University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Enter Euphemia with a light, conducting Julia.
Euph.
Oh Madam! Fly from hence, I've over heard
Your Sisters dark designs, and now a Guard
Of her own slaves, are coming here with speed,
To bring you to her hands, alive or dead.

Jul.
Oh Heavens! What shall I do?

Euph.
This,—This way fly,—
I'le shew you where you may in safety lye,
And over-hear her talk aloud, and rave,
And vow to Heaven, what deep revenge she'l have.

Ex.
Several pass over the Stage, as in search of Julia: The Scene changes to Isabella's apartment, enter Isabella followed by the same that past over the Stage.
Isab.
How, fled? Then I'm betray'd,—
Which on you Vilanes have this Treason wrought?
I'le have your blouds if she's not quickly brought,
They go out
But, Heavens, I see!—
All Vermin from a falling Palace run,
And love to sport in the warm rising Sun.
Though I to flatter fate have stoopt so low,
To seek Trivultio's aid and Salerne's too.
They now despise me,—
And I who was obey'd, ador'd by all,
Must helpless stand, and see my Temples fall.

Enter Trivultio in disguise.
Isab.
Ha!—What creeping thing art thou?—
He discovers.
Trivultio!—Dull leaden fellow!—
Why hast thou tortur'd me with thy long stay,
Ive been on tedious wracks with thy delay,
And wracks with less impatience I could bear,
Were thy Troops mine, bright day should now appear,
From the fir'd Town, which should in ashes lye,
E're the least beam of day salutes the Skie,
E're times least Atome Charles should be uncrownd!
His murder'd Guards in their own gore lye drown'd!
He at my feet, prostrate and bleeding lye,
Begging vain pity from my scornful eye,
His trembling spirit ready to depart,
Tears in his eyes, my Dagger in his heart.

Tri.
I stay'd to prepare all things e're I came,
And to'entice Salerne here with hopes of fame,
And with much talk prevail'd with him to come,
And gave him Keys to the dark passage room.
And Vaults through Which I came.—

Isab.
What did you say
Prevail'd with him my orders to obey?

Tri.
Yes Madam, for he now do's proudly own,
He values nought but glory and renown.

Isab.
What, does he value glory more then me!
Or can there any higher Glory be
Then dying at my command?
Go, kill the slave,—Let him the glory loose,
Since he the ways of fame no better knows!

Tri.
Yes,—when he's serv'd your interests let him dye;
But with his pride, we must a while comply,
Or rather with his fortune, since the Town
Rebels, and Bandits do his Interest own.
For on the news,—
That the French Troops were on their march from hence,
Only some few, left for their Kings defence.
A Bandit came t'acquaint him.
That fifty Troops under Vesuvius lay,
Who might be here some hours e're break of day,
And if he pleas'd would all their fellows bring,
To murder the French Guards, and Crown him King,

Isab.
To a slaves fortune must I humbly bowe,
What do's the pride of fate subject me too?

Tri.
Madam he comes,—command your self awhile,
Enter Sal.
And sooth his passion with a seeming smile.

Isab.
Salerne!—Though thou hast long a Rebel been,
And all that's infamous,—Yet I have seen
In thy attempts, a mind so bold and brave,
That for thy courage some esteem I have!
Not that I'le flatter or delude thy fate;
For know thy birth I scorn, thy person hate:
But yet thy flaming spirit I esteem,
And would thy name from infamy redeem:
And therefore out of pity do design,
To honour thee with some commands of mine,
provided still thou do submissive prove,
And first repent thy bold ambitious love.

Sal.
Was it for this you did entice me here,
Only to let your insolence appear:
I thought Your soaring spirit was brought down,
T'express some sorrow for the pride you'd shown:
But now since this is all,—
Know I already do deserve your love,—
And for esteem I not one step will move:
And your commands I least of all regard,
I serve my self, and will my self reward.

Isab.
How! am I scorn'd?—Ho! kill the Traytor there,
Shall I contempt from a proud Rebel bear?

