Theatre of wits ancient and modern attended with severall other ingenious pieces from the same pen [brace] viz. I. Faenestra in pectore, or, A century of familiar letters, II. Loves labyrinth: A tragi-comedy, III. Fragmenta poetica, or, Poetical diversions, IV. Virtus redivivi, a panegyrick on our late king Charles of ever blessed memory concluding with A panegyrick on His Sacred Majesties most happy return / by T.F.

Act. 1.

Scaene 1.

Enter King Damocles with two Lords, and Lamedon.

King.

CAn this be true?

1 Lo.

My Liege, as truth it self.

King.

And will neither the power of a King, Nor precepts of a father over-sway Her fond affections; but that thus she will Run head-long to her ruine? Let her go.

1 Lo.

Yet shot she not at rovers, but a Prince He is, young and deserving; therefore since Sh'has hit the mark, it will now be in vain To give her aym, or make her shoot again.

Kin.

Was she so hasty, that she could not stay To take our Fatherly advice with her? No wonder if she wander in the Labyrinth

Of love, without the clew of our counsel.

La.

Come brother, come, she's not the first has Amiss; her own affections were the surest guide Unto her own content: she chose to please Her self, not you; come, let this anger cease.

1 Lo.

'Tis now too late for to recal what's past, The match is made, and that so surely fast, 'Tis past dissolving now; a Grandfather You are already: From their conjunction hath This influence proceeded, a fair boy Hath given them earnest of succeeding joy.

Kin.

How! a boy! and shall that base brat enjoy My crown? no, no, I'll take a course for that.

La.

Why brother, 'tis a Prince by birth, & why Not born to Reign?

Kin.

Ay, mischief's on my head, But I'll prevent the plot and storm, we'l send Them far enough from troubling of our state: Distance and danger shall they first subdue, Before they gain our Crown; the slavish waves Shall be their subjects: let them go and and win The trydent of great Neptune, waters King. I mean to set them forth.

1 Lo.

What means my Liege?

Kin.

Nay, I'm resolv'd, since that they do no more Regard my favour, they shall feel my frowns. O ye Coelestial Deities! where are Your power and wonted justice now become? All things run head-long, and the feet forget Their duty to their Head, and traitors turn, Breaking the bonds of government; that now A Princes power, or Fathers care's contemn'd, And only recompenc'd with slight and scorn.

Lam.

But Sir, though she her duty do forget

To you, yet is she still your child, and may Be easily reclaimed. Shall one misdeed Forfeit all former loyalty? She us'd To be more ready to give, than you Could be to ask. Come, let the weight of that O're-poize your anger, and this light offence.

Kin.

I'll hear no more, all pity now is gone, And anger hath the castle of my breast So strongly fortified, whole valleys of Requests can never move; cease then your suit, To which my ears are deaf, and tongue is mute.

1 Lo.

Heaven is not so impregnable, but that Entreaties may both siege and conquer it: If that your daughter hath run on the score Of one offence, will nothing cancel it?

Kin.

My resolution's writ in Adamant.

1 Lo.

Dread Sir, and may not tears then blot it out?

Kin.

Nor all the liquid drop the sea contains Shall quench my rage; for now I have forgot All pitie of a father, and that wretch Shall feel what 'tis to lose a fathers love.— Since she will needs slight and contemn our care, I'll have a Bark provided, without oar, Or sail, or pilot, but the wilful wind, And wayes, true emblemes of their giddy act, And therein with her brat, and matc imbarqu'd, Shall seek their fortunes: And see you it done Without delay, our Will admits no time, T'expostulate no more than alteration.

1 Lo.

O good my Lord command my service in Some nobler act than this and do not try My faith in that, for which I'de rather die, Than do't. What heir shall succeed your self In the Arcadian Diadem, if thus you drown

The Sun of all our hopes, which must Supply your place, when as your Sun shall set In darkest clouds of death, must night ensue, And seize upon our Horizon? —O let Some pity of our drooping state prevail.

