Deserves all blessings.

Brun. So soon to forget

The loss of such a wife, believe it, will Be censur'd in the world.

Thi. Pray you, no more!

There is no argument you can use to cross it,
But does encrease in me such a suspicion
I would not cherish.-Who's that?

Enter MEMBERGE.

Memb. One, no guard

Can put back from access, whose tongue no threats
Nor pray'rs can silence! a bold suitor, and
For that which, if you are yourself, a king,
You were made so to grant it: Justice, justice!
Thi, With what assurance dare you hope for
that

Which is denied to me? or how can I
Stand bound to be just unto such as are
Beneath me, that find none from those that are
Above me?

Memb. There is justice: 'Twere unfit
That any thing but vengeance should fall on him,
That, by his giving way to more than murder,
(For my dear father's death was parricide).
Makes it his own.

Brun. I charge you, hear her not!

Memb. Hell cannot stop just prayers from en-
t'ring Heav'n:

I must and will be heard! Sir, but remember
That he that by her plot fell, was your brother;
And the place where, your palace, against all
Th' inviolable rights of hospitality;
Your word, a king's word, given for his safety;
His innocence, his protection; and the gods
Bound to revenge the impious breach of such
So great and sacred bonds! and can you wonder
That (in not punishing such a horrid murder
You did it) that Heav'ns favour is gone from you?
Which never will return, until his blood
Be wash'd away in hers.

Brun. Drag hence the wretch !
Thi. Forbear. With what variety

Of torments do I meet! Oh, thou hast open'd
A book, in which, writ down in bloody letters,
My conscience finds that I am worthy of
More than I undergo; but I'll begin,
For my Ordella's sake, and for thine own,

To make less Heav'n's great anger: Thou hast lost

A father; I to thee am so: The hope
Of a good husband; in me have one! Nor

Brun. That it might

[Aside.

Have ever grown inseparably upon thee!What will you do? Is such a thing as this Worthy the lov'd Ordella's place the daughter Of a poor gardener?

Memb. Your son!

Thi. The power

To take away that lowness is in me.

Brun. Stay yet; for rather than that thou shalt add

Incest unto thy other sins, I will,
With hazard of my own life, utter all:
Theodoret was thy brother]

Thi. You denied it,

Upon your oath; nor will I now believe you: Your Protean turnings cannot change my purpose!

Memb. And for me, be assur'd the means to be Reveng'd on thee, vile hag, admits no thought But what tends to it!

Brun. Is it come to that?

Then have at the last refuge! Art thou grown Insensible in ill, that thou goest on

Without the least compunction? There, take that! To witness that thou hadst a mother, which Foresaw thy cause of grief and sad repentance, That, so soon after, bless'd Ordella's death, Without a tear, thou canst embrace another! Forgetful man!

Thi. Mine eyes, when she is nam'd, Cannot forget their tribute, and your gift Is not unuseful now.....

Lec. He's past all cure;
That only touch is death.

Thi. This night, I'll keep it;
To-morrow I will send it you, and full
Of my affliction.

Brun. Is the poison mortal?
Lec. Above the help of physic,
Brun. To my wish.

[Exit

Now for our own security! You, Protaldye,
Shall this night post towards Austracia,
With letters to Theodoret's bastard son,
In which we will make known what for his rising
We have done to Thierry: No denial,
Nor no excuse in such acts, must be thought of;
Which all dislike, and all again commend
When they are brought unto a happy end.

[Exeunt.

Omnes. We understand you not, captain.
Vitry. You see this cardecue ;

The last, and the only quintessence of fifty crowns,
Distill'd in the limbeck of your gardage,

Of which happy piece thou shalt be treasurer: Now he that can soonest persuade him to part with it,

Enjoys it, possesses it, and, with it,
Me and my future countenance.
1 Sold. If they want art

To persuade it, I'll keep it myself.
Vitry. So you be not

A partial judge in your own cause, you shall.
Omnes. A match!

