University of Virginia Library

ACT. IV.

Scene I.

Enter Maria, and Izabella.
Mar.
You're welcome, and I dare trust your goodness;
Since it can share with me in my condition,
Which is a bitterness well guilded only.

Iza.
I never shall deceive you, Madam.

Mar.
Perhaps I may do you, and all the VVorld
Who thinks I doate upon my splendid shame.

Iza.
VVhat's this?

aside.
Mar.
The Character which I have had of you
Gives me a confidence I've found a friend
That I may weep to; sorrow's like a child
Which loves to be bemoan'd.

(weepes.
Iza.
Sure she is Injur'd.

Mar.
Come, sit down: see Izabella.
These flowers live without the sence of sorrowes.

Iza.
And yet they'l hang their heads in scorching heate,
VVhen no kind drops fall on 'em.

Mar.
'Tis true, as if like me they wanted pitty,
But I'le stoop down upon their fragrant beds,
And weep upon 'em. Oh Izabella,
Wou'd any thing could prosper by my griefes:

Iza.
I must believe her.—

(Soft Musick.
Mar.
Harke, VVhat's that?

Iza.
Nothing Madam, 'tis but your fancy.

Mar.
'Tis Harmony, and cannot be my fancy,
For that is out of tune.
Enter Medina as a Genius, in a glittering Habit.
Ha! VVhat's this? help Izabella.

Iza.
Sit still Madam, 'tis only some design
To entertain you, the Musick showes it now.

The Musick ceases; and the Genius speakes.
Gen.
I am the Genius which does waite
Upon Spaines loose and shaken State;
I Rule the Spirits of the Aire,
VVho, as their guide to me repaire;
And then by me to every minde
A several genius is assign'd,
VVho waite and whisper to their Soules,
But no decree or power controules;
For every one their freedomes use,
And all their faults, and vertues chuse.
The account of every deed and thought
Are by the winged Spirits brought:
VVe sit in Sun-beames, while they tell
The newes of mortalls that do well;
But when they tell of vice, they shrou'd
Their heads, and whisper't in a cloud.
Some merit neither praise nor shame,
VVho tempt not fate, nor trouble fame;
Those Spirits that on such attend,
I'le charme, to show how time they spend.
He Charmes, an Entry of Spirits, imitating vain men dumb.
Now, from above, I'le call for one
That is the Genius of the throne;
Next thine, whose sighes encrease the Aire,
That thou art not so chast as faire:
'Tis those alone waste every houre,
That wait on beauty, or on power.

Enter the First Genius.
1. Gen.
See, I obey, and now am weary grown
Longer to wait upon a Throne
Then let me take some rest
And flie to whisper to a common Brest;
Not fed with Luxury,
Nor flater'd up to be a Deity.

He waves his Wand, and enter the second Genius.
2. Gen.
I come, I come, fill'd with despair
To whisper longer, to the proud and fair.
Their own just Conquest they despise
And please themselves with guilty victories:
Against those Altars I in vain perswade
Where worship is by time decay'd.

1. Gen.
I oft have mingled with the thoughts
Of Kings, and told, they were not Deities,
And how all Princes faults
Made men have daring Tongues and Eyes.

2. Gen.
I told this Beauty too her fate
That one foul Crime had such a weight
That all must sink; and he that first does find
A Beauty, yet unblemisht, kind,
He is like one that does discover
An unknown World, by whose success
He makes a way for others to possess;
As she's made ready for another Lover.

Both.
Then set us free, that we may find,
In low Estates, a steady mind,
Whose harmless Life, and vertuous Love
Is farre above
The reach of Vice, or fear of Fate;
Let no good Genius henceforth wait
Upon such false, and such unsteady things
As ador'd Beauties, or as flatter'd Kings.

Exeunt.
Mar.
Ha, Izabella, There is some
Further meaning, sure in this,
I do not like it.

Med.
You must.

Mar.
How must? what are you? I am betray'd
Izabella, stay; what was all this meant for?

Exit Iza.
Med.
Truth.

Mar.
These shapes spoke falshood.

Med.
I'le help you to one then, shall tell you Truths.
D'ee know me?

