 | Imperiale, a tragedie |  |
Scena Secunda.
Spinola, Iustiniano.Spin.
The hatefull sound of Jmperiale's name
Would strike me deafe, my deare Iustinian,
Were it not temper'd by thy gentle tongue,
That had the art to make m'embrace and trust
A reconciled foe, who hath rejected
With scorne my hopefull sonne, as if his birth,
Fortune, and parts, had not deserv'd that flirt
His gilded daughter; but I taxe not thee,
Whose friendship is a gem without a foile,
And hardly can be valu'd, never matcht:
I know thy milder studies chiefly bent
To weed out Rancor from the minds of men,
Smoothing rough nature with morality,
And this becomes Philosophers: but I
That doe professe the art of killing men,
Encourag'd by all States, impos'd by some
Must follow other precepts: he is sure
Of many wrongs, that will but one endure.
Iust.
Thy Character of me, lov'd Spinola,
Thus farre I may without vaine glory owne,
Truely to love my friend, yet hate no man,
And since mine own experience finds how well
Thou do'st the one, I would perswade the other;
Nor would I now convert thee to a Stoicke,
To make thee thinke there are no injuries,
Or if there be, that wise men cannot feele'm,
These, I confesse, are not compatible
With thy condition; on th'other side,
I can encourage none, much lesse my friend
To take a scandall, when there is none given,
To call that injury, which is in truth
A liberty that every man may challenge;
Or if Imperial ought t'have wav'd the same,
But Fatherly perswasion, to incline
Th'affections of his daughter, all the rest
Is ravishment, or tyranny at best.
Spin.
I know not how the rigid schooles define
A fathers power, in their beg'd principles,
As if the freedome of the will extended
To silly wenches, to restraine the power
Of them that gave them first and second being;
No, it was onely his inveterate malice
That closely lurk't under a new fein'd freindship
That stuck on me and mine this contumely,
Which ought to be resented farre above
An injury, by any generous spirit;
Iust.
Let it be what thy fancy apprehends,
Which scarce appeares in the least circumstance.
Yet generous spirits at poore contumelies,
As seldome stoope as Eagles doe to Flyes.
Spin.
What is there that should wound an active spirit,
Like base contempt?
Iust.
The guilt of one base act.
Spin.
Should we not then be jealous of our fame?
Iust.
If we within finde cause of jealousie.
Spi.
Reports may brand, although they be untrue.
Iust.
Yes, those that take their honour upon trust.
Spi.
Our honour by opinion must subsist,
Iust.
Then every puffe of winde will scatter it.
How can we call that ours, which must depend
On the rash will, and vainer voyce of others?
But herein thou most slightst thy selfe to doubt
Thou canst be undervalued by any,
Much more contemn'd by him that dares not thinke
Himselfe to be the worthier, but that thou
Suggests it for him, in thy vaine suspition:
They that beleeve themselves despis'd, confesse
An inward doubt of their owne worthinesse.
Spi.
I am not for my part ambitious
Of the dull fame of stupid patience,
Like Cato, that could let one spit in's face,
And when he should have wip'd off the disgrace
With his sharpe Sword, he did it with a Iest
And his soft handcarcheife: This was that spirit
Thou lift'st above great Alexanders merit.
Just.
I, and above the glory of Hercules,
Or what bold Greece hath left in histories
Of her great Captaines, to their endles fame,
They Monsters, Kingdomes, and their lusts orecame:
Cato fought not with Beasts, nor did live when
T'was thought that Heaven might be borne up by men,
But in an age when (barbarisme being fled)
All industry and learning flourished;
And in that time did bravely set upon
That Monster, in many shapes, Ambition,
With all the crimes of Rome, and when the State
Was ready ev'n to sinke with its owne weight
He it supported with his onlie hand;
And did (as much as one man could) withstand
Romes instant fate, till forc't to let her goe
He became partner in her overthrowe;
And soe one ruine did them both oppresse;
Whom to have severd had bin wickednesse;
For was it fit that liberty should dye
And Cato live? that had bin contumely,
Not the purgation of a mouth that might
As well have don the Sun or Moone dispight:
But I will leave thee to thy thoughts a while,
For wholsome counsell like safe Physick is
Vnpleasant in the taste, and must have time
To worke upon the humor; thou that art master
Of so much worth, wilt master in the end
Those passions that with reason now contend.
| Imperiale, a tragedie | |