Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 03 of 10: The Loyal Subject

Enter Duke, Archas, Boroskey, Burris, Gentlemen, and Attendants.

Du. They are handsome rooms all, well contriv'd and fitted,
Full of convenience, the prospect's excellent.

Arc. Now will your Grace pass down, and do me but the honour
To taste a Countrey Banquet?

Du. What room's that?
I would see all now; what conveyance has it?
I see you have kept the best part yet; pray open it.

Arc. Ha! I misdoubted this: 'tis of no receipt, Sir,
For your eyes most unfit—

Du.I long to see it,
Because I would judge of the whole piece: some excellent painting,
Or some rare spoils you would keep to entertain me
Another time, I know.

A[r]c. In troth there is not,
Nor any thing worth your sight; below I have
Some Fountains, and some Ponds.

Du. I would see this now.

Ar. Boroskie, thou art a Knave; it contains nothing
But rubbish from the other rooms and unnecessaries:
Will't please you see a strange Clock?

Du. This or nothing: [Little Trunk ready.
Why should you bar it up thus with defences
Above the rest, unless it contain'd something
More excellent, and curious of keeping?
Open't, for I will see it.

Arc. The Keys are lost, Sir:
Does your Grace think if it were fit for you,
I could be so unmannerly?

Du. I will see it, and either shew it—

Arc. Good Sir—

Du. Thank ye, Archas,
You shew your love abundantly,
Do I use to entreat thus? force it open.

Bur. That were inhospitable; you are his Guest, Sir,
And with his greatest joy, to entertain ye.

Du. Hold thy peace, Fool; will ye open it?

Arc. Sir, I cannot.
I must not if I could.

Du. Go, break it open.

Arc. I must withstand that force: Be not too rash, Gentlemen.

Du. Unarm him first, then if he be not obstinate
Preserve his life.

Arc. I thank your Grace, I take it;
And now take you the Keys, go in, and see, Sir;
There feed your eyes with wonder, and thank that Traytor,
That thing that sells his faith for favour. [Exit Duke.

Bur. Sir, what moves ye?

Arc. I have kept mine pure: Lord Burris, there's a Judas,
That for a smile will sell ye all: a Gentleman?
The Devil has more truth, and has maintain'd it;
A Whores heart more belief in't.

Du. What's all this, Archas?
I cannot blame you to conceal it so,
This most inestimable Treasure.

Ar. Yours Sir.

Du. Nor do I wonder now the Souldier sleights me.

Arc. Be not deceiv'd; he has had no favour here, Sir,
Nor had you known this now, but for that Pick-thank,
The lost man in his faith, he has reveal'd it,
To suck a little honey from ye has betray'd it.
I swear he smiles upon me, and forsworn too,
Thou crackt, uncurrant Lord: I'll tell ye all, Sir:
Your Sire, before his death, knowing your temper,
To be as bounteous as the air, and open,
As flowing as the Sea to all that follow'd ye,
Your great mind fit for War and Glory, thriftily
Like a great Husband to preserve your actions,
Collected all this treasure; to our trusts,
To mine I mean, and to that long-tongu'd Lord's there,
He gave the knowledg and the charge of all this,
Upon his death-Bed too: And on the Sacrament
He swore us thus, never to let this Treasure
Part from our secret keepings, till no hope
Of Subject could relieve ye, all your own wasted,
No help of those that lov'd ye could supply ye,
And then some great exploit a foot; my honesty
I would have kept till I had made this useful;
I shew'd it, and I stood it to the tempest,
And useful to the end 'twas left: I am cozen'd,
And so are you too, if you spend this vainly;
This Worm that crept into ye has abus'd ye,
Abus'd your fathers care, abus'd his Faith too:
Nor can this mass of money make him man more,
A flea'd Dog has more soul, an Ape more honesty;
All mine ye have amongst it, farewel that,
I cannot part with't nobler; my heart's clear,
My Conscience smooth as that, no rub upon't:
But O thy Hell!

Bor. I seek no Heaven from you, Sir.

Arc. Thy gnawing Hell, Boroskey, it will find thee:
Would ye heap Coals upon his head has wrong'd ye,
Has ruin'd your estate? give him this money,
Melt it into his mouth.

Du. What little Trunk's that?
That there o'th' top, that's lockt?

Bor. You'll find it rich, Sir,
Richer I think than all.

Arc. You were not covetous,
Nor wont to weave your thoughts with such a courseness;
Pray rack not Honesty.

Bor. Be sure you see it.

Du. Bring out the Trunk.

Arc. You'll find that treasure too,
All I have left me now.

Du. What's this, a poor Gown?
And this a piece of Seneca?

Arc. Yes sure, Sir,
More worth than all your Gold, yet ye have enough on't,
And of a Mine far purer, and more precious;
This sells no friends, nor searches into counsels,
And yet all counsel, and all friends live here, Sir;
Betrays no Faith, yet handles all that's trusty:
Will't please you leave me this?

Du. With all my heart, Sir.

Ar. What says your Lordship to't?

Bor. I dare not rob ye.

Arc. Poor miserable men, you have rob'd your selves both;
This Gown, and this unvalu'd Treasure, your brave Father,
Found me a Child at School with, in his progress.
Where such a love he took to some few answers,
Unhappy Boyish toys hit in my head then,
That suddenly I made him, thus as I was,
(For here was all the Wealth I brought his Highness)
He carried me to Court, there bred me up,
Bestow'd his favours on me, taught me the Arms first,
With those an honest mind; I serv'd him truly,
And where he gave me trust, I think I fail'd not;
Let the World speak: I humbly thank your Highness,
You have done more, and nobler, eas'd mine age, Sir;
And to this care a fair Quietus given,
Now to my Book again.

Du. You have your wish, Sir,
Let some bring off the treasure.

Bor. Some is his, Sir.

Arc. None, none, a poor unworthy reaper,
The Harvest is his Graces.

Du. Thank you, Archas.

Arc. But will not you repent, Lord? when this is gone
Where will your Lordship?—

Bor. Pray take you no care, Sir.

Arc. Does your Grace like my House?

Du. Wondrous well, Archas,
You have made me richly welcome.

Arc. I did my best, Sir.
Is there any thing else may please your Grace?

Du. Your Daughters
I had forgot, send them to Court.

Arc. How's that, Sir?

Du. I said your Daughters; see it done: I'll have 'em
Attend my Sister, Archas.

Arc. Thank your Highness.

Du. And suddenly. [Exit.

Arc. Through all the ways I dare,
I'll serve your temper, though you try me far. [Exit.

The. I wonder we hear no news.

Puts. Here's your fathers servant,
He comes in haste too, now we shall know all, Sir.

The. How now?

Ser. I am glad I have met you, Sir; your father
Intreats you presently make haste unto him.

The. What news?

Ser. None of the best, Sir, I am asham'd to tell it,
Pray ask no more.

The. Did not I tell ye, Gentlemen?
Did not I prophesie? he's undone then.

Ser. Not so, Sir, but as near it—

Puts. There's no help now;
The Army's scatter'd all, through discontent,
Not to be rallied up in haste to help this.

Anc. Plague of the Devil; have ye watch'd your seasons?
We shall watch you ere long.

The. Farewel, there's no cure,
We must endure all now: I know what I'll do. [Exeunt Theodore and Servant.

Puts. Nay, there's no striving, they have a hand upon us,
A heavy and a hard one.

Anc. Now I have it,
We have yet some Gentlemen, some Boys of mettle,
(What, are we bob'd thus still, colted, and carted?)
And one mad trick we'll have to shame these Vipers;
Shall I bless 'em?

Puts. Farewel; I have thought my way too. [Exit.

