Chapter VIII: Act V (3)

+De L.+ What, ladies, have you put 'em together
for a brave boy to-night?

+La P.+ That's as the dice run, sir.

+La G.+ The colonel will find a piece of service on't to-night.

+La P.+ If he put her to the worst, 'twill be worth her pardon,
being so tried a soldier.

+Tor.+ If his valour should be shortbreath'd, a retreat may be
honourable sometimes.

+La P.+ If he fight not flat coward, and make it in policy.

+Tor.+ Sir, we have read over Aristotle's _Politics_ and
Polybius to that purpose.

+La P.+ Who calls policy the very breath of all war.

+Tor.+ And so, by your ladyship's good licence, in all
battalions, leaguers, skirmishes, sieges, invasions, parleys,
treaties, truces, and other cessations.

+De F.+ Excellent ladies!

+De L.+ For the theoric.

+La P.+ We can say something to the practic too, signior.

+Tor.+ Both concerning your postures and motions, as
Which may be necessary for service: her ladyship has
Written a small tract for her private experience,
To show how they may be reduced, and a man
Exercis'd with far less trouble, but with as much
Activity and proportion of comfort.

+La P.+ For body and service, madam?

+Tor.+ I mean so: I warrant you this gentleman
Understands me.

+De F.+ And will not your goodness bestow it on the public?
It would rank your name amongst the illustrious
Benefactors of the general cause.

+La P.+ I know not what I may, sir, when the press is fit
For a woman of quality. Is this gentleman a soldier?

+De F.+ That ambition has grown with me from the
Cradle, madam.

+La P.+ I shall render myself with more endearment to
Your worth, and ever subscribe to soldiers as the bravest men.

+De L.+ The duchess, I hope, will be of your opinion;
But, madam, had I the use of that key for an
Hour or two, I would take some notes in shorthand
Behind the hangings.

+La P.+ You wou'd?

+De L.+ Yes, indeed, my precious wit, I shou'd.

+De F.+ That key!

+Tor.+ Signior, pleaseth you to think our humble
Invitation worthy the grant of your society.

+De F.+ I could wish the trouble of ten lives more, to be
Accepted in your command, fairest of ladies,

+La P.+ Were all our days multiplied into years, and
Those years to lives, 'twere but a span of time
To study our thanks in.---- _Exeunt._

_Manent +Silliman+ and +La Prate+._

+Sil.+ Madam! lady!
_I never knew what bandage was until now:
I fear the golden heart you sent me was
Enchanted: I long to see you._----

+La P.+ What d'ye mean, sir?

+Sil.+ Ha, ha, ha! hum! nothing, madam, but there
Be them that love a good nature with all their heart;
That have four hundred pounds a year, and money
In their purse to be knighted, if need be.

+La P.+ Wit and opportunity assist me!
The thing will make an excellent husband for the
Times; and four hundred pounds a year is a
Considerable fortune to boot. I must take him at
His bond, or perhaps die in the list of stale chambermaids:
A court-plague for a misspent youth and service.

+Sil.+ I am a gentleman already, else the heralds took my
Money for nothing: and methinks, madam, you
And I might----

+La P.+ What, signior?

+Sil.+ Be as wise as our forefathers.

+La P.+ You and I?

+Sil.+ Yes, what say ye to _you and I_? Is not _you and I_
Good Spanish? Why, madam, I am able to warm
My own sheets, and get children without the help of
A doctor; and can kiss as warm and close:
And you shall swear my breath is sweet.

+La P.+ Y'are merry, sir, beyond my apprehension.

+Sil.+ Pardon me, lady, if I be: I mean no harm,
I protest.

+La P.+ Very witty!

+Sil.+ I am what I am: but I was never beholden to any
Living thing for thus much wit: I might
Have been an arrant younger brother, but for my mother----
Thereby hangs a tale, madam, and yet I cou'd ha' danc'd
My cinque pace in Greek at a dozen. Alpha,
Beta, Gamma, Delta, cost me five shillings:
Can you believe me, lady? By this light, you shall
Wear this diamond! There; sha't, sha't ha't:
Sha't, sha't, sha't ha't.

+La P.+ There is such sorcery in your words!

