Adrasta Jones, John This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A04604 of text S107861 in the English Short Title Catalog (STC 14721). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. Martin Mueller Incompletely or incorrectly transcribed words were reviewed and in many cases fixed by Nayoon Ahn This text has not been fully proofread EarlyPrint Project Evanston IL, Notre Dame IN, St.Louis, Washington MO 2017 Distributed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License A04604.xml Adrasta: or, The vvomans spleene, and loves conquest. A tragi-comedie. Never acted. Jones, John, fl. 1635. 45 600dpi TIFF G4 page images University of Michigan, Digital Library Production Service Ann Arbor, Michigan 2011 December (TCP phase 2) 99843553 STC (2nd ed.) 14721. Greg, II, 501. 8295 A04604 2240927118

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 Adrasta: or, The vvomans spleene, and loves conquest. A tragi-comedie. Never acted. Adrasta Womans spleene, and loves conquest. Adrasta: or, The womans spleene, and loves conquest. Jones, John, fl. 1635. [8], 79, [1] p. Printed [by Miles Flesher?] for Richard Royston, and are to be sold at his shop in Ivie-lane, next to the Exchequer Office, London : 1635. 1635

Dedication signed: John Jones Eugen.

Printer's name conjectured by STC.

Reproduction of the original in the British Library.

 A04604 shc Adrasta Jones, John Nayoon Ahn 1635 play tragicomedy shc no A04604 S107861 (STC 14721). 90 30071 0 0 0 0 0 0 0.00 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. Incorporated ~ 10,000 textual changes made to the SHC corpus by Hannah Bredar, Kate Needham, and Lydia Zoells between April and July 2015 during visits, separately or together, to the Bodleian, Folger and Houghton Libraries as well as the Rare Book Libraries at Northwestern University and the University of Chicago Boston Public Library, BRLL

ADRASTA : OR , THE WOMANS SPLEENE , And LOVES CONQVEST .

A Tragi-comedie .

Never Acted .

Horat. — Volet haec sub lace videri , Iudicis argutum quae non form dat acumen .

LONDON , Printed for Richard Royston , and are to be sold at his Shop in Ivie-lane , next to the Exchequer Office .

1635 .

TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE , THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULL And others His Friends and Musophilus : EUGENIUS wisheth Pierian love , benevolent aspect , and candid Censure .

HAving long since ( honour'd Gentlemen , and friends ) finish'd this Play , and fitted it for the Stage , I intended to have had there the Promethean fire of Action infus'd into it : being thereto encourag'd by the generall good liking and content , which many of you vouchsaf'd to receive in the hearing of it ; which way it never yet miscarryed , but still had all that the eare could give it : and with whom some prime wits of both the Universities , and those that were learned in this facultie ( competent Iudges enough ) have in their free and open Censures unanimously accorded . This I say was encouragement enough for me to prefer this little Gloweworme ( which I had , as yet , only fostred and kept warme with mine owne breath ) to the Stage , and to bring it into that Noble nursery of Action , where Dramatick Poëms usually and rightly take their Degrees of applause from them that can best judge , the Spectators ; that , as it had been before only demissa per aurem , it might be now at length Oculis subjecta fidelibus . But the Players , upon a slight and halfe view of it , refus'd to doe it that right ; The reason I well know not , unlesse perhaps it had not in it so much Witchcraft in Poëtry , as , now t is known , the Stage will beare . Be what will , it hath again been under the file since they saw it : and now by the earnest impulse of some particular friends , necessity concurring , my selfe also willing to avoid farther trouble and care for it , that it might not hinder the conception of things more worthy your care and sight ; I was , unwillingly , forc'd to publish it to the World ; where being freely exposed to all censures , I doubt not but many a dogg-tooth'd Cynick will have a snap at it : But I know already they will not be worth my anger , and therefore should be loath to spend any part of my Title upon them ; only I wish them to note this saying well : Anothers work to reprehend How easie t is ? how hard to mend ?

In the mean time I doe submit it wholly to the learned judgements of you all ( Gentlemen ) for whose delight it was conceived and written ; To you doe I repaire both for defence and candor : hoping that you will vindicate this harmelesse piece from the rash censures of malevolent and unskilfull Iudges , whilst I take leave to say ; — * * Ambubaiarum Collegii Alumni . Demetri teque Tigelli , Discipulorum inter jubeo plorare Cathedras . What tho it was never acted ? I hold the deep and solid eare a more faithfull messenger to the understanding , than the eye : Grave Auditors are still welcomer to the Muses , than light Spectators : such I meane as applaud only of toyes and bables ( Poscentes Vestro multum diversa palato ) are like Americans meerely taken with bels , rattles , and Hobby-horses , not relishing the perfection of nature nor solid Art , though Industry labour to feed them with both at once . But this excuse is left for them : Invincible Ignorance satisfies before God and man . This hope remaines to us , Non omnes eadem mirantur amantque What though it never tooke the Degree of the Stage ? I presume you are all Learned ( Gentlemen ) and know better how to judge by the care , than by the eye , though both may exercise their functions here : As well a foole as a good Physitian may come from Padua : & an Asse may graduate himself at Athens . Wherefore now ( Gentlemen ) if you be lovers of the Muses ( and such I would have you all ) I need not then doubt of your benevolent aspects , which will soon beget a candid censure . I make but one Musophilus of you all , to whom ( as it were ) Uno in multis , I dedicate my endeavours bestowed upon this Poëm , hoping to find in you all , severally , that fundamentall similitude and common Ration in your loves to Learning , by which you may easily retribute that recompence to these Labours , which the Stage deny'd

Your true Honorer , JOHN JONES Eugen .
The Actors names .

PROLOGVE .

Cosmo a Duke . Adrasta his Duchesse . Lucilio their Sonne . Lady Julia a widdow . Althea her daughter . Antonio a Courtier and friend to Lucilio . Camilla the Lady Julia's women . Fioretta the Lady Julia's women . Rigazzo a Page to Lucilio . Alastor a villaine but a Coward . Assassino a Blade or desperate fellow . Micale a Witch . Sarvia her daughter . Navarchus a Master of a Ship . One Mariner or Ship-man . Mr Frailware a Grocer and Constable . Mistris Ambrosia Frailware his wife . Debora her maid . Mr Damasippus a lecherous Stoike . Mistris Abigail his wife . Damon two Shepheards . Arminio two Shepheards . Laurinda a Shepherdesse . A messenger .

EPILOGVE .

The Scene Florence .

A little before the Prologue comes forth , enters one of the Actors and sits downe on the Stage as a stranger , awhile after enters the Prologue and stumbles at his legs . Gent.

HOw now Prologue ! is your mind so much on your part , that you must run over men as you goe ?

Prol.

The fault was yours sir , that would so carelesly sit in his way , that was to doe his part by you ; tho we hope to run over some before we have ended ; and yet without any Cynicall observation , especially of the wise .

Gent.

Why for Iuvenal's sake ? what has thy new tunn'd Poetry vented ? will you raile ? will you be satiricall , and bite ? and rub the City with salt ?

Prol.

Faith sir you must know , that the giddy loosenes of vicious humors , does so rankle in most parts of our time 's imposthum'd gallantry , that t is a hard thing Satyram non scribere : and therefore we are desirous to launce it a little , and give the sore an issue , that vanity seeing the foulenesse of the matter which made it swell to such a seeming greatnesse , may loathe it selfe , and seeke a cure for the disease .

Gent.

Doe yoe heare Prologue ! your Author is a foole : is he desirous to buy Fame at such a rate , that he wil smart for 't ? will not examples move him ? can he not live private , but he must be medling with Tigillinus ? Did he never heare of the Proverb , that it 's better railing at Hercules then at a Clowne to his face ? I prethee tell him of it , and let him know , t is better live still private and unknowne , then have our smarts to ev'ry eare be blowne .

Prol.

Troth it is true sir , I le put him in mind of it .

Gent.

I prithee doe , and tell him withall , that so choise an Audience desires not to glut their eares with others infamie , nor ever wish'd their mirth should feed upon the ranke distemperature of other mens vices ; but come to behold a Scene merry and harmelesse , as free from sower invectives , as fulsome bawdery : as for those whose dull palats can relish nothing , unlesse it be sawced with the verjuice of a tarte pen , be hostile enemies to their pishes and meawings , and scorne to beg or buy a reconciling ; their defects make them desperate , and their envy cannot blast an unbeholding wit : to the candor of the rest , any mirth will be more pleasing than railing : some harmelesse and innocent humour , that may passe with allowance of the times , will be welcomer to them , and safer to you .

Prol.

Sir in our Authors name I thanke you : and would you but please to speake with him your selfe —

Gent.

I will presently , and disswade his intention , and yet I doubt not but to give sufficient contentation to his Auditors , whose patience I feare I have wrong'd by interrupting their Prologue . exit .

Prol.

I should have opened the Argument of our Play , but stumbling on this stranger , makes me doubtfull what wee shall have — howsoever —

Prologue . The selfe distrust that guides his bashfull pen Wills him intreat your patience , and if then This slight worke please you , time more purely spent Shall once more sweat to better your content : Lighter defects a serious Muse amends ; And slight beginnings have some perfect ends .
THE WOMANS SPLEENE , AND LOVES CONQVEST : A Tragi-Comedie .
Actus 1.
Scena 1. Enter Antonio and Rigazzo the Page . Page .

SIgnior Antonio , pray how did you like the Maske wee had here to night , for my Lord Lucilio 's ben venuto ?

Anto.

Well of a wooden one , set forth by a Dancer and an Architect , as the fashion is .

Page .

Alas Signior , there must bee something to prolong and strengthen these devices , when Poëts , in favour of the ignorant , are faine to leave 'hem so short winded , and almost speechlesse .

Anto.

So sir ; But now tell mee Rigazzo , what have you learn'd all this time you have beene with your Lord at the Vniversitie ?

Page .

More than I can reckon Signior , and yet I have the Art of memorie to help me .

Anto.

As what sir ?

Page .

I can name you all the Alehouses and Tavernes in Athens , and most part of the Bawdy-houses ; marry to know them all , onely Night , that has beene some scores of yeares acquainted with 'hem , and the Devill that gathers their rents , could teach me : and indeed I was too young to be their scholler , else I might have beene a better proficient in them too .

Anto.

I thinke sir your time was spent in such studies .

Page .

No , not all Signior , I can steale as desperately as a Pursivant ; fiddle the Geese , Ducks , Hens , Lambs , and Calves , five mile round by booke ; and cover the matter as smoothly as your Citizen does his perjury , and your Stoick his Lecherie : for I had most sober Graduates for my Tutors in all .

Anto.

'T was pitty your Rogueship had not proceeded Master of Art in the facultie of theeving .

Page .

It 's no matter Signior for theeves to proceed Masters of Art , when so many Masters of Art doe proceed theeves , and that 's the least conversion , you know Signior .

Anto.

Are you so nimble at your Logick sir ?

Page .

As a hungry Scholler at a Henroost .

Anto.

Take heed you labour not your selfe out o'breath , your learning 's but short winded .

Page .

Long enough to runne with a Stoick , Signior . I may bee able to reade moralitie , get me some night-geere , and a red Nose , and then I am most illustriously compleate .

Anto.

Away , the Duke . Sound Cornets or Hoboyes .

Enter Cosmo the Duke , Adrasta his Duchesse , Lucilio their Sonne , Lady Iulia , Althea , &c. Duke . Thus hath our cost and best invention sweat To seale your welcome from th' Athenean Schooles : And trust me sonne , your thankes are much in debt Vnto these Ladies , whose too prodigall loves Have search'd for jewels , thus to doe you grace . Lucil. My Lord , I doe acknowledge it a debt As to their loves : Onely your Princely care To grace our new returne hath so surpass'd The former expectation we conceiv'd , That I am forc'd now to confesse I live A desperate bankerout to your royall favours . Duke . Your good deserts may soone requite our love , But tell us , How does learning flourish now In Athens ? Lucil. Iust as Vertue at the Court ; For with the times affecting ignorance 'T has banish'd true industrious labour thence ; And vicious loosnesse finding none resist , Has so ingros'd the most refined wits , And by the terrours of her sensuall threats , Bred such deluding Crocodiles in their braines , That like the thirsty swift Egyptian dogges , They scarcely taste of those faire seven-fold streames , Into whose depth their industrie should dive : And having onely got a seeming face Of superficiall knowledge , 'mongst the grosse And beast-like sense-conceiving multitude , They most ambitiously seeke and pursue Vulgar applause for their poore out-side skill , " And by such mudwall stayres doe often rise " Vp to the top of abus'd dignities . Duke . How can deserving vertue flourish then , If sacred learning be so sleightly sought ? Lucil. As twinn-borne sisters , both doe share alike Their equall portions in the worlds esteeme , For in those hallow'd places , which a true And carefull liberalitie did consecrate As pure religious shrines to god like Skill , Where Vertue richly invested with her best And precious ornaments , might give a full And glorious lustre like a noone-tide Sunne ; There ugly Vice , even in the basest formes , Climing by steps of Art up to the height Of horror , standeth in a praecipiti , And thrust but one step farther , with her fall Will crush her selfe , and overwhelme the world . Duke . To grieve at this , were in these senselesse times To become monstrous ; and to feele no griefe , Were to be senselesse with the times themselves . Lucilio courts Althea Aside Duch. Observe him good my Lord , and let your eye Be jealous now — Duke . Have patience good Adrasta , We strive in vaine to bandy with loves power And unresisted Charter of the gods , Which time and absence ne'r could violate . Alth. — As is your soule . aside . Althea to Lucilio . Lucil. O be prodigious then ! And in despight of custome let the world See that it 's possible a womans minde Can rest in one : you must be valiant too , And dare th' affrighting dangers that we meet , I feare we have swelling passages to wade , " For we must feele amidst a world of evils , " A womans Spleene , worse than the worst of devils . Duke . Now Lady Iulia let this confirme your welcome , And yours Althea : trust me I could wish The season so dispos'd , since that our sonnes Happy and safe returne has made us glad , That we might dedicate a longer time To harmlesse mirth : but now the night growes old , And we shall wrong your patience too too much . Exeunt all but the Duchesse and Lucilio . Duch. Must it be so ? Have all those lavish signes Of undeserved favours heapt on you By your too carefull father , and our self , Been spurres to your contempt ? Or could the sweets Of our affection prodigally cast , Make you not relish what your duty owes ? Else did you thinke because they alwayes ranne In such an uncheckt current to your will , That no ingratitude could make the ebbe ? O impious times ! wherein a parents care , When shee has combated the pangs of death To give her children life ; stood all her time Like to a carefull Centinell for their youth , And spent the nights in pensive watchfulnesse , ( Forcing soft nature to forbeare her rest ) To plott their good ; must all be frustrated ? And by a childs proud will see all things crost ? Their Parents hopes , and their owne fortunes lost ? How hath our love to thee ? our wishes toyl'd To build thy passage to a higher spheare , And by some noble match to raise thy House , And must thy base attempts looke downeward still ? Mongrell our blood ? and set a lasting scarre Vpon our progeny , by fixing thus Thy stubborne passions on base Iulia's childe ? Luci. Madam , not to yeeld what Nature makes us owe , Were to bee made lesse reas'nable than beasts ; And nothing's more against a generous minde , And freeborne spirit , than foule Ingratitude : Yet must your Grace remember that we take Nor all from Parents : the hand of heaven and Fate Does by the last infusion of the soule Give the rich forme , and by a secret tract , And unavoyded path , leads us to what Seemes good to it ; and though our mindes be free In this impulse , wee love by Destinie . I must confesse I love ; nor was the flame Of my affection , when it kindled first , Like to a paper fire , that with a blaze Of lust , begins and ends at once , and leaves Nought but black infamie behinde : nor can The least dishonour staine our Dukedomes title From her , whose Blood stands firme by long descents , Even in the heart of unbought noblenesse , Whose Reputation 's sound , Revenues faire , Beauty able to inrich a Dukedome , and deserts To be an Empresse . Were then our fortunes rais'd By those high steps to which I should aspire To joyne with greatnesse , I must joyne with vice , " For they are oft observ'd to joyne their hands , " And he not stoops that stayes where Vertue stands . Duch. Has Athens taught you bee an Oratour ? Degenerous boy , I le coole your vertuous flame , And make thee rue the basenesse of thy choise . Exit . Lucil. How deepe a conflict doe my thoughts indure 'Twixt Love and Dutie ! Wert not a mothers tongue That wrong'd thy worth Althea , I would have torne it From out th' injurious throat in thy revenge , " And held it to their eyes , to let them see " How it had wrong'd it selfe by wronging thee . Exit . Enter Mistris Frailware and the Page . Mistris Frail. By my troth I am glad to see thee well my little Gallow-clapper ; how hast thou done this many a day ? ha ! Page .

Faith prettily well Mistris Fraileware , as a man of my profession might ; I had all the chiefe trades in the City to help mee doe well .

Mistris Frail.

What trades were they , thou wert too young for any occupation yet .

Page .

