Ara. Are you then, sir, despised of your Love?

Asca. No; but deprived of her company, And for my careles negligence therein Am bound to doo this penaunce for my sin; That, if I never finde where she remaines, I vowe a yeare shal be my end of paines.

Ara. Was she then lost within this forrest here?

Asca. Lost or forlorn, to me she was right deere: And this is certaine; vnto him that could The place where she abides to me vnfold For ever I would vow my selfe his friend, Never revolting till my life did end. And there fore, sir (as well I know your skill) If you will give me physicke for this ill And shewe me if Eurymine do live, It were a recompence for all my paine, And I should thinke my ioyes were full againe.

Ara. They know the want of health that have bene sick: My selfe, sometimes acquainted with the like, Do learne in dutie of a kinde regard To pittie him whose hap hath bene so hard, How long, I pray ye, hath she absent bene?

Asca. Three days it is since that my Love was seene.

Io. Heer's learning for the nonce that stands on ioynts; For all his cunning Ile scarse give two poynts.

Ara. Mercurio regnante virum, sub-sequente Luna Faeminum designat.

Io. Nay, and you go to Latin, then tis sure my maister shall finde her if he could tell where.

Ara. I cannot tell what reason it should bee, But love and reason here doo disagree: By proofe of learned principles I finde The manner of your love's against all kinde; And, not to feede ye with uncertaine ioy, Whom you affect so much is but a Boy.

Io. A Riddle for my life, some antick Iest? Did I not tell ye what his cunning was?

Asca. I love a Boy?

Ara. Mine art doth tell me so.

Asca. Adde not a fresh increase vnto my woe.

Ara. I dare avouch, what lately I have saide, The love that troubles you is for no maide.

Asca. As well I might be said to touch the skie, Or darke the horizon with tapestrie, Or walke upon the waters of the sea, As to be haunted with such lunacie.

Ara. If it be false mine Art I will defie.

Asca. Amazed with grief my love is then transform'd.

Io. Maister, be contented; this is leape yeare: Women weare breetches, petticoats are deare; And thats his meaning, on my life it is.

Asca. Oh God, and shal my torments never cease?

Ara. Represse the fury of your troubled minde; Walke here a while, your Lady you may finde.

Io. A Lady and a Boy, this hangs wel together, Like snow in harvest, sun-shine and foule weather.

Enter Eurymine singing.

Eu. Since[121] hope of helpe my froward starres denie, Come, sweetest death, and end my miserie; He left his countrie, I my shape have lost; Deare is the love that hath so dearly cost.

Yet can I boast, though Phoebus were uniust, This shift did serve to barre him from his lust. But who are these alone? I cannot chuse But blush for shame that anyone should see Eurymine in this disguise to bee.

Asca. It is (is't[122] not?) my love Eurymine.

Eury. Hark, some one hallows: gentlemen, adieu; In this attire I dare not stay their view. [Exit.

Asca. My love, my ioy, my life! By eye, by face, by tongue it should be shee: Oh I, it was my love; Ile after her, And though she passe the eagle in her flight Ile never rest till I have gain'd her sight. [Exit.

Ara. Love carries him and so retains his minde That he forgets how I am left behind. Yet will I follow softly, as I can, In hope to see the fortune of the man. [Exit.

Io. Nay let them go, a Gods name, one by one; With all my heart I am glad to be alone. Here's old[123] transforming! would with all his art He could transform this tree into a tart: See then if I would flinch from hence or no; But, for it is not so, I needs must go. [Exit.

Enter Silvio and Gemulo.

Sil. Is it a bargaine Gemulo or not?

Ge. Thou never knew'st me breake my word, I wot, Nor will I now, betide me bale or blis.

Sil. Nor I breake mine: and here her cottage is, Ile call her forth.

Ge. Will Silvio be so rude?

Sil. Never shall we betwixt ourselves conclude Our controversie, for we overweene.

Ge. Not I but thou; for though thou iet'st in greene, As fresh as meadow in a morne of May, And scorn'st the shepheard for he goes in gray. But, Forrester, beleeve it as thy creede, My mistresse mindes my person not my weede.

Sil. So 'twas I thought: because she tends thy sheepe Thou thinkst in love of thee she taketh keepe; That is as townish damzels, lend the hand But send the heart to him aloofe doth stande: So deales Eurymine with Silvio.

Ge. Al be she looke more blithe on Gemulo Her heart is in the dyall of her eye, That poynts me hers.

Sil. That shall we quickly trye. Eurymine!

Ge. Erynnis, stop thy throte; Unto thy hound thou hallowst such a note. I thought that shepheards had bene mannerlesse, But wood-men are the ruder groomes I guesse.

Sil. How shall I call her swaine but by her name?

Ge. So Hobinoll the plowman calls his dame. Call her in Carroll from her quiet coate.

Sil. Agreed; but whether shall begin his note?

Ge. Draw cuttes.

Sil. Content; the longest shall begin.

Ge. Tis mine.

Sil. Sing loude, for she is farre within.

Ge. Instruct thy singing in thy forrest waies, Shepheards know how to chant their roundelaies.

Sil. Repeat our bargain ere we sing our song, Least after wrangling should our mistresse wrong: If me she chuse thou must be well content, If thee she chuse I give the like consent.

Ge. Tis done: now, Pan pipe, on thy sweetest reede, And as I love so let thy servaunt speede.—

_As little Lambes lift up their snowie sides When mounting Lark salutes the gray eyed morne—

Sil. As from the Oaken leaves the honie glides Where nightingales record upon the thorne—

Ge. So rise my thoughts—

Sil. So all my sences cheere—

Ge. When she surveyes my flocks

Sil. And she my Deare.

Ge. Eurymine!

Sil. Eurymine!

Ge. Come foorth—

Sil. Come foorth—

Ge. Come foorth and cheere these plaines—

(And both sing this together when they have sung it single.)

Sil. The wood-mans Love

Ge. And Lady of the Swaynes.

Enter Eurymine_.

Faire Forester and lovely shepheard Swaine, Your Carrolls call Eurymine in vaine, For she is gone: her Cottage and her sheepe With me, her brother, hath she left to keepe, And made me sweare by Pan, ere she did go, To see them safely kept for Gemulo.

(They both looke straungely upon her, apart each from other.)

Ge. What, hath my Love a new come Lover than?

Sil. What, hath my mistresse got another man?

Ge. This Swayne will rob me of Eurymine.

Sil. This youth hath power to win Eurymine.

Ge. This straungers beautie beares away my prize.

Sil. This straunger will bewitch her with his eies.

Ge. It is Adonis.

Sil. It is Ganymede.

Ge. My blood is chill.

Sil. My hearte is colde as Leade.

Eu. Faire youthes, you have forgot for what ye came: You seeke your Love, shee's gone.

Ge. The more to blame.

Eu. Not so; my sister had no will to go But that our parents dread commaund was so.

Sil. It is thy sense: thou art not of her kin, But as my Ryvall com'ste my Love to win.

Eu. By great Appollos sacred Deitie, That shepheardesse so neare is Sib[124] to me As I ne may (for all the world) her wed; For she and I in one selfe wombe were bred. But she is gone, her flocke is left to mee.

Ge. The shepcoat's mine and I will in and see.

Sil. And I.

[Exeunt Silvio and Gemulo.

Eu. Go both, cold comfort shall you finde: My manly shape hath yet a womans minde, Prone to reveale what secret she doth know. God pardon me, I was about to show My transformation: peace, they come againe.

Enter Silvio and Gemulo.

Sil. Have ye found her?

Ge. No, we looke in vaine.

Eu. I told ye so.

Ge. Yet heare me, new come Swayne. Albe thy seemly feature set no sale But honest truth vpon thy novell tale, Yet (for this world is full of subtiltee) We wish ye go with vs for companie Unto a wise man wonning[125] in this wood, Hight Aramanth, whose wit and skill is good, That he may certifie our mazing doubt How this straunge chaunce and chaunge hath fallen out.

Eu. I am content; have with ye when ye will.

Sil. Even now.

Eu. Hee'le make ye muse if he have any skill.

[Exeunt.



Actus Quintus.

Enter Ascanio and Eurymine.

Asca. Eurymine, I pray, if thou be shee, Refraine thy haste and doo not flie from mee. The time hath bene my words thou would'st allow And am I growne so loathsome to thee now?

Eu. Ascanio, time hath bene, I must confesse, When in thy presence was my happinesse, But now the manner of my miserie Hath chaung'd that course that so it cannot be.

Asca. What wrong have I contrived, what iniurie To alienate thy liking so from mee? If thou be she whom sometime thou didst faine, And bearest not the name of friend in vaine, Let not thy borrowed guise of altred kinde Alter the wonted liking of thy minde, But though in habit of a man thou goest Yet be the same Eurymine thou wast.

Eu. How gladly would I be thy Lady still, If earnest vowes might answere to my will.

Asca. And is thy fancie alterd with thy guise?

Eu. My kinde, but not my minde in any wise.

Asca. What though thy habit differ from thy kinde, Thou maiest retain thy wonted loving minde.

Eu. And so I doo.

Asca. Then why art thou so straunge, Or wherefore doth thy plighted fancie chaunge?

Eu. Ascanio, my heart doth honor thee.

Asca. And yet continuest stil so strange to me?

Eu. Not strange, so far as kind will give me leave.

Asca. Unkind that kind that kindnesse doth bereave: Thou saist thou lovest me?

Eu. As a friend his friend, And so I vowe to love thee to the end.

Asca. I wreake not of such love; love me but so As faire Eurymine loved Ascanio.

Eu. That love's denide vnto my present kinde.

Asca. In kindely shewes vnkinde I doo thee finde: I see thou art as constant as the winde.

Eu. Doth kinde allow a man to love a man?

Asca. Why, art thou not Eurymine?

Eu. I am.

Asca. Eurymine my love?

Eu. The very same.

Asca. And wast thou not a woman then?

Eu. Most true.

Asca. And art thou changed from a woman now?

Eu. Too true.

Asca. These tales my minde perplex. Thou art Eurymine?

Eu. In name, but not in sexe.

Asca. What then?

Eu. A man.

Asca. In guise thou art, I see.

Eu. The guise thou seest doth with my kinde agree.

Asca. Before thy flight thou wast a woman tho?

Eu. True, Ascanio.

Asca. And since thou art a man?

Eu. Too true, deare friend.

Asca. Then I have lost a wife.

Eu. But found a friend whose dearest blood and life Shal be as readie as thine owne for thee; In place of wife such friend thou hast of mee.

Enter Ioculo and Aramanthus.

Io. There they are: maister, well overtane, I thought we two should never meete againe: You went so fast that I to follow thee Slipt over hedge and ditch and many a tall tree.

Ara. Well said, my Boy: thou knowest not how to lie.

Io. To lye, Sir? how say you, was it not so? You were at my heeles, though farre off, ye know. For, maister, not to counterfayt with ye now, Hee's as good a footeman as a shackeld sow.

