Part 2 out of 5
No truly, nor milk.
Nor milk, how do they?
They are fain to milk themselves i'th' Country.
Good Lord! but the people there, I think, will be very dutiful to
one of us.
I God knows will they, and yet they do not greatly care for our
Do they not? Alas! I'good faith I cannot blame them: for we do
not greatly care for them our selves. _Philip_, I pray choose us
There's the best forsooth.
By your leave good people a little.
What's the matter?
I pray you my friend, do not thrust my Mistress so, she's with
Let her look to her self then, has she not had showing enough
yet? if she stay shouldring here, she may haps go home with a
cake in her belly.
How now, goodman squitter-breech, why do you lean on me?
Because I will.
Will you Sir sawce-box?
Look if one ha'not struck _Philip_, come hither _Philip_, why did
he strike thee?
For leaning on him.
Why didst thou lean on him?
I did not think he would have struck me.
As God save me la thou'rt as wild as a Buck, there's no quarel
but thou'rt at one end or other on't.
It's at the first end then, for he'l ne'r stay the last.
Well slip-string, I shall meet with you.
When you will.
I'le give a crown to meet with you.
At a Bawdy-house.
I you're full of your Roguery; but if I do meet you it shall cost
me a fall.
_ Flourish. Enter one running_.
The King, the King, the King. Now, now, now, now.
_ Flourish. Enter_ Arb. Tigr. _The two Kings and_ Mardonius.
God preserve your Majesty.
I thank you all, now are my joyes at full, when I behold you
safe, my loving Subjects; by you I grow, 'tis your united love
that lifts me to this height: all the account that I can render
you for all the love you have bestowed on me, all your expences
to maintain my war, is but a little word, you will imagine 'tis
slender paiment, yet 'tis such a word, as is not to be bought but
with your bloods, 'tis Peace.
God preserve your Majesty.
Now you may live securely i'your Towns,
Your Children round about you; may sit
Under your Vines, and make the miseries
Of other Kingdoms a discourse for you,
And lend them sorrows; for your selves, you may
Safely forget there are such things as tears,
And you may all whose good thoughts I have gain'd,
Hold me unworthy, where I think my life
A sacrifice too great to keep you thus
In such a calm estate.
God bless your Majesty.
See all good people, I have brought the man whose very name you
fear'd, a captive home; behold him, 'tis _Tigranes_; in your
heart sing songs of gladness, and deliverance.
Out upon him.
How he looks.
Hang him, hang him.
These are sweet people.
Sir, you do me wrong, to render me a scorned spectacle to common
It was so far from me to mean it so: if I have ought deserv'd, my
loving Subjects, let me beg of you, not to revile this Prince, in
whom there dwells all worth of which the name of a man is
capable, valour beyond compare, the terrour of his name has
stretcht it self where ever there is sun; and yet for you I
fought with him single, and won him too; I made his valour stoop,
and brought that name soar'd to so unbeliev'd a height, to fall
beneath mine: this inspir'd with all your loves, I did perform,
and will for your content, be ever ready for a greater work.
The Lord bless your Majesty.
So he has made me amends now with a speech in commendation of
himself: I would not be so vain-glorious.
If there be any thing in which I may
Do good to any creature, here speak out;
For I must leave you: and it troubles me,
That my occasions for the good of you,
Are such as call me from you: else, my joy
Would be to spend my days among you all.
You shew your loves in these large multitudes
That come to meet me, I will pray for you,
Heaven prosper you, that you may know old years,
And live to see your childrens children sit
At your boards with plenty: when there is
A want of any thing, let it be known
To me, and I will be a Father to you:
God keep you all.
[_ Flourish. Exeunt Kings and their Train_.
God bless your Majesty, God bless your Majesty.
Come, shall we go? all's done.
I for God sake, I have not made a fire yet.
Away, away, all's done.
Content, farewel _Philip_.
Away you halter-sack you.
_Philip_ will not fight, he's afraid on's face.
I marry am I afraid of my face.
Thou wouldst be _Philip_ if thou sawst it in a glass; it looks so
like a Visour.
[_Exeunt _2_., _3_., and Woman_.
You'l be hang'd sirra: Come _Philip_ walk before us homewards;
did not his Majesty say he had brought us home Pease for all our
Yes marry did he.
They're the first I heard of this year by my troth, I longed for
some of 'em: did he not say we should have some?
Yes, and so we shall anon I warrant you have every one a peck
brought home to our houses.