Pulls off his disguise.
Mar.
My honour'd Uncle; brave Medina,
My wonders greater then my doubts before,

Med.
The greatest wonder is behind.

Mar.
What's that?

Med.
Thy Lust.
That does exceed all wicked Miracles.

Mar.
My Lord, for pitties sake.

Med.
'Tis pitty, forces me to this violence,
The pitty of thy Blood, I had a share in
Before it was infected with this Leprosie;
The pitty of thy Youth, thy beauteous Youth,
Like a fair Flower pluckt up by the Root
When 'twas but newly budding, before time
Could show it to the World, how sweet it was.

Mar.
Do but hear me Sir.

Med.
Yes, if you'l speak Repentance with a passion
As great as that which made your act your lewdness,
Then I will heaken like a doating Mother
To hear her Children prais'd by flattering tongues.
Put if it be to excuse or mittigate
Thy wretched Fathers, or thine own offence.
And Bawd for whorish Acts, by poor excuses;
The Ears of Cruelty shall not be deafer,
Nor storms to crying Seamen that must sink,
As thy drown'd Honour does, though not so deep.

Mar.
My Lord.

Med.
Think of thy Mother now, that through some Starr
Looks blushing down on thy Impieties;
And finds it harder to hold a wrath from thee
With all the Mediation of the Saints,
Then 'twas to purchase for her self by vertue
That blest Eternity which she enjoys.
Oh, thou hadst been blest, Maria; if thy Father,
Like other Wolves, had been then torn to pieces
Before he knew what he begot in thee;
For thou hadst then wanted a powerful Pander:
Or, had Heaven blest thee with Deformity,
Thou hadst been safe in unattempted vertue.
Oh Maria, it is thy Beauty that has been
The fatal blazing Star that did foretell
The hot Contagion that has follow'd in thee.

Mar.
Will you not hear me then, my Lord?

Med.
Dost thou make way at all for me to
Hear thee? or hast thou yet let fall a tear?
To bribe me from pronouncing cruel Judgement.

Mar.
When I want innocence, I'le weep, or beg
of you and Heaven; But I that have preserv'd
My virtue, as unstain'd as at the time
When my blest Mother (who now smiles upon me)
Gave me and that together to the World.
I will not stain it by a false confession.

Med.
What's this?

Mar.
A Truth, which I am bound by tyes of Nature
And Honour, to tell you, and all the world,
Nay, on my knees I thank you, that you take
The room of a lost Father up so kindly;
And question me, for all you do suspect:
And I will gladly tell you my true story
Like those that with a pleasure do repeat
The tales of Mighty dangers they have past.
But if your foul beliefe, like the Worlds tongues
Can only think all Ill, as they can speak 'em
Then I rise thus, and from my vertue borrow
A scorn, as great as such from their own vices
Can borrow foul opinions.

Med.
Why, what a fool was I, I did expect
Repentance, and shou'd have look'd for Impudence:
Perhaps you fool your self into this boldness
And think there's no man that dares question
The Mistriss of a King, but I wou'd sooner
Destroy a Traitor to my Princes Soul,
Then to his Crown.

Mar.
The King has as much vertue as I wish him.

Med.
That easily may be, but 'tis a question
Whether he will continue still so bad,
As thou desir'st him.

Mar.
I see that you are deaf to hear of goodness
And I must either have a guilt within,
To beg enough, or Vertue to despise you.
And when you know, which you shall quickly do
How you have injur'd me, you will repent
Your bold injustice.—so farewel

Med.
Stay, stay, you must not go.

Mar.
Must not?

Med.
No, nor shall not: the Masquers that you saw
Are all my trusty friends, 'tis in vain
To cry, or tear your Throat.

Mar.
What do you mean?

Med.
To shake you in your damn'd security
Or set your soul free from that guilded frame
Whose unseen rotteness corrupts it.

Mar.
Will you murder me?

Med.
I did not come with that intention.
But thou hast rais'd me to a vertuous anger
That tempts me to prevent thy shame and mine.
Yet will you turn your eyes in to your Brest,
And they must weep, for they will see thy heart
So very foul, that it needs pious washing.