2 Sold. I'll begin to you: Brave sir, be proud
To make him happy by your liberality,
Whose tongue vouchsafes now to petition,
Was never heard before less than to command.
I am a soldier by profession, a gentleman
By birth, and an officer by place;
Whose poverty blushes to be the cause,
That so high a virtue should descend
To the pity of your charity.

1 Sold. In any case keep your high stile! It is not charity to shame any man, Much less a virtue of your eminence ; Wherefore preserve your worth, and I'll preserve My money.

3 Sold. You persuade? You are shallow! Give way to merit: Ah, by the bread of God, man, Thou hast a bonny countenance and a blith, Promising mickle good to a siking wemb, That has trod a long and a sore ground to meet With friends, that will owe much to thy reverence,

When they shall hear of thy courtesy
To their wandering countrymen.

1 Sold. You that will use

Your friends so hardly to bring them in debt, sir, Will deserve worse of a stranger; wherefore, Pead on, pead on, I say!

4 Sold. It is the Welsh

Must do't, I see.-Comrade, man of urship,
St Tavy be her patron, the gods of the mountains
Keep her cow and her cupboard; may she never
Want the green of the leek, nor the fat of the
onion,

If she part with her bounties to him, that is a great deal

Away from her cousins, and has two big suits in

law

1 Sold. And that you are like to want, for aught I perceive yet.

Vitry. Stand, deliver!

1 Sold. 'Foot, what mean you? You will not rob the exchequer? Vitry. Do you prate ?

1 Sold. Hold, hold! here, captain! 2 Sold. Why, I could have done this Before you.

3 Sold. And I.

4 Sold. And I.

Vitry. You have done this:

'Brave man, be proud to make him happy!'
By the bread of God, man, thou hast a bonny
countenance !'

"Comrade, man of urship, St. Tavy be her patron!'
Out upon you, you uncurried colts!
Walking cans, that have no souls in you,
But a little rosin to keep your ribs sweet,
And hold in liquor!

Omnes. Why, what would you have us to do,
captain?

Vitry. Beg, beg, and keep constables waking, Wear out stocks and whipcord,

Maunder for butter-milk, die of the jaundice,
Yet have the cure about you, lice, large lice,
Begot of your own dust, and the heat of the
brick-kilns !

May you starve, and the fear of the gallows
(Which is a gentle consumption to it)
Only preserve you from it or may you fall
Upon your fear, and be hang'd for selling
Those purses to keep you from famine,
Whose monies my valour empties,
And be cast without other evidence!
Here is my fort, my castle of defence;
Who comes by shall pay me toll;
The first purse is your mittimus, slaves.
2 Sold. The purse? 'foot, we'll share in the
money, captain,

If any come within a furlong of our fingers.
4 Sold. Did you doubt but we could steal
As well as yourself? Did not I speak Welsh?
3 Sold. We are thieves from our cradles, and
will die so.

Vitry. Then you will not beg again?
Omnes. Yes, as you did:

Stand and deliver!

2 Sold. Hark! here comes handsel:

'Tis a trade quickly set up, and as soon cast down. Vitry. Have goodness in your minds, varlets, and to't

Like men: He that has more money than we Cannot be our friend, and I hope there is no law For spoiling the enemy.

3 Sold. You need not

Instruct us further; your example pleads enough. Vitry. Disperse yourselves; and as their company is, fall on!

2 Sold. Come, there are a band of 'em! I'll charge single. [Exeunt Soldiers.

Enter PROTALDYE.

Prot. 'Tis wonderful dark! I have lost my man, And dare not call for him, lest I should have 1

There's company within hearing; if you stay longer,

We are surprised,

Vitry. Let the devil come,

I'll pillage this frigate a little better yet.

2 Sold. 'Foot, we are lost! they are upon us. Vitry. Ha! upon us?

Make the least noise, 'tis thy parting gasp! 3 Sold. Which way shall we make, sir? Vitry. Every man his own!

