A King, and No King by Francis Beaumont & John Fletcher (ebook smartphone .txt) π
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/> Your Lordship must understand we are no men o'th' Law, that take pay for our opinions: it is sufficient we have clear'd our friend.
Bac.
Yet there is something due, which I as toucht in Conscience will discharge Captain; I'le pay this Rent for you.
Bes.
Spare your self my good Lord; my brave friends aim at nothing but the vertue.
Bac.
That's but a cold discharge Sir for the pains.
2 Sword.
O Lord, my good Lord.
Bac.
Be not so modest, I will give you something.
Bes.
They shall dine with your Lordship, that's sufficient.
Bac.
Something in hand the while, you Rogues, you Apple-squires: do you come hither with your botled valour, your windy froth, to limit out my beatings?
1 Sword.
I do beseech your Lordship.
2 Sword.
O good Lord.
Bac.
S'foot-what a heavy of beaten slaves are here! get me a Cudgel sirra, and a tough one.
2 Sword.
More of your foot, I do beseech your Lordship.
Bac.
You shall, you shall dog, and your fellow-beagle.
1 Sword.
O' this side good my Lord.
Bac.
Off with your swords, for if you hurt my foot, I'le have you flead you Rascals.
1 Sword.
Mine's off my Lord.
2 Sword.
I beseech your Lordship stay a little, my strap's tied to my Cod piece-point: now when you please.
Bac.
Captain these are your valiant friends, you long for a little too?
Bes.
I am very well, I humbly thank your Lordship.
Bac.
What's that in your pocket, hurts my Toe you Mungril? Thy Buttocks cannot be so hard, out with it quickly.
2 Sword.
Here 'tis Sir, a small piece of Artillery, that a Gentleman a dear friend of your Lordships sent me with, to get it mended Sir, for if you mark, the nose is somewhat loose.
Bac.
A friend of mine you Rascal? I was never wearier of doing any thing, than kicking these two Foot-balls.
Enter Servant.
Serv.
Here is a good Cudgel Sir.
Bac.
It comes too late I'me weary, pray thee do thou beat them.
2 Sword.
My Lord, this is foul play i'faith, to put a fresh man upon us, men are but men Sir.
Bac.
That jest shall save your bones; Captain, Rally up your rotten Regiment and be gone: I had rather thrash than be bound to kick these Rascals, till they cry'd ho; Bessus you may put your hand to them now, and then you are quit. Farewel, as you like this, pray visit me again, 'twill keep me in good health.
[Exit Bac.
2 Sword.
H'as a devilish hard foot, I never felt the like.
1 Sword.
Nor I, and yet I am sure I have felt a hundred.
2 Sword.
If he kick thus i'th' Dog-daies, he will be dry foundred: what cure now Captain besides Oyl of Baies?
Bes.
Why well enough I warrant you, you can go.
2 Sword.
Yes, heaven be thanked; but I feel a shrowd ach, sure h'as sprang my huckle-bone.
1 Sword.
I ha' lost a hanch.
Bes.
A little butter, friend a little butter, butter and parseley and a soveraign matter: probatum est.
2 Sword.
Captain we must request your hand now to our honours.
Bes.
Yes marry shall ye, and then let all the world come, we are valiant to our selves, and there's an end.
1 Sword.
Nay then we must be valiant; O my ribs.
2 Sword.
O my small guts, a plague upon these sharp-toed shooes, they are murtherers.
[Exeunt clear.
Enter Arbaces with his sword drawn.
Arb.
It is resolv'd, I bare it whilst I could, I can no more, I must begin with murther of my friends, and so go on to that incestuous ravishing, and end my life and sins with a forbidden blow, upon my self.
Enter Mardonius.
Mar.
What Tragedy is near? That hand was never wont to draw a sword, but it cry'd dead to something.
Arb.
Mardonius, have you bid Gobrias come?
Mar.
How do you Sir?
Arb.
Well, is he coming?
Mar.
Why Sir, are you thus? why do your hands proclaim a lawless War against your self?
Arb.
Thou answerest me one question with an other, is Gobrias coming?