Asca. Good, Sir, y'are welcome: sirrha, hold your prate.

Ara. What speed in that I told to you of late?

Asca. Both good and bad, as doth the sequel prove: For (wretched) I have found and lost my love, If that be lost which I can nere enjoy.

Io. Faith, mistresse, y'are too blame to be so coy The day hath bene—but what is that to mee!— When more familiar with a man you'ld bee.

Ara. I told ye you should finde a man of her, Or else my rule did very strangely erre.

Asca. Father, the triall of your skill I finde: My Love's transformde into another kinde: And so I finde and yet have lost my love.

Io. Ye cannot tell, take her aside and prove.

Asca. But, sweet Eurymine, make some report Why thou departedst from my father's court, And how this straunge mishap to thee befell: Let me entreat thou wouldst the processe tell.

Eu. To shew how I arrived in this ground Were but renewing of an auncient wound,— Another time that office Ile fulfill; Let it suffice, I came against my will, And wand'ring here, about this forrest side, It was my chaunce of Phoebus to be spide; Whose love, because I chastly did withstand, He thought to offer me a violent hand; But for a present shift, to shun his rape, I wisht myself transformde into this shape, Which he perform'd (God knowes) against his will: And I since then have wayld my fortune still, Not for misliking ought I finde in mee, But for thy sake whose wife I meant to bee.

Asca. Thus have you heard our woful destenie, Which I in heart lament and so doth shee.

Ara. The fittest remedie that I can finde Is this, to ease the torment of your minde: Perswade yourselves the great Apollo can As easily make a woman of a man As contrariwise he made a man of her.

Asca. I think no lesse.

Ara. Then humble suite preferre To him; perhaps our prayers may attaine To have her turn'd into her forme againe.

Eu. But Phoebus such disdain to me doth beare As hardly we shal win his graunt I feare.

Ara. Then in these verdant fields, al richly dide With natures gifts and Floras painted pride, There is a goodly spring whose crystall streames, Beset with myrtles, keepe backe Phoebus beames: There in rich seates all wrought of Ivory The Graces sit, listening the melodye, The warbling Birds doo from their prettie billes Vnite in concord as the brooke distilles,[126] Whose gentle murmure with his buzzing noates Is as a base unto their hollow throates: Garlands beside they weare upon their browes, Made of all sorts of flowers earth allowes, From whence such fragrant sweet perfumes arise As you would sweare that place is Paradise. To them let us repaire with humble hart, And meekly show the manner of your smart: So gratious are they in Apollos eies As their intreatie quickly may suffice In your behalfe. Ile tell them of your states And crave their aides to stand your advocates.

Asca. For ever you shall bind us to you than.

Ara. Come, go with me; Ile doo the best I can.

Io. Is not this hard luck, to wander so long And in the end to finde his wife markt wrong!

Enter Phylander.

Phy. A proper iest as ever I heard tell! In sooth me thinkes the breech becomes her well; And might it not make their husbands feare them[127] Wold all the wives in our town might weare them. Tell me, youth, art a straunger here or no?

Io. Is your commission, sir, to examine me so?

Phy. What, is it thou? now, by my troth, wel met.

Io. By your leave it's well overtaken yet.

Phy. I litle thought I should a found thee here.

Io. Perhaps so, sir.

Phy. I prethee speake: what cheere?

Io. What cheere can here be hopte for in these woods, Except trees, stones, bryars, bushes or buddes?

Phy. My meaning is, I fane would heare thee say How thou doest, man: why, thou tak'st this another way.

Io. Why, then, sir, I doo as well as I may: And, to perswade ye that welcome ye bee, Wilt please ye sir to eate a crab with mee?

Phy. Beleeve me, Ioculo, reasonable hard cheere.

Io. Phylander, tis the best we can get here. But when returne ye to the court againe?

Phy. Shortly, now I have found thee.

Io. To requite your paine Shall I intreat you beare a present from me?

Phy. To whom?

Io. To the Duke.

Phy. What shall it be?

Io. Because Venson so convenient doth not fall, A pecke of Acornes to make merry withal.

Phy. What meanst thou by that?

Io. By my troth, sir, as ye see, Acornes are good enough for such as hee. I wish his honour well, and to doo him good, Would he had eaten all the acorns in the wood.

Phy. Good word, Ioculo, of your Lord and mine.

Io. As may agree with such a churlish swine. How dooes his honor?

Phy. Indifferently well.

Io. I wish him better.

Phy. How?

Io. Vice-gerent in Hell.

Phy. Doest thou wish so for ought that he hath done?

Io. I, for the love he beares unto his sonne.

Phy. Hees growne of late as fatherly and milde As ever father was unto his childe, And sent me forth to search the coast about If so my hap might be to finde him out; And if Eurymine alive remaine To bring them both vnto the Court againe. Where is thy maister?

Io. Walking about the ground.

Phy. Oh that his Love Eurymine were found.

Io. Why, so she is; come follow me and see; He bring ye strait where they remaining bee.

[Exeunt.

Enter three or foure Muses, Aramanthus, Ascanio, Silvio, and Gemulo.

Asca. Cease your contention for Eurymine, Nor word nor vowes can helpe her miserie; But he it is, that did her first transform, Must calme the gloomy rigor of this storme, Great Phoebus whose pallace we are neere. Salute him, then, in his celestiall sphere, That with the notes of cheerful harmonie He may be mov'd to shewe his Deitie.

Sil. But wheres Eurymine? have we lost her sight?

As. Poore soule! within a cave, with feare affright, She sits to shun Appollos angry view Until she sees what of our prayers ensue, If we can reconcile his love or no, Or that she must continue in her woe.

1 Mu. Once have we tried, Ascanio, for thy sake, And once againe we will his power awake, Not doubting but, as he is of heavenly race, At length he will take pitie on her case. Sing therefore, and each partie, from his heart, In this our musicke beare a chearfull part.

SONG.

All haile, faire Phoebus, in thy purple throne! Vouchsafe the regarding of our deep mone; Hide not, oh hide not, thy comfortable face, But pittie, but pittie, a virgins poore case.

Phoebus appeares.

1 Mu. Illustrate bewtie, Chrystall heavens eye, Once more we do entreat thy clemencie That, as thou art the power of us all, Thou wouldst redeeme Eurymine from thrall. Graunt, gentle God, graunt this our small request, And, if abilitie in us do rest, Whereby we ever may deserve the same, It shall be seene we reverence Phoebus name.

Phoe. You sacred sisters of faire Helli[c]on, On whom my favours evermore have shone, In this you must have patience with my vow: I cannot graunt what you aspire unto, Nor wast my fault she was transformed so, But her own fond desire, as ye well know. We told her, too, before her vow was past That cold repentance would ensue at last; And, sith herselfe did wish the shape of man, She causde the abuse, digest it how she can.

2 Mu. Alas, if unto her you be so hard, Yet of Ascanio have some more regard, And let him not endure such endlesse wrong That hath pursude her constant love so long.

Asca. Great God, the greevous travells I have past In restlesse search to finde her out at last; My plaints, my toiles, in lieu of my annoy Have well deserv'd my Lady to enjoy. Penance too much I have sustaind before; Oh Phoebus, plague me not with any more, Nor be thou so extreame now at the worst To make my torments greater than at the first. My father's late displeasure is forgot, And there's no let nor any churlish blot To interrupt our ioyes from being compleat, But only thy good favour to intreat. In thy great grace it lyes to make my state Most happie now or most infortunate.

1 Mu. Heavenly Apollo, on our knees I pray Vouchsafe thy great displeasure to allay. What honor to thy Godhead will arise To plague a silly Lady in this wise? Beside it is a staine unto thy Deitie To yeeld thine owne desires the soveraigntie: Then shew some grace vnto a wofull Dame, And in these groves our tongues shall sound thy fame.

Phoe. Arise, deare Nourses of divinest skill, You sacred Muses of Pernassus hill; Phoebus is conquerd by your deare respect And will no longer clemency neglect. You have not sude nor praide to me in vaine; I graunt your willes: she is a mayde againe.

Asca. Thy praise shal never die whilst I do live.

2 Mu. Nor will we slack perpetual thankes to give.

Phoe. Thalia, neare the cave where she remaines The Fayries keepe: request them of their paines, And in my name bid them forthwith provide From that darke place to be the Ladies guide; And in the bountie of their liberall minde To give her cloathes according to her kinde.

1 Mu. I goe, divine Apollo. [Exit.

Phoe. Haste againe: No time too swift to ease a Lovers paine.

Asca. Most sacred Phoebus, endles thankes to thee That doest vouchsafe so much to pittie mee; And, aged father, for your kindnesse showne Imagine not your friendship ill bestowne: The earth shall sooner vanish and decay Than I will prove unthankfull any way.

Ara. It is sufficient recompence to me If that my silly helpe have pleasurde thee; If you enioy your Love and hearts desire It is enough, nor doo I more require.

Phoe. Grave Aramanthus, now I see thy face, I call to minde how tedious a long space Thou hast frequented these sad desarts here; Thy time imployed in heedful minde I bear, The patient sufferance of thy former wrong, Thy poore estate and sharpe exile so long, The honourable port thou bor'st some time Till wrongd thou wast with undeserved crime By them whom thou to honour didst advaunce: The memory of which thy heavy chaunce Provokes my minde to take remorse on thee. Father, henceforth my clyent shalt thou bee And passe the remnant of thy fleeting time With Lawrell wreath among the Muses nine; And, when thy age hath given place to fate, Thou shalt exchange thy former mortall state And after death a palme of fame shalt weare, Amongst the rest that live in honor here. And, lastly, know that faire Eurymine, Redeemed now from former miserie, Thy daughter is, whom I for that intent Did hide from thee in this thy banishment That so she might the greater scourge sustaine In putting Phoebus to so great a paine. But freely now enioy each others sight: No more Eurymine: abandon quite That borrowed name, as Atlanta she is calde.— And here's the[128] woman, in her right shape instalde.

Asca. Is then my Love deriv'de of noble race?

Phoe. No more of that; but mutually imbrace.

Ara. Lives my Atlanta whom the rough seas wave I thought had brought unto a timelesse grave?

Phoe. Looke not so straunge; it is thy father's voyce, And this thy Love; Atlanta, now rejoice.

Eu. As in another world of greater blis My daunted spirits doo stand amazde at this. So great a tyde of comfort overflowes As what to say my faltering tongue scarse knowes, But only this, vnperfect though it bee;— Immortall thankes, great Phoebus, unto thee.

Phoe. Well, Lady, you are retransformed now, But I am sure you did repent your vow.

Eury. Bright Lampe of glory, pardon my rashenesse past.

Phoe. The penance was your owne though I did fast.

Enter Phylander and Ioculo.

Asca. Behold, deare Love, to make your ioyes abound, Yonder Phylander comes.

