Part 2

_Clod_. And is she gone then, am I dishonoured thus, Cozened and baffl'd? my Guard there, no man answer? My Guard I say, sirrah you knew of this plot; Where are my Guard? I'le have your life you villain, You politick old Thief.

_Char_. Heaven send her far enough,

_Enter Guard_.

And let me pay the ransom.

_Guard_. Did your honour call us?

_Clod_. Post every way, and presently recover The two strange Gentlemen, and the fair Lady.

_Guard_. This day was Married Sir?

_Clod_. The same.

_Guard_. We saw 'em. Making with all main speed to th' Port.

_Clod_. Away villains. [_Exit Guard_. Recover her, or I shall dye; deal truly, Didst not thou know?

_Char_. By all that's good I did not. If your honour mean their flight, to say I grieve for that, Will be to lye; you may handle me as you please.

_Clod_. Be sure, with all the cruelty, with all the rigor, For thou hast rob'd me villain of a treasure.

_Enter Guard_.

How now?

_Guard_. They're all aboard, a Bark rode ready for 'em, And now are under Sail, and past recovery.

_Clod_. Rig me a Ship with all the speed that may be, I will not lose her: thou her most false Father, Shalt go along; and if I miss her, hear me, A whole day will I study to destroy thee.

_Char_. I shall be joyful of it; and so you'l find me.

[_Exeunt omnes_.

_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima_.

_Enter_ Manuel du Sosa, _and_ Guiomar.

_Man_. I Hear and see too much of him, and that Compels me Madam, though unwillingly, To wish I had no Uncles part in him, And much I fear, the comfort of a Son You will not long enjoy.

_Gui_. 'Tis not my fault, And therefore from his guilt my innocence Cannot be tainted, since his Fathers death, (Peace to his soul) a Mothers prayers and care Were never wanting, in his education. His Child-hood I pass o're, as being brought up Under my wing; and growing ripe for study, I overcame the tenderness, and joy I had to look upon him, and provided The choicest Masters, and of greatest name Of _Salamanca_, in all liberal Arts.

_Man_. To train his youth up. I must witness that.

_Gui_. How there he prospered to the admiration Of all that knew him, for a general Scholar, Being one of note, before he was a man, Is still remembred in that _Academy_, From thence I sent him to the Emperours Court, Attended like his Fathers Son, and there Maintain'd him, in such bravery and height, As did become a Courtier.

_Man_. 'Twas that spoil'd him, my Nephew had been happy. The Court's a School indeed, in which some few Learn vertuous principles, but most forget What ever they brought thither good and honest. Trifling is there in practice, serious actions Are obsolete and out of use, my Nephew Had been a happy man, had he ne're known What's there in grace and fashion.

_Gui_. I have heard yet, That while he liv'd in Court, the Emperour Took notice of his carriage and good parts, The Grandees did not scorn his company, And of the greatest Ladies he was held A compleat Gentleman.

_Man_. He indeed Daunc'd well; A turn o'th' Toe, with a lofty trick or two, To argue nimbleness, and a strong back, Will go far with a Madam: 'tis most true, That he's an excellent Scholar, and he knows it; An exact Courtier, and he knows that too; He has fought thrice, and come off still with honour, Which he forgets not.

_Gui_. Nor have I much reason, To grieve his fortune that way.

_Man_. You are mistaken, Prosperity does search a Gentlemans temper, More than his adverse fortune: I have known Many, and of rare parts from their success In private Duels, rais'd up to such a pride, And so transform'd from what they were, that all That lov'd them truly, wish'd they had fallen in them. I need not write examples, in your Son 'Tis too apparent; for e're _Don Duarte_ Made tryal of his valour, he indeed was Admired for civil courtesie, but now He's swoln so high, out of his own assurance, Of what he dares do, that he seeks occasions, Unjust occasions, grounded on blind passion, Ever to be in quarrels, and this makes him Shunn'd of all fair Societies.

_Gui_. Would it were In my weak power to help it: I will use With my entreaties th' Authority of a Mother, As you may of an Uncle, and enlarge it With your command, as being a Governour To the great King in _Lisbon.

Enter_ Duarte _and his Page_.

_Man_. Here he comes. We are unseen, observe him.

_Dua_. Boy.

_Page_. My Lord.

_Dua_. What saith the _Spanish_ Captain that I struck, To my bold challenge?

_Page_. He refus'd to read it.

_Dua_. Why didst not leave it there?

_Page_. I did my Lord, But to no purpose, for he seems more willing To sit down with the wrongs, than to repair His honour by the sword; he knows too well, That from your Lordship nothing can be got But more blows, and disgraces.

