.--Attendance there, + _Enter all the Lords_. +And helpe to binde this mad man, that's possest!-- +By the powers that we adore thou dyest. + +_Belliz_. Here me, thou ignorant King, you dull-brain'd Lords, +Oh heare me for your owne sakes, for your soules sake: +Had you as many gods as you have dayes, +As once the _Assyrians_ had, yet have yee nothing. +Such service as they gave such you may give, +And have reward as had the blinde _Molossians_: +A Toad one day they worship; one of them drunke +A health with 's god and poyson'd so himselfe. +Therefore with me looke up, and as regenerate soules-- + +_Dam_. Can you suffer this? +This his affront will scare up the devotion +Of all your people. He that persecuted +Become a convertite! + +_Belliz_. 'Tis ioy above my ioy: oh, had you scene +What these eyes saw, you would not then +Disswade me from it; nor will I leave that power +By whom I finde such infinite contentments. + +_Hen_. _Epidophorus_; your eare:--see't done. + +_Epi_. It shall, my Lord. + [_Exit Epi_. + +_Hen_. Then by the gods +And all the powers the _Vandals_ doe adore, +Thou hast not beene more terrible to the world +Than to thy selfe I now will make thee. + +_Belliz_. I dare thy worst; +I have a Christian armour to protect me. +You cannot act so much as I will suffer. + +_Hen_. Ile try your patience + + _Enter Epido, two Christians and officers_. + +_Epi_. 'Tis done, my Lord, as you directed. + +_Hen_. They are come: +Make signes you'le yet deny your Christianity (_They make signes_.) +And kneele with us to sacred _Iupiter_. +No? make them then a Sacrifice to _Iupiter_ +For all the wrongs by _Bellizarius_ done. +Dispatch, I say; to the fire with them. + +_Belliz_. Alas, good men! tonguelesse? you'le yet be heard; +The sighes of your tun'd soules are musicall, +And whil'st I breath, as now my tears I shed, +My prayers He send up for you; 'twas I that mangl'd you. +How soone the bodies Organ leaves the sound! +The Life's next too't; a Needles point ends that, +A small thing does it. Now you have quiet roomes +No wrangling, all husht. Now make me a fellow +In this most patient suffering. + +_Hen_. Beare them unto the fire, and place him neere +To fright him. + (_Flourish.)_ + +_Belliz_. On, fellow Souldiers! +Your fires will soon be quencht, and for your wrongs +You shall, above, all speake with Angels tongues. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Clowne, Constable and three watchmen_. + +_Clown_. You[146] that are borne Pagans both by father and mother, the +true sonnes of Infidelity, sit downe by me your officiall, or to come +nearer to the efficacy of the word, your undermost Iaylor or staller; +--the word is Lordly and significant. + +_Omnes_. O brave Master, yfaith. + +_Clowne_. Therefore sit downe; and as by vertue of our place we have +Authority given, so let us as officers doe, knaves of our function as +of others; let us, I say, be unbounded in our Authority, having the +Lawes, I meane the Keyes, in our owne hands. + +_Const_. Friend, friend, you are too forward in your Authority; your +command is limited where I am in place: for though you are the +Lieutenants man know, sir, that I am Master of the worke and Constable +Royall under the Kings Maiesty. + +_Omnes_. Marry is hee. + +_Const_. If their testimonie will not satisfie, here my Title: At this +place, in this time, and upon this occasion I am Prince over these +Publicans, Lord over these Larroones,[147] Regent of these Rugs,[148] +Viceroy over these Vagabonds, King of these Caterpillars; and indeed, +being a Constable, directly Soveraigne over these my Subiects. + +2 _Off_. If all these stiles, so hard to climbe over, belong to the +office of a Constable, what kin is he to the Divell? + +_Const_. Why to the Devill, my friend? + +_Clown_. Ile tell you: because a Constable is King of Nights and the +other is Prince of Darknesse. + +_Const_. Darke as it is, by the twilight of my Lanthorne methinks I see +a company of Woodcocks. + +_2 Off_. How can you discerne them? + + _Enter Epidophorus, Victoria and Bellina_. + +_Clown_. Oh excellent well, by their bills: see, see, here comes the +Lieutenant. + +_Epi_. Well sayd, my friends: you keep good watch, I see. + +_Clown_. Yes, Sir, we Officers have breath as strong as Garlick: no +Christian by their good wills dare come neare us. + +_Epi_. 'Tis well, forbeare.-- +Oh, Madam, had you scene with what a vehemency +He did blaspheme the gods, +Like to a man pearcht on some lofty Spire +Amazed which way to relieve himselfe, +You would have stood, as did the King, amaz'd. + +_Vict_. God grant him liberty, +And with that give us privacy; I doubt not +But our sweet conference shall work much on him. + +_Epi_. _Iove_ grant it: Ile leave the roome. + [_Exit Epi_. + +_Clown_. A Iaylor seldome lookes for a bribe but hee's prevented. + + [_Exeunt Officers_. + + _Enter Bellizarius in his night-gown, with Epidophorus_. + +_Epi_. My Lord, your Lady and her most beauteous daughter +Are come to visit you, and here attend. + +_Belliz_. My Wife and Daughter? oh welcome, love, +And blessing Crowne thee, my beloved _Bellina_. + +_Vict_. My Lord, pray leave us. + +_Epi_. Your will be your owne Law. + [_Exit Epidoph_. + +_Vict_. Why study you, my Lord? why is your eye fixt +On your _Bellina_ more than on me? + +_Belliz_. Good, excellent good: +What pretty showes our fancies represent us! +My faire _Bellina_ shines like to an Angel; +Has such a brightnesse in her Christall eyes +That even the radiancy duls my sight. +See, my _Victoria_, lookes she not sweetly? + +_Vict_. Shee does, my Lord; but not much better than she was wont. + +_Belliz_. Oh shee but beginnes to shine as yet, +But will I hope ere long be stellified. +Alas, my _Victoria_, thou look'st nothing like her. + +_Vict_. Not like her? why, my Lord? + +_Belliz_. Marke and Ile tell thee how: +Thou art too much o'er growne with sinne and shame, +Hast pray'd too much, offered too much devotion +To him and those that can nor helpe nor hurt, +Which my _Bellina_ has not: +Her yeares in sinne are not, as thine are, old; +Therefore me thinks she's fairer farre than thou. + +_Vict_. I, my Lord, guided by you and by your precepts, +Have often cal'd on _Iupiter_. + +_Belliz_. I, there's the poynt: +My sinnes like Pullies still drew me downewards: +'Twas I that taught thee first to Idolize, +And unlesse that I can with-draw thy mind +From following that I did with tears intreat, +I'me lost, for ever lost, lost in my selfe and thee. +Oh, my _Bellina_! + +_Bellina_. Why, Sir! +Shall we not call on _Iove_ that gives us food, +By whom we see the heavens have all their Motions? + +_Belliz_. Shee's almost lost too: alas! my Girle, +There is a higher _Iove_ that rules 'bove him. +Sit, my _Victoria_, sit, my faire _Bellina_, +And with attention hearken to my dreame: +Methought one evening, sitting on a fragrant Virge, +Close by there ranne a silver gliding streame: +I past the Rivolet and came to a Garden, +A Paradise, I should say (for lesse it could not be); +Such sweetnesse the world contains not as I saw; +_Indian Aramaticks_ nor _Arabian_ Gummes +Were nothing sented unto this sweet bower. +I gaz'd about, and there me thought I saw +Conquerors and Captives, Kings and meane men; +I saw no inequality in their places. +Casting mine eye on the other side the Palace, +Thousands I saw my selfe had sent to death; +At which I sigh'd and sob'd, I griev'd and groan'd. +Ingirt with Angels were those glorious Martyrs +Whom this ungentle hand untimely ended, +And beckon'd to me as if heaven had said, +"Beleeve as they and be thou one of them"; +At which my heart leapt, for there me thought I saw, +As I suppos'd, you two like to the rest: +With that I wak'd and resolutely vow'd +To prosecute what I in thought had seene. + +_Bellina_. 'Twas a sweet dreame; good Sir, make use of it. + +_Vict_. And I with _Bellizarius_ am resolv'd +To undergoe the worst of all afflictions, +Where such a glory bids us to performe. + +_Belliz_. Now blessings crowne yee both +The first stout Martyr has[149] his glorious end +Though stony-hard yet speedy; when ours comes +I shall tryumph in our affliction. +This adds some comfort to my troubled soule: +I, that so many have depriv'd of breath, +Shall winne two soules to accompany me in death. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + + + _Enter Clowne and Huntsmen severally_. + +1 _Hunt_. Ho, rise, sluggards! so, so, ho! so, ho! + +2 _Hunt_. So ho, ho! we come. + +_Clown_. Morrow, iolly wood-men. + +_Omnes_. Morrow, morrow. + +_Clown_. Oh here's a Morning like a grey ey'd Wench, able to intice a +man to leap out of his bed if he love hunting, had he as many cornes on +his toes as there are Cuckolds in the City. + +1 _Hunt_. And that's enough in conscience to keepe men from going, were +his Boots as wide as the black Iacks[150] or Bombards tost by the Kings +Guard. + +2 _Hunt_. Are the swift Horses ready? + +_Clown_. Yes, and better fed than taught; for one of 'em had like to +have kickt my iigumbobs as I came by him. + +2 _Hunt_. Where are the Dogges? + +_Clown_. All coupled, as Theeves going to a Sessions, and are to be +hang'd if they be found faulty. + +2 _Hunt_. What Dogges are they? + +_Clown_. A packe of the bravest _Spartan_ Dogges in the world; if they +do but once open and spend[151] there gabble, gabble, gabble it will +make the Forest ecchoe as if a Ring of Bells were in it; admirably +flewd[152], by their eares you would take 'em to be singing boyes; and +for Dewlaps they are as bigge as Vintners bags in which they straine +Ipocras. + +_Omnes_. There, boy. + +_Clown_. And hunt so close and so round together that you may cover +'em all with a sheete. + +2 _Hunt_. If it be wide enough. + +_Clown_. Why, as wide as some four or five Acres, that's all. + +1 _Hunt_. And what's the game to day? + +_Clown_. The wilde Boare. + +1 _Hunt_. Which of 'em? the greatest? I have not seene him. + +_Clown_. Not seene him? he is as big as an Elephant. + +2 _Hunt_. Now will he build a whole Castle full of lies. + +_Clown_. Not seen him? I have. + +_Omnes_. No, no; seene him? as big as an Elephant? + +_Clown_. The backe of him is as broad--let me see--as a pretty Lighter. + +1 _Hun_. A Lighter? + +_Clown_. Yes; and what do you think the Brissells are worth? + +2 _Hunt_. Nothing. + +_Clown_. Nothing? one Shoemaker offer'd to finde me and the Heire-male +of my body 22 yeeres, but to have them for his owne ends. + +2 _Hunt_. He would put Sparabiles[153] into the soales then? + +_Clown_. Not a Bill, not a Sparrow. The Boares head is so huge that a +Vintner but drawing that picture and hanging it up for a Signe it fell +down and broke him. + +1 _Hunt_. Oh horrible! + +_Clown_. He has two stones so bigge, let me see (a Poxe), thy head is but +a Cherry-stone to the least of' em. + +2 _Hunt_. How long are his Tuskes? + +_Clown_. Each of them as crooked and as long as a Mowers sith. + +1 _Hunt_. There's a Cutter. + +_Clown_. And when he whets his Tuskes you would sweare there were a sea +in's belly, and that his chops were the shore to which the Foame was +beaten: if his Foame were frothy Yest 'twere worth tenne groats a paile +for Bakers. + +1 _Hunt_. What will the King do with him if he kill him? + +_Clown_. Bake him, and if they put him in one Pasty a new Oven must be +made, with a mouth as wide as the gates of the City. (_Horne_.) + +_Omnes_. There boy, there boy. + + _Hornes and Noise within: Enter Antony meeting Damianus_. + +_Ant_. _Cosmo_ had like beene kild; the Boare receiving[154] +A Speare full in the Flanke from _Cosmo's_ hand, +Foaming with rage he ranne at him, unhorst him +And had, but that he fell behinde an Oake +Of admirable greatnesse, torne out his bowels; +His very Tuskes, striking into the tree, +Made the old Champion[155] shake. + + [_Enter Cosmo_. + +_Dam_. Where are the Dogges? + +_Cosmo_. No matter for the Curres: +I scapt well, but cannot finde the King. + +_Anton_. When did you see him? + +_Cosmo_. Not since the Boare tos'd up +Both horse and rider. + + _Enter Epidophorus and all the Huntsmen in a hurry_. + +_Epi_. A Liter for the King; the King is hurt. + +_Ant_. How? + +_Epi_. No man knowes: some say stung by an Adder +As from his horse he fell; some cry, by the Boare. + +_Anton_. The Boare never came neare him. + +_Dam_. The King's Physitians! + +_Cosmo_. Runne for the King's Physitians. + +_Epi_. Conduct us to him. + +_Anton_. A fatall hunting when a King doth fall: +All earthly pleasures are thus washt in gall. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Eugenius discovered sitting loaden with many Irons, + a Lampe burning by him; then enter Clowne with a + piece of browne bread and a Carret roote_. + +_Eugen_. Is this my Dyet? + +_Clown_. Yes, marry is it; though it be not Dyet bread[156] 'tis bread, +'tis your dinner; and though this be not the roote of all mischiefe yet +'tis a Carret, and excellent good meate if you had powderd Beefe to it. + +_Eugen_. I am content with this. + +_Clown_. If you bee not I cannot helpe it; for I am threatned to be +hang'd if I set but a Tripe before you or give you a bone to gnaw. + +_Eugen_. For me thou shalt not suffer. + +_Clown_. I thank you; but were not you better be no good Christian, as +I am, and so fill your belly as to lie here and starve and be hang'd +thus in Chaines? + +_Eugen_. No, 'tis my tryumph; all these Chaines to me +Are silken Ribbonds, this course bread a banquet; +This gloomy Dungeon is to me more pleasing +Than the Kings Palace; and cou'd I winne thy soule +To shake off her blacke ignorance, thou, as I doe, +Would'st feele thirst, hunger, stripes and Irons nothing, +Nay, count death nothing. Let me winne thee to me. + +_Clown_. Thank yee for that: winne me from a Table full of good meat to +leape at a crust! I am no Scholler, and you (they say) are a great one; +and schollers must eate little, so shall you. What a fine thing is it +for me to report abroad of you that you are no great feeder, no +Cormorant! What a quiet life is it when a womans tongue lies still! and +is't not as good when a mans teeth lyes still? + +_Eugen_. Performe what thou art bidden; if thou art charg'd +To starve me, Ile not blame thee but blesse heaven. + +_Clown_. If you were starv'd what hurt were that to you? + +_Eugen_. Not any; no, not any. + +_Clown_. Here would be your praise when you should lie dead: they would +say, he was a very good man but alas! had little or nothing in him. + +_Eugen_. I am a slave to any misery +My Iudges doome me too. + +_Clown_. If you bee a slave there's more slaves in the world than you. + +_Eugen_. Yes, thousands of brave fellows slaves to their vices; +The Usurer to his gold, drunkards to Wine, +Adulterers to their lust. + +_Clown_. Right, Sir; so in Trades: the Smith is a slave to the +Ironmonger, the itchy silk-weaver to the Silke-man, the Cloth-worker +to the Draper, the Whore to the Bawd, the Bawd to the Constable, and +the Constable to a bribe. + +_Eugen_. Is it the kings will that I should be thus chain'd? + +_Clown_. Yes indeed, Sir. I can tell you in some countries they are held +no small fooles that goe in Chaines. + +_Eugen_. I am heavy. + +_Clown_. Heavy? how can you chuse, having so much Iron upon you? + +_Eugen_. Death's brother and I would have a little talk +So thou wouldst leave us. + +_Clown_. With all my heart; let Deaths sister talke with you, too, and +shee will, but let not me see her, for I am charg'd to let no body come +into you. If you want any water give mee your Chamber pot; Ile fill it. + [_Exit_. + +_Eugen_. No, I want none, I thanke thee. +Oh sweet affliction, thou blest booke, being written +By Divine fingers! you Chaines that binde my body +To free my soule; you Wheeles that wind me up +To an eternity of happinesse, +Mustre my holy thoughts; and, as I write, +Organ of heavenly Musicke to mine ears, +Haven to my Shipwracke, balme to my wounds, +Sunne-beames which on me comfortably shine +When Clouds of death are covering me; (so gold, +As I by thee, by fire is purified; +So showres quicken the Spring; so rough Seas +Bring Marriners home, giving them gaines and ease); +Imprisonment, gyves, famine, buffetings, +The Gibbet and the Racke; Flint stones, the Cushions +On which I kneele; a heape of Thornes and Briers, +The Pillow to my head; a nasty prison, +Able to kill mankinde even with the Smell: +All these to me are welcome. You are deaths servants; +When comes your Master to me? Now I am arm'd for him. +Strengthen me that Divinity that enlightens +The darknesse of my soule, strengthen this hand +That it may write my challenge to the world +Whom I defie; that I may on this paper +The picture draw of my confession. +Here doe I fix my Standard, here bid Battaile +To Paganisme and infidelity. + + _Musicke; enter Angel_. + +Mustre my holy thoughts, and, as I write, +In this brave quarrell teach me how to fight. + + (_As he is writing an Angel comes and stands before + him: soft musick; he astonisht and dazeld_.) + +This is no common Almes to prisoners; +I never heard such sweetnesse--O mine eyes! +I, that am shut from light, have all the light +Which the world sees by; here some heavenly fire +Is throwne about the roome, and burnes so clearely, +Mine eye-bals drop out blasted at the sight. + + (_He falls flat on the earth, and whilst a Song is heard + the Angel writes, and vanishes as it ends_.) + + I. SONG. + + _What are earthly honours + But sins glorious banners? + Let not golden gifts delight thee, + Let not death nor torments fright thee; + From thy place thy Captaine gives thee + When thou faintest he relieves thee. + Hearke, how the Larke + Is to the Morning singing; + Harke how the Bells are ringing. + It is for joy that thou to Heaven art flying: + This is not life, true life is got by dying_. + +_Eugen_. The light and sound are vanisht, but my feare +Sticks still upon my forehead: what's written here? (_Reads_.) + + Goe, and the bold Physitian play; + But touch the King and drive away + The paine he feeles; but first assay + To free the Christians: if the King pay + Thy service ill, expect a day + When for reward thou shalt not stay. + +All writ in golden Letters and cut so even +As if some hand had hither reacht from Heaven +To print this Paper. + + _Enter Epidophorus_. + +_Epi_. Come, you must to the King. + +_Eugen_. I am so laden with Irons +I scarce can goe. + +_Epi_. Wyer-whips shall drive you, +The King is counsell'd for his health to bath him +In the warme blood of Christians; and you, I thinke, +Must give him ease. + +_Eugen_. Willingly; my fetters +Hang now, methinks, like feathers at my heeles. +On, any whither; I can runne, sir. + +_Epi_. Can you? not very farre, I feare. + +_Eugen_. No windes my Faith shake, nor rock[s] split in sunder: +The poore ship's tost here, my strong Anchor's yonder. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter Bellizarius and Hubert_. + +_Hub_. My Lord? + +_Belliz_. Ha! + +_Hub_. Affraid in a close room where no foe comes +Unlesse it be a Weezle or a Rat +(And those besiege your Larder or your Pantry), +Whom the arm'd Foe never frighted in the field? + +_Belliz_. 'Tis true, my Lord, there danger was a safety; here +To be secure I thinke most dangerous. +Or what could[157] famine, wounds or all th'extreames +That still attend a Souldiers actions +Could not destroy, one sillable from a Kings breath +Can thus, thus easily win. + +_Hub_. Oh, 'tis their long observed policy +To turne away these roaring boyes +When they intend to rock licentious thoughts +In a soft roome, where every long Cushion is +Embroydered with old Histories of peace, +And all the hangings of Warre thrust into the Wardrobe +Till they grow musty or moth-eaten. + +_Belliz_. One of those rusty Monuments am I. + +_Hub_. A little oyle of favour will secure thee agen, +And make thee shine as bright as in that day +We wonne the famous battaile 'gainst the Christians. + + _Enter Bellina and kneeles weeping_. + +_Belliz_. Never, _Hubert_, never. +What newes now, Girle? thy heart +So great it cannot tell me? + +_Hub_. Sfoot, why shouldst thou be troubled, that art thus visited? Let +the King put me into any roome, the closer the better, and turne but +such a keeper to me, and if ever I strive to runne away, though the +doores be open, may the Virgins curse destroy me, and let me lamentably +and most unmanly dye of the Greene-sicknesse. + +_Belliz_. My blessing bring thee patience, gentle Girle; +It is the best thy wronged Father can +Invoke for thee.--Tis my _Bellina, Hubert_: +Know her, honour'd Sir, and pittie her. + +_Hub_. How sweetly she becomes the face of woe! +Shee teacheth misery to court her beauty +And to affliction lends a lovely looke. +Happy folkes would sell their blessings for her griefes +But to be sure to meete them thus. + +_Bellina_. My honourd Father, your griev'd Daughter thus +Thrice every day to Heaven lifts her poore hand +And payes her vowes to the incensed Powers +For your release and happy patience, +And will grow old in vowes unto those Powers +Till they fall on me loaden with my wishes. + +_Belliz_. Thou art the comfort of my Treasure, Girle: +Wee'le live together, if it please the King, +And tell sad Stories of thy wretched Mother; +Give equall sighes to one anothers griefe, +And by discourse of happinesse to come +Trample upon our present miseries. + +_Hub_. There is a violent fire runnes round about me, +Which my sighes blow to a consuming flame. +To be her Martyr is a happinesse, +The sainted souls would change their merit for it. +Methinkes griefe dwells about her purest eyes, +As if it begg'd a pardon for those teares +Exhausted hence and onely due to love: +Her Vaile hangs like a Cloud over her face, +Through which her beauty, like a glimmering Starre, +Gives a transparent lustre to the night, +As if no sorrow could Ecclipse her light: +Her lips, as they discourse, methinks, looke pale +For feare they should not kisse agen; but, met, +They blush for joy, as happy Lovers doe +After a long divorce when they encounter. + +_Belliz_. Noble Lord, if you dare lose so much precious time +As to be companion to my misery +But one poor houre, +And not esteeme your selfe too prodigall +For that expence, this wretched Maid my Child +Shall waite upon you with her sorrows stories; +Vouchsafe but you to heare it. + +_Hub_. Yes, with full eare. + +_Belliz_. To your best thoughts I leave you; +I will but read, and answer this my Letter. + [_Exit. Belliz_. + +_Bellina_. Why do you, seeme to loose your eyes on me? +Here's nothing but a pile of wretchednesse; +A branch that every way is shooke at roote +And would (I think) even fall before you now, +But that Divinity which props it up +Inspires it full of comfort, since the Cause +My father suffers for gives a full glory +To his base fetters of Captivity. +And I beseech you, Sir, if there but dwell +So much of Vertue in you as your lookes +Seeme to expresse possesse your honour'd thoughts, +Bestow your pitty on us, not your scorne; +And wish, for goodnesse sake and your soules weale, +You were a sharer in these sufferings, +So the same cause expos'd your fortunes too't. + +_Hub_. Oh, happy woman, know I suffer more, +And for a cause as iust. + +_Bellina_. Be proud then of that tryumph; but I am yet +A stranger to the Character of what +You say you suffer for. Is it for Conscience? + +_Hub_. For love, divine perfection. + +_Bellina_. If of Heaven's love, how rich is your reward! + +_Hub_. Of Heaven's best blessing, your most perfect selfe. + +_Bellina_. Alas, Sir, here perfection keeps no Court, +Love dresses here no wanton amorous bowers; +Sorrow has made perpetuall winter here, +And all my thoughts are Icie, past the reach +Of what Loves fires can thaw. + +_Hub_. Oh doe but take away a part of that +My breast is full of, of that holy fire +The Queene of Loves faire Altar holds not purer +Nor more effectuall; and, sweet, if then +You melt not into passion for my wounds, +Effuse your Virgin vowes to chaine mine ears, +Weepe on my necke and with your fervent sighes +Infuse a soule of comfort into me; +He break the Altar of the foolish God, +Proclaime them guilty of Idolatry +That sacrifice to _Cytheraeas_ sonne. + +_Bellina_. Did not my present fortunes and my vowes, +Register'd in the Records of Heaven, +Tye me too strictly from such thoughts as these, +I feare me I should softly yeeld to what +My yet condition has beene stranger to. +To love, my Lord, is to be miserable. + +_Hub_. Oh to thy sweetnesse Envy would prove kind, +Tormentor humble, no pale Murderer; +And the Page of death a smiling Courtier. +_Venus_ must then, to give thee noble welcome, +Perfume her Temple with the breath of Nunnes, +Not _Vesta's_ but her owne; with Roses strow +The paths that bring thee to her blessed shrine; +Cloath all her Altares in her richest Robes +And hang her walles with stories of such loves +Have rais'd her Tryumphs; and 'bove all at last +Record this day, the happy day in which +_Bellina_ prov'd to love a Convertite. +Be mercifull and save me. + +_Bellina_. You are defil'd with Seas of Christians blood, +An enemy to Heaven and which is good; +And cannot be a loving friend to me. + +_Hub_. If I have sinn'd forgive me, you iust powers: +My ignorance, not cruelty has don't. +And here I vow my selfe to be hereafter +What ere _Bellina_ shall instruct me in: +For she was never made but to possesse +The highest Mansion 'mongst your Dignities, +Nor can Heaven let her erre. + +_Bellina_. On that condition thus I spread my armes, +Whose chaste embraces ne're toucht man before; +And will to _Hubert_ all the favour shew +His vertuous love can covet. +I will be ever his; goe thou to Warre, +These hands shall arme thee; and Ile watch thy Tent +Till from the battaile thou bring'st victory. +In peace Ile sit by thee and read or sing +Stanzaes of chaste love, of love purifi'd +From desires drossie blacknesse; nay when our clouds +Of ignorance are quite vanisht, and that a holy +Religious knot between us may be tyed, +_Bellina_ here vowes to be _Hubert's_ bride: +Else doe I sweare perpetuall chastity. + +_Hub_. Thy vowes I seale, be thou my ghostly Tutor; +And, all my actions levell'd to thy thoughts, +I am thy Creature. + +_Bellina_. Let Heaven, too, but now propitious prove +And for thy soule thou hast wonne a happy love. +Come, shall we to my Father. + + [_Exeunt_. + + (_Soft Musick_) + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _Enter the King on his bed, two Physitians, + Anthony Damianus and Cosmo_. + +_King_. Are you Physitians? +Are you those men that proudly call your selves +The helps of Nature? + +_Ant_. Oh, my good Lord, have patience. + +_King_. What should I doe? lye like a patient Asse? +Feele my selfe tortur'd by this diffused poyson, +But tortur'd more by these unsavoury drugges? + +_Ant_. Come one of you your selves and speake to him. + +1 _Phys_. How fares your Highnesse? + +_King_. Never worse:--What's he? + +_Dami_. One of your Highnesse Doctors. + +_King_. Come, sit neare me; +Feele my pulse once again and tell me, Doctor, +Tell me in tearmes that I may understand,-- +I doe not love your gibberish,--tell me honestly +Where the Cause lies, and give a Remedy, +And that with speed; or in despight of Art, +Of Nature, you and all your heavenly motions, +Ile recollect so much of life into me +As shall give space to see you tortur'd. +Some body told me that a Bath of mans blood +Would restore me. Christians shall pay for't; +Fetch the Bishop hither, he shall begin. + +_Cosm_. Hee's gone for. + +_King_. What's my disease? + +1 _Phys_. My Lord, you are poyson'd. + +_King_. I told thee so my selfe, and told thee how: +But what's the reason that I have no helpe? +The Coffers of my Treasury are full, +Or, if they were not, tributary Christians +Bring in sufficient store to pay your fees, +If that you gape at. + +2 _Phys_. Wilt please your Highnesse then to take this Cordiall? +Gold never truely did you good till now. + +_King_. 