Chapter II: Part 2

_Ordel._ 'Tis true, that to bring forth a second to your self,
Was only worthy of my Virgin loss;
And should I prize you less, unpattern'd Sir?
Then being exemplify'd, is't not more honor
To be possessor of unequall'd virtue,
Than what is paralell'd? give me belief,
The name of mother knows no way of good,
More than the end in me: who weds for Lust
Is oft a widow: when I married you,
I lost the name of Maid to gain a Title
Above the wish of change, which that part can
Only maintain, is still the same in man,
His virtue and his calm society,
Which no gray hairs can threaten to dissolve
Nor wrinkles bury.

_Thier._ Confine thy self to silence, lest thou take
That part of reason from me, is only left
To give perswasion to me, I'm a man:
Or say thou hast never seen the Rivers haste
With gladsome speed, to meet th' amorous sea.

_Ordel._ We are but to praise the coolness of their streams.

_Thier._ Nor view'd the Kids, taught by their lustful [s]ires,
Pursue each other through the wanton lawns,
And lik'd the sport.

_Ordel._ As it made way unto their envied rest
With weary knots, binding their harmless eyes.

_Thier._ Nor do you know the reason why the Dove,
One of the pair, your hands wont hourly feed,
So often clipt and kist her happy mate.

_Ordel._ Unless it were to welcome his wish'd sight,
Whose absence only gave her mourning voice.

_Thier._ And you could, Dove-like to a single object,
Bind your loose spirits to one, nay, such a one
Whom only eyes and ears must flatter good,
Your surer sence made useless, my self, nay
As in my all of good, already known.

_Ordel._ Let proof plead for me; let me be mew'd up
Where never eye may reach me, but your own;
And when I shall repent, but in my looks, if sigh.

_Thier._ Or shed a tear that's warm.

_Ordel._ But in your sadness.

_Thier._ Or when you hear the birds call for their mates,
Ask if it be _St. Valentine_, their coupling day.

_Ordel._ If any thing may make a thought suspected
Of knowing any happiness but you,
Divorce me, by the Title of Most Falshood.

_Thier._ Oh, who would know a wife, that might have such a friend?
Posterity henceforth, lose the name of blessing
And leave the earth inhabited to people heaven.

_Enter_ Theodoret, Brunhalt, Martel, Protaldye.

_Mart._ All happiness to _Thierry_ and _Ordella_.

_Thier._ 'Tis a desire but borrowed from me, my happiness
Shall be the period of all good mens wishes,
Which friends, nay dying Fathers shall bequeath,
And in my one give all: is there a duty
Belongs to any power of mine, or love
To any virtue I have right to? here, place it here,
_Ordella's_ name shall only bear command,
Rule, Title, Sovereignty.

_Brun._ What passion sways my Son?

_Thier._ Oh Mother, she has doubled every good
The travel of your bloud made possible
To my glad being.

_Prot._ He should have done
Little to her, he is so light hearted.

_Thier._ Brother, friends, if honor unto shame
If wealth to want inlarge the present sense,
My joyes are unbounded, instead of question
Let it be envy, not bring a present
To the high offering of our mirth, Banquets, and Masques;
Keep waking our delights, mocking nights malice,
Whose dark brow would fright pleasure from us,
Our Court be but one st[a]ge of Revels, and each [e]ye
The Scene where our content moves.

_Theod._ There shall want
Nothing to express our shares in your delight, Sir.

_Mart._ Till now I ne'er repented the estate
Of Widower.

_Thier._ Musick, why art thou so slow voic'd? it staies thy presence
My _Ordella_, this chamber is a sphere
Too narrow for thy all-moving virtue.
Make way, free way I say;
Who must alone, her Sexes want supply,
Had need to have a room both large and high.

_Mart._ This passion's above utterance.

_Theod._ Nay, credulity. [_Exit all but_ Thierry, Brunhalt.

_Brun._ Why Son what mean you, are you a man?

_Thier._ No Mother I am no man, were I a man,
How could I be thus happy?

_Brun._ How can a wife be author of this joy then?

_Thier._ That being no man, I am married to no woman;
The best of men in full ability,
Can only hope to satisfie a wife,
And for that hope ridiculous, I in my want
And such defective poverty, that to her bed
From my first Cradle brought no strength but thought,
Have met a temperance beyond hers that rockt me,
Necessity being her bar; where this
Is so much sensless of my depriv'd fire;
She knows it not a loss by her desire.

_Brun._ It is beyond my admiration.

_Thier._ Beyond your sexes faith,
The unripe Virgins of our age, to hear't
Will dream themselves to women, and convert
Th' example to a miracle.

_Brun._ Alas, 'tis your defect moves my amazement,
But what [i]ll can be separate from ambition?
Cruel _Theodoret_.

_Thier._ What, of my brother?

_Brun._ That to his name your barrenness adds rule;
Who loving the effect, would not be strange
In favouring the cause; look on the profit,
And gain will quickly point the mischief out.

_Thier._ The name of Father, to what I possess
Is shame and care.

_Brun._ Were we begot to single happiness
I grant you; but from such a wife, such virtue
To get an heir, what hermet would not find
Deserving argument to break his vow
Even in his age of chastity?

_Thier._ You teach a deaf man language.

_Brun._ The cause found out, the malady may cease,
Have you heard of one _Forts_?

_Thier._ A learned Astronomer, great Magician,
Who lives hard by retir'd.

_Brun._ Repair to him, with the just hour and place
Of your nativity; fools are amaz'd at fate,
Griefs but conceal'd are never desperate.

_Thier._ You have timely waken'd me, nor shall I sleep
Without the satisfaction of his Art. [_Exit_ Thierry.

_Enter_ Lecure.

_Brun._ Wisdom prepares you to't, _Lecure_, met happily.

_Lecure._ The ground answers your purpose, the conve[iance]
Being secure and easie, falling just
Behind the state set for _Theodoret_.

_Brun._ 'Tis well, your trust invites you to a second charge,
You know _Leforte's_ Cell.

_Lecure._ Who constellated your fair birth.

_Brun._ Enough, I see thou know'st him, where's _Bawdber_?

_Lec._ I left him careful of the project cast,
To raise _Protaldie's_ credit.

