 | Brennoralt |  |
Scen. I.
Enter Agen.Bren.
What made the stop?
One in's falling sicknesse had a fit
44
Softly, we are neere the place.
Exeunt.
Alarum within, and fight, then enter Almerin (in his night-gowne.
Alm.
What noise is here to night?
Something on fire—what hoe,
Send to the Virgin-tower, there is disorder—
Thereabouts.
(Ent. Sould.
Sould.
All's lost, all's lost:
The enemie's upon the place of armes:
And is by this time Master of that,
And of the Tower.
Alm.
Thou liest.—
(strikes him.
Enter Morat.
Mor.
Save your selfe my Lord, and hast unto the camp;
Ruine gets in on every side.
Alm.
There's something in it when this fellow flies.
Villaines my armes, I'le see what Divell raignes.
Enter Iphigene, Francelia.
Iphi.
Looke, the day breakes.
Fran.
You thinke I'le be so kinde, as sweare
It does not now. Indeed I will not—
Iph.
Will you not send me neither,
Your picture when y' are gone?
That when my eye is famisht for a looke,
It may have where to feed,
And to the painted Feast invite my heart.
Fran.
Here, take this virgin-bracelet of my haire,
And if like other men thou shalt hereafter
Throw it with negligence,
'Mongst the Records of thy weake female conquests,
Laugh at the kinde words, and mysticall contrivement.
If such a time shall come,
Know I am sighing then thy absence Iphigene,
And weeping o're the false but pleasing Image.
Enter Almerin.
Alm.
Francelia, Francelia,
Rise, rise, and save thy selfe the enemy
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(throwes open the dore.
Ha! mine eyes grow sick.
A plague has, through them, stolne into my heart;
And I grow dizzie: feet, lead me off agen,
Without the knowledge of my body.
I shall act I know not what else—
Exit.
Franc.
How came he in?
Deare Iphigene we are betrayd;
Lets raise the Castle lest he should return.
Iph.
That were to make all publique.
Feare not, Ile satisfie his anger:
I can doe it.
Franc.
Yes, with some quarrell;
And bring my honour, and my love in danger—
Enter Almerin
Look he returns, and wrecks of fury,
Like hurried clouds over the face of heaven,
Before a tempest, in his looks appeares.
Alm.
If they would question what our Rage doth act
And make it sin, they would not thus provoke men.
—I am too tame.
For if they live I shall be pointed at,
Here I denounce a warre to all the world,
And thus begin it—
(runs at Iphigene)
Iphi.
What hast thou done—
(falls)
Franc.
Ah me, help, help.—
(wounds Francelia)
Iphi.
Hold.
Alm.
'Tis too late.
Iphi.
Rather then she shall suffer,
My fond deceits involve the innocent;
I will discover all.
Alm.
Ha!—what will he discover?
Iphi.
That which shall make thee curse
The blindnesse of thy rage.—I am a woman.
Alm.
Ha, ha, ha, brave and bold!
Because thy perjury deceived me once,
And saved thy life, thou thinkest to escape agen.
Impostor, thus thou shalt.—
(runs at him.
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Oh hold—I have enough.
Had I hope of life, thou shouldst not have this secret.
Franc.
What will it be now?
Iphi.
—My father having long desir'd
A sonne to heire his great possessions.
And in six births successively deceiv'd,
Made a rash vow; oh how rash vowes are punished!
That if the burthen then my mother went with
Prov'd not a male, he ne're would know her more.
Then was unhappy Iphigene brought forth,
And by the womens kindnesse nam'd a boy;
And since so bred: (a cruell pity as
It hath faln out.) If now thou findst that, which
Thou thoughtst a friendship in me, Love; forget it.
It was my joy,—and—death.—
(faints.
Alm.
—For curiosity
Ile save thee, if I can, and know the end
If't be but losse of Blood,—Breasts!
By all that's good a woman!—Iphigene.
Iphi.
I thank thee, for I was falne asleep, before
I had dispatcht. Sweetest of all thy sexe,
Francelia, forgive me now; my love
Vnto this man, and feare to loose him, taught me,
A fatall cunning, made me court you,—and
My owne Destruction.
[Franc.]
I am amaz'd.
Alm.
And can it be? Oh mockery of heaven!
To let me see what my soule often wisht
And mak't my punishment, a punishment,
That were I old in sinnes, were yet too great.
Iphi.
Would you have lov'd me then? Pray say you would:
For I like testie sickmen at their death,
Would know no newes but health from the Physitian.
