London :: Printed by R. Bishop, for Thomas Allott, and Iohn Crook, and are to be sold in Pauls Churchyard, at the signe of the Greyhound,
1639.
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Cite this Item
"The bloody brother A tragedy. By B.J.F." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/a00958.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 21, 2024.
Pages
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Act IV. Scene I.
Enter Aubrey and Latorch.
LAtorch, I have wayted here to speak with you,And you must hearken: Set not forth your legsOf haste, nor put yonr face of businesse on;An honester affaire than this I urge too,You will not easily think on; and twill beReward to entertaine it: Tis your fortuneTo have our Masters ••are above the restOf us that follow him, but that no man envies:For I have well con••••dered, truth sometimesMay be conveyd in by the same conduitsThat falshood is: These courses that he takes,Cannot but end in ruine; Empire gotBy blood and violence, must so be held;And how unsafe that is, he first will prove,That toyling still to remove enemies,Makes him selfe more; it is not now a BrotherA faithfull Councellour of estate or two,That are his danger, they are far dispatch'dIt is a multitude that begin to feare,And think what began there, must end in them,For all the fine Oration that was made 'em;And they are not an easie monster quelld.Princes may pick their suffering Nobles out;
And one by one employ 'em to the block; but when they once grow formidable to their clownes, and coblers, ware then, guard themselves; if thou durst tell him this, Lotorche, the service would not discredit the good name you hold with men, be∣sides the profit to your master, and the publick.
Lat.
I conceive not so, sir.They are ayrie feares; and why should I object them unto his fancy?Wound what is yet ••ound? your counsailes colour no••,
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With reason of state, where all thats necessary still is just?The actions of the prince, while they succeed,Should be made good, and glorified; not questiond,Men doe but shew their ill affections, that —
Aub.
What? speak out.
Lat.
Doe murmure against their masters.
Aub.
Is this to mee?
Lat.
It is to whosoever mislikes of the Dukes courses
Aub.
I, ist so? at your stateward, sir?
Lat.
I'me sworne to heare nothing may prejudice the prince.
Aub.
Why doe you? or have you, ha?
Lat,
I cannot tel, mens hearts shew in their words sometims.
Aub.
I everthought theeKnave of the chamber, art thou the spy too?
Lat.
A watchman for the state, and one that's knownSir, to be rightly affected.
Aub.
Baud of the state;No lesse than of thy masters lusts. I nowSee nothing can redeem thee; doest thou mentionAffection, or a heart that ne're hadst any?Know'st not to love or hate, but by the state,As thy prince does`t before thee? that dost neverWeare thy owne face, but putt'st on his, and gather'st••Baits for his ••ares: liv'st wholly at his beck,And e're thou dar'st utter a thought's thine owne,Must expect his; crep'st forth and wad'st into himAs if thou wert to passe a foord, there provingYet if thy tongue may stop on safely, or no:Then bring'st his vertue asleep, and stayst the wheeleBoth of his reason, and judgement, that they move no••.Whit'st over all his vices; and at lastDost draw a cloud of words before his eyes,Till hee can neither see thee, nor himselfe?Wretch; I dare give him honest counsailes, I;And love him while I tell him truth: old AubreyDares goe the straightest way, which still`s the shortest,Walke on the thornes thou scatter'st, Parasite,
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And tread 'em into nothing: and if thouThen lett'st a look fall, of the least dislike,Ile rip thy crown up with my sword at height,And pluck thy skin over thy face: in sightOf him thou flatter'st; unto thee I speak it,Slave, against whom all lawes, should now conspire,And every creature that hath sense, be armd,As 'gainst the common enimy of mankind;That sleepst within thy masters eare, and whisp'erstTis better for him to be feard, than lovd:Bidst him trust no mans freindship, spare no blood,That may secure him; tis no crueltyThat hath a spatious end; for soveraintyBreak all the lawes of kind; if it succeedAn honest, noble, and prayse-worthy deed;While hee that takes thy poysons in, shall feeleTheir virulent workings in a poynt of time,When no repentance can bring ayd, but allHis spirits shall melt, with what his conscience burndAnd dying in flatterers armes, shall fall unmournd.Theres matter for you now.
