FOUR PLAYS. OR Moral Representations, IN ONE.  Enter Don Frigozo. Frig. Noise within. 
AWay with those bald pated Rascals there, their wits are bound up in velum, they are not currant here. Down with those City-Gentlemen, etc. Out with those— I say, and in with their wives at the backdoor. Worship and place, I am weary of ye, ye lie on my shoulders like a load of gold on an Asses back. A man in Authority is but as a candle in the wind, sooner wasted or blown out then under a bushel. How now, what's the matter? Enter Rinaldo.  
Who are you, Sir?  Rin. 
Who am I, Sir? why, do y' not know me?  Frig. 
No by my— do I not.  Rin. 
I am sure we dined together today.  Frig. 
That's all one: as I dined with you in the City, and as you paid for my dinner there, I do know you, and am beholding to you: But as my mind is since transmigrated into my office, and as you come to Court to have me pay you again, and be beholding to me, I know you not, I know you not.  Rin. 
Nay, but look ye Sir.  Frig. 
Pardon me: If you had been my bedfellow these seven years, and lent me money to buy my place, I must not transgress principles: This very talking with you is an ill example.  Rin. 
Pish, you are too punctual a Courtier, Sir: why, I am a Courtier too, yet never understood the place or name to be so infectious to humanity and manners, as to cast a man into a burning pride and arrogance, for which there is no cure. I am a Courtier, and yet I will know my friends. I tell you.  Frig. 
And I tell you, you will thrive accordingly, I warrant you.  Rin. 
But hark ye, signior Frigozo, you shall first understand, I have no friends with me to trouble you.  Frig. 
Humh: That's a good motive.  Rin. 
Nor to borrow money of you.  Frig. 
That's an excellent motive.  Rin. 
No my sweet Don, nor to ask what you owe me.  Frig. 
Why, that is the very motive of motives: why I ought and will know thee: and if I had not wound thee up to this promise, I would not have known thee these fifteen years, no more than the arrantest or most foundered castilian that followed our new QUEEN's carriages afoot.  Rin. 
Nor for any thing, dear Don, but that you would place me conveniently to see the Play tonight.  Frig. 
That shall I, signior Rinaldo: but would you had come sooner: you see how full the Scaffolds are, there is scant room for a lover's thought here. Gentlewomen, sit close for shame: Has none of ye a little corner for this Gentleman? I'll place ye, fear not. And how did our brave King of Portugal, Emanuel, bear himself today? You saw the solemnity of the marriage.  Rin. 
Why, like a fit Husband for so gracious and excellent a Princess, as his worthy mate Isabella, the King of Castiles Daughter doth in her very external lineaments, mixture of colours, and joining Dovelike behaviour assure herself to be. And I protest (my dear Don) seriously, I can sing prophetically nothing but blessed hymns, and happy occasions to this sacred union of Portugal and Castille, which have so wisely and mutually conjoined two such virtuous and beautiful Princes as these are; and in all opinion like to multiply to their very last minute.  Frig. 
The King is entering: signior hover here about, and as soon as the Train is set, clap into me, we'll stand near the State. If you have any Creditors here, they shall renew bonds a Twelvemonth on such a sight: but to to touch the pommel of the king's chair in the sight of a Citizen, is better security for 10 0 double ducats, than three of the best Merchants in Lisbon. Besides, signior, we will censure not only the King in the Play here, that reigns his two hours; but the King himself, that is to rule his life time: Take my counsel: I have one word to say to this noble assembly, and I am for you.  Rin. 
Your method shall govern me.  Frig. 
Prologues are Hinshers bare before the wise;  
Why may not then an Hinsher Prologise?  
Here's a fair sight, and were ye oftener seen  
Thus gathered here, 'twould please our King and Queen.  
Upon my conscience, ye are welcome all  
To Lisbon, and the Court of Portugal;  
Where your fair eyes shall feed on no worse sights  
Than preparations made for king's delights.  
We wish to men content, the manliest treasure,  
And to the women their own wished for pleasure,  Flourish. Enter King and Queen, Emanuel and Isabella, Lords and attendants. Em. 
Fair fountain of my life, from whose pure streams  
the propagation of two Kingdom flows,  
never contention rise in either's breast,  
but contestation whose love shall be best.  Isab. 
Majestic Ocean, that with plenty feeds  
me thy poor tributary Rivulet,  
Sun of my beauty, that with radiant beams  
dost gild, and dance upon these humble streams,  
cursed be my birth-hour, and my ending day,  
when back your love-floods I forget to pay:  
or if this breast of mine your crystal brook  
ever take other form in, other look  
but yours, or ere produce unto your grace  
a strange reflection, or another's face,  
but be your love-book clasped, opened to none  
but you, nor hold a story but your own;  
a water fixed, that ebbs nor floods pursue,  
frozen to all, only dissolved to you.  Em. 
O, who shall tell the sweetness of our love  
to future times, and not be thought to lie?  
I look through this hour like a perspective,  
and far off see millions of prosperous seeds  
that our reciprocal affection breeds.  
Thus my white rib, close in my breast with me,  
which nought shall tear hence but mortality. Flourish.  Lords. 
Be Kingdoms blessed in you, you blessed in them.  Frig. 
Whist, signior; my strong imagination shows me Love( methinks) bathing in milk, and wine in her cheeks: O how she clips him like a plant of Ivy.  Rin. 
I; Could not you be content to be an owl in such an ivy-bush, or one of the oaks of the City to be so clipped?  Frig. 
Equivocal Don, though I like the clipping well, I could not be content either to be your owl, or your ox of the City. The Play begins. Flourish.  Enter a Poet with a garland. Poet Prologue. 
Low at your sacred feet our poor Muse lays  
Her, and her thunder fearless verdant bays.  
Four several Triumphs to your Princely eyes  
Of Honour, Love, Death, and Time do rise  
From our approaching subject, which we move  
Towards you with fear, since that a sweeter Love,  
A brighter Honour, purer Chastity  
March in your breasts this day triumphantly,  
Than our weak Scenes can show: then how dare we  
Present like Apes and Zanies, things that be  
Exemplified in you, but that we know,  
We ne'er craved grace, which you did not bestow?  Enter in triumph with Drums, Trumpets, Colours, Martius, Valerius, Sophocles bound, Nicodemus, Cornelius, Captains and Soldiers. Mar. 
What means proud Sophocles?  Soph. 
To go even with Martius,  
and not to follow him like his Officer:  
I never waited yet on any man.  Mar. 
Why poor Athenian Duke, thou art my slave,  
my blows have conquered thee.  Soph. 
Thy slave? proud Martius,  
Cato thy countryman (whose constancy  
of all the Romans I did honour most)  
ripped himself twice to avoid slavery,  
making himself his own Anatomy.  
But look thee Martius, not a vein runs here  
from head to foot, but Sophocles would unseam, and  
like a spring garden shoot his scornful blood  
it no their eyes durst come to tread on him:  
As for thy brows, they did not conquer me:  
Seven Battles have I met thee face to face,  
and given thee blow for blow, and wound for wound,  
and till thou taughtest me, knew not to retire;  
thy sword was then as bold, thy arm as strong;  
thy blows then Martius, cannot conquer me.  Val. 
What is it then?  Soph. 
Fortune.  Val. 
Why, yet in that  
thou art the worse man, and must follow him.  Soph. 
Young Sir, you err: If Fortune could be called  
or his, or yours, or mine, in good or evil  
for any certain space, thou hadst spoke truth:  
But she but jests with man, and in mischance  
abhors all constancy, flouting him still  
with some small touch of good, or seeming good  
midst of his mischief: which vicissitude  
makes him straight doff his armour and his fence  
he had prepared before, to break her strokes.  
So from the very Zenith of her wheel,  
when she has dandled some choice favourite,  
given him his boons in women, honour, wealth,  
and all the various delicies of earth.  
that the fool scorns the gods in his excess,  
she whirls, and leaves him at th' Antipodes.  Mar. 
Art sure we have taken him? Is this Sophocles?  
his fettered arms say no; his free soul, I.  
This Athens nurseth Arts, as well as Arms.  Soph. 
Nor glory Martius, in this day of thine,  
'tis behind yesterday, but before tomorrow:  
Who knows what Fortune then will do with thee?  
She never yet could make the better man  
the better chance she has: the man that's best  
she still contends with, and doth favour least.  Mar. 
methinks a graver thunder then the skies  
breaks from his lips; I am amazed to hear,  
and Athens words more than her swords do fear.  Soph. 
Martius, slave Sophocles, couldst thou acquire  
(and did thy Roman gods so love thy prayers,  
and solemn sacrifice, to grant thy suit)  
to gather all the valour of the Caesar's  
thy Predecessors, and what is to come,  
and by their influence fling it on thee now,  
thou couldst not make my mind go less, not pare  
with all their swords one virtue from my soul:  
how am I vassalled then? Make such thy slaves  
as dare not keep their goodness past their graves.  
Know General, we two are chances on  
the die of Fate; now thrown, thy six is up,  
and my poor one beneath thee; next thy throw  
may set me upmost, and cast thee below.  Mar. 
Yet will I try thee more: Calamity  
is man's true touchstone: Listen insolent Prince,  
that dar'st contemn the Master of thy life,  
which I will force here 'fore thy City walls  
with barbarous cruelty, and call thy wife  
to see it, and then after send her—  Soph. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Mar. 
And then demolish Athens to the ground,  
depopulate her, fright away her fame,  
and leave succession neither stone nor name.  Soph. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Mar. 
Dost thou deride me?  Val. 
Kneel, ask Martius  
for mercy, Sophocles, and live happy still.  Soph. 
Kneel and ask mercy? (Roman) art a god?  
I never kneeled, or begged of any else.  
thou art a fool, and I will lose no more  
instructions on thee: now I find thy ears  Solemn Music. Enter Dorigen, Ladies bearing a sword. 
are foolish, like thy tongue. My Dorigen?  
oh, must she see me bound?  1. Cap. 
There's the first sigh  
he breathed since he was born, I think.  2. Cap. 
Forbear,  
all but the Lady his wife.  Soph. 
How my heart chides  
the manacles of my hands, that let them not  
embrace my Dorigen.  Val. 
Turn but thy face,  
and ask thy life of Martius thus, and thou  
(with thy fair wife) shalt live; Athens shall stand,  
and all her privileges augmented be.  Soph. 
'Twere better Athens perished, and my wife  
which (Romans) I do know a worthy one,  
than Sophocles should shrink of Sophocles,  
commit profane Idolatry, by giving  
the reverence due to gods to thee blown man.  Mar. 
Rough, stubborn Cynic.  Soph. 
Thou art rougher far,  
and of a couser wale, fuller of pride,  
less temperate to bear prosperity.  
Thou seest my mere neglect hath raised in thee  
a storm more boisterous than the Oceans,  
my virtue Patience makes thee vicious.  Mar. 
Why, fair-eyed Lady, do you kneel?  Dor. 
Great General,  
victorious, godlike Martius, your poor handmaid  
kneels, for her husband will not, cannot: speaks  
thus humbly, that he may not. Listen Roman,  
thou whose advanced front doth speak thee Roman  
to every Nation, and whose deeds assure 't;  
Behold a Princess (whose declining head  
like to a drooping lily after storms  
bows to thy feet) and playing here the slave,  
to keep her husband's greatness unabated:  
all which doth make thy Conquest greater: For,  
if he be base in aught whom thou hast taken,  
than Martius hath but taken a base prize.  
But if this Jewel hold lustre and value,  
Martius is richer than in that he hath won,  
O make him such a Captive as thyself  
unto another wouldst, great Captain, be;  
till then, he is no prisoner fit for thee.  Mar. 
Valerius, here is harmony would have brought  
old crabbed Saturn to sweet sleep when Jove  
did first incense him with Rebellion:  
Athens doth make women Philosophers,  
and sure their children chat the talk of gods.  Val. 
Rise beauteous Dorigen.  Dor. 
Nor until I know  
the general's resolution,  Val. 
One soft word  
from Sophocles would calm him into tears,  
like gentle showers after tempestuous winds.  Dor. 
To buy the world, he will not give a word,  
a look, a tear, a knee, 'gainst his own judgement,  
and the divine composure of his mind:  
all which I therefore do, and here present  
this Victors wreathe, this rich Athenian sword,  
Trophies of Conquest, which, great Martius, wear,  
and be appeased: Let Sophocles still live.  Mar. 
He would not live.  Dor. 
He would not beg to live.  
When he shall so forget, than I begin  
to command, Martius; and when he kneels,  
Dorigen stands; when he lets fall a tear,  
I dry mine eyes, and scorn him.  Mar. 
Scorn him now then,  
here in the face of Athens, and thy friends.  
Self-willed, stiff Sophocles, prepare to die,  
and by that sword thy Lady honoured me,  
with which herself shall follow. Romans, Friends,  
who dares but strike this stroke, shall part with me  
half Athens, and my half of Victory.  Cap. 
By— not we.  Nic. Cor. 
We two will do it, Sir.  Soph. 
Away, ye fish-faced Rascals.  Val. 
Martius,  
to eclipse this great Eclipse labours thy fame;  
Valerius thy Brother shall for once  
turn Executioner: Give me the sword.  
Now Sophocles, I'll strike as suddenly  
as thou dar'st die.  Soph. 
Thou canst not. And Valerius,  
'tis less dishonour to thee thus to kill me,  
then bid me kneel to Martius: 'tis to murder  
the fame of living men, which great ones do;  
their studies strangle, poison makes away,  
the wretched hangman only ends the Play.  Val. 
Art thou prepared?  Soph. 
Yes.  Val. 
Bid thy wife farewell.  Soph. 
No, I will take no leave: My Dorigen,  
yonder above, 'bout Ariadne's Crown  
my spirit shall hover for thee; prithee haste,  Dor. 
Stay Sophocles, with this tie up my sight,  
let not soft nature so transformed be  
(and lose her gentler sexed humanity)  
to make me see my lord bleed. So, 'tis well:  
never one object underneath the Sun  
will I behold before my Sophocles.  
Farewell: now teach the Romans how to die.  Mar. 
Dost know what 'tis to die?  Soph. 
Thou dost not, Martius,  
and therefore not what 'tis to live; to die  
is to begin to live: It is to end  
an old stale weary work, and to commence  
a newer and a better. 'Tis to leave  
deceitful knaves for the society  
of gods and goodness. Thou thyself must part  
at last from all thy garlands, pleasures, Triumphs,  
and prove thy fortitude, what then 'twill do.  Val. 
But art not grieved nor vexed to leave life thus?  Soph. 
Why should I grieve, or vex for being sent  
to them I ever loved best? now I'll kneel,  
but with my back toward thee; 'tis the last duty  
this trunk can do the gods.  Mar. 
Strike, strike, Valerius,  
or Martius' heart will leap out at his mouth.  
This is a man, a woman! Kiss thy lord,  
and live with all the freedom you were wont.  
O Love, thou doubly hast afflicted me,  
with virtue, and with beauty. Treacherous heart,  
my hand shall cast thee quick into my urn,  
ere thou transgress this knot of piety.  Val. 
What ails my Brother?  Soph. 
Martius, oh Martius,  
thou now hast found a way to conquer me.  Dor. 
O star of Rome, what gratitude can speak  
fit words to follow such a deed as this?  Mar. 
Doth Juno talk, or Dorigen?  Val. 
You are observed.  Mar. 
This admirable Duke (Valerius)  
with his disdain of Fortune, and of Death,  
captived himself, hath captivated me:  
and though my arm hath ta'en his body here,  
his soul hath subjugated Martius' soul:  
By Romulus, he is all soul, I think;  
he hath no flesh, and spirit cannot be gyved;  
then we have vanquished nothing; he is free,  
and Martius walks now in captivity.  Soph. 
