Act. I. Scen. I.

EnterIagoandNicanor,two Noblemen ofSicilia,in private conference.

Nicanor.

Hee was a vertuous and a hopefull Prince,And we haue iust cause to lament his death,For had he liu’d, and Spaine made war agen,He would ha’ prou’d a Terror to his Foe.Iag.A greater cause of griefe was neuer knowne,Not onely in his death, but for the losseOf PrinceLorenzotoo, his yonger brother,Who hath beene missing almost eighteene moneths,And none can tell whether aliue or dead.Nic.How do’s the King beare these afflictions?

Hee was a vertuous and a hopefull Prince,And we haue iust cause to lament his death,For had he liu’d, and Spaine made war agen,He would ha’ prou’d a Terror to his Foe.

Hee was a vertuous and a hopefull Prince,

And we haue iust cause to lament his death,

For had he liu’d, and Spaine made war agen,

He would ha’ prou’d a Terror to his Foe.

Iag.A greater cause of griefe was neuer knowne,Not onely in his death, but for the losseOf PrinceLorenzotoo, his yonger brother,Who hath beene missing almost eighteene moneths,And none can tell whether aliue or dead.

Iag.A greater cause of griefe was neuer knowne,

Not onely in his death, but for the losse

Of PrinceLorenzotoo, his yonger brother,

Who hath beene missing almost eighteene moneths,

And none can tell whether aliue or dead.

Nic.How do’s the King beare these afflictions?

Enter another Lord.

Iag.Now you shall heare how fares his Maiestie.Lord.Oh my good Lords, our sorrowes still increase,A greater tide of woe is to be fear’d,The Kings decay, with griefe for his two sonnes.Iag.The gods forbid, let’s in and comfort him.3. Lord.Alas, his sorrow’s suchHe will not suffer vs to speake to him;But turnes away in rage, and seemes to treadThe pace of one (if liuing) liuing dead.Iag.See where he comes,Lords, let vs all attend,|EnterKingin black, reading.|Vntill his grace be pleas’d to speake to vs.

Iag.Now you shall heare how fares his Maiestie.

Lord.Oh my good Lords, our sorrowes still increase,A greater tide of woe is to be fear’d,The Kings decay, with griefe for his two sonnes.

Lord.Oh my good Lords, our sorrowes still increase,

A greater tide of woe is to be fear’d,

The Kings decay, with griefe for his two sonnes.

Iag.The gods forbid, let’s in and comfort him.

3. Lord.Alas, his sorrow’s suchHe will not suffer vs to speake to him;But turnes away in rage, and seemes to treadThe pace of one (if liuing) liuing dead.

3. Lord.Alas, his sorrow’s such

He will not suffer vs to speake to him;

But turnes away in rage, and seemes to tread

The pace of one (if liuing) liuing dead.

Iag.See where he comes,Lords, let vs all attend,|EnterKingin black, reading.|Vntill his grace be pleas’d to speake to vs.

Iag.See where he comes,

Lords, let vs all attend,|EnterKingin black, reading.|

Vntill his grace be pleas’d to speake to vs.

Dead March.

Attic.Death is the ease of paine, and end of sorrow,How can that be? Death gaue my sorrowes life,For by his death my paine and griefe begun,And in beginning, neuer will haue end: for though I die,My losse will liue in future memorie,I and (perhaps) will be lamented too,And registred by some, when all shall heareSiciliahad two sonnes, yet had no heire.Ha! What are you?Who dares presume to interrupt vs thus?What meanes this sorrow? Wherefore are these signes?Or vnto whom are these obseruances?Nic.Vnto our King.3. Lords.To you my Soueraigne.Iag.Your Subiects all lament to see you sad.Attic.You all are Traytors then, and by my lifeI will account you so:Can you not be content with State and rule,But you must come to take away my Crowne?For solitude is sorrowes chiefest Crowne.Griefe hath resign’d ouer his right to mee,And I am King of all woes Monarchie.You powers that grant Regeneration,What meant you first to giue him vitall breath?And make large Kingdomes proud of such a PrinceAs myLusyppuswas, so good, so vertuous:Then, in his prime of yeares,To take him from mee by vntimely death?Oh! had my spirit wings, I would ascendAnd fetch his soule againe from——Oh my sad sorrowes! Whither am I driuen?Into what maze of errors will you lead mee?This Monster (Griefe) hath so distracted mee,I had almost forgot mortalitie.Iag.Deare Lord haue patience, though the heauens are pleas’dTo punish Princes for their Subiects faults,In taking from vs such a hopefull Prince,No doubt they will restore your yonger sonne,Who cannot be but stay’d, and will, I hopeBe quickly heard of, to recall your ioyes.Attic.No, I shall neuer seeLorenzomore,This eighteene moneths I haue not heard of him,I feare some Traytors hand had seyz’d his life:If hee were liuing, as that cannot bee;I sooner looke to see the dead then hee:For I am almost spent; This heape of age,Mixt with my sorrow, soone will end my dayes.Nic.My Liege, take comfort, I (your Subiect) vowTo goe my selfe to seekeLorenzoforth,And ne’r returne vntill I find him out,Or bring some newes what is become of him.3. Lord.The like will I, or ne’r come backe agen.Iag.Old as I am, I’le not be last behind,And if my Soueraigne please to let mee goe.Attic.I thanke your loues, but I’le restrain your wils:If I should part from you, my dayes were done,For I should neuer liue till your returne.

Attic.Death is the ease of paine, and end of sorrow,

How can that be? Death gaue my sorrowes life,

For by his death my paine and griefe begun,

And in beginning, neuer will haue end: for though I die,

My losse will liue in future memorie,

I and (perhaps) will be lamented too,

And registred by some, when all shall heare

Siciliahad two sonnes, yet had no heire.

Ha! What are you?

Who dares presume to interrupt vs thus?

What meanes this sorrow? Wherefore are these signes?

Or vnto whom are these obseruances?

Nic.Vnto our King.

3. Lords.To you my Soueraigne.

Iag.Your Subiects all lament to see you sad.

Attic.You all are Traytors then, and by my lifeI will account you so:Can you not be content with State and rule,But you must come to take away my Crowne?For solitude is sorrowes chiefest Crowne.Griefe hath resign’d ouer his right to mee,And I am King of all woes Monarchie.You powers that grant Regeneration,What meant you first to giue him vitall breath?And make large Kingdomes proud of such a PrinceAs myLusyppuswas, so good, so vertuous:Then, in his prime of yeares,To take him from mee by vntimely death?Oh! had my spirit wings, I would ascendAnd fetch his soule againe from——Oh my sad sorrowes! Whither am I driuen?Into what maze of errors will you lead mee?This Monster (Griefe) hath so distracted mee,I had almost forgot mortalitie.

Attic.You all are Traytors then, and by my life

I will account you so:

Can you not be content with State and rule,

But you must come to take away my Crowne?

For solitude is sorrowes chiefest Crowne.

Griefe hath resign’d ouer his right to mee,

And I am King of all woes Monarchie.

You powers that grant Regeneration,

What meant you first to giue him vitall breath?

And make large Kingdomes proud of such a Prince

As myLusyppuswas, so good, so vertuous:

Then, in his prime of yeares,

To take him from mee by vntimely death?

Oh! had my spirit wings, I would ascend

And fetch his soule againe from——

Oh my sad sorrowes! Whither am I driuen?

Into what maze of errors will you lead mee?

