Part 4

_Sfor._ Haue you not heard the newes?

_Iag._ Of what, my Lord?

_Sfor._ _Lisandro_, and the Princesse.

_Iag._ Not as yet.

_Sfor._ Then I’le resolue you.

_Iag._ Pray you doe, my Lord.

_Sfor._ The Aduocates both vsed their vtmost skill, To iustifie and quit the Sex they stood for, With arguments, and reasons so profound On eyther side, that it was hard to say, Which way the scale of Iustice would incline.

_Iag._ I ioy to heare it; And to say the truth, Both Sexes equally should beare the blame; For both offend alike. But pray’ proceed.

_Sfor._ At length, the Aduocate that stood for vs, Preuail’d so farre, with his forc’d Oratorie, The Lord _Nicanor_ too, abetting him, That maugre all the Amazonians wit, Which was (indeed) beyond expression, The sentence past against the female Sex; And the poore Princesse is adiudg’d to death.

_Iag._ The Heauens forbid! The Princesse doom’d to die?

_Sfor._ Too true, my Lord: I heard the words pronounc’d.

_Iag._ A sentence most vniust, and tyrannous. Where’s the Detractor?

_Sfor._ Crown’d with Victorie, And intertain’d with Triumph.

_Iag._ That iust Heauen Should suffer such an impious wretch to live! I must goe looke the Princesse; when must she dye?

_Sfor._ To morrow’s Sun beholds a daughters fall.

_Iag._ A Sunne must rise to night, to dimme that Sunne, From the beholding such a horrid deed. ’Twas cruell in a King, for such a fact; But in a Father, it is tyrannie.

_Enter_ Misogynos.

_Sfor._ Forbeare, my Lord, the times are dangerous. See! here’s the Champion.

_Iag._ Looke how the Slaue glories in his conquest, How insolent he stalkes! Shall we indure such saucie impudence?

_Sfor._ Put vp, put vp, my Lord, He is not worth our indignation: Let vs a-while obserue him for some sport.

_Enter_ Scanfardoe.

_Scan._ My noble Fencer, I congratulate Your braue atchieuements in the last dayes triumph.

_Mis._ I thanke you, Scholler. Was’t not brauely done?

_Scanf._ Done like thy selfe: the spirits of _Mantua_ And old _Diogenes_ doubled in thee.

_Mis._ I thinke, I haue giuen The Female reputation such a wound, Will not be cured in haste.

_Enter two Gentlemen._

_Iag._ Ha, ha, ha, ha; Pernicious slaue.

_1. Gent._ Worthie _Misogynos_.

_2. Gent._ Noble Champion, We doe applaud Your merit, in the report Of your late conquest.

_Mis._ Thanke you, Gentlemen Truth will preuaile, you see. I speake not for my selfe, in my owne quarrel; But the generall good of all men in the world.

_1. Gent._ We know it, Sir.

_Iag._ Degenerate Monster, how he iustifies His slandrous forgeries?

_Mis._ But, Gentlemen, How goes the rumour? What do’s the Multitude report of mee?

_1. Gent._ Oh Sir, the Men applaud you infinitely; But the Women——

_Mis._ I respect not them: Their curses are my prayers.

_Iag._ Oh damn’d Rogue!

_1. Gent._ If you’le be rul’d by me, go shew your selfe Amongst them all in publique: O 'twill fret Their very galls in pieces.

_Iag._ That was well. Some body second that, and we shall see Excellent pastime; for they’le ne’r indure His sight with any patience.

_Scanf._ Doe i’faith That they may see you haue conquer’d.

_Mis._ And I will. But should they grow outragious—

_2. Gent._ Feare not that: we’le all along with ye.

_Mis._ Will you conduct me safe vnto my Schoole?

_Scan._ I, I, we’le be your Gard. _Exeunt._

_Sfor._ Oh what a Coward ’tis?

_Iag._ You doe him wrong: He fights not with his hands, but with his tongue. Why doe I trifle time? I’le to the Court; This crueltie afflicts my very soule. Good my Lord, ioyne with me; we’le to the King, And see if wee can alter this decree. Oh ’tis a royall Princesse, faire, and chaste!

