ACT V., SCENE 1.

_Enter the_ KING, ANTONIO, OLD TAILOR, EVADNE, AURELIA. _The_ KING _and_ ANTONIO _whisper_.

KING. For this discovery be still Antonio; The frowning law may with a furrowed face Hereafter look upon, but ne'er shall touch Thy condemn'd body. Here from a king's hand Take thy Aurelia; our command shall smoothe The rising billows of her father's rage, And charm it to a calm: let one be sent To certify our pleasure. We would see him.

O. TAI. Your grace's will shall be in all obey'd.

KING. Thy loyal love makes thy king poor.

O. TAI. Let not your judgment, royal sir, be question'd. To term that love was but a subject's duty.

[_Exit._

KING. You sent the poison, did you?

ANT. Yes, and it like your grace; the apothecary Call'd it a strong provocative to madness.

KING. Did not he question what you us'd it for?

ANT. O, my disguise sav'd him that labour, sir; My habit, that was more physician than myself, Told him 'twas to despatch some property,[41] That had been tortur'd with five thousand drugs To try experiment: another man Shan't buy the quantity of so much ratsbane Shall kill a flea, but shall be had, forsooth, Before a justice, be question'd; nay, perhaps Confin'd to peep through an iron grate: When your physician may poison who [pleaseth him], Not, _cum privilegio_: it is his trade.

_Enter_ GIOVANNO.

EVAD. O my Sebastiano!

GIO. Peace, my Evadne, the king must not yet know me.

EVAD. My brother has already made you known.

GIO. Will't please your highness?

KING. What, Sebastiano, to be still a king Of universal Spain without a rival? Yes, it does please me, and you ministers Of my still growing greatness shall ere long Find I am pleas'd with you, that boldly durst Pluck from the fixed arm of sleeping justice. Her long-sheath'd sword, and whet the rusty blade Upon the bones of Mach'vel, and his Confederate rebels.

GIO. That, my lord, is yet To do: let him mount higher, that His fall may be too deep for resurrection;[42] They're gone to the great hall, whither will't please Your grace disguis'd to go? your person by Our care shall be secure. Their French troops I Have sent as useless into France, by virtue Of Raymond's ring, which he gave me to bid The general by that token to march To this city.

KING. What say the colonels? Will they assist me?

ANT. Doubt not, my lord.

KING. Come, then, let's go guarded, with such as you 'Twere sin to fear, were all the world untrue.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ TAILORS.

O. TAI. Now for the credit of tailors.

3D TAI. Nay, master, and we do not act, as they say, with any players in the globe of the world, let us be baited like a bull for a company of strutting coxcombs: nay, we can act, I can tell you.

O TAI. Well, I must to the king; see you be perfect. I'll move it to his highness.

[_Exit._

1ST TAI. Now, my masters, are we to do; d'ye mark me? do--

3D TAI.[43] Do! what do?--Act, act, you fool you: do, said you, what do? you a player, you a plasterer, a mere dirt-dauber, and not worthy to be mentioned with Vermin, that exact actor: do, I am asham'd on't, fie!

2D TAI. Well said, Vermin, thou ticklest him, faith.

4TH TAI. Do, pah!

1ST TAI. Well, play; we are to play a play.

3D TAI. Play a play a play, ha, ha, ha! O egredious nonsensensical widgeon, thou shame to our cross-legged corporation; thou fellow of a sound, play a play! why forty-pound Golding of the beggars' theatre speaks better, yet has a mark for the sage audience to exercise their dexterity, in throwing of rotten apples, whilst my stout actor pockets, and then eats up, the injury: play a play! it makes my worship laugh, i' faith.

2D TAI. To him, Vermin; thou bitt'st him, i' faith.

1ST TAI. Well, act a play before the king.

2D TAI. What play shall we act?

3D TAI. To fret the French the more, we will act _Strange but True, or the Stradling Mounsieur, with the Neapolitan gentleman between his legs_.

2D TAI. That would not act well.

3D TAI. O giant of incomparable ignorance! that would not act well, ha, ha! that would not do well, you ass, you!

2D TAI. You bit him for saying _do_: Vermin, leave biting; you'd best.

1ST TAI. What say you to our Spanish Bilbo?

3D TAI. Who, Jeronimo?

1ST TAI. Ay.

3D TAI. That he was a mad rascal to stab himself.

1ST TAI. But shall we act him?

2D TAI. Ay, let us do him.

3D TAI. Do again, ha!

