 | The Sophy |  |
26
Actus Quartus.
[Scena Prima.]
Enter Ab. and Morat.Ab.
I ever fear'd the Princes too much greatnesse
Would make him lesse, the greatest heights are neare
The greatest precipice.
Mor.
'Tis in worldly accidents
As in the world it selfe, where things most distant
Meet one another: Thus the East, and West,
Upon the Globe, a Mathematick point
Onely divides; Thus happinesse, and miserie,
And all extreames are still contiguous.
Ab.
Or, if 'twixt happinesse, and miserie, there be
A distance; 'tis an Aery Vacuum,
Nothing to moderate, or breake the fall.
Mor.
But oh this Saint-like Devill!
This damned Caliph, to make the King beleeve
To kill his sonne, 's religion.
Ab.
Poore Princes, how are they mis-led,
While they, whose sacred office 'tis to bring
Kings to obey their God, and men their King,
By these mysterious linkes to fixe and tye
Them to the foot-stoole of the Deity:
Even by these men, Religion, that should be
The curbe, is made the spurre to tyrannie;
They with their double key of conscience binde
The Subjects soules, and leave Kings unconfin'd;
While their poore Vassals sacrifice their blouds
T'Ambition; and to Avarice, their goods;
Blinde with Devotion. They themselves esteeme
Made for themselves, and all the world for them;
While heavens great law, given for their guide, appeares
Just, or unjust, but as it waytes on theirs:
Us'd, but to give the eccho to their words,
Power to their wills, and edges to their swords.
To varnish all their errors, and secure
The ills they act, and all the world endure.
Thus by their arts Kings awe the world, while they,
Religion, as their mistresse, seeme t'obey;
Yet as their slave command her, while they, seeme
To rise to Heaven, they make Heaven stoope to them.
Mor.
Nor is this all, where feign'd devotion bends
The highest things, to serve the lowest ends:
For if the many-headed beast hath broke,
Or shaken from his necke the royall yoake,
27
Flowes into that, and swells the torrent higher;
Then powers first pedigree from force derives,
And calls to minde the old prerogatives
Of free-borne man, and with a saucy eye
Searches the heart, and soule of Majestie;
Then to a strict account, and censure brings
The actions, errors, and the ends of Kings;
Treads on authority, and sacred lawes,
Yet all for God, and his pretended cause,
Acting such things for him, which he in them,
And which themselves in others will condemne;
And thus ingag'd, nor safely can retire,
Nor safely stand, but blindly bold aspire,
Forcing their hopes even through despaire, to climbe
To new attempts; disdaine the present time,
Grow from disdaine to threats, from threats to armes,
While they (though sonnes of peace) still sound th'alarm's:
Thus whether Kings or people seeke extreames,
Still conscience and religion are their Theams:
And whatsoever change the State invades,
The pulpit either forces, or perswades.
Others may give the fewell, or the fire;
But they the breath, that makes the flame inspire.
Ab.
This, and much more is true, but let not us
Adde to our ills, and aggravate misfortunes,
By passionate complaints, nor lose our selves,
Because we have lost him; for if the Tyrant
Were to a sonne so noble, so unnaturall,
What will he be to us? who have appear'd
Friends to that sonne.
Mor.
Well thought on, and in time;
Farewell unhappy Prince, while we thy friends,
As strangers to our Countrey, and our selves,
Seeke out our safety, and expect with patience
Heavens Justice.
Ab.
Let's rather act it, then expect it:
The Princes injuries at our hands require
More then our teares, and patience:
His army is not yet disbanded,
And onely wants a head; thither wee'le fly,
And all who love the Prince, or hate the Tyrant,
Will follow us.
Mor.
Nobly resolv'd, and either wee'le restore
The Prince, or perish in the brave attempt.
Yee Gods, since what we meane to execute,
Is your high office (to avenge the innocent)
Assist us with a fortune, equall to
The justice of our action, lest the world
28
That you want will, or power to be just.
Ex.
Enter Haly.
Ha.
'Tis done, and 'twas my master-piece, to worke
My safety 'twixt two dangerous extreames;
Now like a skilfull sayler have I past
Scylla and Charybdis, I have scap't the rocke
Of steepe Ambition, and the gulfe of Jealousie,
A danger lesse avoyded, 'cause lesse fear'd.
Enter Mirvan.
Mir.
What's done my Lord?
Ha.
Enough I warrant you; imprison'd, and depriv'd of sight.
Mir.
