BRUNHILD

Oh ye gods! Art thou a son? Oh misery! I will not curse you, Nor lay a prophesy upon your pride, Though heaven might grant me both: unthankful, no, I nourished ye, it I, poor I groaned for you, It I felt what you suffered, I lamented When sickness or sad hours held back your sweetness; It I paid for your sleeps, I watch your wakings: My daily cares and fears, that rid, played, walked, Discoursed, discovered, fed and fashioned you To what you are, and am I thus rewarded? In my last hours despised. Am I a woman, and no more power in me, To tie this Tiger up, a soul to no end, Have I God shame and lost my will; Brunhalt From this accursed hour, forget thou borest him, Or any partly of thy blood gave him living, Let him be to thee, and Antipathy, A thing thy nature sweats at, and turns backward: Throw all the mischiefs on him that thy self Or women worse then thou art, have invented, And kill him drunk, or doubtful. Now my varlets, My slaves, my running thoughts, my executions. Hell take ice all. Your Mistress, Your old and honoured Mistress, you tired curtals Suffers for your base sins; I must be cloistered, Mewed up to make me virtuous, who can help this, Now you stand still Like Statues; come Protaldye, One kiss before I perish, kiss me strongly, Another, and a third. The young courser, That unlicked lump of mine, will win thy Mistress, Must I be chased Protaldye? It shall be so, let him seek fools for Vestals, Here is my cloister. Thou hast hit my meaning, I will to Thierry son of my blessing, And there complain me, tell my tale so subtly That the cold stones shall sweat; and statues mourn, And thou shalt weep Protaldie in my witness, And there forswear. Sleep shall not seize me, Nor any food befriend me but thy kisses. Ever I forsake this desert, I live honest? He may as well bid dead men walk, I humbled Or bent below my power? let night dogs tear me, And goblins ride me in my sleep to Jelly, Ere I forsake my sphere. What's that to you, or any, Ye dosse, you powdered pigsbones, rubarbe glister? Must you know my designs, a college on you, The proverb makes but fools: You a Saucy ass too, off I will not, If you but anger me, tell a sowgelder Have cut you all Like colts, hold me and kiss me, For I am too much troubled make up my treasure, And get me horses private, come about it. Princely son; And in this worthy of a near name, I have in the relation of my wrongs Be modest, and no word my tongue delivered Express my insupportable injuries, But gave my heart a wound: nor has my grief Being from what I suffer; but that he Degenerate as he is, should be the actor Of my extremes; and force me to divide The fires of brotherly affection, Which should make but one flame. Your favour and his merit I may say Have made him such, but I am jealous how Your subjects will receive it. You see there's hope that we shall rule again, And your fallen Fortune's rise. Rest assured you are, Such instruments we must not loose. Sir, on my knowledge though he hath spoke much, He's able to do more. And howsoever in his thankfulness, For some few favors done him by my self, He left Austrachia, not Theoderet, Though he was chiefly aimde at, could have laid With all his Dukedoms power, that shame upon him, Which in his barbarous malice to my honour, He swore with threats to effect. Be not so In your amazement and your foolish fears, I am prepared for't. To excuse thy impious scandals rather. Hell and furies aid me, That I may have power to avert the plagues That pressed upon me. O that I had the Magic to transform you Into the fhape of such, that your own hounds Might tear you piecemeal; are you so stupid? No word of comfort? Have I fed you mother's From my excess of moisture, with such cost, And can you yield no other retribution, But to devour your maker, pandar, sponge, Impoysner, all grown barren? O you are dull, and find not The cause of my vexation; their reconcilement Is a mock-castle built upon the sand By children, which when I am pleased to overthrow, I can with ease spurn down. My grief comes along With the new Queen, in whose grace all my pour Must suffer ship wrack: for me now, That hitherto have kept the first, to know A second place, or yield the least precedence To any others, death; to have my sleeps Less inquirde after, or my rising up Saluted with less reverence, or my gates Empty of suitors; or the Kings great favours To passc through any hand but mine, or he Himself to be directed by another, Would be to me: do you understand me, yet No means to prevent this. Tush, some other way. What is't? but effect it, And thou shalt be my Aesculapius, Thy image shall be set up in pure gold, To which i'll fallen down and worship it. Exceeding fair. Some fifteen at the most. More, she dotes on him. It's excellent. For this one service I am ever thine, Prepare it; isle give it him my self, for you Protaldye, By this kiss, and our promised sport at night, (do conjure you) to bear up; not minding The opposition of Theodoret, Or any of his followers; what so ere You are, yet appear valiant, and make good The opinion that is had of you: for my self In the new Queens remove, being made secure, Fear not, isle make the future building sure. Which i'll provide, Shall be short lived, Lecure. It's well, wait on our cup. What of him? I fear his basenosse aside In spite of all the titles that my favors Have clothed him, which will, make discovery Of what is yet concealde. 