 | The Atheist's Tragedie :or The honest Man's Revenge |  |
Actus secundi
Scena prima.
Musicke. A banquet. In the night.Enter D'amville, Belforest, Leuidulcia, Rousard, Castabella, Languebeau Snuffe, at one doore. At the other doore, Cataplasma and Soquette, vsher'd by Fresco.
Leuidulcia.
Mistresse
Cataplasma! I expected you an houre since.
Cata.
Certaine Ladies at my house (Madame) detain'd
mee; otherwise I had attended your Ladiship sooner.
Leu.
Wee are beholding to you for you companie. My
Lord; I pray you bid these Gentlewomen welcome: th'are my
inuited friends.
D'am.
Gentlewomen, y'are welcome, pray sit downe.
Leu.
Fresco! by my Lord D'amville's leaue I prithee goe
into the Buttry. Thou sha't finde some o'my men there; if they
bid thee not welcome, they are very Loggerheads.
Fres.
If your Loggerheads will not, your Hoggesheads shall
Madame, if I get into the Buttry.
Exit.
D'am.
That fellowes disposition to mirth should be our present
example. Let's be graue and meditate, when our affaires require
our seriousnes. T'is out of season to be heauily disposed.
Leu.
We should be all wound vp into the key of Mirth.
The Musicke there.
Bel.
Where's my Lord Montferrers? Tell him here's a
roome attends him.
Enter Montferrers.
Mont.
Heauen giue your marriage that I am depriu'd of,
ioy.
D'am.
My Lord Belforest! Castabella's health.
Set ope'the Sellar dores, and let this health goe freely round
the house.—Another to your Sonne, my Lord; To noble
Charlemont. Hee is a Souldier. Let the Instruments of warre
congratulate his memorie.—
Drums and Trumpets.
Enter a Seruant.
Ser.
My Lord, here's one i'th'habite of a Souldier saies hee
is newly return'd from Ostend, and has some businesse of import
to speake.
D'am.
Ostend! let him come in. My soule fore-tels hee
brings the newes will make our Musicke full. My brothers ioy
would doe't: and here comes hee will raise it.
Enter Borachio disguised.
Mont.
O my spirit, it does disswade my tongue to question
him, as if it knew his answere would displease.
D'am.
Souldier! what newes? wee heard a rumour of a blow
you gaue the enemie.
Bor.
T'is very true my Lord.
Bel.
Canst thou relate it.
Bor.
Yes.
D'am.
I Prithee doe.
Bor.
The enemie, defeated of a faire
Aduantage by a flattring stratagem;
Plants all th'Artillerie against the Towne.
Whose thunder and lightning made our bulwarkes shake;
And threatned in that terrible report,
The storme wherewith they meant to second it.
Th'assault was generall. But for the place
That promis'd most aduantage to be forc'd;
The pride of all their Army was drawne forth,
And equally diuided into Front,
Ready to passe our Channell at an ebbe,
W'aduis'd it for our safest course, to draw
Our sluices vp and mak't vnpassable.
Our Gouernour oppos'd; and suffered 'em
To charge vs home e'en to the Rampiers foot.
But when their front was forcing vp our breach,
At push o'pike, then did his pollicie
Let goe the sluices, and trip'd vp the heeles
Of the whole bodie of their troupe, that stood
Within the violent current of the streame.
Their front beleaguer'd twixt the water and
The Towne; seeing the floud was growne too deepe,
To promise them a safe retreate; expos'd
The force of all their spirits, (like the last
Expiring gaspe of a strong harted man)
Vpon the hazard of one charge; but were
Oppress'd and fell. The rest that could not swimme,
Were onely drown'd; but those that thought to scape
By swimming, were by murtherers that flankerd,
The leuell of the floud, both drow'nd and slaine.
D'am.
Now by my soule (Souldier) a braue seruice.
Mont.
O what became of my deare Charlemont?
Bor.
Walking next day vpon the fatall shore,
Among the slaughter'd bodies of their men,
Which the full-stomack'd Sea had cast vpon
The sands, it was m'vnhappy chance to light
Vpon a face, whose fauour when it liu'd
My astonish'd minde inform'd me I had seene.
