 | The Martyr'd Souldier |  |
ACTUS QUINTUS.
Enter Epiphodorus and Clowne.Epid.
Have any Christian soule broke from my Jayle
This night, and gone i'th darke to find out heaven?
Are any of my hated prisoners dead?
Clowne.
Dead, yes,
And five more come into the world, instead of one;
These Christians are like Artichoaks of Ierusalem,
They over-runne any ground they grow in.
Epid.
Are they so fruitfull?
Clowne.
Fruitfull?
A Hee Christian told me, that amongst them the young fellowes
into the parke of Matrimony at sixteene: are Bucks of the first
head at eighteene, and by twenty carry in some places their
hornes on their backs.
Epid.
On their backs?
What kinde of Christians are they?
Clowne.
Marry these are Christian Butchers, who when
their Oxen are flead, throw their skinnes on their shoulders.
Epid.
I thought they had beene Cuckolds.
Clowne.
Amongst them, no, there's no woman, that's a
true Christian, will horne her husband: there dyed to night
no lesse than sixe and a halfe in our Iayle.
Epid.
How? sixe and a halfe?
Clowne.
One was a girle of thirteene with child.
Epid.
Thy tidings fats me.
Clow.
You may have one or two of'em drest to your Dinner
to make you more fat.
Epid.
Vnhallowed slave, let a Jew eate Porke,
When I but touch a Christian.
Clow.
You are not of my dyet: would I had a young Loyne
of Porke to my Supper, and two Loynes of a pretty sweete
Christian after Supper.
Epid.
Would thou mightst eate and choake.
Clow.
Never at such meate; it goes downe without chawing.
Epid.
We have a taske in hand to kill a Serpent,
Which spits her poyson in our Kingdomes face,
And that we speake not of: lives still
That Witch Victoria, wife to Bellizarius?
Is Death affraid to touch the Hagge? does hunger
Tremble to gnaw her flesh off, dry up her blood,
And make her eate herselfe in Curses, ha?
Clow.
Ha? your mouth gapes as if you would eate me: the
King commanded she should be laden with Irons; I have laid
two load upon her, then to pop her into the Dungeon, I
Alas my cheekes cry out, I have meate little enough for my
selfe: Three dayes and three nights has her Cubbard had no
victuals in it: I saw no lesse than Fifty sixe Mice runne out of
the hole she lies in, and not a crumme of bread or bit of cheese
amongst them.
Epid.
'Tis the better.
Clow.
I heard her one morning cough pittifully, upon
which I gave her a messe of Porredge piping-hot.
Epid.
Thou Dog, 'tis death.
Clow.
Nay but sir, I powr'd 'em downe scalding as they
were on her head, because they say, they are good for a cold,
and I thinke that kill'd her: for to try if she were alive or no,
I did but even now tye a Crust to a packe-threed on a pinne,
but shee leapt not at it; so that I am sure shee's wormes
meate by this.
Epid.
Rewards in golden showres shall raine upon us:
Be thy words true? fall downe and kisse the earth.
Clowne.
Kisse earth, why? and so many wenches come to
the Iayle?
Epid.
Slave downe, and clap thy eare to the caves mouth,
And make me glad or heavy;
If she speake not, I shall cracke
My ribs, and spend my spleene in laughter;
But if thou hear'st her pant, I am gon.
Clowne.
Farewell then.
Epid.
Breaths shee?
Clowne.
No sir; her winde instrument is out of tune.
Epid.
Call, cal.
Clowne.
Doe you heare, you low woman, hold not downe
your head so for shame, creepe not thus into a corner, no
honest woman loves to be fumbling thus in the darke: hang
her she has no tongue.
Epid.
Would twenty thousand of their sexe had none.
Clowne.
Foxe, Foxe, come out of your hole.
An Angel ascends from the cave, singing.
Horrour, what's this?
Clowne.
Alas I know not what my selfe am.
Angel
Sings.
