 | The Tragedy of Hoffman or A Reuenge for a Father |  |
Actus quintus.
Enter Saxony, Rodorique, Mathias: seuerally.Mat.
Haue you not found her yet?
Sax.
Not I,
Rod.
Nor I.
Mat.
Then I beleeue borne by her fits of rage
She ha's done violence to her bright fame,
And falne vpon the bosome of the Balt.
Sax.
What reason leads yee to beleeue it, son?
Mat.
I did perceiue her some halfe houre since
Clambring vpon the steepenes of the rocke,
But whether vp or downe I could not guesse
By reason of the distance.
Enter Lucibella with rich clothes,
Rod.
Stand aside, she comes, let her not scape vs now.
Sax.
What has shee got apparrell? I and rich,
Poore soule, shee in her idle lunacy
Hath tooke it from some house where t'will be mist.
Mat.
Lets circle her about, least spying vs
she run away with wonted nimblenesse,
Luc.
Well ouertaken sir.
Sax.
What haue ye here?
Luc.
And you too heartely.
Rod.
I am sure you know.
Luc.
Why that's well, I like that, that you are well
and you, and you: god buye.
Sax.
Nay, nay you must not goe, wee'l hold you now.
Luc.
Why that's well done, Pray come, see my house
I haue a fine house now, and goodly knacks
And gay apparrell; looke ye here, this is braue;
And two leane porters staru'd for lacke of meat,
Pray let goe mine armes, looke here they bee.
Om.
Oh horrid sight!
Luc.
Nay, neuer start I pray; is it not like I keepe
A princely house, when I haue such fat porters at my gate,
Sax:
What should this meane? why in this wood
So thicke, so solitary, and remote
From common road of men, should these hang thus?
Brother your Hermitage is not far hence,
When knew you any execution here?
Rod.
I neuer knew any, and these bones are greene,
This lesse anatomy hath not hung long
The bigger, by the mosse and drynes seemes
Of more continuance.
Mat.
What's on there heads?
Luc.
why golden Crownes, my porters shall bee Kings,
And hide there bare bones with these gay weeds.
Sarx.
I doe remember the Admirall
Hoffman, that kept the Iland of Burtholme
Was by the Duke of Prussia adiudg'd
To haue his head sear'd with a burning crowne,
And after made a bare Anatomy,
Which by his son was from the gallowes stolne;
Luc.
I, that same son of his, but where liues he
Sax.
No doubt, he doth possesse some caue hard by.
Come, goe with me, ile shew you where he dwels,
Or some body; I know not who it is;
Here, looke, looke here, here is a way goes downe,
Downe, downe a downe, hey downe, downe.
I sung that song, while Lodowicke slept with me.
Rod.
This is some Caue, let's boldly enter in,
And learne the mistery of that sad sight,
Come Lady, guide vs in, you know the way.
Luc.
True, thats the way, you cannot misse the path;
The way to death and black destruction
Is the wide way; no body is now at home,
Or tarry, peraduenture here comes some will tell you more.
Enter Martha, and Lorrique:
Mat.
Stand close, this is Lorrique, I doe not know the
Lady comes with him.
Sax.
I ha' seene that countenance.
Rod.
Stand close, I pray, my heart diuines,
Some strange and horrid act will be reueald.
Luc.
Nay that's most true, a fellow with a red cap told me so
And bad me keepe these cloathes, and giue them
To a faire Lady in a mourning gowne;
Let goe my armes; I will not run away
I thanke you now, now you shall see mee stay,
By my troth I will, by my maidenhead I will.
Mar.
Lorrique returne into the beaten path,
I ask't thee for a solitary plot,
And thou hast brought me to the dismal'st groue
That euer eye beheld, noe woodnimphes here
Seeke with their agill steps to outstrip the Roe,
Nor doth the sunsucke from the queachy plot
The ranknes and the venom of the Earth
It seemes frequentlesse for the vse of men:
Some basiliskes, or poysonous serpents den!
