THE MARTYR'D SOULDIER:

As it was sundry times Acted with a generall applause at the Private house in Drury lane, and at other publicke Theaters.

By the Queenes Majesties servants.

The Author H. SHIRLEY Gent.

LONDON: Printed by I. Okes, and are to be sold by Francis Eglesfield at his house in Paul's Church-yard at the Signe of the Mary-gold. 1638.

To the right Worshipful Sir Kenelme Digby, Knight.

Sir,

Workes of this Nature may fitly be compared to small and narrow rivolets that at first derive themselves to greater Rivers and afterwards are discharged into the Maine Ocean. So Poesie rising from obscure and almost unminded beginnings hath often advanc'd it Selfe even to the thrones of Princes: witnesse that ever-living Worke of renowned Virgil, so much admired and favoured by magnificent Augustus. Nor can I much wonder that great men, and those of Excellent parts, have so often preferred Poesie, it being indeed the sweetest and best speaker of all Noble Actions.

Nor were they wont in ancient times to preferre those their Workes to them they best knew, but unto some Person highly endued with Vallour, Learning, and such other Graces as render one man farre more Excellent then many others. And this, I hope, may excuse my boldnesse in this Dedication, being so much a stranger to your Worships knowledge, onely presuming upon your Noble temper, ever apt to cherrish well-affected studies. Likewise this peice seemeth to have a more speciall kind of relation to your Selfe, more then to many others, it being an exact and perfect patterne of a truly Noble and War-lick Chieftian.

When it first appeared upon the Stage it went off with Applause and favour, and my hope is it may yeild your Worship as much content as my selfe can wish, who ever rest to be commanded by your Worship,

In all duty and observance,

I.K.[131]

TO THE COURTEOUS READER.

To make too large an explanation of this following Poem were but to beguile thy appetite and somewhat dull thy expectation; but the work it selfe being now an Orphant, and wanting him to protect that first begot it, it were an iniury to his memory to passe him unspoken of. For the man his Muse was much courted but no common mistresse; and though but seldome seene abroad yet ever much admired at. This worke, not the meanest of his labours, has much adorned not only one but many Stages, with such a generall applause as it hath drawne even the Rigid Stoickes of the Time, who, though not for pleasure yet for profit have gathered something out of his plentifull Vineyard. My hopes are it wil prove no lesse pleasing to the Reader then it has formerly beene to the Spectators; and, so prooving, I have my aime and full desire. Farewell.

The Actors Names.

Genzerick, King of the Vandals. Anthonio | Damianus | 3 Noble men. Cosmo | Hubert, A brave Commander. Henerick, the Prince. Bellizarius, the Generall. Eugenius, a Christian Bishop. Epidaurus, a Lord. 2 Physitians. 2 Pagans. 1 Camell-driver. 2 Camell-driver. Victoria, Wife to Bellizarius. Bellina, his Daughter. A Souldier. 2 Angels. 2 Christians tonguelesse. Clowne. Constable. 3 Watchmen. 3 Huntsmen. 3 Other Camell-drivers. Officers and Souldiers.

The Martyr'd Souldier.

Actus Primus.

SCAENA PRIMA.

Enter Genzerick King of the Vandalls, sicke on his bed, Anthony, Damianus, Cosmo, and Lords.

King. Away, leave off your golden Flatteries, I know I cannot live, there's one lies here Brings me the newes; my glories and my greatnes Are come to nothing.

Anth. Be not your selfe the Bell To tolle you to the Grave; and the good Fates, For ought we see, may winde upon your bottome[132] A thred of excellent length.

Cosm. We hope the Gods have not such rugged hands To snatch yee from us.

