A King, and No King - Francis Beaumont & John Fletcher (book series for 10 year olds TXT) 📗

sharpe toe'd shooes, they are murderers.

Exeunt.

Enter Arbaces with his Sword drawne.

Arb.

It is resolv'd, I bore it whilst I could, I can no more, Hell open all thy gates, And I will thorough them; if they be shut, Ile batter um, but I will find the place Where the most damn'd have dwelling; ere I end, Amongst them all they shall not have a sinne, But I may call it mine: I must beginne With murder of my friend, and so goe on To an incestuous ravishing, and end My life and sinnes with a forbidden blow Upon my selfe.

Enter Mardonius.

Mardo.

What Tragedie is here? That hand was never wont to draw a Sword, But it cride dead to something:

Arb.

Mar. have you bid Gobrius come?

Mar.

How doe you Sir?

Arb.

Well, is he comming?

Mar.

Why Sir are you thus? Why does your hand proclaime a lawlesse warre Against your selfe?

Arb.

Thou answerest me one question with another, Is Gobrius comming?

Mar.

Sir he is. Arb. Tis well.

Mar.

I can forbeare your questions then, be gone Sir, I have markt.

Arb.

Marke lesse, it troubles you and me.

Mar.

You are more variable then you were.

Arb.

It may be so.

Mar.

To day no Hermit could be humblier Then you were to us all.

Arb.

And what of this?

Mar.

And now you take new rage into your eies, As you would looke us all out of the Land.

Arb.

I doe confesse it, will that satisfie, I prethee get thee gone.

Mar.

Sir I will speake.

Arb.

Will ye?

Mar.

It is my dutie, I feare you will kill your selfe: I am a subject, And you shall doe me wrong in't: tis my cause, And I may speake.

Arb.

Thou art not traind in sinne, It seemes Mardonius: kill my selfe, by heaven I will not doe it yet; and when I will, Ile tell thee then: I shall be such a creature, That thou wilt give me leave without a word. There is a method in mans wickednesse, It growes up by degrees; I am not come So high as killing of my selfe, there are A hundred thousand sinnes twixt me and it, Which I must doe, I shall come toot at last; But take my oath not now, be satisfied, And get thee hence.

Mar.

I am sorrie tis so ill.

Arb.

Be sorrie then, True sorrow is alone, grieve by thy selfe.

Mar.

I pray you let mee see your sword put up Before I goe; Ile leave you then.

Arb.

Why so? What follie is this in thee? is it not As apt to mischiefe as it was before? Can I not reach it thinkest thou? these are toyes For children to be pleas'd with, and not men; Now I am safe you thinke: I would the booke Of Fate were here, my sword is not so sure, But I should get it out, and mangle that That all the destinies should quite forget Their fix't decrees, and hast to make us new Farre other Fortunes mine could not be worse, Wilt thou now leave me?

Mar.

God put into your bosome temperate thoughts, He leave you though I feare.

Exit.

Arb.

Goe, thou art honest, Why should the hastie errors of my youth Be so unpardonable, to draw a sinne Helpelesse upon me?

Enter Gobrius.

Gob.

There is the King, now it is ripe.

Arb.

Draw neere thou guiltie man, That are the author of the loathedst crime Five ages have brought forth, and heare me speake Curses incurable, and all the evils Mans bodie or his spirit can receive Be with thee.

Gob.

Why Sir doe you curse me thus?

Arb.

Why doe I curse thee, if there be a man Subtill in curses, that exceedes the rest, His worst wish on thee. Thou hast broke my hart.

Gob.

How Sir? Have I preserv'd you from a childe, From all the arrowes, malice or ambition Could shoot at you, and have I this for pay?

Arb.

Tis true thou didst preserve me, and in that Wert crueller then hardned murderers Of infants and their mothers; thou didst save me Onely till thou hadst studdied out a way How to destroy me cunningly thy selfe: This was a curious way of torturing.

Gob.

What doe you meane?

Arb.

Thou knowst the evils thou hast done to me, Dost thou remember all those witching letters Thou sentst unto me to Armenia, Fild with the praise of my beloved Sister, Where thou extolst her beautie; what had I To doe with that, what could her beautie be To me, and thou didst write how well shee lov'd me, Doest thou remember this: so that I doated Something before I saw her.

Gob.

This is true.

Arb.

