MARTEL

Sir, a duty well discharged is never followed By sad repentance, nor did your Highness ever Make payment of the debt you owed her, better Then in your late reproofs not of her, but Those crimes that made her worthy of reproof. The most remarkable point in which kings differ From private men, is, that they not alone Stand bound to be in themselves innocent, But that all such as are allied to them In neeren esse, or dependence, by their care Should be free from suspicion of all crime; And you have reaped a double benefit From this last great act: first in the restraint Of her lost pleasures, you remove example From oath of the Like licentiousness, Then when it's known that your severity Extended to your mother, who dares hope for The least Indulgence or connivance in The easiest slips that may prove dangerous To you or to the kingdom? Beasts of that nature when rebellious threats Begin to appear only in their eyes, Or any motion that may give suspicion Of the least violence, should be chained up; Their fangs and teeth, and all their means of hurt, Pard of, and knocked out, and so made unable To do ill; they would soon begin to loath it. I'll apply nothing, but had you grace done, Or would do yet, what your less forward zeal In words did only threaten, far less danger Would grow from acting it on her, then may Perhaps have being from her apprehension Of what may once be practised: for believe it, Who confident of his own power, presumest To spend threats on and enemy, that hath means To shun the worst they can effect, gives armour To keep off his own strength; nay more, disarms himself, and lies unguarded gainst all harms Or doubt, or malice may produce. May your pious care Effect but what it aimde at, I am silent. Speak to the purpose. I foresaw this. Note but yonder scarabes, That lived upon the dung of her base pleasures, How from the fear that she may yet prove honest, Hang down their wicked heads. Yes Sir, I have snigled him, and if there be Any desert in his blood, beside the itch, Or manly hear, but what decoctions Leeches, and callises have cramde into him, Your Lordship thall know perfect. A desire Sir, Upon the gilded flag your graces favour Has stuck up for a General, and to inform you, For this hour he shall pass the test, what valour, Stayed judgement, soul, or safe discretion Your mother's wandering eyes, and your obedience Have flung upon us, to assure your knowledge, He can be, dare be, shall be, must be nothing, Load him with piles of honours; set him off With all the cunning foils that may deceive us: But a poor, cold, unspirited, vnmannerde, Unhonest, unaffected, undone, fool, And most unheard of coward, a mere lump Made to load beds withal, and Like a nightmare Ride Ladies, that forget to say their prayers, One that dares only be diseased, and in debt, Whose body mews more plasters every month, Then women do old faces. I lost it else Sir. violence, Your graces servant. Few words shall serve, I am betrayed Sir, Innocent and honest; malice, and violence Are both against me, basely and foully laid for; For my life Sir, danger is now about me, Now in my throat Sir. Nay I fear not, And let it now pour down in storms upon me, I have met a noble guard: Oh my Lord, Your honour cannot leave a gentleman At least a fair design of this brave nature, To which your worth is wedded, your profession Hatched in, and made one piece, in such a peril, There are but six my Lord. Six villains sworn, and in pay to kill me. Alas Sir, what can six do, or six score now you are present, Your name will blow em off, say they have shot too, Who dare present a piece? your valour's proof Sir. There are but four Sir, I did mistake um, but four such as Europe Excepting your great valour. So much nobler shall be your way of Justice. You will not leave me thus? You cannot pass Sir, Now they have seen me with you, without danger, They are here Sir, within hearing, take but two. You shall not go so poorly, stay but one Sir. There is no More Sir, and as I doubt a base one two. Yes: This is he Sir, the basest in the kingdom. Yes for a general fool, A knave, a coward, and upstarted stallion bawd, Beast, barking puppy, that dares not bite. Yes, This way Sir, now draw you sword, and right you. Or render it to me, for one you shall do. Now get you home, and tell your Lady Mrs. She has shot up a sweet mushrump, quit your place too, And say you are counselde well, thou wilt be beaten else By thine own lanceprisadoes; when they know thee, That tunes of oil of roses will not cure thee; Go get you to your foining work at Court, And learn to sweat again, and care dry mutton; And armour Like a frost will search your bones, And make you roar you rogue; not a reply, For if you do your cares go off. Won him Sir, He would have yielded it upon his knees Before he would have hazarded the exchange Of a Philip of the forehead: had you willde me, I durst