Thu. I must leave to live then. Why doe you say soe?

Cla. Cause it is [un]iust You should mispend affection on her Who is incapeable of it.

Thu. You'd faine wrest A new expence of complement from me: If you delight to heare your praise, Ile hire Some mercenary [poet][102] to comend In lofty verse your bewty.

Cla. You are merry: My humor is not specious; we must know A further distance.

Thu. Wherefore, pray? Our eyes are no more poysonous then they were.

Cla. Yes, they infect reciprocall.

Thu. This language Is not accustomd; pray, tell me how My presence is offensive, and Ile shun you[103] As I would doe my fate. You are not serious: My innocence assures me my deserts Can chalenge no such usage.

Cla. Tis confest; but we Are like thinne christall glasses that will crack By touching one another: I coniure thee By all our past love, from this parting minute Nere to behold me more. I dare not venter My frailty with thee.

Thu. What immodesty Has my demeaner uttred you should doubt Ravishing from me?

Cla. Thats not it, but cause I would not tempt my destinie: thy sight Would inflame marble, much more me whose heart Is prompt enough to fly into thy breast And leave mine empty. But 'tmust not remaine In that lone habitation, least a curse, A fearefull one, sease on mee.

Thu. Can there be Curses more horrid, incident to earth For its past Sinns, then would depend on you For such a bold presumption as your breatch Of faith would be.

Cla. Our tyrant fate has found Yet uninvented torments to expresse Our loyall soules. O, Thurston, thou wert never —Not when our mutuall freindships might have taught The constant turtles amity—more deare To me then now. I could, as well as then, Peruse love's dictats in thy amorous cheeks, Enioy the pressure of thy modest lipp; But Ime enioynd by powerfull menaces T'infring my wonted use and to disclaime My vowes to thee.

Thu. If this be possible, What will become of earth? men will no more Respect Society or strive to save Humanity alive: henceforth theyle seeke For lost fidelity on Caves or topps Of untrodd Rocks, and plight their trothes to beasts; Commix with them and generate a race Of creatures, though less rationall, yet more Indude with truth. O Clariana, can There be a motive able to convert This pretious Christall temple, built for purity And goodnes adoration, to a faine For Idoll falshoods worship? But I cannot Labour my wandring Judgment to beleife Thou speakst thy meaning. If I have not lovd With that essential perfectnes thy worth That man could doe, in charity declare My Ignorant defect, and Ile amend it With more then zealous industry.

Cla. Tis vaine: You may as easily penetrate the cloudes With a soft whisper, as my eares, then which Noe thunders deafer. Thurston, tis not cause I have in the intemperate heate of blood Given up my soule to a new choyce, that breeds This soddaine mutability: I will Preserve my affection as inviolate to you As Anchorites their vowes, and in my grave Interr my virgin glory. Teares will not Permitt more conference: fare you well; Ile keepe My passion up till I have none to weepe. [Exit.

Thu. Shees gon! What vapor which the flattring sunn Exhales to heaven as to create a starr, Yet throwst, a fading meteor, to the earth, Has falne like me? Divinity, that tells Us there are soules in women, Ile no more Credit thy dubious Theorems nor thinke Thy lawes astring us to preserve our faith. Let the nice Casuists, that dispute each clause Belongs to conscience with a[l]ternate sense, Dispense with breach of promise and prescribe Equivocacons to evade all oathes Without offending, or shees damnd.

Enter Lovell.

Lov. Well, Companion, at my friends Intreatie I am content to be reconsyld; but have a care, goe to, ha, oh ho, youle[104] ... more; why, goe to then ... pledge the companion ... heeres to thee: what, what!

Thu. Heres one perchance will satisfie me. Sir, your habit speaks yer understanding: Please you resolve me one thing which disturbes The quiet of my conscience.

Lov. Revenge may slumber but can never sleep: He that lets slip an Injury thats done Takes the next course to draw a greater on.

Thu. You counsell well. I pray, in all the volumes Your learning has perusd, did you ere find Any conclusion that allowd it lawfull To breake an oath?

Lov. If she neglect and throw[105] disgrace on thee, Fly't thou as much and be thy scorne as free.

Thu. An Oracle speakes in him; but, pray, tell me Ist lawfull then to breake an oath?

Lov. Though time prolongs, we cannot style it sloath: My vowes are firme; hees damd that breaks an oath.

Thu. Good, good, agen: but the oath I treat on, Is of another kind: tis to a woman.

Lov. It could not be her fault; there's a mistake in't.

Thu. None o'my life, theres none.

Lov. Let me see, let me see: No, twas not hers, twas Grimeses knavery.

Thu. Ha, whether did wild fancy lead my apprehension. He minds me not but is in disputation With his owne thoughts.

Lov. Wilt thou pledge me ii cuppes? Why, goe to and goe to, then. Ha to thee, ha, sirra Grimes! —When man gainst man conspire to doe evill, For what Society is a fitt!

Thu. The Devill. [Claps him on the shoulder.

Lov. Oh helpe, helpe![106] [Exit.

Enter Lady.

Lady. I hope, sir, Noe occasion offerd in my house Breedes your distast; I should be sorry if It be soe, and conceald from me.

Thu. Your goodnes Is to nice ore me; Ime exceeding well; Only some erring cogitations Trouble my braine a little.

Lady. Tis much pitty Distraction should have roome in you; I would Not for the love you beare my daughter, have you Be discont[ent]ed here.

Thu. And your daughter Repayes me kindly fort.

Lady. Surely her breeding Affords her better manners then to iniure A gent[leman] of your deservings?

Thu. Alas, she has not: Twas but an unkindness triviall Mong freinds not worth the nameing.

Lady. It was to much Wert but an ill looke. If I may so far, Without immodesty, entreat the knowledge Of what it was Ile chide her for't. Pray, sir,— We women are bold suitors; by your looke It is no meane perplexity her folly Has cast upon your temper,—pray, disclose it; And ift be anything the obedience She owes to me may countermand, she shall Repent her error.

Thu. Your humanity Would wrest a secret from me, though my life Consisted ith concealment: she has abolishd Her protestations to me, murdred vowes Which like the blood of Innocents will pull Cloudes of black vengeance on her, for no cause I can imagine but her humor; banishd Me her society and sight for ever.[107]

Lady. Tis above wonder: could I as well rule Her will as her exterior actions, She should not thus reject you; but I cannot Limitt her mind, compell her to affect Against her liking. If perswations may Reduse her, Ile endevour it.

Thu. Twilbe needles; I am resolvd to meet her in revolt, Hug infidelity with as strong a faith As she can possible; and if mans mallice Can passe a womans, my dispight shall winne Preheminence. I will inquire out one By nature framd in scorne of bewty, and In your perfidious daughters presence give her That heart which she reiected.

Lady. Twere pitty Your passion should undoe you; you may find Matches of noble quality: my daughter In worth's inferior to you, yet I doubt not But my perswasive oratorie may gaine you Her forfeited affection.

Thu. Let her reserve it For them who sue to inioy it; Ile conferr My fancy on a Negro new reclaim'd From prostitution; sacrifice my youth To bedridd age, ere reinthrall my heart To her insulting bewty.

Lady. Twould be a maime to your discretion To abjure a certaine and a pleasing good For an uncertaine harme you would impose In malice on another. Yo'are a man In whome the glorious soule of goodnes moves With such a spacious posture that no woman, But such a squemish baby as my daughter, Would be most fortunate to enrich their choyse With one so much deserving.

Thu. He experience Your affirmation: could you love me?

Lady. What I spoake was a contingent supposition What others might doe, but not argument I meant to love you.

Thu. But I know you will; I see a pleasing augury in your looks Presages mercy; and those eyes, whose lustre The light (that scornes privation) cannot equall, Darts beames of comfort on me.

Lady. Twould be rare Could you perswade me to't, I can find No such propension in my selfe; beware Least in this wildnes you ingage your heart To one cannot accept it.

Thun. Pish! Ime sure you will: humanity forbids Refusall of my affection, which shall be As constant as insep[a]rable heate To elementall fire.—I'me soddaine, lady, In my resolve, but firme as fate.

Lady. Surely, You are not well.

Thu. You are deceivd; I am Exceeding well yett; all my faculties Retaine their wonted motion; but Ime like A new recoverd patient, whose relapse Admitts no helpe of phisick: in your love Consists my hope, futurity of health; And you have too much charity to suffer Perdition overwhelme me.

Lady. Your confidence Workes much uppon my lenity; but twould Occasion scandall; every one would judge I did supplant my daughter, should I yeild To your desines.

Thu. Let the censorious world Fright those with harelipd Calumnie whose guilt Merritts detraction; your pure innocence No feind dares vitiatt.

Lady. You have prevaild.

Thu. Ile take you at your word, a holy kisse Shall seale the contract. [kisse. Avaunt! stand of! she has poysond me, her lips Are sault as sulpher, and her breath infects, Noe scorpions like it.

Lady. What ayles you, Sir?

Thu. Ha, ha, ha! Those who imagine such prodigious mischiefes Should be more cunning then to be ore reacht By puisne[108] cosnage; Have you no more judgement Then to beleive I lov'd you.

Lady. Doe you not love me then?

Thu. Can a man Robd of a Jewell deare to him as breath Affect the theife, O murdresse?—for that title Best suites thy impious quality, since thy curse, Thy cruell curse, imposd uppon my love, Has massacred two of the faithfulst hearts Affection ere united. Though your lust Desir'd smooth youth to sate it, piety Might have reclamd you for attempting me, Your daughter's interest.—Ile not rayle Cause tis unman[ner]ly,[109] untill you find What 'tis to cause true lovers prove unkind. [Exit.

Enter Alexan.

Lady. Was I a sleepe? What transitory dreame Deceivd my sense? did I not here my love Protest affection? no, it was some feind Vested in his mortallity, whome hell Sent to abuse my weaknes.

Lov. She has bin sure tormented with that furie which cla[pt] me on my shoulder. She talkes of Hell, love and affection. Ha, goe to and goe to! the old Knight my Mrs. Goast, I hope does not haunt the house.

Lady. Twas he, Ime certaine on't; I felt his lips, And they were flesh; they breath'd on mine a warmth Temperate as westerne kisses which the morne Weaps liquid drops to purchase. This confirmes It was no apparition that contemnd My willingnes, but he, his reall selfe, Mockt my integrity: he must not passe soe, To blase abroad my infamy.

Lov. Madam, feare nothing, be not troubled; the Goast meant no harme to you, uppon my life he did not; Goe to and goe to, I say and I sayt, he did not. He did appeare to me—your love, your husband, my old Mr.—here, clapt me on the shoulder, as his old custome was still when he usd to talke with me familiarly.

Lady. But, Sirrah, what familiarity Have you with any of my privasies? Sausie groome, practise your ancient duty.

Enter Young Mar.

