University of Virginia Library

ACTUS TERTIUS.

Enter Almona and Lenon, being throwne by David.
Almon.
No more, no more, your words are feathers
For the winde to play with.

Lenon.
Will you not joyne with me to be reveng'd?
When was it knowne that Lenon and Almona
Parted with victories tryumphant, which now flies
With a disdain'd applause from us unto a stranger?
When did these Bulwarks which hath stood till now
The shock of all the Knights our parts hath seene,
Ere shrinke under the sinews of an Army?

Al.
Why now, just now we have;
Have we not still by daring challenges oppos'd our selves
The round worlds opposites? Have not our prowesses
In stately lifts tost up the golden ball, and wonne it?
Is not bright honour free in Princes Courts?
We have o'recome, and now we are o'recome,
And shall we envie what we ever loved,
And were lov'd for? so thinkes the Adder,
When his sting is gone, his hissing has the power to venome too.
Cast off that coate, it not becomes thee Lenon;
'Twill weare thy honour thread-bare to the bones,
And make death seize on thee with infamy.

Le.
Let Death come how he will,
And doe you tamely suffer what you will,
This Brittish Knight shall never boast in Wales,
That ere he triumpht Victor over me.

Al.
Another charge:
A charge and a shout cry Arbasto.
What over desperate and life-weary foole
Dares meete the couched Lance of this brave Knight,
Seeing the foyle we tooke?

Le.
The cry went in our Prince Arbasto's name:
Hearke another charge gives 'em a second meeting:
'Tis well he kept his saddle at the first:
A charge, a cry Arbasto.
Looke to the Prince there some, and take him;
For falne I'me sure he is before this time.

Al.
I now admire and love this venture in him:
Well done young twig of a most Royall bough,
Thou hast wonne our losses, which we must allow.

Le.
Heark, the third charge is begun.

A charge, a crye, save the Prince.
Al.
I doe not like that sound, what ever accident
Betides, Arbasto hath not lost but wonne renowne:
Now, what newes bringst thou?

Enter Messenger.
Mes.
Set ope your eares to entertaine sad news,
I sing the latest Requiem of our Prince, hee's slaine.

Al.
Falne I beleeve, but yet I hope not slaine.

Le.
This whet-stone makes revenges edge more keene:
Goe forward good mischance.

Mes.
Twice met this brave young Prince the Brittish Knight,
And bore his body stiffe against his shock,
Vnmov'd of either stirrop or of saddle,
Their shiver'd Launces quarrell'd as they brake,
And as they upward flew, clasht strong together,
And he unmov'd, undanted twice appear'd
As faire for Victor as his stout opponent,
And had he rested there, he had equall shar'd
The dayes bright honour with him.

Le.
Well, the disaster.

Mes.
Bowing his plumed head unto his Syre,
Who sent him smiles of joyes incouragement,
Addrest him for the third, and last Careere:
The Christian Knight likewise 'gan couch his Lance,
But as he graspt it in his manly fist,
An angry fire circled about his eyes,
And from the furrows of his browes Revenge
Leapt forth, and seizes on the Prince:
They charg'd, he fell, and in the fall his neck
He broke; so ends my heavy Nuntius.

Both.
The Prince!

Al.
So Honour sprung a bud, and blasted it
Before it grew to his maturity;
Noble Prince, I pitty thy misfortune, more, the Knights;
And I for this condemne nimble mischance,
But not the Knight at all,

Le.
Murderous villain, if my braines can invent torture
Sufficient, sufficient; here begins thy hell,
And I thy first devill.

Al.
And I will second be how to prevent yee.

Enter the King of Tartary, two Knights in armour, the body of the Prince Arbasto in a Herse.
King.
Set downe the broken columne of mine age,
The golden Anchor, Hope, once shewed to me,
Hath split and sunke the vessell held my wealth:
Oh my Arbasto.

Alm.
Take comfort Royall sir,
Fame stories few are living; more the dead,
Death hath but rockt him then on honours bed:
Then let him sleepe.

King.
Hee's a good Physitian that can quite kill griefe,
That hath but newly made his patient of me:
Teares must give vent first to the oppressed heart,
And Time lay drawing plaisters to the sore,
Before he can find ease, but yet I thanke yee.

Le.
Most Noble Sir,
Teares shews effeminate in noble spirits,
Those aged sluces want that Raine that falls,
Bewaile him not with teares, but with revenge;
If drops must needs be spilt, let 'em be blood.
His blood that wilfully sheds blood,
The Law of Nations wisely did allow
All Iusts and Turnaments in Princes Courts,
For honours cause to breake a friendly staffe,
But not to make a butchery or shambles in Court lists:
Therefore if I might of his jury be,
My Verdict should be given up, he must dye.

Alm.
Lord Lenon, 'tis most certaine he must dye:
I love my Soveraigne well, I lov'd his sonne,
But dare not say that he deserves to dye:
This stranger here, came here in honours cause,
Stak't honour downe, and bravely bore it hence:
Your selfe, silence but envies tongue, can witnesse with me,
I have spoke but truth: where lives the Noblenesse
But in the minde? wild beasts have strength, irrationall
And rude, but want the sence of reasons government:
Let rage hot raines bite upon temperance:
The Iron handed Fates warres hard at game,
And threw a cast at brave Arbastoes life;
But let your sentence passe my Lord, I ha' done,

Len.
Spoke like no lover of his Soveraignes sonne.

