 | The Tragedy of Thierry and Theodoret |  |
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Actus Quartus.
Scæna Prima.
Enter Thierry and Martel,Mart.
Your Grace is early stirring.
Thier.
How can he sleep,
Whose happiness is laid up in an hour,
He knows comes stealing towards him, Oh Martel!
Is't possible the longing Bride, whose wishes
Out-runs her fears, can on that day she is married
Consume in slumbers; or his Arms rust in ease,
That hears the charge, and sees the honor'd purchase
Ready to gild his valour? Mine is more
A power above these passions; this day France,
France that in want of issue withers with us;
And like an aged River, runs his head
Into forgotten ways, again I ransome,
And his fair course turn right: this day Thierry,
The Son of France, whose manly powers like prisoners
Have been tied up, and fetter'd, by one death
Give life to thousand ages; this day beauty
The envy of the world, Pleasure the glory,
Content above the world, desire beyond it
Are made mine own, and useful.
Mart.
Happy Woman
That dies to do these things.
Thier.
But ten times happier
That lives to do the greater; oh Martel,
The gods have heard me now, and those that scorn'd me,
Mothers of many children, and blest fathers
That see their issues like the Stars un-number'd,
Their comfort more than them, shall in my praises
Now teach their Infants songs; and tell their ages
From such a Son of mine, or such a Queen,
That chaste Ordella brings me: blessed marriage
The chain that links two Holy Loves together
And in the marriage, more than blest Ordella,
That comes so near the Sacrament it self,
The Priests doubt, whether purer.
Mart.
Sir, y'are lost.
Thier.
I prethee let me be so.
Mart.
The day wears,
And those that have been offering early prayers,
Are now retiring homeward.
Thier.
Stand and mark then.
Mart.
Is it the first must suffer.
Thier.
The first Woman.
Mart.
What hand shall do it, Sir?
Thier.
This hand Martell,
For who less dare presume to give the gods
An incense of this offering?
Mart.
Would I were she,
For such away to die, and such a blessing
Can never crown my parting.
Enter two men passing over.
Thier.
What are those?
Mart.
Men, men, Sir, men.
Thier.
The plagues of men light on 'em,
They cross my hopes like Hares, who's that?
Enter a Priest.
Mart.
A Priest, Sir.
Thier.
Would he were gelt.
Mart.
May not these rascals serve, Sir,
Well hang'd and quarter'd?
Thier.
Nor—
Mart.
Here comes a woman.
Enter Ordella veil'd.
Thier.
Stand and behold her then.
Mart.
I think a fair one.
Thier.
Move not whilst I prepare her: may her peace
Like his whose innocence the gods are pleas'd with,
And offering at their Altars, gives his soul
Far purer than those sires; pull heaven upon her,
You holy powers, no humane spot dwell in her,
No love of any thing, but you and goodness,
Tie her to earth, fear be a stranger to her,
And all weak blouds affections, but thy hope,
Let her bequeath to Women: hear me heaven,
Give her a spirit masculine, and noble,
Fit for your selves to ask, and me to offer.
Oh let her meet my blow, doat on her death;
And as a wanton Vine bows to the pruner,
That by his cutting off, more may increase,
So let her fall to raise me fruit; hail woman.
The happiest, and the best (if the dull Will
Do not abuse thy fortune) France e'er sound yet.
Ordel.
Sh'is more than dull, Sir, less, and worse than Woman,
That may inherit such an infinite
As you propound, a greatness so near goodness;
And brings a Will to rob her.
Thier.
Tell me this then,
Was there e'er woman yet, or may be found,
That for fair Fame, unspotted memory,
For virtues sake, and only for it self sake
Has, or dare make a story?
Ordel.
Many dead Sir,
Living I think as many.
Thier.
Say, the kingdom
May from a womans Will receive a blessing,
The King and kingdom, not a private safety.
A general blessing, Lady.
Ordel.
A general curse
Light on her heart, denies it.
