University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Admiral, Cavagnes, Langoiran.
Adm.
Your Reasons are to all appearance fair;
Like Eden's Fruit, the Tempter hangs 'em forth,
But there's a canker-Queen within the Core,
That eats Colignie's firmest hopes away:
Like Paradise, she paves my spacious walk;
But oh, Cavagnes and Langoiran, look,
Do you not find her lurking in the Flowers?
With soft indented glides behold she comes;
I see the forked Tongue betwixt her Teeth,
Hissing us from the Stage of Life and Honour:
O, she's a Serpent equal to the first,
And has the will to damn another World;
Therefore I'm positive, till I'm convinc'd
The King foregoes her Counsel, I'le not stir:
I'le not to Court.

Cav.
Thus far I can make good,
She is believ'd, through all the Courts of Europe,
A most transcendent Wit, and absolute Woman.

Adm.
That is an absolute Murderer and Dissembler;
Who that proceeds on such black principles,
That thinks there is no God above Ambition,
But may accomplish all that he intends:
Where's then the Art, the Reach, the Policy
Of this transcendent and most absolute Woman!
Is it not easie to Assassinate,
To Lie, and Swear you love the Man you hate,
Train him into the dark, and murder him?
I urge again, unless the King resolve
To rule alone, I will not come to Court.

Lang.
Cavagnes is a Master in Court Secrets;
For me, I ruin'd the bus'ness of the War.

Ad.
Perswade me while the Queen is at his Ear,
That if he were made up of Worlds of Mercy,
He ever would forgive me! pray look back
Into the former times, and see who sow'd
Those glowing grains which shot up to a War,
Who blew the coals of Calvin's kindled Doctrine,
And earth'd the little Sect at Hugo's Gate;
Was it not I that form'd 'em to a Body?

Lang.
Stick to your self, Sir; follow your own methods.

Ad.
Who therefore, while the pangs of Rage were on her,
Proclaim'd me in all Languages a Traytor,
Drag'd my Effigies through the streets of Paris,
Hung up my Statue on the common Gallows,
Set, by Court Officers, my Goods to sale,
My Houses raz'd, or burnt 'em to the ground.

Cav.
I must confess that start of open vengeance,
Not common to the Nature of the Queen.

Ad.
And why all this, not for a private grudge?
I judg'd 'twas time to view the ghastly flaws
Of that Religion that would rend the World;
That sticks not at the slaughter of whole States,
Blowing up Senates, nor at murdering Kings:
Driv'n with this thought, I push'd the War yet farther;
And, though we lost the Fight at Moncontour,
Yet speak, Cavagnes, did I fail in ought?

[Q. of Navarre, P. of Navarre, P. of Conde.
Cav.
I was not there.

Ad.
Then give me leave to say,
I fought my self the Protestant Cause alone,
When in the head of our remaining Horse,
I met the Elder Rhinegrave hand to hand,
Shot him i'th'Face, and left him on the ground;
Then seeing all our Army quite defeated,
My Jaw-bone shatter'd, and my Voice quite spent,
I fled, with hopes to rise more terrible;
As it succeeded, to the astonishment
Of all the Christian World.

Enter Colombier with a paper in his hand.
Col.
My Lord the Cardinal of Lorrain's arriv'd,
To swear and sign the Articles of Peace;
The Queen at present holds him in discourse;
Mean time Commends this Paper to your view
Sent to her Majesty from the King of France.

Adm.
reads.

“Madam, as you demanded, you have power o're all the County
suddenly of Armagnac; Tell the great Admiral I seek
his Friendship. Ask of Lorrain the rest, who knows my heart.

Perhaps, my Friends, it may be thus indeed,
That, quite tir'd out with infinite Distractions,
He may at last resolve to Rule alone,
Come from his Page-ship, and put off the Mother;
Not lose his Youth, the pleasure of his Bloom
Among grey Senators, and withering Councils:
If it were so; but hold, there's something here
Forbids that thought; it rises like a Vapor,
A strange misgiving, such as Women swoon at,
And Men themselves may fear. But see, the Queen.

Enter the Queen of Navarre, Prince of Navarre, and Prince of Conde.
Q. Navarr.
I come, Sir, to forestall the Cardinal,
Who from the King offers these terms of Peace:
He adds to what Count Lodowick brought before,
His Mothers Policy shall sway no longer;
That He'll submit his Genius to your conduct,
Confirms your being Captain General
In that most glorius Enterprize on Spain,
Allows you fifty for your Person's Guard;
Therefore, for sealing this Eternal Bond,
And for the former weighty Consultations,
He begs you instantly to come to Court.

