 | Imperiale, a tragedie |  |
Actus Quintus.
Scena Prima.
Fidele, Evagrio.Fid.
Wee see there is small hope that gentle sleepe
Can find admittance to his troubled thoughts,
While rage distracts them; he's no sooner laid
To rest upon his couch, but up he starts.
Eva.
The wise Iustinian meanes this night to bring
Some curious musicke, that may rocke his senses
Into a slumber by sweet harmony,
Working on his affections, we are all
Eternally oblig'd to that good man;
Who though he be with hearty sorrow mov'd
To see his friend in such necessity,
Ev'n of his helpe, yet is resolv'd t'employ
His constant care, nor will he ever thinke
His debt of friendship paid by my labour.
Fid.
What will become of us if he miscarry?
We are his kinsmen, and have no subsistence
But by his onely bounty; I receiv'd
A deadly wound in the deplored death
Of his deare son, who oft was pleas'd to bid me
Throw all my care on him, and now I finde
My hopefull venture sunke in that brave ship.
Eva.
To lose our friends and fortunes I confesse,
Is that which needs must shake the firmest mindes,
But when there is no hope for us t'encrease
Our owne affliction, and to lose our spirits,
Is an infirmity beneath a man:
Why should we doubt his safe recovery?
Since passion as we see, doth but disturbe
His reason, not destroy't; when he's at worst,
He'l hearken to the counsell of his friend.
How earnestly he begs, that he may speake
With Imperiale, and it seemes Iustinian
Already condiscends to his request;
Me thinks that should not be, since he suspects
Eva.
No doubt, Iustinian understands what's fit;
Perchance if once he shall his mind unburden
His passions may remit, or he may seeme
To promise, cause he would not have him crost,
These things we wholly must commit to him,
Whose Iudgement's not inferior to his love:
He wish'd us but withdraw awhile, we must
Not be farre off, least he should chance to call,
For what soe'r occasion they should have
Ther's none but we t'assist: Sango the slave
Hath taken liberty to go abroad,
At his owne pleasure, who would thinke the Villain
Durst venture to be absent at this time?
Fid.
I have observ'd a wondrous league of late
Betweene him and his Cozen slave; how ere
Their Lords are far asunder, they are neere.
Eva.
T'is ever best when such as they are kept
To dayly labor, the least ease corrupts them.
Fid.
There might perchance be some discovery made
If they were both examined apart,
And made beleeve each other had confest.
Eva.
Som plot, t'is like to steale a silver spoone
To purchase Opium, or the drug Tobacco;
That is the height of their ambitious theft:
But heark they knock I prethy go thou in,
And i'le take order to have Sango sent for.
Scena Secunda.
Cater, Porter, Cooke.Cat.
Thou blow'st asmuch as he that carried
An Oxe vpon his shoulders, set it downe,
Ther's for thy paines.
Port.
Troth t'was a heavy burrhen.
Cat.
Ther's two quatrines more.
Por.
I thanke you, sir.
Cooke.
Methinks Molosso might have sav'd this charge'
And bin himselfe Porter.
Cat.
Who the Slave?
He would deliver his commands by him.
He gave me order to make this provision.
Cooke.
I like him he begins his governement
With bounty, now the Cooke may shew his skill;
Since I came hither, I have bin confin'd
To severall sallets, porrage with scrapt cheese,
And a few Vermicelle, such slight dishes:
O when I serv'd the Grand-Dukes master Cooke
How we were all employd! I can remember,
What lectures of our Mystery hee'd read,
Stiling the belly master of all arts,
And by a modell of his owne invention
Demonstrate how the antique Cookes were wont
To dresse th'intire Boare; he was a Scholler
And would discourse of the delicious Sumen
And of the noble Patrons of the kitchin
Both Greeks and Romaines; he was wont to speake
Most reverently of one Apitius,
Cat.
Why what was he?
Cooke.
A man of a brave stomack,
That spent upon his belly neere three millions,
And having cast up his accounts, and found
Only two hundred and od thousand crownes
Remayning to support his appetite,
Doubting he should be famisht, rather chose
To live by fame, and end his life with poison:
But prethy knock; there was another too,
One Nomentanus, but far short of him:
Will they not open? we shall all be shent,
Knock harder.
Cat.
