Part 6

_Const._ Wee'll bring the Stocks and all else, and't please your Grace.

_Enter_ Bustofa _and_ Ismenia.

_Am._ That man's my husband certain, instead of this: Both would have deceiv'd, and both beguil'd.

_Bust._ Soh hoh, Miller, Miller, look out Miller: is there n'ere a Miller amongst you here, Gentlemen?

_[T]ir._ Yes Sir, here is a Miller amongst Gentlemen, A Gentleman Miller.

_Bust._ I should not be far off then; there went but a pair of sheers and a bodkin between us. Will you to work Miller? Here's a maid has a sack full of news for you: shall your stones walk? will you grind Miller?

_Phil._ This your son, _Franio_?

_Fra._ My ungratious, my disobedient, My unnatural, my rebel son (my Lord.)

_Bust._ Fie, your hopper runs over, Miller.

_Fra._ This villain (of my own flesh and blood) was accessary To the stealing of my daughter.

_Bust._ Oh Mountain, Shalt thou call a molehill a scab upon the face Of the earth? though a man be a thief, shall a Miller call Him so? Oh egregious!

_Jul._ Remember Sirrha, who you speak before.

_Bust._ I speak before a Miller. A thief in grain; for he steals corn: He that steals A wench, is a true man to him.

_Phil._ Can you prove that? you may help another cause that was in pleading.

_Bust._ I'll prove it strongly. He that steals corn, steals the bread of the Common-wealth; He that steals a wench, steals but the flesh.

_Phil._ And how is the bread stealing more criminal then the flesh?

_Bust._ He that steals bread, steals that which is lawful every day: He that steals flesh, steals nothing from the fasting day: _Ergo_ to steal the bread is the arranter theft.

_Phil._ This is to some purpose.

_Bust._ Again, he that steals flesh steals for his own belly full: He that steals bread, robs the guts of others: _Ergo_, The arranter thief the bread-stealer.

Again he that steals flesh, steals once, and gives over; yes, and often pays for it: the other steals every day, without satisfaction. To conclude, Bread-stealing is the more capital crime: for what he steals he puts it in at the head: he that steals flesh (as the Dutch Author says) puts it in at the foot (the lower member.) Will you go as you are now, Miller?

_Phil._ How has this satisfied you, Don _Bellides_?

_Bel._ Nothing (my Lord) my cause is serious. I claim a daughter from that loving thiefe there.

_Ant._ I would I had her for you, Sir.

_Bel._ Ah ha, _Julio_.

_Jul._ How said you, _Antonio_? Wish you, you had his daughter?

_Ant._ With my soul I wish her; and my body Shall perish, but I'll injoy my souls wish. I would have slain my friend for his deceit, But I do find his own deceit hath paid him.

_Jul._ Will you vex my soul forth? no other choice But where my hate is rooted? Come hither Girl, Whose pretty maid art thou?

_Ism._ The child of a poor man, Sir.

_Jul._ The better for it. With my Soveraigns leave, I'll wed thee to this man, will he, nill he.

_Phil._ Pardon me, Sir, I'll be no Love enforcer: I use no power of mine unto those ends.

_Jul._ Wilt thou have him?

_Ism._ Not unless he love me.

_Ant._ I do love thee: Farewell all other Beauties: I settle here: you are _Ismenia_.

_Ism._ The same I was: better nor worse, (_Antonio_)

_Ant._ I shall have your consent here, I'm sure, Sir.

_Bel._ With all my heart, Sir. Nay, if you accept it, I'll do this kindness to mine enemy, And give her as a Father.

_Ant._ Shee'll thank you as a Daughter. Will you not, _Ismenia_?

_Bel._ How? _Ismenia?_

_Ism._ Your daughter, Sir.

_Bel._ Is't possible? Away you feeble witted things, You thought you had caught the old ones: you wade, you wade In shallow fords: we can swim, we: look here, We made the match: we are all friends good friends; Thin, thin: why the fool knew all this, this fool.

_Bust._ Keep that to your self, Sir; What I knew I knew: This sack is a witness. Miller, this is not for your thumming. Here's gold lace: you may see her in her holliday clothes if you will; I was her ward-robe-man.

_Enter_ Martin, Aminta, _Constable, Officers_.

_Ant._ You beguil'd me well, Sir.

_Mar._ Did you speak to me, Sir?

_Ant._ It might seem to you, _Martin_, your conscience Has quick ears.

_Mar._ My sight was a little dim i'th' dark indeed, So was my feeling cozen'd; yet I'm content: I am the better understander now, I know my wife wants nothing of a woman; There y'are my _Junior_.

