Reasons, or arguments, you could propose,
I ever should admit you to her sight,
Much less restore her to you.

Malef. Are we soldiers,

And stand on oaths!

Montr. It is beyond my knowledge
In what we are more worthy, than in keeping
Our words, much more our vows.

Malef. Heaven pardon all !
How many thousands, in our heat of wine,
Quarrels, and play, and in our younger days,
In private I may say, between ourselves,
In points of love, have we to answer for,
Should we be scrupulous that way?

Montr. You say well :

And very aptly call to memory

Two oaths, against all ties and rights of friendship Broken by you to me.

Malef. No more of that.

Montr. Yes, 'tis material, and to the purpose: The first (and think upon't) was, when I brought you

As a visitant to my mistress then, (the mother
Of this same daughter,) whom, with dreadful words,
Too hideous to remember, you swore deeply
For my sake never to attempt; yet then,

Then, when you had a sweet wife of your own,
I know not with what arts, philtres, and charms
(Unless in wealth and fame you were above me)
You won her from me; and, her grant obtain'd,
A marriage with the second waited on
The burial of the first, that to the world
Brought your dead son: this I sat tamely down by,
Wanting, indeed, occasion and power
To be at the height revenged.

Malef. Yet this you seem'd

Freely to pardon.

Montr. As perhaps I did.

Your daughter Theocrine growing ripe,
(Her mother too deceased,) and fit for marriage,
I was a suitor for her, had your word,
Upon your honour, and our friendship made
Authentical, and ratified with an oath,

She should be mine: but vows with you being like

To your religion, a nose of wax

But in your own breast raise a monument
Of pity to a wretch, on whom with justice
You may express all cruelty.

Montr. You much move me.

Malef. O that I could but hope it! To revenge

[Kneels.

An injury, is proper to the wishes
Of feeble women, that want strength to act it:
But to have power to punish, and yet pardon,
Peculiar to princes. See! these knees,
That have been ever stiff to bend to heaven,
To you are supple. Is there aught beyond this
That may speak my submission? or can pride
(Though I well know it is a stranger to you)
Desire a feast of more humility,

To kill her growing appetite?

Montr. I required not

To be sought to this poor way; yet 'tis so far A kind of satisfaction, that I will

Dispense a little with those serious oaths

[you,

You made me take your daughter shall come to
I will not say, as you deliver'd her,
But, as she is, you may dispose of her
As you shall think most requisite.

Malef. His last words

[Exit.

Are riddles to me. Here the lion's force
Would have proved useless, and, against my nature,
Compell'd me from the crocodile to borrow
Her counterfeit tears: there's now no turning
backward.

May I but quench these fires that rage within me,
And fall what can fall, I am arm'd to bear it!

Enter Soldiers below, thrusting forth THEOCRINE; her garments loose, her hair dishevellcd.

2 Sold. You must be packing.
Theoc. Hath he robb'd me of

Mine honour, and denies me now a room
To hide my shame!

2 Sold. My lord the admiral

Attends your ladyship.

1 Sold. Close the port, and leave them.

[Exeunt Soldiers. Malef. Ha! who is this? how alter'd! how

deform'd!

It cannot be and yet this creature has

A kind of a resemblance to my daughter,
My Theocrine! but as different

From that she was, as bodies dead are, in
Their best perfections, from what they were
When they had life and motion.

Theoc. 'Tis most true, sir;

I am dead indeed to all but misery.
O come not near me, sir, I am infectious:
To look on me at distance, is as dangerous
As, from a pinnacle's cloud-kissing spire,
With giddy eyes to view the deep descent;
But to acknowledge me, a certain ruin.
O, sir.

Malef. Speak, Theocrine, force me not
To further question; my fears already
Have choked my vital spirits.

Theoc. Pray you turn away

Your face and hear me, and with my last breath
Give me leave to accuse you: What offence,
From my first infancy, did I commit,

That for a punishment you should give up
My virgin chastity to the treacherous guard
Of goatish Montreville?

Malef. What hath he done?

