 | Imperiale, a tragedie |  |
Scena secunda.
Spinola, Iustiniano, Evagrio.Spi.
Yee Furies, active ministers of hell,
That have your heads invironed with Snakes,
Lend me your bloudy torches to finde out,
And punish th'author of my deare sonnes murther,
Assist Megæra with a new revenge,
Such as even thou would'st feare to execute:
Let a vast sea of bloud o're-flow his house,
And never ebbe till I shall pitty him;
Ease now th'infernall ghosts, remove the stone
From th'Attick thiefe, and lay it on his shoulders,
Let the swift streame deceive his endlesse thirst,
And let his hands winde the unquiet wheele,
That hourely tortures the Thessalian King:
Let Vultures tire upon his growing Liver,
But let 'um ne're be tir'd; and since there is
One of the fifty Danaan sisters wanting,
Let them admit that man into her roome,
And with their Pitchers onely load his armes;
How am I sure 'tis he? or if it be?
It is the law of Retribution,
And is but just, my conscience tels me so:
Hence childish conscience, shall I live his scorne?
And the whole Cities Pasquill? I abhor it,
Were he protected by the thunderer,
I'de snatch him from his bosome, and in spite
Of his revengefull thunder, throw him quicke
Into the throat of the infernall dog;
Or if that monster be not yet releast,
Since great Alcides drag'd him in a chaine,
Through th'amaz'd townes of Greece, Enceladus
That with his earth-bred flames affrighteth heaven,
Rather then he shall scape, shall fire the world:
But I delay, and weare away the time
With empty words, why doe I call for Furies?
That beare in mine owne breast a greater fury
Then Acheron and night did ever hatch;
I'le dart my selfe like winged lightning on him;
Have I no friend?
Just.
Yes, one that dares assist you
In a more valiant act, to crush that Fury,
Spin.
O faithfull soule, my deare Francisco's murder'd.
Iust.
A heavy fate, yet such as should be borne
Without so strange a tumult, what you give
T'unbridled rage, you take from your revenge.
Spi.
Wilt thou allow me to take vengeance, speake,
But speake Iustinian with thy wonted faith.
Iust.
Yes, such as law and Iustice shall allow.
Spi.
I have no skill in Law, and as for Iustice,
Your learned Stoickes make it but a foole,
A very animal.
Iust.
'Tis now not seasonable
To tell you whether Iustice, Fortitude,
And th'other vertues may be called creatures;
But I must tell you, that no creature can
Be happy, wanting them; whereof that man
Deprives himselfe, that subjugates his reason,
On which they all depend, to brutish passion;
Could you but be perswaded to reflect
Vpon your selfe, to see as in a glasse,
What a deformity this vice hath brought
Vpon your soule, although you hated me,
You would embrace my counsell.
Spi.
Deare Iustinian,
Fortune hath nothing left that's worth my hope,
But thy affection; at thy sole command,
I would attempt to swim the mid-land sea,
When Æolus and Neptune are at warres,
Expose my selfe to the fierce Dragons jawes,
Enraged by the theft of Hercules;
At thy command I'le live; hark, hark, what's that?
It is the voyce of my dead son, that cals
For vengeance; see, see where he stands and points
At his still-bleeding wound; he bids me thinke
What he had done ere now, had we chang'd fates;
Did you not see him?
Iust.
No, nor you your selfe,
'Twas nothing but a strong impression made
In your disturb'd imagination.
Could both myne eyes and eares be so deceiv'd.
Iust.
That happens often to perplexed mindes.
Spi.
Alas, what shall I do?
Iust.
Let me perswade you
But to retire, perhaps some milde repose
May softly steale upon your troubled spirits,
To give you ease.
Spi.
If you will have it so,
My passions in my brest shall silence keepe,
I'le be as tame, as (what you wish me) sleepe.
Iust.
Waite on him in, I'le follow presently.
| Imperiale, a tragedie | |