Is it, and I when I was returnd thou knowst Thou didst pursue it, till thou woundst mee into Such a strange, and unbeleev'd affection, As good men cannot thinke on.

Gob.

This I grant, I thinke I was the cause.

Arb.

Wert thou? Nay more, I thinke thou meantst it.

Gob.

Sir I hate a lie. As I love God and honestie, I did: It was my meaning.

Arb.

Be thine owne sad Judge, A further condemnation will not need: Prepare thy selfe to die.

Gob.

Why Sir to die?

Arb.

Why wouldst thou live, was ever yet offender So impudent, that had a thought of mercy After confession of a crime like this? Get out I cannot, where thou hurlst me in, But I can take revenge, that's all the sweetnesse Left for me.

Gob.

Now is the time, heare me but speake.

Arb.

No, yet I will be farre more mercifull Then thou wert to me; thou didst steale into me, And never gavest me warning: so much time As I give thee now, had prevented thee For ever. Notwithstanding all thy sinnes, If thou hast hope, that there is yet a prayer To save thee, turne, and speake it to your selfe.

Gob.

Sir, you shall know your sinnes before you doe um If you kill me.

Arb.

I will not stay then.

Gob.

Know you kill your Father.

Arb.

How?

Gob.

You kill your Father.

Arb.

My Father? though I know it for a lie Made out of feare to save thy stained life: The verie reverence of the word comes crosse me, And ties mine arme downe.

Gob.

I will tell you that shall heighten you againe, I am thy Father, I charge thee heare me.

Arb.

If it should be so, As tis most false, and that I should be found A bastard issue, the dispised fruite Of lawlesse lust, I should no more admire All my wilde passions: but another truth Shall be wrung from thee: If I could come by The spirit of paine, it should be powr'd on thee, Till thou allowest thy selfe more full of lies Then he that teaches thee.

Enter Arane.

Arane.

Turne thee about, I come to speake to thee thou wicked man, Heare me thou Tyrant.

Arb.

I will turne to thee, Heare me thou Strumpet: I have blotted out The name of mother, as thou hast thy shame.

Ara.

My shame, thou hast lesse shame then anything: Why dost thou keepe my daughter in a prison? Why dost thou call her Sister, and doe this?

Arb.

Cease thou strange impudence, and answere quickly, If thou contemn'st me, this will aske an answere, And have it.

Ara.

Helpe me gentle Gobrius.

Arb.

Guilt dare not helpe guilt, though they grow together In doing ill, yet at the punishment They sever, and each flies the noyse of other, Thinke not of helpe, answere.

Ara.

I will, to what?

Arb.

To such a thing as if it be a truth, Thinke what a creature thou hast made thy selfe, That didst not shame to doe, what I must blush Onely to aske thee: tell me who I am, Whose sonne I am, without all circumstance; Be thou as hastie, as my Sword will be If thou refusest.

Ara.

Why you are his sonne.

Arb.

His sonne? Sweare, sweare, thou worse then woman damn'd.

Ara.

By all thats good you are.

Arb.

Then art thou all that ever was knowne bad. Now is The cause of all my strange misfortunes come to light: What reverence expects thou from a childe To bring forth which thou hast offended Heaven, Thy husband and the Land: Adulterous witch I know now why thou wouldst have poyson'd me, I was thy lust which thou wouldst have forgot: Thou wicked mother of my sinnes, and me, Shew me the way to the inheritance I have by thee: which is a spacious world Of impious acts, that I may soone possesse it: Plagues rott thee, as thou liv'st, and such diseases As use to pay lust, recompence thy deed.

Gob.

You doe not know why you curse thus.

Arb.

Too well: You are a paire of Vipers, and behold The Serpent you have got; there is no beast But if he knew, it has a pedigree As brave as mine, for they have more discents, And I am every way as beastly got, As farre without the compasse of a law, As they.

Ara.

You spend your rage, and words in vaine, And raile upon a guesse: heare us a little.

Arb.

No I will never heare, but talke away My breath, and die.

Gob.

Why but you are no Bastard.

Arb.

Howe's that?

Ara.

Nor childe of mine.

Arb.

Still you goe on in wonders to me.

Gob.

Pray be more patient, I may bring comfort to you.

Arb.

I will kneele, And heare with the obedience of a childe; Good Father speake, I doe acknowledge you, So you bring comfort.

Gob.