 | The Phaenix In Her Flames |  |
Actus Secundus
Scena Prima.
Perseus, Embassadour of Ægypt.Perseus
VVhat should I think my Lord of this delay,
That holds so long the Princesse of my life,
My faire Lucinda from me, doe not you
Measure the time, and wonder what should be
Th' occasion of her stay? me thinks 'tis strange!
Embas.
I wonder not at all Prince Perseus,
Nor scarce expect her yet, for but consider
The distance of those kingdomes, and the tract
Of ground 'twixt Egypt and the Persian Realme,
And you must then conclude that this is not
A worke of three dayes journey.
Pers.
Then my hopes
And languishing desires to see my love
Erre in the computation of the time,
Fancying three dayes three yeeres, but by your leave,
Was't not reported in this Court of Persia
More then a moreth agone that she was ready
With her Egiptiæn traine to take her journey?
Emb.
'Tis true 'twas so reported, yet it might
Be a false rumour, grant the contrary
That truth and it concurr'd, yet many thinges
Happen you know between the cup and the lip.
The Princesse then might have been indispos'd
Or else he royall Father and my king
(Which heavens defend) might be affected with
His old disease, and she loath to depart
Before he had recovered better state;
Innumerable other thinges might happen
Which now I cannot thinke of, but suppose
She had at home no let or interuption,
Yet must they passe the red sea, or be forc'd
To come about by Istmus overland,
Then travell through the desarts of Arabia,
Which is a tedious way and not so soone
To be o'recame as you suppose it is.
Perseus.
It may be so, my Lord Embassadour,
These are the reasons or such like as these,
But my Propheticall my Delphick minde
Prompts me alas unto another cause
More probable, I feare that glorious Orbe
Where my faire starre moves in (I meane your land,)
Made glorious by her lustre, and envied
By all the neighbouring kingdomes round about,
Should now grow proud, & scorn her beams should grace,
Besides their owne, another Hemisphere,
What thinke you Sir of this?
Embas.
It cannot be
Your princely minde should harbour such conceit,
To thinke our land so dull, as not to see
The greatnesse of this empire, and the honour
Egypt receives to match with Persia;
But I interpret otherwise your speech
Applying it unto the power of love,
Whose force is such as it will draw a man
Into Poetick raptures.
Perse.
I approve
Your iudgment in the art, when I but name
Lucinda, that bare sound strikes heavenly musick
Into my soule, and makes my thoughts harmonious,
Each sillable therein is a strong charme
Fairest Lucinda why dost thou with-hould
The day so long, and suffer Perseus
To live in night wanting thy wished presence,
Till thou appeare I can behould no sunne
No beame of comfort, that bright wagoner,
Who doth begin his progresse in the East
And ends it in the West, each day surrounding
The compasse of this lower world, infuses
No light into my sences, for he stayes
To borrow some of thee; bright starre appeare.
Embass.
Now Sir I see love hath divinely wrought
Vpon your inward faculties, that could
Beget so high a straine as you have us'd
In admiration of the lowd obeict;
But love they say is nurse of poetry.
Pers.
I thinke no lesse for for ere I was in love
Before Lucindas beauty kindled had
A sacred fire in my enflamed brest,
I knew not what it was to poetize,
But now I'le cloath my lines in sable weedes,
And vent my thoughts in an Elegiack name,
I'le sing sad songes untill my mistresse comes
For to inspire me better; O I cannot
Beare with her absence, what thinke you my Lord
Is she upon her journey? that I may
My selfe in person with some rroopes of horse
Ride forth to meete her on the way as farre
As the wild deserts of Arabia stretch
To safe conduct her hither.
Embass.
Noble Prince
I doe believe she wants no strong convoy
To guard her ore the mountaines, and more strength
Added, I thinke would be superfluous,
For sure the King knowing the passage well
How dangerous, how long and troublesome
Would ne're consent she should goe weakly guarded,
But you may doe your pleasure.
Pers.
Freind, what newes
Bringst thou unto the Court? what speakes thy face
Commixt with dust and sweat?
Messeng.
Redouted Prince,
It speakes in characters a story which
Will make you sad to heare, and me to speake,
Which thus I reade unto you, our faire Princesse,
The beautifull Lucinda travelling through
The Country of Arabia, for to meet
Her happinesse in Persia with a guard
Of some few horse and foot, was set upon
By souldiers, what they were I doe not know,
Their number was ten times as much as ours,
Yet we so long resisted as we could,
Vntill the most part of our men were slaine,
Then some were forc'd to save their lives by flights
Some three or four, no more of which small number
I write my selfe, who tooke my journey hither
Alone to give you notice what befell us;
Let not my newes great Prince, exclude my welcome.
