A Select Collection of Old English Plays Part 20

_Enter_ PHILIPPA _mad_.

PHIL. I come, I come; nay, fly not, for by h.e.l.l I'll pluck thee by the beard, and drag thee thus Out of thy fiery cave. Ha! on yonder hill Stand troops of devils waiting for my soul: But I'll deceive 'em, and, instead of mine, Send this same spotted tiger's.

[_Stabs_ AURISTELLA.

AUR. O!

PHIL. So, whilst they to h.e.l.l Are posting with their prize, I'll steal to heaven: Wolf, dost thou grin? ha! is my Raymond dead?

So ho, so ho! come back You sooty fiends, that have my Raymond's soul, Or[46] lay it down, or I will force you do't: No, won't you stir? by Styx, I'll bait you for't: Where is my crown? Philippa was a queen, Was she not, ha? Why so, where is my crown?

O, you have hid it--ha, was't thou

[_Overthrows the table._

That robb'd Philippa of her Raymond's life?

Nay, I will nip your wings, you shall not fly; I'll pluck you by the guarded front, and thus Sink you to h.e.l.l before me.

[_Stabs the_ BRAVO.

BRAVO. O, O!

PHIL. What, down, ho, ho, ho!

Laugh, laugh, you souls that fry in endless flames; Ha, whence this chilness--must I die? Nay, then I come, I come; nay, weep not, for I come: Sleep, injur'd shadow; O, death strikes [me] dumb!

[_Dies._

AUR. Machi'vel, thy hand, I can't repent, farewell: My burthened conscience sinks me down to h.e.l.l.

[_Dies._

MACH. I cannot tarry long, farewell; we'll meet, Where we shall never part: if here be any My life has injur'd, let your charity Forgive declining Machi'vel: I'm sorry.

ANT. His penitence works strongly on my temper.

Off, disguise; see, falling count, Antonio forgives thee.

MACH. Antonio? O my shame!

Can you, whom I have injur'd most, pardon my guilt?

Give me thy hand yet nearer: this embrace Betrays thee to thy death: ha, ha, ha!

[_Stabs him._

So weeps the Egyptian monster when it kills, Wash'd in a flood of tears; couldst ever think Machi'vel's repentance could come from his heart?

No, down, Colossus, author of my sin, And bear the burthen mingled with thine own, To finish thy d.a.m.nation.

_Enter the_ KING, AURELIA, EVADNE, OLD TAILOR.

KING. Accursed villain! thou hast murther'd him, That holds not one small drop of royal blood, But what is worth thy life.

EVAD. O my brother!

GIO. Give him some air, the wound cannot be mortal.

AUR. Alas! he faints: O my Antonio!

Curs'd Machi'vel, may thy soul----

ANT. Peace, peace, Aurelia; be more merciful: Men are apt to censure, and will condemn Thy pa.s.sion, call it madness, and say thou Want'st religion: nay, weep not, sweet, For every one must die: it was thy love For to deceive the law, and give me life: But death, you see, has reach'd me: O, I die; Blood must have blood, so speaks the law of heaven: I slew the governor; for which rash deed Heaven, fate, and man thus make Antonio bleed.

[_Dies._

MACH. Sleep, sleep, great heart, thy virtue made me ill: Authors of vice, 'tis fit the vicious kill: But yet forgive me: O, my once great heart Dissolves like snow, and lessens to a rheum, Cold as the envious blasts of northern wind: World, how I lov'd thee, 'twere a sin to boast; Farewell, I now must leave thee; [for] my life Grows empty with my veins: I cannot stand; my breath Is, as my strength, weak; and both seiz'd by death.

Farewell, ambition! catching at a crown, Death tripp'd me up, and headlong threw me down.

[_Dies._

KING. So falls an exhalation from the sky, And's never miss'd because unnatural; A birth begotten by incorporate ill; Whose usher to the gazing world is wonder.

_Enter_ PETRUCHIO.

Alas! good man, thou'rt come unto a sight Will try thy temper, whether joy or grief Shall conquer most within thee; joy lies here, Scatter'd in many heaps: these, when they liv'd, Threaten'd to tear this balsam from our brow, And rob our majesty of this elixir.

[_Points to his crown._

Is't not my right? Was I not heir to Spain?

PET. You are our prince, and may you live Long to enjoy your right!

KING. But now look here, 'tis plain grief has a hand Harder than joy; it presses out such tears.

Nay, rise.

PET. I do beseech your grace not to think me Contriver of Antonio's 'scape from death; 'Twas my disloyal daughter's breach of duty.

KING. That's long since pardon'd.

PET. You're still merciful.

KING. Antonio was thy son; I sent for thee For to confirm it, but he is dead: Be merciful, and do not curse the hand That gave it him, though it deserve it.

AUR. O my griefs, are you not strong enough To break my heart? Pray, tell me--tell me true Can it be thought a sin? or is it so By my own hand to ease my breast of woe?

KING. Alas! poor lady, rise; thy father's here.

PET. Look up, Aurelia; ha! why do you kneel?

[_To_ GIOVANNO.

GIO. For a blessing.

PET. Why she is not Aurelia----do not mock me.