Io. Oh, sir, well found; But most especially it glads my minde To see my mistresse restorde to kinde.

Phy. My Lord & Madame, to requite your pain, Telemachus hath sent for you againe: All former quarrels now are trodden doune, And he doth smile that heretofore did frowne.

Asca. Thankes, kinde Phylander, for thy friendly newes, Like Junos balme that our lifes blood renewes.

Phoe. But, Lady, first ere you your iourney take, Vouchsafe at my request one grant to make.

Eu. Most willingly.

Phoe. The matter is but small: To wear a bunch of Lawrell in your Caull[129] For Phoebus sake, least else I be forgot; And thinke vpon me when you see me not.

Eu. Here while I live a solemn oath I make To Love the Lawrell for Appollo's sake.

Ge. Our suite is dasht; we may depart, I see.

Phoe. Nay Gemulo and Silvio, contented bee: This night let me intreate ye you will take Such cheare as I and these poore Dames can make: To morrow morne weele bring you on your way.

Sil. Your Godhead shall commaund vs all to stay.

Phoe. Then, Ladies, gratulate this happie chaunce With some delightful tune and pleasaunt daunce, Meane-space upon his Harpe will Phoebus play; So both of them may boast another day And make report that, when their wedding chaunc'te, Phoebus gave musicke and the Muses daunc'te.

THE SONG.

Since painfull sorrowes date hath end And time hath coupled friend with friend, Reioyce we all, reioyce and sing, Let all these groaves of Phoebus ring: Hope having wonne, dispaire is vanisht, Pleasure revives and care is banisht: Then trip we all this Roundelay, And still be mindful of the bay.

[Exeunt.

FINIS.



INTRODUCTION TO THE MARTYR'D SOULDIER.

Anthony A. Wood, in his Athenae Oxonienses (ed. Bliss, III., 740), after giving an account of James Shirley, adds:—"I find one Henry Shirley, gent., author of a play called the Martyr'd Souldier, London, 1638, 4to.; which Henry I take to be brother or near kinsman to James." Possibly a minute investigation might discover some connection between Henry Shirley and the admirable writer who closes with dignity the long line of our Old Dramatists; but hitherto Wood's conjecture remains unsupported. On Sept. 9, 1653, four plays of Henry Shirley's were entered on the Stationers' Lists, but they were never published: the names of these are,—

1. The Spanish Duke of Lerma. 2. The Duke of Guise. 3. The Dumb Bawd. 4. Giraldo the Constant Lover.

Among the Ashmolean MSS. (Vol. 38. No. 88) are preserved forty-six lines[130] signed with the name of "Henrye Sherley." They begin thus:—

"Loe, Amorous style, affect my pen: For why? I wright of fighting men; The bloody storye of a fight Betwixt a Bayliffe and a Knight," &c.

My good friend Mr. S.L. Lee, of Balliol, kindly took the trouble to transcribe the forty-six lines; but he agrees with me that they are not worth printing.

The Martyr'd Souldier, then, being his sole extant production, it must be confessed that Henry Shirley's claim to attention is not a very pressing one. Yet there is a certain dignity of language in this old play that should redeem it from utter oblivion. It was unfortunate for Henry Shirley that one of the same name should have been writing at the same time; for in such cases the weakest must go to the wall. Mr. Frederick Tennyson's fame has been eclipsed by the Laureate's; and there was little chance of a hearing for the author of the Martyr'd Souldier when James Shirley was at work. From the address To the Courteous Reader, it would seem that Henry Shirley did not seek for popularity: "his Muse," we are told, was "seldome seene abroad." Evidently he was not a professional playwright. In his attempts to gain the ear of the groundlings he is often coarse without being comic; and sometimes (a less pardonable fault) he is tedious. But in the person of Hubert we have an attractive portrait of an impetuous soldier, buoyed up with self-confidence and hugging perils with a frolic gaiety; yet with springs of tenderness and pity ready to leap to light. The writer exhibits some skill in showing how this fiery spirit is tamed by the gentle maiden, Bellina. When the news comes that Hubert has been made commander of the King's forces against the Christians, we feel no surprise to see that in the ecstacy of the moment he has forgotten his former vows. It is quite a touch of nature to represent him hastening to acquaint Bellina with his newly-conferred honour and expecting her to share his exultation. But the maiden's entreaties quickly wake his slumbering conscience; and, indeed, such earnestness is in her words that a heart more stubborn than Hubert's might well have been moved:—

"You courted me to love you; now I woe thee To love thy selfe, to love a thing within thee More curious than the frame of all this world, More lasting than this Engine o're our heads Whose wheeles have mov'd so many thousand yeeres: This thing is thy soule for which I woe thee!"

Henceforward his resolution is fixed: he is no longer a soldier of fortune, "seeking the bubble reputation," but the champion of the weak against the strong, the lively image of a Christian Hero warring steadfastly against the powers of evil.

Though the chief interest of the play is centred in Hubert the other characters, also, are fairly well drawn. There is ample matter for cogitation in watching the peaceful end of Genzerick, who spends his dying moments in steeling his son's heart against the Christians. The consultation between the physicians, in Act 3, amusingly ridicules the pomposity of by-gone medical professors. Eugenius, the good bishop, is a model of patience and piety; and all respect is due to the Saintly Victoria and her heroic husband. The songs, too, are smoothly written.



THE MARTYR'D SOULDIER:

As it was sundry times Acted with a generall applause at the Private house in Drury lane, and at other publicke Theaters.

By the Queenes Majesties servants.

The Author H. SHIRLEY Gent.

LONDON: Printed by I. Okes, and are to be sold by Francis Eglesfield at his house in Paul's Church-yard at the Signe of the Mary-gold. 1638.



To the right Worshipful Sir Kenelme Digby, Knight.

Sir,

Workes of this Nature may fitly be compared to small and narrow rivolets that at first derive themselves to greater Rivers and afterwards are discharged into the Maine Ocean. So Poesie rising from obscure and almost unminded beginnings hath often advanc'd it Selfe even to the thrones of Princes: witnesse that ever-living Worke of renowned Virgil, so much admired and favoured by magnificent Augustus. Nor can I much wonder that great men, and those of Excellent parts, have so often preferred Poesie, it being indeed the sweetest and best speaker of all Noble Actions.

Nor were they wont in ancient times to preferre those their Workes to them they best knew, but unto some Person highly endued with Vallour, Learning, and such other Graces as render one man farre more Excellent then many others. And this, I hope, may excuse my boldnesse in this Dedication, being so much a stranger to your Worships knowledge, onely presuming upon your Noble temper, ever apt to cherrish well-affected studies. Likewise this peice seemeth to have a more speciall kind of relation to your Selfe, more then to many others, it being an exact and perfect patterne of a truly Noble and War-lick Chieftian.

When it first appeared upon the Stage it went off with Applause and favour, and my hope is it may yeild your Worship as much content as my selfe can wish, who ever rest to be commanded by your Worship,

In all duty and observance,

I.K.[131]



TO THE COURTEOUS READER.

To make too large an explanation of this following Poem were but to beguile thy appetite and somewhat dull thy expectation; but the work it selfe being now an Orphant, and wanting him to protect that first begot it, it were an iniury to his memory to passe him unspoken of. For the man his Muse was much courted but no common mistresse; and though but seldome seene abroad yet ever much admired at. This worke, not the meanest of his labours, has much adorned not only one but many Stages, with such a generall applause as it hath drawne even the Rigid Stoickes of the Time, who, though not for pleasure yet for profit have gathered something out of his plentifull Vineyard. My hopes are it wil prove no lesse pleasing to the Reader then it has formerly beene to the Spectators; and, so prooving, I have my aime and full desire. Farewell.



The Actors Names.

Genzerick, King of the Vandals. Anthonio Damianus 3 Noble men. Cosmo Hubert, A brave Commander. Henerick, the Prince. Bellizarius, the Generall. Eugenius, a Christian Bishop. Epidaurus, a Lord. 2 Physitians. 2 Pagans. 1 Camell-driver. 2 Camell-driver. Victoria, Wife to Bellizarius. Bellina, his Daughter. A Souldier. 2 Angels. 2 Christians tonguelesse. Clowne. Constable. 3 Watchmen. 3 Huntsmen. 3 Other Camell-drivers. Officers and Souldiers.



The Martyr'd Souldier.

Actus Primus.

SCAENA PRIMA.

Enter Genzerick King of the Vandalls, sicke on his bed, Anthony, Damianus, Cosmo, and Lords.

King. Away, leave off your golden Flatteries, I know I cannot live, there's one lies here Brings me the newes; my glories and my greatnes Are come to nothing.

Anth. Be not your selfe the Bell To tolle you to the Grave; and the good Fates, For ought we see, may winde upon your bottome[132] A thred of excellent length.

Cosm. We hope the Gods have not such rugged hands To snatch yee from us.

King. Cosmo, Damianus, and Anthony; you upon whom The Vandall State doth leane, for my back's too weake; I tell you once agen that surly Monarch, Who treads on all Kings throats, hath sent to me His proud Embassadours: I have given them Audience Here in our Chamber Royall. Nor could that move me, To meete Death face to face, were my great worke Once perfected in Affrick by my sonne; I meane that generall sacrifice of Christians, Whose blood would wash the Temples of our gods And win them bow downe their immortall eyes Upon our offerings. Yet, I talke not idly, Yet, Anthonie, I may; for sleepe, I think, Is gone out of my kingdome, it is else fled To th'poore; for sleepe oft takes the harder bed And leaves the downy pillow of a King.

Cosm. Try, Sir, if Musick can procure you[133] rest.

King. Cosmo, 'tis sinne to spend a thing so precious On him that cannot weare it. No, no; no Musick; But if you needs will charme my o're-watcht eyes, Now growne too monstrous for their lids to close, If you so long to fill these Musick-roomes With ravishing sounds indeed; unclaspe that booke, Turne o're that Monument of Martyrdomes, Read there how Genzerick has serv'd the gods And made their Altars drunke with Christians blood, Whil'st their loath'd bodies flung in funerall piles Like Incense burnt in Pyramids of fire; And when their flesh and bones were all consum'd Their ashes up in whirle-winds flew i'th Ayre To show that of foure Elements not one had care Of them, dead or alive. Read, Anthony.

Anth. 'Tis swelld to a faire Volume.

King. Would I liv'd To add a second part too't. Read, and listen: No Vandall ere writ such a Chronicle.

Anth. Five hundred[134] broyl'd to death in Oyle and Lead: Seven hundred flead alive, their Carkasses Throwne to King Genzericks hounds.

King. Ha, ha, brave hunting.

Anth. Upon the great day of Apollo's feast, The fourth Moneth of your Reigne.

King. O give me more, Let me dye fat with laughing.

