Chapter XI: Part 11

_Dor._ Great Generall,
Victorious, godlike _Martius_, your poor handmaid
Kneels, for her husband will not, cannot: speaks
Thus humbly, that he may not. Listen _Roman_,
Thou whose advanced front doth speak thee _Roman_
To every Nation, and whose deeds assure 't;
Behold a Princess (whose declining head
Like to a drooping lilly after storms
Bowes to thy feet) and playing here the slave,
To keep her husbands greatness unabated:
All which doth make thy Conquest greater: For,
If he be base in ought whom thou hast taken,
Then _Martius_ hath but taken a base prize.
But if this Jewell hold lustre and value,
_Martius_ is richer then in that he hath won.
O make him such a Captive, as thy self
Unto another wouldst, great Captain, be;
Till then, he is no prisoner fit for thee.

_Mar. Valerius_, here is harmonie would have brought
Old crabbed _Saturn_ to sweet sleep, when _Jove_
Did first incense him with Rebellion:
_Athens_ doth make women Philosophers,
And sure their children chat the talk of gods.

_Val._ Rise beauteous _Dorigen_.

_Dor._ Not untill I know
The Generals resolution.

_Val._ One soft word
From _Sophocles_ would calm him into tears,
Like gentle showres after tempestuous winds.

_Dor._ To buy the world, he will not give a word,
A look, a tear, a knee, 'gainst his own judgement,
And the divine composure of his minde:
All which I therefore doe, and here present
This Victors wreathe, this rich _Athenian_ sword,
Trophies of Conqu[e]st, which, great _Martius_, wear,
And be appeas'd: Let _Sophocles_ still live.

_Mar._ He would not live.

_Dor._ He would not beg to live.
When he shall so forget, then I begin
To command, _Martius_; and when he kneels,
_Dorigen_ stands; when he lets fall a tear,
I dry mine eyes, and scorn him.

_Mar._ Scorn him now then,
Here in the face of _Athens_, and thy friends.
Self-will'd, stiff _Sophocles_, prepare to die,
And by that sword thy Lady honor'd me,
With which her self shall follow. Romans, Friends,
Who dares but strike this stroke, shall part with me
Half _Athens_, and my half of Victorie.

_Cap._ By ---- not we.

_Nic. Cor._ We two will do it, Sir.

_Soph._ Away, ye fish-fac'd Rascals.

_Val. Martius_,
To Eclipse this great Eclipse labours thy fame;
_Valerius_ thy Brother shall for once
Turn Executioner: Give me the sword.
Now _Sophocles_, I'll strike as suddenly
As thou dar'st die.

_Soph._ Thou canst not. And _Valerius_,
'Tis less dishonour to thee thus to kill me,
Then bid me kneel to _Martius_: 'tis to murther
The fame of living men, which great ones do;
Their studies strangle, poyson makes away,
The wretched hangman only ends the Play.

_Val._ Art thou prepar'd?

_Soph._ Yes.

_Val._ Bid thy wife farewell.

_Soph._ No, I will take no leave: My _Dorigen_,
Yonder above, 'bout _Ariadnes_ Crown
My spirit shall hover for thee; prethee haste.

_Dor._ Stay _Sophocles_, with this tie up my sight,
Let not soft nature so transform[e]d be
(And lose her gentle[r] sex'd humanitie)
To make me see my Lord bleed. So, 'tis well:
Never one object underneath the Sun
Will I behold before my _Sophocles_.
Farewell: now teach the Romans how to die.

_Mar._ Dost know what 'tis to die?

_Soph._ Thou dost not, _Martius_,
And therefore not what 'tis to live; to die
Is to begin to live: It is to end
An old stale weary work, and to commence
A newer and a better. 'Tis to leave
Deceitfull knaves for the societie
Of gods and goodness. Thou thy self must part
At last from all thy garlands, pleasures, Triumphs,
And prove thy fortitude, what then 'twill do.

_Val._ But ar't not griev'd nor vex'd to leave life thus?

_Soph._ Why should I grieve, or vex for being sent
To them I ever lov'd best? now I'll kneel,
But with my back toward thee; 'tis the last duty
This trunk can doe the gods.

_Mar._ Strike, strike, _Valerius_,
Or _Martius_ heart will leap out at his mouth.
This is a man, a woman! Kiss thy Lord,
And live with all the freedome you were wont.
O Love! thou doubly hast afflicted me,
With virtue, and with beauty. Treacherous heart,
My hand shall cast thee quick into my urne,
E're thou transgress this knot of pietie.

_Val._ What ails my Brother?

_Soph. Martius_, oh _Martius_!
Thou now hast found a way to conquer me.

_Dor._ O star of _Rome_, what gratitude can speak
Fit words to follow such a deed as this?

_Mar._ Doth _Juno_ talk, or _Dorigen_?

_Val._ You are observ'd.

_Mar._ This admirable Duke (_Valerius_)
With his disdain of Fortune, and of Death,
Captiv'd himself, hath captivated me:
And though my arm hath ta'ne his body here,
His soul hath subjugated _Martius_ soul:
By _Romulus_, he is all soul, I think;
He hath no flesh, and spirit cannot b[e] gyv'd;
Then we have vanquish'd nothing; he is free,
And _Martius_ walks now in captivitie.

_Soph._ How fares the noble Roman?

_Mar._ Why?

_Dor._ Your blood
Is sunk down to your heart, and your bright eyes
Have lost their splendor.

_Mar._ Baser fires go out,
When the Sun shines on 'em: I am not well,
An Apoplectick fit I use to have
After my heats in war carelesly coold.

_Soph. Martius_ shall rest in _Athens_ with his friends,
Till this distemper leave him: O! great Roman,
See _Sophocles_ doe that for thee, he could not
Do for himself, weep. _Martius_, by the----
It grieves me that so brave a soul should suffer
Under the bodies weak infirmitie.
Sweet Lady, take him to thy loving charge,
And let thy care be tender.

_Dor._ Kingly Sir,
I am your Nurse and servant.

_Mar._ O deer Lady,
My Mistris, nay my Deity; guide me heaven,
Ten wreathes triumphant _Martius_ will give,
To change a _Martius_ for a _Sophocles_:
Can't not be done (_Valerius_) with this boot?
Inseparable affection, ever thus
Colleague with _Athens Rome_.

_Dor._ Beat warlike tunes,
Whilest _Dorigen_ thus honors _Martius_ brow
With one victorious wreath more.

_Soph._ And _Sophocles_
Thus girds his Sword of conquest to his thigh,
Which ne'r be drawn, but cut out Victorie.

_Lords._ For ever be it thus. [_Exeunt._

_Corn._ Corporall _Nichodemus_, a word with you.

_Nic._ My worthie Sutler _Cornelius_, it befits not _Nichodemus_
the Roman Officer to parley with a fellow of thy rank: the affairs
of the Empire are to be occupied.

