 | Sicily and Naples, or, the Fatall Vnion |  |
SCEN. I.
Cass. Grutti. Ferrando. Ursini, leading in Calantha, Alphonso, Valenzo, Florinda, Violetta, Bentivogli, Piero, Sylvio, Fungoso.(While the Act is playing.
Alph.
This musick's dull, strike higher, higher yet.
Bent.
Oh! oh! oh! I can hold no longer, furies, divels, oh! oh!
Fer.
What ailes our Physitian there?
Grut.
'Tis an odde humour my Lord: any kinde of musicke
is lesse pleasing to him, than the voice of Mandrakes.
Fer.
Cease there, your accents are distastfull.
Bent.
I am abus'd, grossely abus'd, but i'le be reveng'd—Sir
Your pardon.
Fer.
Rise and proceed.
Bent.
As I was telling you, you must in every thing humour
her; in each word, each action, the nature of 'her disease requires
it, which yeelds not unto cure, till it be wrought up
to'th height.
Alph.
Still such a sadnesse Ladies dwell on your browes? trust
light, and active.
Viol.
But griefe is heavy.
Alph.
Thus wee'le shake it off, and thus.
(capers.
Cal.
Pray, why de'e use mee so? you bind my armes,
As if I meant to fight, an they were loose,
Indeed I wo'not, trust me, I'le kill no body.
Bent:
Pray unbind her.
Cal.
I never kill'd the poorest worme, or fly,
Though 'twere against my will, but that I wept for't,
And begg'd a pardon too, for sure 'twas murder.
Bent.
Marry was it.
Urs.
Poore Lady, she's distracted!
Val.
Death on my fury, this sight brands my best actions
with a staine too deepe for penitence to wash away.
Cal.
This exceeds cruelty, they will not let mee eate;
Looke I am pin'd almost to nothing.
Bent.
A meere skeleton.
Cal.
Had I but strength enough to struggle with heaven
By prayer, I'de expiate their sinnes, though they
Continu'd to be cruell.
Fung.
Good Lady weepe not, for if you continue
These teares, my eyes will drop.
Cal.
Yes, yes, they will drop out, oh happinesse!
Would mine would do so too; they smart extreamly;
Wer't not a curtesie, I thinke ere this
y'had pull'd 'em forth.
Fung.
Lady, I say weepe not.
Bent.
I say, ben't you a coxcombe.
Cal.
Take away the foole, we are much indispos'd
To laugh to day, good heaven, they flout my miseries:
'Tis not well done, you may be sicke your selves,
Before you die; want one to bid God comfort,
When I am dead.
Bent.
My Lord, a word—you are not priviledg'd
To do men wrong: you have done me one,
Pray take notice—
Of what?
Cass.
S'life he won't challenge him.
Grut.
The old Lord's afraid on't.
Bent.
—How patient I am.
Alph.
'Tis worth the noting, vertue is rare in you.
Cal.
You Sir, do'e heare? they say you'le put
Poyson in my drinke; do, do, plot on, and be
Speaking to Ursini.
A politicke foole, I see into your thoughts,
My eye-sight's cleare, thanke heaven, and yet I've liv'd
A long long while.
Val.
Did you heare that?
Pier.
'Twas shrewd.
Bent.
Fourescore, and ten, you cannot be lesse Madame.
Cal.
Some ere this would have us'd spectacles, but I
Must suffer all.
Grut.
View all the monuments, and tombes in Naples,
And if you find griefe carv'd there in such varietie of postures
As these women stand in, sell mee for a statue.
Cass.
This spectacle hath made mee one.
Fer.
Good heavens, have you a curse beyond this?
Throw it on me; my guilt deserves it, and
Somewhat beyond your vengeance: afflict not Innocence,
It will be call'd your crime, not mine, that shee
Is miserable.
Cal.
Looke ye, now I thinke on't, I've a fine devise
Come in my head, what thinke you of a play?
Wee'le act a play, a tragedy, wilt not be well?
Wee'le have a King in't, and he, (do'e understand?) he shall be
Kill'd, me thinkes you'd act it handsomely.
Bent.
My Lord, you'd play the foole in't, an old doating
foole rarely.
Cass.
Now the curre bites.
Alph:
If you'd lend mee your gowne, and cap, I should do't
better; then, a noyse of Musitians would be excellent.
Bent:
Well, remember this.
Alph.
Faith so I shall, as often as I am dispos'd to laugh.
Cal.
No matter though, Ferrando, now I consider better on't.
give a pin for't else: let me alone for one, I'de act that same
Kings daughter, I can command a teare or two: if need bee,
perhaps a sigh; if'twere to rave, or grow starke mad, I should
learne too: alas these playes are pretty moralls of our lives;
fine, harmelesse, innocent sports.
Val.
Her madnesse growes strongly upon her.
Syl.
But Madame, pray what part shall I act?
Cal.
Thou Sylvio?—th'art a pretty boy, but that thou
weep'st so much; I feare th'ast spoyl'd thy face; with a little
paint 'twould serve turn: thou shalt act some Lady in disguise.
aside.
Syl.
How truly do I doe it?
Cal.
One that has beene in love.
Syl.
I should do that scurvily.
Cal.
Why?
Syl.
Because I can love none but you, and would be loath
to dissemble, though but in jest.
Cal.
Come thou shal't not then; thou shalt be my page still.
Syl.
Indeed Madame I should dye if I were otherwise: But
pray, when will you be well? you have bin sicke a great while.
Cal.
Yes, and shall be so till I am dead; say nothing Sylvio,
I'le steale away from them, when they shall not know of't.
Syl.
Not alone, I'le dye with you, and be buried with you
if you will give mee leave.
Cal.
Ferrando, you will see it done?
Fer.
What Madame?
Cal.
See us both buried, laid by my Father, he was a good,
good King: build us a tombe as lasting as our names.
Bent.
A very rich one Madame; I'le ensure you they're about
it, with stately columnes, curious antickes, & glorious imagery.
Cal.
There, let us both be cut in spotlesse marble,
It never shall upbraid us, we were innocent as that;
But innocence is no guard, it could not keepe
The tyrant out: my father's, let his be cut
Just as he fell, make a sword pierce his heart,
And let it bleed too, yet don't hurt the Statua,
I would not have you wound it, when 'tis like
Learne thence to be a traitour, and in time
Wound you so too, Ferrando.
Fer.
Mercy good heavens!
Cal.
Pray why do'e weepe? wee shall all sleepe quietly
When we are dead, there is no noyse of chaines,
We shall not dreame of prisons, rackes or whips:
But every night shall see the Gods descend
On our soft slumbers, and kisse away our miseries:
Ladies, you'le see mee shrowded decently,
When I am dead, downe in the meade yon, where
Grimme Pluto stole his Proserpine, are still
The flowers she scatter'd: goe, bring 'em hither,
And strew me ore with 'em; she was a virgin chast,
And I have heard that flowers of their gathering,
will never dye; quickly make hast, 'tis said
we're very noysome after death, I would not
Offend then, cause I can't aske forgivenesse:
Before I die I'le breake my heart, and give
A piece to every one to weare in's bosome,
And you shall have it whole, Ferrando: pray
Use it as you would her you lov'd, while I
To quit these miseries will go pray, and die.
Bent.
Now let me alone with her.
Exeunt Ursini, Ferrando, leading out Calantha Bentivogli, Sylvio. manent cæteri.
| Sicily and Naples, or, the Fatall Vnion | |