 | The Rebellion |  |
Act Third.
Scene I.
Enter Mach. Ful. Pan. Aler. Giavanno with Raimond Prisoner, and the rest of the Taylors.All the Tail.
A Tayler, a Tayler, a Tayler.
Gia.
Raimond y'are now my prisoner:
Blind Chance has favour'd where your thoughts,
And hope she meant to ruine
From our discord, which heaven has made victorious,
You meant to strike a harmony should glad you.
Ale.
'Tis not to be borne: a Tayler!
Whisper.
Ful.
'Twas an affront gales me to thinke on't:
Besides his sawcy valour might have ruin'd all
Our forward fortunes, had the French been
Stronger: let him be banish'd.
Mac.
It shall be so;
My feares are built on grounds
Stronger than Atlas shoulders: this same Tayler
Retaines a spirit like the lost Antonio;
Whose sister we will banish in pretence of
Love to Justice; 'tis a good snare, to trap the
Vulgar hearts: his, and her goods, to guild my
Lawlesse doings, Ile give the poore, whose tongues
Are i' their bellies: which being full,
Is tipt with heartlesse prayers; but empty,
A falling Planet is lesse dangerous; they'le downe to
Hell for curses. You Tayler.
Gia.
My Lord.
Ma.
Deliver up your prisoner.
Gia.
Y'are obey'd.
Ma.
So: now we command on forfeit of thy
Life, you be not seene in any ground our
Masters Title circles, within three daies.
Least like the Fables Serpent, growne warme
In your conceited worth, you sting
Your Countries Breasts, that nurst your valour.
Gi.
This my reward?
Aler.
More then thy worth deserves.
Gi.
Pomander boxe thou lyest.
Ful.
Goe purge your selfe; your Country vomits you.
Gi.
Slaves y' are not worth my anger.
Ful.
Goe vent your spleene 'mongst Satyres, pen a
Pamphlet, and call't the Scourge of greatnesse.
Aler.
Or Spaines ingratitude.
Gi.
Yee are not worth my breath,
Else I should curse you; but I must weepe,
Not that I part form thee unthankfull Spaine,
But my Evadne, well, it must bee so:
Heart keepe thy still tough temper spight of woe.
Exit.
Ma.
My house shall be your prison,
Attend 'em Colonell.
Exit, Raimond, Philippa, Alerzo, Ful. Pand. manet Taylers.
Ful.
Please you walke?
1 Tay.
My servant banisht.
3 Tay.
Famist master? nay faith and a Tayler
Come to be famisht, 'tis a hard World:
No bread in this world here hoe, to save
The renowned Corps of a Tayler from famishing?
'Tis no matter for drinke, give me bread.
2 Tay.
Thou hast a gut wou'd swallow a pecke Loafe.
3 Tay.
I marry wou'd it with vantage; I tell truth,
And as the Proverbe sayes, shame the Divell;
If our Hell afford a Divell, but I see none
Unlesse he appeare in a delicious remnant of
Nim'd Sattin, and by my faith that's a courteous
Divill, that suffers the Brokers to hang him
In their ragged Ward robe; and us'd to sell his
Divelship for mony: I tell truth, a Tayler
And lye, faith I scorne that.
Leave your discovery.
3 Tay.
Master, a Traveller you know is famous for lying,
And having travelled as farre as hell;
May not I make description of the unknowne Land?
1 Tay.
My braine is busie,
Sebastiano must not tread an unknowne Land
To finde out a Grave; unfortunate Sebastiano,
First to lose thy selfe in a disguise, unfitting for thy
Birth, and then thy Country for thy too much vallour:
There's danger in being vertuous, in this Age
Led by those sinfull Actors, the plunged stage,
Of this vice-bearing World, would head-long fall
But charitable vertue beares up all.
I must invent, I ha't, so:
As he's a Tayler; he is banisht Spaine,
As Sebastiano 'tis revokt againe.
