 | The Vow Breaker. Or, The Faire Maide of Clifton |  |
Actus Quartus
Scene Prima.
Enter Clifton, Grey, Arguile, Ioshua, Miles, Ball, Souldiers.Gr.
What day is this?
Clif.
Tues-day the seaventh of May.
Gr.
This day shall in our English Calender stand
Eyther to our dishonour, or great fames,
When Chronicles in after ages tell
The seventh of May we scal'd the walls of Leith,
We have begun, dreadlesse of death, and dangers,
And like to loyall subjects held the rights
Of our deere Mistris Queene Elizabeth.
When Captaine Randall gives the Alarum,
Assault, assault, each man salute his freind,
Take solemne farewell till this seige have end.
Omnes.
Assault, assault.
Gr.
Holdes every man his charge as we ordred?
Clif.
I guesse so my Lord;
Howard with his Launce-tieres quarters
T'wixt Mount Pelham, and the Sea by West.
Neighing for action guardes the Tents by East,
Arguile, with shot marches for the Hill Brey;
Sir Francis Leeke keepes the water-ports,
I the greene Bul-warke opposite to Doysells
With tough hardy Nottingham shire boyes
Wee'le fall before we fly, by my Hollidam.
Gr.
I'le man this bul-warke 'gainst proud Mortigue.
Harke, the Allarum, each man unto his place.
Exeunt Omnes.
After squirmishes. Enter Grey, meeting Clifton, with Armour.
Gr.
How goes the day, sir Jaruis?
Clif.
Ti's bloudy.
The thunderer, on both sides shootes his boults
Valour is at the touch-stone of true tryall;
The French like to so many gods of warre
Bravely brandish darting sire from steele;
The valiant Scot Arguile commandes the Hill,
The Towne-playes fercely; their came a shot
Of full two hundreth weight into my Tent.
Doysells has thrice assaulted me. I fac'd him,
And from his sides, like Libian Hercules,
I tore the rough Nemean Lion's Skin
His Armour of good proofe which here I beare,
And will not part from, but with losse of life.
Gr.
See! Arguile apeares.
Arg.
Man the water-ports
With all the Engines of defensive warre;
Well fought Vaughan he mans the trenches bravely
Young Arthur Grey assaults the stony mures,
Vp goes the scaleing Ladders, now they mount,
Now Sommerset, now Read, now Valiant Brey,
Towring like eager Haukes who shall get high'st!
Like angery Lions, or incenced Tygers;
The Frenchmen labour, greedy for the prey,
Climbe the walls, and tosse the Frenchmen downe,
Now from the mount their thundring Cannons roare,
Whose direfull clangors shake their huge structures,
And like an earth-quake tumble to the Earth,
Their steeples, Ordinance, Gunners, all at once,
Now Inskeith, Sutton, Newport, Conway, Fitton,
As dreadles enter dangers, as their Tents;
Accursed chance, the Ladders are too short,
Which gives a treble, vantage to the French.
Now the foe triumphes, now our white coates fall,
Now groanes the mother, now the virgin sighs;
Death wilbe master, neyther party winns
Now flies the English; now the French follow,
And now their horse-men fling about the sands,
Howard counterbuffs their canvasadoes
Like chaffed Bulls, or foaming Bores they strive
For mastery; the Frenchmen flie the Towne,
And seeke for shelter. Now men your Trenches,
Count Mortigue, and Doysells from the Towne
Make expedition! now sings the god of warre
His direfull Antheames; now fight, or never,
We now are free-men or else bond-men ever.
Alarum. Enter Doysells, Mortigue, Souldiers.
Doy.
Thou bear'st my armour Clifton;
Clif.
My Hollidam,
Thanke me Doysells, I did not take thy head.
Mor.
I came to seeke thee, Grey;
Gr.
The Towne I see was too hot to hold thee,
Elce thou'st have nesl'd in thy pent-house still.
Clif.
Wee'le not articulate.
Alarums Monluck, Crosse, betweene the Armies.
Mon.
Th'effuse of bloud is great,
Which had bene better never spent, then ill;
You of our party, by our commission,
We doe command your tariance; your Lords
A litle patience till your Heralds speake.
