 | The Rebellion |  |
Act Second.
Scene I.
A Table and Chaires.Enter (after a shoute crying Antonio,) the Governour and Count Machvile.
Gov.
Hell take their spacious throates, we shall e're long
Be pointed as a prodige;
Antonio is the man they loade with praise,
And we stand as a Cypher to advance
Him by a number higher.
Mach.
Now Machvile plot his ruine,
aside.
It is not to be borne; are not you our
Masters subsitude? then why should he
To preach unto the people a Doctrine
They ought not heare:
He incites 'em not to obey your charge,
Unlesse it be to knit a friendly league
With the opposing French; laying before 'em
A troope of fained dangers will insue,
If we doe bid 'em battle.
Gov.
Dares he doe this?
Mach.
'Tis done already;
Smother your anger and you shall see, here
At the Counsell boarde he'le breake into a
Passion;—which ile provoke him to.—
aside.
To them Antonio, Alerzo, Fulgentio, and Pandolpho: they sit in Counsell.
Gov.
Never more neede, my worthy partners, in
The dangerous brunts of Iron warre, had we
Of Counsell: the hot rain'd French, led by that
Haughty Moore, (upon whose sword sits
Victory inthron'd) daily increase;
And like the Army of another Xerxes,
Make the o're burthen'd earth groane at their weight.
We cannot long hold out; nor have we hope
Our Royall Master can raise up their Seige
E're we be forc't to yeeld:
My Lord your counsell 'tis a desperate griefe.
Mach.
And must my Lord finde undelaid release?
Noble Commanders since that warres grim god,
After our sacrifice of many lives,
Neglects our offerings, and repayes our service
With losse; 'tis good to deale with policy.
He's no true Souldier that deales heedlesse blowes
With the indangering of his life; and may
Walke in a shade of safety, yet o'rethrow
Great Alexander made the then knowne world
Slave to his powerfull will, more by the helpe
Of polliticke wit,
Than by the ruffe compultion of the sword.
Troy that indur'd the Grecians ten yeares Siege,
By pollicy was fir'd, and became
Like to a lofty Beacon all on flame.
Gov.
Hum, hum.
Mach.
Suppose the French be markt for conquerers:
Starrs have bin crost, when at a naturall birth
They dart prodigious beames; their influence
Like to the flame of a new-lighted Tapor,
Has with the breath of pollicy bin blowne
Out, even to nothing.
Ful.
Hum, hum.
Aler.
This has bin studied.
Pan.
He's almost out.
Gov.
Good,
But to the matter;
Your counsell.
Mach.
'Tis this my Lord;
That straight before the French have pitcht their Tents,
Or rais'd a worke before our City walls;
As yet their ships have not o're spread the sea,
We send a Regiment that may with speed
Land on the Marshes, and begirt their backes,
Whilst we open our Gates, and with a strong assault
Force 'em retreat into the armes of death:
So the revengefull earth shall be their tombe,
That did ere while trample her teeming wombe.
Gov.
Machvile speakes Oracle;
What sayes Antonio?
Ant.
Nothing.
Gov.
How?
Ant.
Nothing.
Mach.
It takes: revenge,
I hugge thee; yong Lord thou' art lost.
aside.
Gov.
Speake Antonio your counsell.
Nothing.
Gov.
How?
Ant.
So;
And could my wish obtaine a sudden grant
From yon Tribunall, I would crave, my sences
Might be all steept in Lethe, to forget
What Machvile has spoken.
Mach.
Ha, it takes unto my wish.
aside.
Why Antonio?
Ant.
Because you speake
Not like a man, that were possest with a
Meere Souldiers heart; much lesse a soule guarded
With subtle sinewes: O madnesse, can there be
In nature such a prodegie so sencelesse,
So much to be wondred at,
As can applaud or lend a willing eare
To that my blushes doe betray I've bin
Tardy to heare? your childish pollicy.
Gov.
Antonio you're too bold; this usurpt liberty
To abuse a man of so much merit, is not
Seemely in you: nay Ile terme it sawcinesse.
Ant.
Nay then my Lord, I claime the priviledge
Of a Counseller, and will object.
This my Propheticke feares, whisper'd my heart:
When from a watch Tower I beheld the French
Erect their speares; which like a mighty Grove
Denied my eyes any other object:
The tops showd by a stolen reflection from
The Sun like Diamonds, or as the glorious
Guilder of the day, should daine a lower visit
Then my warme blood; that us'd to play like
Summer, felt a change; Gray-bearded winter
Froze my very soule, till I became
Like the Pyrenian Hills, rapt in a roabe of Ice:
My Atticke feares froze me into a statue.