Sal. is offering to go out, and is stopped and disarmed by several that rush upon him from between the Scenes.
They proffer to kill him, and Trivultio interposes.
Tri.
Hold, Hold I say,—Ah. Madam! what d'ye intend!
All our designs do on his Sword depend.

Aside to Isab.
Isab.
Did the whole Kingdom perish in his fall,
To my revenge I'de sacrifice it all.
Kill him,—Hold,—Do's he not shake
At sight of death, and the revenge I take.
There's something in his Soul for greatness form'd
Which will not by ignoble fear be storm'd.
Go live,—but dare not so presumptious be,
To think of dying for thy King or me.

Sal.
Yes, thy unjust revenge shall be pursu'd,
In spight of thee, and thy ingratitude;
For I my noble passion still retain,
And still my firm unshaken self remain.

Exit.
Isab.
This fellows brave—
Could fate th'impediments of birth remove,
A Crown might make his passage to my love.

Tri,
So Madam, now we've this great Spirit won,
Our high designs are ended, e're begun.

Isab.
Pursue him straight, and manage him with care,
And in the glory of my service share.—
Tri. Exit.
Now my impatient Soul is all on fire,
To know if fate will flatter my desire.—
Enter Portia.
Is the Magician whom I sent for come?

Por.
Yes Madam,—all alone,—in a dark room,
Hung round with horrors, and the shades of night;
Which seems more horrid with the glimmering light
Of the pale Moon, which through a crevice shines,
Has sate this hour scoring o' mystick lines.
Winds, Lightnings, whispers, sad and mourful grones,
Soft voices melting into pleasant tones,
Fill'd his dark Cavern, whilst as Magick spell
Fetter'd my feet, and thrice into a swoun I fell.
And see he comes.—

Enter Magician.
Isab.
Speak, speak thy news,—'tis I thou tell'st it to,
I, who defy the utmost fate can do;
For I am fixt as Heaven, whose high decree,
May change my fortune, but not conquer me.

Mag.
Madam your doom I dare not yet relate,
Thick swarms of Spirits in Cabals are met,
To read your Stars, whose counsels you shall know,
When whispering winds do in my Caverne blow.
Now all is still and silent.—

Isab.
Quickly call
Thy drouzy spirits from their dark Cabal,
Whilst I their lazy constitutions wait,
I might kill Kings, and overturne the state.
Charles in his shadow to my view present,
And what shall be this direful days event.

Mag.
I wish that shade you'd not desire to see,
I fear 'twill an unpleasing Vision be:
But since it is your pleasure I'le obey,
Then Madam in this Magick Circle stay.
Leave not the bounds in which you are confin'd,
And with firm courage fortifie your mind.

Portia goes out, and the Magician begins his charm.
Mag.
Thou black familiar, who by firm compact,
Art at all seasons bound my will to act;
Whom I with fat of strangled infants feed,
And for thy thirst let my Veins freely bleed:
Whom I for thrice seven years by name have known,
And when as many more are past and gone,
Must lead my soul to that infernal Cell,
Where thou; and all thy fellow Spirits dwell.
Arise!—and in an airy Vision shew
What must befall this Prince, to whom
Our conquer'd state do's bowe.

There arises a Spirit, and immediately the Scene is drawn; and the supposed shapes of Charles and Julia are presented; Royally Habited, and seated on Chairs of State, at their feet several Masquers; and near the Chairs the Musick in White Robes, and Laurels on their Heads. A Chorus of Voices and loud Musick heard. The Dutchess seems much disturb'd at the Vision, and with a naked Ponyard moves towards the shapes, but is stopt by the Magician, whilst at the same time one of the Masquers touches her with a White Wand, at which she seems to fall into a slumber, and is plac'd on a Chair by the Magician: Then the Masquers rise and dance; after a dance the Spirit descends, and the Scene closes.

The Song of Spirits sung to Isabella as she sits asleep.

