Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 10 of 10

by Francis Beaumont; John Fletcher

CONTENTS

	PAGE
Thierry and Theodoret	[1]
The Woman-Hater	[71]
Nice Valour, or The Passionate Mad-man	[143]
Mr. Francis Beaumonts Letter to Ben. Johnson	[199]
The Honest Man's Fortune	[202]
The Masque of the Gentlemen of Grays-Inne and the Inner-Temple	[281]
Four Plays or Moral Representations in One	[287]
Appendix	[365]

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THE TRAGEDY
OF
Thierry and Theodoret.

---

Actus Primus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Theodoret, Brunhalt, Bawder.

BRUNHALT.

Taxe me with these hot tainters?

Theodoret. You are too sudain;
I doe but gently tell you what becomes you
And what may bend your honor! how these courses
Of loose and lazie pleasures; not suspected
But done and known, your mind that grants no limit
And all your Actions follows, which loose people
That see but through a mist of circumstance
Dare term ambitious; all your wayes hide sores
Opening in the end to nothing but ulcers.
Your instruments like these may call the world
And with a fearfull clamor, to examine
Why, and to what we govern. From example
If not for vertues sake ye may be honest:
There have been great ones, good ones, and 'tis necessary
Because you are your self, and by your self
A self-peece from the touch of power and Justice,
You should command your self, you may imagine
Which cozens all the world, but chiefly women
The name of greatness glorifies your actions
And strong power like a pent-house, promise
To shade you from opinion; Take heed mother,
And let us all take heed these most abuse us
The sins we doe, people behold through opticks,
Which shews them ten times more than common vices,
And often multiplys them: Then what justice
Dare we inflict upon the weak offenders
When we are theeves our selves?

Brun. This is, Martell,
Studied and pen'd unto you, whose base person
I charge you by the love you owe a mother
And as you hope for blessings from her prayers,
Neither to give belief to, nor allowance,
Next I tell you Sir, you from whom obedience
Is so far fled, that you dare taxe a mother;
Nay further, brand her honor with your slanders,
And break into the treasures of her credit,
Your easiness is abused, your faith fraited
With lyes, malitious lyes, your merchant mischief,
He that never knew more trade then Tales, and tumbling
Suspitious into honest hearts; What you or he,
Or all the world dare lay upon my worth,
This for your poor opinions: I am shee,
And so will bear my self, whose truth and whiteness
Shall ever stand as far from these detections
As you from dutie, get you better servants
People of honest actions without ends,
And whip these knaves away, they eat your favours,
And turn 'em unto poysons: my known credit
Whom all the Courts o' this side Nile have envied,
And happy she could site me, brought in question
Now in my hours of age and reverence,
When rather superstition should be rendred
And by a Rush that one days warmth
Hath shot up to this swelling; Give me justice,
Which is his life.

Theod. This is an impudence, and he must tell you, that till now mother brought ye a sons obedience, and now breaks it Above the sufferance of a Son.

Bawd. Bless us!

For I doe now begin to feel my self
Turning into a halter, and the ladder
Turning from me, one pulling at my legs too.

Theod. These truths are no mans tales, but all mens troubles,
They are, though your strange greatness would out-stare u'm:
Witness the daily Libels, almost Ballads
In every place, almost in every Province,
Are made upon your lust, Tavern discourses,
Crowds cram'd with whispers; Nay, the holy Temples,
Are not without your curses: Now you would blush,
But your black tainted blood dare not appear
For fear I should fright that too.

Brun. O ye gods!

Theod. Do not abuse their names: They see your actions
And your conceal'd sins, though you work like Moles,
Lies level to their justice.

Brun. Art thou a Son?

Theod. The more my shame is of so bad a mother,
And more your wretchedness you let me be so;
But woma[n], for a mothers name hath left me
Since you have left your honor; Mend these ruins,
And build again that broken fame, and fairly;
Your most intemperate fires have burnt, and quickly
Within these ten days take a Monasterie,
A most strickt house; a house where none may whisper,
Where no more light is known but what may make ye
Believe there is a day where no hope dwells,
Nor comfort but in tears.

Brun. O miserie!

Theod. And there to cold repentance, and starv'd penance
Tye your succeeding days; Or curse me heaven
If all your guilded knaves, brokers, and bedders,
Even he you built from nothing, strong Protal[dy]e,
Be not made ambling Geldings; All your maids,
If that name doe not shame 'em, fed with spunges
To suck away their ranckness; And your self
Onely to empty Pictures and dead Arras
Offer your old desires.

Brun. I will not curse you,
Nor lay a prophesie upon your pride,
Though heaven might grant me both: unthankfull, no,
I nourish'd ye, 'twas I, poor I groan'd for you,
'Twas I felt what you suffer'd, I lamented
When sickness or sad hours held back your swe[e]tness;
'Twas I pay'd for your sleeps, I watchd your wakings:
My daily cares and fears, that rid, plaid, walk'd,
Discours'd, discover'd, fed and fashion'd you
To what you are, and I am thus rewarded.

Theod. But that I know these tears I could dote on 'em,
And kneell to catch 'em as they fall, then knit 'em
Into an Armlet, ever to be honor'd;
But woman they are dangerous drops, deceitfull,
Full of the weeper, anger and ill nature.

Brun. In my last hours despis'd.

Theod. That Text should tell
How ugly it becomes you to err thus;
Your flames are spent, nothing but smoke maintains ye;
And those your favour and your bounty suffers
Lye not with you, they do but lay lust on you
And then imbrace you as they caught a palsie;
Your power they may love, and like spanish Jennetts
Commit with such a gust.

Bawd. I would take whipping,
And pay a fine now. [Exit Bawdber.

Theod. But were ye once disgraced,
Or fallen in wealth, like leaves they would flie from you,
And become browse for every beast; You will'd me
To stock my self with better friends, and servants,
With what face dare you see me, or any mankind,
That keep a race of such unheard of relicks,
Bawds, Leachers, Letches, female fornications,
And children in their rudiments to vices,
Old men to shew examples: and lest Art
Should loose her self in act, to call back custome,
Leave these, and live like Niobe. I told you how
And when your eyes have dropt away remembrance
Of what you were. I 'm your Son! performe it.

Brun. Am I a woman, and no more power in me,
To tye this Tyger up, a soul to no end,
Have I got shame and lost my will? Brunhalt
From this accursed hour, forget thou bor'st him,
Or any part of thy blood gave him living,
Let him be to thee an Antipathy,
A thing thy nature sweats at, and turns backward:
Throw all the mischiefs on him that thy self,
Or woman worse than thou art, have invented,
And kill him drunk, or doubtfull.

Enter Bawder, Protaldie, Lecure.

Bawd. Such a sweat,
I never was in yet, clipt of my minstrels,
My toyes to prick up wenches withall; Uphold me,
It runs like snow-balls through me.

Brun. Now my varlets,
My slaves, my running thoughts, my executions.

Baw. Lord how she looks!

Brun. Hell take ye all.

Baw. We shall be gelt.

Brun. Your Mistress,
Your old and honor'd Mistress, you tyr'd curtals
Suffers for your base sins; I must be cloyster'd,
Mew'd up to make me virtuous who can help this?
Now you stand still like Statues; Come Protaldye,
One kiss before I perish, kiss me strongly,
Another, and a third.

Lecure. I fear not gelding
As long [as] she holds this way.

Brun. The young courser
That unli[c]kt lumpe of mine, will win thy Mistriss;
Must I be chast Protaldye?

Pro. Thus and thus Lady.

Brun. It shall be so, let him seek fools for Vestalls,
Here is my Cloyster.

Lecure. But what safety Madam
Find you in staying here?

Brun. Thou hast hit my meaning,
I will to Thierry Son of my blessings,
And there complain me, tell my tale so subtilly,
That the cold stones shall sweat; And Statues mourn,
And thou shall weep Protaldye in my witness,
And there forswear.

Bawd. Yes, any thing but gelding,
I'm not yet in quiet Noble Lady,
Let it be done to night, for without doubt
To morrow we are capons.

Brun. Sleep shall not seize me,
Nor any food befriend me but thy kisses,
E're I forsake this desart, I live honest;
He may as well bid dead men walk, I humbled,
Or bent below my power; let night-dogs tear me,
And goblins ride me in my sleep to jelly,
Ere I forsake my sphear.

Lecure. This place you will.

Brun. What's that to you, or any,
Ye doss, you powder'd pigsbones, rubarbe glister:
Must you know my designs? a colledge on you,
The proverbe makes but fools.

Prota. But Noble Lady.

Brun. You a sawcie ass too, off I will not,
If you but anger me, till a sow-gelder
Have cut you all like colts, hold me and kiss me,
For I'm too much troubled; Make up my treasure,
And get me horses private, come about it. [Exeunt.

[Act. I. Scæ. 2.]

Enter Theodoret, Martell, &c.

Theod. Though I assure my self (Martell) your counsell
Had no end but allegeance and my honor:
Yet [I am] jealous, I have pass'd the bounds
Of a sons duty; For suppose her worse
Than you report, not by bare circumstance,
But evident proof confirm'd has given her out:
Yet since all weakness[es] in a kingdome, are
No more to be severely punished than
The faults of Kings are by the Thunderer
As oft as they offend, to be reveng'd:
If not for piety, yet for policie,
Since some are of necessitie to be spar'd,
I might, and now I wish I had not look'd
With such strict eyes into her follies.

Mart. Sir, a duty well discharg'd is never follow'd
By sad repentance, nor did your Highness ever
Make payment of the debt you ow'd her, better
Than in your late reproofs not of her, but
Those crimes that made her worthy of reproof.
The most remarkeable point in which Kings differ
From private men, is that they not alone
Stand bound to be in themselves innocent,
But that all such as are allyed to them
In nearness, [or] dependance, by their care
Should be free from suspition of all crime;
And you have reap'd a double benefit
From this last great act: first in the restraint
Of her lost pleasures, you remove th' example
From others of the like licentiousness,
Then when 'tis known that your severitie
Extended to your mother, who dares hope for
The least indulgence or connivence in
The easiest slips that may prove dangerous
To you, or to the Kingdome?

Theod. I must grant
Your reason good (Martell) if as she is
My mother, she had been my subject, or
That only here she could make challenge to
A place of Being; But I know her temper
And fear (if such a word become a King,)
That in discovering her, I have let lo[o]se
A Tygress, whose rage being shut up in darkness,
Was grievous only to her self; Which brought
Into the view of light, her cruelty,
Provok'd by her own shame, will turn on him
That foolishly presum'd to let her see
The loath'd shape of her own deformitie.

Mart. Beasts of that nature, when rebellious threats
Begin to appear only in their eyes,
Or any motion that may give suspition
Of the least violence should be chain'd up;
Their fangs and teeth, and all their means of hurt,
Par'd off, and knockt out, and so made unable
To do ill; They would soon begin to loath it.
I'll apply nothing: but had your Grace done,
Or would doe yet, what your less forward zeal
In words did only threaten, far less danger
Would grow from acting it on her, than may
Perhaps have Being from her apprehension
Of what may once be practis'd: For believe it,
Who confident of his own power, presumes
To spend threats on an enemy, that hath means
To shun the worst they can effect, gives armor
To keep off his own strength; Nay more, disarms
Himself, and lyes unguarded 'gainst all harms,
Or doubt, or malice may produce.

Theod. 'Tis true.
And such a desperate cure I would have us'd,
If the intemperate patient had not been
So near me as a mother; but to her,
And from me gentle unguents only were
To be appli'd: and as physitians
When they are sick of fevers, eat themselves
Such viands as by their directions are
Forbid to others though alike diseas'd;
So she considering what she is, may challenge
Those cordialls to restore her, by her birth,
And priviledge, which at no suit must be
Granted to others.

Mart. May your pious care
Effect but what it aim'd at, I am silent.

Enter Devitry.

Theod. What laught you at Sir?

Vitry. I have some occasion,
I should not else; And the same cause perhaps
That makes me do so, may beget in you
A contrary effect.

Theod. Why, what's the matter?

Vitry. I see and joy to see that sometimes poor men,
(And most of [such] are good) stand more indebted
For [meanes] to breathe to such as are held vitious,
Than those that wear, like Hypocrites on their foreheads,
Th'ambitious titles of just men and vertuous.

Mart. Speak to the purpose.

Vitry. Who would e'er have thought
The good old Queen, your Highness reverend mother,
Into whose house (which was an Academ,)
In which all principles of lust were practis'd:
No soldier might presume to set his foot;
At whose most blessed intercession
All offices in the state, were charitably
Confer'd on Panders, o'erworn chamber wrestlers,
And such physitians as knew how to kill
With safety under the pretence of saving,
And such like children of a monstrous peace,
That she I say should at the length provide
That men of war, and honest younger brothers,
That would not owe their feeding to their cod-peece,
Should be esteem'd of more than mothers, or drones,
Or idle vagabonds.

Theod. I am glad to hear it,
Prethee what course takes she to doe this?

Vitry. One that cannot fail, she and her virtuous train,
With her jewels, and all that was worthy the carrying,
The last night left the court, and, as 'tis more
Than said, for 'tis confirm'd by such as met her,
She's fled unto your brother.

Theod. How?

