THE HISTORY OF CHARLES the Eighth OF FRANCE, OR THE Invasion of Naples by the French.  
As it is acted at his Highnesses the Duke of York's Theatre.  
Written by Mr. Crown.  
Honestum est secundis tertijsuê consistere.  Qu. 
LONDON, Printed by T. R. and N. T. for Ambrose Isted, at the Sign of the Golden Anchor, over against St. Dunstan's Church in Fleetstreet, 1672.   

THE PROLOGUE To King Charles the Eighth.  
NOw the rough sounds of War our ears invade,  
Some think the Muses should retire to shade,  
And there like mournful Birds with hanging wing,  
Alone and sad some doleful duty sing:  
For now our Gallants all to Sea are gone,  
Muses as well as Misses are undone,  
And both of 'em must to their grief allow,  
They can expect but sorry Trading now;  
But though kind Miss may sit at home and whine  
For some brisk airy Sir, that kept her fine;  
Wit has not so much reason to complain,  
And Wit no more than Beauty can abstain.  
Hot English mettle must to working fall,  
And do for love e'er they'll not do at all.  
Let dull Dutch wilt over a smoky Stove,  
Sit sighing for the loss of some fat love;  
Let frighted Burghers—  
Shut up their Shops, and to their Fate submit,  
Whilst we keep ope' both Shops of Trade and Wit;  
Whilst our brisk Critics are become their Fate,  
And damn the Farce of their Mechanic State.  
You gentle Sirs, that here behind remain,  
We with a Martial Play will entertain;  
You shall see Wars and Death as well as they,  
But it shall be in a much safer way:  
Nay, now their backs are turned we'll watch our time,  
And be so bold to fight and die in Rhyme;  
For our dull Author swears h'e only aspires,  
To please the City wives and Country Squires;  
And all the sober audience of the Town,  
Those of the long Robe and talking Gown,  
With serious men of Trade, who well or ill,  
Seldom good men protest a Poet's Bill;  
'Mongst whom all stuff does find such present vent,  
We durst ensure our Plays at Three per Cent.  
With these our Authors dull insipid Rhyme,  
He durst not have produceed another time,  
He hopes is safe, and if his Sense is low,  
He can compound for't with a Dance or Show.  
And to conclude, he swears—  
He does not doubt but he shall Feast to day,  
Your sober Palates with a serious Play.   

To the Right Honourable JOHN Earl of ROCHESTER, One of the Gentlemen of His Majesty's Bedchamber, etc.  
My Lord,  
PErhaps Your Lordship may admire to see your Name fixed before this trifle; But it is the Fate of Persons of Your obliging temper, to receive Persecutions of this nature, in return of Candour and Indulgence; which I must confess is so ill a requital, as it may make Your Lordship cautious hence-forwards of bestowing Your Favours, since this must be the troublesome consequence. But Greatness like Beauty attracts all on whom it smiles; And We frail writing sinners cannot content ourselves with the secret enjoyment; but think half the pleasure lost, if we do not boast of it to the world. This vanity occasions your Lordship the present trouble; And next to this, a design to overawe with Your Name, any the briskest enemy this Poem may meet with; For when I tell 'em, Your Lordship thinks it not much unworthy your Favour, they will judge moderately of it; at least, not be too forward in censuring any thing, which you are pleased to defend. The enemies it has already met with have been fewer, than a Play in Verse, (and an ill one too,) could expect; considering how many there are, that exclaim against Rhyme, though never so well writ. Some of 'em I'm afraid do it from the same unjust picque that Women of cruel hearts, but peaceable Beauties ever have against a Mode, wherewith they despair to kill. But I shall not much concern myself with their little quarrel; I am fortunate enough in your Lordship's approbation, and can dispense with the rest of mankind. And this I am bold to affirm though I have not the Honour of much acquaintance with your Lordship; for it is sufficient that I have seen in some little sketches of your Pen excellent Masteries and a Spirit inimitable; and that I have been entertained by others with the wit, which your Lordship with a gentile & careless freedom, sprinkles in your ordinary converse, and often supplies vulgar and necessitous wits wherewith to enrich themselves, and sometimes to treat their friends; and when your Lordship is pleased to ascend above us, You do it with a strange readiness and agility of mind, and by swift and easy motions attain to heights, which others by much climbing dull industry, and constraint cannot reach. Nor is this vast wit crowded together in a little Soul, where it wants freedom, and is uneasy, but fills up the spaces of a large and generous mind, infinitely delighting to oblige all, but especially to encourage any blossoming merits; and ready to forgive large and voluminous faults for the sake of any one thing tolerably said or done. And now the world sure will not blame me that I esteem myself extremely happy in Your Favour, and secure in Your Patronage; and this being to me, like some great and sudden Fortune to the poor, I know not how to manage my own transports, but must make my brags to my Friends. This my Lord, is a great infirmity, but it is incident to humane Nature, and very common with all of our Tribe; and I do not doubt but your Lordship will pardon it among other defects to  
My Lord, Your Lordship's most Humble and most obliged Servant, JOHN CROWN.   

The Names of the Persons.  


Alphonso. — King of Naples. — Mr. Metbourn.  
Ferdinand. — Son to Alphonso. — Mr. Harris.  
Prince of Salerne, a fierce and valiant young Rebel.— Mr. Smith.  
Ascanio. — Friend to Ferdinand. — Mr. Young.  
Trivultio. — An old General, and Commander of the Neapolitan Army. Mr. Sandford  
Gonsalvo. — Admiral of Queen of Cornelia's Galleys.— Mr. Burford.  
Ghost, — Of Galeazzo, Duke of Milan. — Mr. Cademan.  
Charles the Eighth, King of France. — Mr. Batterton.  
Lewis, Duke of Orleans. — Mr. Crosby.  
Mompensier, A French Commander.— Mr. Norris.    


The Women.  
Isabel,— Daughter to Alphonso, and Widow to Galeazzo, the Young Duke of Milan, who was poisoned by his Uncle Sforza.— Mrs. Batterton.  
Cornelia,— Widow Queen of Cyprus.— Mrs. Slaughter.  
Irene,— Her Friendand Confident.— Mrs. Shadwell.  
Julia,— Sister to Isabel. Mrs. Dixon.  
Portia, Euphemia, Sylvia. Maids of Honour to Isabel. Julia. Cornelia.  
Officers, Guards, Attendants.    
The Scene Naples.   

THE HISTORY OF Charles the VIII. of FRANCE: OR, THE Invasion of Naples by the French.  

