So easy to take rest? O happy man,
How sweetly sleep hath seal'd up sorrows here!
But I will call him: what, my lord, my lord,
My lord Fernando
Fer. Who calls?
Bian. My lord:
Sleeping, or waking?
Fer. Ha, who is 't?
Bian. 'Tis I:
Have you forgot my
But useful to your eye?
Fer. Madam the duchess!
Bian. She, 'tis she; sit
and wonder, whiles my sorrows swell: The nights are short, and I have much to say. Fer. Is 't possible 'tis you?
Bian. 'Tis possible:
Why do you think I come?
Fer. Why? to crown joys,
And make me master of my best desires.
Bian. 'Tis true, you guess aright; sit up and listen.
With shame and passion now I must confess,
Since first mine eyes beheld you, in my heart
You have been only king. If there can be
A violence in love, then I have felt
That tyranny: be record to my soul
The justice which I for this folly fear.
Fernando, in short words, howe'er my tongue
Did often chide thy love, each word thou spakest
Was music to my ear: was never poor
Poor wretched woman lived, that loved like me;
So truly, so unfeignedly.
Bian. To witness that I speak is truth, look here;
Thus singly I adventure to thy bed,
And do confess my weakness: if thou tempt'st
My bosom to thy pleasures, I will yield.
Fer. Perpetual happiness!
Bian. Now hear me out:
When first Caraffa, Pavy's duke, my lord,
Saw me, he loved me, and (without respect
Of dower) took me to his bed and bosom,
Advanced me to the titles I possess,
Not moved by counsel, or removed by greatness:
Which to requite, betwixt my soul and heaven
I vow'd a vow to live a constant wife.
I have done so: nor was there in the world
A man created, could have broke that truth,
For all the glories of the earth, but thou,
But thou, Fernando. Do I love thee now?
Fer. Beyond imagination.
Beyond imagination: if no pledge
Of love can instance what I speak is true,
But loss of my best joys, here, here, Fernando,
Be satisfied and ruin me.
Fer. What do you mean?
Bian. To give my body up to thy embraces;
A pleasure that I never wish'd to thrive in
Before this fatal minute: mark me now;
If thou dost spoil me of this robe of shame,
By my best comforts here, I vow again,
To thee, to heaven, to the world, to time,
Ere yet the morning shall new christen day,
I'll kill myself.
Fer. How, madam, how!
Bian. I will:
Do what thou wilt, 'tis in thy choice; what say ye? Fer. Pish, do you come to try me? tell me first, Will you but grant a kiss?
Bian. Yes, take it; that,
Or what thy heart can wish: I am all thine.
Fer. O me- -come, come, how many women, pray,
Were ever heard or read of, granted love,
And did as you protest you will?
Jest not at my calamity: I kneel:
By these dishevel'd hairs, these wretched tears,
By all that's good, if what I speak, my heart
Vows not eternally; then think, my lord,
Was never man sued to me I denied,
Think me a common and most cunning whore,
And let my sins be written on my grave,
My rame rest in reproof. Do as you list.
Fer. I must believe ye; yet I hope anon,
When you are parted from me, you will say
I was a good, cold, easy-spirited man,
Nay, laugh at my simplicity: say, will ye?
Bian. No; by the faith I owe my bridal vows:
But ever hold thee much much dearer far
Than all my joys on earth; by this chaste kiss.
Fer. You have prevail'd: and Heaven forbid that I
Should by a wanton appetite profane
This sacred temple. Tis enough for me,
You'll please to call me servant.
Bian. Nay, be thine:
Command my power, my bosom, and I'll write
This love within the tables of my heart.
Fer. Enough: I'll master passion, and triumph
In being conquer'd, adding to it this,
In you my love as it begun shall end.
Bian. The latter I new vow- -but day comes on:
What now we leave unfinish'd of content,
Each hour shall perfect up. Sweet, let us part.
