ACT III., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ MACHIAVEL, FULGENTIO, PANDOLPHO, ALERZO, GIOVANNO, _with_ RAYMOND _prisoner, and the rest of the_ TAILORS.

ALL THE TAI. A tailor, a tailor, a tailor!

GIO. Raymond, y' are now my prisoner: Blind chance has favour'd, where your thoughts Had hope she meant to ruin From our discord, which Heaven has made victorious, You meant to strike a harmony should glad you.

ALER. 'Tis not to be borne: a tailor!

[_Whisper._

FUL. 'Twas an affront galls me to think on't: besides, His saucy valour might have ruin'd all Our forward fortunes, had the French been stronger: Let him be banish'd.

MACH. It shall be so; My fears are built on grounds, Stronger than Atlas' shoulders: this same tailor Retains a spirit like the lost Antonio; Whose sister we will banish in pretence Of love to justice; 'tis a good snare to trap The vulgar hearts: his and her goods, to gild My lawless doings, I'll give the poor, whose tongues Are i' their bellies; which being full, Is tipp'd with heartless prayers; but, empty, A falling planet is less dangerous; they'll down To hell for curses. You tailor!

GIO. My lord.

MACH. Deliver up your prisoner.

GIO. Y' are obey'd.

MACH. So: now we command, on forfeit of thy life, You be not seen on any ground Our master's title circles within three days: Such a factious spirit we must not nourish; Lest, like the fabl'd serpent, [once] grown warm In your conceited worth, you sting Your country's breast, that nurs'd your valour.

GIO. This my reward?

ALER. More than thy worth deserves.

GIO. Pomander-box, thou liest!

FUL. Go purge yourself; your country vomits you.

GIO. Slaves, y' are not worth my anger.

FUL. Go vent your spleen 'mongst satires; pen a Pamphlet, and call't the "Scourge of Greatness."

ALER. Or "Spain's Ingratitude."

GIO. Ye are not worth my breath, Else I should curse you; but I must weep, Not that I part from thee, unthankful Spain, But my Evadne: well, it must be so: Heart, keep thy still tough temper, spite of woe.

[_Exit._

MACH. My house shall be your prison. Attend 'em, colonel.

[_Exeunt_ RAYMOND, PHILIPPA, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, PANDOLPHO, GIOVANNO,[24] &c. _Manent_ TAILORS.

FUL. Please you walk.

1ST. TAI. My servant banish'd?

3D TAI. Famish'd, master? nay, faith, and a tailor come to be famish'd, 'tis a hard world: no bread in this world here, ho, to save the renown'd corpse of a tailor from famishing! 'Tis no matter for drink: give me bread.

2D TAI. Thou hast a gut would swallow a peck-loaf.

3D TAI. Ay, marry would it with vantage; I tell truth, and, as the proverb says, shame the devil; if our hell afford a devil, but I see none, unless he appear in a delicious remnant of nim'd satin, and, by my faith, that's a courteous devil that suffers the brokers to hang him in their ragged wardrobe; and used to sell his devilship for money: I tell truth. A tailor, and lie? faith, I scorn that.

1ST TAI. Leave your discovery.

3D TAI. Master, a traveller, you know, is famous for lying; and having travelled as far as hell, may not I make description of the unknown land?

1ST TAI. My brain is busy, Sebastiano must not tread an unknown land to find a grave. Unfortunate Sebastiano! First to lose thyself in a disguise, unfitting for thy birth, and then thy country for thy too much valour: There's danger in being virtuous in this age Led by those sinful actors; the plunged stage Of this vice-bearing world would headlong fall, But charitable virtue bears up all. I must invent: I ha't so:-- As he's a tailor, he is banish'd Spain, As Sebastiano, 'tis revok'd again.

[_Exit cum suis._

_Enter_ MACHIAVEL _solus_.

MACH. How subtle are my springes! they take all With what swift speed unto my chaffy bait Do all fowls fly unto their hasty ruin? Clap, clap your wings and flutter, greedy fools, Whilst I laugh at your folly; I have a wire Set for the Moor and his ambitious consort; Which if my wife would second, they are sure.

_Enter_ AURISTELLA.

AUR. What must she second?

MACH. Art thou there, my love? We're in a path that leads us to a height, We may confront the sun, and with a breath Extinguish common stars; be but thou rul'd, The light, that does create day to this city, Must be deriv'd from us.

AUR. You fire my soul, And to my airy wings add quicker feathers: What task would not I run to be call'd queen? Did the life-blood of all our family, Father and mother, stand as a quick wall To stop my passage to a throne, I'd with a poignard ope their azure veins, And squeeze their active blood up into clods, Till they become as cold as winter's snow; And as a bridge upon their trunks I'd go.

MACH. Our souls are twins, and thirst with equal heat For deity: kings are in all things gods, Saving mortality.

AUR. To be a queen, what danger would I run! I'd spend my life like to a barefoot nun, So I might sit above the lesser stars Of small nobility, but for a day.

