University of Virginia Library

Actus Tertius.

Enter Lord Fitzavarice, and Bellamia.
Lo.
What shall I say? consent, deere Ladie, to
Be mine, and thou shat tast more happinesse,
Then womans fierce ambition can persue;
Shift more delights, then the warme-spring can boast
Varietie of leaves, or wealthie harvest
Graine from the teeming earth. Joy shall dry all
Thy teares, and take his throne up, in thy eies,
Where it shall sit, and blesse what e're they shine on.
The night shall Sowe her pleasures in thy bosome,
And morning shall rise only to salute thee.

Bel.
Enough, too much. My Lord, I hop'd when last
Your importunitie inforc'd my promise
Of other answer, I should never see you,
If being a sad prisoner to my chamber,
Might have prevented your accesse: but since
I am betraid to this discourse, receive
What the necessitie of fate compells to.

Lo.
Another answer?

Bel.
Yes, but such an one
As must at least challenge affinitie
With what I said before: not your estate,
Though multiplied to Kingdomes, and those wasted
With your invention, to serue my pleasures,
Have power to bribe my life away from him,
To whose use I am bid to weare it; be yet just,
And seeke no further to pollute the streame
Of my chast thoughts, Ile rather choose to die
Poore wife to Peregrine, then live a Kings
Inglorious strumpet, can you thinke my Lord,
Should I give up my freedome to your bende,
And for the pride of wealth, sell woman in mee,
(For she must loose that name, that once turnes whore)
Could I arrive at impudence enough
To come abroad, and not be mou'd to heare
My shame from every tongue, but scorne my infamie,
(As tis the nature of this sinne to strengthen
It selfe still with a greater) could you thinke,
If noe religion can correct your wildnesse,
Anothers price, or pleasure, would not buy mee
Even from your armes? there is no faith in lust,
And she that dares be false to one she loves,
Will twine with all the world, and never blush for't,
Kisse, and betraie as often. Thinke on this,
And call your selfe home,

Lo.
Lady, I have heard you,
And doe allow the excuse, I doe not urge,
Although your husbands absence may plead for't,
You should be generallie at my dispose,
Disclaime all place, and person, but what's mine.
I am not so ambitious, my desires
Are humble, and beg only so much favour
To admit me to one service, (you know what
To understand by it) and if you like not
My activitie handsomelie, discharge mee agen.

Bel.
Worse then infection, how dare you speake
This blasphemie to honor, or I heare it?

Lo.
I'ts not to be avoyded, I have secur'd
Your Chamber, Ladie.

Bel.
Innocence defend mee.

Lo.
Once more, and nature worke,
You say you love your husband, and account
His absence the misfortune, that doth sit
Most heavie on your soule, this is increas'd
By the dispaire of his returne; since all
Hop's fled, to satisfie his deepe ingagements,
Which threaten ruine here, I have a mortgage
Of his, for summs lent by my thriving father,
Your joynture, (but releast by you, I take it)
I am so much a servant to thy beautie,
The first night I embrace thy delicate bodie,
The Lands thy owne agen, a round encouragement.

Bel.
What doe I heare?

Lo.
If Lords should pay so deare for every capering,
T'wou'd trie the backe of their estate: but marke mee,
I ha not done, summe up his other debts,
They swell to thousands, be but faire condition'd,
For everie time thou admitst mee after, to thy
Pillow, I'le strike of an hundred pound,
Till all the debts be unravel'd: In the meane time
Thy husband shall returne, and walke the Towne,
Tree as an Alder-man, and be mace-proofe,
Shall live, and lie with thee, and love thee too,
And praise thee for this noble composition,
What saist? I finde thy wisedome comming to thee.
Should it be knowne, who'le thinke the worse of thee?
Alas, good soule, 'twas pure love to thy husband.
They must imagine, wrought with thee. What woman
But would to save a husbands life, and fortune,
Venture a trifle? nay they shall commend
Thy act, and reade the storie to their children.
And envy the example was not theirs,
I shall have all the blame, but i'le endur't
For thy sake, all the tyrannie will be mine,
But to secure thy peace, and doe thy husband
A curtesie, I'le runne a thousand hazards.
Doe I appeare now?

Bel.
Yes, a glorious monster.
Good Heaven!

Lo.
Once more, will you consent?

Bel.
Never oh, never: let mee tell you, sir,
You have so litle prevail'd upon my Love,
That allmost I forget my charitie
Y'are a bad man: I'le sooner meet a basiliske, and be one.

Lo.
Nay then.— Hee drawes his Poynard.


Bel.
What doe you meane?