Thier.
Full of honor;
And such examples as the former ages
Were but dim shadows of, and empty figures.
Ordel.
You strangely stir me, Sir, and were my weakness
In any other flesh but modest womans,
You should not ask more questions, may I do it?
Thier.
You may, and which is more, you must.
Ordel.
I joy in't,
Above a moderate gladness, Sir, you promise
It shall be honest.
Thier.
As ever time discover'd.
Ordel.
Let it be what it may then, what it dare,
I have a mind will hazard it.
Thier.
But hark ye,
What may that woman merit, makes this blessing!
Ordel.
Only her duty, Sir.
Thier.
'Tis terrible.
Ordel.
'Tis so much the more noble.
Thier:
'Tis full of fearful shadows.
Ordel.
So is sleep, Sir.
Or any thing that's meerly ours, and mortal,
We were begotten gods else; but those fears
Feeling but once the fires of nobler thoughts.
Flie like the shapes of clouds we form, to nothing.
Thier.
Suppose it death.
Ordel.
I do.
Thier.
And endless parting
With all we can call ours, with all our sweetness,
With youth, strength, pleasure, people, time, nay reason:
For in the silent grave, no conversation,
No joyful tread of friends, no voice of Lovers,
No careful Fathers counsel, nothing's hard,
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Dust and an endless darkness; and dare you woman
Desire this place?
Ordeel.
'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest,
Children begin it to us, strong men seek it,
And Kings from heighth of all their painted glories
Fall like spent exhalations, to this centre:
And those are fools that fear it, or imagine
A few unhandsome pleasures, or lifes profits
Can recompence this place; and mad that staies it,
Till age blow out their lights, or rotten humors.
Bring them dispers'd to th'earth.
Thier.
Then you can suffer?
Ordel.
As willingly as say it.
Thier.
Martell, a wonder,
Here's a woman that dares die, yet tell me,
Are you a Wife?
Ordel.
I am Sir.
Thier.
And have children?
She sighs and weeps.
Ordel.
Oh none Sir.
Thier.
Dare you venture
For a poor barren praise you ne'er shall hear,
To part with these sweet hopes?
Ordel.
With all but Heaven,
And yet die full of children; he that reads me
When I am ashes, is my Son in wishes,
And those chaste dames that keep my memory,
Singing my yearly requiems, are my Daughters.
Thier.
Then there is nothing wanting but my knowledg.
And what I must doe, Lady?
Ordel.
You are the King, Sir,
And what you do I'll suffer, and that blessing
That you desire, the gods showr on the Kingdom.
Thier.
Thus much before I strike then, for I must kill you,
The gods have will'd it so they're made the blessing
Must make France young again, and me a man,
Keep up your strength still nobly.
Ordel.
Fear me not.
Thier.
And meet death like a measure.
Ordel.
I am stedfast.
Thier.
Thou shalt be sainted woman, and thy Tomb
Cut out in Chrystal, pure and good as thou art;
And on it shall be graven every age,
Succeeding Peers of France that rise by thy fall,
Till thou liest there like old and fruitful nature.
Darest thou behold thy happiness?
Ordel.
I dare Sir.
Thier.
Ha?
Puls off her veil, lets fall his sword.
Mar.
Oh Sir, you must not doe it.
Thier.
No, I dare not.
There is an Angel keeps that Paradice,
A fiery Angel friend; oh virtue, virtue,
Ever and endless virtue.
Ordel.
Strike, Sir, strike;
And if in my poor death fair France may merit,
Give me a thousand blows, be killing me
A thousand days.
Thier.
First let the earth be barren,
And man no more remembred, rise Ordella,
The nearest to thy maker, and the purest
That ever dull flesh shewed us,—oh my heart-strings.
Exit.
Mart.
I see you full of wonder, therefore noblest,
And truest amongst Women, I will tell you
The end of this strange accident.
Ordel.
