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 beforehim: 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 lightWhich the world sees by; here some heavenly fireIs 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.)
What are earthly honoursBut sins glorious banners?Let not golden gifts delight thee,Let not death nor torments fright thee;From thy place thy Captaine gives theeWhen thou faintest he relieves thee.Hearke, how the LarkeIs 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 awayThe paine he feeles; but first assayTo free the Christians: if the King payThy service ill, expect a dayWhen for reward thou shalt not stay.
All writ in golden Letters and cut so evenAs if some hand had hither reacht from HeavenTo 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 himIn 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.
Enter Bellizarius and Hubert.
Hub. My Lord?
Belliz. Ha!
Hub. Affraid in a close room where no foe comesUnlesse 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; hereTo be secure I thinke most dangerous.Or what could[157] famine, wounds or all th'extreamesThat still attend a Souldiers actionsCould not destroy, one sillable from a Kings breathCan thus, thus easily win.
Hub. Oh, 'tis their long observed policyTo turne away these roaring boyesWhen they intend to rock licentious thoughtsIn a soft roome, where every long Cushion isEmbroydered with old Histories of peace,And all the hangings of Warre thrust into the WardrobeTill 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 canInvoke for thee.—Tis myBellina, Hubert:Know her, honour'd Sir, and pittie her.
Hub. How sweetly she becomes the face of woe!Shee teacheth misery to court her beautyAnd to affliction lends a lovely looke.Happy folkes would sell their blessings for her griefesBut to be sure to meete them thus.
Bellina. My honourd Father, your griev'd Daughter thusThrice every day to Heaven lifts her poore handAnd payes her vowes to the incensed PowersFor your release and happy patience,And will grow old in vowes unto those PowersTill 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 comeTrample 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 tearesExhausted 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 paleFor feare they should not kisse agen; but, met,They blush for joy, as happy Lovers doeAfter a long divorce when they encounter.
Belliz. Noble Lord, if you dare lose so much precious timeAs to be companion to my miseryBut one poor houre,And not esteeme your selfe too prodigallFor that expence, this wretched Maid my ChildShall 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 rooteAnd would (I think) even fall before you now,But that Divinity which props it upInspires it full of comfort, since the CauseMy father suffers for gives a full gloryTo his base fetters of Captivity.And I beseech you, Sir, if there but dwellSo much of Vertue in you as your lookesSeeme 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 reachOf what Loves fires can thaw.
Hub. Oh doe but take away a part of thatMy breast is full of, of that holy fireThe Queene of Loves faire Altar holds not purerNor more effectuall; and, sweet, if thenYou melt not into passion for my wounds,Effuse your Virgin vowes to chaine mine ears,Weepe on my necke and with your fervent sighesInfuse a soule of comfort into me;He break the Altar of the foolish God,Proclaime them guilty of IdolatryThat sacrifice toCytheraeassonne.
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 whatMy 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.Venusmust then, to give thee noble welcome,Perfume her Temple with the breath of Nunnes,NotVesta'sbut her owne; with Roses strowThe paths that bring thee to her blessed shrine;Cloath all her Altares in her richest RobesAnd hang her walles with stories of such lovesHave rais'd her Tryumphs; and 'bove all at lastRecord this day, the happy day in whichBellinaprov'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 hereafterWhat ereBellinashall instruct me in:For she was never made but to possesseThe 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 toHubertall the favour shewHis vertuous love can covet.I will be ever his; goe thou to Warre,These hands shall arme thee; and Ile watch thy TentTill from the battaile thou bring'st victory.In peace Ile sit by thee and read or singStanzaes of chaste love, of love purifi'dFrom desires drossie blacknesse; nay when our cloudsOf ignorance are quite vanisht, and that a holyReligious knot between us may be tyed,Bellinahere vowes to beHubert'sbride: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)
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.
1Phys. 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 honestlyWhere 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 meAs shall give space to see you tortur'd.Some body told me that a Bath of mans bloodWould restore me. Christians shall pay for't;Fetch the Bishop hither, he shall begin.
Cosm. Hee's gone for.
King. What's my disease?
1Phys. 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 ChristiansBring in sufficient store to pay your fees,If that you gape at.
2Phys. Wilt please your Highnesse then to take this Cordiall? Gold never truely did you good till now.
King. 'Tis gone.
2Phys. My Lord, it was the perfectst tinctureOf Gold that ever any Art produc'd:With it was mixt a true rare QuintessenceExtracted out of Orientall Bezar,[158]And with it was dissolv'd the MagisteriallMade of the HorneArmeniaso 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 NatureWith 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 leaveWith greater state? No, no; the envious GodsMaligne our happinesse. Oh that my breath had powerWith my last words to blast their Deities.
1Phys. 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.
1Phys. What guesse you by that Urine?
2Phys. Surely Death!
