THE EXPLANATION of the frontispiece.  
IT was when Industry did sleep  
The Wolf was Tutor to the Sheep,  
And to amaze a plainer man,  
The thief was made the guardian.  
But can a Wolf forget to prey?  
Can Night be lightened into Day?  
Without respect of laws or blood,  
His charge he makes to be his food.  
With that triumphant be sits down,  
Oppressed, not honoured with a Crown,  
And on the lesser beasts does try  
A most Authentic Tyranny:  
This the French Lion hears, and when  
He's thought fast sleeping in his den,  
Vengeance and He at once do wake,  
And on the Wolf their fury slake.  
Bad acts may bloom sometimes, but ne'er grow high,  
Nor do they live so sure, as they shall die.   

SFORZA  by Rob: Gomersall 
London Printed for John Marriott. 1628. Tho: Cecill. Scul    

THE tragedy OF LODOVICK SFORZA DUKE OF Milan.  
By Robert Gomersall.  
Imprinted at LONDON in the year M DC XXVIII.   

TO HIS MOST WORTHY FRIEND Mr. FRANCIS HIDE PROCTOR OF OXFORD.  
Having resolved what to print, I could not be long doubtful unto whom: it had been an unfriendly absurdity not to have entitled him to my second, who might not unjustly have challenged the patronage of my first Labour. But if until this time I had had no reason for such a dedication, if the same most fruitful College had not for these many years known us of the same time and friendship, if in all offices of life I had not still found you most inseparably one with me: yet this Work at this time could not offer itself to any so justly as to you. It is to your name that I owe whatever fruits of my spent time shall be preserved, it is to your name that I owe whatever fruits of my former time, being unhappily lost, may have a possibility of recovery. And could I dedicate any of my remaining Labours with more justice unto any, then to him, by whose friendly care, I dare almost assure myself of them which are remaining? But some perhaps may say for this, that it had been better if it had been lost, or at least that these kind of Labours are more judiciously suppressed then published. Sermons had been fitter for my setting forth, and to preach more proper than to write. But is not this to preach? I have heard diverse speak an hour, who preach not, and there are many, who effectually preach, that are more sparing of their breath. If I make the ambitious see that he climbs but to a fall, the usurper to acknowledge, that blood is but a slippery foundation of power, all men in general to confess that the most glorious is not the most safe place: is not this to cry down Ambition and Usurpation? or is it less to show, than to threaten? and are not men so much moved with the event itself, as with the commination of the event? And yet in this age, wherein only Heresy or Sedition prefer a Book, wherein Contradiction is called Learning, and Zeal wonders that she is become Faction, I can expect but a few Readers, whose small number shall be no discouragement at all to me if that your judgement shall counterpoise them, which is the only desired crown of  
Your true friend, R. G.   

The Argument.  
Lodovic Sforza, after he had cunningly supplanted the Duchess from the wardship of her son Galeazzo, as cunningly practiseth to be the murderer of him, of whom he would seem to be the Protector. To this end he was to remove this impediment. Isabella daughter to the Prince of Calabria, and Grandchild unto Ferdinand King of Naples, was wife to Galeazzo. A woman of a spirit as high as her birth, and equal to Sforza in all things but the sex: she perceiving the stupidity of her husband, and how that whatsoever she projected for his safety, he discovered to his uncle, for his overthrow, makes her father secretly acquainted with all the passages, desiring him to vindicate his son in law from the usurpation of his Protector. This could not be so privately dispatched, but that Sforza had an inkling of it, whether out of his own reach he guessed it: or by his nephew's sottishness he understood it. To prevent then his own ruin, whilst he intends his Nephews, he ventures on those remedies which the height of fear rather rusheth on, then chooseth, which more express and exchange, then remove, or avoid a danger. He knew the French claim to Naples, to the prosecution of which he solicits the young King; whom either his right, or inconsiderateness quickly arms unto the action. But before his coming, he by continual messengers deludes the old King, and makes him believe that there was no purpose of his coming, and that the French journey unto Naples, as it was only the child of rumor, & had no being but from fame, so in a very short space, in the age of a wonder it would vanish and expire. Thus was Ferdinand persuaded from his necessary defence, till having certainly understood that all defence would be too late, the French being already very strong upon his frontiers, cheated, not conquered, he dies and leaves his son Alphonso heir of his kingdom, and his troubles. The French King being now entered in person into Italy, Galeazzo dies of a poison at Pavia, when Sforza has brought this worse poison into his Country. But the French growing prodigiously victorious, and almost by the very seeing over coming their opposites, Sforza begins to be apprehensive of his own danger, and strives to rid himself of these encumbrances, in the which a too much providence had entangled him. A consideration without doubt necessary, but almost past the season, it being near unto an impossibility to expel him now, whom it was far from any difficulty at the first not to admit. So that this second resolution did only proclaim the folly of the first, which either in wisdom he should not have ventured on, or, in honesty not have altered. But howsoever, he enters into a new league with the Venetians, and gives the French after their victorious return from Naples half an overthrow at Taro. And now when he thinks himself confirmed in his Dukedom, when he as little feared ruin, as he deserved preservation; the French King dies suddenly, to whom Lewis, the true Duke of Orleans, and titular Duke of Milan, succeeded, with him Sforza's late friend, the Venetians conclude a league. Thus Sforza being left alone, raiseth two armies under the conduct of the two Sanseverins, men, whom he had highly favoured and advanced. But it is scarce seen, that a faithless Master should have a trusty servant, and he that hath no respect to his own word, shall in the extremest of his necessities, find all others promises but words. The elder revolts, and the younger, without the least show of resistance, flies, and Sforza himself is so closely pursued, that he can scarce get away safe into Germany. The French abusing their late victory, the Millanesi with a general consent, recall Sforza; who, like a melting snow, overflows all before him, and recovers most of his Duchy, with the same easiness that he had lost it. The strength of his Army consisted especially of Swissers, whom the late overthrow of the warlike Duke of Burgundy, and these Italian wars, had raised to the height of admiration. But to be valiant is not to have all virtues: these were as strong in treachery, as in battle, they lead Sforza in the habit of a Swisser into the French camp, through which in the same habit they had promised to conduct him. Thus having been twice betrayed, and now a prisoner, after a ten years harsh confining he dies in France, having lived in his misery, longer than in his Duchy, and leaving instruction to succeeding Princes that height should not be their aim, but integrity; and that they would not (that I may use the words of our Poet) tempt their stars beyond their light.   

The names of the Actors.  

GIovanni Galeazzo the young Duke.  
Lodovick Sforza His Protector, afterwards Duke. 

two brothers of the house of Sanseverin, Sforza's favourites.  
Galeazzo  
Count Caiazzo    


two of the Nobility.  
Lucio Malvezzo  
Carlo Burbiano Count Belgiosa    


two old Courtiers.  
juliano  
Picinino    


Poisoners.  
Vitellio  
Malatesta    
Ascanio Sforza's brother, a Cardinal.  
Triulcio The French General.  
The Captain of the Swissers.  
Isabella Galeazzo's wife.  
julia.  
Beatrice wife to Sforza.  
ambassadors, Soldiers, Servants.    

The Prologue.  

CAn horror have an auditory? can  
Man love the spectacle of ruined man?  
We feared we should have been alone, that hence,  
The Actors should have been the Audience.  
Are you not frighted yet? do you not rise?  
Can that invite, which should dismay your eyes?  
We show near murders, and in that degree  
Where Marriage is unlawful, then, the free  
Progress of crimes, by nimble justice met,  
equally horrid, this we show, but yet  
Unless your Courtesy, your judgement sway,  
We suffer a worse torture, than we play.    


Actus primi  

Scena prima.  Galeazzo Duke of Millane, Isabella his Wife. Gal.. 
WHy weeps my dear?  Isab.. 

Ask why I do not weep:  
(Poor Isabella are thy tears denied thee?)  
Ask why thus long such a succession  
Of sorrow clogs my bosom, and does rob  
So much of Woman from me, as complaints.  
Ask why I do not rave, tear my hair, thus,  
Create a grief, which Fate would spare me, than  
Cloud the sad Air with sighs, and at the last,  
With a bold stab take from insulting Fortune  
The miserable object of her sport:  
Ask why I do not this, not, why I weep.   Gal. 

Or stint thy tears, or mingle them with mine  
By a relation of their cause: these eyes,  
Trust me, my Isabella, are not dry,  
Nor has strong sorrow ere exhausted them,  
To make them bankrupt of a friendly tear,  
Do thou but prove it once a friendly tear  
And not a fond one. Why, my Isabella,  
Why dost thou hasten those that come too fast,  
Sorrow, and Age? If it be true, I heard  
Of Sforza, my dear Sforza, there's no joy  
But either past, or fleeting, and poor man  
Grows up but to the experience of Grief,  
And then is truly past minority  
When he is past all happiness:   Jsab. 

My Lord,  
My sorrow dares not argue with your love,  
This smile expels it.   Gal. 

Be it banished far,  
eternally, or to the years of Age.  
ay, those unclouded looks become my dear,  
And give me joy too. I must hunt today  
With my dear uncle: O he is a man  
That altars all those fond relations,  
Which Nature gives, who in an uncle's name  
Out loves a Father: I could praise him still,  
But that I stay too long from him: farewell.   Exit. Jsab. 

O Galeazzol O not Galeazzo!  
How has Man fled thee! how thy soul has fled thee!  
Only thy lineaments belly a Man.  
Thou hunt; alas as poor Prince, thou art the Game:  
Thy uncle hunts: and yet he does not neither,  
But stands a glad, and idle looker on,  
Whilst thou ensnarest thyself, sinfully fooled,  
Flattering thy Executioner, and so  
Dost not prevent thy misery, nor yet know.   Enter Galeaz. Gal. 

I am returned once more; before I'm gone,  
To see if thy fond grief be not returned;  
What joy is there in a forbidden grief?  
What comfort in the eyes sad flux? once more  
Is it my fault gives you these tears?   Jsab. 

My faults;  
For which so strange a sadness seizes me,  
That it increaseth when I strive with it,  
And makes my face rebellious to my Lord,  
When my heart yields.   Gal. 

Then once again, adieu,  
Forsake your grief, or grief will forsake you.   Exit. Isab. 

Forsake my grief— O bid me forsake heaven,  
My reason, and mine honour: only sighs  
Doc keep me in opinion of Being,  
And without them I were a stupid corpse.  
Shall I obey impossibilities?  
Forsake the sorrow, and retain the cause?  
How can I think that yet the untired Sun  
Has journeyed but a twelvemonth, since I was  
In Ferdinando's Court, the Paragon  
Of happy Naples, when his Palace seemed  
Guarded with Princely suitors, and mine eye,  
Caught with so many rarities of men,  
Taught me that too much choice did hinder choice,  
That Galeazzo then must carry me?  
This Galeazzo, neither Prince, nor Man,  
Fooled out of both by Sforza, his dear uncle.  
Can I think this, and think of joy again?  
Can I think this, and dare to think again?  
Why should some toys of after-torment fright  
A resolution of easing me  
From present ones? O 'tis the curse of man  
To be unhappy at arbitrement, Enter julia.  
Till heaven please to relent. My julia,  
breathes Naples any comfort? quickly speak.   Iul. 

None, Madam, and your courteous Grandfather  
In stead of Armies sends you Patience.   Isab. 

What patience? he should have sent me rage,  
Aided my anger, if not my revenge:  
Patience? O God! can grief be patient?  
Can Thunder whisper? or chafed sea not roar?  
In me is Sea and thunder, I will be  
A pattern of Revenge not misery.    

Scena secunda.  Sforza. 

SForza as yet thou but beginst to act,  
And yet beginst to stagger: wert thou not  
A PRINCE's son? why art thou not a Prince?  
Protectors are but subjects, and this staff  
But shows me under whose command I am.  
Is this our hindrance that our mother first  
Swelled with another? what her womb denied  
Our head shall give, or we will lose our head,  
What was her labour to a Crown? Perhaps  
A monster might have filled her first, a thing  
Of royal prodigy, and should this thing  
Grow to be hooted to a crown before us?  
Or if that Crowns be due to the most years,  
Why should the Nephew be the Uncle's Lord?  
And Laws of Nations conquer those of Nature?  
Nature intended Sovereignty to them  
Of sovereign understanding; to the rest,  
however aged, but subjection,  
Which Isabella would detain us in:  
And whilst she trusts to Naples, our sad brow  
May sooner wear willow, than Diadems. Enter Belgiosa  
Returned so soon, my Belgiosa? thanks,  
Before I hear thy message, for thy haste.   Bel. 