Mar.
Sir he is.
Arb.
'Tis well, I can forbear your questions then, be gone.
Mar.
Sir, I have mark't.
Arb.
Mark less, it troubles you and me.
Mar.
You are more variable than you were.
Arb.
It may be so.
Mar.
To day no Hermit could be humbler than you were to us all.
Arb.
And what of this?
Mar.
And now you take new rage into your eyes, as you would look us all out of the Land.
Arb.
I do confess it, will that satisfie? I prethee get thee gone.
Mar.
Sir, I will speak.
Arb.
Will ye?
Mar.
It is my duty. I fear you will kill your self: I am a subject, and you shall do me wrong in't: 'tis my cause, and I may speak.
Arb.
Thou art not train'd in sin, it seems Mardonius: kill my self! by Heaven I will not do it yet; and when I will, I'le tell thee then: I shall be such a creature, that thou wilt give me leave without a word. There is a method in mans wickedness, it grows up by degrees: I am not come so high as killing of my self, there are a hundred thousand sins 'twixt me and it, which I must doe, and I shall come to't at last; but take my oath not now, be satisfied, and get thee hence.
Mar.
I am sorry 'tis so ill.
Arb.
Be sorry then, true sorrow is alone, grieve by thy self.
Mar.
I pray you let me see your Sword put up before I go: I'le leave you then.
Arb.
Why so? what folly is this in thee, is it not as apt to mischief as it was before? can I not reach it thinkst thou? these are toyes for Children to be pleas'd with, and not men, now I am safe you think: I would the book of fate were here, my Sword is not so sure but I would get it out and mangle that, that all the destinies should quite forget their fixt decrees, and hast to make us new, for other fortunes, mine could not be worse, wilt thou now leave me?
Mar.
Heaven put into your bosome temperate thoughts, I'le leave you though I fear.
Arb.
Go, thou art honest, why should the hasty error of my youth be so unpardonable to draw a sin helpless upon me?
Enter Gobrias.
Gob.
There is the King, now it is ripe.
Arb.
Draw near thou guilty man, that art the authour of the loathedst crime five ages have brought forth, and hear me speak; curses more incurable, and all the evils mans body or his Spirit can receive be with thee.
Gob.
Why Sir do you curse me thus?
Arb.
Why do I curse thee? if there be a man subtil in curses, that exceeds the rest, his worst wish on thee, thou hast broke my heart.
Gob.
How Sir, have I preserv'd you from a child, from all the arrows, malice, or ambition could shoot at you, and have I this for my pay?
Arb.
'Tis true, thou didst preserve me, and in that wert crueller than hardned murtherers of infants and their Mothers! thou didst save me only till thou hadst studied out a way how to destroy me cunningly thy self: this was a curious way of torturing.
Gob.
What do you mean?
Arb.
Thou knowst the evils thou hast done to me; dost thou remember all those witching letters thou sent'st unto me to Armenia, fill'd with the praise of my beloved Sister, where thou extol'st her beauty, what had I to do with that? what could her beauty be to me? and thou didst write how well she lov'd me, dost thou remember this? so that I doted something before I saw her.
Gob.
This is true.
Arb.
Is it? and when I was return'd thou knowst thou didst pursue it, till thou woundst me into such a strange and unbeliev'd affection, as good men cannot think on.
Gob.
This I grant, I think I was the cause.
Arb.
Wert thou? Nay more, I think thou meant'st it.
Gob.
Sir, I hate to lie, as I love Heaven and honesty, I did, it was my meaning.
Arb.
Be thine own sad judge, a further condemnation will not need, prepare thy self to dy.
Gob.
Why Sir to dy?
Arb.
Why shouldst 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 hurl'st me in, but I can take revenge, that's all the sweetness left for me.
Gob.
Now is the time, hear me but speak.
Arb.
No, yet I will be far more mercifull than thou wert to me; thou didst steal into me and never gav'st me warning: so much time as I give thee now, had prevented thee for ever. Notwithstanding all thy sins, if thou hast hope, that there is yet a prayer to save thee, turn and speak it to thy self.