Vitry. Nay storm not,
For if that wicked tongue of hers hath not
Forgot [its] pace, and Thierry be a Prince
Of such a fiery temper, as report
Has given him out for; You shall have cause to use
Such poor men as my self; And thank us too
For comming to you, and without petitions;
Pray heaven reward the good old woman for't.

Mart. I foresaw this.

Theod. I hear a tempest comming,
That sings mine & my kingdomes ruin: haste,
And cause a troop of horse to fetch her back:
Yet stay, why should I use means to bring in
A plague that of her self hath left me? Muster
Our Soldiers up, we'll stand upon our guard,
For we shall be attempted; Yet forbear
The inequality of our powers will yield me
Nothing but loss in their defeature: something
Must be done, and done suddainly, save your labor,
In this I'll use no counsell but mine own,
That course though dangerous is best. Command
Our daughter be in readiness, to attend us:
Martell, your company, and honest Vitry,
Thou wilt along with me.

Vitry. Yes any where,
To be worse than I 'm here, is past my fear. [Exeunt.

---

Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Thierry, Brunhalt, Bawdber, Lecure, &c.

Thier. You are here in a sanctuary; and that viper
(Who since he hath forgot to be a Son,
I much disdain to think of as a brother)
Had better, in despight of all the gods,
To have raiz'd their Temples, and spurn'd down their Altars,
Than in his impious abuse of you,
To have call'd on my just anger.

Brun. Princely Son;
And in this, worthy of a near name
I have in the relation of my wrongs,
Been modest, and no word my tongue deliver'd
T'express my insupportable injuries,
But gave my heart a wound: Nor has my grief
Being from what I suffer; But that he,
Degenerate as he is, should be the actor
Of my extremes; And force me to divide
The [fires] of brotherly affection,
Which should make but one flame.

Thier. That part of his
As it deserves shall burn no more: [if or]
The tears of Orphans, Widows, or all such
As dare acknowledge him to be their Lord,
Joyn'd to your wrongs, with his heart blood have power
To put it out: and you, and these your servants,
Who in our favours shal find cause to know
In that they left not you, how dear we hold them;
Shal[l] give Theodoret to understand,
His ignorance of the prizeless Jewel, which
He did possess in you, mother in you,
Of which I am more proud to be the donor,
Than if th' absolute rule of all the world
Were offer'd to this hand; Once more you are welcome,
Which with all ceremony due to greatness
I would make known, but that our just revenge
Admits not of delay; Your hand Lord Generall.

Enter Protaldie, with soldiers.

Brun. Your favor and his merit I may say
Have made him such, but I am jelous how
Your subjects will receive it.

Thier. How my subjects?
What doe you make of me? Oh heaven! My subjects!
How base should I esteem the name of Prince
If that poor dust were any thing before
The whirle-wind of my absolute command?
Let 'em be happy and rest so contented:
They pay the tribute of their hearts & knees,
To such a Prince that not alone has power,
To keep his own but to increase it; That
Although he hath a body may add to
The fam'd night labor of strong Hercules:
Yet is the master of a continence
That so can temper it, that I forbear
Their daughters, and their wives, whose hands though strong,
As yet have never drawn by unjust mean
Their proper wealth into my treasury,
But I grow glorious, and let them beware
That in their least repining at my pleasures,
They change not a mild Prince, (for if provok'd
I dare and will be so) into a Tyrant.

Brun. You see there's hope that we shall rule again,
And your fal'n fortunes rise.

Bawd. I hope your Highness
Is pleas'd that I should still hold my place with you;
For I have been so long us'd to provide you
Fresh bits of flesh since mine grew stale, that surely
If cashir'd now, I shall prove a bad Cator
In the Fish-market of cold chastity.

Lecure. For me I am your own, nor since I first
Knew what it was to serve you, have remembred
I had a soul, but such [a] one whose essence
Depended wholy on your Highness pleasure,
And therefore Madam—

Brun. Rest assur'd you are
Such instruments we must not lose.

Lecure. Bawd. Our service.

Thier. You have view'd them then, what's your opinion of them?
In this dull time of peace, we have prepar'd 'em
Apt for the war. Ha?

Prota. Sir, they have limbs
That promise strength sufficient, and rich armors
The Soldiers best lov'd wealth: More, it appears
They have been drill'd, nay very pretily drill'd:
For many of them can discharge their muskets
Without the danger of throwing off their heads,
Or being offensive to the standers by,
By sweating too much backwards; Nay I find
They know the right, and left hand file, and may
With some impulsion no doubt be brought
To pass the A, B, C, of war, and come
Unto the Horn-book.

Thier. Well, that care is yours;
And see that you effect it.

Prota. I am slow
To promise much; But if within ten days,
By precepts and examples, not drawn from
Worm-eaten presidents of the Roman wars
But from mine own, I make them not transcend
All that e'er yet bore armes, let it be said,
Protaldye brags, which would be unto me
As hatefull as to be esteem'd a coward:
For Sir, few Captaines know the way to win [him],
And make the soldiers valiant. You shall [see me]
Lie with them in their trenches, talk, and drink,
And be together drunk; And, what seems stranger,
We'll sometimes wench together, which once practis'd
And with some other care and hidden acts,
They being all made mine, I'll breath[e] into them
Such fearless resolution and such fervor,
That though I brought them to beseige a fort,
Whose walls were steeple high, and cannon proof,
Not to be undermin'd, they should fly up,
Like swallows: and the parapet once won,
For proof of their obedience, if I will'd them
They should leap down again, and what is more,
By some directions they should have from me,
Not break their necks.

Thi. This is above belief.

Brun. Sir, on my knowledg[e] though he hath spoke much,
He's able to do more.

Lecure. She means on her.

Brun. And howsoever in his thankfulness,
For some few favors done him by my self,
He left Austracia, not Theodoret,
Though he was chiefly aim'd at, could have laid
With all his Dukedomes power, that shame upon him,
Which in his barborous malice to my honor,
He swore with threats to effect.

Thier. I cannot but
Believe you Madam, thou art one degree
Grown nearer to my heart, and I am proud
To have in thee so glorious a plant
Transported hither; In thy conduct, we
Go on assur'd of conquest; our remove
Shall be with the next Sun.

Enter Theod[o]ret, Memberge, Martell, Devitry.

Lecure. Amazement leave me, 'tis he.

Bawd. We are again undone.

Prot. Our guilt hath no assurance nor defence.

Bawd. If now your ever ready wit fail to protect us,
We shall be all discover'd.

Brun. Be not so
In your amazement and your foolish fears,
I am prepared for't.

Theod. How? Not one poor welcome,
In answer of so long a journey made
Only to see your brother.

Thier. I have stood
Silent thus long, and am yet unresolv'd
Whether to entertaine thee on my sword,
As fits a parricide of a mothers honor;
Or whether being a Prince, I yet stand bound
(Though thou art here condemn'd) to give thee hearing
Before I execute. What foolish hope,
(Nay pray you forbear) or desperate madness rather,
(Unless thou com'st assur'd, I stand in debt
As far to all impiety as thy self)
Has made thee bring thy neck unto the axe?
Since looking only here, it cannot but
Draw fresh blood from thy sear'd up conscience,
To make thee sensible of that horror, which
They ever bear about them, that like Nero,
Like said I? Thou art worse: since thou darest strive
In her defame to murther thine alive.

Theod. That she that long since had the boldness to
Be a bad woman, (though I wish some other
Should so report her) could not want the cunning,
(Since they go hand in hand) to lay fair colors
On her black crimes, I was resolv'd before,
Nor make I doubt, but that she hath impoyson'd
Your good opinion of me, and so far
Incens'd your rage against me, that too late
I come to plead my innocence.

Brun. To excuse thy impious scandalls rather.

Prot. Rather forc'd with fear to be compel'd to come.

Thierry. Forbear.

Theod. This moves not me, and yet had I not been
Transported on my own integrity,
I neither am so odious to my subjects,
Nor yet so barren of defence, but that
By force I could have justified my guilt,
Had I been faulty, but since innocence
Is to it self an hundred thousand gards,
And that there is no Son, but though he owe
That name to an ill mother, but stands bound
Rather to take away with his own danger
From the number of her faults, than for his own
Security, to add unto them. This,
This hath made me to prevent th'expence
Of bloud on both sides, the injuries, the rapes,
(Pages, that ever wait upon the war:)
The account of all which, since you are the cause,
Believe it, would have been required from you;
Rather I say to offer up my daughter,
Who living onely could revenge my death,
With my heart blood a sacrifice to your anger
Than that you should draw on your head more curses
Than yet you have deserved.

Thier. I do begin
To feel an alteration in my nature,
And in his full sail'd confidence, a showre
Of gentle rain, that falling on the fire
Of my hot rage hath quenched it, ha! I would
Once more speak roughly to him, and I will,
Yet there is something whispers to me, that
I have said too much. How is my heart devided
Between the duty of a Son, and love
Due to a brother! yet I am swayed here,
And must aske of you, how 'tis possible
You can effect me that have learned to hate,
Where you should pay all love?

Theod. Which joyn'd with duty,
Upon my knees I should be proud to tender,
Had she not us'd her self so many swords
To cut those bonds that tide me to it.

Thier. Fie no more of that.

Theod. Ala it is a theme,
I take no pleasure to discourse of; Would
It could assoon be buried to the world,
As it should die to me: nay more, I wish
(Next to my part of heaven) that she would spend
The last part of her life so here, that all
Indifferent Judges might condemn me, for
A most malicious slanderer, nay texde it
Upon my forehead, if you hate me mother,
Put me to such a shame, pray you do, believe it
There is no glory that may fall upon me,
Can equall the delight I should receive
In that disgrace; provided the repeal
Of your long banish'd virtues, and good name,
Usher'd me to it.

Thier. See, she shews her self
An e[a]sie mother, which her tears confirme.

Theod. 'Tis a good sign, the comfortablest rain
I ever saw.

Thier. Embrace: Why this is well,
May never more but love in you, and duty
On your part rise between you.

Bawd. Do you hear Lord Generall,
Does not your new stamp'd honor on the suddain
Begin to grow sick?

Prota. Yes I find it fit,
That putting off my armor I should think of
Some honest hospitall to retire to.

Bawd. Sure although I am a bawd, yet being a Lord,
They cannot whip me for't, what's your opinion?

Lecure. The beadle will resolve you, for I cannot,
There is something that more near concerns my self,
That calls upon me.

Mart. Note but yonder scarabs,
That liv'd upon the dung of her base pleasures,
How from the fear that she may yet prove honest
Hang down their wicked heads.

Vitry. What is that to me?
Though they and all the pol[e]cats of the Court,
Were trust together, I perceive not how
It can advantage me a cardekue,
To help to keep me honest. [A horn.

Enter a Post.

Thier. How, from whence?

Post. These letters will resolve your grace.

Thier. What speak they? [Reads.
How all things meet to make me this day happy?
See mother, brother, to your reconcilement
Another blessing almost equall to it,
Is coming towards me; My contracted wife
Ordella, daughter of wise Datarick,
The King of Aragon is on our confines;
Then to arrive at such a time, when you
Are happily here to honor with your presence
Our long defer'd, but much wish'd nuptiall,
Falls out above expression; Heaven be pleas'd
That I may use these blessings powr'd on me
With moderation.

Brun. Hell and furies ayd me,
That I may have power to avert the plagues
That press upon me.

Thier. Two dayes journy sayest thou,
We will set forth to meet her: in the mean time
See all things be prepar'd to entertain her;
Nay let me have your companies, there's a Forrest
In the midway shall yeild us hunting sport,
To ease our travel, I'll not have a brow
But shall wear mirth upon it, therefore clear them.
We'll wash away all sorrow in glad feasts;
And the war we mean to men, we'll make on beasts.

[Exeunt omnes, præter Brun. Bawdber, Portaldy, Lecure.

Brun. Oh that I had the Magick to transforme you
Into the shape of such, that your own hounds
Might tear you peece-meale; Are you so stupid?
No word of comfort? have I fed you mothers
From my excess of moysture, with such cost
And can you yeild no other retribution,
But to devour your maker, pandar, sponge,
Impoysoner, all grown barren?

Prota. You your self
That are our mover, and for whom alone
We live, have fail'd your self in giving way
To the reconcilement of your [sonnes].

Lecure. Which if
You had prevented, or would teach us how
They might again be sever'd, we could easily
Remove all other hind'rances that stop
The passage of your pleasures.

Baud. And for me,
If I fail in my office to provide you
Fresh delicat[e]s, hang me.

Brun. Oh you are dull, and find not
The cause of my vexation; Their reconcilement
Is a mock castle built upon the sand
By children, which when I am pleas'd to o'rethrow,
I can with ease spurn down.

Lecure. If so, from whence
Grows your affliction?

Brun. My grief comes along
With the new Queen, in whose grace all my power
Must suffer shipwrack: for me now,
That hitherto have kept the first, to know
A second place, or yeeld the least precedence
To any other ['s] death; To have my sleeps
Less enquir'd after, or my rising up
Saluted with less reverence, or my gates
Empty of suitors, or the Kings great favours
To pass through any hand but mine, or he
Himself to be directed by another,
Would be to me: doe you understand me, yet
No meanes to prevent this.