Alm.
Reply'd not like a lover unto either:
Your valours's horse-like, and it must be tam'd,

Len.
Twill breake the Riders necke dares but to back him.

King.
Forbeare I say, on your allegeance:
Had my Arbasto dyed in our defence,
Against the pride of the hot Persian Host,
That seekes to pale his Temple with our wreath,
And name Tartary new Persia,
Our cares had beene but slight, but in a friendly
Breathing exercise, when honor goes a feasting but for shew,
A jesting practice in the Schoole of Armes,
There for to lose him.

Len.
An ill intent arm'd Executions hand.

King.
I know not that; why should he ruine him,
Shewing more kind innated friendship to him,
Than brother shewes to brother.

Len.
Remus and Romulus, my Lord, one suckt more
Harder on the Wolfe than tother,
Thinke what a game Hope lost.

Alm.
Vpon my soule, my Lord, the Knight is cleare
Of any foule intent against your sonne.

Len.
Why Almaine, Almaine, dare you stand to this?

Alm.
Lenon I dare, and in thy venome blood write
He's not guilty.

King.
No more I say, upon your lives no more:
Too hard it is for me to give a true descidence to the cause,
The Knight was ever courteous, faire, and free,
And 'gainst the Persian in my just defence,
Ransom'd my sonne from multitudes of losse,
And brought home conquest to our very gate,
I cannot then in honour take his life,
Our neighbour Kings would say, I dealt not faire,
And quite disclaime in us all brother-hood:
To banish him, were but the more to enlarge his fame;
All kingdomes are but Knight errands native home.

Len.
In private be it spoke my Liege, I like not
Almonas love to this same Knight:
It little shewes love to the deceased Prince:
What was he but a young strait tender plant;
The sturdy Oke might well have spar'd him then:
His toward hopes were ruin'd and cut downe:
Had he done this in any other Court, to any Prince
So toward as your Sonne, he had ere this beene attomes:
Your sonne has suffer'd, let him suffer too,
Who ever wilfully committed murther,
And was without excuse? but can that save?
No more should this my Liege, I have but said.

King.
And wisely Lenon, goe bring forth the Knight;
We are determin'd that he shall not live;
Exit for him.
Nor shall he suffer here within our Courts,
Wee'le kill him in a nobler gentile way:
O here he comes.

Enter Knight bound.
Alm.
You'r gone; false Lenon hath betraid yee to your death.

David.
Welcome my Fate.

King.
Sir Knight, you have not fairely dealt with us;
Though 'gainst my foes you brought me honour home,
My deare sonnes life you have tooke for your reward;
But you shall finde 'tis treasure stole, not bounty given,
And for that theft your life must satisfie.

David.
King of Tartary, heare sad David speake.

Len.
Now the excuse my Lord.

David.
Those honours I have brought you home,
It seemes this accident hath cancel'd
And stifles all my merits in your love:
Yet let 'em hang like pendants on my herse,
That I did love the unfortunate deceas'd,
These drops of teares, true sorrowes, testifie;
And what hath happend to that lifes deare losse,
Was not by will, but fatall accident:
I hold my hand up at the hand of heaven, not guilty:
King, thinke not I speake to have thee spare my life,
For halfe my life lies dead there with thy Sonne,
And here the other halfe is ready too, to testifie,
How well I lov'd the Prince, though now I dye.

Lenon.
A Heads man and an Axe there.

King.
For him that calls him.

Alm.
I that was well said King; Spannell no more.

King.
Thy hand once more brave English Knight,
We are at peace, and will not what we may:
But let me now one thing enjoyne you to,
Not as a pennance for my deare sonnes losse,
But as a further safety of my Kingdome,
And larger interest of your love to me.

David.
Give me the danger, I can meet but death.

King.
My hopes are better of thee, noble Knight;
Heare then thy taske, thou shalt then hence
In Knightly order ride, 'gainst him, not onely
Aided Persia 'gainst our power, but shakes our
Kingdome with the power of hell, blacke Ormandine,
The inchanted Garden-keeper; if that thou dar'st
Attempt, and bring his head, I will not onely
Quittance this mischance, which makes me wretched,
But halfe my part of this large Crowne
Is thine, and when I dye,
David of Wales reignes King of Tartary;
Speake comfortable words of the attempt.

David.
It is the oath of Knight-hood I have tane, and here
Againe before you I will take, from hence being
parted, ne're to make stay more than a nights
Repose till I am there, and being there,
By all the honours of a Knight I vow
Blacke Ormandines head, and lay it at your feete:
This, by the honour of a Knight, Ile do, or dye in the attempt.

