THE NOBLE soldier. OR, A CONTRACT BROKEN, JUSTLY REVENGED.  
A TRAGEDY.  
Written by S. R.  
— Non est, Lex justior ulla,  
Quam Nescis Artifices, Arte perire Sua.  
LONDON: Printed for Nicholas Vavasour, and are to be sold at his shop in the Temple, near the Church. 1634.   

The PRINTER to the READER.  
Understanding Reader, I present this to your view, which has received applause in Action. The Poet might conceive a complete satisfaction upon the Stages approbation: But the Printer rests not there, knowing that that which was acted and approved upon the Stage, might be no less acceptable in Print. It is now communicated to you whose leisure and knowledge admits of reading and reason: Your judgement now this Posthumus assures himself will well attest his predecessors endeavours to give content to men of the ablest quality, such as intelligent readers are here conceived to be. I could have troubled you with a longer Epistle, but I fear to stay you from the book, which affords better words and matter than I can. So the work modestly depending in the scale of your judgement, the Printer for his part craves your pardon, hoping by his promptness to do you greater service, as conveniency shall enable him to give you more or better testimony of his entireness towards you.  N V.  


Drammatis Personae.  
KIng of Spain.  
Cardinal.  
Duke of Medina.  


Dons of Spain,  
marquess Daeania.  
Alba.  
Roderigo.  
Valasce.    
Lopez  
Queen, A Florentine.  
Onelia, Niece to Medina, the Contracted Lady.  
Sebastian Her Son.  
Malateste A Florentine.  
Baltazar The Soldier.  
A Poet.  
Cockadillio A foolish Courtier.  
A friar.    

THE NOBLE SPANISH soldier:  

Actus Primus.  

Scaena Prima.  Enter in Magnificent state, to the sound of loud music, the King and Queen, as from Church, attended by the Cardinal, Count Malateste, Daenia, Roderigo, Valasco, Alba, Carlo, and some waiting Ladies. The King and Queen with Courtly Compliments salute and part; she with one half attending her: King, Cardinal, and th'other half stay, the King seeming angry and desirous to be rid of them too.— King Cardinal, Daenia, &c. K. 
GIve us what no man here is master of,  
(Breath) leave us pray, my father Cardinal  
Can by the Physic of Philosophy  
et all again in order. Leave us, pray. exeunt  Car. 
How is it with you, Sir?  Kin. 
As with a Ship  
Now beat with storms, now safe, the storms are vanished,  
And having you my Pilot, I not only  
See shore, but harbour; ay, to you will open  
The book of a black sin, deep-printed in me:  
Oh father! my disease lies in my soul.  Card. 
The old wound, Sir?  Kin. 
Yes that, it festers inward:  
For though I have a beauty to my bed  
That even Creation envies at, as wanting  
Stuff to make such another, yet on her pillow  
I lie by her, but an Adulterer,  
And she as an Adulteress, she's my Queen  
And wife, yet but my strumpet, though the Church  
Set on the seal of Marriage; good Onaelia,  
Niece to our Lord high Constable of Spain,  
Was precontracted mine.  Card. 
Yet when I stung  
Your Conscience with remembrance of the Act,  
Your ears were deaf to counsel.  Kin. 
I confess it.  Car. 
Now to untie the knot with your new Queen  
Would shake your Crown half from your head.  King 
Even Troy  
(Though she hath wept her eyes out) would find tears  
To wail my kingdom's ruins.  Car. 
What will you do then?  Kin. 
She has that Contract written, sealed by you,  
And other Churchmen (witnesses unto't)  
A kingdom should be given for that paper.  Card. 
I would not, for what lies beneath the Moon,  
Be made a wicked Engine to break in pieces  
That holy Contract.  Kin. 
'Tis my soul's aim to tie it  
Upon a faster knot.  Car. 
I do not see  
How you can with safe conscience get it from her.  Kin. 
Oh! I know  
I wrestle with a Lioness: to imprison her,  
And force her to't, I dare not: death! what King  
Did ever say I dare not? I must have it:  
A Bastard have I by her, and that Cock  
Will have (I fear) sharp spurs, if he crow after  
Him that trod for him: something must be done  
Both to the Hen and Chicken; haste you therefore  
To sad Onaelia, tell her I'm resolved  
To give my new Hawk bells, and let her fly:  
My Queen I'm weary of, and her will marry:  
To this our Text add you what gloss you please,  
The secret drifts of Kings are depthless Seas.  Exeunt. A Table set out covered with black: two waxen Tapers: the king's Picture at one end, a crucifix at the other, Onaelia walking discontentedly weeping to the Crucifix, her Maid with her, to them Cornego. 

Song,  Quest. 
Oh sorrow, sorrow, say where dost thou dwell?  Answ. 
In the lowest room of Hell.  Quest. 
Art thou borne of Humane Race?  Answ. 
No, no, I have a furrier face.  Quest. 
Art thou in City, Town or Court?  Answ. 
I to every place resort.  Quest. 
Oh why into the world is sorrow sent?  Answ. 
Men afflicted, best repent.  Quest. 
What dost thou feed on?  Answ. 
Broken sleep.  Quest. 
What tak'st thou pleasure in?  Answ. 
To weep,  
To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groan,  
To wring my hands, to sit alone.  Quest. 
Oh when? oh when shall sorrow quiet have?  Answ. 
Never, never, never, never,  
Never till she finds a Grave.   Enter Cornego. Corn. 
No lesson, Madam, but Lacrymae's? if you had buried nine husbands, so much water as you might squeeze out of an Onion had been tears enough to cast away upon fellows that cannot thank you, come be jovial.  Onae. 
Sorrow becomes me best.  Corn. 
A suit of laugh and lie down would wear better.  Onae. 
What should I do to be merry, Cornego?  Corn. 
Be not sad.  Ona. 
But what's the best mirth in the world?  Corn. 
Marry this, to see much, say little, do little, get little, spend little, and want nothing.  Onae. 
Oh but there is a mirth beyond all these:  
This Picture has so vexed me, I'm half mad,  
To spite it therefore I'll sing any song  
thyself shalt tune; say then what mirth is best?  Corn. 
Why then, Madam, what I knock out now is the very marrowbone of mirth, and this it is.  Onae. 
Say on.  Corn. 
The best mirth for a Lawyer is to have fools to his Clients: for Citizens, to have Noblemen pay their debts: for Tailors to have store of Satin brought in, for then how little soe'er their houses are, they'll be sure to have large yards: the best mirth for bawds is to have fresh handsome whores, and for whores to have rich gulls come aboard their pinnaces, for then they are sure to build Gally-Asles.  Onae. 
These to such souls are mirth, but to mine none: Away.  Exit. Enter Cardinal. Car. 
Peace to you, Lady.  Onae. 
I will not sin so much as hope for peace,  
And 'tis a mock ill suits your gravity.  Car. 
I come to knit the nerves of your lost strength,  
To build your ruins up, to set you free  
From this your voluntary banishment,  
And give new being to your murdered same.  Onae. 
What Aeseulapius can do this?  Car. 
The King— 'tis from the King I come?  Onae. 
A name I hate;  
Oh I am deaf now to your Embassy.  Car. 
Hear what I speak.  Onae. 
Your language breathed from him  
Is death's sad doom upon a wretch condemned.  Car. 
Is it such poison?  Onae. 
Yes, and were you crystal,  
What the King fills you with, would make you break:  
You should (my Lord) be like these robes you we are,  
(Pure as the die) and like that reverend shape;  
Nurse thoughts as full of honour, zeal, and purity;  
You should be the court-dial, and direct  
The King with constant motion, be ever beating  
(Like to clock-hammers) on his Iron heart  
To make it sound clear, and to feel remorse  
You should unlock his soul, wake his dead conscience,  
Which like a drowsy sentinel gives leave  
For sins vast army to beleaguer him;  
His ruins will be asked for at your hands.  Car. 
I have raised up a scaffolding to save  
Both him and you from falling, do but hear me.  Onae. 
Be dumb for ever.  Car. 
Let your fears thus die:  
By all the sacred relics of the Church,  
And by my holy Orders, what I minister  
Is even the spirit of health.  Onae. 
I'll drink it down into my soul at once.  Car. 
You shall.  Onae. 
But swear.  Car. 
What Conjurations can more bind mine oath?  Onae. 
But did you swear in earnest?  Car. 
Come, you trifle.  Onae. 
No marvel, for my hopes have been so drowned,  
I still despair: Say on.  Car. 
The King repents.  Onae. 
Pray that again, my Lord.  Car. 
The King repents.  Onae. 
His wrongs to me?  Car. 
His wrongs to you: the sense  
Of sin has pierced his soul.  Onae. 
Blessed penitence!  Car. 
'Has turned his joys into his leprous bosom,  
And like a King vows execution  
On all his traitorous passions.  Onae. 
Godlike justice!  Car. 
Intends in person presently to beg  
Forgiveness for his Acts of heaven and you.  Onae. 
Heaven pardon him, I shall.  Car. 
Will marry you.  Onae. 
umh! marry me? will he turn Bigamist?  
When, when?  Car. 
Before the morrow Sun hath rode  
Half his day's journey; will send home his Queen  
As one that stains his bed, and can produce  
Nothing but bastard Issue to his Crown:  
Why how now? lost in wonder and amazement?  Onae. 
I am so stored with joy that I can now  
Strongly wear out more years of misery  
Than I have lived.  Enter King. Car. 
You need not: here's the King.  Kin. 
Leave us.  Exit Card. Onae. 
With pardon, Sir, I will prevent you,  
And charge upon you first.  Kin. 
'Tis granted, do:  
But stay, what mean these Emblems of distress?  
My Picture so defaced! opposed against  
A holy Cross! room hung in black! and you  
Dressed like chief Mourner at a Funeral?  Onae. 
Look back upon your guilt (dear Sir) and then  
The cause that now seems strange, explains itself:  
This, and the Image of my living wrongs  
Is still confronted by me to beget  
Grief like my shame, whose length may outlive Time:  
This Cross, the object of my wounded soul,  
To which I pray to keep me from despair;  
That ever as the sight of one throws up  
Mountains of sorrows on my accursed head:  
Turning to that, Mercy may check despair,  
And bind my hands from wilful violence.  Kin. 
But who hath played the Tyrant with me thus?  
And with such dangerous spite abused my picture?  Onae. 
The guilt of that lays claim, Sir, to yourself,  
For being by you ransacked of all my fame,  
robbed of mine honour, and dear chastity,  
Made by you act the shame of all my house,  
The hate of good men, and the scorn of bad,  
The song of broom-men, and the murdering vulgar,  
And left alone to bear up all these ills  
By you begun, my breast was filled with fire,  
And wrapped in just disdain, and like a woman  
On that dumb picture wreaked I my passions.  Kin. 
And wished it had been I.  Onae. 
Pardon me, Sir,  
My wrongs were great, and my revenge swelled high.  Kin. 
I will descend, and cease to be a King,  
To leave my judging part, freely confessing  
Thou canst not give thy wrongs too ill a name.  
And here to make thy apprehension full,  
And seat thy reason in a sound belief,  
I vow tomorrow (ere the rising Sun  
Begin his journey) with all Ceremonies  
Due to the Church, to seal our nuptials,  
To prive thy son with full consent of State,  
Spain's heir Apparent, borne in wedlock vows.  Onae. 
And will you swear to this?  Kin. 
By this I swear.  Ona. 
Oh you have sworn false oaths upon that book.  Kin. 
Why then by this.  Onae. 
Take heed you print it deeply:  
How for your Concubine (Bride I cannot say)  
She stains your bed with black Adultery:  
And though her fame masks in a fairer shape  
Than mine to the world's eye, yet (King) you know  
Mine honour is less strumpeted than hers,  
However butchered in opinion.  Kin. 
This way for her, the Contract which thou hast  
By best advice of all our Cardinals,  
Today shall be enlarged, till it be made  
Past all dissolving: then to our counsel-table  
Shall she be called, that read aloud, she told  
The Church commands her quick return for Florence,  
With such a dower as Spain received with her,  
And that they will not hazard heavens dire curse  
To yield to a match unlawful, which shall taint,  
The issue of the King with Bastardy:  
This done, in state Majestic come you forth  
(Our new crowned Queen) in sight of all our Peers:  
Are you resolved?  Onae. 
To doubt of this were Treason,  
Because the King has sworn it.  Kin. 
And will keep it:  
Deliver up the Contract then, that I  
May make this day end with thy misery.  Onae. 
Here, as the dearest jewel of my fame,  
Locked I this parchment from all viewing eyes,  
This your Indenture held alone the life  
Of my supposed dead honour; yet (behold)  
Into your hands I redeliver it.  
Oh keep it, Sir, as you should keep that vow,  
To which (being signed by heaven) even Angels bow.  Kin. 
'tis in the Lions paw, and who dares snatch it?  
Now to your Beads and Crucifix again.  Onae. 
Defend me heaven!  Kin. 
Pray there may come Ambassadors from France,  
Their followers are good Customers.  Onae. 
Save me from madness!  Kin. 
'Twill raise the price, being the king's Mistress.  Onae. 
You do but counterfeit to mock my joys.  Kin. 
Away bold strumpet.  Onae. 
Are there eyes in heaven to see this?  Kin. 
Call and try, here's a whore's curse,  
To fall in that belief which her sin's nurse.  Exit. Enter Cornego. Cor. 
How now? what quarter of the Moon has she cut out now? my Lord puts me into a wise office, to be a mad woman's keeper: why madam!  Onae. 
Ha! where is the King, thou slave?  Cor. 
Let go your hold, or I'll fall upon you as I am a man.  Onae. 
Thou treacherous caitiff, where's the King?  Cor. 
he's gone, but not so far gone as you are.  Onae. 
Crack all in sunder, oh you Battlements,  
And grind me into powder.  Cor. 
What powder? come, what powder? when did you ever see a woman grinded into powder? I am sure some of your sex powder men and pepper 'em too.  Onae. 
Is there a vengeance  
Yet lacking to my ruin? let it fall,  
Now let it fall upon me?  Cor. 
No, there has too much fall'n upon you already.  Onae. 
Thou villain, leave thy hold, I'll follow him:  
Like a raised ghost I'll haunt him, break his sleep,  
Fright him as he's embracing his new Leman,  
Till want of rest bids him run mad and die,  
For making oaths Bawds to his perjury.  Cor. 
Pray be more seasoned, if he made any Bawds he did ill, for there is enough of that fly-blown flesh already.  Onae. 
I'm now left naked quite:  
All's gone, all, all.  Cor. 
No Madam, not all, for you cannot be rid of me:  
Here comes your Uncle.  Enter Medina. Onae. 
Attired in robes of vengeance, Are you, Uncle?  Med. 
More horrors yet?  Onae. 
'twas never full till now;  
And in this torrent all my hopes lie drowned.  Med. 
Instruct me in the cause.  Onae. 
The King, the Contract!  Exit. Cor. 
There's cud enough for you to chew upon.  Exit. Med. 
What's this? a riddle! how? the King, the Contract!  
The mischief I divine, which proving true,  
Shall kindle fires in Spain to melt his Crown  
Even from his head: here's the decree of Fate,  
A black deed must a black deed expiate.  Exit.   

