Fragmenta Aurea; Letters; An Account of Religion by Reason; Aglaura; The Goblins; Brennoralt

Fragmenta aurea A collection of all the incomparable peeces, written by Sir John Suckling. And published by a friend to perpetuate his memory. Printed by his owne copies.
Suckling, John, Sir, 1609-1642.
1646
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Fragmenta aurea A collection of all the incomparable peeces, written by Sir John Suckling. And published by a friend to perpetuate his memory. Printed by his owne copies.
Suckling, John, Sir, 1609-1642.
[8], 119, [7], 82, 64, [4], 52 p. : port.
printed [by Ruth Raworth and Tho. Walkley] for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at his shop, at the signe of the Princes Armes in St Pauls Churchyard,
London :
MDCXLVI. [1646]
In this state the first line of title is printed in upper and lower case letters.
Printer's names from subsidiary title pages.
P.l. = portrait verso A1; general title page recto A2, verso blank; To the reader, recto A3-recto A4, verso blank.
"Poems, &c."; "Letters to divers eminent personages:"; and "An account of religion by reason." each have separate dated title pages; register and pagination are continuous.
"Aglaura. Presented at the private house in Black-Fryers," and "Aglaura. Represented at the court," each have separate dated title pages; pagination and register start over with "Aglaura. Presented at the private house in Black-Fryers,".
"The goblins" and "Brennoralt." each have separate dated title pages, pagination and register.
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Fragmenta Aurea.
A Collection of all THE Incomparable Peeces,
WRITTEN By Sir JOHN SVCKLING.
And publiſhed by a Friend to perpetuate his memory.
Printed by his owne Copies.
LONDON, Printed for Humphrey Moſeley, and are to be ſold at his ſhop, at the Signe of the Princes Armes in St
Pauls Churchyard MDCXLVI.
Obijt anno
Aetatis suae 28.
SUCKLIN whose numbers could invite
Alike to wonder and delight
And with new spirit did inspire
The Thespian Scene and Delphick Lyre;
Is thus exprest in either part
Above the humble reach of art;
Drawne by the Pencill here yow find
His Forme▪ by his owne Pen his mind.
W. Marſhall fecit.
〈1 page duplicate〉
To the READER.
WHile Sucklins name is in the forehead of this Booke, theſe Poems can want no preparation: It had been a prejudice to Poſterity they ſhould have ſlept longer, and an injury to his own aſhes. They that convers'd with him alive, and truly, (under which notion I comprehend only knowing Gentlemen, his ſoule being tranſcendent, and incommunicable to others, but by reflection) will honour theſe poſthume
Idaea's of their friend: And if any have liv'd in ſo much darkneſſe, as not to have knowne ſo great an Ornament of our Age, by looking upon theſe Remaines with Civility and Vnderſtanding, they may timely yet repent, and be forgiven.
In this Age of Paper-proſtitutions, a man may buy the reputation of ſome Authors into the price of their Volume; but know, the Name that leadeth into this Elyſium, is ſacred to Art and Honour, and no man that is not excellent in both, is qualified a Competent Judge: For when Knowledg is allowed, yet Education in the Cenſure of a Gentleman, requires as many deſcents, as goes to make one; And he that is bold upon his unequall Stock, to traduce this Name, or Learning, will deſerve to be condemned againe
into Ignorance his Originall ſinne, and dye in it.
But I keep backe the Ingenuous Reader, by my unworthy Preface: The gate is open, and thy ſoulé invited to a Garden of raviſhing variety, admire his wit, that created theſe for thy delight, while I withdraw into a ſhade, and contemplate who muſt follow.
POEMS, &c.
Written by Sir JOHN SUCKLING.
Printed by his owne Copy.
The Lyrick Poems were ſet in Muſick by Mr. Henry Lawes, Gent. of the Kings Chappel, and one of His Majeſties Private Muſick.
LONDON, Printed by Ruth Raworth for Humphrey Moſely, and are to be ſold at his ſhop at the ſigne of the Princes Arms in S. Pauls Church-yard. 1646.
On New-years day 1640. To the KING.
1.
AWake (great Sir) the Sun ſhines heer,
Gives all Your Subjects a New-yeer,
Onely we ſtay till you appear,
For thus by us Your Power is underſtood,
He may make fair days, You muſt make them good.
Awake, awake,
and take
Such Preſents as poor men can make,
They can adde little unto bliſſe
who cannot wiſh.
2.
May no ill vapour cloud the skie,
Bold ſtorms invade the Soveraigntie,
But gales of joy, ſo freſh, ſo high;
That You may think Heav'n ſent to try this year
What ſayl, or burthen, a Kings mind could bear.
Awake, awake, &c.
3.
May all the diſcords in Your State
(Like thoſe in Muſick we create)
Be govern'd at ſo wiſe a rate,
That what would of it ſelf ſound harſh, or fright,
May be ſo temper'd that it may delight.
Awake, awake, &c.
4.
What Conquerors from battels find,
Or Lovers when their Doves are kind,
Take up henceforth our Maſters mind,
Make ſuch ſtrange Rapes upon the place, 't may be
No longer joy there, but an extaſie.
Awake, awake, &c.
5.
May every pleaſure and delight
That has or does your ſence invite
Double this year, ſave thoſe o'th night:
For ſuch a Marriage-bed muſt know no more
Then repetition of what was before.
Awake, awake,
and take
Such Preſents as poor men can make,
They can add little unto bliſſe
who cannot wiſh.
Loving and Beloved.
1.
THere never yet was honeſt man
That ever drove the trade of love;
It is impoſſible, nor can
Integrity our ends promove:
•
or Kings and Lovers are alike in this
That their chief art in reigne diſſembling is.
2.
Here we are lov'd, and there we love,
Good nature now and paſſion ſtrive
Which of the two ſhould be above,
And laws unto the other give.
o we falſe fire with art ſometimes diſcover,
•
nd the true fire with the ſame art do cover.
3.
What Rack can Fancy find ſo high?
Here we muſt Court, and here ingage,
Though in the other place we die.
Oh! 'tis torture all, and cozenage;
And which the harder is I cannot tell,
To hide true love, or make falſe love look well.
4.
Since it is thus, God of deſire,
Give me my honeſty again,
And take thy brands back, and thy fire;
I'me weary of the State I'me in:
Since (if the very beſt ſhould now befal)
Loves Triumph, muſt be Honours Funeral.
1.
IF when Don Cupids dart
Doth wound a heart,
we hide our grief
and ſhun relief;
The ſmart increaſeth on that ſcore;
For wounds unſearcht but ranckle more.
2.
Then if we whine, look pale,
And tell our tale,
men are in pain
for us again;
So, neither ſpeaking doth become
The Lovers ſtate, nor being dumb.
3.
When this I do deſcry,
Then thus think I,
love is the fart
of every heart.
It pains a man when 't is kept cloſe,
And others doth offend, when 't is let looſe.
A Seſſions of the Poets.
A Seſſion was held the other day▪
And Apollo himſelf was at it (they ſay)
The Laurel that had been ſo long reſerv'd,
Was now to be given to him beſt deſerv'd.
And
Therefore the wits of the Town came thither,
T was ſtrange to ſee how they flocked together,
Each ſtrongly confident of his own way,
Thought to gain the Laurel away that day.
There Selden, and he ſate hard by the chair;
Weniman not far off, which was very fair;
Sands with Townſend, for they kept no order;
Digby and Shillingſworth a little further:
And
There was Lucans Tranſlator too, and he
That makes God ſpeak ſo bigge in's Poetry;
Selwin and Walter, and Bartlets both the brothers;
Jack Vaughan and Porter, and divers others.
The firſt that broke ſilence was good old Ben,
Prepar'd before with Canary wine,
And he told them plainly he deſerv'd the Bayes,
For his were calld Works, where others were but Plaies.
And
Bid them remember how he had purg'd the Stage
Of errors, that had laſted many an Age,
And he hopes they did not think the ſilent Woman,
The Fox, and the Alchymiſt out done by no man.
Apollo ſtopt him there, and bade him not go on,
'Twas merit, he ſaid, and not preſumption
Muſt carry't; at which Ben turned about,
And in great choler offer'd to go out:
But
Thoſe that were there thought it not fit
To diſcontent ſo ancient a wit;
And therefore Apollo call'd him back agen,
And made him mine hoſt of his own new Inne.
Tom Carew was next, but he had a fault
That would not well ſtand with a Laureat;
His Muſe was hard bound, and th'iſſue of's brain
Was ſeldom brought forth but with trouble and pain.
And
All that were preſent there did agree,
A Laureat Muſe ſhould be eaſie and free,
Yet ſure 'twas not that, but 'twas thought that his Grace
Conſider'd he was well he had a Cup-bearers place.
Will. Davenant aſham'd of a fooliſh miſchance
That he had got lately travelling in France,
Modeſtly hoped the handſomneſſe of's Muſe
Might any deformity about him excuſe.
And
Surely the Company would have been content,
If they could have found any Preſident;
But in all their Records either in Verſe or Proſe,
There was not one Laureat without a noſe.
To Will Bartlet ſure all the wits meant well,
But firſt they would ſee how his ſnow would ſell:
Will ſmil'd and ſwore in their judgements they went leſſe,
That concluded of merit upon ſucceſſe.
Suddenly taking his place agen,
He gave way to Selwin, who ſtreight ſtept in;
But alas! he had been ſo lately a wit,
That Apollo hardly knew him yet.
Toby Mathews (pox on him) how came he there?
Was whiſpering nothing in ſome-bodies ear:
When he had the honour to be nam'd in Court,
But Sir, you may thank my Lady Carleil for't:
For had not her care furniſht you out
With ſomething of handſome, without all doubt
You and your ſorry Lady Muſe had been
In the number of thoſe that were not let in.
In haſte from the Court two or three came in,
And they brought letters (forſooth) from the Queen,
'Twas diſcreetly done too, for if th'had come
Without them, th'had ſcarce been let into the room.
Suckling next was call'd, but did not appear,
But ſtrait one whiſperd Apollo i'th 'ear,
That of all men living he cared not for't,
He loved not the Muſes ſo well as his ſport;
And prized black eyes, or a lucky hit
At bowls, above all the Trophies of wit;
But Apollo was angry, and publiquely ſaid
'Twere fit that a fine were ſet upon's head.
Wat Montague now ſtood forth to his tryal,
And did not ſo much as ſuſpect a denial;
But witty Apollo asked him firſt of all
If he underſtood his own Paſtoral.
For if he could do it, 't would plainly appear
He underſtood more than any man there,
And did merit the Bayes above all the reſt,
But the Mounſier was modeſt, and ſilence confeſt.
During theſe troubles in the Court was hid
One that Apollo ſoon miſt, little Cid;
And having ſpied him, call'd him out of the throng,
And advis'd him in his ear not to write ſo ſtrong.
Murrey was ſummon'd, but 't was urg'd that he
Was Chief already of another Company.
Hales ſet by himſelf moſt gravely did ſmile
To ſee them about nothing keep ſuch a coil;
Apollo had ſpied him, but knowing his mind
Paſt by, and call'd Faulkland that ſate juſt behind:
But
He was of late ſo gone with Divinity,
That he had almoſt forgot his Poetry,
Though to ſay the truth (and Apollo did know it)
He might have been both his Prieſt and his Poet.
At length who but an Alderman did appear,
At which Will. Davenant began to ſwear;
But wiſer Apollo bade him draw nigher,
And when he was mounted a little higher
Openly declared that the beſt ſigne
Of good ſtore of wit 's to have good ſtore of coyn,
And without a Syllable more or leſſe ſaid,
He put the Laurel on the Aldermans head.
At this all the wits were in ſuch a maze
That for a good while they did nothing but gaze
One upon another, not a man in the place
But had diſcontent writ in great in his face.
Onely the ſmall Poets clear'd up again,
Out of hope as 't was thought of borrowing,
But ſure they were out▪ for he forfeits his Crown
When he lends any Poets about the Town.
Loves World.
IN each mans heart that doth begin
To love, there's ever fram'd within
A little world, for ſo I found,
When firſt my paſſion reaſon drown'd.
Earth, Inſtead of Earth unto this frame,
I had a faith was ſtill the ſame,
For to be right it doth behoove
It be as that, fixt and not move;
Yet as the Earth may ſometime ſhake
(For winds ſhut up will cauſe a quake)
So, often jealouſie, and fear,
Sunne, Stolne into mine, cauſe tremblings there.
My Flora was my Sun, for as
One Sun, ſo but one Flora was:
All other faces borrowed hence
Their light and grace, as ſtars do thence.
Moon My hopes I call my Moon; for they
Inconſtant ſtill, were at no ſtay;
But as my Sun inclin'd to me,
Or more or leſſe were ſure to be:
Sometimes it would be full, and then
Oh! too too ſoon decreaſe agen;
Eclip'ſt ſometimes, that 't would ſo fall
There would appear no hope at all.
Starres, My thoughts 'cauſe infinite they be
Muſt be thoſe many Stars we ſee;
Fixed Planets. Of which ſome wandred at their will,
But moſt on her were fixed ſtill.
Element of fire. My burning flame and hot deſire
Muſt be the Element of fire,
Which hath as yet ſo ſecret been
That it as that was never ſeen:
No Kitching fire, nor eating flame,
But innocent, hot but in name;
A fire that's ſtarv'd when fed, and gone
When too much fewel is laid on.
But as it plainly doth appear,
That fire ſubſiſts by being near
The Moons bright Orbe, ſo I beleeve
Ours doth, for hope keeps love alive.
Ayre. My fancy was the Ayre, moſt free
And full of mutability,
Big with Chimera's, vapours here
Innumerable hatcht as there.
Sea. The Sea's my mind, which calm would be
Were it from winds (my paſſions) free;
But out alas! no Sea I find
Is troubled like a Lovers mind.
Within it Rocks and Shallows be,
Deſpair and fond credulity.
But in this World it were good reaſon
We did diſtinguiſh Time and Seaſon;
Her preſence then did make the Day,
And Night ſhall come when ſhee's away.
Winter. Long abſence in far diſtant place
Creates the Winter, and the ſpace
She tarryed with me; well I might
Summer. Call it my Summer of delight.
Diverſity of weather came
From what ſhe did, and thence had name;
Somtimes ſh'would ſmile, that made it fair;
And when ſhe laught, the Sun ſhin'd clear.
Sometimes ſh'would frown, and ſometimes weep,
So Clouds and Rain their turns do keep;
Sometimes again ſh'would be all ice,
Extreamly cold, extreamly nice.
But ſoft my Muſe, the world is wide,
And all at once was not deſcride:
It may fall out ſome honeſt Lover
The reſt hereafter will diſcover.
Song.
WHy ſo pale and wan fond Lover?
prethee why ſo pale?
Will, when looking wel can't move her
looking ill prevail?
prethee why ſo pale?
Why ſo dull and mute young ſinner?
prethee why ſo mute?
Will▪ when ſpeaking well can't win her,
ſaying nothing doe't?
prethee why ſo mute?
Quit, quit for ſhame, this will not move,
this cannot take her;
If of her ſelf ſhe will not love,
nothing can make her:
the divel take her.
Sonnet. I.
1.
DO'ſt ſee how unregarded now
that piece of beauty paſſes?
There was a time when I did vow
to that alone;
but mark the fate of faces;
That red and white works now no more on me
Then if it could not charm or I not ſee.
2.
And yet the face continues good,
and I have ſtill deſires,
Am ſtill the ſelf ſame fleſh and blood,
as apt to melt
and ſuffer from thoſe fires;
Oh! ſome kind power unriddle where it lies,
Whether my heart be faulty, or her eyes?
3.
She every day her Man does kill,
and I as often die;
Neither her power then, nor my will
can queſtion'd be,
what is the myſtery?
Sure Beauties Empires, like to greater States
Have certain periods ſet, and hidden fates.
Sonnet. II.
1.
OF thee (kind boy) I ask no red and white
to make up my delight,
no odd becomming graces,
Black eyes, or little know-not-whats, in faces;
Make me but mad enough, give me good ſtore
Of Love, for her I Court,
I ask no more,
▪Tis love in love that makes the ſport.
2.
There's no ſuch thing as that we beauty call,
it is meer couſenage all;
for though ſome long ago
Like't certain colours mingled ſo and ſo,
That doth not tie me now from chuſing new,
If I a fancy take
To black and blue,
That fancy doth it beauty make.
3.
Tis not the meat, but 'tis the appetite
makes eating a delight,
and if I like one diſh
More then another, that a Pheaſant is;
What in our watches, that in us is found,
So to the height and nick
We up be wound,
No matter by what hand or trick.
Sonnet III.
1.
OH! for ſome honeſt Lovers ghoſt,
Some kind unbodied poſt
Sent from the ſhades below.
I ſtrangely long to know
Whether the nobler Chaplets wear,
Thoſe that their miſtreſſe ſcorn did bear,
Or thoſe that were us'd kindly.
2.
For what-ſo-e're they tell us here
To make thoſe ſufferings dear,
'Twill there I fear be found,
That to the being crown'd,
T'have lov'd alone will not ſuffice,
Unleſſe we alſo have been wiſe,
And have our Loves enjoy'd.
3.
What poſture can we think him in,
That here unlov'd agen
Departs, and's thither gone
Where each ſits by his own?
Or how can that Elizium be
Where I my Miſtreſſe ſtill muſt ſee
Circled in others Armes?
4.
For there the Judges all are juſt,
And Sophonisba muſt
Be his whom ſhe held dear;
Not his who lov'd her here:
The ſweet Philoclea ſince ſhe dy'de
Lies by her Pirocles his ſide,
Not by Amphialus.
5.
Some Bayes (perchance) or Myrtle bough
For difference crowns the brow
Of thoſe kind ſouls that were
The noble Martyrs here;
And if that be the onely odds
(As who can tell) ye kinder Gods,
Give me the Woman here.
To his much honoured, the Lord Lepinton, upon his Tranſlation of Malvezzi his Romulus and Tarquin.
IT is ſo rare and new a thing to ſee
Ought that belongs to young Nobility
In print (but their own clothes) that we muſt praiſe
You as we would do thoſe firſt ſhew the waies
To Arts or to new Worlds: You have begun;
Taught travel'd youth what'tis it ſhould have done:
For't has indeed too ſtrong a cuſtome bin
To carry out more wit then we bring in.
You have done otherwiſe, brought home (my Lord)
The choiſeſt things fam'd Countries do afford▪
Malvezzi by your means is Engliſh grown,
And ſpeaks our tongue as well now as his own.
Malvezzi, he: whom 'tis as hard to praiſe
To merit, as to imitate his waies.
He does not ſhew us Rome great ſuddenly,
As if the Empire were a Tympany,
But gives it natural growth, tells how, and why
The little body grew ſo large and high.
Deſcribes each thing ſo lively, that we are
Concern'd our ſelves before we are aware:
And at the wars they and their neighbours wag'd,
Each man is preſent ſtill, and ſtill engag'd.
Like a good Proſpective he ſtrangely brings
Things diſtant to us: and in theſe two Kings
We ſee what made greatneſſe. And what 't has been
Made that greatneſſe contemptible again.
And all this not tediouſly deriv'd,
But like to Worlds in little Maps contriv'd.
'Tis he that doth the Roman Dame reſtore,
Makes Lucrece chaſter for her being whore;
Gives her a kind Revenge for Tarquins ſin;
For raviſh't firſt, ſhe raviſheth again.
She ſays ſuch fine things after't, that we muſt
In ſpite of vertue thank foul Rape and Luſt,
Since't was the cauſe no woman would have had,
Though ſhe's of Lucrece ſide, Tarquin leſſe bad.
But ſtay; like one that thinks to bring his friend
A mile or two, and ſees the journeys end,
I ſtraggle on too far: long graces do
But keep good ſtomacks off that would fall too.
Againſt Fruition.
STay here fond youth and ask no more, be wiſe,
Knowing too much long ſince loſt Paradiſe;
The vertuous joyes thou haſt, thou would'ſt ſhould ſtill
Laſt in their pride; and would'ſt not take it ill
If rudely from ſweet dreams (and for a toy)
Tho'wert wak't? he wakes himſelf that does enjoy.
Fruition adds no new wealth, but deſtroyes,
And while it pleaſeth much the palate, cloyes;
Who thinks he ſhall be happyer for that,
As reaſonably might hope he might grow fat
By eating to a Surfet, this once paſt,
What reliſhes? even kiſſes looſe their taſt.
Urge not 'tis neceſſary, alas! we know
The homelieſt thing which mankind does is ſo;
The World is of a vaſt extent we ſee,
And muſt be peopled; Children there muſt be;
So muſt bread too; but ſince there are enough
Born to the drudgery, what need we plough?
Women enjoy'd (what e're before t'have been)
Are like Romances read, or ſights once ſeen:
Fruition's dull, and ſpoils the Play much more
Than if one read or knew the plot before;
'Tis expectation makes a bleſſing dear,
Heaven were not heaven, if we knew what it were.
And as in Proſpects we are there pleas'd moſt
Where ſomthing keeps the eye from being loſt,
And leaves us room to gueſſe, ſo here reſtraint
Holds up delight, that with exceſſe would faint.
They who know all the wealth they have, are poor,
Hee's onely rich that cannot tell his ſtore.
1.
THere never yet was woman made,
nor ſhall, but to be curſt;
And oh▪ that I (fond I) ſhould firſt
of any Lover
This truth at my own charge to other fools diſcover.
2.
You that have promis'd to your ſelves
propriety in love,
Know womens hearts like ſtraws do move,
and what we call
Their ſympathy, is but love to jett in general,
3.
All mankind are alike to them;
and though we iron find
That never with a Loadſtone joyn'd,
'tis not the irons fault,
It is becauſe the loadſtone yet was never brought.
4.
If where a gentle Bee hath fall'n
and laboured to his power,
A new ſucceeds not to that Flower,
but paſſes by;
'Tis to be thought, the gallant elſe-where loads his thigh.
5.
For ſtill the flowers ready ſtand,
one buzzes round about,
One lights, one taſts, gets in, gets out
all, all waies uſe them,
Till all their ſweets are gone, and all again refuſe them.
Song.
1.
NO, no, fair Heretick, it needs muſt be
But an ill love in me,
And worſe for thee;
For were it in my power,
To love thee now this hower
More then I did the laſt;
I would then ſo fall
I might not love at all;
Love that can flow, and can admit increaſe,
Admits as well an ebbe, and may grow leſſe.
2.
True Love is ſtill the ſame; the Torrid Zones,
And thoſe more frigid ones
It muſt not know:
For love grown cold or hot,
Is luſt, or friendſhip, not
The thing we have.
For that's a flame would dye
Held down, or up too high:
Then think I love more then I can expreſſe,
And would love more could I but love thee leſſe.
To my Friend Will. Davenant; upon his Poem of Madagaſcar.
WHat mighty Princes Poets are? thoſe things
The great ones ſtick at, and our very Kings
Lay down, they venter on; and with great eaſe,
Diſcover, conquer, what, and where they pleaſe.
Some Flegmatick Sea-Captain, would have ſtaid
For money now, or victuals; not have waid
Anchor without 'em; Thou (Will) do'ſt not ſtay
So much as for a wind, but go'ſt away,
Land'ſt, view'ſt the Country; fight'ſt, put'ſt all to rout,
Before another could be putting out!
And now the news in Town is; Dav'nant's come
From Madagaſcar, Fraught with Laurel home;
And welcom (Will) for the firſt time, but prithee
In thy next Voyage, bring the gold too with thee.
To my Friend Will. Davenant on his other Poems.
THou haſt redeem'd us, Wil. and future Times
Shall not account unto the Age's crimes
Dearth of pure wit: ſince the great Lord of it
(Donne) parted hence, no Man has ever writ
So neer him, in's own way: I would commend
Particulars, but then, how ſhould I end
Without a Volume? Ev'ry line of thine
Would ask (to praiſe it right) twenty of mine.
1.
LOve, Reaſon, Hate, did once beſpeak
Three mates to play at barley-break;
Love, Folly took; and Reaſon, Fancy;
And Hate conſorts with Pride; ſo dance they:
Love coupled laſt, and ſo it fell
That Love and Folly were in hell.
2.
They break, and Love would Reaſon meet,
But Hate was nimbler on her feet;
Fancy looks for Pride, and thither
Hyes, and they two hugge together:
Yet this new coupling ſtill doth tell
That Love and Folly were in hell.
3.
The reſt do break again, and Pride
Hath now got Reaſon on her ſide;
Hate and Fancy meet, and ſtand
Untoucht by Love in Folly's hand;
Folly was dull, but Love ran well,
So Love and Folly were in hell.
Song.
1.
I Prethee ſpare me, gentle Boy,
Preſſe me no more for that ſlight toy,
That fooliſh trifle of an heart,
I ſwear it will not do its part,
Though thou doſt thine, employ'ſt thy power and art.
2.
For through long cuſtom it has known
The little ſecrets, and is grown
Sullen and wiſe, will have its will,
And like old Hawks purſues that ſtill
That makes leaſt ſport, flies onely where 't can kill.
3.
Some youth that has not made his ſtory,
Will think perchance the pain's the glory;
And mannerly ſit out Loves Feaſt;
I ſhall be carving of the beſt,
Rudely call for the laſt courſe 'fore the reſt.
4.
And oh! when once that courſe is paſt,
How ſhort a time the Feaſt doth laſt;
Men riſe away, and ſcarce ſay grace,
Or civilly once thank the face
That did invite; but ſeek another place.
Ʋpon my Lady Carliles walking in Hampton-Court garden.
Dialogue. T. C. I. S.
Thom.
DIdſt thou not find the place inſpir'd,
And flow'rs as if they had deſir'd
No other Sun, ſtart from their beds,
And for a ſight ſteal out their heads?
Heardſt thou not muſick when ſhe talk't?
And didſt not find that as ſhe walkt
She threw rare perfumes all about
Such as bean▪bloſſoms newly out,
Or chafed ſpices give?—
J. S.
I muſt confeſſe thoſe perfumes (Tom)
I did not ſmell; nor found that from
Her paſſing by, ought ſprung up new,
The flow'rs had all their birth from you;
For I paſs't o're the ſelf ſame walk,
And did not find one ſingle ſtalk
Of any thing that was to bring
This unknown after after ſpring.
Thom.
Dull and inſenſible, could'ſt ſee
A thing ſo near a Deity
Move up and down, and feel no change?
J. S.
None, and ſo great, were alike ſtrange,
I had my Thoughts, but not your way,
All are not born (Sir) to the Bay;
Alas! Tom, I am fleſh and blood,
And was conſulting how I could
In ſpite of masks and hoods deſcry
The parts deni'd unto the eye;
I was undoing all ſhe wore,
And had ſhe walkt but one turn more,
Eve in her firſt ſtate had not been
More naked, or more plainly ſeen.
Thom.
'T was well for thee ſhe left the place,
There is great danger in that face;
But had'ſt thou view'd her legg and thigh,
And upon that diſcovery
Search't after parts that are more dear
(As Fancy ſeldom ſtops ſo near)
No time or age had ever ſeen
So loſt a thing as thou hadſt been.
To Mr. Davenant for Abſence.
WOnder not if I ſtay not here,
Hurt Lovers (like to wounded Deer)
Muſt ſhift the place▪ for ſtanding ſtill
Leaves too much time to know our ill:
Where there is a Traytor eye
That lets in from th'enemy
All that may ſupplant an heart,
'Tis time the Chief ſhould uſe ſome Art;
Who parts the object from the ſence,
Wiſely cuts off intelligence.
O how quickly men muſt die,
Should they ſtand all Loves Battery;
Perſindaes eyes great miſchief do,
So do we know the Canon too;
But men are ſafe at diſtance ſtill,
Where they reach not, they cannot kill.
Love is a fit, and ſoon is paſt,
Ill dyet onely makes it laſt;
Who is ſtill looking, gazing ever,
Drinks wine i'th' very height o'th' Fever.
Againſt Abſence.
MY whining Lover, what needs all
Theſe vows of life Monaſtical?
Deſpairs, retirements, jealouſies,
Aud ſubtile ſealing up of eyes?
Come, come, be wiſe; return again,
A finger burnt's as great a pain;
And the ſame Phyſick, ſelf ſame art
Cures that, would cure a flaming heart:
Would'ſt thou whilſt yet the fire is in
But hold it to the fire again.
If you (Dear Sir) the plague have got,
What matter is't whether or not
They let you in the ſame houſe lie,
Or carry you abroad to die?
He whom the plague, or Love once takes,
Every Room a Peſt-Houſe makes.
Abſence were good if't were but ſence
That onely holds th'Intelligence:
Pure love alone no hurt would do,
But love is love, and magick too;
Brings a miſtreſſe a thouſand miles,
And the ſleight of looks beguiles,
Makes her entertain thee there,
And the ſame time your Rival here;
And (oh! the divel) that ſhe ſhould
Say finer things now then ſhe would;
So nobly Fancy doth ſupply
What the dull ſence lets fall and die.
Beauty like mans old enemy's known
To tempt him moſt when hee's alone:
The ayre of ſome wild o'regrown wood,
Or pathleſſe Grove is the Boyes food.
Return then back, and feed thine eye,
Feed all thy ſences, and feaſt high.
Spare dyet is the cauſe Love laſts,
For Surfets ſooner kill than Faſts.
A Supplement of an imperfect Copy of Verſes of Mr. Wil. Shakeſpears, By the Author.
1.
ONe of her hands, one of her cheeks lay under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiſſe,
Which therefore ſwel'd, and ſeem'd to part aſunder,
As angry to be rob'd of ſuch a bliſſe:
The one lookt pale, and for revenge did long,
While t'other bluſht, cauſe it had done the wrong.
2.
Out of the bed the other fair hand was
On a green ſattin quilt, whoſe perfect white
Lookt like a Dazie in a field of graſſe,
Thus far Shakeſpear.
*And ſhew'd like unmelt ſnow unto the ſight,
There lay this pretty perdue, ſafe to keep
The reſt oth' body that lay faſt aſleep.
3.
Her eyes (and therefore it was night) cloſe laid,
Strove to impriſon beauty till the morn,
But yet the doors were of ſuch fine ſtuffe made,
That it broke through, and ſhew'd it ſelf in ſcorn.
Throwing a kind of light about the place,
which turnd to ſmiles ſtil as't came near her face.
4.
Her beams (which ſome dul men call'd hair) divided
Part with her cheeks, part with her lips did ſport,
But theſe, as rude, her breath put by ſtill; ſome
Wiſelyer downwards ſought, but falling ſhort,
Curl'd back in rings, and ſeem'd to turn agen
To bite the part ſo unkindly held them in.
THat none beguiled be by times quick flowing,
Lovers have in their hearts a clock ſtill going;
For though Time be nimble, his motions are quicker
and thicker
where Love hath his notions:
Hope is the main ſpring on which moves deſire,
And theſe do the leſſe wheels, fear, joy, inſpire;
the ballance is thought, evermore clicking
and ſtriking,
and ne're giving ore
Occaſions the hand which ſtill's moving round,
Till by it the Critical hour may be found,
And when that falls out, it will ſtrike kiſſes,
ſtrange bliſſes,
and what you beſt like.
1.
TIs now ſince I ſate down before
That fooliſh Fort, a heart;
(Time ſtrangely ſpent) a Year, and more,
And ſtill I did my part:
2.
Made my approaches, from her hand
Unto her lip did riſe,
And did already underſtand
The language of her eyes.
3.
Proceeded on with no leſſe Art,
My Tongue was Engineer;
I thought to undermine the heart
By whiſpering in the ear.
4.
When this did nothing, I brought down
Great Canon-oaths, and ſhot
A thouſand thouſand to the Town,
And ſtill it yeelded not.
5.
I then reſolv'd to ſtarve the place
By cutting off all kiſſes,
Prayſing and gazing on her face,
And all ſuch little bliſſes.
6.
To draw her out, and from her ſtrength,
I drew all batteries in:
And brought my ſelf to lie at length
As if no ſiege had been.
7.
When I had done what man could do,
And thought the place mine owne,
The Enemy lay quiet too,
And ſmil'd at all was done.
8.
I ſent to know from whence, and where,
Theſe hopes, and this relief?
A Spie inform'd, Honour was there,
And did command in chief.
9.
March, march (quoth I) the word ſtraight give,
Lets loſe no time, but leave her:
That Giant upon ayre will live,
And hold it out for ever.
10.
To ſuch a place our Camp remove
As will no ſiege abide;
I hate a fool that ſtarves her Love
Onely to feed her pride.
Ʋpon my Lord Brohalls Wedding.
Dialogue. S. B.
S.
IN bed dull man?
When Love and Hymens Revels are begun,
And the Chnrch Ceremonis paſt and done.
B.
Why who's gone mad to day?
S.
Dull Heretick, thou wouldſt ſay,
He that is gone to Heaven's gone aſtray;
Brohall our gallant friend
Is gone to Church as Martyrs to the fire:
Who marry differ but i'th'end,
Since both do take
The hardeſt way to what they moſt deſire:
Nor ſtaid he till the formal Prieſt had done,
But ere that part was finiſht, his begun:
Which did reveal
The haſt and eagerneſſe men have to ſeal
That long to tell the money.
A ſprigg of Willow in his hat he wore,
(The looſers badge and liv'ry heretofore)
But now ſo ordered that it might be taken
By lookers on, forſaking as forſaken.
And now and then
A careles ſmile broke forth, which ſpoke his mind,
And ſeem'd to ſay ſhe might have been more kind.
When this (dear Jack) I ſaw
Thought I
How weak is Lovers Law?
The bonds made there (like gypſies knots) with eaſe
Are faſt and looſe, as they that hold them pleaſe.
But was the fair Nymphs praiſe or power leſſe
That led him captive now to happineſſe?
'Cauſe ſhe did not a forreign aid deſpiſe,
But enterr'd breaches made by others eyes:
The Gods forbid,
There muſt be ſome to ſhoot and batter down,
Others to force and to take in the Town.
To Hawkes (good Jack) and hearts
There may
Be ſev'ral waies and Arts;
One watches them perchance, and makes them tame:
Another, when they're ready, ſhews them game.
Sir,
WHether theſe lines do find you out,
Putting or clearing of a doubt;
(Whether Predeſtination,
Or reconciling three in one,
Or the unriddling how men die,
And live at once eternally,
Now take you up) know 'tis decreed
You ſtraight beſtride the Colledge Steed:
Leave Socinus and the Schoolmen,
(Which Jack Bond ſwears do but fool men)
And come to Town; 'tis fit you ſhow
Your ſelf abroad, that men may know
(What e're ſome learned men have gueſt)
That Oracles are not yet ceas't:
There you ſhall find the wit, and wine
Flowing alike, and both divine:
Diſhes, with names not known in books,
And leſſe amongſt the Colledge-Cooks,
With ſauce ſo pregnant that you need
Not ſtay till hunger bids you feed.
The ſweat of learned Johnſons brain,
And gentle Shakeſpear's eas'er ſtrain,
A hackney-coach conveys you to,
In ſpite of all that rain can do:
And for your eighteen pence you ſit
The Lord and Judge of all freſh wit.
News in one day as much w'have here
As ſerves all Windſor for a year,
And which the Carrier brings to you,
After 't has here been found not true.
Then think what Company's deſign'd
To meet you here, men ſo refin'd,
Their very common talk at boord,
Makes wiſe, or mad a young Court-Lord,
And makes him capable to be
Umpire in's Fathers Company.
Where no diſputes nor forc't defence
Of a mans perſon for his ſence
Take up the time; all ſtrive to be
Maſters of truth, as victory:
And where you come, I'de boldly ſwear
A Synod might as eas'ly erre.
Againſt Fruition.
FYe upon hearts that burn with mutual fire;
I hate two minds that breath but one deſire:
Were I to curſe th'unhallow'd ſort of men,
I'de wiſh them to love, and be lov'd agen.
Love's a Camelion, that lives on meer ayre;
And ſurfets when it comes to groſſer fare:
'Tis petty Jealouſies, and little fears,
Hopes joyn'd with doubts, and joyes with April tears,
That crowns our Love with pleaſures: theſe are gone
When once we come to full Fruition.
Like waking in a morning, when all night
Our fancy hath been fed with true delight.
Oh! what a ſtroke't would be! Sure I ſhould die,
Should I but hear my miſtreſſe once ſay, I.
That monſter expectation feeds too high
For any Woman e're to ſatiſfie:
And no brave Spirit ever car'd for that
Which in Down-beds with eaſe he could come at.
Shee's but an honeſt whore that yeelds, although
She be as cold as ice, as pure as ſnow:
He that enjoys her hath no more to ſay
But keep us Faſting if you'l have us pray.
Then faireſt Miſtreſſe, hold the power you have,
By ſtill denying what we ſtill do crave:
In keeping us in hopes ſtrange things to ſee
That never were, nor are, nor e're ſhall be.
A Ballade.
Ʋpon a Wedding.
I Tell thee Dick where I have been,
Where I the rareſt things have ſeen;
Oh things without compare!
Such ſights again cannot be found
In any place on Engliſh ground,
Be it at Wake, or Fair.
At Charing-Croſſe, hard by the way
Where we (thou know'ſt) do ſell our Hay,
There is a houſe with ſtairs;
And there did I ſee comming down
Such folk as are not in our Town,
Vorty at leaſt, in Pairs.
Amongſt the reſt, one Peſt'lent fine,
(His beard no bigger though then thine)
Walkt on before the reſt:
Our Landlord looks like nothing to him:
The King (God bleſſe him) 'twould undo him,
Should he go ſtill ſo dreſt.
At Courſe-a-Park, without all doubt,
He ſhould have firſt been taken out
By all the Maids i'th' Town:
Though luſty Roger there had been,
Or little George upon the Green,
Or Vincent of the Crown.
But wot you what? the youth was going
To make an end of all his woing;
The Parſon for him ſtaid:
Yet by his leave (for all his haſte)
He did not ſo much wiſh all paſt,
(Perchance) as did the maid.
The maid (and thereby hangs a tale)
For ſuch a maid no Whitſon-ale
Could ever yet produce:
No Grape that's kindly ripe, could be
So round, ſo plump, ſo ſoft as ſhe,
Nor half ſo full of Juyce.
Her finger was ſo ſmall, the Ring
Would not ſtay on which they did bring,
It was too wide a Peck:
And to ſay truth (for out it muſt)
It lookt like the great Collar (juſt)
About our young Colts neck.
Her feet beneath her Petticoat,
Like little mice ſtole in and out,
As if they fear'd the light:
But oh! ſhe dances ſuch a way!
No Sun upon an Eaſter day
Is half ſo fine a ſight.
He would have kiſt her once or twice,
But ſhe would not, ſhe was nice,
She would not do't in ſight,
And then ſhe lookt as who ſhould ſay
I will do what I liſt to day;
And you ſhall do't at night.
Her Cheeks ſo rare a white was on,
No Dazy makes compariſon,
(Who ſees them is undone)
For ſtreaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Katherne Pear,
(The ſide that's next the Sun.)
Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Compar'd to that was next her chin;
(Some Bee had ſtung it newly.)
But (Dick) her eyes ſo guard her face;
I durſt no more upon them gaze,
Then on the Sun in July.
Her mouth ſo ſmall when ſhe does ſpeak,
Thou'dſt ſwear her teeth her words did break,
That they might paſſage get,
But ſhe ſo handled ſtill the matter,
They came as good as ours, or better,
And are not ſpent a whit.
If wiſhing ſhould be any ſin,
The Parſon himſelf had guilty bin;
(She lookt that day ſo purely,)
And did the youth ſo oft the feat
At night, as ſome did in conceit,
It would have ſpoil'd him, ſurely.
Juſt in the nick the Cook knockt thrice,
And all the waiters in a trice
His ſummons did obey,
Each ſerving man with diſh in hand,
Marcht boldly up, like our Train'd Band,
Preſented, and away.
When all the meat was on the Table▪
What man of knife, or teeth, was able
To ſtay to be intreated?
And this the very reaſon was,
Before the Parſon could ſay Grace,
The Company was ſeated.
The bus'neſſe of the Kitchin's great,
For it is fit that men ſhould eat;
Nor was it there deni'd:
Paſſion oh me! how I run on!
There's that that would be thought upon,
(I trow) beſides the Bride.
Now hatts fly off, and youths carrouſe;
Healths firſt go round, and then the houſe,
The Brides came thick and thick:
And when 'twas nam'd anothers health,
Perhaps he made it hers by ſtealth.
(And who could help it? Dick)
O'th' ſodain up they riſe and dance;
Then ſit again and ſigh, and glance:
Then dance again and kiſſe:
Thus ſev'ral waies the time did paſſe,
Till ev'ry Woman wiſht her place,
And ev'ry Man wiſht his.
By this time all were ſtoln aſide
To counſel and undreſſe the Bride;
But that he muſt not know:
But yet 'twas thought he gheſt her mind,
And did not mean to ſtay behind
Above an hour or ſo.
When in he came (Dick) there ſhe lay
Like new-faln ſnow melting away,
('Twas time I trow to part)
Kiſſes were now the onely ſtay,
Which ſoon ſhe gave, as who would ſay,
Good Boy! with all my heart.
But juſt as heav'ns would have to croſſe it,
In came the Bridemaids with the Poſſet:
The Bridegroom eat in ſpight;
For had he left the Women to't
It would have coſt two hours to do't,
Which were too much that night.
At length the candles out and out,
All that they had not done, they do't:
What that is, who can tell?
But I beleeve it was no more
Then thou and I have done before
With Bridget, and with Nell.
MY deareſt Rival, leaſt our Love
Should with excentrique motion move,
Before it learn to go aſtray,
Wee'l teach and ſet it in a way,
And ſuch directions give unto't,
That it ſhall never wander foot.
Know firſt then, we will ſerve as true
For one poor ſmile, as we would do
If we had what our higher flame,
Or our vainer wiſh could frame.
Impoſſible ſhall be our hope;
And Love ſhall onely have his ſcope
To joyn with Fancy now and then,
And think what reaſon would condemn:
And on theſe grounds wee'l love as true,
As if they were moſt ſure t'enſue:
And chaſtly for theſe things wee'l ſtay,
As if to morrow were the day.
Mean time we two will teach our hearts
In Loves burdens bear their parts:
Thou firſt ſhall ſigh, and ſay ſhee's fair;
And I'le ſtill anſwer, paſt compare.
Thou ſhalt ſet out each part o'th face,
While I extol each little grace;
Thou ſhalt be raviſht at her wit;
And I, that ſhe ſo governs it:
Thou ſhalt like well that hand, that eye,
That lip, that look, that majeſty;
And in good language them adore:
While I want words, and do it more.
Yea we will ſit and ſigh a while,
And with ſoft thoughts ſome time beguil;
But ſtraight again break out and praiſe
All we had done before new-waies.
Thus will we do till paler death
Come with a warrant for our breath,
And then whoſe fate ſhall be to die
Firſt of us two, by Legacy
Shall all his ſtore bequeath, and give
His love to him that ſhall ſurvive;
For no one ſtock can ever ſerve
To love ſo much as ſhee'l deſerve.
Song.
1.
HOneſt Lover whoſoever,
If in all thy love there ever
Was one wav'ring thought, if thy flame
Were not ſtill even, ſtill the ſame:
Know this,
Thou lov'ſt amiſſe,
And to love true,
Thou muſt begin again, and love anew.
2.
If when ſhe appears i'th' room,
Thou doſt not quake, and art ſtruck dumb,
And in ſtriving this to cover
Doſt not ſpeak thy words twice over,
Know this,
Thou lov'ſt amiſſe,
And to love true,
Thou muſt begin again, and love anew.
3.
If fondly thou doſt not miſtake,
And all defects for graces take▪
Perſwad'ſt thy ſelf that jeaſts are broken,
When ſhe hath little or nothing ſpoken,
Know this,
Thou lov'ſt amiſſe,
And to love true,
Thou muſt begin again, and love anew.
4.
If when thou appear'ſt to be within,
Thou lett'ſt not men ask and ask agen,
And when thou anſwer'ſt, if it be
To what was askt thee properly,
Know this,
Thou lov'ſt amiſſe,
And to love true
Thou muſt begin again, and love anew.
5.
If when thy ſtomack calls to eat,
Thou cutt'ſt not fingers 'ſteed of meat,
And with much gazing on her face
Doſt not riſe hungry from the place,
Know this,
Thou lov'ſt amiſſe,
And to love true,
Thou muſt begin again, and love anew.
6.
If by this thou doſt diſcover
That thou art no perfect Lover,
And deſiring to love true▪
Thou doſt begin to love anew:
Know this,
Thou lov'ſt amiſſe,
And to love true,
Thou muſt begin again, and love anew.
Ʋpon two Siſters.
BEleev't yong Man, I can as eas'ly tell
How many yards and inches 'tis to hell;
Unriddle all predeſtination,
Or the nice points we now diſpute upon,
Had the three Goddeſſes been juſt as fair,
It had not been ſo eaſily decided
And ſure the apple muſt have been divided:
It muſt, it muſt; hee's impudent, dares ſay
Which is the handſomer till one's away.
And it was neceſſary it ſhould be ſo;
Wiſe Nature did foreſee it, and did know
When ſhe had fram'd the Eldeſt, that each heart
Muſt at the firſt ſight feel the blind-god's dart:
And ſure as can be, had ſhe made but one,
No plague had been more ſure deſtruction;
For we had lik't, lov'd, burnt to aſhes too,
In half the time that we are chuſing now:
Variety, and equal objects make
The buſie eye ſtill doubtful which to take;
This lip, this hand, this foot, this eye, this face,
The others body, geſture, or her grace:
And whilſt we thus diſpute which of the two,
We unreſolv'd go out, and nothing do.
He ſure is happy'ſt that has hopes of either,
Next him is he that ſees them both together.
To his Rival.
NOw we have taught our Love to know
That it muſt creep where't cannot go▪
And be for once content to live,
Since here it cannot have to thrive;
It will not be amiſſe t'enquire
What fuel ſhould maintain this fire:
For fires do either flame too high,
Or where they cannot flame, they die.
Firſt then (my half but better heart)
Know this muſt wholy be her part;
(For thou and I, like Clocks, are wound
Up to the height, and muſt move round)
She then by ſtill denying what
We fondly crave, ſhall ſuch a rate
Set on each trifle, that a kiſſe
Shall come to be the utmoſt bliſſe.
Where ſparks and fire do meet with tinder,
Thoſe ſparks meer fire will ſtill engender:
To make this good, no debt ſhall be
From ſervice or fidelity;
For ſhe ſhall ever pay that ſcore,
By onely bidding us do more:
So (though ſhe ſtill a niggard be)
In graceing, where none's due, ſhee's free:
The favors ſhe ſhall caſt on us,
(Leaſt we ſhould grow preſumptuous)
Shall not with too much love be ſhown,
Nor yet the common way ſtill done;
But ev'ry ſmile and little glance
Shall look half lent, and half by chance:
The Ribbon, Fan, or Muffe that ſhe
Would ſhould be kept by thee or me,
Should not be giv'n before to many,
But neither thrown to's when there's any;
So that her ſelf ſhould doubtful be
Whether 'twere fortune flung't, or ſhe.
She ſhall not like the thing we do
Sometimes, and yet ſhall like it too;
Nor any notice take at all
Of what, we gone, ſhe would extol:
Love ſhe ſhall feed, but fear to nouriſh,
For where fear is, love cannot flouriſh;
Yet live it muſt, nay muſt and ſhall,
While Deſdemona is at all:
But when ſhee's gone, then Love ſhall die,
And in her grave buried lie.
Farewel to Love.
1.
WEll ſhadow'd Landskip, fare-ye-well:
How I have lov'd you, none can tell,
At leaſt ſo well
As he that now hates more
Then e're he lov'd before.
2.
But my dear nothings, take your leave,
No longer muſt you me deceive,
Since I perceive
All the deceit, and know
Whence the miſtake did grow.
3.
As he whoſe quicker eye doth trace
A falſe ſtar ſhot to a mark't place,
Do's run apace,
And thinking it to catch,
A gelly up do's ſnatch.
4.
So our dull ſouls taſting delight
Far off, by ſence, and appetite,
Think that is right
And real good; when yet
'Tis but the Counterfeit.
5.
Oh! how I glory now▪ that I
Have made this new diſcovery!
Each wanton eye
Enflam'd before: no more
Will I encreaſe that ſcore.
6.
If I gaze, now, 'tis but to ſee
What manner of deaths-head 'twill be,
When it is free
From that freſh upper skin;
The gazers Joy, and ſin.
7.
The Gun and gliſt'ning which with art
And ſtudi'd method, in each part
Hangs down the heart,
Looks (juſt) as if, that day
Snails there had crawl'd the Hay.
8.
The Locks, that curl'd o're each eare be,
Hang like two Maſter-worms to me,
That (as we ſee)
Have taſted to the reſt
Two holes, where they lik't beſt.
9.
A quick coarſe me-thinks I ſpy
In ev'ry woman; and mine eye,
At paſſing by,
Check, and is troubled, juſt
As if it roſe from Duſt.
10.
They mortifie, not heighten me:
Theſe of my ſins the Glaſſes be:
And here I ſee
How I have lov'd before.
And ſo I love no more.
FINIS.
LETTERS To divers Eminent PERSONAGES: Written on ſeveral Occaſions,
By Sir JOHN SUCKLING.
Printed by his owne Copy.
LONDON, Printed by Ruth Raworth for Humphrey Moſeley, and are to be ſold at his ſhop at the ſigne of the Princes Arms in S. Pauls Church-yard. 1646.
FOrtune and Love have ever been ſo incompatible, that it is no wonder (Madam) if having had ſo much of the one for you, I have ever found ſo little of the other for my ſelf; Comming to Town (and having rid as if I had brought intelligence of a new-landed Enemy to the State) I find you gone the day before, and with you (Madam) all that is conſiderable upon the place; for though you have left behind you, faces whoſe beauties might well excuſe perjury in others, yet in me they cannot, ſince to the making that no ſin, Loves Caſuiſts have moſt rationally reſolved, that ſhe for whom we forſake, ought to be handſomer then the forſaken, which would be here impoſſible: So that now a gallerie hung with Titians or Vandikes hand, and a chamber filled with living Excellence, are the ſame things to me; and the uſe that I ſhall make of that Sex now, will be no other then that which the wiſer ſort of Catholiques do of Pictures; at the higheſt, they but ſerve to raiſe my devotion to you: Should a great Beauty now reſolve to take me in (as that is all they think belongs to it) with the Artillery of her eyes, it would be as vain, as for a
Thief to ſet upon a new robd paſſenger; You Madam) have my heart already, nor can you uſe it unkindly but with ſome injuſtice, ſince (beſides that it left a good ſervice to wait on you) it was never known to ſtay ſo long, or ſo willingly before with any; After all, the wages will not be high; for it hath been brought up under Platonicks, and knows no other way of being paid for ſervice, then by being commanded more; which truth when you doubt, you have but to ſend to its maſter and
Your humble Servant,
J. S.
A diſſwaſion from Love.
Jack,
THough your diſeaſe be in the number of thoſe that are better cured with time then precept, yet ſince it is lawful for every man to practiſe upon them that are forſaken and given over (which I take to be your ſtate) I will adventure to preſcribe to you; and of the innocence of the Phyſick you ſhall not need to doubt, ſince I can aſſure you I take it daily my ſelf.
To begin Methodically, I ſhould enjoyn you Travel; for Abſence doth in a kind remove the cauſe (removing the object) and anſwers the Phyſitians firſt Recipez, vomiting and purging; but this would be too harſh, and indeed not agreeing
to my way. I therefore adviſe you to ſee her as often as you can, for (beſides that the rarity of viſits endears them) this may bring you to ſurpriſe her, and to diſcover little defects, which though they cure not abſolutely, yet they qualifie the fury of the Feaver: As neer as you can let it be unſeaſonably, when ſhe is in ſicknes, and diſorder; for that will let you know ſhe is mortal, and a Woman, and the laſt would be enough to a wiſe man: If you could draw her to diſcourſe of things ſhe underſtands not, it would not be amiſſe.
Contrive your ſelf often into the Company of the cryed▪up Beauties; for if you read but one book, it will be no wonder if you ſpeak or write that ſtile; variety will breed diſtraction, and that will be a kind of diverting the humour.
I would not have you deny your ſelf the little things (for theſe Agues are eaſier cured with Surfets than abſtinence) rather (if you can) taſt all: for that (as an old Author ſaith) will let you ſee
That the thing for which we wooe,
Is not worth ſo much ado.
But ſince that here would be impoſſible, you muſt be content to take it where you can get it. And this for your comfort I muſt tell you (Jack) that Miſtreſſe and Woman differ no otherwiſe then Frontiniack and ordinary Grapes: which though a man loves never ſo well, yet if he ſurfet of the laſt, he will care but little for the firſt.
