 | The Sad One |  |
Scæn. 5.
Enter Clarimont, Florelio.Clar.
By heaven she's false, false as the tears of Crocodiles,
Or what is yet more feign'd: I do confess,
Your pardon, Florelio, come pray your pardon,
Perchance I may deserve it.
Flor.
You have it, so has she; would heaven would do it as easily as I.
Clar.
Heaven cannot do so foul an act,
She has—oh, she has done too much!
And should not I see justice done,
The gods would punish me. Brother, clear up,
The world shall not be one day elder
Ere I see thy injuries revenged:
This night the King will revel
And be gamesom; he will change beds with thee,
Deny him not, and leave the rest to me.
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Thy youth I see doth put thee on too fast,
Thou hast too much of passion, gentle brother:
Thinkst thou the death of a poor lustful King
Or Peer can give me ease?
No, for if it could, my hand durst go as far that way
As thine—
Had she been chaste, there had no tempters bin,
Or if there had, I had not thought it sin.
Draw not thy sword at all, I do beseech thee,
'Twill not deserve one drop of Noble blood;
Forget it, do, for my sake.—
Clar.
May heaven forget me then!
Where is the courage of thy house become?
When didst thou cease to be thy self?
Shall two brave Families be wrong'd,
Most basely wrong'd—
And shall we tamely like Philosophers
Dispute it without reasons?
First may I live the scorn of all the world,
Then die forgotten.—No, no:
Were there as many Actors in thy wrong,
As does the vast Stage of the world now bear,
Not one should scape my rage, I and my ghost
Would persecute them all.
By all our ties of Love, of Brother, Friend,
By what thou holdst most dear, I do conjure thee
To leave this work to me;
And if ere thou canst think
That I present thee not a full revenge,
Then take it out on me.
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Thy zeal hath overcome me,
What wouldst thou have me do?
Clar.
Nothing but this; Obey the King in all
He shall desire, and let your servants be at my dispose
This night; one of your faithfull'st Confidents
Send hither presently.
Flor.
Well I shall; but what you'l do, heaven knows,
I know not, nor will I:—
It is enough that I, against my will,
Am made a passive instrument of ill.
Farewell—.
Exit.
Clar.
So, there is but this,
The wanton King this night thinks to embrace
My sister; his bed shall prove his grave,
His own Favorite shall make it so:
I have perswaded him she yields,
And this night doth expect him:
He, to make sure oth' Husband,
By my advice, as if he did intend
Some jest, means to change lodgings
With wrong'd Florelio, the Favorite.—
Enter Petruchio.
Oh Petruchio, welcom! You have other clothes,
These I should borrow for a little while,
In Masquing times Disguises are in fashion:
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'Twill be some Crowns in thy way.
Petr.
I shall pray hard it may, Sir,
My Clothes howsoever are at your service.
Clar.
And I at yours, Petruchio;
But you must be dumb
And secret now.
Pet.
As any Statue, Sir.
Clar.
Come then, let's about it.
Exeunt.
| The Sad One | |