Alm.
Canst thou doubt that?
That hast so often seen me extasi'd,
When thou wert drest like woman
Vnwilling ever to beleeve thee man?
Iph.
I have enough.
Alm.
Heavens!
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Here might my ignorance find some excuse.
—But, there,
I was distracted. None but one enrag'd
With anger to a savadgenesse, would ere
Have drawne a sword upon such gentle sweetnesse.
Be kind, and kill me; kill me one of you:
Kill me if't be but to preserve my wits.
Deare Iphigene, take thy revenge, it will
Not misbecome thy sexe at all; for 'tis
An act of pity not of cruelty:
Thus to dispatch a miserable man.
Franc.
And thou wouldst be more miserable yet,
While like a Bird made prisoner by it selfe,
Thou bat'st and beat'st thy self 'gainst every thing,
And dost passe by, that which should let thee out.
Alm.
—Is it my fault?
Or heav'ns? Fortune, when she would play upon me,
Like ill Musitians, wound me up so high,
That I must crack sooner then move in tune.
Franc.
Still you rave,
While we for want of present help may perish.
Alm.
Right.
A Surgeon, Ile goe find one instantly.
The enemy too—I had forgot—
Oh what fatality govern'd this night.
Exit.
Franc.
How like an unthrifts case will mine be now?
For all the wealth he looses shifts but's place;
And still the world enjoyes it: so will't you,
Sweet Iphigene, though I possesse you not.
Iphi.
What excellence of Nature's this! have you
So perfectly forgiv'n already, as to
Consider me a losse? I doubt which Sexe
I shall be happier in. Climates of Friendship
Are not lesse pleasant, 'cause they are lesse scortching,
Then those of Love; and under them wee'l live:
Such pretious links of that wee'l tye our souls
Together with, that the chaines of the other.
48
[Franc.]
But I feare
I cannot stay the making. Oh would you
Had never un-deceiv'd me, for I'had dy'd with
Pleasure, beleeving I had been your Martyr.
Now—
Iphi.
Shee looks pale. Francelia—
Franc.
—I cannot stay;
A hasty summons hurries me away:
And—gives—no—
(dies)
Iphi.
—Shee's gone:
Shee's gone. Life like a Dials hand hath stolne
A noyse within. Enter souldiers. Shee thinkes them Almer.
From the faire figure e're it was perceiv'd.
What will become of me?—Too late, too late
Y'are come: you may perswade wild birds, that wing
The aire, into a Cage, as soon as call
Her wandring spirits back.—ha!
Those are strange faces; there's a horrour in them:
And if I stay, I shall be taken for
The murtherer. O in what streights they move
That wander 'twixt death, feares and hopes of love.
Exit.
Enter Brennoralt. Granivert. Souldiers.
Bren.
Forbeare, upon your lives, the place:
There dwels divinity within it. All else
The Castle holds, is lawfull prize;
Your valours wages. This I claime as mine,
Guard you the door—
Grani.
Coronell shall you use all the women your selfe?
Bren.
Away—'tis unseasonable—
(drawes the curtain)
Awake fair Saint and blesse thy poore Idolator
Ha!—pale?—and cold?—dead.
The sweetest guest fled, murdered by heaven;
The purple streames not drye yet.
Some villaine has broke in before me,
Rob'd all my hopes; but I will find him out,
And kick his soule to hell—Ile doe't—
dragging out Iphigene.
Speak.
Iphi.
What should I say?
Bren.
Speak or by all—
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Alas, I doe confesse my selfe the unfortunate cause.
Bren.
Oh d' you so?
Hadst thou been cause of all the plagues
That vexe mankinde, th'adst been an Innocent
To what thou art; thou shalt not think repentance.
(kils her.
Iph.
Oh, thou wert too suddaine.
And—
(dies.
Bren.
Was I so?
The lustfull youth would sure have spoil'd her honour;
Which finding highly garded, rage, and feare
To be reveal'd, counsell'd this villany.
Is there no more of them?
Exit.
Enter Almerin.
Alm.
Not enter?
Yes dogge, through thee—ha! a course laid out
In stead of Iphigene: Francelia dead too?—
(Enter Bren.
Where shall I begin to curse?
Bren.
Here—If he were thy friend.
Alm.
Brennoralt;
A gallant sword could ne're have come
In better time.
Bren.
I have a good one for thee,
If that will serve the turne.
Alm.
I long to trie it,
That sight doth make me desperate;
Sicke of my selfe and the world.
Bren.
Didst value him?
