RODERICK

Ten thousand men of Orleans I come maund, And those are bravely marshalled on the plain, Ready to be commanded by your Highness. Pembroke, you are too plain in your discourse. Why, they ask peace, and we are set for war. Zounds, here's a truce made up by miracle. What stratagem? More then poison two: But you, my Lord, forget your self too far, Know you to whom you have disclosed your heart? The deer friend of Lews the French King. Peter de Lions is your Lordship's servant, A boon companion, and a lusty Knave: He is in love with Bellamiraes maid, And by that love he may besteaded your Highness, More then your best friends in your best designs. Call him forth. His looks are wild with love. Come, come, 'tis known that you love Thomasin. Theres Angels for thee, Peter, think on them, And do thy best to help thy Master's love. Well, howsoever I smooth it to the Duke, My thoughts are bent on his destruction. Amen, say Rodoricke. And a strong one too. Here's a preservative to save your hand. When Rodoricke fails your Lordship, heaven shall fail, To illuminate the world with cheerful light. I see no such admired perfection. Waken her, Burbon, and this loving charm, Which now hath led your senses prisoner, Will vanish, and her speech full of reproof, Beget a new phantasma all of hate: Thou wilt detest her when she shall deny thee. I hope I am disguised sufficiently, That Bellamira cannot know my face. Madam, fair Bellamira. Step to her, and restrain her, lest she call: I'll be a looker on, and be unknown. Zounds, he has don't: now, Rodorick, joy thy fill. Burbon is thine, the Dukedom is thine own: For only he in the Inheritance Stood as and obstacle, to let my claim. This deed of his will take away his life: And then let me alone to enjoy his land. I'll steal away unseen, cause unsuspected: I would not for the world be once detected. Nor I. How came this sudden alteration? For she was comely, lovely, beautiful, When the day left his Chariot to the night. I know he did, and laugh to think on't. I never herd the Like. Such as will make the hearers, senseless trunks. Why do thy our highness in your foemen's tents Revel away the time, and yield your person, To the known malice of your enemies, While in your own tents, rapine and foul lust, Grasps your fair daughter to dishonour her? She is slily stolen from thence, Yet none knows whither, save one Sentinel, Who does report he herd a wretched Lady Exclaim, false Ferdinand would ravish her. Fear not, on yonder hill, whose lofty head Orelookes the vnder-valleyes, Royal Burbon, Attended by ten thousand Soldiers, Craves peace and fair accord with mighty France. To join with him. Would, would: I laugh to see these Kings at jar. Now civil discord Like a raging flood, Swelling above her banks, shall drown this land, While Rodorick on her ruins builds his Hope's. The King of France through my suggestion, Thinks Katharine his daughter ravished, Who only winged with love, is fled the Camp: Pembroke and Ferdinand, in mutual strife, Slain by eke other, does confirm my words And for reue ̄ ge whets keen the two Kings swords. A scribe that privilege, my Lord, to me: And Rodorick will have death, or victory. Now whilst our Armies wearied with the heat That the bright sun casts from his midday throne, Abstain from bloody intercourse of war, I'll led thee Philip unto Burbons Tent. Stay your speech, here comes king Lewis. My Lord of Burbon, you are more hight then wise. It is in zeal of the general good: Go to your Tent, refresh your unscorched limbs: There draw your battles model: and as soon As the cool winds have Found the burning Sun, And made it tractable for travelers: Arm you, and mount upon your barbed Steed, Led forth your Soldiers, and in good array, Charge bravely on the Army of our foe. But this is nothing to the acts weel do: Come, come, my Lord, you trifle time with words: Fit down, fit down, and make your warlike plot: But wherefore stand these murderous Glaues so nigh? Do it your self, my Lord, I have a charge Of Soldiers, that are very mutinous, And long I dare not stay, for fear my absence Be cause of their revolt unto Navarre. Kill you the Duke, and after I'll kill thee. Murder, murder, Burbon the Duke is slain. Thou art a counterfeit, I know thee not. I guide thee to the Tent? I know thee not. What, murder, ho: will no man hear my voice? Peter, behold thy Master's breathless trunk, And there's Prince Philip that hath murdered him. First, seize the murderer, and after weep. What peasants, dare you not attach the slave? I'll raise the whole Camp, but isle apprehend him. Alarm drums: Soldiers, incircle him, And either apprehend or slay the wretch. What slaves are these that dare oppose the ̄ selves, In rescue of a murderer against and Host? Fly before three, and be thus strong? 'Twere madness. Be Like starved Lions amongst a herd of Beasts, Ruthelesse and bloody slaughters all you meet, Till proud Navarre be slain, or kiss your feet: Saint Denis, and cry murder through the host. That was the Traitor, that slew royal Burbon. Soldiers, seize on him, And then pursue Navarre with sudden death. Why have you thus ringed me about with swords What have I done, That thus you labour my destruction? Accursed, I am betrayed, encompassed round: Now life and hope and state must kiss the ground. Princes, you ask, you know not what your selves. My fortune's answerable to the rest. If war be Judge? why, shallow-witted Burbon, Who shall decide this difference, but war? Hath not the Judge put on his Scarlet Robe? Is not the field prepared? our men in armour? The Trumpets ready for the found of death? And nothing hinders us but our own words? Leave idle parley, my dread sovereign Lord, And soon resolve the Duke in fire and smoke, That he maintains a title false and forged, And that Navarre is a usurping Lord. You stay too long, isle help to turn the key. One, whose sores are perchance incurable!