University of Virginia Library

Act III.

Scene I.

Enter Iphigene (as in a Garden)
Iphi.
What have I got by changing place?
But as a wretch which ventures to the Wars,
Seeking the misery with paine abroad,
He found, but wisely thought h'had left at home.
Fortune thou hast no tyranny beyond
This usage.—
(Weepes
Would I had never hop't
Or had betimes dispair'd, let never in
The gentle theife, or kept him but a guest,
Not made him Lord of all.
Tempests of wind thus (as my stormes of griefe
Carry my teares, which should relieve my heart)
Have hurried to the thankelesse Ocean clouds
And showers, that needed not at all the curtesie;
When the poore plaines have languish't for the want,
And almost burnt asunder.—
I'le have this Statues place, and undertake
At my own charge to keepe the water full.—

(Lies down.
Enter Francelia.
Fran.
These fond impressions grow too strong upon me,
They were at first without designe or end;
Like the first Elements, that know not what
And why they act, and yet produce strange things;
Poore innocent desires, journeying they know
Not whether: but now they promise to themselves
Strange things, grow insolent, threaten no rest
Till they be satisfied.
What difference was between these Lords?
The one made love, as if he by assault
Would take my heart, so forc't it to defence;
While t'other blew it up with secret mines,
And left no place for it, here he is.—
Teares steale too from his eyes,
As if not daring to be knowne
To passe that way: make it good, cunning griefe
Thou knowst thou couldst not dresse thy selfe
In any other lookes, to make thee lovely.

(spies Francelia)
Iphi.
Francelia
If through the ignorance of places,
I have intruded on your privacies,
Found out forbidden paths; 'tis fit you pardon, Madam:
For 'tis my melancholly, not I, offends.

Fran.
So great a melancholly would well become
Mischances, such as time could not repaire:
Those of the warre, are but the petty cures
Of every comming hower.—

Iphi.
Why should I not tell her all? since 'tis in her
To save my life; who knowes but she may be
Gallant so far, as to undo her selfe
To make another happy?—Madam,
The accidents of war contribute least
To my sad thoughts, (if any such I have)
—Imprisonment can never be—
Where the place holds what we must love, and yet—

Fran.
My Lord?

Iphi.
In this imprisonment.—

Fran.
Proceed my Lord:

Iphi.
I dare not Madam.

Fran.
I see I do disturbe you, and enter upon secrets—
Which when I know, I cannot serve you in them.

Iphi.
Oh most of any
You are the cause of all.

Fran.
I my Lord?

Iphi.
You Madam—you alone.

Fran.
Alas! that 'tis too soone to understand.

Iphi.
Must not you marry Almerin?

Fran.
They tell me 'tis design'd.

Iphi.
If he have you, I am for ever lost

Fran.
—Lost?
The Heavens forbid they should designe so ill!
Or when they shall, that I should be the cause.

Iphi.
Ha! her eyes are strangely kind,
Shee prompts me excellently,
Stars be propitious, and I am safe.
—A way I not expected.

Fran.
His passion labours for vent.

Iphi.
Is there a hope you will not give your selfe
To Almerin?

Fran.
My Lord this ayre is common,
The walkes within are pleasanter.—

(Exit.
Iphi.
—Invitation!
God of desires, be kind, and fill me now
With language; such thou lend'st thy Favourites,
When thou wouldst give them easie victories:
And I forgive thee, all thy cruelties.—

(Exit. after.
Enter Pallatine of Trock, Menseck, Almerin, Brennoralt, Lords.
Mens.
—Consider too, that those
Who are necessitated to use violence,
Have first been violent by necessity.

Pall.
—But still you judge not right
“Of the Prerogative; “For oft it stands
“With Pow'r and Law, as with our Faith and Reason:
“It is not all against, that is above. (my Lord.)

2. Lord.
You Lithuanians had of all least reason;
For would the King be unjust to you he cannot:
Where there's so little to be had.—

Almer.
Where there is least, there's liberty (my Lord.)
And 'tis more injurie to pull haires
From the bald, then from the bushy heads.

(They go off talking.
Pall. of Tro.
Brennoralt—a word
(Trock puls Brennoralt.
My Lord, the world hath cast its eye upon you,
And mark'd you out one of the formost men:
Y'have busied fame the eareliest of any,
And send her still on errands.
Much of the bravery of your nation,
Has taken up it's lodging in you.
And gallant men but coppy from you.

Bren.
'Tis goodly language this, what would it meane?

