University of Virginia Library

Actus Tertius.

Scena Prima.

Enter Sophia, Otto, Matillda, Edith.
Ot.
You wonder Madam, that for all the shews
My Brother Rollo makes of hearty love
And free possession of the Dukedom 'twixt us;
I not withstanding should stand still suspicious,
As if beneath those veils, he did convey
Intents and practices of hate, and treason?

Sob.
It breeds indeed my wonder.

Ot.
Which makes mine,
Since it is so safe and broad a beaten way,
Beneath the name of friendship to betray.

Sop.
Though in remote and further off affections,
These falsehoods are so common, yet in him
They cannot so force nature.

Ot.
The more near
The bands of truth bind, the more oft they sever,
Being better cloaks to cover falshood over.

Sop.
It cannot be, that fruits the tree so blasting
Can grow in nature; take heed gentle Son
Lest some suborn'd suggester of these treasons,
Believ'd in him by you, provok'd the rather
His tender envies, to such foul attempts;
Or that your too much love to rule alone
Breed not in him this jealous passion;
There is not any ill we might not bear
Were not our good held at a price too dear.

Ot.
So apt is treachery to be excused,
That innocence is still aloud abused,
The fate of vertue even her friends perverts,
To plead for vice oft times against their hearts,
Heavens blessing is her curse, which she must bear
That she may never love.

Sop.
Alas, my son, nor fate, nor heaven it self,
Can or would wrest my whole care of your good
To any least secureness in your ill:
What I urge issues from my curious fear;
Lest you should make your means to scape your snare.
Doubt of sincereness is the only mean
Not to incense it, but corrupt it clean.

Ot.
I rest as far from wrong of sincereness,
As he flyes from the practice, trust me Madam,
I know by their confessions, he suborn'd,
What I should eat, drink, touch, or only have scented,
This evening feast was poysoned, but I fear
This open violence more, that treacherous oddes
Which he in his insatiate thirst of rule
Is like to execute.

Sop.
Believe it Son,
If still his stomach be so foul to feed
On such gross objects, and that thirst to rule
The state alone be yet unquench'd in him,
Poysons and such close treasons ask more time
Than can suffice his fiery spirits hast:
And were there in him such desire to hide
So false a practice, there would likewise rest
Conscience and fear in him of open force,
And therefore close nor open you need fear.

Mat.
Good Madam, stand not so inclin'd to trust
What proves his tendrest thoughts to doubt it just,
Who knows not the unbounded flood and sea,
In which my Brother Rollo's appetites
Alter and rage with every puffe and breath?
His swelling blood exhales, and therefore hear,
What gives my temperate Brother cause to use
His readiest circumspection, and consult
For remedy against all his wicked purposes;
If he arm, arm, if he strew mines of treason,
Meet him with countermines, it is justice still
(For goodness sake) t'encounter ill with ill.

Sop.
Avert from us such justice, equal heaven,
And all such cause of justice.

Ot.
Past all doubt
(For all the sacred privilege of night)
This is no time for us to sleep or rest in;
Who knows not all things holy are prevented
With ends of all impietie, all but
Lust, gain, ambition.

Enter Rollo, armed, and Latorch.
Rol.
Perish all the world
E're I but lose one foot of possible Empire,
Be slights and colour us'd by slaves and wretches,
I am exempt by birth from both these curbs,
And since above them in all justice, since
I sit above in power, where power is given,
Is all the right suppos'd of Earth and Heaven.

Lat.
Prove both Sir, see the traytor.

Ot.
He comes arm'd, see Mother, now your confidence.

Sop.
What rage affects this monster?

Rol.
Give me way or perish.

Sop.
Make thy way viper, if thou thus affect it.

Ot.
This is a treason like thee.

Rol.
Let her go.

Sop.
Embrace me, wear me as thy shield, my Son;
And through my breast let his rude weapon run,
To thy lives innocence.

Ot.
Play not two parts,
Treacher and coward both; but yield a sword,
And let thy arming thee be odds enough
Against my naked bosom.

