University of Virginia Library

Actus Quartus.

Scæna Prima.

Enter Medina, Alba, and Dænia, met by Baltazar with a Ponyard and a Pistoll.
Bal.
You meet a Hydra; see, if one head failes
Another with a sulphurous beake stands yawning.

Med.
What hath rais'd up this Devill?

Bal.
A great mans vices, that can raise all hell.
What wood you call that man, who under-saile,
In a most goodly ship, wherein hee ventures
His life, fortunes, and honours, yet in a fury
Should hew the Mast downe, cast Sayles over-boord,
Fire all the Tacklings, and to crowne this madnesse,
Shoo'd blow up all the Deckes, burne th'oaken ribbes,
And in that Combat 'twixt two Elements
Leape desperately, and drowne himselfe i'th Seas,
What were so brave a fellow?

Omnes.
A brave blacke villaine.

Bal.
That's I; all that brave blacke villaine dwels in me,
If I be that blacke villaine; but I am not,
A Nobler Character prints out my brow,
Which you may thus read, I was banish'd Spaine
For emptying a Court-Hogshead, but repeal'd,
So I wood (e're my reeking Iron was cold)
Promise to give it a deepe crimson dye
In—none heare,—stay—no, none heare.

Med.
Whom then?

Bal.
Basely to stab a woman, your wrong'd Neece,
And her most innocent sonne Sebastian.

Alb.
The Boare now foames with whetting.

Dæn.
What has blunted
Thy weapons point at these?

Bal.
My honesty;
A signe at which few dwell: (pure honesty!)
I am a vassaile to Medina's house,
He taught me first the A, B, C, of warre:
E're I was Truncheon-high, I had the stile
Of beardlesse Captaine, writing then but boy,
And shall I now turne slave to him that fed me
With Cannon-bullets! and taught me, Estridge-like,
To digest Iron and Steele! no: yet I yeelded
With willow-bendings to commanding breaths.

Med.
Of whom?

Bal.
Of King and Queene: with supple Hams,
And an ill-boading looke, I vow'd to doo't:
Yet, lest some choake-peare of State-policy
Shoo'd stop my throat, and spoyle my drinking-pipe,
See (like his cloake) I hung at the Kings elbow,
Till I had got his hand to signe my life.

Dæn.
Shall we see this and sleepe?

Alb.
No, whilst these wake.

Med.
'Tis the Kings hand.

Bal.
Thinke you me a quoyner?

Med.
No, no, thou art thy selfe still, Noble Baltazar,
I ever knew thee honest, and the marke
Stands still upon thy fore-head.

Bal.
Else flea the skin off.

Med.
I ever knew thee valiant, and to scorne
All acts of basenesse: I have seene this man
Write in the field such stories with his sword,
That our best Chiefetaines swore there was in him
As 'twere a new Philosophy of fighting,
His deeds were so Puntillious: In one battell,
When death so nearely mist my ribs, he strucke
Three horses stone-dead under me: This man,
Three times that day (even through the jawes of danger)
Redeemd me up, and (I shall print it ever)
Stood o're my body with Collossus thighes,
Whilst all the Thunder-bolts which warre could throw,
Fell on his head: And Baltazar, thou canst not
Be now but honest still, and valiant still,
Not to kill boyes and women.

Bal.
My byter here, eats no such meat.

Med.
Goe fetch the mark'd-out Lambe for slaughter hither,
Good fellow-souldier ayd him,—and stay—marke,
Give this false fire to the beleeving King,
That the child's sent to heaven, but that the mother
Stands rock'd so strong with friends, ten thousand billowes
Cannot once shake her.

Bal.
This I'le doe.

Med.
Away:
Yet one word more; your Counsell, Noble friends;
Harke Baltazar, because nor eyes nor tongues,
Shall by lowd Larums, that the poore boy liues,
Question thy false report, the child shall closely
Mantled in darknesse, forthwith be conveyed
To the Monastery of Saint Paul.

Omnes.
Good.

Med.
Dispatch then, be quicke.

Bal.
As Lightning.

Exit.
Alb.
This fellow is some Angell drop'd from heauen
To preserve Innocence.

Med.
He is a wheele
Of swift and turbulent motion; I have trusted him,
Yet will not hang on him too many plummets,
Lest with a headlong Cyre he ruines all:
In these State-consternations, when a kingdome
Stands tottering at the Center, out of suspition
Safety growes often; let us suspect this fellow,
And that albeit he shew us the Kings hand,
It may be but a Tricke.

