A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 19

_Enter the_ KING, ANTONIO, OLD TAILOR, EVADNE, AURELIA, _above_. MACHIAVEL, RAYMOND, PHILIPPA, AURISTELLA, GIOVANNO, _the Colonels with a Guard below_.

MACH. Pray, take your seats.

RAY. [_To_ PHILIPPA.] Not well? prythee, retire.

PHIL. Sick, sick at heart.

AUR. Well-wrought poison! O, how joy swells me!

[_Aside._

ANT. You see, my lord, the poison is box'd up.

[_Above._

PHIL. Health wait upon this royal company.

KING. Knows she we are here?

ANT. O no, my lord, 'tis to the twins of treason: Machiavel and Raymond.

FUL. Royal! there's something in't.

ALER. It smells rank o' th' traitor.

PAN. Are you i' th' wind on't?

AUR. Will you leave us?

PHIL. I cannot stay; O, I am sick to death!

[_Exit._

AUR. Or I'll never trust poison more.

[_Aside._

MACH. Pray, seat yourselves, Gentlemen; though your deserts have merit,

[_They sit about the table._

And your worths have deserv'd n.o.bly; But ingrat.i.tude, that should be banish'd From a prince's breast, is Philip's favourite.

KING. [_Above._] Philip, traitor! why not king? I am so.

ANT. Patience, good my lord; I'll down.

[_Exit._

MACH. It lives too near him: You, that have ventur'd with expense of blood And danger of your lives, to rivet him Unto his seat with peace: you, that in war He term'd his Atlases, and press'd with praises Your brawny shoulders; call'd you his Colossuses, And said your looks frighted tall war Out of his territories: now in peace [behold]

The issue of your labour. This bad man-- Philip, I mean--made of ingrat.i.tude, Wo' not afford a name, that may distinguish Your worthy selves from cowards; [while]

Civet cats spotted with rats'-dung, Or a face, like white broth strew'd o'er with currants For a stirring caper or itching dance, to please My lady Vanity, shall be made a smock-knight.

KING. [_Above._] Villain! must our disgrace mount thee?

FUL. To what tends this?

ALER. What means Count Machiavel?

_Enter_ ANTONIO _below_.

AUR. To be your king; fie on this circ.u.mstance!

My longing will not brook it: say, Will you obey us as your kings and queens.

[_Aside._

FUL. My Lord Antonio!

ANT. Confine yourselves, the king is within hearing; therefore make show of liking Machiavel's plot: let him mount high, his fall will be the deeper: my life, you shall be safe.

[_Aside._

AUR. Say, are you agreed?

RAY. If not, we'll force you to't: Speak, Frenchman, are our forces i' th' city?

GIO. Oui, mounsier.

ALER. } FUL. } We acknowledge you our king.

PAN. }

KING. More traitors!

MACH. Why----_then_.

[_The_ BRAVO _stabs_ RAYMOND.

RAY. Ha! from whence this sudden mischief?

Did you not see a hand arm'd with the fatal Ruin of my life?

GIO. Non pas, signor.

MACH. Ha, ha, ha! lay hold on those French soldiers: Away with them!

[_Exeunt Guard with the French Colonels._

RAY. Was't thy plot, Machiavel? go laughing to thy grave.

[_Stabs him._