A Table: Enter Judge,[127] Sir Geffery, Crackbie,Suckett, and Bunch.
Sir Hu. I doe admire this accident: since I have sat Judge I have not knowne any such tryall.
Sir Gef. Tis certaine, sir; but looke you, sir, Ile tell you. You do perceive me sir: as Ime a gentleman I lov'd the lady; but she, out of her pride, I thinke, or else I were to b[lame] to say soe, scornd me. Marke you that, sir? understand you that?
Sir Hu. You question my understanding very much, good SirGeffe[rey]. But pray you, sir, being here more conversant then I, c[ould] you informe me how this quarrell grew twixt her [and Mr.]Thurston?
Sir Gef. Yes, yes, I can;—but let me see, I have almost forgott; to say truth, I never heard the reason, but as the wisest guess—hum, hum—he should have had her daughter.
Crac. I might have had her my self, you know, uncle.
Sir Gef. Peace, Nephew, peace, give Justice leave to speake.—As I related, the reason I related, Sir, was as I told you.
Sir Hu. You told me nothing yet, SirGeffery.
Sir Gef. Noe? did I not say he should have had her daughter?
Sir Hu. You did; but what does that conduce to their dissention?
Sir Gef. Oh sir, the originall efficient cause,—you understand me? for suspition whispers he had given her a foule blow and would have left her.
Crac. Nay, by my birthright, uncle, the child was not his alone, for I dare sweare I had a hand at least in it. I did endevor fort, did I not, Captaine?
Suc. Yes, there are others to as well as you; yes, she has struck her top sayle to a man of warr; she has bin boarded, sir, I can assure you.
Sir Hu. What impudent slaves are these!—But are you sure the gentlewoman is with child?
Sir Gef. Sure? doe you question it, Sir?Bunch, be ready,Bunch, to write their confessions quickly.
Bunch. They are not come yet to confession, sir.
Sir Gef. Noe matter for that,Bunch; with the Judges leave weele here their confession before they come, that we may know the better to state the cause when they doe come. Ist not best, thinke you?
Sir Hu. Who shall speake for them, thinke you?
Sir Gef. No matter whether any man speake nor noe: we know he killed the man, and she comanded him, ergo they are guilty; ergoe that must be their confession, scilicet that they are guilty. Write this,Bunch, and then we will perpend, as law and Judgment guides us, whether we will save or condemne. How say you, sir?
Crac. Oh well don, uncle! I knew[128] he would prove what he said, otherwise I would have venturd a sillogisme in Baraly[p]ton to have made it evident.
[Suc.[129] But with your favour, gentlemen; suppose he did unliveThurstonin faire duell?
Sir Hu. No duell can be fayre, cause tis against The kingdomes lawes.
Suc. The kingdomes lawes! how shallA Gent[leman] that has a blemish castUpon his life, faire reputac[i]on,Have satisfaction then? allow no duells!Hel! a man of armes had better live in woodsAnd combate wolves then among such milke sops.The kingdomes lawes!
Crac. Patience, good Captaine; we will have duells lawful.
Suc. Tis fit they should, being legitimacy managd, sir.]
Enter Constable and Prisoners.
Sir Gef. O, soe; are you come? weele tickle you ifaith.
Con. Soe please you, heare are the prisoners.
Sir Hu. Tis well, we have waited them. Madam,I should have bin more fortunate to have scene youIn any place but this; and here,In any other cause then this, I would use youAs the precedent carridge of your lifeHas merited, but cannot: y'are a prisonerConvict of murder, a most hideous crimeGainst law and nature.
Sir Gef. Yes, marry is it, and that she shall find ere we have don.Bunch, read their indictments,Bunch. She had as good have married me, I warrant her.
Sir Hu. Good SirGeffrey, silence a while. Who is the accuser?
Con. Here.
Sir Hu. What have you, freind, to object against this lady?
Con. That she confesd it was by her procurement and comaunde her sonn murderd youngThurston.
Lady. Please you, sir, that a poore prisoner may entreate one favour.
Sir Gef. Yes, you shall have favour!
Sir Hu. Any thing mercy can graunt unpreiudiciall to Iustice.
Lady. Then this:You shall not need to produce witnessesOr charge a Iury to designe me guiltyOfThurstonsmurder. I confess it to you,Twas only I that slew him.
Sir Gef. Marke that, Sir: shee that slew him! do you hear?
Sir Hu. Pray disturbe her not.—How comes it then, Madam, to be affirmd your Sonn did kill him?
Sir Gef. I, lets heare that, how it comes: well remembred, you did even speake before me.
Crac. O how learnedly could I speake now, might I have licence!
Lady. Pray, Sir,Let me not be oppresd with noyse; my causeBeares not so slender waight. For my owne life,So many reasons forfeit it to deathThat 'twere a Sinn, had I a will to live,To plead to save it; but for this my sonnI do beseech a hearing.
Sir Hu. Speake freely, lady.
Lady. Thus then:Suppose the wrested rigor of your lawesUniustly sentenc'd any here to death,And you enforce on some unwilling manThe present execution of your act,You will not after cause the instrumentOf your decree, as guilty of his blood,To suffer as a Homicide: how thenCan your impartiall JudgmentCensure my sonn for this which was my fact?Thurstonthe malice of my will wishd dead:My instigation and severe comaundCompeld him to atcheiv't, and you will grauntNoe princes lawes retaine more active forceTo ingage a subiect to performe their hestsThen natures does astring a dewtious childTo obey his parent.
Sir Gef. Pish, all this is nothing: there is a flat statute against it,—let me see,—in Anno vigessimo tricessimo, Henerio octavo be it enacted,—what followes,Bunch?
Sir Hu. Nay, good Sir, peace—Madam, these are but wild evasionsFor times protraction; for your paritie,It cannot hold; since Nature does enforceNoe child to obey his parent in an actThat is not good and iust.
Lady. Why, this seemd bothTo his obedience; but relinquish thatAnd come to Conscience: does it not comaundIn its strict Canons to exact no moreThen blood for blood, unlesse you doe extortWorse then an usurer. ForThurstonslifeI offer myne, which if it be to meaneTo appease your Justice, let it satisfieYour mercie. Spare my Sonn and I shall goeAs willingly to death as to my restAfter a painfull child birthe. Looke on him!How fitt the subiect is to invite your pittie!What Tyrant hand would cut this Cedar upEre its full groath (at which it stately headWould give a shade to heaven), or pluck this RoseAs yet scarce blossomd?
Sir Gef. Hum, what saysBunch?
