University of Virginia Library

ACT. I.

Scene I.

Enter Lerma, Alone.
Ler.
Repulse upon repulse; like Waves thrown back,
That slide to hang upon obdurate Rocks;
The King shot Ruine at me, and there lies,
Forgiving all the world, but me alone;
As if that Heaven too, as well as he,
Had scratcht me out of numbers; at the Last
He turn'd his feeble eyes away from me,
As dying men from sins, that had misled 'em,
Blasting my hopes, and theirs that hang upon me:
Thus all those mighty Merits of my Family,
Are going to his Grave, there to be buryed;
And I my self have hung upon his frowns,
Like dew upon a Cloud, till shaken off
In a cold showre, and frozen as it fell,
Starving my growth, with this untimely frost:
But,—I fondly prate away my thoughts
Till I have made 'em nothing, like my self.
Enter Pedro, Lorenzo, Jaques, Paulo, and Caldroon his Servants.
See—here are the parts of my full Ruine,
These decay'd out-houses shew the chief building
Wants Reparation. A good day
May you all share my friends, and better too
Then Lerma's best, or 'twill be dark enough.

Pedro.
What means this Salutation?

Loren.
I understand it not.

Ler.
What? all struck dumb? has then the news
Of Lerma's late Repulse; from Mighty Philip
Wrought such effects upon your shaken spirits,
Who are but play-fellows with my decays,
That it hath ravish'd from you all your tongues,
(Afflictions best Appeasers) he that's boldest
Let him attempt to talke, me up to slight it,
And he that's fearful, Let him pitty me;
For I have thanks for every sort of kindness,
Nay, for your looks; I see a sorrow there,
For which Lerma has nothing left to give you,
But that poor empty name of Thanks, a word
That pays for faint salutes, or a good morrow.

Cald.
My Lord, we were commanded, at this hour
Here to attend your pleasure:

Ler.
'Tis true, I had forgot,
I call'd you to confess, I am your debtor
And you my patient Creditors,
Pen, Ink, and Paper there; and now my friends
I'le tell you all the fortune I have left,
And you shall shar't, as far as it will go
Ex. Paulo, for Pen, Ink, &c.
How long, Pedro, hast thou serv'd me?

Ped.
Seven years, my Lord.

Ler.
Dost thou not curse me now for want of wages?
In such A'prentiship, with great Medina
Thou hadst set up thy self; thy tedious service
Has now no more Inheritance, then a loose Ragg
About a hang'd-up Man, consuming with
The shameful Carcass it should cover.

Omnes.
We do beseech your Lordship.

Ler.
I apprehend you: all I can do, is this:
Let every man Examine his own wishes
The aptness of his own abilities, and see
The Man, how great to e're, (the King excepted)
In reach of whose great fires I dare not trust,
My wither'd Supplications) And to him
I will with all the liberal praise I can
Give him a fair preferment,

Omn.
We wish no other choice, but as we are.

Ler.
No more; your kindness is Ill-tim'd.
That Paper waits for your Impressions
And I to finish your desires, peruse it.
He walks about while they write.
So—nay grieve not, this is a day
Of your most happy changes—
(he Reads
Let me see—Pedro to Don Bruchero, 'tis well
Jaques, the Duke d'Alva; good, Lorenzo,
The Duke of Anzon, in Naples, fit, Paulo,
To Don Lewis de Velasco, very well,—
Who for the Wars then?

Ped.
I, my good Lord.

Ler.
'Tis a good choice—but stay, what's this,
At last? sure I mistake. Read it Pedro.

Ped.
Roderigo del Caldroon, and the Marquis of Lerma.

Ler.
Ha, ha, ha, I was not then mistaken
In him, though in the Rest.

(aside.
Cald.
I hope your Lordship, never shall have cause
To alter your good thoughts, of your poor servant.

Ler.
Thou'st took a course to make thee poor enough;
But e're we part, I must say something to thee.
For you Gentlemen, you may assure your selves
You shortly shall possess your several choices:
I dare not wish you well, lest my desires
As in my own successes, fail in yours,
Yet all the parts of good, that are not dangerous
Your miserable Lord will pay you: now go in,
I'le follow presently; in the mean time,
I'le try to turn poor Roderigo's Love
More to his proper use.

Omn.
Heaven crown you with success.

Exeunt.
Ler.
See Caldroon, how my infected fate
Has driven these to seek more healthful Ayrs.
But why dost thou dote on my misery,
Thus to persue a death, that would flie from thee,
Or Lov'st thou to grow old in poverty,
Hurrying thy fortune on, before 'tis ready,
And making my ill Fate, Conscious of thine.
By Heaven, unless some Holy Nunnery,
Receive my dear Maria, I have not means
Left to preserve her: of my self
I'm grown more careless now, then others are:

Cald.
My Lord,
I never follow'd any hopes of yours,
Nor vow'd my self a servant to your fortunes;
I only beg, I may not be discarded
Before you see some tryal of my faith.

