HALA

Chance is not cast in moulds, Like other Arts, Her counsels but the hope of rashness be; Advice did never any man betray: If truth be lucky, counsel is the way. Who trusts his passion multiplies his care; All pains within, all cures without us are. My state of mind, good will, and homage is; My being, reverence; my end, your will; Selflove it self pays tribute unto this. His place deserved respect, his virtue praise; Our freedom, not inhibited by you, Found many things indifferent to do. Good nature then (I see) is not the art, With which a woman's honour safe may go Through hollow seas of men dissembling heart. His faithlesnesse yet does this good to me, That I may freely hate all men, but thee. Hate is the print of injury violent, Only in ruin, and revenge content. Fury finds arms; wrong hath ill destiny; While God is, it is baseness to despair: For right more credit hath than power there. Whom can we use? Since he we hate is great, And we disgraced: Who hazard will his State With him, that for his own good must entreat? Of God I ask it; and in men will move, As much as can be wrought with hope, or love. But men uncertain are, blown here, and there, With love, remorse, fears which in frailty live; Who needs forgiveness, easily do forgive. The heart which feels, most lively can express Revenge, that picture of his guiltiness. The wounds are mine; to me belongs revenge; Sense my adviser is; you Sir, my end: What needs a woman's passion more to friend? Now Hala, seek thy sex; lend scorn'e thy wit, To work new patterns of Revenges in. Let rage despise to feed on private blood; Her honour lies above, where danger is, In Thrones of Kings, in universal woe. Work that which Alaham may envy at, And men wish theirs, that Ill it self may tremble. Monstrous, incredible, too great for words. Keep close, and add to fury with restraint; Do not break forth until thou breakest all. Is Wrong so proud? Shall Man once dare to fashion A Woman's ruin, in a woman's passion? Husband! most odious name: scorn of subjection. Is love to women but your rage of thoughts? Are your desires let blood by your enjoying? Ah fools! We see your lustest relent, you see not ours; And from that change advantage hath her powers. But on: Still use thy craft: Thy strength lies there. Ignorance, that sometime makes the hypocrite, Wants never mischief; though it oft want fear: For while thou thinkest faith made to answer wit, Observe the justice that does follow it. Cain, Mahomet, and me thou hatest alike, For unlike cause, and crafty ways dost take, That each may ruined be for others sake. Shall I, for thee, hazard Cain's life I love? And weigh down my affection with my hate? Can highest thoughts have any thing above? Ah! but perchance my safety in the blood Of Mahomet does rest, the good of Cain: Then were it lose to make occasion vain. And shall I look but only to be safe? Can Injury and Malice add no more? Ah coward sex! faint, shallow Passion Far from me be: A work that no age dares Allow, yet none conceal, I must attempt. Fury! then spur thy self, embedlam wit; Poison my thoughts, to make my reason see Pleasure in cruelty, Glory, in spite: Rage to exceed examples does delight. Thoughts! do you blush? To Alaham what's ill? His death? Obarren wit, and sandy rage! No marble pillars, no enamels rich, Buried in silence, worn away with age, Are furies that no greater plagues devise: Horrors they be that have eternities. What says my heart? Grow millions out of one? Does passion leave her infancy by use? And shall I, by the death of Mahomet, More skill, at least more cruelty beget? Then let him die. But can I venture Cain, And leave misfortune power over love? Triumphs to Alaham, if both be slain? Ah sleepy Sex! how slow is their progression, That would exactly measure infinite, By tender fears, or minutes of delight? Then Hala, leave this circle of selflove. Begin; go on: hate must stride over fear. Who are secure, And nothing venture, all things must endure. For Alaham, that traitors overthrow, My rage is yet too young to work upon: What to resolve of him I dare not think, Till this great frame, wherein our Fortune's lie, Be surer linked unto prosperity. Then shall occasion horrors strange devise; Fools only loose their ends to tyrannise. That which I least did fear is fallen on me, Wrong and mishap; which needing others love, Makes them unlovely that unhappy be. From Kings themselves when fortune turns her face; Then needs they most, yet least may use their own. So dearly Men unthankfulness is known. The little faith which all the world does use; The injuries which strength of heart must bear: Euui'd of all, if it be set above; If humble, then too low for men to love. Perchance you love both those I hate, and me; Affections then against affection be. Perchance a vow, good turns, and good belief Are mists between your love, and my relief. Then hear: and if my judgement you disprove, You shall have cause to think I trust, and love. Mahomet the faulty is, his faults be these: Envious of thee, to my love treacherous; The King must loose his sighed, his