University of Virginia Library

Actus 5.

Scœna I.

Enter King and Fitzwater, Oxford meeting them.
K.
These are the Abby walls, Oxford what news?

Ox.
Matilda is afraid to venture forth,
But on yon battlements it was her promise,
Ent. Abbess and Matilda above.
With the Lady Abbess to appear—and see sir.

K.
Give us leave: Oh were that habite
Not so unkind, a foe to faire increase,
I'de call it then celestiall, and swear
A bright star mov'd in that immaculate spheare:
Matilda! Mistresse of many Graces!
And lovely as the blush that breaks the day!
Cast thy commanding eyes upon a King,
Whom love hath made a begger;

Ab.
Why hunts the King
With such a violent poursuit, a chaste Dove,
That hath given up her name to heaven, and stands
White as her spotlesse vesture.

Fitz.
Lady Abbesse,
Pray give me leave, and hearken my Matilda,
I bring thee golen news my Girle, we have cast
An ill-becomming Calumnie upon
The Kings love all this while; for he protests
To be divorc'd from Isabell the Queene,
And by marriage set thee in his Bed,
A plant to spring and prosper; women naturally
Do affect soveraignty; wilt thou runne retrograde
In this faire Zodiack? though all wayes yet
Have fail'd, this will take I am sure.

To the King.
Mat.
Who hath taught my Father
To turn Apostate to that integrity
Slept in his noble breast? through a divorce
I run to golden ruine; the King marry me?

K.
And make thee Queen of him, and two large Kingdoms,
The Christian world when they shall hear, shall wonder,
And magnifie in their abundant praises,
The glory of our Marriage.

Mat.
Oh my Lord, here I can call necessity,
Excellent Physick for a vast desire,
Our wants are holy waters, cast on lust's fire.

Fitz.
Oh brave, brave Girle!
That I had thee here to buss thee,
Her very breath did smell of heaven.

K.
Matilda!

Fitz.
I have found thee Gold my Girle,
These are glorious wrestlings,
Celestial struglings; passion of me, that joy
Should carry Aprill eyes.

weeps.
K.
Matilda, Look upon thy soveraigne courting,
Thy cruelty with a paire of wooing eyes,
Labouring for mercy.

Eitz.
No, no, Matilda, look upon thy soveraigne,
Thy chastity with tempting wanton eyes,
Labouring in lust.

K.
Thou man of rude defects, let me alone.

Fitz.
Thou man of wilde desires, let me alone.

K.
Ha!

Fitz.
Tut, tut, I know whose Cause I have in hand,
And neither ha's nor hems can fright plain Robin,
The wound that foolish love-Boy there (what call ye him?)
Had struck your heart with, because your smooth tongue,
You could not come to supple it, as the Dog does his foot,
With fair fine words you could lick me, and then
Lift me to stroak it, and heale it by Atturney,
He steers not steddy thae delights to roame,
Craft sets out swift, but ever comes short home:
I tell ye truth I.

K.
Abbesse, deliver up Mattlda,
Or with an Army fill'd with Ruffians, Ravishers,
The very Sonnes of darknesse, we will levell
This building to the bottome.

A.
We know the King,
(Being reconcil'd unto his mother Church,)
Cannot conceive such out-rage.

Appears passionate
Fitz.
Now ye stamp, do ye.

Mat.
Father farewell, and to my Lord my King,
The service of his most obsequious Hand-maid,;
And good your Maiestie be pleas'd to remember,
How excellently-admirable your Crown
Will then become ye, when you shall cast off
The habite of your passions, I will pray for you sir,
And if't be possible with prayers and teares,
Quench your desires, and fortifie my feares.

Exe.
Fitz.
A Fathers blessing, like a welcome cloud
With child of friendly showers, hover o're thy goodnesse,
And keep it evergreen—; she is gone sir.

K.
Go thou and runne into the Sea.

Fitz.
Ha, ha, So the great Emperor of the Barrons,
As you cal'd him,
May come out again i'th guts of a poor John:
No, no, I will live and laugh, you would have made her
The mistresse of the King, and she is married
To the Kings Master, oh to the noblest King
Poore supplicant ever kneel'd to, to your King,
And her King, and to my King she's married;
Oh married, married, let the Satyrs dance it,
The sweet Birds sing it, let the winds be wanton,
And as they softly with an evening whisper,
Steal through the curl'd locks of the lofty woods,
Let them in their sweet language seem to say,
This, this was chaste Matilda's Marriage day.
Exit Fitz.

