Only once every leap-year, in which, if
The debtor may be won for a French Crown,
To pay a Soulz, he shall be registred
His benefactor.
Ver. The Chancellor hears you.
Grand. Fear not, I now dare speak as loud as he,
And will be heard, and have all I speak, Law;
Have you no eyes? there is a reverence due,
From Children of the Gown, to Men of Action.
Gis. How’s this?
Gran. Even so; the times, the times are chang’d,
All business is not now prefer’d in Parchment,
Nor shall a grant pass that wants this broad seal;
This seal d’ye see? your gravity once laid
My head and heels together in the Dungeon,
For cracking a scald Officers crown, for which
A time is come for vengeance, and expert it;
For know, you have not full three hours to live.
Gis. Yes, somewhat longer.
Gran. To what end?
Gis. To hang you; think on that, Ruffian.
Gran. For you, School-master,
You have a pretty Daughter; let me see,
Near three a Clock, (by which time I much fear,
I shall be tyr’d with killing some five hundred)
Provide a Bath, and her to entertain me,
And that shall be your Ransom.
Bald. Impudent Rascal.
Enter to them Trevile and Duprete.
Gis. More of the crew?
Grand. What are you? Rollians?
Tre. No; this for Rolloy and all such as serve him;
We stand for Otto.
Grand. You seem men of fashion,
And therefore I’le deal fairly, you shall have
The honour this day to be Chronicled
The first men kill’d by Grandpree; you see this sword,
A pretty foolish toy, my valour’s Servant,
And I may boldly say a Gentleman,
It having made when it was Charlemaigns,
Three thousand Knights; this, Sir, shall cut your throat,
And do you all fair service else.
Tre. I kiss your hands for the good offer; here’s another
too, the servant of your servant shall be proud to be scour’d
in your sweet guts; till when pray you command me.
Grand. Your Idolater, Sir. [Exeunt. Manent Gis. & Bal.
Gis. That e’re such should hold the names of men,
Or Justice be held cruelty, when it labours
To pluck such weeds up!
Bald. Yet they are protected, and by the great ones.
Gis. Not the good ones, Baldwin.
Enter to them Aubrey.
Aub. Is this a time to be spent thus by such
As are the principal Ministers of the State?
When they that are the heads, have fill’d the Court
With factions, a weak Woman only left
To stay their bloudy hands? can her weak arms
Alone divert the dangers ready now
To fall upon the Common-wealth, and bury
The honours of it, leaving not the name
Of what it was. Oh Gisbert, the fair tryals,
And frequent proofs which our late master made,
Both of your love and faith, gave him assurance,
To chuse you at his death a Guardian; nay,
A Father to his Sons; and that great trust,
How ill do you discharge! I must be plain,
That, at the best, y’are a sad looker on
Of those bad practices you should prevent.
And where’s the use of your Philosophy
In this so needful a time? be not secure;
For, Baldwin, be assur’d, since that the Princes,
When they were young, and apt for any form,
Were given to your instruction, and grave ordering;
‘Twill be expected that they should be good,
Or their bad manners will b’ imputed yours.
Bald. ’Twas not in one, my Lord, to alter nature.
Gis. Nor can my counsels work on them that will not
Vouchsafe me hearing.
Aub. Do these answers sort,
Or with your place, or persons, or your years?
Can Gisbert being the pillar of the Laws,
See them trod under foot, or forc’d to serve
The Princes unjust ends; and with a frown
Be silenc’d from exclaiming on th’ abuse?
Or Baldwin only weep the desp’rate madness
Of his seduced pupills? see their minds,
Which with good Arts he labour’d to build up
Examples of succeeding times, o’return’d
By undermining parasites; no one precept
Leading to any Art, or great, or good,
But is forc’d from their memory, in whose room
Black counsels are receiv’d, and their retirements,
And secret conference producing only
Dev’lish designs, a man would shame to father;
But I talk when I should do, and chide others
For that I now offend in: see’t confirm’d,
Now do, or never speak more.
Gis. We are yours.
Enter Rollo, Latorch, Trevile, Grandpree, Otto, Verdon, and Duprete.
Rol. You shall know who I am.
Otto. I do, my equal.
Rol. Thy Prince; give way — were we alone, I’de force thee,
In thy best bloud, to write thy self my subject,
And glad I would receive it.
Aub. Sir.
Gis. Dear Lord.
Otto. Thy subject?
Rol. Yes, nor shall tame patience hold me
A minute longer, only half my self;
My birth gave me this Dukedom, and my sword
Shall change it to the common grave of all
That tread upon her bosom, e’re I part with
A piece of earth, or title that is mine.
