 | The Traytor |  |
Actvs Qvintvs.
Enter Sciarrha and Amidea.Sci.
The doores are fast,
Enough is wept alreadie for Pisano:
Of greater consequence: I am yet unsafe,
That for thy sake am guiltie of his blood.
Am.
Though all my stocke of teares were spent alreadie
Upon Pisanoes losse, and that my braine
Were banquerout of moisture, and deni'd
To lend my griefe one drop more for his Funerall;
Yet the remembrance that you have made
A forfeit of your deare life
Is able to create a weeping spring
Within my barren head: oh my lost brother,
Thou hast a cruell destinie, my eies
In pittie of thy fate desire to drowne thee.
The Law will onely seeke thee upon land,
Hid in my teares, thou shalt prevent the stroake
Kills both our name and thee.
Sci.
I know thou lov'st me
Poore Girle. I shall desire to cherrish life
Jf thou lament me thus: so rich a comfort
Will tempt me, wish I might delay my journie
To Heaven.
Am.
Good Heaven that we might goe together.
Sci.
That must not be.
Am.
Then let me goe before.
Sci.
How?
Am.
Make my suite unto the Prince, my blood
May be your ransome; let me die, Sciarrha
My life is fruitlesse unto all the world,
The Duke in justice will not denie this:
And though I weepe in telling thee, I shall
Smile on the Scaffold.
Sci.
How my Honour blushes
To heare thee Amidea? in this love
Thou woundst me more, then thou desir'st to save:
Suffer for me? why thou art innocent:
I have provok'd the punishment, and dare
Obey it manly; if thou couldst redeeme me
With any thing but death, I thinke I should
Consent to live, but I'de not have thee venture
All at one chance.
Nothing can be too precious
To save a brother, such a loving brother
As you have beene.
Sci.
Death's a devouring gamester,
And sweepes up all: what thinkst thou of an eye?
Couldst thou spare one, and thinke the blemish recōpenc'd,
To see me safe with tother; or a hand,
This white hand, that hath so often
With admiration trembled on the Lute,
Till we have prayd thee leave the strings awhile,
And laid our eares close to thy Ivorie fingers,
Suspecting all the Harmonie proceeded
From their owne motion, without the neede
Of any dull or passive instrument.
No Amidea, shalt not beare one scarre
To buy my life: the sickle shall not touch
A flower that growes so faire upon his stalke:
Thy tother hand will misse a white companion,
And wither on thy arme; what then can I
Expect from thee to save me? I would live
And owe my life to thee, so 'twere not bought
Too deere.
Am.
Doe you beleeve I should not finde
The way to Heaven: were both mine eyes thy ransome,
I shall clime up those high and rugged cliffes
Without a hand.
Sci.
One way there is, if thou
Doest love with that tendernesse.
Am.
Pronounce it,
And let no danger that attends, incline you
To make a pause.
Sci.
The Duke thou knowst did love thee.
Am.
Ha?
Sci.
Nay doe not start alreadie, nor mistake me;
I doe not as before, make triall of thee,
Whether thou canst, laying aside thy honour,
Meete his lascivious armes, but by this vertue
I must beseech thee to forgoe it all,
And turne a sinfull woman.
Am.
Blesse me!
Sci.
I know the kingdomes of the world containe not
That will so much undoe thee: but I am
Thy brother, dying brother; if thou lov'st
Him therefore, that for thee hath done so much;
Died his pale hands in blood to revenge thee,
And in that murder wounded his owne soule
Almost to death, consent to loose thy innocence:
I know it makes thee grieve, but I shall live
To love thee better for it: wee'le repent
Together for our sinnes, and pray and weepe
Till Heaven hath pardon'd all.
Am.
Oh never, never.
Sci.
Doe but repeat thy words, to save my life,
And that will teach compassion: my life,
Our shame, the staine of all our familie,
Which will succeede in my ignoble death;
Thou washest off.
Am.
But staine my selfe for ever.
Sci.
Where? in thy face, who shall behold one blemish,
Or one soot more in thy whole frame, thy beautie
Will be the very same, thy speech, thy person
Weare no deformitie.
Am.
Oh doe not speake
So like a rebell to all modestie,
To all Religion, if these arguments
Spring from your jealousie that I am falne,
After a proofe you did so late applaude.
Sci.
