University of Virginia Library

Scena IId a.

Enter Alvero.
Alvero.
Son Eleazar, saw you not the Queen?

Eleaz.
Hah!

Alvero.
Was not the Queen here with you?

Eleaz.
Queen with mee; because my Lord I'me married to your daughter:
You (like your daughter) will grow Jealous,
The Queen with me, with me, a Moore, a Devill,
A slave of Barbary, a dog; for so
Your silken Courtiers christen me, but father
Although my flesh be tawny, in my veines,
Runs blood as red, and royal as the best
And proud'st in Spain, there do'es old man: my father,
Who with his Empire, lost his life,
And left me Captive to a Spanish Tyrant, Oh!
Go tell him! Spanish Tyrant? tell him, do?
He that can loose a kingdom and not rave,
He's a tame jade, I am not, tell old Philip
I call him Tyrant here's a sword & arms,
A heart, a head, and so pish, 'tis but death:
Old fellow shee's not here. But ere I dye,
Sword I'le bequeath thee a rich legacy.

Alvero.
Watch fitter hours to think on wrongs then now,
Deaths frozen hand hold's Royal Philip's heart,
Halfe of his body lies within a grave;
Then do not now by quarrells shake that state,
Which is already too much ruinate.
Come and take leave of him before he dye.

Exit.
Eleaz.
I'le follow you, now purple villany;
Sit like a Roab imperiall on my back,
That under thee I closelyer may contrive
My vengeance; foul deeds hid do sweetly thrive:
Mischief erect thy throne and sit in state
Here, here upon this head; let fools fear fate.
Thus I defie my starrs, I care not I
How low I tumble down, so I mount high.
Old time I'le wait bare-headed at thy heels,
and be a foot-boy to thy winged hours;
They shall not tell one Minute out in sands,
But I'le set down the number, I'le stil wake,
And wast these bals of sight by tossing them,
In buse observations upon thee.
Sweet opportunity I'le bind my self
to thee in base apprentice-hood so long,
Till on thy naked scalp grow hair as thick
As mine: & all hands shal lay hold on thee,
If thou wilt lend me but thy rusty sithe,
To cut down all that stand within my wrongs,
And my revenge. Love dance in twenty formes
Upon my beauty, that this Spanish dame
May be bewitch'd, and doat, her amorous flames
Shall blow up the old King. Consume his Sons,
And make all Spain a bonefire.
This Tragedie beeing acted hers does begin,
To shed a harlots blood can be no sin.

Exit.