Embas.
But what befell the Princesse all this while,
Her Ladies and attendance?
Messen.
Taken prisoners
By two that seemed to command the rest
With all their plate and jewels.
Embas.
Know you not
In what part of that fatall soile befell
This sad disaster, or by whom 'twas done?
Was't in Arabia fælix, or desart,
Or Petrea else?
Messen.
'Faith Sir I was never
There in my life before, nor did I then
Enquire the true denomination of it,
And therefore cannot satisfie you in
The thing you doe demand,
But you can tell me
The nature of the place and Country, then
I'le satisfie my selfe: was't sweet and lovely,
Perfum'd with spices and rich Frankincense,
Or was't a rocky soile, and mountainous,
Wilde, unfrequented, full of caves and dennes,
Of wood and desert, you can tell me this?
Messen.
I'm sure it was not spicy, for it had
A bitter smacke, we prov'd it to our cost,
Some never could digest it: Frankincense
There was not any, I should smell it then:
Mountaines I saw, and unfrequented pathes,
Resembling well a desart: this is all
I can informe you of by circumstance.
Perseus.
How's this? am I awake, or in a dreame?
Dead, or alive? what Apoplex was that
Ty'd all this while my tongue from breaking forth
Into wilde exclamations? O my heart!
My better part, Lucinda prisoner!
Heavens what a sound is that, no death so fatall,
So dolefull to my thoughts, Lucinda tane
By theeves and out-lawes, worse, and Perseus
Vncertaine where she is, still worse and worse.
What shall I doe, dye? that were to no purpose,
And leave her unredeemed: no, I'le first
Raise a great Army, and lay waste that soyle,
That fatall soyle which first procur'd my woe:
I'le cut off this distinction of three names,
Arabia fælix, Petræa, and Deserta,
And bring them into one, and that's the later:
Cosmographers shall ne're divide the land
Into three parts, Arithmeticians neither
Shall worke it as a fraction, but entire,
An entire number, term'd by all deserta:
The Phænix shall no longer harbour there,
Or if she doe, we will destroy the Spices
Wherewith she alwaies built her funerall pile
To burne her selfe to ashes, and thereby
Doe to revenge this wrong? the worst of ils
That can be thought of is not bad enough
For to afflict that Country which detaines
My faire Lucinda from me: I haue not
The patience to dispatch an Embassage
And to expect reply: I'le goe my selfe
And by my armies march, my cannons mouth,
My trumpets warlike sound, my beating drum,
The King shall know the businesse why I come.
Exeunt.
Amandus, Consolario, Colonell, Gentleman.
Amand.
Then you dismiss'd the army.
Colon.
As I was
Commanded by your Highnesse, so I did.
Amand.
But did you tell my loving friends & souldiers,
That in this gratefull heart of poore Amandus,
Was treasur'd up their love and faithfull service,
Never to be forgotten.
Colon.
Sir, J was not
Wanting in the least part of my commission.
Amand.
How did they take my leaving them, and this
my separation.
Colon.
At the first unkindely,
Because you would not take them as a guard
To safe conduct your person, yet when I
Enforc'd your love by binding arguments,
They did submit unto your will, and stood
No longer to dispute it.
Amand.
Yet their hearts
Were griev'd I make no question, for their losse
And desperate fortunes.
Colon.
Not so much my Lord
For their owne fortunes, as for yours appear'd they
Troubled in minde, for when I drew them all
From every common souldiers eye, gusht forth
Rivers of teares, and after from their hearts,
Brake forth these exclamations: O my Prince,
My deerest Prince, why should the partiall heavens
Deale so unjustly with thee, or their malice
Injure thy goodnesse? why wilt thou depart
So weakely guarded, and expose thy selfe
Yet longer naked to the stroke of fortune?
Why should we be excluded from thy presence?
Yet since it is his pleasure, wee'l no longer
Dispute the reasons why, but yeeld unto it:
Heavens prove propitious, let his smiling stars
Shed pleasing influences o're his head,
And guide his journey, let the froward fates
See and repent the wrong they did unto him,
And recompence his losse with interest
For all his sufferings: O what cause have we
To grieve for him, for ne're in any age,
Have subjects boasted of a sweeter Prince.
Amand.