'Tis gone. + +2 _Phys_. My Lord, it was the perfectst tincture +Of Gold that ever any Art produc'd: +With it was mixt a true rare Quintessence +Extracted out of Orientall Bezar,[158] +And with it was dissolv'd the Magisteriall +Made of the Horne _Armenia_ so much boast of; +Which, though dull Death had usurp't Natures right, +Is able to create new life agen. + +_King_. Why does it good on men and not on Kings? +We have the selfe-same passages for Nature +With mortall men; our pulses beate like theirs: +We are subiect unto passions as they are. +I finde it now, but to my griefe I finde, +Life stands not with us on such ticklish points, +What is't, because we are Kings, Life takes it leave +With greater state? No, no; the envious Gods +Maligne our happinesse. Oh that my breath had power +With my last words to blast their Deities. + +1 _Phys_. The Cordiall that you tooke requires rest: +For healths sake, good my Lord, repose your selfe. + +_King_. Yes, any thing for health; draw round the Curtaines. + +_Dami_. Wee'le watch by him whilst you two doe consult. + +1 _Phys_. What guesse you by that Urine? + +2 _Phys_. Surely Death! + +1 _Phys_. Death certaine, without contradiction, +For though the Urin be a whore and lies, +Yet where I finde her in all parts agree +With other Symtomes of apparent death +Ile give her faith. Pray, Sir, doe but marke +These black Hypostacies;[159] it plainely shewes +Mortification generally through the spirits; +And you may finde the Pulse to shew as much +By his uncertainty of time and strength. + +2 _Phys_. We finde the spirits often suffisticated +By many accidents, but yet not mortified; +A sudden feare will doe it. + +1 _Phys_. Very right; +But there's no malitious humour mixt +As in the king: Sir, you must understand +A Scorpion stung him: now a Scorpion is +A small compacted creature in whom Earth +Hath the predominance, but mixt with fire, +So that in him _Saturne_ and _Mars_ doe meet. +This little Creature hath his severall humours, +And these their excrements; these met together, +Enflamed by anger, made a deadly poison; +And by how much the creatures body's lesse +By so much is the force of Venome more, +As Lightning through a windows Casement +Hurts more than that which enters at the doore. + +2 _Phys_. But for the way to cure it? + +1 _Phys_. I know none; +Yet Ancient Writers have prescrib'd us many: +As _Theophrastus_ holds most excellent +Diophoratick[160] Medicines to expell +Ill vapours from the noble parts by sweate; +But _Avices_ and also _Rabby Roses_[161] +Doe thinke it better by provoking Urin, +Since by the Urine blood may well be purg'd, +And spirits from the blood have nutriment, +But for my part I ever held opinion +In such a case the Ventosities are best. + +2 _Phys_. They are indeed, and they doe farre exceede-- + +1 _Phys_. All the great curious Cataphlasmes, +Or the live taile of a deplum[e]d Henne, +Or your hot Pigeons or your quartered whelpes;[162] +For they by a meere forc'd attractive power +Retaine that safely which by force was drawne, +Whereas the other things I nam'd before +Do lose their vertue as they lose their heat. + +2 _Phys_. The ventosities shall be our next intensions. + +_Anton_. Pray, Gentlemen, attend his Highnesse. + +_King_. Your next intentions be to drowne your selves: +Dogge-leaches all! I see I am not mortall, +For I with patience have thus long endur'd +Beyond the strength of all mortality; +But now the thrice heate furnace of my bosome +Disdaineth bounds: doe not I scorch you all? +Goe, goe, you are all but prating Mountebankes, +Quack-salvers and Imposures; get you all from me. + +2 _Phys_. These Ventosities, my lord, will give you ease. + +_King_. A vengeance on thy Ventosities and thee! + + _Enter Eugenius_. + +_Anton_. The Bishop, Sir, is come. + +_King_. Christian, thy blood +Must give me ease and helpe. + +_Eugen_. Drinke then thy fill: +None of the Fathers that begot sweet Physick, +That Divine Lady, comforter to man, +Invented such a medicine as man's blood; +A drinke so pretious should not be so spilt: +Take mine, and Heaven pardon you the guilt. + +_King_. A Butcher! see his throat cut. + +_Eugen_. I am so farre from shrinking that mine owne hands +Shall bare my throat; and am so farre from wishing +Ill to you that mangle me, that before +My blood shall wash these Rushes, +King, I will cure thee. + +1 _Phys_. You cure him? + +_King_. Speak on, fellow. + +_Eugen_. If I doe not +Restore your limbs to soundnesse, drive the poyson +From the infected part, study your tortures +To teare me peece-meale yet be kept alive. + +_King_. O reverent man, come neare me; worke this wonder, +Aske gold, honours, any, any thing +The sublunary treasures of this world +Can yeeld, and they are thine. + +_Eugen_. I will doe nothing without a recompence. + +_King_. A royall one. + +_Omnes_. Name what you would desire. + +_King_. Stand by; you trouble him. +A recompence can my Crowne bring thee, take it; +Reach him my Crowne and plant it on his head. + +_Eugen_. No; here's my bargaine-- + +_King_. Quickly, oh speake quickly.-- +Off with the good man's Irons. + +_Eugen_. Free all those Christians which are now thy slaves, +In all thy Cittadels, Castles, Fortresses; +Those in _Bellanna_ and _Mersaganna_, +Those in _Alempha_ and in _Hazanoth_, +Those in thy Gallies, those in thy Iayles and Dungeons. + +_King_. Those any where: my signet, take my signet, +And free all on your lives, free all the Christians. +What dost thou else desire? + +_Eugen_. This; that thy selfe trample upon thy Pagan Gods. + +_Omnes_. Sir! + +_King_. Away. + +_Eugen_. Wash your soule white by wading in the streame +Of Christian gore. + +_King_. I will turne Christian. + +_Dam_. Better wolves worry this accursed-- + +_King_. Better +Have Bandogs[163] worry all of you, than I +To languish in a torment that feedes on me +As if the Furies bit me. Ile turn Christian, +And, if I doe not, let the Thunder pay +My breach of promise. Cure me, good old man, +And I will call thee father; thou shalt have +A king come kneeling to thee every Morning +To take a blessing from thee, and to heare thee +Salute him as a sonne. +When, when is this wonder? + +_Eugen_. Now; you are well, Sir. + +_King_. Ha! + +_Eugen_. Has your paine left you? + +_King_. Yes; see else, _Damianus, Antony, +Cosmo_; I am well. + +_Omnes_. He does it by inchantment. + +1 _Phys_. By meere Witch-Craft. + +_Eugen_. Thy payment for my cure. + +_King_. What? + +_Eugen_. To turne Christian, +And set all Christian slaves at liberty. + +_King_. Ile hang and torture all-- +Call backe the Messenger sent with our signet. +For thy selfe, thou foole, should I allow +Thee life thou wouldst be poyson'd by our +Colledge of Physitians. Let him not touch me +Nor ever more come neare me; and to be sure +Thy sorceries shall not strike me, stone him to death. + + (_They binde him to a stake, and fetch stones in baskets_.) + +_Omnes. When? + +_King_. Now, here presently. + +_Eugen_. Ingratefull man! + +_King_. Dispatch, his voyce is horrid in our eares; +Kill him, hurle all, and in him kill my feares. + +_Eugen_. I would thy feares were ended. + +_King_. Why thus delay you? + +_Dam_. The stones are soft as spunges. + +_Anton_. Not any stone here +Can raze his skin. + +_Dam_. See, Sir. + +_Cosmo_. Thankes, heavenly preservation. + +_King_. Mockt by a hell-hound! + +_Omnes_. This must not be endur'd, Sir. + +_King_. Unbinde the wretch; +Naile him to the earth with Irons. Cannot death strike him? +New studied tortures shall. + +_Eugen_. New tortures bring, +They all to me are but a banquetting. + [_Exit_. + +_Anton_. But are you well, indeed, Sir? + +_King_. Passing well: +Though my Physitian fetcht the cure from hell; +All's one, I am glad I have it. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quartus_. + + + _Enter Antony, Cosmo, Hubert, and Damianus_. + +_Anton_. You, noble Hubert, are the man[164] chosen out +From all our _Vandal_ Leaders to be chiefe +O'er a new army, which the King will raise +To roote out from our land these Christians +That over-runne us. + +_Cosmo_. 'Tis a glory, _Hubert_, +Will raise your fame and make you like our gods, +To please whom you must do this. + +_Dam_. And in doing +Be active as the fire and mercilesse +As is the boundlesse Ocean when it swallows +Whole Townes and of them leaves no Monuments. + +_Hub_. When shall mine eyes be happy in the sight +Of this brave Pagentry? + +_Cosmo_. The King sayes instantly. + +_Hub_. And must I be the Generall? + +_Omnes_. Onely you. + +_Hub_. I shall not then at my returning home +Have sharers in my great acts: to the Volume +My Sword in bloody Letters shall text downe +No name must stand but mine; no leafe turn'd o'er +But _Huberts_ workes are read and none but mine. +_Bellizarius_ shall not on his Clouds of fire +Fly flaming round about the staring World +Whilst I creepe on the earth. Flatter me not: +Am I to goe indeed? + +_Anton_. The King so sweares. + +_Hub_. A Kings word is a Statute graven in Brasse, +And if he breakes that Law I will in Thunder +Rouze his cold spirit. I long to ride in Armour, +And looking round about me to see nothing +But Seas and shores, the Seas of Christians blood, +The shoares tough Souldiers. Here a wing flies out +Soaring at Victory; here the maine Battalia +Comes up with as much horrour and hotter terrour +As if a thick-growne Forrest by enchantment +Were made to move, and all the Trees should meete +Pell mell, and rive their beaten bulkes in sunder, +As petty Towers doe being flung downe by Thunder. +Pray, thanke the King, and tell him I am ready +To cry a charge; tell him I shall not sleepe +Till that which wakens Cowards, trembling with feare, +Startles me, and sends brave Musick to mine eare; +And that's the Drumme and Trumpet. + +_Ant_. This shall be told him. + +_Dam_. And all the _Goths_ and _Vandalls_ shall strike Heaven +With repercussive Ecchoes of your name, +Crying, a _Hubert_! + +_Hub_. Deafe me with that sound: +A Souldier, though he falls in the Field, lives crown'd. + +_Cosmo_. Wee'le to the King and tell him this. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Enter Bellina_. + +_Hub_. Doe.--Oh, my _Bellina_, +If ever, make me happy now; now tye +Strong charmes about my full-plum'd Burgonet +To bring me safe home. I must to the Warres. + +_Bellina_. What warres? we have no warres but in our selves; +We fighting with our sinnes, our sinnes with us; +Yet they still get the Victory. Who are in Armes +That you must to the Field? + +_Hub_. The Kings Royall thoughts +Are in a mutiny amongst themselves, +And nothing can allay them but a slaughter, +A general massacre of all the Christians +That breath in his Dominion. I am the Engine +To worke this glorious wonder. + +_Bellina_. Forefend it Heaven! +Last time you sat by me within my bower +I told you of a Pallace wall'd with gold. + +_Hub_. I doe remember it. + +_Bellina_. The floore of sparkling Diamonds, and the roofe +Studded with Stanes shining as bright as fire. + +_Hub_. True. + +_Bellina_. And I told you one day I would shew you +A path should bring you thither. + +_Hub_. You did indeed. + +_Bellina_. And will you now neglect a lease of this +To lye in a cold field, a field of murder? +Say thou shouldst kill ten thousand Christians; +They goe but as Embassadors to Heaven +To tell thy cruelties, and on yon Battlements +They all will stand on rowes, laughing to see +Thee fall into a pit as bottomlesse +As the Heavens are in extension infinite. + +_Hub_. More, prethee, more: I had forgot this Musick. + +_Bellina_. Say thou shouldst win the day, yet art thou lost, +For ever lost; an everlasting slave +Though thou com'st home a laurel'd Conqueror. +You courted me to love you; now I woe thee +To love thy selfe, to love a thing within thee +More curious than the frame of all this world, +More lasting than this Engine o're our heads, +Whose wheeles have mov'd so many thousand yeeres: +This thing is thy soule, for which I woe thee. + +_Hub_. Thou woest, I yeeld, and in that yeelding love thee, +And for that love Ile be the Christians guide: +I am their Captaine, come, both _Goth_ and _Vandall_; +Nay, come the King, I am the Christians Generall. + +_Bellina_. Not yet, till your Commission be faire drawne; +Not yet, till on your brow you beare the Print +Of a rich golden seale. + +_Hub_. Get me that seale, then. + +_Bellina_. There is an _Aqua fortis_ (an eating water) +Must first wash off thine infidelity, +And then th'art arm'd. + +_Hub_. O let me, then, be arm'd. + +_Bellina_. Thou shalt; +But on thy knees thou gently first shall sweare +To put no Armour on but what I beare. + +_Hub_. By this chaste clasping of our hands I sweare. + +_Bellina_. We then thus hand in hand will fight a battaile +Worth all the pitch-fields, all the bloody banquets, +The slaughter and the massacre of Christians, +Of whom such heapes so quickly never fell. +Brave onset! be thy end not terrible. + +_Hub_. This kindled fire burne in us, till as deaths slaves +Our bodies pay their tributes to their graves. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Clowne and two Pagans_. + +_Clown_. Come, fellow Pagans; death meanes to fare well to-day, for he +is like to have rost-meate to his supper, two principal dishes; many a +knight keepes a worse Table: first, a brave Generall Carbonadoed[165], +then a fat Bishop broyl'd, whose Rochet[166] comes in fryed for the +second course, according to the old saying, _A plumpe greazie Prelate +fries a fagot daintily_. + +1 _Pag_. Oh! the Generall _Bellizarius_ for my money; hee has a fiery +Spirit, too; hee will roast soakingly within and without. + +_Clown_. Methinks Christians make the bravest Bonefires of any people +in the Universe; as a _Jew_ burnes pretty well, but if you marke him he +burnes upward; the fire takes him by the Nose first. + +2 _Pag_. I know some Vintners then are _Jewes_ + +_Clown_. Now, as your _Jew_ burnes upward, your _French-man_ burnes +downewards like a Candle and commonly goes out with a stinke like a +snuffe; and what socket soever it light in it, must be well cleans'd +and pick't before it can be us'd agen. But _Bellizarius_, the brave +Generall, will flame high and cleare like a Beacon; but your Puritane +_Eugenius_ will burne blew, blew like a white-bread sop in _Aqua Vitae_. +Fellow Pagans, I pray let us agree among ourselves about the sharing of +those two. + +2 _Pag_. I, 'tis fit. + +_Clown_. You know I am worshipfull by my place; the under-keeper may +write Equire if he list at the bottome of the paper: I doe cry first +the Generalls great Scarfe to make me a short Summer-cloake, and the +Bishops wide sleeves to make me a Holy-dayes shirt. + +1 _Pag_. Having a double voyce we cannot abridge you of a double share. + +_Clown_. You, that so well know what belongs to reverence, the Breeches +be[167] yours, whether Bishops or Generalls; but with this Provizo, +because we will all share of both parties, as I have lead the way, I +clayming the Generalls and the Bishops sleeves, so he that chuses the +Generalls Doublet shall weare the Generalls Breeches. + +2 _Pag_. A match. + +_Clown_. Nay, 'twill be farre from a match, that's certaine; but it will +make us to be taken for men of note, what company soever we come in. + + The Souldier and the Scholler, peekt up so, + Will make _tam Marti quam Mercurio_. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter the King, Antony, Damianus, and Cosmo; + Victoria meetes the King_. + +_Vict_. As you are Vice-gerent to that Maiesty +By whom Kings reigne on earth, as you would wish +Your heires should sit upon your Throne, your name +Be mentioned in the Chronicle of glory; +Great King, vouchsafe me hearing. + +_King_. Speake. + +_Vict_. My husband, +The much, too much wrong'd _Bellizarius_, +Hath not deserv'd the measure of such misery +Which is throwne on him. Call, oh call to minde +His service, how often he hath fought +And toyl'd in warres to give his Country peace. +He has not beene a flatterer of the Time, +Nor Courted great ones for their glorious Vices; +He hath not sooth'd blinde dotage in the World, +Nor caper'd on the Common-wealths dishonour; +He has not peeld the rich nor flead the poore, +Nor from the heart-strings of the Commons drawne +Profit to his owne Coffers; he never brib'd +The white intents of mercy; never sold +Iustice for money, to set up his owne +And utterly undoe whole families. +Yet some such men there are that have done thus: +The mores the pitty. + +_King_. To the poynt. + +_Vict_. Oh, Sir, +_Bellizarius_ has his wounds emptied of blood, +Both for his Prince and Countrey: to repeat +Particulars were to do iniury +To your yet mindfull gratitude. His Life, +His liberty, 'tis that I plead for--that; +And since your enemies and his could never +Captive the one and triumph in the other, +Let not his friends--his King--commend a cruelty, +Strange to be talkt of, cursed to be acted. +My husband, oh! my husband _Bellizarius_, +For him I begge. + +_King_. Lady, rise up; we will be gracious +To thy suit,--Cause _Bellizarius_ +And the Bishop be brought hither instantly. + [_Exit for him_. + +_Vict_. Now all the blessings due to a good King +Crowne you with lasting honours. + +_King_. If thou canst +Perswade thy husband to recant his errours, +He shall not onely live, but in our favoures +Be chiefe. Wilt undertake it? + +_Vict_. Undertake it, Sir, +On these conditions? You shall your selfe +Be witnesse with what instance I will urge him +To pitty his owne selfe, recant his errours. + +_Anton_. So doing he will purchase many friends. + +_Dam_. Life, love, and liberty. + +_Vict_. But tell me, pray, Sir; +What are those errours which he must recant? + +_King_. His hatred to those powers to which we bow, +On whom we all depend, he has kneel'd to them; +Let him his base Apostacy recant, +Recant his being a Christian, and recant +The love he beares to Christians. + +_Vict_. If he deny +To doe all this, or any poynt of this, +Is there no mercy for him? + +_King_. Couldst thou shed +A Sea of teares to drowne my resolution, +He dyes; could this fond man lay at my foote +The kingdomes of the earth, he dyes; he dyes +Were he my sonne, my father. Bid him recant, +Else all the Torments cruelty can invent +Shall fall on him. + +_Vict_. No sparke of pitty? + +_King_. None. + +_Vict_. Well, then, but mark what paines Ile take to winne him, +To winne him home; Ile set him in a way +The Clouds shall clap to finde what went astray. + +_Anton_. Doe this, and we are all his. + +_King_. Doe this, I sweare to jewell him in my bosome. +--See where he comes. + + _Enter Epidophorus with Bellizarius and Eugenius_. + +_Belliz_. And whither now? Is Tyranny growne ripe +To blow us to our graves yet? + +_King_. _Bellizarius_, +Thy wife has s'ud for mercy, and has found it; +Speake, Lady, tell him how. + +_Belliz_. _Victoria_ too! +Oh, then I feare the striving to expresse +The virtue of a good wife hath begot +An utter ruine of all goodnesse in thee. +What wou'dst thou say, poore woman? +My Lord the King, +Nothing can alter your incensed rage +But recantation? + +_King_. Nothing. + +_Vict_. Recantation! sweet +Musicke; _Bellizarius_, thou maist live; +The King is full of royall bounty--like +The ambition of mortality--examine; +That recantation is--a toy. + +_King_. None hinder her; now ply him. + +_Vict_. To lose the portage[168] in these sacred pleasures +That knowes no end; to lose the fellowship +Of Angels; lose the harmony of blessings +Which crowne all Martyrs with eternity! +Wilt thou not recant? + +_King_. I understand her not. + +_Omnes_. Nor I. + +_Vict_. Thy life hath hitherto beene, my dear husband, +But a disease to thee; thou hast indeed +Mov'd on the earth like other creeping wormes +Who take delight in worldly surfeits, heate +Their blood with lusts, their limbes with proud attyres; +Fe[e]d on their change of sinnes; that doe not use +Their pleasure[s] but enjoy them, enjoy them fully +In streames that are most sensuall and persever +To live so till they die, and to die never[169]. + +_King_. What meanes all this? + +_Anton_. Art in thy right wits, woman? + +_Vict_. Such beasts are those about thee; take then courage; +If ever in thy youth thy soule hath set +By the Worlds tempting fires, as these men doe, +Recant that errour. + +_King_. Ha! + +_Vict_. Hast thou in battaile tane a pride in blood? +Recant that errour. Hast thou constant stood +In a bad cause? clap a new armour on +And fight now in a good. Oh lose not heaven +For a few minutes in a Tyrants eye; +Be valiant and meete death: if thou now losest +Thy portion laid up for thee yonder, yonder, +For breath or honours here, oh thou dost sell +Thy soule for nothing. Recant all this, +And then be rais'd up to a Throne of blis. + +_Anton_. We are abus'd, stop her mouth. + +_Belliz_. _Victoria_, +Thou nobly dost confirme me, hast new arm'd +My resolution, excellent _Victoria_. + +_Eugen_. Oh happy daughter, thou in this dost bring +That _Requiem_ to our soules which Angels sing. + +_Dam_. Can you endure this wrong, Sir? + +_Cosmo_. Be out-brav'd by a seducing Strumpet? + +_King_. Binde her fast; +Weele try what recantation you can make. +Hagge, in the presence of your brave holy Champion +And thy Husband, +One of my Cammell drivers shall take from thee +The glory of thy honesty and honour. +Call in the Peasant. + +_Vict_. _Bellizarius_, +_Eugenius_, is there no guard above us +That will protect me from a rape? 