Mag.
Her Soul's retir'd,—I'le steal away,
And leave her wrapt in sleeps soft arms,
And e're the first approch of day,
End my unfinish'd charms.—

Exit.
The Mag. goes out, and immediately enters the Ghost of Young Galeazzo, Duke of Millane, with a Cup of Poyson in his hand. The Ghost passes over the Stage, at which Isabella starts and wakes, as in a fright.
Isab.
Ha! What pale thing art thou?—and whither fly?
Me thought I saw young murder'd Millanes shade
Walk by in mournful state, and as it went,
With a sad look exprest its discontent.
In what dark shade has my lost spirits been,
Where in wild shapes I've death and horror seen.
But they are liars all, nor shall defeat
My injur'd Soul of a revenge so great.

The Ghost re-enters.
Isab.
But ha! the ghastly shape appears again,
My frighted bloud retires from every vein;
I am congeal'd at this pale Scene of death,
And all my words are stifled in my breath.
Speak,—What would'st have?—Why dost appear to me?
Who never wrong'd thy bed or memory,
In one the least unkind, ungrateful thought;
But to revenge thy bloud all ways have sought;
And now have on this tyrant past a doom,
To be a Royal offering to thy Tomb.

Ghost.
Cease thy fond thoughts,—for higher things prepare,
Employ thy Soul in a more solemne care;
For thou, who bidst my memory adieu,
And dost thy vain revenge and love pursue,
Shalt shortly sleep with me in that cold bed,
Where I too early was by Treason lead,
And all my guiltless bloud reveng'd shall be;
But not by Traytors, Rebels, nor by thee.
Mean while (fond woman) thou dost vainly wait
On hells black arts, to know thy lovers fate,
What joys he'l have, what troubles undergo,
Do's not belong to Isabel to know.
Mind not his fate, thy own is drawing nigh,
Death hovers o're thy head, prepare to dye.
Farewell awhile,—when thy last hour is come,
I'le give thee one more summons to thy Tomb.

The Ghost goes out, and after some pause she seems to recollect her Spirits from their disorder.
Isab.
Ha! what curs'd fiend art thou,
That dost the shape of my dead Lord assume,
T'accuse me wrongfully, and speak my doom.
I'de not have shakt at any other form,—
And now I find I must expect a storm.
A dark and heavy storm, Heaven will deny
Success to my designs, and I must dye.—
Weeps.
But since my doom I now have understood,
Naaples shall weep my fate in tears of blood;
Fire, Blood, and slaughter, more then I can tell,
Shall be the dying pangs of Isabel.
My stormy life shall yet in glory end.
And Charles, and Julia shall my fate attend.
No pining Ghost shall leave his gloomy bed,
To charge me with injustice to the dead;
No Millane,—
Grutch not the love thy widdow to him bears;
For it shall cost him all the Crowns he wears.—

Exit.
Enter Portia.
Por.
Oh, Heavens! to what a height her rage is flown,
The world for her revenge must be undone.—

Exit.
Enter Julia, Euphemia.
Jul.
Horrid! Art sure.

Euph.
Why did you nothing hear.

Jul.
Alas! thou saw'st I often swound with fear.

Euph.
I heard it all,—and horrid noises too,
That fill'd my ears, and round like whirlwinds flew:
Then softly pin'd away,—that I'm afraid
They call'd up Troops of Devils to their aid.

Jul.
Oh Heavens which way shall I this Monarch save;
For oh! I never shall the courage have
To tell it him, and yet one hours delay
Would ruine him, and all our lives betray:
But heerk, I hear a noise i'th Gallery,
A noise of trampling within. Euph. runs and peeps.
I think the Kings abroad.

Euph.
Madam, tis he,—

Jul.
Oh Heavens! What shall I do! I faint!—I dye!
Which way shall I from my own blushes fly,
Which if I see him will disloyal prove,
And by a thousand signs betray my love:
But 'tis too late,—his danger I'le impart,
And leave to th'mercy'f Heav'n my fainting heart.

She walks to one side of the Stage, whilst Charles, Momp. and train enter.
Ch.
In her apartment various noises heard.