_Sfor._ But her disdaine, my Lord, hath bin the cause Of many hopefull Youths vntimely end; ’Tis that has harden’d both the Commons hearts, And many a noble Peeres,

_Iag._ Why, what of that? It is not fit affection should be forc’d: Let’s kneele vnto his Grace for her release. Iustice (like Lightning) euer should appeare To few mens ruine, but to all mens feare. _Exit._

SCEN. II.

_Enter_ NICANOR, _and a Gentleman_.

_Nic._ The Princesse suffers then?

_Gent._ This Morning, Sir, Vnlesse the mercie of the King be found More then is yet expected.

_Nic._ Oh my heart, Canst thou indure to heare that heauie sound, And wilt not burst with griefe?

_Gent._ Nay, good my Lord:

_Nic._ Oh, worthie Sir, you did not know the ioyes That we all lost in her. She was the hope, And onely comfort of Sicilia; And the last Branch was left of that faire stocke; Which (if she dye) is wither’d, quite decay’d. But I haue such a losse.

_Gent._ You haue indeed: Yours is the greatest of a particular: For you haue lost a beautious Spouse, my Lord; And yet the rich hopes of a royall Crowne Might mitigate your sorrow. You are next.

_Nic._ Doe not renew my griefe with naming that. Oh that it were to morrow! happie day, Bestow’d on some more meritorious, That might continue long, for I am old. I should be well content.

_Gent._ Say not so: There’s no one merits that more then your selfe: You are elected by the Kings owne house, And generall consent of all the Realme, For the Successour after his decease: Whose life pray Heauen defend.

_Nic._ Amen, Amen, And send him long to raigne; but not on earth. Sir, you are neere the King; Pray, if you heare His Highnesse aske for me, excuse me, Sir: You see my sorrow’s such, I am vnfit To come into the presence of a King.

_Gent._ I see it, Sir, and will report as much.

_Nic._ You will report a lye then; ha, ha, ha. My Lungs will not afford me wind enough To laugh my passions out. To gaine a Crowne, Who would not at a funerall laugh and sing? All men of wisedome would, and so will I: Yet to the worlds eye, I am drown’d in teares, And held most carefull of the King and State, When I meane nothing lesse. _Lorenzo’s_ dead: The scornefull Princesse, that refus’d my loue, Is going to her death. The King, I know, Cannot continue long: Then may I say, As our Italian heires at fathers deaths, _Quid Iude, Reine ta soll_. The King alone made mee the King: Me thinkes I feele the royall Diadem Vpon my head already; ha, ha, ha. _Exit._

_A dumbe shew._

_Enter two Mourners_, Atlanta _with the Axe_, Leonida _all in white, her haire loose, hung with ribans; supported on eyther side by two Ladies_, Aurelia _following as chiefe Mourner. Pase softly ouer the stage._

_A Song in parts._

_Whilst wee sing the dolefull knell Of this Princesse passing-bell, Let the Woods and Valleys ring Ecchoes to our sorrowing; And the Tenor of their Song, Be ding dong, ding, dong, dong, ding, dong, dong, ding, dong._

_Nature now shall boast no more, Of the riches of her Store, Since in this her chiefest prize, All the Stocke of beautie dies; Then, what cruell heart can long Forbeare to sing this sad ding dong? This sad ding dong, ding dong._

_Fawnes and Siluans of the Woods, Nimphes that haunt the Cristall flouds, Sauage Beasts more milder then The vnrelenting hearts of men, Be partakers of our mone, And with vs sing ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, dong, ding dong._

_Exeunt Omnes._

_Enter_ Misogynos, _and_ Swash.

_Mis._ _Swash._

_Swa._ At your Buckler, Sir?

_Mis._ Perceiu’st thou nothing, _Swash_?

_Swa._ How meane you, Sir?

_Mis._ No strange signe of alteration; hum.

_Swa._ Beyond imagination.

_Mis._ How, good _Swash_?

