THE NOBLE SPANISH SOLDIER by THOMAS DEKKER
ACT 5 SCENE 1
Enter King, Cardinal with letters, [Valesco and Lopez].
Commend us to Medina, say his letters
Right pleasing are, and that, except himself
Nothing could be more welcome. Counsel him,
To blot the opinion out of factious numbers,
Only to have his ordinary train
Waiting upon him. For, to quit all fears
Upon his side of us, our very court
Shall even but dimly shine with some few Dons,
Freely to prove our longings great to peace.
The Constable expects some pawn from you,
That in this fairy circle shall rise up
No fury to confound his niece nor him.
A Kingís word is engaged.
It shall be taken.
Valasco, call the Captain of our Guard,
Bid him attend us instantly.
Lopez come hither. See,
Letters from Duke Medina, both in the name
Of him and all his faction, offering peace,
And our old love, his niece Onaelia
In marriage with her free and fair consent
To Cockadillio, a Don of
Will you refuse this?
My crown as soon. They feel their sinewy plots
Belike to shrink iíthe joints. And fearing ruin,
Have found this cement out to piece up all,
Which more endangers all.
How sir? Endangers!
Lions may hunted be into the snare,
But if they once break loose, woe be to him
That first seized on them. A poor prisoner scorns
To kiss his jailer. And shall a king be choked
With sweet-meats by false traitors! No, I will fawn
On them as they stroke me, till they are fast
But in this paw. And then...
A brave revenge!
The Captain of your Guard.
Enter Alanzo, the Captain.
Upon thy life
Double our guard this day. Let every man
Bear a charged pistol hid, and, at a watch-word
Given by a musket, when our self sees time,
Rush in, and, if
Against your forces, kill, but if yield, save.
I am charmed, Sir.
If any wear a Cross, feather or glove,
Or such prodigious signs of a knit faction,
Table their names up. At our court-gate plant
Good strength to bar them out, if once they swarm.
Do this upon thy life.
Not death shall fright me.
Exit [Valasco and Lopez,] enter Balthazar.
ĎTis done, Sir.
Death! Whatís Done?
Young cubís flayed, but the she-fox shifting her hole is fled. The little
jackanapes, the boyís brained.
He shall neír speak more Spanish.
Thou teachest me to curse thee.
For a bargain you set your hand to.
Half my crown Iíd lose were it undone.
But half a crown! Thatís nothing.
His brains stick in my conscience more than yours.
How lost I the French doctor?
As Frenchmen lose their hair. Here was too hot staying for him.
Get thou from my sight, the Queen would see thee.
Your gold, Sir.
Go with Judas and repent.
So men hate whores after lustís heat is spent.
Iím gone, Sir.
Tell me true, is he dead?
No matter. ĎTis but morning of revenge,
The sunset shall be red and tragical.
Sin is a raven croaking <52> her own fall.
ACT 5 SCENE 2
Keep locked the door, and let none enter to us
But who shares our fortunes.
Lock the doors.
What entertainment did the King bestow
Upon your letters and the Cardinalís?
With a devouring eye he read them oíer,
Swallowing our offers into his empty bosom,
As gladly as the parched earth drinks healths
Out of the cup of heaven.
What dangers closely lie enambushed.
Both fox and lion, and both these beasts can bite.
We must not now behold the narrowest loop-hole,
But presently suspect a winged bullet
Flies whizzing by our ears.
For when I let
The plummet fall to sound his very soul
In his close-chamber, being French-Doctor like,
He to the Cardinalís ear sung sorcerous notes,
The burden of his song, to mine, was death,
Onaeliaís murder, and Sebastianís.
And think you his voice alters now? ĎTis strange,
To see how brave this tyrant shows in court,
Throned like a god. Great men are pretty stars,
When his rays shine, wonder fills up all eyes
By sight of him, let him but once check sin,
About him round all cry, oh excellent King!
Oh Saint-like man! But, let this King retire
Into his closet to put off his robes,
He like a player leaves his part too.
