The virgin widow a comedie : vvritten by Fra. Quarles.

ACT. III. SCEN. I. (Book 3)

Phonilla.

THere's old whispering between them. Pray heav'n they be not hatching of a Cockatrices egge. Look where they come.

Ent. Aug. Lact. Trippit,

Aug.

Where's Phonilla all this day?

whispering.

Pho.

Here Madam.

Aug.

O are ye there? My heart's much opprest with melancholly! Come Phonilla; Sing the Song, the King likes so well.

Song.

How blest are they that wast their weary howers In solemne Groves, and solitary Bowers, Where neither eye, nor eare, Can see, or heare, The frantique mirth, And false delights of frolique earth; Where they may sit, and pant, And breathe their pursy souls, Where neither Grief consumes, nor griping want Afflicts, nor sullen Care controuls. Away false joyes, ye murther where ye kisse: There is no heav'n to that; No life to this.

Aug.

Truth, sweetly sung. Come let's away.

Exeunt

Pertenax with a Letter, and Cup.

Murther will out: A Letter, and a silver Cup! To the fair hands of the most honourable Lady, the La∣dy Kettreena these. Good. So much for the preface, Now to the businesse.

[opens the Letter and reads.

The ill Construction of our loves, enforces me to whi∣sper my Affection in the Sympathie of thy sufferings: Cheare up, and let thy courage for a while beare what present time cannot remedy. Receive this Cordiall, as a deare pledge of my love, and a certaine meanes of thy health: It will restore thy wasted spirits, and wind up the plum••ets of thy weakned Constitution, It will fill thy heart with mirth, and bones with marrow, whose welfare is the studious care of

Thy Evaldus.

Evaldus? So now 'tis out. Hah! does the Jade begin to tyre? Must her Plummets be wound up? Nay, It shal ha' my Blessing too, I had a dose of Arsnick

[feels in's packet

But 'tis gone. Well, if I cannot make it fit for her, the King has made it fit for me: Let me see

[peruses the Letter

'Twill fill thy heart with mirth, and bones with marrow. Good! Muth and Marrow, and a silver Cup, three good Commodities! First I'le up with this. So— Now I'le up with that

[drinks. puts up the cup in's pocket

Evaldus, we thank ye. Kettreena, we thank ye, Health and wealth's a double purchase.

Enter Kettreena.

Kett.

Sir, if mine eyes may not be made partakers of the Kings Message, make my eares happy with your Re∣lation.

Pert.

D'ye want Restority? Are the plummets of your soule downer? Does your heart want mirth? or your bones marrow?

Kett.

Sir, What meane ye?

Pert.

Most honourable Lady, to cut your throat: A∣way ye Strumpet.

Kett.

Sir, will you be pleased—

Pert.

To slit your nose; Avoid my sight

[Exit Kett.

O what ayle I! In the name of Gold what ayle my bowels thus to gripe? Oh! Her very breath's a Purge; Her eyes are Granadoes, and have set my bloud on fire. I burne like Hell: My liver scorches; My heart is in a fornace, O water, water, water! O, for a Crust of Ice, that I may gnaw and coole my flaming tongue! Oh, my leggs begin to faile, I faint, I faint, I faint! Oh that this earth were snow that I might roule, and roule, and roule! Where are ye ô my bags, my blessed bags! help me, ô help me my deare bags. Oh, will ye suffer me to

be thus tormented! What are ye deafe now? are ye dumb? Take, take away the Witch; she comes, she comes, she comes to pinch me with hot Irons, & fils my veynes with boyling lead. O the Witch, the Witch, the Witch, the Witch.

Languishes. dies.

Enter Kettreena.

Kett.

What? falne asleep! How miserable is poore Kettreena that has no happinesse but then! How well quietnesse becomes him! He lies very still; He was wont to snort, that th' whole house was witnesse of his slum∣bers, I'm loath to wake him.

I'm affraid he's dead. Sir, Sir, Sir.

