 | King Iohn And Matilda |  |
Actus 4.
Scœna I.
Enter Brand.Bran.
I wonder how my pair of Prisoners fadge?
I am something dogged too a to'ther side,
That thus long have not seen them, nor have they eate
I am sure since they came in; in yon Madams eye
I am as ugly as a Toad, I will see her,
And contemn her—, you and your brat come out,
Ent. Lady and Boy.
Heres meat, I am sure you are hungry.
Boy.
O Mother, will you be sick now?
Mr. Boand hath brought us meat.
La.
Oh on my knee sir
I thank you, not for my want, for I feel
Nature almost quite vanquish'd; but for my Sonne,
He may live long to thank you.
Boy.
Give but my Mother
A little piece of bread, and if I live,
(as yet I may do, if you can be mercifull)
I will tell my Father such good things of you,
He shall return your kindnesse treble back
To your honest bosome; Oh Mother for some bread.
Bra.
Some bread?
Is the next way to want bread; i'faith tell me,
How have you past the time you wanted Victualr?
Lady.
Very hardly,
And still the poor Boy sighing, would say, Mother
You look very hungry, I did think straight how hard
Your heart was, then we both did fall a weeping,
Cling'd our lean armes about each others neck,
And sat a pair of mourners.
Bra.
Delicate pastime, Toads love no other;
Look yee, here is bread.
Boy.
Oh if you be a good man, give me but a bit
To give my Mother, poor soul look how she looks!
Indeed she's very hungry.
Bra.
Yes, so is my Dogge,
Puts it up again.
I must keep this for his breakfast.
La.
Give but my boy one bit,
And the Saints sure will look how good you are,
They will be glad to see you charitable,
And call it excellent compassion.
Bra.
No, cunning from a Toad 'twill poyson him.
Boy.
It will not sir, indeed I am so hungry,
I could eat Rats or Mice.
Bra.
Your to'ther hair braine,
Your wilde mad Sonne, retaines my Lord a Prisoner,
Uses him basely, and you must suffer for't.
Lady.
Give me but Paper, Pen and Inck, i'le wrile,
And charge him to fall down, and lick the dust.
Thy Lord shall set his foot on, I will conjure him:
And woe away his wildnesse by the groars
I suffer'd for him, I'le threaten his denyall
With a Mothers family-consounding curse:
This I will do, or any thing that may
But purchase my poor Boy one bit of bread.
Bra.
No.
La.
O harder then the Rocks, more mercilesse
Then the wilde evening Woolf.
falls.
Mother do not die,
For heavens sake helpe my Mother; Mother look up
And ye shall see me dance, and then the Gentleman
Will sure bestow a piece of bread upon us.
La.
Look here thou Iron-hearted man upon
A palre of piercing miseries.
Bra.
A Scœne of mirth;
I am all hard, the heat of lust which stood
To clip revenge, we stem a stream of blood.
Exit.
Boy.
How do ye Mother?
La.
How doth my Boy.
Boy.
Very sick indeed; but I warrant you are more hungry
Then I a great deale, are you not?
La.
Oh no,
Thou art weake, and famine plaies the Tyrant with thee;
Look here my boy, bite on thy Mothers arme,
The blood will nourish thee.
Boy.
Will your blood nourish me?
La.
Yes, yes, I prethee try.
Boy.
Why should not mine then nourish you? 'tis the same;
Good Mother eat my arme, bite but a bite,
Truly I shall hurt you if I bite yours,
I warrant you'l be better presently.
La.
I shall my Sonne, and so shalt thou, come neere me,
Let us go hand in hand to Heaven.
Boy.
Oh mother, something pinch'd my very heart,
And I shall die, my dear, dear mother.
Dyes.
Lady.
Art thou gone my Sonne?
My soule shall overtake thee: oh friendly death
That gav'st that gripe, sure when thou kill'st the guilty,
Frowns curle ihy angry forehead; but when thou steal'st
Towards innocence, (their pale fears to beguile)
Enter Brand reading a Letter.
Thou deck'st thy lean face with a lovely smile.
Dyes.
Bra.
My Lord recover'd by the valiant King!
In all his battels he is fortunate,
And now tdey shall have meate; ha! meat said I?
I have maide them worms meat;
The building sure will crush me, i'le hast to'th Court,
My Lord here intimates the Kings observance of me,
I must hence; oh guilt, thou draw'st deaths image horrid,
When we begin to like our ills, how sweet a face hath sin!
Which but past by, a cheater she appears,
Joyes are her promise, but she paies us fears.
Exit.
Enter Hubert, Queen, and Matilda, a Gentleman.