Lat.
My lord, this makes not, for loving of my master.
Aub.
Loving? no.They hate ill Princes most that make them so.
Enter Rollo, Hamand, Allan, Guard.
Rol.
Ile heare no more.
Ham.
Alas, tis for my brorher. I beseech your highnesse.
Rol,
How, a brother? had not I one my selfe? did titleMove mee when it was fit that hee should dye? away.
All.
Brother, loose no word more, leave my good causeT`upbraid the tyrant, I`me glad, ••`me falne,Now in those times that willd some great exampleT' assure men wee can die for honesty.
Rol.
Sir, you are brave; pray that you hold your neckAs bravely forth anon unto your headsman.
All.
Would hee would strike as bravely, and thou by.
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Rollo, t'would make thee quake to see mee die.
Aub.
Whats his offence?
Ham.
For giving Gisbert buriall; who was sometimes his master,
All.
Yes: lord Aubery.My gratitude, and humanity, are my crimes.
Rol.
Why beare you him not hence?
Aub.
My lord (stay souldiers)I doe beseech your highnesse, doe not looseSuch men for so slight causes. This is oneHas still been faithfull to you, a tryde souleIn all your fathers battailes; I have seene himBestride a friend, against a score of foes,And looke, he looks as hee would kill his hundredFor you, sir, were you in some danger.
All.
Till hee killd his brother, his chancellor, then hisMaster, to which he can adde nought to equall Nero,But killing of his mother.
Aub.
Peace, brave foole;Thou valiant asse, here is his brother too, sir,A captaine of your guard, hath servd you long,With the most noble witnesse of his truthMarkd in his face, and every part about him,That turnes not from an enemy. But view him,Oh doe not grieve him sir, if you doe meaneThat hee shall hold his place: it is not safeTo tempt such spirits, and let them weare their swords,You'le make your guards your terrours by these ActsAnd throw more hearts of from you then you hold:And I must tell you sir, (with my old freedomeAnd my old faith to boot) you have not livd soBut that your state will need such men, such handsOf which heres one, shall in an houre of tryallDoe you more certaine service with a stroak,Than the whole bundle of your flatterersWith all the unsavory unction of their tongues••
Rol.
Peace, talker.
Aub,
One that loves you yet, my lord.And would not see you pull on your owne ruines••
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Mercy becomes a Prince, and guards him best,Awe and affrights are never tyes of Love;And when men begin to feare the Prince, they hate him.
Rol.
Am I the Prince, or you?
Aub.
My Lord I hope I have not utterd ought should urge that question.
Rol.
Then practise your obedience, see him dead.
Aub.
My Lord,
Rol.
Ile heare no more.
Aub.
I'me sorry then; theres no small despaire, sir, of their safety, whose eares are blockt up against truth; come Captain.
Ham.
I thank you, sir.
Aub.
For what? for seeing thy brother dye a man, and honest?Live thou so Captaine, I will I assure thee,Although I die for't too: come—
Exeunt all but Rollo & Lator
Rol.
Now Latorche, what doe you think?
Lat.
That Aubreys speech and manners sound somewhat of the boldest
Rol.
Tis his custome.
Lat.
It may be so, and yet be worth a feare.
Rol.
If we thought so, it should be worth his life, and quick∣ly too.
Lat.
I dare not, sir, be authorOf what I would be, tis so dangerous;But with your highnesse favour and your licence.
Rol.
He talks, tis true; he is licenc'd: leave him,We now are Duke alone, Latorche, securd;Nothing left standing to obscure our prospect,We look right forth, beside, and round about us,And see it ours with pleasure: only oneWish'd joy there wants, to make us to possesse it,And that is Edith, Edith, shee that got meIn bloud and teares, in such an opposite minute,As had I not once set all the flamesAnd shaft of Love shot in me (his whole armory)I should have thought him as farre off as death.
