University of Virginia Library

Actus Quintus.

[Scena Prima.]

Enter Prince.
Prince.
If happinesse be a substantiall good,
Not fram'd of accidents, nor subject to 'em,
I err'd to seeke it in a blinde revenge,
Or thinke it lost, in losse of sight, or Empire;
'Tis something sure within us, not subjected
To sence or sight, onely to be discern'd
By reason my soules eye, and that still sees
Clearely, and clearer for the want of these;
For gazing through these windowes of the body,
It met such severall, such distracting objects,
But now confin'd within it selfe, it sees
A strange, and unknowne world, and there discovers
Torrents of Anger, Mountaines of Ambition;
Gulfes of Desire, and Towers of Hope, huge Gyants,
Monsters, and savage Beasts, to vanquish these
Will be a braver conquest, then the old
Or the new world.
O happinesse of blindnesse, now no beauty
Inflames my lust, no others good my envie,
Or miserie my pittie: no mans wealth
Drawes my respect, nor poverty my scorne,
Yet still I see enough. Man to himselfe
Is a large prospect, rays'd above the levell
Of his low creeping thoughts; if then I have
A world within my selfe, that world shall be
My Empire; there I'le raigne, commanding freely,
And willingly obey'd, secure from feare
Of forraigne forces, or domestick treasons,
And hold a Monarchie more free, more absolute
Than in my fathers seat; and looking downe
With scorne or pity, on the slipperie state
Of Kings, will tread upon the necke of fate.

Exit.
Enter Bashawes disguis'd, with Haly.
1. Bash.
Sir, 'tis of neare concernement, and imports
No lesse than the Kings life, and honour.

Ha.
May not I know it.

Bash.
You may Sir. But in his presence we are sworne
T'impart it first to him.

Ha.
Our Persian state descends not
To enterviewes with strangers: But from whence
Comes this discovery, or you that bring it?

2. Bash.
We are Sir of Natolia.

Ha.
Natolia? heard you nothing
Of two Villaines that lately fled from hence?

1. Bash.
The Bashawes Sir.

Ha.
The same.

2. Bash.
They are nearer than you thinke for.

Ha.
Where?

1. Bash.
In Persia.

Ha.
In armes againe to 'tempt another slavery?
No Sir, they made some weake attempts, presuming on
The reputation of their former greatnesse:
But having lost their fame and fortunes,
'Tis no wonder they lost their friends, now hopelesse and forlorn
They are return'd, and somewhere live obscurely,
To expect a change in Persia; nor wil't be hard
To finde 'em.

Ha.
Doe't, and name your owne rewards.

2. Bash.
We dare doe nothing till we have seene the King,
And then you shall command us.

Ha.
Well, though 'tis not usuall,
Ye shall have free accesse.
Exit Haly.

Enter King, and Haly.
1. Bash.
Sir, there were two Turkish prisoners lately fled
From hence for a suppos'd conspiracie
Betweene the Prince and them.

King.
Where are the villaines?

1 Bash.
This is the villaine, Sir;
They pull off their disguises.
And we the wrongfully accus'd, you gave life, Sir,
And we took it
As a free noble gift; but when we heard
'Twas valu'd at the price of your Sons honour,
We came to give it back, as a poore trifle,
Priz'd at a rate too high.

King.
Haly,
I cannot think my favours plac'd so ill,
To be so ill requited, yet their confidence
Has something in't that looks like innocence.

Ha.
aside.
Is't come to that? Then to my last and surest refuge.

King.
Sure if the guilt were theirs, they could not charge thee
With such a gallant boldnesse; If 'twere thine,
Thou could not heare't with such a silent scorne,
I am amaz'd.

Ha.
Sir, perplex your thoughts no further,
They have truth to make 'em bold,
And I have power to scorne it: 'twas I, Sir,
That betray'd him, and you, and them.

King.
Is this impudence, or madnesse?

Ha.
Neither;
A verie sober, and sad truth—to you, Sir.

