Relieve a poor

distressed miserable wretch! Thieves, wicked thieves, have robb'd me, bound me. Prot. 'Foot,

'Would they had gag'd you too! your noise will betray us, And fetch them again.

Vitry. What blessed tongue spake to me? Where, where are you, sir?

Prot. A plague of your bawling throat! We are well enough, if you have the grace To be thankful for't. Do but snore to me, And 'tis as much as I desire, to pass Away time with, 'till morning; then talk As loud as you please. Sir, I am bound not to stir,

Wherefore, lie still and snore, I say.

Vitry. Then you have met with thieves too, I

in them,

And therefore desire to hear no more of them. Vitry. Now blessing on your wit, sir! what a dull

Slave was I, dream'd not of your conveyance!
Help to unbind me, sir, and I'll undo you;
My life for yours, no worse thief than myself
Meets you again this night.

Prot. Reach me thy hands!

Vitry. Here, sir, here; I could beat my brains out,

That could not think of boots,

Boots, sir, wide-topt boots; I shall love them
The better whilst I live. But are you sure
Your jewels are here, sir?

Prot. Sure, say'st thou? ha, ha, ha!
Vitry. So ho, illo ho!

Sold. [Within.] Here, captain, here.
Prot. 'Foot, what do you mean, sir?

Enter Soldiers.

Vitry. A trick to boot, say you?

Here, you dull slaves, purchase, purchase! The soul of the rock, diamonds, sparkling diamonds!

Prot: I'm betray'd, lost, past recovery lost! As you are men

Vitry. Nay, rook, since you'll be prating, We'll share your carrion with you. Have you Any other conveyance now, sir?

1 Sold. 'Foot, here are letters, Epistles, familiar epistles: We'll see

What treasure is in them. They are seal'd sure. Prot. Gentlemen!

As you are gentlemen, spare my letters, and take all

Willingly, all! I'll give you a release,

A general release, and meet you here
To-morrow with as much more.
Vitry. Nay, since

You have your tricks, and your conveyances,
We will not leave a wrinkle of you unsearch'd.
Prot. Hark! there comes company; you will
be betray'd.

As you love your safeties, beat out my brains; I shall betray you else.

Vitry. Treason,

Unheard of treason! monstrous, monstrous villainies!

Prot. I confess myself a traitor; shew yourselves

Good subjects, and hang me up for't.

1 Sold. If it be

Baw. Armies of those we call physicians;
Some with clisters, some with lettice-caps,
Some posset-drinks, some pills; twenty consult-
ing here

About a drench, as many here to blood him;
Then comes a don of Spain, and he prescribes
More cooling opium than would kill a Turk,
Or quench a whore i' the Dog-days; after him
A wise Italian, and he cries, Tie unto him
A woman of fourscore, whose bones are marble,
Whose blood snow-water, not so much heat about
her

As may conceive a prayer! after him,

An English doctor, with a bunch of pot-herbs,
And he cries out endive and suckery,
With a few mallow roots and butter-milk!

And talks of oil made of a churchman's charity;
Yet still he wakes.

1 Cour. But your good honour

Has a prayer in store, if all should fail ?

Baw. I could have pray'd, and handsomely, but age,

And an ill memory

3 Cour. Has spoil'd your primmer.

Baw. Yet if there be a man of faith i'the

court,

And can pray for a pension

Enter THIERRY on a bed, with Doctors and Attendants.

2 Cour. Here's the king, sir; And those that will

without pay.

pray
Baw. Then pray for me too.

1 Doctor. How does your grace now feel your-
self?
Thi. What's that?

1 Doctor. Nothing at all, sir, but your fancy. Thi. Tell me,

Can ever these eyes more, shut up in slumbers,
Assure my soul there is sleep? is there night
And rest for human labours? do not you
And all the world, as I do, out-stare Time,
And live, like funeral lamps, never extinguish'd?
Is there a grave? (and do not flatter me,
Nor fear to tell me truth) and in that grave
Is there a hope I shall sleep? can I die?
Are not my miseries immortal? Oh,
The happiness of him that drinks his water,
After his weary day, and sleeps for ever!
Why do you crucify me thus with faces,
And gaping strangely upon one another?
When shall I rest?