Lady. Mercy wilbe proudT'infold him gently in her Ivory armes,And, as she walkes along with him, each wordHe speakes sheele greedily catch at with a kisseFrom his soft lipps such as the amorous FawnesEnforce on the light Satyrs. Let[130] me dyWho, like the palme, when consious that tis voidOf fruite and moysture, prostratly doe beggA Charitable headsman.
Sir Hu. So bad a causeDeserves not to be pleaded thus. Deere madam,Greife overwhelmes me for you, that your guiltHas damp'd the eyes of mercy and undoneAll intercession. Please you desist:We must proceed to th'examinationOf the other prisoners.—SirGeffrey, we shall need your grave assistance:SirGeffrey, be more attentive.
Sir Gef. Tis very necessary. I wilbe sworne she did bewitch me; I thinke I was almost asleepe. But now to yee, I faith; come on, what can you say that Judgment shall not passe against you?
Tho. Sir, you are the Judge here?
Sir Hu. Yes, sir, why question you my power?
Tho. Noe, scarlett man, I question thy witt,At least thy Humanity and the ConscienceThat dares imagine to destroy this wealth,To hang this matchless diamond in the eareOfEthiopeDeath. Send him to file thy house,Strike with his dart thy Children and thy selfe,Gray bearded miscreant, whose best acts compardWithThurstonsmurder (cause this lady did [it])Are full iniquity.
[Suc.[131] The man speaks home and boldly.]
Sir Hu. Sir, you are fitter for a Jayle, a Bedlam, Then to stand free before us. What? art thou mad, man?
Sir Gef. Yes, what are you, Sir. I aske to, though I know y[ou well] enough. What are you?
Tho. I am one,To expresse my selfe in my true character,Soe full of civill reason and iust truthThat to denie my owne peculiar actI should esteeme as base and black a sinneAsScythians[132] doe adultery: twas IThat gave this lady councell to invadeThatThurstonslife, and out of cowardise,Feareing my person, set this bold young manTo be his murderer. Ime the principall,The very source from whence this brooke of bloodeFetches its spring.
Sir Hu. Still more of the conspiracy! Sir, what say You to these designements?
Suc. Say, sir, you slew the man in equall duell: Twill bring you off, I warrant you.
Sir Gef. Answere, you youth of valour, you that dare See men of credit bleede. Ha!
Y. M. Sir, I am to dy, and should I now speake falseTwould be a maine addicon to the illWhat I alone comitted: for this man,Howsoere his fury does transport his tongue,Hees guiltlesse on't: I must confesse my MotherDid, for some private wrong which he had don,Wish me to call him to account; but thisSteward did with all violence sollicitThat I should slay him.
Alex. Whoe? I? goe to; ist come to this?
Sir Hu. Sir, you must answer this.
Sir Gef. Marke how the mischeife lookes.
Alex. I doe defie thy mallice, thou falce Judge. Goe to; my [Mrs.] I appeal to, she that knowes my vertue and Integrity.
Sir Hu. Away with him toth Jayle: a publique Sessions may [ere] long from thence deliver him to the gallowes.
Const. Come, Sir.[Exeunt Const, and Alex.
Sir Hu. Madam, for you and for your Sonn, your crimesBeing soe manifest, I wish you wouldPrepare your selves for heaven. Meantime you must remaineSaffe prissoners untill the Judges sitt,Who best may give a sentence on your fact.
Tho. And what for me?
Sir Gef. I, what for him, Mr Justice?
Sir Hu. Sure your wordsRather proceed from some distractionThen from similitude of truth. You mayBegon, we do quitt you.
Tho. And Ile quit my selfeOf what you will not, [of] my hated life.You have condemnd a lady who may claimeAs many slaves to wait on her in deathAs the most superstitiousIndianprince(That carries servants to attend ith grave)Can by's prerogative; nor shall she wantWaiters, while you and I, my reverend Judg,Are within reach of one another.[Offers att the Record.
Suc. Death, Sir! Dare you presume to draw before us men Of stout performance?
Sir Gef. You sir, weele have you hangd to, sir, with the Steward.
Sir Hu. We doe forgive him; twas his passion.Tis manly to forbeare infirmitiesIn noble soules.Away with the delinquents, officers![133]
Sir Gef.[134] I charge you looke to them: there is some rescue intended, I warrant you.
Con. Sir, yonder are some six or seaven without, Attird like Masquers, that will not be denied Admittance.
Sir Hu. What are they?
Con. [Faith[135]] we know not,Nor will they tell us, only this they say:Heareing of the ladyMarlowe'scondemnation,They are comeWith shew of death to make her more prepard fort.
Sir Hu. We will deny none of her freinds to see her; They can intend noe rescue.
Con. Noe, my life ont, sir: they come unarm'd.
Sir Hu. Be still; letts see this misterie.
Florish, Horrid Musike. Enter Death, Gri., and Furies.
Gri. If in charnell houses, Caves,Horrid grots and mossie graves,Where the mandraks hideous howlesWelcome bodies voide of soules,My power extends, why may not IHugg those who are condemd to dy?GrimmeDispaire, arise and bringHorrorwith thee and the kingOf our dull regions; bid the restOf your Society be addrest,As they feare the frowne of chaunce,To grace this presense with a daunce.
Recorders. Enter Hymen and the Lovers.
Tim.Death, avaunt! thou hast no power;This isHymenshappie hower.Away to the dark shades! hence!And, grimDispaire, letInnocenceTriumph, and bring eternall peaceTo all your soules and Joys increase.Smile, smile, sweet ayre, on us that comeTo singDeathsEpicedium.Extract from roses gentlest winds,Such odors as youngHymenfindsAt sweetArabiannuptialls; letThe youthfull graces here begetSoe smooth a peace that every breathMay blesse this marriage ofDeath.Feare nothing, lady, whose bright eyeSing'dDeathswings as he flew by:Wee therefore, trust me, only comeTo singDeathsEpicedium. [discover,
Tim. Stay, stay, by your leave Mr. Justice.— Madam,[136] your servantTimothybrings you newes You must not dy. Know you this Gentleman?
Sir Gef. Now, on my knighthood, Mr.Thurston.
Lady. Amazement leave me: is he living?
Sir Hu. Are we deluded?
Tim. So it appeares, Sir: the gent[leman] never had hurt; hees here, and let him speake for himselfe and this gentlewoman his wife.
Lady. Who?Clariana?
