Gratiae theatrales, or, A choice ternary of English plays composed upon especial occasions by several ingenious persons.
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Title
Gratiae theatrales, or, A choice ternary of English plays composed upon especial occasions by several ingenious persons.
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London :: Printed by R.D.,
1662.
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"Gratiae theatrales, or, A choice ternary of English plays composed upon especial occasions by several ingenious persons." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A41818.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 15, 2024.
Pages
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THORNY-ABBEY, Or The London Maid.
Ent. Sibert Earle of Coventry. Emma. The Earle of Wiltshire meeting them.
Sibe.
GOod day and wellcom too my Lord of Wiltshire.
Wilt.
Most Noble Sibert, Earle of Coventry,Our good King longes to see you.
Sib.
Is he alighted?
Wilt.
Yes Sir, & at your Castle-gate he stands,Cloyd with Petitioners, from whose humble handsHe fils his own with papers of complaints,Still promising redress and comfort to them.
Sib.
Hee's a right gratious Prince: the fire of HellConsume the Slaves and their petitions,For Sibert is not free from their complaints:I fear our ruines.
Emma.
Why should Sibert fear?The King, nor all the Land can wrong thee here.
Sib.
A thousand hearts must bleed first: harke he comes.
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Enter King, Bishop, Prince Edmund, Earle of VViltshire, Attendants.
King.
Oh me, good Heavens, what strange pe∣titionsHave these poor people here deliver'd us?Command them all to morrow here attend us,Where we will answer their petitions.Renowned Sibert, Earl of Coventry,To you and your vertuous Lady her••,For som few dayes we must be troublesome.
Sib.
Great King, my State, my Castle, self & allHere in obedience at your feet shall fall.
King.
We thank you both.Come Brother Edmund take your place by us.Good Bishop Lutius, rest your Reverend age:And you good Earle of Wiltshire counsell usTo work the Commons safety of the Land,And weigh all doubts with an impartial hand;Only for this our resolution makesA progress through the Land, with our own eyesTo looke into the States inormityes.
Sib.
'Twill be a deed worthy your eare and care.
King.
So had'it need, good Sibert, for we here intendTo see the poor man's wrongs payd with redress▪And let not great theeves swallow up the less.
Wilt.
It is not well my Leige, for since you cameFrom your Court at London still you seeCorruption like a loathsome leprosyHath made the faire face of ag'd ancestryDeform'd and hatefull. Temples, erected onlyTo holy uses, are now for thrift turnd into barne•• and stables.
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Edm.
'Twere fit for to reform them.Royall Brother, such ulcers foundMust needs be cut, least they corrupt what's sound.
King.
Such & farre worse the sad complaints here speak:But by my Crown we'le have them all remov'd.Brother, back you to London to your Earldom,And in our name, summon all the CitizensUnto a generall Councill, and there makeA stric't inquiry both of all offences, andThe Offenders see that you punish.
Bish.
Happy is England in so blest a King,Whose only pleasure is his Subjects safety,
Edm.
Our self will play the thrifty husband∣man,And plucke the ranke weedes from the fruitfull earth,That Justice may manure our tillage so,That Peace may spring and Equity still grow.
King.
And herein shall you doe your self much right;For know, my Brother, all my studies beTo banish vice, and call back exilde virtue,And but to leave it quietly to Thee,That art true heyre to all our Soveraignty.
Edm.
Which care if it fall on this tender un∣apt prop,I shall with patience bear the heavy load,And with my care break my now quiet sleep,And let my eyes and eares still open beTo heare and see with pure integrity.
King.
Brother be gone;You are the Earle of London; let us seeThe City by your care so ordered be,That no oppression wrong her: pray be carefull.
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Edm.
Brother I shall, and so I take my leaveFor to redress in what I can the wrongsOf the poor wretches that with bended kneesThrow down their wrongs & prayers all at once.Oh, may their eare be deaf that stops their earesAgainst the poor, that plead with supplyant teares.
Exit.
King.
Be it your charge, good Sibert, to pro∣claimIn all the government you hould of us;As Gloster, Worster, Warwicke, Coventry,That all oppressed people may repairHere to your Castle, where wee'l doe them Ju∣stice.
Sib.
I shall my Leige. the Divel shall damme um first,
King.
Keep carefully those papers, they containSeverall complaints, for whose redress our selfWill this day sitt in Counsel to determine.Believe me Lords, that Prince whose faire ex∣ampleDrawes other to be good, may justly claim.His peoples love and live in books of Fame.
Exit.
Sib.
So then I see in this the threatning storm is come,And points at me, which we must cast to shunne,So all those ills he means to punish now:My Conscience tells me I have in some sort acted:Tush, what of that, who dares accuse me for't.Say, on my back I wear the poor mans sweat;My power and greatness might have borne that out,But that this vertuous King in this bad ageWill needs be good, and here in my own houseGrant some access unto the multitude,
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That all with base exclaimes as loud as thunder,Accuse my actions, and in them my life.
Ent. Emma.
Em
Come Sir, I have overheard your passion;Take my counsell, let not the name of KingDishearten Thee, or strike amasing terror to thy heart!Were it ten Kings that should oreturn my State,I'de work my safety out of all their ruines.
Sib.
Oh, He or I must down.
Em.
Then let him die.There is no other way to set you free.
Sib.
Thou hast awak't me, and I must con∣fessThy cousell though through danger points at safety,And I will tak't in time: the King shall die.To save my life is soundest Policy.
Exit.
Ent. Anne, Lobster, Ioane.
Io.
You lay all on me, Lobster.
Lob.
And I should lay all my wayt on thee, Ioane, thou mustNot refuse it, for thou knowst, women are born to beare.
Io.
I, but not such burthens.
Lob.
Nay, and you beare not me, youl ne're beare childI warrand you Ioane.
An.
So Sir, what discant can you make.
Lob.
I, young Mi•, but it is upon the plain old SongThat every one desires to sing a part in.
Io.
You have it without book, Mr Lobster
Lob.
Oh, by the book in any case, it must be prickt to them.
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An.
Very well Sir, whatsoever maids beare, they must be sureTo bear your knavery, for thou art never loaden with that.
Lob.
Or else I were worse then clean lin∣nen, Mris,For maydes use to beare that.
Ent. Old Thorny and Woodford.
Th.
Come Cosin Woodford,Are you not weary with my long discourse.
Wo.
By my good hopes I swear, unless your changeWill interrupte me with some other matter,I shall find naught to talke on, but my daughter.
Th.
I tell you Sir, her duty, modesty and hus∣wifryAre such large theams and so delightfull to meAs I can speak no other.
Wo.
Sir you doe that which all tongues else proclaim,Your daughter is the mirror of this City:And nothing that is good can glut my eares: be∣sideYour talke hath made the way seem short,For see we are upon them: see your man Sir.
Th.
Hee's kissing of my maid, by the masse, how now Lobster?What are you doing Sirra?
Lob.
The clothes are drie Sir, and Ioane and I am a foulding.
Th.
Thou art foulding her in thy armes, me thinks; away knave.'Tis well done girle: and harke you, MrWoodford,I have already vow'd a single life,Chiefly to give her all unto her portion.
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Oh, it would joy my heart to see her well-be∣stow'd,That she might keep my name alive unto poste∣rity:She shall have rich possessions to indow herTo a good husband.
Ent. Edmund and Ga••foord.
Wo.
Her face without possessions will deserve.
Th.
St. Cozen, what honourable Persons have we here?Fore heaven, it is my Soveraign's brother, Noble Edmund,The Earle of London, our gratious Lord,He must not pass without my duty: health to your Grace.
Edm.
Our thanks good Thorney Iustice is now impeacht,And is araignd by fell oppressors,And craves you as a prop for to uphold here.
Th.
A weak decaing prop, my noble Lord.
Edm.
In this small scedule is a mass of wrongsWhich crie for a redress; be it your care to sum∣monAll that are opprest, for to repaire to the Earle of Coventry;There to give up their grievances.
Th.
It shall be speedily performed my Lord.
Edm.
A heavenly prospect! what fair Crea∣ture's that?
Wo.
His daughter.
Th.
My only Child, my Lord; even all the fruitThat heaven, that time, and death hath left un∣pluctFrom this old sapple-tree.
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Edm.
It is a fair one Sir: what sudden fire is this,That shoots through all my vaines? 'tis scorching heat,'Tis of aspiring flame, and through my eyesShootes a hot lustfull fire, that must be quenchtIn yonder Sea of pleasure; no trick yet — I hav't.Sir you have a fair ring here, trust me,I never saw a richer in my eye, troth'Tis a fair one, or else my fancy wrongs me;
Th.