_Corn._ Let the affaires of the Empire lie a while unoccupied,
sweet _Nichodemus_; I doe require the money at thy hands, which
thou doest owe me; and if faire means cannot attain, force of Armes
shall accomplish.

_Nic._ Put up and live.

_Corn._ I have put up too much already, thou Corporall of
Concupiscence, for I suspect thou hast dishonored my flock-bed,
and with thy foolish Eloquence, and that bewitching face of thine
drawn my Wife, the young harlotrie baggage to prostitute herself
unto thee. Draw therefore, for thou shalt find thyself a mortall
Corporall.

_Nichod._ Stay thy dead-doing hand, and heare: I will rather
descend from my honor, and argue these contumelies with thee, then
clutch thee (poor flye) in these eaglet ---- of mine: or draw my
sword of Fate on a Pesant, a _Besognio_, a _Cocoloch_, as thou art.
Thou shalt first understand this foolish eloquence, and intolerable
beauty of mine (both which, I protest, are meerly naturall) are the
gifts of the gods, with which I have neither sent baudy Sonnet,
nor amorous glance, or (as the vulgar call it) sheeps eye to thy
betrothed _Florence_.

_Cor._ Thou lyest.

_Nich._ O gods of _Rome_, was _Nichodemus_ born
To hear these braveries from a poor provant?
Yet when dogs bark, or when the asses bray,
The lion laughs, not roars, but goes his way.

_Cornel._ A ---- o' your poeticall veine: This versifying my wife
has hornified me. Sweet Corporall codshead, no more standing on
your punctilio's and punketto's of honor, they are not worth a
lowse: the truth is, thou art the Generals Bygamie, that is, his
fool, and his knave; thou art miscreant and recreant, not an
horse-boy in the Legions, but has beaten thee; thy beginning was
knap-sack, and thy ending will be halter-sack.

_Nich._ Me thinks I am now _Sophocles_, the wise, and thou art
_Martius_, the mad.

_Cornel._ No more of your tricks good Corporall Letherchops: I
say, thou hast dishonour'd me, and since honor now adaies is only
repaired by money, pay me, and I am satisfied: Even reckoning keeps
long friends.

_Nic._ Let us continue friends then, for I have been even with thee
a long time; and though I have not paid thee, I have paid thy wife.

_Corn._ Flow forth my tears, thou hast deflowred her _Tarquin_,
the Garden of my delight, hedg'd about, in which there was but one
bowling Alley for mine owne private procreation, thou hast, like a
thief in the night, leap'd the hedge, entred my Alley, and without
my privitie, plaid thine owne rubbers.

_Nic._ How long shall patience thus securely snore?
Is it my fault, if these attractive eyes,
This budding chin, or rosie-colour'd cheek,
This comely body, and this waxen leg,
Have drawn her into a fools paradise?
By _Cupids_ ---- I do swear (no other)
She's chaster far then _Lucrece_, her grand-mother;
Pure as glass-window, ere the rider dash it,
Whiter then Ladyes smock, when she did wash it:
For well thou wotst (though now my hearts Commandress)
I once was free, and she but the Camps Landress.

_Corn._ I, she then came sweet to me; no part about her but smelt
of Soap-suds, like a _Dryad_ out of a wash-bowl. Pray, or pay.

_Nich._ Hold.

_Corn._ Was thy cheese mouldy, or thy peny-worths small?
Was not thy Ale the mightiest of the earth in Malt,
And thy stope fill'd like a tide: was not thy bed soft, and
Thy Bacon fatter then a dropsie? Come, Sir.

_Nich. Mars_ then inspire me with the fencing skill
Of our Tragedi[a]n Actors. Honor pricks;
And Sutler, now I come with thwacks and thwicks.
Grant us one crush, one pass, and now a high, Cavalto fall:
Then up again, now down again, yet do no harm at all.

_Enter Wife._

_Wife._ O that ever I was born: why Gent?

_Corn. Messaline_ of _Rome_, away, disloyal Concubine: I will be
deafer to thee, then thou art to others: I will have my hundred
drachma's he owes me, thou arrant whore.

_Wife._ I know he is an hundred drachmaes o'the score; but what o'
that? no bloodshed, sweet _Cornelius_. O my heart; o' my conscience
't is faln thorow the bottom of my bellie. O my sweet Didimus,
if either of ye miskil one another, what will become of [p]oor
_Florence_? Pacifie your selves, I pray.

_Corn._ Go to, my heart is not stone; I am not marble: drie your
eyes, _Florence_; the scurvie apes-face knows my blinde side well
enough: leave your puling; will this content ye? let him tast thy
nether lip, which in signe of amitie I thus take off again: go thy
ways, and provide the Cows udder.

_Nich._ Lilie of Concord. And now, honest Sutler, since I have had
proof as well of thy good nature, as of thy wives before, I will
acquaint thee with a project shall fully satisfie thee for thy
debt. Thou shalt understand I am shortly to be knighted.

_Corn._ The devil thou art.

_Nich._ Renounce me else; for the sustenance of which Worship
(which Worship many times wants sustenance) I have here the
Generals grant to have the leading of two hundred men.

_Corn._ You jest, you jest.

_Nich._ Refuse me else to the pit.

_Corn._ Mercie on us: ha you not forgot your self? by you[r]
swearing you should be knighted already.

_Nich._ Damn me, Sir, here's his hand, read it.

_Corn._ Alas, I cannot.

_Nich._ I know that.

It has pleas'd the General to look upon my service. Now, Sir, shall
you joyn with me in petitioning for fifty men more, in regard of my
arrearages to you; which if granted, I will bestow the whole profit
of those fifty men on thee and thine heirs for ever, till _Atropos_
do cut this simple thred.

_Corn._ No more, dear Corporal, Sir _Nichodemus_, that shall be, I
cry your wishes mercie: I am your servant body and goods, moveables
and immoveables; use my house, use my wife, use me, abuse me, do
what you list.

_Nich._ A figment is a candid lye: this is an old Pass. Mark what
follows. [_Exeunt._

_Enter Martius, and two Captains._

_Mar._ Pray leave me: you are Romans, honest men,
Keep me not company, I am turn'd knave,
Have lost my fame and nature. _Athens, Athens_,
This _Dorigen_ is thy _Palladium_:
He that will sack thee, must betray her first,
Whose words wound deeper than her husbands sword;
Her eyes make captive still the Conqueror,
And here they keep her only to that end.
O subtill devil, what a golden ball
Did tempt, when thou didst cast her in my way!
Why, foolish _Sophocles_, broughtst thou not to field
Thy Lady, that thou mightst have overcome?
_Martius_ had kneel'd, and yielded all his wreathes
That hang like Jewels on the seven-fold hill,
And bid _Rome_, send him out to fight with men,
(For that she knew he durst) and not 'gainst Fate
Or Deities, what mortal conquers them?
Insatiate _Julius_, when his Victories
Had run ore half the world, had he met her,
There he had stopt the legend of his deeds,
Laid by his Arms, been overcome himself,
And let her vanquish th' other half. And fame
Made beauteous _Dorigen_, the greater name.
Shall I thus fall? I will not; no, my tears
Cast on my heart, shall quench these lawless fires:
He conquers best, conquers his lewd desires.

