 | St. Patrick For Ireland |  |
Act. V.
Enter two Souldiers.1 Sould.
So, so, we are like to have a fine time on't, we may get more
by every Christian we have the grace to catch, than by three moneths
pay against our naturall enemies.
2 Sould.
And their noddles be so precious, would all my kindred
were Christians; I would not leave a head to wag upon a shoulder
of our generation, from my mothers sucking pig at her nipple, to my
great grandfathers Coshering in the pease straw. How did that fellow
looke whose throat we cut last?
1 Sould.
Basely, and like a Christian, would the fellow they call
Patrick had been in his place, we had been made for ever.
Now are we of the condition of some great men in office,
that desire execution of the Lawes, not so much to correct offences
and reforme the common wealth, as to thrive by their punishment
and grow rich and fat with a leane conscience. But I have
walk'd, and talk'd my selfe a hungry, prethee open the secrets of
thy knapsacke, before we build any more projects; lets see what
store of belly timber we have. Good, very good Pagan food:
sit downe and let our stomackes conferre a while.
Enter Rodamant.
Rod.
royal My love is rosted, she died of a burning feaver, & since
poison wonot work upon me, I am resolv'd to looke out the most
convenient tree in this wood to hang my self: And because I will
be sure to hang without molestation or cutting downe, which is a
disparagement to an able and willing body, I will hang invisible,
that no body may see me, and interrupt my hempen meditations.
But who are these? a brace of mankillers a mounching; now I
think what a long journey I am going as far as to another world,
it were not amisse to take provision along with me, when I come
to the tricke of hanging, I may weigh the better, and sooner be out
of my paine: bracelet sticke to me, by your leave gentlemen, what's
your ordinary?
1. Soul.
Who's that?
Rod.
A friend, my brace of Hungarians, one that is no souldier;
but will justifie he has a stomacke in a just cause, and can fight
tooth and naile, with any flesh that opposes me.
2. Sould.
I can see no body.
Rod.
I will knock your pate, fellow in armes, and to helpe you
to see, open the eyes of your understanding, with a wooden instrument
that I have.
1 Sould.
I see nothing but a voice, shall I strike it?
2 Sould.
No, 'tis some Spirit take heed and offend it not, I never
knew any man strike the devill, but he put out his necke bone or
his shoulder blade, let him alone, it may be the ghost of some usurer
that kick'd up his heeles in a deare yeere; and died upon a surfet
of Shamroks and cheese parings.
Enter Emeria.
Who's this, a woman alone?
2 Sould.
And handsome, what makes shee in this wood? wee'll
divide.
1 Sould.
What the woman?
2 Sould.
No, I'll have her body, and thou shalt have her clothes.
Eme.
I know not where I am, this wood has lost me,
But I shall never more be worth the finding:
I was not wise to leave my fathers house,
For here I may be made a prey to rapine,
Or food to cruell beasts.
2 Sould.
No, you shall finde that we are men; what think you?
which of us two have you most minde to laugh and lye downe
withall.
Eme.
Protect me some good power, more ravishers.
2 Sould.
We are souldiers, and not us'd to complement, be not coy
but answer.
1 Sould.
We are but two, you may soone make a choice.
Rod.
You shall finde that we be three, are you so hot?
1 Sould.
Come humble your self behinde that tree, or—
Eme.
Are you a man?
1 Sould.
Never doubt it, I have pass'd for a man in my dayes.
2 Sould.
Oh my skull.
1 Sould.
Whats the matter?
Eme.
Where shall I hide my self?
hides her self.
Rod.
Your Comrade will expect your company in the next
ditch.
2 Souldier.
Are you good at that?
The second souldier strikes the first and Rodamant both.
1 Souldier.
What dost thou meane?
2 Souldier.
What do I meane? what dost thou meane to beate my
braines out?
1 Souldier.
I: hold, it is some Spirit, and we fight with the aire.
Rod.
Cannot a Mare come into the ground, but you must be
leaping you stone horses.
2 Souldier.
My skull is as tender as a Mullipuffe.
1 Sould.
He has made a cullice of my sconce, hold deere friend.