_Enter_ Arbaces _and_ Gobrias.
My Sister take it ill?
Not very ill.
Something unkindly she does take it Sir to have
Her Husband chosen to her hands.
Why _Gobrias_ let her, I must have her know, my will and not her
own must govern her: what will she marry with some slave at home?
O she is far from any stubbornness, you much mistake her, and no
doubt will like where you would have her, but when you behold
her, you will be loth to part with such a jewel.
To part with her? why _Gobrias_, art thou mad? she is my Sister.
Sir, I know she is: but it were pity to make poor our Land, with
such a beauty to enrich another.
Pish will she have him?
I do hope she will not, I think she will Sir.
Were she my Father and my Mother too, and all the names for which
we think folks friends, she should be forc't to have him when I
know 'tis fit: I will not hear her say she's loth.
Heaven bring my purpose luckily to pass, you know 'tis just, she
will not need constraint she loves you so.
How does she love me, speak?
She loves you more than people love their health,
that live by labour; more than I could love a man that died
for me, if he could live again.
She is not like her mother then.
O no, when you were in _Armenia_,
I durst not let her know when you were hurt:
For at the first on every little scratch,
She kept her Chamber, wept, and could not eat,
Till you were well, and many times the news
Was so long coming, that before we heard
She was as near her death, as you your health.
Alas poor soul, but yet she must be rul'd;
I know not how I shall requite her well.
I long to see her, have you sent for her,
To tell her I am ready?
Sir I have.
_Enter_ 1 Gent, _and_ Tigranes.
Sir, here is the _Armenian_ King.
And the Queen-mother, and the Princess wait without.
Good _Gobrias_ bring 'em in.
_Tigranes_, you will think you are arriv'd
In a strange Land, where Mothers cast to poyson
Their only Sons; think you you shall be safe?
Too safe I am Sir.
_Enter_ Gobrias, Arane, Panthea, Spaconia, Bacurius,
Mardonius _and_ Bessus, _and two Gentlemen_.
As low as this I bow to you, and would
As low as is my grave, to shew a mind
Thankful for all your mercies.
O stand up,
And let me kneel, the light will be asham'd
To see observance done to me by you.
You are my King.
You are my Mother, rise;
As far be all your faults from your own soul,
As from my memory; then you shall be
As white as innocence her self.
Only to shew my duty, and acknowledge
My sorrows for my sins; longer to stay
Were but to draw eyes more attentively
Upon my shame, that power that kept you safe
From me, preserve you still.
Your own desires shall be your guide.
Now let me die, since I have seen my Lord the King
Return in safetie, I have seen all good that life
Can shew me; I have ne're another wish
For Heaven to grant, nor were it fit I should;
For I am bound to spend my age to come,
In giving thanks that this was granted me.
Why does not your Majesty speak?
To the Princess.
Alas Sir, I am fearful, you do look
On me, as if I were some loathed thing
That you were finding out a way to shun.
Sir, you should speak to her.
I know I am unworthy, yet not ill arm'd, with which innocence
here I will kneel, till I am one with earth, but I will gain some
words and kindness from you.
Will you speak Sir?
Speak, am I what I was?
What art thou that dost creep into my breast,
And dar'st not see my face? shew forth thy self:
I feel a pair of fiery wings displai'd
Hither, from hence; you shall not tarry there,
Up, and be gone, if thou beest Love be gone:
Or I will tear thee from my wounded breast,
Pull thy lov'd Down away, and with thy Quill
By this right arm drawn from thy wonted wing,
Write to thy laughing Mother i'thy bloud,
That you are powers bely'd, and all your darts
Are to be blown away, by men resolv'd,
Like dust; I know thou fear'st my words, away.
O misery! why should he be so slow?
There can no falshood come of loving her;
Though I have given my faith; she is a thing
Both to be lov'd and serv'd beyond my faith:
I would he would present me to her quickly.
Will you not speak at all? are you so far
From kind words? yet to save my modesty,
That must talk till you answer, do not stand
As you were dumb, say something, though it be
Poyson'd with anger, that it may strike me dead.
Have you no life at all? for man-hood sake
Let her not kneel, and talk neglected thus;
A tree would find a tongue to answer her,
Did she but give it such a lov'd respect.
You mean this Lady: lift her from the earth; why do you let her
kneel so long? Alas, Madam, your beauty uses to command, and not
to beg. What is your sute to me? it shall be granted, yet the
time is short, and my affairs are great: but where's my Sister? I
bade she should be brought.