Kin.

All will not do. I'll have it done; then go Or stay and pull my vengeance on thy head. Will you turn traytor too, to our commands? As you tender our favour, or your safety, Go execute my will without delay.

1 Lo.

And must my safety prove their ruin? can They not live, but I must die? I'll do't. Perhaps the tyrant-waves may prove more kind Than is their King My Liege I'l ease your mind.

Lam.

And must they, & they only prove (poor hearts) A sacrifice to fury for their love? I'll be companion of their fortune. We Will leave this cursed land, which is nought else But a dry sea of miseries, in which We dayly float; the sea can never be More merciless. O what a maze of woe Do lovers tread (dire fate) that for their love, Are recompenc'd with hatred. Farewel world, Thou ball of fortune banded to and fro, And never quiet; we will try what fate A waits us in the sea, it can't be worse Than here we suffer by our dearest friends.

Kin.

Well brother, since you are so weary of The world, pray take your share with them, and care Of her: I leave her unto you, and to The mercies of the waves, and so adicu.

Exit.

Scaen. 2.

2 Lo.

Was ever man so resolute to undo,

What an whole age can't recompence again? To cast away a Lady of that worth, That bankrupt nature cannot furnish forth Her Parallel: A beauty that would tempt The gods to lust: But guarded with an eye So modestly severe, it would strike dead All lustful hopes of the hot ravisher. See where she comes, like Phoebus newly rose From Thetis bed: Little doth she suppose The cruelty of her once happy Father, In having such a daughter, now not fit T'enjoy a blessing which he values not.

Seph.

What news my Lord? Is the ice of my fa∣thers Anger broken? Hath the sun of counsel Thaw'd his frozen breast?

1 Lo.

Ay, into a flood—

Seph.

What meanes this passion? Speak man, for I am Prepar'd; it can't be worse than I expect.

1 Lo.

Why then it is— Let me first drown my self In mine own tears, and vent my mind in sighs: Madam, you may guess sooner than I can tell.

Seph.

Prethee torment me not thus with delays, More tedious than the thing can be, what e're It is. Come, I am armed with the shield Of patience, my breast is mischief-proof.

1 Lo

'Tis easier far to tell than execute: I wish my task were done with telling it. Madam, He hath made me the sad Over-seer Of that dire act, which he so fears to speak. Silence will not relieve, it may protract The doing of that horrid fact, which who Shall hear, will loath the name of father, for

Your fathers sake, who when perhaps y'are gone By's want will prize your worth the more, and, love You better than he ever did before. Thus are we taught to value of the light, By the dull silence of the darker night.

Sep.

But to your story, and my doom, which sure Must needs be great, that it can find no vent. Come ease your shoulders of this burthen, lay It on mine, who have deserved it.

1 Lo.

Lady, wonder not at our unwillingness To tell what we had rather wish our tongues Out, than to be th'unhappy messengers Of such sad news, the truth whereof must rob Arcadia of it's richest, choisest Gem, That doth adorn her Princely Diadem: By venturing all our hopes to the mercy Of the cruel waves, He hath prest to be Your only Pilot; being ship't alone, With your dear babe and husband, without sail, Or oar, to contradict the lawless seas, In their unbounded raging tyranny: Whose heedless rigour yet may hap to prove More kind unto you than your fathers love.

Sep.

Heavens will be done: But had another hand Inflicted this, it would have lighter seem'd:— Yet is there comfort in his cruelty, That hath not parted me from him, for whom All this will be but light; his company Will sweeten all my sorrows, and convert My mourning into mirth: Can I be sad, Enjoying him will only make me glad?

Enter Lamedon.

Lam.

I cannot win my brother to reverse His cruel sentence, but it must be done.—

Dear Neece, I'm thy companion; misery Shall never make my friendship to turn edge, But at the lowest ebb of fortune shall My love still flow: the sea shall never quench That flame which virtue once hath kindled in My breast, nor shall it meet, or be put out With any cold extinguisher but death. If many shoulders make griefs burthen light, Then so shall ours: and may mine cease to be, When they shall cease to bear their equal part, And sympathize with thee, as doth my heart.

