THE Italian Husband. A TRAGEDY, Acted at the THEATRE IN Lincolns-Inn-Fields.  
By Mr. EDW. RAVENSCROFT.  
LONDON, Printed for Isaac Cleave, next Sergeants Inn Gate in Chancery lane. MDCXCVIII.   

London, Decemb: 16. 1697. A Dedicatory Epistle TO Mr. HENRY CONYERS.  
SIR,  
WHen Poets dedicate to Great Men, their servile Genius stoops to Flattery: They write not their just sentiments, but what they think will please their Patrons: So, to make them great, they debase themselves, and become Idolaters of Images, gilded by their own praise. As well may the Carver adore his Statues, the Painter his Pictures, which are their own handyworks. To show my dislike of this Custom, I chose to expose this Tragedy to the public with no other ornament than your name. But let not the world mistake me; for you have Virtues that render you more valuable than Titles. They that know you love you, for you will not let the least of your acquaintance go unobliged whenever you can find opportunity to show your generous temper. Believe me, Sir, I esteem your friendship, and the name of Friend is preferable to any title that descends by Birth, or what Monarchs can confer; the first comes without desert, the latter oftener by Chance than Merit. Let other Poets than boast Patrons of Quality, whilst I, more happy I, enjoy my Friend, I am my Friend and my Friend is Me. Oh he is absent yet, but when he comes, the cheerful Bottle shall tune our souls to as high a rapture, as if we were met at the Harmonions Feast of Great Cecilia. Haste then, thou worthy man, and cheer the hearts of all your Friends. None in your absence more devoutly wishes your return, than  
SIR, Your Friend and Servant, Edward Ravenscrost.   

The PRELUDE.  Enter Poet and Critic. Crit. 
I Have been very attentive to your Rehearsal, and what I tell you you'll find true.  Po. 
Well, good Mr. Critics, let me alone with my faults, I don't allow your objections.  Po. 
I tell you, Sir, you'll anger the Ladies, they'll be against you.  Crit. 
I'm not of your opinion.  Crit. 
You are Poet Positive right.  Po. 
And you Critic Find-fault, right or wrong.  Enter Mr. Peregrine. Crit. 
Oh, here's Mr. Peregrine, we'll ask his judgement.  Po. 
With all my heart; he's a Traveller, and knows the Customs of other Countries.  Per. 
Your Servant Gentlemen: what is the matter? what am I to be Judge of betwixt you?  Crit. 
Why Sir, Mr. Scribble here has writ a Play, that's to be acted to day.  Per. 
I know it Sir, and am come to see't.  Crit. 
Lord, Lord, Sir! he calls it a Tragedy.  Per. 
Then I suppose it is one.  Crit. 
A Tragedy! No, it has but three Acts.  Per. 
What then, Sir?  Crit. 
If it has but three Acts it must be a Farce.  Per. 
Why so, Sir?  Crit. 
Why so! did you ever see it otherwise?  Per. 
Ask him—  Po. 
Yes Sir, a Farce may be two, three, or five Acts; as you have seen upon our Stage already.  Per. 
'Tis the same amongst the French and Italians.  Crit. 
What then is a Farce?  Po. 
I'll tell you: A Play is not called a Farce from any number of Acts, but from the lowness of the Subject and Characters; which are not true Characters in Nature, nor just representations of human actions (as Comedy is or should be) but from the oddness and extravagancy of the Characters and Subject: Which, though not natural, yet not always against Nature; and though not true, yet diverting, and foolishly delightful. A Farce is like a Dutch piece of Painting, or a Grotesque Figure, extravagant and pleasant.  Per. 
In my judgement it is so.  Crit. 
Well, we'll pass over that point. But why do you make a Tragedy but three Acts?  Per. 
O, that's customary in other Countries.  Po. 
I have observed that many Plays of late are all talk and no business; others have some business, but so much talk, that the business is almost lost in the multiplicity of words, and the Plays lag and grow tedions. Therefore, to avoid this, I have now laid the business so close, that every Scene may seem necessary to carry on the design and story of the Play, and with as few words as I could suppose sufficient; therefore I confine myself to three Acts, which gives me also opportunity to introduce some Musical Entertainments, and those seeming natural to the Play; which few Poets have yet observed.  Crit. 
I confess they bring in their Music by head and shoulders, and may serve in one Play as well as another. But the main objection against your Play is, Your Lady, or chief Character in your Play, being of Quality, and a married woman, sees a young Lord, hearkens to his Love, and gives up her Honour in the first Act, without much ceremony or couttship: How will the Boxes like this, Sir? There you are lost.  Po. 
Mr. Peregrine, you have been a Traveller, and are a fit Judge: In the first place, I say this great Lady and her Lover were not strangers to each other, courtship had formerly passed betwixt them, they were contracted by Vows; but being separated before they could be joined in Marriage, and despairing ever to see one another again, the Lady is married. By accident they see each other, have opportunity of discourse, their Love renews, the Gallant presses, the Lady is frail, and they agreed upon the present moment.  Per. 
Where lies the Scene?  Po. 
In Italy; you know it is not there as in England, where we have easy access, and freedom of conversation, and opportunity of Courtship. An opportunity there once lost, is not to be recovered.  Per. 
Right, therefore, there if the Gentleman likes the Lady, and the Lady the Gentleman, they presently come to the point. An Italian Dame would think you a very dull, heavy, phlegmatic Lover, if you should waste time in idle Ceremony and Compliments. When Love is the Banquet, they fall to without saying Grace, I can tell you.  Crit. 
Ay, but the custom of that Country won't be an excuse here.  Per. 
But it ought; for if the Scene lies in a foreign Country, the Poet may write after the custom of that Country.  Crit. 
But they won't like a great Lady losing her Honour; they won't like that, Sir.  Po. 
It is not the design of my Play to expose a Lady's frailty, so much as to raise her up to virtue when fallen. I intent her fall not an example for vice. The great design being to bring a guilty person to be pitied in her circumstances. Many Plays have made the Virtuous in misfortunes to be pitied, but the Guilty never yet, as I remember.  Per. 
Very well: That design indeed is new, I like it.  Po. 
And lastly, Sir, to show what evils may follow one ill action, though repented on as soon as done. And let the Moral of the Play show, that one error brings more fatal consequences than many virtuous actions can remedy; and therefore, though it is good to repent of ill, 'tis better not to do ill:  Crit. 
I like your Moral well enough; I have but one thing more to say, your Play has no lofty flights, nor ne'er a fine dying Speech.  Per. 
We have too much of them in every Play.  Po. 
I have endeavoured in this to make my persons speak like men and women, and in such words as the real persons represented might be supposed to discourse in the same circumstance. The Scene lies in Italy, and I have writ in the stile of the Italian Tragedies; how it may please here I know not.  Crit. 
Ay, but Sir, you have left out Similes: ' IN Gad I scarce remember three Similes in the whole Play; and Mr. Peregrine I am a passionate lover of Similes.  Per. 
I confess in English Writers great part of the Wit lies in Similes; we have too many of 'em.  Crit. 
Too many Similes! ' Y Gad Mr. Peregrine now I question your judgement: Oh! they are the prettiest things in nature. I had as live see, The Firmament without Stars, A Tree without Blossoms, A Garden without Flowers, A Lady's Face without Patches, or A Pudding without Plumbs, as a Play without Similes. There are your Similes now! who could have expressed so much Wit without Similes?  Per. & Po. 
Ha, ha, he.  Po. 
See, the Prologue's going to be spoke, the Curtain is drawing up.  Crit. 
Well, well, I'll tell you more anon: I'll go into the Pit.  Exit. Po. 
Pray follow, and sit by him; your presence will awe him; 'tis the nature of Critics to be malicious: He'll be finding fault to show his Wit.  Per. 
I'll drink a Bottle with you when the Play is done, and tell you my opinion.  Exit. Po. 
Less blame it is in new attempts to fail, Than in the old but meanly to prevail.  Exeunt▪  

PROLOGUE.  
THE Town of late so very nice is grown,  
That nothing but what's poignant will go down.  
Y' expect to find every new Play that's writ,  
In spite of Nature, should be stuffed with Wit.  
This heavy Tax which you on us have laid,  
Without your friendly help can ne'er be paid.  
With helps of Folly you Manure the Soil,  
To make it grateful to the tilers Toil.  
Like Vintners we on impositions live,  
And at the expense of those who Tax us, thrive.  
Yet Poets say, in one thing 're'r unkind,  
Wit ye expect—  
But what Wit is, no man has yet defined.  
Thus whilst we wander in a doubtful Maze,  
'Tis only our good fortune if we please,  
And when we start a Play, full cry you run,  
And ne'er leave Yelping till you've run it down.  
Rules you prescribe, but when you try the Cause,  
We find each Critics Whimsies are thy Laws.  
So, when of Wit, each Palat's made the test.  
Good plays are damned, because you've lost your taste.  
He that would furnish out a modish treat,  
Should strive to please with varions sort of meat.  
To feed the Beaus with Farce is very good,  
Those Babes in Wit can't bear substantial food.  
For men of sense some satire should be got.  
For Politicians to be sure, a Plot.  
With Swanish Puns you may regale the Cit.,  
Their swinish taste delights in husks of Wit.  
But he that would secure a good third day,  
Must show your Vices to you, to save his Play.  
Lest Bully like, eager to purchase Fame,  
You should your follies in the Poet Dam.  
These are the Rules I heard our Author say:  
But Bays forsooth has found a newer way.  
Which, if it miss, he swears he shall be uneasy,  
To think he was not fool enough to please ye.   

dramatis Personae.  