King. Cosmo, Damianus, and Anthony; you upon whom The Vandall State doth leane, for my back's too weake; I tell you once agen that surly Monarch, Who treads on all Kings throats, hath sent to me His proud Embassadours: I have given them Audience Here in our Chamber Royall. Nor could that move me, To meete Death face to face, were my great worke Once perfected in Affrick by my sonne; I meane that generall sacrifice of Christians, Whose blood would wash the Temples of our gods And win them bow downe their immortall eyes Upon our offerings. Yet, I talke not idly, Yet, Anthonie, I may; for sleepe, I think, Is gone out of my kingdome, it is else fled To th'poore; for sleepe oft takes the harder bed And leaves the downy pillow of a King.

Cosm. Try, Sir, if Musick can procure you[133] rest.

King. Cosmo, 'tis sinne to spend a thing so precious On him that cannot weare it. No, no; no Musick; But if you needs will charme my o're-watcht eyes, Now growne too monstrous for their lids to close, If you so long to fill these Musick-roomes With ravishing sounds indeed; unclaspe that booke, Turne o're that Monument of Martyrdomes, Read there how Genzerick has serv'd the gods And made their Altars drunke with Christians blood, Whil'st their loath'd bodies flung in funerall piles Like Incense burnt in Pyramids of fire; And when their flesh and bones were all consum'd Their ashes up in whirle-winds flew i'th Ayre To show that of foure Elements not one had care Of them, dead or alive. Read, Anthony.

Anth. 'Tis swelld to a faire Volume.

King. Would I liv'd To add a second part too't. Read, and listen: No Vandall ere writ such a Chronicle.

Anth. Five hundred[134] broyl'd to death in Oyle and Lead: Seven hundred flead alive, their Carkasses Throwne to King Genzericks hounds.

King. Ha, ha, brave hunting.

Anth. Upon the great day of Apollo's feast, The fourth Moneth of your Reigne.

King. O give me more, Let me dye fat with laughing.

Anth. Thirty faire Mothers, big with Christian brats, Upon a scaffold in the Palace plac'd Had first their dugges sear'd off, their wombes ript up, About their miscreant heads their first borne Sonnes Tost as a Sacrifice to Jupiter, On his great day and the Ninth Month of Genzerick.

King. A Play; a Comicall Stage our Palace was. Any more? oh, let me surfeit.

Anth. Foure hundred Virgins ravisht.

King. Christian Whores; common, 'tis common.

Anth. And then their trembling bodies tost on the Pikes Of those that spoyl'd 'em, sacrific'd to Pallas.

King. More, more; hang Mayden-heads, Christian Maiden-heads.

Anth. This leafe is full of tortur'd Christians: Some pauncht, some starv'd, some eyes and braines bor'd out, Some whipt to death, some torne by Lyons.

King. Damianus, I cannot live to heare my service out; Such haste the Gods make to reward me.

Omnes. Looke to the King. (Shouts within.)

Enter Hubert.

King. What shouts are these? see, Cosmo.

Cosmo. Good newes, my Lord; here comes Hubert from the warres.

Hub. Long life and health wait ever on the King.

King. Hubert, thy wishes are come short of both. Hast thou good newes? be briefe then and speake quickly: I must else heare thee in another World.

Hub. In briefe, then, know: Henrick, your valiant sonne, With Bellizarius and my selfe come laden With spoiles to lay them at your feet. What lives the sword spar'd serve to grace your Triumph, Till from your lips they have the doome of death.

King. What are they?

Hub. Christians, and their Chiefe a Church-man, Eugenius, Bishop of Carthage, and with him Seven hundred Captives more, all Christians.

King. Hold, Death; let me a little taste these ioyes, Then take me ravisht hence. Glad mine eyes, Hubert, With the victorious Boy.

Hub. Your Starre comes shining. [Exit Hubert.

King. Lift me a little higher, yet more: Doe the Immortall Powers poure blessings downe, And shall I not returne them?

Omnes. See, they come.

A Flourish; Enter Henricke the Prince, Bellizarius, Hubert, leading Eugenius in Chaines with other Prisoners and Souldiers.