Exit cum fuis.
Enter Machvile solus.
Ma.
How subtile are my springes, they take all?
With what swift speed unto my Chaffie baite
Doe all Fowles fly, unto their hasty ruine?
Clap, clap your wings, and flutter greedy fooles,
Whilst I laugh at your folly; I have a Wier
Set for the Moore, and his ambitious Consort;
Which if my wife wo'd second, they are sure.
Enter Auristella.
Au.
What must she second?
Mach.
Art thou there my Love? we're in a path
That leades us to a height, we may confront
The Sun, and with a breath extinguish common
Starres; be but thou rul'd, the light
That does create day to this City
Must be derived from us.
Au.
You fire my soule, and to my airy
Wings, add quicker Feathers: what taske
Wo'd not I run, to be cald Queene?
Father and Mother, stand as a quicke wall
To stop my passage to a Throne,
I'de with a Puniard ope their Azure veines,
And squeese their active blood up into Clods,
Till they become as cold as winters snow;
And as a bridge upon their trunkes i'de goe.
Ma.
Our soules are twinnes, and thirst with equall heat
For Deity: Kings are in all things Gods
Saving mortality.
Au.
To be a Queene, what danger wo'd I run?
I'de spend my life like to a Bare-foot Nun;
So I might sit above the lesser starrs
Of small Nobility, but for a day.
Mach.
'Tis to be done sweet love an nearer way;
I have already with the suger'd baites
Of Justice, liberallity, and all
The Foxe like ginns, that subtile Statse-men
Set to catch the hearts o'th giddy multitude:
Which if it faile, as cautious policy
Forbids, I build too strongly on their drunke
Uncertaine Votes, I'de have thee breake with
My great Prisoners Wife, as I will
Doe with him; promise the states equall
Devided halfe himselfe shall rule:
So that if need compell us to take Armes,
We may have forces from the Realme of France,
To seate us in the Chaire of Government.
Au.
I never shall indure to walke as equall
With proud Philippa, no; my ambitious soule
Boyles in a thirsty flame of totall glory:
I must be all, without a second flame
To dim our luster.
Mach.
Still my very soule, thinkest thou I can indure
Compeditor, or let an Ethiope sit by Machvils side,
As partner in his honour? no, as I have seene
The Thebane Creon's part; with such a life
I became ravisht, and on Raimond meane,
To plot what he did one the caveling boyes of Oedipus,
Whilst we graspe the whole dignity.
Au.
As how sweet Machvile?
Mach.
It is not ripe my love,
The King I heare applauds my justice:
Wherefore I have sent order that Count Antonio
Once being taken, be sent to Fill-ford Mill;
There ground to death.
Au.
What for his wife?
Mach.
Thy envy: she I have banisht,
And her goods to guard a shower of curses
From my head, I'ave given the poore.
Au.
Good pollicy, let's home to our designes:
I hate to be officious, 'yet my frowne
Shall be dissolv'd to flattery for a Crowne.
Exit.
Mach.
Attend your Lady—so her forward spleene,
Tickled with thought of greatnesse makes the Scene
attempts run smooth: the haughty Moore shall bee the Lader,
on whose servile backe Ile mount to greatnesse.
Rough War shall force it, which done, Raimond
And his Philippa must goe seeke an Empire in
Elizium; for to rule, predominance belongs
Alone to me: slaves are unworthy rule,
What state wo'd set a Crowne upon a a Mule?
Exit
Antonio disguis'd sitting in a Closet.
My soule is heavy, and my eye-lids feele
The weighty power of lazy Morpheus:
Each element that breathes a life within me
Runs a contrary course, and conspire
To counterfeit a Chaos: whilst the frame
(Cracke) as beneath the weight of Atlas burthen:
A suddaine change, how my blear'd eye-lids strive
To force a sleepe 'gainst nature. O yon Powers
That rule the better thoughts, if you have ought
To act on my fraile body, let it be with eagles
Speed; or if your wills so please,
Let my fore past and undejested wrongs
O're whelme my thoughts, and sinke me to the ground
With their no lesse then deaths remembrances.
