 | The Queene of Arragon |  |
Actus Tertius.
Scena Prima.
Enter Velasco and Oniate.Oniate.
My Lord it shewes a happie Discipline
Where the obedient souldier yeelds respect
To such severe commands. Now when victory
Gives licence to disorder.
Velasco.
Sir our Generall
The Lord Florentio, is a glorious Master
In th'art of war. And though time makes him not
Wise at th'expence of weakenesse or diseases; yet
I have beheld him by the easie motion
But of his eye, represse sedition,
When it contem'd the frowne of Majestie
For never he, who by his Princes smile
Stood great at Court, attain'd such love and awe
With that fierce viper the repining people.
Onia.
Our Kingdome owes its safety to that power.
For how dejected looked our Majestrate
When conquest gave admittance to the Souldier?
But how their feares forsooke them, when they saw
Your entrie with such silcence?
Velasco.
Sir, castile
Aim'd not at spoile or ruine in this warre,
But to redresse that insolence, your Queene
Did suffer under, in Decostros pride.
Oniate.
And yet Auxiliaries oft turne their swords
To ruine, whom they come to rescue.
Velasco.
The Barbarous keepe no faith in vowes. But we
We of Castile, though flattering advantage
Perswade to perjurie, have still observ'd
Friendship inviolate: No Nation suffering
To which we give our oath.
Oniate.
You speake my Lord
Your glories Nobly. And it is our joy
Your Generalls wound but frighted us.
Velasco.
The Surgeons
Affirme there is no danger, and have licenced
His visit to the Queene.
Oniate.
Tis thought how-ere
His Love had not obey'd such a restraint,
Consists the common safety, since those Forces
Decastro in the morning did expect,
Ere you the Towne assaulted, are discover'd
To which he fled expel'd the Citie.
Velasco.
Sir,
We shall contemne and with ease break that Armie,
Whose Generall we have vanquisht: having wonne
The Citie and your Queene into our power.
Enter Sanmartino.
San.
Save you my Lord! Sir your most obedient!
And how likes your good Lordship the great Acts
Of the strange Cavaliere? was not his conduct
Most happie for you, in the late assault?
Velasco.
He happily supplyed the Office of
Our Generall. Howere your Citie had
Beene ours. For though our Spanish Forces may
At first seeme beaten, and we to retreate
A while, to animate a giddie enemie.
Yet we recover by our Art and patience
What fortune gives away. This unknowne leader
(I know not how to stile him) prest among
Our Souldiers, as they were returning back
After a small repulse; Encouraged them,
(Though it was much superfluous) and got honour,
Perhaps not so deservingly: But 'twas well.
Oniate.
Your Souldier speakes his glory even with wonder.
Velasco.
The ignorant are prone to it. But sir
I thinke in our whole armie there fought none,
But who had equall spirit. Fortune may
Bestow successe according to her dotage.
I answere not for that.
San.
This is pure Castile.
But what is his birth, Country, qualitie,
And whether is he bound?
Velasco.
I seldome trouble
My language with vaine questions. Some report
(It not imports who are the Authors) that
His Country's Sicily; his name Ascanio,
(Or else some sound like that) that he's a Lord:
(But what's an Island Lord?) and that he came
Into our continent to learne men and manners.
And well he might: for the All-seeing sunne
Beholds no Nation fiercer in attempt,
Oniate.
He's of a brave presence,
I never saw more Majestie in youth
Nor never such bold courage in a face
So fashion'd to delight.
San.
The Queene commends him
Almost with wonder.
Velasco.
Did the Queene regard
A man unknowne?
Oniate.
His mirits spoke his worth,
And well might challenge a particular eye.
San.
But his, as if in that dumbe Oratory,
He hoped to talke all th'history of love,
Still sixt upon her.
Velasco.
Your most humble servant.
Exit. Velasco.
Oniate.
This is abrupt.
San.
What most pollitique flea
Is got into his Donships care?
Oniate.
Now must
The Junto sit till midnight, till they racke
Some strange designe from this intelligence.
Enter Cleantha and offers to goe out.
San.
Nay on my honour Madam!
Clean.
Good my Lord!
San.
Benight us not so soone. The short liv'd day
That gives the Russian in the winter hope
Of heate yet failes him; not so suddenly
Forsakes the firmament. Stay fairest Madam,
That we may looke on you and live.
Clean.
My Lord
I feare you two were serious.
San.
Never I
Upon my Conscience Madam.
Oniate.
No Ile sweare:
Nor none of the whole forme of you at Court,
Unlesse the stratagem be for a Mistresse,
A fashion, or some cheating match at Tennice.
Clean.
But happily that Gentleman had businesse,
His face betrayes my judgement, if he be
Not much in project.
San.
You mistake him Madam.