King. I have now liv'd my full time; tell me, my Henricke,[135] Thy brave successe, that my departing soule May with the story blesse another world And purchase me a passage.

Hen. O, great Sir, All we have done dyes here if that you dye, And heaven, before too prodigal to us, Shedding beames over-glorious on our heads, Is now full of Eclipses.

King. No, boy; thy presence Has fetcht life home to heare thee.

Hen. Then, Royal Father, thus: Before our Troopes had reacht the Affrick bounds, Wearied with tedious Marches and those dangers Which waite on glorious Warre, the Affricans A farre had heard our Thunder, whilst their Earth Did feele an earth-quake in the peoples feares Before our Drummes came near them. Yet, spight of terrour, They fortifi'd their Townes, cloathed all their fields With warres best bravery, armed Souldiers. At this we made a stand, for their bold troopes Affronted us with steele, dar'd us to come on And nobly fierd our resolution.

King. So, hasten; there's in me a battaile too; Be quicke, or I shall fall.

Hen. Forefend it heaven. Now, Bellizarius, come; here stand, just here; And on him, I beseech you, fixe your eye, For you have much to pay to this brave man.

Hub. Nothing to me?

Hen. Ile give you him in wonder.

Hub. Hang him out in a painted cloth for a monster.

Bel. My Lord, wrong not your selfe to throw on me The honours which are all yours.

Hub. Is he the Divell? all!

Bel. Cast not your eyes on me, Sir, but on him; And seale this to your soule: never had King A Sonne that did to his Crowne more honours bring.

Hen. Stay, Bellizarius; I'me too true to honour To scant it in the blazing: though to thee All that report can render leaves thee yet—

Hub. A brave man: you are so too, you both fought; And I stood idle?

Hen. No, Sir.

Hub. Here's your battaile then, and here's your conquest: What need such a coyle?

Bel. Yet, Hubert, it craves more Arethmaticke Than in one figure to be found.

King. Hubert, thou art too busie.

Hub. So was I in the battaile.

King. Prethee peace.

Hen. The Almarado was on poynt to sound; But then a Herald from their Tents flew forth, Being sent to question us for what we came; And [At?] which, I must confesse, being all on fire We cryed for warre and death. Backe rode the Herald As lightning had persu'd him. But the Captaines, Thinking us tir'd with marching, did conceive Rest would make difficult what easie now Quicke charge might drive us to. So, like a storme Beating upon a wood of lustie Pines, Which though they shake they keepe their footing fast, Our pikes their horses stood. Hot was the day In which whole fields of men were swept away, As by sharpe Sithes are cut the golden corne And in as short time. It was this mans sword Hew'd ways to danger; and when danger met him He charm'd it thence, and when it grew agen He drove it back agen, till at the length It lost the field. Foure long hours this did hold, In which more worke was done than can be told.

Bel. But let me tell your Father how the first feather That Victory herselfe pluckt from her wings, She stuck it in your Burgonet.

Hub. Brave still!

Hen. No, Bellizarius; thou canst guild thy honours Borne[136] from the reeking breasts of Affricans, When I aloof[137] stood wondering at those Acts Thy sword writ in the battaile, which were such Would make a man a souldier but to read 'em.

Hub. And what to read mine? is my booke claspt up?

Bel. No, it lyes open, where in texed letters read Each Pioner [?] that your unseason'd valour Had thrice ingag'd our fortunes and our men Beyond recovery, had not this arme redeem'd you.

Hub. Yours?

Bel. For which your life was lost for doing more Than from the Generals mouth you had command.

Hub. You fill my praise with froth, as Tapsters fill Their cut-throat Cans; where, give me but my due, I did as much as you, or you, or any.

Bel. Any?

Hub. Yes, none excepted.

Bel. The Prince was there.

