Chapter VI: Act IV: SCENE I.--A Wood

_Enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL, _with swords, and disguised in
vizards._

_Har. Jun._ We are disguised enough; the evening now grows dusk.--I would the deed were done!

_Enter_ PEREZ _with a Soldier, and overhears them._

_Fisc._ 'Twill now be suddenly, if we have courage in this wild woody walk, hot with the feast and plenteous bowls, the bridal company are walking to enjoy the cooling breeze; I spoke to Towerson, as I said I would, and on some private business of great moment, desired that he would leave the company, and meet me single here.

_Har. Jan._ Where if he comes, he never shall return But Towerson stays too long for my revenge; I am in haste to kill him.

_Fisc._ He promised me to have been here ere now; if you think fitting, I'll go back and bring him.

_Har. Jun._ Do so, I'll wait you in this place. [_Exit_ Fisc.

_Per._ Was ever villany like this of these unknown assassins? Towerson, in vain I saved thy sleeping life if now I let thee lose it, when thou wakest; thou lately hast been bountiful to me, and this way I'll acknowledge it. Yet to disclose their crimes were dangerous. What must I do? This generous Englishman will strait be here, and consultation then perhaps will be too late: I am resolved.--Lieutenant, you have heard, as well as I, the bloody purpose of these men?

_Sold._ I have, and tremble at the mention of it.

_Per._ Dare you adventure on an action, as brave as theirs is base?

_Sold._ Command my life.

_Per._ No more. Help me despatch that murderer, ere his accomplice comes: the men I know not; but their design is treacherous and bloody.

_Sold._ And he, they mean to kill, is brave himself, and of a nation I much love.

_Per._ Come on then. [_Both draw. To_ HAR.] Villain, thou diest, thy conscience tells thee why; I need not urge the crime. [_They assault him._

_Har. Jun._ Murder! I shall be basely murdered; help!

_Enter_ TOWERSON.

_Tow._ Hold, villains! what unmanly odds is this? Courage, whoe'er
thou art; I'll succour thee. [TOWERSON _fights with_ PEREZ, _and_
HARMAN _with the Lieutenant, and
drive them off the stage._

_Har. Jun._ Though, brave unknown, night takes thee from my knowledge, and I want time to thank thee now, take this, and wear it for my sake; [_Gives him a ring._] Hereafter I'll acknowledge it more largely. [_Exit._

_Tow._ That voice I've heard; but cannot call to mind, except it be young Harman's. Yet, who should put his life in danger thus? This ring I would not take as salary, but as a gage of his free heart who left it; and, when I know him, I'll restore the pledge. Sure 'twas not far from hence I made the appointment: I know not what this Dutchman's business is, yet, I believe, 'twas somewhat from my rival. It shall go hard, but I will find him out, and then rejoin the company. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL.

_Fisc._ The accident was wondrous strange: Did you neither know your assassinates, nor your deliverer?

_Har. Jun._ 'Twas all a hurry; yet, upon better recollecting of myself, the man, who freed me, must be Towerson.

_Fisc._ Hark, I hear the company walking this way; will you withdraw?

_Har. Jun._ Withdraw, and Isabinda coming!

_Fisc._ The wood is full of murderers; every tree, methinks, hides one behind it.

_Har. Jun._ You have two qualities, my friend, that sort but ill together; as mischievous as hell could wish you, but fearful in the execution.

_Fisc._ There is a thing within me, called a conscience which is not quite o'ercome; now and then it rebels a little, especially when I am alone, or in the dark.

_Har. Jun._ The moon begins to rise, and glitters through the trees.

_Isab._ [_Within._] Pray let us walk this way; that farther lawn, between the groves, is the most green and pleasant of any in this isle.

_Har. Jun._ I hear my siren's voice, I cannot stir from hence.--Dear friend, if thou wilt e'er oblige me, divert the company a little, and give me opportunity a while to talk alone with her.

_Fisc._ You'll get nothing of her, except it be by force.

_Har. Jun._ You know not with what eloquence love may inspire my tongue: The guiltiest wretch, when ready for his sentence, has something still to say.

_Fisc._ Well, they come; I'll put you in a way, and wish you good success; but do you hear? remember you are a man, and she a woman; a little force, it may be, would do well.

_Enter_ ISABINDA, BEAMONT, MIDDLETON, COLLINS, HARMAN _Senior; and_
JULIA.

_Isab._ Who saw the bridegroom last?