2 So.
Has the devil no more wit then to take part against the flesh?
The Devill may have a minde to her himselfe, let him ha
her.
2
If I come back, let me be glib'd.
Exeunt reeling.
Rod.
Now Lady—what, is shee invisible too? Ha. Well, let
her shift for her selfe, I have tam'd their concupiscence. Now to my
businesse of hanging agen.
I doe like none of these trees; the Devill is at my elbow now, I doe
heare him whisper in mine eare, that any tree would serve, if I
would but give my mind to't. Let me consider, what shall I get by
hanging of my selfe, how it will be to no purpose, a halter will be
but cast away, by your leave—I would not have you much
out of the way, because here are trees that other men may hold convenient.
—Oh, my wrist: 'Tis a spirit. Sweet Devill, you
shall have it, the bracelet is at your service. Have I all my fingers?
A pox on his fangs, now o'my conscience I am visible agen, if the
Souldiers should meet with me now, whom I have pounded, what
case were I in? I feele a destillation, and would be heartily beaten
to save my life.
Here's one, for ought I know, may be as dangerous: A pox of despaire
that brought me hither to choose my gallowes; would I were
at home in an embroydered clout.—I'll sneake this way.
Exit.
Em.
I am no ghost, but the same lost Emeria,
My Lord, you left me.
Con.
Did not the flames devoure thee.
Em.
I felt no flame, but that which my revenge
Did light me to, for my abused honour.
Con.
Oh say that word agen: Art thou reveng'd
Upon thy ravisher? It was a god,
Thou told'st me.
Em.
But he found the way to death:
And when I name him, you will either not
Will make you print as many in my brest:
He was—
Con.
Say, feare not, wrong'd Emeria,
Can any heart and compassion for his death,
That murder'd the sweet peace of thy chaste bosome?
Oh never, I shall blesse that resolute hand,
That was so just, so pious; and when thou hast
Assur'd, that he which playd the Satyre with thee,
Is out o'th' world, and kill'd sufficiently,
(For he that robb'd thee hath deserv'd to dye,
To the extent of his wide sin) I'll kisse,
And take thee in mine armes, Emeria,
And lay thee up as precious to my love,
As when our vowes met, and our yeelding bosomes
Were witnesse to the contract of our hearts.
Em.
It was your brother Coribreus, Sir:
That name unties your promise.
Con.
Ha! my brother?
Sweet, let me pause a little, I am lost else.
Em.
I did not well to enlarge his sorrow thus:
Though I can hope no comfort in this world,
He might live happie, if I did not kill him,
With heaping griefe on griefe thus.
Con.
He is slaine then.
Em.
If you will, Sir, revenge his death, you must
Point your wrath here, and I will thank you for't;
Though you should be a day in killing me,
I should live so much longer to forgive you.
This weake hand did not tremble when it kill'd him,
And it came timely to prevent, I feare,
The second part of horrour he had meant
To act upon me.
Con.
Wo'd he had tooke my life,
When he assail'd thy chastitie, so thou
Hadst been preserv'd: I cannot help all this.
Em.
I took no joy, Sir, in his Tragedie.
Con.
That done, thou fledst.
Em.
I left my fathers house,
And found no weight hung on my feet for giving
His lust the bloudy recompence.
Con.
Thou art happie:
The gods directed thee to fly, Emeria,
Thou hadst beene lost else with my brothers ashes,
And my deare mother, whom the hungry flames
Devour'd, soone after thy departure.
Em.
How?
Con.
I know not by what malice, or mis-fortune,
Thy fathers house was burn'd, and in it he
Did meet his funerall fire too, ha? Emeria.
Enter S. Patrick, Queene, and Bard.
Ba.
Your companie's faire, but I'll leave you in a wood, I could
like your religion well; but those rules of fasting, prayer, and
so much penance, will hardly fit my constitution.
Pat.
'Tis nothing to win heaven.
Ba.
But you doe not consider, that I shall loose my pension, my
pension from the King, there's a businesse.
Qu.
Do not I leave more?
Ba.
