University of Virginia Library

Act. 3.

Scæn. 1.

Enter King, young Florelio, Fidelio.
King.
And must the Vilain kill me too?

Flor.
This very night.

King.
Why 'tis not possible, what would he have had more?
He had my heart, and might have had
All but the name of King:
Oh, heaven had tyed
So strict a friendship, we could not part with't;
I durst have thought that I had merited
Fidelity from him.

Fid.
O my Lord, let ne'r so many drops
Sweet as the morning-dew fall on the sea,
The brinish water turns them all to salt:
Where there's an ocean of ingratitude,
Favors must needs be lost.

King.
Thou speak'st but truth;
Who does to merit trust,
But writes an obligation in the dust.
Your councels now my faithful life preserve,
Is there a way for pardon?

Fid.
Faith Sir, it would pollute mercy to use it here;
The fact's so foul, it calls it self for death.

King.
And it shall have it:
Traitor's enough; but when Ungrateful comes,
It stops the mouth of pity: Go take our guards
And apprehend him straight.

Flor.
Soft great Sir,
'Twere fit your Justice should consider
What way is made, if you shall apprehend him,
For Treason unborn, and which he only did intend:
Foolish report which never was ith' right,
May clear his guiltiness, and censure Majesty.
If youl'd permit him to approach the Chamber,
(Yet who'ld advise Treason should come so near?)
You would take him in the act,
And leave no place for foul suspition:
Then if your Grace sent for his father,
And kept him with pretence of business by you,
Till he became the witness of the attempt,
Envy it self could have no cause to bark.

King.
Thou art my Oracle; I cannot tell
Whether my debt be greater to thy faith,
Or to thy councel: Go and watch abroad,
And let these cares wait upon fate and me.
The Captain of the Guard 'twere fit you sounded,
He may do mischief: Florelio, you
Shal to his father, the rest is mine to manage.
Exeunt.
These men are honest, and must be rewarded,
They do deserve it; 'tis most rare to find
A Greatness that enjoys true friends:
For commonly it makes us fear'd and hated;
The one doth breed offence, th'other leaves naked.
Let the impartial eye but look upon
All we call ours, and then again behold
The many hungry eyes of expectation
That wait upon our bounty, and it shall find
That we have scarce enough to keep mens hopes up,
We are rich if we can purchase friends:
Thrones, though they advance their glory ne'r so high,
Are but the seats of fear and misery.

Exit.

Scæn. 2.

Enter Parmenio, Lorenzo.
Par.
In deep security, my Lord,
The Lady's at one window courted;
The King with Florelio and the Favorite
Contriving of a Masque, which he must never see.

Lor.
Good! which he must never see.
Oh thou dost hug my Fates:
How I am ravisht to think upon
Ensuing joys!—
Parmenio, he's dead already.

Par.
Six hours ago, my Lord, you cannot think
How much ado I had to keep my self
From saying, And't shall please your Majesty,
Ith' open presence to you:
Methinks one while I see your Highness sit
Like Jupiter in state,
With all the petty gods about you;
And then again in a more tempting shape
Then was the shower of gold,
Lie in some Danae's lap
More wanton then Europa's Bull;
Another time with some great train,
As if you went to battel,
Rockt in a douny coach, go take the air,
And have the thronging City
Crowded into a handfull,
Looking along to bless your eyes,
And striving who shall cry loudest,
God bless your Majesty!

Lor.
And all the while thou, like my Ganimede,
Shalt taste Ambrosia with me, while the petty gods
Burst with repining at thy happiness:
Thou shalt dispose of all, create, displace,
Be call'd my Boy, revel and mask, what not?
Oh, for one half year I will not speak unto the people,
Take you that office, keep that part for yours.
Oh how I long for night!
Thou canst not name the pleasure
Could make the time not tedious.
Away unto thy watch, and when the King's abed,
Be here.

Par.
I shall, my Lord,
And't please your Majesty, I shall.

Exeunt.

Scæn. 3.

Enter the Queen Amasia, Bellamino her Favorite, Drollio Attendants.
Bell.
What is the matter, Madam, that the Court
Is in such clouds to night? The King
Feigns mirth and freeness, but withall
Flashes of fury make escapes.

Q.
'Tis strange, my Lord, you should not know.

Bell.
Faith Madam, I know nothing.

Q.
Troth nor I, but I suspect:
The clock no sooner struck, but all the Statesmen
Started, as if they had been to run a race,
And the King told me 'twere fit I took my rest:
There's something in't; but these designs of State
We women know no more then our own fate.
To turn our talk, Faith my Lord, where lies
That Beauty that so captivates you all?
She has a graceful garb, 'tis true.