Aler.
Cowardly Antonio.
Ful.
I have lost my faith,
And can behold him now without a wonder.
Gov.
Antonio, y'are too long and wracke our patience;
Ant.
I fear'd, but what? not our proud enimies
No, did they burthen all our Spanish world:
And I, poore I; onely surviv'd to threat defiance
In the Mounsiers teeth, and stand Defendant
For my Countries cause; naked, unarm'd.
I'de through their bragging Host, and pay my life
A Sacrifice to death, for my lov'd Countries safety
Aler.
Fulgentio thou hast not lost
Thy faith?
Ful.
Noe, i'me reformed he's valiant.
Go.
Antonio your counsell.
Ma.
I your counsell.
An.
Our foes increase to an unreckon'd number:
We lesse then nothing, since we have no hope
To arrive a number, that may cope with
Halfe their Army.
'Tis my counsell we strike a league:
'Tis wisedome to sue peace, where powerfull Fate
Threatens a ruine: least repent too late.
Ful.
'Tis god-like Counsell.
Aler.
And becomes the tongue of yong Antonio.
Gov.
Antonio let me tell you, you have lost
Your valiant heart; I can with safety now
Terme you a Coward.
Ant.
Ha.
Gov.
Nay more,
Since by your Oratory, you strive
To rob your Country of a glorious conquest;
That may to after times beget a feare,
Even with the thought should awe the trembling
World: you are a Traytor.
An.
Ha my Lord, Coward and Traytor, tis a damned lye,
And in the heart of him dares say't againe
Ile write his errour.
M.
'Tis as I wou'd hav't.
Noble Antonio.
Aler.
Brave spirited Lord.
Fu.
The mirrour of a Souldier.
Go.
O are you mov'd first has the deserved name
Of Traytor prickt you?
An.
Deserv'd?
Go.
Yes.
M.
Yes.
An.
Machvile thou lyest; hadst thou a heart
Of harden'd steele, my powerfull Arme
Should pierce it.
They fight all in a confused manner: Antonio kills the Governour. Machvile falls.
Aler.
The Governour
Slaine by Antonio's hand?
Fu.
No, by the hand of Iustice; fly, fly my Lord.
Aler.
Send for a Chirurgeon to dresse Count Machvile,
He must be now our Governour; the King
Signed it in the dead Governours Commission.
Exeunt sol.
An.
Now I repent too late my rash contempt,
The horrour of a Murtherer will still
Follow my guilty thoughts, fly where I will.
Exit Antonio.
Mach.
I'me wounded, else Coward Antonio
Thou shouldst not fly from my revengefull Arme:
But may my curses fall upon thy head
Heavy as thunder; maist thou dye
Burthen'd with ulcerous sins, whose very
Weight may sinke thee downe to Hell:
Beneath the reach of smooth-fac'd mercies arme.
A shoute within crying Antonio.
Confusion choake your rash officious throates,
And may that breath that speakes his loathed name
Beget a Plague, whose hot infectious aire
May scald you up to blisters, which foretell
Tho'st thy will, how ere crosse Fate
Divert the peoples hearts; they must perforce
Sue to that Shrine our liking shall erect.
The Governour is dead, Antonio's lost
To any thing but death; 'tis our glad fate,
To gripe the staffe of what wee look't for state.
My bloods ambitious, and runs through my veines
Like nimble water through a Leaden Pipe
Up to some barren Mountaine: I must have more,
All wealth in my thoughts to a Crowne is poore.
Enter Giovanno, Evadne and Nurse.
Gio.
'Tis a neate Gowne and fashionable
Madam; i'st not love?
Nur.
Upon my Virginity wonderfull handsome:
Deare, when we are married Ile have such a one;
Shall I not chicken? ha.
Gi.
What else, kind Nurse.
Nur.
Truely you Taylers are the most sanctified members
Of a Kingdome:
How many crooked and untoward bodies have
You set upright, that they goe now so straight in their
Lives and conversation, as the proudest on them all?
Gi.
That's certaine, none prouder.
Evad.
How meane you sir?
Gi.
Faith Madam your crooked moveables in artificiall
bodies, that rectifie the deformity of natures over-plus, as
bunching backes, or scarcity, as scanty shoulders, are the
proudest creatures; you shall have them jet it with an undaunted
boldnesse; for the truth is, what they want in substance
they have in ayre:
And impute the defect of nature to his want
Of skill, though his labour make her appearance
Nur.
