Fifty comedies and tragedies written by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Gentlemen ; all in one volume, published by the authors original copies, the songs to each play being added.

Actus Quartus.

Scaena Prima.

Enter Thierry and Martel,

Mart.

YOur Grace is early stirring.

Thier.

How can he sleep, Whose happiness is laid up in an hour. He knows comes stealing towards, him Oh Martel! Is't possible the longing Bride, whose wishes Out-runs her fears, can on that day she is married Consume in slumbers; or his Arms rust in ease, That hears the charge, and sees the honor'd purchase Ready to gil'd his valour? Mine is more, A power above these passions; this day France, France that in want of issue withers with us; And like an aged River, runs his head Into forgotten ways, again I ransome, And his fair course turn right: this day, Thierry, The Son of France, whose manly powers like prisoners Have been tied up, and fetter'd; by one death Give life to thousand ages; this day beauty The envy of the world, Pleasure the glory, Content above the world, desire beyond it Are made mine own, and useful.

Mart.

Happy Woman That dies to do these things.

Thier.

But ten times happier That lives to do the greater; oh Martel, The gods have heard me now, and those that scorn'd me, Mothers of many children, and blest fathers That see their issues like the Stars un-number'd,, Their comfort more than them, shall in my praises Now teach their Infants songs; and tell their ages From such a Son of mine, or such a Queen, That chaste Ordella brings me: blessed marriage The chain that links two Holy Loves together And in the marriage, more than blest Ordella, That comes so near the Sacrament it self, The Priests doubt, whether purer.

Mart.

Sir, y'are lost.

Thier.

I prethee let me be so.

Mart.

The day ••ears, And those that have been offering early prayers, Are now retiring homeward.

Thier.

Stand and mark then.

Mart.

Is it the first must suffer.

Thier.

The first Woman.

Mart.

What hand shall do it, Sir?

Thier.

This hand Martell, For who less dare presume to give the gods An incense of this offering?

Mart.

Would I were she, For such away to die, and such a blessing Can never crown my parting.

Enter two men passing over.

Thier.

What are those?

Mart.

Men, men, Sir, men.

Thier.

The plagues of men light on 'em, They cross my hopes like Hares, who's that?

Enter a Priest.

Mart.

A Priest, Sir.

Thier.

Would he were gelt.

Mart.

May not these rascals serve, Sir, Well hang'd and quarter'd?

Thier.

Nov

Mart.

Here comes a woman.

Enter Ordella veil'd.

Thier.

Stand and behold her then.

Mart.

I think a fair one.

Thier.

Move not whilst I prepare her: may her peace Like his whose innocence the gods are pleas'd with, And offering at their Altars, gives his soul Far purer than those fires; pull heaven upon her You holy powers, no humane spot dwell in her, No love of any thing, but you and goodness, Tie her to earth; fear be a stranger to her, And all weak blouds affections, but thy hope Let her bequeath to Women: hear me heaven, Give her a spirit masculine, and noble, Fit for your selves to ask, and me to offer. Oh let her meet my blow, doat on her death; And as a wanton Vine bows to the pruner, That by his cutting off, more may increase, So let her fall to raise me fruit; hail woman. The happiest, and the best (if the dull Will Do not abuse thy fortune) France e'er found yet.

Ordel.

Sh'is more than dull, Sir, less, and worse than Woman, That may inherit such an infinite As you propound, a greatness so near goodness; And brings a Will to rob her.

Thier.

Tell me this then, Was there e'er woman yet, or may be found, That for fair Fame, unspotted memory, For virtues sake, and only for it self sake Has, or dare make a story?

Ordel.

Many dead Sir, Living I thing as many.

Thier.

Say, the kingdom May from a womans Will receive a blessing, The King and kingdom, not a private safety. A general blessing, Lady.

Ordel.

A general curse Light on her heart, denies it.

Thier.

Full of honor; And such examples as the former ages Were but dim shadows of, and empty figures.

Ordel.

You strangely stir me, Sir, and were my weakness In any other flesh but modest womans, You should not ask more questions, may I do it?

Thier.

You may, and which is more, you must.

Ordel.

I joy in't, Above a moderate gladness, Sir, you promise It shall be honest.

Thier.

As ever time discover'd.

Ordel.

Let it be what it may then, what it dare, I have a mind will hazard it.

Thier.

But hark ye, What may that woman merit, makes this blessing!

Ordel.

Only her duty, Sir.

Thier.

'Tis terrible.

Ordel.

'Tis so much the more noble.

Thier.