'Twas thy plot, Which I will turn on thy own head. aside Slave thou liest, Thou darest aswell speak treason in the hearing Of those that have the power to punish it. As the least fillable of this before him, But it's thy hate to me. Villain. Give me leave, Or free thy self (think in what place you are) From the foul imputation that is laid Upon thy valour (be bold, i'll protect you) Or here I vow (deny it or forswear it) These honours which thou wearest unworthily, Which be but impudent enough and keep them, Shall be torn from thee with thy eyes. Will you hear that? Which if poison Have any power, thou shalt Like Tantalus Behold and never taste; be careful. Though it be rare in our sex, yet for once I will begin a health. Lecure, the cup; here to the son we hope This night shall be and Embrion. Nay, then you wrong me, Follow as I began. Is't done? Pray you use my service. Nay you have cause to blush, but I will hide it, And what's more I forgive you; is't not pity That thou that art the first to enter combat With any woman, and what is more, overcome her, (In which she is best pleased,) should be so fearful To mere a man. No, reserve it As I will study to preserve thy credit, You sirrah; be't your care to find out one That is poor though valiant, that at any rate Will, to redeem my servants reputation, Receive a public baffling. Why one Sir, that would thus be boxde, Or kickde; do you apprehend me now? That shall make way to it. It's much the better. Thou art in the right. Our you pandar, Why to beat thee is only exercise For such as do affect it, loose not time In vain replies, but do it: come my solace, Let us to bed, and our desires once quenchde, We'ele there determine of Theodoret's death, For he's the engine used to ruin us: Yet one worko more, Lecure, art thou assure The potion will work? Come my Protaldye, then glut me with Those best delights of man, that are denied To her that does expect them, being a bride. What passion sways my son? Why son what mean you, are you a man? How can a wife be author of this joy then? It is beyond my admiration. Alas it's your defect moves my amazement, But what ill can be separate from ambition? Cruel Theodoret. That to his name your barrenness adds rule; Who loving the effect, would not be strange In favouring the cause; look on the profit, And gain will quickly point the mischief out. Were we begotten to single happiness I grant you; but from such a wise, such virtue To get and heir, what Hermit would not find Deserving argument to break his vow Even in his age of chastity? The cause found out, the malady may cease, Have you herd of one Forts? Repair to him, with the joust hour and place Of your nativity; fools are amazed at fate, Griefs but concealde are never desperate. Wisdom prepares you to't, Lecure, met happily. It's well, your trust invites you to a second charge, You know Lefortes cell. Enough, I see thou knowest him, where's Bawdber? A soar that must be plasterde, in whose wound Others shall find their graves, think themselves found, Your care, and quickest apprehension. Speak not a thoughrs delay, it names thy ruin. Thy lose carries mine with't, let that secure thee, The vault is ready, and the door conuyes too't, Falls joust behind his chair, the blow once given, Thou art unseen. Be gone, and let them laugh their own destruction. Me Sir, you never could Have found a time to invite more willingness, In my dispose to pleasure. What mean you? give me your private hearing. Ere a torch can take flame, I will produce The author of the fact. Here, you do behold her, upon whom make good Your causeless rage; the deed was done by my incitement, Not yet repented. Would, would, a son of mine! do not dissever Thy father's dust, shaking his quiet urn, To which thy breath would send so soul and issue, My son, thy brother? Hear me, and thou shalt make thine own belief, Thy still with sorrow mentionde, father lived Three careful years in hope of wished heirs, When I conceiude, being from his jealous fear Enioynde to quiet home, one fatal day: Transported with my pleasure to the chase, I forced command, and in pursuit of game Fell from my horse, lost both my child and Hope's. Despair which only in his love saw life Worthy of being, from a gardners arms Snatched this vn'ucky brat, and called it mine, When the next year repayed my lose with thee: But in thy wrongs preserved my misery, Which that I might diminish though not end, My sighs and wet eyes, from thy father's will, Bequeath this largest partly of his dominions Of France unto thee, and only left Austracia