The first ACT.  [After several Shouts and Noises without, Enter Isabella, Julia, Portia, as from their Beds. Isa. 
OH Heavens! what means these sad distracted cries,  
This confused noise, which through the Palace flies,  
And puts a horror on the face of night,  
Dreadful to th' Ears, as visions to the sight?  Jul. 
The City hath received some strange alarms;  
For in the Streets they call, to Arms! to Arms!  
The Palace echoes with a dreadful sound,  
And Martial noises from the Streets rebound.  Isab. 
Portia, Inquire the news!—  Por. 
Madam, I go;  
And yet I dread to ask.—  Exit. Por. Jul. 
And I to know.  Isab. 
What can w' expect? The Enemy is come;  
Although last night some said he was at Rome.  
I see the slave, who the false news did bring,  
Came with those tidings to betray the King.  
When once a shaking Monarchy declines,  
Each thing grows bold, and to its fall combines.  Jul. 
Oh heavens'! How strange a dream I had to night!  Aside. 
Visions of glory walked before my sight;  
Crowns, Cupids, Bowers, and in my pleasing Trance,  
I thought myself no less, than Queen of France.  
What the presage should mean I feign would know,  
And yet I dare not let the secret go.  Isab. 
Does haughty Charles his anger still retain,  Aside. 
To come from France with Armies in his Train;  
To ruin Naples, and usurp the Crown;  
'Cause his feigned passion I did once disown?  
I'll make him know by sad experience too,  
What a wronged Princess in despair dare do!  
Perhaps he thinks I am grown humbler since,—  
Th' afflicted Widow of a murdered Prince:  
But the proud King shall find when 'tis too late,  
My mind hath Grandeur, much above my state.  
Since Darts of beauty could not wound his pride,  
Those darts shall now with daggers be supplied.  Jul. 
These sad confusions will disturb I fear,  
Our Royal stranger drove by Tempests here,  
The distressed Cyprian Queen, who will conclude,  
By her hard fortunes she is still pursued;  
That she in vain took refuge from the Winds,  
Whilst in the Port she a new Tempest finds;  
Which though for Naples 'tis alone designed.  
Will have impression on her generous mind.  Isab. 
The distressed fortunes of that beauteous Queen,  
Has by my Soul deeply resented been;  
And I the more for our confusions grieve,  
In that no aid we can her fortunes give.  
But see she comes.—  Enter Cornelia, Irene, Sylvia. Cor. 
Ah Madam, what should mean,  
The sad distractions which I now have seen?  
Waked from a gentle slumber soft as those,  
Of Lovers charmed with Music to repose;  
I rose, and in confusion went to see,  
What 'twas that had divided sleep and me;  
And to my Window straight I did repair,  
And setting wide those sluices of the Air,  
I in the Streets saw waves of people flow,  
Like the Sea Billows, when fierce Tempests blow,  
Among the Surges of th' unruly throng,  
Came Fleets of Armed Troops Sailing along.  
Like Ships pursued by angry winds and straight,  
They all were landed at the Palace Gate.  Jul. 
Heavens! we shall be murdered!  Isab. 
— W' are betrayed!  
The Enemy is got into the Town,  
Villains have sold my father's life and Crown.  Cor. 
Madam, you judge too soon, and judge the worst,  
Forbear till you have heard the story first.  
Then Madam know, the Guard's opposed a while;  
But 'twas like Reeds upon the banks of Nile,  
Weakly resisting an impetuous Flood,  
Of Armed Troops, and of a floating Crowd.  
The King your father then in person came,  
Compassed with lights, that he seemed armed with flame.  
When from the Terrace first he did appear,  
Their awful silence showed a general fear;  
Till some more insolent than all the rest,  
Presumed to set their Pikes against his Breast:  
But when the Prince appeared the Martial Ring,  
Proclaimed aloud, that he should be their King.  
By the respect they did your brother show,  
Judge if they were your enemies, or no.  Jul. 
Oh Heavens! How durst you stand in dead of night,  
So unconcerned, to see that dreadful sight?  Iren. 
I saw all this the Queen doth now relate,  
From my own room which views the Palace Gate.  
And the fierce tumults filled me with such dread,  
That in a fright I here for safety fled.  Isab. 
And could the Traitors find no fitter time,  
But this the more to aggravate their crime?  
When Heaven abandons a declining King,  
Rebellion then grows a religious thing.  
Though on Heaven's party they devoutly fight,  
To whom all Kings must bow their Sovereign right!  
And this with vulgar heads succeeds so well,  
Success seems Heaven's Commission to rebel.  Jul. 
Hark, Hark, the shouts increase;— They're louder yet,  Iren. 
And now they nearer to the Palace get.—  Shouts. Isab. 
The Rebels still are insolent and loud,  
The King will fall in the rebellious Crowd.  
Madam, you're cast upon a fatal Shore,—  Turning to Cornelia. 
Where you meet Tempests greater than before.  
The noises and unruly Crowds appear  
Less civil than the Storms that forced you here.  
But Heaven that judges these misfortunes due  
To us, designs no share of 'em you.  Cor. 
Heaven to us all doth equal share design,  
Since friendship makes all your misfortunes mine.  Jul. 
But Portia comes,— And see she comes in haste.  Enter Portia. 
Ah! Portia speak, Is all the danger past,  
Or doth it still increase?  Por. 
Madam, this noise  
Is but the people's loud tumultuous cries.  Jul. 
The Queen already hath the story said!  
Tell us th' event, is my great father dead?  
What have the Traitors done? and can we fly,  
Or must we tarry and prepare to die?  Por. 
It is in vain the fatal truth to hide!  
Madam, we are beset on every side,  
Your Enemies are come, the French are here,  
All round the walls their warlike Troops appear,  
And their approach such terror doth display,  
As almost frightens back the infant day.  Cor. Isab. Jul. Iren. 
Ye Powers!  Por. 
And every Minute comes a Post,  
With news of Towns surrendered, Cities lost.  
With this the people are distracted grown,  
Some would have straight delivered up the Town!  
Others that had with wrongs been much oppressed,  
Now seek revenges whilst the King's distressed.  
The public dangers they do all contemn.  
Crying, all Tyrants are alike to them.  
And thus the City did with clamours ring,  
The French besiege the Town; the Town the King.  Isab. 
What would the Villains have?  Jul. 
My father's life  
I fear will be th' event of all this strife!  Por. 
The King retired in a profound despair,  
And left the people to the Prince's care.  
Then did the Armed Crowds the Prince surround,  
And in the noise and tumult he was Crowned!  Cor. 
I feel within my heart a sudden flame,  Aside. 
Rise at the mention of the Prince's name:  
Nor all the noise that doth his Reign begin,  
Exceeds the tumult which I feel within.  Iren. 
Of brave Ascanio still I nothing hear,  Aside. 
Heaven grant he meets with no misfortune there!  
For in his Kings concern his passion's high,  
And his ungoverned zeal too far will fly.  Isab. 
Then I perceive the Kingdom is undone,  
The Crown of Naples from our line is gone:  
For these Convulsions in a dying state,  
Some high and dangerous ills prognosticate.  
— Come Madam let us go—  To Cor. 
And since the worst that fate designs we know:  
(If it be day) lets on the Western Tower,  
View this dark Cloud which threats so fierce a shower.  Exeunt omnes Enter Alphonso, Ferdinand, Ascanio, Trivultio.— Guard. Alph. 
Depose their King, and fly from his defence,  
When they'ne the highest need of innocence!  
T'engage all Kings and fortune of their side,  
To guard their Wealth, and prop their falling pride:  
But since my Son they've seated on my Throne,  
They in some measure do their sins atone.  
Dear Ferdinand, thou hast thy people's voice,  
And art thy fathers and the Kingdom's choice.  
Like blind Idolaters they worship thee,  
With dark devotion by blaspheming me.  
They finding my dim glories to decline,  
With Torches of Rebellion light up thine:  
But like a God, their ignorance disdain,  
And shine upon 'em with a glorious Reign.  Ferd. 
Ah! Sir, I humbly crave—  
You'd not such orders on my duty lay,  
Which I must be disloyal to obey;  
Not by resigning up to me your Throne,  
Force me to make the people's guilt my own.  
I'll not such favour to rebellion show,  
To wear a Crown the people do bestow,  
Who when their giddy violence is past,  
Shall from the King th' adored revolt at last;  
And then the Throne they gain, they shall invade,  
And scorn that Idol which themselves have made.  
No,— live and govern to revenge on them  
Those Crimes; which only now you can contemn.  Alph. 
No Ferdinand, I the choice of Heaven allow,  
And to my fate, not to my Vassals bow,  
In all the changes that to Crowns befall,  
There is a power unseen that governs all,  
Order the moves, and plays the mighty game,  
Whilst only Kings and Kingdoms have the name.  
'Twas Heaven for Naple's safety did decree,  
By all those tumults to make choice of thee.  
I freely then the Royal power resign.  
Proclaim your King.  Ferdinand seems to oppose. 
No more the Crown is thine—  
I will for ever quit that glorious weight,  
And now retire from all the toils of state.  
Long live Ferdinand King of Naples!—  All shout. Ferd. 
What guilty acclamations do I hear?  
'Tis known to Heaven how small a part I share,  
In that disloyal joy the people show.  Asc 
Accept the Crown Sir, since it must be so.  
Our ruined Kingdom flies to your defence;  
As to a Prince framed for this exigence.  
With sublime conrage to support the weight,  
Disperse these Clouds, rebuild the falling state.  Alph. 
Now son, the glories of my life are done!  
But ah! thy troubles are but now begun;  
For know this Crown to that distress is come,  
Abroad 'tis pitied, and betrayed at home.  
Thy subjects mutining and thy allies,  
Fly from their own approaching destinies.  
The less Italian States that used to ride,  
In calms of peace close by each other's side.  
Have with this tempest broken every Chain,  
And now are tossed like Galleys on the main.  
That to unite again, they seek no more,  
Each flies for safety to a several Shore.  
Venice and Rome, on whom I did rely,  
Buy their own peace, and from the tempest fly;  
Which swells this Monarque with no less design,  
Then the World's ruin to begin with thine.  Fer. 
He on the world hath passed a haughty doom;  
But we may make his thoughts contain less room.  Alph. 
'Tis true, my Son, but thou art left alone,  
And hast no Sword to trust to but thy own.  
And that with high rebellions broke in two,  
That none, my Son, dare manage it but you.  
Those that should serve thee in this high contest,  
Turn all their Swords against the Monarch's breast,  
That in this exigence 'tis hard to say,  
Which are more dangerous, the French or they.  Asc. 
The Prince, of Salerne heads the Rebel crew.  Ferd. 
He does.— and I the Villain will pursue,  
In his fierce chase of power with so much flame,  
He shall let fall his prey, and change his game,  
And curse his pride which his ambition lead,  
To play with Thunder till it struck him dead.  Alph. 
Yes Ferdinand, thou must the slave destroy,  
On that young Traitor first thy arms employ.  
He thinks his bold pretence is just and good,  
Thus to revenge his rebel father's blood.  
Nay his successful pride so high doth swell,  
He dare demand thy Sister Isabel:  
But make him know it is a safer thing,  
To blaspheme Heaven, then to depose a King.  
Between the French and him thy Arms divide.  
The War is just and brave on either side.  
Rather than by a slave in triumph lead.  
Throw down thy falling Kingdom on his head.  
Blow up the French, the Villain, and the Town;  
And if thou canst not save, thus loose the Crown.  
Thou wilt be brave and glorious in thy fall;  
But thou hast courage to subdue them all.  Triu. 
The King revengeful grows when 'tis too late,  
Thus mighty Spirits struggle with their fate.  Asc. 
Had this great counsel been pursued in time,  
T' had saved our ruin, and that rebels crime.  Ferd. 
In these expressions of your Royal mind,  
I both my duty and my Glory find.  
And, Sir, I'll pay them such sublime respect,  
To your revenge I Altars will erect;  
Where I will consecrate my Sword, and he  
With all his train shall the chief Victims be.  
Then for my other foes I will prepare,  
And with devotion thus begin the War.  
And if I conquer, prostrate all my Fame,  
And Glory at your Feet, from whence they came.  Asc. 
Brave Prince!  Tri. 
But this Devotion I'm afraid—  Aside. 
Will Sacrifice the Crown upon your head  Alph. 
Ah Son! thou fillst my heart with secret joy,  
My high prophetic thoughts my fears destroy.  
Some mighty Glories treasured up by Fate,  
For virtues that attain so great a height.  
When thou hast through a thousand glorious toils,  
Trodden on Rebellion, and hast reaped the Spoils,  
From the Ambitious French; the news to me  
Will even a second Coronation be:  
Then freed from all these cares, enjoy thy Throne,  
And raise the glorious name of Arragon.  
And now (my Son) farewell— this painful hour  
Presses me more, than e'er did weights of Power.  
But I shall conquer it— The Powers divine,  
Take to their Guard, a virtue great as thine.  
Now let thy Galleys to the Asian shore,  
Conduct thy Father hence— Thy King no more.  Ferd. 
This Flood of Sorrow let me first unlade,  
Then, Sir, your sad commands shall be obeyed.  
Tragical sight! the brave Alphonso's gone,  Ex. Alph. Ferd. 
Despoiled by Rebels of that glorious Throne,  
In which his Soul whilst living was enclosed:  
For Kings are truly murdered when deposed.  
When they the Souls of Power from Empire fly,  
They turn a wandering Regal-shade, and die.—  Ex. 
And art thou gone, brave Prince! thy short-lived Reign,  
Hath been of troubles one continued Scene.  
The giddy multitude, who never fear  
A threatning danger, till they see it near,  
Do fondly from their own Protection fly,  
And just Assistance to their King deny.  
Opposed by some, forsaken by the rest:  
All will be conquered, rather than oppressed.  
But when Destruction on themselves they bring,  
They then revenge their follies on their King.  
This Scene once past, the next thing I must know,  
Is how my Fortunes I had best bestow.  
ere since the Armies of this Crown I've lead,  
Laurels have never withered on my Head.  
The State is wholly at my devotion grown,  
And as I please, I can dispose this Crown.  
And I therein shall Fortune's smiles pursue;  
All my Allegiance to myself is due.  
As Fortune favours, so shall I advance,  
The Interest of Naples, or of France.  Enter. Prince of Sallerne. 
But ha! the fierce young Prince of Sallerne here,  
How dares he thus among the Guards appear!  Sal. 
Trivultio, seek not to retrieve the Guard,  Show several men Armed. 
I will from no Accesses be debarred.  
Nay, my unbounded Power to let you see,  
The King shall have no other Guards but me.  
'Tis to my interest, ye high honours do,  
Those who make Idols, must preserve 'em too.  Tri. 
I know your Interest, Sir, and wish your Power,  
Were something less, or Loyalty were more.  Sal. 
My Loyalty!  
Go talk of that to dull obedient Fools,  
Whom Laws, and ●ame pedantic virtue rules.  
My Honour's safe in that my Cause is good,  
And I am Loyal to my Father's blood  
And shall be bold, in such a glorious Cause.  
To tread on Kings, and Loyalty, and Laws.  
By Nature's high commands my Sword I draw,  
And Natures dictates are the highest Law.  Tri. 
No doubt, to Nature's universal Sway,—  Ironice 
All Laws must bow, and Kingdoms must obey.  
But, Sir, Imperious Nature might have chose,  
A fitter time for her Commands, than those,  
When King and Kingdom are embroiled in war,  
That for the Crime of one all punished are.  
If 'tis a Crime for Monarchs to defend  
Their Crowns from every Sacrilegious hand.  
But Power it seems can Change the names of things,  
Treason Virtue; and make Rebels Kings.  
But grant your Father's blood unjustly spilled,  
Must Naples suffer for their Monarch's guilt?  Sal. 
Sir, I'll Revenge my Father's blood on all  
That saw, and dares survive his Funeral:  
On all that to his Execution came,  
And did not set all Naples in a flame.  
Blaspheme the Heavens, and in transports of Rage,  
'Gainst Kings and Gods in some high act engage  Tri. 
No doubt 'twas pity when he lost his Head,  
But all mankind had suffered in his stead.—  Ironcie. 
But I must wait a more important care.  Sal. 
Stay, Sir, and to the King this Message bear.  
Tell him, that now his Father I've chastised,  
My high Revenges are in part sufficed:  
That when h'ath wiped his Eyes, which for a while  
Must drop some tears for the old King's Exile,  
I am content my Passion to subdue,  
And if he please our Friendship to renew.  
And that th' Alliance may eternal prove,  
I've thought his Sister worthy of my Love,  
And shall descend t' accept her as my Bride,  
If I'm petitioned for't on every side.  
But if my Alliance he dares disesteem,  
Tell him, I both his Sister scorn, and him.  
To wear his Crown were to descend too low;  
Him and that trifle I'll on Charles bestow.—  Ex. Tri. 
To what prodigious heights his Spirit flies,  
The Fates and Crowns of Monarchs to despise.  
These are Portentous Signs, and I'm afraid,  
The Crown will fall from our young Monarch's head.  
And with its heavy fall, 'twill ruin those,  
Who fondly in its support their lives expose.  
Too long I've born the weight for no Reward,  
Now time calls loud my Fortunes to regard,  
And leave this barren place,—  
Which for this twenty years with blood I've sown,  
And nothing reaped but beggarly Renown.—  Exit. Enter Charles, Lewis of Orleans, Mompensier, Guards. The Scene, a fair Country before the Walls of Naples. Ch. 
The day draws on, the Sun appears in view,  
And we to day have much brave work to do.  
Send in my name a Herald to the Town,  
Tell King Alphonso I demand the Crown.  
That Crown his Ancestors usurped from mine,  
And he the third Usurper of his Line,  
Detains— if he refuse— bid him prepare  
For all the worst Calamities of War,  Lew. 
They dare not Sir, oppose your mighty Claim,  
The World's subdued already with your Fame.  
The Italian States like Herds to Covert fly,  
Whilst you are like a whirlwind passing by.  
Yes, Rome herself declines her sacred head,  
And by obsequious fawning shows her dread.  
But this lost Kingdom, upon whom the Ball,  
Folded in Clouds of Fire, designs to fall,  
Shakes with the fears of its approaching doom,  
Whilst smoking a far off they see it come.  Mom. 
Yes Sir, your Power like an impetuous tide,  
Breaks down their yielding banks on every side;  
That raving with despair, they wildly run,  
I'th' midst of all those dangers they would shun.  
Our spies within have all disorders sound,  
The King is banished, and his Son is Crowned.  
Hurried into the Throne by crowds of those,  
Whom now instead of guarding, they oppose.  
Within their City's of a blazing Fire;  
Without their Army ready to Retire.  
Nor Town nor Army will their King obey,  
That you will meet no Enemy to day.  Ch. 
Yes, Sir, the Rebels are my Enemies,  
And every Kings concern as well as his.  
Rebellion is a Monster, would devour  
The Kingly dignity, and Sovereign power.  
A sort of Atheism, that doth Crowns blaspheme,  
And styles the Sacred Power of Kings a dream.  
And as blasphemers call the Heavenly powers,  
To arm their Thunder; this awakens ours.  
Go to the King then e'er it proves too late,  To Momp. 
And if you find the Rebels desperate,  
The party strong, and the young King afraid,  
He cannot conquer 'em, I'll lend him aid.  
When that is done, tell him the Crown's my right,  
And I expect that he resign or fight.  Mom. 
Great Sir, I shall obey.  Cham 
Next to the Town  
Proclaim, that I all Rebels shall disown.  
For though 'tis true I am their lawful Prince,  
To whom they all allegiance owe; yet since  
Titles of Kings are Mysteries too high,  
Above the reach of every vulgar eye,  
They must the present shrines of power adore,  
And pry into their duty, and no more;  
For those with new Religions will be bold,  
Who dare with high contempt profane the old:  
And he who doth his own false God despise,  
And with atheistick pride and scorn denies  
That worship, which he thinks is but his due,  
Would do the same if he adored the true.  
Bid'em be Loyal then, whilst we dispute,  
And their false worship I with arms confute.  Exit.  