K.
It is resolv'd irrevocable; who waits?

Enter Chester.
Ches.
Sir?

Enter Confessor.
K.
Have an eye apon that Fox; where's our Confessor?

Con.
Attending sir.

K.
Your ear—do this,

Con.
I shall sir.

K.
And hark you, without all expostulation, speedily
Make Brand the Instrument.

Con.
I shall not fail sir.

Exit.
K.
All my blood turns, she is now past all recovery;
Oh day draw in thy light, Time do not keep
This Deed for story; Memory fall asleep
In black oblivions Cavern; let this day
Still skip the Kalend, and be wip'd away
From all discourse; oh let no chaste Maid.
(Remembring how Matilda was betray'd,)
With bitter teares, curse the too cruell King;
No Satyr dance this day, no sweet bird sing,
But let the Raven and Scretch-Owl cry,
Matilda the chaste Maid, must this day dye.

Exit.
Enter Brand and the Abbesse reading a Letter.
Lett.

Madam, These are to giye you to understand, that instantly,
and without any the least expostulation, you see convey'n into the
outward Garden adjoyning to the Abby, your new Votary Matilda,
that the bearer (this Gentleman) may without the least interception,
have freedome of accesse unto her; let this from me be your
safety, and forget not, the wills of Princes are indisputable—

Ab.
No, no, no cloud of niceness, order, or regularity,
Must intercept this Mandate; Sir, the Kings will,
The Confessors advertizement, and your hopes,
Shall meet this minute; but vertue is I hope
The Rudder of your voyage.

Bra.
I tell you Madam, 'tis unspotted truth,
The King is chang'd so excellent, such a lover
Now of Matilda's noble constancy,
That therefore as his (Confessor there certifies,)
Your duty is expected
To work my admittance to her, which is onely
To let her know, how heartily his Majestie
Admires and commends her.

Ab.
Tis a joyful hearing,
Enter Matilda.
See where she walks, souls so heavenly simple,
It seems the Court digests not, and (being cloy'd,)
Commends them to the Cloyster.

Exit.
Bra.
And she be so simple,
She's the fitter for the Saints, things I near think of,
Unlesse to stuffe our similies—excellent Lady.
There's such a deale of heaven in her face,
It makes my black soul tremble—excellent Lady,

Ma.
Your will sir.

Bra.
To let you understand the will of him,
Whose will the will of heaven hath new made;
Thus said King John in briefe, tell that sweet Saint,
(And there he wept as I do at the though on't)
weeps.
The immaculate Mistresse of my dear devotions.
The King by this (with her eye not unacquainted)
Commends to her his hate of all that love,
The feavor of his blood contaminated:
Oh tell her (and he sigh'd there bitterly)
That as I was her tempter, I am now
Mine own despiser; as mine own despiser,
I will remain her vertues strong admirer;
And there just thus he kist it—if't chance, quoth he,
Her gentle lip return the Kings chaste meaning,
Mark but which place of this (then happy (Glove
Receives that heavenly print, and bring it back,
That my lips there (like a paire of willing Pilgrims)
May pay my hearts devotions. This was all,
And this, his Glove, the Token.

Mat.
Excellence Change!
Heaven now hath heard my praiers, return his goodnesse;
I am sorry thou hast kist the Glove before me,
For feare thy lips have lay'n where the Kings did,
And cosen'd mine of that grace fell from them,
When he spake things thus good, Give me the Glove.

Bra.
Ha:

He looks towards the Garden door, and whilst she turns her self that way, he changes the Glove, and gives her the other poyson'd.
Mat.
Thy looks made me beleeve, that some were coming.

Bra.
No Madam, I have cosen'd you, 'twas but the wind.

Mat.
No wind shall keep my duty from his Majestie
With my observance; say thus, I return'd
Kisses the poyson'd Glove.
My love of his great goodnesse; and if he aske thee
How I receiv'd the news of his rare change,
Say, as a teeming soyle after a drought,
Welcomes a wish'd for shower: what a strange sent
Strongly beats up into my braines, while I hold this Glove
So neer my breast! thou art not honest sure?

Bra.
Neer death we prophesie, and 'tis so sure,
You cannot breath three minutes.