How fares the noble Roman?  Mar. 
Why?  Dor. 
Your blood  
is sunk down to your heart, and your bright eyes  
have lost their splendour.  Mar. 
Baser fires go out  
when the Sun shines on 'em: I am not well,  
an Apoplectic fit I use to have  
after my heats in war carelessly cold.  Soph. 
Martius shall rest in Athens with his friends,  
till this distemper leave him: O, great Roman,  
see Sophocles do that for thee, he could not  
do for himself, weep. Martius, by the—  
it grieves me that so brave a soul should suffer  
under the bodies weak infirmity.  
Sweet Lady, take him to thy loving charge,  
and let thy care be tender.  Dor. 
Kingly Sir,  
I am your Nurse and Servant.  Mar. 
Oh dear Lady,  
my Mistress, nay my Deity; guide me heaven,  
ten wreathes triumphant Martius will give  
to change a Martius for a Sophocles:  
Can 't not be done (Valerius) with this boot?  
Inseparable affection, ever thus  
colleague with Athens Rome.  Dor. 
Beat warlike tunes,  
whilst Dorigen thus honours Martius' brow  
with one victorious wreath more.  Soph. 
And Sophocles  
thus girds his Sword of Conquest to his thigh,  
which ne'er be drawn, but cut out Victory.  Lords. 
For ever be it thus. Exeunt.  Corn. 
Corporal Nichodemus, a word with you.  Nic. 
My worthy Sutler Cornelius, it befits not Nichodemus the Roman Officer to parley with a fellow of thy rank: the affairs of the Empire are to be occupied.  Corn. 
Let the affairs of the Empire lie a while unoccupied, sweet Nichodemus; I do require the money at thy hands, which thou dost owe me; and if fair means cannot attain, force of Arms shall accomplish.  Nic. 
Put up and live.  Corn. 
I have put up too much already, thou Corporal of Concupiscence, for I suspect thou hast dishonoured my flock-bed, and with thy foolish Eloquence, and that bewitching face of thine drawn my Wife, the young harlotry baggage to prosecute herself unto thee. Draw therefore, for thou shalt find thyself a mortal Corporal.  Nichod. 
Stay thy dead-doing hand, and hear: I will rather descend from my honour, and argue these contumelies with thee, then clutch thee (poor fly) in these eaglet— of mine, or draw my sword of Fate on a Peasant, a Besognio, a Cocoloch, as thou art. Thou shalt first understand this foolish eloquence, and intolerable beauty of mine (both which, I protest, are merely natural) are the gifts of the gods, with which I have neither scent bawdy Sonnet, nor amorous glance, or (as the vulgar call it) sheeps eye to thy betrothed Florence.  Corin. 
Thou liest.  Nich. 
O gods of Rome, was Nichodemus born  
to bear these braveries from a poor provant?  
yet when dogs bark, or when the asses bray,  
the lion laughs, not roars, but goes his way.  Cornel. 
A— o' your poetical vein: This versifying my wife has hornified me. Sweet Corporal codshead, no more standing on your puntilioes and punkettoes of honour, they are not worth a louse: the truth is, thou art the general's bigamy, that is, his fool, and his knave; thou art miscreant and recreant, not an horseboy in the Legions but has beaten thee; thy beginning was knapsack, and thy ending will be haltersack.  Nich. 
methinks I an now Sophocles the wise, and thou art Martius the mad.  Cornel. 
No more of your tricks good Corporal Letherchops: I say, thou hast dishonoured me, and since honour now adays is only repaired by money, pay me, and I am satisfied; Even reckoning keeps long friends.  Nic. 
Let us continue friends then, for I have been even with thee a long time; and though I have not paid thee, I have paid thy wife.  Corn. 
Flow forth my tears, thou hast deflowered her Tarquin, the Garden of my delight, hedged about, in which there was but one bowling-Alley for mine own private procreation, thou hast, like a thief in the night, leapt the hedge, entered my Alley, and without my privity, played thine own rubbers.  Nic. 
How long shall patience thus securely snore?  
Is it my fault, if these attractive eyes,  
this budding chin, or rosy-coloured cheek,  
this comely body, and this waxen leg,  
have drawn her into a fool's paradise?  
By Cupid's— I do swear (no other)  
she's chaster far than Lucrece, her grandmother;  
pure as glass-window, ere the rider dash it,  
whiter than lady's smock, when she did wash it:  
for well thou worst (though now my heart's Commandress)  
I once was free, and she but the camp's Laundress.  Corn. 
ay, she then came sweet to me; no part about her but smelled of Soap-suds, like a Dryad out of a washbowl. Pray, or pay.  Nich. 
Hold.  Corn. 
Was thy cheese mouldy, or thy pennyworths small?  
was not thy Ale the mightiest of the earth in Malt,  
and thy stoup filled like a tide? was not thy bed soft, and  
thy Bacon fatter than a dropsy? Come, Sir.  Nich. 
Mars then inspire me with the fencing skill  
of our Tragedian Actors. Honour pricks;  
and Sutler, now I come with thwacks and thwicks.  
Grant us one crush, one pass, and now a high, Cavalto fall:  
then up again, now down again, yet do no harm at all.  Enter wife. Wife. 
O that ever I was born: why Gent.  Corn. 
Messaline of Rome, away, disloyal Concubine: I will be deafer to thee, than thou art to others: I will have my hundred drachmas he owes me, thou arrant whore.  Wife. 
I know he is an hundred drachmas o' the score; but what o' that? no bloodshed, sweet Cornelius. O my heart; o' my conscience 't is fallen thorough the bottom of my belly. O my sweet Didimus, if either of ye miskill one another, what will become of poor Florence? Pacify yourselves, I pray.  Corn. 
Go to, my heart is not stone; I am not marble: dry your eyes, Florence; the scurvy apes-face knows my blind side well enough: leave your puling; will this content ye? let him taste thy nether lip, which in sign of amity I thus take off again: go thy ways, and provide the cow's udder.  Nich. 
Lily of Concord. And now, honest Sutler, since I have had proof as well of thy good nature, as of thy wives before, I will acquaint thee with a project shall fully satisfy thee for thy debt. Thou shalt understand I am shortly to be knighted.  Corn. 
The devil thou art.  Nich. 
Renounce me else: for the sustenance of which Worship (which Worship many times wants sustenance) I have here the Generals grant to have the leading of two hundred men.  Corn. 
You jest, you jest.  Nich. 
Refuse me else to the pit.  Corn. 
Mercy on us: ha' you not forgot yourself? by your swearing you should be knighted already.  Nich. 
Damn me, Sir, here's his hand, read it.  Corn. 
Alas, I cannot.  Nich. 
I know that. It has pleased the General to look upon my service. Now, Sir, shall you join with me in petitioning for fifty men more, in regard of my arrearages to you; which if granted, I will bestow the whole profit of those fifty men on thee and thine heirs for ever, till Atropos do cut this simple thread.  Corn. 
No more, dear Corporal, Sir Nichodemus that shall be, I cry your wishes mercy: I am your servant, body and goods, movables and immovables; use my house, use my wife, use me, abuse me, do what you list.  Nich. 
A figment is a candid lie: this is an old Pass.  
Mark what follows.  Exeunt. Enter Martius, and two Captains. Mar. 
Pray leave me: you are Romans, honest men,  
keep me not company, I am turned knave,  
have lost my fame and nature. Athens, Athens,  
this Dorigen is thy Palladium:  
he that will sack thee, must betray her first,  
whose words wound deeper than her husband's sword;  
her eyes make captive still the Conqueror,  
and here they keep her only to that end.  
O subtle devil, what a golden ball  
did tempt when thou didst cast her in my way!  
Why, foolish Sophocles, brought'st thou not to field  
thy Lady, that thou mightst have overcome?  
Martius had kneeled, and yielded all his wreathes  
that hang like Jewels on the sevenfold hill,  
and bid Rome send him out to fight with men,  
(for that she knew he durst) and not 'gainst Fate  
or Deities, what mortal conquers them?  
Insatiate Julius, when his Victories  
had run o'er half the world, had he met her,  
there he had stopped the legend of his deeds,  
laid by his Arms, been overcome himself,  
and let her vanquish th' other half. And fame  
made beauteous Dorigen the greater name.  
Shall I thus fall? I will not; no, my tears  
cast on my heart, shall quench these lawless fires:  
he conquers best, conquers his lewd desires.  Enter Dorigen with Ladies. Dor. 
Great Sir, my Lord commands me visit you,  
and thinks your retired melancholy proceeds  
from some distaste of worthless entertainment.  
Will 't please you take your chamber? how d' ye do, Sir?  Mar. 
Lost, lost again; the wild rage of my blood  
doth Ocean-like o'erflow the shallow shore  
of my weak virtue: my desire 's a vane  
that the least breath from her turns every way.  Dor. 
What says my Lord?  Mar. 
Dismiss your women, pray,  
and I'll reveal my grief.  Dor. 
Leave me.  Mar. 
Long tales of love (whilst love itself  
might be enjoyed) are languishing delays.  
There is a secret strange lies in my breast  
I will partake wi' you, which much concerns  
your Lord, yourself, and me. Oh!  Dor. 
Strange secrets, Sir,  
should not be made so cheap to strangers: yet  
if your strange secret do no lower lie  
then in your breast, discover it.  Mar. 
I will.  
Oh: can you not see it, Lady, in my sighs?  Dor. 
Sighs none can paint, and therefore who can see?  Mar. 
Scorn me not, Dorigen, with mocks: Alcides,  
that mastered monsters, was by beauty tamed,  
Omphale smiled his club out of his hand,  
and made him spin her smocks. O sweet, I love you,  
and I love Sophocles: I must enjoy you,  
and yet I would not injure him.  Dor. 
Let go;  
you hurt me, Sir: fare well. Stay, is this Martius?  
I will not tell my Lord; he'll swear I lie.  
doubt my fidelity, before thy honour.  
How hast thou vexed the gods, that they would let thee  
thus violate friendship, hospitality,  
and all the bounds of sacred piety?  
Sure thou but triest me out of love to him,  
and wouldst reject me, if I did consent.  
O Martius, Martius, wouldst thou in one minute,  
blast all thy Laurels, which so many years  
thou hast been purchasing with blood and sweat?  
Hath Dorigen never been written, read,  
without the epithet of chaste, chaste Dorigen?  
and wouldst thou fall upon her chastity,  
like a black drop of ink, to blot it out?  
When men shall read the records of thy valour,  
thy hitherto brave virtue, and approach  
(highly content yet) to this foul assault  
included in this leaf, this ominous leaf,  
they shall throw down the Book, and read no more,  
though the best deeds ensue, and all conclude,  
that ravelled the whole story, whose sound heart  
(which should have been) proved the most leprous part.  Mar. 
O thou confus'st divinely, and thy words  
do fall like rods upon me; but they have  
such silken lines, and silver hooks, that I  
am faster snared: my love, h' as ta'en such hold,  
that (like two wrestlers) though thou stronger be,  
and hast cast me, I hope to pull thee after.  
I must, or perish.  Dor. 
Perish, Martius, then;  
for I here vow unto the gods, These rocks,  
these rocks we see so fixed, shall be removed,  
made champion field, ere I so impious prove,  
to stain my Lords bed with adulterous love.  Enter Valerius. Val. 
The gods protect fair Dorigen.  Dor. 
Amen,  
from all you wolvish Romans. Exit.  Val. 
Ha? what 's this?  
still, brother, in your moods? O then my doubts  
are truths. Have at it: I must try a way  
to be resolved.  Mar. 
How strangely dost thou look? what ailst thou?  Val. 
What ailst thou?  Mar. 
Why, I am mad.  Val. 
Why, I am madder. Martius, draw thy sword,  
and lop a villain from the earth; for if  
thou wilt not, on some tree about this place  
I'll hang myself: Valerius shall not live  
to wound his brother's honour, stain his Country,  
and branded with ingratitude to all times.  Mar. 
For what can all this be?  Val. 
I am in love.  Mar. 
Why so am I. With whom? ha?  Val. 
Dorigen.  Mar. 
With Dorigen? how dost thou love her? speak.  Val. 
Even to the height of lust; and I must have her,  
or else I die.  Mar. 
Thou shalt, thou daring Traitor.  
On all the confines I have rid my horse,  
was there no other woman for thy choice  
but Dorigen? Why, villain, she is mine;  
she makes me pine thus, sullen, mad, and fool;  
't is I must have her, or I die.  Val. 
O all ye gods,  
with mercy look on this declining rock  
of valour, and of virtue; breed not up  
(from infancy) in honour, to full man,  
as you have done him, to destroy: here, strike;  
for I have only searched thy wound: dispatch:  
far, far be such love from Valerius,  
so far he scorns to live to be called brother  
by him that dares own such folly and such vice.  Mar. 
'T is truth thou speak'st; but I do hate it: peace,  
if heaven will snatch my sword out of my hand,  
and put a rattle in it, what can I do?  
He that is destined to be odious  
in his old age, must undergo his fate.  Enter Cornelius and Nichodemus. Corn. 
If you do not back me, I shall never do 't.  Nich. 
I warrant you.  Corn. 
Humh, humh: Sir; my Lord, my Lord.  Mart. 
Hah? what 's the matter?  Corn. 
Humh; concerning the odd fifty, my Lord, and 't please your Generality, his Worship, Sir Nichodemus.  Mar. 
What 's here? a Pass? you would for Rome? you lubbers, doth one day's laziness make ye covet home? away, ye boarish rogues; ye dogs, away.  Enter wife. Wife. 
Oh, oh, oh:  
how now man, are you satisfied?  Corn. 
ay, ay, I: a— o' your Corporal; I am paid soundly,  
I was never better paid in all my life.  Wife. 
Marry the gods blessing on his honour's heart: you have done a charitable deed, Sir, many more such may you live to do, Sir: the gods keep you, Sir, the gods protect you. Exit.  Mar. 
These peasants mock me sure (Valerius)  
forgive my dotage, see my ashes urned,  
and tell fair Dorigen (she that but now  
left me with this harsh vow, Sooner these rocks  
should be removed, than she would yield) that I  
was yet so loving, on her gift to die.  Val. 
O Jupiter forbid it, Sir, and grant  
this my device may certify thy mind:  
you are my brother, nor must perish thus:  
be comforted: think you fair Dorigen  
would yield your wishes, if these envious rocks  
by skill could be removed, or fallacy  
she made believe so?  Mar. 
Why, she could not choose;  
the Athenians are religious in their vows,  
above all nations.  Val. 
Soft, down yonder hill  
the Lady comes this way, once more to try her,  
if she persist in obstinacy: by my skill  
learned from the old Caldean was my Tutor,  
who trained me in the Mathematics, I will  
so dazzle and delude her sight, that she  
shall think this great impossibility  
effected by some supernatural means.  
Be confident, this engine shall at least,  
till the gods better order, still this breast.  Exit Valerius. Mar. 
O my best brother, go; and for reward,  
choose any part o' th' world, I'll give it thee.  
O, little Rome, men say thou art a god;  
thou mightst have got a fitter fool than I.  Enter Dorigen. Dor. 
Art thou there, Basilisk? remove thine eyes,  
for I am sick to death with thy infection.  Mar. 
Yet, yet have mercy on me; save him, Lady,  
whose single arm defends all Rome, whose mercy  
hath saved thy husband's and thy life.  Dor. 
To spoil  
our fame and honours? no, my vow is fixed,  
and stands as constant as these stones do, still.  Mar. 
