A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 54

_Enter_ NICETES _and_ ARAMNES, _with some Captains and Soldiers_.

NIC. Yonder's the bones o' th' army ralli'd up Together, but they look'd rather as if They came home from being soundly beaten.

Methinks such tatter'd rogues should never conquer, Victory would look so scurvily among 'em, They'd so bedaub her if she wore clean linen.

CAPT. Sir, we wear as sound hearts in these torn breeches, As e'er a courtier of them all.

We are not afraid of spoiling our hands for want Of gloves, nor need we almond-b.u.t.ter, when We go to bed. And though my lieutenant Is pleased to be a little merry, you Shall see us die as handsomely in these old clothes As those wear better, and become our wounds As well, and perhaps smell as sweet When we are rotten.

PLAN. We hope it.

Captains and fellow-soldiers, we are proud Of this occasion to try your valours; You shall go no farther than your prince doth, I'll be no bringer up of rears. Let not The number of the foe affright you, The more they are, the more will the honour be.

The lion scorns to prey upon a hare, Nor is the blinking taper fit to try eagles' eyes.

The weight of glory makes our danger light.

When victory comes easily, 'tis half A shame to conquer.

[_Soldiers shout, and exeunt._

INO. I'll stay at home, and grieve, that so many Daring souls should die on such advantage.

[_Exit_ INOPHILUS.

SCENE IV.

_Enter the_ KING _solus_.

KING. Her husband dead too! Fates, let me die, I am too happy to remain long thus Without a ruin, great as the height I fell from.

Plangus was my only obstacle; but him I have Removed. But love commanded: His presence would have countermanded all attempts; I need not fear his magic at this distance.

His looks and actions were one entire enchantment, All[84]-powerful over a lady's heart.

I sent for her; but she's not come yet.

Who waits without?

_Enter_ ARTESIO.

ART. There's a mourning lady, sir, Would speak with the king.

KING. Admit her, and begone.

SCENE V.

_Enter_ ANDROMANA _in mourning, with a hood over her face, which she throws up when she sees the_ KING.

KING. So riseth Phoebus from the gloomy night, While pale-fac'd Dian maketh haste to hide Her borrow'd glory in some neighb'ring cloud, Envying the beauty of the new-born day, When darkness crowds into the other world.

Madam, why kneel you? You, at whose name monarchs

[_She kneels._

Themselves might tremble, and mortals bow With reverence great as they pay to altars: Sceptres should break in pieces and adore you; At whose sight the sun and moon should blush Themselves to blood and darkness, and falling From their sphere, crush the audacious world to atoms, For daring to behold a l.u.s.tre so much greater Than their own.

AND. Sir, give me leave to wonder What sin I have committed, which calling Down the vengeance of the G.o.ds, Hath made me author of all this blasphemy.

Sir, I beseech your majesty, if you are angry With your creature, speak some cruel word and blast me.

Scorn me not into the other world, where I have Sins enough of my own to blush for, and shall not need To dye his cheeks for other men's offences.

KING. Lady, though Parthian darts are not so sharp As are those killing words; yet that breath, which Utters them is sweeter than the morning dew.

I'll be dumb, for praises cannot add, but rather Diminish Andromana's worth.

AND. I wonder now no longer at this language, 'Tis such as kings are bred in.

But I beseech you, sir, if there be aught You will command your servant--if Andromana Must do or suffer anything for great Ephorbas, Lay by yourself a minute, and remember A merchant's wife must hear you.

KING. Your husband Leon's dead, I hear, lady--

[_She weeps._

Nay, spare those pearls, madam; cast not away Such treasure upon the memory of one Who, if the best of men, deserves them not.

Come, come, forget these sorrows, lady, And wear not mourning weeds before the world's Destruction; hide not those fair eyes, whose splendour Would enrich our court. Madam, though none There be in court can merit such a beauty, Yet I myself have taken pains to search A husband for you: what think you of myself?

AND. Great sir, your care is, like yourself, all n.o.ble; But suits with me no better Than Phoebus' horses did with Phaeton, Ruin'd the world and him. First, sir, you do Debase yourself to honour her, whose worth Is less considerable than lovers' oaths: My husband's ashes are scarce cold yet, And would your majesty have me forsake My honour and his memory so soon? I have Not paid oblations due to's ashes yet.

KING. You compliment away the worth we know You have, Andromana: what say you to the prince?

AND. I say he is the prince, and great Ephorbas' son; He's Plangus: and if you think there yet remains A t.i.tle that can be either better or greater, I think him worthy of it.

KING. But dost [thou] think him worthy Andromana?

AND. O heavens! Is Jove worth heav'n, Or doth the sun deserve to be a light To all the world? Can virtue deserve honour, Or labour riches? Can G.o.ds merit altars?

It might have been a puzzling question To them whose ears have not been bless'd With Plangus' worth. But this is so below him----

KING. But say he loves thee?

AND. I dare not say so: For when I think a prince pretends to such poor things As I am, I feel an ice runs through my veins, And my blood curdles into flakes of snow, And bids me fear him--not with an awe or reverence, But as a spotted sinful thing, which is The worse for being great. 'Tis such a fear, As I should conceive 'gainst an armed ravisher.

KING. These things may be expected, lady, I confess, From blood that boils in flames hot as the sun In scorching Libra, or st.u.r.dy Hercules, When he unmaiden'd fifty in one night; But from a man whose years have tam'd those vices, Whose love is dotage and not l.u.s.t, Who doth adore a handsome virtue, and pays His vows to't, you should have other hopes.

Plangus is young, a soldier, and by consequence Something which youth excuses. But Ephorbas Hath left these toys behind him, when he shook off His youth.

AND. Sir, now my fears are out. O virtue!

Are there just pow'rs which men adore, and throw Away their pray'rs upon, that lend their eyes To human actions? or was the name of heaven Invented to still petty sinners?

Sir, sure, I am mistaken, You are not great Ephorbas, sir, whose virtue Is a theme of wonder to all neighbour nations; Pray help me to him, I would see that angel; The kingdom's honour and [all] good men's sanctuary.

But if you are the man, whom I have pray'd for Oft'ner than I have slept; pray, sir, belie not A virtue which I've hitherto admired.

KING. I see You are a stranger, lady--give me leave To say so--to Ephorbas; But if a lady of thy melting years Can love this greyness, I vow my sceptre, Throne, kingdom, and myself are thine; Thou'rt fit to be a queen.

[_She starts back._

AND. A queen! sir, have your subjects anger'd you?

Have they rebell'd, or done some sin that wants A name? I'll cleave to the pavement, till I have begg'd A vengeance great as their crime; but this You mention is a punishment, which your subjects Must study years to curse you for; no sin Deserves it. You would blind my eyes with throwing gold Before 'em, Or set me up so high on the steep pinnacle Of honour's temple, that you would have me not be Able to look down on my own simplicity.

You can create me great, I know, sir, But good you cannot. You might compel, Entice me too, perhaps, to sin. But Can you allay a gnawing conscience, Or bind up bleeding reputation?

I did never hear that physic could afford A remedy for a wounded honour.

EPH. Thou'rt a fool, Andromana. You must be mine.