A Select Collection of Old English Plays Part 6

ANT. Because you speak Not like a man, that were possess'd with a Mere soldier's heart, much less a soul guarded With subtle sinews. O madness! can there be In nature such a prodigy, so senseless, So much to be wondered at, As can applaud or lend a willing ear To that my blushes do betray? I've been Tardy to hear your childish policy.

GOV. Antonio, you're too bold; this usurp'd liberty To abuse a man of so much merit is not Seemly in you: nay, I'll term it sauciness.

ANT. Nay, then, my lord, I claim the privilege Of a councillor, and will object.

This my prophetic fear whisper'd my heart: When from a watchtow'r I beheld the French Erect their spears which, like a mighty grove, Denied my eyes any other object: The tops show'd by a stolen reflection from The sun like diamonds, or as the glorious Gilder of the day should deign a lower visit.

Then my warm blood, that used to play like Summer, felt a change; grey-bearded winter Froze my very soul, till I became, Like the Pyrenian hills, wrapp'd in a robe of ice: My arctic[18] fears froze me into a statue.

ALER. Cowardly Antonio!

FUL. I have lost my faith, And can behold him now without a wonder.

GOV. Antonio, y' are too long, and rack our patience; Your counsel?

ANT. I fear'd--but what? not our proud enemies: No, did they burthen all our Spanish world, And I, poor I, only surviv'd to threat defiance In the mounseers'[19] teeth, and stand defendant For my country's cause, naked, unarm'd, I'd through their bragging host, and pay my life A sacrifice to death for my loved country's safety.

ALER. Fulgentio, thou hast not lost Thy faith?

[_Aside._]

FUL. No, I'm reform'd; he's valiant.

[_Aside._]

GOV. Antonio, your counsel?

MACH. Ay, your counsel?

ANT. Our foes increase to an unreckon'd number; We less than nothing, since we have no hope To arrive a number, that may cope with Half their army.

'Tis my counsel we strike a league: 'Tis wisdom to sue peace, where powerful fate Threatens a ruin: lest [we] repent too late.

FUL. 'Tis G.o.d-like counsel.

[_Aside._

ALER. And becomes the tongue of young Antonio.

[_Aside._

GOV. Antonio, let me tell you, you have lost Your valiant heart; I can with safety now Term you a coward.

ANT. Ha!

GOV. Nay, more, Since by your oratory you strive To rob your country of a glorious conquest, That may to after-times beget a fear, Even with the thought should awe the trembling World, you are a traitor.

ANT. Ha! my lord! coward and traitor! 'tis a d.a.m.ned lie, And in the heart of him dares say't again I'll write his error.

MACH. 'Tis as I would have't.

[_Aside._

FUL. n.o.ble Antonio!

[_Aside._

ALER. Brave-spirited lord!

[_Aside._

FUL. The mirror of a soldier!

[_Aside._

GOV. O, are you mov'd, sir? has the deserved name Of traitor p.r.i.c.k'd you?

ANT. Deserv'd?

GOV. Yes.

MACH. Yes.

ANT. Machiavel, thou liest; hadst thou a heart Of harden'd steel, my powerful arm Should pierce it.

[_They fight all in a confused manner_: ANTONIO _kills the_ GOVERNOR, MACHIAVEL _falls_.

ALER. The governor Slain by Antonio's hand?

FUL. No, by the hand of justice; fly, fly, my lord!

ALER. Send for a chirurgeon to dress Count Machiavel: He must be now our governor; the king Signed it in the dead governor's commission.

[_Exeunt._

ANT. Now I repent too late my rash contempt: The horror of a murtherer will still Follow my guilty thoughts, fly where I will.

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

MACH. I'm wounded; else, coward Antonio, Thou shouldst not fly from my revengeful arm: But may my curses fall upon thy head, Heavy as thunder! may'st thou die Burthen'd with ulcerous sins, whose very weight May sink thee down to h.e.l.l, Beneath the reach of smooth-fac'd mercy's arm!

[_A shout within, crying_ ANTONIO.

Confusion choke your rash officious throats!

And may that breath that speaks his loathed name Beget a plague, whose hot infectious air May scald you up to blisters, which foretel A purge of life! Up, Machiavel, Thou hast thy will, howe'er cross fate Divert the people's hearts; they must perforce Sue to that shrine our liking shall erect.

The governor is dead, Antonio's lost To anything but death; 'tis our glad fate To gripe the staff of what we look'd for--state.

My blood's ambitious, and runs through my veins, Like nimble water through a leaden pipe Up to some barren mountain. I must have more; All wealth, in my thoughts, to a crown is poor.

_Enter_ GIOVANNO, EVADNE, _and_ NURSE.

GIO. 'Tis a neat gown, and fas.h.i.+onable, madam; is't not, love?