[SCENE 2.]

Enter three Beggers.

1. Come away, fellow louse, thou art ever eating.

2. Have I not neede, that must feede so many Cannibals as will waite on me whether I will or no?

3. Heres one in my necke, I would 'twere on thy shoulder.

1. Keepe it your selfe, I have retainers enow of mine owne.

2. But whether are you going now?

1. Why, are you our King, and doe not know that?

2. Your King? I am a very roguish King and I hav a companie of lowsie subjects.

Enter Hatto and Alfrid conferring.

2. But looke about my ragged subjects, here comes somebody.

1. O the devills; shall we aske them an almes?

2. Why not? now the rats have eaten up their brother Bishop they will be more charitable; your vocation, you slaves.

3. For the Lord sake, be pittifull to a companie of poore men.

Hatto. What cry is this? beggars so neere the doore Of our deceased brother? whip them hence Or bring the Mastiffe foorth [to] worry them. They are lazie drones, 'tis pittie such should live.

1. I told you, my Lord, how we should find them; whip us! leade the way, soveraigne, weele none of your whipping.

Hat. Hence with these dogs! what make they neere this house?

2. He will be eaten with rats too, he looks like a piece of cheese alreadie.

Hat. You Rogues.

Alf. Good brother, stay your self from wrath; Thinke on the Bishop and his odious death.

Hat. What odious death, I pray?

Alf. Eaten with Rats, Whilest he was living, for the wrong he did Unto the poore, the branches of our God.

Hat. Tis true, and therefore, call the poore againe. Come hither, friends, I did forget my selfe. Pray for me, ther's some silver for thy wants.

2. Now the Lord blesse you and keep your good face[169] from being Mouse-eaten; wee came thinking wee should have some dole at the Bishops funerall, but now this shall serve our turne, wee will pray for you night and day.

Hat. Goe to the backe-gate, and you shall have dole.

Om. O the Lord save thee. [Exeunt Beggers.

Hat. These Beggers pray and curse both in a breath. Oh wherefore should we fawne upon such curres, The mice of mankind, and the scorne of earth?

Alf. So said our brother.

Hat. And he was a Bishop, Had read the Scripture and knew what he said.

Alf. But he hath bought[170] that saying with his death, With such a loathsome and notorious death As while the World's a World 'twill speake of Meath.

Hat. The Lord Archbishop of Meath, and die by Rats!

Alf. He did proclaime reliefe unto the poore; Assembled them unto a private Barne And, having lockt the doore, set it on fire, Saying hee'de rid the countrie of such Mice; And Mice and Rats have rid him from the World.

Hat. Well, Ile not hurt the poore so publikely, But privately I'le grinde their very hearts. Torture them living, and yet have their prayers, And by such meanes that few or none shall know it.

Al. In such a course Alfred would wind with you; For though I counsail'd you to be more calme, Twas not in pittie of their povertie But to avoide their clamour. To give nothing Will make them curse you: but to threaten them, Flie in your face, and spit upon your beard. No devill so fierce as a bread-wanting heart, Especially being baited with ill tearmes. But what course can you take to plague these dogges?

Hat. Why, buy up all the corne and make a dearth, So thousands of them will die under stalles.

Alf. And send it unto forraine nations To bring in toies to make the wealthy poore.

Hat. Or make our land beare woad[171] instead of wheate.

Al. Inclose the commons and make white meates deare.

Hat. Turne pasture into Park grounds and starve cattle, Or twentie other honest thriving courses. The meanest of these will beggar halfe a Kingdome.

Al. I have a commission drawne for making glasse. Now if the Duke come, as I thinke he will, Twill be an excellent meanes to lavish wood; And then the cold will kill them, had they bread.

Hat. The yron Mills are excellent for that. I have a pattent[172] drawne to that effect; If they goe up, downe goes the goodly trees; Ile make them search the earth to find new fire.

Alf. We two are brothers, and the Duke's our brother. Shall we be brothers in Commission? And Ile perswade him to authorize thee His substitute in Meath, when he enjoyes it.

