Chapter IX: Epilogue (6)

_Lat._ What fool would give a storm leave to disturb his peace,
When he may shut the casement? can that man
Has won so much upon your pity,
And drawn so high, that like an ominous Comet,
He darkens all your light; can this toucht Lyon
(Though now he licks and locks up his fell paws,
Craftily huming, like a catt to cozen you)
But when ambition whets him, and time fits him,
Leap to his prey, and seiz'd once, suck your heart out?
Do you make it conscience?

_Rol._ Conscience, _Latorch_, what's that?

_Lat._ A fear they tye up fools in, natures coward,
Palling the blood, and chilling the full spirit
With apprehension of meer clouds and shadows.

_Rol._ I know no conscience, nor I fear no shadows.

_Lat._ Or if you did, if there were conscience,
If the free soul could suffer such a curb
To the fiery mind, such puddles to put it out;
Must it needs like a rank Vine, run up rudely,
And twine about the top of all our happiness,
Honour and rule, and there sit shaking of us?

_Rol._ It shall not, nor it must not; I am satisfied,
And once more am my self again:
My Mothers tears and womanish cold prayers,
Farewel, I have forgot you; if there be conscience,
Let it not come betwixt a crown and me,
Which is my hope of bliss, and I believe it:
_Otto_, our friendship thus I blow to air,
A bubble for a boy to play withal;
And all the vows my weakness made, like this,
Like this poor heartless rush, I rend in pieces.

_Lat._ Now you go right, Sir, now your eyes are open.

_Rol._ My Fathers last petition's dead as he is,
And all the promises I clos'd his eyes with,
In the same grave I bury.

_Lat._ Now y'are a man, Sir.

_Rol._ _Otto_, thou shewst my winding sheet before me,
Which e're I put it on, like Heavens blest fire
In my descent I'le make it blush in blood;
A Crown, A Crown, Oh sacred Rule, now fire me,
Nor shall the pity of thy youth, false Brother,
Although a thousand Virgins kneel before me,
And every dropping eye a court of mercy,
The same blood with me, nor the reverence
Due to my mothers blest womb that bred us,
Redeem thee from my doubts: thou art a wolf here,
Fed with my fears, and I must cut thee from me:
A Crown, A Crown; Oh sacred Rule, now fire me:
No safety else.

_Lat._ But be not too much stir'd, Sir, nor too high
In your execution: swallowing waters
Run deep and silent, till they are satisfied,
And smile in thousand Curles, to guild their craft;
Let your sword sleep, and let my two edg'd wit work,
This happy feast, the full joy of your friendships
Shall be his last.

_Rol._ How, my _Latorch_?

_Lat._ Why thus, Sir;
I'le presently go dive into the Officers
That minister at Table: gold and goodness,
With promise upon promise, and time necessary,
I'le pour into them.

_Rol._ Canst thou do it neatly?

_Lat._ Let me alone, and such a bait it shall be,
Shall take off all suspicion.

_Rol._ Go, and prosper.

_Lat._ Walk in then, and your smoothest face put on Sir.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter the Master Cook, Butler, Pantler, Yeoman of the Cellar,
with a Jack of Beer and a Dish._

_Cook._ A hot day, a hot day, vengeance hot day boys,
Give me some drink, this fire's a plaguy fretter:
Body of me, I'm dry still; give me the Jack boy;
This wooden Skiff holds nothing.

_Pant._ And faith master, what brave new meats; for here
Will be old eating.

_Coo._ Old and young, boy, let 'em all eat, I have it;
I have ballast for their bellies, if they eat a gods name,
Let them have ten tire of teeth a piece, I care not.

_But._ But what new rare munition?

_Coo._ Pish, a thousand;
I'le make you piggs speak _French_ at table, and a fat swan
Come sailing out of _England_ with a challenge;
I'le make you a dish of calves-feet dance the Canaries,
And a consort of cramm'd capons fiddle to 'em;
A calves head speak an Oracle, and a dozen of Larks
Rise from the dish, and sing all supper time;
'Tis nothing boyes: I have framed a fortification
Out of Rye paste, which is impregnable,
And against that, for two long hours together,
Two dozen of marrow-bones shall play continually:
For fish, I'le make you a standing lake of white broth,
And pikes come ploughing up the plums before them;
_Arion_, like a Dolphin, playing Lachrymæ,
And brave King Herring with his oyle and onyon
Crown'd with a Limon pill, his way prepar'd
With his strong Guard of Pilchers.

_Pant._ I marry Master.

_Coo._ All these are nothing: I'le make you a stubble Goose
Turn o'th' toe thrice, do a cross point presently,
And sit down again, and cry come eat me:
These are for mirth. Now Sir, for matter of mourning,
I'le bring you in the Lady Loyn of Veal,
With the long love she bore the Prince of _Orenge_.

_All._ Thou boy, thou.

_Coo._ I have a trick for thee too,
And a rare trick, and I have done it for thee.

_Yeo._ What's that good master?

_Coo._ 'Tis a sacrifice.
A full Vine bending, like an Arch, and under
The blown god _Bacchus_, sitting on a Hogshead,
His Altar Beer: before that, a plump Vintner
Kneeling, and offring incense to his deitie,
Which shall be only this, red Sprats and Pilchers.

_But._ This when the Table's drawn, to draw the wine on.

_Coo._ Thou hast it right, and then comes thy Song, Butler.

_Pant._ This will be admirable.

_Yeo._ Oh Sir, most admirable.

