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THE NOBLE SPANISH SOLDIER by THOMAS DEKKER |
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ACT 3 |
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ACT 3 SCENE 1 Enter
Malateste and the Queen. MALATESTE When
first you came from Florence, would
the world Had
with a universal dire eclipse Been
overwhelmed, no more to gaze on day, That
you to Spain had
never found the way, Here
to be lost forever. QUEEN We
from one climate Drew
suspiration <28>. As thou then hast eyes To
read my wrongs, so be thy head an engine To
raise up ponderous mischief to the height, And
then thy hands, the executioners. A
true Italian spirit is a ball Of
wild-fire, hurting most when it seems spent. Great
ships on small rocks, beating oft are rent. And
so, let Why
from the presence did you single me Into
this gallery? MALATESTE To
show you Madam, The
picture of yourself, but so defaced, And
mangled by proud Spaniards, it would whet A
sword to arm the poorest Florentine In
your just wrongs. QUEEN As
how? Let’s see that picture. MALATESTE Here
‘tis then: time is not scarce four days old, Since
I, and certain Dons, sharp-witted fellows, And
of good rank, were with two Jesuits Grave
profound scholars, in deep argument Of
various propositions. At the last, Question
was moved touching your marriage And
the King’s pre-contract. QUEEN So,
and what followed? MALATESTE Whether
it were a question moved by chance, Or
spitefully of purpose, I being there, And
your own Countryman, I cannot tell. But
when much tossing had bandied both the King And
you, as pleased those that took up the racquets. In
conclusion, the Father Jesuits, To
whose subtle music every ear there Was
tied, stood with their lives in stiff defence Of
this opinion - oh pardon me If
I must speak their language. QUEEN Say
on. MALATESTE That
the most Catholic king in marrying you, Keeps
you but as his whore. QUEEN Are
we their themes? MALATESTE And
that Is
his true wife. Her bastard son they said The
King being dead, should claim and wear the crown, And
whatsoever children you shall bear, To
be but bastards in the highest degree, As
being begotten in adultery. QUEEN We
will not grieve at this, but with hot vengeance Beat
down this armed mischief. Malateste! What
whirlwinds can we raise to blow this storm Back
in their faces who thus shoot at me? MALATESTE If
I were fit to be your councillor, Thus
would I speak - feign that you are with child. The
mother of the maids, and some worn ladies Who
oft have guilty being to court great bellies, May
though it not be so, get you with child With
swearing that ‘tis true. QUEEN Say
‘tis believed, Or
that it so doth prove? MALATESTE The
joy thereof, Together
with these earthquakes, which will shake All
Spain, if they
their Prince do disinherit, So
borne, of such a Queen, being only daughter To
such a brave spirit as Duke of Florence. All
this buzzed into the King, he cannot choose But
charge that all the bells in Spain
echo up This
joy to heaven, that bonfires change the night To
a high noon, with beams of sparkling flames; And
that in Churches, organs, charmed with prayers, Speak
loud for your most safe delivery. QUEEN What
fruits grow out of these? MALATESTE These;
you must stick, As
here and there spring weeds in banks of flowers, Spies
amongst the people, who shall lay their ears To
every mouth, and seal to you their whispering. QUEEN So. MALATESTE ‘Tis
a plummet to sound Spanish hearts How
deeply they are yours. Besides a guesse <29> Is
hereby made of any faction That
shall combine against you, which the King seeing, If
then he will not rouse him like a dragon To
guard his golden fleece, and rid his harlot And
her base bastard hence, either by death, Or
in some traps of state ensnare them both, Let
his own ruins crush him. QUEEN This
goes to trial. Be
thou my magic book, which reading o’er Their
