Enter THIERRY and MARTELL.

Mart. Your grace is early stirring.
Thi. How can he sleep,

Whose happiness is laid up in an hour,

Thy sovereign; who must owe unto thy wisdom
In the concealing of my barren shame.
Lec. Your grace doth wrong your stars: If
this be yours,

You may have children.
Thi. Speak it again!

Lec. You may have fruitful issue.
Thi. By whom? when? how?

Lec. It was the fatal means first struck my blood With the cold hand of wonder, when I read it Printed upon your birth.

Thi. Can there be any way unsmooth, has end So fair and good?

Lec. We that behold the sad aspects of Heav'n, Leading sense-blinded men, feel grief enough To know, though not to speak their miseries. Thi. Sorrow must lose a name, where mine finds life!

If not in thee, at least ease pain with speed,
Which must know no cure else.

Lec. Then thus:

He knows comes stealing toward him? Oh, Martell!

Is't possible the longing bride, whose wishes Out-run her fears, can, on that day she's married,

Consume in slumbers? or his arms rust in ease, That hears the charge, and sees the honour'd purchase

Ready to gild 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 ransom,

The son of France, whose manly powers like

prisoners

Have been tied up, and fetter'd, by one death
Gives life to thousand ages; this day beauty,
The envy of the world, the pleasure, glory,
Content above the world, desire beyond it,
Are made mine own, and useful!

Mart. Happy woman
That dies to do these things!

Thi. But ten times happier
That lives to do the greater! Oh, Martell,
The gods have heard me now; and those that
scorn'd me,

Mothers of many children, and bless'd fathers,
That see their issues like the stars unnumber'd,
Their comforts 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!

That comes so near the sacrament itself,

The priests doubt whether purer!
Mart. Sir, you're lost!

Thi. I prithee let me be so!

Mart. The day wears;

Are now retiring homeward.

Thi. Stand, and mark then!

Mart. Is it the first must suffer?

Thi. The first woman.

Mart. What hand shall do it, sir?

Thi. This hand, Martell;

For who less dare presume to give the gods
An incense of this offering?

Mart. 'Would I were she !

For such a way to die, and such a blessing,
Can never crown my parting. [Two men pass over.
Thi. What are those?

Mart. Men, men, sir, men.

Thi. The plagues of men light on 'em! They cross my hopes like hares. Who's that? [4 priest passes over.

Mart. A priest, sir.

Thi. 'Would he were gelt!

Mart, May not these rascals serve, sir,

Well hang'd and quarter'd?

Thi. No.

Mart. Here comes a woman.

Enter ORDELLA, veiled.

Thi. Stand, and behold her then!

Mart. I think, a fair one.

Thi. 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 Heav'n upon her!
You holy powers, no human 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 blood's affections, but thy hope,
Let her bequeath to women! Hear me, Heav'n!
Give her a spirit masculine, and noble,
Fit for yourselves to ask, and me to offer!
Oh, let her meet my blow, dote on her death!
And as a wanton vine bows to the pruner,
That, by his cutting off more may encrease,
So let her fall to raise me fruit !-Hail, woman;
The happiest and the best, (if thy dull will
Do not abuse thy fortune) France e'er found yet!
Ord. She's more than dull, sir, less and worse

than woman,

That may inherit such an infinite

Or any thing that's merely ours, and mortal; We were begotten gods else: But those fears, Feeling but once the fires of nobler thoughts, Fly, like the shapes of clouds we form, to nothing. Thi. Suppose it death!

Ord. I do.

Desire this place?

Ord. 'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest:
Children begin it to us, strong men seek it,
And kings from height 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 life's profits,
Can recompence this place; and mad that stay it,
'Till age blow out their lights, or rotten humours
Bring them dispers'd to th' earth.

Thi. Then you can suffer?
Ord. As willingly as say it.
Thi. Martell, a wonder!

Thi. Tell me this then;

Was there e'er woman yet, or may be found,

That for fair fame, unspotted memory,

For Virtue's sake, and only for itself-sake,
Has, or dare make a story?

Ord. Many dead, sir;

Living, I think, as many.

Thi. Say, the kingdom

May from a woman's will receive a blessing,

Are you a wife?

Ord. I am, sir.

Thi. And have children ?--

She sighs, and weeps!

Ord. Oh, none, sir.

Thi. Dare you venture,

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

Ord. With all but heav'n,

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.
Thi. Then there is nothing wanting but my
knowledge,

And what I must do, lady.

