University of Virginia Library

Act. 2.

Scæn. 1.

Lorenzo,
Parmenio attending.
All leave the chamber; if any come,
I'm busie. Parmenio, be nigher, nigher yet:
What dar'st thou do to make thy Master King,
Thy self a Favorite?

Par.
'Tis something blunt, my Lord, [Studies]

Why, I dare do—
That which I dare not speak.

Lor.
By all my hopes, spoke like the man I want!
'Twould be lost time to use much circumstance
To thee: shall we this night dispatch the King?

Par.
This minute, were he my Father;
He's not the first, nor shall he be the last.

Lor.
Soul of my soul! My better Angel sure
Foresaw my wants, and sent thee hither.
Parmenio, there's none but he
Stands 'twixt a Crown and me:
The Cloud that interpos'd betwixt my Hopes before,
Is like a Vapor faln, and seen no more.
The house of Clarimont is lost,
The King has sent one Son to banishment,
And I have sent the Father.

Par.
How Sir!—You have not murdered him!

[Starts]
Lor.
Why?

Par.
Nothing my Lord, onely I'm sorry
I had no hand in't.
S'death, hath the villain killed him?

[Aside.]
Lor.
Oh thou art jealous,
Thy hand comes well enough; this night
I have determined that soon, ere
The Royal Bloods atilt, you shall to horse,
'Tis easie to out-ride—

Par.
Imagination it self, my Lord.

Lor.
For then report will say thou kildst him.
No matter—

Par.
Oh none at all my Lord.

Lor.
When I am King,
I can restore at ease.

Par.
True my Lord.
What if your Excellence cast out when I'm gone,
That Clarimonts yongest son did this, and took
His flight upon't. His discontent's known well enough
To make of a Suspition a most received Truth;
Besides, wheresoev'r I go, I'll swear 'twas he.

Lor.
By Jove most rare, when I am King I shall
Be poorer then I am, by giving thee
Thy due: Away, let's lose no time in words,
We're both resolv'd to put this cause to swords:
I'le to the King; thou to prepare for night,
Four hours hence wait me in the gallery.

Exeunt.

Scæn. 2.

Enter Clarimont solus.
Break heart and burst! My Father murdered,
And in the midst of all his hopes of life!
Methinks I see millions of Furies stand
Ready to catch my Rages sacrifice:
O for a man that could invent more plagues
Then hell could hold—
I have conceiv'd of wrong, and am grown great
Already: O sweet Revenge! I humbly thee intreat
Be my Griefs midwife; let the mother die,
So thou bringst forth her long'd for progenie.
Methinks I feel the Villain grow within me,
And spread through all my veins:
How I could murder now, poison, or stab!
My head is full of mischief, sulphur and flaming pitch
Shall be but mercy to those deaths I'le give.

Exit.

Scæn. 3.

Enter the King, Fidelio.
Fidel.
Though it be not safe for Subjects
To prie into the secrets of their Prince,
Much less to question about them,
Yet the implicite faith of blind obedience,
Poison'd with pleasing oft—

Fid.
And't like
Your Majesty, why do you court this Lady thus?

King.
Why dost thou ask?

Fid.
I know 'tis insolence to make reply,
Yet hear me as the eccho of the Court, great Sir,
They call your last giv'n mercy, and those favors
But fairer ends to Lust.

King.
Thy zeal hath got thy pardon:
(Stares upon him.)
No more, he that does offer to give direction
To his Prince, is full of pride, not of discretion.

Exit.
Fid.
So, to give Kings good advice,
May shew, I see, men faithful, but not wise:
I'm honest yet, and I do fare the worse for't,
Oh the Court!—
There humors reign, and merits only serve
To mock with idle hopes those best deserve.

Exit.

Scæn. 4.

Enter Francelia, Bellamino.
Franc.
Sir, leave your complement;
Methinks the sweetest speech is that that's meant.

Bell.
Wrong not my Love, best Creature, so, to think
My words are not the true ambassadors
Of my heart; by thy fair self I swear,
Nature has been too partial
In robbing heaven and earth to give you all.

Franc.
Their weaknesses you mean, and I confess my Lord—

Bell.
Their richest graces, sweetest,
Oh do not rack me thus:
I love, can you give love again?

Franc.
Yes, any love that you dare ask,
Or I dare give, my Lord.

Bell.
Oh but, fair Lady, Love must have no bounds,
It pines in prison.

Franc.
Oh but, my Lord, hot Loves, if not contained,
Like fiery meteors, promise no good to others,
And are themselves consum'd.

(Enter the King and Lords attend.)
Bell.
O leave me not in doubts distracting trance.

King.
How, my boy, what, courting!

Bell.
No, Sir.

King.
What was he doing then, Francelia?

Franc.
So please your Grace, he was ith' midst
Of all your praises, when your Highness entred.

Bell.
Hum—
There's yet some hope then.

(Aside.)
King.
Oh you are glad we are come then!
That discourse was tedious.

Franc.
No, my Lord, I should have been well pleased
To have heard him longer.

King.
You are grown a Courtier, Fair one!
Sileo, are the Coaches ready?

Sil.
Yes and't please your Majesty.

King.
Come, we'll abroad then,
This day invites us forth; where's our Queen?

Exeunt.

Scæn. 5.

Enter Clarimont, Fidelio, Young Florelio.
Clar.
—Then with a pause fill'd up with sighs,
Ask him how strong his Guards are; but above all,
Be sure t'apply inflaming Corrosives,
Scrue up his anger to the height,
And make his fears be double:
Officious friends and mediation
May else prove remedies.

Fid.
Enough; If we do fail to act
Our parts to th' life in's tragedy,
May all those horrors that do threaten him
Fall upon us, Farewell.

Exeunt.
Clar.
So, my revenge flies high:
The Vilain first shall kill his Father,
And while his hands are hot ith' blood,
This sword shall pierce him.
—Murdered he shall sink quick to hell,
I will not give him leave t'unload himself
Of one poor single sin of thought:
But lest he should wake out
Of's great security, and shun his fate,
I will rock him on—
Mischiefs are like the Cockatrices eye,
If they see first, they kill; if seen, they dye.

Exit.