_Brun._ A sore that must be plaister'd, in whose wound
Others shall find their graves, think themselves sound,
Your ear, and quickest apprehension. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Bawdber _and a servant_.

_Bawdb._ This man of war will advance.

_Lecu._ His hour's upon the stroke.

_Bawdb._ Wind him back, as you favour my ears,
I [lo]ve no noise in my head, my brains have hitherto
Been imploy'd in silent businesses.

_Enter_ Devitry.

_Lecu._ The Gentleman is within your reach Sir. [_Exit._

_Bawdb._ Give ground, whilst I drill my wits to the encounter,
_Devitry_, I take it.

_Devi._ All's that left of him.

_Bawdb._ Is there another parcel of you, if it be at pawn
I will gladly redeem it, to make you wholly mine.

_Vitry._ You seek too hard a pennyworth.

_Bawdb._ You too ill to keep such distance; your parts have been
long known
To me, howsoever you please to forget acquaintance.

_Vit._ I must confess I have been subject to lewd company.

_Bawdb._ Thanks for your good remembrance,
You have been a soldier _Devitry_ and born[e] Arms.

_Vit._ A couple of unprofitable ones, that have only serv'd
to get me a stomach to my dinner.

_Bawdb._ Much good may it do you, Sir.

_Vitry._ You sh[ould] have heard me say I had din'd first, I
have built on an unwholsome ground, rais'd up a house, before
I knew a Tenant, matcht to meet weariness, sought to find
want and hunger.

_Bawdb._ It is time you put up your sword, and run away
for meat, Sir, nay, if I had not withdrawn e'r now, I might
have kept thee; fast with you: but since the way to thrive
is never late, what is the nearest course to profit think you?

_Vitry._ It may be your worship will say bawdry.

_Bawdb._ True sense, bawdry.

_Vitry._ Why, is the[re] five kinds of them, I never knew
but one.

_Bawdb._ I'll shew you a new way of prostitution, fall back,
further yet, further, there is fifty crowns, do but as much
to _Protaldye_ the Queens favorite, they are doubled.

_Vitry._ But thus much.

_Bawdb._ Give him but an affront as he comes to the presence,
and in his drawing make way, like a true bawd to his
valour, the s[um]'s thy own; if you take a scratch in the arm
or so, every drop of bloud weighs down a ducket.

_Vitry._ After that rate, I and my friends would begger the
kingdom. Sir, you have made me blush to see my want,
whose cure is such a cheap and easie purchase, this is Male-bawdry
belike.

_Enter_ Protaldy, _a Lady, and Revellers_.

_Bawdb._ See, you shall not be long earning your wages, your work's
before your eyes.

_Vitry._ Leave it to my handling, I'll fall upon't instantly.

_Bawdb._ What opinion will the managing of this affair

Bring to my wisdom? my invention tickles
With apprehension on't:

_Pro._ These are the joyes of marriage, Lady,
Whose sights are able to dissolve Virginity.
Speak freely, do you not envy the Brides felicity?

_Lady._ How should I, being partner of't?

_Pro._ What you enjoy is but the Banquets view,
The taste stands from your pallat; if he impart
By day so much of his content, think what night gave?

_Vitry._ Will you have a relish of wit, Lady?

_Bawdb._ This is the man.

_Lady._ If it be not dear, Sir.

_Vitry._ If you affect cheapness, how can you prize this sullied
ware so much? mine is fresh, my own, not retail'd.

_Pro._ You are saucy, sirrah.

_Vitry._ The fitter to be in the dish with such dry Stock-fish as
you are, how, strike?

_Bawdb._ Remember the condition as you look for payment.

_Vitry._ That box was left out of the bargain.

_Pro._ Help, help, help.

_Bawdb._ Plague of the Scriveners running hand,
What a blow is this to my reputation!

_Enter_ Thierry, Theodoret, Brunhalt, Ordella,
Memberge, Martell.

_Thier._ What villain dares this outrage?

_Devitry._ Hear me, Sir, this creature hir'd me with fifty crowns
in hand, to let _Protaldye_ have the better of me at single Rapier
on a made quarrel; he mistaking the weapon, laies me over the chops
with his club fist, for which I was bold to teach him the Art of
memory.

_Omnes._ Ha, ha, ha, ha.

_Theo._ Your General, Mother, will display himself.
'Spight of our Peace I see.

_Thier._ Forbear these civil jars, fie _Protaldy_,
So open in your projects, avoid our presence, sirrah.

_Devi._ Willingly; if you have any more wages to earn,
You see I can take pains.

_Theo._ There's somewhat for thy labour,
More than was promis'd, ha, ha, ha.

_Bawdb._ Where could I wish my self now? in the _Isle of Dogs_.
So I might scape scratching, for I see by her Cats eyes
I shall be claw'd fearfully.

_Thier._ We'll hear no more on't, [_Soft Musick._
Musick drown all sadness;
Command the Revellers in, at what a rate I do purchase
My Mothers absence, to give my spleen full liberty.

_Brun._ Speak not a thoughts delay, it names thy ruin.

_Pro._ I had thought my life had born[e] more value with you.

_Brun._ Thy loss carries mine with't, let that secure thee.
The vault is ready, and the door conveys to't
Falls just behind his chair, the blow once given,
Thou art unseen.

_Pro._ I cannot feel more than I fear, I'm sure. [_Withdraws._

_Brun._ Be gone, and let them laugh their own destruction.

_Thier._ You will add unto her rage.

_Theod._ 'Foot, I shall burst, unless I vent my self, ha, ha, ha.

_Brun._ Me Sir, you never could
Have found a time to invite more willingness
In my dispose to pleasure.

_Memb._ Would you would please to make some other choise.

_Revel._ 'Tis a disgrace would dwell upon me, Lady,
Should you refuse.

_Memb._ Your reason conquers; my Grandmothers looks
Have turn'd all air to earth in me, they sit
Upon my heart like night-charms, black and heavy.

[_They Dance._

_Thier._ You are too much libertine.

_Theod._ The fortune of the fool perswades my laughter
More than his cowardize; was ever Rat
Ta'en by the tail thus? ha, ha, ha.

_Thier._ Forbear I say.

_Prot._ No eye looks this way, I will wink and strike,
Lest I betray my self. [_Behind the State stabs_ Theodoret.