Then pity me, ye gods; you only may  
move her, by tearing these firm stones away.  Solemn music. A mist ariseth, the rocks remove. Enter Valerius like Mercury, singing. Val. 

Martius rejoice, Jove sends me from above,  
his Messenger, to cure thy desperate love;  
to show rash vows cannot bind destiny:  
Lady, behold, the rocks transplanted be.  
Hard-hearted Dorigen, yield, lest for contempt,  
They fix thee here a rock, whence they're exempt.   Dor. 
What strange delusion 's this? what Sorcery  
affrights me with these apparitions?  
my colder Chastity 's nigh turned to death.  
Hence, lewd Magician; dar'st thou make the gods  
bawds to thy lust? will they do miracles  
to further evil? or do they love it now?  
know, if they dare do so, I dare hate them,  
and will no longer serve 'em. Jupiter,  
thy golden shower, nor thy snow-white Swan,  
had I been Lada, or bright Danae,  
had bought mine honour. Turn me into stone  
for being good, and blush when thou hast done.  Exit Dorigen. Enter Valerius. Mar. 
O my Valerius, all yet will not do;  
unless I could so draw mine honesty  
down to the lees to be a ravisher;  
she calls me witch, and villain.  Val. 
Patience, Sir,  
the gods will punish perjury. Let her breathe  
and ruminate on this strange sight. Time decays  
the strongest fairest buildings we can find;  
but still Diana fortify her mind. Exeunt.  Enter Sophocles and Dorigen. Soph. 
Weep not, bright Dorigen; for thou hast stood  
constant and chaste (it seems 'gainst gods and men)  
when rocks and mountains were removed. These wonders  
do stupefy my senses. Martius,  
this is inhuman: was thy sickness lust?  
yet were this truth, why weeps she? Jealous soul,  
what dost thou thus suggest? Vows, Magic, Rocks?  
fine tales, and tears. She ne'er complained before.  
I bade her visit him; she often did,  
had many opportunities. Humh, 'tis nought: O,  
no way but this. Come, weep no more, I have pondered  
this miracle: the anger of the gods,  
thy vow, my love to thee, and Martius:  
he must not perish, nor thou be forsworn,  
lest worse fates follow us, Go, keep thy oath:  
for chaste, and whore, are words of equal length:  
but let not Martius know that I consent.  
O, I am pulled in pieces.  Dor. 
I? say you so?  
I'll meet you in your path. O wretched men,  
with all your valour and your learning, bubbles.  
Forgive me, Sophocles. Yet why kneel I  
for pardon, having been but over-diligent,  
like an obedient servant, antedating  
my Lords command? Sir, I have often and already given  
this bosom up to his embraces, and  
am proud that my dear Lord is pleased with it;  
whose gentle honourable mind I see  
participates even all, his wife and all,  
unto his friend. You are sad, Sir. Martius loves me,  
and I love Martius, with such ardency  
as never married couple could: I must  
attend him now. My Lord, when you have need  
to use your own wife, pray Sir send for me;  
till then, make use of your Philosophy. Exit.  Soph. 
Stay, Dorigen: O me, inquisitive fool!  
thou that didst order this congested heap  
when it was Chaos, twixt thy spacious palms  
forming it to this vast rotundie;  
dissolve it now; shuffle the elements,  
that no one proper by itself may stand:  
let the sea quench the sun, and in that instant  
the sun drink up the sea: day, ne'er come down,  
to light me to those deeds that must be done.  Exit. Drums and Colours. Enter Martius, Valerius, Captains and soldiers, at one door, and Dorigen with Ladies, at another. Dor. 
Hail, General of Rome; from Sophocles  
that honours Martius, Dorigen presents  
herself to be dishonoured: do thy will;  
for Sophocles commands me to obey.  
Come, violate all rules of holiness,  
and rend the consecrated knot of love.  Mar. 
Never, Valerius, was I blessed till now:  
behold the end of all my weary steps,  
the prize of all my Battles: leave us, all;  
leave us as quick as thought. Thus joy begin,  
in zealous love a minute's loss is sin.  Val. 
Can Martius be so vile? or Dorigen?  Dor. 
Stay, stay: and monster, keep thou further off;  
I thought thy brave soul would have much, much loathed  
to have gone on still on such terms as this.  
See, thou ungrateful, since thy desperate lust  
nothing can cure but death, I'll die for thee,  
whilst my chaste name lives to posterity.  Mar. 
Live, live, thou Angel of thy sex: forgive,  
till by those golden tresses thou be'st snatched  
alive to heaven: for thy corruption 's  
so little, that it cannot suffer death.  
Was ever such a woman? O my Mirror,  
how perfectly thou show'st me all my faults,  
which now I hate! and when I next attempt thee,  
let all the fires in the zodiac  
drop on this cursed head.  All. 
O blessed event!  Dor. 
Rise like the sun again in all his glory,  
after a dark Eclipse.  Mar. 
Never without a pardon.  Enter Sophocles, and two or three with him. Dor. 
Sir, you have forgiven yourself.  Soph. 
Behold their impudence: are my words just?  
Unthankful man, viper to Arms, and Rome  
thy natural mother: have I warmed thee here  
to corrode e'en my heart? Martius, prepare  
to kill me, or be killed.  Mar. 
Why, Sophocles,  
then prithee kill me; I deserve it highly;  
for I have both transgressed 'gainst men, and gods;  
but am repentant now, and in best case  
to uncase my soul of this oppressing flesh;  
which, though (Gods witness) ne'er was actually  
injurious to thy wife and thee, yet 't was  
her goodness that restrained and held me now:  
but take my life, dear friend, for my intent,  
or else forgive it.  Val. 
By the gods of Athens,  
these words are true, and all direct again.  Soph. 
Pardon me, Dorigen.  Mar. 
Forgive me, Sophocles,  
and Dorigen too, and every one that 's good.  Dor. 
Rise, noble Roman, beloved Sophocles,  
take to thy breast thy friend.  Mar. 
And to thy heart  
thy matchless wife: heaven has not stuff enough  
to make another such: for if it could,  
Martius would marry too. For thy blessed sake  
(O thou infinity of excellence)  
henceforth in men's discourse Rome shall not take  
the wall of Athens, as 'tofore. But when  
in their fair honours we to speak do come,  
we'll say 'T was so in Athens, and in Rome.  Exeunt in pomp. Diana descends. Diana. 

Honour set ope thy gates, and with thee bring  
my servant and thy friend, fair Dorigen:  
Let her triumph, with her, her Lord, and friend,  
who, though misled, still honour was their end.   Flourish. Enter the Show of honour's Triumph; a great flourish of Trumpets and Drums within Then, enter a noise of Trumpets sounding cheerfully. Then follows an armed Knight bearing a Crimson Banneret in hand, with the inscription Valour: by his side a Lady, bearing a Watchet Banneret, the inscription Clemency: next Martius and Sophocles with Coronets. Next, two Ladies, one bearing a white Banneret, the inscription Chastity; the other a black, the inscription Constancy. Then Dorigen crowned. Last, a Chariot drawn by two Moors, in it a Person crowned, with a Sceptre: on the top, in an antic Scutcheon, is written Honour. As they pass over, Diana ascends. Rinald. 
How like you it?  Frig. 
Rarely; so well, I would they would do it again. How many of our wives now adays would deserve to triumph in such a Chariot?  Rinald. 
That's all one; you see they triumph in Caroches.  Frig. 
That they do, by the mass; but not all neither; many of them are content with Carts. But signior, I have now found out a great absurdity i'faith.  Rinald. 
What was't?  Frig. 
The Prologue presenting four Triumphs, made but three legs to the King: a three legged Prologue, 't was monstrous.  Rinald. 
'T had been more monstrous to have had a four-legged one. Peace, the King speaks.  Em. 
Here was a woman, Isabel.  Isa. 
ay, my Lord,  
but that she told a lie to vex her husband;  
therein she failed.  Em. 
She served him well enough;  
he that was so much man, yet would be cast  
to jealousy for her integrity.  
This teacheth us, the passion of love  
can fight with Soldiers, and with Scholars too.  Isa. 
In Martius, clemency and valour shown,  
in the other, courage and humanity;  
and therefore in the Triumph they were ushered  
by clemency and valour.  Em. 
Rightly observed,  
as she by chastity and constancy;  
what hurt 's now in a Play, against which some rail  
so vehemently? thou and I, my Love,  
make excellent use methinks: I learn to be  
a lawful lover void of jealousy,  
and thou a constant wife. Sweet Poetry 's  
a flower, where men, like Bees and Spiders, may  
bear poison, or else sweets and Wax away.  
Be venom-drawing Spiders they that will;  
I'll be the Bee, and suck the honey still. Flourish.  Cupid descends. Cupid. 

Stay, clouds, ye rack too fast: bright Phoebus see,  
Honour has triumphed with fair Chastity:  
Give Love now leave, in purity to show  
Unchaste affections fly not from his bow.  
Produce the sweet example of your youth.  
Whilst I provide a Triumph for your Truth.   Flourish. Enter Violane (with child) and Gerrard. Viol. 
Why does my Gerrard grieve?  Ger. 
O my sweet Mistress,  
't is not life (which by our Milan law  
my fact hath forfeited) makes me thus pensive;  
that I would lose to save the little finger  
of this your noble burden, from least hurt,  
because your blood is in't. But since your love  
made poor incompatible me the parent,  
(being we are not married) your dear blood  
falls under the same cruel penalty;  
and can heaven think fit ye die for me?  
for heaven's sake say I ravished you, I'll swear it,  
to keep your life safe, and repute unstained.  Viol. 
O Gerrard, th' art my life and faculties;  
and if I lose thee, I'll not keep mine own;  
the thought of whom, sweetens all miseries.  
Wouldst have me murder thee beyond thy death?  
unjustly scandal thee with ravishment?  
It was so far from rape, that heaven doth know,  
if ever the first Lovers, ere they fell,  
knew simply in the state of innocence,  
such was this act, this, that doth ask no blush.  Ger. 
O, but my rarest Violane, when  
my Lord Randulpho brother to your father,  
shall understand this, how will he exclaim,  
that my poor Aunt, and me, which his free alms  
hath nursed, since Milan by the Duke of Mantua  
(who now usurps it) was surprised? that time  
my father and my mother were both slain,  
with my aunt's husband, as she says, their states  
despoiled and seized; 'tis past my memory,  
but thus she told me: only this I know,  
since I could understand, your honoured Uncle  
hath given me all the liberal education  
that his own son might look for, had he one;  
now will he say, Dost thou requite me thus?  
O the thought kills me.  Viol. 
Gentle, gentle Gerrard,  
be cheered, and hope the best. My mother, father,  
and uncle love me most indulgently,  
being the only branch of all their stocks:  
but neither they, nor he thou wouldst not grieve  
with this  news, shall ever hear  
Violane 's tongue reveal, much less accuse  
Gerrard to be the father of his own;  
I'll rather silent die, that thou mayst live  
to see thy little offspring grow and thrive.  Enter Dorothea. Dor. 
Mistress, away, your Lord and father seeks you;  
I'll convey Gerrard out at the back door;  
he has found a husband for you, and insults  
in his invention, little thinking you  
have made your own choice, and possessed him too.  Viol. 
A husband? 't must be Gerrard, or my death.  
Fare well; be only true unto thyself,  
and know heaven's goodness shall prevented be,  
ere worthiest Gerrard suffer harm for me.  Ger. 
Fare well, my life and soul. Aunt, to your counsel  
I flee for aid. O unexpressible love! thou art  
an undigested heap of mixed extremes,  
whose pangs are wakings, and whose pleasures dreams.  Exeunt. Enter Benvoglio, Angelina, Ferdinand. Ben. 
My Angelina, never didst thou yet  
so please me, as in this consent; and yet  
thou hast pleased me well, I swear, old wench: ha, ah.  
Ferdinand, she's thine own; thou'st have her, boy,  
ask thy good Lady else.  Ferd. 
Whom shall I have, Sir?  Ben. 
Whom d' ye think, i'faith?  Angel. 
Guess.  Ferd. 
Noble Madam,  
I may hope (prompted by shallow merit)  
through your profound grace, for your chambermaid.  Ben. 
How 's that? how 's that?  Ferd. 
Her chambermaid, my Lord.  Ben. 
Her chamberpot, my Lord. You modest ass,  
thou never showd'st thyself an ass till now.  
'Fore heaven I am angry with thee. Sirrah, sirrah,  
this whitmeat-spirit 's not yours, legitimate,  
advance your hope, and 't please you: guess again.  Ang. 
And let your thoughts flee higher: aim them right;  
Sir, you may hit, you have the fairest white.  Ferd. 
If I may be so bold then, my good Lord.  
your favour doth encourage me to aspire  
to catch my Lady's Gentlewoman.  Ben. 
Where?  
where would you catch her?  
do you know my daughter Violanta, Sir?  Ang. 
Well said: no more about the bush.  Ferd. 
My good Lord,  
I have gazed on Violanta, and the stars,  
whose heavenly influence I admired, not knew,  
nor ever was so sinful to believe  
I might attain 't.  Ben. 
Now you are an ass again;  
for if thou ne'er attain'st, 't is only long  
of that faint heart of thine, which never did it.  
She is your Lord's heir, mine, Benvoglio 's heir,  
my brothers too, Randulpho 's; her descent  
not behind any of the milanese.  
And Ferdinand, although thy parentage  
be unknown, thou know'st that I have bred thee up  
from five years old, and (do not blush to hear it)  
have found thy wisdom, trust, and fair success  
so full in all my affairs, that I am fitter  
to call thee Master, than thou me thy Lord.  
Thou canst not be but sprung of gentlest blood;  
thy mind shines thorough thee, like the radiant sun,  
although thy body be a beauteous cloud.  
Come, seriously this is no flattery,  
and well thou know'st it, though thy modest blood  
rise like the morning in thy check to hear 't.  
Sir, I can speak in earnest: Virtuous service,  
so meritorious, Ferdinand, as yours,  
(yet bashful still, and silent?) should extract  
a fuller price than impudence exact:  
and this is now the wages it must have;  
my daughter is thy wife, my wealth thy slave.  Ferd. 
Good Madam pinch; I sleep: does my Lord mock,  
and you assist? Custom 's inverted quite;  
for old men now adays do flout the young.  Ben. 
Fetch Violanta. As I intend this  
religiously, let my soul find joy or pain.  Exit Angelina. Ferd. 
My honoured Lord and Master, if I hold  
that worth could merit such felicity,  
you bred it in me, and first purchased it;  
it is your own: and what productions  
in all my faculties my soul begets,  
your very mark is on: you need not add  
rewards to him that is in debt to you:  
you saved my life, Sir, in the Massacre;  
there you begot me new, since fostered me.  
O, can I serve too much, or pray for you?  
alas, 'tis slender payment to your bounty.  
Your daughter is a paradise, and I  
unworthy to be set there; you may choose  
the royalst seeds of Milan.  Ben. 
Prithee peace,  
thy goodness makes me weep; I am resolved:  
I am no Lord o' th' time, to tie my blood  
to sordid muck; I have enough: my name,  
my state and honours I will store in thee,  
whose wisdom will rule well, keep and increase:  
a knave or fool that could confer the like,  
would bate each hour, diminish every day.  
Thou art her price-lot then, drawn out by fate;  
an honest wise man is a PRINCE's mate.  Ferd. 
Sir, heaven and you have overcharged my breast  
with grace beyond my continence; I shall burst:  
the blessing you have given me (witness Saints)  
I would not change for Milan. But, my Lord,  
is she prepared?  Ben. 