King.
'Tis enough; rise noble David,
So, now shall I be reveng'd for my sonnes life,
Without the clamour of the world for it:
Thou bring his head, poore Knight, thou maist as well
Rob Iove of lightning, or claspe a hand Garnado,
Being fir'd: to morrow morning you shall forward set;
On with the Herse till you returne
We sorrowes path shall tread,
And bury griefe when thou bringst Armands head.

A dead March within.
Exeunt.
Chorus.
Our Brittaine Knight we leave in his hard journey.
But more hard attempt, yet all the other have not idle beene,
For since their parting at the brazen Piller,
Each hath shar'd strange and perillous adventures,
Which here in severall acts to personate, would in the
Meanest fill a larger Scene than on this Stage
An Action would containe;
But to the shortnesse of the time wee'le sort,
Each Champion in't shall beare a little part
Of their more larger History:
Then let your fancies deeme upon a stage,
One man a thousand, and one houre an age.
And now with patience beare your kind attents to the
Red Crosse bearer, English George, your high renowned
Knight, who since the hand of Christendome parted her
Seven faire Knights, the dangers he hath seene and past,
Would make the brightest day looke pale and tremble,
Nay death himselfe, that ends mortality,
To thinke of death, and that himselfe must dye.
After renowned George from the fell Dragons jawes,
Redeem'd Sabrina, Pomils onely heire, with slaughter
Of the Hell-produced fiend; his wife he wonne,
Had Pomil promise kept; but in a large requitall
Of her life, incens'd by the Moroco King, our Champions rivall,
Cast George in prison, in a hatefull Dungeon;
He that deserv'd his Crowne, and daughters bed,
He ingratefully with branne and water fed 7 years together,
Which time expir'd, the miserable Knight found once
That opportunity shewed him a little favour,
For by the breaking of the Iaylers neck,
He gaind the keyes which gave him liberty:
When being freed, and out of dangers port,
You his kind Countrymen shall see
For Englands honour, Georges Chivaldry.

Enter Clowne like a poore shepheard.
Clow.

Oh most astonishable hunger! thou that dost pinch
worse than any Fairies, or the gummes of old women: thou
that dost freeze the mortall gouts of a man more than the Rozom'd
stick of a Base Violl, what shall be said? what shall
be done to thee? Oh my glorious Mother, what a time of
eating had I in thy dayes, nay, my magnanimous Master,
whom I lost in the devils arse of Peake: what a plentifull
progresse had I with thee, when we did nothing but kill Gyants
and wild beasts, then the golden gobbets of Beefe and
Bacon, whose shining fat would cry clash in spight of my
teeth, now I may compare with Ploydens law, the case is alter'd,
A shepheard, a sheep-biter; nay, I were happy then,
I would wish no better bitings than Mutton; the Cobs of
Herring, and parings of Cheese is now a Sundayes dyet, and
yet they cry out of my abhominable feeding, my unsatisfied
gut, with a Wolfe at the end on't: I have eate up my Tarre-box
for hunger already, what will be next troe? Soft, who
comes here, my fellow Swaine with some pittifull provant
for my dinner?

Enter Shepheard.
Shep.

Suckabus, where art thou?

Clow.

Heere, where the bare bones of him will be very
shortly: what hast thou brought me there?

Shep.

A feast, a feast; here's princely cheere for thee: here's
two Carrots and a Turnip, and a little morsell of Beane-bread,
that I stole to hearten thee up withall.

Clow.

Sweet fellow Coridon, give me't, I shal grow a Philosopher
shortly if I fare o'this fashion: O the very steame
of the three fat Oxen that my Master found boyling for the
Gyants dinner, which we kill'd, would have fill'd both our
bellies for a Fortnight.

Shep.
Ha, three Oxen for one Gyants dinner?
Thou art mistaken sure; thou art not old enough to see a Giant,
And could thy Master and thee kill him?

Clow.

Why there's the wit of a Bell-weather; one? we
kill'd a hundred: but talke I to thee, that wert never no Traveller
since thou wilt not beleeve a truth, Ile hold my tongue,
and fall to my teeth.

Shep.
Nay good fellow Suckabus be not angry,
I doe beleeve: What are those Gyants? Prithee tell me?

Clow.
No Iackalents, no Pigmies, no Dwarfes.

Shep.
Nay, I doe beleeve they are lusty fellows,
And men of tall stomacks, they could never eate so much else,
Three Oxen at one meale.

Clow.

Tush, a Fasting-dayes Modicum; but when he makes
a Feast to stuffe his abhominable gut, three hundred Acres
of Oates will scarse make Oate-meale to thicken his porridge-pot.

Shep.
Now the Devill choake him,
For hee's fitter farre for hell, than to live here.

Clow.

Hell? what should he doe there? hee'd pisse out
their fire, and drowne all the devills in his urine.

Shep.
O monstrous! marry blesse me from him, I had thought
They had not beene much taller than some of our Guard.

Clow.

The Guard? Hum, still like a Bell-weather? why
hee'le chop up two yeomen of the Guard like pocht egges at
a spoonefull: there's not a meale that he makes, but hee will
load yee two Dung-carts with the picking of his teeth.

Shep.
Blesse us!

Clow.
Blesse thee? why dost thou know what thou speak'st?