_Enter Dorigen, with Ladyes._

_Dor._ Great Sir, my Lord commands me visit you,
And thinks your retir'd melancholy proceeds
From some distast of worthless entertainment.
Will't please you take your chamber? how d'ye do, Sir?

_Mar._ Lost, lost again; the wild rage of my blood
Doth Ocean-like oreflow the shallow shore
Of my weak virtue: my desire's a vane,
That the least breath from her turns every way.

_Dor._ What says my Lord?

_Mar._ Dismiss your women, pray,
And I'll reveal my grief.

_Dor._ Leave me.

_Mar._ Long tales of love (whilst love it self
Might be enjoyed) are languishing delays.
There is a secret strange lies in my brest,
I will partake wi' you, which much concerns
Your Lord, your self, and me. Oh!

_Dor._ Strange secrets, Sir,
Should not be made so cheap to strangers: yet,
If your strange secret do no lower lie
Then in your brest, discover it.

_Mar._ I will.
Oh! can you not see it, Lady, in my sighs?

_Dor._ Sighs none can paint, and therefore who can see?

_Mar._ Scorn me not, _Dorigen_, with mocks: _Alcides_,
That master'd monsters, was by beautie tam'd,
_Omphale_ smil'd his club out of his hand,
And made him spin her smocks. O sweet, I love you,
And I love _Sophocles_: I must enjoy you,
And yet I would not injure him.

_Dor._ Let go;
You hurt me, Sir: fare well. Stay, is this _Martius_?
I will not tell my Lord; he'll swear I lye.
Doubt my fidelitie, before thy honor.
How hast thou vex'd the gods, that they would let thee
Thus violate friendship, hospitalitie,
And all the bounds of sacred pietie?
Sure thou but tri'st me out of love to him,
And wouldst reject me, if I did consent.
O _Martius, Martius_, wouldst thou in one minute,
Blast all thy Laurels, which so many years
Thou hast been purchasing with blood and sweat?
Hath _Dorigen_ never been written, read,
Without the epithet of chast, chast _Dorigen_?
And wouldst thou fall upon her chastitie,
Like a black drop of ink, to blot it out?
When men shall read the records of thy valour,
Thy hitherto-brave virtue, and approach
(Highly content yet) to this foul assault
Included in this leaf, this ominous leaf,
They shall throw down the Book, and read no more,
Though the best deeds ensue, and all conclude,
That ravell'd the whole story, whose sound heart
(Which should have been) prov'd the most leprous part.

_Mar._ O! thou confut'st divinely, and thy words
Do fall like rods upon me; but they have
Such silken lines, and silver hooks, that I
Am faster snar'd: my love has ta'en such hold,
That (like two wrestlers) though thou stronger be,
And hast cast me, I hope to pull thee after.
I must, or perish.

_Dor._ Perish, _Martius_, then;
For I here vow unto the gods, These rocks,
These rocks we see so fix'd, shall be removed,
Made champion field, ere I so impious prove,
To stain my Lords bed with adulterous love.

_Enter Valerius._

_Val._ The gods protect fair _Dorigen_.

_Dor._ Amen,
From all you wolvish Romanes. [_Exit._

_Val._ Ha? what's this?
Still, brother, in your moods? O th[e]n my doubts
Are truths. Have at it: I must try a way
To be resolv'd.

_Mar._ How strangely dost thou look! what ailst thou?

_Val._ What ailst thou?

_Mar._ Why, I 'm mad.

_Val._ Why, I [a]m madder. _Martius_, draw thy sword,
And lop a villain from the earth; for if
Thou wilt not, on some tree about this place
I'll hang my self; _Valerius_ shall not live
To wound his brothers honor, stain his Countrey,
And branded with ingratitude to all times.

_Mar._ For what can all this be?

_Val._ I [a]m in love.

_Mar._ Why so am I. With whom? ha?

_Val. Dorigen._

_Mar._ With _Dorigen_? how dost thou love her? speak.

_Val._ Even to the height of lust; and I must have her or else I
die.

_Mar._ Thou shalt, thou daring Traitor.
On all the confines I have rid my horse,
Was there no other woman for thy choice
But _Dorigen_? Why, villain, she is mine:
She makes me pine thus, sullen, mad, and fool;
'T is I must have her, or I die.

_Val._ O all ye gods,
With mercy look on this declining rock
Of valour, and of virtue; breed not up
(From infancie) in honor, to full man,
As you have done him, to destroy: here, strike;
For I have onely search'd thy wound: dispatch;
Far, far be such love from _Valerius_,
So far he scorns to live to be call'd brother
By him that dares own such folly and such vice.

_Mar._ 'T is truth thou speak'st; but I do hate it: peace,
If heaven will snatch my sword out of my hand,
And put a rattle in it, what can I do?
He that is destin'd to be odious
In his old age, must undergo his fate.

_Enter Cornelius and Nichodemus._

_Corn._ If you do not back me, I shall never do't.

_Nich._ I warrant you.

_Corn._ Humh, humh: Sir; my Lord, my Lord.

_Mart._ Hah? what's the matter?

_Corn._ Humh; concerning the odd fifty, my Lord, and 't please your
Generality, his Worship, Sir _Nichodemus_.

_Mar._ What's here? a Pass? you would for _Rome_? you lubbers, doth
one days laziness make ye covet home? away, ye boarish rogues; ye
dogs, away.

_Enter wife._

_Wife._ Oh, oh, oh:
How now man, are you satisfi'd?

_Corn._ I, I, I: a ---- o' your Corporal; I 'm paid soundly, I was
never better paid in all my life.

_Wife._ Mar[r]y the gods blessing on his honors heart: you have
done a charitable deed, Sir, many more such may you live to do,
Sir: the gods keep you, Sir, the gods protect you. [_Exit._

_Mar._ These peasants mock me sure (_Valerius_)
Forgive my dotage, see my ashes urn'd,
And tell fair _Dorigen_, (she that but now
Left me with this harsh vow, Sooner these rocks
Should be remov'd, then she would yield) that I
Was yet so loving, on her gift to die.

_Val._ O _Jupiter_ forbid it, Sir, and grant
This my device may certifie thy mind:
You are my brother, nor must perish thus:
Be comforted: think you fair _Dorigen_
Would yield your wishes, if these envious rocks
By skill could be remov'd, or by fallacie
She made believe so?