Mar.
Nay then.
If your scorn'd anger swell'd you to a Mountain
And were to fall upon me, I wou'd stand
Thus—and not shake, but wou'd despise
Your ruine and mine own.

Med.
Yet repent, and do not force my hand
To a swift Justice that must send thy Soul,
VVhere vitious falseness dares not tell a tale.

Mar.
I had rather be judg'd there then here.

Med.
Then, Justice, I thus obey thy strict command
But powerful nature stayes my feeble hand.

Drawes aside.
Mar.
VVhy do you pause? your passion is more noble
Then your vertue, one can make trial of me
T'other dares not; Strike, and all the while,
See what suspected Sin startles my Soul,
Or stirs me to a blush.

Med.
Dare you endure to die?

Mar.
VVer't not a sin, perhaps I durst do more

Med.
VVhat more?

Mar.
Give my self what I wish, as easily
As I provoke your shaking hand to do't.

Enter Izabella running.
Iza.
Oh my Lord, undone, undone, the Kings just
Coming, and searches for Maria.

Med.
The King?—no matter—
I'le fall nobly, now you shall be reveng'd.

Mar.
I cou'd weep now to see the great Medina
Believe all ill so easily; when you speak
Of my unhappy Father, his bare name
Confirmes you in your cruel censure of me:
But though you talke of my blest Mother to me
A thousand times, you have not power to think,
One drop of vertue has descended to me
From that pure fountain.

Med.
Oh Heav'n! send peace to my distracted Soul,
And tell me which is truth.

Mar.
Heaven will tell you suddenly, but we forget,
Put on your disguize, and leave the rest to me.

Med.
This disguise may be more fatal
Then my own shape.

Mar.
You must not for the World appear your self,
For then you will be thought, the Author
Of something I intend, which will be fatal to you.
Dare you trust me in nothing?

Med.
Well, in this I dare—Izabella,
Bid my friends hide their disguises
And conceale themselves.

Iza.
I will.
(Exit Izab.

Mar.
You remember there was a Letter
Written to the Marquess of Alcara,
And Count Bruchero.

Med.
I do: Did you write it?

Mar.
No more questions now.

Med.
But I will aske something;
For I grow willing to believe thee good:
Pray tell me.

Mar.
Peace, I hear a noise—Look
If you see any comming.

Med.
'Tis the King; I trust you now Maria.

Mar.
Doe so alwayes then.

Enter the King, D' Alva, &c.
King.
Maria—How now, What's this?

Mar.
Pray Sir do not look upon him,
'Twill make the poor man so out of countenance,
That I shall have no more Diversion;
It seemes that Izabella and the Gardiner
Contriv'd an Entertainment for me,
It was done just as your Majesty came.

D' Alva.
This is an odd Excuse.

King.
I shou'd have been sorry to have
Interrupted your pleasures.

Mar.
Pray Sir do not look at him,
He'le be so asham'd.

King.
I will look on nothing but thy brightness;
Come Maria, I fell in love with thee,
Then with thy vertue, which was hard to find
In so much Beauty; th'other is so common
It beares no Rate, there's poverty in vice;
The hardest things to find bear greatest price.

Med.
This is the likeliest thing
To vertue, I ever saw:
Exeunt King, Maria, D' Alva.
Besides, had she been vitious,
She would not have neglected her Revenge,
One of the pleasant'st lust ill Women have:
All may be Counterfeit—and yet—
There may be such a thing as a good Woman.
Enter Izabella.
How now, VVhat news?

Iza.
All safe; I must hast after them.

Med.
Stay, and prethee tell me my best Cozen,
Dost thou think Maria vertuous?

Iza.
By Heaven I doe.

Med.
By Heaven I have a minde to do so too.

Iza.
I have observ'd things worthy of your knowledge.
Another time I will relate them to you.
Something she's resolv'd to doe, I'le watch
To find it out: So farewell,
I dare not stay.
(Exit Izab.

Med.
I know not what to think;
I wou'd believe, but yet my shaken faith
Creepes to its growth but slowly, like an Infant
Forc't to a hasty birth before its time.
Our lives and our devotions are but sickly,
When Anguish doubts their growing health controules;
A shaken faith's the storme of tottering soules.
Enter D' Alva.
Ha! D' Alva? What has brought him back?