1Phys. Death certaine, without contradiction,For though the Urin be a whore and lies,Yet where I finde her in all parts agreeWith other Symtomes of apparent deathIle give her faith. Pray, Sir, doe but markeThese black Hypostacies;[159] it plainely shewesMortification generally through the spirits;And you may finde the Pulse to shew as muchBy his uncertainty of time and strength.
2Phys. We finde the spirits often suffisticated By many accidents, but yet not mortified; A sudden feare will doe it.
1Phys. Very right;But there's no malitious humour mixtAs in the king: Sir, you must understandA Scorpion stung him: now a Scorpion isA small compacted creature in whom EarthHath the predominance, but mixt with fire,So that in himSaturneandMarsdoe 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 lesseBy so much is the force of Venome more,As Lightning through a windows CasementHurts more than that which enters at the doore.
2Phys. But for the way to cure it?
1Phys. I know none;Yet Ancient Writers have prescrib'd us many:AsTheophrastusholds most excellentDiophoratick[160] Medicines to expellIll vapours from the noble parts by sweate;ButAvicesand alsoRabby 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 opinionIn such a case the Ventosities are best.
2Phys. They are indeed, and they doe farre exceede—
1Phys. 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 powerRetaine that safely which by force was drawne,Whereas the other things I nam'd beforeDo lose their vertue as they lose their heat.
2Phys. 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'dBeyond the strength of all mortality;But now the thrice heate furnace of my bosomeDisdaineth bounds: doe not I scorch you all?Goe, goe, you are all but prating Mountebankes,Quack-salvers and Imposures; get you all from me.
2Phys. 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 handsShall bare my throat; and am so farre from wishingIll to you that mangle me, that beforeMy blood shall wash these Rushes,King, I will cure thee.
1Phys. You cure him?
King. Speak on, fellow.
Eugen. If I doe notRestore your limbs to soundnesse, drive the poysonFrom the infected part, study your torturesTo teare me peece-meale yet be kept alive.
King. O reverent man, come neare me; worke this wonder,Aske gold, honours, any, any thingThe sublunary treasures of this worldCan 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 inBellannaandMersaganna,Those inAlemphaand inHazanoth,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. BetterHave Bandogs[163] worry all of you, than ITo languish in a torment that feedes on meAs if the Furies bit me. Ile turn Christian,And, if I doe not, let the Thunder payMy breach of promise. Cure me, good old man,And I will call thee father; thou shalt haveA king come kneeling to thee every MorningTo take a blessing from thee, and to heare theeSalute 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.
1Phys. 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 allowThee life thou wouldst be poyson'd by ourColledge of Physitians. Let him not touch meNor ever more come neare me; and to be sureThy sorceries shall not strike me, stone him to death.
(They binde him to a stake, and fetch stones in baskets.)
_Omnes. When?
King. Now, here presently.
Eugen. Ingratefull man!
King. Dispatch, his voyce is horrid in our eares; Kill him, hurle all, and in him kill my feares.
Eugen. I would thy feares were ended.
King. Why thus delay you?
Dam. The stones are soft as spunges.
Anton. Not any stone here Can raze his skin.
Dam. See, Sir.
Cosmo. Thankes, heavenly preservation.
King. Mockt by a hell-hound!
Omnes. This must not be endur'd, Sir.
King. Unbinde the wretch; Naile him to the earth with Irons. Cannot death strike him? New studied tortures shall.
Eugen. New tortures bring, They all to me are but a banquetting. [Exit.
Anton. But are you well, indeed, Sir?
King. Passing well: Though my Physitian fetcht the cure from hell; All's one, I am glad I have it.
[Exeunt.
Actus Quartus.
Enter Antony, Cosmo, Hubert, and Damianus.
Anton. You, noble Hubert, are the man[164] chosen outFrom all ourVandalLeaders to be chiefeO'er a new army, which the King will raiseTo roote out from our land these ChristiansThat over-runne us.
Cosmo. 'Tis a glory,Hubert, Will raise your fame and make you like our gods, To please whom you must do this.
Dam. And in doingBe active as the fire and mercilesseAs is the boundlesse Ocean when it swallowsWhole Townes and of them leaves no Monuments.
Hub. When shall mine eyes be happy in the sight Of this brave Pagentry?
Cosmo. The King sayes instantly.
Hub. And must I be the Generall?
Omnes. Onely you.
Hub. I shall not then at my returning homeHave sharers in my great acts: to the VolumeMy Sword in bloody Letters shall text downeNo name must stand but mine; no leafe turn'd o'erButHubertsworkes are read and none but mine.Bellizariusshall not on his Clouds of fireFly flaming round about the staring WorldWhilst I creepe on the earth. Flatter me not:Am I to goe indeed?
Anton. The King so sweares.
