 | The Martyr'd Souldier |  |
ACTUS QUARTUS.
Enter Antony, Cosmo, Hubert, and Damianus.Anton.
You noble Hubert, are the men chosen out
From all our Uandal Leaders to be chiefe
O're a new Army, which the King will raise,
To roote out from our land these Christians,
That over-runne us?
Cosm,
'Tis a glory Hubert,
Will raise your fame, and make you like our gods.
To please whom, you must doe this.
Dam.
And in doing,
Be active as the fire, and mercilesse
Whole Townes, and of them leaves no Monument.
Hub.
When shall mine eyes be happy in the sight
Of this brave Pagentry?
Cos.
The King sayes, instantly.
Hub.
And must I be the Generall?
Omnes.
Onely you.
Hub.
I shall not then at my returning home
Have sharers in my great acts: to the Volume
My Sword in bloody Letters shall text downe,
No Name must stand but mine, no leafe turn'd o're
But Huberts workes are read, and none but mine.
Bellizarius shall not on his Clouds of fire
Fly flaming round about the staring World,
Whilst I creepe on the earth. Flatter me not,
Am I to goe indeed?
Ant.
The King so sweares.
Hub.
A Kings word is a Statute graven in Brasse,
And if he breakes that Law, I will in Thunder
Rouze his cold spirit: I long to ride in Armour,
And looking round about me, to see nothing
But Seas and shores, the Seas of Christians blood,
The shoares tough Souldiers: Here a wing flies out
Soaring at Victory, here the maine Battalia
Comes up with as much horrour, and hotter terrour,
As if a thick-growne Forrest by enchantment
Were made to move, and all the Trees should meete
Pell mell, and rive their beaten bulkes in sunder,
As petty Towers doe, being flung downe by Thunder.
Pray thanke the King, and tell him I am ready
To cry a Charge; tell him I shall not sleepe,
Till that which wakens Cowards, trembling with feare,
Startles me, and sends brave Musick to mine eare,
And that's the Drumme and Trumpet.
Ant.
This shall be told him.
Dam.
And all the Goths and Vandalls shall strike Heaven
With repercussive Ecchoes of your name,
Hub.
Deafe me with that sound,
A Souldier though he falls in the Field, lives crown'd.
Cos.
Wee'le to the King, and tell him this.
Exeunt. Enter Bellina.
Hub.
Doe: Oh my Bellina,
If ever, make me happy now; now tye
Strong charmes about my full-plum'd Burgonet
To bring me safe home: I must to the Warres.
Bel.
What warres? we have no warres but in our selves:
We fighting with our sinnes, our sinnes with us,
Yet they still get the victory: who are in Armes
That you must to the Field?
Hub.
The Kings Royall thoughts
Are in a mutiny amongst themselves,
And nothing can allay them but a slaughter,
A generall massacre of all the Christians
That breath in his Dominion: I am the Engine
To worke this glorious wonder.
Bel.
Fore-fend it Heaven:
Last time you sate by me within my bower,
I told you of a Pallace wall'd with gold.
Hub.
I doe remember it.
Bel.
The floore of sparkling Diamonds, and the roofe
Studded with Starres shining as bright as fire.
Hub.
True.
Bel.
And I told you one day I would shew you
A path should bring you thither.
Hub.
You did indeed.
Bel.
And will you now neglect a lease of this,
To lye in a cold field, a field of murder?
Say thou shouldst kill ten thousand Christians,
They goe but as Embassadors to Heaven
To tell thy cruelties, and on yon Battlements
They all will stand on rowes, laughing to see
Thee fall into a pit as bottomlesse,
As the Heavens are in extension infinite.
Hub.
More, prethee more; I had forgot this Musick.
Say thou shouldst win the day, yet art thou lost,
For ever lost; an everlasting slave,
Though thou com'st home a laure'ld Conquerour.
You courted me to love you, now I woe thee
To love thy selfe, to love a thing within thee
More curious than the frame of all this world,
More lasting than this Engine o're our heads,
Whose wheeles have mov'd so many thousand yeeres:
This thing is thy soule,
For which I woe thee.
Hub.
Thou woest, I yeeld, and in that yeelding love thee,
And for that love Ile be the Christians guide:
I am their Captaine, come both Goth and Vandall,
Nay, come the King, I am the Christians Generall.
Bel.
Not yet, till your Commission be faire drawne,
Not yet, till on your brow you beare the Print
Of a rich golden seale.