2 Doctor. Oh, sir, be patient!

Thi. Am I not patient? have I not endur'd More than a mangy dog, among your doses? Am I not now your patient? Ye can make Unwholsome fools sleep for a guarded footcloth; Whores for a hot sin-offering; yet I must crave, That feed ye, and protect ye, and proclaim ye. Because my power is far above your searching, Are my diseases so? can ye cure none, But those of equal ignorance? Dare ye kill me? i Doctor. We do beseech your grace be more reclaim'd!

This talk doth but distemper you.

Thi. Well, I will die,

In spite of all your potions! One of you sleep;
Lie down and sleep here, that I may behold
What blessed rest it is my eyes are robb'd of!
See, he can sleep, sleep any where, sleep now,
When he that wakes for him can never slumber!
Is't not a dainty ease?

2 Doctor. Your grace shall feel it.

Thi. Oh, never, never I! The eyes of Heaven See but their certain motions, and then sleep; The rages of the ocean have their slumbers, And quiet silver calms; each violence

Crowns in his end a peace; but my fix'd fires Shall never, never set!-Who's that?

thee,

Soldiers.

So, mother?

Brun, Yes, it is so, son;

And, were it yet again to do, it should be.

Mart. She nods again; swinge her!
Thi. But, mother,

(For yet I love that reverence, and to death
Dare not forget you have been so) was this,
This endless misery, this cureless malice,
This snatching from me all my youth together,
All that you made me for, and happy mothers
Crown'd with eternal time are proud to finish,
Done by your will?

Brun. It was, and by that will

Thi. Oh, mother, do not lose your name! for

get not

Or what I ought to be; but what I am,
A woman in her liberal will defeated,
In all her greatness cross'd, in pleasure blasted!
My angers have been laugh'd at, my ends slighted,
And all those glories that had crown'd my for-

tunes,

Suffer'd by blasted virtue to be scatter'd :
I am the fruitful mother of these angers,
And what such have done, read, and know thy
ruin!

Thi. Heav'n forgive you!

Mart. She tells you true; for millions of her mischiefs

Are now apparent: Protaldye we have taken,
An equal agent with her, to whose care,
After the damn'd defeat on you, she trusted
Enter Messenger.

The bringing-in of Leonor the bastard,
Son to your murder'd brother: Her physician
By this time is attach'd to that damn'd devil.

Mess. 'Tis like he will be so; for ere we came,
Fearing an equal justice for his mischiefs,
He drench'd himself.

Brun. He did like one of mine then!

Thi. Must I still see these miseries? no night To hide me from their horrors? That Protaldye See justice fall upon!

Brun. Now I could sleep too.

Mart. I'll give you yet more poppy: Bring the lady,

Enter DION, CLEREMONT, and THRASILINE. Cle. Here's nor lords nor ladies!

Dion. Credit me, gentlemen, I wonder at it. They received strict charge from the king to attend here. Besides, it was boldly published, that no officer should forbid any gentlemen, that desire to attend and hear.

Cle. Can you guess the cause?

Dion. Sir, it is plain, about the Spanish prince, that's come to marry our kingdom's heir, and be our sovereign.

Thra. Many, that will seem to know much, say, she looks not on him like a maid in love. Dion. Oh, sir, the multitude (that seldom know any thing but their own opinions) speak that, they would have; but the prince, before his own approach, received so many confident messages from the state, that I think she's resolved to be ruled.

Cle. Sir, it is thought, with her he shall enjoy both these kingdoms of Sicily and Calabria.

Dion. Sir, it is, without controversy, so meant. But 'twill be a troublesome labour for him to enjoy both these kingdoms with safety, the right heir to one of them living, and living so virtuously; especially, the people admiring the bravery of his mind, and lamenting his injuries. Cle. Who? Philaster?

Dion. Yes; whose father, we all know, was by our late king of Calabria unrighteously deposed from his fruitful Sicily. Myself drew some blood in those wars, which I would give my hand to be washed from.

Cle. Sir, my ignorance in state policy will not let me know, why, Philaster being heir to one of these kingdoms, the king should suffer him to walk abroad with such free liberty.

Dion. Sir, it seems your nature is more constant than to enquire after state news. But the king, of late, made a hazard of both the kingdoms, of Sicily and his own, with offering but to imprison Philaster. At which the city was in arms, not to be charmed down by any state order or