Hee lay in's Armour; as if that had beene
His Coffine, and the weeping Sea (like one;
Whose milder temper doth lament the death
Of him whom in his rage he slew) runnes vp
The Shoare; embraces him; kisses his cheeke,
Goes backe againe and forces vp the Sandes
To burie him; and eu'rie time it parts,
Sheds teares vpon him; till at last (as if
Whom it had slaine, yet loath to leaue him;) with
A kinde of vnresolu'd vnwilling pace,
Winding her waues one in another, like
A man that foldes his armes, or wrings his hands
For griefe; ebb'd from the body and descends:
As if it would sinke downe into the earth,
And hide it selfe for shame of such a deede.
D'am.
And Souldier; who was this?
Mont.
O Charlemont!
Bor.
Your feare hath told you that whereof my griefe
Was loath to be the messenger.
Casta.
O God.
Exit Castabella.
D'am.
Charlemont drown'd? Why how could that be? since
it was the aduerse partie that receiued the ouerthrow.
Bor.
His forward spirit press'd into the front;
And being engag'd within the enemie,
When they retreated through the rising streame;
I'the violent confusion of the throng
Was ouerborne and perish'd in the floud.
And here's the sad remembrance of his life,—
The Scarfe.
Which for his sake I will for euer weare.
Mont.
Torment me not with witnesses of that,
Which I desire, not to beleeue; yet must.
D'am.
Thou art a Scrichowle; and dost come i'night
To be the cursed messenger of death.
Away. Depart my house; or (by my soule)
You'l finde me a more fatall enemie,
Then euer was Ostend. Be gone, Dispatch.
Bor.
Sir t'was my loue.
D'am.
Your loue to vexe my heart with that I hate?
Harke, doe you heare? you, knaue?—
O th'art a most delicate sweete eloquent villaine!
Bor.
Was't not well counterfaited?
D'am.
Rarely.—Be gone. I will not here reply.
Bor.
Why then farewell, I will not trouble you.
Exit.
So. The foundation's laid. Now by degrees,
The worke will rise and soone be perfected.
O this vncertaine state of mortall man!
Bel.
What then? it is th'ineuitable fate
Of all things vnderneath the Moone.
D'am.
T'is true.
Brother for healths sake ouercome your griefe.
Mont.
I cannot sir. I am vncapable
Of comfort. My turne will be next. I feele
My selfe not well.
D'am.
You yeeld too much to griefe.
Lang.
All men are mortall. The houre of death is vncertaine.
Age makes sicknesse the more dangerous. And griefe is
subiect to distraction. You know not how soone you may be
depriu'd of the benefit of sense. In my vnderstanding (therefore)
you shall doe well if you be sicke to set your state in present
order. Make your Will.
D'am.
I haue my wish.—Lights for my Brother.
Mont.
Ile withdraw a while;
And craue the honest counsell of this man.
Bel.
With all my heart. I pray attend him sir.
Exeunt Montferrers and Snuffe.
This next roome please your Lordship.
D'am.
Where you will.
Exeunt Belforest and D'amville.
Leuid.
My Daughter's gone. Come Sonne. Mistresse Cataplasma,
come; wee'l vp into her chamber. I'de faine see how she
entertaines the expectation of her husbands bedfellowship.
Rou.
'Faith howsoeuer shee entertaines it; I shall hardly
please her; therefore let her rest.
Leuid.
Nay, please her hardly and you please her best.
Exeunt.
Enter 3. Seruants dranke, drawing in Fresco.
1 Ser.
Boy! fill some drinke Boy.
Fresco.
Enough good Sir; not a drop more by this light.
2.
Not by this light? Why then put out the candles and
wee'l drinke i'the darke and t'wut old Boy.
No, no, no, no, no.
3.
Why then take thy liquour. A health Fresco.
kneele.
Fres.
Your health will make me sicke sir.
1.
Then t'will bring you o'your knees I hope sir.
Fres.
May I not stand and pledge it sir?
2.
I hope you will doe as wee doe.
Fres.
Nay then indeed I must not stand, for you cannot.
3.
Well said old boy.
Fres.
Old boy, you'l make me a young childe anon: for if
I continue this, I shall scarce be able to goe alone.
1.
My body is as weake as water, Fresco.
Fres.
Good reason sir, the beere has sent all the malt vp into
your braine, and left nothing but the water in your body.