Theoc. Abused me, sir, by violence; and this told,

I cannot live to speak more: may the cause
In you find pardon, but the speeding curse
Of a ravish'd maid fall heavy, heavy on him!-
Beaufort, my lawful love, farewell for ever. [Dies.

[spirit!

Malef. Take not thy flight so soon, immaculate | 'Tis fled already. How the innocent, As in a gentle slumber, pass away! But to cut off the knotty thread of life In guilty men, must force stern Atropos To use her sharp knife often. I would help The edge of her's with the sharp point of mine, But that I dare not die, till I have rent

This dog's heart piecemeal. O, that I had wings To scale these walls, or that my hands were can

nons,

To bore their flinty sides, that I might bring
The villain in the reach of my good sword!
The Turkish empire offer'd for his ransom,
Should not redeem his life. O that my voice
Were loud as thunder, and with horrid sounds
Might force a dreadful passage to his ears,
And through them reach his soul! Libidinous

monster!

Foul ravisher! as thou durst do a deed
Which forced the sun to hide his glorious face
Behind a sable mask of clouds, appear,
And as a man defend it; or, like me,
Shew some compunction for it.

Enter MONTREVILLE on the Walls, above.
Montr. Ha, ha, ha!

Malef. Is this an object to raise mirth ?
Montr. Yes, yes.

Malef. My daughter's dead.

Montr. Thou hadst best follow her;
Or, if thou art the thing thou art reported,
Thou shouldst have led the way. Do tear thy hair,
Like a village nurse, and mourn, while I laugh at
Be but a just examiner of thyself,
[thee.

And in an equal balance poise the nothing,
Or little mischief I have done, compared
With the pond'rous weight of thine and how

canst thou

[A storm; with thunder and lightning.

Malef. Do, do rage on! rend open, Æolus,
Thy brazen prison, and let loose at once
Thy stormy issue! Blustering Boreas,
Aided with all the gales the pilot numbers
Upon his compass, cannot raise a tempest
Through the vast region of the air, like that
I feel within me: for I am possess'd

Labour to bring forth earthquakes, and hell open
Her wide-stretch'd jaws, and let out all her furies,
They cannot add an atom to the mountain
Of fears and terrors that each minute threaten
To fall on my accursed head.-

Enter the Ghost of young MALEFORT, naked from the waist, full of wounds, leading in the Shadow of a Lady, her face leprous.

Ha! is't fancy ?
Or hath hell heard me, and makes proof if I
Dare stand the trial? Yes, I do; and now
I view these apparitions, I feel

I once did know the substances. For what come

you?

Are your aerial forms deprived of language,
And so denied to tell me, that by signs

[The Ghosts use various gestures.

You bid me ask here of myself? 'Tis so:
And there is something here makes answer for you.
You come to lance my sear'd up conscience; yes,
And to instruct me, that those thunderbolts,
That hurl'd me headlong from the height of glory,
Wealth, honours, worldly happiness, were forged
Upon the anvil of my impious wrongs,
And cruelty to you! I do confess it;
And that my lust compelling me to make way
For a second wife, I poison'd thee; and that
The cause (which to the world is undiscover'd)
That forced thee to shake off thy filial duty
To me, thy father, had its spring and source
From thy impatience, to know thy mother,
That with all duty and obedience served me,
(For now with horror I acknowledge it,)
Removed unjustly yet, thou being my son,
Wert not a competent judge mark'd out by heaven
For her revenger, which thy falling by
My weaker hand confirm'd.-[Answered
signs.] 'Tis granted by thee.
Can any penance expiate my guilt,
Or can repentance save me?—

still by

[The Ghosts disappear. They are vanish'd !

What's left to do then? I'll accuse my fate,
That did not fashion me for nobler uses :
For if those stars, cross to me in my birth,
Had not denied their prosperous influence to it,
With peace of conscience, like to innocent men,
I might have ceased to be, and not as now,
To curse my cause of being —

[He is kill'd with a flash of lightning.

Enter BELGARDE, with Soldiers.