_Har. Sen._ He refused to pledge the last rummer; so I am out of charity with him.

_Beam._ Come, shall we backward to the castle? I'll take care of you, lady.

_Jul_ Oh, you have drunk so much, you are past all care.

_Col._ But where can be this jolly bridegroom? Answer me that; I will have the bride satisfied.

_Fisc._ He walked alone this way; we met him lately.

_Isab._ I beseech you, sir, conduct us.

_Har. Jun._ I'll bring you to him, madam.

_Fisc._ [_To_ HAR. _Jun._] Remember, now's your time; if you o'erslip this minute, fortune perhaps will never send another.

_Har. Jun._ I am resolved.

_Fisc._ Come, gentlemen, I'll tell you such a pleasant accident, you'll think the evening short.

_Jul._ I love a story, and a walk by moonshine.

_Fisc._ Lend me your hand then, madam. [_Takes her by the one hand._

_Beam._ But one, I beseech you then; I must not quit her so.
[_Takes her by the other hand. Exeunt._

_Re-enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ ISABINDA.

_Isab._ Come, sir, which is the way? I long to see my love.

_Har. Jun._ You may have your wish, and without stirring hence.

_Isab._ My love so near? Sure you delight to mock me!

_Har. Jun._ 'Tis you delight to torture me; behold the man who loves you more than his own eyes; more than the joys of earth, or hopes of heaven.

_Isab._ When you renewed your friendship with my Towerson, I thought these vain desires were dead within you.

_Har. Jun._ Smothered they were, not dead; your eyes can kindle no such petty fires, as only blaze a while, and strait go out.

_Isab._ You know, when I had far less ties upon me, I would not hear you; therefore wonder not if I withdraw, and find the company.

_Har. Jun._ That would be too much cruelty, to make me wretched, and then leave me so.

_Isab._ Am I in fault if you are miserable? so you may call the rich man's wealth, the cause and object of the robber's guilt. Pray do not persecute me farther: You know I have a husband now, and would be loth to afflict his knowledge with your second folly.

_Har. Jun._ What wondrous care you take to make him happy! yet I approve your method. Ignorance! oh, 'tis a jewel to a husband; that is, 'tis peace in him, 'tis virtue in his wife, 'tis honour in the world; he has all this, while he is ignorant.

_Isab._ You pervert my meaning: I would not keep my actions from his knowledge; your bold attempts I would: But yet henceforth conceal your impious flames; I shall not ever be thus indulgent to your shame, to keep it from his notice.

_Har. Jun._ You are a woman; have enough of love for him and me; I know the plenteous harvest all is his: He has so much of joy, that he must labour under it. In charity, you may allow some gleanings to a friend.

_Isab._ Now you grow rude: I'll hear no more.

_Har. Jun._ You must.

_Imb._ Leave me.

_Har. Jun._ I cannot.

_Isab._ I find I must be troubled with this idle talk some minutes more, but 'tis your last.

_Har. Jun._ And therefore I'll improve it: Pray, resolve to make me happy by your free consent. I do not love these half enjoyments, to enervate my delights with using force, and neither give myself nor you that full content, which two can never have, but where both join with equal eagerness to bless each other.

_Isab._ Bless me, ye kind inhabitants of heaven, from hearing words like these!

_Har. Jun._ You must do more than hear them. You know you were now going to your bridal-bed. Call your own thoughts but to a strict account, they'll tell you, all this day your fancy ran on nothing else; 'tis but the same scene still you were to act; only the person changed,--it may be for the better.

_Isab._ You dare not, sure, attempt this villany.

_Har. Jun._ Call not the act of love by that gross name; you'll give it a much better when 'tis done, and woo me to a second.

_Isab._ Dost thou not fear a heaven?

_Har. Jun._ No, I hope one in you. Do it, and do it heartily; time is precious; it will prepare you better for your husband. Come-- [_Lays hold on her._

_Isab._ O mercy, mercy! Oh, pity your own soul, and pity mine; think how you'll wish undone this horrid act, when your hot lust is slaked; think what will follow when my husband knows it, if shame will let me live to tell it him; and tremble at a Power above, who sees, and surely will revenge it.

_Har. Jun._ I have thought!

_Isab._ Then I am sure you're penitent.

_Har. Jun._ No, I only gave you scope, to let you see, all you have urged I knew: You find 'tis to no purpose either to talk or strive.