Frederico, Duke of Radiano, Mr. Verbrugen.  
Alousia, Duchess, Mrs. Bowman.  
Alfonso, Marquis of Rosse, Mrs. Hodgson.  
Fidalbo, Secretary to the Duke, Mr. Watson  
Rodrigo, Gentleman of the Chamber, Mr. Thurmond.  
A Friar.  
Amidea, Women to the Duchess, Mrs. Prince. Florella, Mrs. Martin.  
Page.   Two Bravoes, Servants, Singers, Dancers, and Musicians.  

THE Italian Husband.  


ACT I. SCENE I.  Enter Duchess, Amidea, Florella, Rodrigo. The Duchess drops her Glove as she enters, Rodrigo takes it up and kisses it, presents it to her on his knees, she turns away in anger. Rod. 
MAdam, your Glove—  Dutch. 
Your saucy service does offend:  [Duchess gives t'other Glove to Amid. who takes that from Rodrigo which she let fall. 
Amidea, fetch me another pair,  
Oft have I frowned on your insolence:  
Offitions Sycophant, if ever more thou dost presume  
The Duke shall know—  Enter Duke, Fidalbo giving him a Paper. Duke. 
What, my Alovisia?  Dutch. 
Rodrigo has been faulty, but I forgive him;  
The solemnity of the day requires it▪  Duke. 
This is the second year we have solemnised  
Our Matrimonial Vows,—  
This day I took thee from the Great Duke's hand,  
By Royal bounty, given for my Bride.  
Why dost thou sigh?  
Whenever I am talking thus to thee,  
Thy Bosom heaves, and thy Cheeks change colour.  Dutch. 
Oft have I wondered that your Breast, my Lord,  
Should not partake the same concern with mine:  
My mind labours under many doubts.  Duke. 
What are they?— for I long to hear:  [Aside. 
Vent them in my bosom,  
And I will ease thee of thy burden.  Dutch. 
Why from my Infancy, was I bred up  
In lonely Convents, and from hence remote,  
No Friend or Parent ere appearing there  
To own me for their Child, or let me know  
Who gave me birth;  
Or what my Quality may be,  Duke. 
'Tis true!  Dutch. 
Then brought to Court, by the Great Duke's command,  
And e'er I could survey the spacious Roof,  
Or know what noise of Pomp and Greatness meant,  
In this amaze and change of station,  
Given for a Bride, my Lord, to you.  Duke. 
'Tis strange—  [aside. 
I feared her mind had wander after Court.  [aside. Dutch. 
And stranger yet, why after Marriage  
None should reveal my Birth,  
If not to me, to you my lord—  Duke. 
I pressed the Duke to know that Secret once,  
But he replied, I've given you a rich Gem,  
What need you be inquisitive  
From which Cabinet I took it,  
Or on what Rock engendered.  Dutch. 
'Tis very strange—  
This was the occasion of my private sighs.  Duke. 
And this the reason why I left the Palace,  
And am retired with thee, my life's whole blessing,  
To these my Villas— but no more:  
Is the Music ready?  Dutch. 
What Paper's that?  Duke. 
Fidalbo, my Secretary, presents  
The Arguments of some Songs he has composed  
For this Days Entertainment:  
I think them not improper—  Dutch. 
Let 'em begin.  [Duke and Duchess sent themselves in Arbours. Attendants on each side. Enter Singers and Dancers. Shepherds, Shepherdesses, a Court Lady and a Citizen's Daughter. 


First, An Anniversary Song on the Duke's Wedding.  

1.  
JOy to the youthful happy pair;  
Thus blessed you are, by Hymen joined:  
May you love on, from year to year,  
And by Enjoyment prove more kind:  
Then with your days Love will increase,  
And you sit crowned with Joy and Peace.  
In Lover's hearts all joys abound,  
When Love with Constancy is crowned.   

2.  
ne'er may unwelcome Care molest  
The lovely Bride nor Bridegroom's breast:  
Keep firm your Faith, and value Truth,  
Then Age will be as blessed as Youth:  
In Lover's hearts all joys abound,  
When Love with Constancy is crowned.  
Keep firm your Faith, and value Truth,  
Then Age will be as blessed as Youth.    

In praise of a Country Life.  1st Shepherdess. 
O Happy Nymph is she  
Who leads a rural life;  
From Court Ambition free,  
From City Noise and Strife:  
Grant me (ye Gods) so sweet a life.  Chor. 
Grant me, etc.  2d Shepherdess. 
We see our Flocks at distance feed,  
The Fountains clear, the Sky serene;  
The Herds are grazing in the Meads,  
Whilst Maids are milking of the Kine.  Chor. 
O happy Nymph, etc.  1st Shep. 
The Spring affords us Flowers  
That deck the gaudy Fields;  
Summer gives us Shady Bowers,  
Where Birds their natural Music yield.  Chor. 
O happy Nymph, etc.  2d Shep. 
Autumn brings us Corn and Fruits,  
Which are laid up for Winter store▪  
We Sing and Dance, and Tune our Flutes,  
Ah! what can Mortals wish for more.  Chor. 
O happy Nymph, etc.  1st Shep. 
When Winter comes, and Cold prevails,  
Around the shining Hearth we fit;  
With pleasant pastimes, merry tales,  
The nights are spent in Mirth and Wit.  Chor. 
O happy Nymph, etc.   

In derision of a Country Life. By a Court Lady and a Citizen.  Court L. 
FOnd Nymphs, from us true pleasure learn,  
There is no Music in a Churm:  
The Milkmaids sing beneath the Cow,  
The Sheep do bleat, the Oxen low:  Court L. & Citiz. 
If these are comforts for a Wife,  
Defend, defend me from a Country life.  Court L. 
The Team comes home, the Ploughman whistles,  
The great Dog barks, the Turkeycock bristles,  
The Jackdaws caw, the Magpyes chatter,  
Quack, quack, cry the Ducks, that swim in the water.  Court L. & Citiz. 
If these are comforts, etc.  Citiz. 
Then melancholy crows the Cock,  
And dull is the sound of th' Village Clock;  
The Leaden hours pass slow away:  
Thus yawning Mortals spend the day.  Citiz. & Court L. 
If these are comforts, etc.  A Dance.  

Court Lady in praise of a Court Life.  Court L. 
GIve me the gay and splendid Court,  
The lofty Roofs adorned with Gold,  
Where all the Great and Fair resort,  
The Noble and the Bold.  
There highest Honours are acquired,  
Kings are Adored, and Beauty is Admired.  
The Court is a Lady's proper sphere,  
O let me live for ever there.  Chor. 
O let me live, etc.   

The Shepherdess against a Court Life.  1st & 2d Shep. 
OH who would be another's Slave,  
That may herself be free;  
And pay that Homage she might have,  
Or Bondage take for Liberty?   

The Citizen in praise of the City.  Cit 
THe Court is but show, and vain tittle tattle,  
Then give me the City, where in Coaches we rattle;  
Thomas not quite so nice, nor modishly dressed,  
We're rich in our Jewels, and wear of the best.  
The Courtiers spend all, and ever are needy,  
The Citizen gets, yet still he is greedy.  
He ne'er boggles at Usury, nor at Extortion,  
Thomas the Father is damned the Child gets a Portion.  
Then happy are we, whose Parents are civil,  
For blessed is the Child whose Father goes to the Devil.  
They truly know the pleasures of life;  
There's nothing like being a Citizen's Wife.  Chor. 
We truly know, etc.    Enter at Page. Page. 
Marquis Alfonso alights from his Charion, and sends your Grace word he brings Letters from the Great Duke.  Duke. 
All attend him in.  Dut. 
My Lord, I'll retire to another Walk.  Duke. 
No Alovisia, stay,  
And learn the Message of this Embassy.  Dutc. 
I obey.  Duke. 
Your Virtue does obey, but your Beauty  
Rules the Empire of my heart.  Enter Alfonso, Attendants. 
What Honour, most noble Marquis, is this  
You do my House and me: You find me out  
In Solitude, and close Retreat?  Alfon. 
I know your Grace receives no Visitors,  
Nor Audience gives to Ceremonious Guests▪  
The Dukes Commands alone have brought me  
Here: These Letters will excuse this Interruption.  Duke. 
Obedience to Sovereign Power has no restraint:  
You're welcome; How fares the Duke?  Alf. 
Well, when he did give these Papers to my trust.  
He spoke of you with great Indulgence;  
Bid him to read, Consider, and answer.  Duke. 
This is the Noble Alfonso.  [Speaks to the Duchess 
Lately returned from his long Travels.  
Receive him with the favour of your presence,  
Whilst I retire, and read the Duke's Commands.  Alf. 
Ha!  [Aside, looking at the Duchess▪ Dutc. 
His Merits and his Honour claim their due,  
And all must Tribute pay to such desert.  Alf. 
Astonishment!  Dutch. 
What surprise!  Duke. 
One hour I borrow for retirement:  
What these import I long to know.  Exit Duke and Attendants.  