_Swa._ Why, from a Fencer, you’re turn’d Orator.

_Mis._ Oh! _Cedunt arma Togæ_; that’s no wonder. Perceiu’st thou nothing else? Looke I not pale? Are not my armes infolded? my eyes fixt, My head deiected, my words passionate, And yet perceiu’st thou nothing?

_Swash._ Let me see, me thinkes, you looke Sir, like some Desperate Gamester, that had lost all his estate In a dicing House: you met not With those Money-changers, did you? Or haue you falne amongst the female Sex, And they haue paid you for your last dayes worke?

_Mis._ No, no, thou art as wide, as short in my disease: Thou neuer canst imagine what it is, Vnlesse, I tell thee. _Swash_, I am in loue.

_Swash._ Ha, ha, ha, in loue?

_Mis._ Nay, ’tis such a wonder, _Swash_, I scarce beleeue, It can be so, my selfe, and yet it is.

_Swash._ The Deuill it is as soone, and sooner too: You loue the Deuill, better then a woman.

_Mis._ Oh, doe not say so, _Swash_, I doe recant.

_Swash._ In loue? not possible: This is some tempting Syren has bewitcht you.

_Mis._ Oh! peace, good _Swash_.

_Swash._ Some Cockatrice, the very Curse of man?

_Mis._ No more, if thou dost loue me.

_Swash._ Your owne words. I know not how to please you better, Sir. Will you from Oratour, turne Heretike, And sinne against your owne Conscience?

_Mis._ Oh, _Swash, Swash_! _Cupid_, the little Fencer playd his Prize, At seuerall weapons in _Atlanta’s_ eyes, He challeng’d me, we met and both did try His vtmost skill, to get the Victorie. Lookes were oppos’d ’gainst lookes, and stead of words, Were banded frowne ’gainst frowne, and words ’gainst words But cunning _Cupid_ forecast me to recoile: For when he plaid at sharpe, I had the foyle.

_Swash._ Nay, now he is in loue, I see it plaine: I was inspir’d with this Poeticall vaine, When I fell first in loue: God bo’y yee, Sir: I must goe looke another Master.

_Mis._ _Swash._

_Swash._ Y’are a dead man: beleeue it, Sir, I would not giue two-pence for a Lease Of a hundred pound a yeere made for your life. Can you that haue bin at defiance with vm all, Abused, arraigned vm, hang’d vm, if you could: You hang’d vm more then halfe, you tooke away All their good names, I’me sure, can you then hope, That any will loue you? A Ladie, Sir, Will sooner meet a Tinker in the street, And try what Metall lyes within his Budget, A Countesse lye with me, an Emperour Take a poore Milke-maide, Sir, to be his Wife, Before a Kitchen-Wench will fancie you.

_Mis._ Doe not torment me, misbeleeuing Dolt, I tell thee, I doe loue, and must enioy.

_Swash._ Who, in the name of women, should this bee?

_Mis._ What an obtuse Conception do’st thou beare? Did not I tell thee, ’twas _Atlanta, Swash_?

_Swash._ Who, she Amazonian Dame, your Aduocate, A Masculine Feminine?

_Mis._ I, _Swash_, She must be more then Female, has the power To mollifie the temper of my Loue.

_Swash._ Why, she’s the greatest enemie you haue.

_Mis._ The greater is my glorie, _Swash_, in that That hauing vanquisht all, I attaine her. The Prize consists alone In my eternall credit and renowne. Oh, what a Race of wittie Oratours Shall we beget betwixt vs: Come, good _Swash_, Ile write a Letter to her presently, Which thou shalt carry: if thou speedst, I sweare, Thou shalt be _Swetnams_ Heire.

_Swash._ The Deuill I feare, Will dispossesse me of that Heritage.

_Enter two Gentlemen._

_1. Gent._ But are you sure she is beheaded, Sir?

_2. Gent._ Most certaine, Sir, both by the Kings Decree, And generall voyce of all, for instance see.

_1. Gent._ The wofull’st sight. That ere mine eyes beheld.

_2. Gent._ A sight of griefe and horrour.