My Lord, our sudden coming into France,  
Left fame behind us, where arrived, we craved  
A private audience?   Sf. 

But had you it?  
Did not our enemies sharp espies descry  
The depth of our hid counsels?   Bel. 

They might first  
Descry the subtle path of a swift ship,  
The voyage of a bullet, or of thought,  
Before your more mysterious purposes?   Sf. 

Then since we are alone, and in a place  
Free from the bold intrusion of an eye,  
Feign Us the Prince to whom we sent you forth,  
And speak our Embassy unto ourself.   Bel. 

Great Prince, to have the offer of a Crown  
Is rare, and your felicity: my Lord,  
Milan's Protector, but your servant, knowing  
The ancient right your predecessors had  
In usurped Naples, by us woos your Grace  
(Consider unto what he woos your Grace)  
Not to maintain his power, but make your own,  
To take a Kingdom that e'en sighs for you.  
So shall the infamy of a lost crown  
Rot in the earth with your dead Ancestors,  
And the recovery revive their names  
To wait upon your triumph with your foes:  
For so much justice needs no other power,  
And yet such is your power, that it is able  
To make whatever you should fancy, just:  
But that your virtue is above that power.  
I will not call you usurer of Fame,  
By this large act, when the astonished world  
Now fifty Ages off from us, shall read  
Not in the boastings of a painted tomb  
(The flatteries of great rottenness) but your name  
Writ in AEternities s true Characters,  
For making conquered Crowns the rudiments  
Of your victorious infancy in arms,  
When France shall know no other Charlemagne.   Sf. 
But should we fail in the attempt? what then?  Belg. 

Can Heaven fail justice? or those powers commit  
Sins which they punish? O my gracious Lord  
Sin not with that weak thought: but if they should  
Sforza will never:   Sf. 

He is always noble,  
But he'll undo us with a benefit,  
To give a kingdom is above requital.   Belg. 

His hopes are but the praise of honest deeds,  
If in the rearward of your spreading Fame,  
That fills all mouths, some happy tongue may glance  
At him, as a poor engine of your glory,  
That could impart, but not possess a Fame.   Sf. 

Excellent man, if to this welcome speech  
Thou giv'st as fair an answer.   Bel. 

This in brief  
After some scruple, and a little pause  
He whispered he would come.   Sf. 

Exactly done.  
But leave us now, my noble Belgiosa,  
Till we may study a reward for thee. Ex. Belg.  
The twilight hastens, when Vitellio  
And Malatesta one of an high trust Ent. Vitell. & Malat.  
With our fond Nephew, promised conference.  
And here they are. Is it decreed brave friends?  
Shall it be swiftly done? nay, 'tis no matter,  
Your colour says you dare not.   Vit. 

It lies then:  
If that my colour show me disobedient  
To my good Lord, be I for ever pale:  
But when shall Galeazzo's wished-for death  
Show we dare somewhat?   Sf. 

We would gladly have  
A poison teach him linger to his death,  
And a month hence we shall expect his knell. Ex.  
Now are we entered, and now to retire  
Were the worse treason: like an enraged fire  
The more we are opposed, the more we'll spread  
And make our foes our fuel: to be head  
we'll cut off any member, and condemn  
Virtue of folly for a Diadem,  
Banish Religion, and make blood as cheap  
As when two Armies turned into one heap  
Of carcases, lie groveling, what care we  
For the slight tainture of disloyalty?  
None will commend the race till it be run,  
And these are deeds not praised till they are done.    

Scena tertia.  Juliano, Picinino. Iul. 
My Picinino, holds this sad news true?  Pici. 

My juliano, yes; 'tis in each voice  
That some persuasion flattering Ferdinand,  
That the French journey was but a report,  
Made him revoke Alphonso, his brave son,  
Who with an Army had endangered us:  
For the wise old man fearing, a deep fear  
Might arm an enemy, else too weak for him,  
And make us hasten the French war, gave o'er  
His war with us: but when he understands  
That all this quiet does not purchase peace,  
The cozened Prince seeks the sure peace of death,  
And leaves his ruin to destroy his son.   Iul. 

Will the French come? then prithee, Death, come too.  
Why should our eyes dulled to all other sights  
By Age and sorrow, be reserved for sight  
Of war and sorrow? o discourteous heavens!  
Why have you dallied with us to white hairs?  
Why kept till this time, must we perish now?  
O wherefore are we come so near the grave  
And are not in it yet? yet pardon me  
Good heaven, your acts are above question:  
Yet I may shed these tears for Italy;  
Slave of that world, which once, her valour slaved,  
Restoring back her triumphs with her spoil,  
Distracted in herself, and only fit  
To make a bankrupt Poet heal his credit  
With matter for fresh Tragedies.   Pic. 

Good heaven!  
Is this to ease misfortune, or increase it?  
If Passion could whine out felicity,  
Or plenteous tears could drown unhappiness,  
I have eyes too, and they contain their showers,  
Nor would I ere be niggard of a Grief.  
But tears being only tears, an easy dew  
Of childish eyes, and all the rest of Grief  
Commanding smiles, more than Compassion,  
I thank my Genius I am resolute  
To laugh at Fortune when she is most angry.   Iul. 

Such laughter may have little mirth in it,  
And I shall have more comfort in a tear.   Pic. 

You may, good Fountain, yes, drop on, to see,  
If so much moisture will revive thy cheeks  
Whilst I'll be young with laughter. I am he  
That fears a sorrow, more than misery.    

Scena quarta.  Vitellio. 

THis is the place, and this the time: good heaven!  
What an odd place, and what an uncouth time?  
Had I been hired to murder Sforza here,  
Hell could not prompt more fit occasion.  
I like nor it, nor him: but here he comes.   Ent. Sforza. Sf. 

Welcome Vitellio, thy haste is welcome:  
Nay compliment with him, whom thou wouldst kill,  
Be free to us as we do know thee true.  
Speak, yet I need not bid thee, for thine eye  
Sparkles a joyful answer. It is done.   Vit. 

'tis done my Lord, and now my Lord, 'tis told  
(That Galeazzo is no more a man)  
And with an even scruple, for to me  
The act's as easy as relation.   Sf. 

Thou speak'st true manhood: 'tis thy art alone  
That gives us certain honour: there are some  
Strive for Eternity with loss of life,  
At least with hazard of the loss of it,  
And think they are revenged when they are killed?  
These are our valiant duelists, and these  
Do bleed whilst we do conquer; heal their wounds,  
whilst we receive none: then, at last, unfold  
(Man of deep Art, that canst prevent the Fates,  
And cut a thread, which they had thought to spun  
forty years younger) thy wise mysteries.  
Thy constant, neuer- failing stratagems,  
Which cause a death, without a fear of death,   Vit. 

Here are some drugs, but of these some, not one  
But can command a life where ere it is,  
And ruinate the strongest workmanship  
That Heaven ere bragged to have composed of Earth.  
Powders of speedy Fate, but above all  
The instruments, which make me near to death  
Of such endeared familiarity,  
This glass has nimblest operation:  
Whose liquour cast upon the face of man  
Straight dulls him to an everlasting sleep.   Sf. 

Is this the liquour of Eternity? Vitellio falls as dead.  
Then take thy Lethe, and go sleep for ever.   Mal. 

I am deceived, or esse this is the place Enter Malas.  
Which Sforza chooseth when he is alone.  
Yes, this is it.   Sf. 

What Malatesta come?  
What Devil brought him hither? O cross stars!  
Be sudden, Sforza, now, or thou art lost:  
He must believe our guilt was accident. He falls upon Vitellio.  
Speak, my Vitellio, O tune thy lips  
But to one syllable, but to one groan  
And I am satisfied.   Mal. 

What fight is here?  
Vitellio dead, and Sforza turned a Mourner?   Sf. 

Shouldst thou die thus, how would my name be soiled?  
For though I am at guiltless of thy death,  
As Innocence, or if there be a name  
That hath less being: yet the envious world  
Will quit curst Fortune of so great a crime,  
And give it me: yet speak.   Mal. 

I' me bold my Lord,  
To ask your honour when this dismal chance  
First frighted Heaven?   Sf. 

Now, Malatesta, now:  
When could unhappiness reign so, but now?  
As if he meant to be before his Lord,  
He had no sooner told the Prince must die,  
But he straight died.   Mal. 

Then courage, my good Lord.  
Since it is thus, make the best use of it:  
For now you need not fear to be revealed,  
When one mouth's stopped, and th'other is your own:  
But since your last retirement, we have been  
Instructed by the speed of frequent Posts,  
Of the a rival of the King of France.   Sf. 

With thanks, a while, my Malatesta, leave us. Ex.  
Why should we longer think of other powers,  
And not bring offerings now to our own brain?  
Which gives us Agents of all kinds of men,  
And Kings as well as poisoners: this wise King  
Must trouble Naples, who would trouble us,  
Divert invasions which are yet not made,  
And thus our ends are cheaply brought about,  
We only at the charge of plot: they fight,  
And Galiazzo dies, whom either King  
Were they not thus entangled, would preserve:  
We shall be conquerors without fighting thus,  
And their poor swords shall cut a way for us. Surgio Vitellio.  
I'm for you France.   Vit. 

And I am for you, Sforza,  
Not poisoned yet, unless 'twere by thy tears.  
The other liquour had an Antidote.  
Happy suspect! had I been credulous  
And thought his love as free as it would seem  
I had not been, distrust has ransomed me.  
But Malatesta is entrapped, I know  
Sforza for nothing did not ask the skill:  
My equal villain perishes, and I  
Thus being accessary to his death  
May sin to Innocence, by posting off  
The PRINCE's fate to him: whilst a disguise  
Shall keep alive the fame that I am dead.  
And thus half truth shall come to light, and I,  
Be wisely cleared by double villainy.   Ex.  

Scena quinta.  Caiazzo, Sanseverin, Malvezzo. Sans. 

AS I am noble, 'twas a glorious sight,  
To see two Princes, in their State at once:  
As if two Suns had harmlessly conspired  
To beautify, and not to fright the Heavens.  
Why should the formal nicety of State  
Debar these often interviews? I think  
They would be medicine against Tyranny:  
For, when a Prince sees all things under him,  
Heads of eternal nakedness, and men  
That make their glory of their servitude,  
He thinks he's uncontrollable, that none  
Without a saucy imputation  
Dares warn him to his duty: but suppose  
An equal Majesty should once become  
His usual object, one, whose unchecked blood  
Runs full as high as his, than he does learn,  
That there's a Commonwealth of Princes too,  
Not one sole Monarch.   Cai. 

Yet, Sanseverin,  
If you observed some clouds obscured both Suns,  
For, when they smiled most freely, and expressed  
Their nearest friendship by a strict embrace,  
They looked so jealously, as if they feared  
A closer stab: and then the King took leave  
With that excess of haste, that one would think  
(After this eager preparation,)  
He did intend his journey to leave us,  
Not to win Naples.   Mal. 

'Tis a dangerous time,  
(And yet I seem to cross the truth I speak  
When I not fear to call't a dangerous time)  
Sforza is overwise, and so attempts  
Upon the confidence of his own brain  
(A brain, though wise, yet I may safely say,  
Within the possibility of error)  
Things, that can only hap by miracle  
To any good.   Sans. 

Why, what can happen ill?  
Fear you a war? and what's to be feared there?  
lest that a mortal die, lest that the life  
Due to a knotty gout, or grating stone,  
Have a more easy period by the sword.  
Let them fear war, who fear to see their gold,  
Lest that the Sun should have a sight with them,  
Holding so much of Earth, theyare turned to it,  
Who have no more life than their dirty acres,  
Men, I may say, in the worst part of men.  
And why like these run we an idle race  
Of threescore years, and then sneak to a Death?  
Whilst soldiers master their mortality  
And die by men, if that at all they die.  
Malvezzo know, when all things sifted are,  
Peace only pleaseth them that ne'er knew war.     

Actus secundi  

Scena prima.  juliano, Picinino. Iul. 
HEard you the general whispering?  Pic. 
No, what is't?  Iul. 
The Duke is ill.—  Pic. 
And do they whisper that?  Iul. 
Yes: and, they say, he has strange fits.  Pic. 