Belg. Here's a night

To season my silks! Buff-jerkin, now I miss thee:
Thou hast endured many foul nights, but never
One like to this. How fine my feather looks now!
Just like a capon's tail stol'n out of the pen,
And hid in the sink; and yet 't had been dishonour
To have charged without it.-Wilt thou never

cease?

Is the petard, as I gave directions, fasten'd On the portcullis?

1 Sold. It hath been attempted

By divers, but in vain.

Belg. These are your gallants, That at a feast take the first place, poor I Hardly allow'd to follow; marry, in These foolish businesses they are content

Their manners, or their fear. Second me, soldiers;

But one continued pilgrimage through dangers,
Affrights, and horrors, which his fortune, guided
By his strong judgment, still hath overcome,)
Appears now shaken, it deserves no wonder:
All that his youth hath labour'd for, the harvest
Sown by his industry ready to be reap'd too,
Being now at stake; and all his hopes confirm'd,
Or lost for ever.

Steph. I know no such hazard:

His guards are strong and sure, his coffers full; The people well affected; and so wisely

His provident care hath wrought, that though war rages

In most parts of our western world, there is
No enemy near us.

Tib. Dangers, that we see

To threaten ruin, are with ease prevented;
But those strike deadly, that come unexpected:
The lightning is far off, yet, soon as seen,

We may behold the terrible effects

That it produceth. But I'll help your knowledge, And make his cause of fear familiar to you.

The wars so long continued between

The emperor Charles, and Francis the French king,
Have interess'd, in either's cause, the most

Of the Italian princes; among which, Sforza,
As one of greatest power, was sought by both;
But with assurance, having one his friend,
The other lived his enemy.

Steph. 'Tis true :

And 'twas a doubtful choice.

Tib. But he, well knowing,

And hating too, it seems, the Spanish pride, Lent his assistance to the king of France : Which hath so far incensed the emperor,

Two royal armies, full of fiery youth;

Of equal spirit to dare, and power to do:
So near intrench'd, that 'tis beyond all hope
Of human counsel they can e'er be severed,
Until it be determined by the sword,
Who hath the better cause: for the success,
Concludes the victor innocent, and the vanquish'd
Most miserably guilty. How uncertain
The fortune of the war is, children know;
And, it being in suspense, on whose fair tent
Wing'd Victory will make her glorious stand,
You cannot blame the duke, though he appear
Perplex'd and troubled.

Steph. But why, then,

In such a time, when every knee should bend
For the success and safety of his person,
Are these loud triumphs! in my weak opinion,
They are unseasonable.

Tib. I judge so too;

But only in the cause to be excused.

It is the dutchess' birthday, once a year
Solemnized with all pomp and ceremony;
In which the duke is not his own, but her's:
Nay, every day, indeed, he is her creature,
For never man so doated; -but to tell

The tenth part of his fondness to a stranger,
Would argue me of fiction.

Steph. She's, indeed,
A lady of most exquisite form.
Tib. She knows it,

And how to prize it.

Steph. I ne'er heard her tainted

In any point of honour.

Tib. On my life,

She's constant to his bed, and well deserves
His largest favours. But, when beauty is
Stamp'd on great women, great in birth and fortune,
And blown by flatterers greater than it is,
'Tis seldom unaccompanied with pride;
Nor is she that way free: presuming on
The duke's affection, and her own desert,
She bears herself with such a majesty,
Looking with scorn on all as things beneath her,
That Sforza's mother, that would lose no part
Of what was once her own, nor his fair sister,
A lady too acquainted with her worth,

Will brook it well; and howsoe'er their hate
Is smother'd for a time, 'tis more than fear'd
It will at length break out.

Steph. He in whose power it is,

Turn all to the best!

Tib. Come, let us to the court;
We there shall see all bravery and cost,
That art can boast of.

Steph. I'll bear you company.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. - Another Room in the same. Enter FRANCISCO, ISABELLA, and MARIANA. Mari. I will not go; I scorn to be a spot In her proud train. Isab. Shall I, that am his mother,