Gob.
Sir, you shall know your sins before you do'em, 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't for
Bac.
Yet there is something due, which I as toucht in Conscience will discharge Captain; I'le pay this Rent for you.
Bes.
Spare your self my good Lord; my brave friends aim at nothing but the vertue.
Bac.
That's but a cold discharge Sir for the pains.
2 Sword.
O Lord, my good Lord.
Bac.
Be not so modest, I will give you something.
Bes.
They shall dine with your Lordship, that's sufficient.
Bac.
Something in hand the while, you Rogues, you Apple-squires: do you come hither with your botled valour, your windy froth, to limit out my beatings?
1 Sword.
I do beseech your Lordship.
2 Sword.
O good Lord.
Bac.
S'foot-what a heavy of beaten slaves are here! get me a Cudgel sirra, and a tough one.
2 Sword.
More of your foot, I do beseech your Lordship.
Bac.
You shall, you shall dog, and your fellow-beagle.
1 Sword.
O' this side good my Lord.
Bac.
Off with your swords, for if you hurt my foot, I'le have you flead you Rascals.
1 Sword.
Mine's off my Lord.
2 Sword.
I beseech your Lordship stay a little, my strap's tied to my Cod piece-point: now when you please.
Bac.
Captain these are your valiant friends, you long for a little too?
Bes.
I am very well, I humbly thank your Lordship.
Bac.
What's that in your pocket, hurts my Toe you Mungril? Thy Buttocks cannot be so hard, out with it quickly.
2 Sword.
Here 'tis Sir, a small piece of Artillery, that a Gentleman a dear friend of your Lordships sent me with, to get it mended Sir, for if you mark, the nose is somewhat loose.
Bac.
A friend of mine you Rascal? I was never wearier of doing any thing, than kicking these two Foot-balls.
Enter Servant.
Serv.
Here is a good Cudgel Sir.
Bac.
It comes too late I'me weary, pray thee do thou beat them.
2 Sword.
My Lord, this is foul play i'faith, to put a fresh man upon us, men are but men Sir.
Bac.
That jest shall save your bones; Captain, Rally up your rotten Regiment and be gone: I had rather thrash than be bound to kick these Rascals, till they cry'd ho; Bessus you may put your hand to them now, and then you are quit. Farewel, as you like this, pray visit me again, 'twill keep me in good health.
[Exit Bac.
2 Sword.
H'as a devilish hard foot, I never felt the like.
1 Sword.
Nor I, and yet I am sure I have felt a hundred.
2 Sword.
If he kick thus i'th' Dog-daies, he will be dry foundred: what cure now Captain besides Oyl of Baies?
Bes.
Why well enough I warrant you, you can go.
2 Sword.
Yes, heaven be thanked; but I feel a shrowd ach, sure h'as sprang my huckle-bone.
1 Sword.
I ha' lost a hanch.
Bes.
A little butter, friend a little butter, butter and parseley and a soveraign matter: probatum est.
2 Sword.
Captain we must request your hand now to our honours.
Bes.
Yes marry shall ye, and then let all the world come, we are valiant to our selves, and there's an end.
1 Sword.
Nay then we must be valiant; O my ribs.
2 Sword.
O my small guts, a plague upon these sharp-toed shooes, they are murtherers.
[Exeunt clear.
Enter Arbaces with his sword drawn.
Arb.
It is resolv'd, I bare it whilst I could, I can no more, I must begin with murther of my friends, and so go on to that incestuous ravishing, and end my life and sins with a forbidden blow, upon my self.
Enter Mardonius.
Mar.
What Tragedy is near? That hand was never wont to draw a sword, but it cry'd dead to something.
Arb.
Mardonius, have you bid Gobrias come?
Mar.
How do you Sir?
Arb.
Well, is he coming?
Mar.
Why Sir, are you thus? why do your hands proclaim a lawless War against your self?
Arb.
Thou answerest me one question with an other, is Gobrias coming?
Mar.
Sir he is.
Arb.
'Tis well, I can forbear your questions then, be gone.