SCENE III.  Dutch. 
Marquis Alfonso!  Alf. 
Duchess of Radiano—  Dutch. 
What do I see?—  Alf. 
What do I feel?  Dutch. 
I am all wonder—  Alf. 
Amazement all.  Dutch. 
Marquis!  Alf. 
Duchess!  [Sighs and breaths short Dutch. 
This Walks too close, the next has free air, My Lord.  Alf. 
I feel a Calenture, and scarce can breathe.  Exit Alf. and Duchess Armid. 
Come Florella,  
The Duchess gave the sign to attend at distance.  Flor. 
Let us take the next Arbour.  [Exeunt. Rodrigo. Rod. 
Miserable unhappy Rodrigo,  
Whose Love must be the Prologue to his Death:  
Ah Duchess, how does this Heaven of Beauty  
Plunge and torment me in a Hell of pain.  
Oh that I might but snatch one Flower  
From the fair Garden of thy fragrant bosom,  
I'd quit my hopes of Paradise.  
But I'm doomed to love when hope is gone:  
Then love, be silent, despair, and die:  
Yet I will be the shadow to that bright Sun,  
I'll keep that Orb of Beauty still in view,  
And with a dying glance behold that Heaven,  
Which I must ne'er possess.  
Oh Rodrigo!  Exit. Enter Alfonso and Duchess. Dutc. 
Does then that wandering Stranger, who came to visit  
Our lonely Convent, prove to be Alfonso?  Alf. 
I was the straggler stopped my Journey there.  Dut. 
You are the person, whose surprising presence  
First catched my eyes, and then engaged my heart:  
My mind till then was fixed on holy objects:  
But straight—  
As if Enchantment had surprised my senses,  
You drew my thoughts from Heaven to Earth,  
And I could only gaze and think of you.  Alf. 
'Twas I came there to offer up my vows,  
And pay devotion at that holy Shrine:  
But oh! the sight of you robbed the dead Saint  
Of all the Reverence I came to pay.  
The brightest sure in all the Crystal Orb  
Could not excel in form  
Nor sooner gain a Votary.  
But oh the strange amazement I was in!  
When after one days absence, my new Saint  
Was thence translated to unknown Regions:  
How have I wandered thro' the world e'er since,  
But till this happy hour could never find.  Dutch. 
Unhappy hour, and fatal interview.  Alf 
Our hearts were panting with the same desire,  
And in our eyes we mingled Souls.  
Love does record our vows, and gives me title  
To Alouisia's heart.  Dutch. 
Not to my honour.  Alf. 
To all, love is no niggard.  Dutch. 
I am the Duke's.  Alf. 
By Marriage; by former vow thou'rt mine.  Dutch. 
The Duke—  Alf. 
Shall know nothing.  Dutch. 
Heaven—  Alf. 
Will be silent.  Dutch. 
Fear chills my heart.  Alf. 
Let Love warm your bosom—  Dutch. 
Break off this eager Conference, my Lord▪  
Lest wandering eyes observe our ecstasies.  Alf. 
That Grove of Jessamins will shade our loves  Dutch. 
No: I'll lead you to yond apartment:  
There we will both lament our rigid Fate,  
Cancel our Vows, and grieve we met so late.  Exeunt. Enter Rodrigo. Rod. 
Despairing Love I thought the only plague;  
But my too curious Eyes have added now  
A new tormenter to my breast:— Jealousy:  
How free in their discourse; what amorous looks,  
And darting glances, flew like Lightning round:  
What pauses, and what slarts— I grow mad—  
I'm enraged— go on, pursue— turn Spy,  
See till thou ravest, then break thy heart, and die.  Exit. Enter Duke, Reading and pausing on the Great Duke's Letter, with another in his hand Sealed. Duke. Reads. 
You stand high in our regard and favour.  
I gave you Alovisia for your Bride,  
In my esteem you were most worthy of her:  
You have withdrawn yourself and her from Court:  
Let me by Letters know the hidden cause,  
Then I'll reveal a Secret shall remove  
All scruples from your mind— Thus satisfied  
That you return to Court, with your Duchess,  
Shall be my wish, but never my command.  
Jealousy takes birth from fond suspicion,  
Is fed and nursed by every idle fear,  
Till it becomes the canker of the mind:  
It shall spread no farther here—  
His tenderness in all discourses to her,  
His pleasing smiles at all she said or did,  
And all the soft Indulgence which he showed,  
Not meant to wrong her Virtue, nor my Honour.  Showing his own Letter. 
Here I have established my discontent,  
Upon my doubts she was ignobly born,  
And sixt it for the cause of my retreat.  Enter Rodrigo. 
Where's Alfonso?  Rod. 
With the Duchess, busy.  Duke. 
Busy!  Rod. 
Very busy.  Duke. 
Busy? Rodrigo!  Rod. 
Yes, shut up together in a close apartment:  
Not fire or heat are more incorporate.  Duke. 
Be plain and brief: or this stops thy Tongue.  Shows a Dagger. Rod. 
They in conjunction: Your Honour in Eclipse.  Duke. 
Impossible—  Rod. 
Possible—  Duke. 
How know ye?  Rod. 
These eyes beheld the first onset,  
When with eager embraces, hasty kisses,  
And trembling limbs, they strove,  
As if half famished for the Banquet.  Duke. 
Which way comes this discovery?  Rod. 
Thro' a small vacancy in the Partition,  
I could survey the Room all round.  Duke. 
Look it be true.  Rod. 
Would it were false.  Duke. 
Thou hast thrown Lightning into my Soul:  
Fierce anger flashes in my eyes,  
And I shall break like Thunder from a Cloud,  
And blast 'em all to Hell.— Lead to the place.  Exeunt▪ Re-enter Duke and Rodrigo in another Apartment. Duke bushes at the door. Duke. 
Here, open the door, Alovisia— Duchess open the door:  
Are you so employed, you can't hear?  
Open, or I'll break it down this minute.  Dutch. 
See, my Lord, 'tis open.  [Duchess opens the door. Rodrigo rushes in, and returns with Alfonso's Sword. 
What sudden rage transports your Grace?  Duke. 
Let your Guilty Conscience tell you.  
Duchess, where hides the Adulterer?  
Where is the Traitor?  Rod. 
I have secured his Sword.  Duke. 
Have an eye to the Duchess,  [The Duke presses in. Dutch. 
I see no prospect but death before me:  
Fear and guilt wing me for flight:  
Thomas I save not life, I may get time to pray.  Exit Duchess, Rodrigo following Enter Duke with a Pistol in his hand, Alfonso flying him. Duke. 
Inhospitable Traitor—  Alf. 
O stay your Revengeful hand!  Dukk. 
die Alfonso!— Base Instrument of Death,  Snaps a Pistol, throws it away; draws his Sword. 
Hast thou failed me, this will not.  Alf. 
Oh! have Compassion.  Duke. 
Compassion! Traitor.  Alf. 
Your thoughts may err, you may be deceived,  
Misinformed— We may be innocent.  Duke. 
No— Death is not more certain than thy crime.  Alf. 
Give then a life that merits a thousand deaths:  
A life that will be greater punishment,  
Than death itself: Ah give me time.  Duke. 
Live Alfonso;  [After a pause. 
I had not well considered— the Great Duke—  
Live young Lord— my word secures your Life.  
Most generous Duke— behold a Traitor at your feet,  
Whose Crimes deserve not only death  
But a tormenting, violent death  
But if you are so Godlike to forgive.—  Duke. 
As your fault is above excuse  
'Tis also above punishment.  
Revenge would end in death—  
And your death would publish my dishonour—  
Which yet may be concealed— Close then your Lips,  
Let not your breath once whisper't to your soul—  
No not to Heaven, in Prayer, and Penitence.  Alf. 
No records of your wrongs with me remain,  
But my repentant thoughts, that bear  
My Crimes to Heaven in hopes of pardon there.  Duke. 
The Pistol failed▪  
Live then Alfonso— Fate will have it so—  
But henceforth shun all opportunities  
To see, or by my Duchess to be seen.  
Do not remember that I had a Wife—  
Let all her Crimes and all her Charms  
Sleep in Eternal silence.  Alf. 
Ever, ever—  Duke. 
Rise— be composed  
Let not your looks betray either guilt or fear.  
Be not abrupt in your departure;  
But with due marks of ceremony and respect,  
Take leave— withdraw—  
But still believe your Life to be a dream.  
Methinks I do but dream.  
And that I've pardoned you is but a dream,  Alf. 
Sir—  Duke. 
No more, your absence, and your silence.  Alf. 
I go, am silent, and obey.—  Exit. Enter Rodrigo. Duke. 
Where is the guilty Duchess?  Rod. 
In her private Oratory, at prayers.  Duke. 
Good Heaven—  
With what Conscience can a Woman pray!  
What made you, Rodrigo, so officious?  Rod. 
Zeal for your Honor.  Duke. 
Had you been silent I had not known my dishonour.  
And not knowing it had still been happy.  Rod. 
If silent, I had been a Traitor.  Duke. 
The adultery of a Wife not known,  
The Husband loses not his peace.  Rod. 
You had slept then in polluted Arms.  Duke. 
You force a fatal necessity:  
Alfonso or my Wife must die.  Rod. 
Honour requires it.  Duke. 
With Alovisia I destroy my life.  Rod. 
She is disloyal.  Duke. 
But I love her.  Rod. 
I've done—  Duke. 
What thou canst ne'er undo.  
Seal up thy Lips, Rodrigo:  
What, thy too officious diligence  
Brought to thy knowledge,  
Hide in the darkest corner of thy heart:  
For if one breath should give it vent, thou diest.  Rod. 
Now I have told ye, my Conscience is quiet,  
And I am dumb as death itself.  Duke. 
Suspend thy thoughts and follow me.  
I'll give directions for an Ambuscade:  
The Conduct shall be yours.  Rod. 
So,— I have paddled in the Water,  
And must now wade thro' the Stream.  Duke. 
How necessary, but how hateful is a Spy.  Exeunt.   


