The engine is not seen that wounds thy master; The flatteries of court, of fame, or honours. Or make her bosom kind, to growth and bearing: That once were natural warmth to her soft verdure, The bark and rind, till she becomes a burden Suspect your health indeed. Adm. No, no, thou shalt not Be troubled: I but stirr'd thee with a moral, See, I can walk; poor man, thou hast not strength yet. The father of the Admiral makes known the condition his son is in to the king. Father. King. King. Say, how is my admiral? The truth upon thy life. Fath. To secure his, I would you had. King. Ha! who durst oppose him? Fath. One that hath power enough, hath practis'd on him, And made his great heart stoop. King. I will revenge it With crushing, crushing that rebellious power To nothing: Name him. Fath. He was his friend. King. What mischief hath engender'd New storms? Fath. Fath. 'Tis the old tempest. King. Did not we Appease all horrors that look'd wild upon him? Fath. You drest his wounds, I must confess, but made No cure; they bleed afresh: pardon me, sir; Although your conscience have closed too soon, He is in danger, and doth want new surgery: Though he be right in fame, and your opinion, He thinks you were unkind. King. Alas, poor Chabot: Doth that afflict him? Fath. So much, though he strive With most resolv'd and adamantine nerves, Forg'd for example, to bear all; so killing King. If this Be all, I'll cure him. Kings retain More balsam in their soul, than hurt in anger. Fath. Far short, sir; with one breath they uncreate: And kings, with only words, more wounds can make Than all their kingdom made in balm can heal. 'Tis dangerous to play too wild a descant On numerous virtue; though it become princes To assure their adventures made in every thing. Goodness, confin'd within poor flesh and blood, Hath but a queazy and still sickly state; A musical hand should only play on her, Fluent as air, yet every touch command. King. No more : Commend us to the admiral, and say The king will visit him, and bring health. Fath. I will not doubt that blessing, and shall move Nimbly with this command. The King visits the Admiral. King. Admiral. His wife, and father. King. No ceremonial knees: Give Give me thy heart, my dear, my honest Chabot ; And in my heart the world shall read thee living; That part of me shall never putrify, When I am lost in all my other dust. Adm. You too much honour your poor servant, sir; King. I wo' not hear a sound Of any thing that trenched upon death. He speaks the funeral of my crown, that prophesies And by that duty, which hath taught you hitherto Adm. I have found A glorious harvest in your favour, sir; All my deserts are shadows and fly from me : I have not in the wealth of my desires Enough to pay you now. King. Express it in some joy then. To shew that pious gratitude to you, but King. But what? Adm. My frame hath lately, sir, been tane a pieces, And but now put together; the least force Of Of mirth will shake and unjoint all my reason. King. I'll have no patience, If thou forget the courage of a man. Adm. My strength would flatter me. Now I begin to fear his apprehension. Why how is Chabot's spirit fall'n? Adm. Who would not wish to live to serve your good ness? Stand from me. You betray me with your fears. My heart, they were but thoughts at first; or if King. In a prince What a swift executioner is a frown, Adm. I must beg King. Upon condition My Chabot will collect his scatter'd spirits, My kingdom with me. Adm. I observe A fierce and killing wrath engender'd in you; For my sake, as you wish me strength to serve you, Forgive your chancellor;112 let not the story Of Philip Chabot, read hereafter, draw A tear from any family; I beseech King. Endeavour But thy own health; and pronounce general pardon Adm. Sir, I must kneel to thank you; It is not seal'd else. Your blest hand: live happy, Wife. His heart is broken. Father. And kneeling, sir; As his ambition were in death to shew The truth of his obedience. (Dies.) THE MAID'S REVENGE. A TRAGEDY. BY JAMES 113 SHIRLEY. Sebastiano invites Antonio to Avero Castle. SEBASTIANO. ANTONIO. Seb. The noble courtesies I have receiv'd Ant. How now, Sebastiano, will you forfeit Seb. I spake my thoughts; My tongue and heart are relatives; I think I have 113 Shirley claims a place amongst the worthies of this period, not so much for any transcendent genius in himself, as that he was the last of a great race, all of whom spoke nearly the same language, and had a set of moral feelings and notions in common. A new language and quite a new turn of tragic and comic interest came in with the Restoration. |