University of Virginia Library

Scen. II.

Enter Nicanor, and a Gentleman.
Nic.
The Princesse suffers then?

Gent.
This Morning, Sir,
Vnlesse the mercie of the King be found
More then is yet expected.

Nic.
Oh my heart,
Canst thou indure to heare that heauie sound,
And wilt not burst with griefe?

Gent.
Nay, good my Lord:

Nic.
Oh, worthie Sir, you did not know the ioyes
That we all lost in her. She was the hope,
And onely comfort of Sicilia;
And the last Branch was left of that faire stocke;
Which (if she dye) is wither'd, quite decay'd.
But I haue such a losse.

Gent.
You haue indeed:
Yours is the greatest of a particular:
For you haue lost a beautious Spouse, my Lord;
And yet the rich hopes of a royall Crowne
Might mitigate your sorrow. You are next.

Nic.
Doe not renew my griefe with naming that.
Oh that it were to morrow! happie day,
Bestow'd on some more meritorious,
That might continue long, for I am old.
I should be well content.

Gent.
Say not so:
There's no one merits that more then your selfe:
You are elected by the Kings owne house,
And generall consent of all the Realme,
For the Successour after his decease:
Whose life pray Heauen defend.

Nic.
Amen, Amen,
And send him long to raigne; but not on earth.
Sir, you are neere the King; Pray, if you heare
His Highnesse aske for me, excuse me, Sir:
You see my sorrow's such, I am vnfit
To come into the presence of a King.

Gent.
I see it, Sir, and will report as much.

Nic.
You will report a lye then; ha, ha, ha.
My Lungs will not afford me wind enough
To laugh my passions out. To gaine a Crowne,
Who would not at a funerall laugh and sing?
All men of wisedome would, and so will I:
Yet to the worlds eye, I am drown'd in teares,
And held most carefull of the King and State,
When I meane nothing lesse. Lorenzo's dead:
The scornefull Princesse, that refus'd my loue,
Is going to her death. The King, I know,
Cannot continue long: Then may I say,
As our Italian heires at fathers deaths,
Quid Iude, Reine ta soll.
The King alone made mee the King:
Me thinkes I feele the royall Diadem
Vpon my head already; ha, ha, ha.

Exit.
A dumbe shew.
Enter two Mourners, Atlanta with the Axe, Leonida all in white, her haire loose, hung with ribans; supported on eyther side by two Ladies, Aurelia following as chiefe Mourner. Pase softly ouer the stage.
Exeunt Omnes.
Enter Misogynos, and Swash.
Mis.
Swash.

Swa.
At your Buckler, Sir?

Mis.
Perceiu'st thou nothing, Swash?

Swa.
How meane you, Sir?

Mis.
No strange signe of alteration; hum.

Swa.
Beyond imagination.

Mis.
How, good Swash?

Swa.
Why, from a Fencer, you're turn'd Orator.

Mis.
Oh! Cedunt arma Togæ; that's no wonder.
Perceiu'st thou nothing else? Looke I not pale?
Are not my armes infolded? my eyes fixt,
My head deiected, my words passionate,
And yet perceiu'st thou nothing?

Swash.
Let me see, me thinkes, you looke Sir, like some
Desperate Gamester, that had lost all his estate
In a dicing House: you met not
With those Money-changers, did you?
Or haue you falne amongst the female Sex,
And they haue paid you for your last dayes worke?

Mis.
No, no, thou art as wide, as short in my disease:
Thou neuer canst imagine what it is,
Vnlesse, I tell thee. Swash, I am in loue.

Swash.
Ha, ha, ha, in loue?

Mis.
Nay, 'tis such a wonder, Swash, I scarce beleeue,
It can be so, my selfe, and yet it is.

Swash.
The Deuill it is as soone, and sooner too:
You loue the Deuill, better then a woman.

Mis.
Oh, doe not say so, Swash, I doe recant.

Swash.
In loue? not possible:
This is some tempting Syren has bewitcht you.

Mis.
Oh! peace, good Swash.

Swash.
Some Cockatrice, the very Curse of man?

Mis.
No more, if thou dost loue me.

Swash.
Your owne words.
I know not how to please you better, Sir.
Will you from Oratour, turne Heretike,
And sinne against your owne Conscience?

