 | The Noble Stranger |  |
ACTUS QUARTUS.
Enter Callidus.Cal.
I have promised this morning to give
Honorio and Fabianus accesse toth'
Princesse, which favour they esteeme as flowing
From my friendship: which I but doe the more,
The Princesse, who being immediate heire
To th'Crowne, might when the King's deceasd
Severely be reveng'd; 'twas about this time
I did appoynt 'hem come.
Enter Honorio and Fabianus.
They are here already: my Noble frinds,
I attended for you.
Hon.
How fares the Princesse?
Fab.
And my love?
Cal.
Alas poore Ladyes almost spent with sorrow.
Hon.
Deare friend, admit us to their sight.
Fab.
That we may pay their teares with trebble
Interest; which if our eys, (their spring being
Dry) cannot afford, our hearts shall weepe
Blood, to recompence their sorrow.
Cal.
O friends, you know I hazard both my life
And Fortunes in this act: however, Ile not
Faile in what I promist: doe but with
Patience here expect a while, Ile bring
Them to you.
Exit.
Fab.
Our best friend.
Hon.
O yee gods, why d'yee mock mans frailty
With a seeming joy; then snatch it from him,
So to prove his ruine; first make beleeve
My selfe fixt in a heaven of blisse, betweene
A true love and a faithfull friend, then to
Be banish'd from my love, and cause my friend
Performes, but that to which the name doth bind,
(Being trust and secresie) to be a partner in
My sad Exile.
Fab.
Let not a thought of that raise trouble in
Thy breast: I know it is too narrow to containe
The griefe thy heart already is surcharg'd
Withall; and thou wilt wrong the more
Important cause, if shed a teare for me;
When all thou canst bestow will not suffice
To equall that pearly treasure which every
For thee: See the Princesse and my love.
Enter Princesse, and Clara, with Callidus.
Prin.
Oh my dearest!
Let me flye into thy armes.
Clar.
Fabianus! welcome to my bosome,
Hon.
Upon this lip I will breath out my soule,
There leave it a surviving Trophy of
My true affection.
Prin.
Thou shalt not leave thy soule without the
Substance of thy body: stay, in this kisse
He returne it thee agen.
Hon.
Every conjunction of our lips, does
Propagate a soule, which we no sooner part,
But it is straight destroy'd; O let me bathe
Eternally in your bosome, and in a trance
Convey our selves into Elizium: then we'll
Implore the Deities inhabit, there to stay
Our spirits from returning backe to these
Sad prisons of our haplesse bodyes.
Fab.
Alas my Clara, we must part; the breath
Of Kings is like the sentence of the gods,
Not to be avoyded.
Cla.
Thou shalt not go: I will turne wood-Nymph,
And shroud my dearest under a grove of
Myrtle, free from the eye of vigilant
Suspicion; and for thy guard, a thousand
Satyres, with their upright hornes
Shall stand about us, ready to assist thee
There, being free as our owne thoughts, we'll live
And love, and rest securely happy.
Fab.
This thou maist fancy, but we nere attain to.
Cla.
Then Ile accompany my love—
Madam, shall we not?
Prin.
Yes; the Grecian Argia cou'd for her husband
Polynices body, being dead, travaile alone
To Thebes to give him buriall, and shall we
Leave our loves living: no, we'll alltogether sure.
Alas your love arrives at impossibilities.
Cal.
True, for all passages are laid to prevent
Your flight: Madam, perswade your heart to let
Him goe; it may prove fortunate for all:
The King in time, and by my perswasions,
May be drawne to call 'hem from Exile: you
May be sure what I can doe shall ne're
Be wanting—To keep 'hem far enough
Aside.
For e're returning.
Hon.
Oh thou true friend.
Cal.
A very true friend, and you knew all.
Prin.
Away, he is no friend to you, or me,
To bid me let you goe: Honorio thou shalt
Not; I will enchaine thee in my armes,
And to thy wrists fasten manicles of teares
To hold thee.
Hon.
Alas, this makes each minute but a sad
Departure.
Cal.
Besides, the King will anon be stirring, and
Then you'le pluck new vengeance on
Your heads; alas I speak out of sincere
Affection I.