Momp.
Yes, and two seen suspected by the Guard,
To be the Rebels Chiefs.—

Ch.
And not detain'd?

Momp.
The Guards, Sir, from all violence refrain'd,
Whilst they in th'Dutchesses apartment staid;
And Sir, in that your own commands obey'd,
But waiting for 'um till approch of day,
By private avenues they scapt away.

Ch.
The danger is not worthy my regard,
Nor shall th'afflicted Lady be debar'd
From any pleasure, her unquiet mind
In little plots, for her revenge can find.

Momp.
—The Princess—Julia—Sir—

Ch.
Ha, th'ast awakened my late kindled flame,
I owe devotion to that sacred name;—
And see this way all her approches are,
As if I should for an address prepare.
What fair and blest occasion should it be,
That drives her hither, and obliges me?

Jul.
Great Sir, the Sister of King Ferdinand,
Lately preserv'd by your victorious hand,
Having this morning heard a fatal doom
Past on your life, do's now with blushes come,
Thus early Sir, the Treason to prevent,
And pay your Sword her just acknowledgement.

Ch.
Madam.—

Jul.
Nay, hast Sir hence;—
For Traytors have against your life combin'd,
Which for my brothers valour is design'd,
And do presume t'abuse his sacred name,
To countenance the Treason we disclaim;
And though, as right permits, we'l not refuse,
In our own safety and just cause to use
All generous ways our low estate affords,
We would not have you dye by common Swords.

Ch.
What is't I hear, do my kind Stars take care
To save my life and Crown by one so fair?
Nay, and by her, whose beauty I have seen,
With so much rapture that my Soul has been,
In high displeasures with my treach'rous fate,
That by success betray'd me to her hate:
But now my fortune in her own defence,
T'appease my Soul, and make me recompence,
That all her guilty smiles I might forgive,
Finds ways by your commands to make me live.

Jul.
Oh Heavens! I find my honour I've betray'd,
I fear'd such ill requitals would be made:
And therefore long did with my self contend,
To let you dye; but honour was your friend.
And now your friend, which would so formal be,
To repay favours to an enemy;
And 'gainst a thousand blushes forc'd me on,
Must suffer for the folly it has done.

And puts her Handkerchief before her eyes.
Ch.
Ah Madam! these resentments are severe,
Must I in all a criminal appear?
I but in humble words express the sence
Of a Soul, wrapt in love and penitence,
Griev'd for past guilt, which it would fain remove,
Opprest by favours, and inflam'd by love.

Jul.
Oh Heavens! I feel within delightful pains—
Aside.
Of joy and love, that shoot through all my Veins:
But I new sorrows for my heart prepare,
And lead my self into a pleasing snare.
Sir, I perceive you ill constructions make
Of what I've done, only for honours sake;
But there's a pride peculiar to our bloud,
(Who ne're till now misfortunes understood)
That when we wrongs or kindnesses receive,
We revenge both, and never can forgive.
And now in that revenge
My injur'd honour was content to bleed:
But now we are from all obligements freed.

Exit.
Ch.
She's gone displeas'd,—but has such honour shewn,
And something so like love,
That now my vanquisht heart's entirely won.
An alarm within.
Herk! the storm's begun,
Hast! Hast! and guard her to some safe retreat,
To Momp.
Lest unexpected danger she should meet;
For all th'esteem and value I did bear
To Crowns or fame, is wholly plac'd on her.

Ex.
Enter Ferdinand alone.
Ferd.
Oh, my Cornelia! how do's thy fair shade,
Each corner of my restless thoughts invade.
Methinks I see her from her floating Grave,
Sighing with grief, and pointing to the wave,
That do's the treasure of her body hide;
And in whose cold and watry arms she dy'd,
Then with kind looks she beckens me away,
Chiding my soul for its too tedious stay.
And Heavens!—
Why do I stay, when fortune do's remove
All I esteem, my Glory, Crown, and love:
And which encreases my impatience more,
By Charles's gallantry I'm triumph'd o're;
Who gives me freedom, but to make me wear
Those hated Chains no Royal mind can bear.