Lat.
My Lord, expect a while, your happinesseIs neerer than you think it, yet her griefesAre greene and fresh; your vigilant Latorche
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Hath not been idle: I have leave alreadyTo visite her, and send to her••
Rol.
My life.
Lat.
And if I find not out as speedie wayesAnd proper instruments to work and bring herTo your fruition; that she be not watch'dTame to your Highnesse wish, say you have no servantIs capable of such a trust about you,Or worthy to be secretary of your pleasure.
Rol.
Oh my Latorche, what shall I render theeFor all thy travailes, care and love?
Lat.
Sir, one suit, which I will ever importune, till you grant me••
Rol.
About your Mathematitians?
Lat.
Yes to haveThe Scheme of your nativity judg'd by them,I hav't already erected; Oh my Lord,You doe not know the labour of my feares,My doubts for you are such as cannot hopeAny security, but from the Starres;Who, being rightly ask'd, can tell man moreThan all power else, there being no power beyond them••
Rol.
All thy petitions still are care of us,Aske for thy selfe.
Lat.
What more can concerne me, than this?
Rol.
Well, rise true honest man, and goe then,Wee'le study our selves a meanes how to reward thee.
Lat.
Your grace is now inspir'd; now, now your HighnesseBegins to live, from this houre count your joyes:But, Sir, I must have warrants, with blanks figurd,To put in names, such as I like.
Rol.
You shall.
Lat.
They dare not else offer, Sir, at your figure••Oh I shall bring you wonders; ther's a FrierRusee, an admirable man, anotherA gentleman, and then Lafiske,The mirrour of his time; 'twas he that sett it••But there's one Norbret, (him I never saw)
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Has made a mirrour, a meere Looking-glasse,In shew you`ld think't no other; the forme ovall,As I am given to understand by letter,Which renders you such shapes, and those so differing,And some that will be question'd and give answers;Then has he sett it in a frame, that wroughtUnto the revolutions of the Starres,And so compact by due proportionsUnto their harmony, doth move aloneA true automaton; thus Dedalus Statues,Or Vulcans Tooles —
Rol.
Dost thou beleeve this?
Lat.
Sir? why, what should stay my faith, or turn my sense?He has been about it above twentie yeares,Three sevens, the powerfull, and the perfect numbers;And Art and Time, Sir, can produce such things.What doe I reade there of Hiarbas banquet?The great Gymnosophist, that had his ButlersAnd carvers of pure gold waiting at table?The images of Mercury, too, that spoke?The wooden dore that flew? a snake of brasseThat hist? and birds of silver that did sing?All those new done by the Mathematicks,Without which there`s no science, nor no truth.
Rol.
You are in your spheare, Latorch: and ratherThan Ile contend w'yee for it, Ile beleeve it.Y'have won upon me that I wish to seeMy fate before me now, what ere it bee.
Lat.
And Ile endeavour, you shall know with speed,For which I should have one of trust goe with mee,If you please, Hamond, that I may by himSend you my first dispatches; after IShall bring you more, and as they come still more,
Rol.
Take your way,Choose your owne meanes, and be it prosperous to us.
Exeunt.
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ACT. IV. SCAE. II.
Enter Ru••ee, de Bube, la Fiske, Norbert, Pippeau.
Rus.
Come, beare up Sirs, we shall have better dayes,My Almanack tels me.
Bub.
What is that? your rumpe?
Rus.
It never itch'd in vaine yet, slide la FiskeThrow off thy ••luggish face, I cannot abideTo see thee tooke like a poore Jade i'th' pound,That saw no meat these three dayes.
Fiske.
Slight, to meIt seemes thirteene dayes since I saw any.
Rus.
How?
Fis.
I can't remember that I ever sawOr meat or money, you may talke of bothTo open a mans stomack or his purse,But feed'em still with ayre.
Bub.