Seph.

Uncle, my thanks. How rare it is to find A friend in misery! Men run from such, Like Deer from him is hunted with the dogs, As if that misery infectious were. Men fly with Eagles wings away, But creep like snails, when they should succour lend. I cannot therefore chuse but prize your love, Who dare be true unto your friend; a name Nearer than that of kindred, or of blood: This is th'effect of noblest virtue, which Ties firmer knots than age can e're undo: Such is the knot my Maximus and I Have tied, spight of my fathers anger, it Shall hold, when envy's tired to invent Mischiefs, in vain, to cut the knot in two, Which heaven hath knit too fast to loose again. Alas fond man! who thinks to unravel what The gods have wove together. — 'Tis in vain.

Scaen. 3.

1 Lo.

Lady, time cals upon you not to stay, Lest by a fond delay you call upon His fury to convert into some worse,

And sudden punishment, which may deny All hopes of future safety; of all ills The least is always wisely to be chosen.

Seph.

Go and prepare that floting grave, which must Devour's alive, I will attend you here. Before when will my dearest find his grief, In finding me thus lost without relief.

Exeunt.

Manet Sephestia.

Why doth my Love thus tarry? surely he Forgotten hath the place, or time, or else He would not stay thus long; but can I blame Him, to be slow to meet his ruine? I Could wish he would not come at all, that so He yet might live, although I perish; but How fondly do I wish to be without Him, without whom alas! I cannot live. 'Twere as impossible as without air: He 'tis for whom I suffer, and with him, All places are alike to me. — See where He comes, who is sole keeper of my heart.

Enter Maximus.

Max.

My dear!

Seph.

Ah, dear indeed, for whom thy life Must pay the shot of cruelty enrag'd.—

Max.

What meanes my love? is't she, or do I dream? Sure this cannot be she, whose words were wont To be more sweet than honey, soft as oil: These words, more sharp than daggers points, ne're came From her I know—What sayst thou my sweet?

Seph.

The same—truth will not suffer me to speak

Other, lest I should injure her.— O that 'Twere possible so to dispense with truth, Not to betray our selves—I know not what to say.—

Max.

Heavens bless us, what a sudden change is here! Love, who hath wrong'd thee? tell me, that I may Thrid their lives upon my sword, & make their Dead trunks float in their own blood, till they blush At their own shame: Tell me my heart, who is't?

Seph.

Alas poor soul! thou little dreamst what sad News do's await thine ears; my tongue doth fail, Not daring once to name the thing must be Our loves sad end, and dire Catastrophe. My fathers fury—Oh that that name I once delighted in, should odious be To mine affrighted senses!—But for thee Alone, it is I grieve, not for my self.—

Max.

Be't what it will, so that it be but in Relation to thy love, I will embrace, And hug, and thank that malice too, that so Invented hath a means whereby I may But testifie my loyalty to thee: For whose sweet sake I would encounter with Legions of armed furies; sacrifice My dearest blood unto thy service, which I more esteem, than all the wealth the world Can boast of: 'Tis thee alone I value, Above whatever mens ambitious thoughts Can fathom with their boundless appetites.

Seph.

This flame of love must now be quench∣ed in The foaming sea; we are design'd a prey

Unto the fury of winds and waves.— The deadly Barque's providing, which must be Our moving habitation; the sea Must be our Kingdom, and the scaly frie Our subjects:— This, this, the portion is Of fortunes frowns, and fathers fiercer hate. Fly, fly, my dearest Maximus, and save My life in thine; oh stay no longer here.

weeps

Max.