What needs Preparative,  
where such a Cordial is prescribed as thou?  
thy person and thy virtues in one scale,  
shall poise hers, with her beauty and her wealth;  
if not, I add my will unto thy weight;  
thy mother 's with her now. Son, take my keys,  
and let this preparation for this Marriage,  
(this welcome Marriage) long determined here,  
be quick, and gorgeous.— Gerrard.  Enter Gerrard. Ger. 
My good Lord,  
my Lord your brother craves your conference  
instantly, on affairs of high import.  Ben. 
Why, what news?  Ger. 
The Tyrant, my good Lord,  
is sick to death of his old Apoplexy,  
whereon the States advise that Letters missive  
be straight dispatched to all the neighbour-countries,  
and Schedules too divulged on every post,  
to inquire the lost Duke forth: their purpose is  
to reinstate him.  Ben. 
'Tis a pious deed.  
Ferdinand, to my daughter: this delay  
(though to so good a purpose) angers me;  
but I'll recover it. Be secret, son.  
Go woo with truth and expedition. Exit.  Ferd. 
O my unsounded joy! how fares my Gerrard,  
my noble twin-friend? fie, thy look is heavy,  
sullen, and sour; blanch it: didst thou know  
my cause of joy, thou'dst never sorrow more,  
I know thou lov'st me so. How dost thou?  Ger. 
Well,  
too well: my fraught of health my sickness is;  
in life, I am dead; by living dying still.  Ferd. 
What sublunary mischief can predominate  
a wise man thus? or doth thy friendship play  
(in this antipathous extreme) with mine,  
lest gladness suffocate me? ay, ay, I do feel  
my spirit's turned to fire, my blood to air,  
and I am like a purified essence  
tried from all drossy parts.  Ger. 
Were 't but my life,  
the loss were sacrificed; but virtue  
must for me slain, and innocence made dust.  Ferd. 
Fare well, good Gerrard.  Ger. 
Dearest friend, stay.  Ferd. 
Sad thoughts are no companions for me now,  
much less sad words: thy bosom binds some secret,  
which do not trust me with; for mine retains  
another, which I must conceal from thee.  Ger. 
I would reveal it: 't is a heavy tale:  
canst thou be true and secret still?  Ferd. 
Why, friend,  
if you continue true unto yourself,  
I have no means of falsehood. Lock this door:  
come, yet your prisoner 's sure.  Ger. 
Stay, Ferdinand.  Ferd. 
What is this trouble? Love?  
why thou art capable of any woman.  
Doth want oppress thee? I will lighten thee:  
hast thou offended law? my Lord and thine,  
and I, will save thy life. Does servitude  
upbraid thy freedom, that she suffers it?  
have patience but three days, and I will make thee  
thy Lord's companion. Can a friend do more?  Ger. 
Lend me the means. How can this be?  Ferd. 
First, let this Cabinet keep your pawn, and I will trust:  
yet for the form of satisfaction,  
take this my Oath to boot. By my presumed  
Gentry, and sacred known christianity,  
I'll die ere I reveal thy trust.  Ger. 
Then hear it.  
Your Lords fair daughter Violanta is  
my betrothed wife, goes great with child by me;  
and by this deed both made a prey to Law.  
How may I save her life? advise me, friend.  Ferd. 
What did he say? Gerrard, whose voice was that?  
O death unto my heart, bane to my soul!  
my wealth is vanished like the rich man's store:  
in one poor minute all my dainty fare  
but juggling dishes; my fat hope, despair.  Ger. 
Is this so odious? where 's your mirth?  Ferd. 
Why thou  
hast robbed me of it. Gerrard, draw thy sword;  
and if thou lov'st my Mistress chastity,  
defend it, else I'll cut it from thy heart,  
thy thievish heart that stole it, and restore 't:  
do miracles to gain her.  Ger. 
Was she thine?  Ferd. 
Never, but in my wish, and her father's vow,  
which now he left with me, on such sure terms;  
he called me son, and willed me to provide  
my Wedding-preparation.  Ger. 
Strange.  Ferd. 
Come, let's  
kill one another quickly.  Ger. 
Ferdinand, my love is old to her, thine new begot:  
I have not wronged thee; think upon thine Oath.  Ferd. 
It manacles me, Gerrard, else this hand  
should bear thee to the Law. Fare well for ever:  
since friendship is so fatal, never more  
will I have friend: thou hast put so sure a plea,  
that all my weal 's litigious made by thee.  Ger. 
I did no crime to you. His love transports him;  
and yet I mourn, that cruel destiny  
should make us two thus one another's cross:  
we have loved since, boys; for the same time cast him  
on Lord Benvoglio, that my Aunt and I  
were succoured by Randulpho: men have called us  
the parallels of Milan; and some said  
we were not much unlike. O heaven divert  
that we should (ever since that time) be breeding  
mutual destruction. Enter Dorothea.  Dor. 
O where are you? you have made a fair hand. By— yonder is your Aunt with my Lady; she came in just as she was wooing your Mistress for another; and what did me she, but out with her purse, and showed all the naked truth, i'faith. Fie upon you, you should never trust an old woman with a secret; they cannot hold; they cannot hold so well as we, and you'd hang 'em. First, there was swearing and staring, then there was howling and weeping, and O my daughter, and O my mother.  Ger. 
The effect, the effect.  Dor. 
Marry no way but one with you.  Ger. 
Why welcome. Shall she scape?  Dor. 
Nay, she has made her scape already.  Ger. 
Why, is she gone?  Dor. 
The scape of her virginity, I mean.  
You men are as dull, you can conceive nothing;  
you think it is enough to beget.  Ger. 
I; but surely, Dorothea, that scaped not;  
her maidenhead suffered.  Dor. 
And you were the Executioner.  Ger. 
But what 's the event? lord, how thou starv'st me, Doll?  Dor. 
Lord how thou starv'st me, Doll? By— I would fain see you cry a little. Do you stand now as if you could get a child? Come, I'll rack you no more: This is the heart of the business: always provided, signior, that if it please the Fates to make you a Lord, you be not proud, nor forget your poor handmaid Doll, who was partly accessary to the incision of this Holofernian maidenhead.  Ger. 
I will forget my name first. Speak.  Dor. 
Then thus: My Lady knows all; her sorrow is reasonably well digested; has vowed to conceal it from my Lord, till delay ripen things better; will you to attend her this evening at the back gate; I'll let you in; where her own Confessor shall put you together lawfully ere the child be born; which birth is very near, I can assure you: all your charge is your vigilance; and to bring with you some trusty Nurse to convey the infant out of the house.  Ger. 
O beam of comfort, take! go, tell my Lady  
I pray for her as I walk: my joys so flow,  
that what I speak, or do, I do not know. Exeunt.  Dumb Show. Enter Violanta at one door, weeping, supported by Cornelia and a Friar; at another door, Angelina weeping, attended by Dorothea. Violanta kneels down for pardon. Angelina showing remorse, takes her up, and cheers her; so doth Cornelia. Angelina sends Dorothea for Gerrard. Enter Gerrard with Dorothea: Angelina and Cornelia seem to chide him, showing Violanta's heavy plight: Violanta rejoiceth in him: he makes signs of sorrow, entreating pardon: Angelina brings Gerrard and Violanta to the Friar; he joins them hand in hand, takes a Ring from Gerrard, puts it on Violanta's finger; blesseth them; Gerrard kisseth her: the Friar takes his leave. Violanta makes show of great pain, is instantly conveyed in by the women. Gerrard is bid stay; he walks in meditation, seeming to pray. Enter Dorothea, whispers him, sends him out. Enter Gerrard with a Nurse blindfold; gives her a purse. To them enter Angelina and Cornelia with an infant; they present it to Gerrard; he kisseth and blesseth it; puts it into the Nurse's arms, kneels, and takes his leave. Exeunt all severally. Enter Benvoglio and Randulpho. Ben. 
He 's dead, you say then.  Rand. 
Certainly: and to hear  
the people now dissect him now he's gone,  
makes my ears burn, that loved him not: such Libels,  
such Elegies and Epigrams they have made,  
more odious than he was. Brother, great men  
had need to live by love, meeting their deeds  
with virtue's rule; sound, with the weight of judgement,  
their privat'st action: for though while they live  
their power and policy mask their villainies,  
their bribes, their lust, pride, and ambition,  
and make a many slaves to worship 'em,  
that are their flatterers, and their bawds in these:  
these very slaves shall when these great beasts die,  
publish their bowels to the vulgar eye.  Ben. 
Fore heaven, 't is true. But is Rinaldo (brother)  
our good Duke, heard of living?  Rand. 
Living, Sir, and will be shortly with the Senate: has  
been close concealed at Mantua, and relieved:  
but what 's become of his? no tidings yet?  
But brother, till our good Duke shall arrive,  
carry this news, here. Where 's your Ferdinand?  Ben. 
O busy, Sir, about this Marriage:  
and yet my girl o' th' sudden is fallen sick:  
you'll see her ere you go?  Rand. 
Yes; well I love her;  
and yet I wish I had another daughter  
to gratify my Gerrard, who (by—)  
is all the glory of my family,  
but has too much worth to live so obscure;  
I'll have him secretary of Estate  
upon the Duke's return: for credit me,  
the value of that Gentleman 's not known;  
his strong abilities are fit to guide  
the whole Republic: he hath learning, youth,  
valour, discretion, honesty of a Saint;  
his aunt is wondrous good too.  Enter Violanta in a bed; Angelina and Dorothea sitting by her. Ben. 
You have spoke  
the very character of Ferdinand:  
one is the other's mirror. How now, daughter?  Rand. 
How fares my Niece?  Viol. 
A little better, Uncle, than I was,  
I thank you.  Rand. 
Brother, a mere cold.  Angel. 
It was a cold and heat, I think: but heaven be thanked  
we have broken that away.  n. 
And yet, Violanta,  
you'll lie above still, and you see what 's got.  Dor. 
Sure, Sir, when this was got, she had a bedfellow.  Rand. 
What, has her Colic left her in her belly?  Dor. 
'T has left her, but she has had a sore fit.  Rand. 
ay, that same Colic and Stone 's inherent to us  
o' th' woman's side: our mothers had them both.  Dor. 
So has she had, Sir. How these old fornicators talk? she had more  
need of Mace-ale, and rhenish-wine Candles, heaven knows,  
than your aged discipline.  Ben. 
Say?  Enter Ferdinand. Ang. 
She will have the man; and on recovery  
will wholly be disposed by you.  Ben. 
That 's my wench:  
how now? what change is this? why Ferdinand,  
are these your robes of joy should be endued?  
doth Hymen wear black? I did send for you  
to have my honourable brother witness  
the Contract I will make twixt you and her.  
Put off all doubt; she loves ye? what d' ye say?  Rand. 
Speak, man. Why look you so distractedly?  Ferd. 
There are your keys, Sir: I'll no Contracts, I.  
Divinest Violanta, I will serve you  
thus on my knees, and pray for you: Juno Lucina fer opem:  
my inequality ascends no higher:  
I dare not marry you.  Ben. 
How 's this?  Ferd. 
Good night.  
I have a friend has almost made me mad:  
I weep sometimes, and instantly can laugh:  
nay, I do dance, and sing, and suddenly  
roar like a storm. Strange tricks these, are they not?  
and wherefore all this? shall I tell you? no,  
thorough mine ears, my heart a plague hath caught,  
and I have vowed to keep it close, not show  
my grief to any; for it has no cure.  
On, wandering steps, to some remote place move:  
I'll keep my vow, though I have lost my Love.  Exit. Ben. 
'Fore heaven, distracted for her! fare you well:  
I'll watch his steps; for I no joy shall find,  
till I have found his cause, and calmed his mind.  Exit. Rand. 
He 's overcome with joy.  Angel. 
'T is very strange.  Rand. 
Well, sister, I must leave you; the time 's busy.  
Violanta, cheer you up: and I pray heaven  
restore each to their love, and health again. Exit.  Viol. 
Amen, great Uncle. Mother, what a chance  
unluckily is added to my woe,  
in this young Gentleman?  Angel. 
True, Violanta:  
it grieves me much. Doll, go you instantly,  
and find out Gerrard; tell him his friend's hap,  
and let him use best means to comfort him;  
but as his life preserve this secret still.  Viol. 
Mother, I'd not offend you: might not Gerrard  
steal in, and see me in the evening?  Angel. 
Well,  
bid him do so.  Viol. 
heaven's blessing o' your heart.  
Do ye not call Childbearing Travel, mother?  Angel. 
Yes.  Viol. 
It well may be. The barefoot traveller  
that 's born a Prince, and walks his pilgrimage,  
whose tender feet kiss the remorseless stones  
only, ne'er felt a travel like to it.  
Alas, dear mother, you groaned thus for me,  
and yet how disobedient have I been?  Angel. 
Peace, Violanta, thou hast always been  
gentle and good.  Viol. 
Gerrard is better, mother:  
O if you knew the implicit innocency  
dwells in his breast, you'd love him like your prayers.  
I see no reason but my father might  
be told the truth, being pleased for Ferdinand  
to woo himself: and Gerrard ever was  
his full comparative: my Uncle loves him,  
as he loves Ferdinand.  Angel. 
No, not for the world,  
since his intent is crossed: loved Ferdinand  
thus ruined, and a child got out of Wedlock!  
his madness would pursue ye both to death.  Viol. 
As you please (mother): I am now, methinks,  
even in the land of ease; I'll sleep.  Angel. 
Draw in  
the bed nearer the fire: silken rest,  
tie all thy cares up.  Exeunt. Enter Ferdinand and Benvoglio, privately after him. Ferd. 
O blessed solitude! here my griefs may speak;  
and Sorrow, I will argue with thee now:  
Nothing will keep me company: the flowers  
die at my moan; the gliding silver streams  
hasten to flee my lamentations;  
the air rolls from 'em; and the golden sun  
is smothered pale as Phoebe with my sighs:  
only the earth is kind, that stays. Then earth,  
to thee will I complain. Why do the heavens  
impose upon me love, what I can ne'er enjoy?  
before fruition was impossible,  
I did not thirst it. Gerrard, she is thine,  
sealed and delivered; but 't was ill to stain  
her virgin state ere ye were married.  
Poor infant, what 's become of thee? thou know'st not  
the woe thy parents brought thee to. Dear earth,  
bury this close in thy sterility;  
be barren to this seed, let it not grow;  
for if it do, 't will bud no Violet  
nor Gillyflower, but wild Brier, or rank Rue,  
unsavoury and hurtful.  Ben. 
Ferdinand,  
thy steel hath digged the earth, thy words my heart.  Ferd. 
O, I have violated faith, betrayed,  
my friend and innocency.  Ben. 
Desperate youth,  
violate not thy soul too: I have showers  
for thee, young man; but Gerrard flames for thee.  
Was thy base pen made to dash out mine honour,  
and prostitute my daughter? Bastard, whore,  
come, turn thy female tears into revenge,  
which I will quench my thirst with, ere I see  
daughter, or wife, or branded family.  
By— both die: and for amends,  
Ferdnando be my heir. I'll to my brother,  
first tell him all; then to the Duke for justice:  
this morning he's received. Mountains nor seas  
shall bar my flight to vengeance: the foul stain  
printed on me, thy blood shall rinse again. Exit.  Ferd. 