ACT II. SCENE I.  The Duchess in black, lying on Carpets, her hair loose, leaning on a Death's head, a Book in her hand, and the Picture of a Magdalen over her Oratory. Dutch. 
O Alovisia! wretched by thy fall,  
Wretched by thy tormenting life, that canst  
Survive thy honour, and thy happiness.  
My Soul hangs trembling on my Lips;  
And yet I cannot sigh it from me.  
But here, here comes my angry Lord,  
The just avenger of his wrongs,  
And fatal punisher of my misdeeds.  Enter Duke. 
Welcome, my Lord, whose presence heretofore  
Was wont to give new life and joy to Alovisia,  
But now most welcome, now you come armed,  
With punishment to end a painful life.  Duke. 
No, live Alovisia—  Dutc. 
O mix not Cruelty with Justice.  
Let me not languish out a life in Torment.  
Behold me prostrate at your Feet— My Head  
Bowed low to Earth— Cheeks wet with Tears,  
And Heart o'ercharged with sorrow,  
Your penitent offender meets her Fate.  Duke. 
Live, live Duchess, I pronounce it.  
Let mercy be as great a wonder to thee,  
As are thy Crimes to me.  Dutch. 
Live! Oh presumption!  Duke. 
Come, I'll lay myself down by thee:  
We'll talk a while.—  Dutch. 
Come not too near, my infectious breath will blast  
All Virtue— but the Noble Fredericoes.  Duke. 
Peace; why are you thus all habited in black?  
And why thus mournfully attended?  Dutch. 
To solemnize the funeral of my honour, and myself.  Duke. 
That you have erred I know,  
That you repent I do believe:  
The wanness of your Cheeks, and anguish of your Heart,  
Do show the sad affliction of your Mind.  
Live then.  
Mercy is due to the first Crime of Penitents.  Dutch. 
Your Mercy gives a Life I do not merit,  
And spares a Death that I deserve with pain.  Duke. 
The Memory that you was once most dear,  
Dear as my life, now gives you life:  
Then Duchess hope, hope what I dare not speak,  
And I will wish your hopes may all succeed.  
Who waits?  Enter Amidea and Florella. The Duke takes a Letter out of his pocket, and holds it in his hand. Speaks as they all may hear. 
Attend the Duchess to her Chamber.  
Ah, Alovisia, thy fate indeed was hard,  
Never to know the greatness of your Parents,  
Till that sad minute, which gives at once  
The knowledge of their Names, and of their Death.  
Farewell: e'er night I'll visit you again.  Exit. Flor. 
Oh Amidea, the secret of the Duchess Grief  
And sudden Alteration is at last made known.  Dut▪ 
Lead me for I am faint and overcome with Grief.  Am. 
Heaven ease your Cares, and send your mind relief.  Exeunt. Enter Alfonso. Alf. 
My mind is tossed in a rough Sea of doubts.  
I live, but know not the reason why,  
I fear the Duke only preserves my life,  
To make my death more horrid.  
O mystery! The Adulterer goes unpunished,  
And the offending Wife received to Grace!  
When the offended smiles on the offenders,  
It shows their Ruin near.  
Oh! Love! Oh Duchess! Oh Alfonso!  Enter Duke. Duke. 
My Lord, commend my Duty to our Master,  
This to your Charge I do commit▪  [Gives him a Letter Alf. 
Most noble Fredrico thy hand,  
My heart, my life, are all at thy Command.  Duke. 
What further service you may do me,  
As we pass my Vineyards, I'll impart.  
Your Coach is ordered to the Park Gate,  
So far I will conduct you.  Alf. 
How generously you conquer Souls.  
You load me with Honours▪ and I blush for shame.  Exeunt. Enter Amidea, Florella Flo. 
She sleeps still, but sighs abundantly.  Am. 
Sure she's very tenderhearted.  
That Grief can make so great an alteration.  
In the morning how lively were her Eyes,  
Her Lips, how rosy; and her Cheeks were spread  
Like the Fields of beauty, all pleasure to the Eye.  Flor. 
Ah the difference in a woman,  
When she's in a good humour:  
What a change there's now?  Am. 
Her eyes clouded with Tears,  
Her lids so swelled, no charming light breaks thro';  
Her Cheeks all smeared, like Meadows that have  
Been o'erflowed with hasty Rains.  Flo. 
Shuns company, nothing but weeps and prays,  
As if she thought her latest hour was come.  Am. 
If this holds she can't live.  Flor. 
Ah Amidea, the world may think, and think,  
But a small thing won't break a woman's heart.  
Prithee let's leave this melancholy subject,  
And talk of other matters.  Am. 
What Florella?—  Flor. 
Of the handsome young Lord was here to day:  
Eyes ne'er beheld a more lovely person.  Am. 
Could you think so, Florella, and not be moved  
With thoughts that make young Virgins blush:  
Conscious their wishes bear a Guilt,  
That wrongs their Modesty.  Flor. 
Heavens preserve me Chaste, had one word,  
One tempting word, fallen from those lips,  
Or the soft language of his eyes expressed  
A willing mind, I had flown thro' Air.  
Precepts of Chastity and Honour  
Are taught in vain, where such strong Charms invite.  Am. 
You are transported, Florella.  
Hark; I hear the Duchess stirring:  [A Bell sounds. 
She rings for us.  Exeunt. Enter Duke, Alfonso. Duke. 
That, my Lord, is my new Lodge,  
Where I intent to pass my evening hours.  Alf. 
A delightful situation.  Duke. 
If you receive no orders from the Duke  
For your return, let my Invitation  
Bring you here to night:  
Society will strengthen our new Friendship.  Alf. 
You load me with favours.  Duke. 
We'll sup together. I've ordered Music,  
The hours shall slide away with pleasure;  
In soft delights we'll bury all our cares.  
You'll be my Guest—  Alf. 
I promise—  Duke. 
Your hand Alfonso—  Alf. 
My heart, most generous Frederico.  Embrace. 
Most noble Duke of Radiano!  Enter Rodrigo in disguise, with two Ruffians. Rod. 
That, that's the Traitor Alfonso:  
You two dispatch him.  Alf. 
Ha, am I at last betrayed! Fond Credulity:  [Draws 
I won't die without defence—  Duke. 
Courage, Alfonso, my Sword shall be your Guard.  Alf. 
What new wonder's this?  Rod. 
This way, Sir, they'll dispatch him presently.  Duke. 
Slave, there's a dispatch for you.  
The Duke engages betwixt 'em, and drives Rod. at distance:  
Rod. retreating with design, feigning only to fight, whilst  
Alfonso fights the other two.  Rod. 
Oh, why have you killed me?  Duke. 
Valiant Alfonso, they've now  [Duk turns to Alf. side. 
No odds—  1 Ruff. 
Rodrigo killed!  2 Ruff. 
The Duke against us! we are betrayed.  1 Ruff. 
Fly Comrade, fly.  The two Ruff. run off. Alf. 
Flight shall not save you, Murderous Villains.  Duke. 
Pursue no farther than that rising ground;  
Then let your eyes observe what way they take.  [Exit Alf. 
Livest thou Rodrigo? Speak.  Rod. 
Fato lends me one short gasp of breath,  
To ask the reason why I have my death.  Duke. 
How thankless is the office of a Spy.  
Spies ruin whom they serve: they are the cause  
Of Murders, and the bane of Families:  
No man was e'er made happy by 'em yet;  
The guilty and the injured both undone.  Rod. 
Faithful service ill repaid.  Duke. 
Thy death was necessary:  
You were Master of a secret;  
Which I would not have known myself:  
The knowledge of my shame hung on thy Tongue,  
Each blast of breath had blown it thro' the world;  
But dying that dies with thee.  Rod. 
O! O!—  Rod. dies. Duke. 
Farewell Spy.  Re-enter Alfonso. Alf 
The Villains were too nimble of foot,  
They're out of sight already,  
Their Coast was Westward.  Duke. 
Here lies the Engineer of this design  
The officious Slave was Rodrigo.  
Gentleman of my Chamber, he was the Spy.  
Brought me the fatal intelligence;  
Stop there my Tongue—  
This Villain with his dying breath confessed,  
That fearing my forgiving nature,  
He laid this Ambush to surprise your life.  Alf. 
Each Circumstance confirms the truth.  
Forgive me, generous Duke, if my first thoughts  
Transgressed, and sinned 'gainst Gratitude and you:  
But when you nobly interposed your arm,  
And shared an equal danger with me:  
Shame covered me all o'er, and I'm still confused.  Duke. 
Ignoble minds work by ignoble ways.  
The brave and generous act without deceit.  Alf. 
These are most gracious favours.  
Thomas you refused the forfeit of my life,  
To give it me a second time;  
With hazard of your own, is most surprising.  Duke. 
The life I gave, I may with right call mine;  
And what is mine, my Honoor will defend.  Alf. 
You act like Caesar. Oh wonder in nature,  
That fiercest rage should turn to perfect love!  Duke 
So greatest love to greatest hatred turns:  
Riddles in 〈◊〉, that puzzle Philosophy.  
Now I dismiss you—  
Your Servants and your Coach are here—  
Remember, Alfonso,  
Who profanes Friendship commits Sacrilege.  Alf. 
You call him Friend, that is your Slave.  Duke. 
No Alfonso, let Females be our Slaves:  
Men can be grateful, when they are obliged;  
But Woman never.  Alf. 
My Gratitude, like my Soul, shall be Eternal.  Duke. 
My Friendship lasting as your Silence— No more:  
Till evening I take my leave—  Alf. 
Your Grace commands Alfonso.  
Alfonso's Servants appear with Fidalbo.  Exeunt severally. Enter Duchess, supported by Flor. and Amid Dutch. 
Reach me a Chair— Leave me—  [Sits down. Am. 
We wait without.  Dutch. 
No, stay— But observe your distance—  
What Rigour shall punish the excess of Love;  
That wrongs the Matrimonial vow.  
And what reward for Chastity,  
That was preserved by loss of Life.  Aside to herself. Flor. 
She's very thoughtful.  Am. 
Let us be very silent, lest we disturb her more.  Dutch. 
Away there with that Sophonisba  
And Zanobia, and Firma there,  
That Flower-piece too: I like 'em not.  Looks wildly about, as imagining Pictures. 
Amid, She fancies Pictures, and there's none.  Dut. 
Take 'em away;— No stay you by me:  
For my Lord is absent, and my mind  
Wanders I know not where.  Flor. 
Her senses are disordered.  Dut. 
A Song to lull my troubled thoughts asleep.  