It is indeede an vndelightfull walke;
But if I doe not erre in my beleefe,
I thinke the ground, the trees, the rockes, the springs,
Haue since my Princely Master Charles his wracke
Appear'd more dismall, then they did before,
In memory of his vntimelesse fall.
For hereabouts, hereabouts the place,
Where his fayre body lay deform'd by death
Here Hoffmans son, and I enbalm'd him
After we had concluded to deceaue
Your sacred person, and Duke Ferdinand
By causing Hoffman to assume his name.
Sax.
This is very strange.
Luc.
Nay tary, you shall heare all the knauery anon.
Mar.
And where's the Chappell that you layd him in?
Lor.
I'ts an old Chappell, neere the Hermitage:
Mar.
But was the Hermet at his buriall?
Lor.
Noe, Hoffman and I onely dig'd the graue
Play'd Priest and Clarke, to keepe his buriall close?
Rod.
Most admirable!
Sax.
Nay, pray you peace.
Mar.
Alas! poore son, the soule of my delights;
Thou in thy end wert rob'd of Funerall rites,
None sung thy requiem, noe friend clos'd thine eyes,
Nor layd the hallowed earth vpon thy lips,
Thou wert not houseled, neither did the bells ring
Blessed peales, nor towle thy funerall knell,
Thou wentst to death, as those that sinke to hell;
Where is the apparrell that I bad him weare
Against the force of witches and their spells.
Lor.
We buried it with him, it was his shroude,
The desert woods noe fitter meanes allowd.
Luc.
I thinke he lyes.
Now by my troth, that gentleman smels knaue.
Mar.
Sweare one thing to me, ere we leaue this place;
to saue my son.
Lor.
By heauen it seemes hee did, but all was vaine
The flinty rockes had cut his tender scull,
And the rough water wash't away his braine.
Luc.
Lyer, lyer, licke dish.
Mar.
How now what woman's this? what men are these?
Luc.
A poore mayden mistris, ha's a suite to you,
And 'tis a good suite, very good apparrell.
Loe, heere I come a woing my ding, ding,
Loe, heere we come a suing, my darling,
Loe, heere I come a praying, to bidea, bidea.
Loe, heere we come a suing, my darling,
Loe, heere I come a praying, to bidea, bidea.
How doe you Lady, well I thanke God, will you buy
a barganei pray, i'ts fine apparrell.
Mar.
Run my liues blood, comfort my troubled heart,
That trembles at the sight of this attire:
Lorrique, looke on them, knowest thou not these clothes?
Nor the distracted bringer? prethee speake.
Lor.
Ay me, accurst and damn'd; I know them both;
The bringer is the Austrian Lucibell:
Luc.
I, you say true, I am the very same,
Lor.
The apparrell was my Lords, your Princely son's.
Mar.
This is not sea wet, if my son were drown'd
Then why thus dry is his apparrell found?
Lor,
O me accurst, o miserable me?
Fall heauen, and hide my shame, gape earth, rise sea,
Swallow, orewhelme me, wherefore should I liue,
The most perfidious wretch that euer breath'd,
And base consenter to my deare Lords death.
Luc.
Nay, looke you heere, do you see these poore staru'd
ghosts; can you tell whose they be?
Mar.
Alas! what are they? what are you that seeme
In ciuill habits to hide ruthlesse hearts;
Lorrique, what are they? what wilt thou attempt?
And stay this fellow from dispayring ill.
Lor.
I was ordain'd vnto perdition, stay me not;
For when yee know the mischiefes I haue done,
(at least, consented to, through coward feare)
You would not stop me, if I skipt in quicke
To that blacke, bottomlesse and ruthlesse, gulph,
Where euerlasting sorrowes like linkt chaynes
Fetter the wretched in eternall night.
Mar.
what hast thou done?
Luc.