Prota. Fame gives her out
To be a woman of [a] chastity
Not to be wrought upon; and therefore Madam
For me, though I have pleas'd you, to attempt her
Were to no purpose.

Brun. Tush, some other way.

Baud. Faith I know none else, all my bringing up
Aim'd at no other learning.

Lecure. Give me leave,
If my art fail me not, I have thought on
A speeding project.

Brun. What [ist]? but effect it,
And thou shalt be my Æsculapius,
Thy image shall be set up in pure gold,
To which I'll fall down and worship it.

Lecure. The Lady is fair.

Brun. Exceeding fair.

Lecure. And young.

Brun. Some fifteen at the most.

Lecure. And loves the King with equall ardor.

Brun. More, she dotes on him.

Lecure. Well then, [what] think you if I make a drink
Which given unto him on the bridall night
Shall for five days so rob his faculties,
Of all ability to pay that duty,
Which new made wives expect, that she shall swear
She is not match'd to a man.

Prota. 'Twere rare.

Lecure. And then,
If she have any part of woman in her,
She'll or fly out, or at least give occasion
Of such a breach which nere can be made up,
Since he that to all else did never fail
Of as much as could be perform'd by man
Proves only Ice to her.

Brun. 'Tis excellent.

Bawd. The Physitian
Helps ever at a dead lift; a fine calling,
That can both raise, and take down, out upon thee.

Brun. For this one service [I am] ever thine,
Prepare it; I'll give it him my self, for you Protaldye,
By this kiss, and our promis'd sport at night,
Doe conjure you to bear up, not minding
The opposition of Theodoret,
Or any of his followers; What so ere
You are, yet appear valiant, and make good
The opinion that is had of you: For my self
In the new Queens remove, being made secure,
Fear not, I'll make the future building sure. [Exeunt.

[Wind horns.

Enter Theodoret, Thierry.

Theod. This Stag stood well, and cunningly.

Thierry. My horse,
I'm sure, has found it, for her sides are
Blooded from flank to shoulder, where's the troop?

Enter Martell.

Theodoret. Past homeward, weary and tir'd as we are,
Now Martell, have you remembred what we thought of?

Mart. Yes Sir, I have snigled him, and if there be
Any desert in his blood, beside the itch,
Or manly heat, but what decoctions
Leaches, and callises have cram'd into him,
Your Lordship shall know perfect.

Thier. What's that, may not I know too?

Theod. Yes Sir,
To that end we cast the project.

Thierry. What [ist]?

Mart. A desire Sir,
Upon the gilded flag your Graces favor
Has stuck up for a Generall, and to inform you,
For this hour he shall pass the test, what valour,
Staid judgement, soul, or safe discretion
Your mothers wandring eyes, and your obedience
Have flung upon us, to assure your knowledge,
He can be, dare be, shall be, must be nothing,
Load him with piles of honors; Set him off
With all the cunning foyls that may deceive us:
But a poor, cold, unspirited, unmanner'd,
Unhonest, unaffected, undone, fool,
And most unheard of coward, a meer lump
Made to loade beds withall, and like a night-mare,
Ride Ladies that forget to say their prayers,
One that dares only be diseas'd, and in debt,
Whose body mewes more plaisters every month,
Than women doe old faces.

Thier. No more, I know him,
I now repent my error, take your time
And try him home, ever thus far reserv'd,
You tie your anger up.

Mart. I lost it else Sir.

Thier. Bring me his sword fair taken without violence,
For that will best declare him.

Theod. That's the thing.

Th[ie]r. And my best horse is thine.

Mart. Your Graces servant. [Exit.

Theod. [You'le] hunt no more Sir.

Thier. Not to day, the weather
Is grown too warm, besides the dogs are spent,
We'll take a cooler morning, let's to horse,
And hollow in the troop. [Exeunt. Wind horns.

Enter 2 Huntsmen.

1. I marry Twainer,
This woman gives indeed, these are the Angels
That are the keepers saints.

2. I like a woman
That handles the deers dowsets with discretion;
And payes us by proportion.

1. 'Tis no treason
To think this good old Lady has a stump yet
That may require a corrall.

2. And the bells too.

Enter Protaldye.

Shee has lost a friend of me else, but here's the clark,
No more for feare o'th' bell ropes.

Prota. How now Keepers,
Saw you the King?

1. Yes Sir, he's newly mounted,
And as we take 't ridden home.

Pro. Farew[e]ll then. [Exit Keepers.

Enter Martell.

My honour'd Lord, Fortune has made me happy
To meet with such a man of men to side me.

Protald. How Sir? I know ye not
Nor what your fortune means.

Mart. Few words shall serve, I am betrai'd Sir:
Innocent and honest; malice and violence,
Are both against me, basely and foully layd for;
For my life Sir, danger is now about me,
Now in my throat Sir.

Protald. Where Sir?

Mart. Nay I fear not,
And let it now powr down in storms upon me,
I have met with a noble guard.

Prot. Your meaning Sir,
For I have present business.

Mart. O my Lord,
Your honor cannot leave a gentleman
At least a fair design of this brave nature,
To which your worth is wedded, your profession
Hatcht in, and made one peece in such a perill,
There are but six my Lord.

Prot. What six?

Mart. Six villains sworn, and in pay to kill me.

Protaldye. Six?

Mart. Alas Sir, what can six do, or sixscore, now you are present?
Your name will blow 'em off: say they have shot too,
Who dare present a peece? your valour's proof Sir.

Prot. No, I'll assure you Sir, nor my discretion
Against a multitude; 'Tis true, I dare fight
Enough, and well enough, and long enough:
But wisedome Sir, and weight of what is on me,
In which I am no more mine own, nor yours Sir,
Nor as I take it any single danger,
But what concerns my place, tel[l]s me directly,
Beside my person, my fair reputation,
If I thrust into crowds, and seek occasions
Suffers opinion, six? Why Hercules
Avoyded two men, yet not to give example;
But only for your present dangers sake Sir,
Were there but four Sir, I car'd not if I kill'd them,
They will serve to whet my sword.

Mart. There are but four Sir,
I did mistake them; but four such as Europe,
Excepting your great valour.

Prot. Well consider'd,
I will not meddle with 'em, four in honor,
Are equall with fourscore, besides they're people
Only directed by their fury.

Mart. So much nobler shall be your way of justice.

Prot. That I find not.

Mart. You will not leave me thus?

Prot. I would not leave you, but look you Sir,
Men of my place and business, must not
Be question'd thus.

Mart. You cannot pass Sir,
Now they have seen me with you without danger.
They are here Sir, within hearing, take but two.

Prot. Let the law take 'em; take a tree Sir
I'll take my horse, that you may keep with safety,
If they have brought no hand-saws, within this hour
I'll send you rescue, and a toyl to take 'em.

Mart. You shall not goe so poorly, stay but one Sir.

Prot. I have been so hamper'd with these rescues,
So hew'd an[d] tortur'd, that the truth is Sir,
I have mainly vowd against 'em, yet for your sake,
If as you say there be but one, I'll stay,
And see fair play o' both sides.

Mart. There is no
More Sir, and as I doubt a base one too.

Prot. Fie on him, goe lug him out by th' ears.

Mart. Yes,
This is he Sir, the basest in the kingdome.

Prot. Do you know me?

Mart. Yes, for a generall fool,
A knave, a coward, and upstart stallion baw[d],
Beast, barking puppy, that dares not bite.

Prot. The best man best knows patience.

Mart. Yes,
This way Sir, now draw your sword, and right you,
Or render it to me, for one you shall doe.

Pro. If wearing it may do you any honor,
I shall be glad to grace you, there it is Sir.

Mart. Now get you home, and tell your Lady Mistris,
Shee has shot up a sweet mushrum; quit your place too,
And say you are counsel'd well, thou wilt be beaten else
By thine own lanceprisadoes; when they know thee,
That tuns of oyl of roses will not cure thee;
Goe get you to your foyning work at Court,
And learn to sweat again, and eat dry mutton;
An armor like a frost will search your bones
And make you roar you rogue; Not a reply,
For if you doe, your ears goe off.

Prot. Still patience. [Exeunt.

[Loud musick, A Banquet set out.

Enter Thierry, Ordella, Brunhalt, Theodoret, Lecure, Bawder, &c.

Thier. It is your place, and though in all things else
You may and ever shall command me, yet
In this I'll be obeyed.

Ordella. Sir, the consent,
That made me yours, shall never teach me to
Repent I am so; yet be you but pleas'd
To give me leave to say so much; The honor
You offer me were better given to her,
To whom you owe the power of giving.

Thier. Mother,
You hear this and rejoyce in such a blessing
That payes to you so large a share of duty,
But fie no more, for as you hold a place
Nearer my heart than she, you must sit nearest
To all those graces, that are in the power
Of Majesty to bestow.

Brun. Which I'll provide,
Shall be short liv'd Lecure.

Lecure. I have it ready.

Brun. 'Tis well, wait on our cup.

Lecure. You honor me.

Thier. We are dull,
No object to provoke mirth.

Theod. Martell,
If you remember Sir, will grace your Feast,
With some thing that will yield matter of mirth,
Fit for no common view.

Thier. Touching Protaldye.

Theod. You have it.

Brun. What of him? I fear his baseness [aside.
In spight of all the titles that my favours
Have cloth'd him, which will make discovery
Of what is yet conceal'd.

Enter Martell.

Theod. Look Sir, he has it,
Nay we shall have peace when so great a soldier
As the renoun'd P[ro]taldye, will give up
His sword rather then use it.

Brun. 'Twas thy plot,
Which I will turn on thine own head. [aside.

Thie. Pray you speak,
How won you him to part from't?

Mart. Won him Sir,
He would have yielded it upon his knees
Before he would have hazarded the exchange
Of a phil[l]ip of the forehead: had you will'd me
I durst have undertook he should have sent you
His Nose, provided that the loss of it
Might have sav'd the rest of his face: he is, Sir
The most unutterable coward that e'er nature
Blest with hard shoulders, which were only given him,
To the ruin of bastinados.

Thier. Possible?

Theod. Observe but how she frets.

Mart. Why believe it:
But that I know the shame of this disgrace,
Will make the beast to live with such, and never
Presume to come more among men; I'll hazard
My life upon it, that a boy of twelve
Should scourge him hither like a Parish Top,
And make him dance before you.

Brun. Slave thou liest,
Thou dar'st as well speak Treason in the hearing
Of those that have the power to punish it,
As the least syllable of this before him,
But 'tis thy hate to me.

Martel. Nay, pray you Madam,
I have no ears to hear you, though a foot
To let you understand what he is.

Brun. Villany.

Theod. You are too violent.

Enter Protaldye.

The worst that can come
Is blanketing; for beating, and such virtues
I have been long acquainted with.

Mart. Oh strange!

Bawdb. Behold the man you talk of.

Brun. Give me leave,
Or free thy self, (think in what place you are)
From the foul imputation that is laid
Upon thy valour (be bold, I'll protect you)
Or here I vow (deny it or forswear it)
These honors which thou wear'st unworthily,
Which be but impudent enough, and keep them,
Shall be torn from thee with thy eyes.

Prot. I have it,
My v[a]lour! is there any here beneath,
The stile of King, dares question it?

Thier. This is rare.

Prot. Which of [my] actions, which have still been noble,
Has rend'rd me suspected?

Thier. Nay Martel[l]
You must not fall off.

Mart. Oh Sir, fear it not,
Doe you know this sword?

Prot. Yes.

Mart. Pray you on what terms
Did you part with it?

Prot. Part with it say you?

Mart. So.

Thier. Nay, study not an answer, confess freely.

Prot. Oh I remember't now at the Stags [fall],
As we to day were hunting, a poor fellow,
And now I view you better, I may say
Much of your pitch: this silly wretch I spoke of
With his petition falling at my feet,
(Which much against my Will he kist,) desir'd
That as a special means for his preferment

I would vouchsafe to let him use my sword,
To cut off the Stags head.

Brun. Will you hear that?

Bawdb. This Lye bears a similitude of Truth.

Prot. I ever courteous, (a great weakness in me)
Granted his humble suit.

Mart. Oh impudence!

Thier. This change is excellent.

Mart. A word with you,
Deny it not, I was that man disguis'd,
You know my temper, and as you respect
A daily cudgeling for one whole year,
Without a second pulling by the ears,
Or tweaks by th' nose, or the most precious balm
You us'd of patience, patience do you mark me,
Confess before these Kings with what base fear
Thou didst deliver it.

Prot. Oh, I sh[all] burst,
And if I have not instant liberty
To tear this fellow limb by limb, the wrong
Will break my heart, although Herculean,
And somewhat bigger; there's my gage, pray you he[re],
Let me redeem my credit.

Thier. Ha, ha, forbear.

Mart. Pray you let me take it up, and if I do not,
Against all odds of Armor and of Weapons,
With this make him confess it on his knees
Cut off my head.

Prot. No, that's my office.

Bawdb. Fie, you take the Hangmans place.

Ordel. Nay, good my Lord
Let me attone this difference, do not suffer
Our bridal night to be the Centaurs Feast.
[You are] a Knight, and bound by oath to grant
All just suits unto Ladies; for my sake
Forget your suppos'd wrong.