Amazement
Has so much wove upon my heart, that truly
I feel my self unfit to hear, oh Sir,
My Lord has slighted me.
Mart.
Oh no sweet Lady.
Ordel.
Robb'd me of such a glory by his pity,
And most unprovident respect.
Mart.
Dear Lady,
It was not meant to you.
Ordel.
Else where the day is,
And hours distinguish time, time runs to ages,
And ages end the world, I had been spoken.
Devi.
I'll tell you what it was, if but your patience
Will give me hearing.
Ordel.
If I have transgrest,
Forgive me, Sir.
Mart.
Your noble Lord was counsel'd,
Grieving the barrenness between you both,
And all the Kingdom with him, to seek out
A man that knew the secrets of the gods,
He went, found such an one, and had this answer,
That if he wou'd have issue, on this morning,
For this hour was prefixt him, he should kill
The first he met, being Female, from the Temple;
And then he should have children, the mistake
Is now too perfect, Lady.
Ordel.
Still 'tis I, Sir,
For may this work be done by common women?
Durst any but my self that knew the blessing,
And felt the benefit, assume this thing
In any other, 't'ad been lost, and nothing,
A curse and not a blessing; I was figur'd;
And shall a little fondness barr my purchase?
Mart.
Where should he then seek children?
Ordel.
Where they are
In wombs ordain'd for issues, in those beauties
That bless a marriage-bed, and makes it proceed
With kisses that conceive, and fruitful pleasures;
Mine like a grave, buries those loyal hopes,
And to a grave it covets.
Mart.
You are too good,
Too excellent, too honest; rob not us
And those that shall hereafter seek example,
Of such inestimable worthies in woman.
Your Lord of such obedience, all of honor
In covering a cruelty is not yours,
A Will short of your Wisdom; make not error
A Tomb-stone of your virtues, whose fair life
Deserves a constellation: your Lord dare not;
He cannot, ought not, must not run this hazard,
He makes a separation, nature shakes at,
The gods deny, and everlasting justice
Shrinks back, and sheaths her sword at.
Ordel.
All's but talk, Sir,
I find to what I am reserv'd, and needful,
And though my Lord's compassion makes me poor,
And leaves me in my best use, yet a strength
Above mine own, or his dull fondness finds me;
The gods have given it to me.
Draws a knife.
Mart.
Self-destruction!
Now all good Angels bless thee, oh sweet Lady,
You are abus'd, this is a way to shame you,
And with you all that knows you, all that loves you,
To ruin all you build, would you be famous?
Is that your end?
Ordel.
I would be what I should be.
Mart.
Live and confirm the gods then, live and be loaden
With more than Olive-bear, or fruitful Autumn;
This way you kill your merit, kill your cause,
And him you would raise life to, where, or how
Got you these bloudy thoughts? what Devil durst
Look on that Angel face, and tempt? doe you know
What is't to die thus, how you strike the Stars,
And all good things above, do you feel
What follows a self-bloud, whether you venture,
And to what punishment? excellent Lady,
Be not thus cozen'd, do not fool your self,
The Priest was never his own sacrifice,
But he that thought his hell here.
Ordel.
I am counsell'd,
Mart.
And I am glad on't, lie, I know you dare not.
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I never have done yet.
Mart.
Pray take my comfort,
Was this a soul to lose? two more such women
Would save their sex; see, she repents and prayes,
Oh hear her, hear her, if there be a faith
Able to reach your mercies, she hath sent it.
Ordel.
Now good Martel confirm me.
Mart.
I will Lady,
And every hour advise you, for I doubt
Whether this plot be heavens, or hells; your mother;
And I will find it, if it be in mankind
To search the center of it: in the mean time
I'll give you out for dead, and by your self,
And shew the instrument, so shall I find
A joy that will betray her.
Ordel.
Do what's fittest;
And I will follow you.
Mart.
Then ever-live
Both able to engross all love, and give.
Exeunt.
Enter Brunhalt, Protaldye.
Brun.