Bell.
Who, Madam, Francelia?
Oh she has a dainty foot,
And daintier hand, an eye round as a globe
And black as jet, so full of majesty and life,
That when it most denies, it most invites.

Q.
These parts she has indeed, but is here all?

Bell.
All! heaven forbid:
Her hair's so preciously fair and soft,
That were she faln into some river and
In danger, one would make a conscience
To save her life, for fear of spoiling it.
Her lips are gently swelled like unto
Some blushing cherry, that hath newly tasted
The dew from heaven; and her cheeks—

Q.
Hold, hold my Lord, all this is Poetry,
A Painter could not flatter more:
To my eye now she is so slender,
She's scarce, I think, a span about ith' middle.

Bell.
Oh, Madam, you must think wise Nature
Of such rich mould as she was framed
Would make as little waste as could be.

Q.
So, so,
What think you of the upper part o'th' nose then;
Does it not look as if it did give way
The eyes should shortly have an interview?

Bell.
You're too severe a Critick, Madam;
So good a wit as yours could make,
Where there were any, all blest perfections.
After all, next to your Highness, I'm resolved to think
She is chiefest Beauty.

Q.
Not next to me, my Lord, now I am sure you flatter,
But 'tis too late to chide you for it,
Goodnight—

Exeunt.

Scæn. 4.

Enter the King going to bed, Cleonax, Lords, Attendants.
King.
God night to all. Lord Cleonax, a word in private;
[Whisper]
Take away the lights and shut the door.

Exeunt.
Enter Parmenio and Lorenzo.
Lor.
Is the King gone to bed?

Par.
An hour ago, my Lord.

Lor.
What if he should not be asleep yet?

Par.
No matter; ere his tongue can speak, our swords
Shall kill: What though he call us Traitors?
'Twill be his last, and may be pardoned.
Come Sir, bravely on!
—Fear's worse then death,
You're Lord of all, or not of your own breath.

Lor.
Nay if I fear, may I not live.
Follow—

The King calls out Treason! Old Cleonax rising to go out-at the door to call for help, is met by his son, who took him for the King and kill'd him: Lorenzo is presently of set purpose run through by Parmenio.

Scæn. 5.

Enter the King in his Night-gown, Lords, Attendants.
King.
Trust me, most sad and strange!
A flood of grief beats at my eyes for vent:
Poor Cleonax, I'm truly sorry for thee.

Lords.
So are we all.

King.
This accident commands our pity,
But what is done, is done:
Let it not be as yet divulged;
Remove the corps, and let it be the care
Of thee, Florelio, to see his burial
Honorable and private.—
Good thanks to all the rest,
Clarimont, stay you with me.
Exeunt.
The Traitor's dead by Parmenio; but you must know,
There's one yet lives within me, I love, Clarimont.

Clar.
That passion of all others, Sir, heaven easiliest pardons;
He lives not sure, that loves not.

King.
I, but my Love's not pure,
'Tis great, not good, Clarimont,
I love—Francelia.

Clar.
Take heed of unchaste fires, great Sir,
They mischief Sir; Forget her, faith forget her:
Such fits as these are ever cur'd like Agues,
Best when they are most starved:
If you shall give them their desired fuel,
They'l not be quencht with ease, and it is ever seen
(Heaven keep my Soveraign!)
The house they're bred in, feels them first and ever.

King.
Clarimont, thou wert ne'r in Love;
Thou art Philosophical, and wouldst have Reason
Guide where it was never yet Companion:
Thou shewst thy want of Love,
But helpst not mine: Councel is now too late,
It's like Smiths water flung upon the coals
Which more inflames, here—
Thou twice hast sav'd my life, if thou now speed'st;
Go to Francelia, and present
This Jewel to her, and withall my Love,
(Gives him a Jewel)
Do't with thy best of language and respect:
Fair means at first we'll use,
But foul shall come, if she the fair refuse:
Good night, and good success.

Exit.
Clar.
Obedience is the best of what I am,
Your will's my Law, Sir.
Clarimont solus.
—Why then it must be:
Was there no woman in the Court
To feed thy lust with, but my sister,
And none to be the Bawd but I?
Couldst thou not think of any other way
To express thy greatness, but by doing me wrong?
My fathers angry ghost, I see,
Is not full appeased yet:
(Studies)
Why should I make, of murther thus begun,
A massacre?—
He did my father right in his revenge;
I, but he wrong'd him first; and yet who knows
But it was justice to attempt by force?
The removal of great Favorites, though enemies to th' State,
Is not so warrantable—I'm in a maze:
Something I'll do, but what I cannot tell,
I fear the worst, Lust never ended well.

Exit.