Prot. Well let him thank you,
For your sake he shall live, perhaps a day,
And may be, on submission longer.

Theod. Nay Martel[l] you must be patient.

Mart. I am yours,
And this slave shall be once more mine.

Thier. Sit all;
One health, and so to bed, for I too long
Deferr my choicest delicates.

Brun. Which if poison
Have any power, thou shalt like Tantalus
Behold and never taste, be careful.

Lecu. Fear not.

Brun. Though it be rare in our Sex, yet for once
I will begin a health.

Thier. Let it come freely.

Brun. Lecure, the cup; here to the son we hope
This night shall be an Embrion.

Thier. You have nam'd
A blessing that I most desir'd, I pledge you;
Give me a larger cup, that is too little
Unto so great a god.

Brun. Nay, then you wrong me,
Follow as I began.

Thier. Well as you please.

Brun. Is't done?

Lecu. Unto your wish I warrant you,
For this night I durst trust him with my Mother.

Thier. So 'tis gone round, lights.

Brun. Pray you use my service.

Ordel. 'Tis that which I shall ever owe you, Madam,
And must have none from you, pray [you] pardon me.

Thier. Good rest to all.

Theod. And to [you] pleasant labour. Mart[ell]
Your company, Madam, good night.

[Exeunt all but Brunhalt, Protal, Lecure, Bawdber.

Brun. Nay, you have cause to blush, but I will hide it,
And what's more, I forgive you; is't not pity
That thou that art the first to enter combate
With any Woman, and what is more, o'ercome her,
In which she is best pleas'd, should be so [fearefull]
To meet a man.

Prot. Why would you have me lose
That bloud that is dedicated to your service
In any other quarrel?

Brun. No, reserve it,
As I will study to preserve thy credit:
You sirrah, be't your care to find out one
That is poor, though valiant, that at any rate
Will, to redeem my servants reputation,
Receive a publique baffling.

Bawdb. Would your Highness
Were pleas'd to inform me better of your purpose.

Brun. Why one, Sir, that would thus be box'd
Or kick'd, do you apprehend me now?

Bawdb. I feel you Madam,
The man that shall receive this from my Lord,
Shall have a thousand crowns.

Pro. He shall.

Bawdb. Besides
His day of bastinadoing past o'er,
He shall not lose your grace, nor your good favour?

Brun. That shall make way to it.

Bawdb. It must be a man
Of credit in the Court, that is to be
The foil unto your v[a]lour.

Prot. True, it should.

Bawdb. And if he have place there, 'tis not the worse.

Brun. 'Tis much the better.

Bawdb. If he be a Lord,
'Twill be the greater grace.

Brun. Thou art in the right.

Bawdb. Why then behold that valiant man and Lord,
That for your sake will take a cudgeling:
For be assur'd, when it is spread abroad
That you have dealt with me, they'll give you out
For one of the Nine Worthies.

Brun. Out you pandar,
Why, to beat thee is only exercise
For such as do affect it, lose not time
In vain replies, but do it: come my solace
Let us to bed, and our desires once quench'd
We'll there determine of Theodorets death
For he's the Engine us'd to ruin us;
Yet one wor[d] more, Lecure, art thou assur'd
The potion will work?

Lecure. My life upon it.

Brun. Come my Protaldye, then glut me with
Those best delights of man, that are deny'd
To her that does expect them, being a Bride.

---

Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima.

Enter Thierry, and Ordella, as from bed.

Thier. Sure I have drunk the bloud of Elephants:
The tears of Mandrake, and the Marble dew,
Mixt in my draught, have quencht my natural heat,
And left no spark of fire, but in mine eyes,
With which I may behold my miseries:
Ye wretched flames which play upon my sight,
Turn inward, make me all one piece, though earth.
My tears shall over-whelm you else too.

Or. What moves my Lord to this strange sadness?
If any late discerned want in me,
Give cause to your repentance, care and duty
Shall find a painful way to recompence.

Thier. Are you yet frozen veins, feel you a breath,
Whose temperate heat would make the North Star reel,
Her Icy pillars thaw'd, and do you not melt?
Draw nearer, yet nearer,
That from thy barren kiss thou maist confess
I have not heat enough to make a blush.

Ordel. Speak nearer to my understanding, like a Husband.

Thier. How should he speak the language of a Husband,
Who wants the tongue and organs of his voice?

Ordel. It is a phrase will part with the same ease
From you, with that you now deliver.

Thier. Bind not his ears up with so dull a charm
Who hath no other sense left open, why should thy words
Find more restraint than thy free speaking actions,
Thy close embraces, and thy midnight sighs
The silent Orators to slow desire?

Ordel. Strive not to win content from ignorance
Which must be lost in knowledge: heaven can witness
My farthest hope of good, reacht at your pleasure,
Which seeing alone, may in your look be read:
Add not a doubtful comment to a text
That in it self is direct and easie.

Thier. Oh thou hast drunk the juyce of hemlock too,
Or did upbraided nature make this pair
To shew she had not quite forgot her first
Justly prais'd Workmanship, the first chast couple
Before the want of joy, taught guilty sight
A way through shame and sorrow to delight:
Say, may we mix, as in their innocence
When Turtles kist, to confirm happiness,
Not to beget it.

Ordel. I know no bar.

Thier. Should I believe thee, yet thy pulse beats, woman,
And says the name of Wife did promise thee
The blest reward of duty to thy mother,
Who gave so often witness of her joy,
When she did boast thy likeness to her Husband.

Ordel. 'Tis true, that to bring forth a second to your self,
Was only worthy of my Virgin loss;
And should I prize you less, unpattern'd Sir?
Then being exemplify'd, is't not more honor
To be possessor of unequall'd virtue,
Than what is paralell'd? give me belief,
The name of mother knows no way of good,
More than the end in me: who weds for Lust
Is oft a widow: when I married you,
I lost the name of Maid to gain a Title
Above the wish of change, which that part can
Only maintain, is still the same in man,
His virtue and his calm society,
Which no gray hairs can threaten to dissolve
Nor wrinkles bury.

Thier. Confine thy self to silence, lest thou take
That part of reason from me, is only left
To give perswasion to me, I'm a man:
Or say thou hast never seen the Rivers haste
With gladsome speed, to meet th' amorous sea.

Ordel. We are but to praise the coolness of their streams.

Thier. Nor view'd the Kids, taught by their lustful ires,
Pursue each other through the wanton lawns,
And lik'd the sport.

Ordel. As it made way unto their envied rest
With weary knots, binding their harmless eyes.

Thier. Nor do you know the reason why the Dove,
One of the pair, your hands wont hourly feed,
So often clipt and kist her happy mate.

Ordel. Unless it were to welcome his wish'd sight,
Whose absence only gave her mourning voice.

Thier. And you could, Dove-like to a single object,
Bind your loose spirits to one, nay, such a one
Whom only eyes and ears must flatter good,
Your surer sence made useless, my self, nay
As in my all of good, already known.

Ordel. Let proof plead for me; let me be mew'd up
Where never eye may reach me, but your own;
And when I shall repent, but in my looks, if sigh.

Thier. Or shed a tear that's warm.

Ordel. But in your sadness.

Thier. Or when you hear the birds call for their mates,
Ask if it be St. Valentine, their coupling day.

Ordel. If any thing may make a thought suspected
Of knowing any happiness but you,
Divorce me, by the Title of Most Falshood.

Thier. Oh, who would know a wife, that might have such a friend?
Posterity henceforth, lose the name of blessing
And leave the earth inhabited to people heaven.

Enter Theodoret, Brunhalt, Martel, Protaldye.

Mart. All happiness to Thierry and Ordella.

Thier. 'Tis a desire but borrowed from me, my happiness
Shall be the period of all good mens wishes,
Which friends, nay dying Fathers shall bequeath,
And in my one give all: is there a duty
Belongs to any power of mine, or love
To any virtue I have right to? here, place it here,
Ordella's name shall only bear command,
Rule, Title, Sovereignty.

Brun. What passion sways my Son?

Thier. Oh Mother, she has doubled every good
The travel of your bloud made possible
To my glad being.

Prot. He should have done
Little to her, he is so light hearted.

Thier. Brother, friends, if honor unto shame
If wealth to want inlarge the present sense,
My joyes are unbounded, instead of question
Let it be envy, not bring a present
To the high offering of our mirth, Banquets, and Masques;
Keep waking our delights, mocking nights malice,
Whose dark brow would fright pleasure from us,
Our Court be but one st[a]ge of Revels, and each [e]ye
The Scene where our content moves.

Theod. There shall want
Nothing to express our shares in your delight, Sir.

Mart. Till now I ne'er repented the estate
Of Widower.

Thier. Musick, why art thou so slow voic'd? it staies thy presence
My Ordella, this chamber is a sphere
Too narrow for thy all-moving virtue.
Make way, free way I say;
Who must alone, her Sexes want supply,
Had need to have a room both large and high.

Mart. This passion's above utterance.

Theod. Nay, credulity. [Exit all but Thierry, Brunhalt.

Brun. Why Son what mean you, are you a man?

Thier. No Mother I am no man, were I a man,
How could I be thus happy?

Brun. How can a wife be author of this joy then?

Thier. That being no man, I am married to no woman;
The best of men in full ability,
Can only hope to satisfie a wife,
And for that hope ridiculous, I in my want
And such defective poverty, that to her bed
From my first Cradle brought no strength but thought,
Have met a temperance beyond hers that rockt me,
Necessity being her bar; where this
Is so much sensless of my depriv'd fire;
She knows it not a loss by her desire.

Brun. It is beyond my admiration.

Thier. Beyond your sexes faith,
The unripe Virgins of our age, to hear't
Will dream themselves to women, and convert
Th' example to a miracle.

Brun. Alas, 'tis your defect moves my amazement,
But what ll can be separate from ambition?
Cruel Theodoret.

Thier. What, of my brother?

Brun. That to his name your barrenness adds rule;
Who loving the effect, would not be strange
In favouring the cause; look on the profit,
And gain will quickly point the mischief out.

Thier. The name of Father, to what I possess
Is shame and care.

Brun. Were we begot to single happiness
I grant you; but from such a wife, such virtue
To get an heir, what hermet would not find
Deserving argument to break his vow
Even in his age of chastity?

Thier. You teach a deaf man language.

Brun. The cause found out, the malady may cease,
Have you heard of one Forts?

Thier. A learned Astronomer, great Magician,
Who lives hard by retir'd.

Brun. Repair to him, with the just hour and place
Of your nativity; fools are amaz'd at fate,
Griefs but conceal'd are never desperate.

Thier. You have timely waken'd me, nor shall I sleep
Without the satisfaction of his Art. [Exit Thierry.

Enter Lecure.

Brun. Wisdom prepares you to't, Lecure, met happily.

Lecure. The ground answers your purpose, the conve[iance]
Being secure and easie, falling just
Behind the state set for Theodoret.

Brun. 'Tis well, your trust invites you to a second charge,
You know Leforte's Cell.

Lecure. Who constellated your fair birth.

Brun. Enough, I see thou know'st him, where's Bawdber?

Lec. I left him careful of the project cast,
To raise Protaldie's credit.

Brun. A sore that must be plaister'd, in whose wound
Others shall find their graves, think themselves sound,
Your ear, and quickest apprehension. [Exeunt.

Enter Bawdber and a servant.

Bawdb. This man of war will advance.

Lecu. His hour's upon the stroke.

Bawdb. Wind him back, as you favour my ears,
I [lo]ve no noise in my head, my brains have hitherto
Been imploy'd in silent businesses.

Enter Devitry.

Lecu. The Gentleman is within your reach Sir. [Exit.

Bawdb. Give ground, whilst I drill my wits to the encounter,
Devitry, I take it.

Devi. All's that left of him.

Bawdb. Is there another parcel of you, if it be at pawn
I will gladly redeem it, to make you wholly mine.

Vitry. You seek too hard a pennyworth.

Bawdb. You too ill to keep such distance; your parts have been long known
To me, howsoever you please to forget acquaintance.

Vit. I must confess I have been subject to lewd company.

Bawdb. Thanks for your good remembrance,
You have been a soldier Devitry and born[e] Arms.

Vit. A couple of unprofitable ones, that have only serv'd
to get me a stomach to my dinner.

Bawdb. Much good may it do you, Sir.

Vitry. You sh[ould] have heard me say I had din'd first, I
have built on an unwholsome ground, rais'd up a house, before
I knew a Tenant, matcht to meet weariness, sought to find
want and hunger.

Bawdb. It is time you put up your sword, and run away
for meat, Sir, nay, if I had not withdrawn e'r now, I might
have kept thee; fast with you: but since the way to thrive
is never late, what is the nearest course to profit think you?

Vitry. It may be your worship will say bawdry.

Bawdb. True sense, bawdry.

Vitry. Why, is the[re] five kinds of them, I never knew
but one.

Bawdb. I'll shew you a new way of prostitution, fall back,
further yet, further, there is fifty crowns, do but as much
to Protaldye the Queens favorite, they are doubled.

Vitry. But thus much.

Bawdb. Give him but an affront as he comes to the presence,
and in his drawing make way, like a true bawd to his
valour, the s[um]'s thy own; if you take a scratch in the arm
or so, every drop of bloud weighs down a ducket.