Prin.
Peace Screech-Owle, no mans voyce seemes
Other, that speaks with an intent to part us.
Fab.
Madam, strive to suppresse this passion, and
Let patience, the good mans remedy in
Affliction crowne the end of all your sorrowes.
Prin.
Oh misery past humane sufferance.
Hon.
Thinke not so my dearest; 'tis harder
To conceive, than undergoe. Come Fabianus
Let us take our leaves—thus—
Prin.
Stand off, and come not neare me at this
Distance: Ile strengthen my imagination
With thy forme; then when thou art gone
I may retaine thy perfect Idea in my sight;
Thus—
Hon.
Alas your passion forces you to an extasie;
These are but fancies urg'd by your height of
On your lips I seale my hearts contract.
Prin.
With these teares it shall be writ—
So bid me not farewell, nor will I you,
Least so we send a dart to kill each other:
But turne thou silent that way—
My griefes shall lead me this,
And may my love a happy harbour find
These teares the Ocean and my sighes the wind,
Exit.
Fab.
Clara we must part too the Princesse
Has already taught us how: farewell.
Cla.
Let all such lovers, as are crost by Fate,
Learne here to mourne at our unhappy state.
Exit.
Cal.
Friends 'twere not manly to let my tears
Expresse my sorrow; no, my heart bleeds inward
At this sad departure: farewell, farewell.
Hon, & Fab.
Farewell our dearest friend.
Cal.
Ha, ha ha.
Exit.
Hon.
Oh my sad heart, whither will the current
Of my griefes transport thee? my soule
Being fled and left my body, like a
Sepulchrall Statue, fixt here bereft of sence,
Onely knowing how to mourne; me thinks
The fabricke of the earth should tremble,
The heavens be clouded in a vaile of sables,
And weep it selfe in shoares upon the earth;
The Sunne goe shroud it selfe beneath the lower
World, never to rise againe; but cause an
Universall darknesse o're the earth, where
Men shall sit mourning our sad departure:
What can be left for two, so much distress'd,
But death, the period of each mans affliction;
That most unkindly flyes those whose griefes
Wou'd entertaine him; and surely strikes there
(Where but nam'd) they startle?—Friend, why
Doe we stand, as if we grew fixt here,
And cou'd not move.
Fab.
Can he which beares a burthen, wou'd cracke
To, and fro, bearing that load about him?
Hon.
I must acknowledge you a cause of sorrow
Wou'd force the Genius of the world into
A frenzie; yet mine's as great, 'cause 'tis
For me you suffer; but we, that like well-
Fenced Bulwarks, have together stood the
Shock of warre, when loud-mouth'd Canons
Breath'd destruction to an army shou'd
Scorne to fall as combatants in the Campe
Of love: no, lets with courage goe
Bravely on to meet our Fate: hope has
Not quite forsook us; as we passe I will
Relate somewhat may concerne us both—
Enter Philomusus.
Phil.
My Noble friends! whither now? no object
But the earth, what Cloud is this spread o're your
Face, that dimmes the wonted lustre of your
Eyes? by all that's Noble let me know, or
Ile repent I ere was nam'd your friend.
Fab.
Doe not conjure us by so strict a charme,
We shall but make you miserable.
Phil.
There's not that act, except it decline from
Honour, has power to make me poorer in
A thought.
Fab.
Then know we two are banished.
Phil.
Banished! why Ile be banish'd too then.
Hon.
O no; stay you, and be happy in your
Prince his love.
Phil.
I will not stay—say, what's the cause?
Hon.
If you will with us, as I goe I shall relate
The story; but you must in disguise, or
Youl'le be stay'd; and you shall find ere long,
I had little cause to feare being banished:
But since we must from our best retreat,
Let Passive valour be as th'Active, great.
Exeunt omnes.
Pup.
Pray Gentlemen, were you inspired, as you say I must bee,
before you came to be a Courtier, and a Wit?
Mer.
No question.
Pup.
And d'ee thinke 'tis possible for me to be made one too?
Mer.
I tell you sir, before these gentlemen your friends, and
mine, Ile undertake to furnish you with as much wit as shall serve
for a Country Justice, or an Aldermans heire.
