 | The Noble Sovldier. Or, A Contract Broken, Justly Reveng'd |  |
Actus Quintus,
Scœna Prima.
Enter King, Cardinall with letters.Kin.
Commend us to Medina, say his letters
Right pleasing are, and that (except himselfe)
Nothing could be more welcome: counsell him
(To blot the opinion out of factious numbers)
Onely to have his ordinary traine
Waiting upon him: for, to quit all feares
Vpon his side of us, our very Court
Shall even but dimly shine with some few Dons,
Freely to prove our longings great to peace.
Car.
The Constable expects some pawne from you,
That in this Fairy circle shall rise up
No Fury to confound his Neece nor him.
Kin.
A Kings word is engag'd.
Car.
It shall be taken.
Kin.
Valasco, call the Captaine of our Guard,
Bid him attend us instantly.
Val.
I shall.
Exit.
Lopez come hither: see
Letters from Duke Medina, both in the name
Of him and all his Faction, offering peace,
And our old love (his Neece) Onælia
In marriage with her free and faire consent
To Cockadillia, a Don of Spaine.
Lop.
Will you refuse this?
Kin.
My Crowne as soone: they feele their sinowy plots
Belike to shrinke i'th joynts; and fearing Ruine,
Have found this Cement out to piece up all,
Which more endangers all.
Lop.
How Sir! endangers!
Kin.
Lyons may hunted be into the snare,
But if they once breake loose, woe be to him
That first seiz'd on 'em. A poore prisoner scornes
To kisse his Iaylor; and shall a King be choak'd
With sweet-meats, by false Traytors! no, I will fawne
On them, as they stroake me, till they are fast
But in this paw: And then.
Lop.
A brave revenge.
The Captaine of your Guard.
Enter Captaine.
Kin.
Vpon thy life
Double our Guard this day: let every man
Beare a charg'd Pistoll, hid; and at a watch-word
Given by a Musket, when our selfe sees Time,
Rush in; and if Medina's Faction wrastle
Against your forces, kill; but if yeeld, save:
Be secret.
Alanz.
I am charm'd, Sir.
Exit.
Kin.
Watch, Valasco,
If any weare a Crosse, Feather, or Glove,
Or such prodigious signes of a knit Faction,
Table their names up: at our Court-gate plant
Good strength to barre them out, if once they swarme:
Doe this upon thy life.
Not death shall fright me.
Exeunt.
Enter Baltazar.
Bal.
'Tis done, Sir.
Kin.
Death! what's done?
Bal.
Young Cub's slayd,
But the shee-Fox shifting her hole is fled;
The little Iackanapes the boy's braind.
Kin.
Sebastian?
Bal.
He shall ne're speake more Spanish.
Kin.
Thou teachest me to curse thee.
Bal.
For a bargaine you set your hand to.
Kin.
Halfe my Crowne I'de lose, were it undone.
Bal.
But halfe a Crowne! that's nothing:
His braines sticke in my conscience more than yours.
Kin.
How lost I the French Doctor?
Bal.
As French-men lose their haire: here was too hot
staying for him.
Kin.
Get thou too from my sight, the Queen wu'd see thee.
Bal.
Your gold, Sir.
Kin.
Goe with Judas and repent.
Bal.
So men hate whores after lusts heat is spent:
I'me gone, Sir.
Kin.
Tell me true, is he dead?
Bal.
Dead.
Kin.
No matter; tis but morning of revenge,
The Sun-set shall be red and Tragicall.
Exit.
Bal.
Sinne is a Raven creaking her owne fall.
Exit.
Enter Medina, Dænia, Alba, Carlo, and the Faction with Rosemary in their hats.
Med.
Keepe lock'd the doore, and let none enter to us
But who shares in our fortunes.
Dæn.
Locke the dores.
Alb.
What entertainment did the King bestow
Vpon your letters and the Cardinals?
Med.
With a devouring eye he read 'em o're,
Swallowing our offers into his empty bosome,
Out of the cup of heaven.
Carl.
Little suspecting
What dangers closely lye enambushed.
Dæn.
Let not us trust to that; there's in his brest
Both Fox and Lion, and both those beasts can bite:
We must not now behold the narrowest loope-hole,
But presently suspect a winged bullet
Flyes whizzing by our eares.
Med.
For when I let
The plummet fall to sound his very soule
In his close-chamber, being French-Doctor like,
He to the Cardinals eare sung sorcerous notes,
The burthen of his song, to mine, was death,
Onælia's murder, and Sebastians;
And thinke you his voyce alters now? 'tis strange,
To see how brave this Tyrant shewes in Court,
Throan'd like a god: great men are petty starres,
Where his rayes shine, wonder fills up all eyes
By sight of him, let him but once checke sinne,
About him round all cry, oh excellent King!
