 | The Martyr'd Souldier |  |
Actus primus
Scœna prima.
Enter Genzerick King of the Vandalls, sicke on his Bed, Anthony, Damianus, Cosmo, and Lords.King.
Away, leave off your golden Flatteries,
I know I cannot live; there's one lies here
Brings me the newes, my glories & my greatnes
Are come to nothing.
Anth.
Be not your selfe the Bell
To tolle you to the Grave; and the good Fates,
For ought we see, may winde upon your bottome
A thred of excellent length.
Cosm.
We hope the gods have not such rugged hands
To snatch yee from us.
King.
Cosmo, Damianus, and Anthony; you upon whom
The Vandall State doth leane, for my back's too weake;
I tell you once agen, that surly Monarch,
Who treads on all Kings throats, hath sent to me
His proud Embassadours: I have given them Audience
Here in our Chamber Royall; nor could that move me
To meete Death face to face, were my great worke
I meane that generall sacrifice of Christians,
Whose blood would wash the Temples of our gods,
And win them bow downe their immortall eyes
Vpon our offerings: yet I talke not idly,
Yet Anthonie I may; for sleepe I thinke
Is gone out of my Kingdome, it is else fled
To th'poore; for sleepe oft takes the harder bed,
And leaves the downy pillow of a King.
Cosm.
Try Sir if Musick can procure your rest.
King.
Cosmo, 'tis sinne to spend a thing so precious
On him that cannot weare it: No, no, no Musick;
But if you needs will charme my o're-watcht eyes,
Now growne too monstrous for their lids to close:
If you so long to fill these Musick-roomes
With ravishing sounds indeed, unclaspe that booke,
Turne o're that Monument of Martyrdomes:
Read there how Genzerick h'as serv'd the gods,
And made their Altars drunke with Christians blood:
Whil'st their loath'd bodies, flung in funerall piles,
Like Incense burnt in Pyramids of fire,
And when their flesh and bones were all consum'd,
Their ashes up in Whirle-winds flew i'th Ayre,
To show that of foure Elements, not one had care
Of them, dead or alive; Read Anthony.
Anth.
'Tis swelld to a faire Volume.
King.
Would I liv'd to adde a second part too't, read, & listen,
No Vandall ere writ such a Chronicle.
Anth.
Five hundred broyl'd to death in Oyle and Lead,
Seven hundred flead alive, their Carkasses
Throwne to King Genzericks hounds.
King.
Ha, ha, brave Hunting.
Anth.
Vpon the great day of Apollo's Feast,
The fourth Moneth of your Reigne.
King.
On, give me more,
Let me dye fat with laughing.
Anth.
Thirty faire Mothers big with Christian brats,
Had first their dugges sear'd off, their wombes ript up,
About their miscreant heads their first borne Sonnes
Tost as a Sacrifice to Jupiter
On his great day, and the Ninth Month of Genzerick.
King.
A Play, a Comicall Stage our Palace was:
Any more, oh let me surfeit.
Anth.
Foure hundred virgins ravisht.
King.
Christian Whores; common, 'tis common.
Anth.
And then their trembling bodies tost on the Pikes
Of those that spoyl'd 'em, sacrific'd to Pallas.
King.
More, more, hang Mayden-heads, Christian Maiden-heads.
Anth.
This leafe is full of tortur'd Christians.
Some pauncht, some starv'd, some eyes and braines bor'd out,
Some whipt to death, some torne by Lyons.
King.
Damianus, I cannot live to heare my service out,
Such haste the gods make to reward me.
Omnes.
Looke to the King.
Shouts within: Enter Hubert
King.
What shouts are these? see Cosmo.
Cos.
Good newes my Lord; here comes Hubert from the warrs
Hub.
Long life and health: wait ever on the King.
King.
Hubert, thy wishes are come short of both:
Hast thou good newes? be briefe then, and speake quickly,
I must else heare thee in another World.
Hub.
In briefe then know, Henrick your valiant sonne,
With Bellizarius and my selfe, come laden
With spoiles to lay them at your feet:
What lives the Sword spar'd, serve to grace your Tryumph,
Till from your lips they have the doome of death.
King.
What are they?
Hub.
Christians, and their Chiefe a Church-man:
Fugenius, Bishop of Carthage, and with him
Seven hundred Captives more, all Christians.
King.
Hold Death, let me alittle taste these joyes,
Then take me ravisht hence: glad mine eyes Hubert
VVith the victorious Boy.
Hub.
Your Starre comes shining.
Exit Hubert.