2D TAI. No, no, let us act him.

3D TAI. I am content.

1ST TAI. Who shall act the ghost?

3D TAI. Why, marry that will I--I Vermin.

1ST TAI. Thou dost not look like a ghost.

3D TAI. A little player's deceit, howe'er,[44] will do't. Mark me. I can rehearse, make me rehearse some:[45] "When this eternal substance of the soul Did live emprison'd in my wanton flesh, I was a tailor in the court of Spain."

2D TAI. Courtier Vermin in the court of Spain.

3D TAI. Ay, there's a great many courtiers _Vermin_ indeed: Those are they beg poor men's livings; But, I say, tailor Vermin is a court-tailor.

2D TAI. Who shall act Jeronimo?

3D TAI. That will I: Mark if I do not gape wider than the widest Mouth'd fowler of them all, hang me! "Who calls Jeronimo from his naked bed? ha-ugh?" Now for the passionate part-- "Alas! it is my son Horatio."

1ST TAI. Very fine: but who shall act Horatio?

2D TAI. Ay, who shall do your son?

3D TAI. What do, do again? well, I will act Horatio.

2D TAI. Why, you are his father.

3D TAI. Pray, who is fitter to act the son than the father That begot him?

1ST TAI. Who shall act Prince Balthazar and the king?

3D TAI. I will do Prince Balthazar too: and, for the king, Who but I? which of you all has such a face for a king, Or such a leg to trip up the heels of a traitor?

2D TAI. You will do all, I think.

3D TAI. Yes, marry, will I; who but Vermin? yet I will Leave all to play the king: Pass by, Jeronimo!

2D TAI. Then you are for the king?

3D TAI. Ay, bully, ay.

1ST TAI. Let's go seek our fellows, and to this gear.

3D TAI. Come on then.

[_Exeunt._

_A table and stools set. Enter_ BRAVO.

BRA. Men of our needful profession, that deal in such commodities as men's lives, had need to look about 'em ere they traffic: I am to kill Raymond, the devil's cousin-german, for he wears the same complexion: but there is a right devil that hath hired me--that's Count Machiavel. Good table, conceal me; here will I wait my watchword: but stay, have I not forgot it--_Then_--Ay, then is my arm to enter. I hear them coming.

[_Goes under the table._

_Enter the_ KING, ANTONIO, OLD TAILOR, EVADNE, AURELIA, _above_. MACHIAVEL, RAYMOND, PHILIPPA, AURISTELLA, GIOVANNO, _the Colonels with a Guard below_.

MACH. Pray, take your seats.

RAY. [_To_ PHILIPPA.] Not well? prythee, retire.

PHIL. Sick, sick at heart.

AUR. Well-wrought poison! O, how joy swells me!

[_Aside._

ANT. You see, my lord, the poison is box'd up.

[_Above._

PHIL. Health wait upon this royal company.

KING. Knows she we are here?

ANT. O no, my lord, 'tis to the twins of treason: Machiavel and Raymond.

FUL. Royal! there's something in't.

ALER. It smells rank o' th' traitor.

PAN. Are you i' th' wind on't?

AUR. Will you leave us?

PHIL. I cannot stay; O, I am sick to death!

[_Exit._

AUR. Or I'll never trust poison more.

[_Aside._

MACH. Pray, seat yourselves, Gentlemen; though your deserts have merit,

[_They sit about the table._

And your worths have deserv'd nobly; But ingratitude, that should be banish'd From a prince's breast, is Philip's favourite.

KING. [_Above._] Philip, traitor! why not king? I am so.

ANT. Patience, good my lord; I'll down.

[_Exit._

MACH. It lives too near him: You, that have ventur'd with expense of blood And danger of your lives, to rivet him Unto his seat with peace: you, that in war He term'd his Atlases, and press'd with praises Your brawny shoulders; call'd you his Colossuses, And said your looks frighted tall war Out of his territories: now in peace [behold] The issue of your labour. This bad man-- Philip, I mean--made of ingratitude, Wo' not afford a name, that may distinguish Your worthy selves from cowards; [while] Civet cats spotted with rats'-dung, Or a face, like white broth strew'd o'er with currants For a stirring caper or itching dance, to please My lady Vanity, shall be made a smock-knight.

KING. [_Above._] Villain! must our disgrace mount thee?

FUL. To what tends this?

ALER. What means Count Machiavel?

_Enter_ ANTONIO _below_.

AUR. To be your king; fie on this circumstance! My longing will not brook it: say, Will you obey us as your kings and queens.