Soft Musick within.
Ferd.
Ha! would they flatter my imperious grief,
These fond diversions give but small relief.

Asc.
Ah Sir! for Heavens sake.—

Enter Ascanio in hast.
Ferd.
What hast thou seen?

Asc.
An airy fantome, or the Cyprian Queen.
Listening to find whence these soft airs should come,
I chanc'd to look in an adjoyning room,
And saw two shapes lean on a silken bed,
They seem'd too fair, and lively for the dead,
And if in some transport I have not been,
They are Irene and the Cyprian Queen.

Ferd.
Thou dream'st,—
Or else their disturb'd spirits wander here,
To pursue me their guilty murderer.

Ferd. and Asc. go out.
The Scene is drawn, and Cornelia, and Irene are presented asleep upon a Couch, and at their feet Sylvia. The King and Ascanio enter.
Ferd.
What is't I see, I dye with high surprize,
Some fair enchantment do's delude my eyes,
And in a Vision do's my Queen restore,
In all the beams her living beauty wore!

Asc.
Surely they live, or else the waves and wind
Has all their beauties faithfully resign'd.

Ferd.
The lovely Vision strikes a Sacred awe
Into my Soul,—Let's near the Altar draw,
Where the fare shape enshrin'd in beauty lyes,
Lest it too quickly vanish from our eyes.

Ferd. and Asc. go to the Couch, and kneeling kiss the Hands of Cor. and Iren.
Ferd.
She gently breaths! her hand is soft and warm,
This cannot be some fair deceitful charm!
With all the devout rev'rence which we pry
Into some great and sacred Mystery.
I'le draw the Scene, which from my longing sight,
Vainly conceals a Mystery so bright.
Wake, my ador'd Cornelia, wake and see
Impatient Ferdinand upon his knee,
Watching to see thy eyes their light display,
Like devout Persians for the dawning day.

Cor. and Iren. wake.
Cor.
Where am I now,—Bless me the powers divine.
What voice is that that calls!

Ferd.
Fair Queen, 'tis mine,

Cor.
The King!

Ferd.
Your poor adorer,—one that dyes
With the high rapture of excessive joys:
What kind power sent you here on Angels wings,
To bless the world, and save the lives of Kings?

Cor.
That gentle power of pity which we find,
Sways in the Empire of each gen'rous mind.
I was inform'd, you did my death bemone,
And now you've lost both freedom, and a Throne.
I thought 'twas cruelty,
To let a meer delusion ask a share
Of tears, when real grief had none to spare.

Ferd.
Oh! What a melting joy o're flows my breast,
Like drooping flowers with morning Dew opprest!
But Heavens! How did you scape the fatal day?

Cor.
We in another Galley got away
To the next shore,—where in a Grove we stay'd
Till fields and plains were gloomy as the shade;
Then all in darkness, solitude and fear,
We wander'd on the shore we knew not where:
Still trembling at each little noise we heard,
Til near the morn we met some of the Guard,
Of whom I beg'd safe conduct to the Town!
And though they knew me not, yet I must own,
They shew'd me all the due respect became
My sexes honour, and their Nations fame,
And brought me here,—where I decreed to stay
For some few hours, and sail by break of day,
When by a message from me you had known
That all was well, and I in safety gone.

Ferd.
Ah! will you shew me Heaven in all its light,
And then for ever close it from my fight.

Cor.
Alas! Sir you attempt a vain design,
Only to wed your miseries to mine.
Suppose I should so kind and yielding prove,
Only t'oblige your importuning love?
W'are of our Crowns bereft, where should we flye,
In what dark Cave should we obscurely die?

Ferd.
Madam, forgive me that without a Throne,
My bold pretences I still dare to own:
But if th'ador'd Cornelia lov'd like me,
A Cell or Grotto would a Kingdom be.

Asc.
Now my Irene we are blest again,
The joys through so much danger we obtain,
Let us preserve,
As one would the rich treasure, which he saves
By unexpected aid, from Rocks and Waves.