Well said my birds eye, stand for the credit of:
Taylers whilst thou livest; wilt thou not Chucke?
Ha, sayst thou my deare?
Gi.
I were ungratefull else.
Evad.
Nurse pray leave us, your presence makes your
Sweet heart negligent of what he comes about;
Pray be won to leave us here.
Nur.
Madam your will's obey'd:
Yet I can hardly passe from thee my love.
At such a suddaine warning.
Gi.
Your eager love may be termed dotage,
For shame confesse your selfe to lesse expressions:
Leave my Lady.
Nur.
A kisse and then I goe, so; farewell my Duck.
Exit.
Gi.
Death she has left a scent to poison me;
Love her said she, is any man so mad, to hugge a disease,
Or imbrace a colder Image then Pigmalions
Or play with the bird of
Frosty antiquity, not I:
Her gumms stinke worse then a Pest-house,
And more danger of infecting.
As I'me a mortall Tayler; and your servant Madam,
Her breath has tainted me I dare not salute
Your Ladiship.
Evad.
Come you are loath to part with't, 'tis so sweet.
Gi.
Sweet say you Madam, a muster of diseases
Can't smell worse, than her rotten teeth.
Excuse my boldnesse, to deferre your longing;
Thus I am new created with your breath.
Kisses.
My gaping pores will ne're be satisfied.
Againe—they still are hungry.
Evad.
My deare friend, let not thy lovely person
March with the scoulding peace affrighting Drum:
War is too cruell: come ile chaine
You here, here in my armes; and stiffle you
Gi.
By this I must.
Evad.
Ile smother that harsh breath.
They kisse.
Gi.
Againe I counter-checke it.
Enter Antoino as pursued, sees them and stands amazed.
Ant.
O sister, ha!
What killing sight is this! cannot be she.
Sister.
Evad.
O my deare friend, my brother, w'are undon.
Ant.
Degenerate girle, lighter than wind or ayre;
Canst thou forget thy birth? or 'cause thou'rt faire
Art priviledg'd, dost thinke with such a zeale
To graspe an under shrub? dare you exchange
Breath with your Taylers, without feare of vengeance
From the desturbed ghosts of our dead Parents,
For their bloods injury? or are your favours
Growne prostitute to all? my unkind Fate
Grieves me not halfe so much, as thee forgetfull.
Gi,
Sir if on me this language, I must tell you,
You are too rash to censure. My unworthinesse that makes
Her seeme so ugly in your eyes, perhaps
Hangs in these cloaths; and's shifted off with them.
I am as noble, but that I hate to make
Comparisons, as any you can thinke worthy
To be call'd her husband.
An.
Shred of a slave thou lyest.
Gi.
Sir I am hasty too; yet in the presence of my
Mistris can use a temper.
An.
Brave; your mistris.
Enter Machvile with Officers.
Ma.
Lay hold on him,
Ere we presume to meete the enemy
Weele purge the City; lest the wrath of heaven
Of Capitall treason, 'gainst the King and Realme.
To prison with him.
Evad.
O my lost brother!
Gi.
'Tis but an errour, treason d'ye call it; to kill
The Governour in heate of blood, and not intended?
For my Evadne's sake, something Ile doe
Shall save his life.
Exit.
Ma.
To prison with him.
An.
Farewell Evadne, as thou lovest the peace
Of our dead Ancestors, cease to love
So loath'd a thing; a Tayler,
Why? 'tis the scorne of all; therefore be rul'd
By thy departing Brother, doe not mixe
With so much basenesse:
Come Officers, beare me e'ne where you please,
My opprest conscience no where can have ease.
Exit with Officers.
Ma.
Lady we here enjoyne you to
Your Chamber as a prisoner, to
Waite a further censure; your brothers
Fault has pul'd a punishment upon your head,
Which you must suffer.
Evad.
'Ene what you please, your tyranny can't beare
A shape so bad to make Evadne feare;
Strong innocence shall guard my afflicted soule,
Whose constancy shall tyranny controule.
Exeunt.
A noise within crying Rescue, Rescue. Enter Antonio and Guard, to them Giavanno and Taylers and Rescues him; and beate them off.
Enter a Officer meeting Machvile.
Of.
A troope of Taylers by force have tane
Antonio from us, and have borne him (spight
Of the best resistance we could make) unto some
Ma.
Screech-owle dost know what thou hast said?