Sure they are a sleepe, perhaps
The Slave being overleaven'd with his favour
Hath made himselfe starke drunke; we shall disturbe
Our Lady and her Daughter, I much wonder
Mistris Nugella comes not to the doore.
Noise within. Oh.
Cooke.
What noyse is that within? some body groanes.
I will goe seeke our Patron.
Coo.
Here he comes.
Scena Tertia.
Imperiale, Cater, Cooke.Jmp.
What, no forwarder? w'are like to sup to night
At a fine houre?
Cat.
W'have bin a good while here sir,
Have often knockt, but cannot be let in.
Coo.
We thought we heard a groaning in the house.
Jmp.
How? knock againe, yet, this is very strange,
Where should Molosso be; perhaps my wife
And daughter with their maids may all be busie,
For I suppose they were to take a bath;
He certainly would not neglect my service:
I know not what to thinke, my jealousie
Suggests a thousand feares, goe presently,
Desire the Engineer to lend m'an Engine,
That I may force the doore.
Scena Quarta.
Molosso, Sango above, Jmperiale below.Mol.
Sir, here are they
Meane to make good this Fort in spite of you,
And all your Engineers.
Imp.
What's thy intent?
Thou know'st how farre I trust thee deare Molosso.
Mol.
It is not your untimely trust or favour
(That is to me but sun-shine after shipwrack)
Can satisfie your former injuries:
I would have spent an age in base observance,
Onely to gaine this day, this happy houre
That shall produce what no time shall forget.
Imp.
I owe my life to thee and ever shall
Make that acknowledgement, then doe not thou
Mol.
Think not fond man,
I sav'd thy life for any love of thee,
But to reserve thee for a greater plague.
Jmp.
O my deare wife and daughter, where are they?
Mol.
Both yet alive, the mischief's done already,
But not the vengeance, thou shalt that behold,
Till then there's nothing can be call'd revenge:
Goe bring u'm Sango, thou hast had thy fill
San.
Of Nectar, sweeter far than that of Iove.
Scena Quinta.
Iustiniano, Spinola, Imperiale, below, Molosse, Sango, Honoria, Angelica above.Just.
The best Physitians in extremities,
Allow their Patients what they most desire,
Though ne're so seeming hurtfull: when diseases
Exceed their safe and usuall remedies,
They many times are cur'd by contraries:
What should this meane?
Spi.
I must exact your promise.
Iust.
Vpon condition you'l forbeare all out-rage.
Spi.
Set me my bounds, and see if I transgresse.
Iust.
Stand here then, and be silent.
Spi.
Like a Statue.
Mol.
Behold a paire of Brides, their haire displaied,
Muse not to see u'm weep, the cause is light.
Imp.
What is the woe that these strange signs import?
Speake my Honoria, my Angelica.
Hon.
That which no womans tongue is fit t'expresse,
Nor any humane eare fit to receive.
Jmp.
Mine eares may heare what such soft hearts can bear,
I have a breast prepar'd for misery.
Hon.
Behold the Wolves, the Beares, that our sad dreams
Fore-warn'd us of, which you did so despise.
Mol.
You heare how light the cause is, but a dreame.
Hon.
Our wretched story's told and understood,
In the sole repetition of that vision;
The jewels ravish't from our innocent necks.
By cruell force assisting one another,
Wrung from us both.
Ang.
Oh that heavens power had pleas'd,
According to my fervent invocation,
To have transform'd me to some ugly monster,
That horror might have frighted away lust,
Or else converted it to sudden rage,
Whereby my life had ransomed mine honour!
Imp.
Was there none neere to ayde? where was Nugella?
Hon.
Bound, and then strangled, all the rest were forth.
Imp.
What haste a wretched creature makes to heare
His owne dire wretchednesse? but now Molosso,
Since thou hast cloy'd thy furious appetite,
Vnbinde their tender hands, and send them down,
That wee may all condole their heavy fortunes.
Mol.
If my revenge could have bin satisfied
With what's already done, it had done nothing;
No, Beares and Wolves alway persist to death,
And I lament to finde so narrow a Stage
To act my vengeance on, as but two women:
Sango prepare.
San.
Command, and I obey.
Ang.
Then there is hope to finde compassion
In more then Scythian breasts, ther's but that left
To expiate your former cruelty.
Imp.
O spare their lives, and all shall be forgiven!
Mol.
We are too farre embark't to hope or wish
To be forgiven, mischief's upheld by mischiefe.