Mat.
Ha!

Bra.
Tis neatly don, and there's no dallying,
I know 'tis strong and swift, as by a Glove
You were carryed from your Fathers to this Cloyster,
So by a Glove you are from this Cloyster sent
To the chaste Court of Saints.

Mat.
Heaven! is this right?

Bra.
No, 'twas a left-handed Glove, look ye,
I kist the right and cosen'd you,
So that a sinister act with a left-handed Glove, very prettily
Imports a wittynesse in wickednesse.

Mat.
Thou art a merry murderer, the King was wont
To call me friend; oh if he bestowes
On's friends such guifts, what sends he to his foes?
Uncharitable love-token; oh what harsh hand
Temperd this dram of death.

Bra.
I could do't no better.

Mat.
Mercilesse man, Tygers to thee are tame;
Oh cozening Crocadile, that with thy tears couldst take me!
How wilt thou howse
When thou and I meet next? when I shall sit
Above my sufferings, then will my blood be
A cloud betwixt eternity and thee.

Bra.
Clouds? yes, much clouds.

Mat.
There was the last call; to the King, commend me,
And tell him, when in stories he shall stand,
When men shall read the Conquerors great name,
Voluptuous Rusus, that unkind brother Beauclark,
Comely King Steven, Henry the Wedlock-breaker,
And Lyon-hearted Richard; when they come
unto his name, with sighs it shall be said,
This was King John—the murderer of a Maid;
Oh tell him I am past his strong temptations,
And though wild burning back'd his hot desire,
Like perfect Gold I did out-live the fire.

Dyes.
Bra.
She's dead and I must shift for one,
I heare some trampling,
Enter young Bruce.
What's he has leap'd the Garden walls? has a wenching look,
And should be a good Vaulter, guilty knaves make excellent
Eves droppers, and I love to sound strange bosomes, I will lye
To see and heare, and yet not heard nor seen,

stands aside.
Y. Bru.
Here rumour gives, my cousin, chaste Matilda
To live a Votary: ha! on the ground!
Murder'd most certainly, and so warme, that yet
The murderer at my approach, may lurk
About the Garden, for through the Abbey tis
Impossible to passe; oh my griev'd blood,
Who made it so unfortunate to be good.

Bra.
He mumbles something to himselfe.

Y. Bru.
This parallels my Mother and my Brother:
Ha! something stirs i'th Grove, passion I know thee not,
With a new art we must catch old Blood-hounds: well,
Although I am the Kings well-wishing friend,
And have rais'd forces for his part at Winsor,
Yet with my heart I am glad, a friendly hand
Hath made thee happy.

Bra.
S'foot this is one of our side,
But it seems he knows not twas the Kings injunction.

Y. Bru.
Now businesse will be minded, state affairs,
With vigilance effected, which before
Were so intangled in your hair forsooth,
Suiters could find no end of their beginnings.

Bra.
By this light I have done a good deed.

Y. Bru.
Thou honest soul,
That (by the heat of thy happy hany-work,)
Canst not I am sure but be in hearing; If
My irregular start (upon private necessity)
Frighted thee off, be not asham'd to let
Thy unknown friend possesse thee.

Bra.
Oh braze young spark.

Y. Bru.
Or if thy modesty must keep thee off,
So well I love thy work (and as I the Kingdom)
Let this Purse of Gold, this Diamond fasten'd to't,
Tell thee thy friend was here, if thould'st know him,
He is a kinsman to the Earl of Chester;
And because thou shalt not doubt thy friends fair meanings,
I will return the way I came, although
With danger to my person.

Bra.
Here is one sir, wishes better to his friends.

Y. Bru.
What art thou?

Shewes himselfe.
Bra.
One that will take your honoorable Purse,
And yet passe quit at the Common Law.

Y. Bru.
Wert thou the expert Master of this peece.

Bra.
You being kinsman to my Lord and Master,
(Who ever hated this blood;) I dare tell you,
I practis'd first a businesse late at Winsor,
Upon a Mother and her Sonne—

Y. Bru.
Hold heart, old Bruces Lady,
And the brat her Sonne?
Wer't thou the happy instrument
To cut these Houses down? didst thou do that?

Bra.
It would deserve (well priz'd) another Purse sir.

Y. Bru.
Gold must not part us, didst do't?

Gives him more Gold.
Bra.
Both that and this, by this stand sir.