Iren.
You know my heart is yours, but we must wait
Our Princes fortunes, and th'events of fate.

An alarm.
Ferd.
Whence is this?

Asc.
There's some contention grown
I fear, 'twixt the French Army and the Town.
But see the Princess.

Enter Julia with a Guard.
Jul.
Ah, Royal Brother as e're—
For being great and good you'd honour'd be,
Go save the life of your brave enemy:
Who midst slain Guards, do's now forsaken stand.
Whilst barb'rous Traytors do his life demand;
And using your great name for their pretence,
Do act their Treasons with high insolence:
This from the Palace eastern Towre I've seen,
Where by his Guards I have protected been.

Ferd.
This is bold Salerne, and my Sister too,
Her fond revenge and malice to pursue,

Jul,
My Sister is too faulty in't I fear:
But be not, Sir, too much displeas'd with her,
You know whence her high passion do's arise,
Spare her, and her bold followers chastise.

Ferd.
I go,—with passion Madam I implore,
To Cor.
You will not leave us in this fatal hour;
Nor take away the aid your presence brings,
As sent from Heaven in the support of Kings.

Cor.
Sir 'tis so generous—
To save your Royal, foe in his distress,
That in that cause I wish you all success.

Ferd.
Sir, I commit the Ladies to your Guard,
To one of the Guard. Ex. Ferd. and Asc.
Your Loyal service shall not want reward.

As the Guard is conducting out the Ladies, they are met by Mompensier, who enters in hast.
Momp.
Hold? Hold? The Ladies must not move from hence,
This place alone is left for their defence;
The enrag'd Dutchess strives to seize the Towre,
And w're too few to guard it from her power.
VVhat more is done I could not understand;
But to an Officer I gave command,
Enter an Officer.
To bring the news, and see he's here.—

The news.
Off.
All's well,—King Ferdinands's leap'd into the throng,
And like a god drives all the crowd along.
The Dutchess has receiv'd a wound in fight,
And to the Domo ta'ne a speedy flight.

Momp.
Blest news! I'le on the Battlements and see,
The valiant Kings pursue their victory.
But see another comes in hast.

Enter another Messenger.
2. Off.
Undone, undone!
With all your Guards to th'Kings assistance run,
The Town is all with Troops of Bandits fill'd,
Lead by a Traytor, to whom all parties yield,
And the mock title of a King do's bear,
And with success pursues us every where.

Cor.
Oh Heavens!

Cor. Jul. seem to faint, and are suported by their women
Momp. runs out as to the Kings assistance, enter Ferdinand with a Guard, chasing Salerne.
Sal.
Oh curse! and is my glory thus betray'd?

Ferd.
Help, help the King, I do not need your aid,
The Guard goes off
Salerne I've chas'd thee from thy traitrous herd,
Not t'have thee cut in pieces by the Guard;
But to appease my own revenge and hate,
And give thy valour a more glorious fate.

Sal.
Thou'rt brave, I wish thou hadst not sent 'um back;
For now I shall be for'cd thy life to take.

They fight, the Ladies shriek, and run to the side of the Stage, Salerne is disarmed and wounded.
Ferd.
Now Salerne, ask thy life, and on thy knees
Humbly beg pardon for thy vilanies.

Sal.
And dost thou this insulting temper shew,
My life's not in thy power to bestow.
My enrag'd Soul is leaving its abode;
But if it were not, and thou wert a god,
And for submissions wouldst whole Kingdoms give
To gain thy Godhead, I'de not ask to live.
Go back, and scramble for thy fallen Crown,
which from the trembling tree my arm shook down,
And which I sought now to bestow on thee,
That crown'd, thou might'st a glorious victim be:
For yet my fathers Tomb no Trophy wears,
His bloud has only had thy fathers tears:
But fate would to my cause no aid afford;
But rather basely thrust me on thy Sword;
Which high dishonour e're I'le tamely bear,
Tears his wounds, and dyes.
Thus, thus a passage for my Soul I'le tear.

Ferd.

