The tragedy of Albertus VVallenstein late Duke of Fridland, and generall to the Emperor Ferdinand the second. Written by Henry Glapthorne. The scene, Egers. And acted with good allowance at the Globe on the Banke-side, by his Majesties Servants.

Scena prima.

Kintzki, Tertzki, Gordon, Butler, Lesle.

Kint.

THe rumour still continues.

Tert.

Yes, my Lord, Ill fames though quicke are certaine, 'tis concluded Past question or dispute, for these reports Are grounded on too manifest a truth, To carry doubt in them, it is confirm'd this morning; Hee must resigne

Lesle.

Though a stranger Sir, And so lesse interessed in the Generalls cause Then you his Country-man: were you not my friend, You ly'd to speake it. Must our Generall That soule of valor Wallenstein; who has (Like subtle lightning) purg'd the German ayre, From all the hot infections, forraign warre Could threaten: sent the health-carousing Dane Drunke with his owne blood home: broke all the force, With which the valiant Palatine and his aydes. Infested had the Province: given to Death (That thunder-bolt of warre) whose very name Was great as Fate it selfe unto his foes, The Swedish King: and must he now, his age Is candid o're with victories, be inforc'd 〈2+ pages missing〉〈2+ pages missing〉

To a base 〈…〉〈…〉 Death he's damn'd That dare but mutter it▪

Gordon.

And they were so Who first occasion'd it, 'twould bring much comfort To all true Souldiers.

Lesle.

'Tis concluded Sir, Past all redemption, they are doubly damn'd For their ingratitude, displace a man To whom they owe their lives! one whom, my Lords, We have seen i'th heat and bravery of a fight, Cheere up his fainting and disheartned troupes, Even when his body seem'd but all one wound, That it appear'd a little Iland, circled Round with the purple deluge of his blood; Who when warres Quiruters, the big-mouth'd Drums, And surly Trumpet sung his Armies Dirge, That fatall Musicke sweld his sprightly sense More then soft Hymnes at Nuptials.

Tert.

Sir, his glories Are so well knowne to us we need not urge Their reputation, but 'tis past my thoughts, Why on the sudden he should be compel'd To give his charge up.

Kintz.

When the world beleev'd He should have had a double triumph in The honour of his victories.

Lesle.

Ile tell you, There is in Princes Courts a leane-fac'd monster, Term'd Envie, raigning in unworthy breasts, To fames Heroicke sonnes, such as know to cringe With subtle motion to their Princes smiles, Adore his foot-steps and his awfull nods, And can like Aspes instill into his eares, A sweet yet killing venome: these thin soules When the blunt Souldier, has on piles of wounds Built up his Countries peace, whisper Beware

In time my Lord, least he doe grow too great: This meeting with the jealous Princes feares, (As Princes still are fearefull of the greatnesse Of rising active subjects) breeds resolves to cut up That prop, leaning on which themselves have stood, Firme and unshaken on their base; and these Court Parasites, and th'Emperors weake distrusts, Puls this disgrace on Fridland, which if he With an effeminate patience doe put up, May all the Lawrels growing on his Crest. Be turn'd to Cyprisse, serving for no use But to adorne his Funerals.

Gordon.

Soft, The Generall's here himselfe: my gracious Lord The Duke.

Tert.

Our thrice redoubted Generall.

Enter Wallenstein, Illawe.

Wallens.

Ha! that sound Awakes my drowsie soule, pray good my Lords, What do you behold degenerate in my lookes, Shewing me unworthy still of that great title?

Tert.

I would pull my eyes out, Should they convey into my soule a thought Tending to so much sacriledge to honour, And perfect masculine vertue.

Wallens.

Yet I must Put off that glorious title, like a garment, Old and unfit for wearing: O my Lords, Our honours individuall with our soules Growes to that essence, as toth' hand or cheeke The native whitenesse; and to have that torne, Lug'd off by violent torture, is a suffrance Beyond the strength of patience: is't not, Lords?

Tert.

Yes, and looke How farre the noble immateriall soule, Transcends the duller body, so much torments

Resemblance of a star, a Comet fall By my owne fire consum'd to earth forgotten.

Lesle.

Great Sir, though a stranger to you By birth and nation, yet the strict alliance I've to your princely noblenesse, injoynes me Under your pardon, and with the allowance Of these brave Counts, your followers, to deliver My zealous counsell to you.

Wallens.

Noble Scot, Use your discretion freely.

Lesle.

Thus great Sir then, Though't be i'th power of Princes to prescribe Lawes to their subjects, 'tis their subjects wills Must put those Lawes in act, 'tis their obedience, Which are the ablest sinewes of the state, And 'twere a barbarous cruelty to imploy Their hands against themselves, a strange injustice, To make their proper vertue instrument Of their owne ruine.

Tert.

Colonell Lesle Speakes home.

Kint.

And to much purpose.

Lesle.

Doe not Lords Misunderstand my meaning, I speake not this, That I contemne authority, or dislike Order in every thing, without preeminence In title of command our trade the warfare Could not subsist, but to informe our Generall, Our too much injur'd Generall, that it is No such strange crime, to disobey a Prince In things injust; and can there be a greater, Or shamefuller injustice then for Caesar, By's Mandate to inforce him to resigne His glorious charge up?

Gordon.

'Twere a shame.

Illawe.

An utter, an abominable disgrace

To all that honor vertue, should we suffer it?

Lesle.

Here then Ends what I would have uttered; of what force Are Caesars Mandats, when their reall loves Has disannull'd them? circled with these hearts, These bulwarkes of brave hearts, what need have you To acknowledge any Emperor but your selfe? Your selfe great Duke, whose merit lays just claime To that supremest title.

Lesle.

Pray once more, Give me your patience: Rashnesse, Gentlemen, Gives the first on-set fiercely, then recoyles, As Waspes when they have lost their stings: affaires Of this high consequence, doe require mature Deliberation: to confirme our owne Strength for the exploit, 'twere fit we did conjoyne With Saxon Waymar and Gustavus Horne, And the other bold confederates: how likes Your Grace this project?

Wallens.

The Drum and Fife, Trumpet and Canon, when their lowd voyces sing, Iös to victory, could nere beget More musick in my ravished sense: best friend, I am so bankrupt growne in my extent Of gratitude, that trust me I could weepe, To see my selfe so farre outdone in friendship: I am ingag'd in honour to goe on, That this insulting Emperor by his fall, To gaine fit meanes to gratifie your loves. Thou aëry name of loyalty, hence to heaven, And finde like smoake a buriall in the clouds, Thus I expire thy essence; henceforth Ile acknowledge No other Emperor but these worthies hearts.

Tert.

And we (great Duke) henceforth will nere submit, To any rule but yours, which to confirme As sure as Fate had seal'd it, on your sword 〈2+ pages missing〉〈2+ pages missing〉

My Councell alwayes has had that successe, To be accounted faithfull to my Prince: Feare it not, follow then my poore advice, Meet trechery with policie, and try, If you the Ambitious traytor can surprize, The head once off, the weake and fainting limbes, Like sear'd dri'd boughs, by an impetuous wind, Torne from an aged Oke, will fall to earth, And be consum'd to ashes.

Empe.

It shall be so, Lord Questenberg, with all convenient speed, Dispatch a trusty messenger unto The King of Hungary, command his presence, With his most able legions for the safeguard Of our owne person: In such like affaires, Which doe concerne the uncertaine rule of States, Wise men should alwayes be above their fates.

Exeunt.