 | A Tragedy called All's Lost by Lvst |  |
Actus quintus.
Enter King Rodorique and Piamentelli.Rod.
Some musique.
Pia.
Musique Sir! tis all untunde,
Remember your proud enemies approach,
And your unreadinesse to entertaine um.
Rod.
If all be set upon a carelesse hazard,
What shall care doe there?
Pia.
Rouze you like a Lion,
And fright this heard of Foxes, Wolves, and Beares,
From daring to come neere you: a Kings eye
Has Magicall charmes in't to binde treason down,
They fight like theeves for spoile, you for your owne:
Rod.
O Piamentelli, theres within my bosome,
An army of Furies mustred, worse than those
Which follow Iulianus: Conscience beats
The Drum of horror up.
Pia.
For what! a Maidenhead!
Pray be your selfe, and justifie the act,
Stand on your guard, and royalize the fact
By your owne dispensation.
Rod.
Goe call our friends together, if we have none,
Hire them with double pay, our selfe will search
And breake those dangerous doores which have so long
Kept Spaine in childish ignorance.
Pia.
O good my Lord,
Forbeare, there's fatall prophesies forbid you.
Rod.
There's fatall fooleries; tell me of prophesies!
Shall feare affright me? no; upon my life
Tis hidden treasure kept for needfull houres,
And now tis come; tis gold must purchase soldiers;
Ope those forbidden doores, goe muster men.
Pia.
This I dread more then all our enemies,
If good proceed from this, no Magick Art
Shall fright me.
Exit.
Rod.
Or good, or bad, Ile throw the dice my selfe,
And take the chance that fals; thou art the first,
Thunder
Hell wakens, yet Ile on, twenty at least
I must passe through before I breake the spell,
If this doore thither lead, Ile enter hell.
Exit.
Thunder and Lightning. Enter Rodorique againe at another doore.
Rod.
So now Ime entred to the fatall chamber,
Shew now thy full effects; ha? what sight's this?
Enter Iulianus, Moore, Iacinta, Antonio, Alonzo, one presenting Rodorique.
Rod.
Tis holliday in hell, the fiends are loose,
I have enfranchiz'd you, thank me Devils;
Was this the fatall incantation
That here was lockt so many fearfull ages,
And was't decreed for me to dislocate?
Fire consume you geomantick Devils,
Where borrowed you those bodies, you damn'd theeves?
In your owne shapes you are not visible,
Or are you yet but fancies imaginarie?
What's he that me presents? I have not lent
My carcas forth, I am not sleeping now,
And my soule straid forth, I am my reall selfe,
Must I be captiv'd by a traitor so?
And such a sooty fiend inherit me?
Iacinta, too, that she-curse, must she have part?
Kneeling to them, here's a solemnity
In the Devils name; goe raigne in Sulphur, or in
Some frozen Labyrinth; this Kingdom's mine:
Thou there that me personat'st, draw forth thy sword,
And brandish't against hell, Ile shew thee how:
Exeunt Shew.
What Magick bindes me? what furies hold mine arme.
Piamentelli, Avilla, none succour me?
Enter Piamentelli.
Pia.
What ayles you Sir?
Rod.
My foes are come upon me.
Pia.
Comming they are, but yet a league distant, Sir,
Rod.
Zounds they are come, and have bin here with me.
Traiterous Iulianus, and his ravisht daughter,
An army of Moores, of Turks and infidels.
Pia.
Your fancies trouble you, they are but comming,
Too neere in that, make up to your souldiers,
Full twenty thousand now will follow you and more.
Rod.
The Moore's a comming, & the devill too that must
Succeed me in my last monarchy, take armes and fight,
The fiends shall know they have not plaid me right.
Exeunt.
Enter Lothario with a halter.
Lo.
O for a private place to bee hang'd in; when all
hope's gone, welcome despaire; which way soever the
day goes, I'me sure this is my way; If the King overcome,
I shall be hang'd for Iacintaes escape, if shee rise, I fall in
recompence of her wrongs. All my griefe is, I want an
heire to have my purse and clothes, one that woud take
the paines for me, an honest hangman were now as good
a Lord, and I woud be loath to dye an executioner.
Enter Clowne.
Iaq.
Murder is come to light; Oh sister how hast thou
overthrowne our honorable house before it was well covered;
oh ambitious sister, halfe a share in a Lord woud
not content thee, thou woud have all or none, now thou
hast none, for thou hast kild thy Lord and husband.
Lo.
I was a Lord, altho a bawdy Lord.
