University of Virginia Library

The fourth ACT

The first Scene

Enter King, and Cardinal.
King.
We're glad my Lord, our business takes so well,
With Spain, in case our people shoo'd rebell.
For they will be to us, a prop and stay,
And on occasion, help us ev'ry way.

Card.
So that they may the better do, I heare
For certain, there's a peace concluding there.
Which for your Majesty, will greatly make,
By reason of this match, if it does take.

King.
We must my Lord, a Navy out of hand
Make fit, to fetch that Princess to our Land,
Who shortly as our Letters say, will be,
Prepar'd, and ready for to put to Sea.
This matter does, our Admiral require,
Of whom to hear no news, we much admire.

Card.
Perhaps he finds resistance in the way,
And that by fair means, they will not obey.

King.
If that by fair means, they will not consent,
Enter Marshal.
We will make them by foul, it to repent.
How now Marshal? what have you done the feat?
What moves you thus? and makes you have this heat?
Where's our Admiral?

Marsh.
Implease you Sir
There's in the City, such a coyle and stir,
Upon the knowledge, of your Highness will,
That ev'ry one betakes him, to his Bill,
And such like weapons, as he can procure,
To save the one, and keep the other sure.
For to be short, they say they'le sooner die,
Then give up either, to your Majestie.
As for your Admiral, they are agree'd,
By law against him, quickly to proceed.
And if they find him, worthy not of Death,
They will by no means, take away his breath.

King.
Ah Heav'ns! Ah Earth! will they give us the Law,
And be obey'd, when they shoo'd stand in awe?
They shall be so, but they must tarry till
We power want, to execute our will.
Go muster up the Countries, ev'rywhere,
And tell them 'tis our pleasure, they appear,
Before our Royal Pallace, two dayes hence,
To serve us in a thing of consequence.
While we in Person, go for to demand,
My Lord, and those two Traytours, at their hand.
Whom, if they do refuse us, wee'le proclaim
Ev'ry several man, to be the same.
My Lord, wee'le leave the Navy to your care,
And out of hand, a Fleet for to prepare.

Card.
Who shall implease your Grace, go out with it?

King.
He that shall seem, unto your wisdom fit.

Exeunt.

The second Scene

Enter Symphrona in a Nuns habit alone.
Sym.
Adieu delights, of you I take my leave,
As of false joyes, which cannot more deceive.
Farewell fond hopes, to you I bid adieu,
As foes, which me more mischief cannot do.
If here below, it is Heav'ns sacred will,
That I must stay, and sojourner be still:
Think not to tempt me, with your golden shews,
Which seem our friends, but prove our mortal foes.
No, no, I'le not my heart, on trifles set,
Which us forsake, so soon as we them get.
I'le something else, more constant surely chuse,
Then that which is so given, to abuse.
A still Religious life, henceforth shall be,
My Hope, my Joy, my Love, and Liberty.
All the pastime, and pleasure I will take,
Shall be with Hallelujahs, Heav'n to shake.
Before whose Altars, I will daily burn
Incense, from me, his anger for to turn.
With watchings, and with fastings, I le subdue,
The idle thoughts, which I am subject too:
And have an eye, still on those Joyes above,
Of which I'me now enamour'd, and in love.

Francina enters.
Fran.
Dear Madam, why thus cloathed like a Nun,
As if you were asham'd, to see the Sun?
Wherefore this longer vail? these blacks and whites,
Which are Monastick, and Religious Rites;
And damage much your Beauty, ev'ry way,
As darkness is injurious, to the day.
Off, off, with them, and like your self appear,
And do not thus Ecclipse, our Hemispheare.

Sym.
Madam, I know my beauty too too well,
To think such pow'r, shoo'd in my person dwell.
I leave that force, and vertue unto you,
Which ev'ry one does know, is but your due.
As for these whites, and blacks, I woo'd not them
Forsake I vow, to wear a Diadem.
There's more content, in these poor simple weeds,
More pleasure far, in saying o're these beads,
Believe me Madam, then in all the sport,
And brave Apparel, which is worn at Court.
Those are but trifles, if compar'd with these,
The thought alone of which, does me displease.