Lo.
Shee faints.

Dormant above.
Dor.
Peace you'le wake my master.

Lo.
Helpe here, the Ladie Peregrine is dead.

Dor.
If shee be dead, shee wonot make a noyse,
Would al i'th house were dead, we should be at quiet.
Carrie your selfe civillie an i'le send somebody.

Lo.
I shall be in for murther, oh my fate!

Enter Jacintha, Lady Plott.
Ia.
Alas my sister, what ha you done, my Lord?

Lo.
I know not the extent of my offence,
But trust me, ile not flie past the next Chamber.
Shew your best charitie, oh my soule is wounded.

Exit.
La.
Shee returnes, give her more ayre.

Ia.
Oh my poore sister, welcome to life agen.

Bel.
I know you both, is no bodie else with you?

La.
No Madam.

Bel.
Not my Lord?

La.
I'le carrie him the newes of her recoverie.

Bel.
Praie let mee see him.

Enter Lord, and Lady Plott.
Ia.
Hee's here too soone.

La., Plo.
Cheere up your spirit my Lord, and speake to her,
Shee is alive, and likelie.

Bel.
You may come
A litle neerer, if there be no change
In minde, there is in countenance, my Lord,
I have had a short, but pleasing vision,
My thought from a steepe precipice, as you were falling
Into the Sea, an arme chain'd to a Cloud,
Caught hold, and drew you up to Heaven.

Lo.
If you dare heare mee speake
Agen, I dare say more, but to your eare.

Bel.
I feele a new, and secure confidence.
Will you vouchsafe us favor?

Ia.
Wee'le not bee
At to much distance.

Exeunt Ia. and Lady Plott.
Lo.
Can there bee a hope,
After so great a wrong, to finde a mercie?
You must bee more then woman, and you are so.
It was the errour of my soule that drew
The heavie mist upon my eies, they now
See, and admire your innocence, oh Madam,
I have two mightie passions within me;
Two, that are wellcome, yet extreames, a Joy,
To see you live, and sorrow for my trespasse
Against so bright a chastitie, to which,
I kneele within my hart, and aske forgivenesse.

Bel.
If this be earnest, 'tis a heavenlie language.

Lo.
I feele a holie flame disperse rich heate,
About me, the corruption of my blood
Is fallen awaie, and of that virtue, which
A divell in mee would have betrayd, I rise
A servant, and admirer, live, oh live,
Thou best of wives, and practise still new wonders
Vpon the hart of lust transformed men,
Vntill time boast, the example of thy faith
Hath purg'd the world, and taught us how to count
Our howers by thy miracles? I am
In love now with thy goodnesse, by thy selfe
I am, and by some rare, and unknowne act,
Must make a recompence to that faire honour,
I would ha' blasted, once againe forgive mee,
And hide the shame, my soule does blush to thinke on.

Exit.
Bel.
This is an noble change, and speaks his nature
Not barren, when good seedes are trusted with it.

Enter Lady Plott, and Jacintha.
Ia.
Hee's gone.

Plo.
And did not minde us.

Bel.
I am sorie,
I could have chain'd my eares to his discourse,
And willinglie ha growne old to have heard him:
Madam, the Character of praise you gave him,
Is short of that true noblenesse I finde.

Plo.
And yet you were not willing to beleeve it.
I thinke I know a man.

Ia.
How is this sister?
I hope y'are not in earnest, though hee bee
A Lord, as who can helpe, in my judgement
There are noe mountaines of such noblenesse
As you commend his talke, if he speake not:
Another language to the eare, could never.
Ravish my understanding, though I must
Confesse 'tis wild enough, I doe beginne
To feare you, sister.

Bel.
Bee more charitable,
I apprehend your trouble, and shall give you
A faire account of his, and my owne honour.
I could bee merrie now.

Exit.
Plo.
Here are Gentlemen.

Ia.
My customers.

Enter Confident, Vayne-man, Pumicestone.
Con.
Where is my Lord?

Bel.
Hee's gone, sir.

Con.
I am sure hee has left a hart behind with you,
Most excellent of beauties, in whose trust,
'Tis safer, and more warme, then in his bosome,
Doe you not finde him a brave Gentleman?
He has but one fault Ladie, hee's to modest:
But your discretion must helpe that.

Bel.
I honour him.

Con.
Tis well and wiselie done.

Bel.
Pray tell mee, sir,
I have heard a litle tryall of your wit,
Are you honest too?

Con.
Honest too?
I never did suspect your Ladyships
Breeding, and yet this question in publike,
Would stagger the opinion.

