Part 12

_Gom._ Oh honor'd Sir! If hope of this, or any bliss to come, Could lift my load of grief off from my soul, Or expiate the trespass 'gainst my wife, That in one hours suspition I begat, I might be won to be a man again, And fare like other Husbands, sleep and eat, Laugh, and forget my pleasing penitence; But till old nature can make such a wife Again, I vow ne'r to resume the order And habits that to men are necessary, All breath I'll spend in sighs, all sound in groans, And know no company but my wasting moans.

_Ast._ This will be wilful murder on your self, Nor like a Christian do you bear the chance Which th' inscrutable Will of Heaven admits.

_Gom._ What would you have my weakness do, that Suffer'd it self thus to be practis'd on, By a damn'd hell-hound, and his agent dam, The impious Midwife, to abortive births, And cruel instrument to his decrees? By forgery they first assail'd her life, Heaven playing with us yet, in that, he wrought My dearest friend, the servant to her virtue To combat me, against his Mistriss truth. That yet effectless, this enchanting Witch, Bred baneful jealousie against my Lady, My most immaculate Lady, which seiz'd on her Almost to death: Oh yet! not yet content, She in my hand put (to restore her life As I imagin'd) what did execute Their devilish malice, farther, great with child, Was this poor innocent, that too was lost, They doubled death upon her, not staying there, They have done violence unto her Tomb, Not granting rest unto her in the grave: I wish _Miranda_ had enjoy'd my prize; For sure I'm punish'd for usurping her, Oh what a Tyger is resisted Lust! How it doth forrage all!

_Mount._ Part of this tale I grant you true; but 'twas not poison given her?

_Ab._ I would it had, we had been far enough, If we had been so wise, and had not now Stood curtesing for your mercies here.

_Mount._ Beside, What is become o' th' body? we know not.

_Val._ Peace impudence, And dear _Gomera_ practice patience As I my self must, by some means at last We shall dissolve this Riddle.

_Gom._ Wherefore comes This villain in this festival array, As if he triumph'd for his treachery?

_Cast._ That is by our appointment: give us leave, You shall know why anon.

_Enter_ Miranda, Norandine, Collona.

_Val._ One of the _Esguard_.

_Esg._ The Gentlemen are come.

_Val._ Truce then awhile, With our sad thoughts; what are you both resolv'd?

_Nor._ Not I my Lord, your down-right Captain still I'll live, and serve you, not that altogether I want compunction of conscience, I have enough to save me, and that's all, Bar me from drink, and drabs, ev'n hang me too, You must ev'n make your Captains Capons first, I have too much flesh for this spiritual Knighthood, And therefore do desire forbearance, Sir, Till I am older, or more mortifi'd, I am too sound yet.

_Val._ What say you _Miranda_?

_Mir._ With all pure zeal to Heaven, duty to you, I come to undergo it.

_Val._ Proceed to th' ceremony.

_Gom._ Before you match with this bright honor'd title, Admir'd _Miranda_, pardon what in thought I ever did transgress against your virtue; And may you find more joy with your new Bride Than poor _Gomera_ e'r enjoy'd with his, But 'twas mine own crime, and I suffer for't: Long wear your dignity, and worthily, Whilst I obscurely in some corner vanish.

_Mir._ Have stronger thoughts, and better, first I crave According to the order of the Court I may dispose my Captives, and the Fort, That with a clean and purified heart The fitlier I may endue my Robe.

_All._ 'Tis granted.

_Enter_ Oriana _vail'd, Ladies_, Lucinda, _Child_.

_Mir._ Bring the Captives. To your charge And staid tuition, my most noble friend; I then commend this Lady; start not off A fairer, and a chaster never liv'd; By her own choice you are her Guardian, For telling her I was to leave my Fort, And to abandon quite all worldly cares. Her own request was, to _Gomera_'s hands She might be given in custody, for sh'ad heard He was a Gentleman wise, and temperate, Full of humanity to Women-kind, And 'cause he had been married, knew the better How to entreat a Lady.

_Val._ What Countrey-woman is she?

_Mir._ Born a _Greek_.

_Val. Gomera_, 'twill be barbarous to denie A Lady, that unto your refuge flies, And seeks to shrowd her under virtues wing.

_Gom._ Excuse me noble Sir; oh think me not So dull a devil, to forget the loss Of such a matchless wife as I possess'd, And ever to endure the sight of woman: Were she the abstract of her sex for form, The only warehouse of perfection. Were there no Rose nor Lilly but her Cheek, No Musick but her tongue, Virtue but hers; She must not rest near me, my vow is graven, Here in my heart, irrevocably breath'd And when I break it.