Shep.
No hurt I hope good fellow Suckabus:
But how could you two kill this monstrous man?

Clow.

Why as we killd a great many more of 'em; wee

rid a Horseback into their bellies, made a Quintin of their
hearts, and rod out at the But-hole end.

Shep.

That may be done indeed, this carries some shew of
truth.

Clow.

Why, didst thou thinke the rest were lies?

Shep.

No, no; Lord, what indiscretion people learne by
Travaile! I have heard my Master say, hee was Page to a
Knight erant they call'd old Dick, who ha's bin sixe dayes
together in the bottome of the Sea, and tooke Tobacko
'mongst the sharkes and such adventures, but none like this
you speake of: Travell'd you e're with him?

Clow.

I had more wit yfaith; I deale in no water-workes.

Shep.

But pray tell me now, what stature might this man
be you kill'd?

Clow.

His stature? Let me not lye, he was not the biggest
that e're we kill'd, let me tell yee that, he was just about that
stature that Tuttle-field would fitly make a Grave for: I have
told yee of a place before; 'tis neare London in England,
where men goe a Trayning to get 'em good stomacks.

Shep.

That's more than e're I heard of yfaith, that souldiers
want stomacks: what enemies doe they meet with there?

Clow.

Why Barrels of Beere, bottles of Sack, Costerd-mongers,
Cakes, and Creame, and their wives that bring
'em their dinner.

Shep.

I marry sir, I would willingly be put into such service;
sure, their Commanders are brave fellows.

Clow.

The bravest can be pickt out in each parish, and the
ablest too, yet I heard one man in the shape of a Monster, put
a Captaine and his Company to flight.

Shep.

O monstrous!

Clow.

Come, no more of that; let me intreat thy absence
till I have eate my vittails, and I will tell thee more.

Shep.

Good Suckabus doe, and I'le see if I can tell thee of
a Dwarfe shall be all as little.

Exit.
Clow.

Well, say and hold; come master Carret and mistris
Turnup, I want but Beefe and Porke for sawce to yee, but
hunger bids me fall to merrily, and I shall not want for
sawce.

Eates.
Enter George in poore habit.
Geo.
Thanks to my great preserver, by whose sacred power
Poore George of England is set free agen
From death, danger, and imprisonment;
I bow with duty to thy Deity; seven yeares
Hath Famine under bolts and barrs dungeon'd me up,
Accompanied with my teares in the darke bowels
Of a loathsome Den, a place so farre remote from comfort,
That not the smallest chinke or crany
Could let the Sun-beames in to point on me;
Yet thou, in whose foundation stands my building,
Hast given me freedome and my hope agen,
Those sweet companions that dispaire shut out.
Now George agen may weare a plumed crest,
And wave the Standard of great Christendome
In the defiance of her opposites: I'me poore in show,
Yet since my freedome hath thus long laine rusty,
And unoyl'd loines unarm'd, are grown a strength immutable
And from the pinching pangs of famines jawes
A second time ransom'd my pining life;
But since I have left those desart woods behind,
Let me behold this goodly prospective.

Clow.

So my panniar's pritty well sussifi'de, and the
whelps in my belly muzzeld from barking any more this two
houres: How now what proper stripling's this stands gaping
about him? let me survey him.

Geo.

A goodly place, pleasant, and full of ayre.

Clow.

I cannot for my guts call to mind where I have seen
this fellow.

Geo.

Inricht with plenties hand.

Clow.

But that he had a horse and Armour, hee doth resemble
my long lost Master George of England.

Geo.
Ha? what Eccho's that gives me my name,
Without a summons which it answers to?
What fellow's this that walkes and stares about me?
I am no wonder that I know of;
And but that time makes me to doubt, I should suppose
Him for to be my servant Suckabus I lost.

Clow.

The same, the same; I am your servant, and fellow
Suckabus: Oh my sweet Master! have we found one another?
I could e'ne kisse thee round about for joy.

Geo.
I'me glad to see thee;
It seemes you have alterd fortune with your Master:
Where hast thou liv'd and wander'd since I lost thee?

Clow.

Oh sir, I have had such a company of Masters in law
since I left you: First sir, I serv'd a Lord till he entertain'd a
Cooke, and then I must stay no longer: Then I was Gentleman
Vsher to a young Lady, but she hating new fashions, I
hated her service. Then sir, I serv'd a young Heire newly
come to his Living, and because he open'd his gates, and let
Hospitality enter, I bid flanlet to him: then I serv'd a Vsurer,
and because he would often be drunke, and let his Angels
flye gratis, I gave him the bag too: Then I dwelt with a
Procter, and he every day would bid conscience to dinner,
so there was no staying with him: Then I serv'd a Scrivener,
but he was so taken up with his Orator the Pillary, that I was
faine to leave him too; and then I came here a sheep-biting,
as you see sir.

Geo.

'Tis very well sir; but will you leave your sheepe &
your sheepe-hooke, and follow me without leesing?

Clow.