What, is he mad?
Gobrias,_ where is she?
Where is she man?
Who, hast thou forgot my Sister?
Your Sister, Sir?
Your Sister, Sir? some one that hath a wit, answer, where is she?
Do you not see her there?
S'light, there, are you blind?
Which do you mean, that little one?
No Sir? why, do you mock me? I can see
No other here, but that petitioning Lady.
Sir, it is she.
As hell, by Heaven, as false as hell,
My Sister: is she dead? if it be so,
Speak boldly to me; for I am a man,
And dare not quarrel with Divinity;
And do not think to cozen me with this:
I see you all are mute and stand amaz'd,
Fearful to answer me; it is too true,
A decreed instant cuts off ev'ry life,
For which to mourn, is to repine; she dy'd
A Virgin, though more innocent than sheep,
As clear as her own eyes, and blessedness
Eternal waits upon her where she is:
I know she could not make a wish to change
Her state for new, and you shall see me bear
My crosses like a man; we all must die,
And she hath taught us how.
Do not mistake,
And vex your self for nothing; for her death
Is a long life off, I hope: 'Tis she,
And if my speech deserve not faith, lay death
Upon me, and my latest words shall force
A credit from you.
Which, good Gobrias? that Lady dost thou mean?
That Lady Sir,
She is your Sister, and she is your Sister
That loves you so, 'tis she for whom I weep,
To see you use her thus.
It cannot be.
Pish, this is tedious,
I cannot hold, I must present my self,
And yet the sight of my _Spaconia_
Touches me, as a sudden thunder-clap
Does one that is about to sin.
No more of this; here I pronounce him Traytor,
The direct plotter of my death, that names
Or thinks her for my Sister, 'tis a lie,
The most malicious of the world, invented
To mad your King; he that will say so next,
Let him draw out his sword and sheath it here,
It is a sin fully as pardonable:
She is no kin to me, nor shall she be;
If she were ever, I create her none:
And which of you can question this? My power
Is like the Sea, that is to be obey'd,
And not disputed with: I have decreed her
As far from having part of blood with me,
As the nak'd _indians_; come and answer me,
He that is boldest now; is that my Sister?
O this is fine.
No marry, she is not, an't please your Majesty,
I never thought she was, she's nothing like you.
No 'tis true, she is not.
Thou shou'dst be hang'd.
Sir, I will speak but once; by the same power
You make my blood a stranger unto yours,
You may command me dead, and so much love
A stranger may importune, pray you do;
If this request appear too much to grant,
Adopt me of some other Family,
By your unquestion'd word; else I shall live
Like sinfull issues that are left in streets
By their regardless Mothers, and no name
Will be found for me.
I will hear no more,
Why should there be such musick in a voyce,
And sin for me to hear it? All the world
May take delight in this, and 'tis damnation
For me to do so: You are fair and wise
And vertuous I think, and he is blest
That is so near you as my brother is;
But you are nought to me but a disease;
Continual torment without hope of ease;
Such an ungodly sickness I have got,
That he that undertakes my cure, must first
O'rethrow Divinity, all moral Laws,
And leave mankind as unconfin'd as beasts,
Allowing 'em to do all actions
As freely as they drink when they desire.
Let me not hear you speak again; yet see
I shall but lang[u]ish for the want of that,
The having which, would kill me: No man here
Offer to speak for her; for I consider
As much as you can say; I will not toil
My body and my mind too, rest thou there,
Here's one within will labour for you both.
I would I were past speaking.
Fear not Madam,
The King will alter, 'tis some sudden rage,
And you shall see it end some other way.
Pray heaven it do.
Though she to whom I swore, be here, I cannot
Stifle my passion longer; if my father
Should rise again disquieted with this,
And charge me to forbear, yet it would out.
Madam, a stranger, and a pris'ner begs
To be bid welcome.
You are welcome, Sir,
I think, but if you be not, 'tis past me
To make you so: for I am here a stranger,
Greater than you; we know from whence you come,
But I appear a lost thing, and by whom
Is yet uncertain, found here i'th' Court,
And onely suffer'd to walk up and down,
As one not worth the owning.
O, I fear
_Tigranes_ will be caught, he looks, me-thinks,
As he would change his eyes with her; some help
There is above for me, I hope.
Why do you turn away, and weep so fast,
And utter things that mis-become your looks,
Can you want owning?