This Monster (Griefe) hath so distracted mee,

I had almost forgot mortalitie.

Iag.Deare Lord haue patience, though the heauens are pleas’dTo punish Princes for their Subiects faults,In taking from vs such a hopefull Prince,No doubt they will restore your yonger sonne,Who cannot be but stay’d, and will, I hopeBe quickly heard of, to recall your ioyes.

Iag.Deare Lord haue patience, though the heauens are pleas’d

To punish Princes for their Subiects faults,

In taking from vs such a hopefull Prince,

No doubt they will restore your yonger sonne,

Who cannot be but stay’d, and will, I hope

Be quickly heard of, to recall your ioyes.

Attic.No, I shall neuer seeLorenzomore,This eighteene moneths I haue not heard of him,I feare some Traytors hand had seyz’d his life:If hee were liuing, as that cannot bee;I sooner looke to see the dead then hee:For I am almost spent; This heape of age,Mixt with my sorrow, soone will end my dayes.

Attic.No, I shall neuer seeLorenzomore,

This eighteene moneths I haue not heard of him,

I feare some Traytors hand had seyz’d his life:

If hee were liuing, as that cannot bee;

I sooner looke to see the dead then hee:

For I am almost spent; This heape of age,

Mixt with my sorrow, soone will end my dayes.

Nic.My Liege, take comfort, I (your Subiect) vowTo goe my selfe to seekeLorenzoforth,And ne’r returne vntill I find him out,Or bring some newes what is become of him.

Nic.My Liege, take comfort, I (your Subiect) vow

To goe my selfe to seekeLorenzoforth,

And ne’r returne vntill I find him out,

Or bring some newes what is become of him.

3. Lord.The like will I, or ne’r come backe agen.

Iag.Old as I am, I’le not be last behind,And if my Soueraigne please to let mee goe.

Iag.Old as I am, I’le not be last behind,

And if my Soueraigne please to let mee goe.

Attic.I thanke your loues, but I’le restrain your wils:If I should part from you, my dayes were done,For I should neuer liue till your returne.

Attic.I thanke your loues, but I’le restrain your wils:

If I should part from you, my dayes were done,

For I should neuer liue till your returne.

Enter Nicanor.

Nicanormy deare friend,Iago,Sforza,One of you three, if I die issuelesse,Must after mee be King of Sicilie,Doe not forsake mee then.Omnes.Long liue your grace:And may your issue raigne eternally.Attic.As for our daughter fayreLeonida,Her female Sexe cannot inherit here,|Shout within.|One must inioy both her and Sicilie.What sudden shout was that? Some know the cause;Can there be so much ioy left in our Land,To raise mens voyces to so high a sound?

Nicanormy deare friend,Iago,Sforza,One of you three, if I die issuelesse,Must after mee be King of Sicilie,Doe not forsake mee then.

Nicanormy deare friend,Iago,Sforza,

One of you three, if I die issuelesse,

Must after mee be King of Sicilie,

Doe not forsake mee then.

Omnes.Long liue your grace:And may your issue raigne eternally.

Omnes.Long liue your grace:

And may your issue raigne eternally.

Attic.As for our daughter fayreLeonida,Her female Sexe cannot inherit here,|Shout within.|One must inioy both her and Sicilie.What sudden shout was that? Some know the cause;Can there be so much ioy left in our Land,To raise mens voyces to so high a sound?

Attic.As for our daughter fayreLeonida,

Her female Sexe cannot inherit here,|Shout within.|

One must inioy both her and Sicilie.

What sudden shout was that? Some know the cause;

Can there be so much ioy left in our Land,

To raise mens voyces to so high a sound?

Enter Nicanor.

Or wast a shreeke of some new miserie?For comfort cannot be expected here.The newes,Nicanor.|Trumpets.|Nic.Happie, Sir, I hope,There is a Souldier new arriu’d at Court,Can tell some tidings of the long lost Prince:Sfor.Sir, shall he haue accesse?Iag.Oh ioyfull newes!Attic.Is it a question,Sforza? Bring him in,As you would doe some great Ambassadour;He is no lesse. Comes he not from a Prince?He do’s, if fromLorenzohee be sent.

Or wast a shreeke of some new miserie?For comfort cannot be expected here.The newes,Nicanor.|Trumpets.|

Or wast a shreeke of some new miserie?

For comfort cannot be expected here.

The newes,Nicanor.|Trumpets.|

Nic.Happie, Sir, I hope,There is a Souldier new arriu’d at Court,Can tell some tidings of the long lost Prince:

Nic.Happie, Sir, I hope,

There is a Souldier new arriu’d at Court,

Can tell some tidings of the long lost Prince:

Sfor.Sir, shall he haue accesse?

Iag.Oh ioyfull newes!

Attic.Is it a question,Sforza? Bring him in,As you would doe some great Ambassadour;He is no lesse. Comes he not from a Prince?He do’s, if fromLorenzohee be sent.

Attic.Is it a question,Sforza? Bring him in,

As you would doe some great Ambassadour;

He is no lesse. Comes he not from a Prince?

He do’s, if fromLorenzohee be sent.

A flourish, with Trumpets. Enter a Captaine, brought in by the Lord Scanfardoe.

Thou Man of Warre, once play the Orator,Proue Griefe a guiltie Thiefe, condemne my feares,And let my sorrowes suffer in these teares:Haue I a sonne or no? Good Souldier speake.Capt.Sir, I arriu’d by chance vpon your coast,Yet hearing of the ProclamationWhich promis’d thousands vnto any manThat could bring newes to the Sicilian King,WhetherLorenzowere aliue or dead.Attic.We’le double our reward what-e’r it be,If hee be liuing: Dead, we’le keepe our word:Then prethee say, What is become of him?Capt.Not for reward, but loue to that braue Prince,Whose memorie deserues to out-liue time,Come I to tell what I too truely know;In the Lepanthean battel not long since,Where he was made Commander of a Fleet,Vnder DonIohnthe Spanish Generall,He did demeane himselfe so manfully,That he perfom’d wonders aboue beliefe;For when theNauies ioyn’d, the Cannons plaid,And thundring clamors rang the dying knelsOf many thousand soules; He, void of feare,Dalli’d with danger, and pursu’d the FoeThorow a bloudy Sea of Victorie:Whether there slaine, or taken prisonerBy the too mercilesse misbeleeuing Turkes,No man can tell:That when Victorie fell to the Christians,The conquest, and the glorie of the dayWas soone eclipst, in braueLorenzo’slosse;That when the battel and the fight was done,They knew not well whether they lost or wonne.Attic.This newes is worse then death; Happy were IIf any now could tell me he were dead;Death is farre sweeter then captiuitie:My deareLorenzo! Was it thy desireTo goe to Warre, made thee forsake thy Father,Countrie, Friends, Life, Libertie? and vndergoeDeath, or Captiuitie, or some disasterThat exceeds ’em both? Yet, howso’er,Captaine, We thanke thy loue; giue the rewardWas promis’d in the Proclamation.Capt.I’le not be nice in the refusall, Sir,It is no wonder t’see a Souldier want:All good wait on yee; may the Heauens be pleas’dTo make you happy in your long lost sonne.Attic.My comfort is, whether aliue or dead,He brauely fought for Heauen and Christendome;Such battels martyr men: their death’s a lifeSuruiuing all this worlds felicitie.Lords, Where’sLeonida, Our beautious child,She’s all the comfort we haue left Vs now;She must not haue her libertie to match,The Girle is wanton, coy, and fickle too:How many Princes hath the froward ElfeSet at debate, desiring but her loue?What dangers may insue? But to preuent,Nicanor, wee make you her Gardian:Let her be Princely vs’d; but no accesseBy any to her presence, but by suchAs wee shall send, or giue commandment for:’Tis death to any other dares attempt it.I heare, the Prince of Naples seekes her loue:Shee shall not wed with that presumptuous Boy,His father and Our selfe were still at oddes,Nor shall He thinke Wee will submit to Him.Certaine he knowes not ofLisandro’ssute,For if he had, he would a come himselfe,Or sent Ambassadors to speake for him.We’le giue his answer ere to morrows SunneShall retch to his Meridian, wretched state of Kings,What end will follow where such woes begins?Nic.Scanfardoe?|Exeunt omnes.|Scan.My good Lord?|Manet Nic. & Scanfardoe.|Nic.How lik’st thou this?I am made Gardian of my owne harts blisse,The Princesse is my Prisoner, I her Slaue,I keepe her Body, but shee holds my HeartInuiron’d in a Chest of Adamant.Scan.Is your Heart Iron?Nic.Steele, I thinke it is;And liue an Anuile hammerd by her words,It sparkles fire that neuer can bee quencht,But by the dew of her cœlestiall breath.Oft haue I courted, bin reiected too,Yet what of that? I’le trye her once agen.What many Princes haue attempting fail’d,I by accesse may purchase, that’s my hope;The King I’me sure affects mee, nothing thenIs wanting but her loue, that once obtain’dSicill is ours:Scanfardoe? if we win,Thou shalt be LordNicanorI the King.|Exeunt.|