Not above three yeares at most : but I earn'd something with working and wayting on my Lord , as Tankard-bearers , Labourers , and Servingmen doe : I stole and cozen'd , as Taylors , Shopkeepers and Cutpurses doe ; I let out my Lords books , and tooke money for the use of 'hem , as the later ends of gouty Merchants doe : and yet for all this I was forc'd ( as many of you Citizens are ) to goe many times to bed with a hungry conscience .

Mistris Frail.

You 'll never leave your crackery , but tell mee prethee sirrha , is Athens a fine Towne ? What be these College , like ? didst thou goe to schoole there ?

Page .

O , an excellent place for a woman that will use trading : You shall have the Schollers lie at your sweet Frailes night and day ; they bee forc'd to sweeten their disputations with Grocers reasons : and custome could not but make your husband one of the head men of the City presently .

Mistris Frail.

Now by my troth I thinke it were a very good place for a stale shopkeepers wife of the City to set up in : o' my conscience , a woman of our occupation might thrive there .

Page .

I , and she were down never so low , the schollers would doe it — and how does Master Damasippios the lecturing Stoick ? When was he here ?

Mistris Frail.

Dost remember him ? let me see — o' my honesty , I never saw him since his last morall Lecture against the sinnes of the flesh — yes heaven forgive me to sweare , now I remember me , the same day my husband went a duck-hunting ; and then he came hither , and brought mee many good things : wilt thou goe to him againe sometimes for mee ? I le give thee some figges and Tobacco .

Page .

Yours to command ; I le smoake in your businesse then i'faith .

Mistris Frail.

Prethee come to me when my husband is out of the shoppe . exit .

Page .

Adieu the two desiring sinnes of the City . Avarice and Lechery : if I doe not meet with your morall venery , would I might goe lowsie , and have but three pence to play with this moneth . Exit Page .

Enter Duchesse and Alastor . Duch. Come good Alastor ! be but secret now , And I shall live indear'd unto thy faith ; The matter much imports us ; and in case That my rewards should dye with me , the State Will one day thanke thee for 't . I have his seale , His hand and stile exactly counterfeit : Then heare thy charge ; Thou must this evening haste Covertly to the Lady Iulia's house — But canst bee secret ? Alast. As your owne thoughts Madam , I can stick as close to any peece of villany As a Punk to a Farmers sonne new gentiliz'd ; And when besides so many good angels tempt , They are enough — to make a woman keepe counsell . Duch. Well then ; make meanes to speake there with Althea , Tell her thou com'st from Lord Lucilio , Who in important businesse has imployed thee ; I know shee 'll take thy message privately : Deliver her this letter ; seeme that Lucilio Has none but thee on whom he can relie In this so dangerous an enterprise : Shee upon this will- bee more free and open To the designe : then marke her , good Alastor ! Observe each word and gesture that shee uses ; If thou canst wring a looke that may discover But a consenting thought , it will suffice : For when offending lives withstand our will , Wee must seeme good , though we determine ill . exit . Alast.

Here 's a villanous pitfall to stifle a poore wench in ; who can bee a beggar , now , that 's not afraid to bee damn'd ? well , I can no more tell how to thrive without doing villany , than greatnesse can without doing injury . Pretty peece of man's flesh I my heart will leap when I see thee come off the Rock like a Mag-Pie ; and I shall wish , for thy sake , that nature had made women a litle lighter , all of feathers , that they might have taken hurt by no manner of falling : but pitty is a thing clean out of fashion , and the high way to irreparable Beggary ; I le none of it . exit .

Enter Lucilio , Antonio , Page . Anto. Nay good my Lord yeeld not your self so much To these unseason'd Passions , that doe sit Like midnight on your thoughts ; me thinks the ayre Of Athens should have purg'd these humours quite : In troth , my Lord , the world will condemne you , Lucil. Of what Antonio ? Anto. Why of melancholy . Which some define is weaknesse in a Lord , And in a Lady pride or fullennesse , But in a wise man 't is flatt foolery . Lucil. Prethee forbeare Antonio ; let me in silence Vent out the cares that overwhelme my soule ; Thou know'st how deep an angry mothers spleene Wounds the soft love that I am forc'd to beare To my Altheas vertues . How can I chuse But weep away my youth , when I remember The dreadfull oppositions which my soule Hath formerly sustain'd for her ; the cares That have out-runne my yeares , and like to corsives Have eate into my flesh , there seiz'd upon All faculties of life , and spred their venome Through every veine and sinew of my heart ? Anto. 'T is your owne fault , that thus will spend your selfe In such extreames of passion , that encrease The number of your griefes above your spirit ; Faith 't is unmanly done ; call you this love ? Lucil. Antonio , thou mistak'st the name of love In thy Lucilio , if thou conceiv'st it dull And sprightlesse melancholy , whose corroding humour Feeds on the faint dejection of a minde That dares not meet an apprehensive thought Of least misfortune , but it basely yeelds : I have held up , thou knowest , against all plots A womans wit could manage or invent , Or cause the Duke my father countenance To blow out the chaste flame of my affection , Have laid my brest open to envy's spight , And suffer'd even to banishment it selfe ; If I may tearm 't a banishment from her Who is all things to me , divine Althea , Life , Countrey , fortune ; all that this world cals happy . Anto. Strange Symptomes of affection ! Lucilio , Say , Antonio , Was it not Banishment ? that even when Iove Had licens'd us in heav'n , and meant to send Himen to earth in white and Priestly robes To joyne our hands , as Cupid had our hearts ; Then to be taken hoodwinkt from my hopes , And sent in haste from Court , just in the harvest Of my desires , to combate with the Arts , The aire and clime of Athens , whil'st the Sunne Trebled his course to the Coelestiall Ramme . Anto. Yet know my Lord that your indulgent Parents Out of their Princely care intended it But as a course of Physick , to recover Your love-sick thoughts , hoping that Time & Absence , Ioyn'd with the precepts of Philosophy Might purge you to a remissnesse of affection , And by degrees conquer this mouldy passion . Lucil. All which supposed remedies deare friend , Set the disease a working , much lesse cure it : True love , Antonio , is immutable , A divine Charter of affection Confirm'd in heav'n , and can by no prescript Of Art or Nature ever be restrain'd . — Nullis amor est medicabilis herbis , — Nec prosunt Artes . Anto. Yet since in vaine you strive To bandy with a mother , me thinkes Love Tir'd in the depth of woe , should call your Reason To a new choise fitting your Birth and Fortunes . Lucil. Call woes to woes , I am resolv'd to trie The worst of spleene : and since her vertuous thoughts Have daign'd to meet affection , that on wings Of true borne faith hath rais'd it selfe , to claspe With her deserts , the most austerest tempest Envy can showre upon our innocent loves , Shall ne'r dis-joyne us . Anto I have done my Lord . Lucil. Then prethee Antonio , let me in peace retire , I feele some strange events lie at my heart My thoughts cannot presage : I feare , my friend , I have but dream'd as yet , but now mine eyes Must wake to meet true solid miseries . Exit . Lucilio . Anto. To see how strong love is , and the command It has o'r humane hearts ! Poore Lord , I know Thy true-borne griefes are firme , and that chast faith Never conceiv'd to wave with floating likenesse ; Makes thee thus sinke into the depth of sorrow . Page .

Nay , good Signior follow him , put him out of the humour , or else he will turne madman shortly .

Anto. Why sir ? Page .

Because he that s first a Scholler , next in love , the yeare after , is either an arrant foole or a starke madman .

Anto. How came your knavery by such experience ? Page .

As fooles doe by newes , some body told me so , and I beleeve it . But in good earnest I had forgot to tell my Lord of the message he sent me in .

Anto. Whither in the name of Mercury was that ? Page . To see how the Lady Donna Fiozza did . Anto. Oh! how does her beauteous Ladiship ? Page . Sick , terrible sick . Anto. Physick defend ! prethee of what disease ? Page .

Yesterday her Monkey had a fall off the side table , and ever since she has had a strange fit of an ague .

Anto. How does her Lord ? Page .

Faith not well neither , and therefore he begins to be most sparingly vertuous .

Anto. The pox he does . Page .

On my fidelitie you are the foule mouth'dst gallant that ever wore Cloves in 's Gummes : you say an Italian Count has the pox .

Anto. Your neater word good Galateo ? Page .

By this light you Courtiers bee the dullest creatures living ; you learne nothing but flattery and begging . You must know sir in a Nobleman 't is abusive ; no ; in him the Sarpigo ; in a Knight the Grincomes ; in a Gentleman the Neopolitan scabb ; and in a Servingman or Artificer the plaine Pox : Iust as your saying goes , that Noblemen bee never drunke , but take a surfeit ; Schollers be ill at ease ; and poore men onely they are drunke , yet all 's but one disease : There 's an old rime for you : adieu Signior , I must to my Lord .

Anto. Farewell hedge-pike . Exeunt . Enter Althea and Alastor . Alth. Did my Lord so farre impart the businesse to your selfe ? Alast.

He did , and does intend to use my help alone in effecting of his project .

She gives him a letter and money . Alth. I prethee returne him this answer , and bee silent . Alast.

Sweet villany , thou art the thrivingst trade under heaven . Exit .

Alth. Warme blood assist me ! how has wonder seiz'd The frozen passages that slowly guide My shivering spirits up to the seat of life ! Murder the Duke ! now innocence forbid , And let our selves be as out loves , unstain'd . Tyrannous affection ! can thy transforming power Enforce our passions thus beyond our selves ? Rob us of nature and the sense of man ? Seize all our actions ? force us to forget That we are children ? and with loves finger blot Cleane from our thoughts the pietie we owe To them that gave us life ? Carry us headlong To such a gulfe of sinne ? where we must drowne Our selves , our honour , and that secure content A guiltlesse conscience brings to innocence ! Ah deare Lucilio ! how are thy vertues dimm'd In my best thoughts , that like a Christall mirrour Still held the shapes of thy deserving actions Vnspottedly resembl'd ! what spirit of night Has mixt it selfe with those untainted vowes Thy never yet ambitious soule pour'd forth To attend our loves ? Some Angel , deare Lucilio , Descend into thy fancy to perswade thee By all the bands Love , Duty , Nature , Heaven , Can bring to binde thee in a tender feare Of roughly breathing on the softest ayre That toucheth but his safetie , to desist . From this unnaturall act of paricide . Fatall experience speakes ; and makes it good , They stand not firme that rise by steps of blood . exit . Enter the Duke and Duchesse . Duke . Vrge me no more : the white unspotted hand Of never trecherous justice , shall not blush By our imbrewing it in bleeding innocence . Nor shall posteritie in after times , Seeking examples of black tyranny . Finde our names registred in the Catalogue Of those whose deeds have given wide infamy Life to attend their memory , and brand it With shame , more durable than brasse or marble . Duch. Yet good my Lord respect your falling State , Let not that watchfull eye that never slept In carefull pursuit of your peoples good , As now regardlesse of your houses Honor , Be dazell'd with imaginary feare Of meere suppos'd injustice . Shall foule mouth'd rumor . Besprinkle our whole race with Iulia's blood , And follow it into posteritie As a live witnesse of your loose neglect ? Methinkes those politick rules of government Which you have study'd , should at last informe Your scrupulous conscience , making it to know , What oft doth seeme injustice , is not so . Duke . Can there be more than shedding guiltlesse blood ? Duch. They highly offend that let their Countries good . Duke . They let no good , that never did deny it . Duch. 'T is guilt to live when as their deaths may buy it . Duke . But 't is not good that 's bought at such a rate . Duch. No price is great that makes Kings fortunate . Duke . They be not fortunate that rise by vice . Duch. Who stayes till Vertue lifts will never rise ; And therefore dearest Lord by those chaste vowes Which first I brought unto your nuptiall bed ; By that attractive beautie which mine eyes Once gave your youthfull thoughts to feed upon , Preuent this mischiefe , let the strumpet die , Whose basenesse staines your ever princely blood , By sitting sole Commandresse in the thoughts Of our degenerate sonne , the onely hope Iust heaven and nature now has left your Throne . Let not that god of fooles , soft Conscience , then , That seldome findes a name 'mongst perfect Statesmen , Sway your experienc'd wisedome , but provide Your honour live , when all your selfe have dy'd . Duke . Death to mine eyes , I must see thee kneele , Thy words have charm'd my soule , benumm'd my thoughts Against the stinging touch of sharpe remorse ; I will resolve her death , nor shall she live That stands 'twixt full content and thy desires . But how shall swift wing'd fame , my deare Adrasta , Be held from loud proclaming our disgrace ? Policie will 's some seeming cause be had To make that good which justice knowes for bad . Duch. Leave that to me ; I have procur'd from her A letter , whose points but chang'd transferre the sense , This in the publike Sessions being read , And shee acknowledging the hand and seale , Will be a most sufficient testimony Of traiterous attempts against your State And person , which the grosse multitude Will never scanne , but confidently , hold Her condemnation just . Duke . Wee 'll then give order For her attachment and imprisonment Meane while your selfe may with perswasive words Prepare Lucilio's minde to meet her death . So 's justice wrong'd , and innocence must die , aside . When they withstand a womans tyrannie . exeunt .
Actus 2.
Scena 1. Enter Mistris Frailware and Mistris Abigail . Mistris Frail.

I Le ensure you 't is true Mistris Abigail , my Husband was call'd from my side at midnight by the Dukes Pursivant at Armes , commanded to bring his weapon ready with him , because they would reprehend my Ladie Iulia's daughter in her bed ; nay , I am serv'd so many times in the yeare ; and if it were not for a little honour wee have by being the Constables wife of the Parish , or leave to build a new Pue in the Lecture house , or meeting at the Quest-house sometimes ; wee had better never bee in authoritie , than have so many hewings and cryings , such pasportings ; that the whole yeare while our Husbands be Magistrates , we be very widdowes , for any feeling we have of them ; and if we had not their company in the day sometimes , we should eene forget wee were maried : 't is too true Mistris Abigail : but you have a happy turne .

Mistris Abig.

Indeed Mistris Frailware our Husbands should not be troubled with common businesse ; and Master Damasippus does meditate and practise his Principles by my side till nine a Clock many times . But I pray , what did you heare was the cause of my Lady Iulia's daughters contamination ?

Mistris Frail.

O , why shee was in love with my young Lord Lucilio , and would have , God blesse us , stabb'd the Duke with a panado , and then be marry'd where the Dutches would or no .

Mistris Abig.

Now Iove forsend it ! How desperate be these princock Gentlewomen when they be in love ! they 'll venture upon any weapons : I marvell themselves be not afraid of stabbing : I warrant you shee 'll to the Rock for it .

Mistris Frail.

I cannot tell that ; but a Friend I have in the Court was here before breake of day and told me all .

Mistris Abig.

Lord Mistris Frailware have you any friends in the Court ?

Mistris Frail.

I these seven years , Mistris Abigail , have I had friends there , and acquaintance too , I thanke my beautie , three yeares before I was marri'd . I le tell you Mistris Abigail , these Courtiers be the finest , sweetest smelling Gentlemen that be ; they will have some friends in the City now and then , for varieties sake , but they 'll pick and chuse : and for mine owne part I le ensure you , that before I was marry'd , of a browne-wench , marke what I say , to speake of a browne-wench , I was as sweet a creature as liv'd . There was a Nobleman here in Florence — I , there was a Knight too that would eate but little meate except — how ever it was my hap to fell figges in the Citie ; I le ensure you that my flesh was so tender , that if a fellow with a strong breath had kiss'd me , all my lips would have blister'd . I wore my silke Stockins then , and my Bodkins of beaten Gold , I thanke my own wit , and had Velvet Cloakes , and Velvet Coloches come to see mee .

Mistris Abig.

Doubtlesse you were one of the happiest living , to have such blessings : I would to heavens my husband , or I , might have an Office under these Courtiers , that I might have friends at Court too .

Mistris Frail.

I le ensure you Mistris Abigail , many of 'hem be able to doe a woman a good pleasure sometimes ; and yet there be some againe that promise more than all their strength can performe too , when they be put to it ; for alas , Courtiers doe for so many , that they cannot doe for all : for mine owne part , I have try'd 'hem , and try'd 'hem agen ; and some of 'hem have stood to mee very sufficiently and friendly , when I have come to see the Masking and Beare-baiting there .

Mistris Abig.

God's my pitty , is there Beare-baiting at Court ? doe the Ladies love Beare-baiting ?

Mistris Frail.

O , abomination : they 'll so shift for corners and places to be at it , that their waiting gentlewomen can seldome come to the pastime . And how does your good husband Master Damasippus ?

Mistris Abig.

In good deed la not well : hee has beene ill at ease ever since t'other night .

Mistris Fra.

Ah sweet man ! he does so labour , and labour to fill us with moralitie , that hee 's ee'n tyr'd out in the Citie amongst us .

Enter Master Frailware and his man with Holboards . Master Frail.

Fie upon 't : how heavy this authoritie sits upon us ! ever since midnight in the Dukes businesse ! but it stands us upon it ; 't is for the credit of the City : we must doe more than one bare Office , or wee cannot bee good subjects . Here take in my weapon . Exit man .

Mistris Frail.

I'faith 't is a fine time o'day to come home at : Gods my precious , doe you thinke to leave me so still ? from twelve a Clock till I rise I must he alone dreaming , and dreaming , sometimes that you are dead ; sometimes that I am with childe , and a lust for a thing that I cannot have ; sometimes again that you have falne downe the Stayres , and broke your back ; and such fearfull dreames that I cannot rest an houre , because I can doe nothing but dreame .