Hub.
Get me that seale then.
Bel.
There is an Aqua fortis, (an eating water)
Must first wash off thine infidelity,
And then th'art arm'd.
Hub.
O let me then be arm'd.
Bel.
Thou shalt:
But on thy knees thou gently first shalt sweare
To put no Armour on but what I beare:
Hub.
By this chaste clasping of our hands I sweare—
Bel.
We then thus hand in hand will fight a battaile
Worth all the pitch-fields, all the bloody banquets,
The slaughter and the massacre of Christians,
Of whom such heapes so quickly never fell,
Brave on set be thy end not terrible.
Hub.
This kindled fire burne in us, till as deaths slaves
Our bodies pay their tributes to their graves.
Exeunt.
Enter Clowne and two Pagans
Clow.
Come fellow Pagans, death meanes to fare well to
day, for he is like to have rost-meate to his supper, two principall
brave Generall Carbonadoed, then a fat Bishop broyl'd, whose
Rochet comes in fryed for the second course, according to the
old saying, A plumpe greazie Prelate fries a fagot daintily.
1. Pag.
Oh the Generall Bellizarius for my money: hee has
a fiery spirit too, hee will roast soakingly within and without.
Clow.
Methinks Christians make the bravest Bonefires of any
people in the Vniverse; as a Iew burnes pretty-well, but
if you marke him, he burnes upward: the fire takes him by the
Nose first.
2. Pag.
I know some Vintners then are Iewes.
Clow.
Now as your Iew burnes upward, your French-man
burnes downeward like a Candle, and commonly goes out
with a stinke like a snuffe, and what socket soever it light in,
it must be well cleans'd and pick't before it can be us'd agen:
But Bellizarius, the brave Generall, will flame high and cleare
like a Beacon, but your Puritane Eugenius will burne blew,
blew, like a white-bread sop in Aqua vitæ. Fellow Pagans,
I pray let us agree among our selves about the sharing of those
two.
2. Pag.
I, 'tis fit.
Clow.
You know I am worshipfull by my place, the underkeeper
may write Squire if he list, at the bottome of the paper:
I doe cry first the Generalls great Scarfe to make me a short
Summer-cloake, and the Bishops wide sleeves to make me a
Holy-dayes shirt.
1. Pag.
Having a double voyce we cannot abridge you of
a double share.
Clow.
You that so well know what belongs to reverence,
the Breeches by yours, whether Bishops or Generalls: but
with this Provizo, because we will all share of both parties,
as I have lead the way, I clayming the Generalls and the Bishops
sleeves, so he that chuses the Generalls Doublet, shall
weare the Generalls Breeches.
Pag.
A match.
Clow.
Nay, 'twill be farre from a match that's certaine, but it
we come in:
The Souldier and the Scholler peekt up so,
Will make tam Marti, quam Mercurio.
Exeunt.
Enter the King, Antony, Damianus, and Cosmo: Victoria meetes the King.
Vict.
As you are Vice-gerent to that Majesty,
By whom Kings reigne on earth, as you would wish
Your heires should sit upon your Throne, your name
Be mentioned in the Chronicle of glory,
Great King vouchsafe me hearing.
King.
Speake.
Vict.
My husband;
The much, too much wrong'd Bellizarius,
Hath not deserv'd the measure of such misery
Which is throwne on him; call, oh call to minde
His service, how often he hath fought,
And toyl'd in warres to give his Country peace:
He has not beene a flatterer of the Time,
Nor Courted great ones for their glorious Vices;
He hath not sooth'd blinde dotage in the World,
Nor caper'd on the Common-wealths dishonour;
He has not peeld the rich, nor flead the poore,
Nor from the heart-strings of the Commons drawne
Profit to his owne Coffers; he never brib'd
The white intents of mercy, never sold
Justice for money, to set up his owne,
And utterly undoe whole families:
Yet some such men there are that have done thus,
The mores the pitty.
King.
To the poynt.
Vict.
Oh Sir, Bellizarius has his wounds emptied of blood,
Both for his Prince and Countrey; to repeat
Particulars, were to doe injury
To your yet mindfull gratitude—His Life,
And since your enemies and his could never
Captive the one, and triumph in the other,
Let not his friends,
His King commend a cruelty,
Strange to be talkt of, cursed to be acted;
My Husband, oh my husband Bellizarius,
For him I begge.
King.
Lady rise up, we will be gracious
To thy suit: cause Bellizarius
And the Bishop be brought hither instantly.