'tis worse +Than worlds of tortures. + +_Eugen_. Fear not, _Victoria_; +Be thou a chaste one in thy minde, thy body +May like a Temple of well tempered steele +Be batter'd, not demolishe'd. + +_Belliz_. Tyrant, be mercifull; +And if thou hast no other vertue in thee +Deserving memory to succeeding ages, +Yet onely thy not suffering such an out-rage +Shall adde praise to thy name. + +_King_. Where is the Groome? + +_Eugen_. Oh sure the Sunne will darken +And not behold a deed so foule and monstrous. + + _Enter Epidophorus with a Slave_. + +_Epi_. Here is the Cammell driver. + +_Omnes_. Stand forth, sirrah. + +_Epi_. Be bould and shrink not; this is she. + +1 _Cam_. And I am hee. Is't the kings pleasure that +I should mouse[170] her, and before all these people? + +_King_. No; 'tis considered better; unbinde the fury +And dragge her to some corner; 'tis our pleasure, +Fall to thy businesse freely. + +1 _Cam_. Not too freely neither: I fare hard and drinke water; so doe +the _Indians_, yet who fuller of Bastards? so doe the _Turkes_, yet who +gets greater Logger-heads? Come, wench; Ile teach thee how to cut up +wild fowle. + +_Vict_. Guard me, you heavens. + +_Belliz_. Be mine eyes lost for ever. + +1 _Cam_. Is that her husband? + +_Epi_. Yes. + +1 _Cam_. No matter; some husbands are so base, they keepe the doore +whilst they are Cuckolded; but this is after a more manlier way, for +he stands bound to see it done. + +_King_. Haile her away. + +1 _Cam_. Come, Pusse! Haile her away? which way? yon way? my Camells +backs cannot climbe it. + +_Anton_. The fellow is struck mad. + +1 _Cam_. That way? it lookes into a Mill-pond, +Whirre! how the Wheels goe and the Divell grindes. +No, this way. + +_King_. Keepe the slave back! + +_1 Cam_. Backe, keep me backe! there sits my wife kembing her haire, +which curles like a witches felt-locks[171]! all the Neets in't are +Spiders, and all the Dandruffe the sand of a Scriveners Sand-boxe. +Stand away; my whore shall not be lousie; let me come noynt her with +Stavesucre[172]. + +_King_. Defend me, lop his hands off! + +_Omnes_. Hew him in pieces + +_King_. What has he done? + +_Anton_. Sir, beate out his owne braines. + +_Vict_. You for his soule must answer. + +_King_. Fetch another. + +_Eugen_. Tempt not the wrath supernall to fall downe +And crush thee in thy throne. + + _Enter 2 Cammell drivers_. + +_King_. Peace, sorcerous slave: +Sirra, take hence this Witch and ravish her. + +2 _Cam_. A Witch? Witches are the Divels sweete hearts. + +_King_. Doe it, be thou Master of much gold. + +2 _Cam_. Shall I have gold to doe it? in some Countries I heare whole +Lordships are spent upon a fleshly device, yet the buyer in the end had +nothing but French Repentance and the curse of Chyrurgery for his money. +Let me finger my gold; Ile venture on, but not give her a penny. Womans +flesh was never cheaper; a man may eate it without bread; all Trades +fall, so doe they. + +_Epi_. Look you, Sir, there's your gold. + +2 _Cam_. Ile tell money after my father. Oh I am strucke blinde! + +_Omnes_. The fellow is bewitcht, Sir. + +_Eugen_. Great King, impute not +This most miraculous delivery +To witch-craft; 'tis a gentle admonition +To teach thy heart obey it. + +_King_. Lift up the slave; +Though he has lost his sight, his feeling is not; +He dyes unlesse he ravish her. + +_Epi_. Force her into thy armes or else thou dyest. + +2 _Cam_. I have lost my hearing, too. + +_King_. Fetch other slaves. + +_Epi_. Thou must force her. + +2 _Cam_. Truely I am hoarse with driving my Cammells, and nothing does +me good but sirrop of Horehound. + + _Enter two Slaves_. + +_Epi_. Here are two slaves will doe it indeed. + +2. Which is shee? + +_King_. This creature; she has beauty to intice you +And enough to feast you all; seize her all three +And ravish her by turnes. + +_Slaves_. A match. + + [_They dance antiquely, and Exeunt_. + +_King_. Hang up these slaves; I am mock't by her and them; +They dance me into anger. Heard you not musicke? + +_Anton_. Yes, sure, and most sweet melody. + +_Vict_. 'Tis the heavens play +And the Clowdes dance for ioy thy cruelty +Has not tane hold upon me. + +_King_. Hunger then shall: +Leade them away, dragge her to some loathed dungeon +And for three days give her no food. +Load her with Irons. + +_Epi_. They shall. + +_Eugen_. Come, fellow souldiers, halfe the fight is past: +The bloodiest battell comes to an end at last. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + + + _Enter Epidophorus and Clowne_. + +_Epi_. Have any Christian soule broke from my Iayle +This night, and gone i'the dark to find out heaven? +Are any of my hated prisoners dead? + +_Clown_. Dead? yes; and five more come into the world instead of one. +These Christians are like Artichoaks of _Jerusalam_; they over-runne +any ground they grow in. + +_Epi_. Are they so fruitfull? + +_Clown_. Fruitfull! a Hee Christian told me that amongst them the young +fellowes are such Earing rioted[173] Rascals that they will runne into +the parke of Matrimony at sixteene; are Bucks of the first head at +eighteenes and by twenty carry in some places their hornes on their +backs. + +_Epi_. On their backs? What kind of Christians are they? + +_Clown_. Marry, these are Christian Butchers, who when their Oxen are +flead throw their skinnes on their shoulders. + +_Epi_. I thought they had beene Cuckolds. + +_Clown_. Amongst them? no; there's no woman, that's a true Christian, +will horne her husband. There dyed to night no lesse than six and a +halfe in our Iayle. + +_Epi_. How? six and a halfe? + +_Clown_. One was a girle of thirteene, with child. + +_Epi_. Thy tidings fats me. + +_Clown_. You may have one or two of 'em drest to your Dinner to make +you more fat. + +_Epi_. Unhallowed slave! let a _Jew_ eate Pork, when +I but touch a Christian. + +_Clown_. You are not of my dyet: Would I had a young Loyne of Porke to +my Supper, and two Loynes of a pretty sweate Christian after Supper. + +_Epi_. Would thou mightst eate and choake. + +_Clown_. Never at such meate; it goes downe without chawing. + +_Epi_. We have a taske in hand, to kill a Serpent +Which spits her poyson in our kingdomes face. +And that we speake not of (?); lives still +That Witch _Victoria_, wife to _Bellizarius_? +Is Death afraid to touch the Hagge? does hunger +Tremble to gnaw her flesh off, dry up her blood +And make her eate her selfe in Curses, ha? + +_Clown_. Ha? your mouth gapes as if you would eate me. The King +commanded she should be laden with Irons,--I have laid two load upon +her; then to pop her into the Dungeon,--I thrust her downe as deepe as +I could; then to give her no meate,--alas my cheekes cry out, I have +meate little enough for my selfe. Three days and three nights has her +Cupboard had no victuals in it; I saw no lesse than Fifty sixe Mice +runne out of the hole she lies in, and not a crumme of bread or bit of +cheese amongst them. + +_Epi_. 'Tis the better. + +_Clown_. I heard her one morning cough pittifully; upon which I gave her +a messe of Porredge piping-hot. + +_Epi_. Thou Dog, 'tis Death. + +_Clown_. Nay but, Sir, I powr'd 'em downe scalding as they were on her +head, because they say they are good for a cold, and I thinke that +kill'd her; for to try if she were alive or no I did but even now tye a +Crust to a packe-threed on a pinne, but shee leapt not at it; so that I +am sure shee's worms meate by this. + +_Epi_. Rewards in golden showers shall raine upon us, +Be thy words true: fall downe and kisse the earth. + +_Clown_. Kisse earth? Why? and so many wenches come to the Iayle? + +_Epi_. Slave, downe and clap thy eare to the caves mouth +And make me glad or heavy; if she speake not +I shall cracke my ribs and spend my spleene in laughter; +But if thou hear'st her pant I am gon. + +_Clown_. Farewell, then. + +_Epi_. Breaths shee? + +_Clown_. No, Sir; her winde instrument is out of tune. + +_Epi_. Call, cal. + +_Clown_. Do you heare, you low woman? hold not downe your head so for +shame; creepe not thus into a corner, no honest woman loves to be +fumbling thus in the darke. Hang her; she has no tongue. + +_Epi_. Would twenty thousand of their sexe had none. + +_Clown_. Foxe, foxe, come out of your hole. + + _An Angel ascends from the cave, singing_. + +_Epi_. Horrour! what's this? + +_Clown_. Alas, I know not what my selfe am. + + ANGEL SINGS. + + _Fly, darknesse, fly in spight of Caves; + Truth can thrust her armes through Graves. + No Tyrant shall confine + A white soule that's divine + And does more brightly shine + Than Moone or Sunne; + She lasts when they are done_. + +_Epi_. I am bewitcht, +Mine Eyes faile me; lead me to [the] King. + +_Clown_. And tell we heard a Mermaide sing. + + [_Exeunt_. + + ANGEL SINGS. + + _Goe, fooles, and let your feares + Glow as your sins[174] and eares; + The good, how e're trod under, + Are Lawreld safe in thunder; + Though lockt up in a Den + One Angel frees you from an host of men_. + + _The Angel descends as the King enters, who comes + in with his Lords, Epidophorus and the Clowne_. + +_King_. Where is this piece of witchcraft? + +_Epi_. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir, + +_Clown_. 'Twas here, just at the Caves mouth, where shee lyes. + +_Anton_. What manner of thing was it? + +_Epi_. An admirable face, and when it sung +All the Clouds danc't methought above our heads, + +_Clown_. And all the ground under my heeles quak't like a Bogge. + +_King_. Deluded slaves! these are turn'd Christians, too. + +_Epi_. The prisoners in my Iayle will not say so. + +_Clown_. Turnd Christians! it has ever beene my profession to fang[175] +and clutch and to squeeze: I was first a Varlet[176], then a Bumbaily, +now an under Iailor. Turn'd Christian! + +_King_. Breake up the Iron passage of the Cave +And if the sorceresse live teare her in pieces. + + _The Angel ascends agen_. + +_Epi_. See, 'tis come agen. + +_King_. It staggers me. + +_Omnes_. Amazement! looke to the King. + + + ANGEL SINGS. + + _She comes, she comes, she comes! + No banquets are so sweete as Martyrdomes. + She comes!_ + + (_Angel descends_.) + +_Anton_. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir, agen. + +_Dam_. Meere Negromancy. + +_Cosmo_. This is the apparition of some divell +Stealing a glorious shape, and cryes 'she comes'! + +_Clown_. If all divels were no worse, would I were amongst 'em. + +_King_. Our power is mockt by magicall impostures; +They shall not mock our tortures. Let _Eugenius_ +And _Bellizarius_ fright away these shadowes +Rung from sharp tortures: drag them hither. + +_Epi_. To th'stake? + +_Clown_. As Beares are? + +_King_. And upon your lives +My longings feast with her, though her base limbes +Be in a thousand pieces. + +_Clown_. She shall be gathered up. + + [_Exit. Epid. and Clowne_. + + (_Victoria rises out of the cave, white_.) + +_Vict_. What's the Kings will? I am here. +Are your tormentors ready to give battaile? +I am ready for them, and though I lose +My life hope to winne the day. + +_King_. What art thou? + +_Vict_. An armed Christian. + +_King_. What's thy name? + +_Vict_. _Victoria_: in my name there's conquest writ: +I therefore feare no threat[e]nings! but pray +That thou maist dye a good king. + +_Omnes_. This is not she, Sir. + +_King_. It is, but on her brow some Deity sits. +What are those Fayries dressing up her haire, +Whilst sweeter spirits dancing in her eyes +Bewitcheth me to them? + + _Enter Epidophorus, Bellizarius, Eugenius, and Clowne_. + +Oh _Victoria_, love me! +And see, thy Husband, now a slave whose life +Hangs at a needles poynt, shall live, so thou +Breath but the doome.--Trayters! what sorcerous hand +Has built upon this inchantment of a Christian +To make me doat upon the beauty of it? +How comes she to this habite? Went she thus in? + +_Epi_. No, Sir, mine owne hande stript her into rags. + +_Clown_. For any meat shee has eaten her face needes not make you doate; +and for cleane linen Ile sweare it was not brought into the Iaile, for +there they scorne to shift once a weeke. + +_King_. _Bellizarius_, woe thy wife that she would love me, +And thou shalt live. + +_Belliz_. I will.--_Victoria_, +By all those chaste fires kindled in our bosomes +Through which pure love shin'd on our marriage night; +Nay, with a bolder conjuration, +By all those thornes and bryers which thy soft feet +Tread boldly on to finde a path to heaven, +I begge of thee, even on my knee I beg, +That thou wouldst love this King, take him by th'hand, +Warme his in thine, and hang about his necke, +And seale ten thousand kisses on his cheeke, +So he will tread his false gods under foote. + +_Omnes_. Oh, horrible! + +_King_. Bring tortures. + +_Belliz_. So he will wash his soule white, as we doe, +And fight under our Banner (bloody red), +And hand in hand with us walke martyred. + +_Anton_. They mocke you. + +_King_. Stretch his body up by th'armes, +And at his feete hang plummets. + +_Clown_. He shall be well shod for stroveling, I warrant you. + +_Cosmo_. _Eugenius_, bow thy knee before our _Jove_, +And the King gives thee mercy. + +_Dam_. Else stripes and death. + +_Eugen_. We come into the world but at one doore, +But twenty thousand gates stand open wide +To give us passage hence: death then is easie, +And I defie all tortures. + +_King_. Then fasten the Cative; +I care not for thy wife: Get from mine eyes +Thou tempting _Lamia_. But, _Bellizarius_, +Before thy bodyes frame be puld in pieces, +Wilt thou forsake the errours thou art drencht in? + +_Belliz_. Errours? thou blasphemous and godlesse man, +From the great Axis maist thou as easie +With one arme plucke the Universall Globe, +As from my Center move me. There's my figure; +They are waves that beat a rock insensible +With an infatigable patience. +My breast dares all your arrowes; shoote,--shoote, all; +Your tortures are but struck against the wall, +Which, backe rebounding, hit your selves. + +_King_. Up with him. + +_Belliz_. Lay on more waights; that hangman which more brings +Addes active feathers to my soaring wings. + + (_They draw him up_.) + +_King_. _Victoria_, yet save him. + +_Vict_. Keepe on thy flight, +And be a bird of Paradise. + +_Omnes_. Give him more Irons. + +_Belliz_. More, more. + +_King_. Let him then goe; love thou and be my Queene, +Daine but to love me. + +_Vict_. I am going to live with a farre greater King. + +_King_. Binde the coy strumpet; she dyes, too. +Let her braines be beaten on an Anvill: +For some new plagues for her! + +_Omnes_. Vexe him. + +_Belliz_. Doe more. + +_Vict_. Heavens, pardon you. + +_Eugen_. And strengthen him in all his sufferings. + + _Two Angels descend_. + + 2 ANGEL SINGS. + + _Come, oh come, oh come away; + A Quire of Angels for thee stay; + A home where Diamonds borrow light, + Open stands for thee this night, + Night? no, no; here is ever day: + Come, oh come, oh come, oh come away_. + +1 _Ang_. This battaile is thy last; fight well, and winne +A Crowne set full of Starres. + +_Belliz_. I spy an arme +Plucking [me] up to heaven; more waights, you are best; +I shall be gone else. + +_Vict_. Doe, Ile follow thee. + +_King_. Is he not yet dispatcht? + +_Belliz_. Yes, King, I thanke thee; +I have all my life time trod on rotten ground, +And still so deepe beene sinking that my soule +Was oft like to bee lost; but now I see +A guide, sweete guide, a blessed messenger +Who having brought me up a little way +Up yonder hill, I then am sure to buy +For a few stripes here rich eternity. + + 2 ANGEL SINGS. + + _Victory, victory! hell is beaten downe, + The Martyr has put on a golden Crowne; + Ring Bels of Heaven, him welcome hither, + Circle him Angels round together_. + +1 _Angel_. Follow! + +_Vict_. I will; what sacred voice cryes 'follow'! +I am ready: Oh send me after him. + +_King_. Thou shalt not, +Till thou hast fed my lust. + +_Vict_. Thou foole, thou canst not; +All my mortality is shaken off; +My heart of flesh and blood is gone; my body +Is chang'd; this face is not that once was mine. +I am a Spirit, and no racke of thine +Can touch me. + +_King_. Not a racke of mine shall touch thee. +Why should the world loose such a paire of Sunnes +As shine out from thine eyes? Why art thou cruell, +To make away thy selfe and murther mee? +Since whirle-winds cannot shake thee thou shalt live, +And Ile fanne gentle gales upon thy face. +Fetch me a day bed, rob the earths perfumes +Of all the ravishing sweetes to feast her sence; +Pillowes of roses shall beare up her head; +O would a thousand springs might grow in one +To weave a flowry mantle o're her limbes +As she lyes downe. + + _Enter two Angels about the bed_. + +_Vict_. O that some rocke of Ice +Might fall on me and freeze me into nothing. + +_King_. Enchant our [her?] eares with Musicke; would I had skill +To call the winged musitians of the aire +Into these roomes! they all should play to thee +Till golden slumbers danc'd upon thy browes, +Watching to close thine eye-lids. + +_Ang_. These Starres must shine no more; soule, flye away. +Tyrant, enioy but a cold lumpe of clay. + +_King_. My charmes worke; shee sleepes, +And lookes more lovely now she sleepes. +Against she wakes, Invention, grow thou poore, +Studying to finde a banquet which the gods +Might be invited to. I need not court her now +For a poor kisse; her lips are friendly now, +And with the warme breath sweeting all the Aire, +Draw mee thus to them.--Ha! the lips of Winter +Are not so cold. + +_Anton_. She's dead, Sir. + +_King_. Dead? + +_Dam_. As frozen as if the North-winde had in spight +Snatcht her hence from you. + +_King_. Oh; I have murthered her! +Perfumes some creature kill: she has so long +In that darke Dungeon suck't pestiferous breath, +The sweete has stifled her. Take hence the body, +Since me it hated it shall feele my hate: +Cast her into the fire; I have lost her, +And for her sake all Christians shall be lost +That subjects are to me: massacre all, +But thou, _Eugenius_, art the last shall fall +This day; and in mine eye, though it nere see more, +Call on thy helper which thou dost adore. + + _A Thunder-bolt strikes him_. + +_Omnes_. The King is strucke with thunder! + +_Eugen_. Thankes, Divine Powers; +Yours be the triumph and the wonder ours. + +_Anton_. Unbinde him till a new King fill the throne; +And he shall doome him. + + _A Hubert, a Hubert, a Hubert_! + + _Flourish: Enter Hubert, armed with shields and swords. + Bellina and a company of Souldiers with him_. + +_Hub_. What meanes this cry, 'a Hubert'? Where's your King? + +_Omnes_. Strucke dead by thunder. + +_Hub_. So I heare; you see, then, +There is an arme more rigorous than your _Iove_, +An arme stretcht from above to beate down Gyants, +The mightiest Kings on _Earth_, for all their shoulders +Carry _Colossi_ heads: the memory +Of _Genzericks_ name dyes here: _Henricke_ gives buriall +To the successive glory of that race +Who had both voyce and title to the Crowne, +And meanes to guard it.--Who must now be King? + +_Anton_. We know not till we call the Lords together. + +_Hub_. What Lords? + +_Cosmo_. Our selves and others. + +_Hub_. Who makes you Lords? +The Tree upon whose boughs your honours grew, +Your Lordships and your lives, is falne to th'ground. + +_Dam_. We stand on our owne strength. + +_Hub_. Who must be King? + + _Within: A Hubert, a Hubert a Hubert_! + +_Hub_. Deliver to my hand that reverent [_sic_] man. + +_Epi_. Take him and torture him, for he cald down Vengeance +On _Henricks_ head. + +_Hub_. Good _Eugenius_, lift thy hands up, +For thou art say'd from _Henricke_ and from these. +You heare what ecchoes +Rebound from earth to heaven, from heaven to earth, +Casting the name of King onely on me? +This golden apple is a tempting fruit; +It is within my reach; this sword can touch it, +And lop the weake branch off on which it hangs. +Which of you all would spurne at such a Starre, +Lay it i'th the dust when 'tis let down from heaven +For him to weare? + +_Anton_. Who then must weare that Starre? + + _Within: Hubert, Hubert, Hubert_! + +_Hub_. The Oracle tells you; Oracle? 'tis a voyce +From above tells you; for the peoples tongues, +When they pronounce good things, are ty'd to chaines +Of twenty thousand linkes, which chaines are held +By one supernall hand, and cannot speake +But what that hand will suffer. I have then +The people on my side; I have the souldiers; +I have that army which your rash young King +Had bent against the Christians,--they now are mine: +I am the Center, and they all are lines +Meeting in me. If, therefore, these strong sinewes, +The Souldiers and the Commons, have a vertue +To lift me into the Throne, Ile leape into it. +Will you consent or no? be quick in answer; +I must be swift in execution else. + +_Omnes_. Let us consult. + +_Hub_. Doe, and doe't quickly. + +_Eugen_. O noble Sir, if you be King shoot forth +Bright as a Sunne-beame, and dry up these vapours +That choake this kingdome; dry the seas of blood +Flowing from Christians, and drinke up the teares +Of those alive, halfe slaughter'd in their feares. + +_Hub_. Father, Ile not offend you.--Have you done? +So long chusing one Crowne? + +_Anton_. Let Drums and Trumpets proclaime +_Hubert_ our King! + +_Omnes_. Sound Drummes and Trumpets! + +_Hub_. I have it, then, as well by voyce as sword; +For should you holde it backe it will be mine. +I claime it, then, by conquest; fields are wonne +By yeelding as by strokes: Yet, noble _Vandals_, +I will lay by the Conquest and acknowledge +That your hands and your hearts the pinnacles are +On which my greatnesse mounts unto this height. +And now in sight of you and heaven I sweare +By those new sacred fires kindled within me, +'Tis not your ho[o]pe of Gold my brow desires; +A thronging Court to me is but a Cell; +These popular acclamations, which thus dance +I'th Aire, should passe by me as whistling windes +Playing with leaves of trees. I'me not ambitious +Of Titles glorious and maiesticall; +But what I doe is to save blood, save you; +I meane to be a husband for you all, +And fill you all with riches. + +_Epi_. 'Tis that we thirst for; +For all our bagges are emptied in these warres +Rais'd by seditious Christians. + +_Hub_. Peace, thou foole: +They are not bags of gold, that melts in fire, +Which I will fill your coffers with; my treasury +Are riches for your soules; my armes are spread +Like wings to protect Christians. What have you done? +Proclaim'd a Christian King; and Christian Kings +Should not be bloody. + +_Omnes_. How? turn'd Christian? + +_Eugen_. O blest King! happy day! + +_Omnes_. Must we forsake our Gods then? + +_Hub_. Violent streames +Must not bee stopt by violence; there's an art +To meete and put by the most boysterous wave; +'Tis now no policy for you to murmure +Nor will I threaten. A great counsell by you +Shall straight be cal'd to set this frame in order +Of this great state. + +_Omnes_. To that we all are willing. + +_Hub_. Are you then willing this noble maid +Shall be my Queene? + +_Omnes_. With all our hearts. + +_Hub_. By no hand but by thine will we be crown'd: +Come, my _Bellina_. + +_Bellina_. Your vow is past to me that I should ever +Preserve my virgin honour, that you would never +Tempt me unto your bed. + +_Hub_. That vow I keepe: +I vow'd so long as my knees bow'd to _Iove_ +To let you be your selfe; but, excellent Lady, +I now am seal'd a Christian as you are: +And you have sworne oft that, when upon my forehead +That glorious starre was stucke, you would be mine +In holy wedlocke. Come, sweete, you and I +Shall from our loynes produce a race of Kings, +And ploughing up false gods set up one true; +Christians unborne crowning both me and you +With praise as now with gold. + +_Bellina_. A fortunate day; +A great power prompts me on and I obey. + + (_Flourish_) + +_Omnes_. Long live _Hubert_ and _Bellina_, King and Queene +Of Goths and Vandals. + +_Hub_. Two royall Iewels you give me, this and this: +Father, your hand is lucky, I am covetous +Of one Gift more: After your sacred way +Make you this Queene a wife: our Coronation +Is turn'd into a bridall. + +_Omnes_. All ioy and happinesse. + +_Hub_. To guard your lives will I lay out mine owne, +And like Vines plant you round about my throne. + +_The end of the fift and last Act_. + + + +To the Reader of this Play now come in Print. + +That this play's old 'tis true; but now if any +Should for that cause despise it we have many +Reasons, both iust and pregnant, to maintaine +Antiquity, and those, too, not all vaine. +We know (and not long since) there was a time +Strong lines were not lookt after, but, if Rime, +O then 'twas excellent. Who but beleeves +That Doublets with stuft bellies and big sleeves +And those Trunk-hose[177] which now our life doth scorne +Were all in fashion and with custome worne? +And what's now out of date who is't can tell +But it may come in fashion and sute well? +With rigour therefore iudge not but with reason, +Since what you read was fitted to that season. + + + +The Epilogue. + +_As in a Feast, so in a Comedy, +Two Sences must be pleas'd; in both the Eye; +In Feasts the Eye and Taste must be invited, +In Comedies the Eye and Eare delighted: +And he that only seekes to please but either, +While both he doth not please, he pleaseth neither. +What ever Feast could every guest content, +When as t'each man each Taste is different? +But lesse a Scene, when nought but as 'tis newer +Can please, where Guests are more and Dishes fewer. +Yet in this thought, this thought the Author eas'd; +Who once made all, all rules all never pleas'd.