have undertook he should have sent you His nose, provided that the lose of it Might have saved the rest of his face; he is Sir The most unutterable coward, that ere nature Blessed with hard shoulders, which were only given him, To the ruin of bastinados. Why belecue it: But that I know the shame of this disgrace, Will make the beast to live with such, and never Presume to come more among men; i'll hazard My life upon it, that a boy of twelve Should scourge him hither Like a parish top, And make him dance before you. O strange! O Sir, fear it not, Do you know this sword? Pray you on what terms Did you partly with it: So. O impudence! A word with you, Deny it not, I was that man disguised, You know my temper, and as you respect A daily cudgeling for one whole year, Without a second pulling by the ears, Or tweaks by the nose, or the most precious balm You used of patience, patience do you mark me, Confess before these kings with what base fear Thou didst deliver it. Pray you let me take it up, and if I do not Against all ods of armour and of weapons, With this make him confess it on his knees, Cut off my hcad. I am yours, And this slave shall be once more mine. All happiness to Thierry, and Ordella. Till now I never repented the estate Of widower. This passion's above utterance. Prince, noble Prince. The fires are ready, please it your grace withdraw, While we perform your pleasure. His fate to live a Prince, Thou old impiety, made up by lust and mischief, Take up the body. Your grace is early stirring. Happy woman That die to do these things. Sir, year'lost. The day wears; And those that have been offering early prayers, Are now retiring homeward. Is it the first must suffer. What hand shall do it Sir? Would I were she, For such a way to die, and such a blessing Can never crown my parting. Men, men Sir, men. a Priest Sir. May not these rascals serve Sir, Well hanged and quartered? Here comes a woman: I think a fair one. Oh Sir, you must not do it. I see you full of wonder, therefore noblest And truest amongst women, I will tell you The end of this strange accident. Oh no sweet Lady. Dear Lady, It was not meant to you. Your noble Lord was counseled, Grieving the barrenness between you both, And all the kingdom with him, to seek out A man that knew the secrets of the gods, He went, found such a one, and had this answer, That if he wooed have issue, on this morning For this hour was prefixed him, he should kill The first he met being female, from the Temple; And then he should have children, the mistake Is now to perfect Lady. Where should he then seek children? You are too good, Too excellent, too honest; rob not us And those that shall hereafter seek example, Of such inestimable worthies in woman, Your Lord of such obedience, all of honour In coveting a cruelty is not yours, A will short of your wisdom; make not error A tombstone of your virtues, whose fair life Deserves a constellation: your Lord dare not, He cannot, ought not, must not run this hazard, He makes a separation nature shakes at, The gods deny, and everlasting justice Shrinks back and sheathes her sword at. Self destruction, Now all good angels bless thee, oh sweet Lady You are abused, this is a way to shame you, And with you all that knows you, all that loves you, To ruin all you built, would you be famous, Is that your end? Live, and confirm the gods then, live and be loaded With more then olives bear, or fruitful Autumn; This way you kill your merit, kill your cause, And him you would raise life to; where, or how God you these bloody thoughts? what devil durst Look on that Angel face, and tempt? do you know What'tis to die thus, how you strike the stars, And all good things above? do you feel What follows a self blood, whither you venture, And to what punishment? excellent Lady, Be not thus cozened, do not fool your self, The priest was never his own sacrifice, But he that thought his hell here. And I am glad on't, lie I know you dare not. Pray take my comsort, Was this a soul to loose? two more such women Would save their sex; see, she repents and prays, Oh hear her, hear her, if there be a faith Able to reach your mercies, she hath sent it. I will Lady, And every hour advise you, for I doubt Whither this plot be heavens, or hells; your mother And I will find it, if it be in mankind To search the centre of it: in the mean time I'll give you out for dead, and by your self, And show the instrument, so shall I find A joy that will betray her. Then ever live Both able to in gross all love, and give. I would it might excuse The ill I bring along. And such attention As is endue to the last, and the best story That ever was deliuerde, will become you. The grieude Ordella, (for all other titles But take away from that) having from me Prompted by your last parting groan, inquired What drew it from you, and the cause soon learned: For she whom barbarism could deny