_Coo._ If you'l have the pasty speak, 'tis in my power,
I have fire enough to work it; come, stand close,
And now rehearse the Song, we may be perfect,
The drinking Song, and say I were the Brothers.

The drinking SONG.

_Drink to day and drown all sorrow._
_You shall perhaps not do it to morrow._
_Best while you have it use your breath,_
_There is no drinking after death._

_Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit,_
_There is no cure 'gainst age but it._
_It helps the head-ach, cough and tissick,_
_And is for all diseases Physick._

_Then let us swill boyes for our health,_
_Who drinks well, loves the common-wealth._
_And he that will to bed go sober,_
_Falls with the leaf still in October._

Well have you born your selves; a red Deer Pye, Boyes,
And that no lean one, I bequeath your vertues;
What friends hast thou to day? no citizens?

_Pant._ Yes Father, the old Crew.

_Coo._ By the mass true wenches:
Sirrah, set by a chine of Beef, and a hot Pasty,
And let the Joll of Sturgeon be corrected:
And do you mark Sir, stalk me to a Pheasant,
And see if you can shoot her in the Sellar.

_Pant._ God a mercy Lad, send me thy roaring bottles,
And with such Nectar I will see 'em fill'd,
That all thou speak'st shall be pure Helicon.

_Enter_ Latorch.

Monsieur _Latorch_? what news with him? Save you.

_Lat._ Save you Master, save you Gentlemen,
You are casting for this preparation;
This joyfull supper for the royal Brothers:
I'm glad I have met you fitly, for to your charge
My bountifull brave Butler, I must deliver
A Bevie of young Lasses, that must look on
This nights solemnity, and see the two Dukes,
Or I shall lose my credit; you have Stowage?

_But._ For such freight I'le find room, and be your servant.

_Coo._ Bring them, they shall not starve here, I'le send 'em victuals
Shall work you a good turn, though't be ten days hence, Sir.

_Lat._ God a mercy noble Master.

_Coo._ Nay, I'le do't.

_Yeo._ And wine they shall not want, let 'em drink like Ducks.

_Lat._ What misery it is that minds so royal,
And such most honest bounties, as yours are,
Should be confin'd thus to uncertainties?

_But._ I, were the State once setled, then we had places.

_Yeo._ Then we could shew our selves, and help our friends, Sir.

_Coo._ I, then there were some savour in't, where now
We live between two stools, every hour ready
To tumble on our noses; and for ought we know yet,
For all this Supper, ready to fast the next day.

_Lat._ I would fain speak unto you out of pitie,
Out of the love I bear you, out of honesty,
For your own goods; nay, for the general blessing.

_Coo._ And we would as fain hear you, pray go forward.

_Lat._ Dare you but think to make your selves up certainties
Your places and your credits ten times doubled,
The Princes favour, _Rollo_'s?

_But._ A sweet Gentleman.

_Yeo._ I, and as bounteous, if he had his right too.

_Coo._ By the mass, a Royal Gentleman indeed Boyes,
He'd make the chimneys smoak.

_Lat._ He would do't friends,
And you too, if he had his right, true Courtiers;
What could you want then? dare you?

_Coo._ Pray you be short Sir.

_Lat._ And this my soul upon't, I dare assure you,
If you but dare your parts.

_Coo._ Dare not me Monsieur,
For I that fear nor fire nor water, Sir,
Dare do enough, a man would think.

_Yeo._ Believ't, Sir;
But make this good upon us you have promis'd,
You shall not find us flinchers.

_Lat._ Then I'le be sudden.

_Pant._ What may this mean? and whither would he drive us?

_Lat._ And first, for what you must do, because all danger
Shall be apparantly ty'd up and muzl'd,
The matter seeming mighty: there's your pardons.

_Pant._ Pardons? Is't come to that? gods defend us.

_Lat._ And here's five hundred Crowns in bounteous earnest,
And now behold the matter. [_Latorch gives each a paper._

_But._ What are these, Sir?

_Yeo._ And of what nature? to what use?

_Lat._ Imagine.

_Coo._ Will they kill Rats? they eat my pyes abominably,
Or work upon a woman cold as Christmas?
I have an old Jade sticks upon my fingers,
May I taste them?

_Lat._ Is your will made?
And have you said your prayers? for they'le pay you:
And now to come up to you, for your knowledge,
And for the good you never shall repent you
If you be wise men now.

_Coo._ Wise as you will, Sir.

_Lat._ These must be put then into the several meats
Young _Otto_ loves, by you into his wine, Sir,
Into his bread by you, by you into his linnen.
Now if you desire, you have found the means
To make you, and if you dare not, you have
Found your ruine; resolve me e're you go.

_But._ You'l keep your faith with us.

_Lat._ May I no more see light else.

_Coo._ Why 'tis done then!

_But._ 'Tis done.

_Pant._ 'Tis done which shall be undone.

_Lat._ About it then, farewel, y'are all of one mind.

_Coo._ All?

_All._ All, All.

_Lat._ Why then, all happie. [_Exit._

_But._ What did we promise him?

_Yeo._ Do you ask that now?

_But._ I would be glad to know what 'tis.

_Pan._ I'le tell you,
It is to be all villains, knaves, and traytors.

_Coo._ Fine wholsome titles.

_Pan._ But if you dare, go forward.

_Coo._ We may be hang'd, drawn, and quarter'd.

_Pan._ Very true, Sir.

_Coo._ What a goodly swing I shall give the gallows? yet
I think too, this may be done, and yet we may be rewarded,
not with a rope, but with a royal master: and yet we may
be hang'd too.