Rol.
Loose his hold.

Mat.
Forbear base murtherer.

Rol.
Forsake our Mother.

Sop.
Mother, dost thou name me, and put'st off nature thus?

Rol.
Forsake her traytour,
Or by the spouse of nature through hers
This leads unto thy heart.

Ot.
Hold.

Sop.
Hold me still.

Ot.
For twenty hearts and lives I will not hazard
One drop of blood in yours.

Sop.
Oh thou art lost then.

Ot.
Protect my innocence, Heaven.

Sop.
Call out murther.

Mat.
Be murthered all, but save him.

Ed.
Murther, murther.

Rol.
Cannot I reach you yet?

Ot.
No, fiend.

Rol.
Latorch, rescue, I'me down.

Lat.
Up then, your sword cools Sir,
Ply it i'th' flame, and work your ends out.

Rol.
Ha, have at your there Sir.

Enter Aubrey.
Aub.
Author of prodigies, what sights are these?

Ot.
Oh give me a weapon, Aubrey.

Sop.
Oh part 'em, part 'em.

Aub.
For Heavens sake no more.

Ot.
No more resist his fury, no rage can
Add to his mischief done.

Dyes.
Sop.
Take spirit my Otto,
Heaven will not see thee dye thus.

Mat.
He is dead, and nothing lives but death of every goodness.

Sop.
Oh he hath slain his Brother, curse him heaven.

Rol.
Curse and be cursed, it is the fruit of cursing,
Latorch, take off here, bring too, of that blood
To colour o're my shirt, then raise the Court
And give it out how he attempted us
In our bed naked: shall the name of Brother
Forbid us to inlarge our state and powers?
Or place affects of blood above our reason?
That tells us all things good against another,
Are good in the same line against a Brother.

[Exit.
Enter Gisbert, Baldwin.
Gis.
What affairs inform these out-cries?

Aub.
See and grieve.

Gis.
Prince Otto slain!

Bal.
Oh execrable slaughter!
What hand hath author'd it?

Aub.
Your Scholars, Baldwin.

Bald.
Unjustly urg'd, Lord Aubrey, as if I,
For being his Schoolmaster, must own this doctrine,
You are his Counsellours, did you advise him
To this foul parricide?

Gis.
If rule affect this licence, who would live
To worse, than dye in force of his obedience?

Bal.
Heavens cold and lingring spirit to punish sin,
And humane blood so fiery to commit it,
One so outgoes the other, it will never
Be turn'd to fit obedience.

Aub.
Burst it then
With his full swing given, where it brooks no bound,
Complaints of it are vain; and all that rests
To be our refuge (since our powers are strengthless)
Is to conform our wills to suffer freely,
What with our murmurs we can never master;
Ladys, be pleased with what heavens pleasure suffers,
Erect your princely countenances and spirits,
And to redress the mischiefs now resistless,
Sooth it in shew, rather than curse or cross it;
Which all amends, and vow to it your best,
But till you may perform it, let it rest.

Gis.
Those temporizings are too dull and servile,
To breath the free air of a manly soul,
Which shall in me expire in execrations,
Before for any life I sooth a murtherer.

Bal.
Pour lives before him, till his own be dry
Of all lives services and humane comforts;
None left that looks at heaven is half so base
To do those black and hellish actions grace.

Enter Rollo, Lat. Ham. and Guard.
Rol.
Haste Latorch
And raise the Citie as the Court is rais'd,
Proclaiming the abhor'd conspiracy
In plot against my life.

Lat.
I haste my Lord.

[Exit.
Rol.
You there that mourn upon the justly slain,
Arise and leave it if you love your lives,
And hear from me what (kept by you) may save you.

Mat.
What will the Butcher do? I will not stir.

Rol.
Stir, and unforc't stir, or stir never more:
Command her, you grave Beldam, that know better
My deadly resolutions, since I drew them
From the infective fountain of your own,
Or if you have forgot, this fiery prompter
Shall fix the fresh impression on your heart.