Hub. A Kings word is a Statute graven in Brasse,And if he breakes that Law I will in ThunderRouze his cold spirit. I long to ride in Armour,And looking round about me to see nothingBut Seas and shores, the Seas of Christians blood,The shoares tough Souldiers. Here a wing flies outSoaring at Victory; here the maine BattaliaComes up with as much horrour and hotter terrourAs if a thick-growne Forrest by enchantmentWere made to move, and all the Trees should meetePell mell, and rive their beaten bulkes in sunder,As petty Towers doe being flung downe by Thunder.Pray, thanke the King, and tell him I am readyTo cry a charge; tell him I shall not sleepeTill that which wakens Cowards, trembling with feare,Startles me, and sends brave Musick to mine eare;And that's the Drumme and Trumpet.
Ant. This shall be told him.
Dam. And all theGothsandVandallsshall strike Heaven With repercussive Ecchoes of your name, Crying, aHubert!
Hub. Deafe me with that sound: A Souldier, though he falls in the Field, lives crown'd.
Cosmo. Wee'le to the King and tell him this.
[Exeunt.
Enter Bellina.
Hub. Doe.—Oh, myBellina,If ever, make me happy now; now tyeStrong charmes about my full-plum'd BurgonetTo bring me safe home. I must to the Warres.
Bellina. What warres? we have no warres but in our selves;We fighting with our sinnes, our sinnes with us;Yet they still get the Victory. Who are in ArmesThat you must to the Field?
Hub. The Kings Royall thoughtsAre in a mutiny amongst themselves,And nothing can allay them but a slaughter,A general massacre of all the ChristiansThat breath in his Dominion. I am the EngineTo worke this glorious wonder.
Bellina. Forefend it Heaven! Last time you sat by me within my bower I told you of a Pallace wall'd with gold.
Hub. I doe remember it.
Bellina. The floore of sparkling Diamonds, and the roofe Studded with Stanes shining as bright as fire.
Hub. True.
Bellina. And I told you one day I would shew you A path should bring you thither.
Hub. You did indeed.
Bellina. And will you now neglect a lease of thisTo lye in a cold field, a field of murder?Say thou shouldst kill ten thousand Christians;They goe but as Embassadors to HeavenTo tell thy cruelties, and on yon BattlementsThey all will stand on rowes, laughing to seeThee fall into a pit as bottomlesseAs the Heavens are in extension infinite.
Hub. More, prethee, more: I had forgot this Musick.
Bellina. Say thou shouldst win the day, yet art thou lost,For ever lost; an everlasting slaveThough thou com'st home a laurel'd Conqueror.You courted me to love you; now I woe theeTo love thy selfe, to love a thing within theeMore curious than the frame of all this world,More lasting than this Engine o're our heads,Whose wheeles have mov'd so many thousand yeeres:This thing is thy soule, for which I woe thee.
Hub. Thou woest, I yeeld, and in that yeelding love thee,And for that love Ile be the Christians guide:I am their Captaine, come, bothGothandVandall;Nay, come the King, I am the Christians Generall.
Bellina. Not yet, till your Commission be faire drawne; Not yet, till on your brow you beare the Print Of a rich golden seale.
Hub. Get me that seale, then.
Bellina. There is anAqua fortis(an eating water) Must first wash off thine infidelity, And then th'art arm'd.
Hub. O let me, then, be arm'd.
Bellina. Thou shalt; But on thy knees thou gently first shall sweare To put no Armour on but what I beare.
Hub. By this chaste clasping of our hands I sweare.
Bellina. We then thus hand in hand will fight a battaileWorth all the pitch-fields, all the bloody banquets,The slaughter and the massacre of Christians,Of whom such heapes so quickly never fell.Brave onset! be thy end not terrible.
Hub. This kindled fire burne in us, till as deaths slaves Our bodies pay their tributes to their graves.
[Exeunt.
Enter Clowne and two Pagans.
Clown. Come, fellow Pagans; death meanes to fare well to-day, for he is like to have rost-meate to his supper, two principal dishes; many a knight keepes a worse Table: first, a brave Generall Carbonadoed[165], then a fat Bishop broyl'd, whose Rochet[166] comes in fryed for the second course, according to the old saying,A plumpe greazie Prelate fries a fagot daintily.
1Pag. Oh! the GenerallBellizariusfor my money; hee has a fiery Spirit, too; hee will roast soakingly within and without.
Clown. Methinks Christians make the bravest Bonefires of any people in the Universe; as aJewburnes pretty well, but if you marke him he burnes upward; the fire takes him by the Nose first.
2Pag. I know some Vintners then areJewes
Clown. Now, as yourJewburnes upward, yourFrench-manburnes downewards like a Candle and commonly goes out with a stinke like a snuffe; and what socket soever it light in it, must be well cleans'd and pick't before it can be us'd agen. ButBellizarius, the brave Generall, will flame high and cleare like a Beacon; but your PuritaneEugeniuswill burne blew, blew like a white-bread sop inAqua Vitae. Fellow Pagans, I pray let us agree among ourselves about the sharing of those two.