_Dua_. He's a wretch, A miserable wretch, and all my fury Is lost upon him; holds the Mask, appointed I'th' honour of _Hippolyta_?

_Page_. 'Tis broke off.

_Dua_. The reason?

_Page_. This was one, they heard your Lordship Was by the Ladies choice to lead the Dance, And therefore they, too well assur'd how far You would outshine 'em, gave it o're and said, They would not serve for foiles to set you off.

_Dua_. They at their best are such, and ever shall be Where I appear.

_Man_. Do you note his modesty?

_Dua_. But was there nothing else pretended?

_Page_. Yes, Young Don _Alonzo_, the great Captains Nephew, Stood on comparisons.

_Dua_. With whom?

_Page_. With you, And openly profess'd that all precedence, His birth and state consider'd, was due to him, Nor were your Lordship to contend with one So far above you.

_Dua_. I look down upon him With such contempt and scorn, as on my slave, He's a name only, and all good in him He must derive from his great grandsires Ashes, For had not their victorious acts bequeath'd His titles to him, and wrote on his forehead, This is a Lord, he had liv'd unobserv'd By any man of mark, and died as one Amongst the common route. Compare with me? 'Tis Gyant-like ambition; I know him, And know my self, that man is truly noble, And he may justly call that worth his own, Which his deserts have purchas'd, I could wish My birth were more obscure, my friends and kinsmen Of lesser power, or that my provident Father Had been like to that riotous Emperour That chose his belly for his only heir; For being of no family then, and poor My vertues wheresoe'r I liv'd, should make That kingdom my inheritance.

_Gui_. Strange self Love!

_Dua_. For if I studied the Countries Laws, I should so easily sound all their depth, And rise up such a wonder, that the pleaders, That now are in most practice and esteem, Should starve for want of Clients: if I travell'd, Like wise _Ulysses_ to see men and manners, I would return in act, more knowing, than _Homer_ could fancy him; if a Physician, So oft I would restore death-wounded men, That where I liv'd, _Galen_ should not be nam'd, And he that joyn'd again the scatter'd limbs Of torn _Hippolytus_ should be forgotten. I could teach _Ovid_ courtship, how to win A _Julia_, and enjoy her, though her Dower Were all the Sun gives light to: and for arms Were the _Persian_ host that drank up Rivers, added To the _Turks_ present powers, I could direct, Command, and Marshal them.

_Man_. And yet you know not To rule your self, you would not to a boy else Like _Plautus_ Braggart boast thus.

_Dua_. All I speak, In act I can make good.

_Gui_. Why then being Master Of such and so good parts do you destroy them, With self opinion, or like a rich miser, Hoard up the treasures you possess, imparting Nor to your self nor others, the use of them? They are to you but like inchanted viands, On which you seem to feed, yet pine with hunger; And those so rare perfections in my Son Which would make others happy, render me A wretched Mother.

_Man_. You are too insolent. And those too many excellencies, that feed Your pride, turn to a Pleurisie, and kill That which should nourish vertue; dare you think All blessings are confer'd on you alone? Y'are grosly cousen'd; there's no good in you, Which others have not: are you a Scholar? so Are many, and as knowing: are you valiant? Waste not that courage then in braules, but spend it In the Wars, in service of your King and Country.

_Dua_. Yes, so I might be General, no man lives That's worthy to command me.

_Man_. Sir, in _Lisbon_ I am: and you shall know it; every hour I am troubled with complaints of your behaviour From men of all conditions, and all sexes. And my authority, which you presume Will bear you out, in that you are my Nephew, No longer shall protect you, for I vow Though all that's past I pardon, I will punish The next fault with as much severity As if you were a stranger, rest assur'd on't.

_Gui_. And by that love you should bear, or that duty You owe a Mother, once more I command you To cast this haughtiness off; which if you do, All that is mine, is yours, if not, expect My prayers, and vows, for your conversion only, But never means nor favour. [_Ex_. Manuel _and_ Guiomar.

_Dua_. I am Tutor'd As if I were a child still, the base Peasants That fear, and envy my great worth, have done this; But I will find them out, I will o'boord Get my disguise; I have too long been idle, Nor will I curb my spirit, I was born free, And will pursue the course best liketh me. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Leopold, Sailers, _and_ Zenocia.

_Leop_. Divide the spoil amongst you, this fair Captive I only challenge for my self.

_Sail_. You have won her And well deserve her: twenty years I have liv'd A Burgess of the Sea, and have been present At many a desperate fight, but never saw So small a Bark with such incredible valour So long defended, and against such odds, And by two men scarce arm'd too.