A greater villaine did I never kill.
Alm.
Kill?
Bren.
Yes.
Alm.
Art sure of it?
Bren.
May be I doe not wake.
Alm.
Th'ast taken then a guilt off from me,
Would have waigh'd downe my sword,
Weakned me to low resistance.
I should have made no sports, hadst thou conceal'd it.
Know Brennoralt thy sword is stain'd in excellence,
Great as the world could boast.—
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Ha—ha—how thou art abus'd?
Looke there, there lies the excellence
Thou speak'st of, murdred; by him too;
He did confesse he was the cause.
Alm.
Oh Innocence, ill understood, and much worse us'd!
She was alas by accident, but I,
I was the cause indeed—
Bre.
I will beleeve thee too, and kill thee—
Destroy all causes, till I make a stop
In nature; for to what purpose should she
Worke agen?
Alm.
Bravely then,
The title of a Kingdome is a trifle
To our quarrell Sir; know by sad mistake
I kill'd thy Mistres Brennoralt,
And thou kild'st mine.
Bren.
Thine?
Alm.
Yes, that Iphigene
Though showne as man unto the world,
Was woman, excellent woman—
Bren.
I understand no riddles guard thee.—
Fight and pause.
Alm.
O could they now looke downe,
And see how wee two strive
Which first should give revenge,
They would forgive us something of the crime.
Hold prethee give me leave
To satisfie a curiosity—
I never kissed my Iphigene as woman.
Bren.
Thou motion'st well, nor have I taken leave
(Rising.
It keeps a sweetnesse yet—
As stills from Roses, when the flowers are gone.
Alm.
Even so have two faint Pilgrims scorch't with heat
Vnto some neighbour fountaine stept aside
Kneel'd first, then laid their warm lips to the Nymph
And from her coldnesse took fresh life againe
As we doe now—
Bren.
Lets on our journy if thou art refresht.
Alm.
Come and if there be a place reserved
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May that which wearies first of ours have it.
Fight agood while Alm. fals.
Bren.
If I grow weary, laugh at me, that's all
Alm.
—Brave soules above which will
Be (sure) inquisitive for newes from earth
Shall get no other but that thou art Brave.
Enter King: Stratheman: Lords: Minse.
Stra.
To preserve some Ladies as we guest.
King.
Still gallant, Brennoralt, thy sword not sheath'd yet?
Busie still?—
Bren.
Revenging Sir
The fowlest murder ever blasted eares
Committed here by Almerin and Iphigene.
Alm.
False, false; The first created purity
Was not more innocent then Iphigene.
Bren.
Lives he agen?
Alm.
Stay thou much wearied guest
Till I have thrown a truth amongst them—
We shall look back else to posterity.
King.
What sayes he?
Lord.
Some thing concerning this he labours to
Discover.
Alm.
Know it was I that kild Francelia?
I alone—
Mins.
O barbarous return of my civilities
Was it thy hand?
Alm.
Heare and forgive me Minse
Entring this morning hastily
With resolution to preserve
The faire Francelia. I found a theefe
Stealing the treasure (as I thought)
Belongd to me. Wild in my mind
As ruin'd in my honour, in much mistaken rage
I wounded both: then (oh) too late I found
My errour. Found Iphigene a woman
Acting stolne love, to make her own love safe
And all my jealousies impossible
Whilst I ran out to bring them cure;
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I can no more—
(dies)
King.
Most strange and intricate.
Iphigene a woman?
Mel.
With this story I am guiltily acquainted
The first concealments, since her love
And all the wayes to it I have bin trusted with:
But Sir my greife joyn'd with the instant busines
Begges a deferrement.
King.
I am amaz'd till I doe heare it out.
—But ith' mean time,
Least in these mists merit should loose it selfe,
—Those forfeitures
Of Trock and Menseck and Brennoralt are thine.
Bren.
A Princely guilt! But Sir it comes too late.
Like Sun-beames on the blasted blossomes, doe
Your favours fall: you should have giv'n me this
When't might have rais'd me in mens thoughts, and made
Me equall to Francelia's love: I have
No end, since shee is not—
Back, to my private life I will returne.
“Cattell, though weary, can trudge homewards, after.
King.
This melancholy, time must cure: Come take
The bodies up, and lead the prisoners on,
Triumph and funerals must walke together,
Cipresse and Laurell twin'd make up one chaplet.
—For we have got
The day; but bought it at so deare a rate,
That victory it selfe's unfortunate.
Exeunt.
| Brennoralt | |