Knauery I warrant you, tell truth and shame the
Diuell my boy, doe, and thou shalt haue a fine thing by and
by.
Sax.
I take your Highnes for that reuerend Dutches
Late wife vnto the Duke of Prussia.
Mar.
I am the wretched childlesse widdow sir.
Lor.
Princesse heare me, and I will briefely tell
How you came childlesse, you brotherlesse,
You husbandlesse, and fatherlesse, all, all,
Ile tell you, hauing ended, act my fall.
Mat.
Well, forward;
Lor.
Be it soe, I haue deseru'd a greater cruelty,
To bee kept liuing when I long to dye.
Mar.
I charge thee setting by all circumstance,
Thou vtter what thou knowest: my heart is steele,
Nor can it suffer more then it doth feele.
Lor.
Then thus, Prince Charles and I escap't the wracke,
Came safe a shore to this accursed plot,
Where we met Hoffman, who vpon yon tree
Preseru'd his fathers bare anatomy,
The biggest of them two were those strong bones
That acted mighty deeds.
Hoffman the son full of reuenge and hate,
'Gainst euery hand that wrought his fathers hurt,
Yet guilded ore his enuie with faire shewes,
And entertain'd vs with as friendly termes
Bitter deceit vseth the sweetest speech.
At length he tooke aduantage, bound my Lord,
And in a chayne tyed him to yonder rocke,
While with a burning Crowne he seard in twaine
The purple Veynes, strong sinewes, arteries, nerues,
And euery cartilage about the head,
In which sad torment the mild Prince fell dead.
Mar.
Did Hoffman this? and thou conceal'st the deed?
Lor.
Pardon my feare, Dread Madam.
Mar.
well, goe on, I am confident to heare all cruelty,
And am resolu'd to act some, if noe hand
Will else attempt the murderers end, but mine.
Lor.
Be patient; you will finde associates:
For there are many murderers more behinde.
Mar.
what did hee with the body of my son?
Lor.
Buried the flesh, the bones are they that hang
Close by his fathers.
Mar.
Let them hang a while
Hope of reuenge in wrath doth make mee smile.
Luc.
Pray let him tell the rest.
Lor.
This acted, Hoffman forc't me to conceale
The murder of my Lord, and threatned more
Then death by many torments, till I swore
To call him Otho, and say he was your son
I swore and kept my oath.
Rod.
O Heauen.
Sax.
O Diuell.
Luc.
Nay, I pray you peace.
Lor.
Then sent he me for you, and you he sent,
Or as I best remember, lead you on
Vnto the Chappell porch, where hee himselfe
Appointed them to stay, and there you know
What hapned in your wrath.
Luc.
To me a sleepe,
And to my harmelesse Lodowick in my armes.
On on, that deed is writ among the acts of guilt:
A brothers sword a brothers life blood spilt.
Sax.
Proceed, what's next? kild he not Austria?
Lor.
He did.
Luc.
O villaine did he kill my Father?
And make my brother kill my husband too?
Sax.
Goe forward.
Lor.
After all those hated murders
He taught the foolish prince in the disguise
Of a French Doctor to prepare a poyson,
Which was the death of Princely Ferdinand:
Next plot hee purpos'd your graces death,
And had opposd my strength of my teares,
You had bin murder'd as you lay a sleepe.
Sax.
Let's heare no more, seeke out the hated wretch,
And with due torture let his life be forc'd
From his despised body.
Rod.
Doe I pray.
Sax.
All the Land will helpe,
And each man be a iustice in this act.
Mar.
Well, I that neuer knew reuenges power,
Haue entertaind her newly in my brest:
Determine what's to doe.
Luc.
Euen what you will; would I were with my Lodowick a sleepe
In the Elizian fieldes, where no feares dwell;
For earth appeares as vile to me as hell.
Lor.
