 | The Noble Sovldier. Or, A Contract Broken, Justly Reveng'd |  |
Actus Primus.
Scæna Prima.
Enter in Magnificent state, to the sound of lowd musicke, the King and Queene, as from Church, attended by the Cardinall, Count Malateste, Dænia, Roderigo, Valasco, Alba, Carlo, and some waiting Ladies. The King and Queene with Courtly Complements salute and part; she with one halfe attending her: King, Cardinall, and th'other halfe stay, the King seeming angry and desirous to be rid of them too.—King Cardinall, Dænia, &c.K.
Give us what no man here is master of,
(Breath) leave us pray, my father Cardinall
Can by the Physicke of Philosophy
et al agen in order. Leave us, pray.
exeunt
Car.
How is it with you, Sir?
Kin.
As with a Shippe
Now beat with stormes, now safe, the stormes are vanisht,
And having you my Pylot, I not onely
See shore, but harbour; I, to you will open
Oh father! my disease lyes in my soule.
Card.
The old wound, Sir?
Kin.
Yes that, it festers inward:
For though I have a beauty to my bed
That even Creation envies at, as wanting
Stuffe to make such another, yet on her pillow
I lye by her, but an Adulterer,
And she as an Adulteresse, Shee's my Queene
And wife, yet but my strumpet, tho the Church
Set on the seale of Mariage; good Onælia,
Neece to our Lord high Constable of Spaine,
Was precontracted mine.
Card.
Yet when I stung
Your Conscience with remembrance of the Act,
Your eares were deafe to counsell.
Kin.
I confesse it.
Car.
Now to unty the knot with your new Queene
Would shake your Crowne halfe from your head.
Kin,
Even Troy
(Tho she hath wept her eyes out) wud find teares
To wayle my kingdomes ruines.
Car.
What will you doe then?
Kin.
She has that Contract written, seal'd by you,
And other Churchmen (witnesses untoo't)
A kingdome should be given for that paper.
Card.
I wud not, for what lyes beneath the Moone,
Be made a wicked Engine to breake in pieces
That holy Contract.
Kin.
'Tis my soules ayme to tye it
Vpon a faster knot.
Car.
I doe not see
How you can with safe conscience get it from her.
Kin.
Oh! I know
I wrastle with a Lyonesse: to imprison her,
And force her too't, I dare not: death! what King
Did ever say I dare not? I must have it:
Will have (I feare) sharpe spurres, if he crow after
Him that trod for him: something must be done
Both to the Henne and Chicken; haste you therefore
To sad Onælia, tell her I'me resolv'd
To give my new Hawke bells, and let her flye;
My Queene I'me weary of, and her will marry:
To this our Text adde you what glosse you please,
The secret drifts of Kings are depthlesse Seas.
Exeunt.
A Table set out cover'd with blacke: two waxen Tapers: the Kings Picture at one end, a Crucifix at the other, Onælia walking discontentedly weeping to the Crucifix, her Mayd with her, to them Cornego.
Song,
Quest.
Oh sorrow, sorrow, say where dost thou dwell?
Answ.
In the lowest roome of Hell.
Quest.
Art thou borne of Humane Race?
Answ.
No, no, I have a furier face.
Quest.
Art thou in City, Towne or Court?
Answ.
I to every place resort.
Quest.
Oh why into the world is sorrow sent?
Answ.
Men afflicted, best repent.
Quest.
What dost thou feed on?
Answ.
Broken sleepe.
Quest.
What tak'st thou pleasure in?
Answ.
To weepe,
To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groane,
To wring my hands, to sit alone.
Quest.
Oh when? oh when shall sorrow quiet have?
Answ.
Never, never, never, never,
Never till she finds a Grave.
Enter Cornego.
Corn.
No lesson, Madam, but Lacrymae's? if you had buried
nine husbands, so much water as you might squeeze out of
an Onyon had beene teares enow to cast away upon fellowes
that cannot thanke you, come be Ioviall.
Sorrow becomes me best.
Corn.
A suit of laugh and lye downe would weare better.
Onæ.
What should I doe to be merry, Cornego?
Corn.
Be not sad.
Ona.
But what's the best mirth in the world?
Corn.
Marry this, to see much, say little, doe little, get
little, spend little, and want nothing.
Onæ.
Oh but there is a mirth beyond all these:
This Picture has so vex'd me, I'me halfe mad,
To spite it therefore I'le sing any song
Thy selfe shalt tune; say then what mirth is best?
Corn.
Why then, Madam, what I knocke out now is the
very Maribone of mirth, and this it is.
Onæ.
Say on.
Corn.
