And to redress the mischiefs now resistless,
Sooth it in shew, rather than curse or cross it;
Which all amends, and vow to it your best,
But till you may perform it, let it rest.
Gis. Those temporizings are too dull and servile,
To breath the free air of a manly soul,
Which shall in me expire in execrations,
Before for any life I sooth a murtherer.
Bal. Pour lives before him, till his own be dry
Of all lives services and humane comforts;
None left that looks at heaven is half so base
To do those black and hellish adtions grace.
Enter Rollo, Lat. Ham and Guard.
Rol. Haste Latorch
And raise the Citie as the Court is rais’d,
Proclaiming the abhor’d conspiracy
In plot against my life.
Lat. I haste my Lord. [Exit.
Rol. You there that mourn upon the justly slain,
Arise and leave it if you love your lives,
And hear from me what (kept by you) may save you.
Mat. What will the Butcher do? I will not stir.
Rol. Stir, and unforc’t stir, or stir never more:
Command her, you grave Beldam, that know better
My deadly resolutions, since I drew them
From the infective fountain of your own,
Or if you have forgot, this fiery prompter
Shall fix the fresh impression on your heart.
Sop. Rise Daughter, serve his will in what we may,
Lest what we may not he enforce the rather,
Is this all you command us?
Rol. This addition only admitted, that when I endeavour
To quit me of this slaughter, you presume not
To cross me with a syllable for your souls;
Murmur, nor think against it, but weigh well,
It will not help your ill, but help to more,
And that my hand wrought thus far to my will,
Will check at nothing till his circle fill.
Mat. Fill it, so I consent not, but who sooths it
Consents, and who consents to tyrannie, does it.
Rol. False traytress die then with him. ‘(self
Aub. Are you mad, to offer at more blood, and make your
More horrid to your people? I’le proclaim,
It is not as your instrument will publish.
Rol. Do, and take that along with you — so nimble!
Resign my sword, and dare not for thy soul
To offer what thou insolently threatnest;
One word, proclaiming cross to what Latorch
Hath in Commission, and intends to publish.
Aub. Well, Sir, not for your threats, but for your good,
Since more hurt to you would more hurt your Country,
And that you must make Vertue of the need
That now compels you, I’ll consent as far
As silence argues to your will proclaimed:
And since no more Sons of your Princely Father
Survive to rule but you, and that I wish
You should rule like your Father, with the love
And zeal of all your Subjects; this foul slaughter
That now you have committed made ashamed
With that fair blessing, that in place of plagues,
Heaven trys our mending disposition with:
Take here your sword, which now use like a Prince,
And no more like a Tyrant.
Rol. This sounds well, live and be gracious with us.
Gis and Bal. Oh Lord Aubrey.
Mat. He flatter thus?
Sop. He temporizes fitly.
Rol. Wonder invades me; do you two think much,
That he thus wisely, and with need consents
To what I authour for your Countries good?
You being my Tutor, you my Chancellour.
Gis. Your Chancellour is not your Flatterer, Sir.
Bal. Nor is it your Tutors part to shield such dodlrine.
Rol. Sir, first know you,
In praise of your pure Oratory that rais’d you,
That when the people, who I know by this
Are rais’d out of their rests, and hastening hither
To witness what is done here, are arrived
With our Latorch, that you, ex tempore,
Shall fashion an Oration to acquit
And justifie this forced fact of mine;
Or for the proud refusal lose your head.
Gis. I fashion an Oration to acquit you?
Sir, know you then, that ’tis a thing less easie
To excuse a parricide than to commit it.
Rol. I do not wish you, Sir, to excuse me,
But to accuse my Brother, as the cause
Of his own slaughter by attempting mine.
Gis. Not for the World, I should pour blood on blood;
It were another murther to accuse
Him that fell innocent.
Rol. Away with him, hence, hail him straight to execution.
Aub. Far flye such rigour, your amendful hand.
Rol. He perishes with him that speaks for him;
Guard do your office on him, on your lives pain.
Gis. Tyrant, ‘twill haste thy own death.
Rol. Let it wing it,
He threatens me, Villains tear him piece-meal hence.
Guard. Avant Sir.
Ham. Force him hence.
Rol. Dispatch him, Captain,
And bring me instant word he is dispatched,
And how his Rhetorick takes it.
Ham. I’ll not fail, Sir.
Rol. Captain, besides remember this in chief;
That being executed, you deny
To all his friends the Rites of Funeral,
And cast his Carkass out to Dogs and Fowls.
Ham. ’Tis done, my Lord.
Rol. Upon your life not fail.
Bal. What impious daring is there here of Heaven!
Rol. Sir, now prepare your self, against the people
Make here their entry, to discharge the Oration,
He hath denied my will.
Bal. For fear of death? ha, ha, ha.
Rol. Is death ridiculous with you?
Works misery of Age this, or thy judgment?
Bal. Judgment, false Tyrant.
Rol. You’ll make no Oration then?
Bal. Not to excuse, but aggravate thy murder if thou wilt,
Which I will so enforce, I’ll make thee wreak it
(With hate of what thou win’st by’t) on thy self,
With such another justly merited murther.