Hub.
Your care in the conveyance of Matilda
To this appointed place, the King shall recompence,
With-draw your selfe.
Gent.
I shall my Lord.
Exit.
Qu.
Matilda, where's that spirit that kept thy vertue
Valiant and bold?
Mat.
If vertue so ill pay us,
Who would be vertuous?
Hu.
Vertue! pale poverty
Reproach, disaster, shame sits on her forehead,
Despisings fill her sleeps, ill favour'd injuires
Meet her at every turne, tears are her triumphs,
Her drink affliction, Calumny attends her,
The unclean tongue of slaunder daily licks her
Out of her fashion; but if you be Kings Johns friend—
Mat.
Oh strong temptation.
Qu.
Matilda—
Hub.
You may like
A nimble wind, play on the ruffling bosome
Of that phantastick wood, the world; your sleeps a paradice
hung round with glittering dreames, then your dissemblings
Wil be call'd devotions, your rigged coldly hypocrisie
Religions holy heats, mirth decks the Court daies,
The wanton minutes glide just like a streame,
That clips the bosome of a wealthy meade,
Till't get it great with child, a sweet green blessing.
Consider, 'tis the King.
I, I, the King.
Qu.
Trust not this tempter, lusts irreligious linguist,
Remember vertue is a holy flame,
A sacred inclination of the soul
To all things honest.
Mat.
I can resist no longer,
Oh Hubert, you are a victorious tempter.
Qu.
Can this be possible?
Hub.
Forget not, at the beginning
Of this sweet race, honour hold out for you
A golden Garland.
Qu.
Oh remember,
At the end of chastities white race, an Angell
Holds in his hand (shot through a silver Cloud,)
A Crown for Conquerers.
Hub.
Will ye loose the pleasure that—
Ma.
I, I, those pleasures Hubert, there is a voyce
Of flesh and frailty in me, that still cryes,
Matilda take those pleasures, and I am now
The Kings for ever.
Qu.
Let the Queen then cut from earth
Such a dissembler.
Offers violence to Matil. Hubert stayes her.
Hub.
Nay but you shall not.
Qu.
Shame and death dwell
With a goodnesse so short-liv'd, thou hansome hypocrite,
Thou faith-defrauder, a religious qualme
Crossing the stomack of a seeming Saint,
Which falls straight into humoor, all thy devotions
Prove now but well-clad cheaters of Times Charity,
Thy griefs, and sighs, are but sins crafty games,
Matilda and Hub. whisper.
Their soon spent flashes play like holy flames.
Hub.
It shall be so: to some remote place, shut
from the danger of the angry Queen i'le carry you,
And thither bring the King.
Mat.
I long to see him.
Qu.
Hubert, wilt thou play the Court Camelion,
The perfum'd Pander.
Yes marry will I, Panders have need of perfumes.
Qu.
Oh merry sinne!
We smile towards Hell, but howl when we are in.
Hub.
Name but the place Madam, and religiously I vow,
By th'unstain'd honour of my Name and House,
By the white reputation of a Gentleman,
And as I wish for after happinesse, my care
Shall see it instantly in execution.
Mat.
My Cousen Bruce, Earl Richmond, with the convoy,
The King discomfited, they would madly have carried me
To Dunmow Abbey in fruitfull Essex.
Hub.
S'foot a thousand Kings
could not thence recover ye, but name the place
Whither I shall carry you, good Madam whither?
Mat.
Good Hubert thither.
Falls on her knees.
Hub.
What to a Monastory?
Qu.
Call her dissembling,
No sinne good heaven, for she is still a Saint.
Mat.
Upon my knee I begge it, and every day
When I shall drop a Bead, I'le strongly pray
That you may find a blessing.
Qu.
Hark Hubert.
Hub.
There is something tells me there is honour in it,
To grant her good request.
Mat.
Mark how your Oath ran,
By the honour of your House,
By the white reputation of a Gentleman.
And as you wish for after happinesse.
You'd put my wish in speedy execution.
Oh Hubert mark, he his house pulls down,
That wounds his honour, though to please a Crown,
By Heraul'ds he's a Gentleman maintain'd,
Whose reputations whitenesse stands unstain'd,
And he in after happinesse stands high,
That dares not with a sinne by soveraignty.
Hub.
Excellent Oratory!
Qu.
Hubert, for truths sake.
Oh Hubert, for the glorious Crown of chastity,
Qu.
For the victorious Palme of Wedlock faith,
Mat.
By the immaculate souls of holy Maids,
Qu.
And by the unstain'd truth of honest wives,
Mat.
By the tears of Virgins,
Qu.
