University of Virginia Library

ACTUS TERTIUS.

Enter Great Constable alone.

[Scene]

SCENE, His Apartment in the Court .
Const.
All seiz'd at once! Is this the good effect
Of my wise Plots? Oh! my unquiet spirit!
Sure some men's souls are given'm for plagues,
My soul to me, is all the Plagues of Egypt.
My thoughts are Froggs, and Flies, and Lice, and Locusts.
When Honours are rain'd down on any other,
A Plague of Hail is rain'd down upon me.
When men's Prosperity shines hot upon me,
My poysonous nature breaks out all in Boyles.
Oh! Come My Lord: let's meditate revenge.

Enter La Force.
La For.
Had we been wise we ner'e had needed it.

Const.
Were the King wise we ner'e had liv'd to plot it.
The King's unskill'd in gallant wicked Men;
Undo us, and not send us to the Devil;
The Devil for that shall send us to the King.
No Man so brave as he who dares be wicked;
Ill ha's no Friend to trust to, but its own
Bastard, Success; the off-spring of its strength.

La. For.
Know you your Son's arriv'd?

Const.
Is he?

La For.
He is.

Const.
So, that's good news: I am prepar'd to cheat him.
In pious dress I'le steal into his Bosom,
As Knaves (they say) do in St. Francis habit,
Cheat Heaven, and creep into old Abraham's Bosom.

La For.
I doubt he will not be deceiv'd so easily.

Const.
Oh! he who ha's foolish good nature in him;
Ha's a soft Girll the Portress of his Breast,
Who will be easily mov'd to ope the Door.

Enter a Servant.
Ser.
The Duke, my Lord, is come.

Const.
Oh! bring him.

La For.
I'le leave you for a while.

Const.
Exit. La Force.
Enter Duke of Vendosm.

Duk.
Now is my Father falling to his Arts:—
[Aside
To strive to work me to his practices.

Const.
Son, I despair'd to see thee any more.

Duk.
Why so, my Lord?

Const.
My Heart is almost broken.

Duk.
What break's your Heart?

Const.
Disgraces; I am thrust
To my Grave's brink, by injuries and dishonours.

Duk.
I hear you have fallen into the King's displeasure.

Const.
Into the Dauphin's rage.

Duk.
For what desert?

Const.
Do any rise or fall in Courts by merit?
A want of faults is often a great fault.
How fond are some great men of Fools and Dwarfs,
Because they are good Foiles? but tall desert
Does often sawcily o'relook a Prince.
I am no Dwarf to let great Fools stride 'ore me,
To the King's Breast.

Duk.
And shall that break your Heart?
If I disdain'd to be my Prince's Dwarf,
I wou'd scorn more to be his Marble Statue;
To weep when ever the Court weather's damp.

Const.
Damp! it is stormy; one tempestious blast
Tore from me all my shining Robes at once.

Duk.
They were too heavy for your Years to carry,
For all the envy of the Kingdom hung on 'em.

Const.
But they have drest up Fools and Blocks in 'em.
Such blockish Fools are rais'd one would imagin,
The Court is rather pitching of the Bar,
Then raising Men to Honour; I can name
Some Counsellors, who cannot speak good sence;
The Wretches have no other use of Tongues
Then Dogs of Tails, to wag 'em when they fawn.
The shining Tongue of their chief leading Orator,
Ha's neither edge nor point; but finely scabberded
In Velvet Words: is like a Sword of State
Borne before publick business for a shew.

Duk.
Why shou'd this grieve you?

Const.
I abhor that Fools
Shou'd go before me in Command and Power.

Duk.
He is not honour'd most, who goe's before.
Mace and Sword bearers go before a King.
Methinks when e're I see Authority,
Lugger a heavy Fool upon her Sholders
Before me, I have State bestowed upon me,
And have a Leaden Mace carried before me.

Const.
Come 'tis unnatural Fools shou'd be uppermost.

D.
'Tis very natural vain things shou'd be uppermost,
In such a World of Vanity as this;
Where massy substances of things sink down,
And nothing stay's but Colours, Sounds, and Shadows.
What mighty things derive their power from Colours:
Courts owe their Majesty to Pomp, and Shew:
Altars their Adoration, to their Ornaments:
Women their Lovers, to their Paint and Washes;
Fools their esteem to Perewigs and Ribbons.
How many Trades are there that live by tones?
The cheating Beggar whine's our Money from us;
The Player by his tone will make us weep,
When Men's substantial sorrows cannot do it.
An Orator will set the World a dancing
After his pipe when Reason cannot stir it.
Fanatick canting Priests, will o'return Kingdoms
Only by tones, and thumping upon Pulpits.
And silly human heards, as soon as e're,
They hear the wooden thunder, prick up Ears,
And Tails, and frighted run they know not whither.