Fran.
Madam, such language yet was never known,
To part from any, but the spleen alone:
Especially from one, so young as you,
Which you shoo'd seek, by Physick to subdue.
For 'tis a naughty evil, and withall,
Begets a worse, which we green sickness call.
'Twere pitty such a handsom piece as you,
By such rude means, shoo'd so yourself undo.
Shoo'd by such stricter observations dry,
That softer skin, so in a Nunnery.
You may no doubt, please Heav'n another way,
And in a Congregation, likewise pray,
As well as Cloyster'd up, within a wall,
In silks, and sattens too, if that be all.
Dear Madam, think what you do go about,
And that 'tis ten to one, if you hold out.

Sym.
There's nothing like, unto a willing mind,
Which Heav'n be praysed, strong in me I find.
As for the spleen, I woo'd that you shoo'd know,
This zeal does nothing, unto that humour owe.
No, no, sweet Madam, 'tis so pure a flame,
That if you knew't, you woo'd not blame the same.

Fran.
I do not blame it Madam, but I know
These holy thoughts, do from my brother grow.
Had he not been took, by the Turks at Sea,
You nee're had thought, upon a Nunnery.

Sym.
Heav'n who does so wisely order all,
To whom we subject are, both great and small:
Decreed'd no doubt, from all Eternity,
That this my good, from his mischance shoo'd be.
To whose misfortune, I'me content to owe,
This resolution, since it must be so.

Fran.
But Madam, 'tis not for devotion sake,
If ought respect, makes you this course to take.
That which is pleasing unto Heav'n above,
Is when one does so, meerly out of love.
But as I've said, perhaps my brother may,
By some devise, escape and get away.
Which if he shoo'd, you'le wish when 'tis too late,
That e're you enter'd, so severe a Gate.

Sym.
Madam 'tis true, I care not who does know,
I love my Lord, 'bove ought that's here below,
Except my honour, which I do esteem,
Equal with that, which one cannot redeem.
Yet when in competition, Heav'n shall come,
Your Brother by your favour, must make room:
Since that to Heav'n, I do not only owe,
My present being, but my soul you know:
To whom I am resolv'd, my self to vow,
Shoo'd he arrive, for to disswade me now.

Fran.
Look where he is, as if that he were sent,
Bellarious enters.
By kinder Heav'n, to hinder your intent.
Welcome dear brother, from the Turkish Coast,
Whom we did fear, for ever we had lost.
Ah Heav'ns! may I believe, and trust my sight,
Or is't his spirit, intervenes my light?
Speak brother, speak, and with your voice make good,
Thar which your outward shew, makes understood.

Bell.
As men o'recome with Joy do silent seem,
Until their former spirits, they redeem.
So I dear Sister, with such like excess,
Am stricken dumb, and cannot it express.
To see Symphrona, whom I long'd to see,
But with more passion, then can utter'd be.
Fair Symphrona, whose absence was to to me,
More pain by far, then my captivity.
What! is my Symphrona likewise dumb?
Or else heard-hearted, is she now become?
Does my appearance, Madam, trouble you,
That you so sad, and heavy now do shew?
Alas! I wisht my freedom, but to have,
Only the honour, for to be your slave.
Which if you do deny me, I shall be,
Sorry that e're I sought, my liberty.

Sym.
The same excess, whereof you spake of now,
So ev'ry part about me, seiz'd I vow:
That had the world, the purchase been to speak,
To purchase it, I had been then to seek:
So much I do rejoyce, at your return,
But sorry am, that you for me shoo'd burn.

Bell.
For whom within my breast, shoo'd I have fire,
If that for you, I may not have desire?

Sym.
For those my Lord, which merit more then I,
For to be short, I've vow'd Virginity.

Bell.
Indeed your habit sayes so, but your mind
I do believe, more gentle and more kind.

Sym.
My inside, and my outside, are alike.

Bell.
Ah Heav'ns! how me with wonder you do strike!
Recall those words, except it be your will,
That they forthwith, shoo'd murder me and kill.

Sym.
I woo'd if that I coo'd, but 'tis too late,
I must not love, and yet I cannot hate.

aside.
Bell.
Good Gods! was ever Lover like to me?
Compar'd with this, sweet is Captivity.
Sweet is the usage of a Turk, I swear,
For half so cruel, they did nee're appear.

Fran.
You are Symphrona, too too constant now,

Sym.
Woo'd you with Heav'n, that I shoo'd break my vow?