Y. M. What meanes this fury, Madam?

Lady. O, deare boy, What haplesse fate exposd thee to the veiw Of this [sic] sad mothers sorrowes? but I charge thee, As thou respects thy duty, not to question The cause of my distemper; my iust feares Prohibits thee the knowledge of it.

Lov. Why, Sir, she has seene the Divell.

Lady. Ha!

Lov. Nay, Madam, I have don; they say the Divell has no power ore a Drunkard; once more Ile run the hazard.

Y. M. Whoe, what is he? speake, For heavens sake, speake: were he defensd with clouds Or circled with unsteadfast boggs, my rage Should cut a passage to him.

Lady. Thou strait will grow More passionate then I: goe to your chamber, Ile but dispatch these gentlemen. [Exit Mar.

_Enter Sir Geffery, Crackby, [Suc]ett [and Bun]ch.

Sir Gef. O here she is.—Lady, I and my Nephew, being your good neighbors and of the worshipfull, I of the Country, he of the Cittie, have long desird a match with your daughters, but they are coy, so childish, so unmannerly; I know not how to terme them: they dispise who worship offers them, they may[110] hereafter doe worse and have worse, madam.

Crac. My uncle tells your ladiship the truth: We are noe peasants[111] or unhonorable To be affronted with indignities.

Suc. Here are men that has seene service.

Bunch. At a mustring or ith Artillery[112] garden.

Lady. 'Twas past my pleasure, good Sir Geffery, you have had such harch entertainement from them: henceforth Ile lay my charge upon them to be more tractable.—Mr. Alexander, goe call my daughters hither.

Lov. She turnes againe.—I shall with all celerity wish them to approach. [Exit.

Sir Gef. Certainly, Madam, I can see no cause Wherefore at first you might not, without putting My Knighthood to this trouble, have matched with me Your selfe; it had been somewhat fitter.

Enter Belisea and Clariana.

Bel. Are these fooles here?

Lady. Minions you might have expresd more kindnes In your behaviour to these Gent[lemen] Whom my strict caire provided for your husbands.

Bel. I hope they cannot blame us, we have usd them With that respect our modesties allowd.

Lady. Your peevish nicenes settle your affections To a more fayre demeaner towards their worth, Or you shall seeke a Mother and a portion.

Crac. Nay, if you take away their portions, Ile Meddle no further with them.

Lady. You both heare My not to be revoaked intention Respect this knight and his nephew in the way Of marriage, or I shall take another order with you. [Exit.

Cla. Was it you, good knight of the ill favord Countenance, Who procurd us these loving admonitions?

Sir Gef. Nay, and you begin agen, Ile call your Ladie Mother.

Suc. I do protest unto you, beauteous Lady, You do not cast a favorable aspect.

Bel. I am no Plannet.

Crac. Captaine, you doe me palpable affront: She is the election of my understanding.

Sir Geff. Retort not so abstrusly.—Will you disdain The good of honour, condiscend to me And youthfull write me, lady, in your stile, And to each thread of thy sun-daseling h[air] Ile hang a pearle as orient as the gemmes The eastern Queenes doe boast of. When thou walk[st], The country lasses, crownd with gorgeous flo[w]res, Shall fill each path and dance their rural jigs In honour of this bewty.

Cla. Hey day, where did you borrow this? Sir, youle beg[one]: I feele the fitt a coming; I shall rayle instantly.

Crac. Baffeld before my Mrs? Death to fame! Captaine, good Captaine.

Suc. Pish, I doe but drill her For you, friend; you shall have her, say your Captaine Sayes it, whose words doe ventilate destruction To all who do oppugn what they designe.

Sir Gef. Come, you shall love me.

Cla. I cannot choose: goe, get you home, antiquity; thinke [of] heaven, say thy prayers often for thy old sinns and let [thy] maid diett thee with warme broathes least some cold appoplexis sease thee before thou art prepard.

Sir Gef. Madam! madam! shees in her old fitt!

Cla. Call her, I care not if she heare me, I councell better than your physician: every night drinke a good cup of muscadine,[113]—you will not have moysture left to ingender spitle to cleanse thy mouth ith morning. Goe, set thy feath[er] right, good mooncalfe[114]: you have your answeare.

Sir Gef, Contemne an old man and his feather, Bunch, Ile begon, B[unch].

[Exeunt Sir Gef. and Bunch.

Cla. Will you goe?—Sister, I have shakd mine off. What stayes this nifle[115] for?

Crac. Nay, call me what you will, she is my prise, And I will keepe her.—Captaine, to her Captaine.

Suc. You must not part thus, Mrs; here are men Has scapd—

Cla. The Gallowes.

Suc. Ile rigg you up; although you were a Carack I shall find tackling for you.

Bel. You are uncivill; pray, desist.

Crac. Not kisse a gentleman? a pretty ring this same: I have a mind to it and I must have it.

Bel. You will not robb me of it?

Suc. I will intreate this glove which shall adorne In fight my burgonett.

Cla. Some honest hostesse Ere this has made a chamber pot of it.

Crac. It is some rivalls ring and I will have it To weare in spight of him.

Bel. Helpe, Sister, helpe.

Enter Bonvill and Grimes.

Bon. She shall not neede. It is my ring the villaine desires soe importunatly: what untuterd slave art thou that darst inforce aught from this gentlewoman.

Crac. Whats that to you? you might have come before me.

Bel. What would you have don?

Crac. Entreated you againe to have come behind me.

Bel. O, my Bonvill, so happy a benefit no hand but thine could have administred. Thou save[d]st the Jewell I esteeme next to my honour,—the Ring thou gavest me.

Crac. Nay, if you have more right to her than I, takt I pray you:— would I were off with a faire broken pate.

Suc. Is your life hatefull to you?

Bon. Why doe you inquire, good puff past?

Suc. My blade Is of the Bilbo[116] mettle; at its splendor My foes does vanish.

Bon. Ile try that presently;—feare nothing, ladyes.

Suc. Death! now I thinke out, I did breake my blade this morning on foure that did waylay me: Ile goe fetch another, and then I am for you.

Crac. Take myne, Captaine.

Suc. Hold your peace, be wise: that fellow In the blew garment has a countenance Presages losse of limme if we encounter.— Ile meet you presently.

Bon. It shall not serve your turne yet: Ile not blunt My sword upon such stock fish. Grimes, bestow Thy timber on them.

Grimes. Come, sir. [beats them.

Suc. Take me without a weapon? this cudgell sure Is Crabb tree, it tasts so sourely. [Exeunt.

Bel. Oh, my Deare Bonvill.

Bon. Mistrisse, I sent an advocate to plead My guiltless cause: you, too[117] severe a Judge Forbad him audience; I am therefore come Once more to prove my innocence.

Cla. Come, without Ceremony Forgive you her and she shall pardon you Most willingly.

Bon. Can you have soe much mercy, You soe much goodnes?

Bel. Noe soule long tir'd with famine, whom kind death Has new enfranchisd from the loathed flesh, With happier expedition enters heaven Then mine thy bosome, Bonvill. Let our loves, Like plants that by their cutting downe shoot up, Straiter and taller flourish: we are now Inseperable.

Cla. Your good fates, though I Repine not at them, makes my unhappy fortunes Appeare farr more disastrous.

Bon. Whats thy misfortune?

Bel. Alas, my mother has crost her in her affection as she did us.

Bon. She shall Crosse ours no more. Belisia, if youle Be ruld by me you shall away with me; None but you sister shall be privy to it, And sheele keepe Councell.

Bel. Ile goe any whither To enjoy thy presence; theres no heaven without it.

Bon. You shalbe advertisd where she remaines, And certifie us how your mother takes it: When we are married we shall live to thanke you.

Cla. Will you leave me, then?

Bel. Prethee, poore heart, lament not; we shall meet, And all these stormes blowe over.

Cla. Your tempests past; mine now begins to rise But Ile allay its violence with my eyes.

Exeunt omnes.



Actus Quartus.

SCENE 1.

Enter Magdalen, Timothy and Alexander.

Ma. Run, good sweet Timothy; search the barnes, the stab[les], while I looke in the Chambers. Should she be lost or come to any harme my lady will hang us all. Why dost not fly?

Tim. Hey day, if her feet walke as fast as thy tongue, sh[e's] far enough ere this time. What a stir you make! Were you, as shee is, with your sweet heart, you would [be] pursud, would you? You would be hangd as soone. Al[as], good gentlewoman, heaven speed her!

Ma. You will not goe then?

Tim. No, indeed, will I not. Her mother may be angry if she please. The time has bin she would as willingly Bin at the sport her selfe as now her daughter. The ge[ntleman] shees gon with is a man, And see theres no harme d[one], I warrant you.

Lov. Ha, ha, gramercy, Timothy, thou hittst it right. Maudlin, goe to; should Tim here offer as much to you, ha, I beleave you would not lock your selfe up in my ladyes closett; goe to, and goe to.

[Exeunt.

Ma. Udsme, my lady!

Enter Lady.

Lady. Lost, past redemption! I pursue a fier Which like the giddy Meteors that seduce With their false light benighted travellers Allures me to distruction. To curse fate Were to allow I feard it, and admit Participation in me of that spiritt I most detest, a womans.

Lov. Please your good Ladyship.

Lady. Yes, that you depart.— [Exit Alexander. What can he see in her more worthy love Then is in me? shees but a picture drawne By my dimensions, and men sooner fancy The Substance then the Shaddow. Oh, but shee Is the true image not of what I am But what I was, when like the spring I wore My virgin roses on my cheeks.

Lov. Madam, you seeme—

Lady. Angry at your impertinency; learne manners, leave me.

Lov. She has coniurd downe my spirit: these are immodest devills that make modest ladyes become strickers[118]. Ile out oth storme, take shelter in the cellar. Goe to and goe to; tis better venter quarriling mongst those hogesheads. [Exit Alexander.

Enter Maudlin [and Timothy.]

Ma. Madam, your daughter—

Lady. Where is she? Who? Clariana?

Ma. The faire Belisea.

Enter Clariana.

Cla. Did you call me, madam.

Lady. Noe: were you soe neere? begon againe,— Yet stay.—Maudlin, avoid the Roome, and if you see Mr. Thurston, entreat him hither. Timothy, Find out my son and charge him to delay The execution of my late comaund Till I next speake with him. [Exeunt Mag. and Tim. Clariana, you did what I comanded?

Cla. Yes, on my Soule.

Lady. But thou art ignorant Why with such violence I inioyn[e]d thee To leave thy Thurstons love?

Cla. Were I not sure Theres nought in him that can be titled ill, I should have thought your circumspective Judgment Had spide some error in him, and in care Of me your child forbidden me his love. But whatsoer's the cause, though your comaund Was like perdition welcome, my obedience Fullfild it truly, without questioning The reason why or the unlimited power Of you my mother.

Lady. You did very well. Now thou shalt know the reason, which before I doe relate, afford me leave to weepe, To save thy teares, which at the hearing of it Will, like the dew on lillies, pearle thy cheekes. I have beheld thee with a Rivalls eye In Thurstons love; my penetrable heart, Like a moist cloud, has opened and receivd Loves fine bolt into it. Now thou knowst it, Methinks I see confusion in thy lookes Prepard to blast me.

