University of Virginia Library

scena secunda.

Enter Lavinio.
Ye glorious Plannets that do rightly guide
The giddy ships upon the Ocean waves,
If some of your malignant influences
Have rais'd this madness in my subjects heads,
Let some of your benigne influences,
Again restore them to their former sences:
Those Florentines whom all their enemies
Could not impeach, could not withstand in armes,
Suffer not, you immortal powers divine,
Thus to be ruin'd, by distraction.
Machavil and Barbarino appear in prison.

I am astonished, O Heavens, I know not what to
think!

Puchanello, Puchanello, let me out the two Lords,
and send them to me presently, I'le talk unto um
here at large.

Bar.
His ill fit's off.

Mac.
The goods be praised.

Lav.
I do not think that since the infancy
And first creation of the world, a madness
Pestiferous and equal unto this
Was ever known; good Heavens reveal (and soon)
The cause, that I may do my best to help it.

Enter Barbarino, Machavil and Puchanello.
Mac.
Long may this fit continue.

Barb.
If it hold alwaies, sure he's in's wits agen.

Lav.

I wonder, Lords, and justly, that you whom
I have known to have the noblest judgements,
should thus become distracted; you in your fits
of frenzie run to prison of your selves,

And think I sent you.

Bar.
Most royal Sir, we grieve to see these daies;
You did command us thither.

Lav.
I?

Mac.
Your Highness self.

Lav.
You are both deceiv'd; to do such idle errours,
And lay the blame on me doth more amaze me.
Puchanello how came these in prison?

Puc.
So please your Highness, you were angry with them
And did commit them.

Lav.
I commit them?
That thou art mad is not so great a wonder;
I tell you both with sorrow, witness heaven,
You are strangely bereav'd of your reason.
Well, go ye in, and pray unto the Gods
That they hereafter would be kind unto you
And keep you from relapse.

Mac.
Heavens bless your Highness.

Bar.
And be unto you a perpetual guard.

Exeunt.
Lav.
Famine, plague, war, the ruinous instruments
Wherewith the incensed dieties do punish
Weak mankind for misdeeds, had they all fallen
Upon this city, it had been a thing
To be lamented but not wondred at.
Enter Isabella.
O my dear Isabella! I have brought thee
From Milain flourishing in all delights,
Into a city full of men distracted.

Isab.
He is not sober yet. Go in and sleep Sir,
You do not well thus to bewray your weakness
Unto the publick view.

Lav.
My wife and all! O heavens!

Isa.
What say you Sir?

Lav.
My Isabella, thou hast cause to curse me
For bringing thee into a place infected:
The aire is sure pestiferous, and I wonder
Now how I have escaped.

Isab.
Good Sir, I pray you sleep.

Lav.
Wherefore my Isabella?

Isab.
Why you have drunk too much.

Lav.
Madness unmatch'd!
Dear Isabella, withdraw thy self into
Thy chamber, I will presently come to thee,
There we will pray unto the angry Gods
That they would from's remove this heavy ill.

Isab.
I will obey you Sir to get you home;
Good Gods nere let him thus offend again.

Exit.
Lav.
What have I done so much offensive to
The supreme powers, that they should punish me
Not onely with the madness of my subjects,
But the distraction of my wife and sister!
Enter Horatio and Prudentia.
What do I see? they do embrace and kiss:
My sisters madness will undo her, how
He came at liberty I marvel much;

Whom I would have to lie in prison, walke in freedome,
and whom I would have in freedome
run of themselves to prison.

Prud.
Most noble Brother.

Lav.
Sister, I grieve to see thee thus.

Hora.
Excellent Prince!

Lav.
Sure the good Angels that had wont to guard
The Medices in all their actions,
Have for the horrid sins of Florence left us,
And fled to Heaven.

Hora.
His mind again is altered.

Pru.
Dear brother, do not frown and look so angry.

Lav.
Peace sister, I'me asham'd to hear you speak,
Each word you say is poyson in my eares.
Puchanello, Jailor.

Puc.
I come.

Within.
Pru.
What mean you Sir?

Hor.
I must again to prison, fickle fortune,
How soon a happy man thou makest wretched!

Enter Puchanello.
Lav.
Sirra, why did you set this man Brunetto,
Or this Horatio (I know not what to call him,)
At liberty?

Puc.
Will he nere be wise! your Highness bade me.

Lav.
I! Bethink you, and answer truly.

Puc.
Your Highness knowes I durst not for my life
Ha don't without your licence.

Pru.
Sweet Brother.

Lav.
Silence would become you better far.

Hor.
Life of my heart, do not disturb your self,
I am unworthy you should speak for me.

Lav.

Sirra, take him again, and look to him better
then you have; your madness shall not excuse
you, if once more you serve me thus.

Hor.

I must be patient: good Heavens, soone alter
this sullen fit into his former kindness:

Farewel my sweet Prudentia.

Exeunt with Hora.
Pru.
I wonder Brother, what pleasure you take
In crossing me after this sort.

Lav.
It is in vain to answer frantick people.

Pru.
I, I am mad, 'tis your perversness makes me.

Exeunt.