Enter Panura.
Good night, good night, and good rest Aunt attend you.
Quisan. Sleep dwell upon your eyes, and fair dreams court ye.
Quisar. Come, where have you been wench? make me unready;
I slept but ill last night.
Pan. You'll sleep the better
I [hope [too] night], Madam.
Quisar. A little rest contents me;
Thou lovest thy bed Panura.
Pan. I am not in love Lady,
Nor seldom dream of devils, I sleep soundly.
Quisar. I'll swear thou dost, thy Husband wou'd not take it so well
If thou wert married wench.
Pan. Let him take, Madam,
The way to waken me, I am no Dormouse,
Husbands have larum bels, if they but
Ring once.
Quisar. Thou art a merry wench.
Pan. I shall live the longer.
Quisar. Prethee fetch my Book.
Pan. I am glad of that.
Quisar. I'll read awhile before I sleep.
Pan. I will Madam.
Quisar. And if Ruy Dias meet you, and be importunate,
He may come in.
Pan. I have a better fare for you,
Now least in sight play I. [Exit.
Enter Armusia, locks the door.
Quisar. Why should I love him?
Why should I doat upon a man deserves not,
Nor has no will to work it? who's there wench?
What are you? or whence come you?
Arm. Ye may know me,
I bring not such amazement, noble Lady.
Quisar. Who let you in?
Arm. My restless love that serves ye.
Quisar. This is an impudence I have not heard of,
A rudeness that becomes a thief or ruffian;
Nor shall my brothers love protect this boldness,
You build so strongly on, my rooms are sanctuaries,
And with that reverence, they that seek my favours,
And humble fears, shall render their approaches.
Arm. Mine are no less.
Quisar. I am Mistriss of my self, Sir,
And will be so, I will not be thus visited:
These fears and dangers thrust into my privacy.
Stand further off, I'll cry out else.
Arm. Oh dear Lady!
Quisar. I see dishonor in your eyes.
Arm. There is none:
By all that beauty they are innocent;
Pray ye tremble not, you have no cause.
Quisar. I'll dye first;
Before you have your Will, be torn in pieces;
The little strength I have left me to resist you,
The gods will give me more, before I am forc'd
To that I hate, or suffer—
Arm. You wrong my duty.
Quisar. So base a violation of my liberty?
I know you are bent unnobly; I'll take to me
The spirit of a man; borrow his boldness,
And force my womans fears into a madness,
And e'er you arrive at what you aim at—
Arm. Lady,
If there be in you any womans pity;
And if your fears have not proclaim'd me monstrous;
Look on me, and believe me; is this violence?
Is it to fall thus prostrate to your beauty
A ruffians boldness? is humility a rudeness?
The griefs and sorrows that grow here an impudence?
These forcings, and these fears I bring along with me;
These impudent abuses offered ye;
And thus high has your brothers favour blown me:
Alas dear Lady of my life, I came not
With any purpose, rough or desperate,
With any thought that was not smooth and gentle,
As your fair hand, with any doubt or danger
Far be it from my heart to fright your quiet;
A heavy curse light on it, when I intend it.
Quisar. Now I dare hear you.
Arm. If I had been mischievous,
As then I must be mad; or were a monster,
If any such base thought had harbour'd here,
Or violence that became not man,
You have a thousand bulwarks to assure you,
The holy powers bear shields to defend chastity;
Your honor, and your virtues are such armours;
Your clear thoughts such defences; if you mis-doubt still
And yet retain a fear, I am not honest,
Come with impure thoughts to this place;
Take this, and sheath it here; be your own safety;
Be wise, and rid your fears, and let me perish;
How willing shall I sleep to satisfie you.
Quisar. No, I believe now, you speak worthily;
What came you then for?
Arm. To [complain me,] beauty,
But modestly.
Quisar. Of what?
Arm. Of your fierce cruelty,
For though I dye, I will not blame the doer:
Humbly to tell your grace, ye had forgot me:
A little to have touch'd at, not accused,
For that I dare not do, your scorns, pray pardon me
And be not angry that I use the liberty
To urge that word, a little to have shew'd you
What I have been, and what done to deserve ye,
If any thing that love commands may reach ye:
To have remembred ye, but I am unworthy,
And to that misery falls all my fortunes,
To have told ye, and by my life ye may believe me,
That I am honest, and will only marry
You, or your memory; pray be not angry.
Quisar. I thank you Sir, and let me tell you seriously,
Ye have taken now the right way to befriend ye,
And to beget a fair and clear opinion,
Yet to try your obedience—
Arm. I stand ready Lady.
Without presuming to ask any thing.
Quisar. Or at this time to hope for further favour;
Or to remember services or smiles;
Dangers you have past through, and rewards due to 'em;
Loves or despairs, but leaving all to me:
Quit this place presently.
Arm. I shall obey ye.
Enter Ruy Dias.
Ru. Ha?
Arm. Who's this?
What art thou?
Ru. A Gentleman.
Arm. Thou art no more I'm sure: oh 'tis Ruy Dias;
How high he looks, and harsh!
Ru. Is there not door enough,
You take such elbow room?
Arm. If I take it, I'll carry it.
Ru. Does this become you Princess?
Arm. The Captain's jealous.
Jealous of that he never durst deserve yet;
Goe freely, goe, I'll give thee leave.
Ru. Your leave, Sir?
Arm. Yes my leave Sir, I'll not be troubled neither,
Nor shall my heart ake, or my head be jealous,
Nor strange suspitious thoughts reign in my memory;
Go on, and do thy worst, I'll smile at thee;
I kiss your fair hand first, then farewel Captain. [Exit.
Quisar. What a pure soul inherits here! what innocence!
Sure I was blind when I first lov'd this fellow,
And long to live in that fogg still: how he blusters!