A SONG to the Duchess.  

I.  
Nymph's that now are in your prime,  
Make, O make good use of time:  
Each Minute hastens your decay,  
Beauty, like time, flies fast away.  
Nymphs that now are in your prime,  
Make, O make good use of time.   

II.  
If you would know how Youth doth pass,  
Look on the Dyal of your face,  
Where, though no sudden change is found,  
Yet still the Sun is moving round.  
Nymphs that, etc.   

III.  
But when it comes to be full Noon,  
The day grows short, and night comes soon;  
The Sun steals off by slow degrees,  
And Beauty fades, though no one sees.  
Nymphs that, etc.   

IV.  
Night's shades do pass, and day comes on,  
But Beauty has no second dawn;  
The Sun returns, but Beauty never,  
When Beauty sets, it sets for ever.  
Nymphs that, etc.   Dut. 
Who can give ease to a distracted mind.  Am. 
Madam the Duke.  Enter Duke. Dut. 
Retire— Your Grace is welcome.  Florella and Amid. withdraw. Duke. 
Not always so—  Dutch. 
Excuse me, my Lord;  
Love first taught me that lesson.  Duke. 
Lust soon untaughr what Love had learned.  Dutch. 
What says your Grace!  Duke. 
Excuse me, I was thinking—  
What are you doing?  Dutch. 
My task is great: and I have much to do.  Duke. 
What, Alovisia?  Dutch. 
To repent, to die.  Duke. 
That is indeed hard for a woman.  Dutch. 
What, to repent?  Duke. 
No; to die in the flower of her youth.  Dutch. 
My fault deserves death.  Duke. 
Your fault is pardoned.  Dutch. 
By Heaven I hope— Heaven knows the heart.  Duke. 
By me too; speak no more on't.  Dutch. 
I must ever think on't.  Duke. 
When the offended forgives the offender;  
Let the offender forget the offence.  Dut. 
But not that Noble generosity  
With which he pardoned the offender.  Duke. 
First faults may be forgiven—  
Faults once forgiven are pardoned ever.  
Duchess, let's discourse of something else▪  Dut. 
Of any thing, my Lord shall please.  Duke. 
Of love— the love you have for me.  Dut. 
We shall then speak of an infinite.  Duke. 
'Twas finite once.  Dutch. 
I mean not past Love, but the present:  
That new birth of Love, created in my Soul,  
By your excess of Goodness  Duke. 
Tell me, how d'ye love me?  Dut. 
As my immortal Being.  Duke. 
Are you sure you don't hate me.  Dut. 
Myself I hate—  Duke. 
Why?  Dut. 
For offending you.  Duke. 
Will you offend no more?  Dut. 
May Heaven—  Duke. 
I believe you—  Dut. 
With Joy I hear you,  
And here I swear Eternal truth.  Duke. 
And I Eternal love.  Dut. 
Give me this hand for pledge.  Duke. 
And with it too my heart.  Dut. 
Blessed Reconcilement.  
Angels Witness our Accord.  Duke. 
Wonder not, there's Magic in Beauty.  Dut. 
And harmony in Love.  Duke. 
Our Love is now complete—  Dut. 
Not till I'm reinstated— Oh I dare not name where.  Duke. 
That shall be—  Dut. 
When?  Duke. 
This night  Dut. 
Can it be?  Duke. 
It shall be: mark me: one Bed shall hold both,  Dut. 
Sun, hasten on thy Course.  Duke. 
Darkness, advance—  Dutch. 
Reward your Goodness Heaven:  
And bless my noble Lord.  Duke. 
I take my leave.  Dutch. 
Where goes your Grace?  Duke. 
I Sup at my Vineyards.  Dutch. 
When will you return?  Duke. 
Soon after Supper.  Dutch. 
You will not fail—  Duke. 
No, I will not fail.  Dutch. 
Farewell my Lord.  Duke. 
And Alovisia too, farewell.  Exit▪ Dut. 
Ah! shall these Arms once more receive my Lord:  
And to night too! O Fortunate Duchess!  
I'll chain him to my panting breast,  
Suck the sweet Roses of his lips,  
Till he has lost all memory of my fault.  
And all his Rage dissolves in Love.  
Yes, yes, be present all ye Amorous Powers:  
Ye tender Arts of Love, and sweet Endearments,  
That Ecstasy the Soul in soft delights,  
Be present with me, lend me all your Charms,  
That may endear him ever to my Arms.  Exit,    


ACT III. SCENE I.  Enter Duke reading a Letter. Fidalbo at distance. Duke. 
‛ YOur Duchess was Daughter to fair Bianca,  
‛ For Beauty famed at Court, when I was Prince.  
‛ My Youth, and greatness of my Quality,  
‛ After much pain, and long Courtship,  
‛ Prevailed upon her Chastity.  
‛ I find my Wife is of a coming Breed.  
Reads. Our practice was carried with such secrecy;  
‛ That our Love remains yet undiscovered.  
‛ Alovisia was born, Bianca recovered strength,  
‛ Retired to a Monastery, turned Penitent and died.;  
‛ The Daughter copies the Mother exactly;  
‛ Sin and Repent is both their faculties.  
‛ Reads. I would not have revealed this Secret,  
‛ Had not your Letter pressed the knowledge of her Birth.  
‛ To morrow I'll hunt with you, and discourse at large.  Enter Alfonso. 
My Lord Alfonso I thank you—  
Your return was what I most desired:  
But this Letter you bring clears many doubts,  
And gives my mind much ease.  Alf. 
Had not the Dukes Commands returned me back,  
My own inclinations had brought me to ye.  Duke. 
I took care in mine, not to lose you, Alphonso.  Alf. 
I am bid to let you know, he'll hunt with you  
To morrow early in your own Park.  Duke. 
I will show him Sport; he shall see Game.  
Fidalbo, enclose this Letter under a Cover,  
Then carry it to the Duchess:  
Tell her, I remember my promise,  
And after Supper it shall be performed:  
No business now shall interrupt our pleasure,  
We'll spend our short minutes to the purpose:  
I have ordered Music for this days Entertainment.  
Sit, my Lord, and be attentive.  

IXION, A Masque.  
Persons Names that Sing in the Masque. 

Ixion,  
Juno,  
Iris,  
Jupiter,  
Mercury.  
Two Furies.    The rest of the Singers sing in the Chorus. A Poetical Heaven. The Overture with Violins, Hautbois, Trumpets and Kettledrums. A Chorus of Divinities welcome Ixion to Heaven, in the following words: First Sung by Mercury. Mercury. 
WElcome to the blessed Abodes,  
To the Palace of the Gods!  
Happy Guest, you here may know  
Boundless joys, unknown below:  
But oh! use the blessing well;  
Heaven abused will turn to Hell.  Ixion kneeling gives a Letter to Jupiter. Ixion. 
Great Jove, thy Slave a Letter brings,  
Born hither on thy eagle's Wings.  Jupiter Retires with his Train. Juno. 
This is some new Intrigue of Love,  
The grand affair of Amorous Jove:  
Cold Brothers Love he gives his Bride,  
Wedded to every she beside.  Iris, her Rainbow in prospect. Iris. 
No more, great Juno, let your breast  
Be with the Jealous Fiend possessed.  