Act 2. The Scene A Room in the Palace.  Ferdinand, Mompensier. Ascaneo, Trivultio. Ferd. 
Your masters haughty message I despise,  
Who knows not how to conquer, but surprise.  
He owes his victories to my distress,  
As he derives his title from success;  
And has my Vassals into fears betrayed,  
With th' empty noises which his fame hath made:  
But they are ready by a brave defence,  
To cloud his fame, and blast his false pretence.  
Then let him know his proffered aid I slight,  
And dare retain my Crown, if he dare fight.  
Perhaps his army is in some distress,  
With tedious marches, want, and weariness,  
To pay the debt he on my fame hath laid,  
I'll send the Rebels Forces to his aid.  Mom. 
I shall acquaint him Sir.  Ferd. 
Trivultio— go—  
To the proud enemy my Standards show,  
And in the form that I my army drew,  
Advance my Troops, and fix 'em in their view.  Triu. 
The armies, Sir, already are so near,  
That now they in each other's view appear;  
And only want their King's commands to join.  Fer. 
Let all my Squadrons stand prepared for mine.  Exit Tri. 
Ah! my Ascanio! Heaven doth still provide,  
New ways and arts to have my courage tried.  
I do not mean by all those angry Stars,  
Which thus begins my Reign with various Wars;  
By all the Clouds that o'er my Crown impend,  
And in black Tempests every hour descend  
Threatening my life, my father, and my Throne  
Beset with foes and Rebels, left alone  
T'encounter all; whilst fearful Spirits fly,  
In Panic terror from their Loyalty.  
These meaner griefs my courage can remove;  
But I am tortured with despairing love!  Asc. 
Why Sir, should you afflict your Royal mind  
With griefs, for which you soon redress may find?  
Time and some little patience will destroy  
Those griefs which lie but in your way to joy:  
Your own despairs, the blushes of the Queen,  
And all the other Guards which stand between,  
Will soon remove their stations, and be gone;  
When all the empty forms of love are done.  Ferd. 
Alas! thou speak'st as if the piercing dart,  
That wounded me, had touched her generous heart.  
No, her unconquered heart is too severe,  
For all the happy time she hath been here,  
Too much (I fear) against her will confined,  
By the kind force of an obliging wind;  
With all my services I ne'er could gain,  
The least allay to my insulting pain.  Asc. 
Love in her Sex must some resistance make,  
To a brave enemy for Honour's sake.  
But, Sir, to better news I can pretend,  
From the fair mouth of her own beauteous friend;  
For I, who in my confident address  
To her fair friend, have met with more success,  
Do find by her, that Sir, your noble flame  
Is not contemned, nor doth she hate your name!  Ferd. 
What is't thou sayst?  Asc. 
Yes, Sir, I say the Queen,  
With Eyes betraying love, hath oft been seen  
To glance on yours, but with such caution move,  
As Poets make the gods in stealths of Love;  
Watching with care the motions of your eyes,  
To guard her timorous honour from surprise;  
And then retreating ere she was betrayed,  
Falls into the ambush which her blushes made.  
Nay, once—  
Pursued to her retreats by her fair friend,  
She was o'er heard to sigh— Prince Ferdinand!  
And to the private echoes of the Grove,  
Intrust the dangerous secrets of her love.  Ferd. 
Prithee no more such pleasant tales as these,  
As hard to faith as Heavenly Mysteries.  
Thou think'st with Golden dreams and pleasing art,  
To fan this burning Fever in my heart;  
And blindly leadest me to the wars of love,  
With tales of Paradise, and joys above  
My hope or faith, as Turkish Priests delude,  
To War and death their cheated multitude.  
Yet if 'twere true, and I in vain have mourned,  
The inconstant wind is with my fortune turned:  
At the same view in which I saw to day,  
The French their standards on the Hills display,  
Another sight appeared which grieved me more,  
All the Queen's Galleys rowing from the Shore,  
Fitting their Oars and Tackling to be gone,  
whilst sporting Waves smiled on the rising Sun.  Asc. 
Your Royal Orders may remove that fear,  
And for a while confine her Galleys here;  
And though in Honour she displeased may seem,  
All her lost favour you may soon redeem:  
And clear the guilt contracted on that score;  
For, Sir, perhaps you can't oblige her more.  Ferd. 
No more (my friend) these flatteries are vain!  
Thou like an artist doth delude my pain,  
With gentle promises, and hopes of Cure,  
When th'anguish grows too violent to endure.  
But since  
All ways are fled to in a desperate case,  
Thy dangerous Counsels I'll for once embrace!  
And will resume my Courage: Prithee go,  
And let the Adm'ral of her Galleys know,  
I must confine him in the Port to day;  
But then from me assure him that his stay  
Not the least damage to the Fleet shall bring,  
And his compliance will oblige a King.  Asc. 
Sir, I shall hasten on the blessed design,  
Since the concern is both my Kings and mine.—  Exit. Ferd. 
I'll to the Queen and by confession own,  
The devout crime my trembling Love hath done;  
Like those who still in hopes of pardon sin,  
And all their crimes with penitence begin.—  Exit. Enter Isabel, followed by Salerne. Isab. 
Rebel begone, thy passion I disdain!  Sal. 
And I those frowns which you employ in vain.  
The debt which to my father's blood I owe,  
I yet have paid with a revenge too low.  
The abject blood of Vassals I have spilled,  
And blush that fame on such mean crimes I've built.  
To kill your Brother were revenge sublime,  
And the great cause would consecrate the Crime;  
But yet that debt I shall in part forgive,  
And for your sake shall let your brother live,  
The Regal style I'll suffer him to bear;  
But I shall ease him from the Regal care.  
I have another enemy beside,  
The hopes of Charles which nourishes your pride:  
But from those flames I shall your heart redeem:  
For I'll at once both kill your hopes and him,  
And pull your pride and all his glories down,  
And fetch that Monarch's head, or lose my own.  Exit Sal. Isab. 
Who ever heard an insolence like this?  
But this is rather fortunes crime than his;  
He finds successes smile on his offence,  
And now he swells to all this insolence;  
And does so proud of his Rebellion grow,  
He thinks all virtues must to treason bow.  Enter Portia. Por. 
Madam, the Cyprian Queen is coming here!  Isab. 
To take her last adieus of us I fear.  Enter Cornelia, Julia, Irene, Sylvia Cor. 
Madam, I come with sorrows to complain  
Of my hard fate, with which I strive in vain.  
My friends, the Winds and Seas have all combined,  
To make me both ungen'rous and unkind;  
And force me from you in your great distress,  
The only time my friendship to express.  Isab. 
Madam, in this your friends do faithful prove,  
And act like Heaven, who always doth remove,  
The Souls he loves from evils he fore-knows,  
And kindly takes them to their blessed repose.  Cor. 
Madam, this sacred truth I can't deny,  
It is the same to part with friends, or die.—  Weeps. Jren. 
I find it so; yet, must my joys resign,—  Aside. 
ere by possession I can call 'em mine,  
That I the brave Ascanio ne'er had seen,  
Or could command my friendship to the Queen.  
My love and Loyalty my Soul divide,  
I flatter both and dare take neither side.  Isab. 
Madam, this death you safely may embrace:  
Since you will only leave a mournful place,  
Which seems like some wild Melancholy shade,  
For the dark walks of guilty spirits made.  
Nothing but terror haunts us every where;  
Pale sighing Cowards turned to Ghosts with fear.  
Shouts of the Valiant, fainting womens' cries;  
All intermixed with the loud Martial noise  
Of Guns and Swords, and which is yet more loud,  
The saucy Clamours of the Rebel Crowd;  
Which like the groans of Spirits in the night,  
Women and Cowards with the noise affiright.  Jul. 
This is our dismal state, and yet I find,  Aside. 
The last night's dreams of love so haunt my mind  
With bright and glorious shapes, that I'm afraid  
My Heart will be insensibly betrayed.  
I feel an inward flame I dare not own,  
And love a Prince which seeks my father's Crown.  
If Nature doth his passion disaprove.  
Oh! Nature pardon my ambitious love!  Cor. 
I by this death to strange Eliziums go,  
Not joys and Crowns to gain, but to bestow.  
That I the better World forsake I fear,  
And leaving you, leave joy and Angels here:  
But I must yield to my Imperious fate;  
For my kind father's the Venetian state,  
Do at their wills dispose my Crown and me;  
But I've reserved myself this liberty;  
Nor winds, nor Seas shall intercept the share,  
I'll in your sorrows, and misfortunes bear.  Isab. 
Ah! Madam, you such generous kindness show,  
You seem like a bright Angel sent below,  
To comfort us in our dejected state;  
Or like a vision to foretell our fate.  
Such lightnings some have had when near the Grave.  
Why may not dying Kingdoms Visions have?  Iren. 
My Queen great friendship has to her expressed,—  Aside. 
whilst still her thoughts are to the King addressed.  
Like one that praying would his Saint conceal,  
To a wrong Image does devoutly kneel.  Jul. 
Do visions death foretell? What do I hear?—  Aside. 
Then I'm afraid my death for love is near.  
Oh Heaven! If I from life so soon must fly,  
Grant me one Vision more before I die.  Cor. 
Could I your fate foretell, I would not own,  
Any ill news to you, nor to this Throne:  
But Madam (if what fame has said is true)  
Crowns and not sorrows are designed for you.  
'Tis said, if Charles shall this fair Kingdom gain,  
'Tis he shall triumph, but 'tis you shall Reign  Isab. 
Of Prince's honours fame makes small esteem,  
And speaks low things of me, and false of him.  
He scorns his ancient passion to retain,  
And I as much a Crown from him disdain.  Jul. 
Ye Heavens, what power doth my heart surprise?  
For I as much adore what you despise.  Aside. 
My inward grief I can no longer bear,  
To my fair friend I must impart a share.  She whispers Irene, and they both go out. Cor. 
But love oft hovers long within the breast,  
Which is by beauty upon Youth impressed.  
I've heard the King received his first alarms  
Of youthful love from your Victorious charms.  Isab. 
Madam, 'tis true, fame made a large report,  
(whilst I i'th' glories of the Gallique Court  
Sometimes consumed) of that young Monarch's flame;  
He showing me all the gallantry became  
A youthful Monarch, but ere that pretence  
Was well discovered, I retired from thence.  Cor. 
Against your will I fear.—  Isab. 
By a Command  
I durst not disobey, of Ferdinand  
My Grandfather,  
Who then designed me a less glorious Throne;  
And the young Duke of Milan being grown  
To man's estate, he sought alliance there—  
confining me within that narrow Sphere.  Cor. 
And this great King finding his passion vain,  
Comes to revenge himself on your disdain.  Isab. 
Some would that compliment on me bestow;  
But his ambitions do not aim so low.  
I can derive it from a truer cause:  
For (Madam know) when to obey the Laws  
Of Heaven and Nature I subdued my mind,  
To fix myself where the old King designed,  
I found the Duke of Milan (when I came)  
T'enjoy of Sovereign nothing but the name.  
His Youth was not so tender as his Soul.  
He and his Sceptre under the control  
of wicked Sforza, who with the pretence  
Of being Guardian to his Innocence,  
Betrayed th' unguarded Prince, and hourly sought,  
Which way his death might be with safety wrought.  
When I the treason came to understand,  
I speedy aid from Naples did demand.  
The Villain lest we should his Plots surprise,  
And his unfinished Villainies chastise,  
Raises these storms of War on Naples Throne,  
To sink the power he feared, and save his own.  Cor. 
Would Franc that does so much at Glory aim,  
At such a Traitors call pursue his claim?  Isab. 
Princes in eager chase of Crowns near mind  
The way they take; but ride o'er all they find.  Cor. 
Since France this War had to the world declared,  
How came th' old King thus strangely unprepared?  Isab. 
The good old Monarch of a peaceful mind,  
More to devotion then to arms inclined,  
Grown credulous and dull with age and sloth,  
Loved all those false reports that flattered both.  
And so by Sforza was with lies betrayed,  
That France some other Crown designed t'invade.  
And till the French in Italy were come,  
Was unprepared for all things but his Tomb.  
Then when his life and Crown he could not save,  
He quitted both and crept into his Grave.  
And left my father in a ruined state;  
Oppressed with wars, and with the people's hate,  
Whose most unhappy Reign was scarce begun,  
ere he resigned the Kingdom to his son.—  Cor. 
But what becomes of wicked Sforza still,  
Durst he proceed in his intended ill?  Isab. 
The rest like a dark secret from the dead,  
Told by some walking discontented shade.  
Too full of direful guilt and horror grows,  
Safely to hide or freely to disclose.  
The Villain having raised by Magic skill,  
These throngs of Martial Spirits at his will,  
To fill with noise of war th' Italian air,  
Whilst near his Circle no one durst repair.  
Now takes th' occasion of this cursed time,  
When he with safety might pursue his crime,  
When none might hear his dying Sovereign groan,  
Or could revenge the murder when 'twas done,  
To bring the poor young Duke to his command;  
And wring the Sceptre from his tender hand.  
And to acquaint you with a fatal truth,  
Poisons at last the sweet and Princely youth.  Cor. 
Oh Monster!—  
What will not some men do high power to gain,  
And wear a while a guilty Crown with pain?  Isab. 
I must retire, my grief imperious grows,  
And on my reason doth too much impose,—  Exit Isab. Isabel goes out weeping: As Cornelia follows, Sylvia enters.— Syl. 
Gonsalvo Madam, does your pleasure wait.  Cor. 
I know the haste of the Venetian state,  
To have my Crown;— but since I must away,  
My Master's haughty pleasures I'll obey.  
Admit him in—  Enter Gons. 
Your Galleys Sir prepare.  Gons. 
Madam they're ready, and the Wind is fair.  
The storms that lately raged upon the Coast,  
Are out o'breath, and all their fury lost.  
But whilst the Sea is smooth, and air is clear,  
Madam we meet another tempest here.  
A storm not from the Sea, but from the Court,  
The King has stopped your Galleys in the Port.  Enter Ferdinand. Fer. 
Yes— Madam— seeing my just accuser come,  
I came to own my crime, and know my doom;  
For on my honour I have wars begun,  
And own the great offence my love hath done.  Cor. 
Am I your Subject Sir?— doth Naples own,  
Dues from my Kingdom, yet to me unknown.  Ferd. 
Naples, its Crown, and Monarch claims no due;  
But as they●r conquered to be ruled by you.  Cor. 
Am I by Laws of Nations captive made,  
'cause without leave I did your Shores invade?  
For so 'tis said—  
When unarmed Princes to strange Lands betake,  
Themselves they voluntary Captives make.  Ferd. 
Madam 'tis ture,— but you come armed with power;  
Which makes me Captive and you Conqueror.  
A power so charming all things must obey,  
And where 'tis seen will have Imperial sway.  Cor. 
Nor subject, nor a Captive;— then from whence  
Arises, Sir, this high and great pretence  
Of power, t'imprison here a Sovereign Queen?  Ferd. 
From that—  
Whence all rebellions in the world have been,  
From flaming zeal,—  
Which to all order we destructive find,—  
And loves a zealous rapture of the mind.  Cor. 
You act those things of which you are ashamed,  
Then zeal and love must for your crimes be blamed;  
So to those virtues you injurious prove,  
And bring an ill repute on zeal and love.  
But, Sir you better reasons can relate,  
Some secret Cause or Interest of state,  
Or pride to let your Kingly power appear,  
You exercise it first on strangers here.  
And you make wars, (as you have well expressed  
On those, who Sir) are like yourself distressed.  
But you had enemies enough before,  
First conquer those; ere you make wars on more.  Ferd. 
Madam, perhaps 'twas interest of state,  
Since on your aid depends my Kingdom's fate!  
For what can a despairing Monarch do,  
To save his Crown, who is condemned by you?  Cor. 
I know not what despair 'tis you pretend,  
Nor yet what aid a deposed Queen can lend.  
Did I enjoy my Crown, perhaps I might  
Support another injured Princes Right:  
But then I never would afford my aid,  
To those by whom I was a Prisoner made.  Fer. 
You with the same devotion are detained,  
As Heaven with Prayers and Incense oft is chained,  
Who seldom frowns on a devout offence,  
And ne'er chastises sacred violence.  Cor. 
What is't I hear? his love too generous grows,  
And like rash Valour doth itself expose  
To mighty dangers which it can defeat,  Aside. 
And from which Honour suffers no retreat.  
These trifling follies Sir you may forbear,—  To Ferd. 
Your Kingdom rather does require your care.  
And if your Cause and Title Sir, are just,  
You may your Life and Crown to Heaven intrust;  
Whom in your aid I often shall implore,  
And in my state you can expect no more.  Exit Cor. Syl. Gonsalv. Fer. 
Are they too trifling? Yes fair Queen, with you,  
Who those tormenting follies never knew;  
How shall I bear this pang? it is above  
My strength t'endure, or courage to remove.  Enter a Messenger in haste. 1. Mes. 
Your army Sir, with high impatience waits  
Your presence, whilst the French approach the Gates.  Enter a second. 2. Mes. 
The Crowds once more, Sir, are rebellious grown,  
Threatening to let the French into the Town.  Fer. 
Let City, Army, Kingdom, perish all,  
And share in their unhappy Monarch's fall;  
Insulting love will no compassion learn,  
And nothing else is worthy my concern.  
But since the fair Cornelia will be gone,  
I'll guard her hence, and hast to be undone.  
And see her Admiral—  Enter Gonsalvo. 
Your Fleet convey,  
From hence no longer for my Orders stay.  Gon. 
y'oblige us, Royal Sir, with your consent:  
But we are still confined; for since I went,  
A Fleet of Galleys rowed in with the Tide,  
And fill the Harbour's mouth on every side.  
And the Admiral that doth his Flag advance,  
In his main top displays the Arms of France.  Fer. 
Ha! from my enemies shall I receive  Aside. 
That kindness which the Queen disdains to give.  
The powers of all mankind shall ne'er detain  
Those Glories here my service cannot gain.  
Remain a while I will your passage clear,  
I'll send to Sea, and first I'll fight 'em there.—  Exit Gons. Ferdinand is going out, and is met by Ascanio, who enters in haste. Asc. 
Ah! Sir, with speed this traitorous Town forsake,  
And to some place of strength yourself betake.  
The false Trivultio to the French is fled,  
And hath some Thousands of your army lead.  
The Citizens within once more rebel,  
And your Guards side with those whom they should quell.  
And whilst we wait your Orders to engage,  
City and army both are in a rage;  
Nay, seek your life, and are resolved to buy  
With their King's blood the Kingdom's liberty.  Ferd. 
How? with my blood the Rebel's safety bought?  
The slaves dare die, ere entertain that thought.  
No, (my brave friend!) let not thy Loyalty  
Betray thy Soul into kind fears for me.  
Army and Rebels both shall at the sight  
Of me  
Fear their own thoughts, and shall not dare but fight.  
As for Trivultio, if Charles is brave,  
From him he'll the rewards of Treason have:  
If not, let Charles and all the Traitors join,  
'Twill from his Glory take and add to mine.—  Exit Enter Charles, Trivultio, and Guard. The Scene a fair Country before Naples. Ch. 
And is my fame so little in this place,  
Thou dar'st adventure on an act so base?  
I thought my deeds my temper might have shown,  
And that my Character was better known;  
But thou in malice wouldst be entertained,  
To stain the many Laurels I have gained;  
Thy King despairing to preserve his Crown,  
Would thus by arts make War on my renown.  Tri. 
Sir, I came here on no such false design;  
Nor is that Monarch any King of mine:  
Though I have served that Kingdom twenty years,  
But of that long apprenticeship appears  
No fruit, but loss of blood and many scars,  
And some small fame got by success in Wars.  
And now grown old and poor, if I desire  
To serve some other Monarch or retire,  
May ned I my service as I please bestow?  
Hard fate of Soldiers if it must be so.—  Ch. 
And hadst thou such a low esteem of me.  
That I would entertain thy Villainy?  
And doth thy Mercenary Treason dare  
Thy fortunes with the falls of King's repair.  
If from that service did no profit spring,  
It was reward enough to serve a King;  
And for a King 't had been a Soldier's pride,  
For no reward but glory to have died:  
But since for gain, thoust to my banners fled,  
Thy Treason I'll reward, and send thy head  
To Ferdinand,— unless thou dost from hence  
Withdraw thy Troops, and fight in his defence.  Trivultio goes out, and enters in haste, the D. of Orleans. Lew. 
Sir, they have made a sally from the Town,  
And all the force they have is pouring down.  
The fierce young King doth in the head appear,  
Dispensing death, and slaughter every where,  
And what success he finds he doth pursue,  
Through all your Squadrons, Sir to seek out you.  Enter Mompensier. Mom. 
The enemy, Sir, doth your Guards assault,  
And all those men that lately did revolt,  
Repent their Crimes, and do your Guards betray,  
Whilst through your Troops King Ferdinand cuts his way.  Ch. 
Go Sacrifice the Villains at my feet,  
Let 'em my anger feel; whilst I go meet  
The brave young King, and since he's hither flown,  
Afford him yet one trial for his Crown.—  Ex. am.  