[178] +Faine would we please the best, if not the many; +And sooner will the best be pleas'd then any. +Our rest we set[179] in pleasing of the best; +So we wish you, what you may give us, Rest_. + + +FINIS. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE NOBLE SOULDIER. + + +In December, 1633, Nicholas Vavasour entered the _Noble Spanish +Souldier_ on the Stationers' Registers as a work of Dekker's; and in the +following year the same publisher brought out the _Noble Soldier_ with +the initials _S.R_. on the title-page. The running-title of the piece is +_The Noble Spanish Souldier_. There is nothing to hinder us from +supposing that Dekker, unwilling to take the credit due to his dead +friend, informed the publisher of the mistake. Possibly the play had +undergone some revision at Dekker's hands. + +Samuel Rowley was at once an actor and a playwright. The first mention +of him is in a list of the Lord Admiral's players, March 8, 1597-8 +(Henslowe's _Diary_, ed. Collier, p. 120). On the sixteenth of November, +1599, Rowley bound himself to play solely for Henslowe 'for a year and +as much as to Shraftide' (_Diary_, p. 260). In 1603 we find him among +Prince Henry's players (Collier's _Annals of the Stage_, i. 351): he is +still belonging to the same company in 1607 (Shakespeare Society's +Papers, iv. 44). Six years later, 1613, he is among the Palsgrave's +players (_Annals of the Stage_, i. 381).[180] + +Francis Meres in _Palladis Tamia_ (1598), enumerating 'the best for +comedy,' mentions a certain Maister _Rowley_ once a rare scholar of +learned Pembrooke Hall in Cambridge. It has been conjectured that the +allusion is to Samuel Rowley; but a more likely candidate for the honour +is Ralph Rowley, who is known to have been a Fellow of Pembroke Hall. We +do not learn from any other source that Ralph Rowley wrote plays; but, +like another Academic worthy in whose company he is mentioned, 'Dr. +Gager of Oxforde', he may have composed some Latin pieces that the world +was content to let die. Of Samuel Rowley as a playwright we hear nothing +before December, 1601, when he was writing for Henslowe a scriptural +play on the subject of _Judas_ in company with his fellow-actor William +Borne--or Birde, for the name is variously written (Henslowe's _Diary_, +p. 205). In July of the following year an entry occurs in the +_Diary_--'Lent unto Samwell Rowley and Edward Jewbe to paye for the +Booke of Samson, vi 1.' Samuel Rowley and Edward Jewby often acted as +paymasters for Henslowe; but I suspect that in the present instance the +money went into their own pockets. Two months later we certainly find +our author receiving the sum of seven pounds in full payment 'for his +playe of Jhoshua' (Henslowe's _Diary_, p. 226). In November of the same +year he was employed with William Birde to make additions to Marlowe's +_Faustus_ (ibid. p. 228). On July 27, 1623, Sir Henry Herbert licensed +'for the Palsgrave's players a tragedy of Richard the Third, or the +English Profit with the Reformation, by Samuel Rowley'; and, again, on +October 29 of the same year 'for the Palsgrave players a new comedy +called Hard Shifte for Husbands, or Bilboes the Best Blade, written by +Samuel Rowley.' Another of our author's pieces, 'Hymen's Holiday, or +Cupid's Fagaries,' is mentioned in a list of plays which belonged to the +Cock-pit in 1639. None of these plays has come down; but in 1605 there +was published 'When You See Me You Know Me; or the famous Chronicle +Historic of King Henry VIII. with the Birth and virtuous Life of Edward +Prince of Wales. By Samuel Rowley.' This play was again printed in 1632; +and a few years ago it was elaborately edited by Prof. Karl Eltze, +who--whatever may be his merits as a critic--is acknowledged on every +hand to be a most accomplished scholar. + +The piece now reprinted will need some indulgence at the reader's hands. +Its blemishes are not a few; and no great exercise of critical ability +is required to discover that the language is often strained and the +drawing extravagant. The atmosphere in which the action of the piece +moves is hot and heavy. Sebastian's presence in the third act brings +with it a ray of sunlight; but he is quickly gone, and the gloom settles +down more hopelessly than before. Onaelia, the forsaken lady, is so +vixenish that she moves our sympathies only in a moderate degree. In +both choices the King seems to have been equally unfortunate; and it may +be doubted whether he could be 'happy with either were t'other fair +charmer away.' Baltazar, the Noble Soldier, is something of a bore. At +first we are a little suspicious of him, for he seems to 'protest too +much'; and even when these suspicions are set at rest his strut and +swagger continue to be offensive. + +But though the _Noble Souldier_ is not a play over which one would +linger long or to which one would care often to return, yet it is +impossible not to be struck by the power that marks so much of the +writing. Here is an example of our author at his best:-- + + 'You should, my Lord, be like these robes you weare, + Pure as the Dye and like that reverend shape; + Nurse thoughts as full of honour, zeale and purity. + You should be the Court-Diall and direct + The king with constant motion; be ever beating + (Like to Clocke-Hammers) on his Iron heart + To make it sound cleere and to feel remorse: + You should unlocke his soule, wake his dead conscience + Which, like a drowsie Centinell, gives leave + For sinnes vast army to beleaguer him: + His ruines will be ask'd for at your hands.'--(i. 2.) + +There is the true dramatic ring in those lines; the words come straight +from the heart and strike home. The swift sudden menace in the last line +is more effective than pages of rhetoric. + +The _Noble Souldier_ affords a good illustration of the sanctity +attached by our ancestors to marriage-contracts. On this subject the +reader will find some interesting remarks in Mr. Spalding's _Elizabethan +Demonology_ (pp. 3-7). + + + + +THE NOBLE SOVLDIER, + + OR, + +A CONTRACT BROKEN, JUSTLY REVENG'D. + +_A TRAGEDY. + + +Written by_ S.R. + + _Non est, Lex Iustior Ulla, + Quam Nescis Artifices, Arte perire Sua. + + + LONDON_: +Printed for _Nicholas Vavasour_, and are to be + sold at his shop in the _Temple_, neere the + Church. 1634. + + + + + _The_ Printer _to the_ Reader. + +Understanding Reader, I present this to your view which has received +applause in Action. The Poet might conceive a compleat satisfaction upon +the Stages approbation. But the Printer rests not there, knowing that +that which was acted and approved upon the Stage might be no less +acceptable in Print. It is now communicated to you whose leisure and +knowledge admits of reading and reason: Your Judgment now this +_Posthumus_ assures himself will well attest his predecessors endevours +to give content to men of the ablest quality, such as intelligent +readers are here conceived to be. I could have troubled you with a +longer epistle, but I feare to stay you from the booke, which affords +better words and matter than I can. So, the work modestly depending in +the skale of your Judgment, the Printer for his part craves your pardon, +hoping by his promptness to doe you greater service as conveniency shall +enable him to give you more or better testimony of his entirenesse +towards you. N.V. + + + +Dramatis Personae. + + +_King of Spaine. +Cardinall. +Duke of Medina_. + +Marquesse _Daenia, | +Alba, | +Roderigo, | Dons of Spayne. +Valasco, | +Lopez_. | + +_Queene_, A Florentine. +_Onaelia_, Neece to _Medina_, the Contracted Lady. +_Sebastian_, Her Sounne. +_Malateste_, A Florentine. +_Baltazar_, The Souldier. +_A Poet_. +_Cockadillio_, A foolish Courtier. +_A Fryer_. + +[To make the list complete we should add-- + +_Cornego. +Carlo. +Alanzo. +Signer No_.] + + + + +THE NOBLE SPANISH SOULDIER. + + +_Actus Primus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter in Magnificent state, to the sound of lowd + musicke, the King and Queene as from Church, + attended by the Cardinall, Count Malateste, Daenia, + Roderigo, Valasco, Alba, Carlo, and some waiting + Ladies. The King and Queen with Courtly + Complements salute and part; she with one halfe + attending her; King, Cardinall and th'other halfe + stay, the King seeming angry and desirous to be + rid of them too.--King, Cardinal, Daenia, &c_. + +_King_. Give us what no man here is master of, +Breath; leave us, pray: my father Cardinall +Can by the Physicke of Philosophy +Set al agen in order. Leave us, pray. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Card_. How is it with you, Sir? + +_King_. As with a Shippe +Now beat with stormes, now safe the stormes are vanisht; +And having you my Pylot I not onely +See shore but harbour. I to you will open +The booke of a blacke sinne deepe-printed in me. +Oh, father, my disease lyes in my soule. + +_Card_. The old wound, Sir? + +_King_. Yes, that; it festers inward: +For though I have a beauty to my bed +That even Creation envies at, as wanting +Stuffe to make such another, yet on her pillow +I lye by her but an Adulterer +And she as an Adulteresse. Shee's my Queene +And wife, yet but my strumpet, tho the Church +Set on the seale of Mariage: good _Onaelia_, +Neece to our Lord high Constable of Spaine, +Was precontracted mine. + +_Card_. Yet when I stung +Your Conscience with remembrance of the Act, +Your eares were deafe to counsell. + +_King_. I confesse it. + +_Card_. Now to unty the knot with your new Queene +Would shake the Crowne halfe from your head. + +_King_. Even Troy +(Tho she hath wept her eyes out) wud find teares +To wayle my kingdomes ruines. + +_Card_. What will you doe then? + +_King_. She has that Contract written, seal'd by you +And other Churchmen (witnesses untoo't). +A kingdome should be given for that paper. + +_Card_. I wud not, for what lyes beneath the Moone, +Be made a wicked Engine to breake in pieces +That holy Contract. + +_King_. 'Tis my soules ayme to tye it +Vpon a faster knot. + +_Card_. I do not see +How you can with safe conscience get it from her. + +_King_. Oh, I know +I wrastle with a Lyonesse: to imprison her +And force her too't I dare not. Death! what King +Did ever say I dare not? I must have it. +A Bastard have I by her; and that Cocke +Will have (I feare) sharpe spurres, if he crow after +Him that trod for him. Something must be done +Both to the Henne and Chicken: haste you therefore +To sad _Onaelia_; tell her I'm resolv'd +To give my new Hawke bells and let her flye; +My Queene I'm weary of and her will marry. +To this our Text adde you what glosse you please; +The secret drifts of Kings are depthlesse Seas. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _A Table set out cover'd with blacke: two waxen tapers: + the Kings Picture at one end, a Crucifix at the other: + Onaelia walking discontentedly weeping to the Crucifix, + her Mayd with her: to them Cornego_. + + SONG. + +Quest. _Oh sorrow, sorrow, say, where dost thou dwell_? + +Answ. _In the lowest roome of Hell_. + +Quest. _Art thou borne of Humane race_? + +Answ. _No, no, I have a furier[181] face_. + +Quest. _Art thou in City, Towne or Court_? + +Answ. _I to every place resort_. + +Quest. _O why into the world is sorrow sent_? + +Answ. _Men afflicted best repent_. + +Quest. _What dost thou feed on_? + +Answ. _Broken sleepe_. + +Quest. _What tak'st thou pleasure in_? + +Answ. _To weepe, + To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groane, + To wring my hands, to sit alone_. + +Quest. _Oh when, oh when shall sorrow quiet have?_ + +Answ. _Never, never, never, never, + Never till she finds a grave_. + + _Enter Cornego_. + +_Corn_. No lesson, Madam, but Lacrymae's?[182] If you had buried nine +husbands, so much water as you might squeeze out of an Onyon had been +teares enow to cast away upon fellowes that cannot thanke you. Come, +be joviall. + +_Onae_. Sorrow becomes me best. + +_Corn_. A suit of laugh and lye downe[183] would weare better. + +_Onae_. What should I doe to be merry, _Cornego_? + +_Corn_. Be not sad. + +_Onae_. But what's the best mirth in the world? + +_Corn_. Marry, this: to see much, say little, doe little, get little, +spend little and want nothing. + +_Onae_. Oh, but there is a mirth beyond all these: +This picture has so vex'd me I'me half mad. +To spite it therefore I'le sing any song +Thy selfe shalt tune: say then, what mirth is best? + +_Corn_. Why then, Madam, what I knocke out now is the very Maribone +of mirth; and this it is. + +_Onae_. Say on. + +_Corn_. The best mirth for a Lawyer is to have fooles to his Clients; +for Citizens to have Noblemen pay their debts; for Taylors to have store +of Sattin brought in for them--how little soere their hours are--they'll +be sure to have large yards: the best mirth for bawds is to have fresh +handsome whores, and for whores to have rich guls come aboard their +pinnaces, for then they are sure to build Gully-Asses. + +_Onae_. These to such soules are mirth, but to mine none: Away! + + [_Exit Corn_. + + _Enter Cardinall_. + +_Car_. Peace to you, Lady. + +_Onae_. I will not sinne so much as hope for peace: +And 'tis a mocke ill suits your gravity. + +_Card_. I come to knit the nerves of your lost strength, +To build your ruines up, to set you free +From this your voluntary banishment, +And give new being to your murd'red fame. + +_Onae_. What _Aesculapius_ can doe this? + +_Card_. The King--'tis from the King I come. + +_Onae_. A name I hate: +Oh I am deafe now to your Embassie. + +_Card_. Heare what I speake. + +_Onae_. Your language, breath'd from him, +Is deaths sad doome upon a wretch condemn'd. + +_Car_. Is it such poyson? + +_Onae_. Yes; and, were you christall, +What the King fills you with, wud make you breake. +You should, my Lord, be like these robes you weare, +Pure as the Dye and like that reverend shape; +Nurse thoughts as full of honour, zeale and purity. +You should be the Court-Diall and direct +The King with constant motion; be ever beating +(Like to Clocke-Hammers) on his Iron heart, +To make it sound cleere and to feele remorse: +You should unlocke his soule, wake his dead conscience +Which, like a drowsie Centinell, gives leave +For sinnes vast army to beleaguer him. +His ruines will be ask'd for at your hands. + +_Car_. I have rais'd up a scaffolding to save +Both him and you from falling: doe but heare me. + +_Onae_. Be dumbe for ever. + +_Car_. Let your feares thus dye: +By all the sacred relliques of the Church +And by my holy orders, what I minister +Is even the spirit of health. + +_Onae_. I'le drinke it downe into my soule at once. + +_Car_. You shall. + +_Onae_. But sweare. + +_Car_. What conjurations can more bind mine oath? + +_Onae_. But did you sweare in earnest? + +_Car_. Come, you trifle. + +_Onae_. No marvell, for my hopes have bin so drown'd +I still despaire. Say on. + +_Car_. The King repents. + +_Onae_. Pray, that agen, my Lord. + +_Car_. The King repents. + +_Onae_. His wrongs to me? + +_Car_. His wrongs to you: the sense +Of sinne has pierc'd his soule. + +_Onae_. Blest penitence! + +_Car_. 'Has turn'd his eyes[184] into his leprous bosome, +And like a King vowes execution +On all his traiterous passions. + +_Onae_. God-like Justice! + +_Car_. Intends in person presently to begge +Forgivenesse for his Acts of heaven and you. + +_Onae_. Heaven pardon him; I shall. + +_Car_. Will marry you. + +_Onae_. Umph! marry me? will he turne Bigamist? +When, when? + +_Car_. Before the morrow Sunne hath rode +Halfe his dayes journey; will send home his Queene +As one that staines his bed and can produce +Nothing but bastard Issue to his Crowne.-- +Why, how now? lost in wonder and amazement? + +_Onae_. I am so stor'd with joy that I can now +Strongly weare out more yeares of misery +Than I have liv'd. + + _Enter King_. + +_Car_. You need not: here's the King. + +_King_. Leave us. + [_Exit Car_. + +_Onae_. With pardon, Sir, I will prevent you +And charge upon you first. + +_King_. 'Tis granted; doe.-- +But stay; what meane these Embleames of distresse? +My Picture so defac'd! oppos'd against +A holy Crosse! roome hung in blacke, and you +Drest like chiefe Mourner at a Funerall! + +_Onae_. Looke backe upon your guilt (deare Sir), and then +The cause that now seemes strange explaines it selfe. +This and the Image of my living wrongs +Is still confronted by me to beget +Griefe like my shame, whose length may outlive Time: +This Crosse the object of my wounded soule, +To which I pray to keepe me from despaire, +That ever, as the sight of one throwes up +Mountaines of sorrowes on my accursed head, +Turning to that, Mercy may checke despaire +And bind my hands from wilfull violence. + +_King_. But who hath plaid the Tyrant with me thus, +And with such dangerous spite abus'd my picture? + +_Onae_. The guilt of that layes claime, Sir, to your selfe; +For, being by you ransack'd of all my fame, +Rob'd of mine honour and deare chastity, +Made by you[r] act the shame of all my house, +The hate of good men and the scorne of bad, +The song of Broome-men and the murdering vulgar, +And left alone to beare up all these ills +By you begun, my brest was fill'd with fire +And wrap'd in just disdaine; and, like a woman, +On that dumb picture wreak'd I my passions. + +_King_. And wish'd it had beene I. + +_Onae_. Pardon me, Sir: +My wrongs were great and my revenge swell'd high. + +_King_. I will descend and cease to be a King, +To leave my judging part; freely confessing +Thou canst not give thy wrongs too ill a name. +And here, to make thy apprehension full +And seat thy reason in a sound beleefe, +I vow to morrow (e're the rising sunne +Begin his journey), with all Ceremonies +Due to the Church, to scale our Nuptials; +To prive[185] thy sonne, with full consent of State, +Spaines heire Apparant, borne in wedlock vowes. + +_Onae_. And will you sweare to this? + +_King_. By this I sweare. + +_Onae_. Oh you have sworne false oathes upon that booke. + +_King_. Why, then by this. + +_Onae_. Take heed you print it deeply. +How for your concubine (Bride, I cannot say)? +She staines your bed with black Adultery; +And though her fame maskes in a fairer shape +Then mine to the worlds eye, yet (King) you know +Mine honour is less strumpetted than hers, +However butcher'd in opinion. + +_King_. This way for her: the contract (which thou hast) +By best advice of all our Cardinals +To day shall be enlarg'd till it be made +Past all dissolving: then to our Counsell-Table +Shall she be call'd, that read aloud, she told +The Church commands her quicke returne for _Florence_, +With such a dower as _Spaine_ received with her; +And that they will not hazard heavens dire curse +To yeeld to a match unlawfull, which shall taint +The issue of the King with Bastardy. +This done, in State Majestic come you forth +(Our new-crown'd Queene) in sight of all our Peeres. +--Are you resolv'd? + +_Onae_. To doubt of this were Treason +Because the King has sworne it. + +_King_. And will keepe it. +Deliver up the Contract then, that I +May make this day end with my misery. + +_Onae_. Here, as the dearest Jewell of my fame, +Lock'd I this parchment from all viewing eyes; +This your Indenture held alone the life +Of my suppos'd dead honour: yet (behold) +Into your hands I redeliver it. +Oh keepe it, Sir, as you should keepe that vow +To which (being sign'd by Heaven) even Angels bowe. + +_King_. 'Tis in the Lions pawe, and who dares snatch it? +Now to your Beads and Crucifix agen. + +_Onae_. Defend me, heaven! + +_King_. Pray there may come Embassadors from _France_: +Their followers are good Customers. + +_Onae_. Save me from madnesse! + +_King_. 'Twill raise the price being the Kings Mistris. + +_Onae_. You doe but counterfeit to mocke my joyes. + +_King_. Away, bold strumpet. + +_Onae_. Are there eyes in heaven to see this? + +_King_. Call and try: here's a whore curse, +To fall in that beleefe which her sunnes nurse. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Cornego_. + +_Corn_. How now? what quarter of the Moone has she cut out now? My Lord +puts me into a wise office, to be a mad womans keeper! Why, Madam? + +_Onae_. Ha! where is the King, thou slave? + +_Corn_. Let go your hold or I'le fall upon you, as I am a man. + +_Onae_. Thou treacherous caitiffe, where's the King? + +_Corn_. Hee's gone, but no so farre gone as you are. + +_Onae_. Cracke all in sunder, oh you battlements, +And grind me into powder! + +_Corn_. What powder? come, what powder? when did you ever see a woman +grinded into powder? I am sure some of your sex powder men and pepper +'em too. + +_Onae_. Is there a vengeance +Yet lacking to my ruine? let it fall, +Now let it fall upon me! + +_Corn_. No, there has too much falne upon you already. + +_Onae_. Thou villaine, leave thy hold! Ile follow him: +Like a rais'd ghost I'le haunt him, breake his sleepe, +Fright him as hee's embracing his new Leman +Till want of rest bids him runne mad and dye, +For making oathes Bawds to his perjury. + +_Corn_. Pray be more reason'd: if he made any Bawdes he did ill, for +there is enough of that fly-blowne flesh already. + +_Onae_. I'me now left naked quite: +All's gone, all, all! + +_Corn_. No, Madam, not all; for you cannot be rid of me.--Here comes +your Uncle. + + _Enter Medina_. + +_Onae_. Attir'd in robes of vengeance are you, Uncle? + +_Med_. More horrors yet? + +_Onae_. 'Twas never full till now: +And in this torrent all my hopes lye drown'd. + +_Med_. Instruct me in this cause. + +_Onae_. The King! the Contract! + [_Exit_. + +_Corn_. There's cud enough for you to chew upon. + [_Exit_. + +_Med_. What's this? a riddle? how? the King, the Contract? +The mischiefe I divine which, proving true, +Shall kindle fires in Spaine to melt his Crowne +Even from his head: here's the decree of fate,-- +A blacke deed must a blacke deed expiate. + [_Exit_. + + + + +_Actus Secundus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA[186]. + + + _Enter Baltazar, slighted by Dons_. + +_Bal_. Thou god of good Apparell, what strange fellowes +Are bound to do thee honour! Mercers books +Shew mens devotions to thee; heaven cannot hold +A Saint so stately. Do not my Dons know +Because I'me poor in clothes? stood my beaten Taylor +Playting my rich hose, my silke stocking-man +Drawing upon my Lordships Courtly calfe +Payres of Imbroydered things whose golden clockes +Strike deeper to the faithfull shop-keepers heart +Than into mine to pay him;--had my Barbour +Perfum'd my louzy thatch here and poak'd out +My Tuskes more stiffe than are a cats muschatoes-- +These pide-winged Butterflyes had known me then. +Another flye-boat?[187] save thee, Illustrious Don. + + _Enter Don Roderigo_. + +Sir, is the king at leisure to speake Spanish +With a poore Souldier? + +_Ro_. No. + +_Bal_. No! sirrah you, no; +You Don with th'oaker face, I wish to ha thee +But on a Breach, stifling with smoke and fire, +And for thy 'No' but whiffing Gunpowder +Out of an Iron pipe, I woo'd but ask thee +If thou wood'st on, and if thou didst cry No +Thou shudst read Canon-Law; I'de make thee roare +And weare cut-beaten-sattyn: I woo'd pay thee +Though thou payst not thy mercer,--meere Spanish Jennets! + + _Enter Cockadillio_. + +Signeor, is the king at leisure? + +_Cock_. To doe what? + +_Balt_. To heare a Souldier speake. + +_Cock_. I am no eare-picker +To sound his hearing that way. + +_Bal_. Are you of Court, Sir? + +_Cock_. Yes, the kings Barber. + +_Bal_. That's his eare picker.--Your name, I pray? + +_Cock_. Don _Cockadillio_. +If, Souldier, thou hast suits to begge at Court +I shall descend so low as to betray +Thy paper to the hand Royall. + +_Bal_. I begge, you whorson muscod! my petition +Is written on my bosome in red wounds. + +_Cock_. I am no Barbar-Surgeon. + [_Exit_. + +_Bal_. You yellow-hammer! why, shaver! +That such poore things as these, onely made up +Of Taylors shreds and Merchants Silken rags +And Pothecary drugs (to lend their breaths +Sophisticated smells, when their ranke guts +Stink worse than cowards in the heat of battaile) +--Such whalebond-doublet-rascals that owe more +To Landresses and Sempstress for laced Linnen +Then all their race, from their great grand-father +To this their reigne, in clothes were ever worth; +These excrements of Silke-wormes! oh that such flyes +Doe buzze about the beames of Majesty! +Like earwigs tickling a kings yeelding eare +With that Court-Organ (Flattery), when a souldier +Must not come neere the Court gates twenty score, +But stand for want of clothes (tho he win Towns) +Amongst the Almesbasket-men! his best reward +Being scorn'd to be a fellow to the blacke gard[188]. +Why shud a Souldier, being the worlds right arme, +Be cut thus by the left, a Courtier? +Is the world all Ruffe and Feather and nothing else? +Shall I never see a Taylor give his coat with a difference from a + gentleman? + + _Enter King, Alanzo, Carlo, Cockadillio_. + +_King_. My _Baltazar_! +Let us make haste to meet thee: how art thou alter'd! +Doe you not know him? + +_Alanz_. Yes, Sir; the brave Souldier +Employed against the Moores. + +_King_. Halfe turn'd Moore! +I'le honour thee: reach him a chair--that Table: +And now _Aeneas_-like let thine own Trumpet +Sound forth thy battell with those slavish Moores. + +_Bal_. My musicke is a Canon; a pitcht field my stage; Furies the +Actors, blood and vengeance the scaene; death the story; a sword +imbrued with blood the pen that writes; and the Poet a terrible +buskind Tragical fellow with a wreath about his head of burning +match instead of Bayes. + +_King_. On to the Battaile! + +_Bal_. 