_Leop_. 'Twas a wonder. And yet the courage they exprest being taken, And their contempt of death wan more upon me Than all they did, when they were free: me thinks I see them yet when they were brought aboard us, Disarm'd and ready to be put in fetters How on the suddain, as if they had sworn Never to taste the bread of servitude, Both snatching up their swords, and from this Virgin, Taking a farewel only with their eyes, They leapt into the Sea.

_Sail_. Indeed 'twas rare.

_Leop_. It wrought so much on me, that but I fear'd The great ship that pursued us, our own safety Hindring my charitable purpose to 'em, I would have took 'em up, and with their lives They should have had their liberties.

_Zen_. O too late, For they are lost, for ever lost.

_Leop_. Take comfort 'Tis not impossible, but that they live yet, For when they left the ships, they were within A League o'th' shore, and with such strength and cunning They swimming, did delude the rising Billows, With one hand making way, and with the other, Their bloudy swords advanced, threatning the Sea-gods With war, unless they brought them safely off, That I am almost confident they live, And you again may see them.

_Zen_. In that hope I brook a wretched being, till I am Made certain of their fortunes; but they dead, Death hath so many doors to let out life, I will not long survive them.

_Leop_. Hope the best, And let the courteous usage you have found, Not usual in men of War perswade you To tell me your condition.

_Zen_. You know it, A Captive, my fate and your power have made me, Such I am now, but what I was it skills not: For they being dead, in whom I only live, I dare not challenge Family, or Country, And therefore Sir enquire not, let it suffice, I am your servant, and a thankful servant (If you will call that so, which is but duty) I ever will be, and my honour safe, Which nobly hitherto ye have preserv'd, No slavery can appear in such a form, Which with a masculine constancy I will not Boldly look on and suffer.

_Leop_. You mistake me: That you are made my prisoner, may prove The birth of your good fortune. I do find A winning language in your tongue and looks; Nor can a suit by you mov'd be deni'd, And therefore of a prisoner you must be The Victors advocate.

_Zen._ To whom?

_Leap._ A Lady: In whom all graces that can perfect beauty Are friendly met. I grant that you are fair: And had I not seen her before, perhaps I might have sought to you.

_Zen._ This I hear gladly.

_Leap._ To this incomparable Lady I will give you, (Yet being mine, you are already hers) And to serve her is more than to be free, At least I think so; and when you live with her, If you will please to think on him that brought you To such a happiness, for so her bounty Will make you think her service, you shall ever Make me at your devotion.

_Zen._ All I can do, Rest you assur'd of.

_Leap._ At night I'le present you, Till when I am your Guard.

_Zen._ Ever your servant. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Arnoldo _and_ Rutilio.

_Arn._ To what are we reserv'd?

_Rut._ Troth 'tis uncertain, Drowning we have scap'd miraculously, and Stand fair for ought I know for hanging; mony We have none, nor e're are like to have, 'Tis to be doubted: besides we are strangers, Wondrous hungry strangers; and charity Growing cold, and miracles ceasing, Without a Conjurers help, cannot find When we shall eat again.

_Arn._ These are no wants If put in ballance with _Zenocias_ loss; In that alone all miseries are spoken: O my _Rutilio_, when I think on her, And that which she may suffer, being a Captive, Then I could curse my self, almost those powers That send me from the fury of the Ocean.

_Rut_. You have lost a wife indeed, a fair and chast one, Two blessings, not found often in one woman; But she may be recovered, questionless The ship that took us was of _Portugal_, And here in _Lisbon_, by some means or other We may hear of her.

_Arn_. In that hope I live.

_Rut_. And so do I, but hope is a poor Sallad To dine and sup with, after a two dayes fast too, Have you no mony left?

_Arn_. Not a Denier.

_Rut_. Nor any thing to pawn? 'tis now in fashion, Having a Mistress, sure you should not be Without a neat Historical shirt.

_Arn_. For shame Talk not so poorly.

_Rut_. I must talk of that Necessity prompts us to, for beg I cannot, Nor am I made to creep in at a window, To filch to feed me, something must be done, And suddenly resolve on't.

_Enter_ Zabulon _and a Servant_.

_Arn_. What are these?

_Rut_. One by his habit is a _Jew_.

_Zab_. No more: Thou art sure that's he.

_Ser_. Most certain.

_Zab_. How long is it Since first she saw him?

_Ser_. Some two hours.

_Zab_. Be gone--let me alone to work him. [_Exit_ Ser.

_Rut_. How he eyes you! Now he moves towards us, in the Devils name What would he with us?

_Arn_. Innocence is bold: Nor can I fear.

_Zab_. That you are poor and strangers, I easily perceive.