2Pag. I, 'tis fit.
Clown. You know I am worshipfull by my place; the under-keeper may write Equire if he list at the bottome of the paper: I doe cry first the Generalls great Scarfe to make me a short Summer-cloake, and the Bishops wide sleeves to make me a Holy-dayes shirt.
1Pag. Having a double voyce we cannot abridge you of a double share.
Clown. You, that so well know what belongs to reverence, the Breeches be[167] yours, whether Bishops or Generalls; but with this Provizo, because we will all share of both parties, as I have lead the way, I clayming the Generalls and the Bishops sleeves, so he that chuses the Generalls Doublet shall weare the Generalls Breeches.
2Pag. A match.
Clown. Nay, 'twill be farre from a match, that's certaine; but it will make us to be taken for men of note, what company soever we come in.
The Souldier and the Scholler, peekt up so,Will maketam Marti quam Mercurio.
[Exeunt.
Enter the King, Antony, Damianus, and Cosmo;Victoria meetes the King.
Vict. As you are Vice-gerent to that MaiestyBy whom Kings reigne on earth, as you would wishYour heires should sit upon your Throne, your nameBe mentioned in the Chronicle of glory;Great King, vouchsafe me hearing.
King. Speake.
Vict. My husband,The much, too much wrong'dBellizarius,Hath not deserv'd the measure of such miseryWhich is throwne on him. Call, oh call to mindeHis service, how often he hath foughtAnd toyl'd in warres to give his Country peace.He has not beene a flatterer of the Time,Nor Courted great ones for their glorious Vices;He hath not sooth'd blinde dotage in the World,Nor caper'd on the Common-wealths dishonour;He has not peeld the rich nor flead the poore,Nor from the heart-strings of the Commons drawneProfit to his owne Coffers; he never brib'dThe white intents of mercy; never soldIustice for money, to set up his owneAnd utterly undoe whole families.Yet some such men there are that have done thus:The mores the pitty.
King. To the poynt.
Vict. Oh, Sir,Bellizariushas his wounds emptied of blood,Both for his Prince and Countrey: to repeatParticulars were to do iniuryTo your yet mindfull gratitude. His Life,His liberty, 'tis that I plead for—that;And since your enemies and his could neverCaptive the one and triumph in the other,Let not his friends—his King—commend a cruelty,Strange to be talkt of, cursed to be acted.My husband, oh! my husbandBellizarius,For him I begge.
King. Lady, rise up; we will be gracious To thy suit,—CauseBellizariusAnd the Bishop be brought hither instantly. [Exit for him.
Vict. Now all the blessings due to a good King Crowne you with lasting honours.
King. If thou canstPerswade thy husband to recant his errours,He shall not onely live, but in our favouresBe chiefe. Wilt undertake it?
Vict. Undertake it, Sir,On these conditions? You shall your selfeBe witnesse with what instance I will urge himTo pitty his owne selfe, recant his errours.
Anton. So doing he will purchase many friends.
Dam. Life, love, and liberty.
Vict. But tell me, pray, Sir; What are those errours which he must recant?
King. His hatred to those powers to which we bow,On whom we all depend, he has kneel'd to them;Let him his base Apostacy recant,Recant his being a Christian, and recantThe love he beares to Christians.
Vict. If he deny To doe all this, or any poynt of this, Is there no mercy for him?
King. Couldst thou shedA Sea of teares to drowne my resolution,He dyes; could this fond man lay at my footeThe kingdomes of the earth, he dyes; he dyesWere he my sonne, my father. Bid him recant,Else all the Torments cruelty can inventShall fall on him.
Vict. No sparke of pitty?
King. None.
Vict. Well, then, but mark what paines Ile take to winne him, To winne him home; Ile set him in a way The Clouds shall clap to finde what went astray.
Anton. Doe this, and we are all his.
King. Doe this, I sweare to jewell him in my bosome. —See where he comes.
Enter Epidophorus with Bellizarius and Eugenius.
Belliz. And whither now? Is Tyranny growne ripe To blow us to our graves yet?
King.Bellizarius, Thy wife has s'ud for mercy, and has found it; Speake, Lady, tell him how.
Belliz.Victoriatoo!Oh, then I feare the striving to expresseThe virtue of a good wife hath begotAn utter ruine of all goodnesse in thee.What wou'dst thou say, poore woman?My Lord the King,Nothing can alter your incensed rageBut recantation?
King. Nothing.
Vict. Recantation! sweetMusicke;Bellizarius, thou maist live;The King is full of royall bounty—likeThe ambition of mortality—examine;That recantation is—a toy.
King. None hinder her; now ply him.