Let me be Prologue to your scene of wrath,
And as the Romane Cateline resolu'd
His doubtfull followers by exhausting blood
From the liue body, so draw mine, cast mine
Vpon the troubled and offended earth;
Offer blood fit for an infernall sacrifice,
Wine is not powr'd but on celestiall offrings:
Therefore I aduise you
As you hope to thriue in your reuenge, smite me.
Mar.
Thou merit'st death indeede.
Mat.
Stay iudge him not, let me a little plead in his excuse,
And this one sentence serues; a man compel'd
To euill acts, cannot be iustly held
A wilfull malefactor; the law still
Lookes vpon the deede, ne're on the will:
Besides although I grant the matter small
And very safe to rayse a multitude,
That by their power might ceaze the murderer,
Yet two especiall reasons crosse that course:
First: many hauing notice of our plot,
One babling tongue may vtter out intent,
And Hoffman being warn'd is surely arm'd
Hauing the fort and treasure in his powre,
And be his cause more then notorious ill,
He may with gold maintaine it at his will
Scape vs, for no doubt hee's full of sleights:
Besides, Reuenge should haue proportion,
By slye deceit he acted euery wronge,
And by deceit I would haue him intrapt;
Then the reuenge were fit, iust, and square,
And t'would more vex him that is all compos'd
Of craft and subtilty to be outstript
In his owne fashion, then a hundred deaths.
Therefore by my aduice pardon Lorrique
Vpon condition, that he lay some plot
To intercept the other.
Om.
We are agreede.
Lor.
Your mercy doth all bounds of hope exceed,
And if you will repose that trust in me,
By all the protestations truth can make,
Before the Sun haue run his mid-dayes course,
I will to morrow yeeld him to your handes.
Sax.
Shew vs the meanes.
The meanes is in the Dutchesse pollicy.
If she can smooth the murder but a while.
Mar.
Ile turn deceit to ouerthrow his fraud.
Lor.
Then with faire words his flatteries entertayne,
And when he doth importune you for loue,
Desire him first to shew you the first place,
Where he beheld Prince Charles after the wracke
Say you haue earnestly entreated me,
But I haue lead you in a labyrinth
Of noe effect; he full of heate and lust,
Glad of occasion will no doubt alone
Conduct you to this fatall horrid caue,
Thi king by force, or fayre meanes, to attaine
His false hearts longing, and your honors stayne;
But being in the height of his base pride,
The Duke, the Hermet, Lodowick and my selfe,
Will change his pleasures into wretched
And redeemelesse misery.
Sax.
The plot is good, Madam, are you agreed?
Mar.
To any thing how euer desperate.
Luc.
I but by your leaue, Lady, and Lords all, what if
This knaue that has bin, play the knaue still,
And tell tales out of schoole; how then?
Lor.
I know not what to sweare by; but noe soule
Longs for the sight of endlesse happinesse,
With more desire, then mine thirsts for his death:
By all the gods that shall giue ill men life,
I am resolu'd chiefe agent in his end.
Mat.
We credit thee, ioyne hands, and ring him round,
Kneele, on his head lay our right hands, and sweare
Vengeance against Hoffman.
Om.
Vengeance, vengeance, fall
On him, or suddaine death vpon vs all.
Sax.
Come, part, we to the caue,
You to the Court:
Iustice dig murthers graue.
Luc.
Nay, Ile come, my wits are mine agen
Now faith growes firme to punish faithlesse men.
Exeunt.
Enter Hoffman, and all the traine that attended the Dutchesse first.
Hoff.
Not to be found? hell which way is she gon?
Lord.
Her Highnes charg'd vs to call you her son,
The mistery we know not, but we know,
You are not Princely Otho of Luningberg.
Hoff.
Noe matter what I am; tell me the way she went
With that Lorrique; speake, or by heauen
Hell shall receiue you all.
Enter Martha, and Lorrique.
Lord.
Be not in rag'd she comes,
And with her comes trusty Lorrique.
Hoff.
