SCENE VIII.

_Enter in state_ Maximus, Eudox[i]a, _with Souldiers and Gentlemen of_ Rome, _the Senators, and Rods and Axes born before them_.

_A Synnet with_} {_With a Banket prepared, with_ _Trumpets._ } {_Hoboies, Musick, Song, wreath._

_3 Sen._ Hale to thy imperial honour sacred _Cæsar_, And from the old _Rome_ take these wishes; You holy gods, that hitherto have held As justice holds her Ballance equal pois'd, This glory of our Nation, this full _Roman_, And made him fit for what he is, confirm him: Look on this Son O _Jupiter_ our helper, And _Romulus_, thou Father of our honour, Preserve him like thy self, just, valiant, noble, A lover, and increaser of his people, Let him begin with _Numa_, stand with _Cato_, The first five years of _Nero_ be his wishes, Give him the age and fortune of _Emylius_, And his whole raign renew a great _Augustus_.

SONG.

_Honour that is ever living,_ _Honour that is ever giving,_ _Honour that sees all and knows_ _Both the ebbs of man and flowes,_ _Honour that rewards the best,_ _Sends thee thy rich labours rest;_ _Thou hast studied still to please her,_ _Therefore now she calls thee_ Cæsar:

Chor. _Hale, hale_, Cæsar, _hale and stand,_ _And thy name outlive the Land._ _Noble Fathers to his brows_ _Bind this wreath with thousand vows._

_All._ Stand to Eternity.

_Max._ I thank ye Fathers, And as I rule, may it still grow or wither: Now to the Banket, ye are all my guests, This day be liberal friends, to wine we give it; And smiling pleasures: Sit, my Queen of Beauty; Fathers, your places: these are fair Wars Souldiers, And thus I give the first charge to ye all; You are my second, sweet, to every cup, I add unto the Senate a new honour, And to the sons of _Mars_ a donative.

SONG.

_God_ Lyeus _ever young,_ _Ever honour'd, ever sung;_ _Stain'd with bloud of lusty Grapes,_ _In a thousand lusty shapes;_ _Dance upon the Mazers brim,_ _In the Crimson liquor swim:_ _From thy plenteous hand divine,_ _Let a River run with Wine:_ _God of youth, let this day here_ _Enter neither care nor fear._

_Boy._ _Bellona's_ seed, the glory of old _Rome_, Envy of conquer'd Nations, nobly come And to the fulness of your war-like noise Let your feet move, make up this hour of joys; Come, come I say, range your fair Troop at large, And your high measure turn into a charge.

_Semp._ The Emperor's grown heavy with his wine.

_Afra._ The Senate staies Sir for your thanks.

_Semp._ Great _Cæsar_.

_Eud._ I have my wish.

_Afra._ Wilt please your Grace speak to him?

_Eud._ Yes, but he will not hear Lords.

_Semp._ Stir him _Lucius_; the Senate must have thanks.

_2 Sen. Luc._ Your Grace, Sir _Cæsar_.

_Eud._ Did I not tell you he was well? he's dead.

_Semp._ Dead? treason, guard the Court, let no man pass, Souldiers, your _Cæsar_'s murdered.

_Eud._ Make no tumult, Nor arm the Court, ye have his killer with ye; And the just cause, if ye can stay the hearing: I was his death; that wreath that made him _Cæsar_, Has made him earth.

_Sould._ Cut her in thousand pieces.

_Eud._ Wise men would know the reason first: to die, Is that I wish for, _Romans_, and your swords, The heaviest way of death: yet Souldiers grant me That was your Empress once, and honour'd by ye, But so much time to tell ye why I kill'd him, And weigh my reasons well, if man be in you; Then if ye dare do cruelly, condemn me.

_Afr._ Hear her ye noble _Romans_, 'tis a Woman, A subject not for swords, but pity: Heaven (If she be guilty of malitious murder) Has given us Laws to make example of her, If only of revenge, and bloud hid from us, Let us consider first, then execute.

_Semp._ Speak bloudy Woman.

_Eud._ Yes; This _Maximus_, That was your _Cæsar_, Lords, and noble Souldiers, (And if I wrong the dead, Heaven perish me; Or speak to win your favours but the truth) Was to his Country, to his friends, and _Cæsar_ A most malitious Traitor.

_Semp._ Take heed woman.

_Eud._ I speak not for compassion. Brave _Æcius_ (Whose blessed soul if I lye shall afflict me) The man that all the world lov'd, you ador'd, That was the master-piece of Arms, and bounty; Mine own grief shall come last: this friend of his, This Souldier, this your right Arm, noble _Romans_, By a base letter to the Emperor; Stufft full of fears, and poor suggestions, And by himself, unto himself directed; Was cut off basely, basely, cruelly; Oh loss, O innocent, can ye now kill me? And the poor stale my Noble Lord, that knew not More of this villain, than his forc'd fears; Like one foreseen to satisfie, dy'd for it: There was a murder too, _Rome_ would have blusht at; Was this worth being _Cæsar_? or my patience? nay his Wife By Heaven he told it me in wine, and joy; And swore it deeply, he himself prepar'd To be abus'd, how? let me grieve not tell ye; And weep the sins that did it: and his end Was only me, and _Cæsar_: But me he lyed in: These are my reasons _Romans_, and my soul Tells me sufficient; and my deed is justice: Now as I have done well, or ill, look on me.