O 'tis certain so.
Acknowledge your self mine.
And then see if you want an owner.
They are talking.
Nations shall owne you for their Queen.
_Tigranes_, art not thou my prisoner?
And who is this?
She is your Sister.
She is so.
Is she so again? that's well.
And then how dare you offer to change words with her?
Dare do it! Why? you brought me hither Sir,
To that intent.
Perhaps I told you so,
If I had sworn it, had you so much folly
To credit it? The least word that she speaks
Is worth a life; rule your disordered tongue,
Or I will temper it.
Blest be the breath.
Temper my tongue! such incivilities
As these, no barbarous people ever knew:
You break the lawes of Nature, and of Nations,
You talk to me as if I were a prisoner
For theft: my tongue be temper'd? I must speak
If thunder check me, and I will.
Alas my fortune.
Do not fear his frown, dear Madam, hear me.
Fear not my frown? but that 'twere base in me
To fight with one I know I can o'recome,
Again thou shouldst be conquer'd by me.
He has one ransome with him already; me-thinks
'T were good to fight double, or quit.
Away with him to prison: Now Sir, see
If my frown be regardless; Why delay you?
Seise him _Bacurius_, you shall know my word
Sweeps like a wind, and all it grapples with,
Are as the chaffe before it.
Touch me not.
It is in vain to struggle.
You must be forc'd.
Sir, you must pardon us, we must obey.
Why do you dally there? drag him away
By any thing.
Justice, thou ought'st to give me strength enough
To shake all these off; This is tyrannie,
_Arbaces_, sutler than the burning Bulls,
Or that fam'd _Titans_ bed. Thou mightst as well
Search i'th' deep of Winter through the snow
For half starv'd people, to bring home with thee,
To shew 'em fire, and send 'em back again,
As use me thus.
Let him be close, _Bacurius_.
[_Exeunt_ Tigr. _And_ Bac.
I ne're rejoyc'd at any ill to him,
But this imprisonment: what shall become
Of me forsaken?
You will not let your Sister
Depart thus discontented from you, Sir?
By no means _Gobrias_, I have done her wrong,
And made my self believe much of my self,
That is not in me: You did kneel to me,
Whilest I stood stubborn and regardless by,
And like a god incensed, gave no ear
To all your prayers: behold, I kneel to you,
Shew a contempt as large as was my own,
And I will suffer it, yet at the last forgive me.
O you wrong me more in this,
Than in your rage you did: you mock me now.
Never forgive me then, which is the worst
Can happen to me.
If you be in earnest,
Stand up and give me but a gentle look,
And two kind words, and I shall be in heaven.
Rise you then to hear; I acknowledge thee
My hope, the only jewel of my life,
The best of Sisters, dearer than my breath,
A happiness as high as I could think;
And when my actions call thee otherwise,
Perdition light upon me.
This is better
Than if you had not frown'd, it comes to me,
Like mercie at the block, and when I leave
To serve you with my life, your curse be with me.
Then thus I do salute thee, and again,
To make this knot the stronger, Paradise
Is there: It may be you are yet in doubt,
This third kiss blots it out, I wade in sin,
And foolishly intice my self along;
Take her away, see her a prisoner
In her own chamber closely, _Gobrias_.
Alas Sir, why?
I must not stay the answer, doe it.
No more, doe it I say.
This is better and better.
Yet hear me speak.
I will not hear you speak,
Away with her, let no man think to speak
For such a creature; for she is a witch,
A prisoner, and a Traitor.
Madam, this office grieves me.
Nay, 'tis well the king is pleased with it.
_Bessus_, go you along too with her; I will prove
All this that I have said, if I may live
So long; but I am desperately sick,
For she has given me poison in a kiss;
She had't betwixt her lips, and with her eyes
She witches people: go without a word.
[_Exeunt_ Gob. Pan. Bes. _And_ Spaconia.
Why should you that have made me stand in war
Like fate it self, cutting what threds I pleas'd,
Decree such an unworthy end of me,
And all my glories? What am I, alas,
That you oppose me? if my secret thoughts
Have ever harbour'd swellings against you,
They could not hurt you, and it is in you
To give me sorrow, that will render me
Apt to receive your mercy; rather so,
Let it be rather so, than punish me
With such unmanly sins: Incest is in me
Dwelling already, and it must be holy
That pulls it thence, where art _Mardonius_?
I pray thee bear me, if thou canst,
Am I not grown a strange weight?
