Part 5

_Memb._ One, no guard Can put back from access, whose tongue no threats Nor praises can silence, a bold suitor, and For that which if you are your self, a King, You were made so to grant it, Justice, Justice.

_Thier._ With what assurance dare you hope for that Which is deny'd to me? or how can I Stand bound to be just, unto such as are Beneath me, that find none from those that are Above me?

_Memb._ There is justice, 'twere unfit That any thing but vengeance should fall on him, That by his giving way to more than murther, (For my dear fathers death was parricide) Makes it his own.

_Brun._ I charge you hear her not.

_Memb._ Hell cannot stop just prayers from ent'ring heaven, I must and will be heard Sir; but remember That he that by her plot fell, was your brother, And the place where, your Palace, against all Th' inviolable rites of hospitality, Your word, a Kings word, given up for his safety, His innocence, his protection, and the gods Bound to revenge the impious breach of such So great and sacred bonds; and can you wonder, (That in not punishing such a horrid murther You did it) that heavens favour is gone from you? Which never will return, until his bloud Be wash'd away in hers.

_Brun._ Drag hence the wretch.

_Thier._ Forbear, with what variety Of torments do I meet! oh thou hast open'd A Book, in which writ down in bloudy Letters, My conscience finds that I am worthy of More than I undergoe, but I'll begin For my _Ordella_'s sake, and for thine own To make less heavens great anger: thou hast lost A father, I to thee am so; the hope Of a good Husband, in me have one; nor Be fearful I am still no man, already That weakness is gone from me.

_Brun._ That it might [_Aside._ Have ever grown inseparably upon thee, What will you do? Is such a thing as this Worthy the lov'd _Ordella_'s place, the daughter Of a poor Gardener?

_Memb._ Your Son.

_Thier._ The power To take away that lowness is in me.

_Brun._ Stay yet, for rather than [that] thou shalt add Incest unto thy other sins, I will With hazard of my own life, utter all, _Theodoret_ was thy Brother.

_Thier._ You deny'd it Upon your oath, nor will I now believe you, Your Protean turnings cannot change my purpose.

_Memb._ And for me, be assur'd the means to be Reveng'd on thee, vile hag, admits no thought, But what tends to it.

_Brun._ Is it come to that? Then have at the last refuge: art thou grown Insensible in [i]ll, that thou goest on Without the least compunction? there, take that To witness, that thou hadst a mother, which Foresaw thy cause of grief, and sad repentance, That so soon after blest _Ordella_'s death Without a tear thou canst imbrace another, Forgetful man.

_Thier._ Mine eyes when she is nam'd Cannot forget their tribute, and your gift Is not unuseful now.

_Lecu._ He's past all cure, that only touch is death.

_Thier._ This night I'll keep it, To morrow I will send it you, and full of my affliction.

[_Exit_ Thierry.

_Brun._ Is the poison mortal?

_Lecu._ Above the help of Physick.

_Brun._ To my wish, Now for our own security, you _Protaldye_ Shall this night post towards _Austracia_, With Letters to _Theodorets_ bastard son, In which we will make known what for his rising We have done to _Thierry_: no denial, Nor no excuse in such acts must be thought of, Which all dislike, and all again commend When they are brought unto a happy end. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Devitry _and four Soldiers_.

_Devi._ No War, no Money, no Master; banish'd the Court, not trusted in the City, whipt out of the Countrey, in what a triangle runs our misery: let me hear which of you has the best voice to beg in, for other hopes or fortunes I see you have not; be not nice, nature provided you with tones for the purpose, the peoples charity was your heritage, and I would see which of you deserves his birth-right.

_Omnes._ We understand you not Captain.

_Devit._ You see this cardicue, the last, and the only quintessence of 50 Crowns, distill'd in the limbeck of your gardage, of which happy piece thou shalt be treasurer: now he that can soonest perswade him to part with't, enjoyes it, possesses it, and with it, me and my future countenance.

_1._ If they want Art to perswade it, I'll keep it my self.

_Devit._ So you be not a partial judge in your own cause, you shall.

_Omnes._ A match.

_2._ I'll begin to you, brave Sir; be proud to make him happy by your liberality, whose tongue vouchsafes now to petition, was never heard before less than to command. I am a Soldier by profession, a Gentleman by birth, and an Officer by place, whose poverty blushes to be the cause, that so high a virtue should descend to the pity of your charity.