Thu. With your leave, reverend father.—To you, Madam,Whome I must now call Mother, first your pardonThat the conceivd report of my faind deathHas brought you to this triall: nextFor this your daughter and your sonn, whose virtuesRedeemd [me] from the death your rage had thoughtI should have suffred, he agreeing with meConsented to appeach himselfe of thatHe nere intended, and procurd this manAs his accuser of my murder, whichWas but contrivd to let you see the errorOf your sterne malice; that, acquainted withThe foulenesse of the fact, by the effectYou might repent it and bestow your blessingOn us your Suppliant Children.
Cla. Which we beg With hearty sorrow, if we have transgresd Our duty to you.
Sir Hu. I am happie to see so blesd a period.
Sir Gef. Ha, ha, widdow, are you come of thus, widdow? You may thanke me: I hope youle have me now, widdow.
Lady. This soddaine comfort,Had I not yet a relique left of greife,Would like a violent torrent overbeareThe banks of my mortallity. Oh,Thurston,Whom I respect with a more sacred loveThen was my former; take my blessing with herAnd all the wishes that a ioyfull motherCan to a child devote: had myBelisiaAnd her deareBonvilllivd, this happy dayShould have beheld a double wedding.
[Suc.[137] Death, must he have her then?]
Sir Hu. Spoake like a mother.
Tho. Madam,The surplusage of love that's in my breastMust needs have vent in gratulationOf your full ioyes. Would you mind your promise,And make me fortunate in your love!
Lady. Sir, I have vowd,Since by my meanes my daughter and her lovePerishd unhappily, to seclude my selfeFrom mans Society.
[Bonvil, Belisia, and Grimes discover.
Tho. Weele cancellThat obligation quickly.—Lady, I nowWill urge your promise: twas a plot betwixt usTo give them out for drownd, least your pursuiteShould have impeachd their marriage, which is nowMost iustly consummate; and[138] only IRemaine at your devotion for a wife.
Lady. Take her, And with me a repentance as profound As Anchorites for their sin pay.
Sir Hu. Madam, how blest am I To see you thus past hope recovered, My mirth at your faire wedding shall demonstrate.
Sir Gef. I will daunce too, that[s] certain, though I breake my legs or get the tissick.
[Suc.[139] Doe you know me, Sir?
Bon. Yes, very well, sir.
Suc. You are married, sir.
Bon. I, what of that?
Suc. Nothing, but send you Joy, sir?]
Lady. But where's my Steward? hees not hangd I hope: This mirth admits no Tragedy.
Gri. Behold the figure.
Alex. I crave forgivenesse.
Lady. Goe to, you have it.
Alex. Thanke you, madam,—I, I will goe to and goe to, and there be ere a wench to be got for love or money, rath[er] then plot murder: tis the sweeter sinn of [the two]; besides, theres noe danger of ones cragg; [the] worst is but stand in one sheet for ly[ing] in two: and therefore goe to and goe to, I [say] and I sayt agen.
Sir Gef.Bunchtake my cloake,Bunch; it shal [not] be sed, so many weddings and nere a Da[nce]: for soe many good turnes the hangman ha done you, theres one for all, hey!
Tho. Well said, SirGeffrey.
Sir Gef. Hey, when I was young! but come, we loose [time]: every one his lasse, and stricke up Musick!
Daunce.
Lady. Now, gentlemen, my thanks to all, and since[I]t is my good hap to escape these ills,Goe in with me and celebrate this feastWith choyse solemnitie; where our discourseShall merrily forgett these harmes, and proveTheres no Arraingment like to that of love.
[Exeunt omnes.
This Play, call'd the Lady Moth[er] (the Reformacons observ'd) may be acted. October the xvth, 1635.
WILL. BLAGRAVE,Dept. to the [Master] of the Revell[s].
I have never met anywhere with the slightest allusion to this fine historical play, now for the first time printed from a MS.[140] in the British Museum (Add. MS. 18,653). It is curious that it should have been left to the present editor to call attention to a piece of such extraordinary interest; for I have no hesitation in predicting that Barnavelt's Tragedy, for its splendid command of fiery dramatic rhetoric, will rank among the masterpieces of English dramatic literature.
On a first rapid inspection I assumed, with most uncritical recklessness, that Chapman was the author. There are not wanting points of general resemblance between Chapman's Byron and the imperious, unbending spirit of the great Advocate as he is here represented; but in diction and versification, the present tragedy is wholly different from any work of Chapman's. When I came to transcribe the piece, I soon became convinced that it was to a great extent the production of Fletcher. There can, I think, be no reasonable doubt about the authorship of such lines as the following:—
"Barnavelt. My noble Lords, what is't appeares upon meSo ougly strange you start and fly my companie?What plague sore have ye spide, what taynt in honour,What ill howre in my life so cleere deservingThat rancks in this below your fellowships?For which of all my cares, of all my watches,My services (too many and too mightieTo find rewards) am I thus recompenced,Not lookd on, not saluted, left forgottenLike one that came to petition to your honours—Over the shoulder slighted?
Bredero. MounsieurBarnavelt,I am sorry that a man of your great wisdomAnd those rare parts that make ye lov'd and honourd,In every Princes Court highly esteemd of,Should loose so much in point of good and vertueNow in the time you ought to fix your faith fast,The credit of your age, carelessly loose it,—dare not say ambitiously,—that your best friendsAnd those that ever thought on your exampleDare not with comon safetie now salute ye" (iii. 1).
Such a verse as,—
"In every Princes Court highly esteemd of,"
or,—
"Now in the time you ought to fix your faith fast,"
can belong only to Fletcher. The swelling, accumulative character of the eloquence is another proof; for Fletcher's effects are gained not by a few sharp strokes, but by constant iteration, each succeeding line strengthening the preceding until at last we are fronted by a column of very formidable strength. Let us take another extract from the same scene:—
"Barnavelt. When I am a SychophantAnd a base gleaner from an others favour,As all you are that halt upon his crutches,—Shame take that smoothness and that sleeke subjection!I am myself, as great in good as he is,As much a master of my Countries fortunes,And one to whom (since I am forc'd to speak it,Since mine own tongue must be my Advocate)This blinded State that plaies at boa-peep with us,This wanton State that's weary of hir loversAnd cryes out 'Give me younger still and fresher'!Is bound and so far bound: I found hir naked,Floung out a dores and starvd, no friends to pitty hir,The marks of all hir miseries upon hir,An orphan State that no eye smild upon:And then how carefully I undertooke hir,How tenderly and lovingly I noursd hir!But now she is fatt and faire againe and I foold,A new love in hir armes, my doatings scornd at.And I must sue to him! be witnes, heaven,If this poore life were forfeyt to his mercy,At such a rate I hold a scornd subjectionI would not give a penney to redeeme it.I have liv'd ever free, onely dependedUpon the honestie of my faire Actions,Nor am I now to studdy how to die soe."