_Yeo._ Say it were done; who is it done for? is it not for _Rollo_?
And for his right?

_Coo._ And yet we may be hang'd too.

_But._ Or say he take it, say we be discover'd?

[_Yeo._] Is not the same man bound still to protect us?
Are we not his?

_But._ Sure, he will never fail us.

_Coo._ If he do, friends, we shall find that will hold us.
And yet me thinks, this prologue to our purpose,
These crowns should promise more: 'tis easily done,
As easie as a man would roast an egge,
If that be all; for look you, Gentlemen,
Here stand my broths, my finger slips a little,
Down drops a dose, I stir him with my ladle,
And there's a dish for a Duke: _Olla Podrida_.
Here stands a bak'd meat, he wants a little seasoning,
A foolish mistake; my Spice-box, Gentlemen,
And put in some of this, the matter's ended;
Dredge you a dish of plovers, there's the Art on't.

_Yeo._ Or as I fill my wine.

_Coo._ 'Tis very true, Sir,
Blessing it with your hand, thus quick and neatly first, 'tis past
And done once, 'tis as easie
For him to thank us for it, and reward us.

_Pan._ But 'tis a damn'd sin.

_Coo._ O, never fear that.
The fire's my play-fellow, and now I am resolv'd, boyes.

_But._ Why then, have with you.

_Yeo._ The same for me.

_Pan._ For me too.

_Coo._ And now no more our worships, but our Lordships.

_Pan._ Not this year, on my knowledge, I'le unlord you. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter Servant, and Sewer._

_Ser._ Perfume the room round, and prepare the table,
Gentlemen officers, wait in your places.

_Sew._ Make room there,
Room for the Dukes meat. Gentlemen, be bare there,
Clear all the entrance: Guard, put by those gapers,
And Gentlemen-ushers, see the gallery clear,
The Dukes are coming on.

_Hoboys_, a banquet.

_Enter_ Sophia, _between_ Rollo, _and_ Otto, Aubry,
Latorch, Gis[b]ert, Baldwin, _Attendants_,
Hamond, Matilda, Edith.

_Ser._ 'Tis certainly inform'd.

_Ot._ Reward the fellow, and look you mainly to it.

_Ser._ My life for yours, Sir.

_Soph._ Now am I straight, my Lords, and young again,
My long since blasted hopes shoot out in blossomes,
The fruits of everlasting love appearing;
Oh! my blest boys, the honour of my years,
Of all my cares, the bounteous fair rewarders.
Oh! let me thus imbrace you, thus for ever
Within a Mothers love lock up your friendships:
And my sweet sons, once more with mutual twinings,
As one chaste bed begot you, make one body:
Blessings from heaven in thousand showrs fall on you.

_Aub._ Oh! womans goodness never to be equall'd,
May the most sinfull creatures of thy sex
But kneeling at thy monument, rise saints.

_Soph._ Sit down my worthy sons; my Lords, your places.
I, now me thinks the table's nobly furnisht;
Now the meat nourishes; the wine gives spirit;
And all the room stuck with a general pleasure,
Shews like the peacefull boughs of happiness.

_Aub._ Long may it last, and from a heart fill'd with it
Full as my cup; I give it round, my Lords.

_Bald._ And may that stubborn heart be drunk with sorrow
Refuses it; men dying now should take it,
And by the vertue of this ceremony
Shake off their miseries, and sleep in peace.

_Rol._ You are sad, my noble Brother.

_Ot._ No, indeed, Sir.

_Soph._ No sadness my son this day.

_Rol._ Pray you eat,
Something is here you have lov'd; taste of this dish,
It will prepare your stomach.

_Ot._ Thank you brother: I am not now dispos'd to eat.

_Rol._ Or that,
You put us out of heart man, come, these bak't meats
Were ever your best dyet.

_Ot._ None, I thank you.

_Soph._ Are you well, noble child?

_Ot._ Yes, gracious Mother.

_Rol._ Give him a cup of wine, then, pledge the health,
Drink it to me, I'le give it to my Mother.

_Soph._ Do, my best child.

_Ot._ I must not, my best Mother,
Indeed I dare not: for of late, my body
Has been much weakned by excess of dyet;
The promise of a feaver hanging on me,
And even now ready, if not by abstinence--

_Rol._ And will you keep it in this general freedom;
A little health preferr'd before our friendship?

_Ot._ I pray you excuse me, Sir.

_Rol._ Excuse your self Sir,
Come 'tis your fear, and not your favour Brother,
And you have done me a most worthy kindness
My Royal Mother, and you noble Lords;
Here, for it now concerns me to speak boldly;
What faith can be expected from his vows,
From his dissembling smiles, what fruit of friendship
From all his dull embraces, what blest issue,
When he shall brand me here for base suspicion?
He takes me for a poysoner.

_Sop._ Gods defend it son.

_Rol._ For a foul knave, a villain, and so fears me.

_Ot._ I could say something too.

_Sop._ You must not so Sir,
Without your great forgetfulness of vertue;
This is your Brother, and your honour'd Brother.

_Rol._ If he please so.

_Sop._ One noble Father, with as noble thoughts,
Begot your minds and bodies: one care rockt you,
And one truth to you both was ever sacred;
Now fye my _Otto_, whither flyes your goodness?
Because the right hand has the power of cutting,
Shall the left presently cry out 'tis maimed?
They are one my child, one power, and one performance,
And joyn'd together thus, one love, one body.