Actus Secundus,  

Scoena Prima.  Enter Baltazar slighted by Dons. Bal. 
THou god of good Apparel, what strange fellows  
Are bound to do thee honour! mercer's books  
Show men's devotions to thee; heaven cannot hold  
A Saint so stately: Do not my Dons know me  
Because I'm poor in clothes? stood my beaten tailor  
Plaiting my rich hose, my silk stocking-man  
Drawing upon my Lordship's Courtly calf  
Pairs of Embroidered things, whose golden clocks  
Strike deeper to the faithful shopkeepers heart  
Than into mine to pay him.— Had my Barbour  
Perfumed my lousy thatch here, and poked out  
Me Tusks more stiff than are a cat's muschatoes,  
These pied-winged Butterflies had known me then:  
Another flyboat Save thee, Illustrious Don.  Enter Don Roderigo. 
Sir is the King at leisure to speak Spanish  
With a poor Soldier?  Ro. 
No.  Exit. Bal. 
No, sirrah, you, no!  
You DONE with th'ochre face, I wish to ha' thee  
But on a Breach, stifling with smoke and fire,  
And for thy No, but whiffing Gunpowder  
Out of an Iron pipe, I wooed but ask thee  
If thou wouldst on, and if thou didst cry No,  
Thou shouldst read Canon-Law, I'd make thee roar,  
And wear cut-beaten-satin; I wooed pay thee  
Though thou payest not thy Mercer: mere Spanish jennets,  Enter Cockadillio. 
signior is the King at leisure?  Cock. 
To do what?  Balt. 
To hear a Soldier speak.  Cock. 
I am no earpicker  
To sound his hearing that way.  Bal. 
Are you of Court, Sir?  Cock. 
Yes, the king's Barber.  Bal. 
That's his earpicker: your name, I pray.  Cock. 
Don Cockadilio:  
If, Soldier, thou hast suits to beg at Court,  
I shall descend so low as to betray  
Thy paper to the hand Royal.  Bal. 
I beg, you whoreson muscod! my petition  
Is written on my bosom in red wounds.  Cock. 
I am no Barbar-Surgeon.  Exit. Bal. 
You yellow hammer, why shaver:  
That such poor things as these, only made up  
Of tailor's shreds and Merchants silken rags,  
And Pothecary drugs to lend their breath  
Sophisticated smells, when their rank guts  
Stink worse than cowards in the heat of battle;  
Such whalebond-doublet-rascals, that owe more  
To Laundresses and Sempsters for laced Linen  
Then all their race from their great grandfather  
To this their reign, in clothes were ever worth:  
These excrements of Silkworms! oh that such flies  
Do buzz about the beams of Majesty!  
Like earwigs, tickling a king's yielding ear  
With that Court-Organ (Flattery) when a soldier  
Must not come near the Court gates twenty score,  
But stand for want of clothes, (though he win Towns)  
Amongst the Almesbasket-men! his best reward  
Being scorned to be a fellow to the black guard:  
Why should a Soldier (being the world's right arm)  
Be cut thus by the left? (a Courtier?)  
Is the world all Ruff and Feather, and nothing else? shall I never see a tailor give his coat with a difference from a Gentleman?  Enter King, Alanzo, Carle, Cockadilio. Kin. 
My Baltazar!  
Let us make haste to meet thee: how art thou altered?  
Do you not know him?  Alanz. 
Yes, Sir, the brave Soldier  
Employed against the moors.  Kin. 
Half turned moor!  
I'll honour thee, reach him a chair, that Table,  
And now Aeneas-like let thine own Trumpet  
Sound forth thy battle with those slavish moors.  Bal. 
My music is a Canon; a pitched field my stage; Furies the Actors, blood and vengeance the scene; death the story; a sword imbrued with blood, the pen that writes, and the Poet a terrible buskined Tragical fellow, with a wreath about his head of burning match instead of bays.  Kin. 
On to the Battle.  Bal. 
'Tis here without bloodshed: This our main Battalia, that the Van, this the Vaw, these the wings, here we fight, there they fly, here they ensconce, and here our sconces lay 17 Moons on the cold earth.  Kin. 
This satisfies mine eye, but now mine ear  
Must have his music too; describe the battle.  Bal. 
The Battle? Am I come from doing to talking? The hardest part for a Soldier to play is to prate well; our Tongues are Fifes, Drums, Petronels, Muskets, Culverin and Canon, these are our Roarers; the Clocks which we go by, are our hands; thus we reckon ten, our swords strike eleven, and when steel targets of proof clatter one against another, then 'tis noon, that's the height and the heat of the day of battle.  Kin. 
So.  Bal. 
To that heat we came, our Drums beat, Pikes were shaken and shivered, swords and Targets clashed and clattered, Muskets rattled, Canons roared, men died groaning. brave laced Jerkins and Feathers looked pale, tottered rascals fought pell-mell; here fell a wing, there heads were lost like footballs; legs and arms quarrelled in the air, and yet lay quietly on the earth; horses trampled upon heaps of carcases, Troops of Carbines tumbled wounded from their horses; we besiege moors, and famine us, Mutinies bluster and are calm; I vowed not to doff mine Armour, though my flesh were frozen to't and turned into Iron, nor to cut head nor beard till they yielded; my hairs and oath are of one length, for (with Caesar) thus write I mine own story, Veni, vidi, vici.  Kin. 
A pitched field quickly fought: our hand is thine;  
And 'cause thou shalt not murmur that thy blood  
Was lavished forth for an ingrateful man,  
Demand what we can give thee, and 'tis thine.  Bal. 
Only your love.  Kin. 
'Tis thine, rise, soldier's best accord  
When wounds of wrongs are healed up by the sword.  Onaelia beats at the door. Onae. 
Let me come in, I'll kill that treacherous King  
The murderer of mine honour, let me come in.  Kin. 
What woman's voice is that?  Omnes. 
Medina's Niece.  Kin. 
Bar out that fiend.  Onae. 
I'll tear him with my nails,  
Let me come in, let me come in, help, help me.  Kin. 
Keep her from following me; a guard.  Alanz. 
They are ready, Sir.  Kin. 
Let a quick summons call our Lords together;  
This disease kills me.  Bal. 
Sir I would be private with you.  Kin. 
Forbear us, but see the doors well guarded.  Exeunt Bal. 
Will you, Sir, promise to give me freedom of speech?  Kin. 
Yes I will, take it, speak any thing, 'tis pardoned.  Bal. 
You are a whore master; do you send me to win Towns for you abroad, and you lose a kingdom at home?  Kin. 
What kingdom?  Bal. 
The fairest in the world, the kingdom of your fame, Your honour.  Kin. 
Wherein?  Bal. 
I'll be plain with you; much mischief is done by the mouth of a Canon, but the fire begins at a little touchhole; you heard what Nightingale sung to you even now.  Kin. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Bal. 
Angels erred but once and fell, but you, Sir, spit in heaven's face every minute, and laugh at it: laugh still; follow your courses; do; let your vices run like your Kennels of hounds yelping after you, till they pluck down the fairest head in the herd, everlasting bliss.  Kin. 
Any more?  Bal. 
Take sin as the English snuffed Tobacco, and scornfully blew the smoke in the eyes of heaven, the vapour flies up in clouds of bravery; but when 'tis out, the coal is black (your conscience,) and the pipe stinks; a sea of Rose-water cannot sweeten your corrupted bosom.  Kin. 
Nay, spit thy venom.  Bal. 
'Tis Aqua Coelestis, no venom; for when you shall clasp up those two books, never to be opened again, when by letting fall that Anchor, which can never more be weighed up, your mortal Navigation ends: then there's no playing at spurn-point with thunderbolts. A Vintner then for unconscionable reckoning, or a tailor for unmeasurable Items shall not answer in half that fear you must.  Kin. 
No more.  Bal. 
I will follow Truth at the heels, though her foot beat my gums in pieces.  Kin. 
The Barber that draws out a lion's tooth Curseth his Trade; and so shalt thou.  Bal. 
I care not.  Kin. 
Because you have beaten a few base-born moors,  
methink'st thou to chastise? what's past I pardon,  
Because I made the key to unlock thy railing;  
But if thou dar'st once more be so untuned,  
I'll send thee to the Galleys, who are without there:  
How now?  Enter Lords drawn. Omnes. 
In danger, Sir?  Kin. 
Yes, yes, I am; but 'tis no point of weapon  
Can rescue me; go presently and summon  
All our chief Grandoes, Cardinals, and Lords  
Of Spain to meet in Counsel instantly:  
We called you forth to execute a business  
Of another strain,— but 'tis no matter now  
Thou diest, when next thou furrowest up our brow.  Bal. 
So: die!  Exit. Enter Cardinal, Roderigo, Albia, Daenia, Valasco. Kin. 
I find my Sceptre shaken by enchantments  
Charactered in this parchment, which to unloose,  
I'll practise only countercharms of fire,  
And blow the spells of lightning into smoke:  
Fetch burning Tapers.  Exeunt. Car. 
Give me Audience, Sir;  
My apprehension opens me a way  
To a close fatal mischief, worse than this  
You strive to murder; O this Act of yours  
Alone shall give your danger's life, which else  
Can never grow to height; do, Sir, but read  
A book here clasped up, which too late you opened,  
Now blotted by you with foul marginal notes.  Kin. 
Art frantic?  Car. 
You are so, Sir.  Kin. 
If I be,  
Then here's my first mad fit.  Car. 
For honour's sake,  
For love you bear to conscience.—  Kin. 
Reach the flames:  
Grandoes and Lords of Spain be witness all  
What here I cancel; read, do you know this bond?  Omnes. 
Our hands are to't.  Daen. 
'Tis your confirmed Contract  
With my sad kinswoman: but wherefore, Sir,  
Now is your rage on fire, in such a presence  
To have it mourn in Ashes?  Kin. 
marquess Daenia,  
we'll lend That tongue, when this no more can speak.  Car. 
Dear Sir!  Kin. 
I am deaf,  
Played the full consort of the Spheres unto me  
Upon their loudest strings— so burn that witch  
Who would dry up the tree of all Spain's Glories,  
But that I purge her sorceries by fire:  
Troy lies in Cinders; let your Oracles  
Now laugh at me if I have been deceived  
By their ridiculous riddles: why (good father)  
(Now you may freely chide) why was your zeal  
Ready to burst in showers to quench our fury?  Car. 
Fury indeed, you give it proper name:  
What have you done? closed up a festering wound  
Which rots the heart: like a bad Surgeon,  
Labouring to pluck out from your eye a moat,  
You thrust the eye clean out.  Kin. 
thouart mad ex tempore:  
What eye? which is that wound?  Car. 
That Scroll, which now  
You make the black Indenture of your lust,  
Although eat up in flames, is printed here,  
In me, in him, in these, in all that saw it,  
In all that ever did but hear 'twas yours:  
That scold of the whole world (Fame) will anon  
Rail with her thousand tongues at this poor shift  
Which gives your sin a flame greater than that  
You lent the paper; you to quench a wild fire,  
Cast oil upon it.  Kin. 
Oil to blood shall turn,  
I'll lose a limb before the heart shall mourn.  Exeunt. Manent Daenia, Alba. Daen. 
he's mad with rage or joy.  Alb. 
With both; with rage  
To see his follies checked, with fruitless joy  
Because he hopes his Contract is cut off  
Which Divine justice more exemplifies.  Enter Medina. Med. 
Where's the King?  Daen. 
Wrapped up in clouds of lightning?  Med. 
What has he done? saw you the Contract torn  
As I did hear a minion swear he threatened.  Alb. 
He tore it not, but burned it.  Med. 
Openly!  Daen. 
And heaven with us to witness.  Maed. 
Well, that fire  
Will prove a catching flame to burn his kingdom.  Alb. 
Meet and consult.  Med. 
No more, trust not the air  
With our projections, let us all revenge  
Wrongs done to our most hoble kinswoman;  
Action is honour's language, swords are tongues,  
Which both speak best, and best do right our wrongs.  Exit. Enter Onaelia one way, Cornego another. Cor. 
Madam, there's a bear without to speak with you.  One. 
A Bear.  Cor. 
It's a Man all hairy, and that's as bad.  One. 
Who is't?  Cor. 
'tis one Master Captain Baltazar.  One. 
I do not know that Baltazar.  Cor. 
He desires to see you: and if you love a water-spaniel  
before he be shorn, see him.  Onae. 
Let him come in.  Enter Baltazar. Cor. 
Hist; a duck, a duck; there she is, Sir.  Bal. 
A Soldiers good wish bless you Lady.  Onae. 
Good wishes are most welcome (Sir) to me,  
So many bad ones blast me.  Bal. 
Do you not know me?  Onae. 
I scarce know myself.  Bal. 
I ha' been at Tennis, Madam, with the King: I gave him 15 and all his faults, which is much, and now I come to toss a ball with you.  Onae. 
I am bandied too much up and down already.  Cor. 
Yes, she has been struck under line, master soldier.  Bal. 
I conceit you, dare you trust yourself alone with me?  Onae. 
I have been laden with such weights of wrong,  
That heavier cannot press me: hence Cornego.  Cor. 
Hence Cornego? stay Captain: when man and woman are put together, some egg of villainy is sure to be sat upon.  Exit Bal. 
What would you say to him should kill this man That hath you so dishonoured?  Onae. 
Oh I wooed crown him  
With thanks, praise, gold, and tender of my life.  Bal. 
Shall I be that German Fencer, and beat all the knocking boys before me? shall I kill him?  Onae. 
There's music in the tongue that dares but speak it.  Bal. 
That Fiddle then is in me, this arm can do't, by poniard, poison, or pistol: but shall I do't indeed?  Onae. 
One step to humane bliss is sweet revenge.  Bal. 
Stay; what made you love him?  Onae. 
His most goodly shape,  
Married to royal virtues of his mind.  Bal. 
Yet now you would divorce all that goodness; and why? For a little lechery of revenge? it's a lie: the burr that sticks in your throat is a throne; let him out of his mess of kingdoms; cut out but one, and lay Sicilia, Arragon, Naples, or any else upon your trencher, and you'll praise Bastard for the sweetest wine in the world, and call for another quart of it: 'Tis not because the man has left you, but because you are not the woman you would be, that mads you: A shee-cuckold is an untameable monster.  Onae. 
Monster of men thou art; thou bloody villain,  
Traitor to him who never injured thee;  
Dost thou profess Arms? and art bound in honour  
To stand up like a brazen wall to guard  
Thy King and Country, and wouldst thou ruin both?  Bal. 
You spur me on to't.  Onæ. 
True;  
Worse am I then the horrid'st fiend in hell  
To murder him whom once I loved too well:  
For though I could run mad, and tear my hair,  
And kill that godless man that turned me vile,  
Though I am cheated by a perjurous Prince  
Who has done wickedness, at which even heaven  
Shakes when the Sun beholds it, O yet I'd rather  
Ten thousand poisoned poniards stabbed my breast  
Than one should touch his: bloody slave! I'll play  
myself the Hangman, and will Butcher thee  
If thou but prick'st his finger.  Bal. 
sayst thou me so! give me thy goll, thou art a noble girl; I did play the devil's part, and roar in a feigned voice, but I am the honestest Devil that ever spit fire: I would not drink that infernal draught of a king's blood, to go reeling to damnation, for the weight of the world in Diamonds.  Onae. 
Art thou not counterfeit?  Bal. 
Now by my scars I am not.  Onae. 
I'll call thee honest Soldier then, and woo thee  
To be an often Visitant.  Bal. 
Your servant;  
Yet must I be a stone upon a hill,  
For though I do no good, I'll not lie still.  Exeunt   

Actus Tertius.  

