A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 5

VER. How, master, to the wars?

O. TAI. Ay, to the wars, Vermin; what say'st thou to that?

VER. Nothing, but that I had rather stay at home: O, the good penny-bread at breakfasts that I shall lose! Master, good master, let me alone to live with honest John, n.o.ble John Black.

2D TAI. Wilt thou disgrace thy worthy calling, Vermin?

VER. No, but I am afraid my calling will disgrace me: I shall be gaping for my morning's loaf and dram of ale, I shall; and now and then look for a cabbage-leaf or an odd remnant to clothe my bashful b.u.t.tocks.

O. TAI. You shall.

VER. Yes, marry; why, I hope poor Vermin must be fed, and will be fed, or I'll torment you.

GIO. Master, I take privilege from your love to hearten on my fellows.

O. TAI. Ay, ay, do, do, good boy.

[_Exit._

GIO. Come, my bold fellows, let us eternise, For our country's good, some n.o.ble act, That may by time be regist'red at full: And as the year renews, so shall our fame Be fresh to after-times: the tailor's name, So much trod under and the scorn of all, Shall by this act be high, whilst others fall.

3D TAI. Come, Vermin, come.

VER. Nay, if Vermin slip from the back of a tailor, spit him with a Spanish needle: or torment him in the louse's engine--your two thumb-nails.

[_Exit all but_ GIOVANNO.

GIO. The city's sieged, and thou thus chain'd In airy fetters of a lady's love!

It must not be: stay, 'tis Evadne's love; Her life is with the city ruined, if The French become victorious: Evadne must not die: her chaster name, That once made cold, now doth my blood inflame.

[_Exit._

ACT II., SCENE 1.

_A table and chairs._

_Enter_ (_after a shout crying_ ANTONIO) _the_ GOVERNOR _and_ COUNT MACHIAVEL.

GOV. h.e.l.l take their s.p.a.cious throats! we shall ere long Be pointed as a prodigy!

Antonio is the man they load with praise, And we stand as a cypher to advance Him by a number higher.

MACH. Now, Mach'vel, plot his ruin.

[_Aside._

It is not to be borne; are not you our Master's subst.i.tute? then why should he Usurp a privilege without your leave To preach unto the people a doctrine They ought not hear?

He incites 'em not to obey your charge, Unless it be to knit a friendly league With the opposing French, laying before 'em A troop of feigned dangers will ensue, If we do bid 'em battle.

GOV. Dares he do this?

MACH. 'Tis done already; Smother your anger, and you shall see here At the council-board he'll break into a Pa.s.sion, which [_Aside_] I'll provoke him to.

_To them_ ANTONIO, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, _and_ PANDOLPHO: _they sit in council_.

GOV. Never more need, my worthy partners in The dangerous brunts of iron war, had we Of counsel: the hot-reined French, led by That haughty Moor, upon whose sword sits victory Enthroned, daily increase; And, like the army of another Xerxes, Make the o'erburthen'd earth groan at their weight.

We cannot long hold out; nor have we hope Our royal master can raise up their siege, Ere we be forc'd to yield: My lord, your counsel; 'tis a desperate grief.

MACH. And must, my lord, find undelay'd release?

n.o.ble commanders, since that war's grim G.o.d, After our sacrifice of many lives, Neglects our offerings, and repays our service With loss; 'tis good to deal with policy.

He's no true soldier, that deals heedless blows With the endangering of his life; and may Walk in a shade of safety, yet o'erthrow His towering enemy.

Great Alexander made the then known world Slave to his powerful will more by the help Of politic wit Than by the rough compulsion of the sword.

Troy, that endur'd the Grecians ten years' siege, By policy was fir'd, and became like to A lofty beacon all on flame.

GOV. Hum, hum!

MACH. Suppose the French be mark'd for conquerors?

Stars have been cross'd, when at a natural birth They dart prodigious beams; their influence, Like to the flame of a new-lighted taper, Has with the breath of policy been blown Out,--even to nothing.

FUL. Hum, hum!

ALER. This has been studied.

[_Aside._]

PAN. He's almost out.

[_Aside._]

GOV. Good.

But to the matter. You counsel?

MACH. 'Tis this, my lord, That straight, before the French have pitched their tents, Or rais'd a work before our city walls-- As yet their ships have not o'erspread the sea-- We send a regiment, that may with speed Land on the marshes, and begirt their backs, Whilst we open our gates, and with a strong a.s.sault Force 'em retreat into the arms of death: So the revengeful earth shall be their tomb, That did erewhile trample her teeming womb.

GOV. Machiavel speaks oracle; what says Antonio?

ANT. Nothing.

GOV. How?

ANT. Nothing.

MACH. It takes; revenge, I hug thee; young lord, thou art lost.

[_Aside._