Rol. I’ll answer you anon.
Enter Latorch.
Lat. The Citizens are hasting, Sir, in heaps, all full reBy my perswasion of your Brothers Treasons. ‘(solv’d,
Rol. Honest Latorch.
Enter Hamond.
Ham. See, Sir, here’s Gisberts head.
Rol. Good speed; was’t with a Sword?
Ham. An Axe, Sir.
Rol. An Axe? ’twas vilely done, I would have had
My own fine Headsman done it with a Sword;
Go, take this Dotard here, and take his head
Off with a Sword.
Ham. Your Schoolmaster?
Rol. Even he.
Bal. For teaching thee no better; ’tis the best
Of all thy damned justices; away,
Captain, I’ll follow.
Ed. Oh stay there, Duke, and in the midst of all thy blood and fury,
Hear a poor Maids Petitions, hear a Daughter,
The only Daughter of a wretched Father;
Oh stay your haste as you shall need this mercy.
Rol. Away with this fond woman.
Ed. You must hear me
If there be any spark of pity in you,
If sweet humanity and mercy rule you;
I do confess you are a Prince, your a
nger
As great as you, your Execution greater.
Rol. Away with him.
Ed. Oh Captain, by thy manhood,
By her soft soul that bare thee, I do confess, Sir,
Your doom of justice on your foes most righteous;
Good noble Prince look on me.
Rol. Take her from me.
Ed. A curse upon his life that hinders me;
May Fathers Blessing never fall upon him,
May Heaven never hear his Prayers: I beseech you,
Oh Sir, these few tears beseech you; these chast hands woo
That never yet were heav’d but to things holy ‘(you,
Things like your self, you are a god above us;
Be as a God then, full of saving mercy;
Mercy, Oh mercy, for his sake mercy;
That when your stout heart weeps shall give you pity;
Here I must grow.
Rol. By Heaven, I’ll strike thee, woman.
Ed. Most willingly, let all thy anger seek me,
All the most studied torments, so this good man,
This old man, and this innocent escape thee.
Rol. Carry him away I say.
Ed. Now blessing on thee, Oh sweet pity,
I see it in thy Eyes, I charge you Souldiers
Even by the Princes power, release my Father,
The Prince is merciful, why do you hold him?
He is old, why do you hurt him? speak, Oh speak, Sir;
Speak as you are a man; a mans life hangs, Sir,
A friends life, and a foster life upon you:
’Tis but a word, but mercy quickly spoke, Sir;
Oh speak, Prince, speak.
Rol. Will no man here obey me?
Have I no rule yet? as I live he dyes
That does not execute my will, and suddenly. ‘(me.
Bal. All that thou canst do takes but one short hour from
Rol. Hew off her hands.
Ham. Lady hold off.
Ed. Nay, hew ’em,
Hew off my innocent hands as he commands you.
[Exeunt Guard, Count Baldwin.
They’ll hang the faster on for Deaths convulsion.
Thou seed of Rocks, will nothing move thee then?
Are all my tears lost? all my righteous Prayers
Drown’d in thy drunken wrath? I stand thus then,
Thus boldly, bloody Tyrant,
And to thy face in Heavens high Name defie thee;
And may sweet mercy when thy soul sighs for it,
When under thy black mischiefs thy flesh trembles,
When neither strength, nor youth, nor friends, nor gold
Can stay one hour, when thy most wretched Conscience
Wak’d from her dream of death, like fire shall melt thee,
When all thy Mothers tears, thy Brothers wounds,
Thy Peoples fears and curses, and my loss,
My aged fathers loss shall stand before thee.
Rol. Save him I say, run, save him, save her Father,
Fly, and redeem his head. [Exit Latorch.
Ed. May then that pity,
That comfort thou expedt’st from Heaven, that mercy
Be lockt up from thee, fly thee, howling find thee,
Despair, Oh my sweet father, storms of terrours,
Blood till thou burst again.
Rol. Oh fair sweet anger.
Enter Latorch and Hamond with a Head.
Lat. I am too late, Sir, ’twas dispatch’d before,
And his Head is here.
Rol. And my Heart there; go bury him,
Give him fair Rites of Funeral, decent Honours.
Ed. Wilt thou not take me, Monster? highest Heaven
Give him a punishment fit for his mischief.
Lat. I fear thy Prayer is heard, and he rewarded:
Lady, have patience, ’twas unhappy speed;
Blame not the Duke, ’twas not his fault, but Fates;
He sent, you know, to stay it, and commanded
In care of you, the heavy object hence
Soon as it came: have better thoughts of him.
Enter Citizens.
1 Cit. Where’s this young Traytor?
Lat. Noble Citizens, here,
And here the wounds he gave your soveraign Lord.
1 Cit. This Prince of force must be
Belov’d of Heaven, whom Heaven hath thus preserv’d.
2 Cit. And if he be belov’d of Heaven, you know,
He must be just, and all his actions so.
Rol. Concluded like an Oracle, Oh how great
A grace of Heaven is a wise Citizen!