Fly darnesse flye, in spight of Caves,
Truth can thrust her armes through Graves,
No Tyrant shall confine
A white soule that's divine,
And does more brightly shine
Than Moone or Sunne,
She lasts when they are done.
Epid,
I am bewitcht;
Mine Eyes faile me; lead me to King.
Clowne.
And tell, we heard a Mermaide sing.
Exeunt.
Angel
Sings.
Goe fooles, and let your feares
Glow as your sins and cares,
The good howe're trod under,
Are Lawreld safe in thunder:
Though lockt up in a den,
One Angell frees you from an host of men.
The Angel descends, as the King enters, who comes in with his Lords, Epidophorus, and the Clowne.
King.
Where is this piece of witchcraft?
Epid.
'Tis vanish'd Sir.
'Twas here, just at the Caves mouth, where shee lyes.
Anton.
What manner of thing was it?
Epid.
An admirable face, and when it sung
All the Clowds danc't methought above our heads.
Clowne.
And all the ground under my heeles quak't like a
Bogge.
King.
Deluded slaves, these are turn'd Christians too.
Epid.
The prisoners in my Iayle will not say so.
Clowne.
Turnd Christians? it has ever beene my profession
to fang and clutch, and to squeeze: I was first a Varlet,
then a Bumbaily, now an under Iailor turn'd Christian?
King.
Breake up the Iron passage of the Cave,
And if the forceresse lives, teare her in pieces.
The Angel ascends agen.
Epid.
See, 'tis come agen.
King.
It staggers me.
Omnes.
Amazement; looke to the King.
Angel
Sings.
Shee comes, she comes, shee comes:
No banquets are so sweete as Martyrdomes:
She comes.
Angel descends.
Anton.
'Tis vanish'd Sir agen.
Dam.
Meere Negromancy.
Cosmo.
This is the apparition of some divell,
Stealing a glorious shape, and cryes, she comes.
Clowne.
If all divels were no worse, would I were amongst
'em.
Our power is mockt by magicall impostures,
They shall not mocke our tortures: let Eugenius
And Bellizarius fright away these shadowes,
Rung from sharpe tortures; drag them hither.
Epid.
To th'stake?
Clowne.
As Beares are?
King.
And upon your lives,
My longings feast with her, though her base limbes
Be in a thousand pieces.
Clowne.
She shall be gathred up.
Exit Epid. and Clowne.
Victoria rises out of the cave white.
Uict.
What's the Kings will? I am here
Are your tormentors ready to give battaile?
I am ready for them, and though I lose
My life, hope to winne the day.
King.
What art thou?
Vict.
An armed Christian.
King.
What's thy name?
Vict.
Victoria;
In my name there's conquest writ;
I therefore feare no threatnings; but pray,
That thou maist dye a good King.
Omnes.
This is not she Sir.
King.
It is; but on her brow some Deity sits:
What are those Fayries dressing up her haire,
Whilst sweeter spirits dancing in her eyes,
Bewitcheth me to them?
Enter Epidophorus, Bellizarius, Eugenius, and Clowne.
Oh Uictoria, love me,
And see thy Husband, now a slave, whose life
Hangs at a needles poynt, shall live, so thou
Breath but the doome.
Trayters, what sorcerous hand
To make me doat upon the beauty of it?
How comes she to this habite?
Went she thus in?
Epid.
No Sir, mine owne hands stript her into rags.
Clowne.
For any meat shee has eaten, her face needes not
make you doate, and for cleane linnen, Ile sweare, it was
not brought into the Iaile, for there they scorne to shift
once a weeke.
King.
Bellizarius,
Woe thy wife that she would love me,
And thou shalt live.
Bel.
