University of Virginia Library

Actus 4.

Scena 1.

Enter Iulia and Amada.
Iuli.
O had our soules no deeper sence then flesh,
Were they like waxen pictures formable:
Obsequiously to take impression
From euery rude hand, and be like this will,
That wils vs vnto some deformity,
I should not Amada complaine of wrong
But make religion of my forc'd restraint:
I then should sleepe and pray: and on my beades
Number deuotion: my enuironed spirit
Should not thus swell beyond my present freedome:
Whisper my wrongs and prompt my weaker powers
To prone impatience

Ama.
Madam I am yours.
Let not the name of daughter vnto him
That hath confinde your hope, be preiudice
To those affections I beare your state:
Ile proue 'gainst reason and receiued truth,
Like breedes not like, in breeding euery thing:
Cleere streames may flowe euen from a troubled spring.

Iuli.
I am no infidel to thy position,
Sad thoughts oppresse me: may I haue no musique?

Ama.
Yes Madam.

Iuli.
Some say that when the Thracian entred hell,
The tortur'd soules enchanted with his tunes,
Felt not their torments: Syciphus sate downe,
Ixions wheele stood still: the thirsty sonne of Ioue,
Forgat to drinke, and all the rest did stand
Catching the aire from his delicious hand:
I would I might pertake their happines.

Ama.
Madam you shall: giue your eares a while,
And you shall heare such musicke as would make
The greedy wolfe forsake the tender lamb,
And listen to it: such as the sonne of Neptune
Playd to the Dolphins: when they in a ring
Danct their crookt measures but to heare him sing.
A song,
Madam how fare you now?

Iuli.
Euen as the labouring dayman after sleepe.
Enter Timoclea like a Ghost.
Refresht and cherisht: ha but Amada.

Amad.
Some better Genius assist my feare.

Iuli.
What would it Amada, it beckens to thee?

Ama.
My mothers troubled spirit: O defend me heauens.

Timo.
Away: Amada.

Iuli.
It commaunds my absence.

Ama.
O for heauens sake stay.

Timo.
Away.

Iul.
Something it would vnfold to thee: I goe:
Exit Iulia.

Timo.
Conteine thy feare, I liue.

Ama.
Such terror liues not in a liuing eye,
Death is not sharper then those pointed beames
That pierce vnto my heart.

Timo.
Would they were ponyards digging at thy breast.
Keepe in thy short-drawne accents: let not th'ayre
Carry the softest clamour to the eare
Of waking Iealousie: if it do—
How Lust and Nature do deuide my soule?
The one doth plead prescription in my blood,
And sues as plaintiue with such clamorous spels,
As might coniure the violent rape of Lust
To modest continence: O but it is a vice
Sooner condemnd then banisht: easily spoke against
But yet t'will fawne smoothly on our flesh,
As Circe on the Grecian trauellours,
When she detaind them in the shape of beasts.
Amada knowest thou my face?

Ama.
I knew that outward Character of her
That sometimes I cald mother.

Tym.
Dost thinke I haue no life?
Seest not my blood in a continuall pulse
Beat through the azure conduits of my flesh?
Feele how I burne: what star'st thou on me?
Am I transparant? canst see from my heart
Death in the shape of iealousie: stand
Like a chiefe organ guiding all my frame,
Vnto some tragicke action?

Ama.
O giue my sence some freedome
From feare and terror, that I may distinguish
Betwixt the credulous rumour of your death,
And what I see.

Tym.
I liue, the time befits not inquisition
Of tedious circumstance: Amada I liue:
But thou must dye, and by thy mothers hand.

Ama.
O be not a Medea.

Tym.
Why like Creusa hast thou stolne my Iason?
My Mulleasses he dotes vpon thee:
I am debard his breast,
Robd of his loue by thy alluring lookes.
Sad discontent wound in his folded armes,
Sighs nought but Amada: but by my better hopes
My blood shall like Medusas first turne to serpents
And taint thy flesh, ere it shall loose that fire
Which makes it boyle and burne in his desire.

Ama.
Deforme my beauty fill my face with scarres,
Make me more loathsome then a dead mans scull:
Wash me with spiders blood, that I may swell,
And be more vgly then a Gorgons head,
That he may feare to see me: onely let me liue,
And spare me that that onely you did giue.