Open his breast, and with a sunbeam search it,
Thereís no such man. This King of gilded clay,
Within is ugliness, lust, treachery,
And a base soul, though reared Colossus-like.
Balthazar beats to come in.
None till he speaks, and that we know his voice.
Who are you?
An honest house-keeper in RosemaryLane<54>
too, if you dwell in the same parish.
Oh Ďtis our honest soldier, give him entrance.
Men show like coarses, for I meet few but are stuck with Rosemary. Every one
asked me who was married today, and I told them Adultery and Repentance, and
that Shame and a Hangman followed them to church.
Thereís but two parts to play, shame has done hers,
But execution must close up the scene,
And for that cause these sprigs are worn by all,
Bags of marriage, now of funeral,
For death this day turns courtier.
Who must dance with him?
The King, and all that are our opposites.
That dart or this must fly into the court
Either to shoot this blazing star from Spain,
Or else so long to wrap him up in clouds,
Till all the fatal fires in him burn out,
Leaving his state and conscience clear from doubt
Of following uproars.
Kill not, but surprise him.
Thatís my voice still.
Oh, this colic of a kingdom, when the wind of treason gets amongst the small
guts, what a rumbling and a roaring it keeps. And yet, make the best of it you
can, it goes on stinking. Kill a King?
If men should pull the sun out of heaven every time Ďtis eclipsed, not all the
wax nor tallow in Spain
would serve to make us candles for one year.
No way to purge
The sick state, but by opening a vein.
Is that your French physic? If every one of us should be whipped according to
our faults, to be lashed at a cartís tail would be held but a flea biting.
Enter Signor No.
What are you? Come from the King?
No? More noís? I know him, let him enter.
Signor, I thank your kind intelligence,
The news long since was sent into our ears,
Yet we embrace your love, so fare you well.
Will you smell to a sprig of rosemary?
Will you be hanged?
This is either Signor No, or no Signor.
He makes his love to us a warning piece
To arm ourselves against we come to court,
Because the guard is doubled.
Tush, we care not.
If any here arms his hand to cut off the head, let him first pluck out my
throat. In any noble act Iíll wade chin-deep with you. But to kill a King?
No hear me...
You were better, my Lord, sail five hundred times to Bantam
<55> in the
Turn then this wheel of fate from shedding blood
Till with her own hand Justice weighs all.
ACT 5 SCENE 3
Enter Queen, Malateste.
Must then his trul <57> be once more sphered in
To triumph in my spoils, in my eclipses?
And I like moping Juno sit, whilst Jove
Varies his lust into five hundred shapes
To steal to his whoreís bed! No Malateste,
Italian fires of Jealousy burn my marrow.
For to delude my hopes, the lecherous king
Cuts out this robe of cunning marriage,
To cover his incontinence, which flames
Hot, as my fury, in his black desires.
I am swollen big with child of vengeance now,
And till delivered, feel the throws of hell.
Just is your imagination, high and noble,
And the brave heat of a true Florentine:
trumpets abroad her interest
In the Kingís heart, and with a black coal draws
On every wall your scoffed at injuries,
As one that has the refuse of her sheets,
And the sick Autumn of the weakened King,
Where she drunk pleasures up in the full spring.
That, Malateste, that, that torrent wracks me.
But Hymenís torch, held downward, shall drop out,
And for it, the mad Furies swing their brands
About the bride-chamber.
The priest that joins them,
Our twin born malediction.
Loud it may speak.
The herbs and flowers to strew the wedding way,
Be cypress, eugh, cold colliquintida. <58>
Herbane and poppy, and that magical weed
Which hags at
catch the seed. <59>
To these our execrations, and what mischief
Hell can but hatch in a distracted brain,
Iíll be the executioner, though it look
So horrid it can fright even murder back.
Poison his whore today, for thou shalt wait
On the Kingís cup, and when heated with wine
He calls to drink the brideís health, marry her
Alive to a gaping grave.