_1. Gent._ It is a piece of the extremest Iustice That euer Memory can Register.

_2. Gent._ I, in a Father.

_1. Gent._ Oh, I pray forbeare, The time is full of danger euery-where. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ Lisander, _and the Guard_.

_Lis._ Good gentle friends, before I leaue the Land, Suffer me to take my last fare-well Of my owne dearest deare _Leonida_. Accept this poore reward: would time permit. I would more largely recompence your loues.

_1. Gua._ You haue preuail’d, my Lord, but pray bee briefe. We are inioyn’d by strict Commission, To see you shipt away this present tyde.

_Lis._ Indeed, I will.

_1. Gua._ Then here you may behold, All that is left of faire _Leonida_.

_Lis._ Oh——

_2. Gua._ How fare you, Sir.

_Lis._ Oh, Gentlemen, Can you behold this sacred Cabinet, Which Nature once had made her Treasurie? But now broke ope by sacrilegious hands, And not let fall a teare: you are vnkind. Not Marble but would wet at such a sight, And cannot you, strange stupiditie! Thou meere Relike of my dearest Saint! Vpon this Altar I will sacrifice This Offering to appeaze thy murd’red Ghost.

_1. Gua._ Restraine, my Lord, this Passion, we lament As much as you, and grieue vnfaynedly For her vntimely losse.

_Lis._ As much as I? Oh, ’tis not possible. You temporize with sorrow: mine’s sincere, Which I will manifest to all the World. See what a beauteous forme she yet retaynes, In the despight of Fate, that men may see, Death could not seize but on her mortall parts: Her beautie was diuine and heauenly.

_1. Gua._ Nay, good my Lord, dispatch, the time’s but short.

_Lis._ Indeed, I will, to make an end of time: For I can liue no longer, since that she, For whose sake onely, I held truce with time, Hath left me desolate: no, diuinest loue, What liuing was deny’d vs, weele enioy In Immortalitie, where no Crueltie, Vnder the forme of Iustice, dare appeare. Sweet sacred Spirit, make not too much haste To the Elizian Fields, stay but awhile, And I will follow thee with swifter speed, Then meditation: thus I seale my vow. _Kisses._ Me thinkes, I feele fresh heat, as if her soule Had resum’d her former seate agen, To solemnize this blessed Vnion, In our last consummation, or else it stayes, Awayting onely for my companie: It does, indeed, and I haue done thee wrong, To let thy heauenly eyes want me so long, But now I come, deare Loue, Oh, oh!

_1. Gua._ What sound was that?

_2. Gua._ Oh, we are all vndone, The Prince has slaine himselfe: what shall we doe?

_1. Gua._ There is no way but one, let’s leaue the Land, If we stay heere, we shall be sure to dye, And suffer for our too much lenitie, Though we are innocent.

_2. Gua._ Then haste away: The doome weele execute vpon our selues, And ship with speed for Holland, there, no doubt, We shall haue entertaynment, There are warres threatned betwixt Spaine and them.

_1. Gua._ Then let vs hoyse vp sayle, mercy receiue Thy soule to Heauen, Earth to Earth we leaue. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ Atlanta.

_Atlan._ What spectacle is this? A man new slaine, Close by the Princes Herse! Who is’t? Oh, me, The Noble Prince _Lisandro_. Cruell Fate, Is there no hope of life? See, he looks vp, Ile beare him out of the ayre, and stop his wound: If there be any hope, I haue a Balme Of knowne experience, in effecting cures Almost impossible, and if the wound Be not too deadly, will recouer him. _Exit Lorenzo._

_Enter_ Aurelia _and_ Iago.

_Iag._ Deare Queene, haue patience.

_Aur._ How, _Iago_, patience? Tis such a sinne, that were I guiltie of, I should despayre of mercie. Can a Mother Haue all the blessings both of Heauen and Earth, The hopefull issue of a thousand soules Extinct in one, and yet haue patience? I wonder patient Heauen beares so long, And not send thunder to destroy the Land. The Earth, me thinkes, should vomit sulph’rous Damps, To stifle and annoy both man and beast, Seditious Hell should send blacke Furies forth. To terrifie the hearts of tyrant Kings. What say the people? doe they not exclaime, And curse the seruile yoke, in which th’are bound. Vnder so mercilesse a Gouernour?