Anth. Thirty faire Mothers, big with Christian brats, Upon a scaffold in the Palace plac'd Had first their dugges sear'd off, their wombes ript up, About their miscreant heads their first borne Sonnes Tost as a Sacrifice to Jupiter, On his great day and the Ninth Month of Genzerick.

King. A Play; a Comicall Stage our Palace was. Any more? oh, let me surfeit.

Anth. Foure hundred Virgins ravisht.

King. Christian Whores; common, 'tis common.

Anth. And then their trembling bodies tost on the Pikes Of those that spoyl'd 'em, sacrific'd to Pallas.

King. More, more; hang Mayden-heads, Christian Maiden-heads.

Anth. This leafe is full of tortur'd Christians: Some pauncht, some starv'd, some eyes and braines bor'd out, Some whipt to death, some torne by Lyons.

King. Damianus, I cannot live to heare my service out; Such haste the Gods make to reward me.

Omnes. Looke to the King. (Shouts within.)

Enter Hubert.

King. What shouts are these? see, Cosmo.

Cosmo. Good newes, my Lord; here comes Hubert from the warres.

Hub. Long life and health wait ever on the King.

King. Hubert, thy wishes are come short of both. Hast thou good newes? be briefe then and speake quickly: I must else heare thee in another World.

Hub. In briefe, then, know: Henrick, your valiant sonne, With Bellizarius and my selfe come laden With spoiles to lay them at your feet. What lives the sword spar'd serve to grace your Triumph, Till from your lips they have the doome of death.

King. What are they?

Hub. Christians, and their Chiefe a Church-man, Eugenius, Bishop of Carthage, and with him Seven hundred Captives more, all Christians.

King. Hold, Death; let me a little taste these ioyes, Then take me ravisht hence. Glad mine eyes, Hubert, With the victorious Boy.

Hub. Your Starre comes shining. [Exit Hubert.

King. Lift me a little higher, yet more: Doe the Immortall Powers poure blessings downe, And shall I not returne them?

Omnes. See, they come.

A Flourish; Enter Henricke the Prince, Bellizarius, Hubert, leading Eugenius in Chaines with other Prisoners and Souldiers.

King. I have now liv'd my full time; tell me, my Henricke,[135] Thy brave successe, that my departing soule May with the story blesse another world And purchase me a passage.

Hen. O, great Sir, All we have done dyes here if that you dye, And heaven, before too prodigal to us, Shedding beames over-glorious on our heads, Is now full of Eclipses.

King. No, boy; thy presence Has fetcht life home to heare thee.

Hen. Then, Royal Father, thus: Before our Troopes had reacht the Affrick bounds, Wearied with tedious Marches and those dangers Which waite on glorious Warre, the Affricans A farre had heard our Thunder, whilst their Earth Did feele an earth-quake in the peoples feares Before our Drummes came near them. Yet, spight of terrour, They fortifi'd their Townes, cloathed all their fields With warres best bravery, armed Souldiers. At this we made a stand, for their bold troopes Affronted us with steele, dar'd us to come on And nobly fierd our resolution.

King. So, hasten; there's in me a battaile too; Be quicke, or I shall fall.

Hen. Forefend it heaven. Now, Bellizarius, come; here stand, just here; And on him, I beseech you, fixe your eye, For you have much to pay to this brave man.

Hub. Nothing to me?

Hen. Ile give you him in wonder.

Hub. Hang him out in a painted cloth for a monster.

Bel. My Lord, wrong not your selfe to throw on me The honours which are all yours.

Hub. Is he the Divell? all!

Bel. Cast not your eyes on me, Sir, but on him; And seale this to your soule: never had King A Sonne that did to his Crowne more honours bring.

Hen. Stay, Bellizarius; I'me too true to honour To scant it in the blazing: though to thee All that report can render leaves thee yet—

Hub. A brave man: you are so too, you both fought; And I stood idle?

Hen. No, Sir.

Hub. Here's your battaile then, and here's your conquest: What need such a coyle?

Bel. Yet, Hubert, it craves more Arethmaticke Than in one figure to be found.

King. Hubert, thou art too busie.

Hub. So was I in the battaile.

King. Prethee peace.

Hen. The Almarado was on poynt to sound; But then a Herald from their Tents flew forth, Being sent to question us for what we came; And [At?] which, I must confesse, being all on fire We cryed for warre and death. Backe rode the Herald As lightning had persu'd him. But the Captaines, Thinking us tir'd with marching, did conceive Rest would make difficult what easie now Quicke charge might drive us to. So, like a storme Beating upon a wood of lustie Pines, Which though they shake they keepe their footing fast, Our pikes their horses stood. Hot was the day In which whole fields of men were swept away, As by sharpe Sithes are cut the golden corne And in as short time. It was this mans sword Hew'd ways to danger; and when danger met him He charm'd it thence, and when it grew agen He drove it back agen, till at the length It lost the field. Foure long hours this did hold, In which more worke was done than can be told.

Bel. But let me tell your Father how the first feather That Victory herselfe pluckt from her wings, She stuck it in your Burgonet.

Hub. Brave still!

Hen. No, Bellizarius; thou canst guild thy honours Borne[136] from the reeking breasts of Affricans, When I aloof[137] stood wondering at those Acts Thy sword writ in the battaile, which were such Would make a man a souldier but to read 'em.

Hub. And what to read mine? is my booke claspt up?

Bel. No, it lyes open, where in texed letters read Each Pioner [?] that your unseason'd valour Had thrice ingag'd our fortunes and our men Beyond recovery, had not this arme redeem'd you.

Hub. Yours?

Bel. For which your life was lost for doing more Than from the Generals mouth you had command.

Hub. You fill my praise with froth, as Tapsters fill Their cut-throat Cans; where, give me but my due, I did as much as you, or you, or any.

Bel. Any?

Hub. Yes, none excepted.

Bel. The Prince was there.

Hub. And I was there: since you draw one another I will turne Painter too and draw my selfe. Was it not I that when the maine Battalia Totter'd and foure great squadrons put to rout, Then reliev'd them? and with this arme, this sword, And this affronting brow put them to flight, Chac'd em, slew thousands, tooke some few and drag'd em As slaves, tyed to my saddle bow with Halters?

Hen. Yes, Sir, 'tis true; but, as he sayes, your fury Left all our maine Battalia welnigh lost. For had the foe but re-inforct againe Our courages had beene seiz'd (?), any Ambuskado Cut you and your rash troopes off; if—

Hub. What 'if'? Envy, not honour, still inferres these 'ifs.' It thriv'd and I returnd with Victory.

Bel. You?

Hub. I, Bellizarius, I; I found your troopes Reeling and pale and ready to turne Cowards, But you not in the head; when I (brave sir) Charg'd in the Reere and shooke their battaile so The Fever never left them till they fell. I pulled the Wings up, drew the rascals on, Clapt 'em and cry'd 'follow, follow.' This is the hand First toucht the Gates, this foote first tooke the City; This Christian Church-man snacht I from the Altar And fir'd the Temple. 'Twas this sword was sheath'd In panting bosomes both of young and old; Fathers, sonnes, mothers, virgins, wives and widowes: Like death I havocke cryed so long till I Had left no monuments of life or buildings But these poore ruins. What these brave Spirits did Was like to this, I must confesse 'tis true, But not beyond it.

King. You have done nobly all. Nor let the Generall thinke I soyle his worth In that I raise this forward youth so neare Those honours he deserves from Genzericke; For he may live to serve my Henrick thus, And growing vertue must not want reward. You both allow these deeds he so much boasts of?

Hen. Yes, but not equal to the Generals.

King. The spoyles they equally shall both divide; The Generall chuse, 'tis his prerogative. Bellizarius be Viceregent over all Those conquerd parts of Affrick we call ours; Hubert the Master of my Henricks Horse And President of what the Goths possesse. Let this our last will stand.

Bel. We are richly paid.

Hub. Who earnes it must have wages.

King. Ile see you imbrac'd too.

Hub. With all my heart.

King. And Bellizarius Make him thy Scholler.

Hub. His Scholler!

King. There's stuffe in him Which temper'd well would make him a noble fellow. Now for these Prisoners: 'tis my best sacrifice My pious zeale can tender to the Gods. I censure thus: let all be naked stript, Then to the midst of the vaste Wildernesse That stands 'twixt us and wealthy Persia They shall be driven, and there wildly venture As Famine or the fury of the Beasts Conspires to use them. Which is that Bishop?

Hub. Stand forth: this is Eugenius.

Eug. I stand forth Daring all tortures, kissing Racks and Wheeles And Flames, to whom I offer up this body. You keepe us from our Crownes of Martyrdomes By this delaying: dispatch us hence.

King. Not yet, Sir: Away with them, stay him; and if our Gods Can win this Christian Champion, now so stout, To fight upon their sides, give him reward; Our Gods will reach him praise.

Eug. Your Gods! wretched soules!

King. My worke is done; and, Henricke, as thou lov'st Thy Fathers soule, see every thing perform'd. This last iniunction tyes thee: so, farewell. Let those I hated in thy hate still dwell, I meane the Christians. (Dyes.)

Hen. Oh, what a deale of greatnesse Is struck down at one blow.

Hub. Give me a battell: 'Tis brave being struck downe there.

Anth. Henrick, my Lord, And now my Soveraigne, I am by office bound To offer to your Royall hands this Crowne Which on my knees I tender, all being ready To set it on your head.

Omnes. Ascend your throne: Long live the King of Vandals and of Goths, The mighty Henrick.

Hen. What must now be done?

Anth. By me each Officer of State resignes The Patten that he holds his office by, To be dispos'd as best shall please your Grace.

Hen. And I returne them back to all their trusts. I rise in clouds, my Morning is begun From the eternall set of a bright sunne.

[Exeunt.



(SCENE 2.)

Drumnel flourish: Enter Victoria and Bellina with servants.

To gratulate his safe and wisht Arrival. Let Musick with her sweet-tongu'd Rhetorick Take out those horrours which the loud clamoures Of Warres harsh harmony hath long besieg'd His tender sences with. Your Father's come, Bellina.

Bell. I feele the ioy of it with you, sweet Mother, And am as ready to receive a blessing from him As you his chaste imbraces.

Vic. So, so, bestirre; Let all our loves and duties be exprest In our most diligent and active care.

Enter Bellizarius.

Here comes my comfort-bringer, My Bellizarius.

Belliz. Dearest Victoria; My second ioy, take thou a Fathers blessing.

Vic. Not wounded, Sir, I hope?

Belliz. No, Victoria; Those were Rewards that we bestow'd on others; We gave, but tooke none backe. Had we not you At home to heare our noble Victories Our Fame should want her Crowne, although she flew As high as yonder Axle tree above And spred in latitude throughout the world. We have subdu'd those men of strange beleefe Which Christians call themselves; a race of people —This must I speake of them—as resolute And full of courage in their bleeding falls As should they tryumph for a Victory. When the last groanes of many thousand mett And like commixed Whirlwindes fill'd our eares. As it from us rais'd not a dust of pitty So did it give no terrour to the rest That did but live to see their fellows dye. In all our rigours and afflicting tortures We cannot say that we the men subdu'd, Because their ioy was louder than our conquest. And still more worke of blood we must expect; Like Hydra's Heads by cutting off they double; As seed that multiplies, such are their dead— Next Moone a sheafe of Christians in ones stead.