Master Frail.

O , good wife ! we be for this yeare Magistrates Officers of place , men of imployment , the upholders of the Citie , the eyes of the Common-wealth : and therefore when matters of State call , wee must come with wisedome , and with severity answer our Vocation .

Mistris Frail.

Focation me no Vocation : for as true as I am marry'd , if you put me in such frights by going away , and leaving mee in the darke , I le get me a bedfellow shall stick closer to mee , so I will ; cannot you have a Deputy as well as an Alderman ? I hope you are in authority too .

Mistris Abig.

O patience deare Mistris Frailware ! patience with your Spouse : my husband told me that patience was one of the ten morall vertues .

Mistris Frail.

I Mistris Abigail , if a woman had such a husband as you have , that were able to put patience into a woman ; she might easily be content and have mortall vertues enough too .

Master Frail.

Nay prethee Duck be quiet : when the Sessions are past wee shall have more leisure ; meane while le ts in , and drinke this fury over in a cup of Canary . Come Mistris Abigail .

Exeunt . Enter Lucilio with a bagge , as if apparell were in it . Antonio . Lucil. Let it suffice Antonio that thy friend Entreats thy silence ; nor let thy curious love Question our farther projects ; leave to enquire Till time and rumour shall disclose the Plot Of my intentions , whose unexpected end Shall stand beyond preventions murdering sight , And turne the edge of spleene upon it selfe : Thus much I will impart unto thy faith ; What fits thee not to know , leave to desire . Anto. My Lord impute it not to curiousnesse That I have urg'd your patience to unfold What you intend ; for by the hallowed name Of zealous friendship , which my heart retaines Engrav'd by your deserts , 't is only love That makes me thus seeme jealous of your good However would your Grace but try my faith By making it a partner in your ils , Till having pass'd these stormes , and beene approv'd Inviolably firme , it may deserve The name of friend to which 't has long aspir'd , Lucil. Nay , now thou complement'st and dost afflict The tender love thy faith hath bred in me . I tell thee friend I must not trust the ayre 'Twixt thee and mee ; the nights concealing shades Shall never hear 't disclos'd : not that I feare Thy friendly silence ; but the barren plot Of my invention , will admit but me Into the doubtfull scene ; I must alone Finish the Act my hopelesse love began . O my Antonio ! could my sorrowes poure Into thy breast but halfe what I conceive , What could the spleene of potent envy adde To the vast heapes of mischiefe , that doe lie Vpon my groveling fortunes , now cast downe Beneath the base of miserie and griefe ? When I must stand like to a senselesse marble Frozen into a stone with strong respect Of filiall duty , and see Althea dye , Throwne downe by my ambitious love , that aym'd At her transcendent vertues . This wounds my heart , And puts a fire to the cold melancholy That hath so long possess'd my chillied spirits , And bids them seeke revenge , that when fraud thinks To seize upon the neck of innocence , The repercussive flame that will result From their abhorred deeds , shall singe their wings , And make them fall as low as were their actions , Where they shall lye and view the ugly shapes Of all those mischiefes that attend oppression . But now conceale me friend , and be no more Inquisitive of the particulars , Report will soone divulge the scope of all . If absence cause inquiry after mee . Let fall some speeches that I am withdrawne To a retired privatenesse awhile , Vntill Althea's Tragedy be o'r , Not able to affront my ruin'd hopes . Nor stand Spectator at her guiltlesse death . So fare thee well , and if we never meete Remember that I liv'd and dy'd thy friend . Anto. Doe not torment my soule , but let me share Those passages of danger , that oppose Their hideous jawes against your innocent hopes ; For at no greater rate man sels his breath , Then with a friend to buy a faithfull death . Luci. Thy words Antonio cannot adde an Atome To the full love that 's harbour'd in my breast Of thy true reall worth : then be content . And leave me , for 't is impossible that more Than my unhappy selfe can bee contain'd Or have an Action within the narrow limits Of my designes . Anto. Then thus I take my leave With as much feeling paine , as if my foule Were by some violence shot from out my bowels , Farewell my Lord , my vowes and wishes guard you From awkward Fate , whil'st I 'twixt hope and feare Attend the issue of these strange attempts . Exit Antonio . Lucil. So now Lucillo arme thy selfe for death , That from thy blood she may regaine a life And freedome , whom thy weake affection sold To undeserved slaughter and black infamy . Immoved powers ! we must not aske you why And yet methinkes I could expostulate The reason of this mixture in the frame Of all our Vniverse ! why every perfect good Is girt with such a multitude of ils ? Not the most sacred and puissant Throne Of divine Iustice ( whose Majestick forme Beares a resemblance of that Power Supreme That equals Kings and Slaves , by giving each Deserved vengeance for their actions Can stand secure , but all the brood of hell , Bribes , Respects , Envy , and what e'r perverts The strictest line of vertuous equity , Will presse up to the Iudgement Seat , and there Transforme the beauteous picture of the Godhead Into the hatefull shapes of tyrannie , Of blood and murder — But I forget my self , And like en angry woman , chide the Heavens , When I should doe . Fortune and stealth assist My just adventures ; and a friendly sleepe Seise all the eyes and eares that would pursue Our harmlesse Stratagems . This is the window , If my directions faile not , that does imprison her , Whom Vertue , Nature , and the mild aspect Of all the Constellations sweat to make A free-borne Empresse — He throwes a stone up to the window ; Althea lookes out . Alth.

Whos 's that ?

Lucil.

Lucilio .

Alth. O my deare Lord ! Lucil. How fares my Althea ? Alth. As one that lives but in the armes of death , And like a frost-kill'd worme is halfe reviv'd By your faire presence , whose desired sight Makes a warme blood post through my trembling veins To tell my heart this newes , that ere I die I once shall speake to you : But I must chide Your Grace my Lord , that would so staine your love With foulest spots of blood . Lucil. Blood to their soules that thought it , for by The ne'r appaled heart of innocence , The new-borne babes first smiles were ne'r more chaste Then was my breast from thoughts of murder . O Althea ! What will a woman loath , that 's all possest With wrath , and has the killing voyce of Iustice Tun'd to pronounce her mercilesse revenge ? The sword by her steel'd conscience edg'd to slaughter , And undefended lives to worke upon ? Alth. It was your seale and hand that did perswade Me to the murder , but my selfe return'd Disswasive arguments to beate you from 't . Lucil. It was my seale , which by my mothers charge 'T is thought the Page stole out , without suspect , As I conceive , of mischiefe ; all the rest Was meerly counterfeit . But bee advis'd , And I will choake the hungry throat of Treason , That gapes for blood , with such a working pill , As it shall loath to swallow , and vomit up Their bloody plots in sick repentance . Alth. No my dearest Lord , let me in contentment die , Since you are innocent , and in my Tombe Bury your danger , that have thus long sate A heavy burden to your happinesse . Lucil. Long maist thou live untill the gods , Althea , Shall summon thee from hence to make a starre , And grant Commission to the winged Post Of heaven , to steale away thy soule in sleepe : That Divine mould was not ordain'd to suffer A painfull shipwrack in thy lifes departure . Alth. 'T will sweeten much the bitterst throes of death When I shall thinke my labouring soule does worke For my Lucilio's rest : then let my guiltlesse Ghost Securely passe up to the fields of peace , For I am weary and would gladly die . Lucil. Vrge it no more , the very sound of death Wish'd to thy innocence , comes like a clappe Of armed thunder to mine eares , and thou Shalt live , though I should search the utmost tortures Tyrannie did ere invent , to find a death Might ransome thee : and therefore if thy love Does yet respect Lucîlios constancy , Resolve and second mee : Dispute no more , But make some meanes to let me downe a line , That I may fasten this disguise unto it . She lets downe a line , to which he fastens the disguise , There draw it up , and put it on with speed , Suspitions eye dogs every step I tread . She drawes up the bagge , and while she is cloathing . How strong is sad affliction on my State ! When I must steale a death , and thinke me blest if none Doe interrupt my passage to destruction . Oh that the paths of Fate so strange and invious Should lead us into life , and through a Maze Of chances , bring us to such unpassable periods , That we must leape the bankes , and give our breath To shunne the ills that doe incounter us . Come , have you yet dispatch'd ? Alth. I have my Lord ; but what of this ? Lucil. Then once more lend your line . Having againe let downe the Line , she drawes up a Ladder of Cords . Fasten those Hookes to your window , and come downe . Shee fastens the Hookes above , he below : And then coming downe he receives her . A more troublesome descent then from the Rock , But your fall gentler . So : Now flie Althea , And live as happy as my unhappy love Had made thee miserable : time may bee More friendly to thee , and beget some meanes That thou maist one day sit amidst thy friends — Nay , doe not weep Althea ; thou shalt see This will worke both our freedomes ; and if I die , My silent Ghost shall in the pleasingst formes At mid-noon dayes come oft to visit thee . Farewell — They kisse , and he offers to goe up . Alth. What meanes your Grace ? Lucil. To out-runne trechery , and winne a Goale That shall enrich my name , make envy swell , And drowne her selfe in overflowing Gall . Alth. I le meet the ugliest shapes that ever Death Appear'd to Nature in , before I le leave Your Grace expos'd to danger for my life . Lucil. No more , for I have vow'd what I intend , And if thou dost withstand it , to make this houre The last of breathing to mee : therefore be gone ; I le lie at Stake my selfe , that you may steere No interrupted course ; and since the law Gives Virgins leave to pleade and die conceal'd , I with this Scarfe here will bee your Attorney : Hasten your flight , least mischiefe finde you slow , Wee shall both fare the better . At the Parks end By a Fount that riseth from the Chaulky Banke , Camilla stayes with your Viaticum : Shee 'll be thy partner in thy banishment . Once more farewell ; and , if I die , for ever . Alth. And if you die I shall not long out-live you . He goes up into the window . In what a sad dilemma stands my soule In this divulsion betweene love and danger ! Yet blesse mine eyes once more with sight of you . Lucil. Farewell Althea . Alth. Dearest Lord farewell . Lucil. Againe farewell Althea ! all the favours Of Guardian Angels , and mild'st influences Propitious Heaven retaines , waite on thy sufferings . Exeunt . Enter Alastor and another Servant setting the Barre , and laying Cushions . Alast.

Come dispatch , the Duke 's at hand .

Serv.

I wonder he sits himselfe in judgement to day .

Alast.

The matter in question is great .

Serv.

Many thinke the poore Gentlewoman is innocent .

Alast.

They be fooles to say so .

Serv.

Why , is 't a folly to speake what they thinke ?

Alast.

I , as very a folly as to be vertuous indeed : Do'st imagin t will gaine any thing but hate ?

Serv.

Yet many dare pawne their lives that shee is guiltlesse .

Alast.

None but such as were predestin'd never to bee great ; they bee tender conscienc'd dunces : they never learn'd Esops Fables .

Serv.

Why for that ?

Alast.

Do'st not remember the tale of the Lion that banish'd all horn'd beasts from Court ?

Serv.

That was a madd Lion i'faith —

Alast.

That then the Foxe went away as banish'd too , because if the Lion should say his prickt eares were Hornes , what then ?

Serv.

But she was thought ever vertuous and modest .

Alast.

Shee would not have beene guilty so soone else : shall a swaggering wench that will take Tobacco eight and forty times in foure and twenty houres ; talke bawdy as familiar as an Oyster wife ; retaine seven servants with good backes , and a weake husband to keep Doggs from doore ; have no priviledge above suspected vertue ?

Serv.

Faith I remember when I went to Schoole , my Master vs'd to tell us a Verse or two out of a Poet — & hic damnatus inani — Iudicio : I ha' forgot the Poëts name , but I remembred the Verse by another , where he instructs creatures of our faculty .

Alast.

Why what does he teach us ?

Serv.

Nay nothing but tells us onely , that if wee will thrive by service , we must be either close Panders , palpable flatterers , or cozening Villaines .

Alast.

A good Servingmans Tutor was that Poët I warrant him .

Exeunt . Enter the Duke at one doore , with Antonio , Page , and other Attendants . At the other doore Lucilio in Altheas apparell , his face covered with a Scarfe , brought in by a Pursivant at Armes , Frailware and others with Holbeards , as a Prisoner to the Barre . Damasippus . Attend. Give back there , and let the prisoner stand forth . Duke . How did wee thinke , that when the stormes of warre Were with our danger , care , and cost expell'd From out these confines , and the warmth of peace Turn'd like a Spring to shine within your bounds , We should have sate secure ? Or after all Those toiles , that spent our strength , dry'd up our blood , Hasten'd the hand of time to seize our haires , Before his date , and onely in pursuit Of your ( lov'd people ) safty and content ; Our owne now fainting wearinesse of age Should taste that freedome which our labours bought In plenteous fulnesse for the poorest swaine ? And we have clos'd the Evening of our age Within a fearlesse slumber ? But how weake Are all the hopes that wretched Princes faine ! When in the calme of peace , while wee suppose Our perils banish'd , and our selves ingirt With such impenetrable love , as we Embrace our people with , then stand our lives Expos'd to thickest dangers , which conceal'd Doe strike the deeper , and are warded lesse . Such is the miserie that followes State , That when we want abroad , we finde at home Foes to besiege our lives . The discontent Of some aggrieved spirits , that thinke we stand 'Twixt their desires and them ; and which is worse , The idle passions of unbridl'd youth , Rather than misse those hopes enflamed lust Has fir'd within their thoughts , will overturne Whole States , and climbe up to their aymed ends By our heap'd slaughters : Yet I least had thought Such Tragick Acts had knowne a womans breast , Nor if I could , Althea , would your life ( Strong to retort suspition ) once permit Our least mistrust to staine your vertuous name : And had we not by heavens appointment found Vnder your hand and seale the firmest proofes Of tempting our owne blood to paricide ; Suspitions strongest proofes had ne'r induc'd Our never lightly credulous beliefe To harbour your dislike ? But should we now Neglect our safety , and our Countries good , When all the Providence of Fate conspires To bring those treacherous practises to light , Which Heaven abhorres ; wee should contemne the Heavens , Abuse that forme of justice we sustaine , And stand as guilty of those wastefull ruines Our cruell mildnesse gives your actions scope To call upon your Countrey and our selves . We therefore by the Lawes denounce you guilty Of Treason 'gainst our person and the State . Lucil. Were it for life my Lord I stood to speake , I scarce would give the breath that I must spend To save that life : But since your Grace does know A womans prejudice has doom'd our death , For my names life I le speake , and not for mine ; If infamy might die when we doe die , I would be silent : for know my gracious Lord . I scorne to beg a life , but come all arm'd In such a compleate innocence , as dares Meet angry injustice in the jawes of death . And without trembling stand his violence . But that these Acts of blood , these horrid crimes Of paricide , of lust , and hellish sinne , Which will out-live our Tombes , and make our names Come hatefull to posterities Records . Should have a birth within a Virgins breast That never yet was conscious of a wish , 'Gainst your desired safety ; I must take leave To tell your Grace , that it was meerly feign'd By the bloody hand of Envy , to cut off That sacred band of love the Heavens have knit 'Twixt your sonnes heart and my chaste innocence . Nor doe I taxe your justice for my death , But doe impute it most to his fond love , That by protests of vertue and desire , Drew my beleeving soule to his affects ; For when my feares urg'd these ensuing ils , His uncontain'd affection breaking forth In signes of extreme passion , so consum'd My powers , that had my thoughts beene cold as Snow , His zeale pour'd out in such inflaming vowes Would melt them . Duke . We must check your impudence , That swels beyond the bounds we did expect Your modesty should have observ'd : you wrong Our sonne , and in our sonne our selves ; know you This hand and seale ? Lucil. I doe my honour'd Lord , Yet were that Hand and Seale never found guilty Of conceiv'd wrong 'gainst or your Sonne or you . Duke . 'T will speake it selfe , call it to witnesse then . One reades the Letter .

MY Lord the attempt is dangerous and foule , therefore desist not ; to enjoy the sweets our present Nuptials would being could I endure your hand stain'd with such an Action . More when wee meet : feare not ; but — Heaven and Fate will second vertue . Be still your selfe , and I will rest

Yours more than mine . ALTHEA . Duke . Had you a priviledge to shrowd the blush Your conscious guilt casts 'gainst the eyes of Heaven As from our sight you doe conceale the Die That writes your Acts in shame upon your Cheekes , You might deny these proofes , and sweare them fain'd ; But that all-seeing power that notes the wild And secretst passages of mans conceit , Detesting those foule crimes of lust and blood , Reveales your Acts . Stand therefore , and from the Seate Of Iustice heare your doom ; since your ambitious hopes Soar'd up , and by our Blood did meane to climbe Into that Seat which Nature and our right Had given to us : be therfore from the Rock Throwne with your hopes , that your example teach How low they fall , that climbe above their reach . And you Antonio we charge to see The execution speedily perform'd . Exit cumsuis . Manent Lucilio , Antonio , Page , Damasippus . Lucil. As sweet as cooling dew comes to the brest Of scorched Autumne , so Deaths slumber fals On oppress'd innocence . And good Antonio , Since 't is your charge to see us dead , let mee Entreat this favour that my body be Speedily interr'd : and pray you tell the Duke That I request his Grace not grieve too much Hereafter , for what I willingly now sought , And he against his will made me to finde . Then that I may have a litttle space in private To bid the world farewell ; and this is all A dying Virgin begs , and for your friend Lucilio's sake you must not now deny it . Anto. Wonder of women ! could my attemps but yeeld Halfe what my heart conceives , these limbs should die , As many severall deaths as they containe Conduits of life , to make your innocence live , For your Lucilios sake , whose woes will swell Poore Lord , like to a winde-driven Ocean , When he shall heare you dead , and beare him downe To some disastrous end . Lucil. You are deceiv'd , Deare friend ; Lucilio's woes end with my life . Nor will a thought of griefe , a teare or sigh Trouble his peacefull sleeps when I am dead . But I shall straine your patience too farre , and give The Duke a cause to blame your too much favour . Exeunt . The Page puls Damasippus back to speake with him . Dam.