When she being guarded round about with friends,
Like a fairy land, hemmed with rocks and seas,
What rescue shall I find?
Mine arms. Dost faint?
Stood all the Pyrenean hills that part
Spain and our country, on each others shoulders,
Burning with Aetnean flame, yet thou shouldíst on,
As being my steel of resolution,
First striking sparkles from my flinty breast.
Wert thou to catch the horses of the sun
Fast by their bridles, and to turn back day,
Wouldíst thou not do it, base coward, to make way
To the Italians second bliss, revenge?
Were my bones threatened to the wheel of torture
Iíll do it.
A ravenís voice, and it likes me well.
The King expects your presence.
So, so we come.
To turn this brideís day to a day of doom.
ACT 5 SCENE 4
A banquet set out, cornets sounding; enter at one door, Lopez, Valasco, Alanzo,
No. After them King, Cardinal, with Don Cockadillio, Bridegroom, Queen and
Malateste after. At the other door, Alba, Carlo, Roderigo, Medina and Daenia
leading Onaelia as bride, Cornego, and Juanna after, Balthazar alone. The Bride
and Bridegroom kiss, and by the Cardinal are joined hand in hand. The King is
very merry, hugging
For half Spainís weigh in ingots Iíd not lose
This little man today.
Not for so much
Twice told Sir, would I miss your Kingly presence.
Mine eyes have lost the acquaintance of your face
So long, and I so little late read oíer
That index of the royal book your mind,
That scarce, without your comment, can I tell
When in those leaves you turn oíer smiles or frowns.
ĎTis dimness of your sight, no fault iíthe letter.
Medina, you shall find that free from erratas,
And for a proof, if I could breathe my heart
In welcome forth, this hall should ring naught else.
Good Marquis Daenia,
Dons of Spain all welcome.
My dearest love and Queen, be it your place
To entertain the bride, and do her grace.
With all the love I can, whose fire is such,
To give her heat, I cannot burn too much.
Contracted bride, and bridegroom sit,
Sweet flowers not plucked in season lose their scent,
So will our pleasures. Father Cardinal,
Methinks this morning new begins our reign.
Peace had her Sabbath neír till now in Spain
Where is our noble soldier Balthazar?
So close in conference with that Signor?
What thinkíst thou of this great day Balthazar?
Of this day? Why as of a new play, if it ends well, allís well. All but men are
but actors, now if you being the King should be out of your part, or the Queen
out of hers, or your Dons out if theirs, hereís No will never be out of his.
ĎTwere a lamentable piece of stuff to see great statesmen have vile exits, but I
hope there are nothing but plaudities in all your eyes.
Mine I protest are free.
And mine by heaven.
Free from one good look till the blow be given.
Wine. A full cup crowned to
Your highness this day so much honours me,
That I to pay you what I truly owe,
My life shall venture for it.
So shall mine.
Onaelia, you are sad. Why frowns your brow?
A foolish memory of my past ills
Folds up my look in furrows of old care,
But my heartís merry, Sir.
Which mirth to heighten,
Your bridegroom and yourself first pledge this health
Which we begin to our High Constable.
Three cups filled, one to the King, the second to the Bridegroom and the third
to Onaelia, with whom the King compliments.
As all our Spanish figs are.
Hereís to Medinaís
heart with all my heart.
My heart shall pledge your heart iíth deepest draught
That ever Spaniard drank.
Because I wrong her with the largest bowl.
Iíll change with thee Onaelia.
Sir, you shall not!
Fear you I cannot fetch it off?
This is your scorn to her, because I am doing
This poorest honour to her. Music sound,
It goes were it ten fathoms to the ground.
Cornets play. King drinks, Queen and Malateste storm.
Fate strikes with the wrong weapon.
Sweet Royal Sir no more, it is too deep.
Twill hurt your health sir.
Interrupt me in my drink? ĎTis off.
You have drunk your last, that poisoned bowl I filled
Not to be put in your hand, but hers.
