Divide this purse of gold; this other strew Whereon foes broke their swords, and tired themselves : For me, my portion provide in heaven: My root is earth'd, and I, a desolate branch, The prison limits you, and the creditors THE OLD LAW: A COMEDY, BY PHILIP MASSINGER, THOMAS MIDDLETON, AND WILLIAM ROWLEY. The DUKE OF EPIRE enacts a law, that all men who have reached the age of fourscore, shall be put to death, as being adjudged useless to the commonwealth. SIMONIDES, the bad, and CLEANTHES, the good son, are differently affected by the promulgation of the edict. Sim. Cleanthes, O, lad, here's a spring for young plants to flourish! Cle. Whither, sir, I pray? To the bleak air of storms, among those trees Sim. Yes, from our growth, Our sap and livelihood, and from our fruit. What! 'tis not jubilee with thee yet, I think; Thou look'st so sad on 't. How old is thy father ? Cle. Jubilee! no, indeed; 'tis a bad year 1 His father's sword. Sim. Prithee, how old 's thy father? then I can tell thee. Cle. I know not how to answer you, Simonides. He is too old, being now exposed Unto the rigor of a cruel edict; And yet not old enough by many years, 'Cause I'd not see him go an hour before me. Sim. These very passions I speak to my father. * Cle. Why, here's a villain, Able to corrupt a thousand by example. To comfort his old limbs in fruitless winter? CLEANTHES, to save his old father, LEONIDES, from the operation of the law, gives out that he is dead, celebrating a pretended funeral, to make it believed. DUKE. COURTIERS. CLEANTHES, as following his father's body to the grave. Duke. Cleanthes ? Court. "Tis, my lord, and in the place Of a chief mourner too, but strangely habited. He comes all the way smiling, do you observe it? Light colours and light cheeks-who should this be? Cle. O my lord! Duke. He laugh'd outright now. Was ever such a contrariety seen In natural courses yet, nay, profess'd openly? Cle. 'Tis, of a heavy time, the joyfull'st day That ever son was born to. Duke. How can that be? Cle. I joy to make it plain-my father's dead. Court. Old Leonides ? Cle. In his last month dead. He beguiled cruel law the sweetliest That ever age was blest to. It grieves me that a tear should fall upon it, Naming but death, I show myself a mortal, I shall return your servant. Duke. Well, perform it; The law is satisfied: they can but die. CLEANTHES conceals LEONIDES in a secret apartment within a wood, Though it be never lost; and if our watchfulness That comes to steal our goods, things all without us, Hip. That prove vexation often more than comfort The nerves of confidence; he that hides treasure, When 'tis a thing least minded; nay, let him change There will the fear keep still. Yonder's the storehouse HIPPOLITA enters. A dear one to me. Precious chief of women! Cle. A blessing on thee, Both for thy news and wish. Hip. His stomach, sir, Is better'd wondrously, since his concealment. Cle. Heaven has a blessed work in it. Come, we are safe here." I prithee, call him forth, the air is much wholesomer. Hip. Father. LEONIDES comes forth. Leon. How sweetly sounds the voice of a good woman! Cle. I hope to see you often, and return Loaden with blessing, still to pour on some. And lose not one in thousands, they are dispersed Ha! Leon. What was it disturb'd my joy? As afar off?. Hip. What, my excellent consort? Cle. Nor you Hip. I heard a Cle. Hark again Leon. Bless my joy! What ails it on a sudden? Cle. Now since- -lately Leon. 'Tis nothing but a symptom of thy care, man. Leon. What was it, daughter? Hip. I heard a sound, twice. Cle. Hark! louder and nearer. In, for the precious good of virtue, quick, sir. A hunting here! 'tis strange! I never knew Game follow'd in these woods before. [LEONIDES goes in. Hip. Now let them come, and spare not. Enter DUKE, Courtiers, Attendants, as if hunting. Cle. Ha! 'tis- is it not the Duke ?- -look sparingly. Hip. 'Tis he, but what of that? alas! take heed, sir; Your care will overthrow us. Cle. Come, it shall not. Let's set a pleasant face upon our fears, Though our hearts shake with horror. Ha! ha! ha! Duke. Hark! Cle. Prithee, proceed; I'm taken with these light things infinitely, Since the old man's decease.-Ha! ha! ha! Duke. Why, how should I believe this? Look, he's merry, And 'tis the same still; with no difference, Court. Ay, he may laugh, my lord; That shows but how he glories in his cunning; Duke. If a contempt can be so neatly carried, Cleanthes |