Fer. Best life, good rest.
THE CHRONICLE HISTORY OF PERKIN WARBECK. BY JOHN FORD.
PERKIN WARBECK and his Followers are by LORD DAWBNEY presented to KING HENRY as Prisoners.
Dawb. Life to the king, and safety fix his throne!
I here present you, royal sir, a shadow
Of majesty, but in effect a substance
Of pity; a young man, in nothing grown
To ripeness, but the ambition of your mercy:
Perkin; the christian world's strange wonder!
King H. Dawbney,
We observe no wonder; I behold ('tis true)
An ornament of nature, fine, and polish'd,
A handsome youth indeed, but not admire him.
How came be to thy hands?
At Bewley, near Southampton; register'd,
With these few followers, for persons privileged.
King H. I must not thank you, sir; you were to blame
To infringe the liberty of houses sacred:
Dare we be irreligious?
Dawb. Gracious lord,
They voluntarily resign'd themselves,
Without compulsion.
King H. So? 'twas very well;
'Twas very well. Turn now thine
Young man, upon thyself and thy past actions.
What revels in combustion through our kingdom
A frenzy of aspiring youth hath danced:
Till wanting breath, thy feet of pride have slipt
To break thy neck!
Warb. But not my heart: my heart
Will mount, till every drop of blood be frozen
By death's perpetual winter. If the sun
Of majesty be darken'd, let the sun
Of life be hid from me, in an eclipse
Lasting, and universal. Sir; remember,
There was a shooting in of light, when Richmond
(Not aiming at the crown) retired, and gladly,
For comfort to the duke of Bretagne's court.
Richard, who sway'd the sceptre, was reputed
A tyrant then; yet then, a dawning glimmer'd
To some few wandering remnants, promising day,
When first they ventured on a frightful shore,
At Milford Haven.
Dawb. Whither speeds his boldness?
Check his rude tongue, great sir.
King H. O, let him range:
The player's on the stage still; 'tis his part:
He does but act.- -What follow'd?
Where at an instant, to the world's amazement,
A morn to Richmond and a night to Richard
Appear'd at once. The tale is soon applied:
Fate which crown'd these attempts, when least assured,
Might have befriended others, like resolved.
King H. A pretty gallant! thus your aunt of Burgundy,
Your duchess aunt, inform'd her nephew; so
The lesson prompted, and well conn'd, was moulded
Into familiar dialogue, oft rehearsed,
Till, learnt by heart, 'tis now received for truth.
Warb. Truth in her pure simplicity wants art
To put a feigned blush on; scorn wears only
Such fashion, as commends to gazers' eyes
Sad ulcerated novelty, far beneath
The sphere of majesty: in such a court
Wisdom and gravity are proper robes,
By which the sovereign is best distinguish'd
From zanies to his greatness.
King H. Sirrah, shift
Your antick pageantry, and now appear
In your own nature; or you 'll taste the danger
Of fooling out of season.
No less than what severity calls justice,
And politicians safety; let such beg,
As feed on alms: but if there can be mercy
In a protested enemy, then may it
Descend to these poor creatures', whose engage
To the bettering of their fortunes, have incurr'd
A loss of all: to them if any charity
Flow from some noble orator, in death
I owe the fee of thankfulness.
King H. So brave?
What a bold knave is this!
We trifle time with follies.
Urswick, command the dukeling, and these fellows,
To Digby the lieutenant of the Tower:
With safety let them be convey'd to London.
It is our pleasure, no uncivil outrage,
Taunts, or abuse, be suffer'd to their persons:
They shall meet fairer law than they deserve.
Time may restore their wits, whom vain ambition
Hath many years distracted.
Warb. Noble thoughts
Meet freedom in captivity. The Tower:
Our childhood's dreadful nursery!
King H. Was ever so much impudence in forgery?
The custom sure of being styled a king,
Hath fasten'd in his thought that he is such.
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