Vic. This is a bloody Trade, my Bellizarius; Would thou wouldst give it over.

Belliz. 'Tis worke, Victoria, that must be done. These are the battailes of our blessing, Pleasing gods and goddesses who for our service Render us these Conquests. Our selves and our affaires we may neglect, But not our Deities, which these Christians Prophane deride and scoffe at; would new Lawes Bring in and a new God make.

Vic. No, my Lord; I have heard say they never make their Gods, But they serve 'em, they say, that did make them: All made-gods they dispise.

Belliz. Tush, tush, Victoria, let not thy pitty Turne to passions; they'le not deserve thy sorrow. How now? What's the newes?

Enter a Souldier.

Sold. Strange, my Lord, beyond a wonder, For 'tis miraculous. Since you forsooke The bloody fight and horrour of the Christians, One tortur'd wretch, whose sight was quite extinct, His eyes no farther seeing than his hands, Is now by that Eugenius, whom they call Their holy Bishop, cleerely restor'd again To the astonishment of all your Army, Who faintly now recoyle with feare and terrour Not daring to offend so great a power.

Belliz. Ha! 'tis strange thou tell'st me.

Vic. Oh, take heed, my Lord; It is no warring against heavenly Powers Who can command their Conquest when they please. They can forbeare the Gyants that throw stones, And smile upon their follies; but when they frowne Their angers fall downe perpendicular And strike their weake Opposer into nothing: The Thunder tells us so.

Belliz. Pray leave me all; I shall have company When you are gone, enough to fill the roome.

Vic. The holiest powers give thee their best direction.

[Exeunt: Manet Bellizarius.

Belliz. What power is that can fortifie a man To ioy in death, since all we can expect Is but fruition of the ioyes of life? If Christians hoped not to become immortall Why should they seeke for death? O, then instruct me some Divine power; Thou that canst give the sight unto the blind, Open my blind iudgement Thunder: Enter an Angel. That I may see a way to happinesse. Ha, this is a dreadfull answer; this may chide The relapse in my blood that 'gins to faint From[138] further persecution of these people. Oh shall I backe and double tyranny? (Thunder.) A louder threat[e]ning! oh mould these voyces Into articulate words, that I may know Thy meaning better. Shall I quench the flames Of blood and vengeance, and my selfe become A penetrable Christian? my life lay downe Amongst their sufferings? (Musicke.) Ha, these are sweet tunes.

Ang. Bellizarius!

Belliz. It names me, too.

Ang. Sheath up thy cruelty; no more pursue In bloody forrage these oppressed Christians, For now the Thunder will take their part. Remaine in peace and Musicke is thy banquet, Or thy selfe number 'mongst their martyring groanes And thou art numbred with these blessed ones.

Belliz. What heavenly voyce is this? shall my eares onely Be blest with raptures, not mine eyes enioy The sight of that Celestiall presence From whence these sweet sounds come?

Ang. Yes, thou shalt see; nay, then, 'tis lost agen. (Bel. kneeles.) Rise; this is enough; be constant Souldier: Thy heart's a Christian, to death persever And then enioy the sight of Angels ever. [Exit.

Belliz. Oh, let me flye into that happy place. Prepare your tortures now, you scourge of Christians, For Bellizarius the Christians torturer; Centuple all that I have ever done; Kindle the fire and hacke at once with swords; Teare me by piece-meales, strangle, and extend My every limbe and ioynt; nay, devise more Than ever did my bloody Tyrannies. Oh let me ever lose the sight of men That I may see an Angell once agen. [Exit.



Actus Secundus.

(SCENE I.)

Enter Hubert and Damianus.

Hub. For[139] looke you, Damianus, though Henricke, now king, did in the battaile well and Bellizarius enough for a Generall, did not I tell 'em home?

Dam. I heard it.

Hub. They shall not make bonefires of their owne glories and set up for me a poore waxe candle to shew mine. I am full of Gold now: what shall I doe with it, Damianus?

Dam. What doe Marriners after boone voyages, but let all flye; and what Souldiers, when warres are done, but fatten peace?

Hub. Pox of Peace! she has churles enough to fatten her. I'll make a Shamoyes Doublet, embroydered all over with flowers of gold. In these dayes a woman will not looke upon a man if he be not brave. Over my Doublet a Soldado Cassacke of Scarlet, larded thicke with Gold Lace; Hose of the same, cloake of the same, too, lasht up this high and richly lined. There was a Lady, before I went, was working with her needle a Scarffe for mee; but the Wagtaile has left her nest.

Dam. No matter; there's enough such birds everywhere.

Hub. Yes, women are as common as glasses in Tavernes, and often drunke in and more often crackt. I shall grow lazy if I fight not; I would faine play with halfe a dozen Fencers, but it should be at sharpe.[140]

Dam. And they are all for foyles.

Hub. Foyl'd let 'em be then.

Dam. You have had fencing enough in the field, and for women the Christians fill'd[141] your markets.

Hub. Yes, and those markets were our Shambles. Flesh enough! It made me weary of it. Since I came home I have beene wondrous troubled in my sleepes, And often heard to sigh in dead of night As if my heart would cracke. You talk of Christians: Ile tell you a strange thing, a kind of melting in My soule, as 'twere before some heavenly fire, When in their deaths (whom they themselves call Martyrs) It was all rocky. Nothing, they say, can soften A Diamond but Goates blood;[142] they perhaps were Lambs In whose blood I was softened.

Dam. Pray tell how.

Hub. I will: after some three hours being in Carthage I rusht into a Temple. Starr'd all with lights; Which with my drawne sword rifling, in a roome Hung full of Pictures, drawne so full of sweetnesse They struck a reverence in me, found I a woman, A Lady all in white; the very Candles Took brightnesse from her eyes and those cleare Pearles Which in aboundance falling on her cheekes Gave them a lovely bravery. At my rough entrance She shriek'd and kneel'd, and holding up a paire Of Ivory fingers begg't that I would not (Though I did kill) dishonour her, and told me She would pray for me. Never did Christian So near come to my heart-strings; I let my Sword Fall from me, stood astonish't, and not onely Sav'd her my selfe but guarded her from others.

Dam. Done like a Souldier.

Hub. Blood is not ever The wholsom'st Wine to drinke. Doubtlesse these Christians Serve some strange Master, and it needes must bee A wonderfull sweete wages which he paies them; And though men murmour, get they once here footing, Then downe goes our Religion, downe our Altars, And strange things be set up.—I cannot tell: We, held so pure, finde wayes enough to hell. Fall out what can, I care not; Ile to Bellizarius.

Dam. Will you? pray carry to him my best wishes.

Hub. I can carry anything but Blowes, Coles,[143] my Drink, and that clapper of the Divell, the tongue of a Scould. Farewell.

[Exeunt.



(SCENE 2.)

Flourish: Enter the King, Antony, Cosmo, all about the King, and Bellizarius.

King. They swarme like Bees about us, insomuch Our People cannot sacrifice nor give Incense But with interruptions; they still are buzzing thus, Saying: Their Gods delight not in vaine showes But intellectual thoughts pure and unstain'd, Therefore reduce them from their heresies Or build our prison walls with Christians bones. What thinkes our Bellizarius, he that was wont To be more swift to execute than we to command? Why sits not Bellizarius?

Belliz. I dare not.

King. Protect me, Iove! Who dare gainesay it?

Belliz. I must not.

King. Say we command it?

Belliz. Truth is, I neither can nor will.

Omn. Hee's mad.

Belliz. Yes, I am mad To see such Wolvish Tyrants as you are Pretend a Justice and condemne the iust. Oh you white soules that hover in the aire, Who through my blindnesse were made death his[144] prey; Be but appeas'd, you spotlesse Innocents, Till with my blood I have made a true atonement, And through those tortures, by this braine devis'd, In which you perisht, I may fall as you To satisfie your yet fresh bleeding memories And meete you in that garden where content Dwels onely. I, that in blood did glory, Will now spend blood to heighten out your story.

Anton. Why, Bellizarius—

Belliz. Hinder me not: I'me in a happy progresse, would not change my guest Nor be deterr'd by Moles and Wormes that cannot see Such as you are. Alas, I pitty you.

Dam. The King's in presence.

Belliz. I talke of one that's altitudes above him, That owes[145] all Principalities: he is no King That keepes not his decrees, nor am I bound In duty to obey him in unwist acts.

King. All leave the roome.

Omnes. We obey your highnesse. [Exeunt Lords.

King. Sir, nay. Sir; good Bellizarius.

Belliz. In that I doe obey.

King. Doe you make scruple, then, of our command?

Belliz. Yes, Sir, where the act's unjust and impure.

King. Why, then, are we a king, if not obey'd?

Belliz. You are plac'd on earth but as a Substitute To a Diviner being as subiects are to you; And are so long a king to be obey'd As you are iust.

King. Good Bellizarius, wherein doe I digresse? Have I not made thee great, given thee authority To scourge those mis-beleevers, those wild Locusts That thus infect our Empire with their Scismes? The World is full of Bellizarius deedes. Succeeding times will Canonize thy Acts When they shall read what great ones thou hast done In honour of us and our sacred gods; For which, next unto Iove, they gave a Laurell To Bellizarius, whose studious braine Fram'd all these wracks and tortures for these Christians. Hast thou not all our Treasure in thy power? Who but your selfe commands as [us?], Bellizarius? Then whence, my Bellizarius, comes this change?

Belliz. Poore King, I sorrow for thy weakned sence, Wishing thy eye-sight cleare that Eagle-like, As I doe now, thou might'st gaze on the Sunne, The Sunne of brightnesse, Sunne of peace, of plenty. Made you me great in that you made me miserable, Thy selfe more wretched farre? in that thy hand The Engine was to make me persecute Those Christian soules whom I have sent to death, For which I ever, ever shall lament?

King. Ha, what's this?—Within there!

Belliz. Nay, heare me, Henrick, and when thou hast heard me out With Bellizarius thinke that thou art blest If that with me thou canst participate.

King. Thou art mad.

Belliz. No; 'tis thou art mad, And with thy frenzie make this Kingdome franticke. Forgive me, thou great Power in whom I trust, Forgive me, World, and blot out all my deeds From those black Kalends; else, when I lye dead, My Name will ever lie in obliquie. Is it a Sinne that can make great men good? Is prophanation turn'd to sanctity, Vices to vertues? if such disorder stand Then Bellizarius Acts may be held iust; Otherwise nothing.

King. Some Furie hath possest my Bellizarius That thus he railes. Oh, my dearest, Call on great Iupiter.