I had not killd Pisano then: I am now
More spotted then the Marble, then my head
Did owe no forfeiture to Law:
It does ake now, then I but tried thy vertue.
Now my condition calls for mercy to thee,
Though to thy selfe thou appeare cruell for't:
Come we may live both if you please.
Am.
I must never
Buy my poore breath at such a rate, who has
Made you afraide to die: I pittie you,
And wish my selfe in any noble cause
Your Leader, when our soules shall leave this dwelling,
Is above all the scutcheons on our tombe,
Or silken banners over us.
Sci.
So valiant,
J will not interpose another sillable
To entreate your pittie say your prayers, and then
Thar't ripe to be translated from the earth,
To make a Cherubine.
Am.
What meanes my brother?
Sci.
To kil you.
Am.
Doe not fright me good Sciarrha.
Sci.
And I allow three minutes for your devotion.
Am.
Will you murder mee?
Sci.
D'ee tremble?
Am.
Not at the terror of your sword,
But at the horror will affright thy soule,
For this blacke deed: J see Pisanos blood
Is texted in thy forehead, and thy hands
Retaine too many, too many crimson spots already
Make not thy selfe, by murthering of thy sister
All a red letter,
Sci.
You shall be the martir.
Am.
Yet stay, is there no remedie but death,
And from your hand? then keepe your word, & let me
Use one short prayer.
Sci.
J shall relent.
Am.
Forgive me heaven, and witnesse J have still
Kneels.
My Virgin thoughts, tis not to save my life,
But his eternall one.
Sciarrha give me leave to vaile my face,
Rises.
J dare not looke uppon you and pronounce,
J am too much a sister, live, hereafter
I know you will condemne my frailty for it.
I will obey the Duke.
Sci.
Darst thou consent.
Wounds her.
Am.
Oh let me see the wound
She unvails.
Tis well, if any other hand had done it:
Some Angell tell my brother now, I did
But seeme consenting.
Sci.
Ha but seeme?
Am.
You may beleeve my last breath.
Sci.
Why didst say so?
Am.
To gaine some time, in hope you might call in
Of being my murderer; but Heaven forgive thee.
Sci.
Agen, agen, forgive me Amidea,
And pray for me, live but a little longer,
To heare me speake, my passion hath betraid
Thee to this wound, for which I know not whether
I should rejoyce, or weepe, since thou art vertuous:
The Duke, whose soule is blacke agen, expects thee
To be his whoore: good Death be not so hastie.
The Agent for his lust, Lorenzo, has
My Oath to send thee to his bed: for otherwise
In my deniall, hell; and they decree
When I am dead, to ravish thee: marke that,
To ravish thee: and I confesse in teares,
As full of sorrow, as thy soule of innocence,
In my religious care to haue thee spotlesse,
I did resolve, when I had found thee ripe,
And nearest Heaven, with all thy best desires
To send thee to thy peace: thy faind consent
Hath brought thy happinesse more earelie to thee,
And sav'd some guilt, forgive me altogether.
Am.
With the same heart I beg Heaven for my selfe,
Farewell.
Sci.
Thou shalt not die yet Amidea Sister.
Florio knockes.
I cannot come:
But one word more: oh which way went thy soule?
Or is it gone so farre it cannot heare me?
Florio breakes ope the doore.
Flo.
Looke, here's our Sister! so, so, chafe her:
She may returne; there is some motion.
Flo.
Sister?
Sci.
Speake aloud Florio, if her spirit be not
Departed, I will seale this passage up:
I feele her breath agen, heres Florio
Would faine take his leave; so, so, she comes.
Flo.
Amidea, how came this wound?
Am.
I drew the weapon to it:
Heaven knowes my brother lov'd me: now I hope
Sciarrha, tell the rest, love one another
The time you live together: Ile pray for you
In Heaven, farewell, kisse me when I am dead;
You else will stay my journie.
She dyes.
Sci.
Didst not heare
An Angell call her? Florio, I have much
To tell thee, take her up; stay I will talke
A little more with her, she is not dead,
Let her alone; nay then shee's gone indeede.
But hereabouts her soule must hover still:
Lets speake to that, faire Spirit.
Flo.
You talke idly.
Sci.
Doe you talke wisely then? an excellent patterne
As she now stands for her owne Alablaster:
Or may she not be kept from putrifaction,
And be the very figure on her Tombe:
Cannot thy teares and mine preserve her Florio?