Bell.
She's rather too inconstant, you may say.

Sym.
Rather but careful, Heav'n for to obey.

Bell.
Heav'n is too just, to bid you do a thing,
Which to another, will such damage bring;
And to your self, if you remember how,
When I departed, you did constant vow.

Sym.
Am I inconstant, 'cause I heard you were.
Took by the Turks, to be in bondage there?
Who then believing, you woo'd nee're escape,
Made me transform my self, into this shape.
And too likewise, with none but Heav'n to wed,
So loathsom to me, was anothers bed.
Which vow now I have made, I mean to keep;
Did I not know, the profit I shall reap?

Bell.
You were too hasty Madam, for to make,
A vow, which you did mean, such root shoo'd take,
As nought but Death, shoo'd cansel and make void.
Then there's no hopes, by you to be enjoy'd?

Sym.
No, none at all, the most that I can do,
Is to go home my Lord, and pray for you.

Exit.
Bell.
Ah Sister! how is it likely, I shoo'd live,
When she that giveth life, denyes to give!

Fran.
'Tis very strange, that one that did so love,
Shoo'd to so rash a vow, so constant prove!
I cannot chuse, but blame in this your chance;
This had not been, had you not gone to France.

Bell.
But did she love me sister? are you sure?
Did she for me, ought trouble e're endure?

Fran.
She did upon my word, so much that I,
Nee're thought shee'd stand to this, so constantly.

Bell.
The greater's my misfortune, if she did,
Wherefore to grieve, I must not be forbid.

Exeunt.

The third Scene

Enter Zorates and Selucious.
Zor.
The City their affection to us shew:
If that the Countrey, will but do so too,
We shall be able, to reform the King,
And in this Kingdom, ev'ry living thing.
We out of hand, the Admiral must try,
All sorts of people, for to satisfie:
Whom if we find, by Law to merit Death,
We must not spare, to take away his breath.
'Tis better one shoo'd perish, then that all
Shoo'd run the hazard, utterly to fall.

Selu.
The King this morning, very early went,
Into the City, with a full intent,
For to lay hold on us, and set him free,
Shewing unto them, his authority.
Who as I hear, what words so e're he us'd,
Both he, and we, unto him, were refus'd.
What he will do, it does not yet appear,
But if the City stand's, we need not fear.

Zor.
My life for yours, they will be to us true,
And do likewise, what in them lies to do.
They have already, of their own accord,
In our defence, pluckt out and drawn their sword.
What will they do, then for the common cause,
For their Religion, Liberty and Laws?
That which I fear, and which does give me pain,
Is this same match, concluded now with Spain.

Selu.
If that be all, it needs not trouble you,
Since they have work enough, at home to do.
That marriage for the ptesent, cannot be,
Much advantagious, to his Majestie:
By reason, that they are, so poor become,
They cannot give, a considerable summ:
So much the war, betwixt the French and them,
Has ruined, that glorious Diadem.

Zor.
To try them farther, we must to them make
A proposition, the Cardinal to take:
Shewing unto them, how we cannot be,
So long as he does live, in surety:
Which if with zeal, we find them to embrace,
We need not fear, to disoblige his Grace:
For all unto our wishes, woo'd succeed,
Were we but of that Animal, once rid.

Exeunt.

The fourth Scene

Enter Prince alone.
Prince.
How Nature was deceiv'd, when she made me!
No doubt but her intent, was I shoo'd be,
Free from all manner, of contempt and scorn,
When she design'd, a Prince I shoo'd be born.
Unhappy Planet, under whom this earth,
Received first its form, and then its birth,
Why did'st thou destine me unto a Crown,
Yet make me more unhappy, then a Clown!
For which of all my Subjects, I woo'd know,
Does more then I, unto thy malice owe?
Or rather, why did Love make me presume,
To chuse a lodging, where there was no room?
To strike so deep, into my brest a Dart,
For one, that is not Mistress of her heart?
Ah Heav'ns! have I not reason to complain,
To be a Prince, and yet to sue in vain?
To court my Subject, and to be refus'd,
And by him who I trusted, thus abus'd?
Good Gods! whom with our secrets, shall we trust,
If that our bosom friends, prove so unjust?
To whom shall we our thoughts, communicate,
If those whom we oblige, prove so ingrate?
Had he dealt freely with me, and made known,
His passion to me, but by sign alone:
I shoo'd have had compassion, on his flame,
'Tis ten to one, and nee're have mov'd the same.
Or had I once believ'd, or else but known,
That Love had but possest, her thoughts alone:
By all that's just, I do protest and vow,
I had contemn'd, and scorn'd her long e're now.
I shoo'd have unto Reason, then obey'd,
And by my passion, been not so o'resway'd,
As so against my honour, to commit,
An action of a Prince, so much unfit,
As love a creature, which can find her heart,
To any, the least favour to impart.