I have transgressed all goodness, witlessly  
raised mine own curses from posterity:  
I'll follow, to redress in what I may;  
if not, your heir can die as well as they.  Exit. Dumb Show. Enter Duke Rinaldo with attendants, at one door; States, Randulpho, and Gerrard, at another: they kneel to the Duke; he accepts their obedience, and raises them up: they prefer Gerrard to the Duke, who entertains him: they seat the Duke in State. Enter Benvoglio and Ferdinand: Benvoglio kneels for justice; Ferd. seems to restrain him. Benvog. gives the Duke a paper; Duke reads, frowns on Gerr. shows the paper to the States, they seem sorry, consult, cause the Guard to apprehend him; they go off with him. Then Rand. and Ben. seem to crave justice; Duke vows it, and exit with his attendants. Rand. Ben. and Ferd. confer. Enter to them Cornelia with two servants; she seems to expostulate. Rand. in scorn causeth her to be thrust out poorly. Exit Rand. Benvog. beckons Ferd. to him (with much seeming passion) swears him; then stamps with his foot. Enter Dorothea with a Cup: weeping, she delivers it to Ferd. who with discontent exit; and exeunt Benvoglio and Dorothea. Enter Violanta. Viol. 
Gerrard not come? nor dorothy returned?  
what averse star ruled my Nativity?  
the time tonight hath been as dilatory  
as languishing Consumptions. But till now  
I never durst say my Gerrard was unkind.  
Heaven grant all things go well; and nothing does,  
if he be ill, which I much fear: my dreams  
have been portentous. I did think I saw  
my Love arrayed for battle with a beast,  
a hideous monster, armed with teeth and claws,  
grinning, and venomous, that sought to make  
both us a prey: on 's tail was lashed in blood  
Law: and his forehead I did plainly see  
held Characters that spelled Authority.  
This rent my slumbers; and my fearful soul  
ran searching up and down my dismayed breast,  
to find a port t' escape. Good faith, I am cold;  
but Gerrad's love is colder: here I'll sit,  
and think myself away.  Enter Ferdinand with a Cup and a Letter. Ferd. 
The peace of love  
attend the sweet Violanta: Read,  
for the sad news I bring I do not know;  
only I am sworn to give you that, and this.  Viol. 
Is it from Gerrard? gentle Ferdinand,  
how glad am I to see you thus well restored?  
in troth he never wronged you in his life,  
nor I, but always held fair thoughts of you,  
knew not my Father's meaning, till of late;  
could never have known it soon enough: For Sir,  
Gerrard's and my affection began  
in infancy: My Uncle brought him oft  
in long coats hither; you were such another;  
the little boy would kiss me being a child,  
and say, he loved me; give me all his toys,  
bracelets, rings, sweetmeats, all his rosy smiles:  
I then would stand and stare upon his eyes,  
play with his locks, and swear I loved him too;  
For sure, methought, he was a little Love,  
he wooed so prettily in innocence,  
that then he warmed my fancy; for I felt  
a glimmering beam of love kindle my blood,  
both which time since hath made a flame and flood.  Fer. 
O gentle innocent! methinks it talks  
like a child still, whose white simplicity  
never arrived at sin. Forgive me, Lady,  
I have destroyed Gerrard, and thee; rebelled  
against heaven's ordinance; dis-paired two doves,  
made 'em sit mourning; slaughtered love, and cleft  
the heart of all integrity. This breast  
was trusted with the secret of your vow  
by Gerrard, and revealed it to your father.  Viol. 
Hah.  Ferd. 
Read, and curse me.  Viol. 
Neither: I will never  
nor write, nor read again.  Ferd. 
My penance be it.  
Reads, Your labyrinth is found, your lust proclaimed  Viol. 
Lust? humh:  
my mother sure felt none when I was got.  Fer. 
ay, and the law implacably offended.  
Gerrard's imprisoned, and to die.  Viol. 
O heaven!  Ferd. 
and you to suffer with reproach and scoffs,  
a public execution; I have sent you  
an Antidote 'gainst shame, poison; by him  
you have most wronged: give him your penitent tears.  Viol. 
Humh: 'tis not truth.  Ferd. 
Drink, and farewell for ever:  
And though thy whoredom blemish thy whole line,  
Prevent the hangman's stroke, and die like mine.  Viol. 
Oh woe is me for Gerrard: I have brought  
confusion on the noblest Gentleman  
that ever truly loved. But we shall meet  
where our condemners shall not, and enjoy  
a more refined affection then here;  
no law, nor father hinders marriage there  
twixt souls divinely affied, as (sure) ours were:  
there we will multiply, and generate joys  
like fruitful parents. Luckless Ferdinand,  
Where's the good old Gentlewoman, my husband's Aunt?  Ferd. 
Thrust from you Uncle to all poverty.  Viol. 
Alas the pity: Reach me, Sir, the cup;  
I'll say my prayers, and take my father's physic.  Ferd. 
O villain that I was, I had forgot  
to spill the rest, and am unable now  
to stir to hinder her.  Viol. 
What ail you, Sir?  Ferd. 
Your father is a monster, I a villain,  
this tongue has killed you: pardon, Violanta,  
oh pardon, Gerrard; and for sacrifice,  
accept my life, to expiate my fault.  
I have drunk up the poison.  Viol. 
Thou art not so  
uncharitable: a better fellow far,  
thou'st left me half. Sure death is now a-dry,  
and calls for more blood still to quench his thirst.  
I pledge thee Ferdinand, to Gerrard's health:  
Dear Gerrard, poor Aunt, and unfortunate friend,  
Ay me, that love should breed true Lovers end.  Fer. 
Stay Madam, stay; help hoa, for heaven's sake help;  
Improvident man, that good I did intend  
for satisfaction, saving of her life,  
my equal cruel stars made me forget.  Enter Angelina with two servants. Ang. 
What spectacle of death assaults me? oh.  Viol. 
My dearest mother, I am dead, I leave  
father, and friends, and life, to follow love.  
Good mother, love my child, that did no ill.  
Fie, how men lie, that say, death is a pain:  
or has he changed his nature? like soft sleep  
he seizes me. Your blessing. Last, I crave,  
that I may rest by Gerrard in his grave.  Ferd. 
There lay me too: O noble Mistress, I  
have caused all this; and therefore justly die.  
That key will open all.  Ang. 
O viperous father!  
For heaven's sake bear 'em in: run for Physicians,  
and medicines quickly: Heaven, thou shalt not have her  
yet; 'tis too soon: Alas, I have no more,  
and taking her away, thou robbest the poor. Exeunt.  Flourish. Enter Duke, States, Randulpho, Benvoglio, Gerrard, Executioner, Guard. Duke. 
The Law, as greedy as your red desire  
Benvoglio, hath cast this man: 'Tis pity  
so many excellent parts are swallowed up  
in one foul wave. Is Violanta sent for?  
Our Justice must not lop a branch, and let  
the body grow still.  Ben. 
Sir, she will be here  
alive or dead, I am sure.  Ger. 
How cheerfully my countenance comments death?  
that which makes men seem horrid, I will wear  
like to an ornament. O Violanta,  
might my life only satisfy the Law,  
how jocundly my soul would enter heaven?  
Why? shouldst thou die, thou witherest in thy bud,  
as I have seen a Rose, ere it was blown.  
I do beseech your Grace, the Statute may  
(in this case made) be read: not that I hope  
t' extenuate my offence or penalty,  
but to see whether it lay hold on her.  
And since my death is more exemplary  
than just, this public reading will advise  
caution to others.  Duke. 
Read it.  Ran. 
Brother, does not  
your soul groan under this severity?  States read. A Statute provided in case of unequal Matches, Marriages against parents' consent, stealing of heirs, Rapes, Prostitutions, and such like: That if any person meanly descended, or ignorant of his own Parentage, which implies as much, shall with a foul intent unlawfully solicit the daughter of any Peer of the Dukedom, he shall for the same offence forfeit his right hand: but if he further prostitute her to his lust, he shall first have his right hand cut off, and then suffer death by the common Executioner. After whom, the Lady so offending shall likewise the next day in the same manner, die for the fact. Ger. 
This Statute has more cruelty than sense:  
I see no ray of mercy. Must the Lady  
suffer death too? suppose she were enforced,  
by some confederates born away, and ravished;  
is she not guiltless?  Duke. 
Yes, if it be proved.  Ger. 
This case is so: I ravished Violanta.  State. 
whoever knew a rape produce a child?  Ben. 
Pish, these are idle. Will your grace command the Executioner proceed?  Duke. 
Your Office.  Ger. 
Fare well to thy enticing vanity,  
thou round gilt Box, that dost deceive man's eye:  
the wise man knows, when open thou art broke,  
the treasure thou includ'st is dust and smoke,  
even thus I cast thee by. My Lords, the Law  
is but the great man's mule; he rides on it,  
and tramples poorer men under his feet;  
yet when they come to knock at yond bright gate,  
ones rags shall enter, 'fore the other's state.  
Peace to ye all: here, sirrah, strike; this hand  
hath Violanta kissed a thousand times;  
it smells sweet ever since: this was the hand  
plighted my faith to her: do not think thou canst  
cut that in sunder with my hand. My Lord,  
as free from spick as this arm is, my heart  
is of foul lust; and every vein glides here  
as full of truth. Why does thy hand shake so?  
't is mine must be cut off, and that is firm;  
for it was ever constant.  Enter Cornelia. Cor. 
Hold; your Sentence  
unjustly is pronounced, my Lord: this blow  
cuts your hand off; for his is none of yours:  
but Violanta 's given in holy Marriage  
before she was delivered, consummated  
with the free will of her mother, by her Confessor,  
in Lord Benvoglio 's house.  Ger. 
Alas, good Aunt,  
that helps us nothing; else I had revealed it.  Duke. 
What woman 's this?  Ben. 
A base confederate  
in this proceeding, kept of alms long time  
by him; who now exposed to misery,  
talks thus distractedly. Attach her, Guard.  Ran. 
Your cruelty (brother) will have end.  Cor. 
You'd best  
let them attach my tongue.  Duke. 
Good woman, peace:  
for were this truth, it doth not help thy nephew;  
the Law 's infringed by their disparity,  
that forfeits both their lives.  Cor. 
Sir, with your pardon,  
had your Grace ever children?  Duke. 
Thou hast put  
a question whose sharp point toucheth my heart:  
I had two little sons, twins, who were both  
(with my good Duchess) slain, as I did hear,  
at that time when my Dukedom was surprised.  Cor. 
I have heard many say (my gracious Lord)  
that I was wondrous like her.  All. 
Ha?  Duke. 
By all man's joy, it is Cornelia,  
my dearest wife.  Cor. 
To ratify me her,  
come down, Alphonso, one of those two twins,  
and take thy father's blessing: thou hast broke  
no Law, thy birth being above thy wives:  
Ascanio is the other, named Fernando,  
who by remote means, to my Lord Benvoglio  
I got preferred; and in poor habits clad,  
(you fled, and th' innovation laid again)  
I wrought myself into Randulpho's service,  
with my eldest boy; yet never durst reveal  
what they and I were, no, not to themselves,  
until the tyrant's death.  Duke. 
My joy has filled me  
like a full-winded sail: I cannot speak.  Ger. 
Fetch Violanta, and my brother.  Ben. 
Run,  
run like a spout, you rogue: a— o' poison,  
that little whore I trusted, will betray me.  
Stay, hangman, I have work for you; there 's gold;  
cut off my head, or hang me presently.  Soft Music. Enter Angelina with the bodies of Ferdinand and Violanta on a bier; Dorothea carrying the cup and letter, which she gives to the Duke: he reads, seems sorrowful; shows it to Cornelia and Gerrard: they lament over the bier. Randulpho and Benvoglio seem fearful, and seem to report to Angelina and Dorothea what hath passed before. Ran. 
This is your rashness, brother.  Duke. 
O joy, thou wert too great to last;  
this was a cruel turning to our hopes,  
unnatural father: poor Ascanio.  Ger. 
O mother, let me be Gerrard again,  
and follow Violanta.  Cor. 
O my son—  Duke. 
Your lives yet, bloody men, shall answer this,  Dor. 
I must not see 'em longer grieve. My Lord,  
be comforted; let sadness generally  
forsake each eye and bosom; they both live:  
for poison, I infused mere Opium;  
holding compulsive perjury less sin  
than such a loathed murder would have been.  All. 
oh blessed Maiden.  Dor. 
Music, gently creep  
into their ears, and fright hence lazy sleep.  
Morpheus, command thy servant Sleep  
in leaden chains no longer keep  
this Prince and Lady: Rise, wake, rise,  
and round about convey your eyes:  
Rise Prince, go greet thy Father and thy Mother;  
Rise thou t' embrace thy Husband and thy Brother.  Du. Cor. 
Son, Daughter.  Ferd. 
Father, Mother, Brother.  Ger. 
Wife,  Viol. 
Are we not all in heaven?  Ger. 
'Faith, very near it.  Ferd. 
How can this be?  Duke. 
Hear it.  Dor. 
If I had served you right, I should have seen  
your old pate off, ere I had revealed.  Ben. 
O wench,  
oh honest wench; if my wife die, I'll marry thee:  
There's my reward.  Ferd. 
'Tis true.  Duke 
'Tis very strange.  Ger. 
Why kneel you, honest Master?  Ferd. 
My good Lord.  Ger. 
Dear Mother.  Duke. 
Rise, rise, all are friends: I owe ye  
for all their boards: And wench, take thou the man  
whose life thou savedst; less cannot pay thy merit.  
How shall I part my kiss? I cannot: Let  
one generally therefore join our cheeks.  
A pen of iron, and a leaf of brass,  
to keep this story to eternity:  
and a Promethean wit. O sacred Love,  
nor chance, nor death can thy firm truth remove.  Exeunt. King. 
Now Isabella. Flourish.  Isab. 
This can true love do.  
I joy they all so happily are pleased:  
the Ladies and the brothers must triumph.  King. 
They do:  
for Cupid scorns but t' have his triumph too.  Flourish. The Triumph. Enter Divers Musicians, Then certain Singers bearing Bannerets inscribed, Truth, Loyalty, Patience, Concord: Next Gerrard and Ferdinand with garlands of Roses: Then Violanta: Last a Chariot drawn by two Cupids, and a Cupid sitting in it. Flourish. Enter PROLOGUE. 
Love, and the strength of fair affection  
(Most royal Sir) what long seemed lost have won  
Their perfect ends, and crowned those constant hearts  
With lasting Triumph, whose most virtuous parts,  
Worthy desires, and love, shall never end.  
Now turn we round the Scene, and (Great Sir) lend  
A sad and serious eye to this of Death,  
This black and dismal Triumph; where man's breath,  
Desert, and guilty blood ascend the Stage,  
And view the Tyrant ruined in his rage. Exit.  Flourish. Enter L'avall, Gabriella and Maria. Gab. 
No, good my Lord, I am not now to find  
your long neglect of me; All those affections  
you came first clad in to my love, like Summer,  
lusty and full of life: all those desires  
that like the painted Spring bloomed round about ye,  
giving the happy promise of an harvest,  
how have I seen drop off, and fall forgotten?  
With the least lustre of another's beauty,  
how oft (forgetful Lord) have I been blasted?  
Was I so easily won? or did this body  
yield to your false embraces with less labour  
than if you had carried some strong town?  Lav. 
Good Gabriel.  Gab. 
Could all your subtleties and sighs betray me,  
the vows ye shook me with, the tears ye drowned me,  
till I came fairly off with honoured marriage?  
O fie, my Lord.  Lav. 
Prithee, good Gabriella.  Gab. 
Would I had never known ye, nor your honours,  
they are stuck too full of griefs: oh happy women,  
that plant your love in equal honest bosoms,  
whose sweet desires, like roses set together,  
make one another happy in their blushes,  
growing and dying without sense of greatness,  
to which I am a slave! and that blessed Sacrament  
that daily makes millions of happy mothers,  
linked me to this man's lust alone, there left me.  
I dare not say I am his wife, 'tis dangerous:  
his Love, I cannot say: alas, how many?  Lav. 