King.
A Guard there.

Enter Mirvan, and others.
King.
Seize him.

Ha.
Seize them; now
Though 'tis too late to learne, yet know
'Gainst you are King again, what 'tis to let your Subjects
Dispose all offices of trust and power:
The beast obeyes his keeper, and looks up,
Not to his masters, but his feeders hand;
And when you gave me power to dispense
And make your favours mine, in the same houre
You made your selfe my shadow: and 'twas my curtesie
To let you live, and reigne so long.

King.
Without there?
Enter two or three, and joyne with the others.
What, none but Traytours? Has this villaine
Breath'd treason into all, and with that breath,
Like a contagious vapour, blasted loyaltie?
Sure hell it selfe has sent forth all her Furies,
T'inhabit and possesse this place.

Ha.
Sir, passions without power,
Like seas against a rock, but lose their furie:
Mirvan, Take these villaines, and see 'em strangled.

1. Bash.
Farewell, Sir, commend us to your son, let him know,
That since we cannot dye his servants,
Wee'll dye his Martyrs.

King.
Farewell, unhappie friends,
A long farewell, and may you find rewards
Great as your innocence, or which is more,
Great as your wrongs.

2 Bash.
Come, thou art troubled,
Thou dost not feare to dye?

1 Bash.
No: but to lose my death,
To sell my life so cheap, while this proud villaine
That takes it must survive.

2 Bash.
We shall not lose our deaths,
If Heaven can heare the cries of guiltlesse bloud,
Which sure it must; for I have heard th'are loud ones:
Vengeance shall overtake thee.

Ha.
Away with 'em.

King.
Stay, Haly, they are innocent; yet life, when 'tis thy gift,
Is worse than death, I disdaine to ask it.

1 Bash.
And we to take it.

Ha.
Do not ask it, Sir,
For them to whom you owe your ruine, they have undone you,
Had not they told you this, you had liv'd secure,
And happie in your ignorance; but this injurie,
Since 'tis not in your nature to forgive it,
I must not leave it in your power to punish it.

King.
Heaven, though from thee I have deserv'd this plague,
Be thou my Judge and witnesse, from this villaine
'Tis vndeserv'd.
Had I but felt your vengeance from some hand
That first had suffer'd mine, it had been justice:
But have you sent this sad returne of all
My love, my trust, my favours?

Ha.
Sir, there's a great resemblance
Between your favours, and my injuries;
Those are too great to be requited, these
Too great to be forgiven: and therefore
'Tis but in vaine to mention either.

King.
Mirza, Mirza,
How art thou lost by my deceiv'd credulitie?
I'le beg thy pardon.

Ha.
Stay, Sir, not without my leave:
Go some of you, and let the people know
The King keeps state, and will not come in publike:
If any great affaires, or State addresses,
Bring 'em to me.

King.
How have I taught the villaine
To act my part? But oh, my son, my son,
Shall I not see thee?

Ha.
For once you shall, Sir;
But you must grant me one thing.

King.
Traytour, dost thou mock my miseries?
What can I give, but this unhappie life?

Ha.
Alas, Sir, it is but that I ask, and 'tis my modestie
To ask it, it being in my power to take it:
When you shall see him, sir, to dye for pitie,
'Twere such a thing, 'twould so deceive the world,
And make the people think you were good natur'd;
'Twill look so well in storie, and become
The stage so handsomely.

King.
I ne're deny'd thee any thing, and shall not now
Deny thee this, though I could stand upright
Under the tyranny of age and fortune;
Yet the sad weight of such ingratitude
Will crush me into earth.

Ha.
Lose not your teares, but keep
Your lamentations for your son, or sins;
For both deserve 'em: but you must make haste, sir,
Or hee'll not stay your comming.
He looks upon a watch.
'Tis now about the houre the poyson
Must take effect.

King.
Poyson'd; oh Heaven!