Sop.
Rise Daughter, serve his will in what we may,
Lest what we may not he enforce the rather,
Is this all you command us?

Rol.
This addition only admitted, that when I endeavour
To quit me of this slaughter, you presume not
To cross me with a syllable for your souls;
Murmur, nor think against it, but weigh well,
It will not help your ill, but help to more,
And that my hand wrought thus far to my will,
Will check at nothing till his circle fill.

Mat.
Fill it, so I consent not, but who sooths it
Consents, and who consents to tyrannie, does it.

Rol.
False traytress die then with him.

Aub.
Are you mad, to offer at more blood, and make your self
More horrid to your people? I'le proclaim,
It is not as your instrument will publish.

Rol.
Do, and take that along with you—so nimble!
Resign my sword, and dare not for thy soul
To offer what thou insolently threatnest;
One word, proclaiming cross to what Latorch
Hath in Commissione and intends to publish.

Aub.
Well, Sir, not for your threats, but for your good,
Since more hurt to you would more hurt your Country,
And that you must make Vertue of the need
That now compels you, I'll consent as far
As silence argues to your will proclaimed:
And since no more Sons of your Princely Father
Survive to rule but you, and that I wish
You should rule like your Father, with the love
And zeal of all your Subjects; this foul slaughter
That now you have committed made ashamed
With that fair blessing, that in place of plagues,
Heaven trys our mending disposition with:
Take here your sword, which now use like a Prince,
And no more like a Tyrant.

Rol.
This sounds well, live and be gracious with us.

Gis. and Bal.
Oh Lord Aubrey.

Mat.
He flatter thus?

Sop.
He temporizes fitly.

Rol.
Wonder invades me; do you two think much,
That he thus wisely, and with need consents
To what I authour for your Countries good?
You being my Tutor, you my Chancellour.

Gis.
Your Chancellour is not your Flatterer, Sir.

Bal.
Nor is it your Tutors part to shield such doctrine.

Rol.
Sir, first know you,
In praise of your pure Oratory that rais'd you,
That when the people, who I know by this
Are rais'd out of their rests, and hastening hither
To witness what is done here, are arrived
With our Latorch, that you, ex tempore,
Shall fashion an Oration to acquit
And justifie this forced fact of mine;
Or for the proud refusal lose your head.

Gis.
I fashion an Oration to acquit you?
Sir, know you then, that 'tis a thing less easie
To excuse a parricide than to commit it.

Rol.
I do not wish you, Sir, to excuse me,
But to accuse my Brother, as the cause
Of his own slaughter by attempting mine.

Gis.
Not for the World, I should pour blood on blood;
It were another murther to accuse
Him that fell innocent.

Rol.
Away with him, hence, hail him straight to execution.

Aub.
Far flye such rigour, your amendful hand.

Rol.
He perishes with him that speaks for him;
Guard do your office on him, on your lives pain.

Gis.
Tyrant, 'twill haste thy own death.

Rol.
Let it wing it,
He threatens me, Villains tear him piece-meal hence.

Guard.
Avant Sir.

Ham.
Force him hence.

Rol.
Dispatch him, Captain,
And bring me instant word he is dispatched,
And how his Rhetorick takes it.

Ham.
I'll not fail, Sir.

Rol.
Captain, besides remember this in chief;
That being executed, you deny
To all his friends the Rites of Funeral,
And cast his Carkass out to Dogs and Fowls.

Ham.
'Tis done, my Lord.

Rol.
Upon your life not fail.

Bal.
What impious daring is there here of Heaven!

Rol.
Sir, now prepare your self, against the people
Make here their entry, to discharge the Oration,
He hath denied my will.

Bal.
For fear of death? ha, ha, ha.

Rol.
Is death ridiculous with you?
Works misery of Age this, or thy judgment?

Bal.
Judgment, false Tyrant.

Rol.
You'll make no Oration then?