Cros.
William Cecill the Queenes Secretary,
Wotton Deane of Canterbury, and Yorke,
With sir Ralph Sadler joynt Commissioners,
Commands thee Iohn Lord Grey of Wilton,
Now Generall of her Majesties forces,
To make immediate repaire to Edenburgh,
And present lay by all hostility,
From this houre untill seven a Clocke at night.
Mon.
The like on your allegiance to Mary Dowager of France,
and Queene of Scots, we doe commend.
Mor.
We obey, and instant will give order.
Ger.
The like doe you sir Iarvis,
Clif.
Now we have beaten them out of the Towne, they come
To composition.
Ger.
Give order through our Trenches, Tents, Bul-warks,
That not a peece of great nor smaller shot
Prove preiudiciall to the French; untill from us
You have commission; my Lord of Valens
I'le waite on you to the commissioners,
If we have peace 'tis welcome, and if warre.
We are for eyther object, both we darre.
Exeunt Mon. Grey.
Clif.
My Hollidam.
What a new monster England has begot
We cannot fight because we want commission?
Mortigue, Doysells, by my just Hollidam
It greives me that we must not fight it out.
Come le'ts shake hands, 'till seven at night all freinds
After such greetings, as on warr depends.
Doy.
VVe dread not chances.
Exeunt Omnes.
A bed covered with white. Enter Pratle, Magpy, Long-tongue, Barren with a Child, Anne in bed.
Pra.
Lord, lord, what pretty impes you are in your majorities!
Is it a man-child Mother Pratle?
Pra.
No in-sooth gossip Mag-py it is one of us, heavens blesse
thee babie, and a well appointed impe it is.
Lon.
See how it smiles.
Barr.
That's a signe of anger, t'will be a shrow I lay my life.
Pra.
No, no, Mistris Barren, an Infant smileing, and a Lambes
bleateing is a signe of fertility it is so in Artimedorus; you
frown'd when you were borne, and thats the reason you are so
sterill; Artimedorus saith so in his fourth booke.
Mag.
What pretty dimples it has!
Long.
Fathers none nyes.
Pra.
None nose.
Barr.
Smooth fore-head!
Mag.
Cherry lip!
Pra.
Had it bene man-child, their had bene three evident
signes of an whoremaster; a Roman Nose, Cherry Lip, and a bald
Pate, for so Artimedorus in his Problems.
Mag.
Well, well, whosoever got it, 'tis as like none father
as an Apple to a Nut, insooth Gossip Pratle it is.
Long.
It smiles still! sure it was begot in a merry houre.
Barr.
Then I was got in a merry vaine; for prais'd be to me.
mory my Mother said I hung the lip at my nativity.
Mag.
Lord Mother Pratle doe the Modernes report
soe?
Pra.
I surely Gossip Mag-py, and it is a great signe of frugality
if the Starrs, and Planets be concordant, for saith Artimedorus;
if it be borne under Venus, it will be faire as you
are, if under Sol, Rich as you are, and if under Mercurie.
Mag.
Good Mother Pratle what is that god Mercury? is it
he that makes the white Mercury waters, Ladies scoure their
faces withall!
Pra.
I surely Gossip, and stop their wrinckles with too,
and saith Artimedorus, in his third booke of his Modernes, if
borne under Castor, and Pollux, store of children.
Mag.
Caster, and Bollux?
Pra.
You speake broad Gossip, 'tis Pollux.
VVhy Bollux be it then; surely Barren was not borne
under Bollux, for she has bene married this seven yeares, and
never had childe,
Bar.
By your favour Gossip Mag-py, you were borne under
Caster, and Bollux then, for you had two children before you
weare married.
Enter Vrsula.
Pra.
Insooth Gossip, she has given you a veny; Good lacke
mistris Vrsula, where have you negotiated Your selfe; you
should have bene present, and have Negotiated your selfe about
the Maxims, and principles Of child-bearing; what? you had a
Mother?
Vrs.
And a Father too, Mother mid-night.
Pra.