unto that changeling, whose life affords Too much of ill against me to prove my words And call him stranger. You do but flatter, there's anger yet flames In your eyes. You will not fire the house then? Protaldye, rise good faithful servant, heaven knows How hardly he was drawn to this attempt. Why lookest thou so dejected? I am in labour To be deliuerde of that burdenous project Thave so jong gone with; would? here's the midwife, Or life, or death: Is she dead? Which if love Or fear made him forbear to execute The vengeance he determinde, his found pity, Shall draw it on himself: for were there left Not any man but he to serve my pleasures, Or from me to receive commands, which are The joys for which I love life; he should be Remoude, and I alone left to be Queen Over any partly of goodness that's left in me. Giue't me, I may have use of't, and on you I'll make the first experiment: if one sighs Or heavy look beget the least suspicion, Childish compassion can thaw the ice Of your so long congealde and flinty hardness. Slight, go on constant, or I shall. Be so, And we will stand or fallen together, for Since we have gone so far, that death must stay The journey which we wish should never end, And innocent, or guilty we must die, When we do so, let's know the reason why? Coward, I will meet it And know from whence it's b to: son, kingly Thierry. Your mother. Will you not hear me? I have given you way thus long, a King, and what Is more, my son, and yet a slave to that Which only triumphs over cowards sorrow For shame look up. This is madnesle, Take but my counsel. Do not stir, For I must be resolved and will, be statues. Dear son: How? do I remove one mischief To draw upon my head a greater? So soon to forget The lose of such a wife, believe ̄ it will Be censurde in the world. I charge you hear her not: Drag hence the wretch. That it might Have ever grown insepurably upon thee, aside What will you do? is such a thing as this Worthy the loved Ordellas place, the daughter Of a poor gardener? Stay yet, for rather then that thou shalt add Incest unto thy other sins, I will With hazard of my own life utter all. Theodoret was thy brother. Is it come to that? Then have at the last refuge; art thou grown Insensible in ill, that thou goest on Without the least compunction? there, take that To witness that thou hadst a mother, which Foresaw thy cause of grief, and sad repentance, That so soon after blessed Ordellas death Without a tear thou canst embrace another, Forgetful man. Is the poison mortal? To my wish. Now for our own security, you Prosaldye Shall this night post towards Austrachia, With letters to Theodoret's bastard son, In which we will make known what for his rising We have done to Thierry: no denial, Nor no excuse in such acts must be thought of, Which all dislike, and all again commend, When they are brought unto a happy end. Yes, and curse him, And all that love him fool, and all live by him. Why art thou So tame a knave to ask me? I wish no more of heaven, Nor hope no more, but a sufficient anger To torture thee. Yes it is so son; And were it yet again to do, it should be. Holy fool, Whose patience to prevent my wrongs has killed thee, Preach not to me of punishments, or fears, Or what I ought to be, but what I am, A woman in her liberal will defeated, In all her greatness crossed, in pleasure blasted, My anger's have been laughed at, my ends slighted, And all those glories that had crowned my Fortune's. Suffered by blasted virtue to be scattered, I am the fruitful mother of these anger's, And what such have done, read, and know thy ruin. He did Like one of mine thine. Now I could sleep too. Art thou alive? For ever. I will think, And if there be new curses in old nature, I have a soul dare send um. This is, Martell, Studied and pend unto you, whose base person I charge you by the love you owe a mother And as you hope for blessings from her prayers, Neither to give belief to, nor allowance. Next I tell you Sir, you from whom obedience Is so far fled, that you dare tax a mother; Nay further, brand her honour with your slanders, And break into the treasures of her credit, Your easiness is abused, your faith fraited With lies, malicious lies, your merchant mischief, He that never knew more trade then Tales, and tumbling Suspicious into honest hearts; what you or he, Or all the world dare lay upon my worth, This for your poor opinions: I am she, And so will bear my self, whose truth and whiteness Shall ever stand as far from these detections As you from duty; get you better servants, People of honest actions without ends, And whip these knaves away, they eat your favours, And turn em unto poisons: my known credit Whom all the Courts a this side Nile have envied, And happy she could site me, brought in question Now in my hours of age and reverence, When rather superstition should be rendered, And by a Rush that one days warmth Hath shot up to this swelling; give me justice, Which is his life. Tax me with these hight tainters?