University of Virginia Library

Actus Quintus.

Enter Prince.
Prince.
If happiness be a substantial good,
Not fram'd of accidents, nor subject to 'em,
I err'd to seek it in a blind revenge,
Or think it lost in loss of sight, or Empire;
'Tis something sure within us, not subjected
To sense or sight, only to be discern'd
By reason, my soul's eye, and that still sees
Clearly, and clearer for the want of these;
For gazing through these windows of the body,
It met such several, such distracting objects;
But now confin'd within it self, it sees
A strange, and unknown world, and there discovers
Torrents of Anger, Mountains of Ambition;
Gulfes of Desire, and Towers of Hope, huge Giants,
Monsters, and savage Beasts; to vanquish these,
Will be a braver conquest than the old
Or the new world.
O happiness of blindness! now no beauty
Inflames my lust, no others good, my envy,
Or misery, my pity: no mans wealth
Draws my respect, nor poverty my scorn;
Yet still I see enough. Man to himself
Is a large prospect, rays'd above the level
Of his low creeping thoughts; if then I have
A world within my self, that world shall be
My Empire; there I'le raign, commanding freely,
And willingly obey'd, secure from fear
Of forraign forces, or domestick treasons,
And a hold a Monarchy more free, more absolute
Than in my Fathers seat; and looking down
With scorn or pity, on the slippery state
Of Kings, will tread upon the neck of fate.

Ex. Enter Bashaws disguis'd, with Haly.
1 Bash.
Sir, 'tis of near concernment, and imports
No less than the Kings life and honour.

Ha.
May not I know it?

1 Bash.
You may, Sir. But in his presence we are sworn
T'impart it first to him.

Ha.
Our Persian State descends not
To Interviews with strangers: But from whence
Comes this discovery, or you that bring it?

2 Bash.
We are, Sir, of Natolia.

Ha.
Natolia? Heard you nothing
Of two Villains that lately fled from hence?

1 Bash.
The Bashaws, Sir?

Ha.
The same.

2 Bash.
They are nearer than you think for.

Ha.
Where?

1 Bash.
In Persia.

Ha.
In arms again to 'tempt another slavery?

2 Bash.
No, Sir,
They made some weak attempts, presuming on
The reputation of their former greatness:
But having lost their fame and fortunes, 'tis
No wonder they lost their friends; now hopeless and forlorn
They are return'd, and somewhere live obscurely,
To expect a change in Persia; nor wil't be hard
To find 'em.

Ha.
Do 't, and name your own rewards.

2 Bash.
We dare do nothing till we have seen the King,
And then you shall command us.

Ha.
Well, though 'tis not usual,
Ye shall have free access.

Exit Haly. Enter King and Haly.
1 Bash.
Sir, there were two Turkish prisoners lately fled
From hence for a suppos'd conspiracy
Between the Prince and them.

King.
Where are the Villaines?

1 Bash.
This is the Villain, Sir; They pull off their disguises.

And we the wrongfully accus'd: You gave
Life Sir, and we took it
As a free noble gift; but when we heard
'Twas valued at the price of your Sons honour,
We came to give it back, as a poor trifle,
Priz'd at a rate too high.

King.
Haly,
I cannot think my favours plac'd so ill,
To be so ill requited; yet their confidence
Has something in't that looks like innocence.

Ha.
aside.
Is't come to that? then to my last and surest refuge.

King.
Sure if the guilt were theirs, they could not charge thee
With such a gallant boldness: If 'twere thine,
Thou could'st not hear 't with such a silent scorn;
I am amaz'd.

Ha.
Sir,
Perplex your thoughts no further, they have truth
To make 'em bold; and I have power to scorn it:
'Twas I, Sir, that betray'd him, and you, and them.

King.
Is this impudence, or madness?

Ha.
Neither: a very sober, and sad truth—
To you, Sir.

King.
A Guard there.

Enter Mirvan, and others.
King.
Seize him.

Ha.
Seize them; now
Though 'tis too late to learn, yet know 'gainst you
Are King again, what 'tis to let your Subjects
Dispose all offices of trust and power:
The beast obeys his keeper, and looks up,
Not to his masters, but his feeders hand;
And when you gave me power to dispense
And make your favours mine, in the same hour
You made your self my shadow: and 'twas my courtesie
To let you live, and raign so long.

King.
Without there! Enter two or three, and joyn with the others.