Bal.
Not to excuse, but aggravate thy murder if thou wilt,
Which I will so enforce, I'll make thee wreak it
(With hate of what thou win'st by't) on thy self,
With such another justly merited murther.

Rol.
I'll answer you anon.

Enter Latorch.
Lat.
The Citizens are hasting, Sir, in heaps, all full resolv'd,
By my perswasion of your Brothers Treasons.

Rol.
Honest Latorch.

Enter Hamond.
Ham.
See, Sir, here's Gilberts head.

Rol.
Good speed; was't with a Sword?

Ham.
An Axe, Sir.

Rol.
An Axe? 'twas vilely done, I would have had
My own fine Headsman done it with a Sword;
Go, take this Dotard here, and take his head
Off with a Sword.

Ham.
Your Schoolmaster?

Rol.
Even he.

Bal.
For teaching thee no better; 'tis the best
Of all thy damned justices; away,
Captain, I'll follow.

Ed.
Oh stay there, Duke, and in the midst of all thy blood and fury,
Hear a poor Maids Petitions, hear a Daughter,
The only Daughter of a wretched Father;
Oh stay your haste as you shall need this mercy.

Rol.
Away with this fond-woman.

Ed.
You must hear me
If there be any spark of pity in you,
If sweet humanity and mercy rule you;
I do confess you are a Prince, your anger
As great as you, your Execution greater.

Rol.
Away with him.

Ed.
Oh Captain, by thy manhood,
By her soft soul that bare thee, I do confess, Sir,
Your doom of justice on your foes most righteous;
Good noble Prince look on me.

Rol.
Take her from me.

Ed.
A curse upon his life that hinders me;
May Fathers Blessing never fall upon him,
May Heaven never hear his Prayers: I beseech you,
Oh Sir, these few tears beseech you; these chast hands woo you,
That never yet were heav'd but to things holy,
Things like your self, you are a god above us;
Be as a God then, full of saving mercy;
Mercy, Oh mercy, for his sake mercy;
That when your stout heart weeps shall give you pity;
Here I must grow.

Rol.
By Heaven, I'll strike thee, woman.

Ed.
Most willingly, let all thy anger seek me,
All the most studied torments, so this good man,
This old man, and this innocent escape thee.

Rol.
Carry him away I say.

Ed.
Now blessing on thee, Oh sweet pity,
I see it in thy Eyes, I charge you Souldiers
Even by the Princes power, release my Father,
The Prince is merciful, why do you hold him?
He is old, why do you hurt him? speak, Oh speak, Sir;
Speak as you are a man; a mans life hangs, Sir,
A friends life, and a softer life upon you:
'Tis but a word, but mercy quickly spoke, Sir;
Oh speak, Prince, speak.

Rol.
Will no man here obey me?
Have I no rule yet? as I live he dyes
That does not execute my will, and suddenly.

Bal.
All that thou canst do takes but one short hour from me.

Rol.
Hew off her hands.

Ham.
Lady hold off.

Ed.
Nay, hew 'em,
Hew off my innocent hands as he commands you.
[Exeunt Guard, Count Baldwin.
They'll hang the faster on for Deaths convulsion.
Thou seed of Rocks, will nothing move thee then?
Are all my tears lost? all my righteous Prayers
Drown'd in thy drunken wrath? I stand thus then,
Thus boldly, bloody Tyrant,
And to thy face in Heavens high Name defie thee;
And may sweet mercy when thy soul sighs for it,
When under thy black mischiefs thy flesh trembles,
When neither strength, nor youth, nor friends, nor gold
Can stay one hour, when thy most wretched Conscience
Wak'd from her dream of death, like fire shall melt thee,
When all thy Mothers tears, thy Brothers wounds,
Thy Peoples fears and curses, and my loss,
My aged fathers loss shall stand before thee.

Rol.
Save him I say, run, save him, save her Father,
Fly, and redeem his head.

[Exit Latorch.
Ed.
May then that pity,
That comfort thou expect'st from Heaven, that mercy
Be lockt up from thee, fly thee, howling find thee,
Despair; Oh my sweet father, storms of terrours,
Blood till thou burst again.