Y. Bru.
Sonne of the Devill have I found thee?

Bra.
Sure he knows me.

Y. Bru.
Fool, dost thou draw a sword;
What a loud lye thou dost give heaven, to think
A sword can shield the guilty, look here villaine
Upon my horrid point, where death in tempest
And whirle-winds, stares upon thee, thou murderer:
Of my Mother, Brother, and my Kinswoman.

Bra.
S'root here was a Purse with a bob at the end ont,
Pray take your Purse againe.

Y. Bru.
Toad, I will take thy heart first.

Bra.
I deny nothing then,
Resolution crowns my craft; for those at Winsor,
(Let me free the King.) I famish'd them, because
Your Mother was too coy, you may guess the rest;
For this it was King Johns injunction,
And I have done it daintily by this light.

Y. Bru.
By darknesse and her Angels,
Thy near kinsmen,
Thou shalt not live five minutes for't.

They fight, Brand falls, young Bruce keeps him down.
Bra.
O sir, what mean ye?

Y. Bru.
To aske thee for a Mother, a sweet Brother,
A chaste kinswoman; oh that thou couldst be
Ten daies a dying; Slave! i'le stick thy Trunck
So thick with wounds, it shall appear a Book
Full of red Letters,
Characters of thy cruelty

stabs him.
Bra.
This is no bleeding moneth sir.

Y. Bru.
Thou lyest, look yonder;
There lyes mine Almanack, a celestiall body,
Points to Matilda's Course.
Whose revolution, period, pale aspect,
All tell me 'tis high time that thou shouldst bleed.

Stabs.
Bra.
Oh.

Y. Bru.
Thy veines are all corruption,
Toads belch not fouler;
And should thy Trunck be thrown upon a dunghill,
(As it deserves no better buriall)
The sent would poyson swine, the very dogs
Would with howlings fly as from a mid-night fiend,
And every Raven that should feast upon't,
Would seek forsaken Deserts, and there die
Full of infection.

Stabs.
Bra.
Oh that last has finish't me,
And where I go I know not, a bloody Cloud
Hath hid heaven from me like a purple shrowd.

Dyes.
Y. Bru.
Feast thou the Crows,
This body i'le convey to Winsor, where my Mother,
And my sweet murther'd Brother, wee'l expose
(As spurs of righteous vengeance) to all eyes;
Conscience, and Blood, are strong incessant cryes.

Exit.
Enter King and Lords below, old Bruce, Leister Oxford and Fitzwater above.
Charge.
K.
You Sonnes of death and disobedience;
Why is the King kept out?

Ol. Bru.
You shall know sir;
Is't not enough the whole Lands Liberties
Lye yet a gasping by your head strong passions,
Wounded by your neglect, but through blood
D'ee chase your vast desires, my Wife and Sonne sir.

K.
A game as we are Prince, in our Royall word,
The villaine past our precept.

Ol. Bru.
As you past heavens
In your bloody masquing night at Baynards Castle,
When all the floores, and the white walls wore bloody
Deep crimson blushes, to behold a Prince
In blood pursue his passions.

K.
Bar'd out and brav'd,
You bate and chafe a Lyon; bring old Fitzwater,
Thou Bruce and grumbling Leister, either speedily
Give up the Castle, and upon your knees
Fall to the mercy you have scorn'd, or here
Before a paire of minutes passe, the sword
Of incens'd justice shall even in your eyes,
Leave this old Rebell headlesse.

Fitz.
Now by the blood
I lost in holy Palestine with Richard,
Oh that right reall Souldier! King John I sweare,
That foul-word Rebel has unrivited
The bars of reason, and made me very angry;
Is it to take truths part to be a Rebel?
To ease my groaning Country, is that Rebellion?
To preserve the unstain'd honour of a Maid,
(And that maid my daughter) to preserve your glory,
That you stand not branded in our Chronicles,
By the black name of Wedlock-breaker; is this
(Good, heaven!) is this Rebellion? Come, come, the Axe;
Oh that wrong'd soul to death so falsely given,
Ent. Mowbray
Flies sweetly singing her own truth to heaven.

Mow.
Stand on your guard sir,
Young Bruce with twenty thousand
Strong able men from Cambridge and Essex,
With a speedy march, and with as dreadful threatnings,
Comes thundering towards Winsor, all his Ensigns
Crimson and black, which in their wanton wavings,
Cry to the frighted Country (as he marches)
Nothing but blood and death.