Pall. of Tro.
The Lithuanians wish you well, and wonder
So much desert should be so ill rewarded.

Bren.
Good.

Pall.
While all the guifts the Crown is Mistris of,
Are plac'd upon the empty—

Bren.
Still I take yon not.

P.
Then to be plaine; our Army would be proud of you:
Pay the neglected scores of merit double.
All that you hold here of command, and what
Your fortune in this Sigismund has suffer'd,
Repaire, and make it fairer then at first.

Bren.
How?
Then nothing, Lord; trifle below ill language:
How came it in thy heart to tempt my honour?

Pall.
My Lord?

Bren.
Do'st thinke 'cause I am angry
With the King and State sometimes
I am fallen out with vertue, and my selfe?
Draw, draw, or by goodnesse—

P.
What meanes your Lordship?

Bren.
Draw I say.
—He that would thinke me a villaine, is one:
And I do weare this toy, to purge the world
Ent. K of Pol. Lords, Melid. Miesla.
Of such. Th'have sav'd thee, wert thou good natur'd
Thou wouldst love the King the better during life.

K.
If they be just, they call for gracious answers:
Speedy, (how e're) we promise.

(They all kisse the Kings hand.
All.
Long live great Sigismond.

Bren.
—The Lithuanians Sir,
Are of the wilder sort of creatures, must
Be rid with Cavilons, and with harsh curbs.
And since the war can only make them tride,
What can be used but swords? where men have fal'ne
From not respecting Royalty, unto
A liberty of offending it: what though
Their numbers (possibly) equall yours Sir?
And now forc't by necessity, like Catts
In narrow roomes, they fly up in your face?
Thinke you Rebellion and Loyalty
Are empty names? and that in Subjects hearts
They don't both give, and take away the courage?
Shall we beleeve there is no difference
In good and bad? that there's no punishment,
Or no protection? forbid it Heaven!
If when great Polands honour, safety too,
Hangs in dispute, we should not draw our Swords,
Why were we ever taught to weare 'em Sir?

Mi.
This late commotion in your Kingdom Sir,
Is like a growing Wen upon the face,
Which as we cannot looke one but with trouble,
So take't away we cannot but with danger.
War there hath foulest face, and I most feare it
Where the pretence is fair'st. Religion
And Liberty, most specious names, they urge;
Which like the Bils of subtle Mountebankes,
Fill'd with great promises of curing all,
—Though by the wise,
Pass'd by unread as common cosenage,
Yet, By th'unknowing multitude they're still
Admir'd, and flock't unto.—

K.
Is there no way
To disabuse them?

[Melid]
All is now too late.
“The vulgar in Religion are like
“Unknown Lands; those that first possesse them, have them.
Then, Sir, consider, justnesse of Cause is nothing:
When things are risen to the point they are;
'Tis either not examin'd or beleev'd
Among the Warlike.—
The better cause the Grecians had of Yore,
Yet were the Gods themselves divided in't;
And the foule ravisher found as good protection
As the much injur'd husband.—
Nor are you Sir assur'd of all behinde you:
For though your Person in your Subjects hearts
Stands highly honour'd, and belov'd, yet are
There certaine Acts of State, which men call grievances
Abroad; and though they bare them in the times
Of peace, yet will they now perchance, seeke to
Be free, and throw them off. “For know Dread Sir,
“The Common People are much like the Sea,
“That suffers things to fall and sinke unto
“The bottome in a Calme, which in a Storme
“Stird and inraged, it lifts, and does keep up
Then; Time distempers cures more safely Sir,
Then Physick does, or instant letting-bloud:
Religion now is a young Mistris there,
For which each man will fight, and dye at least;
Let it alone a while, and 'twill become
A kind of marry'd wife: people will be
Content to live with it in quietnesse.
(If that at least may be) my voyce is therefore Sir,
For Peace.—

Mies.
Were Sir the question simply War or Peace,
It were no more then shortly to be askt,
Whether we would be well or ill:
Since War the sicknesse of the Kingdome is,
And Peace the health: But here I do conceive
'Twill rather lye, whether we had not better,
Endure sharpe sicknesse for a time, to enjoy
A perfect strength, then have it languish on us:
For Peace and War in an incestuous line,
Have still begot each other.—
Those men that highly now have broke all Lawes,
(The great one only 'tis 'twixt man and man)
What safety can they promise, though you give it?
Will they not still suspect, (and justly too)
That all those civill bonds (new made) should be
Broken againe to them? so being still
In feares and jealousies themselves, they must
Infect the People: “For in such a case
“The private safety is the publike trouble.
Nor will they ever want Prætext; “Since he
“That will maintaine it with his Sword hee's iniur'd,
“May say't at any time—
Then Sir, as terrible as war appeares,
My vote is for't; nor shall I ever care
How ugly my Physitians face shall be,
So he can doe the cure.