Descend black speckled soul to hell!
[The faction turn on Malateste and wound him.]
The Queen has sent me thither.
What new fury shakes now with her snakeís locks?
I, I, Ďtis I
Whose soul is torn in pieces, till I send
This harlot home.
More murders! Save the Lady.
Rampant? Let the Constable make a mittimus <60>.
Keep them asunder.
I feel no poison yet, only mine eyes
Are putting out their lights. Me thinks I feel
Deathís icy fingers stroking down my face.
And now Iím in a mortal cold sweat.
Dear my Lord.
Hence, call in my physicians.
Thy physician tyrant,
Dwells yonder, call on him or none.
stabíst thou Brutus too?
As he is, so are we all.
My brains boil in a cauldron, oh one drop
Of water now to cool me.
Oh, let him have physicians.
Keep her back.
Physicians for my soul, I need none else.
Youíll not deny me those. Oh holy father,
Is there no mercy hovering in a cloud
For me a miserable King so drenched
In perjury and murder?
Oh Sir, great store.
Come down, come quickly down.
Iíll forthwith send
For a grave Friar to be your confessor.
And he shall cure your wounded soul.
Fetch him good soldier.
So good a work, Iíll hasten.
Onaelia! Oh she's drowned in tears! Onaelia,
Let me not die unpardoned at thy hands.
Enter Balthazar, Sebastian as a Friar with others.
Here comes a better surgeon.
Hail my good son
I come to be thy ghostly father.
My child! ĎTis my Sebastian, or some spirit
Sent in his shape to fright me.
ĎTis no goblin, Sir, feel. Your own flesh and blood, and much younger than you
though he be bald, and calls you son. Had I been as ready to have cut his
sheepís throat, as you were to send him to the shambles
<61>, he had bleated no more. Thereís less chalk upon your score of sins by
these round Oíes
Oh my dull soul look up, thou art somewhat lighter.
see Sebastian lives.
Onaelia cease to weep, Sebastian lives.
Fetch me my crown. My sweetest pretty Friar
Can my hands doít, Iíll raise thee one step higher.
Thouíst been in heavenís house all this while sweet boy?
I had but coarse cheer.
Thou couldíst níer fare better.
Religious houses are those hives where bees
Make honey for menís souls. I tell thee boy,
A Friary is a cube, which strongly stands,
Fashioned by men, supported by heavenís hands.
Orders of holy priesthood are as high
Iíth eyes of Angels, as a Kingís dignity.
Both these unto a Crown give the full weight,
And both are thine. You that our contract know,
See how I seal it with this marriage.
My blessing and Spainís
kingdom both be thine.
Long live Sebastian.
Doff that Friarís coarse grey.
And since heís crowned a King, clothe him like one.
Oh no. Those are right sovereign ornaments.
Had I been clothed so, I had never filled
chronicle with my black calumny.
My work is almost finished. Whereís my Queen?
Here piecemeal, torn by Furies.
Your hand Paulina too, Onaelia yours.
This hand, the pledge of my twice broken faith,
By you usurped is her inheritance.
My love is turned, see as my fate is turned,
Thus they today laugh, yesterday which mourned.
I pardon thee my death. Let her be sent
Back into Florence with a trebled dowry.
Death comes, oh now I see what late I feared!
A contract broke, though pieced up neír so well,
Heaven sees, earth suffers, but it ends in hell.
Oh, I could die with him.
Since the bright sphere
I moved in falls, alas what make I here?
The hammers of black mischief now cease beating,
Yet some irons still are heating. You Sir Bridegroom,
Set all this while up as a mark to shoot at,
We here discharge you of your bedfellow,
She loves no barberís washing <63>.
My balls are saved then.
Be it your charge, so please you reverend Sir,
To see the late Queen safely to Florence.
My niece Onaelia, and that trusty soldier,
We do appoint to guard the infant King.
Other distractions, time must reconcile.
The State is poisoned like a crocodile.