Const.
Go, angle not for me with rotten Hairs,
The combings of Philosophers old Pates.
We have all our several Passions that command us,
I am a Slave to Honour and Ambition,
And thou to fair Madamoselle de Guise.

Du.
Ha!—

[Starts
Const.
Have I touch'd you, Sir? Now Sir, suppose
This beautious parcel of your Soul, this parcel?
This soul of yours were torn out of your Body,
Wou'd you not feel it? ha!

Du.
He stabbs me!
[Aside
In my old Wound.

Const.
Oh! Are you startled, Sir?
Say she were Whor'd, Sir.

Du.
Oh! I am abus'd,—
[Aside.
All, all agree about this cursed story.

Const.
What now? you are awake, I have rous'd you
Out of your Dream of Stoical Phylosophy,
And you have Blood and Passions stirring in you:
I thought your Veins were only Veins in Marble.

Du.
No, no, my Lord, I am a Man, no Statue,
No Pasquin, only to hang Libels on.

Const.
Then since thou art a Man, and hast some feeling
I will not say she's whor'd, but I will say,
A married man enjoys her.

Du.
Do not say it, my Lord.

Const.
'Tis true, I have seen 'em folded in embraces,
Have seen their souls skip from their Eyes and dance
On wanton looks, like Tumblers upon Ropes.
Have seen their tilting Lipps meet close, and grapple,
As they wou'd tugg each other from their Faces;
Then with what breath their pleasant strife had left 'em,
They'd fling with scorn out of their laughing mouthes
The Name of Vendosme; more they scarce cou'd say,
But when they had breath they'd cry, Phi-lo-so-pher.

Du.
Who does she play this modest game withall?

Const.
With one whose Sport you dare not spoil,
The Dauphin.

Du.
Oh! It is so: This Woman has been false,
To get a Crown:—Oh!—

Const.
Are you pain'd? Be comforted.
You quickly shall have ease, for know your death
Is plotted by 'em both.

Du.
My Death!

Const.
Your Death.
I'me ruin'd cause I know all their Designs:
For now Court secrets are like Fairy's Revels,
Or Witches Conventicles; men are spoiled
With sudden blasts that either tell or see 'em.
They do not spare their Fovourites and Creatures.
Brisac, once lov'd both by the King and Dauphin,
Because he honestly oppos'd your Murder,
Is falsely charg'd with Treason, and tormented
To make him own it, and name you a party.

Du.
Can there be wickedness enough in Hell
To furnish out with truth this horrid Story?

Const.
I know thy thoughts are calling me a lyar.
Ho! there:

Enter a Servant.
Ser.
My Lord.

Const.
Open those folding Doors.
The Scene is drawn, and Brisac is shewn bloody and asleep.
Sleeps he?

Ser.
He's fallen into so deep a sleep,
His sense is sunk out of the loudest call.

Const.
I gave him Opium to ease his pains.
I cou'd not bear to hear his piercing groans.
Now Sir, I hope you will believe your Eyes.

Du.
This horrid barb'rous sight confounds my soul.

Const.
Oh! now it works him, I shall fool him finely

[Aside
D.
I'le search the depth of this, though it reach Hell.
[Aside.
Wake him.

Ser.
We cannot.

Du.
Cannot you?

Ser.
We cannot.

Du.
Then shut the door, I cannot see him longer.
I'me strangely mov'd.

Const.
What if we went to Prayers,
And recommend to Heaven the King and Dauphin?

Du.
To Prayers! To Arms, fit Weapons to reveng us.
But I am justly serv'd for having th'Impudence
To put on Vertue in this dirty World.
And drag the Robes of Angels on a dunghil.

Const.
Indeed those Robes starve every man that wear 'em.

Du.
But I did only put 'em on to act in.

Const.
To act in?

Du.
Yes, and wrapt my self so cunningly,
The Devil with all his Flambeaus, cou'd not see me.

Const.
How? Art thou not what thou pretend'st to be,
A man of Vertue, Loyalty and Honour?

Du.
The pretty jingling of the Chains of Fools.

Const.
Ha! Is it so? this is most wonderful!
I always thought thee a poor Mountaineer,
That liv'd on Vertue's cold and barren Hill,
Till all thy blood was froze, and sense benumm'd.