_Aub._ I do beseech your grace, take to your thoughts
More certain counsellors than doubts or fears,
They strangle nature, and disperse themselves
(If once believ'd) into such foggs and errours
That the bright truth her self can never sever:
Your Brother is a royal Gentleman
Full of himself, honour, and honesty,
And take heed Sir, how nature bent to goodness,
(So streight a Cedar to himself) uprightness
Be wrested from his true use, prove not dangerous.

_Rol._ Nay my good Brother knows I am too patient.

_Lat._ Why should your grace think him a poysoner?
Has he no more respect to piety?
And but he has by oath ty'd up his fury
Who durst but think that thought?

_Aub._ Away thou firebrand.

_Lat._ If men of his sort, of his power, and place
The eldest son in honour to this Dukedom.

_Bald._ For shame contain thy tongue, thy poysonous to[n]gue
That with her burning venome will infect all,
And once more blow a wilde fire through the Dukedom.

_Gis._ _Latorch_, if thou be'st honest, or a man,
Contain thy self.

_Aub._ Go to, no more, by Heaven
You'le find y'have plai'd the fool else, not a word more.

_Sop._ Prethee sweet son.

_Rol._ Let him alone sweet Mother, and my Lords
To make you understand how much I honour
This sacred peace, and next my innocence,
And to avoid all further difference
Discourse may draw on to a way of danger
I quit my place, and take my leave for this night,
Wishing a general joy may dwell among you.

_Aub._ Shall we wait on your grace?

_Rol._ I dare not break you, _Latorch_. [_Ex._ Rol. _and_ Lat.

_Ot._ Oh Mother that your tenderness had eyes,
Discerning eyes, what would this man appear then?
The tale of _Synon_ when he took upon him
To ruine _Troy_; with what a cloud of cunning
He hid his heart, nothing appearing outwards,
But came like innocence, and dropping pity,
Sighs that would sink a Navie, and had tales
Able to take the ears of Saints, belief too,
And what did all these? blew the fire to _Ilium_.
His crafty art (but more refin'd by study)
My Brother has put on: oh I could tell you
But for the reverence I bear to nature,
Things that would make your honest blood run backward.

_Sop._ You dare tell me?

_Ot._ Yes, in your private closet
Where I will presently attend you; rise
I am a little troubled, but 'twill off.

_Sop._ Is this the joy I look'd for?

_Ot._ All will mend,
Be not disturb'd dear Mother, I'le not fail you.

[_Ex._ Sop. _and_ Otto.

_Bald._ I do not like this.

_Aub._ That is still in our powers,
But how to make it so that we may like it.

_Bald._ Beyond us ever; _Latorch_ me thought was busie,
That fellow, if not lookt to narrowly, will do a suddain mischief.

_Aub._ Hell look to him,
For if there may be a Devil above all, yet
That Rogue will make him; keep you up this night,
And so will I, for much I fear a danger.

_Bald._ I will, and in my watches use my prayers. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Sophia, Otto, Matillda, Edith.

_Ot._ You wonder Madam, that for all the shews
My Brother _Rollo_ makes of hearty love
And free possession of the Dukedom 'twixt us;
I notwithstanding should stand still suspicious,
As if beneath those veils, he did convey
Intents and practices of hate, and treason?

_So[p]._ It breeds indeed my wonder.

_Ot._ Which makes mine,
Since it is so safe and broad a beaten way,
Beneath the name of friendship to betray.

_Sop._ Though in remote and further off affections,
These falsehoods are so common, yet in him
They cannot so force nature.

_Ot._ The more near
The bands of truth bind, the more oft they sever,
Being better cloaks to cover falsehood over.

_Sop._ It cannot be, that fruits the tree so blasting
Can grow in nature; take heed gentle Son
Lest some suborn'd suggester of these treasons,
Believ'd in him by you, provok'd the rather
His tender envies, to such foul attempts;
Or that your too much love to rule alone
Breed not in him this jealous passion;
There is not any ill we might not bear
Were not our good held at a price too dear.

_Ot._ So apt is treachery to be excused,
That innocence is still aloud abused,
The fate of vertue even her friends perverts,
To plead for vice oft times against their hearts,
Heavens blessing is her curse, which she must bear
That she may never love.

_Sop._ Alas, my son, nor fate, nor heaven it self,
Can or would wrest my whole care of your good
To any least secureness in your ill:
What I urge issues from my curious fear;
Lest you should make your means to scape your snare.
Doubt of sincereness is the only mean
Not to incense it, but corrupt it clean.

_Ot._ I rest as far from wrong of sincereness,
As he flyes from the practice, trust me Madam,
I know by their confessions, he suborn'd,
What I should eat, drink, touch, or only have scented,
This evening feast was poysoned, but I fear
This open violence more, that treacherous oddes
Which he in his insatiate thirst of rule
Is like to execute.

_Sop._ Believe it Son,
If still his stomach be so foul to feed
On such gross objects, and that thirst to rule
The state alone be yet unquench'd in him,
Poysons and such close treasons ask more time
Than can suffice his fiery spirits hast:
And were there in him such desire to hide
So false a practice, there would likewise rest
Conscience and fear in him of open force,
And therefore close nor open you need fear.