counterspells we’ll break; or if the King Will
not by strong hand fix me in his Throne, But
that I must be held Spain’s
blazing star, Be
it an ominous charm to call up war. ACT 3 SCENE 2 Enter
Cornego and Onaelia. CORNEGO Here’s
a parcel of man’s flesh has been hanging up and down all this morning to speak
with you. ONAELIA Is’t
not some executioner? CORNEGO I
see nothing about him to hang in but his garters. ONAELIA Sent
from the King to warn me of my death: I
prithee bid him welcome. CORNEGO He
says he is a poet. ONAELIA Then
bid him better welcome. Belike
he’s come to write my epitaph, Some
scurvy thing I’ll warrant. Welcome Sir. Enter
Poet. POET Madam,
my love presents this book unto you. ONAELIA To
me? I am not worthy of a line, Unless
at that Line hang some hook to choke me: [Onaelia
reads book.] To
the Most Honoured Lady - Onaelia. Fellow
thou liest, I’m most dishonoured: Thou
should’st have writ to the most wronged Lady. The
title of this book is not to me, I
tear it therefore as mine honour’s torn. CORNEGO Your
verses are lamed in some of their feet, Master poet. ONAELIA What
does it treat of? POET Of
the solemn triumphs Set
forth at coronation of the Queen. ONAELIA Hissing,
the poet’s whirlwind, blast thy lines! Com’st
thou to mock my tortures with her triumphs? POET ‘Las
Madam! ONAELIA When
her funerals are past, Crown
thou a dedication to my joys, And
thou shalt swear each line a golden verse. Cornego,
burn this idol. CORNGO
Your
book shall come to light, Sir. Exit
Cornego [with book.] ONAELIA I
have read legends of disastrous dames; Will
none set pen to paper for poor me? Canst
write a bitter satire? Brainless people Do
call them libels. Darest thou write a libel? POET I
dare mix gall and poison with my ink. ONAELIA Do
it then for me. POET
And
every line must be A
whip to draw blood. ONAELIA Better. POET And
to dare The
stab from him it touches. He that writes Such
libels, as you call them, must launch wide The
sores of men’s corruptions, and even search To
the quick for dead flesh, or for rotten cores: A
poet’s ink can better cure some sores Than
surgeon’s balsam. ONAELIA Undertake
that cure And
crown thy verse with bays. POET Madam,
I’ll do it, But
I must have the party’s character. ONAELIA The
King. POET I
do not love to pluck the quills, With
which I make pens, out of a lion’s claw. The
King! Should I be bitter ‘gainst the King, I
shall have scurvy ballads made of me, Sung
to the hanging tune. I dare not, Madam. ONAELIA This
baseness follows your profession. You
are like common beadles, apt to lash Almost
to death poor wretches not worth striking, But
fawn with slavish flattery on damned vices So
great men act them. You clap hands at those, Where
the true poet indeed doth scorn to guild A
gaudy tomb with glory of his verse, Which
coffins stinking carrion. No, his lines Are
free as his invention. No base fear Can
shake his pen to temporise even with kings, The
blacker are their crimes, he louder sings. Go,
go, thou canst not write: ‘tis but my calling The
muses help, that I may be inspired. Canst
a woman be a poet, Sir? POET Yes,
Madam, best of all. For poesie Is
but feigning, feigning is to lie, And
women practice lying more than men. ONAELIA Nay,
but if I should write, I would tell truth. How
might I reach a lofty strain? POET Thus
Madam: Books,
music, wine, brave company and good cheer Make
poets to soar high and sing most clear. ONAELIA Are
they born poets? POET Yes. ONAELIA Die
they? POET Oh,
never die. ONAELIA My
misery is then a poet sure, For
time has given it an eternity. What
sort of poets are there? POET Two
sorts lady: The
great poets and the small poets. ONAELIA Great
and small! Which
do you call the great? The fat ones? POET No: But
such as have great heads, which emptied forth, Fill
all the world with wonder at their lines; Fellows
which swell big with the wind of praise. The