[_Aside._

FUL. My Lord Antonio!

ANT. Confine yourselves, the king is within hearing; therefore make show of liking Machiavel's plot: let him mount high, his fall will be the deeper: my life, you shall be safe.

[_Aside._

AUR. Say, are you agreed?

RAY. If not, we'll force you to't: Speak, Frenchman, are our forces i' th' city?

GIO. Oui, mounsier.

ALER. } FUL. } We acknowledge you our king. PAN. }

KING. More traitors!

MACH. Why----_then_.

[_The_ BRAVO _stabs_ RAYMOND.

RAY. Ha! from whence this sudden mischief? Did you not see a hand arm'd with the fatal Ruin of my life?

GIO. Non pas, signor.

MACH. Ha, ha, ha! lay hold on those French soldiers: Away with them!

[_Exeunt Guard with the French Colonels._

RAY. Was't thy plot, Machiavel? go laughing to thy grave.

[_Stabs him._

AUR. Alas! my lord is wounded.

RAY. Come hither, Frenchman, make a dying man Bound to thy love; go to Philippa, Sickly as she is, bring her unto me; Or my flying soul will not depart in peace else: Prythee, make haste: yet stay, I have not breath To pay thy labour. Shrink ye, you twin-born Atlases, that bear This my near-ruin'd world; have you not strength To bear a curse, whose breath may taint the air, That this globe may feel an universal plague? No; yet bear up, till with a vengeful eye I outstare day, and from the dogged sky Pluck my impartial star. O, my blood Is frozen in my veins--farewell, revenge--me--

[_Dies._

ALER. They need no law.

FUL. Nor hangman.

PAN. They condemn and execute without a jury.

_Enter_ PHILIPPA _mad_.

PHIL. I come, I come; nay, fly not, for by hell I'll pluck thee by the beard, and drag thee thus Out of thy fiery cave. Ha! on yonder hill Stand troops of devils waiting for my soul: But I'll deceive 'em, and, instead of mine, Send this same spotted tiger's.

[_Stabs_ AURISTELLA.

AUR. O!

PHIL. So, whilst they to hell Are posting with their prize, I'll steal to heaven: Wolf, dost thou grin? ha! is my Raymond dead? So ho, so ho! come back You sooty fiends, that have my Raymond's soul, Or[46] lay it down, or I will force you do't: No, won't you stir? by Styx, I'll bait you for't: Where is my crown? Philippa was a queen, Was she not, ha? Why so, where is my crown? O, you have hid it--ha, was't thou

[_Overthrows the table._

That robb'd Philippa of her Raymond's life? Nay, I will nip your wings, you shall not fly; I'll pluck you by the guarded front, and thus Sink you to hell before me.

[_Stabs the_ BRAVO.

BRAVO. O, O!

PHIL. What, down, ho, ho, ho! Laugh, laugh, you souls that fry in endless flames; Ha, whence this chilness--must I die? Nay, then I come, I come; nay, weep not, for I come: Sleep, injur'd shadow; O, death strikes [me] dumb!

[_Dies._

AUR. Machi'vel, thy hand, I can't repent, farewell: My burthened conscience sinks me down to hell.

[_Dies._

MACH. I cannot tarry long, farewell; we'll meet, Where we shall never part: if here be any My life has injur'd, let your charity Forgive declining Machi'vel: I'm sorry.

ANT. His penitence works strongly on my temper. Off, disguise; see, falling count, Antonio forgives thee.

MACH. Antonio? O my shame! Can you, whom I have injur'd most, pardon my guilt? Give me thy hand yet nearer: this embrace Betrays thee to thy death: ha, ha, ha!

[_Stabs him._

So weeps the Egyptian monster when it kills, Wash'd in a flood of tears; couldst ever think Machi'vel's repentance could come from his heart? No, down, Colossus, author of my sin, And bear the burthen mingled with thine own, To finish thy damnation.

_Enter the_ KING, AURELIA, EVADNE, OLD TAILOR.

KING. Accursed villain! thou hast murther'd him, That holds not one small drop of royal blood, But what is worth thy life.

EVAD. O my brother!

GIO. Give him some air, the wound cannot be mortal.

AUR. Alas! he faints: O my Antonio! Curs'd Machi'vel, may thy soul----

ANT. Peace, peace, Aurelia; be more merciful: Men are apt to censure, and will condemn Thy passion, call it madness, and say thou Want'st religion: nay, weep not, sweet, For every one must die: it was thy love For to deceive the law, and give me life: But death, you see, has reach'd me: O, I die; Blood must have blood, so speaks the law of heaven: I slew the governor; for which rash deed Heaven, fate, and man thus make Antonio bleed.