To the Guards within.
Enter Charles, Ascanio, Mompensier.
Ch.
Conveigh to the Fleet the Ladies, and their Train,
For fear the Rebels should the Palace gain.

Asc.
The Traytours Sir, have seiz'd the Postern gate,
And all the Barges there, 'tis now too late.

Ch.
Ha! am I then decreed a fate so low,
My glories must at last to Rebels bowe.

Ferd.
Ye Pow'rs! what proud ambitious Traytor's this,
That chases Monarchs with so high success?

Asc.
They come.—

An alarm within, and they Aloft and upon their guard. Enter Alphonso followed by several with drawn Swords
Alph.
Enough, reteat without delay,
The Guards retreat
He dies that once refuses to obey.

Ferd.
Hh! 'tis my father, or a thing that bears
That Royal shape.—

Ferd. and Jul. kneel to Alph.
Alph.
'Tis I remove your fears,
I find amazement sits on every brow
To see me here:—
But that will cease when, I acquaint you how
A sudden Tempest cast me on the Shore,
Where I scarce sav'd, fell in these Bandits power!
Who struck with grief their banisht King to see,
Seem'd to repent their past disloyalty,
Told me the state of the distracted Town,
And proffer'd me their Swords to gain my Crown;
I fearing ill events, if I deny'd
Their proffer'd kindness, with the slaves comply'd.
But here—revenge and rapine was so sweet,
The Villains ran confus'd in every Street,
Where they could ravish, kill, or booty gain,
Nor could my power their savage rage restrain.
For th'ills they've done, Sir I your pardon crave;
Turns to Charls.
For I declare, I no intentions have
To seize the Kingdom, or your glory cloud;
But for that friendship which same speaks so loud,
You to my Son in his distress have shewn,
I come my high acknowledgments to own.
Proud, if this way I can so happy be,
T'oblige, and serve so brave an enemy;
And now resign the Crown, which is your due,
And do become a Prisoner Sir to you.

Ch.
(Aside...)
Heavens! I'm amaz'd at his high gallantry,
I've sought his Crown, and he obliges me;
I see there do's the same high courage run,
In all the haughty blood of Arragon. (...Aside.)

Sir, I confess the Kingdom is my righr;
But you've subdued me with so great a height
Of honour, as my courage scarce endures;
And now I find—
I came not here to raise my fame, but yours,
But Sir, I'le be so just to your renown,
That as your gift, I will accept this Crown:
But since for honour, not for Crowns I came,
I also must be just to my own fame,
And must return you Sir that Kingdom back,
Which only to oblige I stoop to take;
And that your honour may have safe retreat,
I'le beg a gift more generous and great
Then that of Kingdoms, this fair Princes love,
To Julia.
Whose beauty will reward me far above
The highest flights of honour I have shewn,
And I have sought no Interest but my own.

Alph.
By this high honour you oblige us more.
But Sir, since you who are our Conquerour,
What's our advantage, make your own request;
Thus gladly Sir I end the high contest.

Gives him Julia.
Ch.
With out your love the gift's imperfect still.

To Jul.
Jul.
Sir, I obey my Royal fathers will.

Ch.
Madam, I do not doubt your dutious mind,
But shall I only cold submission find?

Jul.
He'l force my heart a secret to infold,
I fear my blushes have already told,
Aside.
At present Sir you must no more obtain
Then this that duty shall my heart explain.

Alph.
Madam, I beg you will complete our Joy,
To Cornelia.
That want of Crowns may not out hopes destroy;
Once more to exile I will gladly go,
And on my Son my Kingdom will bestow,
And shall be happy in some safe retreat,
To fit and view felicity so great.

Ferd.
Madam, some pity to a heart allow,
Kneels to Cor.
which never came in view of hope till now;
And now it sees some little glimpse of day,
Grows much impatient with the least delay.

Cor.
The Memory Sir, which to the dead I owe.
Raises Ferd.
And my own honour too must make me slow
In granting these requests, but yet I find
A secret fate o're powers my yielding mind,
And I but struggle with a high decree,
Which ir as wilful as my heart can be.