What none but Traytors? Has this Villain
Breath'd treason into all, and with that breath,
Like a contagious vapour, blasted Loyalty?
Sure Hell it self hath sent forth all her Furies,
T'inhabit and possess this place.

Ha.
Sir, passions without power,
Like seas against a rock, but lose their fury.
Mirvan, Take these Villains, and see 'em strangled.

1 Bash.
Farewell, Sir, commend us to your son, let him know,
That since we cannot die his servants,
We'll die his Martyrs.

King.
Farewell, unhappy friends,
A long farewell, and may you find rewards
Great as your Innocence; or which is more,
Great as your wrongs.

2 Bash.
Come, thou art troubled,
Thou dost not fear to dye?

1 Bash.
No, but to lose my death,
To sell my life so cheap, while this proud villain
That takes it must survive.

2 Bash.
We shall not lose our deaths,
If Heaven can hear the cries of guiltless blood,
Which sure it must; for I have heard th'are loud ones:
Vengeance shall overtake thee.

Ha.
Away with 'em.

King.
Stay, Haly, they are innocent; yet life,
When 'tis thy gift,
Is worse than death, I disdain to ask it.

1 Bash.
And we to take it.

Ha.
Do not ask it, Sir,
For them to whom you owe your ruine, they have undone you,
Had not they told you this, you had liv'd secure,
And happy in your ignorance; but this injury,
Since 'tis not in your nature to forgive it,
I must not leave it in your power to punish it.

King.
Heaven, though from thee I have deserv'd this plague,
Be thou my Judge and Witness, from this villain
'Tis undeserv'd.
Had I but felt your vengeance from some hand
That first had suffer'd mine, it had been justice:
But have you sent this sad return of all
My love, my trust, my favours?

Ha.
Sir, there's a great resemblance
Between your favours, and my injuries;
Those are too great to be requited, these
Too great to be forgiven: and therefore
'Tis but in vain to mention either.

King.
Mirza, Mirza,
How art thou lost by my deceiv'd credulity?
I'le beg thy pardon.

Ha.
Stay, Sir, not without my leave:
Go some of you, and let the people know
The King keeps state, and will not come in publick:
If any great affairs, or State addresses,
Bring 'em to me.

King.
How have I taught the villain
To act my part? But oh, my son, my son,
Shall I not see thee?

Ha.
For once you shall, Sir,
But you must grant me one thing.

King.
Traytor, dost thou mock my miseries?
What can I give but this unhappy life?

Ha.
Alas! Sir,
It is but that I ask, and 'tis my modesty
To ask it, it being in my power to take it:
When you shall see him, Sir, to dye for pity,
'Twere such a thing, 'twould so deceive the world,
And make the people think you were good natur'd;
'Twill look so well in story, and become
The stage so handsomly.

King.
I ne're deny'd thee any thing, and shall not now
Deny thee this, though I could stand upright
Under the tyranny of age and fortune;
Yet the sad weight of such ingratitude
Will crush me into earth.

Ha.
Lose not your tears, but keep
Your lamentations for your son, or sins:
For both deserve 'em: but you must make haste, Sir,
Or he'l not stay your coming. He looks upon a watch.

'Tis now about the hour the poyson
Must take affect.

King.
Poyson'd? oh Heaven!

Ha.
Nay, Sir, lose no time in wonder, both of us
Have much to do; if you will see your Son,
Here's one shall bring you to him. Exit King.

Some unskilful Pylot had shipwrackt here;
But I not only against sure
And likely ills have made my self secure:
But so confirm'd, and fortify'd my state,
To set it safe above the reach of Fate.

Exit Haly. Enter Prince led, Servant at the other door, Princess and Soffy.
Serv.
Sir, the Princess and your Son.

Prince.
Soffy, thou com'st to wonder at
Thy wretched father: why dost thou interrupt
Thy happiness, by looking on an object
So miserable?

Princess.
My Lord, methinks there is not in your voice
The vigour that was wont, nor in your look
The wonted chearfulness. Are you well, my Lord?

Prince.
No: but I shall be, I feel my health a coming.

Princess.
What's your disease, my Lord?

Prince.
Nothing, but I have tane a Cordial,
Sent by the King or Haly, in requital
Of all my miseries, to make me happy:
The pillars of this frame grow weak,
As if the weight of many years oppress 'em;
My sinews slacken, and an Icy stiffness
Benums my blood.

Princess.
Alas, I fear he's poysoned:
Call all the help that Art, or Herbs, or Minerals
Can minister.