Cease bastard slave, to clog my sences
With the leaden weights of an unwilling sleepe; unlesse
Thy raw-bon'd brother joyne his force, and make
A seperation twixt my aiery soule,
And my all earthly body:
I am o're come, heaven worke your wills, my breath,
Submits to this as 'twould submit to death.
Sleepes.
Soft Musicke, Love descends halfe way then speakes
Sleepe intranced man, but be
Wakefull in thy fancy; see
Love hath left his Pallace faire,
And beates his wings against the ayre,
To ease thy panting breasts of ill:
Loves a Phisitian, our Will
Must be obey'd; therefore with hast
To Flanders fly, the ecchoing blast
Of Fame shall usher thee along,
And leave thee pester'd in a throng
Of searching troubles, which shall be
But Bug-beares to thy constancy.
Enter from one side death, and from the other side Aurelia, Death strikes three times at Antonio, and Aurelia diverts it.
Exit severally.
What this same shadow seemes to be,
In Flanders thou shalt reall see;
And give thee longer lease of breath,
Dotes on thy aire; report hath bin
Lavish in praysing thee unseene.
Make hast to Flanders, time will be
Accus'd of slothfulnesse, if she
Be longer tortur'd: doe not stay,
My power shall guide thee on the way.
assended.
Enter Giovanno and the old Tayler.
Gio.
He is asleepe.
Old Tay.
See how he strugles, as if some visions
Had assum'd a shape fuller of horrour
Then his troubled thoughts.
Gio.
His conscience gripes him to purpose: see he wakes;
Let us observe.
Ant.
Stay gentle power, leave Hostage that thy promise
Thou'lt performe,
And I will offer to thy Diety
More then my lazy heart has offer'd yet.
But stay Antonio, can thy easie faith
Give credit to a dreame? an aiery vision,
Fram'd by strangling fancy, to delude weake
Sence with a gay nothing? recollect thy selfe,
Advise thee by thy feares, it may force hence
This midnights shade of griefe;
And guild it with a morne as full of joy.
As do's bright Phæbus to our Easterne World,
When blushing he arises from the lap
Of Sea-greene Thetis to give a new day birth.
Gio.
Why how now friend, what talking to thy selfe?
Ant.
O Giovanno 'tis my unpartiall thoughts,
That rise in war against my guilty conscience;
O it stings me!
Old Tay.
Be more a man, shrinke not beneath a weight
So light, a child may beare it; for beleeve me,
You had done an act, Spaine should for ever praise
Had you kild Machvile to.
Ant.
As how good Master? I must call you so;
This is your Livery.
Old.
O y'are a noble Tayler. But to Machvile
It was my chance, being sent for by his wife
To take the measure of their noble prisoner;
Who when I came was busie, being plac'd
Into a roome, where I might easily heare
Them talke of Crownes, and Kingdomes;
And of two that should be partners in this
End of Spaine.
Gio.
Who were they?
Old.
Machvile and Raimond, at last Machvile laught
Saying, for this I made the Governour
To crosse Antonio at the Counsell bord:
Knowing that one must, if not both sho'd dye.
Ant.
Did he say this?
Old.
He did, and added more under a feigned show
Of love to Justice, banisht your sister.
Gio.
Is Evadne banisht?
Old.
She is, and as I ghesse to Flanders, her woman too has left her.
Ant.
Nay droope not friend; Host, pray tell proud
Machvile, I have a sword left to chastise
A Traitor: come, let's goe seeke Evadne.
Gio.
O Antonio, the suddaine griefe almost distracts
Thy friend; but come, let's goe each severall,
And meete at Fill-ford: if thou findest Evadne,
Beare her unto the Castle.
Exit.