Oh Saint-like man! but let this King retire
Into his Closet to put off his robes,
He like a Player leaves his part off too;
Open his brest, and with a Sunne-beame search it,
There's no such man; this King of gilded clay,
Within is uglinesse, lust, treachery,
And a base soule, tho reard Collossus-high.
Baltazar beats to come in.
Dæn.
None till he speakes, and that we know his voyce:
Who are you?
Within Bal.
An honest house-keeper in Rosemary-lane too,
If you dwell in the same parish.
Med.
Oh tis our honest Souldier, give him entrance.
Enter Baltazar.
Bal.
Men show like coarses, for I meet few but are stuck
with Rosemary: every one ask'd mee who was married to
shame and a Hangman followed 'em to Church.
Med.
There's but two parts to play, shame has done hers,
But execution must close up the Scæne,
And for that cause these sprigs are worne by all,
Badges of Marriage, now of Funerall,
For death this day turnes Courtier.
Bal.
Who must dance with him?
Med.
The King, and all that are our opposites:
That dart or This must flye into the Court
Either to shoot this blazing starre from Spaine,
Or else so long to wrap him up in clouds,
Till all the fatall fires in him burne out,
Leaving his State and conscience cleere from doubt
Of following uprores.
Alb.
Kill not, but surprize him.
Carl.
Thats my voyce still.
Med.
Thine, Souldier.
Bal.
Oh this Collicke of a kingdome, when the wind of
treason gets amongst the small guts, what a rumbling and a
roaring it keepes: and yet make the best of it you can, it goes
out stinking: kill a King?
Dæn.
Why?
Bal.
If men should pull the Sun out of heaven every time
'tis ecclips'd, not all the Wax nor Tallow in Spaine woo'd
serve to make us Candles for one yeare.
Med.
No way to purge the sicke State, but by opening
a vaine.
Bal.
Is that your French Physicke? if every one of us
shoo'd be whip'd according to our faults, to be lasht at a carts
taile would be held but a flea-biting.
Enter Signeor No: whispers Medina.
Med.
What are you? come you from the King?
No.
No.
Bal.
No? more no's? I know him, let him enter.
Med.
Signeor, I thanke your kind Intelligence,
The newes long since was sent into our eares,
Carl.
Will you smell to a sprig of Rosemary?
No.
No.
Bal.
Will you be hang'd?
No.
No.
Bal.
This is either Signeor No, or no Signeor.
Med.
He makes his love to us a warning-peece
To arme our selves against we come to Court,
Because the guard is doubled.
Omnes.
Tush, we care not.
Bal.
If any here armes his hand to cut off the head, let
him first plucke out my throat: in any Noble Act Ile wade
chin-deepe with you: but to kill a King?
Med.
No, heare me—
Bal.
You were better, my Lord, saile 500 times to Bantone
in the West-Indies, than once to Barathrum in the Low-Countries:
It's hot going under the line there, the Callenture
of the soule is a most miserable madnesse.
Med.
Turne then this wheele of Fate from shedding blood
Till with her owne hand Iustice weyes all.
Bal.
Good.
Exeunt.
Enter Queene, Malateste.
Quee.
Must then his Trul be once more sphear'd in Court
To triumph in my spoyles, in my ecclipses?
And I like moaping Iuno sit, whilst Iove
Varies his lust into five hundred shapes
To steale to his whores bed! no, Malateste,
Italian fires of Iealousie burne my marrow:
For to delude my hopes, the leacherous King
Cuts out this robe of cunning marriage,
To cover his Incontinence, which flames
Hot (as my fury) in his blacke desires:
I am swolne big with child of vengeance now,
And till deliver'd, feele the throws of hell.
Mal.
Iust is your Indignation, high, and Noble,
And the brave heat of a true Florentine;
For Spaine Trumpets abroad her Interest
On every wall your scoff'd at injuries,
As one that has the refuse of her sheets,
And the sicke Autumne of the weakned King,
Where she drunke pleasures up in the full spring.
Quee.
That (Malateste) That, That Torrent wracks me!
But Hymens Torch (held downe-ward) shall drop out,
And for it, the mad Furies swing their brands
About the Bride-chamber.
Mal.
The Priest that joynes them,
Our Twin-borne malediction.
Quee.
Lowd may it speake.
Mal.
The herbs and flowers to strew the wedding way,
By Cypresse, Eugh, cold Colliquintida.
Quee.
Henbane and Poppey, and that magicall weed
Which Hags at midnight watch to catch the seed.
Mal.
To these our execrations, and what mischiefe
Hell can but hatch in a distracted braine,
Ile be the Executioner, tho it looke
So harrid it can fright e'ne murder backe.
Quee.
Poyson his whore today, for thou shalt wait
On the Kings Cup, and when heated with wine
He cals to drinke the Brides health, Marry her
Aliue to a gaping grave.