Thou Man of Warre, once play the Orator,Proue Griefe a guiltie Thiefe, condemne my feares,And let my sorrowes suffer in these teares:Haue I a sonne or no? Good Souldier speake.

Thou Man of Warre, once play the Orator,

Proue Griefe a guiltie Thiefe, condemne my feares,

And let my sorrowes suffer in these teares:

Haue I a sonne or no? Good Souldier speake.

Capt.Sir, I arriu’d by chance vpon your coast,Yet hearing of the ProclamationWhich promis’d thousands vnto any manThat could bring newes to the Sicilian King,WhetherLorenzowere aliue or dead.

Capt.Sir, I arriu’d by chance vpon your coast,

Yet hearing of the Proclamation

Which promis’d thousands vnto any man

That could bring newes to the Sicilian King,

WhetherLorenzowere aliue or dead.

Attic.We’le double our reward what-e’r it be,If hee be liuing: Dead, we’le keepe our word:Then prethee say, What is become of him?

Attic.We’le double our reward what-e’r it be,

If hee be liuing: Dead, we’le keepe our word:

Then prethee say, What is become of him?

Capt.Not for reward, but loue to that braue Prince,Whose memorie deserues to out-liue time,Come I to tell what I too truely know;In the Lepanthean battel not long since,Where he was made Commander of a Fleet,Vnder DonIohnthe Spanish Generall,He did demeane himselfe so manfully,That he perfom’d wonders aboue beliefe;For when theNauies ioyn’d, the Cannons plaid,And thundring clamors rang the dying knelsOf many thousand soules; He, void of feare,Dalli’d with danger, and pursu’d the FoeThorow a bloudy Sea of Victorie:Whether there slaine, or taken prisonerBy the too mercilesse misbeleeuing Turkes,No man can tell:That when Victorie fell to the Christians,The conquest, and the glorie of the dayWas soone eclipst, in braueLorenzo’slosse;That when the battel and the fight was done,They knew not well whether they lost or wonne.

Capt.Not for reward, but loue to that braue Prince,

Whose memorie deserues to out-liue time,

Come I to tell what I too truely know;

In the Lepanthean battel not long since,

Where he was made Commander of a Fleet,

Vnder DonIohnthe Spanish Generall,

He did demeane himselfe so manfully,

That he perfom’d wonders aboue beliefe;

For when theNauies ioyn’d, the Cannons plaid,

And thundring clamors rang the dying knels

Of many thousand soules; He, void of feare,

Dalli’d with danger, and pursu’d the Foe

Thorow a bloudy Sea of Victorie:

Whether there slaine, or taken prisoner

By the too mercilesse misbeleeuing Turkes,

No man can tell:

That when Victorie fell to the Christians,

The conquest, and the glorie of the day

Was soone eclipst, in braueLorenzo’slosse;

That when the battel and the fight was done,

They knew not well whether they lost or wonne.

Attic.This newes is worse then death; Happy were IIf any now could tell me he were dead;Death is farre sweeter then captiuitie:My deareLorenzo! Was it thy desireTo goe to Warre, made thee forsake thy Father,Countrie, Friends, Life, Libertie? and vndergoeDeath, or Captiuitie, or some disasterThat exceeds ’em both? Yet, howso’er,Captaine, We thanke thy loue; giue the rewardWas promis’d in the Proclamation.

Attic.This newes is worse then death; Happy were I

If any now could tell me he were dead;

Death is farre sweeter then captiuitie:

My deareLorenzo! Was it thy desire

To goe to Warre, made thee forsake thy Father,

Countrie, Friends, Life, Libertie? and vndergoe

Death, or Captiuitie, or some disaster

That exceeds ’em both? Yet, howso’er,

Captaine, We thanke thy loue; giue the reward

Was promis’d in the Proclamation.

Capt.I’le not be nice in the refusall, Sir,It is no wonder t’see a Souldier want:All good wait on yee; may the Heauens be pleas’dTo make you happy in your long lost sonne.

Capt.I’le not be nice in the refusall, Sir,

It is no wonder t’see a Souldier want:

All good wait on yee; may the Heauens be pleas’d

To make you happy in your long lost sonne.

Attic.My comfort is, whether aliue or dead,He brauely fought for Heauen and Christendome;Such battels martyr men: their death’s a lifeSuruiuing all this worlds felicitie.Lords, Where’sLeonida, Our beautious child,She’s all the comfort we haue left Vs now;She must not haue her libertie to match,The Girle is wanton, coy, and fickle too:How many Princes hath the froward ElfeSet at debate, desiring but her loue?What dangers may insue? But to preuent,Nicanor, wee make you her Gardian:Let her be Princely vs’d; but no accesseBy any to her presence, but by suchAs wee shall send, or giue commandment for:’Tis death to any other dares attempt it.I heare, the Prince of Naples seekes her loue:Shee shall not wed with that presumptuous Boy,His father and Our selfe were still at oddes,Nor shall He thinke Wee will submit to Him.Certaine he knowes not ofLisandro’ssute,For if he had, he would a come himselfe,Or sent Ambassadors to speake for him.We’le giue his answer ere to morrows SunneShall retch to his Meridian, wretched state of Kings,What end will follow where such woes begins?

Attic.My comfort is, whether aliue or dead,

He brauely fought for Heauen and Christendome;

Such battels martyr men: their death’s a life

Suruiuing all this worlds felicitie.

Lords, Where’sLeonida, Our beautious child,

She’s all the comfort we haue left Vs now;

She must not haue her libertie to match,

The Girle is wanton, coy, and fickle too:

How many Princes hath the froward Elfe

Set at debate, desiring but her loue?