D' Alva.
Heres the Apparition still, I must be satisfied,
What are you Sir?

Med.
One of Lerma's Angels.

D' Alva.
Lerma's Devils.

Med.
See, my Lord, I meant his evil Angel.

D' Alva.
Oh my dear Lord,
(Discovers himself.
Pardon my apprehension;
We tread upon such rough and narrow pathes,
That any trick, or error, throwes us down.

Med.
Feare not, my Lord, I have discovered
And broken, as I hope, the best foundation
That Lerma builds upon.

D' Alva.
Let us delay no time, but instantly
To councel with the Marquess of Alcara,
And Count Bruchero; they have something
To impart, that is of great Importance.

Med.
To add to all, I have secur'd the Witnesses,
Antonio, and Catalina; we'le lose no time,
VVhilst Lerma, as I hear, thinks I am fled,
And Joyes in fulness of his growing power.
But let him swell fate never durst deny
Bold spirits, to dispose of destiny.
Unshaken Trees, that have the largest rootes;
A bold, and well-arm'd hand as well may throw
As those, whose Rootes do not so deeply grow.

(Exeunt.

Scene II.

Enter Lerma.
Ler.
If my invention faile not, I have yet
Out-stript 'em all; if my wing'd Mercury
Keep touch in time: The Court lookes odly,
And every brow weares mysteries about 'em:
The fawning Rascalls of it (which like Cobwebs
Shou'd be swept off) methinks avoid me now,
VVho us'd to crowd, and stop my way with cringes;
Their smiles look like the grins of anger'd Monkey's:
But I am safe, while my Marias Charmes
Hang on the King, and numb him to a Lethergy,
There's some that are too great, must be cut down,
Feign'd Accusations, and a little time
Will kill all wonder, which is shorter Liv'd
Then dreams of Children, or old Womens tales.

Enter Angelo.
Ang.
My Lord.

Ler.
Ha! Death on thee, I was serious.
Begon—this was a guilty start,
This slave too, will perhaps
strikes him. Ex. Angelo.
Grow wise, and guess at something,
How hard it is, in slippery ways
To keep a steady Motion.
Enter Caldroon.
How now? what news?—speak.

Cald.
I am too narrow to contain,
It is too great to keep or to let out.

Ler.
Curse on this form in thy Relations.
For thou dost practice on me like an Advocate
Whose spleenative exordiums are more horrid
Then the ill cause he wou'd make monstrous.

Cald.
Your Daughter, Sir.

Ler.
Is sweeter then the Spring, wreath'd in the Arms
Of budding Flowers; what more of her?

Cald.
There can't be Man enough in you to hear it,
And then out-live it; 'tis so great a weight
I almost sink to bring it.

Ler.
And yet art such an Ass under thy burden
As not to throw it off: for tell it me
And I have all thy weight.

Cald.
You cannot hear it.

Ler.
Not if you do not tell it.

Cald.
'Twill crush you.

Ler.
It must be heavier then all the weight
Of peoples curses, and the great ones envies:
Thou dost not know one thing, Caldroon;
Fortune and I did long agoe agree
I to make work for her, and she for me.
Tell it me boldly; and prethee now Caldroon
Do not like those that bring a bitter potion
Make scurvy faces at it, as you give it.

Cald.
Oh, my Lord,
Dogs howlings. or the groans of Mandrakes
Wou'd be a Consort of soft Musick
To this harsh thing I have to utter.

Ler.
Thou'st numb'd my Sences like a skilful Surgeon
And now may'st strike, I shall not feel thy hand.
But come, what of Maria?

Cald.
She's gone, stole away,
Unknown by whom, or whether.

Ler.
This is a dangerous wound indeed
I know not where to search it.

Cald.
My Lord, I told you what 't wou'd come to.

Ler.
Oh, Sir, you are a Mighty Prophet,
Where was the King?

Cald.
As they say, asleep.

Ler.
Could he sleep? and his dull soul without
A dreaming whisper, that she was loosing,
And when he wakes, and misses her, what then?