As you were.
Why, my legs
Refuse to bear my body; O _Mardonius_,
Thou hast in field beheld me, when thou knowst
I could have gone, though I could never run.
And so I shall again.
O no, 'tis past.
Pray you go rest your self.
Wilt thou hereafter when they talk of me,
As thou shalt hear nothing but infamy,
Remember some of those things?
Yes I will.
I pray thee do: for thou shalt never see me so again.
_Enter Bessus alone_.
They talk of fame, I have gotten it in the wars; and will afford
any man a reasonable penny-worth: some will say, they could be
content to have it, but that it is to be atchiev'd with danger;
but my opinion is otherwise: for if I might stand still in
Cannon-proof, and have fame fall upon me, I would refuse it: my
reputation came principally by thinking to run away, which no
body knows but _Mardonius_, and I think he conceals it to anger
me. Before I went to the warrs, I came to the Town a young
fellow, without means or parts to deserve friends; and my empty
guts perswaded me to lie, and abuse people for my meat, which I
did, and they beat me: then would I fast two days, till my
hunger cri'd out on me, rail still, then me-thought I had a
monstrous stomach to abuse 'em again, and did it. I, this state I
continu'd till they hung me up by th' heels, and beat me wi'
hasle sticks, as if they would have baked me, and have cousen'd
some body wi'me for Venison: After this I rail'd, and eat
quietly: for the whole Kingdom took notice of me for a baffl'd
whipt fellow, and what I said was remembred in mirth but never in
anger, of which I was glad; I would it were at that pass again.
After this, heaven calls an Aunt of mine, that left two hundred
pound in a cousins hand for me, who taking me to be a gallant
young spirit, raised a company for me with the money and sent me
into _Armenia_ with 'em: Away I would have run from them, but
that I could get no company, and alone I durst not run. I was
never at battail but once, and there I was running, but
_Mardonius_ cudgel'd me; yet I got loose at last, but was so
fraid, that I saw no more than my shoulders doe, but fled with my
whole company amongst my Enemies, and overthrew 'em: Now the
report of my valour is come over before me, and they say I was a
raw young fellow, but now I am improv'd, a Plague on their
eloquence, 't will cost me many a beating; And _Mardonius_ might
help this too, if he would; for now they think to get honour on
me, and all the men I have abus'd call me freshly worthily, as
they call it by the way of challenge.
_Enter a Gent_.
Good morrow, Captain _Bessus_.
Good morrow Sir.
I come to speak with you.
You're very welcome.
From one that holds himself wrong'd by you some
three years since: your worth he says is fam'd, and he doth
nothing doubt but you will do him right, as beseems a souldier.
A pox on 'em, so they cry all.
And a slight note I have about me for you, for the delivery of
which you must excuse me; it is an office that friendship calls
upon me to do, and no way offensive to you; since I desire but
right on both sides.
'Tis a challenge Sir, is it not?
'Tis an inviting to the field.
An inviting? O Sir your Mercy, what a Complement he delivers it
with? he might as agreeable to my nature present me poison with
such a speech: um um um reputation, um um um call you to account,
um um um forc'd to this, um um um with my Sword, um um um like a
Gentleman, um um um dear to me, um um um satisfaction: 'Tis very
well Sir, I do accept it, but he must await an answer this
Why Sir, he would be glad to wipe off his stain as soon as he
Sir upon my credit I am already ingag'd to two hundred, and
twelve, all which must have their stains wip'd off, if that be
the word, before him.
Sir, if you be truly ingag'd but to one, he shall stay a
Upon my faith Sir, to two hundred and twelve, and I have a spent
body, too much bruis'd in battel, so that I cannot fight, I must
be plain, above three combats a day: All the kindness I can shew
him, is to set him resolvedly in my rowle, the two hundred and
thirteenth man, which is something, for I tell you, I think there
will be more after him, than before him, I think so; pray you
commend me to him, and tell him this.
I will Sir, good morrow to you.
[_Exit 3 Gent_.