Cla. Heaven forbid it I Should ere conceive the meanest thought of ill Of you, my parent. Since you love him, here To heaven and you I give my interest up And would I could as well commaund his heart As he might mine, beleive me you should then Affect you with as true and deare a zeale As ever I did him: I should be happie In making you soe.

Lady. Charitable girle, Forgive thy cruell mother, who must yet Impose a stronger penance on thy duty: Thou must go to thy Thurston, and obtaine His love.

Cla. A little labour will serve for that.

Lady. Not for thy selfe but for thy haplesse mother, Who am, without it, nothing. Woe him for me, Use the inchanting musicke of thy voice On my behalfe, who, though thy Rivall, yet Remember I'm thy mother; nor canst thou Consigne thy breath to a more holy use (Though thou shouldst spend it in religious prayers) Then to redeeme thy parent. Weepe for me, And in requitall for each drop thou shedst I'll pay to heaven a Hecatombe of teares For thy successe. But take good heede, deare child, While thou art weeping, thou dost not disclose That face of thine; for, were he mine by vow, Loves powerfull Retorick uttered [in?] thyne eyes Would winn from me.

Enter Thurston and Thorowgood.

Cla. Here comes the Gentleman.

Lady. Be earnest, Clariana, I shall heare you. [Exit.

Tho. Sir, you must iuistifie this.

Thu. Feare it not; yonder she goes; I'll tell her of it, sheele not denie it.

Cla. Mr. Thurston, whether do you walke soe fast?

Thu. O, Clarianna, are you there?

Cla. Nay, stay, I have a suite to you.

Thu. I would Be loth to offend your eyes; when we last met You chargd me never to behold you more.

Cla. I did indeed, but on mature advice I have reclaimd that imposition. You shall behold me dayly, talke with me, Doe all the acts that love with Innocence Can suffer, if youle but overrule your will To graunt me one request.

Thu. You wrong my faith In questioning my graunt of any thing You can desire wer't to undoe my selfe Or combate miseries as yet unheard of, You[r] least breath may expose me to them.

Cla. Nay, in this theres no danger; if there be A real happines on earth, this way You shall arrive to it.

Tho. He were unwise Would he not graunt it then.

Thu. Please you declare it.

Cla. There is a lady, Of such a perfect virtue, grace and sweetnes, That Nature was to all our sex beside A niggard, only bountiful to her; One whose harmonious bewtie may intitule All hearts its captive: yet she doats on you With such a masculine fancy that to love her Is duty in you.

Thu. It is herselfe, Ime sure.

Tho. It surely is no other.

Cla. No, tis one So farr transcending me, that twere a sinne Should I deprive you, the most perfect man, Of her, the perfectest woman. She will weepe Even at your name; breath miriads of sighes; Wring her hands thus; demonstrate all the signes Of a destracted lover; that in pitty, Though I did love you well, I have transferd My right to her, and charge you by all ties That you affect her with the same true zeale Which you did me, and ift be possible, Purer and better.

Tho. This is the strangest madnes I ere heard of.

Thu. Is it you, Clariana, that speake all this?

Cla. You know and heare it is.

Thu. But I doe scarce Credit my hearing, or conceive I am Mortall, for surely, had I bin, your words Like the decree of heaven had struck me dead. What strong temptation lay you on my faith! O, Clariana, let me but decline Passion, and tell you seriously that this Is cruel in you, first to scorne my love, Next to admitt a scruple of beleife, Though you can be perfidious to your selfe, That I can be soe. Noe; since you are lost, Ile like the solitary turtle mourne Cause I must live without you. But, pray, tell me What is she you would have me love?

Cla. My Mother.

Thu. Ha, your Mother!

Tho. Ist possible, lady? you much doe wrong Your innocence in laboring to enforce That upon him which is my interest. Heaven Smild at the contract twixt us; quiers of Saints Receivd our mutuall vowes, and though your Mother May in her passion seeme to have forgott Her pretious faith, yet when I shall awake Her sleeping reason with the memory Of that has past betwixt us, my strong hope Tells me I shall induce her to the spheare Which she has movd from.

Cla. Would heaven you could! How coldly in this cause Doe I perswade! when I would speake, my heart Checks its bold orator, my tongue, and tells it Tis traitorous to its Mr.—Noble Sir, [kneele I doe conceit you infinitly good, So pittiful that mercy is in you Even naturally superlative, (forgive me, If I offend) you doe in this transgresse Humanity, to let a lady love you Without requitall. But I must professe To heaven and you, that here Ile fix to earth, Weepe till I am a statue, but Ile gaine Your pitie for her: pray consider ont.

Thu. Consider ont? wonder has soe engrossd To its wild use all corners of my heart That there remaines scarce one poore concave left To hold consideration. I must either Love her I hate or see her whome I love Wilfully perish. See, shee kneeles and weeps, Prays as she meant to expiate all the sinns Earth ere committed. One of those pure drops Does (as my lives blood in a soddaine trance) Surround my heart. You have prevaild, arise: At your request I will performe an act, Which may no story hold least all who love Hereafter curse the president,—Ile love her. That deathfull word comes from my torturd soule As a consent doth from a timorous maid For an enforcing ravisher.

Tho. You are not mad, sir? what doe you meane?

Cla. I thanke you. But love her dearely, Thurston, sheele deserv't: I doe remember, when my Father livd, How he would praise her goodnes. Think on me As one that lovd you well, but neer like her; And, if you please, bestow each day a kisse Uppon her in my memory. Soe, farewell.— Sorrows flow high: one griefe succeed another; I die in piety to redeeme my Mother. [Exit.

Tho. But, harke you, sir, do you intend to love her.

Thu. Good sir, torment me not.

Enter Grimes.

Grimes. By your leave, gentlemen: good Mr. Thorowgood, a word or two in private.

Thu. Compeld to love my enemy! what man, That had but so much spiritt as a mule, Could suffer this! Lay nice prescriptions, Ambiguous bookmen, on submissive slaves; Affright with terror of a wilfull death Those whom black murders of inhumane sin Has living damnd; Ime yet in my owne heart White as a babe, as Innocent as light From any mortall guilt; and were my soule Drawn fro this mew[119] of flesh twould quickly streatch Like a swift Falkon her aspiring wings And soare at heaven. Nature instructs us Death Is due to all: how can't be then a Sinn To die, or he more guilty of offense That kills himselfe or [than?] he who in his bed Some shivoring ague murders? Ime resolvd; Ile rather chuse to immolate my life In Martirdome to virtue then reserve't Till it be staind with mischiefes.

Enter Lady.

Lady. How doe you, sir?

Thu. Oh, oh, my head, my head! Stand further of, good nightcrow: if thou comst As a presaging harbinger of death, Howlt in thy direfulst and most horrid notes, And t will be wellcome as choyse musick to me And Ile adore thee fort, with teares of ioy Make thy black feathers white.

Lady. Good sir, mistake me not, I am your friend.

Thu. I cry you mercy, lady; you are shee Whom I had vowd to love;—a wild conceite Had seasd my fancy. Pardon me, I must Proclaim to heaven and to the world a truth Which I should study to forget: you are A Creature so suparlatively bad That, were the earth as absolute from sinn As in its first creation, youre sole crimes Would pull a curse upon it. I should tell you The specialties wherein you're foule, but dare not Breath in the same ayre with you; I begin To feel infection:—fare you well. [Exit.

Lady. Contemnd againe! deprive me of the name And soule of woman! render me a scorne To the most base of our revengefull sex! If I beare this while there be knives or swords, Poyson or ought left to extinguish life That womans spleene can compasse— Alexander! within there!

Enter Alexander.

Goe to my sonn; inioyne him by all rights Of naturall duty to accomplish that Which in youre hearing I comanded him. Beare him this Jewell and this gold, that when Tis don he may escape; be carefull, As you expect my favour.

Alex. I shall inculcate your desires unto him. —Her favour! goe to, theres comfort. [Exit.

Enter Thorowgood.

Tho. Madam, theres one brings a sad message to you.

Lady. From whome, I pray you.

Tho. From two friends of yours Your cruelty has murdred,

Lady. My cruelty Never extended to that horrid height, Not to my foes. Who are they?

Tho. Your daughter, The innocent Belisia, and my friend, Her worthy suiter, Bonvill.

Lady. Your freind and my daughter dead and by my meanes! This cannot be; my daughters sure in the house. Good sir, unfould this ridle, it begetts Wonder and terror in me.

Tho. Madam, you know with what a cruel messuage You sent me to my friend, which provd as false As your faire daughter virtuous. Why you did it I will not question, nor upbraid you with This violation of your faith.

Lady. This story Conduces nothing to the deathes you talkd of.

Tho. Yes, since then A iust mistrust that you would crosse their match Causd them last night privatly to steale hence With an intention to have reacht the house Where Bonvills mother lives; but see the fates How they dispose of men! crossing the River That runns beneath your orchard, and ith darke, Their headstrong horses missing the ford overthrew them And, which I cannot without true griefe utter, There drownd them both. Was it not soe, Grimes?

Grimes. Tis too sad a truth; and I, After all meanes to save their life was past, Lookd to my owne and got the shore: their bodies I feare the violence of the tide has carried Into the Sea by this time.

Lady. Enough, good friend; no more. Had a rude Scythian, ignorant of teares, Unlesse the wind enforcd them from his eyes, Heard this relation, sure he would have wept; And yet I cannot. I have lost all sense Of pitty with my womanhood, and now That once essentiall Mistress of my soule, Warme charity, no more inflames my brest Than does the glowewormes ineffectual fire The ha[n]d that touches it. Good sir, desist The agravation of your sad report; [Weepe Ive to much greife already.

Tho. It becomes you: You do appeare more glorious in these t[ears] Then the red morne when she adornes her cheeks With Nabathean pearls: in such a posture Stand Phaetons sisters when they doe distill Their much prisd amber. Madam, but resume Your banishd reason to you, and consider How many Iliads of preposterous mischeife From your intemperate breach of faith to me Fetch their loathed essence; thinke but on the love, The holy love I bore you, that we two —Had you bin constant—might have taught the wor[ld] Affections primitive purenes; when, from Your abrogation of it, Bonvills death, Your daughterś losse have luc[k]lessly insu'd. The streame that, like a Crocodile, did weepe Ore them whom with an over ravenous kisse Its moyst lips stifled, will record your fault In watery characters as lastingly As iff twere cut in marble. Heaven, forgive you; Ile pray for you; repent.

[Exeunt Thorowgood and Grimes.

Grimes. O, my deare Master!

Lady. Repent! should I but spend The weakest accent of my breath in sighes Or vaine compunction, I should feare I sinnd Against my will, then which I doe confes Noe other diety. Passions[120] doe surround My intellectual powers; only my heart, Like to a Rocky Island, does advance Above the foming violence of the waves Its unmovd head, bids me my fate outdare. Ills sure prevention is a swift despaire.