This makes me melt againe, and to deplore
Their miserable state and sad condition
That were so touch'd with mine; but Consolario,
What desart soile is this, that so well suits
My desart minde? what solitary land
That mockes my farre more solitary heart?
What ayre doe we now breath in?
Consol.
Sir, this Country
Is term'd the desarts of Arabia
Where we now travell in.
Amand.
Not that same Country,
So famous for the Phænix and her nest,
And for that second Phænix, rare Phænicia,
(Farre more to be admired then the first)
Th' Arabian Kings faire daughter.
Consolar.
No my Lord,
That's call'd Arabia fælix, this deserta,
So infamous through thefts and robberies
And out-lawes of the Country, who frequent
These Caves and Mountaines, this and th'other part
Make but one kingdome, 'twas not my advice
You came this way, you know I told you of
The danger by the robbers.
Amand.
Prethee tell me
What should they rob from me that I should shun them?
What have I left that I should feare a theefe?
A jewell, two or three, poor paultry toyes
To loose, when I before have lost a kingdome:
You'l say they'l take my life, alas they will not
Be so compassionate to ease me of
A burthen so despised, under which
I faint, and panting breath this ayre of woe.
Consol.
Nay good my Lord, no more of this discourse,
You promis'd once a manly resolution
To tugge with fortune, will you fall againe
Into relapse of griefe, and said remembrance?
How poore this shewes in you!
Amand.
Well, I'le forget it,
And finde some other talke: you told me now
This was a part of faire Arabia,
Termed deserta, and another part
Hight Fælix, there's another yet besides,
Or else the history is false that writes it,
How name you that?
Consol.
That Sir is Petræa,
So call'd of Petra, the chiefe City in't,
Or else because 'tis rocky.
Amand.
Which of these
Arabia fælix, Petræa, or deserta
Is that sweet soyle so much commended for
Her gummes and spices, odours, and perfumes?
I'm sure it is not this.
Consol.
No, that is Fælix,
And rightly beares it that denomination;
For 'tis a happy Country, no delight
Faire meadowes, pleasant groves, cleare cristall brooks,
Sweet lovely Cities, gardens diapred
All o're with Flora's richest tapestry,
Are seene there all the yeere, continuall spring
Dwels in that coast, white hoary bearded Hyems,
Ne're shakes his snowy tresses, nor his frost
Nips the faire flowers that beautifie her breast,
Nor boysterous Boreas with his winter blasts,
Shakes her faire fruit, but delicate Favonius
Creeps gently o're her fields with flowry breath
Creating gummes and spices; sure it is
The garden of the world, the Phænix else
Had never chose that place above all other
To recreate her selfe in: your Damascus
Is but a desart if compar'd unto it.
Amand.
But good old man, have you forgotten that,
Before the Tartar did invade my land,
We had laid downe our travell there to see
The much admir'd Phænicia, when the sight
Of this faire picture did captive my heart:
What motion doe I feele againe within me,
To blow the fire rak'd in forgetfull ashes,
And halfe dead in Damascus?
Enter Prædarius with 5 theeves.
Prædar.
Stand, and give up your purses, or your lives,
We require one or both.
Amand.
Do'st thou not see us
Stand with our swords drawn, mine I thus give up into thy body,— kils Prædarius.
3 thiefe
What shall we doe? our Capt kil'd, let's flye.
Gent.
As thou hast liv'd with him, so shalt thou dy
And serve him in the other world
kils the third thiefe.
4 thiefe.
But I
Serv'd him for feare, not love, and should be loath
To wait on him to hell on such a journey.
Villaine forsake thy master, that thou shalt not
my sword shall keepe thee in thy true obedience,
Killes him, the other three escape to Rapinus.
Consolar.
Blessed deliverance! we have cause to thanke
The heavenly powers of this our victory,
And preservation.
Gentle.
With what confidence
Of good successe their Captaine gave the onset?
But when the Princes conquering sword dispatch'd him
How soone his theeves were quel'd.
Consolar.
Sweet Prince I feare
More stormes for in this clouded Wildernesse
They are most frequent, and I doubt the worst
Is not blowne o're, let's therefore hast our journey
To shelter us in safety.
Amand.
I'le not be
Averse unto good counsell though I value
This life at a lowe rate; now let's direct
Our steppes towards that happy soile you spake off,
That I may see though now with humbled eyes
Phænitia faire, the minion of the skies.— Exeunt.
