A Select Collection of Old English Plays Part 25

QUEEN-M. Sweet son.

PHIL. Sweet mother: O, how I now do shame To lay on one so foul so fair a name: Had you been a true mother, a true wife, This king had not so soon been robb'd of life.

QUEEN-M. What means this rage, my son?

PHIL. Call not me your son.

My father, whil'st he liv'd, tir'd his strong arms In bearing Christian armour 'gainst the Turks, And spent his brains in warlike stratagems To bring confusion on d.a.m.n'd infidels: Whilst you, that snorted here at home, betray'd His name to everlasting infamy; Whilst you at home suffer'd his bedchamber To be a brothelry; whilst you at home Suffer'd his queen to be a concubine, And wanton red-cheek'd boys to be her bawds; Whilst she, reeking in that lecher's arms----

ELE. Me!

PHIL. Villain, 'tis thee; Thou h.e.l.l-begotten fiend, at thee I stare.

QUEEN-M. Philip, thou art a villain to dishonour me.

PHIL. Mother, I am no villain: 'tis this villain Dishonours you and me, dishonours Spain, Dishonours all these lords; this devil is he, That----

ELE. What! O, pardon me, I must throw off All chains of duty, wert thou ten kings' sons; Had I as many souls as I have sins, As this from hence, so they from this should fly, In just revenge of this indignity.

PHIL. Give way, or I'll make way upon your bosoms.

ELE. Did my dear sovereign live, sirrah, that tongue----

QUEEN-M. Did but King Philip live, traitor, I'd tell----

PHIL. A tale that should rid both your souls to h.e.l.l.

Tell Philip's ghost, that Philip tells his queen, That Philip's queen is a Moor's concubine; Did the king live, I'd tell him how you two Ripp'd up the entrails of his treasury With masques and antic revellings.

ELE. Words insupportable! dost hear me, boy?

QUEEN-M. Stand you all still, and see me thus trod down?

PHIL. Stand you all still, yet let this devil stand here?

MEN. Forbear, sweet prince. Eleazar, I am now Protector to Fernando, King of Spain; By that authority, and by consent Of all these peers, I utterly deprive thee Of all those royalties thou holdst in Spain.

QUEEN-M. Cardinal, who lends thee this commission?

ELE. Cardinal, I'll shorten thee by the head for this.

PHIL. Forward, my Lord Mendoza; d.a.m.n the fiend.

ELE. Princes of Spain, consent you to this pride?

ALL. We do.

QUEEN-M. For what cause? Let his faith be tried.

MEN. His treasons need no trial, they're too plain.

Come not within the court; for, if you do, To beg with Indian slaves I'll banish you.

[_Exeunt all but_ ALVERO, QUEEN _and_ ELEAZAR.

SCENE IV.

ALV. Why should my son be banished?

_Enter_ MARIA.

QUEEN-M. Of that dispute not now. Alvero, I'll to the king my son; it shall be tried, If Castile's king can cool a cardinal's pride.

[_Exeunt_ QUEEN _and_ ALVERO.

ELE. If I digest this gall--O my Maria, I am whipp'd, and rack'd, and torn upon the wheel Of giddy Fortune; she and her minions Have got me down, and treading on my bosom, They cry, _Lie still_: the cardinal (O rare!) would bandy me away from Spain, And banish me to beg--ay, beg with slaves.

MARIA. Conquer with patience these indignities.

ELE. Patience! ha, ha! yes, yes, an honest cardinal!

MARIA. Yet smother [still] the grief, and seek revenge.

ELE. Ha! banish me! s'foot, why, say they do, There's Portugal--a good air, and France--a fine country, Or Barbary--rich, and has Moors; the Turk, Pure devil, and allows enough to fat The sides of villany--good living there!

I can live there, and there, and there; Troth, 'tis a villain can live anywhere.

But say I go from hence: I leave behind me A cardinal that will laugh; I leave behind me A Philip that will clap his hands for joy.

And dance lavoltoes through the Castile court; But the deep'st wound of all is this, I leave My wrongs, dishonours, and my discontents-- O, unreveng'd; my bedrid enemies Shall never be rais'd up by the strong physical Curing of my sword; therefore stay still; Many have hearts to strike, that dare not kill Leave me, Maria. Cardinal, this disgrace Shall dye thy soul as inky as my face.

Pish!--hence, Maria.

_Enter_ ALVERO.

MARIA. To the king I'll fly, He shall revenge my lord's indignity.

[_Exit._

ALV. Mendoza woos the king to banish thee.

Startle thy wonted spirits, awake thy soul, And on thy resolution fasten wings, Whose golden feathers may outstrip their hate.

ELE. I'll tie no golden feathers to my wings.

ALV. Shall they thus tread thee down, which once were glad To lacquey by thy conquering chariot-wheels?

ELE. I care not: I can swallow more sour wrongs.

ALV. If they triumph o'er thee, they'll spurn me down.

ELE. Look: spurn again!

ALV. What ice hath cool'd that fire, Which sometimes made thy thoughts to heaven aspire?

This patience had not wont to dwell with thee.