The whole scene is singularly fine and impressive; it shows us Fletcher at his highest.
But in other passages we find a second hand at work. In the second scene of the third act there is far less exuberance of language and a different style of versification, as may be seen in the following lines:—
"Orange. My grave Lords,That it hath byn my happines to take in,And with so little blood, so many TownesThat were falne off, is a large recompenceFor all my travell; and I would adviseThat (since all now sing the sweet tunes of Concord,No Sword unsheathd, the meanes to hurt cut offAnd all their stings pluckd out that would have usd themAgainst the publique peace) we should end hereAnd not with labour search for that which willAfflict us when 'tis found. Something I knowThat I could wish I nere had understood,Which yet if I should speake, as the respectAnd duty that I owe my Country bids me,It wilbe thought 'tis rather privat spleeneThen pious zeale. But that is not the hazardWhich I would shun: I rather feare the menWe must offend in this, being great, rich, wise,Sided with strong friends, trusted with the guardOf places most important, will bring forthRather new births of tumult, should they beCalld to their Triall, then appease disorderIn their just punishment; and in doing JusticeOn three or four that are delinquents, looseSo many thousand inocents that stand firmeAnd faithfull patriots. Let us leave them thereforeTo the scourge of their owne consciences: perhapsTh'assurance that they are yet undiscoverd,Because not cyted to their answeare, willSo work with them hereafter to doe wellThat we shall joy we sought no farther in it."
Here we have vigorous writing, staid and grave and unimpassioned, and a more regular metre. In determining questions of authorship I have so often found myself (and others, too) at fault, that I shrink from adopting the dictatorial tone assumed in these matters by learned Germans and a few English scholars. But I think in the present instance we may speak with tolerable certainty. Before my mind had been made up, my good friend, Mr. Fleay, pronounced strongly in favour of Massinger. He is, I think, right; in fact, it is beyond the shadow of a doubt that Massinger wrote the speech quoted above. In all Massinger's work there is admirable ease and dignity; if his words are seldom bathed in tears or steeped in fire, yet he never writes beneath his subject. He had a rare command of an excellent work-a-day dramatic style, clear, vigorous, free from conceit and affectation. But he is apt to grow didactic, and tax the reader's patience; and there is often a want of coherence in his sentences, which amble down the page in a series of loosely-linked clauses. I will not examine scene by scene in detail; for I must frankly confess that I feel myself sometimes at a loss to determine whether a particular passage is by Fletcher or Massinger. Most of the impassioned parts belong, I think, to the former. I would credit Massinger with the admirably conducted trial-scene in the fourth act; but the concluding scene of the play, where Barnavelt is led to execution, I would ascribe, without hesitation, to Fletcher. In the scene (v. 1) where the French ambassador pleads for Barnavelt we recognise Massinger's accustomed temperance and dignity. To the graver writer, too, we must set down Leydenberg's solemn and pathetic soliloquy (iii. 6), when by a voluntary death he is seeking to make amends for his inconstancy and escape from the toils of his persecutors.
There is no difficulty in fixing the date of the present play. Barneveld was executed on May 13, 1619, and the play must have been written immediately afterwards, when all Christendom was ringing with the news of the execution. In the third scene of the first act there is a marginal note signed "G.B." The initials are unquestionably those of Sir George Buc, Master of the Revels from 1610 to 1622.[141] On comparing the note with an autograph letter[142] of Sir George's I find the hand-writing to correspond exactly. The date, therefore, cannot be later than 1622, but the probability is that the play was produced at Michaelmas, 1619.
In our own day the great Advocate's fame, which had been allowed to fall into neglect, has been revived with splendour by Mr. Motley, whose "Life of John of Barneveld" is a monumentaere perenniusof loving labour, masterful grasp, and rare eloquence. Had the dramatists been in possession of a tithe of the facts brought to light from mouldering state documents by the historian, they would have regarded Barneveld's faults with a milder eye, and shown more unqualified praise for his great and noble qualities. But they are to be commended in that they saw partially through the mists of popular error and prejudice; that they refused to accept a caricature portrait, and proclaimed in unmistakable accents the nobility of the fallen Advocate. Perhaps it is not so strange that this tragedy dropped from sight. Its representation certainly could not have been pleasing to King James; for that murderous, slobbering, detestable villain had been untiring in his efforts to bring about Barneveld's ruin.
Throughout the play there are marks of close political observation. To discover the materials from which the playwrights worked up their solid and elaborate tragedy would require a more extensive investigation than I care to undertake. An account of Barneveld's trial, defence, and execution may be found in the following tracts:—
([Greek: alpha]) "Barnavel's Apologie, or Holland's Mysteria: with marginall Castigations, 1618." The Apology, originally written in Dutch, had been translated into Latin, and thence into English. The Castigations, by "Robert Houlderus, Minister of the Word of God," are remarkable, even in the annals of theological controversy, for gross blackguardism. After indulging in the most loathsome displays of foul brutality, this "Minister of the Word of God" ends with the cheerful prayer,—"That they whom Thou hast predestinated to salvation may alwayes have the upper hand and triumph in the certainty of their salvation: but they whom Thou has created unto confusion, and as vessels of Thy just wrath, may tumble and be thrust headlong thither whereto from all eternitie Thou didst predestinate them, even before they had done any good or evil."
([Greek: beta]) "Newes out of Holland: concerning Barnavelt and his fellow-Prisoners, their Conspiracy against their Native Country with the enemies thereof: The Oration and Propositions made in their behalfe unto the Generall States of the United Provinces at the Hage, by the Ambassadours of the French King," &c., 1619.
([Greek: gamma]) "The Arraignment of John Van Olden Barnavelt, late Advocate of Holland and West Freisland. Containing the articles alleadged against him and the reasons of his execution," &c., 1619.
* * * * *
"This magnificent play is mainly the production of Fletcher and Massinger: it must have been written between May, 1619, and May, 1622, for the King's company acting at Blackfriars. T[homas] Hol[combe] acted a woman's part in it: so did G. Lowin, perhaps a son of John Lowin, unless indeed G. is a miswriting for J., as sometimes happens. It is singular that one has no knowledge whatever of Thomas Holcombe, except as an actor in Fletcher's plays: although so many of the lists of the king's men of that date have come down to us. Mr. Gough who took the part of Leidenberg, is Robert Gough, not Alexander: the latter acted only in Charles I.'s time. Another actor, Michael, is unknown: probably a super."—F.G. FLEAY.
