University of Virginia Library

Actus primus

Scena prima.

Kintzki, Tertzki, Gordon, Butler, Lesle.
Kint.
The rumour still continues.

Tert.
Yes, my Lord,
Ill fames though quicke are certaine,
'tis concluded
Past question or dispute, for these reports
Are grounded on too manifest a truth,
To carry doubt in them, it is confirm'd this morning;
Hee must resigne

Lesle.
Though a stranger Sir,
And so lesse interessed in the Generalls cause
Then you his Country-man: were you not my friend,
You ly'd to speake it. Must our Generall
That soule of valor Wallenstein; who has
(Like subtle lightning) purg'd the German ayre,
From all the hot infections, for raign warre
Could threaten: sent the health-carousing Dane
Drunke with his owne blood home: broke all the force,
With which the valiant Palatine and his aydes
Infested had the Province: given to Death
(That thunder-bolt of warre) whose very name
Was great as Fate it selfe unto his foes,
The Swedish King: and must he now, his age
Is candid o're with victories, be inforc'd
To a base resignation! Death! he's damn'd
That dare but mutter it.

Gordon.
And they were so
Who first occasion'd it 'twould bring much comfort
To all true Souldiers.

Lesle.
'Tis concluded Sir,
Past all redemption, they are doubly damn'd
For their ingratitude; displace a man
To whom they owe their lives! one whom, my Lords,
We have seen i'th heat and bravery of a fight,
Cheere up his fainting and disheartned troupes,
Even when his body seem'd but all one wound,
That it appear'd a little Iland, circled
Round with the purple deluge of his blood:
Who when warres Quiruters, the big-mouth'd Drums,
And surly Trumpet sung his Armies Dirge,
That fatall Musicke sweld his sprightly sense,
More then soft Hymnes at Nuptials.

Tert.
Sir, his glories
Are so well knowne to us we need not urge
Their reputation, but 'tis past my thoughts,
Why on the sudden he should be compeld
To give his charge up.

Kintz.
When the world beleev'd
He should have had a double triumph in
The honour of his victories.

Lesle.
Ile tell you,
There is in Princes Courts a leane-fac'd monster,
Term'd Envie, raigning in unworthy breasts,
To fames Heroicke sonnes, such as know to cringe
With subtle motion to their Princes smiles,
Adore his foot-steps and his awfull nods,
And can like Aspes instill into his eares,
A sweet yet killing venome: these thin soules
When the blunt Souldier, has on piles of wounds
Built up his Countries peace, whisper Beware
In time my Lord, least he doe grow too great:
This meeting with the jealous Princes feares,
(As Princes still are fearefull of the greatnesse
Of rising active subjects) breeds resolves to cut up
That prop, leaning on which themselves have stood,
Firme and unshaken on their base; and these
Court Parasites, and th'Emperors weake distrusts,
Puls this disgrace on Fridland, which if he
With an effeminate patience doe put up,
May all the Lawrels growing on his Crest.
Be turn'd to Cyprisse, serving for no use
But to adorne his Funerals.

Gordon.
Soft,
The Generall's here himselfe: my gracious Lord
The Duke.

Tert.
Our thrice redoubted Generall.

Enter Wallenstein, Illawe.
Wallens.
Ha! that sound
Awakes my drowsie soule, pray good my Lords,
What do you behold degenerate in my lookes,
Shewing me unworthy still of that great title?

Tert.
I would pull my eyes out,
Should they convey into my soule a thought
Tending to so much sacriledge to honour,
And perfect masculine vertue.

Wallens.
Yet I must
Put off that glorious title, like a garment,
Old and unfit for wearing: O my Lords,
Our honours individuall with our soules
Growes to that essence, as toth' hand or cheeke
The native whitenesse; and to have that torne,
Lug'd off by violent torture, is a suffrance
Beyond the strength of patience: is't not, Lords?

Tert.
Yes, and looke
How farre the noble immateriall soule,
Transcends the duller body, so much torments
Inflicted on the pure mind, surpasses
Corporeall punishments.

Wallens.
It is a true
Philosophy which even amongst Souldiers,
Whose onely learning is compriz'd in Armes,
Is granted as indisputable, my Lords,
What will the world that sometimes stood at gaze,
Frighted with awfull terror of my deeds,
Imagine to behold me in my age,
Depriv'd of all those titles, all those glories,
Which have growne up with me even from my youth,
Which I have purchas'd with expence of wounds,
More numerous, then Ive veynes;
'Twill straight conclude, either my age is doting,
And return'd into a second childhood, and unfit to manage
The glorious warfare and the big commands
Of Martiall discipline; or that my faith,
Is on the sudden like a faire ripe fruit,
(By'th too hot kisses oth'lascivious Sunne
Betray'd to rottennesse) by haughtie pride,
Or vaine ambition tainted.