Enter D'amville and Borachio closely obseruing their drunkennesse.
D'am.
Borachio! seest those fellowes?
Bor.
Yes my Lord.
D'am.
Their drunkennesse that seemes ridiculous,
Shall be a serious instrument, to bring
Our sober purposes to their successe.
Bor.
I am prepar'd for th'execution, sir.
D'am.
Cast off this habite, and about it straight.
Bor.
Let them drinke healthes, & drowne their braines i'the floud;
Ile promise them they shall be pledg'd in bloud.
Exit.
1.
You ha'left a damnable snuffe here.
2.
Doe you take that in snuffe Sir?
1.
You are a damnable rogue then.—
together by th'eares.
D'am.
Fortune I honour thee. My plot still rises,
According to the modell of mine owne desires.—
Lights for my Brother.—What ha'you drunke your selues
mad you knaues.
1.
My Lord the Iackes abus'd mee.
D'am.
I thinke they are the Iackes indeed that haue abus'd
thee, Dost heare? that fellow is a proud knaue. Hee has abus'd
thee. As thou goest ouer the fields by and by, in lighting my
brother home, Ile tell thee what'sha't doe. Knocke him ouer
the pate with thy torch, Ile beare the out in't.
I will sindge the goose by this torch.
Exit.
D'am.
Doest heare; fellow. Seest thou that proud knaue, I
haue giuen him a lesson for his sawcinesse. H'as wrong'd thee.
Ile tell thee what'sha't doe: As we goe ouer the fields by and
by, clap him sodainely o'er the coxe-combe with thy torch,
Ile beare thee out in't.
2.
I will make him vnderstand as much.
Exit.
Enter Languebeau Snuffe.
D'am.
Now Mounsieur Snuffe! What has my brother done?
Lan.
Made his Will; and by that Will made you his heyre;
with this prouiso, that as occasion shall hereafter moue him;
hee may reuoke or alter it when he pleases.
D'am.
Yes. Let him if he can.—Ile make it sure from
his reuoking.
Aside.
Enter Montferrers and Belforest, attended with lights.
Mont.
Brother now good night.
D'am.
The skie is darke, wee'l bring you o'er the fields.
Who can but strike, wants wisedome to maintaine:
Hee that strikes safe and sure, has heart and braine.
Exeunt.
Enter Castabella alone.
Casta.
O Loue! thou chast affection of the Soule,
Without th'adultrate mixture of the bloud;
That vertue which to goodnesse addeth good:
The minion of heauens heart. Heauen! is't my fate
For louing that thou lou'st to get thy hate?
Or was my Charlemont thy chosen Loue?
And therefore hast receiu'd him to thy selfe?
Then I confesse thy anger's not vniust.
I was thy riuall. Yet to be diuorc'd
From loue, has beene a punishment enough,
(Sweete heauen) without being marryed vnto hate,
Hadst thou beene pleas'd: O double miserie!
Yet since thy pleasure hath inflicted it,
If not my heart, my dutie shall submit.
Leu.
Mistresse Cataplasma, good night. I pray when your
Man has brought you home, let him returne and light me to
my house.
Cata.
He shall instantly waite on your Ladiship.
Leu.
Good Mistresse Cataplasma; for my seruants are all
drunke; I cannot be beholding to'em for their attendance.
O here's your Bride.
Rous.
And melancholique too, me thinkes.
Leu.
How can shee choose? your sicknesse will
Distaste th'expected sweetnesse o'the night.
That makes her heauie.
Rou.
That should make her light.
Leu.
Looke you to that.
Casta.
What sweetnesse speake you of?
The sweetnesse of the night consists in rest.
Rou.
With that sweetnesse thou shalt be surely blest,
Vnlesse my groning wake thee. Doe not moane.
Leu.
Sh'ad rather you would wake, and make her grone.
Rou.
Nay 'troth sweete heart, I will not trouble thee.
Thou shalt not lose thy maiden-head too night.
Casta.
O might that weakenesse euer be in force;
I neuer would desire to sue diuorce!
Rou.
Wilt goe to bed.
Casta.
I will attend you, Sir.
Rou.
Mother, good night.
Leu.
Pleasure be your bed-fellow.
Exeunt Rousard and Castabella.
Why sure their Generation was asleepe,
When shee begot those Dormice; that shee made
Them vp so weakely and imperfectly.
