University of Virginia Library

Act II.

Scene I.

Enter Almerin (in prison.)
Almer.
Sleep is as nice as woman;
The more I court it, the more it flies me;
Thy elder brother will be kinder yet,
Unsent for death will come.—To morrow—
Well—What can to morrow doe?
'Twill cure the sense of honour lost—
I, and my discontents shall rest together,
What hurt is there in this?
But death against the will,
Is but a slovenly kinde of potion;
And though prescrib'd by Heaven,
It goes against mens stomacks:
So does it at fourescore too; when the soule's
Mew'd up in narrow darknes;
Neither sees nor heares,—pish, 'tis meer fondnes in our nature;
A certaine clownish cowardise, that still
Would stay at home, and dares not venture
Into forreigne Countries, though better then
It's owne,—ha, what Countries? for we receive
Descriptions of th'other world from our Divines,
As blinde men take relation of this from us:
My thoughts leade me into the darke,
And there they'l leave me, I'le no more on't,
Within.
(Knocks)—Enter.
Some paper and a light, I'le write to th'King:
Defie him, and provoke a quicke dispatch.
I would not hold this ling'ring doubtfull State
So long againe, for all that hope can give.
Enter 3 of the Guard (with paper and Incke)
That sword does tempt me strangely—
(writing.
Wer't in my hands, 'twere worth th'other two.
But then the Guard,—it sleeps or drinks; may be
To contrive it so that if I should not passe,—
Why if I fall in't,
'Tis better yet then Pageantry;
A scaffold and spectators; more souldier-like—
One of the Guard peeps over his shoulder.
Uncivill villaine, read my letter?—

(Seizes his sword.
1 Guar.
Not I, not I my Lord.

Alm.
Deny it too?

Guar.
Murder, murder.

Guar.
Arme, arme—

(The Guard runs out.
Alm.
I'le follow,
Give the alarum with them,
'Tis least suspitious—

(Arme, arme, arme.
All
—the enemy, the enemy—

(Enter Soldiers running over the Stage, one throwing away his armes.
Soul.
Let them come.
Let them come.
Let them come—

(Enter Almerin.
Alm.
I heare fresh noise,
The camp's in great disorder: where am I now?
'Tis strangely darke—Goddesse without eyes
Be thou my guide, for—blindnes and sight
Are equall sense, of equall use, this night.

Enter Grainevert, Stratheman, Villanor, Marinell.
Gra.
Trouble not thy selfe, childe of discontent:
'Twill take no hurt I warrant thee;
The State is but a little drunke,
And when 'tas spued up that that made it so,
'Twill be well agen, there's my opinion in short.

Mar.
Th'art i'th' right.
The State's a pretty forehanded State,
And will doe reason hereafter.
Let's drinke and talke no more on't.

All.
—A good motion, a good motion,
Let's drinke.

Villa.
I, I, let's drinke agen.

Stra.
Come, to a Mistris.

Gra.
Agreed.
Name. name.

Villa.
Any body.—Vermilia.

Gra.

Stra.
Excellent.
Gentlemen, if you say the word,
Wee'l vant credit, and affect high pleasure.
Shall we?

Villa.
I, I, let's do that.

Stra.
What thinke ye of the sacrifice now?

Mar.
Come wee'le ha't,—for trickling teares are vaine.

Villa.
The sacrifice? what's that?

Stra.
Child of ignorance, 'tis a campe health.
An A—la—mode one. Grainevert begin it.

Grain.
(Pins up a Rose.

Mar.
Fine, and patheticall:
Come Villanor.

Vill.
What's the matter?

Mar.
Come, your liquor, and your stanza's.
Lines, Lines.

Villa.
Of what?

Mar.
Why, of any thing your Mistris has given you.

Vil.
Gentlemen, she never gave me any thing, but a boxe
Oth'eare, for offering to kisse her once.

Stra.
Of that boxe then

Mar.
I, I, that boxe, of that boxe.

Villa.
(Drinkes and spits.

Enter Doran.
Mar.
Doran.
Doran.

Gra.
A hall, a hall
To welcome our friend
For some liquor call,
A new or fresh face,
Must not alter our pace,
But make us still drinke the quicker.
Wine, Wine, oh 'tis divine
Come fill it unto our brother:
What's at the tongues end,
It forth does send,
And will not a syllable smother
Then,
It unlocks the brest
And throwes out the rest,
And learnes us to know each other.
Wine,—Wine.—

Dor.
Mad lads, have you been here ever since?

Stra.
Yes faith, thou seest the worst of us.
We—debauch—in discipline:
Foure and twenty houres is the time:
Barruthen had the watch to night,
To morrow 'twill be at my Tent.

Dor.
Good,
And d' you know what has falne out to night?

