Vir. Thy discretion
In this may answer for me; look on Naples
The Countrey where we both were born and bred,
Naples the Paradise of Italy,
As that is of the earth; Naples, that was
The sweet retreat of all the worthiest Romans,
When they had shar'd the spoils of the whole world;
This flourishing Kingdom, whose inhabitants
For wealth and bravery, liv'd like petty Kings,
Made subject now to such a tyrannie.
As that fair City that receiv'd her name
From Constantine the great, now in the power
Of barbarous Infidels, may forget her own;
To look with pity on our miseries;
So far in our calamities we transcend her.
For since this Arragonian tyrant, Ferrand,
Seiz'd on the gover[n]ment, there's nothing left us
That we can call our own, but our afflictions.
Jul. And hardly those; the Kings strange cruelty,
Equals all presidents of tyranny.
Vir. Equal say you?
He has out-gone, the worst compar'd to him;
Nor Phalaris, nor Dionysius,
Caligula, nor Nero can be mention'd;
They yet as Kings, abus'd their Regal power;
This as a Merchant, all the Countreys fat,
He wholly does ingross unto himself;
Our Oils he buys at his own price, then sells them
To us, at dearer rates; our Plate and Jewels,
Under a fain'd pretence of publique use,
He borrows; which deny'd his instruments force.
The Races of our horses he takes from us;
Yet keeps them in our pastures; rapes of Matrons,
And Virgins, are too frequent; never man
Yet thank'd him for a pardon; for Religion,
It is a thing he dreams not of.
Jul. I have heard,
How true it is, I know not; that he sold
The Bishoprick of Tarent to a Jew,
For thirteen thousand Duckets.
Vir. I was present,
And saw the money paid; the day would leave me,
E'r I could number out his impious actions;
Or what the miserable Subject suffers;
And can you entertain in such a time,
A thought of dalliance? tears, and sighs, and groans,
Would better now become you.
Jul. They indeed are,
The only weapons, our poor Sex can use,
When we are injur'd; and they may become us;
But for me[n] that were born free men, of Ranck;
That would be Registred Fathers of their Countrey;
And to have on their Tombs in Golden Letters,
The noble stile of Tyrant-killers, written;
To weep like fools and Women, and not like wise men.
To practise a redress, deserves a name,
Which fits not me to give.
Vir. Thy grave reproof:
If what thou dost desire, were possible
To be effected, might well argue it,
As wise as loving; but if you consider,
With what strong guards this Tyrant is defended:
Ruffins, and male-contents drawn from all quarters;
That only know, to serve his impious Will;
The Cittadels built by him in the neck
Of this poor City; the invincible strength,
Nature by Art assisted, gave this Castle;
And above all his fear; admitting no man
To see him, but unarm'd; it being death
For any to approach him with a weapon.
You must confess, unless our hands were Cannons,
To batter down these walls; our weak breath Mines,
To blow his Forts up; or our curses lightning,
To force a passage to him; and then blast him;
Our power is like to yours, and we, like you,
Weep our misfortunes.
Jul. Walls of Brass resist not
A noble undertaking; nor can vice,
Raise any Bulwark, to make good the place,
Where virtue seeks to enter; then to fall
In such a brave attempt, were such an honor
That Brutus, did he live again, would envy.
Were my dead Father in you, and my Brothers;
Nay, all the Ancestors I am deriv'd from;
As you, in being what you are, are all these.
I had rather wear a mourning Garment for you,
And should be more proud of my widdowhood;
You dying for the freedom of this Countrey;
Than if I were assur'd, I should enjoy
A perpetuity of life and pleasure
With you, the Tyrant living.
Vir. Till this minute,
I never heard thee speak; O more than woman!
And more to be belov'd; can I find out
A Cabinet, to lock a secret in,
Of equal trust to thee? all doubts, and fears,
That scandalize your Sex, be far from me;
Thou shalt partake my near and dearest councils,
And further them with thine.
Jul. I will be faithful.