I would have you leave that fooliſh humour
(Jack) of ſaying you are not in love with her, and pretending you care not for her; for ſmothered fires are dangerous, and malicious humors are beſt and ſafeſt vented and breathed out. Continue your affection to your Rival ſtill, that will ſecure you from one way of loving, which is in ſpite; and preſerve your friendſhip with her woman; for who knows but ſhe may help you to the remedy.
A jolly glaſſe and right Company would much conduce to the cure; for though in the Scripture (by the way it is but Apocrypha) Woman is reſolved ſtronger than Wine, yet whether it will be ſo or not, when wit is joyned to it, may prove a freſh queſtion.
Marrying (as our friend the late Ambaſſador hath wittily obſerved) would certainly cure it; but that is a kind of live Pigeons laid to the ſoals of the feet, a laſt remedy, and (to ſay truth) worſe than the diſeaſe.
But (Jack) I remember I promiſed you a letter, not a Treaty; I now expect you ſhould be juſt, and as I have ſhewed you how to get out of love, ſo you (according to our bargain) ſhould teach me how to get into it. I know you have but one way, and will preſcribe me now to look upon Miſtris Howard; but for that I muſt tell you aforehand, that it is love as in Antipathy; The Capers which will make my Lord of Dorſet go from the Table, another man will eat up. And (Jack) if you would make a viſit to Bedlam, you ſhall find,
that there are rarely two there mad for the ſame thing.
Your humble Servant.
THough (Madam) I have ever hitherto beleeved play to be a thing in it ſelf as meerly indifferent as Religion to a Stateſ-man, or love made in a privie-chamber; yet hearing you have reſolved it otherwiſe for me, my faith ſhall alter without becomming more learned upon it, or once knowing why it ſhould do ſo; ſo great and juſt a Soveraignty is that your reaſon hath above all others, that mine muſt be a Rebel to it ſelf, ſhould it not obey thus eaſily; and indeed all the infallibility of judgement we poor Proteſtants have, is at this time wholy in your hands.
The loſſe of a Miſtris (which kills men onely in Romances, and is ſtill digeſted with the firſt meat we eat after it) had yet in me raiſed up ſo much paſſion, and ſo juſt a quarrel (as I thought) to Fortune for it, that I could not but tempt her to do me right upon the firſt occaſion: yet (Maddame) has it not made me ſo deſperate but that I can ſit down a loſer both of that time and money too, when there ſhall be the leaſt fear of loſing you▪
And now, ſince I know your Ladyſhip is too wiſe to ſuppoſe to your ſelf impoſſibilities, and therefore cannot think of ſuch a thing, as of making me abſolutely good; it will not be without
ſome impatience that I ſhall attend to know what ſin you will be pleaſed to aſſigne me in the room of this: ſomething that has leſſe danger about it (I conceive it would be) and therefore if you pleaſe (Madam) let it not be Women: for to ſay truth, it is a dyet I cannot yet relliſh, otherwiſe then men do that on which they ſurfetted laſt.
Your humbleſt Servant,
J. S.
Madam,
BEfore this inſtant I did not beleeve Warwickſhire the other world, or that Milcot walks had been the bleſſed ſhades. At my arrival here I am ſaluted by all as riſen from the dead, and have had joy given me as prepoſterouſly and as impertinently as they give it to men who marry where they do not love. If I ſhould now die in earneſt, my friends have nothing to pay me, for they have diſcharged the Rites of Funeral ſorrow before hand. Nor do I take it ill, that report which made Richard the ſecond alive ſo often after he was dead, ſhould kill me as often when I am alive; The advantage is on my ſide: The onely quarrel I have, is that they have made uſe of the whole Book of Martyrs upon me; and without all queſtion the firſt Chriſtians under the great perſecutions ſuffered not in 500. years, ſo many ſeveral waies as I have done in ſix daies in this lewd Town. This (Madam) may ſeem ſtrange unto you
now, who know the Company I was in; and certainly if at that time I had departed this tranſitory World, it had been a way they had never thought on; and this Epitaph of the Spaniards (changing the names) would better have become my Grave-ſtone, then any other my friends the Poets would have found out for me:
Epitaph.
Here lies Don Alonzo,
Slain by a wound received under
His left Pappe,
The Orifice of which was ſo
Small, no Chirurgion could
Diſcover it.
Reader,
If thou wouldst avoid ſo ſtrange
A Death,
Look not upon Lucinda'es eyes.
Now all this diſcourſe of dying (Madam) is but to let you know how dangerous a thing it is to be long from London, eſpecially in a place which is concluded out of the World. If you are not to be frighted hither, I hope you are to be perſwaded; and if good Sermons, or good Playes, new Braveries, or freſh Wit, Revells (Madam) Masks that are to be, have any Rhetorique about them, here they are I aſſure you in perfection; without asking leave of the Provinces beyond Seas, or the aſſent of—I write not this that you ſhould think I value theſe pleaſures above thoſe of Milcot: for I muſt here proteſt, I
preferre the ſingle Tabor and Pipe in the great Hall, far above them: and were there no more belonging to a journey then riding ſo many miles (would my affairs conſpire with my deſires) your Ladyſhip ſhould find there not at the bottom of a Letter
Madam,
Your humble Servant,
Madam,
I Thank Heaven we live in an Age in which the Widdows wear Coulers, and in a Country where the Women that loſe their Husbands may be truſted with poiſon, knives, and all the burning coals in Europe, notwithſtanding the preſident of Sophonisba and Portia: Conſidering the eſtate you are in now, I ſhould reaſonably imagine meaner Phyſitians then Seneca or Cicero might adminiſter comfort. It is ſo far from me to imagine this accident ſhould ſurprize you, that in my opinion it ſhould not make you wonder; it being not ſtrange at all that a man who hath lived ill all his time in a houſe, ſhould break a Window, or ſteal away in the night through an unuſual Poſtern: you are now free, and what matter is it to a Priſoner whether the fetters be taken off the ordinary way or not? If inſteed of putting off handſomly the chain of Matrimony, he hath rudely broke it, 'tis at his owne charge, nor ſhould it coſt you a tear; Nothing (Madam) has worſe Mine
than counterfet ſorrow, and you muſt have the height of Womans Art to make yours appear other, eſpecially when the ſpectators ſhall conſider all the ſtory.
The ſword that is placed betwixt a contracted Princeſſe and an Ambaſſador, was as much a Huſband, and the onely difference was, that that ſword laid in the bed, allowed one to ſupply its place; this Huſband denied all, like a falſe Crow ſet up in a Garden, which keeps others from the fruit it cannot taſte it ſelf: I would not have you ſo much as enquire whether it were with his garters or his Cloak-bag ſtrings, nor ingage your ſelf to freſh ſighs by hearing new relations.
The Spaniſh Princeſſe Leonina (whom Balzac delivers the Ornament of the laſt Age) was wiſe; who hearing a Poſt was ſent to tell her her Huſband was dead, and knowing the Secretary was in the way for that purpoſe, ſent to ſtay the Poſt till the arrival of the Secretary, that ſhe might not be obliged to ſhed tears twice. Of ill things the leſſe we know, the better. Curioſity would here be as vain, as if a Cuckold ſhould enquire whether it were upon the Couch or a Bed, and whether the Cavalier pulld off his Spurrs firſt or not.
I muſt confeſſe it is a juſt ſubject for our ſorrow to hear of any that does quit his ſtation without his leave that placed him there; and yet as ill a Mine as this Act has: 't was a-la-Romanſci, as you may ſee by a line of Mr. Shakeſpears, who bringing in Titinius after a loſt battel, ſpeaking to
his ſword, and bidding it find out his heart, adds
By your leave Gods, this a Romanes part.
'Tis true, I think Cloak-bag ſtrings were not then ſo much in faſhion; but to thoſe that are not Sword-men, the way is not ſo deſpicable; and for my owne part, I aſſure you Chriſtianity highly governs me in the minute in which I do not wiſh with all my heart that all the diſcontents in his Majeſties three Kingdoms would find out this very way of ſatisfying themſelves and the world.
I. S.
Sir,
SInce the ſetling of your Family would certainly much conduce to the ſetling of your mind (the care of the one being the trouble of the other) I cannot but reckon it in the number of my misfortunes, that my affairs deny me the content I ſhould take to ſerve you in it.
It would be too late now for me (I ſuppoſe) to advance or confirm you in thoſe good reſolutions I left you in, being confident your own reaſon hath been ſo juſt to you, as long before this to have repreſented a neceſſity of redeeming time and fame, and of taking an handſome revenge upon your ſelf for the injuries you would have done your ſelf.
Change I confeſſe (to them that think all at once) muſt needs be ſtrange, and to you hateful, whom firſt your owne nature, and then cuſtome
another nature, have brought to delight in thoſe narrow and uncouth waies we found you in. You muſt therefore conſider that you have entred into one of thoſe neer conjunctions of which death is the onely honourable divorce; and that you have now to pleaſe another as well as your ſelf; who though ſhe be a Woman, and by the patent ſhe hath from nature, hath liberty to do ſimply; yet can ſhe never be ſo ſtrongly bribed againſt her ſelf, as to betray at once all her hopes and ends, and for your ſake reſolve to live miſerably. Examples of ſuch loving folly our times afford but few; and in thoſe there are, you ſhall find the ſtock of Love to have been greater, and their ſtrengths richer to maintain it, than is to be feared yours can be.
Woman (beſides the trouble) has ever been thought a Rent-charge, and though through the vain curioſity of man it has often been incloſed, yet has it ſeldom been brought to improve or become profitable; It faring with marryed men for the moſt part, as with thoſe that at great charges wall in grounds and plant, who cheaper might have eaten Mellons elſewhere then in their owne Gardens Cucumbers. The ruines that either time, ſickneſſe, or the melancholy you ſhall give her, ſhall bring; muſt all be made up at your coſt: for that thing a huſband is but Tenant for life in what he holds, and is bound to leave the place Tenantable to the next that ſhall take it. To conclude, a young Woman is a Hawk upon
her wings; and if ſhe be handſome, ſhe is the more ſubject to go out at check; Faulkners that can but ſeldom ſpring right game, ſhould ſtill have ſomething about them to take them down with. The Lure to which all ſtoop in this world, is either garniſht with profit or pleaſure, and when you cannot throw her the one, you muſt be content to ſhew out the other. This I ſpeak not out of a deſire to increaſe your fears which are already but too many, but out of a hope that when you know the worſt, you will at once leap into the River, and ſwim through handſomly, and not (weather-beaten with the divers blaſts of irreſolution) ſtand ſhivering upon the brink.
Doubts and fears are of all the ſharpeſt paſſions, and are ſtill turning diſtempers to diſeaſes; through theſe falſe Opticks 'tis, all that you ſee is like evening ſhaddows, diſproportionable to the truth, and ſtrangely longer then the true ſubſtance: Theſe (when a handſome way of living and expence ſutable to your Fortune is repreſented to you) makes you in their ſtead ſee want and beggery: thruſting upon your judgement impoſſibilities for likelyhoods, which they with eaſe may do (ſince as Solomon ſaith) they betray the ſuccors that reaſon offers.
'Tis true, that all here below is but diverſified folly, and that the little things we laugh at Children for, we do but act our ſelves in great; yet is there difference of Lunacy, and of the two, I had much rather be mad with him, that (when he had
nothing) thought all the Ships that came into the Haven his; Than with you, who (when you have ſo much comming in) think you have nothing; This fear of loſing all in you, is the ill iſſue of a worſe Parent, deſire of getting in you; So that if you would not be paſſion-rent, you muſt ceaſe to be covetous: Money in your hand is like the Conjurers Divel, which, while you think you have, that has you.
The rich Talent that God hath given, or rather lent you, you have hid up in a napkin, and Man knows no difference betwixt that and Treaſures kept by ill Spirits, but that yours is the harder to come by. To the guarding of theſe golden Apples, of neceſſity muſt be kept thoſe never ſleeping Dragons, Fear, Jealouſie, Diſtruſt, and the like; ſo that you are come to moralize AEſop, and his fables of beaſts are become prophecies of you; for while you have catcht at the ſhadow, uncertain riches; you have loft the ſubſtance, true content.
The deſire I have ye ſhould be yet your ſelf, and that your friends ſhould have occaſion to bleſſe the providence of miſfortune, has made me take the boldnes to give you your own Character; and to ſhew you your ſelf out of your own glaſſe: And though all this tells you but where you are, yet it is ſome part of a cure to have ſearcht the wound. And for this time we muſt be content to do like Travellers, who firſt find out the place, and then the neereſt way.
My Noble Lord,
YOur humble Servant had the honour to receive from your hand a Letter, and had the grace upon the ſight of it to bluſh. I but then found my owne negligence, and but now could have the opportunity to ask pardon for it. We have ever ſince been upon a March, and the places we are come to, have afforded rather blood than Inke: and of all things, Sheets have been the hardeſt to come by, ſpecially thoſe of Paper. If theſe few lines ſhall have the happines to kiſſe your hand, they can aſſure, that he that ſent them knows none to whom he owes more obligation then to your Lordſhip, and to whom he would more willingly pay it: and that it muſt be no leſſe than neceſſity it ſelf that can hinder him from often preſenting it. Germany hath no whit altered me, I am ſtill the humble ſervant of my Lord [] that I was, and when I ceaſe to be ſo, I muſt ceaſe to be
John Suckling.
SInce you can breath no one deſire that was not mine before it was yours,—or full as ſoon, (for hearts united never knew divided wiſhes) I muſt chide you (dear Princeſſe) not thank you, for your Preſent: and (if at leaſt I knew how) be angry with you for ſending him a bluſh, who needs muſt bluſh becauſe you ſent him one. If you are conſcious of much, what am I then? who
guilty am of all you can pretend to, and ſomthing more—unworthineſſe. But why ſhould you at all (Heart of my heart) diſturb the happines you have ſo newly given me? or make love feed on doubts, that never yet could thrive on ſuch a diet? If I have granted your requeſt—Oh!—Why will you ever ſay that you have ſtudied me, and give ſo great an inſtance to the contrary? that wretched If—ſpeaks as if I would refuſe what you deſire, or could: both which are equally impoſſible. My dear Princeſſe, There needs no new Approaches where the Breach is made already; nor muſt you ever ask any where, but of your fair ſelf, for any thing that ſhall concern
Your humble Servant.
My Dearest Princeſſe,
BUt that I know I love you more then ever any did any, and that yet I hate my ſelf becauſe I can love you no more, I ſhould now moſt unſatiſfied diſpatch away this meſſenger.
The little that I can write to what I would, makes me think writing a dull commerce, and then—how can I chuſe but wiſh my ſelf with you—to ſay the reſt. My Dear Dear, think what merit, vertue, beauty, what and how far Aglaura with all her charmes can oblige, and ſo far and ſomething more I am
Your humble Servant.
A Letter to a Friend to diſwade him from marrying a Widow which he formerly had been in Love with, and quitted.
AT this time when no hot Planet fires the blood, and when the Lunaticks of Bedlam themſelves are truſted abroad; that you ſhould run mad, is (Sir) not ſo much a ſubject for your friends pitty, as their wonder. 'Tis true, Love is a natural diſtemper, a kind of Small Pocks: Every one either hath had it, or is to expect it, & the ſooner the better.
Thus far you are excuſed: But having been well cured of a Fever, to court a Relapſe, to make Love the ſecond time in the ſame Place, is (not to flatter you) neither better nor worſe then to fall into a Quagmire by chance, and ride into it
afterwards on purpoſe. 'Tis not love (Tom) that that doth the miſchief, but conſtancy, for Love is of the nature of a burning-glaſſe, which kept ſtill in one place, fireth: changed often, it doth nothing: a kind of glowing-Coal, which with ſhifting from hand to hand a man eaſily endures. But then to marry! (Tom) Why thou hadſt better to live honeſt. Love thou knowſt is blind, what will he do when he hath Fetters on thinkeſt thou?
Doſt thou know what marriage is? 'Tis curing of Love the deareſt way, or waking a looſing Gameſter out of a winning dream: and after a long expectation of a ſtrange banquet, a preſentation of a homely meal. Alas! (Tom) Love-ſeeds when it runs up to Matrimony, and is good for nothing. Like
ſome Fruit-trees, it muſt be tranſplanted if thou wouldſt have it active, and bring forth any thing.
Thou now perchance haſt vowed all that can be vowed to any one face, and thinkſt thou haſt left nothing unſaid to it: do but make love to another, and if thou art not ſuddenly furniſht with new-language, and freſh oathes, I will conclude Cupid hath uſed thee worſe then ever he did any of his train.
After all this, to marry Widow, a kind of chew'dmeat! What a fantaſtical ſtomack haſt thou, that canſt not eat of a diſh til another man hath cut of it? who would waſh after another, when he might have freſh water enough for asking?
Life is ſometimes a long-journey: to be
tyed to ride upon one beaſt ſtill, and that halftyr'd to thy hand too! Think upon that (Tom.)
Well; If thou muſt needs marry (as who can tell to what height thou haſt ſinned? Let it be a Maid, and no Widow: (for as a modern Author hath wittily reſolved in this caſe) 'tis better (if a man muſt be in Priſon) to lie in a private room then in the hole.
An Anſwer to the Letter.
CEaſe to wonder (honeſt Jack) and give me leave to pitty thee, who laboureſt to condemn that which thou confeſſeſt natural, and the ſooner had, the better.
Thus far there needs no excuſe, unleſſe it be on thy behalf, who ſtileſt ſecond thoughts (which are by all allowed the Beſt) a relapſe, and talkeſt of a quagmire where no man ever ſtuck faſt, and accuſeſt conſtancy of miſchief in what is natural, and adviſedly undertaken.
'Tis confeſt that Love changed often doth nothing; nay 'tis nothing: for Love and change are incompatible: but where it is kept fixt to its firſt object, though it burn not, yet it warms
and cheriſheth, ſo as it needs no tranſplantation, or change of ſoyl to make it fruitful: and certainly if Love be natural, to marry is the beſt Recipe for living honeſt.
Yes, I know what mariage is, and know you know it not, by terming it the deareſt way of curing Love: for certainly there goes more charge to the keeping of a Stable full of horſes, then one onely Steed: and much of vanity is therein beſides: when, be the errand what it will, this one Steed ſhall ſerve your turn as well as twenty more. Oh! if you could ſerve your Steed ſo!
Marriage turns pleaſing Dreams to raviſhing Realities which out doe what Fancy or expectation can frame unto themſelves.
That Love doth ſeed when it runs into Matrimony,
is undoubted truth; how elſe ſhould it increaſe and multiply, which is its greateſt bleſsing.
'Tis not the want of Love, nor Cupids fault, if every day afford not new-language, and new-waies of expreſſing affection: it rather may be cauſed through an exceſſe of joy, which oftentimes ſtrikes dumb.
Theſe things conſidered I will marry, nay, and to prove the ſecond Paradox falſe, I'le marry a Widow, who is rather the chewer, then thing chewed. How ſtrangely fantaſtical is he who will be an hour in plucking on a ſtrait-boot, when he may be forthwith furniſht with enough that will come on eaſily, and do him as much credit, and better ſervice? Wine when firſt-broacht, drinks not half ſo well as after a while drawing. Would
you not think him a mad man who whilſt he might fair & eaſily ride on the beaten-road-way, ſhould trouble himſelf with breaking up of gaps? a well wayed horſe will ſafely convay thee to thy journeys end, when an unbackt Filly may by chance give thee a fall: 'Tis Prince-like to marry a Widow, for 'tis to have a Taſter.
Tis true, life may prove a long▪journey; and ſo believe me it muſt do, A very long one too, before the Beaſt you talke of prove tyr'd. Think you upon that (Jack.)
Thus, Jack, thou ſeeſt my wel-tane reſolution of marrying, and that a Widow, not a maid; to which I am much induced out of what Pythagoras ſaith (in his 2da Sect. cu
•
iculorum) that it is better lying in the hole, then ſitting in the Stocks.
VVHen I receive your lines (my Dear Princeſſe) and find there expreſſions of a Paſſion; though reaſon and my own immerit tell me, it muſt not be for me; yet is the Cozenage ſo pleaſing to me, that I (bribed by my own deſires) beleeve them ſtill before the other. Then do I glory that my Virgin-Love has ſtaid for ſuch an object to fixe upon, and think how good the Stars were to me that kept me from quenching thoſe flames (Youth or wild Love furniſhed me withall) in common and ordinary Waters, and reſerved me a Sacrifice for your eyes;—While thought thus ſmiles and ſolaces himſelf within me, cruel Remembrance breaks in upon our retirements, and tells ſo ſad a Story, that (truſt me) I forget all that pleaſed Fancy ſaid before, and turnes my thoughts to where I left you. Then I conſider that ſtormes neither know Courtſhip, nor Pittie, and that thoſe rude blaſts will often make you a Priſoner this Winter, if they doe no worſe.
While I here enjoy freſh diverſion, you make the ſufferings more, by having leiſure to conſider them; nor have I now any way left me to make mine equal with them, but by often conſidering that they are not ſo: for the thought that I cannot be with you to bear my ſhare, is more intolerable▪ to me, then if I had borne
more—but I was onely born to number houres, and not enjoy them—yet can I never think my ſelfe unfortunate, while I can write my ſelfe
Aglaura, Her humble Servant.
VVHen I conſider (my Dear Princeſſe that I have no other pretence to your favours, then that which all men have to the Original of Beauty, Light: which we enjoy not that it is the inheritance of our eyes, but becauſe things moſt excellent cannot reſtrain themſelves, but are ours, as they are diffuſively good; Then doe I find the juſtneſſe of your quarrel, and cannot but bluſh to think what I doe owe, but much more to thinke what I doe pay, Since I have made the Principal ſo great, by ſending in ſo little Intereſt—When you have received this humble confeſſion, you will not I hope, conceive me one that would (though upon your bidding) enjoy my ſelfe, while there is ſuch a thing in the world, as—
Aglaura—Her humble Servant.
J. S.
SO much (Dear—) was I ever yours ſince I had firſt the honour to know you, and conſequently ſo little my ſelf ſince I had the unhappines to part with you, that you your ſelf (Dear) without what I would ſay, cannot but have been ſo juſt as to have imagined the welcom of your own letters; though indeed they have but removed me from one Rack, to ſet me on another; from fears and doubts I had about me of your welfare, to an unquietneſſe within my ſelf, till I have deſerv'd this Intelligence.
How pleaſingly troubleſome thought and remembrance have been to me ſince I left you, I am no more able now to expreſſe, then another to have them ſo. You onely could make every place you came in worth the thinking of, and I do think thoſe places worthy my thought onely, becauſe you made them ſo. But I am to leave them, and I ſhall do't the willinger, becauſe the Gameſter ſtill is ſo much in me, as that I love not to be told too often of my loſſes: Yet every place will be alike, ſince every good object will do the ſame. Variety of Beauty and of Faces (quick underminers of Conſtancy to others) to me will be but pillars to ſupport it; Since when they pleaſe me moſt, I moſt ſhall think of you.
In ſpite of all Philoſophy, it will be hotteſt in my Climate, when my Sun is fartheſt off; and in ſpite of all reaſon, I proclaim, that I am not my ſelf but when I am
Yours wholy.
THough deſire in thoſe that love be ſtill like too much ſail in a ſtorm, and man cannot ſo eaſily ſtrike, or take all in when he pleaſes: Yet (Deareſt Princeſſe) be it never ſo hard, when you ſhall think it dangerous, I ſhall not make it difficult, though—Well; Love is love, and Aire is Aire; and (though you are a Miracle your ſelf) yet do not I believe that you can work any; without it I am confident you can never make theſe two thus different in themſelves, one and the ſelf ſame thing; when you ſhall, it will be ſome ſmall furtherance towards it, that you have
Your humble ſervant.
J. S.
Who ſo truly loves the fair Aglaura, that he will never know deſire, at leaſt not entertain it, that brings not letters of recommendation from her, or firſt a fair Paſport.
My Dear Dear,
THink I have kiſt your Letter to nothing, and now know not what to anſwer. Or that now I am anſwering, I am kiſſing you to nothing, and know not how to go on! For you muſt pardon, I muſt hate all I ſend you here, becauſe it expreſſes nothing in reſpect of what it leaves behind with me. And oh! Why ſhould I write then? Why ſhould I not come my ſelf? Thoſe Tyrants, buſineſſe, honour, and neceſſity, what have they to do with you and I? Why ſhould we not do Loves
commands before theirs whoſe Soveraignty is but uſurped upon us? Shall we not ſmell to Roſes 'cauſe others do look on? or gather them, 'cauſe there are prickles, and ſomething that would hinder us? Dear—I fain would—and know no hindrance—but what muſt come from you—and—why ſhould any come? ſince 'tis not I, but you muſt be ſenſible how much time we loſe, It being long ſince I was not my ſelf, but
Yours.
Dear Princeſſe,
FInding the date of your Letter ſo young, and having an aſſurance from [ ] who at the ſame time heard from Mr. [ ] that all our Letters have been delivered at [B] I cannot but imagine ſome ill miſtake, and that you have not received any at all. Faith I have none in Welch, man; and though Fear and Suſpition look often ſo far that they overſee the right, yet when Love holds the Candle, they ſeldom do miſtake ſo much. My Deareſt Princeſſe, I ſhall long, next hearing you are well, to hear that they are ſafe: for though I can never be aſhamed to be found an Idolater to ſuch a ſhrine as yours, yet ſince the world is ful of profane eyes, the beſt way, ſure, is to keep all myſteries from them, and to let privacy be (what indeed it is) the beſt part of devotion. So thinks
My D. D. P.
Your humble Servant.
SInce the inferiour Orbes move but by the firſt, without all queſtion deſires and hopes in me are to be govern'd ſtill by you, as they by it. What mean theſe fears then? Dear Princeſſe.
Though Planets wander, yet is the Sphere that carries them the ſame ſtill; and though wiſhes in me may be extravagant, yet he in whom they make their motion is, you know, my dear Princeſſe,
Yours, and wholy to be diſpoſed of by you.
And till we hear from you, though (according to the form of concluding a Letter) we ſhould now reſt, we cannot.
Fair Princeſſe,
IF parting be a ſin (as ſure it is) what then to part from you? if to extenuate an ill be to increaſe it, what then now to excuſe it by a letter? That which we would alledge to leſſen it, with you perchance has added to the guilt already, which is our ſodain leaving you. Abruptneſſe is an eloquence in parting, when Spinning out of time, is but the weaving of new ſorrow. And thus we thought yet not being able to diſtinguiſh of our owne Acts, the fear we may have ſinn'd farther then we think of, has made us ſend to you, to know whether it be Mortal or not.
For the Two Excellent Siſters.
THough I conceive you (Ladies) ſo much at leiſure that you may read any thing, yet
ſince the ſtories of the Town are meerly amorous, and ſound nothing but Love, I cannot without betraying my owne judgement make them news for Wales. Nor can it be leſſe improper to tranſport them to you, then for the King to ſend my Lord of C. over Ambaſſador this winter into Green-land.
It would want faith in ſo cold a Countrey as Angleſey, to ſay that your Cozen Dutcheſſe, for the quenching of ſome fooliſh flames about her, has endured quietly the loſſe of much of the Kings favour, of many of her houſes, and of moſt of her friends.
Whether the disfigurement that Travel or ſicknes has beſtowed upon B W. be thought ſo great by the Lady of the Iſle, as 'tis by others, and whether the alteration of his face has bred a change in her mind—it never troubles you—Ladies. What old Loves are decay'd, or what new▪ones are ſprung up in their room; Whether this Lady be too diſcreet, or that Cavalier not ſecret enough; are things that concern the inhabitants of Angleſey not at all. A fair day is better welcom and more news, then all that can be ſaid in this kind. And for all that I know now, the Divels Chimney is on fire, or his pot ſeething over, and all North-Wales not able to ſtay the fury of it. Perchance while I write this, a great black cloud is ſayling from Miſtris Thomaſſes bleak Mountains over to Baron-hill, there to diſgorge it ſelf with what the Sea or worſe places fed it with before.
It may be the honeſt banks about you turn bankrupt too, and break; and the Sea like an angry Creditor ſeizes upon all, and hath no pitty, becauſe he has been put off ſo long from time to time. For variety (and it is not impoſſible) ſome boyſterous wind flings up the hangings; and thinking to do as much to your cloths, finds a reſiſtance, and ſo departs, but firſt breaks all the windows about the houſe for it in revenge.
Theſe things now we that live in London cannot help, and they are as great news to men that ſit in Boxes at Black-Fryars, as the affairs of Love to Flannel-Weavers.
For my own part, I think I have made a great complement, when I have wiſht my ſelf with you, and more then I dare make good in Winter: and yet there is none would venture farther for ſuch a happines then
Your humble ſervant.
The Wine-drinkers to the Water-drinkers, greeting.
WHereas by your Ambaſſador two daies ſince ſent unto us, we underſtand that you have lately had a plot to ſurprize (or to ſpeak more properly) to take the waters; and in it have not onely a little miſcarryed, but alſo met with ſuch difficulties, that unleſſe you be ſpeedily relieved, you are like to ſuffer in the adventure; We as well out of pitty to you, as out of care to our State and Common-Wealth (knowing that Women have ever been held neceſſary, and that
nothing reliſheth ſo well after Wine) have ſo far taken it into our conſideration, that we have neglected no means ſince we heard of it firſt, that might be for your contents, or the good of the cauſe; and therefore to that purpoſe we have had divers meetings at the Bear at the Bridge-foot▪ and now at length have reſolv'd to diſpatch to you one of our Cabinet-Councel, Colonel Young, with ſome ſlight Forces of Canary, and ſome few of Sherry, which no doubt will ſtand you in good ſteed, if they do not mutiny and grow too headſtrong for their Commander; him Captain Puffe of Barton ſhall follow with all expedition, with two or three Regiments of Claret; Monſieur de Granville, commonly called Lieutenant Strutt, ſhall lead up the Reer of Rheniſh and White. Theſe ſuccors thus timely ſent, we are confident will be ſufficient to hold the Enemy in Play; and till we hear from you again, we ſhall not think of a freſh ſupply: For the Waters (though perchance they have driven you into ſome extremities, and divers times forc't their paſſages through ſome of your beſt guarded places) yet have they, if our intelligence fail us not, hitherto had the worſt of it ſtill, and evermore at length plainly run away from you.
Given under our hands at the Bear,
this fourth of July.
SInce Joy (the thing we all ſo Court) is but our hopes ſtript of our fears, pardon me if I be ſtill
preſſing at it, and like thoſe that are curious to know their fortunes aforehand deſire to be ſatiſfied, though it diſpleaſes me afterward. To this Gentleman (who has as much in-ſight as the t'other wanted Ey-ſight) I have committed the particulars, which would too much ſwell a Letter: if they ſhall not pleaſe you, 'tis but freſh ſubject ſtill for Repentance; nor ever did that make me quarrel with any thing but my owne ſtarres. To ſwear new oaths from this place, were but to weaken the credit of thoſe I have ſworn in another: if heaven be to forgive you now for not beleeving of them then, (as ſure as it was a ſin) heaven forgive me now for ſwearing of them then (for that was double ſin.) More then I am I cannot be, nor liſt,
Yours,
I. S.
I am not ſo ill a Proteſtant as to beleeve in merit, yet if you pleaſe to give anſwer under your owne hand, ſuch as I ſhall for ever rely upon: if I have not deſerv'd it already, it is not impoſſible but I may.
To a Coſin (who ſtill loved young Girles, and when they came to be mariageable, quitted them, and fell in love with freſh) at his fathers requeſt, who deſired he might be perſwaded out of the humour, and marry.
Honeſt Charles,
VVEre there not fooles enow before in the Common-Wealth of Lovers, but that
thou muſt bring up a new Sect? Why delighted with the firſt knots of roſes, and when they come to blow (can ſatisfie the ſence, and do the end of their Creation) doſt not care for them? Is there nothing in this fooliſh tranſitory world that thou canſt find out to ſet thy heart upon, but that which has newly left off making of dirt-pyes, and is but preparing it ſelf for loam, and a green▪ſicknes? Seriouſly (Charles) and without ceremony, 'tis very fooliſh, and to love widdows is as tolerable an humour, and as juſtifiable as thine—for beaſts that have been ridd of their legges are as much for a mans uſe, as Colts that are un-way'd, and will not go at all:—Why the divel ſuch yong things? before theſe underſtand what thou wouldſt have, others would have granted. Thou doſt not marry them neither, nor any thing elſe. 'Sfoot it is the ſtory of the Jack-an-apes and the Partridges; thou ſtareſt after a beauty till it is loſt to thee, & then let'ſt out another, and ſtareſt after that till it is gone too. Never conſidering that it is here as in the Thames, and that while it runs up in the middle, it runnes down on the ſides; while thou contemplat'ſt the comming-in-tide and flow of Beauty, that it ebbes with thee, and that thy youth goes out at the ſame time: After all this too, She thou now art caſt upon will have much ado to avoid being ugly. Pox on't, Men will ſay thou wert benighted, and wert glad of any Inne. Well! (Charles) there is another way if you could find it out. Women are like Melons: too green,
or too ripe, are worth nothing; you muſt try till you find a right one. Taſt all, but hark you—(Charles) you ſhall not need to eat of all, for one is ſufficient for a ſurfet: Your most humble ſervant.
I ſhould have perſwaded you to marriage, but to deal ingeniouſly, I am a little out of arguments that way at this preſent: 'Tis honourable, there's no queſtion on't; but what more, in good faith I cannot readily tell.
Madam,
TO tell you that neither my misfortunes nor my ſins did draw from me ever ſo many ſighs as my departure from you has done, and that there are yet tears in mine eyes left undryed for it; or that melancholy has ſo deeply ſeized me, that colds and diſeaſes hereafter ſhall not need above half their force to deſtroy me, would be I know ſuperfluous and vain, ſince ſo great a goodneſſe as yours, cannot but have out-beleeved already what I can write.
He never knew you that will not think the loſſe of your Company, greater then the Imperialiſts can all this time the loſſe of all their Companies; and he ſhall never know you that can think it greater then I, who though I never had neither wiſdom nor wit enough to admire you to your worth, yet had my Judgement ever ſo much right in it, as to admire you above all. And thus he ſaies that dares ſwear he is
Your moſt devoted ſervant.
Madam,
THe diſtruſt I have had of not being able to write to you any thing which might pay the charge of reading, has perſwaded me to forbear kiſſing your hands at this diſtance: So, like Women that grow proud, becauſe they are chaſte; I thought I might be negligent, becauſe I was not troubleſom. And, were I not ſafe in your goodnes, I ſhould be (Madam) in your judgement; which is too juſt to value little obſervances, or think them neceſſary to the right honouring my Lady.
Your Ladyſhip I make no doubt, will take into conſideration, that ſuperſtition hath ever been fuller of Ceremony then the true worſhip. When it ſhall concern any part of your real ſervice, and I not throw by all reſpects whatſoever to manifeſt my devotion, take what revenge you pleaſe. Undo me Madam: Reſume my beſt Place and Title; and let me be no longer.
Your humble ſervant.
Madam,
BY the ſame reaſon the Ancients made no ſacrifice to death, ſhould your Ladyſhip ſend me no Letters; ſince there has been no return on my ſide. But the truth is, the place affords nothing: all our dayes are (as the Women here) alike: and the difference of Fair, does rarely ſhew it ſelfe; Such great State do Beauty and the Sun keep in
theſe parts. I keep company with my own Horſes (Madam) to avoid that of the men; and by this you may gueſſe how great an enemy to my living contentedly my Lady is, whoſe converſation has brought me to ſo fine a diet, that, whereſoever I go, I muſt ſtarve: all daies are tedious, companies troubleſom, and Books themſelves (Feaſts heretofore) no reliſh in them. Finding you to be the cauſe of all this, Excuſe me (Madam) if I reſent: and continue peremptory in the reſolution I have taken to be
Madam,
during life, Your humbleſt Servant,
Madam,
BUt that I know your goodnes is not mercinary, and that you receive thanks, either with as much trouble as men ill news, or with as much wonder as Virgins unexpected Love, this letter ſhould be full of them. A ſtrange proud return you may think I make you (Madam) when I tell you, it is not from every body I would be thus obliged; and that if I thought you did me not theſe favours becauſe you love me; I ſhould not love you becauſe you do me theſe favours. This is not language for one in Affliction, I confeſſe, and upon whom it may be at this preſent, a cloud is breaking; but finding not within my ſelf I have deſerv'd that ſtorm; I will not make it greater by apprehending it.
After all, leaſt (Madam) you ſhould think I take your favours as Tribute; to my great grief, I here
declare, that the ſervices I ſhall be able to render you, will be no longer Preſents, but payments of Debts; ſince I can do nothing for you hereafter, which I was not obliged to do before.
Madam,
Your moſt humble and faithful ſervant.
My Noble Friend.
THat you have overcome the danger of the Land and of the Sea, is news moſt welcom to us, and with no leſſe joy receiv'd amongſt us than if the King of Sweden had the ſecond time overcome Tilley, and again paſt the Meine and the Rhine. Nor do we in this look more upon our ſelves and private intereſts, then on the publike, ſince in your ſafety both were compriſed. And though you had not had about you the affairs and ſecrets of State, yet to have left your own perſon upon the way, had been half to undoe our poor Iland, and the loſſe muſt have been lamented with the tears of a whole Kingdom.
But you are now beyoud all our fears, and have nothing to take heed on your ſelf, but fair Ladies. A pretty point of ſecurity; and ſuch a one as all Germany cannot afford. We here converſe with Northern Beauties, that had never heat enough to kindle a ſpark in any mans breaſt, where heaven had been firſt ſo merciful, as to put in a reaſonable ſoul.
There is nothing either fair or good in this part of the world; and I cannot name the thing can
give me any content, but the thought that you enjoy enough otherwhere: I having ever been ſince I had the firſt honour to know you,
Yours, more then his owne.
My Lord,
TO perſwade one that has newly ſhip-wrackt upon a Coaſt to imbarque ſodainly for the ſame place again, or your Lordſhip to ſeek that content you now enjoy in the innocence of a ſolitude, among the diſorders and troubles of a Court, were I think a thing the King himſelf (and Majeſty is no ill Orator) would find ſome difficulty to do. And yet when I conſider that great ſoul of yours, like a Spider, working all inwards, and ſending forth nothing, but like the Cloiſter'd Schoolmens Divinity, threads fine and unprofitable: if I thought you would not ſuſpect my being ſerious all this while, for what I ſhould now ſay, I would tell you that I cannot but be as bold with you as your Ague is, and for a little time, whether you will or not entertain you ſcurvily.
When I conſider you look (to me) like—I cannot but think it as odd a thing, as if I ſhould ſee Van Dike with all his fine colours and Penſills about him, his Frame, and right Light, and every thing in order, and yet his hands tyed behind him: and your Lordſhip muſt excuſe me if upon it I be as bold.
The wiſeſt men, and greateſt States have made no ſcruple to make uſe of brave men whom they
had laid by with ſome diſgrace▪ nor have thoſe brave men ſo laid by, made ſcruple, or thought it a diſgrace to ſerve again, when they were called to it afterwards.
Theſe general motives of the State and Common good, I will not ſo much as once offer up to your Lordſhips conſideration, though (as 'tis fit) they have ſtill the upper end: yet, like great Oleoes, they rather make a ſhew then provoke Appetite. There are two things which I ſhall not be aſhamed to propound to you, as ends; ſince the greater part of the wiſe men of the world have not been aſhamed to make them theirs: and if any has been found to contemn them, it hath been ſtrongly to be ſuſpected that either they could not eaſily attain to them, or elſe that the readieſt way to attain to them was to contemn them. Theſe two are Honour and Wealth: and though you ſtand poſſeſt of both of them, yet is the firſt in your hands like a ſword, which, if not through negligence, by miſchance hath taken ruſt, and needs a little clearing; and it would be much handſomer a preſent to poſterity, if you your ſelf in your life time wipe it off.
For your Eſtate (which it may be had been more had it not been too much) though it is true that it is ſo far from being contemptible, that it is Nobly competent, yet muſt it be content to undergo the ſame fate greater ſtates (Common-wealths themſelves) have been & are ſubject to: which is, when it comes to be divided in it ſelf, not to be conſiderable.
Both Honour and Eſtate are too fair and ſweet Flowers, to be without Prickles, or to be gathered without ſome ſcratches.
And now (my Lord) I know you have nothing to urge but a kind of incapability in your ſelf to the ſervice of this State; when indeed you have made the onely bar you have, by imagining you have one▪
I confeſſe (though) had vice ſo large an Empire in the Court, as heretofore it has had, or were the times ſo dangerous that to the living well there, wiſe conduct were more neceſſary then vertue it ſelf; Your Lordſhip would have reaſon (with AEſops countrey-mouſe) to undervalue all change of condition; ſince a quiet-mediocrity is ſtill to be preferred before a troubled ſuperfluity: but theſe things are now no more: and if at any time they have threatned that Horizon, like great clouds, either they are fallen of themſelves to the ground, or elſe, upon the appearing of the Sunne (ſuch a Prince as ours is) they have vaniſhed, and left behind them clear and fair daies. To deſcend to parts, envie is ſo leſſen'd, that it is almoſt loſt into vertuous emulation, every man truſting the Kings judgement ſo far, that he knows no better meaſure of his own merit, then his reward. The little word behind the back, and undoing whiſper, which, like pulling of a ſheat-rope at Sea, ſlackens the ſail, and makes the gallanteſt ſhip ſtand ſtill; that that heretofore made the faulty and the innocent alike guilty, is a thing, I beleeve, now ſo
forgot; or at leaſt ſo unpractiz'd, that thoſe that are the worſt, have leiſure to grow good, before any will take notice they have been otherwiſe, or at leaſt divulge it.
'Tis true, Faction there is, but 'tis as true, that it is as winds are, to clear, and keep places free from corruption; the oppoſitions being as harmleſſe, as that of the meeting-tides under the bridge, whoſe encounter makes it but more eaſie for him that is to paſſe. To be a little pleaſant in my inſtances; The very women have ſuffered reformation, and wear through the whole Court their faces as little diſguiſed now, as an honeſt mans actions ſhould be, and if there be any have ſuffer'd themſelves to be gained by their ſervants, their ignorance of what they granted may well excuſe them from the ſhame of what they did. So that it is more then poſſible to be great and good: and we may ſafely conclude, if there be ſome that are not ſo exact, as much as they fall ſhort of it, juſt ſo much they have gone from the great Original, God; and from the beſt Copies of him on earth, the King and the Queen.
To conclude, If thoſe accidents or diſaſters which make men grow leſſe in the world (as ſome ſuch, my Lord, have happened to you) were inevitable as death, or, when they were once entered upon us, there were no cure for them; examples of others would ſatisfie me for yours; but ſince there have been that have delivered themſelves from their ills, either by their good Fortune,
or Vertue, 'twould trouble me that my friends ſhould not be found in that number, as much as if one ſhould bring me a Catalogue of thoſe that truly honoured my Lord of—and I ſhould not find among the firſt,
Your humble Servant,
To Mr. Henry German, in the beginning of PARLIAMENT, 1640.
Sir,
THat it is fit for the King to do ſomething extraordinary at this preſent, is not onely the opinion of the wiſe, but the expectation. Men obſerve him more now then at other times: for Majeſtie in an Eclipſe, like the Sun, draws eyes that would not ſo much as have looked towards it, if it had ſhined out, and appeared like it ſelf. To lie ſtill now, would, at the beſt, ſhew but a calmneſſe of mind, not a magnanimity; ſince in matter of government, to think well (at any time, much leſſe in a very active) is little better then to dream well. Nor muſt he ſtay to act till his people deſire, becauſe 'tis thought nothing reliſhes elſe: for therefore hath nothing reliſht with them, becauſe the King hath for the moſt part ſtayed till they have deſired; done nothing but what they have or were petitioning for. But, that the King ſhould do, will not be ſo much the queſtion, as what he ſhould do. And certainly, for a King to have right counſel given him, is at all times ſtrange, and at this
preſent impoſſible. His party for the moſt part (I would that were modeſtly ſaid, and it were not all) have ſo much to do for their own preſervation, that they cannot (without breaking a law in nature) intend anothers. Thoſe that have courage have not perchance innocence, and ſo dare not ſhew themſelves in the Kings buſines; and if they have innocence, they want parts to make themſelves conſiderable; ſo conſequently the things they undertake. Then, in Court, they give much counſel, as they beleeve the King inclin'd, determine his good by his deſires: which is a kind of ſetting the Sun by the Dial, Intereſt which cannot er
•
e, by paſſions which may.
In going about to ſhew the King a Cure, now a man ſhould firſt plainly ſhew him the diſeaſe. But to Kings, as to ſome kind of Patients, it is not alwaies proper to tell how ill they be: and it is too like a Countrey clown not to ſhew the way, unles he know from whence, and diſcourſe of things before.
Kings may be miſtaken, and Councellors corrupted; but true intereſt alone (ſaith Monſieur de Rohan) cannot erre. It were not amiſſe then to find out the Intereſt: for ſetting down right principles before concluſions, is weighing the ſcales before we deal out the commodity.
Certainly the great intereſt of the King is, A union with his People, and whoſoever hath told him otherwiſe (as the Scripture ſaith of the divel) was a ſeducer from the firſt. If there ever had been any
one Prince in the whole world that made a felicity in this life, and left fair Fame after death, without the love of his Subjects, there were ſome colour to deſpiſe it.
There was not among all our Princes a greater Courtier of the People then Richard the third, not ſo much out of fear, as out of wiſedom. And, ſhall the worſt of our Kings have ſtriven for that? and ſhall not the beſt? (it being an Angelical thing to gain love.)
There are 2. things in which the people expect to be ſatisfied; Religion, and Justice: nor can this be done by any little acts, but by Royal and Kingly reſolutions.
If any ſhall think that by dividing the factions (a good rule at other times) he ſhall maſter the reſt now, he will be ſtrangely deceived: for in the beginning of things That would do much, but not when whole Kingdoms are reſolv'd. Of thoſe now that lead theſe parties, if you could take off the major number, the leſſer would govern, and do the ſame things ſtill: nay, if you could take off all, they would ſet up one, and follow him.
And of how great conſequence it is for the King to reſume this right, and be the author himſelf, let any body judge: ſince as Cumneus ſaid, thoſe that have the art to pleaſe the People, have commonly the power to raiſe them.
To do things ſo that there ſhall remain no jealouſie, is very neceſſary, and is no more then really
reforming, that is, pleaſing them. For to do things that ſhall grieve hereafter, and yet pretend love (amongſt lovers themſelves, where there is eaſieſt faith) will not be accepted. It will not be enough for the King to do what they deſire, but he muſt do ſomthing more: I mean (by doing more) doing ſomthing of his owne, as throwing away things they call not for, or giving things they expected not. And when they ſee the King doing the ſame things with them, it will take away all thought and apprehenſion that he thinks the things they have done already ill.
Now if the King ends the differences, and takes away ſuſpect for the future, the caſe will fall out to be no worſe then when two duelliſts enter the Field, where the worſted party (the other having no ill opinion of him) hath his ſword given him again (without further hurt after he is in the others power.) But otherwiſe it is not ſafe to imagine what may follow: for the people are naturally not valiant, and not much Cavalier. Now it is the nature of Cowards to hurt where they can receive none. They will not be content (while they fear and have the upper hand) to fetter only Royalty, but perchance (as timorous ſpirits uſe) will not think themſelves ſafe while that is at all. And poſſibly, this is the preſent ſtate of things.
In this great work (at leaſt to make it appear perfect and laſting to the Kingdom) it is neceſſary the Queen really joyn; for if ſhe ſtand aloof, there will ſtill be ſuſpicions: it being a received opinion
in the world, that ſhe hath a great intereſt in the Kings favor and power. And to invite her, ſhe is to conſider with her ſelf, whether ſuch great vertues and eminent excellencies (though they be highly admired & valued by thoſe that know her) ought to reſt ſatisfied with ſo narrow a payment as the eſtimation of a few? And whether it be not more proper for a great Queen to arrive at univerſal honour, and love, then private eſteem and value.
Then, how becomming a work, for the ſweetnes and ſoftnes of her Sex, is compoſing of differences, and uniting hearts? and how proper for a Queen, reconciling King and People?
There is but one thing remains, which whiſper'd abroad, buſies the Kings mind much (if not diſturbs it) in the midſt of theſe great Reſolutions, and that is, The preſervation of ſome ſervants, whom he thinks ſomwhat hardly torn from him of late: which is of ſo tender a nature; I ſhal rather propound ſomething about it, then reſolve it.
The firſt Quaere will be, Whether as things now ſtand (Kingdoms in the ballance) the King is not to follow nature, where the conſervation of the more general ſtill commands and governs the leſſe. As Iron by particular ſympathy ſticks to the loadſtone, but yet if it be joyned with a great body of Iron, it quits thoſe particular affections to the loadſtone, and moves with the other, to the greater, the common Countrey.
The ſecond will be, Whether, if he could preſerve
thoſe miniſters, they can be of any uſe to him hereafter? ſince no man is ſerved with a greater prejudice, then he that employs ſuſpected inſtruments, or not beloved, though able and deſerving in themſelves.
The third is, Whether, to preſerve them, there be any other way then for the King to be firſt right with his people? ſince the rule in Philoſophy muſt ever hold good, nihil dat quod non habet. Before the King have power to ſave, he muſt have power.
Laſtly, Whether the way to preſerve this power be not to give it away? For the people of England have ever been like wantons, which pull and tugg as long as the princes have pull'd w
•
th them, as you may ſee in Hen. 3. King John, Edw. 2. and indeed, all the troubleſom and unfortunate reigns; but when they have let it go, they come and put it into their hands again, that they may play on: as you may ſee in Queen Elizabeth.
I will conclude with a prayer (not that I think it needs at this preſent: Prayers are to keep us from what may be, as well as to preſerve us from what is) That the King be neither too inſenſible of what is without him, nor too reſolved from what is within him. To be ſick of a dangerous ſicknes, and find no pain, cannot but be with loſſe of underſtanding (Tis an Aphoriſme of Hippocrates) and on the other ſide, Opiniaſtrie is a ſullen Porter, and (as it was wittily ſaid of Conſtancy) ſhutts out often-times, Better things then it lets in.
FINIS.
AN ACCOVNT OF RELIGION BY REASON. A Diſcourſe upon Occaſion preſented to the Earl of Dorſet.
By Sir JOHN SUCKLING.
Printed by his owne Copy.
Lucret. pag. 227.
Tentat enim dubiam mentem rationis egeſtas.
LONDON, Printed by Ruth Raworth for Humphrey Moſeley, and are to be ſold at his ſhop at the ſigne of the Princes Arms in S. Pauls Church-yard. 1646.
The Epiſtle.
I
Send you here (my Lord) that Diſcourſe enlarged, which frighted the Lady into a cold ſweat, and which had like to have made me an Atheiſt at Court, and your Lordſhip no very good Chriſtian. I am not ignorant that the fear of Socinianiſme at this time, renders every man that offers to give an account of Religion by Reaſon, ſuſpected to have none at all: yet I have made no ſcruple to run that hazard, not knowing why a man ſhould not uſe the best Weapon his Creator hath given him for his defence. That Faith was by the Apostles both highly exalted, and ſeverely enjoyned, is known to every man, and
this upon excellent grounds; for it was both the eaſiest and beſt way of converting: the other being tedious, and almoſt uſeleſſe: for but few among thouſands are capable of it, and thoſe few not capable at all times of their life, Judgement being required. Yet the beſt ſervant our Saviour ever had upon Earth, was ſo far from neglecting or contemning Reaſon, that his Epistles were admired, even by thoſe that embraced not the Truthes he delivered. And indeed, had the Fathers of the Church only bid men beleeve, and not told them why, they had ſlept now un-Sainted in their Graves, and as much benighted with Oblivion, as the ordinary Pariſh-Prieſts of their owne Age.
That man is deceivable, is true; but what part within him is not likelyer then his Reaſon? For as Manilius ſaid,
Nam neque decipitur ratio nec decipit unquam.
And how unlikely is it that that which gives us the Prerogative above other Creatures, and wholy entitles us to future happineſſe,
ſhould be laid aſide, and not uſed to the acquiring of it.
But by this time (my Lord) you finde how apt thoſe which have nothing to do themſelves, are to give others trouble. I ſhall onely therefore let you know that your Commands to my Lord of Middleſex are performed; and that when you have freſh ones, you cannot place them where they will be more willingly received, then by
Bath, Sept. 2.
Your humble Servant,
John Suckling.
A Diſcourſe by Sir John Suckling, Knight.
AMong the truths (my Lord) which we receive, none more reaſonably commands our belief, then thoſe which by all men, at all times have been aſſented to. In this number and higheſt I place this great one, that there is a Deity; which the whole world hath been ſo eager to embrace, that rather then it would have none at all, it hath too often been contented with a very mean one.
