The bloodie banqvet A tragedie |
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 | The bloodie banqvet |  |
Scene. 4.
Enter Tymethes and Zenarchus.Zen.
Come, come, drive away these fits, faith Ile have thee merry.
Tym.
As your son and heire at his fathers funerall
Zen.
Thou seest my sister constantly affects thee.
Tym.
There were no mirth nor musicke else for me.
Zen.
Sir in this Castle the old King my father
Ore-worne with jealousie keepes his beauteous wife,
I thinke thou never saw'st her.
Tym.
No, not I.
Zen.
Why then thy judgements fresh, Ile visite her
On purpose for thy censure.
Tym.
I speake, my affection.
Zen.
Nay on my knowledge she's worth Jealousie.
Enter Roxano.
Though Jealousie be farre unworthy a King.
Rox.
My lov'd Lord?
Zen.
How cheares the Queene?
they whisper.
Tym.
Have I not seene this fellow before now?
He has an excellent presence for a Pander,
I know not his office.
Zen.
Vse those words to her.
Rox.
They shall be us'd my Lord, and any thing
That comes to using, let it come to me.
Exit.
Tym.
What's he Zenarchus?
Zen.
Who Roxano? a fellow in great trust,
Elected by my fathers jealousie.
But he, and all the rest attend upon her
I thinke would turne her Panders for reward;
For tis not watch nor ward keepes woman chast,
If honours watch in her mind be not plac't.
Tym.
Right Oracle; what gaine hath Iealousie?
Hunger and lust will breake through flesh and stones:
And like a whirle-winde blowes ope Castle dores.
Italian padlockes,
Zen.
What mad Lords are your jealous people then,
That lockes their wives from all men but their men?
Make them their keepers, to prevent some greater,
So oft it happens to the poores releefe,
Keepers eate Venison when their Lords eate Beefe.
Enter young Queene with a booke in her hand.
See, see, she comes.
Tim
Honour of beauty? there mans wishes rise,
Grace and perfection lighten from her eyes,
Amazement is shot through me.
Zen.
Tis Tymethes, Lady, Sonne to the banish'd King.
Que.
Is this he?
Zen.
It is sweete Lady.
Que.
I never knew the force of a desire
Vntill this minute strucke within my blood;
I feare one looke was destin'd to undoe me.
Zen.
Why Tymethes? friend.
Tym.
Ha?
Zen.
A Courtier, and forget your first weapon? goe and salute our Lady Mother.
Que.
He makes towards us: y'are Prince Tymethes? so I understand.
Tym.
The same unfortunate, most gracious Lady,
Supreamest of your Sexe in all perfections.
Que.
Sir, y'are forgetfull, this is no place for Courtship,
Nor we a subject for't, returne to your friend.
Tym.
All hopes kild in their blossome.
Que.
Too cruelly in faith I put him by,
Wine for our sonne Zenarchus, twas done kindly
Enter Roxano with wine.
You sonne, and our best Visitant.
Zen.
Duty bindes me.
Que.
Begin to me Zenarchus, Ile have't so.
Tym.
Why then there's hope shele take occasion
To drinke to me, she hath no meanes t'avoyd it.
Que.
Ile prevent all loose thoughts, drinke to my selfe,
My minde walkes yonder, but suspect walkes here.
Tym.
The divell's on that side and engrosses all,
Smiles, favours, common curtesies, none can fall
But he has a snatch at them; not drinke to me?
Que.
Make you yon stranger drinke.
Rox. offers it him.
Tym.
Pox of't not I.
Que.
I speake strange words against my fantasie.
Zen.
Prithee Tymethes drinke.
Tym.
I am not dry.
Zen.
I thinke so too; dry, and so young, 'twere strange,
Come prithee drinke to the Queene, my mother.
Tym.
You shall rule me—unto that beauteous Majesty.
Que.
Thanks noble sir; I must be wary, my mind's dangerous.
Ile pledge you anon sir.
Gives Roxano the Cup.
Tym.
Hart? how contempt ill fortune does pursue?
Not drinke, nor pledge, what was she borne to doe?
Ile stay no longer, least I get that flame,
Which nothing but cold death can quench or tame.
Zenarchus, come.
Exit.
Zen.
I goe, musick of minde to the Queene.
Que.
To you no lesse.
Zen.
And all that you can wish, or I expresse.
Exit.
Que.
Thankes to our sonne,
Th'other tooke leave in silence, but left me
To speake enough both for my selfe and thee.
Tymethes? that's his name, poore heart take heede,
Looke well into th'event ere thou proceede:
Love, yet be wise; impossible, none can;
If ere the wise man claime one foolish houre
Tis when he loves; he's then in follies power.
I neede not feare the servants that ore-watch me
Their faiths lye in my Coffers, in effect,
More true to me then to my Lords suspect.
The feares and dangers that most threaten me,
Live in the party that I must enjoy,
And that's Tymethes; men are apt to boast;
He may in full cups blaze and vaunt himselfe
The politique Engine to beate downe her name,
And from thence force a way to the Kings eares,
Strange fate; where my love keepes, there keepe my feares.
Enter Tyrant.
Tyr.
Alone? why where's her guard? suffer her alone?
Her thoughts may worke, their powers are not her owne.
Women have of themselves no entire sway,
Like Dyall needles they wave every way,
And must be throughly taught to be kept right,
And point to none but to their Lords delight.
Enter Roxano and guard.
Time to convey and plot? leave her alone!
