University of Virginia Library

Scena VII.

Enter Desperato before his banquet serv'd in cover'd dishes,
Desp.
—Aerious Queen,
Here are no Phœnix eggs; had nature any,
You should have some: and eggs sublim'd with Amber
I thought too mean. I have not now selected
Rare filling meats, but rarely physical,
And swiftly curing all the maladies
Which time can throw upon the face of man.
Each dish containes a general remedy,
Beyond th' Elixir, or the golden Liquour,
Though it were drunk in th' Antimonial Cup.
Open and try.

Am.
What's here? Knives, Bodkins, Daggers?

Mal.
Ropes, silken, hairy, hempen?

Tim.
Little papers,
Of witty, loving, raging, sleeping poysons?

Desp.
There's Wine to temper them.

Hil.
So, where's the Wine?
I still come somewhat merry to a Feast,
And still go merrier back. This is my messe:
All this to all.

Fan.
Is this our entertainment?

Desp.
Could Art invent, or Wealth procure you better?
The Greatest, Wisest, Stoutest, and the fairest
Have chose these Cates to relish their last palats:
Have you not heard of Mithridates, Cato,
Of Hannibal, and Cleopatra? These?
These gods on earth have travl'd to their home
With such provision. Tast. One tast of these
Forever frees from Hunger, Thirst, Want, Griefe:
These are receites for immortality.

Tim.
But through a mortal way.

Desp.
That sleeping Dos
Will steal thy fearful soul insensibly.

Tim.
Then that shall bear me hoodwink'd unto Lethe;
There I'le forget my wrongs.

Hil.
Manners however;
First let the Queen begin. I broke that Rule
My selfe, and therefore mum.—Well danc'd yond Scaffold.

He falls into a Chaire.
Desp.
These things the most of you desir'd; All want;
Y'are wellcome all.

Hil.
No, no more I thank you.

Desp.
Death to the wretched soul as needful is,
As sleep unto the weary. Why should men
Condemnd to misery thus toile to mend
Their Fates which cannot alter?

Hil.
This Desperato,
What a gift he has! he never was at th' University;
Never took Orders, and yet lectures as good Divinity
As commonly we finde in most Dutch Systems
Or City-conventicles.

Desp.
Pleases your Highnesse
To chuse and give the signal, that we all
May waite upon your dying.

Fan.
Reach me then
The witty poyson.

Am.
Me the loving mixt;
That when I die, embracing her Idea.
My Soul may keep that print, and bear from hence
A heaven within me. He that stript of flesh
And lust still loves, will shew true love indeed.
But you Malevolo shall take my part.

Mel.
My place in heaven is sure; what need I hast?
Yes, 'cause I live in hell.

Desp.
Then take these banes
Mentioned before.

Hil.
Do; as good he poyson thee
As thou else drown thy selfe.

Mel.
Poyson I have too much,
Already, and in vain. Reach me your halter.

Hil.
Hoh hoh hoh; a halter? a dagger, he's so rotten,
He'l ne're hold hanging. Now for my part, sleep
Kills me sufficiently; Ile die before hand.

Conc.
In lust I liv'd with man; to kill that sin
Lend me that ponyard, so I'le manly die.

Fug.
This Bodkin is my husband; this alone
Shall know my flesh, and finde I was a Virgin.

Au.
Come joyn Irato, as we liv'd lets hang,
Two nooses and one rope will serve us both.

Ir.
Tis a dogs death, and therefore not unfit.

Hil.
Hoh hoh hoh.

Mal.
Choice I neglect whatever can dispatch
Loath'd life is sweet. My hate would faine turn home,
But cannot: Still me thinks I feele content
In seeing such a fruitful race of mischeife,
Because it sprung from me. If Fancies madnesse
Had not unhing'd the course of my design,
And brought remedilesse confusion
On all the Passions here at once; unseen
Beloved and honor'd, I with Art and Pleasure
Had done what Desperato does by chance.
He onely held the Net; I hunted in
The store of game: The praise is mine. And now
I die not with remorse of hate, but want
Of objects to be hated. Thus the worme
Having consum'd the Orb wherein it liv'd,
Doth lastly turn its hunger on it selfe.
Should I survive I could not finde more work,
Unlesse I learn'd to pitty what is done.
That's worse then death.

Desp.
When I have rid you all,
If I slink off let all the world besides
Fling stones. In such good company to fall,
Must needs be lightsome. And before our death
A Hymne is necessary. Then sing good Fellow.

An Attendant
sings in a base.
Come heavy souls oppressed with the weight
Of Crimes, or Pangs, or want of your delight,
Come down in Lethe's, sleepy lake
Whatever makes you ake.
Drink health from poyson'd bowles
Breathe out your cares together with your souls.
Cool Death's a salve
Which all may have
There's no distinction in the grave;
Lay down your loads before deaths iron dore,
Sigh, and sigh out, groan once, and groan no more.