Pup.
Why that's enough.
Mer.
But then you must be confident of its operation, part freely
with any thing that shall be requested of you in the act; not as
an Usurer payes Subsidies, grudgingly.
Pap.
No, no, I scorne it.
Mer.
Had it not beene pitty, one of your estate and Fortune
shou'd have knowne no recreation, but going a mile out of town,
with a company of Codsheads, to be drunke with Creame and
Stewd-Pruines.
Pup.
O they are delicate with Rose-water and Sugar.
Mer.
Poxe on't, Bawdy-house fare: No, after your inspiration
you may revell with this Lady, discourse with that Lady, and
what you will with the third Lady.
Pup.
Oh I am almost inspired at the conceit on it: pray let
be done, while I am in the aspiring fit.
Mer.
It shall sir—Doe you heare Tom, goe and prepare Flavia
for the project, and bring those properties we agreed on.
Plod.
Say no more.
Exit.
Pup.
Whither doe you send him?
Mer.
To an Antiquaries study; for strange properties to perform
the Ceremonies requisite at inspiration: for we must use Invocations,
Incantations, Conjurations, Imprecations, and all for the
rare effect of Inspiration
Pup.
Blesse me, doe you begin to conjure already?
Fled.
No, he tells you but what he must doe.
Pup.
But harke you; pray d'ee deale with honest, faire conditioned
Devills?
Mer.
O blemish to our sacred Magicke—Devills!
Pup.
O no, pray Sir.
That thought's enough to ruine all the fabricke of our
hopes.
Pup.
Good sir, Ile never thinke while I live agen.
Mer.
I tell you sir, we must invoake the Celestiall Deities—
We may beginne the Act, none but the bright Minerva can confirme
it
Pup.
And will she come at your call.
Mer.
Yes, yes, if you performe quietly what we desire.
Pup.
Oh most obedient Goddesse.
Enter Plod with a Boxe, in which are little pieces of paper rold up: A Table set forth.
Mer.
Are you come? 'tis well: Is Flavia ready?
Plod.
Onely waits her Cue
Mer.
Look you sir, you see these papers.
Pup.
I, whence came they; from the Lottery?
Mer.
No sir, they are certaine Collections out of learned and
witty Authors, for all humours in an accomplished wit. Now sir,
you must eate every one of hem one by one.
Pup.
How, eate 'hem?
Mer.
I eate 'hem, and you shall find they will produce effects
as various, as the qualities or conditions out of whom they were
collected: now therefore off with your Hat and Cloake, kneele
downe with a strong beliefe, imagination, and attention—you two
stand to keepe him in that equall posture I shall set him; so, now
first with a Scholastique Inspiration: somewhat of a hard digestion,
as—
“Dulcia non meruit qui non gusta; it amara.
Pup.
O 'twill never downe, I shall be choakt with it.
Mer.
My life Sir we'll helpe it downe—here—so—feare not,
I warrant you—is it downe?
Pup.
Almost—so,
Mer.
How is it sir?
Pup.
O 'twas so sweete at first, and so abhominable bitter at the
last—
Mer.
Why there you relish the conceit sir: for the interpretation
of it is; Hee deserves not sweete, that has not tasted
bitter.
I have tasted a bitter one; now pray let the next be a sweet
one.
Mer.
According as we see this work: 'thas a present operation
—How doe you feele yourselfe inclin'd?
Pup.
Oh I cou'd quarrell about the Etymologie of words, fight
about Syllables, and Orthography, chop Logique with my Father,
Write Tragedies and Comedies by the grosse: and my fingers
itch at an Hen-roost.
Mer.
'Thas wrought bravely, the direct symptomes of an University
wit: now for the inspiration of a confident Poeticall wit.
Pup.
Pray pick out the hard words, if there be any.
Mer.
There's none in this—you shall heare it.
“This from our Author I was bid to say,
“By Iove 'tis good; and if you lik't you may.
Pup.
Ile tell you how I like it presently.
Mer.
Come sir, downe with it—
Fled.
So, this past with ease—
Mer.