Timo.
My pleasure gaue thee life, and it resumes
That life againe, because it kils my pleasure:
Th'art like an Iuy nourisht at the roote
Of some proud oake: that not content to creepe
And feede vpon the sap, but stretching vp,
Proudly presumst to ouer looke the top:
So that the verdure of the ambitious impe,
Detaines all admiration: the Oake wants grace,
Onely because the Iuy is in place.
Enter Mulleasses.
But Ile displant thee for no weede shall grow
So neere the roote from whence my sap doth flow.

she kils her.
Ama.
Cruell vnnaturall: heauen my hopes in thee
If virgin purenesse please, accept of me.

moistur
Mul.
What, do you Christians sacrifice with flesh?
Or like the Laodiceans vnto Pallas, offer
The blood of virgins? O inhumane deed,
Vngentle monster, beauteous Amada!

Timo.
It was her beauty that I offerd vp
Vnto thy loue my deerest Mulleasses.

Mul.
Worse then a Cammel in her time of lust,
Cruell vnto thy childe: loose thy snaky armes
O thou hast done

Timo.
As Lucius Catalline
Romes terror did for Orestalla, kild
My childe: no more: for Mulleasses loue,
I would outgoe examples, and exceed
As in desire, all others so indeed.

Mul.
And yet I loue thy cruelty: for this night thou must
Discard the timorous pitty of thy Sexe:
Be a Semiramis: let thy husbands death
Giue thy hopes life: feed, feed vpon his blood,
And let thy vaines swell: now he prepares to bed
Be thine owne ghost: and like the apparition
Of his beleeu'd-dead wife call for reuenge:
Incite his timerous conscience to despaire,
Speake of damnanion: let one word containe
A hell of torments. But time slides.

Timo.
I runne.

Exit.
Mul.
Much ere the morning riseth must be done,
Ile beare this body hence: ha ha ha,
O now me thinkes I gin out-reach my selfe,
Now like some huge Collossus cold I strut,
And stride that Oke of Mahomet: that beares vp
The ponderous center: whose deuided hornes
Measuring the passing of a thousand yeares,
Touch at both Polles, and tosse the massy ball:
Makes mountaines nod and curled Cedars reele
On Syrian Lybanus. But soft me thinkes I heare
within oh oh
Some mutinous and distracted tumult.

Enter Borgias & Timoclea after him.
Borg.
Guard me ye iust and intellectuall powers
Thou triple & eternall essence.

Timo.
Borgias.

Borg.
What dreadfull summons calls on Borgias?
What art thou?

Timo.
Timoclea thy poysond wife.

Borg.
What wouldst thou, Hah.

Timo.
Reuenge and horror.

Borg.
Terror to my soule: forbeare those lookes.

Timo.
Dispaire and vengeance.

Borg.
Maist thou be peacefull, in my prayers I wish it,
Let them expiate my sinne: if thou be'st a spirit
Blest and celestiall: change that face of feare,
Or leaue th'infectious grosnesse of our aire,
And like an Angell daunce about the Spheres,
Play with the Moone and make the Sun thy glasse,
To see thy beauty as thy beauy passe.
Or if thou be'st—

Timo.
A messenger of death.

Borg.
Then like a Fury post to Tartarus,
Fetch vp the snackie curld Eumenides:
From Orcus bottome where reuengefull cares
Griefe, pale diseases, sad and croked age
Are euer resident: let them and their effects
Let fierce Erennis with her brazen feet,
Seize me at once, and strike me in my fall,
Lower then him that durst ascend the Sun.
Onely be thou appeasd.

Timo.
Not till I meet thee in the shades of death.

Borg.
Which thou deniest me: for thy feares keepe in
My trembling soule: it dares not leaue my brest,
Mount to the flaming girdle of the world,
And fetch me lightnings, I will swallow it.
Snatch from the Ciclops bals of Etnean fire
And I will eate them: steale thunder from the clowds
And dart it at me: quaffe Stigian Nonocris
I will pledge thee.

Timo.
Ile haunt thee to dispaire.

Exit Borgias. Timoclia following him.
Mul.
Pursue his feare to some effect of death,
Whilst I like starres that spred their sparckling fires
Beyond an vsuall light fore-shewe a tempest
Of the whole state of Florence. Amadas remoued
Her neare alliance vnto Iulias blood,
Shall not distast my hopes: Timocleas feare
Workes death on Borgias: vp Mulleasses
Sit like Saturnus on the highest orbe,
And let starre-gazing wizards from thy feare,
Buzze sad Astrology in the peoples eare.