Good morrow good Sir. Certainly my safest way were to print my
self a coward, with a discovery how I came by my credit, and clap
it upon every post; I have received above thirty challenges
within this two hours, marry all but the first I put off with
ingagement, and by good fortune, the first is no madder of
fighting than I, so that that's referred, the place where it must
be ended, is four days journey off, and our arbitratours are
these: He has chosen a Gentleman in travel, and I have a special
friend with a quartain ague, like to hold him this five years,
for mine: and when his man comes home, we are to expect my
friends health: If they would finde me challenges thus thick, as
long as I liv'd, I would have no other living; I can make seven
shillings a day o'th' paper to the Grocers: yet I learn nothing
by all these but a little skill in comparing of stiles. I do
finde evidently, that there is some one Scrivener in this Town,
that has a great hand in writing of Challenges, for they are all
of a cut, and six of 'em in a hand; and they all end, my
reputation is dear to me, and I must require satisfaction: Who's
there? more paper I hope, no, 'tis my Lord _Bacurius_, I fear all
is not well betwixt us.
Now Captain _Bessus_, I come about a frivolous matter, caus'd by
as idle a report: you know you were a coward.
And wronged me.
True my Lord.
But now people will call you valiant, desertlesly I think, yet
for their satisfaction, I will have you fight with me.
O my good Lord, my deep Engagements.
Tell not me of your Engagements, Captain _Bessus_, it is not to
be put off with an excuse: for my own part, I am none of the
multitude that believe your conversion from Coward.
My Lord, I seek not Quarrels, and this belongs not to me, I am
not to maintain it.
Who then pray?
_Bessus_ the Coward wrong'd you.
And shall _Bessus_ the Valiant, maintain what _Bessus_ the Coward
I pray thee leave these cheating tricks, I swear thou shalt fight
with me, or thou shall be beaten extreamly, and kick'd.
Since you provoke me thus far, my Lord, I will fight with you,
and by my Sword it shall cost me twenty pound, but I will have my
Leg well a week sooner purposely.
Your Leg? Why, what ailes your Leg? i'le do a cure on you, stand
My Lord, this is not Noble in you.
What dost thou with such a phrase in thy mouth? I will kick thee
out of all good words before I leave thee.
My Lord, I take this as a punishment for the offence I did when I
was a Coward.
When thou wert? Confess thy self a Coward still, or by this
light, I'le beat thee into Spunge.
Why I am one.
Are you so Sir? And why do you wear a Sword then?
Unbuckle I say, and give it me, or as I live, thy head will ake
It is a pretty Hilt, and if your Lordship take an affection to
it, with all my heart I present it to you for a New-years-gift.
I thank you very heartily, sweet Captain, farewel.
One word more, I beseech your Lordship to render me my knife
Marry by all means Captain; cherish your self with it, and eat
hard, good Captain; we cannot tell whether we shall have any more
such: Adue dear Captain.
I will make better use of this, than of my Sword: A base spirit
has this vantage of a brave one, it keeps alwayes at a stay,
nothing brings it down, not beating. I remember I promis'd the
King in a great Audience, that I would make my back-biters eat my
sword to a knife; how to get another sword I know not, nor know
any means left for me to maintain my credit, but impudence:
therefore I will out-swear him and all his followers, that this
is all that's left uneaten of my sword.
I'le move the King, he is most strangely alter'd; I guess the
cause I fear too right, Heaven has some secret end in't, and 'tis
a scourge no question justly laid upon him: he has followed me
through twenty Rooms; and ever when I stay to wait his command,
he blushes like a Girl, and looks upon me, as if modesty kept in
his business: so turns away from me, but if I go on, he follows
See, here he is. I do not use this, yet I know not how, I cannot
chuse but weep to see him; his very Enemies I think, whose wounds
have bred his fame, if they should see him now, would find tears
I cannot utter it, why should I keep
A breast to harbour thoughts? I dare not speak.
Darkness is in my bosom, and there lie
A thousand thoughts that cannot brook the light:
How wilt thou vex 'em when this deed is done,
Conscience, that art afraid to let me name it?
How do you Sir?
Why very well _Mardonius_, how dost thou do?
Better than you I fear.
I hope thou art; for to be plain with thee,
Thou art in Hell else, secret scorching flames
That far transcend earthly material fires
Are crept into me, and there is no cure.
Is it not strange _Mardonius_, there's no cure?
Sir, either I mistake, or there is something hid
That you would utter to me.
So there is, but yet I cannot do it.
Out with it Sir, if it be dangerous, I will not shrink to do you
service, I shall not esteem my life a weightier matter than
indeed it is, I know it is subject to more chances than it has
hours, and I were better lose it in my Kings cause, than with an
ague, or a fall, or sleeping, to a Thief; as all these are
probable enough: let me but know what I shall do for you.
It will not out: were you with _Gobrias_,
And bad him give my Sister all content
The place affords, and give her leave to send
And speak to whom she please?