Mis.
Oh, Swash, Swash!
Cupid, the little Fencer playd his Prize,
At seuerall weapons in Atlanta's eyes,
He challeng'd me, we met and both did try
His vtmost skill, to get the Victorie.
Lookes were oppos'd 'gainst lookes, and stead of words,
Were banded frowne 'gainst frowne, and words 'gainst words
But cunning Cupid forecast me to recoile:
For when he plaid at sharpe, I had the foyle.

Swash.
Nay, now he is in loue, I see it plaine:
I was inspir'd with this Poeticall vaine,
When I fell first in loue; God bo'y yee, Sir:
I must goe looke another Master.

Mis.
Swash.

Swash.
Y'are a dead man: beleeue it, Sir,
I would not giue two-pence for a Lease
Of a hundred pound a yeere made for your life.
Can you that haue bin at defiance with vm all,
Abused, arraigned vm, hang'd vm, if you could:
You hang'd vm more then halfe, you tooke away
All their good names, I'me sure, can you then hope,
That any will loue you? A Ladie, Sir,
Will sooner meet a Tinker in the street,
And try what Metall lyes within his Budget,
A Countesse lye with me, an Emperour
Take a poore Milke-maide, Sir, to be his Wife,
Before a Kitchen-Wench will fancie you.

Mis.
Doe not torment me, misbeleeuing Dolt,
I tell thee, I doe loue, and must enioy.

Swash.
Who, in the name of women, should this bee?

Mis.
What an obtuse Conception do'st thou beare?
Did not I tell thee, 'twas Atlanta, Swash?

Swash.
Who, she Amazonian Dame, your Aduocate,
A Masculine Feminine?

Mis.
I, Swash,
She must be more then Female, has the power
To mollifie the temper of my Loue.

Swash.
Why, she's the greatest enemie you haue.

Mis.
The greater is my glorie, Swash, in that
That hauing vanquisht all, I attaine her.
The Prize consists alone
In my eternall credit and renowne.
Oh, what a Race of wittie Oratours
Shall we beget betwixt vs: Come, good Swash,
Ile write a Letter to her presently,
Which thou shalt carry: if thou speedst, I sweare,
Thou shalt be Swetnams Heire.

Swash.
The Deuill I feare,
Will dispossesse me of that Heritage.

Enter two Gentlemen.
1. Gent.
But are you sure she is beheaded, Sir?

2. Gent.
Most certaine, Sir, both by the Kings Decree,
And generall voyce of all, for instance see.

1. Gent.
The wofull'st sight,
That ere mine eyes beheld.

2. Gent.
A sight of griefe and horrour.

1. Gent.
It is a piece of the extremest Iustice
That euer Memory can Register.

2. Gent.
I, in a Father.

1. Gent.
Oh, I pray forbeare,
The time is full of danger euery-where.

Exeunt.
Enter Lisander, and the Guard.
Lis.
Good gentle friends, before I leaue the Land,
Suffer me to take my last fare-well
Of my owne dearest deare Leonida.
Accept this poore reward: would time permit.
I would more largely recompence your loues.

1. Gua.
You haue preuail'd, my Lord, but pray bee briefe.
We are inioyn'd by strict Commission,
To see you shipt away this present tyde.

Lis.
Indeed, I will.

1. Gua.
Then here you may behold,
All that is left of faire Leonida.

Lis.
Oh—

2. Gua.
How fare you, Sir.

Lis.
Oh, Gentlemen,
Can you behold this sacred Cabinet,
Which Nature once had made her Treasurie?
But now broke ope by sacrilegious hands,
And not let fall a teare: you are vnkind,
Not Marble but would wet at such a sight,
And cannot you, strange stupiditie!
Thou meere Relike of my dearest Saint!
Vpon this Altar I will sacrifice
This Offering to appeaze thy murd'red Ghost.

1. Gua.
Restraine, my Lord, this Passion, we lament
As much as you, and grieue vnfaynedly
For her vntimely losse.

Lis.
As much as I? Oh, 'tis not possible.
You temporize with sorrow: mine's sincere,
Which I will manifest to all the World.
See what a beauteous forme she yet retaynes,
In the despight of Fate, that men may see,
Death could not seize but on her mortall parts:
Her beautie was diuine and heauenly.