My little least of any thing , thou parcell of man , what 's the newes with thee ?

Page .

Newes from the Fortunate Ilands Master Damasippus : The very Elizium of your delight , and delicious Nectar of pleasure ; Mistris Ambrosia Frailware commands halfe her selfe to your learned conceipts , and the rest to the heate of your inferiour Moralities .

Dam.

O the odoriferous flowre of Florence ! How does shee ?

Page .

In able strength and strong appetite : and earnestly entreates this evening your presence at Supper : her Husband will bee forc'd by Oath businesse to be absent ; and therefore you must feed her with the fruits of your company , and you shall bee fed with the strength of confirming meates that edifie .

Dam.

Thy reward shall overtake thee : I will first accompany this Lady to her death , and prepare and strengthen her according to moralitie , and then I will be ready to give all moral comfort to the sweet desires of our deare Paramour . Exit .

Page .

I le meet your moral comfort with such a Physicall counter-buffe , that I le spoile your tilting for that night i'faith .

Exit .
Actus 3.
Scena 1. Enter Antonio , Lucilio following , and by him Damasippus at going to the Rocke , the executioner , Frailware and others with Holbeards . Damasippus .

ANd as I told you sweet Lady , make your reconcilement with the world , that you bee not hindred from your death : if you owe any thing , you must forgive and forget it , that you may dye according to moralitie .

Lucil. I thanke your labour Master Damasippus , I hope my peace with heaven and earth 's confirm'd , And you shall need trouble your selfe no farther . But you Antonio , whose deserving trust Must be a witnesse of the latest gaspe Our fainting soule shall draw , tell to the world How undivided was the tender love Betwixt Althea and Lucilio's life : And let me vow 't into thy full beliefe , That the soft Ayre faun'd with the cooling breath Of a milde Sommers Evening from the West Was not lesse murderous than Althea's wish — Nay weepe not man , we cannot weepe our selves , We doe intreat this death to end our woes , Not to encrease them . Farewell Antonio ; And if in after times you heare our friends Sigh for our haplesse death , bid them desist ; We did but quench the thirst envy had chas'd us into . — Come honest friend Discharge your Office , for sorrow 'gins to fit Heavy upon our heart that faine would rest . The Executioner with one more leads him up to the Rocke , where he begins to binde his hands , first asking him forgivenesse . Execut. Madam , forgive me your death . Lucil. Which here I doe As freely as I wish my weari'd Ghost May finde a fearelesse passage through the strange And uncouth shades that leades our soules to Rest Enter the Lady Iulia running with her haire dishevell'd . Iulia . Where shall I runne to meet , that , which beheld Kils with a deadlyer wound then doe the eyes Or coldest poyson of a Basiliske . She sees them on the Rock . Althea stay — and let thy wretched Parent Take the last farewell of her dying childe . Shee runnes up to them . Ah why did Nature make my unhappy wombe Fruitfull by thee , and yet reserve mine age To out-live the extremities of griefe , and see Thy dismall end by an untimely death ? Was I reserv'd for this ? Or were the crimes Of our black guilt so horrid in the eyes Of Heaven , that nothing but the fatall scourge Of severe justice in the woefull'st forme Could expiate our sinne ? How were I blest If the first instant that imparted life To thy scarce featur'd selfe ( joy to my wombe ) Had beene the last in which we both had breath'd ! Lucil. Madam ! doe not afflict your selfe , nor let your cares Live from our death ; Althea cannot dye , But with her innocence does buy a life That shall extend her worth beyond the reach Of Time and Envy . Therefore as you respect Your daughters peacefull happinesse , take truce With sorrow but till we be dead , and Heaven That still protects the innocent , will show How just it is in plaguing those that strive By treacherous plots to oppresse innocent lives . Iulia . Canst thou perswade the Ocean in a storme To leave her swelling ? Or a Bullet shot To stop its passage ? No Althea ! no! The lightest Arrow is not more powerfull sent Vnto his Mark than we are throwne to death . Therefore farewell , I le haste to meet thee there , Where no injustice nor oppressing tyrannie Shall sever our embraces ; and let this kisse Seale up that vow upon thy dying lips — She offers to kisse Lucilio , and putting by his Scarfe he is knowne . What 's here ? has sorrow so transform'd thy shape ? Or dull'd the wonted vigour of my sight , That it sees nothing right proportioned ? Lucil. Madam conceale me for Althea's love , Who lives , but banish'd onely for a while ; And let me die that she may freely live ; Iulia . My Lord Lucilio , doe you mocke my woes ? O where 's Althea ? have you murder'd her ? And come to upbraid the miseries we feele ? Is 't not enough that I must lose that stay On which my aged widdowhood rely'd ; But you must jest at anguish ? Is not our blood Enough to satisfie the thirst of Treason , But you must swallow more ? I le not conceale Your murdering plotts , but lay these Actions ope To the wide worlds eyes ; and leave the rest , In hope that Heaven , who doth your treacheries view , As you have dealt , so they may deale with you . Shee throwes off his Scarfe . Exit Iulia . Lucilio offers to throw himselfe off the Rocke . Serv. What meanes my Lord ? Lucil. To dye as I am doom'd , Therefore let me goe . Serv. Antonio , lend your help To save the Prince , whom you have brought to death . Anto. My heart ! force him to live , or by the Seat Of Iustice , you shall die as many deaths As you have Arteries . Lucil. Then we must live to see those griefes alive Which death would end , and life will but revive . Anto. Poste to the Duke before , and let him know The strangenesse of the accident . Exit Servant , Frailware and Page . Lucil. Antonio : know that I ever held thy faith till now True to thy friend , and thought thou wouldst assist His miserie , which thou hadst richly done If I had dyed . Anto. O honour'd Lord , be these Your harmelesse attempts that you conceal'd With such a nice reserv'dnesse from your friend ? Come good my Lord , let us repaire to Court That now stands wondring at this strange report . Exeunt . Enter Page and Frailware . Page .

My Head 's in labour with a jest Master Constable , and I have a warrant to your authoritie to see me well deliver'd on 't .

Frail.

I can drinke Sack , and talke bawdy for a need , if it come within the compasse of my Office .

Page .

Why there be two ingredients then to the composition of a Midwife , and if you 'll be rul'd in the Action , wee shall laugh and lie downe , and have an excellent banquet at the delivery .

Frail.

Gi' me thy warrant then , and I le serve it as greedily as a beggarly Vndersherife does an Action of slander : But what is 't ? what is 't boy ?

Page .

Faith sir , the common danger that haunts men of your place , fils Theaters , and gives many of your Landlesse Gallants their gilt Spurres , and their feathers .

Frail.

Vnshale it , unshale it ,

Page .

Why Sir , in sober City Italian , that man of little wit , lesse learning , and no honesty M. Damasippus the Stoick meanes this Evening with pure moralitie to —

Frail.

What sir ?

Page .

Cuckold you sir .

Frail

Body o' mee ! that embleme of hypocrisie ; hee lookes as cold and mortifi'd as a Capon of a weekes killing .

Page .

Hang him Lobster , hee 's as hot as a Cocksparrow , and as irreligious as as a Low-Countrey Lombard : Hee 's good for nothing but that which men keepe old Stallions for : he would have done rarely well after Deucalions flood , or five hundred of 'hem now for the new plantation — But i'faith I would bee reveng'd on him .

Frail.

Reveng'd ? I 'll give up my shop to be reveng'd on him , turne Summer to plague him with Citations —

Page .

And then out-bribe him , that hee shall finde no mercy i' th Bumme-Court .

Frail.

Or else I will be sterne in my authoritie , set him in the Stocks , and set the Stocks at mine owne doore —

Page .

Or else I would hire some Iew to make him factious , And then get him banish'd to Amsterdam to saw Brazill .

Frail.

Or hire a Witch to take away his Instrument of lust , and then he 'll hang himselfe in his owne girdle .

Page .

Or get some body to promise him some Bookes and a new Gowne to deny the plurality of the gods , then informe against him , and goe drunke to see him burnt .

Frail.

Else I le get him Carted , and lye with his wife the while .

Page .

I , and send him word of it when he is i' th Cart .

Frail.

Some dreadfull vengeance or other my offended Authority shall take on him . I protest I never mistrusted it .

Page .

Alas no ; I knew you were a true Cuckold innocent .

Frail.

A Cuckold innocent : what 's that ?

Page .

One of the eight Tribes into which your liverie is divided — Nay , nay , nay sober Master Constable , be not dejected ; let not your head sinke before it has ful lading : for look you , I 'll shew you the dignitie of your estate : your Cuckoldhood sir is more worshipfull than the best of all the foure and twenty Companies ; Because in some ages you have had some of the best of all those Companies Fellowes of the Liverie . Secondly , you have had all states and rankes belonging to it . Sylla , Domitian and Claudius , great Emperours of the world , never car'd to be free of the Goldsmiths or Merchant-Taylors Hall , yet they were huge Cuckolds . Thirdly , you have your wit in chusing approv'd , which must of necessitie show you to have beene wise men , and therefore most commonly you are in Offices . Fourthly you have sometimes better men to be your followers than your selfe , for they be glad to follow and come after , where you have beene before . Fiftly , you have others to worke for the propagation of your name , while you be idle , and reape the fruits of their labours . And lastly , it makes your way to heaven Master Constable , infallible for if you die quickly , you die an innocent — But let me be your Pilot , and if I doe not learne you a course to pay this Puffin , this all Priapus , this Goate rampant in 's owne kinde , let my wit bee for ever crack't .

Frail.

If thou couldst doe it in some bitter manner .

Page .

Trust me not else — for looke you Sir , if it were a Courtier of a good perfume , and rich Garter ; or a Gallant of the new fashion , with fresh insides ; nay , an 't were a barren Alderman that would visit his Wench secretly , and were in the way to authority , why , 't were something tolerable . But to be horn'd by a Sir , that 's no Knight , one that will lie as fast as an Alminack-maker , a thred-bare-grogran-worsted-lack-Latin ! 't is insufferable .

Frail.

O 't is , I know 't is .

Page .

Your onely revenging remedie , then , is prevention in the same kinde , which you shall most dexterously atchieve me duce , id esh , si ego dux fuero , little Master Constable .

Frai.

How sweet boy , how ?

Page .

Doe you but invite Mistris Abigail to Supper this evening , who knowes nothing of her husbands being there , and leave the rest to my providence .

Frail.

I le doe it Boy i'faith , I will , I will indeed Boy .

Page .

About it then , I le meet you at your comming backe and give directions for the rest . Exeunt

Enter the Duchesse disguised , and Mycale a Witch Mical. Your Grace hath beene exceeding patient To undergoe these paines , and come to us . Duch. Good Micale I was unfortunate I had not knowne thy skill and us'd it sooner ; For since Heavens power denies me just revenge And meanes , to worke my will , I le search the depth Of hels dark'st Angels , but I will dissolve That firme link'd band of love : and to that end Shrowded in this disguise I came to thee That thou maist let some nimble spirit slip From out the powerfull Circle after her ; And with thy spels pursue her unto death . Mical. Madam , It shall be speedily perform'd Please you a while retire into this roome And waite the ceremonious houre , while wee Prepare us for the sacrifice , and provide Those powerfull ingredients which we use In the confection of our charmes , Duch. I will . Exit Duchesse .
Song . Mic. Sarvia ! Sar. Mother ! Mic. Take thy flight While the Moone affords thee light , While the Dog-Starre shines downright On the powerfull Aconite , And the Hearbes appeare in sight . Sar. Away and wash your body white In the spring , and clense you quite , For I le soone the Shepheard fright , And bring home to mend the right A female Lamb as black as night . Mic. Haste then , quicke returne thee home . Doe not tho forget the stone In the Toade , nor Serpents bone , Nor the Mandrake though he groane , Pull him up , he is our owne . Sar. I le steale besides ( let me alone ) The great blacke Cat from jumping Jone , And make the Nurse and Mother moane When their fatlings throat is showne : Mic. Haste then , quicke returne thee home .
Enter Lucilio and Antonio . Lucil. Where be we now Antonio ! is not this life On the farre side of death , and sinkes beyond A non existens ? Hadst thou not made thy friend Blest in thy faith , if thou hadst yeelded way To my desires , and I had cleerly leapt From the maine top of mischiefe , and falne short Of these calamities ? Oh the grosse oversight Of our mistaking nature , that is so base To buy a draught of ayre with seas of ills ! Or thinke we benefit a friend , when wee Doe turne his houre-glasse to make life runne ; Though every minute hailes downe mis-fortune thick As it doth Sand into the empty receptacle . Anto. Nay , give me leave to tell your Grace my Lord , This strong desire of death , that hath possest Your will thus farre , does not expresse the signes Of that true valour your spirit seemes to beare ; For 't is not courage , when the darts of chance Are throwne against our State , to turne our backs , And basely runne to death ; as if the hand Of Heaven and Nature had lent nothing else To oppose against mishap , but losse of life , Which is to flie and not to conquer it . For know it were true valours part , my Lord , That when the hand of chance had crush'd our States , Ruin'd all that our fairest hopes had built , And thrown 't in heaps of desolation ; Then by those ruines for our thoughts to climbe Vp , till they dar'd blinde fortune to the face , And urg'd her anger to increase those heaps , That we might rise with them , and make her know Wee were above , and all her power below . Why this my Lord would prove us men indeed . But when affliction thunders o'r our Roofe , To hide our heads , and runne into our graves Shewes us no men , but makes us fortunes slaves . Lucil. Antonio , thou wouldst turne Philosopher To doe thy friend a kindnesse ; but 't is not wordes Our businesse askes , we must have action now . Thou seest my fathers anger for this freeing Althea from her death , swels like a tide Halfe flowne , that labours 'gainst an adverse winde , And does command us leave the Court awhile , And passe for Greece ( as if our travaile could Be Bawd unto the chastity of faith That 's vow'd to vertue ) when my long weary'd minde , Already 's toyling in a pilgrimage Vp to the shrine of Natures rich perfections : Therefore Antonio thou must take the shape Of all ( save misery ) that I containe : And for I know my fathers jealousie Will entertaine all rumours that are left Where ere my name passe ; thou must bee Lucilio : And so my name travaile alone with thee It will suffice ; for fame doth sometimes gull The best intelligence . Then shape thy course Farthest from Athens , to those parts of Greece Where I am least knowne . Anton. Pardon me my Lord If I consent not : for should your safety call To leap the Tyrrhene Cliffs into the maine , Stand in the face of a fir'd Canon , Or hale a sleeping Lyon from the way Where you must passe , my love would force me runne Against the edge of danger for your life . But this is onely a pretended shew To win our absence , that none may interrupt Your torrent of impatience , that posts Like melted Snow from off the Apenine Downe to destruction . Luci. Thou art curious still With our intentions , and mistak'st me much . Beleev 't Antonio if I might have dyed When the vast flood of spleene was at the full , And thought to overflow whole worlds of love : When Envy stood a tip-toe to catch hold , And pull downe innocence to trample on 't , And sweet Revenge was at her on to speake From my bruis'd bones ; then death had been a heaven : But now my head 's turn'd brasse , & speakes times past , And harden'd is against the worst of ils , Though every frowne my angry mother gives Should come like hammers 'gainst my forehead , Anton. May I beleev 't my Lord , Lucil. By Heaven I will , And so resolve : yet for thy farther trust , I will bee open to thee ; my meaning is To put off name and habit for a while , Till I have found Althea , and knit that knot Which hell it selfe shall never violate ; And therefore carry rumour still with thee , That it may have no leasure to descry What I embrace . Farewell Antonio ! And prethee let this evening bee the last Of thy delay : Heaven will be my friend , And send content , or give my woes an end . Exit Lucilio . Anton.

Soft , I le not leave you to goe seek that end : your name shall travaile , but I le not carry it . Though you have vow'd not to procure your death ; you are in love — manet .

Enter Alastor and Assassino quarrelling . Alast.

D'sfoote Sir , your speeches be peremptory .

Assas.

Why Sir , I said it , and I say it agen , that the Dukes Sonne was a foole , and a mad-man , to venture his life for ere a womans love in Italy .

Alast.