One wants desire; the tother habilitie.
When my affection euen with their cold blouds
(As snow rub'd through an actiue hand, does make
The flesh to burne) by agitation is
The ayre to coole it.
Enter Sebastian.
Seba.
That but mitigates
The heate; rather imbrace and entertaine
A younger brother; he can quench the fire.
Leu.
Can you so, sir? now I beshrew your eare.
Why bold Sebastian, how dare you approach
So neare the presence of your displeas'd Father.
Seba.
Vnder the protection of his present absence.
Leu.
Belike you knew he was abroad then.
Seba.
Yes.
Let me encounter you so; Ile perswade
Your meanes to reconcile me to his loue.
Leu.
Is that the way? I vnderstand you not.
But for your reconcilement, meete m'at home;
Ile satisfie your suite.
Seba.
Within this halfe houre?
Exit Sebastian.
Leu.
Or within this whole houre. When you will.—
A lusty bloud! has both the presence and the spirit of a man.
I like the freedome of his behauiour.—Ho—Sebastian!
Gone?—Has set my bloud o'boyling i'my veynes And now
(like water pour'd vpon the ground, that mixes it selfe with
eu'ry moysture it meetes) I could claspe with any man.
O Fresco! Art thou come? If tother faile, then thou art entertaind.
Lust is a Spirit, which whosoe'er doth raise;
The next man that encounters boldly, layes.
Exeunt.
Enter Borachio warily and hastily ouer the Stage, with a stone in eyther hand.
Bor.
Such stones men vse to raise a house vpon;
But with these stones I goe to ruine one.
Descends.
Enter two Seruants drunke fighting with their torches, D'amville, Montferrers, Belforest, and Languebeau Snuffe.
Bel.
Passion o'me you drunken knaues, you'l put the lights
out.
No my Lord; th'are but in ieast.
1.
Mine's out.
D'am.
Then light it at his head, that's light enough.—
Foregod, th'are out. You drunken Rascals backe and light'em.
Bel.
T'is exceeding darke.
Exeunt Seruants.
D'am.
No matter. I am acquainted with the way. Your hand.
Let's easily walke. Ile lead you till they come.
Mont.
My soule's opprest with griefe. T'lies heauie at my
heart, O my departed Sonne! ere long I shall be with thee.
D'amville thrusts him downe into the grauell pit.
D'am.
Marry God forbid.
Mont.
O, o, o.
D'am.
Now all the hoste of heauen forbid. Knaues, Rogues.
Bel.
Pray God hee be not hurt! hee's falne into the grauell
pit.
D'am.
Brother! deare Brother! Rascals, villaines, knaues.
Enter the Seruants with lights.
Eternall darkenesse damne you; come away. Goe round about
into the grauell pit, and helpe my Brother vp. Why what a
strange vnlucky night is this? Is't not my Lord? I thinke that
Dogge that howl'd the newes of griefe, that fatall Scrichowle
vsherd on this mischiefe.
Enter with the murdred body.
Lan.
Mischiefe indeed my Lord. Your Brother's dead.
Bel.
Hee's dead.
Ser.
Hee's dead.
D'am.
Dead be your tongues. Drop out mine eye-bals, and
let enuious Fortune play at tennis with'em. Haue I liu'd to this?
Malicious Nature! hadst thou borne me blinde; th'adst yet been
something fauourable to me. No breath? No motion? 'prithee
tell me heauen! hast shut thine eye to winke at murther; or hast
put this sable garment on, to mourne at's death? Not one poore
sparke in the whole spatious skye, of all that endlesse number
would vouchsafe to shine? You vize-royes to the King of nature!
whose constellations gouerne mortall births; where is
that fatall Planet rul'd at his Natiuitie? That might ha'pleas'd
to light him out, as well into th'world; vnlesse it be asham'd
Belf.
Passions transports you. Recollect your selfe.
Lament him not. Whether our deaths be good
Or bad; it is not death but life that tryes;
Hee liu'd well, (therefore) questionlesse, well dyes.
D'am.
I. 'Tis an easie thing for him that has no paine to talke
of patience. Doe you thinke that Nature has no feeling?
Belf.
Feeling? Yes. But has she purpos'd any thing for nothing?