Fryar, I feareYou do not say your Office well a dayes.
Nor.
Pox, he feedesWith leachery, and lives upon th'exchangeOf his two Eggs and Puddings with the market women.
Rus.
And what do you Sir, with the Advocats wife,Whom you perswade, upon your Doctorall bed,To take the Mathematicall trance so often?
Fis.
Come, we are starke naught all, bad's the bost of us,Foure of the seven deadly spots we are;Besides our Lechery, we are envious,And most, most gluttonous when we have it thus,Most covetous now we want it; then our BoyHe is a fift spot, sloth and he undoes us.
Bub.
'Tis true, the child was wont to be industri∣ous,And now and then sent to a Merchants wife
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Sicke of the husband, or a swearing ButlerThat mist of his Bowles, a crying MaidHad lost a silver spoon; the Curry comeSomtims was wanting; there was somthing gotten••But now—
Pip.
What now? Did not I yester-morningBring you in a Cardecu there from the Pesant,Whosse 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I had driven aside, and hid, that youMight conjure for him? and then last night,Six Souz from the Cooks wife, you shar'd among youTo set a figure for the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I stole,It is not at home yet; these things, my Masters,In a hard time, they would be thought on, youTalke of your lands and Castles in the ayre,Of your twelve houses there: but it is IThat bring you in your rents for'em, 'tis Pippe••••That is your bird-call.
Nor.
Faith he does w••ll,And cuts through the Elements for us, I must needs sayIn a fine dextrous line.
Fis.
But not as he didAt first, then he would sayle with any windInt' every Creek and Corner.
Pip.
I was light then,New built and rigg'd when I came to you, Gentlemen,But now with often and far ventring for youHere be leakes Spr•••••• and whole Plancks wanting see you;If you'le new sheat•• me••••••••ine, yet I am for youTo any bog or sleights, where ere you'le send me,For as, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whe•••• can this ragged BarkPut in for any service; lesse it beO'th Isle of Rogues, and there turne Pyrate for you.
Nor.
Faith he sayes reason, Fryer, you must leaveYour neat crispe Gla••••et•• and fall to your SyderA while; and you la Fiske, your larded Capons,And Turkeys for a time•• and take a goodCleane Tripe in your way; de Bube too must content him with
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wholesome two Souz'd pe••itoes, no more Crown ordinaries, tillwe have cloath'd our Infant.
Bub.
So you'le keepYour own good motions, Doctor, your deare selfe.
Fis.
Yes, for we all do know the LatitudeOf your Concupiscence.
Rus.
Here about your belly.
Bub.
You'le picke a bottle open or a whimsey,As soon as the best of us.
Fis.
And dip your wrists bands,(For Cuffs y'have none) as comely in the sauce
the Bell rings.
As any Courtyer— harke, the Bell, who is there
Rus.
Good luck I do conjure thee; Boy look out.
Pip.
They are Gallants, Courtiers, one of'em is
Exit and enter again. To Nor••ret.
Of the Dukes bed-chamber.
Rus.
Latorche, down,On with your gown, there's a new suite arriv'd,Did I not tell you, Sons of hunger? Crownes,Crowns are comming toward you, wine & wenchesYou shall have once again, and Fidlers:Into your studyes close; each lay his eareTo his doore, and as you heare me to prepare youSo come, and put me on that visard only.
Enter Latorche, Hamond.
Lat.
You'le not be far hence Captain, when theBusinesse is done you shall receive present dispatch.
H••m.
Ile walke Sir, in the Cloyster.
Exit.
Rus.
Monsieur Latorche; my sonneThe Stars are happy still that guide you hither.
Lat.
I'me glad to heare their Secretary say so,My learned Father Russ••, where's la Fiske,Monsieur de Bube, how do they?
Rus.
At their studyes,They are the Secretaries of the Stars, Sir,Still at their books, they will not be pull'd off,They stick like cupping glasses; if ever menSpoke with the tongue of destiny, 'tis they.
