A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 2

SCENE--_Seville._

THE REBELLION.

ACT I., SCENE 1.

_Enter severally_, ALERZO, FULGENTIO, _and_ PANDOLPHO.

ALER. Colonel?

FUL. Signor Alerzo?

ALER. Here.

PAN. Signors, well-met: The lazy morn has scarcely trimm'd herself To entertain the sun; she still retains The slimy tincture of the banish'd night: I hardly could discern you.

ALER. But you appear fresh as a city bridegroom, That has sign'd his wife a warrant for the Grafting of horns; how fares Belinda After the weight of so much sin? you lay with her To-night; come, speak, did you take up on trust, Or have you p.a.w.n'd a colony of oaths?

Or an embroidered belt? or have you ta'en The courtier's trick, to lay your sword at mortgage?

Or perhaps a feather? 'twill serve in traffic, To return her ladys.h.i.+p a fan, or so.

PAN. Y' are merry.

FUL. Come, be free, Leave modesty for women to gild Their pretty thriving art of plent.i.tude, To enrich their husbands' brows with cornucopias.

A soldier, and thus bashful! Pox! be open.

PAN. Had I the pox, good colonel, I should stride Far opener than I do; but pox o' the fas.h.i.+on!

ALER. Count Antonio.

[_To them enter_ ANTONIO.

FUL. Though he appear fresh as a bloom That newly kiss'd the sun, adorn'd with pearly Drops, flung from the hand of the rose-finger'd morn, Yet in his heart lives a whole host of valour.

PAN. He appears A second Mars.

ALER. More powerful, since he holds wisdom And valour captive.

FUL. Let us salute him.

[_Whilst they salute_ ANTONIO, _enters_ COUNT MACHIAVEL.

MACH. Ha! how close they strike, as if they heard A winged thunderbolt [that] threaten'd his death, And each ambitious were to lose his life; So it might purchase him a longer being: Their breath engenders like two peaceful winds, That join a friendly league, and fill the air With silken music; I may pa.s.s by, and scarce be spar'd a look, Or any else but young Antonio.

Rise from thy scorching den, thou soul of mischief!

My blood boils hotter than the poison'd flesh Of Hercules cloth'd in the Centaur's s.h.i.+rt: Swell me, revenge, till I become a hill, High as Olympus' cloud-dividing top; That I might fall, and crush them into air.

I'll observe.

[_Exit behind the hangings._

ANT. Command, I prythee, all[16]

This little world I'm master of contains, And be a.s.sur'd 'tis granted; I have a life, I owe to death; and in my country's cause I should----

FUL. Good sir, no more, This ungrateful land owes you too much already.

ALER. And you still bind it in stronger bonds.

PAN. Your n.o.ble deeds that, like to thoughts, outstrip The fleeting clouds, dash all our hopes of payment: We are poor, but in unprofitable thanks; Nay, that cannot rehea.r.s.e enough your merit.

ANT. I dare not hear this; pardon, bashful ears, For suffering such a scarlet to o'erspread Your burning portals.

Gentlemen, your discourses taste of court, They have a relish of known flattery; I must deny to understand their folly: Your pardon, I must leave you: Modesty commands.

FUL. Your honour's va.s.sals.

ANT. O good colonel, be more a soldier, Leave compliments for those that live at ease, To stuff their table-books; and o'er a board, Made gaudy with some pageant, beside custards, Whose quaking strikes a fear into the eaters, Dispute 'em in a fas.h.i.+onable method.

A soldier's language should be (as his calling) Rough, to declare he is a man of fire.

Farewell without the straining of a sinew, No superst.i.tious cringe! adieu!

[_Exit._

ALER. Is't not a hopeful lord?

Nature to him has chain'd the people's hearts; Each to his saint offers a form of prayer For young Antonio.

PAN. And in that loved name pray for the kingdom's good.

FUL. Count Machiavel!

_Enter_ MACHIAVEL _from behind the hangings_.

ALER. Let's away.

[_Exeunt_: _manet_ MACHIAVEL.

MACH. Heart, wilt not burst with rage, to see these slaves Fawn like to whelps on young Antonio, And fly from me as from infection? Death, Confusion, and the list of all diseases, wait upon your lives Till you be ripe for h.e.l.l, which when it gapes, May it devour you all: stay, Machi'vel, Leave this same idle chat, it becomes woman That has no strength, but what her tongue Makes a monopoly; be more a man, Think, think; in thy brain's mint Coin all thy thoughts to mischief: That may act revenge at full.

Plot, plot, tumultuous thoughts, incorporate; Beget a lump, howe'er deform'd, that may at length, Like to a cub lick'd by the careful dam, Become (like to my wishes) perfect vengeance.

Antonio, ay, Antonio--nay, all, Rather than lose my will, shall headlong fall Into eternal ruin; my thoughts are high.

Death, sit upon my brow; let every frown Banish a soul that stops me of a crown.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ EVADNE _and_ NURSE.

EVAD. The tailor yet return'd, nurse?

NUR. Madam, not yet.