Mal.
At board?
Quee.
At board.
Mal.
When she being guarded round about with friends,
Like a faire Iland, hem'd with Rockes and Seas,
What rescue shall I find?
Quee.
Mine armes: dost faint?
Stood all the Pyrenæan hills that part
Spaine and our Country, on each others shoulders,
Burning with Ætnean flame, yet thou shouldst on,
As being my steele of resolution,
First striking sparkles from my flinty brest:
Wert thou to catch the horses of the Sunne
Fast by their bridles, and to turne backe day,
To the Italians second blisse (revenge.)
Mal.
Were my bones threatned to the wheele of torture
I'le doo't.
Enter Lopez.
Quee.
A Ravens voyce, and it likes me well.
Lop.
The King expects your presence.
Mal.
So, so, we come
To turne this Brides day to a day of doome.
Exeunt.
A Banquet set out, Cornets sounding; Enter at one dore Lopez, Valasco, Alanzo, No: after them King, Cardinall, with Don Cockadillio Bridegroome, Queene and Malateste after. At the other dore Alba, Carlo, Roderigo, Medina and Dænia leading Onælia as Bride, Cornego and Iuanna after, Bartazar alone, Bride and Bridegroome kisse, and by the Cardinall are joyn'd hand in hand: King is very merry, hugging Medina very lovingly.
Kin.
For halfe Spaines weight in Ingots I'de not lose
This little man to day.
Med.
Nor for so much
Twice told, Sir, would I misse your kingly presence;
Mine eyes have lost th'acquaintance of your face
So long, and I so (little) late read o're
That Index of the royall booke your mind,
That scarce (without your Comment) can I tell
When in those leaves you turne o're smiles or frownes.
Kin.
'Tis dimnesse of your sight, no fault i'th letter;
Medina, you shall find that free from Errata's:
And for a proofe,
If I could breath my heart in welcomes forth,
This Hall should ring naught else; welcome Medina,
Good Marquesse Dænia, Dons of Spaine all welcome:
My dearest love and Queene, be it your place
To entertaine the Bride, and doe her grace.
Quee.
With all the love I can, whose fire is such,
Kin.
Contracted Bride, and Bridegroome sit,
Sweet flowres not pluck'd in season, lose their scent,
So will our pleasures; Father Cardinall,
Me thinkes this morning new-begins our reigne.
Car.
Peace had her Sabbath ne're till now in Spaine.
Kin.
Where is our Noble Souldier Baltazar?
So close in conference with that Signior?
No.
No.
Kin.
What thinkst thou of this great day, Baltazar?
Bal.
Of this day? why as of a new play, if it ends well,
all's well; all men are but Actors, now if you being the
King, should be out of your part, or the Queene out of hers,
or your Dons out of theirs, here's No wil never be out of his.
No.
No!
Bal.
'Twere a lamentable peece of stuffe to see great
Statesmen have vile Exits; but I hope there are nothing but
plaudities in all your eyes.
Kin.
Mine I protest are free.
Quee.
And mine by heaven.
Mal.
Free from one good looke till the blow be given.
Kin.
Wine; a full Cup crown'd to Medina's health.
Med.
Your Highnesse this day so much honors me,
That I to pay you what I truly owe,
My life shall venture for it.
Dæn.
So shall mine.
Kin.
Onælia, you are sad: why frownes your brow?
Onæ.
A foolish memory of my past ills
Folds up my looke in furrowes of old care,
But my heart's merry, Sir.
Kin.
Which mirth to heighten,
Your Bridegroome and your selfe first pledge this health
Which we begin to our high Constable.
Three Cups fild: 1. to the King. 2. to the Bridegroome. 3. to Onælia, with whom the King complements.
Quee.
Ist speeding?
Mal.
As all our Spanish figs are.
Here's to Medina's heart with all my heart.
Med.
My hart shal pledge your hart i'th deepest draught
That ever Spanyard dranke.
Kin.
Medina mockes me,
Because I wrong her with the largest Bowle:
I'le change with thee, Onælia.
Mal. rages.
Quee.
Sir you shall not.
Kin.
Feare you I cannot fetch it off?
Quee.
Malateste!
Kin.
This is your scorne to her, because I am doing
This poorest honour to her: Musicke sound,
It goes were it ten fadoms to the ground.
Cornets. King drinkes, Queen and Mal. storms.
Mal.
Fare strikes with the wrong weapon.
Quee.
Sweet royall Sir no more, it is too deepe.
Mal.
Twill hurt your health sir.
Kin.
Interrupt me in my drinke: tis off.
Mal.
Alas sir;
You have drunke your last, that poyson'd bowle I fill'd
Not to be put into your hand, but hers.
Kin.
Poyson'd?