_Theo._ Ha, did you not see one near me?

_Thier._ How near you, why do you look so pale, brother?
Treason, treason.

_Memb._ Oh my presage! Father.

_Ordella._ Brother.

_Mart._ Prince, Noble Prince.

_Thier._ Make the gates sure, search into every angle
And corner of the Court, oh my shame! Mother,
Your Son is slain, _Theodoret_, noble _Theodoret_,
Here in my arms, too weak a Sanctuary
'Gainst treachery and murder, say, is the Traitor taken?

_1 Guard._ No man hath past the chamber on my life Sir.

_Thier._ Set present fire unto the place, that all unseen
May perish in this mischief, who moves slow to't,
Shall add unto the flame.

_Brun._ What mean you? give me your private hearing.

_Thier._ Perswasion is a partner in the crime,
I will renounce my claim unto a mother,
If you make offer on't.

_Brun._ E'er a Torch can take flame, I will produce
The author of the fact.

_Thier._ Withdraw but for your Lights.

_Memb._ Oh my too true suspition.

[_Exeunt_ Martel, Memberg.

_Thier._ Speak, where's the Engine to this horrid act?

_Brun._ Here you do behold her; upon whom make good
Your causeless rage; the deed was done by my incitement,
Not yet repented.

_Thier._ Wh[i]ther did nature start, when you conceiv'd?
A birth so unlike woman? say, what part
Did not consent to make a son of him,
Reserv'd it self within you to his ruine.

_Brun._ Ha, ha, a son of mine! doe not dissever
Thy fathers dust, shaking his quiet urn,
To which [thy] breath would send so foul an issue.
My Son, thy Brother?

_Thier._ Was not _Theodoret_ my brother, or is thy tongue
Confederate with thy heart, to speak and do
Only things monstrous?

_Brun._ Hear me and thou shalt make thine own belief,
Thy, still with sorrow mention'd, father liv'd
Three careful years, in hope of wished heirs,
When I conceiv'd, being from his jealous fear
Injoyn'd to quiet home, one fatal day:
Transported with my pleasure to the chase,
I forc'd command, and in pursuit of game
Fell from my horse, lost both my child and hopes.
Despair which only in his love saw life
Worthy of being, from a Gard'ners Arms
Snatcht this unlucky brat, and call'd it mine,
When the next year repaid my loss with thee:
But in thy wrongs preserv'd my misery,
Which that I might diminish, though not end,
My sighs, and wet eies from thy Fathers Will,
Bequeath this largest part of his Dominions
Of _France_ unto thee, and only left
_Austracia_ unto that changling, whose life affords
Too much of ill 'gainst me to prove my words,
And call him stranger.

_Thier._ Come, doe not weep, I must, nay do believe you.
And in my fathers satisfaction count it
Merit, not wrong, or loss:

_Brun._ You doe but flatter, there's anger yet flames
In your eyes.

_Thier._ See, I will quench it, and confess that you
Have suffer'd double travel for me.

_Brun._ You will not fire the house then?

_Thier._ Rather reward the author who gave cause
Of knowing such a secret, my oath and duty
Shall be assurance on't.

_Brun. Protaldye_, rise good faithful servant, heaven knows
How hardly he was drawn to this attempt.

_Enter_ Protaldye.

_Thier. Protaldye?_ he had a Gard'ners fa[t]e I'll swear:
[F]ell by thy hand, Sir, we doe owe unto you for this service.

_Brun._ Why lookest thou so dejected?

_Enter_ Martel.

_Prot._ I want a little shift, Lady, nothing else.

_Mart._ The fires are ready, please it your grace withdraw,
Whilst we perform your pleasure.

_Thier._ Reserve them for the body; since he had the fate
To live and die a Prince, he shall not lose
The Title in his Funeral. [_Exit._

_Mart._ His fate to live a Prince,
Thou old impiety, made up by lust and mischief,
Take up the body. [_Exeunt with the body of_ Theod.

_Enter_ Lecure _and a Servant_.

_Lecu._ Dost think _Leforte's_ sure enough?

_Serv._ As bonds can make him, I have turn'd his eyes to the East;
and left him gaping after the Morning star, his head is a meer
Astrolobe, his eyes stand for the Poles, the gag in his mouth
being the Coachman, his five teeth have the nearest resemblance to
_Charles Wain._

_Lecure._ Thou hast cast a figure which shall raise thee, direct my
hair a little: and in my likeness to him, read a fortune suiting
thy largest hopes.

_Ser._ You are so far 'bove likeness, you are the same,
If you love mirth, perswade him from himself.
'Tis but an Astronomer out of the way,
And lying, will bear the better place for't.

_Lecure._ I have profitabler use in hand, haste to the Queen
And tell her how you left me chang'd. [_Exit Servant._
Who would not serve this virtuous active Queen?
She that loves mischief 'bove the man that does it,
And him above her pleasure, yet knows no heaven else.

_Enter_ Thierry.

_Thier._ How well this loan[es] suits the Art I seek,
Discovering secret, and succeeding Fate,
Knowledge that puts all lower happiness on,
With a remiss and careless hand,
Fair peace unto your meditations, father.

_Lecure._ The same to you, you bring, Sir.

_Thier._ Drawn by your much fam'd skill, I come to know
Whether the man who owes [t]his character,
Shall e'er have issue.

_Lecure._ A resolution falling with most ease,
Of any doubt you could have nam'd, he is a Prince
Whose fortune you enquire.

_Thie._ He is nobly born.

_Lecure._ He had a Dukedom lately fall'n unto him,
By one, call'd Brother, who has left a Daughter.

_Thier._ The question is, of Heirs, not Lands.

_Lecure._ Heirs, yes, he shall have Heirs.

_Thier._ Begotten of his body, why look'st thou pale?
Thou canst not suffer in his want.

_Lecure._ Nor thou, I neither can nor will
Give farther knowledge to thee.

_Thier._ Thou must, I am the man my self,
Thy Sovereign, who must owe unto thy wisdom
In the concealing of my barren shame.

_Lecure._ Your Grace doth wrong your Stars; if this be yours,
You may have children.

_Thier._ Speak it again.

_Lecure._ You may have fruitful issue.

_Thier._ By whom? when? how?