Since the above paragraph was written, I have found in the MS. the names of three more actors, Jo[hn] Rice, Bir[ch], and T[homas] Po[llard]. The following note, for which I am indebted to Mr. Fleay, will be read with interest:—"It is noticeable that a play called the Jeweller of Amsterdam or the Hague, by John Fletcher, Nathaniel Field, and Phillip Massinger, was entered on the Stationers' Books 8th April, 1654, but not printed. This play must have been written between 1617 and 1619, while Field was connected with the King's company, and undoubtedly referred to the murder of John Van Wely, the Jeweller of Amsterdam, by John of Paris, the confidential groom of Prince Maurice, in 1619. It isprimâ facielikely that the same authors would be employed on both plays. Field, Daborne, Dekker and Fletcher are the only authors known to have written in conjunction with Massinger; and Dekker and Daborne are out of the question for that company at that date. We are now enabled to fix the date of the 'Fatal Dowry,' by Field and Massinger, as c. 1618."
Sir John Van Olden Barnavelt.
Actus Primus.
Enter Barnavelt, Modes-bargen, Leidenberck, and Grotius.
Bar. The Prince ofOrangenow, all names are lost els! That hees alone the Father of his Cuntrie! Said you not so?
Leid. I speake the peoples Language.
Bar. That to his arme and sword the Provinces owe Their flourishing peace? that hees the armyes soule By which it moves to victorie?
Mod. So 'tis said, Sir.
Leid. Nay, more; that without him dispaire and ruyn Had ceazd on all and buried quick our safeties.
Gro. That had not he in act betterd our counsailesAnd in his execution set them off,All we designd had ben but as a taleForgot as soone as told.
Leid. And with such zealeThis is deliverd that the Prince beleeves it;For Greatnes, in her owne worth confident,Doth never waigh but with a covetous handHis lightest meritts, and who add to the scaleSeldom offend.
Gro. 'Tis this that swells his prideBeyond those lymitts his late modestieEver observd. This makes him count the SoldierAs his owne creature, and to arrogateAll prosperous proceedings to himself;Detracts from you and all men, you scarce holdingThe second place.
Bar. When I gave him the first:I robd myself, for it was justly mine.The labourinthes of pollicie I have trodTo find the clew of safetie, for my CuntrieRequird a head more knowing and a courageAs bold as his,—though I must say 'tis great.His stile of Excellencie was my guift;Money, the strength and fortune of the war,The help ofEnglandand the aide ofFraance,I only can call mine: and shall I then,Now in the sun-set of my daie of honour,When I should passe with glory to my restAnd raise my Monument from my Cuntries praises,Sitt downe and with a boorish patience sufferThe harvest that I labourd for to beAnothers spoile? the peoples thancks and praises,Which should make faire way for me to my grave,To have another object? the choice fruitesOf my deepe projects grace anothers Banquet?No; this ungratefull Cuntry, this base people,Most base to my deserts, shall first with horrourKnow he that could defeat theSpanishcounsailesAnd countermyne their dark works, he that madeThe State what 'tis, will change it once againeEre fall with such dishonour.
Mod. Be advisd, Sir;I love you as a friend, and as a wise manHave ever honourd you: be as you were then,And I am still the same. Had I not heardTheis last distemperd words, I would have sworneThat in the making up ofBarnaveltReason had only wrought, passion no hand in't.But now I find you are lesse then a man,Lesse then a common man, and end that raceYou have so long run strongly like a child,For such a one old age or honours surfeytsAgaine have made you.
Bar. This to me?
Mod. To you, Sir:For is't not boyish folly (youthfull heatI cannot call it) to spume downe what allHis life hath labourd for? ShallBarnaveltThat now should studie how to die, propoundNew waies to get a name? or keep a beingA month or two to ruyn whatsoeverThe good succes of forty yeeres employmentIn the most serious affaires of StateHave raisd up to his memory? And for what?Glory, the popular applause,—fine purchaseFor a gray beard to deale in!
Gro. You offend him.
Mod. 'Tis better then to flatter him as you doe.Be but yourself againe and then considerWhat alteration in the State can beBy which you shall not loose. Should you bring in(As heaven avert the purpose and the thoughtOf such a mischief) the old TirranyThatSpainehath practisd, do you thinck you should beOr greater then you are or more secureFrom danger? Would you change the goverment,Make it a Monarchie? Suppose this donAnd any man you favourd most set up,Shall your authoritie by him encrease?Be not so foolishly seducd; for whatCan hope propose to you in any changeWhich ev'n now you posses not?
Bar. Doe not measure My ends by yours.
Mod. I know not what you ayme at.For thirtie yeeres (onely the name of kingYou have not had, and yet your absolute powreHath ben as ample) who hath ben employdIn office, goverment, or embassie,Who raisd to wealth or honour that was notBrought in by your allowaunce? Who hath heldHis place without your lycence? Your estate isBeyond a privat mans: your Brothers, Sonnes,Frendes, Famylies, made rich in trust and honours:Nay, this graveMaurice, this now Prince ofOrange,Whose popularitie you weakely envy,Was still by you commaunded: for when did heEnter the feild but 'twas by your allowaunce?What service undertake which you approv'd not?What victory was won in which you shard not?What action of his renownd in whichYour counsaile was forgotten? Yf all this thenSuffice not your ambition but you mustExtend it further, I am sorry thatYou give me cause to feare that when you move nextYou move to your destruction.
Bar. Yf I fallI shall not be alone, for in my ruynsMy Enemies shall find their Sepulchers.Modes-bargen, though in place you are my equall,The fire of honour, which is dead in you,Burnes hotly in me, and I will preserveEach glory I have got, with as much careAs I acheivd it. Read but ore the StoriesOf men most fam'd for courage or for counsaile.And you shall find that the desire of glory(That last infirmity of noble minds)Was the last frailty wise men ere putt of:Be they my presidents.
Gro. 'Tis like yourself, LikeBarnavelt, and in that all is spoken.
Leid. I can do something in the State ofUtrecht,And you shall find the place of Secretarie,Which you conferd upon me there, shall be,When you employ me, usefull.
Gro. All I amYou know you may commaund: Ile nere enquireWhat 'tis you goe about, but trust your counsailesAs the Auncients did their Oracles.
Mod. Though I speakNot as a flatterer, but a friend, propoundWhat may not prejudice the State, and IWill goe as far as any.
Enter 2 Captaines.