1. Gua.
Nay, good my Lord, dispatch, the time's but short.

Lis.
Indeed, I will, to make an end of time:
For I can liue no longer, since that she,
For whose sake onely. I held truce with time,
Hath left me desolate: no, diuinest loue,
What liuing was deny'd vs, weele enioy
In Immortalitie, where no Crueltie,
Vnder the forme of Iustice, dare appeare.
Sweet sacred Spirit, make not too much haste
To the Elizian Fields, stay but awhile,
And I will follow thee with swifter speed,
Then meditation: thus I seale my vow.
Kisses.
Me thinkes, I feele fresh heat, as if her soule
Had resum'd her former seate agen,
To solemnize this blessed Vnion,
In our last consummation, or else it stayes,
Awayting onely for my companie:
It does, indeed, and I haue done thee wrong,
To let thy heauenly eyes want me so long,
But now I come, deare Loue, Oh, oh!

1. Gua.
What sound was that?

2. Gua.
Oh, we are all vndone,
The Prince has slaine himselfe: what shall we doe?

1. Gua.
There is no way but one, let's leaue the Land:
If we stay heere, we shall be sure to dye,
And suffer for our too much lenitie,
Though we are innocent.

2. Gua.
Then haste away:
The doome weele execute vpon our selues,
And ship with speed for Holland, there, no doubt,
We shall haue entertaynment,
There are warres threatned betwixt Spaine and them.

1. Gua.
Then let vs hoyse vp sayle, mercy receiue
Thy soule to Heauen, Earth to Earth we leaue.

Exeunt.
Enter Atlanta.
Atlan.
What spectacle is this? A man new slaine,
Close by the Princes Herse! Who is't? Oh, me,
The Noble Prince Lisandro. Cruell Fate,
Is there no hope of life? See, he looks vp,
Ile beare him out of the ayre, and stop his wound:
If there be any hope, I haue a Balme
Of knowne experience, in effecting cures
Almost impossible, and if the wound
Be not too deadly, will recouer him.

Exit Lorenzo.
Enter Aurelia and Iago.
Iag.
Deare Queene, haue patience.

Aur.
How, Iago, patience?
Tis such a sinne, that were I guiltie of,
I should despayre of mercie. Can a Mother
Haue all the blessings both of Heauen and Earth,
The hopefull issue of a thousand soules
Extinct in one, and yet haue patience?
I wonder patient Heauen beares so long,
And not send thunder to destroy the Land.
The Earth, me thinkes, should vomit sulph'rous Damps,
To stifle and annoy both man and beast,
Seditious Hell should send blacke Furies forth,
To terrifie the hearts of tyrant Kings.
What say the people? doe they not exclaime,
And curse the seruile yoke, in which th'are bound
Vnder so mercilesse a Gouernour?

Iag.
Madame, in euery mouth is heard to sound,
Nothing but murmurings and priuate whispers,
Tending to seuerall ends: but all conclude,
The King was too seuere for such a Fact.

Enter Atlanta.
Aur.
Atlanta, welcome, Oh my child, my child,
There lies the summe of all my miserie!

Atl.
Gracious Madame, doe but heare me speake.

Aur.
Atlanta, I should wrong thy merit else.
What wouldst thou say?
Something I know, to mitigate my griefe.

Atl.
Rather to adde to your afflictions.
I am the Messenger of heauie Newes.
Lisandro, Prince of Naples,

Aur.
What of him?

Atl.
Beholding the sad obiect of his loue,
His violent passion draue him to despayre,
And he hath slaine himselfe.

Iag.
Disastrous chance!

Atl.
I found him gasping for his latest breath,
And bore him to my Lord Iago's house,
I vs'd my best of skill to saue his life:
But all, I feare, in vaine: the mortall wound
I find incurable: yet I prolong'd
His life a little, that he yet drawes breath:
Goe you and visit him-with vtmost speed:
The Queene and I will follow.

Iag.
Goe? Ile runne.
Exit Iago.