Scaena Prima.  Enter Malateste and the Queen. Mal. 
WHen first you came from Florence, would the world  
Had with an universal dire eclipse  
been over whelmed, no more to gaze on day,  
That you to Spain had never found the way,  
Here to be lost for ever.  Quee. 
We from one Climate  
Drew inspiration: as thou then hast eyes  
To read my wrongs, so be thy head an Engine  
To raise up ponderous mischief to the height,  
And then thy hands the Executioners:  
A true Italian spirit is a ball  
Of Wildfire, hurting most when it seems spent;  
Great ships on small rocks beating oft, are rent;  
And so let Spain by us: but (Malateste)  
Why from the Presence did you single me  
Into this Gallery?  Mal. 
To show you, Madam,  
The picture of yourself, but so defaced,  
And mangled by proud Spanyards, it wooed whet  
A sword to arm the poorest Florentine  
In your just wrongs.  Quee. 
As how? let's see that picture.  Mal. 
Here 'tis then: Time is not scarce four days old.  
Since I, and certain Dons (sharp-witted fellows,  
And of good rank) here with two jesuits  
(Grave profound Scholars) in deep argument  
Of various propositions; at the last,  
Question was moved touching your marriage,  
And the Kings precontract.  Quee. 
So; and what followed?  Mal. 
Whether it were a question moved by chance,  
Or spitefully of purpose (I being there,  
And your own Countryman) I cannot tell,  
But when much tossing  
Had bandied both the King and you, as pleased  
Those that took up the Rackets; in conclusion,  
The Father jesuits (to whose subtle Music  
Every care there was tied) stood with their lives  
In stiff defence of this opinion—  
Oh pardon me if I must speak their language.  Quee. 
Say on.  Mal. 
That the most Catholic King in marrying you,  
Keeps you but as his whore.  Quee. 
Are we their themes?  Mal. 
And that Medina's Niece (Onaelia)  
Is his true wife: her bastard son they said  
(The King being dead) should claim and wear the Crown;  
And whatsoever children you shall bear,  
To be but bastards in the highest degree,  
As being begotten in Adultery.  Quee. 
We will not grieve at this, but with hot vengeance  
Beat down this armed mischief: Malateste!  
What whirlwinds can we raise to blow this storm  
Back in their faces who thus shoot at me?  Mal. 
If I were fit to be your Counsellor,  
Thus would I speak: Feign that you are with child;  
The mother of the Maids, and some worn Ladies,  
Who oft have guilty been to court great be,  
May, though it be not so, get you with child  
With swearing that 'tis true.  Quee. 
Say 'tis believed,  
Or that it so doth prove?  Mal. 
The joy thereof,  
Together with these earthquakes, which will shake  
All Spaine, if they their Prince do disinherit,  
So borne, of such a Queen; being only daughter  
To such a brave spirit as the Duke of Florence,  
All this buzzed into the King, he cannot choose  
But charge that all the Bells in Spain echo up  
This joy to heaven; that Bonfires change the night  
To a high Noon, with beams of sparkling flames;  
And that in Churches, Organs (charmed with prayers)  
Speak loud for your most safe delivery.  Quee. 
What fruits grow out of these?  Mal. 
These; you must stick  
(As here and there spring weeds in banks of flowers)  
Spies amongst the people, who shall lay their ears  
To every mouth, and steal to you their whisperings.  Quee. 
So.  Mal. 
'Tis a plummet to sound Spanish hearts  
How deeply they are yours: besides, a guess  
Is hereby made of any faction  
That shall combine against you; which the King seeing,  
If then he will not rouse him like a Dragon  
To guard his golden fleece, and rid his Harlot  
And her base bastard hence, either by death,  
Or in some traps of state, ensnare them both,  
Let his own ruins crush him.  Quee. 
This goes to trial:  
Be thou my Magic book, which reading o'er  
Their counterspells we'll break; or if the King  
Will not by strong hand fix me in his Throne,  
But that I must be held Spain's blazing Star,  
Be it an ominous charm to call up war.  Exeunt. Enter Cornego, Onaelia. Corn. 
Here's a parcel of man's flesh has been hanging up and down all this morning to speak with you.  Onae. 
Is't not some executioner?  Cor. 
I see nothing about him to hang in but's garters.  Onae. 
Sent from the King to warn me of my death:  
I prithee bid him welcome.  Cor. 
He says he is a Poet.  Onae. 
Then bid him better welcome:  
Belike he's come to write my Epitaph,  
Some scurvy thing I warrant; welcome Sir.  Enter Poet. Poet. 
Madam, my love presents this book unto you.  Onae. 
To me? I am not worthy of a line,  
Unless at that line hang some hook to choke me:  
To the Most honoured Lady— Onaelia.  Reads 
Fellow thou liest, I'm most dishonoured:  
Thou shouldst have writ to the most wronged Lady.  
The Title of this book is not to me,  
I tear it therefore as mine Honour's torn.  Cor. 
Your Verses are lamed in some of their sect, Master Poet.  Onae. 
What does it treat of?  Poet. 
Of the solemn Triumphs  
Set forth at Coronation of the Queen.  Onae. 
Hissing (the poet's whirlwind) blast thy lines.  
Com'st thou to mock my Tortures with her Triumphs?  Poet. 
'Las Madam!  Onae. 
When her funerals are past,  
Crown thou a Dedication to my joys,  
And thou shalt swear each line a golden verse:  
Cornego, burn this Idol.  Cor. 
Your book shall come to light, Sir.  Exit. Onae. 
I have read legends of disastrous Dames;  
Will none set pen to paper for poor me?  
Canst write a bitter Satire? brainless people  
Do call'em Libels: dar'st thou write a Libel?  Poet. 
I dare mix gall and poison with my Ink.  Onae. 
Do it then for me.  Poet. 
And every line must be  
A whip to draw blood.  Onae. 
Better.  Poet. 
And to dare  
The stab from him it touches: he that writes  
Such Libels (as you call'em) must launch wide  
The fores of men's corruptions, and even search  
Toth' quick for dead flesh, or for rotten cores:  
A poet's Ink can better cure some sores  
Then Surgeons balsam.  Onae. 
Undertake that Cure,  
And crown thy verse with bays.  Poet. 
Madam I le do't:  
But I must have the party's Character.  Onae. 
The King.  Poet. 
I do not love to pluck the quills  
With which I make pens, out of a lion's claw:  
The King! should I be bitter 'gainst the King,  
I shall have scurvy ballads made of me,  
Sung to the Hanging Tune. I dare not, Madam.  Onae. 
This baseness follows your profession:  
You are like common Beadles, apt to lash  
Almost to death poor wretches not worth striking,  
But fawn with slavish flattery on damned vices,  
So great men act them: you clap hands at those,  
Where the true Poet indeed doth scorn to guild  
A gaudy Tomb with glory of his Verse,  
Which coffins stinking Carrion: no, his lines  
Are free as his Invention; no base fear  
Can shake his pen to Temporize even with Kings,  
The blacker are their crimes, he louder sings.  
Go, go, thou canst not write: 'tis but my calling  
The muse's help, that I may be inspired:  
Cannot a woman be a Poet, Sir?  Poet. 
Yes, Madam, best of all; for Poesy  
Is but a feigning, feigning is to lie,  
And women practise lying more than men.  Onae. 
Nay, but if I should write, I wooed tell truth:  
How might I reach a lofty strain?  Poet. 
Thus, Madam:  
Books, Music, Wine, brave Company, and good Cheer,  
Make Poets to soar high, and sing most clear.  Onae. 
Are they borne Poets?  Poet. 
Yes.  Onae. 
Die they?  Poet. 
Oh never die.  Onae. 
My misery is then a Poet sure,  
For Time has given it an Eternity:  
What sorts of Poets are there?  Poet. 
Two sorts, Lady:  
The great Poets, and the small Poets.  Onae. 
Great and small!  
Which do you call the great? the fat ones?  Poet. 
No: but such as have great heads, which emptied forth,  
Fill all the world with wonder at their lines;  
Fellows which swell big with the wind of praise:  
The small ones are but shrimps of Poesy.  Onae. 
Which in the kingdom now is the best Poet?  Poet. 
Emulation.  Onae. 
Which the next?  Poet. 
Necessity.  Onae. 
And which the worst?  Poet. 
self-love.  Onae. 
Say I turn Poet, what should I get?  Poet. 
Opinion.  Onae. 
'Las I have got too much of that already;  
Opinion is my Evidence, judge, and jury;  
Mine own guilt, and opinion, now condemn me;  
I'll therefore be no Poet; no, nor make  
Ten Muses of your nine; I swear for this;  
Verses, though freely borne, like slaves are sold,  
I Crown thy lines with bays, thy love with gold:  
So fare thou well.  Poet. 
Our pen shall honour you.  Exit. Enter Cornego. Cor. 
The poet's book, Madam, has got the Inflammation of the Livor, it died of a burning Fever.  Onae. 
What shall I do, Cornego? for this Poet  
Has filled me with a fury: I could write  
Strange Satyrs now against Adulterers,  
And Marriage-breakers.  Cor. 
I believe you, Madam;— but here comes your Uncle.  Enter Medina, Alanzo, Carlo, Alba, Sebastian, Denia. Med. 
Where's our Niece?  
Turn your brains round, and recollect your spirits,  
And see your Noble friends and kinsmen ready  
To pay revenge his due.  Onae. 
That word Revenge  
Startles my sleepy Soul, now throughly wakened  
By the fresh Object of my hapless child,  
Whose wrongs reach beyond mine.  Seb. 
How doth my sweet mother?  One. 
How doth my prettiest boy?  Alanz. 
Wrongs, like great whirlwinds,  
Shake highest Battlements; few for heaven would care.  
Shooed they be ever happy: they are half gods  
Who both in good days, and good fortune share.  Onae. 
I have no part in either.  Carl. 
You shall in both,  
Can Swords but cut the way.  Onae. 
I care not much, so you but gently strike him,  
And that my Child escape the lightning.  Med. 
For that our Nerves are knit; is there not here  
A promising face of manly princely virtues,  
And shall so sweet a plant be rooted out  
By him that ought to fix it fast i'th' ground?  
Sebastian, what will you do to him that hurts your mother?  Seb. 
The King my father shall kill him I trow.  Dæn. 