Enter Rapinus wounded, with all his rabble of theeves leading in betweene them Amandus, the Collonell and gentleman also wounded, Consolario following after weeping, then enter Lucinda.
Rapinus
See faire Lucinda mine, what triumphs we
Bring to adorne thy conquests, see what captives
Are ready here to waite upon thy triumph,
See what a purple flood hath issued forth
From these two gaping wounds which I receiv'd
To bring these pretious jewels to Lucinda,
And yet she kils Rapinus with disdaine,
Did ere your eyes see fairer?
Lucinda
Never true lie,
And I beleeve this Kingdom yeelds none such,
From whom did you extort them?
Rapin.
From that captive
Who kill'd Prædarius and thus wounded me,
And made such havocke of our men, he now
Shall lie in durance for't.
Lucinda
Heavens what a wonder,
What an Angellike object strikes mine eyes,
In masculine appearance!—aside.
Were you Noble
These jewels were a ransome to redeeme him,
And set his friends and him at liberty
At least to barre hard usage.
Rapin.
If it be
Your pleasure to command their free enlargement,
I seale unto it, for faire Lady know
You carry such divinity about you
As it converted hath and almost alter'd
(I speake it to my shame) my former nature,
But had I still continued as my selfe,
I had not begg'd this favour, which you know
I might command at pleasure.
Lucinda
You are angry
And all this while mistake me, I as little
Desire their liberty as you your selfe,
But I would have them us'd in gentler manner
Then other prisoners for these jewels sake,
Which take me more then all the wealth you ere
Presented me withall.
Rapin.
This cheeres me yet
That now at length, one of my offerings are
Accepted by my goddesse; captives kneele
And reverence her deity whose breath
Hath free'd you from a servitude more darke
Then hell it selfe; now this must bee your prison
This Cave of mine, till we determine further.
Lucind.
Would I might be his jaylour and his surgeon,
Alas, his wounds bleed—aside
Vnlesse some care be taken for their wounds,
Their death can doe no service, first I'le dresse
Your hurts, and then for pities sake apply
A plaister unto theirs.
Rapin.
Do what you will.
Lucinda
Your wounds art deepe Sir—dresses him.
Rapin.
I beleeve they are,
And you have one faire Lady too wants tenting,
I hope one day to search it and returne
Your courtesie againe in a kind nature.—aside
Lucind.
This salve will cure it.
Rapin.
I beleeve no lesse,
There is great vertue in 't deriv'd from you.
Lucind.
Come let me dresse you Sir.
Amand.
Me gentle Lady,
No let me bleed to death, like Seneca
Go sleeping to my grave, your paines were ill
Bestow'd on one that's weary of his life,
Shew your compassion one my friends, and then
You shall oblige my ashes in their urne
To blesse your bounty.
Lucind.
I'le not be deny'd,
Your friends I care for too—sure Lædas swannes
Were black compar'd to this more whiter skinne,
No silke so soft—aside
Now I have done with you.
As I have beene your Surgeon be mine too,
Would he did know my wound—all aside.
Amand.
To speake my thankes
Would come to short by farre of what I thinke;
I'm sorry Madam your so pretious salve
Should wasted be on such a wretch as I,
It better were reserv'd for nobler uses.
Lucind.
Now Sir you must receive too from my hand,
This plaister and your cure.
Colon.
I kisse those hands
That daigne me such a favour—dresses him.
You must feele
The vertue of my salve too.
Gentle.
As we have
The bounty of your noble disposition,
For both our humble thankes—dresses him.
Rapin.
Come have you done,
You dwell too long there and neglect a cure
Worth all the rest, Rapinus heart is sick,
And craves a plaister, wounded by your love,
A patient in your care to be preferr'd
Before a thousand captives.
Lucinda.
May be so,
But yet repent not charitable workes
Vpon the poore distress'd, if gentle nature
Move not your heart to this, yet let the thought
That they may doe good service in your warres,
(Since you your selfe have seene the valour tri'd)
Worke that effect upon you.
Rapin.
You plead strongly,
And I cannot repugne your argument;
But are all Ladies so compassionate
And pittifull as you? I thinke they are not.
Lucinda.
They are indeed, our sex hates cruelty.
Rapin.
Then you should hate cruelty in love.
Lucinda.
That's in another nature.
Rapin.
Come sit downe,
How long have you professed surgery?
I never saw you practise it before.
Lucinda.
I learnt it from a child.
Rapin.
Tis a fine art
And well it doth become a Ladies hand
Gentlie to touch a wound, but I forgate
To aske my prisoners what and when they were,
And to what place they travell'd, pray demand.