Lord.
In entring phisique,
I thinke, Sir, none so much considers
The Doctors face, as his owne body.
To keep on foot the warre with all your wants,
Is to let bloud, and take strong potions,
In dangerous sicknesse.

K.
I see, and wonder not to finde, my Lords,
This difference in opinion; the subject's large:
Nor can we there too much dispute, where when
We erre, 'tis at a Kingdomes charges; Peace
And warre are in themselves indifferent,
And time doth stamp them either good or bad:
But here the place is much considerable;
“Warre in our owne is like to too much heate
“Within, it makes the body sicke; when in
“Another Countrey, 'tis but exercise;
“Conveighs that heat abroad, and gives it health.
To that I bend my thoughts; but leave it to
Our greater Councell, which we now assemble:
Meane time exchange of pris'ners only we
Assent unto—

Lord.
Nothing of Truce Sir?

[K.]
No: wee'l not take up
Quiet at int'rest: Perfect Peace, or nothing.
“Cessations for short times in warre, are like
“Small fits of health, in desp'rate maladies:
“Which while the instant paine seemes to abate,
“Flatters into debauch and worse estate.—

Exeunt.
Enter Iphigene as leading to her chamber Francelia; Servants with lights; Morat, and another Souldier.
Iph.
I have not left my selfe a faire retreate,
And must be now the blest object
Of your love, or subject of your scorne.

Fran.
I feare some treacherie;
And that mine eyes have given intelligence.
Unlesse you knew there would be weak defence,
You durst not thinke of taking in a heart,
As soone as you set downe before it.

Iph.
Condemne my Love not of such fond ambition,
It aymes not at a conquest,
But exchange, Francelia—

(whisper.
Mor.
They're very great in this short time.

Sol.
'Tis ever so:
Young and handsome
Have made acquaintances in nature:
So when they meet, they have the lesse to doe.
It is for age or uglines to make approaches,
And keep a distance.

Iph.
When I shall see other perfection,
Which at the best will be but other vanity,
Not more, I shall not love it—

Fran.
'Tis still one step not to despaire, my Lord.

Exeunt Iphig. Fran. servants.
Morat.
Doest thinke he will fight?

Sold.
Troth it may be not:
Nature, in those fine peeces, does as Painters;
Hangs out a pleasant Excellence
That takes the eye, which is indeed,
But a course canvas in the naked truth,
Or some slight stuffe.

Morat.
I have a great minde to taste him.

Sold.
Fy! a Prisoner?

Morat.
By this hand if I thought—
(Enter Iphig: waiting woman comming after him.
He courted my Coronels Mr s in earnest.

Wom.
My Lord, my Lord,
My Lady thinks the Gessimine walks
Will be the finer, the freshnes
Of th'morning takes of the strength
O'th' heate she sayes.

Iph.
'Tis well.

Mor.
Mewe—doe it so? I suspect vildly,
Wee'l follow him, and see if he be
So farre quallified towards a souldier,
As to drinke a crash in's chamber—

(Raguelin puls the waiting woman backe.
R.
Where are those keyes?

Wom.
Harke you, I dare not doe it.

R.
How?

Wom.
My Lady will finde—

R.
Scruples?
Are my hopes become your feares?
There was no other way I should be any thing
In this lewd world,—and now—
'Sfoot, I know she longs to see him too.

Wom.
Does she?

R.
Doe you thinke he would desire it else?

Wom.
I, but—

R.
Why, let me secure it all.
I'le say I found the Keyes, or stole them: Come—

Wom.
Well, if you ruine all now—
Here, these enter the garden from the works,
That the privy walks and that the backe staires.
Then you know my chamber.

R.
Yes I know your chamber.—

Exeunt
Enter Brennoralt.
Bren.
He comes not.
One wise thought more, and I returne:
I cannot in this act seperate the foolish
From the bold so farre, but still it tasts a' th, rash.
Why let it taste, it tasts of love too;
And to all actions 't gives a pretty rellish, that.

Enter Raguelin.
Rag.
My Lord?

Bren.
Oh—here.