Dæn.
Your Lordship hits
A poyson'd nayle i'th head: this waxen fellow
(By the Kings hand so bribing him with gold) is set on skrews,
Perhaps is made his Creature,
To turne round every way.

Med.
Out of that feare
Will I beget truth: for my selfe in person
Will sound the kings brest.

Carl.
How! your selfe in person?

Alb.
That's halfe the prize he gapes for.

Med.
I'le venture it,
And come off well I warrant you, and rip up
His very entrailes, cut in two his heart,
And search each corner in't, yet shall not he
Know who it is cuts up th'Anatomy.

Dæn.
'Tis an exploit worth wonder.

Carl.
Put the worst,
Say some Infernall voyce shoo'd rore from hell,
The Infant's cloystering up.

Alb.
'Tis not our danger,
Nor the imprison'd Prince's, for what Theefe
Dares by base sacrilege rob the Church of him?

Carl.
At worst none can be lost but this slight fellow?

Med.
All build on this as on a stable Cube;
If we our footing keepe, we fetch him forth,
And Crowne him King; if up we flye i'th ayre,
We for his soules health a broad way prepare.

Dæn.
They come.

Enter Baltazar and Sebastian.
Med.
Thou knowst where
To bestow him, Baltazar.

Bal.
Come Noble Boy.

Alb.
Hide him from being discovered.

Bal.
Discover'd? woo'd there stood a troope of Moores
Thrusting the pawes of hungry Lions forth,
To seize this prey, and this but in my hand,
I should doe something.

Seb.
Must I goe with this blacke fellow, Vncle?

Med.
Yes, pretty Coz, hence with him, Baltazar.

Bal.
Sweet child, within few minutes I'le change thy fate
And take thee hence, but set thee at heavens gate.

Exeunt
Med.
Some keepe aloofe and watch this Souldier.

Carl.
I'le doo't.

Dæn.
What's to be done now?

Med.
First to plant strong guard
About the mother, then into some snare
To hunt this spotted Panther, and there kill him.

Dæn.
What snares have we can hold him?

Med.
Be that care mine;
Dangers (like Starres) in darke attempts best shine.

Exeunt.
Enter Cornego, Baltazar.
Cor.

The Lady Onælia dresseth the stead of her commendations
in the most Courtly Attire that words can be cloth'd
with, from her selfe to you, by me.

Bal.

So Sir; and what disease troubles her now?

Cor.

The Kings Evill; and here she hath sent something
to you wrap'd up in a white sheet, you need not feare to open
it, tis no coarse.

Bal.
What's here? a letter mine'd into five morsels?
What was she doing when thou camst from her?

Cor.
At her pricke-song.

Bal.
So me thinks, for here's nothing but sol-Re-me-fa-mi:
What Crochet fils her head now, canst tell?

Cor.

No Crochets, 'tis onely the Cliffe has made her
mad.

Bal.

What Instrument playd she upon?

Cor.

A wind instrument, she did nothing but sigh.

Bal.

Sol, Re, me, Fa, Mi.

Cor.

My wit has alwayes had a singing head, I have found
out her Note Captaine.

Bal.

The tune? come.

Cor.

Sol, my soule; re, is all rent and torne like a raggamuffin;
me, mend it good Captaine; fa, fa, whats fa Captaine?

Bal.

Fa, why farewell and be hang'd.

Cor.

Mi, Captaine, with all my heart; haue I tickled my
Ladies Fiddle well?

Bal.

Oh but your sticke wants Rozen to make the strings
sound clearely: no, this double Virginall, being cunningly
touch'd, another manner of Iacke leaps up then is now in
mine eye: Sol, Re, me, fa, mi, I have it now, Solus Rex me
facit miseram: Alas poore Lady, tell her no Pothecary in
Spaine has any of that Assa fetida she writes for.

Cor.

Assa fetida? whats that?

Bal.

A thing to be taken in a glister-pipe.

Cor.

Why what ayles my Lady?

Bal.

What ayles she? why when she cryes out, Solus Rex
me facit miseram, she sayes in the Hypocronicall language,
that she is so miserably tormented with the wind-Chollicke
that it rackes her very soule.

Cor.

I said somewhat cut her soule in peeces.

Bal.

But goe to her, and say the Oven is heating.

Cor.

And what shall be bakd int?

Bal.

Carpe pyes: and besides, tell her the hole in her
Coat shall be mended: and tell her if the Dyall of good
dayes goe true, why then bounce Buckrum.

Cor.

The Divell lyes sicke of the Mulligrubs.

Bal.