I confesse it; and you will get lesse by the bargaine; but
you that have been used to hunger, and nothing to live upon, may
make the better shift. The lesse you eat, you say, will make the
soule fat; but I have a body wonot be used so: I must drinke, and
goe warme, and make much of my voyce, I cannot doe good upon
water and sallads, keep your diet-drinke to your selves, I am
a kind of foolish Courtier, Patrick, with us, wine and women
are provocatives, long tables and short graces are physicall, and in
fashion. I'll take my leave, Madam, no Christian yet, as the world
goes; perhaps hereafter, when my voyce is a wearie of mee, I
may grow wearie of the world, and stoop to your ord'narie, say
my prayers, and think how to dye, when my living is taken from
me, in the meane time—
Old age will be here to morrow,
'This pleasure we are made for,
When death comes all is paid for:
No matter what's the bill of fare,
I'll take my cup, I'll take no care.
Be wise, and say you bad warning,
To laugh is better than learning,
To weare no cloathes, not neat is.
But hunger is good where meat is:
Give me wine, give me a wench,
And let her Parrot talke in French.
It is a match worth the making,
To keepe the merrie thought waking;
A song is better than fasting,
And sorrow's not worth the tasting,
Then keepe your braine light as you can,
An ounce of care will kill a man.
Exit.
Con.
Ha! doe I see the Queene, Emeria?
Pat.
Alas, poore Bard, the flatteries of this world
Hath chain'd his sense: thus many selfe-loving natures,
Prison'd in mists and errours, cannot see
The way abroad that leads to happinesse,
Or truth, whose beamie hand should guide us in it.
What a poore value do men set of heaven?
Heaven, the perfection of all that can
Be said, or thought, riches, delight, or harmony,
Health, beautie, and all these not subject to
The waste of time; but in their height eternall,
Lost for a pension, or poore spot of earth,
Favour of greatnesse, or an houres faint pleasure:
As men, in scorne of a true flame that's neere,
Should run to light their taper at a glo-worne.
Con.
'Tis she, and the good Bishop Patrick with her.
Pat.
Madam, the Prince Conallus.
Oh let me kneele to you, and then to Heaven,
That hath preserv'd you still to be my mother;
For I beleeve you are alive, the fire
Hath not defac'd this monument of sweetnesse.
Qu.
My blessing and my prayers be still my childs,
It was the goodnesse, son, of holy Patrick
That rescu'd me from those impris'ning flames
You speake of, his good Angell was our Conduct.
Con.
To him that can dispense such blessings, mother,
I must owe dutie, and thus kneeling, pay it:
May Angels still be neere you.
Pat.
Rise, Conallus:
My benediction on thee; be but what
Thy Mother is, a Christian, and a guard
Of Angels shall attend thee too; the fire
We walk'd upon secure, and which is greater,
Scap'd the immortall flames, in which black soules,
After their ill-spent lives, are bound to suffer.
Con.
Sir, you shall steere me, and my mothers blest
Example will become my imitation.
But there's a peece of silent miserie
Is worth your comfort, mother, and his counsell;
She is, I dare not name how much dishonour'd,
And should have beene the partner of my bosome,
Had not a cruell man forbid my happinesse,
And on that faire and innocent table powr'd
Poyson, above the Dragons bloud, or Vipers.
Em.
My humblest dutie, Madam
Pat.
Dichu's Cell
Is not far off, please you attend the Queene,
We are bent thither.
Con.
Yes: and as we walk,
I'll tell you a sad storie of my brother
And this poore virgin.
Pat.
Come, I'll lead the way.
Qu.
With such a Guide we cannot feare to stray.
Exeunt.
Fer.
Where are we yet Endarius?
En.
I cannot
Informe you more, then that we are in the wood still.
Fer.
And we are lost, our feare to die i'th sight
Of men, hath brought us hither with our blood
To quench the thirst of wolves: Or worse, to starve.
En.
We are in no feare to be apprehended
Where none inhabite.
Fer.
Now that lust is punish'd,
Which fed our hope, if we had staid i'th Temple
To have polluted it, with foule embraces:
How wearinesse, with travell, and some fasting
Will tame the flesh.
En.
Stay here's a cave.
Fer.