Yes Sir, I was.
And did you to _Bacurius_ say as much
That's all my business.
O say not so,
You had an answer of this before;
Besides I think this business might
Be utter'd more carelesly.
Come thou shalt have it out, I do beseech thee
By all the love thou hast profest to me,
To see my Sister from me.
Well, and what?
That's strange, I shall say nothing to her?
Not a word;
But if thou lovest me, find some subtil way
To make her understand by signs.
But what shall I make her understand?
O _Mardonius_, for that I must be pardon'd.
You may, but I can only see her then.
Bear her this Ring then, and
One more advice, thou shall speak to her:
Tell her I do love My kindred all: wilt thou?
Is there no more?
O yes and her the best;
Better than any Brother loves his Sister: That's all.
Methinks this need not have been delivered with such a caution;
I'le do it.
There is more yet,
Wilt thou be faith[f]ul to me?
Sir, if I take upon me to deliver it, after I hear it, I'le pass
through fire to do it.
I love her better than a Brother ought;
Dost thou conceive me?
I hope you do not Sir.
No, thou art dull, kneel down before her,
And ne'r rise again, till she will love me.
Why, I think she does.
But better than she does, another way;
As wives love Husbands.
Why, I think there are few Wives that love their
Husbands better than she does you.
Thou wilt not understand me: is it fit
This should be uttered plainly? take it then
Naked as it is: I would desire her love
Lasciviously, lewdly, incestuously,
To do a sin that needs must damn us both,
And thee too: dost thou understand me now?
Yes, there's your Ring again; what have I done
Dishonestly in my whole life, name it,
That you should put so base a business to me?
Didst thou not tell me thou wouldst do it?
Yes; if I undertook it, but if all
My hairs were lives, I would not be engag'd
In such a case to save my last life.
O guilt! ha how poor and weak a thing art thou!
This man that is my servant, whom my breath
Might blow upon the world, might beat me here
Having this cause, whil'st I prest down with sin
Could not resist him: hear _Mardonius_,
It was a motion mis-beseeming man,
And I am sorry for it.
Heaven grant you may be so: you must understand, nothing that you
can utter, can remove my love and service from my Prince. But
otherwise, I think I shall not love you more. For you are sinful,
and if you do this crime, you ought to have no Laws. For after
this, it will be great injustice in you to punish any offender
for any crime. For my self I find my heart too big: I feel I have
not patience to look on whilst you run these forbidden courses.
Means I have none but your favour, and I am rather glad that I
shall lose 'em both together, than keep 'em with such conditions;
I shall find a dwelling amongst some people, where though our
Garments perhaps be courser, we shall be richer far within, and
harbour no such vices in 'em: the Gods preserve you, and mend.
_Mardonius_, stay _Mardonius_, for though
My present state requires nothing but knaves
To be about me, such as are prepar'd
For every wicked act, yet who does know
But that my loathed Fate may turn about,
And I have use for honest men again?
I hope I may, I prethee leave me not.
Where is the King?
An't please your Majesty, there's the knife.
The Sword is eaten.
Away you fool, the King is serious,
And cannot now admit your vanities.
Vanities! I'me no honest man, if my enemies have not brought it
to this, what, do you think I lie?
No, no, 'tis well _Bessus_, 'tis very well I'm glad on't.
If your enemies brought it to this, your enemies are Cutlers,
come leave the King.
Why, may not valour approach him?
Yes, but he has affairs, depart, or I shall be something
unmannerly with you.
No, let him stay _Mardonius_, let him stay,
I have occasion with him very weighty,
And I can spare you now.
Why I can spare you now.
_Mardonius_ give way to these State affairs.
Indeed you are fitter for this present purpose.
_Bessus_, I should imploy thee, wilt thou do't?
Do't for you? by this Air I will do any thing without exception,
be it a good, bad, or indifferent thing.
Do not swear.
By this light but I will, any thing whatsoever.
But I shall name the thing,
Thy Conscience will not suffer thee to do.
I would fain hear that thing.
Why I would have thee get my Sister for me?
Thou understandst me, in a wicked manner.
O you would have a bout with her?
I'le do't, I'le do't, I'faith.
Wilt thou, do'st thou make no more on't? Bes. More? no, why is
there any thing else? if there be, it shall be done too.
Hast thou no greater sense of such a sin?