What dangers may insue? But to preuent,

Nicanor, wee make you her Gardian:

Let her be Princely vs’d; but no accesse

By any to her presence, but by such

As wee shall send, or giue commandment for:

’Tis death to any other dares attempt it.

I heare, the Prince of Naples seekes her loue:

Shee shall not wed with that presumptuous Boy,

His father and Our selfe were still at oddes,

Nor shall He thinke Wee will submit to Him.

Certaine he knowes not ofLisandro’ssute,

For if he had, he would a come himselfe,

Or sent Ambassadors to speake for him.

We’le giue his answer ere to morrows Sunne

Shall retch to his Meridian, wretched state of Kings,

What end will follow where such woes begins?

Nic.Scanfardoe?|Exeunt omnes.|

Scan.My good Lord?|Manet Nic. & Scanfardoe.|

Nic.How lik’st thou this?I am made Gardian of my owne harts blisse,The Princesse is my Prisoner, I her Slaue,I keepe her Body, but shee holds my HeartInuiron’d in a Chest of Adamant.

Nic.How lik’st thou this?

I am made Gardian of my owne harts blisse,

The Princesse is my Prisoner, I her Slaue,

I keepe her Body, but shee holds my Heart

Inuiron’d in a Chest of Adamant.

Scan.Is your Heart Iron?

Nic.Steele, I thinke it is;And liue an Anuile hammerd by her words,It sparkles fire that neuer can bee quencht,But by the dew of her cœlestiall breath.Oft haue I courted, bin reiected too,Yet what of that? I’le trye her once agen.What many Princes haue attempting fail’d,I by accesse may purchase, that’s my hope;The King I’me sure affects mee, nothing thenIs wanting but her loue, that once obtain’dSicill is ours:Scanfardoe? if we win,Thou shalt be LordNicanorI the King.|Exeunt.|

Nic.Steele, I thinke it is;

And liue an Anuile hammerd by her words,

It sparkles fire that neuer can bee quencht,

But by the dew of her cœlestiall breath.

Oft haue I courted, bin reiected too,

Yet what of that? I’le trye her once agen.

What many Princes haue attempting fail’d,

I by accesse may purchase, that’s my hope;

The King I’me sure affects mee, nothing then

Is wanting but her loue, that once obtain’d

Sicill is ours:Scanfardoe? if we win,

Thou shalt be LordNicanorI the King.|Exeunt.|

EnterMysogenossolus.

Mis.By this, my thundering Booke is prest abroad,I long to heare what a report it beares,I know ’t will startle all our Citie Dames,Worse then the roring Lyons, or the soundOf a huge double Canon,Swetnamsname,Will be more terrible in womens eares,Then euer yet inMisogenystshath beene.

Mis.By this, my thundering Booke is prest abroad,

I long to heare what a report it beares,

I know ’t will startle all our Citie Dames,

Worse then the roring Lyons, or the sound

Of a huge double Canon,Swetnamsname,

Will be more terrible in womens eares,

Then euer yet inMisogenystshath beene.

Enter Clowne.

Clow.Puffe, giue me some ayre,I am almost stifled, puffe, Oh, my sides!Mis.From whence comm’st thou in such a puffing heate?Hast thou been running for a wager,Swash?Thou art horribly imbost. Where hast thou beene?My life, he was haunted with some Spirit.Clow.A Spirit? I thinke all the Deuils in Hell,Haue had a pinch at my hanches,I haue beene among the Furies, the Furies:A Pox on your Booke: I haue beene paid ifaith,You haue set all the women in the Towne in an vprore.Mis.Why, what’s the matter,Swash?Clow.Ne’r was pooreSwash, so lasht, and pasht,And crasht and dasht, as I haue beene,Looke to your selfe, they’re vp in armes for you.Mis.Why, Haue they weapons,Swash?Clow.Weapons, Sir, I, Ile be sworne they haue.And cutting ones, I felt the smart of ’em,From the loines to the legs, from the head to th’ hams,From the Front to the foot, I haue not one free spot.Oh, I can shew you, Sir, such Characters.Mis.What dost thou mean, man, wilt shame thy selfe?Clow.Why, here’s none but you and I, Sir, is there?Mis.Good, good, ifaith. This was a braue Reuenge.Clow.If’t be so good, would you had had’t for me.Mis.And if I liue, I will make all the WorldTo hate, as I doe, this affliction, Woman.Clow.But we shall be afflicted in th’ meane time.Pray let’s leaue this Land: if we stay heere,We shall be torne a-pieces: would we had keptIn our owne Countrey, there w’are safe enough:You might haue writ and raild your bellifull,And few, or none would contradict you, Sir.Mis.Oh, but for one that writ against me,Swash,Ide had a glorious Conquest in that Ile,How my Bookes tooke effect! how greedilyThe credulous people swallowed downe my hookesHow rife debate sprang betwixt man and wife!The little Infant that could hardly speake,Would call his Mother Whore. O, it was rare!Clow.Oh, damn’d Rogue!I stay but here, in hope, to see him hang’d,And carrie newes toEngland, then I know,The women there will neuer see me want,For God he knowes, I loue vm with my heart,But dare not shew it for my very eares.What course, Sir, shall we take to hide our selues?Mis.The same we did atBristow, Fencing Boy;Oh 't is a fearefull name to Females,Swash,I haue bought Foiles alreadie, set vp Bils,Hung vp my two-hand Sword, and chang’d my name:Call meMysogenos.

Clow.Puffe, giue me some ayre,I am almost stifled, puffe, Oh, my sides!

Clow.Puffe, giue me some ayre,

I am almost stifled, puffe, Oh, my sides!

Mis.From whence comm’st thou in such a puffing heate?Hast thou been running for a wager,Swash?Thou art horribly imbost. Where hast thou beene?My life, he was haunted with some Spirit.

Mis.From whence comm’st thou in such a puffing heate?

Hast thou been running for a wager,Swash?

Thou art horribly imbost. Where hast thou beene?

My life, he was haunted with some Spirit.

Clow.A Spirit? I thinke all the Deuils in Hell,Haue had a pinch at my hanches,I haue beene among the Furies, the Furies:A Pox on your Booke: I haue beene paid ifaith,You haue set all the women in the Towne in an vprore.

Clow.A Spirit? I thinke all the Deuils in Hell,

Haue had a pinch at my hanches,

I haue beene among the Furies, the Furies:

A Pox on your Booke: I haue beene paid ifaith,

You haue set all the women in the Towne in an vprore.

Mis.Why, what’s the matter,Swash?

Clow.Ne’r was pooreSwash, so lasht, and pasht,And crasht and dasht, as I haue beene,Looke to your selfe, they’re vp in armes for you.

Clow.Ne’r was pooreSwash, so lasht, and pasht,

And crasht and dasht, as I haue beene,

Looke to your selfe, they’re vp in armes for you.

Mis.Why, Haue they weapons,Swash?

Clow.Weapons, Sir, I, Ile be sworne they haue.And cutting ones, I felt the smart of ’em,From the loines to the legs, from the head to th’ hams,From the Front to the foot, I haue not one free spot.Oh, I can shew you, Sir, such Characters.

Clow.Weapons, Sir, I, Ile be sworne they haue.

And cutting ones, I felt the smart of ’em,

From the loines to the legs, from the head to th’ hams,

From the Front to the foot, I haue not one free spot.

Oh, I can shew you, Sir, such Characters.

Mis.What dost thou mean, man, wilt shame thy selfe?

