University of Virginia Library

Actus quintus.

Scœna prima.

Nuntio.
VVhen, sweetest friend, did I so farre offend
Your heauenly selfe: that you my fault to quit
Haue made me now relator of her end,
The end of beautie? Chastitie and wit,
Was none so haples in the fatall place,
But I, most wretched; for the Queene t'chuse,
Tis certaine I haue some ill boding face
That made me culd to tell this luckles newes.
And yet no news to Herod: were it new,
To him vnhappy t'had not bene at all:
Yet doe I long to come within his vew,
That he may know his wife did guiltles fall:
And heere he comes. Your Mariam greets you well.

Enter Herod.
Herod.
What? liues my Mariam? ioy, exceeding ioy.
She shall not die.

Nun.
Heau'n doth your will repell.

Herod.
Oh doe not with thy words my life destroy,
I prethy tell no dying-tale: thine eye
Without thy tongue doth tell but too too much:
Yet let thy tongues addition make me die,
Death welcome, comes to him whose griefe is such.

Nunti.
I went amongst the curious gazing troope,
To see the last of her that was the best:
To see if death had hart to make her stoope,
To see the Sunne admiring Phœnix nest.
VVhen there I came, vpon the way I saw
The stately Mariam not debas'd by feare:
Her looke did seeme to keepe the world in awe,
Yet mildly did her face this fortune beare.

Herod.
Thou dost vsurpe my right, my tongue was fram'd
To be the instrument of Mariams praise:
Yet speake: she cannot be too often fam'd:
All tongues suffice not her sweet name to raise.

Nun.
But as she came she Alexandra met,
Who did her death (sweet Queene) no whit he walle,
But as if nature she did quite forget,
She did vpon her daughter loudly raile.

Herod.
Why stopt you not her mouth? where had she words
To darke that, that Heauen made so bright?
Our sacred tongue no Epithite affords,
To call her other then the worlds delight.

Nun.
Shee told her that her death was too too good,
And that already she had liu'd too long:
She said, she sham'd to haue a part in blood
Of her that did the princely Hexod wrong.

Herod.
Base picke-thanke Diuell. Shame, twas all her glory,
That she to noble Mariam was the mother:
But neuer shall it liue in any storie
Her name, except to infamy ile smother.
What answere did her princely daughter make?

Nun.
She made no answere, but she lookt the while,
As if thereof she scarce did notice take,
Yet smilde, a dutifull, though scornefull smile.

Her.
Sweet creature, I that looke to mind doe call,
Full oft hath Herod bene amaz'd with all.

Nun.
Go on, she came vnmou'd with pleasant grace,
As if to triumph her arriuall were:
In stately habite, and with cheefull face:
Yet eu'ry eye was moyst, but Mariams there.
When iustly opposite to me she came,
She pickt me out from all the crue:
She beckned to me, cald me by my name,
For she my name, my birth, and fortune knew.

Herod.
What did she name thee? happy, happy man,
Wilt thou not euer loue that name the better?
But what sweet tune did this faire dying Swan
Afford thine care: tell all, omit no letter.

Nun.
Tell thou my Lord, said she.

Her.
Mee, ment she mee?
Ist true, the more my shame: I was her Lord,
Were I not made her Lord, I still should bee:
But now her name must be by me adord.
Oh say, what said she more? each word she sed
Shall be the food whereon my heart is fed.

Nun:
Tell thou my Lord thou saw'st me loose my breath.

Herod.
Oh that I could that sentence now controule.

Nun.
If guiltily eternall be my death,

Her:
I hold her chast eu'n in my inmost soule.

Nun:
By three daies hence if wishes could reuiue,
I know himselfe would make me oft aliue.

Herod.
Three daies: three houres, three minutes, not so much,
A minute in a thousand parts diuided,
My penitencie for her death is such,
As in the first I wisht she had not died.
But forward in thy tale.

Nun:
Why on she went,
And after she some silent praier had seds
She did as if to die she were consent,
And thus to heau'n her heau'nly soule is sled.

Herod.
But art thou sure there doth no life remaine?
Ist possible my Mariam should be dead,
Is there no tricke to make her breathe againe?

Nun:
Her body is diuided from her head.

Her:
Why yet me thinkes there might be found by art,
Strange waies of cure, tis sure rarethings are don:
By an inuentiue head, and willing heart.

Nun:
Let not my Lord your fancies idlely run.
It is as possible it should be seene,
That we should make the holy Abraham liue,
Though he intomb'd two thousand yeares had bene,
As breath againe to slaughtred Mariam giue.
But now for more assaults prepare your cares,

Herod.
There cannot be a further cause of mone,
This accident shall shelter me from feares:
What can I feare? already Mariams gone.
Yet tell eu'n what you will:

Nun:
As I came by,
From Mariams death I saw vpon a tree,
A man that to his necke a cord did tie:
Which cord he had designd his end to bee.
When me he once discern'd, he downwards bow'd,
And thus with fearefull voyce she cride alowd,
Goe tell the King he trusted ere he tride,
I am the cause that Mariam causeles dide.

Herod.
Damnation take him, for it was the slaue
That said she ment with poisons deadly force
To end my life that she the Crowne might haue:
Which tale did Mariam from her selfe diuorce.
Oh, pardon me thou pure vnspotted Ghost,
My punishment must needes sufficient bee,
In missing that content I valued most:
Which was thy admirable face to see.
I had but one inestimable Iewell,
Yet one I had no monarch had the like,
And therefore may I curse my selfe as cruell:
Twas broken by at lowe my selfe did strike.
I gaz'd thereon and neuer thought me blest,
But when on it my dazled eye might rest:
A pretious Mirror made by wonderous art,
I prizd it ten times dearer then my Crowne,
And laide it vp fast foulded in my heart:
Yet I in suddaine choler cast it downe.
And pasht it all to peeces: twas no foe,
That robdine of it; no Arabian host,
Nor no Armenian guide, hath vsde me so:
But Herods wretched selfe hath Herod crost.
She was my gracefull moytie, me accurst,
To slay my better halfe and saue my worst.
But sure she is not dead you did but iest,
To put me in perplexitie a while,
Twere well indeed if I could so be drest:
I see she is aliue; methinkes you smile.