Exit for him.
Uict.
Now all the blessings due to a good King
Crowne you with lasting honours.
King.
If thou canst
Perswade thy husband to recant his errours,
He shall not onely live, but in our favours
Be chiefe; wilt undertake it?
Vict.
Undertake it Sir,
On these conditions, you shall your selfe
Be witnesse with what instance I will urge him
To pitty his owne selfe, recant his errours.
Anton.
So doing he will purchase many friends.
Dam.
Life, love, and liberty.
Vict.
But tell me, pray Sir,
What are those errours which he must recant?
King.
His hatred to those powers to which we bow,
On whom we all depend; he has kneel'd to them,
Let him his base Apostacy recant,
Recant his being a Christian, and recant
The love he beares to Christians.
Bel.
If he deny to doe all this,
Or any poynt of this,
Is there no mercy for him?
King.
Couldst thou shed
A Sea of teares, to drowne my resolution,
He dyes; could the fond man lay at my foote
The Kingdomes of the earth, he dyes; he dyes
Else all the Torments cruelty can invent
shall fall on him.
Vict.
No sparke of pitty?
King.
None.
Vict.
Well then, but mark what paines Ile take to winne him:
To winne him home; Ile set him in a way,
The Clouds shall clap to finde what went astray.
Anton.
Doe this, and we are all his.
King.
Doe this, I sweare to jewell him in my bosome.
See where he comes.
Enter Epidophorus, with Bellizarius, and Eugenius.
Bel.
And whither now, is Tyranny growne ripe,
To blow us to our graves yet?
King.
Bellizarius,
Thy wife has su'd for mercy, and has found it:
Speake Lady tell him how.
Bel.
Victoria too:
Oh then I feare the striving to expresse
The virtue of a good wife, hath begot
An utter ruine of all goodnesse in thee:
What wouldst thou say, poore woman?
Vict.
My Lord the King,
Nothing can alter your incensed rage,
But recantation.
King.
Nothing.
Vict.
Recantation, sweet
Musicke; Bellizarius thou maist live;
The King is full of royall bounty—like
The ambition of mortality—examine
What recantation is—a toy.
King.
None hinder her: now ply him.
Vict.
To lose the portage in these sacred pleasures,
That knowes no end; to lose the fellowship
Of Angels, lose the harmony of blessings,
Wilt thou not recant?
King.
I understand her not.
Omnes.
Nor I.
Vict.
Thy life hath hitherto beene, my deare husband,
But a disease to thee; thou hast indeed,
Mov'd on the earth, like other creeping wormes,
Who take delight in wordly surfeits, heate
Their blood with lusts, their limbes with proud attyres;
Fed on their change of sinnes; that doe not use
Their pleasure, but enjoy them; enjoy them fully,
In streames that are most sensuall, and persever
To live so till they dye, and to dye never.
King.
What meanes all this?
Anthon.
Art in thy right wits woman?
Uict.
Such beasts are those about thee; take then courage,
If ever in thy youth thy soule hath set
By the Worlds tempting fires, as these men doe,
Recant that errour.
King.
Ha?
Uict.
Hast thou in battaile tane a pride in blood?
Recant that errour: hast thou constant stood
In a bad cause? clap a new armour on,
And fight now in a good: oh lose not heaven
For a few minutes in a Tyrants eye;
Be valiant, and meete death; if thou now losest
Thy portion laid up for thee yonder, yonder,
For breath or honours here, oh thou dost fell
Thy soule for nothing:
Recant all this,
And then be rais'd up to a Throne of blis.
Anton.
We are abus'd, stop her mouth.
Bel.
Victoria,
Thou nobly dost confirme me hast new arm'd
My resolution, excellent Victoria.
Eugen.
Oh happy daughter, thou in this dost bring,
That Requiem to our soules, which Angels sing.
Can you endure this wrong Sir?
Cosmo.
Be out-brav'd by a seducing Strumpet?
King.
Binde her fast;
Weele try what recantation you can make,
Hagge, in the presence of of your brave holy Champion,
And thy Husband,
One of my Cammell drivers shall take from thee
The glory of thy honesty and honour:
Call in the Peasant.
Vict.
Bellizarius,
Eugenius, is there no guard above us,
That will protect me from a rape? 'tis worse
Than worlds of tortures.
Eugen.
Feare not, Victoria, be
Thou a chaste one in thy minde, thy body
May, like a Temple of well tempered steele,
Be batter'd, not demolish'd.