I yeeld Sir , 't was a mad part to venture a painful death for a woman , when a woman will venture nothing , but she 'll have pleasure at one end of it , for the life of a man ; yet the Dukes Sonne was not a madman for it .

Assas.

I say he was .

Alast. I say you lie — Assassino gives him a blow ; D'foote Sir , you will not strike me ? Assass.

Yes , and whip thee with Birch i' the Nose .

Exit stalking . Anton.

Bravely perform'd Alastor , 't is politiquely done , bee noble and doe not strike .

Alast.

Why sir , this is not mine owne sword .

Anton.

And therefore thou hadst no authority to use it : Come I have other businesse for thee , that shall gaine thee gold .

Alast.

I thanke you sir , for indeed I had a suit to you before .

Anton.

It is the better trade of the two by halfe : I know thou canst begg valiantly : but to the businesse . Thou knowst my Lord Lucilio goes away in disgrace 'twixt banishment and travaile : he is not well , and therefore would stay behinde a while unknowne : onely thou must goe before and put on his name , that the world may take notice of his passage , and hold rumour busie , till hee comes privately and overtakes thee — But come to my lodging , where I le dispose of farther particulars , and furnish thee with apparell and crownes for thy journey .

Alast.

I attend you sir . exeunt .

A Table set forth covered with a cloth . Enter Mistris Frailware . Mistris Frail.

Why Debora I say ! why Debora .

Debor.

Anon forsooth . — within .

Mistris Frail.

Come bring away the Napkins quickly , and make ready here , ( these heavy Ars'd wenches are so slow ) and doe you heare , bid one of the Boyes fetch me a Pinte of Oligant , Buls Blood , and a quart of Canary ; and look that the white Broth with Eringoes and Marrow be not over-boyl'd ; I know M. Damasippus loves it well .

Enter Damasippus . Damas.

Ioy and peace of minde be to my deare Pupill , let mee give thee a morall kisse .

Mistris Frai.

In pure moralitie M. Damasippus , you are most heartily welcome — Would this wench would come away that wee had Supper once .

Damas.

That word hath eterniz'd thee my sweet Ambrosia ; and thy name is written in Elizium among Ioves paramours : Wherefore let the beloved of Iove feast and banquet according to moralitie .

Enter Debora with Supper . Mistris Frail.

You are so full of learned sayings still : I have studyed too a great while , would I could reade once .

Dam.

Soule of the world ! thou shalt bee illuminated without reading , for I will infuse knowledge into thee , and thou shalt bee repleate .

Mistris Fra.

Can you doe so M. Damasippus ?

Dam.

I can my Summum bonum : and thou shalt have the Mandragoras for thy fecundity ; and I will free thee from the vicious note of sterility .

Mistris Fra.

O the blessings of these Philosophers ! Come sweet M. Damasippus , sit , and le ts sup quickly .

Dam.

Content .

Enter Debora running . Debor.

O Mistris ! my Master and Mistris Abigail are comming up the street together .

Dam.

Thunder from heaven confound 'hem , and the fire of Aetna consume their steps .

Mistris Fra.

Charitable M. Damasippus , get in here till I can shift 'hem — so , 't is well , She hides him .

Enter Master Frailware and Mistris Abigail . Master Fra.

Good Mistris Abigail , I was sure before hee was not here . How now wife ! at high Supper ! and Wine ! and Iunkets ! and knacks ! and all alone ! this feast would have beseem'd thy friends and Neighbours , the worshipfull of the Parish , our fellow Magistrates : but I thanke thee for 't , I have a stomacke now as sharp — as if I would eate for anger . I would not for a pound I were to beguile any one of his Supper to night , Come sit Mistris Abigail .

Abig.

Mistris Frailware will you sit by your husband ?

Mistris Fra.

No forsooth , my stomack does so wamble : when Supper was dressing methought I could eate such a deale ; and now the sight of — the meat does so fill mee : I pray Husband bring Mistris Abigal into my Chamber , I think I shall be very ill .

Master Frail.

By and by duck , we follow thee — so , sit as close to mee now as mine Office , and here 's a health in Canary to the formall Cuckold thy Husband .

Abi.

Fy M. Frailware that you 'll have such a fearfull word in your mouth .

Master Frail.

Hang him , hee 's a Goate , and thou hast , and shalt make him deserve it .

Abigail .

I must confesse hee has a stinking breathe indeed ; & that I have traversd the paths of goodfellowship for your sake .

Master Fra.

I , and wilt doe still , though thy Husband heard thee say so .

Abig.

I and will doe it though my husband heard mee .

M. Fra.

Why now thou speak'st like a sister of the Lecture , and according to moralitiy .

Abig.

Nay I have been forward enough to you M. Frailware , ever since my first mariage : for in good earnest I did marry M. Damasippus , only because I saw the Philosophers wives goe with the first of the Parish , and so forth — but my heart —

M. Fra.

Let the City have it wench , and let my fine pure formall peece of Stoicity weare out six grogran Elbowes with pleading moralities , and counterfeit railing against the sinnes of the flesh ; spend all hee can flatter from women to play the Epicure ; and then make ragged Lectures and exercises in Cellars and Gravell Pits for a collection of seven pence , ere thou giv'st him so much as a good wish .

Abig.

Nay so hee shall ; for truely he is growne a very Pharao , a hard-hearted Mirmidon to me of late .

M. Fra.

A ficus for him whorson Crab ; hee playes the Goate rampant abroad I heare .

Ab.

It eene makes me many times wish him in his grave , that he might sleepe and I were free .

M. Fra.

Thou art free now my sweet Ab : come , gi' me a threave of kisses — who would live tyed to such a Bull of Bason .

Enter Page disguised like a Fidler . Page .

Will please you have any Musick ?

M. Fra.

Musick ! most opportunely welcome ; wee 'll make a night on 't now : strike up Tigellius .

Abig.

Away with him prophane Tavern-Leech .

Master Fra.

Nay prethee Mistris Abigail have patience .

Abig.

I will not heare it .

Master Fra.

By this kisse you must — play on sirrha — Musick is a noble Science .

Ab.

Well this fit would cost me an exercise if my Husband knew it : but I can endure any thing for your sake sweet M. Frailware .

Master Fra.

God a mercy —

Damasippus moves under him

What an earthquake ! more Devils i' the Vault ? are you fir'd , and will blow us up ? who have we here ?

Page .

The very'st Cuckold of a dozen .

Master Fra,

Neighbour Damasippus ! now by my authoritie welcome into the Livery : wee 'll have a company shortly .

Abig.

O , my husband ! I will goe to an exercise presently , that the gods may appease your wrath . exit .

Master Fra.

I see our wives will bring us to all the venerable degrees of the City , before they have done .

Dam.

Frailware , I will curse thee from the Temple of Diana ; and thou shalt be excarnify'd by doggs .

Master Fra.

We are Acteons both : let us knock heads .

Page .

Step before him and shut the doore , I have a plot against his Beard . ha ha ha — exeunt .

Enter Duchesse and Micale . Duch. Now tell us Micale What Sacrifice was that held you so long , And would not admit our presence ? Mic. Madam , I must disclose more than the secresie Of our rul'd Discipline will well permit , If I reveale each Act particular , And forme that that dread Sacrifice includes . But what I may without the prejudice Of our strict and inviolable Canons , Your Grace shall know , Iust at the depth of night , ( Which time is Ceremonious ) I went downe To a cleare Fountaine , where I bath'd and cleans'd me From head to foote ? Then tooke a female Lamb Black as the night , and digging first a hole That might receive the sacrificed blood , I open'd all the Veins that traversed The neck , untill I left the carkasse dry : Then with a hallow'd Knife I separate The head , and splatted it . That done , I heapt A pile of consecrated fire , whereon Now burnes the body of the Holocaust . Then tooke I Infants fat , and luke-warme blood Drawne from it's throate , mingl'd with Viper Wine , And distill'd Hemlock , with the Mandrakes roote , Night-shade , Moonwort , and dreadfull Aconite , Which to the flame I powr'd with Milke and Honey , A holy banquet to great Hecate Whom we invoke ; and leave the sacred fire . Soone as our backs are turn'd , we heare a noyse In hideous shapes , that would affright and shake The constant'st force of Natures best Male courage : Yet must we not looke back whence they proceed , For then all 's frustrate ; but as the fire consumes The offerings impos'd , the groanings cease , And then appeare the Spirits which wee implore , And which will ne'r appeare unlesse first pleas'd With some oblation . Duch.

How doe you point the formes which they assume ?

Mic.

Each hath his private Charme , peculiar for the shape which pleaseth most , and is least fearfull .

Enter Sarvia with a Looking-glasse . Sar. Mother the noyse is done , The flames grow pale and dimme , and in dark showes Speake the approaching horrour which they feele . Mic. Be gone and leave us then — Now Madam sit , Takes the glasse . And in this glasse behold what Magick feature There riseth from the earth to doe you service . Shee sets the Duchesse so that the Spirit may rise behind them both looking in the glasse together . The first Spirit riseth from under the Stage , ( so of the rest ) and softly passing along , goes out . Duch.

What Spirit is this ?

Mic.

This is a common spirit of much practise ; it goes in the forme of a young Gentlewoman worne out of service , and keepes her residence in the Suburbs , till she has ingross'd all the diseases of the City , which she delivers by whole sale to her customers : From sixteene to foure and twenty ; shee is for none but Bever Hats , Gold Lace , and Taffety Linings : Before thirty she fals to Roaring Boyes , Sharks , Servingmen and Artificers : from thence to Porters and Skavingers ; till freed by all degrees , she becomes a Nurse of the Trade by five and forty ; then many times a six penny Witch , and so back againe to an everlasting Devill .

The second Spirit riseth . Duch.

What is this ?

Mic.

This is a Spirit Madam that takes many times the habit of an old Gentlewoman , gets into Ladies familiarities , & teaches the tempers of Complexion ; the composition of meats that strengthen and provoke luxury : the use of quelque choses and Dildoes : has Aretine at her fingers ends . 'T was she that first invented double Locks , and a sute of Keyes to every Office : Shee exalted the horne of the Buttery , & made the Silver Bole neglect the company of the black Iack : and preferr'd a Bill against eating Breakfasts and sitting up late , to the prejudice of Tallow-Chandlers . In fine , shee sets Families together by the eares , and flattering her selfe into great mens expenses , becomes the bane of Hospitalitie .

Duch.

'T is a familiar Spirit , methinkes I could bee acquainted with her — But who is this ?

The third Spirit . Mic.

O this is a Devill of many shapes , and indeed Madam seldome at leisure , that wee can have any use of him . He fawnes him into services of place , and perswades men , otherwise morally civil , from the chaste Sheets of their beautifull and vertuous mariages : becomes an Intelligencer , and panders them to Milk-maids , Kitchin-wenches , and Oyster-wives . Hee refuses no deed that heaven abhorres , and Hell trembles at , so his Lord sin with him . He is a very chain'd slave to his Masters vices , and leaves him in nothing but Actions of honour and vertue . An other time hee is a concealed Druggist or Apothecary , puts on the name of a great Traviller , poysons at an houre , and is in great request .

Duch.

Speake to him good Micale , and let him know our businesse .

Mic. Stay then thou Spirit of night , and by the power The chiefe commander of your shades hath lent , I doe adjure thee tell where lives Althea ? The Spirit whispers Micale behinde . He tels me Madam , in the Mountaines farre from hence . Duch.

But how shall we procure her death ?

He whispers Micale as before . Mic. By poyson ! gi' mee something then that kils Past Cure , and speedily — it is sufficient . Hee gives her a Violl and exit . I have a nimble Spirit at command That by an oyntment which we doe apply To parts of our mark'd bodies , is at hand , Who posts us through the regions of the ayre , When oft wee meet at solemne festivals , Or doe admit a novice to the oath Of our abstruse and powerfull discipline : Leave it to us , and ere to morrowes Sunne Touch but three Points of West beyond Mid-noone , My selfe will see Althea dead . Duch. Thanks gentle Micale , for thou hast eas'd me much , I le not forget thy paines , nor leave thy skill Without regard , for wee have much to know . Mic. 'T is a curious age Madam , and we are full Of businesse now , so many come to know Who shall survive , their Husbands or themselves ; And then how long ; whom they shall marry next : What place and oportunitie must meet To raise their titles ; with a million more Of womens questions — But the day begins To looke upon us . Duch. I must hasten then Least some mis-fortune doe discover me : Farewell Micale , hell prosper our designe . Mic. Feare it not Madam , I will not sleep nor eate , Till by Althea's death I joyntly free Your Sonne and House from Cupids Tyranny . exeunt .
Actus 4.
Scena 1. Enter Althea and Camilla disguis'd like Shepheardesses . Althea . THe day growes hot , and with the climing Sunne That mounts to th' height of noone , our cares doe flie Drawne on by feare and griefe , to deep despaire . Le ts rest under this shade until the sindging Ray a little hath withdrawne it selfe . Cam.

And gladly too , for I am as weary of travell , as I am of a Shepheards life .

Alth.

I Camilla , the desire of being publike is the disease of our Sex : we thinke the Countries free breathing spaciousnesse a prison , where the losse of libertie is the want of company . But if there were one of us , whose contents were not without her , she would shun that common concurse of eyes , as she does the opinion of deformity ; and perceive that the best perfection had no greater enemy than publike aspects .

Cam.

This is forc'd now , and savours not of your temper and womans seasoning , to hold Paradoxes against nature , and opinions opposite to our owne feelings . 'Sprecious Madam , if Nature fram'd us to please , how can we please where 's none to be pleas'd but Beasts and Birds , whose apprehension was ne'r made capable of proportion , and therefore regard it not .

Althea .

And therefore condemne us of unnaturalnesse , that when beauty was equally shar'd 'twixt them and us , they respect it as it is ; whil'st wee , blinded by reasonable sense , conceive it the richest gift Heaven could give , study it above the soule , and equall to life , tho it meerly touch our outsides , as clothes doe .

Cam.

Nay deare Mistris , let 's talke a little now like our selves like women ; and tell mee whether an excellent Qualitie forc'd from operation , or a rare peece of worke held from sight , bee not a wrong to the Author , as well as the thing ? O they were fowly deceiv'd that sought perfection in a Nunnery !

Alth.

That s the errour of our ambition , that while wee take our ayme at admiration , by publikenesse and common flattery , we misse that repute among the wisest , which our beauties not prostituted would infallibly merit ; because every thing , though lesse perfect , yet lesse common , is more admired , as we see in the Sunne and a Comet .

Cam.

You are Bookish still : and I le stand to it yet , there 's no woman but loves them both : and therefore being naturall to our Sex , why should it bee tearmed unnaturalnesse in us , to cherish beautie , or wish the perfection of civill mens amiable societie , when that ever begets love , and love is ever seconded with flattery . I like a Wench that 's pure mettall , and spirit , and the very foule of her kinde ; that when a Lord wantons her , will forsake her home , give off her father and competent meanes to the poore of the Parish ; stick to the City , like a Prodigall to the Counter , that cannot be drawne out by all the friends , he has ; lives clearely by her wits , yet reasonable honest too and all to be flatter'd .

Alth.

Such Camilla be the disgrace of their Sex : whose appetites change with varietie ; and taint the generall name of women with the vicious note of inconstancy .

Camill.

That 's the folly of men , to terme inconstancie vicious in us , for were they not so prone to wrong us , they would ne'r expect it , but know that to bee too constant to them , were to bee too disloyall to our selves , which I hope ne'r came nigh a womans wit .

Alth,

Yet it is the perfection of vertue to lose by the exercise .

Cam.

By the pleasures of change , I sweare this constancy is a mortall sinne , and not a vertue in any of us .

Alth.

A sinne ! and mortall !

Cam.

A sinn , and most mortall , because most against nature , and brings many of us to lead Apes in Hell . To lose the sweets of youth , the very Nectar of Nature , and frustrate the end of our Creation ; can this be lesse than a mortall sinne ?

Alth.

'T is a worke of merit , and they be Saints worthy to have their names written upon the Altar of Chastity . 'T is belov'd of Heaven , and sometimes fortunately rewarded here .

Cam. As for example — Alth.

My selfe you meane .

Camill.

I am no Divine , spight of the time I must speake my thoughts .

Alth. Why then 't is I , Althea .

Why then 't is you : would any woman breathing , that had her 5 senses , and no red head , no blew lips nor raw Nose , no desperate fortunes , nor crackt reputation , but walk'd upright in the face of the world , and in the Aprill of her age , so devote her selfe to one , that she must undergoe these miseries , when by renouncing him , shee may underlie so many commodities ? To turne Savage here , and hold conference with none but hils and sheepe , when she might have variety of fashions , wits , and breathes to Court her at home . I protest I would love over a whole Play-house of Gallants first .

Alth,

I could be angry with thee Camilla , for I le first be treacherous to my owne soule , ere buy content or kingdomes with perfidiousnesse .

Cam.

God reward you , for man will never .

Alth.

Vertue is rich , and rewards it selfe : and if my wrongs merit Lucilios safetie , Heaven redouble 'hem .

Enter Micale like a Shepherdesse with a Bottle and a Bagg . Mic. Now Micale thou hast the sight of them , And art already 'spy'd ; cast out the baite . Alth.

What is shee ? Sure some voluntary occasion has driven her this way .