_Mar._ Why, she could not chuse;
The _Athenians_ are religious in their vows,
Above all nations.

_Val._ Soft, down yonder hill
The Lady comes this way, once more to trie her,
If she persist in obstinacie: by my skill
Learn'd from the old _Caldean_ was my Tutor,
Who train'd me in the _Mathematicks_, I will
So dazle and delude her sight, that she
Shall think this great impossibilitie
Effected by some supernatural means.
Be confident; this engine shall at least,
Till the gods better order, still this brest. [_Exit Valerius._

_Mar._ O my best brother, go; and for reward,
Chuse any part o'th' world, I'll give it thee.
O little _Rome_, men say thou art a god;
Thou mightst have got a fitter fool then I.

_Enter Dorigen._

_Dor._ Art thou there, Basilisk? remove thine eyes,
For I'm sick to death with thy infection.

_Mar._ Yet, yet have mercy on me; save him, Lady,
Whose single arm defends all _Rome_, whose mercie
Hath sav'd thy husband's and thy life.

_Dor._ To spoil
Our fame and honors? no, my vow is fixt,
And stands, as constant as these stones do, still.

_Mar._ Then pitie me, ye gods; you onely may
Move her, by tearing these firm stones a way.

[_Solemn musick._

_A mist ariseth, the rocks remove._

_Enter Valerius like Mercury, singing._

Val. _Martius rejoyce, Jove sends me from above,_
_His Messenger, to cure thy desperate love;_
_To shew rash vows c[a]nnot binde destinie:_
_Lady, behold, the rocks transplanted be._
_Hard-hearted Dorigen, yield, lest for contempt,_
_They fix thee here a rock, whence they 're exempt._

_Dor._ What strange delusion's this? what Sorcery
Affrights me with these apparitions?
My colder Chastity's nigh turn'd to death.
Hence, lewd Magician; dar'st thou make the gods
Bawds to thy lust; will they do miracles
To further evil? or do they love it now?
Know, if they dare do so, I dare hate them,
And will no longer serve 'em. _Jupiter_,
Thy golden showr, nor thy snow-white Swan,
Had I been _Læda_, or bright _Danae_,
Had bought mine honor. Turn me into stone
For being good, and blush when thou hast done. [_Exit Dorigen._

_Enter Valerius._

_Mar._ O my _Valerius_, all yet will not do;
Unless I could so draw mine honestie
Down to the lees to be a ravisher;
She calls me witch, and villain.

_Val._ Patience, Sir,
The gods will punish perjury. Let her breathe
And ruminate on this strange sight. Time decays
The strongest fairest buildings we can finde;
But still _Diana_, fortifie her minde. [_Exeunt._

_Enter Sophocles and Dorigen._

_Soph._ Weep not bright _Dorigen_; for thou hast stood
Constant and chaste (it seems 'gainst gods and men)
When rocks and mountains were remov'd. These wonders
Do stupifie my senses. _Martius_,
This is inhumane: was thy sickness lust?
Yet were this truth, why weeps she? Jealous soul,
What dost thou thus suggest? Vows, Magick, Rocks?
Fine tales, and tears. She ne'er complain'd before.
I bade her visit him; she often did,
Had many opportunities. Humh, 'tis naught: O!
No way but this. Come, weep no more, I have ponder'd
This miracle: the anger of the gods,
Thy vow, my love to thee, and _Martius_:
He must not perish, nor thou be forsworn,
Lest worse fates follow us; Go, keep thy oath:
For chaste, and whore, are words of equal length:
But let not _Martius_ know that I consent,
O! I'm pull'd in pieces.

_Dor._ I? say you so?
I'll meet you in your path. O wretched men!
With all your valour and your learning, bubbles.
Forgive me, _Sophocles_. Yet why kneel I
For pardon, having been but over-diligent,
Like an obedient servant, antedating
My Lords command? Sir, I have often, and already given
This bosom up to his embraces, and
Am proud that my dear Lord is pleas'd with it;
Whose gentle honorable minde I see
Participates even all, his wife and all,
Unto his friend. You are sad, Sir. _Martius_ loves me,
And I love _Martius_ with such ardencie,
As never married couple could: I must
Attend him now. My Lord, when you have need
To use your own wife, pray Sir send for me;
Till then, make use of your Philosophie. [_Exit._

_Soph._ Stay, _Dorigen_: O me, inquisitive fool!
Thou that didst order this congested heap
When it was Chaos, 'twixt thy spacious palms
Forming it to this vast rotundie;
Dissolve it now; shuffle the elements,
That no one proper by it self may stand:
Let the sea quench the sun, and in that instant
The sun drink up the sea: day, ne'er come down,
To light me to those deeds that must be done. [_Exit._

_Drums and Colours._

_Enter Martius, Valerius, Captains and soldiers, at one_
_door, and Dorigen with Lad[i]es, at another._

_Dor._ Hail, General of _Rome_; from _Sophocles_
That honors _Martius_, _Dorigen_ presents
Her self to be dishonour'd: do thy will;
For _Sophocles_ commands me to obey.
Come, violate all rules of holiness,
And rend the consecrated knot of love.

_Mar._ Never, _Valerius_, was I blest till now:
Behold the end of all my weary steps,
The prize of all my Battels: leave us all;
Leave us as quick as thought. Thus joy begin,
In zealous love a minutes loss is sin.

_Val._ Can _Martius_ be so vile? or _Dorigen_?

_Dor._ Stay, stay, and monster, keep thou further of;
I thought thy brave soul would have much, much loath'd
To have gone on still on such terms as this.
See, thou ungrateful, since thy desperate lust
Nothing can cure but death, I'll die for thee,
Whilst my chaste name lives to posterity.

_Mar._ Live, live, thou Angel of thy sex: forgive,
Till by those golden tresses thou be'st snatch'd
Alive to Heaven: for thy corruption's
So little, that it cannot suffer death.
Was ever such a woman? O my mirror!
How perfectly thou shew'st me all my faults,
Which now I hate, and when I next attempt thee,
Let all the fires in the _Zodiak_
Drop on this cursed head.

_All._ O blest event!

_Dor._ Rise like the sun again in all his glory,
After a dark Eclipse.

_Mar._ Never without a pardon.

_Enter Sophocles, and two or three with him._

_Dor._ Sir, you have forgiven your self.

_Soph._ Behold their impudence: are my words just?
Unthankful man, viper to Arms, and _Rome_
Thy natural mother; have I warm'd thee here
To corrode ev'n my heart? _Martius_, prepare
To kill me, or be kill'd.

_Mar._ Why _Sophocles_?
Then prethee kill me; I deserve it highly;
For I have both transgress'd 'gainst men, and gods;
But am repentant now, and in best case
To uncase my soul of this oppressing flesh;
Which, though (Gods witness) nev'r was actually
Injurious to thy wife and thee, yet 't was
Her goodness that restrain'd and held me now:
But take my life, dear friend, for my intent,
Or else forgive it.