Vitry. After that rate, I and my friends would begger the
kingdom. Sir, you have made me blush to see my want,
whose cure is such a cheap and easie purchase, this is Male-bawdry
belike.

Enter Protaldy, a Lady, and Revellers.

Bawdb. See, you shall not be long earning your wages, your work's before your eyes.

Vitry. Leave it to my handling, I'll fall upon't instantly.

Bawdb. What opinion will the managing of this affair

Bring to my wisdom? my invention tickles
With apprehension on't:

Pro. These are the joyes of marriage, Lady,
Whose sights are able to dissolve Virginity.
Speak freely, do you not envy the Brides felicity?

Lady. How should I, being partner of't?

Pro. What you enjoy is but the Banquets view,
The taste stands from your pallat; if he impart
By day so much of his content, think what night gave?

Vitry. Will you have a relish of wit, Lady?

Bawdb. This is the man.

Lady. If it be not dear, Sir.

Vitry. If you affect cheapness, how can you prize this sullied ware so much? mine is fresh, my own, not retail'd.

Pro. You are saucy, sirrah.

Vitry. The fitter to be in the dish with such dry Stock-fish as you are, how, strike?

Bawdb. Remember the condition as you look for payment.

Vitry. That box was left out of the bargain.

Pro. Help, help, help.

Bawdb. Plague of the Scriveners running hand,
What a blow is this to my reputation!

Enter Thierry, Theodoret, Brunhalt, Ordella, Memberge, Martell.

Thier. What villain dares this outrage?

Devitry. Hear me, Sir, this creature hir'd me with fifty crowns in hand, to let Protaldye have the better of me at single Rapier on a made quarrel; he mistaking the weapon, laies me over the chops with his club fist, for which I was bold to teach him the Art of memory.

Omnes. Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Theo. Your General, Mother, will display himself.
'Spight of our Peace I see.

Thier. Forbear these civil jars, fie Protaldy,
So open in your projects, avoid our presence, sirrah.

Devi. Willingly; if you have any more wages to earn,
You see I can take pains.

Theo. There's somewhat for thy labour,
More than was promis'd, ha, ha, ha.

Bawdb. Where could I wish my self now? in the Isle of Dogs.
So I might scape scratching, for I see by her Cats eyes
I shall be claw'd fearfully.

Thier. We'll hear no more on't, [Soft Musick.
Musick drown all sadness;
Command the Revellers in, at what a rate I do purchase
My Mothers absence, to give my spleen full liberty.

Brun. Speak not a thoughts delay, it names thy ruin.

Pro. I had thought my life had born[e] more value with you.

Brun. Thy loss carries mine with't, let that secure thee.
The vault is ready, and the door conveys to't
Falls just behind his chair, the blow once given,
Thou art unseen.

Pro. I cannot feel more than I fear, I'm sure. [Withdraws.

Brun. Be gone, and let them laugh their own destruction.

Thier. You will add unto her rage.

Theod. 'Foot, I shall burst, unless I vent my self, ha, ha, ha.

Brun. Me Sir, you never could
Have found a time to invite more willingness
In my dispose to pleasure.

Memb. Would you would please to make some other choise.

Revel. 'Tis a disgrace would dwell upon me, Lady,
Should you refuse.

Memb. Your reason conquers; my Grandmothers looks
Have turn'd all air to earth in me, they sit
Upon my heart like night-charms, black and heavy.

[They Dance.

Thier. You are too much libertine.

Theod. The fortune of the fool perswades my laughter
More than his cowardize; was ever Rat
Ta'en by the tail thus? ha, ha, ha.

Thier. Forbear I say.

Prot. No eye looks this way, I will wink and strike,
Lest I betray my self. [Behind the State stabs Theodoret.

Theo. Ha, did you not see one near me?

Thier. How near you, why do you look so pale, brother?
Treason, treason.

Memb. Oh my presage! Father.

Ordella. Brother.

Mart. Prince, Noble Prince.

Thier. Make the gates sure, search into every angle
And corner of the Court, oh my shame! Mother,
Your Son is slain, Theodoret, noble Theodoret,
Here in my arms, too weak a Sanctuary
'Gainst treachery and murder, say, is the Traitor taken?

1 Guard. No man hath past the chamber on my life Sir.

Thier. Set present fire unto the place, that all unseen
May perish in this mischief, who moves slow to't,
Shall add unto the flame.

Brun. What mean you? give me your private hearing.

Thier. Perswasion is a partner in the crime,
I will renounce my claim unto a mother,
If you make offer on't.

Brun. E'er a Torch can take flame, I will produce
The author of the fact.

Thier. Withdraw but for your Lights.

Memb. Oh my too true suspition.

[Exeunt Martel, Memberg.

Thier. Speak, where's the Engine to this horrid act?

Brun. Here you do behold her; upon whom make good
Your causeless rage; the deed was done by my incitement,
Not yet repented.

Thier. Whther did nature start, when you conceiv'd?
A birth so unlike woman? say, what part
Did not consent to make a son of him,
Reserv'd it self within you to his ruine.

Brun. Ha, ha, a son of mine! doe not dissever
Thy fathers dust, shaking his quiet urn,
To which [thy] breath would send so foul an issue.
My Son, thy Brother?

Thier. Was not Theodoret my brother, or is thy tongue
Confederate with thy heart, to speak and do
Only things monstrous?

Brun. Hear me and thou shalt make thine own belief,
Thy, still with sorrow mention'd, father liv'd
Three careful years, in hope of wished heirs,
When I conceiv'd, being from his jealous fear
Injoyn'd to quiet home, one fatal day:
Transported with my pleasure to the chase,
I forc'd command, and in pursuit of game
Fell from my horse, lost both my child and hopes.
Despair which only in his love saw life
Worthy of being, from a Gard'ners Arms
Snatcht this unlucky brat, and call'd it mine,
When the next year repaid my loss with thee:
But in thy wrongs preserv'd my misery,
Which that I might diminish, though not end,
My sighs, and wet eies from thy Fathers Will,
Bequeath this largest part of his Dominions
Of France unto thee, and only left
Austracia unto that changling, whose life affords
Too much of ill 'gainst me to prove my words,
And call him stranger.

Thier. Come, doe not weep, I must, nay do believe you.
And in my fathers satisfaction count it
Merit, not wrong, or loss:

Brun. You doe but flatter, there's anger yet flames
In your eyes.

Thier. See, I will quench it, and confess that you
Have suffer'd double travel for me.

Brun. You will not fire the house then?

Thier. Rather reward the author who gave cause
Of knowing such a secret, my oath and duty
Shall be assurance on't.

Brun. Protaldye, rise good faithful servant, heaven knows
How hardly he was drawn to this attempt.

Enter Protaldye.

Thier. Protaldye? he had a Gard'ners fa[t]e I'll swear:
[F]ell by thy hand, Sir, we doe owe unto you for this service.

Brun. Why lookest thou so dejected?

Enter Martel.

Prot. I want a little shift, Lady, nothing else.

Mart. The fires are ready, please it your grace withdraw,
Whilst we perform your pleasure.

Thier. Reserve them for the body; since he had the fate
To live and die a Prince, he shall not lose
The Title in his Funeral. [Exit.

Mart. His fate to live a Prince,
Thou old impiety, made up by lust and mischief,
Take up the body. [Exeunt with the body of Theod.

Enter Lecure and a Servant.

Lecu. Dost think Leforte's sure enough?

Serv. As bonds can make him, I have turn'd his eyes to the East; and left him gaping after the Morning star, his head is a meer Astrolobe, his eyes stand for the Poles, the gag in his mouth being the Coachman, his five teeth have the nearest resemblance to Charles Wain.

Lecure. Thou hast cast a figure which shall raise thee, direct my hair a little: and in my likeness to him, read a fortune suiting thy largest hopes.

Ser. You are so far 'bove likeness, you are the same,
If you love mirth, perswade him from himself.
'Tis but an Astronomer out of the way,
And lying, will bear the better place for't.

Lecure. I have profitabler use in hand, haste to the Queen
And tell her how you left me chang'd. [Exit Servant.
Who would not serve this virtuous active Queen?
She that loves mischief 'bove the man that does it,
And him above her pleasure, yet knows no heaven else.

Enter Thierry.

Thier. How well this loan[es] suits the Art I seek,
Discovering secret, and succeeding Fate,
Knowledge that puts all lower happiness on,
With a remiss and careless hand,
Fair peace unto your meditations, father.

Lecure. The same to you, you bring, Sir.

Thier. Drawn by your much fam'd skill, I come to know
Whether the man who owes [t]his character,
Shall e'er have issue.

Lecure. A resolution falling with most ease,
Of any doubt you could have nam'd, he is a Prince
Whose fortune you enquire.

Thie. He is nobly born.

Lecure. He had a Dukedom lately fall'n unto him,
By one, call'd Brother, who has left a Daughter.

Thier. The question is, of Heirs, not Lands.

Lecure. Heirs, yes, he shall have Heirs.

Thier. Begotten of his body, why look'st thou pale?
Thou canst not suffer in his want.

Lecure. Nor thou, I neither can nor will
Give farther knowledge to thee.

Thier. Thou must, I am the man my self,
Thy Sovereign, who must owe unto thy wisdom
In the concealing of my barren shame.

Lecure. Your Grace doth wrong your Stars; if this be yours,
You may have children.

Thier. Speak it again.

Lecure. You may have fruitful issue.

Thier. By whom? when? how?

Lecure. It was the fatal means first struck my bloud
With the cold hand of wonder, when I read it
Printed upon your birth.

Thier. Can there be any way unsmooth, has end
So fair and good?

Lecure. We that behold the sad aspects of Heaven,
Leading sence blinded, men feel grief enough
To know, though not to speak their miseries.

Thier. Sorrow must lose a name, where mine finds life;
If not in thee, at least ease pain with speed,
Which must know no cure else.

Lecure. Then thus,
The first of Females which your eye shall meet
Before the Sun next rise, coming from out
The Temple of Diana being slain, you live
Father of many sons.

Thier. Call'st thou this sadness, can I beget a Son?
Deserving less than to give recompence
Unto so poor a loss? what e'er thou art,
Rest peaceable blest creature, born to be
Mother of Princes, whose grave shall be more fruitful
Than others marriage beds: methinks his Art
Should give her form and happy figure to me,
I long to see my happiness, he is gone,
As I remember, he nam'd my brothers Daughter,
Were it my Mother, 'twere a gainful death
Could give Ordella's virtue living breath. [Exeunt.

---

Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Thierry and Martel.

Mart. Your Grace is early stirring.

Thier. How can he sleep,
Whose happiness is laid up in an hour
He knows comes stealing towar[d] him, Oh Martel!
Is't possible the longing Bride, whose wishes
Out-runs her fears, can on that day she is married
Consume in slumbers, or his Arms rust in ease,
That hears the charge, and sees the honor'd purchase
Ready to [gild] his valour? Mine is more
A power above these passions; this day France,
France that in want of issue withers with us;
And like an aged River, runs his head
Into forgotten ways, again I ransome,
And his fair course turn right: this day Thierry,
The Son of France, whose manly powers like prisoners
Have been tied up, and fetter'd, by one death
Give life to thousand ages; this day beauty
The envy of the world, Pleasure the glory,
Content above the world, desire beyond it
Are made mine own, and useful.

Mart. Happy Woman
That dies to do these things.

Thier. But ten times happier
That lives to do the greater; oh Martel,
The gods have heard me now, and those that scorn'd me,
Mothers of many children, and blest fathers
That see their issues like the Stars un-number'd,
Their comfort more than them, shall in my praises
Now teach their Infants songs; and tell their ages
From such a Son of mine, or such a Queen,
That chaste Ordella brings me blessed marriage
The chain that links two Holy Loves together
And in the marriage, more than blest Ordella,
That comes so near the Sacrament it self,
The Priests doubt whether purer.

Mart. Sir, y'are lost.

Thier. I prethee let me be so.

Mart. The day wears,
And those that have been offering early prayers,
Are now retiring homeward.

Thier. Stand and mark then.

Mart. Is it the first must suffer.

Thier. The first Woman.

Mart. What hand shall do it, Sir?

Thier. This hand Martell,
For who less dare presume to give the gods
An incense of this offering?

Mart. Would I were she,
For such a way to die, and such a blessing
Can never crown my parting.

Enter two men passing over.

Thier. What are those?

Mart. Men, men, Sir, men.

Thier. The plagues of men light on 'em,
They cross my hopes like Hares, who's that?

Enter a Priest.

Mart. A Priest, Sir.

Thier. Would he were gelt.

Mart. May not these rascals serve, Sir,
Well hang'd and quarter'd?

Thier. No.

Mart. Here comes a woman.

Enter Ordella veil'd.

Thier. Stand and behold her then.

Mart. I think a fair one.

