University of Virginia Library

Actus quintus

Scena prima.

Emperour, Hungary, Questenberg.
Emp.
Vext with so many cares, so many mischiefs,
That doe like Hidra's dreadfull heads increase,
By cutting off, as billowes follow billowes,
Succeed each other with that eager violence,
Our weary Eagles know not where to perch,
But flag their sickly wings: wer't not irreligious,
I should capitulate with the powers divine,
And tax them of injustice; my whole raigne
Has been a long and one continued trouble;
And if blest peace with her faire beames did e're
Shine on our Empire, 'twas but like a faire
Deceitfull wind, courting the ships out of the harbor,
Into the maine to drowne them: but the mother
Of a more horrid warfare, that I feare as
I found the Wreathe Imperiall drown'd in blood,
So I in blood must leave it.

Quest.
Have good hope Sir,
Tides then approach their full height, when their ebbe
Has been at lowest; the most hideous tempests,
Which seem'd to threat the ruine of the world,
Bing usher'd in by thunder and hot lightning,
Are soonest past, there's nothing violent
Can boast of perpetuity; our fortunes
Are not so desperate, as our feares present them:
We've hands and hearts left yet, that dare oppose
The inhumane Traytor, and our causes justice
Assures us, if we cannot live victorious,
We shall dye nobly.

Hung.
Man, my royall Father
Is not himselfe, when he beholds
Events through the quicke perspective of feare,
Which shewes him dangers at remotest distance,
As clearest and his most perspicuous obiects.
Suppose this traitor in his Giant-reach
Fathome ev'n heaven it selfe, yet there are bolts
To strike him into earth for his ambition,
And make his memory and name, all, save his treason,
For ever to be forgotten.

Emp.
That which most
Does drive my tortur'd soule into affrights,
Is, that I see we'r false among our selves:
The faithlesse Souldiers daily doe in troupes,
Fly from our Ensignes to the Traytors Campe:
What cause have we then but t'expect sad ruine?
When those who should be our security,
Doe prove our greatest enemies; our Guard,
Our feare and terror, they all looke
On him, as superstitious Indians on the Sunne,
With adoration; on me, with contempt,
Or (but at best) with pitty.

Quest.
Mighty Cæsar,
To doubt an ill before it fall upon us,
'Mongst valiant and resolved soules is counted
A point of cowardise: Great Spirits ever
Should be above their fates; good Sir retreat
Into that fortresse of your minde,
Your resolution, call it up to guard,
Your soule from timorous thoughts:
Are you the man have sway'd
The Roman Empire foure and twenty yeeres,
With that successe against your forraigne foes,
Your very name more then your forces vanquish'd,
To let a Traytor fright you: good my Lord
Let's draw forth new battalias to the Field,
Awake the Drum and Trumpet, summon up
The very last hopes of our weaken'd strength,
'Gainst this insulting traytor; very infants
Will on the sudden grow up able men,
And fight in this brave quarrell.

Hung.
Heaven it selfe
Will arme on our side, and with certaine vengeance,
Pursue the inhumane monster: why? to dye,
(As that's the worst can happen) in this cause,
Were a religious martyrdome: I am your son Sir,
And what your fortunes are, good or disastrous,
Mine has on them dependance; by my hopes, I doe
So little waigh the glorious traytors pride,
I thinke him worthy scarce my meanest thought,
And rest assur'd, ere long, I shall behold
This fearefull meteor, that would be a Star,
And does affright us with his hideous blaze,
Like a vaine Comet drop his fading rayes.

Emp.
Your comforts
Come as in droughts the elementall dew
Does on the earth, it wets, but leaves no moysture,
To give the sear'd plants growth: But yesternight
We'd certaine information, that our forces
Led by Matthias Gallas, were o'rethrowne
By Saxon Waymar, and his son young Fredricke:
Who had they knowne as well how to pursue,
As gaine a victory, and made a sudden
Onslaught upon Vienna, their's; not ours
Had been the Wreathe Imperiall. Now your newes sir.

Int Messenger.
Messen.
Letters from Colonell Lesle sir, from Egers.

Emp.
This is our latest hope; he writes me word,
That the Arch-traytor, and his prime confederates,
Last night arriv'd at Egers, and assures me
Of their immediate ruine: Well Colossus,
You'd best stand firme, unshaken as a rocke,
Whose feet the fierce waves striving to trip up,
Doe 'gainst its hard hoofes dash themselves to pieces,
Or thou wilt fall unpittied, fall to be
The scorne of story, the contempt and by-word
To all posterity; let's in my Lords:
This law the Heavens inviolably keepe,
Their justice well may slumber, but ne're sleepe.