Nun:
If sainted Abel yet deceased bee,
Tis certaine Mariam is as dead as hee.

Her:
Why then goe call her to me, bid her now
Put on faire habite, stately ornament:
And let no frowne oreshade her smoothest brow,
In her doth Herod place his whole content.

Nun:
Sheel come in stately weedes to please your sence,
If now she come attirde in robe of heauen:
Remember you your selfe did send her hence,
And now to you she can no more be giuen.

Herod.
Shee's dead, hell take her murderers, she was faire,
Oh what a hand she had, it was so white,
It did the whitenes of the snowe impaire:
I neuer more shall see so sweet a sight.

Nun:
Tis true, her hand was rare.

Her:
her hand? her hands;
She had not singly one of beautie rare,
But such a paire as heere where Herod stands,
He dares the world to make to both compare.
Accursed Salome, hadst thou bene still,
My Mariam had bene breathing by my side:
Oh neuer had I: had I had my will,
Sent forth command, that Mariam should haue dide.
But Salome thou didst with enuy vexe,
To see thy selfe out-matched in thy sexe:
Vpon your sexes forehead Mariam sat,
To grace you all like an imperiall crowne,
But you fond foole haue rudely pusht thereat,
And proudly puld your proper glory downe.
One smile of hers: Nay, not so much a: looke
Was worth a hundred thousand such as you,
Iudea how canst thou the wretches brooke,
That robd from thee the fairest of the crew?
You dwellers in the now depriued land,
Wherein the matchles Mariam was bred:
Why graspe not each of you a sword in hand,
To ayme at me your cruell Soueraignes head.
Oh when you thinke of Herod as your King,
And owner of the pride of Palestine:
This act to your remembrance likewise bring,
Tis I haue ouerthrowne your royal line.
Within her purer vaines the blood did run,
That from her Grandam Sara she deriu'd
Whose beldame age the loue of Kings hath wonne,
Oh that her issue had as long bene li'ud.
But can her eye be made by death obscure?
I cannot thinke but it must sparkle still:
Foule sacriledge to rob those lights so pure,
From out a Temple made by heau'nly skill.
I am the Villaine that haue done the dred,
The cruell deed, though by anothers hand,
My word though not my sword made Mariam bleed,
Hircanus Grandchild did at my command.
That Mariam that I once did loue so deare,
The partner of my now detested bed,
Why shine you sun with an aspect so cleare?
I tell you once againe my Mariams dead.
You could but shine, if some Egiptian blows,
Or Æthiopian doudy lose her life:
This was, then wherefore bend you not your brows,
The King of Iuries faire and spotles wife.
Denie thy beames, and Moone refuse thy light,
Let all the starres be darke, let Iuries eye
No more distinguish which is day and night:
Since her best birth did in her bosome die.
Those fond I do laters the men of Greece,
Maintaine these orbes are safely gouerned:
That each within themselues haue Gods a peece,
By whom their stedfast course is iustly led.
But were it so, as so it cannot bee,
They all would put their mourning garments on:
Not one of them would yeeld a light to mee,
To me that is the cause that Mariams gon.
For though they same their Saturne melancholy,
Of sowre behauiours, and of angry moode:
They fame him likewise to be iust and holy,
And justice needes must seeke reuenge for blood.
Their Ioue, if Ioue he were, would sure desire,
To punish him that slew so faire a lasse:
For Lædaes beautie set his heart on fire,
Yet she not halfe so faire as Mariam was.
And Mars would deeme his Venus had bene slaine,
Sol to recouer her would neuer sticke:
For if he want the power her life to gaine:
Then Physicks God is but an Empericke.
The Queene of love would storme for beauties sake,
And Hermes too, since he bestow'd her wit,
The nights pale light for angrie griefe would shake,
To see chast Mariam die in age vnfit.
But oh I am deceiu'd, she past them all
In euery gift, in euery propertie:
Her Excellencies wrought her timeles fall,
And they reioyc'd, not grieu'd to see her die.
The Paphian Goddesse did repent her wast,
When she to one such beautie did allow:
Mercurius thought her wit his wit surpast,
And Cinthia enui'd Mariams brighter brow.
But these are fictions, they are voyd of sence,
The Greekes but dreame, and dreaming falsehoods tell:
They neither can offend nor giue defence,
And not by them it was my Mariam fell.
If she had bene like an Egiptian blacke,
And not so faire, she had bene longer liude:
Her ouerflow of beautie turned backe,
And drownde the spring from whence it was deriude.
Her heau'nly beautie twas that made me thinke
That it with chastitie could neuer dwell:
But now I see that heau'n in her did linke,
A spirit and a person to excell.
Ile muffle vp my selfe in endles night,
And neuer let mine eyes behold the light.
Retire thy selfe vile monster, worse then hee
That staind the virgin earth with brothers blood,
Still in some vault or denne inclosed bee,
Where with thy teares thou maist beget a flood,
Which flood in time may drowne thee: happie day
When thou at once shalt die and finde a graue,
A stone vpon the vault, some one shall lay,
Which monument shall an inscription haue.
And these shall be the words it shall containe,
Heere Herod lies, that hath his Mariam slaine.

Chorus.