Lesle.
And so blast
At least, my Lord, in their too nice esteeme,
Your former actions.

Gordon.
Wrap in clouds of shame,
Your shining vertues.

Wallens.
True, for 'twixt these two extremes,
There is no meanes t'escape by: thinke then Lords,
What an inhumane, irreligious wrong
It is, both to my honour and my faith,
To be depriv'd thus basely of that charge,
Which I've perform'd with care and good successe:
And what ingratitude 'tis in this Prince,
This Emperor, thus to reward my trust;
When his owne soule can witnesse, 'twas my selfe
That from the Swede, the Palatine and Dane,
Rescued his Eagles; who else had mewd their plumes,
And from their height been forc'd to perch on earth:
I tooke the reeling pillars of his State,
And pitcht them firme and even: Of this his Heaven,
I've been the Atlas, I did fight for him,
When every conflict was a victory,
Each field of battell was a field of glory;
Yet as my truths and loyalties reward,
I am depriv'd unkindly even in peace,
Of all my glories purchas'd in the warre.

Tert.
Next Sir, thinke,
With whom your shining honour's in the scale
Ballanc'd: with one so farre beneath your worth;
We are ingag'd in reputation, never
(He being so farre inferior to our selves)
To obey his commands.

Kintz.
Mathias Gallas,
Your late Field-Marshall.

Wallens.
His very name
Begets new horror in me, noblest friends,
Co-partners with me in what ever dangers,
Attends triumphant war, whom I have led
In crimson fields through rising seas of blood,
That you have swom, not march'd to victory:
Would it not breed afflictions in your soules,
Your noble honest soules, to see your poore,
Yet alwayes loving Generall, at this age,
Now when his head's grown white beneath his helme,
Discarded from his office, and shooke off,
As birds their feathers mew, or Stags their hornes,
Those uselesse excrements, in hope that fresher
Will ith'old places grow; should I doe this, I then
Might trayle my waving Ensignes in the dust,
As at my Honors Funerall, and breake
My Sword 'gainst my owne Target, nay put off
All pompe and pride of war, and like that vaine
Resemblance of a star, a Comet fall
By my owne fire consum'd to earth forgotten.

Lesle.
Great Sir, though a stranger to you
By birth and nation, yet the strict alliance
I've to your princely noblenesse, injoynes me
Under your pardon, and with the allowance
Of these brave Counts, your followers, to deliver
My zealous counsell to you.

Wallens.
Noble Scot,
Use your discretion freely.

Lesle.
Thus great Sir then,
Though't be i'th power of Princes to prescribe
Lawes to their subjects, 'tis their subjects wills
Must put those Lawes in act, 'tis their obedience,
Which are the ablest sinewes of the state,
And 'twere a barbarous cruelty to imploy
Their hands against themselves, a strange injustice,
To make their proper vertue instrument
Of their owne ruine.

Tert.
Colonell Lesle
Speakes home.

Kint.
And to much purpose.

Lesle.
Doe not Lords
Misunderstand my meaning, I speake not this,
That I contemne authority, or dislike
Order in every thing, without preeminence
In title of command our trade the warfare
Could not subsist, but to informe our Generall,
Our too much injur'd Generall, that it is
No such strange crime, to disobey a Prince
In things injust; and can there be a greater,
Or shamefuller injustice then for Cæsar,
By's Mandate to inforce him to resigne
His glorious charge up?

Gordon.
'Twere a shame.

Illawe.
An utter, an abominable disgrace
To all that honor vertue, should we suffer it?

Lesle.
Here then
Ends what I would have uttered; of what force
Are Cæsars Mandats, when their reall loves
Has disannull'd them? circled with these hearts,
These bulwarkes of brave hearts, what need have you
To acknowledge any Emperor but your selfe?
Your selfe great Duke, whose merit lays just claime
To that supremest title.

Lesle.
Pray once more,
Give me your patience: Rashnesse, Gentlemen,
Gives the first on-set fiercely, then recoyles,
As Waspes when they have lost their stings: affaires
Of this high consequence, doe require mature
Deliberation: to confirme our owne
Strength for the exploit, 'twere fit we did conjoyne
With Saxon Waymar and Gustavus Horne,
And the other bold confederates: how likes
Your Grace this project?

Wallens.
The Drum and Fife,
Trumpet and Canon, when their lowd voyces sing,
Iös to victory, could nere beget
More musick in my ravished sense: best friend,
I am so bankrupt growne in my extent
Of gratitude, that trust me I could weepe,
To see my selfe so farre outdone in friendship:
I am ingag'd in honour to goe on,
That this insulting Emperor by his fall,
To gaine fit meanes to gratifie your loves.
Thou aëry name of loyalty, hence to heaven,
And finde like smoake a buriall in the clouds,
Thus I expire thy essence; henceforth Ile acknowledge
No other Emperor but these worthies hearts.