1.  
Hence restless Jealousy remove,  
Ice mixed with Flames, cursed Viper of the mind;  
Pale Child, that kills thy Parent Love,  
And mak'st us search for what we dread to find.   

2.  
Go, partial Councillor, 'tis vain  
With Jealous doubts to raise a Lover's woe;  
Even when they're justest, most they pain,  
And make him look like a distrustful Foe.   Juno. 
Iris now in vain advices,  
Love abused all Rules despises:  
I must find what Beauty's Charms  
Force my Rover from my Arms:  
Quickly let my Birds attend,  
Juno must on Earth descend.  Iris goes, and the Peacock's o'resproad part of the Stage. Ixion. 
What a heaven of Beauty's here!  
Oh! I Love, but must Despair:  
Now I tremble, now I dare:  
What a heaven of Beauty's here!  Juno. 
Tell me, Stranger, tell me true,  
What new Loves does Jove pursue?  Ixion. 
What new Loves can Jove pursue?  
Nothing's worthy Love but you.  Juno. 
Jove to change alone is true;  
Lawless Love does all subdue.  Both. 
Love and Wine no trust maintain;  
Love, like Wine, is Reason's bane;  
Love, like Wine, makes Wisdom reel;  
Both will secret Truths reveal:  
Both the worst Events despise:  
None in Wine or Love is wise.  Ixion. 
Since Cupid conquers mighty Jove,  
Bright Goddess. pardon if I Love:  
Too high I raise my bold desire,  
But Love and you at once inspire.  
Since Cupid conquers mighty Jove,  
Bright Goddess pardon if I love.  Juno aside. 
Be still my wrongs of Virtue and of Love,  
Till I to vowed Revenge can move.  To him. 
If you Love, oh! let me know  
What now brings you from below?  Ixion. 
Calisto, of Diana's Train,  
Of Jove's long absence does complain:  
Since for a Mortal he deserts the Sky,  
Oh! let a Mortal here his place supply.  A light Air. 
What a fool is a Wife to lie pining at home,  
When to pleasures abroad the false Husband is gone?  
Let the Rover be gone, take a Lover to Bed,  
And your wrongs he'll revenge on the Murderer's head.  
For why should a Goddess be robbed of delight,  
Be a Wife all the day, and a Widow at night,  Juno. 
Hold, Mortal, whither wowd you move!  Ixion. 
To Heaven and you, to Heaven and Love.  Each repeating their last Verse, he striving to embrace her, and she to hinder him. Juno makes a Cloud arise, which he embraces, in the mean time she sings two lines aside. Juno. 
Embrace a Cloud, unjust possessing,  
Is such a vain delusive blessing.  
Jove appears on his Eagle, and thunders Ixion down to Hell.  Jove. 
Down, down, presumptuous Traitor fall;  
Such Crimes th' avenging Thunder call:  
Down, down presumptuous Traitor fall.  
A Chorus of Divinities.  The Chorus of Divinities, who come in with Jove, repeat that he Sung, as a Chorus. A wild dismal Symphony is heard. The Scene changes to a Poetical Hell. Enter Ixion. Ixion. 
Oh! to my pains let some small ease be given,  
'tis Hell enough to forfeit Heaven:  
My Crimes are present to my tortured Soul;  
Adulterous breach of Trust the foremost in the Roll.  A Dance of Furies. Furies and Devils spring up about him, with Whips of Snakes and Daggers, and Dance: then hale him out to a Wheel. Two Furies sing. Two Furies. 
Drag him along to yonder's Wheel,  
There he shall endless Tortures feel.  
'Tis the Sentence was given in Minos' Court:  
We'll whirk him about, and lash him in sport.  Grand Chorus of Devils and Furies. 
Here, Proud, Lustful▪ Faithless Soul,  
Round th' Eternal Circle ●●wl:  
For such Crimes the Gods ordain  
Thunder, Hell, and Endless Pain.  A Dance of Furies ends the Masque. The Scene closes. Duke. 
My Lord Alfonso, rouse your Spirits,  
And be prepared for something new:  
I seldom treat the common way.  Alf. 
Your Grace is eminent in all:  
It pleases me, you are so well disposed.  Duke. 
But you, Alfonso, would take more delight  
To be at Court, among the Ladies.  Alf. 
Excuse me, if my looks don't express  
The satisfaction of my heart:  
I am pleased abundantly.  Duke. 
Some Wine, and bring the Table furnished for Supper.  Servants bring Wine to the Duke and Alfonso, and set it on a Table, they sit down. 
My Lord, seat yourself, this is mine.  [Both sit down. 
This to the Health you wish. Alfonso.  [Duke drinks. Alf. 
'Tis to the Noble Duke of Radiano.  
Most cordially I drink this Health.  [Both drink. Duke. 
I have a new Cook to night, let's see  
What Rarities he has provided for us.  
Uncover your Plate, my Lord, as I do mine.  
In the Marquis his plate is the picture of the Dut.  
In the Duke's a Dagger— Marq. starts.  Alf. 
A Picture!  Duke. 
A Dagger!  Alf. 
Ominous prospect!  Duke. 
My duchess's picture!  
But can the shadow displease you.  
The substance liked you well.  Alf. 
I want air.  Offers to rise, a Spring goes and locks him in. 
Ha— Another Devil— Locked in my Chair!  
I am then designed a Victim to revenge.  Duke. 
What have they sent us in this other dish.  
A brace of Death's heads.  Uncovers the dish in the middle of the Table. 
My Lord, Alfonso, you see the first Course.  
I told ye 'twas no common Treat:  
Is nothing here you like—  Alf. 
Why this sad preparation for my death?  Duke. 
Fall to most heartily, my young Lord,  
As you did once, without Ceremony or Grace.  
Let your eyes feed upon that lovely Face:  
Scent the sweet fragrancy of her breath,  
And suck the balmy dew that hangs  
Upon those melting lips:  
Feast all your Senses with her Charms,  
And lie once more entranced  
In the dear Enchantments of her Breast.  
Speak Alfonso; why are you silent?  Alf. 
What would you have me, or what can I say?  
O Duke! my Tongue falters, and my Lips tremble,  
As if I lay just at the point of Death.  Duke. 
Put that Cordial to your Lips.  Alf. 
Why d'ye triumph, Treacherous Duke?  
Your Revenge had once been Justice:  
You might have taken then my life with Honour,  
But now 'tis base ignoble persidy,  
Breach of hospitality, and friendship.  Duke. 
Thy Crime was inhospitable, so be the punishment;  
I had killed thee in the first transports of my Rage,  
But the Engine failed my design:  
Then second thoughts came crowding in my mind,  
Which did instruct me better:  
You were sent by the Great Duke our Master;  
Revenge had then been breach of Duty and Allegiance:  
You were entrusted by him, and therefore  
By that trust protected.  Alf. 
Go on with your Politics, Duke;  
And let me hear why you preserved my life,  
When others would have taken it— You not to blame!  Duke. 
'Twas my Duty to give you safe Conduct;  
You were not then dismissed from my protection,  
Nor should base Villains snatch my Revenge,  
And disappoint a nobler Justice,  
Due to my Honour, and my Name.  Alf. 
These Maxims I learn too late.  Duke. 
But, poor, unpolitick, unthinking Lord,  
That Ambush was my master Stratagem,  
'Twas I contrived, and dressed it out.  Alf. 
To what end?  Duke. 
To secure your Confidence,  
And six belief of real Friendship:  
All fair pretences else had vanished;  
Or when powdered in your cooler thoughts,  
Appeared no more than bubbles in the air.  Alf. 
Why killed you then a person you engaged?  Duke. 
He was the Spy▪ that did the thankless office  
To inform me of my dishonour:  
For such service, such reward;  
He knew the secret, and might talk,—  
But with that last politic stroke,  
I secured his silence and your confidence.  
Thus are you drawn into the snare.  Alf. 
O dreadful Maxims, far▪ be they from my Soul.  Duke. 
Thine Alfonso, is but a Mongrel Soul,  
Infused in the act of Generation;  
In some dull Climate where thou wast begot,  
Beyond the Mountains.  
Mine is the true Italian Spirit:  
There is a great Genius in Mischief.  
Brutish Revenge is but the exercise of the body,  
Noble Revenge the delight and pleasure of the  
Mind.  Alf. 
O Horror!  
One thing more, most exquisite Duke;—  
Am I not under sovereign protection now.  Duke. 
No, I writ the Duke word in my Letter  
You were my Guest, and under obligation to return.  
You are remitted back;  
And now stand disengaged from all Commands.  Alf. 
Have you no pity?  Duke. 
Wronged Honour calls for satisfaction.  Alf. 
On then, plunge that Dagger deep in my breast;  
My blood will only fully thy hands:  
But this most barbarous Treachery will fix  
A lasting stain upon thy Name and Memory:  
You said the brave and generous did act  
Without deceit.  Duke. 
With Friends, and where they are not injured:  
Shall he that was deceived to his undoing,  
Not use deceit to right himself?  
The Notion's dull and phlegmatic.  
Now Alfonso, thou rifler of my sweets,  
And great destroyer of my happiness,  
Tremble, thy utmost date of life is come,  
And thou must fall a Sacrifice to vengeance.  Alf. 
I feel the Terror ere you strike the blow:  
Cold sweats hang on my Brows,  
My heart shrinks up, my voice grows faint,  
And every limb is paralytic;  
Yet not from fear, but horror of thy deeds:  
Oh, quickly end thy barbarous Triumph,  
And complete thy Treachery.  Duke. 
Ho— you, the Assistants of my just revenge:  Enter Ruffians with a Bowstring. 
There sits the Criminal.  Alf. 
O mercy.  Duke. 
Hold— As other Malefactor's crimes are writ on their Foreheads,  
His shall he hung upon his Breast:  
Fix there there the duchess's Picture,  
With this Dagger.  [Gives a Dagger to one of the Ruffians. Alf. 
Alas, her fatal turn is next.  Duke. 
How dying men do often Prophecy. So—  
Another strike into his Brain.  
Now execute my just Commands.  Alf. 
Mercy! mercy! Oh! oh!  A little Silk Curtain falls to screen him, that hung ruffled above his Head. Duke. 
The Rigour of punishment  
Strikes terror in many others,  
Turns their bad minds, and makes 'em fear  
To act the evil deeds they had designed:  
This the mistaking world calls Cruelty,  
But rightly understood, 'tis tender Mercy.  
Thus Alfonso did misjudge Revenge:  
If Revenge has no Charms, why are men fond on't?  
'Tis brutish and unnatural to hurt others,  
Unless a benefit accrues thereby.  
Let cold Northern Stoics give their reasons  
Why we should not take pleasure in Revenge,  
When the Wrong-doers found so much  
In every act they did.  They draw up the Curtain. Alfonso appears murdered, one Dagger in his Breast, with the Picture, another in his Forehead, all bloody. 1 Ruff. 
He's dead.  Duke. 
My Honour then in part is righted—  
Bear hence his Body, dispose it as I've ordered.  
Thus cunning Fowlers catch the Bird by Art:  
All Stratagems are lawful in Revenge;  
Promise, deceive, betray, or break your trust,  
Who rights his Honour cannot be unjust.  Exit. Enter Duchess, with a Letter in her hand. Am. Flor. at a distance. Dutch. 
