University of Virginia Library

Scœna 3.

Mariam and Sohemus.
Mariam.
Sohemus , tell me what the newes may be
That makes your eyes so full, your cheeks so blew?

Sohem.
I know not how to call them. Ill for me
Tis sure they are: not so I hope for you.

Herod., Mari.
Oh, what of Herod?

Sohem.
Herod liues.
How! liues? What in some Caue or forrest hid?

Sohem.
Nay, backe return'd with honor. Cæsar giues
Him greater grace then ere Anthonius did.

Mari.
Foretell the ruine of my family,
Tell me that I shall see our Citie burnd:
Tell me I shall a death disgracefull die,
But tell me not that Herod is returnd.

Sohem.
Be not impatient Madam, be but milde,
His loue to you againe will soone be bred:

Mar.
I will not to his loue be reconcilde,
With solemne vowes I haue forsworne his Bed.

Sohem.
But you must breake those vowes.

Mar.
Ile rather breake
The heart of Mariam. Cursed is my Fate:
But speake no more to me, in vaine ye speake
To liue with him I so profoundly hate.

Sohem.
Great Queene, you must to me your pardon giue,
Sohemus cannot now your will obey:
If your command should me to silence driue,
It were not to obey, but to betray.
Reiect, and slight my speeches, mocke my faith,
Scorne my obseruance, call my counsell nought:
Though you regard not what Sohemus faith,
Yet will I euer freely speake my thought.
I feare ere long I shall faire Mariam see
In wofull state, and by her selfe vndone:
Yet for your issues sake more temp'rate bee,
The heart by affabilitie is wonne.

Mari.
And must I to my Prison turne againe?
Oh, now I see I was an hypocrite:
I did this morning for his death complaine,
And yet doe mourne, because he liues ere night.
When I his death beleeu'd, compassion wrought,
And was the stickler twixt my heart and him:
But now that Curtaine's drawne from off my thought,
Hate doth appeare againe with visage grim:
And paints the face of Herod in my heart,
In horred colours with detested looke:
Then feare would come, but scorne doth play her part,
And saith that scorne with feare can neuer brooke.
I know I could inchaine him with a smile:
And lead him captiue with a gentle word,
I scorne my looke should euer man beguile,
Or other speech, then meaning to afford.
Else Salome in vaine might spend her winde,
In vaine might Herods mother whet her tongue:
In vaine had they complotted and combinde,
For I could ouerthrow them all ere long.
Oh what a shelter is mine innocence,
To shield me from the pangs of inward griefe:
Gainst all mishaps it is my faire defence,
And to my sorrowes yeelds a large reliefe.
To be commandresse of the triple earth,
And sit in safetie from a fall secure:
To haue all nations celebrate my birth,
I would not that my spirit were impure.
Let my distressed state vnpittied bee,
Mine innocence is hope enough for mee.

Exit.
Sohem:
Poore guiltles Queene. Oh that my wish might place
A little temper now about thy heart:
Vnbridled speech is Mariams worst disgrace,
And will indanger her without desart.
I am in greater hazard. O're my head,
The fattall axe doth hang vnstedily:
My disobedience once discouered,
Will shake it downe: Sohemus so shall die.
For when the King shall find, we thought his death
Had bene as certaine as we see his life:
And markes withall I slighted so his breath,
As to preserue aliue his matchles wife.
Nay more, to giue to Alexanders hand
The regall dignitie. The soueraigne power,
How I had yeelded vp at her command,
The strength of all the citie, Dauids Tower.
What more then common death may I expect,
Since I too well do know his crueltie:
Twere death, a word of Herods to neglect,
What then to doe directly contrarie?
Yet life I quite thee with a willing spirit,
And thinke thou could'st not better be imploi'd:
I forfeit thee for her that more doth merit,
Ten such were better dead then she destroi'd.
But fare thee well chast Queene, well may I see
The darknes palpable, and riuers part:
The sunne stand still: Nay more retorted bee,
But neuer woman with so pure a heart.
Thine eyes graue maiestie keepes all in awe,
And cuts the winges of euery loose desire:
Thy brow is table to the modest lawe,
Yet though we dare not loue, we may admire.
And if I die, it shall my soule content,
My breath in Mariams seruice shall be spent.

Chorus.