CODIGUNE

Thrice noble king, be patient, this I read, The Gods have feet of wool, but hands of led: And therefore in revenge as sure, as slow. What though two Royal Armies we have lost? He that bears man about him, must be crossed: And that base Monmouth, that with his gold ̄ head Salutes the Sun, may with the Sun fall dead. For base Rebellion draws so short a breath, That in the day she moves, she moves to death: And Like the Marigold opens with the Sun, But at the night her pride is shut and done. Go you unto the Church, and with your holy fires Perfume the Altars of your country gods, While I in curses, swifter in pursuit, Then winged lightning, execrate your souls, And all your Hymeneal jollity, Now swells the womb of my invention, With some prodigious project, and my brain Italianates my barren faculties To Machiavellian blackness. Welshman, stand fast; Or by these holy raptures that inspire The soul of Politicians with revenge, Black projects, deep conceits, quaint villainies, By her that excommunicates my right Of my creation, with a bastards name, And makes me stand nonsuted to a crown; I'll fallen my self, or pluck this Welshman down. Cornwall, he killed thy brother. There's the base, Whereon my envy shall erect the frame Of his confusion. Gloucester, I know, Is Nature's masterpiece of envious plots, The Cabinet of all adulterate ill Envy can hatch; with these I will begin, To make black envy Primate of each sin. Now, in the heat of all their revelling, Hypocrisy, Times best complexion, Smooth all my rugged thoughts, let them appear As brothel sins benighted, darkly clear. Lend me thy face, good Janus, let me look Just on Times fashion, with a double face, And clad my purpose in a Foxes case. Exit. Now friends and fellow Soldiers in joust Arms, Prepare your selves against the haughty foe, Who, as we hear, marches not far from hence. What we have done, by force weel make it good, Or seal our bold attempts, with death and blood. What tidings brings this sweating Messenger? Now, Caradoc, what is't thou canst demand? I'll hear no mad men speak. Great General, that which he holds, is mine; And though infor'st by violence and wrong, From that which Nature left my heritage: Yet, since I see such Hope's, so fairly sprung From such and honourable head, as Room, Whose fame for honour, chivalry and arms, Outshines all Nations with her glorious rays: This Caradoc, whom men do causeless fear, Is of condition insolent and proud, Ambitious, tyrannous, speckled with every vice The infectious time can harbour. Say, we confess him bold, And of a courage that grim visaged death, The object of true valour, cannot daunt; Though Proteus -Like, he came in thousand shapes, What's he, compared to numbers infinite? Or that Imperial Room, whose Eagle eyes Have gazed against the sun of matchless triumphs, Should basely fear a weak and silly Fly? This Welshman is all superficial, Without dimensions, and Like a mountain swells, In labour only with great airy words, Whose birth is nothing, but a silly Mouse; Actions without their measure or their weight. Then, Romans, derogate not from the worth, That time in ancient Chronicles records Of your eternal honours God in war. But if you prize your honours more than life, Or humane happiness, here's a noble cause Of wrong and usurpation, to erect A statue to your dying memory. Then on, great General, wave the Roman Eagle, Even to the Tents of haughty Caradoc, And with my blood I'll second this brave fight, Or hide my shame by death in endless night. Stay, Prince, and let me speak. Weak Prince, first keep a diet for a time, To add fresh vigour to thy feeble limbs, And then, perhaps, weel teach thee how to fight. He comes unto his death. Now, Codigune, Banish all timorous thoughts: think what thou art; A King. That word is able to infuse Boldness, as infinite, as that we call The world's first mover. Why, the name of King Were able to create a man of stone, With more then animal courage, to inspire Dulness, with nerved resolution. Then, Codigune, Like Atlas, on thy back, Support thy Kingdoms Arch, until it crack. March forward. Exeunt. Caradoc, thou claimest South-Wales of us. Nor that, nor wife, nor sister shalt thou have; But if thou longest for any, ask a graven. The high-swollen pride of Majesty and love, Brooks no competitors; its thus decreed, Who shares with them, must for the booty bleed. Each Planet keeps his Orb, which being resigned, Perhaps, by greater lights would be outshinde. It pleases me, and here in sighed of heavens, By all my Hope's of immortality, I will perform what thou hast bravely spoke. I love thee for these honourable terms, And will as fearless entertain this fight, As a good conscience does the cracks of Jove. Know, Caradoc, since by the chance of war, I must be forced to render up that right, That Like a slave I might have kept by might, I scorn thy gifts, and rather choose to live In the vast wilderness with fatal Owls, Free from the malice of base buzzard Chance, And there in hushed up silence raving go; Then earth, except be hell, no place so low. Then with high alms, Aside. I'll to the Romans, and there plot, pell mell. Vessels that once are seasoned, keep their smell. Welshmen, farewell; and Caradoc adieu; Under the heavens, we have no foe but you. Exit.