Ler.
Thou dost engage me in new wars Caldroon,
For I am urg'd by gratitude to thee,
To tugg agen with froward destiny,
That I may ravish mighty favours from her
To throw in showres upon thee; but consider,
Art thou resolv'd to try this chance with me?

Cald.
In spight of Injury, and Fate, my Lord.

Ler.
Our Contract then is seal'd—but no more,
See, some servants of the King, stand close.

Enter Don Francisco and Don Juan.
Don Juan.
Good day Francisco, how fares the King?

Fran.
Ill enough, I fear, for even now I met
Physitians, and some of his bed-chamber
Who had this time the watch about his person;
By them I heard, he had a cruel night.

Don Ju.
Made they a question then of his Recovery?

Fran.
No, For they said it was impossible.

Ler.
The weather alters.

aside.
Don. Ju.
Of what nature may his disease be?

Fran.
Physitians are pleas'd to tell us, that
After the Patient's dead: 'tis supposed
To be of a strange Nature; if bloody men
May draw down vengeance; Heaven seems
To send a portion of his Anger on him

Ler.
Revenge my Quarrel, little Mighty people.

aside.
Fran.
'Tis dangerous to talk: At St. Merceds
'Twixt Nine and Ten Ile meet you.

D. Juan.
I will not fail: Farewell.

(Exeunt severally.
Ler.
Grow up you Blessed Ministers of Anger
And turn the giddy Court into Distractions,
And let Great Philip die, as loath'd as Poverty
Or as his own disease—ha! more distraction?

Enter two or three, running hastily with Lights; Physitians and Fryers another way, and every way Noble-men with Torches before them, as the Duke d'Alva, Marquess of Alcara, and Count Bruchero.
Cald.
This strange confusion tells the news of death.

Ler.
My heart is wing'd, and soars, I know not whither.

aside.
D' Alva.
Call the Florentine Doctor.

1. Lord.
H'as watcht three nights, and is stoln hence to Rest.

Alca.
Where's that Florentine and the Confessor?

2. Lord.
Not in the Court.

Ler.
Now it heightens.

aside.
Alca.
Not in Court?
Has the Impostor then leisure to sleep
When Spains Great Majesty lies so afflicted?
Go raise him up, and bid him waken nature,
That almost now is in a dying sleep:
Hark, I fear the fatal blow is struck.

noise of a groan.
Exeunt.
Cald.
Heard you not that my Lord?

Ler.
I heard methoughts a groan as Horrible
As if Great Natures Frame had crackt in too,
And yet that blow kill'd not a fly Caldroon;
Something is gone Old Folkes will talke on.
But see, these Faces speak a certainty;
Draw near 'em.

Enter two or three Courtiers.
1. Cour.
The King is dead.

Ler.
Thanks be to Heaven.

Aside.
2. Cour.
He dy'd in extreame torment.

Cald.
Good newes my Lord.

Aside.
Ler.
Oh Admirable! but see here's more,

Stand aside.
Enter the Duke of Medina, the Duke D' Alva, and the Kings Confessor, with Attendants.
Medi.
My Lords, 'tis fit we every'one Retire
Freely, to pay our Griefes for our dead Master;
In the mean time summon the Privy Council,
To meet two houres hence—
In the Kings Chamber.

D' Alva.
Father Confessor, you must bring the Will:
And Publish it at the Councel Board.

Exeunt. Lerma pulls the Confessor as hee's going out.
Conf.
I shall not fail.

Ler.
Is the King dead?

Conf.
Too sure.

Exit.
Ler.
I have Ideas in my head Caldroone,
Thy Councel and thy Service must give life to,
That holy Roabe I touch't at going off
Must Sanctifie, and hide my morral thoughts,
For I am very Worldly at the present.

Cald.
Command me, I am all yours my Lord.

Ler.
Then the young King—It will not out,
But I will cleave unto the Court, Like flesh
Grown up to fill the place, where 'twas cut off;
I will sow Jealousie in every breast,
'Tis a Rank growing weed, and will choak up
All that shou'd spring of Love, or Confidence.
And then—Good, Excellent.—
Studies.
My minde growes fruitful now, and brings forth thoughts
Enough, to stock the World with my ambition,
And like a fruitful Mother now takes care,
That was before as barren as despair.

Exeunt.

Scene II.

Enter the young King, the Queen Mother, the Duke of Medina, the Duke D' Alva, the Marquess of Alcara, Count Bruchero and the Confessor, carrying the Kings Will upon a Cushion in State.
Queen.
Shou'd we all stay, till we had pay'd our griefes
To his dead Majesty; we shou'd neglect
The Just performance of his Sacred Will.
By long continu'd Sorrowes: Therefore we must
Beg so much time from teares, as to fulfil,
The Last commands of our Dead Sovereign.
In which your Services we must command.