_Ant._ You are not hurt?

_Mar._ Not shrewdly hurt; I [h]ave good flesh to heal, you see, Good round flesh: these cherries will be worth chopping, Crack stones and all; I should not give much to boot To ride in your new, and you in my old ones now.

_Ant._ You mistake the weapon: are you not hurt?

_Mar._ A little scratch: but I shall claw it off well enough.

_Enter_ Gillian.

_Gill._ I can no longer own what is not mine With a free conscience: My Liege, your pardon.

_Phil._ For what? who knows this woman?

_Fra._ I best, my Lord, I have been acquainted with her these forty Summers, And as many Winters, were it Spring agen; She's like the Gout I can get no cure for her.

_Phil._ Oh, your Wife, _Franio_?

_Fra._ 'Tis oh my wife indeed, my Lord, A painful stitch to my side; would it were pick'd out.

_Phil._ Well Sir, your silence.

_Bust._ Will you be older and older every day than other? the longer you live the older still? Must his Majesty command your silence ere you'l hold your tongue?

_Phil._ Your reprehension runs into the same fault: 'Pray Sir, will you be silent.

_Bust._ I have told him of this before now, my Liege, but Age will have his course, and his weaknesses.

_Phil._ Good Sir, your forbearance.

_Bust._ And his frailties, and his follies, as I may say, that cannot hold his tongue ere he be bidden.

_Phil._ Why Sirha?

_Bust._ But I believe your Majesty will not be long troubled with him: I hope that woman has something to confess will hang them both.

_Phil._ Sirha, you'll pull your desteny upon you If you cease not the sooner.

_Bust._ Nay, I have done, my Liege, yet it grieves me that I should call that man Father, that should be so shameless, that being commanded to hold his tongue.

_Phil._ To th'Porters Lodge with him.

_Bust._ I thank your Grace, I have a friend there.

_Phil._ Speak woman, if any interruption meet thee more, It shall be punish'd sharply.

_Gill._ Good my Liege, (I dare not) Ask you the question why that old man weeps.

_Phil._ Who? Count _Julio_? I observ'd it not. You hear the question Sir, will you give the cause?

_Jul._ Oh my Lord, it hardly will get passage, It is a sorrow of that greatness grown, 'Less it dissolve in tears, and come by parcels.

_Gill._ I'll help you Sir, in the delivery, And bring you forth a joy. You lost a daughter.

_Jul._ 'Twas that recounted thought brought forth these sorrows.

_Gill._ Shee's found again. Know you this mantle Sir?

_Jul._ Hah?

_Gill._ Nay leave your wonder, I'll explain it to you. This did enwrap your child, whom ever since I have call'd mine, when Nurse _Amaranta_ In a remove from _Mora_ to _Corduba_ Was seiz'd on by a fierce and hungry Bear, She was the Ravins prey, as heaven so would, He with his booty fill'd, forsook the babe: All this was in my sight: and so long I saw, Untill the cruel creature left my sight, At which advantage I adventur'd me To rescue the sweet Lamb: I did it Sir, And ever since I have kept back your joy, And made it mine: but age hath wearied me, And bids me back restore unto the owner What I unjustly kept these fourteen years.

_Jul._ Oh, thou hast ta'n so many years from me, And made me young as was her birth day to me. Oh (good my Liege) give my joys a pardon, I must go power a blessing on my child, Which here would be too rude and troublesome. [_Exit._

_Phil. Franio_, you knew this before.

_Bust._ Oh, oh; _Item_ for you Miller.

_Fra._ I did (my Liege) I must confess I did, And I confess, I ne'r would have confess'd, Had not that womans tongue begun to me: We poor ones love, and would have comforts, Sir, As well as great: this is no strange fault, Sir, There's many men keep other mens children As though they were their own.

_Bust._ It may stretch farther yet, I beseech you (my Liege) let this woman be a little farther examin'd; let the words of her conscience be search'd, I would know how she came by me: I am a lost child, if I be theirs: though I have been brought up in a Mill, yet I had ever a mind (methought) to be a greater man.

_Phil._ She will resolve you sure.

_Gill._ I, I Boy: thou art mine own flesh and blood, Born of mine own body.

_Bust._ 'Tis very unlikely that such a body should bear me; There's no trust in these Millers. Woman, tell the truth: my father shall forgive thee, whatsoever he was, were he Knight, Squire, or Captain; less he should not be.

_Gill._ Thou art mine own child, Boy.

_Bust._ And was the Miller my Father?

_Gill._ Wouldst thou make thy Mother a whore, Knave?