_Lecure._ It was the fatal means first struck my bloud
With the cold hand of wonder, when I read it
Printed upon your birth.

_Thier._ Can there be any way unsmooth, has end
So fair and good?

_Lecure._ We that behold the sad aspects of Heaven,
Leading sence blinded, men feel grief enough
To know, though not to speak their miseries.

_Thier._ Sorrow must lose a name, where mine finds life;
If not in thee, at least ease pain with speed,
Which must know no cure else.

_Lecure._ Then thus,
The first of Females which your eye shall meet
Before the Sun next rise, coming from out
The Temple of _Diana_ being slain, you live
Father of many sons.

_Thier._ Call'st thou this sadness, can I beget a Son?
Deserving less than to give recompence
Unto so poor a loss? what e'er thou art,
Rest peaceable blest creature, born to be
Mother of Princes, whose grave shall be more fruitful
Than others marriage beds: methinks his Art
Should give her form and happy figure to me,
I long to see my happiness, he is gone,
As I remember, he nam'd my brothers Daughter,
Were it my Mother, 'twere a gainful death
Could give _Ordella_'s virtue living breath. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Thierry _and_ Martel.

_Mart._ Your Grace is early stirring.

_Thier._ How can he sleep,
Whose happiness is laid up in an hour
He knows comes stealing towar[d] him, Oh _Martel_!
Is't possible the longing Bride, whose wishes
Out-runs her fears, can on that day she is married
Consume in slumbers, or his Arms rust in ease,
That hears the charge, and sees the honor'd purchase
Ready to [gild] his valour? Mine is more
A power above these passions; this day _France_,
_France_ that in want of issue withers with us;
And like an aged River, runs his head
Into forgotten ways, again I ransome,
And his fair course turn right: this day _Thierry_,
The Son of _France_, whose manly powers like prisoners
Have been tied up, and fetter'd, by one death
Give life to thousand ages; this day beauty
The envy of the world, Pleasure the glory,
Content above the world, desire beyond it
Are made mine own, and useful.

_Mart._ Happy Woman
That dies to do these things.

_Thier._ But ten times happier
That lives to do the greater; oh _Martel_,
The gods have heard me now, and those that scorn'd me,
Mothers of many children, and blest fathers
That see their issues like the Stars un-number'd,
Their comfort more than them, shall in my praises
Now teach their Infants songs; and tell their ages
From such a Son of mine, or such a Queen,
That chaste _Ordella_ brings me blessed marriage
The chain that links two Holy Loves together
And in the marriage, more than blest _Ordella_,
That comes so near the Sacrament it self,
The Priests doubt whether purer.

_Mart._ Sir, y'are lost.

_Thier._ I prethee let me be so.

_Mart._ The day wears,
And those that have been offering early prayers,
Are now retiring homeward.

_Thier._ Stand and mark then.

_Mart._ Is it the first must suffer.

_Thier._ The first Woman.

_Mart._ What hand shall do it, Sir?

_Thier._ This hand _Martell_,
For who less dare presume to give the gods
An incense of this offering?

_Mart._ Would I were she,
For such a way to die, and such a blessing
Can never crown my parting.

_Enter two men passing over._

_Thier._ What are those?

_Mart._ Men, men, Sir, men.

_Thier._ The plagues of men light on 'em,
They cross my hopes like Hares, who's that?

_Enter a Priest._

_Mart._ A Priest, Sir.

_Thier._ Would he were gelt.

_Mart._ May not these rascals serve, Sir,
Well hang'd and quarter'd?

_Thier._ No.

_Mart._ Here comes a woman.

_Enter_ Ordella _veil'd_.

_Thier._ Stand and behold her then.

_Mart._ I think a fair one.

_Thier._ Move not whilst I prepare her: may her peace
Like his whose innocence the gods are pleas'd with,
And offering at their Altars, gives his soul
Far purer than those fires; pull heaven upon her,
You holy powers, no humane spot dwell in her,
No love of any thing, but you and goodness,
Tie her to earth, fear be a stranger to her,
And all weak blouds affections, but thy hope
Let her bequeath to Women: hear me heaven,
Give her a spirit masculine, and noble,
Fit for your selves to ask, and me to offer.
Oh let her meet my blow, doat on her death;
And as a wanton Vine bows to the pruner,
That by his cutting off, more may increase,
So let her fall to raise me fruit; hail woman.
The happiest, and the best (if the dull Will
Do not abuse thy fortune) _France_ e'er found yet.

_Ordel._ Sh' is more than dull, Sir, less, and worse than Woman,
That may inherit such an infinite
As you propound, a greatness so near goodness;
And brings a Will to rob her.

_Thier._ Tell me this then,
Was there e'er woman yet, or may be found,
That for fair Fame, unspotted memory,
For virtues sake, and only for it self sake
Has, or dare make a story?

_Ordel._ Many dead Sir,
Living I thin[ke] as many.

_Thier._ Say, the kingdom
May from a womans Will receive a blessing,
The King and kingdom, not a private safety.
A general blessing, Lady.

_Ordel._ A general curse
Light on her heart, denies it.

_Thier._ Full of honor;
And such examples as the former ages
Were but dim shadows of, and empty figures.

_Ordel._ You strangely stir me, Sir, and were my weakness
In any other flesh but modest womans,
You should not ask more questions, may I do it?

_Thier._ You may, and which is more, you must.

_Ordel._ I joy in't,
Above a moderate gladness, Sir, you promise
It shall be honest.

_Thier._ As ever time discover'd.

_Ordel._ Let it be what it may then, what it dare,
I have a mind will hazard it.

_Thier._ But hark ye,
What may that woman merit, makes this blessing!

_Ordel._ Only her duty, Sir.

_Thier._ 'Tis terrible.

_Ordel._ 'Tis so much the more noble.

_Thier._ 'Tis full of fearful shadows.

_Ordel._ So is sleep, Sir.
Or any thing that's meerly ours, and mortal,
We were begotten gods else; but those fears
Feeling but once the fires of nobler thoughts,
Flie, like the shapes of clouds we form, to nothing.

_Thier._ Suppose it death.

_Ordel._ I do.