Vict. To lose the portage[168] in these sacred pleasuresThat knowes no end; to lose the fellowshipOf Angels; lose the harmony of blessingsWhich crowne all Martyrs with eternity!Wilt thou not recant?
King. I understand her not.
Omnes. Nor I.
Vict. Thy life hath hitherto beene, my dear husband,But a disease to thee; thou hast indeedMov'd on the earth like other creeping wormesWho take delight in worldly surfeits, heateTheir blood with lusts, their limbes with proud attyres;Fe[e]d on their change of sinnes; that doe not useTheir pleasure[s] but enjoy them, enjoy them fullyIn streames that are most sensuall and perseverTo live so till they die, and to die never[169].
King. What meanes all this?
Anton. Art in thy right wits, woman?
Vict. Such beasts are those about thee; take then courage;If ever in thy youth thy soule hath setBy the Worlds tempting fires, as these men doe,Recant that errour.
King. Ha!
Vict. Hast thou in battaile tane a pride in blood?Recant that errour. Hast thou constant stoodIn a bad cause? clap a new armour onAnd fight now in a good. Oh lose not heavenFor a few minutes in a Tyrants eye;Be valiant and meete death: if thou now losestThy portion laid up for thee yonder, yonder,For breath or honours here, oh thou dost sellThy soule for nothing. Recant all this,And then be rais'd up to a Throne of blis.
Anton. We are abus'd, stop her mouth.
Belliz.Victoria, Thou nobly dost confirme me, hast new arm'd My resolution, excellentVictoria.
Eugen. Oh happy daughter, thou in this dost bring ThatRequiemto our soules which Angels sing.
Dam. Can you endure this wrong, Sir?
Cosmo. Be out-brav'd by a seducing Strumpet?
King. Binde her fast;Weele try what recantation you can make.Hagge, in the presence of your brave holy ChampionAnd thy Husband,One of my Cammell drivers shall take from theeThe glory of thy honesty and honour.Call in the Peasant.
Vict.Bellizarius,Eugenius, is there no guard above us That will protect me from a rape? 'tis worse Than worlds of tortures.
Eugen. Fear not,Victoria;Be thou a chaste one in thy minde, thy bodyMay like a Temple of well tempered steeleBe batter'd, not demolishe'd.
Belliz. Tyrant, be mercifull;And if thou hast no other vertue in theeDeserving memory to succeeding ages,Yet onely thy not suffering such an out-rageShall adde praise to thy name.
King. Where is the Groome?
Eugen. Oh sure the Sunne will darken And not behold a deed so foule and monstrous.
Enter Epidophorus with a Slave.
Epi. Here is the Cammell driver.
Omnes. Stand forth, sirrah.
Epi. Be bould and shrink not; this is she.
1Cam. And I am hee. Is't the kings pleasure that I should mouse[170] her, and before all these people?
King. No; 'tis considered better; unbinde the fury And dragge her to some corner; 'tis our pleasure, Fall to thy businesse freely.
1Cam. Not too freely neither: I fare hard and drinke water; so doe theIndians, yet who fuller of Bastards? so doe theTurkes, yet who gets greater Logger-heads? Come, wench; Ile teach thee how to cut up wild fowle.
Vict. Guard me, you heavens.
Belliz. Be mine eyes lost for ever.
1Cam. Is that her husband?
Epi. Yes.
1Cam. No matter; some husbands are so base, they keepe the doore whilst they are Cuckolded; but this is after a more manlier way, for he stands bound to see it done.
King. Haile her away.
1Cam. Come, Pusse! Haile her away? which way? yon way? my Camells backs cannot climbe it.
Anton. The fellow is struck mad.
1Cam. That way? it lookes into a Mill-pond, Whirre! how the Wheels goe and the Divell grindes. No, this way.
King. Keepe the slave back!
1 Cam. Backe, keep me backe! there sits my wife kembing her haire, which curles like a witches felt-locks[171]! all the Neets in't are Spiders, and all the Dandruffe the sand of a Scriveners Sand-boxe. Stand away; my whore shall not be lousie; let me come noynt her with Stavesucre[172].
King. Defend me, lop his hands off!
Omnes. Hew him in pieces
King. What has he done?
Anton. Sir, beate out his owne braines.
Vict. You for his soule must answer.
King. Fetch another.
Eugen. Tempt not the wrath supernall to fall downe And crush thee in thy throne.
Enter 2 Cammell drivers.
King. Peace, sorcerous slave: Sirra, take hence this Witch and ravish her.
2Cam. A Witch? Witches are the Divels sweete hearts.
King. Doe it, be thou Master of much gold.
2Cam. Shall I have gold to doe it? in some Countries I heare whole Lordships are spent upon a fleshly device, yet the buyer in the end had nothing but French Repentance and the curse of Chyrurgery for his money. Let me finger my gold; Ile venture on, but not give her a penny. Womans flesh was never cheaper; a man may eate it without bread; all Trades fall, so doe they.