Though he talke positive, and bustle 'mong
The Sober Lords, pretend to Embassies
And state designes all day; He's one of us
Hee'le quarrell too, then underhand compound.
Why for a need hee'le jeere and speake profane,
Court and then laugh at her he courted. Madam
Forgive him his pretence to gravitie;
And he's an absolute Cavalier.
Clean.
My Lord
He owes you for this faire certificate:
Yet I feare your character's beyond his merit.
Oniate.
Madam dissemble not so great a vertue.
Nor to obey the tyrannie of custome,
Become the Courts faire hypocrite. I know
This vanitie for fashion sake you weare,
And all those gayeties you seeme t'admire
Are but your laughter.
Clean.
Sir your charitie
Abuseth you extreamely.
Oniate.
Come you cannot
Disguise that wisedome, which doth glory in
The beautious mansion it inhabits. Madam
This soule of mine, how course so ere tis cloath'd,
Tooke th'honor to admire you, soone as first
You shin'd at Court. Not had a timorous silence
So long denied me to professe my service,
But that I fear'd I might be lost ith' crowde
Of your admirers.
Clean.
Nor can I perceive
Any strong hope now to the contrary.
Oniate.
Nor I. But give me licence t'undeceive
The world, that so mistakes you. This young Lord
Flatters his folly that indeed you are
Sicke of that humor, you but counterfeite.
Beleeves y'are fraile and easie; since if not,
His courtship were without designe.
Cleant.
My Lord
What meanes the Gentleman? He hopes to talke me
Into a vertue I neere practis'd yet,
And much suspect I never shall.
San.
Pray Madam
Pardon his ignorance: tis want of breeding.
Onia.
Pardon your mirth faire Madam, and brush off
This honor'd dust, that soyles your company;
This thing whom Nature carelessely obtruded
Upon the world to teach, that pride and folly
The wise mans pitty.
Sanmar.
Sir your words are rude.
Oniate.
Sure no, my Lord: Perhaps in times of yore
They might be conster'd so, when superstition
Worship'd each Lord an idoll. Now we finde
By sad experience, that you are meere men,
If vice debauch you not to beasts.
San.
The place
Is privileg'd sir.
Oniat.
I know it is, and therefore speake thus boldly,
If you grow hot, you have your grots my Lord,
And in your Villa you may domineere
Ore th'humble Countrie Gentleman, who stands
A loofe and bare.
Clean.
My Lord leave off the combat
Yea're hard matcht. And see the Lord Florentio.
Enter Florentio and Velasco.
The Queene attends his comming. Sir voule finde
A more convenient schoole to reade this lecture.
Oniate.
But none so beatifull to heare me.
Exeunt severall wayes Sanmartino, Cleantha, and Oniate.
Floren.
And are you sure my Lord, he durst presume
To looke up at her?
Velasco.
Yes, and she commends
His person and his spirit.
Floren.
Twas too much
T'observe his person. Sure his spirit's great,
And well may challenge the Queenes memorie:
I have not seene him yet.
Velasco.
Nor I my Lord.
Flor.
He had a fortune gentler far than mine.
In envie of that service which I vowed
To Arragon; heaven used a strangers arme
In this great action: I was judged a thing
Unfit for use.
Velasco.
Your glory was the greater,
Your courage even opposing 'gainst your fate
In the attempt.
Floren.
But yet mistaking man
Esteemes the happie onely valiant.
And if the Queene (Velasco) should smile on
His merits, and forget that love I have
Are impious: and I sinne, if I but listen
To their disloyall whispers. And behold,
Enter the Queene, Floriana, Cleantha, &c.
She opens like a rocke of Diamond;
To th'curious search of th'almost banckrout merchant,
So doth the Pilot finde his starre, when stormes
Have even sunck his barke. Divinest Madam!
Queen.
Welcome my Lord! But pardon me my joyes
If I must interrupt you with a sigh.
I cannot looke upon Florentios arme,
But I must grieve it bled for me.
Flo.
O spare
The treasure of those teares! Some captive King,
Whom fortune hath lockt up in iron, wants
One such to buy his freedome. Madam all
Those streames of blood which flow to warme my earth
Least it congeale to death, cannot compare
For value with the least drop shed for you:
By such a quarrell made inestimable.
Queene.
The warre I see hath onely beene the field
To exercise your fancie. Your discourse
Shewes that the Court was kept beneath your tent;
Yet cannot I my Lord be jealous but
Tis mingled with some love.
Floren.
Tis a pure love,
Unmixt as is the soule. The world perhaps
May judge a kingdome hath enamor'd me,
And that your titles dresse you forth, to raise
My appetite up higher. Pardon love,
If it grow envious even of your fortune;
And that Ime foc't to wish, you had beene daughter
Of some poore mountaine cottager, without
All dowre but your owne beauty. Then I might
Have shewed a flame untainted with ambition:
And courted you. But now the circumstance
Of greatnesse seemes to challenge more than I
Have power to give: and working up my love,
I serve my fortune.