Rol.
Oh fair sweet anger.

Enter Latorch and Hamond with a Head.
Lat.
I am too late, Sir, 'twas dispatch'd before,
And his Head is here.

Rol.
And my Heart there; go bury him,
Give him fair Rites of Funeral, decent Honours.

Ed.
Wilt thou not take me, Monster? highest Heaven
Give him a punishment fit for his mischief.

Lat.
I fear thy Prayer is heard, and he rewarded:
Lady, have patience, 'twas unhappy speed;
Blame not the Duke, 'twas not his fault, but Fates;
He sent, you know, to stay it, and commanded
In care of you, the heavy object hence
Soon as it came: have better thoughts of him.

Enter Citizens.
1 Cit.
Where's this young Traytor?

Lat.
Noble Citizens, here,
And here the wounds he gave your soveraign Lord.

1 Cit.
This Prince of force must be
Belov'd of Heaven, whom Heaven hath thus preserv'd.

2 Cit.
And if he be belov'd of Heaven, you know,
He must be just, and all his actions so.

Rol.
Concluded like an Oracle, Oh how great
A grace of Heaven is a wise Citizen!
For Heaven 'tis makes 'em wise, as't makes me just,
As it preserves me, as I now survive
By his strong hand to keep you all alive:
Your Wives, your Children, Goods and Lands kept yours,
That had been else preys to his tyrannous Power,
That would have prey'd on me, in Bed assaulted me
In sacred time of Peace; my Mother here,
My Sister, this just Lord, and all had felt
The certain Gulph of this Conspiracy,
Of which my Tutor and my Chancellour,
(Two of the gravest, and most counted honest
In all my Dukedom) were the monstrous Heads;
Oh trust no honest men for their sakes ever,
My politick Citizens, but those that breathe
The Names of Cut-throats, Usurers and Tyrants,
Oh those believe in, for the foul-mouth'd World
Can give no better terms to simple goodness:
Even me it dares blaspheme, and thinks me tyrannous
For saving my own life sought by my Brother;
Yet those that sought his life before by poyson
(Though mine own servants, hoping to please me)
I'll lead to death for't, which your Eyes shall see.

1 Cit.
Why, what a Prince is here!

2 Cit.
How just!

3 Cit.
How gentle!

Rol.
Well, now my dearest Subjects, or much rather
My Nerves, my Spirits, or my vital Blood;
Turn to your needful rests, and setled peace,
Fix'd in this root of steel, from whence it sprung
In Heavens great help and Blessing: but ere sleep
Bind in his sweet oblivion your dull senses,
The Name and Vertue of Heavens King advance
For yours, in chief, for my deliverance.

Cit.
Heaven and his King save our most pious Soveraign.

[Exeunt Citizens.
Rol.
Thanks my good people. Mother, and kind Sister,
And you my noble Kinsmen, things born thus
Shall make ye all command what ever I
Enjoy in this my absolute Empire,
Take in the Body of my Princely Brother,
For whose Death, since his Fate no other way
Would give my eldest birth his supream Right;
We'll mourn the cruel influence it bears,
And wash his Sepulchre with kindly tears.

Aub.
If this game end thus, Heavens will rule the set.
What we have yielded to, we could not let.

[Exeunt omnes præter Latorch, and Edith.
Lat.
Good Lady rise, and raise your Spirits withal,
More high than they are humbled; you have cause,
As much as ever honour'd happiest Lady;
And when your Ears are freer to take in
Your most amendful and unmatched fortunes,
I'll make you drown a hundred helpless deaths
In Sea of one life pour'd into your Bosome;
With which shall flow into your arms, the Riches,
The Pleasures, Honours, and the rules of Princes;
Which though death stop your ears, methinks should open 'em,
Assay to forget death.

Ed.
Oh slaughter'd Father.

