 | The Fatall Dovvry |  |
Actus quartus.
Scæna prima.
Enter Nouall Iunior, as newly dressed, a Taylor, Barber, Perfumer, Liladam, Aymour, Page.Nou.
Mend this a little: pox! thou hast burnt me. oh fie
vpon't, O Lard, hee has made me smell (for
all the world) like a flaxe, or a red headed womans chamber:
powder, powder, powder.
Perf.
Oh sweet Lord!
Nouall sits in a chaire, Barber orders his haire, Perfumer giues powder, Taylor sets his clothese.
Page.
That's his Perfumer.
Tayl.
Oh deare Lord,
Page.
That's his Taylor.
Nou.
Monsieur Liladam, Aymour, how allow you the
modell of these clothes?
Aym.
Admirably, admirably, oh sweet Lord! assuredly
it's pitty the wormes should eate thee.
Page.
Here's a fine Cell: a Lord, a Taylor, a Perfumer, a
Barber, and a paire of Mounsieurs: 3 to 3, as little will in the
one, as honesty in the other. S'foote ile into the country againe,
learne to speake truth, drinke Ale, and conuerse with
vpon my soule as I am a Gentleman, and an honest
man.
Aym.
I vow and affirme, your Taylor must needs be an expert
Geometrician, he has the Longitude, Latitude, Altitude,
Profundity, euery Demension of your body, so exquisitely,
here's a lace layd as directly, as if truth were a
Taylor.
Page.
That were a miracle.
Lila.
With a haire breadth's errour, ther's a shoulder
piece cut, and the base of a pickadille in puncto.
Aym.
You are right, Mounsieur his vestaments sit: as if
they grew vpon him, or art had wrought 'em on the same
loome, as nature fram'd his Lordship as if your Taylor were
deepely read in Astrology, and had taken measure of your
honourable body, with a Iacobs staffe, an Ephimerides.
Tayl.
I am bound t'ee Gentlemen.
Page.
You are deceiu'd, they'l be bound to you, you must
remember to trust 'em none.
Nou.
Nay, fayth, thou art a reasonable neat Artificer, giue
the diuell his due.
Page.
I, if hee would but cut the coate according to the
cloth still.
Nou.
I now want onely my misters approbation, who is
indeed, the most polite punctuall Queene of dressing in all
Burgundy, Pah, and makes all other young Ladies appeare,
as if they came from boord last weeke out of the country,
Is't not true, Liladam?
Lila.
True my Lord, as if any thing your Lordship could
say, could be otherwise then true.
Nou.
Nay, a my soule, 'tis so, what fouler obiect in the
world, then to see a young faire, handsome beauty, vnhandsomely
dighted and incongruently accoutred; or a hopefull
Cheualier, vnmethodically appointed, in the externall ornaments
of nature? For euen as the Index tels vs the contents
of stories, and directs to the particular Chapters, euen so
(in man or woman) giue vs a tast of the spirit, and demonstratiuely
poynt (as it were a manuall note from the margin)
all the internall quality, and habiliment of the soule, and
there cannot be a more euident, palpable, grosse manifestation
of poore degenerate dunghilly blood, and breeding, then
rude, vnpolish'd, disordered and slouenly outside.
Page.
An admirable lecture, Oh all you gallants, that hope
to be saued by your cloathes, edify, edify.
Aym.
By the Lard, sweet Lard, thou deseru'st a pension
o'the State.
Page.
Oth' Taylors, two such Lords were able to spread
Taylors ore the face of a whole kingdome.
Nou.
Pox a this glasse lit flatters, I could find in my heart
to breake it.
Page.
O saue the glasse my Lord, and breake their heads,
they are the greater flatterers I assure you.
Aym.
Flatters, detracts, impayres, yet put it by,
Lest thou deare Lord (Narcissus-like) should doate
Vpon thy selfe, and dye; and rob the world
Of natures copy, that she workes forme by.
Lila.
Oh that I were the Infanta Queene of Europe,
Who (but thy selfe sweete Lord) shouldst marry me.
Nou.
I marry? were there: Queene oth' world, not I.
Wedlocke? no padlooke, horslocke, I weare spurrs
He capers.
To keepe it off my heeles; yet my Aymour
Like a free wanton iennet i'th meddows,
I looke about, and neigh, take hedge and ditch,
Feed in my neighbours pastures, picke my choyce
Of all their faire-maind-mares: but married once,
A man is stak'd, or pown'd, and cannot graze
Beyond his owne hedge.