MACH. 'Tis to be done, sweet love, a nearer way: I have already with the sugar'd baits Of justice, liberality, and all The fox-like gins that subtle statesmen set To catch the hearts o' th' giddy multitude: Which, if it fail, as cautious policy Forbids, I build too strongly on their drunk, Uncertain votes. I'd have thee break with my Great prisoner's wife, as I will do with him; Promise (the states equal divided) half Himself shall rule: So that if need compel us to take arms, We may have forces from the realm of France, To seat us in the chair of government.

AUR. I never shall endure to walk as equal With proud Philippa, no; my ambitious soul Boils in a thirsty flame of total glory: I must be all without a second flame To dim our lustre.

MACH. Still my very soul! Think'st thou I can endure competitor, Or let an Ethiop sit by Machiavel's side As partner in his honour? no, as I Have seen i' the commonwealth of players, One that did act the Theban Creon's part: With such a life I became ravish'd, and on Raymond mean to plot what he did on The cavilling boys of Oedipus, Whilst we grasp the whole dignity.

AUR. As how, sweet Machiavel?

MACH. It is not ripe, my love. The king, I hear, applauds my justice; Wherefore I've sent order that Count Antonio, Once being taken, be sent to Filford Mill; There ground to death.

AUR. What for his sister?

MACH. Thy envy: she I have banish'd; And her goods, to guard a shower of curses From my head, I have given the poor.

AUR. Good policy, let's home to our designs: I hate to be officious, yet my frown Shall be dissolv'd to flattery for a crown.

[_Exit._

MACH. Attend your lady. So, her forward spleen, Tickled with thought of greatness makes the scene Attempts run smooth: the haughty Moor shall be The ladder, on whose servile back I'll mount To greatness. If calm peace deny me easy way, Rough war shall force it; which done, Raymond And his Philippa must go seek an empire in Elysium; for to rule predominant belongs Alone to me: slaves are unworthy rule, What state would set a crown upon a mule?

[_Exit._

ANTONIO, _disguised, sitting in a closet_.

ANT. My soul is heavy, and my eyelids feel The weighty power of lazy Morpheus: Each element, that breathes a life within me, Runs a contrary course, and conspire[s] To counterfeit a chaos: whilst the frame And weak supporters of my inward man Crack as beneath the weight of Atlas' burthen. A sudden change! how my blear'd eyelids strive To force a sleep 'gainst nature! O you powers, That rule the better thoughts, if you have ought To act on my frail body, let it be With eagles' speed, or, if your wills so please, Let my forepass'd and undigested wrongs O'erwhelm my thoughts, and sink me to the ground With their no less than death's remembrances. Cease, bastard slave, to clog my senses With the leaden weights of an unwilling sleep, Unless thy raw-bon'd brother join his force, And make a separation 'twixt My airy soul and my all-earthly body; I am o'ercome; Heaven work your wills; My breath submits to this, as 'twould submit to death.

[_Sleeps._

_Soft music_; LOVE _descends half-way, then speaks_.

LOVE. Sleep, entranced man, but be Wakeful in thy fancy; see, Love hath left his palace fair, And beats his wings against the air, To ease thy panting breast of ill: Love's a physician, and his[25] will Must be obey'd: therefore with haste To Flanders fly; the echoing blast Of fame shall usher thee along, And leave thee pester'd in a throng Of searching troubles, which shall be But bugbears to thy constancy.

_Enter from one side Death, and from the other side_ AURELIA; _Death strikes three times at_ ANTONIO, _and_ AURELIA _diverts it_. _Exeunt severally._

What this same shadow seems to be, In Flanders thou shalt real see; The maid that seem'd to conquer death, And give thee longer lease of breath, Doats on thy air; report hath been Lavish in praising thee unseen. Make haste to Flanders; time will be Accus'd of slothfulness, if she Be longer tortur'd: do not stay, My power shall guide thee on the way.

[_Ascendat._[26]

_Enter_ GIOVANNO _and the_ OLD TAILOR.

GIO. He is asleep.

O. TAI. See how he struggles, as if some visions had Assum'd a fuller shape of horror than His troubled thoughts.[27]

GIO. His conscience gripes him to [a] purpose: See, [see,] he wakes; let us observe.

ANT. Stay, gentle pow'r, leave hostage that thy promise Thou wilt perform, and I will offer to Thy deity More than my lazy heart has offer'd yet. But stay, Antonio, can thy easy faith Give credit to a dream? an airy vision, Fram'd by a strangeling[28] fancy, to delude weak sense With a gay nothing? Recollect thyself; Advise thee by thy fears; it may force hence This midnight's shade of grief, and gild It with a morn as full of joy as does Bright Phoebus to our eastern world, when blushing He arises from the lap of sea-green Thetis To give a new day birth.

GIO. Why, how now, friend? what, talking to thyself?

ANT. O Giovanno, 'tis my unpartial thoughts, That rise in war against my guilty conscience; O, it stings me!

O. TAI. Be more a man, shrink not beneath a weight So light a child may bear it; for, believe me, If my prophetic fear deceive me not, You'd done an act Spain should for ever praise, Had you kill'd Machiavel too.