No more? this but provokes him: can you thinke
Your selfe secure, and he alive?
Ha.
The rest o'th' businesse will doe it selfe;
He can aswell endure a prison, as a wilde Bull the net:
There let him struggle, and toyle himselfe to death,
And save us so much envy.
Mir.
But if his father should relent, such injuries
Can receive no excuse or colour, but to be
Transfer'd upon his Counsellors; and then
The forfeiture of them redeemes his errour.
Ha.
We must set a marke upon his passion,
And as we finde it running low,
What ebbes from his, into our rage shall flow.
Why, should we be more wicked
Then we must needes?
Mir.
Nay, if you sticke at conscience,
More gallant actions have beene lost, for want of being
Compleatly wicked; then have beene perform'd
By being exactly vertuous. 'Tis hard to be
Exact in good, or excellent in ill;
Our will wants power, or else our power wants skill.
Exit.
Enter Solyman, and Tormentors.
Sol.
But Gentlemen, was the King in earnest?
I can scarce beleeve it.
Tor.
You will when you feele it.
Sol.
I pray have any of you felt it, to tell me what it is.
Tor.
No Sir, but
Some of your fellow Courtiers can tell you,
That use something like it, to mend their shapes,
'Twill make you so straight and slender.
Sol.
Slender? because I was slender in my wits, must I be drawne
Slender in my waste? I'de rather grow wise,
And corpulent.
Tor.
Come Sir, 'tis but a little stretching.
Sol.
No, no more's hanging; and sure this will be the death of me:
I remember my Grandmother died of Convulsion fits.
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Come Sir, prepare, prepare.
Sol.
I, for another world: I must repent first.
Tor.
Quickly then.
Sol.
Then first I repent that sinne of being a Courtier.
And secondly, the greatest sinne one can commit in that place, the speaking of truth.
Tor.
Have you no more sinnes?
Sol.
Some few trifles more, not worth the remembring;
Drinking, and whoring, and swearing, and such like:
But for those let 'em passe.
Tor.
Have you done now?
Sol.
Onely some good counsell to the standers by.
Tor.
We thanke you for that Sir.
Sol.
Nay Gentlemen, mistake me not,
'Tis not that I love you, but because 'tis a thing of course
For dying men.
Tor.
Let's have it then.
Sol.
First then, if any of you are fooles (as I thinke that
But a needlesse question) be fooles still, and labour still
In that vocation, then the worst will be but whipping,
Where, but for seeming wife, the best is racking.
But if you have the luck to be Court fooles, those that have
Either wit or honesty, you may foole withall and spare not;
But for those that want either,
You'le finde it rather dangerous then otherwise; I could give you a moderne
Instance or two, but let that passe: but if you happen to be State fooles, then 'tis
But fooling on the right side, and all's well; then you shall at least be
Wise mens fellowes, if not wise mens masters.
But of all things take heed of giving any man good counsell,
You see what I have got by it; and yet like a foole, must
I be doing on't againe.
Tor.
Is this all.
Sol.
All, but a little in my owne behalfe. Remember, Gentlemen,
I am at my full growth, and my joynts are knit; and yet
My sinewes are not Cables.
Tor.
Well, wee'le remember't.
Sol.
But stay Gentlemen, what thinke you of a bottle now?
Tor.
I hope you are more serious.
Sol.
If you but knew how dry a thing this sorrow is,
Especially meeting with my constitution; which is
As thirsty as any serving-mans.
Tor.
Let him have it, it may be 'twill make him confesse.
Sol.
Yes, I shall, I shall lay before you all that's within me,
And with most fluent utterance.
Here's to you all Gentlemen, and let him that's good
Natur'd in his drinke, pledge me.
[Drinkes]
So, me-thinkes I feele it in my joynts already,
It makes 'em supple.
[Drinkes againe.]
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As if the racke would be a shipwracke.
Tor.
You are witty Sir.
Sol.
This is nothing but a poore clinch, I have
A thousand of 'em, (a trick I learn't amongst the Statesmen.)
[Drinks again.]
Tor.
Hold Sir, you have no measure of your selfe.
Sol.
What doe you talke of measure, you'le take
Measure of me with a vengeance.
Well racke, I defie thee, doe thy worst,
I would thou wert Man, Gyant, or Monster.
Gentlemen, now if I happen to fall asleepe
Upon this Engine, pray wake me not too suddenly;
You see here's good store of wine, and if it be
Over-rackt, 'twill come up with lees and all:
There I was with you againe, and now I am for you.