The Third Act.  The Scene of the Field continues. Enter Trivultio and an Officer. Tri. 
No hopes my ruined honour to regain!  Off. 
No hopes! your men are either fled or slain!  Tri. 
This was the ambush of some cursed star,  
That envied all the fame I got in war.  
Both Kings disdain me, and I've lost the day,  
And all my hopes,— my fame's damned every way.  
One scorns my Sword: The other my defence,  
Charles slights my aid, Ferdinand my penitence.  
But ah! there's yet some hopes on yonder Hill  
I see King Ferdinand's banners waving still.  Off. 
And I descry on yonder rising ground,  
A Prince with armed throngs encompa'st round.  
And Lion like he strives to get away,  
Or make the Hunters to become the prey.  
By all that at this distance I can see,  
By Habits, Plumes, and courage it is he.  
Here's one that can inform us.  Enter a second Officer. Tri. 
Where's the King.  2. Off. 
Lost without aid,— encompassed with a Ring  
Of hot French Cavalry, in yonder Grove,  
Where for defence he did his Troops remove;  
Finding his passage to the Town opposed,  
And now with all their Troops he is enclosed.  Tri. 
The King is safe, for to his aid I come,  
With these few Troops I'll yet reverse his doom.  
And now the bloody fate of Charles is near,  
And see, the valiant Prince of Salerne here.  Enter Prince of Salerne. Tri. 
Welcome thou fate of Kings! what power divine  
Sent thee to raise thy own renown and mine.  
Our stars are penitent! In yonder shade  
They've Laurels for us hid in ambuscade,  
To Crown us if we bravely fetch 'em thence.  
Both Kings have there referred their great pretence,  
To our decision, as we please we may  
Give Crowns, and rule the fortune of the day;  
And Kings destroy or save,— Lets e'er we go,  
Resolve on which we Naples will bestow.  Sal. 
On neither— On myself.  Tri. 
I do agree.—  Sal. 
They are both equally contemned by me;  
Nor do I fight to give 'em Crowns, but Tombs,  Tri. 
They both shall die; we will decree their dooms;  
We'll fall on Charles to raise our sinking fame,  
And save young Ferdinand for an aftergame.  Sal. 
Pursue thy fortune, I'll destroy or save,  
As I, and not as Men or Gods would have.  
In the high chase of fame, I'll not be shown  
What way to take, but will pursue my own.  
I hate both Kings and firmly have decreed,  
Both by my Sword successively shall bleed.  
But in the field, I'll a brave death afford  
To Charles, who seems most worthy of my Sword:  
The other is by fortune brought too low,  
His life, on Isabel, in pity I'll bestow.  Exit. The Scene is drawn, and there is presented a thick Grove filled with Armed men, Battalions surrounding it at a distance out of which comes Ferdinand and Ascanio with a party. Ferd. 
All the remainder of my Army gone  
And left me in this high exigent alone?  Asc. 
Sir, they are all revolted, slain or fled,  
Mixed with the French, the Rebels or the dead.  Fer. 
Then I perceive  
I've tempted my high destiny too far,  
Wading too boldly in the depths of War;  
And 'tis but Valour's Heresy to fly,  
At mysteries of fame that are too high.  
And Monarchs though high Priests of fame they be,  
Have not in arms Infallibility.  
But if I have erred in courage, 'tis to you  
My brave Ascanio, all the blame is due.  Asc. 
To me Sir!  Ferd. 
Yes, thou, foughtest with so much flame,  
Thou mad'st thy Monarch jealous of his fame;  
Rushing where ere I could most danger see,  
Only in honour to outrival thee.  Asc. 
I only fought in duty Sir, to bear  
Off all those wounds you sought some little share.  Ferd. 
In this thy King thy Courage disapproves;  
Thou ought'st to save the man, thy Monarch loves.  
And not so easily expose to ●ate,  
What Monarchs value at the highest rate.  Asc. 
Subjects or Kingdoms are but trifling things,  
When laid together in the scale with Kings.  Ferd. 
In this despair what shall's resolve upon,  
To stay or cut our passage to the swoon.  Asc. 
Sir, their whole Army doth the Grove surround,  
All we can do, is to maintain our ground.  Ferd. 
Why are they at a stand, and make us stay,  
Guarded like hunted Lions at a Bay.  Off. 
'Tis said their King commands 'em to forbear,  
He saith your person is too great a share  
For common Swords, a purchase so Divine  
As a King's due, to's own he doth design,  
And see he comes!—  Enter Charles, Lewis, Momp. and Guard. Ferd. 
'Tis he! stand by me all!  
In this great hour shall France or Naples fall.  Charles stops, and views Ferdinand. Ch. 
Ha! my fierce enemy thus left alone,  Aside. 
And by wild fortune at my mercy thrown.  
Me thinks a braver man I have not seen,  
He views his fate, with an undaunted mien;  
And with such pride maintains his fatal ground,  
As if my Army came to see him Crowned  
Heaven! That I could recall that fatal breath,  
Which rashly swore so brave a Prince's death.  Ferd. 
Ha! is this he that must enjoy my Throne,  Aside. 
Ye Powers! your favours have been well bestown:  
Could I have chose the Prince that must invade  
My Throne, no other choice I would have made;  
Scorning that any Prince less brave than he,  
Should e'er aspire to be my enemy.  Ch. 
King Ferdinand your fate hath been severe,  
Through all my Squadrons to conduct you here  
With feigned successes to deride your Sword,  
And then no safety to your life afford;  
For now you must with speed your Sword resign,  
Else as I've won your Crown your life is mine.  Ferd. 
My fate in this what I desired hath done,  
Here I enjoy the conquest I have won,  
And here triumph, and whilst I this retain,  Shows his Sword. 
Our lives and Crowns on equal terms remain;  
But by the care you of my life have shown,  
You seem to doubt the safety of your own.  
Glad if I would this dangerous Sword resign,  
Which threats your life, whilst you are begging mine.  Ch. 
King Ferdinand, 'twere more generous to spare  
These haughty words to him, who shall forbear  
To use his Sword on one he can chastise,  
And tread on him, who at his mercy lies.  
Were y in the head of Armies you should see,  
In half this time I'd try your gallantry;  
But for that high contest your brought too low,  
And now say what you will, I'll pity show.  Ferd. 
How pity me! whence does this baseness spring,  
To talk of Childish pity to a King?  
King's falls are glorious like the setting Sun,  
And Crowns are splendid when they are trampled on;  
And since this secret is to thee unknown,  
Thou meritest not the glory of thy own.  
And for the blasphemy thy Tongue has said,  
To revenge Kings I'll snatch it from thy head.  Ch. 
Are you some God that you can wonders do?  Ferd. 
Can none but Gods the mighty Charles subdue?  Ch. 
That humane valour must be strangely great,  
Whose single Sword whole armies can defeat.  Ferd. 
You'll to the refuge of your Army fly!  Ch. 
A King may shun an angry Deity;  
But valiant Ferdinand, do not tempt your fate,  
Let's find some way to end this high debate:  
Princes like you unfortunately brave,  
It is my glory to oblige and save.  Ferd. 
If you're inclined to end this fatal strife,  
And return home in safety, beg your life.  Ch. 
I must not this high insolence forgive,  
heavens'! He'll not suffer me to let him live.  Aside. 
A generous pity long has held my hand;  
But my wronged fame does now your life demand.  
Though 'gainst my glory you have nought to stake,  
Yet of these odds I'll no advantage make;  
But end the warlike game I have begun,  
And for this Crown which I have fairly won.  
Here in the face of the whole Kingdom fight,  
And till the combats done, disclaim my right.  Asc. 
Rather than tribute pay to his renown,  
Sir, let us force your passage to the Town.  Ch. 
Yes, you shall die, for I have sworn—  
Who e'er I find possessed of Naples Crown  
Shall die, if of the house of Arragon.  
This vow I in my father's life time made,  
When I decreed this Kingdom to invade.  
Nay, and this Sword,—  
Was then made sacred to the high design  
Of rooting out the Arragonian Line,  
And now you die, and die by none but me,  
Out of respect to Kingly dignity.  Ferd. 
If you have made that vow  
To your dead father, and the Powers above,  
Employ your Army lest you perjured prove;  Ch. 
Let fall your braving Vein, lest all that hear,  
Suspect y' endeavour to disguise your fear.  Ferd. 
My fear!— Wert thou a god I would not bear  
So rude a word, and none that mortal be  
Shall dare to think it.—  Ch. 
Now I find you're brave;  
But after all, mayn't I your friendship have.  Ferd. 
Yes, Charles I give it thee, and as to him,  
Whom only upon Earth I can esteem:  
And if thy Valour dooms me not to live,  
I freely shall thy generous Sword forgive,  
And die thy friend, and thank the heavens' and thee;  
For my brave fate, and braver enemy.  Ch. 
Let's with embraces then my valiant friend,  
Begin that friendship which too soon must end.  Lew. 
The King too grand excess of honour shows.  Charles and Ferdinand embrace. Mom. 
He doth, but yet I dare not interpose.  Asc. 
Can there no way be thought on to unite  
These two great rival Monarchs, ere they fight,  
Whose sacred blood that must profusely flow,  
Out-values all the Crowns the Earth can show.  Ch. 
Command my Troops some distance to remove:  To Momp. 
And let my Guards of Horse surround the Grove,  
On pain of death let not a man presume  
To interpose, what e'er may be my doom,  
And if my fortune does my fall decree,  
Pay him the Loyalty you owe to me.  Lewis and Momp. go out. Ferd. 
With what large Wings his glory takes her flight,  
And leaves my fainting honour out of sight.  The two Kings are preparing to fight, and are interrupted by a noise of Arms without, and Mompensier reenters. Mom. 
Great Sir, a noise of arms from yonder Hill,  
Doth all your Squadrons with disorder fill.  Ch. 
Hast, meet 'em with my Troops, whilst we conclude,  
ere these new fighters on our ground intrude  Enter Lewis in haste. Lew. 
Sir, from the vaults of yonder spreading Wood,  
O'th' sudden opes new Scenes of War and blood,  
Their rallyed Troops new courages display,  
And demand back the triumphs of the day.  
Some th'old revolted General does head;  
But the most daring are by Sallerne lead:  
He and the General unite their Force,  
And break through all your Pikes and Guards of Horse.  Ferd. 
Shall I my Crown to slaves and Rebels owe?  
villains!  Proffers to go out and is stayed by Charles. Ch. 
Hold valiant friend! I beg you stay!  Ferd. 
Your life's in danger Sir; with this delay.  Ch. 
And so is yours, those horrid slave's design,  
No doubt, to take your life as well as mine;  
For all their rage from desp'ration springs,  
And they hate all that bear the name of Kings.  Ferd. 
My Sword shall teach 'em what to Kings they owe,  Ch. 
Rather that duty to my Troops allow.  Ferd. 
Perhaps 'tis more than all your Troops can do,  
Rather I'll put, and save your Troops and you.  Ch. 
Fear not, my Army can their force withstand.  Fer. 
And I'm their King, and can the slaves command.  Ch. 
You may command 'em then, leave me to fight.  Fer. 
You 've had your turn t'oblige, now 'tis my right,  
which you in justice ought not to invade.  Ch. 
We shall contend till we are both betrayed.  Fer. 
My Sword shall from that danger set you free,  
The glory of your deaths designed for me;  
But now your life in honour I'll defend,  
Till we with equal fame our high debate shall end.  Exit. Ch. 
End it you shall, for I'll perform my vow;  
But 'll'le not take your life till glories shall allow:  
Till then this little friendship I'll receive;  
But 'll'le protect your life, without your leave.  
Go aid the King, and cut the Rebels down,  
Then with my Army guard him safe to Town.  To an Officer. Lew. 
He may get safe to Town, but Sir I fear  
He will but small security find there;  
For trembling Naples of your arms afraid,  
On their high walls your banners have displayed,  
Willing to pay you the allegiance due  
To the Crown of France, and own no King but you.  Ch. 
Sir, you mistake, 'tis to my Sword that they  
All their submission and allegiance pay.  
Those who are raised to glorious heights of power,  
The Vulgar with implicit faith adore,  
Whilst noble spirits oft dispute too late,  
And so become the Martyrs of the state.  
I'll go receive the Town in my command,  
punish the Traitors, and save Ferdinand.  
Lest he mistaken to their refuge fly,  
And by some base Mechanic Villain die.  Exit. The Scene changes to a Room in the Palace. Enter Julia and Irene. Jul. 
You see how all my follies I declare!  
Oh, do not trust 'em to the moving air;  
For here I kneel, and vow if e'er they're known,  
I'll kill myself, and will the truth disown.  Iren. 
Why so, is't such a vile and abject thing,  
To love a youthful Conqueror, and a King?  
'Tis generous love, and shows your courage high,  
That you disdain for less than Kings to die.  Jul. 
I but to love a shape, a flying thought,  
A dream, an Image in the fancy wrought!  Iren. 
'Twas strange indeed! but oh! I long to hear  
In what bright shape this vision did appear.  Jul. 
'Twas late last night,—  
When various noises flew in every room  
Throughout the Palace, crying, Charles is come;  
And with the mournful sound of news so bad,  
All Eyes were weeping, and all hearts were sad;  
I to my apartment went.  Iren. 
And so did I  
To such misfortunes, who could tears deny?  Jul. 
Where for a while contending with my fears,  
My Soul o'er flowed with grief, my Eyes with tears,  
My Heart with love, my Courage with disdain,  
My tongue with prayers and vows, my head with pain,  
My mind with Charles's Glory and Renown,  
Oppressed with all these weights, I laid me down,  
And listened to a gentle slumbers call,  
Which hushed the noise, and reconciled 'em all.  Iren. 
And whether then did gentle sleep entice  
Your wandering thoughts?  Jul. 
To a fair Paradise  
Planted with bright abodes for Heavenly Powers,  
Shaded with pleasant Groves, perfumed with flowers,  
Cooled with soft winds, which gently walked the round,  
Still dancing to their own Harmonious sound,  
And to each Grove and Palace did repair,  
And as they danced fanned Odours through the air.  Iren. 
From these abodes the shadow did appear?  Jul. 
Yes; in a shape too bright for mortal Eyes to bear,  
From his fair brows the glories of a Crown,  
Like dazzling streams of day came flowing down,  
To pay their shining tribute to his Eyes,  
And then rebounding with more Glory, rise  
In his stern looks, beauty and courage strove,  
Both threatning War, and yet inviting Love  
In all his Stature, Beauty, Garb and Mien,  
Something so charming, and divine was seen;  
Revelling gods might in those beauty's play,  
Or dress themselves on some triumphal day.  Iren. 
Oh! I am charmed! heavens' I can hear no more,  
And did you not the Godlike shape adore?  Jul. 
In a soft qualm, I fell upon my knees,  
Fainting with love and dying by degrees,  
My sinking Spirit ready to withdraw;  
Which when (me thought!) the Royal shadow saw,  
With a soft voice he cried, see, see, she dies,  
And gently came, and kissed my closing Eyes.  Iren. 
Oh Heavens! that I could such a vision see,  
Or dreaming so, dream to Eternity.  Jul. 
Then raised with words and kisses so divine,  
Me thought he clasped his Royal hand in mine,  
And in my rapture lead me all along,  
O'er flowery Greene's, and through a Martial throng,  
To a fair Temple in a shady Grove,  
Where Pilgrims visited the shrines of love,  
Without 'twas all beset with shades of night,  
Within bespangled with Celestial Light,  
Me thoughts I sighed!  Iren. 
But sure you would not wake,  
You would not such a pleasant dream forsake.  Jul. 
Not till a sacred Priests by his commands,  
Had at a Crystal Altar joined our hands.  Iren. 
Love courted you, disguised in Masquarade;  
But yet  
How came this Mask within your fancy played,  
Where no Machine's of love before were brought,  
To move and raise the pleasant Scenes of thought?  Jul. 
I had been frail before, I oft had sat,  
And heard my sister Isabel relate  
The glories of that King:— Had seen his Picture too,  
And my heart snatched new flames at every view:  
But see! Euphemia comes, and in her eyes  Enter Euphemia. 
Discovers grief, and in her mien surprise.  
Ah! thy unhappy Message quickly say.  Euph. 
Madam undone the King has lost the day,  
And now distressed, and by his foes subdued,  
is by his own rebellious slaves pursued.  Jul 
Oh Heavens! where will my Royal Brother fly!  Euph. 
Heaven knows! this cursed City does deny  
To save their King, nay, rather are at strife.  
Which way they shall dispose his sacred life.  Jul. 
Oh cursed Traitors! Oh I faint with fear.  Exit. Iren. 
Be not disturbed so much at what you hear,  
Angels will be his guard:— But see the Queen.  Enter Isabel, Cornelia, Portia, Sylvia 
I fear she is preparing to to be gone.  Euph. 
All her retinue Madam left the Town  
Some hours ago.  Exit. Iren. 
That I had left it to, when first I came,  
Or going now could leave behind this flame.  Aside. Isab. 
How, not a Letter not a Message yet,—  Aside. 
From the proud King, doth he my name forget?  
Unconstant Charles! thoust made my Honour bleed,  
To take thy life were an Heroic deed.  Cor. 
The Duchess highly doth her state resent,  
Her Soul is filled with haughty discontent.  Isab. 
Madam, my grief is troublesome I fear,  
I beg your pardon if I leave you here,  
My sorrow doth a share on you impose,  
And sorrows flattered more imperious grows.  Por. 
My Princess is disturbed, and I perceive  
For what it is, her swelling heart doth grieve.  Isab. 
Portia, the Jewels which from France I brought  
And those were sent from thence let 'em be sought.  Exit. Por. 
Madam they shall.  
I thought from whence this mighty grief did spring, Aside Exit Por.  
She does resent th' unkindness of the King.  Cor. 
Now to allay her sorrows she is gone,  
I have got freedom to discourse my own.  
Ah! Ferdinand how much I pity thee;  
And thought my kindness thou shalt never see,  
To my own bleeding heaart is sadly known,  
Those pains which honour now forbids to own.  
Unhappy storm that did me here convey,  
And saved my Fleet, but cast my heart away.  Enter Ferdinand, Ascanio, and Gentlemen with drawn Swords, vizarded, and muffled in their Cloaks, at their entrance the King and Ascanio fling off their Cloaks and visards. Cor. 
But see! the King is here! and in disguise,  
All his own Gates afraid of a surprise.  Ascanio discourses with Irene 
And now my last and fatal hour is nigh,  
Which will my love and all my couragetry.  Ferd. 
Madam, my fate hath my hard Sentence past,  
And now I come to offer up my last  
Devotion to the shrine which I adore,  
And where perhaps I ne'er shall offer more;  
For all those glories I am doomed to lose,  
Which might my high aspiring flame excuse:  
But now uncrowned, I must no more pursue  
The envied glory of adoring you.  Cor. 
Sir, since you first was pleased to talk of love,  
You know I all occasions did remove,  
From treating wi'you, on a design so vain,  
Which I in honour ne'er could entertain;  
For though as Sovereigns we equal are,  
And so you had no reason for despair;  
Yet as a Widow Queen, that lately paid  
Her solemn sorrow to the Royal shade  
Of her dead Lord, I surely must reprove,  
All new addresses of a second love.  Fer. 
These orms of sorrow may a while remain;  
But shall the dead over the living Reign?  
They in the other world their joys receive,  
Must we not share in this without their leave?  Cor. 
The dead but absent are, and out o' sight,  
Shall they for a short absence lose their right?  
If to you memory my tears were due,  
You would not have me be unjust to you.  
But—  
'Tis not my temper Sir, this may convince!  
T'insult at all o'er a dejected Prince.  Puts her Handkerchief before her face. 
No, Sir I've found a shelter in your Port,  
Respect from you, and honour in your Court.  
For which I would in gratitude restore  
Your ruined fortunes, were it in my power:  
But how can she support another's Throne,  
Who is deposed and banished from her own?  
A distressed Queen, who since the old King died,  
Have been too much oppressed on every side.  
The Egyptian Sultan's threating every hour,  
T'invade my Kingdom with their mighty power,  
And none to guard me from this threatened fate,  
But my good fathers, the Venetian state,  Ironice. 
Who wisely did adopt me in design,  
My falling Crown t'entice me to resign.  
Thither I go, forced by a fate so rude,  
To spend my days in pious solitude.  
Then, Sir since I shall never see you more,  
May Heaven your Royal family restore.  
And that I may a little grateful seem,  
You shall not want my prayers, nor my esteem.  Ferd. 
Ah Madam! now you show your generous mind,  
You pity most, where most distress you find.  
Your timely bounties succour the forlorn,  
When all his dying patience was outworn.  
I feel a pleasing ecstasy of joy,  
Which does all present sense of grief destroy.  
But ah! how soon will all my pain return,  
When I shall think I must for ever mourn?  
To air its Wings love takes a soaring flight,  
And then must fall in endless shades of night.  Enter a Gentleman in haste. Gen. 
The King! The King! You're lost Sir if you stay,  
The traitorous Rabble will your life betray;  
Or else in Chains your Royal person bring  
A Present to the new triumphant King.  Fer. 
Alas Poor men! It is no news to find  
Fear, driving all the Herds of lower mankind;  
The timorous Hare will o'er the Hunter's leap,  
When she's no other way for her escape.  
Could there no other means for safety be,  
These would betray their God as well as me.  Iren. 
And will you have poor wanderers in mind?  
No my Ascanio, when the fleeting Wind  
Has snatched us hence, my Soul may bid adieu  
To this fare Shore, to hopeless love and you.  Asc. 
D'ye think I will commit a Crime so great?  
Can humble Votaries their Saints forget,  
To whose fair Images they hourly pray,  
Whose adored shrines they visit every day?  
My dear, my fairest Saint, to think of thee  
Shall all my pleasure and devotion be:  
But why should we despair to meet again?  Iren. 
Yes, we may meet, but Heaven knows where or when!  Asc. 
Then you may stay behind.  Iren. 
And you may go!—  Asc. 
What to forsake my King? That were below  
The faithful Subject I have ever been.  Iren. 
And 'twere as bad for me to leave my Queen;  
But when I'm gone I shall lament in vain,  
Your Heart some happier love will entertain.  
I die to think!—  Asc. 
By all that's good I swear!  Iren. 
Oh my imperious grief I cannot bear!  
New pangs and sorrows do besiege my heart,  
Like those of death,— when Soul and Body part.—  Asc. 
She swoons!—  She swoons in his Arms. Ferd. 
I now like tortured Souls look up with pain,  
On joys of Angels which I can't obtain.  
They from those Visions fly to deep despair,  
And I from joys of love to Blood and War;—  Aside. 
For if from friends I any aid can find,  
In some brave death I'll ease my wounded mind.  
Come Madam, since my heavy doom is past,—  To Cor. 
As men condemned to Execution hast,  
To ease their Souls of weight they cannot bear  
Of griefs unknown, which more than death they fear;  
So give me leave to haste those joys away,  
Which are but torment whilst they vainly stay.  
And thus that wealth I to the winds restore  
They lent awhile, and ne'er will lend me more.  Ex. am.  