Clow.Why, here’s none but you and I, Sir, is there?

Mis.Good, good, ifaith. This was a braue Reuenge.

Clow.If’t be so good, would you had had’t for me.

Mis.And if I liue, I will make all the WorldTo hate, as I doe, this affliction, Woman.

Mis.And if I liue, I will make all the World

To hate, as I doe, this affliction, Woman.

Clow.But we shall be afflicted in th’ meane time.Pray let’s leaue this Land: if we stay heere,We shall be torne a-pieces: would we had keptIn our owne Countrey, there w’are safe enough:You might haue writ and raild your bellifull,And few, or none would contradict you, Sir.

Clow.But we shall be afflicted in th’ meane time.

Pray let’s leaue this Land: if we stay heere,

We shall be torne a-pieces: would we had kept

In our owne Countrey, there w’are safe enough:

You might haue writ and raild your bellifull,

And few, or none would contradict you, Sir.

Mis.Oh, but for one that writ against me,Swash,Ide had a glorious Conquest in that Ile,How my Bookes tooke effect! how greedilyThe credulous people swallowed downe my hookesHow rife debate sprang betwixt man and wife!The little Infant that could hardly speake,Would call his Mother Whore. O, it was rare!

Mis.Oh, but for one that writ against me,Swash,

Ide had a glorious Conquest in that Ile,

How my Bookes tooke effect! how greedily

The credulous people swallowed downe my hookes

How rife debate sprang betwixt man and wife!

The little Infant that could hardly speake,

Would call his Mother Whore. O, it was rare!

Clow.Oh, damn’d Rogue!I stay but here, in hope, to see him hang’d,And carrie newes toEngland, then I know,The women there will neuer see me want,For God he knowes, I loue vm with my heart,But dare not shew it for my very eares.What course, Sir, shall we take to hide our selues?

Clow.Oh, damn’d Rogue!

I stay but here, in hope, to see him hang’d,

And carrie newes toEngland, then I know,

The women there will neuer see me want,

For God he knowes, I loue vm with my heart,

But dare not shew it for my very eares.

What course, Sir, shall we take to hide our selues?

Mis.The same we did atBristow, Fencing Boy;Oh 't is a fearefull name to Females,Swash,I haue bought Foiles alreadie, set vp Bils,Hung vp my two-hand Sword, and chang’d my name:Call meMysogenos.

Mis.The same we did atBristow, Fencing Boy;

Oh 't is a fearefull name to Females,Swash,

I haue bought Foiles alreadie, set vp Bils,

Hung vp my two-hand Sword, and chang’d my name:

Call meMysogenos.

Enter Scanfardo.

Clow.A sodden Nose.

Mis.Mysogenos, I say. Remember,Swash, heere comes a Gentleman.

I know him well, he serues a Noble Lord.SeigniorScanfardo, happily encountred.Scan.Thanks, my noble Gladiator, Doctor of Defence.

I know him well, he serues a Noble Lord.SeigniorScanfardo, happily encountred.

I know him well, he serues a Noble Lord.

SeigniorScanfardo, happily encountred.

Scan.Thanks, my noble Gladiator, Doctor of Defence.

Mis.A Master, Sir, of the most magnanimous Method of Cudgell-cracking.

Scan.Ime glad I met with you.I was now comming to be entred, Sir.Mis.That you shall presently. My Rapier,Swash.Come, Sir, I’ll enter you.Scan.What meane you, Sir?Mis.You say you would be entred, if you will,Ile put you to thePunctopresently.Scan.Your Scholler, Sir, I meane.Mis.O welcome, Sir, What, haue you brought your Fees?Scan.Yes, Sir: what is’t?Mis.TwentiePiastros, your admittance Sir,And fiue, your quarteridge.Clow.Besides Vshers Fees.There goes a garnish and a breake-fast too.Scan.Well, I’m content, there ’tis.Clow.Come when you will, find youPiastros, Sir,And we’ll find you crackt crownes.Mis.Booke him, my bold Vsher.Clow.That I will, your denomination, Seignior.Scan.SeigniorScanfardo, Della Sancta Cabrado.Clow.Seig.Scan. Della Sancta Cabrado?a terrible name.Mis.Giue me your hand, Scholer, so Ile cal you now.Ile make you one of the Sonnes of Art.Swash, giue my Scholer the Foyle.Clow.Doe not take it in scorne,I haue gi’n many a good Gentleman the Foyle, Sir.Mis.I was going this morning to practise a young Duellist,That shortly goes to fight atCallis Sands.Come, Sir, to your guard.Scan.Not here in publike, I am a young beginner.Come to my Chamber, Sir, Ile practise there.

Scan.Ime glad I met with you.I was now comming to be entred, Sir.

Scan.Ime glad I met with you.

I was now comming to be entred, Sir.

Mis.That you shall presently. My Rapier,Swash.Come, Sir, I’ll enter you.

Mis.That you shall presently. My Rapier,Swash.

Come, Sir, I’ll enter you.

Scan.What meane you, Sir?

Mis.You say you would be entred, if you will,Ile put you to thePunctopresently.

Mis.You say you would be entred, if you will,

Ile put you to thePunctopresently.

Scan.Your Scholler, Sir, I meane.

Mis.O welcome, Sir, What, haue you brought your Fees?

Scan.Yes, Sir: what is’t?

Mis.TwentiePiastros, your admittance Sir,And fiue, your quarteridge.

Mis.TwentiePiastros, your admittance Sir,

And fiue, your quarteridge.

Clow.Besides Vshers Fees.There goes a garnish and a breake-fast too.

Clow.Besides Vshers Fees.

There goes a garnish and a breake-fast too.

Scan.Well, I’m content, there ’tis.

Clow.Come when you will, find youPiastros, Sir,And we’ll find you crackt crownes.

Clow.Come when you will, find youPiastros, Sir,

And we’ll find you crackt crownes.

Mis.Booke him, my bold Vsher.

Clow.That I will, your denomination, Seignior.

Scan.SeigniorScanfardo, Della Sancta Cabrado.

Clow.Seig.Scan. Della Sancta Cabrado?a terrible name.

Mis.Giue me your hand, Scholer, so Ile cal you now.Ile make you one of the Sonnes of Art.Swash, giue my Scholer the Foyle.

Mis.Giue me your hand, Scholer, so Ile cal you now.

Ile make you one of the Sonnes of Art.

Swash, giue my Scholer the Foyle.

Clow.Doe not take it in scorne,I haue gi’n many a good Gentleman the Foyle, Sir.

Clow.Doe not take it in scorne,

I haue gi’n many a good Gentleman the Foyle, Sir.

Mis.I was going this morning to practise a young Duellist,That shortly goes to fight atCallis Sands.Come, Sir, to your guard.

Mis.I was going this morning to practise a young Duellist,

That shortly goes to fight atCallis Sands.

Come, Sir, to your guard.

Scan.Not here in publike, I am a young beginner.Come to my Chamber, Sir, Ile practise there.

Scan.Not here in publike, I am a young beginner.

Come to my Chamber, Sir, Ile practise there.

Mis.Doe, and Ile teach you the very mysterie of Fencing, that in a fortnight, you shall be able to challenge any Scholer vnder the degree of a Prouost, and in a quarter of a yeere, beat all the Fencers inGermany. Our English Masters of this Noble Science would ha’ gi’n fortie pound to haue knowne that tricke.

Scan.Say you so, Sir?