How doe you find your selfe affected now?
Pup.
Oh that I were in a Play-house—I would tell the whole
Audience of their pittifull, Hereticall, Criticall humours—Let a
man, striving to enrich his labours, make himselfe as poore as a
broken Citizen, that dares not so much as shew the tips on's
Hornes: yet will these people crye it downe, they know not why:
One loves high language, though he understands it not; another
whats obscæne, to move the blood, not spleene: a third, whose wit
lyes all in his gall, must have a Satyre: a fourth man all ridiculous:
and the fift man not knowing what to have, grounds his opinion
on the next man ith' formall Ruffe; and so many heads,
so many severall humours; and yet the poor Poet must find waies
to please 'hem all.
Mer.
It workes strangely.
Pup.
But when they shal come to feed on the Offalls of wit, have
nothing for their money but a Drumme, a Fooles Coat, and Gunpowder;
see Comedies, more ridiculous than a Morrice dance;
and for their Tragedies, about at Cudgells were a brave Battalia
to 'hem: Oh Phœbus, Phœbus, what will this world come to?
Mer.
'Fore love, it has wrought most strangely—Tis well
here we're none but friends—how doe you sir?
Ah! pretty, pretty, sure I have talked extravagantly,
Gentlemen have I not?
Mer.
I indeed have you; 'tis of a delicate operation: Now sir,
you shall have a valiant inspiration to confront your enemy, or
rivall in your Mistresses favour—In 'this paper is the expiring
breath of a great warriour, the last words he utter'd.
“Tis fit the world should weare eternall night.
Pup.
Why this will kill me sure.
Mer.
No, hold him fast—tis of a strong operation—So, chew
it well, feare nothing—Now it is downe: how is't?
He breakes violently from them.
Pup.
Let me goe, let me goe, the world's too narrow to confine
me: Ile mount the skies, snatch Ioves three-fold lightning from
his hand, dart it at the World, and reduc't againe to its first desolate
Chaos, drye up the Sea with fire of my rage, and puffe mens
soules away.
Mer.
We must change this humour: Ile now beleeve a strong
imagination's witch-craft: force downe another; read it first:
What is't? hold him fast.
Fled.
“Enter these Armes, and since thou thoughtst it best,
“Not to dreame all my dreame, lets act the rest.
Mer.
A fit one, a wanton lovers rapture: give it him, thrust it
downe: So, he begins to yield; how is't.
Pup.
O what have you gi'n me now?
Mer.
One'y to inspire you with a wanton art to winne your
Mistris.
Pup.
Tis wonderfull provocative, believe me: sure it came out
of Ovids-Ars-Amanda: oh for the book of Venus and Adonis, to
Court my Mistris by: I cou'd dye. I cou'd dye in the Eli-zi-um of
her Armes: no sweets to those of Love; O Love, love, thy flames
will burne me up to dust and ashes.
Mer.
We must quench your flames—
Pinch him hard.
Pup.
Oh—
Mer.
Harder yet.
Pup.
Oh—
What doe you doe? what doe you? Alas all's downe againe;
Mer.
So, I beleeve you are sufficiently prepared:
Now we will invoke the goddesse Minerva—kneele,
Downe with your face to the west: harken with
Attention to what she shall say or request, and be sure to performe
it—So, 'tis well.
Pup.
Does she come yet?
Fled.
No, no, he must invoak first.
Mer.
Thou sacred goddesse of Joves brave begot,
walk round about him.
Descend to earth, and here make fast the knot
We humble Mortalls have begunne to tye,
And we'll adore thy glorious Deity.
Pup.
O me, O.
Soft Musick. Enter Flavia drest like Minerva with a Violl of Water.
Fla.
Who calls Minerva from the Starry Court?
Pup.
Oh 'twas he Lady.
Fla.
We know the full effects of your desire,
It is this noble youth with wit t'inspire:
Then downe his throat this sacred drinke compell,
Tis salt, and water from the Muses well.
Pup.
Paugh.
Fla.
Now let him offer gold to our dispose,
And all's confirm'd with this one pluck by th'nose.
Pup.
O me—
Mer.
What gold have you about you—quickly, quickly.