If we want brine, a thousand Virgins shall
Weepe every day upon her, and themselves
In Winter, leaning round about her Monument,
Being moist creatures, stiffen with the cold,
And freeze into so many white supporters.
But we loose time, I charge thee by thy lo
To this pale Relique, be instructed by me,
Not to thy danger; some revenge must be,
And I am lost alreadie; if thou fall,
Who shall survive to give us Funerall?
Exeunt.
Enter Lorenzo and Petruchio.
Lo.
Petruchio?
Pe.
My Lord.
Lo.
Th'art now my servant.
Pe.
I ever was in heart your humblest vassall.
Lo.
Th'art faithfull, I must cherish thy desert,
I shortly shall reward it, very shortly;
Next morning must salute me Duke; the Sunne
And I must rise together.
Pe.
I shall pray
Your glory may out-shine him in your Florence,
Apd when he sets, we may enjoy your Sun-beame.
Lo.
Tis hansome flattery, and becomes a Courtier.
J flatter not my Lord.
Lo.
Then th'art a foole:
No Musicke to a Great man chimes so sweetly:
And men must thrive, come hither, how many
Hast thou killd?
Pe.
But one my Lord.
Lo.
But one?
Pe.
And J must owe
My life to your Lordship, I had beene hang'd else.
Lo.
But one? waite at the doore, he is
Not fit to kill a Duke, whose hand is guiltie
But of a single murder; or at least
Not fit alone to act it: J ha beene
Practis'd already, and though no man see't,
Nor scarse the eye of Heaven, yet every day
I kill a Prince, appeare thou Tragicke witnesse.
Hee discovers the Dukes Picture, a Ponyard sticking in it.
Which though it bleed not, I may boast a Murder:
Here first the Duke was painted to the life:
But with this Pencill to the death: I love
My braine for the invention, and thus
Confirm'd, dare trust my resolution.
I did suspect his youth, and beautie might
Winne some compassion when J came to kill him:
Or the remembrance that he is my Kinsman,
Might thrill my blood: or something in his Title,
Might give my hand repulse, and startle Nature:
But thus J have arm'd my selfe against all pittie,
That when J come to strike, my Ponyard may
Through all his charmes as confidently wound him,
As thus J stab his Picture, and stare on it.
Me thinkes the Duke should feele me now: is not
His soule acquainted; can he lesse then tremble
When J lift up my arme to wound his counterfeit?
Witches can persecute the lives of whom
They hate, when they torment their sencelesse figures,
And sticke the waxen modell full of pinnes.
Can any stroke of mine carrie lesse spell
To wound his heart, sent with as great a malice?
He smiles, he smiles upon me: J will digge
And hollow Cells with two pitch burning Tapers:
Then place thee Porter in some Charnell house
To light the Coffins in.
Enter Petruchio.
Pet.
My Lord.
Lor.
The Duke's not come alreadie.
Pet.
Signior Florio desires to speake with you.
Lor.
This must retire agen into my Closet: admit him.
Enter Florio.
Welcome, how does Sciarrha?
Flo.
He commends
His service to your Lordship, and hath sent—
Lor.
His Sister?
Flo.
Much adoe he had to effect it:
He hopes his Grace will quickly signe his pardon.
Lor.
It shall be done.
Flo.
I have a suite my Lord.
Lor.
To me?
Flo.
My Sister would intreate your Honour
She may be admitted privately and that
I may have priviledge to prepare her chamber:
She does retaine some modestie, and wo'd not
Trust every servant with her shame: their eies
Are apt to instruct their tongues.
Lor.
I wonot see her my selfe, command what you desire.
Flo.
Y'are gracious.
Lor.
Ile give directions instantly: poore Ladie,
This is the Dukes hot blood, but Heaven convert him:
Follow me good Florio.
Flo.
I attend my Lord.
Lor.
Things shall be carried honourably.
Flo.
We are all bound to you.
Exeunt.
Recorders.
Amidea discoverd in a Bed, prepar'd by two Gentlewomen.
1
This is a sad imploiment.
2
The last we e're shall doe my Ladie.
Enter Florio.
Flo.
So, now you may returne, it will become
Your modest duties, not to enquire the reason
Y'ave bin commanded; let mee looke upon
Ex. gentlewomen.