Du.
No, no; my blood is hot, and my pulse beat's,
As strong as any man's, ring's all the Changes
Of Love, Ambition, Fury and revenge;
I'le give my self Revenge, my Country Freedom,
I will transform my enslav'd Nation
From Mules, and burthen-bearing Beasts, to Men.
No beast is half so wretched as a Frenchman,
He always has a Bridle in his mouth,
And he has nothing but his Bit to champ on.

Const.
Right: He is forc'd to give his Meat for Salt.

Du.
He's flead and salted.

Const.
He's a pickled Mandrake,
An Englishman will eat him for a Sallad,
And pluck him by the roots out of his Trenches.
When e're he has a mind, in spite of all
The pretty Gardning way you now have got,
Of keeping your Muskmellons from the Weather.
No wonder the stout English always beat us,
We squeeze the heart and soul out of our Peasants,
Then flap the enemy with the empty baggs.

Du.
But now I'le stuff the Peasants skins with Manhood,
And break the Chain that links to the King's Throne
The Nobles, as the Globe is to Joves Chair.
I hate dependence on anothers will,
Which changes with the breath of every whisper,
Just as the Sky and Weather with the Winds.
Nay with the Winds, as they blow East or West,
To make his temper pleasant or unpleasant,
So are our wholsom or unwholsom Days.

Const.
Nay with his Diet, if his Cook but gives him
A melancholly Dish; or if his Doctor
Gives him a Pill shall stir up Choler in him,
We may perhaps be purg'd out o'th Court.
And then we boast of Destinies and Stars,
When we are made or spoil'd by Quacks and Cooks.

Du.
Nothing more true; nay we are finely rul'd
Between a wild young Prince, and dull old King.

Const.
A Royal Image, and brave fiery Spirits,
Do only burn like waxen Tapers round him,
As if it was the Funeral of the Kingdom;
Rather like Lamps i'th Urn of a dead Kingdom.

Du.
'Tis dead; for it has long been deadly sick.

Const.
Oh! surfeited with fulsom Ease and Wealth,
Our Luscious hours are candied up for Women,
Whilst our Men lose their appetite to Glory.
Our Pilots all their skill, for want 'o Storms.

Du.
The Kingdom's Dead, or in a Lethargy;
I'le try, and lance it now about the Head.

Const.
The King!

Du.
The King.

Const.
Thou art a wicked fellow,
Where didst thou get this wickedness, and when?

Du.
I got it that brave night when you got me,
You made me wicked in my Mothers womb,
And I have trebly improv'd your nat'ral Stock.
I set my foot firm on the present World,
Nor like a Boy skipping between two Ships,
Slip down between 'em and so loose 'em both;
But here I stow my Fortunes, and I cast
All goodness over-bord as so much Lumber.
All Vertu's as a bunch of useless Keys,
That will unlock no Doors but those of Heaven,
Where neither you nor I have any business.

Const.
Who cou'd believe an Image of a Saint
Shou'd lodge within it such a nest of Spiders?
Let me embrace thee, Son, for now I own thee.
Thou wert not stole from me when thou wert young
By Priests and Schooles, those common Thieves in Children,
Who spirit 'em away, and in their rooms
Send us home Idiots mop'd with Piety,
Pinch'd hourly by that Fairy, call'd a Conscience,
And blasted by that Lightning call'd Religion.
Now I will own to thee, I have materials
For a great Change; and now thou shew'st Ambition,
I dare confide in thee.

Du.
I'de as soon be
An Eunuch, as a Man without Ambition.
The lust of Ruling men, does far excel
The bruitish lust of Getting 'em; a Beast
Can Get his kind, but cannot Govern it.
Ambition is a Spirit in the world,
That causes all the Ebbs and Flows of Nations,
Keeps Mankind sweet by action, without that
The World wou'd be a filthy setled mud.

Const.
Most excellent!

Du.
Have you no Friends, my Lord,
You cou'd engage?

Const.
Thousands of all degrees.
Rebellious Lords denyed the Rule of Provinces,
Damn'd knavish Statesmen fool'd of promis'd Offices,
Mutinous Officers deny'd Commands,
Proud Clergy-men who cannot get promotion
So much as for their Money; wealthy Fools,
Who wou'd be Knights or Lords, and are refused.
And all the discontented Lay-men's Wives,
And all the discontented Church-mens Wenches,
And all the Women who fain would be Mistresses
And lose their Reputations to no purpose:
All who have yielded to old gouty Statesmen,
With hopes of Pensions and were fool'd of 'em.

Du.
Most rare Tooles all!

Const.
Most excellent! with thy Ayd,
We shall not need th'assistance of an Angel.

Du.
An Angel! What assistance can he give us,
Who spends his time in idleness and songs?

