University of Virginia Library

Scena V.

Enter Eleazar, Zarack, and Baltazar.
Eleaz.
It's strange! will not Prince Philip come with Hortenzo.

Zarack.
He swears he'l live and die there.

Eleaz.
Marry, and shall;
I pray perswade him you, to leave the place,
A prison? why its hell; Alas here they be,
Hah! they are they i'faith, see, see, see, see.

All.
Moor, Devill, toad, serpent.

Eleaz.
Oh sweet airs, sweet voices.

Isabel.
Oh my Hortenzo!

Eleaz.
Do not these birds sing sweetly Isabella?
Oh! how their spirits would leap aloft and spring,
Had they their throats at liberty to sing.

Phil.
Damnation dog thee.

Card.
Furies follow thee.

Qu. Mo.
Cometts confound thee.

Horten.
And hell swallow thee.

Eleaz.
Sweeter and sweeter still, Oh! harmony,
Why there's no musick like to miserie.

Isabel.
Hast thou betrai'd me thus?

Eleaz.
Not I, not I.

Phil.
Sirrah, hedge-hog.

Eleaz.
Hah! I'le hear thee presently.

Isabel.
Hear me then, Hell-hound; slaves, Unchain my love,
Or by—

Eleaz.
By what? is't not rare walking here.
Me thinks this stage shews like a Tennis Court;
Do's it not Isabell? I'le shew thee how:
Suppose that Iron chain to be the line,
The prison doors the hazard, and their heads
Scarce peeping ore the line suppose the bals;
Had I a racket now of burnish'd steel,
How smoothly could I bandy every ball,
Over this Globe of earth, win sett and all.

Phil.
How brisk the villain jetts in villany?

Eleax.
Prating? he's proud because he wears a chain:
Take it off Baltazar, and take him hence.

They unbind him.
Phil.
And whither then you dog?

Isabel.
Pity my brother.

Eleaz.
Pity him, no; away I come, do, come.

Phil.
I pray thee kill me: come.

Eleaz.
I hope to see
Thy own hands do that office, down with him.

Phil.
Is there another hell?

2 Moors.
Try, try, he's gone.

Eleaz.
So him next, he next, and next him; and then?

All.
Worse then damnation, feind, monster of men.

Eleaz.
Why, when? down, down.

Card.
Slave, as thou thrusts me down,
Into this dungeon, so sink thou to hell.

Q. Mo.
Amen, Amen.

Eleaz.
Together so, and you.

Isabel.
O pity my Hortenzo!

Horten.
Farewel sweet Isabel, my life adieu.

All.
Mischief and horror let the Moor pursue.

Eleaz.
A consort, that amain, play that amain.
Amain, Amain. No; so soon fallen asleep,
Nay I'le not loose this musick, sirrah! sirrah!
Take thou a drum, a Trumpet thou, and Hark;
Mad them with villanous sounds.

Zarack.
Rare sport, let's go.

Exeunt Zarack, Baltazar.
Eleaz.
About it. Musick will doe well, in woe;
How like you this?

Isabel.
set my Hortenzo free,
And I'le like any thing.

Eleaz.
A fool, a fool?
Hortenzo free, why look you, hee free? no;
Then must he marry you, you must be Queen,
Hee in a manner King, these dignities
Like poyson make men swell, this Ratsbane honour
O 'tis so sweet, they'le lick it till all burst.
Hee will be proud, and pride you know must fall.
Come, come, he shall not; no, no; 'tis more meet,
To keep him down, safe standing on his feet.

Isabel.
Eleazar?

Eleaz.
Mark: the imperial chair of Spain,
Is now as empty as a Misers Alms;
Be wise, I yet dare fit in't, it's for you,
If you will be for me, there's room for two.
Do meditate, muse on't: it's best for thee
To love me, live with me, and lye with me.