By the truth of vertue,
Mat.
Oh now to honour Hubert give thy name,
Sweet blooming vertue knows no blush of shame.
Hub.
The rarenesse of your souls has ravish'd me,
Wee'l change our course, steere through bridge, and so
For Essex and for Dunmow, victorious Maid,
Rhetorick is poor in thy praise, whom a King,
Nor soveraignty, (the soul of womens longings,)
Cannot corrupt!—Oh women! Men-subduers!
Natures extreames! no meane is to be had;
Excellent Good, or infinitely bad!
Ambo.
Most noble Hubert.
Exeunt.
Enter King, Fitzwater, Chester and Oxford.
K.
'Twas well yet that the trick has catch'd this old one,
Where are the rest?
Ches.
Richmond is gone for France,
Leister escap'd to Winsor.
K.
How I thirst
To make mine arms walthy with sweet Matilda.
Fitz.
Oh if a Fathers prayers, an old mans tears,
An injur'd old mans tears, were ever prevalent,
Good heaven keep my Girle a Christall Fort,
Firme and unvuanquish'd.
K.
Hubert my friend now has her:
Will it please the mighty Emperor of the Barrons,
The King may kisse Matilda, she will be here presently,
Then shall the great Fitzwater sit in state,
And see Matilda and the poor King dallie,
And teach the winds to wanton, Hubert now has her,
The faithful'st of my friends, from contrarieties
Sirrah, Chester shall tell me she then frowns, and
Wee'l Court her cheeks into a comely smile;
If she but raise that milkie hill, her breast,
With respirations, Oxford shall swear
it is a sigh, and I will seem to chide
His rashnesse, and protest love rais'd that gale,
Just as her heart for my heart had set sale.
Fitz.
Heare heaven!
K.
Chester shall watch her when she weeps, and tell me
They are Matilda', tears, when I will presently
With a lovers pleasing fervency, protest
They are Pearls, by passion forc'd from Cupids Chest.
Oxf.
But what shall Hubert do,
Your bosome friend?
Ki.
He shall with pretty thwarting passages
(To please Matilda,) seeme to make me angry,
And tell me 'tis impossible now t'obtain her;
Whereupon (impatient, to illustrate love
With a new passion) oh how I will rave!
Misuse him strangely, and close up the sweet Scœne
Upon Matilda's lip.
Enter a Gentleman.
Gent.
Letters from th'Earl Hubert sir,
K.
His name but now,
(Like a beloved passenger,) took leave
Of my unwilling lips, he waits directions
Concerning her from me, good Chester read it,
I cannot read and rejoyce too, Fitzwater
Listen, and rave.
Chester reads.
Letter.
May it please your excellent Majestie, it hath, pleas'd
heaven so throughly to captivate my reason by the potent pleadings
of your vertuous Queene, and unmatch'd Matilda, that I hold it
now impossible for your Majestie ever to obtain her.
K.
Ha!
Fitz.
That last was musick.
K.
Nay kill us all, kills us all; will ye read on sir?
Let.
Briefly, by that time these Letters kisse your Royall hands,
she will be cloysterd up in Dunmow Abbey, and end her dayes a
Vestall, wheither I could not choose but convey her, being thereunto
forcibly charmed by her teares and entreaties, and especially
forc'd by a secret command from heaven to mine owne conscience;
I remaine your most excellent Majesties transgressing servant
Hubert.
K.
Most excellent villaine!
Fitz.
Observe King John, e're heaven will vertue faile,
Contrary meanes, all winds shall fill her saile.
Ches.
How like a Hare, the Greyhounds chaps still at her,
Yet still she scapes! the King is full of tempest.
K.
She's gone for ever.
Oh Hubert let us never meet again,
Never more meet; Fitzwater fetch her but back,
As from the first, so from this Isabell
Wee'l be divorc'd, marry and set Matilda
I'th regall Chaire, the Kings admired Mistresse.
Fitz.
But will ye say and do sir?
K.
Yet there is hope; now by my Crown I will,
We shall be Sonne and Father, thou and I
Will walke upon our Pallace battlements,
And thou shalt carty up a covetous eye,
And thou shalt cast that covetous eye about
The fair, delightful village-spotted valleyes,
Thou shalt stand still, and think, and recollect
The troubl'd longings of thy large desires,
And whatsoever thou shalt aske the King,
(Of all thou see'st) the King shall give it thee.
Fitz.
Well, let one one ride before, and certifie
That we are comming.
K.
Chester, put on wings:
To himselfe.
Thou good old man, the bird that croak'd now sings.
Exeunt.
| King Iohn And Matilda | |