Otto. It needs not, and I would scorn to receive,
Though offer’d, what I want not: therefore know
From me, though not deliver’d in great words,
Eyes red with rage, poor pride, and threatned action;
Our Father at his death, then, when no accent,
Wer’t thou a Son, could fall from him in vain,
Made us Co-heirs, our part of Land and Honours
Of equal weight; and to see this confirm’d,
The Oaths of these are yet upon record,
Who though they should forsake me, and call down
The plagues of perjury on their sinful heads,
I would not leave my self.
Tre. Nor will we see the Will of the dead Duke infring’d.
Lat. Nor I the elder rob’d of what’s his right.
Grand. Nor you?
Let me take place, I say, I will not see’t;
My sword is sharpest.
Aub. Peace you tinder-boxes,
That only carry matter to make a flame,
Which will consume you.
Rol. You are troublesome [To Baldwin.
This is no time for arguments, my Title
Needs not your School-defences, but my sword,
With which the Gordian of your Sophistry
Being cut, shall shew th’ Imposture. For your laws ( To Gisbert.
It is in me to change them when I please,
I being above them; Gisbert, would you have me protect them;
Let them now stretch their extreamest rigour,
And seize upon that Traytor; and your tongue
Make him appear first dangerous, then odious;
And after, under the pretence of safety
For the sick State, the Lands and Peoples quiet,
Cut off his head: and Pie give up my sword,
And fight with them at a more certain weapon
To kill, and with Authority.
T’assure the Innocent, not to oppress.
Rol. Then you conclude him Innocent?
Gis. The power your Father gave him, must not prove a
Aub. Nor should you so receive it. ‘(Crime.
Bald. To which purpose,
All that dare challenge any part in goodness,
Will become suppliants to you.
Rol. They have none
That dare move me in this: hence, I defie you,
Be of his party, bring’lt to your Laws,
And thou thy double heart, thou popular fool,
Your moral rules of justice and her ballance;
I stand on mine own guard.
Otto. Which thy unjustice
Will make thy enemies; by the memory
Of him, whose better part now suffers for thee,
Whose reverend ashes with an impious hand
Thou throw’st out to contempt, in thy repining
At this so just decree; thou art unworthy
Of what his last Will, not thy merits, gave thee,
That art so swoln within, with all those mischiefs
That e’re made up a Tyrant, that thy breast,
The prison of thy purposes, cannot hold them,
But that they break forth, and in thy own words
Discover, what a monster they must serve
That shall acknowledge thee.
Rol. Thou shalt not live to be so happy.
Aub. Nor your miseries begin in murther.
[He offers his sword at Otto, the faction joyning,
[Aubrey between severs the Brothers.
Duty, allegeance, and all respects of what you are, forsake me:
Do you stare on? is this a Theater?
Or shall these kill themselves, like to mad fencers,
To make you sport? keep them asunder, or
By Heaven I’le charge on all.
Grand. Keep the peace,
I am for you, my Lord, and if you’l have me,
Fie act the Constables part.
Aub. Live I to see this?
Will you do that your enemies dare not wish,
And cherish in your selves those furies, which
Hell would cast out? Do, I am ready; kill me,
And these, that would fall willing sacrifices
To any power that would restore your reason,
And make you men again, which now you are not.
Rol. These are your bucklers boy.
Otto. My hinderances;
And were I not confirm’d, my justice in
The taking of thy life, could not weigh down
The wrong, in shedding the least drop of bloud
Of these whose goodness only now protetts thee,
Thou should’st feel I in act would only prove my self
What thou in words do’st labour to appear.
Rol. Hear this, and talk again! Fie break through all,
But I will reach thy heart.
Otto. ’Tis better guarded.
Enter Sophia.
Soph. Make way, or I will force it, who are those?
My Sons? my shames; turn all your swords on me
And make this wretched body but one wound,
So this unnatural quarrel find a grave
In the unhappy womb that brought you forth:
Dare you remember that you had a Mother,
Or look on these gray hairs, made so with tears,
For both your goods, and not with age; and yet
Stand doubtful to obey her? from me you had
Life, Nerves, and faculties, to use these weapons;
And dare you raise them against her, to whom
You owe the means of being what you are?
Otto. All peace is meant to you.
Soph. Why is this War then?
As if your arms could be advanc’d, and I
Not set upon the rack? your bloud is mine,
Your dangers mine, your goodness I should share in
I must be branded with those impious marks
You stamp on your own foreheads and on mine,
If you go on thus: for my good name therefore,
Though all respects of honour in your selves
Be in your fury choakt, throw down your swords;
Your duty should be swifter than my tongue;
And joyn your hands while they be innocent;
You have heat of bloud, and youth apt to Ambition,
To plead an easie pardon for what’s past:
But all the ills beyond this hour committed,
From Gods or men must hope for no excuse.