You praise it to the best, my Lord, and yet I love it;This guift did part my loving wife and me.Peace with her Spirit, and yet my honored Lord,I am no scrupulous Idolater, to keep such notesTo my perpetual vows: it shall be yours.
Edm.
This curtesie for ever bindes me to you:I will in some measure gratify your kindness,Pray in exchange accept this ring of mine.
Th.
Be your own Chapman Sr: please you be∣stow it,I'l weare it for your sake.
Edm.
With all my heart:Knews't thou the sequell of this rings intreaty,Thou wouldst have bin more nice in parting with't.But I forget me, I must to the King.
Th.
We shall attend your grace.
Edm.
Lead on, i'le follow you.
Exit.
Gaufreid, 'tis thou must make me fortunate:Thou seest you Ceature: go to her by this ring;I blush to speak the rest: harke in thy ear.You know the purpose Sir.
Gauf.
Perfectly my Lord, and I'le practize it.
Edm.
Oh! that we should not feare to doe those things
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We shame to speak of, but the fire is kindled,With once supprest, flames with the greater force.Silence containes more passion then can beExprest in any rapsody of words.Deep floods run still: when those that murmurAre of a shallow slight profoundity.I know that my desire is ill; yet cannot IDesist from my foul purpose; for my bounded courseOf humane reason overflowes their banks,And runs disorderedly through all my vaines:Frail flesh is weak, and reason stept aside,Our spring of goodness needs must puddled glide.
Exit.
Gauf.
Faire greetings beauteous Virgin;By his commandes your father thus salutes you.
An.
It was my mothers ring, I know it Sir;And his commends is a command to me:What his pleasure pray you.
Gauf.
That you accompany me unto him self,To whom I am charg'd to conduct you presently.
An.
My duty is oblig'd to his command;Nay I'le not question, but attend his pleasure.Go Sirs, get home your clothes, & let your caresBe diligent in house till my return.
Io.
Will you dispatch?
Lob.
Yes Joane, and you'le take up your clothes once, the baskets are ready.
Io.
You shall carry it then.
Lob.
I warrant the wench, I have a carriageThat will carry home, i faith, if it be discharg'd once.
Io.
I have heard so.
Lob.
Never fear that faith wench:You had not best make too much haste Mris.
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Doe you here, you Courtier, shee's the flower of the City,And therefore use her well, I pray: and 'twere notFor this Porters office, I would trust none of you all
Exit.
With her. Go forward Joane: here's a fine world,When the cart must go afore the horse:A man to come poking thus behind a woman.My Mris. is gone before Ioane, you shall go be∣hinde;I'le put you in before another time.
Exit.
Ent. Emma and Sibert.
Em.
The night grows old; we must dispatch and kill him.
Sib.
True Emma, for ere to morrow's breathOur lives doe hang in fearfull hazard.
Em.
Think then what follows.
Sib.
Nothing but this, that thou observe my vow,Which this night here I make in sight of heaven,And call the powers both good & bad to heare it;By Sibert's soul I'le never see the Sun,Till the King die, and this black deed be done;Let hell record my vow, the King shall die;This night concludes his horrid tragedy.
Em.
Enough, I'le shew thee then these instru∣mental handsThat shall perform it: see Sibert, here they are,
Ent. Two Murderers.
With resolution more strongly armed then with their hands.
1 Murd.
That's worth a thousand weapons.
Sib.
I like their looks, they have no signe of pity.
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2 Murd.
Pity? a pox of pity; pitty's for ba∣bies.Say but the word, and I'le wipe out pity, sheath this weapon in your side.
Sib.
The deed once done I'le load you both with gold.But where will you hide the body when hee's dead?
Em.
Know this my Lord; here by the uncouth cavern of a wall,A solitary brook doth glide along,Which we have turn'd from forth his proper course,And in the mid'st o'th channel digg'd a pit,Where when the murdred King is once in∣tomb'd,The nimble current shall be brought again,And overrun the royall Sepulchre:This being done, what bloud-hound, or what artCan finde the body some fifty fathom laydBeneath the river?
1 Murd.
This is brave my Lord.
Sib.
Beyond comparison▪ I admire thee Emma.Goe, conduct them to the chamber secretly,And when the King's asleep.
2 Murd.
He never wakes.
Sib.
Follow my Lady then.
Both▪ Murd.
We'l bear her company.
Ex. unt.
Sib.
So, so; ha, ha, he! sleep Lord secure,Untill the horrid shreekes of a Kings murder wake thee.Night yet thou art smooth, and lookst upon us with aSmiling eye: keep still thy golden cheek;Be not thou sick, for under casualities;The Eclips is past, that was the Herald to this fatall hour,
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Some twelf months since; or if thou wilt frown on usWe can not be out dared; who's there;
Ent. Emma.
My Emma, speak is all prepared.
Em.
All to the life, my love.The murderers plac't; the King's a bed.His first sleep is his last.
Sib.
Excellent sentence.Hast thou the Postern key to convey them forth▪To bear the body to the place appointed?
Em.
Think you that any thing I could forgetThat houlds dependance on so deep an action?
Sib.
Good: obscure your self untill the watch be past,Whose company I'le keep to night; & hear you,See you remember still to urge the murderersWhen all's dispatcht to flie the Land with speed,Till wonder be worne out.
Em.
Till fear be under foot; I'le forget no∣thing.
Exit.
The Gard's upon the round, I hear them com∣ing.
Ent. Wiltshire and Garde.
Gard.
Stand; who's there?
Sib.
A friend, and your kind fellow, Gentlemen;The Lord of this poor mansion, whose watch∣full duty cannot sleep to night.
Gard.
My Lord of Coventry.
Sib.
Nay, lay by all Titles; I'le pertake your travels;I'le tell you Sirs, it is my honor's testThat nothing doe disturbe the quiet sleepOf my most Royall Leige: you shall accept me a companion,
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Wilt.
Your Honor doe express your self most noble,To give attendance in a personall duty,
Sib.
'Tis fit it should be so; 'tis my Castle,And I can guide you through all the turnesAnd angles of the Court, and as you finde my care,So make report.
VVilt.
I shall attend your Lordship: another with the lights.
Exeunt.
Ent. Murderers with the body, Emma meeting them.
1 Murd.
Tread softly, you slave.
Em.
O happy sight! is't done?
2 Murd.
This does confirm it.
Em.
Did he not shrick?
1 Murd.
Sfoot, doe you think we gave him warning?
2 Mard.
No, we took him unnawares; he prayd devoutlyWhen he went to bed, as if he ment never toWake again; no sooner was he laid, but ere his eyesHad closed their fleshy windows of their light,But we stept in, and with the pillow stopt his mouth,Lest with his clamorous cries he should have raysed the house;Or by his prayers wan us to pitty;Him then with these poniardsYet reeking with his blood we pierc't his heart,Cut off his tedious prayer.
Em.
Here, take this key, and by the Postern bear it to the pitDigg'd in the river bottom, which being cover'd,
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Wee'l turn the water to his former course;Then make for safety, till the storm be past,And we are all secure. Here's more gold for you.
2 Murd.
Look you be silent, and ne're fear our safety.
1 Murd.
It shall never be reveald for us.
Em.
Was ever murder done and hid so rarely?The body buried in the rivers bottom.What policy of men can ever finde it?Ha! who is't that speaks so loud? crack the clouds?This crying seene is not yet heard in heaven, I hope:Is it for that this dreadfull voyce of thunderRoules through the black inraged Elements,And wraps this bright diapome in fire:Or are these sounds the knelling obsequiesYou use to keep at a King's Funerall? if so,King treason out, but onely this I barr,Wake not the dead, nor name the Murderer.
Exit.
Ent. Bishop and VViltshire, Sibert meeting them.
B. Lu.
Angels defend us! what a night is here?
Sib.
How now my Lords, you have had ill rest to night.
VVilt.
Who but the dead can sleep in such loud summons?The blessed powers defend us: 'tis most fearfull.
B. Lu.
We come to see the King in this sick hour.
Sib.
And for that only cause, my Reverend Lords,We draw our care so nigh his Highness chamber,That had he call'd, we had attendant binTo furnish his desire: but sure he wakes not.
VVilt.
And sure he sleepes not; let's to his chamber.
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Sib.
With all my heart. See here comes my Lady.
Ent. Emma.
B. Lut.
Alas! good Lady, wak'd from your bed with thunder?
Em.
Oh! who can rest in such a dreadfull hearing?When every crack of thunder that breaks forthSeems as if heaven would fall upon our heads.
VVilt.
Noble Lady, accompany us to the King's bed-chamber.
Em.
With all my heart. I'me sorry he's thus disturbed.
VVilt.