Cald.
He will be troubled sure.

Ler.
Troubles wear off from Kings (they are too high
To grieve, and sorrow slides from them) like falling drops
From sides of houses,—they dare not hurt her sure.

Cald.
It cannot be imagin'd that they dare.

Ler.
She must appear again, our rapid motions
Will bring us round again to that fair sun
If the King loves her too, (as sure he does)
Her absence makes it night with him.
I wonder what they meant by't.

Cald.
I cannot guess, my Lord.

Ler.
Thou'rt shallow then; they fondly think
The King will be uncharm'd, and hearken to their
Clamours, now she that stood between
Their breath and him is thus remov'd;
'Twas pollitically done;—
And yet they dare not tell him where she is,
Nor the bold ravisher confess the fact.
For yet, Caldroon, she hangs upon his heart
Like hopes of Joy upon a troubled soul;
I have a plot to help us yet, at least
To give us time till I have searcht this further.

Cald.
What is't my Lord.

Ler.
I'le instantly to the halfe soul-less King,
For he must want his better part of Life
Now she is gone: and tel him she's retir'd
On purpose, till a hasty vow be past:
And frame a Letter in her dearest name
Shall keep his Love from chilling.

Cald.
'Tis excellent.

Ler.
He must not know she's lost.

Cald.
Not for the world.

Ler.
By that time, Fate will send her me again;
For those above, all know my Title to her;
She is my Child, Caldroon, but such a one
As can raise sorrow above Natures pitch.
Prethee observe, Caldroon, how other Fathers
Mourn for lost Children; then thou wou't see
I do not talk so idly as thou think'st;
But in this loss, I must not loose my self
And whine to nothing: I'le to the King.

Enter the King and Medina, D'Alva, Alcara, and Bruchero, whispering to him, and Medina showing Papers: the King sad and expressing amazement angerly, and so passes over the stage.
Cald.
He comes.

Ler.
But with a Guard, I like not.

Cald.
We are undone.

Ler.
He wou'd not look upon me once,
While round about him, all my Enemies.
Whisper'd destruction to me.

Cald.
All's out, I fear.

Ler.
Base Prince;
By Heaven, Caldroon, he has forgot her;
How easily his fond and childish Love
Threw the fine thing away, that it so cry'd for
The memories of Princes are but Graves
Where Beauty, and where merit lie forgotten.

Cald.
Think of your self, my Lord.

Ler.
When the thick crowd of thoughts for lost Maria
Will leave the least way open, then I will;
Oh, she had eyes, Caldroon, I hope she has,
That did, and may, yet look him into nothing.

Cald.
Cou'd we but find her.

Ler.
She cannot be conceal'd, she is too glorious,
Had she been coupl'd with some rough-hewn slave,
Her Language wou'd have play'd upon his soul
And charm'd him into dot ge, if she had griev'd
Like an Idolater he wou'd have gather'd
Her tears upon his knees, for sacred Relicks.
But had he lost her thus, thus as she's lost
He wou'd have searcht her out, or else destroy'd
All that he could suspect, and then himself.
But this sick shadow of a Lover
That whin'd, and pin'd away in passion for her,
Is like a School-boy, glad to be releas'd
From a hard Lesson.

Cald.
Here's more Company.

Ler.
The worst is come already, and the rest lookt for.

Enter Medina, D'Alva, Alcara, Bruchero, with Angelo led prisoner by an Officer, with a white staffe and a Guard attending.
Med.
You shall have more company
Seignior Angelo—Do your Office, Algazil.

Algaz.
Roderigo del Caldroon, I Arrest thee
In the name of Philip, King of Spain.

Cald.
I obey it, we are o're-taken.

Ler.
Medina I will answer the Arrest.

Med.
Your case is not much better,
You will be summon'd Lerma.

Exeunt.
Ler.
Why then I will appear, Medina;
You'r a kind Brother.
Cou'd I turn all my passions into Curses
And make 'em as effectual as my sorrows
They might, perhaps, destroy the proudest of 'em;
And yet my well-propt heart shall bear it all,
He only is above Envy and Fate
Whose mind in sinking Fortunes keeps its height.

Exit.