[Exit.



([SCENE] 2.)

Enter Alexander and Young Marlowe.

Alex. Thinke, sir, to whome the Iniury was don,—go to—your Lady Mother, a vertuous lady, I say and I sayt agen, a very vertuous lady. Had I but youth and strength as you have, in what cause should I sooner hazard both then in this?

Y. M. Murder, my friend!

Alex. Noe, tis doing sacrifice to slaunderd goodnes.

Y. M. Rob my beloved Sister of a husband!

Alex. Yes, to redeeme to your mother her lost honour.

Y. M. Art not a Divell?

Alex. Ha!

Y. M. Thy breath has blasted me.

Alex. I must confes indeed I have eaten garlicke.

Y. M. All pious thoughts that lately fild this spheare Are scatterd with the winds that issu'd from thee, Which, like the infectious yawning of a hill, Belching forth death inevitable, Has distroyd freindship and nature in me. Thou canst not poyson worse: I can feed now, Feed and nere burst with mallice. Sing, Syren, sing And swell me with revenge sweet as the straines Falls from the Thrasian lyre; charme each sence With musick of Revenge, let Innocence In softest tunes like the expiring Swann Dy singing her owne Epitaph.

Alex. What meane you, sir? are you mad? goe to and goe to; you doe not use me well; I say and I say, you do not. Have I this for my love to you and your good Mother? Why, I might be your Father by my age, which is falne on me in my old Mrs service; he would have used me better.

Y. M. Dost weepe, old Crocodile? looke dost see this sword.

Alex. Oh, I beseech you, sir; goe to; what meane you?

Y. M. No harme to thee; this was my Fathers once, My honord Father; this did never view The glaring Sunn but in a noble cause, And then returnd home blushing with red spoyles, Which sung his fame and conquest. Goe, intreat My Mother be as pleasant as she was That night my Father got me. I am going, say, Most cheerfully to finish her comaund.

Alex. Heaven prosper you. Ha!

Enter Thurston.

Thu. Freind, I was looking for you.

Y. M. And you have found me, Villaine.

Thu. What meane you?

Y. M. If thou darst follow me I will conduct thee Unto the seate of death.

Thu. Dare! Ile goe with thee, hand in hand; goe on.

[Exeunt ambo.

Alex. Goe, goe to and goe to, I say and I sait; here wilbe some revenge. If the Gent[leman] fall my lady has promist me a farme of 100 pounds a yeare; goe to, then. Now, if her sonn be slayne, heres then this purse of gold and this rich Jewell which she sent to him. By this wee see, whoever has the worst, The fox fares well, but better when hees curst.[121] Goe to and goe to then.

[Exit.



Actus Quintus.

(SCENE 1.)

Enter Lady Marlowe sola.

Lady. Twas[122] here about; these are the poplars, this The yewe he named. How prettily thees trees Bow, as each meant to Consecrate a branch To the drownd lovers! and, methinks, the streame Pitt[y]ing their herse should want all funerall rights, Snatches the virgin lillies from his bankes To strow their watry sepulcher. Who would Desire an easier wafting to their death Then through this River? what a pleasing sound Its liquid fingers, harping on the stones, Yeilds to th'admiring eare!

Enter Thorowgood, Clariana, and Magdalen.

Mag. This way she went, Ime sure. She has deliv[er']d So many strang distractions that I feare Sheele act some wilfull violence on her selfe If we prevent it not.

Cla. Yonder is somebody among the Trees Hard by the River: alasse, tis shee!

Tho. Come softly; if she heare our footing, her disp[aire May] anticipate our diligence.

Lady. Tempt me not, frailty: I disdaine revolt From ought the awfull violence of my will Has once[123] determind. Dost thou tremble, flesh? Ile cure thy ague instantly: I shall, Like some insatiate drunkard of the age, But take a cup to much and next day sleepe An hower more then ordinary.

Tho. Heaven and good Angells guard you!

Cla. My deare Mother!

Mag. My gratious Lady!

Lady. What inhumaine creatures Are you that rob me of the priviledge Of wellcome death, which I will run to meet Spight of your malice!

Tho. Oh decline those thoughts; Let not the lucid tapers of your soule, Bright grace and reason, fondly be extinct. Essentiall virtue, whether art thou fled, To what unknowne place? wert thou hid mongst ro[cks] Or horid grots where comfortable light Hates to dispence its luster, yet my search Should find thee out, reduce thee to this brest Once[124] thy lovd Paradice. Pray, madam, pray: From those faire eyes one penetentiall teare Would force whole legions of heavens brightest Sa[ints] If they have power to intercede for earth To beg for mercy for you.

Lady. These are toyes Forgd to delude mortality: let me die And afterwards my uncontroled Ghost Shall visitt you. I only goe and aske How my Belisia does enioy her health Since she exchangd her native ayre of earth For those dull regions. If I find the clime Does to our constitutions promise life, Ile come to you and in those happy shades Will live in peace eternally.

[[125]Cla. Alas, I feare shees Irrecoverable. Twas Ill don to affright her thus.

Mag. Expect the best: The Gentleman will perswade her.

Tho. O, dispaire, Grimme homicide of soules, how thou involvst More haplesse creatures in distracted Ills Ore [w]home thou triumpst; but Ile fright thee hence: No feind shall add a trophy to thy acts For victory over her.] Deare madam, heare me: You had a noble husband, while he livd; And I beleive That no perswasion cold have forcd you yeild To vitiation of his honord bed, Not with a prince. And will you give your soule, Which heaven in its creation had designd A bride to faire eternity of blisse, By vild procurement of hells bawd, despaire, To prostitution of unnaturall death And then of woes erelasting which admit Noe diminution? Can you heare this, Madam, And does the flintie substance of your heart Not thaw, like to a hill of Russian Ice When fires applid to't? Yes, your eyes demonstrate It[126] melts already.

Cla. Deare Mother, please you walke Into your Chamber: here the wind is cold And may disease your weaknes.

Mag. Here is your vayle, and't please your ladiship.

Lady. Let me alone, you trouble me; I feele A soddaine change; each organ of my soule Suffers a strong vicissitude; and, though I do detest a voluntary death, My Conscience tells me that it is most iust That the cursd author of such impious ills Ought not to live.

Tho. O thinke not soe: those words Retaine affinity with that passion I hop'd youd left. The greatest of your Sinns Mercy will smile at, when you doe implore Its unconsuming grace: the dullest cloud Will, when you pray, be active as the ayre In opening to receive that breath to heaven Thats spent to purge your ills. Why, you may live To make a faire lustration for your faults And die a happie Convert.

[Ho]llow within: Follow, follow, follow! that way he went.

Enter Young Marlowe, Alexander, [Consta]ble and [office]rs.

Y. M. Hell, I will flie no farther; since my hand Is guilt in murder it shall sacrifice Some of my apprehenders.

Tho. Whats the matter? Deare Sir, what ayles you?

Lady. O my Sonne! I feare.

Alex. Stand back, goe to; what meanes this rudenes. I say goe to, keepe back.

Con. Sir, we must enter: here he is. I charge you Asist us to lay hold on him.

Lady. Why, how now, Fellowes? what makes you presse in here thus rudely? Whom do you follow?

Con. Madam, Ime sorry my authority Enforces me to doe it: your sonn iust now Has slaine one Mr. Thurstone, and the law Commaunds us apprehend him.

Y. M. Here take my sword: When I but doe waigh the iustnes of the cause For which I suffer, though I could escape, My Conscience would forbid me. Come, Ile goe Whither you please.

Lady. Stay, officers; all accessaries are As liable to punishment for murder As those who act it. I confesse twas I Enforcd my son to slay that gentleman. Your warrant extends to take me with him.

Tho. Alas, beleive her not; greife for her sonne Has made her franticke.

Lady. By heaven tis truth! If you refuse to execute your office I shall confesse my act unto the Judg And soe condemne you of partiality. My Sonn knowes this is truth.

Y. M. I must acknowledge Mr. Alexander oft did instigate me To kill him.

Con. Sir, you must clere your selfe of this.

Alex. Who? I? Goe, take the babe from its Mothers teat and taxe him with this crime. I accessary to a murder! goe to.

Con. Why, and goe to, sir, and avoid resistance; You must goe. Will your ladiship walke with us?

Lady. Yes, most willingly. I doe this most abhorrid life despise Since tis to iustice a iust sacrifice.

[Exeunt omnes.



(SCENE 2.)

A Table: Enter Judge,[127] Sir Geffery, Crackbie, Suckett, and Bunch.

Sir Hu. I doe admire this accident: since I have sat Judge I have not knowne any such tryall.

Sir Gef. Tis certaine, sir; but looke you, sir, Ile tell you. You do perceive me sir: as Ime a gentleman I lov'd the lady; but she, out of her pride, I thinke, or else I were to b[lame] to say soe, scornd me. Marke you that, sir? understand you that?

Sir Hu. You question my understanding very much, good Sir Geffe[rey]. But pray you, sir, being here more conversant then I, c[ould] you informe me how this quarrell grew twixt her [and Mr.] Thurston?

Sir Gef. Yes, yes, I can;—but let me see, I have almost forgott; to say truth, I never heard the reason, but as the wisest guess—hum, hum—he should have had her daughter.

Crac. I might have had her my self, you know, uncle.

Sir Gef. Peace, Nephew, peace, give Justice leave to speake.—As I related, the reason I related, Sir, was as I told you.

Sir Hu. You told me nothing yet, Sir Geffery.

Sir Gef. Noe? did I not say he should have had her daughter?

Sir Hu. You did; but what does that conduce to their dissention?

Sir Gef. Oh sir, the originall efficient cause,—you understand me? for suspition whispers he had given her a foule blow and would have left her.

Crac. Nay, by my birthright, uncle, the child was not his alone, for I dare sweare I had a hand at least in it. I did endevor fort, did I not, Captaine?

Suc. Yes, there are others to as well as you; yes, she has struck her top sayle to a man of warr; she has bin boarded, sir, I can assure you.

Sir Hu. What impudent slaves are these!—But are you sure the gentlewoman is with child?

Sir Gef. Sure? doe you question it, Sir? Bunch, be ready, Bunch, to write their confessions quickly.

Bunch. They are not come yet to confession, sir.

Sir Gef. Noe matter for that, Bunch; with the Judges leave weele here their confession before they come, that we may know the better to state the cause when they doe come. Ist not best, thinke you?

Sir Hu. Who shall speake for them, thinke you?

Sir Gef. No matter whether any man speake nor noe: we know he killed the man, and she comanded him, ergo they are guilty; ergoe that must be their confession, scilicet that they are guilty. Write this, Bunch, and then we will perpend, as law and Judgment guides us, whether we will save or condemne. How say you, sir?

Crac. Oh well don, uncle! I knew[128] he would prove what he said, otherwise I would have venturd a sillogisme in Baraly[p]ton to have made it evident.

