THE ROYAL KING AND THE LOYAL SUBJECT.
THE ROYAL KING AND THE LOYAL SUBJECT. BY THOMAS HEYWOOD.
Noble Traitor.
A Persian History
I read of late, how the great Sophy once
Flying a noble Falcon at the Herne,
In comes by chance an Eagle sousing by:
Which when the Hawk espies, leaves her first game,
And boldly ventures on the King of Birds;
Long tugg'd they in the air, till at the length
The Falcon (better breath'd) seiz'd on the Eagle,
And struck it dead. The Barons prais'd the Bird,
And for her courage she was peerless held.
The Emperor, after some deliberate thoughts,
Made her no less; he caus'd a crown of gold
To be new fram'd, and fitted to her head,
In honor of her courage: then the Bird,
With great applause, was to the market-place
In triumph borne; where, when her utmost worth
Had been proclaimed, the common executioner
First by the King's command took off her crown,
And after with a sword struck off her head,
As one no better than a noble Traitor
Unto the King of Birds.
A WOMAN KILL'D WITH KINDNESS: A TRAGEDY.
BY THOMAS HEYWOOD.
Mr. Frankford discovers that his Wife has been unfaithful to him.
Mrs. Fra. O by what words, what title, or what name
Shall I entreat your pardon? Pardon! oh!
I am as far froin hoping such sweet grace,
As Lucifer from heaven. To call you husband!
(0 me most wretched!) I have lost that name,
I am no more your wife.
Fran. Spare thou thy tears, for I will weep for thee,
And keep thy countenance, for I'll blush for thee.
Now, I protest, I think, 'tis I am tainted,
For I am most asham'd; and 'tis more hard
For me to look upon thy guilty face,
Than on the sun's clear brow: what wouldst thou speak?
Mrs. Fra. I would I had no tongue, no ears, no eyes,
No apprehension, no capacity.
When do you spurn me like a dog? when tread me
Under feet? when drag me by the hair?
Tho' I deserve a thousand thousand fold
More than you can inflict: yet, once my husband,
For womanhood, to which I am a shame,
Though once an ornament; even for his sake
That hath redeem'd our souls, mark not my face,
Nor hack me with your sword: but let me go
Perfect and undeformed to my tomb.
I am not worthy that I should prevail
In the least suit; no, not to speak to you,
Nor look on you, nor to be in your presence:
Yet as an abject this one suit I crave,
This granted, I am ready for my grave.
Fran. My God, with patience arm me! rise, nay rise,
And I'll debate with thee.
Thou plaid'st the strumpet.
With every pleasure, fashion, and new toy;
Nay even beyond my calling?
Mrs. Fra. was.
Fran. Was it then disability in me?
Or in thine eyes secm'd he a properer man?
Mrs. Fra. O no.
Fran. Did not I lodge thee in my bosom?
Wear thee in my heart?
Fran. I did indeed, witness my tears I did.
O Nan, O Nan;
Go bring my infants hither.
If neither fear of shame, regard of honor,
The blemish of my house, nor my dear love,
Could have withheld thee from so lewd a fact,
Yet for these infants, these young harmless souls,
On whose white brows thy shame is character'd,
And grows in greatness as they wax in years;
Look but on them, and melt away in tears.
Away with them: lest as her spotted body
Hath stained their names with stripe of bastardy,
So her adulterous breath may blast their spirits
With her infectious thoughts. Away with them.
Mrs. Fra. In this one life I die ten thousand deaths.
Fran. Stand up, stand up, I will do nothing rashly.
I will retire awhile into my study,
And thou shalt hear thy sentence presently.
He returns with CRANWELL his friend. She falls on her knees.
Fran. My words are register'd in heaven already.
With patience hear me. I'll not martyr thee,
Nor mark thee for a strumpet; but with usage
Of more humility torment thy soul,
And kill thee even with kindness.
Cran. Mr. Frankford.
Fran. Good Mr. Cranwell.-Woman, hear thy judgment;
Go make thee ready in thy best attire;
Take with thee all thy gowns, all thy apparel:
Leave nothing that did ever call thee mistress,
Or by whose sight, being left here in the house,
I may remember such a woman was.
Choose thee a bed and hangings for thy chamber;
Take with thee everything which hath thy mark,
And get thee to my manor seven miles off;
Where live; 'tis thine, I freely give it thee,
My tenants by shall furnish thee with wains
To carry all thy stuff within two hours;
No longer will I limit thee my sight.
Choose which of all my servants thou lik'st best,
And they are thine to attend thee.
Mrs. Fra. A mild sentence.
Fran. But as thou hop'st for heaven, as thou believ'st
'Thy name's recorded in the book of life,
I charge thee never after this sad day
To see me or to meet me; or to send
By word, or writing, gift, or otherwise,
To move me, by thyself, or by thy friends;
Nor challenge any part in my two children.
So farewell, Nan; for we will henceforth be
As we had never seen, ne'er more shall see.
Mrs. Fra. How full my heart is, in mine eyes appears;
What wants in words, I will supply in tears.
Fran. Come, take your coach, your stuff; all must along: Servants and all make ready, all be gone.
It was thy hand cut two hearts out of one.
CRANWELL, FRANKFORD, and NICHOLAS, a Servant. Cran. Why do you search each room about your house, Now that you have dispatch'd your wife away?
Fran. O sir, to see that nothing may be left
That ever was my wife's; I lov'd her dearly,
And when I do but think of her unkindness,
My thoughts are all in hell; to avoid which torment,
I would not have a bodkin nor a cuff,
A bracelet, necklace, or rebato wire,
Nor anything that ever was call'd her's,
Left me, by which I might remember her.
Seek round about.
Nic. Here's her lute flung in a corner.
Fran. Her lute? Oh God! upon this instrument
Her fingers have ran quick division,
Swifter than that which now divides our hearts.
These frets have made me pleasant, that have now
Frets of my heart-strings made. O master Cranwell,
Oft hath she made this melancholy wood
(Now mute and dumb for her disastrous chance)
Speak sweetly many a note, sound many a strain
To her own ravishing voice, which being well strung,
What pleasant strange airs have they jointly rung!
Post with it after her; now nothing's left;
Of her and her's I am at once bereft.
NICHOLAS overtakes MRS. FRANKFORD on her journey, and delivers the lute.
Mrs. Fra. I know the lute; oft have I sung to thee: We both are out of tune, both out of time.
Nic. My master commends him unto ye;
There's all he can find that was ever yours.
He prays you to forget him, and so he bids you farewell.
Mrs. Fra. I thank him, he is kind, and ever was.
All you that have true feeling of my grief,
That know my loss, and have relenting hearts,
Gird me about; and help me with your tears
To wash my spotted sins: my lute shall groan;
It cannot weep, but shall lament my moan.
If you return unto your master, say
(Tho' not from me, for I am unworthy
To blast his name so with a strumpet's tongue)
That you have seen me weep, wish myself dead.
Nay you may say too (for my vow is past)
Last night you saw me eat and drink my last.
This to your master you may say and swear:
For it is writ in heaven, and decreed here.
Go break this lute on my coach's wheel,
As the last music that I e'er shall make;
Not as my husband's gift, but my farewell
To all earth's joy; and so your master tell.
Nic. I'll do your commendations.
I dare not so presume; nor to my children:
I am disclaim'd in both, alas, I am.
O never teach them, when they come to speak,
To name the name of mother; chide their tongue
If they by chance light on that hated word;
Tell them 'tis naught, for when that word they name
(Poor pretty souls) they harp on their own shame.
So, now unto my coach, then to my home,
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