What good receiues this body by your griefe? Whether
is't more vnnaturall not to grieue for him you cannot
helpe with it; or hurt your selfe with grieuing and yet grieue
in vaine?
D'am.
Indeede had hee beene taken from mee like a piece
o'dead flesh, I should neither ha' felt it, nor grieued for't. But
come hether, 'pray looke heere. Behold the liuely tincture of
his bloud! Neither the Dropsie nor the Iaundies in't. But the
true freshnesse of a sanguine red; for all the fogge of this blacke
murdrous night has mix'd with it. For any thing I know, hee
might ha' liu'd till doomesday, and ha' done more good then either
you or I. O Brother! He was a man of such a natiue goodnesse;
as if Regeneration had beene giuen him in his mothers
wombe. So harmeles, that rather then ha' trod vpon a worme,
hee would ha' shun'd the way. So deerely pittifull, that e're the
poore could aske his charity with dry eyes, hee gaue'em reliefe
wi'teares—with teares—yes faith with teares.
Belf.
Take vp the Corps. For wisedom's sake let reason fortifie
this weakenesse.
D'am.
Why what would you ha' mee doe? Foolish Nature
will haue her course in spight o'wisedome. But I haue e'en
done. All these wordes were but a great winde, and now this
showre of teares has layd it, I am calme againe. You may set forward
when you will. Ile follow you, like one that must and
would not.
Lang.
Our opposition will but trouble him.
Belf.
The griefe that melts to teares, by it selfe is spent,
Passion resisted, growes more violent.
Exeunt.
D'am.
Here's a sweete Comedie. T'begins with O dolentis,
and concludes with ha, ha, he.
Bor.
Ha, ha, he.
D'am.
O my eccho! I could stand reuerberating this sweete
musicall ayre of ioy, till I had perish'd my sound lungs with
violent laughter. Louely Night-Rauen! th'ast seaz'd a carkasse.
Bor.
Put him out on's paine. I lay so fitly vnderneath the
bancke from whence he fell; that e'er his faltring tongue could
vtter double Oo; I knock'd out's braines with this faire
Rubie. And had another stone iust of this forme and bignesse
ready: that I laid i'the broken skull vpo'the ground for's pillow;
against the which they thought he fell and perish'd.
D'am.
Vpon this ground Ile build my Manour-house;
And this shall be the chiefest corner stone.
Bor.
T'has crown'd the most iudicious murder, that
The braine of man was e'er deliuer'd of.
D'am.
I. Marke the plot. Not any circumstance
That stood within the reach of the designe,
Of persons, dispositions, matter, time or place,
But by this braine of mine, was made
An Instrumentall help; yet nothing from
Th'induction to th'accomplishment seem'd forc'd,
Or done o'purpose, but by accident.
Bor.
First, my report that Charlemont was dead,
Though false; yet couer'd with a masque of truth.
D'am.
I, and deliuer'd in as fit a time.
When all our mindes so wholy were possess'd
With one affaire, that no man would suspect
A thought imploi'd for any second end.
Bor.
Then the Precisian to be ready, when
Your brother spake of death, to moue his Will.
D'am.
His businesse cal'd him thither; and it fell
Within his office; vnrequested to't.
From him it came religiously; and sau'd
Our proiect from suspition: which if I
Had mou'd had beene endanger'd.
Then your healths.
Though seeming but the ordinarie rites,
And ceremonies due to festiuals:—
D'am.
Yet vs'd by me to make the seruants drunke.
An instrument the plot could not haue miss'd.
T'was easie to set drunkards by the eares:
Th'ad nothing but their torches to fight with;
And when those lights were out;
Bor.
Then darkenesse did
Protect the execution of the worke,
Both from preuention and discouerie.
D'am.
Here was a murther brauely carryed, through
The eye of obseruation, vnobseru'd.
Bor.
And those that saw the passage of it, made
The Instruments yet knew not what they did.
D'am.
That power of rule Philosophers ascribe
To him they call the supreame of the Starres;
Making their influences gouernours
Of Sublunarie Creatures; when their selues
Are senselesse of their operations.
Thunder and Lightning.