+Sil.+ No, no, no; troth, love me: come, thou shalt;
By this----nay, never sigh, my dear; they are
All orient, sweet wench: Thou art worth all Spain
For a good disposition----

+La P.+ You will undo me, master steward.

+Sil.+ Pish! who? I undo thee? my life! thou dost wrong
Me: canst find in thy heart to think so? away, away.

+La P.+ But is this profession honourable, sir?

+Sil.+ I scorn to deal upon dishonourable terms. Do I
Kiss like a man that would propound dishonourable
Conditions?

+La P.+ Men are so nice and cunning!

+Sil.+ Do'st think me a Jew; swear me to anything.

+La P.+ Well, you have taken a poor heart at
advantage; and make me blush to confess it.

+Sil.+ Kiss me; here's my hand, till death us do part:
Thine more than mine own, Signior Bouche
Ouverte Sillimano: seal'd and deliver'd; but
I hope, lady, there is no quit rent to be paid out of this copyhold.

+La P.+ Not for your life, sir.

+Sil.+ Lawful possession then, and thou'rt mine own. [_Exeunt._

_Enter +De Flame+ and +Cleara+._

+De F.+ So, let 'em drench their souls in laughter: kindle
Thy noble heart into a flame, my sister!
Fate cannot give nor we ask more unto
Our cause: all things conspire and prompt us to't.
Just and divine revenge!
I'll strew thy midnight haunts with cypress wreaths,
And wear thee in rich medals. Propitious goddess!
This night thy wan and meagre cheek shall blush,
And smile with warm and wanton blood. Night grows heavy-ey'd,
And drops her slumbering head in her dark bosom:
And now their rage and lust will make them ripe
To bleed. Let us embrace, and interchange
A sigh or two, Cleara: whate'er become of me,
Thou wilt wear chaplets in Elysium.

+Cle.+ My hopes and joys are yours, dear sir, and heaven,
I hope, will not divide them.
[_Unlocks the door, and discovers them._

+De F.+ See, what a modest blush
Sleep has cast o'er their guilt!

+Cle.+ Here is a look
Tyrants would bashfully gaze at, and fear
To think it mortal. Glorious hypocrisy!
Virtue is at wonder in herself, and looks pale,
To own what she has given.

+De F.+ I should mock heaven's justice, to let 'em dream
Their souls away in such a calm: we'll startle
Them into horror of their sin, and then
Let 'em see the vengeance they deserve.

+Cle.+ Ye chaster powers, to whom I and my virginity
Groan, may every drop breathe incense to your justice?
Whilst thus I break their springs open. [_Stabs +Claudilla+._

+Claud.+ O Dessandro! O, whose hand's that?

+Cle.+ Cleara's, Cleara's! carry that name in thy last breath
Down to the shades of lust and perjury.

+De F.+ So quick and brave, Cleara?

+Claud.+ O! [_Expirat._

+Des.+ Cleara! madam, madam! your sleeps are troubled----
Who's there? De Flame!

+De F.+ Raise not thy voice an accent: if thou dost, by my
eternal hopes and soul! this strikes it back unto thy heart.
See'st thou revenge sit pale upon the point? 'Tis steeled with
virgin's curses, and shall fly like lightning through thy
blood; and it is a justice thy vast pride hath lost thee to.

+Des.+ O, what hast thou done?
A deed that flinty Scythians and curl'd Ethiops
Would hide their eyes from.

+De F.+ Our revenge shall wear a glorious title. Know'st
Thou that injur'd face? It is Cleara's, injur'd Cleara's.

+Des.+ Cleara!

+De F.+ What see'st thou on that brow?

+Des.+ Murder!

+De F.+ Horror and guilt unto thy soul.

+Des.+ I'll not be tamely butcher'd, coward. Without there!
Help, help, help!

+De F.+ Whirlwinds and earthquakes cannot do it.
Think on thy sin.

+Cle.+ Thy perjury.

+De F.+ Thy lust. [_+Cleara+ stabs at him._

+Des.+ Cleara! O, thou hast a skilful hand in
Murder. Help, help! murder!

+De F.+ So falls a wretched statue from its haughty station,
when Fate would make it ominous and fright a state. What a
thick cloud steams from his tainted blood! The air shrinks
back, and with dull wings fans it from heaven.