_Mat._ Good Madam, stand not so inclin'd to trust
What proves his tendrest thoughts to doubt it just,
Who knows not the unbounded flood and sea,
In which my Brother _Rollo_'s appetites
Alter and rage with every puffe and breath?
His swelling blood exhales, and therefore hear,
What gives my temperate Brother cause to use
His readiest circumspection, and consult
For remedy against all his wicked purposes;
If he arm, arm, if he strew mines of treason,
Meet him with countermines, it is justice still
(For goodness sake) t'encounter ill with ill.

_Sop._ Avert from us such justice, equal heaven,
And all such cause of justice.

_Ot._ Past all doubt
(For all the sacred privilege of night)
This is no time for us to sleep or rest in;
Who knows not all things holy are prevented
With ends of all impietie, all but
Lust, gain, ambition.

_Enter_ Rollo, _armed, and_ Latorch.

_Rol._ Perish all the world
E're I but lose one foot of possible Empire,
Be slights and colour us'd by slaves and wretches,
I am exempt by birth from both these curbs,
And since above them in all justice, since
I sit above in power, where power is given,
Is all the right suppos'd of Earth and Heaven.

_Lat._ Prove both Sir, see the traytor.

_Ot._ He comes arm'd, see Mother, now your confidence.

_Sop._ What rage affects this monster?

_Rol._ Give me way or perish.

_Sop._ Make thy way viper, if thou thus affect it.

_Ot._ This is a treason like thee.

_Rol._ Let her go.

_Sop._ Embrace me, wear me as thy shield, my Son;
And through my breast let his rude weapon run,
To thy lives innocence.

_Ot._ Play not two parts,
Treacher and coward both; but yield a sword,
And let thy arming thee be odds enough
Against my naked bosom.

_Rol._ Loose his hold.

_Mat._ Forbear base murtherer.

_Rol._ Forsake our Mother.

_Sop._ Mother, dost thou name me, and put'st off nature thus?

_Rol._ Forsake her traytour,
Or by the spouse of nature through hers
This leads unto thy heart.

_Ot._ Hold.

_Sop._ Hold me still.

_Ot._ For twenty hearts and lives I will not hazard
One drop of blood in yours.

_Sop._ Oh thou art lost then.

_Ot._ Protect my innocence, Heaven.

_Sop._ Call out murther.

_Mat._ Be murthered all, but save him.

_Ed._ Murther, murther.

_Rol._ Cannot I reach you yet?

_Ot._ No, fiend.

_Rol._ _Latorch_, rescue, I'me down.

_Lat._ Up then, your sword cools Sir,
Ply it i'th' flame, and work your ends out.

_Rol._ Ha, have at [you] there Sir.

_Enter_ Aubrey.

_Aub._ Author of prodigies, what sights are these?

_Ot._ Oh give me a weapon, _Aubrey_.

_Sop._ Oh part 'em, part 'em.

_Aub._ For Heavens sake no more.

_Ot._ No more resist his fury, no rage can
Add to his mischief done. [_Dyes._

_Sop._ Take spirit my _Otto_,
Heaven will not see thee dye thus.

_Mat._ He is dead, and nothing lives but death of every goodness.

_Sop._ Oh he hath slain his Brother, curse him heaven.

_Rol._ Curse and be cursed, it is the fruit of cursing,
_Latorch_, take off here, bring too, of that blood
To colour o're my shirt, then raise the Court
And give it out how he attempted us
In our bed naked: shall the name of Brother
Forbid us to inlarge our state and powers?
Or place affects of blood above our reason?
That tells us all things good against another,
Are good in the same line against a Brother. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Gisbert, Baldwin.

_Gis._ What affairs inform these out-cries?

_Aub._ See and grieve.

_Gis._ Prince _Otto_ slain!

_Bal._ Oh execrable slaughter!
What hand hath author'd it?

_Aub._ Your Scholars, _Baldwin_.

_Bald._ Unjustly urg'd, Lord _Aubrey_, as if I,
For being his Schoolmaster, must own this doctrine,
You are his Counsellours, did you advise him
To this foul parricide?

_Gis._ If rule affect this licence, who would live
To worse, than dye in force of his obedience?

_Bal._ Heavens cold and lingring spirit to punish sin,
And humane blood so fiery to commit it,
One so outgoes the other, it will never
Be turn'd to fit obedience.

_Aub._ Burst it then
With his full swing given, where it brooks no bound,
Complaints of it are vain; and all that rests
To be our refuge (since our powers are strengthless)
Is to conform our wills to suffer freely,
What with our murmurs we can never master;
Ladys, be pleased with what heavens pleasure suffers,
Erect your princely countenances and spirits,
And to redress the mischiefs now resistless,
Sooth it in shew, rather than curse or cross it;
Which all amends, and vow to it your best,
But till you may perform it, let it rest.

_Gis._ Those temporizings are too dull and servile,
To breath the free air of a manly soul,
Which shall in me expire in execrations,
Before for any life I sooth a murtherer.

_Bal._ Pour lives before him, till his own be dry
Of all lives services and humane comforts;
None left that looks at heaven is half so base
To do those black and hellish actions grace.

_Enter_ Rollo, Lat. Ham. _and Guard_.

_Rol._ Haste _Latorch_
And raise the Citie as the Court is rais'd,
Proclaiming the abhor'd conspiracy
In plot against my life.

_Lat._ I haste my Lord. [_Exit._

_Rol._ You there that mourn upon the justly slain,
Arise and leave it if you love your lives,
And hear from me what (kept by you) may save you.

_Mat._ What will the Butcher do? I will not stir.

_Rol._ Stir, and unforc't stir, or stir never more:
Command her, you grave Beldam, that know better
My deadly resolutions, since I drew them
From the infective fountain of your own,
Or if you have forgot, this fiery prompter
Shall fix the fresh impression on your heart.