That there ſhould be a great Diſpoſer and Orderer of things, a wiſe Rewarder and Puniſher of good and evil, hath appeared ſo equitable to men▪ that by inſtinct they have concluded it neceſſary; Nature (which doth nothing in vain) having ſo far imprinted it in us all, that ſhould the envie of Predeceſſors deny the ſecret to Succeders, they yet would find it out. Of all thoſe little ladders with which we ſeale heaven, and climb up to our Maker, that ſeems to me not the worſt, of which man is the firſt ſtep. For but by examining how I, that could contribute nothing to mine owne being, ſhould be here, I come to ask the ſame queſtion for my Father, and ſo am led in a direct line to a laſt Producer, that muſt be more then man. For if man
made man, Why died not I when my Father died? ſince according to that Maxime of the Philoſophers, the cauſe taken away, the effect does not remain. Or if the firſt man gave himſelf being, why hath he it not ſtill? Since it were unreaſonable to imagine any thing could have power to give it ſelf life, that had no power to continue it. That there is then a God, will not be ſo much the diſpute, as what this God is, or how to be worſhipped, is that which hath troubled poor mortals from the firſt, nor are they yet in quiet. So great has been the diverſity, that ſome have almoſt thought God was no leſſe delighted with variety in his ſervice, then he was pleaſed with it in his works. It would not be amiſſe to take a ſurvey of the world from its cradle; and with Varro, divide it into three Ages: the Unknown, the Fabulous, and the Hiſtorical.
The firſt was a black night, and diſcovered nothing: the ſecond was a weak and glimmering light, repreſenting things imperfectly and falſly: the laſt (more clear) left handſom monuments to poſterity. The unknown I place in the age before the Flood, for that Deluge ſwept away things as well as men, and left not ſo much as footſteps to trace them by. The fabulous began after the Flood; in this time Godheads were cheap, & men not knowing where to chooſe better, made Deities one of another. Where this ended, the hiſtorical took beginning: for men began to ingrave in pillars, and to commit to Letters, as it were by joynt conſent: for the three great Epoches or Termes of Accompt were
all eſtabliſhed within the ſpace of 30. yeers: The Grecians reckoning from their Olympiades: The Romans from the building of their City: and the Babilonians from their King Salmonaſſar. To bring into the ſcale with Chriſtian Religion any thing out of the firſt Age, we cannot; becauſe we know nothing of it.
And the ſecond was ſo fabulous, that thoſe which took it up afterwards, ſmil'd at it as ridiculous and falſe (which though was eaſier for them to do then to ſhew a true.) In the hiſtorical, it improved, and grew more refined: but here the Fathers entred the field, and ſo cleerly gained the victory, that I ſhould ſay nothing in it, did I not know it ſtill to be the opinion of good wits, that the particular Religion of Chriſtians has added little to the general Religion of the World. Let us take it then in its perfecter eſtate, and look upon it in that age which was made glorious by the bringing forth of ſo many admirable ſpirits, and this was about the 80. Olympiad, in the year of the world 3480. for in the ſpace of an 100. yeers, flouriſhed almoſt all that Greece could boaſt of, Socrates, Plato, Ariſtotle, Architas, Iſocrates, Pythagoras, Epicurus, Heraclitus, Xenophon, Zeno, Anaxagoras, Democritus, Demoſthenes, Parmenides, Zenocrates, Theophraſtes, Empedocles, Tymaeus, with divers others, Orators and Poets. Or rather (for they had their Religion one from another, and not much different) let us take a view of it in that Century in which Nature (as it were to oppoſe the Grecian inſolence) brought forth that happy birth of Roman
wits: Varro, Cicero, Caeſar, Livie, Saluſt, Virgil, Horace, Vitruvius, Ovid, Pliny, Cato, Marcus Brutus, and this was from Quintus Servilius his Conſulſhip to that of Auguſtus, 270. yeers after the other. And to ſay truth, a great part of our Religion, either directly or indirectly hath been profeſſed by Heathens; which I conceive not ſo much an exprobation to it, as a confirmation; it being no derogating from truth, to be warranted by common conſent.
Firſt then, the Creation of the world is delivered almoſt the ſame in the Phoenician ſtories with that in Moſes; from this the Grecians had their Chaos, and Ovid the beginning of his Metamorphoſis. That All things were made by God, was held by Plato, and others; that darknes was before light, by Thales; that the Stars were made by God, by Aratus; that life was infuſed into things by the breath of God, Virgil; that Man was made of duſt, Heſied, and Homer; that the firſt life of man was in ſimplicity and nakednes, the AEgyptians taught: and from thence the Poets had their Golden Age. That in the firſt times mens lives laſted a thouſand yeers, Beroſus, and others: that ſomthing divine was ſeen amongſt men, till that the greatnes of our ſins gave them cauſe to remove, Ca
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us: and this he that writes the ſtory of Columbus, reports from the Indians of a great Deluge, almoſt all. But to the main, they hold one God, and though multiplicity hath been laid to their charge, yet certainly the clearer ſpirits underſtood theſe petty Gods as things, not as Deities; ſecond cauſes, and ſeveral vertues of the great power: by Neptune, water; Juno, aire; by Diſpater, earth; by Vulcan, fire;
and ſometimes one God ſignified many things, as Jupiter the whole world, the whole heaven; and ſometimes many gods, one thing, as Ceres, Juno mag
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a, the earth. They concluded thoſe to be vices which we do; nor was there much difference in their vertues; onely Chriſtians have made ready beleef the higheſt, which they would hardly allow to be any. They held rewards for the good, and puniſhments for the ill; had their Elizium, and their hell; and that they thought the pains eternal there, is evident, in that they beleev'd from thence was no return. They proportion'd ſufferings hereafter, to offences here; as in Tantalus, Siſyphus, and others, among which that of Conſcience) the worm that never dies) was one, as in the Vultures gnawing of Promotheus heart, and Virgils uglieſt of Furies thundring in Pirithous ear, was not obſcurely ſhown; and yet neerer us, they held the number of the Elect to be but ſmall, and that there ſhould be a laſt day in which the World ſhould periſh by fire. Laſtly they had their Prieſts, Temples, Altars.
We have ſeen now the Parallel, let us enquire whether thoſe things they ſeem to have in common with us, we have not in a more excellent manner, and whether the reſt in which we differ from all the world, we take not up with reaſon. To begin then with their Jupiter (for all before were but little ſtealthes from Moſes workes) how much more like a Deity are the actions our ſtories declare our God to have done, then what the Ethnick Authors deliver of theirs? How excellently
elevated are our deſcriptions of him? Theirs looking as if they knew that power onely by their fears, as their Statues erected to him declare: for when he was Capitolinus, he appeard with thunder; when Latiaris, beſmear'd with blood; when Feretrius, yet more terrible: We may gheſſe what their conceptions were, by the worſhip they gave him: How full of cruelty were their ſacrifices? it being received almoſt through the whole world, that gods were pleaſed with the blood of men: and this cuſtom neither the Grecian Wiſdom, nor Roman Civility aboliſhed, as appears by ſacrifices to Bacchus.
Then the ceremonies of Liber Pater, and Ceres, how obſcene? and thoſe daies which were ſet a part for the honour of the gods, celebrated with ſuch ſhews as Cato himſelf was aſhamed to be preſent at. On the contrary, our ſervices are ſuch as not only Cato, but God himſelf may be there: we worſhip him that is the pureſt Spirit, in purity of ſpirit; and did we not beleeve what the Scriptures deliver from himfelf, yet would our reaſon perſwade us that ſuch an Eſſence could not be pleaſed with the blood of beaſts, or delighted with the ſteam of fat: and in this particular, Chriſtians have gone beyond all others except the Mahometans; beſides whom there has been no Nation that had not ſacrifice, and was not guilty of this pious cruelty.
That we have the ſame vertues with them is very true; but who can deny that thoſe vertues have received additions from Chriſtianity, conducing to mens better living together? revenge of injuries
Moſes both took himſelf, and allowed by the Law to others; Cicero and Ariſtotle placed it in vertues quarter: We extol patient bearing of injuries; and what quiet the one, what trouble the other would give the world, let the indifferent judge. Their juſtice only took care that men ſhould not do wrong: ours that they ſhould not think it, the very coveting ſeverely forbidden: and this holds too in chaſtity, deſire of a woman unlawfully being as much a breach of the commandement, as their enjoying, which ſhew'd not only the Chriſtians care, but wiſdom to prevent ill, who provided to deſtroy it where it was weakeſt in the Cradle, and declared, He was no leſſe then a God which gave them theſe Laws; for had he been but man, he never would have provided or taken care for what he could not look into, the hearts of Men, and what he could not puniſh, their thoughts. What Charity can be produced anſwerable to that of Chriſtians? Look upon the Primitive times, and you ſhall find that (as if the whole World had been but a private Family) they ſent from Province to Province, and from Places farre diſtant, to Releeve them they never ſaw nor knew.
Now for the happineſſe which they propoſed: if they take it as the Heathens underſtood it, it was an Elizium, a place of bleſſed ſhades, at beſt but a handſom retirement from the troubles of this World: if according to the duller Jewes, Feaſtings and Banquettings; (for it is evident
that the Sadduces, who were great obſerver
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of the Moſaical Law, had but faint thoughts of any thing to come) there being in Moſes books no promiſes but of Temporal bleſſings, and (if any) an obſcure mention of eternity. The Mahometans are no leſſe ſenſual, making the renewing of youth, high Feaſts, a woman with great eyes, and dreſt up with a little more fancie, the laſt and beſt good.
Then the hell; How gentle with the Heathens? but the rowling of a ſtone, filling of a ſieve with water, ſitting before Banquets, and not daring to touch them, exerciſing the trade and buſineſſes they had on earth; with the Mahometans, but a Purgatory acted in the grave, ſome pains inflicted by a bad Angel, and thoſe qualified and mitigated too, by an aſſiſting good one. Now for the Jewes, as they had no hopes, ſo they had no fears; ſo that if we conſider it rightly, neither their puniſhments were great enough to deter them from doing ill, nor their rewards high enough to invite men to ſtrictnes of life; for ſince every man is able to make as good a heaven of his own, it were unreaſonable to perſwade him to quit that certain happines for an uncertainty: whereas Chriſtians with as much more noble conſideration both in their heaven and hell took care not onely for the body but the ſoul, and for both above mans apprehenſion.
The ſtrangeſt, though moſt Epidemical diſeaſe of all Religions, has been an imagination men have had, that the impoſing painful and difficult things
upon themſelves, was the beſt way to appeaſe the Deity, groſly thinking the chief ſervice and delight of the Creator to conſiſt in the tortures and ſufferings of the Creature. How laden with chargeable and unneceſſary Ceremonies the Jews were, their feaſts, circumciſions, ſacrifices, great Sabbaths, and little Sabbaths, faſts, burials, indeed almoſt all their worſhip, ſufficiently declare: and that the Mahometans are much more infected, appeares by the cutting of the Praepuces, wearing iron rings in the skin of their Fore parts, launcing themſelves with knives, putting out their eyes upon the ſight of their Prophets Tombe, and the like. Of theſe laſt we can ſhew no patterns amongſt us: for though there be ſuch a thing as whipping of the body, yet it is but in ſome parts of Chriſtendom, and there perchance too, more ſmil'd at then practis'd. Our Religion teacheth us to bear afflictions patiently when they fall upon us, but not to force them upon our ſelves: for we beleeve the God we ſerve, wiſe enough to chuſe his owne ſervice, and therefore preſume not to adde to his commands. With the Jews it is true we have ſomthing in common, but rather the names then thinges: Our Faſts being more the medicines of the body, then the puniſhments of it, ſpiritual, as our Sabbaths; both good mens delight, not their trouble.
But leaſt this diſcourſe ſhould ſwell into a greatneſſe, ſuch as would make it look rather like a defence which I had labour'd to get, then an accompt which I alwaies carry about me; I will now briefly
examine, whether we beleeve not with reaſon thoſe things we have different from the reſt of the world. Firſt then, for the perſwaſion of the truth of them in general: let us conſider what they were that conveigh'd them to us: men (of all the world) the moſt unlikely to plot the cozenage of others, being themſelves but ſimple people, without ends, without deſignes, ſeeking neither honour, riches, nor pleaſure, but ſuffering (under the contrary) ignominy, poverty, and miſery; enduring death it ſelf, nay courting it: all which are things diſtaſteful to nature, and ſuch as none, but men ſtrangely aſſured, would have undergone. Had they feigned a ſtory, certainly they would not in it have regiſtred their owne faults, nor deliver'd him whom they propounded as a God, ignominiouſly crucified: add to this the progreſſe their doctrine made abroad, miraculous above all other either before or ſince: other Religions were brought in with the ſword, power, forcing a cuſtom, which by degrees uſurp'd the place of truth: this even power it ſelf oppoſing. For the Romans (contrary to their cuſtome which entertained all Religions kindly) perſecuted this: which by its owne ſtrength ſo poſſeſſed the hearts of men, that no age, ſex, or condition, refuſed to lay down life for it. A thing ſo rare in other Religions, that among the Heathens, Socrates was the ſole martyr: and the Jews (unleſſe of fome few under Manaſſes and Antiochus) have not to boaſt of any. If we caſt our eyes upon the healing of the blind, curing the lame, redeeming from the grave,
and but with a touch or word, we muſt conclude them done by more then humane power, and if by any other, by no ill; Theſe buſie not themſelves ſo much about the good of man: and this Religion not only forbids by precept the worſhip of wicked ſpirits, but in fact deſtroys it whereſoever it comes. Now as it is clear by Authors impartial (as being no Chriſtians) that ſtrange things were done, ſo it is plain they were done without impoſture. Deluſions ſhun the light; Theſe were all acted openly, the very enemies both of the maſter and diſciples daily looking on. But let us deſcend to thoſe more principal particulars, which ſo much trouble the curious wits: theſe I take to be the Incarnation, Paſsion, Reſurrection, and Trinity.
For the firſt, That man ſhould be made without man, why ſhould we wonder more at it in that time of the world, then in the beginning? much eaſier, certainly, it was here, becauſe neerer the natural way; Woman being a more prepared matter then earth. Thoſe great truths, and myſteries of ſalvation would never have been received without miracles; and where could they more opportunely be ſhown, then at his entrance into the world, where they might give credit to his following actions and doctrine? So far it is from being againſt my reaſon to think him thus borne, that it would be againſt it to beleeve him otherwiſe; it being not fit that the Son of God ſhould be produced like the race of men. That humane nature may be aſſumed by a Deity, the enemy of Chriſtians,
Julian, confirms; and inſtances (himſelf) in AEſculapius, whom he will have deſcend from heaven in mortal ſhape, to teach us here below the Art of Phyſick. Laſtly, That God has liv'd with men, has been the general fancy of all Nations: every particular having this tradition; that the Deity at ſome time or other converſed amongſt men. Nor is it contrary to reaſon to beleeve him reſiding in glory above, and yet incarnate here: So in man himſelf, the ſoul is in heaven when it remains in the fleſh, for it reacheth with its eye the Sun; why may not God then being in heaven, be at the ſame time with us in the fleſh? ſince the ſoul without the body would be able to do much more then with it, and God much more then the ſoul, being the ſoul of the ſoul. But it may be urged as more abſtruſe, how all in heaven, and all in earth? Obſerve man ſpeaking (as you have done ſeeing) Is not the ſame ſpeech, at the inſtant it is uttered, all in every place? Receives not each particular ear▪ alike, the whole? and ſhall not God be much more Ubiquitary then the voice of man? For the Paſsion (to let alone the neceſſity of ſatisfying divine Juſtice this way, which, whoſoever reads more particularly our Divines, ſhall find rationally enforced) we find: the Heathen had ſomething neer to this (though, as in the reſt, imperfect) for they ſacrificed ſingle men for the ſins of the whole City or Countrey. Porphyrius having laid this foundation: That the ſupreme happines of the ſoul is to ſee God, and that it cannot ſee him unpurified, concludes, That there muſt
be a way for the cleanſing of Mankind; and proceeding to find it out, he tells that Arts and Sciences ſerve but to ſet our wits right in the knowledge of things, and cleanſe us not enough to come to God: the like judgment he gives of purging by Theurgie, and by the myſteries of the Sun; becauſe thoſe things extend but to ſome few, whereas this cleanſing ought to be univerſal for the benefit of all mankind: in the end reſolves that this cannot be done, but by one of the three In-beings, which is the word they uſe to expreſſe the Trinity by. Let us ſee what the divineſt of the Heathens (and his Maſter Plato) delivers, to admiration, and as it were Prophetically, to this purpoſe. That a truly juſt man be ſhewn (ſaith he) it is neceſſary that he be ſpoil'd of his Ornaments, ſo that he muſt be accounted by others a wicked man, be ſcoffed at, put in priſon, beaten, nay be crucified: and certainly for him that was to appear the higheſt example of patience, it was neceſſary to undergo the higheſt tryal of it, which was an undeſerved death.
Concerning the Reſurrection, I conceive the difficulty to lie not ſo much upon our Lord, as us; it being with eaſie Reaſon imagined, that he which can make a body, can lay it down, and take it up again. There is ſomthing more that urges and preſſes us: for in our eſtate we promiſe our ſelves hereafter, there will be no need of Food, Copulation, or Excrement, to what purpoſe ſhould we have a mouth, belly, or leſſe comely parts? it being ſtrange to imagine God to have created man, for a moment
of time, a body conſiſting of particulars, which ſhould be uſeleſſe to all eternity. Beſides, Why ſhould we deſire to carry that along with us which we are aſhamed of here, and which we find ſo great a trouble, that very wiſe men (were it not forbidden) would throw it off before it were worn out? To this I ſhould anſwer, that as the body is partner in well or ill doing, ſo it is but juſt it ſhould ſhare in the rewards or puniſhments hereafter: and though by reaſon of ſin we bluſh at it here, yet when that ſhall ceaſe to be, why we ſhould be more aſhamed then our firſt Parents were, or ſome in the laſt diſcover'd parts of the World are now, I cannot underſtand. Who knowes but theſe unſightly parts ſhall remain for good uſe, and that putting us in mind of our imperfect eſtate here, they ſhall ſerve to increaſe our content and happines there? What kind of thing a glorified body ſhall be, how chang'd, how refin'd, who knowes? Nor is it the meaneſt invitement to me now, to think that my eſtate there, is above my capacity here. There remaines that which does not onely quarrel with the likelyhood of a Reſurrection, but with the poſſibility; alleadging, that man corrupted into duſt, is ſcattered almoſt into infinite, or devoured by an irrational creature, goes into aliment, and grows part of it; then that creature perchance is made like food to another: And truly did we doubt of Gods power, or not think him omnipotent, this were a Labyrinth we ſhould be loſt in: but it were hard, when we ſee every petty Chymick
in his little ſhop bring into one body things of the ſame kind, though ſcatter'd and diſorder'd; that we ſhould not allow the great Maker of all things to do the ſame in his owne Univerſe.
There remains onely the miſtery of the Trinity; to the difficulty of which, the poverty and narrowneſſe of words have made no ſmall addition.
St. Auſtin plainly ſaies the word Perſon was taken up by the Church for want of a better; Nature, Subſtance, Eſſence, Hypoſtaſis, Suppoſitum, and Perſona, have cauſed ſharp diſputes amongſt the Doctors: at length they are contented to let the three firſt and three laſt ſignifie the ſame thing. By all of them is underſtood ſomthing Compleat, Perfect, and Singular: in this onely they differ, that Nature, Subſtance, Eſſence are communicable ad quid, and ut quo (as they call it) The other are not at all: but enough of this; Thoſe that were the immediate Conveighers of it to us, wrapt it not up in any of theſe terms. We then hold God to be one, and but one, it being groſſe to imagine two omnipotents, for then neither would be ſo; yet ſince this good is perfectly good, and perfect goodnes cannot be without perfect love, nor perfect love without communication, nor to an unequal or created, for then it muſt be inordinate; We conclude a Second Coeternal though Begotten: nor are theſe contrary (though they ſeem to be ſo) even in created ſubſtances, that one thing may come from another, and yet that from whence it comes, not be before that which comes from it; as in the Sun and Light. But
in theſe high myſteries, ſimilitudes may be the beſt Arguments. In Metaphyſicks they tell us, that to the conſtituting of every being, there is a Poſſe ſui eſſe, from whence there is a Sapientia ſui eſſe, and from theſe two proceedeth an Amor ſui eſſe: and though theſe three be diſtinct, yet they make up one perfect being. Again, and more familiarly; There is a hidden Original of waters in the earth, from this a ſpring flows up, and of theſe proceeds a ſtream: this is but one eſſence, which knows neither a before, nor an after, but in order, and (that too) according to our conſidering of it: the Head of a Spring is not a Head, but in reſpect of the Spring; for if ſomthing flow'd not from it, it were no Original, Nor the Spring a Spring if it did not flow from ſomthing, nor the Stream a Stream but in reſpect of both: Now all theſe three are but one Water, and though one is not the other, yet they can hardly be conſidered one without the other. Now, though I know this is ſo far from a demonſtration, that it is but an imperfect inſtance (perfect being impoſſible of infinite by finite things) yet there is a reſemblance great enough to let us ſee the poſſibility. And here the eye of Reaſon needed no more the ſpectacles of Faith, then for theſe things of which we make ſympathy the cauſe, as in the Load-ſtone, or antipathy, of which every man almoſt gives inſtance from his owne nature: nor is it here ſo great a wonder that we ſhould be ignorant; for this is diſtant and removed from ſence; theſe neer and ſubject to it; and
it were ſtranger for me to conclude that God did not work ad extra, thus one and diſtinct within himſelf, becauſe I cannot conceive how begotten, how proceeding; then if a Clown ſhould ſay the hand of a Watch did not move, becauſe he could not give an account of the wheels within. So far is it from being unreaſonable, becauſe I do not underſtand it, that it would be unreaſonable I ſhould: For why ſhould a created ſubſtance comprehend an uncreated, A circumſcribed and limited, an uncircumſcrib'd and unlimited? And this I obſerve in thoſe great Lovers and Lords of Reaſon, quoted by the Fathers, Zoroastres, Triſmegiſtus, Plato, Numenius, Plotinus, Proclus, Amelius, and Avicen, that when they ſpoke of this myſtery of the Trinity, of which all writ ſomething, and ſome almoſt as plainly as Chriſtians themſelves, that they diſcuſſed it not as they did other things, but delivered them as Oracles which they had received themſelves, without diſpute.
Thus much of Chriſtian Profeſſion compared with others: I ſhould now ſhew which (compar'd within it ſelf) ought to be preferred: but this is the work of every pen, perhaps to the prejudice of Religion it ſelf. This excuſe (though) it has, that (like the chief Empire) having nothing to conquer, no other Religion to oppoſe or diſpute againſt, it hath been forced to admit of Civil wars, and ſuffer under its owne excellency.
FINIS.
AGLAURA. PRESENTED At the Private Houſe in Black-Fryers, by his Majeſties Servants.
Written by Sir JOHN SVCKLING.
LONDON, Printed for Tho. Walkley, and are to be ſold by Humphrey Moſeley, at his ſhop, at the ſigne of the Princes armes in St. Pauls Church-yard, 1646.
PROLOGVE.
I'Ve thought upon't; and cannot tell which way
Ought I can ſay now, ſhould advance the Play.
For Playes are either good, or bad; the good,
(If they doe beg) beg to be underſtood.
And in good faith, that has as bold a ſound,
As if a Beggar ſhould aske twenty pound.
—Men have it not about them:
Then (Gentlemen) if rightly underſtood,
The bad do need leſſe Prologue than the good:
For if it chance the Plot be lame, or blinde,
Ill cloath'd, deform'd throughout, it needs muſt finde
Compaſſion,—It is a beggar without Art:—
But it falls out in penny-worths of Wit,
As in all bargaines elſe. Men ever get
All they can in; will have London meaſure,
A handfull over in their very pleaſure.
And now yee have't; hee could not well deny'ee,
And I dare ſweare hee's ſcarce a ſaver by yee.
Prologue to the Court.
THoſe common paſſions, hopes, and feares, that ſtill,
The Poets firſt, and then the Prologues fill
In this our age, hee that writ this, by mee,
Proteſts againſt as modeſt foolerie.
Hee thinks it an odde thing to be in paine,
For nothing elſe, but to be well againe.
Who writes to feare is ſo; had hee not writ,
You ne're had been the Iudges of his wit;
And when hee had, did he but then intend
To pleaſe himſelfe, he ſure might have his end
Without th' expence of hope, and that he had
That made this Play, although the Play be bad.
Then Gentlemen be thriftie, ſave your doomes
For the next man, or the next Play that comes;
For ſmiles are nothing, where men doe not care,
And frownes as little, where they need not feare.
To the King.
THis (Sir) to them, but unto Majeſtie.
All hee has ſaid before, hee does denie.
Yet not to Majeſtie: that were to bring
His feares to be, but for the Queen and King,
Not for your ſelves; and that hee dares not ſay:
Y'are his Soveraignes another way:
Your ſoules are Princes, and you have as good
A title that way, as yee have by blood
To governe, and here your power's more great
And abſolute, than in the royall Seat.
There men diſpute, and but by Law obey,
Here is no Law at all, but what yee ſay.
Scena Perſia.
King, In love with Aglaura.
Therſames, Prince, in love with Aglaura.
Orbella, Queen, at firſt Miſtreſſe to Ziriff: in love with Ariaſpes.
Ariaſpes, Brother to the King.
Ziriff, Otherwayes Sorannez diſguiſed, Captaine of the Guard, in love with Orbella, brother to Aglaura.
Iolas, A Lord of the Councell, ſeeming friend to the Prince, but a Traytour, in love with Semanthe.
Aglaura, In love with the Prince, but nam'd Miſtreſſe to the King.
Orſames, A young Lord antiplatonique; friend to the Prince.
Philan, The ſame.
Semanthe, In love with Ziriff; platonique.
Orithie, In love with Therſames.
Paſithas, A faithfull ſervant.
Jolinas, Aglaura's waiting-woman.
Courtiers.
Huntſmen.
Prieſt.
Guard.
AGLAURA.
ACTUS I. SCENA I.
Enter IOLAS, IOLINA.
Jolas,
MArried? and in Diana's Grove!
Jolin.
So was th'appointment, or my Senſe deceiv'd me.
Jolas,
Married!
Now by thoſe Powers that tye thoſe pretty knots,
'Tis very fine, good faith 'tis wondrous fine:
Jolin.
What is, Brother?
Jolas,
Why? to marrie Siſter—
T'injoy 'twixt lawfull and unlawfull thus
A happineſſe, ſteale as 'twere ones owne;
Diana's Grove▪ ſayeſt thou?—Scratcheth his head.
Jolin.
That's the place; the hunt once up, and all
Ingag'd in the ſport, they meane to leave
The company, and ſteale unto thoſe thickets,
Where, there's a Prieſt attends them;
Jolas,
And will they lye together think'ſt thou?
Jolin.
Is there diſtinction of ſex thinke you?
Or fleſh and bloud?
Jolas,
True; but the King, Siſter!
Jolin.
But love, Brother!
Jolas,
Thou ſayeſt well;
'Tis fine 'tis wondrous fine:
Diana's Grove—
Jolin.
Yes, Diana's grove,
But Brother if you ſhould ſpeake of this now,—(ſo faſt:
Jol.
Why thou know'ſt a drowning man holds not a thing Semanthe! ſhe ſhuns me too: (Enter Semanthe ſhe ſees
Jolin.
The wound feſtred ſure!
(Iolas and goes in agen.
The hurt the boy gave her, when firſt
Shee look'd abroad into the world, is not yet cur'd.
Iolas,
What hurt?
Iolin.
Why, know you not
Shee was in love long ſince with young Zorannes,
(Aglaura's brother,) and the now Queens betroth'd?
Iolas,
Some ſuch ſlight Tale I'ave heard.
Iolin.
Slight? ſhe yet does weep, when ſhe but hears him nam'd,
And tels the prettieſt, and the ſaddeſt ſtories
Of all thoſe civill wars, and thoſe Amours,
That, truſt me both my Lady and my ſelfe
Turne weeping Statues ſtill.
Iolas,
Piſh, 'tis not that.
'Tis Ziriff and his freſh glories her
•
Have rob'd me of her.
Since he thus appear'd in Court,
My love has languiſh'd worſe than Plants in drought.
But time's a good Phyſician: come, lets in:
The King & Queen by this time are come forth. Exeunt.
Enter Serving-men to Ziriff.
1 Serv.
Yonder's a crowd without, as if ſome ſtrange
Sight were to be ſeen to day here.
2 Serv.
Two or three with Carbonadoes afore in ſtead of faces miſtook the doore for a breach, & at the opening of it, are ſtriving ſtill which ſhould enter firſt.
3 Serv.
Is my Lord buſie? (Knocks.)
Enter Ziriff as in his Studie.
1 Serv.
My Lord there are ſome Souldiers without—
Zir.
Well▪ I will diſpatch them preſently.
2 Serv.
Th'Embaſſadours from the Caduſians too—
Zir.
Shew them the Gallerie.
3 Serv.
One from the King—
Zir.
Again? I come, I come. Exeunt Serving-men.
Ziriff ſolus.
Greatneſſe, thou vainer ſhadow of the Princes beames,
Begot by meere reflection, nouriſh'd in extreames;
Firſt taught to creepe, and live upon the glance,
Poorely to fare, till thine owne proper ſtrength
Bring thee to ſurfet of thy ſelfe at laſt.
How dull a Pageant, would this States-play ſeeme
To mee now; were not my love and my revenge
Mixt with it?—
Three tedious Winters have I waited here,
Like patient Chymiſts blowing ſtill the coales,
And ſtill expecting, when the bleſſed houre
Would com, ſhould make me maſter of
The Court Elixar, Power, for that turnes all:
'Tis in projection now; downe, ſorrow, downe,
And ſwell my heart no more, and thou wrong'd ghoſt
Of my dead father, to thy bed agen,
And ſleep ſecurely;
It cannot now be long, for ſure Fate muſt,
As't has been cruell, ſo▪ a while be juſt. Exit.
Enter King and Lords, the Lords intreating for Priſoners.
King.
I ſay they ſhall not live; our mercie
Would turne ſinne, ſhould we but uſe it er'e:
Pittie, and Love, the boſſes onely be
Of government meerly for ſhow and ornament.
Feare is the bit that mans proud will reſtraines,
And makes its vice its vertue—See it done.
Enter to them Queen, Aglaura, Ladies, the King addreſſes himſelfe to Aglaura.
So early, and ſo curious in your dreſſe, (faire Miſtreſſe?)
Theſe prettie ambuſhes and traps for hearts
Set with ſuch care to day, looke like deſigne:
Speake, Lady, is't a maſſacre reſolv'd?
Is conquering one by one growne tedious ſport?
Or is the number of the taken ſuch,
That for your ſafetie you muſt kill out-right?
Agl.
Did none doe greater miſchiefe (Sir) than I,
Heav'n would not much be troubled with ſad ſtorie,
Nor would the quarrell man has to the Starres
Be kept alive ſo ſtrongly.
King.
When hee does leave't
Woman muſt take it up, and juſtly too;
For robbing of the ſex and giving all to you.
Agl.
Their weakeneſſes you meane and I confeſſe Sir.
King.
The greateſt ſubjects of their power or glorie.
Such gentle rape thou act'ſt upon my ſoule,
And with ſuch pleaſing violence doſt force it ſtill;
That when it ſhould reſiſt, it tamely yeilds,
Making a kinde of haſte to be undone,
As if the way to victorie were loſſe,
And conqueſt came by overthrow.
Enter an Expreſſe delivering a Packet upon his knee.
The King reads.
Qu.
Prettie! The Queen looking upon a flower in one of the Ladies heads.
Is it the child of nature, or of ſome faire hand?
La.
'Tis as the beauty Madam of ſome faces,
Arts iſſue onely.
King.
Therſames,
This concernes you moſt, brought you her picture?
Exp.
Somthing made up for her in haſt I have. (Preſents
King.
If ſhe does owe no part of this faire dower (the Picture.
Vnto the Painter, ſhe is rich enough.
Agl.
A kinde of merry ſadneſſe in this face
Becomes it much.
King.
There is indeed, Aglaura,
A prettie ſulleneſſe dreſt up in ſmiles,
That ſayes this beauty can both kill, and ſave.
How like you her Therſames?
Ther.
As well as any man can doe a houſe
By ſeeing of the portall, here's but a face,
And faces (Sir) are things I have not ſtudied;
I have my dutie, and may boldly ſweare.
What you like beſt will ever pleaſe me moſt.
King.
Spoke like Therſames, and my ſonne,
Come! the day holds faire,
Let all the Huntſ-men meet us in the vale,
We will uncouple there. Exeunt.
Ariaſpes: ſolus ſtayes behinde.
Ariaſp.
How odd a thing a croud is unto me!
Sure nature intended I ſhould be alone,
Had not that old doting man-mid-wife Time
Slept, when he ſhould have brought me forth▪ I had
Been ſo too— Studies and Scratches his head.
To be borne nere, and onely nere a crowne—
Enter Jolas.
Iol.
How now my Lord?
What? walking o'th 'tops of Pyramids?
Whiſpering your ſelfe away
Like a deny'd lover? come! to horſe, to horſe,
And I will ſhew you ſtreight a ſight ſhall pleaſe you
More than kinde lookes from her you dote upon
After a falling out.
Ariaſp.
Prithee what is't?
Iol.
Ile tell you as I goe.— Exeunt.
Enter Huntſ-men hollowing and whooping.
Hunt.
Which way? which way?
Enter Therſames, Aglaura muffled.
Ther.
This is the grove 'tis ſomwhere here within.— Ex.
Enter dogging of them, Ariaſpes, Jolas.
Iol.
Gently! Gently!
Enter Orſames, Philan, a Huntſman, two Courtiers.
Hunts.
No hurt, my Lord, I hope.
Ors.
None, none,
Thou wouldſt have warranted it to another,
If I had broke my neck:
What? doſt thinke my horſe and I ſhew tricks?
That which way ſoever he throwes me
Like a tumblers boy I muſt fall ſafe?
Was there a bed of roſes there? would I were Eunuch
if I had not as leif h'a falne in the ſtate, as where I did; the ground was as hard, as if it had been pav'd with Platonicke Ladies hearts, and this unconſcionable fellow askes whether I have no hurt; where's my horſe.
1 Court.
Making love to the next mare I thinke.
2 Court.
Not the next I aſſure you,
Hee's gallop't away, as if all the ſpurs i▪th' field
Were in his ſides.
Ors.
Why there's it▪ the jades in the faſhion too.
Now ha's done me an injurie, he will not come nere me.
Well when I hunt next, may it be upon a ſtarv'd cow,
Without a ſaddle too.
And may I fall into a ſaw-pit, and not be taken up, but with ſuſpition of having been private, with mine owne beaſt there. Now I better conſider on't too, Gentlemen, 'tis but the ſame thing we doe at Court; here's every man ſtriving who ſhall be formoſt, and hotly purſuing of what he ſeldome overtakes, or if he does, it's no great matter.
Phi.
He that's beſt hors'd (that is beſt friended) gets in ſooneſt, and then all hee has to doe is to laugh at thoſe thȧt are behind. Shall we helpe you my Lord?—
Or
•
.
Prithee doe—ſtay!
To be in view, is to be in favour,
Is it not?
Phi.
Right,
And he that has a ſtrong faction againſt him, hunts, upon a cold ſent, and may in time come to a loſſe.
Ors.
Here's one rides two miles about, while another leapes a ditch and is in before him.
Phi.
Where note the indirect way's the neareſt.
Ors.
Good againe—
Phi.
And here's another puts on, and fals into a Quagmire, (that is) followes the Court till he has ſpent all (for your Court quagmire is want of money) there a man is ſure to ſtick and then not one helps him out, if they doe not laugh at him.
1 Court.
What think you of him, that hunts after my rate
And never ſees the Deere?
2 Court.
Why he is like ſome young fellow, that follows
The Court, and never ſees the King.
Orſ.
To ſpurre a horſe till he is tir'd, is
Phi.
To importune a friend till he be weary of you.
Orſ.
For then upon the firſt occaſion y'are thrown off,
As I was now.
Phi.
This is nothing to the catching of your horſe Orſames.
Orſ.
Thou ſay'ſt true, I think he is no tranſmigrated
Philoſopher, & therfore not likely to be taken with morals.
Gentlemen—your help, the next I hope will be yours,
And then 'twill be my turne.— Exeunt.
Enter againe married, Therſames, Aglaura, Prieſt.
Therſ.
Feare not my Deare, if when Loves diet
Was bare lookes and thoſe ſtolne too,
He yet did thrive! what then
Will he doe now? when every night will be
A feaſt, and every day freſh revelrie.
Agl.
Will he not ſurfet, when he once ſhall come
To groſſer fare (my Lord) and ſo grow ſicke,
And Love once ſicke, how quickly will it dye?
Ther.
Ours cannot; 'tis as immortall as the things
That elemented it, which were our ſoules:
Nor can they ere impaire in health, for what
Theſe holy rites doe warrant us to doe,
More than our bodyes would for quenching thirſt▪
Come let's to horſe, we ſhall be miſt,
For we are envies marke, and Court eyes carry farre.
Your prayers and ſilence Sir:—to the Prieſt.
Exeunt.
Enter Ariaſpes, Jolas.
Ari.
If it ſucceed? I weare thee here my Jolas—
Iol.
If it ſucceed? will night ſucceed the day?
Or houres one to another? is not his luſt
The Idoll of his ſoule? and was not ſhe
The Idoll of his luſt? as ſafely he might
Have ſtolne the Diadem from off his head▪
And he would leſſe have miſt it.
You now, my Lord, muſt raiſe his jealouſie,
Teach it to looke through the falſe opticke feare,
And make it ſee all double: Tell him the Prince
Would not have thus preſum'd▪ but that he does
Intend worſe yet; and that his crowne and life
Will be the next attempt.
Ari.
Right▪ and I will urge
How dangerous 'tis unto the preſent ſtate,
To have the creatures, and the followers
Of the next Prince (whom all now ſtriue to pleaſe)
Too neere about him:
Iol.
What if the male-contents that uſe
To come unto him were diſcovered?
Ari.
By no meanes; for 'twere in vaine to give
Him diſcontent (which too muſt needs be done)
If they within him gav't not nouriſhment.
Iol.
Well▪ Ile away firſt, for the print's too big
If we be ſeene together.— Exit.
Ari.
I have ſo fraught this Barke with hope, that it
Dares venture now in any ſtorme, or weather;
And if he ſinke or ſplits, all's one to me.
"Ambition ſeemes all things, and yet is none,
"But in diſguiſe ſtalkes to opinion
"And fooles it into faith, for every thing:
'Tis not with th'aſcending to a Throne▪
As 'tis with ſtaires, and ſteps, that are the ſame;
For to a Crowne, each humour's a degree;
And as men change, and differ, ſo muſt wee.
The name of vertue doth the people pleaſe,
Not for their love to vertue, but their eaſe,
And Parrat Rumour I that tale have taught.
By making love I hold the womans grace,
'Tis the Court double key, and entrance gets
To all the little plots; the fierie ſpirits
My love to Armes hath drawne into my faction▪
All, but the minion of the Time, is mine,
And he ſhall be, or ſhall not be at all.
He that beholds a wing in pieces torne,
And knows not that to heav'n it once did beare
The high-flowne and ſelfe-leſs'ning bird will thinke
And call them idle Subjects of the winde:
When he that has the skill to imp and binde
Theſe in right places, will thus truth diſcover;
That borrowed Inſtruments doe oft convey
The Soule to her propos'd Intents, and where
Our Stars deny▪ Art may ſupply— Exit.
Enter Semanthe, Orithie, Orſames, Philan.
Sem.
Thinke you it is not then
The little jealouſies (my Lord) and feares,
Joy mixt with doubt, and doubt reviv'd with hope
That crownes all love with pleaſure? theſe are loſt
When once we come to full fruition;
Like waking in the morning, when all night
Our fancie has been fed with ſome new ſtrange delight.
Orſ.
I grant you, Madam, that the feares, and joyes,
Hopes, and deſires, mixt with deſpaires, and doubts,
Doe make the ſport in love; that they are
The very dogs by which we hunt the Hare;
But as the dogs would ſtop▪ and ſtraight give o're
Were it not for the little thing before;
So would our paſſions; both alike muſt be
Fleſh▪t in the chaſe.
Ori.
Will you then place the happineſſe, but there,
Where the dull plow-man, and the plow-mans horſe
Can find it out? Shall Soules refin'd, not know
How to preſerve alive a noble flame,
But let it die, burne out to appetite?
Sem.
Love's a Chamelion▪ and would live on aire,
Phyſick for Agues, ſtarving is his food.
Orſ.
Why? there's it now! a greater Epicure
Lives not on earth? my Lord and I have been
In's Privie kitchin, ſeen his bills of Fare.
Sem.
And how, and how my Lord?
Ors.
A mightie Prince,
And full of curioſitie—Harts newly ſlaine
Serv'd up intire, and ſtucke with little Arrowes
In ſtead of Cloaves—
Phi.
Sometimes a cheeke plumpt up
With broth, with creame and claret mingled
For ſauce, and round about the diſh
Pomegranate kernells, ſtrew'd on leaves of Lillies.
Ors.
Then will he have black eyes, for thoſe of late
He feeds on much, and for varietie
The gray—
Phi.
You forget his cover'd diſhes
Of Jene-ſtrayes, and Marmalade of Lips,
Perfum'd by breath ſweet as the beanes firſt bloſſomes.
Sem.
Rare!
And what's the drinke to all this meat, my Lord?
Ors.
Nothing but pearle diſſolv'd, teares ſtill freſh fetch'd
From Lovers eyes, which if they come to be
Warme in the carriage, are ſtreight cool'd with ſighs.
Sem.
And all this rich proportion, perchance
We Would allow him:
Ors.
True! but therefore this is but his common diet;
Onely ſerves
When his chiefe Cookes, Liking and Opportunitie,
Are out o'th' way; for when hee feaſts indeed,
'Tis there, where the wiſe people of the world
Did place the vertues, i'th' middle—Madam.
Ori.
My Lord there is ſo little hope we ſhould cōvert you;
And if we ſhould, ſo little got by it,
That weell not looſe ſo much upon't as ſleepe.
Your Lordſhips ſervants—
Ors.
Nay Ladies wee▪ll wait upon you to your chambers.
Ph.
Prithee lets ſpare the complement, we ſhall doe no good
Ors.
By this hand Ile try,
They keepe me faſting▪ and I muſt be praying. Exeunt.
Aglaura undreſſing of her ſelfe, Jolina.
Agl.
Undreſſe mee:—
Is it not late, Iolina?
It was the longeſt day, this—
Enter Therſames.
Ther.
Softly, as Death it ſelfe comes on,
When it does ſteale away the ſicke mans breath,
And ſtanders by perceive it not▪
Have I trod, the way unto theſe lodgings.
How wiſely doe thoſe Powers
That give us happineſſe, order it?
Sending us ſtill feares to bound our joyes,
Which elſe would over-flow and loſe themſelves:
See where ſhee ſits,
Like day retir'd into another world.
Deare mine! where all the beautie man admires
In ſcattered pieces▪ does united lye.
Where ſenſe does feaſt▪ and yet where ſweet deſire
Lives in its longing▪ like a Miſers eye,
That never knew, nor
•
aw ſacietie:
Tell me▪ by what approaches muſt I come
To take in what remaines of my felicitie?
Agl.
Needs there any new ones, where the breach
Is made already? you are entred here—
Long ſince (Sir) here and I have giv'n up all.
Ther.
All but the Fort▪ and in ſuch wars, as theſe,
Till that be yeilded up there is no peace,
Nor triumph to be made; come▪ undoe, undoe,
And from theſe envious clouds ſlide quicke
Into Loves proper Sphere, thy bed:
The wearie traveller▪ whom the buſie Sunne
Hath vex't all day, and ſcortch▪d almoſt to tinder.
Nere long'd for night as I have long▪d for this.
What rude hand is that? One knockes haſtily.
Goe Iolina, ſee but let none enter— Iolina goes to the doore▪
Iol.
'Tis Zeriff, Sir.
Ther.
—Oh—
Something of weight hath falne out it ſeemes,
Which in his zeale he could not keepe till morning.
But one ſhort minute, Deare, into that chamber.—
Enter Ziriff.
How now?
Thou ſtart'ſt, as if thy ſinnes had met thee,
Or thy Fathers ghoſt; what newes man?
Zir.
Such as will ſend the blood of haſtie meſſages
Unto the heart, and make it call
All that is man about you into councell?
Where's the Princeſſe, Sir?
Ther.
Why? what of her?
Zir.
The King muſt have her—
Ther.
How?
Zir.
The King muſt have her (Sir)
Ther.
Though feare of worſe makes ill, ſtill reliſh better
And this looke handſome in our friendſhip, Ziriff,
Yet ſo ſevere a preparation—
There needed not: come, come! what iſt?
Ziriff leads him to the doore, and ſhewes him a Guard.
A Guard! Therſames,
Thou art loſt; betray'd
By faithleſſe and ungratefull man,
Out of a happineſſe:— He ſteps between the doore and him and drawes.
The very thought of that,
Will lend my anger ſo much noble juſtice,
That wert thou maſter of as much freſh life,
As th'aſt been of villany, it ſhould not ſerve,
Nor ſtocke thee out, to glorie, or repent
The leaſt of it.
Zir.
Put up: put up! ſuch unbecomming anger
I have not ſeene you weare before.
What? draw upon your friend, Diſcovers himſelfe.
Doe you beleeve me right now?—
Ther.
I ſcarce beleeve mine eyes:— Zorannes.
Zir.
The ſame, but how preſerv'd, or why
Thus long diſguis'd to you a freer houre muſt ſpeake:
That y'are betrai'd is certaine, but by whom,
Unleſſe the Prieſt himſelfe, I cannot gheſſe
More than the marriage, though he knowes not of:
If you now ſend her on theſe early ſummons
Before the ſparks are growne into a flame,
You to redeeme th'offence, or make it leſſe;
And (on my life) yet his intents are faire,
And he will but beſiege, not force affection.
So you gaine time; if you refuſe, there's but
One way; you know his power and paſſion.
Ther.
Into how ſtrange a labyrinth am I
Now falne! what ſhall I doe Zorannes?
Zir.
Doe (Sir) as Sea-men, that have loſt their light
And way: ſtrike ſaile, and lye quiet a while.
Your forces in the Province are not yet
In readineſſe, nor is our friend Zephines
Arriv'd at Delphos; nothing is ripe, beſides—
Ther.
Good heavens, did I but dreame that ſhe was mine?
Upon imagination did I climbe up to
This height? let mee then wake and dye,
Some courteous hand ſnatch mee from what's to come,
And ere my wrongs have being give them end:
Zir.
How poore, and how unlike the Prince is this?
This trifle woman does unman us all;
Robs us ſo much, it makes us things of pittie.
Is this a time to looſe our anger in?
And vainly breathe it out? when all wee have
Will hardly fill the ſaile of Reſolution,
And make us beare up high enough for action.
Ther.
I have done (Sir) pray chide no more;
The ſlave whom tedious cuſtome has enur'd
And taught to thinke of miſerie as of food,
Counting it but a neceſſarie of life,
And ſo digeſting it, ſhall not ſo much as once
Be nam'd to patience▪ when I am ſpoken of:
Marke mee; for I will now undoe my ſelfe
As willingly, as virgins give up all firſt nights
To them they love:— Offers to goe out.
Zir.
Stay, Sir, 'twere fit Auglara yet were kept
In ignorance: I will diſmiſſe the Guard,
And be my ſelfe againe. Exit.
Ther.
In how much worſe eſtate am I in now,
Than if I neare had knowne her; privation,
Is a miſerie as much above bare wretchedneſſe,
As that is ſhort of happineſſe:
So when the Sunne does not appeare,
'Tis darker, cauſe it once was here.
Enter Ziriff ſpeakes to Orſames and others halfe entred.
Zir.
Nay, Gentlemen:
There needs no force, where there is no reſiſtance:
Ile ſatisfie the King my ſelfe.
Ther.
—Oh 'tis well y'are come,
There was within me freſh Rebellion,
And reaſon was almoſt unking'd agen.
But you ſhall have her Sir— Goes out to fetch Aglaura.
Zir.
What doubtfull combats in this noble youth
Paſſion and reaſon have!—
Enter Therſames leading Aglaura.
Ther.
Here Sir— Gives her, goes out.
Agl.
What meanes the Prince, my Lord?
Zir.
Madam, his wiſer feare has taught him to diſguiſe
His love, and make it looke a little rude at parting.
Affaires that doe concerne▪ all that you hope from
Happineſſe, this night force him away:
And leſt you ſhould have tempted him to ſtay,
(Which hee did doubt you would and would prevaile)
He left you thus: he does deſire by mee
You would this night lodge in the little tower,
Which is in my command▪ the reaſons why
Himſelfe will ſhortly tell you.
Agl.
'Tis ſtrange, but I am all obedience— Exeunt.
ACTUS II. SCENA I.
Enter Therſames, Jolas a Lord of the Counſell
Iol.
I Told him ſo, Sir, urg'd 'twas no common kn
•
That to the tying of it two powerfull Princes,
Vertue and Love were joyn'd and that
A greater than theſe two was now
Ingaged in it▪ Religion; but 'twould, not doe,
The corke of paſſion boy'd up all reaſon ſo
That what was ſaid▪ ſwam but o'th▪top of th'eare
Nere reach't the heart:
Ther.
Is there no way for Kings to ſhew their power,
But in their Subjects wrongs? no ſubject neither
But his owne ſonne?
Iol.
Right Sir:
No quarrie for his luſt to gorge on, but on what
You fairly had flowne at and taken:
Well—wert not the King, or wert indeed
Not you▪ that have ſuch hopes, and ſuch a crowne
To venter, and yet—
'Tis but a woman.
Ther.
How? that but againe▪ and thou art more enjurious
Than hee, and woul't provoke me ſooner.
Iol.
Why Sir?
There are no Altars yet addreſt unto her,
Nor ſacrifice; if I have made her leſſe
Than what ſhe is, it was my love to you:
For in my thoughts, and here within, I hold her
The Nobleſt peece Nature ere lent our eyes,
And of the which▪ all women elſe, are but
Weake counterfeits, made up by her journey-men▪
But was this fit to tell you?
I know you value but too high all that,
And in a loſſe we ſhould not make things more,
'Tis miſeries happineſſe, that wee can make it leſſe
By art, through a forgetfulneſſe upon our ils,
Yet who can doe it here?
When every voyce, muſt needs, and every face,
By ſhewing what ſhe was not, ſhew what ſhe was.
Ther.
Ile inſtantly unto him— drawes.
Iol.
Stay Sir:
Though't be the utmoſt of my Fortunes hope
To have an equall ſhare of ill with you:
Yet I could wiſh we ſold this trifle life,
At a farre dearer rate, then we are like to doe,
Since 'tis a King's the Merchant.
Ther.
Ha!
King, I! tis indeed.
And there's no Art can canncell that high bond:
Iol.
—He cooles againe.— (to himſelfe.)
True Sir, and yet mee thinkes to know a reaſon—
For paſſive nature nere had glorious end,
And he that States preventions ever learn'd,
Knowes, 'tis one motion to ſtrike and to defend.
Enter Serving-man.
Serv.
Some of the Lords without, and from the King,
They ſay, wait you.
Ther.
What ſubtle State tricke now?
But one turne here, and I am back my Lord.— Exit.
Iol.
This will not doe; his reſolution's like.
A kilfull horſe-man and reaſon is the ſtirrop,
Which though a ſudden ſhock may make
It looſe▪ yet does it meet it handſomly agen.
Stay, 'tmuſt be ſome ſudden feare of wrong
To her, that may draw on a ſudden act
From him▪ and ruine from the King; for ſuth
A ſpirit will not like common ones, be
Rais'd by every ſpell, 'tis in loves circle
Onely 'twill appeare.
Enter Therſames.
Thir.
I cannot beare the burthen of my wrongs
One minute longer.
Iol.
Why! what's the matter Sir?
Thir.
They doe pretend the ſafety of the State
Now, nothing but my marriage with Caduſia
Can ſecure th'adjoyning countrey to it;
Confinement during life for me if I refuſe
Diana's Nunnerie for her—And at that Nunn'rie, Iolas▪
Allegiance in me like the ſtring of a Watch
Wound up too high and forc'd above the nicke,
Ran back, and in a moment was unravell'd all.
Iol.
Now by the love I beare to Juſtice,
That Nunn'rie was too ſevere; when vertuous love's a crime
What man can hope to ſcape a puniſhment,
Or who's indeed ſo wretched to deſire it?
Ther.
Right!
Iol.
What anſwer made you, Sir!
Ther.
None, they gave me till to morrow,
And e're that be, or they or I
Muſt know our deſtinie:
Come friend let's in▪ there is no ſleeping now;
For time is ſhort, and we have much to doe.— Exeunt▪
Enter Orſames, Philan Courtiers.
Orſ.
