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ACT I. SCENE I.
Alass! My Lord.
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Alass! My Lord.
Ha, ha, ha! Indeed, Madam, you must pardon me. I grant you I can see every day a musty Churchman railing at Covetousness in one Room, and his Wife gaming in the next; a merry Poet laughing at a dap∣per Courtier, and a surly Officer grinning at him again; nay, a rich old Alderman inviting the young fellow home to dinner this morning, that lay with his Wife last night, and never be mov'd: but to see a great Man, nay a Prince dancing to every Fidler —
Why, who ever did?
Did you never? bless your good fortune then, for it would make your Heart ake to see as much as I have.
Nay, gentle Son.
Nay, gentle Mother, I know what you would say; you would ask me what I want, and alas I want many things; 'twould puzzle a Lawyers Atithmetick to reckon how many things I want. But in the first place I want a Wife, for between you and me, Madam, what should such tall overgrown fellows, like myself, live any longer without Wives? I know you'll say they make Fools of us, why be it so, I have been my own Fool long enough, 'tis time now I should be some ones else; for would one think it, nay freinds you must bear me witness too, would one think it.
Think what, Son?
Nay nothing, never think on't, my brains are almost turn'd with thinking.
For which of all my sins have I deserv'd this Curse?
What you weep now, and perhaps 'tis for my Father; and yet I have seen some women, and they wise ones too, do as much for the loss of a Lap-dog; but, Madam, tell me, did you ever see a Lawyer with a Fee in both hands?
Belike I have.
Why then you saw the Picture of Justice, you'll find his Breviate pinn'd to his back.
That's as much as to say I am a Fool, or a Madman; but go tell my
Brother on't, he'll thank you for the discovery; for let me tell you, if 'twas not for Fools, what business would Knaves have in this world.
If the King would make me a Privy Councellor, as I may grow great before I dye, I'de advise him to think more, and talk less, 'twill be∣come his greatness, for now adays there is but this difference betwixt your Wise man and your Fool, the Wise man laughs at other mens Jests, and the Fool always at his own, like a Cat playing with her own Tail, and so tickles himself with his own fingers.
We thank your Grace, our best care shall attend him.
My Lord, all this I grant, and more, but yet—
My Lord, You us'd to be more moderate.
My Lord, your Servant waits.
Gentle Evanthe!
The gentle Queen is well I hear, and now returning home.
I talk not of the Queen, I talk of thee, sweet Flower.
Your Grace is pleasant to mistake a Nettle for a Rose.
Thou shalt not.
Shall I be Rich do you say and Glorious?
Thou shalt be any thing.
Stay Evanthe I'll Marry thee.
What shall the Queen do then?
I'll be Divorc'd from her.
'Tis all one, 'tis my will.
You are bravely resolute.
You say true, my Lord, Jason was the man; but what are the times to us? they'll burst and stink when once they are swoln with Surfeits; stink so abominably that all the world shall smell 'em.
What saith my Lord?
I say 'tis possible for poor men to offend, and great forgive, but it must not be in the Dog-days. Was you ever in Love?
Yes, my good Lord.
If you have a strong faith then you may be saved, but you must first learn to ravish twenty or thirty coy Wenches in a morning; tho here they are so willing 'tis a complement, for Sir you may be a Bawd, and yet counted an honest man.
How do you Brother?
Well, I thank you, sound in body, and in my right wits; tho some hold there's a great difference between a high born Princess and a Cow∣keepers Daughter, but of this you may consult your Council.
Trust me! it makes me weep to see you thus.
I would bear you Company, but the world goes on so merrily I can't find in my heart, ha, ha, ha! Do you see that old Lord there? he lost his wits for want of preferment; but bush you'll tell the King. Your pardon, my Lord I did not see you.
My Lord Alphonso.
Wipe your mouth before you speak, my Lord, you'll spoil your Speech else.
Ha, my Sorano! dost thou hear the Traitor?
Guards separate those two.
VVhat means your Highness?
Now you are merciful, I thank your Grace.
I'll to the Queen his Mother.
I'm glad to see you merry, Sir.
An age, Sir.
We confess you happy, but on what Price, my Lord?
You make fair use, Sir.
No sure I wou'd not.
We will attend you; Marriage and Hanging go by Destiny; 'tis the old Proverb, now they come together, here comes the Ld. Alphonso: how happy had we been if he had reign'd.
He seems concern'd.
One of his melancholy Fits that ne're last long.
How does your Lordship?
Very well; one, two, three, you can't hurt me for all that.
What thinks your Lordship of this Wedding.
They have given him a hot Custard, and mean to burn his mouth with it.