You grow too warm; pray ye be content, you best know  
the Time's necessity, and how our marriage  
being so much unequal to mine honour,  
while the Duke lives, I standing high in favour;  
and whilst I keep that safe, next to the Dukedom,  
must not be known, without my utter ruin.  
Have patience for a while, and do but dream wench,  
the glory of a Duchess. How she tires me?  
how dull and leaden is my appetite  
to that stale beauty now? O, I could curse  
and crucify myself for childish doting  
upon a face that feeds not with fresh figures  
every fresh hour: she is now a surfeit to me.  Enter Gentill. 
Who's that? Gentle? I charge ye, no acquaintance  
you nor your maid with him, nor no discourse  
till times are riper.  Gent. 
Fie, my noble Lord,  
can you be now a stranger to the Court,  
when your most virtuous Bride, the beauteous Helena  
stands ready like a star to gild your happiness,  
when Hymen's lusty fires are now a lighting,  
and all the flower of Anjoy?  Lav. 
Some few trifles,  
for matter of adornment, have a little  
made me so slow, Gentle, which now in readiness,  
I am for Court immediately.  Gent. 
Take heed, Sir,  
this is no time for trifling, nor she no Lady  
to be now entertained with toys: 'twill cost ye—  Lav. 
You're an old Cock, Gentle.  Gent. 
By your Lordship's favour.  Lav. 
Prithee away; 'twill lose time.  Gent. 
O my Lord,  
pardon me that by all means.  Lav. 
We have business  
afoot man of more moment.  Gen. 
Then my manners?  
I know none, nor I seek none.  Lav. 
Take tomorrow.  Gent. 
Even now, by your Lordship's leave. Excellent Beauty,  
my ever service here I dedicate,  
in honour of my best friend, your dead Father,  
to you his living virtue, and wish heartily,  
that firm affection that made us two happy,  
may take as deep undying root, and flourish  
betwixt my daughter Casta, and your goodness,  
who shall be still your servant.  Gab. 
I much thank ye.  Lav. 
— o' this dreaming puppy. Will ye go, Sir?  Gent. 
A little more, Good Lord.  Lav. 
Not now, by—  
Come, I must use ye.  Gent. 
Goodness dwell still with you. Exeunt Gentille & Lavall.  Gab. 
The sight of this old Gentleman, Maria,  
pulls to mine eyes again the living picture  
of Perolot his virtuous son, my first Love,  
that died at Orleans.  Mar. 
You have felt both fortunes,  
and in extremes, poor Lady: for young Perolot,  
being every way unable to maintain you,  
durst not make known his love to friend or father:  
My Lord Lavall, being powerful, and you poor,  
will not acknowledge you.  Gab. 
No more: Let's in wench:  
there let my Lute speak my laments; they have tired me.  Exeunt. Enter two Courtiers. 1. Court. 
I grant, the Duke is wondrous provident  
in his now planting for succession,  
I know his care as honourable in the choice too,  
Marine's fair virtuous daughter: but what's all this?  
to what end excellent arrives this travel,  
when he that bears the main roof is so rotten?  2. Cou. 
You have hit it now indeed: For if fame lie not,  
he is untemperate.  1. Court. 
You express him poorly,  
too gentle Sir: the most deboist and barbarous;  
believe it, the most void of all humanity,  
howe'er his cunning cloak it to his Uncle,  
and those his pride depends upon.  2. Cour. 
I have heard too,  
given excessively to drink.  1. Court. 
Most certain,  
and in that drink most dangerous: I speak these things  
to one I know loves truth, and dares not wrong her.  2. Cour. 
You may speak on.  1. Cour. 
Uncertain as the sea, Sir,  
proud and deceitful as his sins great Master;  
his appetite to women, for there he carries  
his main sail spread so boundless and abominably,  
that but to have her name by that tongue spoken,  
poisons the virtue of the purest Virgin.  2. Cour. 
I am sorry for young Gabriella then,  
a maid reputed ever of fair carriage,  
for he has been noted visiting.  1. Cour. 
she is gone then,  
or any else, that promises or power,  
gifts, or his guileful vows can work upon;  
but these are but poor parcels.  2. Cour. 
'Tis great pity.  1. Cour. 
Nor want these sins a chief saint to befriend 'em,  
the Devil follows him; and for a truth Sir,  
appears in visible figure often to him,  
at which time he 's possessed with sudden trances,  
cold deadly sweats, and griping of the conscience,  
tormented strangely as they say.  2. Cour. 
Heaven turn him:  
This marriage day mayst thou well curse, fair Helen.  
But let's go view the Ceremony.  1. Cour. 
I'll walk with you. Exeunt.  Music. Enter Gabriella and Maria above. And Lavall, Bride, States in solemnity as to marriage; and pass over; viz. Duke, Marine, Longavile. Mar. 
I hear 'em come.  Gad. 
Would I might never hear more.  Mar. 
I told you still: but you were so incredulous.  
See, there they kiss.  Gab. 
Adders be your embraces.  
The poison of a rotten heart, O Helen,  
blast thee as I have been; just such a flattery,  
with that same cunning face, that smile upon 't,  
O mark it marry, mark it seriously,  
that master smile caught me.  Mar. 
There's the old Duke, and  
Marine her father.  Gab. 
Oh.  Mar. 
There Longavile—  
the Ladies now.  Gab. 
Oh, I am murdered, Marry.  
Beast, most inconstant beast.  Mar. 
There.  Gab. 
There I am not;  
no more I am not there: Hear me oh heaven,  
and all you powers of justice bow down to me;  
but you of pity die. I am abused,  
she that depended on your Providence,  
she is abused: your honour is abused,  
that noble piece ye made, and called it man,  
is turned to devil: all the world 's abused:  
Give me a woman's will provoked to mischief,  
a two edged heart; my suffring thoughts to wild-fires,  
and my embraces to a timeless grave turn.  Mar. 
Here I'll step in, for 'tis an act of merit.  Gab. 
I am too big to utter more.  Mar. 
Take time then.  Enter Gentille and Casta. Gent. 
This solitary life at home undoes thee,  
obscures thy beauty first, which should prefer thee;  
next fills thee full of sad thoughts, which thy years  
must not arrive at yet, they choke thy sweetness:  
Follow the time, my girl, and it will bring thee  
even to the fellowship of the noblest women,  
Helen herself, to whom I would prefer thee,  
and under whom this poor and private carriage  
which I am only able yet to reach at,  
being cast off, and all thy sweets at lustre,  
will take thee as a fair friend, and prefer thee.  Casta. 
Good Sir, be not so cruel as to seek  
to kill that sweet content y' have bred me to:  
Have I not here enough to thank heaven for?  
the free air uncorrupted with new flattery,  
the water that I touch unbribed with odours  
to make me sweet to others: the pure fire  
not smothered up, and choked with lustful incense  
to make my blood sweat; but burning clear and high,  
tells me my mind must flame up so to heaven.  
What should I do at Court, wear rich apparel?  
methinks these are as warm: And for your state, Sir,  
wealthy enough; Is it you would have me proud,  
and like a pageant, stuck up for amazements?  
Teach not your child to tread that path, for fear (Sir)  
your dry bones after death, groan in your grave  
the miseries that follow.  Gent. 
Excellent Casta.  Casta. 
When shall I pray again (a Courtier)?  
or when I do, to what God? what new body  
and new face must I make me, with new manners?  
for I must be no more myself. Whose Mistress  
must I be first? with whose sin-offering seasoned?  
and when I am grown so great and glorious  
with prostitution of my burning beauties,  
that great Lords kneel, and Princes beg for favours,  
do you think I'll be your daughter, a poor gentleman's,  
or know you for my Father?  Gent. 
My best Casta, Enter Lavall.  
O my most virtuous child, heaven reigns within thee;  
take thine own choice, sweet child, and live a saint still.  
The Lord Lavall; stand by, wench.  Lav. 
Gabriella,  
she cannot, nor she dares not make it known,  
my greatness crushes her, whene'er she offers:  
why should I fear her then?  Gent. 
Come, let's pass on wench.  Lav. 
Gentle, come hither: Who's that Gentlewoman?  Gent. 
A child of mine, Sir, who observing custom,  
is going to the Monastery to her prayers.  Lav. 
A fair one, a most sweet one; fitter far  
to beautify a Court, then make a Votarist.  
Go on, fair Beauty, and in your Orisons  
remember me: Will ye, fair sweet?  Casta. 
Most humbly. Exeunt.  Lav. 
An admirable Beauty: how it fires me!  Enter a Spirit. 
But she's too full of grace, and I too wicked.  
I feel my wonted fit: Defend me, goodness.  
O, it grows colder still, and stiffer on me,  
my hair stands up, my sinews shake and shrink:  
Help me good heaven, and good thoughts dwell within me.  
O get thee gone, thou evil evil spirit;  
haunt me no more, I charge thee.  Spir. 
Yes Lavall:  
thou art my vassal, and the slave to mischief,  
I blast thee with new sin: pursue thy pleasure;  
Casta is rare and sweet, a blowing Beauty;  
set thy desires afire, and never quench 'em  
till thou enjoyest her; make her all thy heaven,  
and all thy joy, for she is all true happiness:  
Thou art powerful, use command; if that prevail not,  
force her; I'll be thy friend.  Lav. 
O help me, help me.  Spir. 
Her virtue, like a spell, sink me to darkness. Exit.  Enter Gentille and Casta. Gent. 
He's here still. How is 't, noble Lord? methinks, Sir,  
you look a little wildly. Is it that way?  
is't her you stare on so? I have spied your fire, Sir,  
but dare not stay the flaming. Come.  Lav. 
Sweet creature,  
excellent Beauty, do me but the happiness  
to be your humblest servant. O fair eyes,  
O blessed, blessed sweetness, divine virgin.  Casta. 
O good my Lord, retire into your honour:  
you're spoken good and virtuous, placed at helm  
to govern others from mischances: from example  
of such fair Chronicles as great ones are,  
we do, or sure we should direct our lives.  
I know you're full of worth, a school of virtue  
daily instructing us that live below ye,  
I make no doubt, dwells there.  Lav. 
I cannot answer,  
she has struck me dumb with wonder.  Casta. 
Goodness guide ye. Exeunt.  Lav. 
She's gone, and with her all light, and has left me  
dark as my black desires. O devil lust,  
how dost thou hug my blood, and whisper to me,  
there is no day again, no time, no living,  
without this lusty Beauty break upon me?  
Let me collect myself, I strive like billows,  
beaten against a rock, and fall a fool still.  
I must enjoy her, and I will: from this hour  
my thoughts and all my business shall be nothing,  Enter Maria. 
my eating, and my sleeping, but her beauty,  
and how to work it.  Mar. 
Health to my Lord Lavall.  
Nay good Sir, do not turn with such displeasure;  
I come not to afflict your new born pleasures;  
my honoured Mistress, neither let that vex ye,  
for nothing is intended but safe to you.  Lav. 
What of your Mistress? I am full of business.  Mar. 
I will be short, my Lord; she, loving Lady,  
considering the unequal tie between ye,  
and how your ruin with the Duke lay on it,  
as also the most noble match now made,  
by me sends back all links of marriage,  
all holy vows, and rights of Ceremony,  
all promises, oaths, tears, and all such pawns  
you left in hostage: only her love she cannot,  
for that still follows ye, but not to hurt ye;  
and still beholds ye Sir, but not to shame ye:  
In recompense of which, this is her suit, Sir,  
her poor and last petition, but to grant her,  
when weary nights have cloyed ye up with kisses,  
(as such must come) the honour of a Mistress,  
the honour but to let her see those eyes,  
(those eyes she dotes on more than gods do goodness)  
and but to kiss ye only: with this prayer,  
(a prayer only to awake your pity)  
and on her knees she made it; that this night  
you'd bless her with your company at supper.  Lav. 
I like this well, and now I think on't better,  
I'll make a present use from this occasion:  Mar. 
Nay, good my Lord, be not so cruel to her because she has been yours.  Lav. 
and to mine own end  
a rare way I will work.  Mar. 
Can love for ever,  
the love of her (my Lord) so perish in ye?  
as ye desire in your desires to prosper.  
What gallant under heaven, but Anjou's heir then  
can brag so fair a wife, and sweet a Mistress?  
good noble Lord.  Lav. 
Ye misapply me, Marry,  
nor do I want true pity to your Lady:  
pity and love tell me, too much I have wronged her  
to dare to see her more: yet if her sweetness  
can entertain a mediation,  
and it must be a great one that can cure me;  
my love again, as far as honour bids me,  
my service and myself.  Mar. 
That's nobly spoken.  Lav. 
Shall hourly see her; want shall never know her;  
nor where she has bestowed her love, repent her.  Mar. 
Now whither drives he?  Lav. 
I have heard, Maria,  
that no two women in the world more loved,  
than thy good Mistress, and Gentiles fair daughter.  Mar. 
What may this mean? You have heard a truth, my Lord:  
but since the secret love betwixt you two,  
my Mistress durst not entertain such friendship;  
Casta is quick, and of a piercing judgement,  
and quickly will find out a flaw.  Lav. 
Hold Marry:  
shrink not, 'tis good gold, wench: prepare a Banquet,  
and get that Casta thither; for she's a creature  
so full of forcible divine persuasion,  
and so unwearied ever with good office,  
and she shall cure my ill cause to my Mistress,  
and make all errors up.  Mar. 
I'll do my best Sir:  
But she's too fearful, coy, and scrupulous,  
to leave her father's house so late; and bashful  
at any man's appearance, that I fear Sir,  
'twill prove impossible.  Lav. 
There's more gold, Marry,  
and fain thy Mistress wondrous sick to death, wench.  Mar. 
I have ye in the wind now, and I'll pay ye.  Lav. 
She cannot choose but come; 'tis charity,  
the chief of her profession: undertake this,  
and I am there at night; if not, I leave ye.  Mar. 
I will not lose this offer, though it fall out  
clean cross to that we cast. I'll undertake it,  
I will, my Lord; she shall be there.  Lav. 
By—?  Mar. 
By— she shall.  Lav. 
Let it be something late then,  
for being seen. Now force or favour wins her.  
My spirits are grown dull, strong wine, and store,  
shall set 'em up again, and make me fit  
to draw home at the enterprise I aim at. Exit.  Ma. 
Go thy ways, false Lord, if thou hold'st, thou payest  
the price of all thy lusts. Thou shalt be three,  
thou modest maid, if I have any working,  
and yet thy honour safe; for which this thief  
I know has set this meeting: but I'll watch him.  Enter Perolot. Per. 
Maria.  Mar. 
Are mine eyes mine own? or bless me,  
am I deluded with a flying shadow?  Per. 
Why do your start so from me?  Mar. 
It speaks sensibly,  
and shows a living body: yet I am fearful.  Per. 
Give me your hand, good Maria.  Mar. 
He feels warm too.  Per. 
And next your lips.  Mar. 
He kisses perfectly.  
Nay, and the devil be no worse: you are Perolot.  Per. 
I was, and sure I should be: Can a small distance,  
and ten short months take from your memory  
the figure of your friend, that you stand wondering?  
Be not amazed, I am the selfsame Perolot,  
living, and well; Son to Gentle, and Brother  
to virtuous Casta; to your beauteous Mistress,  
the long since poor betrothed, and still vowed servant.  Mar. 
Nay, sure he lives. My Lord Lavall, your Master,  
brought news long since to your much mourning Mistress,  
ye died at Orleans; bound her with an oath too,  
to keep it secret from your aged Father,  
lest it should rack his heart.  Per. 