Prince.
No, 'tis too late:
And they that gave me this, are too well practis'd
In such an Art, to attempt and not perform.

Princess.
Yet try my Lord, revive your thoughts, the Empire
Expects you, your Father's dying.

Prince.
So when the ship is sinking,
The winds that wrackt it cease.

Princess.
Will you be the scorn of fortune,
To come near a Crown, and only near it?

Prince.
I am not fortunes scorn, but she is mine,
More blind than I.

Princess.
O tyranny of Fate! to bring
Death in one hand, and Empire in the other;
Only to shew us happiness, and then
To snatch us from it.

Prince.
They snatch me to it;
My soul is on her journey, do not now
Divert, or lead her back, to lose her self
I'th' amaze, and winding labyrinths o'th' world:
I preethee do not weep, thy love is that
I part with most unwillingly, or otherwise
I had not staid till rude necessity
Had forc'd me hence.
Soffy, be not a man too soon,
And when thou art, take heed of too much vertue;
It was thy Fathers, and his only crime,
'Twill make the King suspitious; yet ere time,
By natures course has ripened thee to man,
'Twill mellow him to dust; till then forget
I was thy Father, yet forget it not,
My great example shall excite thy thoughts
To noble actions. And you, dear Erythæa,
Give not your passions vent, nor let blind fury
Precipitate your thoughts, nor set 'em working,
Till time shall lend 'em better means and instruments
Than lost complaints. Where's pretty Fatyma?
She must forgive my rash ungentle passion.

Princess.
What do you mean, Sir?

Prince.
I am asham'd to tell you.
I prethee call her.

Princess.
I will, Sir, I pray try if sleep will ease
Your torments, and repair your wasted spirits.

Prince.
Sleep to those empty lids
Is grown a stranger, and the day and night,
As undistinguisht by my sleep, as sight.
O happiness of poverty! that rests
Securely on a bed of living turfe,
While we with waking cares and restless thoughts,
Lye tumbling on our downe, courting the blessing
Of a short minutes slumber, which the Ploughman
Shakes from him, as a ransom'd slave his fetters:
Call in some Musick, I have heard soft airs
Can charm our senses, and expel our cares.
Is Erythæa gone?

Serv.
Yes, Sir.

Prince.
'Tis well:
I would not have her present at my death.
Enter Musick.

Serv.
So now he sleeps, let's leave him
To his repose.

Enter King.
King.
The horrour of this place presents
The horrour of my crimes, I fain would ask
What I am loth to hear; but I am well prepar'd:
They that are past all hope of good, are past
All fear of ill: and yet if he be dead,
Speak softly, or uncertainly.

Phy.
Sir, he sleeps.

King.
O that's too plain, I know thou mean'st his last,
His long, his endless sleep.

Phy.
No, Sir, he lives; but yet
I fear the sleep you speak of will be his next:
For nature, like a weak and weary traveller,
Tir'd with a tedious and rugged way,
Not by desire provokt, but even betray'd
By weariness and want of spirits,
Gives up her self to this unwilling slumber.

King.
Thou hast it, Haly, 'tis indeed a sad
And sober truth, though the first
And only truth thou ever told'st me:
And 'tis a fatal sign, when Kings hear truth,
Especially when flatterers dare speak it.

Prince.
I thought I heard my Father, does he think the poyson
Too slow, and comes to see the operation? Prince Awakes.

Or does he think his engine dull, or honest?
Less apt to execute, than he to bid him:
He needs not, 'tis enough, it will succeed
To his expectation.

King.
'Tis indeed thy Father,
Thy wretched Father; but so far from acting
New cruelties, that if those already past,
Acknowledg'd and repented of, can yet
Receive a pardon, by those mutual bonds
Nature has seal'd between us, which though I
Have cancell'd, thou hast still preserv'd inviolate;
I beg thy pardon.

Prince.
Death in it self appears
Lovely and sweet, not only to be pardoned,
But wisht for, had it come from any other hand,
But from a Father; a Father,
A name so full of life, of love, of pity:
Death from a Fathers hand, from whom I first
Receiv'd a being, 'tis a preposterous gift,
An act at which inverted Nature starts
And blushes to behold her self so cruel.

King.
Take thou that comfort with thee, and be not deaf to truth:
By all that's holy, by the dying accents
Of thine, and my last breath, I never meant,
I never wisht it: sorrow has so over-fraught
This sinking bark, I shall not live to shew
How I abhor, or how I would repent
My first rash crime; but he that now
Has poyson'd thee, first poyson'd me with jealousie,
A foolish causless jealousie.