Nonantions enters.
Non.
Sir 'tis my fortune still, to b'in the way,
When that the King, has ought to you to say.
His pleasure is, you shoo'd attend him straite,
Implease you, at the privy Garden Gate.

Prince.
It is thy fortune rather, thou mayst boast,
To be a Traytor, what face so e're thou shewst.

Non.
A Traytor Sir? It is so rude a sound,
The name, without the guilt, my soul does wound.
I hope you think not so, what e're you say,
Or if you do, here take away my Day.
Let him not live, a minuit longer Sir,
That does your life, not 'fore his own prefer.
But let the Traytor, an example be,
By your quick vengeance, to posterity.

Prince.
No, no, my friend, 'tis fit thou shoo'dst have time,
For to repent, and likewise know thy crime.
I woo'd not do thy soul, such wrong I swear,
As send it unto Hell, for any Fair.

Non.
For any Fair! good Heav'n who is't I'de know,
Can be so fair, to make me thither go?
Where dwells the creature, that I so shoo'd love,
As for her sake, a Traytor I woo'd prove?

Prince.
Thou know'st her lodging, better then I do,
VVhat ignorance soever, thou may'st shew.
Yes, yes, thou do'st, false-hearted as thou art,
In whom no vertue, ever yet had part.
Thou know'st Francina, do'st not very well?
'Tis there, 'tis there, thy sawcy love does dwell.
'Tis there, 'tis there, thy passion does pretend,
Offending so at once, thy Prince and friend.
Good Heav'ns! who woo'd have thought thou woo'dst have prov'd,
So much ingrate, as such a thing have mov'd:
Consid'ring that to thee, I made it known,
As to a person, I esteem'd alone:
As one I thought, so honest and so true,
It was but just, and reason so to do.
Yet notwithstanding, thou hast dealt with me,
As if I had been thy sworn enemy:
And made no conscience, to betray the trust,
I put in thee, which I conceiv'd so just.
Say? didst thou love her? or, did she love thee,
'Fore thee I chose, my messenger to be?
VVhy did'st thou then, to me not make it known,
That I might have resolv'd, t'have let't alone?
Or if thou saw'st, my passion was so great,
That nought but Death, coo'd take away the heat,
VVhy did'st thou not, in duty to my flame,
Hazard thy life, for to maintain the same?
Prefer thy Princes ease, before thy own?
Had'st thou been honest, thou woo'dst so have done.
Speak man! thou waxest pale when thou shood'st blush,
As if thou car'dst not, for thy sin a rush.
Ah Heavens! what height of wickedness is this,
Not to be sorry, when one does amiss!
Confess thy fault, before I send thy earth,
Unto the place, where 'twas before thy birth.
Repent, repent, thou knowest thy offence,
And at the least, say something in pretence.
VVhat? art thou deaf? or hast thou lost thy speech?
Or does thy guilt, to thee this silence teach?
Speak Traytor, speak, for to prevent my arm,
Before thou answer'st me, to do thee harm.

Non.
Sir were I guilty, as you think I am,
I shoo'd be glad, you woo'd correct the same.
Nor woo'd I speak, your fury to prevent,
Had I this present, any such intent.
It woo'd implease you Sir, be somewhat rude,
Me by my silence, faulty to conclude.
The news you tell me, is to me so strange,
That quite and clean, it does my nature change:
As when some sudden mischief, we do hear,
We pale, and speechless, presently appear.
I must confess, I have Francina lov'd,
And some such thing, unto her likewise mov'd:
But 'twas before your passion, did appear,
And for my motion, I was nee're the near:
For did you know, but with what scorn and pride,
She answer'd me Sir, and my sute deny'd:
You'd pitty me, and say she was too blame,
To use so hardly, such an honest flame:
Which was the reason, I was loth to move,
You may be pleas'd to call to mind, your Love:
For fear Sir, that your business for my sake,
Might not unto your wishes, fully take.

