 | Imperiale, a tragedie |  |
Scena Sexta.
Molosso.I shall sir, yes, by that time you returne,
You shall confesse you have a skilfull Cater:
Why should proud greatnesse undervalue us,
And our condition? since all men are slaves;
If we survey the greatest monarchies,
What art their Courtiers else? with all the suits
They either beg or weare? the rich Banquier
Enthrals his debtor, and his money him:
This Captaine is a captive to that wench;
This Magistrate to bribes; that Lord to pride,
This Statesman to ambition; all to feare:
From whence we only that have nought to loose,
Are free, and that shall instantly appeare;
I'le send the servants forth, that Sango and I
May act our part with more security.
See how the fates themselves have help'd to bring
The Beast into my toile, and made both him
And his whole house the subject of my vengeance,
My joy is such, I cannot temper it:
As when the bloud-hound in a leash being led,
Noseth the ground, and while the prey's far off,
Spares both his mouth and feet, but drawing neer,
Will open wide, and drag away his leader,
So are my thoughts transported, I'le away,
My fury cals for bloud, and I obey.
Chorus of two.
1
Vndoubted
friendship having made
A strong impression in the minde,
Though wilde distempers doe invade
Our reason, can their fury binde.
Love in distracted thoughts may beare
As great a sway as servile feare.
A strong impression in the minde,
Our reason, can their fury binde.
Love in distracted thoughts may beare
As great a sway as servile feare.
2
He whose strong passions are his foes,
Is happy in a faithfull friend,
That will assist him to compose
Those strifes that to his ruine tend.
A true friend wishes not a cause,
But when ther's need, he ne're withdrawes.
Is happy in a faithfull friend,
That will assist him to compose
Those strifes that to his ruine tend.
A true friend wishes not a cause,
But when ther's need, he ne're withdrawes.
1
A Lover with no ill intent,
Will Proteus-like, new formes devise,
He feynes to be on errands sent,
And then himselfe he will disguise
Like to a god, Love loves to stray,
And seldome keeps the beaten way.
Will Proteus-like, new formes devise,
He feynes to be on errands sent,
And then himselfe he will disguise
Like to a god, Love loves to stray,
And seldome keeps the beaten way.
2
But now the fatall time drawes neere,
Wherein the errour and th'offence
Of Imperiale will appeare,
To trust the slave he did incense,
And to encourage him to act
What he once thought a heynous fact.
Wherein the errour and th'offence
Of Imperiale will appeare,
To trust the slave he did incense,
And to encourage him to act
What he once thought a heynous fact.
1
But may there not be some excuse?
At least to mitigate his fault?
That he could not expect a truce,
And that he found his owne life sought:
It hath bin counted Justice still,
Rather then to be kil'd, to kill.
At least to mitigate his fault?
That he could not expect a truce,
And that he found his owne life sought:
It hath bin counted Justice still,
Rather then to be kil'd, to kill.
2
Ther's no excuse can purge the guilt
That murther brings; we must not take
Our owne revenge, bloud by us spilt,
Will our whole off-spring guilty make:
Then let's not blame heavens justice, when
Great plagues doe light on vertuous men.
That murther brings; we must not take
Our owne revenge, bloud by us spilt,
Will our whole off-spring guilty make:
Then let's not blame heavens justice, when
Great plagues doe light on vertuous men.
| Imperiale, a tragedie | |