Queene.
You have not my Lord
Found me uneasie to your vowes. And when
The troubled streame of my tempestuous state
Shall meete a perfect calme: you then shall know
How worthy I esteeme your vertue.
Speake but those words agen, and seate me in
An Orbe above corruption! O confirme
Your thoughts but with a promise.
Queen.
How, a promise?
I shall repent my favour if I heare
A syllable that sounds like that. Upon
My marriage day I have vowed to bring my selfe
A free oblation to the holy Altar.
Not like a fearefull debtor, tender love
To save my bond. My Lord I must not heare
One whisper of a promise.
Floren.
I'me silent.
And use me as your Vassall, for a title
More glorious I shall never covet. But
Queen.
No jealousie my Lord.
Enter Lerma.
Lerma.
Your Majestie
Is great in mercie: And I hope á stranger
Shall meete it, if his speech be an offence.
Queen.
Your pleasure sir.
kneeles.
Lerma.
The Lord Ascanio charg'd
Me fall yet lower if the earth would licence.
For to so high a Majestie, obedience
Cannot bend downe enough. Then he commanded,
I in his name, should begge the honour for him,
Before he take his journey from your Country,
To kisse your hand.
Queen.
Pray sir lets know the houre,
But let it not be sudden. Yeares should sweat
In preparation for his entertainment,
And Poets racke invention till it reach
Such praises as would reach the victories
Of th'old Heroes.
Lerma.
Madam, if his arme
Did actions worthy memory; it receiv'd
An influence from your quarrell: In the which
A dwarfe might triumph ore an Armie: But
He humbly craves, his audience may not be
With croude and noise as to Embassadors;
But with that silence which befits his businesse:
For tis of moment.
Queen.
Sir, we will obey
His own desires, though ours could wish his welcome
With a full ceremonie. I attend him.
Exit. Lerma.
Madam this stranger.
Queen.
Pray my Lord let Love
Not interrupt your businesse. I beleeve
The Armie which Decastro so expected
Being now arriv'd, your souldier tired, the Citie
Ill setled in her faith, much councell will
Be needfull. When your leisure shall permit,
Our joy shall be to see you.
Floren.
I'm all obedience.
Exeunt Queene and Florentio, at severall doores.
Manent Sanmartino, and Cleantha.
San.
And when sweete Madam will you crowne our joyes?
Lets not like riotous gamsters throw away
The treasure of our time. Appoint the houre,
The houre which must weare garlands of delight,
By which wee'le make it th'envie of the age.
Clean.
My Lord what meane you?
San.
What all fine Lords meane,
Who have plenty, youth, and title.
Clean.
But my fame?
San.
Tis the fooles bugbeare.
Clean.
Then my conscience?
San.
A scarecrow for old wives, whom wrinckles make
Religious.
Clean.
What will the Court say?
San.
Why nothing.
In mercie to themselves, all other Ladies
Will keepe your councell.
Clean.
But will you not boast it?
San.
Ile be degraded first.
Clean.
Well I'm resolv'd.
San.
But when sweete Madam? Name
The moment.
Clean.
Never. For now I weigh things better,
The antidote 'gainst feare is innocence.
San.
Will you delude my hopes then? Pitty Madam
A heart that withers, if denyed this favour.
Clean.
In pitty I may be induced to much;
And since you urge compassion, I will meete.
San.
Where excellent Madam?
Clean.
Ith' Sycamor walke.
San.
The minute, ô the minute?
Clean.
An houre hence.
San.
Felicitie! fit for thy envie Love!
Clean.
To be such
As you shall count that houre your happiest.
Exeunt.
Enter Browfilldora, and Oniate.
Oniate.
This is a challenge! Prethee my small friend
May not a man take th'height of thy Lords spirit,
Looking on thee?
Browfill.
Pray sir leave off your mirth
And write my Lord your answere.
Oniate.
Little sir,
I never learnt that pretty qualitie,
I cannot write. Onely by word of mouth.
Garagan.
Your place sir?
Oniate.
The market place.
Garag.
Tis fantasticke: and my Lord will take it will.
Your weapons sir.
Oniate.
Two English Mastives, which
Are yet but whelpes, and not transported hither:
So that the time will be I know not when.
Garag.
Your sport is dangerous. If my Lord forgive you;
I must resent th'affront as to my selfe,
And will expect a most severe account.
Onia.
Thou lesse thought angrier thing than waspe, farewell.
Exeunt.
Enter Queene and Ascanio.
Queen.
I am inform'd my Lord that you have businesse,
And tis of moment:
Ascanio.