_Ast._ This is rudeness _Spaniard_, Unseasonably you play the _Timonist_, Put on a disposition is not yours, Which neither fits you, nor becomes you.

_Gom._ Sir.

_Cast._ We cannot force you, but we would perswade.

_Com._ Beseech you Sir, no more, I am resolv'd To forsake _Malta_, tread a pilgrimage To fair _Jerusalem_, for my Ladies soul, And will not be diverted.

_Mir._ You must bear This Child along w'ye then.

_Gom._ What Child?

_All._ How's this?

_Mir._ Nay then _Gomera_, thou art injurious, This Child is thine, and this rejected Lady Thou hast as often known, as thine own wife, And this I'll make good on thee, with my sword.

_Gom._ Thou durst as well blaspheme: if such a scandal-- (I crave the rights due to a Gentleman) Woman unvail.

_Ori._ Will you refuse me yet?

_Gom._ My Wife!

_Val._ My Sister!

_Gom._ Some body, thank Heaven I cannot speak.

_All._ All praise be ever given:

_Mount._ This saves our lives, yet would she had been dead; The very sight of her afflicts me more Than fear of punishment, or my disgrace.

_Val._ How came you to the Temple?

_Mir._ Sir, to do My poor devotions, and to offer thanks For scaping a temptation near perform'd With this fair Virgin. I restore a wife Earth cannot parallel: and busie nature If thou wilt still make women, but remember To work 'em by this sampler; take heed, Sir, Henceforth you never doubt, Sir.

_Gom._ When I do Death take me suddainly.

_Mir._ To increase your happiness To your best wife take this addition.

_Gom._ Alack my poor knave.

_Val._ The confession The _Moor_ made 't seems was truth.

_Nor._ Marry was it Sir; the only truth that ever issued out of hell, which her black jawes resemble; a plague o' your bacon-face, you must be giving drinks with a vengeance; ah thou branded bitch: do' ye stare goggles, I hope to make winter-boots o' thy hide yet, she fears not damning: hell fire cannot parch her blacker than she is: d' ye grin, chimney-sweeper.

_Ori._ What is't _Miranda_?

_Mir._ That you would please _Lucinda_ might attend you.

_Col._ That suit Sir, I consent not to.

_Luc._ My husband? My dearest _Angelo_?

_Nor._ More _Jiggam-bobs_; is not this the fellow that swom Like a duck to th' shore in our sea-service?

_Col._ The very same, do not you know me now, Sir, My name is _Angelo_, though _Colonna_ vail'd it, Your Countrey-man and kinsman born in _Florence_, Who from the neighbor-Island here of _Goza_ Was captive led, in that unfortunate day When the _Turk_ bore with him three thousand souls; Since in _Constantinople_ have I liv'd Where I beheld this _Turkish_ Damsel first. A tedious suitor was I for her love, And pittying such a beauteous case should hide A soul prophan'd with infidelity, I labour'd her conversion with my love, And doubly won her; to fair faith her soul She first betroth'd, and then her faith to me, But fearful there to consummate this contract We fled, and in that flight were ta'en again By those same Gallies, 'fore _Valetta_ fought. Since in your service I attended her, Where, what I saw, and heard, hath joy'd me more Than all my past afflictions griev'd before.

_Val._ Wonders crown wonders: take thy wife _Miranda_. Be henceforth call'd our _Malta_'s better Angel, And thou her evil _Mountferrat_.

_Nor._ We'll call him _Cacodemon_, with his black gib there, his _Succuba_, his devils seed, his spawn of _Phlegeton_, that o' my conscience was bred o' the spume of _Cocitus_; do ye snarle you black Jill? she looks like the Picture of _America_.

_Val._ Why stay we now.

_Mir._ This last petition to the Court, I may bequeath the keeping of my Fort To this my kinsman, toward the maintenance Of him, and his fair virtuous wife; discreet, Loyal, and valiant I dare give him you.

_Val._ You must not ask in vain, Sir.

_Col._ My best thanks To you my noble Cosin, and my service To the whole Court; may I deserve this bounty.

_Val._ Proceed to th' ceremony, one of our _Esguard_ Degrade _Mountferrat_ first.