But, sweet cousin, the King loves not your mother.  Seb. 
I'll make him love her when I am a King.  Med. 
La you, there's in him a king's heart already:  
As therefore we before together vowed,  
Lay all your warlike hands upon my Sword,  
And swear.  Seb. 
Will you swear to kill me, Uncle?  Med. 
Oh not for twenty worlds.  Seb. 
Nay then draw and spare not, for I love fighting.  Med. 
Stand in the midst (sweet coz) we are your guard;  
These Hammers shall for thee beat out a Crown  
If all hit right; swear therefore (Noble friends)  
By your high bloods, by true Nobility,  
By what you owe Religion, owe to your Country,  
Owe to the raising your posterity,  
By love you bear to virtue, and to Arms,  
(The shield of Innocence) swear not to sheathe  
Your Swords, when once drawn forth.  Onae. 
Oh not to kill him  
For twenty thousand worlds.  Med. 
(Will you be quiet?)  
Your Swords when once drawn forth, till they ha' forced  
You godless, perjurous, perfidious man,—  Onae. 
Pray rail not at him so.  Med. 
Art mad? y'are idle:— till they ha' forced him  
To cancel his late lawless bond he sealed  
At the high Altar to his Florentine Strumpet,  
And in his bed lay this his troth-plight wife.  Onae. 
ay, ay, that's well; pray swear.  Omnes. 
To this we swear.  Seb. 
Uncle, I swear too.  Med. 
Our forces let's unite, be bold and secret,  
And Lion-like with open eyes let's sleep,  
Streams smooth and slowly running, are most deep.  Exeunt. Enter King, Queen, Malateste, Valaseo, Lopez. Kin. 
The Presence door be guarded; let none enter  
On forfeit of your lives, without our knowledge:  
Oh you are false Physicians all unto me,  
You bring me poison, but no Antidotes.  Quee. 
yourself that poison brews.  Kin. 
prithee no more.  Quee. 
I will, I must speak more.  Kin. 
Thunder aloud.  Quee. 
My child, yet newly quickened in my womb,  
Is blasted with the fires of Bastardy.  Kin. 
Who! who dares once but think so in his dream?  Mal. 
Medina's faction preached it openly.  Kin. 
Be cursed he and his Faction: oh how I labour  
For these preventions! but so cross is Fate,  
My ills are ne'er hid from me, but their Cures:  
What's to be done?  Quee. 
That which being left undone,  
Your life lies at the stake: let 'em be breathless  
Both brat and mother.  Kin. 
Ha!  Mal. 
She plays true Music, Sir:  
The mischiefs you are drenched in are so full,  
You need not fear to add to 'em; since now  
No way is left to guard thy rest secure,  
But by a means like this.  Lop. 
All Spain rings forth  
Medina's ruin, and his Confederates.  Rod. 
All his All yes and friends rush into troops  
Like raging Torrents.  Val. 
And loud Trumpet forth  
Your perjuries: seducing the wild people,  
And with rebellious faces threatening all.  Kin. 
I shall be massacred in this their spleen,  
ere I have time to guard myself; I feel  
The fire already falling: where's our guard?  Mal 
Planted at Garden gate, with a strict charge  
That none shall enter but by your command.  Kin. 
Let 'em be doubled: I am full of thoughts,  
A thousand wheels toss my incertain fears,  
There is a storm in my hot boiling brains,  
Which rises without wind, a horrid one:  
What clamour's that?  Quee. 
Some treason: guard the King.  Enter Baltazar drawn; one of the Guard falls. Bal. 
Not in?  Mal. 
One of your guard's slain, keep off the murderer.  Bal. 
I am none, Sir.  Val. 
There's a man dropped down by thee.  Kin. 
Thou desperate follow, thus press in upon us!  
Is murder all the story we shall read?  
What King can stand, when thus his Subjects bleed?  
What hast thou done?  Bal. 
No hurt.  Kin. 
played even the Wolf,  
And from a fold committed to my charge,  
Stolen and devoured one of the flock.  Bal. 
Y'ave sheep enough for all that, Sir; I have killed none tho; or if I have, mine own blood shed in your quarrels, may beg my pardon; my business was in haste to you.  Kin. 
I wooed not have thy sin scored on my head  
For all the Indian Treasury: I prithee tell me,  
Suppose thou hadst our pardon, O can that cure  
Thy wounded conscience, can there my pardon help thee  
Yet having deserved well both of Spain and us,  
We will not pay thy worth with loss of life,  
But banish thee for ever.  Bal. 
For a groom's death?  Kin. 
No more: we banish thee our Court and kingdom:  
A King that fosters men so dipped in blood,  
May be called merciful, but never good:  
Be gone upon thy life.  Bal. 
Well: farewell.  Exit. Val. 
The fellow is not dead but wounded, Sir.  Quee. 
After him, Malateste; in our lodging  
Stay that rough fellow, he's the man shall do't:  
Haste, or my hopes are lost.  Exit Mal. 
Why are you sad, Sir?  Kin. 
For thee, Paulina, swell my troubled thoughts,  
Like billows beaten by too warring winds.  Quee. 
Be you but ruled by me, I'll make a calm  
Smooth as the breast of heaven.  Kin. 
Instruct me how.  Quee. 
You (as your fortunes tie you) are inclined  
To have the blow given.  Kin. 
Where's the Instrument?  Quee. 
'Tis found in Baltazar.  Kin. 
he's banished.  Quee. 
True,  
But stayed by me for this.  Kin. 
His spirit is hot  
And rugged, but so honest, that his soul  
Will ne'er turn devil to do it.  Quee. 
Put it to trial:  
Retire a little, hither I'll send for him,  
Offer repeal and favours if he do it;  
But if deny, you have no finger in't,  
And then his doom of banishment stands good.  Kin. 
Be happy in thy workings; I obey.  Exit. Quee. 
Stay Lopez.  Lop. 
Madam.  Quee. 
Step to our Lodging (Lopez)  
And instantly bid Malateste bring  
The banished Baltazar to us.  Lop. 
I shall.  Exit. Quee. 
Thrive my black plots, the mischiefs I have set Must not so die; Ills must new Ills beget.  Enter Malateste and Baltazar. Bal. 
Now! what hot poisoned Custard must I put my Spoon into now?  Quee. 
None, for mine honour now is thy protection.  Mal. 
Which, Noble Soldier, she will pawn for thee, But never forfeit.  Bal. 
'Tis a fair gage, keep it.  Quee. 
Oh Baltazar! I am thy friend, and marked thee;  
When the King sentenced thee to banishment  
Fire sparkled from thine eyes of rage and grief;  
Rage to be doomed so for a Groom so base,  
And grief to lose thy County: thou hast killed none,  
The Milksop is but wounded, thou art not banished.  Bal. 
If I were, I lose nothing, I can make any Country mine: I have a private Coat for Italian Stellettoes, I can be treacherous with the Walloon, drunk with the Dutch, a Chimney-sweeper with the Irish, a Gentleman with the Welsh, and turn arrant thief with the English, what then is my Country to me?  Quee. 
The King (who raped with fury) banished thee,  
Shall give thee favours, yield but to destroy  
What him distempers.  Bal. 
So: And what's the dish I must dress?  Quee. 
Only the cutting off a pair of lives.  Bal. 
I love no Red-wine healths.  Mal. 
The King commands it, you are but Executioner.  Bal. 
The Hangman? An office that will hold so long as hemp lasts, why do not you beg the office, Sir?  Quee. 
Thy victories in field did never crown thee  
As this one Act shall.  Bal. 
Prove but that, 'tis done.  Quee. 
Follow him close, he's yielding.  Mal. 
Thou shalt be called thy country's Patriot,  
For quenching out a fire now newly kindling  
In factious bosoms, and shalt thereby save  
More Noble Spanyards lives, than thou slew'st moors.  Quee. 
Art thou not yet converted?  Bal. 
No point.  Quee. 
Read me then:  
Medina's Niece (by a Contract from the King)  
Lays claim to all that's mine, my Crown, my bed;  
A son she has by him must fill the Throne,  
If her great faction can but work that wonder:  
Now hear me—  Bal. 
I do with gaping ears.  Quee. 
I swell with hopeful issue to the King.  Bal. 
A brave Don call you mother.  Mal. 
Of this danger  
The fear afflicts the King.  Bal. 
Cannot much blame him.  Quee. 
If therefore by the riddance of this Dame—  Bal. 
Riddance? oh! the meaning on't is murder.  Mal. 
Stab her, or so, that's all.  Quee. 
That Spain be free from frights, the King from fears,  
And I, now held his Infamy, be called Queen,  
The Treasure of the kingdom shall lie open  
To pay thy Noble darings.  Bal. 
Come, I le do't, provided I hear jove call too though he roars; I must have the king's hand to this warrant, else I dare not serve it upon my Conscience  Quee. 
Be firm then; behold the King is come.  Enter King. Bal. 
Acquaint him.  Quee. 
I found the mettle hard, but with oft beating  
he's now so softened, he shall take impression  
From any seal you give him.  Kin. 
Baltazar, come hither, listen; whatsoever our Queen  
Has importuned thee to touching Onaelia,  
Niece to the Constable, and her young son,  
My voice shall second it, and sign her promise.  Bal. 
Their riddance?  Kin. 
That.  Bal. 
What way? by poison?  Kin. 
So.  Bal. 
Starving? or strangling, stabbing, smothering?  Quee. 
Good.  Kin. 
Any way so 'tis done.  Bal. 
But I will have, Sir,  
This under your own hand, that you desire it,  
You plot it, set me on to't.  Kin. 
pen, Ink, and paper.  Bal. 
And then as large a pardon as law and wit  
Can engross for me.  Kin. 
Thou shalt ha' my pardon.  Bal. 
A word more, Sir, pray will you tell me one thing?  King▪ 
Yes any thing, dear Baltazar.  Bal. 
Suppose  
I have your strongest pardon, can that cure  
My wounded Conscience? can there your pardon help me? you not only knock the Ewe a'th' head, but cut the Innocent Lamb's throat too, yet you are no Butcher.  Quee. 
Is this thy promised yielding to an Act  
So wholesome for thy Country?  Kin. 
Chide him not.  Bal. 
I wooed not have this sin scored on my head  
For all the Indaean Treasury.  Kin. 
That song no more:  
Do this and I will make thee a great man.  Bal. 
Is there no farther trick in't, but my blow, your purse, and my pardon?  Mal. 
No nets upon my life to entrap thee.  Bal. 
Then trust me: these knuckles work it.  Kin. 
Farewell, be confident and sudden.  Bal. 
Yes:  
Subjects may stumble, when Kings walk astray;  
Thine Acts shall be a new Apocrypha.  Exeunt.   