How strange?  
Is poison strange in Italy? why, know,  
As Princes live above the vulgar, so  
Their death has a Prerogative: mean men  
May dream away their time to fourscore years,  
And when their rotten joints drop to their dust,  
Only some trivial infirmity,  
A Palsy, or an Ague bears the blame:  
But 'tis not State for Princes to be old,  
And yet they must not be supposed to die  
By the respectless treason of disease,  
But by some strange unheard-of accident  
That Fate did never dream of: but no more,  
You know Vitellio, and the height of grace  
Sforza has showed him, 'tis suspicious  
When wisdom flatters villainy: then come,  
Let us be private, and discourse some treason.   Enter, after solemn Music, Sforza, Sanseverin, Caiazzo, and Soldiers: when after some private whispering they depart several ways. Iul. 
But stay, my Picinino, who are here?  Pic. 

O the grand favourite, Sanseverin,  
A most full bubble, valiant vanity:  
That in high terms can swear down fortresses,  
Blow away Armies with a powerful breath,  
And spoil the enemy before he sees him:  
But when he comes to action, lie as still,  
As in the tale, that lumpish King of Frogs,  
Which jove did give them in his merriment.  
Were tilting valour, I ne'er knew a man  
Of larger worth: could he but break the ranks  
Of enemies as well as he does spears,  
Milan ne'er saw a braver General.  
But there's his brother too.   Iul. 
ay, that's the man.  Pic. 

('tis wonder we can know so much of him)  
He that can sound the depth of that sly brain  
Has a large plummet, trust me julian,  
An hundred Lawyers make up that one head,  
And scarcely too: quick Proteus to him,  
To this Caiazzo was an Idiot,  
A plain flat Idiot, I tell thee man,  
Meander never knew so many windings:  
If, as they say, an emulation  
Is bred by likeness, I do wonder much  
How Sforza is induced to employ him.  
Who has more Devil in him, than himself.   Iul. 

But why is this employment? why these Arms?  
When all but Naples are our friends, and they  
Not able now to show themselves our foes,  
Engaged, and almost lost in the French war.   Pic. 

Tricks, juliano, Statists call them Arts,  
Not to be fathomed by a vulgar reach:  
But though I want the villainy to know,  
Yet I have so much spleen to laugh at them;  
And take a comfort in this plainer sense:  
No subtlety can cozen Providence.    

Scena secunda.  Ascanio, Galeazzo, Isabella, julia. Asc. 
HOw rests the Prince?  Isab. 

O my good Lord, he rests,  
But 'tis a quiet, such as the Seas have,  
When that the winds have spent their violence,  
And out of impotence bestow a calm:  
'Tis more a death, than slumber, you may see  
His senses rather weary, then at rest.   Asc. 
Are then his fits so raging?  Isab. 

Nothing else,  
Should he but wake, you'd think two Armies met,  
And strove together for the loudest shout.  
Disease has spread herself over all his parts,  
And only spared his tongue, as if some star  
Not knowing otherwise to clear itself  
From imputation of tyranny,  
For such exact plaguing of Innocence  
Had left him that to curse withal, that so  
To all that heard his fury, he might seem  
To be thus tortured for his Blasphemy.   Gal. 
Water, some water.  Isab.. 
Now the fit begins:  Gal. 

Some of my slaves run, and exhaust the Po,  
Charge him no more to vent his idle streams  
Into the glutted main, but rather pour  
All his moist mouths on me: d'ye stare, begone,  
Use not your eyes at all, unless to weep:  
And that, not tears of sorrow; but of help,  
Such as may cool me.   Asc. 

Patience, sweet Prince,  
Add not unto the fire of your disease,  
The heat of passion.   Gal. 

What red thing is this?  
Ha, Isabella, tell me.   Is. 

'Tis your uncle.  
The noble Prince Ascanio.   Gal. 

'Tis false;  
He is nor Prince, nor noble: hark you friends,  
He talks of Passion, and of Patience,  
Let him discourse of Aetna, or Vesuvius,  
Or of a greater heat than I do feel,  
And I will answer him: Patience to me?  
Go bid rough seas be patient.   Asc. 

He grows worse,  
And opposition does inflame him more:  
methinks I see his eyelids faintly strive,  
Against Death's closing.   Gal. 

O! my joints are fire,  
Why does not heaven shed Cataracts, and lower  
Once to my comfort? are they hot as I,  
Have they no moisture, for a Suppliant?  
Then, though hot heaven oppose, when once my breath  
Hath left this corpse, I'll have a cold by death. Mor.   Is. 

Heard you that groan my Lord— o he is dead:  
Crack then ye tardy heart strings, quickly crack,  
And give me leave to overtake the flight  
Of my dead husband.   Asc. 

What is past our help,  
Let it be past our grief: 'tis fortitude  
To suffer chances counterbuffs as one  
That by his expectation had deceived  
All her faint threatenings: till this sadder time  
Your life has had one constant scene of joy,  
Which here is interrupted: you should thank  
The heavens because they were not tedious  
In their delights: for this variety.  
As hunger praiseth feasts, so it may be  
You'll love joy better for this misery.    

Scena tertia.  Sforza, Beatrice. Sf. 

HOW covetous thou art to learn mishap?  
Beatrice the answer kills thee.   Bet. 

Kill me then,  
But not deny me.   Sf. 

Dearest, I am lost,  
And in my ruin, thou.   Bet. 

I would be so,  
Safety were ruin were it otherwise.  
Yet tell me Sforza, how are you so lost?   Sf. 

O what a busy torture woman is!  
I must say somewhat, but the main is silence,  
Vitellio's loss, yes, that hath lost me too:  
No sooner killed than lost, so strangely gone,  
As if the dead had learned a motion  
So to convey themselves unto the grave.  
Will you be still unkind?   Sf. 

Thou shalt hear all!  
The French have conquered Naples, and which draws  
Blood from our soul, without a drop of blood:  
When thus we plotted it, that when both Kings  
Had wearied out themselves with equal slaughter,  
And here Alphonso tottered, and there Charles;  
When loss had seized the conqueror, than we  
Would have amazed the conqueror afresh  
With new alarms: when by the flattery  
Of chance, France gets a kingdom without blood,  
And by dry victory has undone a plot  
Worth many Kingdoms: I presumed on this,  
Naples had soldiers enough to last  
Killing a year, in which space, we resolved  
To arm all Italy against the French,  
And cunningly drive out, whom we called in:  
Which, ere we could accomplish, is disclosed,  
And conquering France intends to hinder it,  
By our invasion: o my policy!  
Must I be wounded with the sword I gave?  
And find those enemies, whom only I  
Enabled to my injury? well; heaven,  
Your kindness is a miracle sometime,  
Beyond all reason, but your curse is wit, Enter Ascan.  
My fault is my fault's punisher.   Asc. 

Long life,  
And happy to our Duke.   Sf. 

How my Ascanio?  
Recall thyself, good Cardinal, what Duke?  
Whilst Galeazzo lives?   Asc. 

Most truly Duke,  
For Galeazzo's dead.   Sf. 

Alas, poor child,  
I could have wished thee longer life, but since  
heaven's will is otherwise, 'twere blasphemy  
To storm at that which is the will of heaven.  
I hate that impotent rebellion.   Enter Sanseu. Sans. 

My Lord, so cross was Fortune, that you were  
Made almost bankrupt by a too much thrift:  
For when you had discharged those numerous troops,  
Whose charges lay as hard upon the State  
As an invasion could, than Orleans moved  
And stole Novarra, which disastrous news  
So heated the remainder of your troops  
(As if you had added to their valour more,  
When you abated from their multitudes)  
That by a nimble victory, they made  
His conquest be his prison.   Sf. 

Noble friend  
Stand thou, and our State stands: o why do men  
Cry out on Age, on eating Age? as though  
Our many griefs were from our many years,  
And the last times were worst: we rather find  
That nothing is so dangerous to Kings  
As a young Principality: for 'tis  
With them almost as with young plants, which yield  
Unto the least entreaty of the wind,  
And need no stronger blast, but gaining Age  
Scarce stoop to thunder: may we once arise  
Unto this happy firmness of estate,  
This blessed maturity of Prince, we stand  
Fearless of fall, but if heaven envy us  
And have decreed our ruin with our rising,  
Yet such we'll have it void of all base fears  
Our foes shall grieve our ruin was not theirs.    

Scena quarta.  Caiazzo, Belgiosa, Malvezzo. Mal. 

MY Lords, since we are met so happily,  
(If you esteem me not too bold, to ask  
The story of your high famed actions)  
Bless me with the Relation.   Cai. 

I much fear  
Mine are not worthy your attention:  
Yet if it please you, noble Belgiosa,  
(Because my story will depend on that)  
To show the reason why the giddy French,  
So strangely left their conquest: such your power,  
Such a full conquest have you of your friend,  
I'll shame myself for your content.   Bel. 

Then, thus:  
From us France hurried thorough Lombary  
And fled to conquer, who had seen that haste  
Would easily supposed it to have been  
Rather a flight then an invasion.  
The Pope quakes at the progress, and admits  
Young Ferd'nand into Rome, that if the French  
Should dare a fight, they might find Naples there.  
France slights that fainter opposition,  
And speaks his scorn in thunder, Naples flies,  
And all his army hath no other use  
Then to become unwilling harbingers  
To show their lodgings to the conquering French:  
Who like fierce winds that sweep away their lets,  
Or like encroaching tides, take swiftly in  
The offered Countries, not defended, now  
Saint German yields, and saucy Capua  
That dared a competition once with Rome,  
Aversa takes the precedent, and now  
The King of Naples finds home foes, and such  
As durst be valiant against their Prince,  
And use their fond arms in a mutiny,  
Which were not safe enough for a defence.  
He taking the advantage of thou crime  
Unconquered by the French, to these he yields,  
And chooseth rather to become no Prince  
Then keep the Crown, which they would take away.   Mal. 
What was the issue?  Bel. 

Strangely pitiful:  
He that had Navies yesterday, has now  
Scarce a bark left him, scarce a plank or two,  
To trust him to the mercy of the Seas,  
The Seas more courteous than the multitude:  
In which he makes for Ischia, and leaves  
His enemy his successor.   Cai. 

And he  
(As I have seen some wavering amourist)  
Neglects his conquest for the laziness,  
For when 'twas certain Ferdinand was fled,  
Whilst they might justly yet fear his return,  
The French return, as if they meant to try  
Which would be soonest weary of the haste,  
Who had the swifter pace to runne away:   Bel. 

That is no new act of new governors,  
Such stories are as ancient as the world.  
Till they do try what they can do, they think  
They may do all things, their first act is war  
(As if they meant rather to kill then reign)  
It matters not upon what ground: there is  
Pretence enough to quit a conqueror  
From the least show of iniury: but then  
When they have felt the least of wars extremes  
They rave, they faint, they cross what they first did,  
And are e'en weary of a victory.   Cai. 

France made this certain truth, who in his brags  
Had sworn the fall of Mahomet: but now  
When he might hear the groans of Graecia  
Delivered by the echoes of their sea,  
To make them more, he thinks on a retreat,  
And chooseth home before a victory.  
It was a valley, where our Taro laves  
The root of Apennine, and a large plain  
sphered with a row of swelling Earth makes war  
A spacious Amphitheatre: where we  
Stayed for their coming; when mature advice  
That crown most actions, strangely injured us,  
For rashness would have stole a victory  
Which tedious consultation gave away.  
Success had smiled on our temerity  
Had we assaulted them upon the hills  
And added to the mountains with the French.  
But I am tedious: only our van fought,  
And 'twas the Frenchmens victory to resist:  
Both were o'ercome, both conquerors, for they  
Still kept the field, and we still kept the prey.   Bel. 

O what is valour joined with Modesty!  
This conquers both your Fortune and your skill.  
Should you but write a story; and profess  
That pureness from all passion which you've shown.  
You would be credited, though 'twere your own.  
But what reward is't to be but believed?  
You shall be ever praised: what you have done  
Fears neither envy, nor oblivion:  
And for this act succession shall see  
Caiazzo as long-lived as Italy:    

Scena quinta.  Vitellio disguised. 