Pray, my Lord, what News? these Wars have made us Strangers to the Court.
You may be honest, and grow old as I am, and blow your fingers ends.
My Lord, that's no News.
You may be Knaves then when you please, stark Knaves, and build fair Houses, but your Heirs shall have none of 'em.
These are undoubted.
Truth is not worth the hearing: I'll tell you News then, there was a drunken Sailer that got a Mermaid with Child as she went a milking, and now she sues him in the Bawdy Court for it; the Infant Monster is brought up in Fish street.
Ay, this is something.
I'll tell you more, because y' are Soldiers; there was a Fish taken, a monstrous Fish, with a Sword by his side, a long Sword, a Pike in his Neck, and a Gun in his Nose, and Letters of Mart in his Mouth, from the Duke of Florence.
With submission, my Lord, this sounds something odly.
I do confess it; do you think I wou'd tell you truths, that dare not hear'em? You are honest things, we Courtiers scorn to converse with.
He'll grow mad anon and beat us, let us to the Masque.
Marry'd! yes, when I mean to be hang'd; 'tis the surer Contract.
Why don't we about it then? What do we stand preaching for? You, my Lords, may have your quirks and quiddles, your times and occa∣sions; but I know no more than a Word and a Blow; let us first cut his throat, and talk on't afterwards.
Why, so it be his own 'tis no matter. Why are we not in arms, and the whole City given to know —
Discreetly and privately it must be done, 'twill miss else, and prove our ruines; when you all hear the Castle Bell take courage and stand like Men; mean time be near his person to avoid suspicion. I must into the presence, my Mother's fears will work else.
I thank your Grace, and ever shall be bound unto your Nobleness.
I pray I may deserve that thanks, set forward.
'Tis very likely,
Is my Love false?
Undo thy Riddle, I am prepar'd whatever fate shall follow.
Dost thou see this Ring?
Yes, and know it too; 'tis the King's.
Then mark me, by vertue of this Ring this I pronounce thee, 'Tis the King's will.
Let me know it suddenly.
O Devil —
Where have we lost the Bridegroom? sure he is gone to bed.
No, here he is thinking no doubt on this nights happiness.
O there's a Lady coming will inform you.
I am not bound to answer you.
Nor I bound to obey in unj••st actions.
Nay, we must see you towards your bed, my Lord.
Indeed, it needs not, 'tis late, and I shall trouble you.
No, no, till the Bride come, Sir.
We'll leave you then, and a sweet night wait on you.
And a sweet issue of this sweet night crown you.
All nights and days be such till you grow old, Sir.
O how my heart akes!
That shall be my care.
Sweet rest unto ye, to you all sweet Ladies.
Will you to bed my Lord, come let me help you.
To bed, Evanthe; art thou sleepy?
I am not well, my Love.
Art thou so cunning?
May I not love thy Mind?
That I dare do, and kiss again.
Spare not they are your own.
Come lets dispatch then.
To let me blow, and fall alone wou'd anger ye.
I ever lov'd so.
How Sir!
No Man for pleasure, no Womans Man.
Goodness forbid, my Lord, fure you abuse your self.
'Tis true, Evanthe,
I hope there is.
She's breeding then, and eats good Broths and Jellies?
I'm sure she sighs, Sir, and weeps, good Lady.
But does your Grace think I am fit, that am both old and vertuous.
'Tis true,
For that I urge it too.
To be a Devil.
As sound as honour ought to be I think.
But when I have lain with him, what am I then?
I did but tell ye —
I did not bid you sin.
This we have for our good will;
Be nobler Sir inform'd.
How shou'd he know that?
Did you command him?
I did in policy, to try his spirit.
All reason, and all Laws allow it ye.
Nor he wou'd have been himself Sollicitor.
How lye?
Take heed wild sool.
Will she come do you think?
There are ten thousand, take where thou wilt.
How, Sir?
Ha!
What means my best Evanthe?
I'am all amazement!
What did he tell you?
I do not think so.
More than I then believ••d or ever shall.
Stay I must part you both, it is the King's Command.
Not know me,
My Lord Alphonso, am I sure I hear you!
I••d do't alone.
There can be none;
But was my Mother easie of belief?
I guess the rest.
How now, what boldness brought you hither, Sir?
How, Sir? who am I?
so tamely caught! lock fa•••• the Pallace Gates.
Treason, Treason!
Long live Alphonso, King of us and Naples.
Come then since th'art so brave.
My Lord Alphonso—
What saith my Mother: O my mind misgives me!
Go bear him to the rack. Was ever day like this?
help me to raise him, Sirs.
What scalding sweats he has