Actus Tertius.
Scena Prima.
Enter divers Monks, Alphonso going to the Tomb, Rugio, and Frier Marco, discover the Tomb and a Chair.
Mar.
THe night grows on, lead softly to the Tomb,
And sing not till I bid ye; let the Musick
Play gently as he passes.
Rug.
O fair picture,
That wert the living hope of all our honours;
How are we banisht from the joy we dreamt of?
Will he ne're speak more?
Mar.
'Tis full three moneths Lord Rugio,
Since any articulate sound came from his tongue,
Set him down gently. Sits in a Chair.
Rug.
What should the reason be Sir?
Mar.
As 'tis in nature with those loving Husbands,
That sympathize their wives pains, and their throes
When they are breeding, and 'tis usuall too,
We have it by experience; so in him Sir,
In this most noble spirit that now suffers;
For when his honour'd Father good Brandino
Fell sick, he felt the griefs, and labour'd with them,
His fits and his disease he still inherited,
Grew the same thing, and had not nature check'd him,
Strength, and ability, he had dyed that hour too.
Rug.
Embleme or noble love!
Mar.
That very minute
His Fathers breath forsook him, that same instant,
A rare example of his piety,
And love paternal, the Organ of his tongue.
Was never heard to sound again; so near death
He seeks to wait upon his worthy Father,
But that we force his meat, he were one body.
Rug.
He points to'th' Tomb.
Mar.
That is the place he honours,
A house I fear he will not be long out of.
He will toth' Tomb, good my Lord lend your hand;
How sing the Funeral Song, and let him kneel,
For then he is pleas'd. A Song.
Rug.
Heaven lend thy powerfull hand,
And ease this Prince.
Mar.
He will pass back again. Exeunt.
Enter Valerio.
Val.
They drink abundantly, I am hot with wine too,
Lustily warm, I'le steal now to my happiness,
'Tis midnight, and the silent hour invites me,
But she is up still, and attends the Queen;
Thou dew of wine and sleep hang on their eye-lids,
Steep their dull senses in the healths they drink,
That I may quickly find my lov'd Evanthe.
The King is merry too, and drank unto me,
Sign of fair peace, O this nights blessedness!
If I had forty heads I would give all for't.
Is not the end of our ambitions,
Of all our humane studies, and our travels,
Of our desires, the obtaining of our wishes?
Certain it is, and there man makes his Center.
I have obtain'd Evanthe, I have married her,
Can any fortune keep me from injoying her?
Enter Sorano.
I have my wish, what's left me to accuse now?
I am friends with all the world, but thy base malice;
Go glory in thy mischiefs thou proud man,
And cry it to the world thou hast ruin'd vertue;