Pup.
Onely twenty peeces in my fob.
Mer.
Dis-fob 'em quickly, and present 'hem.
Pup.
Please you Madam, here's forty Angels to wait on your
Lady-ship to heaven agen.
Fla.
We doe accept 'hem—so live ever blest:
I must ascend to my Ætheriall rest.
Exit.
Mer.
So, rise up, all's done: now be confident, and you shall
prove a Wit—all.
Pup.
But harke you gentlemen: pray what does she doe with
money?
Mer.
Releeves poore Poets, that eats Oads,
And Madrigalls: Come lets to the next Taverne, and drinke her
health.
Come then—Nay now I am inspir'd,
I will doe things shall make me be admir'd.
Mer.
There's a touch of his Poeticall inspiration.
Exeunt.
Enter King, Princesse, Clara, Marania, Moronzo, and Callidus.
King.
Is Honorio and Fabianus shipt and gone?
Cal.
They are my Liege.
King.
Tis well: methinkes the aire seems purer since
They both departed: sure if they had stay'd
Their trechrous breath wou'd have infected
My whole Kingdome—But thou, degenerate from
All Princely blood, still mournest their absence,
And with effeminate teares wou'dst move
My pitty to call 'hem from Exile: no,
Sooner shalt thou call back Time, than move
A thought in me shall yield to't.
Clar.
Deare Father move the King.
King.
Ile blast him dumbe that names 'hem.
Cal.
No hope, you see the King's resolv'd—My Liege
The Lord Philomusus is secretly stolne away
With them in disguise.
King.
Torture to my soule, it cannot be.
Cal.
I can assure your Majesty 'tis so.
King.
Oh where's that Subject that a King dares love?
Philomusus gone—
Prin.
Oh my Honorio.
King.
Leave this sullen humour Dulcimenta,
Or by just heavens I will disclaime you mine;
Though youth and errour lead you to a fault,
(Which I may study to forget, upon conformance
Of your will with mine) will you pursue
The cause, and peevishly consume your selfe
In teares, for him whom the gods themselves
Doe hate, for spotted treason 'gainst your Fathers
Person; it cou'd be no lesse when he attempted
To match the Kingdomes heire—goe to, raise
Not my fury to that height, which if it fall,
Prin.
Sir, thinke not a disobedient passion guides
My will to love or hate, contrary to your
Mind; but since 'tis so, heaven has it selfe decree'd.
Kin.
Away, taxe not the heavens with what's unjust
They ne're decreed the blood of Kings should
Mixe with Traytors.
Prin.
Sir, they were no Traytors.
King.
Tis well, defend hem still.
Prin.
No, their innocence will do't.
King.
Very good; I perceive from whence this
Springs; your company with Clara feeds this
Rebellious spirit, does it? I have an easie cure for that:
Moronzo keepe your daughters to you; there's
Neither of 'hem we'le admit to attend her, since
Favour is abus'd, we can restrain it.
Mor.
Their lives and mine are prostrate to your will.
Come daughters—
Cla.
Stay: Sir has tyrannie usurpt the seat of
Mercy in your royall breast: if so, let death
Part us, and so end our woe.
Prin.
I doe beseech you, as you are my Father,
By your wonted love to me, or whatsoe're
You hold more deare, bereave me not both of
My love and friend together; this cruelty
Exceeds the former; lover is a name may
Be in time dispenc'd with; but a friend, oh,
A true friend, heaven knowes not a happinesse
Beyond it: deare sit, by my dead mothers ashes,
Which were you neare, wou'd (in imitation of
Those amorous twines which did inchaine
Your hearts) flye up, and hang about you,
Gently to chide this most unnaturall act:
Which, because distance of place denyes it,
Send but to know, and you shall heare
The Marble Tombe weeps at this disaster.
King.
The remembrance of her dead mother
Wou'd stir my pitty, should I not resist it:
I must suddenly Callidus, convey our
Some other Ladies to attend her.
Cal.
No more, we are resolv'd: Moronzo
Performe what we command.
Mor.
I shall my Liege: come daughters.
King.
Lead on.
Ex. severally.
| The Noble Stranger | |