Mar.
Sir, I have mark't.
Arb.
Mark less, it troubles you and me.
Mar.
You are more variable than you were.
Arb.
It may be so.
Mar.
To day no Hermit could be humbler than you were to us all.
Arb.
And what of this?
Mar.
And now you take new rage into your eyes, as you would look us all out of the Land.
Arb.
I do confess it, will that satisfie? I prethee get thee gone.
Mar.
Sir, I will speak.
Arb.
Will ye?
Mar.
It is my duty. I fear you will kill your self: I am a subject, and you shall do me wrong in't: 'tis my cause, and I may speak.
Arb.
Thou art not train'd in sin, it seems Mardonius: kill my self! by Heaven I will not do it yet; and when I will, I'le tell thee then: I shall be such a creature, that thou wilt give me leave without a word. There is a method in mans wickedness, it grows up by degrees: I am not come so high as killing of my self, there are a hundred thousand sins 'twixt me and it, which I must doe, and I shall come to't at last; but take my oath not now, be satisfied, and get thee hence.
Mar.
I am sorry 'tis so ill.
Arb.
Be sorry then, true sorrow is alone, grieve by thy self.
Mar.
I pray you let me see your Sword put up before I go: I'le leave you then.
Arb.
Why so? what folly is this in thee, is it not as apt to mischief as it was before? can I not reach it thinkst thou? these are toyes for Children to be pleas'd with, and not men, now I am safe you think: I would the book of fate were here, my Sword is not so sure but I would get it out and mangle that, that all the destinies should quite forget their fixt decrees, and hast to make us new, for other fortunes, mine could not be worse, wilt thou now leave me?
Mar.
Heaven put into your bosome temperate thoughts, I'le leave you though I fear.
Arb.
Go, thou art honest, why should the hasty error of my youth be so unpardonable to draw a sin helpless upon me?
Enter Gobrias.
Gob.
There is the King, now it is ripe.
Arb.
Draw near thou guilty man, that art the authour of the loathedst crime five ages have brought forth, and hear me speak; curses more incurable, and all the evils mans body or his Spirit can receive be with thee.
Gob.
Why Sir do you curse me thus?
Arb.
Why do I curse thee? if there be a man subtil in curses, that exceeds the rest, his worst wish on thee, thou hast broke my heart.
Gob.
How Sir, have I preserv'd you from a child, from all the arrows, malice, or ambition could shoot at you, and have I this for my pay?
Arb.
'Tis true, thou didst preserve me, and in that wert crueller than hardned murtherers of infants and their Mothers! thou didst save me only till thou hadst studied out a way how to destroy me cunningly thy self: this was a curious way of torturing.
Gob.
What do you mean?
Arb.
Thou knowst the evils thou hast done to me; dost thou remember all those witching letters thou sent'st unto me to Armenia, fill'd with the praise of my beloved Sister, where thou extol'st her beauty, what had I to do with that? what could her beauty be to me? and thou didst write how well she lov'd me, dost thou remember this? so that I doted something before I saw her.
Gob.
This is true.
Arb.
Is it? and when I was return'd thou knowst thou didst pursue it, till thou woundst me into such a strange and unbeliev'd affection, as good men cannot think on.
Gob.
This I grant, I think I was the cause.
Arb.
Wert thou? Nay more, I think thou meant'st it.
Gob.
Sir, I hate to lie, as I love Heaven and honesty, I did, it was my meaning.
Arb.
Be thine own sad judge, a further condemnation will not need, prepare thy self to dy.
Gob.
Why Sir to dy?
Arb.
Why shouldst 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 hurl'st me in, but I can take revenge, that's all the sweetness left for me.
Gob.
Now is the time, hear me but speak.
Arb.
No, yet I will be far more mercifull than thou wert to me; thou didst steal into me and never gav'st me warning: so much time as I give thee now, had prevented thee for ever. Notwithstanding all thy sins, if thou hast hope, that there is yet a prayer to save thee, turn and speak it to thy self.
Gob.
Sir, you shall know your sins before you do'em, 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't for
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