_Iag._ Madame, in euery mouth is heard to sound. Nothing but murmurings and priuate whispers, Tending to seuerall ends: but all conclude, The King was too seuere for such a Fact.

_Enter_ Atlanta.

_Aur._ _Atlanta_, welcome, Oh my child, my child. There lies the summe of all my miserie!

_Atl._ Gracious Madame, doe but heare me speake.

_Aur._ _Atlanta_, I should wrong thy merit else. What wouldst thou say? Something I know, to mitigate my griefe.

_Atl._ Rather to adde to your afflictions, I am the Messenger of heauie Newes. _Lisandro_, Prince of Naples,

_Aur._ What of him?

_Atl._ Beholding the sad obiect of his loue, His violent passion draue him to despayre, And he hath slaine himselfe.

_Iag._ Disastrous chance!

_Atl._ I found him gasping for his latest breath, And bore him to my Lord _Iago’s_ house, I vs’d my best of skill to saue his life: But all, I feare, in vaine: the mortall wound I find incurable: yet I prolong’d His life a little, that he yet drawes breath: Goe you and visit him with vtmost speed: The Queene and I will follow.

_Iag._ Goe? Ile runne. _Exit Iago._

_Aur._ Was euer Father so vnmercifull, But for that Monster that was cause of this, That bloudie, cruell, and inhumane wretch, That slanderous Detractor of our Sex: That _Misogynos_, that blasphemous Slaue? I will be so reueng’d.

_Enter Clowne._

_Atlan._ Madame, no more, He is not worth your wrath: Let me alone with him.

_Clow._ Whist, doe you heare?

_Atlan._ How now, what art thou?

_Clow._ Not your Seruant, and yet a Messenger, No Seruingman, and yet an Vsher too.

_Atlan._ What are you then, Sir? speake.

_Clow._ That can resolue you, and yet cannot speake, I am no Foole, I am a Fencer, Sir.

_Aur._ A Fencer, sirrah? ha, what Countrey-man?

_Clow._ This Countrey-man, forsooth, but yet borne in England.

_Aur._ How? borne in England, & this Countrey-man?

_Clow._ I haue bin borne in many Countreyes, Madame, But I thinke I am best be this Countrey-man, For many take me for a silly one.

_Aur._ For a silly one?

_Clow._ I, a silly one.

_Atlan._ Oh, Madame, I haue such welcomenesse!

_Aur._ For me, what is’t?

_Atlan._ The baytes of women haue preuented vs, And hee has intrapt himselfe.

_Aur._ How, by what accident?

_Atlan._ Loue, Madame, loue, read that.

_Aur._ How’s this? To the most wise and vertuous Amazon, Chiefe pride and glorie of the Female Sex. A promising induction: what’s within? Magnanimous Ladie, maruell not, That your once Aduersary do’s submit himselfe To your vnconquer’d beautie.

_Atlan._ Cunning Slaue.

_Aur._ Rather impute it to the power of loue, Whose heauenly influence hath wrought in me, So strange a Metamorphosis.

_Atlan._ The very quintessence of flatterie.

_Aur._ In so much, I vow hereafter, to spend all my dayes, Deuoted to your seruice, it shall be To expiate my former blasphemies: My desire is shortly to visit you.

_Atlan._ It shall be to your cost then.

_Aur._ To make testimony of my hearty contrition, Till when and euer I will protest my selfe, To be the conuerted _Misogynist_.

_Atlan._ Ha, ha, ha, why, this is excellent! Beyond imagination.

_Aur._ You must not slip this oportunitie.

_Atlan._ Ile not let passe a minute: his owne man Ile make an instrument to feed his Follies with a kind acceptance, and when he comes, Let me alone to plot his punishment.

_Aur._ Excellent _Atlanta_, I applaud thy wit.