_Thier._ And endless parting
With all we can call ours, with all our sweetness,
With youth, strength, pleasure, people, time, nay reason:
For in the silent grave, no conversation,
No joyful tread of friends, no voice of Lovers,
No careful Fathers counsel, nothing's h[e]ard,
Nor nothing is, but all oblivion,
Dust and an endless darkness, and dare you woman
Desire this place?

_Ord[e]l._ 'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest,
Children begin it to us, strong men seek it,
And Kings from heighth of all their painted glories
Fall like spent exhalations, to this centre:
And those are fools that fear it, or imagine
A few unhandsome pleasures, or lifes profits
Can recompence this place; and mad that staies it,
Till age blow out their lights, or rotten humors,
Bring them dispers'd to th' earth.

_Thier._ Then you can suffer?

_Ordel._ As willingly as say it.

_Thier. Martell_, a wonder,
Here's a woman that dares die, yet tell me,
Are you a Wife?

_Ordel._ I am Sir.

_Thier._ And have children?
She sighs and weeps.

_Ordel._ Oh none Sir.

_Thier._ Dare you venture
For a poor barren praise you ne'er shall hear,
To part with these sweet hopes?

_Ordel._ With all but Heaven,
And yet die full of children; he that reads me
When I am ashes, is my Son in wishes,
And those chaste dames that keep my memory,
Singing my yearly requiems, are my Daughters.

_Thier._ Then there is nothing wanting but my knowledg[e].
And what I must doe, Lady?

_Ordel._ You are the King, Sir,
And what you do I'll suffer, and that blessing
That you desire, the gods showr on the Kingdom.

_Thier._ Thus much before I strike then, for I must kill you,
The gods have will'd it so, they're made the blessing
Must make _France_ young again, and me a man,
Keep up your strength still nobly.

_Ordel._ Fear me not.

_Thier._ And meet death like a measure.

_Ordel._ I am stedfast.

_Thier._ Thou shalt be sainted woman, and thy Tomb
Cut out in Chrystal, pure and good as thou art;
And on it shall be graven every age,
Succeeding Peers of _France_ that rise by thy fall,
Tell thou liest there like old and fruitful nature.
Darest thou behold thy happiness?

_Ordel._ I dare Sir.

_Thier._ Ha? [_Pul[l]s off her veil, lets fall his sword._

_Mar._ Oh Sir, you must not doe it.

_Thier._ No, I dare not.
There is an Angel keeps that Paradice,
A fiery Angel friend; oh virtue, virtue,
Ever and endless virtue.

_Ordel._ Strike, Sir, strike;
And if in my poor death fair _France_ may merit,
Give me a thousand blows, be killing me
A thousand days.

_Thier._ First let the earth be barren,
And man no more remembred, rise _Ordella_,
The nearest to thy maker, and the purest
That ever dull flesh shewed us,--oh my heart-strings. [_Exit._

_Mart._ I see you full of wonder, therefore noblest,
And truest amongst Women, I will tell you
The end of this strange accident.

_Ordel._ Amazement
Has so much wove upon my heart, that truly
I feel my self unfit to hear, oh Sir,
My Lord has slighted me.

_Mart._ Oh no sweet Lady.

_Ordel._ Robb'd me of such a glory by his pity,
And most unprovident respect.

_Mart._ Dear Lady,
It was not meant to you.

_Ordel._ Else where the day is,
And hours distinguish time, time runs to ages,
And ages end the world, I had been spoken.

[_Mart._] I'll tell you what it was, if but your patience
Will give me hearing.

_Ordel._ If I have transgrest,
Forgive me, Sir.

_Mart._ Your noble Lord was counsel'd,
Grieving the barrenness between you both,
And all the Kingdom with him, to seek out
A man that knew the secrets of the gods,
He went, found such [a] one, and had this answer,
That if he wou'd have issue, on this morning,
For this hour was prefixt him, he should kill
The first he met, being Female, from the Temple;
And then he should have children, the mistake
Is now too perfect, Lady.

_Ordel._ Still 'tis I, Sir,
For may this work be done by common women?
Durst any but my self that knew the blessing,
And felt the benefit, assume this [dying]
In any other, 't'ad been lost, and nothing,
A curse and not a blessing; I was figur'd;
And shall a little fondness barr my purchase?

_Mart._ Where should he then seek children?

_Ordel._ Where they are
In wombs ordain'd for issues, in those beauties
That bless a marriage-bed, and makes it proceed
With kisses that conceive, and fruitful pleasures;
Mine like a grave, buries those loyal hopes,
And to a grave it covets.

_Mart._ You are too good,
Too excellent, too honest; rob not us
And those that shall hereafter seek example,
Of such inestimable worthies in woman.
Your Lord of such obedience, all of honor
In coveting a cruelty is not yours,
A Will short of your Wisdom; make not error
A Tomb-stone of your virtues, whose fair life
Deserves a constellation: your Lord dare not;
He cannot, ought not, must not run this hazard,
He makes a separation, nature shakes at,
The gods deny, and everlasting justice
Shrinks back, and sheaths her sword at.

_Ordel._ All's but talk, Sir,
I find to what I am reserv'd, and needful,
And though my Lord's compassion makes me poor,
And leaves me in my best use, yet a strength
Above mine own, or his dull fondness finds me;
The gods have given it to me. [_Draws a knife._

_Mart._ Self-destruction!
Now all good Angels bless thee, oh sweet Lady,
You are abus'd, this is a way to shame you,
And with you all that knows you, all that loves you,
To ruin all you build, would you be famous?
Is that your end?

_Ordel._ I would be what I should be.

_Mart._ Live and confirm the gods then, live and be loaden
With more than Olive[s]bear, or fruitful Autumn;
This way you kill your merit, kill your cause,
And him you would raise life to, where, or how
Got you these bloudy thoughts? what Devil durst
Look on that Angel face, and tempt? doe you know
What is't to die thus, how you strike the Stars,
And all good things above, do you feel
What follows a self-bloud, whether you venture,
And to what punishment? excellent Lady,
Be not thus cozen'd, do not fool your self,
The Priest was never his own sacrifice,
But he that thought his hell here.

_Ordel._ I am counsell'd.

_Mart._ And I am glad on't, lie, I know you dare not.

_Ordel._ I never have done yet.

_Mart._ Pray take my comfort,
Was this a soul to lose? two more such women
Would save their sex; see, she repents and prayes,
Oh hear her, hear her, if there be a faith
Able to reach your mercies, she hath sent it.