Do you hear? only bind me before you go, and when

The company's past, make to this place again:
This carvel should have better lading in him.
You are slow; why do you not tie harder?
1 Sold. You are sure enough,

If I stay long here without company:
I was wont to get a nap with saying my prayers:
I'll see if they will work upon me now.
But then if I should talk in my sleep, and they
Hear me, they would make a recorder of my
windpipe,

Slit my throat. "Heaven be prais'd! I hear some noise;

It may be new purchase, and then I shall have fellows.

Vitry. They are gone past hearing: Now to task, De Vitry!

Help, help, as you are men, help! some charitable hand,

Relieve a poor distressed miserable wretch! Thieves, wicked thieves, have robb'd me, bound me. Prot. 'Foot,

'Would they had gag'd you too! your noise will betray us,

And fetch them again.

Vitry. What blessed tongue spake to me? Where, where are you, sir?

Prot. A plague of your bawling throat! We are well enough, if you have the grace To be thankful for't. Do but snore to me, And 'tis as much as I desire, to pass Away time with, 'till morning; then talk As loud as you please. Sir, I am bound not to stir,

Wherefore, lie still and snore, I say.

Vitry. Then you have met with thieves too, I

in them,

And therefore desire to hear no more of them. Vitry. Now blessing on your wit, sir! what a dull

Slave was I, dream'd not of your conveyance!
Help to unbind me, sir, and I'll undo you;
My life for yours, no worse thief than myself
Meets you again this night.

Prot. Reach me thy hands!

Vitry. Here, sir, here; I could beat my brains out,

That could not think of boots,

Boots, sir, wide-topt boots; I shall love them
The better whilst I live. But are you sure
Your jewels are here, sir?

Prot. Sure, say'st thou? ha, ha, ha!
Vitry. So ho, illo ho!

Sold. [Within.] Here, captain, here.
Prot. Foot, what do you mean, sir?

Enter Soldiers.

Vitry. A trick to boot, say you?

Here, you dull slaves, purchase, purchase! The soul of the rock, diamonds, sparkling diamonds!

Prot. I'm betray'd, lost, past recovery lost! As you are men

Vitry. Nay, rook, since you'll be prating, We'll share your carrion with you. Have you Any other conveyance now, sir?

1 Sold. 'Foot, here are letters, Epistles, familiar epistles: We'll see

What treasure is in them. They are seal'd sure. Prot. Gentlemen!

As you are gentlemen, spare my letters, and take

all

Baw. Armies of those we call physicians;
Some with clisters, some with lettice-caps,
Some posset-drinks, some pills; twenty consult
ing here

About a drench, as many here to blood him ;
Then comes a don of Spain, and he prescribes
More cooling opium than would kill a Turk,
Or quench a whore i' the Dog-days; after him
A wise Italian, and he cries, Tie unto him
A woman of fourscore, whose bones are marble,
Whose blood snow-water, not so much heat about
her

As may conceive a prayer! after him,

An English doctor, with a bunch of pot-herbs,
And he cries out endive and suckery,

With a few mallow roots and butter-milk!
And talks of oil made of a churchman's charity;
Yet still he wakes.

1 Cour. But your good honour

Has a prayer in store, if all should fail ? Baw. I could have pray'd, and handsomely, but age,

And an ill memory

3 Cour. Has spoil'd your primmer.

Baw. Yet if there be a man of faith i'the court,

And can pray for a pension

Enter THIERRY on a bed, with Doctors and Attendants.

2 Cour. Here's the king, sir;

And those that will pray without pay.
Baw. Then pray for me too.

1 Doctor. How does your grace now feel yourself?

Thi. What's that?

1 Doctor. Nothing at all, sir, but your fancy.
Thi. Tell me,

Can ever these eyes more, shut up in slumbers,
Assure my soul there is sleep? is there night
And rest for human labours? do not you
And all the world, as I do, out-stare Time,
And live, like funeral lamps, never extinguish'd?
Is there a grave? (and do not flatter me,
Nor fear to tell me truth) and in that grave
Is there a hope I shall sleep? can I die?
Are not my miseries immortal? Oh,
The happiness of him that drinks his water,
After his weary day, and sleeps for ever!
Why do you crucify me thus with faces,
And gaping strangely upon one another?
When shall I rest?

