SCENE II.--_A Public Place in Nineveh.

_Enter_ ALCON, THRASYBULUS, SAMIA, _and_ CLESIPHON.

_Cles._ Mother, some meat, or else I die for want.

_Samia._ Ah little boy, how glad thy mother would Supply thy wants, but naked need denies! Thy father's slender portion in this world By usury and false deceit is lost: No charity within this city bides; All for themselves, and none to help the poor.

_Cles._ Father, shall Clesiphon have no relief?

_Alc._ Faith, my boy, I must be flat with thee, we must feed upon proverbs now; as "Necessity hath no law," "A churl's feast is better than none at all;" for other remedies have we none, except thy brother Radagon help us.

_Samia._ Is this thy slender care to help our child? Hath nature arm'd thee to no more remorse?[93] Ah, cruel man, unkind and pitiless!-- Come, Clesiphon, my boy, I'll beg for thee.

_Cles._ O, how my mother's mourning moveth me!

_Alc._ Nay, you shall pay me interest for getting the boy, wife, before you carry him hence: alas, woman, what can Alcon do more? I'll pluck the belly out of my heart for thee, sweet Samia; be not so waspish.

_Samia._ Ah silly man, I know thy want is great, And foolish I to crave where nothing is. Haste, Alcon, haste, make haste unto our son; Who, since he is in favour of the king, May help this hapless gentleman and us For to regain our goods from tyrant's hands.

_Thras._ Have patience, Samia, wait your weal from heaven: The gods have rais'd your son, I hope, for this, To succour innocents in their distress. Lo, where he comes from the imperial court; Go, let us prostrate us before his feet.

_Alc._ Nay, by my troth, I'll never ask my son's blessing; che trow, cha[94] taught him his lesson to know his father.

_Enter_ RADAGON _attended._[95]

What, son Radagon! i'faith, boy, how dost thee?

_Radag._ Villain, disturb me not; I cannot stay.

_Alc._ Tut, son, I'll help you of that disease quickly, for I can hold thee: ask thy mother, knave, what cunning I have to ease a woman when a qualm of kindness comes too near her stomach; let me but clasp mine arms about her body, and say my prayers in her bosom, and she shall be healed presently.

_Radag._ Traitor unto my princely majesty, How dar'st thou lay thy hands upon a king?

_Samia._ No traitor, Radagon, but true is he: What, hath promotion blearèd thus thine eye, To scorn thy father when he visits thee? Alas, my son, behold with ruthful eyes Thy parents robb'd of all their worldly weal By subtle means of usury and guile: The judge's ears are deaf and shut up close; All mercy sleeps: then be thou in these plunges[96] A patron to thy mother in her pains: Behold thy brother almost dead for food: O, succour us, that first did succour thee!

_Radag._ What, succour me! false callet,[97] hence, avaunt! Old dotard, pack! move not my patience: I know you not; kings never look so low.

_Samia._ You know us not! O Radagon, you know That, knowing us, you know your parents then; Thou know'st this womb first brought thee forth to light: I know these paps did foster thee, my son.

_Alc._ And I know he hath had many a piece of bread and cheese at my hands, as proud as he is; that know I.

_Thras._ I wait no hope of succour in this place, Where children hold their fathers in disgrace.

_Radag._ Dare you enforce the furrows of revenge Within the brows of royal Radagon? Villain, avaunt! hence, beggars, with your brats!-- Marshal, why whip you not these rogues away, That thus disturb our royal majesty?

_Cles._ Mother, I see it is a wondrous thing, From base estate for to become a king; For why, methink, my brother in these fits Hath got a kingdom, and hath lost his wits.

_Radag._ Yet more contempt before my royalty? Slaves, fetch out tortures worse than Tityus' plagues, And tear their tongues from their blasphémous heads.

_Thras._ I'll get me gone, though wo-begone with grief: No hope remains:--come, Alcon, let us wend.

_Radag._ 'Twere best you did, for fear you catch your bane. [_Exit_ THRASYBULUS.

_Samia._ Nay, traitor, I will haunt thee to the death: Ungracious son, untoward, and perverse, I'll fill the heavens with echoes of thy pride, And ring in every ear thy small regard, That dost despise thy parents in their wants; And breathing forth my soul before thy feet, My curses still shall haunt thy hateful head, And being dead, my ghost shall thee pursue.

_Enter_ RASNI, _attended on by his_ Magi _and_ Kings.

_Rasni._ How now! what mean these outcries in our court, Where naught should sound but harmonies of heaven? What maketh Radagon so passionate?

_Samia._ Justice, O king, justice against my son!

_Rasni._ Thy son! what son?

_Samia._ This cursèd Radagon.

_Radag._ Dread monarch, this is but a lunacy, Which grief and want hath brought the woman to.-- What, doth this passion hold you every moon?

_Samia._ O, politic in sin and wickedness, Too impudent for to delude thy prince!-- O Rasni, this same womb first brought him forth: This is his father, worn with care and age, This is his brother, poor unhappy lad, And I his mother, though contemn'd by him. With tedious toil we got our little good, And brought him up to school with mickle charge: Lord, how we joy'd to see his towardness! And to ourselves we oft in silence said, This youth when we are old may succour us. But now preferr'd, and lifted up by thee, We quite destroy'd by cursèd usury, He scorneth me, his father, and this child.