Hat. Death, Ile get thee Regent under him In Saxonie, to oppresse as well as I. And we will share the profits, live like Kings, And yet seeme liberall in common things.

Al. Content: what, though the Rats devour'd our brother? Was not a Prophet murdered by a Lyon? King Herod died of Lice, wormes doe eate us all; The Rats are wormes, then let the Rats eate me. Is the dead course prepar'd?

Hat. Embalm'd and coffin'd; The Citie keyes delivered to my hands; We stay but onely for his Excellence.

Enter Constantine.

Con. The Duke is comming, if it please your honors.

Al. And he is welcome; let the trumpets sound.

[Second florish.

Enter Duke of Saxon, Euphrata, and Julia.

Hat. Welcome, thrice welcome, our renowned brother. Loe, at thy feete the Cittizens of Meath, By us their Agents, do lay downe the keyes, And[173] by this crownet and sword resign'd The state Maiestique to your Princely hands, Discended to you by our brothers death.

Duke. Then with your loves and persons we receive it.— Is then our brother the Archbishop dead?

Hat. Too true, my Lord.

Euph. I am sorry for my Uncle.

Hat. And of a death so publique by reporte.

Al. Devour'd by Rats, in strange and wonderous sort.

Duke. Could not this palace seated in the Rheine, In midst of the great River, (to the which No bridge, nor convay, other then by boats Was to be had,) free him from vermine Rats?

Alf. Against their kind the land Rats took the water And swomme in little armies to the house; And, though we drown'd and kild innumerable, Their numbers were like Hydra's heads increasing; Ruine bred more untill our brother died.

Duke. The house is execrable; Ile not enter.

Hat. You need not feare, my Lord; the house is free From all resort of Rats; for at his death, As if a trumpet sounded a retreat, They made a kind of murmure and departed.

Duke. Sure 'twas the hand of heaven, for his contempt Of his poore creatures.—But what writs are those?

Hat. Commissions (if it please your grace,) for glasse, For yron Mines, and other needful things.

Duke. Our selfe invested in the government, The Cities care shall lie upon your care.

Hat. Alfred our brother may awaite your grace In Saxony, so please you to command.

Duke. We are now but three, and lately have bin seven, We have cause to love each other; for my part, Betweene you both we give a brothers heart. Here or at Saxonie, command at pleasure; I weare the corronet, be yours the treasure.

Al. We thanke our brother.

Duke. Where's my sonne Fredericke?

Enter Fredericke with a glove.

Fre. Father, the state of Meath desire your grace To take the paines to passe unto the Senate.

Duke. What glove is that, son Fred., in your hand?

Fre. I found it, if it please your Excellence, Neere to the state-house: the imbroiderie Is very excellent, and the fashion rare.

Duke. I have not seene a prettier forme of hand. Daughter, let's see; is't not too bigge for you?

Euph. Sure 'tis some admirable worke of nature, If it fit any hand that owes[174] this glove, If all the rest doe parallel the hand.

Duke. Will it not on?

Euph. Not for a diadem; Ile trie no longer lest I shame my selfe.

Duke. Try, Julia.

Ju. My hand's bigger then my Ladies.

Duke. I cannot tell, but in my minde I feele A wondrous passion of I know not what.

Fre. The imbroidered glove may be some childs, no womans.

Duke. I should mistrust as much, but that this place Beares greater compasse then a childish hand. I must command it.

Fre. Willingly, my Lord.

Duke. Then to the state-house, brothers, leade the way: First our instalement [sic], then a funerall day.

[Exeunt Duke and brothers and Fred.

Enter Otho.

Otho. Yonder she goes, the mirrour of her sexe.— Stay, beauteous Euphrata.

Euph. Otho! what, Julia?

Ju. Here, madam! what's your will?

Euph. Call Constantine; Tell him his deare friend Otho is return'd.

Ju. I will.

Otho. Stay, Julia.

Euph. Doe as I bid you, goe. [Exit Julia.

Otho. I had rather have a word or twaine with you.