_Isab._ [_Running._] Some succour! help, oh help!
[_She breaks from him._

_Har. Jun._ [_Running after her._] That too is vain, you cannot 'scape me. [_Exit._

_Har. Jun._ [_Within._] Now you are mine; yield, or by force I'll take it.

_Isab._ [_Within._] Oh, kill me first!

_Har. Jun._ [_Within._] I'll bear you where your cries shall not be heard.

_Isab._ [_As further off._] Succour, sweet heaven! oh succour me!

SCENE II.

_Enter_ HARMAN _Senior,_ FISCAL, VAN HERRING, BEAMONT, COLLINS,
_and_ JULIA.

_Beam._ You have led us here a fairy's round in the moonshine, to seek a bridegroom in a wood, till we have lost the bride.

_Col._ I wonder what's become of her?

_Har. Sen._ Got together, got together, I warrant you, before this time; you Englishmen are so hot, you cannot stay for ceremonies. A good honest Dutchman would have been plying the glass all this while, and drunk to the hopes of Hans in Kelder till 'twas bed-time.

_Beam._ Yes, and then have rolled into the sheets, and turned o' the t'other side to snore, without so much as a parting blow; till about midnight he would have wakened in a maze, and found first he was married by putting forth a foot, and feeling a woman by him; and, it may be, then, instead of kissing, desired yough Fro to hold his head.

_Col._ And by that night's work have given her a proof, what she might expect for ever after.

_Beam._ In my conscience, you Hollanders never get your children, but in the spirit of brandy; you are exalted then a little above your natural phlegm, and only that, which can make you fight, and destroy men, makes you get them.

_Fisc._ You may live to know, that we can kill men when we are sober.

_Beam._ Then they must be drunk, and not able to defend themselves.

_Jul._ Pray leave this talk, and let us try if we can surprise the lovers under some convenient tree: Shall we separate, and look them?

_Beam._ Let you and I go together then, and if we cannot find them, we shall do as good, for we shall find one another.

_Fisc._ Pray take that path, or that; I will pursue this.
[_Exeunt all but the_ FISCAL.

_Fisc._ So, now I have diverted them from Harman, I'll look for him myself, and see how he speeds in his adventure.

_Enter_ HARMAN _Junior._

_Har. Jun._ Who goes there?

_Fisc._ A friend: I was just in quest of you, so are all the company: Where have you left the bride?

_Har. Jun._ Tied to a tree and gagged, and--

_Fisc._ And what? Why do you stare and tremble? Answer me like a man.

_Har. Jun._ Oh, I have nothing left of manhood in me! I am turned beast or devil. Have I not horns, and tail, and leathern wings? Methinks I should have by my actions. Oh, I have done a deed so ill, I cannot name it.

_Fisc._ Not name it, and yet do it? That's a fool's modesty: Come, I'll name it for you: You have enjoyed your mistress.

_Har. Jun._ How easily so great a villany comes from thy mouth! I have done worse, I have ravished her.

_Fisc._ That's no harm, so you have killed her afterwards.

_Har. Jun._ Killed her! why thou art a worse fiend than I.

_Fisc._ Those fits of conscience in another might be excusable; but in you, a Dutchman, who are of a race that are born rebels, and live every where on rapine,--would you degenerate, and have remorse? Pray, what makes any thing a sin but law? and, what law is there here against it? Is not your father chief? Will he condemn you for a petty rape? the woman an Amboyner, and, what's less, now married to an Englishman! Come, if there be a hell, 'tis but for those that sin in Europe, not for us in Asia; heathens have no hell. Tell me, how was't? Pr'ythee, the history.

_Har. Jun._ I forced her. What resistance she could make she did, but 'twas in vain; I bound her, as I told you, to a tree.

_Fisc._ And she exclaimed, I warrant--

_Har. Jun._ Yes; and called heaven and earth to witness.

_Fisc._ Not after it was done?

_Har. Jun._ More than before--desired me to have killed her. Even when I had not left her power to speak, she curst me with her eyes.

_Fisc._ Nay, then, you did not please her; if you had, she ne'er had cursed you heartily. But we lose time: Since you have done this action, 'tis necessary you proceed; we must have no tales told.

_Har. Jun._ What do you mean?

_Fisc._ To dispatch her immediately; could you be so senseless to ravish her, and let her live? What if her husband should have found her? What if any other English? Come, there's no dallying; it must be done: My other plot is ripe, which shall destroy them all to-morrow.

_Har. Jun._ I love her still to madness, and never can consent to have her killed. We'll thence remove her, if you please, and keep her safe till your intended plot shall take effect; and when her husband's gone, I'll win her love by every circumstance of kindness.