Enter Borgias and Timoclea aloft.
Borg.
What night or what darcke Chaos can conceale
My conscience horror? rather let me see
The feare of Hercules: let the Cretian Bull
Bellow and burst my braines: onely may my eares
Be deafe to thy exclaimes.

Timo.
Thou art at farthest.

Borg.
Then I can but fall.

He leapes downe.
Timo.
Like Lucifer from heauen.

discendit Timoclea.
Mul.
Oh now me thinkes a Chorus all of Angells
Clad with the Sun and crownd with golden starres,
Should make more heauenly musique at thy fall
Then all the Spheres that daunce about the ball:
Now should they poetize in verse for ioy,
And out-sing Homer in the fall of Troy.

Borg.
Villaine triumphst thou?

Mull.
O ye strong power of superstitious faith
It reignes on fooles: that men of wit and state,
Men that like Eagles climbe to be aboue,
And shrowd themselues betweene the knees of Ioue,
Should be struke downe by apparitions.

Enter Timoclea.
Timo.
Delusiue counterfeit.

Borg.
Conterfeit!

Timo.
I Valentine I liue:
And am the actor of mine owne reuenge.
That cup of poyson made against my life,
Was by my deerest Mulleasses loue
Turnd to a philter; and my working sence,
Charm'd in the scilence of a quiet sleep,
Shewd as if death had lockt my pulses vp,
But posting time brought motion on my blood.
And now my full vaines like a water-brooke,
That slyding gently at some proud hils foot,
In pipes of lead are carryed to the top,
And there in amourous branches spreading forth,
Courtes the curld mountaine thus, thus, and thus:

she kisses him.
Borg.
Lasciuious strumpet.

Timo.
My beloued Turke.

Borg.
Incestuous Phedra.

Timo.
Loue Hipolitus.

Borg.
Cruell Medea.

Timo.
My kind Iason.

Borg.
Whirle me ye iust & more auspitious powers,
Amongst the thicke and thunder darting clowdes,
That being wrapt in flames I may be throwne,
Like Aetnean bals from heauen and strike you downe:
Or would my dying breath were more infectious
Then halfe rotte bodyes digd vp from their graues,
Or then those mists felt by the soules of men,
When they descend to th'Acharusian fenne.
It should not striue, within me, or be loth
To leaue my body might it blast you both.

He faines to dye.
Timo.
So with thy death the Emblem of my loue
Takes perfect shape. Now like the Sestian maide
May I court Leander swimming in my armes,
And with our pleasing motions mocke the seas
That rose and fell to wanton with his thighs:
Now ther's no Hellespont betwixt our loues:
I am not iealous: Agamemnons dead,
And Clitemnestra with Aegisthus plaies:
Pleasure is free.

Mul.
Come ther's no pleasure in you:
Y'are a lustfull time-spent murderous strumpet,
The prostitution of your knowne Bordellos,
Where euery itching letcher vents his blood,
Is not so loathsome.

Tim.
You speake not like a louer.

Mull.
No, for thou hast kild my loue Amada:
And now thy husbands blood bids me beware
Of some new lust and third adulterer:
Such is your loue to me.

Timo.
Oh stop those killing accents, be more milde
I doe forgiue what you did speake: and aske
But a kinde thought for all my louing taske.
These eies haue seene you smile: looke gently on me,
And let me read some milder characters:

Mull.
Hence with thy Serpent twines.

Timo.
I am no Lamia nor no Lastrigon,
No high-prizd Lais: that thou shouldst esteeme
Repentance purchasd at too deere a rate:
Kings shall not come to Corinth where thou maist,
Not with a common Ephereian trull,
Purchase a minutes pleasure: but with me
(As faire but yet more chaste by farre then she)
Spend yeares of sweete content.

Mull.
Syren mine cares are stopt I will not heare thee.

Timo.
Oh would I had a Syrens charming voice,
I'de vse no incantations but to thy eares,
Or were my tongue like Orpheus golden lyre,
To which the windes were husth and heard it play,
It should be silent but to please thy eares,
Or like the dying swan, would I might sing
A funerall elegy to my parting soule,
So that the musique might but please thy eares:
What should I say?