[_Dies._

MACH. Sleep, sleep, great heart, thy virtue made me ill: Authors of vice, 'tis fit the vicious kill: But yet forgive me: O, my once great heart Dissolves like snow, and lessens to a rheum, Cold as the envious blasts of northern wind: World, how I lov'd thee, 'twere a sin to boast; Farewell, I now must leave thee; [for] my life Grows empty with my veins: I cannot stand; my breath Is, as my strength, weak; and both seiz'd by death. Farewell, ambition! catching at a crown, Death tripp'd me up, and headlong threw me down.

[_Dies._

KING. So falls an exhalation from the sky, And's never miss'd because unnatural; A birth begotten by incorporate ill; Whose usher to the gazing world is wonder.

_Enter_ PETRUCHIO.

Alas! good man, thou'rt come unto a sight Will try thy temper, whether joy or grief Shall conquer most within thee; joy lies here, Scatter'd in many heaps: these, when they liv'd, Threaten'd to tear this balsam from our brow, And rob our majesty of this elixir.

[_Points to his crown._

Is't not my right? Was I not heir to Spain?

PET. You are our prince, and may you live Long to enjoy your right!

KING. But now look here, 'tis plain grief has a hand Harder than joy; it presses out such tears. Nay, rise.

PET. I do beseech your grace not to think me Contriver of Antonio's 'scape from death; 'Twas my disloyal daughter's breach of duty.

KING. That's long since pardon'd.

PET. You're still merciful.

KING. Antonio was thy son; I sent for thee For to confirm it, but he is dead: Be merciful, and do not curse the hand That gave it him, though it deserve it.

AUR. O my griefs, are you not strong enough To break my heart? Pray, tell me--tell me true Can it be thought a sin? or is it so By my own hand to ease my breast of woe?

KING. Alas! poor lady, rise; thy father's here.

PET. Look up, Aurelia; ha! why do you kneel?

[_To_ GIOVANNO.

GIO. For a blessing.

PET. Why she is not Aurelia----do not mock me.

KING. But he is Sebastiano, and your son; Late by our hand made happy by enjoying The fair Evadne, dead Antonio's sister: [Her,] for whose sake he became a tailor, And so long lived in that mean disguise.

PET. My joy had been too great if he had liv'd; The thrifty heavens mingle our sweets with gall, Lest, being glutted with excess of good, We should forget the giver. Rise, Sebastiano, With thy happy choice; may'st thou live crown'd With the enjoyment of those benefits My prayers shall beg for [thee]: rise, Aurelia, And in some place, bless'd with religious prayers, Spend thy left remnant.[47]

AUR. You advise well: indeed, it was a fault To break the bonds of duty and of law; But love, O love! thou, whose all-conquering pow'r Builds castles on the hearts of easy maids, And makes 'em strong e'en to[48] attempt those dangers That, but rehears'd before, would fright their souls Into a jelly. Brother, I must leave you; And, father, when I send to you a note That shall desire a yearly stipend to That holy place my tired feet has found To rest them in, pray, confirm it. And now, great king, Aurelia begs of you To grace Antonio in the mournful march Unto his grave, which be where you think fit: We need not be interr'd both in one vault.

KING. Bless'd virgin, thy desires I will perform.

AUR. Then I leave you; my prayers shall still attend you, As I hope yours shall accompany me. Father, your blessing, and ere long expect To hear where I am entertain'd a nun. Brother and sister, to you both adieu; Antonio dead, Aurelia marries new.

[_Exit._

PET. Farewell, [my] girl; when I remember thee, The beads I drop shall be my tears.

_Enter_ VERMIN _in a cloak for the prologue_.

KING. She's to all virgins a true mirror. They that would behold true love, reflect on her: There 'tis engross'd.

3D TAI. Great king, our grace----

O. TAI. The king is sad, you must not act.

3D TAI. How? not act? Shall not Vermin act?

O. TAI. Yes, you shall act, but not now; the king is indispos'd.

3D TAI. Well, then, some other time, I, Vermin; the king will act before the king.

O. TAI. Very good; pray, make your _exit_.

3D TAI. I'll muster up all the tailors in the town, and so tickle their sides.

[_The_ KING _and_ GIOVANNO _whisper_.