Exeunt.
Enter Prince, being blinde, solus.
Prince.
Nature,
How didst thou mocke mankinde to make him free,
And yet to make him feare; or when he lost
That freedome, why did he not lose his feare?
That feare of feares, the feare of what we know not,
While yet we know it is in vaine to feare it:
Death, and what followes death, 'twas that that stamp't
A terrour on the brow of Kings; that gave
Fortune her deity, and Jove his thunder.
Banish but feare of death, those Gyant names
Of Majestie, Power, Empire, finding nothing
To be their object, will be nothing too:
Then he dares yet be free that dares to die,
May laugh at the grim face of law and scorne,
The cruell wrinkle of a Tyrants brow;
But yet to die so tamely,
O'recome by passion and misfortune,
And still unconquer'd by my foes, sounds ill,
Below the temper of my spirit;
Yet to embrace a life so poore, so wretched,
So full of deaths, argues a greater dulnesse;
But I am dead already, nor can suffer
More in the other world. For what is Hell
But a long sleeplesse night? and what's their torment,
But to compare past joyes with present sorrowes.
And what can death deprive me of? the sight
Of day, of children, friends, and hope of Empire;
And whatsoever others lose in death,
In life I am depriv'd of, then I will live
Onely to die reveng'd: nor will I goe
Downe to the shades alone.
Prompt me some wittie, some revengefull Devill,
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Of his owne sonne, and call the gods his guests.
Her's that could kill her aged Sire, and cast
Her brothers scatter'd limbs to Wolves and Vultures.
Or his that slew his father, to enjoy
His mothers bed; and greater then all those,
My fathers Devill.
Come mischiefe, I embrace thee, fill my soule;
And thou revenge ascend, and beare the Scepter
O're all my other passions; banish thence
All that are coole, and tame.
Know old Tyrant,
My heart's to big to breake, I know thy feares
Exceed my sufferings, and my revenge,
Though but in hope, is much a greater pleasure
Then thou canst take in punishing. Then my anger
Sinke to the Center of my heart, and there
Lye close in ambush, till my seeming patience
Hath made the cruell Tyrant as secure,
Though with as little cause, as now hee's jealous.
Whose there?
Enter two or three.
I finde my nature would returne
To her old course, I feele an inclination
To some repose; welcome thou pleasing slumber;
A while embrace me in thy leaden armes,
And charme my carefull thoughts.
Conduct me to my bed.
Exit.
Enter King, Haly, and Caliph.
King.
How doe's the Prince? how beares he his restraint?
Ha.
Why Sir, as all great spirits
Beare great and sudden changes, with such impatience
As a Numidian Lyon; when first caught,
Endures the toyle that holds him.
He would thinke of nothing
But present death, and sought all violent meanes
To compasse it. But time hath mitigated
Those furious heats, he now returnes to food
And sleepe, admits the conversation
Of those that are about him.
King.
I would I had not
So easily beleev'd my feares, I was too sudden,
I would it were undone.
Cal.
If you lament it,
That which now lookes like Justice, will be thought
An inconsiderate rashnesse.
King.
But there are in nature
Such strong returnes: that I punish't him
I doe not grieve; but that he was my sonne.
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But it concernes you to beare up your passion,
And make it good; for if the people know
That you have cause to grieve for what is done,
They'le thinke you had no cause at first to doe it.
King
to the Ca.
Go visit him from me, and teach him patience,
Since neither all his furie, nor my sorrow
Can helpe what's past; tell him my severitie
To him shall in some measure be requited,
By my indulgence to his children. And if he desire it,
Let them have accesse to him: endeavour to take off
His thoughts from revenge, by telling him of
Paradise, and I know not what pleasures
In the other world.
Cal.
I shall, Sir.
Exit King and Ca. Man. Ha.
Enter Mirvan.
Ha.
Mirvan, the King relents, and now there's left
No refuge but the last, he must be poysoned;
And suddenly, lest he survive his father.
Mir.
But handsomely, lest it appeare.
Ha.
Appeare!
To whom? you know there's none about him
But such as I have plac't; and they shall say
'Twas discontent, or abstinence.
Mir.
But at the best
'Twill be suspected.
Ha.
Why, though't be knowne,
Wee'le say he poysoned himselfe.
Mir.
But the curious will pry further
Then bare report, and the old Kings suspitions
Have piercing eyes.
Ha.