Hub. And I was there: since you draw one another I will turne Painter too and draw my selfe. Was it not I that when the maine Battalia Totter'd and foure great squadrons put to rout, Then reliev'd them? and with this arme, this sword, And this affronting brow put them to flight, Chac'd em, slew thousands, tooke some few and drag'd em As slaves, tyed to my saddle bow with Halters?

Hen. Yes, Sir, 'tis true; but, as he sayes, your fury Left all our maine Battalia welnigh lost. For had the foe but re-inforct againe Our courages had beene seiz'd (?), any Ambuskado Cut you and your rash troopes off; if—

Hub. What 'if'? Envy, not honour, still inferres these 'ifs.' It thriv'd and I returnd with Victory.

Bel. You?

Hub. I, Bellizarius, I; I found your troopes Reeling and pale and ready to turne Cowards, But you not in the head; when I (brave sir) Charg'd in the Reere and shooke their battaile so The Fever never left them till they fell. I pulled the Wings up, drew the rascals on, Clapt 'em and cry'd 'follow, follow.' This is the hand First toucht the Gates, this foote first tooke the City; This Christian Church-man snacht I from the Altar And fir'd the Temple. 'Twas this sword was sheath'd In panting bosomes both of young and old; Fathers, sonnes, mothers, virgins, wives and widowes: Like death I havocke cryed so long till I Had left no monuments of life or buildings But these poore ruins. What these brave Spirits did Was like to this, I must confesse 'tis true, But not beyond it.

King. You have done nobly all. Nor let the Generall thinke I soyle his worth In that I raise this forward youth so neare Those honours he deserves from Genzericke; For he may live to serve my Henrick thus, And growing vertue must not want reward. You both allow these deeds he so much boasts of?

Hen. Yes, but not equal to the Generals.

King. The spoyles they equally shall both divide; The Generall chuse, 'tis his prerogative. Bellizarius be Viceregent over all Those conquerd parts of Affrick we call ours; Hubert the Master of my Henricks Horse And President of what the Goths possesse. Let this our last will stand.

Bel. We are richly paid.

Hub. Who earnes it must have wages.

King. Ile see you imbrac'd too.

Hub. With all my heart.

King. And Bellizarius Make him thy Scholler.

Hub. His Scholler!

King. There's stuffe in him Which temper'd well would make him a noble fellow. Now for these Prisoners: 'tis my best sacrifice My pious zeale can tender to the Gods. I censure thus: let all be naked stript, Then to the midst of the vaste Wildernesse That stands 'twixt us and wealthy Persia They shall be driven, and there wildly venture As Famine or the fury of the Beasts Conspires to use them. Which is that Bishop?

Hub. Stand forth: this is Eugenius.

Eug. I stand forth Daring all tortures, kissing Racks and Wheeles And Flames, to whom I offer up this body. You keepe us from our Crownes of Martyrdomes By this delaying: dispatch us hence.

King. Not yet, Sir: Away with them, stay him; and if our Gods Can win this Christian Champion, now so stout, To fight upon their sides, give him reward; Our Gods will reach him praise.

Eug. Your Gods! wretched soules!

King. My worke is done; and, Henricke, as thou lov'st Thy Fathers soule, see every thing perform'd. This last iniunction tyes thee: so, farewell. Let those I hated in thy hate still dwell, I meane the Christians. (Dyes.)

Hen. Oh, what a deale of greatnesse Is struck down at one blow.

Hub. Give me a battell: 'Tis brave being struck downe there.

Anth. Henrick, my Lord, And now my Soveraigne, I am by office bound To offer to your Royall hands this Crowne Which on my knees I tender, all being ready To set it on your head.

Omnes. Ascend your throne: Long live the King of Vandals and of Goths, The mighty Henrick.

Hen. What must now be done?

Anth. By me each Officer of State resignes The Patten that he holds his office by, To be dispos'd as best shall please your Grace.

Hen. And I returne them back to all their trusts. I rise in clouds, my Morning is begun From the eternall set of a bright sunne.

[Exeunt.