Tert.
And we (great Duke) henceforth will nere submit,
To any rule but yours, which to confirme
As sure as Fate had seal'd it, on your sword
Wee'l take a solemne and religious oath
For the performance.
Omnes, we all sweare it.
And if any should be so basely perjur'd, as to breake,
But in a thought this Sacramentall faith,
Let our just angers fall as heavie on him,
As heavens most horrid curses, sinke his name,
Like some prodigie despis'd by light, into forgetfulnesse.

Wallens.
So now me thinkes I stand: like a Colossus,
Through whose spacious Arch,
Flowes the vast sea of honour, without power,
Or naturall force to ebbe. Againe, best friends,
The early day, though from the gorgeous East
She breakes, adorn'd with chaines of liquid pearle,
Cannot atchieve full lustre, till the Sun
Gild her pale cheekes with brightnesse, nor can we
Cloathe the yet infant dawning of our hopes,
In perfect Robes of light, till we have
Attir'd them in the sparkling rayes of blood,
Imperiall blood: Come let's goe on resolv'd,
Like those brave men, who in their awfull palmes,
Doe beare about their destinies, and can
Command even fate it self: Illawe dispatch with speed
Advises to the Marquesse Brandenburge,
Waymar and Count de Arheim, that we intreat,
At personall meeting with them all at Dresden.
Come Lords, when ere the Romane Eagle falls,
Wee'l mourne in triumph at her Funeralls.

Exit Wallens. Tert. Kintz. et cæteri.
Lesle.
So things once well begun,
Are halfe perform'd, the managing an act
With close and hidden practice 'mongst the wise
And politicke people, brings assur'd successe:
Broad open wayes the heavie snaile does take,
While untrod paths best please the subtle snake.

Exit.

Scena secunda

Emperor, Gallas, Questenberg.
Emp.
Hee'l not resigne then?

Quest.
'Tis so fear'd, the greatnesse
Of his vast spirit never will admit
Resignation of those honours, which
He has with such felicity injoy'd.

Gallas.
Besides, my Lord,
The Army is so much bewitch'd with love
Of this Arch-Traytor Wallenstein, they rather
Put of their due allegeance unto you
Their naturall Soveraigne, nay give up their lives,
Then yeeld to any act which may concerne
His removall.

Emper.
Can this be possible!
Treason shall never brave us at our doores,
Whilst I can wield a Sword: ingratefull slave!
Whom I have rais'd from such an abject lownesse;
His family did scarcely beare a name
In common Gentry, to the very height,
The type of honour. That he should doe this,
And like the Vipers young, devoure that heart,
That bred and nourish'd him, more afflicts my soule,
Than all the wrongs and troubles which my foes
Ever inflicted on my Fame and Empire.
Matthias Gallas, let it be your charge,
To see new forces levy'd, to oppose
Against this Arch-Rebell.

Gallas.
My Lord, I've learn'd
Ith' practicke Schoole of warre, that to oppose
Fresh unexperienc'd troups against the flower
Of old and hardned Souldiers, is but as
If amongst hungry Lions we should cast,
Resistlesse infants, and by their weake force,
Hope to o'recome the furious beasts: Dread Sir,
My Councell alwayes has had that successe,
To be accounted faithfull to my Prince:
Feare it not, follow then my poore advice,
Meet trechery with policie, and try,
If you the Ambitious traytor can surprize,
The head once off, the weake and fainting limbes,
Like sear'd dri'd boughs, by an impetuous wind,
Torne from an aged Oke, will fall to earth,
And be consum'd to ashes.

Empe.
It shall be so,
Lord Questenberg, with all convenient speed,
Dispatch a trusty messenger unto
The King of Hungary, command his presence,
With his most able legions for the safeguard
Of our owne person: In such like affaires,
Which doe concerne the uncertaine rule of States,
Wise men should alwayes be above their fates.

Exeunt.

Scena tertia

Albertus, Newman.
Newm.
A pox upon her fir, and for her sake,
On all good faces; must you sigh and whine,
And make a face worse then a zealous drunkard
Does o're dead mustie wine, because she is beauteous:
We Souldiers doe not use to ingender with
A phisnomy, nor as the learned terme it,
Co-habit with a handsome nose or lip,
There are some parts beneath the waste I take it,
More usefull for a man of Armes.

Alber.
Good Colonell,
No more of this.