Crown, his Son: This wickedness hath Mahomet begun. Mischief that may be helped, is hard to know; And danger going on still multiplies. Where harm hath many wings, care arms too late: The good belief of mankind is a sea Where honour drowns, iniquity goes free; Whose thoughts (Like sails) for every weather be. The fear of some, is gilded with honesty; Others, with love; thine, with false nobleness. Yet think not (Coward) wit can hide the shame Of hearts, which while they dare not strike for fear, Would make it virtue in them to forbear. No Cain: In men we women, when we love, Ask faith, and heart. Our selves have fear, and wit. In love how can thy soul, and mine agree? I seek revenge, thou preachest piety. Excess the reason is, and mean of love; And in the same excess is malice joyed: I would be safe, and yet have him destroyed. If blind to all, but to it self, be love; Whence do your vows, or whence this question move? Since the true state of true affection is Wonder, at others worth; Faith, without hire; Unwearied Pain; unrecompensed Desire. Shame spoke this word: danger appears not yet; Time, Like a medicine, will assuage this pain, And fear perchance bring back good will again. Then on: When thoughts unite all care is ceased; The heart, unfettered and the hope increased. Out of his death I see occasion born, To greater power than needs to cover scorn. For he the Justice rules, you rule the War; His death divided powers will unite: And in a broken course where dangers be, Only the Crown can put off misery. God made strict laws for virtues exercise, And idle word, a wish transgresseth them: Yet in a Throne remorse hath glorious eyes. Alaham does undermine the present State: When he corrupted hath the peoples faith, Thou hast the sword: authority makes way, Her hand is next when Crowns become a prey. The end agreed, the meanc is yet in doubt. That will be easy to descry; Danger to miss; and hard to do without. It often fails: For instruments are base; Slaves have too slavish hearts; a Bashas name Is Like a superstitious hallowed place. Men must be forced, or wise that force the same. Fortune, and Love! Both Gods of humane might, You Like adventure, see it rightly placed: You live in kindness, see it not disgraced: Yet good Sir! tell me what this tumult is. His name, and crime (sweet Lord) I long to know. Women, belike, are still in infancy. That must not fear, or provocation see. The glass of horror is not fact, but fear: Opinion is a Tyrant every where. What leads your reason, leads my reason too, That all your words conceine in kindness do. What hear I now? Oh false and weak estate Of good belief! Wherein shall peace be found? Since Gods be not, and mankind made to hate. Cain dead? Even Cain, whom now we loved best, In instants both grown wicked, and oppressed? Cain slain by you! Hath Cain deserved this? Oh God! Like strange his crime, and killing is. Perchance not dead my Lord! how was he slain? Wounds let forth spirits, yet live again. Necessity, that from infernal night Fatally linked art unto the skies! Bear thee we cannot, yet we bear thee must. Now Hope's appear: even now my heart resolves Revenge; and silence is the way to it. Did he confess his fault? What spoke he last? Hasty belief (my Lord) hath hasty deeds, And with their wounds, oft truth, and wisdom bleeds. Pardon me Lord! Good thoughts do live above; In highest region of unfeigned love: Doubt and revenge, Nature hath placed below Meaning the space should make the passage slow. My Lord! It's true: Our frail, and weak Estate Does labour in excess: A woman's heart Still in the fever is of love, or hate. Hardly the love which I did be are to Cain, Could think he erred; much less approve him slain. But now his falls approved by heavenly doom, Our lose in him foretells our gain to come. Then Sir! Take care his death be not in vain. Your silly Sire is blind; if he were dead, This reeling State by you might stand again: True joy is only hope put out of sear, And honour hideth error every where. A form the world expects in worldly things: Cain was a man, a Basham, and our friend; Sepulture, as a man; honour, to his estate; Tears do become a guilty friendships end: Excess of honour, done to them that die, Makes living men see our humanity. Beside, thought-feeding rumor forth will go, And occupy unquiet peoples spirits, While in this pile for Cain you may bestow Their blinded weakness, which withhold your right. People do power, not persons apprehend; Strength shows Like truth; Mankind loves policy: Defended Kings, but not revenged be. Rumor must needs be born of doing minds: Envy is but the smoke of low estate, Ascending still against the fortunate. My shame is equally engaged with yours. Intents ill carried are that men may know; When things are done, let rumor freely go. People are superstitious, caught with shows: To power why do they else their freedom give, But that in others pomp these shadows live? Then send the Priest. To me bequeathe the rest. For superstition hides ill meaning best. Well! now I feel thee rise, when I admire: When hills have