ACT IU.  The Scene the Town of Naples, and enter Prince of Salerne and Trivultio, muffled in their Cloaks, and disguized. Sal. 
HOw? March in pomp, and triumph through the Town,  
Whilst I that name, which threatened Kings disown?  
Must I be buried thus alive, whilst he  
Advanced by Fortune's servile flattery,  
Marches in state to meet the haughty charms  
Of her I love, and revel in her arms?  
Damned be this tame disguise,— I will appear,  
And Charles from th' arms of Love and Fortune tear.  Tri. 
Hold, Let not Valour, Sir, your life betray;—  Sal. offers to go. 
Nor demand debts which fortune cannot pay.  
I know his triumphs to your Sword are due;—  
But,—  Sal. 
But what? dost thou adore his fortune too?  Tri. 
How I adore it?— No Sir, cursed be he,  
That shall deny by any treachery  
To take that life he to our Swords does owe;  
When fortune shall a fair occasion show:  
But I'd not done my Stars when they are poor,  
And so gain nothing but enrage 'em more.  Sal. 
If Bankrupt fortune's poor, I'll fall on those,  
On whom profusely she my wealth bestows.  
Charles has my Mistress, does my triumphs wear,  
My wealth's in's hands, and I'll arrest it there.  
I'll kill him,  
Only to let th' imperious woman see  
The arrogant folly of disdaining me.—  Offers again to go. Tri. 
Hold, since you'll go!— let us our fortunes join,  
I'll share i'th' glory of this great design;  
Besides th' revenge to my lost fame is due,  
I've some concerns of love as well as you.  
For Julia, I a long hid flame have born,  
Though I've suppressed it;—  
Knowing too well the Arragonian scorn,  
Who to my Sword have paid so small regard,  
they thought their service was its own reward.  
But now 'll'le clear the scores another way;  
Her beauty all my old arrears shall pay.  Sal. 
She's thine! there's nothing shall be left undone,  
That may bring down the pride of Arragon.  Tri. 
Let's go then, whilst our raging blood does boil,—  
Whilst the French Guards, wearied with this days toil,  
Dispersed in quarters to their rest betake,  
All but whom Lust or Wine may keep awake;  
Whilst they in pleasure, or repose engaged,  
Our friends alarmed and the Town enraged,  
We'll go to th' Palace in secure disguise.  Sal. 
No more!— I scorn to kill him by surprise!  
What I'll attempt, I'll do in open day,  
And let his Guards and Genius stop my way:—  
Then if I live or die, destroy or save,  
Success or death will equally brave.—  Exit. Tri. 
This high ungoverned flame I must allay,—  
I seek revenge;—  
But then I'd seek it the securest way.  
But heavens'! Which way shall this great deed be wrought,  
My Soul is lost in a wild maze of thought!  
But yet 'll'le boldly on.—  
He who through dangerous ways does fate pursue,  
Must not the depths of precipices view:  
But with high courage, and a bold address,  
Spur on, and leave to fortune the success.—  Exit. The Scene changes to a Room of State. Enter Charles, Lewis, Mompensier, Guard. Ch. 
Gone to attend the Queen.—  Lew. 
To guard her hence!  Ch. 
What need of Guards, where there's no violence.  
Designed?—  Mom. 
He feared lest the Venetian Fleet  
Might from your Galleys some obstruction meet!  Ch. 
Going to serve a Queen, regain his Crown,  
To raise my Honour, and repair his own,  
Could he suspect my Fleet would stop his way?  
No,— rather all my Galleys shall convey  
The King to any port, where he intends  
To try his fortune, or has hopes of friends.  Lew. 
Going with those, whose masters have declared  
Themselves your Enemies, he justly feared  
Your anger Sir!—  Ch. 
He did!— That treacherous state,  
Has disobliged me at the highest rate,  
Have broke their faith with me, and out of fear,  
And envy to my rising glories here.  
Creep into Leagues, and private friendship's court,  
That I might fire their Galleys in the Port:—  
But since they attend the Queen—  
I'll spare their Galleys, and reprieve the doom  
Of that false state, till my returning home;  
But to the Queen—  
Command my Admiral that he honours pay,—  To an Officer, who goes out. 
And whilst she stays her orders to obey.—  Mom. 
But dares, great Sir, the false Venetian state  
Abuse your friendship?—  Ch. 
That we'll now debate!—  Charles seats himself, and enter a Secretary with Papers, and dispatches. Ch. 
Not only they,— but all  
Th' Italian Princes are in Council sat,  
Each fears to lose his little Coronet.  
Nay, by th' Intelligence I've now received,  
All Kings and states with my success are grieved,  
Doubting themselves, and knowing not how high  
Ambition raised, with victory may fly.  
Rome, Milan, Venice, Germany and Spain,  
With all the little Princes they can gain,  
Are all in bonds of strict alliance tied,  
To check (as they pretend) my growing pride,  
That I must now make war on half mankind,  
And gain that Empire which I ne'er designed.  Mom. 
Rome perjured too?  Ch. 
Yes, Venice, Milan, Rome,  
Agree to intercept my passage home,  
Are arming Frontiers, raising Troops with speed;  
Which the famed Duke of Mantua must lead,  
The great Gonzaga, one whose fame is high,  
And on his conduct they do all rely.  Lew. 
Sir, that an envious and Mechanic state,  
Whose Nature is, Crowned heads to fear and hate,  
A Prince's glory thus should undermine,  
I not admire;— but such a low design,  
That Rome should aid?—  Momp. 
And join with Sforza too,—  
A barbarous Prince, who did his hands imbrue,  
In his young Master's blood,— and basely made  
Our wars his opportunity, to invade  
His Life and Crown, and act his villainies!  Ch. 
That bloody Traitor Sforza I'll chastise!  
But now that Rome should join in league with these,  
When for his same had given me hostages,  
Enrages me!—  Lew. 
You must be times disperse  
These gathering Clouds that threaten storms so fierce.  Mom. 
First shake your Rods o'er th' Ecclesiastic Chair!  
That busy-headed priest, you must not spare.  
He is Heaven's Usher in the world's great School,  
Only to teach, for Kings have highest rule.  Ch. 
What 're his Office or Commission be,  
I'll make Rome know his duty now to me.  
He shall not baffle Kings, under pretence,  
With all Heaven's Laws his Office can dispense;  
He swore me faith! and if the power's divine  
'Slight their own honour, none shall sport with mine,  
Cousin of Orleans march to night away,  
With all my choicest men!—  Lew. 
Sir, one nights stay  
Your wearied men for rest would humbly crave.  Ch. 
Then let 'em short and gentle marches have:  
But move this evening, though you march not far;  
For expedition is the life of war!  Mom. 
Send not too many for your safety sake,  
Lest this rebellious Town advantage take.  
And what's so desperate as an angry slave,  
When by adventuring he revenge may have?  Ch. 
Leave fifteen thousand foot?— Your march direct  
To Rome— I'll follow and no time neglect.  Exact 
What, did you visit yet as I desired,  
The Duchess Isabel?  Mom. 
Sir, she retired  
To her apartment, and with haughty pride  
Retains her state, and Visitants denied.  Ch. 
Alas! she well might have that pride forborn,  
To one that values not her love or scorn.  
She that had such a Monarch in her Chain,  
Would a young petty rival entertain,—  
Makes me contemn the name of Royal slave,  
And slight the little wounds her beauty gave:  
But now we've settled all our grand affair,  
And the declining day begins to wear.  
His milder beams let's out, and taste a while  
The fresher air; for I with this days toil  
Am weary grown!—  Mom. 
The Gardens, Sir, are nigh,  
From hence they open to your prospect lie.  Charles and Mompensier go out, and the Scene is drawn, and a fair Garden is presented. Julia sitting as asleep in an Arbour; Euphemia waiting by. A Song within. Whilst the Song is sung, Charles and Mompensier enters, Charles gazes on Julia. 

The Song sung to Julia in the Garden.  

OH Love! if e'er thou'lt ease a Heart,  
That owns thy power Divine,  
That bleeds with thy too cruel dart,  
And pants with never ceasing smart;  
Take pity now on mine,  
Under the shade, I fainting lie!  
A thousand times I wish to die:  
ay ut when I find cold death too nigh,  
I grieve to lose my pleasing pain,  
And call my wishes back again.   

But thus as I sat all alone,  
I'th' shady myrtle Grove,  
And to each gentle sigh and moan,  
Some neighbouring Echo gave a groan,  
Came by the man I love.  
Oh! How I strove my griefs to hide!  
I panted, blushed, and almost died,  
And did each tattling echo chide,  
For fear some breath of moving Air,  
Should to his Ears my sorrows bear.   