Bel.
But you having a leading voyce.

Con.
I ha not art to helpe you,
Though I confesse, I might orerule some witts
O'th lower classe, are you honest too?
Besides the freedome of my birth, and wealth
Of blood, I boast no over-swelling fortunes,
As to what purpose, should my witts bee clog'd
With heavie acres, when the Town's Exchequer
Is mine, and every Mercer is my Tenant,
If he pretend to wit, and hope to justifie
His shop-booke, and orthographie of his bills:
I would not have the scandall on my name,
To be cal'd honest, i'th strickt sense I meane,
And as it tyes my blood up, for a Duke-dome:
But you are for my Lord, and I allow it.
How thrive my gallants here?

Ia.
They cannot choose
But prosper, sir, and much the better for
Your commendations.

Va.
You may take his opinion Ladie, tis authenticke.

Ia.
But a litle of your patience: if I found
Within me, that strong appetite to marrie,
Who shall protect me from the statute gentlemen?
If it be fellonie to have two husbands,
I will not marrie above one for certaine.

Con.
Shees right for that, 'tis dangerous.

Pu.
Cast lotts.

Ia.
And tie my love to chance, forbid discretion.

Va.
Choose whom you love best.

Ia.
That's to bee resolu'd
By your demonstration, who loves me best,
For if there be, marke what I tell you, Gentlemen,
But the hundred part of a graine difference,
In your affections, beshrew mee, if
I choose the lightest.

Both.
How's this?

Con.
Wisdome Gentlemen,
And must bee allow'd.

Pu.
Let him bee the judge,
Hee knowes us both to a scruple.

Con.
Excuse me Gentlemen,
'Tis fit the Ladie satisfie her judgment,
Although I hate partialitie, it becomes not
I should bee here definitive, to perplexe
The freedome of her choice.

Va.
What thinke you to agree among our selves?

Ia.
Sure hee that dares
Doe most for my sake will deserue mee best.

Con.
Dee heare that resolution, bee rul'd
I'le open such a path to your ambition—

Pu.
No more.

Va.
At our next visit, you shall know us Ladie,

Plo.
Nay Gentlemen letts to gleeke.

Va.
Commaund us Madam.

Plo.
You and my Cozen may
To the same exercise.

Bel.
I would bee excused
For some few minuites.

Con.
If it please you Lady,
Weele passe that time at sant: did you not finde
My Character true of those rotten glo-wormes?

Ia.
You did a high favor.

Con.
you consult
Your honor in the acknowledgment, I waite you.

Ia.
When will you open, sir, the booke of destinie
And read the name you talke on? I am confident,
He must be master of an active soule
Whom you preferre, if I mislike his person,
I'le marry his wit, but we loose time, you'le follow.

Exeunt
Manet Lady Bellamia.
Bel.
Methinkes I feele some new accesse of comfort,
Something that tells me, I am neere a blessing,
Or else my poore hart flatters mee.

Enter Page.
Pa.
My Lord commanded me present you his best service,
And with it, these: he bad mee say, they are
Prologue to that reward hee hath design'd
Your virtue, I was glad to heare him say so,
And never went more nimblie on his message.

Bel.
The mortgage? this confirmes me, he is noble,
A wealthie Carkanet; though I cannot merit
This bountie from him, I am rich in thank's.
But prethee tell me boy, didst not thou bring
Letters, and other Jewells to me?

Pa.
Yes.

Bel.
If I remember, you did speake an other
Meaning, then what you now deliver.

Pa.
Madam,
Although the narrow tie of dutie bind mee,
To the discharge of his commands, which it
Becomes no servant to dispute, I meete
Honest imployments with more cherefullnesse.

Bel.
Thou hast a modest countenance, here's to buy the
Garters, and Roses.

Pa.
When I goe upon
Lascivious errands, Madam, I take monie,
There is no other benefit belongs to 'em,
But good ones pay themselves, I am rewarded,
I shall have cause to thanke you for my Lord,
If he preserue this temper.

Exit.
Bel.
A good boy: this is not the religion of all Pages.
They are a present worth acceptance,
The piety came with 'em more then doubles
Their value, if vice blush not at rewards,
There is no shame for virtue to receive them:
But What's all this to me, that am poore still
Without my Peregrine? who all this while
Treads the uneaven path of warre, and danger,
This verie minute, for ought I can tell,
Wounded upon some service, or ingag'd,
To stand the murdring Cannon, oh, my blood
Growes pale within me to imagine, what
Horror attends the Soldier

Enter Dormant.
Dor.
Madam, Madam.

Bel.
Ha, my hart trembles.