Why Villaines—kisse me, my perfection,
This night we'le banquet in these blissefull armes.
Qu.
Your nights are musick, and your words are charmes.
Tyr.
Kisse me againe faire Tethis.
Walkes off with her, and the guard followes.
Rox.
My Lady is scarce perfect in her thoughts
How ere she fram'd a smile upon the Tyrant.
I have some skill in faces, & yet they never were more deceitfull;
A man can scarce know a Baud from a Midwife by the face;
An hypocriticall Puritan from a devout Christian
If you goe by the face; well all's not streight in my Lady.
She hath certaine crooked cogitations if a man had the liberty to search 'em:
If ought point at my advice or performance, shee may fortunately
Disclose it: she knowes my mettle, and what it yeelds to an ounce,
She cannot be deceiv'd in't: here's service, and secrecie, and no Lady can
Wish more, beside a Monkey, she is assur'd of our faculties, there's none
Of us all that stand her smocke Centinells, but would venter a joynt
To doe her any pleasurable service, and I think that's as much
As any woman desires—masse here she comes.
Enter Queene sad.
Que.
It cannot be kept downe with any Argument,
Tis of aspiring force; sparkes flye not downeward,
No more this receiv'd fancy of Tymethes,
I threaten it with my Lords Iealousy,
Yet still it rises against all objections;
I see my dangers, in what feares I dwell
There's but a Planke on which I runne to hell,
Yet were't thrice narrower I should venture on,
None dares doe more for sinne than woman can.
Misery of love—Roxano? I am observ'd,
What newes Roxano?
Rox.
None that's good, Madam.
Que.
No? which is the bad!
Rox.
The worst of all is, Madam, you are sad.
Que.
Indeede I am not merry.
Rox.
Would I knew the meanes would make you so,
I would turne my selfe into any shape or office
To be the Author of it, sweete Lady.
Que.
Troth I have that hope of thee, I thinke thou would'st.
Rox.
Thinke it?s foote, you might sweare safely in that action
And never hurt your oath—I nere fayld yet.
Que.
Twere sinne to injure thee, I know thou didst not.
Rox.
Nay I know I did not.
Que.
But my trusty servant,
This plot requires art, secresie and wit,
Yet out of all can hardly worke one safety.
Rox.
Not one, that's strange, I would 'twere put to me,
Ile make it arrive safe what ere it be.
Que.
Thou couldst not my Roxano—why admit I love, now I come to thee.
Rox.
Admit you love? why all's safe enough yet.
Que.
I, but a stranger.
Rox.
Nay, now we are all spoyld Lady,
I may looke for my braines in my Bootes—now you have put
Home to me indeed, Madam; A stranger? there's a hundred
Deaths in the very name, besides vantage.
Que.
I sayd I should affright thee.
Faith no foole can fright me, Madam, commonly cal'd a stranger.
Que.
Hast thou the will? or dar'st thou doe me good?
Rox.
Doe thee good, sweete Lady? as farre as I am able nere doubt it;
Let me but cast about for safety, and Ile doe any thing, Madam.
Que.
I, I, our safeties; which are meere impossibles,
Love forgets all things but its proper objects.
Rox.
What is he? and his name?
Que.
Tymethes, in a most unluckie minute
Led hither by our Sonne in Law Zenarchus.
Rox.
Hum, is that the most fortunate, spider catching, smocke wrapt Gentleman?
Que.
Yet if he know me.
Rox.
What then?
Que.
I am undone.
Rox.
And is it possible a man should lye with a woman and yet not know her?
And yet tis possible too—thanke my Invention, follow that game still.
Que.
He must not know me; than I love no further;
Although for not enjoying him I dye;
My Lords pale jealousie does so orelooke me,
That if Tymethes know what he enjoyes
It may make way unto my Lords mistrust;
Then since in my desire such horrours move
Ile dye no other then the death of love.
(She swounds and Roxano holds her in his armes.
Rox.
Lady, Madam, doe you heare?
Have you leasure to swoune now, when I have taken such paines i'th' businesse?
To take order for your safety, set all things right; why Madam?
Que.
What sayes the man?
Rox.
Why he sayes like a Gentleman every inch of him,
And will performe the office of a gentleman; bring you together;
But you together, and leave you together: what gentleman can doe more?
And all this safely?
Rox.
And all this safely? I by this hand will I,
Or else would I might never doe any thing to purpose;
If he have but the first part of a young gentleman in him.
Tis granted Madam; I have crotchets in my braine
That you shall see him and enjoy him, and he not know where he is, nor who it is.
Que.
How? shall he not know me?
Rox.
Why tis the least part of my meaning he should Lady.
Doe you thinke you could possibly be safe and he know you?
Why some of your yong Gallants are of that vaine-glorious and preposterous
Humour, that if they lay with their owne Sisters you should heare them prate of't,
This is too usuall, there's no wonder in't: what I have sayd
I will sweare to performe, you shall enjoy him ere night
And he not know you next morning.
Que.
Thou art not onely necessary but pleasing,
There, catch our bounty, mannage all but right,
As now with gold, with honours weele requite.
Exit.
Rox.
I am your creature Lady; pretty gold,
And by this light me thinkes most easily earn'd,
There's no faculty, say I like a Pander, and that makes so many
Now adayes dye in the Trade: I have your gold Lady,
And eke your service; I am one step higher,
This office makes a gentleman a Squire.
Exit.
| The bloodie banqvet | |