Yet oh Ye Powers! I'd die to gain,  
But one poor parting Kiss!  
And yet I'd be on Wracks of pain.  
ere I'done Thought or Wish retain,  
Which Honour thinks amiss,  
Thus are poor Maids unkindly used,  
By Love and Nature both abused,  
Our tender Hearts all ease refused;  
And when we burn with secret flame  
Must bear our griefs, or die with shame.    Ch. 
I'm startled, see! What divine shape is there?  
Some Angel sure,— no mortal is so fair!  Mom. 
Some airy Vision does deceive our eyes.  Ch. 
Heavens! like a bright unbodyed Soul she lies  
Wrapped in a shape of pure Aetherial air,  
To some fair body ready to repair.  
Know'st thouwhom this bright shape resemblesmost?  Mom. 
None but the Princess Julia, Sir, dare boast,  
These Angel beauties—  
She to the duchess's apartment came,  
Whilst I was there, these beauties are the same.  Ch. 
The Princess Julia!  Mom. 
How his eyes are fixed!—  Aside. 
Sir:  
If any knowledge of your heart I learn,  
You view this lovely shape with some concern.  Ch. 
I do— and must acknowledge  
I feel within my heart a passion move,  
Like the soft pantings of approaching love.  
And if from war I could the leisure gain,  
Th' infinuating guest to entertain,  
My heart might be seduced by one so fair  
To love, and fix my roving passion there!—  
But to  
Remoter parts o'th' Gardens let's repair,  
To take breathe of the evening air.  They go out betwixt the Scenes, as into the Garden, and enter Salerne, and Trivultio followed by several,— all habited like the French Guards. Tri. 
So we've securely passed in this disguise,—  
Let's watch a fair occasion for surprise.  Sal. 
Surprise?— make an alarm,— for he shall die,  
Were all his Guards, and his whole Kingdom by.  Tri. 
But let us wait for the approach of night—  Sal. 
— Let night be damned,—  
I'll kill him now in Isabella's sight,  
That every wound I give him, she may feel;  
And when he's fallen by my revengeful Steel,  
She wild and raving, may his death bemoan,  
Tear out his bleeding heart and stab her own.  
See there,— He walks,—  Looks within the Scenes, Tri. 
Silence,— for Heaven's sake.—  Sal. 
Nor Heaven,—  
Nor Hell shall hinder the revenge I'll take,  
Were death'twixt him and me I would not stay.—  Goes out 'twixt the Scenes. To one of his followers. To a second Tri. 
Ye Powers he'll our designs and lives betray!  
Hast, let the Garden Avenues be barred,  
Before we give suspicion to the Guard.—  
Thou to the Postern run, where our men wait,  
On a sign given t'aid, as in our retreat,—  
Unlock it with this Key,— and then remove  
Part of our men, to th' private Myrtle Grove.  
Place 'em i'th' Grotto, by the dark descent,  
Where we may fly, if the French Guards prevent  
Our other passage! Heavens! what is't I see?  
The Princess here!— blessed opportunity!  
Now!— now's the time! you run and aid the Prince,  
You stay and help me to convey her hence!—  They go out several ways, Trivultio and a party towards Julia, who shrieks and runs off the Stage, crying, murder! At the same time clashing of Swords within is heard, and immediately enter Charles defending Julia, and pursued by Salerne, Trivultio and his party; Salerne beating down the Swords of Trivultio, and the rest. Sal. 
Vilanes retire! I don't your succours need,  
The Tyrant by my hand alone shall bleed!  Ch. 
Thou 'rt brave! who e'er thou art!  As Salerne and the rest are going about to assault Charles. Enter Mompensier and a Guard, rushing in on all sides of the Stage, Crying, Treason! and assist Charles, all assaulting Salerne, who with Trivultio are forced off the Stage by Charles and the Guard, after which Julia recovers herself from her surprise. Jul. 
Oh Heavens! in what confusions have I been,  
With what my heart has felt, my eyes have seen?  
Saved by the King? my ruined heart's betrayed,  
Into an ambush which my Stars have made.  
Punished for doting on an airy shape,  
My enslaved heart must never hope to 'scape!  Euph. 
Fate seems not  
By this surprise, your flame to disapprove,  
Rather exalts it to a generous love.  Jul. 
But all in vain.  Euph. 
A Princess young and fair!—  
Such youth and beauty's yours should ne'er despair  Jul. 
But when I love a Prince I ought to hate,  
What passion can be more unfortunate?  Enter Charles as from the Chase of Salerne, & c. Jul. 
But see, he comes!— my yielding spirits fly!  
Help me Euphemen!— or I faint,— and die!  Ch. 
Madam,! How much am I ashamed, you find  
Such barbarous treatment here, where I designed  
You withal Honour should be entertained?  
Giving commands, that whilst you here remained  
My slaves the same respect to you should bear,  
As if the King your father governed here.  
But since my guards—  
Did not this horrid villainy prevent,  
Your own fair mouth shall name their Punishment.  Jul. 
Sir, rather let  
Those slaves of ours (if they are fled) be sought,  
Who 'gainst your life have this bold Treason wrought;  
For Sir, the horrid villainy th'ave done,  
I know my Royal brother will disown.  
And punish too, if he had so much power.—  
And though from the obliging Conqueror,  
By all brave ways he will his Crown redeem,  
For this great act—  
He will his generous enemy esteem:  Ch. 
Ah, Madam! though by my unhappy fate  
I've been too much exposed to your just hate,  
And in pursuit of fame, have been betrayed  
To all those wars,—  
I with the house of Arragon have made.  
I now acknowledge I so vanquished am,  
That I for ever do renounce the name  
Of enemy,—  
And do repent the crimes my Sword has done,—  
And at your feet will lay the Crown I've won.  Jul. 
Sir, you know best your guilt or innocence,  
I shall not judge you for your wrong pretence.  
Let Heaven do that to whom our right is known:  
But if my Brother ere regain his Crown,  
The obligation, now on us you have laid,  
Shall be some generous way by him repaid.  As Julia is going, Charles proffers to lead her by the hand, which she seems to refuse, and withdraws her hand: At the same time enters Isabel. Isab. 
As from my close retitement I withdrew,  
Me thoughts wild noises from the Gardens flew,  
And horrid cries loud echoes did repeat.—  
Has the proud Tyrant some disaster met?  Discovers Charles leading Julia within the Scenes Isab. 
But ha! the Tyrant, and my Sister there!—  
Oh! cursed Vision quickly disappear!—  
I'll charm you, be you spirits bad or good,—  
I'll rend your shapes, I'll circled you in blood.  Julia goes,— and Charles turns, and seas Isabella. Ch. 
Ha!  
The Duchess Isabel!  Isab. 
Yes, Sir, 'tis I!  
I fear I have disturbed your privacy;  
If so (great Sir!) I do your pardon crave.  Ch. 
Madam, for that you need no pardon have,  
Since all the Palace is at your command!  Isab. 
I'm glad my liberty I understand;—  
But pray Sir,—  
On your fair Princess to'r apartment wait,  
This kindness then, we farther will debate.  Ch. 
Madam,— your council I do well approve;  
But none need teach me—  
What duty I should pay to those I love!  Isab. 
Thou lov'st!— Immortal powers! with unmoved brows  
Dar'st thou relate, how thou contemnest thy vows!  Ch. 
The vows  
To Isabel of Arragon I made,  
To Millane Duchess ought not to be paid.  Isab. 
But Millane injured Duchess shall chastise  
Th' inconstant Prince, that dares her love despise.  
Heavens! thou inflam'st me to so great a rage,  
that nothing but thy blood shall it assuage.  Ch. 
Good Madam, what should this great passion mean?  
Is it because you have inconstant been,  
And now into a fit of rage are flown,  
To hide those faults which you disdain to own?  Isab. 
Tyrant I never did a crime commit.  
But when my heart did to thy love submit.  
Thy love? Thy hate! thy scorn! for which I now  
Would stab that heart which would so poorly bow,  
And with false Meteors so deluded be,  
But that I live to have revenge on thee.  Ch. 
Madam, first seek revenge on your own scorn.  
Which vainly slighted Crowns, you might have worn,  
And your preposterous pride, did in my stead,  
Advance a puny lover to your bed,—  
Whose little Coronet—  Isab. 
Preposterous pride!  Ch. 
Yes, when for Milan, France should be denied,  Isa. 
Thou firest my blood! I'm racked with grief and shame,  
Wouldst thou have had me stay, and court thy flame?  
Thy feigned addresses did not I receive,  
And for thy loitering flame in silence grieve;  
Waiting the motion of thy painted fire,  
Till modesty compelled me to retire?  
Then by a thousand differing passions lead,  
Was I not forced into that Prince's bed,  
By such commands I durst not disobey,  
And by distractions of more power than they?  
And now of him and all my friends bereft,  
The Kingdom lost, and no assistance left,  
Oppressed both by thy falsehood, and thy Sword,  
Dost thou such recompense as this afford?  Ch. 
Madam!  Isab. 
No more,— no more insulting Prince!  
Treat nor a Lady with this insolence!  
Is this your valour (mighty King!) t'oppress  
A poor afflicted Princess in distress?  
Go hide thy head with shame, and with some fear!—  
For know thy fall!— thy fall,— proud King, is near;  
thoust robbed me of all my friends,—  
Thou shalt not rob me of my courage too;  
I will do more than all our Troops could do,  
The glory of our house I'll yet regain,  
And all thy Laurels in thy blood I'll stain.  Exit. Ch. 
Alas poor Lady! I her pain perceive,  
She sees 'tis vain for her old scorn to grieve;  
And now to soften her remorslless fate,  
Flatters herself with pride, revenge and hate.—  
But see Mompensier here,  Enter Momp. 
And by his looks do some ill tidings bear.  Mom. 
Ah, Sir!—  
The bearer of ill news, I'm forced to be.—  
Not only the actors of this villainy  
Have scaped our hands, and made a safe retreat,  
But in the Harbour the Venetian Fleet.—  Ch. 
How! does my Admiral my orders slight,  
Or without leave dares he presume to fight,  
Or stop the Fleet,— His boldness I'll challise,—  
Fire on my Admiral from the batteries  
On him, and all my Galleys till they cease,  
And of King Ferdinand humbly beg for peace,  
Fire on 'em,— Hast.—  Mom. 
Alas! Sir, all's too late,  
Both Princes have already met their fate.  
The Queen— is lost.—  Ch. 
What wast thou saidst the Queen.—  Mom. 
Yes, Sir, her Galley in distress was seen  
Rowing to Land, burr ere it gained the Shore,  
Sunk in the Billows, and was seen no more.  Ch. 
Oh! fatal accident! which way shall I  
Make satisfaction for this villainy—  
To Heaven, and all that will her blood demand,  
And which is more to injured Ferdinand?—  Mom. 
Sir, 'twas the King himself did first engage,  
Fired with a haughty and ungoverned rage,  
To see his Fleet confined, and yours control  
The Shore along the Channel, and the Mole,  
And he must at your Admiral's pleasure stay,  
He sought through blood, and flame to make his way,—  
And had destroyed your Fleet,—  
Had not the news of the Queen's loss done more,  
Then Bullets could to save it from his power;  
For with the news he fell,— and with him—.  
Victory fell, his Galleys sunk with fear,  
And all his Scenes of triumph disappear;  
And fortune, whom his valour had constrained,  
Stole from his Sword, and liberty regained,—  
And now—  
After the wonders which his Sword had wrought,  
He is among guards ashore, a prisoner brought.  Changed 
A prisoner,— my Admiral dies for this!—  
With a strict guard ashore the villain bring!  To one that waits. 
Thou with a Train go meet the injured King,—  To Momp. 
Wait his commands, pay all submissions due  
To his high quality and valour too.  
Declare my innocence, his pardon crave,  
And whilst he stays, let him all honours have.—  Exit. Mom. 
With how much glory these two Kings contend,  
Each others generous enemy, and friend.  
My King  
To Ferdinand's Crown, and friendship does lay siege,  
And strives at once to conquer and oblige:  
But Ferdinand judges it a greater thing,  
To subdue Heaven and Fortune, than a King.  
But see! he comes,— and ha!—  Enter Ferdinand and Ascanio brought as Prisoners by the Guard. 
A weighty grief hangs on his Royal brow,  
His mighty Soul does to his sorrows bow!  Ferd. 
Cornella dead, what is't I have done!  
My fair Cornelia, whither art thou gone!  
Celestial shade! If yet there may not be  
Too many Clouds 'twixt my dark Soul and thee,  
Look down, and see my grief, and oh! forgive  
That fatal pride, which would not let thee live;  
But rather would to fate thy life expose,  
Then take one kindness from my conquering foes:  
I am thy murderer, and at my hand,  
(Fair Queen!) thou must thy guiltless blood demand;  
Nor shalt thou ask in vain, and be denied  
His wretched life by whom Cornelia died;  
Rather new torments for myself I'll find,  
And dying, beg the curse of all Mankind.  Mom. 
His sorrow does his Royal Soul oppress,—  Momp. beckons away the Guard 
That 'tis no time, I find for my address.  Asc. 
Now he begins his passions to disclose,  
And now, alas! I dare not interpose!—  Aside. Ferd. 
For the Queen's body let all search be made,  
And when she's found, and I've appeased her shade,  
Inter us in such decent state,—  
As may our Royal qualities become,  
And lay us both together in one Tomb.  
This kindness to thy care I recommend—  To Asc. 
The last, thou e'er shalt pay thy King and friend,  
To stoop to Charles my spirit is too high,  
Though if I asked it, he would not deny,  
That friendly act; for I have found him brave,  
And this is all the recompense I crave  
Of him, or of the angry powers above,  
For my lost Crown, and unsuccesful love.  Ex. am  