'Tis here, without bloud-shed: This our maine Battalia, this +the Van, this the Vaw[189], these the wings: here we fight, there they +flye; here they insconce, and here our sconces lay 17 Moours on the +cold earth. + +_King_. This satisfies mine eye, but now mine eare +Must have his musicke too; describe the battaile. + +_Bal_. The Battaile? Am I come from doing to talking? The hardest part +for a Souldier to play is to prate well; our Tongues are Fifes, Drums, +Petronels, Muskets, Culverin and Canon; these are our Roarers; the +Clockes which wee goe by are our hands: thus we reckon tenne, our +swords strike eleven, and when steele targets of proofe clatter one +against another, then 'tis noone; that's the height and the heat of +the day of battaile. + +_King_. So. + +_Bal_. To that heat we came, our Drums beat, Pikes were shaken and +shiver'd, swords and Targets clash'd and clatter'd, Muskets ratled, +Canons roar'd, men dyed groaning, brave laced Jerkings and Feathers +looked pale, totter'd[190] rascals fought pell mell; here fell a wing, +there heads were tost like foot-balls; legs and armes quarrell'd in the +ayre and yet lay quietly on the earth; horses trampled upon heaps of +carkasses, Troopes of Carbines tumbled wounded from their horses; we +besiege Moores and famine us; Mutinies bluster and are calme. I vow'd +not to doff mine Armour, tho my flesh were frozen too't and turn'd into +Iron, nor to cut head nor beard till they yeelded; my hayres and oath +are of one length, for (with _Caesar_) thus write I mine owne story, +_Veni, vidi, vici_. + +_King_. A pitch'd field quickly fought: our hand is thine +And 'cause thou shalt not murmur that thy blood +Was lavish'd forth for an ingrateful man, +Demand what we can give thee and 'tis thine. + + (_Onaelia beats at the doore_.) + +_Onae_. Let me come in! I'le kill that treacherous king, +The murderer of mine honour: let me come in! + +_King_. What womans voyce is that? + +_Omnes_. _Medina's_ Neece. + +_King_. Bar out that fiend. + +_Onae_. I'le teare him with my nayles! +Let me come in, let me come in! helpe, helpe me! + +_King_. Keepe her from following me: a gard! + +_Alanz_. They are ready, Sir. + +_King_. Let a quicke summons call our Lords together; +This disease kills me. + +_Bal_. Sir, I would be private with you. + +_King_. Forbear us, but see the dores well guarded. + + [_Exeunt_. + +_Bal_. Will you, Sir, promise to give me freedome of speech? + +_King_. Yes, I will; take it, speake any thing: 'tis pardoned. + +_Bal_. You are a whoremaster: doe you send me to winne Townes for you +abroad, and you lose a kingdome at home? + +_King_. What kingdome? + +_Bal_. The fayrest in the world, the kingdom of your Fame, your honour. + +_King_. Wherein? + +_Bal_. I'le be plaine with you: much mischiefe is done by the mouth of +a Canon, but the fire begins at a little touch-hole: you heard what +Nightingale sung to you even now? + +_King_. Ha, ha, ha! + +_Bal_. Angels err'd but once and fell; but you, Sir, spit in heaven's +face every minute and laugh at it. Laugh still and follow your courses; +doe; let your vices run like your kennels of hounds yelping after you, +till they plucke downe the fayrest head in the heard, everlasting bliss. + +_King_. Any more? + +_Bal_. Take sinne as the English Snuffe Tobacco, and scornfully blow +the smoke in the eyes of heaven; the vapour flyes up in clowds of +bravery, but when 'tis out the coal is blacke (your conscience) and the +pipe stinkes: a sea of Rose-water cannot sweeten your corrupted bosome. + +_King_. Nay, spit thy venome. + +_Bal_. 'Tis _Aqua Coelestis_, no venome; for, when you shall claspe up +those wo books, never to be open'd againe; when by letting fall that +Anchor, which can never more bee weighed up, your mortall Navigation +ends: then there's no playing at spurne-point[191] with thunderbolts: +a Vintner then for unconscionable reckoning or a Taylor for unreasonable +_Items_ shall not answer in halfe that feare you must. + +_King_. No more. + +_Bal_. I will follow Truth at the heels, tho her foot beat my gums in +peeces. + +_King_. The Barber that drawes out a Lion's tooth +Curseth his Trade; and so shalt thou. + +_Bal_. I care not. + +_King_. Because you have beaten a few base-borne Moores +Me think'st thou to chastise? what's past I pardon, +Because I made the key to unlocke thy railing. +But if thou dar'st once more be so untun'd, +Ile send thee to the Gallies.--Who are without, there? +How now? + + _Enter Lords drawne_. + +_Omnes_. In danger, Sir? + +_King_. Yes, yes, I am; but 'tis no point of weapon +Can rescue me. Goe presently and summon +All our chiefe Grandoes[192], Cardinals and Lords +Of _Spaine_ to meet in counsell instantly. +We call'd you forth to execute a businesse +Of another straine,--but 'tis no matter now. +Thou dyest when next thou furrowest up our brow. + +_Bal_. Go! dye! + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Cardinal, Roderigo, Alba,[193] Dania, Valasco_. + +_King_. I find my Scepter shaken by enchantments +Charactred in this parchment, which to unloose +I'le practise only counter-charmes of fire +And blow the spells of lightning into smoake: +Fetch burning Tapers. + [_Exeunt_. + +_Card_. Give me Audience, Sir; +My apprehension opens me a way +To a close fatall mischiefe worse then this +You strive to murder: O this act of yours +Alone shall give your dangers life, which else +Can never grow to height; doe, Sir, but read +A booke here claspt up, which too late you open'd, +Now blotted by you with foul marginall notes. + +_King_. Art fratricide? + +_Car_. You are so, Sir. + +_King_. If I be, +Then here's my first mad fit. + +_Card_. For Honours sake, +For love you beare to conscience-- + +_King_. Reach the flames: +Grandoes and Lords of _Spaine_ be witnesse all +What here I cancell; read, doe you know this bond? + +_Omnes_. Our hands are too't. + +_Daen_. 'Tis your confirmed contract +With my sad kinswoman: but wherefore, Sir, +Now is your rage on fire, in such a presence +To have it mourne in ashes? + +_King_. Marquesse _Daenia_, +Wee'll lend that tongue when this no more can speake. + +_Car_. Deare Sir. + +_King_. I am deafe, +Playd the full consort of the Spheares unto me +Vpon their lowdest strings.--Go; burne that witch +Who would dry up the tree of all Spaines Glories +But that I purge her sorceries by fire: +Troy lyes in Cinders; let your Oracles +Now laugh at me if I have beene deceiv'd +By their ridiculous riddles. Why, good father, +(Now you may freely chide) why was your zeale +Ready to burst in showres to quench our fury? + +_Card_. Fury, indeed; you give it a proper name. +What have you done? clos'd up a festering wound +Which rots the heart: like a bad Surgeon, +Labouring to plucke out from your eye a moate, +You thrust the eye clean out. + +_King_. Th'art mad _ex tempore_: +What eye? which is that wound? + +_Car_. That Scrowle, which now +You make the blacke Indenture of your lust, +Altho eat up in flames, is printed here, +In me, in him, in these, in all that saw it, +In all that ever did but heare 'twas yours: +That scold of the whole world (Fame) will anon +Raile with her thousand tongues at this poore Shift +Which gives your sinne a flame greater than that +You lent the paper; you to quench a wild fire +Cast oyle upon it. + +_King_. Oyle to blood shall turne; +I'le lose a limbe before the heart shall mourne. + + [_Exeunt_. + + _Manent Daenia, Alba_. + +_Daen_. Hee's mad with rage or joy. + +_Alb_. With both; with rage +To see his follies check'd, with fruitlesse joy +Because he hopes his Contract is cut off +Which Divine Justice more exemplifies. + + _Enter Medina_. + +_Med_. Where's the king? + +_Daen_. Wrapt up in clouds of lightning. + +_Med_. What has he done? saw you the Contract torne, +As I did heare a minion sweare he threatened? + +_Alb_. He tore it not but burnt it. + +_Med_. Openly? + +_Daen_. And heaven with us to witnesse. + +_Med_. Well, that fire +Will prove a catching flame to burne his kingdome. + +_Alb_. Meet and consult. + +_Med_. No more, trust not the ayre +With our projections, let us all revenge +Wrongs done to our most noble kinswoman: +Action is honours language, swords are tongues, +Which both speake best and best do right our wrongs. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Onaelia one way, Cornego another_. + +_Cor_. Madam, there's a beare without to speake with you. + +_Onae_. A Beare. + +_Cor_. Its a Man all hairye and thats as bad. + +_Onae_. Who ist? + +_Cor_. Tis one Master Captaine _Baltazar_. + +_Onae_. I doe not know that _Baltazar_. + +_Cor_. He desires to see you; and if you love a water-spaniel before +he be shorne, see him. + +_Onae_. Let him come in. + + _Enter Baltazar_. + +_Cor_. Hist; a ducke, a ducke[194]; there she is, Sir. + +_Bal_. A Souldiers good wish blesse you, Lady. + +_Onae_. Good wishes are most welcome, Sir, to me; +So many bad ones blast me. + +_Bal_. Doe you not know me? + +_Onae_. I scarce know my selfe. + +_Bal_. I ha beene at Tennis, Madam, with the king. I gave him 15 and all +his faults, which is much, and now I come to tosse a ball with you. + +_Onae_. I am bandyed too much up and downe already. + +_Cor_. Yes, she has beene strucke under line, master Souldier. + +_Bal_. I conceit you: dare you trust your selfe along with me? + +_Onae_. I have been laden with such weights of wrong +That heavier cannot presse me: hence, _Cornego_. + +_Corn_. Hence _Cornego_, stay Captaine! when man and woman are put +together some egge of villany is sure to be sate upon. + [_Exit_. + +_Bal_. What would you say to him should kill this man that hath you +so dishonoured? + +_Onae_. Oh, I woo'd crowne him +With thanks, praise, gold, and tender of my life. + +_Bal_. Shall I bee that Germane Fencer[195] and beat all the knocking +boyes before me? shall I kill him? + +_Onae_. There's musick in the tongue that dares but speak it. + +_Bal_. That fiddle then is in me; this arme can doo't by ponyard, +poyson, or pistoll; but shall I doo't indeed? + +_Onae_. One step to humane blisse is sweet revenge. + +_Bal_. Stay; what made you love him? + +_Onae_. His most goodly shape +Married to royall virtues of his mind. + +_Bal_. Yet now you would divorce all that goodnesse; and why? for a +little letchery of revenge? it's a lye: the Burre that stickes in your +throat is a throane: let him out of his messe of Kingdomes cut out but +one, and lay Sicilia, Arragon, Naples or any else upon your trencher, +and you'll prayse Bastard[196] for the sweetest wine in the world and +call for another quart of it. 'Tis not because the man has left you +but because you are not the woman you would be, that mads you: a +shee-cuckold is an untameable monster. + +_Onae_. Monster of men thou art: thou bloudy villaine, +Traytor to him who never injur'd thee, +Dost thou professe Armes and art bound in honour +To stand up like a brazen wall to guard +Thy King and Country, and wood'st thou ruine both? + +_Bal_. You spurre me on too't. + +_Onae_. True; +Worse am I then the horrid'st fiend in hell +To murder him whom once I lov'd too well: +For tho I could runne mad, and teare my haire, +And kill that godlesse man that turn'd me vile; +Though I am cheated by a perjurous Prince +Who has done wickednesse at which even heaven +Shakes when the Sunne beholds it; O yet I'de rather +Ten thousand poyson'd ponyards stab'd my brest +Then one should touch his: bloudy slave! I'le play +My selfe the Hangman and will Butcher thee +If thou but prick'st his finger. + +_Bal_. Saist thou me so? give me thy goll[197], thou art a noble girle: +I did play the Devils part and roare in a feigned voyce, but I am the +honestest Devill that ever spet fire. I would not drinke that infernall +draught of a kings blood, to goe reeling to damnation, for the weight +of the world in Diamonds. + +_Onae_. Art thou not counterfeit? + +_Bal_. Now, by my skarres, I am not. + +_Onae_. I'le call thee honest Souldier, then, and woo thee +To be an often Visitant. + +_Bal_. Your servant: +Yet must I be a stone upon a hill, +For tho I doe no good I'le not lye still. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Tertius_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Malateste and the Queene_. + +_Mal_. When first you came from Florence wud the world +Had with an universal dire eclipse +Bin overwhelm'd, no more to gaze on day, +That you to Spaine had never found the way, +Here to be lost for ever. + +_Queen_. We from one climate +Drew suspiration: as thou then hast eyes +To read my wrongs, so be thy head an Engine +To raise up ponderous mischiefe to the height, +And then thy hands the Executioners. +A true Italian Spirit is a ball +Of Wild-fire, hurting most when it seemes spent; +Great ships on small rocks beating oft are rent; +And so let Spaine by us. But, _Malateste_, +Why from the Presence did you single me +Into this Gallery? + +_Mal_. To shew you, Madam, +The picture of your selfe, but so defac'd +And mangled by proud Spanyards it woo'd whet +A sword to arme the poorest Florentine +In your just wrongs. + +_Queen_. As how? let's see that picture. + +_Mal_. Here 'tis then: Time is not scarce foure dayes old +Since I and certaine Dons (sharp-witted fellowes +And of good ranke) were with two Jesuits +(Grave profound Schollers) in deepe argument +Of various propositions; at the last +Question was mov'd touching your marriage +And the Kings precontract. + +_Queen_. So; and what followed? + +_Mal_. Whether it were a question mov'd by chance +Or spitefully of purpose (I being there +And your own Country-man) I cannot tell; +But when much tossing +Had bandyed both the King and you, as pleas'd +Those that tooke up the Rackets, in conclusion +The Father Jesuits (to whose subtile Musicke +Every eare there was tyed) stood with their lives +In stiffe defence of this opinion-- +Oh, pardon me if I must speake their language. + +_Queen_. Say on. + +_Mal_. That the most Catholike King in marrying you +Keepes you but as his whore. + +_Queen_. Are we their Theames? + +_Mal_. And that _Medina's_ Neece, _Onaelia_, +Is his true wife: her bastard sonne, they said, +(The King being dead) should claim and weare the Crowne; +And whatsoever children you shall beare +To be but bastards in the highest degree, +As being begotten in Adultery. + +_Queen_. We will not grieve at this, but with hot vengeance +Beat down this armed mischiefe. _Malateste_, +What whirlewinds can we raise to blow this storme +Backe in their faces who thus shoot at me? + +_Mal_. If I were fit to be your Counsellor +Thus would I speake: feigne that you are with childe,-- +The mother of the Maids, and some worne Ladies +Who oft have guilty beene to court great bellies, +May (tho it be not so) get you with childe +With swearing that 'tis true. + +_Queen_. Say 'tis beleev'd, +Or that it so doth prove. + +_Mal_. The joy thereof, +Together with these earth-quakes which will shake +All Spaine if they their Prince doe dis-inherit, +So borne, of such a Queene, being onely daughter +To such a brave spirit as the Duke of Florence;-- +All this buzz'd into the King, he cannot chuse +But charge that all the Bels in Spaine eccho up +This joy to heaven; that Bone-fires change the night +To a high Noone with beames of sparkling flames; +And that in Churches Organs (charm'd with prayers) +Speake lowd for your most safe delivery. + +_Queen_. What fruits grow out of these? + +_Mal_. These; you must sticke +(As here and there spring weeds in banks of flowers) +Spies amongst the people, who shall lay their eares +To every mouth and steale to you their whisperings. + +_Queen_. So. + +_Mal_. 'Tis a plummet to sound Spanish hearts +How deeply they are yours: besides a ghesse +Is hereby made of any faction +That shall combine against you; which the King seeing, +If then he will not rouze him like a Dragon +To guard his golden fleece and rid his Harlot +And her base bastard hence, either by death +Or in some traps of state insnare them both,-- +Let his owne ruines crush him. + +_Queen_. This goes to tryall; +Be thou my Magicke booke, which reading o're +Their counterspells wee'll breake; or if the King +Will not by strong hand fix me in his Throne +But that I must be held Spaines blazing Starre, +Be it an ominous charme to call up warre. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Cornego, Onaelia_. + +_Corn_. Here's a parcell of mans flesh has beene hanging up and downe +all this morning to speake with you. + +_Onae_. Is't not some executioner? + +_Corn_. I see nothing about him to hang in but's garters. + +_Onae_. Sent from the king to warne me of my death: +I prethe bid him welcome. + +_Cor_. He says he is a Poet. + +_Onae_. Then bid him better welcome: +Belike he's come to write my Epitaph,-- +Some[198] scurvy thing, I warrant: welcome, Sir. + + _Enter Poet_. + +_Poet_. Madam[199], my love presents this book unto you. + +_Onae_. To me? I am not worthy of a line, +Vnlesse at that line hang some hooke to choake me. +'To the most honoured Lady--_Onaelia_' +Fellow, thou lyest, I'me most dishonoured: +Thou shouldst have writ 'To the most wronged Lady': +The Title of this booke is not to me; +I teare it therefore as mine Honour's torne. + +_Cor_. Your Verses are lam'd in some of their feet, Master Poet. + +_Onae_. What does it treate of? + +_Poet_. Of the sollemne Triumphs +Set forth at Coronation of the Queene. + +_Onae_. Hissing (the Poets whirle-wind) blast thy lines! +Com'st thou to mocke my Tortures with her Triumphs? + +_Poet_. 'Las, Madam! + +_Onae_. When her funerals are past +Crowne thou a Dedication to my joyes, +And thou shalt sweare each line a golden verse. +--_Cornego_, burne this Idoll. + +_Cor_. Your booke shall come to light, Sir. + [_Exit_. + +_Onae_. I have read legends of disastrous Dames: +Will none set pen to paper for poore me? +Canst write a bitter Satyre? brainlesse people +Doe call 'em Libels: dar'st thou write a Libell? + +_Poet_. I dare mix gall and poyson with my Inke. + +_Onae_. Doe it then for me. + +_Poet_. And every line must be +A whip to draw blood. + +_Onae_. Better. + +_Poet_. And to dare +The stab from him it touches. He that writes +Such Libels (as you call 'em) must lance[200] wide +The sores of mens corruptions, and even search +To'th quicke for dead flesh or for rotten cores: +A Poets Inke can better cure some sores +Then Surgeons Balsum. + +_Onae_. Vndertake that Cure +And crowne thy verse with Bayes. + +_Poet_. Madam, I'le doo't; +But I must have the parties Character. + +_Onae_. The king. + +_Poet_. I doe not love to pluck the quils +With which I make pens, out of a Lions claw. +The King! shoo'd I be bitter 'gainst the king +I shall have scurvy ballads made of me +Sung to the Hanging Tune[201]. I dare not, Madam. + +_Onae_. This basenesse follows your profession: +You are like common Beadles, apt to lash +Almost to death poore wretches not worth striking, +But fawne with slavish flattery on damn'd vices, +So great men act them: you clap hands at those, +Where the true Poet indeed doth scorne to guild +A gawdy Tombe with glory of his Verse +Which coffins stinking Carrion; no, his lines +Are free as his Invention; no base feare +Can shape his penne to Temporize even with Kings; +The blacker are their crimes he lowder sings. +Goe, goe, thou canst not write; 'tis but my calling +The Muses helpe, that I may be inspir'd. +Cannot a woman be a Poet, Sir? + +_Poet_. Yes, Madam, best of all; for Poesie +Is but a feigning; feigning is to lye, +And women practise lying more than men. + +_Onae_. Nay, but if I shoo'd write I woo'd tell truth: +How might I reach a lofty straine? + +_Poet_. Thus, Madam: +Bookes, Musick, Wine, brave Company and good Cheere +Make Poets to soare high and sing most cleare. + +_Onae_. Are they borne Poets? + +_Poet_. Yes. + +_Onae_. Dye they? + +_Poet_. Oh, never dye. + +_Onae_. My misery is then a Poet sure, +For time has given it an Eternity.-- +What sorts of Poets are there? + +_Poet_. Two sorts, Lady; +The great Poets and the small Poets. + +_Onae_. Great and small! +Which doe you call the great? the fat ones? + +_Poet_. No, but such as have great heads, which, emptied forth, +Fill all the world with wonder at their lines-- +Fellowes which swell big with the wind of praise: +The small ones are but shrimpes of Poesie. + +_Onae_. Which in the kingdome now is the best Poet? + +_Poet_. Emulation. + +_Onae_. Which the next? + +_Poet_. Necessity. + +_Onae_. And which the worst? + +_Poet_. Selfe-love. + +_Onae_. Say I turne Poet, what should I get? + +_Poet_. Opinion. + +_Onae_. 'Las I have got too much of that already. +Opinion is my Evidence, Judge and Jury; +Mine owne guilt and opinion now condemne me. +I'le therefore be no Poet; no, nor make +Ten Muses of your nine, I sweare, for this; +Verses, tho freely borne, like slaves are sold; +I Crowne thy lines with Bayes, thy love with gold: +So fare thou well. + +_Poet_. Our pen shall honour you. + [_Exit_. + + _Enter Cornego_. + +_Cor_. The Poets booke, Madam, has got the Inflammation of the Livor, +it dyed of a burning Feaver. + +_Onae_. What shall I doe, _Cornego_? for this Poet +Has fill'd me with a fury: I could write +Strange Satyrs now against Adulterers +And Marriage-breakers. + +_Cor_. I beleeve you, Madam.--But here comes your Vncle. + + _Enter Medina, Alanzo, Carlo, Alba, Sebastian, Daenia_. + +_Med_. Where's our Neece? +Turne your braines round and recollect your spirits, +And see your Noble friends and kinsmen ready +To pay revenge his due. + +_Onae_. That word Revenge +Startles my sleepy Soule, now thoroughly wakend +By the fresh object of my haplesse childe +Whose wrongs reach beyond mine. + +_Seb_. How doth my sweet mother? + +_Onae_. How doth my prettiest boy? + +_Alanz_. Wrongs, like greate whirlewinds, +Shake highest Battlements? few for heaven woo'd care +Shoo'd they be ever happy; they are halfe gods +Who both in good dayes and good fortune share. + +_Onae_. I have no part in either. + +_Carl_. You shall in both, +Can Swords but cut the way. + +_Onae_. I care not much, so you but gently strike him, +And that my Child escape the light[e]ning. + +_Med_. For that our Nerves are knit: is there not here +A promising face of manly princely vertues? +And shall so sweet a plant be rooted out +By him that ought to fix it fast i'the ground? +_Sebastian_, +What will you doe to him that hurts your mother? + +_Seb_. The King my father shall kill him, I trow. + +_Daen_. But, sweet Coozen, the King loves not your mother. + +_Seb_. I'le make him love her when I am a King. + +_Med_. La you, there's in him a Kings heart already. +As, therefore, we before together vow'd, +Lay all your warlike hands upon my Sword +And sweare. + +_Seb_. Will you sweare to kill me, Vncle? + +_Med_. Oh, not for twenty worlds. + +_Seb_. Nay, then, draw and spare not, for I love fighting. + +_Med_. Stand in the midst, sweet Cooz; we are your guard; +These Hammers shall for thee beat out a Crowne, +If hit all right. Sweare therefore, noble friends +By your high bloods, by true Nobility, +By what you owe Religion, owe to your Country, +Owe to the raising your posterity; +By love you beare to vertue and to Armes +(The shield of Innocence) sweare not to sheath +Your Swords, when once drawne forth-- + +_Onae_. Oh, not to kill him +For twenty thousand worlds! + +_Med_. Will you be quiet?