I will—Victoria,
By all those chaste fires kindled in our bosomes,
Through which pure love shin'd on our marriage night;
Nay with a holier conjuration:
By all those thornes and bryers which thy soft feet
Tread boldly on, to finde a path to heaven,
I begge of thee, even on my knee I beg,
That thou wouldst love this King, take him byth' hand,
Warme his in thine, and hang about his necke,
And seale tenne thousand kisses on his cheeke,
So he will tread his false gods under foote.
Omnes.
Oh horrible!
King.
Bring tortures.
Bel.
So he will wash his soule white as we doe,
And fight under our Banner, (bloody red)
And hand in hand with us walke martyred.
Anton.
They mocke you.
King.
Stretch his body up byth' armes,
And at his feete hang plummets,
Clowne.
He shall bee well shod for stroveling I warrant
you
Cosmo.
Eugenius, bow thy knee before our Iove,
And the King gives thee mercy.
Dam.
Else stripes and death.
We come into the world but at one doore,
But twenty thousand gates stand open wide,
To give us passage hence: death then is easie,
And I defie all tortures.
King.
There fasten the Cative;
I care not for thy wife:
Get from mine eye, thou tempting Lamia:
But Bellizarius, before thy bodyes
Frame be puld in pieces, and every
Limbe dis-joynted, wilt thou forsake
The errours thou art drencht in?
Bel.
Errours?
Thou blasphemous and godlesse man,
From the great Axis maist thou as easie, with one arme,
Plucke the Universall Globe,
As from my Center move me—
There's my figure, they are waves
That beat a rocke insensible,
With an infatigable patience
My breast dares all your arrowes, shoote—shote all;
Your tortures are but struck against the wall;
Which backe rebounding, hit your selves.
King.
Up with him.
Bel.
Lay on more waights:
That hangman which more brings,
Addes active feathers to my soaring wings,
They draw him up.
King.
Victoria yet save him.
Uict.
Keepe on thy flight,
And be a bird of Paradise.
Omnes.
Give him more Irons.
Bel.
More, more.
King.
Let him then goe:
Live thou, and be my Queene.
Daine but to love me.
Vict.
I am going to live with a farre greater King.
Binde the coy strumpet, she dyes too.
Let her braines be beaten on an Anvill:
For some new plagues for her.
Omnes.
Vexe him.
Bel.
Doe more.
Vict.
Heaven pardon you.
Eugen.
And strengthen him in all his sufferings.
Two Angels descend.
2. Angel
Sings.
Come, oh come, oh come away,
A Quire of Angels for thee stay:
A Rome where Diamonds borrow light,
Open stands for thee this night.
Night, no, no, here is ever day,
Come, oh come, oh come, oh come away.
1 Ang.
This battaile is thy last, fight well, and winne
A Crowne set full of Starres.
Bel.
I spy an arme plucking up to heaven:
More waights you are best,
I shall be gone else.
Vict.
Doe, Ile follow thee.
King.
Is he not yet dispatcht?
Belliz.
Yes King, I thanke thee;
I have all my life time trod on rotten ground,
And still so deepe beene sinking,
That my soule was oft like to bee lost;
But now I see a guide, sweete guide,
A blessed messenger, who having
Brought me up a little way
For a few stripes here, rich eternity.
2 Angel
Sings.
Victory, victory, hell is beaten downe,
The Martyr has put on a golden Crowne;
Ring Bels of Heaven, him welcome hither,
Circle him Angels round together.
1 Ang.
Follow.
Vict.
I will:
What sacred voyce cryes follow?
I am ready: Oh send me after him.
King.
Thou shalt not,
Till thou hast fed my lust.
Vict.
Thou foole thou canst not;
All my mortality is shaken off,
My heart of flesh and blood is gone,
My body is chang'd, this face
Is not that once was mine;
I am a Spirit, and no racke of thine
Can touch me.
King.
Not a racke of mine shall touch thee:
Why should the world loose such
A paire of Sunnes as shine out from
Thine eyes: why art thou cruell to make away
Thy selfe, and murther mee?