Ha.
Nay, sir, lose no time in wonder, both of us
Have much to doe, if you will see your son,
Here's one shall bring you to him.
Exit King.
Some unskilfull Pylot had shipwrackt here;
But I not only against sure
And likely ills have made my selfe secure:
But so confirm'd, and fortifi'd my state,
To set it safe above the reach of Fate.
Exit Haly.

Enter Prince led, servants at the other doore, Princesse and Soffy.
Serv.
Sir, the Princesse and your son.

Prince.
Soffy, thou comst to wonder at
Thy wretched father: why dost thou interrupt
Thy happinesse, by looking on an object
So miserable?

Princesse.
My Lord, me thinks there is not in your voyce
The vigour that was wont, nor in your look
The wonted cheerfulnesse; Are you well, my Lord?

Prince.
No: but I shall be, I feele my health a comming?

Princesse.
What's your disease, my Lord?

Prince.
Nothing, but I have ta'ne a Cordiall,
Sent by the King or Haly, in requitall
Of all my miseries, to make me happie:
The pillars of this frame grow weak,
As if the weight of many yeares oppresse 'em;
My sinewes slacken, and an icie stifnesse
Benums my bloud.

Princesse.
Alas, I feare hee's poysoned:
Call all the help that Art, or Herbs, or Minerals
Can minister.

Prince.
No, 'tis too late;
And they that gave me this, are too well practiz'd
In such an Art, to attempt and not performe.

Prin.
Yet trie my Lord, revive your thoughts, the Empire
Expects you, your father's dying.

Prince.
So when the ship is sinking,
The winds that wrackt it cease.

Princesse.
Will you be the scorne of fortune,
To come neere a Crowne, and only neere it?

Prince.
I am not fortunes scorne, but she is mine,
More blind than I.

Princesse.
O tyranny of Fate! to bring
Death in one hand, and Empire in the other,
Only to shew us happinesse, and then
To snatch us from it.

Prince.
They snatch me to it;
My soule is on her journey, do not now
Divert, or lead her back, to lose her selfe
I'th' maze, and winding labyrinths o'th' world:
I prethee do not weep, thy love is that
I part with most unwillingly, or otherwise
I had not staid till rude necessitie
Had forc'd me hence.
Soffy, be not a man too soone,
And when thou art, take heed of too much vertue;
It was thy fathers, and his only crime,
'Twill make the King suspitious; yet ere time,
By natures course, has ripened thee to man,
'Twill mellow him to dust, till then forget
I was thy father, yet forget it not,
My great example shall excite thy thoughts
To noble actions. And you, deare Erythæa,
Give not your passions vent, nor let blind furie
Precipitate your thoughts, nor set 'em working,
Till time shall lend 'em better meanes and instruments
Than lost complaints. Where's prettie Fatyma?
She must forgive my rash ungentle passion.

Princesse.
What do you meane, sir?

Prince.
I am asham'd to tell you,
I prethee call her.

Princesse.
I will, sir, I pray try
If sleep will ease your torments, and repaire
Your wasted spirits.

Prince.
Sleep to these emptie lids
Is growne a stranger, and the day and night,
As undistinguisht by my sleep, as sight.
O happinesse of povertie! that rests
Securely on a bed of living turfe,
VVhile we with waking cares and restlesse thoughts,
Lye tumbling on our downe, courting the blessing
Of a short minutes slumber, which the Plough-man
Shakes from him, as a ransom'd slave his fetters:
Call in some musike, I have heard soft aires
Can charme our sences, and expell our cares.
Is Erythæa gone?

Serv.
Yes, sir.

Prince.
Enter Musike.

Serv.
So now he sleeps, let's leave him
To his repose.

Enter King.
King.
The horrour of this place presents
The horrour of my crimes, I faine would ask
What I am loth to heare; but I am well prepar'd,
They that are past all hope of good, are past
All feare of ill: and yet if he be dead,
Speak softly, or uncertainly.