By this hand, I shall thinke my money wellbestowed then: but to tell you the truth, Sir, the reason I would learne, is, because I am to bee married shortly: and they say, Then or neuer, is the time for a man to get the mastery.

Mis.How, marry, Scholer? thou art not mad, I hope. Doe you know what you doe?

Scan.I know what I shall doe, Master, that’s as good.

Mis.Doe you know what she is you are to marrie?

Scan.A woman, I am sure a that.

Mis.No, she’s a Deuill, Harpie, Cockatrice.

Scan.And you were not my Master——

Mis.Scholer, be aduised, they are allMost vile and wicked.

Mis.Scholer, be aduised, they are all

Most vile and wicked.

Scan.How, Sir?

Mis.Dissemblers, the very curse of man, Monsters indeed.

Clow.That Ile be sworne they are, for I haue knowne some of vm, that ha’ deuoured you three Lordships, in Cullices and Caudles before Break-fast.

Mis.And creatures the most imperfect: for looke yee, Sir,Th’are nothing of themselues,Onely patcht vp to coozen and gull men,Borrowing their haire from one, complexions from another,Nothing their own that’s pleasing, all dissembled,Not so much, but their very breathIs sophisticated with Amber-pellets, and kissing causes.Marry a woman, Scholer? thou vndergo’st an harder task,Then those bold Spirits, that did vndertakeTo steale the greatTurkeinto Christendome.A woman! she’s an Angell at ten, a Saint at fifteene,A Deuill at fortie, and a Witch at fourescore.If you will marry, marry none of these:Neither the faire, nor the foule; the rich, nor the poore;The good, nor the bad.Scan.Who should I marry then, Sir?Mis.Marry none at all.Scan.Proceeds this from Experience?Mis.From Reason, Sir, the Mistris of Experience.Happy were man, had woman neuer bin.Why did not Nature infuse the gift of ProcreationIn man alone, without the helpe of woman,Euen as we see one seed, produce another?Clow.Or as you see one Knaue make twentie, Master.Mis.Thou saist true,Swash: or why might not a manReuiue againe, like to the Elme and Oake?Clow.Many Logger-heads doe, Sir.Mis.When they are cut downe to the very roote,Yet in short time you see, young branches spring againe.Clow.If ’twere so at Tyburne, what a fine companieof Crack-ropes would spring vp then?

Mis.And creatures the most imperfect: for looke yee, Sir,

Th’are nothing of themselues,

Onely patcht vp to coozen and gull men,

Borrowing their haire from one, complexions from another,

Nothing their own that’s pleasing, all dissembled,

Not so much, but their very breath

Is sophisticated with Amber-pellets, and kissing causes.

Marry a woman, Scholer? thou vndergo’st an harder task,

Then those bold Spirits, that did vndertake

To steale the greatTurkeinto Christendome.

A woman! she’s an Angell at ten, a Saint at fifteene,

A Deuill at fortie, and a Witch at fourescore.

If you will marry, marry none of these:

Neither the faire, nor the foule; the rich, nor the poore;

The good, nor the bad.

Scan.Who should I marry then, Sir?

Mis.Marry none at all.

Scan.Proceeds this from Experience?

Mis.From Reason, Sir, the Mistris of Experience.Happy were man, had woman neuer bin.Why did not Nature infuse the gift of ProcreationIn man alone, without the helpe of woman,Euen as we see one seed, produce another?

Mis.From Reason, Sir, the Mistris of Experience.

Happy were man, had woman neuer bin.

Why did not Nature infuse the gift of Procreation

In man alone, without the helpe of woman,

Euen as we see one seed, produce another?

Clow.Or as you see one Knaue make twentie, Master.

Mis.Thou saist true,Swash: or why might not a manReuiue againe, like to the Elme and Oake?

Mis.Thou saist true,Swash: or why might not a man

Reuiue againe, like to the Elme and Oake?

Clow.Many Logger-heads doe, Sir.

Mis.When they are cut downe to the very roote,Yet in short time you see, young branches spring againe.

Mis.When they are cut downe to the very roote,

Yet in short time you see, young branches spring againe.

Clow.If ’twere so at Tyburne, what a fine companieof Crack-ropes would spring vp then?

Clow.If ’twere so at Tyburne, what a fine companie

of Crack-ropes would spring vp then?

Mis.Then we should ne’r be acquainted with the deceitfull deuices of a womans crooked conditions, which are so many, that if all the World were Paper, the Sea, Inke, Trees and Plants, Pens, and euery man Clarkes, Scribes, and Notaries: yet would all that Paper be scribled ouer, the Inke wasted, Pens worne to the stumps, and all the Scriueners wearie, before they could describe the hundreth part of a womans wickednesse.

Scan.Me thinks you are too generall: some, no doubt,As many men, are bad: condemne not all for some.What thinke you, Sir, of those that haue good wiues?I hope, you will confesse a difference.Mis.And Reason too: and here’s the difference,Those that haue good wiues, ride to HellVpon ambling Hackneyes, and all the restVpon trotting Iades to the Deuill.Scan.Is that the difference? Ile not marrie sure,Ile rather turne Whore-master,And goe a-foot to the Deuill.Clow.You’l hardly doe that, if you loue whoring, Sir.For many lose a Legge in such seruice.

Scan.Me thinks you are too generall: some, no doubt,As many men, are bad: condemne not all for some.What thinke you, Sir, of those that haue good wiues?I hope, you will confesse a difference.

Scan.Me thinks you are too generall: some, no doubt,

As many men, are bad: condemne not all for some.

What thinke you, Sir, of those that haue good wiues?

I hope, you will confesse a difference.

Mis.And Reason too: and here’s the difference,Those that haue good wiues, ride to HellVpon ambling Hackneyes, and all the restVpon trotting Iades to the Deuill.

Mis.And Reason too: and here’s the difference,

Those that haue good wiues, ride to Hell

Vpon ambling Hackneyes, and all the rest

Vpon trotting Iades to the Deuill.

Scan.Is that the difference? Ile not marrie sure,Ile rather turne Whore-master,And goe a-foot to the Deuill.

Scan.Is that the difference? Ile not marrie sure,

Ile rather turne Whore-master,

And goe a-foot to the Deuill.

Clow.You’l hardly doe that, if you loue whoring, Sir.For many lose a Legge in such seruice.

Clow.You’l hardly doe that, if you loue whoring, Sir.

For many lose a Legge in such seruice.

Scan.But doe you heare, Sir? how long is’t since you became such a bitter Enemie to women?

Mis.Since I had wisdome. When I was a Foole,

I doted on such Follies, but now I haue left vm, and doe vow to be the euerlasting scourge to all their Sex: What the reason is, Ile tell you, Sir, hereafter: reade but that,

I haue arraign’d vm all, and painted forthThose Furies to the life,That all the World may know that doth it read,I was a true Mysogenist indeed.|Exeunt.|

I haue arraign’d vm all, and painted forth

Those Furies to the life,

That all the World may know that doth it read,

I was a true Mysogenist indeed.|Exeunt.|

EnterIago,andLorenzodisguised.