[Suc.[129] But with your favour, gentlemen; suppose he did unlive Thurston in faire duell?

Sir Hu. No duell can be fayre, cause tis against The kingdomes lawes.

Suc. The kingdomes lawes! how shall A Gent[leman] that has a blemish cast Upon his life, faire reputac[i]on, Have satisfaction then? allow no duells! Hel! a man of armes had better live in woods And combate wolves then among such milke sops. The kingdomes lawes!

Crac. Patience, good Captaine; we will have duells lawful.

Suc. Tis fit they should, being legitimacy managd, sir.]

Enter Constable and Prisoners.

Sir Gef. O, soe; are you come? weele tickle you ifaith.

Con. Soe please you, heare are the prisoners.

Sir Hu. Tis well, we have waited them. Madam, I should have bin more fortunate to have scene you In any place but this; and here, In any other cause then this, I would use you As the precedent carridge of your life Has merited, but cannot: y'are a prisoner Convict of murder, a most hideous crime Gainst law and nature.

Sir Gef. Yes, marry is it, and that she shall find ere we have don. Bunch, read their indictments, Bunch. She had as good have married me, I warrant her.

Sir Hu. Good Sir Geffrey, silence a while. Who is the accuser?

Con. Here.

Sir Hu. What have you, freind, to object against this lady?

Con. That she confesd it was by her procurement and comaunde her sonn murderd young Thurston.

Lady. Please you, sir, that a poore prisoner may entreate one favour.

Sir Gef. Yes, you shall have favour!

Sir Hu. Any thing mercy can graunt unpreiudiciall to Iustice.

Lady. Then this: You shall not need to produce witnesses Or charge a Iury to designe me guilty Of Thurstons murder. I confess it to you, Twas only I that slew him.

Sir Gef. Marke that, Sir: shee that slew him! do you hear?

Sir Hu. Pray disturbe her not.—How comes it then, Madam, to be affirmd your Sonn did kill him?

Sir Gef. I, lets heare that, how it comes: well remembred, you did even speake before me.

Crac. O how learnedly could I speake now, might I have licence!

Lady. Pray, Sir, Let me not be oppresd with noyse; my cause Beares not so slender waight. For my owne life, So many reasons forfeit it to death That 'twere a Sinn, had I a will to live, To plead to save it; but for this my sonn I do beseech a hearing.

Sir Hu. Speake freely, lady.

Lady. Thus then: Suppose the wrested rigor of your lawes Uniustly sentenc'd any here to death, And you enforce on some unwilling man The present execution of your act, You will not after cause the instrument Of your decree, as guilty of his blood, To suffer as a Homicide: how then Can your impartiall Judgment Censure my sonn for this which was my fact? Thurston the malice of my will wishd dead: My instigation and severe comaund Compeld him to atcheiv't, and you will graunt Noe princes lawes retaine more active force To ingage a subiect to performe their hests Then natures does astring a dewtious child To obey his parent.

Sir Gef. Pish, all this is nothing: there is a flat statute against it,—let me see,—in Anno vigessimo tricessimo, Henerio octavo be it enacted,—what followes, Bunch?

Sir Hu. Nay, good Sir, peace— Madam, these are but wild evasions For times protraction; for your paritie, It cannot hold; since Nature does enforce Noe child to obey his parent in an act That is not good and iust.

Lady. Why, this seemd both To his obedience; but relinquish that And come to Conscience: does it not comaund In its strict Canons to exact no more Then blood for blood, unlesse you doe extort Worse then an usurer. For Thurstons life I offer myne, which if it be to meane To appease your Justice, let it satisfie Your mercie. Spare my Sonn and I shall goe As willingly to death as to my rest After a painfull child birthe. Looke on him! How fitt the subiect is to invite your pittie! What Tyrant hand would cut this Cedar up Ere its full groath (at which it stately head Would give a shade to heaven), or pluck this Rose As yet scarce blossomd?

Sir Gef. Hum, what says Bunch?

Lady. Mercy wilbe proud T'infold him gently in her Ivory armes, And, as she walkes along with him, each word He speakes sheele greedily catch at with a kisse From his soft lipps such as the amorous Fawnes Enforce on the light Satyrs. Let[130] me dy Who, like the palme, when consious that tis void Of fruite and moysture, prostratly doe begg A Charitable headsman.

Sir Hu. So bad a cause Deserves not to be pleaded thus. Deere madam, Greife overwhelmes me for you, that your guilt Has damp'd the eyes of mercy and undone All intercession. Please you desist: We must proceed to th'examination Of the other prisoners.— Sir Geffrey, we shall need your grave assistance: Sir Geffrey, be more attentive.

Sir Gef. Tis very necessary. I wilbe sworne she did bewitch me; I thinke I was almost asleepe. But now to yee, I faith; come on, what can you say that Judgment shall not passe against you?

Tho. Sir, you are the Judge here?

Sir Hu. Yes, sir, why question you my power?

Tho. Noe, scarlett man, I question thy witt, At least thy Humanity and the Conscience That dares imagine to destroy this wealth, To hang this matchless diamond in the eare Of Ethiope Death. Send him to file thy house, Strike with his dart thy Children and thy selfe, Gray bearded miscreant, whose best acts compard With Thurstons murder (cause this lady did [it]) Are full iniquity.

[Suc.[131] The man speaks home and boldly.]

Sir Hu. Sir, you are fitter for a Jayle, a Bedlam, Then to stand free before us. What? art thou mad, man?

Sir Gef. Yes, what are you, Sir. I aske to, though I know y[ou well] enough. What are you?

Tho. I am one, To expresse my selfe in my true character, Soe full of civill reason and iust truth That to denie my owne peculiar act I should esteeme as base and black a sinne As Scythians[132] doe adultery: twas I That gave this lady councell to invade That Thurstons life, and out of cowardise, Feareing my person, set this bold young man To be his murderer. Ime the principall, The very source from whence this brooke of bloode Fetches its spring.

Sir Hu. Still more of the conspiracy! Sir, what say You to these designements?

Suc. Say, sir, you slew the man in equall duell: Twill bring you off, I warrant you.

Sir Gef. Answere, you youth of valour, you that dare See men of credit bleede. Ha!

Y. M. Sir, I am to dy, and should I now speake false Twould be a maine addicon to the ill What I alone comitted: for this man, Howsoere his fury does transport his tongue, Hees guiltlesse on't: I must confesse my Mother Did, for some private wrong which he had don, Wish me to call him to account; but this Steward did with all violence sollicit That I should slay him.

Alex. Whoe? I? goe to; ist come to this?

Sir Hu. Sir, you must answer this.

Sir Gef. Marke how the mischeife lookes.

Alex. I doe defie thy mallice, thou falce Judge. Goe to; my [Mrs.] I appeal to, she that knowes my vertue and Integrity.

Sir Hu. Away with him toth Jayle: a publique Sessions may [ere] long from thence deliver him to the gallowes.

Const. Come, Sir. [Exeunt Const, and Alex.

Sir Hu. Madam, for you and for your Sonn, your crimes Being soe manifest, I wish you would Prepare your selves for heaven. Meantime you must remaine Saffe prissoners untill the Judges sitt, Who best may give a sentence on your fact.

Tho. And what for me?

Sir Gef. I, what for him, Mr Justice?

Sir Hu. Sure your words Rather proceed from some distraction Then from similitude of truth. You may Begon, we do quitt you.

Tho. And Ile quit my selfe Of what you will not, [of] my hated life. You have condemnd a lady who may claime As many slaves to wait on her in death As the most superstitious Indian prince (That carries servants to attend ith grave) Can by's prerogative; nor shall she want Waiters, while you and I, my reverend Judg, Are within reach of one another. [Offers att the Record.

Suc. Death, Sir! Dare you presume to draw before us men Of stout performance?

Sir Gef. You sir, weele have you hangd to, sir, with the Steward.

Sir Hu. We doe forgive him; twas his passion. Tis manly to forbeare infirmities In noble soules. Away with the delinquents, officers![133]

Sir Gef.[134] I charge you looke to them: there is some rescue intended, I warrant you.

Con. Sir, yonder are some six or seaven without, Attird like Masquers, that will not be denied Admittance.

Sir Hu. What are they?

Con. [Faith[135]] we know not, Nor will they tell us, only this they say: Heareing of the lady Marlowe's condemnation, They are come With shew of death to make her more prepard fort.

Sir Hu. We will deny none of her freinds to see her; They can intend noe rescue.

Con. Noe, my life ont, sir: they come unarm'd.

Sir Hu. Be still; letts see this misterie.

Florish, Horrid Musike. Enter Death, Gri., and Furies.

Gri. If in charnell houses, Caves, Horrid grots and mossie graves, Where the mandraks hideous howles Welcome bodies voide of soules, My power extends, why may not I Hugg those who are condemd to dy? Grimme Dispaire, arise and bring Horror with thee and the king Of our dull regions; bid the rest Of your Society be addrest, As they feare the frowne of chaunce, To grace this presense with a daunce.

Recorders. Enter Hymen and the Lovers.

Tim. Death, avaunt! thou hast no power; This is Hymens happie hower. Away to the dark shades! hence! And, grim Dispaire, let Innocence Triumph, and bring eternall peace To all your soules and Joys increase. Smile, smile, sweet ayre, on us that come To sing Deaths Epicedium. Extract from roses gentlest winds, Such odors as young Hymen finds At sweet Arabian nuptialls; let The youthfull graces here beget Soe smooth a peace that every breath May blesse this marriage of Death. Feare nothing, lady, whose bright eye Sing'd Deaths wings as he flew by: Wee therefore, trust me, only come To sing Deaths Epicedium. [discover,

Tim. Stay, stay, by your leave Mr. Justice.— Madam,[136] your servant Timothy brings you newes You must not dy. Know you this Gentleman?

Sir Gef. Now, on my knighthood, Mr. Thurston.

Lady. Amazement leave me: is he living?

Sir Hu. Are we deluded?

Tim. So it appeares, Sir: the gent[leman] never had hurt; hees here, and let him speake for himselfe and this gentlewoman his wife.

Lady. Who? Clariana?

Thu. With your leave, reverend father.—To you, Madam, Whome I must now call Mother, first your pardon That the conceivd report of my faind death Has brought you to this triall: next For this your daughter and your sonn, whose virtues Redeemd [me] from the death your rage had thought I should have suffred, he agreeing with me Consented to appeach himselfe of that He nere intended, and procurd this man As his accuser of my murder, which Was but contrivd to let you see the error Of your sterne malice; that, acquainted with The foulenesse of the fact, by the effect You might repent it and bestow your blessing On us your Suppliant Children.

Cla. Which we beg With hearty sorrow, if we have transgresd Our duty to you.

Sir Hu. I am happie to see so blesd a period.

Sir Gef. Ha, ha, widdow, are you come of thus, widdow? You may thanke me: I hope youle have me now, widdow.