Lat.
Taste of what cannot be redress'd, and bless
The Fate that yet you curse so; since for that
You spake so movingly, and your sweet eyes
With so much Grace fill'd, that you set on fire
The Dukes affection, whom you now may rule
As he rules all his Dukedome, is't not sweet?
Does it not shine away your sorrows Clouds?
Sweet Lady, take wise heart, and hear and tell me.

Ed.
I hear no word you speak.

Lat.
Prepare to hear then,
And be not barr'd up from your self, nor add
To your ill fortune with your far worse judgment;
Make me your servant to attend with all joys,
Your sad estate, till they both bless and speak it:
See how they'll bow to you, make me wait, command me
To watch out every minute, for the stay
Your modest sorrow fancies, raise your graces,
And do my hopes the honour of your motion,
To all the offered heights that now attend you:
Oh how your touches ravish! how the Duke
Is slain already with your flames embrac'd!
I will both serve and visit you, and often.

Ed.
I am not fit, Sir.

Lat.
Time will make you, Lady.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter the Guard, 3 or 4 Boys, then the Sheriff, Cook, Yeoman of the Cellar, Butler, Pantler to execution.
1 Guard.
Come, bring in these fellows, on, away with 'em.

2 Guard.
Make room before there, room for the Prisoners.

1 Boy.
Let's run before, Boys, we shall have no places else.

2 Boy.
Are these the youths?

Cook.
These are the youths you look for,
And, pray my honest friends, be not so hasty,
There will be nothing done till we come, I assure you.

3 Boy.
Here's a wise hanging; are there no more?

Butl.

Do you hear, Sir? you may come in for your share
if you please.

Cook.
My friend, if you be unprovided of a hanging.
You look like a good fellow, I can afford you
A reasonable penny-worth.

2 Boy.
Afore, afore, Boys, here's enough to make us sport.

Yeom.
'Pox take you,
Do you call this sport? are these your recreations?
Must we be hang'd to make you mirth?

Cook.
Do you hear?
You Custard Pate, we go to't for high Treason,
An honourable fault: thy foolish Father
Was hang'd for stealing Sheep.

Boys.
Away, away, Boys.

Cook.

Do you see how that sneaking Rogue looks now?
You, Chip, Pantler, you peaking Rogue, that provided us
these Necklaces; you poor Rogue, you costive Rogue, you.

Pant.
Pray, pray, fellows.

Cook.
'Pray for thy crusty soul? where's your reward now,
Goodman Manchet, for your fine discovery?
I do beseech you, Sir, where are your Dollers?
Draw with your fellows and be hang'd.

Yeom.
He must now;
For now he shall be hang'd first, that's his comfort,
A place too good for thee, thou meal-mouth'd Rascal.

Coo.
Hang handsomly for shame, come, leave your praying.
You peaking Knave, and dye like a good Courtier,
Dye honestly, and like a man; no preaching,
With I beseech you take example by me,
I liv'd a lewd man, good People. 'Pox on't,
Dye me as if thou hadst din'd, say Grace, and God be with you.

Guard.
Come, will you forward?

Cook.
Good Mr. Sheriff, your leave, this hasty work
Was ne'r done well; give us so much time as but to sing
Our own Ballads, for we'll trust no man,
Nor no tune but our own; 'twas done in Ale too,
And therefore cannot be refus'd in Justice.
Your penny-pot Poets are such pelting thieves,
They ever hang men twice; we have it here, Sir,
And so must every Merchant of our Voyage.
He'll make a sweet return else of his Credit.

Yeom.
One fit of our own mirth, and then we are for you.

Guard.
Make haste then, dispatch.

Yeom.
There's day enough, Sir.

Cook.
Come, Boys, sing chearfully, we shall ne'r sing younger.
We have chosen a loud tune too, because it should like well.

[Boys.]
The SONG.

Cook.
There's a few Copies for you; now farewel friends:
And good Mr. Sheriff let me not be printed
With a brass Pot on my head.

But.
March fair, march fair, afore, good Captain Pantler.

Pant.