A Select Collection of Old English Plays Part 33

Here lies her trial; from this royal breast Hath she stolen all comfort--all the life Of every bosom in the realm of Spain.

ROD. She's both a traitor and [a] murd'ress.

QUEEN-M. I'll have her forthwith strangled.

ALV. Hear her speak.

QUEEN-M. To heaven let her complain, if she have wrong; I murder but the murd'ress of my son.

ALL. We murder [but] the murd'ress of our king.[62]

ALV. Ah me! my child! O, O, cease your torturing!

MARIA. Heaven ope your windows, that my spotless soul, Riding upon the wings of innocence, May enter Paradise. Fairies, farewell; Fernando's death in mine you did foretell.

[_She dies._ KING _wakes_.

KING. Who calls Fernando? Love--Maria, speak; O, whither art thou fled? Whence flow these waters, That fall like winter-storms from the drown'd eyes?

ALV. From my Maria's death.

KING. My Maria dead!

d.a.m.n'd be the soul to h.e.l.l that stopp'd her breath.

Maria! O me! who durst murder thee?

QUEEN-M. I thought my dear Fernando had been dead, And in my indignation murder'd her.

KING. I was not dead, until you murder'd me By killing fair Maria.

QUEEN-M. Gentle son----

KING. Ungentle mother, you a deed have done Of so much ruth, that no succeeding age Can ever clear you of. O my dear love!

Yet heavens can witness thou wert never mine.

Spain's wonder was Maria.

QUEEN-M. Sweet, have done.

KING. Have done! for what? For shedding zealous tears Over the tomb of virtuous chast.i.ty?

You cry _Have done_, now I am doing good; But cried _Do on_, when you were shedding blood.

Have you done, mother? Yes, yes, you have done That which will undo your unhappy son.

ROD. These words become you not, my gracious lord.

KING. These words become not me! no more it did Become you, lords, to be mute standers-by, When l.u.s.tful fury ravish'd chast.i.ty: It ill becomes me to lament her death; But it became you well to stop her breath!

Had she been fair, and not so virtuous, This deed had not been half so impious.

ALV. But she was fair in virtue, virtuous fair. O me!

KING. O me! she was true honour's heir.

Hence, beldam, from my presence! all, fly hence; You are all murderers. Come, poor innocent, Clasp thy cold hand in mine; for here I'll lie, And since I liv'd for her, for her I'll die.

SCENE IV.

_Enter_ ELEAZAR _with a torch, his rapier drawn_.

ELE. Bar up my castle gates! fire and confusion Shall girt these Spanish curs. Was I for this Sent to raise power against a fugitive?

To have my wife deflower'd? Zounds! where's my wife?

My slaves cry out she's dallying with the king: Stand by; where is your king? Eleazar's bed Shall scorn to be an Emperor's brothelry.

QUEEN-M. Be patient, Eleazar; here's the king.

ELE. Patience and I am foes. Where's my Maria?

ALV. Here is her hapless corse, that was Maria.

KING. Here lies Maria's body, here her grave, Her dead heart in my breast a tomb shall have.

ELE. Now, by the proud complexion of my cheeks, Ta'en from the kisses of the amorous sun, Were he ten thousand kings that slew my love, Thus should my hand, plum'd with revenge's wings, Requite mine own dishonour and her death.

[_Stabs the_ KING.

QUEEN-M. Ah me! my son!

ALL. The king is murder'd!

Lay hold on the d.a.m.n'd traitor.

ELE. In his breast, That dares but dart a finger at the Moor, I'll bury this sharp steel, yet reeking warm With the unchas'd[63] blood of that lecher-king, That threw my wife in an untimely grave.

ALV. She was my daughter, and her timeless grave Did swallow down my joys as deep as yours.

But thus----

ELE. But what? Bear injuries that can: I'll wear no forked crest.

ROD. d.a.m.n this black fiend! cry treason through the court: The king is murder'd.

ELE. He that first opes his lips, I'll drive his words Down his wide throat upon my rapier's point.

The king is murder'd, and I'll answer it.

I am dishonour'd, and I will revenge it.

Bend not your dangerous weapons at my breast; Think where you are: this castle is the Moor's; You are environ'd with a wall of flint, The gates are lock'd, portcullises let down; If Eleazar spend one drop of blood,

[ZARACK _and_ BALTHAZAR _above with calivers_.[64]]

On those high turret-tops my slaves stand arm'd, And shall confound your souls with murd'ring shot: Or if you murder me, yet underground A villain, that for me will dig to h.e.l.l, Stands with a burning linstock in his fist, Who, firing gunpowder, up in the air Shall fling your torn and mangled carcases.

QUEEN-M. O, sheathe your weapons: though my son be slain, Yet save yourselves; choose a new sovereign.

ALL. Prince Philip is our sovereign, choose him king!