Lady. This soddaine comfort, Had I not yet a relique left of greife, Would like a violent torrent overbeare The banks of my mortallity. Oh, Thurston, Whom I respect with a more sacred love Then was my former; take my blessing with her And all the wishes that a ioyfull mother Can to a child devote: had my Belisia And her deare Bonvill livd, this happy day Should have beheld a double wedding.

[Suc.[137] Death, must he have her then?]

Sir Hu. Spoake like a mother.

Tho. Madam, The surplusage of love that's in my breast Must needs have vent in gratulation Of your full ioyes. Would you mind your promise, And make me fortunate in your love!

Lady. Sir, I have vowd, Since by my meanes my daughter and her love Perishd unhappily, to seclude my selfe From mans Society.

[Bonvil, Belisia, and Grimes discover.

Tho. Weele cancell That obligation quickly.—Lady, I now Will urge your promise: twas a plot betwixt us To give them out for drownd, least your pursuite Should have impeachd their marriage, which is now Most iustly consummate; and[138] only I Remaine at your devotion for a wife.

Lady. Take her, And with me a repentance as profound As Anchorites for their sin pay.

Sir Hu. Madam, how blest am I To see you thus past hope recovered, My mirth at your faire wedding shall demonstrate.

Sir Gef. I will daunce too, that[s] certain, though I breake my legs or get the tissick.

[Suc.[139] Doe you know me, Sir?

Bon. Yes, very well, sir.

Suc. You are married, sir.

Bon. I, what of that?

Suc. Nothing, but send you Joy, sir?]

Lady. But where's my Steward? hees not hangd I hope: This mirth admits no Tragedy.

Gri. Behold the figure.

Alex. I crave forgivenesse.

Lady. Goe to, you have it.

Alex. Thanke you, madam,—I, I will goe to and goe to, and there be ere a wench to be got for love or money, rath[er] then plot murder: tis the sweeter sinn of [the two]; besides, theres noe danger of ones cragg; [the] worst is but stand in one sheet for ly[ing] in two: and therefore goe to and goe to, I [say] and I sayt agen.

Sir Gef. Bunch take my cloake, Bunch; it shal [not] be sed, so many weddings and nere a Da[nce]: for soe many good turnes the hangman ha done you, theres one for all, hey!

Tho. Well said, Sir Geffrey.

Sir Gef. Hey, when I was young! but come, we loose [time]: every one his lasse, and stricke up Musick!

Daunce.

Lady. Now, gentlemen, my thanks to all, and since [I]t is my good hap to escape these ills, Goe in with me and celebrate this feast With choyse solemnitie; where our discourse Shall merrily forgett these harmes, and prove Theres no Arraingment like to that of love.

[Exeunt omnes.

FINIS.



This Play, call'd the Lady Moth[er] (the Reformacons observ'd) may be acted. October the xvth, 1635.

WILL. BLAGRAVE, Dept. to the [Master] of the Revell[s].



INTRODUCTION TO THE TRAGEDY OF SIR JOHN VAN OLDEN BARNAVELT.

I have never met anywhere with the slightest allusion to this fine historical play, now for the first time printed from a MS.[140] in the British Museum (Add. MS. 18,653). It is curious that it should have been left to the present editor to call attention to a piece of such extraordinary interest; for I have no hesitation in predicting that Barnavelt's Tragedy, for its splendid command of fiery dramatic rhetoric, will rank among the masterpieces of English dramatic literature.

On a first rapid inspection I assumed, with most uncritical recklessness, that Chapman was the author. There are not wanting points of general resemblance between Chapman's Byron and the imperious, unbending spirit of the great Advocate as he is here represented; but in diction and versification, the present tragedy is wholly different from any work of Chapman's. When I came to transcribe the piece, I soon became convinced that it was to a great extent the production of Fletcher. There can, I think, be no reasonable doubt about the authorship of such lines as the following:—

"Barnavelt. My noble Lords, what is't appeares upon me So ougly strange you start and fly my companie? What plague sore have ye spide, what taynt in honour, What ill howre in my life so cleere deserving That rancks in this below your fellowships? For which of all my cares, of all my watches, My services (too many and too mightie To find rewards) am I thus recompenced, Not lookd on, not saluted, left forgotten Like one that came to petition to your honours— Over the shoulder slighted?

Bredero. Mounsieur Barnavelt, I am sorry that a man of your great wisdom And those rare parts that make ye lov'd and honourd, In every Princes Court highly esteemd of, Should loose so much in point of good and vertue Now in the time you ought to fix your faith fast, The credit of your age, carelessly loose it,— dare not say ambitiously,—that your best friends And those that ever thought on your example Dare not with comon safetie now salute ye" (iii. 1).

Such a verse as,—

"In every Princes Court highly esteemd of,"

or,—

"Now in the time you ought to fix your faith fast,"

can belong only to Fletcher. The swelling, accumulative character of the eloquence is another proof; for Fletcher's effects are gained not by a few sharp strokes, but by constant iteration, each succeeding line strengthening the preceding until at last we are fronted by a column of very formidable strength. Let us take another extract from the same scene:—

"Barnavelt. When I am a Sychophant And a base gleaner from an others favour, As all you are that halt upon his crutches,— Shame take that smoothness and that sleeke subjection! I am myself, as great in good as he is, As much a master of my Countries fortunes, And one to whom (since I am forc'd to speak it, Since mine own tongue must be my Advocate) This blinded State that plaies at boa-peep with us, This wanton State that's weary of hir lovers And cryes out 'Give me younger still and fresher'! Is bound and so far bound: I found hir naked, Floung out a dores and starvd, no friends to pitty hir, The marks of all hir miseries upon hir, An orphan State that no eye smild upon: And then how carefully I undertooke hir, How tenderly and lovingly I noursd hir! But now she is fatt and faire againe and I foold, A new love in hir armes, my doatings scornd at. And I must sue to him! be witnes, heaven, If this poore life were forfeyt to his mercy, At such a rate I hold a scornd subjection I would not give a penney to redeeme it. I have liv'd ever free, onely depended Upon the honestie of my faire Actions, Nor am I now to studdy how to die soe."

The whole scene is singularly fine and impressive; it shows us Fletcher at his highest.

But in other passages we find a second hand at work. In the second scene of the third act there is far less exuberance of language and a different style of versification, as may be seen in the following lines:—

"Orange. My grave Lords, That it hath byn my happines to take in, And with so little blood, so many Townes That were falne off, is a large recompence For all my travell; and I would advise That (since all now sing the sweet tunes of Concord, No Sword unsheathd, the meanes to hurt cut off And all their stings pluckd out that would have usd them Against the publique peace) we should end here And not with labour search for that which will Afflict us when 'tis found. Something I know That I could wish I nere had understood, Which yet if I should speake, as the respect And duty that I owe my Country bids me, It wilbe thought 'tis rather privat spleene Then pious zeale. But that is not the hazard Which I would shun: I rather feare the men We must offend in this, being great, rich, wise, Sided with strong friends, trusted with the guard Of places most important, will bring forth Rather new births of tumult, should they be Calld to their Triall, then appease disorder In their just punishment; and in doing Justice On three or four that are delinquents, loose So many thousand inocents that stand firme And faithfull patriots. Let us leave them therefore To the scourge of their owne consciences: perhaps Th'assurance that they are yet undiscoverd, Because not cyted to their answeare, will So work with them hereafter to doe well That we shall joy we sought no farther in it."

Here we have vigorous writing, staid and grave and unimpassioned, and a more regular metre. In determining questions of authorship I have so often found myself (and others, too) at fault, that I shrink from adopting the dictatorial tone assumed in these matters by learned Germans and a few English scholars. But I think in the present instance we may speak with tolerable certainty. Before my mind had been made up, my good friend, Mr. Fleay, pronounced strongly in favour of Massinger. He is, I think, right; in fact, it is beyond the shadow of a doubt that Massinger wrote the speech quoted above. In all Massinger's work there is admirable ease and dignity; if his words are seldom bathed in tears or steeped in fire, yet he never writes beneath his subject. He had a rare command of an excellent work-a-day dramatic style, clear, vigorous, free from conceit and affectation. But he is apt to grow didactic, and tax the reader's patience; and there is often a want of coherence in his sentences, which amble down the page in a series of loosely-linked clauses. I will not examine scene by scene in detail; for I must frankly confess that I feel myself sometimes at a loss to determine whether a particular passage is by Fletcher or Massinger. Most of the impassioned parts belong, I think, to the former. I would credit Massinger with the admirably conducted trial-scene in the fourth act; but the concluding scene of the play, where Barnavelt is led to execution, I would ascribe, without hesitation, to Fletcher. In the scene (v. 1) where the French ambassador pleads for Barnavelt we recognise Massinger's accustomed temperance and dignity. To the graver writer, too, we must set down Leydenberg's solemn and pathetic soliloquy (iii. 6), when by a voluntary death he is seeking to make amends for his inconstancy and escape from the toils of his persecutors.

There is no difficulty in fixing the date of the present play. Barneveld was executed on May 13, 1619, and the play must have been written immediately afterwards, when all Christendom was ringing with the news of the execution. In the third scene of the first act there is a marginal note signed "G.B." The initials are unquestionably those of Sir George Buc, Master of the Revels from 1610 to 1622.[141] On comparing the note with an autograph letter[142] of Sir George's I find the hand-writing to correspond exactly. The date, therefore, cannot be later than 1622, but the probability is that the play was produced at Michaelmas, 1619.

In our own day the great Advocate's fame, which had been allowed to fall into neglect, has been revived with splendour by Mr. Motley, whose "Life of John of Barneveld" is a monument aere perennius of loving labour, masterful grasp, and rare eloquence. Had the dramatists been in possession of a tithe of the facts brought to light from mouldering state documents by the historian, they would have regarded Barneveld's faults with a milder eye, and shown more unqualified praise for his great and noble qualities. But they are to be commended in that they saw partially through the mists of popular error and prejudice; that they refused to accept a caricature portrait, and proclaimed in unmistakable accents the nobility of the fallen Advocate. Perhaps it is not so strange that this tragedy dropped from sight. Its representation certainly could not have been pleasing to King James; for that murderous, slobbering, detestable villain had been untiring in his efforts to bring about Barneveld's ruin.

Throughout the play there are marks of close political observation. To discover the materials from which the playwrights worked up their solid and elaborate tragedy would require a more extensive investigation than I care to undertake. An account of Barneveld's trial, defence, and execution may be found in the following tracts:—

([Greek: alpha]) "Barnavel's Apologie, or Holland's Mysteria: with marginall Castigations, 1618." The Apology, originally written in Dutch, had been translated into Latin, and thence into English. The Castigations, by "Robert Houlderus, Minister of the Word of God," are remarkable, even in the annals of theological controversy, for gross blackguardism. After indulging in the most loathsome displays of foul brutality, this "Minister of the Word of God" ends with the cheerful prayer,—"That they whom Thou hast predestinated to salvation may alwayes have the upper hand and triumph in the certainty of their salvation: but they whom Thou has created unto confusion, and as vessels of Thy just wrath, may tumble and be thrust headlong thither whereto from all eternitie Thou didst predestinate them, even before they had done any good or evil."