Softly, least being not yet awak'd,We fright his Highness with our suddain coming.Ha! the bed empty: his Highness sure is up.My Lord, my Leige, ha! no answer?
B. Lut.
Strengthen me heaven! lights here a little:Is not this blood?
Sib.
Ha, blood! more lights.
VVilt.
I fear my royal blood, my Lord, my Leige, my King.
Sib.
Cry treason louder then this voice o'th thunder.'Tis that that he hath all this while proclaimed,And we dull animals could not perceive it.Treason, murder, treason.
All.
Treason, murder, treason.
Sib.
Call for the Pages; raise up all the Court.And hollow treason through out every room.Oh! who is he hath staind my Loyalty,And made my house the author of this treason?
Ent. Pages.
VVilt.
Be patient Sibert; here come the Pages,
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Let's examine them.
Page.
Where's the King?
Sib.
Who's that that speaks so drowsily? base villains!When blood of Kings besmears the Royall bed.
Page.
Ha, the King's murdred! my Royal Master!Thy loss is our decay.
Sib.
Die Loyall traitors, you have murdred him.
Kills them.
O're take him Slaves, or hide your guilt in hell.
VVilt.
Alas my Lord! you doe you know not what.
Sib.
Doe you uphold them; take heed, tempt not your spotlesLoyalties with any scrupulous thought; I would fain beleeveThat you were as my self, right loyall.
Amb. 1.
That shall be seen Sir, in our diligence.
Sib.
You talke but nothing doe, search for the body,If we find that, we soon shall find the traitors.Search every room; the body is not far;The murderer will be found: black deeds of hell!Who was the author.
Exit Sibert and Emma.
Em.
Those that will not tell.
VVilt.
This is a horrid night.
Bish.
To kill the Pages unexamined, these are not just proceedings.
VVilt.
I doe not blame his loyalty, but his rage,That in their deaths, we should have questionedPrevents the means of our discovery.
Bish.
This night is fatall, for 'tis hatch't in blood.
VVilt.
Heaven cease this thunder, 'tis a time of sorrow:
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But come my Lord, think of the Kingdoms safety.First let us resolve with swiftest speedTo greet the Earl of London,Royal Prince Edmund, with thi•• heavy news.
Bish.
As 'tis most fit. See here's Sibert.
Ent. Sibert.
Sib.
No marvail tho the heavens speak in thun∣derTo see anointed blood spilt on the earth!And in my house! oh heavens!
VVilt.
Nay good my Lord forbear.
Sib.
Did not I tell you that those drousie PagesWhom this hand slew (& I thank heaven for it)Were the tour traitors, perhaps hired to doe it.
Lut.
That we would have found my Lord.
Sib.
I would my heat of rage had given you leave;I doe repent it now, but 'tis most certain;For that the Postern gate, whose keys they had in keeping,Was now found open; tax me to any painsTo find this treason; set me down half the worldFor my own travail, I'le bring the Traitor forthOr ne're return.
Lut.
Use your care, whilest we send post away.This night's the worst that ever covered day.
Exit VVilt. and Bishop Lut.
Sib.
Ha, ha, ha, ha; the best to me: So, so.Speak louder thunder, make a more horrid night:Conscience is not at home thou canst not fright:Crie Traitor stil, though I thy meaning know.Here's none that understands thou call'st me so.
Exit.
Ent. Edmund and Anne.
Edm.
Nay, doe not grieve.
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An.
Can you allow me less then teares, my Lord?Oh, what a noble Traitor have you prov'dIn that deceiving ring, that brought me to you?
Edm.
When I beheld this glorious frame of Nature;This ever prais'd, yet never prais'd enough.Proportion, O what a suddain passion I was in?The Queen of love drew forth a fie••y shaftAnd shot my brest, which rancle did so soreThe more I let it rest it rag'd the more,Till from the store-house of my hatching brainThis balsome of remedie I distill'd,And cured the wound: this rich EmbassadorDiscover'd to me more then the Indies wealth.
An.
Oh! what a jewell then beyond esteemHave I then lost, which gold can ne're redeem?
Edm.
That is not lost, that is repayd with love,Such is our fair exchange: had some rude slavePolluted thy white soul with ugly lust,Thou then hadst cause to grieve; but my desireWas free from the least baseness: what I have borrowedOf thy maidenstore, I will repay, and with a hus∣bands loveGive satisfaction: nay weep not, good sweet∣heart.
An.
A pretty Epitaph for wantons to congra∣tulate withall.You did salute me with a sweeter nameThen I imagine this sweet-heart to be:But you have robd me of it.
Edm.
Nay lovely maid.
An.
Were it heavens will, would I had kept that name.
Edm.
Would you have then ingrost perfection,
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And like a usurer have hoarded upThe Princely jewell of your maidenhead?And let pale death have bin your husband?You were created that from you should springThe worlds increase; then would you most un∣kindAlter what you were made for? 'tisA husband you must have: and if't be so,Why not as good me, as another man?
An.
If you want no vail to shadow, Sir,How many have you caught within this snare?Am I the first?
Edm.
Yes, by this blessed aire;Nor art thou caught in any lustfull net,But in a sacred matrimoniall band,Which we have registred in heavens white book,Where all the sacred Hymeneall oathsAre writ in golden Characters,And there are mine recorded; then 'tis no snare,Nor incest can it be, thou art my wife.
An.
Before I yielded up my virgins nameYou sware no less. Oh heavens! doe not you thinkThe aire is troubled for our privat sin.This thunder tells me, we have angred heaven.
Edm.
Sweet-heart,It is the years due order, and the aireThrough heat and sulphur sends the thunder cracks:Thou wilt be mist at home; I prithee haste un∣to thy father's house.
An.
Opprest with shame.
Edm.
In troth I shall be angry with thee sweet,If thou continue in these fond delirements;Can there be shame in matrimoniall rites?
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Thou art my wife, and here I fealt with these
Kisses her.
An.
Had you sealed no otherwise with me,I could have born the impression willingly,And call'd again for more security.
Edm
Thou shalt ere long imbrace me lawfully;The Priest shall joyn our hands with our true hearts:My business calls me; hence I must be gone,But leave my heart for ever, sweet, with thee.
An.
As good as nought; how ere both sin and shameI bear for thy sweet sake, my lost good name,My fathers anger, all is for thy sake.If thou proof false, and that for grief I die,'Tis for thy sake, and shall doe't willingly.
Exit.
Edm.
Farwell thou soul of vertue.
Ent. Thorney and VVoodford.
Now Master Thorney.
Thor.
Health to you Sir: I have according to your good appointmentCaused all the Commons that are opprest with wrong,For to repair to the Earle of Coventry's Castle,Whereat your Princely Brother keeps his CourtTo shew their grievances, and gainst whom they complain
Edm.
You have bin carefull, Master Thorney,And in it shews the duty of a Subject,For 'tis a perilous time.
Thor.
I, I, my Lord, a mostrous stormy time,For since my birth I never heard the like:This many a day we have not seen the Sun,But still continuall thunder frights the earth;What this portends, he that's the cause,
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Best knows.
Ent. A Post.
Edm.
True Mr Thorney, and 'tis not fit for us to question his intents.Thy news! why doest thou look so pale.
Post.
Oh my Liege, I come to sing to you a schritch ou'ls note,That will afright your hearing: your Brother Sir.
Edm.
What of him?
Post.
He is
Edm.
Dead?
Post.
How apt you areTo pluck the mishap't embrion of mischance,Ere it be fully moulded from the womb:He's dead my Leige, and murdered.
Edm.
Murthered, how?
Post.
In his bed, my Liege: by whom is yet un∣known.
Edm.
Then this the cause is that the heavens so scouldAnd rend the clouds with fearfull thunder cracksI'le find the murtherer, though I search the cen∣ter,And from the earth pluck the abhorrid caitiffes.Let all the passages be strongly garded:For till the mutherous villains be brought to light,We still shall live in this perpetuall night.
Exit.
Ent Sibert and Emma.
Sib
Oh conscience! thou art a mortall wound to murtherersNo balme can give thee ease: oh! this dred thunder
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Will never cease his loud amasing terrourTill this most fearfull murther be reveald.
Em.
Art thou a man, and keepst such coward∣ly apprehensionA sound of thunder? why? me thinks this houreI see ten thousand like thy self that standApplying all unto their proper sins;The bribed Lawyer having ta'ne his feeWith ambodexter, feeling cunningly,Hearing this voice, sayes, from his conscience sting,The heavens are angry at his dubble dealing;The griping Usurer that hath ta'ne the forfeitOf some great Estate, this voice of conscienceNow a little wakens him; the Theef,The Tyrant, and the Adulterer, all trembleNow: and what is it but Palsy-conscienceThat appropriates unto it selfThings that we never knew.