Iaq.
I was a Lords brother, altho a bawdy Lords brother.
Lo.
O Lechery, how hast thou puft mee up and undone
me.
Iaq.
O Lechery, thou hast battend me awhile, and then
spoild me.
Lo.
Ha? what art thou?
Iaq.
Partly honorable, partly miserable.
Lo.
Give me thy hand.
Iaq.
Give me thy halter then.
Lo.
Art thou a hangman then?
Iaq.
I, and a mad one, but now I droope, and am ready
to drop into the budget.
Lo,
Looke here's worke for thee, here's clothes, and
here's mony, wout thou take the paines to hang me?
Iaq.
I have liv'd a Lords brother, and woud be loath to
die a hangman.
Lo.
Doe not desire to die, live till thou diest of thine
owne accord.
Iaq.
Tis my desire, but I want a cord of mine owne,
prethee lend me thine.
Lo.
Let me perswade thee to be charitable to thy selfe,
spare thy selfe, and hang me, I have beene a Pander, knowst
thou what a Pander is?
Iaq.
In briefe a knave; more at large thus;
Hee's a thing that is poore,
He waits upon a whore,
In the streets he goes before,
At the chamber waits at doore,
All his life a runs o'th score,
This I know, and know no more.
Lo.
All this Ile adde to it,
He weares long locks,
And villanous socks,
Many nights in the stocks,
Endures some knocks,
And a many of mocks,
Eates reversions of cocks,
Yet lies in the flocks,
Thrives by the smocks,
And dies with the pox.
All this I have beene, and now desire to be hang'd for't.
Iaq.
What hast thou there?
Lo.
A hundred marks, besides leases, and lands which I
have wickedly gotten, all which I will bestow on thee, if
thou wilt take the paines to hang me.
Iaq:
Hum? my brother is dead, and there is no way to
raise our house agen but by ready money, or credit; the
hangman many times mounts above his betters; well I
will hang, but my conscience beares me witnesse, tis not
for any good will I beare unto thee, nor for any wrong
that I know thou hast committed; but innocently for thy
lands, thy leases, thy clothes, and thy money. And so
come a long with to me the next tree, where thou shalt
hang till thou art dead, and stink above ground.
Lo.
With all my heart, my guts, my lights, my liver,
and my lungs.
Alarum, Excursions. Enter Rodorique and Piamentelli.
Pia.
Fly, fly my Lord.
Rod.
With what wings?
Pia.
With wings of speed,
The barbarous Moore is titled by your name,
The Spanish King; therefore your safest speed
Will be to Biscany, there you may finde
New friends, new safety, and new kingly mindes.
Rod.
There is no friendship where there is no power,
I must crave now, oh poverty most poore,
To beg of them receiv'd mine almes, before.
I have defended them:
Pia.
They'le you releeve.
Rod.
Ile make the proofe: what do you call the man
Whose prowesse in that rightfull victory
Against the Moores did so much honor win?
Pia.
Antonio.
Rod.
He was, and is, and may be, but not long,
This poyson'd Iulianus has batterd him.
Thou art my subject still Piamentelli.
Pia.
Whilst I am Piamentelli.
Rod.
Wert thou gone,
I then might boast, I were a King alone,
For but thy selfe I doe not know one subject,
Then subjects all, since youle not let me die,
Ile seeke a weary life in Biscany.
Exeunt
Enter Moore and Iacinta.
Mo.
Thou mutable peece of nature, dost thou fly me?
Iac.
Th'att frightfull to me.
Mo.
I shall be more frightfull,
If thou repell a proferd arme of love,
There will rebound a hate blacker in Art
Then in similitude; forget me not,
Have not I chac't thy wronger from his ground,
And my triumphant selfe thy conqueror?
I am thy King.
Iac.
Ile feare thee then:
Not love me?
Iac.
The word is poison'd in thy very tongue,
Love thee? as I would love my ravisher.
Mo.
Thy father shall repent.
Iac.
He must, and will,
That ere he freed a captive infidell.
Mo.
Looke for a vengeance.
Exit.
Iac.
Yes, some barbarous one,
Tis naturall to thee, base African,
Thine inside's blacker then thy sooty skin;
Oh Iulianus, what hast thou done? th'ast scap't
The raging Lion, to wrastle with a Dragon,
He woud have slaine with a majesticke gripe,
But this with venome; better had bin thy fate
By him to fall, then thus, by such a helhound.
Enter Moore and Soldiers, with Iulianus.
Mo.