Gis. Can you hear this unmov’d?
No Syllable of this so pious charm, but should have power
To frustrate all the juggling deceits,
With which the Devil blinds you.
Otto. I begin to melt, I know not how.
Rol. Mother, I’le leave you;
And, Sir, be thankful for the time you live,
Till we meet next (which shall be soon and sudden)
To her perswasion for you.
Soph. O yet, stay,
And rather than part thus, vouchsafe me hearing,
As enemies; how is my soul divided?
My love to both is equal, as my wishes;
But are return’d by neither; my griev’d heart,
Hold yet a little longer, and then break.
I kneel to both, and will speak so, but this
Takes from me th’ authority of a mothers power;
And therefore, like my self, Otto, to thee,
(And yet observe, son, how thy mothers tears
Outstrip her forward words, to make way for ’em)
Thou art the younger, Ottoy yet be now
The first example of obedience to me,
And grow the elder in my love.
Otto. The means to be so happy?
Soph. This; yield up thy sword,
And let thy piety give thy mother strength
To take that from thee, which no enemies force
Could e’re despoil thee of: why do’st thou tremble,
And with a fearful eye fixt on thy Brother,
Observ’st his ready sword, as bent against thee?
I am thy armour, and will be pierc’d through,
Ten thousand times, before I will give way
To any peril may arrive at thee;
And therefore fear not.
Otto. ’Tis not for my self,
But for you, mother; you are now ingag’d
In more tha[n] lies in your unquestion’d vertue;
For, since you have disarm’d me of defence,
Should I fall now, though by his hand, the world
May say it was your practice.
Soph. All worlds perish,
Before my piety turn treasons parent,
Take it again, and stand upon your guard,
And while your Brother is, continue arm’d;
And yet, this fear is needless, for I know,
My Rollo, though he dares as much as man,
So tender of his yet untainted valour,
So noble, that he dares do nothing basely.
You doubt him; he fears you; I doubt and fear
Both; for others safety, and not mine own.
Know yet, my sons, when of necessity
You must deceive, or be deceiv’d; ’tis better
To suffer Treason, than to act the Traytor;
And in a War like this, in which the glory
Is his that’s overcome; consider then
What ’tis for which you strive: is it the Dukedom?
Or the command of these so ready subjects?
Desire of wealth? or whatsoever else
Fires your ambition? This still desp’rate madness,
To kill the people which you would be Lords of;
With fire, and sword to lay that Country waste
Whose rule you seek for: to con
sume the treasures,
Which are the sinews of your Government,
In cherishing the factions that destroy it:
Far, far be this from you: make it not question’d
Whether you have interest in that Dukedom,
Whose ruine both contend for.
Otto. I desire but to enjoy my own, which I will keep.
Rol. And rather than posterity shall have cause
To say I ruin’d all, divide the Dukedom,
I will accept the moiety.
Ott. I embrace it.
Soph. Divide me first, or tear me limb by limb,
And let them find as many several Graves
As there are villages in Normandy:
And ’tis less sin, than thus to weaken it.
To hear it mention’d doth already make me
Envy my dead Lord, and almost Blaspheme
Those powers that heard my prayer for fruitfulness,
And did not with my first birth close my womb:
To me alone my second blessing proves
My first of misery, for if that Heaven
Which gave me RoIlo, there had staid his bounty,
And Otto, my dear Otto, ne’re had been,
Or being, had not been so worth my love,
The stream of my affection had run constant
In one fair current, all my hopes had been
Laid up in one; and fruitful Normandy
In this division had not lost her glories:
For as ’tis now, ’tis a fair Diamond,
Which being preserv’d intire, exceeds all value,
But cut in pieces (though these pieces are
Set in fine gold by the best work-mans cunning)
Parts with all estimation: So this Dukedom,
As ’tis yet whole, the neighbouring Kings may covet,
But cannot compass; which divided, will
Become the spoil of every barbarous foe
That will invade it.
Gis. How this works in both!
Bal. Prince Rollo’s eyes have lost their fire.
Gis. And anger, that but now wholly possessed
Good Otto, hath given place to pity. ‘(begun.
Aub. End not thus Madam, but perfect what’s so well
Soph. I see in both, fair signs of reconcilement,
Make them sure proofs they are so: the Fates offer
To your free choice, either to live Examples
Of Piety, or wickedness: if the later
Blinds so your understanding, that you cannot
Pierce through her painted out-side, and discover
That she is all deformity within,
Boldly transcend all precedents of mischief,
And let the last, and the worst end of tyrannies,
The murther of a Mother, but begin
The stain of bloud you after are to heighten:
But if that vertue, and her sure rewards,
Can win you to accept her for your guide,
To lead you up to Heaven, and there fix you
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 221