Madam, I fear'd you, and my heart was sicke,
With doubt some ouer-desperate accident
Had drawne you to the melancholy pathes,
That lye within the verge of this rough scarre.
Mar.
Your doubt was but an Embrio; I indeed
Desir'd Lorrique to bring me to the place
Where you beheld the shipwracke of my son;
And he hath led me vp and downe the wood,
But neuer brought me to the fatall beach,
Hoff.
It were not fit you should see the sad place,
That still seemes dismall since the Princes death.
Lord.
Dead? is our soueraigne Lord the Prince dead?
Mar.
Inquire no more of that, I will anon
Resolue you of his fate, this time forbeare,
Esteeme this gentleman your Lord and Prince.
Wee hold him soe, sith you command vs so.
Hoff.
Will you goe forward, Madam?
Mar.
Willingly, soe you will promise mee to walke to morrow
And see the Earth that gently did receiue
My sons wrack't body from the churlish fome.
Hoff.
Ile wayt vpon your Grace, set forward there,
Trickes, and deuices! longings! well 'tis good:
Ile swim to my desires, through seas of blood.
Exeunt.
Lor.
Fox you'l be taken, hunter you are falne
Into the pit you dig'd; I laught to see
How I out-strip the Prince of villany.
Hoffman for me told such a smoothing tale,
That had not this strange accident befalne
In finding of the caue; I had bin held
More deere then euer, in the Dutchesse eyes:
But now shee'l hold me hard, what ere she say,
Yet is her word past that shee'l pardon me,
And I haue wealth hoor'd vp which ile beare
To some strange place: rich men liue any where.
Enter Hoffman.
Hoff.
What? are you gadding sir? what mooues your flight?
Coyne not excuses in your crouching come,
What cause haue you to flie and seeke strange hoords
For your wealth gotten by my liberall gift?
Lor.
And my desert, my Lord.
Hoff.
Well be it your desert;
But what's the cause you'l flye this country?
Lor.
As I liue, my Lord, I haue noe such intent;
But with your leaue, I was debating things,
As if it should chaunce thus, and thus, why then
'Twere better be far of, but otherwise
My loue and life, low at your seruice lye.
Hoff.
You are a villaine damn'd as low as hell;
An hypocrite, a fawning hypocrite:
And thinke not with your antickes and your lies
To goe beyond mee, you haue play'd the slaue,
Betrayd me to the Dutchesse, told her all,
Disappoynting all my hopes with your base tongue,
Oreturn'd the height of my intendments,
For which ile hurle thee from my mountaine wracke,
Into the lowest Cauerne of pale death.
Lor.
Alas my Lord forbeare, let me be heard.
Hoff.
Thou hast betrayd me, therefore neuer talke.
Lor.
By heauen—
Hoff.
O hell! why should'st thou thinke on heauen.
Lor.
Stay, and beleeue me, thinke you I am mad,
Soe great a foe to my owne happy chaunce,
When things are sorted to so good an end,
That all is hid, and we held in regard:
After such horrid, and perfidious acts,
Now to betray my selfe; be reasonable,
And thinke how shallow such an act would secure
In me, chiefe agent in so many ills.
Hoff.
Thou hast a tongue as glib and smooth to lyes,
As full of false inuentions, and base fraud,
As prone to circumuent beleeuing soules,
As euer heretique or traytor vsd,
Whose speeches are as hony, their acts gall,
Their words rayse vp, but their hands ruine all.
Lor.
By vertues glorious soule.
Hoff.
Blasphemer peace, sweare not by that thou hat'st;
Vertue, and thou haue no more sympathie,
Then day with night, Heauen with Hell.
Thou knowest, I know thy Villanyes excell
Lor.
Why then by villany, by blood, by sleightes,
By all the horrours tortures can present,
By Hell, and by reuenges purple hand
The Dutchesse had no conference with me,
That first receiu'd her son, whom she beleeues
The vnrelenting waues and flinty rocks,
Had seuer'd from sweet life after the wracke.