Judge you, Gentlemen, if I be not as unfortunate
As a gameſter thinks himſelfe upon the loſſe
Of the laſt ſtake; this is the firſt ſhe
I ever ſwore too heartily▪ and (by thoſe eyes)
I thinke I had continued unperjur'd a whole moneth,
(And that's faire you'll ſay.)
1 Court.
Very faire—
Orſ.
Had ſhe not run mad betwixt.—
2 Court.
How? mad?
Who? Semanthe?
Orſ.
Yea, yea, mad, aske Philan elſe.
People that want cleere intervalls talke not
So wildly: Ile tell you Gallants▪ 'tis now, ſince firſt I
Found my ſelfe a little hot and quivering 'bout the heart,
Some ten dayes ſince, (a tedious Ague) Sirs;
(But what of that?)
The gracious glance, and little whiſper paſt,
Approches made from th'hand unto the lip.
I came to viſit her, and (as you know we uſe)
Breathing a ſigh or two by way of prologue,
Told her, that in Loves Phyſicke 'twas a rule,
Where the diſeaſe had birth to ſeeke a cure;
It had no ſooner nam'd love to her, but ſhe
Began to talke of Flames, and Flames,
Neither devouring, nor devour'd, of Aire,
And of Camelions—
1 Court.
Oh the Platoniques.
2 Court.
Thoſe of the new religion in love! your Lordſhip's merrie,
Troth how doe you like the humor on't?
Orſ.
As thou wouldſt like red haire, or leanneſſe
In thy Miſtreſſe; ſcurvily, 't does worſe with handſomneſſe,
Than ſtrong deſire would doe with impotence;
A meere tricke to inhance the price of kiſſes—
Phi.
Sure theſe ſilly women, when they feed
Our expectation ſo high, doe but like
Ignorant Conjurers, that raiſe a Spirit
Which handſomly they cannot lay againe:
Orſ.
True, 'tis like ſome that nouriſh up
Young Lions till they grow ſo great they are affraid of
Themſelves, they dare not grant at laſt,
For feare they ſhou d not ſatisfie.
Phi.
Who's for the Town? I muſt take up againe,
Orſ.
This villanous Love's as changeable as the Philoſophers Stone and thy Miſtreſſe as hard to compaſſe too!
Phi.
The Platonique is ever ſo; they are as tedious
Before they come to the point, as an old man
Fall'n into the Stories of his youth;
2 Cour.
Or a widow into the praiſes of her firſt huſband,
Orſ.
Well if ſhe hold out but one moneth longer,
If I doe not quite forget, I ere beleaguer'd there,
And remove the ſiege to another place, may all
The curſes beguil'd virgins loſe upon their perjur'd lovers
Fall upon mee.
Phi.
And thou woult deſerve'em all.
Orſ.
For what?
Phi.
For being in the company of thoſe
That tooke away the Prince's Miſtreſſe from him.
Orſ.
Peace, that will be redeem'd—
I put but on this wildneſſe to diſguiſe my ſelfe;
There are brave things in hand, heark i'thy ear
•
:— (Whiſper)
1. Court.
Some ſevere plot upon a maiden-head.
Theſe two young Lords make love,
As Embroyderers work againſt a Mask, night and day;
They think importunity a neerer way then merit,
And take women as Schoole-boyes catch Squirrells.
Hunt 'em up and downe till they are wearie,
And fall downe before'm.
Orſ.
Who loves the Prince failes not—
Phi.
And I am one: my injuries are great as thine,
And doe perſwade as ſtrongly.
Orſ.
I had command to bring thee,
Faile not and in thine owne diſguiſe,
Phi.
Why in diſguiſe?
Orſ.
It is the Princes policie and love;
For if we ſhould miſcarrie,
Some one taken might betray the reſt
Unknowne to one another,
Each man is ſafe, in his owne valour;
2 Court.
And what Mercers wife are you to cheapen now
In ſtead of his ſilks?
Orſ.
Troth; 'tis not ſo well; 'tis but a Cozen of thine—
Come Philan let's along:— Exeunt.
Enter Queene alone.
Orb.
What is it thus within whiſpering remorſe,
And calls Love Tyrant? all powers, but his,
Their rigour, and our feare, have made divine!
But every Creature holds of him by ſenſe,
The ſweeteſt Tenure; yea! but my husbands brother:
And what of that? doe harmleſſe birds or beaſts
Aske leave of curious Heraldrie at all?
Does not the wombe of one faire ſpring,
Bring unto the earth many ſweet rivers,
That wantonly doe one another chace▪
And in one bed, kiſſe, mingle, and embrace?
Man (Natures heire) is not by her wi
•
l ti'de,
To ſhun all creatures are alli'd unto him▪
For then hee ſhould ſhun all; ſince death and life
Doubly allies all them that live by breath:
The Aire that does impart to all lifes brood,
Refreſhing, is ſo neere to it ſelfe, and to us all,
That all in all is individuall:
But, how am I ſure one and the ſame deſire
Warmes Ariaſpes: for Art can keepe alive
A beddred love.
Enter Ariaſpes.
Ari.
Alone, (Madam) and overcaſt with thought,
Uncloud—uncloud—for if wee may believe
The ſmiles of Fortune, love ſhall no longer pine
In priſon thus, nor undelivered travel
•
With throes of feare, and of deſire about it.
The Prince, (like to a valiant beaſt in nets)
Striving to force a freedome ſuddenly,
Has made himſelfe at length, the ſurer prey:
The King ſtands only now betwixt, and is,
Juſt like a ſingle tree, that hinders all the proſpect:
'Tis but the cutting downe of him, and wee—
Orb.
Why would't thou thus imbarque into ſtrange ſeas,
And trouble Fate, for what we have already?
Thou art to mee what thou now ſeek'ſt a Kingdome;
And were thy love as great, as thy ambition;
I ſhould be ſo to thee.
Ari.
Thinke you, you are not Madam?
As well and juſtly may you doubt the truths,
Tortur'd, or dying men doe leave behind them:
But then my fortune turnes my miſeri
•
,
When my addition ſhall but make you leſſe;
Shall I indure that head that wore a crowne,
For my ſake ſhould weare none? Firſt let me loſe
Th' Exchequer of my wealth, your love; nay, may
All that rich Treaſurie you have about you.
Be rifled by the man I hated, and I looke on;
Though youth be full of ſinne, and heav'n be juſt,
So ſad a doome I hope they keepe not from me;
Remember what a quicke Apoſtacie he made,
When all his vowes were up to heav'n and you.
How, e're the Bridall torches were burnt out,
His flames grew weake, and ſicklier; thinke on that,
Thinke how unſafe you are, if ſhe ſhould now,
Not ſell her honour at a lower rate,
Than your place in his bed.
Orb.
And would not you prove falſe too then?
Ari.
By this—and this—loves break-faſt: (Kiſſes her.)
By his feaſts too yet to come, by all the
Beauty in this face, divinitie too great
To be prophan'd—
Orb.
O doe not ſweare by that;
Cankers may eat that flow'r upon the ſtalke,
(For ſickneſſe and miſchance, are great devourers)
And when there is not in theſe cheeks and lips,
Left red enough to bluſh at perjurie,
When you ſhall make it, what ſhall I doe then?
Ari.
Our ſoules by that time (Madam)
Will by long
•
uſtome ſo acquainted be,
They will not need that duller truch-man Fleſh,
But freely, and without thoſe poorer helps,
Converſe and mingle; meane time wee'll teach
Our loves to ſpeake, not thus to live by ſignes,
And action is his native language, Madam,
Enter Ziriff unſeene.
This box but open'd to the Senſe will doe't.
Orb.
I undertake I know not what,
Ari.
Thine own ſafety (Deareſt)
Let it be this night, if thou do'ſt; Whiſper and kiſſe.
Love thy ſelfe or mee.
Orb.
That's very ſudden▪
Ari.
Not if wee be ſo, and we muſt now be wiſe,
For when their Sun ſets, ours begins to riſe.— Exeunt.
Ziriff ſolus.
Zir.
Then all my feares are true, and ſhe is falſe;
Falſe as a falling Star, or Glow-wormes fire:
This Devill Beauty is compounded ſtrangely,
It is a ſubtill point, and hard to know,
Whether 't has in't more active tempting,
Or more paſſive tempted; ſo ſoone it forces,
And ſo ſoone it yeelds—
Good Gods! ſhee ſeiz'd my heart, as if from you
Sh'ad had Commiſſion to have us'd me ſo;
And all mankinde beſides—and ſee, if the juſt Ocean
Makes more haſte to pay
To needy rivers, what it borrow'd firſt,
Then ſhee to give, where ſhe ne're tooke;
Mee thinks I feele anger, Revenges Harbenger
Chalking up all within, and thruſting out
Of doores, the tame and ſofter paſſions;—
It muſt be ſo:
To love is noble frailtie, but poore ſin
When we fall once to Love, unlov'd agen. Exit.
Enter King, Ariaſpes, Jolas.
Ari.
'Twere fit your Juſtice did conſider, (Sir)
What way it tooke; if you ſhould apprehend
The Prince for Treaſon (which he never did)
And which, unacted, is unborn; (at leaſt will be beleev'd ſo)
Lookers on, and the loud talking croud,
Will thinke it all but water colours
Laid on for a time,
And which wip'd off, each common eye would ſee,
Strange ends through ſtranger wayes:
King.
Think'ſt thou I will compound with Treaſon then?
And make one feare anothers Advocate?
Iol.
Vertue forbid Sir, but if you would permit,
Them to approch the roome (yet who would adviſe
Treaſon ſhould come ſo neere?) there would be then
No place left for excuſe.
King.
How ſtrong are they?
Iol.
Weake, conſidering
The enterprize; they are but few in number,
And thoſe few too having nothing but
Their reſolutions conſiderable about them.
A Troope indeed deſign'd to ſuffer what
They come to execute.
King.
Who are they are thus wearie of their lives?
Jol.
Their names I cannot give you.
For thoſe he ſent for, he did ſtill receive
At a back doore, and ſo diſmiſt them too.
But I doe thinke Ziriff is one.—
King.
Take heed! I ſhall ſuſpect thy hate to others,
Not thy love to me, begot this ſervice;
This Treaſon thou thy ſelfe do'ſt ſay
Has but an houres age, and I can give accompt
Of him, beyond that time.—Brother, in the little Tower
Where now Agla
•
ra's priſoner,
You ſhall find him; bring him along,
Hee yet doth ſtand untainted in my thoughts,
And to preſerve him ſo,
Hee ſhall not ſtirre out of my eyes command
Till this great cloud be over.
Jol.
Sir, 'twas the Prince who firſt—
King.
I know all that! urge it no more!
I love the man;
And 'tis with paine, wee doe ſuſpect,
Where wee doe not diſlike:
Th'art ſure hee will have ſome,
And that they will come to night?
Jol.
As ſure as night will come it ſelfe.
King.
Get all your Guards in readineſs, we wil our ſelfe
Diſperſe them afterwards; and both be ſure
To weare your thoughts within: Ile act the reſt: Exeunt.
Enter Philan, Orſames, Courtiers.
2. Court.
Well.—If there be not ſome great ſtorme towards,
Ne're truſt mee; Whiſper (Court thunder) is in
Every corner, and there has been to day
About the Towne a murmuring
And buzzing, ſuch as men uſe to make,
When they doe feare to vent their feares;
1. Court.
True, and all the Stateſ-men hang downe their heads,
Like full ear'd corne; two of them
Where I ſup't, askt what time of night it was,
And when 'twas told them, ſtarted, as if
They had been to run a race.
2. Court.
The King too (if you mark him,) doth faigne mirth
And jollitie, but through them both,
Flaſhes of diſcontent, and anger make eſcapes:
Orſ.
Gentlemen! 'tis pitty heav'n
Deſign'd you not to make the Almanacks.
You gheſſe ſo ſhrewdly by the ill aſpects,
Or neere conjunctions of the great ones,
At what's to come ſtill; that without all doubt
The Countrey had beene govern'd wholly by you,
And plow'd and reap'd accordingly; for mee,
I underſtand this myſterie as little
As the new Love, and as I take it too,
'Tis much about the Time that every thing
But Owles, and Lovers take their reſt;
Good night, Philan—away— Exit.
1. Court.
'Tis early yet; let's goe on the Queens ſide
And foole a little; I love to warme my ſelfe
Before I goe to bed, it does beget
Handſome and ſprightly thoughts, and makes
Our dreames halfe ſolid pleaſures.
2. Court.
Agreed: agreed: Exeunt.
ACTUS III. SCENA I.
Enter Prince: Conſpiratours.
Ther.
COuldſt thou not find cut Ziriff?
1. Court.
Not ſpeake with him my Lord;
Yet I ſent in by ſeverall men.
Orſ.
I wonder Jolas meets us not here too.
Ther.
'Tis ſtrange, but let's on now how ere,
When Fortunes, honour, life, and all's in doubt
Bravely to dare, is bravely to get out.
Excurſions:
The Guard upon them.
Ther.
Betrai'd! betraid!
Orſ.
Shift for your ſelfe Sir, and let us alone,
Wee will ſecure your way, and make our own. Exeunt.
Enter the King, and Lords.
King.
Follow Lords, and ſee quick execution done,
Leave not a man alive.
Who treads on fire, and does not put it out,
Diſperſes feare in many ſparks of doubt. Exeunt.
Enter Conſpirators, and the Guard upon them.
Ors.
Stand friends, an equall party— (Fight.) Three of the Conſpirators fall, & three of the Kings ſide: Orſames & Philan kil the reſt. They throw of their diſguiſes.
Ph.
Brave Orſames, 'tis pleaſure to die neer thee.
Orſ.
Talke not of dying Philan, we will live,
And ſerve the noble Prince agen; we are alone,
Off then with thy diſguiſe, & throw it in the buſhes;
Quick, quick; befor the torrent comes upon us:
We ſhal be ſtreight good ſubjects, & I deſpair not
Of reward for this nights ſervice: ſo.—
Wee two now kill'd our friends! 'tis hard,
But 'tmuſt be ſo.
Enter Ariaſpes, Jolas, two Courtiers, part of the Guard.
Ari.
Follow! Follow!
Orſ.
Yes; ſo you may now, y'are not likely to overtake.
Jol.
Orſames, and Philan, how came you hither?
Orſ.
The neereſt way it ſeems, you follow'd (thank you)
As i
•
'thad been through quickſets:
Jol.
'Sdeath have they all eſcap'd?
Orſ.
Not all, two of them we made ſure;
But they coſt deare, looke here elſe.
Ari.
Is the Prince there?
Phi.
They are both Princes I thinke,
They fought like Princes I am ſure.
Jolas pulls off the vizors.
Jol.
Stephines, and Odîris—we trifle.
Which way tooke the reſt?
Orſ.
Two of them are certainly here abouts.
Ari.
Upon my life they ſwam the river;
Some ſtreight to horſe, and follow o're the bridge;
You and I my Lord will ſearch this place a little better.
Orſ.
Your Highneſſe will I hope remember, who were
The men were in—
Ari.
Oh! fear not, your Miſtreſſe ſhall know y'are valiant.
Orſ.
Philan! if thou lov'ſt me, let's kill them upon the place.
Phi.
Fie: thou now art wild indeed;
Thou taught'ſt me to be wiſe firſt,
And I will now keep thee ſo.—Follow, follow. Exeunt.
Enter Aglaura with a Lute.
The Prince comes and knocks within.
Ther.
Madam!
Agl.
What wretch is this that thus uſurps
Upon the priviledge of Ghoſts, and walks
At mid-night?
Ther.
Aglaura.
Agl.
Betray me not
My willing ſenſe too ſoone, yet if that voyce
Be falſe.—
Ther.
Open faire Saint, and let me in.
Agl.
It is the Prince—
As willingly as thoſe
That cannot ſleep do light; welcome (Sir,) (Opens.)
Welcome above.— Spies his ſword drawne.
Bleſſe me, what means this unſheath'd miniſter of death?
If, Sir, on mee quick Juſtice be to paſſe,
Why this? abſence alas, or ſuch ſtrange lookes
As you now bring with you would kill as ſoone:
Ther.
Softly! for I, like a hard hunted Deere,
Have only hearded here; and though the crie
Reach not our eares, yet am I follow'd cloſe:
O my heart! ſince I ſaw thee,
Time has been ſtrangely Active, and begot
A Monſtrous iſſue of unheard of Storie:
Sit; thou ſhalt have it all! nay, ſigh not.
Such blaſts will hinder all the paſſage;
Do'ſt thou remember, how wee parted laſt?
Agl.
Can I forget it Sir?
Ther.
That word of parting was ill plac'd, I ſweare,
It may be ominous; but do'ſt thou know
Into whoſe hands I gave thee?
Agl.
Yes into Ziriffs Sir.
Ther.
That Ziriff was thy brother, brave Zorannes
Preſerv'd by miracle in that ſad day
Thy father fell, and ſince thus in diſguiſe,
Waiting his juſt revenge.
Agl.
You doe amaze me, Sir.
Ther.
And muſt doe more, when I tell all the ſtorie.
The King, the jealous King, knew of the marriage,
And when thou thought'ſt thy ſelfe by my direction,
Thou wert his Priſoner;
Unleſſe I would renounce all right,
And ceaſe to love thee, (ô ſtrange, and fond requeſt!)
Immur'd thou muſt have been in ſome ſad place,
And lockt for ever, from Therſames ſight.
For ever—and that unable to indure
This night, I did attempt his life.
Agl.
Was it well done Sir?
Ther.
O no! extremely ill!
For to attempt and not to act was poore:
Here the dead-doing Law, (like ill-paid Souldiers)
Leaves the ſide 'twas on, to joyne with power,
Royall villany now will looke ſo like to Juſtice,
That the times to come, and curious poſteritie,
Will find no difference: weep'ſt thou Aglaura?
Come, to bed my Love!
And wee will there mock Tyrannie, and Fate,
Thoſe ſofter houres of pleaſure, and delight,
That like ſo many ſingle Pearles, ſhould have
Adorn'd our thread of life, wee will at once,
By Loves myſterious power, and this nights help
Contract to one, and make but one rich draught
Of all.
Agl.
What meane you Sir?
Ther.
To make my ſelfe incapable of miſerie,
By taking ſtrong preſervative of happineſſe:
I would this night injoy thee:
Agl.
Doe: Sir, doe what you will with mee,
For I am too much yours, to deny the right
How ever claim'd—but—
Ther.
But what Aglaura?
Agl.
Gather not reſes in a wet and frowning houre,
They'll loſe their ſweets then, truſt me they will Sir.
What pleaſure can Love take to play his game out,
When death muſt keep the Stakes— A noiſe without.
Hark Sir—grave-bringers, and laſt minutes are at hand,
Hide hide your ſelfe, for Loves ſake hide your ſelfe.
Ther.
As ſoon the Sunne may hide himſelfe, as I.
The Prince of Perſia hide himſelfe?
Agl.
O talke not Sir; the Sunne does hide himſelfe then;
When night and blackneſſe comes—
Ther.
Never ſweet Ignorance, he ſhines in th'other world
And ſo ſhall I, if I ſet here in glorie:
Enter Opens the doore. enter Ziriff.
Yee haſtie ſeekers of life.
Sorannez.—
Agl.
My brother!
If all the joy within mee come not cut,
To give a welcome to ſo deare an object,
Excuſe it Sir; ſorrow locks up all doores.
Zir.
If there be ſuch a Toy about you, Siſter,
Keep't for your ſelfe, or lend it to the Prince;
There is a dearth of that Commoditie,
And you have made it Sir. Now?
What is the next mad thing you meane to doe?
Will you ſtay here? when all the Court's beſet
Like to a wood at a great hunt and buſie miſchiefe haſtes
To be in view, and have you in her power—
Ther.
To mee all this—
For great griefe's deafe as well as it is dumbe,
And drives no trade at all with Counſell: (Sir)
Why doe you not Tutor one that has the Plague,
And ſee if he will feare an after ague ſit;
Such is all miſchiefe now to me; there is none left
Is worth a thought. death is the worſt, I know,
And that compar'd to ſhame, does look more lovely now
Than a chaſte Miſtreſſe, ſet by common woman—
And I muſt court it Sir?
Zir.
No wonder if that heav'n forſake us, when we leave our ſelves:
What is there done ſhould feed ſuch high deſpaire?
Were you but ſafe—
Agl.
Deare (Sir) be rul'd,
If love, be love, and magick too,
(As ſure it is where it is true;)
Wee then ſhall meet in abſence, and in ſpight
Of all divorce, freely enjoy together,
What niggard Fate thus peeviſhly denies.
Ther.
Yea: but if pleaſures be themſelves but dreames,
What then are the dreames of theſe to men?
That monſter, Expectation, will devoure
All that is within our hope or power,
And e're we once can come to ſhew, how rich
We are, we ſhall be poore,
Shall we not Sorannez?
Zir.
I underſtand not this,
In times of envious penurie (ſuch as theſe are)
To keepe but love alive is faire, we ſhould not thinke
Of feaſting him: come (Sir)
Here in theſe lodgings is a little doore,
That leads unto another; that againe,
Unto a vault that has his paſſage under
The little river▪ opening into the wood;
From thence 'tis but ſome few minutes eaſie buſineſſe
Unto a Servants houſe of mine (who for his faith
And honeſtie, hereafter muſt
Looke big in Storie) there you are ſafe however;
And when this Storme has met a little calme,
What wild deſire dares whiſper to it ſelfe,
You may enjoy, and at the worſt may ſteale:
Ther.
What ſhall become of thee Aglaura then?
Shall I leave thee their rages ſacrifice?
And like dull Seamen threatned with a ſtorme,
Throw all away, I have▪ to ſave my ſelfe?
Agl.
Can I be ſafe when you are not? my Lord?
Knowes love in us divided happineſſe?
Am I the ſafer for your being here?
Can you give that you have not for your ſelfe?
My innocence is my beſt guard and that your ſtay
Betraying it unto ſuſpition▪ takes away.
If you did love mee?—
Ther.
Grows that in queſtion? then 'tis time to part:— Kiſſes her.
When we ſhall meet again Heav'n onely knowes,
And when wee ſhall, I know we ſhall be old:
Love does not calculate the common way,
Minutes are houres there, and the houres are dayes,
Each day's a yeare and every yeare an age;
What will this come to thinke you?
Zir.
Would this were all the ill,
For theſe are pretty little harmleſſe nothings;
Times horſe runs full▪ as faſt, hard borne and curb'd,
As in his full carreere, looſe-rain'd and ſpurr'd:
Come, come, let's away.
Ther.
Happineſſe, ſuch as men loſt in miſerie
Would wrong in naming, 'tis ſo much above them.
A
•
l that I want of it, all you deſerve,
Heav'n ſend you in my abſence.
Agl.
And miſerie ſuch as wittie malice would
Lay out in curſes, on the thing it hates,
Heav'n ſend me in the ſtead if when y'are gone
I welcome it, but for your ſake alone.— Exeunt. Leads him out, & enters up out of the vault.
Zir.
Stir not from hence, Sir, til you hear from me
So goodnight deare Prince.
Ther.
Goodnight deere friend.
Zir.
When we meet next all this will but advance—
Joy never feaſts ſo high,
As when the firſt courſe is of miſerie. Exeunt.
ACTUS IV. SCENA I.
Enter three or foure Courtiers.
1 Court.
BY this light—a brave Prince,
He made no more of the Guard, than they
Would of a Taylor on a Maske night, that has refus'd
Truſting before.
2 Court.
Hee's as Active as he is valiant too;
Did'ſt mark him how he ſtood like all the points
O'th' Compaſſe, and as good Pictures,
Had his eyes, towards every man.
3 Court.
And his ſword too,
All th'other ſide walk up and down the Court now,
As if they had loſt their way, and ſtare,
Like Grey-hounds, when the Hare has taken the furze.
1 Court.
Right.
And have more troubles about'em
Than a Serving-man that has forgot his meſſage
When he's come upon the place.—
2 Court.
Yonder's the King within chafing, & ſwearing
Like an old Falconer upon the firſt flight
Of a young Hawke, when ſome Clowne
Has taken away the quarrie from her;
And all the Lords ſtand round about him,
As if he were to be baited, with much more feare,
And at much more diſtance,
Than a Countrey Gentlewoman ſees the Lions the firſt time:
Look: he's broke looſe.
Enter King and Lords.
King.
Find him; or by Oſiris ſelfe, you all are Traitours;
And equally ſhall pay to Juſtice; a ſingle man,
And guiltie too, breake through you all!
Enter Ziriff.
Zir.
Confidence!
(Thou paint of women, and the Stateſ-mans wiſdome,
Valour for Cowards, and of the guilties Innocence,)
Aſſiſt me now.
Sir, ſend theſe Starers off:
I have ſome buſineſſe will deſerve your privacie.
King.
Leave us.
Jol.
How the villaine ſwells upon us?— Exeunt.
Zir.
Not to puniſh thought,
Or keepe it long upon the wrack of doubt,
Know Sir,
That by corruption of the waiting woman,
The common key of ſecrets, I have found
The truth at laſt, and have diſcover'd all:
The Prince your Sonne was by Aglaura's meanes,
Convey'd laſt night unto the Cypreſſe Grove,
Through a cloſe vault that opens in the lodgings:
Hee does intend to joyne with Carimania,
But e're he goes, reſolves to finiſh all
The rites of Love, and this night meanes
To ſteale what is behind.
King.
How good is Heav'n unto mee!
That when it gave me Traitours for my Subjects,
Would lend me ſuch a Servant!
Zir.
How juſt (Sir) rather,
That would beſtow this Fortune on the poore.
And where your bountie had made debt ſo infinite
That it grew deſ
•
erate, their hope to pay it—
King.
Enoug
•
of that, thou do'ſt but gently chide
Me for a fault, hat I wîll mend; for I
Have been toopoore, and low in my rewards
Unto thy▪ vert
•
e: but to our buſineſſe;
The queſtio
•
is, whether we ſhall rely
Upon our Guards agen?
Zir.
•
y no meanes Sir:
Hope
〈◊〉
his future fortunes, or their Love
Unto his perſon, has ſo ſicklied o're
Their reſolutions, that we muſt not truſt them,
Beſides, it were but needleſſe here▪
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Hee paſſes through the vault alone, and I
My ſelfe durſt undertake that buſineſſe,
If that were all, but there is ſomething elſe,
This accident doth prompt my zeale to ſerve you in.
I know you love Aglaura (Sir) with paſſion,
And would enjoy her; I know beſides
Shee loves him ſo▪ that whoſoe're ſhall bring
The tidings of his death, muſt carrie back
The newes of hers, ſo that your Juſtice (Sir)
Muſt rob your hope: but there is yet a way—
King.
Here! take my heart; for I have hitherto
Too vainly ſpent the treaſure of my love,
I'le have it coyn'd ſtreight into friendſhip all,
And make a preſent to thee.
Zir.
If any part of this rich happineſſe.
(Fortune prepares now for you) ſhall owe it ſelfe
Unto my weake endeavours, I have enough,
Aglaura without doubt this night expects
The Prince, and why
You ſhould not then ſupply his place by ſtealth,
And in diſguiſe—
King.
I apprehend thee Ziriff,
But there's difficultie—
Zir.
Who trades in love muſt be an adventurer, (Sir)
But here is ſcarce enough to make the pleaſure dearer:
I know the Cave; your Brother and my ſelfe
With Iolas, (for thoſe w'are ſure doe hae him,)
With ſome few choſen more betimes wll wait
The Princes paſſing through the vault; i
•
hee
Comes firſt, hee's dead; and if it be yourſelfe,
Wee will conduct you to the chamber door
•
▪
And ſtand 'twixt you and danger afterwards.
King.
I have conceiv'd of joy, and am grown
•
reat:
Till I have ſafe deliverance, time's a cripple
And goes on crutches.—as for thee my Ziriff,
I doe here entertaine a friendſhip with thee,
Shall drowne the memorie of all patternes paſt;
Wee will oblige by turnes; and that ſo thick,
And faſt, that curious ſtudiers of it,
Shall not once dare to caſt it up, or ſay
By way of gheſſe, whether thou or I
Remaine the debtors, when wee come to die. Exeunt.
Enter Semanthe, Orithie, Philan, Orſames, Lords and Ladies.
Ori.
Is the Queen ready to come out?
Phi.
Not yet ſure the Kings brother is but newly entred;
Sem.
Come my Lord, the Song then.
Ori.
The Song.
Orſ.
A vengeance take this love, it ſpoyles a voyce
Worſe than the loſing of a maiden-head.
I have got ſuch a cold with riſing
And walking in my ſhirt a nights, that
A Bittorne whooping in a reed is better muſicke.
Ori.
This modeſtie becomes you as ill, my Lord,
As wooing would us women; pray, put's not to't.
Orſ.
Nay Ladies, you ſhall finde mee,
As free, as the Muſicians of the woods
Themſelves; what I have, you ſhall not need to call for▪
Nor ſhall it coſt you any thing.
SONG.
WHy ſo pale and wan fond Lover?
Prithee why ſo pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevaile?
Prithee why ſo pale?
Why ſo dull and mute young Sinner?
Prithee why ſo mute?
Will, when ſpeaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing doo't?
Prithee why ſo mute?
Quit, quit, for ſhame, this will not move
This cannot take her;
If of her ſelfe ſhee will not Love,
Nothing can make her,
The Devill take her.
Ori.
I ſhould have gheſt, it had been the iſſue of
Your braine, if I had not been told ſo;
Orſ.
A little fooliſh counſell (Madam) I gave a friend
Of mine foure or five yeares agoe, when he was
Falling into a Conſumption.—
Enter Queene.
Orb.
Which of all you have ſeene the faire priſoner
Since ſhee was confinde?
Sem.
I have Madam.
Orb.
And how behaves ſhee now her ſelfe?
Sem.
As one that had intrench'd ſo deepe in Innocence▪
Shee fear'd no enemies, beares all quietly,
And ſmiles at Fortune, whil'ſt ſhee frownes on her
Orb.
So gallant! I wonder where the beautie lies
That thus inflames the royall bloud?
Ori.
Faces, Madam, are like bookes, thoſe that do ſtudy them
Know beſt, and to ſay truth, 'tis ſtill
Much as it pleaſes the Courteous Reader.
Orb.
Theſe Lovers ſure are like Aſtronomers,
That when the vulgar eye diſcovers, but
A Skie above, ſtudded with ſome few ſtars,
Finde out beſides ſtrange fiſhes, birds, and beaſts.
Sem.
As men in ſickneſſe ſcorch'd into a raving
Doe ſee the Devill, in all ſhapes and formes,
When ſtanders by wondring, aske where, and when;
So they in Love, for all's but feaver there,
And madneſſe too.
Orb.
That's too ſevere Semanthe;
But we will have your reaſons in the parke;
Are the doores open through the Gardens?
Lo.
The King has newly led the way. Exeunt.
Enter Ariaſpes: Ziriff, with a warrant ſealed.
Ari.
Thou art a Tyrant, Ziriff: I ſhall die with joy.
Zir.
I muſt confeſſe my Lord; had but the Princes ills
Prov'd ſleight, and not thus dangerous,
Hee ſhould have ow'd to me, at leaſt I would
Have laid a claime unto his ſafetie; and
Like Phyſicians, that doe challenge right
In Natures cures, look'd for reward and thanks;
But ſince 'twas otherwiſe, I thought it beſt
To ſave my ſelfe, and then to ſave the State.
Ari.
'Twas wiſely done.
Zir.
Safely I'me ſure, my Lord! you know 'tis not
Our cuſtome, where the Kings diſlike, once ſwells to hate,
There to ingage our ſelves; Court friendſhip
Is a Cable, that in ſtormes is ever cut,
And I made bold with it; here is the warrant ſeal'd
And for the execution of it, if you thinke
We are not ſtrong enough, we may have
Iolas, for him the King did name.
Ari.
And him I would have named.
Zir.
But is hee not too much the Prince's (Sir?)
Ari.
Hee is as lights in Sceanes at Maſques,
What glorious ſhew ſo e're he makes without▪
I that ſet him there, know why, and how;
Enter Jolas.
But here he is.—
Come Jolas; and ſince the Heav'ns decreed,
The man whom thou ſhould'ſt envie, ſhould be ſuch,
That all men elſe muſt doo't; be not aſham'd
Thou once wert guiltie of it;
But bleſſe them, that they give thee now a meanes,
To make a friendſhip with him▪ and vouchſafe
To find thee out a way to love, where well
Thou couldſt not hate.
Jol.
What meanes my Lord?
Ari.
Here, here he ſtands that has preſerv'd us all!
That ſacrific'd unto a publique good,
(The deareſt private good we mortalls have)
Friendſhip: gave into our armes the Prince,
When nothing but the ſword (perchance a ruine)
Was left to doe it.
Iol.
How could I chide my love, and my ambition now,
That thruſt me upon ſuch a quarrell? here I doe vow—
Zir.
Hold doe not vow my Lord, let it deſerve it firſt;
And yet (if Heav'n bleſſe honeſt mens intents)
'Tis not Impoſſible.
My Lord, you will be pleas'd to informe him in particulars,
I muſt be gone.—
The King I feare already has been left
Too long alone.
Ari.
Stay—the houre and place.
Zir.
Eleven, under the Tarras walke;
I will not faile you there. Goes out, returns back again.
I had forgot:—
'Tmay be, the ſmall remainder of thoſe loſt men
That were of the conſpiracie, will come along with him:
'Twere beſt to have ſome choſen of the Guard
Within our call—
Exit Ziriff.
Ari.
Honeſt, and carefull Ziriff:
Jolas ſtands muſing.
How now Planet ſtrooke?
Iol.
This Ziriff will grow great with all the world,
Ari.
Shallow man ſhort
••
ghteder than Travellers in miſts,
Or women that outlive themſelves; do'ſt thou not ſee,
That whil'ſt hee does prepare a Tombe with one hand
For his friend, he digs a Grave with th'other for himſelfe?
Iol.
How ſo?
Ari.
Do'ſt thinke hee ſhall not feele the weight of this,
As well as poore Therſames?
Iol.
Shall wee then kill him too at the ſame inſtant?
Ari.
And ſay, the Prince made an unluckie thruſt.
Iol.
Right.
Ari.
Dull, dull, he muſt not dye ſo uſeleſly.
As when we wipe off filth from any place,
We throw away the thing that made it cleane,
So this once done, hee's gone.
Thou know'ſt the People love the Prince, to their rage
Something the State muſt offer up; who fitter
Than thy rivall and my enemy?
Iol.
Rare! our witneſſe will be taken.
Ari.
Piſh! let me alone.
The Giants that made mountaines ladders,
And thought to take great Iove by force, were fooles:
Not hill on hill, but plot on plot, does make
Us ſit above, and laugh at all below us.— Exeunt▪
Enter Aglaura, and a Singing Boy.
Boy.
Madam▪ 'twill make you melancholly,
I'le ſing the Prince's Song, that's ſad enough.
Agl.
What you will Sir.
SONG.
NO, no, faire Heretique, it needs muſt bee
But an ill Love in mee,
And worſe for thee.
For were it in my Power,
To love thee now this hower,
More than I did the laſt;
I would then ſo fall,
I might not Love at all;
Love that can flow, and can admit increaſe,
Admitts as well an Ebb and may grow leſſe.
2
True Love is ſtil the ſame; the torrid Zones,
And thoſe more frigid ones,
It muſt not know:
For Love growne cold or hot,
Is Luſt, or Friendſhip, not
The thing wee have;
For that's a flame would die,
Held downe, or up to high▪
Then think I love more than I can expreſſe,
And would love more, could I but love thee leſſe.
Agl.
Leave mee! for to a Soule, ſo out of Tune,
As mine is now; nothing is harmony:
When once the maine-ſpring, Hope, is falne into
Diſorder; no wonder, if the leſſer wheeles,
Deſire, and Ioy, ſtand ſtill; my thoughts like Bees
When they have loſt their King, wander
Confuſedly up and downe, and ſettle no where.
Enter Orithie.
Orithie.
flie! flie the roome,
As thou would'ſt ſhun the habitations
Which Spirits haunt, or where thy nearer friends
Walk after death; here is not only Love,
But Loves plague too—misfortune; and ſo high,
That it is ſure infectious!
Ori.
Madam, ſo much more miſerable am I this way than you,
That ſhould I pitie you, I ſhould forget my ſelfe:
My ſufferings are ſuch, that with leſſe patience
You may indure your owne, than give mine Audience.
There is that difference, that you may make
Yours none at all, but by conſidering mine!
Agl.
O ſpeake them quickly then! the marriage day
To Paſſionate Lovers never was more welcome,
Than any kinde of eaſe would be to mee now.
Ori.
Could they be ſpoke, they wre not then ſo great.
I love, and dare not ſay I love; dare not hope,
What I deſire; yet ſtill too muſt deſire—
And like a ſtarving man brought to a feaſt,
And made ſay grace, to what he nere ſhall taſte,
Be thankfull after all, and kiſſe the hand,
That made the wound thus deepe.
Agl.
'Tis hard indeed, but with what unjuſt ſcales,
Thou took'ſt the weight of our miſ-fortunes,
Be thine owne Judge now.
Thou mourn'ſt for loſſe of that thou never hadſt,
Or if thou hadſt a loſſe, it never was
Of a Therſames.
Would'ſt thou not thinke a Merchant mad, Orithie?
If thou ſhouldſt ſee him weepe, and teare his haire,
Becauſe hee brought not both the Indies home?
And wouldſt not thinke his ſorrowes very juſt.
If having fraught his ſhip with ſome rich Treaſure,
Hee ſunke i'th' very Port? This is our caſe.
Ori.
And doe you thinke there is ſuch odds in it?
Would Heaven we women could as eaſily change
Our fortunes as ('tis ſaid) we can our minds.
I cannot (Madam) thinke them miſerable,
That have the Princes Love.
Agl.
Hee is the man then—
Bluſh not Orithie, 'tis a ſinne to bluſh
For loving him, though none at all to love him.
I can admit of rivalſhip without
A jealouſie—nay ſhall be glad of it:
Wee two will ſit, and thinke▪ and think and ſigh,
And ſigh, and talke of love—and of Therſames.
Thou ſhalt be praiſing of his wit, while I
Admire he governes it ſo well:
Like this thing, ſaid thus, th'other thing thus done,
And in good language him for theſe adore,
While I want words to doo't, yet doe i
•
more.
Thus will wee doe▪ till death it ſelfe ſhall us
Divide, and then whoſe fate 'tſhall be to die
Firſt of the two by legacie ſhall all
Her love bequeath, and give her ſtock to her
That ſhall ſurvive; for no one ſtock can ſerve.
To love Therſames ſo as he'll deſerve.
Enter King, Ziriff.
King.
What have we here impoſſibilitie?
A conſtant night, and yet within the roome
That, that can make the day before the Sunne?
Silent Aglaura too?
Agl.
I know not what you ſay:
Is't to your pitie, or your ſcorne, I owe
The favour of this viſit (Sir?) for ſuch
My fortune is, it doth deſerve them both:
King.
And ſuch thy beauty is, that it makes good
All Fortunes, ſorrow lookes lovely here;
And there's no man, that would not entertaine
His griefes as friends, were he but ſure they'd ſhew
No worſe upon him—but I forget my ſelfe,
I came to chide.
Agl.
If I have ſinn'd ſo high, that yet my puniſhment
Equalls not my crime,
Doe Sir; I ſhould be loth to die in debt
To Juſtice, how ill ſoe▪re I paid
The ſcores of Love.—
King.
And thoſe indeed thou haſt but paid indifferently
To me, I did deſerve at leaſt faire death,
Not to be murthered thus in private:
That was too cruell, Miſtreſſe.
And I doe know thou do'ſt repent, and wilt
Yet make me ſatisfaction:
Agl.
What ſatisfaction Sir?
I am no monſtet, never had two hearts;
One is by holy vowes anothers now,
And could I give it you, you would not take it,
For 'tis alike impoſſible for mee,
To love againe, as you love Perjurie.
O Sir! conſider, what a flame love is.
If by rude meanes you thinke to force a light,
That of it ſelfe it would not freely give,
You blow it out, and leave your ſelfe i'th' darke.
The Prince once gone, you may as well perſwade
The light to ſtay behinde, when the Sun poſts
To th'other world, as mee; alas! wee two,
Have mingled ſoules more than two meeting brooks;
And whoſoever is deſign'd to be
The murtherer of my Lord, (as ſure there is,
Has anger'd heav'n ſo farre that 'tas decreed
Him to encreaſe his puniſhment that way)
Would he but ſearch the heart, when he has done,
Hee there would find Aglaura murther'd too.
King.
Thou huſt o'recome me, mov'd ſo handſomely
For pitie, that I will diſ-inherit
The elder brother, and from this houre be
Thy Convert, not thy Lover.—
Ziriff, diſpatch away—
And he that brings newes of the Prince's welfare,
Looke that he have the ſame reward, we had decreed
To him, brought tidings of his death.
'Tmuſt be a buſie and bold hand, that would
Unlinke a chaine the Gods themſelves have made:
Peace to thy thoughts: Aglaura— Exit.
Ziriff ſteps back and ſpeakes.
Zir.
What e're he ſayes beleeve him not Aglaura▪
For luſt and rage ride high within him now:
He knowes Therſames made th'eſcape from hence,
And does conceale it only for his ends:
For by the favour of miſtake and night,
He hopes t'enjoy thee in the Prince's roome;
I ſhall be miſt—elſe I would tell thee more;
But thou mayeſt gheſſe, for our condition
Admits no middle wayes, either we muſt
Send them to Graves, or lie our ſelves in duſt— Exit.
Aglaura ſtands ſtill and ſtudies.
Agl.
Ha! 'tis a ſtrange Act thought puts me now upon;
Yet ſure my brother meant the ſelfe-ſame thing,
And my Therſames would have done 't for me:
To take his life that ſeekes to take away
The life of Life, (honour from me;) and from
The world▪ the life of honour, Therſames;
Muſt needs be ſomething ſure, of kin to Juſtice.
If I doe faile, th'attempt howe're was brave,
And I ſhall have at worſt a handſome grave— Exit.
Enter Jolas, Semanthe.
Semanthe ſteps backe, Jolas ſtayes her.
Jol.
What? are we growne, Semanthe, night, and day?
Muſt one ſtill vaniſh when the other comes?
Of all that ever Love did yet bring forth
(And 'thas been fruitfull too) this is
The ſtrangeſt iſſue.—
Sem.
What my Lord?
Jol.
Hate Semanthe.
Sem.
You doe miſtake, if I doe ſhun you, 'tis,
As baſhfull Debtors ſhun their Creditors,
I cannot pay you in the ſelfe-ſame coyne,
And am aſham'd to offer any other.
Jol.
It is ill done Semanthe, to plead bankrupt,
When with ſuch eaſe you may be out of debt;
In loves dominions, native commoditie
Is currant payment, change is all the Trade,
And heart for heart the richeſt merchandize,
Sem.
'Twould here be mean my Lord, ſince mine would prove
In your hands but a Counterfeit, and yours in mine
Worth nothing; Sympathy, not greatneſſe,
Makes thoſe Jewells riſe in value.
Iol.
Sympathy! ô teach but yours to love then,
And two ſo rich no mortall ever knew.
Sem.
That heart would Love but ill that muſt be taught,
Such fires as theſe ſtill kindle of themſelves.
Iol.
In ſuch a cold, and frozen place as is
Thy breaſt? how ſhould they kindle of themſelves
Semanthe?
Sem.
Aske how the Flint can carrie fire within?
'Tis the leaſt miracle that Love can doe:
Jol.
Thou art thy ſelfe the greateſt miracle,
For thou art faire to all perfection,
And yet do'ſt want the greateſt part of beautie,
Kindneſſe▪ thy crueltie (next to thy ſelfe,)
Above all things on earth takes up my wonder.
Sem.
Call not that crueltie, which is our fate,
Beleeve me Iolas the honeſt Swaine
That from the brow oſ ſome ſteepe cliffe far off,
Beholds a ſhip labouring in vaine againſt
The boyſterous and unruly Elements, ne're had
Leſſe power, or more deſire to help than I;
At every ſigh, I die, and every looke,
Does move; and any paſſion you will have
But Love, I have in ſtore: I will be angrie,
Quarrell with deſtinie, and with my ſelfe
That itis no better; be melancholy;
And (though mine owne diſa
••
ers well might plead
To be in chiefe,) yours only ſhall have place,
I'le pitie, and (if that's too low) I'le grieve,
As for my ſinnes, I cannot give you eaſe;
All this I doe, and this I hope will prove
'Tis greater Torment not to love, than Love.— Exit.
Iol.
So periſhing Sailours pray to ſtormes,
And ſo they heare agen. So men
With death about them, looke on Phyſitians that
Have given them o're, and ſo they turne away:
Two fixed Stars that keep a conſtant diſtance,
And by lawes made with themſelves muſt know
No motion excentrick, may meet as ſoone as wee:
The anger that the fooliſh Sea does ſhew,
When it does brave it out, and rore againſt
A ſtubborne rock that ſtill denies it paſſage,
Is not ſo vaine and fruitleſſe, as my prayers.
Yee mighty Powers of Love and Fate, where is
Your Juſtice here? It is thy part (fond Boy)
When thou do'ſt find one wounded heart, to make
The other ſo, but if thy Tyranny
Be ſuch, that thou willt leave one breaſt to hate,
If we muſt live, and this ſurvive,
How much more cruell's Fate?— Exit.
ACTUS V. SCENA I.
Enter Ziriff, Ariaſpes, Iolas.
Iol.
A Glorious night!
Ari.
Pray Heav'n it prove ſo.
Are wee not there yet?
Zir.
'Tis about this hollow. Enter the Cave.
Ari.
How now! what region are we got into?
Th'enheritance of night;
Are we not miſta
•
en a tur
•
ing Ziriff,
And ſtept into ſome m
•
lancholy Devils Territorie?
Sure 'tis a part of the firſt Chaos,
That would endure no change.
Zir.
No matter Sir, 'tis as proper for our purpoſe,
As the Lobbie for the waiting womans.
Stay you here, I'le move a little backward,
And ſo we ſhall be ſure to put him paſt
Retreat: you know the word if't be the prince. (Goes to the mouth of the Cave.
Enter King.
Here Sir, follow me, all's quiet yet.—
King.
Hee is not come then?
Zir.
No.
King.
Where's Ariaſpes?
Zir.
Waiting within. He leads him on, ſteps behind him, gives the falſe word they kill the king.
Iol.
I do not like this waiting,
Nor this fellowes leaving us.
Ari.
This place does put odd thoughts into thee,
Then thou art in thine owne nature too, as jealous
As either Love or Honor: Come weare thy ſword in readineſſe,
And thinke how neere we are a Crowne.
Zir.
Revenge!
So let's drag him to the light and ſearch
His pockets, there may be papers there that will
Diſcover the reſt of the Conſpiratours.
Iolas, your hand— Draw him out.
Jol.
Whom have we here? the King!
Zir.
Yes, and Zorannes too. Illo! hoe!— Enter Paſithas and others.
Unarme them.
D'ee ſtare?
This for my Fathers injuries & mine: Points to the Kings dead body.
Halfe Love, halfe Duties Sacrifice,
This—for the noble Prince, an offering to friendſhip: (runs at Jolas.
Iol.
Baſely! and tamely— Dies.
Ari.
What haſt thou done?
Zir.
Nothing—kill'd a Traytour,
So—away with them, and leave us,
Paſithas be onely you in call.
Ari.
What do'ſt thou pawſe?
Haſt thou remorſe already murtherer?
Zir.
No foole: 'tis but a difference I put
Betwixt the crimes: Orbella is our quarrell;
And I doe hold it fit, that love ſhould have
A nobler way of Juſtice, than Revenge
Or Treaſon; follow me out of the wood,
And thou ſhalt be Maſter of this againe:
And then, beſt arme and title take it. They go out & enter agen.
There— Gives him his Sword.
Ari.
Extreamly good! Nature tooke paines I ſweare,
The villaine and the brave are mingled handſomely.
Zir.
'Twas Fate that tooke it when it decreed
Wee two ſhould meet, nor ſhall they mingle now
Wee are brought together ſtrait to part.— Fight.
Ari.
Some Devill ſure has borrowed this ſhape. Pawſe.
My Sword ne're ſtay'd thus long to find an entrance.
Zir.
To guiltie men, all that appeares is Devill,
Come Trifler, come.— Fight againe, Ariaſpes falls.
Ari.
Whither whither, thou fleeting Coward life?
Bubble of Time▪ Natures ſhame, ſtay; a little, ſtay!
Till I have look'd my ſelfe into revenge,
And ſtar'd this Traytour to a carkaſſe firſt.
—It will not be:— Falls.
The Crowne, the Crowne, too
Now is loſt, for ever loſt—oh!—
Ambition's, but an Ignis fatuns, I ſee
Miſleading fond mortalitie,
That hurries us about, and ſets us downe
Juſt—where—wee—firſt—begun— Dies.
Zir.
What a great ſpreading mightie thing this was,
And what a nothing now? how ſoone poore man
Vaniſhes into his noone-tide ſhadow?
But hopes o're fed have ſeldom better done:— (Hollows.)
Take up this lump of vanity, and honour,
Enter Paſithas.
And carry it the back way to my lodging,
There may be uſe of Stateſ-men, when th'are dead:
So.—for the Cittadell now, for in ſuch times
As theſe, when the unruly multitude
Is up in ſwarmes, and no man knowes which way
They'll take, 'tis good to have retreat. Exeunt.
Enter Therſames.
Ther.
The Dog-ſtar's got up high, it ſhould be late:
And ſure by this time every waking eare,
And watchfull eye is charm'd; and yet me thought
A noyſe of weapons ſtruck my eare juſt now.
'Twas but my fancie ſure, and were it more,
I would not tread on ſtep, that did not lead
To my Aglaura, ſtood all his Guard betwixt,
With lightning in their hands;
Danger! thou Dwarfe dreſt up in Giants clothes,
That ſhew'ſt farre off, ſtill greater than thou art:
Goe, terrifie the ſimple, and the guiltie, ſuch
As with falſe Opticks, ſtill doe looke upon thee.
But fright not Lovers, wee dare looke on thee
In thy worſt ſhape, and meet thee in them too.
Stay—Theſe trees I made my marke, 'tis hereabouts▪
—Love guide me but right this night,
And Lovers ſhall reſtore thee back againe
Thoſe eyes the P
••
ts tooke ſo boldly from thee. Exit
Aglaura with a torch in one hand and a dagger in the other.
Agl.
How ill this does become this hand how much the worſe
This ſuits with this, one of the two ſhould goe.
The ſhee within mee ſayes, it muſt be this—
Honor ſayes this—and honour is Therſames friend.
What is that ſhee then? it is not a thing
That ſets a Price, not upon me, but on
Life in my name, leading me into doubt,
Which when 'tas done, it cannot light me out.
For feare does drive to Fate, or Fate if wee
Doe flie, oretakes, and holds us, till or death,
Or infamie, or both doth ſeize us.— Puts out the light.
Ha!—would 'twere in agen.
Antiques and ſtrange miſhapes,
Such as the Porter to my Soule, mine Eye,
Was ne're acquainted with, Fancie lets in,
Like a diſtracted multitude, by ſome ſtrange accident
Piec'd together, feare now afreſh comes on,
And charges Love to home.
—Hee comes—he comes—
Woman, if thou would'ſt be the Subject of mans wonder,
Not his ſcorne hereafter▪ now ſhew thy ſelfe.
Enter Prince riſing from the vault ſhe ſtabs him two or thre
•
times, hee falls ſhe goes back to her chamber.
Sudden and fortunate.
My better Angell ſure did both infuſe
A ſtrength, and did direct it.
Enter Ziriff.
Zir.
Aglaura!
Agl.
Brother—
Zir.
The ſame.
So ſlow to let in ſuch a long'd for Gueſt?
Muſt Joy ſtand knocking Siſter? come, prepare,
Prepare.—
The King of Perſia's comming to you ſtrait!
The King!—marke that.
Agl.
I thought how poore the Joyes you brought with you,
Were in reſpect of thoſe that were with me:
Joyes, are our hopes ſtript of their feares,
And ſuch are mine; for know, deare Brother,
The King is
•
ome already, and is gone—marke that.
Zir.
Is this inſtinct, or riddle? what King? how gone?
Agl.
The Cave will tell you more—
Zir.
Some ſad miſtake—thou haſt undone us all. Goes out, enters haſtily againe.
The Prince! the Prince! cold as the bed of earth
He lies upon, as ſenſleſſe too; death hangs
Upon his lips.
Like an untimely froſt, upon an early Cherrie;
The noble Gueſt, his Soule, tooke it ſo ill
That you ſhould uſe his old Acquaintance ſo,
That neither pray'rs, nor teares, can e're perſwade
Him back againe.—
Aglaura ſwounes: rubs her.
Hold hold! wee cannot ſure part thus!
Siſter! Aglaura! Therſames is not dead,
It is the Prince that calls—
Agl.