Since whirle-winds cannot shake thee,
Thou shalt live, and Ile fanne gentle
Gales upon thy face: fetch me a day bed,
Rob the earths perfumes of all
The ravishing sweetes, to feast her sence;
O would a thousand springs might grow in one,
To weave a flowry mantle o're her limbes,
As she lyes downe.
Entet two Angels about the bed.
Vict.
Oh that some rocke of Ice,
Might fall on me, and freeze me into nothing.
King.
Enchant our eares with Musicke:
Musicke.
Would I had skill to call the winged
Musitians of the aire into these roomes,
They all should play to thee,
Till golden slumbers danc'd upon thy browes,
Watching to close thine eye-lids.
Ang.
These Starres must shine no more; soule flye away:
Tyrant enjoy but a cold lumpe of clay.
King.
My charmes worke,
Shee sleepes, and lookes more lovely
Now she sleepes, against she wakes:
Invention grow thou poore, studying
To finde a banquet, which the gods might
Be invited to: I need not court her now
For a poore kisse; her lips are friendly now,
And with the warme breath sweeting
All the Aire draw mee thus to them—ha!
The lips of Winter
Are not so cold.
Anton.
She's dead Sir.
King.
Dead?
Dam.
As frozen as if the North-winde had in spight
Snatcht her hence from you.
King.
Oh I have murthered her:
Perfumes, some creature kill:
She has so long in that darke Dungeon
Suck'd pestiferous breath, the sweete has
Since me it hated, it shall feele my hate:
Cast her into the fire, I have lost her,
And for her sake all Christians shall be lost,
That subjects are to me: massacre all:
But thou, Eugenius, art the last shall fall
This day: and in mine eye, though it nere see more,
Call on thy helper which thou dost adore.
A Thunder-bolt strikes him.
Omnes.
The King is strucke with thunder.
Eugen.
Thankes Divine Powers,
Yours be the triumph, and the wonder ours.
Anton.
Unbinde him, till a new King fill the Throne;
And he shall doome him.
A Hubert, a Hubert, a Hubert.
Flourish: Enter Hubert armed with shields, and swords, Bellina, and a company of Souldiers with him.
Hub.
What meanes this cry, a Hubert?
Where's your King?
Omnes.
Strucke dead by thunder.
Hub.
So I heare:
You see then there is an arme more
Rigorous than your Iove; an arme
Stretcht from above to beate downe Gyants,
The mightiest Kings on earth, for all their
Shoulders carry Colossi heads:
The memory of Genzericks name dyes here:
Henricke, gives buriall to the
Successive glory of that race,
Who had both voyce and title to the Crowne,
And meanes to guard it: who must now be King?
Anton.
We know not, till we call the Lords together.
What Lords?
Cosm.
Our selves and others.
Hub.
Who makes you Lords?
The Tree upon whose boughs your honours grew;
Your Lordships and your lives
Is falne to th'ground.
Dam.
We stand on our owne strength.
Hub.
Who must be King?
Within.
A Hubert, a Hubert, a Hubert.
Hub.
Deliver to my hand that reverent man.
Epid.
Take him, and torture him,
For he cald downe vengeance
On Henricks head.
Eugen.
'Twas his owne blacke soule that cald it;
'Twas thou that caldst it.
Hub.
Good Eugenius, lift thy hands up,
For thou art sav'd from Henricke,
And from these: you heare what ecchoes
Rebound from earth to heaven, from heaven to earth,
Casting the name of King onely on me.
This golden Apple is a tempting fruit;
It is within my reach: this sword can touch it,
And lop the weake branch off, on which it hangs:
Which of you all would spurne at such a Starre,
Lay it i'th dust, when 'tis let downe from heaven?
For him to weare?
Anton.
Who then must weare that Starre?
Within.
Hubert, Hubert, Hubert.
Hub.