A pretty secret  
to try my Mistress love, and make my welcome  
from travel of more worth; from whence, heaven thanked,  
my business for the Duke dispatched to th' purpose,  
and all my money spent, I am come home, wench.  
How does my Mistress? for I have not yet seen  
any, nor will I, till I do her service.  Mar. 
But did the Lord Lavall know of your love, Sir,  
before ye went?  Per. 
Yes: by much force he got it,  
but none else knew; upon his promise too  
and honour to conceal it faithfully  
till my return; to further which, he told me,  
my business being ended, from the Duke  
he would procure a pension for my service,  
able to make my Mistress a fit husband.  Mar. 
But are you sure of this?  Per. 
Sure as my sight, wench.  Mar. 
Then is your Lord a base dissembling villain,  
a devil Lord, the damned Lord of all lewdness,  
and has betrayed ye 'and undone my Mistress,  
my poor sweet Mistress: Oh that lecher Lord,  
who, poor soul, since was married.  Per. 
To whom, Maria?  Maria. 
To that unlucky Lord, a— upon him;  
whose hot horse-appetite being allayed once  
with her chaste joys, married again, scarce cooled,  
the torches yet not out the yellow Hymen  
lighted about the bed, the songs yet sounding,  
Marine's young noble daughter Helena,  
whose mischief stands at door next. O that Recreant!  Perolot. 
O villain! O most unmanly falsehood!  
nay then I see, my letters were betrayed too.  
O, I am full of this, great with his mischiefs,  
loaden and burst: Come lead me to my Lady.  Mar. 
I cannot, Sir, Lavall keeps her concealed.  
Besides, her griefs are such, she will see no man.  Per. 
I must and will go to her: I will see her:  
there be my friend, or this shall be thy furthest.  Mar. 
Hold, and I'll help ye: But first ye shall swear to me,  
as you are true and gentle, as ye hate  
this beastly and base Lord, where I shall place ye,  
(which shall be within sight) till I discharge ye,  
whate'er you see or hear, to make no motion.  Per. 
I do by—  Mar. 
Stay here about the house then,  
till it be later; yet the time's not perfect:  
there at the backdoor I'll attend you truly.  Per. 
O monstrous, monstrous, beastly villain.  Exit. Mar. 
How cross this falls, and from all expectation?  
and what the end shall be, heaven only yet knows:  
only I wish, and hope. But I forget still,  
Casta must be the bait, or all miscarries.  Exeunt. Enter Gentille with a torch: Shaloon above. Gent. 
Holla, Shaloon.  Shal. 
Who's there?  Gen. 
A word from the Duke, Sir.  Sha. 
Your pleasure.  Gen. 
Tell your Lord he must to Court straight.  Sha. 
He is ill at ease, and prays he may be pardoned  
the occasions of this night.  Gen. 
Belike, he is drunk then:  
he must away; the Duke, and his fair Lady,  
the beauteous Helena, are now at Cent;  
of whom she has such fortune in her carding,  
the Duke has lost a thousand Crowns, and swears,  
he will not go to bed, till by Lavall  
the tide of loss be turned again. Awake him,  
for 'tis the pleasure of the Duke he must rise.  Sha. 
Having so strict command (Sir) to the contrary,  
I dare not do it: I beseech your pardon.  Gent. 
Are you sure he is there?  Sha. 
Yes.  Gen. 
And asleep?  Sha. 
I think so.  Gen. 
And are you sure you will not tell him, Shalon?  Sha. 
Yes, very sure.  Gent. 
Then I am sure, I will.  
Open, or I must force.  Sha. 
Pray ye stay: he is not,  
nor will not be this night. You may excuse it.  Gent. 
I knew he was gone about some woman's labour.  
As good a neighbour, though I say it, and as comfortable:  
many such more we need Shaloon. Alas, poor Lady,  
thou art like to lie cross-legged tonight. Good Monsieur,  
I will excuse your Master for this once, Sir,  
because sometimes I have loved a wench myself too.  Sha. 
'Tis a good hearing Sir.  Gent. 
But for your lie, Shaloon,  
if I had you here, it should be no good hearing,  
for your pate I would pummel.  Sha. 
A fair good night, Sir.  Gent. 
Good night, thou noble Knight, Sir Pandarus.  
My heart is cold o'th' sudden, and a strange dulness  
possesses all my body: thy will be done heaven.  Exit. Enter Gabriella and Casta: and Maria with a Taper. Casta. 
'Faith friend, I was even going to my bed,  
when your maid told me of your sudden sickness:  
but from my grave (so truly I love you)  
I think your name would raise me: ye look ill  
since last I saw ye, much decayed in colour:  
yet I thank heaven, I find no such great danger  
as your maid frighted me withal: take courage  
and give your sickness course: some grief you have got  
that feeds within upon your tender spirits,  
and wanting open way to vent itself  
murders your mind, and chokes up all your sweetness,  Gab. 
It was my Maid's fault; worthy friend to trouble ye,  
so late, upon so light a cause: yet sure I have ye  
O my dear Casta.  Casta. 
Out with it God's name.  Gab. 
The closet of my heart, I will lock here, wench,  Lavall knocks within. 
and things shall make ye tremble. Who's that knocks there?  Mar. 
'Tis Lavall.  Gab. 
Sit you still. Let him in.  
In am resolved, and all you wronged women,  
you noble spirits, that as I have suffered  
under this glorious beast-insulting man,  
lend me your causes, than your cruelties,  
for I must put on madness above women.  Casta. 
Why do you look so ghastly?  Gab. 
Peace; no harm, Dear. Enter Lavall.  Lav. 
There, take my cloak and sword: Where is this Banquet?  Mar. 
In the next room,  Casta. 
How came he here? Heaven bless me.  La. 
Give me some wine wench; fill it full, and sprightly.  Gab. 
Sit still, and be not fearful.  Lav. 
Till my veins swell,  
and my strong sinews stretch like that brave Centaur  
that at the table snatched the Bride away  
in spite of Hercules.  Casta. 
I am betrayed.  Lav. 
Nay start not Lady; 'tis for you that I come,  
and for your beauty: 'tis for you, Lavall  
honours this night; to you, the sacred shrine  
I humbly bow, offering my vows and prayers;  
to you I live.  Gab. 
In with the powder quickly:  
so, that and the wine will rock ye.  Lav. 
Here, to the health  
of the most beauteous and divine, fair Casta,  
the star of sweetness.  Gab. 
Fear him not, I'll die first.  
And who shall pledge ye?  Lav. 
Thou shalt, thou tanned Gipsy:  
and worship to that brightness give, cold Tartar.  
By— ye shall not stir; ye are my Mistress,  
the glory of my love, the great adventure,  
the Mistress of my heart, and she my whore.  Gab. 
Thou liest, base, beastly Lord; drunker than anger,  
thou soused Lord, got by a surfeit, thou liest basely.  
Nay, stir not; I dare tell thee so. Sit you still.  
If I be whore, it is in marrying thee,  
that art so absolute and full a villain,  
no Sacrament can save that piece tied to thee.  
How often hast thou wooed in those flatteries,  
almost those very words, my constancy?  
what goddess have I not been, or what goodness?  
what star that is of any name in heaven,  
or brightness? which of all the virtues  
(but drunkenness, and drabbing, thy two morals)  
have not I reached to? what Spring was ever sweeter?  
what Scythian snow so white? what crystal chaster?  
Is not thy new wife now the same too? Hang thee,  
base Bigamist, thou honour of ill women.  Casta. 
How's this? O heaven defend me.  Gab. 
Thou salt-itch;  
for whom no cure but ever burning brimstone  
can be imagined.  Lav. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Gab. 
Dost thou laugh, thou breaker  
of all law, all religion, of all faith  
thou foul contemner?  Lav. 
Peace, thou paltry woman:  
and sit by me, Sweet.  Gab. 
By the Devil?  Lav. 
Come,  
and lull me with delights.  Gab. 
It works amain now.  Lav. 
Give me such kisses as the Queen of shadows  
gave to the sleeping boy she stole on Patmus;  
lock round about in snaky wreathes close folded,  
those rosy arms about my neck, O Venus.  Gab. 
Fear not, I say.  Lav. 
Thou admirable sweetness,  
distil thy blessings like those silver drops,  
that falling on fair grounds, rise all in roses:  
Shoot me a thousand darts from those fair eyes,  
and through my heart transfix 'em all, I'll stand 'em.  
Send me a thousand smiles, and presently  
I'll catch 'em in mine eyes, and by Love's power  
turn 'em to Cupid's all, and fling 'em on thee.  
How high she looks, and heavenly! More wine for me.  Ga. 
Give him more wine, and good friend be not fearful.  Lav. 
Here on my knee, thou goddess of delights,  
this lusty grape I offer to thy Beauties;  
see how it leaps to view that perfect redness  
that dwells upon thy lips: now, how it blushes  
to be outblushed. Oh let me feed my fancy,  
and as I hold the purple god in one hand  
dancing about the brim 'and proudly swelling,  
decked in the pride of nature young, and blowing;  
so let me take fair Semele in the other,  
and sing the loves of gods, then drink, their Nectar's  
not yet desired.  Casta. 
Oh.  Lav. 
Then like lusty Tarquin  
turned into flames with Lucrece coy denials,  
his blood and spirit equally ambitious,  
I force thee for mine own.  Casta. 
O help me, Justice:  
help me, my Chastity.  Lav. 
Now I am bravely quarried. Perolot above.  Per. 
'Tis my Sister.  Gab. 
No, bawdy slave, no Treacher, she is not carried.  Per. 
She's loose again, and gone. I'll keep my place still.  Mar. 
Now it works bravely: stand, he cannot hurt ye.  Lav. 
O my sweet Love, my life. He falls down, and sleeps.  Mar. 
He sinks.  Lav. 
My blessing.  Mar. 
So, now he is safe a while.  Gab. 
Lock all the doors, wench,  
then for my wrongs.  Per. 
Now I'll appear to know all.  Gab. 
Be quick, quick, good mary, sure and sudden.  Per. 
Stay, I must in first.  Gab. 
O' my conscience  
it is young Perolot: O my stung conscience!  
it is my first and noblest Love.  Mar. 
Leave wondering,  
and recollect yourself: the man is living,  
equally wronged as you, and by that devil.  Per. 
'Tis most true, Lady: your unhappy fortune  
I grieve for as mine own, your fault forgive too,  
if it be one. This is no time for kisses:  
I have heard all, and known all, which mine ears  
are cracked apieces with, and my heart perished.  
I saw him in your chamber, saw his fury,  
and am afire till I have found his heart out.  
What do you mean to do? for I'll make one.  Gab. 
To make his death more horrid (for he shall die)  Per. 
He must, he must.  Gab. 
we'll watch him till he wakes,  
then bind him, and then torture him.  Per. 
'Tis nothing.  
No, take him dead drunk now without repentance,  
his lechery inseamed upon him.  Gab. 
Excellent.  Per. 
I'll do it myself; and when 'tis done, provide ye,  
for we'll away for italy this night.  Gab. 
we'll follow thorough all hazards.  Per. 
O false Lord,  
unmanly, mischievous; how I could curse thee.  
But that but blasts thy fame; have at thy heart, fool:  
loopholes I'll make enough to let thy life out.  Lav. 
Oh, does the devil ride me?  Per. 
Nay then.  Lav. 
Murder.  
Nay, then take my share too.  Per. 
Help; Oh, he has slain me.  
Bloody intentions must have blood.  Lav. 
Hah?  Per. 
Heaven.  Gab. 
He sinks, he sinks, for ever sinks: O fortune!  
O sorrow, how like seas thou flowest upon me!  
Here will I dwell for ever. Weep, Maria,  
weep this young man's misfortune: O thou truest.  Enter Spirit. Lav. 
What have I done?  Spir. 
That that has marked thy soul man.  Lav. 
And art thou come again, thou dismal spirit?  Spir. 
Yes, to devour thy last.  Lav. 
Mercy upon me.  Spir. 
Thy hour is come: Succession, honour, pleasure,  
and all the lustre thou so long hast looked for  
must here have end: Summon thy sins before thee.  Lav. 
O my affrighted soul!  Spir. 
There lies a black one;  
thy own best servant by thy own hand slain,  
thy drunkenness procured it: There's another,  
think of fair Gabriella, there she weeps;  
and such tears are not lost.  Lav. 
O miserable!  Spir. 
Thy foul intention to the virtuous Casta.  Lav. 
No more, no more, thou wildfire.  Spir. 
Last, thy last wife,  
think on the wrong she suffers.  Lav. 
O my misery,  
oh, whither shall I fly?  Spir. 
Thou hast no faith, fool.  
Hark to thy knell. Sings, and vanishes.  Lav. 
Millions of sins muster about mine eyes now:  
murders, ambitions, lust, false faiths; O horror,  
in what a stormy form of death thou rid'st now!  
methinks I see all tortures, fires, and frosts,  
deep sinking caves, where nothing but despair dwells,  
the baleful birds of night hovering about 'em;  
a grave, methinks, now opens, and a hearse  
hung with my Arms tumbles into it: oh,  
oh, my afflicted soul: I cannot pray;  
and the least child that has but goddess in him  
may strike my head off; so stupid are my powers:  
I'll lift mine eyes up though.  Mar. 
Cease these laments,  
they are too poor for vengeance: Lavall lives yet.  Gab. 
Then thus I dry all sorrows from these eyes,  
fury and rage possess 'em now: damned devil.  Lav. 
Hah?  Gab. 
This for young Perolot.  Lav. 
O mercy, mercy.  Gab. 
This for my wrongs.  Lav. 
But one short hour to cure me.  Knock within. 
oh be not cruel: Oh, oh.  Mar. 
Hark, they knock.  
make haste for heaven's sake, Mistress.  Gab. 
This for Casta.  Lav. 
Oh, O, O, O. He dies.  Mar. 
He's dead: come quickly, let 's away with him,  
't will be too late else.  Gab. 
Help, help up to th' chamber.  Exeunt with Lavall's body. Enter Duke, Helena, Gentile, Casta, and attendants, with lights. Duke. 
What frights are these?  Gent. 
I am sure here's one past frighting.  
Bring the lights nearer: I have enough already.  
Out, out, mine eyes. Look, Casta.  Lord. 
'T is young Perolot.  Duke. 
When came he over? Hold the Gentlewoman,  
she sinks; and bear her off.  Cast. 
O my dear brother! Exit.  Gent. 
There is a time for all; for me, I hope, too,  
and very shortly. Murdered?  Gabriella, Maria, with Lavall's body, above. Duke. 
Who 's above there?  Gab. 
Look up, and see.  Duke. 
What may this mean?  Gab. 
Behold it;  
behold the drunken murderer  
of that young Gentleman; behold the rankest,  
the vilest, basest slave that ever flourished.  Duke. 
Who killed him?  Gab. 
I; and there 's the cause I did it:  
read, if your eyes will give you leave.  Hell. 
Oh monstrous.  Gab. 
Nay, out it shall: there, take this false heart to ye,  
the base dishonour of a thousand women:  
keep it in gold, Duke, 't is a precious jewel.  
Now to myself; for I have lived a fair age,  
longer by some months then I had a mind to.  Duke. 
Hold.  Gab. 
Here, young Perolot; my first contracted  
true love shall never go alone.  Duke. 
Hold, Gabriella,  
I do forgive all.  Gab. 
I shall die the better.  
Thus let me seek my grave, and my shames with me.  Mar. 
Nor shalt thou go alone my noble Mistress:  
why should I live, and thou dead?  Lord. 
Save the wench there.  Mar. 
She is; I hope; and all my sins here written.  Duke. 
This was a fatal night.  Gent. 