Anc. Were never such rare Cries in Christendome,
As Mosco shall afford: we'll live by fooling
Now fighting's gone, and they shall find and feel it. [Exit.

SCENE II.

Enter Archas, Honora, and Viola.

Ar. No more, it must be so; do you think I would send ye,
Your father and your friend—

Viol. Pray Sir, be good to us,
Alas, we know no Court, nor seek that knowledge;
We are content with harmless things at home,
Children of your content, bred up in quiet,
Only to know our selves, to seek a Wisedome
From that we understand, easie and honest;
To make our actions worthy of your Honour,
Their ends as innocent as we begot 'em;
What shall we look for Sir, what shall we learn there,
That this more private sweetness cannot teach us?
Vertue was never built upon ambition,
Nor the Souls Beauties bred out of Bravery:
What a terrible Father would you seem to us,
Now you have moulded us, and wrought our tempers
To easie and obedient ways, uncrooked,
Where the fair mind can never lose nor loiter,
Now to divert our Natures, now to stem us
Roughly against the tide of all this treasure?
Would ye have us proud? 'tis sooner bred than buried;
Wickedly proud? for such things dwell at Court, Sir.

Hon. Would ye have your Children learn to forget their father,
And when he dies dance on his Monument?
Shall we seek Vertue in a Sattin Gown;
Embroider'd Vertue? Faith in a well-curl'd Feather?
And set our Credits to the tune of green sleeves?
This may be done; and if you like, it shall be.
You should have sent us thither when we were younger,
Our maiden-heads at a higher rate; our Innocence
Able to make a Mart indeed: we are now too old, Sir,
Perhaps they'll think too cunning too, and slight us;
Besides, we are altogether unprovided,
Unfurnisht utterly of the rules should guide us:
This Lord comes, licks his hand, and protests to me;
Compares my Beauty to a thousand fine things;
Mountains, and Fountains, Trees, and Stars, and Goblins;
Now have not I the faith for to believe him;
He offers me the honourable courtesie,
To lye with me all night, what a misery is this?
I am bred up so foolishly, alas, I dare not,
And how madly these things will shew there.

Arc. I send ye not,
Like parts infected, to draw more corruption;
Like Spiders to grow great, with growing evil:
With your own Vertues season'd, and my prayers,
The Card of goodness in your minds, that shows ye
When ye sail false; the needle toucht with honour,
That through the blackest storms, still points at happiness;
Your Bodies the tall barks, rib'd round with goodness,
Your Heavenly Souls the Pilots, thus I send you;
Thus I prepare your Voyage; sound before ye,
And ever as you sail through this Worlds Vanity,
Discover Sholes, Rocks, Quicksands, cry out to ye,
Like a good Master tack about for Honour:
The Court is Vertue's School, at least it should be;
Nearer the Sun the Mine lies, the metal's purer:
Be it granted, if the spring be once infected,
Those Branches that flow from him must run muddy;
Say you find some Sins there, and those no small ones,
And they like lazie fits begin to shake ye:
Say they affect your strengths, my happy Children,
Great things through greatest hazards are atchiev'd still,
And then they shine, then goodness has his glory,
His Crown fast rivetted, then time moves under,
Where, through the mist of errors, like the Sun,
Through thick and pitchy Clouds, he breaks out nobly.

Hon. I thank you Sir, you have made me half a Souldier,
I will to Court most willingly, most fondly.
And if there be such stirring things amongst 'em,
Such Travellers into Virginia
As Fame reports, if they can win me, take me;
I think I have a close Ward, and a sure one;
An honest mind I hope, 'tis petticoat-proof,
Chain-proof, and Jewel-proof; I know 'tis Gold-proof,
A Coach and four Horses cannot draw me from it:
As for your handsome Faces, and filed Tongues,
Curl'd Millers heads, I have another word for them,
And yet I'll flatter too, as fast as they do,
And lye, but not as lewdly; Come, be valiant, Sister,
She that dares not stand the push o'th' Court, dares nothing,
And yet come off ungraced: Sir, like you,
We both affect great dangers now, and the World shall see
All glory lies not in Mans Victorie.

Arc. Mine own Honora.

Viol. I am very fearful,
Would I were stronger built: you would have me honest?

Arc. Or not at all my Viola.

Viol. I'll think on't,
For 'tis no easie promise, and live there:
Do you think we shall do well?

Hon. Why, what should aile us?

Viol. Certain they'll tempt us strongly; beside the glory
Which Women may affect, they are handsom Gentlemen,
Every part speaks: nor is it one denial,
Nor two, nor ten; from every look we give 'em,
They'll frame a hope; even from our prayers, promises.

Hon. Let 'em feed so, and be fat; there is no fear, wench,
I[f] thou beest fast to thy self.

Viol. I hope I shall be;
And your example will work more.

Enter Theodore.

Hon. Thou shalt not want it.

The. How do you, Sir? can you lend a man an Angel?
I hear you let out money.

Arc. Very well, Sir,
You are pleasantly dispos'd: I am glad to see it.
Can you lend me your patience, and be rul'd by me?

The. Is't come to patience now?

Arc. Is't not a Vertue?

The. I know not: I ne'r found it so.

Arc. That's because
Thy anger ever knows, and not thy judgment.

The. I know you have been rifl'd.

Arc. Nothing less, Boy;
Lord, what opinions these vain People publish!
Rifl'd of what?

The. Study your Vertue, Patience,
It may get Mustard to your Meat. Why in such haste, Sir,
Sent ye for me?

Arc. For this end only, Theodore,
To wait upon your Sisters to the Court;
I am commanded they live there.

The. To th' Court, Sir?

Arc. To th' Court I say.

The. And must I wait upon 'em?

Arc. Yes, 'tis most fit you should, you are their Brother.

The. Is this the business? I had thought your mind, Sir,
Had been set forward on some noble action,
Something had truly stir'd ye. To th' Court with these?
Why, they are your Daughters, Sir.

Arc. All this I know, Sir.

The. The good old Woman on a Bed he threw:
To th' Court?

Arc. Thou art mad.

The. Nor drunk as you are:
Drunk with your duty, Sir: do you call it duty?
A pox of duty, what can these do there?
What should they do? Can ye look Babies, Sisters,
In the young Gallants eyes, and twirl their Band-strings?
Can ye ride out to air your selves? Pray Sir,
Be serious with me, do you speak this truly?

Arc. Why, didst thou never hear of Women
Yet at Court, Boy?

The. Yes, and good Women too, very good Women,
Excellent honest Women: but are you sure, Sir,
That these will prove so?

Hon. There's the danger, Brother.

The. God-a-mercy Wench, thou hast a grudging of it.

Arc. Now be you serious, Sir, and observe what I say,
Do it, and do it handsomly; go with 'em.

The. With all my heart, Sir; I am in no fault now;
If they be thought Whores for being in my Company;
Pray write upon their Backs, they are my Sisters,
And where I shall deliver 'em.

Arc. Ye are wondrous jocund,
But prithee tell me, art thou so lewd a Fellow?
I never knew thee fail a truth.

The. I am a Souldier,
And spell you what that means.

Arc. A Souldier?
What dost thou make of me?

The. Your Palate's down, Sir.

Arc. I thank ye, Sir.

The. Come, shall we to this matter?
You will to Court?

Hon. If you will please to honour us.

The. I'll honour ye, I warrant; I'll set ye off
With such a lustre, Wenches; alas poor Viola,
Thou art a fool, thou criest for eating white bread:
Be a good Huswife of thy tears, and save 'em,
Thou wilt have time enough to shed 'em, Sister.
Do you weep too? nay, then I'll fool no more.
Come worthy Sisters, since it must be so,
And since he thinks it fit to try your Vertues,
Be you as strong to truth, as I to guard ye,
And this old Gentleman shall have joy of ye. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter Duke, and Burris.