Newm.
Should I aske you
The reason why you love her, you must answer;
'Tis for the sport (as for what other reason
Women were made, unlesse to prick upon
A clout, or starch, transcends my best Philosophy)
And for that purpose, a short coat frister,
That as she milkes each morning,
Bedewes the coole grasse with her Virgin moisture,
As usefull is and active (sounder far
That's certaine granted) pray, my Lord, remember
Shee's but your mothers Gentlewoman, and whom perhaps
The Butler has oftener folded up, then ere
He did his table linne one.

Alber.
No more, you'l anger me.

Newm.
No more, you'l anger me agen then: we Imps of Mars,
Should know no other mistresses, then what the Camp contains,
I nere durst love ith' field, (marry in the Citie.
I've had copulation with all trades) but one poor sutlers wife, &
She as faire too, as was the kettle which she boyl'd her beefe in,
O how the sweet smell of her amber greace
And kitchin-stuffe perfum'd my greedy nostrils,
Yet on this beauty doted I (inspir'd by insurrection of the flesh)
And gave her to cuckol'd the good corporall her husband.

Int. Isabella.

Ten comely dollers, and the divell take her, she
paid me with a pox. But see, here comes the Lady of the Lake,
for whom you good sir Lancelot make these lamentations; be
not you bashfull now, but fall on boldly heart, let me drill her
for you, if her body be under Musket proofe, 'tis ten to one my
morris pike shall enter. to her, to her.

Exit Newm.
Isabel.
Surpriz'd by him alone, O my just feares.

Albert.
Why, cruell faire one, should you shun his sight,
Whose very soule moves in your eyes, of why
Should your blest voyce, speake health to all the world,
Yet threaten death to me: look on my youth,
My hopefull youth, which in the active war,
Has taught old Souldiers discipline: behold it
Nipt by the cold frost of your icie beauty,
As in a feaver languishing to nothing,
Forgetfull of the noble pride and strength,
It has so lately boasted, 'tis injust
To see me still over my foes victorious,
Made by my selfe your captive, to insult
Over your suppliant vassaile, would those eyes,
Which can contract lights orbe into a glance,
Become impoverish'd by a smile, those cheekes
Sully their native tincture, should they blush
At your mindes cruelty, 'twould rather adde
To the illustrious excellence.

Isabel.
My noble Lord.

Albert.
Stay, you must not speake yet,
There's not an accent issuing from your lips,
But has the power, should thunder speak, to charme,
To peacefull quiet the affrighted, the world,
And would strike dumbe my passion: best of Virgins
There is not the disparity 'twixt our births,
As there's inequall difference 'twixt our hearts;
Mine's all on fire, dare combat with the Sun
For heats priority, yours Mountaine snow,
Cold as the north, and cruell as my fortunes:
Yet you may make them equall as your eyes are,
By yeelding up that fort, which will, when time
Has given it ceremonious priviledge, be perhaps
By some unworthy groome, without resistance
Surpriz'd and entred.

Isabel.
My Lord, bad custome is become
In men a second nature to deceive
Poore Virgins by their flatteries; noble youth,
That I doe love you dearely, may these teares,
Shed for your folly testifie: looke backe
Into your princelesse honour, call that up
To assist the fortresse of your minde assail'd
By foule unlawfull passion: thinke how base 'tis,
To rob a silly Orphan of her dowry;
I have no other but my Virgin whitenesse,
Left to uphold my fame, nought but my vertue
To my inheritance; should you dispoile me
Of that faire portion by your lust, my memory,
Would like an early Rose bud by that tempest,
Dye on its owne stalke blasted.

Albert.
I doe dreame sure.

Isabel.
Womens fames sir,
Are like thin Chrystall glasses, by a breath
Blowne into excellent forme, and by a touch,
Crackt or quite broken: say I should consent
To your desires, your appetite once sated,
You would repent the fact, when you should see
Your selfe surrounded in a mist of cares,
View bashfull Virgins point at you, as at
Some hatefull prodigie; heare matrons cry,
There goes the lustfull thiefe, that glories in
The spoyle of innocent Virgins, that foule thiefe,
That has a hundred eyes to let lust in at,
As many tongues to give his wild thoughts utterance.

Albert.
Sure some Angell inhabits here,
This cannot be a Mansion
For mortall frailty: sweet farewell, good night,
I would not have my over-sawcie love,
Commit a rude intrusion on thy peace,
Though parting with thee be more torment to me,
Then to forgoe mine eyes; may all the joyes
Of healthfull slumbers crowne thy bed, thy dreames
Be free from paraphrasing on my memory,
Lest it affright you; once more, Deare, good night,
While you with pleasing happy sleeps are blest,
I'le seeke some way to my eternall rest.

Exeunt.