Euph. I have heard him oft enquire for thee his friend, I have heard him sigh, I have seene him weepe for thee, Imagining some mischiefe or distresse Had falne thee since the closets separation.

Otho.—And what a slave am I to wrong this friend!

Enter Constantine and Julia.

Con. Where is he?

Ju. Here.

Con. The welcom'st man alive. Unkind, how couldst thou stay from me so long?

Otho. I have bin ill at ease, pray pardon me; But I rejoyce to see my friend so well.

Euph. Some Ladies love hath made him melancholy.

Otho. Shee hath read the letter that I lately sent her In a pomegranat, by those words I hope.

Con. Why speake you not? is't love or melancholy?

Otho. If upon love my grief is melancholy?

Con. Ile have the best Phisitians here in Meath Assay by art to cure that maladie.

Euph. Gainst mellancholy minds your onely Phisick Our Saxon doctors hold that principle. Now I remember you did lately send me A choice pomegranate; fetch it, Julia. Some of those graines well stir'd in Gascoine wine Is present remedie.

Otho. Madam, Ile none: Of all fruits, that I hate.

Euph. And commended it So highly by the messenger that brought it!

Con. Twas well remembred, you shall take a graine.

Otho. You will but vexe me.

Con. So his melancholly Doth make him froward with his dearest friend.

Enter Julia with the pomegranate.

Tis well done, Julia, quickely cut it up; And bring a cup of wine, or let me doo't.

Otho. I see I shall be plagu'd with mine owne wit; Being asham'd to speake, I writ my minde.— Were you my friends, you would not martyr me With needlesse phisicke; fie upon this trash, The very sight is loathsome.

Con. Take it up: But let me see, what letter's that that dropt? Came it from you, or from the Spanish fruit?

Ju. Tis all the graines that the pomegranate had.

Con. Then theres some trechery within these graines: Ile breake it up. And tis directed to my Euphrata.

Euph. What may the tenure be? I pray thee read it.

[He opens the letter & reads.

Otho. O fall upon me some wind-shaken turret To hide me from the anger of my friend, O from his frowne! because he is my friend. Were he an enemie, I would be bold; But kindnes makes this wound. O, this horror! The words of friends, are stronger then their power.

Con. Withdraw, good Julia. [Exit Julia.

Euph. Pray, what is it, love?

Con. Tis love indeed to thee, but to my heart Every loose sentence is a killing dart. I brought this Gyges[175] to my hearts delight And he hath drown'd his senses with the sight. Except thy selfe, all things to him were free: Otho, thou hast done me more then injurie; Well maist thou fixe thy eye upon the earth, This action sith[176] breedes a prodigious birth: It is so monstrous, and against all kinde, That the lights splendor would confound thy minde.

Otho. I have offended, prethee pardon me.

Con. What cause did move thee?

Otho. Her all conquering sight.

Con. Couldst thou usurpe upon my well known right?

Otho. Thinke, I am flesh and blood, and she is faire.

Con. Thinke how I love thee.

Otho. There proceeds my care.

Con. Our amitie hath bin of ancient dayes, During which time wrong'd I thee any wayes?

Otho. Never.

Con. But rather I have done thee good.

Otho. I grant you have, O rather shed my blood Then number the kind deedes betweene us past.

[Con.] For this unkindnesse, here I love my last.

Euph. He doth repent, and will renounce his suite.

Otho. I doe renounce it.

Con. O thou canst not do't.

Otho. Suffer me stay a while in her faire sight, 'Twill heal my wound and all love banish quite.

Con. The sight of the belov'd makes the desire, That burnt but slowly, flame like sparkling fire. As thou dost love me, take thee to some place Where thou maist nere see her, nor I thy face.

Otho. By what is deere betwixt us, by our selves, I vow hencefoorth ten thousand deaths to prove Then be a hinderance to such vertuous love.

Con. Breake heart, tis for thy sake.

Otho. When I am dead O then forget that I haue injured.

Con. O hell of love!

Otho. Or rather hell of friends!

Con. Firmely till they love.

Otho. Then thus all friendship ends.

[Exeunt.

Actus Secundus.