Sib.
But this is all my own.Did not the instant deed call up the thunder?Did not I vow to heaven, I ne're would seeNor Sun, nor Moon, untill the King were dead?To which I fear the heavens have added further,That those clear lights the world shall never seeTill this black deed of hell revealed be.
Em.
This is your conscience still: awake for shameFrom this same drousie Lethargie of minde.Seek for thy safety Sibert, and assure it.The Lords are gone to London, follow them,And dive into the owse of all their actions;The generall voice cries, Edmund King of Eng∣land.And being inthron'd, the Royall PolicyWill mount him with a strict and nearer quest
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To finde the author of his Brothers murder.
Sib.
That starts my heart: hence coward con∣science,If any conscience shall but wrinkled sit,And bend a doubtfull censure upon Sibert,I will again dip these my hands in bloodOf the most daring opposite; I see 'tis fearThat man accuses▪ resolves acquite all guilt,All must to earth, where then can blood be spilt?
Em.
Why now thou speakest.
Sib.
I'le put it all in action; stay thou here:Gather our friends and Tenents to a head:Then with them fortifie our strongest Castles, 'tis fitFor him that injures others, to secure him self.
Exit.
Ent. Thorny, VVoodford and Anne.
VVood.
Good Sir, have patience.
Thorn.
Away, she's big, big with child;Out of my doors, thou strumpet.
VVood.
Dear uncle.
Thor.
Cover my shame with some deformity, turn me to a beast,That is not capable of what joys are past,Or griefs to come: blast all my faculties;Hide my white head in everlasting darkness;Let me forget that ere I had a child,And ne're remember that she turn'd a strumpet.O heaven defend me! Let me curse the whore.
VVood.
Good Sir forbear, my charity is suchThat I must hinder you.
Thor.
You doe me wrong to hinder my de∣votion.
An.
Oh! dear Sir, forbear to invocate; you will offend,And make your vertue sin, to call for curses.
descriptionPage 24
Have charity with your self, if not, with me:Impose me to the Laws severity.Hurt not your self with this impatience;I'le stoop to all with mildest sufferance.
Tho.
So, so, 'tis done, and 'tis recorded now,And I have done ill with a mentall vow:Better then windy words; my soul's a witnessNever to let a ••••nediction fallUpon the strumpets head; never to knowOr own thee for my child; never to giveA penny of my substance to thy succour;Never to look on thee: this I affirme,Ever to follow thee with extremest hate;Still to persue thee with extremest rigour;The Law provided has for such offendersNay thou shalt stand example to all children,How they invoke a Fathers aged wrath.
VVood.
Good Sir, qualifie this rage▪ tell us who the offender was.
Thor.
Who should offend with an adulterous whore,But some loose varlet, or luxurious knave,That would have company along to hell:And she must needs goe with him: but I'le beginYour everlasting torments, and fetch such whipsShall make your sweet sin smart; no waight of fateCan be so ponderous, as love turn'd to hate.
Exit.
VVood.
Cosen you see how your Father is in∣rag'd,Therefore his anger for to qualifieIs in my judgment, to him, to revealThe man that made him loose your Virgins name.
An.
O my dear Cuz, it is a waigthy secret that's inclosedWithin my answer; nor can it be reveald
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But to a bosom sworn to secrecy.And yet your love should not be question'd.
VVood.
Were all the engines of tormenting terrourPut to my flesh, if I doe vow a secret,None near shall force it from me.
An.
I beleeve it.Know then, kind Sir, the authour of this folly,Sin, or shame, or how you please to call it,Was youthfull Edmund, now th'elected King.
VVood.
Prince Edmund!
An.
He may deny it now; but here's a witness:Oh! doe but think with what unequall strengthThis Citadell of honour was besieg'd,And you will hardly blame my yielding weak∣ness,When oportunity, the bawd of time▪Had call'd me forth and brought me to his pre∣sence,Think what amazing terrour Royalty could doe,With a commanding love: what sugred breath,Words able to infuse an appetiteIn a coole votarist; yet manger allMy vanquishment was but conditionall.You doe not hear me Cuz.
VVood.
Yes, and so you yielded on conditions.
An.
True Sir, when flattring oaths, sweet vows,Coind love, were out of breath, still I remaindA maiden votaris: but then came forth thisMurthering piece of grief; we chang'd theJugall words of matrimony between ourSouls; and the large ceremony was butDefer'd unto the King's consent, which by hisBrothers death is now his own.
VVood.
But lust once sated, they forget all oaths,
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That helpt them to't; and though a Prince, he'sSubject to affections; I but think youHee'l not forget.
An.
I cannot tell.
VVood.
And violate his vow.
An.
Alas! I dare not claim it: but how ereThis token of his love I'me sure to bear.And for his sake, thus have my vows decreed,No man shall ever second this his deed.
Ent. Lobster and Ioane.
Lobst.
O Mris, Mris, I have run so fast and ta∣ken such Pains,That my wind's gone backward and foreward;And have stirred so much that I doe(Saving of your presence) you may smell the rest.Ioane has bin down; but, butI took her up again: yonder comes your FatherWith such a company of Beagles:
Ioa.
And such a company of whips:
Lobst.
And such a company of sumners:
Ioa.
And such a company of knaves:
Lobst.
Slaves, that look as if they had eatNo meat this seven years, and theyBring the ingines that must give yourShoulders the bloody lash.
An.
Oh heavens forgive me! am I the first offender?
Thor.
Let all the Officers beset the door,And look Mr Constable, here's your pray;Go strike your tallent in.
Ent. Thorney, Constable and others.
Thor.
Here's banquets for you; I'le make her passThrough all the pu••gato yes of pennance.
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You are the Phisician that let wantons blood,To cure the itch of lust: you may doe good, but yet beyond your help,There will remain an everlasting scar, a spot, a stain,That never will be out: oh! look on me,You that distribute justice partially:Scourge your own flesh and blood when it re∣bells.
VVood.
Good Sir be patient; I pray depart,And consider what he hath done, is not in hate, rashness.
An.
Upon my knees, dear Sir.
Thor.
I will not hear thee strumpet.Heaven, earth, and men give ear and hear my words.Here take my vow his force: beyond this hour.We never more will meet. I'le hate the place that keeps thee.And as a lasting trophie of thy guilt:I will dispose my self, that did beget thee:Never shall razor prune thy careless looks,I'le never hence forth feed but on the ground;I'le never pare my nails, but let them growInto unseemly clawes, with which I'le digMy Monumentall bed.
An.
Oh kill me Sir! and end my miseries.
VVood.
Good Sir, calme this passion.All this distemperature for a grief so slight.
Thor.
Oh! shut me up in everlasting night:Let me but see her under Justice grip't,And then I'le turn away my eyes for ever,For now I go to contemplation:Thy soul I pitty yet, though not thy flesh.That wealth should have indow'd thy nuptiallsShall build a sanctuary for holy men,To make thy peace in heaven; lewd world fare∣well.
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I never will discover more of theeThen from the humble prospect of my grave.My charge can be but small, my care much less,I have not left me now a child to bless.
Exit.
Lob.
If every wench should be so used that had eaten white puddings,We should not have so many Children left upon stalls as we have:Unnaturall Father, that would whip his own child for drinking a little white bastard:Ye ill looking rascall,Canst find in thy heart to whip a greatBellyed woman? Mris, now I am in a good mindHere's good hanging me; I beseech you Mris,Let me be flead from the chin to the navell,Rather then you shall be whipt.
Io.
Or I beseech you, let me indure the pon∣nance.
Lob.
I, good Mris, if you will not let me be whipt,In any ••ase, let Ioane be whipt.
VVood
Pray will you be gone?
Lob.
Yes. I goe, but I cannot chuse but cryTo think that a woman▪ for once doing,Should be undone for ever▪ Come Ioane here'sA faire example for you: let's then to the but∣teryAnd candole; for sorrow's drie, you know,Wee'l weep whole pa••l fulls, and in briny tearesMy self and Ioane will ducke ore head and eares.
VVood.
Mr Constable, I beseech you Sir, to shew to us whatFavour you can, you see her case, therefore I pray,Leave unto me your Prisoner; i'le pass my wordFor her apperance at her delivery.
Const.
Sir, I am but the Laws dependancy;
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And for her Fathers sake, though against his will;I'le leave her to your care, and take your bayl,Till course of Law shall further summon her.
VVood.
I pray Sir, depart as privatly as you can,To avoyd further punishment.
Const.
Well Sir, I'le follow your directions.My charge is yours.
Exit.
VVood.