Lift me a little higher, yet more:
Doe the Immortall Powers powre blessings downe,
And shall I not returne them?
Omnes.
See they come.
A Flourish: Enter Henricke the Prince, Bellizarius, Hubert, leading Eugenius in Chaines, with other Prisoners, and Souldiers.
King.
I have now liv'd my full time;
Tell me my Henricke thy brave successe,
That my departing soule
May with the story blesse another world,
And purchase me a passage.
Hen.
Oh great Sir,
All we have done dyes here, if that you dye;
And heaven, before too prodigall to us,
Shedding beames over-glorious on our heads,
Is now full of Eclipses.
King.
No boy, thy presence
Has fetcht life home to heare thee.
Hen.
Then, Royall Father, thus;
Before our Troopes had reacht the Affrick bounds,
Wearied with tedious Marches, and those dangers
Which waite on glorious Warre: the Affricans
A farre had heard our Thunder, whilst their earth
Did feele an earth-quake in the peoples feares,
Before our Drummes came neare them: yet spight of terrour
They fortifi'd their Townes, cloathed all their fields
With warres best bravery, armed Souldiers:
At this we made a stand; for their bold troopes
Affronted us with steele; dar'd us to come on,
And nobly fierd our resolution.
King.
So hasten; there's in me a battaile too,
Be quicke, or I shall fall.
Hen.
Fore-fend it heaven.
Now Bellizarius come; here stand, just here,
For you have much to pay to this brave man.
Hub.
Nothing to me?
Hen.
Ile give you him in wonder.
Hub.
Hang him out in a painted cloth for a monster.
Bel.
My Lord, wrong not your selfe to throw on me
The honours which are all yours.
Hub.
Is he the Divell? All.
Bel.
Cast not your eyes on me Sir, but on him,
And seale this to your soule, never had King
A Sonne, that did to his Crowne more honours bring.
Hen.
Stay Bllezarius, I'me too true to honour,
To scant it in the blazing: though to thee
All that report can render leaves thee yet.
Hub.
A brave man, you are so too, you both fought,
And I stood idle?
Hen.
No Sir.
Hub.
Here's your battaile then, and here's your conquest;
What need such a coyle?
Bel.
Yet Hubert it craves more Arethmaticke,
Than in one figure to be found.
King.
Hubert, thou art too busie.
Hub.
So was I in the battaile.
King.
Prethee peace.
Hen.
The Almarado was on poynt to sound,
But then a Herald from their Tents flew forth,
Being sent to question us for what we came,
And which, I must confesse, being all on fire,
We cryed for warre and death: Backe rode the Herald
As lightning had persu'd him: but the Captaines
Thinking us tir'd with marching, did conceive
Rest would make difficult, what easie now
Quicke charge might drive us too:
So, like a storme, beating upon a wood of lusty Pines,
Which though they shake, they keepe their footing fast;
Our Pikes their horses stood: hot was the day,
In which, whole fields of men were swept away;
And in as short time: it was this mans sword
Hew'd wayes to danger; and when danger met him,
He charm'd it thence, and when it grew agen,
He drove it backe agen: till at the length
It lost the field; foure long houres this did hold,
In which more worke was done than can be told.
Bel.
But let me tell your Father how the first feather,
That Victory her selfe pluckt from her wings,
Shee stucke it in your Burgonet.
Hub.
Brave still.
Hen.
No Bellizarius, thou canst guild thy honours
Horne from the reeking breasts of Affricans,
When I aloft stood wondering at those Acts
Thy sword writ in the battaile, which were such,
Would make a man a souldier but to read 'em.
Hub.
And what to read mine; is my booke claspt up?
Bel.
No, it lyes open, where in Texed letters read
Each Pioner, that your unseason'd valour
Had thrice ingag'd our fortunes and our men
Beyond recovery, had not this arme redeem'd you.
Hub.
Yours?
Bel.
For which your life was lost, for doing more
Than from the Generals mouth you had command.
Hub.
You fill my praise with froth; as Tapsters fill
Their cut-throat Cans; where give me but my due,
I did as much as you, or you, or any.
Bel.
Any?
Hub.
Yes, none excepted.
Bel.
The Prince was there.
Hub.
And I was there, since you draw one another,
I will turne Painter too, and draw my selfe:
Was it not I, that when the maine Battalia
Totter'd, and foure great squadrons put to rout,
Then reliev'd them; and with this arme, this sword,
And this affronting brow put them to flight,
Chac'd 'em, slew thousands, tooke some few, and drag'd 'em
Hen.