Const.
He's good for nothing but t'inspire a Fidler.

Du.
Your's are the Tools: cou'd you not bring 'em to me.

Const.
At an hours warning.

Du.
Pray, my Lord.

Const.
I will.

Du.
And I will bring a Guard and seize 'em all.—
[Aside.
So, now I've opened all the filthy Vault,
And let out such foul air has madt me sick.
But yet within this Vault I find a Lamp
Of joyful hope, Louize is not false,
But wrong'd by flying rumours, which like Birds
Soaring at random, mute on any head.
'Tis plain, my Father turns the Stream of Rumour
Tow'rds her, to carry me along to Treason.
I'le beg my Fathers Life, but I'le secure him
From hurting of the King.—
[Aside.]
Farwel, my Lord.

Const.
Farwel, dear Son!

Exit Duke. Enter La Force.
La For.
What news? What good Success?

Const.
I've fool'd him admirably.
Oh! I have put such crabbed stuffe into him
Ha's curdled the milk-sop. Well, I have promis'd him
That you and all our Friends shall talk with him.

La For.
We will.

Const.
I'le call you suddenly.

La For.
I'le wait you.—

Exeunt.
Enter Louize.
Lou.
I've seen the wicked, perjur'd, charming Vendosme;
Have view'd him or'e and or'e, and heard him talk.
Heaven has not blasted one of all his Graces.
His Tongue has all the harmony it had,
When Ears, and Hearts, and all the gates of Souls
Flew open at the found; still, still, his words
Resemble (as they did) the heavenly Manna,
Feasting all Ears with what they most delighted.

Enter La Guard.
La Gu.
Madam I've spy'd the Duke watching the Dauphin,
They are both coming hither.

Lou.
Then draws near
The time of our most terrible encounter.
Come to my ayd my Honour, give me vigour,
If Love approach me, let me throw it off
With all the strength a Woman in Convulsions
Will do an Infant. Let me dash its brains out.
And to begin the Battel, I'le receive
The Dauphin in his sight with doting fondness.

Enter the Dauphin followed at a distance by the Duke of Vendosme.
Du.
I've followed him with trembling steps unseen,
Fearing he leads me to the fair Inchantress.
My fears deceive me, or I heard him name her.
Oh! If he lead's me to her, Heaven govern me.
'Tis so! 'Tis She! they meet, embrace, and kiss.
Devil lose my hand, thrust it not to my Sword.

Daup.
Love, I must tell thee news, Vendosme is come;
That fortunate proud slave; but I am going
To take his Pride from him, and tumble him
With that great Knave, his Father, in the dirt.

Exit.
Du.
Hark! hark! My death is plotted by 'em both.
All true my Father told me!—Nay your Lover
May take my pride from me, for he has taken
My shame from me, the falsest Woman living.

Lou.
You here?

Du.
Yes, I am here.

Lou.
Dare you approach me?

Du.
Yes, but with fear, for sure you are not a Woman.
A Commet glitter'd in the Air of late,
And kept some weeks the frighted Kingdom waking,
Long hair it had, like you, a shining aspect;
Its beauty pleas'd at the same time it frightned,
And every Horrour in it had a Grace.
It has not now appear'd these several Months.
Are you that Comet? Some Astrologers
Say Sun, and Moon, and Stars, are living Creatures
That feed on Vapours, are you come below
To feast upon the reek of smoking hearts,
Burnt by your self in that inflaming shape?

Lou.
I understand you not.

Du.
Sure some ill Spirit
Assumes the shape of the Divine Louize;
And yet methinks a Demon us'd to darkness
Shou'd not be able to approach such Light.
May I have leave to touch that beautious hand,
Only to know if it be flesh and blood.

Lou.
If you wou'd know, go ask your Prince the Dauphin.

Du.
What? are you asham'd to shew it, it has lost
Its native pureness, and is forc'd to borrow
Whiteness from Royal Ermine, and Crown Lillies.

Lou.
All this is dark.

Du.
I'le bring you to the Light.
This pack o' hounds, we call our Passions,
Shall hunt your falshood, and where e're it Earths it self
I'le dig it out, and bring it to the day.
But if you'l take it in your Arms, and kiss it,
And say 'tis your's, tis like you, I am satisfi'd.

Lou.
My Lord, I lov'd you once, still love your merit;
But I, like Heaven, save none for humane excellence.
Were you the greatest man that er'e was born,
Yet if you fondly worship gawdy Idols,
And will have no belief in me, away with you
To your suppos'd Elizium's, idle dreams.

Du.
What do you call adoring gawdy Idols?
To gaze on 'em?