_Val._ By the gods of _Athens_,
These words are true, and all direct again.

_Soph._ Pardon me, _Dorigen_.

_Mar._ Forgive me, _Sophocles_,
And _Dorigen_ too, and every one that 's good.

_Dor._ Rise, noble Roman, belov'd _Sophocles_,
Take to thy brest thy friend.

_Mar._ And to thy heart
Thy matchless wife: Heaven has not stuff enough
To make another such: for if it could,
_Martius_ would marry too. For thy blest sake
(O thou infinitie of excellence)
Henceforth in mens discourse _Rome_ shall not take
The wall of _Athens_, as 'tofore. But when
In their fair honors we to speak do come,
We'll say 'T was so in _Athens_, and in _Rome_.

[_Exeun[t] in pomp._

_Diana descends._

Diana. _Honor set ope thy gates, and with thee bring_
_My servant and thy friend, fair_ Dorigen_:_
_Let her triumph, with her, her Lord, and friend,_
_Who, though misled, still honor was their end_. [Flourish.

_Enter the Shew of_ Honors Triumph; _a great flourish of Trumpets
and Drums within; Then enter a noise of Trumpets sounding
cheerfully. Then follows an armed Knight bearing a Crimson
Banneret in hand, with the inscription_ Valour: _by his side
a Lady, bearing a Watchet Banneret, the inscription_ Clemencie:
_next_ Martius _and_ Sophocles _with Coronets. Next, two
Lad[i]es, one bearing a white Banneret, the inscription_ Chastity:
_the other a black, the inscription_ Constancie. _Then_ Dorigen
_crown'd. Last, a Chariot drawn by two Moors, in it a Person
crown'd, with a Scepter: on the top, in an antick Scutcheon, is
written_ Honor. _As they pass over_, Diana _ascends_.

_Rinald._ How like you it?

_Frig._ Rarely; so well, I would they would do it again. How many
of our wives now adays would deserve to triumph in such a Chariot?

_Rinald._ That's all one; you see they triumph in Caroches.

_Frig._ That they do, by the mass; but not all neither; many of
them are content with Carts. But Seignior, I have now found out a
great absurditie i'faith.

_Rinald._ What was 't?

_Frig._ The Prologue presenting four Triumphs, made but three legs
to the King: a three-legged Prologue, 't was monstrous.

_Rinald._ 'T had been more monstrous to have had a four-legg'd one.
Peace, the King speaks.

_Em._ Here was a woman, _Isabel._

_Isa._ I, my Lord,
But that she told a lye to vex her husband;
Therein sh[e] fail'd.

_Em._ She serv'd him well enough;
He that was so much man, yet would be cast
To jealousie for her integrity.
This teacheth us, the passion of love
Can fight with Soldiers, and with Scholars too.

_Isa._ In _Martius_, clemencie and valour shown,
In the other, courage and humanitie;
And therefore in the Triumph they were usher'd
By clemencie and valour.

_Em._ Rightly observ'd,
As she by chastitie and constancie;
What hurt's now in a Play, against which some rail
So vehemently? thou and I, my love,
Make excellent use methinks: I learn to be
A lawful lover void of jealousie,
And thou a constant wife. Sweet Poetry's
A flower, where men, like Bees and Spiders, may
Bear poison, or else sweets and Wax away.
Be venom-drawing Spiders they that will;
I'll be the Bee, and suck the honey still. [_Flourish._

_Cupid descends._

Cupid. _Stay, clouds, ye rack too fast: bright Phœbus see,_
_Honor has triumph'd with fair Chastity:_
_Give Love now leave, in purity to shew_
_Unchaste affe[ct]ions flie not from his bowe._
_Produce the sweet example of your youth._
_Whilst I provide a Triumph for your Truth._ [Flourish.

_Enter Violanta (with childe) and Gerrard._

_Viol._ Why does my _Gerr[a]rd_ grieve?

_Ger._ O my sweet Mistris,
'Tis not life (which by our _Milain_ law
My fact hath forfeited) makes me thus pensive;
That I would lose to save the little finger
Of this your noble burthen, from least hurt,
Because your blood is in't. But since your love
Made poor incompatible me the parent,
(Being we are not married) your dear blood
Falls under the same cruel penalty;
And can Heaven think fit ye die for me?
For Heavens sake say I ravisht you, I'll swear it,
To keep your life, and repute unstain'd.

_Viol._ O _Gerrard_, th' art my life and faculties:
And if I lose thee, I'll not keep mine own;
The thought of whom, sweetens all miseries.
Wouldst have me murder thee beyond thy death?
Unjustly scandal thee with ravishment?
It was so far from rape, that Heaven doth know,
If ever the first Lovers, ere they fell,
Knew simply in the state of innocence,
Such was this act, this, that doth ask no blush.

_Ger._ O! but my rarest _Violanta_, when
My Lord _Randulpho_ brother to you[r] father,
Shall understand this, how will he exclaim,
That my poor Aunt, and me, which his free alms
Hath nurs'd, since _Millain_ by the Duke of _Mantua_
(Who now usurps it) was surpriz'd? that time
My father and my mother were both slain,
With my Aunts husband, as she says, their states
Despoil'd and seiz'd; 'tis past my memory,
But thus she told me: onely thus I know,
Since I could understand, your honor'd Uncle
Hath given me all the liberal education,
That his own son might look for, had he one;
Now will he say, Dost thou requite me thus?
O! the thought kills me.

_Viol._ Gentle, gentle _Gerrard_,
Be cheer'd, and hope the best. My mother, father,
And uncle love me most indulgently,
Being the onely branch of all their stocks:
But neither they, nor he thou wouldst not grieve
With this unwelcom news, shall ever hear
_Violanta_'s tongue reveal, much less accuse
_Gerrard_ to be the father of his own;
I'll rather silent die, that thou maist live
To see thy little of-spring grow and thrive.

_Enter Dorothea._

_Dor._ Mistris, away, your Lord and father seeks you;
I'll convey _Gerrard_ out at the back door;
He has found a husband for you, and insults
In his invention, little thinking you
Have made your own choice, and possest him too.

_Viol._ A husband? 't mus[t] be _Gerrard_, or my death.
Fare well; be onely true unto thy self,
And know Heavens goodness shall prevented be,
Ere worthiest _Gerrard_ suffer harm for me.

_Ger._ Fare well, my life and soul. Aunt, to your counsel
I flee for aid. O unexpressible love! thou art
An undigested heap of mixt extremes,
Whose pangs are wakings, and whose pleasures dreams. [_Exeunt._

_Enter Benvoglio, Angelina, Ferdinand._

_Ben._ My _Angelina_, never didst thou yet
So please me, as in this consent; and yet
Thou hast pleas'd me well, I swear, old wench: ha, ha.
_Ferdinand_, she's thine own; thou'st have her, boy,
Ask thy good Lady else.