The Prince, where?—
Tell me, or I will ſtrait goe back againe,
Into thoſe groves of Geſſemine, thou took'ſt me from,
And finde him out, or loſe my ſelfe for ever.
Zir.
For ever.—I: there's it!
For in thoſe Groves thou talk'ſt of,
There are ſo many by-wayes, and odd rurnings.
Leading unto ſuch wild and diſmall places,
That ſhould we goe without a guide, or ſtir
Before Heav'n calls, 'tis ſtrongly to be feared
We there ſhould wander up and downe for ever,
And be benighted to eternitie!—
Agl.
Benighted to eternitie?—What's that?
Zir.
Why 'tis to be benighted to eternitie;
To ſit i'th' darke, and doe I know not what;
Unriddle at our owne ſad coſt and charge,
The doubts the learned here doe onely move—
Agl.
What place have murtherers brother there? for ſure
The murtherer of the Prince muſt have
A puniſhment that Heaven is yet to make.—
Zir.
How is religion fool'd betwixt our loves,
And feares? poore Girle, for ought that thou haſt done,
Thy Chaplets may be faire and flouriſhing,
As his in the Elyſium:
Agl.
Doe you thinke ſo?
Zir.
Yes, I doe thinke ſo.
The juſter Judges of our Actions,
Would they have been ſevere upon
Our weakneſſes,
Would (ſure) have made us ſtronger.—
Fie! thoſe teares
A Bride upon the marriage day as properly
Might ſhed as thou, here widowes doo't
And marrie next day after:
To ſuch a funerall as this, there ſhould be
nothing common—
Wee'll mourne him ſo, that thoſe that are alive
Shall thinke themſelves more buried far than hee;
And wiſh to have his grave, to find his Obſequies:
But ſtay—the Body.
Brings up the body, ſhe ſwoun
•
and dies.
Agen! Siſter—Aglaura—
O ſpeake once more, once more looke out faire Soule.—
Shee's gone.—
Irrevocably gone.—And winging now the Aire,
Like a glad bird broken from ſome cage:
Poore Bankrupt heart, when 'thad not wherewithall
To pay to ſad diſaſter all that was its due,
It broke—would mine would doe ſo too.
My ſoule is now within mee
Like a well metled Hauke, on a blind Faulk'ners fiſt,
Me thinkes I feele it baiting to be gone:
And yet I have a little fooliſh buſineſſe here
On earth; I will diſpatch:— Exit.
Enter Paſithas, with the body of Ariaſpes.
Paſ.
Let me be like my burthen here, if I had not as lieve kill two of the Bloud-royall for him, as carrie one
of them; Theſe Gentlemen of high actions are three times as heavie after death, as your private retir'd ones; looke if he be not reduc'd to the ſtate of a Courtier of the ſecond forme now? and cannot ſtand upon his owne legs, nor doe any thing without helpe, Hum.—And what's become of the great Prince, in priſon as they call it now, the toy within us, that makes us talke, and laugh, and fight, I! why there's it, well, let him be what he will, and where he will, I'le make bold with the old Tenement here. Come Sir—come along:— Exit.
Enter Ziriff.
Zir.
All's faſt too, here—
They ſleepe to night
I'their winding ſheets I thinke, there's ſuch
A generall quiet.
Oh! here's light I warrant:
For luſt does take as little reſt, as care, or age.—
Courting her glaſſe, I ſweare, fie! that's a flatterer Madam,
In me you ſhal ſee trulier what you are. (Knocks. Ent. the Queen
Orb.
What make you up at this ſtrange houre my Lord?
Zir.
My buſineſſe is my boldneſſe warrant,
(Madam)
And I could well afford t'have been without it now,
Had Heav'n ſo pleas'd.
Orb.
'Tis a ſad Prologue,
What followes in the name of vertue?
Zir.
The King.
Orb.
I: what of him? is well is he not?
Zir.
Yes.—
If to be free from the great load
Wee ſweat and labour under, here on earth
Be to be well, he is.
Orb.
Why hee's not dead, is hee?
Zir.
Yes Madam, ſlaine—and the Prince too▪
Orb.
How? where?
Zir.
I know not, but dead they are.
Orb.
Dead?
Zir.
Yes Madam.
Orb.
Did'ſt ſee them dead?
Zir.
As I ſee you alive.
Orb.
Dead!
Zir.
Yes, dead.
Orb.
Well, we muſt all die;
The Siſters ſpin no cables for us mortalls▪
Th'are thred; and Time, and chance—
Truſt me I could weepe now,
But watrie diſtillations doe but ill on graves,
They make the lodging colder. She knocks.
Zir.
What would you Madam?
Orb.
Why my friends, my Lord!
I would conſult and know, what's to be done.
Zir.
Madam 'tis not ſo ſafe to raiſe the Court;
Things thus unſetled, if you pleaſe to have—
Orb.
Where's Ariaſpes?
Zir.
In's dead ſleepe by this time I'm ſure,
Orb.
I know he is not! find him inſtantly.
Zir.
I'm gone,— Turnes back againe.
But Madam, why make you choyce of him, from whom
If the ſucceſſion meet diſturbance,
All muſt come of danger?
Orb.
My Lord, I am not yet ſo wiſe, as to be jealous;
Pray diſpute no further.
Zir.
Pardon me Madam, if before I goe
I muſt unlock a ſecret unto you; ſuch a one
As while the King did breathe durſt know no aire,
Zorannes lives.
Orb.
Ha!
Zir.
And in the hope of ſuch a day as this
Has lingred out a life, ſnatching, to feed
His almoſt famiſh'd eyes,
Sights now and then of you, in a diſguiſe.
Orb.
Strange! this night is big with miracle!
Zir.
If you did love him, as they ſay you did,
And doe ſo ſtill; 'tis now within your power!
Orb.
I would it were my Lord, but I am now
No private woman, If I did love him once
(And 'tis ſo long agoe, I have forgot)
My youth and ignorance may well excus't.
Zir.
Excuſe it?
Orb.
Yes, excuſe it Sir.
Zir.
Though I confeſſe I lov'd his father much.
And pitie him, yet having offer'd it
Unto your thoughts: I have diſcharg'd a truſt;
And zeale ſhall ſtray no further.
Your pardon Madam: Exit.
Queen ſtudies.
Orb.
May be 'tis a plot to keep off Ariaſpes
Greatneſſe, which hee muſt feare, becauſe he knowes
He hates him: for theſe great Stateſ-men,
That when time has made bold with the King & Subject,
Throwing down all fence that ſtood betwixt their power
And others right, are on a change,
Like wanton Salmons comming in with flouds,
That leap o're wyres and nets, and make their way
To be at the returne to every one a prey.
Enter Ziriff, and Paſithas throwing down the dead body of Ariaſpes.
Orb.
Ha! murthered too!
Treaſon—treaſon—
Zir.
But ſuch another word, and halfe ſo loud,
And th'art,—
Orb.
Why? thou wilt not murther me too?
Wilt thou villaine?
Zir.
I do not know my temper— Diſcovers himſelfe▪
Looke here vaine thing, and ſee thy ſins full blowne:
There's ſcarce a part in all this face, thou haſt
Not been forſworn by, and Heav'n forgive thee for't!
For thee I loſt a Father, Countrey, friends,
My ſelfe almoſt, for I lay buried Long;
And when there was no uſe thy love could pay
Too great, thou mad'ſt the principle away:
Had I but ſtaid, and not began revenge
Till thou had'ſt made an end of changing,
I had had the Kingdome to have kill'd:
As wantons entring a Garden, take
The firſt faire flower, they meet, and
Treaſure't in their laps.
Then ſeeing more, do make freſh choyce agen,
Throwing in one and one, till at the length
The firſt poor flower o're-charg'd, with too much weight
Withers, and dies:
So haſt thou dealt with mee,
And having kill'd me firſt, I will kill—
Orb.
Hold—hold—
Not for my ſake, but Orbella's (Sir) a bare
And ſingle death is ſuch a wrong to Juſtice,
I muſt needs except againſt it.
Find out a way to make me long a dying;
For death's no puniſhment, it is the ſenſe,
The paines and feares afore that makes a death:
To thinke what I had had, had I had you,
What I have loſt in loſing of my ſelfe;
Are deaths farre worſe than any you can give:
Yet kill me quickly, for if I have time,
I ſhall ſo waſh this ſoule of mine with teares,
Make it ſo fine, that you would be afreſh
In love with it, and ſo perchance I ſhould
Again come to deceive you. Sheriſes up weeping, & hanging down her head▪
Zir.
So riſes day, bluſhing at nights deformitie:
And ſo the prettie flowers blubber'd with dew,
And ever waſht with raine, hang downe their heads,
I muſt not looke upon her: (Goes towards him.)
Orb.
Were but the Lillies in this face as freſh
As are the Roſes; had I but innocence
Joyn'd to their bluſhes, I ſhould then be bold,
For when they went on begging they were ne're deni'de,
'Tis but a parting kiſſe Sir—
Zir.
I dare not grant it.—
Orb.
Your hand Sir then, for that's a part I ſhall
Love after death (if after death we love)
'Cauſe it did right the wrong'd Zorannes, here—
Steps to him, and opens the box of poyſon, Zorannes falls.
Sleepe, ſleepe for ever, and forgotten too,
All but thy ills, which may ſucceeding time
Remember, as the Sea-man does his marks,
To know what to avoyd, may at thy name
All good men ſtart, and bad too, may it prove
Infection to the Aire, that people dying of it
May help to curſe thee for me. (Turnes to the body of Ariaſpes.
Could I but call thee back as eas'ly now;
But that's a Subject for our teares, not hopes!
There is no piecing Tulips to their ſtalks,
When they are once divorc'd by a rude hand;
All we can doe is to preſerve in water
A little life, and give by couretous Art
What ſcanted Nature wants Commiſſion for,
That thou ſhalt have: for to thy memorie
Such Tribute of moyſt ſorrow I will pay,
And that ſo purifi'd by love, that on thy grave
Nothing ſhall grow but Violets & Primroſes,
Of which too, ſome ſhall be
Of the myſterious number, ſo that Lovers ſhall
Come thither not as to a tomb, but to an Oracle. She knocks, and raiſes the Court.
Enter Ladies and Courtiers, as out of their beds.
Orb.
Come! come! help me to weep my ſelfe away,
And melt into a grave, for life is but
Repentance nurſe, and will conſpire with memorie,
To make my houres my tortures.
Ori.
What Scene of ſorrow's this? both dead?
Orb.
Dead? I! and 'tis but halfe death's triumphs this,
The King and Prince lye ſomewhere, juſt
Such empty truncks as theſe.
Ori.
The Prince?
Then in griefes burthen I muſt beare a part.
Sem.
The noble Ariaſpes—valiant Ziriff too.— Weeps.
Orb.
Weep'ſt thou for him, fond Prodigall? do'ſt know
On whom thou ſpend'ſt thy teares? this is the man
To whom we owe our ills; the falſe Zorannes
Diſguis'd, not loſt; but kept alive, by ſome Enter Paſithas, ſurveys the bodyes, finds his Maſter▪
Incenſed Power, to puniſh Perſia thus:
He would have kill'd me too, but Heav'n was juſt,
And furniſht me with meanes, to make him pay
This ſcore of villanie, e're he could do more.
Paſ.
Were you his murth'rer then?—
Paſithas runs at her, kills her, and flies.
Ori.
Ah me! the Queene.— Rub her till ſhe come to her ſelfe.
Sem.
How doe you Madam?
Orb.
Well,—but I was better, and ſhall— Dies.
Sem.
Oh! ſhe is gone for ever.
Enter Lords in their night-gownes, Orſames, Philan.
Orſ.
What have we here?
A Church-yard? nothing but ſilence, and grave?
Ori.
Oh! here has been (my Lords)
The blackeſt night the Perſian world e're knew,
The King and Prince are not themſelves exempt
From this arreſt; but pale and cold, as theſe,
Have meaſured out their lengths.
Lo.
Impoſſible! which way?
Sem.
Of that we are as ignorant as you:
For while the Queene was telling of the Storie,
An unknowne villaine here has hurt her ſo,
That like a ſickly Taper, ſhe but made
One flaſh, and ſo expir'd:
Enter tearing in Paſithas.
Phi.
Here he is, but no confeſſion.
Or.
Torture muſt force him then:
Though 'Twill indeed, but weakly ſatisfie
To know now they are dead, how they did die.
Phi.
Come take the bodies up, and let us all
Goe drowne our ſelves in teares, this maſſacre
Has left ſo torne a State, that 'twill be policie
Aſwell as debt, to weep till we are blinde,
For who would ſee the miſeries behinde?
Epilogue.
OVr Play is done, and yours doth now begin:
What different Fancies, people now are in?
How ſtrange, and odd a mingle it would make,
If e're they riſe; 'twere poſſible to take
All votes.—
But as when an authentique Watch is ſhowne,
Each man wi
•
des up, and rectifies his owne,
So in our very Judgements; firſt there ſits
A grave Grand Jurie on it of Towne-wits;
And they give up their verdict; then agin
The other Jurie of the Court comes in
(And that's of life and death) for each man ſees
That oft condemnes, what th' other Jurie frees:
Some three dayes hence, the Ladies o
•
the Towne
Will come to have a Judgement of their owne:
And after them, their ſervants; then the Citie,
For that is modeſt, and is ſtill laſt wittie.
'Twill be a weeke at leaſt yet e're they have
Reſolv'd to let it live, or give't a grave:
Such difficultie, there is to unite
Opinion; or bring it to be right.
Epilogue for the Court.
SIR:
THat th' abuſing of your eare's a crime,
Above th' excuſe any ſix lines in
〈◊〉
Can make, the Poet knowes: I am but ſen
•
T' intreat hee may not be a Preſident,
For hee does thinke that in this place the
•
e hee
Many have done't as much and more than hee
But here's, he ſayes, the difference of the Fates,
Hee begs a Pardon after't, they Eſtates.
FINIS.
AGLAURA. REPRESENTED At the Court, by his Majeſties Servants.
Written by Sir JOHN SVCKLING.
LONDON, Printed for Tho Walkley, and are to be ſold by Humphrey Moſeley, at his ſhop, at the ſigne of the Princes armes in St. Pauls Church-yard, 1646.
Prologue.
FOre love, a mighty Seſſions: and I feare,
Though kind laſt Sizes, 'twill be now ſevere;
For it is thought, and by judicious men,
Aglaura 'ſcap't onely by dying then:
But 'twould be vaine for mee now to indeare,
Or ſpeake unto my Lords, the Judges here,
They hold their places by condemning ſtill,
And cannot ſhew at once mercie and skill;
For wit's ſo cruell unto wit, that they
Are thought to want, that find not want ith' play,
But Ladies you, who never lik'd a plot.
But where the Servant had his Miſtreſſe got,
And whom to ſee a Lover dye it grieves,
Although 'tis in worſe language that he lives,
Will like't w are confident, ſince here will bee,
That your Sex ever lik'd varietie.
Prologue to the Court.
TIs ſtrange perchance (you'll thinke) that ſhe that di' d
•
At Chriſtmas, ſhould at Eaſter be a Bride:
But 'tis a privilege the Poets have,
To take the long-ſince dead out of the grave:
Nor is this all, old Heroes a ſleepe
'Twixt marble coverlets, and ſix foot deep
•
In earth, they boldly wake, and make them doe
All they did living here—ſometimes more too,
They give freſh life, reverſe and alter Fate,
And yet more bold, Almightie-like create:
And out of nothing onely to deifie
Reaſon, and Reaſons friend, Philoſophie,
Fame, honour, valour, all that's great, or good,
Or is at leaſt 'mongſt us, ſo underſtood,
They give, heav'ns theirs, no handſome woman dies,
But if they pleaſe, is ſtrait ſome ſtar i'th' skies—
But oh—
How thoſe poore men of Meetre doe
Flatter themſelves with that, that is not true,
And 'cauſe they can trim up a little proſe,
And ſpoile it handſomly, vainly ſuppoſe
Th' are Omnipotent, can doe all thoſe things
That can be done onely by Gods and Kings.
Of this wild guilt, hee faine would bee thought free,
That writ this Play, and therefore (Sir) by mee,
Hee humbly begs, you would be pleas'd to know,
Aglaura's but repriev'd this night, and though
Shee now appeares upon a Poets call,
Shee's not to live, unleſſe you ſay ſhee ſhall.
ACTUS V. SCENA I.
Enter Ziriff, Paſithas, and Guard: hee places 'em: and Exit. A State ſet out. Enter Ziriff, Jolas, Ariaſpes.
Iol.
A Glorious night!
Ari.
Pray Heav'n it prove ſo.
Are wee not there yet?
Zir.
'Tis about this hollow. They Enter the Cave.
Ari.
How now! what region are we got into?
Th'enheritance of night;
Have wee not miſtaken a turning Ziriff,
And ſtept into the confines of ſome melancholy
Devils Territorie?
Iol.
Sure 'tis a part of the firſt Chaos,
That would not ſuffer any change.
Zir.
No matter Sir, 'tis as proper for our
Purpoſe, as the Lobbie for the waiting womans.
Stay you here, I'le move a little backward,
And ſo we ſhall be ſure to put him paſt
Retreat: you know the word if it be the prince.
Ziriff goes to the doore
Enter King.
Ziriff.
Here Sir, follow me, al
•
's quiet yet.
King.
Is hee not come then?
Zir.
No.
King.
Where's Ariaſpes?
Zir.
Waiting within.
Iol.
I do not like this waiting,
Nor this fellowes leaving of us.
Ari.
This place does put odd thoughts into thee.
Then thou art in thine owne nature too,
As jealous, as Love, or Honour; weare thy ſword
In readineſſe, and thinke how neere we are a Crowne.
Zir.
Revenge!— Guard ſeiſeth on'em.
King.
Ha! what's this?
Zir.
Bring them forth.— Brings them forth.
Ari.
The King.
Zir.
Yes, and the Princes friend— Diſcovers himſelfe.
D'you know this face?
King.
Zorannes.
Zor.
The very ſame,
The wrong'd Zorannes,—King—
D you ſtare.—
Away with them where I appointed.
King.
T
•
aytours, let mee goe;
Villaine, thou dar'ſt not doe this—
Zor.
Poore Counterfeit,
How faine thou now would'ſt act a King and art not:
Stay you,—
to Ariaſpes.
Unhand him,— Whiſpers.
Leave us now.—
Exeunt. Manet Ariaſp. Zoran.
Ari.
What does this meane?
Sure hee does intend the Crowne to mee.
Zor.
Wee are alone▪
Follow mee out of the wood, and thou ſhalt be
Maſter of this againe,
And then beſt a
•
me and title take it.
Ari.
Thy offer is ſo noble, in gratitude Icannot
But propound gentler conditions,
Wee will divide the Empire.
Zor.
Now by my fathers ſoule,
I doe almoſt repent my firſt intents,
And now could kill thee ſcurvily, for thinking
If I had a minde to rule
I would not rule alone,
Let not thy eaſie faith (loſt man)
Foole thee into ſo dull an hereſie;
Orbella is our quarrell, & I have thought it fit,
That love ſhould have a nobler way of Juſtice,
Than Revenge, or Treaſon.
If thou dar'ſt die handſomly, follow me. Ex. And enter both agen
Zor.
There,— Gives him his ſword.
Ari.
Extremely good; Nature tooke paines I ſweare,
The villaine and the brave are mingled handſomely:—
Zir.
'Twas Fate that tooke it, when it decreed
Wee two ſhould meet, nor ſhall they mingle now,
Wee are but brought together ſtrait to part.— Fight.
Ari.
Some Devill ſure has borrowed this ſhape,
My ſword ne're ſtaid thus long to finde an entrance.
Zir.
To guiltie men, all that appeare is Devill;
Come trifler come.— Fight.
Ari.
Dog, thou haſt it,
Zir.
Why then it ſeemes my ſtar's as great as his,
Ariaſpes pants, and runs at him to catch his ſword
I ſmile at thee,
Thou now would'ſt have me kill thee,
And 'tis a courteſie I cannot afford thee,
I have bethought my ſelfe, there will be uſe
Of thee,—Paſithas—to the reſt with him. Exit.
Enter Paſithas, and two of the Guard.—Exeunt.
Enter Therſames.
Ther.
The Dog-ſtar's got up high, it ſhould be late:
And ſure by this time every waking eare
And watchfull eye is charm'd; and yet mee thought
A noyſe of weapons ſtruck my eare juſt now.
'Twas but my Fancie ſure, and were it more,
I would not tread one ſtep, that did not lead
To my Aglaura, ſtood all his Guard betwixt,
With lightning in their hands.
Danger, thou Dwarfe dreſt up in Giants clothes,
That ſhew'ſt far off ſtill greater than thou art,
Goe, terrifie the ſimple, and the guiltie, ſuch
As with falſe Opticks ſtill doe looke upon thee:
But fright not Lovers▪ wee dare looke on thee
In thy worſt ſhapes and meet thee in them too.—
Stay theſe trees I made my marke, tis hereabouts,
—Love guide mee but right this night,
And Lovers ſhall reſtore thee back againe
Thoſe eyes the Poets tooke ſo boldly from thee. Exit.
A Taper Table out.
Enter Aglaura, with a Torch in one hand, a Dagger in the other.
Agl.
How ill this does become this hand? much worſe
This ſuits with this, one of the two ſhould goe.
The ſhee within mee ſayes, it muſt be this—
Honor ſayes this—and honour is Therſames friend.
What is that ſhee then? is it not a thing
That ſets a Price, not upon me, but on
Life in my name, leading me into doubt,
Which when 'tas done it cannot light me out.
For feare does drive to Fate, or Fate if wee
Doe flie, oretakes, and holds us, till or death,
Or infamie, or both doe ſeize us.— Puts out the light.
Ha!—would 'twere in agen. Antiques & ſtrange miſhapes,
Such as the Porter to my Soule, mine Eye,
Was ne're acquainted with, Fancie lets in,
Like a diſrouted multitude, by ſome ſtrange accident
Piec'd together, feare now afreſh comes on,
And charges Love too home.
—Hee comes, he comes.— A little noyſe below.
Woman, if thou would'ſt be the Subject
Of mans wonder, Not his ſcorne hereafter,—
—Now ſhew thy ſelfe.
Enter Therſames from the vault, ſhe ſtabs him as hee riſeth.
Ther.
Unkindly done—
Agl.
The Princes voyce, defend it Goodneſſe?
Ther.
What art thou that thus poorely
Haſt deſtroy'd a life?
Agl.
Oh ſad miſtake, 'tis hee?
Ther.
Haſt thou no voyce?
Agl.
I would I had not, nor a being neither.
Ther.
Aglaura, it cannot be?
Agl.
Oh ſtill beleeve ſo, Sir,
For 'twas not I Indeed, but fatall Love.
Ther.
Loves wounds us'd to be gentler than theſe were,
The paines they give us have ſome pleaſure
In them, and that theſe have not. Enter Ziriff with a taper.
Oh doe not ſay 'twas you, for that does wound agen:
Guard me my better Angell,
Doe I wake? my eyes (ſince I was man)
Ne're met with any object gave them ſo much trouble,
I dare not aske neither to be ſatisfied,
Shee lookes ſo guiltily—
Agl.
Why doe you ſtare and wonder at a thing
That you your ſelfe have made thus mizerable?
Zir.
Good gods, and I o'the partie too.
Agl.
Did you not tell me that the King this night
Meant to attempt my honour; that our condition
Would not admit of middle wayes, and that we muſt
Send them to graves, or lye our ſelves in duſt?
Zir.
Unfortunate miſtake? Ziriff knocks.
I never did intend our ſafety by thy hands:
Enter Paſithas.
Paſithas, goe inſtantly and fetch Andrages
From his bed; how is it with you Sir?
Ther.
As with the beſieg'd:
My ſoule is ſo beſet it does not know,
Whether't had beſt to make a deſperate
Sally out by this port or not?
Agl.
Sure I ſhall turne ſtatue here.
Ther.
If thou do'ſt love me, weepe not Aglaura:
All thoſe are drops of bloud and flow from me.
Zir.
Now all the gods defend this way of expiation,
Think'ſt thou thy crime, Aglaura would be leſſe,
By adding to it? or canſt thou hope
To ſatisfie thoſe powers, whom great ſins
Doe diſpleaſe, by doing greater.
Agl.
Diſcourteous courteſie!
I had no other meanes left mee than this,
To let Therſames know I would doe nothing
To him, I would not doe unto my ſelfe,
And that thou takeſt away.
Ther.
Friend, bring me a little neerer,
I find a kind of willingneſſe to ſtay
And find that willingneſſe ſomething obey'd.
My bloud now it perſwades it ſelfe
You did not call in earneſt,
Makes not ſuch haſt.—
Agl.
Oh my deareſt Lord,
This kindneſſe is ſo full of crueltie,
Puts ſuch an uglineſſe on what I have done,
That when I looke upon it needs muſt fright
Me from my ſelfe, and which is more inſufferable.
I feare from you.
Ther.
Why ſhould that fright thee, which moſt comforts mee?
I glorie in it, and ſhall ſmile i'th' grave
To thinke our love was ſuch, that nothing
But it ſelfe could e're deſtroy it.
Agl.
Deſtroy it? can it have ever end?
Will you not be thus courteous then in the other world?
Shall we not be together there as here?
Ther.
I cannot tell whether I may or not.
Agl.
Not tell?
Ther.
No:
The Gods thought me unworthy of thee here,
And when thou art more pure
Why ſhould I not more doubt it?
Agl.
Becauſe if I ſhall be more pure,
I ſhall be then more fit for you.
Our Prieſts aſſure us an Elyſium,
And can that be Elyſium where true Lovers
Muſt not meet? Thoſe Powers that made our loves,
Did they intend them mortall,
Would ſure have made them of a courſer ſtuffe,
Would they not my Lord?—
Ther.
Prethee ſpeake ſtill,
This muſique gives my ſoule ſuch pleaſing buſineſſe,
Takes it ſo wholly up, it findes not leiſure to
Attend unto the ſummons death does make;
Yet they are loud and peremptorie now,
And I can onely— Faints.
Agl.
Some pitying Power inſpire me with
A wa
•
to follow him: heart wilt thou not
Breake it of thy ſelfe.
Zir.
My grie
•
es beſot me:
His ſou
•
e will ſai
•
e out with this purple tide,
And I ſhall here be found ſtaring
After't like a man that's come too ſhort o'th' ſhip,
And's left behind upon the land. Shee ſwounes.
Enter Andrages.
Oh welcome, we come here lyes Andrages
Alas too great a tr
•
all for thy art.
And.
There's life in him: from whence theſe wounds?
Zir.
Oh 'tis no time for ſtorie.
And.
'Tis not mortall my Lord, bow him gently,
And help me to infuſe this into him;
The ſou e is but aſleepe and not gone forth.
Ther.
Oh—ho:—
Zir.
Hearke▪ the Prince does live.
Ther.
What e're thou art haſt given me now a life,
And with it all my cares and miſeries,
Expect not a reward no not a thanks.
If thou would'ſt merit from me,
(Yet wh would be guilty of ſo loſt an action)
Reſtore me to my quietneſſe agen,
For life and that are moſt incompatible.
Zir.
Still in deſpaires:
I did not thinke till now 'twas in the power
Of Fortune to have robb'd Therſames of himſelfe,
For pitie, Sir▪ and reaſon live;
If you will die die not Aglaura's murther'd,
That's not ſo handſome: at leaſt die not
Her murthered and her murtherer too;
For that will ſurely follow. Looke up, Sir,
This violence of Fortune cannot laſt ever:
Who knowes but all theſe clouds are ſhadowes,
To ſet off your fairer dayes, if it growes blacker,
And the ſtormes doe riſe, this harbour's alwayes open.
Ther.
What ſay'ſt thou▪
Aglaura?
Agl.
What ſayes Andrages?
And.
Madam, would Heaven his mind would admit
As eafie cure, as his body will,
'Twas onely want of bloud,
And two houres reſt reſtores him to himſelfe.
Zir.
And by that time it may be Heaven
Will give our miſeries ſome eaſe:
Come Sir, repoſe upon a bed,
There's time enough to day.
Ther.
Well, I will ſtill obey,
Though I muſt feare it will be with me,
But as 'tis with tortured men,
Whom States preſerve onely to wrack agen. Exeunt.
Take off table.
Enter Ziriff with a taper.
Zir.
All faſt too, here
They ſleepe to night
I'their winding ſheets, I thinke, there's ſuch
A generall quiet.
Oh! here's light I warrant you:
For luſt does take as little reſt, as care, or age.
Courting her glaſſe, I ſwear, fie! that's a flatterer Madam,
In me you ſhall ſee trulier what you are▪
He knocks, Enter Queen.
Orb.
What make you up at this ſtrange houre, my Lord?
Zir.
My buſineſſe is my boldneſſe warrant,
(Madam)
And I could well afford t'have been without it now,
Had Heav'n ſo pleas'd.
Orb.
'Tis a ſad Prologue,
What followes in the name of vertue?
Zir.
The King—
Orb.
I: what of him? is well, is he not?
Zir.
Yes,—
If to be on's journey to the other world
Be to be well, hee is.
Orb.
Why he's not dead, is he?
Zir.
Yes, Madam, dead.
Orb.
How? where?
Zir.
I doe not know particulars.
Orb.
Dead!
Zir.
Yes (Madam.)
Orb.
Art ſure hee's dead?
Zir.
Madam, I know him as certainly dead,
As I know you too muſt die hereafter.
Orb.
Dead!
Zir.
Yes, dead.
Orb.
We muſt all die.
The Siſters ſpin no cables for us mortalls;
Th'are threds; and Time, and chance—
Truſt me I could weep now,
But watrie diſtillations doe but ill on graves,
They make the lodging colder. Shee knocks.
Zir.
What would you Madam?
Orb.
Why my friends, my Lord;
I would conſult and know what's to be done.
Zir.
(Madam) 'tis not ſo ſafe to raiſe the Court;
Things thus unſetled, if you pleaſe to have—
Orb.
Where's Ariaſpes?
Zir.
In's dead ſleepe by this time ſure,
Orb.
I know he is not! find him inſtantly.
Zir.
I'm gone,— Turnes back againe.
But Madam, why make you choyce of him, from whom
If the ſucceſſion meet diſturbance,
All muſt come of danger?
Orb.
My Lord, I am not yet ſo wiſe, as to be
Jealous; Pray diſpute no further.
Zir.
Pardon me (Madam) if before I goe
I muſt unlock a ſecret to you; ſuch a one
As while the King did breathe durſt know no aire,
Zorannes lives.
Orb.
Ha!
Zir.
And in the hope of ſuch a day as this
Has lingred out a life, ſnatching, to feed
His almoſt famiſh'd eyes,
Sights now and then of you, in a diſguiſe.
Orb.
Strange! this night is big with miracle!
Zir.
If you did love him, as they ſay you did,
And doe ſo ſtill; 'tis now within your power!
Orb.
I would it were, my Lord, but I am now
No private woman, if I did love him once,
(as 'tis ſo long agoe, I have forgot)
My youth and ignorance may well excus't.
Zir.
Excuſe it?
Orb.
Yes, excuſe it Sir.
Zir.
Though I confeſſe I lov'd his father much▪
And pitie him, yet having offer'd it
Unto your thoughts: I have diſcharg'd a truſt;
And zeale ſhall ſtray no further.
(Your pardon Madam:) Exit.
Orb.
May be 'tis but a plot to keep off Ariaſpes
Greatneſſe which he muſt feare, becauſe he knowes
Hee hates him: for theſe great States-men,
That when time has made bold with the King
And Subject, throwing downe all fence
That ſtood betwixt their power
And others right, are on a change,
Like wanton Salmons comming in with flouds,
That leap o're wyres and nets and make their way
To be at the returne to every one a prey.
Enter Ziriff.
Zir.
Looke here vaine thing and ſee thy ſins full blown:
There's ſcarce a part in all this face, thou haſt
Not been forſworne by, and Heav'n forgive thee for't!
For thee I loſt a Father, Countrey, friends,
My ſelfe almoſt, for I lay buried long;
And when there was no uſe thy love could pay
Too great, thou mad'ſt the principle away:— Prompt.
As wantons entring a Garden, take
The firſt faire flower they meet, and
Treaſur't in their laps.
Then ſeeing more, doe make freſh choyce agen,
Throwing in one and one, till at the length
The firſt poor flower o're-charg'd, with too much weight
Withers and dies:
So haſt thou dealt with me,
And having kill'd me firſt, I will kill—
Orb.
Hold—hold—
Not for my ſake, but Orbella's (Sir) a bare
And ſingle death is ſuch a wrong to Juſtice,
I muſt needs except againſt it.
Find out a way to make me long a dying;
For death's no puniſhment, it is the ſenſe,
The paines and feares afore that makes a death:
To thinke what I had had, had I had you,
What I have loſt in loſing of my ſelfe;
Are deaths farre worſe than any you can give:
Yet kill me quickly, for if I have time,
I ſhall ſo waſh this ſoule of mine with teares,
Make it ſo fine, that you would be afreſh
In love with it, and ſo perchance I ſhould
Again come to deceive you. She riſes up weeping, & hanging down her head.
Zir.
So riſes day, bluſhing at nights deformitie:
And ſo the prettie flowers blubber'd with dew,
And over waſht with raine, hang downe their heads▪
I muſt not looke upon her: (Queen Goe
•
towards him.)
Orb.
Were but the Lillies in this face as freſh
As are the Roſes; had I but innocence
Joyn'd to theſe bluſhes, I ſhould then be bold,
For when they went a begging they were ne're deni'de,
'Tis but a parting kiſſe Sir—
Enter Paſithas, and two Guard.
Zir.
I dare not grant it.—Paſithas—away with her.
A bed put
••
t. Therſames and Aglaura on it, Andrages by.
Ther.
Shee wake't me with a ſigh,
And yet ſhee ſleepes her ſelfe, Sweet Innocence,
Can it be ſinne to love this ſhape,
And if it be not, why am I perſecuted thus?—
Shee ſighs agen, ſleepe that drownes all cares,
Cannot I ſee charme loves? bleſt pillowes,
Through whoſe fineneſſe does appeare
The Violets, Lillies and the Roſes
You are ſtuft withall, to whoſe ſoftneſſe
I owe the ſweet of this repoſe,
Permit me to leave with you this,— Kiſſes them, ſhee wakes.
See if I have not wake't her,
Sure I was borne, Aglaura, to deſtroy
Thy quiet.
Agl.
Mine, my Lord,
Call you this drowſineſſe a quiet then?
Beleeve me, Sir, 'twas an intruder I much
Struggled with, and have to thanke a dreame,
Not you, that it thus left me.
Ther.
A dreame! what dreame, my Love?
Agl.
I dreamp't (Sir) it was day,
And the feare you ſhould be found here.
Enter Ziriff.
Zir.
Awake; how is it with you, Sir?
Ther.
Well, extreamly well, ſo well, that had I now
No better a remembrancer than paine,
I ſhould forget I e're was hurt,
Thanks to Heav'n, and good Andrages.
Zir.
And more than thanks I hope we yet ſhall
Live to pay him. How old's the night?
And.
Far-ſpent I feare, my Lord.
Zir.
I have a cauſe that ſhould be heard
Yet ere day breake and I muſt needs intreat
You Sir to be the Judge in't.
Ther.
What cauſe Zorannes?
Zir.
When you have promis'd— (Zorannes.
Ther.
'Twere hard I ſhould deny thee any thing.— Exit
Know'ſt thou, Andrages, what he meanes?
And.
Nor cannot gheſſe, Sir,— Draw in the bed.
I read a trouble in his face, when firſt
Hee left you, but underſtood it not.
Enter Zorannes, King Ariaſpes, Jolas, Queene and two or three Guard.
Zor.
Have I not pitcht my nets like a good Huntſman?
Looke, Sir, the nobleſt of the Herd are here.
Ther.
I am aſtoniſhed.
Zor.
This place is yours.— Helps him up.
Ther.
What wouldſt thou have me doe.
Zor.
Remember, Sir, your promiſe,
I could doe all I have to doe, alone;
But Juſtice is not Juſtice unleſſe't be juſtly done:
Here then I will begin, for here began my wrongs.
This woman (Sir) was wondrous faire, and wondrous
Kinde,—I, faire and kind, for ſo the ſtorie runs,
She gave me looke for looke, and glance for glance,
And every ſigh like eccho's was return'd,
Wee ſent up vow by vow, promiſe on promiſe,
So thick and ſtrangely multiplyed,
That ſure we gave the heavenly Regiſters
Their buſineſſe, and other mortalls oaths
Then went for nothing, we felt each others paines,
Each others joyes, thought the ſame thought,
And ſpoke the very ſame;
Wee were the ſame and I have much a doe
To thinke ſhe could be ill, and I not
Be ſo too, and after this, all this (Sir)
Shee was falſe, lov'd him, and him,
And had I not begun revenge,
Till ſhe had made an end of changing,
I had had the Kingdome to have killd,
What does this deſerve?
Ther.
A puniſhment he beſt can make
That ſuffered the wrong.
Zor.
I thanke you, Sir,
For him I will not trouble you,
His life is mine, I won it fairly,
And his is yours, he loſt it foully to you—
To him (Sir) now:
A man ſo wicked that he knew no good,
But ſo as't made his ſins the greater for't.
Thoſe ills, which ſingly acted bred deſpaire
In others, he acted daily, and ne're thought
Upon them.
The grievance each particular has againſt him
I will not meddle with, it were to give him
A long life, to give them hearing,
I'le onely ſpeake my owne.
Firſt then the hopes of all my youth,
And a reward which Heaven had ſettled on me,
(If holy contracts can doe any thing)
He raviſht from me, kill'd my father,
Aglaura's father, Sir, would have whor'd my ſiſter,
And murther'd my friend, this is all:
And now your ſentence, Sir.
Ther.
We have no puniſhment can reach theſe crimes:
Therefore 'tis juſteſt ſure to ſend him where
Th'are wittier to puniſh than we are here:
And cauſe repentance oft ſtops that proceeding,
A ſudden death is ſure the greateſt puniſhment.
Zor.
I humbly thanke you Sir.
King.
What a ſtrange glaſſe th▪have ſhew'd me now my ſelfe
In; our ſins like to our ſhadowes,
When our day is in its glorie ſcarce appear'd,
Towards our evening how great and monſtrous
They are.
Zor.
Is this all you have to ſay?— Drawes.
Ther.
Hold:—now goe you up.
Zor.
What meane you, Sir?
Ther.
Nay, I denyed not you,—
That all thy accuſations are juſt,
I muſt acknowledge,
And to theſe crimes, I have but this t'oppoſe,
Hee is my Father, and thy Soveraigne.—
'Tis wickedneſſe (deare Friend) wee goe about
to puniſh, and when w'have murther'd him,
What difference is there 'twixt him and
Our ſelves, but that hee firſt was wicked?—
Thou now would'ſt kill him 'cauſe he kill'd thy Father,
And when th'haſt kill'd, have not I the ſelfe ſame
Quarrell?
Zor.
Why Sir, you know you would your ſelfe
Have done it.
Ther.
True: and therefore 'tis I beg his life,
There was no way for mee to have
Redeem'd th'intent, but by a reall
Saving of it.
•
e ready Courtiers, and Guard, with their ſwords drawne, at the breſts of the Priſoners.
If he did raviſh from thee thy Orbella,
Remember that that wicked iſſue had
A noble parent Love,—Remember
How he lov'd Zorannes when he was Ziriff,—
Ther's ſomething due to that.
If you muſt needs have bloud for your revenge,
Take it here—deſpiſe it not Zorannes:
Zorannes turnes away.
The gods themſelves, whoſe greatneſſe
Makes the greatneſſe of our ſins,
And heightens'em above what wee can doe
Unto each other, accept of ſacrifice
For what wee doe 'gainſt them,
Why ſhould not you, and 'tis much thriftier too:
You cannot let out life there, but my honour
Goes, and all the life you can take here,
Poſterity will give mee back agen;
See, Aglaura weepes:
That would have beene ill Rhetorique in mee,
But where it is, it cannot but perſwade.
Zor.
Th'have thaw'd the ice about my heart;
I know not what to doe.
King.
Come downe come downe, I will be King agen,
There's none ſo fit to be the Judge of this
As I; the life you ſhew'd ſuch zeale to ſave,
I here could willingly returne you back;
But that's the common price of all revenge.
Enter Guard, Orſames, Philan, Courtiers, Orithie, Semanthe.
Jol. Ari.
Ha, ha, ha: how they looke now?
Zor.
Death: what's this?
Ther.
Betray'd agen;
All th'eaſe our Fortune gives our miſeries is hope,
And that ſtill proving falſe, growes part of it.
King.
From whence this Guard?
Ari.
Why Sir, I did corrupt, while we were his priſoners,
One of his owne to raiſe the Court; ſhallow ſoules,
That thought wee could not countermine,
Come Sir, y'are in good poſture to diſpatch them.
King.
Lay hold upon his inſtrument:
Fond man, do'ſt thinke I am in love with villany?
All the ſervice they can doe mee here
Is but to let theſe ſee the right I doe
Them now is unconſtrain'd, then thus I doe proceed.
Upon the place Zorannes loſt his life,
I vow to build a tomb, and on that tomb
I vow to pay three whole yeares penitence,
If in that time I finde that heaven and you
Can pardon; I ſhall finde agen the way
To live amongſt you.
Ther.
Sir be not ſo cruell to your ſelfe this is an age,—
King.
'Tis now irrevocable, thy Fathers lands
I give thee back agen, and his commands;
And with them, leave to weare the Tyara,
That man there has abus'd.—
To you Orbella,
Who it ſeemes are foule as well as I,
I doe preſcribe the ſelfe ſame phyſick
I doe take my ſelfe:
But in another place, and for a longer time,
Diana's Nunnerie.
Orb.
Above my hopes.
King.
For you, who ſtill have beene
The ready inſtrument of all my cruelties,
And there have cancell'd all the bonds of brother,
Perpetuall baniſhment: nor, ſhould
This line expire, ſhall thy right have a place.
Ari.
Hell and Furies.— Exit.
King.
Thy crimes deſerve no leſſe; yet 'cauſe thou wert
Heavens inſtrument to ſave my life,
Thou onely haſt that time of baniſhment,
I have of penitence.— Comes down. Ziriff offers to kiſſe the Kings hand
Jol.
May it be plague and famine here till I returne.
No: thou ſhalt not yet forgive mee:
King.
Aglaura thus I freely part with thee,
And part with all fond flames and warme deſires,
I cannot feare new agues in my bloud
Since I have overcome the charmes
Thy beauty had, no other ever can
Have ſo much power, Therſames, thou look'ſt pale,
Is't want of reſt?
Ther.
No Sir; but that's a ſtorie for your eare— They whiſper.
Orſ.
A ſtrange and happy change.
Ori.
All joyes wait on you ever.
Agl.
Orithie
How for thy ſake now could I wiſh
Love were no Mathematick point,
But would admit diviſion, that Therſames might.
Though at my charge, pay thee the debt he owes thee▪
Ori.
Madam, I loved the Prince, not my ſelfe;
Since his vertues have their full rewards,
I have my full deſires.
King.
What miracles of preſervation have wee had?
How wiſely have the ſtars prepar'd you for felicitie?
Nothing endeares a good more than the contemplation
Of the difficultie wee had to attaine to it:
But ſee, Nights Empire's out,
And a more glorious auſpitiouſly does begin;
Let us goe ſerve the gods, and then prepare
For jollitie, this day Ile borrow from my vowes.
Nor ſhall it have a common celebration;
Since't muſt be,
A high record to all poſteritie.— Exeunt omnes.
Epilogue.
PLays are like Feaſts, and every Act ſhould bee
Another Courſe, and ſtill varietie:
But in good faith proviſion of wit
Is growne of late ſo difficult to get,
That doe wee what wee can, wee are not able,
Without cold meats to furniſh out the Table.
Who knowes but it was needleſſe too? may bee
'Twas here, as in the Coach-mans trade; and hee
That turnes in the leaſt compaſſe, ſhewes moſt Art:
How e're, the Poet hopes (Sir) for his part,
You'll like not thoſe ſo much, who ſhew their skill
In entertainment, as who ſhew their will.
FINIS.
THE GOBLINS A Comedy. Preſented at the Private Houſe in Black-Fryers, by His Majeſties ſervants.
WRITTEN By Sir JOHN SUCKLING.
LONDON, Printed for Humphrey Moſeley, and are to be ſold at his ſhop, at the Signe of the Princes Armes in St
Pauls Churchyard. MDCXLVI.
PROLOGUE.
WIt in a Prologue, Poets juſtly may
Stile a new impoſition on a Play.
When Shakeſpeare, Beamont, Fletcher rul'd the Stage,
There ſcarce were ten good pallats in the age,
More curious Cooks then gueſts; for men would eat
Moſt hartily of any kind of meat,
And then what ſtrange variety each Play,
A Feaſt for Epicures, and that each day.
But marke how odly it is come about,
And how unluckily it now fals out:
The pallats are growne, higher number increas't,
And there wants that which ſhould make up the Feaſt;
And yet y'are ſo unconſcionable. You'd have
Forſooth of late, that which they never gave,
Banquets before; and after.—
Now pox on him that firſt good Prologue writ,
He left a kind of rent charge upon wit;
Which if ſucceding Poets faile to pay,
They forfeit all their worth, and thats their play:
Y' have Ladies humors, and y'are growne to that,
You will not like the man leſſe that his boots and hat
Be right; no play, unleſſe the Prologue be,
And Epilogue writ to curioſitie.
Well (Gentiles)'
•
is the grievance of the place,
And pray conſider't, for here's juſt the caſe;
The richneſſe of the ground is gone and ſpent,
Mens braines grow barren, and you raiſe the Rent.
Francelia.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Enter as to a Duell: Samorat, Philatell, Torcular.
Samorat,
BUt my Lords,
May not this harſh buſineſſe
Yet be left undone!
Muſt you hate me becauſe I love your ſiſter;
And can you hate at no leſſe rate then death?
Phil.
No, at no leſſe:
Thou art the blaſter of our fortunes,
The envious cloud that darkneſt all our day,
While ſhe thus prodigally, and fondly
Throwes away her love on thee;
She has not wherewithall to pay a debt
Unto the Prince.—
Sam.
Is this all?
Tor.
Faith, what if in ſhort we doe not thinke
You worthy of her?—
Sam.
I ſweare that ſhall not make a quarrell.
I thinke ſo too;
'Have urg'd it often to my ſelfe;
Againſt my ſelfe have ſworn't as oft to her,
Pray let this ſatisfie.—
Phil.
Sure (Torcular) he thinks we come to talke
Looke you Sir;— drawes.
And brother ſince his friend has fail'd him,
Doe you retire.
Tor.
Excuſe me (Philatell)
I have an equall intereſt in this,
And fortune ſhall decide it.—
Phil.
It will not need, hee's come.—
Enter Orſabrin.
Orſ.
Mercury protect me! what are theſe?
The brothers of the high way!
Phil.
A ſtranger by his habit.—
Tor.
And by his looks a Gentleman.
Sir,—will you make one!
We want a fourth.—
Orſ
I ſhall be rob'd with a tricke now!
Sam.
My Lords excuſe me!
This is not civill.
In what concernes my ſelfe,
None but my ſelfe muſt ſuffer.—
Orſ.
A duell by this light,—
Now has his modeſtie,
And t'others forwardnes warm'd me▪— goes towards them.
Gentlemen, I weare a ſword,
And commonly in readines,
If you want one, ſpeake Sir.— to Samorat.
I doe not feare much ſuffering.
Sam.
Y'are noble Sir,
I know not how t'invite you to it;
Yet, there is Juſtice on my ſide,
And ſince you pleaſe to be a witneſſe
To our actions, 'tis fit you know our Story.—
Orſ.
No Story Sir I beſeech you,—
The cauſe is good enough as 'tis,
It may be ſpoil'd i'th telling.
Phil.
Come we trifle then.—
Sam.
It is impoſſible to preſerve I ſee
My honor and reſpect to her.
And ſince you know this too my Lord,
It is not handſome in you thus to preſſe me,
But come.—
Torcular beckens to Orſabrin.—
Oh! I underſtand you Sir.— Exeunt.
Philatell and Samoratt fight.
Phil.
In poſture ſtill.—
Oh, y'are mortall then it ſeemes.— A ſlight wound.
Sam.
Thou haſt undone thy ſelfe raſh man,
For with this bloud thou haſt let out a ſpirit
Will vex thee to thy grave.—
Fight agen, Samorat takes away Philatells ſword, and takes breath, then gives it him.
Sam.
I'm coole agen,
Here my Lord.—
And let this Preſent bind your friendſhip.—
Phil.
Yes thus.— Runs at him.
Sam.
Treacherous, and low.—
Enter Orſabrin.
Orſ.
I have dril'd my gentleman,
I have made as many holes in him
As would ſinke a Ship Royall
In ſight of the Haven:—
How now?— Samorat upon his knee.
S'foot yonder's another going that way too.—
Now have I forgot of which ſide I'm on,
No matter.
I'le help the weakeſt;
There's ſome Juſtice in that.
Phil.
The Villaine ſure has ſlaine my brother.
If I have any friends above,
Guide now my hand unto his heart.— Orſabrin puts it by, runs at him, Samo ſteps in.
Sam.
Hold noble youth!
Deſtroy me not with kindneſſe:
Men will ſay he could have kil'd me,
And that injuſtice ſhould not be▪
For honours ſake, leave us together.—
Orſ.
'Tis not my buſineſſe fighting— puts up.
Th'employment's yours Sir:
If you need me,
I am within your call.
Sam.
The gods reward thee:—
Now Philatell thy worſt.— They fight agen, and cloſe, Samo: forces his ſword.
Enter Orſabrin.
Orſ.
Hell and the Furies are broke looſe upon us,
Shift for your ſelfe Sir.— Flyes
•
nto the woods ſ
•
verall wayes purſued by Theeves in Devils habits.
Enter Torcular, weak with bleeding.
Tor.
It will not be,—
My body is a Jade:
I feele it tire, and languiſh under me.
Thoſe thoughts came to my ſoule
Like Screech-owles to a ſick mans window.—
Enter Theeves back agen.
Thee.
Here—here—
Tor.
Oh! I am fetcht away alive.-Exeunt. They bend him, and carry him away.
Enter Orſabrin.
Orſ.
Now the good gods preſerve my ſenſes right,
For they were never in more danger:
'Ith name of doubt, what could this be?
Sure 'twas a Conjurer I dealt withall:
And while I thought him buſie at his praiers,
'Twas at his circle, levying this Regiment.
Heere they are agen.—
Enter Samoratt.
Sam.
Friend—Stranger—Noble youth—
Orſ.
Heere—heere—
Sam.
Shift, ſhift the place,
The wood is dangerous,
As you love ſafety,
Follow me.— Exeunt.
Enter Philatell.
Phi.
Th' have left the place,
And yet I cannot find the body any where—
May be he did not kill him then,
But he recover'd ſtrength,
And reacht the Towne—
—It may be not too.—
Oh that this houre could be call'd backe agen.
—But 'tis too late,
And time muſt cure the wound that's given by fate.— Exit.
Enter Samoratt, Orſabrin.
Orſ.
I'th ſhape of Lions too ſometimes,
And Beares?—
Sam.
Often Sir.—
Orſ.
Pray unriddle.—
Sam.
The wiſer ſort doe thinke them Theeves,
Which but aſſume theſe formes to rob
More powerfully.—
Or.
Why does not then the State
Set out ſome forces and ſuppreſſe them?
Sam.
It often has (Sir) but without ſucceſſe.—
Or.
How ſo?—
Sam.
During the time thoſe leavies are abroad,
Not one of them appeares,
There have been
That have attempted under ground;
But of thoſe as of the dead
There has been no returne.—
Or.
Strange.
Sam.
The common people thinke them a race
Of honeſt and familiar Devills,
For they do hurt to none,
Unleſſe reſiſted;
They ſeldome take away but with exchange;
And to the poore they often give,
Returne the hurt, and ſicke recover'd
Reward, or puniſh, as they do find cauſe.—
Or.
How cauſe?—
Sar.
Why Sir, they blind ſtill thoſe they take,
And make them tell the ſtories of their lives,
Which known, they do accordingly.—
Or.
You make me wonder! Sir,—
How long is't ſince they thus have troubled you?
Sam.
It was immediately upon
The great deciding day, fought
'Twixt the two pretending families,
The Samorats, and the Orſabrins.
Or.
Ha! Orſabrin?
Sam.
But Sir, that ſtorie's ſad, and tedious,
W'are entring now the Town,
A place leſſe ſafe then were the Woods,
Since Torcular is ſlaine.—
Or.
How S r?—
Sam.
Yes.—
He was the Brother to the Princes Miſtris,
The lov'd one too.
If wee do prize our ſelves at any rate,
We muſt embarque, and change the clime,
There is no ſafety here.—
Or.