ACTU.  Enter Euphemia with a light, conducting Julia. Euph. 
OH Madam! Fly from hence, I've over heard  
Your Sister's dark designs, and now a Guard  
Of her own slaves, are coming here with speed,  
To bring you to her hands, alive or dead,  Jul. 
Oh Heavens! What shall I do?  Euph. 
This,— This way fly,—  
I'll show you where you may in safety lie,  
And overhear her talk aloud, and rave,  
And vow to Heaven, what deep revenge she'll have.  Ex. Several pass over the Stage, as in search of Julia: The Scene changes to Isabella's apartment, enter Isabel followed by the same that past over the Stage. Isab. 
How, fled? Then I'm betrayed,—  
Which on you Vilanes have this Treason wrought?  
I'll have your bloods if she's not quickly brought,  They go out 
But, Heavens, I see!—  
All Vermin from a falling Palace run,  
And love to sport in the warm rising Sun.  
Though I to flatter fate have stooped so low,  
To seek Trivultio's aid and Salerne's too.  
They now despise me,—  
And I who was obeyed adored by all,  
Must helpless stand, and see my Temples fall.  Enter Trivultio in disguise. Isab. 
Ha!— What creeping thing art thou?—  He discovers. Trivultio! 
— Dull leaden fellow!—  
Why hast thou tortur'd me with thy long stay,  
I've been on tedious wracks with thy delay,  
And wracks with less impatience I could bear,  
Were thy Troops mine, bright day should now appear,  
From the fired Town, which should in ashes lie,  
ere the least beam of day salutes the Sky,  
ere times least Atom Charles should be uncrownd!  
His murdered Guards in their own gore lie drowned!  
He at my feet, prostrate and bleeding lie,  
Begging vain pity from my scornful eye,  
His trembling spirit ready to depart,  
Tears in his eyes, my Dagger in his heart.  Tri. 
I stayed to prepare all things ere I came,  
And to'entice Salerne here with hopes of fame,  
And with much talk prevailed with him to come,  
And gave him Keys to the dark passage room.  
And Vaults through Which I came.—  Isab. 
What did you say  
Prevailed with him my orders to obey?  Tri. 
Yes Madam, for he now does proudly own,  
He values nought but glory and renown.  Isab. 
What, does he value glory more than me!  
Or can there any higher Glory be  
Then dying at my command?  
Go, kill the slave,— Let him the glory loose,  
Since he the ways of fame no better knows!  Tri. 
Yes,— when he's served your interests let him die;  
But with his pride, we must a while comply,  
Or rather with his fortune, since the Town  
Rebels and Bandits do his Interest own.  
For on the news,—  
That the French Troops were on their march from hence,  
Only some few, left for their King's defence.  
A Bandit came t'acquaint him.  
That fifty Troops under Vesuvius lay,  
Who might be here some hours ere break of day,  
And if he pleased would all their fellows bring,  
To murder the French Guards, and Crown him King,  Isab. 
To a slaves fortune must I humbly bow,  
What does the pride of fate subject me too?  Tri. 
Madam he comes,— command yourself awhile, Enter Sal.  
And soothe his passion with a seeming smile.  Isab. 
Salerne!— Though thou hast long a Rebel been,  
And all that's infamous,— Yet I have seen  
In thy attempts, a mind so bold and brave,  
That for thy courage some esteem I have!  
Not that I'll flatter or delude thy fate;  
For know thy birth I scorn, thy person hate:  
But yet thy flaming spirit I esteem,  
And would thy name from infamy redeem:  
And therefore out of pity do design,  
To honour thee with some commands of mine,  
provided still thou do submissive prove,  
And first repent thy bold ambitious love.  Sal. 
Was it for this you did entice me here,  
Only to let your insolence appear:  
I thought Your soaring spirit was brought down,  
T'express some sorrow for the pride you'd shown:  
But now since this is all,—  
Know I already do deserve your love,—  
And for esteem I not one step will move:  
And your commands I least of all regard,  
I serve myself, and will myself reward.  Isab. 
How! am I scorned?— Ho! kill the Traitor there,  
Shall I contempt from a proud Rebel bear?  Sal. is offering to go out, and is stopped and disarmed by several that rush upon him from between the Scenes. They proffer to kill him, and Trivultio interposes. Tri. 
Hold, Hold I say,— Ah. Madam! what d'ye intent!  
All our designs do on his Sword depend.  Aside to Isab. Isab. 
Did the whole Kingdom perish in his fall,  
To my revenge I'll sacrifice it all.  
Kill him,— Hold,— Does he not shake  
A● sight of death and the revenge I take.  
There's something in his Soul for greatness formed  
Which will not by ignoble fear be stormed.  
Go live,— but dare not so presumptuous be,  
To think of dying for thy King or me.  Sal. 
Yes, thy unjust revenge shall be pursued,  
In spite of thee, and thy ingratitude;  
For I my noble passion still retain,  
And still my firm unshaken self remain.  Exit. Isab. 
This fellow's brave—.  
Could fate th'impediments of birth remove,  
A Crown might make his passage to my love.  Tri. 
So Madam, now we've this great Spirit won,  
Our high designs are ended, e'er begun.  Isab. 
Pursue him straight, and manage him with care,  
And in the glory of my service share.—  Tri Exit. 
Now my impatient Soul is all on fire,  
To know if fate will flatter my desire.—  Enter Portia. 
Is the Magician whom I sent for come?  Por. 
Yes Madam,— all alone,— in a dark room,  
Hung round with horrors, and the shades of night;  
Which seems more horrid with the glimmering light  
Of the pale Moon, which through a crevice shines,  
Has sat this hour scoring o' mystic lines.  
Winds, Lightnings, whispers, sad and mourful groans,  
Soft voices melting into pleasant tones,  
Filled his dark Cavern, whilst as Magic spell  
Fettered my feet, and thrice into a swoon I fell.  
And see he comes.—  Enter Magician. Isab. 
Speak, speak thy news,— 'tis I thou tell'st it to,  
I who defy the utmost fate can do;  
For I am fixed as Heaven, whose high decree,  
May change my fortune, but not conquer me.  Mag. 
Madam your doom I dare not yet relate,  
Thick swarms of Spirits in Cabals are met,  
To read your Stars, whose counsels you shall know,  
When whispering winds do in my Caverne blow.  
Now all is still and silent.—  Isab. 
Quickly call  
Thy drowsy spirits from their dark Cabal,  
Whilst I their lazy constitutions wait,  
I might kill Kings, and overturn the state.  
Charles in his shadow to my view present,  
And what shall be this direful days event.  Mag. 
I wish that shade you'd not desire to see,  
I fear 'twill an unpleasing Vision be:  
But since it is your pleasure I'll obey,  
Then Madam in this Magic Circle stay.  
Leave not the bounds in which you are confined,  
And with firm courage fortify your mind.  Portia goes out, and the Magician begins his charm. Mag. 
Thou black familiar, who by firm compact,  
Art at all seasons bound my will to act;  
Whom I with fat of strangled infants feed,  
And for thy thirst let my Veins freely bleed:  
Whom I for thrice seven years by name have known,  
And when as many more are past and gone,  
Must lead my soul to that infernal Cell,  
Where thou; and all thy fellow Spirits dwell.  
Arise!— and in an airy Vision show  
What must befall this Prince, to whom  
Our conquered state does bow.  There arises a Spirit, and immediately the Scene is drawn, and the supposed shapes of Charles and Julia are presented; Royally Habited, and seated on Chairs of State, at their feet several Masquers; and near the Chairs the Music in White Robes, and Laurels on their Heads. A Chorus of Voices and loud Music heard. The Duchess seems much disturbed at the Vision, and with a naked Poniard moves towards the shapes, but is stopped by the Magician, whilst at the same time one of the Masquers touches her with a White Wand, at which she seems to fall into a slumber, and is placed on a Chair by the Magician: Then the Masquers rise and dance; after a dance the Spirit descends, and the Scene closes. 

The Song of Spirits sung to Isabel as she sits asleep.  

THey call! They call! What Voice is that?  
A I ady in despair,  
Whose Tears and Sorrows come too late,  
Her losses to repair.  
By too much Pride I've lost a Heart,  
I languish to regain:  
And yet I'd kill the man I love,  
ere own my fond disdain.  
Some gentle Spirit show the fate  
Of him I love, but feign would hate.   

In vain! In vain! thou seek'st our aid,  
Thy passion to remove;  
For see, alas! The sad events  
Of thy too Tragic Love.  
See! See! The Crown thou diast disdain  
Another brow must wear,  
Then sigh and weep no more in vain,  
But die in deep despair.  
May this be all proud Beauty's fate,  
Still to repent their pride too late.   

When Kings like Gods descend to woe,  
They must not be denied:  
Nor may fond beauties damn themselves  
To please a Moment's pride.  
Beauty was made by th' Powers above,  
Monarchs to entertain.  
No greater duty is then love,  
Nor sin then proud disdain.  
Thou than who durst a King deny,  
Hast from his sight, despair and die.    Mag. 
Her Soul's retired,— I'll steal away,  
And leave her wrapped in sleeps soft arms,  
And e'er the first approach of day,  
End my unfinished charms.—  Exit. The Madge, goes out, and immediately enters the Ghost of Young Galeazzo, Duke of Milan, with a Cup of Poison in his hand. The Ghost passes over the Stage, at which Isabel starts and wakes, as in a fright. Isab. 
Ha! What pale thing art thou?— and whither fly  
Me thought I saw young murdered Millane shade  
Walk by in mournful state, and as it went,  
With a sad look expressed its discontent.  
In what dark shade his my lost spirits been,  
Where in wild shapes I've death and horror seen.  
But they are liars all, nor shall defeat  
My injured Soul of a revenge so great.  The Ghost reenters. Isab. 
But ha! the ghastly shape appears again,  
My frighted blood retires from every vein;  
I am congealed at this pale Scene of death,  
And all my words are stifled in my breath.  
Speak,— What wouldst have?— Why dost appear to me?  
Who never wronged thy bed or memory,  
In one the least unkind, ungrateful thought;  
But to revenge thy blood all ways have sought;  
And now have on this tyrant past a doom,  
To be a Royal offering to thy Tomb.  Ghost. 
Cease thy fond thoughts,— for higher things prepare,  
Employ thy Soul in a more solemn care;  
For thou, who bidst my memory adieu,  
And dost thy vain revenge and love pursue,  
Shalt shortly sleep with me in that cold bed,  
Where I too early was by Treason lead,  
And all my guiltless blood revenged shall be;  
But not by Traitors, Rebels, nor by thee.  
Mean while (fond woman) thou dost vainly wait  
On hell's black arts, to know thy lover's fate,  
What joys he I have, what troubles undergo,  
Does not belong to Isabel to know.  
Mind not his fate, thy own is drawing nigh,  
Death hovers o'er thy head, prepare to die.  
Farewell awhile,— when thy last hour is come,  
I'll give thee one more summons to thy Tomb.  The Ghost goes out, and after some pause she seems to recollect her Spirits from their disorder. Isab. 
Ha! what cursed fiend art thou,  
That dost the shape of my dead Lord assume,  
T'accuse me wrongfully, and speak my doom.  
I de not have shaked at any other form,—  
And now I find I must expect a storm,  
A dark and heavy storm, Heaven will deny  
Success to my designs, and I must die.—  Weeps. 
But since my doom I now have understood,  
Naaples shall weep my fate in tears of blood;  
Fire, Blood, and slaughter, more than I can tell,  
Shall be the dying pangs of Isabel.  
My stormy life shall yet in glory end.  
And Charles, and Julia shall my fate attend.  
No pining Ghost shall leave his gloomy bed,  
To charge me with injustice to the dead;  
No Milan,—  
grudge not the love thy widow to him bears;  
For it shall cost him all the Crowns he wears.—  Exit. Enter Portia. Por. 
Oh, Heavens! to what a height her rage is flown,  
The world for her revenge must be undone.—  Exit. Enter Julia, Euphemia. Jul. 
Horrid! Art sure.  Euph. 
Why did you nothing hear.  Jul. 
Alas! thou sawst I often swoon with fear.  Euph. 
I heard it all,— and horrid noises too,  
That filled my ears, and round like whirlwinds flew:  
Then softly pined away, 〈◊〉 that I'm afraid  
They called up Troops of Devils to their aid.  Jul. 
Oh Heavens which way shall I this Monarch save;  
For oh! I never shall the courage have  
To tell it him and yet one hours' delay  
Would ruin him, and all our lives betray:  
But heark, I hear a noise i'th' Gallery,  A noise of trampling within. 
I think the King's abroad.  Euph. runs and peeps. Euph. 
Madam, 'tis he,—  Jul. 
Oh Heavens! What shall I do! I faint!— I die!  
Which way shall I from my own blushes fly,  
Which if I see him will disloyal prove,  
And by a thousand signs betray my love:  
But 'tis too late,— his danger I'll impart,  
And leave to th' mercy'f Heaven my fainting heart.  She walks to one side of the Stage, whilst Charles, Momp. and train enter. Ch. 
In her apartment various noises heard.  Momp. 
Yes, and two seen suspected by the Guard,  
To be the Rebel's Chiefs.—  Ch. 
And not detained?  Momp. 
The Guards, Sir, from all violence refrained,  
Whilst they in th' duchess's apartment stayed;  
And Sir, in that your own commands obeyed,  
But waiting for 'em till approach of day,  
By private avenues they scaped away.  Ch. 
The danger is not worthy my regard,  
Nor shall th' afflicted Lady be debarred  
From any pleasure, her unquiet mind  
In little plots, for her revenge can find.  Momp. 
— The Princess — Julia— Sir—  Ch. 
Ha, thoust awakened my late kindled flame,  
I owe devotion to that sacred name;—  
And see this way all her approaches are,  
As if I should for an address prepare.  
What fair and blessed occasion should it be,  
That drives her hither, and obliges me?  Jul. 
Great Sir, the Sister of King Ferdinand,  
Lately preserved by your victorious hand,  
Having this morning heard a fatal doom  
Past on your life, does now with blushes come,  
Thus early Sir, the Treason to prevent,  
And pay your Sword her just acknowledgement.  Ch. 
Madam.—  Jul. 
Nay, hast Sir hence;—  
For Traitors have against your life combined,  
Which for my brother's valour is designed,  
And do presume t'abuse his sacred name,  
To countenance the Treason we disclaim;  
And though, as right permits, we'll not refuse,  
In our own safety and just cause to use  
All generous ways our low estate affords,  
We would not have you die by common Swords.  Ch. 
What is't I hear, do my kind Stars take care  
To save my life and Crown by one so fair?  
Nay, and by her, whose beauty I have seen,  
With so much rapture that my Soul has been,  
In high displeasures with my treacherous fate,  
That by success betrayed me to her hate:  
But now my fortune in her own defence,  
T'appease my Soul, and make me recompense,  
That all her guilty smiles I might forgive,  
Finds ways by your commands to make me live.  Jul. 
Oh Heavens! I find my honour I've betrayed,  
I feared such ill requitals would be made:  
And therefore long did with myself contend,  
To let you die; but honour was your friend.  
And now your friend, which would so formal be,  
To repay favours to an enemy;  
And 'gainst a thousand blushes forced me on,  
Must suffer for the folly it has done.  And puts her Handkerchief before her eyes. Ch. 
Ah Madam! these resentments are severe,  
Must I in all a criminal appear?  
I but in humble words express the sense  
Of a Soul, wrapped in love and penitence,  
Grieved for past guilt, which it would fain remove,  
Oppressed by favours, and inflamed by love.  Jul. 
Oh Heavens! I feel within delightful pains—  Aside. 
Of joy and love, that shoot through all my Veins:  
But I new sorrows for my heart prepare,  
And lead myself into a pleasing snare.  
Sir, I perceive you ill constuctions make  
Of what I've done, only for honour's sake;  
But there's a pride peculiar to our blood,  
(Who ne'er till now misfortunes understood)  
That when we wrongs or kindnesses receive,  
We revenge both, and never can forgive.  
And now in that revenge  
My injured honour was content to bleed:  
But now we are from all obligements freed.  Exit. Ch. 
She's gone displeased,— but has such honour shown,  
And something so like love,  
That now my vanquished heart's entirely won.  An alarm within. 
Herk! the storm's begun,  
Hast! Hast! and guard her to some safe retreat,  To Momp. 
Lest unexpected danger she should meet;  
For all th' esteem and value I did bear  
To Crowns or fame, is wholly placed on her.  Ex. Enter Ferdinand alone. Ferd. 
Oh, my Cornelia! how does thy fair shade,  
Each corner of my restless thoughts invade.  
Methinks I see her from her floating Grave,  
Sighing with grief, and pointing to the wave,  
That does the treasure of her body hide;  
And in whose cold and watery arms she died,  
Then with kind looks she beckons me away,  
Chiding my soul for its too tedious stay.  
And Heavens!—  
Why do I stay, when fortune does remove  
All I esteem, my Glory, Crown, and love:  
And which increases my impatience more,  
By Charles's gallantry I'm triumphed o'er;  
Who gives me freedom, but to make me wear  
Those hated Chains no Royal mind can bear.  Soft Music within. Ferd. 
Ha! would they flatter my imperious grief,  
These fond diversions give but small relief.  Asc. 
Ah Sir! for Heaven's sake.—  Enter Ascanio in haste. Ferd. 
What hast thou seen?  Asc. 
An airy fantome, or the Cyprian Queen.  
Listening to find whence these soft airs should come,  
I chanced to look in an adjoining room,  
And saw two shapes lean on a silken bed,  
They seemed too fair, and lively for the dead.  
And if in some transport I have not been,  
They are Irene and the Cyprian Queen.  Ferd. 
Thou dreamest,—  
Or else their disturbed spirits wander here,  
To pursue me their guilty murderer.  Ferd. and Asc. go out. The Scene is drawn, and Cornelia, and Irene are presented asleep upon a Couch, and at their feet Sylvia. The King and Ascanio enter. Ferd. 
What is't I see, I die with high surprise,  
Some fair enchautment does delude my eyes,  
And in a Vision does my Queen restore,  
In all the beams her living beauty wore!  Asc. 
Surely they live, or else the waves and wind  
Has all their beauties faithfully resigned.  Ferd. 
The lovely Vision strikes a Sacred awe.  
Into my Soul,— Let's near the Altar draw,  
Where the fare shape enshrined in beauty lies,  
Lest it too quickly vanish from our eyes.  Ferd. and Asc. go to the Couch, and kneeling kiss the Hands of Cor. and Iren. Ferd. 
She gently breathes! her hand is soft and warm,  
This cannot be some fair deceitful charm!  
With all the devout reverence which we pry  
Into some great and sacred Mystery.  
I'll draw the Scene, which from my longing sight,  
Vainly conceals a Mystery so bright.  
Wake, my adored Cornelia, wake and see  
Impatient Ferdinand upon his knee,  
Watching to see thy eyes their light display,  
Like devout Persians for the dawning day.  Cor. and Iren. wake. Cor. 
Where am I now,!— Bless me the powers divine.  
What voice is that that calls!  Ferd. 
Fair Queen, 'tis mine,  Cor. 
The King!  Ferd. 
Your poor adorer,— one that dies  
With the high rapture of excessive joys:  
What kind power sent you here on Angel's wings,  
To bless the world, and save the lives of Kings?  Cor. 
That gentle power of pity which we find,  
Sways in the Empire of each generous mind.  
I was informed, you did my death bemoan,  
And now you've lost both freedom, and a Throne.  
I thought 'twas cruelty,  
To let a mere delusion ask a share  
Of tears, when real grief had none to spare.  Ferd. 
Oh! What a melting joy o'er flows my breast,  
Like drooping flowers with morning Dew oppressed!  
But Heavens! How did you scape the fatal day?  Cor. 
We in another Galley got away  
To the next shore,— where in a Grove we stayed  
Till fields and plains were gloomy as the shade;  
Then all in darkness, solitude and fear,  
We wandered on the shore we knew not where:  
Still trembling at each little noise we heard,  
Till near the morn we met some of the Guard,  
Of whom I begged safe conduct to the Town!  
And though they knew me not, yet I must own,  
They showed me all the due respect became  
My sex's honour, and their Nation's fame,  
And brought me here,— where I decreed to stay  
For some few hours, and sail by break of day,  
When by a message from me you had known  
That all was well, and I in safety gone.  Ferd. 
Ah! will you show me Heaven in all its light,  
And then for ever close it from my sight.  Cor. 
Alas! Sir you attempt a vain design,  
Only to wed your miseries to mine.  
Suppose I should so kind and yielding prove,  
Only t'oblige your importuning love?  
W''re of our Crowns bereft, where should we fly,  
In what dark Cave should we obscurely die?  Ferd. 
Madam, forgive me that without a Throne,  
My bold pretences I still dare to own:  
But if th' adored Cornelia loved like me,  
A Cell or Grotto would a Kingdom be.  Asc. 
Now my Irene we are blessed again,  
The joys through so much danger we obtain,  
Let us preserve,  
As one would the rich treasure, which he saves  
By unexpected aid, from Rocks and Waves.  
Iren. You know my heart is yours, but we must wait  
Our Prince's fortunes, and th' events of fate.  An alarm. Ferd. 
Whence is this?  Asc. 
There's some contention grown  
I fear, 'twixt the French Army and the Town.  
But see the Princess.  Enter Julia with a Guard. Jul. 
Ah, Royal Brother as e'er—  
For being great and good you'd honoured be,  
Go save the life of your brave enemy:  
Who midst slain Guards, does now forsaken stand.  
Whilst barbarous Traitors do his life demand;  
And using your great name for their pretence,  
Do act their Treasons with high insolence:  
This from the Palace eastern Tower I've seen,  
Where by his Guards I have protected been.  Ferd. 
This is bold Salerne, and my Sister too,  
Her fond revenge and malice to pursue,  Jul. 
My Sister is too faulty in't I fear:  
But be not, Sir, too much displeased with her,  
You know whence her high passion does arise,  
Spare her, and her bold followers chastise.  Ferd. 
I go,— with passion Madam I implore,  To Cor. 
You will not leave us in this fatal hour;  
Nor take away the aid your presence brings,  
As sent from Heaven in the support of Kings.  Cor. 
Sir 'tis so generous—  
To save your Royal foe in his distress,  
That in that cause I wish you all success.  Ferd. 
Sir, I commit the Ladies to your Guard,  To one of the Guard. Ex. Ferd. and Asc. 
Your Loyal service shall not want reward.  As the Guard is conducting out the Ladies, they are met by Mompensier, who enters in baste. Momp. 
Hold? Hold? The Ladies must not move from hence,  
This place alone is left for their defence;  
The enraged Duchess strives to seize the Tower,  
And we're too few to guard it from her power.  
What more is done I could not understand;  
But to an Officer I gave command,  Enter an Officer. The news 
To bring the news, and see he's here.—  Off. 
All's well,— King Ferdinands leapt into the throng,  
And like a god drives all the crowd along.  
The Duchess has received a wound in fight,  
And to the Domo ta'en a speedy flight.  Momp. 
Blessed news! I'll on the Battlements and see,  
The valiant Kings pursue their victory.  
But see another comes in haste.  Enter another Messenger; 2. Off. 
Undone, undone!  
With all your Guards to th' King's assistance run,  
The Town is all with Troops of Bandits filled,  
Lead by a Traitor, to whom all parties yield,  
And the mock title of a King does bear,  
And with success pursues us every where.  Cor. 
Oh Heavens! Cor. Jul. seem to saint, and are suported by their women  Momp. runs out as to the King's assistance, enter Ferdinand with a Guard, chasing Salerne. Sal. 
Oh curse! and is my glory thus betrayed?  Ferd. 
Help, help the King, I do not need your aid, The Guard goes off  
Salerne I've chased thee from thy traitorous herd,  
Not t'have thee cut in pieces by the Guard;  
But to appease my own revenge and hate,  
And give thy valour a more glorious fate.  Sal 
Thou'rt brave, I wish thou hadst not sent 'em back;  
For now I shall be forced thy life to take.  They fight, the Lady's shriek, and run to the side of the Stage, Salerne is disarmed and wounded. Ferd. 
Now Salerne, ask thy life, and on thy knees  
Humbly beg pardon for thy villainies.  Sal. 
And dost thou this insulting temper show,  
My life's not in thy power to bestow.  
My enraged Soul is leaving its abode;  
But if it were not, and thou wert a god,  
And for submissions wouldst who'll Kingdoms give  
To gain thy Godhead, I'd not ask to live.  
Go back, and scramble for thy fallen Crown,  
which from the trembling tree my arm shook down,  
And which I fought now to bestow on thee,  
That crowned, thou might'st ha' glorious victim be:  
For yet my father's Tomb no Trophy wears,  
His blood has only had thy father's tears:  
But fate would to my cause no aid afford;  
But rather basely thrust me on thy Sword;  
Which high dishonour e'er I'll tamely bear,  Tears his wounds, and dies. 
Thus, thus a passage for my Soul I'll tear.  Ferd. 