What! Doest start at thunder? Credit my beliefe, t'is a meere
effect of nature. An exhalation hot and dry, inuolu'd within a
watrie vapour i'the middle religion of the ayre. Whose coldnesse
congealing that thicke moysture to a cloud; the angry
exhalation shut within a prison of contrary qualitie, striues to
be free; and with the violent eruption through the grossenesse
of that cloud; makes this noyse we heare.
Bor.
T'is a fearefull noyse.
D'am.
T'is a braue noyse. And mee thinkes graces our accomplish'd
proiect, as a peale of Ordnance does a triumph. It
speakes encouragement. Now Nature showes thee how it fauour'd
our performance; to forbeare this noyse when wee set
forth, because it should not terrifie my brothers going home;
which would haue dash'd our purpose: To forbeare this lightning
in our passage, least it should ha'warn'd him o'the
pitfall. Then propitious Nature winck'd at our proceedings;
Bor.
You haue confirm'd mee. For it followes well;
That Nature (since her selfe decay doth hate)
Should fauour those that strengthen their estate.
D'am.
Our next endeauour is; since on the false report that
Charlemont is dead, depends the fabrique of the worke; to credit
that with all the countenance wee can.
Bor.
Faith Sir, euen let his owne inheritance, whereof y'aue
dispossess'd him, countenance the act. Spare so much out of
that, to giue him a solempnitie of funerall. T'will quit the cost;
and make your apprehension of his death appeare more confident
and true.
D'am.
Ile take thy counsell. Now farewell blacke night;
Thou beauteous Mistresse of a murderer:
To honour thee, that hast accomplish'd all;
Ile weare thy colours at his funerall.
Exeunt.
Enter Leuidulcia into her chamber man'd by Fresco.
Leu.
Th'art welcome into my chamber; Fresco. Prithee
shut the dore.—Nay thou mistakest me. Come in and
shut it.
Fres.
T'is somewhat late Madame.
Leu.
No matter. I haue somewhat to say to thee. What? is
not thy mistresse towards a husband yet?
Fres.
Faith Madame, shee has suitors. But they will not suite
her me thinkes. They will not come off lustily it seemes.
Leu.
They will not come on lustily, thou wouldst say.
Fres.
I meane (Madame) they are not rich enough.
Leu.
But I (Fresco) they are not bold enough. Thy Mistresse
is of a liuely attractiue bloud Fresco. And in troth shee's
o'my minde for that. A poore spirit is poorer then a poore
purse. Giue me a fellow that brings not onely temptation with
him, but has the actiuitie of wit, and audacitie of spirit to apply
euery word and gesture of a womans speech and behauiour to
his owne desire; and make her beleeue shee's the suitor her selfe.
Neuer giue backe till he has made her yeeld to'it.
Indeede among our equals Madame; but otherwise we
shall be put horribly out o'countenance.
Leu.
Thou art deceiu'd, Fresco. Ladyes are as courteous as
Yeomens wiues, and me thinkes they should be more gentle.
Hot diet and soft ease makes em (like waxe alwaies kept warme)
more easie to take impression.—Prithee vntie my shooe.
—What? art thou shamefac'd too? Goe roundly to worke
man. My legge is not goutie: t'will endure the feeling I warrant
thee Come hither Fresco; thine eare.—S'daintie; I mistooke
the place. I miss'd thine eare and hit thy lip.
Fres.
Your Ladiship has made me blush.
Leu.
That showes th'artfull o'lustie bloud, and thou knowest
not how to vse it. Let mee see thy hand. Thou shouldst not
be shamefac'd thy hand, Fresco. Here's a brawny flesh and a
hairy skinne: both signes of an able body. I doe not like these
flegmaticke, smooth-skinn'd, soft-flesh'd fellowes. They are
like candied Suckets, when they begin to perish; which I would
alwayes emptie my Closet off, and giue'em my chamber-maid.
—I haue some skill in Palmestry: by this line that stands directly
against mee; thou shouldst be neare a good fortune.
Fresco, if thou hadst the grace to entertaine it.
Fres.
O what is that Madame? I pray!
Leu.
No lesse then the loue of a faire Lady, if thou doest not
lose her with faint-heartednesse.
Fres.
A Lady, Madame? alas a Lady is a great thing, I cannot
compasse her.
Leu.
No? Why? I am a Lady, Am I so great I cannot be compassed?
Claspe my wast and try.
Fres.
I could finde i'my heart Madame.