small ones are but shrimps of poesie. ONAELIA Which
in the kingdom now is the best poet? POET Emulation. ONAELIA Which
the next? POET Necessity. ONAELIA And
which the worst? POET Self-love. ONAELIA Say
I turn poet, what should I get? POET Opinion. ONAELIA Alas,
I have got too much of that already, Opinion
is my evidence, judge and jury. Mine
own guilt and opinion now condemn me. I’ll
therefore be no poet, no nor make Ten
muses of your nine. I’ll swear for this; Verses,
though freely born, like slaves are sold, I
crown thy lines with bays, thy love with gold: So
fare thou well. POET Our
pen shall honour thee. Exit
Poet, enter Cornego. CORNEGO The
poet’s book Madam, has got the inflammation of the liver, it died of a burning
fever. ONAELIA What
shall I do, Cornego? For this poet Has
filled me with a fury. I could write Strange
satires now against adulterers, And
marriage-breakers. CORNEGO I
believe you Madam - but here comes your uncle. Enter
Medina,
Alanzo,
Carlo, Alba, Sebastian, Daenia. Where’s
our niece? Turn
your brains round, and recollect your spirits, And
see your noble friends and kinsmen ready To
pay revenge his due. ONAELIA That
word revenge, Startles
my sleepy soul, now thoroughly wakened By
the fresh object of my hapless child Whose
wrongs reach beyond mine. SEBASTIAN How
doth my sweet mother? ONAELIA How
doth my prettiest boy? ALANZO Wrongs,
like great whirlwinds, Shake
highest battlements. Few for heaven would care, Should
they be ever happy. They are half gods Who
both in good days, and good fortune share. ONAELIA I
have no part in either. CARLO You
shall in both, Can
swords but cut the way. ONAELIA I
care not much, so you but gently strike him, And
that my child escape the lightening. For
that our nerves are knit; is there not here A
promising face of manly princely virtues, And
shall so sweet a plant be rooted out By
him that ought to fix it fast in the ground? Sebastian,
what will you do to him That
hurts your mother? SEBASTIAN The
King my father shall kill him I trow. DAENIA But
sweet cousin, the King loves not your mother. SEBASTIAN I’ll
make him love her when I am a King. La
you, there’s in him a king’s heart already. As
therefore we before together vowed, Lay
all your warlike hands upon my sword, And
swear. SEBASTIAN Will
you swear to kill me, Uncle? Oh
not for twenty worlds. SEBASTIAN Nay
then draw and spare not, for I love fighting. Stand
in the midst, sweet coz, we are your guard. These
hammers shall for thee beat out a crown If
all hit right. Swear therefore, noble friends, By
your high bloods, by true nobility, By
what you owe religion, owe to your country, Owe
to the raising your posterity, By
love you bear to virtue, and to arms, The
shield of innocence, swear not to sheath Your
swords, when once drawn forth. ONAELIA Oh
not to kill him For
twenty thousand worlds. Will
you be quiet? Your
swords when once drawn forth, till they have forced Yon
godless, perjurous, perfidious man... ONAELIA Pray
rail not at him so. Art
mad? You’re idle Till
they have forced him To
cancel his late lawless bond he sealed At
the high altar to his Florentine strumpet, And
in his bed lay this his troth-plight wife. ONAELIA I,
I that’s well. Pray swear. ALL To
this we swear. SEBASTIAN Uncle,
I swear too. Our
forces let’s unite, be bold and secret, And
lion-like with open eyes let’s sleep, Streams
smooth and slowly running are most deep. Exeunt. ACT 3 SCENE 3 Enter
King, Queen, Malateste, Valasco, Lopez, [Roderigo and guards]. KING The
presence door be guarded, let none enter On
forfeit of your lives, without our knowledge. Oh
you are false physicians all unto me, You
bring me poison, but no antidotes. QUEEN Yourself
that poison brews. KING Prithee,
no more. QUEEN I
will, I must speak more. KING Thunder
aloud. QUEEN My
child, yet newly quickened in my womb, Is
blasted with the fires of bastardy. KING Who!