_Enter +De Loome+, +La Gitterne+, +Torguina+, &c._

+Tor.+ Murder, murder! 'twas his voice.

+De L.+ It was his voice.

+Tor.+ The key?

+La G.+ Gone!

+Tor.+ Cut from my side! I'm betray'd!

+De L.+ Look, search the room: where's the stranger?

+La G.+ The door is fast. [_Knocks._

+De F.+ You may come in: make up your wonder there. [_Opens the door._

+Tor.+ My lady murder'd!

+De L.+ You have astonish'd heaven.

+Tor.+ And pull'd eternal curses on your head.

+De F.+ They'll fall like brittle shafts upon my shield.

+Cle.+ Unjust Dessandro! yet on thy lip I'll
Tender my last vows, that the world may tell
I loved thee dead--and this--and this----
[_Kisses him, then stabs herself._

+De F.+ Hold, hold that cruel hand! Cleara! sister!

+De L.+ Cleara! This is a horrid scene, my lord.

+De F.+ 'Twould not be worth my name, did it not strike
Amazement through your souls, and leave a paleness
On his cheek that hears it. But here, here I
Could melt, transfuse my brains through my sad eyes,
Till they wept blood, and dropp'd their jelly forth:
She was a jewel too rich for our dull orb.

_Enter more servants._

You need not multiply your fears; I am
Too proud of my revenge to start from it:
Let the law frown, and fall in tempests on me.
Cowards repent,
When valiant blood ne'er pales at the event. [_Exeunt._

ACTUS QUINTUS, SCENA PRIMA.

_Enter +Pirez+ and +De Loome+._

+De L.+ A sad court indeed, my lord.

+Pir.+ As sad a kingdom! Where the news is spread, men that
hear it stand struck, as if their own passing-bells did call
unto them.

+De L.+ Kings' glasses are as brittle as their meanest
subjects', their footings as slippery and uncertain. He was a
brave prince, and his life will be memorable in Castile.

+Pir.+ His death is much admired for the sudden strangeness of
it. What opinion give the physicians on't?

+De L.+ They've a hard name for't, if I could think on't.

+Pir.+ Not suspicion of poison?

+De L.+ How, my lord! by whom would you suspect it?

+Pir.+ Nay, I dare suspect none, nor don't; but such quirks of
state I have read of in the days of old.

+De L.+ I never saw him discount a day with more content and
freedom; his very thoughts were hearty.

+Pir.+ 'Twas a fatal one, and will give a sad discourse to our
posterity, and leave it on record in bleeding characters.

+De L.+ The count's resolution had too much blood and cruelty
in't.

+Pir.+ Dessandro urged as much as mortal sense could groan with.

+De L.+ I now call to mind, still as he spake and glanced upon
Cleara's face, I had strange startlings in me.

+Pir.+ As the times have.

+De. L.+ The times, my lord? for what?

+Pir.+ The king's death, sir.

+De L.+ Why, my lord, the times are not of the worst presage,
though that may cloud them a little.

+Pir.+ I am no Booker, sir, nor Lilly to prognosticate what
seven years may travail with; but I could wish the price of
knaves may fall.

+De L.+ Your lordship's virtues command not a more humble and
observant creature. [_Exit._

+Pir.+ This fellow must be muzzled.

_Enter +Sampayo+._

+Samp.+ Who's that?

+Pir.+ The duke's thing, his trifle-broker.

+Sano.+ The king's now.

+Pir.+ Castile did never hear more news, I fear.

+Samp.+ We shall now see the fine turns and games of the state.

+Pir.+ When fools and knaves chase trump.

+Samp.+ Now heads and points will be the sport.

+Pir.+ The king will have the heads then, I believe.

+Samp.+ Observe 'em.

+Pir.+ So near?

_Enter +Bereo+, nobles soliciting him with papers._

+All.+ Heavens bless your majesty! Heavens keep your majesty!
[_Within._
Please you hear your most faithful subjects?

+Duke.+ Who are they, that bark so?

+De L.+ A rout of porters, prentices, and sailors' wives,
with such a spawn, who are modest petitioners your majesty
would give 'em leave to govern you in some matters of state,
and humbly pray to be admitted of your privy council. Here's
another, sir, from the most reverend bags of the city to
purchase all the churches of your majesty for warehouses; and
this, sir, from the corporation of weavers, cobblers, and
feltmakers: that you would please to give 'em leave to fire all
universities and schools of learning, that the profane might
better see the truth.