'Tis full of fearful shadows.

Ordel.

So is sleep, Sir. Or any thing that's meerly ours, and mortal, We were begotten gods else; but those fears Feeling but once the fires of nobler thoughts. Flie, like the shapes of clouds we form, to nothing.

Thier.

Suppose it death.

Ordel.

I do.

Thier.

And endless parting With all we can call ours, with all our sweetness, With youth, strength, pleasure, people, time, nay reason: For in the silent grave, no conversation, No joyful tread of friends, no voice of Lovers, No careful Fathers counsel, nothing's h••••d;

Nor nothing is, but all oblivion, Dust and an endless darkness; and dare you woman Desire this place?

Ordeel.

'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest, Children begin it to us, strong men seek it, And Kings from heighth of all their painted glories Fall like spent exhalations, to this centre: And those are fools that fear it, or imagine A few unhandsome pleasures, or lifes profits Can recompence this place; and mad that staies it, Till age blow out their lights, or rotten humors. Bring them dispers'd to th' earth.

Thier.

Then you can suffer?

Ordel.

As willingly as say it.

Thier.

Martell, a wonder, Here's a woman that dares die, yet tell me, Are you a Wife?

Ordel.

I am Sir.

Thier.

And have children? She sighs and weeps.

Ordel.

Oh none Sir.

Thier.

Dare you venture For a poor barren praise you ne'er shall hear, To part with these sweet hopes?

Ordel.

With all but Heaven, And yet die full of children; he that reads me When I am ashes, is my Son in wishes, And those chaste dames that keep my memory, Singing my yearly requiems, are my Daughters.

Thier.

Then there is nothing wanting but my knowledg. And what I must doe, Lady?

Ordel.

You are the King, Sir, And what you do I'll suffer, and that blessing That you desire, the gods showr on the Kingdom.

Thier.

Thus much before I strike then, for I must kill you, The gods have will'd it so they're made the blessing Must make France young again, and me a man, Keep up your strength still nobly.

Ordel.

Fear me not.

Thier.

And meet death like a measure.

Ordel.

I am stedfast.

Thier.

Thou shalt be sainted woman, and thy Tomb Cut out in Chrystal, pure and good as thou art; And on it shall be graven every age, Succeeding Peers of France that rise by thy fall, Tell thou liest there like old and fruitful nature. Darest thou behold thy happiness?

Ordel.

I dare Sir.

Thier.

Ha?

Puls off her veil, lets fall his sword.

Mar.

Oh Sir, you must not doe it.

Thier.

No, I dare not. There is an Angel keeps that Paradice, A fiery Angel friend; oh virtue, virtue, Ever and endless virtue.

Ordel.

Strike, Sir, strike; And if in my poor death fair France may merit, Give me a thousand blows, be killing me A thousand days.

Thier.

First let the earth be barren, And man no more remembred, rise Ordella, The nearest to thy maker, and the purest That ever dull flesh shewed us,— oh my heart-strings

Exit.

Mart.

I see you full of wonder, therefore noblest, And truest amongst Women, I will tell you The end of this strange accident.

Ordel.

Amazement Has so much wove upon my heart, that truly I feel my self unfit to hear, oh Sir, My Lord has slighted me.

Mart.

Oh no sweet Lady.

Ordel.

Robb'd me of such a glory by his pity, And most unprovident respect.

Mart.

Dear Lady, It was not meant to you.

Ordel.

Else where the day is, And hours distinguish time, time runs to ages, And ages end the world, I had been spoken.

De••••.

I'll tell you what it was, if but your patience Will give me hearing.

Ordel.

If I have transgrest, Forgive me, Sir.

Mart.

Your noble Lord was counsel'd, Grieving the barrenness between you both, And all the Kingdom with him, to seek out A man that knew the secrets of the gods, He went, found such an one, and had this answer, That if he wou'd have issue, on this morning, For this hour was prefixt him, he should kill The first he met, being Female, from the Temple; And then he should have children, the mistake Is now too perfect, Lady.

Ordel,

Still 'tis I, Sir, For may this work be done by common women? Durst any but my self that knew the blessing, And felt the benefit, assume this thing In any other, 't'ad been lost, and nothing, A curse and not a blessing; I was figur'd; And shall a little fondness barr my purchase?

Mart.

Where should he then seek children?

Ordel.

Where they are In wombs ordain'd for issues, in those beauties That bless a marriage-bed, and makes it proceed With kisses that conceive, and fruitful pleasures; Mine like a grave, buries those loyal hopes, And to a grave it covets.