The best mirth for a Lawyer is to have fooles to
his Clients: for Citizens, to have Noblemen pay their
debts: for Taylors to have store of Sattin brought in, for
then how little soere their houses are, they'll bee sure to
have large yards: the best mirth for bawds is to have fresh
handsome whores, and for whores to have rich guls come
aboard their pinnaces, for then they are sure to build Gally-Asles.
Onæ.
These to such soules are mirth, but to mine none:
Away.
Exit.
Enter Cardinall.
Car.
Peace to you, Lady.
Onæ.
I will not sinne so much as hope for peace,
And tis a mocke ill suits your gravity.
Car.
I come to knit the nerves of your lost strength,
To build your ruines up, to set you free
From this your voluntary banishment,
And give new being to your murdred fame.
Onæ.
What Æsculapius can doe this?
Car.
The King—tis from the King I come.
Onæ.
A name I hate;
Oh I am deafe now to your Embassie.
Car.
Heare what I speake.
Your language breath'd from him
Is deaths sad doome upon a wretch condemn'd.
Car.
Is it such poyson?
Onæ.
Yes, and were you christall,
What the King fills you with, wud make you breake:
You should (my Lord) be like these robes you weare,
(Pure as the Dye) and like that reverend shape;
Nurse thoughts as full of honour, zeale, and purity;
You should be the Court-Diall, and direct
The King with constant motion, be ever beating
(Like to Clocke-Hammers) on his Iron heart
To make it sound cleere, and to feele remorse
You should unlocke his soule, wake his dead conscience,
Which like a drowsie Centinell gives leave
For sinnes vast army to beleaguer him;
His ruines will be ask'd for at your hands.
Car.
I have rais'd up a scaffolding to save
Both him and you from falling, doe but heare me.
Onæ.
Be dumbe for ever.
Car.
Let your feares thus dye:
By all the sacred relliques of the Church,
And by my holy Orders, what I minister
Is even the spirit of health.
Onæ.
I'le drinke it downe into my soule at once.
Car.
You shall.
Onæ.
But sweare.
Car.
What Conjurations can more bind mine oath?
Onæ.
But did you sweare in earnest?
Car.
Come, you trifle.
Onæ.
No marvell, for my hopes have bin so drown'd,
I still despaire: Say on.
Car.
The King repents.
Onæ.
Pray that agen, my Lord.
Car.
The King repents.
Onæ.
His wrongs to me?
Car.
His wrongs to you: the sense
Of sinne has pierc'd his soule.
Blest penitence!
Car.
'Has turnd his joyes into his leprous bosome,
And like a King vowes execution
On all his traiterous passions.
Onæ.
God-like Iustice!
Car.
Intends in person presently to begge
Forgivenesse for his Acts of heaven and you.
Onæ.
Heaven pardon him, I shall.
Car.
Will marry you.
Onæ.
Vmh! marry me? will he turne Bigamist?
When, when?
Car.
Before the morrow Sunne hath rode
Halfe his dayes journey; will send home his Queene
As one that staines his bed, and can produce
Nothing but bastard Issue to his Crowne:
Why how now? lost in wonder and amazement?
Onæ.
I am so stor'd with joy that I can now
Strongly weare out more yeares of misery
Then I have liv'd.
Enter King.
Car.
You need not: here's the King.
Kin.
Leave us.
Exit Card.
Onæ.
With pardon, Sir, I will prevent you,
And charge upon you first.
Kin.
'Tis granted, doe:
But stay, what meane these Embleames of distresse?
My Picture so defac'd! oppos'd against
A holy Crosse! roome hung in blacke! and you
Drest like chiefe Mourner at a Funerall?
Onæ.
Looke backe upon your guilt (deare Sir) and then
The cause that now seemes strange, explaines it selfe:
This, and the Image of my living wrongs
Is still confronted by me to beget
Griefe like my shame, whose length may outlive Time:
This Crosse, the object of my wounded soule,
To which I pray to keepe me from despaire;
That ever as the sight of one throwes up
Mountaines of sorrowes on my accursed head:
And bind my hands from wilfull violence.
Kin.
But who hath plaid the Tyrant with me thus?
And with such dangerous spite abus'd my picture?
Onæ.
The guilt of that layes claime, Sir, to your selfe,
For being by you ransack'd of all my fame,
Rob'd of mine honour, and deare chastity,
Made by you act the shame of all my house,
The hate of good men, and the scorne of bad,
The song of Broome-men, and the murdering vulgar,
And left alone to beare up all these ills
By you begun, my brest was fill'd with fire,
And wrap'd in just disdaine, and like a woman
On that dumb picture wreak'd I my passions.
Kin.