_Ordel._ Now good _Martel_ confirm me.

_Mart._ I will Lady,
And every hour advise you, for I doubt
Whether this plot be heavens, or hells; your mother
And I will find it, if it be in mankind
To search the center of it: in the mean time
I'll give you out for dead, and by your self,
And shew the instrument, so shall I find
A joy that will betray her.

_Ordel._ Do what's fittest;
And I will follow you.

_Mart._ Then ever live
Both able to engross all love, and give. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Brunhalt, Protaldye.

_Brun._ I'm in labour
To be deliver'd of that burthenous project
I have so long gone with; ha, here's the Midwife,
Or life, or death.

_Enter_ Lecure.

_Lecu._ If in the supposition
Of her death in whose life you die, you ask me,
I think you are safe.

_Brun._ Is she dead?

_Lecu._ I have us'd
All means to make her so, I saw him waiting
At the Temple door, and us'd such Art within,
That only she of all her Sex was first
Giv'n up unto his fury.

_Brun._ Which if love
Or fear made him forbear to execute
The vengeance he determin'd, his fond pity
Shall draw it on himself, for were there left
Not any man but he, to serve my pleasures,
Or from me to receive commands, which are
The joyes for which I love life, he should be
Remov'd, and I alone left to be Queen
O'er any part of goodness that's left in me.

_Lecu._ If you are so resolv'd, I have provided
A means to s[h]ip him hence: look upon this,
But touch it sparingly, for this once us'd,
Say but to dry a tear, will keep the eye-lid
From closing, until death perform that office.

_Brun._ Give't me, I may have use [of 't], and on you
I'll make the first experiment: if one sigh
Or heavy look beget the least suspition,
Childish compassion can thaw the Ice
Of your so long congeal'd and flinty hardness.
Slight, go on constant, or I shall.

_Prot._ Best Lady,
We have no faculties which are not yours.

_Lecu._ Nor will be any thing without you.

_B[r]un._ Be so, and we will stand or fall together, for
Since we have gone so far, that death must stay
The journey, which we wish should never end;
And innocent, or guilty, we must die,
When we do so, let's know the reason why.

_Enter_ Thierry _and_ Courtiers.

_Lecu._ The King.

_Thier._ We'll be alone.

_Prot._ I would I had
A Convoy too, to bring me safe off.
For rage although it be allai'd with sorrow,
Appears so dreadful in him, that I shake
To look upon't.

_Brun._ Coward I will meet it,
And know from whence 't has birth: Son, kingly _Thierry_.

_Thier._ Is cheating grown so common among men?
And thrives so well here, that the gods endeavour
To practise it above?

_Brun._ Your Mother.

_Thier._ Ha! or are they only careful to revenge,
Not to reward? or when, for your offences
We study satisfaction, must the cure
Be worse than the disease?

_Brun._ Will you not hear me?

_Thier._ To lose th' ability to perform those duties
For which I entertain'd the name of Husband,
Ask'd more than common sorrow; but t'impose
For the redress of that defect, a torture
In marking her to death, for whom alone
I felt that weakness as a want, requires
More than the making the head bald: or falling
Thus flat upon the earth, or cursing that way,
Or praying this, oh such a Scene of grief,
And so set down, (the world the stage to act on)
May challenge a Tragedian better practis'd
Than I am to express it; for my cause
Of passion is so strong, and my performance
So weak, that though the part be good, I fear
Th'ill acting of it, will defraud it of
The poor reward it may deserve, mens pity.

_Brun._ I have given you way thus long, a King, and what
Is more, my Son, and yet a slave to that
Which only triumphs over cowards sorrow,
For shame look up.

_Thier._ Is't you, look down on me:
And if that you are capable to receive it,
Let that return to you, that have brought forth
One mark'd out only for it: what are these?
Come they upon your privilege to tread on
The Tomb of my afflictions?

_Prot._ No, not we Sir.

_Thier._ How dare you then omit the ceremony
Due to the funeral of all my hopes,
Or come unto the marriage of my sorrows,
But in such colours as may sort with them?

_Prot._ Alas; we will wear any thing.

_Brun._ This is madness
Take but my counsel.

_Thier._ Yours? dare you again
Though arm'd with th' authority of a mother,
Attempt the danger that will fall on you
If such another syllable awake it?
Goe, and with yours be safe, I have such cause
Of grief, nay more, to love it, that I will not
Have such as these be sharers in it.

_Lecu._ Madam.

_Prot._ Another time were better.

_Brun._ Do not sti[r],
For I must be resolv'd, and will, be statues.

_Enter_ Martel.

_Thier._ I, thou art welcome, and upon my soul
Thou art an honest man, do you see, he has tears
To lend to him whom prodigal expence
Of sorrow, has made bankrupt of such treasure,
Nay, thou dost well.

_Mart._ I would it might excuse
The ill I bring along.

_Thier._ Thou mak'st me smile
I[n] the heighth of my calamities, as if
There could be the addition of an Atome,
To the gyant-body of my miseries.
But try, for I will hear thee, all sit down, 'tis death
To any that shall dare to interrupt him
In look, gesture, or word.

_Mart._ And such attention
As is due to the last, and the best story
That ever was deliver'd, will become you,
The griev'd _Ordella_, (for all other titles
But take away from that) having from me
Prompted by your last parting groan, enquir'd,
What drew it from you, and the cause soon learn'd:
For she whom barbarism could deny nothing,
With such prevailing earnestness desir'd it,
'Twas not in me, though it had been my death,
To hide it from her, she I say, in whom
All was, that _Athens_, _Rome_, or warlike _Sparta_,
Have registred for good in their best Women:
But nothing of their ill, knowing her self
Mark'd out, (I know not by what power, but sure
A cruel one) to dye, to give you children;
Having first with a setled countenance
Look'd up to Heaven, and then upon her self,
(It being the next best object) and then smil'd,
As if her joy in death to do you service,
Would break forth, in despight of the much sorrow
She shew'd she had to leave you: and then taking
Me by the hand, this hand which I must ever
Love better than I have done, since she touch'd it,
Go said she, to my Lord, (and to goe to him
Is such a happiness I must not hope for)
And tell him that he too much priz'd a trifle
Made only worthy in his love, and her
Thankful acceptance, for her sake to rob
The Orphan Kingdom of such guardians, as
Must of necessity descend [from] him;
And therefore in some part of recompence
Of his much love, and to shew to the world
That 'twas not her fault only, but her fate,
That did deny to let her be the mother
Of such most certain blessings: yet for proof,
She did not envy her, that happy her,
That is appointed to them, her [q]uick end
Should make way for her, which no sooner spoke,
But in a moment this too ready engine
Made such a battery in the choisest Castle
That ever nature made to defend life,
That strait it shook, and sunk.