_Sop._ Rise Daughter, serve his will in what we may,
Lest what we may not he enforce the rather,
Is this all you command us?

_Rol._ This addition only admitted, that when I endeavour
To quit me of this slaughter, you presume not
To cross me with a syllable for your souls;
Murmur, nor think against it, but weigh well,
It will not help your ill, but help to more,
And that my hand wrought thus far to my will,
Will check at nothing till his circle fill.

_Mat._ Fill it, so I consent not, but who sooths it
Consents, and who consents to tyrannie, does it.

_Rol._ False traytress die then with him.

_Aub._ Are you mad, to offer at more blood, and make your self
More horrid to your people? I'le proclaim,
It is not as your instrument will publish.

_Rol._ Do, and take that along with you--so nimble!
Resign my sword, and dare not for thy soul
To offer what thou insolently threatnest;
One word, proclaiming cross to what _Latorch_
Hath in Commission, and intends to publish.

_Aub._ Well, Sir, not for your threats, but for your good,
Since more hurt to you would more hurt your Country,
And that you must make Vertue of the need
That now compels you, I'll consent as far
As silence argues to your will proclaimed:
And since no more Sons of your Princely Father
Survive to rule but you, and that I wish
You should rule like your Father, with the love
And zeal of all your Subjects; this foul slaughter
That now you have committed made ashamed
With that fair blessing, that in place of plagues,
Heaven trys our mending disposition with:
Take here your sword, which now use like a Prince,
And no more like a Tyrant.

_Rol._ This sounds well, live and be gracious with us.

_Gis._ _and Bal._ Oh Lord _Aubrey_.

_Mat._ He flatter thus?

_Sop._ He temporizes fitly.

_Rol._ Wonder invades me; do you two think much,
That he thus wisely, and with need consents
To what I authour for your Countries good?
You being my Tutor, you my Chancellour.

_Gis._ Your Chancellour is not your Flatterer, Sir.

_Bal._ Nor is it your Tutors part to shield such doctrine.

_Rol._ Sir, first know you,
In praise of your pure Oratory that rais'd you,
That when the people, who I know by this
Are rais'd out of their rests, and hastening hither
To witness what is done here, are arrived
With our _Latorch_, that you, _ex tempore_,
Shall fashion an Oration to acquit
And justifie this forced fact of mine;
Or for the proud refusal lose your head.

_Gis._ I fashion an Oration to acquit you?
Sir, know you then, that 'tis a thing less easie
To excuse a parricide than to commit it.

_Rol._ I do not wish you, Sir, to excuse me,
But to accuse my Brother, as the cause
Of his own slaughter by attempting mine.

_Gis._ Not for the World, I should pour blood on blood;
It were another murther to accuse
Him that fell innocent.

_Rol._ Away with him, hence, hail him straight to execution.

_Aub._ Far flye such rigour, your amendful hand.

_Rol._ He perishes with him that speaks for him;
Guard do your office on him, on your lives pain.

_Gis._ Tyrant, 'twill haste thy own death.

_Rol._ Let it wing it,
He threatens me, Villains tear him piece-meal hence.

_Guard._ Avant Sir.

_Ham._ Force him hence.

_Rol._ Dispatch him, Captain,
And bring me instant word he is dispatched,
And how his Rhetorick takes it.

_Ham._ I'll not fail, Sir.

_Rol._ Captain, besides remember this in chief;
That being executed, you deny
To all his friends the Rites of Funeral,
And cast his Carkass out to Dogs and Fowls.

_Ham._ 'Tis done, my Lord.

_Rol._ Upon your life not fail.

_Bal._ What impious daring is there here of Heaven!

_Rol._ Sir, now prepare your self, against the people
Make here their entry, to discharge the Oration,
He hath denied my will.

_Bal._ For fear of death? ha, ha, ha.

_Rol._ Is death ridiculous with you?
Works misery of Age this, or thy judgment?

_Bal._ Judgment, false Tyrant.

_Rol._ You'll make no Oration then?

_Bal._ Not to excuse, but aggravate thy murder if thou wilt,
Which I will so enforce, I'll make thee wreak it
(With hate of what thou win'st by't) on thy self,
With such another justly merited murther.

_Rol._ I'll answer you anon.

_Enter_ Latorch.

_Lat._ The Citizens are hasting, Sir, in heaps, all full resolved,
By my perswasion of your Brothers Treasons.

_Rol._ Honest _Latorch_.

_Enter_ Hamond.

_Ham._ See, Sir, here's _Gisberts_ head.

_Rol._ Good speed; was't with a Sword?

_Ham._ An Axe, Sir.

_Rol._ An Axe? 'twas vilely done, I would have had
My own fine Headsman done it with a Sword;
Go, take this Dotard here, and take his head
Off with a Sword.

_Ham._ Your Schoolmaster?

_Rol._ Even he.

_Bal._ For teaching thee no better; 'tis the best
Of all thy damned justices; away,
Captain, I'll follow.

_Ed._ Oh stay there, Duke, and in the midst of all thy blood and fury,
Hear a poor Maids Petitions, hear a Daughter,
The only Daughter of a wretched Father;
Oh stay your haste as you shall need this mercy.

_Rol._ Away with this fond woman.

_Ed._ You must hear me
If there be any spark of pity in you,
If sweet humanity and mercy rule you;
I do confess you are a Prince, your anger
As great as you, your Execution greater.