O. TAI. Nay, thou'rt a right Vermin; go, be not troublesome.

[_Exit_ VERMIN.

GIO. Upon my truth and loyalty, great king, what they did was but feign'd, merely words without a heart: 'twas by Antonio's counsel.

KING. Thou art all truth: rise.

[_The Colonels kneel._

OMNES. Long live King Philip in the calm of peace to exercise his regal clemency!

KING. Take up Antonio's body, and let the rest Find Christian burial: mercy befits a king. Come, trusty tailor, And to all countries let swift fame report King Philip made a tailor's house his court.

O. TAI. Your grace much honours me.

KING. We can't enough pay thy alone deserts; Kings may be poor when subjects are like thee, So fruitful in all loyal virtuous deeds: March with the body, we'll perform all rites Of sable ceremony: that done, We'll to our court, since all our own is won.

[_Exeunt._[49]

* * * * *

LUST'S DOMINION

OR

THE LASCIVIOUS QUEEN.

_EDITION._

_Lusts Dominion; or, The Lascivious Queen. A Tragedie. Written by Christofer Marloe, Gent. London, Printed for F. K., and are to be sold by Robert Pollard, at the sign of Ben Johnson's head, on the back-side of the Old-Exchange._ 1657. 12^{mo}.

DRAMATIS PERSONA†.

ELEAZAR, _the Moor, Prince of Fez and Barbary_. PHILIP, _King of Spain, father to Fernando, Philip, and Isabella_. FERNANDO, _King of Spain_, } } _sons to Philip_. PHILIP, _Prince of Spain_, } ALVERO, _a nobleman, and father-in-law to Eleazar, and father to Hortenzo and Maria_. MENDOZA, _the cardinal_. CHRISTOFERO, } } _two noblemen of Spain_. RODERIGO, } HORTENZO, _lover to Isabella, and son to Alvero_. ZARACK, } } _two Moors attending Eleazar_. BALTHAZAR, } COLE, } } _two friars_. CRAB, } EMMANUEL, _King of Portugal_. CAPTAIN, SOLDIERS, _cum aliis_. _Two Pages attending the queen._

THE QUEEN-MOTHER OF SPAIN, _and wife to King Philip_. ISABELLA, _the Infanta of Spain_. MARIA, _wife to Eleazar, and daughter to Alvero_.

_The Scene, Spain._

PREFACE.

[This play was printed in 12^o, 1657 and 1661, with the name of Christopher Marlowe on the title as the author, than which few things are more improbable. Yet Dilke, who printed the piece in his series (1816), believed it to be really by Marlowe, and considered it superior to his "Faustus." He observes:] "In particular passages, and some whole scenes, 'Faustus' has great beauties; but it must have been principally indebted for its success to the superstitious ignorance of the times; 'Lust's Dominion' is a much better play." Dilke continues, "It was altered by Mrs Behn, and performed at the Duke of York's Theatre in 1671, under the title of 'Abdelazar;' and probably furnished hints for the admirable tragedy of 'The Revenge.' But, notwithstanding the luxuriance of imagery in the first scenes, the exquisite delicacy of the language that is throughout given to Maria, and the great beauty of parts, 'it has too much of "King Cambyses'" vein--rape, and murder, and superlatives;' and if the stage be intended as a portraiture of real character, such representations tend only to excite a disgust and abhorrence of human nature: with the exception of the innocent Maria, the fiery Philip, Isabella, Alvero, and Hortenzo, there is not one with whom our feelings hold communion. The open representation of the Devil in 'Faustus' is less offensive than the introduction of him here in the garb of a Moor; but the philanthropy of our ancestors was not shocked at any representation of an African or an Israelite."

Mr Collier[50] remarks, "Thomas Dekker, in partnership with William Haughton and John Day, was the author of 'The Spanish Moor's Tragedy,' which Malone, by a strange error, calls 'The Spanish Morris,' but he gives the right date, January 1599-1600. The mistake was more important than it may appear at first sight, as 'The Spanish Moor's Tragedy' was most likely the production called 'Lust's Dominion,' not printed until 1657, and falsely attributed to Marlowe. A Spanish Moor is the hero of it, and the date in Henslowe, of January 1599-1600, corresponds with that of a tract upon which some of the scenes are even verbally founded. That Marlowe, who was killed in 1593, and could not, therefore, be the author of it, requires no further proof."

LUST'S DOMINION;

OR,

THE LASCIVIOUS QUEEN.