Welcome, welcome, most happy Paper:  
This brings the wished-for knowledge of my Birth.  
Bianca my Mother, the Great Duke my Father!  
I his Natural Daughter!—  
Now let Alouisia's Breast be calm.  
My Lord too sends me a kind Message,  
Confirms his parting promise,  
And will take me to his bosom:  
I'll be prepared to receive him.—  
Amidea, Florella.  Am. 
Your Grace's pleasure?  Dut. 
Come, undress me, lay aside these Blacks,  
My newest, and my richest Night-dress bring.  Am. 
They are here already, under the Tuillet.  Dut. 
What Book is that?  Am. 
Pastor Fido.  Dut. 
An excellent piece:  
Whilst you undress me, Florella shall read;  
Open the Book as chance directs.  Flo. 
The fourth Act, Scene the Fifth.  [Reads. 
Nicander and Amarillis speak—  Dut. 
Is not that the Scene where she was supposed faulty?  Flo. 
The same.  Dut. 
Alas! Amarillis was innocent when blamed!  
Would all were so that were accused— Begin and read.  Flo. 
Nicander says.  Reads. 
‛ A heart of flint, or rather none had he,  
‛ Nor human sense, that could not pity thee;  
‛ Unhappy Nymph and for thy sorrow grieve  
‛ The more; by how much less they can believe,  
‛ This should befall thee—  Dut. 
Enough.  [Dut. rises and walks a little aside and speaks. 
Ah, how much greater is my fault than hers.  
She broke no Matrimonial Vows.  
Skip that Scene and turn to another.  [Dut. sits down again. [Flo, opens the Book again. Flo. 
Act the Fifth, Scene the second.  
Tityro, and Messenger—  Dut. 
That is it where Tityro bewails  
His Daughters lost Honour, going to die—  
Read—  Flo. Reads. 
‛ Which first, my Daughter, shall I mourn in thee,  
‛ Thy loss of Life, or of thy Chastity?  
‛ I'll mourn thy Chastity—  Dutch. 
Skip the rest of that Speech, and read her answer.  Flo. Reads. 
‛ If my mishap had come thro' my own fault,  
‛ And the effect had been from an ill thought,  
‛ As of a deed that seems ill, it had been  
‛ Less grievous to me, to have death pay sin;  
‛ And very just it were.  [Duchess starts from her Chair. Dut. 
No more— How the words strike me to the heart.  
By Amraillis I stand condemned!  Enter Fidalbo. Fid. 
Madam, the Duke is returned,  
And waits you in his Chamber.  Dut. 
Hence Amidea and Florella— follow me.  Exeunt. Duke in the Chamber, and others. The Body of Alfonso appears laid in the Bed, his Head raised, his Arms laid out straight, as in his Shirt, to be seen; Candles upon Stands round the Bed, but not lighted. Duke. 
I dismiss you now—  Exeunt Attendants. 
This is the Body of ill-fated Alfonso,  
That dared to love, tempt, and enjoy my Wife.  
Here, where he did commit his Crimes.  
Now receives the State of Funeral pomp.  
The Duchess too prepares herself,  
Like a new Bride, for a new Nuptial Night,  
But here she'll find revenge in Triumph,  
And love with a pale ghastly countenance,  
Lie ready to embrace her— She comes,  
Close then these Curtains. Yet a while.  
Anon those Tapers shall be lighted,  
And death appear in ceremonions State.  Enter Duchess in a night dress. Dutch. 
O, my Lord!  Duke. 
My Duchess!  Dutch. 
My dear loved Lord!  Duke. 
My once dear Wife.  Dutch. 
Once! my Lord?  Duke. 
Yes Alovisia— But I had forgot.  Dutch. 
You seem troubled—  Duke. 
My mind is burdened.  Dutch. 
Can I ease you?  Duke. 
You only—  Dutch. 
With my life, if needful.  Duke. 
Speak sincerely—  Dut. 
My tongue and heart are partners in this truth.  Duke. 
Would you die for me?  Dut. 
Most willingly.  Duke. 
Death, Alovisia, is terrible.  Dut. 
For my Lord's sake delightful.  Duke. 
To live is painful, to die is sweet;  
For Death does put an end to worldly cares:  
But let us talk of Life.  Dut. 
Whilst you are my Life, I cannot think of Death.  Duke. 
And yet the thoughts of Death are needful:  
It concerns us to think on't every hour.  Dut. 
True, my Lord; but we are in present health.  Duke. 
Ay, every moment, for every moment we are dying:  
And who knows but you or I may die this minute.  Dut. 
Avert it Heaven.  
Let Loves more pleasing thoughts enter your bosom—  
And tune our Souls for Rapture.  Duke. 
Now, Alovisia, you inspire me:  
Forgive me that I have been so slow.  
Come to thy Bed—  Dut. 
The Scene of Paradise, when you my Lord are there.  Duke. 
The Scene of Love and Union.  Dut. 
I go.  Duke. 
Stay.  Dut. 
Why, my Lord?  Duke. 
First give light to these Tapers.  Duke takes a Candle, and lights them round the Bed. Dut. 
For what, my Lord?  Duke. 
To represent our Love, which was extinct,  
But now like these, new kindled and new lighted.  Dut. 
We pay this Ceremony to the dead.  Duke. 
That's my intent; sleep is the Image of death.  Dut. 
I see great alteration— Your looks show Terror.  Duke. 
Take this light; hold it in your hand.  Dut. 
For what, my Lord?  Duke. 
Now open the Curtains.  Dut. 
My hand trembles, and my pulse scarce beats.  Duke. 
'Tis not long since you ran with joy, and there  
Sacrificed my honour to your pleasure:  
Your tremblings then were ecstasy, not fear.  Dut. 
Sad Remembrance.  Duke. 
A sad Truth.  Dut. 
Oh Heaven! the time is come—  
That Penitence must end in Death.  Duke. 
Speak to the person in the Bed.  Dut. 
Who is in the Bed?  Duke. 
One you loved well.  Dut. 
Horror seizes me.  Duke. 
Take Courage Duchess, draw wide the Curtains.  Dut. 
Did you not pardon me! what will become of me!  Duke. 
Open the Curtains, there you'll see a Glass,  
In which you will read your Fate.  Dut. 
What Glass is there?  Duke. 
The truest you ever looked in.  Dut. 
I would, but I dare not.  Duke. 
You durst for another.  Dut. 
My Heart faints, and my Arm wants strength.  Duke. 
I'll help you. See they are open now.  Dut. 
Ah!  Duke. 
Behold the body of you loved Alfonso  
What d'ye read in this mirror.  Dut. 
In his pale looks, and in your Angry brow  
I read my death.  Duke. 
Right, deaths bitter potion must wash down  
The sweet intoxicating draught of Love.  
Recommend yourself to Heaven—  
Revenge is in my hand  [A Dagger and a Bowstring Dut. 
My gracious Lord, my loved Husband,  
Stay till tomorrow, take not the forfeit of my life,  
Till the Great Duke is here— He owns me his Daughter.  Duke. 
Thou art the Offspring of sin,  
And product of unlawful pleasures.  
Thy Birth was tainted and thy Life impure.  
Thou most of all to blame— Thy Mother erred,  
But broke no Conjugal Vow.  Dut. 
Let the Duke pronounce my doom.  Duke. 
He is thy Father, I thy Husband.  
He is my Prince, but I am your Lord.  
His power may punish me,  
But thy sentence hangs only in my breath.  Dut. 
No hope, no mercy?  Duke. 
No prayer, no repentance?  Dut. 
My life e'er since I erred, has been  
But one continued Act of penitence.  
My prayer is short,  
My Lord forgive, and Heaven forgive me too.  Duke. 
Rise— Now sit down in that Chair.  
This Instrument, without much pain,  
Will give thee speedy death;—  
I'll gently let thee down into thy Grave— O Alovisia!  Dutch. 
Sigh not. This comfort in my death I have,  
My Lords own hand does send me to my Grave.  Duke. 
die then, thou fair disturber of my peace:  Pulls the Bed-curtaines over her Face, and strangles her, sitting in the Chair. 
That Honour should command o'er Love,  
And Love thus cruelly obey.  Throws the Curtains off, and looks on her. 
So, she's dead.  
Honour now is righted, and Revenge appeased.  
Behold, how Beauty still revels in her Cheeks,  
And gets the Victory o'er Death and my Revenge.  
Soft Compassion creeps into my Soul,  
And I could now forget my Injuries.  
But let the noble sense of Honour drive it out:  
Hence than all tender thoughts, and foolish pity.  
Now her Colour, like withdrawing beams,  
Leaves only some few streaks of Light behind.  
Thus Flowers blasted by i'll Winds decay and fade;  
But e'er these perish quite— I'll taste their sweets  
Once more—  [Offers to kiss her, and starts back. 
Ha! she is not a sweet smelling Rose,  
But a vile Canker— mildewed all o'er,  
And rank as basest Weeds— not sin itself  
More rank— Who waits there?  Enter Amidea, Florella. Flor. 
Your Garce's pleasure?  Duke. 
Put your Lady to bed.  Amid. 
Asleep!  Duke. 
Go nearer. Amid, and Flor. go towards the Duchess.  Flo. 
Ah!  Flo. looks at the Duchess and starts. Amid. 
Bless me! ah, ah—  Amid. sees Alfonso in the Bed, starts and shrieks louder. Duke. 
Do your Duty, without more noise.  Amid. 
O horror!  Duke. 
Leave wonder, and obey; put her to bed:  
Then my Revenge in Triumph will appear  
In the same Field where Honour did receive its fatal wound.  Enter Fidalbo and Friar. Fid. 
Holy Father, press not forward,  
I will acquaint the Duke you are here.  Fry. 
Hinder me not, I will bear you blameless.  
I fear I come too late—  Fidalbo Retires. Duke. 
For what? holy man.  Fry. 
To prevent what my fears presage.  
Why have you done this deed of horror?  Duke. 
You need not ask that question,  
You were her Confessor.  Fry. 
She was my Penitent, and such a Penitent,  
That the least error of her life was not told  
Without tears, and hearty sighs of sorrow:  
Heaven make you such an one for these ill deeds.  Duke. 
I say Amen.  Fry. 
But have you not misjudged her?  Duke. 
No.  Fry. 
But Revenge is Heaven's prerogative, not ours.  Duke. 
So say Divines:  
But we Husbands are of another mind.  Fry. 
The Laws of our Country are against you.  Duke. 
Ay, for form they discountenance Revenge,  
But Custom does suspend the punishment:  
Honour is the noblest Law.  Fry. 
Wicked Custom, and mistaken Honour!  Enter Fidalbo. Fid. 
Please your Grace, the Huntsmen are in the Park,  
And the Great Duke is coming.  Duke. 
Enough— Fidalbo look there, but wonder not:  
There lies Alfonso, here behold my Wife.  Fid. 
Oh—  Fidalbo weeps, and wipes his eyes with his Handkerchief. Duke. 
Be it your charge to see my orders performed.  
Let her Women lay the Duchess in the Bed,  
In this same posture by Alfonso's side.  
This Letter I leave upon the Table here,  
To be removed by none but the Duke's own hand.  
When he comes, conduct him in, say I am not well.  
That Letter and this sight, will fully  
Instruct him the reason of this deed.  Fid. 
Do you not fear his Anger?  Duke. 
I know 'twill grieve his heart, he loved her well.  
But Princes have noble Souls,  
His sense of honour will excuse the deed.  
Now Holy Father, I will retire with you,  
Your Convent shall be my safe retreat,  
I'll put on your habit, and pray away my life with you.  
I have no more business with the world.  
For all my peace and worldly joys are fled,  
Life has no Charms now Alouisia's dead.      

