Philaster Part 18

_Are_. Sir, if you love it in plain truth, For there is no Masking in't; This Gentleman The prisoner that you gave me is become My keeper, and through all the bitter throws Your jealousies and his ill fate have wrought him, Thus n.o.bly hath he strangled, and at length Arriv'd here my dear Husband.

_King_. Your dear Husband! call in The Captain of the Cittadel; There you shall keep Your Wedding. I'le provide a Mask shall make Your Hymen turn his Saffron into a sullen Coat, And sing sad Requiems to your departing souls: Bloud shall put out your Torches, and instead Of gaudy flowers about your wanton necks, An Ax shall hang like a prodigious Meteor Ready to crop your loves sweets. Hear you G.o.ds: From this time do I shake all t.i.tle off, Of Father to this woman, this base woman, And what there is of vengeance, in a Lion Cast amongst Dogs, or rob'd of his dear young, The same inforc't more terrible, more mighty, Expect from me.

_Are_. Sir, By that little life I have left to swear by, There's nothing that can stir me from my self.

What I have done, I have done without repentance, For death can be no Bug-bear unto me, So long as _Pharamond_ is not my headsman.

_Di_. Sweet peace upon thy soul, thou worthy maid When ere thou dyest; for this time I'le excuse thee, Or be thy Prologue.

_Phi_. Sir, let me speak next, And let my dying words be better with you Than my dull living actions; if you aime At the dear life of this sweet Innocent, Y'are a Tyrant and a savage Monster; Your memory shall be as foul behind you As you are living, all your better deeds Shall be in water writ, but this in Marble: No Chronicle shall speak you, though your own, But for the shame of men. No Monument (Though high and big as _Pelion_) shall be able To cover this base murther; make it rich With Bra.s.s, with purest Gold, and shining Jasper, Like the Pyramids, lay on Epitaphs, Such as make great men G.o.ds; my little marble (That only cloaths my ashes, not my faults) Shall far out shine it: And for after issues Think not so madly of the heavenly wisdoms, That they will give you more, for your mad rage To cut off, unless it be some Snake, or something Like your self, that in his birth shall strangle you.

Remember, my Father King; there was a fault, But I forgive it: let that sin perswade you To love this Lady. If you have a soul, Think, save her, and be saved, for my self, I have so long expected this glad hour, So languisht under you, and daily withered, That heaven knows it is my joy to dye, I find a recreation in't.

_Enter a_ Messenger.

_Mess_. Where's the King?

_King_. Here.

_Mess_. Get you to your strength, And rescue the Prince _Pharamond_ from danger, He's taken prisoner by the Citizens, Fearing the Lord _Philaster_.

_Di_. Oh brave followers; Mutiny, my fine dear Country-men, mutiny, Now my brave valiant foremen, shew your weapons In honour of your Mistresses.

[_Enter another_ Messenger.

_Mess_. Arm, arm, arm.

_King_. A thousand devils take 'em.

_Di_. A thousand blessings on 'em.

_Mess_. Arm O King, the City is in mutiny, Led by an old Gray Ruffin, who comes on In rescue of the Lord _Philaster_.

[_Exit with_ Are. Phi. Bell.

_King_. Away to the Cittadel, I'le see them safe, And then cope with these Burgers: Let the Guard And all the Gentlemen give strong attendance.

[_Ex. King_.

[_Manent_ Dion, Cleremont, Thrasiline.

_Cle_. The City up! this was above our wishes.

_Di_. I and the Marriage too; by my life, This n.o.ble Lady has deceiv'd us all, a plague upon my self; a thousand plagues, for having such unworthy thoughts of her dear honour: O I could beat my self, or do you beat me and I'le beat you, for we had all one thought.

_Cle_. No, no, 'twill but lose time.

_Di_. You say true, are your swords sharp? Well my dear Country-men, what ye lack, if you continue and fall not back upon the first broken shin, I'le have you chronicled, and chronicled, and cut and chronicled and all to be prais'd, and sung in Sonnets, and bath'd in new brave Ballads, that all tongues shall troule you _in Saecula Saeculorum_ my kind Can-carriers.

_Thra_. What if a toy take 'em i'th' heels now, and they run all away, and cry the Devil take the hindmost?