Dor.
Sir Walter Peregrine.

Bel.
Thy lookes speake comfort, what of him?

Dor.
Hee is return'd.

Bel.
Landed?

Dor.
Hee's marching up the staires, with another soldade
Tough as his Jerkin, he has a tilting feather,
And lookes soe desperatelie, I feare they have
Brought home two regiments that wonot bee
Casheer'd without a shift.
Enter Sir Walter Peregrine, and a Captaine.
They are here allready.

Bel.
Oh! let me flie into his armes, my Peregrine.

Sir.
My best of life!

Bel.
Let teares of Joy salute thee,
Wellcome, ten thousand wellcomes.

Sir.
I embrace
Millions of blisse in thee, but let not our
Joy make us unmannerlie, bestow
One welcome on my friend.

Bel.
Your pardon, sir,
If after many yeeres of absence, I
Dwell long upon a husbands entertainment,
And if you thinke I have exprest a truth
Of joy to see him, you will easilie
Beleeve the man, whom hee calls friend, is welcome.

Cap.
Madam, you honour mee, it were a sinne
Not to bee confident.

Sir.
And are wee met?

Bel.
Never I hope to part agen, 'tis time
Wee now should grow together.

Cap.
You'le dispence
With mee for some howers, I have friends expect
At my returne a visit.

Sir.
I shall not
Desire you to let fall no mention
Of mee, the litle stay I purpose here,
You may imagine, carries danger with it.

Cap.
I Hope you know me better.

Exit.
Sir.
Noblest friend.

Bel.
I heard some words sound most unkindly from you,
You nam'd a litle stay, have I scarce seene
My happinesse, and must be sad againe
To thinke it will so soone be ravish'd from mee?

Sir.
Alas my poore Bellamia, I have made
No purchase but of wounds, since my departure,
I have paide some debts of warre, but cannot promise
To cancell one, that threatens mee at home;
What wee have more then to supplie our wants,
Consumes on the Drum head, I was ambitious
To see thee, and this gentleman returning
With expectation to levie men
Gave mee the opportunitie, but I dare
Promise my selfe no dwelling here, scarce owne
My face before a sun-beame, I must walke
I'th darke to all the world but thee, Bellamia:
But trust mee, when my body is cal'd hence
By miserie of my fate, it takes not all
The soule it brought, much stayes to waite on thee:
I know it would afflict thee more, to see mee
A prisoner, chain'd to heavie debts, and shame.

Bel.
Thy state is not so lost, and miserable,
As 'tis presented in thy feares, looke here,
And thanke a providence, that smiles upon us,
This is recover'd, wee have some Land
Agen, by whose revenue wee may live,
And expect better fortunes, I have Jewells too,
Bright ones, and rich.

Sir.
You have indeed.

Bel.
Possesse
What I enjoy, and let us live together.

Sir.
It cannot, cannot be, alas Bellamia,
How flattring imagination would cozen us,
I am beyond sea still, in my cold Tent,
Where, though my sleeps be broken with the noyse
Of warre, I now securelie dreame of thee,
And of my comming home, and talking to thee,
That thou art rich in land agen and Jewells,
Shadowes, meere shadowes: I am wearie of
This dreame, some charitable cannon wake me.

Bel.

Sir you may trust your eyes, these are no formes, in aerie
apprehension, but the truth of things, that call you to beleeve,
and use them as timelie benefits: yet I may allow you
to wonder, there's a story will deserve it.

Sir.
I know not what I feare, dee thinke 'tis true then?
I will have reason for this faith, pray tell me,
How came you by this wealth, certainelie I left
No summes to purchase these, more my iniustice
To thee, whose plentifull estate I ruin'd.

Bel.
A friend, a noble friend.

Sir.
That died, and gave thee
A swelling legacie, and thou hast made
This use on't to release thy desperate land,
Buy thee a Carkanet, and this proud blaze
Of other Jewells.

Bel.
If you please to heare mee,
I must declare, these are the bounty of
A living friend.

Sir.
Living?

Bel.
A Gentleman

Sir.
A Gentleman? forbeare I am not well.

Bel.
One you are bound to honour.

Sir.
Tha'st undone me,
Doe not, do not name him,
I know, and feele too much.

Bel.
Beleeve me, sir,
My storie's full of innocence, and when
You have more knowledge of this friend, you'le quit
Your feares, and call him to your hart.

Sir.
My hart:
Is very busie, yet you may tell mee
His name, to whose strange bounty I am so oblig'd.