Prince.
That fear was needless, I must tell thee, since
It was a message, sent her from a Prince.
What scorn so e're, she might have us'd to thee,
Was no conclusion, shee'd do so to me.
Go, go, this is a very poor pretence,
And little serves, to colour thy offence.

Non.
Just Heav'n which knows, the hearts of all full well,
Will never send my soul, for this to Hell.
VVere I but faulty, only but in this,
I might presume, I never did amiss.
As for such fear you say, there was no need,
How oft are men, forc't for their Right to plead?
And after all their pains, likewise at last
For want of a good Pleader, too are cast?
Yet did you know, or woo'd you but believe,
The pains I took, to make her to conceive
Her interest, and how you loved her,
You woo'd not judge so hardly, of me Sir.

Prince.
Men judge thou know'st, of things by the event,
And I from her own mouth, pass my judgement.

Non.
From her own mouth! what is't implease your Grace?

Prince.
That thou hast in her heart, the chiefest place.

Non.
That she loves me! Oh Sir it cannot be,
Since she woo'd never marry, she told me.
I will not say your Highness, is deceiv'd,
But I may say, 'tis hard to be believ'd.
D'you think it likely, she woo'd me prefer,
My birth, and fortune, 'fore yourself great Sir?
No, no, 'tis not: whatever she may say,
She does but with my former passion play.
VVomen Sir, too ambitious are you know,
To let a Crown, and Scepter so to go.
Had she a mind, to go to any's bed,
She woo'd no doubt, your Highness quickly wed.
The name of Queen, is such a pleasing bit,
That ev'ry one, is greedy after it.

Prince.
VVhich makes me think, thou hast by Magick art,
Rather abus'd, then fairly got her heart.
For if 'twere otherwise, why shoo'dst thou gain,
That with such ease, which I cannot with pain?

Non.
That I to gain her heart shoo'd witchcraft use,
And so not only her, but you abuse!
Oh Sir, you told me, you woo'd send this earth
Unto the place where 'twas before its birth:
Do, do it quickly, for to rid my pain,
And me remove from that, which you call gain.
Let not this body, which is so possest,
Here in this world Sir, any longer rest;
But send it headlong, quickly down to Hell,
There with its black Companions, for to dwell.
Yet 'fore I die, here on my bended knee,
Do I bequeath Francina, willingly.
All, all the interest, which I have in her,
Henceforward I do give, unto you Sir.
And wish she may so to your wishes prove,
That you may nee're repent you e're did love.
I know she is too poor, a gift for you,
But I can do no more, then I can do.
Since that my life to you, is so suspect,
'Tis fit my Death, shoo'd witness my respect.

Stobs himself.
Prince.
Hold goodness, hold, I woo'd not be the cause,
That thou shoo'dst so transgress, Dame Natures Laws,
As be unto thy self, so much unkind,
Because my passion, is so monstrous blind.
He goes, Ah Heav'ns, woo'd I had now the pow'r,
To keep Death hence, but only for an how'r.
To let him see, before he shuts his eyes,
How this last action, does me sacrifize.
To thank his kindness, and to let him know,
How much unto his vertue, I do owe.
He stirs not yet, good Gods assist my hand,
To raise him up, and likewise make him stand.
I was too blame, by Heav'n I was unjust,
To recompence his pains, with such mistrust.
I feel no breath, there does no life appear,
What woo'd Francina say, were she now here:
To see her dearest Dear, thus speechless lye,
Upon the ground, and I here standing by?
See where she comes, as if she summon'd were
Francina enters.
By his last breath, this instant to appear.

Fran.
I dreamt last night, a very scurvy dream,
Which strange unto my soul, I vow does seem.
Which is the cause, of this my coming here,
Not out of hopes 'tis true, but out of fear.
At twelve a Clock, the hower I do keep,
I was no sooner laid, to go to sleep,
But presently into my thoughts, did come,
My Lord past by this way, unto his Tomb.
Something there was, about the Prince likewise,
But in a fright, I striving for to rise,
Was the occasion, I forgot the rest,
Being at that time, with too much possest.