Follow thee? that I will, till I finde no land to tread
on, nor water to swimme on: Shepheard farwell, Fox, looke
to the Lambs, Wolfe, keepe the sheepe safe: now shall we
kill Gyants, and eate meate agen.

Geo.
Be true to me, once more y'are entertain'd,
'T shall not be long before thou seest
This low dejected state shining in compleat steele:
He that in pursuit of adventures goes,
Must not shun danger, though he meet with blows:
Come Suckabus.

Exeunt.
Loud Musick: Enter the Inchanter Ormandine with some selected friends that live with him in his Magick Arts, with his spirits Canopy borne over his head.
Orm.
This is the state of Princely Ormandine;
Tho once dejected, and low trodden downe
Vnder the feet of Fortunes petty Kings;
Above her envy re-advanc'd agen; and you my friends
And partners in her frowns, shal now deride her petty Deity,
Laugh at those Kings, which like to guilded moats
Dance in the Sun-beame of her various smile:
And when we have laught our fills, my fury then
Shall rise, and like a Torrent in the Ocean rais'd
By swelling spring-tides driven from their bounds,
So shall the rage of Ormandines swift vengeance
At once o'reflow the cruell Tartar and Arabian Kings.

Lord.
Great Ormandine has given us satisfaction;
We were your subjects first, so are we now,
Yet never liv'd in that tranquillity,
When we did bow under your Scepter as now we doe:
Then cares of Countries safety, and your person,
Care of our wives, our substance, and our selves, expell'd
Our stomacks, tooke our sleepes away, and made our eyes
Feares watchmen; here art thou crown'd with Arts
Rich, potent, and commanding power;
There sate a golden hoope temper'd with feare,
That tattor'd on thy head, here with a wand thou call'st,
And art obey'd; there by the Tartars cruelty dismay'd,
Thy pleasures mixt with store of misery,
Vnder the pride of Tartars tyranny.
Then let me speake, but farre from contradiction,
Your hand hath laid her actions waite on well.

Orm.
Rest you contended with content, our will admits
No counsell but our owne; here lives no pitty of our Enemy,
We have bought vengeance at a mightier rate,
Than you, or can, or must be privy to.
Learning by time and industry are bought,
But he that barters for revengefull Arts,
Must with his best pri'zd jewell from depart:
I have yet shewed tricks to make 'em laugh,
But long it shall not be ere I smite home
To make us pastimes by their generall ruines:
And now my friends and subjects shall behold
The indented time and riddle of our safety: Ho Tarpax,
The chiefest which attends upon our acts.

Tar.
What would my Master? Tarpax must obey.

Orm.
Set forth my brazen pillar.

Tar.
'Tis done.

Orm.
He Reads.

Orm.
This bug-beare frights us not, and yet my fall must come
From Brute descended, and on his breast
The Embleme of our hate, a sanguine Crosse:
Must Ormandines great power be shaken downe
By a chill Northerne Ague-shaken Knight,
A lumpe of snow, a frosty Isickle? this saying damps me,
And the thinne pure blood, which but even now
Flowed through the azure branches of my veines,
Is runne to cherish my feare-trembling heart,
Who, there affrighted at its horrid ruine,
Mixt with cold comfort, is congeal'd to clods,
And I a bloodlesse substance doe remaine.

Lord.
Why is our King and governour dismay'd?

Orm.
Walke in I pray, I'me very much disturb'd:
Exeunt Lords.
A swarthy passion harrows up my sence: Ho Tarpax.

Tar.
Your call must be obey'd: I'me here.

Orm.
Fetch me my Characters, my calculation, & my glasse.

Tar.
They are here.

Orm.
My ever-ready servant, fly to the first Aeriall degree,
Snatch thee a cloud, and wrap thy selfe intoo't;
Fly to Tartaria, looke within his Court, confines, & Country,
If any Christian Knight there be arriv'd,
I feare me Tarpax; bring me answer swift,
Whilst I survey my Booke and magick glasse.

Tar.
I'me gone; ten minutes hence expect me back.

Orm.
Ha? what's here?
The Tartars sonne slaine by a Brittish Knight,
Who, as a pennance for this hainous fact,
Sent here to fetch my head, by Oath enjoyn'd too't:
A Brittish Knight, the same my Tablet speaks of:
Now Ormandine must fall. Ho Tarpax!
What sees my Tarpax?

Enter Tarpax.
Tar.
Great Ormand, haste unto thy powerfull charmes,
We will assist thee in what Hell can doe,
With strength, with horrour, and detested shapes,
To daunt the courage of this Northerne Knight,
That comes to fetch the head of Ormandine.

Orm.
I read the same here too; be swift my Tarpax,
Summon up Hells hoast to be my Guardians
'Gainst this Northerne Knight: put out the golden Candle
Of the day with horrid darknesse from the night below:
Vnchain the windes, send out our fiery raines,
Breake Atlas backe with Thunder through the clouds,
And dart your quick-past, lightning at his face:
Raise Earthquakes shaking round about his steps,
To bandy him from one place to another;
Let horrour empty all her store-house:
If Ormandine can vanquish but this Knight,
Secure and firme still stand our power and might.