Phy.
Sir, he sleeps,

King.
O that's too plaine, I know thou mean'st his last,
His long, his endlesse sleep.

Phy.
No, Sir, he lives; but yet
I feare the sleep you speak of will be his next:
For nature, like a weak and wearie traveller,
Tir'd with a tedious and a rugged way,
Not by desire provokt, but even betray'd
By wearinesse and want of spirits,
Gives up her selfe to this unwilling slumber.

King.
Thou hast it, Haly, 'tis indeed a sad
And sober truth, though the first
And only truth thou ever told'st me:
And 'tis a fatall signe, when Kings heare truth,
Especially when flatterers dare speake it.

Prince.
I thought I heard my father, does he think the poyson
Too slow, and comes to see the operation?
Prince awakes.
Or does he think his engine dull, or honest?
Lesse apt to execute, than he to bid him:
He needs not, 'tis enough, it will succeed
To his expectation.

King.
'Tis indeed thy father,
Thy wretched father; but so far from acting
New cruelties, that if those already past,
Acknowledg'd and repented of, can yet
Receive a pardon, by those mutuall bonds
Nature has seal'd between us, which though I
Have cancell'd, thou hast still preserv'd inviolate;
I beg thy pardon.

Prince.
Death in it selfe appeares
Lovely and sweet, not only to be pardoned,
But wisht for: had it come from any other hand,
But from a father; a father,
A name so full of life, of love, of pitie:
Death from a fathers hand, from whom I first
Receiv'd a being, 'tis a preposterous gift,
An act at which inverted Nature starts,
And blushes to behold her selfe so cruell.

Kin.
Take thou that comfort with thee, and be not deafe to truth:
By all that's holy, by the dying accents
Of thine, and my last breath, I never meant,
I never wisht it, sorrow has so over-fraught
This sinking bark, I shall not live to shew
How I abhor, or how I would repent
My first rash crime; but he that now
Has poyson'd thee, first poyson'd me with jealousie,
A foolish causelesse jealousie.

Prince.
Since you beleeve my innocence,
I cannot but beleeve your sorrow:
But does the villaine live? A just revenge
Would more become the sorrowes of a King,
Than womanish complaints.

King.
O Mirza, Mirza:
I have no more the power to doe it,
Than thou to see it done: My Empire, Mirza,
My Empire's lost: Thy vertue was the rock
On which it firmly stood, that being undermin'd,
It sunk with its owne weight; the villaine whom my breath created,
Now braves it in my Throne.

Prince.
O for an houre of life; but 'twill not be:
Revenge and justice we must leave to heaven.
I would say more, but death has taken in the out-works,
And now assailes the fort; I feele, I feele him
Gnawing my heart-strings: farewell, and yet I would.

Dies.
King.
O stay, stay but a while, and take me with thee;
Come Death, let me embrace thee, thou that wert
The worst of all my feares, art now the best
Of all my hopes. But Fate, why hast thou added
This curse to all the rest? the love of life,
We love it, and yet hate it; death we loath,
And still desire; flye to it, and yet feare it.

Enter Princesse and Soffy.
Princesse.
Hee's gone, hee's gone for ever:
O that the poyson had mistaken his,
And met this hated life; but cruell Fate
Envied so great a happinesse: Fate that still
Flies from the wretched, and pursues the blest.
Yee Heavens! But why should I complaine to them
That heare me not, or bow to those that hate me?
Why should your curses so out-weigh your blessings?
They come but single, and long expectation
Takes from their value: but these fall upon us
Double and sudden.
Sees the King.
Yet more of horrour, then farewell my teares,
And my just anger be no more confin'd
To vaine complaints, or selfe-devouring silence;
But break, break forth upon him like a deluge,
And the great spirit of my injur'd Lord
Possesse me, and inspire me with a rage
Great as thy wrongs, and let me call together
All my soules powers, to throw a curse upon him
Black as his crimes.