-- +Your Swords, when once drawne forth, till they ha forc'd +Yon godlesse, perjurous, perfidious man-- + +_Onae_. Pray raile not at him so. + +_Med_. Art mad? y'are idle:--till they ha forc'd him +To cancell his late lawlesse bond he seal'd +At the high Altar to his Florentine Strumpet, +And in his bed lay this his troth-plight wife. + +_Onae_. I, I, that's well; pray sweare. + +_Omnes_. To this we sweare. + +_Seb_. Vncle, I sweare too. + +_Med_. Our forces let's unite; be bold and secret, +And Lion-like with open eyes let's sleepe: +Streames smooth and slowly running are most deep. + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + + _Enter King; Queen, Malateste, Valesco, Lopez_. + +_King_. The Presence doore be guarded; let none enter +On forfeit of your lives without our knowledge. +Oh, you are false physitians all unto me, +You bring me poyson but no antidotes. + +_Queen_. Your selfe that poyson brewes. + +_King_. Prethe, no more. + +_Queen_. I will, I must speake more. + +_King_. Thunder aloud. + +_Queen_. My child, yet newly quickened in my wombe, +Is blasted with the fires of Bastardy. + +_King_. Who? who dares once but thinke so in his dreame? + +_Mal_. _Medina's_ faction preached it openly. + +_King_. Be curst he and his Faction: oh, how I labour +For these preventions! but, so crosse is Fate, +My ills are ne're hid from me but their Cures. +What's to be done? + +_Queen_. That which being left undone, +Your life lyes at the stake: let 'em be breathlesse, +Both brat and mother. + +_King_. Ha! + +_Mal_. She playes true Musicke, Sir: +The mischiefes you are drench'd in are so full +You need not feare to add to 'em; since now +No way is left to guard thy rest secure +But by a meanes like this. + +_Lop_. All Spaine rings forth +_Medina's_ name and his Confederates. + +_Rod_. All his Allyes and friends rush into troopes +Like raging Torrents. + +_Val_. And lowd Trumpet forth +Your perjuries; seducing the wild people +And with rebellious faces threatning all. + +_King_. I shall be massacred in this their spleene +E're I have time to guard my selfe; I feele +The fire already falling: where's our guard? + +_Mal_. Planted at Garden gate, with a strict charge +That none shall enter but by your command. + +_King_. Let 'em be doubled: I am full of thoughts, +A thousand wheeles tosse my incertaine feares; +There is a storme in my hot boyling braines +Which rises without wind; a horrid one. +What clamor's that? + +_Queen_. Some treason: guard the King! + + _Enter Baltazar drawne; one of the Guard fals_. + +_Bal_. Not in? + +_Mal_. One of your guard's slaine: keepe off the murderer! + +_Bal_. I am none, Sir. + +_Val_. There's a man drop'd down by thee. + +_King_. Thou desperate fellow, thus presse in upon us! +Is murder all the story we shall read? +What King can stand when thus his subjects bleed! +What hast thou done? + +_Bal_. No hurt. + +_King_. Plaid even the Wolfe +And from a fold committed to my charge +Stolne and devour'd one of the flocke. + +_Bal_. Y'ave sheepe enow for all that, Sir; I have kill'd none tho; or, +if I have, mine owne blood shed in your quarrels may begge my pardon; +my businesse was in haste to you. + +_King_. I woo'd not have thy sinne scoar'd on my head +For all the Indian Treasury. I prethee tell me, +Suppose thou hast our pardon, O, can that cure +Thy wounded conscience? can there my pardon helpe thee? +Yet, having deserv'd well both of Spaine and us, +We will not pay thy worth with losse of life, +But banish thee for ever. + +_Bal_. For a Groomes death? + +_King_. No more; we banish thee our Court and kingdome: +A King that fosters men so dipt in blood +May be call'd mercifull but never good: +Begone upon thy life. + +_Bal_. Well: farewell. [_Exit_. + +_Val_. The fellow is not dead but wounded, Sir. + +_Queen_. After him, _Malateste_; in our lodging +Stay that rough fellow; hee's the man shall doo't: +Haste, or my hopes are lost. [_Exit Mal_. +Why are you sad, Sir? + +_King_. For thee, _Paullina_, swell my troubled thoughts, +Like billowes beaten by too (two?) warring winds. + +_Queen_. Be you but rul'd by me, I'le make a calme +Smooth as the brest of heaven. + +_King_. Instruct me how. + +_Queen_. You (as your fortunes tye you) are inclin'd +To have the blow given. + +_King_. Where's the Instrument? + +_Queen_. 'Tis found in _Baltazar_. + +_King_. Hee's banished. + +_Queen_. True, +But staid by me for this. + +_King_. His spirit is hot +And rugged, but so honest that his soule +Will ne're turn devill to do it. + +_Queen_. Put it to tryall: +Retire a little: hither I'le send for him, +Offer repeale and favours if he doe it; +But if deny, you have no finger in't, +And then his doome of banishment stands good. + +_King_. Be happy in thy workings; I obey. [_Exit_. + +_Queen_. Stay, _Lopez_. + +_Lop_. Madam. + +_Queen_. Step to our Lodging, _Lopez_, +And instantly bid _Malateste_ bring +The banish'd _Baltazar_ to us. + +_Lop_. I shall. [_Exit_. + +_Queen_. Thrive my blacke plots; the mischiefes I have set +Must not so dye; Ills must new Ills beget. + + _Enter Malateste and Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Now! what hot poyson'd Custard must I put my Spoone into now? + +_Queen_. None, for mine honour now is thy protection. + +_Mal_. Which, Noble Souldier, she will pawn for thee +But never forfeit. + +_Bal_. 'Tis a faire gage; keepe it. + +_Queen_. Oh, _Baltazar_, I am thy friend, and mark'd thee +When the King sentenc'd thee to banishment: +Fire sparkled from thine eyes of rage and griefe; +Rage to be doom'd so for a Groome so base, +And griefe to lose thy country. Thou hast kill'd none: +The Milke-sop is but wounded, thou art not banish'd. + +_Bal_. If I were I lose nothing; I can make any Countrey mine. I have +a private Coat for _Italian_ Steeletto's, I can be treacherous with the +_Wallowne_, drunke with the _Dutch_, a Chimney-sweeper with the _Irish_, +a Gentleman with the _Welsh_[202] and turne arrant theefe with the +_English_: what then is my Country to me? + +_Queen_. The King, who (rap'd with fury) banish'd thee, +Shall give thee favours, yeeld but to destroy +What him distempers. + +_Bal_. So; and what's the dish I must dresse? + +_Queen_. Onely the cutting off a paire of lives. + +_Bal_. I love no Red-wine healths. + +_Mal_. The King commands it; you are but Executioner. + +_Bal_. The Hang-man? An office that will hold as long as hempe lasts: +why doe not you begge the office, Sir? + +_Queen_. Thy victories in field shall never crowne thee +As this one Act shall. + +_Bal_. Prove but that, 'tis done. + +_Queen_. Follow him close; hee's yeelding. + +_Mal_. Thou shalt be call'd thy Countries Patriot +For quenching out a fire now newly kindling +In factious bosomes; and shalt thereby save +More Noble Spanyards lives than thou slew'st Moores. + +_Queen_. Art thou not yet converted? + +_Bal_. No point. + +_Queen_. Read me then: +_Medina's_ Neece, by a contract from the King, +Layes clayme to all that's mine, my Crowne, my bed; +A sonne she has by him must fill the Throne +If her great faction can but worke that wonder. +Now heare me-- + +_Bal_. I doe with gaping eares. + +_Queen_. I swell with hopefull issue to the King. + +_Bal_. A brave Don call you mother. + +_Mal_. Of this danger +The feare afflicts the King. + +_Bal_. Cannot much blame him. + +_Queen_. If therefore by the riddance of this Dame-- + +_Bal_. Riddance? oh! the meaning on't is murder. + +_Mal_. Stab her or so, that's all. + +_Queen_. That Spaine be free from frights, the King from feares, +And I, now held his Infamy, be called Queene; +The Treasure of the kingdome shall lye open +To pay thy Noble darings. + +_Bal_. Come, Ile doo't, provided I heare _Jove_ call to me tho he rores; +I must have the King's hand to this warrant, else I dare not serve it +upon my Conscience. + +_Queen_. Be firme, then; behold the King is come. + + _Enter King_. + +_Bal_. Acquaint him. + +_Queen_. I found the metal hard, but with oft beating +Hees now so softened he shall take impression +From any seale you give him. + +_King_. _Baltazar_, +Come hither, listen; whatsoe're our Queene +Has importun'd thee to, touching _Onaelia_ +(Neece to the Constable) and her young sonne, +My voyce shall second it and signe her promise. + +_Bal_. Their riddance? + +_King_. That. + +_Bal_. What way? by poyson? + +_King_. So. + +_Bal_. Starving, or strangling, stabbing, smothering? + +_Queen_. Good. + +_King_. Any way, so 'tis done. + +_Bal_. But I will have, Sir, +This under your owne hand; that you desire it, +You plot it, set me on too't. + +_King_. Penne, Inke and paper. + +_Bal_. And then as large a pardon as law and wit +Can engrosse for me. + +_King_. Thou shalt ha my pardon. + +_Bal_. A word more, Sir; pray will you tell me one thing? + +_King_. Yes, any thing, deare _Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Suppose I have your strongest pardon, can that cure my wounded +Conscience? can there your pardon help me? You not onely knocke the +Ewe a'th head, but cut the Innocent Lambes throat too: yet you are no +Butcher! + +_Queen_. Is this thy promis'd yeelding to an Act +So wholesome for thy Country? + +_King_. Chide him not. + +_Bal_. I woo'd not have this sinne scor'd on my head +For all the Indaean Treasury. + +_King_. That song no more: +Doe this and I will make thee a great man. + +_Bal_. Is there no farther trick in't, but my blow, your purse, +and my pardon? + +_Mal_. No nets upon my life to entrap thee. + +_Bal_. Then trust me, these knuckles worke it. + +_King_. Farewell, be confident and sudden. + +_Bal_. Yes; +Subjects may stumble when Kings walk astray: +Thine Acts shall be a new Apocrypha. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quartus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter Medina, Alba and Daenia, met by Baltazar + with a Ponyard and a Pistoll_. + +_Bal_. You meet a _Hydra_; see, if one head failes; +Another with a sulphurous beake stands yawning. + +_Med_. What hath rais'd up this Devill? + +_Bal_. A great mans vices, that can raise all hell. +What woo'd you call that man, who under-saile +In a most goodly ship wherein he ventures +His life, fortunes and honours, yet in a fury +Should hew the Mast downe, cast Sayles over-boord, +Fire all the Tacklings, and to crowne this madnesse +Shoo'd blow up all the Deckes, burne th'oaken ribbes +And in that Combat 'twixt two Elements +Leape desperately and drowne himselfe i'th Seas,-- +What were so brave a fellow? + +_Omnes_. A brave blacke villaine. + +_Bal_. That's I; all that brave blacke villaine dwels in me, +If I be that blacke villaine; but I am not: +A Nobler Character prints out my brow, +Which you may thus read: I was banish'd Spaine +For emptying a Court-Hogshead, but repeal'd +So I woo'd (e're my reeking Iron was cold) +Promise to give it a deepe crimson dye +In--none heare?--stay--no, none heare. + +_Med_. Whom then? + +_Bal_. Basely to stab a woman, your wrong'd Neece, +And her most innocent sonne _Sebastian_. + +_Alb_. The Boare now foames with whetting. + +_Daen_. What has blunted +Thy weapons point at these? + +_Bal_. My honesty, +A signe at which few dwell, pure honesty. +I am a vassaile to _Medina's_ house; +He taught me first the A, B, C of warre[203] +E're I was Truncheon-high I had the stile +Of beardlesse Captaine, writing then but boy: +And shall I now turne slave to him that fed me +With Cannon-bullets, and taught me, Estridge[204]-like, +To digest Iron and Steele? no: yet I yeelded +With willow-bendings to commanding breaths. + +_Med_. Of whom? + +_Bal_. Of King and Queene: with supple Hams +And an ill-boading looke I vow'd to doo't; +Yet, lest some choake-peare[205] of State-policy +Shoo'd stop my throat and spoyle my drinking-pipe, +See (like his cloake) I hung at the Kings elbow +Till I had got his hand to signe my life. + +_Daen_. Shall we see this and sleepe? + +_Alb_. No, whilst these wake. + +_Med_. 'Tis the Kings hand. + +_Bal_. Thinke you me a quoyner? + +_Med_. No, no, thou art thy selfe still, Noble _Baltazar_; +I ever knew thee honest, and the marke +Stands still upon thy forehead. + +_Bal_. Else flea the skin off. + +_Med_. I ever knew thee valiant and to scorne +All acts of basenesse: I have seene this man +Write in the field such stories with his sword +That our best chiefetaines swore there was in him +As 'twere a new Philosophy of fighting, +His deeds were so Puntillious. In one battell, +When death so nearely mist my ribs, he strucke +Three horses stone-dead under me: this man +Three times that day (even through the jawes of danger) +Redeem'd me up, and (I shall print it ever) +Stood o're my body with _Colossus_ thighes +Whilst all the Thunder-bolts which warre could throw +Fell on his head; and, _Baltazar_, thou canst not +Be now but honest still and valiant still +Not to kill boyes and women. + +_Bal_. My byter here eats no such meat. + +_Med_. Goe, fetch the mark'd-out Lambe for slaughter hither; +Good fellow souldier, ayd him--and stay--marke, +Give this false fire to the beleeving King, +That the child's sent to heaven but that the mother +Stands rock'd so strong with friends ten thousand billowes +Cannot once shake her. + +_Bal_. This I'le doe. + +_Med_. Away; +Yet one word more; your Counsel, Noble friends; +Harke, _Baltazar_, because nor eyes nor tongues +Shall by loud Larums that the poore boy lives +Question thy false report, the child shall closely, +Mantled in darknesse, forthwith be conveyed +To the Monastery of Saint _Paul_. + +_Omnes_. Good. + +_Med_. Dispatch then; be quicke. + +_Bal_. As Lightning. [_Exit_. + +_Alb_. This fellow is some Angell drop'd from heaven +To preserve Innocence. + +_Med_. He is a wheele +Of swift and turbulent motion; I have trusted him, +Yet will not hang on him to many plummets +Lest with a headlong Cyre (Gyre?) he ruines all. +In these State-consternations, when a kingdome +Stands tottering at the Center, out of suspition +Safety growes often. Let us suspect this fellow; +And that, albeit he shew us the Kings hand, +It may be but a tricke. + +_Daen_. Your Lordship hits +A poyson'd nayle i'th head: this waxen fellow +(By the Kings hand so bribing him with gold) +Is set on skrews, perhaps is made his Creature +To turne round every way. + +_Med_. Out of that feare +Will I beget truth; for my selfe in person +Will sound the Kings brest. + +_Carl_. How! your selfe in person. + +_Alb_. That's half the prize he gapes for. + +_Med_. I'le venture it, +And come off well, I warrant you, and rip up +His very entrailes, cut in two his heart +And search each corner in't; yet shall not he +Know who it is cuts up th'Anatomy. + +_Daen_. 'Tis an exploit worth wonder. + +_Carl_. Put the worst; +Say some Infernall voyce shoo'd rore from hell +The Infant's cloystering up. + +_Alb_. 'Tis not our danger +Nor the imprison'd Prince's, for what Theefe +Dares by base sacrilege rob the Church of him? + +_Carl_. At worst none can be lost but this slight fellow. + +_Med_. All build on this as on a stable Cube: +If we our footing keepe we fetch him forth +And Crowne him King; if up we fly i'th ayre +We for his soules health a broad way prepare. + +_Daen_. They come. + + _Enter Baltazar and Sebastian_. + +_Med_. Thou knowest where +To bestow him, _Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Come Noble[206] Boy. + +_Alb_. Hide him from being discovered. + +_Bal_. Discover'd? woo'd there stood a troope of Moores +Thrusting the pawes of hungry Lions forth +To seize this prey, and this but in my hand; +I should doe something. + +_Seb_. Must I goe with this blacke fellow, Vncle? + +_Med_. Yes, pretty Coz; hence with him, _Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Sweet child, within few minutes I'le change thy fate +And take thee hence, but set thee at heavens gate. + [_Exeunt Bal. and Seb_. + +_Med_. Some keepe aloof and watch this Souldier. + +_Carl_. I'le doo't. + +_Daen_. What's to be done now? + +_Med_. First to plant strong guard +About the mother, then into some snare +To hunt this spotted Panther and there kill him. + +_Daen_. What snares have we can hold him? + +_Med_. Be that care mine: +Dangers (like Starres) in darke attempts best shine. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Cornego, Baltazar_. + +_Cor_. The Lady Onaelia dresseth the stead[207] of her commendations in +the most Courtly Attire that words can be cloth'd with, from her selfe +to you by me. + +_Bal_. So, Sir; and what disease troubles her now? + +_Cor_. The King's Evill; and here she hath sent something to you wrap'd +up in a white sheet; you need not feare to open it, 'tis no coarse. + +_Bal_. What's here? a letter minc'd into five morsels? +What was she doing when thou camest from her? + +_Cor_. At the pricke-song[208]. + +_Bal_. So methinks, for here's nothing but sol-Re-fa-mi. +What Crochet fils her head now, canst tell? + +_Cor_. No Crochets, 'tis onely the Cliffe has made her mad. + +_Bal_. What instrument playd she upon? + +_Cor_. A wind instrument, she did nothing but sigh. + +_Bal_. Sol, Ra, me, Fa, Mi. + +_Cor_. My wit has alwayes had a singing head; I have found out her Note, +Captaine. + +_Bal_. The tune? come. + +_Cor_. Sol, my soule; re, is all rent and torne like a raggamuffin; me, +mend it, good Captaine; fa, fa,--whats fa, Captaine? + +_Bal_. Fa? why, farewell and be hang'd. + +_Cor_. Mi, Captaine, with all my heart. Have I tickled my Ladies +Fiddle well? + +_Bal_. Oh, but your sticke wants Rozen to make the string sound +clearely. No, this double Virginall being cunningly touch'd, another +manner of Jacke[209] leaps up then is now in mine eye. Sol, Re, me, fa, +mi--I have it now; _Solus Rex me facit miseram_. Alas, poore Lady! tell +her no Pothecary in Spaine has any of that _Assa Fetida_ she writes for. + +_Cor_. _Assa Fetida_? what's that? + +_Bal_. A thing to be taken in a glister-pipe? + +_Cor_. Why, what ayles my Lady? + +_Bal_. What ayles she? why, when she cryes out _Solus Rex me facit +miseram_, she sayes in the Hypocronicall language that she is so +miserably tormented with the wind-Chollicke that it rackes her +very soule. + +_Cor_. I said somewhat cut her soule in pieces. + +_Bal_. But goe to her and say the oven is heating. + +_Cor_. And what shall be bak'd in't? + +_Bal_. Carpe pies, and besides tell her the hole in her Coat shall be +mended; and tell her if the Dyall of good dayes goe true, why then +bounce Buckrum. + +_Cor_. The Divell lyes sicke of the Mulligrubs. + +_Bal_. Or the Cony is dub'd, and three sheepskins-- + +_Cor_. With the wrong side outward. + +_Bal_. Shall make the Fox a Night-cap. + +_Cor_. So the Goose talkes French to the Buzzard. + +_Bal_. But, Sir, if evill dayes justle our prognostication to the wall, +then say there's a fire in the whore-masters Cod-peece. + +_Cor_. And a poyson'd Bagge-pudding in Tom Thumbes belly. + +_Bal_. The first cut be thine: farewell! + +_Cor_. Is this all? + +_Bal_. Woo't not trust an Almanacke? + +_Cor_. Nor a Coranta[210] neither, tho it were seal'd with Butter; +and yet I know where they both lye passing well. + + _Enter Lopez_. + +_Lop_. The King sends round about the Court to seek you. + +_Bal_. Away, Otterhound. + +_Cor_. Dancing Beare, I'me gone. [_Exit_. + + _Enter King attended_. + +_King_. A private roome.-- [_Exeunt Omnes_. +Is't done? hast drawne thy two edg'd sword out yet? + +_Bal_. No, I was striking at the two Iron Barres that hinder your +passage; and see, Sir. [_Drawes_. + +_King_. What meanst thou? + +_Bal_. The edge abated? feele. + +_King_. No, no, I see it. + +_Bal_. As blunt as Ignorance. + +_King_. How? put up--So--how? + +_Bal_. I saw by chance, hanging in Cardinall _Alvarez_ Gallery, +a picture of hell. + +_King_. So; what of that? + +_Bal_. There lay upon burnt straw ten thousand brave fellowes, all +starke naked, some leaning upon Crownes, some on Miters, some on bags +of gold; Glory in another Corner lay like a feather beaten in the +raine; Beauty was turn'd into a watching Candle that went out stinking; +Ambition went upon a huge high paire of stilts but horribly rotten; +some in another nooke were killing Kings, and some having their elbowes +shov'd forward by Kings to murther others: I was (methought) halfe in +hell my selfe whilst I stood to view this peece. + +_King_. Was this all? + +_Bal_. Was't not enough to see that? a man is more healthfull that eats +dirty puddings than he that feeds on a corrupted Conscience. + +_King_. Conscience! what's that? a Conjuring booke ne're open'd +Without the readers danger: 'tis indeed +A scare-crow set i'th world to fright weake fooles. +Hast thou seene fields pav'd o're with carkasses +Now to be tender-footed, not to tread +On a boyes mangled quarters and a womans? + +_Bal_. Nay, Sir, I have search'd the records of the Low-Countries and +finde that by your pardon I need not care a pinne for Goblins; and +therefore I will doo't, Sir: I did but recoyle because I was double +charg'd. + +_King_. No more; here comes a Satyre with sharpe hornes. + + _Enter Cardinall, and Medina like a French Doctor_. + +_Car_. Sir, here's a Frenchman charg'd with some strange businesse +Which to your close eare onely hee'll deliver, +Or else to none. + +_King_. A Frenchman? + +_Med_. We, Mounsire. + +_King_. Cannot he speake the Spanish? + +_Med_. Si Signior, vr Poco:--Monsir, Acoutez in de Corner; me come for +offer to your Bon gace mi trez humble service. By gar no John fidleco +shall put into your neare braver Melody dan dis vn petite pipe shall +play upon to your great bon Grace. + +_King_. What is the tune you'll strike up? touch the string. + +_Med_. Dis; me ha run up and downe mane Countrie and learne many fine +ting and mush knavery; now more and all dis me know you ha jumbla de +fine vench and fill her belly wid a Garsoone: her name is le Madame-- + +_King_. _Onaelia_. + +_Med_. She by gar: Now, Monsire, dis Madam send for me to helpe her +Malady, being very naught of her corpes (her body). Me know you no +point love a dis vensh; but, royall Monsire, donne Moy ten towsand +French Crownes, she shall kicke up her taile, by gar, and beshide lye +dead as dog in the shannell. + +_King_. Speake low. + +_Med_. As de bagge-pipe when the winde is puff, Garbeigh. + +_King_. Thou nam'st ten thousand Crownes; I'le treble them, +Rid me but of this leprosie: thy name? + +_Med_. Monsire Doctor _Devile_. + +_King_. Shall I a second wheele adde to this mischiefe +To set it faster going? if one breake, +Th'other may keepe his motion. + +_Med_. Esselent fort boone. + +_King_. _Baltazar_, +To give thy Sword an edge againe, this Frenchman +Shall whet thee on, that if thy pistoll faile, +Or ponyard, this can send the poyson home. + +_Bal_. Brother _Cain_, wee'll shake hands. + +_Med_. In de bowle of de bloody busher: tis very fine wholesome. + +_King_. And more to arme your resolution, +I'le tune this Churchman so that he shall chime +In sounds harmonious. Merit to that man +Whose hand has but a finger in that act. + +_Bal_. That musicke were worth hearing. + +_King_. Holy Father, +You must give pardon to me in unlocking +A Cave stuft full with Serpents which my State +Threaten to poyson; and it lyes in you +To breake their bed with thunder of your voyce. + +_Car_. How, princely sonne? + +_King_. Suppose an universall +Hot Pestilence beat her mortiferous wings +Ore all my Kingdome, am I not bound in soule +To empty all our Achademes of Doctors +And Aesculapian Spirits to charme this plague? + +_Car_. You are. + +_King_. Or had the Canon made a breach +Into our rich Escuriall, down to beat it +About our eares, shoo'd I to stop this breach +Spare even our richest Ornaments, nay our Crowne, +Could it keepe bullets off? + +_Car_. No, Sir, you should not. + +_King_. This Linstocke[211] gives you fire: shall then that strumpet +And bastard breathe quicke vengeance in my face, +Making my kingdome reele, my subjects stagger +In their obedience, and yet live? + +_Car_. How? live! +Shed not their bloods to gaine a kingdome greater +Then ten times this. + +_Med_. Pishe, not mattera how Red-cap and his wit run. + +_King_. As I am Catholike King I'le have their hearts +Panting in these two hands. + +_Car_. Dare you turne Hang-man? +Is this Religion Catholicke, to kill, +What even bruit beasts abhorre to doe, your owne! +To cut in sunder wedlockes sacred knot +Tyed by heavens fingers! to make Spaine a Bonfire +To quench which must a second Deluge raine +In showres of blood, no water! If you doe this +There is an Arme Armipotent that can fling you +Into a base grave, and your Pallaces +With Lightning strike and of their Ruines make +A Tombe for you, unpitied and abhorr'd. +Beare witnesse, all you Lamps Coelestiall, +I wash my hands of this. (_Kneeling_.) + +_King_. Rise, my goon Angell, +Whose holy tunes beat from me that evill spirit +Which jogs mine elbow.--Hence, thou dog of hell! + +_Med_. Baw wawghe. + +_King_. Barke out no more, thou Mastiffe; get you all gone, +And let my soule sleepe.