_Fisc._ You may do so; but t'other is the safer way: But I'll not stand with you for one life. I could have wished that Towerson had been killed before I had proceeded to my plot; but since it cannot be, we must go on; conduct me where you left her.

_Har. Jun._ Oh, that I could forget both act and place! [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

SCENE _drawn, discovers_ ISABINDA _bound.

Enter_ TOWERSON.

_Tow._ Sure I mistook the place; I'll wait no longer: Something within me does forebode me ill; I stumbled when I entered first this wood; My nostrils bled three drops; then stopped the blood, And not one more would follow.-- What's that, which seems to bear a mortal shape, [_Sees_ ISA. Yet neither stirs nor speaks? or, is it some Illusion of the night? some spectre, such As in these Asian parts more frequently appear? Whate'er it be, I'll venture to approach it. [_Goes near._ My Isabinda bound and gagged! Ye powers, I tremble while I free her, and scarce dare Restore her liberty of speech, for fear Of knowing more. [_Unbinds her, and ungags her._

_Isab._ No longer bridegroom thou, nor I a bride; Those names are vanished; love is now no more; Look on me as thou would'st on some foul leper; And do not touch me; I am all polluted, All shame, all o'er dishonour; fly my sight, And, for my sake, fly this detested isle, Where horrid ills so black and fatal dwell, As Indians could not guess, till Europe taught.

_Tow._ Speak plainer, I am recollected now: I know I am a man, the sport of fate; Yet, oh my better half, had heaven so pleased, I had been more content, to suffer in myself than thee!

_Isab._ What shall I say! That monster of a man, Harman,--now I have named him, think the rest,-- Alone, and singled like a timorous hind From the full herd, by flattery drew me first, Then forced me to an act, so base and brutal! Heaven knows my innocence: But, why do I Call that to witness! Heaven saw, stood silent: Not one flash of lightning Shot from the conscious firmament, to shew its justice: Oh had it struck us both, it had saved me!

_Tow._ Heaven suffered more in that, than you, or I, Wherefore have I been faithful to my trust, True to my love, and tender to the opprest? Am I condemned to be the second man, Who e'er complained he virtue served in vain? But dry your tears, these sufferings all are mine. Your breast is white, and cold as falling snow; You, still as fragrant as your eastern groves; And your whole frame as innocent, and holy, As if your being were all soul and spirit, Without the gross allay of flesh and blood. Come to my arms again!

_Isab._ O never, never! I am not worthy now; my soul indeed Is free from sin; but the foul speckled stains Are from my body ne'er to be washed out, But in my death. Kill me, my love, or I Must kill myself; else you may think I was A black adultress in my mind, and some Of me consented.

_Tow._ Your wish to die, shews you deserve to live. I have proclaimed you guiltless to myself. Self-homicide, which was, in heathens, honour, In us, is only sin.

_Isab._ I thought the Eternal Mind Had made us masters of these mortal frames; You told me, he had given us wills to chuse, And reason to direct us in our choice; If so, why should he tie us up from dying, When death's the greater good?

_Tow._ Can death, which is our greatest enemy, be good? Death is the dissolution of our nature; And nature therefore does abhor it most, Whose greatest law is--to preserve our beings.

_Isab._ I grant, it is its great and general law: But as kings, who are, or should be, above laws, Dispense with them when levelled at themselves; Even so may man, without offence to heaven, Dispense with what concerns himself alone. Nor is death in itself an ill; Then holy martyrs sinned, who ran uncalled To snatch their martyrdom; and blessed virgins, Whom you celebrate for voluntary death, To free themselves from that which I have suffered.

_Tow._ They did it, to prevent what might ensue; Your shame's already past.

_Isab._ It may return, If I am yet so mean to live a little longer.

_Tow._ You know not; heaven may give you succour yet; You see it sends me to you.

_Isab._ 'Tis too late, You should have come before.

_Tow._ You may live to see yourself revenged. Come, you shall stay for that, then I'll die with you, You have convinced my reason, nor am I Ashamed to learn from you. To heaven's tribunal my appeal I make; If as a governor he sets me here, To guard this weak-built citadel of life, When 'tis no longer to be held, I may With honour quit the fort. But first I'll both Revenge myself and you.

_Isab._ Alas! you cannot take revenge; your countrymen Are few, and those unarmed.

_Tow._ Though not on all the nation, as I would, Yet I at least can take it on the man.