Thier. Move not whilst I prepare her: may her peace
Like his whose innocence the gods are pleas'd with,
And offering at their Altars, gives his soul
Far purer than those fires; pull heaven upon her,
You holy powers, no humane spot dwell in her,
No love of any thing, but you and goodness,
Tie her to earth, fear be a stranger to her,
And all weak blouds affections, but thy hope
Let her bequeath to Women: hear me heaven,
Give her a spirit masculine, and noble,
Fit for your selves to ask, and me to offer.
Oh let her meet my blow, doat on her death;
And as a wanton Vine bows to the pruner,
That by his cutting off, more may increase,
So let her fall to raise me fruit; hail woman.
The happiest, and the best (if the dull Will
Do not abuse thy fortune) France e'er found yet.

Ordel. Sh' is more than dull, Sir, less, and worse than Woman,
That may inherit such an infinite
As you propound, a greatness so near goodness;
And brings a Will to rob her.

Thier. Tell me this then,
Was there e'er woman yet, or may be found,
That for fair Fame, unspotted memory,
For virtues sake, and only for it self sake
Has, or dare make a story?

Ordel. Many dead Sir,
Living I thin[ke] as many.

Thier. Say, the kingdom
May from a womans Will receive a blessing,
The King and kingdom, not a private safety.
A general blessing, Lady.

Ordel. A general curse
Light on her heart, denies it.

Thier. Full of honor;
And such examples as the former ages
Were but dim shadows of, and empty figures.

Ordel. You strangely stir me, Sir, and were my weakness
In any other flesh but modest womans,
You should not ask more questions, may I do it?

Thier. You may, and which is more, you must.

Ordel. I joy in't,
Above a moderate gladness, Sir, you promise
It shall be honest.

Thier. As ever time discover'd.

Ordel. Let it be what it may then, what it dare,
I have a mind will hazard it.

Thier. But hark ye,
What may that woman merit, makes this blessing!

Ordel. Only her duty, Sir.

Thier. 'Tis terrible.

Ordel. 'Tis so much the more noble.

Thier. 'Tis full of fearful shadows.

Ordel. So is sleep, Sir.
Or any thing that's meerly ours, and mortal,
We were begotten gods else; but those fears
Feeling but once the fires of nobler thoughts,
Flie, like the shapes of clouds we form, to nothing.

Thier. Suppose it death.

Ordel. I do.

Thier. And endless parting
With all we can call ours, with all our sweetness,
With youth, strength, pleasure, people, time, nay reason:
For in the silent grave, no conversation,
No joyful tread of friends, no voice of Lovers,
No careful Fathers counsel, nothing's h[e]ard,
Nor nothing is, but all oblivion,
Dust and an endless darkness, and dare you woman
Desire this place?

Ord[e]l. 'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest,
Children begin it to us, strong men seek it,
And Kings from heighth of all their painted glories
Fall like spent exhalations, to this centre:
And those are fools that fear it, or imagine
A few unhandsome pleasures, or lifes profits
Can recompence this place; and mad that staies it,
Till age blow out their lights, or rotten humors,
Bring them dispers'd to th' earth.

Thier. Then you can suffer?

Ordel. As willingly as say it.

Thier. Martell, a wonder,
Here's a woman that dares die, yet tell me,
Are you a Wife?

Ordel. I am Sir.

Thier. And have children?
She sighs and weeps.

Ordel. Oh none Sir.

Thier. Dare you venture
For a poor barren praise you ne'er shall hear,
To part with these sweet hopes?

Ordel. With all but Heaven,
And yet die full of children; he that reads me
When I am ashes, is my Son in wishes,
And those chaste dames that keep my memory,
Singing my yearly requiems, are my Daughters.

Thier. Then there is nothing wanting but my knowledg[e].
And what I must doe, Lady?

Ordel. You are the King, Sir,
And what you do I'll suffer, and that blessing
That you desire, the gods showr on the Kingdom.

Thier. Thus much before I strike then, for I must kill you,
The gods have will'd it so, they're made the blessing
Must make France young again, and me a man,
Keep up your strength still nobly.

Ordel. Fear me not.

Thier. And meet death like a measure.

Ordel. I am stedfast.

Thier. Thou shalt be sainted woman, and thy Tomb
Cut out in Chrystal, pure and good as thou art;
And on it shall be graven every age,
Succeeding Peers of France that rise by thy fall,
Tell thou liest there like old and fruitful nature.
Darest thou behold thy happiness?

Ordel. I dare Sir.

Thier. Ha? [Pul[l]s off her veil, lets fall his sword.

Mar. Oh Sir, you must not doe it.

Thier. No, I dare not.
There is an Angel keeps that Paradice,
A fiery Angel friend; oh virtue, virtue,
Ever and endless virtue.

Ordel. Strike, Sir, strike;
And if in my poor death fair France may merit,
Give me a thousand blows, be killing me
A thousand days.

Thier. First let the earth be barren,
And man no more remembred, rise Ordella,
The nearest to thy maker, and the purest
That ever dull flesh shewed us,—oh my heart-strings. [Exit.

Mart. I see you full of wonder, therefore noblest,
And truest amongst Women, I will tell you
The end of this strange accident.

Ordel. Amazement
Has so much wove upon my heart, that truly
I feel my self unfit to hear, oh Sir,
My Lord has slighted me.

Mart. Oh no sweet Lady.

Ordel. Robb'd me of such a glory by his pity,
And most unprovident respect.

Mart. Dear Lady,
It was not meant to you.

Ordel. Else where the day is,
And hours distinguish time, time runs to ages,
And ages end the world, I had been spoken.

[Mart.] I'll tell you what it was, if but your patience
Will give me hearing.

Ordel. If I have transgrest,
Forgive me, Sir.

Mart. Your noble Lord was counsel'd,
Grieving the barrenness between you both,
And all the Kingdom with him, to seek out
A man that knew the secrets of the gods,
He went, found such [a] one, and had this answer,
That if he wou'd have issue, on this morning,
For this hour was prefixt him, he should kill
The first he met, being Female, from the Temple;
And then he should have children, the mistake
Is now too perfect, Lady.

Ordel. Still 'tis I, Sir,
For may this work be done by common women?
Durst any but my self that knew the blessing,
And felt the benefit, assume this [dying]
In any other, 't'ad been lost, and nothing,
A curse and not a blessing; I was figur'd;
And shall a little fondness barr my purchase?

Mart. Where should he then seek children?

Ordel. Where they are
In wombs ordain'd for issues, in those beauties
That bless a marriage-bed, and makes it proceed
With kisses that conceive, and fruitful pleasures;
Mine like a grave, buries those loyal hopes,
And to a grave it covets.

Mart. You are too good,
Too excellent, too honest; rob not us
And those that shall hereafter seek example,
Of such inestimable worthies in woman.
Your Lord of such obedience, all of honor
In coveting a cruelty is not yours,
A Will short of your Wisdom; make not error
A Tomb-stone of your virtues, whose fair life
Deserves a constellation: your Lord dare not;
He cannot, ought not, must not run this hazard,
He makes a separation, nature shakes at,
The gods deny, and everlasting justice
Shrinks back, and sheaths her sword at.

Ordel. All's but talk, Sir,
I find to what I am reserv'd, and needful,
And though my Lord's compassion makes me poor,
And leaves me in my best use, yet a strength
Above mine own, or his dull fondness finds me;
The gods have given it to me. [Draws a knife.

Mart. Self-destruction!
Now all good Angels bless thee, oh sweet Lady,
You are abus'd, this is a way to shame you,
And with you all that knows you, all that loves you,
To ruin all you build, would you be famous?
Is that your end?

Ordel. I would be what I should be.

Mart. Live and confirm the gods then, live and be loaden
With more than Olivebear, or fruitful Autumn;
This way you kill your merit, kill your cause,
And him you would raise life to, where, or how
Got you these bloudy thoughts? what Devil durst
Look on that Angel face, and tempt? doe you know
What is't to die thus, how you strike the Stars,
And all good things above, do you feel
What follows a self-bloud, whether you venture,
And to what punishment? excellent Lady,
Be not thus cozen'd, do not fool your self,
The Priest was never his own sacrifice,
But he that thought his hell here.

Ordel. I am counsell'd.

Mart. And I am glad on't, lie, I know you dare not.

Ordel. I never have done yet.

Mart. Pray take my comfort,
Was this a soul to lose? two more such women
Would save their sex; see, she repents and prayes,
Oh hear her, hear her, if there be a faith
Able to reach your mercies, she hath sent it.

Ordel. Now good Martel confirm me.

Mart. I will Lady,
And every hour advise you, for I doubt
Whether this plot be heavens, or hells; your mother
And I will find it, if it be in mankind
To search the center of it: in the mean time
I'll give you out for dead, and by your self,
And shew the instrument, so shall I find
A joy that will betray her.

Ordel. Do what's fittest;
And I will follow you.

Mart. Then ever live
Both able to engross all love, and give. [Exeunt.

Enter Brunhalt, Protaldye.

Brun. I'm in labour
To be deliver'd of that burthenous project
I have so long gone with; ha, here's the Midwife,
Or life, or death.

Enter Lecure.

Lecu. If in the supposition
Of her death in whose life you die, you ask me,
I think you are safe.

Brun. Is she dead?

Lecu. I have us'd
All means to make her so, I saw him waiting
At the Temple door, and us'd such Art within,
That only she of all her Sex was first
Giv'n up unto his fury.

Brun. Which if love
Or fear made him forbear to execute
The vengeance he determin'd, his fond pity
Shall draw it on himself, for were there left
Not any man but he, to serve my pleasures,
Or from me to receive commands, which are
The joyes for which I love life, he should be
Remov'd, and I alone left to be Queen
O'er any part of goodness that's left in me.

Lecu. If you are so resolv'd, I have provided
A means to s[h]ip him hence: look upon this,
But touch it sparingly, for this once us'd,
Say but to dry a tear, will keep the eye-lid
From closing, until death perform that office.

Brun. Give't me, I may have use [of 't], and on you
I'll make the first experiment: if one sigh
Or heavy look beget the least suspition,
Childish compassion can thaw the Ice
Of your so long congeal'd and flinty hardness.
Slight, go on constant, or I shall.

Prot. Best Lady,
We have no faculties which are not yours.

Lecu. Nor will be any thing without you.

B[r]un. Be so, and we will stand or fall together, for
Since we have gone so far, that death must stay
The journey, which we wish should never end;
And innocent, or guilty, we must die,
When we do so, let's know the reason why.

Enter Thierry and Courtiers.

Lecu. The King.

Thier. We'll be alone.

Prot. I would I had
A Convoy too, to bring me safe off.
For rage although it be allai'd with sorrow,
Appears so dreadful in him, that I shake
To look upon't.

Brun. Coward I will meet it,
And know from whence 't has birth: Son, kingly Thierry.

Thier. Is cheating grown so common among men?
And thrives so well here, that the gods endeavour
To practise it above?

Brun. Your Mother.

Thier. Ha! or are they only careful to revenge,
Not to reward? or when, for your offences
We study satisfaction, must the cure
Be worse than the disease?

Brun. Will you not hear me?

Thier. To lose th' ability to perform those duties
For which I entertain'd the name of Husband,
Ask'd more than common sorrow; but t'impose
For the redress of that defect, a torture
In marking her to death, for whom alone
I felt that weakness as a want, requires
More than the making the head bald: or falling
Thus flat upon the earth, or cursing that way,
Or praying this, oh such a Scene of grief,
And so set down, (the world the stage to act on)
May challenge a Tragedian better practis'd
Than I am to express it; for my cause
Of passion is so strong, and my performance
So weak, that though the part be good, I fear
Th'ill acting of it, will defraud it of
The poor reward it may deserve, mens pity.

Brun. I have given you way thus long, a King, and what
Is more, my Son, and yet a slave to that
Which only triumphs over cowards sorrow,
For shame look up.

Thier. Is't you, look down on me:
And if that you are capable to receive it,
Let that return to you, that have brought forth
One mark'd out only for it: what are these?
Come they upon your privilege to tread on
The Tomb of my afflictions?

Prot. No, not we Sir.

Thier. How dare you then omit the ceremony
Due to the funeral of all my hopes,
Or come unto the marriage of my sorrows,
But in such colours as may sort with them?

Prot. Alas; we will wear any thing.

Brun. This is madness
Take but my counsel.

Thier. Yours? dare you again
Though arm'd with th' authority of a mother,
Attempt the danger that will fall on you
If such another syllable awake it?
Goe, and with yours be safe, I have such cause
Of grief, nay more, to love it, that I will not
Have such as these be sharers in it.

Lecu. Madam.

Prot. Another time were better.

Brun. Do not sti[r],
For I must be resolv'd, and will, be statues.

Enter Martel.

Thier. I, thou art welcome, and upon my soul
Thou art an honest man, do you see, he has tears
To lend to him whom prodigal expence
Of sorrow, has made bankrupt of such treasure,
Nay, thou dost well.

Mart. I would it might excuse
The ill I bring along.

Thier. Thou mak'st me smile
I[n] the heighth of my calamities, as if
There could be the addition of an Atome,
To the gyant-body of my miseries.
But try, for I will hear thee, all sit down, 'tis death
To any that shall dare to interrupt him
In look, gesture, or word.