Mart.

You are too good, Too excellent, too honest; rob not us And those that shall hereafter seek example, Of such inestimable worthies in woman, Your Lord of such obedience, all of honor In coveting a cruelty is not yours, A Will short of your Wisdom; make not error A Tomb-stone of your virtues, whose fair life Deserves a constellation: your Lord dare not; He cannot, ought not, must not run this hazard, He makes a separation, nature shakes at, The gods deny, and everlasting justice Shrinks back, and sheaths her sword at.

Ordel.

All's but talk, Sir, I find to what I am reserv'd, and needful, And though my Lord's compassion makes me poor, And leaves me in my best use, yet a strength Above mine own, or his dull fondness finds me; The gods have given it to me.

Draws a knife.

Mart.

Self-destruction! Now all good Angels bless thee, oh sweet Lady, You are abus'd, this is a way to shame you, And with you all that knows you, all that loves you, To ruin all you build, would you be famous? Is that your end?

Ordel.

I would be what I should be.

Mart.

Live and confirm the gods then, live and be loaden With more than Olive-bear, or fruitful Autumn; This way you kill your merit, kill your cause, And him you would raise life to, where, or how Got you these bloudy thoughts? what Devil durst Look on that Angel face, and tempt? doe you know What is't to die thus how you strike the Stars, And all good things above, do you feel What follows a self-bloud, whether you venture, And to what punishment? excellent Lady, Be not thus cozen'd, do not fool your self, The Priest was never his own sacrifice, But he that thought his hell here.

Ordel.

I am counsell'd,

Mart.

And I am glad on't, lie, I know you dare not.

Ordel.

I never have done yet.

Mart.

Pray take my comfort, Was this a soul to lose? two more such women Would save their sex; see, she repents and prayes, Oh hear her, hear her, if there be a faith Able to reach your mercies, she hath sent it.

Ordel.

Now good Martel confirm me.

Mart.

I will Lady, And every hour advise you, for I doubt Whether this plot be heavens, or hells; your mother, And I will find it, if it be in mankind To search the center of it: in the mean time I'll give you out for dead, and by your self, And shew the instrument, so shall I find A joy that will betray her.

Ordel.

Do what's fittest; And I will follow you.

Mart.

Then ever live Both able to engross all love, and give.

Exeunt.

Enter Brunhalt, Protaldye.

Brun.

I'm in labour To be deliver'd of that burthenous project I have so long gone with; ha, here's the Midwife, Or life, or death.

Enter Lecure.

Lecu.

If in the supposition Of her death in whose life you die, you ask me, I think you are safe.

Brun.

Is she dead?

Lecu.

I have us'd All means to make her so, I saw him waiting At the Temple door, and us'd such Art within, That only she of all her Sex was first Giv'n up unto his fury.

Brun.

Which if love Or fear made him forbear to execute The vengeance he determin'd, his fond pity Shall draw it on himself, for were there left Not any man but he, to serve my pleasures, Or from me to receive commands, which are The joyes for which I love life, he should be Remov'd, and I alone left to be Queen O'er any part of goodness that's left in me.

Lecu.

If you are so resolv'd, I have provided A means to ship him hence: look upon this, But touch it sparingly, for this once us'd. Say but to dry a tear, will keep the eye-lid From closing, until death perform that office.

Brun.

Give't me, I may have use of it, and on you I'll make the first experiment: if one sigh Or heavy look beget the least suspition, Childish compassion can thaw the Ice Of your so long congeal'd and flinty hardness. Slight, go on constant, or I shall.

Prot.

Best Lady, We have no faculties which are not yours.

Lecu.

Nor will be any thing without you.

Baun.

Be so, and we will stand or fall together, for Since we have gone so far, that death must stay The journey, which we wish should never end; And innocent, or guilty, we must die, When we do so, let's know the reason why.

Enter Thierry and Courtiers.

Lecu.

The King.

Thier.

We'll be alone.

Prot.

I would I had A Convoy too, to bring me safe off. For rage although it be allai'd with sorrow, Appears so dreadful in him, that I stake To look upon 't.

Brun.

Coward I will meet it, And know from whence 't has birth: Son, kingly Thierry.

Thier.

Is cheating grown so common among men? And thrives so well here, that the gods endeavour To practise it above?

Brun.

Your Mother.

Thier.

Ha!. or are they only careful to revenge, Not to reward? or when, for your offences We study satisfaction, must the cure Be worse than the disease?

Brun.

Will you not hear me?

Thier.