And wish'd it had beene I.
Onæ.
Pardon me, Sir,
My wrongs were great, and my revenge swell'd high.
Kin.
I will descend, and cease to be a King,
To leave my judging part, freely confessing
Thou canst not give thy wrongs too ill a name.
And here to make thy apprehension full,
And seat thy reason in a sound beleefe,
I vow to morrow (e're the rising Sunne
Begin his journey) with all Ceremonies
Due to the Church, to seale our nuptials,
To prive thy sonne with full consent of State,
Spaines heire Apparant, borne in wedlocke vowes.
Onæ.
And will you sweare to this?
Kin.
By this I sweare.
Onæ.
Oh you have sworne false oathes upon that booke.
Kin.
Why then by this.
Onæ.
Take heed you print it deeply:
How for your Concubine (Bride I cannot say)
She staines your bed with blacke Adultery:
And though her fame maskes in a fairer shape
Then mine to the worlds eye, yet (King) you know
Mine honour is lesse strumpetted than hers,
Kin.
This way for her, the Contract which thou hast
By best advice of all our Cardinals,
To day shall be enlarg'd, till it be made
Past all dissolving: then to our Counsell-Table
Shall she be call'd, that read aloud, she told
The Church commands her quicke returne for Florence,
With such a dower as Spaine received with her,
And that they will not hazard heavens dire curse
To yeeld to a match unlawfull, which shall taint,
The issue of the King with Bastardy:
This done, in state Majesticke come you forth
(Our new crown'd Queene) in sight of all our Peeres:
Are you resolv'd?
Onæ.
To doubt of this were Treason,
Because the King has sworne it.
Kin.
And will keepe it:
Deliver up the Contract then, that I
May make this day end with thy misery.
Onæ.
Here, as the dearest Iewell of my fame,
Lock'd I this parchment from all viewing eyes,
This your Indenture held alone the life
Of my suppos'd dead honour; yet (behold)
Into your hands I redeliver it.
Oh keepe it, Sir, as you should keepe that vow,
To which (being sign'd by heaven) even Angels bowe.
Kin.
Tis in the Lions paw, and who dares snatch it?
Now to your Beads and Crucifix agen.
Onæ.
Defend me heaven!
Kin.
Pray there may come Embassadors from France,
Their followers are good Customers.
Onæ.
Save me from madnesse!
Kin.
'Twill raise the price, being the Kings Mistris.
Onæ.
You doe but counterfeit to mocke my joyes.
Kin.
Away bold strumpet.
Onæ.
Are there eyes in heaven to see this?
Kin.
Call and try, here's a whores curse,
Exit.
Enter Cornego.
Cor.
How now? what quarter of the Moone has she cut out
now? my Lord puts me into a wise office, to be a mad womans
keeper: why madam!
Onæ.
Ha! where is the King, thou slave?
Cor.
Let go your hold, or I'le fall upon you as I am a man.
Onæ.
Thou treacherous caitiffe, where's the King?
Cor.
Hee's gone, but not so farre gone as you are.
Onæ.
Cracke all in sunder, oh you Battlements,
And grind me into powder.
Cor.
What powder? come, what powder? when did
you ever see a woman grinded into powder? I am sure some
of your sex powder men and pepper 'em too.
Onæ.
Is there a vengegnce
Yet lacking to my ruine? let it fall,
Now let it fall upon me?
Cor.
No, there has too much falne upon you already.
Onæ.
Thou villaine, leave thy hold, I'le follow him:
Like a rais'd ghost I'le haunt him, breake his sleepe,
Fright him as hee's embracing his new Leman,
Till want of rest bids him runne mad and dye,
For making oathes Bawds to his perjury.
Cor.
Pray be more season'd, if he made any Bawds he did
ill, for there is enough of that flye-blowne flesh already.
Onæ.
I'me now left naked quite:
All's gone, all, all.
Cor.
No Madam, not all, for you cannot be rid of mee:
Here comes your Vncle.
Enter Medina.
Onæ.
Attir'd in robes of vengeance, Are you, Vncle?
Med.
More horrors yet?
Onæ.
Twas never full till now;
And in this torrent all my hopes lye drown'd.
Med.
Instruct me in the cause.
Onæ.
The King, the Contract!
Exit.
Cor.
There's cud enough for you to chew upon.
Exit.
What's this? a riddle! how? the King, the Contract!
The mischiefe I divine, which proving true,
Shall kindle fires in Spaine to melt his Crowne
Even from his head: here's the decree of Fate,
A blacke deed must a blacke deed expiate.
Exit.
| The Noble Sovldier. Or, A Contract Broken, Justly Reveng'd | |