The loyal subject, or, The faithful general a play acted at the Theatre-Royal by Her Majesties servants / the authors, Mr. Beaumont and Mr. Fletcher ; with a preface.

SCENE V.

Enter two Servants preparing a Banquet.

1. Ser.

Believe me Fellow here will be lusty drinking. Many a washt Pate in Wine I warrant thee.

2. Serv.

I am glad the old General's come: upon my conscience That joy will make half the Court drunk. Hark the Trumpet, They are coming on; away.

1 Ser.

We'll have a Rowse too.

Exit.

Enter Duke, Archas, Burris, Borosky, attend Gentlemen:

Duk.

Come seat your selves: Lord Archas sit you there,

Ar.

'Tis far above my worth.

Duk.

Ile have it so: Are all things ready?

Bor.

All the Guards are set, The Court Gates shut.

Duk.

Then do as I prescrib'd you. Be sure no further.

Bor.

I shall well observe you.

Duk.

Come bring some Wine: here's to my Sister Gentlemen; A Health, and much to all.

Ar.

Pray fill it full Sir. 'Tis a high Health to Vertue: here Lord Burris, A Maiden Health: you are more fit to pledge it, You have a Maiden Soul, and much I honour it. Passion o' me, you are sad Man.

Du.

How now Burris. Go to, no more of this.

Ar.

Take the Rowse freely. 'Twill warm your Blood, and make you fit for jollity. Your Graces Pardon: when we get a Cup Sir, We old Men prate a pace.

Du.

Mirth makes a Banquet; As you love me no more.

Bur.

I thank your Grace. Give me it; Lord Borosky.

Boros.

I have ill Brains Sir.

Bur.

Damnable ill, I know it.

Boros.

But Ile pledge Sir This vertuous Health.

Enter a Servant with Mourning Cloak.

Bu.

The more unfit for thy Mouth.

Du.

Come, bring out Robes, and let my guests look nobly, Fit for my Love and Presence: begin downward. Off with your Cloaks, take new.

Ar.

Your Grace deals truly Like a munificent Prince, with your poor Subjects, Who would not fight for you? what cold dull Coward Durst seek to save his Life when you would ask it? Begin a new Health in your new Adornments, The Dukes, the Royal Dukes: ah, what have I got Sir? ah! the robe of Death!

Duk.

You have deserv'd it.

Ar.

The Livery of the Grave? do you start all from me? Do I smell of Earth already? Sir look on me, And like a Man; is this your Entertainment? Do you bid your worthiest Guests to bloody Banquets.

Enter a Guard.

A Guard upon me too? this is too foul play Boy to thy good, thine Honour; thou wretched Ruler, Thou Son of Fools and Flatterers, Heirs of Hypocrites, Am I serv'd in a Hearse that sav'd you all? Are you Men or Devils? do you gape upon me, Wider, and swallow all my Services? Entomb them first, my Faith next, then my Integrity, And let these stuggle with your mangy Minds, Your sear'd, and seal'd up Consciences, till you burst.

Boros.

These words are Death.

Ar.

No those Deeds that want rewards, Sirrah, Those Battles I have fought, those horrid Dangers, Leaner then Death, and wilder then Destruction, I have march'd upon, these honour'd Wounds, times Story, The Blood I have lost, the Youth, the Sorrows suffer'd, These are my death, these that can n'er be recompenc'd, These that you sit a brooding on like Toads, Sucking from my Deserts the Sweets and Favours, And render me no pay again but Poisons.

Bor.

The proud vain Soldier thou hast set—

Ar.