_Ferd._ Whom shall I have, Sir?

_Ben._ Whom d' ye think, ifaith?

_Angel._ Ghess.

_Ferd._ Noble Madam,
I may hope (prompted by shallow merit)
Through your profound grace, for your chamber-maid.

_Ben._ How 's that? how 's that?

[_Ferd._ Her chamber-maid, my Lord.

_Ben._] Her chamber-pot, my Lord. You modest ass,
Thou never shew'dst thy self an ass till now.
'Fore Heaven I am angrie with thee. Sirha, sirha,
This whitmeat spirit's not yours, legitimate,
Advance your hope, and 't please you: ghess again.

_Ang._ And let your thoughts flee higher: aim them right;
Sir, you may hit, you have the fairest white.

_Ferd._ If I may be so bold then, my good Lord,
Your favour doth encourage me to aspire
To catch my Ladyes Gentlewoman.

_Ben._ Where?
Where would you catch her?
Do you know my daughter _Violanta_, Sir?

_Ang._ Well said: no more about the bush.

_Ferd._ My good Lord,
I have gaz'd on _Violanta_, and the stars,
Whose Heavenly influence I admir'd, not knew,
Nor ever was so sinful to believe
I might attain 't.

_Ben._ Now you are an ass again;
For if thou ne'er attain'st, 't is onely long
Of that faint heart of thine, which never did it.
She is your Lords heir, mine, _Benvoglio_'s heir,
My brothers too, _Randulpho_'s; her descent
Not behinde any of the _Millanois_.
And _Ferdinand_, although thy parentage
Be unknown, thou know'st that I have bred thee up
From five yeers old, and (do not blush to hear it)
Have found thy wisdom, trust, and fair success
So full in all my affa[ir]s, that I am fitter
To call thee Master, then thou me thy Lord.
Thou canst not be but sprung of gentlest blood;
Thy minde shines thorow thee, like the radiant sun,
Although thy body be a beauteous cloud.
Come, seriously this is no flatterie,
And well thou know'st it, though thy modest blood
Rise like the morning in thy cheek to hear 't.
Sir, I can speak in earnest: Vertuous service,
So meritorious, _Ferdinand_, as yours,
(Yet bashful still, and silent?) should extract
A fuller price then impudence exact:
And this is now the wages it must have;
My daughter is thy wife, my wealth thy slave.

_Ferd._ Good Madam pinch; I sleep: does my Lord mock,
And you assist? Custom's inverted quite;
For old men now adays do flout the young.

_Ben._ Fetch _Violanta_. As I intend this
Religiously, let my soul finde joy or pain. [_Exit Angelina._

_Ferd._ My honor'd Lord and Master, if I hold
That worth could merit such felicitie,
You bred it in me, and first purchas'd it;
It is your own: and what productions
In all my faculties my soul begets,
Your very mark is on: you need not add
Rewards to him, that is in [d]ebt to you:
You sav'd my life, Sir, in the Massacre;
There you begot me new, since foster'd me.
O! can I serve to[o] much, or pray for you?
Alas, 'tis slender paiment to your bountie.
Your daughter is a paradice, and I
Unworthie to be set there; you may chuse
The royalst seeds of _Milain_.

_Ben._ Prethee peace,
Thy goodness makes me weep; I am resolv'd:
I am no Lord o' th' time, to tie my blood
To sordid muck; I have enough: my name,
My [s]tate and honors I will store in thee,
Whose wisdom will rule well, keep and increase:
A knave or fool, that could confer the like,
Would bate each hour, diminish every day.
Thou art her price-lot th[e]n, drawn out by fate;
An honest wise man is a Princes mate.

_Ferd._ Sir, Heaven and you have over-charg'd my brest
With grace beyond my continence; I shall burst:
The blessing you have given me (witness Saints)
I would not change for _Millain_. But, my Lord,
Is she prepar'd?

_Ben._ What needs Preparative,
Where such a Cordial is prescrib'd as thou?
Thy person and thy virtues in one scale,
Shall poize hers, with her beautie and her wealth;
If not, I add my will unto thy weight;
Thy mother's with her now. Son, take my keys,
And let this prepar[a]tion for this Marriage,
(This welcome Marriage) long determin'd here,
Be quick, and gorgeous.--_Gerrard._

_Enter Gerrard._

_Ger._ My good Lord,
My Lord, your brother craves your conference
Instantly, on affairs of high import.

_Ben._ Why, what news?

_Ger._ The Tyrant, my good Lord,
Is sick to death of his old Apoplexie,
Whereon the States advise, that Letters-missive
Be straight dispatcht to all the neighbour-Countreys,
And Schedules too divulg'd on every post,
To enquire the lost Duke forth: their purpose is
To re-instate him.

_Ben._ 'Tis a pious deed.
_Ferdinand_, to my daughter: this delay
(Though to so good a purpose) angers me;
But I'll recover it. Be secret, son.
Go woo with truth and expedition. [_Exit._

_Ferd._ O my unsounded joy! how fares my _Gerrard_,
My noble twin-friend? fie, thy l[oo]k is heavie,
Sullen, and sowre; blanch it: didst thou know
My cause of joy, thou 'ldst never sorrow more,
I know thou lov'st me so, How dost thou?

_Ger._ Well,
Too well: my fraught of health my sickness is;
In life, I am dead; by living dying still.

_Ferd._ What sublunary mischief can predominate
A wise man thus? or doth thy friendship play
(In this antipathous extreme) with mine,
Lest gladness suffocate me? I, I, I do feel
My spirit's turn'd to fire, my blood to air,
And I am like a purifi'd essence
Tri'd from all drossie parts.

_Ger._ Were 't but my life,
The loss were sacrific'd; but virtue
Must for me be slain, and innocence made dust.

_Ferd._ Fare well good _Gerrard_.

_Ger._ Dearest friend, stay.

_Ferd._ Sad thoughts are no companions for me now,
Much less sad words: thy bosom bindes some secret,
Which do not trust me with; for mine retains
Another, which I must conceal from thee.

_Ger._ I would reveal it: 't is a heavie tale:
Canst thou be true, and secret still?

_Ferd._ Why, friend?
If you continue true unto your self,
I have no means of falshood. Lock this door;
Come, yet your prisoner's sure.

_Ger._ Stay, _Ferdinand_.

_Ferd._ What is this trouble? Love?
Why, thou art capable of any woman.
Doth want oppress thee? I will lighten thee:
Hast thou offended law? My Lord and thine,
And I, will save thy life. Does servitude
Upbraid thy freedom, that she suffers it?
Have patience but three days, and I will make thee
Thy Lords companion. Can a friend do more?

_Ger._ Lend me the means. How can this be?