_1._ In any case keep your high stile, it is not charity to shame any man, much less a virtue of your eminence, wherefore preserve your worth, and I'll preserve my money.

_3._ You perswade? you are shallow, give way to merit: ah by the bread of [God] man, thou hast a bonny countenance and a blith, promising mickle good to a sicker womb, that has trode a long and a sore ground to meet with friends, that will owe much to thy reverence, when they shall hear of thy courtesie to their wandring countreyman.

_1._ You that will use your friends so hardly to bring them in debt, Sir, will deserve worse of a stranger, wherefore pead on, pead on, I say.

_4._ It is the Welch must do't, I see, comrade man of urship, _St. Tavy_ be her Patron, the gods of the mountains keep her cow and her cupboard; may she never want the green of the Leek, [nor] the fat of the Onion, if she part with her bounties to him, that is a great deal away from her cozines, and has two big suits in law to recover her heritage.

_1._ Pardon me Sir, I will have nothing to do with your suits, it comes within the statute of maintenance: home to your cozines, and so[w]e garlick and hempseed, the one will stop your hunger; the other end your suits, _gammawash comrade, gammawash_.

_4._ 'Foot he'll hoord all for himself.

_Vitry._ Yes, let him; now comes my turn, I'll see if he can answer me: save you Sir, they say, you have that I want, Money.

_1._ And that you are like to want, for ought I perceive yet.

_Vitry._ Stand, deliver.

_1._ 'Foot what mean you, you will not rob the Exchequer?

_Vitry._ Do you prate?

_1._ Hold, hold, here Captain.

_2._ Why I could have done this before you.

_3._ And I.

_4._ And I.

_Vit._ You have done this, brave man be proud to make him happy, by the bread of God man, thou hast a bonny countenance, comrade man of urship, _St. Tavy_ be her patron, out upon you, you uncurried colts, walking cans that have no souls in you, but a little Rosin to keep your ribs sweet, and hold in liquor.

_Omnes._ Why, what would you have us to do Captain?

_Devit._ Beg, beg, and keep Constables waking, wear out stocks and whipcord, maunder for butter-milk, dye of the Jaundice, yet have the cure about you, Lice, large Lice, begot of your own dust, and the heat of the Brick-kills, may you starve, and fear of the gallows, which is a gentle consumption to't, only preferr it, or may you fall upon your fear, and be hanged for selling those purses to keep you from famine, whose monies my valour empties, and be cast without other evidence; here is my Fort, my Castle of defence, who comes by shall pay me toll, the first purse is your mitimus slaves.

_2._ The purse, 'foot we'll share in the money Captain, if any come within a furlong of our fingers.

_4._ Did you doubt but we could steal as well as your self, did not I speak Welsh?

_3._ We are thieves from our cradles, and will dye so.

_Vit._ Then you will not beg again.

_Omnes._ Yes, as you did, stand, and deliver.

_2._ Hark, here comes handsel, 'tis a Trade quickly set up, and as soon cast down.

_Vitry._ Have goodness in your minds varlets, and to't like men; he that has more money than we, cannot be our friend, and I hope there is no law for spoiling the enemy.

_3._ You need not instruct us farther, your example pleads enough.

_Devitry._ Disperse your selves, and as their company is, fall on.

_2._ Come, there are a band of 'em, I'll charge single. [_Exit Soldier[s]._

_Enter_ Protaldye.

_Prot._ 'Tis wonderful dark, I have lost my man, and dare not call for him, lest I should have more followers than I would pay wages to; what throws am I in, in this travel! these be honourable adventures; had I that honest bloud in my veins again Queen, that your feats and these frights have drain'd from me, honor should pull hard, e'r it drew me into these brakes.

_Devitry._ Who goes there?

_Prot._ Hey ho, here's a pang of preferment.

_Devi._ 'Heart, who goes there?

_Prot._ He that has no heart to your acquaintance, what shall I do with my Jewels and my Letter, my codpiece that's too loose, good, my boots, who is't that spoke to me? here's a friend.

_Devit._ We shall find that presently, stand, as you love your safety, stand.

_Prot._ That unlucky word of standing, has brought me to all this, hold, or I shall never stand you.

_Devit._ I should know that voice, deliver.

_Enter Soldiers._

_Prot._ All that I have is at your service Gentlemen, and much good may it do you.

_Devit._ Zones down with him, do you prate?

_Prot._ Keep your first word as you are Gentlemen, and let me stand, alas, what do you mean?