Enter Pontallier, and Malotin.
Pont.
I haue waited, sir,
Three houres to speake w'ee, and not take it well,
Such magpies, are admited, whilst I daunce
Attendance.
Magpies? what d'ee take me for?
Pont.
A long thing with a most vnpromising face.
Aym.
I'll ne're aske him, what he takes me for?
Mal.
Doe not, sir,
For hee'l goe neere to tell you.
Pont.
Art not thou a Barber Surgeon?
Barb.
Yes sira why?
Pont.
My Lord is sorely troubled with two scabs.
Lila., Aym.
Humph—
Pont.
I prethee cure him of 'em.
Nou.
Pish: no more,
Thy gall sure's ouerthrowne; these are my Councell,
And we were now in serious discourse.
Pont.
Of perfume and apparell, can you rise
And spend 5 houres in dressing talke, with these?
Nou.
Thou'ldst haue me be a dog: vp, stretch and shake,
And ready for all day.
Pont.
Sir, would you be
More curious in preseruing of your honour.
Trim, 'twere more manly. I am come to wake
Your reputation, from this lethargy
You let it sleepe in, to perswade, importune,
Nay, to prouoke you, sir, to call to account
This Collonell Romont, for the foule wrong
Which like a burthen, he hath layd on you,
And like a drunken porter, you sleepe vnder.
'Tis all the towne talkes, and beleeue, sir,
If your tough sence persist thus, you are vndone,
Vtterly lost, you will be scornd and baffled
By euery Lacquay; season now your youth,
With one braue thing, and it shall keep the odour
Euen to your death, beyond, and on your Tombe,
Sent like sweet oyles and Frankincense; sir, this life
Which once you sau'd, I ne're since counted mine,
I borrow'd it of you; and now will pay it;
I tender you the seruice of my sword
To beare your challenge, if you'l write, your fate:
That haue liu'd by you, by your side will dye.
Nou.
Ha, ha, would'st ha' me challenge poore Romont?
Fight with close breeches, thou mayst thinke I dare not.
Doe not mistake me (cooze) I am very valiant,
But valour shall not make me such an Asse.
What vse is there of valour (now a dayes?)
'Tis sure, or to be kill'd, or to be hang'd.
Fight thou as thy minde moues thee, 'tis thy trade,
Thou hast nothing else to doe; fight with Romont?
No, i'le not fight vnder a Lord.
Pont.
Farewell, sir, I pitty you.
Such louing Lords walke their dead honours graues,
For no companions fit, but fooles and knaues.
Come Malotin.
Exeunt Pont. Mal.
Enter Romont.
Lila.
'Sfoot, Colbran, the low gyant.
Aym.
He has brought a battaile in his face, let's goe.
Page.
Colbran d'ee call him? hee'l make some of you
smoake, I beleeue.
Rom.
By your leaue, sirs.
Aym.
Are you a Consort?
Rom.
D'ee take me for
A fidler? ya're deceiu'd: looke. Ile pay you.
Kickes 'em.
Page.
It seemes he knows you one, he bumfiddles you so.
Lila.
Was there euer so base a fellow?
Aym.
A rascall?
Lila.
A most vnciuill Groome?
Aym.
Offer to kicke a Gentleman, in a Noblemans chamber?
A pox of your manners.
Lila.
Let him alone, let him alone, thou shalt lose thy
arme, fellow; if wee stirre against thee, hang vs.
Page.
S'foote. I thinke they haue the better on him,
though they be kickd, they talke so.
Lila.
Let's leaue the mad Ape.
Nou.
Gentlemen.
Lilad.
Nay, my Lord, we will not offer to dishonour you
Nou.
Harke you.
Aym.
We doubt the cause, and will not disparage you, so
much as to take your Lordships quarrell in hand. Plague on
him, how he has crumpled our bands.
Page.
Ile eene away with 'em, for this souldier beates
man, woman and child.
Exeunt. Manent Nou. Rom.
Nou.
What meane you, sir? My people.
Rom.
Your boye's gone,
Lockes the doore.
And doore's lockt, yet for no hurt to you,
But priuacy: call vp your blood againe, sir, be not affraid, I do
Beseech you, sir, (and therefore come) without, more circumstance
Tell me how farre the passages haue gone
'Twixt you, and your faire Mistresse Beaumelle.
