Act IIII.
COme BELTAZAR, how have you us'd your power?
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COme BELTAZAR, how have you us'd your power?
There's hopes of him; but th'other is quite lost.
WHat's that my FATYMA.
The case holds in himselfe, and his
Heaven will pay the early mercy.
Take you the scrowle, BELTAZAR, and see right done.
'Tmust be sad then.
O speak it, and be our good Genius.
That's his disease, my Lord, but now the cure?
That looks too like Rebellion.
Indeed would the young SOFFIE were safe.
MIRZA'S deserts plead too.
Who should begin?
I shall have honour enough in serving you.
Yes.
Then what friends can you oblige to us?
Some we shall find.
We'l give them back their gold to buy their silence.
My Lord, what if I levyed in (3) Hircania?
Thou art my Oracle of war.
Enough. Farewell my Lord, my good Lord Generall.
Nor do others fairnesse take away their force.
She does indeed—what now.
Madam, my Lord.
No.
Come, come, deny him, do.
Well, we all know our parts,, and will no•• loiter.
The pains will pay it selfe. —Now where's my Lord?
How do the Ladies take thy proposition?
as their best wishes.
She's mad, and raves!)
Perhaps you too.)
What mutter you? me too!
What is't you mumble, Gossip?
Yes, my selfe saw you.
High ho! my Heart! I shall have a sweet place.
Why let you him come out thus?
See! Lightning flashes from their eyes.
Hark, Madam.
O.
Help! help!
Page, hold him from violence.
Th'hast hit me right TY∣PHAEUS,
CHARON! oh, CHARON!—
Nay my Lord.
Alas! the frenzies high talk not much to him.
Alas! I cannot flatter his wild frenzy.
Pray Madam seem to be what he conceits you.
Yes, and when next I wait, I'l do the errand.
He wants no Furies, he has all in's breast.
Well sir, he shall not want for torments.
Ah! cruell Father!
Why TANTALVS?
But will not PLVTO then be jealous of me?
No.
Come then— (8) Now tell me more of Para∣dise.
When thou art fit for't.
And how shall I make my selfe fit?
Well then,—he sha'nt.
Admired constancy! sleep, and you shall.
HAh! hah! who's that? do's. PLUTO come?
We'd best retire.
O you've spoil'd all my Lord.
Repose Sir till the Army needs your conduct.
That will charm him.
SONG.
HE's great that masters his own soul, As he whose nod shakes either Pole. Not he that Kings in chains can bring, But that subdues himselfe's a King. That's ever in himselfe at home, And ne'r lets his Queen Reason roam, On whom all passions waiting stand, As hand-maids on their Ladies hand. He ore himselfe triumphing first, Dares chance and envy doe their worst; And keeping still his own even height, Fall Fortune heavie, fall she light, He'l never make to th'standers by Too low a moan, or haughty cry; But wisely can her fawning slight, And then as bravely scorn her spight. Who can deny that such a one Possesses all things, or wants none? And which oth'two would you wish first Still to have drink, or ne'r to thirst?
But my Lord SOFFIE, I've a plot to free you.
Speak it, and be my Deitie.
But how shall I get out?
Nay, pray, no circumstance, she comes, what then?
Ah! wher•• am I?
He wakes.
There gratitude spoke in her Angels voice.
Not living, say, but buried alive.
Treasure ith'mind, is treasure still, though trod∣den.
Rather, we never lov'd his Grace, but High∣nesse.
O Let me not lie long in this sad durance
How shall we effect it?
And loves he her? can vice then affect vertue?
He talks of marrying her to th' King of Arabs.
Soft, I've a better match for her in store.
Why mur••ur subjects when his Son escapes no••
So Heaven be mine, as I his faithfull friend.
Love and amazement! what will this produce?
Madam, your humble Servant.
INtrude not I upon your privacies?
He shall have part of our guards assign'd him.
Your Highnesse may.
We know it.
And I for thee.
CAll'd you my Lord?
Yes child, is FATYMA come.
Not yet Sir,
Sir, as you please.
I shall not rest till then.
Here's FATYMA.
COme child.
Fate is not yet all cruelty.
What's this I see child in thy face of mirth?
Most willing Sir.
That is for me.
Come Brother let's change cloaths.
O Heavens!
O Gods! what fury's this!
O— O—
Ah me! sweet babe! is all the world turn'd Monster?
Ah! my dear Sister!
Fly dear SOFFIE.
Fly, fly, my Lord
Come hithe•• or be wretched.
Page! Guard ope, ope, O ope the doors and save me,
RUn down, sir, run that way.—Ho••ror and Furies!
Take you all.—dogs! wher's SOFFIE?
My curse shall overtake him.
We'd best bind him.
Hold gently, gently, sir.
Ah. sweetest Mistris!
'Twill make all good men—
Pray sir speak not to him.
Good Heavens! how rage Bears men out of them∣selves.
Fast as you please my honour'd Lord, & whither
I will sir.