I Wonder Malatesta still survives:  
Sure Sforza has forgot himself; my death  
Does but half clear him, and if th'other live,  
He cannot look for a full innocence.  
It is not mercy, certainly: o, no,  
Mercy with him is folly: but 'tmay be  
He fears that had he killed us both at once  
Rumor would be too busy, and all mouths  
Would cry, that Chance had too much project in't.  
This is the place of Destiny, 'tis here  
Sforza does actuate his bloody arts,  
Mistaking privacy for innocence,  
And thinks he's good, because he is not seen.  
Here must I wait for a discovery.   Enter Sforza. Sf. 

I must once more be cruel, yet not I,  
This is the murder of Necessity:  
But what has he deserved, who has done nought  
But what we charged, and so performed our thought?  
Is Death due to Obedience? can this hand  
Yield to his Fate, that sealed to his command?  
Yet he, or I must perish: shall I see  
My life, my honour, my Eternity,  
Lie at his mercy, and be safe, so long  
As he is pleased to temper his rude tongue?  
Till he be drunk, or treacherous? I'll first  
Study amongst all actions, which is worst  
And overact it: though our former deed  
Was from ambition, this is yet from need:  
Death is too good reward for such a slave, Enter Malatesta.  
And sure there is no blabbing in the grave.  
But here he comes: why are thy looks so grim?  
Why, Malatesta, in thy furrowed face  
See I the signs of Anger, or of Grief?  
Command thy face to a more smiling form,  
That I may think thee pleased when thou dost tell  
What does displease thee.   Mal. 

'Twas a foolish dream,  
That stole my colour from my paler cheeks.  
Last night I saw Vitellio.   Sf. 

And what?  
Canst thou fear shadows?   Mal. 

Yes if shadows speak,  
If that their threatenings be substantial.  
From such a paper as your Highness holds,  
He forced me breath in Death.   Sf. 

This Paper holds  
A strange perfume, of such a cunning virtue,  
That at a distance it scarce smells at all.  
And at the nose it gives the best of scents.  
Make the experiment:   Mal. 
O! I am slain.  Sf. 

heavens what a stillness here is? what a death  
Of the whole man at once? the wandering eye  
Now finds a station, and the busy pulse  
Is now for ever idle: where's the tongue  
That but e'en now could say as much as this,  
When that the soul could prompt it? but e'en now  
Here was a thing could speak, and poison too,  
That knew more ways to kill, than ever Heaven  
Did to make man: and could his subtlety,  
That could give death, not know to keep out death?  
Fie, what a bulk it is, what a great lump  
Of Nothing, that shall lose that nothing too?  
What a dead toy is Man, when his thin breath  
Flies to its kindred Air? o why at all  
Did Heaven bestow, or why at all bereave  
Man of this Vapour of Eternity?  
And must we one day be a stock like this,  
Fit only to enrich the greedy Earth,  
And fill an house of Death, perhaps before  
We see the issue of another Plot?  
Must we lie subject to be trampled on,  
By some, perhaps not Politicians?  
Where's then our Wisdom? our deep Providence  
Are they dirt too? o heavens! but if they are   Enter some Negroes to carry away the body 

Or dirt, or nothing, I'll enjoy my fame.  
And rottenness shall seize me, not my name.   Vit. 

Are those the Instruments? well my black friends,  
I eased you of a labour: all succeeds  
According to the flattery of my wish,  
And my suspicion turns to prophecy.  
But my so bloody, and so wary Sforza,  
Your Agent's dead, but not your crime: 'twill out,  
And by this carcase: I will fly to France,  
Divulge loud papers,— they are writ already,—  
And here they are, these I will swear were found  
In the dead poisoner's pockets: by this means  
Sforza's proclaimed a murderer, I'm freed,  
And make it be his guilt, which was my deed.   Vitellio going forth meets with Isabella.  

Scena quinta.  Vitellio, Isabella, Julia.  
madam I have some news of that import, That (if you please to command privacy) Will both desire, and fright your patience.  Is. 
Be brief.  Vit. 
First know I am Vitellio.  Is. 

Thou art a villain, and a poisoner then,  
Hast thou a drug for us?   Vit. 

Yes such an one  
Shall make you love a poison: read, and wonder.   Is. 
I do: and more, how thou couldst purchase this Without a guilt.  Vit. 

I did peruse the spoils  
Of Malatesta's carcase, whom I found  
Most strangely guilty, and as strangely dead,  
Whose pockets furnished me with these instructions.   Is. 

Thus we learn Murder from thy Felony:  
But what should make me trust a confessed rogue?   Vit. 

My villainy: my credit is my crime:  
Had not I stole, you had not understood.   Is. 

I must believe't: but dar'st thou poison well?  
Commit a crime, which thou mayst glory of?   Vit. 
On whom dear Lady?  Is. 

Nay I care not whom.  
But I can give reward to a wise crime.   Vit. 

My quick dispatch shall make you gladly know  
I understand, what you desire, and hide.   Exit. Is. 

Now should he poison Sforza. O fond hope!  
That mak'st us think all true that we desire.  
Should he betray us now? for what? that we  
Entreated him to kill, we knew not whom.  
By this expression thus much I have won:  
I may be made, but cannot be undone.    

Scena sexta.  Picinino. 

FOrtune is merry, and the heaven disposed  
To play with me, I am turned Favourite.  
methinks my hairs ashamed of their white hue  
Should blush to youth: O how I could look big,  
Take Giant strides, dote on my lovely self,  
And talk as silly as any Lord.  
To see the prettiness of action,  
Of State-employment: Sforza's to be crowned,  
And I must win the popular suffrages.  
Good Heavens! was ever such a merry load  
Imposed on Man: some cry the times are ill,  
Others could wish them better, and a third  
Knows how to make all well, but tells not how,  
And, cause that he is silent, would be wise.  
But in conclusion I do find them ready  
(On supposition of no more expense,  
And that their voice is sued for, not their purse)  
To give a lusty acclamation.   Sforza, 3 Ambassadors, Caiazzo, Sanseverin, Malvezzo, as in procession, they offer up the French Banners at the Altar, whilst this is sung. 

Song.  

IO, Io, gladly sing,  
Till the Heaven with wonder ring.  
He is fled, let Milan say  
Once more, he is fled, the day  
Clears again, and makes us see  
A braver light of victory.  
Io, Io, &c.   

Yet he had before he fought  
(By the speedy war of thought)  
Conquered Italy, and so  
Has hastened his own overthrow.  
Io, Io, &c.   

Henceforth let them learn to live  
In the peace, that home doth give,  
Nor again so fondly rave,  
To travel for a foreign grave.  
Io, Io, &c.    Sf. 

First we thank Heaven, by whose most gracious aid  
We have the means, and reason to thank you.  
Now we begin to lift up our faint heads,  
And entertain, though scarce believe a peace:  
Now Italy at length has lost her yoke,  
Which she was wont to give, but never bear,  
And therefore wondered at the strangeness more  
Than at the weight of't: in this noble act  
Sforza claims nothing but the happiness,  
Which he acknowledges received from you.   1 Amb. 
Sforza's deserts exceed the height of praise.  2 Amb. 
He has slaved Italy by freeing it.  3 Amb. 
Milan must know him for her Romulus.  Sf. 

We know ourself so underneath this praise,  
That could we but suspect untruth in you,  
we'd call all this but mockery.   Pic. 

D'ye doubt?  
Make you a question of the name of it?  
Why call it as it is, plain flattery.   Caiaz. 

We wondered lately at the prouder French,  
And gave too high a value to their acts:  
When in a serious estimation,  
Their chiefest victory was of the miles,  
And more a journey than a war: if they  
Could gain a fame by nimble travelling,  
How shall we rear a trophy to his name,  
That made them go far faster than they came?  
For my part (though I know his Modesty,  
Which will refuse the honours he deserves)  
I'd have him forced unto the government,  
To rule that happy land which he hath saved.   Omnes. A Sforza, a Sforza. Ascanio crowns him. Sf. 

Sforza will ne'er gain say the general voice,  
Your love I like beyond your gift: kind Heavens!  
Show by my governments integrity  
You were the people's prompter, and I'll show  
(If you but actuate my just desires)  
I only am their Duke in goodness: since  
Milan hath chose, it shall applaud her Prince.     

Actus tertii  

Scena prima.  Vmbra Galeatii. 

NO rest in death? why then I see they err  
That give a quiet to a sepulchre.  
'Tis our hard fate, nor can Man choose but die,  
But where Grief is, is Immortality.  
This draws our juiceless bones to a new day,  
From Lethe's banks, where we have learned the way,  
(An easy learning) to return our woes,  
And laugh at our misfortunes in our foes.  
we'll draw felicity out of our fall,  
And make our ghost revenge our Funeral.  
That our dim Eyes, and with pale death benighted,  
May by revenge be cleared, and we be righted  
(If other punishment should come too slow)  
By the exacter justice of our foe.  
When being betrayed by them he trusted most,  
He shall be prisoner in a foreign coast,  
When wanting sustenance, his teeth shall chaw  
His arms for food, and their once feeders gnaw.  
When Hell shall have but part of him, when he  
That now triumphs shall be less ghost than we.    

Scena secunda.  Sforza. Ascanio. Asc. 
SForza, you are undone.  Sf. 

Why my Ascanio?  
Fortune is fearful of so foul a crime.   Asc. 

You durst be bad, and yet improvident,  
And so it is not Fortunes, but your crime.  
Which shall I first begin to blame? your fault  
Or (pardon if I call it) Foolishness:  
I faint to think that you are past excuse,  
Both with the honest and the Politic.   Sf. 

Come nearer, my dear Cardinal, and tell  
In easier terms what 'tis that troubles you:  
Is Galeazzo's death divulged?   Asc. 

It is:  
The time, the manner, and the murderer,  
Nor am I free from th'imputation:   Sf. 

You speak what you suspect, not what is true,  
Does speech come from the dead? can their dried nerves  
Borrow a tongue for accusation?  
This is no other than the voice of Guilt,  
The speech of our home-executioner:  
And yet I fear— and yet what should I fear?  
Blood hath strange organs to discourse withal,  
It is a clamorous Orator, and then Enter Sanseverin, Halberdeers & Vitel.  
Even Nature will exceed herself to tell  
A crime so thwarting Nature.   Sans. 

My good Lord,  
Pardon the zeal of my intrusion,  
I bring hid danger with me: 'twas my chance  
As I was passing to the bedchamber,  
Just at the door to find this muffled man,  
Waiting some treacherous opportunity.  
Each circumstance swelled with suspicion,  
The place, the time, the person, all did seem  
To bear a danger worthy of your fear,  
At least your wiser disquisition.   Sf. 

Thou art all goodness, and deserv'st of us  
Beyond the niggardly reward of thanks:  
But what are you that thus be cloud your face,  
Who, not unlike that over-bashful fowl, He discourse himself.  
Delight in darkness? Ha! Vitellio!  
The wonder is resolved by a new wonder.   Ex. Sans. Vit. 

Sforza I live: d'ye stare? I live: these words  
Are not the fond delusions of the Air,  
As you officiously would gull yourself;  
But from a solid substance, had not we Enter Sans. with two Negroes.  
been by your diligent spy too soon surprised,  
Before our projects full maturity,  
Thy death more fully should have proved my life.   Sf. 

Fool that I was, who thought to take thy life  
By that which nourished it: there's none so mad  
Would poison Serpents, I'll work surely now,  
Once more I'll try your immortality.  
Strangle the Monster.   Vit. 

'Twas a doubtful chance  
Within this hour who first should own those words.  
But, Tyrant, weary thy invention  
To find variety of punishment,  
Yet all that thou canst do, exceeds not this,  
A pin could do as much: weak, silly Sforza,  
All thou canst do to me exceeds not that  
Which I did on the person of thy Prince:  
Disease would prove a better murderer.   Sf. 

Stop that malignant throat.— O my Ascanio,  
Thus must they toil which work an height by blood,  
How I could wish an innocent descent  
To new subjection? how I hate that wish  
How scorn all thoughts that have not danger in them!  
Get us more Remora's, sweet Cardinal,  
Or rather than to droop to Idleness,  
we'll work to be no Prince, ourself recalling:  
In rising, most, some wit there is in falling.    

Scena tertia.  Caiazzo. 