Tell me the truth, and by my hope of Heauen
It neuer shall goe further.
Nou.
Tell you why sir?
Are you my confessor?
Rom.
I will be your confounder, if you doe not.
Drawes a pocket dag.
Stirre not, nor spend your voyce.
Nou.
What will you doe?
Rom.
Nothing but lyne your brayne-pan, sir, with lead,
If you not satisfie me suddenly,
I am desperate of my life, and command yours.
Nou.
Hold, hold, ile speake. I vow to heauen and you,
Shee's yet vntouch't, more then her face and hands:
I cannot call her innocent; for I yeeld
On my sollicitous wrongs she consented
Where time and place met oportunity
To grant me all requests.
Rom.
But may I build on this assurance?
Nou.
As vpon your fayth.
Drawes Inkehorne and paper.
Rom.
Write this, sir, nay you must.
Nou.
Pox of this Gunne.
Rom.
Withall, sir, you must sweare, and put your oath
Vnder your hand, (shake not) ne're to frequent
This Ladies company, nor euer send
This (too much prone already) yeelding Lady.
Nou.
'Tis done, sir.
Rom.
Let me see, this first is right,
And here you wish a sudden death may light
Vpon your body, and hell take your soule,
If euer more you see her, but by chance,
Much lesse allure her. Now, my Lord, your hand.
Nou.
My hand to this?
Rom.
Your heart else I assure you.
Nou.
Nay, there 'tis.
Rom.
So keepe this last article
Of your fayth giuen, and stead of threatnings, sir,
The seruice of my sword and life is yours:
But not a word of it, 'tis Fairies treasure;
Which but reueal'd, brings on the blabbers, ruine.
Vse your youth better, and this excellent forme
Heauen hath bestowed vpon you. So good morrow to your Lordship.
Nou.
Good diuell to your rogueship. No man's safe:
Ile haue a Cannon planted in my chamber,
Exit.
Against such roaring roagues.
Enter Bellapert.
Bell.
My Lord away
The Coach stayes: now haue your wish, and iudge,
If I haue beene forgetfull.
Nou.
Ha?
Bell.
D'ee stand
Humming and hawing now?
Exit.
Nou.
Sweete wench, I come.
Hence feare,
I swore, that's all one, my next oath 'ile keepe
That I did meane to breake, and then 'tis quit.
No paine is due to louers periury.
If loue himselfe laugh at it, so will I.
Exit Noual.
Scæna 2.
Enter Charaloys, Baumont.Bau.
I grieue for the distaste, though I haue manners.
Your Lordship and Romont.
Cha.
I loue a friend,
So long as he continues in the bounds
Prescrib'd by friendship, but when he vsurpes
Too farre on what is proper to my selfe,
And puts the habit of a Gouernor on,
I must and will preserue my liberty.
But speake of something, else this is a theame
I take no pleasure in: what's this Aymeire,
Whose voyce for Song, and excellent knowledge in
The chiefest parts of Musique, you bestow
Such prayses on?
Bau.
He is a Gentleman,
(For so his quality speakes him) well receiu'd
Among our greatest Gallants; but yet holds
His maine dependance from the young Lord Nouall:
Some trickes and crotchets he has in his head,
As all Musicians haue, and more of him
I dare not author: but when you haue heard him,
I may presume, your Lordship so will like him,
That you'l hereafter be a friend to Musique.
Cha.
I neuer was an enemy to't, Baumont,
Nor yet doe I subscribe to the opinion
Of those old Captaines, that thought nothing musicall,
But cries of yeelding enemies, neighing of horses,
Clashing of armour, lowd shouts, drums, and trumpets:
Nor on the other side in fauour of it,
Affirme the world was made by musicall discord,
Or that the happinesse of our life consists
In a well varied note vpon the Lute:
I loue it to the worth of it, and no further.
But ler vs see this wonder.
Bau.
He preuents my calling of him.
Aym.
Let the Coach be brought
Enter Aymiere.
To the backe gate, and serue the banquet vp:
My good Lord Charalois, I thinke my house
Cha.
To haue meanes,
To know you better, sir, has brought me hither
A willing visitant, and you'l crowne my welcome
In making me a witnesse to your skill,
Which crediting from others I admire.
Aym.
Had I beene one houre sooner made acquainted
With your intent my Lord, you should haue found me
Better prouided: now such as it is,
Pray you grace with your acceptance.
Bau.