([Greek: beta]) "Newes out of Holland: concerning Barnavelt and his fellow-Prisoners, their Conspiracy against their Native Country with the enemies thereof: The Oration and Propositions made in their behalfe unto the Generall States of the United Provinces at the Hage, by the Ambassadours of the French King," &c., 1619.

([Greek: gamma]) "The Arraignment of John Van Olden Barnavelt, late Advocate of Holland and West Freisland. Containing the articles alleadged against him and the reasons of his execution," &c., 1619.

* * * * *

"This magnificent play is mainly the production of Fletcher and Massinger: it must have been written between May, 1619, and May, 1622, for the King's company acting at Blackfriars. T[homas] Hol[combe] acted a woman's part in it: so did G. Lowin, perhaps a son of John Lowin, unless indeed G. is a miswriting for J., as sometimes happens. It is singular that one has no knowledge whatever of Thomas Holcombe, except as an actor in Fletcher's plays: although so many of the lists of the king's men of that date have come down to us. Mr. Gough who took the part of Leidenberg, is Robert Gough, not Alexander: the latter acted only in Charles I.'s time. Another actor, Michael, is unknown: probably a super."—F.G. FLEAY.

Since the above paragraph was written, I have found in the MS. the names of three more actors, Jo[hn] Rice, Bir[ch], and T[homas] Po[llard]. The following note, for which I am indebted to Mr. Fleay, will be read with interest:—"It is noticeable that a play called the Jeweller of Amsterdam or the Hague, by John Fletcher, Nathaniel Field, and Phillip Massinger, was entered on the Stationers' Books 8th April, 1654, but not printed. This play must have been written between 1617 and 1619, while Field was connected with the King's company, and undoubtedly referred to the murder of John Van Wely, the Jeweller of Amsterdam, by John of Paris, the confidential groom of Prince Maurice, in 1619. It is prima facie likely that the same authors would be employed on both plays. Field, Daborne, Dekker and Fletcher are the only authors known to have written in conjunction with Massinger; and Dekker and Daborne are out of the question for that company at that date. We are now enabled to fix the date of the 'Fatal Dowry,' by Field and Massinger, as c. 1618."



THE TRAGEDY OF SIR JOHN VAN OLDEN BARNAVELT.



Sir John Van Olden Barnavelt.



Actus Primus.

SCAENA PRIMA.

Enter Barnavelt, Modes-bargen, Leidenberck, and Grotius.

Bar. The Prince of Orange now, all names are lost els! That hees alone the Father of his Cuntrie! Said you not so?

Leid. I speake the peoples Language.

Bar. That to his arme and sword the Provinces owe Their flourishing peace? that hees the armyes soule By which it moves to victorie?

Mod. So 'tis said, Sir.

Leid. Nay, more; that without him dispaire and ruyn Had ceazd on all and buried quick our safeties.

Gro. That had not he in act betterd our counsailes And in his execution set them off, All we designd had ben but as a tale Forgot as soone as told.

Leid. And with such zeale This is deliverd that the Prince beleeves it; For Greatnes, in her owne worth confident, Doth never waigh but with a covetous hand His lightest meritts, and who add to the scale Seldom offend.

Gro. 'Tis this that swells his pride Beyond those lymitts his late modestie Ever observd. This makes him count the Soldier As his owne creature, and to arrogate All prosperous proceedings to himself; Detracts from you and all men, you scarce holding The second place.

Bar. When I gave him the first: I robd myself, for it was justly mine. The labourinthes of pollicie I have trod To find the clew of safetie, for my Cuntrie Requird a head more knowing and a courage As bold as his,—though I must say 'tis great. His stile of Excellencie was my guift; Money, the strength and fortune of the war, The help of England and the aide of Fraance, I only can call mine: and shall I then, Now in the sun-set of my daie of honour, When I should passe with glory to my rest And raise my Monument from my Cuntries praises, Sitt downe and with a boorish patience suffer The harvest that I labourd for to be Anothers spoile? the peoples thancks and praises, Which should make faire way for me to my grave, To have another object? the choice fruites Of my deepe projects grace anothers Banquet? No; this ungratefull Cuntry, this base people, Most base to my deserts, shall first with horrour Know he that could defeat the Spanish counsailes And countermyne their dark works, he that made The State what 'tis, will change it once againe Ere fall with such dishonour.

Mod. Be advisd, Sir; I love you as a friend, and as a wise man Have ever honourd you: be as you were then, And I am still the same. Had I not heard Theis last distemperd words, I would have sworne That in the making up of Barnavelt Reason had only wrought, passion no hand in't. But now I find you are lesse then a man, Lesse then a common man, and end that race You have so long run strongly like a child, For such a one old age or honours surfeyts Againe have made you.

Bar. This to me?

Mod. To you, Sir: For is't not boyish folly (youthfull heat I cannot call it) to spume downe what all His life hath labourd for? Shall Barnavelt That now should studie how to die, propound New waies to get a name? or keep a being A month or two to ruyn whatsoever The good succes of forty yeeres employment In the most serious affaires of State Have raisd up to his memory? And for what? Glory, the popular applause,—fine purchase For a gray beard to deale in!

Gro. You offend him.

Mod. 'Tis better then to flatter him as you doe. Be but yourself againe and then consider What alteration in the State can be By which you shall not loose. Should you bring in (As heaven avert the purpose and the thought Of such a mischief) the old Tirrany That Spaine hath practisd, do you thinck you should be Or greater then you are or more secure From danger? Would you change the goverment, Make it a Monarchie? Suppose this don And any man you favourd most set up, Shall your authoritie by him encrease? Be not so foolishly seducd; for what Can hope propose to you in any change Which ev'n now you posses not?

Bar. Doe not measure My ends by yours.

Mod. I know not what you ayme at. For thirtie yeeres (onely the name of king You have not had, and yet your absolute powre Hath ben as ample) who hath ben employd In office, goverment, or embassie, Who raisd to wealth or honour that was not Brought in by your allowaunce? Who hath held His place without your lycence? Your estate is Beyond a privat mans: your Brothers, Sonnes, Frendes, Famylies, made rich in trust and honours: Nay, this grave Maurice, this now Prince of Orange, Whose popularitie you weakely envy, Was still by you commaunded: for when did he Enter the feild but 'twas by your allowaunce? What service undertake which you approv'd not? What victory was won in which you shard not? What action of his renownd in which Your counsaile was forgotten? Yf all this then Suffice not your ambition but you must Extend it further, I am sorry that You give me cause to feare that when you move next You move to your destruction.

Bar. Yf I fall I shall not be alone, for in my ruyns My Enemies shall find their Sepulchers. Modes-bargen, though in place you are my equall, The fire of honour, which is dead in you, Burnes hotly in me, and I will preserve Each glory I have got, with as much care As I acheivd it. Read but ore the Stories Of men most fam'd for courage or for counsaile. And you shall find that the desire of glory (That last infirmity of noble minds) Was the last frailty wise men ere putt of: Be they my presidents.

Gro. 'Tis like yourself, Like Barnavelt, and in that all is spoken.

Leid. I can do something in the State of Utrecht, And you shall find the place of Secretarie, Which you conferd upon me there, shall be, When you employ me, usefull.

Gro. All I am You know you may commaund: Ile nere enquire What 'tis you goe about, but trust your counsailes As the Auncients did their Oracles.

Mod. Though I speak Not as a flatterer, but a friend, propound What may not prejudice the State, and I Will goe as far as any.

Enter 2 Captaines.

Bar. To all my service:[143] Ere long you shall know more.—What are theis?

Leid. Captaines That raild upon the Comissary.

Bar. I remember.

1 Cap. Why, you dare charge a foe i'the head of his troope, And shake you to deliver a petition To a statesman and a frend?

2 Cap. I need not seek him, He has found me; and, as I am a soldier, His walking towards me is more terrible Then any enemies march I ever mett with.

1 Cap. We must stand to it.

Bar. You, Sir, you?

2 Cap. My Lord.

Bar. As I use this I waigh you: you are he That when your Company was viewd and checkd For your dead paies,[144] stood on your termes of honour, Cryde out "I am a Gentleman, a Commaunder, And shall I be curbd by my lords the States," (For thus you said in scorne) "that are but Merchants, Lawyers, Apothecaries, and Physitians, Perhaps of worser ranck"? But you shall know, Sir, They are not such, but Potentates and Princes From whom you take pay.

1 Cap. This indeed is stately: Statesmen, d'you call 'em?

2 Cap. I beseech your Lordship: 'Twas wine and anger.

Bar. No, Sir; want of dutie: But I will make that tongue give him the lye That said soe, drunck or sober; take my word for't. Your Compaine is cast: you had best complaine To your Great Generall, and see if he Can of himself maintaine you,—Come, Modes-bargen.

[Exeunt Barnavelt, Modes-bargen, and Grotius,

Leid. I am sorry for you, Captaine, but take comfort: I love a Soldier, and all I can doe To make you what you were, shall labour for you. And so, good morrow, Gentlemen. [Exit.

1 Cap. Yet theres hope; For you have one friend left.

2 Cap. You are deceivd, Sir, And doe not know his nature that gave promise Of his assistance.

1 Cap. Who is't?

2 Cap. Leidenberck. One of the Lords, the States, and of great powre too; I would he were as honest. This is he That never did man good, and yet no Suitor Ever departed discontented from him. Hee'll promise any thing: I have seene him talke At the Church dore with his hat of to a Begger Almost an houre togeather, yet when he left him He gave him not a doyt. He do's profes To all an outward pitty, but within The devills more tender: the great plague upon him! Why thinck I of him? he's no part of that Must make my peace.

1 Cap. Why, what course will you take then?

2 Cap. A Bribe to Barnavelts wiffe, or a kind wench For my yong lord his Son, when he has drunck hard. There's no way els to doo't.

1 Cap. I have gold good store You shall not want that; and if I had thought on't When I left London, I had fitted you For a convenient Pagan.

2 Cap. Why, is there Such store they can be spard?

1 Cap.[145] ... ... ...

2 Cap. I thanck you, Sir.

[Exeunt.



SCAENA 2.

Enter[146] Barnavelt, Modes-bargen, Leidenberck, Grotius, and Hogebeets.

Bar. The States are sitting: all that I can doe Ile say in little; and in me theis Lords Promise as much. I am of your belief In every point you hold touching religion, And openly I will profes myself Of the Arminian sect.

Gro. You honour it.

Hog.[147] And all our praires and service.

Bar. Reverend man Your loves I am ambitious of. Already 'Tis knowne I favour you, and that hath drawne Libells against me; but the stinglesse hate Of those that wryte them I contempne.

Hog. They are worthie Of nothing but contempt.