Exeunt.

Scena ultima:

Wallenstein, Tertzki, Kintzki, Illawe, Newman, Lesle, Butler, Gordon.
Lesle.
The honour you have done us mighty Duke,
By this your gracious presence, gives a period
To our ambition; Egers is growne proud,
Dares with Vienna stand in competition,
Which is the capitall City, which does hold
The true and lawfull Cæsar.

Gordon.
Ferdinand,
Had he arriv'd here in his greatest glory,
Could not have been more welcome; while I am
Governour of this towne, it and my life
Are at your service.

Wallens.
Noble Gentlemen,
You do so loade me with new courtesies,
I know not first for which to give you thankes,
And did a sullen humour not possesse
My much distemper'd faculties, my mirth
Should speake my gratitude; but on the sudden,
I am so overburdned with sad thoughts,
I cannot suite my minde (so much opprest)
To jollitie.

Lesle.
'Tis our generall griefe,
Ought should disturbe your quiet here, when we
Were all compos'd of triumph, for the joy
We doe conceive for your arrivall. My noble Lord of
Tertzki, these are the welcomes
Full bowles of sprightly Wine that Souldiers use
In entertainment; to our Generals health,
And to his good recovery from his melancholy.

Tert.
Who shall refuse to pledge it with that zeale,
He would drinke healthfull potions, may it be
A deadly poyson to him: Colonell Gordon.

New.
May he dye for droughth, like a Westphalia Pig
I'th' dog dayes, or be choakt with eating tosted cheese.

Gordon.
My Lord of Kintzki,
This to our Generals health, and welcome hither.

New.
I'm like to faint for thirst,
Would 'twould arrive at me once, my mouth
Even waters at it.

Kintz.
Noble Butler.

Butler.
Marshall Illawe.

Newm.
I shall be last, I see,
But if the stoopes hold out, 'tis ten to one
I'le have my share.

Illawe.
Here Colonell Newman.

New.
And 'twere the Tun of Heidleberg, I'd drink it
Off with as much ease, as a leaguer can
In a grim sutlers house of thatch: My Lord,
Under your gracious pardon, take me off
This lusty rowse to your owne health, and after
Begin as much to each of ours, and if
It doe not make you as merry as a Corporall
Upon pay day, say I'm no Elculapius,
But a meere Mountebanke in the effects
Of sprightly Wine.

Wallens.
Kind Gentlemen, my thankes
To all of you, and would my disposition
Afford me licence, I should not forget
The souldiers ceremonie, to begin
Each of your happy wishes howsoever
I will trench so farre on my melancholy,
To drink this cup. To all your healths.

Omnes.
Your Grace hath shewen us
A too excessive curtesie.

Wall.
Ile onely
Repose a little, and if I find
My sad distemper alter, Ile returne,
And frolicke in your company.

Newm.
I smell him:
Hee has a plot upon us, hee'le steale hence,
And shift a score or two of cups, and then
Set fresh upon us, make us all as drunke,
As rats in the Canaries.

Lesle.
Wee'l attend your Grace.

Wallens.
By no meanes,
Let not my melancholy discompose
Your thought of frolicke mirth:
There's Colonel Newman,
Will in my absence take a cup or two
For mee: meane time bee merry, 'tis my charge:
Remember to observe it.
Ex. Wallens.

Lesle.
I'me sorry,
Hee should bee thus distemper'd here. My Lord
Let not our Generals sadnesse rob us of
Our late intended iollity: Colonell Newman
You'd wont to bee all ayre: I hope, you are not
Turn'd earth o'th' suddaine.

Newm.
No faith, thank heaven, I feel no inclination
that favours of mortality: gentlemen
Shal's have a catch.

Omnes.
With all our hearts, good Colonell.

New.
A military Madrigall, I learn'd it
Of a right Impe of Mars, a red-fac'd Serjeant,
At Halberstat.

Lesle.
Will you begin.

Newm.
Yes verily, but good Colonell
Let not your voyce rebell, nor be exalted
Into a Calidonia tune, 'twill spoile
Our ditty.

A Catch.
Lesle.
My thankes, my Lords please you this cup
To th'happy Nuptials 'twixt young Fredricke,
And the faire Emilia.

Gordon.
Egers will be honour'd,
To have them celebrated here.

Newm.
Doe me right good Colonell,
You drinke it as 'twere scarbeere.