You are modest.
Aym.
Begin the last new ayre.
Cha.
Shall we not see them?
Aym.
This little distance from the instruments
Will to your eares conuey the harmony
With more delight.
Cha.
Ile not consent.
Aym.
Y'are tedious,
By this meanes shall I with one banquet please
Two companies, those within and these Guls heere.
Song aboue.
Musique and a Song, Beaumelle within—ha, ha, ha.
Cha.
How's this? It is my Ladies laugh: most certaine
When I first pleas'd her, in this merry language,
She gaue me thanks.
Bau.
How like you this?
Cha.
'Tis rare,
Yet I may be deceiu'd, and should be sorry
Vpon vncertaine suppositions, rashly
To write my selfe in the blacke list of those
I haue declaym'd against, and to Romont.
Aym.
I would he were well of—perhaps your Lordship
Likes not these sad tunes, I haue a new Song
Set to a lighter note, may please you better;
'Tis cal'd The happy husband.
Cha.
Pray sing it.
Song below. At the end of the Song, Beaumelle within.
Beau.
Ha, ha, 'tis such a groome.
Doe I heare this, and yet stand doubtfull?
Exit Chara.
Aym.
Stay him I am vndone,
And they discouered.
Bau.
Whats the matter?
Aym.
Ah!
That women, when they are well pleas'd, cannot hold,
But must laugh out.
Enter Nouall Iu. Charaloys, Beaumely, Bellapert.
Nou.
Helpe, saue me, murther, murther.
Beau.
Vndone foreuer.
Cha.
Oh, my heart I
Hold yet a little—doe not hope to scape
By flight, it is impossible: though I might
On all aduantage take thy life, and iustly;
This sword, my fathers sword, that nere was drawne,
But to a noble purpose, shall not now
Doe th'office of a hangman, I reserue it
To right mine honour, not for a reuenge
So poore, that though with thee, it should cut off
Thy family, with all that are allyed
To thee in lust, or basenesse, 'twere still short of
All termes of satisfaction. Draw.
Nou.
I dare not,
I haue already done you too much wrong,
To fight in such a cause.
Cha.
Why, darest thou neyther
Be honest, coward, nor yet valiant, knaue?
In such a cause come doe not shame thy selfe:
Such whose bloods wrongs, or wrong done to themselues
Could neuer heate, are yet in the defence
Of their whores, daring looke on her againe.
You thought her worth the hazard of your soule,
And yet stand doubtfull in her quarrell, to
Venture your body.
Bau.
No, he feares his cloaths, more then his flesh
Cha.
Keepe from me: garde thy life,
Or as thou hast liu'd like a goate, thou shalt
Dye like a sheepe.
Since ther's no remedy
They fight, Nouall is slaine.
Despaire of safety now in me proue courage.
Cha.
How soone weak wrong's or'throwne! lend me your hand,
Beare this to the Caroach—come, you haue taught me
To say you must and shall: I wrong you not,
Y'are but to keepe him company you loue.
Is't done? 'tis well. Raise officers, and take care,
All you can apprehend within the house
May be forth comming. Do I appeare much mou'd?
Bau.
No. sir.
Cha.
My griefes are now, Thus to be borne
Hereafter ile finde time and place to mourne.
Exeunt.
Scæna 3.
Enter Romont, Pontalier.Pont.
I was bound to seeke you, sir.
Rom.
And had you found me
In any place, but in the streete, I should
Haue done,—not talk'd to you. Are you the Captaine?
The hopefull Pontalier? whom I haue seene
Doe in the field such seruice, as then made you
Their enuy that commanded, here at home
To play the parasite to a gilded knaue,
And it may be the Pander.
Pont.
Without this
I come to call you to account, for what
Is past already. I by your example
Of thankfulnesse to the dead Generall
By whom you were rais'd, haue practis'd to be so
To my good Lord Nouall, by whom I liue;
Whose least disgrace that is, or may be offred,
With all the hazzard of my life and fortunes,
I will make good on you, or any man,
That has a hand in't; and since you allowe me
A Gentleman and a souldier, there's no doubt
You will except against me. You shall meete
With a faire enemy, you vnderstand
The right I looke for, and must haue.
I doe,
And with the next dayes sunne you shall heare from me.
Exeunt.
Scæna 4.
Enter Charalois with a casket, Beaumelle, Baumont.Cha.
