 | Imperiale, a tragedie |  |
Scena Prima.
Sango, Molosso.Sang.
Tis true Molosso, fortune hath prepar'd
A full revenge for thee, without thy hazard,
And ere the rising Sun shall yet decline
Imperiale thy proud Lord shall fall
As low as hell; one unexpected blow
Shall recompence those many he gave thee;
When imitating forraigne cruelty,
He bound thee fast, and made thy feet an Anvill.
Molos.
Sango, if thou contemplating our friendship,
Begotten first by consanguinity,
And since confirm'd by our joynt sufferings here,
Hast undertaken some bold stratagem
Against my Patron to revenge my wrongs,
Thy great affection may but ruine me;
Delay not then to make me understand
Thy full intent: beleeve it will be vaine,
Our sword once drawn, to think to sheath again.
Sang.
Then know, the plot is more securely laid,
Than my weake meanes (although my will be strong)
Could ever reach, without my certain death;
And by strange chance I did discover it,
Without the Actors knowledge; thou hast heard
Of the old deadly fewd between our Lords,
Which wound although it were in shew heal'd up,
Is broken out afresh; 'twas not well search't;
For the last night, at setting of the Sunne,
A houshold businesse cal'd me to the Garden,
Where in the thicket, neere the Arbor, lying
To rest my selfe, I quickly fell asleepe,
My Patron, with a Brave accompanied,
A Fellow expert in that Mysterie:
At their first entrance to the place I wak'd,
But durst not stir, for had I, death had seaz'd me;
There was I privie to their whole discourse,
Which was in briefe but this, that for the summe
Of fifteene hundred crownes, thy Patrons life
Is sold, and must ere noone be snatch't away.
Mol.
Sure thou did'st dreame, thou wert not throughly awake,
For though our Lords were lately reconcil'd,
Myne keepes a carefull watch, and never stirs
Out of the Citie, where he knowes he's safe.
Sang.
He'le be deceiv'd, the rarenes of the plot
Did please beyond the deare and long'd for Act;
Heer's the designe, this being a solemne day
Annuallie observed by the State,
In memory of a publique benefit
Received by the private care of one
Of thy Lords Ancestors, will draw all sorts
Of People to the Temple, where the Brave
Cloth'd like a silly Pesant, is resolv'd
To watch Imperiale, and keepe neere him,
And when the usuall Ceremonies are done,
In the confused Crowd his cunning hand
Shall guide a poison'd dagger to his heart,
And in an instant, letting fall his cloake,
Which shall be large to hide his rustick habit,
He, with the rest, will stand about the body
And wring his hands at th'horror of the fact,
And thus the Brave shall thy part bravely act.
What? silent? not affected with a joy
Should ravish thee? and swell thy veines with pleasure,
Like to the Estrich in the act of lust?
Mol.
Light joyes are eas'ly vented; such as this
Is entertained with an extasie,
And by degrees exprest: but as the full
Fruition of a thing we most delight in
So finde I now my rising heart kept downe
With doubt of such a wished happinesse,
Sang.
Had'st thou, as I beheld the Actors looks
When he declar'd his resolution,
To my attentive Patron, thou wouldst rest,
Assur'd of the event, and sweare he needed
No other weapon to distroy a man;
His eies would have outstar'd a Basiliske,
They were two Comets that are surely fatall.
Mol.
May they portend more mischeife to this House,
Then those that blasted ours and our whole Country;
But in this strong desire of a revenge
Discretion must direct our passion;
And therefore let it bee thy cheifest care
Neither in word, nor gesture, to disclose
Thy fortunate discoverie, till the end
Shall crowne the worke, and banish all our feares;
My taske shalbe to make it profitable
No lesse then pleasant, by his foreknown fall
Weel rayse our selves to wealth and libertie,
The great allurements of those bold attempts,
Wherein the Vassall dares affront his Lord,
And quite shake off the yoke of his subjection.
Sang.
Our Magnificos think us flegmatick rascalls
Created but for blowes, and scorne, soe far
In love with servitude as scarce to wish
Revenge or fredome.
Mol.
They shall finde at length
Patience opprest will into fury turne;
Nature, in spite of fortune gave us minds
That cannot like our bodies be enthral'd;
But soft, I doubt our earlie privacie
May render vs suspected; leave to me
The mannage of th'affaire, only let thy
Vertue be now the dumbe mans secrecy.
| Imperiale, a tragedie | |