University of Virginia Library

Scen. 7.

Hollarro in a distressed condition.
Holl.
This dismal life gives tongue unto my mind,
What Arcadian mountain, or Pholot wood,
Receive my soul, and charge it as a prey,
A Panetolium forrest would befit
My sense with decent alarums of fear;
Rouse then authority of hellish cryes,
Be thou a foe when substance wants its force,
Bring in a full carreer of desperate shouts,
And tax the muster-role of all my sense,
Though the Athenian Cynegirus
Holded the ship, while hands and stumps did last:
So I in fathers Kingdom equall'd him,
In that Halcyion's nest of all my joy,
No choller mov'd me to't, but duty did imprint
To lend that of aid of my full strongest arm,
By whose great blowes the air it did inflame;
I forced all those Symbarians by a rule,
To make the earth a pillow for their souls.
That which was matter and spirit, is now turn'd
To matter onely in a putrid form:
The Spirit's gone like an airy breath,
And a sweet musick onely by its sound.
When I have done all, this, must now return
Into a hopelesse humour of my life,
Losing my Kingdom, cast as reprobate:
No sure, I shall ne'r undergo't with hope,
To boyl in lake of famine and dispair,
Vengeance cryes loud unto my fearful soul,
But impotency warns me to desist,
A desolate forrest yields no comfort to
A Princely humour, lest be by combate
Of savage creatures in their form and shape,
But let a hope survive my vital sense,
Often good fortune haps to a forrain Prince:
But stay, methinks I wander without brains,
Where's Lerenica my onely Queen and joy;
Oh that's the deed, no hope can recompence;
Now, now, these thoughts bequeath my life to death,
Let Orcus streams that flow from Stygian lake,
Make her full course in channel of my throat;
Or like Ocnomatus, an Elian King,
Treacherously slain, not knowing friends from foe
Or else like Daphne, turn to tri-form,
Wearing a Laurell Crown of Prince's power;
But all these dayes are gone, a quicker charm
Shall do the deed, come thou my steely man:
[He drawes his sword, and sets it to his breast, but cannot make it enter.
Oh strange, oh strange; what, is my soul an Adamant?
The point is turn'd, sure gods hath against said,
I'le try once more, perchance it was my fear;
[He tries again, and his sword breaks.
Heavens bless me, what's the matter? what, is
My sword confounded, and my breast yet firm?
Well, I'le go range for a fury to kill
Me, or else die with dispair.
Exit Hollarro.

Celerinus, Gervoron, Souldiers.
Cel.
After the Queen is punish'd by courage,
Of lash, of fury, with a martiall hand,
The storms grown calm of all our forrain foes,
All poetick Centaures leave the game,
Not one assayl on credit of our fame;
Then Gervoron be you the Lord of
The woody Province of Bruzantia;
As for Bellerrio he hath sung a doleful close
Of ecchoing quavers to Elizium:
And all my Souldlers have a fitting bound,
According to the valour they have won.

Ger.
Most noble Liege,
Time doth surrender office to your Crown,
Giving the Theater of all Kingly power,
Making all Rebels venture for safeguard,
Suffering no bulwork of discretion;
Therefore grave judgement is in balance now,
And your great Majesty hath poys'd the same,
By prosperous spoyls; all ponderous rage is gone
Fled with the viper to the cave of fear:
All foggy shaddows turn a crystall rays,
To make the misty humour ascend up;
Tears wip'd from us, a joyfull day now comes,
No stars are now, but turn'd to glittering suns.

Cel.
Let Tagus spangled shore void up all Gems,
And Nilus gliding streams recruit all stems,
The quintessence of all four Elements,
And all the earth as they each one frequent,
Joyn all in one to make Elixar true,
Yet all are vain to what is born to you,
The mass of all the round terrestiall globe,
Is unto that you have, but a poor node;
You in abyss of joy is plung'd full out,
And in a Wardrobe which none can recrout;
Go blessed souls, take spoils or fields, what you
Do most approve of, or best in your shew.

Sould.
Noble Heroick Liege, all grace wait on
Your Kingly honour, and royall person.
Exit Sould.

Ger.
Honour of honours, and the field of fame,
Give Victors, Trophies, to your divine name;
Let them all sound, to make the rocky stones
Know whose's their subject, who helps their great moans,
And let the wheel of valour still at hand,
Stand present at the sign of your command.

Cel.
The rector of all the spred dapled skies,
Who holds the Poles, and all that on them lies,
Bids gloomy Luna take possession free,
Of golden Titan and his splendency.
So we'l depart, Aberden must give way
To Celerinus, who still rules the day.

Exeunt.