To lose th' ability to perform those duties For which I entertain'd the name of Husband, Ask'd more than common sorrow; but t'impose For the redress of that defect, a torture In marking her to death, for whom alone I felt that weakness as a want, requires More than the making the head bald: or falling Thus flat upon the earth, or cursing that way, Or praying this, oh such a Scene of grief, And so set down, (the world the stage to act on) May challenge a Tragedian better practis'd Than I am to express it; for my cause Of passion is so strong, and my performance So weak, that though the part be good, I fear Th'ill acting of it, will defraud it of The poor reward it may deserve, mens pity.

Brun.

I have given you way thus long, a King, and what Is more, my Son, and yet a slave to that Which only triumphs over cowards sorrow, For shame look up.

Thier.

Is't you, look down on me: And if that you are capable to receive it, Let that return to you, that have brought forth One mark'd out only for it: what are these? Come they upon your privilege to tread on The Tomb of my afflictions?

Prot.

No, not we Sir.

Thier.

How dare you then omit the ceremony Due to the funeral of all my hopes. Or come unto the marriage of my sorrows, But in such colours as may sort with them.

Prot.

Alas; we will wear any thing.

Brun.

This is madness Take but my counsel.

Thier.

Yours? dare you again Though arm'd with th' authority of a mother, Attempt the danger that will fall on you If such another syllable awake it? Goe, and with yours be safe, I have such cause Of grief, nay more, to love it, that I will not Have such as these be sharers in it.

Lecu.

Madam.

Prot.

Another time were better.

Brun.

Do not stirr, For I must be resolv'd, and will, be statues.

Enter Martel.

Thier.

I, thou art welcome, and upon my soul Thou art an honest man, do you see, he has tears To lend to him whom prodigal expence Of sorrow, has made bankrupt of such treasure, Nay, thou dost well.

Mart.

I would it might excuse. The ill I bring along.

Thier.

Thou mak'st me smile I the heighth of my calamities, as if There could be the addition of an Atome, To the gyant-body of my miseries But try, for I will hear thee, all sit down, 'tis death

To any that shall dare to interrupt him In look, gesture, or word.

Mart.

And such attention As is due to the last, and the best story That ever was deliver'd, will become you, The griev'd Ordella, (for all other titles But take away from that) having from me Prompted by your last parting groan, enquir'd, What drew it from you, and the cause soon learn'd: For she whom barbarism could deny nothing, With such prevailing earnestness desir'd it, 'Twas not in me, though it had been my death, To hide it from her, she I say, in whom All was, that Athens, Rome, or warlike Sparta, Have registred for good in their best Women: But nothing of their ill; knowing her self Mark'd out, (I know not by what power, but sure A cruel one) to dye, to give you children; Having first with a setled countenance Look'd up to Heaven, and then upon her self, (It being the next best object) and then smil'd, As if her joy in death to do you service, Would break forth, in despight of the much sorrow She shew'd she had to leave you: and then taking Me by the hand, this hand which I must ever Love better than I have done, since she touch'd it, Go said she, to my Lord, (and to goe to him Is such a happiness I must not hope for) And tell him that he too much priz'd a trifle Made only worthy in his love, and her Thankful acceptance, for her sake to rob The Orphan Kingdom of such guardians, as Must of necessity descend from from him; And therefore in some part of recompence Of his much love, and to shew to the world That 'twas not her fault only, but her fate, That did deny to let her be the mother Of such most certain blessings: yet for proof, She did not envy her, that happy her, That is appointed to them, her guick end Should make way for her, which no sooner spoke, But in a moment this too ready engine Made such a battery in the choisest Castle That ever nature made to defend life, That strait it shook, and sunk.

Thier.

Stay, dares any Presume to shed a tear before me? or Ascribe that worth unto themselves to merit: To do so for her? I have done, now on.

Mart.

Fall'n thus, once more she smil'd, as if that death For her had studied a new way to sever The soul and body, without sense of pain; And then tell him (quoth she) what you have seen, And with what willingness 'twas done: for which My last request unto him is, that he Would instantly make choice of one (most happy In being so chosen) to supply my place, By whom if heaven bless him with a daughter, In my remembrance let it bear my name Which said she dy'd.

Thier.

I hear this, and yet live; Heart! art thou thunder proof, will nothing break thee? She's dead, and what her entertainment may be In th'other world without me is uncertain, And dare I stay here unresolv'd?

Mart.

Oh Sir!

Brun.

Dear son.

Prot.

Great King.

Thier.

