The Project Gutenberg eBook of Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (5 of 10), by Francis Beaumont, John Fletcher.

Fred. Hast thou been with him?

Sor. Yes, and given him that Sir
Will make him curse his Birth; I told ye which way.
Did you but see him Sir, but look upon him,
With what a troubled and dejected nature
He walks now in a mist, with what a silence,
As if he were the shrowd he wrapt himself in,
And no more of Valerio but his shadow,
He seeks obscurity to hide his thoughts in,
You would wonder and admire for all you know it,
His jollity is down, valed to the ground Sir,
And his high hopes of full delights and pleasures
Are turn'd tormenters to him, strong diseases.

Fred. But is there hope of her?

Sor. It must fall necessary,
She must dislike him, quarrel with his person,
For women once deluded are next Devils,
And in the height of that opinion Sir,
You shall put on again, and she must meet ye.

Fred. I am glad of this.

Sor. I'le tell ye all the circumstance
Within this hour, but sure I heard your grace
To day as I attended, make some stops,
Some broken speech[e]s, and some sighs between,
And then your Brothers name I heard distinctly,
And some sad wishes after.

Fred. Ye are i'th' right Sir,
I would he were as sad as I could wish him,
Sad as the Earth.

Sor. Would ye have it so?

Fred. Thou hearest me,
Though he be sick with small hope of recovery,
That hope still lives, and mens eyes live upon it,
And in their eye their wishes; my Sorano,
Were he but cold once in the tomb he dotes on,
As 'tis the fittest place for melancholy,
My Court should be another Paradise,
And flow with all delights.

Sor. Go to your pleasures, let me alone with this,
Hope shall not trouble ye, nor he three dayes.

Fred. I shall be bound unto thee.

Sor. I'le do it neatly too, no doubt shall catch me.

Fred. Be gone, they are going to bed, I'le bid good night to 'em.

Sor. And mark the man, you'l scarce know 'tis Valerio. [Exit.

Cam. Chear up my noble Lord, the minute's come,
You shall injoy the abstract of all sweetness,
We did you wrong, you need no wine to warm ye,
Desire shoots through your eyes like sudden wild-fires.

Val. Beshrew me Lords, the wine has made me dull,
I am I know not what.

Fred. Good pleasure to ye,
Good night and long too, as you find your appetite
You may fall to.

Val. I do beseech your grace,
For which of all my loves and services
Have I deserved this?

Fred. I am not bound to answer ye.

Val. Nor I bound to obey in unjust actions.

Fred. Do as you please, you know the penalty,
And as I have a soul it shall be executed;
Nay look not pale, I am not used to fear Sir,
If you respect your Lady, good night to ye. [Exit.

Val. But for respect to her and to my duty,
That reverent duty that I owe my Sovera[ig]n,
Which anger has no power to snatch me from,
The good night should be thine; good night for ever.
The King is wanton Lords, he would needs know of me
How many nick chases I would make to night.

Men. My Lord, no doubt you'l prove a perfect gamester.

Val. Faith no, I am unacquainted with the pleasure,
Bungle a set I may: how my heart trembles,
And beats my breast as it would break his way out!
Good night my noble friends.

Cle. Nay we must see you toward your bed my Lord.

Val. Good faith it needs not,
'Tis late, and I shall trouble you.

Cam. No, no, till the Bride come Sir.

Val. I beseech you leave me,
You will make me bashfull else, I am so foolish,
Besides, I have some few devotions Lords,
And he that can pray with such a book in's arms—

Ca[m]. We'l leave ye then, and a sweet night wait upon ye.

Men. And a sweet issue of this sweet night crown ye.

Cle. All nights and days be such till you grow old Sir.

Val. I thank ye, 'tis a curse sufficient for me,
A labour'd one too, though you mean a blessing.
What shall I do? I am like a wretched Debtor,
That has a summe to tender on the forfeit
Of all he is worth, yet dare not offer it.
Other men see the Sun, yet I must wink at it;
And though I know 'tis perfect day, deny it:
My veins are all on fire, and burn like Ætna,
Youth and desire beat larums to my blood,
And adde fresh fuel to my warm affections.
I must injoy her, yet when I consider,
When I collect my self, and weigh her danger,
The tyrants will, and his power taught to murther,
My tender care controlls my blood within me,
And like a cold fit of a peevish Ague
Creeps to my soul, and flings an Ice upon me,

That locks all powers of youth up: but prevention—
O what a blessedness 'twere to be old now,
To be unable, bed-rid with diseases,
Or halt on Crutches to meet holy Hymen;
What a rare benefit! but I am curst,
That that speaks other men most freely happy,
And makes all eyes hang on their expectations,
Must prove the bane of me, youth, and ability.
She comes to bed, how shall I entertain her?