Actus Quartus.  

Scaena Prima.  Enter Medina, Alba, and Daenia, met by Baltazar with a poniard and a Pistol. Bal. 
YOu meet a Hydra; see, if one head fails  
Another with a sulphurous beak stands yawning  Med. 
What hath raised up this Devil?  Bal. 
A great man's vices, that can raise all hell.  
What would you call that man, who under-sail,  
In a most goodly ship, wherein he ventures  
His life, fortunes, and honours, yet in a fury  
Should hew the Mast down, cast Sails overboard,  
Fire all the Tacklings, and to crown this madness,  
should blow up all the Decks, burn th'oaken ribs,  
And in that Combat twixt two Elements  
Leap desperately, and drown himself i'th' Seas,  
What were so brave a fellow?  Omnes. 
A brave black villain.  Bal. 
That's I; all that brave black villain dwells in me,  
If I be that black villain; but I am not,  
A Nobler Character prints out my brow,  
Which you may thus read, I was banished Spain  
For emptying a Court-Hogshead, but repealed,  
So I wooed (ere my reeking Iron was cold)  
Promise to give it a deep crimson die  
In— none here,— stay— no, none hear.  Med. 
Whom then?  Bal. 
Basely to stab a woman, your wronged Niece,  
And her most innocent son Sebastian.  Alb. 
The Boar now foams with whetting.  Dan. 
What has blunted  
Thy weapons point at these?  Bal. 
My honesty;  
A sign at which few dwell: (pure honesty!)  
I am a vassal to Medina's house,  
He taught me first the A, B, C, of war:  
Ere I was Truncheon-high, I had the style  
Of beardless Captain, writing then but boy,  
And shall I now turn slave to him that fed me  
With Cannon-bullets 'and taught me, ostrich-like,  
To digest Iron and Steel! no: yet I yielded  
With willow-bendings to commanding breaths.  Med. 
Of whom?  Bal. 
Of King and Queen: with supple Hams,  
And an ill-boding look, I vowed to do't:  
Yet, lest some Choke-pear of State-policy  
Shooed stop my throat, and spoil my drinking-pipe,  
See (like his cloak) I hung at the king's elbow,  
Till I had got his hand to sign my life.  Daen. 
Shall we see this and sleep?  Alb. 
No, whilst these wake.  Med. 
'Tis the king's hand.  Bal. 
Think you me a coiner?  Med. 
No, no, thou art thyself still, Noble Baltazar,  
I ever knew thee honest, and the mark  
Stands still upon thy forehead.  Bal. 
Else flay the skin off.  Med. 
I ever knew thee valiant, and to scorn  
All acts of baseness: I have seen this man  
Write in the field such stories with his sword,  
That cur best Chieftains swore there was in him  
As 'twere a new Philosophy of fighting,  
His deeds were so Punctilious: In one battle,  
When death so nearly missed my ribs, he struck  
Three horses stone-dead under me: This man,  
Three times that day (even through the jaws of danger)  
Redeemed me up, and (I shall print it ever)  
Stood o'er my body with colossus thighs,  
Whilst all the Thunderbolts which war could throw,  
Fell on his head: And Baltazar, thou canst not  
Be now but honest still, and valiant still,  
Not to kill boys and women.  Bal. 
My byter here, cats no such meat.  Med. 
Go fetch the marked-out Lamb for slaughter hither,  
Good fellow-soldier aid him,— and stay— mark,  
Give this false fire to the believing King,  
That the child's sent to heaven, but that the mother  
Stands rocked so strong with friends, ten thousand billows  
Cannot once shake her.  Bal. 
This I'll do.  Med. 
Away:  
Yet one word more; your Counsel, Noble friends;  
Hark Baltazar, because nor eyes nor tongues,  
Shall by loud Larums, that the poor boy lives,  
Question thy false report, the child shall closely  
Mantled in darkness, forthwith be conveyed  
To the Monastery of Saint Paul.  Omnes. 
Good.  Med. 
Dispatch then, be quick.  Bal. 
As Lightning.  Exit. Alb. 
This fellow is some Angel dropped from heaven  
To preserve Innocence.  Med. 
He is a wheel  
Of swift and turbulent motion; I have trusted him,  
Yet will not hang on him too many plummets,  
Lest with a headlong Cyre he ruins all:  
In these State-consternations, when a kingdom  
Stands tottering at the Center, out of suspicion  
Safety grows often; let us suspect this fellow,  
And that albeit he show us the king's hand,  
It may be but a Trick.  Daen. 
Your Lordship hits  
A poisoned nail i'th' head: this waxen fellow  
(By the king's hand so bribing him with gold) is set on screws,  
Perhaps is made his Creature,  
To turn round every way.  Med. 
Out of that fear  
Will I beget truth: for myself in person  
Will sound the king's breast.  Carl. 
How yourself in person?  Alb. 
That's half the prize he gapes for.  Med. 
I'll venture it,  
And come off well I warrant you, and rip up  
His very entrails, cut in two his heart,  
And search each corner in't, yet shall not he  
Know who it is cuts up th' Anatomy.  Daen. 
'Tis an exploit worth wonder.  Carl. 
Put the worst,  
Say some Infernal voice should roar from hell,  
The Infant's cloistering up.  Alb. 
'Tis not our danger,  
Nor the imprisoned princes, for what Thief  
Dares by base sacrilege rob the Church of him?  Carl. 
At worst none can be lost but this slight fellow?  Med. 
All build on this as on a stable Cube;  
If we our footing keep, we fetch him forth,  
And Crown him King; if up we fly i'th' air,  
We for his soul's health a broad way prepare.  Daen. 
They come.  Enter Baltazar and Sebastian. Med. 
Thou know'st where  
To bestow him, Baltazar.  Bal. 
Come Moble Boy.  Alb. 
Hide him from being discovered.  Bal. 
Discovered? wooed there stood a troop of moors  
Thrusting the paws of hungry Lions forth,  
To seize this prey, and this but in my hand,  
I should do something.  Seb. 
Must I go with this black fellow, Uncle?  Med. 
Yes, pretty Coz, hence with him, Baltazar.  Bal. 
Sweet child, within few minutes I'll change thy fate And take thee hence, but set thee at heaven's gate.  Exeunt Med. 
Some keep aloof and watch this Soldier.  Carl. 
I'll do't.  Dæn. 
What's to be done now?  Med. 
First to plant strong guard  
About the mother, then into some snare  
To hunt this spotted Panther, and there kill him.  Dæn. 
What snares have we can hold him?  Med. 
Be that care mine;  
Dangers (like Stars) in dark attempts best shine.  Exeunt. Enter Cornego, Baltazar. Cor. 
The Lady Onaelia dresseth the stead of her commendations in the most Courtly Attire that words can be clothed with, from herself to you, by me.  Bal. 
So Sir; and what disease troubles her now?  Cor. 
The king's Evil; and here she hath sent something to you wrapped up in a white sheet, you need not fear to open it, 'tis no corpse.  Bal. 
What's here? a letter minced into five morsels?  
What was she doing when thou cam'st from her?  Cor. 
At her pricksong.  Bal. 
Some thinks, for here's nothing but sol-Re-me-fa-mi. What crotchet fills her head now, canst tell?  Cor. 
No crotchets, 'tis only the Cliff has made her mad.  Bal. 
What Instrument played she upon?  Cor. 
A wind instrument, she did nothing but sigh.  Bal. 
Sol, Re, me, Fa, Mi.  Cor. 
My wit has always had a singing head, I have found out her Note Captain.  Bal. 
The tune? come.  Cor. 
Sol, my foul; re, is all rent and torn like a raggamuffin; me, mend it good Captain; fa, fa, what's fa Captain?  Bal. 
Fa, why farewell and be hanged.  Cor. 
Mr., Captain, with all my heart; have I tickled my lady's Fiddle well?  Bal. 
Oh but your stick wants resin to make the strings sound clearly: no, this double Virginal, being cunningly touched, another manner of Jack leaps up then is now in mine eye: Sol, Re, me, fa, mi, I have it now, Solus Rex me facit miseram: Alas poor Lady, tell her no Pothecary in Spain has any of that Assafoetida she writes for.  Cor. 
Assafoetida? what's that?  Bal. 
A thing to be taken in a glister-pipe.  Cor. 
Why what ails my Lady?  Bal. 
What ails she? why when she cries out, Solus Rex me facit miseram, she says in the Hypocronical language, that she is so miserably tormented with the wind-colic that it racks her very soul.  Cor. 
I said somewhat cut her soul in pieces.  Bal. 
But go to her, and say the Oven is heating.  Cor. 
And what shall be baked in t?  Bal. 
Carpe pies: and beside, tell her the hole in her Coat shall be mended: and tell her if the Dial of good days go true, why then bounce buckram.  Cor. 
The Devil lies sick of the Mulligrubs.  Bal. 
Or the coney is dubbed, and three sheepskins  Cor. 
