University of Virginia Library

Scena 4a.

Natolion. Lycomedon. Achæa Florimond. &c.
Nat.
Hold impious Preist hold. Doe not Lewdly thrust
Marriage on Incest. Sr you must forgiue mee,
My ffeares and Horrours hurried mee from yor Prison
To stop this Wretched Union; They haue sinn'd
Aboue forgiuenesse already. Ha! What's here?

Flor.
O ffather you are Come to find a Sonne
Doubly Massacred, in his Soule and Body.

Nat.
Who haz done this?

Ly.
Aske her.

Ach.
Tis I, Natolion;
Ist not a braue Reuenge on him that Butcher'd
My Sleeping Honour? But I shall not Ioy Long.

Nat.
It was a noble Stroke, for thou hast kill'd
Halfe an incestuous Brother.

Lyc.
How? her halfe Brother?
In what a Clew of Wonders are Wee wound?

Flor.
And neuer tell mee untill now? I hope
I'ue don't.

Florem: snatches the Sacrificing Sword off the Altar, and Kills his ffather.
Pre:
Profane let goe the hallow'd Weapon.

Nat.
Oh oh. Here is a Sonne now!

Flor.
I will heare noe Longer—

Dyes.
Nat.
Yet thou Achæa liuest to Curse thy ffather.
Heare mee my Lords: The Paynes yt I haue taken
To keepe these two from Incest fate haz eaten.
You know, Achæa, that your Mother Charg'd you
Neuer to Marrie him there, and Desyr'd mee
To See her Will perform'd; And there was Reason,
For in Adulterate Sheets I gott thee Of her.

Lycom: runns him in.
Lyc.
How Villaine?

Nat.
I cannot Dy yet. When the king grew old
I was your Mother's Mate; And Shee would tell mee
Achæa was my Daughter.

Kills him.
Lyco?
Out Dog; Dog,

Dyes
Ach
There my Heart Broke—oh oh—

Dyes
Nat.
Oh, oh.

Ly.
Why what a Litter of Bastards are wee All?
O that I could but follow with my Sword!
But Damned Fate, the ffriend of Bawds & Uillaines,
Denyes mee it. My Lords, who beares a Weapon
And does not kill me?

Clean.
Hee does not say you are his Sonne, my Lord.

Ly.
But I'me my Mothers; And shee was a—What?
You all know my Lords what. I want Breath—
Shee was a—What? What my Lords?

Beot.
A Whore; I alwayes sayd soe.

Lyc.
—I dare not kill thee, for yo u sayst but Truth.
The King of Corsica! Would ye Gods had rather
Bestow'd Sixe ffeet of quiet Earth upon mee,
Or hid mee in the Desart with my Right,
Ere brought mee to this shore, or that they Could
Aswell anexe my miseries to my Crowne
I then might hope that some Ambitious Wretch
Might be entreated to become a King.
Who'l haue my Crowne here? Noe body?

Beot.
I will. I knew the Gods would giue it mee
One Tyme or other. Sr I haue beene wrongfully
Depos'd a Long tyme.

Lyc.
Tis true thou hast ye Clayme, as I remember,
My Lords all Doe him Homage. You may see
The Gods ffight for him. Hee will proue, noe questio«*»
A Uery Courteous Prince. I pray you kneele.
Priest prithee kneel too—Wee'l make bold wt h Hymen.
King kneeles and they all doe Hee setts the Crowne on Beottos head.
I'l part with all my Cares. And honest ffriend,
A Sword hangs ore thee now; And at thy feet
A thousand Treasons waite. Looke thou grow Wanne
And Loose thy Pleasures. Looke that thy Dreames be
As troublesom as thy Office. Looke that thou
Suffer Suspition for to [D] gnaw thy Soule;
Looke that thou tremble wheresoe're thou goest;
And still meet Troubles; These the glorious Liues are
Of Pompous Majesty.

Dor.
Alas poore Prince!

Flor. flings the Crowne from Beotto his head.
Lyc.
O what a Beast is Passion! Hence you ffoole.
Crownes are not molded for such Beetle Heads—
My Lords why will you Let mee Loose my Selfe?
Take him away and Thrust him from my Sight

Dor.
Away away Sirrah

Ly.
I am too blame; But such a ffeauer boyles
My Poysond heart, that I Loose ye Remembrance
of What I am. O what a Load of Sorrowes
A Man Can beare before they Kill him!

Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
Hast my Lords, hast. Phocillus haz broke Prison,
And with a Crew of Runnagates has wonne
The Inner Court; giueing out hee will Repriue
The Land from Tyranny and Usurpation.

Ant.
Ah mee unhappy!

Cle.
It is noe Tyme to talke now. Call ye Guard.
Your Majesty Retyre into your Chamber,
While Wee repell these Rebells.

Lyc.
Doe what you will.
O Sister what a Mother had Wee two
Let us goe search some melancholy Den
For I am Teares all ouer. Giue mee thy Hand;
O that these Aspes, that Lurke here, would soe Bite
To Lay mee Sleeping in eternall Night!