No matter for the father; we talke of the surer side, you
may be sure to know your mother, when your mother hardly
knowes your father; 'tis a very facetious point, as Artimedorus
in his booke of dreames sets it downe.
Enter Boote.
Vrs.
Here comes my Vncle.
Pra.
Off with your hat sir, you come not here without reverence,
see if the little infidell smile not on him, busse,
busse, it.
Bo.
Heavens blesse the babe! what wares beare my
Little infidell?
Pra.
Blesse the baby, it has sufficient if it live to be of the
sages.
Bo.
I meane carries it an English Pen, and Inke-horne
Or a dutch watch tankerd?
Pra.
Blesse the baby—it has—ey marry has it!
Bo.
Is it a boy, has it a purse, and two pence in't?
Pra.
Blesse the baby, it has a purse, and no money in't yet, but
it may have, and it please the destinies.
Bo.
A purse, and no money, by St
Antony I thought the groome
went drunke to bed, he stole too't so early—
Pra.
Looke how it smiles.
Admit me to the mother;
Vrs.
Shee's now awake, sir.
Bo.
I give my thanks to heaven daughter Nan,
Whose providence hath made thee a mother,
Rejoyce thou in the first fruites of thy wombe,
If any sad distempers trouble thy minde
Sing lullabies unto this pretty babe,
And they will vanish; this must be now thy comfort;
An.
Just heaven; I might have taken comfort
In this pretty babe; now it is too late,
Leave me your blessing, Sir; and depart hence,
Bo.
You have some private occasions, i'me not to question Neece
bring the groaning cheece, and all requisites, I must supply the
fathers place, and bid god-fathers.
Exit.
An.
Good women whose helpes I had but now.
'Tis almost now of that necessity
It was before: I pray be vigilant,
For if you slumber, or shut your eie-lids,
You never shall behold my living corps.
Pra.
Blesse us daughter say not so! I hope you will not part
in a trance, nor steale away in a qualme; come, come what
should be your reason?
An.
Nothing but a dreame.
Pra.
An't be a dreame, let me come too it; was it a sorrowfull
dreame? Artimedorus saith there be divers kinde of
meates engender dreames; as Beanes, long Peason Lentills,
Cole-worts, Garlicke, Onions, and the like; Leekes, Ches-Nuts,
and other opening Rootes, as Rad-dish, Carrets,
Skirrets, Parsenips; now there is some flesh is provocative
too; as the Hart, the Bore, the ould Hare, and
Beefe; and then of fowles, as the Crane, Ducke, Drake, Goose,
and Bustard; if you tasted any of these they will engender
dreames.
An.
Pray marke me, and let my words be written
Within your minds, as in a manuscript,
That when it proves so, you may say I told it.
Lon.
Peace, and heare her dreame.
Me thought I walk'd a long the verdant banks
Of fertill Trent, at an un-usuall time,
The winter quarter; when Herbes, and Flowers
Natures choisest braveries are dead.
When every saplesse Tree fad's at the roote;
Yet then, though contrary to nature,
Vpon those banks where foaming surges beate,
I gatherd Flowers, Roses red, and Damaske,
Love Pauncies, Pincks, and gentle Daffadils,
That seldome budds before the Spring time comes,
Daisies, Cowslopps, Harebells, Marigoulds,
But not one bending Violet to be seene.
My apron full I thought to passe away,
And make a Garland of these fragrancies;
Just as I turn'd, I spide a lovely person,
Whose countenance was full of splendancy
With such embellishings, as I may imagine
Better then name them; it bad me follow it,
Then me thought, it went upon the water,
As firmely as on land; I covetous
To parley with so sweet a frontis-peece
Leap'd into th'water, and so dround my selfe.
Pray watch me well this night; for if you sleepe.
I shall goe gather Flowers, and then youle weepe
Vrs.
T'was a strange dreame!
Pra.
But a very true one; looke you Artimedorus in his third
booke of his Moderns saith to dreame of Flowers is very good
to a woman in child-bed; it argues she shall soone enjoy her
husband, to walke on the Seas specifies to a man, delight,
but to a woman a dissolute life, for the Sea is like a harlot,
a glicery face, and a broken heart. Come, come, doe you sleepe?
wee'le watch; by this good drinke; Gossip Mag-py, I was
almost dry.