The Oracle tels yon;
Oracle, 'tis a voyce from above
Tels you; for the peoples tongues,
When they pronounce good things, are ty'd to chaines
Of twenty thousand linkes; which chaines are held
By one supernall hand, and cannot speake,
But what that hand will suffer: I have then
The people on my side, I have the souldiers,
Had bent against the Christians, they now are mine:
I am the Center, and they all are lines
Meeting in me; if therefore these strong sinewes,
The Souldiers and the Commons have a vertue
To lift me into the Throne, Ile leape into it:
Will you consent, or no; be quick in answer;
I must be swift in execution else.
Omnes.
Let us consult.
Hub.
Doe, and doe't quickly.
Eugen.
O noble Sir, if you be King, shoot forth
Bright as a Sunne-beame, and dry up these vapours
That choake this kingdome; dry the seas of blood,
Flowing from Christians, and drinke up the teares
Of those alive, halfe slaughter'd in their feares.
Hub.
Father Ile not offend you; have you done?
So long chusing one Crowne?
Anton.
Let Drums and Trumpets proclaime
Hubert our King.
Omnes.
Sound Drummes and Trumpets.
Hub.
I have it then as well by voyce as sword;
For should you hold it backe it would be mine:
I claime it then by conquest, fields are wonne
By yeelding, as by stroakes; yet noble Vandals,
I will lay by the Conquest, and acknowledge,
That your hands and your hearts the pinacles are,
On which my greatnesse mounts unto this height;
And now in sight of you and heaven I sweare,
By those new sacred fires kindled within me,
'Tis not your hope of Gold my brow desires;
A thronging Court to me is but a Cell:
These popular acclamations, which thus dance
I'th Aire, should passe by me, as whistling windes
Playing with leaves of trees: I'me not ambitious
Of Titles glorious, and majesticall:
But what I doe is to save blood, save you:
And fill you all with riches
Epid.
'Tis that we thirst for,
For all our bagges are emptied in these warres,
Rais'd by seditious Christians.
Hub.
Peace thou foole;
They are not bags of gold, that melts in fire,
Which I will fill your coffers with, my treasury
Are riches for your soules, my armes are spread,
Like wings, to protect Christians; what have you done?
Proclaim'd a Christian King? and Christian Kings
Should not be bloody.
Omnes.
How? turn'd Christian?
Eugen.
O blest King, happy day.
Omnes.
Must we forsake our gods then?
Hub.
Violent streames
Must not bee stopt by violence; there's an art
To meete, and put by the most boysterous wave:
'Tis now no policy for you to murmure,
Nor will I threaten: a great counsell by you
Shall straight be cal'd, to set this frame in order
Of this great state.
Omnes.
To that we all are willing.
Hub.
Are you then willing this noble maid
Shall be me Queene?
Omnes.
With all our hearts.
Hub.
By no hand but by thine will we be Crown'd:
Come my Bellina.
Bel.
Your vow is past to me, that I should ever
Preserve my Virgin honour, that you would never
Tempt me unto your bed.
Hub.
That vow I keepe:
I vow'd so long as my knees bow'd to Iove,
To let you be yourselfe: But excellent Lady,
I now am seal'd a Christian, as you are;
And you have sworne oft, that when upon my fore-head
In holy wedlocke; come sweete, you and I
Shall from our Ioynes produce a race of Kings,
And ploughing up false gods set up one true.
Christians unborne, crowning both me and you
With praise, as now with gold.
Bel.
A fortunate day;
A great power prompts me on, and I obey.
Flourish.
Omnes.
Long live Hubert and Bellina, King and Queene
Of Goths and Vandals.
Hub.
Two royall Iewels you give me, this, and this.
Father your hand is lucky, I am covetous
Of one Gift more; after your sacred way
Make you this Queene a wife; our Coronation
Is Turn turnd into a bridall.
Omnes.
All joy and happinesse.
Hub.
To guard your lives will I lay out mine owne,
And like Vines plant you round about my throne.
The end of the fift and last Act.
| The Martyr'd Souldier | |