 | The Knight of Malta |  |
Scæna Prima.
Enter Mountferrat.Mount.
Dares she despise me thus? me that with spoile
And hazardous exploits, full sixteene yeeres
Have led (as hand-maides) Fortune, Victory
Whom the Maltezi call my servitors?
Tempests I have subdude, and fought 'em calme,
Out-lightened lightning in my Chilvalry;
Rid (tame as patience) billowes that kick'd heaven,
Whistl'd enraged Boreas till his gusts
Were growne so gentle, that he seem'd to sigh,
Because he could not show the ayr my keele,
And yet I cannot conquer her bright eyes,
Which though they blaze both comfort, and invite
Neither by force, nor fraud passe through her eare
(Whose guard is onely blushing Innocence)
To take the least possession of her heart,
Did I attempt her with a thred-bare name-unnapt with meritorious actions,
She might with colour dis-allow my suit:
But by the honour of this Christian crosse
(In blood of Infidels so often dyde)
Which mine own soul and sword hath fixed here
And neither favour, nor births priviledge
Oriana shall confesse, although she be
Valettas Sister our Grand-Master, here
The wages of scorn'd Love is banefull hate,
Enter Rocca.
And if I rule not her, i'le rule her fate.
Rocca, my trusty Servant, welcome.
Rocca.
Sir,
I wish my newes deserv'd it: haplesse I
That being lov'd, and trusted, faile to bring
The loving answer that you doe expect.
Mount.
Why speak'st thou from me: thy pleas'd eyes send forth
Beames brighter then the star that ushers day,
Thy smiles, restore sick expectation.
Roc.
I bring you Sir, her smiles, not mine.
Mount.
Her smiles?
Why they are presents for Kings eldest Sonnes,
Great Solyman that wearies his hot eyes,
But to peruse his deck'd Ceraglio,
When from the number of his Concubines
He chooseth one for that night, in his pride
Of them, wives, wealth, is not so rich as I
In this one smile, from Oriana sent.
Roc.
Sir, fare ye well.
Mount.
Oh Rocca! thou art wise,
And would'st not have the torrent of my joy
Ruin me headlong; aptly thou conceiv'st
If one reviving smile can raise me thus,
What trances will the sweet words which thou bring'st
Cast me into? I felt (my dearest friend,
No more my Servant) when I employ'd thee
That knew'st to look, and speak as Lovers should,
And carry faithfully thy Masters sighes,
That it must worke some heat in her cold heart,
And all my labours now come fraughted home
With ten fold prize.
Roc.
Will you yet heare me?
Mount.
Yes,
But take heed (gentle Rocca,) that thou do'st
Tenderly by degrees assault mine eares
With her consent, now to embrace my love,
For thou well know'st I have been so plundg'd, so torne
With her resolv'd reject, and neglect:
That to report her soft acceptance now,
Will stupifie sence in me, if not kill:
Why shew'st thou this distemper?
Roc.
Draw your sword,
And when I with my breath have blasted you,
Kill me with it:
I bring you smiles of pitty, not affection:
For such she sent.
Mount.
Oh! can she pitty me?
Of all the pathes lead to a womans love,
Pittie's the streightest.
Roc.
Waken Sir, and know
That her contempt (if you can name it so)
Continues still: she bids you throw your Pearle
Into strong streames, and hope to turn them so,
Ere her to foule dishonour; write your plaints
In rocks of Corall grow'n above the Sea,
Them hope to soften to compassion,
Or change their modest blush to love-sick pale,
Ere worke her to your impious requests;
All your loose thoughts she chides you home againe,
But with such calme behaviour, and milde lookes,
She gentlier denies then others grant,
For just as others love, so doth she hate:
She sayes, that by your order you are bound
From marrying ever, and much marvels then
You would thus violate her and your own faith,
That being the virgin you should now protect,
Hitherto she professes she has conceal'd
Your lustfull Batteries, but the next she vowes,
(In open Hall, before the honour'd crosse
And her great brother) she will quite disclose
Calling for justice, to your utter shame.
Mount.
Hence find the Blackamore that waits upon her,
72
And I must her now, at least seeme to do:
Cupid, thy brands that glow thus in my veines,
I will with blood extinguish-ar't not gone?
Shall my desires, like beggars, waite at dore
Whil'st any others revell in her breast?
Sweat on my spirits: know thou trickt up toy,
My love's a violent flood, where thou art falne,
Enter Astorius and Castriot.
Playing with which tide thou'dst bin gently toss'd,
But crossing it, thou art o're whelm'd, and lost.
Cast.
Mounsieur, good day.
Ast.
Good morrow valiant Knight,
What, are you for this great solemnity
This morne intended?
Mount.
What solemnity?
Ast.
The investing of the Martiall Spaniard,
Peter Gomera, with our Christian Badge.
Cast.
And young Miranda, the Italian,
Both which with wondrous prowesse, and great luck
Have dar'd and done for Malta, such high feats,
That not one Fort in it, but rings their names
As loud as any mans.
Mount.
As any mans?
Why, we have fought for Malta.
Ast.
Yes Mountferrat.
No bold Knight ever past you: but we weare
The dignity of Christians on our breasts,
And have a long time triumph'd for our conquests;
These conquer'd a long time, not triumph'd yet;
Mount.