Death, finde him or you dye: O my crosse starres,
He must not live to torture our vext sence,
But dye; though he had no fault but innocence.
Exit.
Enter Giovanno, Antonio, and the old Tayler.
Gi.
Can this kindnesse merit your love?
Doe I deserve your sister?
An.
My sister! worthy Tayler; 'tis a gift lyes not in me to
give: aske something else, 'tis thine, although it bee gain'd
with the quite extinguishing of this; this breath you
gave mee.
Gi.
Have not I—
An.
Speake no further, I confesse you
have bin all unto me, life, and being; I breath but with your
licence: will no price buy out your interest in me, but her
love? I tell thee Tayler, I have blood runs in mee, Spaine
cannot match for greatnesse, next her Kings. Yet to requite
thy love Ile call thee friend, be thou Antonio's friend; a favour
nobles have thirsted for: will this requite thee?
Gi.
Sir this may, but—
An.
My sister thou wouldst say most worthy Tayler, shee
is not mine to give; honour spake in my dying Father, 'tis a
sentence that's Registred here, in Antonio's heart, I must
not wed her, but to one in blood calls honour Father:
Prethee be my friend, forget I have a sister; in love Ile bee
more than a brother; tho' not to mingle blood.
Gi.
May I not call her mistresse?
An.
As a servant, far from the thoughts of Wedlocke.
Gi.
I'me yours, friend I am proud on't; you shall finde,
That though a Tayler, I'ave an honest mind.
Pray Master helpe my Lord unto a Suite, his life
Lyes at your mercy.
1 Tay.
Ile warrant you.
An.
But for thy men.
O they are proud in that they rescued you,
And my blood of honour; since you are pleas'd
To grace the now declining Trade of Taylers,
By being shrouded in their homely cloaths,
And decke a Shop-board with your noble person;
The taunting scornes, the foule mouth'd
World, can throw upon our needfull Calling
Shall be answered:
They injure honour, since your honour is a
Noble practitioner in our Mistery.
Gi.
Cheere up Antonio, take him in,
The rest will make him merry; Ile goe try
The temper of a sword upon some Shield
That guards a foe.
Pray for my good successe.
Exit.
1 Tay.
Come, come my Lord leave melancholy
To hired slaves, that murther at a price:
Yours was—
An.
No more, flatter not my sin.
1 Tay.
You are too strikt a convertite, let's in.
Exit.
After a confused noyse within, Enter Raymond, Leonis, Gilberty hastily.
Ra.
What meanes this capering Eccho?
Or from whence did this so lively Counterfeit
Of Thunder, breake out to liberty?
Gil.
'Tis from the City.
Ra.
It cannot be, their voyce should out-roare Iove;
Our Army like a Bassiliske, has strucke
Death through their eyes; our number like a wind,
Broke from the Icy prison of the North,
Has froze the Portalls to their shivering hearts;
They scarce have breath enough to speake't:
They live.
A shoute within.
Gil.
'Ts certainely from thence.
Y'are deceived, poore Spaniards feare
Ha's chang'd their elevated Gate to a dejection
Their Planet strooke.
Ra.
'Tis from our jocond Fleet, my Genius prompts me;
They have already plough'd the unruly seas,
And with their breasts, proofe 'gainst the battering
Waves dasht the bigge billowes into angry froth,
And spight of the contentious full mouth'd gods
Of Sea and wind, have reach't the Citty frontiers,
And begirt her Navigable Skirts.
Againe: 'tis so.
againe within.
Gil.
My Creeds another way;
I have no faith but to the City.
Alarum. Enter a Souldier bloody.
Leo.
Here's one,
Now we shall know: ha! he appeares
Like one compos'd of horrour.
Ra.
What speakes thy troubled front?
Leo.
Speak crimson Metor.
Ra.
Speake Prodigy, or on my sword thou fallst.
Sol.
The bold Spaniards, setting aside al cold acknowledgment
Of any oddes, or notice of the number our Army
Is made proud with, sends from their Walls
More lightning, than great Iove afrights
The trembling world with, when the aire
Is turned to muteny.
Ra.
Villaine thou lyest;
'Twere madnesse to beleeve thee.
Foolish Spaine, may like those Giants, that
Heapt hill on hill, mountaine on mountaine,
To plucke Jove from heaven, who with
A hand of vengeance flung 'em downe beneath
The centure, and those Cloud contemning Mounts,
Heav'd by the strength of their ambitious Armes,
Folly, from this arme of mine, shall find their
Graves amongst the rubbish of their
Ruin'd Cities.