King.
O spare your anger, 'tis lost;
For he whom thou accused has already
Condemn'd himselfe, and is as miserable
As thou canst think, or wish him; spit upon me,
Cast all reproaches on me, womans wit
Or malice can invent, I'le thank thee for them;
What e're can give me a more lively sence
Of my owne crimes, that so I may repent 'em.

Princesse.
O cruell Tyrant! couldst thou be so barbarous
To a son as noble, as thy selfe art vile?
That knew no other crime, but too much vertue;
Nor could deserve so great a punishment
For any fault, but that he was thy son?
Now not content to exceed all other Tyrants.
Exceed'st thy selfe: first, robbing him of sight,
Then seeming by a fain'd and forc'd repentance.
To expiate that crime, didst win him to
A false securitie, and now by poyson
Hast robb'd him of his life.

King.
Were but my soule as pure
From other guilts as that, Heaven did not hold
One more immaculate. Yet what I have done,
He dying did forgive me, and hadst thou been present,
Thou wouldst have done the same: for thou art happie,
Compar'd to me; I am not only miserable,
But wicked too; thy miseries may find
Pitie, and help from others; but mine make me
The scorne, and the reproach of all the world;
Thou, like unhappie Merchants, whose adventures
Are dasht on rocks, or swallowed up in stormes,
Ow'st all thy losses to the Fates: but I,
Like wastfull Prodigals, have cast away
My happinesse, and with it all mens pitie:
Thou seest how weak and wretched guilt can make,
Even Kings themselves, when a weak womans anger
Can master mine.

Princesse.
And your sorrow
As much o'recomes my anger, and turns into melting pitie.

King.
Pitie not me, nor yet deplore your husband;
But seek the safetie of your son, his innocence
Will be too weak a guard, when nor my greatnesse,
Nor yet his fathers vertues could protect us.
Go on my boy, the just revenge of all
To Soffy.
Our wrongs I recommend to thee and Heaven;
I feele my weaknesse growing strong upon me:
Exeunt.
Death, thou art he that wilt not flatter Princes,
That stoops not to authoritie, nor gives
A specious name to tyrannie; but shewes
Our actions in their owne deformed likenesse.
Now all those cruelties which I have acted,
To make me great, or glorious, or secure,
Look like the hated crimes of other men.

Enter Physician.
King.
O save, save me, who are those that stand,
And seeme to threaten me?

Phy.
There's no body, 'tis nothing,
But some fearfull dreame.

King.
Yes, that's my brothers ghost, whose birth-right stood
'Twixt me and Empire, like a spredding Cedar
That growes to hinder some delightfull prospect,
Him I cut downe.
Next my old fathers ghost, whom I impatient
To have my hopes delay'd, hastned by violence before his fatall day;
Then my enraged son, who seemes to beckon,
And hale me to him, I come, I come, yee Ghosts,
The greatest of you all; but sure one hell's
Too little to containe me, and too narrow
For all my crimes.

Dies.
Enter Mirvan and Haly at severall doores.
Ha.
Goe muster all the Citie-Bands, pretend it
To prevent sudden tumults,
But indeed to settle the succession.

Mir.
My Lord, you are too sudden, you'll take 'em unprepar'd;
Alas, you know their consciences are tender.
Scandall and scruple must be first remov'd,
They must be pray'd, and preach'd into a tumult:
But for the succession,
Let us agree on that, there's Calamah
The eldest son by the Arabian Lady,
A gallant youth.

Ha.
I, too gallant, his proud spirit will disdaine
To owe his greatnesse to anothers gift;
Such gifts as Crownes, transcending all requitall,
Turne injuries.
No, Mirvan; he must be dull and stupid, lest he know
Wherefore we made him King.

Mir.
But he must be good natur'd, tractable,
And one that will be govern'd.

Ha.
And have so much wit to know whom hee's beholding to.

Mir.
But why, my Lord, should you look further than your selfe?