Du. Burris take you ten thousand of those Crowns,
And those two Chains of Pearl they hold the richest,
I give 'em ye.

Bur. I humbly thank your Grace;
And may your great example work in me
That noble Charity to men more worthy,
And of more wants.

Du. You bear a good mind, Burris;
Take twenty thousand now: be not so modest,
It shall be so, I give 'em: go, there's my ring for't.

Bur. Heaven bless your Highness ever. [Exit.

Du. You are honest.

Enter Alinda, and Putskey at door.

Put. They're coming now to Court, as fair as vertue:
Two brighter Stars ne'er rose here.

Alin. Peace, I have it,
And what my Art can do; the Duke—

Put. I am gone,
Remember. [Exit.

Alin. I am counsell'd to the full, Sir.

Duke. My pretty Mistris, whither lyes your business?
How kindly I should take this, were it to me now?

Alin. I must confess immediately to your Grace,
At this time.

Duke. You have no address, I do believe ye,
I would ye had.

Alin. 'Twere too much boldness, Sir,
Upon so little knowledge, less deserving.

Duke. You'll make a perfect Courtier.

Alin. A very poor one.

Duke. A very fair one, sweet; come hither to me.
What killing eyes this Wench has! in his glory
Not the bright Sun, when the Sirian Star reigns,
Shines half so fiery.

Alin. Why does your Grace so view me?
Nothing but common handsomness dwells here, Sir,
Scarce that: your Grace is pleas'd to mock my meanness.

Duke. Thou shalt not go: I do not lie unto thee,
In my eye thou appear'st—

Alin. Dim not the sight, Sir,
I am too dull an object.

Duke. Canst thou love me?
Canst thou love him will honour thee?

Alin. I can love,
And love as you do too: but 'twill not shew well:
Or if it do shew here where all light lustres,
Tinsel affections make a glorious glistering,
'Twill halt i'th' handsom way.

Duke. Are ye so cunning?
Dost think I love not truly?

Alin. No, ye cannot,
You never travel'd that way yet: pray pardon me,
I prate so boldly to you.

Duke. There's no harm done:
But what's your reason, sweet?

Alin. I would tell your Grace,
But happily—

Duke. It shall be pleasing to me.

Alin. I should love you again, and then you would hate me.
With all my service I should follow ye,
And through all dangers.

Duke. This would more provoke me,
More make me see thy worths,
More make me meet 'em.

Alin. You should do so, if ye did well and truly:
But though ye be a Prince, and have power in ye,
Power of example too, ye have fail'd and falter'd.

Duke. Give me example where?

Alin. You had a Mistris,
Oh Heaven, so bright, so brave a dame, so lovely,
In all her life so true!

Duke. A Mistris?

Alin. That serv'd you with that constancy, that care,
That lov'd your will, and woo'd it too.

Duke. What Mistris?

Alin. That nurs'd your honour up, held fast your vertue,
And when she kist encreas'd, not stole your goodness.

Duke. And I neglected her?

Alin. Lost her, forsook her,
Wantonly flung her off.

Duke. What was her name?

Alin. Her name as lovely as her self, as noble,
And in it all that's excellent.

Duke. What was it?

Alin. Her name was Beau-desert:
Do you know her now, Sir?

Duke. Beau-desert? I do not remember—

Alin. I know you do not;
Yet she has a plainer name; Lord Archas service;
Do you yet remember her? there was a Mistris
Fairer than Woman, far fonder to you, Sir,
Than Mothers to their first-born joyes: Can you love?
Dare you profess that truth to me a stranger,
A thing of no regard, no name, no lustre,
When your most noble love you have neglected,
A beauty all the world would woo and honour?
Would you have me credit this? think you can love me,
And hold ye constant, when I have read this story?
Is't possible you should ever favour me,
To a slight pleasure prove a friend, and fast too,
When, where you were most ty'd, most bound to benefit,
Bound by the chains of honesty and honour,
You have broke and boldly too? I am a weak one,
Arm'd only with my fears: I beseech your Grace
Tempt me no further.

Du. Who taught you this Lesson?

Alin. Woful experience, Sir: if you seek a fair one,
Worthy your love, if yet you have that perfect,
Two Daughters of his ruin'd vertue now
Arrive at Court, excellent fair indeed, Sir,
But this will be the Plague on't, they're excellent honest.

Du. I love thy face.

Alin. Upon my life ye cannot:
I do not love it my self, Sir, 'tis a lewd one,
So truly ill Art cannot mend it; but if 'twere handsome,
At least if I thought so, you should hear me talk, Sir,
In a new strain; and though ye are a Prince,
Make ye Petition to me too, and wait my answers;
Yet o' my Conscience I should pity ye,
After some ten years siege.

Du. Prethee do now.

Alin. What would ye do?

Du. Why I would lye with ye.

Alin. I do not think ye would.

Du. In troth I would Wench.
Here, take this Jewel.

Alin. Out upon't, that's scurvy.
Nay, if we do, sure we'll do for good fellowship,
For pure love, or nothing: thus you shall be sure, Sir,
You shall not pay too dear for't.

Du. Sure I cannot.

Alin. By'r Lady but ye may: when ye have found me able
To do your work well, ye may pay my wages.

Pet. Why does your Grace start back?

Olym. I ha' seen that shakes me:
Chills all my bloud: O where is faith or goodness?
Alinda thou art false, false, false thou fair one,
Wickedness false; and (wo is me) I see it.
For ever false.

Pet. I am glad 't has taken thus right. [Exeunt.

Alin. I'le go ask my Lady, Sir.

Du. What?

Alin. Whether I shall lye with ye, or no: If I find her willing—
For look ye Sir, I have sworn, while I am in her service—
('Twas a rash Oath I must confess.)

Du. Thou mockst me.

Alin. Why, would ye lye with me, if I were willing?
Would you abuse my weakness?

Du. I would piece it,
And make it stronger.

Alin. I humbly thank your highness,
When you piece me, you must piece me to my Coffin:
When you have got my Maiden-head, I take it,
'Tis not an inch of an Apes tail will restore it,
I love ye, and I honour ye, but this way
I'le neither love nor serve ye.
Heaven change your mind, Sir. [Exit.

Duke. And thine too:
For it must be chang'd, it shall be. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

Enter Boroskie, Burris, Theodore, Viola and Honora.

Bor. They are goodly Gentlewomen.

Bur. They are,
Wondrous sweet Women both.

Theo. Does your Lordship like 'em?
They are my Sisters, Sir; good lusty Lasses,
They'll do their labour well, I warrant ye,
You'll find no Bed-straw here, Sir.

Hon. Thank ye Brother.

The. This is not so strongly built: but she is good mettle,
Of a good stirring strain too: she goes tith, Sir.

Enter two Gentlemen.

Here they be, Gentlemen, must make ye merry,
The toyes you wot of: do you like their complexions?
They be no Moors: what think ye of this hand, Gentlemen?
Here's a white Altar for your sacrifice:
A thousand kisses here. Nay, keep off yet Gentlemen,
Let's start first, and have fair play: what would ye give now
To turn the Globe up, and find the rich Moluccas?
To pass the straights? here (do ye itch) by S^t Nicholas,
Here's that will make ye scratch and claw,
Claw my fine Gentlemen, move ye in divers sorts:
Pray ye let me request ye, to forget
To say your prayers, whilest these are Courtiers;
Or if ye needs will think of Heaven, let it be no higher
Than their eyes.

Bor. How will ye have 'em bestow'd, Sir?

Theo. Even how your Lordship please,
So you do not bake 'em.