Med.
Madam, th'Affaires of Spain, Dwell in a Calme
By the wise Conduct of our Dead Master:
And our Last troubles in the Belgicke Warrs
Backt by the English, for a time laid by;
So that the breath we have from all our toyles
May be Employ'd in this our Last obedience,
To our Dead Sovereigne; and our future Loyalties,
Perform'd to this fair Risen Sun.

D' Alva.
The first Visit this new Sun must make
Is through the several Governments; calling all
To Just Accounts, that those that have done well
May be Continu'd, other Men Remov'd.

Alca.
Committees for that purpose, must be Impower'd.
At our next meeting, and the Peoples Oathes
In every Province taken for the King.

Bruch.
Then all the Garrisons must be survey'd,
The General, Collonels, and the Captaines, Sworne
By a new Oath, to their Immediate King;
And all the Souldiers pay'd their full arrears.

Queen.
Add to this our Navies, and our Galleys,
And then Embassadors to several Nations
Must be next thought on, the King and I
Will if he pleases go to the Escurial,
Till all things are dispos'd in better order.

Alca.
Madam, the Marquess of Lerma, is yet in Court.

Queen.
To little purpose Alcara; Thats not forgot
In the Kings Will, and we must blast him hence
With the disdain, that by the Will's bequeath'd him.

D' Alva.
He is a danger alwayes where he is.

Queen.
The King has left us heires unto his State,
And we have not forgot, the Sawcy words
His Idle Spleen gave out against our Person;
I'le keep him like a poison, in a glass,
Till his own venome bursts him.

King.
Madam, I think it best, that I retire
To the Escurial.

Queen.
If you please, Sir, till the Funeral
Of your dead Fathers past, for Stars ne'r shine
In Clouds: the Rest, my Lords, the King
Commits to you, for safety of his Person and Affaires.

Medi.
It is the Boast of Spain, and our best Glories,
That we have Ever, truely serv'd our Kings.

Queen.
'Tis an undoubted truth: please you to go.

King.
I must first speak with my Confessor.

Queen.
Let him attend you to the Escurial.

(Exeunt.
Bruch.
That Confessors a Lerma.

Alca.
Wou'd he were shaken off.

(Exeunt.

Scene III.

Enter Lerma and the Confessor.
Ler.
Nay, I am not very pious;
And yet I hardly think it will be call'd
A holy thought.

Con.
By whom?

Ler.
The Multitude.

Confess.
Oh I confess, you have a long time striv'd
With mighty Care to please their giddiness.

Ler.
She is my Daughter.

Confess.
The fitter then to save her Father.
Is't not more piety for such a Cause
To lose her honour, then her own Appetite;
And she perhaps may do like other Women.

Ler.
You have confirm'd me now to be that thing,
I faintly wist before; were all the Honours
Of my dead Ancestors, Lock't up in this Casket
It shu'd be thus broke up; But you must now,
Soften her squeamish Coyness; you may tell her,
The Mistriss of a King, is half a Saint,
For she'le be worshipt; and with her selfe
She Raises up her Father to his wishes.
Now, by my hopes, I speak Ingeniously,
You have a fine, large text, to Preach upon:
And I will second you, and add new motives,
Hugging her Sin, and bless her for offending,
See the Sedan is come.

A Sedan carried by four Mores, Caldroon attending, pass over the Stage.
Con.
Dispatch the slaves away, before
You do unload the Chair.

Cal.
I understand you.

Lerm.
There go the Spells must catch the King:
And now if Love have power, or Womens Eyes
Can shoot a flame into a Sovereigns heart,
I shall grow warm agen; by standing by.
If these plots faile, I'le raise another Spirit
Shall keep my Enemies from Rest.

Conf.
Swell not too soon above your banks,
And so betray the head of all your springs:
We will not fail what fate so e're oppose us.

Ler.
Nobly resolv'd;
But have you found the humours of the King?

Conf.
Yes, I have trac'd an easie nature in him,
But too much fixt, to one unhappy vertue.
His temper is too gentle for our business,
And would be rather cruel to himself
Then unto others; for if prest to Justice
I finde a pitty hangs upon his heart
Like gentle dew that cooles all cruel passions.
Such a smooth heart as his, will sooner take
Impression of a figure then a Rough one.
In his soft nature Love's prepar'd to grow,
When faire Marias Eyes, their sun-beams show.

Ler.
Thou hast now made my hopes so strong
That I dare lean upon 'em: farewell,
If we but prosper now; not we on fate
But she on us, shall for direction waite.

Exeunt.