Belliz. Alas, poore Idoll! On him! on him that is not, unlesse made: Had I your Iove I'de tosse him in the Ayre, Or sacrifice him to his fellow-gods And see what he could doe to save himselfe. You call him Thunderer, shaker of Olympus, The onely and deare Father of all gods; When silly love is shooke with every winde, A fingers touch can hurle him from his Throne. Is this a thing to be ador'd or pray'd too?

King. My love turnes now to rage.—Attendance there, Enter all the Lords. And helpe to binde this mad man, that's possest!— By the powers that we adore thou dyest.

Belliz. Here me, thou ignorant King, you dull-brain'd Lords, Oh heare me for your owne sakes, for your soules sake: Had you as many gods as you have dayes, As once the Assyrians had, yet have yee nothing. Such service as they gave such you may give, And have reward as had the blinde Molossians: A Toad one day they worship; one of them drunke A health with 's god and poyson'd so himselfe. Therefore with me looke up, and as regenerate soules—

Dam. Can you suffer this? This his affront will scare up the devotion Of all your people. He that persecuted Become a convertite!

Belliz. 'Tis ioy above my ioy: oh, had you scene What these eyes saw, you would not then Disswade me from it; nor will I leave that power By whom I finde such infinite contentments.

Hen. Epidophorus; your eare:—see't done.

Epi. It shall, my Lord. [Exit Epi.

Hen. Then by the gods And all the powers the Vandals doe adore, Thou hast not beene more terrible to the world Than to thy selfe I now will make thee.

Belliz. I dare thy worst; I have a Christian armour to protect me. You cannot act so much as I will suffer.

Hen. Ile try your patience

Enter Epido, two Christians and officers.

Epi. 'Tis done, my Lord, as you directed.

Hen. They are come: Make signes you'le yet deny your Christianity (They make signes.) And kneele with us to sacred Iupiter. No? make them then a Sacrifice to Iupiter For all the wrongs by Bellizarius done. Dispatch, I say; to the fire with them.

Belliz. Alas, good men! tonguelesse? you'le yet be heard; The sighes of your tun'd soules are musicall, And whil'st I breath, as now my tears I shed, My prayers He send up for you; 'twas I that mangl'd you. How soone the bodies Organ leaves the sound! The Life's next too't; a Needles point ends that, A small thing does it. Now you have quiet roomes No wrangling, all husht. Now make me a fellow In this most patient suffering.

Hen. Beare them unto the fire, and place him neere To fright him. (Flourish.)

Belliz. On, fellow Souldiers! Your fires will soon be quencht, and for your wrongs You shall, above, all speake with Angels tongues.

[Exeunt.



(SCENE 3.)

Enter Clowne, Constable and three watchmen.

Clown. You[146] that are borne Pagans both by father and mother, the true sonnes of Infidelity, sit downe by me your officiall, or to come nearer to the efficacy of the word, your undermost Iaylor or staller; —the word is Lordly and significant.

Omnes. O brave Master, yfaith.

Clowne. Therefore sit downe; and as by vertue of our place we have Authority given, so let us as officers doe, knaves of our function as of others; let us, I say, be unbounded in our Authority, having the Lawes, I meane the Keyes, in our owne hands.

Const. Friend, friend, you are too forward in your Authority; your command is limited where I am in place: for though you are the Lieutenants man know, sir, that I am Master of the worke and Constable Royall under the Kings Maiesty.

Omnes. Marry is hee.

Const. If their testimonie will not satisfie, here my Title: At this place, in this time, and upon this occasion I am Prince over these Publicans, Lord over these Larroones,[147] Regent of these Rugs,[148] Viceroy over these Vagabonds, King of these Caterpillars; and indeed, being a Constable, directly Soveraigne over these my Subiects.

2 Off. If all these stiles, so hard to climbe over, belong to the office of a Constable, what kin is he to the Divell?

Const. Why to the Devill, my friend?

Clown. Ile tell you: because a Constable is King of Nights and the other is Prince of Darknesse.

Const. Darke as it is, by the twilight of my Lanthorne methinks I see a company of Woodcocks.

2 Off. How can you discerne them?

Enter Epidophorus, Victoria and Bellina.

Clown. Oh excellent well, by their bills: see, see, here comes the Lieutenant.

Epi. Well sayd, my friends: you keep good watch, I see.

Clown. Yes, Sir, we Officers have breath as strong as Garlick: no Christian by their good wills dare come neare us.

Epi. 'Tis well, forbeare.— Oh, Madam, had you scene with what a vehemency He did blaspheme the gods, Like to a man pearcht on some lofty Spire Amazed which way to relieve himselfe, You would have stood, as did the King, amaz'd.

Vict. God grant him liberty, And with that give us privacy; I doubt not But our sweet conference shall work much on him.

Epi. Iove grant it: Ile leave the roome. [Exit Epi.

Clown. A Iaylor seldome lookes for a bribe but hee's prevented.

[Exeunt Officers.

Enter Bellizarius in his night-gown, with Epidophorus.

Epi. My Lord, your Lady and her most beauteous daughter Are come to visit you, and here attend.

Belliz. My Wife and Daughter? oh welcome, love, And blessing Crowne thee, my beloved Bellina.

Vict. My Lord, pray leave us.

Epi. Your will be your owne Law. [Exit Epidoph.

Vict. Why study you, my Lord? why is your eye fixt On your Bellina more than on me?

Belliz. Good, excellent good: What pretty showes our fancies represent us! My faire Bellina shines like to an Angel; Has such a brightnesse in her Christall eyes That even the radiancy duls my sight. See, my Victoria, lookes she not sweetly?

Vict. Shee does, my Lord; but not much better than she was wont.

Belliz. Oh shee but beginnes to shine as yet, But will I hope ere long be stellified. Alas, my Victoria, thou look'st nothing like her.

Vict. Not like her? why, my Lord?

Belliz. Marke and Ile tell thee how: Thou art too much o'er growne with sinne and shame, Hast pray'd too much, offered too much devotion To him and those that can nor helpe nor hurt, Which my Bellina has not: Her yeares in sinne are not, as thine are, old; Therefore me thinks she's fairer farre than thou.

Vict. I, my Lord, guided by you and by your precepts, Have often cal'd on Iupiter.

Belliz. I, there's the poynt: My sinnes like Pullies still drew me downewards: 'Twas I that taught thee first to Idolize, And unlesse that I can with-draw thy mind From following that I did with tears intreat, I'me lost, for ever lost, lost in my selfe and thee. Oh, my Bellina!

Bellina. Why, Sir! Shall we not call on Iove that gives us food, By whom we see the heavens have all their Motions?

Belliz. Shee's almost lost too: alas! my Girle, There is a higher Iove that rules 'bove him. Sit, my Victoria, sit, my faire Bellina, And with attention hearken to my dreame: Methought one evening, sitting on a fragrant Virge, Close by there ranne a silver gliding streame: I past the Rivolet and came to a Garden, A Paradise, I should say (for lesse it could not be); Such sweetnesse the world contains not as I saw; Indian Aramaticks nor Arabian Gummes Were nothing sented unto this sweet bower. I gaz'd about, and there me thought I saw Conquerors and Captives, Kings and meane men; I saw no inequality in their places. Casting mine eye on the other side the Palace, Thousands I saw my selfe had sent to death; At which I sigh'd and sob'd, I griev'd and groan'd. Ingirt with Angels were those glorious Martyrs Whom this ungentle hand untimely ended, And beckon'd to me as if heaven had said, "Beleeve as they and be thou one of them"; At which my heart leapt, for there me thought I saw, As I suppos'd, you two like to the rest: With that I wak'd and resolutely vow'd To prosecute what I in thought had seene.

Bellina. 'Twas a sweet dreame; good Sir, make use of it.

Vict. And I with Bellizarius am resolv'd To undergoe the worst of all afflictions, Where such a glory bids us to performe.

Belliz. Now blessings crowne yee both The first stout Martyr has[149] his glorious end Though stony-hard yet speedy; when ours comes I shall tryumph in our affliction. This adds some comfort to my troubled soule: I, that so many have depriv'd of breath, Shall winne two soules to accompany me in death.

[Exeunt.



Actus Tertius.

Enter Clowne and Huntsmen severally.

1 Hunt. Ho, rise, sluggards! so, so, ho! so, ho!

2 Hunt. So ho, ho! we come.

Clown. Morrow, iolly wood-men.

Omnes. Morrow, morrow.

Clown. Oh here's a Morning like a grey ey'd Wench, able to intice a man to leap out of his bed if he love hunting, had he as many cornes on his toes as there are Cuckolds in the City.

1 Hunt. And that's enough in conscience to keepe men from going, were his Boots as wide as the black Iacks[150] or Bombards tost by the Kings Guard.

2 Hunt. Are the swift Horses ready?

Clown. Yes, and better fed than taught; for one of 'em had like to have kickt my iigumbobs as I came by him.

2 Hunt. Where are the Dogges?

Clown. All coupled, as Theeves going to a Sessions, and are to be hang'd if they be found faulty.

2 Hunt. What Dogges are they?

Clown. A packe of the bravest Spartan Dogges in the world; if they do but once open and spend[151] there gabble, gabble, gabble it will make the Forest ecchoe as if a Ring of Bells were in it; admirably flewd[152], by their eares you would take 'em to be singing boyes; and for Dewlaps they are as bigge as Vintners bags in which they straine Ipocras.

Omnes. There, boy.

Clown. And hunt so close and so round together that you may cover 'em all with a sheete.

2 Hunt. If it be wide enough.

Clown. Why, as wide as some four or five Acres, that's all.

1 Hunt. And what's the game to day?

Clown. The wilde Boare.

1 Hunt. Which of 'em? the greatest? I have not seene him.

Clown. Not seene him? he is as big as an Elephant.

2 Hunt. Now will he build a whole Castle full of lies.

Clown. Not seen him? I have.

Omnes. No, no; seene him? as big as an Elephant?

Clown. The backe of him is as broad—let me see—as a pretty Lighter.

1 Hun. A Lighter?

Clown. Yes; and what do you think the Brissells are worth?

2 Hunt. Nothing.

Clown. Nothing? one Shoemaker offer'd to finde me and the Heire-male of my body 22 yeeres, but to have them for his owne ends.

2 Hunt. He would put Sparabiles[153] into the soales then?

Clown. Not a Bill, not a Sparrow. The Boares head is so huge that a Vintner but drawing that picture and hanging it up for a Signe it fell down and broke him.

1 Hunt. Oh horrible!

Clown. He has two stones so bigge, let me see (a Poxe), thy head is but a Cherry-stone to the least of' em.

2 Hunt. How long are his Tuskes?

Clown. Each of them as crooked and as long as a Mowers sith.

1 Hunt. There's a Cutter.

Clown. And when he whets his Tuskes you would sweare there were a sea in's belly, and that his chops were the shore to which the Foame was beaten: if his Foame were frothy Yest 'twere worth tenne groats a paile for Bakers.