Hoff.
May I beleeue thee?
Lor.
Haue I fayld you yet?
Measure my former acts and you shall find
My soule allyed to yours, wholly estrang'd
From all I euer lou'd.
Hoff.
Noe more, haue done.
Tha'st won me to continue thee my friend;
But I can tell thee somewhat troubles me,
Some dreadfull misaduenture my soule doubts,
And I conceiue it with noe common thought,
But a most potent apprehension;
For it confounds imaginary sence,
Sometimes inflames my blood, another while
'Nums all the Currents that should comfort life,
And I remayne as 'twere a senceles stone.
Lor.
Come, come, I know the cause, you are in loue,
And to be soe, is to be any thing.
Doe you not loue the Dutchesse?
Hoff.
Yes, I doe.
Lor.
Why there's the matter, then, be ruld by me,
To morrow morning she desires to see
The shore, that first receiu'd her sea-wrackt son,
And to be vnaccompained she loues;
Except some one or two, you and I:
Now when you haue her neare your dismal I caue,
Force her, I dot man, make no scruple do't,
Else you shall neuer win her to your bed:
Doe a mans part, please her before she goe,
Or if you see, that she turnes violent,
Shut her perpetuall prisoner in that den;
Make her a Philomel, proue Tereus:
Do't, neuer feare it.
Why she will be mist.
Lor.
By whom? by fooles, grosse, dull, thicke sighted fooles,
whom euery mist can blinde, I'le sway them all,
With exclamation that the grieued Dutchesse
when she beheld the sea that drownd her son,
Stood for a while like weeping Niobe,
As if she had bin stone: and when we striu'd
With milde perswasions to make leste her woe
She madder than the wife of Athamas
Leap't suddenly into the troubled sea,
Whose surges greedy of soe rich a prey,
Swallowed her vp, while we in vaine exclaym'd
'Gainst Heauen and hell, 'gainst fortune and her fate.
Hoff.
Oh my good villaine! how I hug thy plots,
This shall be done, shee's mine: run swift slow houres,
Make a short night hasten on day apace,
Rough armes waxe soft soft beauty to embrace.
Lor.
Why soe, now your feare will quickly end,
Hoff.
Thou wilt not talke of this?
Lor.
Will I be hang'd?
Nee're take me for a blab, you'l finde me none.
Hoff.
I haue another secret, but—
Lor.
Come what ist? come, this brest is yours,
My heart's your treasury.
Hoff.
Thou must be secret, 'tis a thing of weight
concernes thee neere.
Lor.
Were it as neere as life, come, pray speake.
Hoff.
Hearke in thine eare, I would not haue the ayre
Be priuy to this purpose, wilt thou sweare?
Lor.
What? to bee secret? if the least iot I tell
Let all my hopes sinke suddenly to hell.
Hoff.
Thou hast thy wish, downe villaine, keepe this close.
Lor,
Vnthankefull murtherer, is this my meede?
Oh slaue, tha'st kild thy heart in wounding mine,
This is my day, tomorrow shall be thine.
Hoff.
Goe foole; now thou art dead, I neede not feare.
Ile hide thee in the ditch: giue dogs there due,
He that will proue a mercenary slaue
To murder, seldome findes soe good a graue,
Hee's gone, I can now spare him, Lorrique farewell;
Commend me to our friends thou meet'st in hell:
Next plot for Mathias and old Saxony,
There ends shall finish our blacke tragedy.
Exit.
Enter Saxony, and Mathias.
Sax.
How little care had we to let her 'scape,
Especially on this so needfull time,
When we are vowed to wayt vpon reuenge.
Mat.
Noe doubt our vncles care will keepe her safe,
Nor is she in her fits so violent
As she was wont, looke where my
Vncle comes, sustayning with one hand
A dying man, and one the other side,
Fayre Lucibell supports the fainting body.