EPILOGUE,  Writ by Jo. Haynes. Spoke by Mr. Bowman, mimicking a Beau. 
LOaded with Muff, and Nose adorned with Snush,  
Eclipsed in Wig, like Owl in Ivey-Bush.  
With dangling Shoulder-knot o'er Arm a kimbo,  
In fine embroidered Coat Just out of Limbo.  
With all the Rhetoric of DOUX YEUX, I come  
To mitigate our trembling Author's doom;  
Who bid me beg your Smiles, (the Poet's Alms,)  
In words as moving as the Singing Psalms.  
Not doubting my success, because he knows,  
The Fair Sex must be obliging to the Beaux,  
For while those Gallants, who had Brains to spare,  
For Honour ran Campaigning every year,  
Love! Love! The nobler Province of the two,  
Kept peaceful Beau at home to die for you:  
Not that he feared the Wars, but some chance blow  
Might beat out his Fine Teeth, and then you know,  
Thomas he, (the Man) were saved, that kills the Beau.  
Whose Courage might, no doubt, successful prove,  
In Bed of Honour, as in Bed of Love.  
But whether think you has the greater Charms,  
Don Mars the Bully's, or Don Cupid's Arms?  
Who in this glorious Field Cupid makes his Campaign,  
So famed for killing Eyes, and Lovers slain.  
Like Caesar here the Beaux may Conquest host,  
They come, they ogle, and the Heart is lost.  
For wonder then they're in such Vencration,  
But I remember Monkeys once in Fashion.  
Till these new Favourites obtained their Station.  
But Monkey, Squirrel, and loved Parakeeto,  
(The prettier Creatures much, methinks, to see to)  
Lap-dog, nay Darling Black, must all veil now,  
To the prevailing Charms of Rival Beau.  
But tell me pray how would this Peacock show,  
If he were but treated like old Aesop's Crow?  
If those who clubb'd to's Beauship flocked together,  
And every Bird laid hold of his own Feather,  
Unrigged of clothes, of Wig, and unpaid Linen,  
Sword, Feather, Musse, and no Charms left to sin in.  
What a Figu— re he'd make you easily guess,  
Strippd of his borrowed plumes in that undress.  
The naked truth I fear would oft discover,  
The Giant Beau to be a Pigmye Lover.  
Sure nought but the Green Sickness of the mind,  
Can relish this sad Trash of Humankind.  
However—  
Since Beauteous Plenty here begins to dress,  
With her Bright Ornaments the face of Peace;  
'Tis fit that our Dramatic Wars should cease:  
Therefore, to you, Sweet Beaus, inmeer Compassion,  
These Terms we offer of Capitulation.  
First then—  
When you shall leave off to adore new Faces,  
And paying only Broken Heads for places,  
As now you're Foibles, then we'll show your Graces.  
And next—  
Let not our womens' Tyring-Rooms be Haunted,  
Boast not of favours which they never granted:  
Tick not with Orange Wench; nor Side-box Misses,  
(Alas they live by Love, and feed on Kisses▪)  
Grant this, and if they make not just requitals,  
You've our Consents Gratis, to STOP THEIR VITALS.  (Demme) Exit like a Beau. 
FINIS.   

Sergeants Books Printed and Sold by Isaac Cleave, next to Serjeants-Inn in Chancery-lane.  
THe Life of the most illustrious Monarch Almanzor; and of the several Revolutions of the mighty Empire of the Caliphs', and of the African Kingdoms: Together with the History of the Conquest of Spain by the Moors. Translated out of Arabic, and made English by an eminent hand.  
Sylva Syvarum; or a Natural History, in ten Centuries: whereunto is newly added, The History, Natural and Experimental, of Life and Death, or of the prolongation of Life: By the Right Honourable. Francis Lord Verulam, Viscount St. Alban.  
A Complete Guide for Justices of Peace, according to the best approved Authors; in two parts; the first containing the Common and Statute Laws relating to the Office of a Justice of the Peace. The second consisting of the most authentic Precedents which do properly concern the same. By I. Bond, of Grays-Inn, Esq. To which is added, A Table, referring to all the Statutes relating to a Justice of the Peace. By E. Bohun, Esque. Continued down to this time.  
FINIS.