Yes Sir, 'tis true, but as he sayes your fury
Left all our maine Battalia welnigh lost:
For had the foe but re-inforc't againe,
Our Courages had beene seiz'd, any Ambuskado
Cut you, and your rash troopes off; if—
Hub.
What if?
Envy not honour still inferres these ifs:
It thriv'd and I returnd with victory.
Bel.
You?
Hub.
I Bellizarius, I, I found your troopes
Reeling and pale, and ready to turne Cowards,
But you not in the head; when I (brave sir)
Charg'd in the Reere, and shooke their battaile so,
The Fever never left them till they fell;
I puld the Wings up, drew the rascals on,
Clapt 'em, and cry'd follow, follow: this is the hand
First toucht the Gates, this foote first tooke the City,
This Christian Church-man snacht I from the Altar,
And fir'd the Temple: 'twas this sword was sheath'd
In panting bosomes, both of young and old,
Fathers, sonnes, mothers, virgins, wives, and widowes,
Like death I havocke cryed, so long, till I
Had left no monuments of life or buildings,
But these poore ruins; what these brave Spirits did
Was like to this, I must confesse 'tis true,
But not beyond it.
King.
You have done nobly all:
Nor let the Generall thinke I foyle his worth,
In that I raise this forward youth so neare
Those honours he deserves from Genzericke,
For he may live to serve my Henrick thus,
And growing vertue must not want reward:
You both allow these deedes he so much boasts of?
Hen.
Yes, but not equall to the Generals.
Ring.
The spoyles they equally shall both divide;
The Generall chuse, 'tis his prerogative:
Those conquerd parts of Affrick we call ours:
Hubert the Master of my Henricks Horse,
And President of what the Goths possesse:
Let this our last will stand.
Bel.
We are richly paid.
Hub.
Who earnes it must have wages.
King.
Ile see you imbrac'd too.
Hub.
With all my heart.
King.
And Bellizarius
Make him thy Scholler.
Hub.
His Scholler!
King.
There's stuffe in him,
Which temper'd well, would make him a noble fellow.
Now for these Prisoners, 'tis my best sacrifice
My pious zeale can tender to the gods:
I censure thus; let all be naked stript,
Then to the midst of the vast Wildernesse
That stands 'twixt us and wealthy Persia
They shall be driven, and there wildly venture
As Famine, or the fury of the Beasts
Conspires to use them: which is that Bishop?
Hub.
Stand forth; this is Eugenius.
Eug.
I stand forth,
Daring all tortures, kissing Racks and Wheeles,
And Flames, to whom I offer up this body.
You keepe us from our Crownes of Martyrdomes
By this delaying; dispatch us hence.
King.
Not yet Sir;
Away with them, stay him, and if our gods
Can win this Christian Champion now so stout
To fight upon their sides, give him reward,
Our gods will reach him praise.
Eug.
Your gods, wretched soules.
King.
My worke is done, and Henrick as, thou lov'st
Thy Fathers soule, see every thing perform'd;
This last injunction tyes thee, so farwell:
I meane the Christians.
Dyes.
Hen.
Oh what a deale of greatnesse is
Struck downe at one blow!
Hub.
Give me a battell,
'Tis brave being struck downe there.
Anth.
Henrick my Lord,
And now my Soveraigne; I am by office bound
To offer to your Royall hands this Crowne,
Which on my knees I tender, all being ready
To set it on your head.
Omnes.
Ascend your Throne:
Long live the King of Vandals
And of Goths, the mighty Henrick.
Hen.
What must now be done?
Anth.
By me each Officer of State resignes
The Patten that he holds his office by,
To be dispos'd as best shall please your Grace.
Hen.
And I returne them back to all their trusts.
I rise in clouds, my Morning is begun
From the eternall set of a bright Sunne.
Exeunt.
Drumme, flourish: Enter Victoria and Bellina with servants.
Vic.
My Lord return'd, prepare a costly banquet
To gratulate his safe and wisht Arrivall:
Let Musick with her sweet-tongu'd Rhetorick
Take out those horrours which the loud clamours
Of Warres harsh harmony hath long besieg'd
His tender sences with: your Father's come Bellina.
Bel.
I feele the joy of it with you sweet Mother,
And am as ready to receive a blessing from him,
As you his chaste imbraces.
Vic.
So, so, bestirre,
Let all our loves and duties be exprest
In our most diligent and active care.
Enter Bellizarius
My Bellizarius.
Bel.
Dearest Uictoria,
My second joy, take thou a Fathers blessing.
Vic.
Not wounded Sir I hope?
Bel.