Adm.
What has your Majesty resolv'd to do?

Q. M.
To go with both the Princes streight to Paris,
And see the Nuptials of my young Navarre.
I know not what your Lordship does intend;
But I have sent already to the King
My Answer by Byron, and will attend him.

Adm.
Then 'tis too late to think of going back;
You have lanch'd me now indeed, and I must plunge
In this Abiss, tho' it be deep as Hell.
No, Madam, spite of all the Augurs here,
Since you are thus resolv'd, I'le go to the foremost.
'Twas for your sake, and in the Prince's cause,
For Liberty of Conscience and Religion,
That I thus long did propagate the War;
And shall I now not follow where you lead me?

Lan.
Why should you, if it goes against your mind?

Adm.
Peace, peace, Langoiran; since the Main's produc'd,
I mean, the Resolution of the Queen,
My Fate cries out, we must, we must away:
Therefore, my Friend, go gather my Dependants,
Bid 'em prepare for Paris. Tell my Wife,
My dearest Martia, we must bid farewell;
Tell her, I'm forc'd to swim against the Stream;
Say, that her Cato's bound for Utica,
From whence perhaps he never shall return.

Enter Cardinal of Lorrain.
Car.
Conquest, prosperity, and smooth success
Be ever strow'd before our General's feet.
Thus, Sir, the King salutes you, with Commission
To turn the Torrent of your Arms on Spain.

Adm.
My Lord, I glory in the great Employ.
I hear beside, the King will rule alone;
For, Sir, what e're the Wit of Women be,
From War and Councils let 'em be remov'd.
I say again, with my old bluntness, Sir,
To have a Female finger in the State,
Is blasting to the Prince's Memory.
Let him but be sincere, and leave the Mother,
Old as I am, I will put on my Arms,
And with this hand, not wither'd yet in War,
Bear to th'Escurial his Imperial Standard.

Car.
My Lord, for the sincerity of the King,
That he intends his Dear and Great Chastillon,
The very words that did express his love,
All Honours, Titles, Greatness, all Advancement,
Nay, to the curbing of his Mother's Will,
For the performance of each Article,
Without a pious catch, or trick of State;
Without the smallest Mental Reservation,
Equivocation, or the least Reserve;
In the King's Name, as I am Priest profess'd,
As I am sent from Heav'n, to teach Salvation,
I pawn the truth of my immortal Soul.

Adm.
He then, to whom our hearts are free and open,
Be judge betwixt his Majesty and me.

Car.
O Sir, O Madam, oh, you make me weep,
Viewing by this the frailty of the World;
For if the Mind of Man be so suspicious
On such clear Demonstration of Affection,
How can you e're believe the Love Divine?

Q. M.
My Lord, you may return with our obedience,
And tell the King, the Admiral, the Princes,
My self, and all his humble faithful Subjects,
Will haste to throw our Bodies at his feet.

Adm.
My Lord, farewell; I must not doubt your Oaths,
But with implicite Faith believe the King,
At whose Tribunal I must shortly kneel,
For Pardon and Forgiveness.

Admiral returns with Cavagnes.
Adm.
Hark, my Cavagnes, write to Count Lodowic,
The Seirs de Genlis, and La-Nove, to haste,
And suddenly to make surprise of Mons.

Cav.
My Lord—

Adm.
Nay, write I say; I'le have it done,
On my Parisian entrance. I'm resolv'd
To see into the heart of this young Charles,
And force him thus upon a War with Spain;
For tho' this Cardinal Swear, and damn his Soul
As deep as Heaven's high, yet if his bowels
Be like the rest of that Blood-colour'd Robe,
And laughs at Ghosts, where's then the Admiral?
Caught by this perjur'd jugling man of God!
What, for the Cabinet Murderers to play with,
To toss Chastillon's Fate from one to t'other,
And grin my Life and Honor from the World?
But now for Paris. Call Colombier,
The Count la Rochfoucalt, Marquis de Renel,
Piles, Pluviah, Pardillan, and Lavardine,
Bandine, and all my Gallants of the War:
For Paris bid 'em haste.