Astorius, you are a most indulgent Knight,
Detracting from your selfe, to adde to others,
You know this title is the period
To all our labours, the extremity
Of that tall pyramid, where honour hangs,
Which we with sweat and agony have reach'd,
And should not then so easily impart
So bright a wreath to every cheap desert.
Cast.
How is this French man chang'd Astorius?
Some sullen discontent possesses him,
That makes him envy, what he heretofore
Did most ingenuously but emulate.
Mount.
Oh furious denre, how like a whirle-wind
Thou hurriest me beyond mine honours point?
Out of my heart, base lust, or heart, I vow
Those flames that heat thee thus, I'le burne thee in.
Ast.
Do ye observe him?
Mount.
What newes of the Dane,
That valiant Captain Norandine?
Cast.
He fights still,
In view oth' Town; he playes the devill with 'em,
And they the Turkes with him.
Mount.
They'r well met then, twere sin to sever'em.
Pish—woman.—Memorie—
Would one of ye would leave me:
Ast.
Six fresh Gallies
I in St. Angelo from the promontory
This morne discride, making a Girdle for him,
But our great Master doth intend reliefe
This present meeting: will you walke along?
Mount.
Hunch—I have read Ladyes enjoy'd, have by
The gulphes of worthiest men, buried their names,
Their former valour, bountie, beauty, vertue,
And sent'em stinking to untimely graves.
I that cannot enjoy, by her disdaine,
Am like to prove as wretched; woman then
Checking or granting, is the grave of men.
Ast.
He's saying of his Prayers sure.
Cast.
Will you goe Sir?
Mount.
I cry you mercy: I am so transported
(Your pardon, noble Brothers) with a busines
That doth concerne all Malta, that I am
(Anon you'll heare't) almost blind, and deafe.
Lust neither sees nor heares ought but it selfe:
But I will follow instantly: your crosse.
Ast.
Not mine.
Cast.
Nor mine: 'tis yours.
Ast., Cast.
Good morrow brother.
Exeunt.
Mount.
White innocent signe, that do'st abhorre to dwell
So neer the dim thoughts of this troubled breast,
And grace these gracelesse projects of my heart.
Enter Zanthia alias Abdella. with 2 Letters.
Yet I must weare thee to protect my crimes,
If not for conscience, for hypocrisie,
Some Churchmen so wear Cassoks: Oh my Zan.
My Pearle, that scornes a staine! I much repent
All my neglects: Let me Ixion like,
Embrace my black cloud, since my Iuno is
So wrathfull, and averse; thou art more soft
And full of dalliance then the fairest flesh,
And farre more loving.
Zan.
I, you say so now,
But like a property, when I have serv'd
Your turnes, You'll, cast me off, or hang me up
For a signe, somewhere.
Mount.
May my life then forsake me
Of my expected blisse, be cast to hell.
Zan.
My tongue Sir, cannot lispe to meet you so,
Nor my black Cheeke put on a feigned blush,
To make me seeme more modest then I am.
This ground-worke, will not beare adulterate red,
Nor artificiall white, to cozen love.
These dark locks, are not purchas'd, nor these teeth,
For every night, they are my bed-fellows;
No bath, no blanching water, smoothing oyles,
Doth mend me up; and yet Mountferrat, know,
I am as full of pleasure in the touch
As ere a white fac'd puppet of 'em all,
Juicy, and firme; unfledge 'em of their tyres,
Their wyres, their partlets, pins, and perriwigs,
And they appeare like bald cootes, in the nest;
I can as blithly work in my loves bed,
And deck thy faire neck, with these Jetty chains,
Sing thee asleep, being wearied, and refresh'd,
With the same organ, steale sleep off againe.
Mount.
Oh my black swan, silkner then Signets plush,
Sweeter then is the sweet of Pomander,
Breath'd like curl'd Zephyrus, cooling Lymon-trees,
Straight as young pines, or Cedars in the grove,
Quickly discend lovers best Canopie,
Still night, for Zanthia doth enamour me
Beyond all continuance; perpetrate (deere wench)
What thou hast promis'd, and I vow by heaven
Malta, I'le leave in it, my honours here,
And in some other Country (Zanthia) make
My wife, and my best fortune.
Zan.
From this hope,
Here is an answer to that Letter, which
I lately shew'd you sent from Tripoly,
By the great Basha, which importunes her
Love unto him, and treachery to the Island,
Which will she undertake, by Mahomet
The Turke there vowes, on his blest Alcharon,
Marriage unto her: this the Master knowes,
But is resolv'd of her integrity
(As well he may) sweet Lady yet for love,
For love of thee Mountferrat, (Oh! what Chaines
Of deity, or duty can hold love?)
73
As if it had bin moulded of: returning
The Bashas Letter safe into her pocket;
What you will do with it, your self best knowes,
Farwell, keep my true heart, keep true your vowes.
Exit Zan.
Mount.
Till I be dust, my Zanthia; be confirmd.
Sparrowes, and Doves, sit coupling twixt thy Lips,
It is not love, but strong Libidinous will
That triumphs o're me, and to satiat that,
What difference twixt this Moore, and her faire Dame?
Night makes their hews alike, their use is so,
Whose hand so subtile, he can colours name,
If he do winck, and touch 'em: lust being blind,
Never in women did distinction find.
Exit.
| The Knight of Malta | |