A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 24

ELE. Hah!

ALV. Was not the queen here with you?

ELE. Queen with me!

Because, my lord, I'm married to your daughter, You, like your daughter, will grow jealous: The queen with me! with me a Moor, a devil, A slave of Barbary, a dog--for so Your silken courtiers christen me. But, father, Although my flesh be tawny, in my veins Runs blood as red, as royal, as the best And proudest in Spain; there does, old man.

My father, who with his empire lost his life, And left me captive to a Spanish tyrant,-- O! Go tell him, _Spanish tyrant_; tell him, do.

He that can lose a kingdom, and not rave, He's a tame jade; I am not: tell old Philip I call him tyrant; here's a sword and arms, A heart, a head, and so, pis.h.!.+--'tis but death.

Old fellow, she's not here: but ere I die, Sword, I'll bequeath thee a rich legacy.

ALV. Watch fitter hours to think on wrongs than now; Death's frozen hand holds royal Philip's heart; Half of his body lies within a grave; Then do not now by quarrels shake that state, Which is already too much ruinate.

Come, and take leave of him, before he die.

[_Exit._

ELE. I'll follow you. Now, purple villany, Sit like a robe imperial on my back, That under thee I closelier may contrive My vengeance; foul deeds hid do sweetly thrive.

Mischief, erect thy throne, and sit in state Here, here upon this head; let fools fear fate, Thus I defy my stars. I care not, I, How low I tumble down, so I mount high: Old Time, I'll wait bareheaded at thy heels, And be a footboy to thy winged hours; They shall not tell one minute out in sands, But I'll set down the number; I'll still wake, And waste these b.a.l.l.s of sight by tossing them In busy observations upon thee.

Sweet opportunity! I'll bind myself To thee in base apprenticehood so long, Till on thy naked scalp grow hair as thick As mine; and all hands shall lay hold on thee, If thou wilt lend me but thy rusty scythe, To cut down all that stand within my wrongs And my revenge. Love, dance in twenty forms Upon my beauty, that this Spanish dame May be bewitch'd and doat; her amorous flames Shall blow up the old king, consume his sons, And make all Spain a bonfire. This Tragedy being acted, hers doth begin: To shed a harlot's blood can be no sin.

[_Exit._

SCENE III.

_The Curtain being drawn, there appears in his bed_ KING PHILIP, _with his Lords; the_ PRINCESS ISABELLA _at the feet_, MENDOZA, ALVERO, HORTENZO, FERNANDO, RODERIGO; _and to them enter_ QUEEN _in haste_.

QUEEN-M. Whose was that screech-owl's voice that, like the sound Of a h.e.l.l-tortur'd soul, rung through mine ears Nothing but horrid shrieks, nothing but death?

Whilst I, vailing my knees to the cold earth, Drowning my wither'd cheeks in my warm tears, And stretching out my arms to pull from heaven Health for the royal majesty of Spain, All cried, the majesty of Spain is dead!

That last word _dead_ struck through the echoing air Rebounded on my heart, and smote me down Breathless to the cold earth, and made me leave My prayers for Philip's life; but, thanks to heaven, I see him live, and lives (I hope) to see Unnumber'd years to guide this empery.

KING P. The number of my years ends in one day: Ere this sun's down, all a king's glory sets, For all our lives are but death-counterfeits.

Father Mendoza, and you peers of Spain, Dry your wet eyes; for sorrow wanteth force T' inspire a breathing soul in a dead corse; Such is your king. Where's Isabella, our daughter?

MEN. At your bed's feet, confounded in her tears.

KING P. She of your grief the heaviest burthen bears; You can but lose a king, but she a father.

QUEEN-M. She bear the heaviest burthen! O, say rather I bear, and am borne down; my sorrowing Is for a husband's loss, loss of a king.

KING P. No more. Alvero, call the princess. .h.i.ther.

ALV. Madam, his majesty doth call for you.

KING P. Come hither, Isabella, reach a hand, Yet now it shall not need: instead of thine, Death, shoving thee back, clasps his hands in mine, And bids me come away: I must, I must, Though kings be G.o.ds on earth, they turn to dust.

Is not Prince Philip come from Portugal?

ROD. The prince as yet is not return'd, my lord.

KING P. Commend me to him, if I ne'er behold him.

This tells the order of my funeral; Do it as 'tis set down; embalm my body; Though worms do make no difference of flesh, Yet kings are curious here to dig their graves; Such is man's frailty: when I am embalm'd, Apparel me in a rich royal robe, According to the custom of the land; Then place my bones within that brazen shrine, Which death hath builded for my ancestors; I cannot name death, but he straight steps in And pulls me by the arm.

FER. His grace doth faint; Help me, my lords, softly to raise him up.

_Enter_ ELEAZAR, _and stands sadly by_.

KING P. Lift me not up, I shortly must go down.

When a few dribbling minutes have run out, Mine hour is ended. King of Spain, farewell; You all acknowledge him your sovereign?

ALL. When you are dead, we will acknowledge him.

KING P. Govern this kingdom well; to be a king Is given to many, but to govern well Granted to few. Have care to Isabel; Her virtue was King Philip's looking-gla.s.s; Reverence the queen your mother; love your sister And the young prince your brother: even that day, When Spain shall solemnise my obsequies, And lay me up in earth, let them crown you.

Where's Eleazar, Don Alvero's son?

FER. Yonder, with cross'd arms, stands he malcontent.

KING P. I do commend him to thee for a man Both wise and warlike; yet beware of him: Ambition wings his spirit; keep him down.

What will not men attempt to win a crown?

Mendoza is protector of thy realm, I did elect him for his gravity; I trust he'll be a father to thy youth.

Call help, Fernando, now I faint indeed.

FER. My lords!

KING. P. Let none with a distracted voice Shriek out, and trouble me in my departure.

Heaven's hands, I see, are beckoning for my soul; I come, I come; thus do the proudest die; Death hath no mercy, life no certainty.

[_Dies._

MEN. As yet his soul's not from her temple gone: Therefore forbear loud lamentation.

QUEEN-M. O, he's dead, he's dead! lament and die; In her king's end begins Spain's misery.

ISA. He shall not end so soon. Father, dear father!

FER. Forbear, sweet Isabella: shrieks are vain.

ISA. You cry forbear; you by his loss of breath Have won a kingdom, you may cry forbear: But I have lost a father and a king, And no tongue shall control my sorrowing.

HOR. Whither, good Isabella?

ISA. I will go Where I will languish in eternal woe.

HOR. Nay, gentle love.

ISA. Talk not of love to me, The world and the world's pride henceforth I'll scorn.

[_Exit._

HOR. My love shall follow thee; if thou deny'st To live with poor Hortenzo as his wife, I'll never change my love, but change my life.