Lucind.
I will Sir—this suites well with my desire—aside
Faire Sir may I request to know your state,
Your name and countrey, whence you come and where
Your journey lay when this captivity
Befell you on your travell?
Courteous Lady,
You first demand my state, I can resolve you
In these words; 'tis poore and miserable,
Made so by fortunes malice, and my starres.
My name I humbly crave I may conceale,
My Country is Damascus, and therein
As in a booke you may reade out my story;
Have you not heard the fall of that brave City?
Lucinda
Yes, and the fame of that more braver Prince
Admir'd Amandus, I beleeve you have
Some neere relation to him.
Amand.
Yes, in fortune
I have indeed, for I suppose our sufferings
Are much alike.
Lucinda
So are your names and natures;
I make no question, if they were reveal'd,
But I have found enough.
aside.
Rapinus
He will not tell
His name it seemes
Lucind.
That matters not at all,
I gather by his words he is some Knight
Of sad Damascus, or some kinsman of
Th'unfortunate Amandus.
Rapinus
Very likely,
But we spend too much time in this discourse.
What doe I meane? I have not yet given order
To put out sentinells upon the hilles
For to discover boote; come will you walke
And take the aire a little? prisoners come
You shall receive a dram too and no more
But to prepare your stomackes 'gainst the time,
I'le weane you from it.
Amand.
Weane me from my breath
Of life, and then I'le thanke thee in my death.
Exeunt
1 theefe
This is worse and worse by the Almanack.
2 theefe
Alkeron, foole thou wouldst say, we doe not use
to sweare in that phrase.
3 theefe
Besides, there is no sence in Almanacke.
1 theefe
I say there is good sence and meaning in't, if
you had the wit to conceive it.
2 theefe
As how prethee?
1 theefe
As thus, grossum caput, 'tis worse and worse by
the Almanacke, that's as much to say, 'tis worse with us this
yeere then 'twas the yeere before.
3 theefe
'Faith thou sayest true, thou hast opened and applyed
the point too very handsomely, I commend thy wit
for't.
1 theefe
Besides, did I not shift an oath too very prettily?
observe my religion in't as well as my wit.
2 theefe
I thought thou hadst sworne.
3 theefe
And so did I by the Alkeron.
1 theefe
But to our first discourse before you interrupted
me: is't not worse and worse with us every day than other?
we were wont to have some feeling of the gaine, as well as
of the paine, and to share with our Captaines, now we must
be contented to stand to his courtesie, divell share him for it.
2 theefe
We lost our best Captaine when we lost Prædarius,
would Rapinus had excus'd him, we should had better
dayes then.
3 theefe
What fooles were we to save his life, when hee
lay at the mercy of the stranger, I repent it now most
heartily,
2 theefe
And so doe I, but had we knowne he would reward
us so, and give us nothing for our labours, he should
have gone to hell for me, I would never have staid him.
3 theefe
And the more to torment his Ghost, we would
have made his foe and conquerour Captaine in his place.
1 theefe
If he continue thus dogged, we may doe it yet by
some tricke or other, let him not too much provoke us.
All his minde is upon the wench by Mahomet,
all is given unto her, nothing unto us but a bastinado now
and then, shall we endur't?
3 theefe
And yet for all so much treasure as he gives her,
of my conscience she gives him nothing in returne thereof,
no not so much as her maydenhead.
1 theefe
Her maydenhead, 'twas a question if she had that
to give him.
3 theefe
Then not a vaulting turne, not one single career,
not a foot in the stirrop, or terme it what you will.
2 theefe
Nay, I believe scarse a drie kisse unlesse by force.
1 theefe
Then he is a pretious coxcombe, if I were he, I
trow she should give me a dry and a wet kisse too by her
leave.
3 theefe
I am clean out of charity with him in good faith.
2 theefe
And so are we all for his hard dealinges.
1 theefe
But we must smother our discontent aswell as we can.
2 theefe
What shall we doe now?
3 theefe
To our old trade, to watch for others Profit.
2 theefe
Come let's away then, we shall be found tardie
else, and perchance tould so much by a dumbe instrument
called the cudgell.
1 theefe
Indeed he speakes often to us in that language.
But come camrades the times may alter'd be,
When we shall speake that speech so well as he,
And make him understand us when we call,
As he doth make us now, this may befall.
Exeunt.
Finis Actus secundi.
| The Phaenix In Her Flames | |