Bel.
More to his virtue, though his title
Carrie the shine of honor, he has a soule
More glorious; have patience but to heare mee,
You will confesse it, and reward his pietie
With praise above a man, and be in love
With him your selfe.

Sir.
In Love—

Bel.
The Lord Fitzavarice.

Sir.
Ha? the wanton Lord Fitzavarice.
Thou most undone of women, did my absence
So forfit me, or ebbe of wealth corrupt
Thy giddie soule, thou couldst imagine, I
Would thanke thy lust to peece up my wild ruines?
Transforme mee gentle Heaven,
For if I be a man, and hold the knowledge
Of this dishonour, I shall doe an act
Equall to this, and murder this false woman.
Have I thought life not tedious for thy sake,
And in my povertie summ'd up wealth enough
But in my hopes to see thee, were my winters
Not cold, when I but thought I had Bellamia,
Were all the toyles, and troubles of my spring,
Not valued for this harvest? curse upon
Thy Salarie, were it a price to buy
All Kingdoms, that the Sunne e're shed a beame on,
Dam'd from thy bodies infamie, I'de choose
To live i'th galley still, and chain'd to'th oare,
Give up my breath through torture, I'le to prison,
And wellcome all the stings, that want of libertie,
Disease, and famine, can let fall upon mee,
And call thee yet more killing then all they,
Till my hard Creditors forgive mee in pitty,
And curse thee into all I have suffer'd,
Wives shall accuse thy periurie, whose act
Is able to make all the truth suspected,
And Virgins frighted at thy name, resolve
Never to marrie, while the race of men
Curse thee, for whom they nere shall spring agen.
But I let passion foole mee, and my tamenesse
May prompt thee to more sinne, I'le bee reveng'd;
But first on him, that grafted shame upon mee:
It shall bee thy first punishment, to see
Him bleeding, where is he? come what fine conveiances
To keepe your Goate close, till time play the baud,
And secure all your ruttings? I must finde him,
Appeare then staine to honor, Lordly divell:
Where art? Fitzavarice? Fitzavarice!
Enter Dormant.
Whose reeking squire are you sir, ha my Lords?
Shew mee strait where this Fox doth Earth himselfe,
Or I'le—

Dor.
I know not where my Lord is, but ther's one a Bed.

Sir.
A Bed, expecting her, where?

Dor.
But hee's asleepe, you'le wake him.

Sir.
Shew mee villaine quicklie.

Dor.
Oh, this way, sir.

Exeunt.
Bel.
Has miserie a name beyond my suffering?
Hath love, and fortune both conspir'd to drop
Their stings into my bosome?

Within.

Helpe Dormant.

Enter Sir Solitary in his shirt persued by Sir Walter.
Plo.
A plott, a plott to murther me, hold, what art?
My Nephew; ha!

Sir.
'Tis not he, Uncle you must
Excuse my complement, he shall not flie mee.

Exit.
Plo.
Who goes about to flie? he did not wound mee,
A naked man is soone undone, 'tis wisedome
To sleepe hereafter in a shirt of Maile,
When came he hither, from the nether-lands?
Hee is sent upon some murdring designe;
But why with his sword drawne, why not a knife?
Some great man is in danger ha! my Neece weeping,
I'le sift her, Bellamia?

Bel.
Oh my husband, sir.

Sol.
Nay, then there is a plott, whom would he kill?

Bel.
The Lord Fitzavarice.

Sol.
I knew it was some great man must be visited
Beneath the ribbs, men of such vast estates
Are not long lived.

Enter Dormant.
Dor.
I know not what to do, sir,

Sol.
Hee's i'th conspiracy, reveale the plott to me.

Dor.
My fellow Oldrat mett him, sir.

Sol.
Ha, more traitors.
I did suspect that fooles simplicity,
What man is to be trusted? if these men
Thrive in their first attempt, the stat's in danger.
This Oldrat is a politician.
I'le stand upon my guard, entrench, and dare
The Ghost of Tilly.

Dor.
'Tis not verie warme, sir.

Sol.
Your cold considerations are best.
But I'le to bed agen.

Dor.
They are here, oh!

Exit.
Enter Sir Walter, Bell: and Oldrat.
Sol.
Away.
Shall wee bee never free from plotts?

Exit.
Sir. Wal.
Has he beene gone this hower sayst?

Old.
Yes, and please your worship,
Would I were well gon too.

Exit.
Bel.
Yet will you heare me, sir.

Sir.
And trust the language of your teares? they're false,
Your gamester shall weepe blood: here we untwist
Our harts, set up o'th trade, the youth will joyne.
Thou maiest be still Bellamia, but not mine.

Exit.