_2._ To tye you to us Sir, bind you in the knot of friendship.

_Prot._ Alas Sir, all the physick in _Europe_ cannot bind me.

_Devit._ You should have jewels about you, stones, precious stones.

_1._ Captain away, there's company within hearing, if you stay longer, we are surpriz'd.

_Devit._ Let the Devil come, I'll pillage this Fregat a little better yet.

_2._ 'Foot we are lost, they are upon us.

_Devit._ Ha, upon us, make the least noise, 'tis thy parting gaspe.

_3._ Which way shall we make Sir?

_Devit._ Every man his own; do you hear, only bind me, bind me before you goe, and when the company's past, make to this place again, this karvel should have better lading in him, you are slow, why do you not tye harder?

_1._ You are sure enough I warrant you Sir.

_Devit._ Darkness befriend you, away. [_Exit Soldiers._

_Prot._ What tyrants have I met with, they leave me alone in the dark, yet would not have me cry. I shall grow wondrous melancho[l]y if I stay long here without company; I was wont to get a nap with saying my prayers, I'll see if they will work upon me now; but then, if I should talk in my sleep, and they hear me, they would make a Recorder of my windpipe, slit my throat: heaven be prais'd, I hear some noise, it may be new purchase, and then I shall have fellows.

_Devit._ They are gone past hearing, now to taske _Devitry_, help, help, as you are men help; some charitable hand, relieve a poor distressed miserable wretch, thieves, wicked thieves have robb'd me; bound me.

_Prot._ 'Foot, would they had gagg'd you too, your noise will betray us, and fetch them again.

_Devit._ What blessed tongue spake to me, where, where where are you Sir?

_Prot._ A plague of your bawling throat, we are well enough if you have the grace to be thankful for't, do but snore to me, and 'tis as much as I desire, to pass away time with, till morning, then talk as loud as you please Sir, I am bound not to stir, therefore lie still and snore I say.

_Devit._ Then you have met with thieves too I see.

_Prot._ And desire to meet with no more of them.

_Devit._ Alas, what can we suffer more? they are far enough by this time; have they not all, all that we have Sir?

_Prot._ No by my faith have they not Sir; I gave them one trick to boot for their learning, my Boots Sir, my Boots, I have sav'd my stock, and my jewels in them, and therefore desire to hear no more of them.

_Devit._ Now blessing on your wit, Sir, what a dull slave was I, dreamt not of your conveyance, help to unbind me Sir, and I'll undoe you, my life for yours, no worse thief than my self meets you again this night.

_Prot._ Reach me thy hands.

_Devit._ Here Sir, here, I could beat my brains out, that could not think of boots, boots Sir, wide topt boots, I shall love them the better whilst I live; but are you sure your Jewels are here Sir?

_Prot._ Sure sayst thou? ha, ha, ha.

_Devit._ So ho, illo ho. [_Within Soldiers._ Here Captain, here.

_Prot._ 'Foot what do you mean Sir?

_Enter Soldiers._

_Devit._ A trick to boot, say you; here you dull slaves, purchase, purchase the soul of the Rock, Diamonds, sparkling Diamonds.

_Prot._ I'm betraid, lost, past recovery, lost, as you are men.

_Devit._ Nay rook, since you will be prating, we'll share your carrion with you, have you any other conveyance now Sir?

_1._ 'Foot here are Letters, Epistles, familiar Epistles, we'll see what treasure is in them, they are seal'd sure.

_Prot._ Gentlemen, as you are Gentlemen spare my Letters, and take all willingly, all: I'll give you a release, a general release, and meet you here to morrow with as much more.

_Devit._ Nay, since you have your tricks, and your conveyances, we will not leave a wrinkle of you unsearcht.

_Prot._ Hark, there comes company, you will be betraid, as you love your safeties, beat out my brains, I shall betray you else.

_Devit._ Treason, unheard of Treason, monstrous, monstrous villanies.

_Prot._ I confess my self a Traitor, shew your selves good subjects, and hang me up for't.

_1._ If it be treason, the discovery will get our pardon, Captain.

_Devit._ Would we were all lost, hang'd, quarter'd, to save this one, one innocent Prince; _Thierry_'s poison'd, by his mother poison'd, the Mistriss to this stallion, who by that poison ne'er shall sleep again.

_2._ 'Foot let us mince him by piece-meal[e], till he eat himself up.

_3._ Let us dig out his heart with needles, and half broil him like a Mussel.

