For wealth of Indies: be my loved boy, Come in with me; thus I'll begin to do Berinthia kills her brother Sebastiano sleeping. Cast. Sir, if the opportunity I use To comfort you be held a fault, and that Seb. Prithee, boy, be patient. The more I strive to throw off the remembrance Cast. Alas, they are past; Bind up your own for honor's sake, and show Seb. Alas, good boy, it will but add more weight Cast. Sir, this your couch Seems to invite some small repose: Oh, I beseech you taste it. I will beg BERINTHIA enters softly. Cast. Sweet sleep charm his sad senses : Your flowing numbers here; and round about [She sings. And dream on him that dreams not what I am. [She lies down by him. Ber. Nature doth wrestle with me, but revenge Doth arm my love against it; justice is Above all tie of blood. Sebastiano, Thou art the first shall tell Antonio's ghost, How much I lov'd him. [She stabs him upon his couch. Seb. (waking.) Oh, stay thy hand, Berinthia! no: Thou 'st done 't. I wish thee heaven's forgiveness. I cannot Tarry to hear thy reasons; at many doors My life runs out, and yet Berinthia Doth in her name give me more wounds than these. [Dies. THE POLITICIAN: A TRAGEDY. BY JAMES SHIRLEY. Marpisa widow of Count Altomarus is advanced to be Queen to the King of Norway, by the practices of her paramour Gotharus. She has by her first husband a young son Haraldus; to secure whose succession to the crown by the aid of Gotharus (in prejudice of the king's son, the lawful heir) she tells Gotharus that the child is his. He believes her, and tells Haraldus; who taking to heart his mother's dishonor, and his own stain of bastardy, falls into a mortal sickness. Queen. How is it with my child ? Har. I know you love me: Yet I must tell you truth, I cannot live. And let this comfort you, death will not come Against my will; and having my desires, Queen. What is 't hath made The thought of life unpleasant? which does court And art can study for thee, rich in all things These treasures nothing to thy mother's love, Har. O take heed, mother. Heaven has a specious ear, and power to punish Queen. Thou art dejected. Have but a will, and live. Har. 'Tis in vain, mother. Queen. Sink with a fever into earth! Look up, thou shalt not die. Har. I have a wound within, You do not see, more killing than all fevers. Queen. A wound? where? who has murther'd thee? Har. Gotharus Queen. Ha! furies persecute him. Har. O pray for him: It is my duty, though he gave me death. He is my father. Queen. How, thy father? Har. He told me so, and with that breath destroy'd me. I felt it strike upon my spirits, mother; Would I had ne'er been born! Queen. Believe him not. Har. Oh do not add another sin to what Is done already; death is charitable, To quit me from the scorn of all the world. Queen. By all my hopes, Gotharus has abused thee. Thou art the lawful burthen of my womb; Thy father Altomarus. Har. Ha! Queen. Before whose spirit (long since taken up To meet with saints and troops angelical) I dare again repeat, thou art his son. Har. Ten thousand blessings now reward my mother! Speak it again, and I may live: a stream Queen. Were it my latest breath; Thou'rt his and mine. Har. Enough, my tears do flow To give you thanks for 't; I would you could resolve me But one truth more: why did my lord Gotharus Call me the issue of his blood? Queen. Alas, He thinks thou art. Har. What are those words? I am Undone again. Queen. Ha! Har. 'Tis too late To call 'em back. He thinks I am his son. Queen. I have confess'd too much, and tremble with The imagination. Forgive me, child, And heaven, if there be mercy to a crime So black, as I must now, to quit thy fears, Say I've been guilty of: we have been sinful, His active brain for thy advancement, by Abusing his belief thou wert his own. But thou hast no such stain; thy birth is innocent, Or may I perish ever: 'tis a strange A balsam to thy wound. Live, my Haraldus, And with what tears I'll wash away my sin. Har. I am no bastard then Queen. Thou art not. Har. But I am not found, while you are lost. No time Can restore you. My spirits faint Queen. Will nothing comfort thee? Har. Give me your blessing; and, within my heart, THE BROTHERS: A COMEDY. BY JAMES SHIRLEY. Don Ramires leaves his son Fernando with a heavy curse, and a threat of disinheriting, if he do not renounce Felisarda, the poor niece of Don Carlos, whom he courts, when by his father's command he should address Jacinta, the daughter and rich heiress of Carlos, his younger brother Francisco's Mistress. Fer. Why does not all the stock of thunder fall? Or the fierce winds, from their close caves let loose, Now shake me into atoms? Fran. Fie, noble brother, what can so deject Your masculine thoughts? is this done like Fernando, With patience of a martyr? I observed Fer. Yes, Francisco : He hath left his curse upon me. Fran. How? Fer. His curse: dost comprehend what that word carries, Shot from a father's angry breath? unless I tear poor Felisarda from my heart, He hath pronounc'd me heir to all his curses. Does this fright thee, Francisco? Thou hast cause To dance in soul for this: 'tis only I Must lose, and mourn; thou shalt have all; I am * Mamillus in the Winter's Tale in this manner droops and dies from a conceit of his mother's dishonor. |