Bel.
Tyrant be mercifull,
And if thou hast no other vertue in thee,
Deserving memory to succeeding ages,
Yet onely thy not suffering such an out-rage,
Shall adde praise to thy name.
King.
Where is the Groome?
Eugen.
Oh sure the Sunne will darken,
And not behold a deede so foule and monstrous.
Enter Epiphodorus with a slave.
Epid.
Here is a Cammell driver.
Omnes.
Stand forth sirrah.
Epid.
Be bould, and shrinke not, this is she.
1 Cam.
And I am hee:
Is't the Kings pleasure I should mouse her, and before all these people?
King.
No, 'tis considered better; unbinde the fury.
And dragge her to some corner, 'tis our pleasure,
Fall to thy businesse freely.
Not too freely neither; I fare hard, and drinke water,
so doe the Indians; yet who fuller of Bastards? so doe the
Turkes, yet who gets greater Logger-heads? come wench, Ile
teach thee how to cut up wild fowle.
Vict.
Guard me you heavens.
Bel.
Be mine eyes lost for ever?
1 Cam.
Is that her husband?
Epid.
Yes.
1 Cam.
No matter; some husbands are so base, they keepe
the doore whilst they are Cuckolded; but this is after a more
manlier way, for he stands bound to see it done.
King.
Haile her away.
1 Cam.
Come Pusse: haile her away, which way? yon way?
my Cammells backs cannot climbe it.
Anton.
The fellow is struck mad.
1 Cam.
That way, it lookes into a Mill-pond; whirre, how
the Wheeles goe, and the Divell grindes? no this way.
King.
Keepe the slave backe.
1 Cam.
Backe, keepe me backe; there sits my wife kembing
her haire, which curles like a witches feltlocks, all
the Neets in't are Spiders, and all the Dandruffe the sand
of a Scriveners Sand-boxe: Stand away, my whore shall
not be lousie, let me come noynt her with Stavesucre.
King.
Defend me, lop his hands off.
Omnes.
Hew him in pieces.
King.
What has he done?
Anton.
Sir, beare out his owne braines.
Vict.
You for his soule must answer.
King.
Fetch another.
Eugen.
Tempt not the wrath supernall to fall downe,
And crush thee in thy Throne.
Enter 2 Cammell drivers.
King.
Peace sorcerous slave:
Sirra, take hence this Witch and ravish her.
2. Cammel.
A Witch, VVitches are the Divels sweetehearts.
Doe it, be thou Master of much gold.
2 Cam.
Shall I have gold to doe it? in some Countries I
heare whole Lordships are spent upon a fleshly device, yet
the buyer in the end had nothing but French Repentance, and
the curse of Chyrurgery for his money; let me finger my
Gold; Ile venture on, but not give her a penny; womans
flesh was never cheaper, a man may eate it without bread, all
Trades fall, so doe they.
Epid.
Looke you Sir, there's your gold.
2 Cam.
Ile tell money after my Father: oh I am strucke
blinde!
Omnes.
The fellow is bewitcht Sir.
Eugen.
Great King, impute not
This most miraculous delivery
To witch-craft; 'tis a gentle admonition
To teach thy heart obey it.
King.
Lift up the slave,
Though he has lost his sight, his feeling is not:
He dyes unlesse he ravish her.
Epid.
Force her into thy armes, or else thou dyest.
2 Cam.
I have lost my hearing too.
King.
Fetch other slaves.
Epid.
Thou must force her.
2 Cam.
Truely I am hoarse often with driving my Cammells,
and nothing does me good but sirrop of Horehound.
Enter two Slaves.
Epid.
Here are two slaves will doe it indeed.
2.
Which is shee?
King.
This creature, she has beauty to intice you,
And enough to feast you all: seize her all three,
And ravish her by turnes.
Slaves.
A match.
They dance antiquely, and Exeunt.
Hang up these slaves,
I am mock't by her and them;
They dance me into anger:
Heard you not musicke?
Anth.
Yes sure, and most sweet melody.
Uict.
'Tis the heavens play,
And the Clowdes dance for joy thy cruelty
Has not tane hold upon me.
King.
Hunger then shall:
Leade them away, dragge her to some loathed dungeon,
And for three dayes give her no food;
Load them with Irons.
Epid.
They shall.
Eug.
Come fellow souldiers, halfe the fight is past,
The bloodiest battell comes to an end at last.
| The Martyr'd Souldier | |