Cam.

'T is some Camelion perhaps , that lives upon the breath of newes , and comes to intelligence us here .

Mic. What , no salute ! methinkes the furious heate Should make 'hem soone inquisitive to know What I came laden with into these Mountaines , Which yeeld no other juice but Christall Springs : I have a Liquor here to quench their thirst , Physick to purge them from their loving humours , And that aspiring minde that does invest Altheas hopes within a Duchesse stile . She sits downe and plucks out her Viands . Cam.

Faith Mistris my stomack takes this for an invitation , I have a great appetite to be acquainted with the honest Shepherdesse , for I am dry at heart , though my teeth water .

Alth.

Yet be not impudent , invite not thy selfe .

Cam.

Why no , I shall doe as custome and fashion forces us in wooing , forbeare and be coy , look to be invited and pray'd , when we be ready to starve : I le to her & dine , that 's past resolving — Come will you goe ?

Alth.

Not I .

Cam.

Your reason ?

Alth.

Because I have none to goe .

Cam.

Nor I to stay — Shepherdesse proface : I thinke your feast be neither gluttonous nor miserable , that thus you make it in the sight of heaven .

Mic.

'T is the Countries priviledge faire Shepherdesse to shun both : will 't please you sit and eate ?

Cam.

Your kindnesse makes mee presume , yet I feare to be over bold .

Mic.

Command and try , these Hill-Inhabitants dissemble not .

Cam.

I have a melancholy friend here by , whom discontent makes scarce sociable : yet perhaps company & your Bottle would infuse a little spirit , and make a Sunshine on her thoughts .

Mic.

You are too blame if you left her then , solenesse feeds melancholy : please you we goe and sit with her ?

Cam.

That were to trouble your kindnesse .

Mic.

Nay you mistake me then , methinks Shepheards should not know these Court complements , more then that does the Countries honesty .

They rise and goe to Althea . Cam.

Come , rouze your selfe , and meet a banquet that comes freely to you .

Alth.

I cannot eate .

Mic.

Why then you cannot live .

Alth.

And therefore I cannot eate , because I cannot live .

Mic.

Yet strengthen Nature , and out-live sorrow .

Alth.

'T were Tytius plague , to renew strength for griefe to feed on .

Mic.

And to let sorrow keepe you fasting were to starve with Tantalus .

Alth.

A hard choise for me the while .

Cam.

Vertuous constancy ; thou art belov'd of Heaven , and fortunately rewarded .

Alth.

Peace good Eccho .

Mic.

Come Nymph , you must bee joviall , these love griefes availe you nothing : men perhaps laugh at 'hem .

Cam. Why true : here 's a health and wisedome to you Alth.

Both to your selfe , I am not sick .

Mic.

Pledge her faire Nymph .

Cam.

See what a company of religious fooles wee maides bee , to sigh and hang the head for ere a rough-hewne-stubble cheeke on 'hem all , when a Crab-fac'd Cynick , that has neither land nor hansomnesse , will scoffe at affection , and say hee knowes foure Wenches , who if they were stampt and strain'd , so , that he might draw out the vertue of one , the beauty of another , the witty good nature of a third , and the Portion of a fourth ; he could make a reasonable good Wife for ere a yonger brother in the land .

Mic.

By Pan but such a wife would right well fit a Worshipfull Heire .

Cam.

Nay that were pity faith , then fooles should trouble two houses . Come will you take your Liquor ?

Alth

good Spirit leave thy tempting : my heart growes cold and pants , as if it did presage some fatall ill stood nigh me .

Mic.

These be the dreames of love : here take a draught , and waken imagination , fancy is strong with you .

Alth.

I thinke so too ; pray heaven it be no more .

Mic. Great Brimo , shall our labour be frustrate ! I le frame a lye shall make her hang her selfe For griefe , since poyson failes — yet taste a little , The Citie yeelds no better Cordiall to banish feares . Alth.

I cannot drinke — were you in the City late ?

Mic. I was , and saw a heavy spectacle , The Dukes sole Heire , who taking the disguise Of a condemned Lady , that stood tainted Of Treason , was throwne downe from off the Rock , And , by the priviledge of Law that gives Our Virgins leave to pleade and dye conceal'd , Vntill his Funerall , was still unknowne . Since when , the Duke to satisfie the wrath His ignorance had bred by such a losse Vnto the State , has burnt the guiltlesse mother Of that young Lady , persecutes her Kinne , Raced their ancient House , and vowes the death Of her , who yet is fled , and none knowes where . Alth. Oh — She sownes . Mic. Are you poyson'd with a lie ? — What ailes you Lasse ? What fainting ? Alth. I am not well ; good Shepheardesse Leave us a while ; I thanke thee for her meate , But the Sawce comes worse than poyson to my breast . Mic. Then fare you well : I am sorry to have bin the Messinger of that afflicts you — and kils not presently , aside . Although I hope this lie proves to thy heart , Poyson more ranke then ere was us'd by Art . exit Micale . Alth. O we have liv'd too long Camilla , and Out-slept the houre in which wee should have dyed , Plagues , guilt and mischiefe have o'rtaken us , Because we slack'd , and would not quit the world To rest in pure white Tombs of innocence , Cam.

I feare some of us shall recompence our sloth too soone , for I am wondrous ill .

Alth.

Poore wench , these newes have wounded thee .

Cam. Not to dissemble , no : but from the Wine I tasted of the Bottle , went a cold Through every veine , that settling at my heart , Shuts up the passages of life , and fils The Organs of my powers with such a frost As kils the spirits that should harbour it . Alth. Does Hell conspire with envy then to persecute Our misery ? and sent some fiend to take That shape , that ne'r till now did shrow'd so foule a sin . Cam. My soule growes faint and weary of her house , And Death claimes right in all my Vitall parts : Help me Althea ! help me Mistris ! Or bury me at least , and close mine eyes , Death is the best — Camilla dies . Alth. Of all lifes miseries . She rubs her to get life . Dead — starke dead — It is not much I aske the Angry heavens , Lend but my wits to die , I crave no more : Or if you have a further punishment Reserv'd , be milde , and hurle it quickly on mee With its full weight — Poore wench , I have no tooles To breake the earth , nor meanes to burie thee : Thou hast not kill'd a Mother , nor a Prince , Nor beene the ruine of thy Family ; Is 't such a guilt to beare me company , That thou must dye , and want what Homicides , And Malefactors finde ? — a grave ! Here take This Scarfe , Lucilio was wont to weare it ; Tell him thou hast it for thy Shrowd , and I Am gone to meet him , and have onely begg'd A truce with fatall mischiefe , whilst I hie , That where hee dyed , there I may likewise die . Poore soule farewell . exit . Enter Damon and Arminio two Shepherds . Laurinda a Shepherdesse with greene Strewings . Dam. Come , hands to worke , it is the Festivall Of our Silvanus , we must round entrench The place fittest for dancing . Laur. And strew the bankes On which the Summer Lord and Lady sit To see the sports , with these rich spoyls of May . Arm. Our Shepherds will be frolicke then , and lose No Ceremony of their ancient mirth . Dam. I like 'hem well : the curious precisenesse And all-pretended gravities of those That sought these ancient harmlesse sports to banish , Have thrust away much ancient honesty . Armin. I doe beleeve you : 't is the exercise Of such , only to seeme , and to be thought , What they are not , holy . They keep the feast Of our great Pan , with more than needfull strictnesse , And take upon 'hem to bee great oath-haters , When all is but dissembling , and their Devotions Like Witches charmes , disguis'd with seeming good To beare out wickednesse . Dam.

Then they have reason , for they that live by showes must paint faire .

Lau.

Alas , what 's here ? a Shepherdesse asleep !

Dam.

Sweet benefit of our life , to whom a Turfe gives a more secure sleep , than a Palace doth a Monarch .

Laur.

But this is death , not sleep .

Arm.

Why then shee 's absolutely blest : Nature has given her an acquitance from the reckonings of fortune and miserie .

Laur.

We must in charity bury her .

Dam.

To your Tooles then , we can doe no lesse : though it bee scarce in fashion now to be charitable . They digg the Grave .

Laur.

Fashion is a Traviller , and Shepheards cannot follow it .

Arm.

I Laurinda , it travels into all Nations the world o'r .

Laur.

And therefore should goe round .

Dam.

And therefore does goe round , blindfold , like a Mill-Horse , who thinkes he goes forward , yet keeps his course circular . But now Laurinda what further Ceremony can you devise for this Funerall ? poore haplesse Coarse !

Laur.

To mourne for we know not whom , and when peradventure death was the beginning of her happinesse , were to abuse our selves , and be sorry she could be no longer miserable .

Shee strewes on her . I le strow my flowers on her Virgin Hearse , And rob another Meddow for the sports , The place affords no other Ceremony . Arm.

Yes , wee must have a Countrey Song for her farewell from the earth , and welcome to the earth .

Laur.

I le doe my best , though it bee unseasonable to sing at burials .

Dam.

Poore Wench , even in the flower of her age ! although I knew thee not , yet for thy memory I le change with thee —

He takes the Scarfe from her face , and covers it with a cloth .

Your hand Arminio .

They take her up and bury her .
SONG . Laur . Die , die , ah die ! Wee all must die : 'T is Fates decree , Then aske not why . When we were fram'd the Fates consultedly Did make this law , That all things borne should die . Yet Nature strove And did denie We should be slaves To Destinie : At which they heape Such miserie That Natures selfe Did wish to die : And thankt their goodnesse that they would foresee To end our cares with such a milde Decree . — Farewell and sleep for ever .
Enter Antonio disguised . Ant.

'T is too late , I have miss'd him , and all my labour 's lost . Speed you shepheards and your worke .

Armin.

Sir , you are welcome , but our sad worke is sped already , and so are they for whom we worke .

Ant.

Why is it sad then if both be sure of speeding ?

Arm.

Because Sir the best speed our labour can have , is the sad end of their life for whom we worke . We have buried the dead .

Anton.

'T is well that Charity is not runne the Countrey then . But whom have you buried ?

Armin.

One doubtlesse as unfortunate as unknowne , a stranger sure in these parts , and as shee seem'd , a maid : further particulars we know not : but pittying shee should want a buriall , as we came by and saw her dead , we gave her that which earth denies to no misfortune , a poore grave .

Dam.

And tooke from off her face this Scarfe , bless'd with the last kisse her dying lips could give .

Anton.

O my apprehensive soule !

He catches the Scarfe . Dam.

What meane you Sir ? doe you know it ?

Anton. I too too well . Poore Lord that wont'st to weare this Relique , which is now left for an Index To turne thee to thy woes . Good Shepheard Grant me thus much and bestow it on me . Dam.

Faith Sir since I perceive you long for it , you shall prevaile : and if shee were of your acquaintance , keepe it as a monument of her untimely death . So fare you well Sir .

Exeunt Shepheards . Anton. Too timelesse death that kill'd two hearts in one ! And now Lucilio , where ere thou liv'st , Here we may joyntly finish both our labours , Since here lies bury'd all thy hopes and feares . Too vertuous maid Althea ! could the earth Yeeld thee no better place to enshrine thee in : Yet can its basenesse never dimme thy name , That shall be sung into posterity By a whole race of Virgins , and thy Fame Shall be a Tombe more durable to thee Then Brasse or Marble . So farewell Althea ! I le straight returne this newes to thy sad mother , That shee may give with some solemnities Thy unhappy death its latest exequies . exit . Enter Lucilio disguised like a Countrey man . Lucil. Slave to affliction , that must still pursue The shadowes of my hopes , clasping the windes To feed the hunger of my discontent , And set aloft by greatnesse , stand expos'd To every clap of Fortunes thundering , Still banish'd from the sight of sweet content That sits below me . Had my birth but bin As free from height as from ambition : I might have slept under a silent roofe , And eate securely of a Countrey Feast , Bound to no Ceremonious pathes of State , Nor forc'd to torture mine affections , Or chaine them till they sterve to some deform'd Remedy of love , and change our lives content For a bare title , that forsooth must come To edge a line of words , and make our names swell To fill th' ambitious thirst of greedy age — How easily could I forget my selfe By looking still upon thee , honest habit ! And could I finde her , whom the tyrannie Of love hath made mee seeke , I would not tread So many weary steps back for a Dukedome . exit . Enter Page disguised as before , and Master Frailware . Page .

Now Master Constable , how like you this project ? Doe I not draw all things to the life ?

Frail.

Excellent Boy ! for a searching braine thou mightst have made a Head-borrough .

Page .

What an ambidextrous shaver have I got to doe the feate ?

Fra,

Can he draw teeth I wonder ?

Page .

I , who doubts it ? 't is the semi-sphere of his Profession : why doe you aske ?

Frail.

because I would have this hatefull Stoiks two rowes of teeth drawne , for trespassing at my Table .

Page .

You 'll save nothing by that , for the want of teeth will make him come the oftner to your wifes White-broth , her Marrow , and Eringoes , who will likewise cram him up with Potatoes , Oysters , metamorphis'd Mushromes , and such like self-swallowing provocatives , that will runne down his throate as glibbie , as your pils of Butter , and make as much haste into his Belly , as they will make out againe into hers .

Frail.

How thou doest charge my head with scruples !

Page .

No ; the way to destroy all fundamentall reference betweene him and your wife hereafter , and to spoyle him for ever giving fresh sappe unto your hornes , let his offensive member be now lopt off , before the Sunne enters the Ramme .

Frail.

And what then Boy ?

Page .

Why when we have reduc'd him to this impotent state , we will straight divest him , and trusse him up naked in a Wheele-barrow , and send him home in the posture of an innocent , with his hands cleaving to the outsides of his knees , and his nose betweene his two Thumbes .

Fra.

Content ; and wee 'll goe pawne his clothes the while , and be drunke with the money .

Page .

Stay , this is a little two Tragicall , now I thinke on 't : wee 'll spare his wifes night-peece for her sake , till the next conjunction — Damasippus cries out within . Harke — our Checkerman has him by the Poll already : now Master Constable stand close to your revenge , dissemble a feare a while , wee shall be summon'd straight . They step aside .

Enter one disguised like a Devill Barber pulling forth Damasippus by the Beard . Bar.

Come out you unpoll'd Stoick , 't is time you had the curtesie of my Razer .

Dam.

Good sir , I need it not .

Bar.

I 'll force it on you sir : as I am Pluto's Barber in Ordinary I will trimme you , come , I long to doe it , therefore sit downe , and make your Beard ready for dissection — wee must have help I see ; Constable come hither , come I say , and feare not , but doe your Office , force him to fit , if your Authoritie bee strong enough : you trembling slave come helpe .

Page .

I come , I come sir .

Frail.

Damasippus I command you to sit in the devils name .

They set him in a Chaire . Bar.

So , hold him there . Now Damasippus before my mortall Razer seize your morall Beard , what can you say to save it ?

Dam.

Oh sir , it is an Ornament and speciall gravity belonging to our Sect .

Barb.

Impossible that haire should argue wit ; I rather thinke it does ecclipse a good disputative face , and makes you look more like a Travelling Greeke , then an Italian Stoick .

Dam.

Yet for Antiquitie-sake spare me these haires that never yet were cut .

Barb.

How ! Nunquam tondenti Barba cadebat ?

Damas.

Never since 't was a Beard sir , it is yet tipt with the Downe , the reliques of my youth , and in a primitive state .

Barb.

Why then sir the antiquitie of this your primitive Beard showes you to have beene a ranke enemy to our Profession .

Dam.

Why sir , I kept it for that end that Nature gave it , as a garment to cloathe the face of age in winter .

Bar.

Yet know Damasippus , tho it keep your face lukewarme , then ; it breeds a frost in your Liver , devours the radicall humour of your body , and endangers you to a Consumption : But in Summer , especially the Dog-dayes , such a Dung-mix of haire , and vast foregrowne Beard as this , were enough to keepe your Chin sweating , nine dayes together , and turne every haire of these to Snakes .

Page .

Most devillishly argu'd .

Barb.

Now Saturne , Vertumnus , and the god of Sheep-sheare guide my hand — He cuts off his Beard .

Dam.

Oh , oh —

Barb.

Hold , I have almost done .

Page .

Shave him close .

Fra.

And wash him too in Lethe-water , that he may forget his way to my house .

Barb.

So , let him rise .

Frail.

Why this was quickly done .

Page .

And valiantly suffer'd .

Barb.

Now Damasippus , in hope that you 'll heareafter bee a reform'd man , I le bee no more a Devill .

Page .

Nor Fidler I .

Fra.

Would I could cast my head too .

Dam.

O you damn'd Villaines ! have you betraid mee thus to shame and horrour !

Bar.

Be not angry Damasippus : now the Antependium of your face is off , you have a more Sibiline aspect a great deale .

Page .

True , hee lookes now just like a Goose return'd out of an inchaunted hole without her feathers .

Dam. Iust Nemesis inspire me with revenge That these unlectur'd miscreants may drinke Of the like Cup . Frailw.

Wee have already Damasippus , our wives have mingled it .

Page .

And you have both tasted of the horne of abundance —

Bar.

That your heads may be exalted like a brace of Bucks —

Frail.