Lesle.
Captaine Butler.

Newm.
No whispering good Colonell Lesle,
No whispering,
You know what followes, but drinke off your cup
Like a right Cavalier, this Neckar wine
Has a strange vertue in't, it elevates
Both flesh and spirit; a months means for a wench now.

Lesle.
My Lord, I am
So farre from giving you a fit requitall
For your late courtesies, that as satisfaction,
I must beg a new favour, one cup more,
Let's all together drinke a full carouse,
Unto our Generals health, and his revenge
Upon the Emperour; you shall drinke no more,
'T shall be your last cup, trust me.

New.
I shall drink no more, marke that, pray fill up mine
Till it run o're, I would be loath to have
My last cup faulty.

Lesle.
To his revenge.

Ent. four Souldiers with Pistols as they are drinking, they shoot Tertzki, Kintzki, Illawe, Newman, they fall.
Tert.
Traytor, inhospitable Slave.

dyes.
New.
I'm something hot about the heart,
A cup of your small wine to coole me, sure
You grudg'd my liquor, and so broach'd me behinde,
To let out what I had put in before, pox of your pellets
Say I: I care not for any other hurt they have done me,
But that they have spoil'd my drinking.

Dyes.
Lesle.
So, this was wel perform'd, drag in their bodies;
Now Country-men our taske is halfe perform'd,
We have lop'd of the maine armes that did grow
Unto this lofty Cedar, there remaines
Nought but the trunke to cut from earth, and that
Shall by our owne hands fall, these slaves shall not
Have so much honour done them, as to triumph
In our great Generals slaughter: As great Julius
Fell by his much lov'd Brutus, who when justice,
And his deare mothers cause, the Common-wealth,
Commanded him to strike, with one home blow,
Finish'd brave Cæsars life; so he by us
Shall surely perish: Friendship must not save,
Him and his foule ambition from one grave.

Exeunt.
Wallenstein solus.
Wallens.
Sure I beheld them, or the ayre condens'd
Into their lively figures; in their shrowds,
Pale and as meager, as they had convers'd
A yeere with the inhabitants of the earth,
And drunke the dew of charnell houses: Shew'd
Albertus and his lovely Bride; they wav'd
Their ghastly hands to me, as if in that
Dumbe language they'd invited me to come,
And visit them in their cold Urnes. To dye,
Why 'tis mans nature, not his punishment;
With this condition we all enter life,
To put if off agen; 'tis but a garment,
And cannot last for ever, both its fashion
And stuffe will soon weare out; why then should death,
(If I were now creeping into my Marble)
To me be terrible, since 'tis maine folly,
To feare that which we no way can avoid:
Nor is't much matter how we dye, by force,
Or naturally checker'd with grisly wounds,
Or in our beds, since all's but the same death still:
Oh! but to dye surcharg'd with mortall sinnes,
Such as can kill our everlasting beings,
Our soules, and send them hence to bathe in floods
Of living fire; there, that's the frightfull mischiefe,
The other's but a trifle; I, who never
Could feare the other, at the thought of this,
Am one with death already; my vast crimes,
My horrid murders kill that conscience in me,
Which makes me know my guilt, that conscience,
Which as my shaddow followes me.

Int. Lesle, Gordon, Butler.
Gordon.
Come softly,
And if my stroake misse, second me.

Stabs Wallenstein in the backe.
Wallens.
Ha! 'twas no ghost, that was a
Mortall touch,
It came so home and heavily: base Traytor,
Who e're thou art, thou durst not see my face,
My lookes would even have blasted thee:
Ha! Lesle, Gordon, Butler.

Lesle.
Yes Traytor-Duke, 'twas we, who cut thy soul
From thy weake twist of life, we who glory
More in performing this brave act of justice,
Then had we gain'd the Empire thy ambition
Aspir'd to, thy base trecheries to Cæsar,
Are by us reveng'd.

Gordon.
The Counts,
Thy bold confederate Rebels, by our hands
Sent to their ruine.

Wallens.
Thus coward Hare,
Prey on a dying Lyon, for thee Lesle,
Basely perfidious to me in thy faith,
Receive my last breath in a curse: you have
But plaid the Hang-men to performe heavens justice.
Forgive me Heaven my past offence: I dye,
Not for my ambition, but my cruelty.

Dyes.
Lesle.
Let us convey the body in, and post
With all speed to Vienna, and give notice
To th'Emperor of our proceedings; thus every Traytor shall,
Stead of a Crowne, meet his owne Funerall.