Tony. Nay I come after too, take the fool with ye,
For lightly he is ever one at Weddings.

Queen. Evanthe, make ye unready, your Lord staies for ye,
And prethee be merry.

Tony. Be very merry, Chicken,
Thy Lord will pipe to thee anon, and make thee dance too.

Lady. Will he so, good-man ass?

Tony. Yes good filly,
And you had such a Pipe, that piped so sweetly,
You would dance to death, you have learnt your sinque a pace.

Evan. Your grace desires that that is too free in me,
I am merry at the heart.

Tony. Thou wilt be anon, the young smug boy will give thee a sweet cordial.

Evan. I am so taken up in all my thoughts,
So possest Madam with the lawfull sweets
I shall this night partake of with my Lord,
So far transported (pardon my immodesty.)

Val. Alas poor wench, how shall I recompence thee?

Evan. That though they must be short, and snatcht away too,
E're they grow ripe, yet I shall far prefer 'em
Before a tedious pleasure with repentance.

Val. O how my heart akes!

Evan. Take off my Jewels Ladies,
And let my Ruff loose, I shall bid good night to ye,
My Lord staies here.

Queen. My wench, I thank thee heartily,
For learning how to use thy few hours handsomly,
They will be years I hope; off with your Gown now,
Lay down the bed there!

Tony. Shall I get into it and warm it for thee? a fools fire is a fine thing,
And I'le so buss thee.

Queen. I'le have ye whipt ye Rascal.

Tony. That will provoke me more, I'le talk with thy husband,
He's a wise man I hope.

Evan. Good night dear Madam,
Ladies, no further service, I am well,
I do beseech your grace to give us this leave,
My Lord and I to one another freely,
And privately, may do all other Ceremonies,
Women and Page we'l be to one another,
And trouble you no farther.

Tony. Art thou a wise man?

Val. I cannot tell thee Tony, ask my neighbours.

Tony. If thou beest so, go lye with me to night,
The old fool will lye quieter than the young one,
And give thee more sleep, thou wilt look to morrow else
Worse than the prodigal fool the Ballad speaks of,
That was squeez'd through a horn.

Val. I shall take thy counsel.

Queen. Why then good night, good night my best Evanthe,
My worthy maid, and as that name shall vanish,
A worthy wife, a long and happy; follow Sirrah.

Evan. That shall be my care,
Goodness rest with your Grace.

Queen. Be lusty Lord, and take your Lady to ye,
And that power that shall part ye be unhappy.

Val. Sweet rest unto ye, to ye all sweet Ladies;
Tony good night.

Tony. Shall not the fool stay with thee?

Queen. Come away Sirrah. [Exeunt Queen, Ladies.

Tony. How the fool is sought for! sweet Malt is made of easie fire,
A hasty horse will quickly tire, a sudden leaper sticks i'th' mire,
Phlebotomy and the word lye nigher, take heed of friend I thee require;
This from an Almanack I stole, and learn[t] this Lesson from a fool.
Good night my Bird. [Exit Tony.

Evan. Good night wise Master Tony;
Will ye to bed my Lord? Come, let me help ye.

Val. To bed Evanthe, art thou sleepy?

Evant. No, I shall be worse if you look sad upon me,
Pray ye let's to bed.

Val. I am not well my love.

Evant. I'le make ye well, there's no such Physick for ye
As your warm Mistris arms.

Val. Art thou so cunning?

Evant. I speak not by experience, 'pray ye mistake not;
But if you love me—

Val. I do love so dearly,
So much above the base bent of desire,
I know not how to answer thee.

Evant. To bed then,
There I shall better credit ye; fie my Lord,
Will ye put a maid to't, to teach ye what to do?
An innocent maid? Are ye so cold a Lover?
In truth you make me blush, 'tis midnight too,
And 'tis no stoln love, but authorised openly,
No sin we covet, pray let me undress ye,
You shall help me; prethee sweet Valerio;
Be not so sad, the King will be more mercifull.