Who dares once but think so in his dream? MALATESTE Medina’s
faction preached it openly. KING Be
cursed he and his faction. Oh how I labour For
these preventions! But so cross is fate My
ills are ne’r hid from me, but their cures. What’s
to be done? QUEEN That
which being left undone, Your
life lies at the stake. Let them be breathless Both
brat and mother. KING Ha! MALATESTE She
plays true music Sir. The
mischiefs you are drenched in are so full, You
need not fear to add to them. Since now No
way is left to guard thy rest secure, But
by a means like this. LOPEZ All
Spain rings
forth Medina’s
name, and his confederates. RODRIGO All
his allies and friends rush into troops Like
raging torrents. VALESCO And
loud trumpet forth Your
perjuries. Seducing the wild people, And
with rebellious faces threatening all. KING
I
shall be massacred in this their spleen, Ere
I have time to guard myself. I feel The
fire already falling. Where’s our guard? MALATESTE Planted
at guarded gate, with a strict charge That
none shall enter but by your command. KING Let
them be doubled. I am full of thoughts, A
thousand wheels toss my incertain fears, There
is a storm in my hot boiling brains, Which
rises without wind. A horrid one. What
clamour’s that? QUEEN Some
treason. Guard the King. Enter
Balthazar drawn, [he strikes] one of the guards who falls. BALTHAZAR Not
in? MALATESTE One
of the guards is slain, keep off the murderer. BALTHAZAR I
am none, sir. VALASCO There’s
a man dropped down by thee. KING Thou
desperate fellow, thus press in upon us! Is
murder all the story we shall read? What
King can stand, when thus his subjects bleed? What
has thou done? BALTHAZAR No
hurt. KING Played
even the wolf, And
from a fold committed to my charge, Stolen
and devoured one of the flock. BALTHAZAR You
have sheep enough for all that, Sir. I have killed none though. Or if I have,
mine <30> own blood, shed in your quarrels, may beg my pardon. My business
was in haste to you. KING I
would not have thy sin scored on my head For
all the Indian Treasury. I prithee tell me, Suppose
thou had'st our pardon, oh can that cure Thy
wounded conscience, can there my pardon help thee? Yet
having deserved well both of Spain and us, We
will not pay thy worth with loss of life, But
banish thee for ever. BALTHAZAR For
a groom’s death? KING No
more. We banish thee our court and Kingdom. A
King that fosters men so dipped in blood, May
be called merciful, but never good. Be
gone upon thy life. BALTHAZAR Well,
farewell. Exit
Balthazar. VALASCO The
fellow is not dead, but wounded sir. QUEEN After
him Malateste. In our lodging Stay
that rough fellow, he’s the man shall do’t. Haste
or my hopes are lost. Exit
Malateste. Why
are you sad, sir? KING For
thee, Paulina, swell my troubled thoughts Like
billows beaten by two warring winds. QUEEN Be
you ruled but ruled by me, I’ll make a calm Smooth
as the breast of heaven. KING Instruct
me how. QUEEN You,
as your fortunes tie you, are inclined To
have the blow given. KING Where’s
the instrument? QUEEN ‘Tis
found in Balthazar. KING He’s
banished. QUEEN
True But
stayed by me for this. KING His
spirit is hot And
rugged, but so honest that his soul Will
never turn devil to do it. QUEEN Put
it to trial. Retire
a little, hither I’ll send for him, Offer
repeal and favours if he do it. But
if he deny, you have no finger in’t, And
then his doom of banishment stands good. KING Be
happy in thy workings, I obey. Exit
King QUEEN Stay
Lopez. LOPEZ Madam. QUEEN Step
to our lodging, Lopez And
instantly bid Malateste bring The
banished Balthazar to us. LOPEZ I
shall. Exit
Lopez. QUEEN Thrive
my black plots, the mischiefs I have set Must
not so die. Ills must new ills beget. Enter
Malateste and Balthazar. BALTHAZAR Now!