Mart. And such attention
As is due to the last, and the best story
That ever was deliver'd, will become you,
The griev'd Ordella, (for all other titles
But take away from that) having from me
Prompted by your last parting groan, enquir'd,
What drew it from you, and the cause soon learn'd:
For she whom barbarism could deny nothing,
With such prevailing earnestness desir'd it,
'Twas not in me, though it had been my death,
To hide it from her, she I say, in whom
All was, that Athens, Rome, or warlike Sparta,
Have registred for good in their best Women:
But nothing of their ill, knowing her self
Mark'd out, (I know not by what power, but sure
A cruel one) to dye, to give you children;
Having first with a setled countenance
Look'd up to Heaven, and then upon her self,
(It being the next best object) and then smil'd,
As if her joy in death to do you service,
Would break forth, in despight of the much sorrow
She shew'd she had to leave you: and then taking
Me by the hand, this hand which I must ever
Love better than I have done, since she touch'd it,
Go said she, to my Lord, (and to goe to him
Is such a happiness I must not hope for)
And tell him that he too much priz'd a trifle
Made only worthy in his love, and her
Thankful acceptance, for her sake to rob
The Orphan Kingdom of such guardians, as
Must of necessity descend [from] him;
And therefore in some part of recompence
Of his much love, and to shew to the world
That 'twas not her fault only, but her fate,
That did deny to let her be the mother
Of such most certain blessings: yet for proof,
She did not envy her, that happy her,
That is appointed to them, her [q]uick end
Should make way for her, which no sooner spoke,
But in a moment this too ready engine
Made such a battery in the choisest Castle
That ever nature made to defend life,
That strait it shook, and sunk.

Thier. Stay, dares any
Presume to shed a tear before me? or
Ascribe that worth unto themselves to merit:
To do so for her? I have done, now on.

Mart. Fall'n thus, once more she smil'd, as if that death
For her had studied a new way to sever
The soul and body, without sense of pain;
And then tell him (quoth she) what you have seen,
And with what willingness 'twas done: for which
My last request unto him is, that he
Would instantly make choice of one (most happy
In being so chosen) to supply my place,
By whom if heaven bless him with a daughter,
In my remembrance let it bear my name
Which said she dy'd.

Thier. I hear this, and yet live;
Heart! art thou thunder proof, will nothing break thee?
She's dead, and what her entertainment may be
In th'other world without me is uncertain,
And dare I stay here unresolv'd?

Mart. Oh Sir!

Brun. Dear son.

Prot. Great King.

Thier. Unhand me, am I fall'n
So low, that I have lost the power to be
Disposer of my own life?

Mart. Be but pleas'd
To borrow so much time of sorrow, as
To call to mind her last request, for whom
(I must confess a loss beyond expression)
You turn your hand upon your self, 'twas hers
And dying hers, that you should live and happy
In seeing little models of your self,
By matching with another, and will you
Leave any thing that she desir'd ungranted?
And suffer such a life that was [l]aid down
For your sake only to be fruitless?

Thier. Oh thou dost throw charms upon me, against which
I cannot stop my ears, bear witness heaven
That not desire of life, nor love of pleasure
Nor any future comforts, but to give
Peace to her blessed spirit in satisfying
Her last demand, makes me defer our meeting,
Which in my choice, and suddain choice shall be
To all apparent.

Brun. How? doe I remove one mischief
To draw upon my head a greater?

Thier. Go, thou only good man, to whom for her self
Goodness is dear, and prepare to interr it
In her that was; oh my heart! my Ordella,
A monument worthy to be the casket
Of such a jewel.

Mart. Your command that makes way
Unto my absence is a welcome one,
For but your self there's nothing here Martel,
Can take delight to look on; yet some comfort
Goes back with me to her, who though she want it
Deserves all blessings. [Exit.

Brun. So soon to forget
The loss of such a wife, believe it will
Be censur'd in the world.

Thier. Pray you no more,
There is no argment you can use to cross it,
But does increase in me such a suspition
I would not cherish—who's that?

Enter Memberge.

Memb. One, no guard
Can put back from access, whose tongue no threats
Nor praises can silence, a bold suitor, and
For that which if you are your self, a King,
You were made so to grant it, Justice, Justice.

Thier. With what assurance dare you hope for that
Which is deny'd to me? or how can I
Stand bound to be just, unto such as are
Beneath me, that find none from those that are
Above me?

Memb. There is justice, 'twere unfit
That any thing but vengeance should fall on him,
That by his giving way to more than murther,
(For my dear fathers death was parricide)
Makes it his own.

Brun. I charge you hear her not.

Memb. Hell cannot stop just prayers from ent'ring heaven,
I must and will be heard Sir; but remember
That he that by her plot fell, was your brother,
And the place where, your Palace, against all
Th' inviolable rites of hospitality,
Your word, a Kings word, given up for his safety,
His innocence, his protection, and the gods
Bound to revenge the impious breach of such
So great and sacred bonds; and can you wonder,
(That in not punishing such a horrid murther
You did it) that heavens favour is gone from you?
Which never will return, until his bloud
Be wash'd away in hers.

Brun. Drag hence the wretch.

Thier. Forbear, with what variety
Of torments do I meet! oh thou hast open'd
A Book, in which writ down in bloudy Letters,
My conscience finds that I am worthy of
More than I undergoe, but I'll begin
For my Ordella's sake, and for thine own
To make less heavens great anger: thou hast lost
A father, I to thee am so; the hope
Of a good Husband, in me have one; nor
Be fearful I am still no man, already
That weakness is gone from me.

Brun. That it might [Aside.
Have ever grown inseparably upon thee,
What will you do? Is such a thing as this
Worthy the lov'd Ordella's place, the daughter
Of a poor Gardener?

Memb. Your Son.

Thier. The power
To take away that lowness is in me.

Brun. Stay yet, for rather than [that] thou shalt add
Incest unto thy other sins, I will
With hazard of my own life, utter all,
Theodoret was thy Brother.

Thier. You deny'd it
Upon your oath, nor will I now believe you,
Your Protean turnings cannot change my purpose.

Memb. And for me, be assur'd the means to be
Reveng'd on thee, vile hag, admits no thought,
But what tends to it.

Brun. Is it come to that?
Then have at the last refuge: art thou grown
Insensible in ll, that thou goest on
Without the least compunction? there, take that
To witness, that thou hadst a mother, which
Foresaw thy cause of grief, and sad repentance,
That so soon after blest Ordella's death
Without a tear thou canst imbrace another,
Forgetful man.

Thier. Mine eyes when she is nam'd
Cannot forget their tribute, and your gift
Is not unuseful now.

Lecu. He's past all cure, that only touch is death.

Thier. This night I'll keep it,
To morrow I will send it you, and full of my affliction.

[Exit Thierry.

Brun. Is the poison mortal?

Lecu. Above the help of Physick.

Brun. To my wish,
Now for our own security, you Protaldye
Shall this night post towards Austracia,
With Letters to Theodorets bastard son,
In which we will make known what for his rising
We have done to Thierry: no denial,
Nor no excuse in such acts must be thought of,
Which all dislike, and all again commend
When they are brought unto a happy end. [Exeunt.

---

Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Devitry and four Soldiers.

Devi. No War, no Money, no Master; banish'd the Court, not trusted in the City, whipt out of the Countrey, in what a triangle runs our misery: let me hear which of you has the best voice to beg in, for other hopes or fortunes I see you have not; be not nice, nature provided you with tones for the purpose, the peoples charity was your heritage, and I would see which of you deserves his birth-right.

Omnes. We understand you not Captain.

Devit. You see this cardicue, the last, and the only quintessence of 50 Crowns, distill'd in the limbeck of your gardage, of which happy piece thou shalt be treasurer: now he that can soonest perswade him to part with't, enjoyes it, possesses it, and with it, me and my future countenance.

1. If they want Art to perswade it, I'll keep it my self.

Devit. So you be not a partial judge in your own cause, you shall.

Omnes. A match.

2. I'll begin to you, brave Sir; be proud to make him happy by your liberality, whose tongue vouchsafes now to petition, was never heard before less than to command. I am a Soldier by profession, a Gentleman by birth, and an Officer by place, whose poverty blushes to be the cause, that so high a virtue should descend to the pity of your charity.

1. In any case keep your high stile, it is not charity to shame any man, much less a virtue of your eminence, wherefore preserve your worth, and I'll preserve my money.

3. You perswade? you are shallow, give way to merit: ah by the bread of [God] man, thou hast a bonny countenance and a blith, promising mickle good to a sicker womb, that has trode a long and a sore ground to meet with friends, that will owe much to thy reverence, when they shall hear of thy courtesie to their wandring countreyman.

1. You that will use your friends so hardly to bring them in debt, Sir, will deserve worse of a stranger, wherefore pead on, pead on, I say.

4. It is the Welch must do't, I see, comrade man of urship, St. Tavy be her Patron, the gods of the mountains keep her cow and her cupboard; may she never want the green of the Leek, [nor] the fat of the Onion, if she part with her bounties to him, that is a great deal away from her cozines, and has two big suits in law to recover her heritage.

1. Pardon me Sir, I will have nothing to do with your suits, it comes within the statute of maintenance: home to your cozines, and so[w]e garlick and hempseed, the one will stop your hunger; the other end your suits, gammawash comrade, gammawash.

4. 'Foot he'll hoord all for himself.

Vitry. Yes, let him; now comes my turn, I'll see if he can answer me: save you Sir, they say, you have that I want, Money.

1. And that you are like to want, for ought I perceive yet.

Vitry. Stand, deliver.

1. 'Foot what mean you, you will not rob the Exchequer?

Vitry. Do you prate?

1. Hold, hold, here Captain.

2. Why I could have done this before you.

3. And I.

4. And I.

Vit. You have done this, brave man be proud to make him happy, by the bread of God man, thou hast a bonny countenance, comrade man of urship, St. Tavy be her patron, out upon you, you uncurried colts, walking cans that have no souls in you, but a little Rosin to keep your ribs sweet, and hold in liquor.

Omnes. Why, what would you have us to do Captain?

Devit. Beg, beg, and keep Constables waking, wear out stocks and whipcord, maunder for butter-milk, dye of the Jaundice, yet have the cure about you, Lice, large Lice, begot of your own dust, and the heat of the Brick-kills, may you starve, and fear of the gallows, which is a gentle consumption to't, only preferr it, or may you fall upon your fear, and be hanged for selling those purses to keep you from famine, whose monies my valour empties, and be cast without other evidence; here is my Fort, my Castle of defence, who comes by shall pay me toll, the first purse is your mitimus slaves.

2. The purse, 'foot we'll share in the money Captain, if any come within a furlong of our fingers.

4. Did you doubt but we could steal as well as your self, did not I speak Welsh?

3. We are thieves from our cradles, and will dye so.

Vit. Then you will not beg again.

Omnes. Yes, as you did, stand, and deliver.

2. Hark, here comes handsel, 'tis a Trade quickly set up, and as soon cast down.

Vitry. Have goodness in your minds varlets, and to't like men; he that has more money than we, cannot be our friend, and I hope there is no law for spoiling the enemy.

3. You need not instruct us farther, your example pleads enough.

Devitry. Disperse your selves, and as their company is, fall on.

2. Come, there are a band of 'em, I'll charge single. [Exit Soldier.

Enter Protaldye.

Prot. 'Tis wonderful dark, I have lost my man, and dare not call for him, lest I should have more followers than I would pay wages to; what throws am I in, in this travel! these be honourable adventures; had I that honest bloud in my veins again Queen, that your feats and these frights have drain'd from me, honor should pull hard, e'r it drew me into these brakes.

Devitry. Who goes there?

Prot. Hey ho, here's a pang of preferment.

Devi. 'Heart, who goes there?

Prot. He that has no heart to your acquaintance, what shall I do with my Jewels and my Letter, my codpiece that's too loose, good, my boots, who is't that spoke to me? here's a friend.

Devit. We shall find that presently, stand, as you love your safety, stand.

Prot. That unlucky word of standing, has brought me to all this, hold, or I shall never stand you.

Devit. I should know that voice, deliver.

Enter Soldiers.

Prot. All that I have is at your service Gentlemen, and much good may it do you.

Devit. Zones down with him, do you prate?

Prot. Keep your first word as you are Gentlemen, and let me stand, alas, what do you mean?

2. To tye you to us Sir, bind you in the knot of friendship.

Prot. Alas Sir, all the physick in Europe cannot bind me.

Devit. You should have jewels about you, stones, precious stones.

1. Captain away, there's company within hearing, if you stay longer, we are surpriz'd.

Devit. Let the Devil come, I'll pillage this Fregat a little better yet.

2. 'Foot we are lost, they are upon us.

Devit. Ha, upon us, make the least noise, 'tis thy parting gaspe.

3. Which way shall we make Sir?

Devit. Every man his own; do you hear, only bind me, bind me before you goe, and when the company's past, make to this place again, this karvel should have better lading in him, you are slow, why do you not tye harder?

1. You are sure enough I warrant you Sir.

Devit. Darkness befriend you, away. [Exit Soldiers.

Prot. What tyrants have I met with, they leave me alone in the dark, yet would not have me cry. I shall grow wondrous melancho[l]y if I stay long here without company; I was wont to get a nap with saying my prayers, I'll see if they will work upon me now; but then, if I should talk in my sleep, and they hear me, they would make a Recorder of my windpipe, slit my throat: heaven be prais'd, I hear some noise, it may be new purchase, and then I shall have fellows.