clouds, let all the valleys fear. Scornest thou to make examples out of him? Hast thou found out his children? They are mine, Proud horror! Dost thou choose the innocent? False conqueror of nature! dost thou move A woman's spite to spoil a mother's love? Rage! shall we strive which shall give other place? Well! On. So that (Like ruin) I may fallen, And ruin him; take children, me, and all. Is there a third that traffiketh abuse? Throw on enough. No Sea can quench this flame; And then, what cannot quench does but inflame. For whom are wives estates enjoined to care? Power does what likes in her inferiors move; As we are sessed, so pay we; hate, or love. Thoughts are too strict, much less can words contain; The venom of his malice is too deep For any power, but Revenge to keep. Be that the gage. Men senses barren were, If they could apprehend, but what they feel. Ills do with place (Like Numbers) multiply: The living, dead, malice, affection, fear, My womb, and I do his affliction bear. My own are his. Rage does but now begin. Else to my self I sin Life is too short; horror exceeds not faith, That cannot plague offences after death. Furies! no more irregularly run, But arted: Teach confusion to divide. That is the work, which men shall wonder at: For while his ruined are, yet mine shall reign; His heirs, but yet true issue unto Cain. For my revenge no baser blood is spilled. That force, which makes their pride it cannot fear. With tribute into State: to Kings with lust. Prosperity, success. So much sus pect the less. Presents, obedience, praise: They needs not knock to enter in that please. To Kings that see their ill. Of truth, not of their will. Worth, not humility. Kings errors are our Agents in their hearts; Their private passion wound their public States; Time hath her arguments, and place her Arts. This day he does consummate all his joy: Glory now at the Full is not suspicious; And what adds to his pomp shall him destroy. A Crown, and Mantle of most curious work I have prepared, even with Egyptian skill; And poison him in pleasing him I will. Till Alahams ills do tremble, Horror is faint; Rage does but Rage resemble. Depart; keep secret, and be not dismayed: Unperfect works cannot their glories show; This goodly World did from a Chaos grow. Now Cain! For whose revenge I only live, Inspire thy ghost, to multiply in me More sense, to make my senses more enraged; More love, to make loves losses more in thee; Double my wit beyond my strength engaged; Open all lights of possibility; Let grief, which yet keeps company with death, Break forth, and poison all things with her breath. Cain, who of late did live to both us deer, It's true, did fail; and for his fault is slain: Our hearts are eased, as having lost their fear, The rites of humane duties yet remain. A Kings beloved he was; sometime our friend; Which must appear in honour of his end. Such royal Piles, as for the Princely raze Are made a sacrifice unto the sky, In honour of that God, which gave them place: Such sumptuous Piles make: But more cost bestow; Because both joust Revenge, and Love they show. Summon the Mufti, and Soothsayers all, The Persian Magi, Christian Star-divines, The first, to sing alike his faith, and fallen; The last, to tell how higher power inclines. In short; Revenge, and Love shine in those fires; Pour on all pomp that magnifies desires: As if at once by cross mortality, The Prince, and Princely line were dead in one; Let mourning and devotion to the sky Be offered up in pomp, and public moan. Magnificence is Princely mystery; All great Estates by great expense are known. Prepare excess: Let no cost be forgotten; It makes men wonder, though they honour not. Music to fix the wandering spirits raze, And sweeten Envies thoughts in unity; That sorrow and devotion may have place, Remorse and pity flow, and multiply. Lights of all kinds the light of day shut out; For darkness so enammeld is devout. My Grief does yet but roam it self in sense: Hala is more: Rage multiplies with use: These do but mourn; I must revenge abuse. Even through thy sense will I send in thine own: This child, that by thee lived shall in thee die; In this will Cain, and I possess thy Throne. Women! Behold, our sex I now improve: Malice were vain, if Kings could it subdue: This rage revives the dead; restores my love. Beyond the rule of Law, but not of Lou , This child was born; this not in Love, but Law. Before thy wrongs I had my passion free: And in revenge shall ought else limit me? In him thou art: in him I plague my lust, Where Sense, and Law, were traitors to affection. Bear children only but to Cain I must. Hala! make haste to multiply this wretch; I must have both his sense, and judgement free: It's horror, not disease, that honours me. " All you superior Powers, which from above " Behold this earth; and earthly mischiefs rod! " Cast hence your eyes. These works are but for two: " For him, that suffers; and for me, that do. Hala! then on: that Alaham may enrage, Enrage thou first. New married now am I: Remorse does but for men in ambush lie. Ah cursed Mortality! So