Hum.—
Sam.
The little ſtay we make, muſt be
In ſome darke corner of the Towne:
From whence, the day hurried to th'other world,
Wee'le ſally out to order for our journey.
That I am forc't to this, it grieves me not;
But (gentle youth) that you ſhould for my ſake.—
Or.
Sir, looſe not a thought on that
A ſtorme at Sea threw me on Land,
And now a Storme on Land drives me
To Sea agen.—
Sam.
Still noble,— Exeunt.
Enter Naſſurat, Pellagrin.
Na.
Why; ſuppoſe 'tis to a Wench,
You would not goe with me, would you?—
Pella.
To chuſe,—to chuſe,—
Na.
Then there's no remedy.— Flings down his hat, unbuttons himſelf drawes.
Pella.
What doeſt meane?—
Na.
Why? ſince I cannot leave you alive,
I will trie to leave you dead.
Pella.
I thanke you kindly Sir, very kindly.
Now the Sedgly curſe upon thee,
And the great Fiend,
•
ide through thee
Booted and Spur'd, with a Sith on his necke;
Pox on thee, I'le ſee thee hang'd firſt;
S'foot, you ſhall make none of your fine
Points of honour, up at my charge:
Take your courſe if you be ſo hot.
Be doing,—be doing,— Ex.
Na.
I am got free of him at laſt:
There was no other way;
H'as been as troubleſome as a woman that
Would be lov'd whether a man would or not:
And h'as watcht me as if he had been
My Creditors Sergeant. If they ſhould have diſpatcht
In the meane time, there would be fine
Opinions of me.—I muſt cut his throat
In earneſt, if it ſhould be ſo.— Ex.
Enter Theeves, A horne ſounds.
Th.
A prize—A prize—A prize—
Perid.
Some duell (Sir) was faught this morning, this
Weakned with loſſe of blood, we tooke, the reſt
Eſcap't.—
Tamoren.
Hee's fitter for our Surgeon, then for us,
Hereafter wee'le examine him—
Agen a ſhout.
Thee.
A prize—A prize—A prize—(They ſet them down) Ardelan, Piramant.
Tam.
Bring them, bring them, bring them in,
See if they have mortall Sin,
Pinch them, as you dance about,
Pinch them till the truth come out.—
Peri.
What art?
Ar.
Extreamely poore, and miſerable.
Per.
'Tis well, 'tis well, proceed,
No body will take that away from thee,
Feare not,—what Country?—
Ar.
—Francelia—
Per.
Thy name?—
Ar.
Ardelan.—
Per.
And thine,—
Pira.
Piramant.—
Per.
Thy ſtory,—come—
Ar.
What ſtory!—
Per.
Thy life, thy life.—(Pinch him)
Ar.
Hold▪ hold,—
You ſhall have it;—(he ſighs)
It was upon the great defeat
Given by the Samorats unto the Orſabrins,
That the old Prince for ſafety of the young,
Commit
•
ed him unto the truſt of Garradan,
And ſome few ſervants more,
'Mongſt whom I fil'd a place.—
Tam.
Ha! Garradan!
Ar.
Yes.
Tam.
Speake out, and ſet me nearer;
So; void the place, proceed.—
Ar.
We put to Sea, but had ſcarce loſt the ſight
Of Land, ere we were made a prey
To Pirates, there Garradan
Reſiſting the firſt Boord, chang'd life with death;
With him the ſervants too,—
All but my ſelfe and Piramant.
Under theſe Pirats ever ſince
Was Orſabrin brought up,
And into ſeverall Countries did they carry him.
Tam.
Knew Orſabrin himſelfe?—
Ar.
Oh! no, his ſpirit was too great;
We durſt not tell him any thing,
But waited for ſome accident
Might throw us on Francelia,
▪Bout which we hover'd often,
And we were neere it now,
But Heaven decreed it otherwiſe:—(he ſighs)
Tam.
Why doſt thou ſigh?—
Ar.
Why do I ſigh? (indeed,)
For teares cannot recall him;
Laſt night about the ſecond watch, the
Winds broke looſe,
And vext our Ships ſo long,
That it began to reele and totter,
And like a drunken man,
Took in ſo faſt his liquor,
That it ſunke downe i'th place.—
Tam.
How did you ſcape?—
Ar.
I bound my ſelfe unto a maſte,
And did adviſe my Maſter to do ſo,
For which he ſtruck me only,
And ſaid I did conſult too much with feare.—
Tam.
'Tis a ſad ſtory.—(within there)
Let them have Wine and
Fire,—but hearke you,— (Whiſpers)
Enter Theeves.
With a Poet.
The.
A Prize.—A prize,—A prize.—
Per.
Set him downe,—
Poet.
—Sings.—
—And for the blew,—
Give him a Cup of Sacke 'twill mend his hew.—
Per.
Drunke as I live.— (Pinch him, pinch him.
What art?—
Poet.
I am a Poet,
A poore dabler in Rime.—
Per.
Come confeſſe, confeſſe;
Poet.
I do confeſſe, I do want money.
Per.
By the deſcription hee's a Poet indeed.
Well proceed.— (Pinch him)
Poet.
What d'you meane?—
Pox on you.
Prethee let me alone,
Some Candles here,—
And fill us t'other Quart, and fill us
Rogue, Drawer, the t'other Quart,
Some ſmall Beere.—
And for the blew,
Give him a Cup of Sack 'twill mend his hew.—
Tam.
Set him by till hee's ſober,
Come lett's go ſee our Duelliſt
Dreſt.— Exeunt.
Enter Taylor, two Sergeants.
Tay.
Hee's ſomething tall, and for his Chin,
It has no buſh below:
Marry a little wooll, as much as an unripe
Peach doth weare;
Juſt enough to ſpeake him drawing towards a man.—
Ser.
Is he of furie?
Will he foine,
And give the mortall touch?
Tay.
Oh no!
He ſeldome weares his Sword.
Ser,
Topo is the word if he do,
Thy debt, my little Mirmidon.
Tay.
A yard and a halfe I aſſure you without abatement.
Ser.
'Tis well, 'tis wondrous well:
Is he retired into this houſe of pleaſure?
Tay.
One of theſe hee's entred;
'Tis but a little waiting,
You ſhall find me at the next Taverne.— Exit.
Ser.
Stand cloſe, I here one comming.
Enter Orſabrin.
Or.
This houſe is ſure no S
•
minary for Lucreces,
Then the Matron was ſo over diligent,
And when I ask't for meate or drinke,
Shee look't as if I had miſtooke my ſelfe,
And cald for a wrong thing,
Well
•
'tis but a night, and part of it I'le ſpend
In ſeeing of this Towne,
So famous in our Tales at Sea.—
Ser.
Looke▪ looke, mufled, and as melancholy after't
As a Gameſter upon loſſe; upon him, upon him,
Or.
How now my friends,
Why do you uſe me thus?
Ser.
Quietly; 'twill be your beſt way
Or.
Beſt way? for what?
Ser.
Why, 'tis your beſt way,
Becauſe there will be no other,
Topo is the word,
And you muſt along.—
Or.
Is that the word?
Why then, this is my Sword— (Run away)
Ser.
Murder, murder, murder;
H'as kil'd the Princes Officer,
Murder—Murder—Murder.—
Or.
I muſt not ſtay,
I heare them ſwarme.— Exit.
Enter Conſtable, People.
Con.
Where is he, where is he?
Ser.
Here,—here—oh a Manmender,
A Manmender,
Has broacht me in ſo many places,
All the Liquor in my body will run out.
Con.
In good ſooth (neighbour) has tapt you at the
Wrong end too;
He has been buſie with you here behind;
As one would ſay, lend a hand, ſome of you,
And the reſt follow me.— Exeunt
Enter Orſabrin.
Or.
Still purſu'd!
Which way now?
I ſee no paſſage;
I muſt attempt this wall,—
Oh—a luckie doore.
And open.— Exit.
Enters agen.
Where am I now?
A garden, and a handſome houſe,
If't be thy will a Porch too't,
And I'm made;
'Twill be the better lodging of the two.— (goes to the Porch)
Enter Maid.
Phemilia.
Oh! welcome, welcome Sir,
My Lady hath been in ſuch frights for you.
Or.
Hum! for me?—
Phe.
And thought you would not come to night:
Or.
Troth, I might very well have fail'd her:
Phe.
Shee's in the Gallery alone i'th darke.
Or.
Good, very good.
Phe.
And is ſo melancholly,—
Or.
Hum.—
Phe.
Have you ſhut the Garden doores?
Come I'le bring you to her, enter, enter.—
Or.
Yes, I will enter:
He who has loſt himſelfe makes no great venter.— Exit.
ACT II.
Enter Sabrina, Orſabrin.
Sab.
OH welcome, welcome, as open aire to priſoners,
I have had ſuch feares for you.
Or.
Shees warme, and ſoft as lovers language:
Shee ſpoke too, pretilie;
Now have I forgot all the danger I was in.—
Sab.
What have you done to day (my better part)
Or.
Kind little Rogue!
I could ſay the fineſt things to her mee thinks,
But then ſhee would diſcover me,
The beſt way will be to fall too quietly.— (kiſſes her)
Sab.
How now my Samorat,
What ſaucy heat hath ſtolne into thy bloud,
And heightned thee to this?
I feare you are not well.—
Or.
S'foot! 'tis a Platonique:
Now cannot I ſo much as talke that way neither.
Sab.
Why are you ſilent, Sir?
Come I know you have been in the field to day.
Or.
How does ſhee know that?—
Sab.
If you have kill'd my brother, ſpeake:
It is no new thing that true Love
Should be unfortunate:
Or.
'Twas her brother I kill'd then,
Would I were with my Devils agen:
I got well of them,
That will be here impoſſible.—
Enter Phemillia.
Phe.
Oh! Madam, Madam,
Y'are undone;
The garden walls are ſcal'd,
A floud of people are entring th'houſe.
Or.
Good—why here's varietie of ruine yet.—
Sab.
'Tis ſo,
The Feet of Juſtice
Like to thoſe of time,
Move quick,
And will deſtroy I feare as ſure:
Oh Sir, what will you do,
There is no ventring forrh,
My Cloſet is the ſafeſt,
Enter there,
While I goe down and meet their fu
•
ie
Hinder the ſearch if poſſible.— Exit.
Or.
Her Cloſet,
Yea where's that?
And, if I could find it,
What ſhould I do there?
Shee will returne,—
I will venture out.— Exit.
Enter the Prince, Philatell Phontrell, Companie, Muſique.
Phi.
The lighteſt aires; 'twill make them
More ſecure,—
Upon my life hee'le viſite her to night.— Muſick plaies and ſings.
Prince.
Nor ſhee, nor any leſſer light
Appeares,—
The calme and ſilence 'bout the place,
Perſwardes me ſhee does ſleep.
Phi.
It may be not, but hold,
It is enough,—let us retire
Behind this Pillar, Phontrell, is thy place,
As thou didſt love thy Maſter ſhew thy care,
You to th'other Gate,
There's thy Ladder.— Exeunt.
Enter Sabrina.
Sab.
Come forth my Samorat, come forth,
Our feares were falſe,
It was the Prince with Muſicke,
Samorat, Samorat.,
He ſleepes,—Samorat,
Or elſe hee's gon to find me out
I'th Gallery, Samorat, Samorat, it muſt be ſo.— Exit.
Enter Orſabrin.
Orſ.
This houſe is full of Threſholds,
And Trap-doores,
I have been i'th Cellar,
Where the Maids lie too,
I laid my hand groping for my way
Upon one of them,
And ſhee began to ſqueake,
Would I were at Sea agen i'th ſtorme,
Oh! a doore:
Though the Devill were the Porter,
And kept the Gate, I'de out.—
Enter Samorat
Or.
Ha! guarded? taken in a trap?
Nay, I will out,
And there's no other
But this.— (Retires and d
•
a
•
es, runs at him Another p
•
ſſe they cloſe.
Sam.
Philatell in ambuſh on my life-
Enter Sabrina, and Phemillia with a light
Sab.
Where ſhould he be?
Ha!—
Good Heavens what ſpectacle is this? my Samorat!
Some apparition ſure,— (They diſcover one another
•
y the light, throw away their weapons, and e
•
b
•
ace.
Sam.
My noble friend,
What angry, and malicious Planet.
Govern'd at this point of time!—
Sab.
(My wonder does grow higher)
Or.
That which governes ever:
I ſeldome knew it better.
Sam.
It does amaze me Sir, to find you here.
How entred you this place?
Or.
Forc't by unruly men it'h ſtreet.
Sab.
Now the miſtake is plaine.
Or.
Are you not hurt?
Sab.
No,—but you bleed?
Or.
I do indeed,
But 'tis not here,
This is a ſcratch,
It is within to ſee this beauty;
For by all circumſtance, it was her brother,
Whom my unlucky Sword found out to day.
Sab.
Oh! my too cruell fancy.— (Weepes)
Sam.
It was indeed thy Sword,
But not thy fault,
I am the cauſe of all theſe ills.
Why d'you weep Sabrina!—
Sab.
Unkind unto thy ſelfe, and me,
The tempeſt, this ſad newes has raiſ'd within me
I would have laid with Sheares,
But thou diſturb'ſt me,
Oh! Samorat.
Had'ſt thou conſulted but with love as much
As honour, this had never been.
Sam.
I have no love for thee that has not had
So ſtrict an union with honour ſtill,
That in all things they were concern'd alike,
And if there could be a diviſion made,
It would be found
Honour had here the leaner ſhare:
'Twas love that told me 'twas unfit
That you ſhould love a Coward.
Sab.
Theſe handſome words are now
As if one bound up wounds with ſilke,
Or with fine knots,
Which do not helpe the cure,
Or make it heale the ſooner:
Oh! Samorat this accident
Lies on our love,
Like to ſome foule diſeaſe,
Which though it kill it not,
Yet wil't deſtroy the beauty;
Diſfigur't ſo,
That't will looke ugly to th' world hereafter.—
Sam.
Muſt then the Acts of Fate be crimes of men?
And ſhall a death he pul'd upon himſelfe,
Be laid on others?
Remember Sweet, how often
You have ſaid it in the face of Heaven,
That 'twas no love,
Which length of time, or cruelty of chance,
Could leſſen, or remove,
Oh kill me not that way Sabrina,
This is the nobler;
Take it, and give it entrance any where— Kneeles and preſents his Sword.
But here,
For you ſo fill that plaee,
That you muſt wound your ſelfe.—
Or.
Am I ſo ſlight a thing?
So bankerupt?
So unanſwerable in this world?
That being principally i'th debt,
Another muſt be cal'd upon,
And I not once look't after?
Madam why d'you throw away your Teares]
On one that's irrecoverable?
Sab.
Why? therefore Sir,
Becauſe hee's irrecoverable.
Orſ.
But why on him?
He did not make him ſo.
Sab
I do confeſſe my anger is unjuſt,
But not my ſorow Sir,
Forgive theſe tear
••
my Samorat,
The debts of nature muſt be paid,
Though from the ſtocke of love:
Should they not Sir?
Sam.
Yes.—
But thus the precious minutes paſſe,
And time, e're I have breath'd the ſighs,
Due to our parting,
Will be calling for me.
Sab.
Parting?—
Sam.
Oh yes Sabrina, I muſt part,
As day does from the world,
Not to returne till night be gone,
Till this darke Cloud be over,
Here to be found,
Were fooliſhly to make a preſent
Of my life unto mine enemy,
Retire into thy Chamber faire,
There thou ſhalt know all.—
Sab.
I know too much already.— Exeunt.
Enter Phontrell.
Hold rope for me, and then hold rope for him.
Why, this is the wiſdome of the Law now,
A Prince looſes a ſubject, and does not
Think himſelfe paid for the loſſ
•
,
Till he looſes another:
Well I will do my endeavour
To make him a ſaver;
•
or this was Samorat..— Exit.
Enter Samorat, Orſabrin bleeding.
Or.
Let it bleed on,—you ſhall not ſtirre
I ſweare.—
Sam.
Now by the friendſhip that I owe thee,
And the Gods beſide, I will
Noble youth, were there no danger in thy wound,
Yet would the loſſe of bloud make thee
Unfit for travell,
My ſervants waite me for direction,
With them my Surgeon, I'le bring him inſtantly,
Pray go back.— Exit.
Enter Philatell, Guard.
Phil.
There.— (places them at the door
•
.
You to the other Gate,
The reſt follow me.— Ex.
Enter Orſabrin, Sabrina.
Sab.
Hearke a noiſe Sir.
This tread's too loud to be my Samorats.
Searchers.
(Which way?—which way)— (to them.
Some villany in hand,
Step in here Sir, quick, quick.— Locks him into her Cloſet.
Enter Philatell, Guard, and paſſe ore the Stage.
Phi
Looke every where.— (Philatell dragging out his Siſter.
Protect thy brothers murderer?
Tell me where thou haſt hid him,
Or by my fathers aſhes I will ſearch
In every veine thou haſt about thee, for him.— (O
•
ſab
•
in
•
ounces thri
•
e
•
t the doore, it
•
l
••
s op
••
.
Enter Orſabrin.
Or.
Ere ſuch a villany ſhould be
The Gods would lend unto a ſingle arme
Such ſtrength, it ſhould have power to puniſh
An Armie, ſuch as thou art.—
Phi.
Oh! are you here Sir?—
Or.
Yes I am here Sir.— (ſight)
Phil.
Kill her.— (Shee interpos'd
Or.
Oh! ſave thy ſelfe faire excellence,
And leave me to my Fate.—
Baſe▪— Comes behind him,
••
t
•
hes bold of his Armes.
Phi.
So bring him one,
The other is not far,— Exeunt.
Enter Sabrina, Phemilia.
Sab Run, run, Phemillia
To the Garden walls,
And meet my Samorat,
Tell him, oh tell him any thing,
Charge him by all our loves
He inſtantly take Horſe,
And put to Sea,
There is more ſafety in a ſtorme,
Then where my brother is.— Exeunt.
ACT III.
Enter Theeves.
Thee.
A Prize—A prize, A prize,
Per.
Bring him forth, bring him forth; (They dance about him and ſing.
Welcome w
••
come, mortall wight,
To the
•
anſion of the night:
Good or bad, thy life diſcover
Truly all thy deeds declare;
For about thee Spirits hover
That can tell, tell what they are.
—Pinch him, if he ſpeake not true,
—Pinch him, pinch him black and blew,
Per.
What art thou?
Stra
I was a man.
Per.
Of whence?—
Str.
•
he Court.—
Per.
Whether now bound?
Str,
To my owne houſe.
Per.
Thy name?
Stra.
Stramador.
Per.
Oh you fill a place about his Grace,
And keep out men of parts, d'you not?
Str.
Yes.—
Per.
A fooliſh Utenſill of State,
Which like old Plate upon a Gaudy day,
'Sbrought forth to make a ſhow, and that is all;
For of no uſe y'are, y'had beſt deny this:
Str.
Oh no!—
Per.
Or that you do want wit,
And then talke loud to make that paſſe for it?
You thinke there is no wiſedom but in forme;
Nor any knowledge like to that of whiſpers:—
Str.
Right, right.
Per.
Then you can hate, and fawn upon a man
At the ſame time,
And dare not urge the vices of another,
You are ſo foule your ſelfe;
So the Prince ſeldome heares truth.
Str.
Oh! very ſeldome.
Per.
And did you never give his Grace odde Councels.
And when you ſaw they did not proſper,
Perſwade him take them on himſelfe.—
Str.
Yes, yes, often.—
Per.
Get baths of Sulphur quick,
And flaming oyles,
This crime is new, and will deſerve it.
He has inverted all the rule of State;
Confoun
•
ed policie,
There is ſome rea
•
on why a Subject
ſhould ſuffer for the e
•
rours of his Prince;
But why a Prince ſhould
•
ear
•
The faults of's Miniſters, none, none at
All.—Cauldrons of Brimſtone there.
Thee.
Great Judge of this infe
•
nall p
•
ace
Allow him yet the mercy of the Cou
•
t.
Str.
Kind Devill.—
Per.
Let him be boyl'd in ſcalding lead a while
T'enure, and to prepare him for the other.
Str.
Oh! heare me, heare me,
Per.
Stay!
Now I have better thought upon't,
He ſhall to earth agen:
For villanie is catching, and will ſpread:
He will enlarge our Empire much,
Then w'are ſure of him at any time,
So 'tis enough—where's our Governour?— Exeunt.
Enter Goalor, Samorat, Naſſurat, Pellegrin, three others in diſguiſe
Iai.
His haire curles naturally,
A handſome youth.—
Sam.
The ſame,— (Drinkes to him.
Is there no ſpeaking with him?
He owes me a trifling ſumme.—
Iay.
Sure Sir the debt is ſomething deſperate,
There is no hopes he will be brought
To cleare with the world,
He ſtruck me but for perſwading him
To make even with Heaven,
He is as ſurly as an old Lion,
And as ſullen as a Bullfinch,
He never eate ſince he was taken.— Gentlemen
Sam.
I muſt needs ſpeake with him,
Heark in the eare.—
Iai.
Not for all the world.
Sam.
Nay I do but motion ſuch a thing,
Iai.
Is this the buſineſſe Gentlemen?
Fare you well.—
Sam.
There is no choice of waies then.— (Run after him, draw their dag
•
ers, ſet
•
t t
•
his B
•
eſt.
Stir not, if thou but think'ſt a noiſe,
Or breath'ſt aloud, thou breath'
•
t thy laſt.
So bind him now.—
Undoe,
Quickly, quickly,
His Jerkin, his Hat.
Na.
What will you do?
None of theſe Beards will ſerve,
There's not an eye of white in them.
Pell.
Pull out the Silver'd ones in his
And ſticke them in the other.
Na.
Cut them, cut them out,
The buſh will ſute well enough
With a grace ſtill.
Sam.
Deſperate wounds muſt have deſperate
Cures, extreames muſt thus be ſerv'd,—
You know your parts,
Feare not, let us alone.—
Sings a Catch.
Some drinke,—what Boy,—ſome drinke—
Fill it up, fill it up to the brinke,
When the Pots crie clinke,
And the Pockets chinke,
Then 'tis a merry world.
To the beſt, to the beſt, have at her,
And a Pox take the Woman-hater.—
The Prince of darkneſſe is a Gentleman,
Mahu, Mohu is his name,
How d'you Sir?
You gape as you were ſleepy,
Good faith he lookes like an— O yes.
Pell
Or as if he had overſtrain'd himſelfe
At a deep note in a Ballad.—
Na.
What think you of an Oyſter at a low ebb?
Some liquor for him;
You will not be a Pimpe for life you Rogue,
Nor hold a doore to ſave a Gentleman,
You are—Pox on him, what is he Pellagrin?
If you love me, let's ſtifle him,
And ſay 'twas a ſudden judgement upon him
For ſwearing; the poſture will confirme it.
Pell.
We're in excellent humour,
Let's have another bottle,
And give out that Anne my wife is dead,
Shall I Gentlemen?—
Na.
Rare Rogue in Buckram,
Let me bite thee,
Before me thou ſhalt go out wit,
And upon as good termes,
As ſome of thoſe in the Ballad too.—
Pell.
Shall I ſo?—Why then foutree for the Guiſe,
Saines ſhall accrew, and ours ſhall be,
The black ey'd beauties of the time,
I'le ticke you for old ends of Plaies:—
They ſing,—
A Round,—A Round,—A Round,—
A Round,—A Round,—A Round— (Knock)
Some bodie's at doore.
Preethee, preethee, Sirra, Sirra,
Trie thy skill.
Na.
Who's there.
Meſſen.
One Sturgelot a Jaylor here?—
Na.
Such a on there was my friend,
But hee's gone above an houre ago:
Now did this Rogue whisper in his heart
That's a lie,—and for that very reaſon,
I'le cut his throat.—
Pell.
No prethee now,—for thinking?
Thou ſhalt not take the paines,
The Law ſhall do't—
Na.
How,—how?—
Pell.
Marry wee'le write it over when wee're gone,
He joyn'd in the plot, and put himſelfe
Into this poſture, meerely to diſguiſe it to
The world.—
Na.
Excellent,
Here's to thee for that conceit,
Wee ſhould have made rare Stateſmen,
We are ſo witty in our miſchiefe.
Another ſong, and ſo let's go,
It will be time.
—Sing.—
A health to the Nut browne Laſſe,
With the hazell eyes let it paſſe.
Shee that has good eyes
Has good thighs,
Let it paſſe,—let it paſſe.—
A much to the lively Grey,
'Tis as good it'h night as the day,
Shee that has good eyes,
Has good thighs,
Drinke away,—drinke away.—
I pledge, I pledge, what ho ſome Wine,
Here's to thine, and to thine,
The colours are Divine.—
But oh the blacke, the black
Give me as much agen, and let't be Sacke:
Shee that has good Eyes,
Has good Thighs,
And it may be a better knack.—
Na.
A reckoning Boy.— (They knock)
There.— (paies him)
Doſt heare
Here's a friend of ours 'has forgotten himſelfe
A little (as they call it)
The Wine has got into his head,
As the froſt into a hand, he is benum'd,
And has no uſe of himſelfe for the preſent.
Boy.
Hum Sir.— (ſ
••
l
•
s.)
Na.
Prethee lock the dore, and when he
Comes t' himſelfe,
Tell him he ſhall find us at the old place,
He knowes where.
Boy.
I will Sir.— Exeunt.
Enter Orſabrin.
Or.
To di
•
! yea what's that?
For yet I never thought on't ſeriouſly;
It may be 'tis.—hum.—
It may be 'tis not too.—
Enter Samorat, as Goaler undoes his Fetters.
Ha.—(as amaz'd.)
What happy interceſſion wrought this change?
To whoſe kind prayers owe I this my friend?
Sam.
Unto thy vertue—Noble youth
The Gods delight in that as well as praiers.
I am—
Or.
Nay, nay,—
Be what thou wilt,
I will not queſtion't:
Undoe, undoe.
Sam.
Thy friend Samorat.
Or.
Ha?
Sam.
Lay by thy wonder,
And put on theſe cloathes,
In this diſguiſe thou'lt paſſe unto the
Priſon-gates, there you ſhall finde
One that is taught to know you;
He will conduct you to the corner
Of the wood, and there my horſes waite
Us.—
I'le throw this Goaler off in ſome odde place,
Or.
My better Angell.— Exennt.
Enter Theeves.
Per.
It is 'een as hard a world for Theeves
As honeſt men,—nothing to be got—
No prize ſtirring.—
1. Thee.
None, but one with horſes,
Who ſeem'd to ſtay for ſome
That were to come,
And that has made us waite thus long.
Per.
A leane dayes worke, but what remedie?
Lawyers, that rob men with their owne conſent,
Have had the ſame:
Come, call in our Perdues,
We will away.— (they whiſtle.)
Enter Orſabrin, as ſeeking the horſes.
Or.
I heare them now,
Yonder they are.—
Per.
Hallow, who are theſe?
Any of ours?
Thee.
No, ſtand cloſe,
They ſhall be preſently,
Yeeld—yeeld.—
Or.
Agen betraid? there is no end of my misfortune,
Miſchiefe vexes me
Like a quotidian,
It intermits a little, and returnes
E're I have loſt the memory of
My former fit.—
Per.
Sentences, ſentences,
A way with him—A way with him.— Exeunt.
Enter Goaler, Drawers, over the Stage.
Jailer.
I am the Goaler, undone, undone,
Conſpiracie, a cheat, my priſoner, my priſoner.— Exeunt.
Enter Samorat.
Sam.
No men?—nor horſes?—
Some ſtrange miſtake,—
May it be, th' are ſheltred in the wood.—
Enter Peridor and other Theeves, examining the young Lord Torcular that was hurt.
Perid.
And if a Lady did but ſtep aſide,
To fetch a Maſque or ſo,
You follow'd after ſtill,
As if ſhee had gone proud?
Ha; iſ't not ſo?—
Tor.
Yes.—
Per.
And if you were uſ'd but civillie in a place,
You gave out doubtfull words upon't,
To make men thinke you did enjoy.
Tor.
Oh! yes, yes.
Per.
Made love to every peece of cried-up beauty▪
And ſwore the ſame things over to them.
Tor.
The very ſame.—
Per.
Abominable.
Had he but ſworne new things, yet't had been
Tollerable.—
Reades the ſumme of the Confeſſion▪
Th.
Let me ſee▪—let me ſee.
Hum.
Court Ladies Eight,
Of which two great ones.—
Country Ladies twelve.
Tearmers all.—
Per.
Is this right?
Tor.
Very right.
Per.
Citizens wives of ſeverall trades,
He cannot count them.—
Chamber maides, and Country wenches,
About thirty:—
Of which the greater part,
The night before th'were married,
Or elſe upon the day:
Per.
A modeſt reckoning, is this all?—
Tor.
No.—
I will be juſt t'a ſcruple.
Per.
Well ſaid,—well ſaid,—
Out with it.—
Tor.
Put down two old Ladies more.
Per.
I'th name of wonder,
How could he thinke of old,
In ſuch variety of young?
Tor.
Alas I could never be quiet for them.
Per.
Poore Gentleman.
Well what's to be done with him now?
Shall he be thrown into the Cauldron
With the Cuckolds,
Or with the Jealous?
That's the hotter place.
Per.
Thou miſtake
•
't,
'Tis the ſame, they go together ſtill:
Jealous and Cuckolds differ no otherwiſe
Then Sheriffe and Alderman;
A little time makes th'one th'other.
What thinke you of Gelding him,
And ſending him to earth agen,
Amongſt his women?
'Twood be like throwing a dead fly
Into an Ants neſt.
There would be ſuch tearing, pulling,
And getting up upon him,
They would worry the poore thing
To death,—
Th. 1.
Excellent,
Or leave a ſtring as they do ſometimes
In young Colts:
Deſire and impotence,
Would be a rare puniſhment.
Fie, fie, the common diſeaſe of age,
A very old man has it.
Enter The.
A prize,—A prize,—A prize, (Hornes blow, Braſſe Plots, &c.
Orſ.
This muſt be Hell by the noiſe
Ta.
Set him down, ſet him down;
Bring forth the neweſt wrack,
And flaming pinching Irons,
This is a ſtubborne peece of fleſh,
'Twould have broke looſe.
Or.
So, this comes of wiſhing my ſelfe
With Divels agen.—
Per.
What art?—
Or.
The ſlave of Chaunce,
One of Fortunes fooles;
A thing ſhee kept alive on earth
To make her ſport,
Per.
Thy name?
Or.
Orſabrin.
Per.
Ha! he that liv'd with Pirats?
Was lately in a ſtorme?
Or.
The very ſame.—
Ta.
Such reſpect as you have paid to me,— (whiſpers)
Prepare to Revels, all that can be thought on:
But let each man ſtill keep his ſhape.— (Exit.)
They unbind him, all bow to him,
(Muſicke)
Or.
Ha!
Another falſe ſmile of Fortune?— (They bring out ſeverall ſuite of cloathes, and a banquets
Is this the place the gowned Clearkes
Do fright men ſo on earth with?
Would I had been here before.
Maſter Devill;
To whoſe uſe are theſe ſet out?
Ta.
To yours Sir.
Or.
I'le make bold to change a little— (takes a hat.
Could you not affoord a good plaine Sword (dreſſes himſelf.
To all this gallantry?—
Per.
Wee'le ſee Sir.
Or.
A thouſand times civiller then men,
And better natur'd.
Enter Tamoren, Reginella.
Tam.
All leave the roome.
I like not this.— Ex.
Tam.
Cupid do thou the reſt,
A blunter arrow, and but ſlackly drawne,
Would perfect what's begun,
When young and handſome meet,
—The work's halfe done.—
Or.
She cannot be leſſe then a goddeſſe;
And 't muſt be Proſerpine:
I'le ſpeake to her, though Pluto's ſelfe ſtood by,
Thou beauteous Queene of this darke world,
That mak'ſt a place ſo like a hell,
So like a Heaven, inſtruct me
In what forme I muſt approach thee,
And how adore thee?—
Re.
Tell me what thou art firſt:
For ſuch a creature
Mine eyes did never yet behold.—
Or.
I am that which they name above a man:
I'th watry Elements I much have liv'd,
And there they terme me Orſabrin.
Have you a name too?—
Re.
Why doe you aske?
Or.
Becauſe I'de call upon it in a ſtorme,
And ſave a Ship from periſhing ſometimes.
Re.
'Tis Reginella.
Or.
Are you a woman too?
I never was in earneſt untill now.
Re.
I know not what I am,
For like my ſelfe I never yet ſaw any.
Or.
Nor ever ſhall.
Oh! how came you hither?
Sure you were betraied.
Will you leave this place,
And live with ſuch as I am?
Re.
Why may not you live here with me?
Or.
Yes.—
But I'de carry thee where there is a glorious light,
Where all above is ſpread a Canopie,
Studded with twinckling Gems,
Beauteous as Lovers eies;
And underneath Carpets of
•
lowry Meads
To tread on.—
A thouſand thouſand pleaſures
Which this place can ne're affoord thee.—
Re.
Indeed!
Or.
Yes indeed—
I'le bring thee unto ſhady walkes,
And Groves fring'd with Silver purling ſtreams,
Where thou ſhalt heare ſoft feathered Queriſters
Sing ſweetly to thee of their own accord.
I'le fill thy lap with early flowers;
And whilſt thou bind'ſt them up myſterious waies,
I'le tell thee pretty tales, and ſigh by thee:
Thus preſſe thy hand and warme it thus with kiſſes▪
Re.
Will you indeed?—
Enter King Per. above with others.
Ta.
Fond Girle:
Her raſhneſſe ſullies the glory of her beauty,
'Twil make the conqueſt cheape,
And weaken my deſignes,
Go part them inſtantly.
And bind him as before;
Be you his keeper Peridore.
Per.
Yes, I will keep him.
Or.
Her eyes like lightning ſhoot into my heart
They'le melt it into nothing,
Eere I can preſent it to her,
Sweet Excellence.—
Enter Theeves.
Ha! why is this hatefull curtaine drawne before my eyes?
If I have ſinn'd, give me ſome other puniſhment;
Let me but looke on her ſtill,
And double it, oh▪ whether, whether doe you hurry me?
Per.
Madam▪ you muſt in.— (carry him away.
R.
Ay me, what's this?—
Muſt!—
•
x.
Enter other Devils.
Th. 1.
We have had ſuch ſport;
Yonder's the rareſt Poet without,
Has made all his confeſſion in blanke verſe:
Not left a God, nor a Goddeſſe in Heaven,
But fetch't t
•
em all downe for witneſſes;
Has made ſuch a deſcription of Stix,
And the Ferry,
And verily thinks has paſt them.
Enquires for the bleſt ſhades,
And askes much after certaine Brittiſh blades,
One Shakeſpeare and Fletcher:
And grew ſo peremptory at laſt,
He would be carried where they were.
Th. 2.
And what did you with him?
Th. 1.
Mounting him upon a Cowle-ſtaffe,
Which (toſſing him ſomething high)
He apprehended to be P
•
gaſus.
So we have left him to tell ſtrange lies,
Which hee'le turne into verſe;
And ſome wiſe people hereafter into Religion.
ACT IV.
Enter Samorat, Naſhorat, Pellegri
•
.
Na.
GGod faith 'tis wondrous well,
We have ee'n done like eager diſputers;
And with much adoe
Are got to be juſt where we were.
This is the corner of the wood.
Sa.
Ha! 'tis indeed.—
P
•
ll.
Had we no walking
•
ire,
Nor ſawcer▪ey'd Devill of theſe woods that led us?
No
•
am I as weary
As a married man after the firſt weeke.
And have no more deſire to move forwards,
Then a Poſt-horſe that has paſt his Stage.
Na.
'Sfoot yonder's the night too, ſtealing away
With her blacke gowne about her:
Like a kind wench, that had ſtaid out the
Laſt minute with a man.
Pel.
What ſhall we doe, Gentlemen?
I apprehend falling into this Jaylors
Hands ſtrangely; hee'd uſe us worſe
Then we did him.
Na.
And that was ill enough of Conſcience:
What thinke you of turning Beggars?
Many good Gentlemen have don't: or Theeves?
Pel.
That's the ſame thing at Court:
Begging is but a kind of robbing th' Exchequer.
Na.
Looke foure fathome and a halfe OOS—
In contemplation of his Miſtres:
There's a Feaſt, you and I are out now Pellegrin;
'Tis a pretty tricke, this enjoyning in abſence.
What a rare invention 'twood be,
If a man could find out a way to make it reall.
Pel.
Doſt thinke there's nothing in't as tis?
Na.
Nothing, nothing.
Did'ſt never heare of a dead Alexander,
Rais'd to talke with a man?
Love's a learned Conjurer,
And with the glaſſe of Fancie will doe as ſtrange things?
You thruſt out a hand,
Your Miſtreſſe thruſts out another:
You ſhake that hand that ſhakes you agen:
You put out a lip; ſhe puts out hers:
Talke to her, ſhe ſhall anſwer you;
Marrie, when you come to graſpe all this,
It is but ayer. (As out of his Study.
Sam.
It was unluckie,—
Gentlemen, the day appeares,
This is no place to ſtay in;
Let's to ſome neighbouring Cottage,
May be the Searchers will neglect
The neerer places,
And this will but advance unto our ſafety.
Enter Fidlers.
Na.
Who are there?
Fid. 1.
Now if the ſpirit of melancholy ſhould poſſeſſe them▪
F. 2.
Why if it ſhould,
An honourable retreate.
N.
I have the rareſt fancie in my head,—
Whether are you bound my friends ſo early?
Fid.
To a Wedding Sir.
N.
A Wedding?
I told you ſo.
Whoſe?
Fid.
A Country wenches here hard by,
One Erblins daughter.
N.
Good: Erbl
•
n: the very place.
To ſee how things fall out.
Hold, here's money for you.
Harke you, you muſt aſſiſt me in a ſmall deſigne.
Fid.
Any thing.
Sam.
What do'ſt meane?
N.
Let me alone,
I have a plot upon a wench.—
Fid.
Your Worſhip is merry.
Na.
Yes faith, to ſee her only.
Looke you, ſome of you ſhall go back to 'th' Towne,
And leave us your Coats,
My friend and I am excellent at a little Inſtrument,
And then wee'l ſing catches.
P.
I underſtand thee not;
Thou haſt no more forecaſt then a Squirrell▪
And haſt leſſe wiſe conſideration about thee.
Is there a way ſafer then this!
Doſt thinke what we have done
Will not be ſpread beyond this place with ev'ry light.
Should we now enter any houſe
Thus near the Towne, and ſtay all day,
Twould be ſuſpitious: What pretence have we?
P.
He ſpeaks reaſon Samorat.
Sa.
I doe not like it.
Should any thing fall out 'twould not looke well,
I'de not be found ſo much out of my ſelfe,
So far from home as this diſguiſe would make me,
Almoſt for certainty of ſafety.
N.
Certainty? Why, this will give it us,
Pray let me governe once.
Sa.
Well, you ſuffered firſt with me,
Now 'tis my turne.
P.
Prethee name not ſuffering,
N.
Come, come, your Coats,
Our Beards will ſuite rarely to them:
There's more money,
Not a word of any thing as you tender—
Fid.
O Sir.
N.
And ſee you carry't gravely too.—
Now afore me Pellagrins rarely tranſlated.
'Sfoot they'l apprehend the head of the Baſe Violl
As ſoone as thee;
Thou art ſo likely,
Only I muſt confeſſe, that has a little the better face,
P.
Has it ſo?—
Pox on thee, thou look'ſt like I cannot tell what.
N.
Why, ſo I would foole,
Th' end of my diſguiſe is to have none
Know what I am:
Looke, looke, a Devill ayring himſelf. (Enter a Divell.
I'le catch him like a Mole ere he can get under ground.
P.
Naſhorat, Naſhorat.—
N.
Pox on that noiſe, hee's earth't.
Prethee let's watch him and ſee
Whether hee'le heave agen.
P.
Ar't madde?—
N.
By this light, three or foure of their skins
And wee'd rob
•
e.
'I would be the better way.—
Come, come, let's go— Exeunt.
Enter Captain and Souldiers.
Cap.
Let the Horſe s
•••
t about this place,
Wee▪le make a ſearch within— Ex.
Enter agen.
Now diſperſe
I'th hollow of the wood,
Wee'le meet agen.
Enter Na. Pe. Sa. Fid.
Sol.
Who goes there?
Speake,—Oh! th'are Fidlers.—
Sawe you no Men nor Horſe
I'th wood to day,—as you came along.
(Naſhorat puls one of the Fidlers by the skirt)
Na.
Speake, ſpeake Rogue.
Fid.
None Sir,—
Sol.
Paſſe on.— Ex.
N.
Gentlemen what ſay you to th'invention now,
I'm a Rogue if I do not think
I was deſign'd for the Helme of State,
I am ſo full of nimble Stratagems:
That I ſhould have ordered affaires, and
Carried it againſt the ſtreame of a Faction,
With as much eaſe as a Skippar,
Would laver againſt the wind.— Ex.
Enter Captaine and Soldiers meet agen.
Cap.
What, no newes of any?
Sol.
No,—not a man ſtirring.
Enter other Souldiers.
Sa how, away,—away.—
Cap.
What, any diſcovery?
1. Sol.
Yes, the Horſe has ſtaid three fellowes,
Fidlers they call themſelves;
There's ſomething in't; they looke ſuſpitiouſly;
One of them has offer'd at confeſſion once or twice,
Like a weake ſtomacke at vomiting,
But 'twould not out.—
Ca.
A little cold Iron thruſt downe his throat
Will fetch it up.—
I am excellent at diſcoverie,
And can draw a ſecret out of a Knave,
With as much dexterity as a Barber-Surgeon
Woo'd a hollow tooth.
Let's joyne forces with them.— Exeunt.
Enter Orſabrin.
Or.
Sure 'tis eternall night with me;
Would this were all too—
For I begin to thinke the reſt is true,
Which I have read in books,
And that there's more to follow.—
Enter Reginella.
Re.
Sure this is he.— (She unbinds him.
Or.
The pure and firſt created Light
Broke through the Chaos thus.—
Keep off, keep off thou brighter Excellence,
Thou faire Divinity: If thou com'ſt neere,
(So tempting is the ſhape thou now aſſum'ſt)
I ſhall grow ſawcy in deſire agen,
And entertaine bold hopes which will but draw
More, and freſh puniſhment upon me.—
Re.
I ſee y' are angry Sir:
But if you kill me too, I meant no ill:
That which brought me hither,
Was a deſire I have to be with you,
Rather then thoſe I live with: This is all
Beleeve't.—
Or.
With me? Oh thou kind Innocence!
Witneſſe all that can puniſh falſhood,
That I could live with thee,
Even in this darke and narrow priſon:
And thinke all happineſſe confin'd within the wals—
Oh, hadſt thou but as much of Love as I.
Re.
Of Love? What's that?
Or.
Why 'tis a thing that's had before 'tis knowne:
A gentle flame that ſteales into a heart,
And makes it like one object
•
o, that it ſcarce cares
For any other delights, when that is preſent:
And is in paine when 't's gone▪ thinks of that alone,
And quarrels with all other thoughts that would
Intrude and ſo divert it.—
Re.
If this be Love, ſure I have ſome of it,
It is no ill thing, is it Sir?
Or.
Oh moſt Divine,
The beſt of all the gods ſtrangely abound in't,
And Mortals could not live without it:
It is the ſoule of vertue, and the life of life.
Re.
Sure I ſhould learne it Sir, if you would teach it.
Or.
Alas, thou taught'ſt it me;
It came with looking thus.— (They gaze upon one another.
Enter Per.
Per.
I will no longer be conceal'd,
But tell her what I am,
Before this ſmooth fac'd youth
Hath taken all the roome
Up in her heart,
Ha! unbound! and ſure by her!
Hell and Furies.
P.
What ho—within there— Enter other Theeves.
Practiſe eſcapes?
Get me new yrons to load him unto death.
Or.
I am ſo us'd to this,
It takes away the ſenſe of it:
I cannot thinke it ſtrange.
Re.
Alas, he never did intend to goe.
Uſe him for my ſake kindly:
I was not wont to be deny'd.
Ah me! they are hard hearted all.
What ſhall I doe? I'le to my Governour,
Hee'l not be thus cruell.— Exeunt.
Enter Samorat, Naſhorat, Pelegrin.
Naſ.
'Tis a rare wench, ſhe 'ith blew ſtockings:
What a complexion ſhe had when ſhe was warme—
'Tis a hard queſtion of theſe Country wenches,
Which are ſimpler, their beauties or themſelves.
There's as much difference betwixt
A Towne-Lady, and one of theſe,
As there is betwixt a wilde Pheaſant and a tame.
Pell.
Right:—
There goes ſuch eſſenſing, waſhing, perfuming,
Da
•
bing, to th' other that they are the leaſt part▪
Of themſelves.
Indeed the
•
e's ſo much ſauce, a man cannot taſte the meat.
N.
Let me kiſſe thee for that;
By this light I hate a woman dreſt up to her height,
Worſe then I doe Sugar with Muskadine:
It leaves no roome for me to imagine:
I could improve her if ſhe were mine:
It looks like a Jade with his
•
ayle tyed up with ribbons,
Going to a
•
ayre to be
•
old.
Pell.
No, no, thou hateſt it out of another reaſon, Naſhorat.
Naſ.
Prethee, what's that?
Pell.
Why th'are ſo ſine, th'are of no uſe that day.
Na.
Pellegrin is in good feeling.
Sirra, did'ſt marke the Laſſe 'ith green upon yellow,
How ſhe bridled in her head,
And danc't a ſtroake in, and a ſtroake out,
Like a young Fillet training to a pace.
Pel.
And how ſhe kiſt,
As if ſhe had been ſealing and delivering her ſelf up
To the uſe of him that came laſt,
Parted with her ſweet-hearts lips ſtill
As unwillingly, and unto wardly,
As
•
oft Wax from a dry Seale.
N.
True; and when ſhe kiſſes a Gentleman,
She makes a Curtſey, as who ſhould ſay,
The favour was on his ſide.
What dull fooles are we to beſiege a face
Three moneths for that trifle.
Sometimes it holds out longer,—
And then this is the ſweeter fleſh too,—
Enter Fidlers.
Fid.
You ſhall have horſes ready at the time,
And good ones too (if there be truth in drinke)
And for your letters, they are there by this.—
Sa.
An excellent Officer.—
Enter Wedding.
Clowne.
Tut, tut, tut,
That's a good one y'faith, not dance?
Come, come, ſtrike up. (Enter ſouldiers mufled up in their cloaks.
Sa.
Who are thoſe that eye us ſo ſeverely?
Belong they to the wedding?
Fid.
I know 'em not.
Clo.
Gentlemen, wil't pleaſe you dance.— (Offer their women.
Sol.
No, keep your women, wee'l take out others here.
Samorat, if I miſtake not.
Sa.
Ha! betraid?— (A buſſle.
Clo.
How now! what's the matter? abuſe our Fidlers?
2 Sol.
Theſe are no Fidlers, fools▪ obey the Princes officers,
Unleſſe you deſire to goe to priſon too.
Sa.
The thought of what muſt follow diſquiets not at all:
But tamely thus to be ſurpriz'd
In ſo unhandſome a diſguiſe?— (They carry him away▪
Pel.
I'ſt ee'n ſo? Why then,
Farewell the plumed Troops, and the big Wars,
Which made ambition vertue.—
Naſ.
I, I, Let them goe, let them goe.
Pel.
Have you ever a ſtratagem Naſharot?
'Twood be very ſeaſonable. What thinke you now?
Are you deſign'd for the helme of State?
Can you laver againſt this Tempeſt?
Na.
Prethee let me alone, I am thinking for life.
Pe.
Yes, 'tis for life indeed, would 'twere not.
Cl.
This is very ſtrange; Let's follow after,
And ſee if we can underſtand it.— Exeunt.
Enter Peridor, Orſabrin.
Per.
A meere Phantaſme
Rais'd by Art to trie thee.
Or.
Good kind Devill,
Trie me once more.
Help me to the ſight of this Phantaſme agen.
Per.
Thou art undone,
Wer't thou not amorous
In th' other world?
Did'ſt not love women?
Or.
Who did hate them?
Per.
Why there's it;
Thou thought'ſt there was no danger in the ſinne,
Becauſe 'twas common.
Above the halfe of that vaſt multitude
Which fils this place, Women ſent hither:
And they are highlieſt puniſht ſtill,
That love the handſomeſt.
Or.
A very lying Devill this
Certainly.—
P.
All that had their women with you,
Suffer with us.
Or.
By your friendſhips favour though,
There's no juſtice in that:
Some of them ſuffered enough
In all conſcience by 'em there.—
P.
Oh, this is now your mirth:
But when you ſhall be pinch't
Into a gellie,
Or made into a crampe all over,
Theſe will be ſad truths.
Or.
He talkes odly now, I doe not like it.
Do'ſt heare?—
Prethee exchange ſome of thy good counſell
For deeds.
If thou bee'ſt an honeſt Devill,
(As thou ſeem'ſt to be)
Put a ſword into my hand,
And help me to the ſight of this
Apparition agen.—
P.
Well, ſome thing I'le doe for thee,
Or rather for my ſelfe.— Exeunt.
Enter two other Devils.
1. D.
Come, let's goe relieve our Poet.
2. D.
How, relieve him? hee's releas't; is he not?
1. D.
No, no;
Berſat bethought himſelfe at the mouth of the Cave,
And found he would be neceſſary to our Maſque too night.
We have ſet him with his feet in a great tub of water,
In which he dabbles and beleeves it to be Helicon:
There hee's contriving i'th honour of Mercury,
Who I have told him comes this night of a meſſage
From Jupiter to Pluto, and is feaſted here by him.
Th.
Oh, they have fetcht him off.
Enter Poet and Theeves.
Po.
Carer per ſo lo carer,
Or he that made the fairie Queene.
1 Th.
No, none of theſe:
They are by themſelves in ſome other place;
But here's he that writ Tamerlane.
P.
I beſeech you bring me to him,
There's ſomething in his Scene
Betwixt the Empreſſes a little high and clowdie,
I would reſolve my ſelfe.
1 Th.
You ſhall Sir.
Let me ſee—the Author of the bold Beauchams,
And Englands Joy.
Po.
The laſt was a well writ peice, I aſſure you,
A Brittane I take it; and Shakeſpeares very way:
I deſire to ſee the man,
1 Th.
Excuſe me, no ſeeing here.
The gods in complement to Homer,
Doe make all Poets poore above,
And we all blind below.
But you ſhall con
•
eſſe Sir.
Follow.— Ex.
Enter Peridor, Orſabrin.
Or.
Hallight and freſh aire agen? (Peridor unbinds him and ſlips away.
The place I know too.—
The very ſame I fought the Duell in.
The Devill was in the right;
This was a meere Aparition:
But 'twas a handſome one, it left impreſſions here,
Such as the faireſt ſubſtance I ſhall ere behold,
Will ſcarſe deface.
Well I muſt reſolve, but what, or where?
I, that's the queſtion.
The Towne's unſafe, there's no returning thither,
And then the Port.— (Enter ſome to paſſe over.
Ha! What means the buſie haſte of theſe.—
Honeſt friend.—No— (Paſſes haſtily.
Do'ſt heare,— (To another.
What's the matter pray?
Clo.
Gentlemen, gentlemen,
That's good ſatisfaction indeed.
Orſ.
Prethee good fellow tell me. (Enter another.
What cauſes all this hurry?— (To another.
Clo.
One Samorat is led to priſon Sir,
And other Gentlemen about Lord Torcular.
Ha! Samorat!
There is no meane nor end of fortunes malice:
Oh
•
'tis inſufferable;
I'm made a boy whipt on anothers backe:
Cruell, I'le not endure't by heaven,
He ſhall not dye for me:
I will not hold a wretched life upon ſuch wretched termes.
(Ex.
Enter Tamoren Peridor, and others.
Tam.
Flie; flie abroad, ſearch every place, and
Bring him back:
Thou haſt undone us all with thy neglect,
Deſtroi'd the hopes we had to be our ſelves agen;
I ſhall run mad with Anger;
Fly, be gone.—
Exeunt all but Tam.
Enter Reginella.
My Reginella, what brings you abroad?
Re.
Deare Governour? I have a ſute to you.
Ta.
To me my pretty ſweetneſſe, what?
Re.
You will deny me Sir I feare,
Pray let me have the ſtranger that came laſt in keeping.
Ta.
Stranger? Alas hee's gone, made an eſcape▪
Re.
I fear'd he would not ſtay they us'd him ſo unkindly.
Indeed I would have us'd him better, (weeps.
And then he had been here ſtill.
Tam.
Come▪ doe not weep my girle:
Forget him pretty penſiveneſſe, there will
Come others every day as good as he.
Re.
Oh! never: I'le cloſe my ey's to all now hee's gone.
Tam.
How catching are the ſparkes of love? Still this
Miſchance ſhowes more and more unfortunate.