According to moralitie vertuous Damasippus .

exeunt . Enter Lady Iulia weeping , and Assassino : shee brings the Scarfe Antonio carried out . Iul. Thou art dearly welcome good Assassino : Now cease to wonder why I sent for thee ; I had a daughter once , Assassino , A comfort to mine age , life to my veines , A living Image of her fathers vertues , Faire , modest , and which is halfe monstrous In these polluted times , inwardly chaste : I doe remember such a one I had . Ass.

And have still Madam , for rumour sayes she lives .

Iul. No , no , poore Girle , rumour has oft bely'd her . Seest thou this Scarfe ? Assas.

I Madam , what of that ?

Iul. And doe'st not see the letters writ in blood , That tell me she is dead , murdred , and on The Mountaines bury'd in obscure contempt ? Assas. Madam not I , Iul. Why no , I thought as much . But looke Assassino , if thou hadst felt The gripes of woe that have through pierc'd my soule , Seene an appalling sight would make thee tremble , Or through the spectacles of love didst view A losse as deare as heaven , thou wouldst discerne These bloody Characters , and meet her pale Ghost In every slumber , begging with silent showes And deep fetch'd groanes a mothers slow revenge . Assas. Good Madam , I am sorry for it — Iul. Then to recount the wrongs , the infamy Heapt on her youth , when by most trecherous plots Shee was attaint of murder , and became The marke for every vulgar tongue to spit Slander and treason on her faire report ; And last her undeserv'd imprisonment — Assas. By heavens 't was a foule abuse ; what wer 't best to doe ? Iul. And now to force her flie her dearest Countrey , Friends , hopes , contents , twixt opposite love and hate , To live in obscure exile , poore , forlorne , Suspitious still of death , and flying that , To wade each houre deep into misery , To meet another death before her , and sinke Vnder the double hand of murder , not Into a Tombe , but a poore Mountaine grave , No rites nor obsequies at her interment , Buried without a teare , unpitied , unrespected . Assas. 'Fore Heaven Madam I would revenge it . Jul. My soule Assassino labours for revenge ; Yet I 'm a woman , and can sprinkle them But with a few salt teares , and curse , and pray , Which is a weake foundation for my revenge To climbe and over-looke them . Assa. You have friends : call in the enemie , & mutine . Iul. That 's full of hazzard , for a peace being sworne , The enterprize may make them happier , Vs still more miserable : But if my griefe Were arm'd with such a hand , as would o'rturne The frame of all those hopes for which they sweate , And spurne that in the dust , which they would raise With hatefull deeds , up to the point of state : That I might see them grieve , and waile the losse Which now afflicts my carefull widdowhood , Know what it were to lose a childe , sole comfort Of their declining yeares , and send their a-Ged Coarses to the grave , hopelesse of issue . Assas. To make away the Prince ; 't is that you meane , Iul. Thou art within me already ? And mark Assassino how easie 't is , Since time , occasion , travaile , and his solenesse , Thy selfe not knowne , gives advantagious meanes To second thine attempt : doe but resolve And Fate will straight resolve to second thee In such a righteous and just revenge . Assas. Madam the enterprise is dangerous , And though I have a daring spirit that bids Mee undertake the deep'st attempts of blood For your revenge , and in so just a quarrell , Yet must you thinke the danger I shall passe Cannot but highly merit recompence . Jul. Vow't ; & propose the summe ; my House , my Purse , My Meanes , and whatsoe'r is mine is thine : Be bold and faithfull , I le ever hold thee deare , Call thee our Houses Champion , and the hand Of heaven's justice mark'd to punish sinne , And plague the guilty thoughts of tyranny . Ass. But Madam the report of his passage is so obscure , That I can hardly learne which way hee tooke . Iul. I have dogg'd the rumour of his journey , and can Exactly informe thee , come take directions , And gold to furnish thee . Assas. Then I resolv't ; And he shall die . Iul. Now thou dost powre fresh youth Vpon my haires , newly reviv'st my soule , Put'st spirits to my heart dry'd up with sighes , And mak'st fresh blood traverse my empty veines , For the sweet'st heaven the spleenes of women finde Is full revenge to our aggrieved minde . Exeunt . Enter Alastor solus , in rich apparell , disguised for the Prince . Alast.

It 's strange I heare not from the Prince , nor Antonio , who promis'd to meet mee here , where I have now stay'd three dayes in expectance , and had the winde bin faire , must have pass'd for Greece — 'Fore Heaven it 's a gallant thing to be a Lord , if but in name , you shall be so applauded in every vanitie , scurrill jest , and impious action : A Satten Thersites that stalks among the Pesants like the Stork that Iupiter sent among the frogs , will so bend and bow to your little Toe , fawne and protest your excellencies ; Si bene ructavit — Sirectum minxit — I would I had the faith that some have , I would never be unlorded againe . 'Fore Heaven I must begin to fawne , and get my selfe created : This service done for the Prince is a good step to it .

Enter a Captaine of a Ship .

Now Captaine , the winde 's unconstant still , every where save where to steed us .

Cap.

Womanish my Lord , womanish .

Alast.

Indeed their levity has gotten them now that Simile appropriated .

Cap.

But they shew'd other Cards before they wonne it , too .

Alast.

Nay , that 's enough i'faith .

Cap.

Yet they had more .

Alast.

As what !

Cap.

Why their tongues , which fill houses , as the bustling of Windes doe Climates : they overturne Families , and States , as winds doe Trees , Towres , Ships . And for your diversitie of winds you have your diversitie of women : for your whirlewindes that claspe and carry a thing in the ayre , till it fall dasht to peeces ; you have of your Females that will claspe and beare you , till at your next fall you will thinke one peece will scarce hang by another . For your freezing windes , you have them that will breed such a frost in your bones , that change of weather will make 'hem as rotten as the ground after a sudden thaw : And for your blitting and burning windes , you have of them too , that will blast and scorch most ambidextrously . Onely the difference is , that there bee but sixteene points in the Card , where the winde can be unprofitable to a man : but a woman has for the most part , the whole compasse of her Card unprofitable , which containes two and thirty points at least .

Alast.

Then the Grammarians methinkes did ill to make Ventus of the Masculine Gender .

Cap.

The Grammarians my Lord were meere Schollers , & meere Schollers be meere fooles , and meere fooles are easily deceiv'd in matter of Gendring .

Alast.

Impossible sir , they couple Genders by Booke .

Capt.

Right my Lord : so they all study Riders Dictionary , and therefore become excellent Horsemen .

Enter Navarchus a Master of a Ship . Navar.

Newes from Court to your Grace ; a stiffe robustious Letter-Carrier makes much inquiry where he may be delivered of some matters he has beene in travaile withall .

Alast.

Cozenage and dissimulation help me , it 's impossible to scape discovering . D'sfoote I must walke stately , looke scornfully , talke simply , and be Noble at all points now . But it fals out something fortunately to be in the Evening : let him have entrance .

Enter Assassino disguised . Assas.

Health to your Grace .

Alast.

As much to them that bring it : how fare our friends at Court ?

Assa.

As wanting no part of welfare but your wish'd presence .

Alast.

Have you ought to impart that concerns us ?

Assas.

I have my Lord , and must have private conference with your Grace .

Alast.

Attend us then on the Litto , where I le presently meete you , and take this soft Evening breath .

Assas.

Heaven , Ayre , Place , Time , and all will fit thy death .

Exit Assas. Alast.

By Iove methinks I begin to be my Craftes-Master and Lord it handsomely . If it were as easie for a Villaine to be a Lord , as a Lord to be a villaine , I would write noble instantly : get mee a Herald for seven shillings , or a frowne to forsweare himselfe , and draw my Pedigree as deep as Romulus . Captaine , as the wind serves , either on the Litto , or at my Lodging . exit .

Capt.

Wee will attend your Grace .

Nav.

'T is strange that such a personage should thus obscurely travell .

Capt.

Tush Navarchus , our common-wealth is among fishes , and our pollicie with the windes , and therefore no marvell if Courtiers tricks savour not on our palats .

Navar.

Yet fearing disgrace above damnation , and loving a popular esteeme more then heaven ; methinkes obscuritie should fright 'hem .

Capt.

Faith no ; for you shall have a Courtier of the first Velvet head , when the tide runnes low , and in a place unknowne , will familiarly turne you to his old trade , accoutre his palfrey most neatly , and thanke obscurity for drowning the unfit honour hee had lately slipt on and off .

Navar.

'T is a disease indeed they have , to feele no touch of future honour , nor taste any thing more than what lies before 'hem .

Capt.

Tut , they be wise in that , for their conception being precipitate , and their births rash , they knew their glories birth would bee like the flies I have seene by a River in Aegypt , that begin to live in the morning , are at full age by noone , and die before Sunne set : and therefore their honour feeds like mothes upon apparell , and objects meerly present — flashes — flashes .

Navar.

But such an imputation cannot staine his honor , whose graine taken in the die of a Dukes blood , stands immaculate spight of all fortunes .

Capt.

'T is true , and therefore peradventure parsimony invites him to this obscuritie , for I le assure you , that to be miserable , and not fight , are growne to be two right honourable qualities , —

Enter a Shipman . Shipm.

Captaine , you stand talking here of a Cock and a Bull , while our rich fare is gone another way .

Capt.

Who ? my Lord the Prince ?

Shipm.

I your Lord the Prince .

Navar.

Which way , for profits sake ?

Shipm.

That way that many Lords doe for profits sake : downwards , downwards .

Cap.

Prethee speake not in enigmas ; be understood .

Shipm.

In plaine Dagger termes the Prince is slaine .

Navar.

D'foot 't is sharp newes .

Capt.

By whom ?

Shipm.

Why , that swart Rutter that brought the message from Court , delivered it in such keene termes , that it went to his heart : & when he had done , tumbled him off the Litto into the water to catch Whitings . But two Merchants spying it , rais'd the people and tooke him , and now the Governour is gone a fishing after the Body .

Cap.

This amazes mee , done so suddenly .

Shipm.

Death 's a quick Carver when he comes in that shape .

Navar.

Who set him on sayes he ?

Shipm.

Some valiant Squire or other , who is yet unknowne , nor will the Governour urge the knowledge , but sends him back to Court , that the Duke may take notice of all .

Cap.

Come , le ts to the the Litto , and set our helps to find the Body .

Both .

Content . Exeunt

Actus 4.
Scena 1. Enter the Duke and a Messinger . Duke .

BVt have you found the body ?

Mess. Wee have my Lord With long laborious search , it was three Tydes Lockt in the armes of Neptune , who at length Enforc'd by maine constraint resign'd it up , But all the face so mangled and deform'd , That but his clothes , nought could have made it known , The which embalm'd we straight clos'd up in Lead , And with the murderer brought it to your Grace , That after his due exequies perform'd , You might quench sorrow in revenge , and draw His blood , whose hand hath spilt best part of yours . Duke . Thou art deceiv'd , good friend , 't was not his hand , But the just hand of Heaven that whips my sinnes , And through my Veins powres out the innocent blood Which I had spilt before ; the hand that holds The equall Ballance to discerne the waight 'Twixt Princes justice and their tyrannie , Measures their blessings and their plagues , alike , To their faire vertues or black infamies , And makes the horrid acts of murderous mindes But instruments of plague to punish guilt ; And pay us in the coyne with which we hop'd To buy our gluttonous surfets . Such is the state Of Princes priviledge , that we may runne Into the depth of sinne , and uncontroul'd Pull vengeance on our heads , while the smooth hand Of pestilent flattery claps us on the back , And gives us edge to villany , till they see Misery and desolation close us round ; Then they flie back , and gaze , as on a place Stricken with furious thunder in a storme : When every vulgar hand has lawes , and feare Of prying authority to hold him backe , And friendly enemies to upbraid him with His faults , and keepe him in the bounds of mercy , Onely our height bereaves us of these helps , And wee are sooth'd in vices , till we runne Beyond the reach of grace , and stand within The shot of heaviest vengeance , which seldome comes Short of our merits — O my sonne ! my sonne ! I shall grow madd with griefe : my frighted conscience Opens the Booke , where I doe view my sinnes , And feele the furies with their wounding whips Lashing my guilty soule to penitence . Mess. I was unhappy To bee the messenger of this ill newes . exeunt . Enter Lucilio disguised as before , meeting at the other doore Fioretta , her haire downe , strewing the way with greene hearbs and flowers . Luci.

Who 's this ? Fioretta the Lady Iulia's woman ? My heart ! what meanes her habit ?

Fioretta sings this following to some mournfull tune .
Come Lovers bring your cares , Bring sigh-perfumed sweets , Bedew the grave with teares , Where death and vertue meets : Sigh for the haplesse houre That knit two hearts in one , And onely gave love power To die when 't was begun .
Lucil.

Saving your mirth faire Lady , what preparation 's this ?

Fior.

a Bridall sir ; true love and greatnesse be divorc'd , and now they bee both going to be married to misfortune .

Lucil.

'T was a marriage long since , my selfe was at the wedding : But be a little plainer , & tell me who it is to be maried ?

Fior.

Indeed Sir , Beauty , Vertue , and too much faith for a woman , are going to the cold armes of a sullen Churle , one that consumes ere hee lets goe : yet hee is better than your other husbands are ; he forsakes them not , leaves them not in misery , hee wooes them not with flatteries , and poysons with unkindnesse : hee never sweares , and lies , but continues faithfull till Doomes-day . Who be you ?

Lucil.

A stranger in your City , a poore Husbandman .

Fior.

A poore Husband ? then thou art a poore dissembler , a poore murderer : O you husbands kill more than scurvie Physitians , or a plaguy Summer . But art a stranger ?

Lucil.

A very stranger here .

Fior.

Why that 's all one , thou canst not bee a stranger to her fame , if thou hast liv'd but a moneth in the world . Poor innocent Althea makes her last mariage , and I am one of her Bridemaids .

Lucil.

To whom for loves sake ?

Fior.

To her grave for love's sake , an honest Husband : t is better then the Dukes sonne , that sent her from the City , to dye in the Mountaines ? Ah 't was unkindly done , not to goe nor send after her ! yet poore Lord hee is kill'd , dead too now , and has met her Hearse here —

So those two soules that ne'r were borne to have

A Nuptiall Bed , have found a Nuptiall Grave .