Bring forth that traytor, seaze that lustfull whore.
Iul.
What wilt thou monster?
Iac.
Any thing that's monstrous.
Mo.
Reward a traytor.
Iul.
Traytor?
Mo.
Be thine owne iudge,
What art thou but thy Kings, and Kingdomes ruine?
Was it thy hopes, that ever I should trust thee?
Traytors are poyson'd arrowes drawne to th'head,
Which we shoot home at mischiefe; being struck dead,
Then let the arrow be consumed in fire:
Hast not betrayd thy King and Country basely
Iul.
For thee (ingratefull, villanous Moore) I have,
I have deserv'd to die, but not by thee,
And I beseech thee, bloody Tyrant, hasten
My punishment.
Mo:
That boone is easily granted.
Iul.
Tis now full glory to thee, to strike home
Set the black character of death upon me;
Speake in thy barbarous language, thy last doome,
A tyrants Axe sends me to a blest home.
Mo.
Pluck out his eyes, and her exclaiming tongue,
She shall in silent sorrow then lead him,
Her eyes shall be his starres:
Iul.
O spare her tyrant,
By her offence and wrong thou hast aspirde,
Then tread not on her vertues, 'tis enough
That I doe suffer for the good ill I did
To set thy captiv'd foot above my head:
Oh spare my child.
Iac.
Entreat for me? forbeare Sir,
Either be you dumbe, or let him not heare,
I shall have mentall prayers left for heaven,
Fuller effectuall then this tongue can utter,
And for the author of my wrongs and sinne,
I shall have harty curses left within.
Ex. with Iul. and Iacin.
Enter Margaretta with the body of Lazarello Pedro, and Claveile.
Mar.
O Iustice, Iustice, thou that filst the throne
Of soveraigne Iustice, thou art a severe one,
Give me thy sharpest rigor.
Mo.
Against whom?
Mar.
My selfe, the murdresse of my valiant husband.
Mo.
More fruits of Christians.
Enter Antonio wounded, with Dionysia.
Mar.
Yes, and see, here's more,
Antonios ghost! murdred by me, yet liv'st thou?
Ant.
Revenge and jelousie misled thy arme,
To kill my friend, (my supposde friend) not me;
Thou strangledst Lazarello.
Mar.
O my hard fate?
Ant.
End thy just hate,
For I am parting from thee; see those two
That wrong'd thee are both wounded to the death,
With griefe she, I by poyson lose my breath.
Dio.
Forgive him, but spare not me.
Mar.
How came you wounded?
I clap my hands at this your tragedy,
My birth was base, but my revenge flew high.
Mo.
A noble girle, a lusty stout Virago.
Ant.
Iulianus, for a wrong done to his daughter,
(The fatall Engine that hath beat downe Spaine)
Revolted from his King, and set that Moore up,
Who now insults, being but a captive then,
And cause in honest language I was just
In taxing this revolt of Iulianus,
He bid a soldier kill me, who refusing it,
He himselfe struck me; life was lent thus long.
But for the clensing of my conscience:
I feele deaths pangs, forgive me both, and all,
Let my soule rise, altho my body fall:
With honor I got honor, thus my sinne thrives,
Thus fals the wretched husband of two wives:
Fals.
Dio.
So, here's a brace of widowes now at one windfall,
A wholsome example to all succession;
Let every wise man take heed of two wives,
Tis too great ods, I durst be one of the two
My selfe should break one of the strongest husbands hearts.
What shoud I call thee, widow, shall wee marry one another now,
And beget Chimeraes, I doe not thinke
That ever any one husband dares venture
On us both at once againe.
Mar.
Dost thou play with thunder, or is that thing
Which should supply the place of soule in thee,
Merely phantasticall? are thy passions
Such featherd follies, idle gigglotories?
Dio.
Why? hast never seene the sun-shine of a rainy day?
Who does beleeve a widows teares to be her hearts sorrow?
Are they not then better spar'd then derided?
Let me see then what thou dar'st do with wet eyes,
That I dare not answere with a smiling cheeke?
Mar.
What thou dar'st not second I dare doe.
Dio.
Begin, Ile pledge thee.
Mar.
Thou dar'st not.
Dio.
Try me.
Mar.
Thus then I come to thee Antonio;
Stabs her selfe.
Thou didst forsake me living, being dead
I will enjoy thy monumentall bed.
Kisses him.
Dio.
I, hast thou that resolution?