[jogs him

Oh, he's dead! He's dead! He's dead!

[Ent. Comodus

utterly dead, dead for ever.

Com.

Deare Sister, what's the matter?

Kett.

O he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!

Com.

Nay, sweet Sister, have patience.

Kett.

Oh, woe is me, that I have liv'd to see this heavy hower!

Com.

Pray Sister be patient, you wrong your self too much.

Kett.

I care not, so long as I never wrong'd him. Oh my deare Husband is dead, and I am undone, undone for ever!

Com.

Come, pray Sister leave the roome, and take some comfort; Your teares cannot recall him.

Kett.

No, no, I'le never leave him, I'le never leave him thus.

Com.

Come, come, let me perswade ye. Nay come, good Sister.

Kett.

Then let me take my last farewell: Deny me not that good Brother.

kisses him.

I hope he's happier far then I.

Exeunt

Ent. Quack. Quibble, at one dore.

Quack

Conscience! What tell'st thou me of Consci∣ence? Conscience, and Commodity, are two severall Trades: If thou keep the one, the other will scarce keep thee. Conscience, quoth her? I cry my stars mercy. There's a word indeed! You a Mountebanks man! You a hang-man as soon. Tell me of Conscience?

Quib.

I beseech you, Sir, excuse me. 'Twas but a ha∣sty word let slip, before I was aware.

Quack

He that's my servant must forget to blush, Must teach his ready lips to mouthe an oath, Must have a daring brow, hatcht ore with brasse; Must have a smooth-fac'd tongue, that has the Art To cloath a naked Lie with robes of Truth; And learne to work upon the easie faith Of the believing Multitude: He must be bold And plausible, and captivate the eare With lines of wit; And with some bugbeare words Of seeming Art, must fright their understandings Into an Admiration. Which, like a nightly Lowbell, may entice Th' amaz'd Plebeans to his Batfoule net. Quibble, what say'st to this?

Quib.

Sir, if you'd be pleas'd to excuse me a little for swearing, I should do wel enough for lying. For indeed, I must confess, swearing goes a litle against my conscience.

Quack

More conscience yet? Come, come, ye must not Stand upon such Niceties: He that will thrive Must fear to act no profitable Crime: Almighty Gold hath power to absolve The evils of poverty: He may be bold To sin in want, that may repent in Gold.

Quib.

Well Sir, I am resolv'd. Conscience, farewell.

And now that Blocks remov'd, Quibble shall undertake your faire Instructions, and approve himself a Scholar worthy of so sage a Master.

Quack

But one thing more; When you shall mount my Stage Be sure, your lavish tongue reflect upon The honour of my Name: let all your words Ayme at my merits, and inhaunce my fame, Advance my Cures, And let thy tongue relate The greatnesse of my Patients, and rewards Of foraine Princes, and those powers above. 'Tis eafier to believe, then to disprove.

Quib.

It is enough: If Quibble undertake, And fail, trust neither foole nor knave for Quibble's fake.

Exeunt, severall dores.

Lactusia, Trippit.

Lact.

The Queen's extreamly discontent, that her de∣signes have fall'n so crosse.

Trip.

Who can help it?

Lact.

This is the fruit of Jealousie; had not that peevish foole been jealous of Kettreena, My conscience tells me this had never been.

Trip.

Nay, to see the old foole must needs run upon his owne death, and not suffer her to die, whose death he so desired!

Lact.

Well, 'twas the first time that I was ere engag'd in such a business, and shall be the last.

Trip.

Nay, to see the luck on't, The counterfeited Letter was found in Pertenax his pocket, and may dis∣cover all.

Lact.

But my feare is, that Quack will be examin'd, and then all will out.

Trip.

No, Quack did wisely deliver his Message in a

disguise; can he but keep his owne counsell, all may be well. In the mean while, I have given out that Kettreena had a hand in the businesse, which perchance may prove an after-game, and strengthen'd with report may leave her to the Law.

Exeunt

Evald. Artesio, Formid: Comodus.