Prince.
Since you believe my innocence,
I cannot but believe your sorrow:
But does the villain live? A just revenge
Would more become the sorrows of a King,
Than womanish complaints.

King.
O Mirza, Mirza!
I have no more the power to do it,
Than thou to see it done: My Empire Mirza,
My Empire's lost: thy vertue was the rock
On which it firmly stood, that being undermin'd,
It sunk with its own weight; the villain whom
My breath created, now braves it in my Throne.

Prince.
O for an hour of life; but 'twill not be:
Revenge and justice we must leave to Heaven.
I would say more, but death has taken in the outworks,
And now assails the fort; I feel, I feel him
Gnawing my heart-strings: Farewel, and yet I would. . . .

Dies.
King.
O stay, stay but a while, and take me with thee;
Come Death, let me embrace thee, thou that wert
The worst of all my fears, art now the best
Of all my hopes. But Fate, why hast thou added
This curse to all the rest? the love of life;
We love it, and yet hate it; death we loath,
And still desire; flye to it, and yet fear it.

Enter Princess and Soffy.
Princess.
He's gone, he's gone for ever:
O that the poyson had mistaken his,
And met this hated life; but cruel Fate
Envyed so great a happiness: Fate that still
Flies from the wretched, and pursues the blest.
Ye Heavens! But why should I complain to them
That hear me not, or bow to those that hate me?
Why should your curses so out-weigh your blessings?
They come but single, and long expectation
Takes from their value: but these fall upon us
Double and sudden. Sees the King.

Yet more of horrour, then farewel my tears,
And my just anger be no more confin'd
To vain complaints, or self-devouring silence;
But break, break forth upon him like a deluge,
And the great spirit of my injur'd Lord
Possess me, and inspire me with a rage
Great as thy wrongs, and let me call together
All my Souls powers, to throw a curse upon him
Black as his crimes.

King.
O spare your anger, 'tis lost;
For he whom thou accusest has already
Condemn'd himself, and is as miserable
As thou canst think, or wish him; spit upon me,
Cast all reproaches on me, womans wit
Or malice can invent, I'le thank thee for them;
Whate're can give me a more lively sence
Of my own crimes, that so I may repent 'em.

Princess.
O cruel Tyrant! could'st thou be so barbarous
To a Son as noble as thy self art vile?
That knew no other crime, but too much vertue;
Nor could deserve so great a punishment
For any fault, but that he was thy Son?
Now not content to exceed all other Tyrants,
Exceed'st thy self: first robbing him of sight,
Then seeming by a fain'd and forc'd repentance,
To expiate that crime, didst win him to
A false security, and now by poyson
Hast rob'd him of his life.

King.
Were but my soul as pure
From other guilts as that, Heaven did not hold
One more immaculate. Yet what I have done,
He dying did forgive me, and hadst thou been present,
Thou wouldst have done the same: for thou art happy,
Compar'd to me; I am not only miserable,
But wicked too; thy miseries may find
Pity, and help from others; but mine make me
The scorn, and the reproach of all the world;
Thou, like unhappy Merchants, whose adventures
Are dasht on rocks, or swallowed up in storms,
Ow'st all thy losses to the Fates: but I
Like wastful Prodigals, have cast away
My happiness, and with it all mens pity:
Thou seest how weak and wretched guilt can make,
Even Kings themselves, when a weak womans anger
Can master mine.

Princess.
And your sorrow
As much o'recomes my anger, and turns into melting pity.

King.
Pity not me, nor yet deplore your husband;
But seek the safety of your son, his innocence
Will be too weak a guard, when nor my greatness,
Nor yet his fathers vertues could protect us.
Go on my Boy, the just revenge of all To Soffy.

Our wrongs I recommend to thee and Heaven;
I feel my weakness growing strong upon me: Exeunt.

Death, thou art he that wilt not flatter Princes,
That stoops not to authority, nor gives
A specious name to tyranny; but shews
Our actions in their own deformed likeness.
Now all those cruelties which I have acted,
To make me great, or glorious, or secure,
Look like the hated crimes of other men.

Enter Physician.
King.
O save, save me! who are those that stand,
And seem to threaten me?

Phy.
There's no body, 'tis nothing
But some fearful dream.