Enter Antramont, with Langoiran.
Ant.
Stay, stay, My Lord;
I charge you stay, for Martia does Arrest you.
And saies, you shall not go to Utica:
Martia resolves to hinder this Self-Murder.

Adm.
Self-Murder, Martia!

Ant.
Yes; you turn the Sword
Upon your self, which Charles and that false Queen
Brandish against you, going thus to Court
Against your will; for so you sent me word.
Is not this running it in your own Bowels?
Is it not, Cato? but you shall not leave me:
You're now Betroth'd; and in this sad Condition,
Thus fraught with your clear Image, like a Bark
Too Richly laden, with an over Ballast,
Leave me not Gaspar, to a flood of Tears,
A Sea of Passion, and a Storm of Sorrow.

Adm.
Beg me not, Martia; 'tis impossible
To stay me now, my Honour is engag'd,
My Word is past.

Ant.
Yet stay, Sir, stay so long
So long at least, as may preserve your Likeness;
For if I yield you now to those Court-Murderers,
My boding Fears will blast it e're 'tis Born;
For sure as Cæsar's Butchery was perform'd
At Rome, your Murder is contriv'd at Paris:
Calphurnia's bloody Dream, and Scent of Slaughter,
Are nothing, Sir, to my Prophetick Spirit;
Which not by Visions, Fantoms of the Night,
But by day Arguments, and certain Reason,
Will give such Evidence for your undoing,
As you, your self being Judge, shall say are true.

Adm.
O, Antramont, away; why dost thou thus
Unman me with thy Tears? Tho' certain Death,
With all the Dagger'd Council stood to wait me,
Ev'n in my view, I swear I would among 'em.

Ant.
Then you are caught indeed; they hate you, Sir:
Your Wife, with this poor Innocent unborn,
With all your other Orphans, are undone:
The Glory of the Earth is laid along.
I see the Vine that spreads his Arms to Heav'n,
With all his Clusters rotting on the ground,
Blasted with Lightning from a clouded Council,
By her that is the Juno of your Fate,
That Murd'ring Sorceress, that dry Hag of Florence,
That Midnight Hecate of ten thousand forms,
That varies with all Shapes, that tryes all Spirits,
Selling her Soul to each, and all together,
To make your Fate inevitable sure.

Adm.
Give me your hand, and take this farewel Kiss:
If thou would'st have me think thou lov'st old Gaspar,
Reply no more, but leave me, and be dumb.

Ant.
I'm all Obedience; let me speak but once,
And whisper't in your Ear: By all my hopes
Of Earth and Heav'n, you shall not dye alone;
I'll gather all the Branches of your Body,
The little Arms, the Sprouts of him that was:
Yes, with that precious Fardel, bound together
By Cords of Hair, Cemented with my Tears,
And wreath'd about till Death with my Embraces,
I'll follow you to Court: I will, my Lord;
And since you'l have it so, we'll burn together.

[Exit.
Enter Commander.
Adm.
O, my brave Friends? my dear la Rochfaucalt,
Your hand; and yours, my rough Colombiere;
My Gallant Piles; and thine, my plain Langoiran:
But say, how stand you to this Expedition,
This new Exploit, this dangerous Court Adventure?

Lang.
My Lord, I'll answer for 'em; there's not one
But has resolv'd to follow; tho' they had rather
Run the most violent Shock of Glorious War,
Than stand one Complemental Death at Court.

Adm.
Then our Opinions jump. But to the purpose;
Since 'tis resolv'd that we must go to Paris,
Because you're Strangers to the King and Queen,
I would instruct you in the Royal Tempers,
Draw the Queen Mother's Face in Minature,
For there the watch and ward of all our Caution
Must lye, if possible to wave the Ruin.

Lang.
Fore-warn'd, fore-arm'd; fear not, we shall remember.

Adm.
Imagin then the King, like Adam laid
Among the Sweets of Paradise to rest,
While to his listning Soul this Second Eve,
Full of the Devil, and design'd to damn us,
Thus breathes her Counsels fatal to the World:
What ever Paths you trod before your Reign,
'Tis Blood and Terror must your Throne maintain:
Scorn then thy Slaves; nor to thy Vassals how;
Fix the Gold Circle to thy bended Brow,
By Murders, Massacres; no matter how.
For Conscience, and Heav'ns Fear, Religion's Rules,
They're all State-Bells, to toll in pious Fools.

[Exeunt.