Why dost thou torment thy self before Thy time? wilt thou anticipate the sea? And drown thy self in tears? Deny me not To share with thee in suffering, as well As I have done in pleasure; 'tis for me This storm is rais'd, were I once cast away, His rage would cease. I, I have wrong'd thee, And I'll be just to thee, and to my word.

draws

I'll ope the sluces of my fullest veins, And set them running, till they make a flood, Wherein I'll drown my self—

He offers to kill himself. She stays his hand.

Seph.

Thine heart lies here; 'Tis here, lock't up securely in my brest: First open that, and take it out; for death Shall ne're divorce me from thy company: I will attend thee through those shady vaults Of death, or thou shalt live with me.—Dost think This body possible to live without A soul? or without thee? Have pitie on Thy tender babe, whose life depends on thine, And make not me widow, and him orphan, With unadvised rashness. — Sheath thy sword.

Max.

Mine eyes will ne're endure it, to behold. Thee miserable, no, no, death first shall draw A sable veil of darkness over them.—

Pardon my rashuess, I will live with thee, And tire thy fathers rage with suffering, So he'l but suffer thee to live in mirth, The greatest sorrow shall not make me sad.

Seph.

Here comes my father, cerainly his rage Will know no bounds: I fear it will Break forth into some desperate act on me.

Max.

Although he be a King, which sacred name I reverence, and as a mortal god Adore; he shall not dare to injure you Before my face: first shall he wear my life Upon his sword, if he but dare to touch Thy sacred self.—

Scaen. 4. Enter Damocles.

Kin.

How now light-skirts? have you got your Champion To shield you from our anger? know I have Not yet forgot the name of father, though You thus have slighted it; but as a King, We must be just to punish your contempt. Did you so well know your beauty to be Proud of it, and yet so little value it, As thus to throw it all away at once? Well, get you gone.—Since that you have e∣steem'd A strangers love before your lovalty To me, or my care to you, a stranger shall Inherit what you were born to, had not Your fond affections forc'd this vile exchange.

Max.

Sir—for your fury will not suffer me To call you father; think not your daughter Undervalued by her love to me: Her love ran not so low, as to be stoop'd To meet with crime, who am a Prince no less

Than is your self: Cyprus my Kingdome is.

Kin.

What drew you hither then? you must needs know It is no less than treason for to steal An heir to our crown: what drew you hither?

Max.

Hither I came, drawn by that forcible Attractive, for to offer up my self A sacrifice at th'altar of her love. Tost with a sea of miseries, I came To anchor in the haven of her heart: And if this be treason, I shall not blush To be esteem'd a traytor. But if not, Then pardon me, if bolder innocence Doth force me tell you, 'tis not just in you Thus to oppose what Heavens have decreed. Believe me, Sir, it's neither safe nor just, For you to violate the lawes of fate.

Kin.

Let not your pride so far transport you, that You tax our justice. I shall scourge your haste Into a leisurely repentance, when The sea shall teach you that your teares, and th' wind That sighs become your headlong rash attempts.

Max.

Great Sir, lay what you will on me, I scorn To crave your favour for my self; but yet Let Nature prompt you to be merciful To her who is a chief part of your self.

Kin.

No, as ye have joyn'd your selves in mirth, so Will I joyn ye too in mourning; and because Two no good consort make, my brother shall Bear a third part in your grave harmonie.

Seph.

Father, let me the heavy burthen bear Of this sad song alone: let all your fierce Justice center in my breast.—

Kin.

No more, Our sentence is irrevocable, nought Shall satisfie me else: I'll have it done.

1 Lo.

My Liege, the barque is ready, and attends Your pleasure; the commands of Kings are not To be gain-said, or broken; for the will Of heaven is obey'd in doing them.

Seph.

We do obey it then, and willingly, Father, for yet I can't forget that name, Although these injuries would raze it out My memorie; I will not now dispute, But readily obey your will: and know The pleasures of your Court should not entice Me shun this comming terrour, which will be, More welcome to me by my companie. And thus I take my leave. Here may you find

She kneels.