Lou.
To gaze on 'em with pleasure.
Who worships me, must speak, and look, and think,
According to my Rules; and if they seem
Too hard to practise, let him take his Course,
I will not give my Heaven to Libertines.

Du.
But what if she I gaz'd on was your Image?
Is it Idolatry t'adore your Image?

Lou.
Yes, without leave. But you adore another
Only as my Image, and blaspheme th'original.

Du.
I blaspheme you?

Lou.
You know what you have done.

Du.
Yes, I once vow'd my heart to you for ever.

Lou.
That is not all.

Du.
What else?

Lou.
I scorn to think of it.

Du.
You blush.

Lou.
Nay, you wou'd have me dye, no doubt.
You are enraged, after your cruel usage,
To find me living; living Gloriously.

Du.
If you were in your Grave,
You were more Glorious
Than in your Guilt, there is no shame in death.

Lou.
Yes, but there is much shame in death for Love;
A Woman dye for love! Oh! infamous!
I hate to see't, so much as in a Play,
And think such Plays are Libels to our Sex.
I laugh when I see Ladies weeping at 'em;
Weep till they quite disorder their doux yeux;
Weep till their Tears wash away all their Paint.
I wou'd not have that Woman sav'd, shou'd shame
Our Sex by dying so immodestly.
Indeed 'tis never done, or if it be
'Tis never own'd; the very waiting Women,
When their hearts break, do scorn to have it known.
And their Friends never put it in the Bill.
What thinks your Grace? Am I in any danger?
Do I look pale at all?

Du.
No, Heaven be thank'd:
Your Highness, Madam, looks exceeding well.
Alas! you are in th'Climate which agrees with you,
The scorching clime of Glory; But methink's
The heat might put some Blushes in your Cheeks.

Lou.
No, Heaven forbid!
I wou'd by no means have it.
Did secret love devour me, I'de no more
Disclose my torment, than the Spartan Boy
Did, whilst the hidden Fox gnaw'd all his entrails.
But Love's a fire, and if it burns within
'Twill smoke without; do you see any smoke?
Or in my looks one sign of inward Torment?

Du.
Not the least, Madam.

Lou.
I am very glad of it.
My looks are honest then, and tell no falshoods.

Du.
I wish your Heart were but as faultless, Madam,
As your looks are.

Lou.
My Heart will serve my turn.

Du.
Yes, it has serv'd your turn, for it has turn'd
And turn'd, and turn'd, but always to the Sun.

Lou.
Think and report it too, rather I had
A thousand times be thought ambitious, perjur'd,
Than such a wretch as a forsaken Woman.

Du.
Madam, I'le do you right.

Lou.
You will oblige me,
And your self too, never to see me more;
For I shall ever vex your haughty heart.

Du.
Well, Madam, I will make a shift to bear it;
But you by this, give me to understand
I am a Storm that trouble your Delights,
You cannot sing your Songs to your new Lover,
With such a Thorn as I am at your Breast.

Lou.
Oh! you conjecture wrong, my Lord.

Du.
No, Madam.
Well, I will leave you; my tempestuous Breath
Shall not ruffle your Bridal Curtains.

Lou.
Oh! you cannot;
Nor blow but one loose Feather from my pillow:

Du.
Oh! Yes! yes! I will go! but wou'd it not
Be for your ease to send your Conscience with me?

Lou.
Your own is heavier than you well can carry.

Du.
But yours, I fear is murder'd; If it be,
It's Ghost will make your Glories burn as dim
As Lamps that faint when an ill Spirit appears.

Lou.
Well, stay or go, I'le not talk with you, of you,
Look on you, think upon you, any more.—

Enter a Gentleman.
Gent.
Madam, the Dauphin's asking for your Highness.

Lou.
Oh! e're I see him, I must pour my grief out,
[Aside.
For my heart's full, and it is running over.

Exit.
La Gu.
So, Now the worst is past.—

Exit.
Du.
Was ever falshood
Drest in such gorgeous swelling Robes of arrogance?
It is so big, no slender Robes can fit it.
Now sorrow thou hast found a passage to me,
All other wayes my Soul was inaccessible.
Fame I contemn, her Temple is a Brothel,
Where good and bad lie mingled all together.
Victory I scorn, I am not proud; mankind
Is capable of Cowardise, and Death.
Titles I scorn, they are often fixt to Pamphlets.
Beauty is the only thing that conquer's me,
I am disarm'd by a white brittle Wand,
Vanquish't and robb'd of all, and then forsaken.
Still there's some chink made in us sons of sin,
For Misery and Death to enter in.

Exit.