Exit
Enter David arm'd Cap-a-pe.
Dav.
How shall I style this Tartar?
I cannot say hee's noble, nor yet base: h'as given me life,
But with that strange adventure,
That he himselfe is confident I perish:
My Knighly Oath assures him I will on, and setting on,
Am sure enough to fall: unhappy David in that Princes death,
Whom Fates, no will of mine, gave so unkind a meeting;
For which the sable plume and Corslet I doe weare,
As a true Embleme of my inward sorrow:
Rest Princely ashes in a golden Vrne,
Whilst wretched David in a worke is sent,
To his owne sad Requiems bitterment,
And be mine owne destroyer: take courage yet,
Let not base feare steal from thy heart the name of man away,
Death cannot dresse himselfe in such a shape,
But I dare meete him; on then in pursuit of a Knightly vow,
If't chance Dice run so, that we must fall,
Fame shall weare black at Davids Funerall.

Enter above Ormandine, his friends, Tarpax, & spirits.
Orm.
Hee's now within a Mile and lesse of us;
Spirits away, each fall unto his taske,
Enter David.
Whilst I raise stormes which may dismay the Knight.

Dav.
Yonder's the place, mine eye hath reacht it:
Now Ormandine, our bloody game begins,
Heads are our stakes, and there's but one can winne.
Protect me Heaven, what sudden strange Eclipse do I behold
Thunder & lightning.
The golden Sun that now smil'd in my face,
Drawes in his beames, and robes himselfe in black:
In what a darke vaile is the cleare azur'd sky!
You do begin to entertaine me Ormandy,
But wee'le have better welcome e're we part:
I, let your thunder come, we dread it not;
What send yee Fire-drakes too to meet with us?
Your worst of horrour is best welcome to me:
Your ministers rather invite me on, than like to bug-beares
Fright me back agen: more visitants of hell-bred sorcery?
I must needs through, or sinke.

Tar.
There's nothing we can doe,
Can quell the valour of this Christian Knight.

Orm.

Orm.
O you are not the man, ha, ha,
Feare Vanish once agen; goe Spirits, sieze that Knight,
And bring him straight.
Ormand and all laugh: Spirits with fiery Clubs,

they fight.
Enter Ormandine.
Orm.
Knight, Knight forbeare,
In vaine thy stroaks are dealt, against our power:
Thou maist as well number those briny drops,
As cope with these, or scape with life, did not we pitty thee;
Spirits away.

Dav.
Art not thou Ormandine?

Orm.
The same; thy friend and Ormandine.

Dav.
That head I come for, and must ha't.

Runnes at him with his sword, he puts it by with his wand.
Orm.

Dav.
What alteration's here! your pardon mighty Sir;
Oh let me never, never part from hence.

Orm.
Be Master of your wish: come sit here by me,
Ile rape your eare, and captivate your eye.

soft Musicke.
Enter free Excesse, immodest Mirth, Delight, Desire, Lust satied, and sicknesse, they dance; after the dance Excesse, Delight, and Desire embrace him to a lazy tune, they touch him, he falls into their armes, so carry him away.
Orm.
How happy now is Ormandine in this; I will no more
Credit the Tablet I shall for ever raine, as now I doe:
Eternity shall seale my habitation here,
The Brittaine Knight is now within my power,
Charme hangs a drousie rest upon his eyes,
And he shall sleepe his youth to a full age.
As for the Arabian bird, and the proud Tartar,
Revenge arm'd with destruction to them flies;
Who seekes my life, without my pitty dyes.

Exeunt.
Enter George arm'd, and Clowne with him.
Geo.

Come on sir Suckabus, how doe you like this alteration?

Clow.

Nay, we are come to weare good cloth agen, and
we fill our bellies at other folkes cost: marry we part with
crackt Crownes for our Ordinaries. They that in the low
Countrey-garrisons kill men for three shillings a weeke, are
punies to us; by that time I have serv'd but halfe my time, I
shall be able to play with all the Fencers in Christendome.

Geo.

Leave your folly sir.

Clow.

Leave your prating sir, and then wee'le leave our livings
both together.

Geo.
Villaine no more;
How pleasant is this place, how fresh and cleare,
As when the last of Aprill offers to sweet May
The pride and glory of the youthfull Spring,
The lovers coupling time! the farther that I goe,
The more Elizium like it doth appeare.

Clow.

Good Master let's goe back agen: I doe not like this
talking of Elizium; it is a place where good and honest men
come in, and for mine owne part, I am in the minde never
to trouble it.

Geo.
I thinke so too:
What's here the platforme of a Garden?
If that the Sun rob'd in his brightest glory,
Dazell not mine eyes, it is the richest that I ever saw,
The Paradise of some Deity:—Musicke too.

Clow.
Ey, two Taylers are a dancing for a butter'd bunne.

Geo.
List Suckabus, hear'st thou no Musick?

Clow.
I thinke I heare the Horse-head and the Tongs.

Geo.
Most heavenly Musick, follow me close,
Wee'le see the guider of this heavenly spheare,
For sure no mortall ownes it.

Clowne.