_Mount._ I will not sue For mercy, 'twere in vain; fortune thy worst. [_Musick._

_An Altar discover'd, with Tapers, and a Book on it. The two_ _Bishops stand on each side of it_; Mountferrat, _as the Song is_ _singing, ascends up the Altar_.

_See, see, the stain of honor, virtues foe,_ _Of Virgins fair fames, the foul overthrow,_ _That broken hath his oath of chastity_ _Dishonor'd much this holy dignity,_ _Off with his Robe, expell him forth this place,_ _Whilst we rejoyce, and sing at his disgrace._

_Val._ Since by thy actions thou hast made thy self Unworthy of that worthy sign thou wear'st, And of our sacred order, into which For former virtues we receiv'd thee first, According to our Statutes, Ordinances, For praise unto the good, a terror to The bad, and an example to all men; We here deprive thee of our habit, and Declare thee unworthy our society, From which we do expell thee, as a rotten Corrupted and contagious member.

_Esq._ Using th' authority th' Superior Hath given unto me, I untie this knot, And take from thee the pleasing yoak of heaven: We take from off thy breast this holy cross Which thou hast made thy burthen, not thy prop; Thy spurs we spoil thee of, leaving thy heels Bare of thy honor, that have kick'd against Our Orders precepts: next we reave thy sword, And give thee armless to thy enemies, For being foe to goodness, and to Heaven, Last, 'bout thy stiff neck, we this halter hang, And leave thee to the mercy of thy Court.

_Val._ Invest _Miranda_.

SONG.

_Fair child of virtue, honors bloom_ _That here with burning zeal dost come_ _With joy to ask the white cross cloak,_ _And yield unto this pleasing yoak_ _That being young, vows chastity,_ _And choosest wilful poverty;_ _As this flame mounts, so mount thy zeal, thy glory_ _Rise past the Stars, and fix in Heaven thy story._

_1 Bish._ Wha[t] crave you, gentle Sir?

_Mir._ Humble admittance To be a brother of the holy Hospital Of great _Jerusalem_.

_2 Bish._ Breathe out your vow.

_Mir._ To heaven, and all the bench of Saints above Whose succor I implore t' enable me, I vow henceforth a chaste life, not to enjoy Any thing proper to my self; obedience To my Superiors, whom Religion, And Heaven shall give me: ever to defend The virtuous fame of Ladies, and to oppugne Even unto death the _Christian_ enemy, This do I vow to accomplish.

_Esq._ Who can tell, Has he made other vow, or promis'd marriage To any one, or is in servitude?

_All._ He's free from all these.

_1 Bish._ Put on his spurs, and girt him with the sword, The scourge of Infidels, and tipes of speed. Buildst thy faith on this?

_Mir._ On him that dy'd On such a sacred figure, for our sins.

_2 Bish._ Here, then we fix it on thy left side, for Thy increase of faith, _Christian_ defence, and service To th' poor, and thus near to thy heart we plant it That thou maist love it even with all thy heart, With thy right hand protect, preserve it whole, For if thou fighting 'gainst heavens enemies Shalt flie away, abandoning the cross The Ensign of thy holy General, With shame thou justly shalt be robb'd of it Chas'd from our company, and cut away As an infectious putrified limb.

_Mir._ I ask no favour.

_1 Bish._ Then receive the yoak Of him that makes it sweet, and light, in which, Thy soul find her eternal rest.

_Val._ Most welcome.

_All._ Welcome, our noble Brother.

_Val._ Break up the Court; _Mountferrat_, though your deeds Conspiring 'gainst the lives of innocents Hath forfeited your own, we will not stain Our white cross with your blood: your doom is then To marry this coagent of your mischiefs Which done, we banish you the continent, If either, after three daies here be found The hand of Law laies hold upon your lives.

_Nor._ Away _French_ stallion, now you have a _Barbary_ mare Of your own, go leap her, and engender young devilings.

_Val._ We will find something noble _Norandine_ To quit your merit: so to civil feasts, According to our customs; and all pray The dew of grace, bless our new Knight to day. [_Exeunt._

Loves Cure, or the Martial Maid

A COMEDY.

The Persons Represented in the Play.

Assistant, _or Governor_. Vitelli, _a young Gentleman, enemy to_ Alvarez. Lamoral, _a fighting Gallant, friend to_ Vitelli. Anastro, _an honest Gentleman, friend to_ Vitelli. Don Alvarez, _a noble Gent. Father to_ Lucio, _and_ Clara. Siavedra, _a friend to_ Alvarez. Lucio, _Son to_ Alvarez, _a brave young Gent, in womans habit_. Alguazeir, _a sharking panderly Constable_. Pachieco, _a Cobler_, } Mendoza, _a Botcher_, } _of worship_. Metaldie, _a Smith_, } Lazarillo, Pachieco _his hungry servant_. Bobbadilla, _a witty knave, servant to_ Eugenia, _and Steward vant to_ Alvarez. Herald. Officer.