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Lat.
For loves sake let's salute em.
Rus.
Boy, go see,Tell them who's here, say, that their friends do chal∣lengeSome portion of their time, this is our minutes;Pray'em they'le spare it: they are the Sun and MoonOf knowledge; pitty two such noble lightsShould live obscur'd here in an University,Whose beames were fit, to illumine any CourtOf Christendome••
Enter la Fiske, de Bube and Pippeau.
Lat.
The Duke will shortly know 'em.
Fis.
Well, look upon the Astrolabe; you'le find itFoure Almucanturies at least.
Bub.
It is so.
Rus.
Still, of their learned stuffe, they care for no∣thing,But how to know, as negligent of their bodiesIn dyet, or else, especially in their cloths,As if they had no change.
Pip.
They have so littleAs well may free them from the name of shifters.
Fis.
Monsieur Latorche?
Lat.
How is it, learned Gentlemen, with both your vertues?
Bub.
A most happy houre, when we see you, sir.
Lat.
When you heare me thenIt will be happier; the Duke greets you bothThus, and though you may touch no money, Father,Yet you may take it.
Rus.
'Tis his highnesse bounty,But yet to me, and these that have put offThe world, superfluous.
Fis.
We have heard of late of his highnesse good successe.
Bub.
And gratulate it.
Lat.
Indeed he hath scap'd a strange Conspiracy,Thanks to his Stars; which Stars be prayes by me,You would again consul••, and make a JudgementOn what you lately erected for my love.
Rus.
Oh, Sir, we dare not.
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Fis.
For our lives.
Bub.
It is the Princes Scheame.
Lat.
T'incounter with that feare,Here's to assure you, his Signet, write your names,And be secured all three.
Bub.
We must intreat some time, sir,
Lat.
I must then intreat it, be as present as you can.
Fis.
Have you the Scheame here?
Lat.
Yes.
Rus.
I would you had sir another Warrant.
Dat.
What would that do?
Rus.
Marry we have a Doctor sir, that in this bu∣sinesseWould not performe the second part.
Lat,
Not him that you writ to me of?
Rus.
The very same.
Lat.
I should have made it, sir, my suite to see him,Here is a Warrant Father, I conceiv'dThat he had solely applyed himselfe to Magick.
Rus.
And to their studies too sir, in this field,He was initiated, but we shall hardlyDraw him from his chaire.
Lat.
Tell him he ••hall have gold.
Fis.
Oh, such a sillable would make him to for∣sweareEver to breath in your sight.
Lat.
How then?
Fis.
Sir, he if you do please to give him any thing,Must have't convey'd under a paper.
Rus.
Or left behind some book in his study.
Bub.
Or in some old wall.
Fis.
Where his Familiars may tell him of it, and that pleases him, Sir.
Bub.
Or else Ile go and assay him.
Lat.
Take gold with you.
Rus.
That will not be amisse; give it the Boy, Sir,He knowes his holes, and how to baite his Spirits.
Pip.
We must lay in severall places, Sir.
Rus.
That's true, that if one come not the other may hit.
Lat.
Well, go then, is he so learned, Gentlemen.
Fis.
The very top of our profession; mouth of the fates,
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Pray Heaven his Spirits be in a good humor to take.They'le fling the gold about the house else.
Bub.
I, and beat the Fryer if he go not wellFurnisht with holy-water.
Fis.
Sir, you must observe him.
Bub.
Not crosse him in a word, for then he's gone.
Fis.
If he doe come, which is hazard, yetMasse he's here, this is speed.
Enter Norbert, Russe, Pippeau.
Nor.
Where is our Scheme,Let's see, dispatch, nay fumbling now, who's this?
Rus.
Chiefe Gentleman of the Dukes Chamber, Doctor.
Nor.
Oh, let him be, good even to him, he's a Courtyer,Ile spare his Complement, tell him, what's here?The geniture Nocturnall, LongitudeAt forty nine and ten minutes? How are the Cardines?