I'm in labour
To be deliver'd of that burthenous project
I have so long gone with; ha, here's the Midwife,
Or life, or death.
Enter Lecure.
Lecu.
If in the supposition
Of her death in whose life you die, you ask me,
I think you are safe.
Brun.
Is she dead?
Lecu.
I have us'd
All means to make her so, I saw him waiting
At the Temple door, and us'd such Art within,
That only she of all her Sex was first
Giv'n up unto his fury.
Brun.
Which if love
Or fear made him forbear to execute
The vengeance he determin'd, his fond pity
Shall draw it on himself, for were there left
Not any man but he, to serve my pleasures,
Or from me to receive commands, which are
The joyes for which I love life, he should be
Remov'd, and I alone left to be Queen
O'er any part of goodness that's left in me.
Lecu.
If you are so resolv'd, I have provided
A means to snip him hence: look upon this,
But touch it sparingly, for this once us'd.
Say but to dry a tear, will keep the eye-lid
From closing, until death perform that office.
Brun.
Give't me, I may have use of it, and on you
I'll make the first experiment: if one sigh
Or heavy look beget the least suspition,
Childish compassion can thaw the Ice
Of your so long congeal'd and slinty hardness.
Slight, go on constant, or I shall.
Prot.
Best Lady,
We have no faculties which are not yours.
Lecu.
Nor will be any thing without you.
Baun.
Be so, and we will stand or fall together, for
Since we have gone so far, that death must stay
The journey, which we wish should never end;
And innocent, or guilty, we must die,
When we do so, let's know the reason why.
Enter Thierry and Courtiers.
Lecu.
The King.
Thier.
We'll be alone.
Prot.
I would I had
A Convoy too, to bring me safe off.
For rage although it be allai'd with sorrow,
Appears so dreadful in him, that I shake
To look upon't.
Brun.
Coward I will meet it,
And know from whence 't has birth: Son, kingly Thierry.
Thier.
Is cheating grown so common among men?
And thrives so well here, that the gods endeavour
To practise it above?
Brun.
Your Mother.
Thier.
Ha! or are they only careful to revenge,
Not to reward? or when, for your offences
We study satisfaction, must the cure
Be worse than the disease?
Brun.
Will you not hear me?
Thier.
To lose th'ability to perform those duties
For which I entertain'd the name of Husband,
Ask'd more than common sorrow; but t'impose
For the redress of that defect, a torture
In marking her to death, for whom alone
I felt that weakness as a want, requires
More than the making the head bald: or falling
Thus flat upon the earth, or cursing that way,
Or praying this, oh such a Scene of grief,
And so set down, (the world the stage to act on)
May challenge a Tragedian better practis'd
Than I am to express it; for my cause
Of passion is so strong, and my performance
So weak, that though the part be good, I fear
Th'ill acting of it, will defraud it of
The poor reward it may deserve, mens pity.
Brun.
I have given you way thus long, a King, and what
Is more, my Son, and yet a slave to that
Which only triumphs over cowards sorrow,
For shame look up.
Thier.
Is't you, look down on me:
And if that you are capable to receive it,
Let that return to you, that have brought forth
One mark'd out only for it: what are these?
Come they upon your privilege to tread on
The Tomb of my afflictions?
Prot.
No, not we Sir.
Thier.
How dare you then omit the ceremony
Due to the funeral of all my hopes.
Or come unto the marriage of my sorrows,
But in such colours as may sort with them.
Prot.
Alas; we will wear any thing.
Brun.
This is madness
Take but my counsel.
Thier.
Yours? dare you again
Though arm'd with th'authority of a mother,
Attempt the danger that will fall on you
If such another syllable awake it?
Goe, and with yours be safe, I have such cause
Of grief, nay more, to love it, that I will not
Have such as these be sharers in it.
Lecu.
Madam.
Prot.
Another time were better.
Brun.
Do not stirr,
For I must be resolv'd, and will, be statues.