Prince.
Something of me! good Madam be so kind,
As for my sake, to call it unto mind:
That I may likewise, know my Destine too,
Since that your dreams, do prove so fatal true.
Alas! behold him there, that lieth dead,
And ready for his Tomb, as you have seyd.

Fran.
Ah Heav'ns! my Lord here speechless on the ground,
And on his body, seems to have a wound!
Tell me ye stars, who has this mischief done,
That I may also, him deprive of Sun?
Ah! speak my Lord? and let me not in vain,
Thus with my sighs, and tears, you entertain.
Requite not thus, my former scorn sweet Sir,
Who does your Love, before her life prefer.
Who sorry is, that e're she was so blind,
To have been to Nonantious, so unkind.
Speak, speak, I say, or else give me the pow'r,
Ye juster Heav'ns, to live not out this how'r.
Ah Prince! is this the issue of your flame?
Did you make love to me, to do the same?
To do a thing, s' unworthy of your Crown,
And which will blast for ever, your renown?

Non.
Madam, the Prince is clear, 'tis only I
Am guilty of this murther, certainly

Prince.
Oh kindness 'bove expression! to revive
A purpose only, me for to forgive.

Fran.
The Prince is clear? then speak it o're agin,
For to confirm, he did not do this sin.
For shoo'd I for once hearing, it believe,
I might my self, and hearing too deceive.

Non.
He's clear.

Fran.
And I it is that guilty am.
The Prince not any hand, has in the same.
No, no, the Prince is free, and too too good,
To have a hand, in any Subjects blood.
To me alone, thou doest this murther owe,
For 'twas my self, which gave thee this same blow.
It was my cruelty, made thee dispair,
And so to live, made thee not much to care.
How oft hast thou, unworthy as I am,
Made known to me, the danger of thy flame,
By thy discourse, discover'd unto me,
Thy certain ruine of necessity:
And I more harder, then the marble stone,
Nee're took so much as notice, of thy moane!
Forgive me if thou canst, I prethee now,
For I will for my sin, Religious vow.

Prince.
Religious Madam! do not so I pray,
If you the Dead, make conscience to obey.
He has bequeath'd you, unto me by will,
And I expect, that you shoo'd it fulfill.
Do not to his misfortune, add a worse,
So by resolving, for to take that course.
No, no, dear Madam, but resolve to be
Henceforth more gentles and more kind to me.
What pleasure can you take within a wall?
In whites, and blacks, you must be cloath'd with all?
So early rise, and go to bed so late,
And in devotion, all the day to waite?
To fast so often, and be subject too,
To those, which are inferiour, unto you.
And for the least offence, you shall commit,
B'enjoyn'd a pennance, ten times more then it,
A Crown woo'd be more fitter for you far,
So young, and beautiful, as now you are.
For to command, and not commanded be,
And ev'ry day, feed most deliciously.
Rise at what how'r you please, and go to bed,
And there be sported, till you're almost dead.
Nothing but silks, and sattens, 'bout you wear,
And next your skin, fine cloth instead of hair.
The roundest, whitest Pearl, that can be found,
Either in Europe, or in Asia ground,
For to adorn that neck, which is so white,
Which to behold alone, gives men delight:
When you are sad, have fools to make you mirth,
And to content you, riffle the whole earth.
These woo'd more proper for you, Madam be,
Then such hard lodging in a Nunnery.

Fran.
Sir for your love, and kindness, I do owe,
Unto your Princely bounty, much I know:
Since that my merit, is so poor and small,
I at your hands, can challenge nought at all.
Yet am I not, nor House nor Land to be,
Bequeath'd by Will, unto your Majestie.
My Love is free, now that my Lord is dead,
And I may chuse, where I will ever wed.
As for the life, which seems so hard to you,
There's nought to me, more easie for to do.
To rise up early, and go late to bed,
And nee're with dainties all my life be fed:
Is that implease you Sir, which I do love,
Because 'tis pleasing, unto Heav'n above.
For to be brief, those rigours I prefer,
Before the pleasures, you have told me Sir.
And am resolv'd, forthwith to take that course,
As men do wives, for better or for worse.

Prince.
Since that a Crown, sweet Madam, nor my love
Has not the pow'r, your purpose to remove:
Heav'n be your guide, good Madam pray for me,
And pardon this my importunity.

Exeunt.