Bor. Bake 'em?

Theo. They are too high a meat that way, they run to gelly.
But if you'll have 'em for your own diet, take my counsel,
Stew 'em between two Feather-beds.

Bur. Please you Colonel
To let 'em wait upon the Princess?

Theo. Yes, Sir,
And thank your honour too: but then happily,
These noble Gentlemen shall have no access to 'em,
And to have 'em buy new Cloaths, study new faces,
And keep a stinking stir with themselves for nothing,
'Twill not be well i'faith: they have kept their bodies,
And been at charge for Bathes: do you see that shirt there?
Weigh but the moral meaning, 'twill be grievous:
Alas, I brought 'em to delight these Gentlemen,
I weigh their wants by mine: I brought 'em wholesome,
Wholesome, and young my Lord, and two such blessings
They will not light upon again in ten years.

Bor. 'Tis fit they wait upon her.

Theo. They are fit for any thing:
They'll wait upon a man, they are not bashful,
Carry his Cloak, or unty his points, or any thing,
Drink drunk, and take Tobacco; the familiar'st fools—
This wench will leap over Stools too, and sound a Trumpet,
Wrastle, and pitch the Bar; they are finely brought up.

Bor. Ladies, ye are bound to your Brother,
And have much cause to thank him:
I'le ease ye of this charge, and to the Princess,
So please you, I'le attend 'em.

Theo. Thank your Lordship:
If there be e're a private corner as ye go, Sir,
A foolish lobbie out o'th' way, make danger,
Try what they are, try—

Bor. Ye are a merry Gentleman.

The. I would fain be your honours kinsman.

Bor. Ye are too curst, Sir.

The. Farewel wenches, keep close your ports, y'are washt else.

Hon. Brother, bestow your fears where they are needful. [Exit Boros. Honor. Viol.

The. Honor thy name is, and I hope thy Nature.
Go after, Gentlemen, go, get a snatch if you can,
Yond' old Erra Pater will never please 'em.
Alas I brought 'em for you, but see the luck on't,
I swear I meant as honestly toward ye—
Nay do not cry good Gentlemen: a little counsel
Will do no harm: they'll walk abroad i'th' Evenings,
Ye may surprize 'em easily, they wear no Pistols.
Set down your minds in Metre, flowing Metre,
And get some good old linnen Woman to deliver it,
That has the trick on't: you cannot fail:
Farewel Gentlemen. [Exeunt Gent.

Bur. You have frighted off these flesh-flies.

The. Flesh-flies indeed my Lord.

Anc. Broom, Broom, the bonnie Broom,
Come buy my Birchen Broom,
I'th' Wars we have no more room,
Buy all my bonnie Broom,
For a kiss take two;
If those will not do,
For a little, little pleasure,
Take all my whole treasure:
If all these will not do't,
Take the Broom-man to boot.
Broom, Broom, the bonnie Broom.

II. SONG.

1 Soul. The Wars are done and gone,
And Souldiers now neglected, Pedlers are,
Come Maidens, come alone,
For I can show you handsome, handsome ware;
Powders for, for the head,
And drinks for your bed,
To make ye blith and bonney.
As well in the night we Souldiers can fight,
And please a young wench as any.

2 Soul. I have fine Potato's,
Ripe Potato's.

III. SONG.

3 Soul. Will ye buy any Honesty, come away,
I sell it openly by day,
I bring no forced light, nor no Candle
To cozen ye; come buy and handle:
This will shew the great man good,
The Tradesman where he swears and lyes,
Each Lady of a noble bloud,
The City dame to rule her eyes:
Ye are rich men now: come buy, and then
I'le make ye richer, honest men.

IV. SONG.

4 Sol.   Have ye any crackt maiden-heads, to new leach or mend?
Have ye any old maiden-heads to sell or to change?
Bring 'em to me with a little pretty gin,
I'le clout 'em, I'le mend 'em, I'le knock in a pin,
Shall make 'em as good maids agen,
As ever they have been.

Bor. What means all this, why do y'sell Brooms Ancient?
Is it in wantonness, or want?

An. The only reason is,
To sweep your Lordships conscience: here's one for the nonce.
Gape Sir, you have swallowed many a goodlier matter—
The only casting for a crazie conscience.

3 Sol. Will your Lordship buy any honestie? 'twill be worth your mony.

B[o]r. How is this?

3 Sol. Honestie my Lord, 'tis here in a quill.

An. Take heed you open it not, for 'tis so subtle,
The least puffe of wind will blow it out o'th' Kingdom.

2 Sol. Will your Lordship please to taste a fine Potato?
'Twill advance your wither'd state.

Anc. Fill your honour full of most noble itches,
And make Jack dance in your Lordships breeches.

1 Sol.   If your Daughters on their beds.
Have bow'd, or crackt their maiden-heads;
If in a Coach with two much tumbling,
They chance to crie, fie, fo, what fumbling;
If her foot slip, and down fall she,
And break her leg 'bove the knee,
The one and thirtieth of Februarie let this be ta'ne,
And they shall be arrant maids again.

Bor. Ye are brave Souldiers; keep your wantonness,
A winter will come on to shake this wilfulness.
Disport your selves, and when you want your mony— [Exit.

Anc. Broom, Broom, &c. [Exeunt Singing.

Al. You must not be so fearfull, little one,
Nor Lady you so sad, you will ne're make Courtiers
With these dull sullen thoughts; this place is pleasure,
Preserv'd to that use, so inhabited;
And those that live here, live delightfull, joyfull:
These are the Gardens of Adonis, Ladies,
Where all sweets to their free and noble uses,
Grow ever young and courted.

Hon. Bless me Heaven,
Can things of her years arrive at these rudiments?
By your leave fair Gentlewoman, how long have you been here?

Al. Faith much about a week.

Hon. You have studied hard,
And by my faith arriv'd at a great knowledge.

Viol. Were not you bashfull at first?

Al. I, I, for an hour or two:
But when I saw people laugh'd at me for it,
And thought it a dull breeding—

Hon. You are govern'd here then
Much after the mens opinions.

Al. Ever Lady.

Hon. And what they think is honourable.—

Al. Most precisely
We follow with all faith.

Hon. A goodly Catechisme.

Viol. But bashfull for an hour or two?

Al. Faith to say true,
I do not think I was so long: for look ye,
'Tis to no end here, put on what shape ye will,
And soure your self with ne're so much austeritie,
You shall be courted in the same, and won too,
'Tis but some two hours more; and so much time lost,
Which we hold pretious here: In so much time now
As I have told you this, you may lose a Servant,
Your age, nor all your Art can e're recover.
Catch me occasion as she comes, hold fast there,
Till what you do affect is ripn'd to ye.
Has the Duke seen ye yet?

Hon. What if he have not?

Al. You do your beauties too much wrong, appearing
So full of sweetness, newness; set so richly,
As if a Counsel beyond nature fram'd ye.

Hon. If we were thus, say heaven had given these blessings,
Must we turn these to sin-oblations?

Al. How foolishly this Countrey way shews in ye?
How full of flegm? do you come here to pray, Ladies?
You had best cry, stand away, let me alone Gentlemen,
I'le tell my Father else.

Viol. This woman's naught sure,
A very naughtie woman.

Hon. Come, say on friend,
I'le be instructed by ye.

Al. You'l thank me for't.

Hon. Either I or the devil shall: The Duke you were speaking of.

Al. 'Tis well remembred: yes, let him first see you,
Appear not openly till he has view'd ye.

Hon. He's a very noble Prince they say.

Al. O wondrous gracious;
And as you may deliver your self at the first viewing.
For look ye, you must bear your self; yet take heed
It be so season'd with a sweet humilitie,
And grac'd with such a bountie in your beautie—

Hon. But I hope he will offer me no ill?