Rag.
'Sfoot y'are upon our Centries.
Move on this hand.—

Exeunt.
Enter (agen) Bren. and Rague.
Bren.
Where are we now?

Ra.
Entring part of the Fort,
Your Lordship must be wet a little.—

Exeunt.
Enter (againe.)
Bren.
Why are there here no guards?

Ra.
There needs none:
You presently must passe a place,
Where one's an Army in defence,
It is so steep and strait.

Bren.
'Tis well.

Ra.
These are the steps of danger;
Looke to your way my Lord.

Bren.
I doe not find such difficulty.

Francelia (as in a bed.)
Bren.
Waite me here abouts—
(he drawes the curtaines.
So Misers looke upon their gold,
Which while they joy to see, they feare to loose:
The pleasure of the sight scarse equalling,
The jealousie of being dispossest by others;
Her face is like the milky way i'th' skie,
A meeting of gentle lights without name.
Heavens! shall this fresh ornament
Of the world; this precious lovelines
Passe with other common things
Amongst the wasts of time, what pity 't were.

(She wakes.
Franc.
Blesse me!
Is it a Vision, or Brennoralt?

Bren.
Brennoralt, Lady.

Franc.
Brennoralt? innocence guard me;
What is 't you have done my Lord?

Bren.
Alas I were in too good estate,
If I knew what I did.
But why aske you Madam?

Fran.
It much amazes me to thinke
How you came hither.
And what could bring you to indanger thus
My honour, and your owne life?
Nothing but saving of my brother
Could make me now preserve you.

Bren.
Reproach me not the follies, you your selfe:
Make me commit—
I am reduc'd to such extremity,
That love himselfe (high tyrant as he is)
If he could see would pity me.

Fran.
I understand you not.

Bren.
Would heaven you did, for 't is a paine to tell you:
I come t'accuse you of injustice (Madam)
You first begot my passion, and was
Content (at least you seem'd so) it should live;
Yet since would ne're contribute unto it,
Not looke upon't, as if you had desired,
Its being for no other end; but for
The pleasure of its ruine—

Fran.
Why doe you labour thus to make me guilty of
An injury to you, which when it is one,
All mankinde is alike ingag'd, and must
Have quarrell to me?

Bren.
I have done ill; you chide me justly (Madam)
I'le lay 't not on you, but on my wretched selfe.
For I am taught that heavenly bodies
Are not malicious in their influence,
But by the disposition of the subject.
They tell me you must marry Almerin:
Sure such excellence ought to be
The recompence of vertue;
Not the sacrifice of Parents wisedome,
Should it not Madam?

Fran.
'Twould injure me, were it thought otherwise.

Br.
And shall he have you then that knew you yesterday?
Is there in martyrdome no juster way?
But he that holds a finger in the fire
A little time, should have the Crowne from them
That have indur'd the flame with constancy?

Fran.
If the discovery will ease your thoughts
My Lord; know Almerin is as the man
I never saw.

[Bren.]
You doe not marry then?
Condemned men thus heare, and thus receive
Repreeves. One question more, and I am gone.
Is there to latitude of eternity
A hope for Brennoralt?

Fran.
My Lord?

Bren.
Have I a place at all,
When you doe thinke of men?

Fran.
My Lord, a high one,
I must be singular did I not value you:
The world does set great rates upon you,
And you have first deserv'd them.

Bren.
Is this all?

Fran.
All.

Bren.
Oh be lesse kinde, or kinder:
Give me more pity, or more cruelty, Francelia.
I cannot live with this, nor die—

Fran.
I feare my Lord,
You must not hope beyond it.

Bren.
Not hope? This, sure, is not the body to
(views himselfe.
This soule; it was mistaken, shufled in
Through haste: Why (else) should that have so much love,
And this want lovelinesse, to make that love
Receiv'd?—I will raise honour to a point,
It never was—do things
(studies.
Of such a vertuous greatnesse she shall love me.
She shall—I will deserve her, though
I have her not: There's something yet in that.
Madam, wilt please you, pardon my offence?
—(Oh Fates!
That I must call thus my affection!)

Fran.
I will doe any thing so you will thinke
Of me, and of your selfe (my Lord) and how
Your stay indangers both—

[Bren.]
Alas!
Your pardon is more necessary to
My life, then life to me: but I am gone.
Blessings, such as my wishes for you, in
Their extasies, could never reach, fall on you.
May ev'ry thing contribute to preserve
That exc'lence (my destruction) till't meet joyes
In love, great as the torments I have in't.

Exit.