Or the Cony is dub'd, and three sheepskins

Cor.

With the wrong side outward

Bal.

Shall make the Fox a Night-cap.

Cor.

So the Goose talkes French to the Buzzard.

Bal.

But, Sir, if evill dayes justle our prognostication to
the wall, then say there's a fire in a Whore-masters Codpeece.

Cor.

And a poyson'd Bagge-pudding in Tom Thumbes
belly.

Bal.

The first cut be thine: farewell.

Cor.

Is this all?

Bal.

Woo't not trust an Almanacke?

Cor.

Nor a Coranta neither, tho it were seal'd with Butter;
and yet I know where they both lye passing well.

Enter Lopez.
Lop.
The King sends round about the Court to seek you.

Bal.
Away Otterhound.

Cor.
Dancing Beare, I'me gone.

Exit.
Enter King attended.
Exeunt omnes.
Kin.
A private roome,
Is't done? hast drawne thy two-edg'd sword out yet?

Bal.

No, I was striking at the two Iron Barres that hinder
your passage, and see Sir.

Drawes.
Kin.

What meanst thou?

Bal.

The edge abated, feele.

Kin.

No, no, I see it.

Bal.

As blunt as Ignorance.

Kin.

How? put up—So—how?

Bal.

I saw by chance hanging in Cardinall Alvarez Gallery
a picture of hell.

Kin.

So, what of that?

Bal.

There lay upon burnt straw ten thousand brave fellowes
all starke naked, some leaning upon Crownes, some
on Miters, some on bags of gold: Glory in another Corner
lay like a feather beaten in the raine; Beauty was turn'd into
a watching Candle, that went out stinking: Ambition
went upon a huge high paire of stilts, but horribly rotten;
some in another nooke were killing Kings, and some having
their elbowes shov'd forward by Kings to murther others;
I was (me thought) halfe in hell my selfe whilst I
stood to view this peece.

Kin.

Was this all?

Bal.

Was't not enough to see that a man is more healthfull
that eats dirty puddings, than he that feeds on a corrupted
Conscience.

Kin.
Conscience! what's that? a Conjuring booke ne're open'd
Without the readers danger: 'tis indeed
A scare-crow set i'th world to fright weake fooles:
Hast thou seene fields pav'd o're with carkasses,
Now to be tender-footed, not to tread
On a boyes mangled quarters, and a womans!

Bal.

Nay, Sir, I have search'd the records of the Low-Countries,
and finde that by your pardon I need not care a
pinne for Goblins, and therefore I will doo't Sir. I did but recoyle
because I was double charg'd.

Kin.
No more, here comes a Satyre with sharpe hornes.

Enter Cardinall, and Medina like a French Doctor.
Car.
Sir here's a Frenchman charg'd with some strange businesse
Which to your close eare onely hee'll deliver,
Or else to none.

Kin.
A Frenchman?

Med.
We Mounsire.

Kin.
Cannot he speake the Spanish?

Med.

Si Signior, vr Poco:—Monsir Acontez in de
Corner, me come for offer to your Bon grace mi trez humbla
service, by gar no Iohn fidleco shall put into your neare
braver Melody dan dis vn petite pipe shall play upon to your
great bon Grace.

Kin.

What is the tune you'll strike up, touch the string.

Med.

Dis; me ha run up and downe mane Countrie, and
learne many fine ting, and mush knavery, now more and all
dis, me know you ha jumbla de fine vench and fill her belly
wid a Garsoone, her name is le Madame—

Kin.

Onælia.

Med.

She by gar: Now Monsire, dis Madam send for
me to helpe her Malady, being very naught of her corpes
(her body) me know you no point love a dis vensh; but
royall Monsire donne Moye ten towsand Frensh Croownes
she shall kicke up her taile by gar, and beshide lye dead as
dog in de shannell.

Kin.

Speake low.

Med.

As de bagge-pipe when de winde is puff, Garbeigh.

Kin.
Thou nam'st ten thousand Crownes, I'le treble them
Rid me but of this leprosie: thy name?

Med.
Monsire Doctor Deuile.

Kin.
Shall I a second wheele adde to this mischiefe
To set it faster going? if one breake,
Th'other may keepe his motion.

Med.
Esselent fort boone.

Kin.
Baltazar,
To give thy Sword an edge againe, this French-man
Shall whet thee on, that if thy pistoll faile,
Or ponyard, this can send the poyson home.

Bal.
Brother Cain wee'll shake hands.

Med.

In de bowle of de bloody busher: tis very fine
wholesome.