Isabel.
Thou knowst I'le first lye in the arms of death,
My meditations are how to revenge,
Thy bloody tyrannies; I fear thee not
In humane slave, but to thy faced defie
Thy lust, thy love, thy barbarours villany.

Eleaz.
Zarack.

Enter Zarack.
Zarack.
My Lord!

Eleaz.
Where's Baltazar?

Zarack.
A drumming.

Elea.
I have made them rave, and curse, and
So; guard her:
Your Court shall be this prison, guard her slaves,
With open eyes; defie me? see my veins,
Struck't out, being over heated with my blood,
Boyling in wrath: I'le tame you.

Isabel.
Do, do.

Eleaz.
Hah!
I wil, and once more fil a kingdoms Throne
Spain I'le new-mould thee, I will have a chair
Made all of dead mens bones, and the ascents
Shall be the heads of Spaniards set in ranks;
I will have Philip's head, Hortenzo's head,
Mendoza's head, thy Mothers head, and this,
This head that is so crosse, I'le have't:
The Scene wants Actors, I'le fetch more, and cloth it
In rich Cothurnall pompe. A Tragedy
Ought to be grave, graves this shall beautifie.
Moor execute to 'th life my dread cōmands,
Vengeance awake, thou hast much work in hand.

Exit.
Zarack.
I'm weary of this office, and this life,
It is too thirsty, and I would your blood,
Might scape the filling out: By heaven I swear,
I scorn these blows, and his rebukes to bear.

Isabel.
Oh! Zarack pity me, I love thee well,
Love deserves pity, pity Isabel.

Zarack.
What would you have me do?

Isabel.
To kill this Moor.

Zarack.
I'le cast an eye of death upon my, face.
I'le be no more his slave, swear to advance me;
And by yo'n setting sun, this hand, and this
Shall rid you of a tyrant.

Isabel.
By my birth;
No Spaniards honour'd place shall equall thine.

Zarack.
I'le kill him then.

Isabel.
And Baltazar.

Zarack.
And hee,

Isabel.
I pray thee first, fetch Philippo & Hortenzo
Out of that Hell; they two will be most glad
To ayd thee; in this Execution;

Zarack.
My Lord Philippo; and Hortenzo; rise;
Your hands; so, talk to her; at my return
This sword shall reek with blood of Baltazar.

Exit.
Phil.
Three curses (like three comendations
To their three soules) I send; thy tortur'd brother
Does curse the Cardinall, the Moor, thy Mother.

Isabel.
Curse not at all dear soules; revenge is hot,
And boyles in Zaracks brains; the plot is caft,
Into the mold of Hell: You freemen are;
Zarack will kill the Moor; and Baltazar.

Hort.
How can that relish?

Isabel.
Why? I'le tell you how?
I did profess; I, and protested too:
I lov'd him well, what will not sorrow do?
Then he profest, I, and protested too
To kill them both, what will not devils do?

Phil.
Then I profess; I, and protest it too,
That here's for him, what will not Philip do?

Hort.
See where hee coms.

Enter the two Moors.
Balt.
Zarack, what do I see?
Hortenzo and Philip, who did this?

Zarack.
I Baltazar.

Balt.
Thou art halfe damn'd for It, I'le to my Lord.

Zarack.
I'le stop you on your way, lie there;
thy tongue shal tel no tales to day.

Stabs him.
Phil.
Nor thine to morrow, his revenge was well.
Stabs him.
By this time both the slaves shake hands in hel.

Isabel.

Philippo and Hortenzo stand you
still, what; doat you both? cannot you see
your play? well fare a woman then, to lead
the way. Once rob the dead, put the Moors
habits on, and paint your faces with the oil
of hell, so waiting on the Tyrant.

Philip.

Come no more, 'tis here, and here;
room there below, stand wide, bury them
well since they so godly di'd.

Hort.

Away then, fate now let revenge be plac'd.

Philip.

Here.

Hort.

And here, a tyrants blood doth sweetly tast.

Exeunt.