_Isab._ Leave me to heaven's revenge, for thither I Will go, and plead, myself, my own just cause. There's not an injured saint of all my sex, But kindly will conduct me to my judge, And help me tell my story.

_Tow._ I'll send the offender first, though to that place He never can arrive: Ten thousand devils, Damned for less crimes than he, And Tarquin in their head, way-lay his soul, To pull him down in triumph, and to shew him In pomp among his countrymen; for sure Hell has its Netherlands, and its lowest country Must be their lot.

_Enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL.

_Har. Jun._ 'Twas hereabout I left her tied. The rage of love renews again within me.

_Fisc._ She'll like the effects on't better now. By this time it has sunk into her imagination, and given her a more pleasing idea of the man, who offered her so sweet a violence.

_Isab._ Save me, sweet heaven! the monster comes again!

_Har. Jun._ Oh, here she is.--My own fair bride,--for so you are, not Towerson's,--let me unbind you; I expect that you should bind yourself about me now, and tie me in your arms.

_Tow._ [_Drawing._] No, villain, no! hot satyr of the woods, Expect another entertainment now. Behold revenge for injured chastity. This sword heaven draws against thee, And here has placed me like a fiery cherub, To guard this paradise from any second violation.

_Fisc._ We must dispatch him, sir, we have the odds; And when he's killed, leave me t'invent the excuse.

_Har. Jun._ Hold a little: As you shunned fighting formerly with me, so would I now with you. The mischiefs I have done are past recal. Yield then your useless right in her I love, since the possession is no longer yours; so is your honour safe, and so is hers, the husband only altered.

_Tow._ You trifle; there's no room for treaty here: The shame's too open, and the wrong too great. Now all the saints in heaven look down to see The justice I shall do, for 'tis their cause; And all the fiends below prepare thy tortures.

_Isab._ If Towerson would, think'st thou my soul so poor, To own thy sin, and make the base act mine, By chusing him who did it? Know, bad man, I'll die with him, but never live with thee.

_Tow._ Prepare; I shall suspect you stay for further help, And think not this enough.

_Fisc._ We are ready for you.

_Har. Jun._ Stand back! I'll fight with him alone.

_Fisc._ Thank you for that; so, if he kills you, I shall have him single upon me. [_All three fight._

_Isab._ Heaven assist my love!

_Har. Jun._ There, Englishman, 'twas meant well to thy heart.
[TOWERSON _wounded._

_Fisc._ Oh you can bleed, I see, for all your cause.

_Tow._ Wounds but awaken English courage.

_Har. Jun._ Yet yield me Isabinda, and be safe.

_Tow._ I'll fight myself all scarlet over first; Were there no love, or no revenge, I could not now desist, in point of honour.

_Har. Jun._ Resolve me first one question: Did you not draw your sword this night before, To rescue one opprest with odds?

_Tow._ Yes, in this very wood: I bear a ring, The badge of gratitude from him I saved.

_Har. Jun._ This ring was mine; I should be loth to kill The frank redeemer of my life.

_Tow._ I quit that obligation. But we lose time.
Come, ravisher! [_They fight again,_ TOW. _closes with_ HARM, _and
gets him down; as he is going to kill him, the_
FISC. _gets over him._

_Fisc._ Hold, and let him rise; for if you kill him, At the same instant you die too.

_Tow._ Dog, do thy worst, for I would so be killed; I'll carry his soul captive with me into the other world. [_Stabs_ HARMAN.

_Har. Jun._ O mercy, mercy, heaven! [_Dies._

_Fisc._ Take this, then; in return.
[_As he is going to stab him,_ ISAB. _takes hold of his
hand._

_Isab._ Hold, hold; the weak may give some help.

_Tow._ [_Rising._] Now, sir, I am for you.

_Fisc._ [_Retiring._] Hold, sir, there is no more resistance made. I beg you, by the honour of your nation, Do not pursue my life; I tender you my sword. [_Holds his sword by the point to him._

_Tow._ Base beyond example of any country, but thy own!

_Isab._ Kill him, sweet love, or we shall both repent it.

_Fisc._ [_Kneeling to her._] Divinest beauty! Abstract of all that's excellent in woman, can you be friend to murder?

_Isab._ 'Tis none to kill a villain, and a Dutchman.

_Fisc._ [_Kneeling to_ TOWERSON.] Noble Englishman, give me my life, unworthy of your taking! By all that is good and holy here I swear, before the governor to plead your cause; and to declare his son's detested crime, so to secure your lives.