Aur.
Was euer Father so vnmercifull,
But for that Monster that was cause of this,
That bloudie, cruell, and inhumane wretch,
That slanderous Detractor of our Sex:
That Misogynos, that blasphemous Slaue?
I will be so reueng'd.

Enter Clowne.
Atlan.
Madame, no more,
He is not worth your wrath:
Let me alone with him.

Clow.
Whist, doe you heare?

Atlan.
How now, what art thou?

Clow.
Not your Seruant, and yet a Messenger,
No Seruingman, and yet an Vsher too.

Atlan.
What are you then, Sir? speake.

Clow.
That can resolue you, and yet cannot speake,
I am no Foole, I am a Fencer, Sir.

Aur.
A Fencer, sirrah? ha, what Countrey-man?

Clow.
This Countrey-man, forsooth, but yet borne in England.

Aur.
How? borne in England, & this Countrey-man?

Clow.
I haue bin borne in many Countreyes, Madame,
But I thinke I am best be this Countrey-man,
For many take me for a silly one.

Aur.
For a silly one?

Clow.
I, a silly one.

Atlan.
Oh, Madame, I haue such welcomenesse!

Aur.
For me, what is't?

Atlan.
The baytes of women haue preuented vs,
And hee has intrapt himselfe.

Aur.
How, by what accident?

Atlan.
Loue, Madame, loue, read that.

Aur.
How's this?
To the most wise and vertuous Amazon,
Chiefe pride and glorie of the Female Sex.
A promising induction: what's within?
Magnanimous Ladie, maruell not,
That your once Aduersary do's submit himselfe
To your vnconquer'd beautie.

Atlan.
Cunning Slaue.

Aur.
Rather impute it to the power of loue,
Whose heauenly influence hath wrought in me,
So strange a Metamorphosis.

Atlan.
The very quintessence of flatterie.

Aur.
In so much, I vow hereafter, to spend all my dayes,
Deuoted to your seruice, it shall be
To expiate my former blasphemies:
My desire is shortly to visit you.

Atlan.
It shall be to your cost then.

Aur.
To make testimony of my hearty contrition,
Till when and euer I will protest my selfe,
To be the conuerted Misogynist.

Atlan.
Ha, ha, ha, why, this is excellent!
Beyond imagination.

Aur.
You must not slip this oportunitie.

Atlan.
Ile not let passe a minute: his owne man
Ile make an instrument to feed his
Follies with a kind acceptance, and when he comes,
Let me alone to plot his punishment.

Aur.
Excellent Atlanta, I applaud thy wit.

Atlan.
Ile make him an example to all men,
That dares calumniate a womans fame.
Attend an answere, Ile reward thee well.

Clow.
I thanke your Madame-ship, Ime glad o' this.
Tis the best hit that euer Fencer gaue.

Exeunt.
Enter Atticus, Iago, Sforza, and Nicanor.
Att.
How took the Girle her death? did she not raue?
Exclaime vpon me for the Iustice done
By a iust Father? how tooke Naples sonne
His Exile from our Land? What, no man speake?
My Lords, whence springs this alteration?
Why stand you thus amaz'd? Methinks your eyes
Are fixt in Meditation; and all here
Seeme like so many sencelesse Statues,
As if your soules had suffer'd an eclipse,
Betwixt your iudgements and affections:
Is it not so? 'Sdeath, no man answers?
Iago, you can tell: I'me sure you saw
The execution of Leonida.
Not yet a sillable? If once agen
We doe but aske the question, Death tyes vp
Your soules for euer. Call a Heads-man there.
If for our daughter this dumbe griefe proceed,
Why should not We lament as well as you?
I was her father; whose deare life I priz'd
Aboue mine owne, before she did transgresse:
And, could the Law haue so bin satisfi'd,
Mine should ha' paid the ransome of her cryme.
But, that the World should know our equitie,
Were she a thousand daughters she should die.