_Di_. Then the same Devil take the foremost too, and sowce him for his breakfast; if they all prove Cowards, my curses fly amongst them and be speeding. May they have Murreins raign to keep the Gentlemen at home unbound in easie freeze: May the Moths branch their Velvets, and their Silks only be worn before sore eyes. May their false lights undo 'em, and discover presses, holes, stains, and oldness in their Stuffs, and make them shop-rid: May they keep Wh.o.r.es and Horses, and break; and live mued up with necks of Beef and Turnips: May they have many children, and none like the Father: May they know no language but that gibberish they prattle to their Parcels, unless it be the goarish Latine they write in their bonds, and may they write that false, and lose their debts.

_Enter the_ King.

_King_. Now the vengeance of all the G.o.ds confound them; how they swarm together! what a hum they raise; Devils choak your wilde throats; If a man had need to use their valours, he must pay a Brokage for it, and then bring 'em on, they will fight like sheep.

'Tis _Philaster_, none but _Philaster_ must allay this heat: They will not hear me speak, but fling dirt at me, and call me Tyrant. Oh run dear friend, and bring the Lord _Philaster_: speak him fair, call him Prince, do him all the courtesie you can, commend me to him. Oh my wits, my wits!

[_Exit_ Cle.

_Di_. Oh my brave Countrymen! as I live, I will not buy a pin out of your walls for this; Nay, you shall cozen me, and I'le thank you; and send you Brawn and Bacon, and soil you every long vacation a brace of foremen, that at _Michaelmas_ shall come up fat and kicking.

_King_. What they will do with this poor Prince, the G.o.ds know, and I fear.

_Di_. Why Sir: they'l flea him, and make Church Buckets on's skin to squench rebellion, then clap a rivet in's sconce, and hang him up for a sign.

_Enter_ Cleremont _with_ Philaster.

_King_. O worthy Sir forgive me, do not make Your miseries and my faults meet together, To bring a greater danger. Be your self, Still sound amongst Diseases, I have wrong'd you, And though I find it last, and beaten to it, Let first your goodness know it. Calm the people, And be what you were born to: take your love, And with her my repentance, and my wishes, And all my prayers, by the G.o.ds my heart speaks this: And if the least fall from me not perform'd, May I be struck with Thunder.

_Phi_. Mighty Sir, I will not do your greatness so much wrong, As not to make your word truth; free the Princess, And the poor boy, and let me stand the shock Of this mad Sea breach, which I'le either turn Or perish with it.

_King_. Let your own word free them.

_Phi_. Then thus I take my leave kissing your hand, And hanging on your Royal word: be Kingly, And be not moved Sir, I shall bring your peace, Or never bring my self back.

_King_. All the G.o.ds go with thee.

[_Exeunt Omnes_.

_Enter an old Captain and Citizens with_ Pharamond.

_Cap_. Come my brave Mirmidons let's fall on, let our caps Swarm my boys, and you nimble tongues forget your mothers Gibberish, of what do you lack, and set your mouths Up Children, till your Pallats fall frighted half a Fathom, past the cure of Bay-salt and gross Pepper.

And then cry _Philaster_, brave _Philaster_, Let _Philaster_ be deeper in request, my ding-dongs, My pairs of dear Indentures, King of Clubs, Than your cold water Chamblets or your paintings Spitted with Copper; let not your hasty Silks, Or your branch'd Cloth of Bodkin, or your Tishues, Dearly belov'd of spiced Cake and Custard, Your Robin-hoods scarlets and Johns, tie your affections In darkness to your shops; no, dainty Duckers, Up with your three pil'd spirits, your wrought valours.

And let your un-cut Coller make the King feel The measure of your mightiness _Philaster_.

Cry my Rose n.o.bles, cry.

_All_. Philaster, Philaster.

_Cap_. How do you like this my Lord Prince, these are mad boys, I tell you, these are things that will not strike their top-sayles to a Foist. And let a man of war, an Argosie hull and cry c.o.c.kles.

_Pha_. Why you rude slave, do you know what you do?

_Cap_. My Pretty Prince of Puppets, we do know, And give your greatness warning, that you talk No more such Bugs-words, or that soldred Crown Shall be scratch'd with a Musket: Dear Prince Pippen, Down with your n.o.ble bloud; or as I live, I'le have you codled: let him lose my spirits, Make us a round Ring with your Bills my Hectors, And let us see what this trim man dares do.

Now Sir, have at you; here I [lie], And with this swashing blow, do you swear Prince; I could hulk your Grace, and hang you up cross-leg'd, Like a Hare at a Poulters, and do this with this wiper.

_Pha_. You will not see me murder'd wicked Villains?

_1 Cit_. Yes indeed will we Sir, we have not seen one fo[r]

a great while.