 | The Loyal Svbiect |  |
Scæne 5.
Enter Duke, Archas, Borosky, Burris, Gentlemen, and Attendants.Du.
They are handsome roomes all, well contriv'd and fitted,
Full of covenience, the prospects excellent.
Ar.
Now will your Grace passe downe, and do me but the honour
To taste a Country banket?
Du.
What roome's that?
I would see all now; what conveyance has it?
I see you have kept the best part yet; pray open it.
Ar.
Ha? I misdoubted this: 'tis of no receipte sir,
For your eyes most unfit—
Du.
I long to see it,
Because I would judge of the whole peece: some excellent paintings,
Or some rare spoiles you would keep to entertaine me
An other time, I know.
Ar.
In troth there is not,
Nor any thing worth your sight: below I have
Some fountaines, and some ponds.
Du.
I would see this now.
Ar.
Borosky, thou art a knave; It containes nothing
But rubbish from the other roomes and unnecessaries:
Wil't please you see a strange Clocke?
Du.
This, or nothing:
Little Trunke ready.
Why should you barre it up thus with defences
Above the rest, unlesse it contain'd something
More excellent, and curious of keeping:
Open't, for I will see't.
Ar.
The keyes are lost sir;
Do's your grace thinke if it were fit for you,
I could be so unmannerly?
Du.
I will see it, and either shew it—
Ar.
Good sir—
Du.
Thanke ye Archas,
You shew your love abundantly,
Do I use to entreat thus? force it open,
Bur.
That were inhospitable: you are his guest sir,
And with his greatest joy, to entertaine ye.
Du.
Hold thy peace foole; will ye open it?
Ar.
Sir, I cannot.
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Duk.
Goe breake it open.
Ar.
I must withstand that force: Be not too rash Gentlemen.
Du.
Unarme him first, then if he be not obstinate,
Preserve his life.
Ar.
I thanke your grace, I take it:
And now take you the keyes, goe in and see Sir;
There feed your eyes with wonder, and thanke that traytor,
That thing that sels his faith for favor.
Exit Duke.
Bur.
Sir, what moves ye?
Ar.
I have kept mine pure: Lord Burris there's a Judas,
That for a smile will sell ye all: a Gentleman?
The Devill 'has more truth, and has maintain'd it;
A whores heart more beliefe in't.
Enter Duke.
Du.
What's all this Archas?
I cannot blame ye to conceale it so,
This most inestimable treasure.
Ar.
Yours Sir.
Du.
Nor doe I wonder now the souldier sleights me.
Ar.
Be not deceiv'd; he has had no favor here Sir,
Nor had you knowne this now, but for that pickthank,
That lost man in his faith, he has reveal'd it,
To suck a little honey from ye has betray'd it.
I sweare he smiles upon me, and forsworne too,
Thou crackt, uncurrant Lord: I'le tell ye all Sir:
Your Sire, before his death, knowing your temper,
To be as bounteous as the aire, and open,
As flowing as the Sea to all that follow'd ye,
Your great mind fit for war and glory, thriftily
Like a great husband, to preserve your actions,
Collected all this treasure: to our trusts,
To mine I meane, and to that long-tongu'd Lords there,
He gave the knowledge, and the charge of all this,
Upon his death-bed too: And on the Sacrament
He swore us thus, never to let this treasure
Part from our secret keepings, till no hope
Of subject could relieve ye, all your owne wasted,
No help of those that lov'd ye could supply ye,
And then some great exploit afoot; my honestie
I would have kept till I had made this usefull;
I shew'd it, and I stood it to the tempest,
And usefull to the end 'twas left: I am cozen'd,
And so are you too, if you spend this vainly;
This worme that crept into ye has abus'd ye,
Abus'd your fathers care, abus'd his faith too:
Nor can this masse of money make him man more,
A flea'd dog has more soule, an Ape more honestie:
All mine ye have amongst it, farwell that,
I cannot part with't nobler; my hearts cleare,
My conscience smooth as that, no rub upon't,
But O thy hell.
Bor.
I seeke no heaven from you Sir.
Ar.
Thy gnawing hell Boroskey, it will find thee:
Would ye heape coles upon his head has wrong'd ye,
Has ruin'd your estate? give him this money,
Melt it into his mouth.
Du.
What little Trunck's that,
That there o'th' top, that's lockt?
Bor.
You'l find it rich Sir,
Richer I think then all.
Ar.
You were not covetous,
Nor wont to weave your thoughts with such a coursenes;
Pray racke not honestie.
Bor.
Be sure ye see it.
Du.
Bring out the Trunck.
Ent. with the Trunck.
Ar.
You'l find that treasure too,
All I have left me now.
Du.
What's this a poore gowne?
And this a peece of Seneca?
Ar.
Yes sure Sir,
More worth then all your gold, yet ye have enough on't,
And of a Mine far purer, and more precious:
This sels no friends, nor searches into counsels,
And yet all counsell and all friends live here Sir,
Betrayes no faith, yet handles all that's trusty;
Wilt please ye leave me this.
Du.
With all my heart Sir.
Ar.
What sayes your Lordship to't?
Bor.
I dare not rob ye.
Ar.
Poore miserable men, you have rob'd your selves both;
This gown, and this unvalu'd treasure, your brave Father,
Found me a childe at schoole with, in his progresse,
Where such a love he tooke to some few answers,
Unhappie boyish toyes hit in my head then,
That suddenly I made him thus as I was;
For here was all the wealth I brought his Highnes:
He carried me to Court, there bred me up.
Bestow'd his favours on me, taught me Armes first,
With those an honest mind; I serv'd him truly,
And where he gave me trust, I thinke I fail'd not;
Let the world speake: I humbly thanke your Highnes,
You have done more, and nobler, eas'd mine age Sir;
And to this care, a faire quietus given:
Now to my Booke againe.
Du.
You have your wish Sir,
Let some bring off the treasure.
Bor.
Some is his sir.
Ar.
None, none my Lord: a poore unworthy reaper,
The harvest is his graces.
Du.
Thanke ye Archas.
Ar.
But will not you repent Lord? when this is gone,
Where will your Lordship?—
Bor.
Pray take you no care sir.
Ar.
Do's your Grace like my house?
Du.
Wondrous well Archas,
You have made me richly welcome.
Ar.
I did my best sir,
Is there any thing else may please your Grace?
Du.
Your daughters
I had forgot, send them to Court.
Ar.
How's that Sir?
Du.
I said your daughters; see it done: I'le have 'em
Attend my sister, Archas.
Ar.
Thanke your Highnes.
Du.
And suddenly.
Exit.
Ar.
Through all the waies I dare,
I'le serve your temper, though you try me too far.
Exit.
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