_Afra._ What less could nature do, what less had we done, Had we known this before? _Romans_, she is righteous; And such a piece of justice Heaven must smile on: Bend all your swords on me, if this displease ye. For I must kneel, and on this vertuous hand; Seal my new joy and thanks, thou hast done truly.

_Semp._ Up with your arms, ye strike a Saint else _Romans_, May'st thou live ever spoken our Protector: _Rome_ yet has many Noble Heirs: Let's in And pray, before we choose, then plant a _Cæsar_ Above the reach of envy, blood, and murder.

_Afra._ Take up the body nobly to his urn, And may our sins, and his together burn. [_Exeunt. A dead March._

EPILOGUE.

_We would fain please ye, and as fain be pleas'd;_ _'Tis but a little liking, both are eas'd:_ _We have your money, and you have our ware,_ _And to our understanding good and fair:_ _For your own wisdoms sake, be not so mad,_ _To acknowledge ye have bought things dear and bad:_ _Let not a brack i'th' Stuff, or here and there_ _The fading gloss, a general loss appear:_ _We know ye take up worse Commodities,_ _And dearer pay, yet think your bargains wise;_ _We know in Meat and Wine, ye fling away_ _More time and wealth, which is but dearer pay,_ _And with the Reckoning all the pleasure lost._ _We bid ye not unto repenting cost:_ _The price is easie, and so light the Play,_ _That ye may new digest it every day._ _Then noble friends, as ye would choose a Miss,_ _Only to please the eye a while and kiss,_ _Till a good Wife be got: So let this Play_ _Hold ye a while until a better may._

* * * * *

Monsieur Thomas.

A

COMEDY.

_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Alice, _and_ Valentine.

_Alice._ How dearly welcome you are!

_Val._ I know it, And my best Sister, you are as dear to my sight, And pray let this confirm it: how you have govern'd My poor state in my absence, how my servants, I dare, and must believe, else I should wrong ye, The best and worthiest.

_Alice._ As my womans wit, Sir, Which is but weak and crazie.

_Val._ But good _Alice_, Tell me how fares the gentle _Cellide_, The life of my affection, since my travel, My long and lazie Travel? is her love still Upon the growing hand? does it not stop And wither at my years? has she not view'd And entertain'd some younger smooth behaviour, Some Youth but in his blossom, as her self is? There lies my fears.

_Alice._ They need not, for believe me So well you have manag'd her, and won her mind, Even from her hours of childhood, to this ripeness, And in your absence, that by me enforc'd still, So well distill'd your gentleness into her, Observ'd her, fed her fancy, liv'd still in her, And though Love be a Boy, and ever youthful, And young and beauteous objects ever aim'd at, Yet here ye have gone beyond love, better'd nature, Made him appear in years, in grey years fiery, His Bow at full bent ever; fear not Brother, For though your body has been far off from her, Yet every hour your heart, which is your goodness, I have forc'd into her, won a place prepar'd too, And willingly to give it ever harbour; Believe she is so much yours, and won by miracle, (Which is by age) so deep a stamp set on her By your observances, she cannot alter. Were the Child living now ye lost at Sea Among the _Genoua_ Gallies, what a happiness! What a main Blessing!

_Val._ O no more, good Sister, Touch no more that string, 'tis too harsh and jarring. With that Child all my hopes went, and you know The root of all those hopes, the Mother too Within few days.

_Alice._ 'Tis too true, and too fatal, But peace be with their souls.

_Val._ For her loss I hope the beauteous _Cellide_.

_Alice._ You may, Sir, For all she is, is yours.

_Val._ For the poor Boys loss, I have brought a noble friend, I found in Travel, A worthier mind, and a more temperate spirit, If I have so much judgment to discern 'em, Man yet was never master of.

_Alice._ What is he?

_Val._ A Gentleman, I do assure my self, And of a worthy breeding, though he hide it; I found him at _Valentia_, poor and needy, Only his mind the master of a Treasure. I sought his friendship, won him by much violence, His honesty and modesty still fearing To thrust a charge upon me; how I love him, He shall now know, where want and he hereafter Shall be no more Companions, use him nobly, It is my will, good Sister, all I have I make him free companion in, and partner, But only--

_Alice._ I observe ye, hold your Right there, Love and high Rule allows no Rivals, Brother, He shall have fair regard, and all observance.