That happiness you wish, and we shall want Whilest that we prove our selves loves Confes∣sors, If not his Martyrs.—

Kin.

I will hear no more. Away with them, my Lord, you know the place, Our sentence and the time, I long to see Me, and my Kingdom from these monsters free.

Max.

Arcadia adieu! Thou hast before Been famous for the happiness of loves: Now mischief hath usurp't the seat, and may It be the object of the gods hatred. Since Love's the subject of their crueltie. Come dearest, let us winde our selves so close, That envie may admire, and so despair To enter here, where love possession keeps.

Exe int.

Scaen. 5.

Kin.

Now shall I live secure, for now there is None left, whose nearness to our blood might edge Their hopes, by killing us to gain our Crown. Kings lives are never safe from those that wish Their ends, which must initiate them into Th'enjoyment of a Kingdom; this same crown Is such a bait unto ambitious spirits, 'Tis never safe upon the wearers head.

Enter Artaxia weeping.

Why weeps my dear?

Art.

Ask why I do not weep. (Poor Artaxia) are my tears denied me! Ask why I do not rave, tear my hair thus, Why such a weight of sorrow doth not rob So much of woman from me, as complaints! Or rather, why do I not cloud the skie With sighs; till at the last with one bold stab My own hand take from insulting fortune, This miserable object of her sport. Ask why I do not this, not why I weep!

Kin.

Or stint thy teares, or mingle mine with them, By a relation of their cause; these eyes Trust me Artaxia, are not yet drawn dry, Nor hath strong sorrow e're exhausted them, To make them bankrupt of a friendly tear, But not a fond one. Why Artaxia! Why dost thou hasten those that come too fast, Sorrow and age, clear up thy clouded brow.

Art.

Ah Damocles! how hast thou lost thy self! And art become a monster, not a man, Thus to deprive me of my onely joy, The onely stay and comfort of mine age,

Which now must fall. Break heart, and give My sorrows vent. Ah! my Sephestia's gone, For ever lost unto the world and me.

Kin.

Content thy self, not I, but justice hath Depriv'd us of her: Justice, that is blind To all relations, and deaf to intreats Of fond nature, or fonder affection.

Art.

Ah cruel justice! Justice! no tyranny, This is: Death, be my friend, & joyn once more My dear Sephestia and me—I come

Stabs her self.

Sephestia I come; curs'd world farewel.

Kin.

Help, help, Artaxia, my dear, help, help, Sephestia doth live, she is not dead.

Art.

Oh, 'tis too late—oh-oh-oh—

She dies.

Enter 2 Lords.

2 Lor.

Heavens! what a sight is here? The Queen, she's dead, stark dead, what shal we do? This wretched land is fruitful grown of late, Of nothing else but miseries and woes. Jove sends his darts like hail-shot, no place free:

Kin.

Ah miserable man I am, a wretch, Who thus have lost two jewels that the world Can't recompence: I know not what to do.— Now could I tear my self in pieces, that I have Thus parted friends, & left my self alone.

Offers to kill himself

I am resolv'd, I will no longer live.

2 Lo.

Stay, good my Liege, live, & repent of what Y'have done, you have killd enough already.

Kin.

If I should kill my self, and lose my crown. I were better live.— Call us a Council quickly. But my wife, my dearest Artaxia! That I could breath life into thee again, Or else were with thee!

2 Lo.

He's not yet so mad.

Kin.

O ye powers above! what mean ye thus

To wrack us mortals with such blacker deeds Than hell it self! or remove them, or take All senses from us. Bear the bodie in, And summon all our Lords with speed t'attend Upon us, that we may find out from whence It is we suffer this sad influence.

Exit.

2 Lo.

Unhappy King! he hath undone himself, And all the Land. His sublimated rage Hath sowne a crop of mischiefs, which no age Can parallel; great-belly'd time is big With sorrows; and our next succeeding times, Must reap the harvest of his bloody crimes.

Exit.

Finis Actus primi.