Enter Rodorique, and Lucibell leading Lorrique.
Luc.
Looke you here, you maruai'ld why I went,
Why this man drew me vnto him, can you helpe
Him now. Hoffman has hought him too.
Saz.
Brother who ist you bring thus ashe pale;
I'st not Lorrique;
Lor.
I am, and 'tis in vayne to striue for longer hope.
I cannot, onely be prouident; I greatly feare
The murdrous traytor out of meere suspect
Will plot some stratagem against the life
Of the chast Dutchesse, help her what you can,
Against the violence of that wicked man.
Rod.
Hast thou not told him, what we doe intend?
Noe, as heauen help mee in my wretched end,
Be confident of that, now I must fall
Neuer agen to rise, you know his wrongs:
Be carefull Princes to reuenge them all.
Luc,
Well, farewell fellow, thou art now paid home
For all thy councelling in knauery,
Good Lord! what very fooles are very knaues!
There cunning bodies often want due graues.
Sax.
Son, daughter, brother, follow my aduice,
Let vs noe longer keepe this hatefull plot,
Least we be circumuented.
Rod.
True, 'tis to put on open armes.
Mat.
Tis now too late, we are beset
With souldiers, we must fight, and since it must be;
Let's to't valiantly.
Enter Dutchesse: Lord, with souldiers.
Lord.
Princes prepare not to resist your foes,
Wee are as firme as life vnto your blood.
The Dutchesse Martha greetes old Saxony,
Prince Mathias, Rodorick, and fayre Lucibell:
To me she hath discouer'd the damnd plots
Of that perfidious Hoffman, and hath sent
These armed souldiers, to attend on you.
Sax.
We thanke her Highnes, but we thinke in vaine
Both you and we attend; Lorrique lyes slaine
By Hoffmans slye suspition; best be ioyn'd
To apprehend him publiquely.
Lord.
There is no need, our Dutchesse hath apparrel'd
Her speech in a greene liuery,
She salutes him faire, but her heart
Like his actions, is attir'd
In red, and blew, and sable ornaments.
Sax.
But tell vs where they are?
Lord,
At hand she comes, with him alone her plot is,
Mat.
Cease words, vse deedes
Reuenge drawes nigh.
Sax.
Come set his body like a scarcrow,
This bush shroud you, this you,
Stand close true souldiers, for reuenge.
Luc.
I: doe, doe, doe, I pray you heartely doe,
Stand close.
Enter Hoffman and Dutchesse.
Hoff.
I wonder much why you aske me for Lorrique,
What is Lorrique to you, or what to me?
I tell you he is damn'd, enquire no more,
His name is hatefuller then death.
Mar.
Heauen! what alterations these!
Can I beleeue you loue mee as you swore,
When you are so inconstant to your friend?
Hoff.
He is noe friend of mine whom you affect,
Pardon me Madam, such a fury raignes
Ouer my boyling blood, that I enuy
Any one on whom you cast an amorous eye.
Mar.
What growne so louing? marry heauen defend,
Wee shall deceiue you if you dote on vs,
Fot I haue sworne to lead a widdowes life,
And neuer more to be tearm'd married wife.
Hoff.
I, but you must.
Mar.
Must? vse not force, I pray.
Hoff.
Yeild to my loue, and then with meekest words
And the most humble actions, ile intreat
Your sacred beauty; deny me? ile turne fire,
More wild then wrath, come then agree,
If not to marry, yet in vnseene sports
To quench these Lawlesse heates that burne in me.
Mar.
What my adopted son become my louer?
And make a wanton minion of his mother?
Now fie vpon you fie y'are too obsceane
Hoff.
By heauen I doe not ieast, goe to, belieue me,
'Tis well you laugh; smile on, I like this:
Say, will you yeild?
Mar.
At the first? fie noe.