But those nature
Will shortly close: you see his old disease
Growes strong upon him.
Mir.
But if he should recover?
Ha.
But I have cast his nativitie, he cannot, he must not.
I'th' meane time I have so besieg'd him,
So block't up all the passages, and plac't
So many Centinels, and Guards upon him,
That no intelligence can be convey'd
But by my instruments. But this businesse will require
More heads and hands then ours: Goe you to the prison
And bring the Keeper privately to me,
To give him his instructions.
Ex. severall wayes.
Enter Prince and Caliph.
Cal.
Sir, I am commanded by the King
To visite you.
Prince.
What, to give a period to my life?
And to his feares? You're welcome; here's a throat,
33
In death, and receive his commands.
Ca.
My Lord, I am no messenger, nor minister of death,
'Tis not my function.
Prince.
I should know that voyce.
Ca.
I am the Caliph, and am come to tell you, your father
Is now returned to himselfe: Nature ha's got
The victory o're passion, all his rigour
Is turn'd to griefe and pitty.
Prince.
Alas good man!
I pitty him, and his infirmities;
His doubts, and feares, and accidents of age,
Which first provok't his crueltie.
Ca.
He bid me tell you,
His love to yours should amply recompence
His cruelty to you: And I dare say 'tis reall;
For all his thoughts, his pleasures, and delights,
Are fixt on Fatyma: when he is sad
She comforts him; when sicke, shee's his Physitian.
And were it not for the delight he takes
In her, I thinke hee'de dye with sorrow.
Prince.
But how are his affections fixt so strangely
On her alone? sure 'tis not in his nature,
For then he had lov'd me, or hated her,
Because she came from me.
Ca.
'Tis her desert,
Shee's faire beyond comparison, and witty
Above her age; and beares a manly spirit
Above her sexe.
Prince.
But may not I admire her,
Is that too great a happinesse? pray let her make it
Her next suit to be permitted to visit me her selfe.
Ca.
She shall Sir: I joy to see your minde
So well compos'd, I fear'd I should have found
A tempest in your soule, and came to lay it.
I'le to the King,
I know to him that newes will be
Most acceptable.
Prince.
Pray doe, and tell him
I have cast off all my passions, and am now
A man againe; fit for societie
And conversation.
Ca.
I will Sir.
Exit.
Prince.
I never knew my selfe till now, how on the sudden
I'me growne an excellent dissembler, to out-doe
One at the first, that ha's practiz'd it all his life:
So now I am my selfe againe, what is't
I feele within? me thinkes some vaste designe
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My labouring thoughts above the common bounds
Of humane actions, something full of horror
My soule hath now decreed, my heart does beat,
As if 'twere forging thunderbolts for Jove,
To strike the Tyrant dead: so not, I have it,
I have it, 'tis a gallant mischiefe,
Worthy my father, or my fathers sonne.
All his delight's in Fatyma, poore innocent,
But not more innocent then I, and yet
My father loves thee, and that's crime enough.
By this act old Tyrant
I shall be quit with thee: while I was vertuous
I was a stranger to thy bloud, but now
Sure thou wilt love me for this horrid crime,
It is so like thy owne. In this I'me sure,
Although in nothing else, I am thy sonne:
But when 'tis done, I leave him yet that remedie,
I take my selfe Revenge, but I aswell
Will rob him of his anger, as his joy,
And having sent her to the shades,
I'le follow her.
But to returne againe, and dwell
In his dire thoughts, for there's the blacker hell.
Enter Messenger.
Mess.
Sir, your wife the Princesse is come to visit you.
Prince.
Conduct her in, now to my disguise againe.
Enter Princesse.
Princesse.
Is this my Lord the Prince.
Prince.
That's Erythæa,
Or some Angell voyc't like her. 'Tis she my strugling soule
Would faine goe out to meet and welcome her, Erythæa:
No answer but in sighes (deare Erythæa.)
Thou cam'st to comfort, to support my sufferings,
Not to oppresse me with a greater weight,
To see that my unhappinesse
Involves thee too.
Princesse.
My Lord, in all your triumphs and your glories,
You call'd me into all your joyes, and gave me
An equall share, and in this depth of miserie
Can I be unconcern'd, you needes must know,
You needs must hope I cannot; or which is worse,
You must suspect my love: for what is love
But sympathie, and this I make my happinesse
Since both cannot be happie,
That we can both be miserable.
Prince.
I prithee doe not say thou lov'st me.