King.
Yes, that's my brothers ghost, whose birth-right stood
'Twixt me and Empire, like a spreading Cedar
That grows to hinder some delightful prospect,
Him I cut down.
Next my old Fathers Ghost, whom I impatient
To have my hopes delay'd, hastned by violence
Before his fatal day;
Then my enraged Son, who seems to becken,
And hale me to him. I come, I come, ye Ghosts,
The greatest of you all; but sure one hell's
Too little to contain me, and too narrow
For all my crimes.

Dies.
Enter Mirvan and Haly at several doors.
Haly.
Go muster all the City-Bands; pretend it
To prevent sudden tumults, but indeed
To settle the succession.

Mir.
My Lord,
You are too sudden, you'l take 'em unprepar'd;
Alas, you know their consciences are tender.
Scandal and scruple must be first remov'd,
They must be pray'd and preach'd into a tumult:
But for succession,
Let us agree on that; there's Calamah
The eldest Son by the Arabian Lady,
A gallant youth.

Ha.
I, too gallant, his proud spirit will disdain
To owe his greatness to anothers gift:
Such gifts as Crowns, transcending all requital,
Turn injuries. No, Mirvan;
He must be dull and stupid, lest he know
Wherefore we made him King.

Mir.
But he must be good natur'd, tractable,
And one that will be govern'd.

Ha.
And have so
Much wit to know whom he's beholding to.

Mir.
But why, my Lord, should you look further than your self?

Ha.
I have had some such thoughts; but I consider
The Persian State will not endure a King
So meanly born; no, I'le rather be the same I am,
In place the second, but the first in power:
Solyman the Son of the Georgian Lady
Shall be the man: what noyse is that?

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
My Lord, the Princes late victorious Army
Is marching towards the Palace, breathing nothing
But fury and revenge; to them are joyn'd
All whom desire of change, or discontent,
Excites to new attempts, their Leaders
Abdal and Morat.

Ha.
Abdal and Morat! Mirvan, we are lost,
Fallen from the top
Of all our hopes, and cast away like Saylers,
Who scaping Seas, and Rocks, and Tempests, perish
I'th' very Port; so are we lost i'th' sight
And reach of all our wishes.

Mir.
How has our intelligence fail'd us so strangely?

Ha.
No, no, I knew they were in mutiny;
But they could ne're have hurt us,
Had they not come at this instant period,
This point of time: had he liv'd two days longer,
A pardon to the Captains, and a largess
Among the Souldiers, had appeas'd their fury:
Had he dy'd two days sooner, the succession
Had as we pleas'd, been settled, and secur'd
By Soffy's death. Gods, that the world should turn
On minutes, and on moments!

Mir.
My Lord, lose not yourself
In passion, but take counsel from necessity;
I'le to 'em, and will let them know
The Prince is dead, and that they come too late
To give him liberty; for love to him
Has bred their discontents: I'le tell them boldly,
That they have lost their hopes.

Ha.
And tell them too,
As they have lost their hopes o'th' one, they have lost
Their fears o'th' other: tell their Leaders we desire
Their counsel in the next succession;
Which if it meet disturbance,
Then we shall crave assistance from their power,
Which Fate could not have sent in a more happy hour.

Exit Mirvan. Enter Lords, Caliph.
Cal.
My Lord, ye hear
The news, the Princes Army is at the gate.

Ha.
I, I hear it, and feel it here; (Aside.)

But the succession, that's the point that first
Requires your counsel.

Cal.
Who should succeed, but Soffy?

Ha.
What! in such times as these, when such an Army
Lies at our gates, to chuse a Child our King?
You, my Lord Caliph, are better read in story,
And can discourse the fatal consequences
When Children reign.

Cal.
My Lords, if you'l be guided
By reason and example—

Enter Abdal and Morat.
Ha.
My Lords,
You come most opportunely, we were entring
Into dispute about the next succession.

Ab.
Who dares dispute it? we have a powerful argument
Of forty thousand strong, that shall confute him.

Cal.
A powerful argument indeed.

Ab.
I, such a one as will puzzle all your Logick
And distinctions to answer it;
And since we came too late for the performance
Of our intended service to the Prince,
The wronged Prince, we cannot more express
Our loyalty to him, than in the right
Of his most hopeful Son.

Ha.
But is he not too young?

Mor.
Sure you think us so too; but he, and we
Are old enough to look through your disguise,
And under that to see his Fathers Enemies.
A Guard there.

Enter Guard.
Mor.
Seize him, and you that could shew reason or example.