Beauty and Vertue strove Who should adorne her most , Till faith conspir'd with love , And all their labours crost . Lucil. Antonio kill'd ! Althea buried ! Then thou hast liv'd Lucilio to behold The height of mischiefe , and the worst of chance , And thou maist dare thy angry Starres to inflict What ere they can effect , that 's worse than this . Murderd thy friends ! ruin'd their ancient names ! Hatefull to thy Parents , lothsome to thy selfe ! O 't is high time to die , and I doe wrong Althea's constancy to breath an houre After I know she has prevented me . Methinkes I heare love chide my backwardnesse . And tell me how unworthy I am growne , To have two friends so firmely vertuous , Constant and loyall , and outlive them both , Yea be their Murderer , and stand alive Spectator at their funerall , as I would bid The rest weep on , whil'st I give ayme to teares , And marke who grieves most deep at my foule actions . Lucilio stands aside . Enter at one doore the Coarse of the Dukes supposed Sonne , borne by Mourners , and following it the Duke and Duchesse , with others , in mourning robes . At the other doore , the Hearse for Althea , with the Scarfe which Antonio brought from the Shepherds , laid a crosse it , and borne by foure maides in blacke , with their haire disheveld , and Garlands of dead Mirtle , or other leaves , on their heads , her Mother with some Mourners following . Torches before both , and meeting they stay . Duke . So then , let Fortune make a period here , Since we are met just in the midst of woe , And stand upon the Center of mishap . Whence we may see the full circumference Of all that Sphere , that bounds the power of Fate . Come Madam we will mixe our teares a while , Dropping them joyntly on the Marble Tombes Of our dead Issue , till the stones receive Large Characters of griefe , carv'd by the drops That ceaselesse flow from our too late laments . Iul. Great Lord , if woes with woes may be compar'd , Or to the measure of our cause of griefe Wee might in sad contention drop our teares , Shower for your drop , Pound for your dramme of woe My brest and eyes would yeeld , which now are growne A boundlesse harbour for the depth of care . For though wee meet in this , that both have lost The dearest treasures of desired life , Yet hath your Grace a partner in distresse A comfort to the residue of your yeares , And therefore hope that Heaven may yet restore This ruine of your House . Besides you have The body of your sonne , on whose dead Coarse You may bestow your teares , and honour him With fitting place and Royall exequies : When Heaven hath shut those comforts from my heart , Left me a widow to sustaine the waight Of all this burden , and no partner else To bring mine aged haires unto the grave But still repining griefe : and am deny'd The ashes of my childe , on whose cold Hearse Mine eyes might pay those tributary teares Which her misfortune , and my woes exact , And onely can embrace an empty shrine . Yet my good Lord , I oft forget my cares To grieve at yours , and wish Althea's death Might have suffic'd the anger of the Fates , Without Lucilio's blood , whose guiltlesse fall Hath strook a sadnesse through th' appalled lookes Of all your subjects , made them stand amaz'd , And wonder there should live upon the earth Envy enough to blast such gracefull hopes . Duke . Let me be open Madam to your love , 'T is but the doome of Iustice I sustaine ; I know I wrong'd your daughters innocence , And onely know it now , for plagues make knowne That , oft , for sinne , which once we thought was none . Iul. No my good Lord , shee was not innocent , In that she bounded not her loosest thoughts Within our element but would admit The dangerous fires , of ambitious love Into her Virgin brest , that 's safelyest knit Where all proportion justly equals it . Duch. Wrong not her worth good Madam , the power of death Is weake to staine her name , and we were blest . If such perfection , joyn'd unto our Blood , Had with our sonne succeeded in the Throne Of this unhappy and dejected State . Beleeve me Madam I did ever love Althea's Vertues , and was inly glad When by that Stratagem my son had freed Her innocence ( as I protest I thought ) And wish'd her scape as safe from that injustice As could my heart desire . Iul. Alas good Madam , I have felt your Grace Still loving to my daughters poore deserts , And nothing did increase my sorrowes more Then that I wanted meanes how to requite Your Graces love . Duke . Come , we forget our selves in Ceremonies , And waste the time , whose every instant yeelds Scarce space enough for that large taske of griefe Sorrow exacts each instant from our hearts , Good Madam wee will consecrate one Tombe To both their Memories ; and since in life Their hearts were so united by Loves hand , In death their Graves shall joyne : so will ourselves Bequeath the remnant of our dayes from hence , You to sad cares , and we to penitence . Exeunt the Torch-Bearers and both Coarses joyning ; the Duke , Duchesse , L. Iulia , &c. following . Lucil. You to sad cares , and wee to poenitence — Why then you 'll feed upon the bitter fruits Of your ambition , and by experience finde , Vertue , not Honour is heaven unto the minde . Deare Father , I conceive your griefe , as true As is my love , and feele methinkes a sting , That spurs me onward to prevent the plagues My losse will bring upon your hoary age , And makes me thinke I heare the frequent voyce Of potent Nature whisper to mine eare The duty that I owe , and bids me meet Those mischiefes quickly , by discovering mee : But the perswasion 's weake when I must owe More then a duty , or all Natures selfe To the chaste merits of Althea's love , Who was the first I murdred ; then the name Of holy frendship , which my request abus'd In lov'd Antonio , whom I murdred next : My debt 's above a life , which though I give , My ghost must be a slave to pay the rest , And their deserts stand yet unsatisfy'd . But ô yee Spirits of truth ! whose constant faiths Merit perhaps to heare these last laments My dying soule powres forth ; be pleas'd to take The poore oblation of a loathsome life , Which I as gladly vow unto your loves , As misery would turne it selfe to blisse . And since I was a murderer to your worths , I le chuse that death that murderers doe passe ; And thou hadst liv'd Antonio , if thy love Had not before with-held me from the fall , And saving onely me hath murdred all . exit . Enter Antonio and Lady Iulia . Anton. Madam , My love to you and to that vertuous Lord Could doe no lesse : I doe assure your Ladiship The murderer has confess'd , in hope of life , The circumstances , meanes , and opportunity Which you so fitly urg'd , and hath incens'd The Duke so violently against your selfe , That he has vow'd your death , & doth intend A sharp revenge to all your family . And but I know Lucilio yet does live , Beleeve me Madam I should hate the fact , And be the first should feed my thirsty eyes With their best blood , that spilt least part of his . Iul. Alas Antonio , what would you have me doe , When I beheld my daughter murdred thus 'Twixt love and hate , and I no meanes of help To take revenge , or comfort to my griefe ? Anto. Well Madam let 's not stand to expostulate The cause ; the act was foule , and ( but the hand Of Heaven turn'd it from him 'gainst whom you meant it ) Hatefull , and worthy of the deep'st revenge . Your way is now to shun the furious wrath The Duke 's enflamed with , and for a while Lie close in some disguise , till the lost Prince Make his returne , who doubtlesse will ere long Give notice to my selfe where he remaines : And for your farther assurance Lady , I le take Some strange attire with you , and we will both Be present at the Execution . Where you shall heare perhaps the latest words The murderer will speake against your selfe , And in the presence of the Duke avouch Your guiltinesse . Iul. Thankes good Antonio , There the gift is free , When 't is bestow'd on deepest miserie . Exeunt . Enter Althea in her Shepherdesses apparell over her owne , which she putting off layes aside . Alth. Lie there thou gentle weed , that hast prolong'd A weary life , thou whose dissembling shape Has help'd me reach the place which drew that life As an attractive Load-stone to it's end . Some friendly Passinger will for this reward Bestow perhaps a buriall on my Coarse ; And be my death as freely exempt from sight . As is my griefe , that never innocent eyes May bee infected with those fumes of guilt My latest gaspe breathes forth , reserv'd till now To bee unfortunate in all save this , That I shall sacrifice my dearest blood Vpon that Altar where Lucilio dyed , And let one aire receive our joyned spirits And sacrifices to Faiths Deitie . She goes up the Rocke quickly , and standing ready . And witnesse now you zealous thoughts of love , Witnesse the vowes my affection held so deare , Enter Lucilio in his owne habit , and walkes a turne . My soule comes unconstrain'd to you deare Lord , And parts as freely from a gladsome heart , As ere it wish'd to enjoy the lively sight Of your desired presence — She spies him as below . — Awake my fancy , doe mine eyes conspire To aggravate my griefe , or does the strong Imagination of my losse present the shape Of his dead person to my troubled sense ? Lucil. What strange confused passions 'gin to raise A stormy combate 'twixt my minde and death ! Though safely now arriv'd within the Port Where for exchange of breath I shall regaine The long desired presence of her soule That hovers in expectation of my comming . Alth. Methinkes I sleep , that , thus illusive showes Doe mock my apprehension : or is 't decreed That even in death I must indure affliction ? And die in height of woe ? How like his pace , His gesture , shape , and countenance ! true constant spirit ! ( That wouldst not be unlesse thou mightst be true ) Did not my greedy sight distract my thoughts To feed upon thy shadow , and make me forget My businesse next in hand : I should have flowne To be a shadow , and have walk'd with dead Lucilio — As hearing somewhere the voyce of his name . Lucil. Lucilio ! was it my fond conceit ? or else ( my selfe Standing betwixt the bounds of life and death ) Her ghost , that lookes each minute for my approach , Thinkes my stay long , and cals upon my name ? I come Althea , swift as breake the windes From out the Eolian Caves , give mee but space To take my flight from off that — He lookes up to the Rocke , and seeing her stand a while amaz'd . Bright Angell ! Goddesse ! whatsoe'r thou art That hast assum'd that shape to adorne thy state , And give a better lustre to thy Deity ; Doe not delude my woes , nor make my death More miserable then my selfe have done . Alth, It does invite me speak , and with his silent looks Seemes to intreat a word , yet my faint heart Throbbing with feare , denies to second speech . Lucil. Be what thou wilt ; I know no spirit of night Durst to attempt that forme , that ne'r was made But to invest a soule more faire and pure Then are the Spheres . Ghost ! Angel ! Goddesse ! Nimph ! Speake , daine a word to tell me what thou art , That thus appearst in such a glorious shape To intercept my death ? Art thou an Angel That thus wouldst shew the world what they have lost By seeing her heavenly forme ? Or art thou else Some spirit of Diviner excellence That hast put on that shadow , thine owne nature To beautifie ? Or does Althea's ghost Come thus to meet and chide my slothfulnesse ? Or has thy worth chaste Nymph , deserv'd to scape The hand of death , and made thy perfect selfe All soule , immortall , and an unmixt spirit , That those rich vertues which great nature heapt In thy creation , might by envious death Ne'r be dissolv'd , nor the cold senslesse earth Embrace and taint thy pure delicious beauty , For which the Starres grew envious to the world ? What ere thou art , if thou hast sense of griefe But correspondent to the shape thou bear'st , Add not more torment to the depth of woe That does accompany my death , and urge No more the sight and memory of her Whom I have wrong'd ; envy has left me nought But life to yeeld in satisfaction , Which here I come to tender as thy due : Or if thou doubtst the payment , and didst come To take a view how willingly I dyed ; Then be my witnesse that the chased Stagge Flies not more swiftly to the cooling streames Then I to death — He runnes up to the Rocke , where both meeting , shew passions of feare . Alth.

Stay .

Lucil.

Speake .

Alth.

O stay deare love !

Lucil. Speake , speake thou heavenly spirit , And tell me since thy selfe art made Divine , What makes thee come in confines of the wretched , And mixe thy selfe with us whose earthly loades Detaine us yet in life and misery ? Alth.

Why , I doe live .

Lucil. I know thou dost , thou wert not fram'd to die , Nor at thy birth , when Heaven and Nature joyn'd To give thee those rich Dowries thou enjoy'st , Did they intend to make such excellence Mortall and subject to the stroke of death . But where deficient Nature could extend Her force no farther to preserve thy life , Heaven would supply the want , and turne thy state To immortality , yet why shouldst thou , When I have seene thy Funerals perform'd , Come to afflict me , and augment my griefe ? Alth. Sweet love , if you doe live , as feare and hope 'Twixt adverse passions make me doubtfull yet , Know that I live as when we parted last , Nor ere was yet interr'd . Lucil. No , no , the earth grew feeling of her losse , And grieving to be robb'd of such a jemme , Refus'd to shut that treasure in her wombe Where foule corruption must have tainted it : Or did my fortunes yet beyond thy death Pursue thee farther , and bereaving first Thy innocent life , in some forsaken wood Leave thee unburyed , and thy restlesse ghost Comes now to seeke a Sepulcher of me ? Alth. Great Lord , recall your selfe , and give me leave To speake what will resolve this doubtfull maze In which your senses wander , and can finde No passage out . Since I last left your Grace Travelling in that disguise , I lost indeed Camilla , poore Companion of my cares : But hearing that your selfe in shape of me Was by your Fathers doome throwne off this Rock , Knowing my sufferance guilty of your death , I came to end my life where you had dyed , And expiate the murder with my blood Where 't was committed on your guiltlesse self , Reserv'd by Heavens mild hand to this blest houre Wherein our innocent loves might once more meet In spight of envie . Lucil. Lives my Althea then ? Then live Althea still ! But speake no more Lest the vast Tyde of joy o'rwhelme my soule , And kill as quick as griefe : Or my sad heart Vnable to sustaine this burden of wonder , Sinke and yeeld vanquish'd . I have much to aske , But let it rest : yet tell me how thou far'dst In this long banishment ? — stay , who comes yonder ? Now the wind 's turn'd , and fortunes lavish hand Powres downe content beyond expectation . Enter Duke and Duchesse with Officers bringing Assassino to execution , after them the L. Iulia and Antonio both disguised . Duke . Come thou inhumane murderer of my sonne , Traytor unto thy Countries state and safety , And now before the stroke of Iustice seize Thy hatefull life , resolve the wondring world Why the slight motives of a womans words Should winne thee to so foule and horrid crimes ? Assas. What I have said your selfe are witnesse to , Nor needs it be renew'd ; nor can I adde One word or syllable to make it more . Duke . Then let the Execution proceed , That wee may doe this latest Exequie To his wrong'd ghost , which is to see his blood Reveng'd with blood of those that murdred him , As we have vow'd to doe , and not to leave These weeds of sorrow , till we have consum'd The race and name of them that did conspire In this abhorred Action : And would it might Suffice the injuries we did his life , Thus to revenge his too untimely death ; And from that height — He sees them on the Rocke , and stands amaz'd . Am I awake , or dreame I ? Is it my fancy Breeds this delusive show in my weak braine ? Or doe their soules come to condemne our guilt , More conscious of their death , then whom we have brought To die for it ? See , doe thy dazled eyes Perceive that object which my selfe beholds : Or is 't some shadow that abuses mee ? And none but mee ? Duch. My sonne my Lord , my sonne ! More knowne by 's ghost , then if his living forme Had met mine eyes : ô speake to him my Lord ! Duke . If thou beest such as is thy semblance , By all that duty that thy life did owe Vnto a Parent ; by the Bands once due , Of Love and Nature , that unites the soules Of children and their carefull nourishers , I doe adjure thee tell , why in this midd'st Of day you come thus to renew our griefe ? What has there wanted to your Funerals , When we have wept us dry , and spent our teares More thicke than winter showers upon your Hearse ? Done all the Rites and Exequies were due To your interring ? And have vow'd revenge To all that did conspire in that foule Act Of thy too guiltlesse murder Lucil. Know that wee are return'd From out those Seats of Blisse where we were plac'd By your unjust proceedings , to make knowne That what you did was 'gainst the will of Fate . For see , what you deny'd upon the earth , The power of Heaven does grant , and has confirm'd Our long-borne loves with an Eternall peace : Where our two soules in sweetest union knit , Enjoy their Nuptials out of Envies reach . Yet know there are some punishments reserv'd For the vile Treasons practis'd in pursuite Of our unmerited wrongs ; and that their sinne Is mark'd for plagues , that seeke by force to breake The League that Love and Faith doe joyntly knit . Duke . Then let 'hem fall , wee are prepar'd for woes Though shot as thick as Haile from out the Clouds , Our guilt is greater than those punishments , Or all our future plagues can expiate . The Duke and Duchesse both kneele . Yet on our bended knees thus low to earth As we did both conspire in that foule plott We here entreat your pardons , and withall Wish the offended Heavens would bee appeas'd With Vowes and Orisons ; and would your ghosts Forget those injuries wee did your loves And rest in peace with us , and with the world . Lucil. Father we will , but should we live againe , You would not yet relent , and yeeld our loves The sufferance you see the Heavens have done . Duke . By Heavens I would ; nor should the potent'st hand Of earth resist your present Nuptials . Lucil. Then wee 'll be ghosts no more , but ever sue For your mild sufferance of our happinesse . Come downe , both kneele . Duke .

Wonder and amazement do not oppresse me !

Duch.

O we are blest beyond desert !

Alth. Yet is my joy but small amidst your many , Since you have burnt my innocent Mother , And razd our Family . Iul. No my deare daughter , see I safely live Ne'r blest till now , and now o'r-joyd with blisse , Lucil. Then joyes would be compleate had I not lost By thy vile murderous hand so deare a friend . Anton. Your friend still lives , and never felt his life Sweet till this instant , when I may behold These joyes combin'd . Duke . Why then there nothing wants But celebration of your Nuptials , Which we will doe with greater signes of joy , Then we had griefe in your supposed Funeralls . But whose death is this murderer guilty of ? Ant. Onely Alastors , a fellow as wicked as himself . Duke . We give him then his life , but banish him From our Dominions : and for this strange event We will expect a farther leisure To heare the whole discovery of the chance , And leave the rest to mirth , that shall command In all our Feasts , and whom wee 'll Crowne as King , To be chiefe Lord in all our Banquetting . Exeunt omnes . Omnia vincit amor ; & nos cedamus amori .
Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
Notes for div A04604-e100130
The Epilogue . IVdging Spectators all , for this wee know , That either you are such , or should be so , Now to your censures lowly as his minde Our Authour all submits , and hopes to finde In such a faire assembly no such eyes As scoute at Theaters , and come like flies To taint the innocent'st labours with their tongues , Raising their richest gaines from others wrongs : If such an envious Canker hap to lurke Here , and hath onely sate to taxe the worke With curious scanning ; let that envy know He scornes his censure onely , and can show 'Gainst all such labour'd hisses , Perseus Shield , In such a fearlesse Pen as ne'r shall yeeld , 'Till his cold merits doe his worth bewray , Or make himselfe a mewing Statua . Nor is he of those self-admiring Apes That thinke none's features faire , whose birth escapes Their labouring braines ; hee heares and sees , and knowes , And yeelds all reverence to the worth of those Whom solid Art extols , and unto such Hee humbly vailes his Scene , that for the touch Of unaffecting censures hither came ; Hee sought your mirth more than a Poets name . FINIS .
Machine-generated castlist A04604-lucilio 64 A04604-page 59 A04604-althea 56 A04604-antonio 49 A04604-frailware 45 A04604-alastor 31 A04604-duke 30 A04604-damasippus 29 A04604-micale 29 A04604-camilla 26 A04604-duchess 25 A04604-mrs_frailware 24 A04604-julia 21 A04604-assassino 19 A04604-captain 16 A04604-barber 13 A04604-servant 11 A04604-abigail 10 A04604-arminio 8 A04604-navarchus 8 A04604-abigal 8 A04604-laurinda 8 A04604-shipman 7 A04604-gentleman 5 A04604-fioretta 5 A04604-prologue 5 A04604-messenger 2 A04604-deborah 2 A04604-executioner 1 A04604-both 1 A04604-sarvia 1 A04604-attendant 1
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t is it so much Witchcraft in Poëtry , as , now tis known , the Stage will beare . Be what will praecipit● up to the height Of horror , standeth in a praecipiti , And thrust but one step farther , with twixtfull death , nor shall she live That stands 'twixt full content and thy desires . But how shall soulest Lord , that would so staine your love With foulest spots of blood . leatn'd bee tender conscienc'd dunces : they never learn'd Esops Fables . retune Mic . Haste then , quicke returne thee home . Doe not tho forget the stone Spitit 'Tis a familiar Spirit , methinkes I could bee acquainted with bestspeed Because Sir the best speed our labour can have , is the sad end