Iag.You haue not seene the Court then?Lor.Not as yet.But I desire to obserue the Fashions there.How doe you stile your King of Sicilie?Iag.Men call him, Sir, The iust KingAtticus;And truly too: for with an equall ScaleHe waighes the offences betwixt man and man,He is not sooth’d with adulation,Nor mou’d with teares, to wrest the course of IusticeInto an vniust current, to oppresse the Innocent,Nor do’s he make the LawesPunish the man, but in the man the cause.Shall I in briefe giue you his Character?Lor.A thing I couet much.Iag.Attend mee then.His state is full of maiestie and grace,Whose basis is true Pietie and Vertue,Where, vnderneath a rich triumphant Arch,That does resemble the Tribunall Seat,Garded with Angels, borne vpon two Columnes,Iuftice and Clemencie, he sits inthron’d,His subiects serue him freely, not perforce,And doe obey him more for loue, then feare;Being a King not of themselues alone,And their estates, but their affections:A soueraigntie that farre more safetie brings,Then do’s an Armie to the guard of Kings.Lor.You haue describ’d, Sir, such a worthy Prince,That well I cannot say, who is most happie;Either the King for hauing so good subiects,Or else the subiects for so good a King.But pray proceed.Iag.The Heauens to crowne his ioy,With Immortalitie in his happie IssueSent him two Royall sonnes, of whom the eldestWas the sweet PrinceLusyppus. Was! oh me,That euer I should liue to say, he was:He was, but is not now, for he is dead.The yongest wasLorenzo, for his yeeres,The pride and glory of Sicilians,And miracle of Nature, whose aspect,Euen like a Comet, did attract all eyesWith admiration, wonder and amazement,And he good Prince, is lost, or worse, I feare:But for his Daughter faireLeonida,Her Fame not able to be circumscrib’dWithin the bounds of Sicilie, hath goneBeyond the Pirean Mountaines, and brought backeThe chiefe Italian Princes, but their LouesWere quitted with contempt and crueltie:And many of our braue Sicilian YouthsHaue sacrific’d their liues to her disdaine.Now to preuent the like euent hereafter,’Twas thought fit her libertie should be awhile restraind,For which intent, his Highnesse hath electedThe LordNicanorfor her Guardian,Who, ’tis thought, shall after his decease,Espouse the Princesse, and be heire of Sicill.Lor.You told me of a Prince, you said was lost,Which you pronounc’d so feelingly, as ifIt had beene your losse in particular.Iag.Oh, it was mine, and euery good mans else,That is oblig’d to vertue and desert.Lor.See how Report is subiect to abuse.I knew the PrinceLorenzo.Iag.Did you, Sir?Lor.But neuer knew in him any one sparkeOf worth or merit, that might thus inflameThe zeale of your affection.Iag.Traytor, thou lyest.Which I will proue eu’n to thy heart, thou ly’st,I tell thee, thou hast committed such a sinneAgainst his deare Report, that thy base lifeIs farre too poore to expiate that wrong.Sir, will you draw?Lor.Forbeare, incensed man. I doe applaudThy noble courage, and I tell you, Sir,The PrinceLorenzowas a man I lou’dAs dearely as my selfe: but pray resolue me;Does he liue or not?Iag.He liues,In our eternall memorie he liues: but otherwise,It’s the generall feare of Sicily,That he is dead, or in Captiuitie.For whenDon Iohn, the Spanish Generall,Went with an Armie ’gainst the cruell Turkes,In that still memorable Battell of Lepanto,Our braueLorenzo, too too vent’rous,There lost his life, or worse, his libertie.Lor.Hath not Time with his rude handDefac’d the Impression of his EffigiesIn your memories yet?Iag.No, nor will euer be, so longAs worth shall be admir’d, and vertue loued.Lor.You know him, if you see him.Iag.My LordLorenzo!Lor.Rise, my worthy Friend,I haue made proofe of thy vnfayned loue.Iag.Th’exceeding happinesse to see you well,Is more then ioy can vtter: On my kneesI beg your pardon for th’vnciuill speechMy ignorant tongue committed.Lor.No, thus I’le be reueng’d.|Imbraces him.|I know thou louest mee, and I must inioyneThy loue vnto an act of secresie,Which you must not denie.Iag.Sir, I obey.Lor.Then thus it is, I must coniure your faith,And priuacie in my arriuall yet,For I intend a while in some disguiseTo obserue the times and humors of the Court.Iag.How meanes your Grace? can you indure to seeThe Court eclipst with clouds of discontent,Your father mourne your absence, and all heartsOre-whelm’d with sorrow, and you present, Sir?Lor.Iago, I’me resolu’d:Therefore what shape or humor I assume,Take you no notice that I am the Prince.Iag.Sir, I consent,And vow to your concealement.Lor.It is enough, my brother’s dead, thou saist:I haue some teares to spend vpon his Tombe,We are the next vnto the Diadem,That’s the occasion I obscure my selfe.Happie’s that Prince, that ere he rules, shall know,VVhere the chiefe errors of his State doe grow.

Iag.You haue not seene the Court then?

Lor.Not as yet.But I desire to obserue the Fashions there.How doe you stile your King of Sicilie?

Lor.Not as yet.

But I desire to obserue the Fashions there.

How doe you stile your King of Sicilie?

Iag.Men call him, Sir, The iust KingAtticus;And truly too: for with an equall ScaleHe waighes the offences betwixt man and man,He is not sooth’d with adulation,Nor mou’d with teares, to wrest the course of IusticeInto an vniust current, to oppresse the Innocent,Nor do’s he make the LawesPunish the man, but in the man the cause.Shall I in briefe giue you his Character?

Iag.Men call him, Sir, The iust KingAtticus;

And truly too: for with an equall Scale

He waighes the offences betwixt man and man,

He is not sooth’d with adulation,

Nor mou’d with teares, to wrest the course of Iustice

Into an vniust current, to oppresse the Innocent,

Nor do’s he make the Lawes

Punish the man, but in the man the cause.

Shall I in briefe giue you his Character?

Lor.A thing I couet much.

Iag.Attend mee then.His state is full of maiestie and grace,Whose basis is true Pietie and Vertue,Where, vnderneath a rich triumphant Arch,That does resemble the Tribunall Seat,Garded with Angels, borne vpon two Columnes,Iuftice and Clemencie, he sits inthron’d,His subiects serue him freely, not perforce,And doe obey him more for loue, then feare;Being a King not of themselues alone,And their estates, but their affections:A soueraigntie that farre more safetie brings,Then do’s an Armie to the guard of Kings.

Iag.Attend mee then.

His state is full of maiestie and grace,

Whose basis is true Pietie and Vertue,

Where, vnderneath a rich triumphant Arch,

That does resemble the Tribunall Seat,

Garded with Angels, borne vpon two Columnes,

Iuftice and Clemencie, he sits inthron’d,

His subiects serue him freely, not perforce,

And doe obey him more for loue, then feare;

Being a King not of themselues alone,

And their estates, but their affections:

A soueraigntie that farre more safetie brings,

Then do’s an Armie to the guard of Kings.

Lor.You haue describ’d, Sir, such a worthy Prince,That well I cannot say, who is most happie;Either the King for hauing so good subiects,Or else the subiects for so good a King.But pray proceed.

Lor.You haue describ’d, Sir, such a worthy Prince,

That well I cannot say, who is most happie;

Either the King for hauing so good subiects,

Or else the subiects for so good a King.

But pray proceed.