An.
Lay the babe by me that I may Kisse it;
Pra.
So, so, she sleepes, come sit round, and lets have a
Carrouse to the litle infidell.
Vrs.
I marry sir this is a silent houre, their teeth will not let
will she sweare by this Wine, till she soke the Pot were it
a fathome deepe.
Pra.
By this good liquor, it is so.
Vrs.
Here's sweete swearing, and deepe vowes, she goes to'th
bottome at every oath.
Mag.
And I'faith Gossip Long-tongue when peipes the Onion
out o'th parsley-bed, when shalls come to your feast?
Lon.
Truely Gossip Mag-py when Caster, and Bollux
raignes.
Vrs.
Sweete Mother Pratle what be those Castor, and Bollux?
Pra.
Twinns daughter that rule most the signe being in Virgo,
looke you Gossip Barren could you once dreame of sore eies
you should be sure of children?
Barr.
Good sooth Mother Pratle, the first time I dream'd, I
was with child I got a husband presently.
Pra.
By this dyet-bread Artimedorus saith so; marke Mistris
Vrsula, to dreame to have Lyce, eyther in head or body, in some
quantity signifies a proper man well appointed; and by this
drinke I dream'd my husband when he came first a woing;
came i'th liknes of a Kentish twindle Pippen; that is just, as
if two stones grew together, no sooner was I married, but
I had two sonnes presently just as Artimedorus saith by this
diet-bread.
Vrs.
They have sworne all the VVine, and Banquet away.
Barr.
I know not what your twindles are, but i'me sure I tender
Castor, and Bollux as dearely as any of you; I cannot
dreame, heigho—
Pra.
You begin to be sleepy; I can prescribe you a medicine
of Poppy, Mandragora, and other drowsy Sirrops; heida
all a sleepe? if my charge sleepes, let me rest, for by this drinke
i'me heavy too—
All sleepes.
Vrs.
Their all asleepe I have a heavy slough,
Come o're my eie-lids; Somisdore hath strucke me,
I cannot wake, and must give way to rest,
Gh.
Deaths eldest daughter sleepe with silencies
Has charm'd yond beldams, no jarring clocke
Nor murmuring winde dares oppose just fate.
Awake fond mortall ne're to sleepe againe,
Now is the time I come to claime my promise,
Alive or dead I must, and will enjoy thee.
An.
Blesse me I was in my dreame againe; ha!
Mothers, Cozens, Mid-wife, all drown'd in sleepe?
Then my decreed houre is here set downe
I must away?
Gh.
With expedition;
The Ferry-man attends thee at the verge
Of Cocitus, and sooty Acheron,
And he shall waft thee into Tartary,
Where perjury, and false-hood finds reward
There shalt thou reade thy history of faults,
And mong'st the furies finde just recompence,
I'le bring thee over Turrets, Towres, and Steeples,
O're shady Groves, brineish Mears, and Brookes,
The flattring Sea to me is navigable,
O're steepy Mountaines; and the craggy Rocks,
Whose heights Kisse Starres, and stop the flying Clouds
Wee'le through as swift as Swallowes in recourse.
The Chauntecleere summons my retreat,
Signing a period to my pilgrimage;
From nipping frosts, and penetrating blastes
Could Snowes, blacke thawes, and misty killing deawes.
I'le lead thee to the ever-flaming Furnace,
That like a Feaver fed by opposite meates,
Engenders, and consumes it selfe with heate.
I'le peirce the Aire as with a thunder bolt,
And make thy passage free; make speede away
Thy broken contract, now thou goest to pay.
An.
Oh helpe, succour: helpe! wives, cozens, Mid-wives,
Good Angels guard me, I goe, but cannot tell,
Whether my journey be, to Heaven or hell.
Vrs.
I have slept this houre, how, d'yee cozen? ha? cozen, here;
ay me, where, alas no where, ay me she's gon, she's gon.
Pra.
Heigho; what's the matter Mistris Vrsula!
Vrs.
Alas! my cozen, she's gon, she's gon.
Mar.
Mary Jove forbid.