Val. May not I love thy mind?

Evant. And I yours too,
'Tis a most noble one, adorn'd with vertue;
But if we love not one another really,
And put our bodies and our mind together,
And so make up the concord of affection,
Our love will prove but a blind superstition:
This is no school to argue in my Lord,
Nor have we time to talk away allow'd us,
Pray let's dispatch, if any one should come
And find us at this distance, what would they think?
Come, kiss me and to bed.

Val. That I dare do, and kiss again.

Evant. Spare not, they are your own Sir.

Val. But to injoy thee is to be luxurious;
Too sensuall in my love, and too ambitious;
O how I burn! to pluck thee from the stalk,
Where now thou grow'st a sweet bud and a beauteous,
And bear'st the prime and honour of the Garden,
Is but to violate thy spring, and spoil thee.

Evant. To let me blow, and fall alone would anger ye.

Val. Let's sit together thus, and as we sit
Feed on the sweets of one anothers souls,
The happiness of love is contemplation,
The blessedness of love is pure affection,
Where no allay of actuall dull desires,
Of pleasure that partakes with wantonness,
Of humane fire that burns out as it kindles,
And leaves the body but a poor repentance,
Can ever mix, let's fix on that Evanthe,
That's everlasting, the tother casuall;
Eternity breeds one, the other fortune,
Blind as her self, and full of all afflictions.
Shall we love vertuously?

Evant. I ever loved so.

Val. And only think our love; the rarest pleasure,
And that we most desire, let it be humane,
If once injoyed grows stale, and cloys our appetites;
I would not lessen in my love for any thing,
Nor find thee but the same in my short journey,
For my loves safety.

Evant. Now I see I am old Sir,
Old and ill favour'd too, poor and despis'd,
And am not worth your noble Fellowship,
Your fellowship in Love, you would not else
Thus cunningly seek to betray a maid,
A maid that honours you thus piously;
Strive to abuse the pious love she brings ye.
Farewel my Lord, since ye have a better Mistris,
For it must seem so, or ye are no man,
A younger, happier, I shall give her room,
So much I love ye still.

Val. Stay my Evanthe,
Heaven bear me witness, thou art all I love,
All I desire, and now have pity on me,
I never lyed before; forgive me Justice,
Youth and affection stop your ears unto me.

Evant. Why do you weep? if I have spoke too harshly,
And unbeseeming, my beloved Lord,
My care and duty, pardon me.

Val. O hear me,
Hear me Evanthe; I am all on torture,
And this lye tears my conscience as I vent it;
I am no man.

Evant. How Sir?

Val. No man for pleasure, no womans man.

Eva. Goodness forbid my Lord, sure you abuse your self.

Val. 'Tis true Evanthe;
I shame to say you will find it. [Weeps.

Evant. He weeps bitterly,
'Tis my hard fortune, bless all young maids from it;
Is there no help my Lord in art will comfort ye?

Val. I hope there is.

Evant. How long have you been destitute?

Val. Since I was young.

Evant. 'Tis hard to dye for nothing,
Now you shall know 'tis not the pleasure Sir,
(For I am compell'd to love you spiritually)
That women aim at, I affect ye for,
'Tis for your worth; and kiss me, be at peace,
Because I ever loved ye, I still honour ye,
And with all duty to my Husband follow ye;
Will ye to bed now? ye are asham'd i[t] seems;
Pygmalion pray'd and his cold stone took life,
You do not know with what zeal I shall ask Sir,
And what rare miracle that may work upon ye;
Still blush? prescribe your Law.

Val. I prethee pardon me,
To bed, and I'le sit by thee, and mourn with thee,
Mourn both our fortunes, our unhappy ones:
Do not despise me, make me not more wretched,
I pray to Heaven when I am gone Evanthe,
As my poor date is but a span of time now,
To recompence thy noble patience,
Thy love and vertue with a fruitfull husband,
Honest and honourable.

Evant. Come, you have made me weep now,
All fond desire dye here, and welcom chastity,
Honour and chastity, do what you please Sir. [Exeunt.

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter at one door Rugio, and Frier Marco, at the other door Sorano, with a little glass viol.

Rug. What ails this piece of mischief to look sad?
He seems to weep too.

Mar. Something is a hatching,
And of some bloody nature too, Lord Rugio,
This Crocodile mourns thus cunningly.