Heaven has his working,  
which we cannot contend against.  Duke. 
Alas.  Gent. 
Your Grace has your alas too.  Duke. 
Would 't were equal;  
for thou hast lost an honest noble child.  Gent. 
'T is heir enough has lost a good remembrance.  Duke. 
See all their bodies buried decently,  
though some deserved it not. How do you, Lady?  Hell. 
Even with your grace's leave, ripe for a Monastery;  
there will I wed my life to tears and prayers,  
and never know what man is more.  Duke. 
Your pleasure;  
how does the maid within?  Lord. 
She is gone before, Sir,  
the same course that my Lady takes.  Gent. 
And my course shall be my Beads at home; so  
please your Grace to give me leave to leave the Court.  Duke. 
In peace, Sir,  
and take my love along.  Gent. 
I shall pray for ye.  Duke. 
Now to ourselves retire we, and begin  
by this example to correct each sin. Exeunt.  Flourish. King. Em. 
By this we plainly view the two imposthumes  
that choke a kingdom's welfare; Ease, and Wantonness;  
in both of which Lavall was capital:  
for first, Ease stole away his mind from honour,  
that active noble thoughts had kept still working,  
and then delivered him to drink and women,  
lust and outrageous riot; and what their ends are,  
how infamous and foul, we see example.  
Therefore, that great man that will keep his name,  
and gain his merit out of virtue's schools,  
must make the pleasures of the world his fools.  Flourish. The Triumph. Enter Musicians: next them, Perolot with the wound he died with. Then Gabriella and Maria, with their wounds: after them, four Furies with Bannerets inscribed Revenge, Murder, Lust and Drunkenness, singing. Next them, Lavall wounded. Then a Chariot with Death, drawn by the Destinies. Flourish. Enter PROLOGUE. 
From this sad sight ascend your noble eye,  
And see old Time helping triumphantly  
helping his Master Man: view here his vanities,  
and see his false friends like those glutted flies,  
that when they 've sucked their fill, fall off, and fade  
from all remembrance of him, like a shade.  
And last, view who relieves him; and that gone,  
We hope your favour, and our Play is done.  Flourish. Enter Anthropos, Desire, and Vain Delight; Bounty. Ant. 
What hast thou done, Desire, and how employed  
the charge I gave thee, about levying wealth  
for our supplies?  Desire. 
I have done all, yet nothing:  
tried all, and all my ways, yet all miscarried;  
there dwells a sordid dulness in their minds.  
Thou son of earth, colder than that thou art made of,  
I came to Craft, found all his hooks about him,  
and all his nets baited and set; his sly self  
and greedy Lucre at a serious conference  
which way to tie the world within their statutes a  
business of all sides and of all sorts swarming  
like Bees broke loose in summer: I declared  
your will and want together, both enforcing  
with all the power and pains I had, to reach him;  
yet all fell short.  Anth. 
His answer.  Desire. 
This he gave me.  
Your wants are never ending; and those supplies  
that came to stop those breaches, are ever lavished  
before they reach the main, in toys and trifles,  
gewgaws, and gilded puppets: Vain delight  
he says has ruined ye, with clapping all  
that comes in for support, on clothes, and Coaches,  
perfumes, and powdered pates; and that your Mistress,  
the Lady Pleasure, like a sea devours  
at length both you and him too. If you have houses,  
or land, or jewels, for good pawn, he'll hear you,  
and will be ready to supply occasions;  
if not, he locks his ears up, and grows stupid.  
From him, I went to Vanity, whom I found  
attended by an endless troop of Tailors,  
Mercers, Embroiderers, Feather-makers, Fumers,  
all Occupations opening like a Mart,  
that serve to rig the body out with bravery;  
and through the room new fashions flew like flies,  
in thousand gaudy shapes; Pride waiting on her,  
and busily surveying all the breaches  
Time and delaying Nature had wrought in her,  
which still with art she pieced again, and strengthened:  
I told your wants; she showed me gowns and head-tires,  
embroidered waistcoats, smocks seamed thorough with cut-works,  
scarfs, mantles, petticoats, muffs, powders, paintings,  
dogs, monkeys, parrots, which all seemed to show me  
the way her money went. From her to Pleasure  
I took my journey.  Anth. 
And what says our best Mistress?  Desire. 
She danced me out this answer presently:  
Revels and Masques had drawn her dry already.  
I met old Time too, mowing mankind down,  
who says you are too hot, and he must purge ye.  Anth. 
A cold quietus. Miserable creatures,  
born to support and beautify your master,  
the godlike man, set here to do me service,  
the children of my will; why, or how dare ye,  
created to my use alone, disgrace me?  
beast's have more courtesy; they live about me,  
offering their warm wool to the shearers hand,  
to clothe me with their bodies to my labours;  
nay, even their lives they daily sacrifice,  
and proudly press with garlands to the altars,  
to fill the gods oblations. Birds bow to me,  
striking their downy sails to do me service,  
their sweet airs ever echoing to mine honour,  
and to my rest their plumy softs they send me.  
Fishes, and plants, and all where life inhabits,  
but mine own cursed kind, obey their ruler;  
mine have forgot me, miserable mine,  
into whose stony hearts, neglect of duty,  
squint-eyed deceit, and self-love, are crept closely:  
none feel my wants, not one mend with me.  Desire. 
None, Sir?  Ant. 
Thou hast forgot (Desire) thy best friend, Flattery;  
he cannot fail me.  Delight. 
Fail? he will sell himself,  
and all within his power, close to his skin first.  Desire. 
I thought so too, and made him my first venture,  
but found him in a young Lords ear so busy,  
so like a smiling shower pouring his soul  
in at his portals, his face in thousand figures  
catching the vain mind of the man: I pulled him,  
but still he hung like birdlime; spoke unto him,  
his answer still was, By the Lord, sweet Lord,  
and By my soul, thou masterpiece of honour;  
nothing could stave him off: he has heard your flood's gone;  
and on decaying things he seldom smiles, Sir.  Anth. 
Then here I break up state, and free my followers,  
putting my fortune now to Time, and Justice:  
go seek new masters now; for Anthropos  
neglected by his friends, must seek new fortunes.  
Desire, to Avarice I here commend thee,  
where thou may'st live at full bent of thy wishes:  
and Vain Delight, thou feeder of my follies  
with light fantasticness, be thou in favour.  
To leave thee, Bounty, my most worthy servant,  
troubles me more than mine own misery;  
but we must part: go plant thyself, my best friend,  
in honourable hearts that truly know thee,  
and there live ever like thyself, a virtue:  
but leave this place, and seek the Country  
for Law; and lust like fire lick all up here.  
Now none but Poverty, must follow me,  
despised patched Poverty; and we two married,  
will seek Simplicity, Content and Peace out,  Enter Poverty. 
and live with them in exile. How uncalled on  
my true friend comes!  Poverty. 
Here, hold thee, Anthropos,  
thou art almost armed at rest; put this on,  
a penitential robe, to purge thy pleasures:  
off with that vanity.  Anth. 
Here, Vain Delight,  
and with this all my part, to thee again  
of thee I freely render.  Pov. 
Take this staff now,  
and be more constant to your steps hereafter:  
the staff is Staidness of affections.  
Away, you painted flies, that with man's summer  
take life and heat buzzing about his blossoms;  
when growing full, ye turn to Caterpillars,  
gnawing the root that gave you life. Fly shadows.  Exeunt Desire and Delight. 
Now to Content I'll give thee, Anthropos,  
to Rest and Peace: no vanity dwells there;  
Desire nor Pleasure, to delude thy mind more;  
no Flatteries smooth-filed tongue shall poison thee.  Anth. 
O Jupiter, if I have ever offered  
upon thy burning Altars but one Sacrifice  
thou and thy fair-eyed Juno smiled upon;  
if ever, to thine honour, bounteous feasts,  
where all thy statues sweat with wine and incense,  
have by the son of earth been celebrated:  
hear me (the child of shame now) hear, thou helper,  
and take my wrongs into thy hands, thou justice,  
done by unmindful man, unmerciful,  
against his master done, against thy order;  
and raise again, thou father of all honour,  
the poor despised, but yet thy noblest creature.  
Raise from his ruins once more this sunk Cedar,  
that all may fear thy power, and I proclaim it.  Exeunt. Jupiter and Mercury descend severally. Trumpets small above. Jup. 
Hoa; Mercury, my winged son.  Mer. 
Your servant.  Jup. 
Whose powerful prayers were those that reached our ears,  
armed in such spells of pity now?  Mer. 
The sad petitions  
of the scorned son of earth, the godlike Anthropos,  
he that has swelled your sacred fires with incense,  
and piled upon your altars thousand heifers;  
he that (beguiled by Vanity and Pleasure,  
Desire, Craft, Flattery, and smooth Hypocrisy)  
stands now despised and ruined, left to Poverty.  Jup. 
It must not be; he was not raised for ruin;  
nor shall those hands heaved at mine altars perish:  
he is our noblest creature. Flee to Time,  
and charge him presently release the bands  
of Poverty and Want this suitor sinks in:  
tell him, among the sunburnt Indians,  
that know no other wealth but peace and pleasure,  
she shall find golden Plutus, god of riches,  
who idly is adored, the innocent people  
not knowing yet what power and weight he carries:  
bid him compel him to his right use, honour,  
and presently to live with Anthropos.  
It is our will. Away.  Mer. 
I do obey it.  Jupiter and Mercury ascend again. Music. Enter Plutus, with a troop of Indians singing and dancing wildly about him, and bowing to him: which ended, enter Time. Time. 
Rise, and away; 't is Jove's command.  Plut. 
I will not:  
ye have some fool to furnish now; some Midas  
that to no purpose I must choke with riches.  
Who must I go to?  Time. 
To the son of earth;  
he wants the god of wealth.  Plut. 
Let him want still:  
I was too lately with him, almost torn  
into ten thousand pieces by his followers:  
I could not sleep, but Craft or Vanity  
were filing off my fingers; not eat, for fear  
Pleasure would cast herself into my belly,  
and there surprise my heart.  Time. 
These have forsaken him:  
make haste then; thou must with me: be not angry,  
for fear a greater anger light upon thee.  Plut. 
I do obey then: but change my figure;  
for when I willingly befriend a creature,  
goodly and full of glory I show to him;  
but when I am compelled, old, and decrepit,  
I halt, and hang upon my staff. Fare well, friends,  
I will not be long from ye; all my servants  
I leave among ye still, and my chief riches.  Exeunt Indians with a dance. 
O Time, what innocence dwells here, what goodness!  
they know me not, nor hurt me not, yet hug me.  
Away, I'll follow thee: but not too fast, Time.  Exeunt Plutus and Time. Enter Anthropos, Honesty, Simplicity, Humility, Poverty. Humil. 
Man, be not sad, nor let this divorce  
from Mundus, and his many ways of pleasure,  
afflict thy spirits; which considered rightly  
with inward eyes, makes thee arrive at happy.  Pov. 
For now what danger or deceit can reach thee?  
what matter left for Craft or Covetise  
to plot against thee? what Desire to burn thee?  Honest. 
O son of earth, let Honesty possess thee;  
be as thou wast intended, like thy Maker;  
see thorough those gawdy shadows, that like dreams  
have dwelled upon thee long: call up thy goodness,  
thy mind and man within thee, that lie shipwrecked,  
and then how thin and vain these fond affections,  
how lame this worldly love, how lumplike raw  
and ill-digested all these vanities  
will show, let Reason tell thee,  Simpl. 
Crown thy mind  
with that above the world's wealth, joyful suffering,  
and truly be the master of thyself,  
which is the noblest Empire; and there stand  
the thing thou wert ordained, and set to govern.  Pov. 
Come, let us sing the world's shame: hear us, Anthropos.  Song: and then enter Time and Plutus. Hon. 
Away; we are betrayed.  Exeunt all but Poverty. Time. 
Get thou too after,  
thou needy bare companion; go for ever,  
for ever, I conjure thee: make no answer.  Exit Poverty. Anth. 
What mak'st thou here, Time? thou that to this  
minute never stood'st still by me?  Time. 
I have brought thee succour;  
and now catch hold, I am thine: The god of riches  
(compelled by him that saw thy miseries,  
the ever just and wakeful Jove, at length)  
is come unto thee: use him as thine own;  
for 't is the doom of heaven: he must obey thee.  Anth. 
Have I found pity then?  Time. 
Thou hast; and Justice  
against those false seducers of thine honour:  
Come, give him present helps.  Exit Time. Industry and the Arts discovered. Plut. 
Come, Industry,  
thou friend of life: and next to thee, rise Labour;  Plutus stamps. Labour rises. 
rise presently: and now to your employments;  
but first conduct this mortal to the rock.  They carry Anthropos to a rock, and fall a digging. 
What seest thou now?  Plutus strikes the rock, and flames fly out. Anth. 
A glorious mine of metal.  
O Jupiter, my thanks.  Plut. 
To me a little.  Anth. 
And to the god of wealth my Sacrifice.  Plut. 
Nay, than I am rewarded. Take heed now, son,  
you are afloat again, lest Mundus catch ye.  Anth. 
Never betray me more.  Plut. 
I must to India,  
from whence I came, where my main wealth lies buried,  
and these must with me. Take that book and mattock,  
and by those know to live again.  Exeunt Plutus, Indians, Labout, etc. Anth. 
I shall do.  Enter Fame sounding. Fame. 
Thorough all the world the fortune of great Anthr.  
be known and wondered at; his riches envied  
as far as Sun or Time is; his power feared too.  Exeunt. Music. Enter Delight, Pleasure, Craft, Lucre, Vanity, etc. dancing (and masked) towards the Rock, offering service to Anthropos. Mercury from above. Music heard. One half of a cloud drawn. Singers are discovered: then the other half drawn. Jupiter seen in glory. Mer. 
Take heed, weak man, those are the sins that sunk thee:  
trust 'em no more: kneel, and give thanks to Jupiter.  Anth. 
O mighty power!  Jup. 
Unmask, ye gilded poisons:  
now look upon 'em, son of earth, and shame 'em;  
now see the faces of thy evil angels,  
lead 'em to Time, and let 'em fill his Triumph:  
their memories be here forgot for ever.  Anth. 
O just great god! how many lives of service,  
what ages only given to thine honour,  
what infinites of vows and holy prayers,  
can pay my thanks?  Jup. 
Rise up: and to assure thee  
that never more thou shalt feel want, strike, Mercury,  
strike him; and by that stroke he shall for ever  
live in that rock of gold, and still enjoy it.  
Be done, I say. Now sing in honour of him.  Song. Enter the Triumph. First the Musicians: Then Vain Delight, Pleasure, Craft, Lucre, Vanity, and other of the Vices: Then a Chariot with the person of Time sitting in it; drawn by four persons representing Hours, singing. Exeunt. Flourish. King. Em. 
By this we note (sweet heart) in Kings and Princes  
a weakness, even in spite of all their wisdoms,  
and often to be mastered by abuses:  
Our natures here described too, and what humours  
prevail above our Reasons to undo us.  
But this the last and best, When no friend stands,  
The gods are merciful, and lend their hands.  Flourish.  

EPILOGUE.  
Now as the Husbandman, whose Costs and Pain,  
Whose Hopes and Helps lie buried in his Grain,  
Waiting a happy Spring, to ripen full  
His longed-for Harvest to the Reapers pull;  
Stand we expecting, having sown our Ground  
with so much charge (the fruitfulness not found)  
the Harvest of our Labours: For we know  
You are our Spring; and when you smile, we grow.  
Nor Charge nor Pain shall bind us from your Pleasures,  
So you but lend your hands to fill our Measures.  
FINIS.