+Duke.+ No more. Their stinking breath will stifle me! Keep
back their clamour. Wealth and ease have made the rascals
wanton, and profane their allegiance. My lord [_De Castro
kneels_], you need not kneel in a cause, that equally concerns
us with you; and the groans of your brother's wounds echo
unto our sleeps. Our honour and the laws bleed in them, until
a justice stop their issues, which our own care shall take a
speedy account of. Sampayo! [_Whispers._

+Samp.+ I shall, my lord. [_Exit._

+Duke.+ O my lords, we are circled in a tide of grief,
Where every billow threatens a grave: but in your loves
Our hope takes new life, which we as zealously
Shall sacrifice again to you and yours.
Let me be beholden t' you for a minute's conference
With my own sad thoughts. [_Exeunt._
So take breath, my hopes.
Whilst we with pride look upon the world behind us,
And then survey the glory of our progress
And success, the print of every step is glorious,
And methinks we stand like Rome herself, in midst
Of all her triumphs, when her threat'ned head
Lean'd on the spangled breast of heaven, and
Jostled with the gods; from whose imperious frown
The world took all her laws and dooms. Yet her
Vast story shall look pale to mine; and time
Begin his great example here.
Castile, thou now shalt blush for thy neglect:
I'll print thy scorns on thy own brow, till my revenge
Look lovely as did Rome's, in her bright flames,
To Nero; and Nature shall repent, that she
Mistook the man Fortune meant thine. Then up,
My soul, and from thy glorious stand see
Thy proud hopes and wishes court thee! Thou hast
Been bashful yet, and hid in blushes. Make
Room for thy more spacious thoughts, and let
The petty world know this: all things
Depend upon the breath of gods and kings. [_Exit._

_Enter two +Officers+._

+1st Off.+ There, there! Lay that in the place; so, so; here,
help to spread this carpet. Quick, quick!

+2d Off.+ Will our new king be here to give the forked herd an
oration?

+1st Off.+ An halter! Thou dost so fumble! But what's the
general voice of the king's death? Here's the mourning for that
bar.

+2d Off.+ Marry, some think he died against his will; and
others, that his brother--Where stands this?--will bury him
very royally----

+1st Off.+ Hum! and others think if thou wert hanged, when
'tis thy due, there would be quickly a knave less. Despatch,
despatch! I hear them coming.

_Enter +Judges+, the two Ladies, +DE LOOME+, +LA GITTERNE+, and
others. +De Flame+ stands at the bar._

+Off.+ Pray, by your leave; make way; give back there! For
shame, sir; you press so hard upon the judges, they scarce have
liberty to breathe. Clear the bar; peace!

+1st Judge.+ My lord, here's none but knows you, and I believe
do grieve to see you stand thus, and for a fact of such a
bloody nature. A gentleman of your fair hopes and fortunes,
blood and spirit, and other excellent parts, all cast upon
untimely hazards by such an act (as indeed I know not how to
name it). You needs must, therefore, be worthy our grief; and
I presume you are not now to know the laws and customs of this
your country, with what religious care they look unto the
safety of our lives and our estates, and with what strictness
on perpetrations of such a dye----

+2d Judge.+ Especially, where innocent blood is shed; and
therefore we, being but the tongues of the law (my lord), may
hope you will interpret the justice of it clearly from our
mouths.

+De F.+ Please you, most reverend lords, is there aught else
but this I am to stand accused for?

+2d Judge.+ Not that we know.

+De F.+ Then, my good lords, you need not labour much to find
out circumstances to condemn me; nor do I wish or think, my
lords, to satisfy the law by talking in my own defence. Nor
will I brand myself with such a fear, much less hope, as to
bespeak a melting tear. That were to wish the act undone, and
rob my justice of a glory I would be torn to atoms for. No,
I come to meet the law; and if your wisdoms can contract the
spacious volumes of it into one doom, I shall not startle, or
divide my breast. My resolution was above it, when first I
undertook to be my own law and judge.