Asc.
And now my fair Irene, shall not we
Add to this joyful days felicity?
Shall we not land, whilst this fair gale do's blow?

Iren.
Why should you ask, what you already know?
But my suspitions now I find too true,
You love to triumph where you can subdue.

Ferd.
Now Sir, to shew I've your comands obey'd,
To Alph.
See the revenge to your wrong'd fame I've paid.

Shews Sal. dead
Alph.
Ha! Salerne dead, I pity the bold slave;—
For had his Soul been Loyal as 'twas brave,
He had deserv'd my favour;—
But where's the treacherous Trivultio?

Asc.
Slain,—
His head does on the Eastern Towre remain,
Where to Rebellion he incites no more,
But frights the Traytours he seduc'd before.

Alph.
Treasons just fate,—but you forget to tell
How fares my unhappy Daughter Isabel,—

Enter a Gentleman.
Gent.
The Dutchess Sir?—
Bleeding and faint is from the Domo lead,
Where she to th'Alter was for refuge fled.

Alph.
Bleeding!—

Gent.
Some base unmanly Sword has plac'd,
Too deep and dangerous wounds in her fair breast,
From whence her life flows unregarded by,
Not gaining the least pity from her eye;
And now of your arrival Sir she hears,
Life with impatience for a while she bears.
And she is brought along with bleeding wounds,
By gentle steps, and at each step she swouns.

The Dutchess enters lend between two Ladies,—bleeding.
Isab.
Sir, I come here to take my last adieu
To Alph.
Of all my glory in this world, and you,
For any ills I in my life have done
I beg your pardon,—though I know of none;
For to my glory you so just must be,
To own I've honour'd our great family,
And liv'd in fame, though the small Crown I wore,
My brows with blushes and impatience bore;
And now I walk in grandeur to my Tomb,
By such a death as does my bloud become;
Though dying Sir I generously own,
I sought not to restore your vanquisht Crown,
So much as for revenge on that false Prince,
To Charles
Whose base inconstancy and insolence,
To punish deeply I to Arms did flye;
Yet (oh my fate!) now unreveng'd I dye.

Faints.
Ch.
Ah! Madam!—why.—

Isab.
Take hence thy hated sight,
Thou stop'st my Soul in its Eternal flight.
Oh I am going,—Ha, what is't I see!
Enter Galeazzo's Ghost
My murder'd Lord again to visit me.

Alph.
What is't she sees?

Isab.
I come! I come! poor shade!

Alph.
Alas! She raves, her reason is mislaid,
What wouldst thou have, oh speak thy last commads?

Isab.
See you not Millanes Ghost! there! there he stands!
Father revenge his bloud, and let not slaves
Their glories build, on murder'd Princes Graves,

She dyes and the Ghost goes off.
Ch.
Madam for honours sake, and for your own,
Your Lords revenge shall be my work alone;
But ha! she hears me not, and seems to dye,
Displeas'd and pain'd, whilst one she hates stands by.

Alph.
She aim'd at glory, which her fate denyes,
And now enrag'd at fortunes hate, she dyes.

Ch.
Now Royal friend, let us embrace at last,
To Ferd.
And bury thus all wrongs and quarrels past;
That vow which me into this war betray'd,
Shall vanish in the fleeting breath 'twas made:
If to the dead this an offence will be,
I rather will offend the dead then thee.
But sure revenge and bloud can never prove
Things more divine then valour, friendship, love.

Ferd.
Brave Charles thy sentiments are so sublime,
That nothing thou canst do can be a crime;
If such high virtue an offence can be,
I'le my Religion change and worship thee.

Alph.
Heavens to my Soul 'tis a transporting fight,
To see our hearts and families unite.
Now let us all to some repose betake,
And joy in decency a while forsake:
Till solemn rites we for the dead prepare,
The dead must now be our succeeding care;
And when those sad solemnities are done,
You may compleat the joys you have begun.
Thus humane life do's various forms display,
And grief and joy succeed like night and day.