_Prot._ Such another and I prevent you, my bloud's setled already.

_Devit._ Here's that shall remove it, toad, viper, drag him unto _Martel_, unnatural par[r]icide, cruel, bloudy woman.

_Omnes._ On you dogfish, leech, caterpillar.

_Devit._ A longer sight of him will make my rage turn pity, and with his suddain end, prevent revenge and torture, wicked, wicked _Brunhalt_. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Bawdber _and three Courtiers_.

_1._ Not sleep at all, no means.

_2._ No Art can do it.

_Bawdb._ I will assure you, he can sleep no more Than a hooded Hawk[e], a centinel to him, Or one of the City Constables are tops.

_3._ How came he so?

_Bawdb._ They are too wise that dare know, Something's amiss, heaven help all.

_1._ What cure has he?

_Bawdb._ Armies of those we call Physitians, some with glisters, Some with Lettice-caps, some posset-drinks, some Pills, Twenty consulting here about a drench, [As many here to blood him; Then comes a Don of _Spaine_, and he prescribes More cooling opium then would kill a turke, Or quench a whore ith dogdayes; after him A wise Italian, and he cries, tie unto him A woman of fourescore, whose bones are marble, Whose bloud snow water, not so much heate about her As may conceive a prayer: after him An English Doctor, with a bunch of pot hearbes; And he cries out Endiffe and suckery, With a few mallow rootes and butter milke, And talkes of oyle made of a churchmans charity, Yet still he wakes.

_1._ But your good honor Has a praye[r] in store if all should faile.

_Bawdb._ I could have prayed, and handsomely, But age and an ill memory.

_3._ Has spoyl'd your primmer.

_Bawdb._ Yet if there be a man of faith i'the Court, And can pray for a pension.

_Enter Thierry, on a bed, with Doctors and attendants._

_2._ Here's the King Sir, And those that will pray without pay.

_Bawdb._ Then pray for me too.

_1 Doct._ How does your grace now feele your selfe?

_Thier._ What's that?

_1 Doct._ Nothing at all Sir, but your fancy.

_Thier._ Tell me, Can ever these eyes more shut up in slumbers, Assure my soule there is sleepe? is there night And rest for humane labors? do not you And all the world as I do, out stare time, And live like funerall lampes never extinguisht? Is there a grave, and do not flatter me, Nor feare to tell me truth; and in that grave Is there a hope I shall sleepe, can I die, Are not my miseries immortall? o The happinesse of him that drinkes his water After his weary day, and sleepes for ever, Why do you crucifie me thus with faces, And gaping strangely upon one another, When shall I rest?

_2 Doct._ O Sir, be patient.

_Thier._ Am I not patient? have I not endur'd More then a maingy dog among your dosses? Am I not now your patient? yee can make Unholesome fooles sleepe for a garded foote-cloth; Whores for a hot sin offering; yet I must crave That feede ye, and protect ye, and proclame ye, Because my powre is far above your searching, Are my diseases so? can ye cure none But those of equall ignorance, dare ye kill me?

_1 Doct._ We do beseech your grace be more reclam'd, This talke doth but distemper you.

_Thier._ Well, I will die In spight of all your potions; one of you sleepe, Lie downe and sleepe here, that I may behold What blessed rest it is my eyes are robde of: See, he can sleepe, sleepe any where, sleepe now, When he that wakes for him can never slumber, I'st not a dainty ease?

_2 Doct._ Your grace shall feele it.

_Thier._ O never I, never, the eyes of heaven See but their certaine motions, and then sleepe, The rages of the _Ocean_ have their slumbers, And quiet silver calmes; each violence Crownes in his end a peace, but my fixt fires Shall never, never set, who's that?

_Enter Martell, Brunhalt, Devitry, souldiers._

_Mart._ No woman, Mother of mischiefe, no, the day shall die first, And all good things live in a worse then thou art, Ere thou shalt sleepe, doest thou see him?

_Brun._ Yes, and curse him, And all that love him foole, and all live by him.

_Mart._ Why art thou such a monster?

_Brun._ Why art thou So tame a knave to aske me?

_Mart._ Hope of hell, By this faire holy light, and all his wrongs Which are above thy yeares, almost thy vices, Thou shalt not rest, not feele more what is pitty, Know nothing necessary, meete no society, But what shall curse and crucifie thee, feele in thy selfe Nothing but what thou art, bane, and bad conscience, Till this man rest; but for whose reverence Because thou art his mother, I would say Whore, this shall be, do ye nod? ile waken ye With my swords point.