Enter a second souldier.
What another! thy hasty newes?
2 Mess.
The daring enemies have through their gates
Made a victorious salley; all our troopes
Have joyntly like the dust before the wind,
Made a dishonoured flight: Harke
Alarum within.
The Conquering foe makes hitherward.
Ra.
Runne to my Tent, fetch my Philippa:
Slave why mov'st thou not?
2 Mess.
The enemy's upon us.
Ra.
Shall I send thy coward soule down the
strikes him.
Vaults of Horrour: flye Villaine, or thou dyest.
Alarum. Enter Machvill, Alerzo, Fulgentio, Pandolpho, with Philippa prisoner, Giavanno with Taylers.
Mach.
Let one post to my Castle, and conduct my Lady,
Tell her I have a prisoner wou'd become proud
In her forc't captivity to waite upon her beauty:
Flye, let not the tardy clouds out-saile thee.
Phil.
Canst thou proud man thinke that Philipa's
Heart, is humbled with her fortunes, (no didst thou
Bring all the rough tortures
From the worlds Child-hood) to this houre invented,
And on my resolute body, proofe against paine,
Practis'd Scicilian tyranny.
My Gyant thoughts should like a cloud of wind,
Contemning smoak, mingle with heaven:
And not a looke so base, as to be pittied, shall
Give you cause of triumph.
Al.
'Fore heaven a fiery girle.
Ful.
A Masculine spirit.
Pan.
An Amazon.
See my Philippa, her rich colour's fled and like that soule
The furrow fronted Fates have made an Anvill
To forge diseases on, she's lost her selfe
With her fled beauty; yet pale as she stands,
She addes more glory to our churlish foe,
Than bashfull Tytan to the Easterne world.
Spaniards, she is a Conquest; Rome,
When her two neckt Eagles, aw'd the world
Would have swum through their owne blood to purchase!
Nor must you enjoy that jemme, the superstitious gods
Would quarrell for, but through my heart.
Courage brave friends, they're valiant that can flye
I'th mouth of danger; 'tis they winne, though dye.
Gia.
This Moore speakes truth,
Wrapt in a voyce of thunder.
Ra.
Speake, my Philippa, what untutor'd slave
Durst lay a rugged hand upon thy softnesse?
Phi.
'Twas the epitome of Hercules:
No bigge Colossus, yet for strength farre bigger:
A little person great with matchlesse Valour.
Ra.
What paines thou takest to praise
Thine enemy.
Phi.
'Twere sinne to rob him, that has wasted so
His blood for praise: this noble Souldier, he
'Twas made me captive; nor can he boast
'Twas in an easie combate; for my good
Sword, now ravish'd from mine arme, forc'd crimson
Drops, that like a goary sweat, buryed
His manly body in oblivion: those that were
Skild in his Effigies, as drunke with Lethe, had
Forgot 'twas hee; till by the drawing of the
Ruefull curtaine they saw in him their errour.
Ra.
A common Souldier owner of a strength worthy
Such praise? Dares he cope with the
French Generall single?
Phi.
My Lord, you must strike quick and sure
Why pause you? my Philippa must not stay,
Captivity's infection.
Ma.
We have the day.
Ra.
Not till you conquer me: which if my arme
Be not by Witch-craft rob'd of his late strength,
Shall spinne your labour to an ample length.
Ma.
Upon him then.
Gia.
Ods is dishonourable combate: my lads
Lets one to one; I am for the Moore.
Ale.
Thee.
Ful.
Tayler, you are too sawcy.
Gia.
Sawcy?
Aler.
Vntutor'd groome, Mechanicke slave.
Gia.
You have protection, by the Governours presence,
Else my plumed Estrages, 'tis not your feathers,
More waighty than your heads, should stop
My vengeance, but I'de text my wrong
In bloody Characters upon your pamperd flesh.
Ful.
You wou'd?
Gia.
By Heaven I would.
Ful.
You'd be advis'd, and render up your life a Sacrifice
to patience.
Gia.
Musk-Cat, I'de make your Civet worship stinke
first in your perfumed Buffe.
Ale.
Phlegmaticke slave.
Gia.
Bloudlesse Commanders.
Fu., Pa., Ale.
How.
Gia.
So.
Fu., Pa., Ale.
Let's reward his boldnesse.
Ma.
Whence this rashnesse?
They fall upon Giavanno.
Ra.
Blest occation: lets on 'em.
The French whisper.
The French flye upon 'em: They turne to their guard, and beate 'em off.
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