_Atlan._ Ile make him an example to all men, That dares calumniate a womans fame. Attend an answere, Ile reward thee well.

_Clow._ I thanke your Madame-ship, Ime glad o’ this, Tis the best hit that euer Fencer gaue. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ Atticus, Iago, Sforza, _and_ Nicanor.

_Att._ How took the Girle her death? did she not raue? Exclaime vpon me for the Iustice done By a iust Father? how tooke Naples sonne His Exile from our Land? What, no man speake? My Lords, whence springs this alteration? Why stand you thus amaz’d? Methinks your eyes Are fixt in Meditation; and all here Seeme like so many sencelesse Statues, As if your soules had suffer’d an eclipse, Betwixt your iudgements and affections: Is it not so? 'Sdeath, no man answers? _Iago_, you can tell: I’me sure you saw The execution of _Leonida_, Not yet a sillable? If once agen We doe but aske the question, Death tyes vp Your soules for euer. Call a Heads-man there. If for our daughter this dumbe griefe proceed, Why should not We lament as well as you? I was her father; whose deare life I priz’d Aboue mine owne, before she did transgresse: And, could the Law haue so bin satisfi’d. Mine should ha’ paid the ransome of her cryme. But, that the World should know our equitie, Were she a thousand daughters she should die.

_Iag._ I can forbeare no longer. Then (Sir) know, It was about that time, when as the Sunne Had newly climb’d ouer the Easterne hils, To glad the world with his diurnall heat, When the sad ministers of Iustice tooke Your daughter from the bosome of the Queene Whom now she had instructed to receiue Deaths cold imbraces with alacritie: Which she so well had learn’d, that shee did striue, Like a too forward Scholler, to exceed Her Teachers doctrine, So cheerefully she went vnto the Block, As if shee’d past vnto her nuptiall bed. And as the trembling Bride when she espies The Bridegroome hastily vnclothe himselfe, And now beginning to approch the bed, Then she began to quake and shrinke away, To shun the separation of that head, Which is imaginary onely, and not reall. So, when she saw her Executioner Stand readie to strike out that fatall blow, Nature, her frailtie, and the alluring world, Did then begin to oppose her constancie: But she, whose mind was of a nobler frame, Vanquish’d all oppositions, and imbrac’d The stroke with courage beyond Womans strength; And the last words she spoke, said, I reioyce That I am free’d of Fathers tyrannie.

_Attic._ Forbeare to vtter more. We are not pleas’d With these vnpleasing accents: Leaue the world So cheerefully, and speake of tyrannie: She was not guiltie sure. We’le heare no more.

_Iag._ Sir, but you shall: since you inforc’d me speake, I will not leaue a sillable vntold. You ask’d if Naples sonne were banish’d too? Yes, he is banish’d euer from the sight Of mortall eyes againe: for he is dead.

_Nic._ _Lisandro_ dead! By what occasion?

_Iag._ I scorne to answer thee. The King shall know, It was his chance vpon that haplesse houre, To passe that way, conducted by his gard, Towards his banishment; where he beheld The wofull obiect of the Princesse head: There might you see loue, pittie, rage, despaire, Acting together in their seuerall shapes; That it was hard to iudge, which of all those Were most predominant. At last, despaire Became sole Monarke of his passions, Which drew him to this error: Hauing got Leaue of his gard to celebrate his vowes, Vnto that precious relique of his Saint, Where hauing breath’d a mournfull Elegie, After a thousand sighs, ten thousand grones, Still crying out, _Leonida_, my loue! Then, as his death were limited by hers, He sacrifiz’d his life vnto her loue: For there (vnluckily) he slew himselfe.

_Sfor._ The King’s displeas’d, my Lord.

_Iag._ No matter: I’me glad I touch’d his conscience To the quicke. Did you not see How my relation chang’d his countenance, As if my words ingendred in his brest Some new-bred passions?

_Sfor._ Yes, and did obserue How fearefully he gaz’d vpon vs all: _Enter Queene._ Pray heauen it proue not ominous.

_Iag._ The Queene!