Pray beare this to my father, at his leasure
He may peruse it: but with your best language
Intreat his instant presence: you haue sworne
Not to reueale what I haue done.
Bau.
Nor will I—but—
Cha.
Doubt me not, by Heauen, I will doe nothing
But what may stand with honour: Pray you leaue me
To my owne thoughts. If this be to me, rise;
I am not worthy the looking on, but onely
To feed contempt and scorne, and that from you
Who with the losse of your faire name haue caus'd it,
Were too much cruelty.
Beau.
I dare not moue you
To heare me speake, I know my fault is farre
Beyond qualification, or excuse,
That 'tis not fit for me to hope, or you
To thinke of mercy; onely I presume
To intreate, you would be pleas'd to looke vpon
My sorrow for it, and beleeue, these teares
Are the true children of my griefe and not
A womans cunning.
Cha.
Can you Beaumelle,
Hauing deceiued so great a trust as mine,
Though I were all credulity, hope againe
To get beleefe? no, no, if you looke on me
With pity or dare practise any meanes
To make my sufferings lesse, or giue iust cause
To all the world, to thinke what I must doe,
Was cal'd vpon by you, vse other waies,
Deny what I haue seene, or iustifie
What you haue done, and as you desperately
Made shipwracke of your fayth to be a whore,
Vse th'armes of such a one, and such defence,
And multiply the sinne, with impudence,
You haue done but what's warranted,
By great examples, in all places, where
Women inhabit, vrge your owne deserts,
Or want of me in merit; tell me how,
Your dowre from the low gulfe of pouerty,
Weighd vp my fortunes, to what now they are:
That I was purchas'd by your choyse and practise
To shelter you from shame: that you might sinne
As boldly as securely, that poore men
Are married to those wiues that bring them wealth,
One day their husbands, but obseruers euer:
That when by this prou'd vsage you haue blowne
The fire of my iust vengeance to the height,
I then may kill you: and yet say 'twas done
In heate of blood, and after die my selfe,
To witnesse my repentance.
Beau.
O my fate,
That neuer would consent that I should see,
How worthy thou wert both of loue and duty
Before I lost you; and my misery made
The glasse, in which I now behold your vertue:
While I was good, I was a part of you,
And of two, by the vertuous harmony
Of our faire mindes, made one: but since I wandred
In the forbidden Labyrinth of lust,
What was inseparable, is by me diuided.
With iustice therefore you may cut me off,
And from your memory, wash the remembrance
That ere I was like to some vicious purpose
Within your better iudgement, you repent of
And study to forget.
Cha.
O Beaumelle,
That you can speake so well, and doe so ill!
But you had bin too great a blessing, if
You had continued chast: see how you force me
To this, because mine honour will not yeeld
Beau.
In this life
It is not fit you should: yet you shall finde,
Though I was bold enough to be a strumpet,
I dare not yet liue one: let those fam'd matrones
That are canoniz'd worthy of our sex,
Transcend me in their sanctity of life,
I yet will equall them in dying nobly,
Ambitious of no honour after life,
But that when I am dead, you will forgiue me.
Cha.
How pity steales vpon me! should I heare her
But ten words more, I were lost—one knocks, go in.
Knock within.
That to be mercifull should be a sinne
O, sir, most welcome. Let me take your cloake,
Exit Beaumelle.
I must not be denyed—here are your robes,
As you loue iustice once more put them on:
Enter Rochfort.
There is a cause to be determind of
That doe's requite such an integrity,
As you haue euer vs'd—ile put you to
The tryall of your constancy, and goodnesse:
And looke that you that haue beene Eagle-eyd
In other mens affaires, proue not a Mole
In what concernes your selfe. Take you your seate:
I will be for you presently.
Exit.
Roch.
Angels guard me,
To what strange Tragedy does this destruction
Serue for a Prologue?
Enter Charalois, with Nouals body. Beaumelle, Baumont.
Cha.
So, set it downe before
The Iudgement seate, and stand you at the bar:
For me? I am the accuser.
Roch.
Nouall slayne,
And Beaumelle my daughter in the place
Of one to be arraign'd.
Cha.
O, are you touch'd?
I finde that I must take an other course,
Feare nothing, I will onely blinde your eyes,
For Iustice should do so, when 'tis to meete
An obiect that may sway her equall doome
A day of hearing.
Roch.
It is granted, speake—you shall haue iustice.
Cha.
I then here accuse,
Most equall Iudge, the prisoner your faire Daughter.
