University of Virginia Library

SCENE, A Prison.
King Richard, Solus.
Rich.
I have bin studying how to compare
This lonesom Prison to the populous World,
The Paradox seems hard; but thus I'll prove it,
I'll call my B ain the Female to my Soul;
My Soul the Father, and these Two beget
A Generation of succeeding Thoughts,
Th'Inhabitants that stock this little World
In humours like the People of the World,
No Thought Contented: for, the better sort
As Thoughts of things Divine, are mixt with doubts
That set the Faith it self against the Faith,
Thoughts tending to Ambition, they are plotting
Unlikely Wonders, how these poor weak Hands
May force a passage through these stubborn flints;
And cause they cannot, Die in their own Pride,
Thoughts tending to Content are whispring to me,
That I am not the first of Fortunes Slaves,
And shall not be the Last; poor flatt'ring Comfort,
Thus I and every other Son of Earth
With nothing shall be pleas'd, till we be eas'd
With being nothing.
A Table and Provisions shewn.
What mean my Goalers by that plenteous Board?
For three days past I've fed upon my Sighs,
And drunk my Tears; rest craving Nature, rest,
I'll humour thy dire Need and tast this food,
That only serves to make Misfortune Live.
[Going to sit, the Table sinks down.
Thus Tantalus they say is us'd below;
But Tantalus his Guilt is then his Torture.
I smile at this fantastick Cruelty.
Ha, Musick too!—Ev'n what my Torturers please.

[Song and soft Musick, after which a Messenger Enters.
Mess.
Hail Royal Sir, with dang'rous difficulty
Gives him Letters.
I've enter'd here to bear These to your hand;
O killing Spectacle!

Rich.
From whom?—my Queen,
My Isabell, my Royal wretched Wife?
O Sacred Character, oh Heav'n-born Saint!
Why! here are words wou'd charm the raging Sea,
Cure Lunaticks, dissolve the Wizzard's Spell,
Check baleful Planets, and make Winter bloom.
How fares my Angel, say, what Air's made rich
With her arrival, for she breathes the Spring.
What Land is by her presence priviledged
From Heavn's ripe Vengeance? O my lab'ring Heart!
Inn, hide Thee, and prepare in short to Answer
To th'infinite Enquiries that my Love
Shall make of this dear Darling of my Soul.
Whilst undisturb'd I seize the present Minute
To answer the Contents of this blest Paper.
[Ex. Mess.
Sits down to write, Enter Exton and Servants.
Furies! what means this Pageantry of Death?
Speak thou the foremost Murderer, thy own hand
Is arm'd with th'Instrument of thy own Slaughter,
Go Thou and fill a room in Hell,
[Kills 4 of them.
Another Thou.
Exton here strikes him down.
That hand shall burn in never quenching Fire,
That staggers thus my Person, cruel Exton,
The blackest Fiend shall see thee lodg'd beneath him.
The Damn'd will shun the Villain whose curst Hand
Has with the King's blood stain'd the King's own Land.

[Dies.
Ext.
Hast and convey his Body to our Master
Before the very Rumour reach his Ear.
As full of Valour as of Royal Blood,
Both have I spilt, O that the Deed were Good.
Despair already seizes on my Soul;
Through my dark Brest Eternal Horrours roul:
Ev'n that false Fiend that told me I did well,
Cry's now, This Deed is Register'd in Hell.

[Ex.