I was too curious.—
Come indeed, you muſt forget him,
The gallant'ſt and the godli'ſt to the eye are not the beſt,
Such handſome and fine ſhapes as thoſe
Are ever fal
•
e and foule within.
Re.
Why Governour d▪you then put
Your fineſt things ſtill in your fineſt Cabinets?
Tam.
Pretty Innocence: no, I doe not;
You ſee I place not you there,
Come no more teares:
Lets in and have a Mate at Cheſſe,
"Diverſion cures a loſſe, or makes it ſelfe.— Extunt.
ACT V.
Enter Tamaren, Peridor, and others.
Pe.
CRoſt all the High-wayes, ſearcht the Woods,
Beat up and down with as much pain & diligence,
As ever Huntſman did for a loſt Deere.
Ta.
A race of Criples, are y' all
Iſſue of Snayles, he could not elſe have ſcap't us.
Now? what newes bring you?
Th.
Sir, we have found him out,
The party is in priſon.
Ta.
How? in priſon?
Th.
For certaine Sir.
It ſeemes young Samorat and he
Were thoſe that fought the duell t'other day,
And left our Torcular ſo wounded there.
For his ſuppoſed death was Samorat taken,
Which when this youth had found,
He did attempt to free him (ſcaling the wall
By night) but finding it impoſſible,
Next Morning did preſent himſelfe
Into the hands of Juſtice, imagining
His death that did the fact, an equall ſacrifice.
Ta.
Brave Orſabrin.
Th.
Not knowing that the greedy Law ask's more,
And doth preſcribe the acceſſarie
As well as principall.
Ta.
Juſt ſo 'ith nicke? 'ith very nicke of time?
Per.
Hee's troubled.
Ta.
It will be excellent.
Be all in ſouldiers ſtraight,
Where's Torcular?
Th.
Forth comming Sir.
Ta.
How are his wounds?
Will they endure the Aire?
Under your gaberdines weare Piſtols all.]
Per.
What does he meane?
Ta.
Give me my other habit and my ſword
'Ith' leaſt ſuſpected way haſt after me.
Th.
All?
Tam.
All but Peridor; I will abroad,
My broken hopes and ſuff'rings
Shall have now ſome cure.
Fortune ſpite of her ſelfe ſhall be my friend,
And either ſhall redreſſe, or give them end.— Ex.
P.
I've found it out,
He doe's intend to fetch this ſtranger backe,
And give him Reginella,
Or elſe—No, no, it muſt be that
His anger, and the ſearch declare it;
The ſecret of the priſon-houſe ſhall out I ſweare.
I'le ſet all firſt on fire,
For middle waies to ſuch an end are dull.— Ex.
Enter Prince, Phi.
S.
Since ſhe was refus'd to ſpeake with you Sir,
Nor looke of any,
Languiſhes ſo faſt,
Her ſervants feare ſhe will not live
To know what does become of him.
Phi.
Sir 'tis high time you viſit her.
Pri.
I cannot looke upon her, and deny her.
Phi.
Nor need you Sir,
All ſhall appeare to her moſt gracious:
Tell her the former part o'th' Law
Muſt paſſe, but when it comes t'execute,
Promiſe her that you intend to interpoſe.
Pr.
And ſhall then Samorat live?
Ph.
Oh!—
Nothing leſſe! The cenſure paſt,
His death ſhall follow without noiſe:
▪Tis but not owning of the fact,
Diſgracing for a time a Secretarie,
Or ſo—the thing's not new—
Put on forgiving looks Sir,
We are there—
Enter Sabrina's Chamber.
A mourning ſilence
Siſter Sabrina—
Sab.
Hence, hence,
Thou cruell hunter after life:
Thou art a paine unto my eyes as great,
As my deare Mother had when ſhe did
Bring thee forth—And ſure that was
Extreme, ſince ſhe produc't a monſter.
Ph.
Speake to her your ſelfe,
Shee's ſo incenſt againſt me,
She will not welcome happines,
Becauſe I bring it.
Pr.
Faire ornament of griefe,
Why are you troubled—
Can you beleeve there's any thing within
My power which you ſhall mourne for?
If you have any feares, impart them;
Any deſires, give them a name,
And I will give thee reſt:
You wrong the greatnes of my love,
To doubt the goodnes of it.
Sab.
Alas, I doe not doubt your love my Lord,
I feare it; 'tis that which does undoe me.
For 'tis not Samorat that's priſoner now,
It is the Princes Rivall;
Oh! for your owne ſake Sir be mercifull:
How poorely will this ſound hereafter,
The Prince did feare another's merit ſo,
Found ſo much vertue in his rivall, that
He was forc't to murder it, make it away.
There can be no addition to you Sir by his death,
By his life there will; You get the point
Of honour, fortune does offer here
What time perchance cannot agen:
A handſome opportunity to ſhow
The bravery of your minde—
Pri.
This pretty Rhetorique cannot perſwade me (faire.
To let your Samorat live for my ſake:
It is enough he ſhall for yours.
Sab.
Though vertue ſtill rewards it ſelfe, yet here
May it not ſtay for that; but may the gods
Showre on you ſuddenly ſuch happines,
That you may ſay, my mercy brought me this—
P.
The gods no doubt will heare when you doe pray
Right waies: But here you take their names in vaine,
Since you can give your ſelfe that happines
Which you doe aske of them.
Sab.
Moſt gracious Sir, doe not—
Pr.
Hold, I dare not heare thee ſpeake,
For feare thou now ſhould'ſt tell me,
What I doe tell my ſelfe;
That I would poorely bargaine for any favours;
Retire and baniſh all thy feares,
I will be kind and juſt to thee Sabrina,
What s'ere thou prov'ſt to me.
Ph.
Rarely acted Sir,— Ex Sabr.
Pr.
Ha!—
Ph.
Good faith to th' very life.
Pr.
Acted?—No,—'twas not acted.
Ph.
How Sir?
Pr.
I was in earneſt.
I meane to conquer her this way,
The others low and poore.
Ph.
Ha?—
Pr.
I told thee 'twould be ſo before.
Ph.
Why Sir, you doe not meane to ſave him?—
Pr.
Yes—I doe—
Samorat ſhall be releas't immediately.—
Ph.
Sure you forget I had a brother Sir,
And one that did deſerve Juſtice at leaſt.
Pr.
He did—
And he ſhall have it:
He that kil'd him ſhall dye—
And 'tis high ſatisfaction, that,
Looke not—
It muſt be ſo— Exeunt.
Enter Stramador, and Peridor.
P.
No Devils Stramador,
Beleeve your eyes—To which I
Cannot be ſo loſt▪ but
You may call to minde
One Peridor.
Str.
Ha? Peridor? thou did'ſt
Command that day
In which the Tamorens fell.
P.
I did—
Yet Tamoren lives.
Str.
Ha?
P.
Not Tamoren the Prince, he fell indeed;
But Tamoren his brother, who that day
Led our horſe:
Young Reginella too,
Which is the ſubject of the ſuit,—
You have ingag'd your ſelfe by oath,
The King ſhall grant.
Str.
Oh! 'tis impoſſible,
Inſtruct me how I ſhould beleeve thee.
Pe.
Why thus—
Neceſſity upon that great defeat
Forc't us to keep the Woods, and hide our ſelves
In holes which ſince we much inlarg'd,
And fortifi'd them in the entrance ſo,
That 'twas a ſafe retreate upon purſuite:
Then ſwore we all allegeance to this Tamoren.
Theſe habits better to diſguiſe our ſelves, we took at firſt;
But finding with what eaſe we rob'd,
We did continue 'em, and tooke an Oath,
Till ſome new troubles in the State ſhould happen,
Or faire occaſion to make knowne our ſelves
Offer it ſelfe, we would appeare no other:
But come, let's not looſe
What we ſhall ne're recover,
This opportunitie—
Enter Naſhorat, and Pe.
Pe.
Naſhorat, you have not thought of any
Stratagem yet—
N.
Yes I have thought—
Pe.
What?—
N.
That if you have any accompts with heaven,
They may goe on—
This villanous dying's, like a ſtrange tune,
Has run ſo in my head,
No wholſome conſideration would enter it.
Nothing angers me neither, but that
I paſſe by my Miſtreſſes window to't.
Pe.
Troth, that's unkinde,
I have ſomething troubles me too.
N.
What's that.
Pe.
The people will ſay as we goe along,
Thou art the properer fellow.
Then I breake an appointment
With a Merchants Wife,
But who can help it?— (Naſhorat.
N.
Yea who can help it indeed,
She's to blame though 'faith, if ſhe
Does not beare with thee,
Conſidering the occaſion—
P.
Conſidering the occaſion as you ſay,
A man would thinke he might be borne with.
There's a Scrivener I ſhould have paid
Some money to, upon my word,
But—
Enter Orſabrin, Samorat, Princes ſervants.
Or.
By faire Sabrina's name,
I conjure you not to refuſe the mercy
Of the Prince—
Sam.
It is reſolv'd Sir, you know my anſwer.
Or.
Whether am I falne?
I thinke if I ſhould live a little longer,
I ſhould be made the cauſe of all the miſchiefe
Which ſhould ariſe to the world—
Hither I came to ſave a friend,
And by a ſlight of fortune I deſtroy him:
My very wayes to good prove ills.
Sure I can looke a man into misfortune:
The Plague's ſo great within me 'tis infectious.
Oh! I am weary of my ſelfe:
Sir I beſeech you yet accept of it,
For I ſhall be his way
A ſufferer,
And an executioner too—
Sam.
•
I beg of thee no more,
Thou do'ſt beget in me deſire to live:
For when I finde how much I am
Behind in noble acts of friendſhip,
I cannot chuſe but wiſh for longer time, that I might
Struggle with thee, for what thou haſt too clearly now
Got from me: The point of honour—
Oh! it is wiſedome and great thrift to dye;
For who with ſuch a debt of friendſhip and
Of Love, as you and my Sabrina muſt expect from me
Could ere ſubſiſt.
N.
They are complementing;
'Sfoot they make no more of it,
Then if 'twere who ſhould goe in firſt at
A doore—I thinke Pellegrine, as you and I
Have caſt it up, it comes to ſomething
More—
Meſſ.
Gentlemen, prepare, the Court is ſetting.
Sam.
Friends, this is no time for ceremonie;
But what a racke have I within m
•
,
To ſ
•
e you ſuffer.
And yet I hope the Prince will let this anger dye
In me, not to take the forfeiture of you.
N.
If he ſhould, Pellegrin and I are reſolv'd,
And are ready, all but our ſpeeches to the people,
And thoſe will not trouble us much,
For we intend not to trouble them. (Exeunt.
Enter Prince, Peridor, and others.
Pr.
Not accept it?
Loſe this way too?—What ſhall I doe?
He makes advantages of mine,
And like a skilfull Tennis-player,
Returnes my very beſt with excellent deſigne.
It muſt not be,
Bring to the Cloſet here above, the chiefe o'th' Jury:
I'le try another way.— Ex.
Enter Judges, Priſoners, Lawyers.
N.
Of all wayes of deſtroying mankinde,
Theſe Judges have the eaſieſt,
They ſleep and doe it.
Pe.
To my thinking now,
This is but a ſolemner kind of Puppet-play:
How the Devill came we to be acters in't?
So; it beginnes.
1 Judg.
The Princes Councell:
Are they ready?
Lawy.
Here—
Judg.
Begin then—
Law.
My Lords, that this ſo great and ſtrange.
Sa.
Moſt reverend Judges,
To ſave th' expence of breath and time,
And dull Formalities of Law—
I here pronounce my ſelfe guilty.
Pri.
from above. Agen he has prevented me—
Sa.
So guilty that no other can pretend
A ſhare—
This noble youth, a ſtranger to every thing
But Gallantry, ignorant in our Lawes and Cuſtomes,
Has made perchance
(In ſtrange ſeverity) a forfeit of himſelfe;
But ſhould you take it,
The gods when he is gone will ſure revenge it.
If from the ſtalke you pull this bud of vertue,
Before 't has ſpread and ſhewne it ſelfe abroad,
You doe an injury to all mankinde;
And publique miſchiefe cannot be private Juſtice.
This man's as much above a common man,
As man's above a beaſt; And if the Law
Deſtroyes not man for killing of a beaſt,
It ſhould not here, for killing of a man.
Oh what miſtake 'twould be?
For here you ſit to weed the Cankers out
That would doe hurt 'ith' State, to puniſh vice;
And under that y'oud root out vertue too—
Or.
If I doe bluſh, 'tis not (moſt gracious Judges)
For any thing which I have done, 'tis for that
This much miſtaken youth hath here deliver'd.
'Tis true (and I confeſſe) I ever had
A little ſtocke of honour (which I ſtill preſerv'd)
But that (by leaving me behinde alive)
He now moſt cunningly doe's thinke to get from me:
And I beſeech your Lordſhips to aſſiſt me;
For 'tis moſt fraudulent all he deſires.
Your Lawes I hope are reaſonable,
Elſe why ſhould reaſonable men
Be ſubject to them; and then
Upon what grounds is he made guilty now?
How can he be thought acceſſarie
To th' killing of a man,
That did not know o'th' fighting with him?
Witneſſe all thoſe pow'rs which ſearch mens hearts,
That I my ſelfe, (untill he beckned me)
Knew nothing of it, if ſuch a thing
As ſacrifice muſt be—why? Man for mans enough:
Though elder times t'appeaſe diviner Juſtice,
Did offer up—
(Whither through gallantrie, or ignorance)
Vaſt multitudes of Beaſts in ſacrifice,
Yet numbers of men is ſeldome heard of:
One ſingle Curtius purg'd a whole States ſin:
You will not ſay th' offence is now as great,
Or that you ought to be more highly ſatisfied
Then Heaven—
P.
Brave youths—
N.
Pellegrin, you and I will let our ſp
•
eches alone.
1 Judg.
If that the Law were of ſo fine a web,
As wit and fancie ſpin it out to, here,
Then theſe defences would be juſt, and ſave:
But that is more ſubſtantiall,
Of another make—
And Gentlemen, if this be all,
Sentence muſt paſſe—
Enter Tamoren.
Tam.
Orſabrin!
Or.
Ha! who names me there?
Ta.
A friend: heare me:
I am an Officer in that darke world
From whence thou cam'ſt, ſent
Thus diſguis'd by Reginella our faire Queene,
And to redeeme thee.
Or.
Reginella!
I'th' midſt of all theſe ills,
How preciouſly that name doe's ſound?
Ta.
If thou woult ſweare to follow me,
At th' inſtant th' art releaſt;
I'le ſave thee and thy friends,
In ſpite of Law.—
Or.
Doubt not of that;
Bring me where Reginella is:
And if I follow not, perpetuall miſery follow me:
It cannot be a Hell
Where ſhe appeares—
Tam.
Be confident.— (Goes out and brings To
•
cul
••
.
Behold (grave Lords) the man
Whoſe death queſtion'd the life of theſe,
Found and recovered by the Theeves
▪ith Woods;
And reſcued ſince by us, to reſcue Innocence.
Or.
Rare Devill,
With what dexteritie h'as raiſed this
Shape up; to delude them—
Pr.
Ha? Torcular alive?
Ph.
Torcular?
I ſhould as ſoone beleeve my brother
Neere in being too.
Tor
You cannot wonder more to finde me here,
Then I doe to finde my ſelfe.
Na.
Come unbinde, unbinde, this matter's anſwered.
Judg. 2.
Hold: they are not free, the Law exacts
The ſame for breach of priſon that it did before.
Or.
There is no ſcaping out of fortunes hands.
Doeſt heare; haſt never a trick for this?—
Ta.
Doubt me not, I have without, at my command,
Thoſe which never fail'd me;
And it ſhall coſt many a life yet
Sir, ere yours be loſt—
Pr.
Stramador you have been a ſtranger here of late.
Str.
Peruſe this paper Sir, you'l find there was good reaſon for't.
Enter Prince Philatell from above.
Sramador, Peridor, Reginella meet them below.
Pr.
How! old Tamorens brother, Captaine
Of the Theeves, that has infeſted thus
Our Countrey?
Reginella too, the heire of that fear'd Familie!
A happy and a ſtrange diſcovery.
Ta.
Peridor, and Reginella, the villaine
Has betrai'd me.
Re.
'Tis Orſabrin, they have kept their words.
Or.
Reginella? ſhe was a woman then.
O let me goe.
Jay.
You doe forget ſure what you are.
Or.
I doe indeed: oh, to unriddle now!
Stra.
And to this man you owe it Sir,
You find an ingagement to him there;
And I muſt hope you'l make me juſt to him.
Pr.
He does deſerve it,
Seize on him—
Tam.
Nay then all truths muſt out.
That I am loſt and forfeit to the Law,
I doe confeſſe,
Yet ſince to ſave this Prince.
P.
Prince!
Or.
(Our Mephoſto-philus is mad.)
Ta.
Yet, Prince, this is the Orſabrin.
Or.
Ha!—
Tam.
So long agoe,
Suppoſed loſt,
Your Brother Sir:
Fetch in there Ardelan and Piramont.
Enter Ardelan and Piramont.
N.
What mad Planet rules this day
Ardelan, and Piramont.
Or.
The Divel's wanton,
And abuſes all mankinde to day.
Ta.
Theſe faces are well knowne to all Francelians,
Now let them tell the reſt—
Pi.
My noble Maſter living! found in Francelia?
Ar.
The gods have ſatisfied our tedious hopes.
Ph.
Some Impoſture.
Or.
A new deſigne of fortune—
I dare not truſt it.
Ta.
Why ſpeake you not?
Piram.
I am ſo full of joy, it will not out.
Know ye Francelians,
When Sanborne fatall field was fought,
So deſperate were the hopes of Orſabrin,
That 'twas thought fit to ſend away this Prince,
And give him ſafety in another clime;
That ſpite of an ill day, an Orſabrin might be
Preſerv'd alive.
Thus you all know,
To Garradans chiefe charge he was committed:
Who when our Barke by Pyrats was ſurpris'd,
(For ſo it was) was ſlaine 'ith firſt encounter;
Since that we have been forc't to wait
On Fortunes pleaſure.
And Sir, that all this time we kept
You from the knowledge of your ſelfe,
Your pardon; It was our zeale that err'd,
Which did conclude it would be prejudiciall.
Ar.
My Lords you looke as if you doubted ſtill:
If Piramont and I be loſt unto your memory,
Your hands I hope are not—
Here's our Commiſſion:
There's the Diamond Elephant,
That which our Princes Sons are ever knowne by:
Which we to keep him undiſcovered,
Tore from his riband in that fatall day
When we were made priſoners:
And here are thoſe that tooke us,
Which can witneſſe all circumſtance,
Both how, and when, time and place;
With whom we ever ſince have liv'd by force:
For on no Kingdome, friend unto Francelia,
Did Fortune ever land us, ſince that houre;
Nor gave us meanes to let our Country know
He liv'd—
T.
Theſe very truths, when they could have no ends,
(For they beleev'd him loſt)
I did receive from them before,
Which gave me now the boldnes to appeare
Here, where I'm loſt by Law.
Shouts without,
Long live Prince Oſabrin.
Long live Prince Orſabrin,
Na.
Pellegrin let's ſecond this:
Right or wrong 'tis beſt for us.
Pe.
Obſerve, obſerve.
Pr.
What ſhouts are thoſe?
Str.
Souldiers of Tamorens the firſt;
The ſecond was the peoples, who
Much preſſe to ſee their long loſt Prince.
Phi.
Sir, 'tis moſt evident, and all agrees,
This was his colour'd haire,
His Aire, though alter'd much with time:
You weare too ſtrange a face upon this newes;
Sir, you have found a brother
I, Torcular, the Kingdomes happines;
For here the plague of Robberies will end.
It is a glorious day—
Pr.
It is indeed, I am amaz'd, not ſad;
Wonder doe's keep the paſſage ſo,
Nothing will out.
Brother (for ſo my kinder Stars will have it)
I here receive you as the bounty of the gods;
A bleſſing I did not expect,
And in returne to them, this day,
Francelia ever ſhall keep holy.
Or.
Fortune by much abuſing me, has
So—dul'd my faith, I cannot
Credit any thing.
I know not how to owne ſuch happines.
P.
Let not your doubts leſſen your joyes:
If you have had diſaſters heretofore,
They were but given to heighten what's to come.
Na.
Here's as ſtrange a turne as if 'twere the
Fift Act in a Play.—
Peli.
I'm ſure 'tis a good turne for us.
Or.
Sir, why ſtands that Lady ſo neglected there,
That does deſerve to be the buſines of mankinde.
Oh ye gods: ſince you'l be kind
And bountifull, let it be here.
As fearfully, as jealous husbands aske
After ſome ſecrets which they dare not know;
Or as forbidden Lovers meet i'th night,
Come I to thee (and 'tis no ill ſigne this,
Since flames when they burne higheſt tremble moſt)
Oh, ſhould ſhe now deny me!
Re.
I know not perfectly what all this meanes;
But I doe finde ſome happineſſe is neare,
And I am pleas'd, becauſe I ſee you are—
Or.
She underſtands me not—
Pr.
He ſeemes t'have paſſion for her.
Ta.
Sir, in my darke commands theſe flames broke out
Equally, violent at firſt ſight;
And 'twas the hope I had to reconcile my ſelfe.
Or.
It is a holy Magicke that will make▪
Of you and I but one.—
Re.
Any thing that you wou'd aske me, ſure I might grant.
Or.
Harke Gentlemen, ſhe doe's conſent,
What wants there elſe?
Pe.
My hopes grow cold, I have undone my ſelfe.
Pr.
Nothing, we all will joyne in this;
The long liv'd feu'd between the Families
Here dyes, this day the Hyminaeall
Torches ſhall burne bright;
So bright, that they ſhall dimme the light
Of all that went before—
See Sabrina too.— (Enter Sabrina.
Ta.
Sir, I muſt have much of pardon,
Not for my ſelfe alone, but for all mine—
Pr.
Riſe, had'ſt thou not deſerv'd what now thou ſu'ſt for,
This day ſhould know no clouds.
Peridor kneeles to Tamoren.
Tam.
Taught by the Princes mercy; I forgive too.
Sab.
Frighted hither Sir.
They told me you woo'd not accept the Princes mercy.
Sam.
Art thou no further yet in thy intelligence?
See, thy brother lives—
Sab.
My brother?—
Tor.
And 'tis the leaſt of wonders has falne out.
Or.
Yes, ſuch a one as you are, faire, (Reginella looks at Sabrina
And you ſhall be acquainted.
Sam.
Oh could your hate my Lords, now,
Or your love dye.
Phy.
Thy merit has prevail'd
With me.
Tor.
And me.
Pr.
And has almoſt with me.
Samorat thou do'ſt not doubt thy Miſtreſſe Conſtancia.
Sam.
No Sir.
Pr.
Then I will beg of her,
That till the Sun returnes to viſit us,
She will not give away her ſelfe for ever.
Although my hopes are faint,
Yet I would have 'em hopes,
And in ſuch jolly houres as now attend us.
I would not be a deſperate thing,
One made up wholly of deſpaire.
Sab.
You that ſo freely gave me Samorats life,
Which was in danger,
Moſt juſtly, juſtly, may be ſuffer'd to attempt
Upon my love, which is in none.
Pr.
What ſayes my noble Rivall?
Sab.
Sir, y' are kind in this, and wiſely doe
Provide I ſhould not ſurfeit:
For here is happines enough beſides to laſt the Sun's returne.
N.
You and I are but ſavers with all this Pellegrin.
But by the Lord 'tis well we came off
As we did, all was at ſtake—
Pr.
Come, no more whiſpers here,
Let's in, and there unriddle to each other—
For I have much to aske.
Or.
A Life! a Friend! a Brother! and a Miſtres!
Oh! what a day was here:
Gently my Joyes diſtill,
Leaſt you ſhould breake the Veſſell you ſhould fill.
FINIS.
EPILOGUE.
ANd how, and how, in faith,—a pretty plot;
And ſmartly carried through too, was it not?
And the Devils, how, well? and the fighting,
Well too;—a foole, and't had bin juſt old writing.
O what a monſter wit muſt that man have,
That could pleaſe all which now their twelve pence gave:
High characters (cries one) and he would ſee
Things that ne're were, nor are, nor ne're will be.
Romances cries eaſie-ſoules, and then they ſweare,
The Playe's well wr
•
t, though ſcarce a good line's there.
The Women—Oh if Stephen ſhoul
•
be kil'd,
Or miſſe the Lady, how the plot is ſpil'd?
And into how many pieces a poore Play
Is taken ſtill before the ſecond day?
Like a ſtrange Beauty newly come to Court;
And to ſay truth, good faith 'tis all the ſport:
One will like all the ill things in a Play,
Another, ſome o' th' good, but the wrong way;
So from one poore Play there comes t' ariſe
At ſeverall Tables, ſeverall Comedies.
The ill is only here, that 't may fall out
In Plaies as Faces; and who goes about
To take aſunder oft deſtroyes (we know)
What altogether made a pretty ſhew.
FINIS.
BRENNORALT. A Tragedy. Preſented at the Private Houſe in Black-Fryers, by His Majeſties ſervants.
WRITTEN By Sir JOHN SUCKLING.
LONDON, Printed for Humphrey Moſeley, and are to be ſold at his ſhop, at the Signe of the Princes Armes in St
Pauls Churchyard. MDCXLVI.
The Scaene. Poland.
The Actors.
SIgiſmond—King of Poland.
Miefla.
Melidor.
A Lord. Councellors to the King.
Brennoralt—a Diſcontent.
Doran—His Friend.
Villanor.
Grainevert.
Marinell. Cavaliers and Officers under Brennoralt.
Stratheman.
Freſolin, Brother to Francelia.
Iphigene—young Pallatine of Florence.
Pallatine of Menſecke, Governour, one of the chiefe Rebels.
Pallatine of Tork a Rebell.
Almerin, a gallant Rebell.
Morat, his Lievtenant Coronell.
Francelia, the Governours daughter.
Orilla, a waiting woman to Francelia.
Reguelin, A ſervant in the Governors houſe, but
Spie to Brennoralt.
Iaylor.
Guard.
Souldiers.
Brennoralt.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Enter Brennoralt, Doran.
Brennoralt,
I Say, the Court is but a narrow circuit;
Though ſomthing elevate above the common;
A kind of Ants neſt in the great wilde field,
O're charg'd with multitudes of quick Inhabitants,
Who ſtill are miſerably buſied to get in,
What the looſe foot of prodigality,
As faſt do's throw abroad.
Dor.
Good:
A moſt eternall place of low affronts,
And then as low ſubmiſſions.
Bren.
Right.
High cowards in revenges 'mongſt themſelves,
And only valiant when they miſchiefe others.
Dor.
Stars, that would have no names,
But for the ills they threaten in conjunction.
Bren.
A race of ſhallow, and unskilfull Pilots;
Which doe miſguide the Ship even in the calme,
And in great ſtormes ſerve but as weight to ſinke it.
More, prethee more.— (Alarum within.
'Tis muſique to my melancholy.
Enter Souldier.
Sold.
My Lord; a cloud of duſt and men
The Sentinels from th' Eaſt gate diſcover;
And as they gueſſe, the ſtorme bends this way.
Bren.
Let it be.
Sold.
My Lord?—
Bren.
Let it be,
I will not fight to day:
Bid Stratheman draw to the trenches.
On, prethee on.
Dor.
The King imployes a company of formall beards,
Men, who have no other proofes of their
Long life, but that they are old.
Bren.
Right, and if th' are wiſe,
'Tis for themſelves, not others.— (Alarum.
As old men ever are.
Enter ſecond Soldier.
2 Sold.
Coronell, Coronell;
Th' enemies at hand, kils all the Centries:
Young Almerin leads them on agen.
Bren.
Let him lead them off agen.
2 Sold.
Coronell.—
Bren.
Be gone.
If th' art afraid, goe hide thy ſelfe.
2 Sold.
What a Divell ayles he?— (Exit.
Bren.
This Almerin's the ague of the Camp:
He ſhakes it once a day.
Dor.
Hee's the ill conſcience rather:
He never lets it reſt; would I were at home agen.
'Sfoot we lie here i'th' trenches, as if it were
For a winde to carry us into th' other
World: every houre we expect—
I'le no more on't.
Bre.
Prethee—
Dor.
Not I, by heaven.
Bre.
What man! the worſt is but faire death.
Dor.
And what will that amount to? A faire Epitaph▪
A fine account.—I'le home I ſweare.
Enter Stratheman.
Stra.
Arme, arme my Lord,
And ſhew your ſelfe, all's loſt elſe.
Dor.
Why ſo?
Stra.
The Rebels like an unruly floud,
Rowle o're the trenches, and throw downe
All before them.
Bre.
Ha?
Stra.
We cannot make a ſtand.
Bre.
He would out-rivall me in honour too,
As well as love; but that he muſt not doe.
Help me Strathman.— (Puts on Armour.
The danger now growes worthy of our ſwords;
And, oh Doran, I would to heaven there were
No other ſtormes then the worſt tempeſt here. (Exeunt.
Enter Marinell, throwing downe one he carries.
Mari.
There;
The Sun's the neareſt Surgeon I know,
And the honeſteſt; if thou recovereſt, why ſo:
If not, the cure's paid, they have mauld us.
Enter Grainevert, with another upon his backe.
Grain.
A curſe light on this powder;
It ſtayes valour, ere i
•
's halfe way on it's journey:
What a diſadvantage fight we upon in this age?
He that did well heretofore,
Had the broad faire day to ſhew it in:
Witneſſes enough; we muſt beleeve one another—
'Tis night when we begin:
Eternall ſmoake and ſulpher.
Smalke; by this hand I can beare with thee
No longer; how now? dead as I live;
Stolne away juſt as he us'd to wench.
Well, goe thy wayes, for a quiet drinker, and dier,
I ſhall never know thy fellow: ſearches his pockets.
Theſe trifles too about thee?
There was never an honeſter poore wretch
Borne I thinke—look i'th' tother pocket too—hum,
Marinell.
Mar.
Who 's that?
Grani.
'Tis I; how goes matters?
Mar.
Scurvily enough;
Yet ſince our Colonell came, th' ave got no ground
Of us; A weake Sculler againſt Winde and Tide,
Would have done as much, harke:
This way the torrent beares. Exeunt.
Enter Freſolin, Almerin, Rebels.
Freſ.
The Villaines all have left us.
Alm.
Would they had left their feares
Behind them. But come, ſince we muſt—
Enter Brennoralt, Souldiers.
Bren.
Hoe! Stratheman;
Skirt on the left hand with the horſe,
And get betwixt theſe and that Body;
They'r new rallied up forreſcue. Dor. Th 'are ours.
Brennoralt charges through.
I doe not ſee my game yet.— Exeunt.
A ſhout within.
Enter Brennoralt, Doran, Stratheman, Marinell.
Bren.
What ſhout is that?
Stra.
They have taken Almerin, my Lord.
Bren.
Almerin? the Divell thanke ▪em for 't:
When I had hunted hard all day,
And now at length unhearded the proud Deere,
The Currs have ſnatch't him up, ſound a Retreat:
There's nothing now behinde. Who ſaw Doran?
Str.
Shall we bring Almerin in?
Bre.
No; gazing is low Triumph:
Convey him fairely to the King,
He fought it fairely—
Dor.
What youth was that, whom you beſtrid my Lord,
And ſav'd from all our ſwords to day?
Was he not of the Enemy?
Bre.
It may be ſo—
Str.
The Governors Son, Freſolin, his Miſtris brother. (In Dorans e
••
e.
Br.
No matter who. 'Tis pitty, the rough hand
Of warre, ſhould early courages deſtroy,
Before they bud, and ſhew themſelves i'th' heate
Of Action—
Mar.
I threw (my Lord) a youth upon a banke;
Which ſeeking, after the retreate, I found
Dead, and a woman, the pretty daughter
Of the Forreſter; Lucillia.
Bre.
See, ſee Doran; A ſad experiment:
Woman's the cowardly'ſt and coldeſt thing
The world brings forth: Yet Love, as fire works water,
Makes it boyle o're, and doe things contrary
To'ts proper nature—I ſhould ſhed a teare,
Could I tell how—Ah poore Lucilia!
Thou didſt for me what did as ill become thee.
Pray ſee her gently bury'd—
Boy, ſend the Surgeon to the Tent; I bleed:
What lowſie Cottages th' ave given our ſoules?
Each petty ſtorme ſhakes them into diſorder;
And 't coſts more paines to patch them up agen,
Then they are worth by much. I'm weary of
The Tenement.— Exeunt.
Enter Villanor, Grainevert, Marinell, and Stratheman.
Gra.
Villanor▪
welcome, welcome, whence cameſt thou?
Vil.
Looke, I weare the Kings high way ſtill on my boots.
Gra.
A pretty riding phraſe, and how? and how?
Ladies cheap?
Vil.
Faith, reaſonable:
Thoſe toyes were never deare thou know'ſt;
A little time and induſtry they'l coſt;
But in good faith not much: ſome few there are
That ſet themſelves at mighty rates—
Gra.
Which we o'th' wiſe paſſe by,
As things o're-valued in the market.
Is't not ſo?
Vil.
Y'have ſaid Sir, Harke you, your friend the Rivals married.
Has obtain'd the long lov'd Lady, and is ſuch an aſſe after 't.
Gra.
Hum.
'Tis ever ſo.
The motions of married people, are as of
Other naturals; violent Gentlemen to the place,
And calme in it.
Mar.
We know this too; and yet we muſt be fooling.
Gra.
Faith, women are the baggage of life:
They are troubleſome, and hinder us
In the great march, and yet we cannot
Be without 'em.
Mar.
You ſpeake very well,
And Souldier-like.
Grain.
What? thou art a wit too I warrant,
In our abſence?
Vil.
Hum—no, no, a poore pretender,
A Candidate or ſo, 'gainſt the next Seſſions:
Wit enough to laugh at you here.
Gra.
Like enough; valour's a crime:
The wiſe have ſtill repro
••
hed unto the valiant,
And the fool
•
s too.
Vil.
R
•
lleri
•
a part, Gr
•
invert;
What accommodations ſhall we finde here?
Gra.
Cleane ſtraw (ſweet-heart) and meat
When thou canſt get it.
Vil.
Hum? ſtraw?
Gra.
Yes.
That's all will be betwixt Inceſt:
You, and your mother earth muſt lye together.
V.
Prethee let's be ſerious; will this laſt?
How goes affaires?
G.
Well.
V.
But well?
G.
Faith, 'tis now upon the turning of the ballance:
A moſt equall buſineſſe, betwixt Rebellion
And Loyaltie.
V.
What doeſt meane?
G.
Why; which ſhall be the vertue, and which the vice.
V.
How the Divell can that be?
G.
Oh: ſucceſſe is a rare paint; hides all the uglines.
V.
Prethee, what's the quarrell?
G.
Nay, for that excuſe us;
Aske the children of peace,
They have the leiſure to ſtudy it,
We know nothing of it; Liberty they ſay.
V.
'Sfoot, let the King make an Act,
That any man may be unmarried agen;
There's liberty for them. A race
Of half-witted fellowes quarrell about freedome?
And all that while allow the bonds of Matrimony?
G.
You ſpeake very well Sir.
Enter King, Lords, Brennoralt.
M.
Soft; the King and Councell—
G.
Looke, they follow after like tyred ſpannels:
Queſt ſometimes for company; that is, concurre:
And that's their buſines.
M.
They are as weary of this ſport
As a young unthrift of's land:
Any bargaine to be rid on't.
V.
Can you blame them?—
Who 's that?
M.
Brennoralt, our brave Coronell:
A diſcontent, but, what of that? who is not?
V.
His face ſpeaks him one.
G.
Thou art i' th' right.
He looks ſtill as if he were ſaying to
Fortune; Huſwife, goe about your buſines.
Come, let's retire to Barathens Tent.
Taſte a bottle, and ſpeake bold truths;
That's our way now. Ex. Manet King and Lords.
Mieſ.
—Thinke not of pardon Sir,
Rigor and mercy us'd in States uncertainly,
And in ill times, looke not like th' effects
Of vertue, but neceſſity: Nor will
They thanke your goodnes, but your feares.—
Melid.
My Lords;
Revenge in Princes ſhould be ſtill imperfect:
It is then handſom'ſt, when the King comes to
Reduce, not Ruine—
Bre.
Who puts but on the face of puniſhing,
And only gently cuts, but prunes rebellion:
He makes that flouriſh which he would deſtroy.
Who would not be a Rebell when the hopes
Are vaſte, the feares but ſmall?
[Mel.]
Why, I would not.
Nor you my Lord, nor you, nor any here.
Feare keeps low ſpirits only in, the brave
Doe get above it, when they doe reſolve.
Such puniſhments in infancy of warre,
Make men more deſperate, not the more yeelding.
The common people are a kind of flyes;
They 're caught with honey, not with wormewood, Sir.
Severity exaſp'rates the ſtirr'd humour;
And State diſtempers turnes into diſeaſes.
Bre.
The gods forbid, great Polands State ſhould be
Such as it dares not take right Phyſick. Quarter
To Rebels? Sir! when you give that to them,
Give that to me, which they deſerve. I would
Not live to ſee it—
3 Lord.
Turne o're your owne, and other Chronicles,
And you ſhall finde (great Sir)
"That nothing makes a Civill warre long liv'd,
"But ranſome and returning backe the brands
Which unextinct, kindled ſtill fiercer fires.
Mieſ.
Mercy beſtow'd on thoſe that doe diſpute
With ſwords, do's looſe the Angels face it has,
And is not mercy Sir, but policie;
With a weake vizard on—
King.
—Y' have met my thoughts
My Lords; nor will it need larger debate.
To morrow, in the ſight of the beſiedg'd,
The Rebell dyes: Mieſla, 'tis your care.
The mercy of Heav'n may be offended ſo,
That it cannot forgive: Mortals much more,
Which is not infinite, my Lords. (Exeunt.
Enter Iphigene, Almerin (as in priſon.)
Iph.
O Almarin; would we had never knowne
The ruffle of the world! but were againe
By Stolden banks, in happy ſolitude;
When thou and I, Shepheard and Shepheardeſſe;
So oft by turnes, as often ſtill have wiſht,
That we as eas'ly could have chang'd our ſex,
As clothes; but (alas!) all thoſe innocent joyes,
Like glorious Mornings, are retir'd into
Darke ſullen clouds, before we knew to value
What we had.
[Alme.]
Fame & victory are light (to himſelf.
Huſwifes, that throw themſelves into the armes,
Not of the valiant, but the fortunate.
To be tane, thus!
[Iph.]
Almerin
[Alm.]
nipt 'ith' bud
Of honour!
[Iph.]
My Lord
[Alm.]
Foil'd! & by the man
That doe's pretend unto Francelia!
Iph.
What is't you doe, my Almerin? ſit ſtill?
And quarrell with the Winds, becauſe there is
A ſhipwrack tow'
•
ds, and never thinke of ſaving
The barke?
[Almer:]
The Barke? What ſhould we doe with that
When the rich freight is loſt: my name in armes?
Iph.
—Who knowes
What prizes are behind, if you attend
And waite a ſecond Voyage?
[Almer:]
Never, never:
There are no ſecond Voyages in this,
The wounds of honour doe admit no cure.
Iph.
Thoſe ſlight ones which misfortune gives, muſt needs.
Elſe, why ſhould Mortals value it at all?
For who would toyle to treaſure up a wealth;
Which weake inconſtancy did keep, or might
Diſpoſe of?— Enter Melidor.
Oh my Lord, what newes?
Mel.
As ill as your owne feares could give you;
The Councell has decreed him ſudden death,
And all the wayes to mercy are blockt up. (She weeps and ſighs.
Almer.
My Iphigene—
This was a misbecomming peece of love:
Women would manage a diſaſter better— (Iphig: weeps & ſighs agen.
Againe? thou art unkinde—
Thy goodnes is ſo grea
•
, it makes thee faulty:
For while thou think'
•
t to take the trouble from me,
Thou giveſt me more, by giving me thine too.
Iph.
Alas! I am indeed a uſeleſſe t
•
i
•
ie;
A dull, dull thing: For could I now doe any thing
But grieve and pitty, I might help: my thoughts
Labour to finde a way; but like to birds
In cages, though they never reſt t
•
ey are
But where they did ſet out at firſt—
Enter Jaylor.
Jay.
My Lords, your pardon:
The priſoner muſt retire;
I have receiv'd an order from the King,
Denies acceſſe to any.
Iph.
—He cannot be
So great a Tyrant.
[Almer.]
I thanke him; nor can
He uſe me ill enough: I onely grieve
That I muſt dye in debt; a Bankrupt: Such
Thy love hath made me: My deare Iphigene
Farewell: It is no time for Ceremony.
Shew me the way I muſt— (Exit.
Iph.
Griefe ſtrove with ſuch diſorder to get out,
It ſtopt the paſſage, and ſent backe my words
That were already on the place—
[Melid.]
ſtay, there
Is yet a way.
[Iph.]
O ſpeake it
[Mel.]
But there is
Danger in't Iphigene, to thee high danger.
Iph.
Fright children in the darke with that, and let
Me know it: There is no ſuch thing in nature
If Almerin be loſt.
[Melid.]
Thus then; You muſt
Be taken pris'ner too, and by exchange
Save Almerin.
Iph.
How can that be?
Mel.
Why— (ſtudies.
Step in, and pray him ſet his hand, about (To the Jaylor.
This diſtance; his ſeale too—
Jay.
My Lord, I know not what this is.
Mel.
Setling of money-buſines, foole, betwixt us.
Jay.
If't be no more— (Exit.
Mel.
Tell him that Iphigene and I deſire it:
I'le ſend by Strathocles his ſervant,
A Letter to Morat thus ſign'd and ſeal'd,
That ſhall informe the ſudden execution;
Command him as the only meanes
To ſave his life, to ſallie out this night
Upon the quarters, and endeavour priſoners.
Name you as moſt ſecure and ſlighteſt guarded,
Beſt pledge of ſafety; but charge him,
That he kill not any, if it be avoydable;
Leaſt 't ſhould inrage the King yet more,
And make his death more certaine. (Enter Jaylor with the writing.
Jay.
He underſtands you not
He ſayes; but he has ſent it.
Melid.
So—
Iph.
But ſhould Morat miſtruſt now?
Or this miſcarry?
Melid.
—Come;
Leave it to me; I'le take the Pilots part;
And reach the Port, or periſh in the Art. (Exeunt.
ACT II. SCENE I.
Enter Almerin (in priſon.)
Almer.
SLeep is as nice as woman;
The more I court it, the more it flies me;
Thy elder brother will be kinder yet,
Unſent for death will come.—To morrow—
Well—What can to morrow doe?
'Twill cure the ſenſe of honour loſt—
I, and my diſcontents ſhall reſt together,
What hurt is there in this?
But death againſt the will,
Is but a ſlovenly kinde of potion;
And though preſcrib'd by Heaven,
It goes againſt mens ſtomacks:
So does it at foureſcore too; when the ſoule's
Mew'd up in narrow darknes;
Neither ſees nor heares,—piſh, 'tis meer fondnes in our nature;
A certaine clowniſh cowardiſe, that ſtill
Would ſtay at home, and dares not venture
Into forreigne Countries, though better then
It's owne,—ha, what Countries? for we receive
Deſcriptions of th'other world from our Divines,
As blinde men take relation of this from us:
My thoughts leade me into the darke,
And there they'l leave me, I'le no more on't,
Within. (Knocks)— Enter.
Some paper and a light, I'le write to th' King:
Defie him, and provoke a quicke diſpatch.
I would not hold this ling'ring doubtfull State
So long againe, for all that hope can give.
Enter 3 of the Guard (with paper and Incke)
That ſword does tempt me ſtrangely— (writing.
Wer't in my hands, 'twere worth th' other two.
But then the Guard,—it ſleeps or drinks; may be
To contrive it ſo that if I ſhould not paſſe,—
Why if I fall in't,
'Tis better yet then Pageantry;
A ſcaffold and ſpectators; more ſouldier-like— One of the Guard peeps over his ſhoulder.
Uncivill villaine, read my letter?— (Seizes his ſword.
1 Guar.
Not I, not I my Lord.
Alm.
Deny it too?
Guar.
Murder, murder.
Guar.
Arme, arme— (The Guard runs out.
Alm.
I'le follow,
Give the alarum with them,
'Tis leaſt ſuſpitious— (Arme, arme, arme.
All—the enemy, the enemy— (Enter Soldiers running
•
ver t
•
e Stage, one throwing away his armes.
Soul.
Let them come.
Let them come.
Let them come— (Enter Almerin.
Alm.
I heare freſh noiſe,
The camp's in great diſorder: where am I now?
'Tis ſtrangely darke—Goddeſſe without eyes
Be thou my guide, for—blindnes and ſight
Are equall ſenſe, of equall uſe, this night.
Enter Grainevert, Stratheman, Villanor, Mari
••
ll.
Gra.
Trouble not thy ſelfe, childe of diſcontent:
'Twill take no hurt I warrant thee;
The State is but a little drunke,
And when 'tas ſpued up that that made it ſo,
'Twill be well agen, there's my opinion in ſhort.
Mar.
Th' art i'th' right.
The State's a pretty forehanded State,
And will doe reaſon herea
••
er.
Let's drinke and talke no more on't.
All.
—A good motion, a good motion,
Let's drinke.
Villa.
I, I let's drinke agen.
Stra.
Come, to a Miſtris.
Gra.
Agreed.
Name, name.
Villa.
Any body.—Vermilia.
Gra.
Away with it.
Shee's pretty to walke with:
And witty to talke with:
And pleaſant too to thinke on.
But the beſt uſe of all,
Is her health, is a ſtale
And helps us to make us drinke on▪
Stra.
Excellent.
Gentlemen, if you ſay the word,
Wee'l vant credit, and affect high pleaſure.
Shall we?
Villa.
I, I, let's do that.
Stra.
What thinke ye of the ſacrifice now?
Mar.
Come wee'le ha't,—for trickling teares are vaine▪
Villa.
The ſacrifice? what's that?
Stra.
Child of ignorance, 'tis a campe health.
An A—la—mode one. Grainevert begin it.
Grain.
Come give it me.
Let me ſee— (Pins up a Roſe.
Which of them this Roſe will ſerve.
Hum, hum, hum.
Bright Star o'th' lower Orbe, twinckeling Inviter,
Which draw'ſt (as well as eyes) but ſet'ſt men righter:
For who at thee begins▪ comes to the place,
Sooner then he that ſets out at the face:
Eyes are ſeducing lights, that the goodwomen know,
And hang out theſe a nearer way to ſhow.
Mar.
Fine, and patheticall:
Come Villanor.
Vill▪
What's the matter?
Mar.
Come, your liquor, and your ſtanza's.
Lines, Lines.
Villa.
Of what?
Mar.
Why, of any thing your Miſtris has given you.
Vil.
Gentlemen, ſhe never gave me any thing, but a boxe
Oth'eare, for offering to kiſſe her once.
Stra.
Of that boxe then
Mar.
I, I, that boxe, of that boxe.
Villa.
Since it muſt be,
Give me the poyſon then.— (Drinkes and ſpits.
That boxe faire Miſtris, which thou gaveſt to me,
In humane gueſſe, is like to coſt me three:
Three cups of Wine, and verſes ſixe,
The Wine will downe, but verſe for rime ſtill ſticks.
By which you all may eaſily Gentiles know,
I am a better drinker then a Po.— Enter Doran.
Mar.
Doran.
Doran.
Gra.
A hall, a hall
To welcome our friend
For ſome liquor call,
A new or freſh face,
Muſt not alter our pace,
But make us ſtill drinke the quicker:
Wine, Wine, oh'tis divine
Come fill it unto our brother:
What's at the tongues
•
nd,
It forth does ſend,
And will not a ſyllable ſmother Then,
It unlocks the breſt
And throwes out the reſt,
And learnes us to know each other.
Wine,—Wine.—
Dor.
Mad lads▪ have you been here ever ſince?
Stra.
Yes faith, thou ſeeſt the worſt of us.
We—debauch—in diſcipline:
Foure and twenty houres is the time:
Barruthen had the watch to night,
To morrow 'twill be at my Tent.
Dor.
Good,
And d' you know what has falne out to night?
Stra.
Yes:
Grainevert, and my Lievtenant Coronell:
But they are friends againe.
Dor.
Piſh, piſh—the young Palatine of Plocence,
And his grave guardian ſurpris'd too night,
Carri'd by the enemy out of his quarters.
G.
As a chicken by a Kite out of a back ſide,
Was't not ſo?
D.
Is that all?
G.
Yes.
My Coronell did not love him:
He eats ſweet meats upon a march too.
D.
Well, harke ye;
Worſe yet; Almerin's gone:
Forc'd the Court of Guard where he was priſoner,
And has made an eſcape.
G.
So pale and ſpiritleſſe a wretch,
Drew Priams curtaine in the dead of night,
And told him halfe his Troy was burnt—
He was of my minde. I would have done ſo my ſelfe.
D.
Well.
There's high ſuſpitions abroad:
Ye ſhall ſee ſtrange diſcoveries
I'th' Councell of Warre.
G.
What Councell?
D.
One call'd this morning.
Y' are all ſent to.
G.
I will put on cleane linnen, and ſpeake wiſely.
V.
'Sfoot wee'l have a Round firſt.
G.
By all meanes Sir.
Sings:
Come let the State ſtay,
And drinke away▪
There is no buſineſſe above it:
It warmes the cold braine,
Makes us ſpeake in high ſtraine,
Hee's a foole that doe's not approve it.
The Macedon youth
Left behind him this truth,
That nothing is done with much thinking;
He drunke, and he fought,
Till he had what he ſought,
The world was his owne by good drinking.
(Exeunt.
Enter Generall of the Rebels, Palatine of Trocke, Palatine of Menſecke, Francelia, Almerin, Morat, Iphigene.
G.
As your friend, my Lord, he has the priviledge of ours,
And may enjoy a liberty we would deny
To enemies.
A.
I thanke your Excellence; oh Iphigene,
He does not know,
That thou the nobler part of friendſhip hold'ſt,
And doe'ſt oblige, whilſt I can but acknowledge.
Men.
Opportunity to Stateſ-men, is as the juſt degree
Of heate to Chymiſts—it perfects all the worke,
And in this priſ'ner 'tis offer'd.
We now are there, where men ſhould ſtill begin;
To treate upon advantage.
The Palatine of Trocke, and Menſecke,
With Almerin, ſhall to the King;
Petitions ſhall be drawne,
Humble in forme, but ſuch for matter▪
As the bold Macedonian youth would ſend
To men he did deſpiſe for luxury.
The firſt begets opinion of the world,
Which looks not far, but on the outſide dwels:
Th' other inforces courage in our owne,
For bold demands muſt boldly be maintain'd.
Pal.
Let all goe on ſtill in the publique name,
But keep an eare open to particular offers;
Liberty and publique good are like great Oleos
Muſt have the uper end ſtill of our tables,
Though they are but for ſhew.
Fra.
Would I had ne're ſeen this ſhape, 't has poyſon in't,
Yet where dwells good, if ill inhabits there?
Min.
—Preſſe much religion,
For though we dreſſe the ſcruples for the multitude,
And for our ſelves reſerve th' advantages,
(It being much pretext) yet is it neceſſary;
For things of faith are ſo abſtruſe, and nice,
They will admit diſpute eternally:
So how ſo e're other demands appeare,
Theſe never can be prov'd unreaſonable;
The ſubject being of ſo fine a nature,
It not ſubmits it ſelfe to ſenſe, but ſcapes▪
The trials which conclude all common doubts.
Fra.
My Lord, you uſe me as ill Painters paint,
Who while they labour to make faces faire,
Neglect to make them like.
Iphi.
Madam, there is no ſhip wracke of your
Vertues neare, that you ſhould throw away
Any of all your excellencies
To ſave the deareſt, modeſty.
Gener.
If they proceed with us, we can retreat unto
Our expoſitions, and the peoples votes.
If they refuſe us wholy▪ then we plead,
The King's beſiedged, blockt up ſo ſtraightly
By ſome few, reliefe can find no way
To enter to the King, or to get out to us,
Exclaime againſt it loud,
Till the Polonians thinke it high injuſtice,
And wiſh us better yet.
Then eaſily do we riſe unto our ends.
And will become their envy through their pitty.
At worſt you may confirme our party there:
Increaſe it too: there is one Brennoralt,
Men call him Gallant, but a diſcontent:
My Coſen▪ the King hath uſ'd him ill.
Him a handſome whiſper will draw.
The afternoone ſhall perfect
What we have looſely now reſolv'd.—
Iphi.
If in diſcourſe of beauty,
(So large an Empire) I do wonder,
It will become your goodneſſe Madam,
To ſet me right.
And in a country where you your ſelfe is Queene,
Not ſuffer ſtrangers looſe themſelves.
Gener.
What, making revenges Palatine?