Bar. To all my service:[143] Ere long you shall know more.—What are theis?
Leid. Captaines That raild upon the Comissary.
Bar. I remember.
1Cap. Why, you dare charge a foe i'the head of his troope, And shake you to deliver a petition To a statesman and a frend?
2Cap. I need not seek him,He has found me; and, as I am a soldier,His walking towards me is more terribleThen any enemies march I ever mett with.
1Cap. We must stand to it.
Bar. You, Sir, you?
2Cap. My Lord.
Bar. As I use this I waigh you: you are heThat when your Company was viewd and checkdFor your dead paies,[144] stood on your termes of honour,Cryde out "I am a Gentleman, a Commaunder,And shall I be curbd by my lords the States,"(For thus you said in scorne) "that are but Merchants,Lawyers, Apothecaries, and Physitians,Perhaps of worser ranck"? But you shall know, Sir,They are not such, but Potentates and PrincesFrom whom you take pay.
1Cap. This indeed is stately: Statesmen, d'you call 'em?
2Cap. I beseech your Lordship: 'Twas wine and anger.
Bar. No, Sir; want of dutie:But I will make that tongue give him the lyeThat said soe, drunck or sober; take my word for't.Your Compaine is cast: you had best complaineTo your Great Generall, and see if heCan of himself maintaine you,—Come,Modes-bargen.
[Exeunt Barnavelt, Modes-bargen, and Grotius,
Leid. I am sorry for you, Captaine, but take comfort: I love a Soldier, and all I can doe To make you what you were, shall labour for you. And so, good morrow, Gentlemen. [Exit.
1Cap. Yet theres hope; For you have one friend left.
2Cap. You are deceivd, Sir, And doe not know his nature that gave promise Of his assistance.
1Cap. Who is't?
2Cap.Leidenberck.One of the Lords, the States, and of great powre too;I would he were as honest. This is heThat never did man good, and yet no SuitorEver departed discontented from him.Hee'll promise any thing: I have seene him talkeAt the Church dore with his hat of to a BeggerAlmost an houre togeather, yet when he left himHe gave him not a doyt. He do's profesTo all an outward pitty, but withinThe devills more tender: the great plague upon him!Why thinck I of him? he's no part of thatMust make my peace.
1Cap. Why, what course will you take then?
2Cap. A Bribe toBarnaveltswiffe, or a kind wench For my yong lord his Son, when he has drunck hard. There's no way els to doo't.
1Cap. I have gold good storeYou shall not want that; and if I had thought on'tWhen I leftLondon, I had fitted youFor a convenient Pagan.
2Cap. Why, is there Such store they can be spard?
1Cap.[145] … … …
2Cap. I thanck you, Sir.
[Exeunt.
Enter[146] Barnavelt, Modes-bargen, Leidenberck,Grotius, and Hogebeets.
Bar. The States are sitting: all that I can doeIle say in little; and in me theis LordsPromise as much. I am of your beliefIn every point you hold touching religion,And openly I will profes myselfOf theArminiansect.
Gro. You honour it.
Hog.[147] And all our praires and service.
Bar. Reverend manYour loves I am ambitious of. Already'Tis knowne I favour you, and that hath drawneLibells against me; but the stinglesse hateOf those that wryte them I contempne.
Hog. They are worthie Of nothing but contempt.
Bar. That I confes, too;But yet we must expect much oppositionEre your opinions be confirmd. I knowThePrince of Orangea sworne enemieTo your affections: he has vowd to crosse you,But I will still stand for you. My advice isThat, having won the Burgers to your partie,Perswade them to enroll new CompaniesFor their defence against the InsolenceOf the old Soldiers garisond atUtrecht.Yet practise on them, too, and they may urge this:That since they have their pay out of that Province,Justice requires they should be of their partie:All that is don inUtrechtshalbe practisdInRoterdamand other Townes I name not.Farther directions you shall have hereafter,Till when I leave you.
Gro. With all zeale and care We will performe this. [Exit.[148]
Leid. This foundation Is well begun.
Gro. And may the building prosper.
Mod. Yet let me tell you, where Religion Is made a cloke to our bad purposes They seldom have succes.
Bar. You are too holly:We live now not with Saincts but wicked men,And any thriving way we can make use of,What shape so ere it weares, to crosse their arts,We must embrace and cherish; and this course(Carrying a zealous face) will countenaunceOur other actions. Make the Burgers ours,Raise Soldiers for our guard, strengthen our sideAgainst the now unequall oppositionOf this Prince that contemns us;[149] at the worst,When he shall know there are some RegimentsWe may call ours, and that have no dependaunceUpon his favour, 'twill take from his prideAnd make us more respected.
Mod. May it prove so.
Enter Bredero, Vandort, Officers.
Bre. Good day, my Lord.
Vand. Good Mounseiur Advocate, You are an early stirrer.
Bar. 'Tis my dutie To wayte your Lordships pleasure: please you to walke.
Bre. The Prince is wanting, and this meeting being Touching the oath he is to take, 'twere fitt That we attend him.
Bar. That he may set downeWhat he will sweare, prescribing lymitts to us!We need not add this wind by our observaunceTo sailes too full alredy. Oh, my Lords,What will you doe? Have we with so much bloodMaintaind our liberties, left the allegeaunce(How justly now it is no time to argue)ToSpaine, to offer up our slavish necksTo one that only is what we have made him?For, be but you yourselves, thisPrince of OrangeIs but asBarnavelt, a Servant toYour Lordships and the State; like me maintaind;The pomp he keepes, at your charge: will you thenWayt his prowd pleasure, and in that confes,By daring to doe nothing, that he knowes not—You have no absolute powre?
Van. I never sawe The Advocate so mov'd.
Bar. Now to be patientWere to be treacherous: trust once his counsaileThat never yet hath faild you. Make him knowThat any limb of this our reverend SenateIn powre is not beneath him. As we sittIle yeild you further reasons; i'the meane timeCommaund him by the Officers of the CourtNot to presse in untill your Lordships pleasureBe made knowne to him.
Vand. 'Tis most requisite.
Leid. And for the honour of the Court.
Vand. Goe on; You have my voice.
Bre. And mine;—yet wee'll proceed As judgement shall direct us.
Vand. 'Tis my purpose.
Bar. In this disgrace I have one foote on his neck; Ere long Ile set the other on his head And sinck him to the Center.
Leid. Looke to the dores there.
[Exeunt.
Enter[150] Pr. of Orange, Gra: William,Collonells & Captaines.