_Rut_. But that you'l help us, Or any of your tribe, we dare not hope Sir.

_Zab_. Why think you so?

_Rut_. Because you are a _Jew_ Sir, And courtesies come sooner from the Devil Than any of your Nation.

_Zab_. We are men, And have like you, compassion when we find Fit subjects for our bounty, and for proof That we dare give, and freely, not to you Sir, Pray spare your pains, there's gold, stand not amaz'd, 'Tis current I assure you.

_Rut_. Take it man, Sure thy good Angel is a _Jew_, and comes In his own shape to help thee: I could wish now Mine would appear too like a _Turk_.

_Arn_. I thank you, But yet must tell you, if this be the Prologue To any bad act, you would have me practise, I must not take it.

_Zab_. This is but the earnest Of [t]hat which is to follow, and the bond Which you must seal to for't, is your advancement, Fortune with all that's in her power to give, Offers her self up to you: entertain her, And that which Princes have kneel'd for in vain Presents it self to you.

_Arn_. 'Tis above wonder.

_Zab_. But far beneath the truth, in my relation Of what you shall possess, if you emb[r]ace it. There is an hour in each mans life appointed To make his happiness if then he seize it, And this, (in which, beyond all expectation, You are invited to your good) is yours, If you dare follow me, so, if not, hereafter Expect not the like offer. [_Exit_.

_Arn_. 'Tis no vision.

_Rut_. 'Tis gold I'm sure.

_Arn_. We must like brothers share; There's for you.

_Rut_. By this light I'm glad I have it: There are few Gallants, (for men may be such And yet want gold, yea and sometimes silver) But would receive such favours from the Devil, Though he appear'd like a Broker, and demanded Sixty i'th' hundred.

_Arn_. Wherefore should I fear Some plot upon my life? 'tis now to me Not worth the keeping. I will follow him, Farewel, wish me good fortune, we shall meet Again I doubt not.

_Rut_. Or I'le ne're trust _Jew_ more, [_Exit_ Arnoldo. Nor Christian for his sake--plague o' my stars, How long might I have walkt without a Cloak, Before I should have met with such a fortune? We elder Brothers, though we are proper men, _Ha' not the luck_, ha' too much beard, that spoils us; The smooth Chin carries all: what's here to do now? [_Manet_ Rutilio.

_Enter_ Duarte, Alonzo, _and a_ Page.

_Dua_. I'le take you as I find you.

_Alon_. That were base--you see I am unarm'd.

_Dua_. Out with your Bodkin Your Pocket-dagger, your Steletto, out with it, Or by this hand I'le kill you: such as you are Have studied the undoing of poor Cutlers, And made all manly weapons out of fashion: You carry Poniards to murder men, Yet dare not wear a sword to guard your Honour.

_Rut_. That's true indeed: upon my life this gallant Is brib'd to repeal banisht swords.

_Dua_. I'le shew you The difference now between a _Spanish_ Rapier And your pure Pisa.

_Alon_. Let me fetch a sword, Upon mine honour I'le return.

_Dua._ Not so Sir.

_Alon._ Or lend me yours I pray you, and take this.

_Rut._ To be disgrac'd as you are, no I thank you Spight of the fashion, while I live, I am Instructed to go arm'd: what folly 'tis For you that are a man, to put your self Into your enemies mercy.

_Dua._ Yield it quickly Or I'le cut off your hand, and now disgrace you, Thus kick and baffle you: as you like this, You may again prefer complaints against me To my Uncle and my Mother, and then think To make it good with a Poniard.

_Alon._ I am paid For being of the fashion.

_Dua._ Get a sword, Then if you dare redeem your reputation: You know I am easily found: I'le add this to it To put you in mind.

_Rut._ You are too insolent, And do insult too much on the advantage Of that which your unequal weapon gave you, More than your valour.

_Dua._ This to me, you Peasant? Thou art not worthy of my foot poor fellow, 'Tis scorn, not pity, makes me give thee life: Kneel down and thank me for't: how, do you stare?

_Rut._ I have a sword Sir, you shall find, a good one; This is no stabbing guard.

_Dua._ Wert thou thrice arm'd, Thus yet I durst attempt thee.

_Rut._ Then have at you, [_Fight._ I scorn to take blows.

_Dua._ O I am slain. [_Falls._

_Page._ Help! murther, murther!

_Alon._ Shift for your self you are dead else, You have kill'd the Governou[r]s Nephew.

_Page._ Raise the streets there.

_Alon._ If once you are beset you cannot scape, Will you betray your self?

_Rut_. Undone for ever. [_Exit_ Rut. _and_ Alonzo.

_Enter_ Officers.