There now remains onely this,That I intreat you to accept my houseFor entertainement, till you be delivered:There you shall want for nothing, but haveKinde respect.
An.
Heaven make me able to requite your love.
VVood.
Come home with me, and bid all grief Adieu.
An.
The health of my sick soul relies on you:There is another home, I dare not name.I'le be disgrac't ere, I his worth defame.
Exeunt.
Ent. Edmund, Earle of VViltshire, Sibert, Bishop.
Edm.
How like a tedious day is Majesty▪Which gives his light unto succession?The day expir'd, night with his pale dark cheekWraps up his brightness, and gives day repose,To give another a reflection.So by death's hand my brothers dayes destroy'd,My Sunshine day refulgently appeares:Which, how he died, the heavenly eye of love,Whose searching Majesty lightens all thoughts,And opens all her dark obscurity,Best knows whose hands were bathed in the blood.
descriptionPage 30
Wilt.
You see the cruell terrors of these times,Oh! gratious Prince, and that which doth ex∣ceedThe strength of all amazement, since the deathOf our late murdered Lord and Soveraign:The Sun and Moon was never seen to shine.
Edm.
The eye of heaven is banish't from the earth,And gone to wander in eternall night;And ransake some Cemerian seated cave,To finde the Murderers, that with horror sittsStarting at every apparition;And never will illuminate the world,Till it hath brought him to transparent view;And to him speaks this thunder.
Sib.
No, 'tis to me: but I'le not answer,Though the boults should flie and strike me to the center.
Edm.
How horridly it cracks!A generall desolation sure is come,And heavens glorious eyeI think is banish't hence eternally.
Sib.
Take courage Sir a Royall thoughtStoops not to Fortunes blindness: great thoughts are everFixt to the publik good, and not kept down by passions.Oh! the blood.
Wilt.
Let's invocate the powers aboveFor to reveal the horrid Murderers.
Sib.
Hot vengeance light on him that so per∣swades him.
Edm.
Swear as you hope for heaven, your carefull studiesShall be to si••t this execrable deed,And bring to light this damned Murtherer.
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Sib.
Zoundes I must kill him too, and pre∣vent his purpose.
VVilt.
We vow the same with force and dili∣gence.
Edm.
As for my self I will outwatch the night,Wast these life-seeing tapers of mine eyesTill they drop forth the sockets of my skull:But I will finde the execrable Slave.Why standst thou silent, Sibert?
Sib.
Alas! my Lord, I am hid in sorrow,That in my house this mischief happened:And yet dear Prince, I have already spentThe utmost minutes in this fatall business:No place, no person, no suspected breastThat might unto the act be aidable,But I have torne it open, and examin'd,So that deceit it self could not deceive me,But all in vain, the damn'd Murderer lies unre∣vealed,And heaven or none must find him, hee's so sub∣till.
Edm.
I feare thy Loyalty; come let's to Co∣ventry,And there we will fift out murthers darkest waysSibert, let's have your Company along.Were millions given this purpose to prevent,All Europe shall not hinder our intent.Be ready, Sibert.
Sib.
With all my heart, my Lord. Mischief confound it.
Edm.
Set forward Lords,Thou that still guards the right,Bring this dark obscure murther to the light.
Exeunt.
Manet Sibert.
So the King's for Coventry, and I as mark't
descriptionPage 32
With some brand of suspicion, must be the manTo attend above the rest: Sfoot, what noteOr character of guilt lies on my browMore then the rest: my speech was firm,I was less frighted with this loud tongu'd thunde••Then was the King, or any of his Peeres.And but my conscience nothing troubles me;And that is no mans burthen but my own▪Which I'le conceal, though with the Kingdoms ruine:Let Hell spit fire, I'le not accuse my self,Although the Sun and Heaven be hid in clouds,And with an everlasting darkness cover us.
Thunder loud.
Oh! I presume too much, that crack has mazed me.Horrour of Hell! what shall I doe? think, Sibert and conceive;What if the King should call my wife in question,Or that the Murderers, we hir'd to doe't,Should be surpris'd, and brought unto the King,Examined, put to death: where's Sibert then?Thrown in Hell fire, never to rise again.Which to prevent, I'le presently make flight,And leave with them my feare and jealousie.I'le ship my self for Ireland, and thereShrowd my self safe, and there close up my earesFrom this loud peals of thunder, which are sentAnd on my head with winged vengeance bent.
Exit.
Ent. MrWoodford and Anne Thorny.
Wood.
Now you are a happy mother, the good HeavensHas brought your burthen to a happy issue, you mayNow curse the cause; you shall have my instru∣ctions
descriptionPage 33
To direct you.
An.
Now, Heaven forbid.
VVood.
By his delay you may see how he stands affected.
An.
'Tis a delay without proportion.
VVood.
Your Father threatens and persues your lives best shipwrack,Vowing, if you should starve, not to giveA penny for to comfort you.
An.
Yet I will pray for him eternally:And for my Sovereign which hath forsaken me;But of his love I will expect no more,Think wise, or dream then of that thingUnknown, unsought, or never thought upon.
Wood.
Oh! be not to your self so cruel.
An.
Since in his loss, I have lost my self and honour;I now resolve in this unblemisht habit to weare outThe remnant of my days in penetanceAmongst the holy Nunnes of Holy well,Into whose Sister-hood I am admitted,And there for ever will I plant my being.
VVood.
Oh! gentle Cuz.
An.
I am deaf to all persuasions,My best of blood, I have no friend but you,And in your virtue I impose my trust,That with all secret care you chuse a time,To give this ring to my dear Soveraign,The once dear pledge of his forgotten love:With it this letter, in whose sad contentsIs nothing but a vertuous milde intreaty,That he would gratiously behold this child,His hapless Son, and called by his name,Edmund, that mongst the longer of my sighesI may have comfort to keep down my griefs.
descriptionPage 34
VVood.
And as my own, I mean to tender it.
An.
Your vertue makes my care lie easy on me:Good Cosen speak what temper holds my Father?
VVood.
Has given o're his house and all his wealth,He means for to distribute to holy uses.
An.
And yet I live and breath that am the sin∣full authorOf these sorrows: but flows this deluge for his ownOffences, Or the remembrance of my hatefull shame.
VVood.
From your disgrace.
An.
Then to this World Adieu, why doe you urgeTo hold me longer here a Prisoner?I have out lived myne honour, buried aliveMy old and vertuous Father, for which I am be∣lowAll reach of humane pitty that I know.They wish to Serpents more prosperity.My soul's as black as darkness, and can take no lightOf other beauty, till my teares have washt it:I doe beseech you Cuz, commend my dutyTo my Father, and intreat his vertue,To l••y no more affliction on his age for my offen∣ces pastAnd last to thee, my first of cares,Whose innocence is spotted with my sin.Oh! be thou made so blest, that in thy vertuesI and my faults may loose their memories.Take my last kiss, and with it these my teares,Which to thy Royall Father thou shalt beare.Now take it ••r and with it all my comforts, all my prayers.
descriptionPage 35
Love it dear Cuz, & though from grief it spring,Yet 'tis the onely Son unto a King: farwell.I feare we never more shall meet on earth,Here my joys end, you have my sorrows birth.
Exit.
VVood.
Success attend you: would all that stept awry,Would be but subject to thy penalty.Come on thou brat of woe, and sad defame,Although a Kings he cannot hide the shame.
Exit.
Ent. King, Earle of Wiltshire, Bishop Lutius, and Emma.
King.
Thus Royall Lords, we are in Justice plac't,And by the assistance of the all-seeing heavenTo search forth murther. Are the suspected per∣sonsYet brought?
Wilt.
They are my Leige.
King.
Speak woman, and remember as thou speakest,That thou art before heaven as well as we,Who them with all thy cunning caust not blind;What knowst thou of the murther?
Em.
I doe beseech, bring forth my accusers.
VVilt.
I am the first, yet free from spot of envy,And thus I ground my feare, if your white handsHave tane no tincture from the bloody woundsOf our late murdred Prince, why is your LordAgainst his oath, alleageance, and command.Fled thus preposterously in the self-same hour,In which he should have done his Country-ser∣vice.
Em.
The Law whi••h did ••nite my Lord and me
descriptionPage 36
In one firm body: never did impartThe freedome of his thoughts into my boosomeNeither doth that or any English customeImpose on wives their husbands blemishes.I pray, my Lord, accuse me for my self.
King.
'Tis from your self if you be foul in him.
Wilt.
Besides it is affirm'd by solemn oathThe self same night the King forsook the World▪You and your Lord did never come in bed;So that in common sence, you either wereOr chief, or aiding to the murderer.
Em.