Al. No, no:
'Tis like he will kiss ye, and play with ye.

Hon. Play with me, how?

Al. Why, good Lord, that you are such a fool now!
No harm assure your self.

Viol. Will he play with me too?

Al. Look babies in your eyes, my prettie sweet one:
There's a fine sport: do you know your lodgings yet?

Hon. I hear of none.

Al. I do then, they are handsom,
Convenient for access.

Viol. Access?

Al. Yes little one,
For visitation of those friends and Servants,
Your beauties shall make choice of: friends and visits:
Do not you know those uses? Alas poor novice;
There's a close Cowch or two, handsomely placed too.

Viol. What are those I pray you?

Al. Who would be troubled with such raw things? they are to lie upon,
And your love by ye; and discourse, and toy in.

Viol. Alas I have no love.

Al. You must by any means:
You'l have a hundred, fear not.

Viol. Honestie keep me:
What shall I doe with all those?

Al. You'l find uses:
Ye are ignorant yet, let time work; you must learn too,
To lie handsomly in your bed a mornings, neatly drest
In a most curious Wastcoat, to set ye off well,
Play with your Bracelets, sing: you must learn to rhime too,
And riddle neatly; studie the hardest language,
And 'tis no matter whether it be sense, or no,
So it go seemlie off. Be sure ye profit
In kissing, kissing sweetly: there lies a main point,
A key that opens to all practick pleasure;
I'le help ye to a friend of mine shall teach ye,
And suddenlie: your Country way is fulsome.

Hon. Have ye schools for all these mysteries?

Al. O yes,
And several hours prefix'd to studie in:
Ye may have Kalenders to know the good hour,
And when to take a jewel: for the ill too,
When to refuse, with observations on 'em;
Under what Sign 'tis best meeting in an Arbor,
And in what Bower, and hour it works; a thousand,
When in a Coach, when in a private lodging,
With all their vertues.

Hon. Have ye studied these?
How beastly they become your youth? how bawdily?
A woman of your tenderness, a teacher,
Teacher of these lewd Arts? of your full beauty?
A man made up in lust would loath this in ye:
The rankest Leacher, hate such impudence.
They say the Devil can assume heavens brightness,
And so appear to tempt us: sure thou art no woman.

Al. I joy to find ye thus.

Hon. Thou hast no tenderness,
No reluctation in thy heart: 'tis mischief.

Al. All's one for that; read these and then be satisfi'd,
A few more private rules I have gather'd for ye,
Read 'em, and well observe 'em: so I leave ye. [Exit.

Viol. A wond[ro]us wicked woman: shame go with thee.

Hon. What new Pandoras box is this? I'le see it,
Though presently I tear it. Read Thine Viola,
'Tis in our own wills to believe and follow.

        Worthy Honora, as you have begun
        In vertues spotless school, so forward run:
        Pursue that nobleness, and chaste desire
        You ever had, burn in that holy fire;
        And a white Martyr to fair memorie
        Give up your name, unsoil'd of infamy.

How's this? Read yours out Sister: this amazes me.

Vio. Fear not thou yet unblasted Violet,
        Nor let my wanton words a doubt beget,
        Live in that peace and sweetness of thy bud,
        Remember whose thou art, and grow still good.
        Remember what thou art, and stand a storie
        Fit for thy noble Sex, and thine own glorie.

Hon. I know not what to think.

Viol. Sure a good woman,
An excellent woman, Sister.

Hon. It confounds me;
Let 'em use all their arts, if these be their ends,
The Court I say breeds the best foes and friends.
Come, let's be honest wench, and doe our best service.

Viol. A most excellent woman, I will love her. [Exeunt.

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter Olympia with a Casket, and Alinda.

Al. Madam, the Duke has sent for the two Ladies.

Olym. I prethee go: I know thy thoughts are with him.
Go, go Alinda, do not mock me more.
I have found thy heart wench, do not wrong thy Mistris,
Thy too much loving Mistris: do not abuse her.

Al. By your own fair hands I understand ye not.

Olym. By thy own fair eyes I understand thee too much,
Too far, and built a faith there thou hast ruin'd.
Goe, and enjoy thy wish, thy youth, thy pleasure,
Enjoy the greatness no doubt he has promised,
Enjoy the service of all eyes that see thee,
The glory thou hast aim'd at, and the triumph:
Only this last love I ask, forget thy Mistris.

Al. Oh, who has wrong'd me? who has ruin'd me?
Poor wretched Girle, what poyson is flung on thee?
Excellent vertue, from whence flows this anger?

Ol. Go, ask my Brother, ask the faith thou gav'st me,
Ask all my favours to thee, ask my love,
Last, thy forgetfulness of good: then flye me,
For we must part Alinda.

Al. You are weary of me;
I must confess, I was never worth your service,
Your bounteous favours less; but that my duty,
My ready will, and all I had to serve ye—
O Heaven thou know'st my honestie.

Olym. No more:
Take heed, heaven has a justice: take this ring with ye,
This doting spell you gave me: too well Alinda,
Thou knew'st the vertue in't; too well I feel it:
Nay keep that too, it may sometimes remember ye,
When you are willing to forget who gave it,
And to what vertuous end.

Al. Must I goe from ye?
Of all the sorrows sorrow has—must I part with ye?
Part with my noble Mistris?

Olym. Or I with thee wench.

Al. And part stain'd with opinion? Farewel Lady,
Happy and blessed Lady, goodness keep ye:
Thus your poor Servant full of grief turns from ye,
For ever full of grief, for ever from ye.
I have no being now, no friends, no Country,
I wander heaven knows whither, heaven knows how.
No life, now you are lost: only mine innocence,
That little left me of my self, goes with me,
That's all my bread and comfort. I confess Madam,
Truely confess, the Duke has often courted me.

Olym. And pour'd his Soul into thee, won thee.

Al. Do you think so?
Well, time that told this tale, will tell my truth too,
And say ye had a faithfull, honest Servant:
The business of my life is now to pray for ye,
Pray for your vertuous loves; Pray for your children,
When Heaven shall make ye happy.

Olym. How she wounds me!
Either I am undone, or she must go: take these with ye,
Some toyes may doe ye service; and this mony;
And when ye want, I love ye not so poorly,
Not yet Alinda, that I would see ye perish.
Prethee be good, and let me hear: look on me,
I love those eyes yet dearly; I have kiss'd thee,
And now I'le doe't again: Farewel Alinda,
I am too full to speak more, and too wretched. [Exit.

Al. You have my faith,
And all the world my fortune. [Exit.

SCENA II.

Enter Theodor.

The. I would fain hear
What becomes of these two Wenches:
And if I can, I will doe 'em good.

Enter Gentleman, passing over the Stage.

Do you hear my honest friend?
He knows no such name:
What a world of business,
Which by interpretation are meer nothings,
These things have here! 'Mass now I think on't better,
I wish he be not sent for one of them
To some of these by-lodgings: me thought I saw
A kind of reference in his face to Bawderie.

Enter Gentleman, with a Gentlewoman, passing over the Stage.

He has her, but 'tis none of them: hold fast thief:
An excellent touzing knave. Mistris
You are to suffer your penance some half hour hence now.
How far a fine Court Custard with Plums in it
Will prevail with one of these waiting Gentlewomen,
They are taken with these soluble things exceedingly;
This is some yeoman o'th' bottles now that has sent for her,
That she calls Father: now woe to this Ale incense.
By your leave Sir.

Enter a Servant.

Ser. Well Sir; what's your pleasure with me?

The. You do not know the way to the maids lodgings?

Ser. Yes indeed do I Sir.

The. But you will not tell me?