Evald.

I send a Letter and a Cordiall! I'm abus'd.

Art.

It appeares, the mischief was meant to Kettree∣na, Sir.

Evald.

But heav'n protected her: Who brought the Letter and the Potion?

For.

The Messenger was a Stranger, Sir.

Evald.

How habited?

Com.

Sir, like a Cavalier, in a slasht Suit, a black Lock, And a gilt Rapier, down to his heels.

Evald.

We'l make a strict enquiry; Such murther will not long lie smother'd. But how does poor Kettreena take it?

Com.

Exceeding heavily Sir, And the worse, that some base tongues would make her accessary.

Evald.

My soule acquits her. Artesio, let her know, we'l visit her to morrow. Bid her from me cheare up; Upon my honour I'le not rest, till she be righted.

Art.

Heav'n blesse your Highnesse.

Evald.

'Tis certain, there's a challenge pass'd betwixt Bellarmo, and Palladius: I feare the unhappy difference concerning the Birthright, will never be compos'd but by the Oracle. On Wednesday is their Birth-day, and most fit for such solemnity: Formidon, let proclamation be issued forth, that all the Court, upon the paine of our displeasure that day awaite the Oracle, where we in per∣son will attend it. Artesio send you warrant out in our name to the Pythian Priests to make their Preparations.

Comodus.

Museus.

So now Museus, If the plot hit right There's but a haire 'twixt Monarchy and thee: The Gap stands faire; If thy auspitious stars Light thee the way, and prosp'rous Fortune breathe Successe upon thy high contriv'd designes, Thy sole-commanding hand, shall grasp and sway The glorious Scepter, and thy gracious Browes Shall be encompass'd with th' Imperiall Crowne. But stay! What if Palladius should advise With his soft Pillow? what if pleading tears Softly distilling from the amorous eyes Of his faire Idoll should prevaile and turne His martiall flames into a love-sick fire? What if the blaze of our Bellarmo's rage (Not having solid Fuell to maintain The wastfull bounty of his lavish flames) Should slake and languish, and consume it self To the warme ashes of a soft accord? Here, here, Museus, thou must act thy part With Care and Judgment, and ingenious Art. Be circumspect; Be studious to encrease Those Fires: Their wars produce thy Peace. Be thou the Bellowes to advance their flame: And having wisely dealt, play thus thy Game. First baite thy hook with deep dissembled love, Keep close thy Serpent, and shew them thy Dove: Seem Friend to both; Who ever fail'd his End, That hammer'd treason with the hands of Friend? Feel both their pulses: If they chance to beat Active and sprightly, wish, advise, entreat To Peace: Perswaded fury, and stopt streames When most resisted, run to most extreams:

But if their tilted spirits run too low, Urge Reputation, and the faith they owe To sacred Honour in a Princes name: The whet-stone of abated Valour's shame.

[Ent. Palla. softly, read∣ing 2. letters.

But see, how pat Palladius presence gives A faire advantage to my new desires! Ile stand aside, untill his serious eyes Have given free welcome to his paper-guests.

Pall.

I stand betwixt two minds! what's best to doe? This bids me stay; This spurs me on to goe. Once more let our impartiall eyes peruse Both t'one and t'other: Both may not prevaile.

My Lord,

PRize not your honour so much as to disprize her that ho∣nours you, in choosing rather to meet Death in the field, then Pulchrella in her desires. Give my affection leave once more to disswade you from trying Conquest with so un∣equall a Foe: Or if a Combate must be tryed, make a Bed of Roses the Field, and me your Enemie. The Interest I claim in you is sufficient warrant to my desires, which according to the place they find in your Respects, confirme me either the happiest of all Ladies, or make me the most unfortunate of all women.

PUL CHRELLA.

A Charme too strong for Honour to represse.

Mus.

A heart too poore for Honour to possesse.

Pall.

Honour must stoop to Vows. But what saies this?

[Reads the other Letter.