Sebastian knockes within.
Leu.
Vds body; my Husband! Faint-hearted foole! I thinke
thou wert begotten betweene the North-pole, and the congeal'd
passage. Now like an ambitious Coward that betrayes
himselfe with fearefull delay: you must suffer for the treason
you neuer committed. Goe hide thy selfe behind yound'arras,
instantly.
Sebastian! What doe you here so late?
Seba.
Nothing yet; but I hope I shall.—
Kisses her.
Leu.
Y'are very bold.
Seba.
And you very valiant; for you met mee at full Cariere.
Leu.
You come to ha'me moue your fathers reconciliation.
Ile write a word or two i'your behalfe.
Seba.
A word or two, Madame? that you doe for mee, will
not be contain'd in lesse then the compasse of two sheetes. But
in plaine termes, shall wee take the opportunitie of priuatenesse?
Leu.
What to doe?
Seba.
To dance the beginning of the world after the English
manner.
Leu.
Why not after the French or Italian?
Seba.
Fie. They dance it preposterously; backward.
Leu.
Are you so actiue to dance?
Seba.
I can shake my heeles.
Leu.
Y'are well made for't.
Seba.
Measure me from top to toe; you shall not finde mee
differ much from the true standard of proportion.
Belforest knockes within.
Leu.
I thinke I am accurs'd. Sebastian! There's one at the
doore has beaten opportunitie away from vs. In briefe, I loue
thee. And it shall not be long before I giue thee a testimony of
it. To saue thee now from suspition; doe no more but draw thy
Rapier; chase thy selfe; and when hee comes in, rush by without
taking notice of him. Onely seeme to be angry, and let me
alone for the rest.
Enter Belforest.
Seba.
Now by the hand of Mercurie.
Exit Sebastian.
Bel.
What's the matter wife?
Leu.
Ooh, Ooh, Husband!
Bel.
Prithee what ail'st thou woman?
O feele my pulse. It beates I warrant you. Be patient
a little sweet Husband; tarry but till my breath come to me againe,
and Ile satisfie you.
Bel.
What ailes Sebastian, he lookes so distractedly?
Leu.
The poore Gentleman's almost out on's wits I thinke.
You remember the displeasure his Father tooke against him
about the liberty of speech he vs'd euen now when your daughter
went to be marryed.
Bel.
Yes, what of that?
Leu.
T'has craz'd him sure: he met a poore man i'the street
euen now. Vpon what quarrell I know not: but hee pursued
him so violently, that if my house had not beene his rescue; he
had surely kild him.
Bel.
What a strange desperate young man is that!
Leu.
Nay husband, hee grew so in rage when hee saw the
man was conueyed from him, that he was ready euen to haue
drawne his naked weapon vpon mee. And had not your knocking
at the doore preuented him; surely h'ad done something
to mee.
Bel.
Where's the man?
Leu.
Alas here. I warrant you the poore fearefull soule is
scarce come to himselfe againe yet.—If the foole haue
any wit hee will apprehend mee.—Doe you heare sir!
You may be bold to come forth; the Fury that haunted you
is gone.
Fresco peepes fearefully forth from behinde the Arras.
Fres.
Are you sure hee is gone?
Bel.
Hee's gone; hee's gone, I warrant thee.
Fres.
I would I were gone too. Has shooke mee almost into
a dead palsie.
Bel.
How fell the difference betweene you?
Fres.
I would I were out at the backe doore.
Bel.
Th'art safe enough. Prithee tell's the falling out.
Fres.
Yes sir, when I haue recouered my spirits. My memory
is almost frighted from mee.—Oh so, so, so.—
Why Sir, as I came along the streete Sir;—this same Gentleman
came stumbling after mee, and trod o' my heele,—
heele; if it be not hurt, Ile make you cry for something. So he
claps my head betweene his legges, and pulles off my shooe.
I hauing shifted no sockes in a sea night, the Gentleman cryed
foh; and said my feete were base and cowardly feete, they
stuncke for feare. Then hee knock'd my shooe about my pate;
and I cryed O, once more. In the meane time comes a shag-hair'd
dogge by, and rubbes against his shinnes. The Gentleman
tooke the dog in shagge-haire to be some Watch-man in
a rugge gowne; and swore hee would hang mee vp at the next
doore with my lanthorne in my hand, that passengers might
see their way as they went without rubbing against Gentlemens
shinnes. So, for want of a Cord, hee tooke his owne
garters off; and as he was going to make a nooze, I watch'd my
time and ranne away. And as I ranne (indeede) I bid him hang
himselfe in his owne garters. So hee in choler, pursued mee hither
as you see.
