A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 10

ACT III., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ MACHIAVEL, FULGENTIO, PANDOLPHO, ALERZO, GIOVANNO, _with_ RAYMOND _prisoner, and the rest of the_ TAILORS.

ALL THE TAI. A tailor, a tailor, a tailor!

GIO. Raymond, y' are now my prisoner: Blind chance has favour'd, where your thoughts Had hope she meant to ruin From our discord, which Heaven has made victorious, You meant to strike a harmony should glad you.

ALER. 'Tis not to be borne: a tailor!

[_Whisper._

FUL. 'Twas an affront galls me to think on't: besides, His saucy valour might have ruin'd all Our forward fortunes, had the French been stronger: Let him be banish'd.

MACH. It shall be so; My fears are built on grounds, Stronger than Atlas' shoulders: this same tailor Retains a spirit like the lost Antonio; Whose sister we will banish in pretence Of love to justice; 'tis a good snare to trap The vulgar hearts: his and her goods, to gild My lawless doings, I'll give the poor, whose tongues Are i' their bellies; which being full, Is tipp'd with heartless prayers; but, empty, A falling planet is less dangerous; they'll down To h.e.l.l for curses. You tailor!

GIO. My lord.

MACH. Deliver up your prisoner.

GIO. Y' are obey'd.

MACH. So: now we command, on forfeit of thy life, You be not seen on any ground Our master's t.i.tle circles within three days: Such a factious spirit we must not nourish; Lest, like the fabl'd serpent, [once] grown warm In your conceited worth, you sting Your country's breast, that nurs'd your valour.

GIO. This my reward?

ALER. More than thy worth deserves.

GIO. Pomander-box, thou liest!

FUL. Go purge yourself; your country vomits you.

GIO. Slaves, y' are not worth my anger.

FUL. Go vent your spleen 'mongst satires; pen a Pamphlet, and call't the "Scourge of Greatness."

ALER. Or "Spain's Ingrat.i.tude."

GIO. Ye are not worth my breath, Else I should curse you; but I must weep, Not that I part from thee, unthankful Spain, But my Evadne: well, it must be so: Heart, keep thy still tough temper, spite of woe.

[_Exit._

MACH. My house shall be your prison. Attend 'em, colonel.

[_Exeunt_ RAYMOND, PHILIPPA, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, PANDOLPHO, GIOVANNO,[24] &c. _Manent_ TAILORS.

FUL. Please you walk.

1ST. TAI. My servant banish'd?

3D TAI. Famish'd, master? nay, faith, and a tailor come to be famish'd, 'tis a hard world: no bread in this world here, ho, to save the renown'd corpse of a tailor from famis.h.i.+ng! 'Tis no matter for drink: give me bread.

2D TAI. Thou hast a gut would swallow a peck-loaf.

3D TAI. Ay, marry would it with vantage; I tell truth, and, as the proverb says, shame the devil; if our h.e.l.l afford a devil, but I see none, unless he appear in a delicious remnant of nim'd satin, and, by my faith, that's a courteous devil that suffers the brokers to hang him in their ragged wardrobe; and used to sell his devils.h.i.+p for money: I tell truth. A tailor, and lie?

faith, I scorn that.

1ST TAI. Leave your discovery.

3D TAI. Master, a traveller, you know, is famous for lying; and having travelled as far as h.e.l.l, may not I make description of the unknown land?

1ST TAI. My brain is busy, Sebastiano must not tread an unknown land to find a grave. Unfortunate Sebastiano! First to lose thyself in a disguise, unfitting for thy birth, and then thy country for thy too much valour: There's danger in being virtuous in this age Led by those sinful actors; the plunged stage Of this vice-bearing world would headlong fall, But charitable virtue bears up all.

I must invent: I ha't so:-- As he's a tailor, he is banish'd Spain, As Sebastiano, 'tis revok'd again.

[_Exit c.u.m suis._

_Enter_ MACHIAVEL _solus_.

MACH. How subtle are my springes! they take all With what swift speed unto my chaffy bait Do all fowls fly unto their hasty ruin?

Clap, clap your wings and flutter, greedy fools, Whilst I laugh at your folly; I have a wire Set for the Moor and his ambitious consort; Which if my wife would second, they are sure.

_Enter_ AURISTELLA.

AUR. What must she second?

MACH. Art thou there, my love?

We're in a path that leads us to a height, We may confront the sun, and with a breath Extinguish common stars; be but thou rul'd, The light, that does create day to this city, Must be deriv'd from us.

AUR. You fire my soul, And to my airy wings add quicker feathers: What task would not I run to be call'd queen?

Did the life-blood of all our family, Father and mother, stand as a quick wall To stop my pa.s.sage to a throne, I'd with a poignard ope their azure veins, And squeeze their active blood up into clods, Till they become as cold as winter's snow; And as a bridge upon their trunks I'd go.

MACH. Our souls are twins, and thirst with equal heat For deity: kings are in all things G.o.ds, Saving mortality.

AUR. To be a queen, what danger would I run!

I'd spend my life like to a barefoot nun, So I might sit above the lesser stars Of small n.o.bility, but for a day.

MACH. 'Tis to be done, sweet love, a nearer way: I have already with the sugar'd baits Of justice, liberality, and all The fox-like gins that subtle statesmen set To catch the hearts o' th' giddy mult.i.tude: Which, if it fail, as cautious policy Forbids, I build too strongly on their drunk, Uncertain votes. I'd have thee break with my Great prisoner's wife, as I will do with him; Promise (the states equal divided) half Himself shall rule: So that if need compel us to take arms, We may have forces from the realm of France, To seat us in the chair of government.

AUR. I never shall endure to walk as equal With proud Philippa, no; my ambitious soul Boils in a thirsty flame of total glory: I must be all without a second flame To dim our l.u.s.tre.

MACH. Still my very soul!

Think'st thou I can endure compet.i.tor, Or let an Ethiop sit by Machiavel's side As partner in his honour? no, as I Have seen i' the commonwealth of players, One that did act the Theban Creon's part: With such a life I became ravish'd, and on Raymond mean to plot what he did on The cavilling boys of Oedipus, Whilst we grasp the whole dignity.

AUR. As how, sweet Machiavel?