Iag.The Heauens to crowne his ioy,With Immortalitie in his happie IssueSent him two Royall sonnes, of whom the eldestWas the sweet PrinceLusyppus. Was! oh me,That euer I should liue to say, he was:He was, but is not now, for he is dead.The yongest wasLorenzo, for his yeeres,The pride and glory of Sicilians,And miracle of Nature, whose aspect,Euen like a Comet, did attract all eyesWith admiration, wonder and amazement,And he good Prince, is lost, or worse, I feare:But for his Daughter faireLeonida,Her Fame not able to be circumscrib’dWithin the bounds of Sicilie, hath goneBeyond the Pirean Mountaines, and brought backeThe chiefe Italian Princes, but their LouesWere quitted with contempt and crueltie:And many of our braue Sicilian YouthsHaue sacrific’d their liues to her disdaine.Now to preuent the like euent hereafter,’Twas thought fit her libertie should be awhile restraind,For which intent, his Highnesse hath electedThe LordNicanorfor her Guardian,Who, ’tis thought, shall after his decease,Espouse the Princesse, and be heire of Sicill.

Iag.The Heauens to crowne his ioy,

With Immortalitie in his happie Issue

Sent him two Royall sonnes, of whom the eldest

Was the sweet PrinceLusyppus. Was! oh me,

That euer I should liue to say, he was:

He was, but is not now, for he is dead.

The yongest wasLorenzo, for his yeeres,

The pride and glory of Sicilians,

And miracle of Nature, whose aspect,

Euen like a Comet, did attract all eyes

With admiration, wonder and amazement,

And he good Prince, is lost, or worse, I feare:

But for his Daughter faireLeonida,

Her Fame not able to be circumscrib’d

Within the bounds of Sicilie, hath gone

Beyond the Pirean Mountaines, and brought backe

The chiefe Italian Princes, but their Loues

Were quitted with contempt and crueltie:

And many of our braue Sicilian Youths

Haue sacrific’d their liues to her disdaine.

Now to preuent the like euent hereafter,

’Twas thought fit her libertie should be awhile restraind,

For which intent, his Highnesse hath elected

The LordNicanorfor her Guardian,

Who, ’tis thought, shall after his decease,

Espouse the Princesse, and be heire of Sicill.

Lor.You told me of a Prince, you said was lost,Which you pronounc’d so feelingly, as ifIt had beene your losse in particular.

Lor.You told me of a Prince, you said was lost,

Which you pronounc’d so feelingly, as if

It had beene your losse in particular.

Iag.Oh, it was mine, and euery good mans else,That is oblig’d to vertue and desert.

Iag.Oh, it was mine, and euery good mans else,

That is oblig’d to vertue and desert.

Lor.See how Report is subiect to abuse.I knew the PrinceLorenzo.

Lor.See how Report is subiect to abuse.

I knew the PrinceLorenzo.

Iag.Did you, Sir?

Lor.But neuer knew in him any one sparkeOf worth or merit, that might thus inflameThe zeale of your affection.

Lor.But neuer knew in him any one sparke

Of worth or merit, that might thus inflame

The zeale of your affection.

Iag.Traytor, thou lyest.Which I will proue eu’n to thy heart, thou ly’st,I tell thee, thou hast committed such a sinneAgainst his deare Report, that thy base lifeIs farre too poore to expiate that wrong.Sir, will you draw?

Iag.Traytor, thou lyest.

Which I will proue eu’n to thy heart, thou ly’st,

I tell thee, thou hast committed such a sinne

Against his deare Report, that thy base life

Is farre too poore to expiate that wrong.

Sir, will you draw?

Lor.Forbeare, incensed man. I doe applaudThy noble courage, and I tell you, Sir,The PrinceLorenzowas a man I lou’dAs dearely as my selfe: but pray resolue me;Does he liue or not?

Lor.Forbeare, incensed man. I doe applaud

Thy noble courage, and I tell you, Sir,

The PrinceLorenzowas a man I lou’d

As dearely as my selfe: but pray resolue me;

Does he liue or not?

Iag.He liues,In our eternall memorie he liues: but otherwise,It’s the generall feare of Sicily,That he is dead, or in Captiuitie.For whenDon Iohn, the Spanish Generall,Went with an Armie ’gainst the cruell Turkes,In that still memorable Battell of Lepanto,Our braueLorenzo, too too vent’rous,There lost his life, or worse, his libertie.

Iag.He liues,

In our eternall memorie he liues: but otherwise,

It’s the generall feare of Sicily,

That he is dead, or in Captiuitie.

For whenDon Iohn, the Spanish Generall,

Went with an Armie ’gainst the cruell Turkes,

In that still memorable Battell of Lepanto,

Our braueLorenzo, too too vent’rous,

There lost his life, or worse, his libertie.

Lor.Hath not Time with his rude handDefac’d the Impression of his EffigiesIn your memories yet?

Lor.Hath not Time with his rude hand

Defac’d the Impression of his Effigies

In your memories yet?

Iag.No, nor will euer be, so longAs worth shall be admir’d, and vertue loued.

Iag.No, nor will euer be, so long

As worth shall be admir’d, and vertue loued.

Lor.You know him, if you see him.

Iag.My LordLorenzo!

Lor.Rise, my worthy Friend,I haue made proofe of thy vnfayned loue.

Lor.Rise, my worthy Friend,

I haue made proofe of thy vnfayned loue.

Iag.Th’exceeding happinesse to see you well,Is more then ioy can vtter: On my kneesI beg your pardon for th’vnciuill speechMy ignorant tongue committed.

Iag.Th’exceeding happinesse to see you well,

Is more then ioy can vtter: On my knees

I beg your pardon for th’vnciuill speech

My ignorant tongue committed.

Lor.No, thus I’le be reueng’d.|Imbraces him.|I know thou louest mee, and I must inioyneThy loue vnto an act of secresie,Which you must not denie.

Lor.No, thus I’le be reueng’d.|Imbraces him.|

I know thou louest mee, and I must inioyne

Thy loue vnto an act of secresie,

Which you must not denie.

Iag.Sir, I obey.

Lor.Then thus it is, I must coniure your faith,And priuacie in my arriuall yet,For I intend a while in some disguiseTo obserue the times and humors of the Court.

Lor.Then thus it is, I must coniure your faith,

And priuacie in my arriuall yet,

For I intend a while in some disguise

To obserue the times and humors of the Court.

Iag.How meanes your Grace? can you indure to seeThe Court eclipst with clouds of discontent,Your father mourne your absence, and all heartsOre-whelm’d with sorrow, and you present, Sir?

Iag.How meanes your Grace? can you indure to see

The Court eclipst with clouds of discontent,

Your father mourne your absence, and all hearts

Ore-whelm’d with sorrow, and you present, Sir?

Lor.Iago, I’me resolu’d:Therefore what shape or humor I assume,Take you no notice that I am the Prince.

Lor.Iago, I’me resolu’d:

Therefore what shape or humor I assume,

Take you no notice that I am the Prince.

Iag.Sir, I consent,And vow to your concealement.

Iag.Sir, I consent,

And vow to your concealement.

Lor.It is enough, my brother’s dead, thou saist:I haue some teares to spend vpon his Tombe,We are the next vnto the Diadem,That’s the occasion I obscure my selfe.Happie’s that Prince, that ere he rules, shall know,VVhere the chiefe errors of his State doe grow.

Lor.It is enough, my brother’s dead, thou saist:

I haue some teares to spend vpon his Tombe,

We are the next vnto the Diadem,

That’s the occasion I obscure my selfe.

Happie’s that Prince, that ere he rules, shall know,

VVhere the chiefe errors of his State doe grow.

|Exeunt.|

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