_Enter_ Hylas.

_Hylas._ You are welcome, noble Sir.

_Val._ What, Monsieur _Hylas_! I'm glad to see your merry Body well yet.

_Hyl._ 'Faith y'are welcome home, what news beyond seas?

_Val._ None, but new men expected, such as you are, To breed new admirations; 'Tis my Sister, 'Pray ye know her, Sir.

_Hylas._ With all my heart; your leave Lady?

_Alice._ You have it, Sir.

_Hylas._ A shrewd smart touch, which does prognosticate A Body keen and active, somewhat old, But that's all one; age brings experience And knowledge to dispatch: I must be better, And nearer in my service, with your leave, Sir, To this fair Lady.

_Val._ What, the old 'squire of Dames still!

_Hyl._ Still the admirer of their goodness; with all my heart now, I love a woman of her years, a pacer That lays the bridle in her Neck, will travel Forty, and somewhat fulsome is a fine dish. These young Colts are too skittish.

_Enter_ Mary.

_Alice._ My Cousin _Mary_ In all her joy, Sir, to congratulate Your fair return.

_Val._ My loving and kind Cousin, A thousand welcomes.

_Mary._ A thousand thanks to heaven, Sir, For your safe voyage, and return.

_Val._ I thank ye; But where's my Blessed _Cellide_? her slackness In visitation.

_Mary._ Think not so, dear Uncle, I left her on her knees, thanking the gods With tears and prayers.

_Val._ Ye have given me too much comfort.

_Mary._ She will not be long from ye.

_Hyl._ Your fair Cousin?

_Val._ It is so, and a bait you cannot balk Sir, If your old rule reign in you, ye may know her: A happy stock ye have, right worthy Lady, The poorest of your servants vows his duty And obliged faith.

_Mary._ O 'tis a kiss you would, Sir, Take it, and tye your tongue up.

_Hylas._ I am an Ass I do perceive now, a blind Ass, a Blockhead; For this is handsomness, this that that draws us Body and Bones: Oh what a mounted forehead, What eyes and lips, what every thing about her! How like a Swan she swims her pace, and bears Her silver Breasts! this is the Woman, she, And only she, that I will so much honour As to think worthy of my love, all older Idols I heartily abhor, and give to Gunpowder, And all Complexions besides hers, to Gypsies.

_Enter_ Francis _at one door, and_ Cellide _at another_.

_Val._ O my dear life, my better heart, all dangers, Distresses in my travel, all misfortunes, Had they been endless like the hours upon me, In this kiss had been buried in oblivion; How happy have ye made me, truly happy!

_Cel._ My joy has so much over mastered me, That in my tears for your return--

_Val._ O dearest; My noble friend too! what a Blessedness Have I about me now! how full my wishes Are come again, a thousand hearty welcomes I once more lay upon ye; all I have, The fair and liberal use of all my servants To be at your command, and all the uses Of all within my power.

_Fran._ Ye are too munificent, Nor am I able to conceive those thanks, Sir.

_Val._ Ye wrong my tender love now, even my service, Nothing accepted, nothing stuck between us And our intire affections but this woman, This I beseech ye friend.

_Fran._ It is a jewel, I do confess, would make a Thief, but never Of him that's so much yours, and bound your servant, That were a base ingratitude.

_Val._ Ye are noble, 'Pray be acquainted with her, keep your way, Sir, My Cousin and my Sister.

_Alice._ Ye are most welcome.

_Mary._ If any thing in our poor powers, fair Sir, To render ye content, and liberal welcome May but appear, command it.

_Alice._ Ye shall find us Happy in our performance.

_Fran._ The poor Servant Of both your goodnesses presents his service.

_Val._ Come, no more Complement; Custom has made it Dull, old, and tedious; ye are once more welcome As your own thoughts can make ye, and the same ever. And so we'll in to ratifie it.

_Hyl._ Hark ye, _Valentine_: Is wild Oats yet come over?

_Val._ Yes, with me, Sir.

_Mary._ How does he bear himself?

_Val._ A great deal better; Why do you blush? the Gentleman will do well.

_Mary._ I should be glad on't, Sir.

_Val._ How does his father?

_Hyl._ As mad a worm as e'er he was.

_Val._ I lookt for't: Shall we enjoy your Company?

_Hyl._ I'll wait on ye: Only a thought or two.

_Val._ We bar all prayers. [_Exeunt all but_ Hylas.

_Hyl._ This last Wench! I, this last wench was a fair one, A dainty Wench, a right one; a Devil take it, What do I ail? to have fifteen now in liking, Enough a Man would think to stay my stomach? But what's fifteen, or fifteen score to my thoughts? And wherefore are mine Eyes made, and have lights, But to encrease my Objects? This last Wench Sticks plaguey close to me, a hundred pound I were as close to her; If I lov'd now, As many foolish men do, I should run mad.