Ser. No indeed will not I, because you doubt it. [Exit.

Enter 2 Servant.

The. These are fine gim-cracks: hey, here comes another,
A Flagon full of wine in's hand, I take it.
Well met my friend, is that wine?

2 Ser. Yes indeed is it.

The. Faith I'le drink on't then.

2 Ser. Ye may, because ye have sworn Sir.

The. 'Tis very good, I'le drink a great deal now Sir.

2 Ser. I cannot help it Sir.

The. I'le drink more yet.

2 Ser. 'Tis in your own hands.

The. There's your pot, I thank ye.
Pray let me drink again.

2 Ser. Faith but ye shall not.
Now have I sworn I take it. Fare ye well Sir. [Exit.

Enter Lady.

The. This is the fin'st place to live in I e're enter'd.
Here comes a Gentlewoman, and alone; I'le to her.
Madam, my Lord my Master.

Lady. Who's your Lord Sir?

The. The Lord Boroskey, Lady.

Lady. Pray excuse me:
Here's something for your pains: within this hour Sir,
One of the choice young Ladies shall attend him:
Pray let it be in that Chamber juts out to the water;
'Tis private and convenient: doe my humble service
To my honourable good Lord, I beseech ye Sir;
If it please you to visit a poor Lady—
You carrie the 'haviour of a noble Gentleman.

The. I shall be bold.

Lady. 'Tis a good aptness in ye.
I lye here in the Wood-yard, the blue lodgings Sir;
They call me merrily the Lady of the —— Sir;
A little I know what belongs to a Gentleman,
And if it please you take the pains. [Exit.

The. Dear Lady, take the pains?
Why a horse would not take the pains that thou requir'st now,
To cleave old crab-tree: one of the choice young Ladies?
I would I had let this Bawd goe, she has frighted me;
I am cruelly afraid of one of my Tribe now;
But if they will doe, the Devil cannot stop 'em.
Why should he have a young Lady? are women now
O'th' nature of Bottles, to be stopt with Corks?
O the thousand little furies that flye here now!
How now Captain?

Enter Putsky.

Puts. I come to seek you out Sir,
And all the Town I have travell'd.

The. What's the news man?

Puts. That that concerns us all, and very nearly:
The Duke this night holds a great feast at Court,
To which he bids for guests all his old Counsellors,
And all his favourites: your Father's sent for.

The. Why he is neither in council, nor in favour.

Pu. That's it: have an eye now, or never, and a quick one,
An eye that must not wink from good intelligence.
I heard a Bird sing, they mean him no good office.

Enter Ancient.

The. Art sure he sups here?

Puts. Sure as 'tis day.

The. 'Tis like then:
How now, where hast thou been Ancient?

Anc. Measuring the City:
I have left my Brooms at gate here;
By this time the Porter has stole 'em to sweep out Rascals.

Theod. Bro[o]ms?

Anc. I have been crying Brooms all the town over,
And such a Mart I have made, there's no tread near it.
O the young handsom wenches, how they twitter'd,
When they but saw me shake my ware, and sing too;
Come hither Master Broom-man I beseech ye:
Good Master Broom-man hither, cries another.

The. Thou art a mad fellow.

Anc. They are all as mad as I: they all have tra[de]s now,
And roar about the streets like Bull-beggers.

The. What company of Souldiers are they?

Anc. By this means I have gather'd
Above a thousand tall and hardy Souldiers,
If need be Colonel.

The. That need's come Ancient,
And 'twas discreetly done: goe, draw 'em presently,
But without suspicion: this night we shall need 'em;
Let 'em be near the Court, let Putskie guide 'em;
And wait me for occasion: here I'le stay still.

Puts. If it fall out we are ready; if not we are scatter'd:
I'le wait ye at an inch.

The. Doe, Farewel. [Exeunt.

Duke. Are the Souldiers still so mutinous?

Bor. More than ever,
No Law nor Justice frights 'em: all the Town over
They play new pranks and gambols: no mans person,
Of what degree soever, free from abuses:
And durst they doe this, (let your grace consider)
These monstrous, most offensive things, these villanies,
If not set on, and fed? if not by one
They honour more than you? and more aw'd by him?

Duke. Happily their own wants.

Boros. I offer to supply 'em,
And every hour make tender of their moneys:
They scorn it, laugh at me that offer it:
I fear the next device will be my life Sir;
And willingly I'le give it, so they stay there.

Duke. Do you think Lord Archas privie?

Bor. More than thought,
I know it Sir, I know they durst not doe
These violent rude things, abuse the State thus,
But that they have a hope by his ambitions—

Duke. No more: he's sent for?

Boros. Yes, and will be here sure.

Duke. Let me talk further with you anon.

Boros. I'le wait Sir.

Duke. Did you speak to the Ladies?

Boros. They'l attend your grace presently.

Duke. How do you like 'em?

Boros. My eyes are too dull Judges.
They wait here Sir. [Exit.

Enter Honora, and Viola.

Duke. Be you gone then: Come in Ladies,
Welcom to th' court sweet beauties; now the court shines,
When such true beams of beauty strike amongst us:
Welcom, welcom, even as your own joyes welcom.
How do you like the Court? how seems it to you?
Is't not a place created for all sweetness?
Why were you made such strangers to this happiness?
Barr'd the delights this holds? the richest jewels
Set ne're so well, if then not worn to wonder,
By judging eyes not set off, lose their lustre:
Your Country shades are faint; blasters of beauty;
The manners like the place, obscure and heavie;
The Rose buds of the beauties turn to cankers,
Eaten with inward thoughts: whilst there ye wander.
Here Ladies, here, you were not made for Cloisters,
Here is the Sphere you move in: here shine nobly,
And by your powerfull influence command all:
What a sweet modestie dwells round about 'em,
And like a nipping morn pulls in their blossoms?

Hon. Your grace speaks cunningly, you doe not this,
I hope Sir, to betray us; we are poor triumphs;
Nor can our loss of honour adde to you Sir:
Great men, and great thoughts, seek things great and worthy,
Subjects to make 'em live, and not to lose 'em;
Conquests so nobly won, can never perish;
We are two simple maids, untutor'd here Sir;
Two honest maids, is that a sin at Court Sir?
Our breeding is obedience, but to good things,
To vertuous and to fair: what wou'd you win on us?
Why do I ask that question, when I have found ye?
Your Preamble has pour'd your heart out to us;
You would dishonour us; which in your translation
Here at the Court reads thus, your grace would love us,
Most dearly love us: stick us up for mistresses:
Most certain, there are thousands of our sex Sir
That would be glad of this, and handsom women,
And crowd into this favour, fair young women,
Excellent beauties Sir: when ye have enjoy'd 'em,
And suckt those sweets they have, what Saints are these then?
What worship have they won? what name you ghess Sir,
What storie added to their time, a sweet one?

Duke. A brave spirited wench.

Hon. I'le tell your grace,
And tell ye true: ye are deceiv'd in us two,
Extreamly cozen'd Sir: And yet in my eye
You are the handsomst man I ever lookt on,
The goodliest Gentleman; take that hope with ye;
And were I fit to be your wife (so much I honour ye)
Trust me I would scratch for ye but I would have ye.
I would wooe you then.

Duke. She amazes me:
But how am I deceiv'd?

Hon. O we are too honest,
Believe it Sir, too honest, far too honest,
The way that you propound too ignorant,
And there is no medling with us; for we are fools too,
Obstinate, peevish fools: if I would be ill,
And had a wantons itch, to kick my heels up,
I would not leap into th' Sun, and doe't there,
That all the world might see me: an obscure shade Sir,
Dark as the deed, there is no trusting light with it,
Nor that that's lighter far, vain-glorious greatness.