_Bust._ I, if she make me a Bastard. The rack must make her confess (my Lord) I shall never come to know who I am else. I have a worshipful mind in me sure: methinks I do scorn poor folks.

_Enter_ Otrante, Florimel _and_ Julio, _&c._

_Phil._ Here comes the brightest glory of the day: Love yoak'd with love, the best equality, Without the level of estate or person.

_Jul._ You both shall be rewarded bountifully, Wee'll be akin too; Brother and Sister Shall be chang'd with us ever.

_Bust._ Thank you (Unkle) my sister is my cosen yet at the last cast: Farewell sister foster. If I had known the Civil Law would have allowed it, thou hadst had another manner of Husband then thou hast: but much good do thee; I'll dance at thy wedding, kiss the Bride, and so.

_Jul._ Why, how now sirha?

_Bust._ 'Tis lawful now, she's none of my Sister. It was a Miller and a Lord That had a scabbard and a sword He put it up in the Countrey word The Miller and his daughter. She has a face, and she can sing, She has a Grace, and she can spring, She has a place with another thing Tradoodle.

_Fra._ A knavish Brother of yours (my Lord.)

_Bust._ Would I were acquainted with your Taylor (Noble Brother.)

_Otr._ You may: there he is: mine, newly entertain'd.

_Ver._ If you have any work for me, I can fit you Sir, I fitted the Lady.

_Bust._ My Sister (Tailor,) what fits her will hardly fit me.

_Ver._ Who fits her may fit you Sir, the Tailor can do both.

_Bust._ You have a true yard (Tailor.)

_Ver._ Ne'r a whit too long, I warrant you.

_Bust._ Then (Tailor) march with me away I scorn these robes I must be gay, My noble Brother he shall pay _Tom_ Tailor. [_Exeunt._

_Phil._ Your recovered friendships are sound, Gentlemen?

_Bel._ At heart, at heart (my Lord) the worm shall not Beyond many ages find a breach to enter at.

_Phil._ These Lovers unities I will not doubt of: How happy have you made our progress then, To be the witness of such fair Accords! Come, now we'll eat with you (my Lord _Otrante_,) 'Tis a charge sav'd: you must not grudge your guest, 'Tis both my welcome, and your Wedding-Feast. [_Exeunt._

The Knight of Malta.

The Persons Represented in the Play.

Valetta, _The Grand Master of_ Malta. Miranda, _An_ Italian _Gentleman, the Knight of_ Malta. Astorius } Castriot } _Two Knights of the Order_. Montferrat, _A Knight of the Order, but a villain_. Gomera, _A deserving Spanish Gentleman_. Norandine, _A valiant merry_ Dane, _Commander in chief of the Gallies of_ Malta. Collona alias Angelo, _A Captive redeemed from the Gallies, and beloved of_ Miranda. Rocca, _Servant and Instrument to_ Montferrat. _2 Bishops._ _Soldiers._ _Corporal._ _Prisoners._ _2 Marshals._ _Doctor._ _1 Of the Esguard._ _Servants._

WOMEN.

Oriana, _Sister to_ Valetta, _and Wife of_ Gomera. Velleda, _Attendant on_ Oriana. Zanthia alias Abdella, _a Moore Servant to_ Oriana. Luscinda, _A beautiful Turkish Woman, contracted to_ Angelo, _Prisoner to_ Miranda. _Two Gentlewomen_.

The Scene Malta.

The principal Actors were

_Rich. Burbadge_, _Nathan Field_, _John Underwood_, _Rich. Sharpe_, _Henry Condel_, _Robert Benfield_, _John Lowin_, _Thomas Holcome_.

ACT I THE KNIGHT OF MALTA

_Actus Primus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Mountferrat.

_Mount._ Dares she dispise me thus? me that with spoil And hazardous exploits, full sixteen years Have led (as hand-maids) Fortune, Victory Whom the _Maltezi_ call my servitors? Tempests I have subdued, and fought them calm, Out-lighten'd lightning in my Chivalry; Rid (tame as patience) billows that kick'd heaven, Whistl'd enraged _Boreas_ till his gusts Were grown so gentle, that he seem'd to sigh, Because he could not show the ayr my keel, And yet I cannot conquer her bright eyes, Which though they blaze both comfort, and invite Neither by force, nor fraud pass through her ear (Whose guard is only blushing Innocence) To take the least possession of her heart, Did I attempt her with a thred-bare name--unapt with meritorious actions, She might with colour dis-allow my suit: But by the honor of this Christian cross (In blood of Infidels so often dy'd) Which mine own Soul and Sword hath fixed here And neither favor, nor births priviledge _Oriana_ shall confess, although she be _Valettas_ Sister our Grand-master here, The wages of scorn'd Love is baneful hate, And if I rule not her, I'le rule her fate. _Rocca_, my trusty Servant, welcome.