nothing, With such prevailing earnestness desired it, 'Twas not in me though it had been my death, To hide it from her; she I say, in whom All was, that Athens, Room, or warlike Sparta, Have registered for good in their best women: But nothing of their ill, knowing herself Markde out (I know not by what pour, but sure A cruel one) to die, to give you children; Having first with a settled countenance Looked up to heaven, and then upon her self (It being the next best object) and then smiled, As if her joy in death to do you service, Would break forth in despite of the much sorrow She showde she had to leave you: and then taking Me by the hand, this hand which I must ever Love better then I have done, since she touched it, Go, said she, to my Lord, (and to go to him Is such a happiness I must not hope for,) And tell him that he too much prizde a trifle Made only worthy in his love, and her Thankful acceptance, for her sake to rob The Orphan kingdom of such guardians, as Must of necessity descend from him; And therefore in some partly of recompense Of his much love, and to show to the world That't was not her fault only, but her fate, That did deny to let her be the mother Of such most certain blessings: yet for proof, She did not envy her, that happy her, That is appointed to them, her quick end Should make way for her; which no sooner spoke, But in a moment this too ready engine Made such a battery in the choicest castle That ever nature made to defend life, That strait it shook, and sunk. Fallen thus, once more she smiled, as if that death For her had studied a new way to sever The soul and body, without sense of pain; And then tell him quoth she what you have seen ̄ , And with what willingness 'twas done: for which My last request unto him is, that he Would instantly make choice of one (most happy In being so chosen) to supply my place, By whom if heaven bless him with a daughter, In my remembrance let it bear my name, Which said she died. O Sir! Be but pleased To borrow so much time of sorrow, as To call to mind her last request, for whom (I must confess a lose beyond expression) You turn your hand upon your self, 'twas hers And dying hers, that you should live and happy In seeing little models of your self, By matching with another, and will you Leave any thing that she desired ungranted? And suffer such a life that was laid down For your sake only to be fruitless? Your command that makes way Unto my absence is a welcome one, For but your self there's nothing here Martell Can take delight to look on; yet some comfort Goes back with me, to her, who though she want it, Deserves all blessings. No woman, 1 line Ere thou shalt sleep, dost thou see him? Why art thou such a monster? Hope of hell, By this fair holy light, and all his wrongs Which are above thy years, almost thy vices, Thou shalt not rest, not feel more what is pity, Know nothing necessary, meet no society, But what shall curse and crucify thee, feel in thy self Nothing but what thou art, bane, and bade conscience, Till this man rest; but for whose reverence Because thou art his mother, I would say Whore, this shall be, do you nod? isle waken you With my swords point. See, she that makes you see Sir, And to your misery still see, your mother, The mother of your woes Sir, of your waking, The mother of your peoples cries, and curses, Your murdering mother, your malicious mother: She nods again, swing her. She tells you true, for millions of her mischiefs Are now apparent, Protaldye, we have taken And equal agent with her, to whose care After the damnde defeat on you, she trusted The bringing in of Leoner the bastard Son to your murdered brother; her physician By this time is attached to that damed devil. I'll give you yet more poppy, bring the Lady And heaven in her embraces; give him quiet Madam, unveil your self. Now could you sleep. Go carry her without wink of sleep, or quiet, Where her strong knave Protaldye's broke oath wheel, And let his cries and rores be music to her, I mean to waken her. Nor right as you love justice. Keep her waking. Be moderate Lady. Go nearer. Yes sir, and you shall know her. Go nearer Lady. She's alive Sir. She is no spirit Sir, pray kiss her; Lady; Be very gentle to him. The same Sir, Whom heavens and my good angel stayed from ruin. No more, her sins go with her. The peace of happy souls go after um, Bear um unto their last beds, while I study A tomb to speak their loves; while old Time lasteth, I am your King in sorrows. Deuitry, for your service he near us, Whip out these instruments of this mad mother From Court, and all good people; and because She was born noble, let that title find her A private graven, but neither tongue, nor honour: And now lead on, they that shall read this story, Shall find that virtue lives in good, not glory. Nay, pray you Madam, I have no ears too hear you, though a footo To let you understand what he is.