_Tow._ Rise, take thy life, though I can scarce believe thee; If for a coward it be possible, become an honest man.

_Enter_ HARMAN _Senior,_ VAN HERRING, BEAMONT, COLLINS, JULIA, _the
Governors Guard._

_Fisc._ [_To_ HAR.] Oh, sir, you come in time to rescue me; The greatest villain, who this day draws breath, Stands here before your eyes: behold your son, That worthy, sweet, unfortunate young man, Lies there, the last cold breath yet hovering Betwixt his trembling lips.

_Tow._ Oh, monster of ingratitude!

_Har._ Oh, my unfortunate old age, whose prop And only staff is gone, dead ere I die! These should have been his tears, and I have been That body to be mourned.

_Beam._ I am so much amazed, I scarce believe my senses.

_Fisc._ And will you let him live, who did this act? Shall murder, and of your own son, And such a son, go free; He lives too long, By this one minute which he stays behind him.

_Isab._ Oh, sir, remember, in that place you hold, You are a common father to us all; We beg but justice of you; hearken first To my lamented story.

_Fisc._ First hear me, sir.

_Tow._ Thee, slave! thou livest but by the breath I gave thee. Didst thou but now plead on thy knees for life, And offer'dst to make known my innocence In Harman's injuries?

_Fisc._ I offered to have cleared thy innocence, Who basely murdered him!--But words are needless; Sir, you see evidence before your eyes, And I the witness, on my oath to heaven, How clear your son, how criminal this man.

_Col._ Towerson could do nothing but what was noble.

_Beam._ We know his native worth.

_Fisc._ His worth! Behold it on the murderer's hand; A robber first, he took degrees in mischief, And grew to what he is: Know you that diamond, And whose it was? See if he dares deny it.

_Tow._ Sir, it was your son's, that freely I acknowledge; But how I came by it--

_Har._ No, it is too much, I'll hear no more.

_Fisc._ The devil of jealousy, and that of avarice, both, I believe, possest him; or your son was innocently talking with his wife, and he perhaps had found them; this I guess, but saw it not, because I came too late. I only viewed the sweet youth just expiring, and Towerson stooping down to take the ring; she kneeling by to help him: when he saw me, he would, you may be sure, have sent me after, because I was a witness of the fact. This on my soul is true.

_Tow._ False as that soul, each word, each syllable; The ring he put upon my hand this night, When in this wood unknown, and near this place, Without my timely help he had been slain.

_Fisc._ See this unlikely story! What enemies had he, who should assault him? Or is it probable that very man, Who actually did kill him afterwards, Should save his life so little time before?

_Isab._ Base man, thou knowest the reason of his death; He had committed on my person, sir, An impious rape; first tied me to that tree, And there my husband found me, whose revenge Was such, as heaven and earth will justify.

_Har._ I know not what heaven will, but earth shall not.

_Beam._ Her story carries such a face of truth, Ye cannot but believe it.

_Col._ The other, a malicious ill-patched lie.

_Fisc._ Yes, you are proper judges of his crime, Who, with the rest of your accomplices, Your countrymen, and Towerson the chief, Whom we too kindly used, would have surprised The fort, and made us slaves; that shall be proved, More soon than you imagine; I found it out This evening.

_Tow._ Sure the devil has lent thee all his stock of falsehood, and must be forced hereafter to tell truth.

_Beam._ Sir, it is impossible you should believe it.

_Har._ Seize them all.

_Col._ You cannot be so base.

_Har._ I'll be so just, 'till I can hear your plea Against this plot; which if not proved, and fully, You are quit; mean time, resistance is but vain.

_Tow._ Provided that we may have equal hearing, I am content to yield, though I declare, You have no power to judge us. [_Gives his sword._

_Beam._ Barbarous, ungrateful Dutch!

_Har._ See them conveyed apart to several prisons, Lest they combine to forge some specious lie In their excuse. Let Towerson and that woman too be parted.

_Isab._ Was ever such a sad divorce made on a bridal night! But we before were parted, ne'er to meet. Farewell, farewell, my last and only love!

_Tow._ Curse on my fond credulity, to think There could be faith or honour in the Dutch!-- Farewell my Isabinda, and farewell, My much wronged countrymen! remember yet, That no unmanly weakness in your sufferings Disgrace the native honour of our isle: For you I mourn, grief for myself were vain; I have lost all, and now would lose my pain. [_Exeunt._