Ru. Am I your property? or those your flatteries,
The banquets that ye bid me to, the trust
I build my goodly hopes on?
Quisar. Be more temperate.
Ru. Are these the shews of your respect and favour?
What did he here, what language had he with ye?
Did ye invite? could ye stay no longer?
Is he so gracious in your eye?
Quisar. You are too forward.
Ru. Why at these private hours?
Quisar. You are too saucy,
Too impudent [to task] me with those errors.
Do ye know what I am Sir, and my prerogative?
Though you be a thing I have call'd by th' name of friend,
I never taught you to dispose my liberty;
How durst you touch mine honor? blot my meanings?
And name an action, and of mine but noble?
Thou poor unworthy thing, how have I grac'd thee!
How have I nourisht thee, and raised thee hourly!
Are these the gratitudes you bring Ruy Dias?
The thanks? the services? I am fairly paid;
Was't not enough I saw thou wert a Coward,
And shaddowed thee? no noble sparkle in thee?
Daily provok'd thee, and still found thee coward?
Rais'd noble causes for thee, strangers started at;
Yet still, still, still a Coward, ever Coward;
And with those taints, dost thou upbraid my virtues?
Ruy. I was too blame
Lady.
Quisar. So blindly bold to touch at my behaviour?
Durst thou but look amiss at my allowance?
If thou hadst been a brave fellow, thou hadst had some licence
Some liberty I might have then allowed thee
For thy good face, some scope to have argued with me;
But being nothing but a sound, a shape,
The meer sign of a Soldier—of a Lover.
The dregs and draffy part, disgrace and jealousie,
I scorn thee; and contemn thee.
Ru. Dearest Lady,
If I have been too free—
Quisar. Thou hast been too foolish,
And go on still, I'll study to forget thee,
I would I could, and yet I pity thee. [Exit.
Ru. I am not worth it, if I were, that's misery,
The next door is but death, I must aim at it. [Exit.
Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima.
Enter King and Governor, like a Moor-Priest.
Kin. So far and truly you have discovered to me
The former currents of my life and fortune,
That I am bound to acknowledge ye most holy,
And certainly to credit your predictions,
Of what are yet to come.
Gov. I am no lyer,
'Tis strange I should, and live so near a neighbor;
But these are not my ends.
Kin. Pray ye sit good father,
Certain a reverend man, and most religious.
Gov. I, that belief's well now, and let me work then,
I'll make ye curse Religion e'er I leave ye:
I have liv'd a long time Son, a mew'd up man,
Sequester'd by the special hand of Heaven
From the worlds vanities, bid farewel to follies,
And shook hands with all heats of youth and pleasures,
As in a dream these twenty years I have slumber'd,
Many a cold Moon have I, in meditation
And searching out the hidden Wils of heaven,
Lain shaking under; many a burning Sun
Has sear'd my body, and boil'd up my blood,
Feebl'd my knees, and stampt a Meagerness
Upon my figure, all to find out knowledge,
Which I have now attained to, thanks to heaven,
All for my countreys good too: and many a vision,
Many a mistick vision have I seen Son.
And many a sight from heaven which has been terrible,
Wherein the Goods and Evils of these Islands
Were lively shadowed; many a charge I have had too,
Still as the time grew ripe to reveal these,
To travel and discover, now I am come Son,
The hour is now appointed,
My tongue is touch'd, and now I speak.
Kin. Do Holy man, I'll hear ye.
Gov. Beware these Portugals; I say beware 'em,
These smooth-fac'd strangers; have an eye upon 'em.
The cause is now the God's, hear, and believe King.
King. I do hear, but before I give rash credit,
Or hang too light on belief, which is a sin, father;
Know I have found 'em gentle, faithful, valiant,
And am in my particular, bound to 'em,
I mean to some for my most strange deliverance.
Gov. Oh Son, the future aims of men, observe me,
Above their present actions, and their glory,
Are to be look'd at, the Stars shew many turnings,
If you could see, mark but with my eyes, pupil;
These men came hither, as my vision tells me,
Poor weather-beaten, almost lost, starv'd, feebled,
Their vessels like themselves, most miserable;
Made a long sute for traffique, and for comfort,
To vent their childrens toys, cure their diseases:
They had their sute, they landed, and to th' rate
Grew rich and powerful, suckt the fat, and freedom
Of this most blessed Isle, taught her to tremble,
Witness the Castle here, the Citadel,
They have clapt upon the neck of your Tidore,
This happy Town, till that she knew these strangers,
To check her when she's jolly.
King. They have so indeed Father.
Gov. Take heed, take heed, I find your fair delivery,
Though you be pleas'd to glorifie that fortune,
And think these strangers gods, take heed I say,
I find it but a handsome preparation,
A fair-fac'd Prologue to a further mischief:
Mark but the end good King, the pin he shoots at
That was the man deliver'd ye; the mirror,
Your Sister is his due; what's she, your heir, Sir?
And what's he a kin then to the kingdom?
But heirs are not ambitious, who then suffers?
What reverence shall the gods have? and what justice
The miserable people? what shall they do?
King. He points at truth directly.
Gov. Think of these Son:
The person, nor the manner I mislike not
Of your preserver, nor the whole man together,
Were he but season'd in the Faith we are,
In our Devotions learn'd.
King. You say right Father.
Gov. To change our Worships now, and our Religion?
To be traytor to our God?
King. You have well advised me,
And I will seriously consider Father,
In the mean time you shall have your fair access
Unto my Sister, advise her to your purpose,
And let me still know how the gods determine.
Gov. I will, but my main end is to advise
The destruction of you all, a general ruine,
[And when] I am reveng'd, let the gods whistle. [Exeunt.
Enter Ruy Dias, and Pyniero.