Ord. You are the king, sir,

And what you do I'll suffer; and that blessing That you desire, the gods shower on the kingdom!

Thi. Thus much before I strike then; for I must kill you,

The gods have will'd it so: Thou'rt made the blessing

Must make France young again, and me a man. Keep up your strength still nobly!

Ord. Fear me not.

Thi. And meet Death like a measure!
Ord. I am stedfast.

Thi. Thou shalt be sainted, woman; and thy tomb

Cut out in crystal, 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.
Dar'st thou behold thy happiness?

Ord. I dare, sir.

For may this work be done by common women?
Durst any but myself, that knew the blessing,
And felt the benefit, assume this dying?
In any other, 't had been lost and nothing,
A curse and not a blessing: I was figur'd;
And shall a little fondness bar my purchase?

Mart. Where should he then seek children?
Ord. Where they are;

In wombs ordain'd for issues; in those beauties That bless a marriage-bed, and make it procreant With kisses that conceive, and fruitful pleasures: Mine, like a grave, buries those loyal hopes, And, too, 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 worth in woman,

Mart. Oh, sir, you must not do it.

Thi. No, I dare not!

There is an angel keeps that paradise,
A fiery angel, friend. Oh, virtue, virtue,
Ever and endless virtue !

Ord. Strike, sir, strike!

And if in my poor death fair France may merit,
Give me a thousand blows! be killing me
A thousand days!

Thi. First, let the earth be barren, And man no more remember'd! Rise, Ordella, The nearest to thy Maker, and the purest That ever dull flesh shew'd us!-Oh, my heartstrings! [Exit.

Mart. I see you full of wonder; therefore, noblest,

And truest amongst women, I will tell you
The end of this strange accident.

Ord. Amazement

Has so much won upon my heart, that truly
I feel myself unfit to hear: Oh, sir,

My lord has slighted me!

Mart. Oh, no, sweet lady.

Ord. Robb'd me of such a glory, by his pity And most unprovident respectMart. Dear lady,

It was not meant to you.

Ord. Else where the day is,

And hours distinguish time, time runs to ages, And ages end the world, I had been spoken! * Mart. I'll tell you what it was, if but your patience

Will give me hearing.

Ord. If I have transgress'd,

Forgive me, sir!

Mart. Your noble lord was counsell'd

In coveting a cruelty is not yours,

A will short of your wisdom, make not error
A tombstone 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.
Ord. All's but talk, sir!

I find to what I am reserv'd, and needful:
And tho' 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 know you, all that love

you;

To ruin all you build! Would you be famous? Is that your end?

Ord. I would be what I should be.

Mart. Live and confirm the gods then! live and be loaden

With more than olives 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 bloody thoughts? what devil durst
Look on that angel face, and tempt? do you
know

What 'tis to die thus? how you strike the stars,
And all good things above us? do you feel
What follows a self-blood? whither you venture,
And to what punishment? Excellent lady,
Be not thus cozen'd! do not fool yourself!
The priest was never his own sacrifice,

Go, 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.

Lec. Madam!

Prot. Another time were better.
Brun. Do not stir,

For I must be resolv'd, and will: Be statues !

Enter MARTELL.

Thi. Ay, 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!

Thi. Thou mak'st me smile

I' th' heighth of my calamities: As if
There could be the addition of an atom,

To the giant-body of my miseries!

Made such a battery in the choicest castle That ever Nature made to defend life, That straight it shook and sunk.

Thi. 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 Heav'n bless him with a daughter,
In my remembrance let it bear my name!
Which said, she died.

Thi. I hear this, and yet live!

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, tho' it had been my death,
To hide it from her: She, I say, in whom
All was, that Athens, Rome, or warlike Sparta,
Have register'd for good in their best women,
But nothing of their ill; knowing herself
Mark'd out (I know not by what power, but sure
A cruel one) to die, to give you children;
Having first with a settled countenance
Look'd up to heaven, and then upon herself,
(It being the next best object) and then smil'd,
As if her joy in death to do you service
Would break forth, in despite 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 go 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 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 quick end
Should make way for her. Which no sooner spoke,
But in a moment this too-ready engine

break thee?

Thi. 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 pleasures,
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 sudden choice, shall be
To all apparent.

Brun. How do I remove one mischief,
To draw upon my head a greater?
Thi. Go,

Thou only good man, to whom for herself
Goodness is dear, and prepare to inter 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 yourself, there's nothing here Martell
Can take delight to look on: Yet some comfort
Goes back with me to her, who, tho' she want it,