1 Hunt. What will the King do with him if he kill him?

Clown. Bake him, and if they put him in one Pasty a new Oven must be made, with a mouth as wide as the gates of the City. (Horne.)

Omnes. There boy, there boy.

Hornes and Noise within: Enter Antony meeting Damianus.

Ant. Cosmo had like beene kild; the Boare receiving[154] A Speare full in the Flanke from Cosmo's hand, Foaming with rage he ranne at him, unhorst him And had, but that he fell behinde an Oake Of admirable greatnesse, torne out his bowels; His very Tuskes, striking into the tree, Made the old Champion[155] shake.

[Enter Cosmo.

Dam. Where are the Dogges?

Cosmo. No matter for the Curres: I scapt well, but cannot finde the King.

Anton. When did you see him?

Cosmo. Not since the Boare tos'd up Both horse and rider.

Enter Epidophorus and all the Huntsmen in a hurry.

Epi. A Liter for the King; the King is hurt.

Ant. How?

Epi. No man knowes: some say stung by an Adder As from his horse he fell; some cry, by the Boare.

Anton. The Boare never came neare him.

Dam. The King's Physitians!

Cosmo. Runne for the King's Physitians.

Epi. Conduct us to him.

Anton. A fatall hunting when a King doth fall: All earthly pleasures are thus washt in gall.

[Exeunt.



(SCENE 2.)

Eugenius discovered sitting loaden with many Irons, a Lampe burning by him; then enter Clowne with a piece of browne bread and a Carret roote.

Eugen. Is this my Dyet?

Clown. Yes, marry is it; though it be not Dyet bread[156] 'tis bread, 'tis your dinner; and though this be not the roote of all mischiefe yet 'tis a Carret, and excellent good meate if you had powderd Beefe to it.

Eugen. I am content with this.

Clown. If you bee not I cannot helpe it; for I am threatned to be hang'd if I set but a Tripe before you or give you a bone to gnaw.

Eugen. For me thou shalt not suffer.

Clown. I thank you; but were not you better be no good Christian, as I am, and so fill your belly as to lie here and starve and be hang'd thus in Chaines?

Eugen. No, 'tis my tryumph; all these Chaines to me Are silken Ribbonds, this course bread a banquet; This gloomy Dungeon is to me more pleasing Than the Kings Palace; and cou'd I winne thy soule To shake off her blacke ignorance, thou, as I doe, Would'st feele thirst, hunger, stripes and Irons nothing, Nay, count death nothing. Let me winne thee to me.

Clown. Thank yee for that: winne me from a Table full of good meat to leape at a crust! I am no Scholler, and you (they say) are a great one; and schollers must eate little, so shall you. What a fine thing is it for me to report abroad of you that you are no great feeder, no Cormorant! What a quiet life is it when a womans tongue lies still! and is't not as good when a mans teeth lyes still?

Eugen. Performe what thou art bidden; if thou art charg'd To starve me, Ile not blame thee but blesse heaven.

Clown. If you were starv'd what hurt were that to you?

Eugen. Not any; no, not any.

Clown. Here would be your praise when you should lie dead: they would say, he was a very good man but alas! had little or nothing in him.

Eugen. I am a slave to any misery My Iudges doome me too.

Clown. If you bee a slave there's more slaves in the world than you.

Eugen. Yes, thousands of brave fellows slaves to their vices; The Usurer to his gold, drunkards to Wine, Adulterers to their lust.

Clown. Right, Sir; so in Trades: the Smith is a slave to the Ironmonger, the itchy silk-weaver to the Silke-man, the Cloth-worker to the Draper, the Whore to the Bawd, the Bawd to the Constable, and the Constable to a bribe.

Eugen. Is it the kings will that I should be thus chain'd?

Clown. Yes indeed, Sir. I can tell you in some countries they are held no small fooles that goe in Chaines.

Eugen. I am heavy.

Clown. Heavy? how can you chuse, having so much Iron upon you?

Eugen. Death's brother and I would have a little talk So thou wouldst leave us.

Clown. With all my heart; let Deaths sister talke with you, too, and shee will, but let not me see her, for I am charg'd to let no body come into you. If you want any water give mee your Chamber pot; Ile fill it. [Exit.

Eugen. No, I want none, I thanke thee. Oh sweet affliction, thou blest booke, being written By Divine fingers! you Chaines that binde my body To free my soule; you Wheeles that wind me up To an eternity of happinesse, Mustre my holy thoughts; and, as I write, Organ of heavenly Musicke to mine ears, Haven to my Shipwracke, balme to my wounds, Sunne-beames which on me comfortably shine When Clouds of death are covering me; (so gold, As I by thee, by fire is purified; So showres quicken the Spring; so rough Seas Bring Marriners home, giving them gaines and ease); Imprisonment, gyves, famine, buffetings, The Gibbet and the Racke; Flint stones, the Cushions On which I kneele; a heape of Thornes and Briers, The Pillow to my head; a nasty prison, Able to kill mankinde even with the Smell: All these to me are welcome. You are deaths servants; When comes your Master to me? Now I am arm'd for him. Strengthen me that Divinity that enlightens The darknesse of my soule, strengthen this hand That it may write my challenge to the world Whom I defie; that I may on this paper The picture draw of my confession. Here doe I fix my Standard, here bid Battaile To Paganisme and infidelity.

Musicke; enter Angel.

Mustre my holy thoughts, and, as I write, In this brave quarrell teach me how to fight.

(As he is writing an Angel comes and stands before him: soft musick; he astonisht and dazeld.)

This is no common Almes to prisoners; I never heard such sweetnesse—O mine eyes! I, that am shut from light, have all the light Which the world sees by; here some heavenly fire Is throwne about the roome, and burnes so clearely, Mine eye-bals drop out blasted at the sight.

(He falls flat on the earth, and whilst a Song is heard the Angel writes, and vanishes as it ends.)

I. SONG.

What are earthly honours But sins glorious banners? Let not golden gifts delight thee, Let not death nor torments fright thee; From thy place thy Captaine gives thee When thou faintest he relieves thee. Hearke, how the Larke Is to the Morning singing; Harke how the Bells are ringing. It is for joy that thou to Heaven art flying: This is not life, true life is got by dying.

Eugen. The light and sound are vanisht, but my feare Sticks still upon my forehead: what's written here? (Reads.)

Goe, and the bold Physitian play; But touch the King and drive away The paine he feeles; but first assay To free the Christians: if the King pay Thy service ill, expect a day When for reward thou shalt not stay.

All writ in golden Letters and cut so even As if some hand had hither reacht from Heaven To print this Paper.

Enter Epidophorus.

Epi. Come, you must to the King.

Eugen. I am so laden with Irons I scarce can goe.

Epi. Wyer-whips shall drive you, The King is counsell'd for his health to bath him In the warme blood of Christians; and you, I thinke, Must give him ease.

Eugen. Willingly; my fetters Hang now, methinks, like feathers at my heeles. On, any whither; I can runne, sir.

Epi. Can you? not very farre, I feare.

Eugen. No windes my Faith shake, nor rock[s] split in sunder: The poore ship's tost here, my strong Anchor's yonder.

[Exeunt.



(SCENE 3.)

Enter Bellizarius and Hubert.

Hub. My Lord?

Belliz. Ha!

Hub. Affraid in a close room where no foe comes Unlesse it be a Weezle or a Rat (And those besiege your Larder or your Pantry), Whom the arm'd Foe never frighted in the field?

Belliz. 'Tis true, my Lord, there danger was a safety; here To be secure I thinke most dangerous. Or what could[157] famine, wounds or all th'extreames That still attend a Souldiers actions Could not destroy, one sillable from a Kings breath Can thus, thus easily win.

Hub. Oh, 'tis their long observed policy To turne away these roaring boyes When they intend to rock licentious thoughts In a soft roome, where every long Cushion is Embroydered with old Histories of peace, And all the hangings of Warre thrust into the Wardrobe Till they grow musty or moth-eaten.

Belliz. One of those rusty Monuments am I.

Hub. A little oyle of favour will secure thee agen, And make thee shine as bright as in that day We wonne the famous battaile 'gainst the Christians.

Enter Bellina and kneeles weeping.

Belliz. Never, Hubert, never. What newes now, Girle? thy heart So great it cannot tell me?

Hub. Sfoot, why shouldst thou be troubled, that art thus visited? Let the King put me into any roome, the closer the better, and turne but such a keeper to me, and if ever I strive to runne away, though the doores be open, may the Virgins curse destroy me, and let me lamentably and most unmanly dye of the Greene-sicknesse.

Belliz. My blessing bring thee patience, gentle Girle; It is the best thy wronged Father can Invoke for thee.—Tis my Bellina, Hubert: Know her, honour'd Sir, and pittie her.

Hub. How sweetly she becomes the face of woe! Shee teacheth misery to court her beauty And to affliction lends a lovely looke. Happy folkes would sell their blessings for her griefes But to be sure to meete them thus.

Bellina. My honourd Father, your griev'd Daughter thus Thrice every day to Heaven lifts her poore hand And payes her vowes to the incensed Powers For your release and happy patience, And will grow old in vowes unto those Powers Till they fall on me loaden with my wishes.

Belliz. Thou art the comfort of my Treasure, Girle: Wee'le live together, if it please the King, And tell sad Stories of thy wretched Mother; Give equall sighes to one anothers griefe, And by discourse of happinesse to come Trample upon our present miseries.

Hub. There is a violent fire runnes round about me, Which my sighes blow to a consuming flame. To be her Martyr is a happinesse, The sainted souls would change their merit for it. Methinkes griefe dwells about her purest eyes, As if it begg'd a pardon for those teares Exhausted hence and onely due to love: Her Vaile hangs like a Cloud over her face, Through which her beauty, like a glimmering Starre, Gives a transparent lustre to the night, As if no sorrow could Ecclipse her light: Her lips, as they discourse, methinks, looke pale For feare they should not kisse agen; but, met, They blush for joy, as happy Lovers doe After a long divorce when they encounter.

Belliz. Noble Lord, if you dare lose so much precious time As to be companion to my misery But one poor houre, And not esteeme your selfe too prodigall For that expence, this wretched Maid my Child Shall waite upon you with her sorrows stories; Vouchsafe but you to heare it.

Hub. Yes, with full eare.

Belliz. To your best thoughts I leave you; I will but read, and answer this my Letter. [Exit. Belliz.

Bellina. Why do you, seeme to loose your eyes on me? Here's nothing but a pile of wretchednesse; A branch that every way is shooke at roote And would (I think) even fall before you now, But that Divinity which props it up Inspires it full of comfort, since the Cause My father suffers for gives a full glory To his base fetters of Captivity. And I beseech you, Sir, if there but dwell So much of Vertue in you as your lookes Seeme to expresse possesse your honour'd thoughts, Bestow your pitty on us, not your scorne; And wish, for goodnesse sake and your soules weale, You were a sharer in these sufferings, So the same cause expos'd your fortunes too't.