Pray Sir lets backe againe, I have no minde to't,
the Sunne shines so hot, I feare we shall have some raine.

Geor.
What's here, a wonder past the other beauties farre?
A Brazen Pillar, through whose impregnable body
Sticks a Sword, a Tablet, and Inscriptions
Writ upon't, wonder falls on me!
Bee'st thou inchantment, th'art the loveliest shape
That ever hels Art strove to tempt withall:
By your leave a little, it seemes these are no secrets,
Y'are open breasted, I must know your mind:
We will not stand on doubts.
He reads, pulls out the sword: Thunder and Lightning: a great cry within.
I am the man, for England, oh y'are welcome Sir.

Clowne.

Did not I tell yee? now shall I be roasted for Divels,
and my bones scorcht into small-coales: Where's the
goodly weather that we had even now? where's the tongs
and the Tailers a dancing.

Georg.
Follow me slave, wee'le in, and with this

Immur'd blade, that I set free, cut out my passage through the
Gates of horror: the inchantment's done, and Georges happy fate

Some Christians may redeeme from Tyrants hate.
Exit George.

Clown.

Well, I were best runne away, while I have legges
to carry me: he's a good loving Master, this same honest
George, but he does lead me into more quarrels and dangers
than all the roaring Davids in the world; but they are cowardly
rascals, & I wil stay no longer, my accounts are made
even, and I will backe agen; hay day, they are at it.

Thunder & Lightning, Divels run laughing over the stage: Tarpax with 'em.
Tar.
Come, we are freed, lets now prepare his death,
That being done, give welcome to him in confusion.

Clown.

O brave, that by his likenesse and voyce should be
my Sire Suckabus, 'tis he; Ile take acquaintance of him.

Tar.
Who's that, the issue of my Calib?
Begone afore I'le follow.

Exeunt spirits.
Clow.

He sees me, and stayes a purpose to talke with me:
I will put on my mothers good face, and salute him: pray
sir, hoping that the like is the same, Father give me your blessing.

Tar.
What Suckabus? O let me kisse my boy:
A blessing on my Princely sonne and heire.

Clow.

Thanke you Father, I have not knowne my selfe a
long time: but now your blood royall begins to plumpe up
my veines. Have you brought me never a Letter from my
Mother Queene?

Tar.

None my sweet sonne.

Clow.

Why that shews now, shee's in her Pontificalities,
in my kingdome after your decease, shee never minds the
sweet heire of her body, she casts me backward, as if I were
unworthy to be Prince of her joyes: but I shall think on't.

Tar.

Be patient sonne.

Clow.

You talke you know not what; have you no Carriers
in your kingdome?

Tar.
Yes, divers.

Clow.
Is Hobson there, or Dawson, or Tom Long?

Tar.
I know not till I make inquiry.

Clow.
Well, doe to Father;
And if you find 'em, send to me by 'em; they are honest men.

Not a Letter? Can Limbonias Queene, and Dutchesse of
Witchfordia so much forget her selfe, and that royall blood
of hers, as not to send a Letter to me?

Tar.
List to me my sonne, and Ile shew thee the cause,
Why so thy mother and our royall selfe sent not unto thee:
For hadst thou but obey'd the charge I left,
Iust at the parting of thy mother from thee,
Thou hadst e're this beene with us gentle boy,
Inthron'd and honour'd as thy Mother is:
Welcom'd with tryumphs, shows, and fire-workes:
Of what we want, we shall be furnisht shortly.

Clow.

I would you had 'em, they'd give much content;
Oh I doe love those things a life i'faith. Have you any squibs

in your Country? any Green-men in your shows, and Whizers
upon lines, Iacke Pudding upon Rope, or Sis in fire-workes?
But pray father let me know why you did not send.

Tar.
Then thus: I did not bid thee unsolace thy mind
Like a dejected low-begotten slave,
But revell, drinke, laugh, and carowse, quarrel, and stab,
Game, wench, sweare and curse, and if thy master offend thee,
Watch him asleepe, and kindly cut his throat;
So doing, hadst thou long e're this come to us.

Clow.

Forgive me this, and if the obeying of your wil, wil
bring me to you, let me alone; I'le not be long from home:
But Father, what, no trick, no invention to make me famous
e're I come to you? why, my Mother could juggle as well
as any Hocus Pocus i'th' world, and shall I doe nothing?

Tar.
Here, take this paper, learne these nine words in't;
At reading the first three, I will appeare to thee,
To satisfie what ever thou demand'st.
The vertue of the other three is this:
Look, in what place soe're thou wish thy selfe,
Or company should meet thee to thy mind,
Speake but the middle three, 'tis done:
The best and last three words carry this property;
Which once rehearst by thee,
Whom thou shalt please, shall straightwaies doat on thee,
Love thee intirely, nay, would dye for thee,
If that in pitty thou not comfortst them:
There's a jewell for my princely boy.

Clow.

Oh sweet father, now thou lov'st thy boy: but you
know father, I never was so well learn'd, as to say God by
my speed.

Tar.
The better, I would not have thee boy:
I will infuse that learning in thy braine,
That thou shalt read that whensoere thou please.