_Cles._ He plays the serpent right, describ'd in Æsop's tale, That sought the foster's death, that lately gave him life.

_Alc._ Nay, an please your majesty-ship, for proof he was my child, search the parish-book: the clerk will swear it, his godfathers and godmothers can witness it: it cost me forty pence in ale and cakes on the wives at his christening.--Hence, proud king! thou shalt never more have my blessing!

_Rasni_ [_taking_ RADAGON _apart_]. Say sooth in secret, Radagon, Is this thy father?

_Radag._ Mighty king, he is; I blushing tell it to your majesty.

_Rasni._ Why dost thou, then, contemn him and his friends?

_Radag._ Because he is a base and abject swain, My mother and her brat both beggarly, Unmeet to be allied unto a king. Should I, that look on Rasni's countenance, And march amidst his royal equipage, Embase myself to speak to such as they? 'Twere impious so to impair the love That mighty Rasni bears to Radagon. I would your grace would quit them from your sight, That dare presume to look on Jove's compare.

_Rasni._ I like thy pride, I praise thy policy; Such should they be that wait upon my court: Let me alone to answer, Radagon.-- Villains, seditious traitors, as you be, That scandalise the honour of a king, Depart my court, you stales of impudence, Unless you would be parted from your limbs! Too base for to entitle fatherhood To Rasni's friend, to Rasni's favourite.

_Radag._ Hence, begging scold! hence, caitiff clogg'd with years! On pain of death, revisit not the court. Was I conceiv'd by such a scurvy trull, Or brought to light by such a lump of dirt? Go, losel, trot it to the cart and spade! Thou art unmeet to look upon a king. Much less to be the father of a king.

_Alc._ You may see, wife, what a goodly piece of work you have made: have I taught you arsmetry, as _additiori multiplicarum_, the rule of three, and all for the begetting of a boy, and to be banished for my labour? O pitiful hearing!--Come, Clesiphon, follow me.

_Cles._ Brother, beware: I oft have heard it told, That sons who do their fathers scorn, shall beg when they be old.

_Radag._ Hence, bastard boy, for fear you taste the whip! [_Exeunt_ ALCON _and_ CLESIPHON.

_Samia._ O all you heavens, and you eternal powers, That sway the sword of justice in your hands (If mother's curses for her son's contempt May fill the balance of your fury full), Pour down the tempest of your direful plagues Upon the head of cursèd Radagon! [_A flame of fire appears from beneath; and_ RADAGON _is swallowed._ So you are just: now triumph, Samia! [_Exit._

_Rasni._ What exorcising charm, or hateful hag, Hath ravishèd the pride of my delight? What tortuous planets, or malevolent Conspiring power, repining destiny, Hath made the concave of the earth unclose, And shut in ruptures lovely Radagon? If I be lord commander of the clouds, King of the earth, and sovereign of the seas, What daring Saturn, from his fiery den, Doth dart these furious flames amidst my court? I am not chief, there is more great then I: What, greater than th' Assyrian Satrapes?[98] It may not be, and yet I fear there is, That hath bereft me of my Radagon.

_First Magus._ Monarch, and potentate of all our provinces. Muse not so much upon this accident, Which is indeed nothing miraculous. The hill of Sicily, dread sovereign, Sometime on sudden doth evacuate Whole flakes of fire, and spews out from below The smoky brands that Vulcan's bellows drive: Whether by winds enclosèd in the earth, Or fracture of the earth by river's force, Such chances as was this are often seen; Whole cities sunk, whole countries drownèd quite. Then muse not at the loss of Radagon, But frolic with the dalliance of your love. Let cloths of purple, set with studs of gold, Embellishèd with all the pride of earth, Be spread for Alvida to sit upon: Then thou, like Mars courting the queen of love, Mayst drive away this melancholy fit.

_Rasni._ The proof is good and philosophical; And more, thy counsel plausible and sweet.-- Come, lords, though Rasni wants his Radagon, Earth will repay him many Radagons, And Alvida with pleasant looks revive The heart that droops for want of Radagon. [_Exeunt._

_Oseas._ When disobedience reigneth in the child, And princes' ears by flattery be beguil'd; When laws do pass by favour, not by truth; When falsehood swarmeth both in old and youth; When gold is made a god to wrong the poor, And charity exil'd from rich men's door; When men by wit do labour to disprove The plagues for sin sent down by God above; When great men's ears are stopt to good advice, And apt to hear those tales that feed their vice; Woe to the land! for from the East shall rise A Lamb of peace, the scourge of vanities, The judge of truth, the patron of the just, Who soon will lay presumption in the dust, And give the humble poor their hearts' desire, And doom the worldlings to eternal fire: Repent, all you that hear, for fear of plagues. O London, this and more doth swarm in thee! Repent, repent, for why the Lord doth see: With trembling pray, and mend what is amiss; The sword of justice drawn already is.