soon put out? And have I lost the glory of Revenge, If Fame find greater, as she goes about? This blood, that bloody throat should have devoured: Rage lacked in this. Where is the place for scorn; Since woes be dead in him, as soon as born? Flesh is too brittle mould for brave excess. Yetlet these scraps give nourishment to Fame; Since Love, and Rage this model may express. I will no more smother confusedly This inward war, where modesty and shame Would subject sense to duties Tyranny: Wronged with doubt I live; a wife to lust, A stranger both to honour, love, and trust. My friends despised, my servants made my spies; No way, but by betraying me, to rise. Is this the only right of womanhood? Then know base Men, in whom all love is lost, That wit moves wit; power, fear; fear, hate; No farther bondage hath a wives estate. While Mahomet, that faithless hypocrite, Canker of love, All-ill in one, that man Showed love to me; Alaham was wrath, and husbands honour touched, He vile, I worse: the eyes of Jealousy Seeing her own disease in him, and me. But since this wretch, with his aspiring craft, To Alaham hath falsely sold my shame, My injuries and dishonours are his fame: And shall this traffic of ambition thrive, And bury us in modesty alive? No Cain: For thy example I resolve To study spite, and practice cruelty: Scorn else will grow their sport, our falls their fame, That glory to deceive, and joy in shame. But what means this? Alaham hasts to the Crown; He tries, moves, breaks all that will not be bowed; Those only stand which help his father down. Wife is a private name: Ambitions ways Lie not within the bounds ofloue, but use: When things are ripe, I must be overthrown. And shall I loose my self in idle lust? Each Vassal is as grea as Queens in it. Princes have strength, they err for Empire must. What fear I then? Eame that is great, is good: Hazard all men behold with reverent eyes; And must we only in remorse be wise? No, no: My heart, and State do more embrace: Purple shall hide my lust, a Crown my shame: Passion with passion hath such unity, As one must ever be another's frame. Beyond the truth I am in loving Cain: The monuments of lust are secrecy, Suspicion, shame, remorse, adversity, If Cain be King; the ways to that are change, Wrong, hazard, care, ruin, confusion, blood; Poor thoughts, that fear, or rest, have never good. My party's strong: I built upon the vice, Question the yoke of Princes, husband, law; My good success breaks all the links of awe. Then Chance! be thou my friend: Desire! my guide. My heart extended is to great attempts, Which, if they speed, eternise shall my fame; If not, it's glory to excel in shame. Lo where my Husband comes! Now reason must Disguise these passion, lest I loose my end; Who hides his mind is to himself a friend. King of my self! Redeemer of our fame! What secret clouds do overcast your heart? counsel, and time do both work one effect, And either cure, or clear what we suspect. What tumult's this my Lord? And is he gone? Rage then unprisoned be! I Like thee well! While Alaham was there, Thou then didst use thy violence on me. Now prey abroad; swell above all respect; Fear nothing, if notorious thou wilt reign: Thy glories shine, when every one complain. What now? A child? And dost thou idly walk The beaten paths of common cruelty? A judge, and no revenger then am I, If thou no more than his offences be. While Cain did live thou thoughtest of more than this: Shall death, desire, hope, fame, and Fortune's lost Such fading Trophies have? Can thankfulness abound? And shall offence Not feel, Revenge hath her magnificence? Rage! now thou art above the Orb of doubt, Where danger dangerless appears to thee; Divine (I pray thee) what shall fallen to me? Must I be slain? Wife! Is that name but style of thy remorse? Must I go where thy silly parents be? Thou yet but feelest thy self: thou shalt feel me. A King? And in a Throne built out of blood: The ashes of your own must give you power. Glutton Ambition! now thy self devour. Look in thy Conscience, that unflattering glass; See there the wounds of Cain, thy wrongs to me: Death triumphs now; And I do give it thee. Cain here begins to live, while thou dost feed Upon the poison, that thy wife devised: Thy debtor yet; but stay I will exceed. Now war thy self: a King, with Kings must war: We are too base for friends, or enemies: For lustest use, not for love, we women are. All pains of death my self in Cain did feel; And shall my rage aspire but to be joust? What is but once; be long in doing must. My shame again then unto me impart; Restore my faith; and I do render thee Those faithless vows, which thou hast made to me. For since, I see, the spongy hearts of men Their hollows gladly fill with women's love, And nothing yield to them uncrushed again: What nature works it's folly to complain. Mahomet, that wretch, hath done me injury; He left my love, and he my life hath sought: Cain! Line at ease; fame is and idle breath; My body is enough betwixt thee, and death. Go forward in thy fear: Danger does give thee choice to do, or bear.