Great as that of Natures
In her most mighty worke, Creation.
For to preserve from dissolution, equalls
The gift of our first Being. Not to hold
Your Majestie in riddles, tis to begge
Your pardon for a Souldier doom'd to dye;
Inevitably doom'd: Unlesse your mercie
Steppe betweene him and death.
Queen.
My Lord we use
T'examine well the fact, for which he is,
To suffer, ere we pardon. There be crimes
Of that blacke qualitie, which often makes
Mercie seeme cruell.
Ascanio.
That's the feare which frights
Me to this palenesse: sure his crime is great
But fondly I presuming on the service
My fortune lately did you, gave my vow
Ne're to forsake your eare with earnest prayers,
Queen.
Would you had not vowed.
For by the practise of my enemies,
My fame is 'mong the people yet unsetled,
And my capacitie for government,
Held much too feeble. Should I then by this
Provoke them to disdaine me, I might runne
Apparent hazard even of ruine, now
Warre so distracts our Kingdome. But my Lord
Your merits are too ponderous in the scale,
And all respects weigh light, you have his pardon.
Asca.
Your hand on that. The Doune on the Swans bosome,
kisses and holds it.
Not white and soft as this: Here's such a dew
As drops from bounteous heaven in the morning,
To make the shadowie banke pregnant with violets.
Queen.
My Lord!
Ascanio.
I kist it, and the Phenix seem'd
(The last of the whole race) to yeeld a perfume
More sweete than all his dying Ancestors
Breathed from their funerall piles. O shrink not back!
My life is so concomitant with love,
That if you frowne on either both expire;
And I must part for ever hence.
Queen.
How strange appeares this extasie? My Lord I feare
Your braine feeles some disturbance: If I cause it,
I will remove the object.
Ascan.
Pardon Madam
The errour of my fancie (which oft seemes
To see things absent) if my tongue did utter
What misbecame your eare. And doe not forfeite
Your servant to perpetuall misery
For want of a short patience.
Queene.
No my Lord;
I have the memory of your great deedes
Ingrav'd so deepe; no errour can have power
To raze them from a due respect, You beg'd
To have a pardon. speake th'offenders name.
Ascan.
Th'offenders name, is Love. His crime, high treason
A plot how to surprize and wound your heart;
To this conspirator I have given harbour,
And vow'd to begge your mercy for him.
Queen.
How?
Asca.
And if you breake your grant, I will hereafter
Scorne all your Sex, since the most excellent
Queen.
Pray my Lord
Goe recollect your reason, which your passion
Hath too much scatter'd. Make me not have cause
To hate, whom I would ever strive to honour.
Ascanio.
Madam you haply scorne the vulgar earth
Of which I stand compacted: And because
I cannot adde a splendor to my name
Reflective from a royall pedegree;
You interdict my Language. But be pleas'd
To know, the ashes of my ancestors
If intermingled in the Tombe with Kings
Could hardly be distinguisht. The Starres shoote
An equall influence on the open cottage,
Where the poore sheepheards childe is rudely nurst,
And on the cradle where the Prince is rockt
With care and whisper.
Queen.
And what hence inferre you?
Ascanio.
That no distinction is 'tweene man and man,
But as his vertues adde to him a glory,
Or vices cloud him.
Queen.
But yet heaven hath made
Subordination, and degrees of men,
And even religion doth authorize us
To rule; and tells the subject tis a crime
And shall meete death, if he disdaine obedience.
Ascan.
Kinde heaven made us all equall, till rude strength
Or wicked pollice usurp'd a power,
And for Religion, that exhorts t'obey
Onely for its owne ease.
Queen.
I must not heare,
Such insolence 'gainst Majestie: And yet
This lesse offends than love.
Ascanio.
If reason bends
You not to mercie; let my passion plead,
And not meete death from her, in whose faire quarrell
I could each moment bring a life to th'hazard.
Philosophie, hath taught me that content
Lives under the course thatch of Labourers
With much more quiet, then where the fam'd hand
Of Artists, to the life have richly drawne
Upon the roofes the fictions of the Gods.
How happie then might I lengthen my life,
With some faire Country Girle, so ignorant
Indanger death and scorne in your deniall,
And in your grant nothing but pompe and envie.
Quee.
My Lord be wise, and study that best content.
This bold presumptuous love, hath cancell'd all
The bonds I owed, your valour: henceforth hope
Not for that usuall favour I shew strangers,
Since you have thus abused it: would I might
With safety have appear'd more gratefull.
Exit.
Asca.
She's gone, as life from the deliquent when
Justice sheathes up her sword. I faine would have
Conceal'd lov's treason, but desire t'obtaine her
Put me to th'torture, till each Nerve did cracke,
And I confest, then dy'd upon the racke.
Exeunt.
| The Queene of Arragon | |