WOMEN.

Eugenia, _a virtuous Lady, wife to Don_ Alvarez. Clara, _Daughter to_ Eugenia, _a martial Maid, valiant and chaste, enamoured of_ Vitelli. Genevora, _Sister to_ Vitelli, _in love with_ Lucio. Malroda, _a wanton Mis[tr]iss of_ Vitelli.

The Scene Sevil.

A PROLOGUE

At the reviving of this PLAY.

_Statues and Pictures challenge price and fame;_ _If they can justly boast, and prove they came_ _From_ Phidias _or_ Apelles. _None denie,_ _Poets and Painters hold a sympathy;_ _Yet their works may decay, and lose their grace,_ _Receiving blemish in their Limbs or Face._ _When the Minds Art has this preheminence,_ _She still retaineth her first excellence._ _Then why should not this dear Piece be esteem'd_ _Child to the richest fancies that e'r teem'd?_ _When not their meanest off-spring, that came forth,_ _But bore the image of their Fathers worth._ Beaumonts, _and_ Fletchers, _whose desert out-wayes_ _The best applause, and their least sprig of B[a]yes_ _Is worthy_ Phæbus; _and who comes to gather_ _Their fruits of wit, he shall not rob the treasure._ _Nor can you ever surfeit of the plenty,_ _Nor can you call them rare, though they be dainty._ _The more you take, the more you do them right,_ _And we will thank you for your own delight._

_Actus Primus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Vitelli, Lamoral, Anastro.

_Vit. Alvarez_ pardon'd?

_Ana._ And return'd

_Lamo._ I saw him land At _St. Lucars_, and such a general welcome, Fame as harbinger to his brave actions, Had with the easie people, prepar'd for him, As if by his command alone, and fortune _Holland_, with those low Provinces, that hold out Against the Arch-Duke, were again compell'd With their obedience to give up their lives To be at his Devotion.

_Vit._ You amaze me, For though I have heard, that when he fled from _Sevil_ To save his life (th[e]n forfeited to Law For murth'ring Don _Pedro_ my dear Uncle) His extream wants enforc'd him to take pay I'th' Army, sate down then before _Ostend_, 'Twas never yet reported, by whose favour He durst presume to entertain a thought Of coming home with pardon.

_Ana._ 'Tis our nature Or not to hear, or not to give belief To what we wish far from our enemies.

_Lam._ Sir, 'tis most certain, the _Infanta_'s Letters Assisted by the Arch-Dukes, to King _Philip_, Have not alone secur'd him from the rigor Of our _Castilian_ Justice, but return'd him A free man and in grace.

_Vi[t]._ By what curs'd means Could such a fugitive arise unto The knowledge of their Highnesses? much more (Though known) to stand but in the least degree Of favour with them?

_Lam._ To give satisfaction To your demand, though to praise him I hate, Can yield me small contentment, I will tell you, And truly, since should I detract his worth, 'Twould argue want of merit in my self. Briefly to pass his tedious pilgrimage For sixteen years, a banish'd guilty man, And to forget the storms, th' affrights, the horrors His constancy, not fortune, overcame, I bring him, with his little son, grown man (Though 'twas said here, he took a Daughter with him) To _Ostend_'s bloody siege that stage of war, Wherein the flower of many Nations acted, And the whole Christian world spectators were; There by his Son, or were he by adoption, Or nature his, a brave Scene was presented, Which I make choice to speak of, since from that The good success of _Alvarez_, had beginning.

_Vi[t]._ So I love virtue in an enemy That I desire in the relation of This young mans glorious deed, you'ld keep your self A friend to truth, and it.