--There's gold; peace, see it done. + [_Exit_. + + _Manent Medina, Baltazar, Cardinall_. + +_Bal_. Sirra, you Salsa-Perilla Rascall, Toads-guts, you whorson pockey +French Spawne of a bursten-bellyed Spyder, doe you heare, Monsire? + +_Med_. Why doe you barke and snap at my Narcissus as if I were de +Frenshe doag? + +_Bal_. You Curre of _Cerberus_ litter, (_strikes him_), you'll poyson +the honest Lady? doe but once toot[212] into her chamber-pot and I'll +make thee looke worse then a witch does upon a close-stoole. + +_Car_. You shall not dare to touch him, stood he here +Single before thee. + +_Bal_. I'le cut the Rat into Anchovies. + +_Car_. I'le make thee kisse his hand, imbrace him, love him, +And call him-- + (_Medina discovers_) + +_Bal_. The perfection of all Spanyards; Mars in little; the best booke +of the art of Warre printed in these Times: as a French Doctor I woo'd +have given you pellets for pills, but as my noblest Lord rip my heart +out in your service. + +_Med_. Thou art the truest Clocke +That e're to time paidst tribute, honest Souldier. +I lost mine owne shape and put on a French +Onely to try thy truth and the kings falshood, +Both which I find. Now this great Spanish volume +Is open'd to me, I read him o're and o're, +Oh what blacke Characters are printed in him! + +_Car_. Nothing but certaine ruine threat your Neece, +Without prevention; well this plot was laid +In such disguise to sound him; they that know +How to meet dangers are the lesse afraid: +Yet let me counsell you not to text downe +These wrongs in red lines. + +_Med_. No, I will not, father: +Now that I have Anatomiz'd his thoughts +I'le read a lecture on 'em that shall save +Many mens lives, and to the kingdome Minister +Most wholesome Surgery: here's our Aphorisme,[213]-- +These letters from us in our Neeces name, +You know, treat of a marriage. + +_Car_. There's the strong Anchor +To stay all in this tempest. + +_Med_. Holy Sir, +With these worke you the King and so prevaile +That all these mischiefes _Hull_ with Flagging saile. + +_Car_. My best in this I'le doe. + +_Med_. Souldier, thy brest +I must locke better things in. + +_Bal_. Tis your chest with 3 good keyes to keep it from opening, +an honest hart, a daring hand and a pocket which scornes money. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +_Actus Quintus_. + +SCAENA PRIMA. + + + _Enter King, Cardinall with letters_, [_Valasco and Lopez_.] + +_King_. Commend us to _Medina_, say his letters +Right pleasing are, and that (except himselfe) +Nothing could be more welcome: counsell him +(To blot the opinion out of factious numbers) +Onely to have his ordinary traine +Waiting upon him; for, to quit all feares +Vpon his side of us, our very Court +Shall even but dimly shine with some few Dons, +Freely to prove our longings great to peace. + +_Car_. The Constable expects some pawne from you +That in this Fairy circle shall rise up +No Fury to confound his Neece nor him. + +_King_. A King's word is engag'd. + +_Car_. It shall be taken. [_Exit_. + +_King_. _Valasco_, call the Captaine of our Guard, +Bid him attend us instantly. + +_Val_. I shall. [_Exit_. + +_King_. _Lopez_, come hither: see +Letters from _Duke Medina_, both in the name +Of him and all his Faction, offering peace, +And our old love (his Neece) _Onaelia_ +In Marriage with her free and faire consent +To _Cockadillio_, a Don of Spaine. + +_Lop_. Will you refuse this? + +_King_. My Crowne as soone: they feele their sinowy plots +Belike to shrinke i'th joynts, and fearing Ruine +Have found this Cement out to piece up all, +Which more endangers all. + +_Lop_. How, Sir! endangers? + +_King_. Lyons may hunted be into the snare, +But if they once breake loose woe be to him +That first seiz'd on 'em. A poore prisoner scornes +To kisse his Jaylor; and shall a King be choak'd +With sweete-meats by false Traytors! no, I will fawne +On them as they stroake me, till they are fast +But in this paw, and then-- + +_Lop_. A brave revenge.-- +The Captaine of your Guard. + + _Enter Captaine_. + +_King_. Vpon thy life +Double our Guard this day, let every man +Beare a charg'd Pistoll hid; and at a watch-word +Given by a Musket, when our selfe sees Time, +Rush in; and if _Medina's_ Faction wrastle +Against your forces, kill; but if yeeld, save. +Be secret. + +_Alanz_. I am charm'd, Sir. + [_Exit_. + +_King_. Watch, _Valasco_; +If any weare a Crosse, Feather or Glove +Or such prodigious signes of a knit Faction, +Table their names up; at our Court-gate plant +Good strength to barre them out if once they swarme: +Doe this upon thy life. + +_Val_. Not death shall fright me. + + [_Exeunt Valasco and Lopez_. + + _Enter Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. 'Tis done, Sir. + +_King_. Death! what's done? + +_Bal_. Young Cub's flayd, +But the shee-fox shifting her hole is fled; +The little Iackanapes the boy's braind. + +_King_. _Sebastian_? + +_Bal_. He shall ne're speake more Spanish. + +_King_. Thou teachest me to curse thee. + +_Bal_. For a bargaine you set your hand to? + +_King_. Halfe my Crowne I'de lose were it undone. + +_Bal_. But half a Crowne? that's nothing: +His braines sticke in my conscience more than yours. + +_King_. How lost I the French Doctor? + +_Bal_. As French-men lose their haire: here was too hot staying for him. + +_King_. Get thou, too, from my sight: the Queen wu'd see thee. + +_Bal_. Your gold, Sir. + +_King_. Goe with _Judas_ and repent. + +_Bal_. So men hate whores after lusts heat is spent; I'me gone, Sir. + +_King_. Tell me true,--is he dead? + +_Bal_. Dead. + +_King_. No matter; 'tis but morning of revenge; +The Sun-set shall be red and Tragicall. [_Exit_. + +_Bal_. Sinne is a Raven croaking[214] her owne fall. + [_Exit_. + + + +(SCENE 2.) + + + _Enter Medina, Daenia, Alba, Carlo and the Faction, + with Rosemary in their hats_. + +_Med_. Keepe lock'd the doore and let none enter to us +But who shares in our fortunes. + +_Daen_. Locke the dores. + +_Alb_. What entertainment did the King bestow +Vpon your letters and the Cardinals? + +_Med_. With a devouring eye he read 'em o're +Swallowing our offers into his empty bosome +As gladly as the parched earth drinks healths +Out of the cup of heaven. + +_Carl_. Little suspecting +What dangers closely lye enambushed. + +_Daen_. Let not us trust to that; there's in his brest +Both Fox and Lion, and both those beasts can bite: +We must not now behold the narrowest loope-hole +But presently suspect a winged bullet +Flyes whizzing by our eares. + +_Med_. For when I let +The plummet fall to sound his very soule +In his close-chamber, being French-Doctor-like, +He to the Cardinals eare sung sorcerous notes; +The burthen of his song to mine was death, +_Onaelia's_ murder and _Sebastians_. +And thinke you his voyce alters now? 'Tis strange +To see how brave this Tyrant shewes in Court, +Throan'd like a god: great men are petty starres +Where his rayes shine; wonder fills up all eyes +By sight of him: let him but once checke sinne, +About him round all cry "oh excellent king! +Oh Saint-like man!" but let this King retire +Into his Closet to put off his robes, +He like a Player leaves his parte off, too: +Open his brest and with a Sunne-beame search it, +There's no such man; this King of gilded clay +Within is uglinesse, lust, treachery, +And a base soule tho reard Colossus-high. + + (_Baltazar beats to come in_.) + +_Daen_. None till he speakes and that we know his voyce: +Who are you? + +_Within Bal_. An honest house-keeper in Rosemary-lane, too, +If you dwell in the same parish. + +_Med_. Oh 'tis our honest Souldier, give him entrance. + + _Enter Baltazar_. + +_Bal_. Men show like coarses[215] for I meet few but are stuck with +Rosemary: everyone ask'd mee who was married to-day, and I told 'em +Adultery and Repentance, and that shame and a Hangman followed 'em +to Church. + +_Med_. There's but two parts to play: shame has done hers +But execution must close up the Scaene, +And for that cause these sprigs are worne by all, +Badges of Mariage, now of Funerall, +For death this day turns Courtier. + +_Bal_. Who must dance with him? + +_Med_. The King, and all that are our opposites; +That dart or this must flye into the Court, +Either to shoote this blazing starre from Spaine +Or else so long to wrap him up in clouds +Till all the fatall fires in him burne out, +Leaving his State and conscience cleere from doubt +Of following uprores. + +_Alb_. Kill not but surprize him. + +_Carl_. Thats my voyce still. + +_Med_. Thine, Souldier. + +_Bal_. Oh, this Collicke of a kingdome! when the wind of treason gets +amongst the small guts, what a rumbling and a roaring it keepes! and +yet, make the best of it you can, it goes out stinking. Kill a King! +King! + +_Daen_. Why? + +_Bal_. If men should pull the Sun out of heaven every time 'tis +ecclips'd, not all the Wax nor Tallow in Spaine woo'd serve to make +us Candles for one yeare. + +_Med_. No way to purge the sicke State but by opening a veine. + +_Bal_. Is that your French Physicke? if every one of us shoo'd be +whip'd according to our faults, to be lasht at a carts taile would be +held but a flea-biting. + + _Enter Signeor No:[216] Whispers Medina_. + +_Med_. What are you? come you from the King? + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. No? more no's? I know him, let him enter. + +_Med_. Signeor, I thanke your kind Intelligence. +The newes long since was sent into our eares, +Yet we embrace your love; so fare you well. + +_Carl_. Will you smell to a sprig of Rosemary? + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. Will you be hang'd? + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. This is either Signeor No, or no Signeor. + +_Med_. He makes his love to us a warning-peece +To arme our selves against we come to Court, +Because the guard is doubled. + +_Omnes_. Tush, we care not. + +_Bal_. If any here armes his hand to cut off the head, let him first +plucke out my throat. In any Noble Act Ile wade chin-deepe with you: +but to kill a King! + +_Med_. No, heare me-- + +_Bal_. You were better, my Lord, saile 500 times to _Bantam_[217] in +the West-Indies than once to _Barathrum_ in the Low-Countries. It's +hot going under the line there; the Callenture of the soule is a most +miserable madnesse. + +_Med_. Turne, then, this wheele of Fate from shedding blood, +Till with her owne hand Iustice weyes all. + +_Bal_. Good. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 3.) + + +_Queen_. Must then his Trul be once more sphear'd in Court +To triumph in my spoyles, in my ecclipses? +And I like moaping _Iuno_ sit whilst _Iove_ +Varies his lust into five hundred shapes +To steale to his whores bed? No, _Malateste_; +Italian fires of Iealousie burn my marrow: +For to delude my hopes the leacherous King +Cuts out this robe of cunning marriage +To cover his Incontinence, which flames +Hot (as my fury) in his black desires. +I am swolne big with child of vengeance now, +And, till deliver'd, feele the throws of hell. + +_Mal_. Iust is your Indignation, high and noble, +And the brave heat of a true Florentine. +For Spaine Trumpets abroad her Interest +In the Kings heart, and with a black cole drawes +On every wall your scoff'd at injuries. +As one that has the refuse of her sheets, +And the sick Autumne of the weakned King, +Where she drunke pleasures up in the full spring. + +_Queen_. That, _Malateste_, That, That Torrent wracks me; +But _Hymens_ Torch (held downe-ward) shall drop out, +And for it the mad Furies swing their brands +About the Bride-chamber. + +_Mal_. The Priest that joyns them +Our Twin-borne malediction. + +_Queen_. Lowd may it speake. + +_Mal_. The herbs and flowers to strew the wedding way +Be Cypresse, Eugh, cold Colloquintida. + +_Queen_. Henbane and Poppey, and that magicall weed[218] +Which Hags at midnight watch to catch the seed. + +_Mal_. To these our execrations, and what mischiefe +Hell can but hatch in a distracted braine +Ile be the Executioner, tho it looke +So horrid it can fright e'ne murder backe. + +_Queen_. Poyson his whore to day, for thou shalt wait +On the Kings Cup, and when, heated with wine, +He cals to drinke the Brides health, Marry her +Alive to a gaping grave. + +_Mal_. At board? + +_Queen_. At board. + +_Mal_. When she being guarded round about with friends, +Like a faire Iland hem'd with Rocks and Seas,-- +What rescue shall I find? + +_Queen_. Mine armes? dost faint? +Stood all the Pyrenaean hills, that part +Spaine and our Country, on each others shoulders, +Burning with Aetnean flame, yet thou shouldst on, +As being my steele of resolution +First striking sparkles from my flinty brest. +Wert thou to catch the horses of the Sunne +Fast by their bridles and to turne back day, +Wood'st thou not doo't (base coward) to make way +To the Italians second blisse, revenge? + +_Mal_. Were my bones threatned to the wheele of torture, +Ile doo't. + + _Enter Lopes_. + +_Queen_. A ravens voyce, and it likes me well. + +_Lop_. The King expects your presence. + +_Mal_. So, so, we come, +To turne this Brides day to a day of doome. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + +(SCENE 4.) + + + _A Banquet set out, Cornets sounding; Enter at one + dore Lopez, Valasco, Alanzo, No: after them King, + Cardinall, with Don Cockadillio, Bridegroome; + Queene and Malateste after. At the other dore + Alba, Carlo, Roderigo, Medina and Daenia, leading + Onaelia as Bride, Cornego and Iuanna after; + Baltazar alone; Bride and Bridegroome kisse, + and by the Cardinall are join'd hand in hand: + King is very merry, hugging Medina very lovingly_. + +_King_. For halfe Spaines weight in Ingots I'de not lose +This little man to day. + +_Med_. Nor for so much +Twice told, Sir, would I misse your kingly presence, +Mine eyes have lost th'acquaintance of your face +So long, and I so little late read o're +That Index of the royall book your mind, +That scarce (without your Comment) can I tell +When in those leaves you turne o're smiles or frownes. + +_King_. 'Tis dimnesse of your sight, no fault i'th letter; +_Medina_, you shall find that free from Errata's: +And for a proofe, +If I could breath my heart in welcomes forth, +This Hall should ring naught else. Welcome, _Medina_; +Good Marquesse _Daenia_, Dons of Spaine all welcome! +My dearest love and Queene, be it your place +To entertaine the Bride and doe her grace. + +_Queen_. With all the love I can, whose fire is such, +To give her heat, I cannot burne too much. + +_King_. Contracted Bride and Bridegroome sit; +Sweet flowres not pluck'd in season lose their scent, +So will our pleasures. Father Cardinall, +Methinkes this morning new begins our reigne. + +_Car_. Peace had her Sabbath ne're till now in Spaine. + +_King_. Where is our noble Souldier, _Baltazar_? +So close in conference with that Signior? + +_No_. No. + +_King_. What think'st thou of this great day _Baltazar_? + +_Bal_. Of this day? why, as of a new play, if it ends well all's well. +All men are but Actors; now if you, being the King, should be out of +your part, or the Queene out of hers or your Dons out of theirs, here's +No wil never be out of his. + +_No_. No. + +_Bal_. 'Twere a lamentable peece of stuffe to see great Statesmen +have vile Exits; but I hope there are nothing but plaudities in all +your Eyes. + +_King_. Mine, I protest, are free. + +_Queen_. And mine, by heaven! + +_Mal_. Free from one goode looke till the blow be given. + +_King_. Wine; a full Cup crown'd to _Medina's_ health! + +_Med_. Your Highnesse this day so much honors me +That I, to pay you what I truly owe, +My life shall venture for it. + +_Daen_. So shall mine. + +_King_. _Onaelia_, you are sad: why frownes your brow? + +_Onae_. A foolish memory of my past ills +Folds up my looke in furrowes of old care, +But my heart's merry, Sir. + +_King_. Which mirth to heighten +Your Bridegroome and your selfe first pledge this health +Which we begin to our high Constable. + + (_Three Cups fild: 1 to the King, 2 to the Bridegroome, + 3 to Onaelia, with whom the King complements_.) + +_Queen_. Is't speeding? + +_Mal_. As all our Spanish figs[219] are. + +_King_. Here's to _Medina's_ heart with all my heart. + +_Med_. My hart shal pledge your hart i'th deepest draught +That ever Spanyard dranke. + +_King_. _Medina_ mockes me +Because I wrong her with the largest Bowle: +Ile change with thee, _Onaelia_. + + (_Mal. rages_) + +_Queen_. Sir, you shall not. + +_King_. Feare you I cannot fetch it off? + +_Queen_. _Malateste_! + +_King_. This is your scorne to her, because I am doing +This poorest honour to her.--Musicke sound! +It goes were it ten fadoms to the ground. + + _Cornets. King drinkes; Queen and Mal. storms_. + +_Mal_. Fate strikes with the wrong weapon. + +_Queen_. Sweet royall Sir, no more: it is too deepe. + +_Mal_. Twill hurt your health, Sir. + +_King_. Interrupt me in my drinke! 'tis off. + +_Mal_. Alas, Sir, +You have drunke your last: that poyson'd bowle I fill'd, +Not to be put into your hand but hers. + +_King_. Poyson'd? + +_Omnes_. Descend black speckled soule to hell. + (_kil Mal. dyes_.) + +_Mal_. The Queene has sent me thither? + +_Card_. What new furie shakes now her snakes locks? + +_Queen_. I, I, tis I, +Whose soule is torne in peeces till I send +This Harlot home. + +_Car_. More Murders? save the lady. + +_Balt_. Rampant? let the Constable make a mittimus. + +_Med_. Keepe 'em asunder. + +_Car_. How is it royall sonne? + +_King_. I feele no poyson yet; only mine eyes +Are putting out their lights: me thinks I feele +Deaths Icy fingers stroking downe my face; +And now I'me in a mortall cold sweat. + +_Queen_. Deare my Lord. + +_King_. Hence! call in my Physicians. + +_Med_. Thy Physician, Tyrant, +Dwels yonder: call on him or none. + +_King_. Bloody _Medina_! stab'st thou, _Brutus_, too? + +_Daen_. As hee is so are we all. + +_King_. I burne; +My braines boyle in a Caldron: O, one drop +Of water now to coole me! + +_Onae_. Oh, let him have Physicians! + +_Med_. Keepe her backe. + +_King_. Physicians for my soule: I need none else. +You'll not deny me those? Oh, holy Father, +Is there no mercy hovering in a cloud +For me, a miserable King, so drench'd +In perjury and murder? + +_Car_. Oh, Sir, great store. + +_King_. Come downe, come quickly downe. + +_Car_. I'll forthwith send +For a grave Fryer to be your Confessor. + +_King_. Doe, doe. + +_Car_. And he shall cure your wounded soule: +--Fetch him, good Souldier. + +_Bal_. So good a work I'le hasten. + +_King_. _Onaelia_! oh, shee's drown'd in tears. _Onaelia_! +Let me not dye unpardoned at thy hands. + + _Enter Baltazar, Sebastian as a Fryer, with others_. + +_Car_. Here comes a better Surgeon. + +_Seb_. Haile my good Sonne! +I come to be thy ghostly Father. + +_King_. Ha! +My child? tis my _Sebastian_, or some spirit +Sent in his shape to fright me. + +_Bal_. 'Tis no gobling, Sir, feele: your owne flesh and blood, and much +younger than you tho he be bald, and calls you son. Had I bin as ready +to cut his sheeps throat as you were to send him to the shambles, he +had bleated no more. There's lesse chalke upon you[r] score of sinnes +by these round o'es. + +_King_. Oh, my dul soule, looke up; thou art somewhat lighter. +Noble _Medina_, see, _Sebastian_ lives: +_Onaelia_, cease to weepe, _Sebastian_ lives. +Fetch me my Crowne: my sweetest pretty Fryer, +Can my hands doo't, He raise thee one step higher. +Th'ast beene in heavens house all this while, sweet boy? + +_Seb_. I had but coarse cheere. + +_King_. Thou couldst nere fare better: +Religious houses are those hyves where Bees +Make honey for mens soules. I tell thee, Boy, +A Fryery is a Cube which strongly stands, +Fashioned by men, supported by heavens hands: +Orders of holy Priest-hood are as high, +I'th eyes of Angels, as a Kings dignity. +Both these unto a Crowne give the full weight, +And both are thine: you that our Contract know, +See how I scale it with this Marriage; +My blessing and Spaines kingdome both be thine. + +_Omnes_. Long live _Sebastian_! + +_Onae_. Doff that Fryers course gray, +And since hee's crown'd a king, clothe him like one. + +_King_. Oh no; those are right Soveraigne Ornaments: +Had I been cloth'd so I had never fill'd +Spaine's Chronicle with my blacke Calumny. +My worke is almost finish'd: where's my Queene? + +_Queen_. Heere, peece-meale torne by Furies. + +_King_. _Onaelia_! +Your hand, _Paulina_, too; _Onaelia_, yours: +This hand (the pledge of my twice broken faith), +By you usurp'd, is her Inheritance. +My love is turn'd, see, as my fate is turn'd: +Thus they to day laugh, yesterday which mourn'd: +I pardon thee my death. Let her be sent +Backe into Florence with a trebled dowry. +Death comes: oh, now I see what late I fear'd; +A Contract broke, tho piec'd up ne're so well, +Heaven sees, earth suffers, but it ends in hell. + (_Moritur_.) + +_Onae_. Oh, I could dye with him! + +_Queen_. Since the bright spheare +I mov'd in falls, alas, what make I here? + [_Exit_. + +_Med_. The hammers of blacke mischiefe now cease beating, +Yet some irons still are heating. You, Sir Bridegroome, +(Set all this while up as a marke to shoot at) +We here discharge you of your bed fellow: +She loves no Barbars washing. + +_Cock_. My Balls are sav'd then. + +_Med_. Be it your charge, so please you, reverend Sir, +To see the late Queene safely sent to Florence: +My Neece _Onaelia_, and that trusty Souldier, +We doe appoint to guard the infant King. +Other distractions Time must reconcile; +The State is poyson'd like a Crocodile. + + [_Exeunt_. + + +FINIS. + + + + +FOOTNOTES: + + +[1] The title, I suppose, of "Cuckold." + +[2] Tacitus in a few words gives a most masterly description of Poppea: +--"Huic mulieri cuncta alia fuere praeter honestum animum: quippe +mater eius, aetatis suae feminas pulchritudine supergressa, gloriam +pariter et formam dederat: opes claritudini generis sufficiebant: sermo +comis, nec absurdum ingenium: modestiam praeferre et lascivia uti: rarus +in publicum egressus, idque velata parte oris, ne satiaret aspectum, vel +quia sic decebat. Famae numquam pepercit, maritos et adulteros non +distinguens, neque affectui suo aut alieno obnoxia: unde utilitas +ostenderetur, illuc libidinem transtulit."--Ann. XIII. 45. + +[3] 4to. Why? Is he rais'd. + +[4] Cf. Dion Cassius, [Greek: X G] 20. + +[5] 4to. cleare th'ayre. + +[6] "Push" and "pish" are used indifferently by Elizabethan writers. + +[7] Cf. Verg. Aen. vi. 805-6:-- + + "Nec qui pampineis victor iuga flectit habenis, + Liber, agens celso Nysae de vertice tigres." + +[8] 4to. Turpuus. (Vid. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 20.) + +[9] Tacitus (Ann. xvi. 14) mentions an astrologer of this name, who was +banished by Nero. + +[10] Vid. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 25. + +[11] 4tos. _Servinus_. + +[12] Tacit. Ann. xv. 49. + +[13] By those "wicked armes" is meant, I suppose, the struggle between +Caesar and Pompey. Posterity will think the horrors of civil war +compensated by the pleasure of reading Lucan's epic! + +[14] 4tos. Ciria. + +[15] 4tos. beeds. + +[16] 4tos. begins. + +[17] A certain Volusius Proculus was one of the infamous agents in the +murder of Agrippina, and afterwards betrayed the fearless woman +Epicharis who confided to him the secret of Piso's conspiracy; but no +one of this name was executed by Nero. + +[18] Quy. How! bruised, &c. + +[19] Quy. Say that I had no skill!--If the reading of the 4tos. is right +the meaning must be, "As for his saying that I had no skill." + +[20] A copy of the 1633 4to. gives "shoulder-eac't," which is hardly +less intelligible than the reading in the text. Everybody knows that +Pelops received an ivory shoulder for the one that was consumed; but the +word "shoulder-packt" conveys no meaning. "Shoulder-pieced," i.e., +"fitted with an (ivory) shoulder," would be a shade more intelligible; +but it is a very ugly compound. + +[21] Dion Cassius ([Greek: XB]. 14. ed. Bekker) reports this brutal gibe +of Nero's; Rubellius Plautus was the luckless victim:--[Greek: "ho de +dae Neron kai gelota kai skommata, ta ton syngenon kaka hepoieito ton +goun Plauton apokteinas, hepeita taen kephalaen autou prosenechtheisan oi +idon, 'ouk haedein,' hephae 'oti megalaen rina eichen,' osper pheisamenos +an autou ei touto proaepistato."] + +[22] Persius' tutor, immortalised in his pupil's Fifth Satire. + +[23] Quy. with. + +[24] _Machlaean_--a word coined from [Greek: machlos] (sc. libidinosus). + +[25] Partly a translation from Persius, Sat. I. 11. 99-102:-- + + "Torva Mimalloneis implerunt cornua bombis, + Et raptum vitulo caput ablatura superbo + Bassaris, et lyncem Maenas flexura corymbis + Euion ingeminat: reparabilis assonat Echo"; + +which lines are supposed to be a parody of some verses of Nero. Persius' +comment-- + + "summa delumbe saliva + Hoc natat: in labris et in udo est Maenas et Attis; + Nec pluteum caedit, nec demorsos sapit ungues"-- + +agrees with the judgment of Tacitus (Ann. xiv. 16). Suetonius (Vit. Ner. +52), who had seen some of Nero's MSS., speaks of the extreme care that +had been given to correction; and the few verses preserved by Seneca +make against the estimate of Tacitus and Persius. + +[26] 4tos. Ennion. + +[27] Vid. Dion Cassius [Greek: XB]. 29. + +[28] 4tos. conductors. + +[29] 4tos. again. + +[30] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 48. + +[31] The 4to. points the passage thus:-- + + "The thing determinde on our meeting now, + Is of the meanes, and place, due circumstance, + As to the doing of things t'is requir'd, + So done, it names the action." + +The words "t'is requir'd ... action," I take to mean, "The assassination +must be accomplished in such a way as to appear an act of patriotism and +make the actors famous." + +[32] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 52 + +[33] Cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 49:--"Mirum et vel praecipue notabile inter +haec fuerit, nihil eum patientius quam maledicta et convitia hominum +tulisse, neque in ullos lemorem quam qui se dictis aut carminibus +lucessissent exstitisse. Multa Graece Latineque proscripta aut vulgata +sunt, sicut illa:-- + + * * * * * + _Roma domus fiet: Veios migrate Quirites, Si non et + Veios occupat ista domus_." + +[34] 4tos. _Servi_. + +[35] 4tos. Servinus. + +[36] Cf. Tac. Ann. xvi. 5; and Sueton. Vit Ner. 23. + +[37] 4to. time. + +[38] Cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. 