University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

Enter Tibalt.
Tibalt.
The Soldiers, Sir, in mutinous Disorder,
Allegiance broken, in a civil Storm
Led on by Ulfinore, with hideous Clamours
Rush from the Camp, and threaten Desolation,
Unless the Duke be quickly freed from Prison.

King.
From Prison freed! hah!—Who imprison'd Gondibert?
Thy Words confound me—speak—or else Thou dy'st.

Tibalt.
By your Commands, for so the Princess told us,
Sir, we imprison'd Him this Morn.

King.
Confusion!—
By my Commands?—the Princess told you so?—
Destruction on his Head who durst attempt it.
—This is a Plot of Hers: unhappy Woman!
—I'll teach her more Obedience.—By the Gods
She, She Herself shall wait upon their Nuptials.
Go tell Her so; and say that I command Her.
—My General the Protector of my Country
To be imprison'd for a Woman's Humour—
'Twas wrong—'twas base—She may repent her Rashness.
—You, Astragon, meanwhile appease the Soldiers,
While I myself release my injur'd Heroe,
And satisfy his Doubts.

Birtha.
O hear your Handmaid,
Most gracious Sir, and grant me this Request,
Commit the grateful Message to my Care:
Forgive my eager Fondness to convey
Myself your Royal Mercy to my Lord,
And Both will wait upon You with our Duty.

King.
Here, take this Signet: tell Him how I long
To make Amends for this unheard of Usage.
May Comfort guide thy Steps.

Birtha.
Upon your Head
May Blessings fall in neverceasing Show'rs,
Thick as the Winter Stars or Summer Flow'rs!
May future Lovers bless your Sacred Name,
And future Poets consecrate your Fame.