Epi. Look you, Sir, there's your gold.
2Cam. Ile tell money after my father. Oh I am strucke blinde!
Omnes. The fellow is bewitcht, Sir.
Eugen. Great King, impute notThis most miraculous deliveryTo witch-craft; 'tis a gentle admonitionTo teach thy heart obey it.
King. Lift up the slave; Though he has lost his sight, his feeling is not; He dyes unlesse he ravish her.
Epi. Force her into thy armes or else thou dyest.
2Cam. I have lost my hearing, too.
King. Fetch other slaves.
Epi. Thou must force her.
2Cam. Truely I am hoarse with driving my Cammells, and nothing does me good but sirrop of Horehound.
Enter two Slaves.
Epi. Here are two slaves will doe it indeed.
2. Which is shee?
King. This creature; she has beauty to intice you And enough to feast you all; seize her all three And ravish her by turnes.
Slaves. A match.
[They dance antiquely, and Exeunt.
King. Hang up these slaves; I am mock't by her and them; They dance me into anger. Heard you not musicke?
Anton. Yes, sure, and most sweet melody.
Vict. 'Tis the heavens play And the Clowdes dance for ioy thy cruelty Has not tane hold upon me.
King. Hunger then shall:Leade them away, dragge her to some loathed dungeonAnd for three days give her no food.Load her with Irons.
Epi. They shall.
Eugen. Come, fellow souldiers, halfe the fight is past: The bloodiest battell comes to an end at last.
[Exeunt.
Actus Quintus.
Enter Epidophorus and Clowne.
Epi. Have any Christian soule broke from my Iayle This night, and gone i'the dark to find out heaven? Are any of my hated prisoners dead?
Clown. Dead? yes; and five more come into the world instead of one. These Christians are like Artichoaks ofJerusalam; they over-runne any ground they grow in.
Epi. Are they so fruitfull?
Clown. Fruitfull! a Hee Christian told me that amongst them the young fellowes are such Earing rioted[173] Rascals that they will runne into the parke of Matrimony at sixteene; are Bucks of the first head at eighteenes and by twenty carry in some places their hornes on their backs.
Epi. On their backs? What kind of Christians are they?
Clown. Marry, these are Christian Butchers, who when their Oxen are flead throw their skinnes on their shoulders.
Epi. I thought they had beene Cuckolds.
Clown. Amongst them? no; there's no woman, that's a true Christian, will horne her husband. There dyed to night no lesse than six and a halfe in our Iayle.
Epi. How? six and a halfe?
Clown. One was a girle of thirteene, with child.
Epi. Thy tidings fats me.
Clown. You may have one or two of 'em drest to your Dinner to make you more fat.
Epi. Unhallowed slave! let aJeweate Pork, when I but touch a Christian.
Clown. You are not of my dyet: Would I had a young Loyne of Porke to my Supper, and two Loynes of a pretty sweate Christian after Supper.
Epi. Would thou mightst eate and choake.
Clown. Never at such meate; it goes downe without chawing.
Epi. We have a taske in hand, to kill a SerpentWhich spits her poyson in our kingdomes face.And that we speake not of (?); lives stillThat WitchVictoria, wife toBellizarius?Is Death afraid to touch the Hagge? does hungerTremble to gnaw her flesh off, dry up her bloodAnd make her eate her selfe in Curses, ha?
Clown. Ha? your mouth gapes as if you would eate me. The King commanded she should be laden with Irons,—I have laid two load upon her; then to pop her into the Dungeon,—I thrust her downe as deepe as I could; then to give her no meate,—alas my cheekes cry out, I have meate little enough for my selfe. Three days and three nights has her Cupboard had no victuals in it; I saw no lesse than Fifty sixe Mice runne out of the hole she lies in, and not a crumme of bread or bit of cheese amongst them.
Epi. 'Tis the better.
Clown. I heard her one morning cough pittifully; upon which I gave her a messe of Porredge piping-hot.
Epi. Thou Dog, 'tis Death.
Clown. Nay but, Sir, I powr'd 'em downe scalding as they were on her head, because they say they are good for a cold, and I thinke that kill'd her; for to try if she were alive or no I did but even now tye a Crust to a packe-threed on a pinne, but shee leapt not at it; so that I am sure shee's worms meate by this.
Epi. Rewards in golden showers shall raine upon us, Be thy words true: fall downe and kisse the earth.
Clown. Kisse earth? Why? and so many wenches come to the Iayle?
Epi. Slave, downe and clap thy eare to the caves mouthAnd make me glad or heavy; if she speake notI shall cracke my ribs and spend my spleene in laughter;But if thou hear'st her pant I am gon.
Clown. Farewell, then.
Epi. Breaths shee?