_Rol._ Away with him.

_Ed._ Oh Captain, by thy manhood,
By her soft soul that bare thee, I do confess, Sir,
Your doom of justice on your foes most righteous;
Good noble Prince look on me.

_Rol._ Take her from me.

_Ed._ A curse upon his life that hinders me;
May Fathers Blessing never fall upon him,
May Heaven never hear his Prayers: I beseech you,
Oh Sir, these few tears beseech you; these chast hands woo you,
That never yet were heav'd but to things holy,
Things like your self, you are a god above us;
Be as a God then, full of saving mercy;
Mercy, Oh mercy, for his sake mercy;
That when your stout heart weeps shall give you pity;
Here I must grow.

_Rol._ By Heaven, I'll strike thee, woman.

_Ed._ Most willingly, let all thy anger seek me,
All the most studied torments, so this good man,
This old man, and this innocent escape thee.

_Rol._ Carry him away I say.

_Ed._ Now blessing on thee, Oh sweet pity,
I see it in thy Eyes, I charge you Souldiers
Even by the Princes power, release my Father,
The Prince is merciful, why do you hold him?
He is old, why do you hurt him? speak, Oh speak, Sir;
Speak as you are a man; a mans life hangs, Sir,
A friends life, and a foster life upon you:
'Tis but a word, but mercy quickly spoke, Sir;
Oh speak, Prince, speak.

_Rol._ Will no man here obey me?
Have I no rule yet? as I live he dyes
That does not execute my will, and suddenly.

_Bal._ All that thou canst do takes but one short hour from me.

_Rol._ Hew off her hands.

_Ham._ Lady hold off.

_Ed._ Nay, hew 'em,
Hew off my innocent hands as he commands you.

[_Exeunt Guard, Count_ Baldwin.

They'll hang the faster on for Deaths convulsion.
Thou seed of Rocks, will nothing move thee then?
Are all my tears lost? all my righteous Prayers
Drown'd in thy drunken wrath? I stand thus then,
Thus boldly, bloody Tyrant,
And to thy face in Heavens high Name defie thee;
And may sweet mercy when thy soul sighs for it,
When under thy black mischiefs thy flesh trembles,
When neither strength, nor youth, nor friends, nor gold
Can stay one hour, when thy most wretched Conscience
Wak'd from her dream of death, like fire shall melt thee,
When all thy Mothers tears, thy Brothers wounds,
Thy Peoples fears and curses, and my loss,
My aged fathers loss shall stand before thee.

_Rol._ Save him I say, run, save him, save her Father,
Fly, and redeem his head. [_Exit_ Latorch.

_Ed._ May then that pity,
That comfort thou expect'st from Heaven, that mercy
Be lockt up from thee, fly thee, howling find thee,
Despair, Oh my sweet father, storms of terrours,
Blood till thou burst again.

_Rol._ Oh fair sweet anger.

_Enter_ Latorch _and_ Hamond _with a Head_.

_Lat._ I am too late, Sir, 'twas dispatch'd before,
And his Head is here.

_Rol._ And my Heart there; go bury him,
Give him fair Rites of Funeral, decent Honours.

_Ed._ Wilt thou not take me, Monster? highest Heaven
Give him a punishment fit for his mischief.

_Lat._ I fear thy Prayer is heard, and he rewarded:
Lady, have patience, 'twas unhappy speed;
Blame not the Duke, 'twas not his fault, but Fates;
He sent, you know, to stay it, and commanded
In care of you, the heavy object hence
Soon as it came: have better thoughts of him.

_Enter Citizens._

_1 Cit._ Where's this young Traytor?

_Lat._ Noble Citizens, here,
And here the wounds he gave your soveraign Lord.

_1 Cit._ This Prince of force must be
Belov'd of Heaven, whom Heaven hath thus preserv'd.

_2 Cit._ And if he be belov'd of Heaven, you know,
He must be just, and all his actions so.

_Rol._ Concluded like an Oracle, Oh how great
A grace of Heaven is a wise Citizen!
For Heaven 'tis makes 'em wise, as't makes me just,
As it preserves me, as I now survive
By his strong hand to keep you all alive:
Your Wives, your Children, Goods and Lands kept yours,
That had been else preys to his tyrannous Power,
That would have prey'd on me, in Bed assaulted me
In sacred time of Peace; my Mother here,
My Sister, this just Lord, and all had felt
The certain Gulph of this Conspiracy,
Of which my Tutor and my Chancellour,
(Two of the gravest, and most counted honest
In all my Dukedom) were the monstrous Heads;
Oh trust no honest men for their sakes ever,
My politick Citizens, but those that breathe
The Names of Cut-throats, Usurers and Tyrants,
Oh those believe in, for the foul-mouth'd World
Can give no better terms to simple goodness:
Even me it dares blaspheme, and thinks me tyrannous
For saving my own life sought by my Brother;
Yet those that sought his life before by poyson
(Though mine own servants, hoping to please me)
I'll lead to death for't, which your Eyes shall see.

_1 Cit._ Why, what a Prince is here!

_2 Cit._ How just!

_3 Cit._ How gentle!

_Rol._ Well, now my dearest Subjects, or much rather
My Nerves, my Spirits, or my vital Blood;
Turn to your needful rests, and setled peace,
Fix'd in this root of steel, from whence it sprung
In Heavens great help and Blessing: but ere sleep
Bind in his sweet oblivion your dull senses,
The Name and Vertue of Heavens King advance
For yours, in chief, for my deliverance.