Stra.
Yes:
Grainevert, and my Lievtenant Coronell:
But they are friends againe.

Dor.
Pish, pish—the young Palatine of Plocence,
And his grave guardian surpris'd too night,
Carri'd by the enemy out of his quarters.

G.
As a chicken by a Kite out of a back side,
Was't not so?

D.
Is that all?

G.
Yes.
My Coronell did not love him:
He eats sweet meats upon a march too.

D.
Well, harke ye;
Worse yet; Almerin's gone:
Forc'd the Court of Guard where he was prisoner,
And has made an escape.

G.
So pale and spiritlesse a wretch,
Drew Priams curtaine in the dead of night,
And told him halfe his Troy was burnt—
He was of my minde. I would have done so my selfe.

D.
Well.
There's high suspitions abroad:
Ye shall see strange discoveries
I'th' Councell of Warre.

G.
What Councell?

D.
One call'd this morning.
Y'are all sent to.

G.
I will put on cleane linnen, and speake wisely.

V.
'Sfoot wee'l have a Round first.

G.
Sings:

(Exeunt.
Enter Generall of the Rebels, Palatine of Trocke, Palatine of Mensecke, Francelia, Almerin, Morat, Iphigene.
G.
As your friend, my Lord, he has the priviledge of ours,
And may enjoy a liberty we would deny
To enemies.

A.
I thanke your Excellence; oh Iphigene,
He does not know,
That thou the nobler part of friendship hold'st,
And doe'st oblige, whilst I can but acknowledge.

Men.
Opportunity to States-men, is as the just degree
Of heate to Chymists—it perfects all the worke,
And in this pris'ner 'tis offer'd.
We now are there, where men should still begin;
To treate upon advantage.
The Palatine of Trocke, and Mensecke,
With Almerin, shall to the King;
Petitions shall be drawne,
Humble in forme, but such for matter,
As the bold Macedonian youth would send
To men he did despise for luxury.
The first begets opinion of the world,
Which looks not far, but on the outside dwels:
Th'other inforces courage in our owne,
For bold demands must boldly be maintain'd.

Pal.
Let all goe on still in the publique name,
But keep an eare open to particular offers;
Liberty and publique good are like great Oleos
Must have the uper end still of our tables,
Though they are but for shew.

Fra.
Would I had ne're seen this shape, 't has poyson in't,
Yet where dwells good, if ill inhabits there?

Min.
—Presse much religion,
For though we dresse the scruples for the multitude,
And for our selves reserve th'advantages,
(It being much pretext) yet is it necessary;
For things of faith are so abstruse, and nice,
They will admit dispute eternally:
So how so e're other demands appeare,
These never can be prov'd unreasonable;
The subject being of so fine a nature,
It not submits it selfe to sense, but scapes
The trials which conclude all common doubts.

Fra.
My Lord, you use me as ill Painters paint,
Who while they labour to make faces faire,
Neglect to make them like.

Iphi.
Madam, there is no shipwracke of your
Vertues neare, that you should throw away
Any of all your excellencies
To save the dearest, modesty.

Gener.
If they proceed with us, we can retreat unto
Our expositions, and the peoples votes.
If they refuse us wholy, then we plead,
The King's besiedged, blockt up so straightly
By some few, reliefe can find no way
To enter to the King, or to get out to us,
Exclaime against it loud,
Till the Polonians thinke it high injustice,
And wish us better yet.
Then easily do we rise unto our ends.
And will become their envy through their pitty.
At worst you may confirme our party there:
Increase it too: there is one Brennoralt,
Men call him Gallant, but a discontent:
My Cosen the King hath us'd him ill.
Him a handsome whisper will draw.
The afternoone shall perfect
What we have loosely now resolv'd.—

Iphi.
If in discourse of beauty,
(So large an Empire) I do wonder,
It will become your goodnesse Madam,
To set me right.
And in a country where you your selfe is Queene,
Not suffer strangers loose themselves.

Gener.
What, making revenges Palatine?
And taking prisoners faire Ladies hearts?

Iphi.
Yes my Lord.
And have no better fortune in this Warre,
Then in the other; for while I thinke to take,
I am surprized my selfe.

Fra.
Dissembler, would thou wert.

M.
You are a Courtier my Lord;
The Palatine of Plocence, (Almerin)
Will grace the Hymeneals;
And that they may be while his stay is here,
I'le court my Lord in absence;
Take off for you the little strangenesses
Virgins weare at first,—
(Iphe sounds.
Look to the Palatine.

Mer.
How is't my dearest Iphegene?

Iph.
Not well I would retire.

G.
A qualme.

Lo.
His colour stole away; sanke downe,
As water in a weather-glasse
Prest by a warme hand.