Devit. They are gone past hearing, now to taske Devitry, help, help, as you are men help; some charitable hand, relieve a poor distressed miserable wretch, thieves, wicked thieves have robb'd me; bound me.

Prot. 'Foot, would they had gagg'd you too, your noise will betray us, and fetch them again.

Devit. What blessed tongue spake to me, where, where where are you Sir?

Prot. A plague of your bawling throat, we are well enough if you have the grace to be thankful for't, do but snore to me, and 'tis as much as I desire, to pass away time with, till morning, then talk as loud as you please Sir, I am bound not to stir, therefore lie still and snore I say.

Devit. Then you have met with thieves too I see.

Prot. And desire to meet with no more of them.

Devit. Alas, what can we suffer more? they are far enough by this time; have they not all, all that we have Sir?

Prot. No by my faith have they not Sir; I gave them one trick to boot for their learning, my Boots Sir, my Boots, I have sav'd my stock, and my jewels in them, and therefore desire to hear no more of them.

Devit. Now blessing on your wit, Sir, what a dull slave was I, dreamt not of your conveyance, help to unbind me Sir, and I'll undoe you, my life for yours, no worse thief than my self meets you again this night.

Prot. Reach me thy hands.

Devit. Here Sir, here, I could beat my brains out, that could not think of boots, boots Sir, wide topt boots, I shall love them the better whilst I live; but are you sure your Jewels are here Sir?

Prot. Sure sayst thou? ha, ha, ha.

Devit. So ho, illo ho. [Within Soldiers.
Here Captain, here.

Prot. 'Foot what do you mean Sir?

Enter Soldiers.

Devit. A trick to boot, say you; here you dull slaves, purchase, purchase the soul of the Rock, Diamonds, sparkling Diamonds.

Prot. I'm betraid, lost, past recovery, lost, as you are men.

Devit. Nay rook, since you will be prating, we'll share your carrion with you, have you any other conveyance now Sir?

1. 'Foot here are Letters, Epistles, familiar Epistles, we'll see what treasure is in them, they are seal'd sure.

Prot. Gentlemen, as you are Gentlemen spare my Letters, and take all willingly, all: I'll give you a release, a general release, and meet you here to morrow with as much more.

Devit. Nay, since you have your tricks, and your conveyances, we will not leave a wrinkle of you unsearcht.

Prot. Hark, there comes company, you will be betraid, as you love your safeties, beat out my brains, I shall betray you else.

Devit. Treason, unheard of Treason, monstrous, monstrous villanies.

Prot. I confess my self a Traitor, shew your selves good subjects, and hang me up for't.

1. If it be treason, the discovery will get our pardon, Captain.

Devit. Would we were all lost, hang'd, quarter'd, to save this one, one innocent Prince; Thierry's poison'd, by his mother poison'd, the Mistriss to this stallion, who by that poison ne'er shall sleep again.

2. 'Foot let us mince him by piece-meal[e], till he eat himself up.

3. Let us dig out his heart with needles, and half broil him like a Mussel.

Prot. Such another and I prevent you, my bloud's setled already.

Devit. Here's that shall remove it, toad, viper, drag him unto Martel, unnatural par[r]icide, cruel, bloudy woman.

Omnes. On you dogfish, leech, caterpillar.

Devit. A longer sight of him will make my rage turn pity, and with his suddain end, prevent revenge and torture, wicked, wicked Brunhalt. [Exit.

Enter Bawdber and three Courtiers.

1. Not sleep at all, no means.

2. No Art can do it.

Bawdb. I will assure you, he can sleep no more
Than a hooded Hawk[e], a centinel to him,
Or one of the City Constables are tops.

3. How came he so?

Bawdb. They are too wise that dare know,
Something's amiss, heaven help all.

1. What cure has he?

Bawdb. Armies of those we call Physitians, some with glisters,
Some with Lettice-caps, some posset-drinks, some Pills,
Twenty consulting here about a drench,
[As many here to blood him;
Then comes a Don of Spaine, and he prescribes
More cooling opium then would kill a turke,
Or quench a whore ith dogdayes; after him
A wise Italian, and he cries, tie unto him
A woman of fourescore, whose bones are marble,
Whose bloud snow water, not so much heate about her
As may conceive a prayer: after him
An English Doctor, with a bunch of pot hearbes;
And he cries out Endiffe and suckery,
With a few mallow rootes and butter milke,
And talkes of oyle made of a churchmans charity,
Yet still he wakes.

1. But your good honor
Has a praye[r] in store if all should faile.

Bawdb. I could have prayed, and handsomely,
But age and an ill memory.

3. Has spoyl'd your primmer.

Bawdb. Yet if there be a man of faith i'the Court,
And can pray for a pension.

Enter Thierry, on a bed, with Doctors and attendants.

2. Here's the King Sir,
And those that will pray without pay.

Bawdb. Then pray for me too.

1 Doct. How does your grace now feele your selfe?

Thier. What's that?

1 Doct. Nothing at all Sir, but your fancy.

Thier. Tell me,
Can ever these eyes more shut up in slumbers,
Assure my soule there is sleepe? is there night
And rest for humane labors? do not you
And all the world as I do, out stare time,
And live like funerall lampes never extinguisht?
Is there a grave, and do not flatter me,
Nor feare to tell me truth; and in that grave
Is there a hope I shall sleepe, can I die,
Are not my miseries immortall? o
The happinesse of him that drinkes his water
After his weary day, and sleepes for ever,
Why do you crucifie me thus with faces,
And gaping strangely upon one another,
When shall I rest?

2 Doct. O Sir, be patient.

Thier. Am I not patient? have I not endur'd
More then a maingy dog among your dosses?
Am I not now your patient? yee can make
Unholesome fooles sleepe for a garded foote-cloth;
Whores for a hot sin offering; yet I must crave
That feede ye, and protect ye, and proclame ye,
Because my powre is far above your searching,
Are my diseases so? can ye cure none
But those of equall ignorance, dare ye kill me?

1 Doct. We do beseech your grace be more reclam'd,
This talke doth but distemper you.

Thier. Well, I will die
In spight of all your potions; one of you sleepe,
Lie downe and sleepe here, that I may behold
What blessed rest it is my eyes are robde of:
See, he can sleepe, sleepe any where, sleepe now,
When he that wakes for him can never slumber,
I'st not a dainty ease?

2 Doct. Your grace shall feele it.

Thier. O never I, never, the eyes of heaven
See but their certaine motions, and then sleepe,
The rages of the Ocean have their slumbers,
And quiet silver calmes; each violence
Crownes in his end a peace, but my fixt fires
Shall never, never set, who's that?

Enter Martell, Brunhalt, Devitry, souldiers.

Mart. No woman,
Mother of mischiefe, no, the day shall die first,
And all good things live in a worse then thou art,
Ere thou shalt sleepe, doest thou see him?

Brun. Yes, and curse him,
And all that love him foole, and all live by him.

Mart. Why art thou such a monster?

Brun. Why art thou
So tame a knave to aske me?

Mart. Hope of hell,
By this faire holy light, and all his wrongs
Which are above thy yeares, almost thy vices,
Thou shalt not rest, not feele more what is pitty,
Know nothing necessary, meete no society,
But what shall curse and crucifie thee, feele in thy selfe
Nothing but what thou art, bane, and bad conscience,
Till this man rest; but for whose reverence
Because thou art his mother, I would say
Whore, this shall be, do ye nod? ile waken ye
With my swords point.

Brun. I wish no more of heaven,
Nor hope no more, but a sufficient anger
To torture thee.

Mart. See, she that makes you see Sir,
And to your misery still see, your mother,
The mother of your woes Sir, of your waking,
The mother of your peoples cries, and curses,
Your murdering mother, your malicious mother:

Thier. Phisitians, halfe my state to sleepe an houre now;
Is it so mother?

Brun. Yes it is so sonne;
And were it yet againe to do, it should be.

Mart. She nods againe, swing her.

Thier. But mother,
For yet I love that reverence, and to death
Dare not forget you have bin so; was this,
This endlesse misery, this curelesse malice,
This snatching from me all my youth together,
All that you made me for, and happy mothers
Crownde with eternall time are proud to finish,
Done by your will?

Brun. It was, and by that will.

Thier. O mother, do not lose your name, forget not
The touch of nature in you, tendernes
'Tis all the soule of woman, all the sweetnesse;
Forget not I beseech you what are children,
Nor how you [have] gron'd for um, to what love
They are borne inheritors, with what care kept,
And as they rise to ripenesse still remember
How they impe out your age; and when time calls you,
That as an Autum flower you fall, forget not
How round about your hearse they hang like penons.

Brun. Holy foole,
Whose patience to prevent my wrongs has kill'd thee,
Preach not to me of punishments, or feares,
Or what I ought to be, but what I am,
A woman in her liberall will defe[at]ed,
In all her greatnesse crost, in pleasure blasted,
My angers have bin laught at, my ends slighted,
And all those glories that had crownd my fortunes,
Suffer'd by blasted vertue to be scatter'd,
I am the fruitefull mother of these angers,
And what such have done, reade, and know thy ruine.

Thier. Heaven forgive you.

Mart. She tells you true, for milions of her mischiefes
Are now apparent, Protaldye, we have taken
An equall agent with her, to whose care
After the damnde defeate on you, she trusted.

Enter Messenger.

The bringing in of Leonor the bastard
Son to your murther'd brother, her Physitian
By this time is attacht to that damn'd devil.

Mess. 'Tis like he will be so, for e'er we came
Fearing an equal justice for his mischiefs,
He drencht himself.

Brun. He did like one of mine then.

Thier. Must I still see these miseries, no night
To hide me from their horrors, that Protaldy
See justice fall upon.

Brun. Now I could sleep too.

Enter Ordella.

Mart. I'll give you yet more Poppy, bring the Lady
And heaven in her embraces; gives him quiet,
Madam, unveil yourself.

Ordel. I do forgive you,
And though you sought my bloud, yet I'll pray for you.

Brun. Art thou alive?

Mart. Now could you sleep?

Brun. For ever.

Mart. Go carry her without wink of sleep, or quiet,
Where her strong knave Protaldye's broke o'th' wheel,
And let his cries and roars be musick to her,
I mean to waken her.

Thier. Do her no wrong.

Mart. Nor right, as you love justice.

Brun. I will think,
And if there be new curses in old nature,
I have a soul dare send them.

Mart. Keep her waking. [Exit Brunhalt.

Thier. What's that appears so sweetly? there's that face.

Mart. Be moderate, Lady.

Thier. That Angels face.

Mart. Goe nearer.

Thier. Martel, I cannot last long, see the soul,
I see it perfectly of my Ordella,
The heavenly figure of her sweetness there,
Forgive me gods, it comes, Divinest substance,
Kneel, kneel, kneel every one, Saint of thy Sex,
If it be for my cruelty thou comest,
Do ye see her hoe?

Mart. Yes Sir, and you shall know her.

Thier. Down, down again, to be reveng'd for bloud,
Sweet Spirit I am ready, she smiles on me,
O blessed sign of Peace.

Mart. Goe nearer Lady.

Ordel. I c[o]me to make you happy.

Thier. Hear you that, Sir?
She comes to crown my soul: away, get sacrifice
Whilst I with holy Honors.

Mart. She's alive, Sir.

Thier. In everlasting life, I know it friend,
Oh happy, happy soul.

Ordel. Alas, I live Sir,
A mortal woman still.

Thier. Can spirits weep too?

Mart. She's no spirit Sir, pray kiss her, Lady,
Be very gentle to him.

Thier. Stay, she is warm,
And by my life the same lips tell me brightness,
Are you the same Ordella still?

Mart. The same, Sir,
Whom heavens and my good Angel staid from ruin.

Thier. Kiss me again.

Ordel. The same still, still your servant.

Thier. 'Tis she, I know her now Martel; sit down sweet.
Oh blest and happiest woman, a dead slumber
Begins to creep upon me, oh my jewel!

Enter Messenger and Memberge.

Ordel. Oh sleep my Lord.

Thier. My joyes are too much for me.

Mess. Brunhalt impatient of her constraint to see
Protaldye tortur'd, has choak'd her self.

Mart. No more, her sins go with her.

Thier. Love, I must die, I faint, close up my glasses.

1 Doct. The Queen faints too, and deadly.

Thier. One dying kiss.

Ordel. My last Sir, and my dearest, and now
Close my eyes too.

Thier. Thou perfect woman.
Martel, the Kingdom's yours, take Memberge to you,
And keep my line alive; nay, weep not, Lady,
Take me, I go.

Ordel. Take me too, farewel honour. [Die both.

2 Doct. They are gone for ever.

Mart. The peace of happy souls go after them,
Bear them to their last beds, whilst I study
A Tomb to speak their loves; whilst old time laste[t]h
I am your King in sorrows.

Omnes. We your subjects.

Mart. Devitry, for your service, be near us,
Whip out these instruments of this mad mother
From Court, and all good people; and because
She was born Noble, let that Title find her
A private grave, but neither tongue nor honor:
And now lead on, they that shall read this story,
Shall find that Virtue lives in Good, not Glory.

[Exeunt Omnes.

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