_Ferd._ First let this Cabinet keep your pawn, and I will trust:
Yet for the form of satisfaction,
Take this my Oath to boot. By my presum'd
Gentrie, and sacred known Christianitie,
I'll die, ere I reveal thy trust.

_Ger._ Then hear it.
Your Lords fair daughter _Violanta_ is
My betrothed wife, goes great with childe by me;
And by this deed both made a pr[e]y to Law.
How may I save her life? advise me, friend.

_Ferd._ What did he say? _Gerrard_, whose voice was that?
O death unto my heart, bane to my soul!
My wealth is vanish'd like the rich mans store:
In one poor minute all my daintie fare
But jugling dishes; my fat hope, despair.

_Ger._ Is this so odious? where's your mirth?

_Ferd._ Why thou
Hast robb'd me of it. _Gerrard_, draw thy sword;
And if thou lov'st my Mistris chastitie,
Defend it, else I'll cut it from thy heart,
Thy theevish heart that stole it, and restore 't,
Do miracles to gain her.

_Ger._ Was she thine?

_Ferd._ Never, but in my wish, and her fathers vow,
Which now he left with me, on such sure terms;
He call'd me son, and will'd me to provide
My Wedding-preparation.

_Ger._ Strange.

_Ferd._ Come, let's
Kill one another quickly.

_Ger. Ferdinand_, my love is old to her, thine new begot:
I have not wrong'd thee; think upon thine Oath.

_Ferd._ It manacles me, _Gerrard_, else this hand
Should bear thee to the Law. Fare well for ever:
Since friendship is so fatal, never more
Will I have friend: thou hast put so sure a plea,
That all my weal's litigious made by thee.

_Ger._ I did no crime to you. His love transports him;
And yet I mourn, that cruel destinie
Should make us two thus one anothers cross:
We have lov'd since boys; for the same time cast him
On Lord _Benvoglio_, that my Aunt and I
Were succour'd by _Randulpho_: men have call'd us
The parallels of _Millain_; and some said
We were not much unlike. O Heaven divert,
That we should (ever since that time) be breeding
Mutual destruction.

_Enter Dorothea._

_Dor._ O where are you? you have made a fair hand. By ---- yonder
is your Aunt with my Lady; she came in, just as she was wooing
your Mistris for another; and what did me she, but out with her
purse, and shew'd all the naked truth, ifaith. Fie upon you, you
should never trust an old woman with a secret; they cannot hold;
they cannot hold so well as we, and you'ld hang 'em. First, there
was swearing and staring, then there was howling and weeping, and O
my daughter, and O my mother.

_Ger._ The effect, the effect.

_Dor._ Marry no way, but one with you.

_Ger._ Why welcom. Shall she scape?

_Dor._ Nay, she has made her scape already.

_Ger._ Why, is she gone?

_Dor._ The scape of her virginitie, I mean.
You men are as dull, you can conceive nothing;
You think it is enough to beget.

_Ger._ I; but surely, _Dorothea_, that scap'd not;
Her maiden-head suffer'd.

_Dor._ And you were the Executioner.

_Ger._ But what's the event? lord, how thou starv'st me, _Doll_!

_Dor._ Lord how thou starv'st me, _Doll_? By ---- I would fain see
you cry a little. Do you stand now, as if you could get a child?
Come, I'll rack you no more: This is the heart of the business:
always provided, Signior, that if it please the fates to make you
a Lord, you be not proud, nor forget your poor handmaid _Doll_,
who was partly accessary to the incision of this _Holofernian_
Maidenhead.

_Ger._ I will forget my name first. Speak.

_Dor._ Then thus; My Lady knows all; her sorrow is reasonably
well digested; has vow'd to conceal it from my Lord, till delay
ripen things better; Wills you to attend her this evening at the
back gate; I'll let you in; where her own Confessor shall put you
together lawfully, e'r the child be born; which birth is very near,
I can assure you: all your charge is your vigilance; and to bring
with you some trusty Nurse, to convey the Infant out of the house.

_Ger._ Oh beam of comfort, take! go, tell my Lady
I pray for her as I walk: my joys so flow,
That what I speak or do, I do not know. [_Exeunt._

Dumb Shew.

_Enter_ Violanta _at one door, we[e]ping, supported by_ Cornelia
_and a Frier; at another door_, Angelina _weeping, attended
by_ Dorothea. Violanta _kneels down for pardon_. Angelina
_shewing remorse, takes her up, and cheers her; so doth_
Cornelia. Angelina _sends_ Dorothea _for_ Gerrard. _Enter_
Gerrard _with_ Dorothea: Angelina _and_ Cornelia _seem to_
_chide him, shewing_ Violanta's _heavy plight_: Violanta
_rejoyceth in him: he makes signes of sorrow, intreating
pardon_: Angelina _brings_ Gerrard _and_ Violanta _to the
Frier; he joyns them hand in hand, takes a Ring from_
Gerrard, _puts it on_ Violanta's _finger; blesseth them_;
Gerrard _kisseth her: the Frier takes his leave_. Violanta
_makes shew of great pain, is instantly conveyed in by the
Women_, Gerrard _is bid stay; he walks in meditation, seeming
to pray. Enter_ Dorothea, _whispers him, sends him out. Enter_
Gerrard _with a Nurse blindfold; gives her a purse. To them
Enter_ Angelina _and_ Cornelia _with an Infant; they present
it to_ Gerrard; _he kisseth and blesseth it; puts it into
the Nurses arms, kneels, and takes his leave_. Exeunt _all
severally_.

_Enter_ Benvoglio _and_ Randulpho.

_Ben._ He's dead, you say then.

_Rand._ Certainly: and to hear
The people now dissect him now he's gone,
Makes my ears burn, that lov'd him not: such Libels,
Such Elegies and Epigrams they have made,
More odious than he was. Brother, great men
Had need to live by love, meting their deeds
With virtues rule; sound, with the weight of judgement,
Their privat'st action: for though while they live
Their power and policie masque their villanies,
Their bribes, their lust, pride, and ambition,
And make a many slaves to worship 'em,
That are their flatterers, and their bawds in these:
These very slaves shall, when these great beasts dye,
Publish their bowels to the vulgar eye.

_Ben._ 'Fore Heaven 'tis true. But is _Rinaldo_ (brother) our good
Duke, heard of living?

_Rand._ Living, Sir, and will be shortly with the Senate: has
Been close conceal'd at _Mantua_, and reliev'd:
But what's become of his? no tidings yet?
But brother, till our good Duke shall arrive,
Carry this news, here. Where's your _Ferdinand_?

_Ben._ Oh busie, Sir, about this marriage:
And yet my Girl o'th' suddain is fall'n sick:
You'll see her e'r you go?