_Cit._ Heaven and his King save our most pious Soveraign.

[_Exeunt Citizens._

_Rol._ Thanks my good people. Mother, and kind Sister,
And you my noble Kinsmen, things born thus
Shall make ye all command what ever I
Enjoy in this my absolute Empire,
Take in the Body of my Princely Brother,
For whose Death, since his Fate no other way
Would give my eldest birth his supream Right;
We'll mourn the cruel influence it bears,
And wash his Sepulchre with kindly tears.

_Aub._ If this game end thus, Heavens will rule the set.
What we have yielded to, we could not let.

[_Exeunt omnes præter_ Latorch, _and_ Edith.

_Lat._ Good Lady rise, and raise your Spirits withal,
More high than they are humbled; you have cause,
As much as ever honour'd happiest Lady;
And when your Ears are freer to take in
Your most amendful and unmatched fortunes,
I'll make you drown a hundred helpless deaths
In Sea of one life pour'd into your Bosome;
With which shall flow into your arms, the Riches,
The Pleasures, Honours, and the rules of Princes;
Which though death stop your ears, methinks should open 'em,
Assay to forget death.

_Ed._ Oh slaughter'd Father.

_Lat._ Taste of what cannot be redress'd, and bless
The Fate that yet you curse so; since for that
You spake so movingly, and your sweet eyes
With so much Grace fill'd, that you set on fire
The Dukes affection, whom you now may rule
As he rules all his Dukedome, is't not sweet?
Does it not shine away your sorrows Clouds?
Sweet Lady, take wise heart, and hear and tell me.

_Ed._ I hear no word you speak.

_Lat._ Prepare to hear then,
And be not barr'd up from your self, nor add
To your ill fortune with your far worse judgment;
Make me your servant to attend with all joys,
Your sad estate, till they both bless and speak it:
See how they'll bow to you, make me wait, command me
To watch out every minute, for the stay
Your modest sorrow fancies, raise your graces,
And do my hopes the honour of your motion,
To all the offered heights that now attend you:
Oh how your touches ravish! how the Duke
Is slain already with your flames embrac'd!
I will both serve and visit you, and often.

_Ed._ I am not fit, Sir.

_Lat._ Time will make you, Lady.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter the Guard, 3 or 4 Boys, then the Sheriff, Cook,_
_Yeoman of the Cellar, Butler, Pantler to execution._

_1 Guard._ Come, bring in these fellows, on, away with 'em.

_2 Guard._ Make room before there, room for the Prisoners.

_1 Boy._ Let's run before, Boys, we shall have no places else.

_2 Boy._ Are these the youths?

_Cook._ These are the youths you look for,
And, pray my honest friends, be not so hasty,
There will be nothing done till we come, I assure you.

_3 Boy._ Here's a wise hanging; are there no more?

_Butl._ Do you hear, Sir? you may come in for your share
if you please.

_Cook._ My friend, if you be unprovided of a hanging,
You look like a good fellow, I can afford you
A reasonable penny-worth.

_2 Boy._ Afore, afore, Boys, here's enough to make us sport.

_Yeom._ 'Pox take you,
Do you call this sport? are these your recreations?
Must we be hang'd to make you mirth?

_Cook._ Do you hear?
You Custard Pate, we go to't for high Treason,
An honourable fault: thy foolish Father
Was hang'd for stealing Sheep.

_Boys._ Away, away, Boys.

_Cook._ Do you see how that sneaking Rogue looks now?
You, Chip, Pantler, you peaking Rogue, that provided us
these Necklaces; you poor Rogue, you costive Rogue, you.

_Pant._ Pray, pray, fellows.

_Cook._ 'Pray for thy crusty soul? where's your reward now,
Goodman Manchet, for your fine discovery?
I do beseech you, Sir, where are your Dollers?
Draw with your fellows and be hang'd.

_Yeom._ He must now;
For now he shall be hang'd first, that's his comfort,
A place too good for thee, thou meal-mouth'd Rascal.

_Coo._ Hang handsomly for shame, come, leave your praying,
You peaking Knave, and dye like a good Courtier,
Dye honestly, and like a man; no preaching,
With I beseech you take example by me,
I liv'd a lewd man, good People. 'Pox on't,
Dye me as if thou hadst din'd, say Grace, and God be with you.

_Guard._ Come, will you forward?

_Cook._ Good Mr. Sheriff, your leave, this hasty work
Was ne'r done well; give us so much time as but to sing
Our own Ballads, for we'll trust no man,
Nor no tune but our own; 'twas done in Ale too,
And therefore cannot be refus'd in Justice.
Your penny-pot Poets are such pelting thieves,
They ever hang men twice; we have it here, Sir,
And so must every Merchant of our Voyage.
He'll make a sweet return else of his Credit.

_Yeom._ One fit of our own mirth, and then we are for you.

_Guard._ Make haste then, dispatch.

_Yeom._ There's day enough, Sir.

_Cook._ Come, Boys, sing chearfully, we shall ne'r sing younger.
We have chosen a loud tune too, because it should like well.

The SONG.

_Come, For[t]une's a Whore, I care not who tell her,_
_Would offer to strangle a Page of the Celler,_
_That should by his Oath to any Mans thinking,_
_And place, have had a defence for his drinking;_
_But thus she does still, when she pleases to palter,_
_Instead of his Wages, she gives him a Halter._

Three merry Boys, and three merry Boys, and three merry Boys are we,
As ever did sing in a hempen string under the Gallow-tree.