Imp.
Alas poor soules, what crime have they committed?
Mol.
They are both thine Jmperial, that's their crime,
And 'tis the height of our triumphant glory,
That thou shalt see u'm dye, cast thine eyes up.
Imp.
Villaine, I will not, thus I snatch away
That part of thy revengefull insolence,
puls out his eyes.
So shall the Sun and Moon, heavens rowling eyes,
Drop from their spheres at the worlds generall ruine,
T'avoyd the spectacle, 'tis fit my light
Should be extinguish't with my dearest objects.
What? hast thou so deluded us? thine eares
Enough thou want'st eyes to see, shall hear their groanes.
Hon.
Oh, oh!
Ang.
Oh, oh!
Mol.
I would have labour'd more for this revenge,
Than those that search the bowels of the earth
For Mynes, or dive into the Sea for pearles.
Scena sexta.
Doria, Imperiale, Molosso, Sango, Iustiniano, Spinola.Dor.
VVhose fortune should I envy? that am going
To take possession of a happinesse,
Great, and (what crownes felicity) secure?
Such constant joy proceeds from vertuous love:
But soft, what unexpected change is here?
Either mine eyes mistake, or my Imperial
Is quite depriv'd of his; alas, 'tis so:
I am amaz'd at this sad spectacle.
Jmp.
There can be none but yong Prince Doria left,
So apprehensive of my misery.
Dor.
What strange Eclipse? or dire Stymphalides
With their prodigious wings obscure the sun?
What cruell hand hath made us all thus wretched?
Imp.
What thou behold'st, is the least part of mine,
And thine owne woe.
Dor.
Where's my Angelica?
Imp.
She and her mother both are vilely murdered;
And that's not all, they both were ravish't first
By those two savage beasts.
Mol.
'Tis thy fate Doria
To be involv'd in that mans vow'd destruction.
Dor.
Where am I now, in fruitfull Italy,
Or in Hircania, where there's nothing seene
But horrid monsters, and perpetuall snow?
O wickednesse! that no age will beleeve!
And all Posterity deny! malitious fate,
That to my boundlesse misery add'st this;
To make me suffer barbarous wrongs from such
As are not capable of my revenge.
Or had he but conniv'd at the deed done
By his lustfull sonne or minion; I might hope,
Arm'd with the justice of my cause, to wrest
The ill-sway'd scepter from him, and reduce
Him and his race to unparrallel'd examples
Of wofull pride, and miserable greatnesse.
Then if abstracted spirits knowledge have
Of humane vowes, look down deflowred Mayd,
But yet no lesse a Virgin then a Vestall:
Since honour cannot stoop to punish slaves,
Whose vile condition sinks beneath that vengeance,
'Bove which no tyrants power could hope to clime.
And since thy cruell sufferings (blest soule)
Require strict satisfaction, loe, I turne
My fury on my selfe, and punish thus
Mine owne malignant fortune: who holds me?
offers to kill himselfe.
Forbeare, I may not be disarm'd.
Iust.
That man
That is transported by a desperate rage,
Disarmes himselfe, he that may hinder mischiefe,
And yet permits it, is an accessary.
Dor.
Noble Justinian, thou wert wont to be
Full of compassion, shew it now, and end
A loathed life.
Just.
That which had bin a crime
Not to prevent, were wickednesse to act.
Dor.
Restore me then my sword, it is not worse
To kill him that unwilling is to dye,
Than t'hinder him that's willing.
Iust.
If thou kil'st
Thy selfe, thereby thou dost confesse a guilt.
Dor.
The guilty seldome inflict punishment
Vpon themselves; what wretch can keep a life
So full of misery?
Iust.
'Tis wretchednesse,
Not to be able to beare misery,
It is not as thou think'st, renowned Doria,
These weighty strokes of Fortune valiantly,
And this becomes thy noble birth and spirit,
On which th'afflictions of the world should fall,
But as tempestuous showres into the sea.
Dor.
Thy counsell comes too late, sentence is given
By me upon my selfe, nor canst thou save
Or yet reprieve me, he that resolves to dye,
Findes weapons every where, my minde could arme
These hands without a sword, but it disdaines
All borrowed ayde; my weapons are within:
If sudden joy can speedy death command,
Why should not griefe? and mine above all others?
