 | The Fatal Contract, A French Tragedy |  |
Scena prima.
Enter Lamot and Dumaine like Souldiers.Dum.
We are not safe Lamot; this bawdie peace
Begets a war within me; our swords worn
For Ornament, not use; the Drum & Trumpet
Sing drunken Carrols, and the Canon speaks
Health, not confusion; Helmets turn'd to Cups;
Our bruised Armes administer discourse
For Tables and for Taverns, where the Souldier
Oft finds a pitty, not reliefe: I'l tell thee,
Wee'r walking images, the signes of men,
And bear about us nothing but the forme
Of man that's manly.
Lam.
Wee'r cold indeed.
Dum.
Yes, and th'ungratefull time
As coldly doth reward us, all our actions,
Attempts of valour, look'd into with eyes
Fil'd with contempt, when ye Gods ye know
It is our gifts they see yet: oh I am mad!
The very bread that lends them life to scorn us,
Our blood ha's paid for, yet demand a bit,
Or ask of this old satten belli'd sir,
Or Madam toothless with her velvet sconce,
And you shall hear their rotten lungs pronounce
The Whip and Whip-stock.
Prethee containe thy selfe.
Dum.
Thou knowest I can;
With what an equall temper did I breath
Under the frozen climate of the North,
Where in mine armes (the sheets of war) I slept,
My bed being feather'd with the down of heaven?
I have lain down a man and rise a snow-ball.
There these have been my pastimes, which i've born
As willingly as I received them nobly.
The Queenes black envy which doth still remaine,
And peeps through every limb she bears about her,
Fated to ruine us, does not swell my Gall,
No nor this willing beggery I weare
To cloud me from her malice; by the Gods
This bastard-getting peace unspirits me,
A greater corrasive to my active soul,
Than all past ills what ever.
Lam.
As you are valiant be wise too, this is no time
To vent your passions like a woman in,
Your sword, not tongue, should speak.
Dum.
You are an expert Tutor, and I thank you;
Our wrongs would add a spirit to the dead,
And make them fight our quarrels;—but look here
Enter Landrey, and two or three insinuating Lords, busie in conference, and three or foure Petitioners.
The minion of our Queen, oh what a traine
The painted Peacock bears! death, were I Jove
But onely for this Giant.
Peti.
Good your honor, our wives and Children,
Good your honour hear us.
Lan.
Where are our slaves? keep off these dregs of men,
The scum and out-cast of the world; bring round my chariot
To the postern Gate; these bell-mouth'd Rascals
Split mine eares with noise, make hast before
Lest my great Mistress wait my comming.
Exit.
Good your honour.
[Exeunt.
1 Peti.
The devill take your worship; we must follow.
Dum.
These are the fruits of base upstarts and flatterers.
Tell me Lamot, can this same Merchpane man
Think, or commit a sin though ne'r so horrid,
But it is candied o'r, and from his vice
Excessive praise and plaudites arise?
Were I the King, but he is wilful blind,
And by the hornes she rocks him fast asleep,
Before the wanton and hot-blooded Queene
Should have the licence but to be suspected
With such a Knight of Ginger-bread as this,
A gilded flesh-flie, I would lock her up,
Yea chain the evill Angel in a Box,
And house her like a silk-worme.
Lam.
Pardon me sir, the good old King's unable.
Dum.
And therefore must admit an upstart Page,
Now rais'd to honours by her lawless lust,
Maior of the Palace, and the Duke of France,
The next stept is the Crown; now by my life
'Twere good the King would execute them both.
Lam.
Alas he dares not, for the no chast Queene,
Is as her birth, as great in faction,
Followed and sainted by the multitude,
Whose judgement she hath linck'd unto her Purse,
And rather bought a love than found it:
She ha's a working spirit, an active braine,
Apt to conceive, and wary in her wiles;
Besides, her Sons, the pillowes of the State,
Support her like an Atlas, where she sits,
And like the heavens commands our fates beneath her;
She is the greater light, the King a star
That onely glares but through her influence.
A florish within,
Dum.
Hark, the thunder of the world, how out of tune,
This peace corrupting all things makes them speak,
What means this most adulterate noise?
Why, are you ignorant?
This is a night of jubile, and the King
Solemnly feasts for his wars happie successe,
Besides his Sons and he are knit againe;
We shall have Masks and Revelling to night.
Dum.
Now the great Gods confound this pickthanck noise,
The Drums and Trumpets are turn'd flatterers,
And Mars himself a Bawd to grace their riot.
O I am mad, this grates my very Gall.
Lam.
What man, bear up;
Although I wish all civill discord hence,
Yet I do hope a time wherein we Souldiers,
Shall like a moving wall of living steel,
Defend this City that offends us now.
Dum.
My thoughts keep not your road, I think.
The devilish spirit of the haughty Queen,
Will find imployment for us yet, her brain
Is very active in exploits that breed
The Souldiers harvest, war and dissention.
Enter the Eunuch with bags of Gold, gives to each of them one, and after a little pause departs.
Lam.
What vision's this? 'tis Gold right and fair,
Sure I dreame not.
Dum.
I cannot tell, but he that takes this from me,
Shall soon perceive I do not sleep nor slumber.
Lam.
It was the Eunuch.
Dum.
That needs no deciding.
Lam.
What speaks the Paper left behind?
If it be Chorus to this dum shew, read it Dumaine.
The Letter.
As you are Souldiers truly valiant, I honor you, as poor, I pitty
you; therefore have sent you that wil render you as compleat
Courtiers, as undaunted Souldiers: we know your
present fortunes shame your parentage, which was not
onely great in it self, but fortunate in so fair an off-spring:
Dumaine, Lamot, let it suffice we know ye; for our eye is every
parents injuries; feare nothing, for your hitherto concealement,
i'l get your pardons, and whilst I breath, breath your
kind Mistress: if you dare trust me, appear at Court to night
so adorned, as shall become your honours, our friends.
Fredigond.
Lamot.
The Queene?
Dum.
We are betraid Lamot, what shall we do?
Lam.
Wee'l take the gracious proffer of the Queene,
Shee's princely vow'd our friend; besides what ill
Can we expect from her, who might have sent
Her murdering ministers and slaine us here,
If she intended foul play? but she's noble.
Dum.
Noble, grant her so, yet—
Lam.
What yet?
Dum.
Her murdred Brothers memory.—
Lam.
When he fell, we were too young for traytors.
Dum.
But not for torments, had we been apprehended;
For in the high displeasure of the Queen,
All our posterity was doom'd, some felt the wheel,
Some wrack'd, some hang'd, others impal'd on stakes,
With divers strange and horrid formes of death,
That you'd have thought, and fitly thought it too,
That all the torments which the Poets feign
The damned spirits exercise in Hell,
Had here been put in execution;
And had not we been then in Witenburge,
Beyond the fury of her mortall spleen,
We had added to the number of the dead;
Then think you still we shall not?
Lam.
Now by my life it's murder to suspect her,
Our lives are all that we can lose, our fame,
Not time nor Art can murder, so wee'l venture.
Exeunt omnes.
| The Fatal Contract, A French Tragedy | |