Thou lyest. Now by my little time of Life lyest basely, Malitiously and loudly: how I scorn thee? If I had sweld the Soldier, or intended An Act in Person, leaning to dishonour, As you would fain have forced me, witness Heaven, Where clearest understanding of all Truth is,

(For these are spightful Men, and know no piety) When Olin came, grim Olin, when his Marches, His last Incursions made the City sweat, And drove before him, as a Storm drives Hail, Such showers of frosted Fears, shook all your Heart-strings; Then when the Volga trembled at his Terror, And hid his seven curl'd Heads, afraid of brusing, By his arm'd Horses Hoofs; had I been false then, Or blown a treacherous fire into the Soldier, Had but one spark of Villany liv'd within me, Ye'ad had some shadow for this black about me. Where was your souldiership? why went not you out? And all your right honourable Valour with you? Why met you not the Tartar, and defi'd him? Drew your dead doing Sword, and buckl'd with him? Shot through his Squadrons like a fiery Meteor? And as we see a dreadful clap of Thunder Rend the stiff hearted Oaks, and toss their Roots up: Why did not you so charge him? you were sick then, You that dare taint my Credit, slipt to Bed then, Stewing and fainting with the Fears you had, A whorson shaking fit opprest your Lordship: Blush Coward knave, and all the World hiss at thee.

Duk.

Exceed not my command.

Exit.

Bor.

I shall observe it.

Exit.

Ar.

Are you gone too? Come weep not honest Burris, Good loving Lord, no more Tears: 'tis not his Malice, This Fellow's Malice, nor the Duke's Displeasure, By bold bad Men, crowded into his Nature, Can startle me: Fortune ne'er raz'd this Fort yet: I am the same, the same Man, living, dying; The same Mind to 'em both, I poize thus equal; Only the Jugling way that told me to it, The Judas way, to kiss me, bid me welcome, And cut my Throat, a little Sticks upon me. Farwel, commend me to his Grace, and tell him, The World is full of Servants, he may have many: And some I wish him honest: he's undone else: But such another doating Archas never, So try'd and touch'd a Faith: farewel for ever.

Bur.

Be strong my Lord: you must not go thus lightly.

Ar.

Now what's to do? what says the Law unto me? Give me my great Offence that speaks me guilty,

Bor.

Laying aside a thousand petty Matters, As Scorns and Insolencies, both from your self and followers, Which you put first fire to, and these are deadly,

I come to one main Cause, which though it carries A Strangeness in the Circumstance, it carries Death too, Not to be pardon'd neither: you have done a Sacrilege.

Ar.

High Heaven defend me Man: how, how Borosky?

Bor.

You have took from the Temple those vow'd Arms, The holy Ornament you hung up there, No absolution of your Vow, no order From Holy Church to give 'em back unto you After they were purified from War, and rested From Blood, made clean by Ceremony: from the Alta You snatch'd 'em up again, again you wore 'em, Again you stain'd 'em, stain'd your Vow, the Church too, And rob'd it of that right was none of yours Sir, For which the Law requires your Head, you know it.

Ar.

Those Arms I fought in last?

Bor.

The same.

Ar.

God a Mercy, Thou hast hunted out a notable Cause to kill me: A Subtle one: I dye, for saving all you; Good Sir remember if you can, the Necessity, The suddainness of Time, the Stage all stood in; I was entreated to, kneel'd to, and pray'd to, The Duke himself, the Princes, all the Nobles, The cries of Infants, bedrid Fathers, Virgins; Prethee find out a better Cause, a handsomer, This will undo thee too: People will spit at thee, The Devil himself would be asham'd of this Cause; Because my haste made me forget the Ceremony; The present danger every where, must my life satisfie?

Bor.

It must and shall.

Ar.

O base ungrateful People, Have you no other Sword to cut my Throat with But mine own nobleness? I confess, I took 'em, The Vow not yet absolv'd, I hung em up with: Wore 'em, fought in 'em, gilded 'em again In the fierce Tartars Blood; for you I took 'em, For your peculiar safety, Lord, for all, I wore 'em for my Countries Health, that gron'd then: Took from the Temple, to preserve the Temple, That Holy Place, and all the Sacred Monuments, The reverent shrines of Saints, ador'd and honour'd, Had been consum'd to Ashes, their own Sacrifice, Had I been slack, or staid that Absolution, No Priest had liv'd to give it; my own Honour Cure of my Country murder me?

Bor.

No, no Sir, I shall force that from you, will make this cause light too,

Away with him: I shall pluck down that Heart Sir.

Ar.

Break it thou may'st; but if it bend, for pity; Dogs and Kites eat it: come, I am Honours Martyr.

Exit.