Kin.
And more to arme your resolution,
I'le tune this Churchman so, that he shall chime
In sounds harmonious, Merit to that man
Whose hand has but a finger in that act.

Bal.
That musicke were worth hearing.

Kin.
Holy Father,
You must give pardon to me in unlocking
A Cave stuft full with Serpents, which my State
Threaten to poyson, and it lyes in you
To breake their bed with thunder of your voyce.

Car.
How Princely sonne?

Kin.
Suppose an universall
Hot Pestilence beat her mortiferous wings
Ore all my kingdome, am not I bound in soule
To empty all our Achademes of Doctors,
And Æsculapian spirits to charme this plague?

Car.
You are.

Kin.
Or had the Canon made a breach
Into our rich Escuriall, downe to beat it
About our eares, shoo'd I to stop this breach
Spare even our richest Ornaments, nay, our Crowne,
Could it keepe bullets off.

Car.
No Sir, you should not.

Kin.
This Linstocke gives you fire: shall then that strumpet
And bastard breathe quicke vengeance in my face;
Making my kingdome reele, my subjects stagger
In their obedience, and yet live?

Car.
How? live!
Shed not their bloods to gaine a kingdome greater
Then ten times this.

Med.
Pishe, not matter a how Red-cap and his wit run.

Kin.
As I am Catholike King, I'le have their hearts,
Panting in these two hands.

Car.
Dare you turne Hang-man?
Is this Religion Catholike to kill
What even bruit beasts abhorre to doe, (your owne!)
To cut in sunder wedlockes sacred knot
Tyed by heavens fingers! to make Spaine a Bonfire,
To quench which must a second Deluge raine
In showres of blood, no water; If you doe this,
There is an Arme Armipotent that can fling you
Into a base grave, and your Pallaces
With Lightning strike, and of their Ruines make
A Tombe for you (unpitied, and abhorr'd:)
Beare witnesse all you Lamps Cœlestiall
I wash my hands of this.

kneeling.
Kin.
Rise my good Angell,
Whose holy tunes beat from me that evill spirit
Which jogs mine Elbow, hence thou dog of hell.

Med.
Baw wawghe.

Kin.
Barke out no more thou Mastiffe, get you all gone,
And let my soule sleepe: there's gold, peace, see it done.

Exit.
Manent Medina, Baltazar, Cardinall.
Bal.

Sirra, you Salsa-Perilla Rascall, Toads-guts, you

whorson pockey French Spawne of a bursten-bellyed Spyder,
doe you heare, Monsire.

Med.

Why doe you barke and snap at my Narcissus, as
if I were de Frenshe doag?

Bal.

You Curre of Cerberus litter

strikes him.

You'll poyson the honest Lady? doe but once toot into her
Chamber-pot, and I'le make thee looke worse then a witch
does upon a close-stoole.

Car.
You shall not dare to touch him, stood he here
Single before thee.

Bal.
I'le cut the Rat into Anchovies.

Car.
I'le make thee kisse his hand, imbrace him, love him
And call him—

Medina discovers.
Bal.

The perfection of all Spanyards. Mars in little, the
best booke of the art of Warre printed in these Times: as a
French Doctor I woo'd have given you pellets for pills, but
as my noblest Lord, rip my heart out in your service.

Med.
Thou art the truest Clocke
That e're to time paidst tribute, (honest Souldier)
I lost mine owne shape, and put on a French,
Onely to try thy truth, and the Kings falshood,
Both which I find: now this great Spanish volume
Is open'd to me, I read him o're and o're,
Oh what blacke Characters are printed in him.

Car.
Nothing but certaine ruine threat your Neece,
Without prevention: well, this plot was laid
In such disguise to sound him, they that know
How to meet dangers, are the lesse afraid;
Yet let me counsell you not to text downe
These wrongs in red lines.

Med.
No, I will not, father;
Now that I have Anatomiz'd his thoughts,
I'le read a lecture on 'em that shall save
Many mens lives, and to the kingdome minister
Most wholesome Surgery; here's our Aphorisme;
These letters from us in our Neeces name,
You know treat of a marriage.

Car.
There's the strong Anchor
To stay all in this tempest.

Med.
Holy Sir,
With these worke you the King, and so prevaile,
That all these mischiefes Hull with Flagging saile.

Car.
My best in this I'le doe.

Med.
Souldier, thy brest
I must locke better things in.

Bal.
'Tis your chest,

With 3 good keyes to keep it from opening, an honest hart,
a daring hand, and a pocket which scornes mony.

Exeunt