Hub. Oh, happy woman, know I suffer more, And for a cause as iust.

Bellina. Be proud then of that tryumph; but I am yet A stranger to the Character of what You say you suffer for. Is it for Conscience?

Hub. For love, divine perfection.

Bellina. If of Heaven's love, how rich is your reward!

Hub. Of Heaven's best blessing, your most perfect selfe.

Bellina. Alas, Sir, here perfection keeps no Court, Love dresses here no wanton amorous bowers; Sorrow has made perpetuall winter here, And all my thoughts are Icie, past the reach Of what Loves fires can thaw.

Hub. Oh doe but take away a part of that My breast is full of, of that holy fire The Queene of Loves faire Altar holds not purer Nor more effectuall; and, sweet, if then You melt not into passion for my wounds, Effuse your Virgin vowes to chaine mine ears, Weepe on my necke and with your fervent sighes Infuse a soule of comfort into me; He break the Altar of the foolish God, Proclaime them guilty of Idolatry That sacrifice to Cytheraeas sonne.

Bellina. Did not my present fortunes and my vowes, Register'd in the Records of Heaven, Tye me too strictly from such thoughts as these, I feare me I should softly yeeld to what My yet condition has beene stranger to. To love, my Lord, is to be miserable.

Hub. Oh to thy sweetnesse Envy would prove kind, Tormentor humble, no pale Murderer; And the Page of death a smiling Courtier. Venus must then, to give thee noble welcome, Perfume her Temple with the breath of Nunnes, Not Vesta's but her owne; with Roses strow The paths that bring thee to her blessed shrine; Cloath all her Altares in her richest Robes And hang her walles with stories of such loves Have rais'd her Tryumphs; and 'bove all at last Record this day, the happy day in which Bellina prov'd to love a Convertite. Be mercifull and save me.

Bellina. You are defil'd with Seas of Christians blood, An enemy to Heaven and which is good; And cannot be a loving friend to me.

Hub. If I have sinn'd forgive me, you iust powers: My ignorance, not cruelty has don't. And here I vow my selfe to be hereafter What ere Bellina shall instruct me in: For she was never made but to possesse The highest Mansion 'mongst your Dignities, Nor can Heaven let her erre.

Bellina. On that condition thus I spread my armes, Whose chaste embraces ne're toucht man before; And will to Hubert all the favour shew His vertuous love can covet. I will be ever his; goe thou to Warre, These hands shall arme thee; and Ile watch thy Tent Till from the battaile thou bring'st victory. In peace Ile sit by thee and read or sing Stanzaes of chaste love, of love purifi'd From desires drossie blacknesse; nay when our clouds Of ignorance are quite vanisht, and that a holy Religious knot between us may be tyed, Bellina here vowes to be Hubert's bride: Else doe I sweare perpetuall chastity.

Hub. Thy vowes I seale, be thou my ghostly Tutor; And, all my actions levell'd to thy thoughts, I am thy Creature.

Bellina. Let Heaven, too, but now propitious prove And for thy soule thou hast wonne a happy love. Come, shall we to my Father.

[Exeunt.

(Soft Musick)



(SCENE 4.)

Enter the King on his bed, two Physitians, Anthony Damianus and Cosmo.

King. Are you Physitians? Are you those men that proudly call your selves The helps of Nature?

Ant. Oh, my good Lord, have patience.

King. What should I doe? lye like a patient Asse? Feele my selfe tortur'd by this diffused poyson, But tortur'd more by these unsavoury drugges?

Ant. Come one of you your selves and speake to him.

1 Phys. How fares your Highnesse?

King. Never worse:—What's he?

Dami. One of your Highnesse Doctors.

King. Come, sit neare me; Feele my pulse once again and tell me, Doctor, Tell me in tearmes that I may understand,— I doe not love your gibberish,—tell me honestly Where the Cause lies, and give a Remedy, And that with speed; or in despight of Art, Of Nature, you and all your heavenly motions, Ile recollect so much of life into me As shall give space to see you tortur'd. Some body told me that a Bath of mans blood Would restore me. Christians shall pay for't; Fetch the Bishop hither, he shall begin.

Cosm. Hee's gone for.

King. What's my disease?

1 Phys. My Lord, you are poyson'd.

King. I told thee so my selfe, and told thee how: But what's the reason that I have no helpe? The Coffers of my Treasury are full, Or, if they were not, tributary Christians Bring in sufficient store to pay your fees, If that you gape at.

2 Phys. Wilt please your Highnesse then to take this Cordiall? Gold never truely did you good till now.

King. 'Tis gone.

2 Phys. My Lord, it was the perfectst tincture Of Gold that ever any Art produc'd: With it was mixt a true rare Quintessence Extracted out of Orientall Bezar,[158] And with it was dissolv'd the Magisteriall Made of the Horne Armenia so much boast of; Which, though dull Death had usurp't Natures right, Is able to create new life agen.

King. Why does it good on men and not on Kings? We have the selfe-same passages for Nature With mortall men; our pulses beate like theirs: We are subiect unto passions as they are. I finde it now, but to my griefe I finde, Life stands not with us on such ticklish points, What is't, because we are Kings, Life takes it leave With greater state? No, no; the envious Gods Maligne our happinesse. Oh that my breath had power With my last words to blast their Deities.

1 Phys. The Cordiall that you tooke requires rest: For healths sake, good my Lord, repose your selfe.

King. Yes, any thing for health; draw round the Curtaines.

Dami. Wee'le watch by him whilst you two doe consult.

1 Phys. What guesse you by that Urine?

2 Phys. Surely Death!

1 Phys. Death certaine, without contradiction, For though the Urin be a whore and lies, Yet where I finde her in all parts agree With other Symtomes of apparent death Ile give her faith. Pray, Sir, doe but marke These black Hypostacies;[159] it plainely shewes Mortification generally through the spirits; And you may finde the Pulse to shew as much By his uncertainty of time and strength.

2 Phys. We finde the spirits often suffisticated By many accidents, but yet not mortified; A sudden feare will doe it.

1 Phys. Very right; But there's no malitious humour mixt As in the king: Sir, you must understand A Scorpion stung him: now a Scorpion is A small compacted creature in whom Earth Hath the predominance, but mixt with fire, So that in him Saturne and Mars doe meet. This little Creature hath his severall humours, And these their excrements; these met together, Enflamed by anger, made a deadly poison; And by how much the creatures body's lesse By so much is the force of Venome more, As Lightning through a windows Casement Hurts more than that which enters at the doore.

2 Phys. But for the way to cure it?

1 Phys. I know none; Yet Ancient Writers have prescrib'd us many: As Theophrastus holds most excellent Diophoratick[160] Medicines to expell Ill vapours from the noble parts by sweate; But Avices and also Rabby Roses[161] Doe thinke it better by provoking Urin, Since by the Urine blood may well be purg'd, And spirits from the blood have nutriment, But for my part I ever held opinion In such a case the Ventosities are best.

2 Phys. They are indeed, and they doe farre exceede—

1 Phys. All the great curious Cataphlasmes, Or the live taile of a deplum[e]d Henne, Or your hot Pigeons or your quartered whelpes;[162] For they by a meere forc'd attractive power Retaine that safely which by force was drawne, Whereas the other things I nam'd before Do lose their vertue as they lose their heat.

2 Phys. The ventosities shall be our next intensions.

Anton. Pray, Gentlemen, attend his Highnesse.

King. Your next intentions be to drowne your selves: Dogge-leaches all! I see I am not mortall, For I with patience have thus long endur'd Beyond the strength of all mortality; But now the thrice heate furnace of my bosome Disdaineth bounds: doe not I scorch you all? Goe, goe, you are all but prating Mountebankes, Quack-salvers and Imposures; get you all from me.

2 Phys. These Ventosities, my lord, will give you ease.

King. A vengeance on thy Ventosities and thee!

Enter Eugenius.

Anton. The Bishop, Sir, is come.

King. Christian, thy blood Must give me ease and helpe.

Eugen. Drinke then thy fill: None of the Fathers that begot sweet Physick, That Divine Lady, comforter to man, Invented such a medicine as man's blood; A drinke so pretious should not be so spilt: Take mine, and Heaven pardon you the guilt.

King. A Butcher! see his throat cut.

Eugen. I am so farre from shrinking that mine owne hands Shall bare my throat; and am so farre from wishing Ill to you that mangle me, that before My blood shall wash these Rushes, King, I will cure thee.

1 Phys. You cure him?

King. Speak on, fellow.

Eugen. If I doe not Restore your limbs to soundnesse, drive the poyson From the infected part, study your tortures To teare me peece-meale yet be kept alive.

King. O reverent man, come neare me; worke this wonder, Aske gold, honours, any, any thing The sublunary treasures of this world Can yeeld, and they are thine.

Eugen. I will doe nothing without a recompence.

King. A royall one.

Omnes. Name what you would desire.

King. Stand by; you trouble him. A recompence can my Crowne bring thee, take it; Reach him my Crowne and plant it on his head.

Eugen. No; here's my bargaine—

King. Quickly, oh speake quickly.— Off with the good man's Irons.

Eugen. Free all those Christians which are now thy slaves, In all thy Cittadels, Castles, Fortresses; Those in Bellanna and Mersaganna, Those in Alempha and in Hazanoth, Those in thy Gallies, those in thy Iayles and Dungeons.

King. Those any where: my signet, take my signet, And free all on your lives, free all the Christians. What dost thou else desire?

Eugen. This; that thy selfe trample upon thy Pagan Gods.

Omnes. Sir!

King. Away.

Eugen. Wash your soule white by wading in the streame Of Christian gore.

King. I will turne Christian.

Dam. Better wolves worry this accursed—

King. Better Have Bandogs[163] worry all of you, than I To languish in a torment that feedes on me As if the Furies bit me. Ile turn Christian, And, if I doe not, let the Thunder pay My breach of promise. Cure me, good old man, And I will call thee father; thou shalt have A king come kneeling to thee every Morning To take a blessing from thee, and to heare thee Salute him as a sonne. When, when is this wonder?

Eugen. Now; you are well, Sir.

King. Ha!

Eugen. Has your paine left you?

King. Yes; see else, Damianus, Antony, Cosmo; I am well.

Omnes. He does it by inchantment.

1 Phys. By meere Witch-Craft.

Eugen. Thy payment for my cure.

King. What?

Eugen. To turne Christian, And set all Christian slaves at liberty.

King. Ile hang and torture all— Call backe the Messenger sent with our signet. For thy selfe, thou foole, should I allow Thee life thou wouldst be poyson'd by our Colledge of Physitians. Let him not touch me Nor ever more come neare me; and to be sure Thy sorceries shall not strike me, stone him to death.