_Lam._ Such was my purpose; The Town being oft assaulted, but in vain, To dare the proud defendents to a sally, Weary of ease, Don _Inigo Peralta_, Son to the General of our _Castile_ forces, All arm'd, advanc'd within shot of their Walls, From whence the Musquetiers plaid thick upon him, Yet he (brave youth) as careless of the danger, As careful of his honor, drew his sword, And waving it about his head, as if He dar'd one spirited like himself, to trial Of single valor, he made his retreat With such a slow, and yet majestique pace, As if he still call'd loud, dare none come on? When sodainly, from a postern of the Town Two gallant horsemen issued, and o'ertook him, The Army looking on, yet not a man That durst relieve the rash adventurer, Which _Lucio_, son to _Alvarez_ then seeing, As in the Vant-guard he sate bravely mounted, Or were it pity of the youths misfortune, Care to preserve the honor of his Countrey, Or bold desire to get himself a name, He made his brave Horse like a whirlwind bear him, Among the Combatants: and in a moment Discharg'd his Petronel, with such sure aim That of the adverse party from his horse, One tumbled dead, then wheeling round, and drawing A Faulcion, swift as lightning he came on Upon the other, and with one strong blow, In view of the amazed Town, and Camp, He struck him dead, and brought _Peralta_ off With double honor to himself.

_Vit._ 'Twas brave: But the success of this?

_Lam._ The Camp receiv'd him With acclamations of joy and welcome, And for addition to the fair reward Being a massy chain of Gold given to him By young _Peralta_'s Father, he was brought To the Infanta's presence, kiss'd her hand, And from that Lady, (greater in her goodness Than her high birth) had this encouragement: Go on young man; yet not to feed thy valour With hope of recompence to come, from me, For present satisfaction of what's past, Ask any thing that's fit for me to give, And thee to take, and be assur'd of it.

_Ana._ Excellent Princess.

_Vit._ And stil'd worthily The heart-bloud, nay the Soul of Soldiers. But what was his request?

_Lam._ That the repeal Of _Alvarez_ makes plain: he humbly begg'd His Fathers pardon, and so movingly Told the sad story of your Uncles death That the _Infanta_ wept, and instantly Granting his suit, working the Arch-Duke to it, Their Letters were directed to the King, With whom they so prevail'd, that _Alvarez_ Was freely pardon'd.

_Vit._ 'Tis not in the King To make that good.

_Ana._ Not in the King? what subject Dares contradict his power?

_Vit._ In this I dare, And will: and not call his prerogative In question, nor presume to limit it. I know he is [the] Master of his Laws, And may forgive the forfeits made to them, But not the injury done to my honor; And since (forgetting my brave Uncles merits And many services, under Duke _D' Alva_) He suffers him to fall, wresting from Justice The powerful sword, that would revenge his death, I'll fill with this _Astrea_'s empty hand, And in my just wreak, make this arm the Kings, My deadly hate to _Alvarez_, and his house, Which as I grew in years, hath still encreas'd, As if it call'd on time to make me man, Slept while it had no object for her fury But a weak woman, and her talk'd of Daughter: But now, since there are quarries, worth her sight Both in the father, and his hopeful son, I'll boldly cast her off, and gorge her full With both their hearts: to further which, your friendship, And oaths: will your assistance, let your deeds Make answer to me: useless are all words Till you have writ performance with your swords.

[_Exeunt._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Bobadilla _and_ Lucio.

_Luc._ Go fetch my work: this Ruffe was not well starch'd, So tell the maid, 't has too much blew in it, And look you that the Partridge and the Pullen Have clean meat, and fresh water, or my Mother Is like to hear on't.

_Bob._ Oh good _St. Jaques_ help me: was there ever such an Hermaphrodite heard of? would any wench living, that should hear and see what I do, be wrought to believe, that the best of a man lies under this Petticoat, and that a Codpiece were far fitter here, than a Pinn'd Placket?

_Luc._ You had best talk filthily: do; I have a tongue To tell my Mother, as well as ears to hear Your ribaldry.

_Bob._ Nay you have ten womens tongues that way I am sure: why my young Master or Mistriss, Madam, Don, or what you will, what the devil have you to do with Pullen, or Partridge? or to sit pricking on a clout all day? you have a better needle, I know, and might make better work, if you had grace to use it.

_Luc._ Why, how dare you speak this before me, sirrah?

_Bob._ Nay rather, why dare not you do what I speak?--though my Lady your mother, for fear of _Vitelli_ and his faction, hath brought you up like her Daughter, and has kept you these 20 years, which is ever since you were born, a close prisoner within doors, yet since you are a man, and are as well provided as other men are, methinks you should have the same motions of the flesh, as other Cavaliers of us are inclin'd unto.

_Luc._ Indeed you have cause to love those wanton motions, They having hope you to an excellent whipping, For doing something, I but put you in mind of it, With the _Indian_ Maid, the Governor sent my mother From _Mexico_.