With the wrong side outward  Bal. 
Shall make the Fox a Nightcap.  Cor. 
So the Goose talks French to the Buzzard.  Bal. 
But, Sir, if evil days justle our prognostication to the wall, then say there's a fire in a whoremaster's Codpiece.  Cor. 
And a poisoned bag-pudding in Tom Thumbs belly.  Bal. 
The first cut be thine: farewell.  Cor. 
Is this all?  Bal. 
Wilt not trust an Almanac?  Cor. 
Nor a Coranta neither, though it were sealed with Butter, and yet I know where they both lie passing well.  Enter Lopez. Lop. 
The King sends round about the Court to seek you.  Bal. 
Away Otterhound.  Cor. 
Dancing Bear, I'm gone.  Exit. Enter King attended. Exeunt omnes. Kin. 
A private room,  
Is't done? hast drawn thy two-edged sword out yet?  Bal. 
No, I was striking at the two Iron Bars that hinder your passage, and see Sir.  Draws. Kin. 
What meanst thou?  Bal. 
The edge abated, feel.  Kin. 
No, no, I see it.  Bal. 
As blunt as Ignorance.  Kin. 
How? put up— So— how?  Bal. 
I saw by chance hanging in Cardinal Alvarez Gallery a picture of hell.  Kin. 
So, what of that?  Bal. 
There lay upon burnt straw ten thousand brave fellows all stark naked, some leaning upon Crowns, some on Mitres, some on bags of gold: Glory in another Corner lay like a feather beaten in the rain; Beauty was turned into a watching Candle, that went out stinking: Ambition went upon a huge high pair of stilts, but horribly rotten; some in another nook were killing Kings, and some having their elbows shoved forward by Kings to murder others; I was( methought) half in hell myself whilst I stood to view this piece.  Kin. 
Was this all?  Bal. 
Was't not enough to see that a man is more healthful that eats dirty puddings, than he that feeds on a corrupted Conscience.  Kin. 
Conscience! what's that? a Conjuring book ne'er opened  
Without the reader's danger: 'tis indeed  
A scarecrow set i'th' world to fright weak fools:  
Hast thou seen fields paved o'er with carcases,  
Now to be tender-footed, not to tread  
On a boy's mangled quarters, and a woman's!  Bal. 
Nay, Sir, I have searched the records of the Low-Countries, and find that by your pardon I need not care a pin for Goblins, and therefore I will do't Sir. I did but recoil because I was double charged.  Kin. 
No more, here comes a Satire with sharp horns.  Enter Cardinal, and Medina like a French Doctor. Car. 
Sir here's a Frenchman charged with some strange Which to your close ear only he'll deliver, (business Or else to none.  Kin. 
A Frenchman?  Med. 
We Mounsire.  Kin. 
Cannot he speak the Spanish?  Med. 
Si Signior, ur Poco:— Monsir Acontez in de Corner, me come for offer to your Bon grace mi trezhumbla service, by gar no john fidleco shall put into your near braver Melody dan dis un petite pipe shall play upon to your great bon Grace.  Kin. 
What is the tune you'll strike up, touch the string.  Med. 
Dis; me ha' run up and down mane Country, and learn many fine ting, and much knavery, now more and all dis, me know you ha' jumbla de fine vench and fill her belly wid a garcon, her name is le Madame—  Kin. 
Onalia.  Med. 
She by gar: Now Monsire, dis Madam send for me to help her Malady, being very nought of her corpses (her body) me know you no point love a dis vensh; but royal Monsire donne Moye ten thousand French Crowns she shall kick up her tail by gar, and beshide lie dead as dog in de shannell.  Kin. 
Speak low.  Med. 
As de bagpipe when de wind is puff, Gar beigh.  Kin. 
Thou namest ten thousand Crowns, I'll treble them Rid me but of this leprosy: thy name?  Med. 
Monsire Doctor Devile.  Kin. 
Shall I a second wheel add to this mischief  
To set it faster going? If one break,  
Th'other may keep his motion.  Med. 
Eslelent fort boon.  Kin. 
Baltazar,  
To give thy Sword an edge again, this Frenchman  
Shall whet them on, that if thy pistol fail,  
Or poniard, this can send the poison home.  Bal. 
Brother Cain we'll shake hands.  Med. 
In de bowl of de bloody busher: 'tis very fine wholesome.  Kin. 
And more to arm your resolution,  
I'll tune this Churchman so, that he shall chime  
In sounds harmonious, Merit to that man  
Whose hand has but a finger in that act.  Bal. 
That music were worth hearing.  Kin. 
Holy Father,  
You must give pardon to me in unlocking  
A Cave stuffed full with Serpents, which my State  
Threaten to poison, and it lies in you  
To break their bed with thunder of your voice.  Car. 
How Princely son?  Kin. 
Suppose an universal  
Hot Pestilence beat her mortiferous wings  
O re all my kingdom, am not I bound in soul  
To empty all our academes of Doctors,  
And Aesculapian spirits to charm this plague?  Car. 
You are.  Kin. 
Or had the Canon made a breach  
Into our rich Escurial, down to beat it  
About our ears, should I to stop this breach  
Spare even our richest Ornaments, nay, our Crown,  
Could it keep bullets off.  Car. 
No Sir, you should not.  Kin. 
This linstock gives you fire: shall then that strumpet  
And bastard breathe quick vengeance in my face;  
Making my kingdom reel, my subjects stagger  
In their obedience, and yet live?  Car. 
How? live!  
Shed not their bloods to gain a kingdom greater  
Then ten times this.  Med. 
Pish, not mattera how redcap and his wit run.  Kin. 
As I am Catholic King, I'll have their hearts,  
Panting in these two hands.  Car. 
Dare you turn Hangman?  
Is this Religion Catholic to kill  
What even bruit beasts abhor to do, (your own!)  
To cut in sunder wedlock's sacred knot  
Tied by heavens fingers! to make Spain a Bonfire,  
To quench which must a second Deluge rain  
In showers of blood, no water; If you do this,  
There is an Arm Armipotent that can fling you  
Into a base grave, and your Palaces  
With Lightning strike, and of their Ruins make  
A Tomb for you (unpitied, and abhorred)  
Bear witness all you Lamps Celestial  
I wash my hands of this.  kneeling. Kin. 
Rise my good Angel,  
Whose holy tunes beat from me that evil spirit  
Which jogs mine Elbow, hence thou dog of hell.  Med. 
Baw wawghe.  Kin. 
Bark out no more thou Mastiff, get you all gone,  
And let my soul sleep: there's gold, peace, see it done.  Exit. Manent Medina, Baltazar, Cardinal. Bal. 
Sirrah, you Salfa-Perilla Rascal, Toads-guts, you whoreson pocky French Spawn of a bursten-bellied Spider, do you hear, Monsire.  Med. 
Why do you bark and snap at my Narcissus, as if I were de french doag?  Bal. 
You Cur of Cerberus' litter  strikes him. 
You'll poison the honest Lady? do but once toot into her Chamber-pot, and I'll make thee look worse than a witch does upon a close-stool.  Car. 
You shall not dare to touch him, stood he here  
Single before thee.  Bal. 
I'll cut the Rat into Anchovies.  Car. 
I'll make thee kiss his hand, embrace him, love him  
And call him—  Medina discovers. Bal. 
The perfection of all Spanyards. Mars in little, the best book of the art of War printed in these Times: as a French Doctor I wooed have given you pellets for pills, but as my noblest Lord, rip my heart out in your service.  Med. 
Thou art the truest Clock  
That e'er to time paidst tribute, (honest Soldier)  
I lost mine own shape, and put on a French,  
Only to try thy truth, and the king's falsehood,  
Both which I find: now this great Spanish volume  
Is opened to me, I read him o'er and o'er,  
Oh what black Characters are printed in him.  Car. 
Nothing but certain ruin threat your Niece.  
Without prevention: well, this plot was laid  
In such disguise to sound him, they that know  
How to meet dangers, are the less afraid;  
Yet let me counsel you not to text down  
These wrongs in red lines.  Med. 
No, I will not, father;  
Now that I have Anatomised his thoughts,  
I'll read a lecture on 'em that shall save  
Many men's lives, and to the kingdom minister  
Most wholesome Surgery; here's our Aphorism;  
These letters from us in our Niece's name,  
You know treat of a marriage.  Car. 
There's the strong Anchor  
To stay all in this tempest.  Med. 
Holy Sir,  
With these work you the King, and so prevail,  
That all these mischiefs Hull with Flagging sail,  Car. 
My best in this I'll do.  Med. 
Soldier, thy breast  
I must lock better things in.  Bal. 
'Tis your chest,  
With 3 good keys to keep it from opening, an honest heart, a daring hand, and a pocket which scorns money.  Exeunt   

