University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

Enter Lerma.
Ler.
If my invention faile not, I have yet
Out-stript 'em all; if my wing'd Mercury
Keep touch in time: The Court lookes odly,
And every brow weares mysteries about 'em:
The fawning Rascalls of it (which like Cobwebs
Shou'd be swept off) methinks avoid me now,
VVho us'd to crowd, and stop my way with cringes;
Their smiles look like the grins of anger'd Monkey's:
But I am safe, while my Marias Charmes
Hang on the King, and numb him to a Lethergy,
There's some that are too great, must be cut down,
Feign'd Accusations, and a little time
Will kill all wonder, which is shorter Liv'd
Then dreams of Children, or old Womens tales.

Enter Angelo.
Ang.
My Lord.

Ler.
Ha! Death on thee, I was serious.
Begon—this was a guilty start,
This slave too, will perhaps
strikes him. Ex. Angelo.
Grow wise, and guess at something,
How hard it is, in slippery ways
To keep a steady Motion.
Enter Caldroon.
How now? what news?—speak.

Cald.
I am too narrow to contain,
It is too great to keep or to let out.

Ler.
Curse on this form in thy Relations.
For thou dost practice on me like an Advocate
Whose spleenative exordiums are more horrid
Then the ill cause he wou'd make monstrous.

Cald.
Your Daughter, Sir.

Ler.
Is sweeter then the Spring, wreath'd in the Arms
Of budding Flowers; what more of her?

Cald.
There can't be Man enough in you to hear it,
And then out-live it; 'tis so great a weight
I almost sink to bring it.

Ler.
And yet art such an Ass under thy burden
As not to throw it off: for tell it me
And I have all thy weight.

Cald.
You cannot hear it.

Ler.
Not if you do not tell it.

Cald.
'Twill crush you.

Ler.
It must be heavier then all the weight
Of peoples curses, and the great ones envies:
Thou dost not know one thing, Caldroon;
Fortune and I did long agoe agree
I to make work for her, and she for me.
Tell it me boldly; and prethee now Caldroon
Do not like those that bring a bitter potion
Make scurvy faces at it, as you give it.

Cald.
Oh, my Lord,
Dogs howlings. or the groans of Mandrakes
Wou'd be a Consort of soft Musick
To this harsh thing I have to utter.

Ler.
Thou'st numb'd my Sences like a skilful Surgeon
And now may'st strike, I shall not feel thy hand.
But come, what of Maria?

Cald.
She's gone, stole away,
Unknown by whom, or whether.

Ler.
This is a dangerous wound indeed
I know not where to search it.

Cald.
My Lord, I told you what 't wou'd come to.

Ler.
Oh, Sir, you are a Mighty Prophet,
Where was the King?

Cald.
As they say, asleep.

Ler.
Could he sleep? and his dull soul without
A dreaming whisper, that she was loosing,
And when he wakes, and misses her, what then?

Cald.
He will be troubled sure.

Ler.
Troubles wear off from Kings (they are too high
To grieve, and sorrow slides from them) like falling drops
From sides of houses,—they dare not hurt her sure.

Cald.
It cannot be imagin'd that they dare.

Ler.
She must appear again, our rapid motions
Will bring us round again to that fair sun
If the King loves her too, (as sure he does)
Her absence makes it night with him.
I wonder what they meant by't.

Cald.
I cannot guess, my Lord.

Ler.
Thou'rt shallow then; they fondly think
The King will be uncharm'd, and hearken to their
Clamours, now she that stood between
Their breath and him is thus remov'd;
'Twas pollitically done;—
And yet they dare not tell him where she is,
Nor the bold ravisher confess the fact.
For yet, Caldroon, she hangs upon his heart
Like hopes of Joy upon a troubled soul;
I have a plot to help us yet, at least
To give us time till I have searcht this further.

Cald.
What is't my Lord.

Ler.
I'le instantly to the halfe soul-less King,
For he must want his better part of Life
Now she is gone: and tel him she's retir'd
On purpose, till a hasty vow be past:
And frame a Letter in her dearest name
Shall keep his Love from chilling.

Cald.
'Tis excellent.

Ler.
He must not know she's lost.

Cald.
Not for the world.

Ler.
By that time, Fate will send her me again;
For those above, all know my Title to her;
She is my Child, Caldroon, but such a one
As can raise sorrow above Natures pitch.
Prethee observe, Caldroon, how other Fathers
Mourn for lost Children; then thou wou't see
I do not talk so idly as thou think'st;
But in this loss, I must not loose my self
And whine to nothing: I'le to the King.

Enter the King and Medina, D'Alva, Alcara, and Bruchero, whispering to him, and Medina showing Papers: the King sad and expressing amazement angerly, and so passes over the stage.
Cald.
He comes.

Ler.
But with a Guard, I like not.

Cald.
We are undone.

Ler.
He wou'd not look upon me once,
While round about him, all my Enemies.
Whisper'd destruction to me.

Cald.
All's out, I fear.

Ler.
Base Prince;
By Heaven, Caldroon, he has forgot her;
How easily his fond and childish Love
Threw the fine thing away, that it so cry'd for
The memories of Princes are but Graves
Where Beauty, and where merit lie forgotten.

Cald.
Think of your self, my Lord.

Ler.
When the thick crowd of thoughts for lost Maria
Will leave the least way open, then I will;
Oh, she had eyes, Caldroon, I hope she has,
That did, and may, yet look him into nothing.

Cald.
Cou'd we but find her.

Ler.
She cannot be conceal'd, she is too glorious,
Had she been coupl'd with some rough-hewn slave,
Her Language wou'd have play'd upon his soul
And charm'd him into dot ge, if she had griev'd
Like an Idolater he wou'd have gather'd
Her tears upon his knees, for sacred Relicks.
But had he lost her thus, thus as she's lost
He wou'd have searcht her out, or else destroy'd
All that he could suspect, and then himself.
But this sick shadow of a Lover
That whin'd, and pin'd away in passion for her,
Is like a School-boy, glad to be releas'd
From a hard Lesson.

Cald.
Here's more Company.

Ler.
The worst is come already, and the rest lookt for.

Enter Medina, D'Alva, Alcara, Bruchero, with Angelo led prisoner by an Officer, with a white staffe and a Guard attending.
Med.
You shall have more company
Seignior Angelo—Do your Office, Algazil.

Algaz.
Roderigo del Caldroon, I Arrest thee
In the name of Philip, King of Spain.

Cald.
I obey it, we are o're-taken.

Ler.
Medina I will answer the Arrest.

Med.
Your case is not much better,
You will be summon'd Lerma.

Exeunt.
Ler.
Why then I will appear, Medina;
You'r a kind Brother.
Cou'd I turn all my passions into Curses
And make 'em as effectual as my sorrows
They might, perhaps, destroy the proudest of 'em;
And yet my well-propt heart shall bear it all,
He only is above Envy and Fate
Whose mind in sinking Fortunes keeps its height.

Exit.