2 Doctor. Oh, sir, be patient!

Thi. Am I not patient? have I not endur'd More than a mangy dog, among your doses ? Am I not now your patient? Ye can make Unwholsome fools sleep for a guarded footcloth; Whores for a hot sin-offering; yet I must crave, That feed ye, and protect ye, and proclaim ye. Because my power is far above your searching, Are my diseases so? can ye cure none, But those of equal ignorance? Dare ye kill me? 1 Doctor. We do beseech your grace be more reclaim'd!

This talk doth but distemper you.

Thi. Well, I will die,

In spite of all your potions! One of you sleep; Lie down and sleep here, that I may behold What blessed rest it is my eyes are robb'd of! See, he can sleep, sleep any where, sleep now, When he that wakes for him can never slumber! Is't not a dainty ease?

2 Doctor. Your grace shall feel it.

Thi. Oh, never, never I! The eyes of Heaven See but their certain motions, and then sleep; The rages of the ocean have their slumbers, And quiet silver calms; each violence

Crowns in his end a peace; but my fix'd fires Shall never, never set!-Who's that?

The touch of nature in you, tenderness! 'Tis all the soul of woman, all the sweetness: Forget not, I beseech you, what are children, Nor how you have groan'd for them; to what love

They are born inheritors, with what care kept; And, as they rise to ripeness, still remember How they imp out your age! and when time calls you,

That as an autumn flower you fall, forget not How round about your hearse they hang, like penons!

Brun. Holy fool,

Mart. No, woman,

Soldiers.

Mother of mischief, no! the day shall die first,
And all good things live in a worse than thou art,
Ere thou shalt sleep! Dost thou see him?
Brun. Yes, and curse him;

And all that love him, fool, and all live by him.
Mart. Why art thou such a monster?
Brun. Why art thou

So tame a knave to ask me!

Mart. Hope of hell,

By this fair holy light, and all his wrongs,
Which are above thy years, almost thy vices,
Thou shalt not rest, not feel more what is pity,
Know nothing necessary, meet no society
But what shall curse and crucify thee, feel in thy-
self

Nothing but what thou art, bane and bad conscience,

1

'Till this man rest; but for whose reverence, Because, thou art his mother, I would say, Whore, this shall be! Do you nod? I'll waken

Is it so, mother?

Brun. Yes, it is so, son;

And, were it yet again to do, it should be.
Mart. She nods again; swinge her!
Thi. But, mother,

(For yet I love that reverence, and to death
Dare not forget you have been so) was this,
This endless misery, this cureless malice,
This snatching from me all my youth together,
All that you made me for, and happy mothers
Crown'd with eternal time are proud to finish,
Done by your will?

Brun. It was, and by that will

Thi. Oh, mother, do not lose your name! forget not

Or what I ought to be; but what I am,
A woman in her liberal will defeated,

In all her greatness cross'd, in pleasure blasted!
My angers have been laugh'd at, my ends slighted,
And all those glories that had crown'd my for-

tunes,

Suffer'd by blasted virtue to be scatter'd :
I am the fruitful mother of these angers,
And what such have done, read, and know thy
ruin!

Thi. Heav'n forgive you!

Mart. She tells you true; for millions of her mischiefs

Are now apparent: Protaldye we have taken,
An equal agent with her, to whose care,
After the damn'd defeat on you, she trusted
Enter Messenger.

The bringing-in of Leonor the bastard,
Son to your murder'd brother: Her physician
By this time is attach'd to that damn'd devil.

Mess. 'Tis like he will be so; for ere we came,
Fearing an equal justice for his mischiefs,
He drench'd himself.

Brun. He did like one of mine then!

Thi. Must I still see these miseries? no night To hide me from their horrors? That Protaldye See justice fall upon!

Brun. Now I could sleep too.

Mart. I'll give you yet more poppy: Bring the lady,

Enter ORDELLA.

And Heav'n in her embraces give him quiet! Madam, unveil yourself.

Ord. I do forgive you;

And tho' you sought my blood, yet I'll pray fol