Bar. That I confes, too; But yet we must expect much opposition Ere your opinions be confirmd. I know The Prince of Orange a sworne enemie To your affections: he has vowd to crosse you, But I will still stand for you. My advice is That, having won the Burgers to your partie, Perswade them to enroll new Companies For their defence against the Insolence Of the old Soldiers garisond at Utrecht. Yet practise on them, too, and they may urge this: That since they have their pay out of that Province, Justice requires they should be of their partie: All that is don in Utrecht shalbe practisd In Roterdam and other Townes I name not. Farther directions you shall have hereafter, Till when I leave you.

Gro. With all zeale and care We will performe this. [Exit.[148]

Leid. This foundation Is well begun.

Gro. And may the building prosper.

Mod. Yet let me tell you, where Religion Is made a cloke to our bad purposes They seldom have succes.

Bar. You are too holly: We live now not with Saincts but wicked men, And any thriving way we can make use of, What shape so ere it weares, to crosse their arts, We must embrace and cherish; and this course (Carrying a zealous face) will countenaunce Our other actions. Make the Burgers ours, Raise Soldiers for our guard, strengthen our side Against the now unequall opposition Of this Prince that contemns us;[149] at the worst, When he shall know there are some Regiments We may call ours, and that have no dependaunce Upon his favour, 'twill take from his pride And make us more respected.

Mod. May it prove so.

Enter Bredero, Vandort, Officers.

Bre. Good day, my Lord.

Vand. Good Mounseiur Advocate, You are an early stirrer.

Bar. 'Tis my dutie To wayte your Lordships pleasure: please you to walke.

Bre. The Prince is wanting, and this meeting being Touching the oath he is to take, 'twere fitt That we attend him.

Bar. That he may set downe What he will sweare, prescribing lymitts to us! We need not add this wind by our observaunce To sailes too full alredy. Oh, my Lords, What will you doe? Have we with so much blood Maintaind our liberties, left the allegeaunce (How justly now it is no time to argue) To Spaine, to offer up our slavish necks To one that only is what we have made him? For, be but you yourselves, this Prince of Orange Is but as Barnavelt, a Servant to Your Lordships and the State; like me maintaind; The pomp he keepes, at your charge: will you then Wayt his prowd pleasure, and in that confes, By daring to doe nothing, that he knowes not— You have no absolute powre?

Van. I never sawe The Advocate so mov'd.

Bar. Now to be patient Were to be treacherous: trust once his counsaile That never yet hath faild you. Make him know That any limb of this our reverend Senate In powre is not beneath him. As we sitt Ile yeild you further reasons; i'the meane time Commaund him by the Officers of the Court Not to presse in untill your Lordships pleasure Be made knowne to him.

Vand. 'Tis most requisite.

Leid. And for the honour of the Court.

Vand. Goe on; You have my voice.

Bre. And mine;—yet wee'll proceed As judgement shall direct us.

Vand. 'Tis my purpose.

Bar. In this disgrace I have one foote on his neck; Ere long Ile set the other on his head And sinck him to the Center.

Leid. Looke to the dores there.

[Exeunt.



SCAENA 3.

Enter[150] Pr. of Orange, Gra: William, Collonells & Captaines.

Or. I, now methincks I feele the happynes Of being sproong from such a noble father, That sacrifizd his honour, life and fortune For his lov'd Cuntry. Now the blood and kindred Of Horne and Egmont (Memories great Martires), That must outlive all Alva's Tirranies And when their Stories told ev'n shake his ashes, Methincks through theis vaines now, now at this instant, I feele their Cuntries losse; I feele[151] too—

Will. All feele sencibly, And every noble hart laments their miseries, And every eie, that labours not with mallice, Sees your great services and through what dangers You have raisd those noble speritts monuments.

Or. What I have don I look not back to magnifie; My Cuntry calld me to it. What I shall yet doe, With all the industrie and strength I have lent me And grace of heaven to guid, so it but satisfie The expectation of the State commaunds me And in my Cuntries eye appeere but lovely, I shall sitt downe, though old and bruizd yet happie; Nor can the bitter and bold tounge of mallice, That never yet spoke well of faire deservings, With all hir course aspersions floong upon me Make me forsake my dutie, touch or shake me Or gaine so much upon me as an anger, Whilst here I hold me loyall. Yet believe, Gentlemen, Theis wrongs are neither few nor slight, nor followed By liberall tongues provokd by want or wine, For such were to be smild at and so slighted, But by those men, and shot so neer mine honour I feare my person too; but, so the State suffer not, I am as easie to forget.

Will. Too easie; And that feeds up their mallice to a Monster. You are the arme oth' war, the Soldiers sperit; The other but dead stories, you the dooer.

Col. It stands not with the honour you have won, Sir, Still built upon and betterd.

Or. No more, good Collonell.

Col. The love the Soldier beares you to give way thus! To have your actions consturd, scornd and scoffd at By such malignant soules! you are yourself, Sir, And master of more mindes that love and honour ye.[152]

Will. Yf you would see it; but take through the mallice The evill intended now, now bent upon ye.

Or. I pray ye, no more; as you love me, no more. Stupid I never was nor so secure yet To lead my patience to mine owne betraying: I shall find time and riper cause.— [Guard at dore. Now, frends, Are my Lords the States set yet.

1 Gu. An houre agoe, Sir.

Or. Beshrew ye, Gentlemen, you have made me tardy: Open the dore,

1 Gu. I beseech your Grace to pardon me.[153]

Or. Do'st thou know who I am?

1 Gu. Yes, Sir, and honour you.

Or. Why do'st thou keep the dore fast then?

Will. Thou fellow, Thou sawcy fellow, and you that stand by gaping! Is the Prince of no more value, no more respect Then like a Page?

2 Gu. We beseech your Excellencies To pardon us; our duties are not wanting, Nor dare we entertaine a thought to crosse ye: We are placed here on Commaund.

Or. To keepe me out? Have I lost my place in Councell? are my services Growne to so poore regards, my worth so bankrupt? Or am I tainted with dishonest actions, That I am held unfitt my Cuntries busines? Who placd ye here?

1 Gu. The body of the Councell; And we beseech your Grace make it not our syn: They gave us strict commaund to stop your passage.

Or. 'Twas frendly don and like my noble masters.

Will. Deny you place? make good the dore against ye? This is unsufferable, most unsufferable.

Or. Now I begin to feele those doubts; I feare still—

Col. So far to dare provoke ye! 'tis too monstrous; And you forget your self, your birth, your honour, The name of Soldier if you suffer this, Suffer from these, these things, these—pox upon't!— These molds of men made noble by your services, Your daylie sweatts.

1 Cap. It must not be endured thus, The wrong extends to us, we feele it severally.

2 Cap. Your sweet humillitie has made 'em scorne ye And us, and all the world that serve their uses; And stick themselves up teachers, masters, princes, Allmost new gods too, founders of new faithes. —Weell force your way.

Col. Let's see then who dare stop ye.

Gu. Not we, I am sure.

Col. Let's see who dare denie ye Your place and right of councell.

Or. Stay, I commaund ye; He that puts forward first to this wild action Has lost my love and is becom mine Enemy, My mortall enemie. Put up your weapons, You draw 'em against order, duty, faith; And let me die ere render such examples. The men you make so meane, so slight account of, And in your angers prise, not in your honours, Are Princes, powerfull Princes, mightie Princes; That daylie feed more men of your great fashion And noble ranck, pay and maintaine their fortunes, Then any monarch Europe has: and for this bountie, If ye consider truly, Gentlemen, And honestly, with thankfull harts remember, You are to pay them back againe your service: They are your masters, your best masters, noblest, Those that protect your states, hold up your fortunes; And for this good you are to sacrifize Your thancks and duties, not your threats and angers. I and all Soldiers els that strike with their armes, And draw from them the meanes of life and honour, Are doble tyde in faith to observe their pleasures.

Col. A Prince of rare humanitie and temper. Sir, as you teach us armes, you man our minds, too, With civill precepts, making us true Soldiers, Then worthie to receive a trust from others When we stand masters of our owne discretions.

Enter Barnavelt, Modesbargen, Leidenberch, Grotius Bredero, Vandort & Hogerbeets.

Will. Your good and great example tyes us all, Sir.

Cap. The Councell's broken up.

Or. My noble Lords, Let it not seeme displeasing to your wisdomes, I humbly ask in what I have offended, Or how suspected stand, or with what cryme blotted, That this day from your fellowship, your councell, My Cuntries care and where I owe most service, Like a man perishd in his worth I am exilde.

Bar. Your Grace must know we cannot wait attendaunce, Which happely you looke for.

Or. Wayt, my lords!

Bar. Nor what we shall designe for the States comfort Stay your deliberate crosses. We know you are able, And every way a wise Prince fitt for counsell; But I must tell ye, Sir, and tell ye truly, The Soldier has so blowne ye up, so swelld ye And those few services you call your owne, That now our commendations are too light gales, Too slacke and emptie windes, to move your worthes; And trumpets of your owne tongue and the Soldiers Now onely fill your sailes.

Bre. Be not so bitter.

Bar. We mix with quiet speritts, staid and temperate, And those that levell at not great but good ends Dare hold us their Companions, not their Servants, And in that ranck be ready to supply us. Your Grace is growne too haughtie.

Leid. Might it please you But thinck, Sir, of our honest services (I dare not terme them equall) and but waigh well, In which I know your Grace a perfect master, Your judgment excellent, and then but tell us And truly (which I know your goodnes will doe) Why should we seeme so poore, so undertrodden, And though not trusted with the State and Councell, Why so unable vallued. Pardon, great Sir, If those complaine who feele the waight of envy, If such poore trod on wormes make show to turne againe. Nor is it we that feele, I hope, nor you, Sir, That gives the cullour of this difference: Rumour has many tongues but few speak truth: We feele not onely,—if we did 'twere happie— Our Cuntry, Sir, our Cuntrie beares the blow too; But you were ever noble.

Or. Good my Lords, Let it be free your Servant, chargd in mallice, If not fling of his crymes, at least excuse 'em To you my great correcter. Would to heaven, Sir, That syn of pride and insolence you speake of, That pufft up greatnes blowne from others follyes Were not too neere akin to your great Lordship And lay not in your bosom, your most deere one. You taint me, Sir, with syns concerne my manners,— If I have such Ile studdy to correct 'em; But, should I taint you, I should charge ye deeper: The cure of those would make ye shrinck and shake, too, —Shake of your head.

Bar. You are too weak ith' hams, Sir.

Or. Who raisd these new religious forces, Sir, And by what warrant? what assignement had ye From the States generall? who blew new fires? Even fires of fowle rebellion, I must tell ye; The bellowes to it, Religion. You were lov'd yet But for your ends,—through all the Townes, the Garrisons, To fright the union of the State, to shake it. What syns are theis? You may smile with much comfort, And they that see ye and not looke closely to ye May crye too er't be long.

Bar. Your Grace has leave, Sir, And tis right good it be soe.—Follow me home, And there Ile give ye new directions How to proceed, and sodainely.