ASsist me, Hell, for I intend an Act,  
Which should your puny fiends but think upon,  
Would make their blacker cheeks receive a blush,  
Would give a redness which your weaker Fire  
Had ne'er that heating power to work in them:  
An act, the Heavens did only then declare  
They would permit to be performed by man  
When they created Night: for were all Day,  
Could such a Crime be as well seen as done,  
Their Immortality might justly fear,  
Lest all the guilt should be removed on them,  
As Idle, or as Cruel lookers on,  
Whilst Heaven, on Earth did suffer: this black night  
Must Isabella die, die, by this hand:  
This Chapel is her ordinary walk,  
Discovered to me by her julia,  
Where when she comes to see her husband's tomb,  
This hand shall make her fit for such a room.   Enter Isabella and julia with two torches, she places them at either end of the Tome, & Exit. Isabella draws towards the Tomb, and speaks. Is. 

PRince of shades, (for unto me  
Still thou keep'st thy Majesty)  
If thou art not wholly lost,  
And there's something in a Ghost:  
Hear thy Isabella's vow:  
If hereafter I allow  
Of a second match, or know  
Any man, but for a foe,  
Saving him that shall engage  
His revenge unto my rage:  
(Hear just Heavens) may I then be  
Made another Ghost like thee,  
May I die, and never have  
What I visit now, a Grave.   Cai. 

O do not hear her Heaven, and kill me straight  
If I dare touch her: he that sees those eyes  
And dares attempt to make those eyes not see,  
Has a blind soul: burn clearer, you kind lights,  
O do not envy me the sight of her:  
But what's there in a sight? I must be brief,  
If not for love, yet for ambition:  
Her Marriage makes me greater than her Death,  
And she has taught me the condition.  
Pardon, bright Angel, and return the sword,  
Which Sforza made me swear to sheath in you,  
Into my bosom.   Is. 

No, obey your Prince,  
If you have goodness in you keep your oath,  
Murder is nothing unto perjury.   Cai. 

By this fair hand you injure me, and more  
Than ever Sforza did: can you suppose  
(Though you had heard the vows he forced me to)  
I meant what I protested? that this hand  
Which ever yet has used a sword for you,  
Would use it now for your destruction.  
Revoke that thought, dear Lady, that harsh thought,  
And let not so much sweeter innocence  
Make itself guilty by suspicion,  
Suspicion of impossibilities.  
Rather command, and you shall quickly see  
That he, who would have armed me against you,  
Shall find in his own entrails the just steel.   Is. aside. 

What traps are these to catch the Innocent?  
Sforza I smell your project, 'tis too rank.  
My Lord, no more: your speech is dangerous,  
I must not hear it.   Cai. 

You shall see it then:  
Do not believe me Madam till I've done,  
Till I do bring my credit in my arms,  
The traitor's head, and when you see that time,  
Confess you owe your life unto my crime.    

Scena quarta.  Picinino, juliano. Iul. 

WHat will become of this declining state?  
Can we believe that the yet patient heaven  
Will any longer suffer? and not give  
Destruction as notorious as our crimes.  
Awake, stern justice, and unsheathe thy sword,  
The Scabbard will not heal us, but the edge,  
Nor is't enough to brandish, but to strike:  
Let then thy terror give us innocence,  
That mildness may no longer injure man.   Pic. 

Why, thou perpetual Murmurer, thou sea  
tossed with eternal tempest, thou dark sky  
With everlasting clouds, thou— any thing,  
Whom, being angry I can call no more:  
Think better of those acts thou canst not mend.  
Will Sforza be less bad, because thou whinest?  
Or dost thou think thy pitiful complaints  
Can beg a goodness of Ascanio?  
I never knew that mighty use of tears,  
That they could wash away another's fault:  
When thou shalt want a tear for a fit grief,  
Sanseverin will be a Coward still:  
And when thy groans are turned to thy last gasp,  
Caiazzo will not be less treacherous.   Enter Sanseverin, with diverse suitors following him, some of whose bills he tears, others laughs at, others puts up. Exit. Iul. 

Now for thy thunder, Heaven, now for a piece  
Of thy most eminent Artillery.  
Are you still silent? see, he tears their papers,  
Papers, perhaps, wherein they worship him,  
Give him more titles, than they give their God,  
And yet he tears them. O vast Favourite!  
Swelled by the airy favour of thy Prince,  
Till thou hast dimmed the light that made thee shine,  
Till Sforza's less than his Sanseverin.  
Tell me, good Picinino, does the Sun  
Spend all his rays upon one Continent?  
Or have you ever seen the partial Heavens  
Upon one Acre lavish all her showers,  
While the rest moulder with dry barrenness?   Pic. 
I have not, juliano, but what then?  Jul. 

Are you to seek for the collection?  
Why, has not Sforza made himself our Sun?  
Are not his favours our refreshing showers?  
Why should one suck up what is due to all,  
Why is the Prince made a Monopoly?   Pic. 

Thou mak'st me laugh at thy fond question:  
What? are not Princes men; of the same mould,  
Of the same passions with inferiors?  
Do not they fear, desire, and hate (as we)  
And shall we only hinder them from love?  
cobbler's may have their friends, and why not Kings?  
Because theyare higher than the rest of men,  
Shall they be therefore worse? and therefore want  
The Benefits, because they have the Rule?  
O hard condition of Majesty!  
The former accusation of Kings  
Has been their cruelty, that they did hate  
The people they should govern: O hard plight!  
O strange perverseness! shall their love at length,  
Their friendship be imputed as their fault?  
Would Heaven our Sforza had no worse a crime.   Enter Sanseverin again with his train of Suitors. Iul. 

You are a worthy Advocate, and here  
Comes your great Patron: go and ask your fee:   Sans. 

This is a saucy importunity:  
You have your answer.   1 Suitor. 

O my gracious Lord,  
Look on these scars I gained in the French war,  
Where I have lost my Fortunes.   2 Sutor. 

So have I,  
Scarce left alive to tell my misery.   Sans. 

You have been drunk, and quarrelled— must the State  
Find plasters for your broken heads?— no more—  
Nay, if you'll take no answer, I must call  
Them that will drive you hence. O my tired ears!  
Henceforth I vow to stop them at your suits,  
And be as Deaf, as you are Impudent.   Exit. Iul. 

Yes, do good Aeolus— how he blows them hence!  
How clears his passage with a lusty frown!  
And yet it may be that despised wretch  
Worn out of clothes, and flesh, whom his high scorn  
Would not vouchsafe once more to look upon,  
Durst in the field do more, than he durst see,  
Than he would there vouchsafe to look upon.   Pic. 

As if that Valour were the only praise,  
And none were to be loved, but they that fight:  
Where were we then? what would become of us?  
Thou thinkst it Paradox, but 'tis most true,  
A Soldier is the greatest enemy,  
Of whom the Commonwealth can be afraid:  
Prefer you which you please; yet unto them  
Which are the sole Physicians of State,  
Who with the teeming of a pregnant brain,  
Search the diseases and the remedies,  
Valour is nothing but a desperate vice,  
And there's no safety, but in cowardice.    

Scena quinta.  Sforza, Ascanio, Malvezzo. Sf. 

WE are not man, for such an empty thing  
Could not have this solidity of joy:  
Say the French King is dead, and say withal  
We are immortal, and ones happy truth,  
Shall expiate for the other's flattery.  
But speak the manner too as well, as death.   Asc. 

When now his gadding thoughts had won the world,  
And Italy was to be taken in  
But only as an easy seat, from whence  
He might derive his further victories;  
Ottoman quaked, and 'twas in chance, if now  
New Rome, should be new-French, & the proud Turks  
Be brought to know what their beginnings were:  
When Fortune had advanced him to that height,  
That grown forgetful of a lowly tomb,  
He reared huge Pyramids, and troubled Art  
To match his fancy with magnificence  
Fit for a conquering builder, who had learned  
To ruin first, and then to build a City.  
When Marbles were to be in rich with wounds,  
And cut for their advancement: then, heaven's sport,  
He raised competitors to dare the Heavens:  
Nor dreams his own descent into low Earth.   Sf. 

Ascanio, you make him live too long,  
Tell how he died, without more circumstance.   Asc. 

He went (such was his use) to see the play  
At Tennis-court, when by his trembling Queen  
He sank into half-death: thence he's conveyed  
To the next room, where on a couch of straw,  
As if a downbed were too soft for him,  
Whom rottenness attended, and the grave,  
That harder lodging of Mortality,  
A King, a conquering, youthful King expires.  
Thrice from death's slumbers he awaked to speak,  
Thrice did he cry to heaven, unto deaf heaven,  
And after nine hours' death he died.   Sf. 

I find  
A certain grumbling against Fortune here:  
Which that I may whet to a lively rage,  
Repeat Malvezzo her last treachery  
Against the French, and Neopolitan.   Mal. 

Naples now won, and the unstable French  
(As if they were afraid of their own luck)  
Ridiculously leaving what they'd won;  
The Deputy was Mompenieer, a man  
Of an high birth, but of unequal deeds.  
For when young Ferdinand with some few boats  
(Which only fear might make a Navy of,  
And nothing but the strength of cowardice  
Could possibly judge strong) approached the shore,  
As if the poor Prince once more had desired  
Only to see his ancient government,  
And therefore had adventured to the Sea,  
The Sea was in the City, for ne'er was  
Such a confusion in the vulgar waves:  
All cry a Ferdinand, a Ferdinand,  
e'en those who lately banished Ferdinand:  
Part open the gates to him, and part shut up  
The French into the Citadels, where he  
Besiegeth his once Conquerors.   Sf. 

'tis true  
Not the world only, but a man's a ball,  
Will Fortune never leave her tossing him?   Mal. 

Whether their own neglect forced them to want,  
Or want to yield, 'tis doubted: but they yield:  
Thus as in trivial sports we oft have seen  
After a tedious inconstancy,  
The Cork return to him that struck it first,  
So in this fatal revolution,  
Fortune gives Naples unto him again,  
Whom she first injured in the taking it.   Sf. 

Who hearing this would not erect his soul  
To a contempt of Fortune! that blind wretch  
Whom only sottishness hath Deified?  
Man hath a nobler Godhead in himself,  
His virtue and his wisdom, unto these  
Bend all our knees, let us still honour these:  
And count it comfort in our lowest state,  
He that is wise, would not be fortunate.     

Actus quarti  

Scena prima.  Sforza, Ascanio, Caiazzo, Sanseverin, a Boy. Sf. 

WE leave it to your care, Sanseverin;  
But see the night grows old, good rest my Lords.  
Why stay'st thou, my Aurelio? good boy  
I'll see no bed tonight; then go, yet stay,  
If they have not escaped thy memory  
Sing me those verses which you made of sleep.   

Song.  

HOw I laugh at their fond wish  
whose desire  
aims no higher  
Than the baits of Midas dish?  
What is Gold but yellow dirt?  
which th'unkind  
heaven's refined  
When they made us love our hurt.  
Would to heaven that I might steep  
my faint eyes  
in the wise,  
In the gentle dew of sleep?  
Whose effects do pose us so,  
that we deem  
it does seem  
Both Death's brother and his foe.  
This does always with us keep,  
and being dead  
that's not fled:  
Death is but a longer sleep.    Sf. 

Pretty Philosophy! go boy, go sleep, Sx.  
Enjoy the good thou singest— this boy can sleep,  
Sleep quietly, and sing himself asleep:  
Making that gentle Rest unto his Song.  
But I'll go read: what have we here? a Map?  
Welcome thou lively picture of the world:  
Now I'll peruse my large Dominions,  
What a vast compass they do fill in thee?  
How Poe is wearied with his tedious course,  
But running only through our Continent?  
Ha! where is Poe? which is our Continent?  
If that my eyes deceive me not, I see  
My Empire is comprised within my nail:  
What a poor point I me Master of? a blot  
Made by the swiftest tincture of the Ink?  
But what did this point cost me? this small blot?  
My innocence, my conscience, my soul;  
I killed a Nephew, to obtain this blot.  
O horrid purchase! all this toil, this guilt  
For so despised a Nothing? let me see,  
Here is no room to sit, to walk, to stand,  
In all my land I cannot place myself,  
Nor be at all, where I would be the Duke.  
But the sad tapers do deny their light,  
And stranger fire supplies an horrid day  
Of Lightning: help us, heaven, make us confess, Ascendit vmb. Galeaz  
There is a Power in your Mercy too.   Vmb. 