ANT. As how, good master--I must call you so? This is your livery.

O. TAI. O, y' are a noble tailor. But to Machiavel-- It was my chance, being sent for by his wife To take the measure of their noble prisoner, Who, when I came, was busy being plac'd Into a room, where I might easily hear Them talk of crowns and kingdoms, And of two that should be partners in this End of Spain.

GIO. Who were they?

O. TAI. Machiavel and Raymond! At last Machiavel laugh'd, Saying: for this I made the governor To cross Antonio at the council-board; Knowing that one must, if not both, should die.

ANT. Did he say this?

O. TAI. He did, and added more, [and] under A feigned show of love to justice, [He] banished your sister.

GIO. Is Evadne banish'd?

O. TAI. She is; and, as I guess, to Flanders; Her woman too has left her.

ANT. Nay, droop not, friend: host, pray, tell proud Mach'vel I have a sword left to chastise A traitor: come, let's go seek Evadne.

GIO. O Antonio! the sudden grief almost distracts Thy friend; but come, let's go, each several [way,] And meet at Filford: if thou findest Evadne, Bear her unto the castle.

[_Exit._

ANT. Farewell, good master.

[_Exit._

O. TAI. O, you honour me. Bootless were all persuasions, they'll not stay. I'll to the king; this treason may become, Like a disease, out of the reach of physic, And may infect past cure, if let alone.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ RAYMOND _and_ PHILIPPA.

PHIL. Erect thy head, my Raymond; be more tall Than daring Atlas, but more safely wise: Sustain no burthen but the politic care Of being great: till thou achieve the city's Axletree, and wave it as thou list.

RAY. Hast thou no skill in magic, that thou fall'st So just upon my thoughts? thy tongue is tipp'd Like nature's miracle, that draws the steel With unresisted violence: I cannot keep A secret to myself, but thy prevailing Rhetoric ravishes and leaves my breast Like to an empty casket, That once was bless'd with keeping of a jewel I durst not trust the air with, 'twas so precious: Pray, be careful.

PHIL. You do not doubt me?

RAY. No, were you a woman made of such coarse ingredients as the common, which in our trivial phrase we call mere women, I would not trust thee with a cause so weighty, that the discovery did endanger this--this hair that, when 'tis gone, a lynx's [eye] cannot miss it: but you are--I want expressions, 'tis not common words can speak you truly--you are more than woman.

PHIL. My lord, you know my temper, and how to win upon my heart.

RAY. I must be gone, and post a messenger: France must supply what wants to make thee great-- An army, my Philippa, which these people, Snoring in pride of their last victory, Do not so much as dream on: Nor shall, till they be forced to yield their voices At our election; which will be ere long.

PHIL. O, 'tis an age, I'd rather have it said, Philippa than a prisoner were dead.

[_Exit._

_Enter a Criminal Judge and Officers, with_ ANTONIO; PETRUCHIO _and_ AURELIA _meet him, with Servants_.

JUD. Captain Petruchio, take this condemn'd man Into your charge; it is Antonio, once A Spanish count, till his rash folly with His life made forfeit of his honour; he Was found travelling to your castle; 'Twas Heaven's will that his own feet should with A willing pace conduct him to his ruin: For the murther he must be ground to death In Filford Mill, of which you are the governor: Here my commission in its end gives strength To yours. He is your charge: farewell. His death must be with speed.

[_Exit with his._[29]

ANT. Deceive me not, good glasses, [for] your lights In my esteem never till now was precious, It is the same, it is the very same I sleeping saw.

AUR. Is this the man fame speaks so nobly of? O love, Aurelia never until now Could say he knew thee; I must dissemble it.

[_Aside._

PET. Come, sir, to my castle.

AUR. Fie on you, sir; to kill a governor, it is a fact death cannot appear too horrible to punish.

ANT. Can this be truth? O shallow, shallow man, To credit air! believe there can be substance in A cloud of thick'ned smoke, as truth Hid in a dream; yes, there is truth that, like A scroll fetch'd from an oracle, Betrays the double-dealing of the gods; Dreams, that speak all of joy, do turn to grief, And such bad fate deludes my light belief.

PET. Away with him.

[_Exeunt._

AURELIA _sola_.

AUR. Oft have I heard my brother with a tongue Proud of the office, praise this lovely lord; And my trapp'd soul did with as eager haste Draw in the breath; and now, O Aurelia! Buried with him must all the joy thou hast For ever sleep; and with a pale consumption, Pitying him wilt thou thyself be ruin'd? He must not die; if there be any way Reveal'd to the distressed, I will find it. Assist a poor lost virgin, some good power, And lead her to a path, whose secret tract May guide both him and me unto our safety. Be kind, good wits, I never until now Put you to any trouble; 'tis your office To help at need this little world you live by: Not yet! O dulness! do not make me mad-- I have't, bless'd brains! now shall a woman's wit Wrestle with fate, and if my plot but hit, Come off with wreaths: my duty, nay, my all, I must forsake, lest my Antonio fall.

[_Exit._