Omnes.
Descend blacke speckled soule to hell.
kil. Mal.
Mal.
The Queene has sent me thither.
dyes.
Card.
What new furie shakes now her snakes locks.
Quee.
I, I, tis I;
Whose soule is torne in peeces, till I send
This Harlot home.
Car.
More murders! save the Lady.
Balt.
Rampant? let the Constable make a mittimus.
Med.
Keepe 'em asunder.
Car.
How is it, royall sonne?
Kin.
I feele no poyson yet, onely mine eyes
Are putting out their lights: me thinks I feele
Deaths Icy fingers stroking downe my face; and now:
I'me in a mortall cold sweat.
Quee.
Deare my Lord.
Kin.
Hence, call in my Physicians.
Thy Physician, Tyrant,
Dwels yonder, call on him or none.
Kin.
Bloody Medina, stab'st thou Brutus too?
Dæn.
As hee is, so are we all.
Kin.
I burne,
My braines boyle in a Caldron, O one drop
Of water now to coole me.
Onæ.
Oh let him have Physicians.
Med.
Keepe her backe.
Kin.
Physicians for my soule, I need none else;
You'll not deny me those: oh holy Father,
Is there no mercy hovering in a cloud
For me a miserable King so drench'd
In perjury and murder?
Car.
Oh Sir great store.
Kin.
Come downe, come quickly downe.
Car.
I'le forthwith send
For a grave Fryer to be your Confessor.
Kin.
Doe, doe.
Car.
And he shall cure your wounded soule:
Fetch him good Sovldier.
Bal.
So good a worke I'le hasten.
Kin.
Onælia! oh shee's drown'd in teares! Onælia,
Let me not dye unpardoned at thy hands.
Enter Baltazar, Sebastian as a Fryer, with others.
Car.
Here comes a better Surgeon.
Seb.
Haile my good Sonne,
I come to be thy ghostly Father.
Kin.
Ha? my child! 'tis my Sebastian, or some spirit
Sent in his shape to fright me.
Bal.
'Tis no gobling, Sir, feele; your owne flesh and blood,
and much younger than you tho he be bald, and cals you son;
had I bin as ready to ha cut his sheeps throat, as you were to
send him to the shambles, he had bleated no more; there's
lesse chalke upon you score of sinnes by these round o'es.
Kin.
Oh my dul soule looke up, thou art somwhat lighter,
Noble Medina, see Sebastian lives:
Fetch me my Crowne: my sweetest pretty Fryer,
Can my hands doo't, Ile raise thee one step higher:
Th'ast beene in heavens house all this while sweet boy.
Seb.
I had but course cheere.
Kin.
Thou couldst nere fare better:
Religious houses are those hyves, where Bees
Make honey for mens soules: I tell thee, Boy,
A Fryery is a Cube, which strongly stands,
Fashioned by men, supported by heavens hands:
Orders of holy Priest-hood are as high
I'th eyes of Angels, as a Kings dignity:
Both these unto a Crowne give the full weight,
And both are thine: you that our Contract know,
See how I seale it with this Marriage;
My blessing and Spaines kingdome both be thine.
Omnes.
Long live Sebastian.
Onæ.
Doff that Fryers course gray;
And since hee's crownd a King, clothe him like one.
Kin.
Oh no: those are right Soveraigne Ornaments;
Had I beene cloth'd so, I had never fill'd
Spaines Chronicle with my blacke Calumny:
My worke is almost finish'd: where's my Queene?
Quee.
Here peece-meale torne by Furies.
Kin.
Onælia!
Your hand Paulina too, Onælia yours:
This hand (the pledge of my twice broken faith)
By you usurp'd is her Inheritance;
My love is turn'd, see as my fate is turn'd,
Thus they to day laugh, yesterday which mourn'd:
I pardon thee my death; set her be sent
Backe into Florence with a trebled dowry;
Death comes: oh now I see what late I fear'd!
A Contract broke, tho piec'd up ne're so well,
Heaven sees, earth suffers, but it ends in hell.
moritur.
Onæ.
Oh I could dye with him.
Quee.
Since the bright spheare
Exit.
Med.
The hammers of black mischiefe now cease beating,
Yet some Irons still are heating: you, Sir Bridegroome,
(Set all this while up as a marke to shoot at)
We here discharge you of your bed-fellow,
Shee loves no Barbars washing.
Cock.
My Balls are sav'd then.
Med.
Be it your charge, so please you reverend Sir,
To see the late Queene safely sent to Florence:
My Neece Onælia, and that trusty Souldier,
We doe appoint to guard the Infant King:
Other distractions, Time must reconcile;
The State is poyson'd like a Crocodile.
Exeunt.
FINIS.
| The Noble Sovldier. Or, A Contract Broken, Justly Reveng'd | |