My Lord,

THe hand that guides this Pen, being guided by the am∣bition of your honour, and my owne affection, presents you with the wishes of a faithfull servant, who desires not to buy your safety with the hazard of your Reputation. Goe on

with courage, and know, Panthea shall partake with you in either fortune: If conquer'd, my heart shall be your Monu∣ment, to preserve and glorifie your honour'd ashes; If a Con∣queror, my tongue shall be your Herault to proclaime you the Champion of our Sex, and the Phoenix of your own, honour'd by all, equall'd by few, beloved by none more dearly then

Your owne Panthea.

I sayle betwixt two Rocks! What shall I doe? What Marble melts not if Pulchrella wooe? Or what hard-hearted eare can be so dead, As to be deafe, if faire Panthea plead? Whom shall I please? Or which shall I refuse? Pulchrella sues, and faire Panthea sues: Pulchrella melts me with her love-sick teares, But brave Panthea batters downe my eares With Love's Pettarre: Pulchrellas breast encloses A soft Affection wrapt in Beds of Roses. But in the rare Pantheas noble lines, True Worth and Honour, with Affection joynes. I stand even-balanc'd, doubtfully opprest, Beneathe the burthen of a bivious brest. When I peruse my sweet Pulchrellas teares, My blood growes wanton, and I plunge in feares: But when I read divine Panthea's charmes, I turne all fierie, and I grasp for armes. Who ever saw, when a rude blast out-braves, And thwarts the swelling Tide, how the proud waves Rock the drencht Pinace on the Sea-greene brest Of frowning Ahimptrite, who opprest Betwixt two Lords, (not knowing which t'obey) Remaines a Neuter in a doubtfull way. So tost am I, bound to such strair confines, Betwixt Pulchrella's and Panthea's lines.

Both cannot speed: But one that must prevaile. I stand even poys'd: an Atome turnes the scale.

Mus.

Dar'st thou be doubtfull? Fie, Palladius, fie.

Pall.

How now? What, is Museus care so nigh! Lend me thy grave advice: Peruse these lines, My choice shall fix on what thy judgment fings.

Reads the Letters softly.

Reade both. Compare and judge.

Mus.

Weigh Heaven with Hell: Compare harsh Owles to warbling Philomel: Weigh Froth with Honour, or dejected Shame With the downe-weight of an illustrious Name. Pulchrella wooes thee with a Syrens song; But brave Panthea's more Heroick tongue Chaunts streynes of honor: False Pulchrella sheds The teares of Crocodiles: Panthea treads High steps to triumph, where thy growing Name. Shall stand recorded in the Rolls of Fame. But take thy course: Th'advice is onely mine: Thine is the interest, as the choice is thine.

Restores the Letters.

This onely know, Bellarmo's tongue proclames Palladius dares not fight, but with his dames.

Pall.

The scales are turn'd. Panthea lodge thou here Next to my heart, Pulchrella, lie thou there.

Puts that in his bosome, teares the other.

Farewell my soft embraces: Sports stand by: Bellarmo, if Palladius lives, shall die.

Ex.

Mus.

So, now it works: If either hap to fall, I the sole-second to both parties shall With my breath'd sword doe justice on the other: Crowns weigh no friends: Ambition knows no brother. Then, then, Museus, shall th' Imperiall Crowne Adorne thy sacred Temples; and the Throne Of Earth's unrivall'd Majesty shall be Thy purchas'd Prize, possest alone by Thee.

Then shall those golden, those forgotten dayes Returne to earth: Then shall the learned Bayes That wants deservers, in this trifling Age, Immortalize the Sophoclean Stage: Unbroken Faith shall then forget to start, And be entayl'd upon the single heart. Unblemisht Loyaltie shall crowne the loves Of twined soules, more innocent then Doves. But stay, Museus! Thou forgett'st to play The tother part with thy Bellarm', Away: Goe feele his humor: If his rage be downe, Goe switch it up: Thou labour'st for a Crowne.

Ex.