Our busy care to entertain the King,Did make us leave our beds to vertuous ends.Oh! my good Lord, you would disgrace my goodness,But my poor innocence is so cleare from blem∣ish,No filths of any tongue can sully it.And here before your Master, I wish,If I be guilty, or in thought or action,May I be made a warning to all women,And branded with most black damnation, -oh! — oh —
Wilt.
Defend us heaven! Look to the Lady there.
Bish.
Are you hurt, Madam?
Em.
No, but amazed at this dreadful thunder.
Bish.
Oh! be advised in time, and tempt not heaven.Scarce had deniall issued from your lips,B••t thunder cryes aloud that you reuealWhat else heaven will speak in miracles.
King.
Doe woman, tell the truth.
Em.
You mad me wi••h your vaine suggestions:Your actions are unjust and terrible.I doe defie what ever can accuse me;
descriptionPage 37
Though it be wrested in loud peales of thunder,Yet with a breath more noble then your slanderI throw defiance at your envious boosoms.What doe you think to work upon my weak∣ness?Tush, I am armed with better fortitudeMy Lords, I aske a husband at your hands:A Noble Prince, which you have murdered;And now with these suggestions would over∣whelme.My life and fortunes, making me confessA crime, of which I am more innocentThen you your selves, or babes new born this hour.
A blasing star appeares.
Bish.
Se, se, my Lord, a blasing star appears,And hangs directly o're this fatall house.
Edm.
Angels pro••ect us!
Em.
Ha, what art thou?Thou dost amaze me with thy curled fires.Why doth thy flaming train thus point at me, — oh! — oh! -
Bish.
How fare you, Lady?
Em.
Oh hide thy branded fire, whose flaming beamsAre shot into my brain; it flames and burnes,And all the waters that o'rewhelme the King,Can never quench it, till his body come. - oh! - oh!
King.
Doth water then o'rewhelme his body?
VVilt.
Perhap 'tis cast into some River, Sir.
Em.
Spare me, oh! spare me, gentle heaven, be dumb▪Call not so loud, let me unload my boosomOf this eternall waight of sin and murder;Then let thy winged lightning split my breast,That all the World may know, my Lord and I
descriptionPage 38
Contriv'd the King's most bloody tragedy.
King.
It is confest.
Em.
Oh! Royall Sir, I am inforst to speak:Frowning heavens, and that almighty fireHath thrust it from my mouth, and I confess,My Lord and I did hire two desperate men,And they by our command did kill the King.
King
Where are those men?
Em.
The murder done they fled to find out safety,But whither, by my soul's sicke estate, I know not.
King.
What did you with the body of the King?
Em.
Hard by the Castle stands an old grown oake,Close by whose side a little River runnes,Whose quiet streams we stopt, and turn'd h••s courseUp to his head, till in his sandy bottomWe dig'd a pit and therein laid the body;Which done, we cover'd it with earth & stonesAnd turnd the water to his former passage,That running over it, none might seeOr find the author of this tragedy.
King.
Unheard of stratagem! take pitty on thy soul!Thou barbarous woman; call to the powers aboveFor to be mercifull.
Em.
False World, farwell; let me example be,A warning to our sex from blood to flee.
Dies.
King.
Go home and see the body be brought before the Judge.
Wilt.
I shall my Lord performe it carefully
descriptionPage 39
Enter some with Sibert and Murderers.
Wilt.
Come bring him before the King.
Sib.
Let me not see the King, nor be exa∣min'dThat cursed, which did bewitch my sence,And made me hire the slaves to murder him.
King.
Discourse to us the manner of their ta∣king,
Sib.
I'le tell the tale my self, hear me, O noble Iudge:When in disguise loaden with desperate thoughts,I meant to pass to Ireland by the Seas,The angry heavens call'd up the mounting waves▪And bad them in their hollow murmurs say,They would not beare a Kings base murtherer▪My passage thus denied by raging stormes,Like a distracted out-cast forth I wentInto strange paths, careless and negligent,And there I met these damned Murtherers,Mad as my self: and horrour with dispair,They hollowed still for mudering the King▪We all are damn'd to eternall tortering:Which when the people heard, they us surprisedAnd brought us thus a bloody sacrifice.
King.
The Gods are ever just: oh! Coventry,Thou art the bloody Subject of our curses;Thy bloody hand hath bath'd the anoynted KingIn his own blood, for which we will be swift.In vengeance: take these three, and by their heeles, hangThem upon stakes; let ravens, mastives, worry▪ them to death:That when they s••rick, their hideous fearfull cryes
descriptionPage 40
May draw the Land to see their miseries:
Sib. and Murd.
The doom is Royall, just, and mercifull.
King.
For this vile woman, see her senceless bodyBe on a pile of faggots burnt to earth,And scatter'd before the blustring windThat on their winged convayes they may flyeTo the Worlds furthest verge or memory.See it perform'd; they thus to death are sent,The Heaven I hope will pease her punishment.
Bish.
Take comfort, Princely Sir, the worst is past,The sacred powers are pleas'd with this your justice:For with the Traitors deaths the stormes are ceast,The air is clear, and all the thunders past,And see, the Sun and Moon give blessed light,And quite abolisht our diurnall night.
King.
Now the news.
Ent. with the body.
Wilt.
The body's found my Lord.
King.
Bring it in.
Wilt.
'Tis here my Leige.
King.
Here on this humble ground lies heThat once was King of this vast Monarchy▪Alas! What are we Kings? what's Majesty?But like a flattring glass that shews forth pride,And with one stripe, of all destroying death,Is past to nothing: lookes that face nowLike to a brow that did command a Kingdome.Thus pale and bloodless; was this the headThat wore the golden wreath, thus groveld all with earth?Take up the body, and let it have a second bu∣riall,
descriptionPage 41
And layd within the sepulchers of Kings:Our self will take our way,And make a progress to establish Laws,That this our Land Iustice may rule so even,Our life may be acceptable to heaven.
E••eu••••.
Enter Chorus.
The body being intomb'd, King Edmund takesA progress through the Realm to establish Laws;Himself in Iudgment. Sits to hear mens cause?Five years he spent: mean time what cares be∣fellUnto his Love, the Nun of Holy-well,And her affection'd Father: now beholdWhat's done in shew, I shall in words unfould.
A dumb shew.
Enter Thorny with Cittizens, giving them large summes of money: shewing them the money: desires them to see his building goe forward: takes his leave with a deaths head in his hand: goes into the tombe.
Second dumbe shew.
Enter one way Edmund, Wiltshire. Bishop Lutius; at the other, Woodford and the Child: he kneeles, delivers to the King a Letter and a Ring: he reads the Letter and smiles; blesses the Child, and gives it to Wiltshire; the King and Bishop de∣partes to see Anne.
Chorus.
Old Thorny thus o're grown with misery:Who never more would see his vertuous Child,But in a plot of ground, a mile from London,
descriptionPage 42
Builds up a tombe where night and day he lives▪His goods are sold, and to the poor he givesLarge sommes of money, and takes a solem•• oath,Of those his friends and worthy CittizensFast by his tombe to build a famous Abbey,And with three hundred work men dayly pliedTo have it finisht ere old Thorny died.This done, the King returned back to LondonAnd faithfull Woodford watching a fit time,Presents him with a Letter and a Ring,His long forsaken love had sent to him,Which read, the King wi••h much astonishmen••Remembers her, and doth with teares expressHow much he blames his much forgetfulness,Vowing to see her: presents to him his Son,Being grown to years of some d••scretion:Which the King gladly takes, and smiles on him.What now shall follow with your gratious fa∣vour,We humbly beg attention to the end,And if we fail to please we'le strive to mend.
Exit.
Ent. Old Thorny in his tombe.
Oh brightsome day! thus low poor Thorny bows,To strive with briny teares thy gladsome light,Whose hopes have shut him up in darksome night,Here in this tombe sequestred from the worldWill Thorny spend his life; and with my naylsTo dig my grave, and in this glass to see,And view the end of all mortality.Court-pomp, and Citty pride, look, look on this,And teach your souls the way to happiness:
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••oor flesh and blood, is this the face of man,After the worlds sad separation?Must all return to this! oh London, London:Thy flattery and guileHas bin the cause that I my self exil'd,By Servants sorrow and Daughters sin▪I will behold thy populous streets no more,Nor breath in thee, nor surfet in thy store:Here in my grave, I'le live and learn to dye,That after death my Soul to Heav'n may fly.
Enter Lobster.