For Heaven ’tis makes ’em wise, as’t makes me just,
As it preserves me, as I now survive
By his strong hand to keep you all alive:
Your Wives, your Children, Goods and Lands kept yours,
That had been else preys to his tyrannous Power,
That would have prey’d on me, in Bed assaulted me
In sacred time of Peace; my Mother here,
My Sister, this just Lord, and all had felt
The certain Gulph of this Conspiracy,
Of which my Tutor and my Chancellour,
(Two of the gravest, and most counted honest
In all my Dukedom) were the monstrous Heads;
Oh trust no honest men for their sakes ever,
My politick Citizens, but those that breathe
The Names of Cut-throats, Usurers and Tyrants,
Oh those believe in, for the foul-mouth’d World
Can give no better terms to simple goodness:
Even me it dares blaspheme, and thinks me tyrannous
For saving my own life sought by my Brother;
Yet those that sought his life before by poyson
(Though mine own servants, hoping to please me)
I’ll lead to death for’t, which your Eyes shall see.
1 Cit. Why, what a Prince is here!
2 Cit. How just!
3 Cit. How gentle!
Rol. Well, now my dearest Subjects, or much rather
My Nerves, my Spirits, or my vital Blood;
Turn to your needful rests, and setled peace,
Fix’d in this root of steel, from whence it sprung
In Heavens great help and Blessing: but ere sleep
Bind in his sweet oblivion your dull senses,
The Name and Vertue of Heavens King advance
For yours, in chief, for my deliverance.
Cit. Heaven and his King save our most pious Soveraign.
[Exeunt Citizens.
Rol. Thanks my good people. Mother, and kind Sister,
And you my noble Kinsmen, things born thus
Shall make ye all command what ever I
Enjoy in this my absolute Empire,
Take in the Body of my Princely Brother,
For whose Death, since his Fate no other way
Would give my eldest birth his supream Right;
We’ll mourn the cruel influence it bears,
And wash his Sepulchre with kindly tears.
Aub. If this game end thus, Heavens will rule the set.
What we have yielded to, we could not let.
[Exeunt omnes prater Latorch, and Edith.
Lat. Good Lady rise, and raise your Spirits withal,
More high than they are humbled; you have cause,
As much as ever honour’d happiest Lady;
And when your Ears are freer to take in
Your most amendful and unmatched fortunes,
I’ll make you drown a hundred helpless deaths
In Sea of one life pour’d into your Bosome;
With which shall flow into your arms, the Riches,
The Pleasures, Honours, and the rules of Princes;
Which though death stop your ears, methinks should open ’em,
Assay to forget death.
Ed. Oh slaughter’d Father.
Lat. Taste of what cannot be redress
’d, and bless
The Fate that yet you curse so; since for that
You spake so movingly, and your sweet eyes
With so much Grace fill’d, that you set on fire
The Dukes affection, whom you now may rule
As he rules all his Dukedome, is’t not sweet?
Does it not shine away your sorrows Clouds?
Sweet Lady, take wise heart, and hear and tell me.
Ed. I hear no word you speak.
Lat. Prepare to hear then,
And be not barr’d up from your self, nor add
To your ill fortune with your far worse judgment;
Make me your servant to attend with all joys,
Your sad estate, till they both bless and speak it:
See how they’ll bow to you, make me wait, command me
To watch out every minute, for the stay
Your modest sorrow fancies, raise your graces,
And do my hopes the honour of your motion,
To all the offered heights that now attend you:
Oh how your touches ravish! how the Duke
Is slain already with your flames embrac’d!
I will both serve and visit you, and often.
Ed. I am not fit, Sir.
Lat. Time will make you, Lady.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter the Guard, 3 or 4 Boys, then the Sheriff, Cook,
Yeoman of the Cellar, Butler, Pantler to execution.
1 Guard. Come, bring in these fellows, on, away with ’em.
2 Guard. Make room before there, room for the Prisoners.
1 Boy. Let’s run before, Boys, we shall have no places else.
2 Boy. Are these the youths?
Cook. These are the youths you look for,
And, pray my honest friends, be not so hasty,
There will be nothing done till we come, I assure you.
1 Boy. Here’s a wise hanging; are there no more?
Butl. Do you hear, Sir? you may come in for your share if you please.
Cook. My friend, if you be unprovided of a hanging,
You look like a good fellow, I can afford you
A reasonable penny-worth.
2 Boy. Afore, afore, Boys, here’s enough to make us sport.
Yeom.’Pox take you,
Do you call this sport? are these your recreations?
Must we be hang’d to make you mirth?
Cook. Do you hear?
You Custard Pate, we go to’t for high Treason,
An honourable fault: thy foolish Father
Was hang’d for stealing Sheep.
Boys. Away, away, Boys.
Cook. Do you see how that sneaking Rogue looks now?
You, Chip, Pantier, you peaking Rogue, that provided us
these Necklaces; you poor Rogue, you costive Rogue, you.
Pant. Pray, pray, fellows.
Cook.’Pray for thy crusty soul? where’s your reward now,
Goodman Manchet, for your fine discovery?
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 224