Fis.
Libra in twenty foure forty foure minutes,And Capricorne.
Nor.
I see in, see the Planets,Where, how are they dispos'd? the Sun and Mercury,Mars with the Dragons tayle in the third house,And pars Fortune in the Imo Coeli,Then Jupiter in the twelve, the Cacodemon.
Bub.
And Venus in the second Inferna Porta.
Nor.
I see it, peace, then Saturne in the Fifth,Luna i'th Seventh, and much of Scorpio,Then Mars his Gaudium, rising in th`ascendent,And joyn'd with Libra too, the house of Venus,And Iuniu Coeli, Mars his exaltationIn the seventh house, Aries being his naturall houseAnd where he is now seated, and all these shew himTo be the Almuter.
Rus.
Yes, he's Lord of the Geniture,Whether you examine in by Ptolomeys way,Or Messethales, Lael, or Alkindus.
Fi••.
No other Planet hath so many dignitiesEither by himselfe•• or in regard of the Cuspes.
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Nor.
Why hold your tongue then if you know it; VenusThe Lady of the Horoscope, being LibraThe other part, Mars rules: So that the geniture,Being Nocturnall, Luna is the highest,None else being in sufficient dignity,She being in Aries in the Seventh house,Where Sol exalted, 'is the Alchoroden.
Bub.
Yes, for you see he hath his TermineIn the degrees where she is, and enjoyesBy that, six dignities.
Fis.
Which are cleerly moreThan any else that view her in the Scheame.
Nor.
Why I saw this, and could have told you too.That he beholds her with a Trine aspectHere out of Sagitary, almost partly,And how that Mars out of the selfesame house,(But another Signe) here by a Platique aspectLookes at the Hilege, with a Quartile rulingThe house where the Sun is; all this could IHave told you, but that you'le outrun me, & more,That this same Quartile aspect to the Lady of life,Here in the seventh, promises some danger,Cauda Draconis being so neere Mars,And Caput Algell in the house of Death.
Lat.
How Sir? I pray you cleare that.
Nor.
What is the question first?
Rus.
Of the Dukes life, what dangers threaten him?
Nor.
Apparent, & those suddaine, when the HyleyOr Alchorodon by direction comeTo a Quartile opposition of the placeWhere Mars is in the Geniture (which is nowAt hand) or else oppose to Mars himself; expect it.
Lat.
But they may be prevented.
Nor.
Wisdome onlyThat rules the Stars, may do it; for Mars beingLord of the Geniture in Capricorne,Is, if you marke it, now a Sextile here,
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With Venus Lady of the Horoscope.So she being in her Exilium, which is Scorpio,And Mars his Gaudium, is ore rul'd by him,And cleare debilitated five degreesBeneath her ordinary power, soThat, at the most she can but mittigate.
Lat.
You cannot name the persons bring this danger?
Nor.
No, that the Stars tell us not, they name no man,That is a worke, sir, of another place.
Rus.
Tell him whom you suspect, and hee'le guesse shrewdly.
Lat.
Sir, we do feare one Aubrey; if 'twere heI should be glad; for we should soon prevent him.
Fis.
I know him, the Dukes kinsman, a tall man?Lay hold of't Norbret.
Nor.
Let me pause a little,Is he not neare of kin unto the Duke?
Lat.
Yes reverend Sir.
Lat.
Fart for your reverence, keep it till then; and somewhat high of statutre?
Lat.
He is so.
Nor.
How old is he?
Fis.
About seven and fifty.
Nor.
His head and beard inclining to be grey.
Lat.
Right, Sir.
Fis.
And fat?
Nor.
He is somewhat corpulent, is he not?
Lat.
You speak the man, sir.
Nor.
Well, look to him, farewell.
Exit Norb.
Lat.
Oh, it is Aubrey; gentlemen, I pray you,Let me receive this under all your hands.
Rus.
Why, he will shew you him in his Magick glasseIf you intreate him, and but gratifieA Spirit or two more.