My sister now, still she retaines her beautie,
Death has beene kinde to leave her all this sweetnesse.
Thus in a morning have I oft saluted
My sister in her chamber, sate upon
Her bed, and talkt of many harmelesse passages,
But now tis night, and a long night with her,
I neere shall see these Curtaines drawne agen
Untill wee meet in heaven. The Duke already.
Enter Duke and Lorenzo.
Du.
May I beleeve?
Lo.
Trust me my Lord hereafter.
Du.
Call mee no more thy Lord, but thy companion
I will not weare that honor in my title,
Shall not be thine. Whoe's that?
Lo.
Her brother Florio.
Du.
She is a bed.
Lor.
The readier for your pastime.
She meanes no make a night on't.
Flo.
This shall declare thee to posteritie
The best of Sisters—what of that? and is not
A brothers life more precious then a trifle?
I prithee doe not sigh: how many Ladies
Would be ambitious of thy place to night?
And thanke his Highnesse? yes, and Virgins too.
Du.
He pleades for me.
Lo.
He will deserve some office 'bout your person.
Du.
With what words shall I expresse my joy?
Lo.
I leave you sir to action, Florio
Is soone dismist.
Exit.
Flo.
Hee's come: good-night—
Du.
Florio?
Flo.
Your Slave.
Du.
My friend! thou shalt be neere our bosome.
Flo.
Pleasures crowne your expectation.
Exit.
Du.
All perfect, till this minute, I could never
Boast I was happie: all this world has not
A blessing to exchange, this world? tis Heaven;
And thus I take possession of my Saint:
Asleepe already? 'twere great pitty to
Tir'd with the bodies weight, it must convey
Into her slumbers I waite here, and thus
Seale my devotion—what winter dwels
Kisses.
Upon this lip? twa's no warme kisse, Ile try
Agen—the snow is not so cold, I have
Drunke ice, and feele a numbnesse spred through
My blood at once—ha? let me examine
A little better; Amidea, she is dead, shee is dead!
What horror doth inuade me? helpe Lorenzo;
Murder, where is Lorenzo?
Enter Lorenzo and Petruchio.
Lo.
Heere my Lord.
Du.
Some Traitor hid within the chamber, see
My Amidea's dead.
Lo.
Dead? tis impossible,
Yee, sh'as a wound upon her breast.
Du.
I prethee kill mee:
They wound him.
Ha wilt thou murder mee, Lorenzo, villaine?
Oh spare me to consider, I would live
A little longer: Treason.
Lo.
A little longer say'ee
It was my duty to obey you sir.
Pet.
Lets make him sure my Lord.
Lo.
What would you say? no cares but ours
Can reach his voice, but be not tedious.
Du.
Oh spare mee, I may live and pardon thee:
Thy Prince begs mercy from thee, that did never
Deny thee any thing; pittie my poore soule,
I have not prayed.
Lo.
I could have wish'd you better
Prepard, but let your soule e'en take his chance.
Wounds him agen.
Du.
No teare prevaile? oh whither must wander
Thus Cæsar fell by Brutus. I shall tell
Newes to the world I goe to, will not bee
Beleevd, Lorenzo kild me.
Lo.
Will it not?
Ile presently put in security.
I am comming Amidea, I am comming
For thee inhumane murderer, expect
My blood shall flie to heaven, and there inflam'd,
Hang a prodigious meteor all thy life.
And when by some as bloody hand as thine
Thy soule is ebbing forth, it shall descend
In flaming drops upon thee: oh I faint!
Thou flattering world farewell: let Princes gather
My dust into a glasse, and learne to spend
Their hower of state, that's all they have; for when
Thats out, times never turnes the glasse agen.
Dies.
Lo.
So lay him beside his mistresse, hide their faces,
The Duke dismist the traine came with him.
Pe.
He did my Lord.
Lo.
Run to Sciarrha, pray him come, and speake wo'mee,
Secure his passage to this Chamber, haste,
Exit Pet.
Hee's dead; Ile trust him now, and his ghost too;
Fools start at shadowes, I'me in love with night
And her complexion.
Enter Petr.
Pe.
My Lord, hee's come without your summons.
Lo.
Already? leave us.
Enter Sciarrha, and Florio.
Welcome, let embraces
Chaine us together, noble Florio welcome:
But I must honor thy great soule.
Sci.
Wheres the Duke?
Lo.