Has torn his wounds, and now the gushing blood,  
Breaks from its sluices like a swelling flood:  
I pity his misfortunes, since I see  
He was misled by too much bravary:   

But see they still press on, the Guards retire,  
Command 'em from the Battlements to fire.   To the Guards within. Enter Charles, Ascanio, Mompensier. Ch. 
Convey to the Fleet the Ladies, and their Train,  
For fear the Rebels should the Palace gain.  Asc. 
The Traitors Sir, have seized the Postern gate,  
And all the Barges there, 'tis now too late.  Ch. 
Ha! am I then decreed a fate so low,  
My glories must at last to Rebel's bow.  Ferd. 
Ye Powers! what proud ambitious traitor's this,  
That chases Monarchs with so high success?  Asc. 
They come.—  An alarm within, and they all stand upon their guard. Enter Alphonso followed by several with drawn Swords Alph. 
Enough, reteat without delay,  The Guards retreat 
He die that once refuses to obey.  Ferd. 
Hh! 'tis my father, or a thing that bears  
That Royal shape.—  Ferd. and Jul. kneel to Alph. Alph. 
'Tis I remove your fears,  
I find amazement sits on every brow  
To see me here:—  
But that will cease when, I acquaint you how  
A sudden Tempest cast me on the Shore,  
Where I scarce saved, fell in these Bandies power!  
Who struck with grief their banished King to see,  
Seemed to repent their past disloyalty,  
Told me the state of the distracted Town,  
And proffered me their Swords to gain my Crown;  
I fearing ill events, if I denied  
Their proffered kindness, with the slaves complied.  
But here— revenge and rapine was so sweet,  
The Villains ran confused in every Street,  
Where they could ravish, kill, or booty gain,  
Nor could my power their savage rage restrain.  
For th' ills they've done, Sir I your pardon crave;  Turns to Charles. 
For I declare, I no intentions have  
To seize the Kingdom, or your glory cloud;  
But for that friendship which fame speaks so loud,  
You to my Son in his distress have shown,  
I come my high acknowledgements to own.  
Proud, if this way I can so happy be,  
T'oblige, and serve so brave an enemy;  
And now resign the Crown, which is your due,  
And do become a Prisoner Sir to you.  Ch. 
Heavens! I'm amazed at his high gallantry,  Aside. 
I've sought his Crown, and he obliges me;  
I see there does the same high courage run,  
In all the haughty blood of Arragon.  
Sir, I confess the Kingdom is my righr;  
But you've subdued me with so great a height  
Of honour, as my courage scarce endures;  
And now I find—  
I came not here to raise my fame, but yours,  
But Sir, I'll be so just to your renown,  
That as your gift, I will accept this Crown:  
But since for honour, not for Crowns I came,  
I also must be just to my own fame,  
And must return you Sir that Kingdom back,  
Which only to oblige I stoop to take;  
And that your honour may have safe retreat,  
I'll beg a gift more generous and great  
Then that of Kingdoms, this fair Prince's love,  To Julia. 
Whose beauty will reward me far above  
The highest flights of honour I have shown,  
And I have sought no Interest but my own.  Alph. 
By this high honour you oblige us more.  
But Sir, since you who are our Conqueror,  
What's our advantage, make your own request;  
Thus gladly Sir I end the high contest.  Gives him Julia. To Jul. Ch. 
With out your love the gift's imperfect still.  Jul. 
Sir, I obey my Royal fathers will.  Ch. 
Madam, I do not doubt your duteous mind,  
But shall I only cold submission find?  Jul. 
He'll force my heart a secret to enfold,  Aside. 
I fear my blushes have already told,  
At present Sir you must no more obtain  
Then this that duty shall my heart explain.  Alph. 
Madam, I beg you will complete our Joy,  To Cornelia. 
That want of Crowns may not out hopes destroy;  
Once more to exile I will gladly go,  
And on my Son my Kingdom will bestow,  
And shall be happy in some safe retreat,  
To sit and view felicity so great.  Ferd. 
Madam, some pity to a heart allow,  Kneels to Cor. 
which never came in view of hope till now;  
And now it sees some little glimpse of day,  
Grows much impatient with the least delay.  Cor. 
The Memory Sir, which to the dead I owe.  Raises Ferd. 
And my own honour too must make me slow  
In granting these requests, but yet I find  
A secret fate o'er powers my yielding mind,  
And I but struggle with a high decree,  
Which it as wilful as my heart can be.  Asc. 
And now my fair Irene, shall not we  
Add to this joyful days felicity?  
Shall we not land, whilst this fair gale does blow?  Iren. 
Why should you ask, what you already know?  
But my suspicions now I find too true,  
You love to triumph where you can subdue.  Ferd. 
Now Sir, to show I've your commands obeyed,  To Alph. shows Sal. dead 
See the revenge to your wronged fame I've paid.  Alph. 
Ha! Salerne dead I pity the bold slave;—  
For had his Soul been Loyal as 'twas brave,  
He had deserved my savour;—  
But where's the treacherous Trivultio?  Asc. 
Slain,—  
His head does on the Eastern Tower remain,  
Where to Rebellion he incites no more,  
But frights the Traitors he seduced before.  Alph. 
Treason's just fate,— but you forget to tell  
How fares my unhappy Daughter Isabel,—  Enter a Gentleman. Gent. 
The Duchess Sir?—  
Bleeding and faint is from the Domo lead,  
Where she to th' Altar was for refuge fled.  Alph. 
Bleeding!—  Gent. 
Some base unmanly Sword has placed,  
Too deep and dangerous wounds in her fair breast,  
From whence her life flows unregarded by,  
Not gaining the least pity from her eye;  
And now of your arrival Sir she hears,  
Life with impatience for a while she bears.  
And she is brought along with bleeding wounds,  
By gentle steps, and at each step she swoons.  The Duchess enters lend between two Ladies,— bleeding. Isab. 
Sir, I come here to take my last adieu  To Alph. 
Of all my glory in this world, and you,  
For any ills I in my life have done  
I beg your pardon,— though I know of none;  
For to my glory you so just must be,  
To own I've honoured our great family,  
And lived in fame, though the small Crown I wore,  
My brows with blushes and impatience bore;  
And now I walk in grandeur to my Tomb,  
By such a death as does my blood become;  
Though dying Sir I generously own,  
I sought not to restore your vanquished Crown,  
So much as for revenge on that false Prince,  To Charles' 
Whose base inconstancy and insolence,  
To punish deeply I to Arms did fly;  
Yet (oh my fate!) now unrevenged I die.  Faints. Ch. 
Ah! Madam!— why.—  Isab. 
Take hence thy hated sight,  
Thou stoppest my Soul in its Eternal flight.  
Oh I am going,— Ha, what is't I see!  Enter Galeazzo's Ghost 
My murdered Lord again to visit me.  Alph. 
What is't she sees?  Isab. 
I come! I come! poor shade!  Alph. 
Alas! She raves, her reason is mislaid,  
What wouldst thou have, oh speak thy last commads?  Isab. 
See you not Millane Ghost! there! there he stands!  
Father revenge his blood, and let not slaves  
Their glories build, on murdered Princes Graves,  She dies and the Ghost goes off. Ch. 
Madam for honour's sake, and for your own,  
Your Lord's revenge shall be my work alone;  
But ha! she hears me not, and seems to die,  
Displeased and pained, whilst one she hates stands by.  Alph. 
She aimed at glory, which her sat deayes,  
And now enraged at fortunes hate, she dies.  Ch. 
Now Royal friend, let us embrace at last,  To Ferd. 
And bury thus all wrongs and quarrels past;  
That vow which me into this war betrayed,  
Shall vanish in the fleeting breath 'twas made:  
If to the dead this an offence will be,  
I rather will offend the dead then thee.  
But sure revenge and blood can never prove  
Things more divine than valour, friendship, love.  Ferd. 
Brave Charles thy sentiments are to sublime,  
That nothing thou canst do can be a crime;  
If such high virtue an offence can be,  
I'll my Religion change and worship thee.  Alph. 
Heavens to my Soul 'tis a transporting fight,  
To see our hearts and families unite.  
Now let us all to some repose betake,  
And joy in decency a while forsake:  
Till solemn rites we for the dead prepare,  
The dead must now be our succeeding care;  
And when those sad solemnities are done,  
You may complete the joys you have begun.  
Thus humane life does various forms display,  
And grief and joy succeed like night and day.    

Epilogue.  
WIth how much patience have you heard to day  
The whining noise of a dull Rhyming Play?  
This obstinate incorrigible Rhyme,  
Though lashed by all the Critics of the time;  
Our dullest writers can no more forbear,  
Then your ill faces Vizard Mascks to wear,  
Yet you appeared so grave and so devout,  
You neither hist nor stamp to put us out,  
A thing our Critics would no more ha' done,  
Then to a dull Fanatic meeting gone;  
And there amongst a serious whining Throng,  
Stayed out a holding forth of nine hours long.  
As for the Play our Author will not dare,  
Like you good men of Trade to praise his Ware:  
But unskill'd Customers he may advise;  
Then Sirs, since on your verdict it relies,  
Resolve to save the Play before you go,  
For fear it should be good for ought you know.  
How 'ere it makes Heroic Virtue shine  
In Royal Breasts, where it shows most Divine.  
And so does Kings and Monarchy advance,  
Nay guarded with the names of Charles and France,  
Names that now shake the world, sure you'll not dare  
To damn a Play, where tbese united are;  
Let it be ne'er so bad, who dares arrest  
The meanest slave, that wears the Royal Crest?  
Join not with small Cabals of wit, that pry,  
How they may damn the Play, and no one spy;  
Being much ashamed in these tame Wars t' appear,  
when their high mettle may be shown elsewhere.  
Now they're divided let's have aid from you,  
Them and their factious party to subdue;  
Then ere the Parliament of Wits that sat,  
And governed here like a proud petty State,  
Return from Sea in a triumpkant rage,  
We'll get a full possession of the Stage;  
Mean while our Poet with your Forces joined,  
May damn the Rump of Wits that stay behind.  
FINIS.