Five nevv playes, viz. The English moor, or the mock-marriage. The love-sick court, or the ambitious politique: Covent Garden weeded. The nevv academy, or the nevv exchange. The queen and concubine. / By Richard Brome.

ACT 3. SCENE 2.

King. Stratocles. Disanius. Justinius.

King.

Pray trouble me no further. I have said, That if in five dayes space she make not choice Of one of those whom (I must tell you Stratocles) She loves, and I prefer before you, then I'le weigh your suit, and reasons; and till then I say't again, you are a trouble to me.

Str.

A trouble Sir? That were a time that knew me, A trouble to your enemies, not you, When this same lump of earth (which now's a trouble) Stood a sole Bulwark of your Realm; repelling Arms of foes; shrowding your fearful Subjects Under my shield; guarding your fields and Vineyards From desolation; your Palaces from ruine; And am I now a trouble?

Dis.

Stratocles, You lose the glory of your deeds by blazing

Your own renown. He that commends himself, Speaks upon trust, and is his hearers slave.

Str.

Peace, envy, and be thankful for thy life Which thy tongue forfeits.

Just.

Let my mildness tell you, You are irreverent before the King, Who has not been forgetful of your worth, Nor slow in your reward. Then moderate Your heat with counsel; and be first assistant Unto the publick good: So shall you merit The first regard in honours and affairs Of private nature.

Sra.

So.

King.

This Oracle Troubles me not a little. I had thought Thereby to have declin'd this weighty care From my declining shoulders, and have given My countrey satisfaction, and my self, In chusing of a son and successor. But I am prisoner in the Labyrinth Of the Gods verdict.

Just.

Their sublimity In matters of the future seldom stoops To humane apprehension; yet vouchsafes To answer our demands: but chides withall Our too much incenss with obscurity. Your grace however may presume, where they Shal deign to spend a word, and take an offering, It is a certain augury of good.

King.

Thou hast allay'd my fear. Justinus come, Lead me thy brains assistance. For in thee I find a temper that accords with me.

Exit King Just.

Dis.

Souldler, I dare yet tell thee thou art rash; Foolish as valliant; and as easily may'st For all thy lostiness be undermin'd As the base bramble: Boasting weakness, thee

And promising Ambition leads thee up An earthly exhalation into th'air; Where with a little borrow'd light, one moment, Thou shin'st the mark and wonder of all eyes; But soon consum'd and darted to the Center, Becom'st the scorn of men and sport of Children.

Str.

You are oth sect of Cinicks, and have learn'd To bark Philosophy.

Dis.

Then shall you hear Your now adorning multitude upbraid Your insolence and pride, and gain the name Of Prophets by your downfall, while one swears He had foretold it long; Another dreampt it; All joyntly cry we never could indure him; See what a look he has; what brawny lips; What poysonous eyes; and what an impudent front!

Str.

You will out-run your priviledge of prating And suffer for't.

Dis.

I am too prodigal Of seed upon so flinty soyl as thou. Be as thou art, and perish.

Exit.

Str.

Ignorant wretch, That out of all thy bookish Theory Knowes not the soul to be Aerial And of a soaring nature; not unlike The noble Falcon that will never cease To work 'bove all that tops her. The supream Estate on earth, and next unto the Gods Is majesty; and that's my present gain, Though I have all but that, yet wanting that All is as none to me: And since my way Must be upon the Ruins (sowre Disanius) Of thee, and of thy glories in thy Nephews The Kings dear darlings, for whose pretious sakes I must attend five dayes (yet be a trouble)

I'le travail through your bloods: Thy self has gi'n me The quicker motion by thy timely envy. Thou hast set spurs to the pale horse of death, That into dust shall trample all those lets Which stand twixt me and the Thessalian Crown,

Enter Matho.

Upon whose back I'le set this Rider.

Mat.

My soveraign Lord.

Str.

I like that compellation: Thou stil'st me as thou wishest me, on whom Depends thy consequent advancement, Matho. But we but dream of soveraignty and sleep To the Atchievement: something must be done With waekful eyes and ready hands my Matho.

Mat.

Now my King speaks himself. Let but your eye Find out the way these ready hands shall act The strength of your designs. I can perceive That now the labour of your Jove-like brain Is bringing forth the Pallas, shall inspire Me, to perform the work of my advancement.

Str.

Tis not yet ripe for the delivery, But thou shalt quickly have it. Follow me.

Exit.