Mens.
A cordiall of kind lookes,—
(Enter a Trumpet blinded.
From the King.

M.
Let's withdraw,
And heare him.—

Exit.
Enter Brennoralt, Doran, Raguelin.
Dor.
Yes to be married;
What are you mute now?

Bren.
Thou cam'st too hastily upon me, pus't
So close the colours to mine eye, I could
Not see. It is impossible.

[Dor.]
impossible?
If't were impossible, it should be otherwise,
What can you imagine there of Constancy?
Where 'tis so much their nature to love change,
That when they say but what they are,
They excuse themselves for what they doe?

Bren.
She hardly knowes him yet, in such an instant.

Dor.
Oh you know not how fire flies,
When it does catch light matter, woman.

B.
No more of that; She is
Yet the most precious thing in all my thoughts.
If it be so—
(Studies.)
I am a lost thing in the world Doran.

D.
How?

Bren.
Thou wilt in vaine perswade me to be other
Life, which to others is a Good that they
Enjoy, to me will be an evill, I
Shall suffer in—

Dor.
Looke on another face, that's present remedy.

Bren.
How ill thou doest conclude?
'Cause there are pestilent ayres, which kill men suddenly
In health, must there be soveraigne as suddenly,
To cure in sicknes? 't never was in nature.

Exit, and
Enters againe hastily.
Bren.
I was a foole to thinke, Death only kept
The doores of ill-pay'd love, when or disdaine,
Or spite could let me out as well—

Dor.
Right; were I as you,
It should no more trouble me
To free my selfe of love,
Then to spit out that which made me sicke.

Bren.
Ile tell her so; that she may laugh at me,
As at a prisoner threatning his Guard,
He will breake loose, and so is made the faster.
She hath charmes.—
(Studies)
Doran can fetch in a rebellious heart,
Ev'n while it is conspiring liberty.
—Oh she hath all
The vertues of her sexe, and not the vices,
Chaste and unsullied, as first op'ning Lillies,
Or untouch'd buds—

Dor.
Chaste? why! do you honour me,
Because I throw my selfe not off a precipice?
'Tis her ruine to be otherwise;
Though we blame those that kill themselves (my Lord)
We praise not him that keeps himselfe alive,
And deserves nothing.

Bren.
And 'tis the least.
She doe's triumph, when she doe's but appeare:
I have as many Rivals as beholders.

Dor.
All that encreases but our jealousies;
If you have now such qualmes for that you have not,
What will you have for that you shall possesse?

Bren.
—Dull hæritique;
Know I have these, because I have not her:
When I have her, I shall have these no more.
Her fancy now, her vertue then will governe:
And as I use to watch with doubtfull eye,
The wavering needie in the best Sun-dyall,
Till it has setled, then the trouble's o're,
Because I know when it is Fixt, it's True:
So here my doubts are all afore me. Sure,
Doran, crown'd Conquerours are but the types
Of Lovers, which enjoy, and really
Possesse, what th'other have in dreames. I'le send
A challenge to him.—

Dor.
Do, and be thought a mad-man.
To what purpose?
If shee love him, shee will but hate you more.
Lovers in favour (Brennoralt) are Gamesters
In good fortune; the more you set them,
The more they get.

Bren.
I'le see her then this night, by Heaven I will.

Dor.
Where? in the Cittadell?

Bren.
Know what, and why.—

Dor.
He raves, Brennoralt?

Bren.
Let me alone.—
I conjure thee, by the discretion
Left betwixt us, (that's thine,
For mine's devour'd by injuries of fortune,)
Leave me to my selfe.

Dor.
I have done.

Bren.
Is there such a passage,
As thou hast told me of, into the Castle?

Rag.
There is my Lord.

Bren.
And dar'st thou let me in?

Rag.
If you my Lord will venture.

Bren.
There are no Centry's neare it.

Rag.
None.

Bren.
How to the chamber afterward?

Rag.
Her woman.

Bren.
What's shee?

Rag.
A wicket to my Ladies secrets,
One that stands up to marriage with me.

Bren.
There—upon thy life be secret.—

(flings a purse.
Rag.
Else,—All punishment to ingratitude.—

Bren.
Enough,
I am a storme within till I am there,
Oh Doran!
That that, which is so pleasant to behold,
Should be such paine within!

Dor.
Poore Brennoralt!
Thou art the Martyr of a thousand tyrants:
Love, Honour, and Ambition raigne by turnes,
And shew their power upon thee.

Bren.
Why, let them; I'm still Brennoralt: “Ev'n Kings
“Themselves, are by their servants rul'd sometimes;
“Let their own slaves govern them at odde houres:
“Yet not subject their Persons or their Powers.

Exeunt.