Enter Martel.
Thier.
I, thou art welcome, and upon my soul
Thou art an honest man, do you see, he has tears
To lend to him whom prodigal expence
Of sorrow, has made bankrupt of such treasure,
Nay, thou dost well.
Mart.
I would it might excuse.
The ill I bring along.
Thier.
Thou mak'st me smile
I the heighth of my calamities, as if
There could be the addition of an Atome,
To the gyant-body of my miseries
But try, for I will hear thee, all sit down, 'tis death
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In look, gesture, or word.
Mart.
And such attention
As is due to the last, and the best story
That ever was deliver'd, will become you,
The griev'd Ordella, (for all other titles
But take away from that) having from me
Prompted by your last parting groan, enquir'd,
What drew it from you, and the cause soon learn'd:
For she whom barbarism could deny nothing,
With such prevailing earnestness desir'd it,
'Twas not in me, though it had been my death,
To hide it from her, she I say, in whom
All was, that Athens, Rome, or warlike Sparta,
Have registred for good in their best Women:
But nothing of their ill; knowing her self
Mark'd out, (I know not by what power, but sure
A cruel one) to dye, to give you children;
Having first with a setled countenance
Look'd up to Heaven, and then upon her self,
(It being the next best object) and then smil'd,
As if her joy in death to do you service,
Would break forth, in despight of the much sorrow
She shew'd she had to leave you: and then taking
Me by the hand, this hand which I must ever
Love better than I have done, since she touch'd it,
Go said she, to my Lord, (and to goe to him
Is such a happiness I must not hope for)
And tell him that he too much priz'd a trifle
Made only worthy in his love, and her
Thankful acceptance, for her sake to rob
The Orphan Kingdom of such guardians, as
Must of necessity descend from from him;
And therefore in some part of recompence
Of his much love, and to shew to the world
That 'twas not her fault only, but her fate,
That did deny to let her be the mother
Of such most certain blessings: yet for proof,
She did not envy her, that happy her,
That is appointed to them, her guick end
Should make way for her, which no sooner spoke,
But in a moment this too ready engine
Made such a battery in the choisest Castle
That ever nature made to defend life,
That strait it shook, and sunk.
Thier.
Stay, dares any
Presume to shed a tear before me? or
Ascribe that worth unto themselves to merit:
To do so for her? I have done, now on.
Mart.
Fall'n thus, once more she smil'd, as if that death
For her had studied a new way to sever
The soul and body, without sense of pain;
And then tell him (quoth she) what you have seen,
And with what willingness 'twas done; for which
My last request unto him is, that he
Would instantly make choice of one (most happy
In being so chosen) to supply my place,
By whom if heaven bless him with a daughter,
In my remembrance let it bear my name
Which said she dy'd.
Thier.
I hear this, and yet live;
Heart! art thou thunder proof, will nothing break thee?
She's dead, and what her entertainment may be
In th'other world without me is uncertain,
And dare I stay here unresolv'd?
Mart.
Oh Sir!
Brun.
Dear son.
Prot.
Great King.
Thier.
Unhand me, am I fall'n
So low, that I have lost the power to be
Disposer of my own life?
Mart.
Be but pleas'd
To borrow so much time of sorrow, as
To call to mind her last request, for whom
(I must confess a loss beyond expression)
You turn your hand upon your self, 'twas hers
And dying hers, that you should live and happy
In seeing little models of your self,
By matching with another, and will you
Leave any thing that she desir'd ungranted?
And suffer such a life that was laid down
For your sake only to be fruitless?
Thier.
Oh thou dost throw charms upon me, against which
I cannot stop my ears, bear witness heaven
That not desire of life, nor love of pleasure
Nor any future comforts, but to give
Peace to her blessed spirit in satisfying
Her last demand, makes me defer our meeting,
Which in my choice, and suddain choice shall be
To all apparent,
Brun.
How? doe I remove one mischief
To draw upon my head a greater?