+1st Judge.+ I grieve to hear this language from you: it takes
much from the man that you have seemed, my lord; stain not your
noble and religious fame with such an atheism.

+2d Judge.+ Look back into the deed, my lord. See, what a tide
of blood pursues you, and breaks upon your soul in angry seas.

+De F.+ Look back to our fame, grave lords, the blood and
honour of our family; nor think it my vainglory to urge it
here, since the cause does. There has not yet, in all the ages
it hath served the state, one stain fallen on our escutcheon;
and although, my lords, these honours are derived to us in
a vast circle of time and blood, the passage must be still
through our veins, and so are treasured here as heat in fire;
so as the least taint in us reflects a blush on the first
virtue of our great ancestors. And what has man called sacred
but his honour? That dwells not in the smiles of Fortune; nor
can she place the fool or coward in that rank. And can your
wisdoms think ours so cheap, as to become the scorn of such?

+2d Judge.+ My lord, 'twould better satisfy all those that know
you to hear your grief than passion.

+De F.+ O, cry ye mercy! He was your lordship's kinsman; yet I
will add, he basely did betray a love and innocence more noble
than a thousand of their lives. Poor Cleara! perjured his
faith and honour, and quite dissolved their holy ties in the
lascivious arms of her, whose name shall not take honour from
my breath.

+2d Judge.+ We spend time; pray, give those ladies leave to
speak.

_Enter +De Castro+._

+De C.+ My lords, the king is come to sit amongst ye.

+Off.+ Stand back there, ho! you, Goodman Roundhead, you'd best
breathe in the king's face: pull back your horns, sir!--D' you
mutter? Take that, and crowd further. The rogues are as hollow
as a vault, and sound like one with a blow.

_Enter +Bereo+, +De Castro+, attendants; at the other
door, the +King+ himself._

[_Within._] The king, the king! Whoo?

+1st Judge.+ What's the matter?

+Duke.+ De Castro, is this a mask or apparition?

+King.+ Seize on the traitor!

+Duke.+ Ha!

+King.+ Hence, monstrous thing!

+Duke.+ Traitor!

+King.+ Yes; and a foul one. My lords, suspend
Your wonder. We thank ye. Prodigy to thy blood,
We have given you leave to wanton in your guilt
And see at what mighty impiety it would reach;
To fasten you the surer in your toil.
Take your places. Durst thou derive the glory
Of our grandsires to thyself, whilst with unnatural hands
Thou tear'st their graves up; mingling blood and shame
With their bless'd dust? Have we not shar'd our kingdom with thee:
Let thee into our heart nearer than nature,
If possible? And could all this beget
No better thanks than poison? The very thought
Unnerves my joints.

+Duke.+ Treason? Who dares avow it, sir,
Or charge the least stain upon my loyal bosom,
And make it good? I challenge all mankind,
And envy from the nether hells; 'tis but
Some engine to betray me to you.

+De C.+ I did but quit a sin,
Which would have betray'd us both eternally,
And bore so sad a shape of horror,
As it affrighted all within me, and, like a frenzy,
Held me, till I had purged it from my bosom.

+Duke.+ Had thy revenge no other way but this,
To undermine the virtue of nature against itself?
My lords, there's forgery in't, poison, and treason!
It did amaze my innocence. Sounds, that my blood
Do shiver at. And did not I see his father's treason
Blush yet upon his brow, I should not think
Castile infected with the thought.

+1st Judge.+ My Lord De Castro,
What proof or circumstance have you to urge
This clearer to his highness?

+Duke.+ Grave patriots of the law,
Give me your leave in this, that would blemish
The honour of my fame for ever. Let him produce but any
That may accuse me to your reverend judgments,
And Bereo will lay down his head to the block.
But I know your wisdoms will discern a plot in't:
And how far he stands incompetent against me
In faith and honour.

+King.+ What say you, my lord?

+De C.+ Sir, what I have told your Majesty--my life
Shall make good on my torture: my brother being dead,
Heaven only and my conscience can clear it:
And to quit my innocence of malice, your own conscience
Must tell you, my lord, that when first you used my brother
To ensnare me, and press'd it in the duchess's garden,
How much I argued to divert you; but then--

+Duke.+ My lords, I desire justice and reparation
On the villain.