Iag.
I can forbeare no longer. Then (Sir) know,
It was about that time, when as the Sunne
Had newly climb'd ouer the Easterne hils,
To glad the world with his diurnall heat,
When the sad ministers of Iustice tooke
Your daughter from the bosome of the Queene
Whom now she had instructed to receiue
Deaths cold imbraces with alacritie:
Which she so well had learn'd, that shee did striue,
Like a too forward Scholler, to exceed
Her Teachers doctrine,
So cheerefully she went vnto the Block,
As if shee'd past vnto her nuptiall bed.
And as the trembling Bride when she espies
The Bridegroome hastily vnclothe himselfe,
And now beginning to approch the bed,
Then she began to quake and shrinke away,
To shun the separation of that head,
Which is imaginary onely, and not reall.
So, when she saw her Executioner
Stand readie to strike out that fatall blow,
Nature, her frailtie, and the alluring world,
Did then begin to oppose her constancie:
But she, whose mind was of a nobler frame,
Vanquish'd all oppositions, and imbrac'd
The stroke with courage beyond Womans strength;
And the last words she spoke, said, I reioyce
That I am free'd of Fathers tyrannie.

Attic.
Forbeare to vtter more. We are not pleas'd
With these vnpleasing accents: Leaue the world
So cheerefully, and speake of tyrannie:
She was not guiltie sure. We'le heare no more.

Iag.
Sir, but you shall: since you inforc'd me speake,
I will not leaue a sillable vntold.
You ask'd if Naples sonne were banish'd too?
Yes, he is banish'd euer from the sight
Of mortall eyes againe: for he is dead.

Nic.
Lisandro dead! By what occasion?

Iag.
I scorne to answer thee. The King shall know,
It was his chance vpon that haplesse houre,
To passe that way, conducted by his gard,
Towards his banishment; where he beheld
The wofull obiect of the Princesse head:
There might you see loue, pittie, rage, despaire,
Acting together in their seuerall shapes;
That it was hard to iudge, which of all those
Were most predominant. At last, despaire
Became sole Monarke of his passions,
Which drew him to this error: Hauing got
Leaue of his gard to celebrate his vowes,
Vnto that precious relique of his Saint,
Where hauing breath'd a mournfull Elegie,
After a thousand sighs, ten thousand grones,
Still crying out, Leonida, my loue!
Then, as his death were limited by hers,
He sacrifiz'd his life vnto her loue:
For there (vnluckily) he slew himselfe.

Sfor.
The King's displeas'd, my Lord.

Iag.
No matter: I'me glad I touch'd his conscience
To the quicke. Did you not see
How my relation chang'd his countenance,
As if my words ingendred in his brest
Some new-bred passions?

Sfor.
Yes, and did obserue
How fearefully he gaz'd vpon vs all:
Enter Queene.
Pray heauen it proue not ominous.

Iag.
The Queene!

Quee.
Where is this King? this King? this tyrant? He
That would be cald The iust and righteous King,
When in his actions he is most vniust;
Beyond example, cruell, tyrannous?
Where is my daughter? Where's Leonida?
Where is Lusippus too, my first borne hope?
And where is deare Lorenzo? dead? all dead?
And would to God I were intomb'd with them,
Emptie of substance. Curse of Soueraigntie,
That feed'st thy fancie with deluding hopes
Of fickle shadowes; promising to one,
Eternitie of fame; and vnto all,
To be accounted wise and vertuous,
Obseruing but your Lawes and iust decrees;
That vnder shew of being mercifull,
Art most vnkind, and cruell: nay, 'tis true.
Goe where thou wilt, still will I follow thee,
And with my sad laments still beat thy eares,
Ex. King, and Qu.
Till all the world of thy iustice beares.

Nic.

This Physick works too strongly, and may proue a
deadly potion. Sforza, good my Lord, if any anger be
'twixt you and I, let it lye buried now; and let's deuise
some pastime to suppresse this heauinesse. A melancholy
King makes a sad Court.

I neuer heard him speake so carefully
Of the Kings welfare. I, with all my heart.

Sfor.
Who'le vndertake this charge?

Nic.
I will, my Lord: Let the deuice be mine.

Iag.
I'le get the Amazon to ioyne with you:
Her rare inuention, and experience too,
In forraine Countries may auaile you much,
In some new quaint conceit.

Nic.
Doe, good my Lord:
I'de ha't assoone presented as I could.

Iag.
To night, if it be possible: farewell.
I must goe looke her out.

Nic.
Ha, ha, ha, ha.
So by this meanes, I shall expresse my selfe
Studious and carefull.