Me thinkes a woman (as I am) should not out do me,
I must dye one day, and as good this day as another,
Whereabouts is my heart, I thinke all over my body,
I am all heart, and therefore cannot misse,
Some creatures dye singing, why not I merrily,
Make me roome Antonio and Margaretta,
Weele all tumble in one bed together,
Ile lie as close as shee on thy left side,
And have as many kisses too, that's my bargaine;
My sinnes are all upon thy conscience,
But I forgive thee, and heaven be the Clarke to't,
My soule will have free passage, my body I bequeath
To thee Antonio, I am your wife,
And will come to bed to you, thus I make unready,
Thus I lie downe, thus kisse, and this embrace
Ile ever keepe, I am weary now with play,
I needs must sleepe for ever.
Moritur.
Mo.
Excellent pastime.
Iul.
Tis night with me for ever, where's this tyrant?
Turne me but to him, and from these darkned eyes
I shall discover his Cymerian face,
For tho all is darke, yet still that's visible,
And nothing else to me; see rankerous villaine,
Looke what a bloody pageant thou hast made;
I borrow eyes to guide me of my child,
And her Ile lend a tongue to curse thee with.
Mo.
Ha, ha, ha.
Iul.
Thou laughest at misery.
Tis well, thou giuest a grave unto my sorrowes.
Yet wherefore shouldst thou glory in't? this worke
Is none of thine, tis heavens mercifull iustice,
For thou art but the executioner,
The master hangman, and those ministers
That did these bloody ravishments upon's,
Thy second slaves, and yet I more deserve,
I was a traytor to my lawfull King.
And tho my wrongs encited on my rage,
I had no warrant signde for my revenge,
Tis the peoples sinnes that makes tyrants Kings,
And such was mine for thee, now I obey,
But my affliction teaches me too late;
On bloody revenger, finish up my fate.
Mo.
The rest shall noble be, ile not confine
Nor give thee living in captivity,
Thy body shall enjoy the generall prison,
But thy soule set free.
Iul.
Thou art good in that, and noble.
Mo.
Nay it shall nobler be in the performance,
Give him weapons, thou art a soldier,
And shalt end so; Ile be thy opposite,
With ods of eyes, but not of armes, I vow,
If thy darke ayme hit in my face, Ile stand,
And die with thee, if not, fall by my hand.
Thoul't hurt my penitence, for I shall blesse
All the ill deeds that I have done for thee,
In this so noble end,
Mo.
Be prepar'd then.
Iul.
One thing more of thee, be a prophet to me first,
For thou know'st what shall become of my poore Iacinta,
What end to her is fated.
Mo.
Before thy end thou shalt know it.
Iul.
Oh let it noble be, and honourable;
Her life has had too many strokes of sorrowes;
Oh let her end be sparing.
Mo.
It shall be noble too.
Iul.
I beg for her that has no tongue to beg,
And what remaines in my faint yeelding breath,
Shall all be spent in blessings over thee:
Farewell Iacinta, take my latest blessing,
I know thy soule returnes a thanks to me,
Make haste to overtake me, if thou beest stayd,
Thinke of Cleopatra and Brutus wife,
There's many wayes to end a weary life.
Mo.
Come Sir, I stand before you.
Iul.
Thus I come,
Thy death Ile venter, but receive mine owne,
So, I have my doome, and I have hit too.
Mo.
Ha, ha, ha.
Iul.
Laughest thou? I am deluded then.
Mo.
O bloody homicide, thou hast slaine thy daughter.
Iul.
False villaine, hast thou then so mockt my woes,
To make me fatall butcher of my child?
Was she the target to defend thy body?
Forgive me my Iacinta, 'twas in me
An innocent act of blood, but tyranny
In that black monster: 'tis not much ill,
Better my hand then a worse arme should spill
Thy guiltlesse life; what art thou going yet?
Thy warme blood cooles, my sunne begins to set,
Nature shrinkes backward to her former formes,
Our soules climbe stars, whilst these descend to wormes.
Heaven do thy will, I will not cursing die.
morit.
Mo.
So, now we live beholding unto none
Vpon this stayre we do ascend our throne,
Give us our title.
Omn.
Long live Mullimumen King of Spaine.
Mo.
Your silence it confirmes, take hence their bodies,
Give them to Christians, and let them bestow
What ceremonious funerals they please.
We must pursue the flying Rodorique,
All must be ours, weele have no Kingdome sharer,
Let Chroniclers write, here we begin our raigne,
The first of Moores that ere was King of Spaine.
FINIS.
| A Tragedy called All's Lost by Lvst | |