_1 Off_. Who makes this out-cry?

_Page_. O my Lord is murdered; This way he took, make after him, Help help there. [_Exit_ Page.

_2 Offi_. 'Tis _Don Duarte_.

_1 Offi_. Pride has got a fall, He was still in quarrels, scorn'd us Peace-makers, And all our Bill-authority, now h'as paid for't. You ha' met with your match Sir now, bring off his body And bear it to the Governour. Some pursue The murderer; yet if he scape, it skills not; Were I a Prince, I would reward him for't, He has rid the City of a turbulent beast, There's few will pity him: but for his Mother I truly grieve indeed, she's a good Lady. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Guiomar _and_ Servants.

_Gui_. He's not i'th' house?

_Ser. No Madam.

_Gui_. Haste and seek him, Go all and every where, Pie not to bed Till you return him, take away the lights too, The Moon lends me too much, to find my fears And those devotions I am to pay Are written in my heart, not in this book, [_Kneel_. And I shall read them there without a Taper. [_Ex_. Ser.

_Enter_ Rutilio.

_Rut_. I am pursued; all the Ports are stopt too; Not any hope to escape, behind, before me, On either side I am beset, cursed fortune My enemie on the Sea, and on the Land too, Redeem'd from one affliction to another: Would I had made the greedy waves my tomb And dyed obscure, and innocent, not as Nero Smear'd o're with blood. Whither have my fears brought me? I am got into a house, the doors all open, This, by the largeness of the room, the hangings, And other rich adornments, glistring through The sable masque of night, sayes it belongs To one of means and rank: no servant stirring? Murmur nor whisper?

_Guio._ Who's that?

_Rut._ By the voice, This is a woman.

_Guio._ _Stephana, Jaspe, Julia,_ Who waits there?

_Rut._ 'Tis the Lady of the house, I'le flie to her protection.

_Guio._ Speak, what are you?

_Rut._ Of all that ever breath'd, a man most wretched.

_Guio._ I am sure you are a man of most ill manners, You could not with so little reverence else Press to my private chamber. Whither would you, Or what do you seek for?

_Rut._ Gracious woman hear me; I am a stranger, and in that I answer All your demands, a most unfortunate stranger, That call'd unto it by my enemies pride, Have left him dead i'th' streets, Justice pursues me, And for that life I took unwillingly, And in a fair defence, I must lose mine, Unless you in your charity protect me. Your house is now my sanctuary, and the Altar, I gladly would take hold of your sweet mercy. By all that's dear unto you, by your vertues, And by your innocence, that needs no forgiveness, Take pity on me.

_Guio._ Are you a _Castillian_?

_Rut._ No Madam, _Italy_ claims my birth.

_Guio._ I ask not With purpose to betray you, if you were Ten thousand times a Spaniard, the nation We Portugals most hate, I yet would save you If it lay in my power: lift up these hangings; Behind my Beds head there's a hollow place, Into which enter; so, but from this stir not If the Officers come, as you expect they will doe, I know they owe such reverence to my lodgings, That they will easily give credit to me And search no further.

_Rut._ The blest Saints pay for me The infinite debt I owe you.

_Guio._ How he quakes! Thus far I feel his heart beat, be of comfort, Once more I give my promise for your safety, All men are subject to such accidents, Especially the valiant; and who knows not, But that the charity I afford this stranger My only Son else where may stand in need of?

_Enter Officers, and Servants, with the body of Duarte--Page._

_1 Ser._ Now Madam, if your wisedom ever could Raise up defences against floods of sorrow That haste to overwhelm you, make true use of Your great discretion.

_2 Ser._ Your only son My Lord _Duart's_ slain.

_1 Off._ His murtherer, pursued by us Was by a boy discovered Entring your house, and that induced us To press into it for his apprehension.

_Guio._ Oh!

_1 Ser._ Sure her heart is broke.

_Off._ Madam.

_Guio._ Stand off. My sorrow is so dear and pretious to me, That you must not partake it, suffer it Like wounds that do breed inward to dispatch me. O my _Duart_, such an end as this Thy pride long since did prophesie; thou art dead, And to encrease my misery, thy sad Mother Must make a wilfull shipwrack of her vow Or thou fall unreveng'd. My Soul's divided, And piety to a son, and true performance Of hospitable duties to my guest, That are to others Angels, are my furies. Vengeance knocks at my heart, but my word given Denies the entrance, is no _Medium_ left, But that I must protect the murderer, Or suffer in that faith he made his altar? Motherly love give place, the fault made this way, To keep a vow, to which high Heaven is witness, Heaven may be pleas'd to pardon.

_Enter_ Manuel, Doctors, Surgeons.