Ha.
I have had some such thoughts; but I consider
The Persian State will not endure a King
So meanly borne; no, I'le rather be the same I am,
In place the second, but the first in power:
Solyman the son of the Georgian Lady
Shall be the man: what noyse is that?

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
My Lord, the Princes late victorious Army
Is marching towards the palace, breathing nothing
But furie and revenge; to them are joyn'd
All whom desire of change, or discontent,
Excites to new attempts, their Leaders
Abdall and Morat.

Ha.
Abdall and Morat! Mirvan, we are lost, fallen from the top
Of all our hopes, and cast away like Saylers,
Who scaping seas, and rocks, and tempests, perish
I'th' verie port, so are we lost i'th' sight
And reach of all our wishes.

Mir.
How has our intelligence fail'd us so strangely?

Ha.
No, no, I knew they were in mutiny;
But they could ne're have hurt us,
Had they not come at this instant period,
This point of time: had he liv'd two dayes longer,
A pardon to the Captaines, and a largesse
Among the Souldiers, had appeas'd their furie:
Had he di'd two dayes sooner, the succession
Had as we pleas'd, been setled, and secur'd
By Soffy's death: Gods, that the world should turne
On minutes, and on moments.

Mir.
My Lord, lose not your selfe
In passion, but take counsell from necessitie;
I'le to 'em, and will let them know
The Prince is dead, and that they come too late
To give him libertie; for love to him
Has bred their discontents: I'le tell them boldly,
That they have lost their hopes.

Ha.
And tell them too,
As they have lost their hopes o'th' one, they have lost
Their feares o'th' other: tell their Leaders we desire
Their counsell in the next succession,
Which if it meet disturbance,
Then we shall crave assistance from their power,
Which Fate could not have sent in a more happie hower.

Exit Mirvan.
Enter Lords, Caliph.
Cal.
My Lord,
Yee heare the newes, the Princes Army is at the gate.

Ha.
I, I heare it, and feele it here;
Aside.
But the succession, that's the point
That first requires your counsell.

Cal.
Who should succeed, but Soffy?

Ha.
What, in such times as these, when such an Army
Lies at our gates, to choose a child our King?
You, my Lord Caliph, are better read in storie,
And can discourse the fatall consequences
When children raigne.

Cal.
My Lords, if you'll be guided
By reason and example,

Enter Abdall and Morat.
Ha.
My Lords, you come most opportunely, we were entring
Into dispute about the next succession.

Ab.
Who dares dispute it? we have a powerfull argument
Of fortie thousand strong, that shall confute him.

Cal.
A powerfull argument indeed.

Ab.
I, such a one as will puzzle all your Logick
And distinctions to answer it;
And since we came too late for the performance
Of our intended service to the Prince,
The wronged Prince, we cannot more expresse
Our loyaltie to him, than in the right
Of his most hopefull son.

Ha.
But is he not too young?

Mor.
Sure you think us so too; but he, and we
Are old enough to look through your disguise,
And under that to see his fathers enemies.

A Guard there.
Enter Guard.
Mor.
Seize him, and you that could shew reason or example.

Ha.
Seize me! for what?

Ab.
Canst thou remember such a name as Mirza,
And ask for what?

Ha.
That name I must remember, and with horrour;
But few have died for doing,
What they had di'd for if they had not done:
It was the Kings command, and I was onely
Th'unhappie minister.

Ab.
I, such a minister as wind to fire,
That adds an accidentall fiercenesse to
Its naturall furie.

Mor.
If 'twere the Kings command, 'twas first thy malice
Commanded that command, and then obey'd it.

Ha.
Nay, if you have resolv'd it, truth and reason
Are weak and idle arguments;
But let me pitie the unhappie instruments
Of Princes wils, whose anger is our fate,
And yet their love's more fatall than their hate.

Ab.
And how well that love hath been requited,
Mirvan your Confident,
By torture has confest.

Mor.
The storie of the King, and of the Bashawes.