Take heede,
It may be a Lion, or a fierce wolves den;
How nature trembles at the thought of death:
Though it be prest downe, with the weight of life.
En.
I dare not enter, a new feare invades me.
Fer.
The worst is welcome, with our clamor, rouse
What ever doth inhabite here, or man
Or beast appeare, if any such dwell in
This Cave? We can meet charity or death.
Enter Dichu.
Dich.
What voice with so much passion calls me forth,
Ha? Be my protection good heaven:
My sonnes, my murder'd sonnes with gastly lookes,
And bruised limbes; why do you come to me thus
To fright my wither'd eyes? 'las I was innocent,
It was the King, not I commanded your
Vntimely death, I have wept for ye boyes,
And constantly before the Sun awak'd,
When the cold dew drops full upon the ground,
As if the morne were discontented too.
My naked feet o're many a rugged stone
For your sad memories.
Fer.
We are no spirits, but your living sons,
Preserv'd without the knowledge of the King,
By Archimagus, till a new mis-fortune
Compell'd us hither to meet death, we feare,
In want of food.
Dic.
Are yee alive? come in,
It is no time to be inquisitive;
My blessing, I have something to refresh you,
Course fare, but such as will keep out sad famine:
Humble your selves and enter, my poore boyes,
You'll wonder at the change; but we to Heaven
Do climb with loads upon our shoulders borne,
Nor must we tread on roses, but on thorne.
Exeunt.
Enter S. Patrick, Queene, Conallus, Emeria.
Pat.
Now we approach the Hermit Dichu's Cell:
Are you not wearie, Madam?
Qu.
Not yet, Father,
In such religious company.
Pat.
You were not
Us'd to this travell; how does my new son,
And sweet Emeria?
Con.
I am blest on all sides.
Em.
You have quieted the tempest in my soule,
And in this holy peace I must be happie.
Pat.
You will be Spouse to an eternall Bridegroome,
And lay the sweet foundation of a rule,
That after ages, with devotion,
Shall praise and follow. You are, Sir, reserv'd
To blesse this Kingdome with your pious government,
Your Crowne shall flourish, and your bloud possesse
The Throne you shall leave glorious: This Nation
Shall in a faire succession thrive, and grow
Up the worlds Academie, and disperse,
As the rich spring of humane and divine
Which shall be proud to owe what they possesse
In learning, to this great all-nursing Iland.
Con.
May we be worthy of this prophesie.
Pat.
Discourse hath made the way lesse tedious,
We have reach'd the Cell already, which is much
Too narrow to containe us; but beneath
These trees, upon their coole and pleasing shades,
You may sit downe; I'll call upon my Convert:
Dichu, my Penitent, come forth, I pray,
And entertaine some guests I have brought hither,
That deserve welcome.
Enter Dichu.
Dic.
I obey that voyce.
Pat.
The Queene, and Prince, and Milcho's vertuous daughter
Gain'd to our holy faith.
Dic.
Let my knee speake
My dutie, though I want words for my joy,
Ten thousand welcomes; I have guests within too,
You'l wonder to salute my sons, not dead,
As we suppose, by heavenly providence,
I hope, reserv'd to be made blest by you,
They are here.
Enter Ferochus and Endarius.
Your duties to the Queene and Prince,
Then to this man, next to our great Preserver.
The Patron of us all.
Pat.
A happie meeting:
I must rejoyce to see you safe, and here:
But tell us by what strange meanes, all this while,
You have been preserv'd? Sit downe.
Soft Musick.
Con.
What musick's this?
Qu.
'Tis heavenly.
Pat.
And a preface to some message,
Or will of Heaven, be silent, and attend it:
Such harmony as this did wait upon
My Angell Victor, when he first appear'd,
And did reveale a treasure under ground,
Unhappie Milcho's swine; Heavens will be done.
What, all asleep already? holy dreames
Possesse your fancie, I can wait no longer.
Enter Victor, and other Angels.
Song.
Vict.
Downe from the skies,
Commanded by the Power that ties
The world and nature in a chaine,
We come, we come, a glorious traine,
To wait on thee,
And make thy person danger-free:
Hearke whilst we sing,
And keep time with our golden wing,
To shew how earth and heaven agree,
What eccho rises to our harmonie.