Is then a time, when all our time is spent  
That thou of us shouldst fear a punishment?  
O happy purchased privacy! to have  
The free possession of an humble grave.  
wilt poison us from that? why starest thou so?  
We do not shun a kinsman, but a foe:  
Believe it Sforza, I am a near ghost,  
Nor is our kindred by thy murder lost:  
Raise thy cheered look, see Galeazzo here:  
Traitor, and coward, does thy faint breast fear  
The shadow, which is made? or is a soul  
unclothed of Earth, more abled to control  
Him that unclothed it! Then I see to die  
Is more to right, then suffer injury.  
Know I am still thy Prince, and if that man  
In such a Miracle of villain can  
At last be sound, in this thy manhood show  
That thou dar'st hear thy doom of overthrow.   Sf. 

Villain be dumb: we are too tamely mild  
That deadmen dare affront us, assume flesh,  
And we will make a second ghost of thee.   Vmb. 

Thy threats are Air, like us: but to go on  
In curse; now that thy wisdom hopes upon  
A joy in unmolested royalty,  
Now shalt thou have only a certainty  
Of high unhappiness, and be undone,  
Losing thy rule no better than 'twas won.  
Fetters shall bind thy legs, not Crowns thy head,  
And as a cursed beast is prohibited  
From common show; so thou, of beasts the worst,  
Must die imprisoned, and, what's most accurst,  
Obey, to death, all comforts ta'en away,  
robbed of the light, and the sweet heaven of day:  
Then flatter not thy miseries, to know  
Is not to hinder Fate, fall shalt thou low,  
Sink to despair, despair to nought, and die,  
Than lower fall, and then as low as I. Descendit vmb.  
Sink into earth, and do not reach thy hell,  
Prophetic bubble: might thy threats prove true,  
For we could wish the death that thou foretellest,  
That our fierce shadow might pursue thee still,  
To fright thy Ghost to nothing: O weak Heavens!  
Was this a terror for a man? to send  
A Bugbear, framed out of the empty Air.  
This does confirm, not fright us: this might be  
A terror to my picture, not to me.    

Scena secunda.  Caiazzo. Cai. 

IT must succeed: Fortune may show her spite,  
Her power she cannot, in the hour I'm made  
A PRINCE's Lord, or murderer: I've placed  
Close at the outward door, Sanseverin,  
That if success do crown my hopes, his cares  
May give me safety, with my happiness,  
That I be not surprised: but if I fail  
I have in joined him on the noise he hears,  
Straight to go call the Duke, & enter hither. Ent. Isob.  
madam, 'tis done: and now the guilty head  
(Which whilst it stood, made all to fear their head,  
Who durst affirm it did usurp a crown,)  
Most humbly bends, and offers it to you.   Is. 

Which I accept: but for no other end  
Then to revenge his death, base wretch, on thee:  
If that head be not planted there, 't shall off:  
You shall enjoy your Master's death.   Cai. 

How's this?  
Is this a love-trick, Lady? I had thought  
After your thanks parted 'twixt heaven and me,  
You would with greediness have given yourself  
To him that gave you your desires:   Is. 

Fond thought!  
Dost think I'd love a man that kills a man?  
Make him my Prince, who hath dispatched his own  
Was Treason ever Preface unto Love?  
Hadst thou monopolised perfection,  
And shared a thousand Cupids in each eye:  
I would contemn the proudest of their shafts,  
And give thee only what is due, Disdain.   Cai. 

You'll urge me to just vengeance? do you hear  
Madam ingratitude, quickly profess  
That this harsh language was but a wise bait  
To make him faster, who was sure before,  
Or I profess I'll join your death with his  
With thy loathed Sforza.   Is. 

I believe thee now,  
And trust me, so believe, that I could thank thee,  
I love thy cruelty, though not thy person.   Cai. 

Hath death so little horror? well I'll do  
What shall enforce you to desire a death.  
This poniards point shall nail thee to the earth  
Struck through thy arms: where do not hope up  
A noble ravisher, my swarthy slaves,  
Slaves hated of their fellow Black a moor,  
Shall on thy honour's ruin tire then Lust,  
And kill thee in thy loathful suffering. Ent. Sforza, Sanseverin, Belgiosa.  
What dare you struggle?  
A rape, a rape.  
O my good Lord you come in such a time  
As I could wish for, for this hour or more  
This wicked woman hath been wooing me,  
To murder your most sacred Majesty,  
And for reward hath promised me herself,  
Together with the Duchy: my good Lord,  
In detestation of such treachery,  
I gave her some harsh answers, with which moved,  
She used a woman's craft, and cried a Rape.  
Is this truth, Isabella; see, she's dumb:  
Have I then lived to have you seek my death?  
A cousin-traitor? yet you shall not die,  
Nor know another prison than my Court,  
I love to see my Murderer: O heavens!  
Why, should I fear to kill her? yet 'tis reason:  
Who is no true Prince, can ne'er punish treason.   Cai. 
And I shall take you at your word, dear Sforza.  Ex.  

Scena tertia.  juliano, Picinino. Pic. 

IT cannot be, good julian, no more:  
I do not love these over-earnest dreams.  
The French invade us? when their jolly King  
With limber slaves does only mock a war,  
Which like so many reeds against a stone  
Punish their own attempt with their own ruin,  
Breaking themselves, not armours: when we know  
The Court is lost in Masks, reality  
Is so far fled since the last victory,  
That we may think the Court itself a mask.  
Eternal Music, revels without end  
Tire the too-much delighted soldier,  
Whose arms have now forgot their ancient use,  
His spirits only active in his heels,  
And canst thou think they'll dance to Italy?   Iul. 

I've heard some tell that a great City once  
Was built by Music: would we might not find  
Our Country to be ruined by a dance:  
O fear the toying of an enemy.   Pic. 
What cannot be believed, cannot be feared.  Iul. 

You'll not believe, not you, till the French swords  
Dive to the bottom of your doubting heart,  
Till that th'unkinder news is brought so near,  
You cannot have the power to believe it: Ent. Sansever. with sould.  
Can you believe this is a drum that beats?  
That this is the courageous General?  
Can you believe, that he believes 'tis true?   Pic. 
But who assists us in this dreadful time?  Iul. 

As many as we have deserved: not one:  
Sforza has too much wisdom to have friends.   Pic. 

And we have too much— I said nothing, did I?  
I did not speak against the State, I hope?  
Nor said that we had too much patience?   Iul. 

Is Picinino then o'ercome at last,  
Now I could change my sorrow for a smile.   Pic. 

I must confess an anger though not grief:  
O how I love to fit me to mischance  
And when that has no reason, then I'm mad.  
Why should our Milan blood stain the french swords  
Unto a glory? Sforza does offend,  
denies the heavenly powers, or names them then,  
When he does dare them with bold perjury,  
Loads his black soul with murder of a man  
That could have made his execution, justice.  
This Sforza does, but what is this to me?  
Why shall this throat be cut for his? why thine?  
Why shall our Countries ruin fill his penance?  
The heavens do know no mean but either waste  
Their benefits on dull ingratitude  
Or throw away their thunder, so it hit  
So it not fail, they care not whom it strike,  
whether the guilty, or the innocent.   Iul. 

This is a grief of higher fault than mine,  
You make a war with them you should appease,  
And urge the heavens to our calamities.  
First we were punished with, and now for Sforza,  
Could any justice have more method in't.   Pic. 

Well julian, I me sorry for my grief,  
And so persuade thee to that holy truth.  
I now could rave against myself, not heaven,  
But 'tis as fruitless, as to wish good luck:  
Then let the French press upon victory,  
Let them amaze the Air with stranger fire,  
Raised by our Cities flaming Funerals.  
Swell they the Poe with blood, act o'er, whate'er  
Has been the brag of royal murderers,  
Yet our defence is here: Fortune may fail  
But our true souls shall never, we may lose  
An aged life, but not Eternity:  
And with this strength the field must needs be ours:  
Who do not fear, do beat the Conquerors.    

Scena quarta.  Sforza. Ascanio. A Guard. Sf. 

WHat noise is this that from a foreign foe  
Recalls our anger? yet our purer hands  
Know not the die of blood: we should be loath  
To learn a valour on our subjects first.   1 Nunc. 

The people now have raved to quietness:  
But till that Landriano, whom you used  
About the last taxation, was become  
Their rages sacrifice, I durst have sworn  
The French were in the City.   2 Nun. 

This sad hour  
(I'm sorry that you hear this truth from me)  
Your Duchess is departed.   Sf. 
Whither villain?  (French, 2 Nun. 

To that free Crown, where she shall fear no  
To Heaven.   Sf. 

O envious heaven! why do you give  
Men such hard precepts of mortality,  
And take them hence before that they can learn?  
Must not she live, because she lived too well?  
Alas my wife!   Asc. 
Alas my sister, o!  Sf. 

Who dared that groan? good Cardinal, no more,  
I know not what I could deny to thee:  
Take to thee all for what the French so toil,  
But kindly leave my grief unto myself.   3 Nun. 

Pardon, my Lord, ill Fortune's eloquence,  
Unless you hear you cannot cure your harms;  
The French, now entered Lombardy, sat down  
Before Valenza: where the mouth of Death,  
The thundering Canon being scarcely brought,  
But just presented to the yet sound wall,  
Discovered there was somewhat more unsound:  
For Rattagnino, the false Governor  
Entreats a Parley, gives away the strength,  
Swears the town French, and gives the key to them,  
With which they open Lombardy.   Sf. 

My fact;  
None can be guilty of this crime, but I:  
That after Treason durst again trust treason.  
This very man, whose easy heart relents  
At a French death, and wisely is afraid  
His manners might be called in question,  
If he should put them off to sue again,  
To ask the second time, for what he held:  
Out of his zeal to virtue, and good luck,  
Did the like act for us, and gave a strength Ent. Mal. wounded  
Which all our Duchy never could have forced.  
What more revolting yet?   Mal. 

O my good Lord!  
I fear this is beyond Addition.  
O my blood fails me, but my tongue does more,  
Fearing the story that it must relate.  
Your Army being parted, and this half  
Caiazzo leading, that Sanseverin,  
My troops did fall among the French men's scouts.  
From whom we learned their numbers, and intent,  
To march with speed for Milan: this sad news  
We sent to Count Caiazzo, with advice,  
That he would instantly rejoin with us,  
To stop their further entrance: he pretends  
That the Venetians hemming in his camp  
Have made his danger greater: yet he moves,  
Makes to the river, and when now our thoughts  
Had left their wavering, and did seem assured  
His actions would be better than his words,  
I saw, O misery that ere I saw!  
That crossing o'er the Po he did embrace  
Those men which he in duty should have killed:  
(O 'tis this kills me, not my want of blood)  
I in just anger set upon the Rear,  
And after many vain attempts, have brought  
My carcase, to entreat for my revenge.   Sf. 

This is conspiracy: Caiazzo false?  
Tell me that contradictions then are true,  
Tell me the heavens no more do travel now  
Being grown inconstant to their motion:  
Or that the Earth pursy with too long ease  
Would with a walk at length refresh herself:  
Tell me that Princes may be fortunate,  
Those that like me are credulous: or if  
You'd speak of things more hard to be believed,  
Tell me, there are, that birth of fear, called Gods,  
And if they be, that they do think of Man:  
Tell me, O prithee tell me somewhat else,  
Or I shall think thee false, and not Caiazzo,  
But I do know thee true, know thy wounds true, Ent. Sansever.  
And must conclude Caiazzo is most false.   Sans. 

To be o'ercome, my Lord, is wretched chance,  
But not to fight at all will be thought crime,  
I ne'er durst think so to survive ill luck  
As to become the fatal messenger?  
But I must say, I durst not fight, and more,  
I must entreat your cowardice, your foes  
Are strengthened with your Army (o pardon me  
Let me not tell you, how) and all our troops,  
Have no power left us but for a safe flight.   Sf. 

I did expect this: was not man at first  
Placed on this curious Theater, to see  
How he could act all parts: do we not know  
What we can fear is nothing? providence  
Long since hath spent our fear; for a wise man,  
When he does found his happiness, forecasts  
Mischiefs, that Fate had never practised yet,  
Which if they happen, if they prove too true,  
They meet, not overtake him, and so find  
A scorn, because a preparation.  
I knew it might be thus, though I not feared,  
And know it may be better, though not hope:  
Yet let us ne'er despair, nor by low thoughts  
Excuse Fate for her present injury.  
And when once more her favours we shall feel,  
Then say, that Fortune has no standing wheel.    