Clow.
Pray read 'em over to me father.

Tar.
Observe the first three words: Hulcha, pulch, palcha;
These three being spok, I straight appeare.
The next is Runto, rant, runto; then art thou
Where thou please, and in what company,
The last and best Plagmanitis, squirtis, pampistis,
Thy love lies in thine armes.

Clowne.

What a gift is here! I will Cuckold the great
Turke, love all his Concubines, and lye with all over and over:
I will beget a thousand of Giants, fill the world full of
Basterds, march with an Army Royall of 'em into my Kingdome,
depose my Father, and live like a Monarch.

Tarp.
Come bring me a little on my way my sonne,
Ile tell thee braver things than these that thou shalt doe.

Clowne.
Oh my sweete father, what a man art thou!

Enter George, bringing out Ormand and his friends.
Geor.
What is the cause, you tenne times worse than divels,
That thus, like Traitors, you deface and spoyle
So faire a stampe as your great Makers is?
Why have you sold your endlesse blisse for bane?
Had they the hopes man has shining on them,
Worlds would not gaine a life of thousand yeares,
And in those lives raigne Kings and Emperours,
Change those Celestiall joyes you might have had:
Ever lost wretches, where's your power now?

Orm.
Vanquisht by thee: that sanguine Crosse my Tablet foretold,
Blood-sheds mine eyes for to behold it worne
And thou that Christian Knight confounds my state:
Yet as thou honourst what I feare to see,
As thou art hopefull of what's past in me,
And as thou art a Knight sworne to honour,
Grant me one small request.

Geor.
If thy request in honours grant stands faire,
Give us the knowledge, we will see't perform'd,

Orm.
Then spare the lives of these two harmlesse men.
Which I secur'd by safety of my charmes.

Geor.
Are they not practis'd in thy horrid Art?

Orm.
Christian no.

Geo.
The happier men: rise, we have no hate against yee.

Both.
Live still in honour, courteous Christian Knight.

Geor.
Now Ormandine quit this my grant.
With one request from me.

Orm.
'tis yours; say on.

Georg.
I crave the knowledge of your former being,
Before you found the path of your destruction.

Orm.
Know then that Island seated in the Maine,
Whose crosticke sides poynts to Barbaries kingdome,
Was I once Duke of, the nearest parts to it is this
Of Tartary, the other is Arabia, whose Kings disturb'd
My peace and government: Briefely, by flight we sav'd our
Lives; and to revenge those wrongs I practic'd on this Art,
And since have liv'd scourges to both those Kings:
My Tablet and Piller then erected, through whose hardnesse
Stuck that temper'd blade; the riddles date on't did so strange appeare,
That I thought ever, ever to live here.
And now you shall behold another Christian Knight,
Sent from the Tartar King, by oath enjoynd to fetch my
Head, this did I deeme the man, hath brought what you have,
My confusion, but missing of my fears, I entertaind him faire,
Yet dreading still least he might prove the man,
My Art hung on his eyes these charmes of sleepe,
Which till I expiate, can never wake:
His name is David, and a Brittaine Knight.

Geo.
Ha, my brother! Prepare thee Ormand, this shal wake him.

Orm.
Hold, do not with crimson purple your white blade
With such a hancell: give me but leave to mount
Yon storied steps, and you shall see brave Archers hit me sure:
Thinke not that I must live, would you life give,
Be good unto my friends: I falne, take up your friend & hence.

Geor.
Well to your Fate: farewell.

Thunder.
Orm.
Oh are you aiming, twas time I came, you had
Fetcht me else: so, so, we are met.
Thunder strikes him.
He that sels blisse, and would in this Art shine,
At last shall pay for't, as did Ormandine.

Geor.
So, farewell Ormandine; wake David, wake.

Dav.
Is the Inchantment past? where is this fiend, this divel?
Ormandine, your charmes no longer shall prevaile on me.

Geor.
No more, they shall not noble Brittaine Knight,
See who with joy imbrace thee in his armes.

Dav.
Brother of England, farre-renowned George,
Am I a second time enlarg'd by thee?
I shall pay Time a death indebted to thy valour.

Geo.
Doe not engage so farre,
Who knows what haps attend our next adventure?

Dav.
Brother, where's Ormand?

Geo.
Dead!

Dav.
Oh I am lost, for ever lost and gone,
For ever bearing Knightly Armes agen: oh, oh—

Geo.
Brave Brittain Knight with patience heare,
Ile tell o're your owne Story.

Dav.
Say on my Oracle, I will attend.

Geo.
This Sword you see is mine, inchantments done,
You waken'd from deaths sleepe, think it not strange,
Ormand did declare before his death,
Your Oaths adventure for to fetch his head:
By the Tartarian King, your Oath shall be perform'd,
Wee'le take it off; these harmelesse men
That hither fled, onely to save their lives,
Shall you get favour'd of their King agen;
Ile beare you company unto the King,
Where we agen must part: you shall be further satisfi'd
In all what appeares darke, Ile open as we ride.
Come brother David, we the world that range,
Must not admire at accidents or change.

Exeunt.