_Enter_ Rocca.

_Roc._ Sir, I wish my news deserv'd it: hapless I That being lov'd, and trusted fail to bring The loving answer that you do expect.

_Mount._ Why speak'st thou from me: thy pleas'd eyes send forth Beams brighter than the star that ushers day, Thy smiles, restore sick expectation.

_Roc._ I bring you Sir, her smiles, not mine.

_Mount._ Her smiles? Why they are presents for Kings eldest Sons, Great _Solyman_ that wearies his hot eyes, But to peruse his deck'd _Seraglio_, When from the number of his Concubines He chooseth one for that night in his pride Of them, wives, wealth, is not so rich as I In this one smile, from _Oriana_ sent.

_Roc._ Sir, fare ye well.

_Mount._ Oh _Rocca_! thou art wise, And woul[d]'st not have the torrent of my joy Ruine me headlong; aptly thou conceiv'st If one reviving smile can raise me thus, What trances will the sweet words which thou bring'st Cast me into? I felt (my dearest friend, No more my Servant) when I imployed thee That knew'st to look, and speak as Lovers should, And carry faithfully thy Masters sighs, That it must work some heat in her cold heart, And all my labors now come fraughted home With ten fold prize.

_Roc._ Will you yet hear me?

_Mount._ Yes, But take heed (gentle _Rocca_) that thou do'st Tenderly by degrees assault mine ears With her consent, now to embrace my love, For thou well know'st I have been so plung'd, so torn With her resolv'd reject, and neglect: That to report her soft acceptance now, Will stupifie sense in me, if not kill: Why shew'st thou this distemper?

_Roc._ Draw your sword, And when I with my breath have blasted you, Kill me with it: I bring you smiles of pitty, not affection: For such she sent.

_Mount._ Oh! can she pitty me? Of all the paths lead to a womans love, Pitties the streightest.

_Roc._ Waken Sir, and know That her contempt (if you can name it so) Continues still: she bids you throw your Pearl Into strong streams, and hope to turn them so, Ere her too foul dishonor, writ[e] your plaints In rocks of Coral grow'n above the Sea, Them hope to soften to compassion, Or change their modest blush to love sick pale, Ere work her to your impious requests; All your loose thoughts she chides you home again, But with such calm behaviour, and mild looks, She gentlier denies than others grant, For just as others love so doth she hate: She says, that by your order you are bound From marrying ever, and much marvels then You would thus violate her and your own faith, That being the virgin you should now protect, Hitherto she professes she has conceal'd Your lustful Batteries, but the next she vowes, (In open Hall, before the honor'd cross And her great Brother) she will quite disclose Calling for justice, to your utter shame.

_Mount._ Hence, find the Blackamore that waits upon her, Bring her unto me, she doth love me yet, And I must her now, at least seem to do: _Cupid_, thy brands that glow thus in my veins, I will with blood extinguish--ar't not gone? Shall my desires, like beggars wait at dore Whil'st any others revel in her breast? Sweat on my spirits: know thou trickt up toy, My love's a violent flood, where art thou faln, Playing with which tide thou'dst been gently toss'd, But crossing it, thou art or'whelm'd, and lost.

_Enter_ Astorius _and_ Castriot.

_Cast._ Monsieur, good day.

_Ast._ Good morrow valiant Knight, What, are you for this great solemnity This morn intended?

_Mount._ What solemnity?

_Ast._ The investing of the Martial _Spaniard_, _Peter Gomera_, with our _Christian_ Badge.

_Cast._ And young _Miranda_ the _Italian_, Both which with wondrous prowess, and great luck Have dar'd and done for _Malta_, such high feats, That not one Fort in it, but rings their names As loud as any mans.

_Mount._ As any mans? Why, we have fought for _Malta_.

_Ast._ Yes _Mountferrat_. No bold Knight ever past you, but we wear The dignity of Christians on our breasts, And have a long time triumph'd for our conquests; These conquer'd a long time, not triumph'd yet.

_Mount. Astori[u]s_, you are a most indulgent Knight, Detracting from your self, to add to others, You know this title is the period To all our labors, the extremity Of that tall pyramid, where hon[ou]r hangs, Which we with sweat and agony have reach'd, And should not then so easily impart So bright a wreath to every cheap desert.