'Tis a fine world, when a man must call a manOut of his grave to eat vittles.They talke of watching of a dead corse; I amSure, I have watcht a quick one thisMonth, and brought him meat so longThat I am almost starv'd my self.I have brought him a clean shirt,I would he would shift himself.I found a lowse about him as big asThe top of my thumb, I thought as much:He's talking with that same casts head still;Sure 'tis a Lawyers head, heFindes so much talke wi••h it, it is not abel toAnswer a wise word: I am so hungry,My guts are allmost clung together.Mr, pray will you leave your pratingTo that Memento mori, and go to break-feast.
Thorn.
No, set it down, I have no mind of meat,Till we have thankfull bin we should not eat.
Lobst.
Will you say grace? and if you'le wash your hands,I'le fetch some water.
Thor.
Oh vanity of fooles! hast thou thus long
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Bin my carefull contemplation,And learn'st thou nothing yet▪ look on this hea••This careless skull had flesh and blood,And all like this must meet deformity.What swearer sees this moth & does not trembleOh man! how vain art thou that speakest th•• laboursFor one bewitching minute of this world.And after all thy joys to hell be hurld.
Lobst.
I would I were at the heaven of my vittals.I'de talke of hell afterward.
Thorn.
Hast thou no abstinence for pious work••
Lobst.
There's a piece of pye, I would faine be at it,Will you eat that, and leave talking to that Test•• de morte?
Thorn.
Go call my friends that over see my work,Bid them come speak with me, and then I'le eat▪
Lobst.
I will Sir, but I'le take away the pro∣vant,Least they oversee that you see over.
Ent. 2 Cittizens.
My Master would speak with you.
1 Citt.
All haile to you Sir.
Thor.
All are alike to me, storm, hayl or snow;I take them thankfully▪You two were sworn overseers and performers of my will.Tell me, how goes the Abbey forward?
2 Citt.
'Tis allmost finisht Sir,
Thorn.
When it is finisht, I'le have it dedicatedUnto the Monks of St Benedict's Order;And since I have no child to keep my fame,
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••e call it Thorny-Abbey by my name.
1 Cit.
We shall perform your charge: good Sir for pittyAt least remember your most wretched daughter.
Thorn.
You tear my heart, when you but men∣tion her;Were every penny that is mine a pound,And the least part of it given for her dowryWould raise her to the Title of a Queen:She never should possess it. Her soul sinHath brought myne age with sorrow to the grave.
2 Citt.
Poor soul, she spends her hours in a re∣clusive lifeWith holy Nunnes, and lives a votarist in Holy-well;That comfort, Sir, should somewhat ease your grief.
Thorn.
It does, it does, and draws down tears to hear it.Give her a constant heart: oh powerfull heavenlStill to perseve••e in that pious end.And as a signe that I forgive, so she continues firme,Bear her this blessed token sent from me:A Fathers gift, and charge her carefullyTo look upon this head, and there selectReasons to answer all the ArgumentsOf flesh and blood; there she shall seeThe perfect way to find eternity.And so for ever may your soules be blest;Whilst from the world and you I thus take rest.
Exit.
Lob.
Are they gone; then Lobster lay abou•• thee:Open thy mouth, and let in these
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Morsels of mortality to gorge thy hunger.Well, i'le in to a corner and feed like a mandi•• Soldier.
Exit.
Ent. Edmund and Bishop.
Edm.
Seek not to disallow my good intent,For I must visit her.
Bish.
To give your grace some satisfaction,I'le pass a little with Religious Orders:For ne're no man, unless a ••rier in confession,Might meet in private with a sacred Nunne.
Edm.
High seated Iove far meaner shapes di•• take,When he did visit his fair Parramour,And shall I, that am a mortall then disdaineThe holy habit of a frolick Fryer?No Reverent man, stand it with thy good liking▪That shape above all other I would take.
Bish.
You shall, in hope your deedsShall no way tend to acts of sacriledge.
Edm.
To sacriledge: no our thoughts are pur•• and freeFrom the least thought of such a horrid crime:The habit I will take onely becauseI would be admitted to her unknown.
Bish.
Your thoughts are noble Sir, and we'l•• assist you:
Puts on a Fryer's shape.
Put on this habit, and affect your wishes,Let me alone to get admittance for you.
Edm.
How doe you like me in this habit, my Lord?
Bish.
Now by my holy Order, Royall Lord,You in this shape may be admittedUnto all our Nunnes, and be a helperTo increase their stoie.
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Edm.
There will be one the less by her I fear.
Ent. Abesse and Nunnes.
Ab.
Your humble hand-maids, High and Re∣verent Lord,Thus bow themselves before your Fatherhood.
Bish.
We come grave Lady to have conferenceWith one of your Religious Votarists,That has, we hear, without ConfessionLived many years in this your Nunnery:Whose Father being a worthy Cittizen,All careless of his life hath left his calling,And by the River Thames, a mile from London,He late ha••h builded up a famous Abbey,Call'd by his own name, Thorny; and for this,Fearing some sin of hers hath thus inforc't him;I have here brought a holy Confessor,That finding the true cause, we may appearTo reconcile her to her Fathers love.
Ab.
'Tis a pious work.
Bish.
Is she not here amongst these holy Sisters?
Ab.
No, my good Lord, go on and call her forth.
Edm.
I'le be her Confessor.
Bish.
And will not trouble your devotion;Come holy Sister, leave them to themselves.
Ab.
Beleeve me gratious Lord, I know no causeIn her that should inforce her FatherIn such sort to estrange his love;Her life is modest, chaste and vertuous.
Ent. Anne with a deaths-head.
See here, she comes sadly alone:Ever in grief and contemplation.It is the Reverent Bishop holy Daughter,That here has brought a holy Confessour
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To have some conference about your Father.
Ex••••▪
Edm.
Oh! who can see a beauty mufflled upThus like the sun in a malignant cloud,And not shed tears: Beauteous Nun,I came from your Father.
An.
My Father? oh! holy powers forgive himThat has forgotten me: but I'le pray for him.He never more will see me but in death,As this sad token sent me witnesseth;And 'tis more wellcome comming from hi•• handsThen all earths pleasure: here I'le learn to dye,And never grieve him with my memory.This object tells me, that this life is vain,All come from earth and must to earth again.
Edm.
A good resolve a vertuous persuasion;But tell me fairest, what was the causeThat made your Father to forsake you thus?
An.
Heaven pardon him, I pray, that sun∣dred us.
Edm.
Him? who? why? were ••here more Ori∣ginallsThen your self?
An.
Oh holy Frier, let that point alone.I may hurt one by that confession,Which once I dearly loved, but woe is me,His love has brought me to this misery.
Edm.
Wha•• was he? speak, for you are swor••To open every ••cruple of your conscienceTo your Confessor that hi•• sa••ient judgmentMay minister a balsome to your wounds,The oy•• of vertuo••s counsell ••hat's distildeFrom he unf••ined co••••sell of a tongueT••a•• st••ll speaks truth Play t••e good Chirurgeon,Draw forth the filthy ulcers of your ill.
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That your immaculate good may still rest sound:Else the corrupted fistula of SinWill putrifie the purest of your goodness:Nor need you fear I will disclose,For I am sworn ever to keep it close.
An
O! holy Father, pray for me, and himI once did love.
Edm.
It is my duty for to pray for him,To entreat the powers above to quit his sin▪And yours: what e're it were, but oneYou once did love; in that there is no sin.
An.
Not, if the hearts be true;But ours met not, and there my sorrow grew.His place wa•• high, and eminent in State:Mine low of birth, and most unfortunate.Oh! let me name his Name with Reverence,He is a Royal, great and gracious Prince:Nay more, he's now a King.
Edm.
But tell me pray,Was not your love equally paid from him?
An.
Oh no! his very thought yet comforts me:Yet 'tis for him I live in misery.Lord Edmund, Brother to the King deceast,Made me believe he lov'd me, and I thoughtHis oaths and protestations like himselfShould all be Noble, true and virtuous.So rendred up my Virgin state to him:Oh! then my grief began; he soon forgotHis former vows, and left me big with child,Which being by my Father once espide,And I not daring to make known my love,Lest I should wrong the Prince: in rage and griefHe thrust me forth his doors: exclaim'd on me▪Taking such grief unto his aged heart,That never since he would acknowledge me;And in a grave he leads a life so poor,
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That to my heart it is a grievous sore.The angry Fates have all conspird to showThe most that their enraged power can do.My father's heart hath quite renounc't his child,And my affections from my self exil'd.I onely wish my hasty hour-glass run,And with my cares my daily tears were done.
Edm.
The King is just; how can there be thenSuch unexpected Constancy in men?
Anne.
My noble King is just, to whose royal breast,'Tis too great boldnesse, for me to make request.I am too mean for him to think upon,Long may he live, and long t' enjoy his own:That everlasting dayes may Crown his-head,Shall be my pray'rs while here I'me Cloistered.