Ol Bru.
Oh noble Sonne of a murpered Mother.

Leis.
Honourable young man.

K.
Draw up our forces like a pair of angry winds,
That have got a hollow Cloud with child of tempests,
Wee'l make the valleyes tremble.

Enter Chester.
Ches.
Resist now sir,
Or the whole Kingdome trembles, Lewis the Dolphines
By th'politique working of ingenius Richmond,
(Who was sent for him) with six hundred sayle,
And fourscore Flat-boats is let in at Dover,
Subduing as they march, and the Towns willingly
Giving them way; they have reach'd Rochester,
And if a speedy swift prevention meet not,
They will for London certainly.

Leis.
Now John thy Crown sits quivering.

Ches.
These here so resolute—

Mow.
Young Bruce so potent—

Oxf.
And which strikes deepe, a factious forraigne foot
Upon our earth, 'tis a dangerous triplcity,
So that our Forces were they three times trebl'd,
(Distracted with a division thus trianguler)
Cannot promise safety.

K.
Take it not Time, for now
The goodliest Oak in the whole wood must bow.

Fitz.
Oh that was very well said sir, nor shall ye bow,
But unto heaven and vertue, for Kings have boasted
To be her servants; oh in this tempest sir,
Give her the helme, good brother Bruce, the King
Has faithfully acquitted him of the bloods
Of your Wife and Sonne,; Leister, the King now looks
Upon his passions with a displeased eye,
Trust to our faiths sir, give the Land her Liberties,
And do but look upon my poor Matilda.

K.
Oh, oh.

Fitz.
With Kingly chaste eyes; and a holy soul;
My brother shall command his Sonne to obedience,
Leister and he shall give ye up the Castle,
We will call Richmond with his powers from Lewis,
We will be all one soule againe, and force
The skipping French to put to Sea again,
And you shall stand a King then absolute,
Good brother Leister, sir upon my knee,
I urge your goodnesse now; shall we still stand
And chaine our freedomes to a forraign hand?
When we shun seen Rocks, then we safely sayle;
Good, good, King John, let the old man prevaile.

K.
Oh Chester run to Dunmow, and if Brand yet
Have kept his hand white, bid that Brand forbear,
For feare of burning everlastingly.

Ches.
I shall sir.

Exit.
K.
Mowbray, with the bendings of the King,
Go meet that angry young man Bruce, and tell him,
Here's now no use for steele.

Mow.
'Twill be good news sir.

K.
Meet us at least (you stubborn men,)
In our facile affections:
Why send ye not for Richmond? must we bend, and
And beseech too?

Leis.
Passe but your Royal promise
In the words of a King, to performe what
Y'are fled from, the wind not with more swiftnesse,
Shall fly to play with Richmonds lofty Plume,
Then shall be shown in his repeale.

K.
'Tis granted upon our Kingly word—that time in me,
shall read that Giants force necessity!

Ol. Bru.
With all submissive reverence we descend,
And kisse your Highnesse hand.

Fitz.
Right happy day,
My Girle is safe, and all clouds blown away.

Exeunt from the walls
Hoboyes sound, whilst the Barrons descend, each on his knee kissing the Kings hand, both Parties joyfully embrace; suddenly the Hoboyes cease: and a sad Musick of Flutes heard. Enter to the King and Lords, the Lady Abbess, Ushering Matilda's Herse, born by Virgins, this Motto fastned unto it—To Piety and Chastity. The Body of Matilda lying on the Herse, and attended by the Queene, bearing in her hand a Garland, compos'd of Roses and Lillies; after her, young Bruce, Hubert, Chester, and other Gentlemen, all in mourning habites.
The Song in parts.
1.

2.

Chorus

2.

1.

Chorus

K.
Hubert interpret this Apparition.

Hub.
Behold sir,
A sad writ Tragedy so feelingly,
Languag'd, and cast, with such a crafty cruelty,
Contriv'd and acted, that wild Savages,
Satyrs, and the rude rabble of the Woods,
Would weep to lay their ears to, and (admiring
To see themselves out done) they would conceive
Their wildnesse, mildness to this deed, and call
Men more then Savage, themselves rationall;
And thou Fitzwater, reflect upon thy name,
And turn the sonne of tears, oh forget
That Cupid ever spent a dart upon thee,
That Hymen ever coupled thee, or that ever
The hasty, happy, willing messenger,
Told thee thou hadst a Daughter; oh look here,
Look here King John, and with a tembling eye,
Unvailes her face.
Read your sad act, Matilda's Tragedy.