Or. I, now methincks I feele the happynesOf being sproong from such a noble father,That sacrifizd his honour, life and fortuneFor his lov'd Cuntry. Now the blood and kindredOfHorneandEgmont(Memories great Martires),That must outlive allAlva'sTirraniesAnd when their Stories told ev'n shake his ashes,Methincks through theis vaines now, now at this instant,I feele their Cuntries losse; I feele[151] too—
Will. All feele sencibly,And every noble hart laments their miseries,And every eie, that labours not with mallice,Sees your great services and through what dangersYou have raisd those noble speritts monuments.
Or. What I have don I look not back to magnifie;My Cuntry calld me to it. What I shall yet doe,With all the industrie and strength I have lent meAnd grace of heaven to guid, so it but satisfieThe expectation of the State commaunds meAnd in my Cuntries eye appeere but lovely,I shall sitt downe, though old and bruizd yet happie;Nor can the bitter and bold tounge of mallice,That never yet spoke well of faire deservings,With all hir course aspersions floong upon meMake me forsake my dutie, touch or shake meOr gaine so much upon me as an anger,Whilst here I hold me loyall. Yet believe, Gentlemen,Theis wrongs are neither few nor slight, nor followedBy liberall tongues provokd by want or wine,For such were to be smild at and so slighted,But by those men, and shot so neer mine honourI feare my person too; but, so the State suffer not,I am as easie to forget.
Will. Too easie;And that feeds up their mallice to a Monster.You are the arme oth' war, the Soldiers sperit;The other but dead stories, you the dooer.
Col. It stands not with the honour you have won, Sir, Still built upon and betterd.
Or. No more, good Collonell.
Col. The love the Soldier beares you to give way thus!To have your actions consturd, scornd and scoffd atBy such malignant soules! you are yourself, Sir,And master of more mindes that love and honour ye.[152]
Will. Yf you would see it; but take through the mallice The evill intended now, now bent upon ye.
Or. I pray ye, no more; as you love me, no more.Stupid I never was nor so secure yetTo lead my patience to mine owne betraying:I shall find time and riper cause.— [Guard at dore.Now, frends,Are my Lords the States set yet.
1Gu. An houre agoe, Sir.
Or. Beshrew ye, Gentlemen, you have made me tardy: Open the dore,
1Gu. I beseech your Grace to pardon me.[153]
Or. Do'st thou know who I am?
1Gu. Yes, Sir, and honour you.
Or. Why do'st thou keep the dore fast then?
Will. Thou fellow,Thou sawcy fellow, and you that stand by gaping!Is the Prince of no more value, no more respectThen like a Page?
2Gu. We beseech your ExcellenciesTo pardon us; our duties are not wanting,Nor dare we entertaine a thought to crosse ye:We are placed here on Commaund.
Or. To keepe me out?Have I lost my place in Councell? are my servicesGrowne to so poore regards, my worth so bankrupt?Or am I tainted with dishonest actions,That I am held unfitt my Cuntries busines?Who placd ye here?
1Gu. The body of the Councell; And we beseech your Grace make it not our syn: They gave us strict commaund to stop your passage.
Or. 'Twas frendly don and like my noble masters.
Will. Deny you place? make good the dore against ye? This is unsufferable, most unsufferable.
Or. Now I begin to feele those doubts; I feare still—
Col. So far to dare provoke ye! 'tis too monstrous;And you forget your self, your birth, your honour,The name of Soldier if you suffer this,Suffer from these, these things, these—pox upon't!—These molds of men made noble by your services,Your daylie sweatts.
1Cap. It must not be endured thus, The wrong extends to us, we feele it severally.
2Cap. Your sweet humillitie has made 'em scorne yeAnd us, and all the world that serve their uses;And stick themselves up teachers, masters, princes,Allmost new gods too, founders of new faithes.—Weell force your way.
Col. Let's see then who dare stop ye.
Gu. Not we, I am sure.
Col. Let's see who dare denie ye Your place and right of councell.
Or. Stay, I commaund ye;He that puts forward first to this wild actionHas lost my love and is becom mine Enemy,My mortall enemie. Put up your weapons,You draw 'em against order, duty, faith;And let me die ere render such examples.The men you make so meane, so slight account of,And in your angers prise, not in your honours,Are Princes, powerfull Princes, mightie Princes;That daylie feed more men of your great fashionAnd noble ranck, pay and maintaine their fortunes,Then any monarchEuropehas: and for this bountie,If ye consider truly, Gentlemen,And honestly, with thankfull harts remember,You are to pay them back againe your service:They are your masters, your best masters, noblest,Those that protect your states, hold up your fortunes;And for this good you are to sacrifizeYour thancks and duties, not your threats and angers.I and all Soldiers els that strike with their armes,And draw from them the meanes of life and honour,Are doble tyde in faith to observe their pleasures.
Col. A Prince of rare humanitie and temper.Sir, as you teach us armes, you man our minds, too,With civill precepts, making us true Soldiers,Then worthie to receive a trust from othersWhen we stand masters of our owne discretions.
Enter Barnavelt, Modesbargen, Leidenberch, GrotiusBredero, Vandort & Hogerbeets.
Will. Your good and great example tyes us all, Sir.
Cap. The Councell's broken up.
Or. My noble Lords,Let it not seeme displeasing to your wisdomes,I humbly ask in what I have offended,Or how suspected stand, or with what cryme blotted,That this day from your fellowship, your councell,My Cuntries care and where I owe most service,Like a man perishd in his worth I am exilde.
Bar. Your Grace must know we cannot wait attendaunce, Which happely you looke for.
Or. Wayt, my lords!
Bar. Nor what we shall designe for the States comfortStay your deliberate crosses. We know you are able,And every way a wise Prince fitt for counsell;But I must tell ye, Sir, and tell ye truly,The Soldier has so blowne ye up, so swelld yeAnd those few services you call your owne,That now our commendations are too light gales,Too slacke and emptie windes, to move your worthes;And trumpets of your owne tongue and the SoldiersNow onely fill your sailes.
Bre. Be not so bitter.
Bar. We mix with quiet speritts, staid and temperate,And those that levell at not great but good endsDare hold us their Companions, not their Servants,And in that ranck be ready to supply us.Your Grace is growne too haughtie.