Lat.
He shall eat goldIf he will have it, so shall you all; ther's thatAmongst you first, let me have this to sendThe Duke in the meane time; and then what sightsYou please to shew; Ile have you so rewarded
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As never Artists wete, you shall to CourtAlong with me, and there wait your fortunes.
Bub.
We have a pretty part of't in our pockets;Boy we will all be new, you shall along to.
Exeunt.
ACT. IIII. SCAE. III.
Enter Sophia, Matilda, Edith.
Mat.
Good Madam heare the suit that Edith urges••With such submisse beseeches; nor remaineSo strictly bound to sorrow for your sonne,That nothing else, though never so befitting,Obtaines your eares, o••••••servation.
Sop.
What would she say? I heare.
Edith.
My suit is, Madam,That you would please to thinke aswell of JusticeDue to your sonnes revenge, as of more wrong addedTo both your selves for it, in only grieving.Th'undaunted power of Princes, should not beConfin'd in deedlesse cold calamity;Anger, the Twinne of sorrow, in your wrongsShould not be smother'd, when his right of birthClaimes th'ayre as well, and force of comming forth.
Sop.
Sorrow is due already, Anger neverShould be conceived but where it may be borneIn some fact fit t'employ his active flame,That else consumes who beares it, and abidesLike a false starre that quenches as it glides.
Ed.
I have such means t'employ it as your wishCan thinke no better, easier, or securer;And such as but th'honors I intendTo your partakings; I alone could end:But your parts in all dues to crying bloodFor vengeance in the shedder, are much greater••
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And therefore should worke your hands to his slaughter,For your consent to which, t'were infinite wrongTo your severe and most partiall Justice,To move you to forget so false a sonne,As with a mothers duty made you curse him.
Mat.
Edith, he is forgot, for any sonBorne of my mother, or to me a brother.For should we still performe our rights to himWe should partake his wrongs, and as foule beIn blood and damned paricide as he.And therefore tell the happy meanes that heavenPuts in thy hand, for all our long'd for freedomeFrom so abhorr'd and impious a monster.
Sop.
Tell what she will, I'le lend nor hand nor eareTo whatsoever heaven puts in her power.
Exit Sophia.
Mat.
How strange she is to what she chiefly wishes?Sweet Edith be not any thought the moreDiscourag'd in thy purpose, but assuredHer heart and prayers are thine; and that we twoShall be enough to all we wish to doe.
Ed.
Madam, my selfe alone, I make no doubtShall be afforded power enough from heavenTo end the murtherer: all I wish of you,Is but some richer ornaments and JewelsThan I am able to provide my selfe,To helpe out the defects of my poore beauty;That yet hath been enough, as now it is,To make his fancy mad with my desire?But you know, Madam, women never can,Be too faire to torment an amorous man;And this mans torments I would heighten still,Till at their highest he be fit to kill.
Mat.
Thou shalt have all my Jewels and my mothers,And thou shalt paint too, that his bloods desireMay make him perish in a painted fire;Hast thou been with him yet?
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Ed.
Beene with him? no;I set that houre backe to haste more his longing••But I have promis'd to his instruments,The admittance of a visit at our house,Where yet I would receive him with all lustreMy sorrow would give leave to, to removeSuspition of my purpose.
Mat.
Thou shalt haveAll I can adde, sweet wench, in Jewels, tyres••I'le be my selfe thy dresser, nor may IServe my owne love with a contracted husbandMore sweetly, nor more amply than maist thouThy forward will with his bewitch'd affections:Affects thou any personall ayde of mineMy noblest Edith?
Ed.
Naught but your kinde prayersFor full effect and speed of my affaire.
Mat.
They are thine, my Edith, as for me, my own;For thou well know'st, if blood shed of the bestShould coole and be forgotten, who would feareTo shed blood still? or where (alas) were thenThe endlesse love we owe to worthy men?
Ed.
Love of the worthiest ever blesse your highnesse.
Exeunt.
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