Om.
Matilda!

Fitz.
By the labouring soul of a much injur'd man,
It is my childe Matilda.

Qu.
Oh cruell King, go sate thy bloody eye
With thy black command, which there lyes executed.

Ol. Bru.
Sweet Neece,

Leis.
Chaste soule,

Y. Bru.
King, go and read thy cruelty.

K.
Do I stirre Chester?
Good Oxford, do I move? stand I not still
To watch the when the griev'd friends of dead Matilda,
Will with a thousand stabs turn me to dust?
That in a thousand prayes they may be happy;
Wil no one do't? then give a mourner room,
Falls passionately upon the Herse.
A man of tears; oh immaculate Matilda,
These sheed but sayling heat drops, misling showers,
The faint dews of a doubtful April morning;
But from mine eyes, ship-sincking Cataracts,
Whold clouds of waters, wealthy exhalations
Shall fall into the Sea of my affliction,
Till it amaze the Mourners.

Hub.
Unmatch'd Matilda,
Celestiall Souldier that keep'st a Fort of Chastity
'Gainst all temptations.

Fitz.
Not to be a Queene
Would she break her chaste vow, truth crowns your reed,
Unmatch'd Matilda was her name indeed.

K.
Oh take into your spirit-piercing praise,
My Scœne of sorrow; I have wel-clad woes,
Pathetick epethites to illustrate passion,
And steale true teares so sweetly from all these,
'tshall touch the soule, and at one pierce and please.

Ches.
What will he doe?

The Ki. takes the Garland from the Queen, and peruses the Motto of the Herse.
K.
To Ptety and Purity, and Lillies mixt with Roses.
How well you have apparell'd woe, this pendant
To Piety and Purity directed,
Insinuates a chaste soule in a clean body:
Vertues white Virgin, Chastities red Martyr,
Suffer me then with this well-suited wreath,
To make our griefs ingenious, let all be dumb,
Whilst the King speaks her Epicedium.

Ches.
His very soul speaks sorrow.

Ox.
And it becomes him sweetly.

K.
Hail Maid and Marty! loe on thy breast,
Devotions Alter, chaste truths chest,
I offer (as my guilt imposes)
Thy merrits Laurel, Lillies and Roses,
Lillies, intimating plaine,
Thy immaculate life stuck with no staine;
Roses red, and sweet, to tell
How sweet red sacrifices smell;
Sets the Garland on her breast.
Hang round then as you walk about this Herse,
The songs of holy hearts, sweet, vertuous verse,

Fitz.
Bring Persian silks to deck her Monument,

K.
Arabian spices quick'ning by their sent.

Fitz.
Numidian Marble to preserve her praise,

K.
Corinthian Ivory her sweet shape to raise.

Fitz.
And write in gold upon it, in this brest,
Virtue sat Mistresse passion but a guest;

K.
Virtue is sweet, and since griefs bitter be,
Strew her with Roses, and give Rue to me.

Ol. Bru.
My noble Brother, I have lost a Wife and Son,
You a sweet Daughter, look on the Kings penitence,
His promise for the Kindomes peace, perfer
A publique benefit. When it shall please,
Let heaven question him, let us secure,
And quit the Land of Lewis.

Fitz.
Do any thing,
Do all things that are honourable, and the great King,
Make you a good King sir; and when your soul
Shall at any time reflect upon your follies,
Good King John weep, weep very heartily,
It will become you sweetly, at your eyes
Your sin stole in, there pay your sacrifie.

K.
Back unto Dunmow Abby, where wee'l pay
To sweet Matilda's memory and her sufferings,
A monthly obsequie, which (sweetned by
The wealthy woes of a tear-troubl'd eye)
Shall by those sharp afflictions of my face,
Court Mercy, and make Grief arrive at Grace.
Let my wil'd errors, tell to time this truth;
Whil'st passion holds the Helm, Reason and Honour
Do suffer wrack; but they saile safe, and cleer,
Who constantly by Virtues Compasse steer.

Song.
1.

2.

1.

Cho.

Exeunt omnes.