Duke. You will love me as your friend?

Ho[n]. I will honour ye,
As your poor humble handmaid serve, and pray for ye.

Du. What sayes my little one; you are not so obstinate?
Lord how she blushes: here are truly fair souls:
Come you will be my love?

Viol. Good Sir be good to me,
Indeed I'le doe the best I can to please ye;
I do beseech your grace: Alas I fear ye.

Duke. What shouldst thou fear?

Hon. Fie Sir, this is not noble.

Duke. Why do I stand entreating, where my power—

Hon. You have no power, at least you ought to have none
In bad and beastly things: arm'd thus, I'le dye here,
Before she suffer wrong.

Duke. Another Archas?

Hon. His child Sir, and his spirit.

Duke. I'le deal with you then,
For here's the honour to be won: sit down sweet,
Prethee Honora sit.

Hon. Now ye intreat I will Sir.

Duke. I doe, and will deserve it.

Hon. That's too much kindness.

Duke. Prethee look on me.

Hon. Yes: I love to see ye,
And could look on an age thus, and admire ye:
Whilst ye are good and temperate I dare touch ye,
Kiss your white hand.

Duke. Why not my lips?

Hon. I dare Sir.

Duke. I do not think ye dare.

Hon. I am no coward.
D[o] you believe me now? or now? or now Sir?
You make me blush: but sure I mean no ill Sir:
It had been fitter you had kiss'd me.

Du. That I'le doe too.
What hast thou wrought into me?

Hon. I hope all goodness:
Whilst ye are thus, thus honest, I dare do any thing,
Thus hang about your neck, and thus doat on ye;
Bless those fair lights: hell take me if I durst not—
But good Sir pardon me. Sister come hither,
Come hither, fear not wench: come hither, blush not,
Come kiss the Prince, the vertuous Prince, the good Prince:
Certain he is excellent honest.

Du. Thou wilt make me—

Hon. Sit down, and hug him softly.

Du. Fie Honora,
Wanton Honora; is this the modesty,
The noble chastity your on-set shew'd me,
At first charge beaten back? Away.

Hon. Thank ye:
Upon my knees I pray, heaven too may thank ye;
Ye have deceiv'd me cunningly, yet nobly
Ye have cozen'd me: In all your hopefull life yet,
A Scene of greater honour you ne're acted:
I knew fame was a lyar, too long, and loud tongu'd,
And now I have found it: O my vertuous Master.

Viol. My vertuous Master too.

Hon. Now you are thus,
What shall become of me let fortune cast for't.

Enter Alinda.

Du. I'le be that fortune, if I live Honora,
Thou hast done a cure upon me, counsel could not.

Al. Here take your ring Sir, and whom ye mean to ruine,
Give it to her next; I have paid for't dearly.

Hon. A Ring to her?

Du. Why frowns my fair Alinda?
I have forgot both these again.

Al. Stand still Sir,
Ye have that violent killing fire upon ye,
Consumes all honour, credit, faith.

Hon. How's this?

Al. My Royal Mistris favour towards me,
Woe-worth ye Sir, ye have poyson'd, blasted.

Duke. I sweet?

Al. You have taken that unmanly liberty,
Which in a worse man, is vain glorious feigning,
And kill'd my truth.

Du. Upon my life 'tis false wench.

Al. Ladies,
Take heed, ye have a cunning gamester,
A handsom, and a high; come stor'd with Antidotes,
He has infections else will fire your blouds.

Du. Prethee Alinda hear me.

Al. Words steept in hony,
That will so melt into your minds, buy Chastity,
A thousand wayes, a thousand knots to tie ye;
And when he has bound ye his, a thousand ruines.
A poor lost woman ye have made me.

Du. I'le maintain thee,
And nobly too.

Al. That Gin's too weak to take me:
Take heed, take heed young Ladies: still take heed,
Take heed of promises, take heed of gifts,
Of forced feigned sorrows, sighs, take heed.

Du. By all that's mine, Alinda—

Al. Swear
By your mischiefs:
O whither shall I goe?

Duke. Go back again,
I'le force her take thee, love thee.

Alin. Fare ye well, Sir,
I will not curse ye; only this dwell with ye,
When ever ye love, a false belief light on ye. [Exit.

Hon. We'll take our leaves too, Sir.

Duke. Part all the world now,
Since she is gone.

Hon. You are crooked yet, dear Master,
And still I fear— [Exeunt.

Duke. I am vext,
And some shall find it. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

Enter Archas and a Servant.

Ar. 'Tis strange
To me to see the Court, and welcome:
O Royal place, how have I lov'd and serv'd thee?
Who lies on this side, know'st thou?

Ser. The Lord Burris.

Ar. Thou hast nam'd a Gentleman
I stand much bound to:
I think he sent the Casket, Sir?

Ser. The same, Sir.

Ar. An honest minded man, a noble Courtier:
The Duke made perfect choice when he took him.
Go you home, I shall hit the way
Without a guide now.

Ser. You may want something, Sir.

Ar. Only my Horses,
Which after Supper let the Groom wait with:
I'le have no more attendance here.

Ser. Your will, Sir. [Exit.

Enter Theodore.

Theo. You are well met here, Sir.

Ar. How now boy,
How dost thou?

The. I should ask
You that question: how do you, Sir?
How do you feel your self?

Ar. Why well, and lusty.

The. What do you here then?

Ar. Why I am sent for
To Supper with the Duke.

The. Have you no meat at home?
Or do you long to feed as hunted Deer do,
In doubt and fear?

Ar. I have an excellent stomach,
And can I use it better
Than among my friends, Boy?
How do the Wenches?

The. They do well enough, Sir,
They know the worst by this time: pray be rul'd, Sir,
Go home again, and if ye have a Supper,
Eat it in quiet there: this is no place for ye,
Especially at this time,
Take my word for't.

Ar. May be they'll drink hard;
I could have drunk my share, Boy.
Though I am old, I will not out.

The. I hope you will.
Hark in your ear: the Court's
Too quick of hearing.

Ar. Not mean me well?
Thou art abus'd and cozen'd.
Away, away.

The. To that end Sir, I tell ye.
Away, if you love your self.

Ar. Who dare do these things,
That ever heard of honesty?

The. Old Gentleman,
Take a fools counsel.

Ar. 'Tis a fools indeed;
A very fools: thou hast more of
These flams in thee, these musty doubts:
Is't fit the Duke send for me,
And honour me to eat within his presence,
And I, like a tale fellow, play at bo-peep
With his pleasure?

The. Take heed
Of bo-peep with your pate, your pate, Sir,
I speak plain language now.

Ar. If 'twere not here,
Where reverence bids me hold,
I would so swinge thee, thou rude,
Unmanner'd Knave; take from his bounty,
His honour that he gives me, to beget
Sawcy, and sullen fears?

The. You are not mad sure:
By this fair light, I speak
But what is whisper'd,
And whisper'd for a truth.

Ar. A Dog: drunken people,
That in their Pot see visions,
And turn states, mad-men and Children:
Prethee do not follow me;
I tell thee I am angry:
Do not follow me.

The. I am as angry
As you for your heart,
I and as wilful too: go, like a Wood-cock,
And thrust your neck i'th' noose.

Ar. I'le kill thee,
And thou speakst but three words more.
Do not follow me. [Exit.

The. A strange old foolish fellow: I shall hear yet,
And if I do not my part, hiss at me. [Exit.

SCENE V.

Enter two Servants preparing a Banquet.

1 Serv. Believe me fellow here will be lusty drinking.
Many a washt pate in Wine I warrant thee.

2 Ser. I am glad the old General's come: upon my Conscience
That joy will make half the Court drunk. Hark the Trumpets,
They are coming on; away.