Clown. No, Sir; her winde instrument is out of tune.
Epi. Call, cal.
Clown. Do you heare, you low woman? hold not downe your head so for shame; creepe not thus into a corner, no honest woman loves to be fumbling thus in the darke. Hang her; she has no tongue.
Epi. Would twenty thousand of their sexe had none.
Clown. Foxe, foxe, come out of your hole.
An Angel ascends from the cave, singing.
Epi. Horrour! what's this?
Clown. Alas, I know not what my selfe am.
Fly, darknesse, fly in spight of Caves;Truth can thrust her armes through Graves.No Tyrant shall confineA white soule that's divineAnd does more brightly shineThan Moone or Sunne;She lasts when they are done.
Epi. I am bewitcht, Mine Eyes faile me; lead me to [the] King.
Clown. And tell we heard a Mermaide sing.
[Exeunt.
Goe, fooles, and let your fearesGlow as your sins[174] and eares;The good, how e're trod under,Are Lawreld safe in thunder;Though lockt up in a DenOne Angel frees you from an host of men.
The Angel descends as the King enters, who comes in with his Lords, Epidophorus and the Clowne.
King. Where is this piece of witchcraft?
Epi. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir,
Clown. 'Twas here, just at the Caves mouth, where shee lyes.
Anton. What manner of thing was it?
Epi. An admirable face, and when it sung All the Clouds danc't methought above our heads,
Clown. And all the ground under my heeles quak't like a Bogge.
King. Deluded slaves! these are turn'd Christians, too.
Epi. The prisoners in my Iayle will not say so.
Clown. Turnd Christians! it has ever beene my profession to fang[175] and clutch and to squeeze: I was first a Varlet[176], then a Bumbaily, now an under Iailor. Turn'd Christian!
King. Breake up the Iron passage of the Cave And if the sorceresse live teare her in pieces.
The Angel ascends agen.
Epi. See, 'tis come agen.
King. It staggers me.
Omnes. Amazement! looke to the King.
She comes, she comes, she comes!No banquets are so sweete as Martyrdomes.She comes!
(Angel descends.)
Anton. 'Tis vanish'd, Sir, agen.
Dam. Meere Negromancy.
Cosmo. This is the apparition of some divell Stealing a glorious shape, and cryes 'she comes'!
Clown. If all divels were no worse, would I were amongst 'em.
King. Our power is mockt by magicall impostures;They shall not mock our tortures. LetEugeniusAndBellizariusfright away these shadowesRung from sharp tortures: drag them hither.
Epi. To th'stake?
Clown. As Beares are?
King. And upon your lives My longings feast with her, though her base limbes Be in a thousand pieces.
Clown. She shall be gathered up.
[Exit. Epid. and Clowne.
(Victoria rises out of the cave, white.)
Vict. What's the Kings will? I am here.Are your tormentors ready to give battaile?I am ready for them, and though I loseMy life hope to winne the day.
King. What art thou?
Vict. An armed Christian.
King. What's thy name?
Vict.Victoria: in my name there's conquest writ: I therefore feare no threat[e]nings! but pray That thou maist dye a good king.
Omnes. This is not she, Sir.
King. It is, but on her brow some Deity sits.What are those Fayries dressing up her haire,Whilst sweeter spirits dancing in her eyesBewitcheth me to them?
Enter Epidophorus, Bellizarius, Eugenius, and Clowne.
OhVictoria, love me!And see, thy Husband, now a slave whose lifeHangs at a needles poynt, shall live, so thouBreath but the doome.—Trayters! what sorcerous handHas built upon this inchantment of a ChristianTo make me doat upon the beauty of it?How comes she to this habite? Went she thus in?
Epi. No, Sir, mine owne hande stript her into rags.
Clown. For any meat shee has eaten her face needes not make you doate; and for cleane linen Ile sweare it was not brought into the Iaile, for there they scorne to shift once a weeke.
King.Bellizarius, woe thy wife that she would love me, And thou shalt live.
Belliz. I will.—Victoria,By all those chaste fires kindled in our bosomesThrough which pure love shin'd on our marriage night;Nay, with a bolder conjuration,By all those thornes and bryers which thy soft feetTread boldly on to finde a path to heaven,I begge of thee, even on my knee I beg,That thou wouldst love this King, take him by th'hand,Warme his in thine, and hang about his necke,And seale ten thousand kisses on his cheeke,So he will tread his false gods under foote.
Omnes. Oh, horrible!
King. Bring tortures.
Belliz. So he will wash his soule white, as we doe, And fight under our Banner (bloody red), And hand in hand with us walke martyred.
Anton. They mocke you.
King. Stretch his body up by th'armes, And at his feete hang plummets.
Clown. He shall be well shod for stroveling, I warrant you.
Cosmo.Eugenius, bow thy knee before ourJove, And the King gives thee mercy.