No Victoria;
Those were Rewards that we bestow'd on others:
We gave, but tooke none backe; had we not you
At home to heare our noble Victories,
Our Fame should want her Crowne, although she flew
As high as yonder Axle-tree above,
And spred in latitude throughout the world.
We have subdu'd those men of strange beleefe
Which Christians call themselves; a race of people,
This must I speake of them; as resolute
And full of courage in their bleeding falls,
As should they tryumph for a Victory:
When the last groanes of many thousand mett,
And like commixed Whirlewindes fill'd our eares:
As it from us rais'd not a dust of pitty,
So did it give no terrour to the rest,
That did but live to see their fellows dye.
In all our rigours and afflicting tortures,
We cannot say that we the men subdu'd,
Because their joy was louder than our conquest,
And still more worke of blood we must expect,
Like Hydra's Heads, by cutting off they double,
As feed that multiplies, such are their dead,
Next Moone a sheafe of Christians in ones stead.
Vic.
This is a bloody Trade my Bellizarius,
Would thou wouldst give it over.
Bel.
'Tis worke Victoria that must be done,
These are the battailes of our blessing,
Pleasing gods and goddesses, who for our service
Render us these Conquests.
Our selves and our affaires we may neglect,
But not our Deities, which these Christians prophane,
Bring in, and a new god make.
Vic.
No my Lord;
I have heard say, they never make their gods,
But they serve 'em they say, that did make them:
All made-gods they dispise.
Bel.
Tush, tush Victoria, let not thy pitty
Turne to passions, they'le not deserve thy sorrow.
How now, what's the newes?
Enter a Souldier.
Sold.
Strange my Lord, beyond a wonder;
For 'tis miraculous: Since you forsooke
The bloody fight, and horrour of the Christians,
One tortur'd wretch, whose sight was quite extinct,
His eyes no farther seeing than his hands,
Is now by that Eugenius, whom they call
Their holy Bishop, cleerely restor'd againe,
To the astonishment of all your Army,
Who faintly now recoyle with feare and terrour,
Not daring to offen'd so great a power.
Bel.
Ha? 'tis strange thou tell'st me.
Vic.
Oh take heed my Lord,
It is no warring against heavenly Powers,
Who can command their Conquest when they please:
They can forbeare the Gyants that throw stones,
And smile upon their follies; but when they frowne,
Their angers fall downe perpendicular,
And strike their weake Opposer into nothing;
The Thunder tells us so.
Bel.
Pray leave me all, I shall have company
When you are gone, enough to fill the roome.
Vic.
The holiest powers
Give thee their best direction.
Exeunt. Manet Bellizarius
Bel.
What power is that can fortifie a man
To joy in death, since all that we expect,
Is but fruition of the joyes of life.
If Christians hoped not to become immortall,
Oh then instruct me some Divine power,
Thou that canst give the sight unto the blind,
Open my blind judgement,
Thunder.
That I may see a way to happinesse.
Enter an Angel.
Ha, this is a dreadfull answer; this may chide
The relapse in my blood, that 'gins to faint,
The further persecution of these people:
Or shall I backe, and double tyranny?
Thunder.
A louder threatning; oh mould these voyces
Into articulate words, that I may know
Thy meaning better: shall I quench the flames
Of blood and vengeance, and my selfe become
A penetrable Christian, my life lay downe
Amongst their sufferings?
Musicke.
Ha, these are sweet tunes.
Ang.
Bellizarius?
Bel.
It names me too.
Ang.
Sheath up thy cruelty; no more pursue
In bloody forrage these oppressed Christians;
For now the Thunder will take their part,
Remaine in peace, and Musick is thy banquet;
Or thy selfe number 'mongst their martyring groanes,
And thou art numbred with these blessed ones.
Bel.
What heavenly voyce is this? shall my eares onely
Bel lest with raptures, not mine eyes enjoy
The sight of that Celestiall presence
From whence these sweete sounds come?
Ang.
Yes, thou shalt see: Nay then 'tis lost agen.
Bel. kneeles.
Rise, this is enough: be constant Souldier,
Thy heart's a Christian; to death persever,
And then enjoy the sight of Angels ever.
Exit.
Bel.
Oh let me flye into that happy place:
Prepare your tortures now, you scourge of Christians,
For Bellizarius the Christians torturer,
Centuple all that ever I have done,
Kindle the fire, and hacke at once with swords,
My every limbe and joynt; nay, devise more
Than ever did my bloody Tyrannies:
Oh let me ever lose the sight of men,
That I may see an Angell once agen.
| The Martyr'd Souldier | |