Thier.
Go, thou only good man, to whom for her self
Goodness is dear, and prepare to interr it
In her that was; oh my heart! my Ordella,
A monument worthy to be the casket
Of such a jewel.
Mart.
Your command that makes way
Unto my absence is a welcome one,
For but your self there's nothing here Martel,
Can take delight to look on; yet some comfort
Goes back with me to her, who though she want it
Deserves all blessings.
Exit.
Brun.
So soon to forget
The loss of such a wife, believe it will
Be censur'd in the world.
Thier.
Pray you no more,
There is no argment you can use to cross it,
But does increase in me such a suspition
I would not cherish—who's that?
Enter Memberge.
Memb.
One, no guard
Can put back from access, whose tongue no threats
Nor praises can silence, a bold suitor, and
For that which if you are your self, a King,
You were made so to grant it, Justice, Justice.
Thier.
With what assurance dare you hope for that
Which is deny'd to me? or how can I
Stand bound to be just, unto such as are
Beneath me, that find none from those that are
Above me?
Memb.
There is justice, 'twere unfit
That any thing but vengeance should fall on him,
That by his giving way to more than murther,
(For my dear fathers death was parricide)
Makes it his own.
Brun.
I charge you hear her not.
Memb.
Hell cannot stop just prayers from ent'ring heaven,
I must and will be heard Sir; but remember
That he that by her plot fell, was your brother,
And the place where, your Palace, against all
Th'inviolable rites of hospitality,
Your word, a Kings word, given up for his safety,
His innocence, his protection, and the gods
Bound to revenge the impious breach of such
So great and sacred bonds; and can you wonder,
(That in not punishing such a horrid murther
You did it) that heavens favour is gone from you?
Which never will return, until his bloud
Be wash'd away in hers.
Brun.
Drag hence the wretch.
Thier.
Forbear, with what variety
Of torments do I meet? oh thou hast open'd
A Book, in which writ down in bloudy Letters,
My conscience finds that I am worthy of
More than I undergoe, but I'll begin
For my Ordella's sake, and for thine own
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A father, I to thee am so; the hope
Of a good Husband, in me have one; nor
Be fearful I am still no man, already
That weakness is gone from me.
Brun.
That it might
Aside.
Have ever grown inseparably upon thee,
What will you do? Is such a thing as this
Worthy the lov'd Ordella's place, the daughter
Of a poor Gardener?
Memb.
Your Son.
Thier.
The power
To take away that lowness is in me.
Brun.
Stay yet, for rather than thou shalt add
Incest unto thy other sins, I will
With hazard of my own life, utter all,
Theodoret was thy Brother.
Thier.
You deny'd it.
Upon your oath, nor will I now believe you,
Your Protean turnings cannot change my purpose.
Memb.
And for me, be assur'd the means to be
Reveng'd on thee vile hag, admits no thought,
But what tends to it.
Brun.
Is it come to that?
Then have at the last refuge: art thou grown
Insensible in all, that thou goest on
Without the least compunction? there, take that
To witness, that thou hadst a mother, which
Foresaw thy cause of grief, and sad repentance,
That so soon after blest Ordella's death
Without a tear thou canst imbrace another,
Forgetful man.
Thier.
Mine eyes when she is nam'd
Cannot forget their tribute, and your gift
Is not unuseful now
Lecu.
He's past all cure, that only touch is death.
Thier.
This night I'll keep it,
To morrow I will send it you, and full of my affliction.
Exit Thierry.
Brun.
Is the poison mortal?
Lecu.
Above the help of Physick.
Brun.
To my wish,
Now for our own security, you Protaldye
Shall this night post towards Austracia,
With Letters to Theodorets bastard son,
In which we will make known what for his rising
We have done to Thierry: no denial,
Nor no excuse in such acts must be thought of,
Which all dislike, and all again commend
When they are brought unto a happy end.
Exeunt.
| The Tragedy of Thierry and Theodoret | |