Ha.
Mirvan, poore-spirited wretch, thou hast deceiv'd me;
Nay then farewell my hopes, and next my feares.

Enter Soffy.
So.
What horrid noyse was that of drums and
Trumpets, that struck my eare?
What meane these bonds? could not my Grandfires jealousie
Be satisfied upon his son, but now
Must seize his dearest favourite? sure my turne comes next.

Ab.
'Tis come already, Sir; but to succeed him, not them:
Long live King Soffy.

Without drums and trumpets.
So.
But why are these men prisoners?

Ab.
Let this enforme you.

So.
But is my Grandsire dead?

Ab.
As sure as we are alive.

So.
Then let 'em still be prisoners, away with 'em;
Invite our mother from her sad retirement,
And all that suffer for my fathers love,
Restraint or punishment.

Enter Princesse.
So.
Deare mother, make
Our happinesse compleat, by breaking through
That cloud of sorrow,
And let us not be wanting to our selves,
Now th'heavens have done their part,
Lest so severe and obstinate a sadnesse
Tempt a new vengeance.

Princesse.
Sir, to comply with you I'le use a violence
Upon my nature; Joy is such a forrainer,
So meere a stranger to my thoughts, I know
Not how to entertaine him; but sorrow
Ill made by custome so habituall,
'Tis now part of my nature.

So.
But can no pleasure, no delight divert it?
Greatnesse, or power, which women most affect,
If that can doe it, rule me, and rule my Empire.

Princesse.
Sir, seek not to rob me of my tears, Fortune
Her selfe is not so cruell; for my counsels
Then may be unsuccessefull, but my prayers
Shall wait on all your actions.

Enter Solyman, as from the Rack.
Guard.
So.
Alas poore Solyman, how is he altered?

Sol.
I know not, Sir, it an art your Grandfather had to make
Me grow, I think he took me for some crooked Lady,
I'm sure the engine is better for the purpose, than
Steele bodies, or bolsters.

So.
But for what cause was all this crueltie?

Sol.
Why, because I would not accuse your father, when he
Saw he could not stretch my conscience, thus he has
Stretcht my carkasse.

Mor.
I think they have stretcht his wit too.

Sol.
This is your fathers love that lyes thus in my joynts,
I might have lov'd all the pockie whores in Persia, and
Have felt it lesse in my bones.

So.
Thy faith and honestie shall be rewarded
According to thine owne desire.

Sol.
Friend, I pray thee tell me whereabout my knees are,
I would faine kneele to thank his Majestie:
Why Sir, for the present my desire is only to have
A good Bone-setter, and when your Majestie has done the office
Of a Bone-setter to the Body Politike, and some skilfull
Man to this body of mine (which if it had been a Body
Politike, had never come to this) I shall by that
Time think on something according to my deserts:
But must none of these great ones be hang'd for
Aside.
Their villanies?

Mor.
Yes certainly.

Sol.
Then I need look no further, some of their places
Will serve my turne.

So.
Bring back those villaines.

Enter Haly and Caliph.
So.
Now to your teares, deare Madam, and the Ghost
Of my dead father, will I consecrate
The first fruits of my justice: Let such honours
And funerall rites, as to his birth and vertues
Are due, be first performed, then all that were
Actors, or Authors of so black a deed,
Be sacrific'd as Victims to his ghost:
First thou, my holy Devill, that couldst varnish
So foule an act with the faire name of Pietie:
Next thou, th'abuser of thy Princes eare.

Cal.
Sir, I beg your mercie.

Ha.
And I a speedy death, nor shall my resolution
Disarme it selfe, nor condescend to parley
With foolish hope.

So.
'Twere crueltie to spare 'em, I am sorrie
I must commence my raigne in bloud, but dutie
And justice to my fathers soule exact
This cruell pietie; let's study for a punishment,
A feeling one,
And borrow from our sorrow so much time,
T'invent a torment equall to their crime.

Exeunt.