Long.
I did not like her dreame.
Barr.
Nor I, I promise you.
Pra.
Dispatch every one severall waies some to th'feilds some
to'th water-side; las 'tis but a fit, twill be over presently—away
away severally.
Exeunt, and Enter Boote.
Bo.
What meanes this noise! how comes my doores open
at this time o'th night; I hope my daughters well,
Vrs.
Oh sir shee is—
Bo.
Not dead I hope.
Vrs.
I know not that neyther; but whilst we
After long watching tooke a litle rest
She's stolne out of her bed, and fled away,
The doores quite open, and the infant here.
Enter Women bringing Anne.
Bo.
Heaven blesse her; I am strucke dead with griefe
She has beene subject to distemper'd passions
Jove grant she works no harme upon her selfe,
Me thinkes she should not for the infants sake,
Poore babe it smiles, it lacks no mother yet.
Till it misse the brest, she cannot be farre
But they may find her out; their's a great Snow
Easily trace her, where she is.
Vrs.
Oh misery!
Behold the saddest spectacle of woe,
That ever mortall eies tooke notice off.
Pra.
We trac'd her through the Snow, step, by step,
Vntill we came unto the River side,
Where like a cunning Hare she had indented
To cozen her persuers, and cozen'd her selfe
For dround we found her on the River side
Nigh Collicke Ferry.
Bo.
Oh my poore girle!
Enter Bateman with his Picture.
Ba.
Oh my poore boy!
Bo.
How happy had I beene if she had liv'd?
Ba.
How happy had I beene if he had liv'd?
Bo.
Whoes that which ecchoes me, playing the wanton
With my miseries?
Ba.
I come to see how sorrow does become thee
Doo'st thou remember that?
Bo.
What mak'st thou here, is there no other wracke,
To worke my miseries higher, but thy selfe,
And art thou come for that? oh my poore girle.
Ba.
Monster, behold my poore boyes Picture,
Thou would'st not shed a teare, nor lend a sigh,
Poore emblem of a penitentiall heart,
When in these armes I hug'd my dead boyes corpes,
Now monster, who i'st will weepe or sigh, for thine?
Bo.
Monster thou troublest me.
Ba.
Murderer I will.
See what the fruites of wealth have brought thee now,
An everlasting scandall to thy name.
A conscience full of horror, and black deedes;
Natures externall superfluities
Her white, and red Earth, rubbidg, drosse, and oare,
Thou hast converted to most grosse abuses,
Thou wouldst not else have scorn'd my poore boys love,
To match with wealthy German; see thy fruits,
Thy bazes, and foundations now are suncke,
And looke there lyes the ruines of thy workes.
Bo.
Oh misery! my hart-strings cracke with griefe,
Yet will not burst, oh say, hast thou yet done?
Ba.
Noe, I will make thee sensible of thy ils,
First thou art causer of thy daughters death,
For thou enforc'd her to the breach of faith;
Next my sonns ruin, whom parac'd like,
Thou laugd'st at in his fatall tragedy;
VVhom but a villaine that abjures all lawes,
That breakes all precepts, both of heave'ns, and mans,
And natures too could have done this; should I
Like one that dares affront divinity
Laugh at thy daughters fall.
Bo.
Hast thou done yet?
I doe beseech thee for this infants sake,
Which sets a smiling brow on miseries,
And even by instinct, prayes thee to forgive,
Commiserate my woes; it greives me now
I did deri'd thy miseries; be but content
I'le weepe till thou shalt say, it is enough,
So that we may be friends.
Ba.
I cannot chuse.
But beare a burden in calamities;
Our angers have like tapers spent themselves,
And onely lighted others, and not us.
Striving like great men for supremacy
VVe have confounded one anothers goodnes,
Come we will be freinds, i'le dig a soleme cell,
VVhich shall be hung with sables round about,
VVhere we will sit, and write the tragedy
Of our poore children; i'le ha'it so set downe
As not one eye that vewes it, but shall weepe
For never was a story of more ruth,
Then this of him, and her, yet nought but truth.
Exeunt Omnes.
| The Vow Breaker. Or, The Faire Maide of Clifton | |