Vict.
Holy Patrick, sleep in peace,
Whilst I thy Guardian, with these
My fellow Angels, wait on thee,
For thy defence: A troop, I see,
Of serpents, vipers, and what ere
Doth carrie killing poyson, here
Summon'd by Art, and power of hell;
But thou shalt soone their furie quell,
And by the strength of thy command,
These creatures shall forsake the Land,
And creep into the sea; no more
To live upon the Irish shore.
Once more then.
Song.
And wake the Patron of this Ile.
Enter King, Archimagus, and other Priests.
Arc.
Your person shall be safe; feare not, great Sir,
I have directed all their stings and poyson:
See where he sleeps, if he escape this danger,
Let my life, with some horrid circumstance,
End in this place, and carrie all your curses.
What think you of these creeping executioners?
Doe they not move, as if they knew their errand?
Kin.
My Queene! my son Conallus! Dichu! ha!
And the still wandring ghosts of his two sons!
Arc.
They are alive, Sir.
Kin.
Ha, who durst abuse us?
Pr.
Will you not have compassion of the Queene,
And the Prince, Sir?
Kin.
How met they to converse?
Arc.
They are all Christian.
Kin.
Let the serpent then
Feed upon all, my powerfull Archimagus.
Pat.
In vaine is all your malice, Art, and power
Against their lives, whom the great hand of Heaven
Daines to protect; like wolves you undertake
A quarrell with the Moone, and waste your anger:
Nay, all the shafts your wrath directeth hither,
Are shot against a brazen arch, whose vault
Impenetrable, sends the arrowes back,
To print just wounds on your owne guiltie heads.
These serpents, (tame at first and innocent,
Untill mans great revolt from grace releas'd
Their dutie of creation) you have brought,
And arm'd against my life; all these can I
Approach, and without trembling, walk upon;
Play with their stings, which though to me not dangerous,
I could, to your destruction, turne upon
Your selves, and punish with too late repentance.
But you shall live, and what your malice meant,
My ruine, I will turne to all your safeties,
And you shall witnesse: Hence, you frightfull monsters,
Go hide, and burie your deformed heads
For ever in the sea; from this time be
This Iland free from beasts of venomous natures:
The Shepherd shall not be afraid hereafter,
The travellers shall haue no suspition,
Or feare, to measure with his wearied limbs
The silent shades; but walk through everie brake,
Without more guard than his owne innocence.
The verie earth and wood shall have this blessing
(Above what other Christian Nations boast)
Although transported where these Serpents live
And multiply, one touch shall soone destroy 'em.
Leo.
See how they all obey him, Archimagus.
Arc.
Confusion: All my Art is trampled on.
Can neither man, nor beast, nor Devill hurt him?
Support me, fellow-Priests; I sink, I feele
The ground bend with my weight upon it, ha!
The earth is loose in the foundation,
And something heavie as the world doth hang
Upon my feet, and weigh me to the Center.
A fire, a dreadfull fire is underneath me,
And all those fiends that were my servants here,
Look like tormentors, and all seeme to strive,
Who first shall catch my falling flesh upon
Their burning pikes: There is a power above
Our gods, I see too late. I fall, I fall,
And in my last despaire, I curse you all.
Sinks.
Kin.
Patrick, the King will kneele to thee.
Pat.
Oh rise,
And pay to Heaven that dutie.
Kin.
Canst forgive?
Let me embrace you all, and freely give
What I desire from this good man, a pardon.
Thou shalt no more suspect me but possesse
All thy desires. The ground is shut agen:
Where now is Archimagus? How I shake,
And court this Christian out of feare, not love?
Once more visit our Palace, holy Father.
The storie of your sons, and what concernes
I'th' mean time be secure.
End., Fer.
We are your creatures.
Omnes.
Our prayers and duty.
Pat.
I suspect him still;
But feare not, our good Angels still are neer us:
Death at the last can but untie our frailty;
'Twere happy for our holy faith to bleed,
The Blood of Martyrs is the Churches seed.
Exeunt Omnes.
| St. Patrick For Ireland | |