23. "Itaque et enixae quaedam in spectaculis +dicuntur, et multi taedio audiendi laudandique, clausis oppidorum +portis, aut furtim desiluisse de muro aut morte simulata funere elati." + +[39] 4tos. And. + +[40] The 4tos. give "_Agrippa_," which is nonsense. By a slip of the +tongue, Nero was going to say "Agrippina's death," when he hastily +corrected himself. Tacitus and Suetonius tell us that Nero was always +haunted with the memory of his murdered mother. + +[41] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xvi. 5. "Ferebantque Vespasianum, tamquam somno +conniveret, a Phoebo liberto increpitum aegreque meliorum precibus +obtectum, mox imminentem perniciem maiore fato effugisse." + +[42] 4tos. _Ile_. + +[43] 4to. 1624. innocents. + +[44] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xvi. 4. + +[45] 4to. I'd. + +[46] 4to. 1624. Aegamemnon. + +[47] This magnificent speech is quoted in Charles Lamb's _Specimens_. + +[48] 4tos. I'd. + +[49] "Nec quisquam defendere audebat, crebris multorum minis restinguere +prohibentium, et quia alii palam faces iaciebant atque esse sibi +auctorem vociferabantur, sive ut raptus licentius exercerent, seu +jussu."--Tac. Ann. xv. 37. + +[50] The simile is from Vergil, Aen. ii. 304-308-- + + "In segetem veluti quum flamma furentibus Austris + Incidit; aut rapidus montano flumine torrens + Sternit agros, sternit sata laeta boumque labores, + Praecipitesque trahit silvas: stupet inscius alto + Accipiens sonitum saxi de vertice pastor." + +[51] The author may have had in his mind a passage in Dion Cassius' +description of the fire:--[Greek: thorybos te oun exaisios pantachou +pantas katelambanen, kai dietrichon ohi men tae ohi de tae hosper +emplaektoi, kai allois tines epamynontes epynthanonto ta oikoi kaiomena +kai heteroi prin kai akousai hoti ton spheteron ti empepraestai, + +emanthanon, hoti apololen. XB. 16]. + +[52] 4tos. _Cannos_. + +[53] 4tos. _Allius_. + +[54] The 4tos. give "thee gets." I feel confident that my emendation +restores the true reading. + +[55] The reading of the 4tos. is the, "The most condemned," &c. A tribe +named the "Moschi" (of whom mention is made in Herodotus) dwelt a little +to the south of the Colchians. + +[56] So the 4tos. "Low hate" is nonsense. "_Long_ and native hate" would +be spiritless; while "_bow and arrow laid_ apart" involves far too +violent a change. I reluctantly give the passage up. + +[57] I suppose that the sentence is left unfinished; but perhaps it is +more likely that the text is corrupt. + +[58] Quy. I now command the _Souldiery i'the Citie_. + +[59] Sc. descendants. Vid. Nares, s.v. + +[60] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 53. + +[61] 4tos. losse. + +[62] 4tos. soft. + +[63] Quy. they.--The passage, despite its obscurity of expression, +seems to me intelligible; but I dare not venture to paraphrase it. + +[64] 4tos. are we. + +[65] "Call me cut" meant commonly nothing more than Falstaff's "call +me horse"; but as applied to Sporus the term "cutt-boy" was literally +correct. For what follows in the text cf. Sueton. Vit. Ner. cap. 28. + +[66] 4to. Subius, Flavius. + +[67] Quy. "I, [sc. aye] to himselfe; 'twould make the matter +cleare," &c. + +[68] 4tos. _Gallii_. Our author is imitating Juvenal +(Sat. x. ll. 99-102):-- + + "Huius qui trahitur praetextam sumere mavis, + An Fidenarum Gabiorumque esse potestas + Et de mensura ius dicere, vasa minora + Frangere, pannosus vacuis Aedilis Ulubris?" + +[69] Cf. Tacitus, Annals, xv. 59. + +[70] 4tos. refuge. + +[71] Quy. _Euphrates_. + +[72] According to Tacitus, Piso retired to his house and there opened +his veins. Vid. Ann. xv. 59. + +[73] Cf. Shakespeare, "Make mad the guilty and appal the free." +Hamlet, II. 2. + +[74] So the 4tos; but Quy. + + "The Emperour's much pleas'd + _That_ some have named _Seneca_." + +[75] Cf. Tacitus, Ann. xv. 45; Sueton. Vit. Ner. 32. + +[76] In Tacitus' account (Ann. xv. 67) the climax is curious:-- +"'Oderam te,' inquit; 'nec quisquam tibi fidelior militum fuit dum +amari meruisti: odisse coepi, postquam parricida matris et uxoris, +auriga et histrio et incendiarius extitisti.'" + +[77] The verses would run better thus:-- + + "A feeling one; _Tigellinus_, bee't thy charge, + And let me see thee witty in't. + + _Tigell_. Come, sirrah; + Weele see." &c. + +[78] Quy. was oreheard to say. + +[79] 4tos. your. + +[80] Quy. even skies. + +[81] Quy. I'the firmament. + +[82] 4tos. loath by. + +[83] Martial, in a clever but coarse epigram (lib. xi. 56), ridicules +the Stoic's contempt of death:-- + + "Hanc tibi virtutem fracta facit urceus ansa, + Et tristis nullo qui tepet igne focus, + Et teges et cimex et nudi sponda grabati, + Et brevis atque eadem nocte dieque toga. + O quam magnus homo es, qui faece rubentis aceti + Et stipula et nigro pane carere potes. + * * * * * + Rebus in angustis facile est contemnere vitam: + Fortiter ille facit qui miser esse potest." + +[84] Cf. Juv. Sat. v. 36, 37:-- + + "Quale coronati Thrasea Helvidiusque bibebant, + Brutorum et Cassi natalibus." + +The younger Pliny (Ep. iii. 7) relates that Eilius Italicus religiously +observed Vergil's birthday. + +[85] The 4tos. punctuate thus:-- + + "Here faire _Enanthe_, whose plumpe ruddy cheeke + Exceeds the grape, it makes this; here my geyrle." + +Petronius is speaking hurriedly. He begins to answer _Enanthe's_ +question: "it makes this" (i.e. "means this"), he says, but breaks off +his explanation, and pledges his mistress. + +[86] 4tos. walles. + +[87] 4tos. Ith. + +[88] "Non cuivis homini contingit adire Corinthum." Horat. Epist. i. 17, +36 ([Greek: ou pantos andros es Korinthon esth' ho plous]). + +[89] Quy. Th'old _Anicean_ (sc. Anacreon). + +[90] A paraphrase of Horace's well-known lines: + + "Linquenda tellus, et domus, et placens + Uxor; neque harum, quas colis, arborum, + Te, praeter invisas cupressos, + Ulla brevem dominum sequeter." + +--Odes, ii. 14, ll. 21-29. + +[91] 4to. your. + +[92] 4tos. thy. + +[93] Cf. Horace, Od. i. 12, ll. 37, 38:-- + + "Regulum, et Scauros _animaeque magnae + Prodigum_ Paulum." + +[94] Vid. Tacitus, Ann. xi. 11; Sueton. Vit. Ner. 6. + +[95] 4tos. have. + +[96] 4tos. night. + +[97] The punning on the fairies' names recalls Bottom's pleasantries +(M.N.D. iii. 1), and the resemblance is certainly too close to be +accidental. + +[98] "Uncoth" here = wild, unfrequented; Cf. _As You Like It_, ii. 6, +"If this _uncouth_ forest yield anything savage," &c. + +[99] A "Hunts up" was a hunting song, a reveillee, to rouse the hunters. +An example of a "_Hunts up_" may be found, set to music by J. Bennet, in +a collection of Ravenscroft, 1614. + +[100] Quy. "kind;" but our author is not very particular about his +rhymes. + +[101] "Rascal" was the regular name for a lean deer (_As You like It_, +iii. 3, &c.). + +[102] The whole scene is printed as verse in the 4to. + +[103] This very uncommon word (French: legerete) occurs in _Henry V_. +(iv. i. l. 23). + +[104] More commonly written "cote," a cottage. + +[105] To "draw dry foot" meant to follow by the scent. +(_Com. of Errors_, iv. 2.) + +[106] No doubt the writer had in his mind the description of +"Morpheus house" in the _Faerie Queene_ (Book i., Canto I). + +[107] "Whisht" (more commonly "whist") = hushed, stilled. Cf. Milton, +_Ode on the Nativity_:-- + + "The winds with wonder _whist_ + Smoothly the waters kist." + +[108] "Plancher" (Fr. planche) = a plank. Cf. _Arden of Feversham_, +I. i. "Whilst on the _planchers_ pants his weary body," Shakespeare +(_Measure for Measure_, iv. 1) has "a _planched_ gate." + +[109] "Incontinent" = immediately. The expression is very common +(_Richard II_., v. 6, &c.). + +[110] These verses and Frisco's "Can you blow the little horne"? are +evidently fragments of Old Ballads--to be recovered, let us hope, +hereafter. + +[111] These four lines are from the old ballad of _Fortune my foe_, +which will be found printed entire in the _Bagford Ballads_ (Ed. J.W. +Ebsworth, part iv. pp. 962-3); the music is given in Mr. W. Chappell's +_Popular Music of the Olden Time_, I. 162. Mr. Ebsworth writes me:-- +"I have ascertained (assuredly) that what I at first thought to be a +reference to 'Fortune my foe' in the Stationers' Registers, 1565-66, +entered to John Charlewood (_Arber's Transcripts_, l. 310), as 'of one +complaining of ye mutabilitie of Fortune' is _not_ 'Fortune my foe,' but +one of Lempill's ballads, printed by R. Lekpriwicke (_sic_), and still +extant in the Huth Collections--the true title being 'Ane Complaint vpon +Fortoun;' beginning 'Inconstant world, fragill and friuolus.'" + +[112] Nares quotes from Chapman's _May Day_, "Lord, how you roll in your +_rope-ripe_ terms." Minshew explains the word as "one ripe for a rope, +or for whom the gallows groans." I find the expression "to rowle in +their ropripe termes" in William Bullein's rare and curious "Dialogue +both pleasaunt and pietiful," 1573, p. 116. + +[113] A very common term for a pimp. + +[114] "Bale of dice"--a pair of dice; the expression occurs in the +_New Inn_, I. 3, &c. + +[115] This song is set to music in an old collection by Ravenscroft, +1614. + +[116] More usually written "mammets," i.e., puppets (_Rom. & Jul_. +iii. 5; though, no doubt, in _Hen. IV_., ii. 3, Gifford was right +in connecting the word with Lat. mamma). + +[117] Cf. Drayton's _Fairy Wedding_:-- + + "Besides he's deft and wondrous airy, + And of the noblest of the fairy! + Chiefe of the Crickets of much fame + In fairy a most ancient name." + +So in _Merry Wives_, v. 5, l. 47. + +[118] Quy. What kind o' God, &c. + +[119] "There is a kind of crab-tree also or _wilding_ that in like +manner beareth twice a yeare." Holland's Plinie, b. xvi. + +[120] "Assoyle" usually = _absolve_; here _resolve, explain_. + +[121] The italics are my own, as I suppose that the four lines were +intended to be sung. + +[122] 4to. It is, it is not, &c. + +[123] The sense of "fine, rare," rather than that of "frequent, +abundant" (as Nares explains), would seem to suit the passages in +Shakespeare and elsewhere where the word is used colloquially. + +[124] "Sib" = akin. Possibly the word still lingers in the North +Country: Sir Walter Scott uses it in the _Antiquary_, &c. + +[125] "Wonning" sc. dwelling (Germ. wohnen). Spenser frequently uses +the word. + +[126] A Spenserian passage (as Mr. Collier has pointed out): vid. F.Q., +B. 2. C. xii. 71. + +[127] 4to. then. + +[128] 4to. And here she woman. + +[129] "Caul" = part of a lady's head-dress: "reticulum crinale vel +retiolum," Withals' Dictionarie, 1608 (quoted by Nares). + +[130] "The battaile. The Combattantes Sir Ambrose Vaux, knight, and +Glascott the Bayley of Southwarke: the place the Rule of the Kings +Bench." + +[131] In some copies the name "John Kirke" is given in full. + +[132] _Bottom_ = a ball of worsted. George Herbert in a letter to his +mother says: "Happy is he whose _bottom_ is wound up, and laid ready +for work in the New Jerusalem." So in the _Virgin Martyr_ (v. 1),--"I, +before the Destinies my _bottom_ did wind up, would flesh myself once +more upon some one remarkable above all these." + +[133] 4to. your. + +[134] Cf. the catalogue of torments in the _Virgin Martyr_ (v. 1). + +[135] The 4to prints the passage thus:-- + + "I have now livd my full time; + Tell me, my _Henricke_, thy brave successe, + That my departing soule + May with thy story," &c. + +Several times further on I shall have to alter the irregular arrangement +of the 4to in order to restore the blank verse; but I shall not think it +necessary to note the alteration. + +[136] 4to, Horne. + +[137] 4to, Aloft. + +[138] The 4to gives '_The_ further,' and in the next line +'_Or_ further.' + +[139] The whole of this scene is printed as verse in the 4to. I have +printed the early part as prose, that the reader's eye may not be +vexed by metrical monstrosities. + +[140] Sharpe i.e. sword. Vid. Halliwell's Dictionary. + +[141] 4to. field. + +[142] Sir Thomas Browne in _Vulgar Errors_ (Book 2, cap. 5) discusses +this curious superstition at length:--'And first we hear it in every +mouth, and in many good authors read it, that a diamond, which is the +hardest of stones, not yielding unto steel, emery, or any thing but its +own powder, is yet made soft, or broke by the blood of a goat. Thus much +is affirmed by Pliny, Solinus, Albertus, Cyprian, Austin, Isidore, and +many Christian writers: alluding herein unto the heart of man, and the +precious blood of our Saviour, who was typified by the goat that was +slain, and the scape goat in the wilderness: and at the effusion of +whose blood, not only the hard hearts of his enemies relented, but the +stony rocks and veil of the temple were shattered,' &c. + +[143] The expression, to 'carry coals' (i.e. to put up with insults) is +too common to need illustration. + +[144] 4to. deaths prey. The change restores the metre. + +[145] 'Owe' for 'own' is very common in Shakespeare. + +[146] The 4to. prints this scene throughout as verse. + +[147] 'Larroones,' from Fr. _larron_ (a thief). Cf. Nabbes' _Bride_, +iii. 3. 'Remercie, Monsieur. Voe call a me Cooke now! de greasie +_Larone_!' + +[148] Quy. rogues. + +[149] Quy. had. There seems to be a reference to Stephen's martyrdom +described in _The Acts_. + +[150] "Black Jack" and "bombard" were names given to wide leathern +drinking-vessels. + +[151] A term in venery. + +[152] A hound's chaps were called "flews". + +[153] 'Sparabiles,' nails used by shoemakers. Nares quotes Herrick: + + Cob clouts his shoes, and, as the story tells, + His thumb-nailes par'd afford him sperrables.' + +The word is of uncertain derivation. + +[154] 4to. recovering. + +[155] 'Champion' is the old form of 'champain.' + +[156] 'Diet-bread' was the name given to a sort of sweet seedcake: +Vid. Nares' Glossary. + +[157] Quy. Oh! what cold, famine, &c. + +[158] For an account of the "bezoar nut" and the Unicorn's horn vid. +Sir Thomas Browne's "Vulgar Errors," book iii. cap. xxiii. + +[159] Vid. Liddell and Scott, s.v. [Greek: hypostasis]. + +[160] Sc. diaphoretick ([Greek: diaphoraetikos]), causing perspiration. + +[161] _Rabby Roses_ is no doubt a corruption of _Averroes_, the famous +editor of Aristotle, and author of numerous treatises on theological and +medical subjects. + +[162] Sir Thomas Browne (_Vulgar Errors_, I. vii.) quotes from Pierius +another strange cure for a scorpion's bite, "to sit upon an ass with +one's face towards his tail, for so the pain leaveth the man and passeth +into the beast." + +[163] "Bandogs" (or, more correctly speaking, "band-dogs")--dogs that +had to be kept chained on account of their fierceness. + +[164] (4to): men. + +[165] 'Carbonardoed'--cut into collops for grilling: a common +expression. + +[166] 'Rochet.' + +"A linen vest, like a surplice, worn by bishops, under their satin +robes. The word, it is true, is not obsolete, nor the thing disused, but +it is little known."--Nares. ("Lent unto thomas Dowton, the 11 of Aprel +1598, to bye tafitie to macke a _Rochet_ for the beshoppe in earlle good +wine, xxiiii s." Henslowe's Diary, ed. Collier, p. 122.) + +[167] (4to): by. + +[168] The word "portage" occurs in a difficult passage of +_Pericles_, iii. 1,-- + + "Even at the first + Thy loss is more than can thy _portage_ quit + With all thou canst find here." + +If there be no corruption in the passage of _Pericles_, the meaning can +only be (as Steevens explained) "thy safe arrival at the port of life." +Our author's use of the word "portage" is even more perplexing than +Shakespeare's; "Thy portion" would give excellent sense; but, with the +passage of _Pericles_ before us, we cannot suppose that there is a +printer's error. [In _Henry V_. 3, i, we find 'portage' for +'port-holes.'] + +[169] Quy. ever? + +[170] The subst. _mouse_ is sometimes found as an innocent term of +endearment, but more often in a wanton sense (like the Lat. passer). + +[171] 'Felt locks'--matted locks, commonly called "elf-locks": the +various forms "felted," "felter'd" and "feutred" are found. + +[172] 'Stavesucre' (said to be a corruption of [Greek: staphis]. and +usually written 'Staves-acre') a kind of lark-spur considered +efficacious in destroying lice. Cf. Marlowe's _Dr. Faustus_ (i. 4)-- +'Stavesacre? that's good to kill vermin; then belike, if I serve you, +I shall be lousy.' + +[173] Quy. early-rioting. + +[174] Ought we to read 'fins'? Webster (_Duchess of Malfi_, ii. 1) has +the expression the '_fins_ of her eye-lids'; it is found also in the +_Malcontent_ (i. 1), The confusion between the 'f' and the long 's' is +very common. + +[175] Shakespeare uses the verb 'fang' (_Timon of Athens_, iv. 3) in the +sense of 'seize, clutch.' + +[176] Varlet--'the serjeant-at-mace to the city counters was so called,' +Halliwell (who, however, gives no instance of this use). + +[177] 'Trunk-hose' wide breeches stuffed with wool, &c. + +[178] I can make nothing of this verse: the obscurity is not at all +removed by putting a comma after 'rules.' Doubtless the passage is +corrupt. + +[179] _Our rest we set_ in pleasing, &c., i.e., we have made up our +mind to please. The metaphor is taken from primero (a game, seemingly, +not unlike the Yankee 'poker'), where to 'set up rest' meant to stand +on one's cards; but the expression was also used in a military sense. +Vid: Furness' Variorum Shakesp., _Rom. & Iul_., iv. 5. + +[180] In Vol. IX. of the _Transactions of the Royal Historical Society_ +is an elaborate paper (since reprinted for private circulation) by the +Rev. F.G. Fleay 'On the Actor Lists, 1538-1642.' The learned writer +tells us nothing new about Samuel Rowley; but his essay well deserves +a careful study. + +[181] Quy. a _fury's_ face. + +[182] 'Lacrymae'--one of the many allusions to John Dowland's musical +work of that name. + +[183] 'Laugh and lay down' (more usually written 'lie down') was the +name of a game at cards. A prose-tract by 'C.T.,' published in 1605, is +entitled 'Laugh and Lie Down: or the World's Folly.' The expression, it +need hardly be said, is often used in a wanton sense. + +[184] 4to. joyes. + +[185] Quy. prove. + +[186] Much of this scene is found, almost word for word, in colloquy 4 +of John Day's _Parliament of Bees_. + +[187] One of the characters in the _New Inn_ is Fly, 'the Parasite of +the Inn'; and in the _Virgin Martyr_ (ii. 2) we also find the word 'fly' +used (like Lat. musca) for an inquisitive person. In the text I suspect +we should read 'fly-about' for flye-boat. + +[188] 'Blacke gard' was the name given to the lowest drudges who rode +amongst the pots and pans in royal processions: vid. Gifford's _Jonson_, +II. 169. + +[189] The compositor seems to have been dozing: the word 'Vaw' points to +the reading 'Vaward,' and probably the passage ran--'this the Vaward, +this the Rearward.' + +[190] 'Totter'd' i.e. tatter'd. Cf. _Richard II_. (iii. 3) 'the castle's +totter'd battlements' (the reading of the 4to.; the Folios give +'tatter'd'). In _King John_ (v. 5) I think, with Staunton, that the +expression 'tott'ring colours' means 'drooping colours' rather than, as +usually explained, 'tattered.' + +[191] 'Spurn-point--An old game mentioned in a curious play called +_Apollo Shroving_, 12mo., Lond. 1627, p. 49.' Halliwell. + +[192] 'Grandoes'--I find the word so spelt in Heywood's _A Challenge for +Beauty_--'I, and I assure your Ladiship, ally'de to the best Grandoes of +_Spaine_.' (_Works_, v. 18.) + +[193] 4to. _Albia_. + +[194] Cornego is telling the Captain to 'duck'--to make his bow--to +Onaelia. + +[195] Nares quotes from the _Owles Almanacke_, 1618, p. 6, an allusion +to this worthy,--'Since the _German fencer_ cudgell'd most of our +English fencers, now about 5 moneths past.' + +[196] It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that 'bastard' was the +name of a sweet Spanish wine. + +[197] 'Goll'--A cant expression for 'hand': it is found continually in +our old writers. + +[198] The words 'Some scurvy thing, I warrant' should no doubt be given +to Cornego. + +[199] The conversation between Onaelia and the Poet very closely +resembles, in parts, _Character_ 5 of John Day's _Parliament of Bees_. + +[200] 4to lanch. + +[201] 'The Hanging Tune' i.e. the tune of 'Fortune my Foe,' to which +were usually sung ballads relating to murders. The music of 'Fortune my +Foe,' is given in Mr. Chappell's 'Popular Music of the Olden Time'; and +the words may be seen in the 'Bayford Ballads' (edited by Mr. Ebsworth, +our greatest master of ballad-lore). + +[202] Cf. Dekker's _Match me in London_ (Dramatic Works, iv. 180)-- + + 'I doe speake _English_ + When I'de move pittie; when dissemble, _Irish_; + _Dutch_ when I reele; and tho I feed on scalions + _If I should brag Gentility I'de gabble Welch_.' + +[203] Cf. Day's _Parliament of Bees_, Character 4. + +[204] 'Estridge' is the common form of 'ostrich' among the Elizabethans +(I Henry IV., iv. 1, &c). + +[205] "Poire d'angoisse. _A choke-Peare; or a wild soure Peare_." +Cotgrave. + +[206] 4to. Moble. + +[207] Quy. head. + +[208] "Prick-song"--"harmony written or pricked down, in opposition to +plain-song, where the descant rested with the will of the singer." +Chappell's _Popular Music_, &c., I. 51. + +[209] The keys of the 'virginal' were called 'Jacks.' For a description +of the 'virginal' see Mr. Chappell's _Popular Music_, &c. I, 103. + +[210] 'Coranta' i.e. curranto, news-sheet: Ben Jonson's 'Staple of News' +gives us a good notion of the absurdities that used to be circulated. + +[211] 'Linstocke' (or, more correctly, 'lint-stock')--a stick for +holding a gunner's match. + +[212] Toot--to pry into: 'tooter' was formerly the name for a 'tout' +(vid. Todd's Johnson). + +[213] 'Aphorisme. _An Aphorisme (or generall rule in Physicke)_.' +Cotgrave. + +[214] 4to. creaking. + +[215] Rosemary was used at marriages and funerals. + +[216] Day dedicates his _Humour out of Breath_ to 'Signeor Nobody': +'Signeor No,' the shorter form, is not unfrequently found (e.g. _Ile of +Guls_, p. 59--my reprint). To whatever advantage _No_ may have appeared +on the stage, he certainly is a pitiful object in print. + +[217] _Baltazar's_ notions of Geography are vague. A most interesting +account of Bantam, the capital of Java, may be seen in Vol. v. of +Hakluyt's 'Collection of early Voyages,' ed. 1812. It occurs in the +_Description of a Voyage made by certain Ships of Holland to the East +Indies &c. ... Translated out of Dutch into English by W.P. London_. +1589. 'The towne,' we are told, 'is not built with streetes nor the +houses placed in order, but very foule, lying full of filthy water, +which men must passe through or leap over for they have no bridges.' +For the people--'it is a very lying and theevish kind of people, not +in any sort to be trusted.' + +[218] The 'magical weed' I take to be hemlock; cf. Ben Jonson's _Masque +of Queens_-- + + 'And I have been plucking, plants among, + Hemlock, henbane, adders-tongue + Night-shade, moon-wort, libbard's bane + And twice, by the dogs, was like to be ta'en.' + +[219] The poisoned 'Spanish fig' acquired considerable notoriety among +the early Dramatists: cf. Webster, _White_ Devil (p. 30, ed. Dyce, +1857.) 'I do look now for a _Spanish fig_ or an Italian salad daily': +Dekker. (iv. 213, Pearson) 'Now doe I looke for a fig': whether Pistol's +allusion (Henry V, iii. 6) is to the poisoned fig may be doubted. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Old English Plays, Vol. I, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. I *** + +***** This file should be named 10388.txt or 10388.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/3/8/10388/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen and PG +Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS," WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's +eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII, +compressed (zipped), HTML and others. + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over +the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed. +VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving +new filenames and etext numbers. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000, +are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to +download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular +search system you may utilize the following addresses and just +download by the etext year. + + http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/10388.zip b/old/10388.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..29b3e11 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10388.zip |