They are a bed together.
Sci.
Ha?
Lo.
Hee's not stirring yet:
Thou kildst thy sister, didst not?
Sci.
I preserv'd her.
Lo.
So it was bravely done.
Sci.
But wheres the wanton Duke?
Lo.
A sleepe I tell you.
Sci.
And hee shall sleepe eternally.
You cannot wake him, looke you.
Sci.
Is he dead?
Lo.
And in his death we two begin our life
Of greatnesse, and of Empire, nay hee's dead.
Sci.
That labour's sav'd.
Lo.
Now I pronounce Sciarrha,
Thy pardon, and to recompence thy losse,
The share of Florence, Ile but weare the title,
The power weele devide.
Sci.
I like this well:
You told a tale once of a common wealth
And libertie.
Lo.
It was to gaine a faction
With discontented persons, a fine tricke
To make a buzze of reformation.
My ends are compas'd: hang the ribble rabble.
Sci.
Shall wee sweat for the people? loose our breath
To get their fame?
Lo.
Ile have it given out
The Duke did kill thy sister.
Sci.
Excellent.
Lo.
Having first ravish'd her, he cannot bee
Too hatefull; it will dull the examination
Of his owne death, or if that come to question—
Sci.
What if I say, I kild him in revenge
Of Amidea? they will pittie mee.
Beside, 'twil be in your power to pardon
Mee altogether.
Lo.
Most descreetely thought on.
Sci.
The Divell wonot leave us o'the suddaine.
Lo.
Rare wit:
How hastily hee climbs the the precipice,
From whence one Fillup topples him to ruine:
Wee two shall live like brothers.
Sci.
stay wee two—now I consider better,
I have no minde to live at all—& you shanot,
Ile give you proofe, if you but make a noise,
you gallop to the Divell.
Lo.
I'me betraid.
To death inevitable, brother be you
Spectator onely.
Lo.
This is somewhat noble.
Sci.
Thanke mee not Lorenzo, Ile not engage
His innocence to blood, thy hands are white,
Preserve e'm Florio, and unlesse my arme
Grow feeble, doe not interpose thy sword
I charge thee.
Lo.
None to assist mee? helpe Petruchio, helpe.
They fight, Enter Petruchio, who offering to runne at Sciarrha, is intercepted by Florio, Petruchio, runs in crying helpe, Florio makes fast the doore.
Lo.
Reach thy jawes wider villaine, cry out murder,
Treason, any thing; hold—oh.
Lo. fals.
Sci.
Will you not fall Colosus?
Flo.
Are not you hurt?
Sci.
I know not. Ha? yes he has prick'd me somewhere
But Ile make sure of him; now must I follow:
Ile fight with him i'th tother world—thy hand,
Florio. Farewell.
Dies.
Flo.
Hees dead too: tis in vaine for me to fly
Within.
Breake open the dores.
Flo.
You shanot neede.
Enter Petruchio, Cosmo, Allonso, Frederico, with guard.
Al.
Disarme him.
Cos.
Lorenzo, and Sciarrha slaine?
Al.
Where is the Duke?
Pet.
Looke heere my Lords.
Al.
What Traitor?
Fre.
See Amidea murderd too.
Cos.
I tremble, heere is a heape of Tragedies.
Al.
Wee must have an account from Florio.
Flo.
He can informe you best that brought you hither.
Al.
Lay hands upon Petruchio, disarme him.
What blood is that upon his sword? tis fresh.
Pet.
I'me caught.
Cos.
To tortures with him.
Pet.
Spare your furie, know
Twas the best blood in Florence, I must quit
Young Florio; Lorenzo, and my selfe,
Are onely guilty of the princes death.
Al.
Inhumane traitors?
Co.
But who kild Amidea?
Flo.
The Dukes lust:
There was no other way to save her honor,
My brother has revengd it heere, but fate,
Denyde him triumph.
Al.
I never heard
Such killing stories, but tis meet, wee first
Settle the state, Cosmo you are the next
Of blood to challenge Florence.
Cos.
Pray deferre
That till the morning, drag that murderer
To prison: Florio, you must not expect
Your liberty, til all things be exam'nd.
Lorenzo, now I am above thy malice,
And will make satisfaction to Oriana.
Tis a sad night my Lords, by these you see
There is no stay in proud mortality.
Exeunt.
FINIS.
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