Sor. Hail holy Father,
And good day to the good Lord Rugio,
How fares the sad Prince I beseech ye Sir?

Rug. 'Tis like you know, you need not ask that question,
You have your eyes and watches on his miseries
As near as ours, I would they were as tender.

Mar. Can you do him good? as the King and you appointed him,
So he is still, as you desir'd I think too,
For every day he is worse (Heaven pardon all)
Put off your sorrow, you may laugh now Lord,
He cannot last long to disturb your Master,
You have done worthy service to his Brother,
And he most memorable love.

Sor. You do not know Sir
With what remorse I ask, nor with what weariness
I groan and bow under this load of honour,
And how my soul sighs for the beastly services,
I have done his pleasures, these be witness with me,
And from your piety believe me Father,
I would as willingly unclothe my self
Of title, that becomes me not I know;
Good men, and great names best agree together;
Cast off the glorious favours, and the trappings
Of sound and honour, wealth and promises,
His wanton pleasures have flung on my weakness,
And chuse to serve my countries cause and vertues,
Poorly and honestly, and redeem my ruines,
As I would hope remission of my mischiefs.

Rug. Old and experienc'd men, my Lord Sorano,
Are not so quickly caught with gilt hypocrisie,
You pull your claws in now and fawn upon us,
As lyons do to intice poor foolish beasts;
And beasts we should be too if we believ'd ye,
Go exercise your Art.

Sor. For Heaven sake scorn me not,
Nor adde more Hell to my afflicted soul
Than I feel here; as you are honourable,
As you are charitable look gently on me,
I will no more to Court, be no more Devil,
I know I must be hated even of him
That was my Love now, and the more he loves me
For his foul ends, when they shall once appear to him,
Muster before his conscience and accuse him,
The fouler and the more falls his displeasure,
Princes are fading things, so are their favours.

Mar. He weeps again, his heart is toucht sure with remorse.

Sor. See this, and give me fair attention good my Lord,
And worthy Father see, within this viol
The remedy and cure of all my honour,
And of the sad Prince lyes.

Rug. What new trick's this?

Sor. 'Tis true, I have done Offices abundantly
Ill and prodigious to the Prince Alphonso,
And whilst I was a knave I sought his death too.

Rug. You are too late convicted to be good yet.

Sor. But Father, when I felt this part afflict me,
This inward part, and call'd me to an audit
Of my misdeeds and mischiefs—

Mar. Well, go on Sir.

Sor. O then, then, then what was my glory then Father?
The favour of the King, what did that ease me?
What was it to be bow'd to by all creatures?
Worship[t], and courted, what did this avail me?
I was a wretch, a poor lost wretch.

Mar. Still better.

Sor. Till in the midst of all my grief I found
Repentance, and a learned man to give the means to it,
A Jew, an honest and a rare Physician,
Of him I had this Jewel; 'tis a Jewel,
And at the price of all my wealth I bought it:
If the King knew it I must lose my head,
And willingly, most willingly I would suffer,
A child may take it, 'tis so sweet in working.

Mar. To whom would you apply it?

Sor. To the sick Prince,
It will in half a day dissolve his melancholy.

Rug. I do believe, and give him sleep for ever.
What impudence is this, and what base malice,
To make us instruments of thy abuses?
Are we set here to poison him?

Sor. Mistake not, yet I must needs say, 'tis a noble care,
And worthy vertuous servants; if you will see
A flourishing estate again in Naples,
And great Alphonso reign that's truly good,
And like himself able to make all excellent;
Give him this drink, and this good health unto him. [Drinks.
I am not so desperate yet to kill my self,
Never look on me as a guilty man,
Nor on the water as a speedy poison:
I am not mad, nor laid out all my treasure,
My conscience and my credit to abuse ye;
How nimbly and how chearfully it works now
Upon my heart and head! sure I am a new man,
There is no sadness that I feel within me,
But as it meets it, like a lazie vapour
How it flyes off. Here, give it him with speed,
You are more guilty than I ever was,
And worthier of the name of evil subjects,
If but an hour you hold this from his health.

Rug. 'Tis some rare vertuous thing sure, he is a good man,
It must be so, come, let's apply it presently,
And may it sweetly work.

Sor. Pray let me hear on't, and carry it close my Lords.

