University of Virginia Library

Scena quarta.

Picinino, Iuliano.
Iul.
What will become of this declining state?
Can we beleeue that the yet patient heau'n
Will any longer suffer? and not giue
Destruction as notorious as our crimes.
Awake, sterne Iustice, and vnsheath thy sword,
The Scabberd will not heale vs, but the edge,
Nor is't enough to brandish, but to strike:
Let then thy terrour giue vs innocence,
That mildnesse may no longer iniure man.

Pic.
Why, thou perpetuall Murmurer, thou sea
Tost with eternall tempest, thou darke sky
With euerlasting clouds, thou—any thing,
Whom, being angry I can call no more:
Thinke better of those acts thou canst not mend.
Will Sforza be lesse bad, because thou whin'st?
Or dost thou thinke thy pittifull complaints
Can beg a goodness: of Ascanio?
I neuer knew that mighty vse of teares,
That they could wash away anothers fault:
When thou shalt want a teare for a fit griefe,
Sanseuerin will be a Coward still:
And when thy groanes are turn'd to thy last gaspe,
Caiazzo will not be lesse trecherous.

Enter Sanseuerin, with diuers suitors following him, some of whose bils be teares, others laughs at, others puts vp.
Exit.
Iul.
Now for thy thunder, Heau'n, now for a piece
Of thy most eminent Artillery.
Are you still silent? see, he teares their papers,
Papers, perhaps, wherein they worship him,
Giue him more titles, then they giue their God,
And yet he teares them. O vast Fauourite!
Swell'd by the airy fauour of thy Prince,
Till thou hast dimm'd the light that made thee shine,
Till Sforza's lesse then his Sanseuerin.
Tell me, good Picinino, does the Sunne
Spend all his rayes vpon one Continent?
Or haue you euer seene the partiall Heau'ns
Vpon one Aker lauish all her showres,
While the rest moulder with dry barrennesse?

Pic.
I haue not, Iuliano, but what then?

Jul.
Are you to leeke for the collection?
Why, has not Sforza made himselfe our Sunne?
Are not his fauours our refreshing showres?
Why should one sucke vp what is due to all,
Why is the Prince made a Monopoly?

Pic.
Thou mak'st me laugh at thy fond question:
What? are not Princes men, of the same mould,
Of the same passions with inferiours?
Doe not they feare, desire, and hate (as we)
And shall we onely hinder them from loue?
Coblers may haue their friends, and why not Kings?
Because th'are higher then the rest of men,
Shall they be therefore worse? and therefore want
The Benefits, because they haue the Rule?
O hard condition of Maiesty!
The former accusation of Kings
Has beene their cruelty, that they did hate
The people they should gouerne: O hard plight!
O strange peruersnesse! shall their loue at length,
Their friendship be imputed as their fault?
Would Heau'n our Sforza had no worse a crime.

Enter Sanseuerin againe with his traine of Suitors.
Iul.
You are a worthy Aduocate, and here
Comes your great Patron: goe and aske your see.

Sans.
This is a sawcy importunity:
You haue your answer.

1 Sutor.
O my gracious Lord,
Looke on these scarres I gain'd in the French warre,
Where I haue lost my Fortunes.

2 Sutor.
So haue I,
Scarce left aliue to tell my misery.

Sans.
You haue bin drunk, and quarrell'd—must the State
Finde plaisters for your broken heads?—no more—
Nay, if you'll take no answer, I must call
Them that will driue you hence. O my tyr'd eares!
Henceforth I vow to stoppe them at your suites,
And be as Deafe, as you are Impudent.

Exit.
Iul.
Yes, doe good Æolus—how he blowes them hence!
How cleares his passage with a lusty frowne!
And yet it may be that despised wretch
Worne out of cloathes, and flesh, whom his high scorne
Would not vouchsafe once more to looke vpon,
Durst in the field doe more, then he durst see,
Then he would there vouchsafe to looke vpon.

Pic.
As if that Valour were the onely praise,
And none were to be lou'd, but they that fight:
Where were we then? what would become of vs?
Thou thinkst it Paradox, but tis most true,
A Souldier is the greatest enemy,
Of whom the Common-wealth can be afraid:
Preferre you which you please; yet vnto them
Which are the sole Physitians of State,
Who with the teeming of a pregnant braine,
Search the diseases and the remedies,
Valour is nothing but a desp'rate vice,
And there's no safety, but in cowardice.