_Rand._ Yes; well I love her;
And yet I wish I had another daughter
To gratifie my _Gerrard_, who (by ----)
Is all the glory of my family,
But has too much worth to [l]ive so obscure;
I'll have him Secretary of Estate
Upon the Dukes return: for credit me,
The value of that Gentleman's not known;
His strong abilities are fit to guide
The whole Republique: he hath Learning, youth,
Valour, discretion, honesty of a Saint;
His Aunt is wondrous good too.

_Enter_ Violanta _in a bed_; Angelina _and_ Dorothea
_sitting by her_.

_Ben._ You have spoke
The very character of _Ferdinand_:
One is the others mirror. How now, Daughter?

_Rand._ How fares my Neece?

_Viol._ A little better, Uncle, then I was,
I thank you.

_Rand._ Brother, a meer cold.

_Angel._ It was a cold and heat, I think: but Heaven be thanked
We have broken that away.

_Ben._ And yet, _Violanta_,
You'll lie alone still, and you see what's got.

_Dor._ Sure, Sir, when this was got, she had a bed-fellow.

_Rand._ What has her chollick left her in her belly?

_Dor._ 'T has left her, but she has had a sore fit.

_Rand._ I, that same Collick and Stone's inherent to us
O' th' womans side: our Mothers had them both.

_Dor._ So has she had, Sir. How these old fornicators talk! she had
more
Need of Mace-Ale, and Rhenish-wine Caudles, heaven knows,
Then your aged Discipline.

_Ben._ Say?

_Enter_ Ferdinand.

_Ang._ She will have the man; and on recovery
Will wholly be dispos'd by you.

_Ben._ That's my wench:
How now? what change is this? why _Ferdinand_,
Are these your Robes of joy should be indu'd?
Doth _Hymen_ wear black? I did send for you
To have my honorable Brother witness
The Contract I will make 'twixt you and her.
Put off all doubt; she loves ye? what d' ye say?

_Rand._ Speak man, Why look you so distractedly?

_Ferd._ There are your keys, [Sir:] I'll no Contract[s, I]
Divinest _V[i]olanta_, I will serve you
Thus on my knees, and pray for you: _Juno, Lucina fer opem_.
My inequality ascends no higher:
I dare not marry you.

_Ben._ How's this?

_Ferd._ Good night,
I have a friend has almost made me mad:
I weep sometimes, and instantly can laugh:
Nay, I do dance, and sing, and suddenly
Roar like a storm. Strange tricks these, are they not?
And wherefore all this? Shall I tell you? no,
Thorow mine ears, my heart a plague hath caught,
And I have vow'd to keep it close, not shew
My grief to any; for it has no cure.
On, wandring steps, to some remote place move:
I'll keep my vow, though I have lost my Love. [_Exit._

_Ben._ 'Fore heaven, distracted for her! fare you well:
I'll watch his steps; for I no joy shall find,
Till I have found his cause, and calm'd his mind. [_Exit._

[_Rand._] He's overcome with joy.

_Ang[e]l._ 'Tis very strange.

_Rand._ Well, Sister, I must leave you; the time's busie.
_Violanta_, chear you up; and I pray Heaven
Restore each to their love, and health again. [_Exit._

_Viol._ Amen, Great Uncle. Mother, what a chance
Unluckily is added to my woe,
In this young Gentleman!

_Ang[e]l._ True, _Violanta_:
It grieves me much. _Doll_, go you instantly,
And find out _Gerrard_; tell him his friends hap,
And let him use best means to comfort him;
But as his life preserve this secret still.

_Viol._ Mother, I'ld not offend you: might not _Gerrard_
Steal in, and see me in the evening?

_Angel._ Well,
Bid him do so.

_Viol._ Heavens blessing o' your heart.
Do ye not call Child-bearing, Travel, Mother?

_Angel._ Yes.

_Viol._ It well may be, The bare-foot traveller
That's born a Prince, and walks his pilgrimage,
Whose tender feet kiss the remorseless stones
Only, ne'er felt a travel like to it.
Alas, dear Mother, you groan'd thus for me,
And yet how disobedient have I been!

_Angel._ Peace, _Violanta_, thou hast always been
Gentle and good.

_Viol. Gerrard_ is better, Mother:
Oh if you knew the implicite innocency
Dwells in his brest, you'ld love him like your Prayers.
I see no reason but my Father might
Be told the truth, being pleas'd for _Ferdinand_
To wooe himself: and _Gerard_ ever was
His full comparative: my Uncle loves him,
As he loves _Ferdinand_.

_Angel._ No, not for the world,
Since his intent is cross'd: lov'd _Ferdinand_
Thus ruin'd, and a child got out of wedlock:
His madness would pursue ye both to death.

_Viol._ As you please (mother:) I am now, methinks,
Even in the land of ease; I'll sleep.

_Angel._ Draw in
The bed nearer the fire: silken rest,
Tie all thy cares up. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Ferdinand _and_ Benvoglio _privately after him_.

_Ferd._ Oh blessed solitude! here my grief[s] may speak;
And sorrow, I will argue with thee now:
Nothing will keep me company: the flowers
Die at my moan; the gliding silver streams
Hasten to flee my lamentations;
The air rolls from 'em; and the Golden Sun
Is smother'd pale as _Phœbe_ with my sighs:
Only the earth is kind, that stays. Then earth,
To thee will I complain. Why do the Heavens
Impose upon me Love, what I can ne'er enjoy?
Before fruition was impossible,
I did not thirst it. _Gerrard_, she is thine,
Seal'd and deliver'd; but 'twas ill to stain
Her virgin state, e'r ye were married.
Poor Infant, what's become of thee? thou know'st not
The woe thy parents brought thee t[o]. Dear earth,
Bury this close in thy sterility;
Be barren to this seed, let it not grow;
For if it do, 'twill bud no Violet
Nor Gillyflower, but wild Brier, or rank Rue,
Unsavory and hurtful.

_Ben. Ferdinand_,
Thy steel hath digg'd the Earth, thy words my Heart.

_Ferd._ Oh! I have violated faith, betraid
My friend and innocency.

_Ben._ Desperate youth,
Violate not thy soul too: I have showers
For thee, young man; but _Gerrard_ flames for thee.
Was thy base pen made to dash out mine honor,
And prostitute my Daughter? Bastard, whore,
Come, turn thy femal tears into revenge,
Which I will quench my thirst with, e'r I see
Daughter, or Wife, or branded Family.
By ---- both dye: and for amends,
_Ferd'nando_ be my heir. I'll to my brother,
First tell him all, then to the Duke for justice:
This morning he's receiv'd. Mountains nor Seas
Shall bar my flight to vengeance: the foul stain
Printed on me, thy bloud shall rinse again. [_Exit._

_Ferd._ I have transgress'd all goodness, witlesly
Rais'd mine own curs[es] from posterity:
I'll follow, to redress in what I may;
If not, your heir can dye as well as they. [_Exit._

Dumb Shew.