Mar. Yes, good Sorano. [Ex. Rugio, Marco.

Sor. Do my good fools, my honest pious coxcombs,
My wary fools too: have I caught your wisedoms?
You never dream't I knew an Antidote,
Nor how to take it to secure mine own life;
I am an Asse, go, give him the fine cordial,
And when you have done go dig his grave, good Frier,
Some two hours hence we shall have such a bawling,
And roaring up and down for Aqua vitæ,
Such rubbing, and such nointing, and such cooling,
I have sent him that will make a bonfire in's belly,
If he recover it, there is no heat in Hell sure. [Exit.

Fred. Podrano?

Pod. Sir.

Fred. Call hither Lord Valerio, and let none trouble us.

Pod. It shall be done Sir. [Exit.

Fred. I know he wants no additions to his tortures,
He has enough for humane blood to carry,
Yet I must vex him further;
So many that I wonder his hot youth
And high-bred spirit breaks not into fury;
I must yet torture him a little further,
And make my self sport with his miseries,
My anger is too poor else. Here he comes,

Now my young married Lord, how do you feel your self?
You have the happiness you ever aim'd at,
The joy and pleasure.

Val. Would you had the like Sir.

Fred. You tumble in delights with your sweet Lady,
And draw the minutes out in dear embraces,
You live a right Lords life.

Val. Would you had tryed it,
That you might know the vertue but to suffer,
Your anger though it be unjust and insolent,
Sits handsomer upon you than your scorn,
To do a wilfull ill and glory in it,
Is to do it double, double to be damn'd too.

Fred. Hast thou not found a loving and free Prince,
High in his favours too; that has confer'd
Such hearts ease, and such heaps of comfort on thee,
All thou cou'dst ask?

Val. You are grown a tyrant too
Upon so suffering, and so still a subject;
You have put upon me such a punishment,
That if your youth were honest it would blush at:
But you are a shame to nature, as to vertue.
Pull not my rage upon ye, 'tis so just,
It will give way to no respect; my life,
My innocent life, I dare maintain it Sir,
Like a wanton prodigal you have flung away,
Had I a thousand more I would allow 'em,
And be as careless of 'em as your will is;
But to deny those rights the Law hath given me,
The holy Law, and make her life the penance,
Is such a studied and unheard of malice,
No heart that is not hired from Hell dare think of;
To do it then too, when my hopes were high,
High as my Blood, all my desires upon me,
My free affections ready to embrace her,

And she mine own; do you smile at this? is't done well?
Is there not Heaven above you that sees all? [Exit Val.

Fred. Come hither Time, how does your noble Mistriss?

Cas. As a Gentlewoman may do in her case that's newly
married, Sir:
Sickly sometimes, and fond on't, like your Majesty.

Fred. She is breeding then?

Cas. She wants much of her colour,
And has her qualms as Ladies use to have, Sir,
And her disgusts.

Fred. And keeps her Chamber?

Cas. Yes Sir.

Fred. And eats good Broths and Jellies.

Cas. I am sure she sighs, Sir, and weeps, good Lady.

Fred. Alas, good Lady, for it,
She should have one could comfort her, Cassandra,
Could turn those tears to joys, a lusty Comforter.

Cas. A comfortable man does well at all hours,
For he brings comfortable things.

Fred. Come hither, & hold your fann between, you have eaten Onions,
Her breath stinks like a Fox, her teeth are contagious,
These old women are all Elder-Pipes, do ye mark me?

Cas. Yes, Sir, but does your Grace think I am fit,
That am both old and vertuous?

Fred. Therefore the fitter, the older still the better,
I know thou art as holy as an old Cope,
Yet upon necessary use—

Cas. 'Tis true, Sir.

Fred. Her feeling sense is fierce still, speak unto her,
You are familiar; speak I say, unto her,
Speak to the purpose; tell her this, and this.

Cas. Alas, she is honest, Sir, she is very honest,
And would you have my gravity—

Fred. I, I, your gravity will become the cause the better,
I'll look thee out a Knight shall make thee a Lady too,
A lusty Knight, and one that shall be ruled by thee,
And add to these, I'll make 'em good, no mincing,
Nor ducking out of nicety, good Lady,
But do it home, we'll all be friends too, tell her,
And such a joy—

Cas. That's it that stirs me up, Sir,
I would not for the World attempt her Chastity,
But that they may live lovingly hereafter.