And taking priſoners faire Ladies hearts?
Iphi.
Yes my Lord.
And have no better fortune in this Warre,
Then in the other; for while I thinke to take,
I am ſurprized my ſelfe.
Fra.
Diſſembler, would thou wert.
M.
You are a Courtier my Lord;
The Palatine of Plocence,
(Almerin)
Will grace the Hymeneals;
And that they may be while his ſtay is here,
I'le court my Lo
•
d in abſence;
Take off for you the little ſtrangeneſſes
Virgins weare at firſt,— (Iphe ſounds.
Look to the Palatine.
Mer.
How is't my deareſt Ipheg
•
ne?
Iph.
Not well I would retire.
G.
A qualme.
Lo.
His colour ſtole away; ſanke downe,
As water in a weather-glaſſe
Preſt by a warme hand.
Menſ.
A cordiall of kind lookes,— (En
•
er a Trumpet blinded.
From the King.
M.
Let's withdraw,
And heare him.— Exit.
Enter Brennoralt, Doran, Raguelin.
Dor.
Yes to be married;
What are you mute now?
Bren.
Thou cam'ſt too haſtily upon me, pu
•••
So cloſe the colours to mine eye, I could
Not ſee. It is impoſſible.
[Dor.]
impoſſible?
If't were impoſſible, it ſhould be otherwiſe,
What can you imagine there of Conſtancy?
Where 'tis ſo much their nature to love change,
That when they ſay but what they are,
They excuſe themſelves for what they doe?
Bren.
She hardly knowes him yet, in ſuch an inſtant.
Dor.
Oh you know not how fire flies,
When it does catch light matter, woman.
B.
No more of that; She is
Yet the moſt precious thing in all my thoughts.
If it be ſo— (Studies.)
I am a loſt thing in the world Doran.
D.
How?
Bren.
Thou wilt in vaine perſwade me to be other
Life which to others is a Good that they
Enjoy, to me will be an evill, I
Shall ſuffer in—
Dor.
Looke on another face, that's preſent remedy.
Bren.
How ill thou doeſt conclude?
'Cauſe there are peſtilent ayres, which kill men ſuddenly
In health, muſt there be ſoveraigne as ſuddenly,
To cure in ſicknes? 't never was in nature▪
Exit, and
Enters againe haſtily.
Bren.
I was a foole to thinke, Death only kept
The doores of ill-pay'd love, when or diſdaine,
Or ſpite could let me out as well—
Dor.
Right; were I as you,
It ſhould no more trouble me
To free my ſelfe of love,
Then to ſpit out that which made me ſicke.
Bren.
I'le tell her ſo; that ſhe may laugh at me,
〈◊〉
at a priſoner threatning his Guard,
He will breake looſe, and ſo is made the faſter.
She hath charmes.— (Studies)
Doran can fetch in a rebellious heart,
〈◊〉
while it is conſpiring liberty.
—Oh ſhe hath all
The vertues of her ſexe, and not the vices,
Chaſte and unſullied, as firſt op'ning Lillies,
Or untouch'd buds—
Dor.
Chaſte? why! do you honour me,
Becauſe I throw my ſelfe not off a precipice?
'Tis her ruine to be otherwiſe;
Though we blame thoſe that kill themſelves (my Lord)
We praiſe not him that keeps himſelfe alive,
And deſerves nothing.
Bren.
And 'tis the leaſt.
She doe's triumph, when ſhe doe's but appeare:
I have as many Rivals as beholders.
Dor.
All that encreaſes but our jealouſies;
If you have now ſuch qualmes for that you havenot,
What will you have for that you ſhall poſſeſſe?
Bren.
—Dull haeritique;
Know I have theſe, becauſe I have not her:
When I have her, I ſhall have theſe no more.
Her fancy now, her vertue then will governe:
And as I uſe to watch with doubtfull eye,
The wavering needle in the beſt Sun-dyall,
Till it has ſetled, then the trouble's o're,
Becauſe I know when it is Fixt, it's True:
So here my doubts are all afore me. Sure,
Doran, crown'd Conquerours are but the types
Of Lovers, which enjoy, and really
Poſſeſſe, what th'other have in dreames. I'le ſend
A challenge to him.—
Dor.
Do, and be thought a mad-man.
To what purpoſe?
If ſhee love him, ſhee will but hate you more.
Lovers in favour (Brenkoralt) are Gameſters
In good fortune; the more you ſet them,
The more they get.
Bren.
I'le ſee her then this night, by Heaven I will▪
Dor.
Where? in the Cittadell?
Bren.
Know what▪ and why.—
Dor▪
He raves, Brennoralt?
Bren.
Let me alone.—
I conjure thee, by the diſcretion
Left betwixt us, (that's thine,
For mine's devour'd by injuries of fortune,)
Leave me to my ſelfe.
Dor.
I have done.
Bren.
Is there ſuch a paſſage,
As thou haſt told me of, into the Caſtle?
Rag.
There is my Lord.
Bren.
And dar'ſt thou let me in?
Rag.
If you my Lord will venture.
Bren.
There are no Centry's neare it.
Rag.
None.
Bren.
How to the chamber afterward?
Rag.
Her woman.
Bren.
What's ſhee?
Rag.
A wicket to my Ladies ſecrets,
One that ſtands up to marriage with me.
Bren.
There—upon thy life be ſecret.— (flings a purſe.
Rag.
Elſe,—All puniſhment to ingratitude.—
Bren.
Enough,
I am a ſtorme within till I am there,
Oh Doran!
That that, which is ſo pleaſant to behold,
Should be ſuch paine within!
Dor.
Poore Brennoralt!
Thou art the Martyr of a thouſand tyrants:
Love, Honour, and Ambition raigne by turnes,
And ſhew their power upon thee.
Bren.
Why, let them; I'm ſtill Brennoralt: "Ev'n Kings
"Themſelves, are by their ſervants rul'd ſometimes;
"Let their own ſlaves govern them at odde houres:
"Yet not ſubject their Perſons or their Powers.
Exeunt.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Enter Iphigene (as in a Garden)
Iphi.
WHat have I got by changing place?
But as a wretch which ventures to the Wars,
Seeking the miſery with paine abroad,
He found, but wiſely thought h'had left at home.
Fortune thou haſt no tyranny beyond
This uſage.— (Weepes
Would I had never hop't
Or had betimes diſpair'd, let never in
The gentle theife, or kept him but a gueſt,
Not made him Lord of all.
Tempeſts of wind thus (as my ſtormes of griefe
Carry my teares, which ſhould relieve my heart)
Have hurried to the thankeleſſe Ocean clouds
And ſhowers, that needed not at all the curteſie;
When the poore plaines have languiſh't for the want,
And almoſt burnt aſunder.—
I'le have this Statues place, and undertake
At my own charge to keepe the water full.— (Lies down.
Enter Francelia.
Fran.
Theſe fond impreſſions grow too ſtrong upon me,
They were at firſt without deſigne or end;
Like the firſt Elements, that know not what
And why they act, and yet produce ſtrange things;
Poore innocent deſires, journeying they know
Not whether: but now they promiſe to themſelves
Strange things, grow inſolent, threaten no reſt
Till they be ſatisfied.
What difference was between theſe Lords?
The one made love, as if he by aſſault
Would take my heart, ſo forc't it to defence;
While t'other blew it up with ſecret mines,
And leſt no place for it, here he is.—
Teares ſteale too from his eyes,
As if not daring to be knowne
To paſſe that way: make it good, cunning griefe
Thou knowſt thou couldſt not dreſſe thy ſelfe
In any other lookes, to make thee lovely. (ſpies Francelia)
Iphi.
Francelia
If through the ignorance of places,
I have intruded on your privacies,
Found out forbidden paths; 'tis fit you pardon, Madam:
For 'tis my melancholly, not I, offends.
Fran.
So great a melancholly would well become
Miſchances, ſuch as time could not repaire:
Thoſe of the warre, are but the petty cures
Of every comming hower.—
Iphi.
Why ſhould I not tell her all? ſince 'tis in her
To ſave my life; who knowes but ſhe may be
Gallant ſo far, as to undo her ſelfe
To make another happy?—Madam,
The accidents of war contribute leaſt
To my ſad thoughts, (if any ſuch I have)
—Impriſonment can never be—
Where the place holds what we muſt love, and yet—
Fran.
My Lord?
Iphi.
In this impriſonment.—
Fran.
Proceed my Lord:
Iphi.
I dare not Madam.
Fran.
I ſee I do diſturbe you, and enter upon ſecrets—
Which when I know, I cannot ſerve you in them.
Iphi.
Oh moſt of any
You are the cauſe of all.
Fran.
I my Lord?
Iphi.
You Madam—you alone.
Fran.
Alas! that 'tis too ſoone to underſtand.
Iphi.
Muſt not you marry Almerin?
Fran.
They tell me 'tis deſign'd.
Iphi.
If he have you, I am for ever loſt
Fran.
—Loſt?
The Heavens forbid they ſhould deſigne ſo ill!
Or when they ſhall, that I ſhould be the cauſe.
Iphi.
Ha! her eyes are ſtrangely kind,
Shee prompts me excellently,
Stars be propitious, and I am ſafe.
—A way I not expected.
Fran.
His paſſion labours for vent.
Iphi.
Is there a hope you will not give your ſelfe
To Almerin?
Fran.
My Lord this ayre is common,
The walkes within are pleaſanter.— (Exit.
Iphi.
—Invitation!
God of deſires, be kind, and fill me now
With language; ſuch thou lend'ſt thy Favourites,
When thou wouldſt give them eaſie victories:
And I forgive thee, all thy cruelties.— (Exit. after.
Enter Pallatine of Trock▪ Menſeck, Almerin, Brennoralt, Lords.
Menſ.
—Conſider too, that thoſe
Who are neceſſiated to uſe violence,
Have firſt been violent by neceſſity.
Pall.
—But ſtill you judge not right
"Of the Prerogative; "For oft it ſtands
"With Pow'r and Law, as with our Faith and Reaſon:
"It is not all againſt, that is above. (my Lord.)
2. Lord.
You Lithuanians had of all leaſt reaſon;
For would the King be unjuſt to you he cannot:
Where there's ſo little to be had.—
Almer.
Where there is leaſt, there's liberty (my Lord.)
And 'tis more injurie to pull haires
From the bald, then from the buſhy heads. (They go off talking▪ Trock puls Brennoralt.
Pall.
of Tro. Brennoralt—a word
My Lord, the world hath caſt its eye upon you,
And mark'd you out one of the formoſt men:
Y'have buſied fame the earelieſt of any,
And ſend her ſtill on errands.
Much of the bravery of your nation,
Has taken up it's lodging in you.
And gallant men but coppy from you.
Bren.
'Tis goodly language this, what would it meane?
Pall. of Tro.
The Lithuanians wiſh you well, and wonder
So much deſert ſhould be ſo ill rewarded.
Bren.
Good.
Pall.
While all the guifts the Crown is Miſtris of,
Are plac'd upon the empty—
Bren.
Still I take yon not.
P.
Then to be plaine; our Army would be proud of you:
Pay the neglected ſcores of merit double.
All that you hold here of command, and what
Your fortune in this Sigiſmund has ſuff er'd,
Repaire, and make it fairer then at firſt.
Bren.
How?
Then nothing, Lord; trifle below ill language:
How came it in thy heart to tempt my honour?
Pall.
My Lord?
Bren.
Do'ſt thinke 'cauſe I am angry
With the King and State ſometimes
I am fallen out with vertue, and my ſelfe?
Draw, draw, or by goodneſſe—
P
What meanes your Lordſhip?
Bren.
Draw I ſay.
—He that would thinke me a villaine, is one:
And I do weare this toy, to purge the world Ent. K of Pal. Lords, Melid. Mieſla.
Of ſuch. Th'have ſav'd thee, wert thou good natur'd
Thou wouldſt love the King the better during life.
K.
If they be juſt, they call for gracious anſwers:
Speedy, (how e're) we promiſe. (They all kiſle the Kings hand.
All.
Long live great Sigiſmond.
Bren.
—The Lithuanians Sir,
Are of the wilder ſort of creatures, muſt
Be rid with Cavilons, and with harſh curbs.
And ſince the war can only make them tride,
What can be uſed but ſwords? where men have fal'ne
From not reſpecting Royalty, unto
A liberty of offending it: what though
Their numbers (poſſibly) equall yours Sir?
And now forc't by neceſſity, like Catts
In narrow roomes, they fly up in your face?
Thinke you Rebellion and Loyalty
Are empty names? and that in Subjects hearts
They don't both give and take away the courage?
Shall we beleeve there is no difference
In good and bad? that there's no puniſhment,
Or no protection? forbid it Heaven!
If when great Polands honour, ſafety too,
Hangs in diſpute, we ſhould not draw our Swords,
Why were we ever taught to weare 'em Sir?
Mi.
This late commotion in your Kingdom Sir,
Is like a growing Wen upon the face,
Which as we cannot looke one but with trouble,
So take't away we cannot but with danger.
War there hath fouleſt fac
•
, and I moſt feare it
Where the pretence is fair'ſt. Religion
And Liberty, moſt ſpecious names,
•
hey urge;
Which like the Bils of ſubtle Mountebankes,
Fill'd with great promiſes of curing all,
—Though by the wiſe,
Paſſ'd by unread as common coſenage,
Yet, By th'unknowing multitude they're ſtill
Admir'd, and flock't unto.—
K.
Is there no way
To diſabuſe them?
[Melid]
All is now too late.
`The vulgar in Religion are like
"Unknown Lands; thoſe that firſt poſſeſſe them, have them▪
Then, Sir, conſider, juſtneſſe of Cauſe is nothing:
When things are riſen to the point they are;
'Tis either not examin'd or beleev'd
Among the Warlike.—
The better cauſe the Grecians had of Yore,
Yet were the Gods themſelves divided in't;
And the foule raviſher found as good protection
As the much injur'd husband.—
Nor are you Sir aſſur'd of all behinde you:
For though your Perſon in your Subjects hearts
Stands highly honour'd, and belov'd, yet are
There certaine Acts of State, which men call grievances
Abroad; and though they bare them in the times
Of peace, yet will they now perchance, ſeeke to
Be free, and throw them off. "For know Dread Sir,
"The Common People are much like the Sea,
"That ſuffers things to fall and ſinke unto
"The bottome in a Calme, which in a Storme
"Stird and inraged, it lifts, and does keep up
Then; Time diſtempers cures more ſafely Sir,
Then Phyſick does, or inſtant letting-bloud:
Religion now is a young Miſtris there,
For which each man will fight, and dye at leaſt;
Let it alone a while, and 'twill become
A kind of marry'd wife: people will be
Content to live with it in quietneſſe.
(If that at leaſt may be) my voyce is therefore Sir,
For Peace.—
Mieſ.
Were Sir the queſtion ſimply War or Peace,
It were no more then ſhortly to be askt,
Whether we would be well or ill:
Since War the ſickneſſe of the Kingdome is,
And Peace the health: But here I do conceive
'Twill rather lye, whether we had not better,
Endure ſharpe ſickneſſe for a time, to enjoy
A perfect ſtrength, then have it languiſh on us:
For Peace and War in an inceſtuous line,
Have ſtill begot each other.—
Thoſe men that highly now have broke all Lawes,
(The great one only 'tis 'twixt man and man)
What ſafety can they promiſe, though you give it?
Will they not ſtill ſuſpect, (and juſtly too)
That all thoſe civill bonds (new made) ſhould be
Broken againe to them? ſo being ſtill
In feares and jealouſies themſelves, they muſt
Infect the People: "For in ſuch a caſe
"The private ſafety is the publike trouble.
Nor will they ever want Praetext; "Since he
"That will maintaine it with his Sword hee's iniur'd,
"May ſay't at any time—
Then Sir, as terrible as war appeares,
My vote is for't; nor ſhall I ever care
How ugly my Phyſitians face ſhall be,
So he can doe the cure.
Lord.
In entring phiſique,
I thinke, Sir, none ſo much conſiders
The Doctors face, as his owne body.
To keep on foot the warre with all your wants,
Is to let bloud, and take ſtrong potions,
In dangerous ſickneſſe.
K.
I ſee, and wonder not to finde, my Lords,
This difference in opinion; the ſubject's large:
Nor can we there too much diſpute, where when
We erre, 'tis at a Kingdomes charges; Peace
And warre are in themſelves indifferent,
And time doth ſtamp them either good or bad:
But here the place is much conſiderable;
"Warre in our owne is like to too much heate
"Within, it makes the body ſicke; when in
"Another Countrey, 'tis but exerciſe;
"Conveighs that heat abroad, and gives it health.
To that I bend my thoughts; but leave it to
Our greater Councell, which we now aſſemble:
Meane time exchange of pris'ners only we
Aſſent unto—
Lord.
Nothing of Truce, Sir?
[K.]
No: wee'l not take up
Quiet at int'reſt: Perfect Peace, or nothing.
"Ceſſations for ſhort times in warre, are like
"Small fits of health, in deſp'rate maladies:
"Which while the inſtant paine ſeemes to abate,
"Flatters into debauch and worſe eſtate.— Exeunt.
Enter Iphigene as leading to her chamber Francelia; Servants with lights; Morat, and another Souldier.
Iph.
I have not left my ſelfe a faire retreate,
And muſt be now the bleſt object
Of your love, or ſubject of your ſcorne.
Fran.
I feare ſome treacherie;
And that mine eyes have given intelligence.
Unleſſe you knew there would be weak defence,
You durſt not thinke of taking in a heart,
As ſoone as you ſet downe before it.
Iph.
Condemne my Love not of ſuch fond ambition,
It aymes not at a conqueſt,
But exchange, Francelia— (whiſper.
Mor.
They 're very great in this ſhort time.
Sol.
'Tis ever ſo:
Young and handſome
Have made acquaintances in nature:
So when they meet, they have the leſſe to doe.
It is for age or uglines to make approaches,
And keep a diſtance.
Iph.
When I ſhall ſee other perfection,
Which at the beſt will be but other vanity,
Not more, I ſhall not love it—
Fran.
'Tis ſtill one ſtep not to deſpaire, my Lord.
Exeunt Iphig. Fran. ſervants.
Morat.
Doeſt thinke he will fight?
Sold.
Troth it may be not:
Nature, in thoſe fine peeces, does as Painters;
Hangs out a pleaſant Excellence
That takes the eye, which is indeed,
But a courſe canvas in the naked truth,
Or ſome ſlight ſtuffe.
Morat.
I have a great minde to taſte him.
Sold.
Fy! a Priſoner?
Morat.
By this hand if I thought— Enter Iphig: waitingwoman comming after him.
He courted my Coronels Mrs in earneſt.
Wom.
My Lord, my Lord,
My Lady thinks the Geſſimine walks
Will be the finer, the freſhnes
f th' morning takes of the ſtrength
O' th' heate ſhe ſayes.
Iph.
'Tis well.
Mor.
Mewe—doe it ſo? I ſuſpect vildly,
Wee'l follow him, and ſee if he be
So farre quallified towards a ſouldier,
As to drinke a craſh in's chamber— (Raguelin puls the waiting woman backe.
R.
Where are thoſe keyes?
Wom.
Harke you, I dare not doe it.
R.
How?
Wom.
My Lady will finde—
R.
Scruples?
Are my hopes become your feares?
There was no other way I ſhould be any thing
In this lewd world,—and now—
'Sfoot, I know ſhe longs to ſee him too.
Wom.
Does ſhe?
R.
Doe you thinke he would deſire it elſe?
Wom.
I, but—
R.
Why, let me ſecure it all.
I'le ſay I found the Keyes, or ſtole them: Come—
Wom.
Well, if you ruine all now—
Here, theſe enter the garden from the works,
That the privy walks and that the backe ſtaires.
Then you know my chamber.
R.
Yes I know your chamber.— Exeunt
Enter Brennoralt.
Bren.
He comes not.
One wiſe thought more▪ and I returne:
I cannot in this act ſeperate the fooliſh
From the bold ſo farre, but ſtill it taſts a' th, raſh.
Why let it taſte, it taſts of love too;
And to all actions 't gives a pretty relliſh, that.
Enter Raguelin.
Rag.
My Lord?
Bren.
Oh—here.
Rag.
'Sfoot y' are upon our Centries.
Move on this hand.— Exeunt.
Enter (agen) Bren. and Rague.
Bren.
Where are we now?
Ra.
Entring part of the Fort,
Your Lordſhip muſt be wet a little.— Exeunt.
Enter (againe.)
Bren.
Why are there here no guards?
Ra.
There needs none:
You preſently muſt paſſe a place,
Where one's an Army in defence,
It is ſo ſteep and ſtrait.
Bren.
'Tis well.
Ra.
Theſe are the ſteps of danger;
Looke to your way my Lord.
Bren.
I doe not find ſuch difficulty.
Francelia (as in a bed.)
Bren.
Waite me here abouts— (he drawes the curtaines.
So Miſers looke upon their gold,
Which while they joy to ſee, they feare to looſe:
The pleaſure of the ſight ſcarſe equalling,
The jealouſie of being diſpoſſeſt by others;
Her face is like the milky way i'th' skie,
A meeting of gentle lights without name.
Heavens! ſhall this freſh ornament
Of the world; this precious lovelines
Paſſe with other common things
Amongſt the waſts of time, what pity 't were. (She wakes.
Franc.
Bleſſe me!
Is it a Viſion, or Brennoralt?
Bren.
Brennoralt, Lady.
Franc.
Brennoralt? innocence guard me;
What is 't you have done my Lord?
Bren.
Alas I were in too good eſtate,
If I knew what I did.
But why aske you Madam?
Fran.
It much amazes me to thinke
How you came hither.
And what could bring you to indanger thus
My honour, and your owne life?
Nothing but ſaving of my brother
Could make me now preſerve you.
Bren.
Reproach me not the follies, you your ſelfe▪
Make me commit—
I am reduc'd to ſuch extremity,
That love himſelfe (high tyrant as he is)
If he could ſee would pity me.
Fran.
I underſtand you not.
Bren.
Would heaven you did, for 't is a paine to tell you:
I come t'accuſe you of injuſtice (Madam)
You firſt begot my paſſion, and was
Content (at leaſt you ſeem'd ſo) it ſhould live;
Yet ſince would ne're contribute unto it,
Not looke upon 't, as if you had deſired,
Its being for no other end; but for
The pleaſure of its ruine—
Fran.
Why doe you labour thus to make me guilty of
An injury to you, which when it is one,
All mankinde is alike ingag'd, and muſt
Have quarrell to me?
Bren.
I have done ill; you chide me juſtly (Madam)
I'le lay 't not on you, but on my wretched ſelfe.
For I am taught that heavenly bodies
Are not malicious in their influence,
But by the diſpoſition of the ſubject.
They tell me you muſt marry Almerin:
Sure ſuch excellence ought to be
The recompence of vertue;
Not the ſacrifice of Parents wiſedome,
Should it not Madam?
Fran.
'Twould injure me, were it thought otherwiſe.
Br.
And ſhall he have you then that knew you yeſterday?
Is there in martyrdome no juſter way?
But he that holds a finger in the fire
A little time, ſhould have the Crowne from them
That have indur'd the flame with conſtancy?
Fran.
If the diſcovery will eaſe your thoughts
My Lord; know Almerin is as the man
I never ſaw.
[Bren.]
You doe not marry then?
Condemned men thus heare, and thus receive
Repreeves. One queſtion more, and I am gone.
Is there to latitude of eternity
A hope for Brennoralt?
Fran.
My Lord?
Bren.
Have I a place at all,
When you doe thinke of men?
Fran.
My Lord, a high one,
I muſt be ſingular did I not value you:
The world does ſet great rates upon you,
And you have firſt deſerv'd them.
Bren.
Is this all?
Fran.
All.
Bren.
Oh be leſſe kinde, or kinder:
Give me more pity, or more cruelty, Francelia.
I cannot live with this, nor die—
Fran.
I feare my Lord,
You muſt not hope beyond it.
Bren.
Not hope? This, ſure, is not the body to (views himſelfe.
This ſoule; it was miſtaken, ſhufled in
Through haſte: Why (elſe) ſhould that have ſo much love,
And this want lovelineſſe, to make that love
Receiv'd?—I will raiſe honour to a point,
It never was—do things (ſtudies.
Of ſuch a vertuous greatneſſe ſhe ſhall love me.
She ſhall—I will deſerve her, though
I have her not: There's ſomething yet in that.
Madam, wilt pleaſe you, pardon my offence?
—(Oh Fates!
That I muſt call thus my affection!)
Fran.
I will doe any thing, ſo you will thinke
Of me, and of your ſelfe (my Lord) and how
Your ſtay indangers both—
[Bren.]
Alas!
Your pardon is more neceſſary to
My life, then life to me: but I am gone.
Bleſſings, ſuch as my wiſhes for you, in
Their extaſies, could never reach, fall on you.
May ev'ry thing contribute to preſerve
That exc'lence (my deſtruction) till't meet joyes
In love, great as the torments I have in't. Exit.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
Enter Brennoralt.
Bren.
VVHy ſo, 'tis well, Fortune I thanke thee ſtill,
I dare not call thee villaine neither.
'Twas plotted from the firſt,
That's certaine,—it looks that way?
Hum—caught in a trap?
Here's ſomething yet to truſt to— (To his ſword.
This was the entry, theſe the ſtaires:
But whether afterwards?
He that is ſure to periſh on the land,
May quit the nicetie of Card and Compaſſe:
And ſafe, to his diſcretion▪ put to Sea:
He ſhall have my hand to't. Exit.
Enter Raguelin, Orilla, (the waiting-woman.
Ra.
Looke:
By this light 'tis day.
Oril.
Not by this, by t' other 'tis indeed.
Ra.
Thou art ſuch another peece of temptation.
My Lord raves by this time,
A hundred to one the Centinells
Will diſcover us too,
Then I doe pay for night-watch.
Oril.
Fie upon thee,
Thou art as fearfull as a young colt;
Bogleſt at every thing, foole.
As if Lovers had conſidered houres: I'le peep in— (ſhe peeps
Ra.
I am as weary of this wench,
As if I were married to her:
She hangs upon me like an Ape upon a horſe—
She's as common too, as a Barbers glaſſe—
Conſcienc't too like a Dy-dapper.
Orilla.
—there's no body within:
My Lady ſleeps this houre at leaſt.
Ra.
Good, the Divel's even with me—
Not be an honeſt man neither— Enter Bren. & a guard.
What courſe now?
S.
Nay Sir, we ſhall order you now.
Bren.
Dogges.— Enter Freſolin.
Freſ.
What tumult's this—ha! Brennoralt! 'tis he
In ſpite of his diſguiſe: what makes he here?
Hee's loſt for ever if he be diſcover'd;
How now companions, why doe you uſe my friend thus?
S.
Your friend my Lord? if he be your friend
H'as us'd us as ill:
H' has plaid the Divell amongſt us.
Six of our men are Surgeons worke this moneth;
We found him climbing the walls.
2 S.
He had no word neither,
Nor any language but a blow.
Freſ.
You will be doing theſe wilde things (my Lord)
Good faith y' are too blame, if y' had deſir'd
To view the walls, or Trenches, 't was but
Speaking; we are not nice:
I would my ſelfe have waited on you:
Th' are the new out-workes you would ſee perchance.
Boy, bring me blacke Tempeſt round about,
And the gray Barbary; a Trumpet come along too;
My Lord, wee'l take the neerer way,
And privater, here through the Sally-Port.
Bre.
What a Divell is this? ſure I dreame— Exeunt.
S.
Now, you are ſo officious. (Manet Sold.
2 S.
Death! could I gueſſe he was a friend?
S.
'Twas ever to be thought,
How ſhould he come there elſe?
2 S.
Friend or no friend, he might have left us
Something to pay the Surgeon with:
Grant me that, or Ile beat you to't.— Exeunt.
Enter Freſolin, and Brennoralt.
Freſ.
Brennoralt—ſtart not:
I pay thee backe a life I owe thee;
And bleſſe my Starres, they gave me power to do't;
The debt lay heavy on me.
A horſe waits you there—a Trumpet too,
(Which you may keep, leaſt he ſhould prate)
No Ceremony, 'tis dangerous.
Bren.
Thou haſt aſtoniſh't me:
Thy youth hath triumph'd in one ſingle act,
O're all the age can boaſt; and I will ſtay
To tell thee ſo, were they now firing all
Their Cannons on me; farewell gallant Freſolin:
And may reward, great as thy vertue, crowne thee.
Exeunt diverſe wayes.
Enter Iphigene, Francelia.
Fran.
A peace will come,
And then you muſt be gone;
And whither when you once are got upon the wing,
You will not ſtoop to what ſhall riſe,
Before ye flye to ſome lure
With more temptation garniſht, is a ſad queſtion.
Iph.
Can you have doubts, and I not my feares?
By this—the readieſt and the ſweeteſt oath, I ſweare
I cannot ſo ſecure my ſelfe of you,
But in my abſence I ſhall be in paine.
I have caſt up what it will be to ſtand
The Governors anger; and which is more hard,
The love of Almerin.
I hold thee now but by thy owne free grant,
A ſlight ſecuritie, alas it may fall out,
Giving thy ſelfe, not knowing thine owne worth,
Or want of mine, thou mayſt, like Kings deceiv'd,
Reſume the gift on better knowledge backe.
Fran.
If I ſo eas'ly change, I was not worth your love,
And by the loſſe you 'l gaine.
Iph.
But when y'are irrecoverably gone▪
'Twill be ſlight comfort to perſwade my ſelfe
You had a fault, when all that fault muſt be
But want of love to me; and that agen
Finde in my much defect, ſo much excuſe,
That it will have no worſe name
Then diſcretion▪ if inconcern'd doe
Caſt it up—I muſt have more aſſurance.
Franc.
You have too much already:
And ſure my Lord you wonder, while I bluſh,
At ſuch a growth in young affections.
Iphi▪
Why ſhould I wonder (Madam.)
Love that from two breaſts ſucks,
Muſt of a child quickly become a Giant.
Dunces in love ſtay at the Alphabet,
Th' inſpir'd know all before;— Enter waiting woman.
And doe begin ſtill higher.
Woman.
Madam;
Almerin, returned, has ſent to kiſſe
Your hands. I told him you were buſie.
Franc.
Muſt I my Lord be buſy?
I may be civill though not kind.
Tell him I wait him in the Gallery.
Iphi.
May I not kiſſe your hand this night? (Whiſper)
Franc.
The world is full of jealous eyes my Lord:
And were they all lockt up; you are a ſpye
Once entred in my chamber at ſtrange houres.
Iphi.
The vertue of Francelia is too ſafe,
To need thoſe little arts of preſervation.
Thus to divide our ſelves, is to diſtruſt our ſelves.
A Cherubin diſpatches not on earth
Th' affaires of heaven with greater innocence,
Then I will viſit; 'tis but to take a leave,
I begg.
Franc.
When you are going my Lord— Exeunt.
Enter Almerin, Morat.
Almer.
Piſh. Thou lieſt, thou lieſt.
I know he playes with woman kind, not loves it.
Thou art impertinent—
Mor.
'Tis the campe talke my Lord though.
Al.
The camp's an aſſe, let me hear no more on't
Exeunt (Talking.)
Enter Granivert. Villanor. Marinel.
Grani.
And ſhall we have peace?
I am no ſooner ſober, but the State is ſo too:
If't be thy will, a truce for a month only.
I long to refreſh my eyes; by this hand
They have been ſo tyr'd with looking upon faces
Of this country.
Villa.
And ſhall the Donazella
To whom we wiſh ſo well-a
Look Babies agen in our eyes-a?
Grani.
Ah—a ſprightly girle above fifteen
That melts when a man but takes her by the hand!
Eyes full, and quick; with breath
Sweet as double violets,
And wholeſome as dying leaves of Strawberries.
Thick ſilken eye-browes, high upon the fore-head;
And cheeks mingled with pale ſtreaks of red,
Such as the bluſhing morning never wore.—
Villa.
Oh my chops; my chops;
Grani.
With narrow mouth, ſmall teeth,
And lips ſwelling, as if ſhe pouted—
Villa.
Hold, hold, hold;
Grani.
Haire curling, and cover'd, like buds of Marioram,
Part tyed in negligence
Part looſely flowing—
Marin.
Tyrant! tyrant! tyrant!
Grani.
In pinck colour taffata petticoate.
Lac't ſmock-ſleeves dangling;
This viſion ſtolne from her own bed
And ruſtling in ones chamber—
Villa.
Oh good Granivert, good Granivert.
Grani.
With a waxe candle in her hand,
Looking as if ſhe had loſt her way;
At twelve at night.
Marm.
Oh any hower, any hower.
Grani.
Now I thinke on't, by this hand
Ile marry, and be long liv'd.
Villa,
Long liv'd? how?
Grain.
Oh, he that has a Wife, eats with an appetit
•
,
'Has a very good ſtomacke to't firſt:
This living at large is very deſtructive,
Variety is like rare ſawces; provokes too far,
And draws on ſurfets, more then th'other.
Enter Doran.
Dor.
So; is this a time to foole in?
G.
What's the matter?
Dor.
Draw out your choiſe men, and away to
Your Coronell immediately. There's worke
Towards my boyes, there's worke.
Grain,
Art in earneſt?
Dor.
By this light.
Grain.
There's ſomething in that yet.
This moiety Warre
Twilight,
Neither night nor day,
Pox upon it:
A ſtorme is worth a thouſand
Of your calme;
There's more variety in it. Exeunt.
Enter Almerin, Francelia, as talking earneſtly.
Alm.
Madam, that ſhewes the greatnes of my paſſion.
Fran.
The imperfection rather: Jealouſie's
No better ſigne of love (my Lord) then feavers are
Of Life; they ſhew there is a Being, though
Impair'd, and periſhing: and that, affection
But ſicke and in diſorder. I like 't not.
Your ſervant.— Exit.
Al.
So ſhort and ſowre? the change is viſible.
Enter Iphigene.
Iph.
Deare Almerin welcome, y' have been abſent long.
Alm.
Not very long.
Iph.
To me it hath appeared ſo;
What ſayes our Camp? am I not blamed there?
Alm.
They wonder—
Iph.
While we ſmile—
How have you found the King inclining?
Alm.
Well.
The Treaty is not broken, nor holds it.
Things are where they were;
'T has a kind of face of peace,
You my Lord may when you pleaſe returne.
Iph.
I Almerin?
Alm.
Yes my Lord, I'le give you an eſcape.
Iph.
'Tis leaſt in my deſires.
Alm.
Hum!
Iph.
Such priſons are beyond all liberty.
Alm.
Is't poſſible?
Iph.
Seemes it ſtrange to you?
Alm.
No, not at all.
What? you finde the Ladies kinde?
Iph.
Civill— (ſmiles.
A.
You make love well too they ſay (my Lord.)
Iph.
Paſſe my time.
Alm.
Addreſſe unto Francelia?
Iph.
Viſit her.
Al.
D' you know ſhe is my Miſtres, Pallatine?
Iph.
Ha?
Alm.
D' you know ſhe is my Miſtreſſe?
Iph.
I have been told ſo.
Alm.
And doe you court her then?
Iph.
Why?— (ſmiles.
If I ſaw the enemy firſt,
Would you not charge?
Alm.
He doe's allow it too▪ by Heaven:
Laughs at me too; thou filcher of a heart,
Falſe as thy title to Francelia.
Or as thy friendſhip: which with this I doe— (drawes.
Throw by—draw.
Iph
What doe you meane?
Alm.
I ſee the cunning now of all thy love,
And why thou cameſt ſo tamely kinde,
Suffering ſurpriſe▪ Draw.
Iph.
I will not draw, kill me;
And I ſhall have no trouble in my death,
Knowing 'tis your pleaſure:
As I ſhall ha ve no pleaſure in my life
Knowing it is your trouble.
Alm.
Oh poor—I lookt for this.
I knew th' wouldſt find 'twas eaſier to doe a wrong
Then juſtifie it—but—
Iphi.
I will not fight—heare me:
If I love you not more, then I love her;
If I doe love her more then for your ſake;
Heaven ſtrangely puniſh me.
Alm.
Take heed how thou doſt play with heaven.
Iphi.
By all that's juſt, and faire, and good,
By all that you hold deare, and men hold great;
I never had laſcivious thought, or ere
Did action that might call in doubt my love
To Almerin.
Alm.
That tongue can charme me into any thing;
I doe beleev't, prethee be wiſer then.
Give me no further cauſe of jealouſie,
Hurt not mine honour more, and I am well.
Iphi.
But well—Of all
Our paſſions, I wonder nature made
The worſt, foule jealouſie, her favorite.
And if it be not ſo, why took ſhe care
That every thing ſhould give the monſter Nouriſhment,
And left us nothing to deſtroy it with?
Alm.
Prethee no more, thou plead'ſt ſo cunningly
I feare I ſhall be made the guilty
And need thy pardon.
Iphi.
If you could read my heart you would.
I will be gone to morrow if that will ſatisfie. Indeed
I ſhall not reſt untill my innocence
Be made as plain as objects to the ſence.
Alm.
—Come;
You ſhall not goe, Ile think upon't no more.
"Diſtruſts ruine not friendſhip,
"But build it fairer then it was before—
Exeunt.
Enter Brennoralt: Captaines, Stratheman: Doran.
Bren.
No more but ten from every company;
For many hands are theeves, and rob the glory,
While they take their ſhare▪ how goes the night?
Stra.
Halfe ſpent my Lord.
We ſhall have ſtraight,
The Moones weaker light.
Bren.
'Tis time then, call in the officers.
Friends, if you were men that muſt be talkt
Into a courage, I had not choſen you;
Danger with its vizard, oft before this time
Y'have look'd upon▪ and out-fac'd it too;
We are to doe the trick agen, that's all.
Here—(drawes his ſword)
And yet we will not ſweare:
For he that ſhrinks in ſuch an action
Is damn'd without the help of perjury.
Doran; if from the virgin tow'r thou ſpieſt
A flame, ſuch as the Eaſt ſends forth about
The time the day ſhould break, goe tell the King
I hold the Caſtle for him; bid him come on
With all his force, and he ſhall find a victory
So cheap 'twill looſe the value. If I fall,
The world has loſt a thing it us'd not well;
And I, a thing I car'd not for; that world.
Stra.
Lead us on Coronell;
If we doe not fight like—
Bren.
No like.
Wee'l be our ſelves ſimilitude
And time ſhall ſay, when it would tell
That men did well, they fought like us.
ACT. V. SCEN. I.
Enter Agen.
Bren.
WHat made the ſtop?
One in's falling ſickneſſe had a fit
Which choak'd the paſſage; but all is well:
Softly, we are neere the place. Exeunt.
Alarum within, and fight, then enter Almerin (in his night-gowne.
Alm.
What noiſe is here to night?
Something on fire—what hoe,
Send to the Virgin-tower, there is diſorder—
Thereabouts. (Ent. Sould.
Sould.
All's loſt, all's loſt:
The enemie's upon the place of armes:
And is by this time Maſter of that,
And of the Tower.
Alm.
Thou lieſt.— (ſtrikes him.
Enter Mo
••
t.
Mor.
Save your ſelfe my Lord, and haſt unto the camp;
Ruine gets in on every ſide.
Alm.
There's ſomething in it when this fellow flies.
Villaines my armes, I'le ſee what Divell raignes.
Enter Iphigene, Francelia.
Iphi.
Looke, the day breakes.
Fran.
You thinke I'le be ſo kinde, as ſweare
It does not now. Indeed I will not—
Iph.
Will you not ſend me neither,
Your picture when y' are gone?
That when my eye is famiſht for a looke,
It may have where to feed,
And to the painted Feaſt invite my heart.
Fran.
Here, take this virgin-bracelet of my haire,
And if like other men thou ſhalt hereafter
Throw it with negligence,
'Mongſt the Records of thy weake female conqueſts,
Laugh at the kinde words, and myſticall contrivement.
If ſuch a time ſhall come,
Know I am ſighing then thy abſence Iphigene,
And weeping o're the falſe but pleaſing Image.
Enter Almerin.
Alm.
Francelia, Francelia,
Riſe, riſe, and ſave thy ſelfe the enemy
That does not know thy worth, may elſe deſtroy it.
(throwes open the dore.
Ha! mine eyes grow ſick.
A plague has, through them, ſtolne into my heart;
And I grow dizzie: feet, lead me off agen,
Without the knowledge of my body.
I ſhall act I know not what elſe— Exit.
Franc.
How came he in?
Deare Iphigene we are betrayd;
Lets raiſe the Caſtle leſt he ſhould return.
Iph.
That were to make all publique.
Feare not▪ Ile ſatisfie his anger:
I can doe it.
Franc.
Yes, with ſome quarrell;
And bring my honour, and my love in danger— Enter Almerin
Look he returns, and wrecks of fury,
Like hurried clouds over the face of heaven,
Before a tempeſt, in his looks appeares.
Alm.
If they would queſtion what our Rage doth act
And make it ſin, they would not thus provoke men.
—I am too tame.
For if they live I ſhall be pointed at,
Here I denounce a warre to all the world,
And thus begin it—(runs at Iphigene)
Iphi.
What haſt thou done—(falls)
Franc.
Ah me, help, help.— (wounds Francelia)
Iphi.
Hold.
Alm.
'Tis too late.
Iphi.
Rather then ſhe ſhall ſuffer,
My fond deceits involve the innocent;
I will diſcover all.
Alm.
Ha!—what will he diſcover?
Iphi.
That which ſhall make thee curſe
The blindneſſe of thy rage.— I am a woman.
Alm.
Ha, ha, ha, brave and bold!
Becauſe thy perjury deceived me once,
And ſaved thy life, thou thinkeſt to eſcape agen.
Impoſtor, thus thou ſhalt.— (runs at him.
Iphi.
Oh hold—I have enough.
Had I hope of life, thou ſhouldſt not have this ſecret.
Franc.
What will it be now?
Iphi.
—My father having long deſir'd
A ſonne to heire his great poſſeſſions.
And in ſix births ſucceſſively deceiv'd,
Made a raſh vow; oh how raſh vowes are puniſhed!
That if the burthen then my mother went with
Prov'd not a male, he ne're would know her more.
Then was unhappy Iphigene brought forth,
And by the womens kindneſſe nam'd a boy;
And ſince ſo bred: (a cruell pity as
It hath faln out.) If now thou findſt that, which
Thou thoughtſt a friendſhip in me, Love; forget it.
It was my joy,—and—death.— (faints.
Alm.
—For curioſity
Ile ſave thee, if I can, and know the end
If't be but loſſe of Blood,—Breaſts!
By all that's good a woman!—Iphigene.
Iphi.
I thank thee, for I was falne aſleep, before
I had diſpatcht. Sweeteſt of all thy ſexe,
Francelia, forgive me now; my love
Vnto this man, and feare to looſe him, taught me,
A fatall cunning, made me court you,—and
My owne Deſtruction.
[Franc.]
I am amaz'd.
Alm.
And can it be? Oh mockery of heaven!
To let me ſee what my ſoule often wiſht
And mak't my puniſhment, a puniſhment,
That were I old in ſinnes, were yet too great.
Iphi.
Would you have lov'd me then? Pray ſay you would:
For I like teſtie ſickmen at their death,
Would know no newes but health from the Phyſitian.
Alm.
Canſt thou doubt that?
That haſt ſo often ſeen me extaſ
•
'd,
When thou wert dreſt like woman
Vnwilling ever to beleeve thee man?
Iph.
I have enough.
Alm.
Heavens!
What thing ſhall I appeare unto the world!
Here might my ignorance find ſome excuſe.
—But, there,
I was diſtracted. None but one enrag'd
With anger to a ſavadgeneſſe, would ere
Have drawne a ſword upon ſuch gentle ſweetneſſe.
Be kind, and kill me; kill me one of you:
Kill me if 't be but to preſerve my wits.
Deare Iphigene, take thy revenge, it will
Not misbecome thy ſexe at all; for 'tis
An act of pity not of cruelty:
Thus to diſpatch a miſerable man.
Franc.
And thou wouldſt be more miſerable yet,
While like a Bird made priſoner by it ſelfe,
Thou bat'ſt and beat'ſt thy ſelf 'gainſt every thing,
And doſt paſſe by, that which ſhould let thee out.
Alm.
—Is it my fault?
Or heav'ns? Fortune, when ſhe would play upon me,
Like ill Muſitians, wound me up ſo high,
That I muſt crack ſooner then move in tune.
Franc.
Still you rave,
While we for want of preſent help may periſh.
Alm.
Right.
A Surgeon, Ile goe find one inſtantly.
The enemy too—I had forgot—
Oh what fatality govern'd this night.
Exit.
Franc.
How like an unthrifts caſe will mine be now?
For all the wealth he looſes ſhifts but 's place;
And ſtill the world enjoyes it: ſo will't you,
Sweet Iphigene, though I poſſeſſe you not.
Iphi.
What excellence of Nature's this! have you
So perfectly forgiv'n already, as to
Conſider me a loſſe? I doubt which Sexe
I ſhall be happier in. Climates of Friendſhip
Are not leſſe pleaſant, 'cauſe they are leſſe ſcortching,
Then thoſe of Love; and under them wee'l live:
Such pretious links of that wee'l tye our ſouls
Together with, that the chaines of the other.
Shall be groſſe fetters to it.
[Franc.]
But I feare
I cannot ſtay the making. Oh would you
Had never un-deceiv'd me, for I'had dy'd with
Pleaſure, beleeving I had been your Martyr.
Now—
Iphi.
Shee looks pale. Francelia—
Franc.
—I cannot ſtay;
A haſty ſummons hurries me away:
And—gives—no— (dies)
Iphi.
—Shee's gone:
Shee's gone. Life like a Dials hand hath ſtolne A
•
oyſe within. Enter ſouldiers. Shee thinke
•
them Almer.
From the faire figure e're it was perceiv'd.
What will become of me?—Too late, too late
Y' are come: you may perſwade wild birds, that wing
The aire, into a Cage, as ſoon as call
Her wandring ſpirits back.—ha!
Thoſe are ſtrange faces; there's a horrour in them:
And if I ſtay, I ſhall be taken for
The murtherer. O in what ſtreights they move
That wander 'twixt death, feares and hopes of love.
Exit.
Enter Brennoralt. Granivert. Souldiers.
Bren.
Forbeare, upon your lives, the place:
There dwels divinity within it▪ All elſe
The Caſtle holds, is lawfull prize;
Your valours wages. This I claime as mine,
Guard you the door—
Grani.
Coronell ſhall you uſe all the women your ſelfe?
Bren.
Away—'tis unſeaſonable— (drawes the curtain)
Awake fair Saint and bleſſe thy poore Idolator
Ha!—pale?—and cold?—dead.
The ſweeteſt gueſt fled, murdered by heaven;
The purple ſtreams not drye yet.
Some villaine has broke in before me,
Rob'd all my hopes; but I will find him out,
And kick his ſoule to hell—Ile doe 't— dragging out Iphigene.
Speak.
Iphi.
What ſhould I ſay?
Bren.
Speak or by all—
Iph.
Alas, I doe confeſſe my ſelfe the unfortunate cauſe.
Bren.
Oh d' you ſo?
Hadſt thou been cauſe of all the plagues
That vexe mankinde, th' adſt been an Innocent
To what thou art; thou ſhalt not think repentance. (kils her.
Iph.
Oh, thou wert too ſuddaine.
And— (dies.
Bren.
Was I ſo?
The luſtfull youth would ſure have ſpoil'd her honour;
Which finding highly garded, rage, and feare
To be reveal'd, counſell'd this villany.
Is there no more of them? Exit.
Enter Almerin.
Alm.
Not enter?
Yes dogge, through thee—ha! a courſe laid out
In ſtead of Iphigene: Francelia dead too?— (Enter Bren.
Where ſhall I begin to curſe?
Bren.
Here—If he were thy friend.
Alm.
Brennoralt;
A gallant ſword could ne're have come
In better time.
Bren.
I have a good one for thee,
If that will ſerve the turne.
Alm.
I long to trie it,
That ſight doth make me deſperate;
Sicke of my ſelfe and the world.
Bren.
Didſt value him?
A greater villaine did I never kill.
Alm.
Kill?
Bren.
Yes.
Alm.
Art ſure of it?
Bren.
May be I doe not wake.
Alm.
Th' aſt taken then a guilt off from me,
Would have waigh'd downe my ſword,
Weakned me to low reſiſtance.
I ſhould have made no ſports, hadſt thou conceal'd it.
Know Brennoralt thy ſword is ſtain'd in excellence,
Great as the world could boaſt.—
Bren.
Ha—ha—how thou art abus'd?
Looke there, there lies the excellence
Thou ſpeak'ſt of▪ murdred; by him too;
He did confeſſe he was the cauſe.
Alm.
Oh Innocence, ill underſtood, and much worſe us'd!
She was alas by accident, but I,
I was the cauſe indeed
Bre.
I will beleeve thee too, and kill thee—
Deſtroy all cauſes till I make a ſtop
In nature; for to what purpoſe ſhould ſhe
Worke agen?
Alm.
Bravely then,
The title of a Kingdome is a trifle
To our quarrell Sir; know by ſad miſtake
I kill'd thy Miſtres Brennoralt,
And thou kild'ſt mine.
Bren.
Thine?
Alm.
Yes, that Iphigene
Though ſhowne as man unto the world,
Was woman, excellent woman—
Bren.
I underſtand no riddles guard thee.— Fight and pauſe.
Alm.
O could they now looke downe,
And ſee how wee two ſtrive
Which firſt ſhould give revenge,
They would forgive us ſomething of the crime.
Hold prethee give me leave
To ſatisfie a curioſity—
I never kiſſed my Iphigene as woman.
Bren.
Thou motion'ſt well, nor have I taken leave (Riſing.
It keeps a ſweetneſſe yet—
As ſtills from Roſes, when the flowers are gone.
Alm.
Even ſo have two faint Pilgrims ſcorch't with heat
Vnto ſome neighbour fountaine ſtept aſide
Kneel'd firſt, then laid their warm lips to the Nymph
And from her coldneſſe took freſh life againe
As we doe now—
Bren.
Lets on our journy if thou art refreſht.
Alm.
Come and if there be a place reſerved
For heightned ſpirits better then other,
May that which wearies firſt of ours have it. Fight agood while Alm. fals.
Bren.
If I grow weary, laugh at me, that's all▪
Alm.
—Brave ſoules above which will
Be (ſure) inquiſitive for newes from earth
Shall get no other but that thou art Brave.
Enter King: Stratheman: Lords: Minſe.
Stra.
To preſerve ſome Ladies as we gueſt.
King.
Still gallant, Brennoralt, thy ſword not ſheath'd yet?
Buſie ſtill?—
Bren.
Revenging Sir
The fowleſt murder ever blaſted eares
Committed here by Almerin and Iphigene.
Alm.
Falſe, falſe; The firſt created purity
Was not more innocent then Iphigene.
Bren.
Lives he agen?
Alm.
Stay thou much wearied gueſt
Till I have thrown a truth amongſt them—
We ſhall look back elſe to poſterity.
King.
What ſayes he?
Lord.
Some thing concerning this he labours to
Diſcover.
Alm.
Know it was I that kild Francelia?
I alone—
Minſ.
O barbarous return of my civilities
Was it thy hand?
Alm.
Heare and forgive me Minſe
Entring this morning haſtily
With reſolution to preſerve
The faire Francelia. I found a theefe
Stealing the treaſure (as I thought)
Belongd to me. Wild in my mind
As ruin'd in my honour, in much miſtaken rage
I wounded both: then (oh) too late I found
My errour. Found Iphigene a woman
Acting ſtolne love, to make her own love ſafe
And all my jealouſies impoſſible
Whilſt I ran out to bring them cure;
Francelia dies; and Iphigene found here
I can no more— (dies)
King.
Moſt ſtrange and intricate.
Iphigene a woman?
Mel.
With this ſtory I am guiltily acquainted
The firſt concealments, ſince her love
And all the wayes to it I have bin truſted with:
But Sir my greife joyn'd with the inſtant buſines
Begges a deferrement.
King.
I am amaz'd till I doe heare it out.
—But ith' mean time,
Leaſt in theſe miſts merit ſhould looſe it ſelfe,
—Thoſe forfeitures
Of Trock and Menſeck and Brennoralt are thine.
Bren.
A Princely guilt! But Sir it comes too late.
Like Sun-beames on the blaſted bloſſomes, doe
Your favours fall: you ſhould have giv'n me this
When't might have rais'd me in mens thoughts, and made
Me equall to Francelia's love: I have
No end, ſince ſhee is not—
Back, to my private life I will returne.
"Cattell, though weary, can trudge homewards, after.
King.
This melancholy, time muſt cure: Come take
The bodies up, and lead the priſoners on,
Triumph and funerals muſt walke together,
Cipreſſe and Laurell twin'd make up one chaplet.
—For we have got
The day; but bought it at ſo deare a rate,
That victory it ſelfe's unfortunate.
Exeunt.
FINIS.