Scena quinta.  Enter at one door, Triulcio, Aubeny, Caiazzo: at the other some Senators of Millan, who deliver the keys of the City. Sen. 

WE here present you with our keys great Lords,  
Yet do not think us cowards, who do part  
So easily with that, which if we pleased  
We might, in spite of force, as easily keep:  
We know your right, justice does ope these gates,  
And not your swords, nor our disloyalty;  
We leave a Traitor that hath first left us,  
And now are glad to entertain our Prince.   Triu. 

Is he fled then? O our unhappy sloth!  
Why ran we not as well as we did fight?  
Are Cowards swifter than their Conquerors.   Above as in the Citadel appear Isobella, and julia. Is. 

Do not dissuade me, julia, 'tis true  
I may escape, but whither? all is lost,  
In Naples we find France, as well as here.  
O who'd endure the tyranny of hope,  
That could so quickly gain a liberty?  
If I but fall I'm free; o julia,  
The greatest distance 'twixt my bliss, and me,  
Reacheth no farther than to the next earth.  
Can I behold in a perplexed flight  
(Of which I know no comfort, and no end)  
This my sweet infant crying for the food,  
Which I'm uncertain where to beg for him?  
No, I'll descend, and if the greedy French  
Will have our blood with our Dominions, She comes down with some soldiers.  
Yet I shall joy to have a speedy end  
And call a nimble enemy, a friend.   Tri. 

What answer from the Citadel? once more  
Give them a summons, if they yield not then Enter Isabella  
Give an assault.   Is. 

You shall not need my Lords,  
What you could wish you have, most cheaply have,  
The conquest of a woman, and a child.  
I'm Isabella, (let not that sad name  
Be ominous to conquerors,) and this  
This pretty infant, is my luckless child,  
Borne Prince of that, which you have made your prey.  
Why do you one consult another's face,  
As you would see, who could be cruel first?  
Be not at all, or if at all, to me.  
O do not war with infants! can these hands  
Deserve your fear or anger? these weak hands  
That cannot reach themselves unto their teat?  
Who have so much of young infirmity,  
They cannot lift themselves to ask your mercy?  
O let them have, because they cannot ask.  
How many dismal accidents may chance  
To take him hence, before he grow to man,  
And so excuse, and yet fulfil your purpose?  
O let disease be cruel, and not you.   Tri. 

madam, you shall be honourably used,  
You, and your fair son: take your liberty  
To choose your own free course: for this young Lord,  
He must to France with us, where he shall learn  
The good of royal education:  
Where he shall know the happy difference  
Between a petty, and a kingly Court.  
Some wait upon the Princess.   Is. 

O my stars!  
What have I done? ay me? I have betrayed,  
What Tyranny had left me, my sweet boy:  
For whom I never knew a grief; till now  
I brought him forth with pleasure, when I think  
Upon this pain of parting: my dear child,  
O too too like thy mother; if thou chance  
To draw thy life unto that hated length,  
That thou arrive to the discretion  
To know, what by my folly, thou hast lost,  
Call it no more, o do not call it crime,  
No mother willingly would lose a son:  
whilst in some darker cell I will in tomb  
Thy ruins cause, where whatsoever tear  
Sorrow did once force, no devotion shall:  
That my new name unto the heavens may reach  
Whom misery the way to bliss did teach.   Exit. Tri. 

Never till now had we the victory,  
And now no single one, this happy hour  
Has gained a a conquest for Posterity.  
They may be idle now, now the French youth  
May grow up without wounds, and at their homes,  
Steal to a private grave, no more being forced  
To death, though by a glory; nay this Land  
May thank us, for our thrift of victory,  
For lighting on this blessed occasion,  
Which makes us need no more to conquer them:  
If heaven continue us this kindness still,  
we'll measure out our conquests by our will.     

Actus Quinti  

Scena prima.  Sforza, Ascanio, Sanseverin. Sf. 

O What is man? and all that happiness  
That puffs him to security? today  
One acts a Prince, and swelled with Majesty  
Fills a proud throne, from whence the Multitude  
Thinks he rules Fortune too, as well as them,  
Whilst she in just esteem of her own name,  
Makes him forgot, or odious, that none  
Can be so miserably fooled, to wish  
His well-appareled misery: thus we  
That did enjoy beyond a Crown, a brain  
Able to meet, or challenge the worst chance:  
Yet in the space of a few days, a space  
Of too short lasting to expel a man  
(By the most subtle fetches of the Law)  
Out of a false inheritance: we lost,  
We were expelled out of a Monarchy;  
But does Fate make a stand at this? O no,  
She is not constant, no not in her curse,  
But giving most again, which once was mine  
She gives me too the capability  
Of a new curse.   sc. 

Of a new joy: for shame  
Give thanks at least for your felicity:  
Can you repine being crammed, and so deserve  
A bountiful unhappiness? I've known  
Some that have long endured a tedious siege,  
Or a more tedious sickness, who have been  
Forced to a lasting Lent, when they have come  
Or to their health, or to their liberty,  
Not dare to take the nourishment they might,  
Making themselves their sickness, and their foe:  
Is not my Sforza one of these? you grieve  
Because you have no longer cause to grieve.   Sans. 

O I do fear your grief, that it does glance  
With a most undeserved disgrace at me;  
As if I were akin unto the fault  
Of my false brother: O repeat that thought,  
It is no great thing I request you to,  
But trust unto the faith that you have found.  
Would I betray, and follow you? d'ye think,  
I'd be so mad to buy my banishment?  
No man would be unprofitably false,  
Nor I for any profit: speak yourself  
If I have left you, when your Fortune did?  
Nay, than my love was greatest, when you least,  
I was your subject, when you were no Prince.   Sf. 

Sanseverin, thy fear is too too fond,  
And like the people, the Authority,  
Who make an impious confusion  
Of an high birth, and of an higher crime:  
Who in a saucy thwarting to their Prince,  
Count him still worst, whom he has made the best,  
As if we gave him, with his honours, crimes,  
And made him vicious, when fortunate.  
No, let them spend their breath in idle talk,  
Count thee or treacherous, or cowardly?  
Whilst to thy Sforza thou art still the same,  
Most valiant, and with thy valour, wise,  
That by thy abstinence a while from war,  
Hast saved us forces for a victory.   Sans. 

The subjects' life lies in the PRINCE's voice:  
Now you have cleared me I dare hasten war,  
And wish more enemies, than cowards fear:  
That you may see, by my neglect of blood,  
(Which I shall only love when shed for you)  
How slander was my most feared enemy.   Sf. 

No more, my dearest friend: we lose all time  
Which we do save from fight, still there does flock  
New forces to our Army, and the French  
Are now as much amazed, as proud before:  
We lately took the Swissers into pay,  
Those that dare sell their lives to any cause,  
Whom Gold hath armed for me: if they proceed  
In their first heat, we win: but if they fail  
We cannot be more wretched than we were:  
The vilest chance of luck can make us know  
But an Addition to an Overthrow.    

Scena secunda.  The Captain of the Swizzers, with a Soldier, as a fugitive from the French. Soul. 

NOw w' are alone I dare reveal myself,  
I am not what I seem, a Fugitive,  
But one that from Triulcio do bring  
Letters that much concern you.   Capt. 

What? to me?  
Letters unto his enemy? let's see: Ex. Soul.  
Expect an answer in my Tent.— what's here?   

Letter.  

THou Man of Action, whom th' Italians  
Feel their Achilles, both to wound, and heal:  
Triulcio salutes thee: what is past,  
As past recall he will not mention,  
But for the future this; you aid a man,  
From whom you cannot any way expect  
Reward, or Honour, such his poverty  
Both in desert, and means? but against whom?  
I will not urge they are your Countrymen,  
Partakers of the same sweet soil with you,  
Who only differ in their better choice:  
Yet so far do I prize your worth, to think,  
You have not put off Nature, nor have changed  
With your home air, your home-affections.  
That you are still a Swisser: think of this,  
And that at other times 'twere shame to fly,  
Now only flight shows Magnanimity.    Triulcio. 

What shall I do? O I am lost in doubt,  
Nor know, what to refuse, or what to grant.  
Shall then the Swissers to their valour add  
A tainture of disloyalty? to whom?  
Who can accuse us for our treachery?  
One that has patronised it by his act:  
That hath betrayed his Nephew: shall a man  
Be counted treacherous, that betrays vice?  
It was a crime to aid him, can it be  
A crime to leave him too? O paradox!  
Resolve me Goodness what 'tis best to do:  
And that does whisper a dislike: for what,  
What goodness can there be in civil war?  
When we shall kill them that were borne with us,  
When we shall make the Father die his sword  
In the son's blood, and strangely give a death  
To him, to whom he kindly gave a life,  
When the mixed blood of the same Family  
Shall make a cruel incest: this we do  
If we are honest: I'll learn treason first,  
And the most accurate sin. Triulcio,  
Our Country calls us, and not thou, to be  
Dishonest than is the best honesty.   Ex.  

Scena tertia.  Picinino in his study, with a Deaths-head and a Watch. Pic. 

THis is the sum, I can but be like this.  
After the prouder threatening of the French,  
After the sure impression of Diseases  
I can but be like this: then let me think  
What loss I have when I am made like this:  
This fears no French: a peace of ordinance  
Can break, but not astonish this, no force  
Can draw a tear, no not a sigh from hence:  
And can it be a loss to be like this?  
O Death! why art thou feared? why do we think  
'tis such a horrid terror Not to Be?  
Why, not to be, is, not to be a wretch,  
Why, not to be, is, to be like the heavens,  
Not to be subject to the power of Fate:  
O there's no happiness but not to be. to the Watch.  
But thou discloser of the stealth of Time,  
Let me inquire how much is worn away  
Of this sad hour: the half? O speedy time!  
That mak'st us feel, ere we can think of Age,  
Ere we can take an order for the Grave.   Enter Iul. Iul. 

What? deep in meditation, noble friend?  
So studious of your Watch? alas good man,  
Thou needst not this faint help to guess at Fate,  
These silver hairs are watch enough for thee.   Pic. 

I only look how many minutes hence  
Midan expires.   Jul. 

O swift Arithmetic,  
To sum by minutes our sad Duchies age.   Pic. 

This watch doth teach real Philosophy,  
There is no tutor to this active brass:  
What is a Kingdom, but a larger watch?  
Wound up by Fate unto some scores of years,  
And then it falls: good juliano list,  
Hark how it beats, how strongly, and how fast,  
Beyond the motion of a nimble pulse:  
Who would not think this were a lasting noise?  
And yet it ends: after some date of hours  
The watch will be as silent as the head.  
O 'tis our folly, folly, my dear friend,  
Because we see th'activity of States,  
To flatter them with false Eternity:  
Why longer than the dweller lasts the house?  
Why should the world be always, and not man?  
Sure kingdoms are as mortal as their Kings,  
And stay but longer for their period.   Iul. 

I fear our Climacterical is now:  
When all professions turn to soldier,  
To that curst Art that thrives by Destiny.  
The scythes are straighted into swords, and th'Earth  
Being not wounded is undone, where once  
Stood buildings, which an humble Poetry  
Without too bold a swelling might give Kings:  
Whole Mines undone to beautify one roof,  
Now only Desolation dwells: weak grief,  
To say Corn grows, where once a City stood,  
That sustenance is there where no men are,  
This is a trifling, and half-misery:  
Our Lands now only furnish us with Graves,  
Can hide us, but not feed us; we would think  
Our Cities standing, though the buildings fell,  
If we had no grief, but Fertility.   Pic. 

But on what strength does Sforza still subsist  
Against so powerful foes?   Iul. 

The Emperor  
Has sold him some few Almains, but his hopes  
Chiefly depend upon the valiant Swizze,  
Who were the chief in his depression.   Pic. 

Has his gross brain not learned the danger yet  
Of bringing strangers into Italy?  
He called the French to Naples, who have now  
Found Milan too: O what's the difference  
Betwixt a mercenary and a foe?  
But that we kill one for his outrages,  
And hire the other? Juliano, I  
May feel misfortune, but will never buy.   Ex.  

Scena quarta.  Sforza, Sanseverin. Sans. 