Ha.
Seize me! for what?

Ab.
Canst thou remember such a name as Mirza,
And ask for what?

Ha.
That name I must remember, and with horrour;
But few have dyed for doing,
What they had dy'd for if they had not done:
It was the Kings command, and I was only
Th'unhappy minister.

Ab.
I, such a minister as wind to fire,
That adds an accidental fierceness to
Its natural fury.

Mor.
If 'twere the Kings command, 'twas first thy malice
Commanded that command, and then obey'd it.

Ha.
Nay, if you have resolv'd it, truth and reason
Are weak and idle arguments; but let
Me pity the unhappy instruments
Of Princes wills, whose anger is our fate,
And yet their love's more fatal than their hate.

Ab.
And how well that love hath been requited,
Mirvan your Confident, by torture has confest.

Mor.
The story of the King, and of the Bashaws.

Ha.
Mirvan, poor-spirited wretch, thou hast deceiv'd me;
Nay then farewel my hopes, and next my fears.

Enter Soffy.
Soffy.
What horrid noyse was that of drums and trumpets,
That struck my Ear? What mean these bonds? Could not
My Grandsires jealousie be satisfied
Upon his Son, but now must seize
His dearest Favourite? Sure my turn comes next.

Ab.
'Tis come already, Sir; but to succeed
Him, not them: Long live King Soffy!

Without Drums and Trumpets.
Soffy.
But why are these men prisoners?

Ab.
Let this inform you.

Soffy.
But is my Grandsire dead?

Ab.
As sure as we are alive.

Soffy.
Then let 'em still be prisoners, away with 'em;
Invite our Mother from her sad retirement,
And all that suffer for my Fathers love,
Restraint or punishment.

Enter Princess.
So.
Dear Mother, make
Our happiness compleat, by breaking through
That cloud of sorrow,
And let us not be wanting to our selves,
Now th'heavens have done their part,
Lest so severe and obstinate a sadness
Tempt a new vengeance.

Princess.
Sir, to comply with you I'le use a violence
Upon my nature; Joy is such a forrainer,
So meer a stranger to my thoughts, I know
Not how to entertain him; but sorrow
Is made by custom so habitual,
'Tis now part of my nature.

So.
But can no pleasure, no delight divert it?
Greatness, or power, which women most affect,
If that can do it, rule me, and rule my Empire.

Princess.
Sir,
Seek not to rob me of my tears, Fortune
Her self is not so cruel; for my counsels
Then may be unsuccessful, but my prayers
Shall wait on all your actions.

Enter Solyman, as from the Rack. Guard.
So.
Alas poor Solyman, how is he altered?

Sol.

Why, because I would not accuse your Father, when your Grandfather saw he could not stretch my conscience, thus he has stretcht my carkass.

Mor.
I think they have stretcht his wit too.

Sol.

This is your Fathers love that lyes thus in my bones; I might have lov'd all the Pocky Whores in Persia, and have felt it less in my bones.

So.
Thy faith and honesty shall be rewarded
According to thine own desire.

Sol.

Friend, I pray thee tell me where-about my knees are, I would fain kneel to thank his Majesty: Why Sir, for the present my desire is only to have a good Bone setter, and when your Majesty has done that office to the Body Politick, and some skilful man to this body of mine (which if it had been a Body Politick, had never come to this) I shall by that time think on something for my suffering: But must none of these great ones be Hang'd for their villanies?

Aside.
Mor.
Yes certainly.

Sol.

Then I need look no further, some of their estates will serve my turn.

So.
Bring back those villains. Enter Haly and Caliph.

Now to your tears, dear Madam, and the Ghost
Of my dead Father, will I consecrate
The first fruits of my justice: Let such honours
And funeral rites, as to his birth and vertues
Are due, be first performed, then all that were
Actors, or Authors of so black a deed,
Be sacrific'd as Victims to his Ghost:
First thou, my holy Devil, that couldst varnish
So foul an act with the fair name of Piety:
Next thou, th'abuser of thy Princes ear.

Cal.
Sir, I beg your mercy.

Ha.
And I a speedy death, nor shall my resolution
Disarm it self, nor condescend to parley
With foolish hope.

So.
'Twere cruelty to spare 'em, I am sorry
I must commence my reign in blood, but duty
And justice to my fathers soul exact
This cruel piety; let's study for
A punishment, a feeling one,
And borrow from our sorrow so much time,
T'invent a torment equal to their crime.

Exeunt.