Dam. Else stripes and death.
Eugen. We come into the world but at one doore,But twenty thousand gates stand open wideTo give us passage hence: death then is easie,And I defie all tortures.
King. Then fasten the Cative;I care not for thy wife: Get from mine eyesThou temptingLamia. But,Bellizarius,Before thy bodyes frame be puld in pieces,Wilt thou forsake the errours thou art drencht in?
Belliz. Errours? thou blasphemous and godlesse man,From the great Axis maist thou as easieWith one arme plucke the Universall Globe,As from my Center move me. There's my figure;They are waves that beat a rock insensibleWith an infatigable patience.My breast dares all your arrowes; shoote,—shoote, all;Your tortures are but struck against the wall,Which, backe rebounding, hit your selves.
King. Up with him.
Belliz. Lay on more waights; that hangman which more brings Addes active feathers to my soaring wings.
(They draw him up.)
King.Victoria, yet save him.
Vict. Keepe on thy flight, And be a bird of Paradise.
Omnes. Give him more Irons.
Belliz. More, more.
King. Let him then goe; love thou and be my Queene, Daine but to love me.
Vict. I am going to live with a farre greater King.
King. Binde the coy strumpet; she dyes, too. Let her braines be beaten on an Anvill: For some new plagues for her!
Omnes. Vexe him.
Belliz. Doe more.
Vict. Heavens, pardon you.
Eugen. And strengthen him in all his sufferings.
Two Angels descend.
Come, oh come, oh come away;A Quire of Angels for thee stay;A home where Diamonds borrow light,Open stands for thee this night,Night? no, no; here is ever day:Come, oh come, oh come, oh come away.
1Ang. This battaile is thy last; fight well, and winne A Crowne set full of Starres.
Belliz. I spy an arme Plucking [me] up to heaven; more waights, you are best; I shall be gone else.
Vict. Doe, Ile follow thee.
King. Is he not yet dispatcht?
Belliz. Yes, King, I thanke thee;I have all my life time trod on rotten ground,And still so deepe beene sinking that my souleWas oft like to bee lost; but now I seeA guide, sweete guide, a blessed messengerWho having brought me up a little wayUp yonder hill, I then am sure to buyFor a few stripes here rich eternity.
Victory, victory! hell is beaten downe,The Martyr has put on a golden Crowne;Ring Bels of Heaven, him welcome hither,Circle him Angels round together.
1Angel. Follow!
Vict. I will; what sacred voice cryes 'follow'! I am ready: Oh send me after him.
King. Thou shalt not, Till thou hast fed my lust.
Vict. Thou foole, thou canst not;All my mortality is shaken off;My heart of flesh and blood is gone; my bodyIs chang'd; this face is not that once was mine.I am a Spirit, and no racke of thineCan touch me.
King. Not a racke of mine shall touch thee.Why should the world loose such a paire of SunnesAs shine out from thine eyes? Why art thou cruell,To make away thy selfe and murther mee?Since whirle-winds cannot shake thee thou shalt live,And Ile fanne gentle gales upon thy face.Fetch me a day bed, rob the earths perfumesOf all the ravishing sweetes to feast her sence;Pillowes of roses shall beare up her head;O would a thousand springs might grow in oneTo weave a flowry mantle o're her limbesAs she lyes downe.
Enter two Angels about the bed.
Vict. O that some rocke of Ice Might fall on me and freeze me into nothing.
King. Enchant our [her?] eares with Musicke; would I had skillTo call the winged musitians of the aireInto these roomes! they all should play to theeTill golden slumbers danc'd upon thy browes,Watching to close thine eye-lids.
Ang. These Starres must shine no more; soule, flye away. Tyrant, enioy but a cold lumpe of clay.
King. My charmes worke; shee sleepes,And lookes more lovely now she sleepes.Against she wakes, Invention, grow thou poore,Studying to finde a banquet which the godsMight be invited to. I need not court her nowFor a poor kisse; her lips are friendly now,And with the warme breath sweeting all the Aire,Draw mee thus to them.—Ha! the lips of WinterAre not so cold.
Anton. She's dead, Sir.
King. Dead?
Dam. As frozen as if the North-winde had in spight Snatcht her hence from you.
King. Oh; I have murthered her!Perfumes some creature kill: she has so longIn that darke Dungeon suck't pestiferous breath,The sweete has stifled her. Take hence the body,Since me it hated it shall feele my hate:Cast her into the fire; I have lost her,And for her sake all Christians shall be lostThat subjects are to me: massacre all,But thou,Eugenius, art the last shall fallThis day; and in mine eye, though it nere see more,Call on thy helper which thou dost adore.
A Thunder-bolt strikes him.
Omnes. The King is strucke with thunder!
Eugen. Thankes, Divine Powers; Yours be the triumph and the wonder ours.