+2d Judge.+ My Lord. De Castro,
The king has pleased to give us your relation,
In which (though the least tenderness cannot be
Impertinent to his sacred safety) there's nothing
That can raise the law to any argument, which may reach
The Duke, scarce as a peer, which looks upon him
As the second man in whom all our safeties and hopes are stor'd:
Not to be touch'd with every jealousy,
But at a high and reverend form of proof.

+Duke.+ Let me appeal unto yourself, dread sir;
Which of my actions or services of state
Can be suspected? And do you not perceive
That where his father left, his treason would begin?

+De C.+ Help me, dear truth, or else I shall suffer
For my loyalty. Great sir, be pleased----

+Duke.+ That most judicious judge has well observ'd,
There is an envy in his soul would reach
From you to your succession, and leave the character
Of his father's treason on it in blood and ruin.
Wretched man, trust me, I grieve for thy slidefrom piety;
And when I look upon the love and pity
I have cast away on such a thing, I repent
My easy faith. Good heaven! what will men fall to?

+King.+ Take the Count unto the citadel, and let none
Be admitted to him upon peril-- [_Exeunt with +De Castro+._
Brother, they were no easy insinuations
That did engage our fears to this: but such
As nam'd a higher proof and circumstance.
And, we confess, it struck our nature with some passionate strugglings:
Not that the wish of our ambition is fix'd here,
And would revive a term of years
To rob ye of one minute's glorious trouble:
Yet, my lord, if our laws take care
To preserve the meanest subject's life, our own
Ought not to be look'd on with less providence:
And fears are happy cautions many times.
But mine retire.
Let our desires meet, and reconcile me to your arms---- [_Embrace._
His merit shall find the justice it has scandall'd,
If it stand guilty.

+Duke.+ If, my lord? Can yet that scruple stay behind?

_Returns with +De Castro+ and +Dessandro+. A physician and chirurgeon, &c._

+De C.+ See, royal sir, I have met a miracle, [_They kneel._
That heaven has preserv'd and sent to guard your
Sacred highness and the truth.

+De F.+ Dessandro risen from the dead?

+King.+ Dessandro!

+Des.+ The vilest wretch alive, who throws himself
At your feet in tears of blood, and so much
Horrid guilt as calls for all the wrath of
This and the other world: not daring to
Lift my hopes to any pardon. O sir!
'Twas he (back'd by that bad Prince and other giddy
Hopes) that would have seduc'd my brother to
That act against your sacred life.

+King.+ Would it went no further? Duke de Bereo,
Can now your brow change colour?

+Duke.+ 'Tis all imposture.

+King.+ Fie, fie; don't glory against heaven, that hath
Left thy sin to subterfuge.

+Duke.+ You would not fright me from myself?

+King.+ Well; our guard!

+Doct.+ May it please-- [_Kneels._

+King.+ Rise, What would you say, sir?

+Doct.+ Under your gracious licence this. We found our
princely lady and the lady Cleara cold in their clodded gore:
this Colonel so spent in expense of blood, as we could not
say alive; for that half spark of heat left in his veins was
then e'en going out. Our care having preserved and kindled it
to life again, after his shattered faculties could pant and
breathe, he called for pen and ink, and caused us to write what
is there contained. [_Gives a paper._

+Des.+ Of too much truth; and I blush for those few
Drops of blood I have left to expiate.

+Duke.+ I am betrayed and lost!
Could'st be in love with that saint life, for one
Poor minute's smile, to betray it to ignominy and law?
I could trample on thy skull, until thy reeking
Brain sparkled about the dust. See how busily
They contract their dusky brows! Consult things
Safely, and let some reverend statute be ordained
In honour of all cowards. [_Aside._] De Castro! for this good
Service know, 'twas I that laid thy father's head
Upon the block: complotted with the Portuguese
To make him guilty to the King: and envying that
He spread with so much shadow in the state, by a close
Faction rend'red him odious to the people: an engine,
I knew could not fail. I hurried thee to the Duchess's
Wanton bed, Dessandro, knowing De Flame's high
Blood would quit the debt I owed thee----

+Des.+ He's proud all mischief can call him patron.

+Duke.+ Nor had I shar'd the pleasure of a kiss to you
Or him, but that our purpose needs would have it so.