Then summon all thy forces mighty sorrow,
Contract this stubborne heart and stifle it,
Deny it the bold priviledge, to be
The last that feeles the stroke of death: so, so,
It shoots a vapour that will poyson it,
And choke each passage of the vitall spirits,
And now I feele it beat against my breast,
As if it gave th'allarum unto all
The organs of my life; O how it strugles,
Disdaining to submit! proud rebell downe,
Thy lygaments are shrunke, and I approach
The place, where Lovers after death reside,
Where I a ghost will yet enjoy my Bride:
Wilt thou not yeeld? dost thou expect reliefe?
Time, that releaseth sorrow, shall not joyne
With refresht nature to repaire thy ruine:
I to a broken heart will adde this doome,
No substance within these lips shall come.
Mol.
Thy daughter Imperiale is canoniz'd:
With contrite heart devout Prince Doria,
Hath vow'd a fast to his Saint Angelica.
Imp.
I feele so great a weight of misery,
That I can scarce be sensible of more,
Although it be (what's harder to be borne
Than my calamity) a villains scorne.
Spi.
Thus shall my silence breake, into remorse,
Not into rage, that feaver of the soule
Let me cry out to fate, as Hanniball
At Canne, to his bloody Souldiers, spare;
Imperial know'st thou the voyce of Spinola?
By the most faithfull head of my Justinian
(Than which there cannot be a holier found)
I truly am mov'd with pity, thy sad story
Would melt a flinty heart into compassion;
Procrustes, or the wilde Inhabitants
Of horrid Caucasus are milde to these.
Imp.
I know not, gentle Spinola how thou
Canst accept thanks from me, that have from thee
Deserv'd so ill, It may not be suppos'd
I can dissemble now, that Villaine there
Contriv'd thy deare sons death without my knowledge,
Though I am guiltie of as great a crime,
For I was willing, to my too late greife
Vpon discovery made by thine owne Slave
Of thy intent, to have the same retorted
Vpon thy selfe, the rest that wretch did plot,
In whom I plac'd a wicked confidence;
And did at length too much applaud the fact,
From whence our mutuall miseries result.
Spi.
Thy crime was but diversion of an evill,
Whereof I hate the memory, and wish
I could drinke deep of Lethe, to forget
That impious designe, and for these villains,
I'le study a new punishment, that shall
Transcend Perillus Bull, and all the torments
Invented by the fierce Sicilian tyrants.
Mol.
'Tis wretchednesse to feare where ther's no hope,
Could'st thou beleeve, vaine Spinola, that we
Would undertake to act so bold a mischiefe,
And not resolve upon as brave an end?
We that have gained such a full revenge,
Meane not to lose it by a poore submission
To hopelesse mercy, or your new found torments;
Though fortune made us wretched slaves to you,
We both retaine some sparks of th'active fire,
Which the traditions of our Countrey tell us,
Not yet so quench thy servitude, but we
Have will and power to free our selves, behold
Our liberty; these shall restore us now
To that equality that nature gave,
In which blinde chance hath put a difference:
One blow from these deliverers can make
An abject begger equall to a King:
Sango keepe time.
San.
I'm ready.
The slaves pistoll each other.
Mol.
By consent
We thus avoyd & mock your punishment.
Spi.
The Harpies are flown suddenly to hell,
And hang already on that hideous rocke;
Where dreadfull fiends lye gaping to receive 'm;
But let me, sir, become your faithfull guide
To leade you to my house, where you shall live,
And want no comfort love or cost can give.
Imp.
The onely comfort of a wretched soule
Is to despaire of comfort. I see not
The mansion guilty of such wickednesse,
But I am seene, a wretch, in Genua,
Where all my ancestors stand wreath'd with honour:
I'le wander to a desart, or else clime
Some remote mountaine, where dark clouds that hang
About his high erected head, shall hide me
From all the eyes of men, there I'le lament
My miseries in willing banishment.
Iust.
What need we care how powerfull our foes be?
When slaves can bring us to such misery?
Whose innate cruelties at length appeare,
Though they the same may cunningly forbeare,
For their owne ends; it is not wisedome then
To place our trust in such condition'd men,
Whom punishments, and wants, and feares prepare
To hatred, to deceit, and to despaire:
Yet these are but poore instruments, the cause
That on our heads heavens indignation drawes,
Springs from our selves, against which ther's no defence
Like th'armour of a spotlesse innocence
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| Imperiale, a tragedie | |