_Thier._ Stay, dares any
Presume to shed a tear before me? or
Ascribe that worth unto themselves to merit:
To do so for her? I have done, now on.

_Mart._ Fall'n thus, once more she smil'd, as if that death
For her had studied a new way to sever
The soul and body, without sense of pain;
And then tell him (quoth she) what you have seen,
And with what willingness 'twas done: for which
My last request unto him is, that he
Would instantly make choice of one (most happy
In being so chosen) to supply my place,
By whom if heaven bless him with a daughter,
In my remembrance let it bear my name
Which said she dy'd.

_Thier._ I hear this, and yet live;
Heart! art thou thunder proof, will nothing break thee?
She's dead, and what her entertainment may be
In th'other world without me is uncertain,
And dare I stay here unresolv'd?

_Mart._ Oh Sir!

_Brun._ Dear son.

_Prot._ Great King.

_Thier._ Unhand me, am I fall'n
So low, that I have lost the power to be
Disposer of my own life?

_Mart._ Be but pleas'd
To borrow so much time of sorrow, as
To call to mind her last request, for whom
(I must confess a loss beyond expression)
You turn your hand upon your self, 'twas hers
And dying hers, that you should live and happy
In seeing little models of your self,
By matching with another, and will you
Leave any thing that she desir'd ungranted?
And suffer such a life that was [l]aid down
For your sake only to be fruitless?

_Thier._ Oh thou dost throw charms upon me, against which
I cannot stop my ears, bear witness heaven
That not desire of life, nor love of pleasure[s]
Nor any future comforts, but to give
Peace to her blessed spirit in satisfying
Her last demand, makes me defer our meeting,
Which in my choice, and suddain choice shall be
To all apparent.

_Brun._ How? doe I remove one mischief
To draw upon my head a greater?

_Thier._ Go, thou only good man, to whom for her self
Goodness is dear, and prepare to interr it
In her that was; oh my heart! my _Ordella_,
A monument worthy to be the casket
Of such a jewel.

_Mart._ Your command that makes way
Unto my absence is a welcome one,
For but your self there's nothing here _Martel_,
Can take delight to look on; yet some comfort
Goes back with me to her, who though she want it
Deserves all blessings. [_Exit._

_Brun._ So soon to forget
The loss of such a wife, believe it will
Be censur'd in the world.

_Thier._ Pray you no more,
There is no arg[u]ment you can use to cross it,
But does increase in me such a suspition
I would not cherish--who's that?

_Enter_ Memberge.

_Memb._ One, no guard
Can put back from access, whose tongue no threats
Nor praises can silence, a bold suitor, and
For that which if you are your self, a King,
You were made so to grant it, Justice, Justice.

_Thier._ With what assurance dare you hope for that
Which is deny'd to me? or how can I
Stand bound to be just, unto such as are
Beneath me, that find none from those that are
Above me?

_Memb._ There is justice, 'twere unfit
That any thing but vengeance should fall on him,
That by his giving way to more than murther,
(For my dear fathers death was parricide)
Makes it his own.

_Brun._ I charge you hear her not.

_Memb._ Hell cannot stop just prayers from ent'ring heaven,
I must and will be heard Sir; but remember
That he that by her plot fell, was your brother,
And the place where, your Palace, against all
Th' inviolable rites of hospitality,
Your word, a Kings word, given up for his safety,
His innocence, his protection, and the gods
Bound to revenge the impious breach of such
So great and sacred bonds; and can you wonder,
(That in not punishing such a horrid murther
You did it) that heavens favour is gone from you?
Which never will return, until his bloud
Be wash'd away in hers.

_Brun._ Drag hence the wretch.

_Thier._ Forbear, with what variety
Of torments do I meet! oh thou hast open'd
A Book, in which writ down in bloudy Letters,
My conscience finds that I am worthy of
More than I undergoe, but I'll begin
For my _Ordella_'s sake, and for thine own
To make less heavens great anger: thou hast lost
A father, I to thee am so; the hope
Of a good Husband, in me have one; nor
Be fearful I am still no man, already
That weakness is gone from me.

_Brun._ That it might [_Aside._
Have ever grown inseparably upon thee,
What will you do? Is such a thing as this
Worthy the lov'd _Ordella_'s place, the daughter
Of a poor Gardener?

_Memb._ Your Son.

_Thier._ The power
To take away that lowness is in me.

_Brun._ Stay yet, for rather than [that] thou shalt add
Incest unto thy other sins, I will
With hazard of my own life, utter all,
_Theodoret_ was thy Brother.

_Thier._ You deny'd it
Upon your oath, nor will I now believe you,
Your Protean turnings cannot change my purpose.

_Memb._ And for me, be assur'd the means to be
Reveng'd on thee, vile hag, admits no thought,
But what tends to it.

_Brun._ Is it come to that?
Then have at the last refuge: art thou grown
Insensible in [i]ll, that thou goest on
Without the least compunction? there, take that
To witness, that thou hadst a mother, which
Foresaw thy cause of grief, and sad repentance,
That so soon after blest _Ordella_'s death
Without a tear thou canst imbrace another,
Forgetful man.

_Thier._ Mine eyes when she is nam'd
Cannot forget their tribute, and your gift
Is not unuseful now.

_Lecu._ He's past all cure, that only touch is death.

_Thier._ This night I'll keep it,
To morrow I will send it you, and full of my affliction.

[_Exit_ Thierry.

_Brun._ Is the poison mortal?

_Lecu._ Above the help of Physick.

_Brun._ To my wish,
Now for our own security, you _Protaldye_
Shall this night post towards _Austracia_,
With Letters to _Theodorets_ bastard son,
In which we will make known what for his rising
We have done to _Thierry_: no denial,
Nor no excuse in such acts must be thought of,
Which all dislike, and all again commend
When they are brought unto a happy end. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Devitry _and four Soldiers_.