Leid. Might it please youBut thinck, Sir, of our honest services(I dare not terme them equall) and but waigh well,In which I know your Grace a perfect master,Your judgment excellent, and then but tell usAnd truly (which I know your goodnes will doe)Why should we seeme so poore, so undertrodden,And though not trusted with the State and Councell,Why so unable vallued. Pardon, great Sir,If those complaine who feele the waight of envy,If such poore trod on wormes make show to turne againe.Nor is it we that feele, I hope, nor you, Sir,That gives the cullour of this difference:Rumour has many tongues but few speak truth:We feele not onely,—if we did 'twere happie—Our Cuntry, Sir, our Cuntrie beares the blow too;But you were ever noble.
Or. Good my Lords,Let it be free your Servant, chargd in mallice,If not fling of his crymes, at least excuse 'emTo you my great correcter. Would to heaven, Sir,That syn of pride and insolence you speake of,That pufft up greatnes blowne from others follyesWere not too neere akin to your great LordshipAnd lay not in your bosom, your most deere one.You taint me, Sir, with syns concerne my manners,—If I have such Ile studdy to correct 'em;But, should I taint you, I should charge ye deeper:The cure of those would make ye shrinck and shake, too,—Shake of your head.
Bar. You are too weak ith' hams, Sir.
Or. Who raisd these new religious forces, Sir,And by what warrant? what assignement had yeFrom the States generall? who blew new fires?Even fires of fowle rebellion, I must tell ye;The bellowes to it, Religion. You were lov'd yetBut for your ends,—through all the Townes, the Garrisons,To fright the union of the State, to shake it.What syns are theis? You may smile with much comfort,And they that see ye and not looke closely to yeMay crye too er't be long.
Bar. Your Grace has leave, Sir,And tis right good it be soe.—Follow me home,And there Ile give ye new directionsHow to proceed, and sodainely.
Leid. | We are yours, Sir.Mod. | [Exeunt Bar., Leid., Mod.
Or. My lords, to what a monster this man's grown You may (if not abusd with dull securitie) See plaine as day.
Bre. We doe not like his carriage.
Van. He do's all, speakes all, all disposes.
Or. Spoiles all.He that dare live to see him work his ends outUncrossd and unprevented, that wretched manDare live to see his Cuntry shrinck before him.Consider my best lords, my noblest masters,How most, most fitt, how just and necessaryA sodaine and a strong prevention.
Bre. We all conceave your Grace and all look through himAnd find him what we feare not yet but grieve at.You shall have new Commission from us allTo take in all those Townes he has thrust his men in:When you have that, proceed as likes your Excellence.
Or. Your lordships true friend and most obedient Servant.
Van. Come to the present busines then.
Or. We attend you.
[Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
Enter Barnavelt, Leidenberch, Modesbargen.
Bar. I have with danger venturd thus far to youThat you might know by me our plot's discoverd.But let not that discourage you: thoughVan DortAndBredero, with others, have assentedTo force this Towne, stand you still on your Guard,And on my reputation rest assuredWith violence they never dare attempt you;For that would give the world to understandTh'united Provinces, that by their concordSo long have held out 'gainst th'oppositionOf allSpainesGovernours, their plotts and armyes,Make way to their most certaine ruyn byA Civill warre.
Leid. This cannot be denide.
Bar. And so at any time we may make our peace, Returning to our first obedience Upon what termes we please.
Mod. That is not certaine;For, should we tempt them once to bring their forcesAgainst the Towne and find we give it upFor want of strength to keepe it, the ConditionsTo which we must subscribe are in their willAnd not our choice or pleasure.
Bar. You are governd More by your feare then reason.
Mod. May it prove soe: That way I would be guiltie.
Bar. How appeere The new raisd Companies?
Leid. They stand full and faithfull;And for the Burgers, they are well affectedTo our designes. TheArminiansplay their parts too,And thunder in their meetings hell and dampnationTo such as hold against us.
Bar. 'Tis well orderd:But have you tride by any meanes (it skills notHow much you promise) to wyn the old Soldiers(TheEnglishCompanies, in chief, I ayme at)To stand firme for us?
Leid. We have to that purposeImploidRock-Giles, with some choice Burgers elsThat are most popular to the OfficersThat doe commaund here in the Collonells absence.We expect them every mynitt. Yf your Lordship(For 'tis not fitt, I think, you should be seene)Will please to stand aside (yet you shalbeWithin the hearing of our Conference)You shall perceive we will imploy all artsTo make them ours.
Mod. They are come.
Bar. Be earnest with them.
Enter Rock-Giles, 2 Burgers, Captaines, Leuitenant.
R: Giles. With much adoe I have brought 'em: the prowde Shellains[154] Are paid too well, and that makes them forget We are their Masters.
1Burg. But when we tooke them on,Famishd allmost for want of entertainement,Then they cryde out they would do any thingWe would commaund them.
1Cap. And so we say still, Provided it be honest.
Giles. Is it fittThat mercenary Soldiers, that for payGive up their liberties and are sworne t'exposeTheir lyves and fortunes to all dangers, shouldCapitulate with their Lords?
1Burg. Prescribing when They are pleasd to be commaunded and for what.
Giles. Answeare to this.
Leuit. You know our resolutions, And therefore, Captaine, speak for all.
1Cap. I will,And doe it boldly: We were entertaindTo serve the generall States and not one Province;To fight as often as the Prince ofOrangeShall lead us forth, and not to stand against him;To guard this Cuntrie, not to ruyn it;To beat of foreigne Enemies, not to cherishDomestique factions. And where you upbraid usWith the poore means we have to feed, not cloath us,Forgetting at how deere a rate we buyThe triffles we have from you, thus I answeare:—Noe Cuntrie ere made a defensive warAnd gaind by it but you. What privat GentlemanThat onely trailes a pike, that comes fromEnglandOrFraunce, but brings gold with him which he leaves hereAnd so enriches you? Where such as serveThePolander, Bohemian, Dane, orTurck,Though they come almost naked to their Collours,Besides their pay (which they contempne) the spoilesOf armyes overthrowne, of Citties sackd,Depopulations of wealthie Cuntries,If he survive the uncertaine chaunce of war,Returne him home to end his age in plentyOf wealth and honours.
Bar. This is shrewdly urgd.
1Cap. Where we, poore wretches, covetous of fame onely,Come hether but as to a Schoole of warTo learne to struggle against cold and hunger,And with unwearied steps to overcomeA tedious march when the hot Lyons breathBurnes up the feilds; the glory that we ayme atBeing our obedience to such as doeCommaund in cheif; to keepe our rancks, to flyMore then the death all mutenies and rebellions.And would you then, whose wisdomes should correctSuch follies in us, rob us of that litle,That litle honour that rewards our service,To bring our necks to the Hangmans Sword or Halter,Or (should we scape) to brand our foreheads withThe name of Rebells?