Ant.
Farewell good master.
Exit.
Old.
O you honour me.
Bootelesse were all perswasions, they'le not stay.
I'le to the King; this treason may become
Like a disease, out of the reach of Phisicke:
And may infect past care if let alone.
Exit.
Phi.
Erect thy head my Raymond, be more tall
Then daring Atlas, but more safely wise:
Sustaine no burthen but the politicke care
Of being great; till thou at obeiye the Cities
Axeltree, and wave it as thou list.
Ray.
Hast thou no skill in Magick, that thou hits
So just upon my thoughts, thy tongue is tipt
Like Natures miracle; that drawes the steele
With unresisted violence: I can not keepe
A secret to my selfe, but thy prevailing
Rhetoricke ravishes and leaves my breast
Like to an empty Casket, that once was blest
With keeping of a Iewell I durst not trust the
Ayre with, 'twas so precious: pray be carefull.
Phi.
You doe not doubt me?
Ray.
No, were you a woman made of such course ingrediance
as the common, which in our triveall phrase we call
meere women; I wou'd not trust thee with a Cause so
weighty, that the discovery did indanger this, this haire;
that when 'tis gone a Linxes cannot misse it: but you are—
I want expressions, 'tis not common words can speake you
truely, you are more than woman.
Phi.
My Lord you know my temper, and how to
Win upon my heart.
Ray.
I must be gone, and post a messenger,
France must supply what wants to make thee great;
An Army my Philippa, which these people
Snoring in pride of their last victory,
Doe not so much as dreame on?
Nor shall, till they be forced to yeeld their voyces
At our election; which will be ere long.
Phi.
O 'tis an age, I'de rather have it sed,
Philippa then a prisoner were dead.
Exit.
Iud.
Captaine Petruchio, take this condemned man
Into your charge, it is Antonio once a
Spanish Count, till his rash folly, with his
Life made forfeit of his honour; he
Was found travelling to your Castle,
'Twas Heavens will that his owne feet
Should with a willing pace conduct him to his ruine:
For the murther he must be ground to death
In Filford Mill, of which you are the Governour:
Here my Commission in its end gives strength to yours,
He's your charge: farewell,
His death must be with speed.
Exit with his.
Ant.
Deceive me not good glasses, your lights
In my esteeme never till now was precious,
'Tis the same, I 'tis the very same
I sleeping saw.
Au.
Is this the man Fame speakes so nobly of?
O love, Aurelio never untill now
Could say he knew thee; I must desemble it.
Pet.
Come sir to my Castle.
Au.
Fie on you sir, to kill a Governour it is a fact
Death cannot appeare too horrible to punish.
Ant.
Can this be truth? O shallow, shallow man
To credit aire, beleeve there can be substance
In a cloud of thickned-smoake, as truth hid in a dreame;
Yes there is truth, that like a serowle fetcht from
An Oracle, betrayes the double dealing of the gods;
Dreames that speake all of joy, doe turne to griefe,
And such bad Fate deludes my light beleefe.
Pet.
Away with him
Exeunt.
Aurelius solus.
Oft have I heard my brother with a tongue
And my trapt soule did with as eager hast
Draw in the breath, and now: O Aurelia,
Buried with him must all thy joy thou hast
For ever sleepe; and with a pale consumption,
Pittying him wilt thou thy selfe be ruin'd?
He must not dye, if there be any way
Reveal'd to the distressed, I will find it:
Assist a poore lost Virgin some good power,
And lead her to a path, whose secret tract
May guide both him and me unto our safety.
Be kind good wits, I never untill now
Put you to any trouble; 'tis your Office,
To helpe at need this little world you live by:
Not yet! O dulnesse! doe not make me mad—
I hav't blest braine; now shall a womans wit
Wrestle with Fate, and if my plot but hit:
Come off with wreaths, my duty nay may all,
I must forsake lest my Anionio fall.
Exit.
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