_Devi._ No War, no Money, no Master; banish'd the Court, not
trusted in the City, whipt out of the Countrey, in what a triangle
runs our misery: let me hear which of you has the best voice to
beg in, for other hopes or fortunes I see you have not; be not
nice, nature provided you with tones for the purpose, the peoples
charity was your heritage, and I would see which of you deserves
his birth-right.

_Omnes._ We understand you not Captain.

_Devit._ You see this cardicue, the last, and the only quintessence
of 50 Crowns, distill'd in the limbeck of your gardage, of which
happy piece thou shalt be treasurer: now he that can soonest
perswade him to part with't, enjoyes it, possesses it, and with it,
me and my future countenance.

_1._ If they want Art to perswade it, I'll keep it my self.

_Devit._ So you be not a partial judge in your own cause, you shall.

_Omnes._ A match.

_2._ I'll begin to you, brave Sir; be proud to make him happy by
your liberality, whose tongue vouchsafes now to petition, was never
heard before less than to command. I am a Soldier by profession, a
Gentleman by birth, and an Officer by place, whose poverty blushes
to be the cause, that so high a virtue should descend to the pity
of your charity.

_1._ In any case keep your high stile, it is not charity to shame
any man, much less a virtue of your eminence, wherefore preserve
your worth, and I'll preserve my money.

_3._ You perswade? you are shallow, give way to merit: ah by the
bread of [God] man, thou hast a bonny countenance and a blith,
promising mickle good to a sicker womb, that has trode a long and
a sore ground to meet with friends, that will owe much to thy
reverence, when they shall hear of thy courtesie to their wandring
countreyman.

_1._ You that will use your friends so hardly to bring them in
debt, Sir, will deserve worse of a stranger, wherefore pead on,
pead on, I say.

_4._ It is the Welch must do't, I see, comrade man of urship, _St.
Tavy_ be her Patron, the gods of the mountains keep her cow and her
cupboard; may she never want the green of the Leek, [nor] the fat
of the Onion, if she part with her bounties to him, that is a great
deal away from her cozines, and has two big suits in law to recover
her heritage.

_1._ Pardon me Sir, I will have nothing to do with your suits, it
comes within the statute of maintenance: home to your cozines, and
so[w]e garlick and hempseed, the one will stop your hunger; the
other end your suits, _gammawash comrade, gammawash_.

_4._ 'Foot he'll hoord all for himself.

_Vitry._ Yes, let him; now comes my turn, I'll see if he can answer
me: save you Sir, they say, you have that I want, Money.

_1._ And that you are like to want, for ought I perceive yet.

_Vitry._ Stand, deliver.

_1._ 'Foot what mean you, you will not rob the Exchequer?

_Vitry._ Do you prate?

_1._ Hold, hold, here Captain.

_2._ Why I could have done this before you.

_3._ And I.

_4._ And I.

_Vit._ You have done this, brave man be proud to make him happy, by
the bread of God man, thou hast a bonny countenance, comrade man
of urship, _St. Tavy_ be her patron, out upon you, you uncurried
colts, walking cans that have no souls in you, but a little Rosin
to keep your ribs sweet, and hold in liquor.

_Omnes._ Why, what would you have us to do Captain?

_Devit._ Beg, beg, and keep Constables waking, wear out stocks
and whipcord, maunder for butter-milk, dye of the Jaundice, yet
have the cure about you, Lice, large Lice, begot of your own dust,
and the heat of the Brick-kills, may you starve, and fear of the
gallows, which is a gentle consumption to't, only preferr it, or
may you fall upon your fear, and be hanged for selling those purses
to keep you from famine, whose monies my valour empties, and be
cast without other evidence; here is my Fort, my Castle of defence,
who comes by shall pay me toll, the first purse is your mitimus
slaves.

_2._ The purse, 'foot we'll share in the money Captain, if any come
within a furlong of our fingers.

_4._ Did you doubt but we could steal as well as your self, did not
I speak Welsh?

_3._ We are thieves from our cradles, and will dye so.

_Vit._ Then you will not beg again.

_Omnes._ Yes, as you did, stand, and deliver.

_2._ Hark, here comes handsel, 'tis a Trade quickly set up, and as
soon cast down.

_Vitry._ Have goodness in your minds varlets, and to't like men; he
that has more money than we, cannot be our friend, and I hope there
is no law for spoiling the enemy.

_3._ You need not instruct us farther, your example pleads enough.

_Devitry._ Disperse your selves, and as their company is, fall on.

_2._ Come, there are a band of 'em, I'll charge single. [_Exit
Soldier[s]._

_Enter_ Protaldye.

_Prot._ 'Tis wonderful dark, I have lost my man, and dare not
call for him, lest I should have more followers than I would pay
wages to; what throws am I in, in this travel! these be honourable
adventures; had I that honest bloud in my veins again Queen, that
your feats and these frights have drain'd from me, honor should
pull hard, e'r it drew me into these brakes.

_Devitry._ Who goes there?

_Prot._ Hey ho, here's a pang of preferment.

_Devi._ 'Heart, who goes there?

_Prot._ He that has no heart to your acquaintance, what shall I do
with my Jewels and my Letter, my codpiece that's too loose, good,
my boots, who is't that spoke to me? here's a friend.

_Devit._ We shall find that presently, stand, as you love your
safety, stand.

_Prot._ That unlucky word of standing, has brought me to all this,
hold, or I shall never stand you.

_Devit._ I should know that voice, deliver.

_Enter Soldiers._

_Prot._ All that I have is at your service Gentlemen, and much good
may it do you.

_Devit._ Zones down with him, do you prate?

_Prot._ Keep your first word as you are Gentlemen, and let me
stand, alas, what do you mean?

_2._ To tye you to us Sir, bind you in the knot of friendship.

_Prot._ Alas Sir, all the physick in _Europe_ cannot bind me.

_Devit._ You should have jewels about you, stones, precious stones.

_1._ Captain away, there's company within hearing, if you stay
longer, we are surpriz'd.

_Devit._ Let the Devil come, I'll pillage this Fregat a little
better yet.