_Brun._ I wish no more of heaven, Nor hope no more, but a sufficient anger To torture thee.

_Mart._ See, she that makes you see Sir, And to your misery still see, your mother, The mother of your woes Sir, of your waking, The mother of your peoples cries, and curses, Your murdering mother, your malicious mother:

_Thier._ Phisitians, halfe my state to sleepe an houre now; Is it so mother?

_Brun._ Yes it is so sonne; And were it yet againe to do, it should be.

_Mart._ She nods againe, swing her.

_Thier._ But mother, For yet I love that reverence, and to death Dare not forget you have bin so; was this, This endlesse misery, this curelesse malice, This snatching from me all my youth together, All that you made me for, and happy mothers Crownde with eternall time are proud to finish, Done by your will?

_Brun._ It was, and by that will.

_Thier._ O mother, do not lose your name, forget not The touch of nature in you, tendernes 'Tis all the soule of woman, all the sweetnesse; Forget not I beseech you what are children, Nor how you [have] gron'd for um, to what love They are borne inheritors, with what care kept, And as they rise to ripenesse still remember How they impe out your age; and when time calls you, That as an Autum flower you fall, forget not How round about your hearse they hang like penons.

_Brun._ Holy foole, Whose patience to prevent my wrongs has kill'd thee, Preach not to me of punishments, or feares, Or what I ought to be, but what I am, A woman in her liberall will defe[at]ed, In all her greatnesse crost, in pleasure blasted, My angers have bin laught at, my ends slighted, And all those glories that had crownd my fortunes, Suffer'd by blasted vertue to be scatter'd, I am the fruitefull mother of these angers, And what such have done, reade, and know thy ruine.

_Thier._ Heaven forgive you.

_Mart._ She tells you true, for milions of her mischiefes Are now apparent, _Protaldye_, we have taken An equall agent with her, to whose care After the damnde defeate on you, she trusted.

_Enter Messenger._

The bringing in of _Leonor_ the bastard Son to your murther'd brother, her Physitian By this time is attacht to that damn'd devil.

_Mess._ 'Tis like he will be so, for e'er we came Fearing an equal justice for his mischiefs, He drencht himself.

_Brun._ He did like one of mine then.

_Thier._ Must I still see these miseries, no night To hide me from their horrors, that _Protaldy_ See justice fall upon.

_Brun._ Now I could sleep too.

_Enter_ Ordella.

_Mart._ I'll give you yet more Poppy, bring the Lady And heaven in her embraces; gives him quiet, Madam, unveil yourself.

_Ordel._ I do forgive you, And though you sought my bloud, yet I'll pray for you.

_Brun._ Art thou alive?

_Mart._ Now could you sleep?

_Brun._ For ever.

_Mart._ Go carry her without wink of sleep, or quiet, Where her strong knave _Protaldye_'s broke o'th' wheel, And let his cries and roars be musick to her, I mean to waken her.

_Thier._ Do her no wrong.

_Mart._ Nor right, as you love justice.

_Brun._ I will think, And if there be new curses in old nature, I have a soul dare send them.

_Mart._ Keep her waking. [_Exit_ Brunhalt.

_Thier._ What's that appears so sweetly? there's that face.

_Mart._ Be moderate, Lady.

_Thier._ That Angels face.

_Mart._ Goe nearer.

_Thier. Martel_, I cannot last long, see the soul, I see it perfectly of my _Ordella_, The heavenly figure of her sweetness there, Forgive me gods, it comes, Divinest substance, Kneel, kneel, kneel every one, Saint of thy Sex, If it be for my cruelty thou comest, Do ye see her hoe?

_Mart._ Yes Sir, and you shall know her.

_Thier._ Down, down again, to be reveng'd for bloud, Sweet Spirit I am ready, she smiles on me, O blessed sign of Peace.

_Mart._ Goe nearer Lady.

_Ordel._ I c[o]me to make you happy.

_Thier._ Hear you that, Sir? She comes to crown my soul: away, get sacrifice Whilst I with holy Honors.

_Mart._ She's alive, Sir.

_Thier._ In everlasting life, I know it friend, Oh happy, happy soul.

_Ordel._ Alas, I live Sir, A mortal woman still.

_Thier._ Can spirits weep too?

_Mart._ She's no spirit Sir, pray kiss her, Lady, Be very gentle to him.