Actus Quintus,  

Scoena Prima.  Enter King, Cardinal with letters. Kin. 
COmmend us to Medina, say his letters  
Right pleasing are, and that (except himself)  
Nothing could be more welcome: counsel him  
(To blot the opinion out of factious numbers)  
Only to have his ordinary train  
Waiting upon him: for, to quit all fears  
Upon his side of us, our very Court  
Shall even but, dimly shine with some few Dons,  
Freely to prove our longings great to peace.  Car. 
The Constable expects some pawn from you.  
That in this Fairy circle shall rise up  
No Fury to confound his Niece nor him.  Kin. 
A king's word is engaged.  Car. 
It shall be taken.  Kin. 
Valasco, call the Captain of our Guard,  
Bid him attend us instantly.  Val. 
I shall  Kin. 
Lopez come hither: see  
Letters from Duke Medina, both in the name  
Of him and all his Faction, offering peace,  
And our old love (his Niece) Onaelia  
In marriage with her free and fair consent  
To Cockadillia, a Don of Spain.  Lop. 
Will you refuse this?  Kin. 
My Crown as soon: they feel their sinewy plots  
Belike to shrink i'th' joints; and fearing Ruin,  
Have found this Cement out to piece up all,  
Which more endangers all.  Lop. 
How Sir endangers!  Kin. 
lion's may hunted be into the snare,  
But if they once break loose, woe be to him  
That first seized on 'em. A poor prisoner scorns  
To kiss his jailor; and shall a King be choked  
With sweetmeats, by false Traitors! no, I will fawn  
On them, as they stroke me, till they are fast  
But in this paw: And then.  Lop. 
A brave revenge.  
The Captain of your Guard.  Enter Captain. Kin. 
Upon thy life  
Double our Guard this day: let every man  
Bear a charged Pistol, hid; and at a watchword  
Given by a Musket, when ourself sees Time,  
Rush in; and if Medina's Faction wrestle  
Against your forces, kill; but if yield, save:  
Be secret.  Alanz. 
I am charmed, Sir.  Exit. Kin. 
Watch, Valasco,  
If any wear a Cross, Feather, or Glove,  
Or such prodigious signs of a knit Faction,  
Table their names up: at our ourt-gate plant  
Good strength to bar them out, if once they swarm:  
Do this upon thy life.  Val. 
Not death shall fright me.  Exeunt. Enter Baltazar. Bal. 
'Tis done, Sir.  Kin. 
Death! what's done?  Bal. 
Young Cub's flayed,  
But the she-Fox shifting her hole is fled;  
The little jackanapes the boy's brained.  Kin. 
Sebastian?  Bal. 
He shall ne'er speak more Spanish.  Kin. 
Thou teachest me to curse thee.  Bal. 
For a bargain you set your hand to.  Kin. 
Half my Crown I'd lose, were it undone.  Bal. 
But half a Crown! that's nothing:  
His brains stick in my conscience more than yours.  Kin. 
How lost I the French Doctor?  Bal. 
As Frenchmen lose their hair: here was too hot staying for him.  Kin. 
Get thou too from my sight, the Queen would see thee.  Bal. 
Your gold, Sir.  Kin. 
Go with judas and repent.  Bal. 
So men hate whores after lust's heat is spent:  
I'm gone, Sir.  Kin. 
Tell me true, is he dead?  Bal. 
Dead.  Kin. 
No matter; 'tis but morning of revenge,  
The Sunset shall be red and Tragical.  Exit. Bal. 
Sin is a Raven creaking her own fall.  Exit. Enter Medina, Daenia, Alba, Carlo, and the Faction with Rosemary in their hats. Med. 
Keep locked the door, and let none enter to us  
But who shares in our fortunes.  Daen. 
Lock the doors.  Alb. 
What entertainment did the King bestow  
Upon your letters and the Cardinals?  Med. 
With a devouring eye he read'em o'er,  
Swallowing our offers into his empty bosom,  
As gladly as the parched earth drinks healths  
Out of the cup of heaven.  Carl. 
Little suspecting  
What dangers closely lie enambushed.  Daen. 
Let not us trust to that; there's in his breast  
Both Fox and Lion, and both those beasts can bite:  
We must not now behold the narrowest loop-hole,  
But presently suspect a winged bullet  
Flies whizzing by our ears.  Med. 
For when I let  
The plummet fall to sound his very soul  
In his close-chamber, being French-Doctor like,  
He to the cardinal's ear sung sorcerous notes,  
The burden of his song, to mine, was death,  
Onaelia's murder, and Sebastian's;  
And think you his voice altars now? 'tis strange,  
To see how brave this Tyrant shows in Court,  
Throned like a god: great men are petty stars,  
Where his rays shine, wonder fills up all eyes  
By sight of him, let him but once check sin,  
About him round all cry, oh excellent King!  
Oh Saintlike man! but let this King retire  
Into his Closet to put off his robes,  
He like a Player leaves his part off too;  
Open his breast, and with a Sunbeam search it,  
There's no such man; this King of gilded clay,  
Within is ugliness, lust, treachery,  
And a base soul, though reared Colossus-high.  Baltazar beats to come in. Daen. 
None till he speaks, and that we know his voice:  
Who are you?  Within Bal. 
An honest housekeeper in Rosemary-lane too,  
If you dwell in the same parish.  Med. 
Oh 'tis our honest Soldier, give him entrance.  Enter Baltazar. Bal. 
Men show like corses, for I meet few but are stuck with Rosemary: every one asked me who was married today , and I told 'em Adultery and Repentance, and that shame and a Hangman followed'em to Church.  Med. 
There's but two parts to play, shame has done hers,  
But execution must close up the Scane,  
And for that cause these sprigs are worn by all,  
Badges of Marriage, now of Funeral,  
For death this day turns Courtier  Bal. 
Who must dance with him?  Med. 
The King, and all that are our opposites:  
That dart or This must fly into the Court  
Either to shoot this blazing star from Spain,  
Or else so long to wrap him up in clouds,  
Till all the fatal fires in him burn out,  
Leaving his State and conscience clear from doubt  
Of following uproars.  Alb. 
Kill not, but surprise him.  Carl. 
That's my voice still.  Med. 
Thine, Soldier.  Bal. 
Oh this Colic of a kingdom, when the wind of treason gets amongst the small guts, what a rumbling and a roaring it keeps: and yet make the best of it you can, it goes out stinking: kill a King?  Daen. 
Why?  Bal. 
If men should pull the Sun out of heaven every time 'tis eclipsed, not all the Wax nor Tallow in Spain would serve to make us Candles for one year.  Med. 
No way to purge the sick State, but by opening a vain.  Bal. 
Is that your French Physic? if every one of us should be whipped according to our faults, to be lashed at a cart's tail would be held but a flea-biting.  Enter signior No: whispers Medina. Med. 
What are you? come you from the King?  No. 
No.  Bal. 
No? more no's? I know him, let him enter.  Med. 
Signior, I thank your kind Intelligence,  
The news long since was sent into our ears.  
Yet we embrace your love, so fare you well.  Carl. 
Will you smell to a sprig of Rosemary?  No. 
No.  Bal. 
Will you be hanged?  No. 
No.  Bal. 
This is either signior No, or no signior.  Med. 
He makes his love to us a warning-piece  
To arm ourselves against we come to Court,  
Because the guard is doubled.  Omnes. 
Tush, we care not.  Bal. 
If any here arms his hand to cut off the head, let him first pluck out my throat: in any Noble Act I le wade chin-deep with you: but to kill a King?  Med. 
No, hear me—  Bal. 
You were better, my Lord, sail 500 times to Bantom in the West-Indies, than once to Barathrum in the Low-Countries: It's hot going under the line there, the calenture of the soul is a most miserable madness.  Med. 
Turn then this wheel of Fate from shedding blood  
Till with her own hand justice ways all.  Bal. 
Good.  Exeunt. Enter Queen, Malateste. Quee. 
Must then his Trul be once more sphered in Court  
To triumph in my spoils, in my eclipses?  
And I like moping juno sit, whilst jove  
Varies his lust into five hundred shapes  
To steal to his whore's bed! no, Malateste,  
Italian fires of jealousy burn my marrow;  
For to delude my hopes, the lecherous King  
Cuts out this robe of cunning marriage,  
To cover his Incontinence, which flames  
Hot (as my fury) in his black desires:  
I am swollen big with child of vengeance now,  
And till delivered, feel the throws of hell.  Mal. 
Just is your Indignation, high, and Noble,  
And the brave heat of a true Florentine;  
For Spain Trumpets abroad her Interest  
In the king's heart, and with a black coal draws  
On every wall your scoffed at injuries,  
As one that has the refuse of her sheets,  
And the sick Autumn of the weakened King,  
Where she drunk pleasures up in the full spring.  Quee. 
That (Malateste) That, That Torrent wracks me:  
But Hymen's Torch (held downward) shall drop out,  
And for it, the mad Furies swing their brands  
About the Bride-chamber.  Mal. 
The Priest that joins them,  
Our Twin-born malediction.  Quee. 
Lowd may it speak.  Mal. 
The herbs and flowers to strew the wedding way,  
Be Cypress, Yew, cold Colliquintida.  Quee. 
Henbane and Poppey, and that magical weed  
Which Hags at midnight watch to catch the seed.  Mal. 
To these our execrations, and what mischief  
Hell can but hatch in a distracted brain,  
I le be the Executioner, though it look  