Mull.
Be dumbe and leaue me.

Timo.
Not till thou loue, or else of life bereaue me.

Exeunt.
Borg.
Ha,
Are ye gone: all cleere, damnation cease ye,
I, a knowne practisde pollititian,
And thus outreacht: O my shallowe braines.
Fell I so high? would I had fallen from heauen:
So, like a Phaeton I had fir'd the world:
Or like a flash of lightning on your heads,
Consumd you for these trickes: I dyed in time,
Like a true coward, counterfeited death,
For feare to die indeed: well then for my life
I am beholding yet vnto my wit:
But for my legges I know not how they stand,
Are my bones stiffe still, not broken?
Enter Mulleasses.
Ha?

he fals againe.
Mull.
I am at last freed of my lustfull loue,
My hope is yet dispaire will arme her hands
To her owne death, and saue my sword a labour:
If not, tis but the taking backe of what I gaue,
And send her once againe into her graue.
Now for my Iulia, she is the maine of all,
Her will I ceaze and keep, vntill the Fleete
Now vnder saile for Florence be ariu'd,
From the grand Signior sent to make me strong,
And get commaund vpon the straights: howsoere
Twas promist Borgias to make strong his part,
Against the Dukes: she being had,
My title's firme for Florence, their claime's bad.
Eunuch.

Enter Ferrara disguisd.
Ferr.
Your pleasure.

Mul.
See you this body?

Ferr.
I doe.

Mul.
Conuey it to his bed there let it lye,
The murther I'le transport vpon the Dukes,
Or on some treason by their meanes contriu'd:
See it be done.

Ferr.
It shall.

Mull.
Now vnto Iulia, on her lies my state,
If she consents: why so: if not I know
Death and commaund makes womens hearts to bow.

Exit
Ferr.
The death of slaues pursue thee. hah Borgias,
Protector: true true: clap clap ye furies,
Daunce your blacke rounds, and with your yron whips,
Fetching eternall lashes as you skip
Strike a loud sounding musicke through the ayre,
And make the night Queene pale to heare your noise.
Be peacefull wronged Ghost where soere thou beest,
Post to the blessed fields where soules take rest:
Drinke Lethe freely for thou art reuengd.
Come thou inclosure of a damned soule,
Ile be obedient beare to thy bed,
Then in my chamber laugh that thou art dead.
Ferrara takes vp Borgias, Borgias drawes out Ferraras dagger and stabs him with it.
What suddaine paine assaults my yeelding heart?

Borg.
Ha ha, ha, youle beare me to my bed,
Then in your chamber laugh that I am dead.

Ferr.
Liuest thou damnd villaine?

Borg.
I liue, and laugh vilde slaue to see thy fall,
This is the inclosure of a damned soule,
Villaine thou shalt not breath another word.

Ferr.
Stay but a minute longer, know that I haue
Thy promise and thy oath to be my guard,
Thy slaue I murthered and assumd his shape,
I am Ferrara.

Borg.
Ferrara, ha? true true, clap clap ye furies
Dance your blacke rounds, and with your yron whips,
Fetching eternall lashes as ye skip,
Strike aloud sounding musicke through the aire
And make the nights Queene pale to heare your noise:
You haue my oath and promise for your guard:
So wise men promise fooles, but their reward
Like thine Ferrara is the losse of breath.

Ferr.
Iustice I thee implore, reuenge my death

Borg.
Mulleasses thinkes me dead, and in his plots
Goes on securely: Ile returne his pollicies,
And vpon him transport Ferraras murther.
My wife he hath forsooke: that sweetens danger
That I but liue to see reuenge on her.
My weake force built vpon the Turkish fleete,
I see is ruind, and I but vndermined:
No hope is left saue in mine owne commaund
And power with the state: whose light credulity,
I easely did delude with Iulias death.
But yet Timoclea liues, and may perhaps
Escape her false loues hate: which if she do,
This blacke nights horror falls like thunder on me:
She must not liue till day: be euer darke.
Stand night vpon the noonestead: and attend
My fates security: if euer blacknes pleasd
Or deedes to which men may resemble thee,
Turne then thy sooty horse, and with their feete,
Beate at the rising morne: & force the Sunne,
Forbeare his lustre till this black deed's done.

Exit.