Fred. For that I urge it too.

Cas. A little evil may well be suffered for a general good, Sir,
I'll take my leave of your Majesty. [Exit.

Fred. Go fortunately, be speedy too: here comes Valerio,
If his affliction have allayed his spirit
My work has end. Come hither, Lord Valerio,
How do you now?

Val. Your Majesty may guess,
Not so well, nor so fortunate as you are,
That can tye up mens honest wills, and actions.

Fred. You clearly see now, brave Valerio,
What 'tis to be the Rival to a Prince,
To interpose against a raging Lion;
I know you have suffer'd, infinitely suffer'd,
And with a kind of pity I behold it,
And if you dare be worthy of my mercy,
I can yet heal you; yield up your Evanthe,
Take off my sentence also.

Val. I fall thus low, Sir,
My poor sad heart under your feet I lay,
And all the service of my life.

Fred. Do this then, for without this 'twill be impossible,
Part with her for a while.

Val. You have parted us,
What should I do with that I cannot use Sir?

Fred. 'Tis well consider'd, let me have the Lady,
And thou shalt see how nobly I'll befriend thee,
How all this difference—

Val. Will she come do you think, Sir?

Fred. She must be wrought, I know she is too modest,
And gently wrought, and cunningly.

Val. 'Tis fit, Sir.

Fred. And secretly it must be done.

Val. As thought.

Fred. I'll warrant ye her honour shall be fair still,
No soil nor stain shall appear on that, Valerio,
You see a thousand that bear sober faces,
And shew of as inimitable modesties;
You would be sworn too that they were pure Matrons,
And most chaste maids: and yet to augment their fortunes,
And get them noble friends—

Val. They are content, Sir,
In private to bestow their Beauties on 'em.

Fred. They are so, and they are wise, they know no want for't,
Nor no eye sees they want their honesties.

Val. If it might be carried thus.

Fred. It shall be, Sir.

Val. I'll see you dead first, with this caution,
Why, sure I think it might be done.

Fred. Yes, easily.

Val. For what time would your Grace desire her Body?

Fred. A month or two, it shall be carried still
As if she kept with you, and were a stranger,
Rather a hater of the grace I offer;
And then I will return her with such honour—

Val. 'Tis very like I dote much on your Honour.

Fred. And load her with such favour too, Valerio—

Val. She never shall claw off? I humbly thank ye.

Fred. I'll make ye both the happiest, and the richest,
And the mightiest too—

Val. But who shall work her, Sir?
For on my Conscience she is very honest,
And will be hard to cut as a rough Diamond.

Fred. Why, you must work her, any thing from your tongue,
Set off with golden, and perswasive Language,
Urging your dangers too.

Val. But all this time
Have you the conscience, Sir, to leave me nothing,
Nothing to play withal?

Fred. There be a thousand, take where thou wilt.

Val. May I make bold with your Queen,
She is useless to your Grace, as it appears, Sir,
And but a loyal Wife that may be lost too;
I have a mind to her, and then 'tis equal?

Fred. How, Sir?

Val. 'Tis so, Sir, thou most glorious impudence,
Have I not wrongs enow to suffer under,
But thou must pick me out to make a Monster?
A hated Wonder to the World? Do you start
At my intrenching on your private liberty,
And would you force a high-way through mine honour,
And make me pave it too? But that thy Queen
Is of that excellent honesty,
And guarded with Divinity about her,
No loose thought can come near, nor flame unhallowed,
I would so right my self.

Fred. Why, take her to ye,
I am not vex'd at this, thou shalt enjoy her,
I'll be thy friend if that may win thy courtesie.

Val. I will not be your Bawd, though for your Royalty.
Was I brought up, and nourish'd in the Court,
With thy most Royal Brother, and thy self,
Upon thy Fathers charge, thy happy Fathers,
And suckt the sweetness of all humane arts,
Learn'd Arms and Honour, to become a Rascal;
Was this the expectation of my Youth,
My growth of Honour? Do you speak this truly,
Or do you try me, Sir? for I believe not,
At least I would not, and methinks 'tis impossible
There should be such a Devil in a Kings shape,
Such a malignant Fiend.

Fred. I thank ye, Sir,
To morrow is your last day, and look to it,
Get from my sight, away.

Val. Ye are—Oh, my heart's too high and full to think upon ye.