For love, or findes out equals, or makes 'em so
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I cannot rise to thee, and dare not wish
Thou should'st descend to me; but call it pitty,
And I will owne it then, that Kings may give
To beggars, and not lessen their owne greatnesse.
Princesse.
Till now I thought vertue had stood above
The reach of fortune; but if vertue be not,
Yet love's a greater Deity; what ever fortune
Can give or take, love wants not, or despises;
Or by his owne omnipotence supplies:
Then like a God with joy beholds
The beauty of his owne creations.
Thus what we forme and image to our fancies,
We really possesse.
Prince.
But can thy imagination
Delude it selfe, to fixe upon an object
So lost in miseries, so old in sorrowes;
Palenesse and death hang on my cheeke, and darknesse
Dwells in my eyes; more chang'd from what I was
In person then in fortune.
Princesse.
Yet still the same to me:
Alas my Lord, these outward beauties are but the props and scaffolds
On which we built our love, which now made perfect,
Stands without those supports: nor is my flame
So earthly as to need the dull materiall fuell
Of eyes, or lippes, or cheekes, still to be kindled,
And blowne by appetite, or else t'expire:
My fires are purer, and like those of Heaven,
Fed onely, and contented with themselves,
Need nothing from without.
Prince.
But the disgrace that wayts upon misfortune,
The meere reproach, the shame of being miserable,
Exposes men to scorne, and base contempt,
Even from their neerest friends.
Princesse.
Love is so farre from scorning misery,
That he delights in't, and is so kindly cruell,
Sometimes to wish it, that he may be alone;
In stead of all, of fortunes honours, friends, which are
But meere diversions from loves proper object,
Which onely is it selfe.
Prince.
Thou hast almost
Taught me to love my miseries, and forgive
All my misfortunes. I'le at least forget 'em;
We will receive those times, and in our memories
Preserve, and still keepe fresh (like flowers in water)
Those happier dayes: when at our eyes our soules
Kindled their mutuall fires, their equall beames
Shot and returned, till link't, and twin'd in one,
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Princesse.
And was it just, that fortune should begin
Her tyrannie, where we began our loves:
No, if it had, why was not I blinde too?
I'me sure if weeping could have don't, I had beene.
Prince.
Thinke not that I am blinde, but thinke it night,
A season for our loves; and which to lovers
Ne're seemes too long, and thinke of all our miseries,
But as some melancholy dreame which ha's awak't us,
To the renewing of our joyes.
Princesse.
My Lord, this is a temper
Worthy the old Philosophers.
Prince.
I but repeate that lesson
Which I have learn't from thee. All this morality
Thy love hath taught me.
Princesse.
My Lord, you wrong your vertue,
T'ascribe the effect of that to any cause,
Lesse noble than it selfe.
Prince.
And you your love,
To thinke it is lesse noble, or lesse powerfull,
Then any the best vertue: but I feare thy love
Will wrong it selfe; so long a stay will make
The jealous King suspect we have beene plotting:
How doe the pledges of our former love?
Our Children.
Princesse.
Both happy in their Grandsires love, especially
The pretty Fatyma; yet she
According to her apprehension, feeles
A sence of your misfortunes.
Prince.
But let her not too much expresse it,
Lest she provoke his fury.
Princesse.
She onely can allay it
When 'tis provok't; she
Playes with his rage, and gets above his anger,
As you have seene a little boat
To mount and dance upon the wave, that threatens
To overwhelme it.
Prince.
To threaten is to save, but his anger
Strikes us like thunder, where the blow out-flies
The loud report, and even prevents mens feares.
Princesse.
But then like thunder
It rends a Cedar, or an Oake, or findes
Some strong resisting matter; women and children
Are not Subjects worthy a Princes anger.
Prince.
Whatsoever
Is worthy of their love, is worth their anger.
Princesse.
Love's a more naturall motion, they are angry
As Princes, but love as men.
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Once more I begge,
Make not thy love thy danger.
Princesse.
My Lord, I see with what unwillingnesse
You lay upon me this command, and through your feares
Discerne your love, and therefore must obey you.
Exit.
Prince.
Farewell my dearest Erythæa,
There's a strange musicke in her voyce, the storie
Of Orpheus, which appeares so bold a fiction,
Was prophecy'd of thee; thy voyce ha's tam'd
The Tygres and the Lyons of my soule.
Enter Messenger.
Mess.
Sir your daughter Fatyma.
Prince.