Edm.
What a soul of Virtue hath this woman?
Anne.
My father's Legacy, this SceletonShall be my mate, and sole Companion;This face will not deceive me: 'tis my dearAnd counstant tutour, I will it hear;And in my armes for ever shall it lye,'Till death and dust have hid my misery.
Edm.
Oh my heart, how heavy art thou grown!My lord Bishop, I can no longer ownThis F••yars Coul, for I must now discloseMy self, sh'has suffer'd for my woes.But yet I'le stay and see the event of all.
Enter Wiltshire, young Edmund, and Abbesse.
Woodf
Here comes your fair Son,To see you, Nun.
Ann.
Oh my dear Child!
Young Edm.
Am I a King's Son, Mother?
An.
I dare not say, thou art; yet heaven we•• knowes it.
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Wilt.
Our good King's fair soul hath con∣fest it,
An.
My duty on my knees I render him,Beseeching you to assure his Majesty,That if the holy vows of faithfull hearts,Witnest by heaven, may make a marriage lawfullWithout this earthly ceremonious state,This c••ild is onely hi•• leg••t mate.
Edm.
I can forbear no longer, I believe thee.Come to my soul, thou best of women!Within this small circumference of my armesI hold a j••wel,That which •• prise more then my diadem.Come my dear love.
An.
Oh my dear Lord!
Abb.
The King turn'd Friar?
Edm.
Come I must take away your Votari••.
Abb.
Your Highness may command, so she be pleas'd.I could my self change states, to be so rais'd.
Edm.
Dry up these tears, all grief is overthrown.
An.
Content be yours: I am no more my own,But Oh! my Father.
Edm.
Has lost himself in grief; but when he hearsOur sacred union, he'll find new joys:Come my fair Queen, set forward to our Court,Where we'l espouse thee. On Reverend Bishop,Thy hand shall joyn us; let all people sing,Anne Thorny's wife unto Great Englands King.
Exit.
Ent. Old Thorny, led by an Angel.
Th.
Oh! stay, thou Minister, yet speak to me▪
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Why hast thou led me all this silent night'Bout this large building, as if y'ould surveyTheir workmanship and statelinesse;I did not for my self erect this pile:I have a Pallace for my proper use.
Ang.
From the white path of blest Eternitie,I'me sent to comfort thy mortality:Persevere Thorny, as thou hast begun;Thou shalt be made a bright-Celestiall Sun,And with a quire of Angels thou shalt sing.Thy pilgrimage and toyl is almost ended,And now arriv'd whither thy steps have tended,Leaving the world and her abortive race,And sit as King in an immaculate place.
Exit.
Thor.
Into what Sphear is my transcending soulClimb'd from the earth: me thinks even now, I seeHow death comes in, to part this world and me.I'le hast me to my tombe, and meet thee there.What ho my man; wake Sirrah, rise, and leaveMy silent tomb: I'le now go sleep my self.
Lob.
I can never rest, sleeping nor waking· This 'tis to serve a Master that's troubled with Chollimolly. Some talk of taking pleasure in their bed, I'm sure I take none there; for I am almost asleep before I go to bed, and I am call'd up before I wake. And this my masters bed, that he sayes shall be his grave, is none of the softest, and surely none of the easiest neither; for if it were he would not talk so much of it. He thinks, says and speaks of nothing else, but of that and his dying, two things I can't abide to hear of: If he would mention good provision, as plum-PUDDING, good pouder'd beef, mutton or veal, turkies or capons, pasties or tarts; there
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were some comfort towards the keeping up of this poor frail flesh. But he's alwayes peeping on a bare deadman's head, talking of grim death, of an hourglasse run out, and of tapers that are burnt, and such like heavy stuffe, that my weak stomack can't digest. Well, I'le walk easily home and see what ••oan hath provided for us; for un∣lesse I do look after all, we shall have nothing.
Exit.
Thorney awakes and enters.
Thus, thus my joyes are quite extinguisht, neverTo be reviv'd: thus gon, thus gon for ever.Oh world, what art thou? naught but discontent,A Chaos of confusion, making man repentAll his delight and pleasure he hath past;That bringeth naught but misery at last.Oh heaven! how much unto thee am I bound?That I an end of this my grief have found;And through this pilgrimage of life at lastWi••h patience through it I have gone and past;But oh! the sad remembrance of my childHas drawn back my grief, that now was quite exil'd;Still gripes my heart; but being now to die,All dying men should end in charity.I doe forgive her now: doe thou so heaven,And then the debt of her defame is even.
Enter Young Edmund, Wiltshire and Woodford.
Young Edm
Good Sir, where, where's my grand∣father?Pray shew him me,That I may ask his blessing on my knee.
Thorn.
Ha! what apparition's this? I was awake even now,
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Why doe you kneel, or thus stand bare about me?You doe not worship me, I'me sure; I am no Idol;You hear me speak, I hope.
VVood.
We think no less, but that you are a man,And living;This, Mr. Thorney, is the Royal Prince.
Thorn.
Pray, pardon me, I doe not come at Court.You see good Sir, what doting age can doe:It is my duty then to kneel to you.
VVood.
Stand up, good Sir, alas! why doe you kneel?Why doe you turn aside?
Thorn.
Stand up my Daughters Son,And tempt no more my resolution:I'le ne're more see thee, nor thy worthy Mother Queen,Though trap't with all the ornaments of state:And for her memory, even Thee I hate:Yet though I see thee not, thus on thy headI'le backward lay my hand, and bend my knee,With sighs and tears to pull a blessing down,Shall be more pretious then thy fathers Crown;Let heaven and holy Angels ever spreadTheir blest beatitudes upon thy head;Peace crown thy days; all graces thee attend,And to thy race, let thy race never end:Live long in virtue, let thy good o'regrow thee,Or die before thy bad shall overthrow thee;Nay rise my Child, thy face ne're more I'le see,But pray to send thee blest eternitie:Commend me to thy Mother; say, that IFreely forgive her, and to heavens doe pray,
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To wipe her deep insculped sins away:And though on earth she now is placed high,Oh! let her ne're transcend Humility.My starrs burn dim; my times sand-glass is run▪Record what for a daughter I have done;And to the King, my Royal Son, say thus,That his ba••e Father dy'd ambitious.For when his fainting body thus sunk down,His soul flew up to heav'n, to gain a Crown.
Young Edm.
O my Grandsire!
Dyes.
VVood.
I want tears to lament his misery.
VVilt.
Where's the Reverend man?
VVood.
He's dead, he's dead.My good Lord of Wiltshire;Before the gasp of his last breath was gon,(His speech being usher'd with a deep fetcht groan,Through the sad confluence and mistie throngOf his distracted thoughts) his feeble tongueDropt forth these words; Thus fleet, thus tran∣sitoryIs mans delight, and all that painted gloryPoor earth can give: Nor wealth, nor bloud, nor beautyCan quit the debt, that necessary dutyThey owe to change and time; but like a flow'rThey flourish now, and fade within an hour.
Wilt.
The world is like a Play, his glass is run.Death acts the Epilogue, and thus his dayes are done.The King and Queen are come to comfort him.
VVood.
They come too late,Whirlewinds of grief has overwhelm'd lifes state.
VVilt.
He is then dead.
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Alas! this suddain deathWill strike the Court with grief and heaviness;But hark, they come.
Ent. King, Queen and Attendants.
King.
Where's aged Thorny?
Quee.
Where's my displeased Father?
VVoodf.
Here's his Effigies drawn unto the life:By the grave workman of mortality,All dreading death: this doth prefigurateMan's pilgrimage; on earth whose steps do tendTo bring his life unto his journyes end.
Que••n.
O me! unhappie eyes, rain down▪ bring drops,And with them here embalme my Father's Corps.Had I but got his blessing e'••e he died,I had bin happy.
Young Edm.
You want not that, Mother.For in his blessing me, he did name you,And sent to you a blest Beatitude.
Queen.
Heaven quit him for't: let all the CourtIn black lament his death:And let's in sighes chaunt forth his requiem;And to express my love unto the Hearse,From whence I came, the Nuns I'le freely giveFive hundred pounds a year whiles that I live.
King.
And I'le make sure thy gift. And now,His old lamented Corps let be convai'dUpon a Chariot, lin'd and o••erlaidWith Sables; then to receive the CrownPrepar'd for Virtue and deserv'd Renown:Where now we leave him to be full p••s••estOf endlesse peace and everlasting Rest.
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Set on to Court, 'till a fit time doth callTo solemnize this mournfull Funeral:And while the world shall last, old Thorny's nameShall live recorded in the book of Fame.
FINIS.
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