THe French are mighty, and portentously  
Rise by their fall: strong shame begets a rage,  
And a disdain, that you whom they expelled  
Should hazard their expulsion, makes them hazard,  
whate'er being ventured, adds a fame to Man,  
And gives a glory to his misery.  
They are so far from the base fear of death,  
That they embraced, and like those fiercer curs,  
That spend their anger on the senseless stone  
Not daring to attempt on him that threw,  
They with a senseless anger break the darts  
That nail them to the Earth, as if they scorned  
Their killer should survive them: other lets,  
As heat, or hunger, are their exercise:  
That one would think they'd lost all part of man  
When they did mean to show the best: my Lord,  
I wish a swift, but love a certain conquest:  
I think 'twere wisdom to protract the fight.   Sf. 

I know thou speakst what thou thinkst best: but know,  
'tis wisdom to delay on equal fame:  
But when a foe has won opinion,  
Which draws all eyes, and hearts to him, O then  
A valiant desperation fits a man:  
For victory is not impossible,  
And honour necessary: my best friend,  
Call forth our Swissers, and if happy swords  
Though few, may cut a way to glory, come: Enter Capt with Swiz:  
The purchase is above the pains: but here  
Come they that shall fill histories: brave friends  
Now is the time we shall employ your swords,  
And teach the world your valour.   Capt. 

You may fail:  
'Tis better to be wise: Sforza, I'm come  
To take my leave of you, nor shall much breath  
Be spent in ceremonial compliment,  
I am the French king's soldier.   Sf. 

Speak low,  
Let not the air feel such a treason, know  
There is a power above us, and that power  
Thunders sometimes, I know, thou dar'st not stand  
In contestation with the power of heaven:  
Revoke thy words.   Capt. 

I'll do no miracles:  
My voice and faith are passed.   Sf. 

Yes they are past:  
Thou art made up all of disloyalty,  
Reason hath nothing of thee: yet relate  
(If thou hast any relics left of sense,  
I'll not conjure thee by strange Honesty)  
Why dost thou leave the heavens, and us, and so  
For nothing dost commit a double Treason?   Cap. 

I'll satisfy you thus, you see I do't:  
Strike up a march.   Sf. 

Yet stay: what is the price  
That makes thee treacherous, I'll turn prodigal  
To buy thee to a virtue: stay: be rich,  
Without a curse, without a fault.   Cap. 

'tis vain,  
I'm deaf to Rhetoric: yet say thoust met  
With a good perjurer, my word is past,  
And to be twice a traitor, is a fault  
No sorrow can atone for: yet thus far  
I'll strain myself to please thee, 'tis well known,  
Unless you get unto Ascanio,  
Your hopes are at the last, but between you  
And him, the French have interposed themselves,  
Nothing remains but that you trust to me,  
And in a Swissers coat disguise yourself,  
That you may pass their Army.   Sf. 

O hard strait,  
Must Sforza impotently hide himself?  
Or can a Prince be hid? I have oft heard  
Sparks of Divinity adorn his face,  
To clear him from the multitude: why then,  
The being a Prince will make us be no Prince,  
We being betrayed by our own Majesty.  
Yet off ye envied robes, fall to the Earth,  
O fall so low, that henceforth Man may scorn  
The labour of descent to take you up:  
On, on, ye happy robes, that like good clouds  
Do not obscure, but for a time defend  
The threatened Sun, that he may after shine  
With higher vigour: I have heard of some,  
That wear their flesh with haircloth for their crimes,  
As thinking to be good if they were rough,  
By such a wild repentance: be it so Enter Triulcio with the French.  
These robes offended, than there is an hope  
These rags may expiate heaven   Tri. 

Brave soldiers,  
How we rejoice we may embrace at last,  
Not with armed hands, without the guilt and shame  
Of civil murder! but are these the troops  
That now must learn to use their valour well?  
To give a death without a prodigy?  
A conquering cheerfulness adorns their face.  
These are not common soldiers: look you pale,  
Than I must know the mystery.   Cap. 
I'm betrayed.  Tri. 

Yea I know all, but yet from thy forced tongue  
Will I extract confession; fetch a rack,  
To make him howl the truth, he will not speak.   Cap. 

I can dare torments for wise honesty,  
But when you know as much as I can tell,  
Should I conceal't, all policy would judge,  
I did deserve the worst that I endured:  
Who told you this was Sforza?   Sf. 

O my brain!  
Must subtlety perish by subtlety?  
And our high wisdom find a Conqueror?  
Make an end Nature, the great work is done,  
Sforza is overreached— weak, childish rage:  
Is this to lessen, or make misery?  
Can passion lose us, or a courteous tear  
Wash off our fetters? if it can, pour eyes,  
Pour out wet comfort; if it can, refuse  
The curse of slumber, but it cannot, then  
Covet a slumber everlastingly,  
And be like me, imprisoned in your lids.  
Convey us quickly hence, kind friends, you know  
Sforza can never be a prisoner here.  
Convey us thither where we are no Prince.  
And must we woo our Ruin? never man  
Is a true wretch, but when he loseth all,  
And wants the sad Election of his fall.    

Scena vltima.  Juliano, Picinino Iul. 

I'm lost in this confusion: one reports  
We have lost all; another instantly  
kills all the French at once: thus every street  
Is filled with wandring people; some cry, Arm,  
Others run crying, to persuade a slight:  
All have an earnest business in the stir,  
But in the help not any.   Pic. 

These are they  
That if an happy messenger should come  
With Sforza's victory, would pretend at least  
To be o'ercome with joy: the gorgeous walls  
Should shine with painted triumphs, and the French  
Should be again vanquished in pageant.  
But if his fortune yield to the French force,  
What obloquy's will be enough for him?  
Disgrace will then be wit, and any brain  
Will venture on a Libel.   Iul. 

'Tis the use,  
The popular folly to admire events,  
And those low souls think that the sword is just,  
Proportioning the reason by the end  
Of the chief acts, of the best enterprise,  
And so by folly run into a crime.   Pic. 

No matter for their wisdom, were they good:  
O why are such termed Innocents? but friend,  
What is our aim? a flight our age denies,  
And whither should we fly, but to the grave?  
O I have so much people in me too, Enter Malvezzo.  
That I could wish thy company.   Mal. 

Good Heavens!  
Am I escaped? may I stay safely here?  
My fear has left such near impressions,  
I scarce dare think that this is Liberty.   Pic. 
Noble Malvezzo, is there any hope?  Mal. 

As much as in despair: we are betrayed,  
Sforza is made a prisoner, all's lost,  
And Milan, without blows, is once more French.   Pic. 

Now I remember what I dreamt last night,  
(If it be safe to call a vision, Dream,)  
I saw our Sforza in so pale a shape,  
That Envy never was described more wan,  
Who frighted me with this relation.   

STart not astonished mortal: let no fear  
Chill thee to my pale image, but fix here:  
Let thy once Prince be thy now spectacle,  
Whilst I the direst Tragedy shall tell  
That ever challenged wonder: briefly then,  
I was betrayed, betrayed, and by those men  
By whom I conquered:] 'tis an happy end  
To perish for, but never by a friend.  
This our first death: but then— O could cursed Time  
Dare ever such a Minute, such a Crime?  
Then was I pinioned, than these royal hands  
Were forced obedient to the base commands  
Of an insulting conqueror, and knit  
Unto a hated union; 'twere fit  
If ever Heaven shed tears, than to distil  
Mournings Elixir, though th'expense should kill  
The hopes of after Ages: but Heaven smiled  
Nor any courteous clouds were wisely piled  
Over the sun's sharp beames, but they gazed on  
With the same visage of compassion  
As did my torturers, [by whom I'm brought  
Unto a place the which some shallower thought  
Has faintly termed a prison, but to tell  
The truth of horror, 'twas on Earth, an Hell:  
Darkness so dwell there, that I might be won  
To wish the cruel comfort of the Sun,  
Which erst I raved at: 'twas a narrow cave,  
Formed to the model of a lesser grave,  
Or straightened Coffin, all was length, for they  
Left not the height that I might kneel to pray.  
Was ever such a bed? could ever yet  
Cruelty boast of such a subtle wit  
To bury so! some that have entered Earth  
Alive, like me, yet by the usual mirth  
Of justice had their burial with meat,  
As if't should be their punishment to eat,  
From which I me barred, I had no food, but me,  
And yet a guest of famine; courtesy  
At last seized heaven, I died, and so though late,  
I both appeased and triumphed over Fate.   
But where am I? what ecstasy was this?  Iul. 

How quickly we learn misery? no ghost  
Would have so courteously relinquished Hell  
To teach us happiness: if a kind star  
Had cast a Fortune on us beyond wish,  
We might expect the story from the star  
as soon as the dear benefit: but when grief  
That against which we would seal up our ears,  
When that is meant us, we shall surely hear,  
Though heaven do strain for a new Miracle,  
So to amaze us to a certainty:  
Though rotten carcases regain a voice,  
And hell is bounteous of intelligence,  
To give us tears.   Pic. 

Why, than an end to tears,  
Let's scorn the sorrow, which we owe to hell:  
Now learn we the prodigious effects  
Of wise Ambition: for 'twere easy justice  
To ruin foolish usurpation,  
Heaven needs not stickle in't: but when those men  
Who are as accurate, as bad, who can  
So shape their vice into a virtuous mould,  
That we repine at the accusers more,  
Than at the guilty: when that these men fall,  
Who then will call that wise, which he sees bad?  
Such wisdom made, and ruined him: than ye  
That dazzle with your Majesty, and sit  
Too near to thunder, and not fear it, know  
Sforza, and learn a wise contempt of wisdom,  
Frailty attends your best, and strongest trick,  
And there's no fool unto the Politic.      

The Epilogue.  

SOmewhat beyond an end? and can there be  
Tediousness counted an Apology?  
It was prolixity of speech offended,  
And can that error by more speech be mended?  
Your patience stints the wonder: that is it  
Hath dared us to be public, and to fit  
These times of tempest, with a blustering scene.  
If aught do please, if we have hit the mean,  
That neither cloys the Auditor, nor starves,  
Felicity hath crowned us, if ought swerves  
From plausible invention, know 'twas it  
Which we intend, which is in stead of wit.  
Tears grace a Tragedy, and we are glad  
To have the happy power to make you sad.  
Continue it, and our applause is high,  
Not from your Hand so much, as from your eye.    

To the Ambitious.  

TEll me, mortals, if there be  
Ought beside stupidity  
Hidden in you at the least,  
If you are not all one beast  
Wherefore do you cloud your face  
If you want the chiefest place?  
Why do you respect? O why?  
Not how good 'tis, but how high?  
Would you all be Kings? O vain,  
This is but to entertain  
Such desires, that you may fear,  
Lest the heaven should lend an ear,  
Lest you have what you desired,  
And in your own bogs be mired.  
Height is baseness, if it be  
Levelled by Equality,  
And the Earth were a plain still.  
If it were but one great hill.  
Would you all be Kings? as though  
Standing pools should wish to flow.  
Or a river make his plea  
To exceed into a Sea:  
As if of the stars not one,  
But should strive to be the Sun,  
Or the Lark would partner be  
In the eagle's sovereignty.  
Would you not be mad to see,  
If a beast, a stone, a tree  
To the heavenly powers ran  
Angry that they were not man?  
Nay in us consider well  
To what Monsters we should swell,  
If but any Part should be  
Of the Man's infirmity.  
What should lead, or what be led,  
If the foet were made the Head?  
What should speak, or what should see,  
If this itch of Majesty  
Made the mouth, for being nigh,  
Beg advancement to the eye.  
Would you all be Kings, poor men!  
Wish, what you would wish again,  
Which within your thoughts dares bide,  
And's not fearful to be tried.  
What's a King, consider well,  
But the public Sentinel?  
But a Beacon, which we find  
Highly subject to the wind?  
And can any still desire  
To be worse, so he be higher?  
Are you weary of your sleep,  
Can you count it bliss, to creep,  
To take pains unto that height,  
Whence your fall may gain a weight,  
Would you all be Kings? you may,  
Every man hath regal sway,  
And 'tis this the fault does bear,  
Not that he commands, but where  
Do thy thoughts rebel? would Pride  
Have thy worst acts magnified?  
Does Ambition make thee flee  
To forbidden Sovereignty.  
Know it is a braver way  
To forbid, than to obey:  
Know it is a nobler deed,  
To give over, than to speed.  
Were this all? would every one  
But command himself alone,  
But command his own desire,  
From the thought of rising higher:  
It would not be a grief to see  
An universal Monarchy.   
FINIS.