That were an abiect course, but let vs walke
Into some couert, there are pretty caues,
Lucky to louer suites, for Virgil sings;
That Dido being driuen by a sharpe storme
Into a Lybian caue, was there intic'd
By siluer-tongu'd Æneas to affect;
And should you serue me soe, I were vndone,
Disgrac'd in Germany by euery Boore,
Who in their rymes woud iest at Marthas name
Calling her mynion to her cozen son.
Hoff.
Fayrer then Dido, or loues amorous Queene;
I know a caue, wherein the bright dayes eyes
Look't neuer but a skance through a small creeke,
Or little cranny of the fretted scarre;
There I haue sometimes liu'd, there are fit seates,
To sit and chat, and coll, and kisse, and steale
Loues hidden pleasures, come, are you disposd
To venter entrance? if you be, assay,
'Tis death to quicke desire, vse no delay.
Mar.
Vertue and modesty bids me say noe,
Yet trust me Hoffman tha'rt so sweet a man,
And so belou'd of me, that I must goe.
Hoff.
I am crown'd the King of pleasure.
Mar.
Hatefull slaue, thou goest to meete destruction
in thy caue.
Hoff.
S'death who stands here?
What's that? Lorriques pale ghost?
I am amaz'd: nay slaue stand of:
Thy weapons sure, the prize is ours.
Mar.
Come forth deere friends, murder is in our powers
Sax.
Yeild thee, base son of shame.
How now whats here? am I betrayd?
By dotage, by the falshood of a face?
Oh wretched foole falne by a womans hand
From high reuenges spheare, the blisse of soules.
Sax.
Cut out the murtherers tongue.
Hoff.
What doe you meane?
Whom haue I murder'd; wherefore bind yee me;
Mar.
They are Iustices to punish thy bare bones,
Looke with thy blood-shed eyes on these bare bones,
And tell me that which dead Lorrique confest
Who ist thou villained that least? who wast?
Hoff.
Why Otho thy sons, and that's my fathers by him.
Mar.
O mercilesse and cruell murtherer
To leaue me childlesse.
Luc.
And mee husbandlesse.
Mat.
Me brotherlesse. oh smooth tongu'd hypocrite
How thou didst draw me to my brothers death.
Sax.
Talke noe more to him, he seekes dignity,
Reason he should receaue his desperate hire,
And weare his crowne made flaming hot with fire:
Bring forth the burning crowne there.
Enter a Lord with the Crowne
Hoff,
Doe old dog, thou helpst to worry my dead Father
And must thou kill me too? 'tis well, 'tis fit,
I that had sworne vnto my fathers soule
To be reueng'd on Austria, Saxony,
Prussia, Luningberg, and all there heires:
Had prosper'd in the downefall of some fiue;
Had onely three to offer to the fiends,
And then must fall in loue; oh wretched eyes
That haue betray'd my heart; bee you accurst;
And as the melting drops run from my brows,
Soe fall they on the strings that guide your heart
Whereby their oylye heat may cracke them first,
I, soe, boyle on thou foolish idle braine,
For giuing entertainement to loues thoughts.
For noe lesse vengeance, then his fathers death,
Yet become amorous of his foes wife!
Oh sin against all conceit! worthy this shame
And all the tortures that the world can name.
Mar.
Call vpon heauen, base wretch, thinke on thy soule.
Hoff.
In charity and prayer
To no purpose without charity.
Sax.
We pardon thee, and pray for thy soules health.
Hoff.
Soe doe not I for yours, nor pardon you;
You kild my father, my most warlike father,
Thus as you deale by me, you did by him;
But I deserue it that haue slackt reuenge
Through fickle beauty, and a womans fraud;
But Hell the hope of all dispayring men,
That wring the poore, and eate the people vp,
As greedy beasts the haruest of their spring:
That Hell, where cowards haue their seats prepar'd,
And barbarous asses, such as haue rob'd souldiers of
Reward, and punish true desert with scorned death.
FINIS.
| The Tragedy of Hoffman or A Reuenge for a Father | |