Bel.
Why this sauours of distraction.
Leu.
Of meere distraction.
Fres.
How soeuer it sauours, I am sure it smels like a lye.
Bel
Thou maist goe forth at the backe doore (honest fellow)
the way is priuate and safe.
Fres.
So it had neede, for your sore-doore (here) is both
common and dangerous.
Exit Belforest.
Leu.
Good night honest Fresco.
Fres.
Good night Madame; if you get mee kissing o'Ladies
againe.—
Leu.
This fals out handsomely.
But yet the matter does not well succeed;
Till I haue brought it to the very deede.
Exit.
Enter Charlemont in Armes, a Musquetier, and a Serieant.
Charl.
Serieant! what houre o'the night is't.
Ser.
About one.
Charl.
I would you would relieue me; for I am
To stand out my perdu.
Thunder and Lightning.
Ser.
Ile e'en but walke
The round (sir) and then presently returne.
Soul.
For God's sake Serieant relieue me, aboue fiue houres
together in so foule a stormy night as this?
Ser.
Why t'is a musique Souldier. Heauen and earth are now
in consort, when the Thunder and the Canon play one to another.
Charl.
I know not why I should be thus inclin'd to sleepe, I
feele my disposition press'd with a necessitie of heauines. Souldier!
if thou hast any better eyes, I prithee wake mee when the
Serieant comes.
Soul.
Sir, t'is so darke and stormy that I shall scarce eyther see
or heare him e'er he comes vpon mee.
Charl.
I cannot force my selfe to wake.—
Sleepes.
Enter the ghost of Montferrers.
Mont.
Returne to France; for thy old Father's dead;
And thou by murther, disinherited.
Attend with patience the successe of things,
But leaue reuenge vnto the King of kings.
Exit.
Charlemont starts and wakes.
Charl.
O my affrighted soule! what fearefull dreame
Was this that wak'd mee? Dreames are but the rais'd
Impressions of premeditated things,
By serious apprehension left vpon
Our mindes, or else th'imaginary shapes
Of obiects proper to th'complexion, or
The dispositions of our bodyes. These
Can neyther of them be the cause, why I
Should dreame thus; for my mind has not been mou'd
With any one conception of a thought
To such a purpose; not my nature wont
To trouble me with phantasies of terror.
It must be something that my Genius would
Informe me of. Now gratious heauen forbid!
O! let my Spirit be depriu'd of all
That vision acted; or diuine that act
To come. Why should I thinke so? Left I not
My worthy Father i'the kind regard
Of a most louing Vncle? Souldier! sawst
No apparition of a man?
Soul.
You dreame Sir; I saw nothing.
Charl.
Tush. These idle dreames
Are fabulous. Our boyling phantasies
Like troubled waters falsifie the shapes
Of things retain'd in them; and make 'em seeme
Confounded, when they are distinguish'd. So
My actions daily conuersant with warre;
(The argument of bloud and death) had left
(Perhaps) th'imaginary presence of
Some bloudy accident vpon my minde:
Which mix'd confusedly with other thoughts,
(Whereof th'remembrance of my Father, might
Be one) presented all together, seeme
Incorporate; as if his body were
The owner of that bloud, the subiect of
That death; when hee's at Paris, and that bloud
Shed here. It may be thus. I would not leaue
The warre, for reputatio'ns sake, vpon
An idle apprehension; a vaine dreame.
Enter the Ghost.
Soul.
Stand. Stand, I say. No? Why then haue at thee. Sir,
if you will not stand, Ile make you fall? Nor stand, nor fall?
Nay then the Diuel's damme has broke her husbands head: for
sure it is a Spirit, I shot it through, and yet it will not fall.
Exit.
The Ghost approaches Charlemont. Hee fearefully auoids it.
Char.
O pardon me! my doubtfull heart was slow
To credit that which I did feare to know.
Exeunt.
| The Atheist's Tragedie :or The honest Man's Revenge | |