What hot poisoned custard must I put my spoon into now? QUEEN None,
for mine honour is now thy protection. MALATESTE Which,
noble soldier, she will pawn for thee But
never forfeit. BALTHAZAR ‘Tis
a fair gage <31>, keep it. QUEEN Oh
Balthazar! I am thy friend, and marked thee. When
the King sentenced thee to banishment Fire
sparkled from thine eyes of rage and grief. Rage
to be doomed so for a groom so base, And
grief to lose thy Country. Thou hast killed none, The
milk-sop is but wounded, thou are not banished. BALTHAZAR If
I were, I lose nothing, I can make any country mine. I have a private coat for
Italian Stilettos, I can be treacherous with the Walloon, drunk with the Dutch,
a chimney-sweeper with the Irish, a gentleman with the Welsh and true arrant
thief with the English. What then is my country to me? QUEEN The
King, who rap’d with fury, banished thee, Shall
give thee favours, yield but to destroy What
him distempers. BALTHAZAR So.
And what is the dish I must dress? QUEEN Only
the cutting off a pair of lives. BALTHAZAR I
love no red-wine healths. QUEEN The
King commands it, you are but executioner. BALTHAZAR The
hang-man? An office that will hold so long as hemp lasts. Why do not you beg the
office, Sir? QUEEN Thy
victories in field never did crown thee As
this one Act shall. BALTHAZAR Prove
but that, ‘tis done. QUEEN Follow
him close, he’s yielding. MALATESTE Thou
shalt be called thy Country’s Patriot, For
quenching out a fire now newly kindling In
factious bosoms, and shalt thereby save More
Noble Spaniards lives, than thou slew Moors. QUEEN Art
thou yet converted? BALTHAZAR No
point. QUEEN Read
me then: Medina’s
niece, by a contract from the King, Lays
claim to all that’s mine, my crown, my bed. A
son she has by him must fill the throne, If
her great faction can but work that wonder. Now
hear me... BALTHAZAR I
do with gaping ears. QUEEN I
swell with hopeful issue to the King. BALTHAZAR A
brave Don call you mother. MALATESTE Of
this danger the fear afflicts the King. BALATAZAR Cannot
much blame him. QUEEN BALTHAZAR Riddance?
Oh! The meaning on’t is murder. MALATESTE Stab
her, or so, that’s all. QUEEN That
Spain
be free
from frights, the King from fears, And
I, now held his infamy, be called Queen, The
treasure of the Kingdom shall lie open To
pay thy noble darings. BALTHAZAR Come.
I’ll do it, provided I hear Jove call to me, though he roars. I must have the
King’s hand to this warrant, else I dare not serve it upon my conscience. QUEEN Be
firm then. Behold the King is come. Enter
King. BALTHAZAR Acquaint
him. QUEEN I
found the metal hard, but with oft beating He’s
now so softened, he shall take impression From
any seal you give him. KING Balthazar, Come
hither, listen. Whatsoe’er our Queen Has
importuned thee to touching Onaelia Niece
to the Constable, and her young son, My
voice shall second it, and sign her promise. BALTHAZAR Their
riddance? KING That. BALTHAZAR What
way? By poison? KING So. BALTHAZAR Starving?
Or strangling, stabbing, smothering? QUEEN Good. KING Any
way, so ‘tis done. BALTHAZAR But
I will have, Sir, This
under your own hand, that you desire it, You
plot it, set me on to’t. KING Pen,
ink and paper. [King
writes and signs document.] BALTHAZAR And
then as large a pardon as law and wit can engross for me. KING Thou
shalt have my pardon. BALTHAZAR A
word more, Sir, pray will you tell me one thing? KING Yes,
any thing dear Balthazar. BALTHAZAR Suppose
I have your strongest pardon, can that cure my wounded conscience? Can there
your pardon help me? You not only knock the ewe on the head, but cut the
innocent lamb’s throat too, yet you are no butcher. QUEEN Is
this thy promised yielding to an act So
wholesome for thy country? KING Chide
him not. BALTHAZAR I
would not have this sin scored on my head For
all the Indian Treasury. KING That
song no more. Do
this and I will make thee a great man. BALTHAZAR Is
there no farther trick in’t but my blow, your purse and my pardon? MALTATESTE No
nets upon my life to entrap thee. BALTHAZAR Then
trust me. These knuckles work it. KING
Farewell.
Be confident and sudden. BALTHAZAR Yes. Subjects
may stumble, when kings walk astray. Thine
Acts shall be a new Apocrypha. Exeunt.
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