So horrid it can fright e'en murder back.  Quee. 
Poison his whore today, for thou shalt wait  
On the king's Cup, and when heated with wine  
He calls to drink the Bride's health, Marry her  
alive to a gaping grave.  Mal. 
At board?  Quee. 
At board.  Mal. 
When she being guarded round about with friends,  
Like a fair Island, hemmed with Rocks and Seas,  
What rescue shall I find?  Quee. 
Mine arms: dost faint?  
Stood all the Pyrenaean hills that part  
Spain and our Country, on each others shoulders,  
Burning with Aetnean flame, yet thou shouldst on,  
As being my steel of resolution,  
First striking sparkles from my flinty breast:  
Wert thou to catch the horses of the Sun  
Fast by their bridles, and to turn back day,  
Wouldst thou not do't (base coward) to make way  
To the Italians second revenge (revenge.)  Mal. 
Were my bones threatened to the wheel of torture  
I'll do't.  Enter Lopez. Quee. 
A raven's voice, and it likes me well.  Lop. 
The King expects your presence.  Mal. 
So, so, we come  
To turn this Bride's day to a day of doom.  Exeunt. A Banquet set out, Cornets sounding; Enter at one door Lopez, Valasco, Alanzo, No: after them King, Cardinal, with Don Cockadillio Bridegroom, Queen and Malateste after. At the other door Alba, Carlo, Roderigo, Medina and Daenia leading Onaelia as Bride, Cornego and juanna after, Bartazar alone, Bride and Bridegroom kiss, and by the Cardinal are joined hand in hand: King is very merry, hugging Medina very lovingly. Kin. 
For half Spain's weight in Ingots I'd not lose  
This little man today.  Med. 
Nor for so much  
Twice told, Sir, would I miss your kingly presence;  
Mine eyes have lost th'acquaintance of your face  
So long, and I so (little) late read o'er  
That Index of the royal book your mind,  
That scarce (without your Comment) can I tell  
When in those leaves you turn o'er smiles or frowns.  Kin. 
'Tis dimness of your sight, no fault i'th' letter:  
Medina, you shall find that free from Erratas:  
And for a proof,  
If I could breathe my heart in welcomes forth,  
This Hall should ring nought else; welcome Medina,  
Good marquess Daenia, Dons of Spain all welcome:  
My dearest love and Queen, be it your place  
To entertain the Bride, and do her grace.  Quee. 
With all the love I can, whose fire is such,  
To give her heat, I cannot burn too much.  Kin. 
Contracted Bride, and Bridegroom sit,  
Sweet flowers not plucked in season, lose their scent,  
So will our pleasures; Father Cardinal,  
methinks this morning new-begins our reign.  Car. 
Peace had her Sabbath ne'er till now in Spain.  Kin. 
Where is our Noble Soldier Baltazar?  
So close in conference with that Signior?  No. 
No.  Kin. 
What think'st thou of this great day, Baltazar?  Bal. 
Of this day? why as of a new play, if it ends well, all's well; all men are but Actors, now if you being the King, should be out of your part, or the Queen out of hers, or your Dons out of theirs, here's No will never be out of his.  No. 
No.  Bal. 
'Twere a lamentable piece of stuff to see great Statesmen have vile Exits; but I hope there are nothing but plaudities in all your eyes.  Kin. 
Mine I protest are free.  Quee. 
And mine by heaven.  Mal. 
Free from one good look till the blow be given.  Kin. 
Wine; a full Cup crowned to Medina's health.  Med. 
Your Highness this day so much honours me,  
That I to pay you what I truly owe,  
My life shall venture for it.  Dæn. 
So shall mine.  Kin. 
Onaelia, you are sad: why frowns your brow?  Onae. 
A foolish memory of my past ills  
Folds up my look in furrows of old care,  
But my heart's merry, Sir.  Kin. 
Which mirth to heighten,  
Your Bridegroom and yourself first pledge this health  
Which we begin to our high Constable.  Three Cups filled: 1. to the King. 2. to the Bridegroom. 3. to Onaelia, with whom the King compliments. Quee. 
Is 't speeding?  Mal. 
As all our Spanish figs are.  Kin. 
Here's to Medina's heart with all my heart.  Med. 
My heart shall pledge your heart i'th' deepest draught  
That ever Spaniard drank.  Kin. 
Medina mocks me,  
Because I wrong her with the largest Bowl:  
I'll change with thee, Onaelia.  Mal. rages. Quee. 
Sir you shall not.  Kin. 
Fear you I cannot fetch it off!  Quee. 
Malateste!  Kin. 
This is your scorn to her, because I am doing  
This poorest honour to her: Music sound,  
It goes were it ten fathoms to the ground.  Cornets. King drinks, Queen and Mal. storms. Mal. 
Fate strikes with the wrong weapon.  Quee. 
Sweet royal Sir no more, it is too deep.  Mal. 
'twill hurt your health sir.  Kin. 
Interrupt me in my drink: 'tis off.  Mal. 
Alas sir;  
You have drunk your last, that poisoned bowl I filled  
Not to be put into your hand, but hers.  Kin. 
Poisoned?  Omnes. 
Descend black speckled soul to hell.  kill Mal. dies. Mal. 
The Queen has sent me thither.  Card. 
What new fury shakes now her snakes locks.  Quee. 
ay, ay, 'tis I;  
Whose soul is torn in pieces, till I send  
This Harlot home.  Car. 
More murders! save the Lady.  Balt. 
Rampant? let the Constable make a mittimus.  Med. 
Keep 'em asunder.  Car. 
How is it, royal son?  Kin. 
I feel no poison yet, only mine eyes  
Are putting out their lights: methinks I feel  
Death's Icy fingers stroking down my face; and now  
I'm in a mortal cold sweat.  Quee. 
Dear my Lord.  Kin. 
Hence, call in my Physicians.  Med. 
Thy Physician, Tyrant,  
Dwells yonder, call on him or none.  Kin. 
Bloody Medina, stab'st thou Brutus too?  Daen. 
As he is, so are we all.  Kin. 
I burn,  
My brains boil in a cauldron, O one drop  
Of water now to cool me.  Onae. 
Oh let him have Physicians.  Med. 
Keep her back.  Kin. 
Physicians for my soul, I need none else;  
You'll not deny me those: oh holy Father,  
Is there no mercy hovering in a cloud  
For me a miserable King so drenched  
In perjury and murder?  Car. 
Oh Sir great store.  Kin. 
Come down, come quickly down.  Car. 
I'll forthwith send  
For a grave friar to be your Confessor.  Kin. 
Do, do.  Car. 
And he shall cure your wounded soul:  
Fetch him good Soldier.  Bal. 
So good a work I'll hasten.  Kin. 
Onaelia! oh she's drowned in tears! Onaelia,  
Let me not die unpardoned at thy hands.  Enter Baltazar, Sebastian as a friar, with others. Car. 
Here comes a better Surgeon.  Seb. 
Hail my good Son,  
I come to be thy ghostly Father.  Kin. 
Ha? my child 'tis my Sebastian, or some spirit  
Sent in his shape to fright me.  Bal. 
'Tis no gobbling, Sir, feel; your own flesh and blood, and much younger than you tho he be bald, and calls you son; had I been as ready to ha' cut his sheep's throat, as you were to send him to the shambles, he had bleated no more; there's less chalk upon you score of sins by these round o'es.  Kin. 
Oh my dull soul look up, thou art somewhat lighter,  
Noble Medina, see Sebastian lives:  
Onaelia cease to weep, Sebastian livea;  
Fetch me my Crown: my sweetest pretty friar,  
Can my hands do't, I le raise thee one step higher  
thoust been in heaven's house all this while sweet boy.  Seb. 
I had but course cheer.  Kin. 
Thou couldst ne'er fare better:  
Religious houses are those hives, where Bees  
Make honey for men's souls: I tell thee, Boy,  
A friary is a Cube, which strongly stands,  
Fashioned by men, supported by heavens hands:  
Orders of holy Priesthood are as high  
I'th' eyes of Angels, as a king's dignity:  
Both these unto a Crown give the hill weight,  
And both are thine: you that our Contract know,  
See how I seal it with this Marriage;  
My blessing and Spain's kingdom both be thine.  Omnes. 
Long live Sebastian.  Onae. 
Doff that Friars course grey;  
And since he's crowned a King, clothe him like one.  Kin. 
Oh no: those are right sovereign Ornaments;  
Had I been clothed so, I had never filled  
〈…〉  
My work is almost finished: where's my Queen?  Quee. 
Here piecemeal torn by Furies.  Kin. 
Onaelia!  
Your hand Paulina too, Onaelia yours:  
This hand (the pledge of my twice broken faith)  
By you usurped is her Inheritance;  
My love is turned, see as my fate is turned,  
Thus they today laugh, yesterday which mourned:  
I pardon thee my death; let her be sent  
Back into Florence with a trebled dowry;  
Death comes: oh now I see what late I feared!  
A Contract broke, though pieced up ne'er so well,  
Heaven sees, earth suffers, but it ends in hell.  moritur. Onae. 
Oh I could die with him.  Quee. 
Since the bright sphere  
I moved in falls, alas what make I here?  Exit. Med. 
The hammers of black mischief now cease beating,  
Yet some Irons still are heating: you, Sir Bridegroom,  
(Set all this while up as a mark to shoot at)  
We here discharge you of your bedfellow,  
She loves no barbers washing.  Cock. 
My Balls are saved then.  Med. 
Be it your charge, so please you reverend Sir,  
To see the late Queen safely sent to Florence:  
My Niece Onaelia, and that trusty Soldier,  
We do appoint to guard the Infant King:  
Other distractions, Time must reconcile;  
The State is poisoned like a Crocodile.  Exeunt 
FINIS.