Unhand me, am I fall'n So low, that I have lost the power to be Disposer of my own life?

Mart.

Be but pleas'd To borrow so much time of sorrow, as To call to mind her last request, for whom (I must confess a loss beyond expression) You turn your hand upon your self, 'twas hers And dying hers, that you should live and happy In seeing little models of your self, By matching with another, and will you Leave any thing that she desir'd ungranted? And suffer such a life that was laid down For your sake only to be fruitless?

Thier.

Oh thou dost throw charms upon me, against which I cannot stop my ears, bear witness heaven That not desire of life, nor love of pleasure Nor any future comforts, but to give Peace to her blessed spirit in satisfying Her last demand, makes me defer our meeting, Which in my choice, and suddain choice shall be To all apparent,

Brun.

How? doe I remove one mischief To draw upon my head a greater?

Thier.

Go, thou only good man, to whom for her self Goodness is dear, and prepare to interr it In her that was; oh my heart! my Ordella, A monument worthy to be the casket Of such a jewel.

Mart.

Your command that makes way Unto my absence is a welcome one, For but your self there's nothing here Martel, Can take delight to look on; yet some comfort Goes back with me to her, who though she want it Deserves all blessings.

Exit.

Brun.

So soon to forget The loss of such a wife, believe it will Be censur'd in the world.

Thier.

Pray you no more, There is no argment you can use to cross it, But does increase in me such a suspition I would not cherish — who's that?

Enter Memberge.

Memb.

One, no guard Can put back from access, whose tongue no threats Nor praises can silence, a bold suitor, and For that which if you are your self, a King, You were made so to grant it, Justice, Justice.

Thier.

With what assurance dare you hope for that Which is deny'd to me? or how can I Stand bound to be just, unto such as are Beneath me, that find none from those that are Above me?

Memb.

There is justice, 'twere unfit That any thing but vengeance should fall on him, That by his giving way to more than murther, (For my dear fathers death was parricide) Makes it his own.

Brun.

I charge you hear her not.

Memb.

Hell cannot stop just prayers from ent'ring heaven, I must and will be heard Sir; but remember That he that by her plot fell, was your brother, And the place where, your Palace, against all Th'inviolable rites of hospitality, Your word, a Kings word, given up for his safety, His innocence, his protection, and the gods Bound to revenge the impious breach of such So great and sacred bonds; and can you wonder, (That in not punishing such a horrid murther You did it) that heavens favour is gone from you? Which never will return, until his bloud Be wash'd away in hers.

Brun.

Drag hence the wretch.

Thier.

Forbear, with what variety Of torments do I meet? oh thou hast open'd A Book, in which writ down in bloudy Letters, My conscience finds that I am worthy of More than I undergoe, but I'll begin For my Ordella's sake, and for thine own

To make less heavens great anger: thou hast lost A father, I to thee am so; the hope Of a good Husband, in me have one; nor Be fearful I am still no man, already That weakness is gone from me.

Brun.

That it might

Aside.

Have ever grown inseparably upon thee, What will you do? Is such a thing as this Worthy the lov'd Ordella's place, the daughter Of a poor Gardener?

Memb.

Your Son.

Thier.

The power To take away that lowness is in me.

Brun.

Stay yet, for rather than thou shalt add Incest unto thy other sins, I will With hazard of my own life, utter all, Theodoret was thy Brother.

Thier.

You deny'd it. Upon your oath, nor will I now believe you, Your Protean turnings cannot change my purpose.

Memb.

And for me, be assur'd the means to be Reveng'd on thee, vile hag, admits no thought, But what tends to it.

Brun.

Is it come to that? Then have at the last refuge: art thou grown Insensible in all, that thou goest on Without the least compunction? there, take that To witness, that thou hadst a mother, which Foresaw thy cause of grief, and sad repentance, That so soon after blest Ordella's death Without a tear thou canst imbrace another, Forgetful man.

Thier.

Mine eyes when she is nam'd Cannot forget their tribute, and your gift Is not unuseful now

Lecu.

He's past all cure, that only touch is death.

Thier.

This night I'll keep it, To morrow I will send it you, and full of my affliction.

Exit Thierry.

Brun.

Is the poison mortal?

Lecu.

Above the help of Physick.

Brun.

To my wish, Now for our own security, you Protaldye Shall this night post towards Austracia, With Letters to Theodorets bastard son, In which we will make known what for his rising We have done to Thierry: no denial, Nor no excuse in such acts must be thought of, Which all dislike, and all again commend When they are brought unto a happy end.

Exeunt.