1 Ser. We'll have a rowse too. [Exeunt.

Enter Duke, Archas, Burris, Boroskie, Attend. Gent.

Duke. Come seat your selves: Lord Archas sit you there.

Ar. 'Tis far above my worth.

Duke. I'le have it so:
Are all things ready?

Bor. All the Guards are set,
The Court Gates are shut.

Duke. Then do as I prescrib'd ye.
Be sure no further.

Bor. I shall well observe ye.

Du. Come bring some wine: here's to my Sister, Gentlemen;
A health, and mirth to all.

Ar. Pray fill it full, Sir.
'Tis a high health to vertue: here Lord Burris,
A maiden health: you are most fit to pledge it,
You have a maiden soul and much I honour it.
Passion o' me, ye are sad man.

Duke. How now, Burris?
Go to, no more of this.

Ar. Take the rowse freely,
'Twill warm your bloud, and make ye fit for jollity.
Your Graces pardon: when we get a cup, Sir,
We old men prate a pace.

Du. Mirth makes a Banquet;
As you love me no more.

Bur. I thank your Grace.
Give me it; Lord Boroskie.

Boros. I have ill brains, Sir.

Bur. Damnable ill, I know it.

Boros. But I'le pledge, Sir,
This vertuous health.

Bur. The more unfit for thy mouth.

Enter two Servants with Cloaks.

Du. Come, bring out Robes, and let my guests look nobly,
Fit for my love and presence: begin downward.
Off with your Cloaks, take new.

Ar. Your grace deals truly,
Like a munificent Prince, with your poor subjects,
Who would not fight for you? what cold dull coward
Durst seek to save his life when you would ask it?
Begin a new health in your new adornments,
The Dukes, the Royal Dukes: ha! what have I got
Sir? ha! the Robe of death?

Du. You have deserv'd it.

Ar. The Livery of the Grave? do you start all from me?
Do I smell of earth already? Sir, look on me,
And like a man; is this your entertainment?
Do you bid your worthiest guests to bloudy Banquets?

Enter a Guard.

A Guard upon me too? this is too foul play
Boy to thy good, thine honour: thou wretched Ruler,
Thou Son of fools and flatterers, Heir of hypocrites,
Am I serv'd in a Hearse that sav'd ye all?
Are ye men or Devils? Do ye gape upon me,
Wider, and swallow all my services?
Entomb them first, my faith next, then my integrity,
And let these struggle with your mangy minds,
Your sear'd, and seal'd up Consciences, till they burst.

Boros. These words are death.

Ar. No those deeds that want rewards, Sirrah,
Those Battels I have fought, those horrid dangers,
Leaner than death, and wilder than destruction,
I have march'd upon, these honour'd wounds, times story,
The bloud I have lost, the youth, the sorrows suffer'd,
These are my death, these that can ne're be recompenced,
These that ye sit a brooding on like Toads,
Sucking from my deserts the sweets and favours,
And render me no pay again but poysons.

Bor. The proud vain Souldier thou hast set—

Ar. Thou lyest.
Now by my little time of life lyest basely,
Malitiously and loudly: how I scorn thee!
If I had swel'd the Souldier, or intended
An act in person, leaning to dishonour,
As ye would fain have forced me, witness Heaven,
Where clearest understanding of all truth is,
(For these are spightful men, and know no piety)
When Olin came, grim Olin, when his marches,
His last Incursions made the City sweat,
And drove before him, as a storm drives Hail,
Such showrs of frosted fears, shook all your heart-strings;
Then when the Volga trembled at his terrour,
And hid his seven curl'd heads, afraid of bruising,
By his arm'd Horses hoofs; had I been false then,
Or blown a treacherous fire into the Souldier,
Had but one spark of villany liv'd within me,
Ye'ad had some shadow for this black about me.
Where was your Souldiership? why went not you out?
And all your right honourable valour with ye?
Why met ye not the Tartar, and defi'd him?
Drew your dead-doing sword, and buckl'd with him?
Shot through his Squadrons like a fiery Meteor?
And as we see a dreadful clap of Thunder
Rend the stiffhearted Oaks, and toss their roots up:
Why did not you so charge him? you were sick then,
You that dare taint my credit slipt to bed then,
Stewing and fainting with the fears ye had,
A whorson shaking fit opprest your Lordship:
Blush Coward, Knave, and all the world hiss at thee.

Du. Exceed not my command. [Exit.

Bor. I shall observe it.

Ar. Are you gone too? Come weep not honest Burris,
Good loving Lord, no more tears: 'tis not his malice,
This fellows malice, nor the Dukes displeasure,
By bold bad men crowded into his nature,
Can startle me: fortune ne're raz'd this Fort yet:
I am the same, the same man, living, dying;
The same mind to 'em both, I poize thus equal;
Only the jugling way that toll'd me to it,
The Judas way, to kiss me, bid me welcome,
And cut my throat, a little sticks upon me.
Farewel, commend me to his Grace, and tell him,
The world is full of servants, he may have many:
And some I wish him honest: he's undone else:
But such another doating Archas never,
So try'd and touch'd a faith: farewell for ever.

Bur. Be strong my Lord: you must not go thus lightly.

Ar. Now, what's to do? what sayes the Law unto me?
Give me my great offence that speaks me guil[t]y.

Bor. Laying aside a thousand petty matters,
As scorns, and insolencies both from your self and followers,
Which you put first fire to, and these are deadly,
I come to one main cause, which though it carries
A strangeness in the circumstance, it carries death too,
Not to be pardon'd neither: ye have done a sacriledge.

Ar. High Heaven defend me man: how, how Boroskie?

Bor. Ye have took from the Temple those vow'd Arms,
The holy Ornament you hung up there,
No absolution of your vow, no order
From holy Church to give 'em back unto you
After they were purified from War, and rested
From bloud, made clean by ceremony: from the Altar
You snatch'd 'em up again, again ye wore 'em,
Again you stain'd 'em, stain'd your vow, the Church too,
And rob'd it of that right was none of yours, Sir,
For which the Law requires your head, ye know it.

Ar. Those arms I fought in last?

Bor. The same.

Ar. God a mercy,
Thou hast hunted out a notable cause to kill me:
A subtle one: I dye, for saving all you;
Good Sir, remember if you can, the necessity,
The suddenness of time, the state all stood in;
I was entreated to, kneel'd to, and pray'd to,
The Duke himself, the Princes, all the Nobles,
The cries of Infants, Bed-rid Fathers, Virgins;
Prethee find out a better cause, a handsomer,
This will undo thee too: people will spit at thee,
The Devil himself would be asham'd of this cause;
Because my haste made me forget the ceremony,
The present danger every where, must my life satisfie?

Bor. It must, and shall.

Ar. O base ungrateful people,
Have ye no other Swords to cut my throat with
But mine own nobleness? I confess, I took 'em,
The vow not yet absolv'd I hung 'em up with:
Wore 'em, fought in 'em, gilded 'em again
In the fierce Tartars blouds; for you I took 'em,
For your peculiar safety, Lord, for all,
I wore 'em for my Countries health, that groan'd then:
Took from the Temple, to preserve the Temple;
That holy place, and all the sacred monuments,
The reverent shrines of Saints, ador'd and honour'd,
Had been consum'd to ashes, their own sacrifice;
Had I been slack, or staid that absolution,
No Priest had liv'd to give it; my own honour,
Cure of my Country murder me?

Bor. No, no Sir,
I shall force that from ye, will make this cause light too,
Away with him: I shall pluck down that heart, Sir.

Ar. Break it thou mayest; but if it bend, for pity,
Doggs, and Kites eat it: come I am honours Martyr. [Ex.