Conduct her in, how strangely am I tempted
With opportunity, which like a sudden gust
Hath swell'd my calmer thoughts into a tempest:
Accursed opportunitie,
The midwife and the bawde to all our vices,
That work'st our thoughts into desires, desires
To resolutions; those being ripe, and quickned,
Thou giv'st 'em birth, and bring'st 'em forth to action.
Enter Fat. and Mess.
Prince.
Leave us O opportunitie,
That when my dire and bloudy resolutions,
Like sicke and froward children
Were rock't asleepe by reason, or religion;
Thou like a violent noyse cam'st rushing in,
And mak'st 'em wake and start to new unquietnesse.
Come hither prettie Fatyma,
Thy Grandsires darling, sit upon my knee:
He loves thee dearely.
Fat.
I father, for your sake.
Prince.
And for his sake I shall requite it.
O vertue, vertue,
Where art thou fled? thou wert my reasons friend,
But that like a deposed Prince ha's yeelded
His Scepter to his base usurping vassalls;
And like a traytor to himselfe, takes pleasure
In serving them.
Fat.
But father
I desir'd him that you might have liberty, and that
He would give you your eyes againe.
Prince.
Prettie Innocent,
'Tis not i'th' art, nor power of man to doe it.
Fat.
Must you never see againe then father?
Prince.
No, not without a miracle.
Fat.
Why father, I can see with one eye, pray take one
Of mine.
Prince.
I would her innocent prate could overcome me:
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Tost like a ship 'twixt two encountring tydes;
Love that was banisht hence, would faine returne
And force an entrance, but revenge
(That's now the Porter of my soule) is deafe,
Deafe as the Adder, and as full of poyson.
Mighty revenge! that single can'st o'rethrow
All those joynt powers, which nature, vertue, honour,
Can raise against thee.
Fat.
What doe you seeke for, your handkerchiefe? pray use mine,
To drinke the bloudy moysture from your eyes;
I'le shew't my Grandfather,
I know 'twill make him weepe.
Why doe you shake father?
Just so my Grandsire trembled at the instant
Your sight was ta'ne away.
Prince.
And upon the like occasion.
Fat.
O father, what meanes the naked knife?
Prince.
'Tis to requite thy Grandsires love. Prepare
To meet thy death.
Fat.
O, 'tis I, 'tis I,
Your daughter Fatyma.
Prince.
I therefore doe it.
Fat.
Alas, was this the blessing my mother sent me to receive?
Prince.
Thy mother? Erythæa? there's something in that
That shakes my resolution.
Poore Erythæa, how wretched shall I make thee,
To rob thee of a husband and a childe?
But which is worse, that first I fool'd and wonne thee
To a beleefe that all was well; and yet
Shall I forbeare a crime for love of thee,
And not for love of vertue? But what's vertue?
A meere imaginary sound, a thing
Of speculation; which to my darke soule,
Depriv'd of reason, is as indiscernable
As colours to my body, wanting sight.
Then being left to sence, I must be guided
By something that my sence grasps and takes hold of;
On then my love, and feare not to encounter
That Gyant, my revenge (alas poore Fatyma)
My father loves thee, so doe's Erythæa:
Whether shall I by justly plaguing
Him whom I hate, be more unjustly cruell
To her I love? or being kinde to her,
Be cruell to my selfe, and leave unsatisfied
My anger and revenge? but Love, thou art
The nobler passion, and to thee I sacrifice
All my ungentle thoughts. Fatyma forgive me,
And seale it with a kisse? What is't I feele?
The spirit of revenge re-inforcing
39
Fly while thou may'st, nor tempt me to new mischiefe,
By giving meanes to act it; to this ill
My will leades not my power, but power my will.
Ex. Fat.
O what a tempest have I scap't, thankes to Heaven,
And Erythæa's love.
No: 'twas a poore, a low revenge, unworthy
My vertues, or my injuries, and
As now my fame, so then my infamie,
Would blot out his, And I instead of his Empire
Shall onely be the heire of all his curses.
No: I'le be still my selfe, and carry with me
My innocence to th'other world, and leave
My fame to this: 'twill be a brave revenge
To raise my minde to a constancy, so high,
That may looke downe upon his threats, my patience
Shall mocke his furie; nor shall he be so happy
To make me miserable, and my sufferings shall
Erect a prouder Trophie to my name,
Then all my prosperous actions: Every Pilot
Can steere the ship in calmes, but he performes
The skilfull part, can manage it in stormes.
Finis Act. Quarti.
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