+De F.+ Sir!

+Duke.+ The language is plain and true.

+De F.+ Then Claudilla was your court-mistress, Duke?--
'Twere profanation to say whore!

+Duke.+ Young lord, I can forgive that language
In a suffering man.

+De F.+ Forgive it!

+Duke.+ Forgive it; and had De Flame himself
Enjoy'd her bed, and reap'd the scattered minutes
Of our love, he must have found another gloss more
Safe and honourable.

+De F.+ Must! What saw you in me did promise
So tame a thing, as to feed on your high scraps?
Glorious mischief!

+Des.+ My lord, I beg your mercy; and to deserve it
Will weep the remnant of this unworthy life
Unto Cleara's name.

+De F.+ All mankind has my peaceful wish, but this
Black speckled serpent, whose load doth make
The earth to groan and sweat.

+Duke.+ My fair Claudilla, methinks I see thee
Lovely in that ghastly trim of death, while
Yet thy soul was struggling through thy cruel
Wounds.

+De F.+ The day begins to frown and creep into
Eternal night: we'll bed together in one grave, Cleara.
Castile shall hide us in a golden heap, and name me
With her patriots for taking this foul monster
From her bosom.

+Duke.+ I'll find thee in the myrtle groves below,
And leave a story that shall tell the world,
How much I lov'd thee. [_They stab each other._

+King.+ Desperate atheists!

+Duke.+ You were beforehand, sir.

+De F.+ You've overtaken me: the world is hid in a
Cloud, and shrinks to chaos. O, whither
Must I wander in this mist? So, so--
I feel thee glide away, and leave me sunk
Upon a quicksand. [_Expirat._

+King.+ What a thirst of blood burnt up their hearts,
That they must quench it in their own?

+Duke.+ Hast thou not air enough, my panting soul?
O, what a stitch is coming! [_Expirat._

+King.+ Wou'd thou had'st better lov'd thyself and us:
For while thou priz'd the honour of that blood,
We priz'd thee with it. O ambition!
The grandame of all sin, that strikes at stars
With an undaunted brow, whilst thus thy feet
Slide to the nether hell! Like some vast stream,
That takes into its womb all springs that neighbour by it,
And would proudly carry all their currents in its own:
Swells o'er its banks, and wantons like a tyrant.
Take hence the sight: it stirs our indignation.
[_Exeunt cum corporibus._

+Omnes.+ Long live the great and good King of Castile!

+King.+ We thank ye, and just heaven which hath (unto wonder)
Unknotted all these mischiefs, and kept us safe:
And because we do not love to use the laws
In their extremity, or execute with blood,
Where we can moderate without; but chiefly,
Dessandro, to endear ye more to heaven
In your acknowledgment, we do enjoin you
To some religious house of Orders, there
By an humble life to expiate your guilt.

+Des.+ Upon my knees I do acknowledge
Your God-like mercy.

+King.+ De Castro
Our thanks shall make your loyalty
Exemplary to all times: nor wish we to live longer
Than to gain the faith of all; that we may find
Ourself and title most secure, and greatest
In your loves; which gives us more
Than giddy fortune can----

+This is our fate, and to the wise is known;
All goods without us are, not (sure) our own.+

In tenui labor est; at tenuis non gloria.

THE ADVENTURES OF FIVE HOURS.

_EDITIONS._

_The Adventures of Five Hours. A Tragi-Comedy._--Non ego
Ventosæ Plebis suffragia venor. _Horat. Fʳ. 21º, 1662.
Imprimatur, John Birkenhead. London. Printed for Henry
Herringman, at the Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New
Exchange, 1663. fol.[29]_

_The Adventures of Five Houres: a Tragi-Comedy. As it is acted
at His Royal Highness the Duke of York's Theatre. The third
impression. Revised and corrected by the author, Sir Samuel
Tuke, Kt. and Bart._ Nonumque prematur in Annum. _Horat. de
Art Poet. London: Printed by T. N. for Henry Herringman, at
the sign of the Blew Anchor, on the Lower Walk of the New
Exchange._ 1671. 4º.[30]

FOOTNOTES:

[29] The title of the copy of 1664 is precisely the same as that of the first edition. It is in 4to.

[30] There was a fourth impression in 1704.