Thou art too wicked for my company,
Though I have hell within me, thou may'st yet
Corrupt me further: pray thee answer me,
How do I shew to thee after this motion?
Why your Majesty looks as well in my opinion, as ever you did
since you were born.
But thou appear'st to me after thy grant,
The ugliest, loathed detestable thing
That I ever met with. Thou hast eyes
Like the flames of _Sulphur_, which me thinks do dart
Infection on me, and thou hast a mouth
Enough to take me in where there do stand
Four rows of Iron Teeth.
I feel no such thing, but 'tis no matter how I look, Pie do my
business as well as they that look better, and when this is
dispatch'd, if you have a mind to your Mother, tell me, and you
shall see I'le set it hard.
My Mother! Heaven forgive me to hear this,
I am inspir'd with horrour: now I hate thee
Worse than my sin, which if I could come by
Should suffer death Eternal ne're to rise
In any breast again. Know I will die
Languishing mad, as I resolve, I shall,
E're I will deal by such an instrument:
Thou art too sinful to imploy in this;
Out of the World, away.
What do you mean, Sir?
Hung round with Curses, take thy fearful flight
Into the Desarts, where 'mongst all the Monsters
If thou find'st one so beastly as thy self,
Thou shalt be held as innocent.
If there were no such instruments as thou,
We Kings could never act such wicked deeds:
Seek out a man that mocks Divinity,
That breaks each precept both of God and man,
And natures too, and does it without lust,
Meerly because it is a law, and good,
And live with him: for him thou canst not spoil.
Away I say, I will not do this sin.
I'le press it here, till it do break my breast,
It heaves to get out, but thou art a sin,
And spight of torture I will keep thee in.
_Enter_ Gobrias, Panthea, _and_ Spaconia.
Have you written Madam?
Yes, good _Gobrias_.
And with a kindness, and such winning words
As may provoke him, at one instant feel
His double fault, your wrong, and his own rashness?
I have sent words enough, if words may win him
From his displeasure; and such words I hope,
As shall gain much upon his goodness, _Gobrias_.
Yet fearing they are many, and a womans,
A poor belief may follow, I have woven
As many truths within 'em to speak for me,
That if he be but gracious, and receive 'em--
Good Lady be not fearful, though he should not
Give you your present end in this, believe it,
You shall feel, if your vertue can induce you
To labour on't, this tempest which I know,
Is but a poor proof 'gainst your patience:
All those contents, your spirit will arrive at,
Newer and sweeter to you; your Royal brother,
When he shall once collect himself, and see
How far he has been asunder from himself;
What a meer stranger to his golden temper:
Must from those roots of vertue, never dying,
Though somewhat stopt with humour, shoot again
Into a thousand glories, bearing his fair branches
High as our hopes can look at, straight as justice,
Loaden with ripe contents; he loves you dearly,
I know it, and I hope I need not farther
Win you to understand it.
I believe it.
But howsoever, I am sure I love him dearly:
So dearly, that if any thing I write
For my enlarging should beget his anger,
Heaven be a witness with me and my faith,
I had rather live intomb'd here.
You shall not feel a worse stroke than your grief,
I am sorry 'tis so sharp, I kiss your hand,
And this night will deliver this true story,
With this hand to your Brother.
Peace go with you, you are a good man.
My _Spaconia_, why are you ever sad thus?
O dear Lady.
Prethee discover not a way to sadness,
Nearer than I have in me, our two sorrows
Work like two eager Hawks, who shall get highest;
How shall I lessen thine? for mine I fear
Is easier known than cur'd.
Heaven comfort both,
And give you happy ends, however I
Fall in my stubborn fortunes.
This but teaches
How to be more familiar with our sorrows,
That are too much our masters: good _Spaconia_
How shall I do you service?
You make me more a slave still to your goodness,
And only live to purchase thanks to pay you,
For that is all the business of my life: now
I will be bold, since you will have it so,
To ask a noble favour of you.
Speak it, 'tis yours, for from so sweet a vertue,
No ill demand has issue.
Then ever vertuous, let me beg your will
In helping me to see the Prince _Tigranes_,
With whom I am equal prisoner, if not more.
Reserve me to a greater end _Spaconia_;
_Bacurius_ cannot want so much good manners
As to deny your gentle visitation,
Though you came only with your own command.
I know they will deny me gracious Madam,
Being a stranger, and so little fam'd,
So utter empty of those excellencies
That tame Authority; but in you sweet Lady,
All these are natural; beside, a power