For whom I owed so much to you: your daughter,
So worthy in her owne parts: and that worth
Set forth by yours, to whose so rare perfections.
Truth witnesse with me, in the place of seruice
I almost pay'd Idolatrous sacrifice
To be a false advltresse.
Roch.
With whom?
Cha.
With this Nouall here dead.
Roch.
Be wel aduis'd
And ere yon say adultresse againe,
Her fame depending on it, be most sure
That she is one.
Cha.
I tooke them in the act.
I know no proofe beyond it.
Roch.
O my heart.
Cha.
A Iudge should feele no passions.
Roch.
Yet remember
He is a man, and cannot put off nature.
What answere makes the prisoner?
Beau.
I confesse
The fact I am charg'd with, and yeeld my selfe
Most miserably guilty.
Roch.
Heauen take mercy
Vpon your soule then: it must leaue your body.
Now free mine eyes, I dare vnmou'd looke on her.
And fortifie my sentence, with strong reasons.
Since that the politique law prouides that seruants,
To whose care we commit our goods shall die,
If they abuse our trust: what can you looke for,
To whose charge this most hopefull Lord gaue vp
All hee receiu'd from his braue Ancestors,
Or he could leaue to his posterity?
His Honour, wicked woman, in whose safety
With thy lust, a theefe hath now stolne from him,
And therefore—
Cha.
Stay, iust Iudge, may not what's lost
By her owne fault, (for I am charitable,
And charge her not with many) be forgotten
In her faire life hereafter?
Roch.
Neuer, Sir.
The wrong that's done to the chaste married bed,
Repentant teares can neuer expiate,
And be assured, to pardon such a sinne,
Is an offence as great as to commit it.
Cha.
I may not then forgiue her.
Roch.
Nor she hope it.
Nor can shee wish to liue no sunne shall rise,
But ere it set, shall shew her vgly lust
In a new shape, and euery on more horrid:
Nay, euen those prayers, which with such humble feruor
She seemes to send vp yonder, are beate backe,
And all suites, which her penitence can proffer,
As soone as made, are with contempt throwne
Off all the courts of mercy.
He kils her.
Cha.
Let her die then.
Better prepar'd I am. Sure I could not take her,
Nor she accuse her father, as a Iudge
Partiall against her.
Beau.
I approue his sentence,
And kisse the executioner: my lust
Is now run from me in that blood in which
It was begot and nourished.
Roch.
Is she dead then?
Cha.
Yes, sir, this is her heart blood, is it not?
I thinke it be.
Roch.
And you haue kild her?
Cha.
True, and did it by your doome
Roch.
But I pronounc'd it
As a Iudge onely, and friend to iustice,
Broke all the tyes of nature: and cast off
The loue and soft affection of a father.
I in your cause, put on a Scarlet robe
Of red died cruelty, but in returne,
You haue aduanc'd for me no flag of mercy:
I look'd on you, as a wrong'd husband, but
You clos'd your eyes against me, as a father.
O Beaumelle, my daughter.
Cha.
This is madnesse.
Roch.
Keep from me—could not one good thought rise vp,
To tell you that she was my ages comfort,
Begot by a weake man, and borne a woman,
And could not therefore, but partake of frailety?
Or wherefore did not thankfulnesse step forth,
To vrge my many merits, which I may
Obiect vnto you, since you proue vngratefull,
Flinty-hearted Charaloys?
Cha.
Nature does preuaile aboue your vertue.
Roch.
No: it giues me eyes,
To pierce the heart of designe against me.
I finde it now, it was my state was aym'd at,
A nobler match was sought for, and the houres
I liu'd, grew teadious to you: my compassion
Towards you hath rendred me most miserable,
And foolish charity vndone my selfe:
But ther's a Heauen aboue, from whose iust wreake
No mists of policy can hide offendors.
Enter Nouall se. with Officers.
Nou. se.
Force ope the doors—O monster, caniball,
Lay hold on him, my sonne, my sonne.—O Rochfort,
'Twas you gaue liberty to this bloody wolfe
To worry all our comforts,—But this is
No time to quarrell; now giue your assistance
For the reuenge.
Roch.
Call it a fitter name—Iustice for innocent blood.
Cha.
Though all conspire
Against that life which I am weary of,
To shew in spite of malice, and their lawes,
His plea must speed that hath an honest cause.
Exeunt.
| The Fatall Dovvry | |