A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 11

MACH. It is not ripe, my love.

The king, I hear, applauds my justice; Wherefore I've sent order that Count Antonio, Once being taken, be sent to Filford Mill; There ground to death.

AUR. What for his sister?

MACH. Thy envy: she I have banish'd; And her goods, to guard a shower of curses From my head, I have given the poor.

AUR. Good policy, let's home to our designs: I hate to be officious, yet my frown Shall be dissolv'd to flattery for a crown.

[_Exit._

MACH. Attend your lady. So, her forward spleen, Tickled with thought of greatness makes the scene Attempts run smooth: the haughty Moor shall be The ladder, on whose servile back I'll mount To greatness. If calm peace deny me easy way, Rough war shall force it; which done, Raymond And his Philippa must go seek an empire in Elysium; for to rule predominant belongs Alone to me: slaves are unworthy rule, What state would set a crown upon a mule?

[_Exit._

ANTONIO, _disguised, sitting in a closet_.

ANT. My soul is heavy, and my eyelids feel The weighty power of lazy Morpheus: Each element, that breathes a life within me, Runs a contrary course, and conspire[s]

To counterfeit a chaos: whilst the frame And weak supporters of my inward man Crack as beneath the weight of Atlas' burthen.

A sudden change! how my blear'd eyelids strive To force a sleep 'gainst nature! O you powers, That rule the better thoughts, if you have ought To act on my frail body, let it be With eagles' speed, or, if your wills so please, Let my forepa.s.s'd and undigested wrongs O'erwhelm my thoughts, and sink me to the ground With their no less than death's remembrances.

Cease, b.a.s.t.a.r.d slave, to clog my senses With the leaden weights of an unwilling sleep, Unless thy raw-bon'd brother join his force, And make a separation 'twixt My airy soul and my all-earthly body; I am o'ercome; Heaven work your wills; My breath submits to this, as 'twould submit to death.

[_Sleeps._

_Soft music_; LOVE _descends half-way, then speaks_.

LOVE. Sleep, entranced man, but be Wakeful in thy fancy; see, Love hath left his palace fair, And beats his wings against the air, To ease thy panting breast of ill: Love's a physician, and his[25] will Must be obey'd: therefore with haste To Flanders fly; the echoing blast Of fame shall usher thee along, And leave thee pester'd in a throng Of searching troubles, which shall be But bugbears to thy constancy.

_Enter from one side Death, and from the other side_ AURELIA; _Death strikes three times at_ ANTONIO, _and_ AURELIA _diverts it_. _Exeunt severally._

What this same shadow seems to be, In Flanders thou shalt real see; The maid that seem'd to conquer death, And give thee longer lease of breath, Doats on thy air; report hath been Lavish in praising thee unseen.

Make haste to Flanders; time will be Accus'd of slothfulness, if she Be longer tortur'd: do not stay, My power shall guide thee on the way.

[_Ascendat._[26]

_Enter_ GIOVANNO _and the_ OLD TAILOR.

GIO. He is asleep.

O. TAI. See how he struggles, as if some visions had a.s.sum'd a fuller shape of horror than His troubled thoughts.[27]

GIO. His conscience gripes him to [a] purpose: See, [see,] he wakes; let us observe.

ANT. Stay, gentle pow'r, leave hostage that thy promise Thou wilt perform, and I will offer to Thy deity More than my lazy heart has offer'd yet.

But stay, Antonio, can thy easy faith Give credit to a dream? an airy vision, Fram'd by a strangeling[28] fancy, to delude weak sense With a gay nothing? Recollect thyself; Advise thee by thy fears; it may force hence This midnight's shade of grief, and gild It with a morn as full of joy as does Bright Phoebus to our eastern world, when blushing He arises from the lap of sea-green Thetis To give a new day birth.

GIO. Why, how now, friend? what, talking to thyself?

ANT. O Giovanno, 'tis my unpartial thoughts, That rise in war against my guilty conscience; O, it stings me!

O. TAI. Be more a man, shrink not beneath a weight So light a child may bear it; for, believe me, If my prophetic fear deceive me not, You'd done an act Spain should for ever praise, Had you kill'd Machiavel too.

ANT. As how, good master--I must call you so?

This is your livery.

O. TAI. O, y' are a n.o.ble tailor. But to Machiavel-- It was my chance, being sent for by his wife To take the measure of their n.o.ble prisoner, Who, when I came, was busy being plac'd Into a room, where I might easily hear Them talk of crowns and kingdoms, And of two that should be partners in this End of Spain.

GIO. Who were they?

O. TAI. Machiavel and Raymond! At last Machiavel laugh'd, Saying: for this I made the governor To cross Antonio at the council-board; Knowing that one must, if not both, should die.

ANT. Did he say this?

O. TAI. He did, and added more, [and] under A feigned show of love to justice, [He] banished your sister.

GIO. Is Evadne banish'd?

O. TAI. She is; and, as I guess, to Flanders; Her woman too has left her.

ANT. Nay, droop not, friend: host, pray, tell proud Mach'vel I have a sword left to chastise A traitor: come, let's go seek Evadne.

GIO. O Antonio! the sudden grief almost distracts Thy friend; but come, let's go, each several [way,]

And meet at Filford: if thou findest Evadne, Bear her unto the castle.

[_Exit._

ANT. Farewell, good master.

[_Exit._

O. TAI. O, you honour me.

Bootless were all persuasions, they'll not stay.

I'll to the king; this treason may become, Like a disease, out of the reach of physic, And may infect past cure, if let alone.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ RAYMOND _and_ PHILIPPA.

PHIL. Erect thy head, my Raymond; be more tall Than daring Atlas, but more safely wise: Sustain no burthen but the politic care Of being great: till thou achieve the city's Axletree, and wave it as thou list.

RAY. Hast thou no skill in magic, that thou fall'st So just upon my thoughts? thy tongue is tipp'd Like nature's miracle, that draws the steel With unresisted violence: I cannot keep A secret to myself, but thy prevailing Rhetoric ravishes and leaves my breast Like to an empty casket, That once was bless'd with keeping of a jewel I durst not trust the air with, 'twas so precious: Pray, be careful.

PHIL. You do not doubt me?

RAY. No, were you a woman made of such coa.r.s.e ingredients as the common, which in our trivial phrase we call mere women, I would not trust thee with a cause so weighty, that the discovery did endanger this--this hair that, when 'tis gone, a lynx's [eye]

cannot miss it: but you are--I want expressions, 'tis not common words can speak you truly--you are more than woman.

PHIL. My lord, you know my temper, and how to win upon my heart.

RAY. I must be gone, and post a messenger: France must supply what wants to make thee great-- An army, my Philippa, which these people, Snoring in pride of their last victory, Do not so much as dream on: Nor shall, till they be forced to yield their voices At our election; which will be ere long.