_Cast._ How is this French man chang'd _Astorius_! Some sullen discontent possesses him, That makes him envy, what he heretofore Did most ingeniously but emulate.

_Mount._ Oh furious desire, how like a whirl-wind Thou hurriest me beyond mine honors point! Out of my heart, base lust, or heart, I vow Those flames that heat me thus, I'll burn thee in.

_Ast._ Do' ye observe him?

_Mount._ What news of the _Dane_, That valiant Captain _Norandine_?

_Cast._ He fights still, In view oth' Town; he playes the devil with 'em, And they the _Turks_ with him.

_Mount._ They'r well met then, 'twere sin to sever 'em Pish--woman.--Memory-- Would one of ye would leave me:

_Ast._ Six fresh Gallies I in St. _Angelo_ from the promontory This morne descride, making a Girdle for him, But our great Master doth intend relief This present meeting: will you walk along?

_Mount._ Humh--I have read, Ladies enjoy'd, have been The gulphs of worthiest men, buried their names, Their former valor, bounty, beauty, virtue, And sent 'em stinking to untimely graves. I that cannot enjoy, by her disdain, Am like to prove as wretched; woman then Checking or granting, is the grave of men.

_Ast._ He's saying of his prayers sure.

_Cast._ Will you go Sir?

_Mount._ I cry you mercy: I am so transported (Your pardon, noble Brothers) with a business That doth concern all _Malta_, that I am (Anon you'l hear't) almost blind, and deaf. Lust neither sees nor hears ought but it self: But I will follow instantly: your cross.

_Ast._ Not mine. [_dropt._

_Cast._ Nor mine, 'tis yours.

_Ast. Cast._ Good morrow Brother. [_Exeunt._

_Mount._ White innocent sign, thou do'st abhor to dwell, So near the dim thoughts of this troubled breast, [And grace these graceless projects of my heart.]

_Enter_ Zanthia, alias Abdella, _with two Letters_.

Yet I must wear thee to protect my crimes, If not for conscience, for hypocrisie, Some Churchmen so wear Cassocks: Oh my _Zan_. My Pearl, that scornes a stain! I mu[ch] repent All my neglect: let me _Ixion_ like, Embrace my black cloud, since my _Juno_ is So wrathful, and averse; thou art more soft And full of dalliance than the fairest flesh, And far more loving.

_Zan._ I, you say so now, But like a property, when I have serv'd Your turns, you'll cast me off, or hang me up For a sign, somewhere.

_Mount._ May my life then forsake me Or from my expected bliss, be cast to hell.

_Zan._ My tongue Sir, cannot lisp to meet you so, Nor my black cheeck put on a feigned blush, To make me seem more modest than I am. This ground-work, will not bear adulterate red, Nor artificial white, to cozen love. These dark locks, are not purchas'd, nor these teeth, For every night, they are my bed-fellows; No bath, no blanching water; smoothing oyles, Doth mend me up; and yet _Mountferrat_, know, I am as full of pleasure in the touch As ere a white fac'd puppet of 'em all, Juicy, and firm, unfledge 'em of their tyres, Their wires, their partlets; pins, and Periwigs, And they appear like bald cootes, in the nest; I can as blithly work in my loves bed, And deck thy fair neck, with these Jetty chains, Sing thee asleep, being wearied, and refresh'd, With the same organ, steal sleep off again.

_Mount._ Oh my black swan, sleeker then Cignets plush, Sweeter than is the sweet of Pomander, Breath'd like curl'd _Zephyrus_, cooling Lymon-trees, Straight as young pines, or Cedars in the grove, Quickly discend lovers best Canopie Still night, for _Zanthia_ doth enamour me Beyond all continence perpetrate (deer wench) What thou hast promis'd, and I vow by heaven _Malta_, I'll leave [in it] my honours here, And in some other Country (_Zanthia_) make My wife, and my best fortune.

_Zan._ From this hope, Here is an answer to that Letter, which I lately shew'd you sent from _Tripoly_, By the great Basha, which importunes her Love unto him, and treachery to the Island, Which will she undertake, by _Mahomet_ The _Turk_ there vowes, on his blest _Alcharon_, Marriage unto her: this the Master knows, But is resolv'd of her integrity (As well [he] may) sweet Lady yet for love, For love of thee _Mountferrat_, (Oh! what Chains Of deity, or duty can hold love?) I have this answer fram'd, so like her hand As if it had been moulded off: returning The Bashas Letter safe into her pocket; What will you do with it, your self best knows, Farewel, keep my true heart, keep true your vows. [_Exit Zan._