Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A41818
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Gratiae theatrales, or, A choice ternary of English plays composed upon especial occasions by several ingenious persons.
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T. W., fl. 1662. Thorny-abbey.; Watson, Thomas, d. 1686.
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1662
(1662)
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Wing G1580; ESTC R26436
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30,642
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73
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brat of woe and sad defame Although a Kings he cannot hide the shame Exit Ent. King Earle of Wiltshire Bishop Lutius and Emma King Thus Royall Lords we are in Justice plac't And by the assistance of the all-seeing heaven To search forth murther Are the suspected persons Yet brought Wilt. They are my Leige King Speak woman and remember as thou speakest That thou art before heaven as well as we Who them with all thy cunning caust not blind What knowst thou of the murther Em. I doe beseech bring forth my accusers VVilt I am the first yet free from spot of envy And thus I ground my feare if your white hands Have tane no tincture from the bloody wounds Of our late murdred Prince why is your Lord Against his oath alleageance and command Fled thus preposterously in the self-same hour In which he should have done his Country-service Em. The Law whiâ—h did â—nite my Lord and me In one firm body never did impart The freedome of his thoughts into my boosome Neither doth that or any English custome Impose on wives their husbands blemishes I pray my Lord accuse me for my self King 'T is from your self if you be foul in him Wilt. Besides it is affirm'd by solemn oath The self same night the King forsook the World You and your Lord did never come in bed So that in common sence you either were Or chief or aiding to the murderer Em. Our busy care to entertain the King Did make us leave our beds to vertuous ends Oh! my good Lord you would disgrace my goodness But my poor innocence is so cleare from blemish No filths of any tongue can sully it And here before your Master I wish If I be guilty or in thought or action May I be made a warning to all women And branded with most black damnation oh oh Wilt. Defend us heaven Look to the Lady there Bish. Are you hurt Madam Em. No but amazed at this dreadful thunder Bish. Oh! be advised in time and tempt not heaven Scarce had deniall issued from your lips Bâ—t thunder cryes aloud that you reueal What else heaven will speak in miracles King Doe woman tell the truth Em. You mad me wiâ—h your vaine suggestions Your actions are unjust and terrible I doe defie what ever can accuse me Though it be wrested in loud peales of thunder Yet with a breath more noble then your slander I throw defiance at your envious boosoms What doe you think to work upon my weakness Tush I am armed with better fortitude My Lords I aske a husband at your hands A Noble Prince which you have murdered And now with these suggestions would overwhelme My life and fortunes making me confess A crime of which I am more innocent Then you your selves or babes new born this hour A blasing star appeares Bish. Se se my Lord a blasing star appears And hangs directly o're this fatall house Edm. Angels proâ—ect us Em. Ha what art thou Thou dost amaze me with thy curled fires Why doth thy flaming train thus point at me oh oh Bish. How fare you Lady Em. Oh hide thy branded fire whose flaming beams Are shot into my brain it flames and burnes And all the waters that o'rewhelme the King Can never quench it till his body come oh oh King Doth water then o'rewhelme his body VVilt Perhap 't is cast into some River Sir Em. Spare me oh spare me gentle heaven be dumb Call not so loud let me unload my boosom Of this eternall waight of sin and murder Then let thy winged lightning split my breast That all the World may know my Lord and I Contriv'd the King's most bloody tragedy King It is confest Em. Oh! Royall Sir I am inforst to speak Frowning heavens and that almighty fire Hath thrust it from my mouth and I confess My Lord and I did hire two desperate men And they by our command did kill the King King Where are those men Em. The murder done they fled to find out safety But whither by my soul 's sicke estate I know not King What did you with the body of the King Em. Hard by the Castle stands an old grown oake Close by whose side a little River runnes Whose quiet streams we stopt and turn'd hâ—s course Up to his head till in his sandy bottom We dig'd a pit and therein laid the body Which done we cover'd it with earth stones And turnd the water to his former passage That running over it none might see Or find the author of this tragedy King Unheard of stratagem take pitty on thy soul Thou barbarous woman call to the powers above For to be mercifull Em. False World farwell let me example be A warning to our sex from blood to flee Dies King Go home and see the body be brought before the Judge Wilt. I shall my Lord performe it carefully Enter some with Sibert and Murderers Wilt. Come bring him before the King Sib. Let me not see the King nor be examin'd That cursed which did bewitch my sence And made me hire the slaves to murder him King Discourse to us the manner of their taking Sib. I 'le tell the tale my self hear me O noble Iudge When in disguise loaden with desperate thoughts I meant to pass to Ireland by the Seas The angry heavens call'd up the mounting waves And bad them in their hollow murmurs say They would not beare a Kings base murtherer My passage thus denied by raging stormes Like a distracted out-cast forth I went Into strange paths careless and negligent And there I met these damned Murtherers Mad as my self and horrour with dispair They hollowed still for mudering the King We all are damn'd to eternall tortering Which when the people heard they us surprised And brought us thus a bloody sacrifice King The Gods are ever just oh Coventry Thou art the bloody Subject of our curses Thy bloody hand hath bath'd the anoynted King In his own blood for which we will be swift In vengeance take these three and by their heeles hang Them upon stakes let ravens mastives worry them to death That when they sâ—rick their hideous fearfull cryes May draw the Land to see their miseries Sib. and Murd The doom is Royall just and mercifull King For this vile woman see her senceless body Be on a pile of faggots burnt to earth And scatter'd before the blustring wind That on their winged convayes they may flye To the Worlds furthest verge or memory See it perform'd they thus to death are sent The Heaven I hope will pease her punishment Bish. Take comfort Princely Sir the worst is past The sacred powers are pleas'd with this your justice For with the Traitors deaths the stormes are ceast The air is clear and all the thunders past And see the Sun and Moon give blessed light And quite abolisht our diurnall night King Now the news Ent. with the body Wilt. The body 's found my Lord. King Bring it in Wilt. 'T is here my Leige
King Here on this humble ground lies he That once was King of this vast Monarchy Alas What are we Kings what 's Majesty But like a flattring glass that shews forth pride And with one stripe of all destroying death Is past to nothing lookes that face now Like to a brow that did command a Kingdome Thus pale and bloodless was this the head That wore the golden wreath thus groveld all with earth Take up the body and let it have a second buriall And layd within the sepulchers of Kings Our self will take our way And make a progress to establish Laws That this our Land Iustice may rule so even Our life may be acceptable to heaven Eâ—euâ—â— Enter Chorus The body being intomb'd King Edmund takes A progress through the Realm to establish Laws Himself in Iudgment Sits to hear mens cause Five years he spent mean time what cares befell Unto his Love the Nun of Holy-well And her affection'd Father now behold What 's done in shew I shall in words unfould A dumb shew Enter Thorny with Cittizens giving them large summes of money shewing them the money desires them to see his building goe forward takes his leave with a deaths head in his hand goes into the tombe Second dumbe shew Enter one way Edmund Wiltshire Bishop Lutius at the other Woodford and the Child he kneeles delivers to the King a Letter and a Ring he reads the Letter and smiles blesses the Child and gives it to Wiltshire the King and Bishop departes to see Anne Chorus Old Thorny thus o're grown with misery Who never more would see his vertuous Child But in a plot of ground a mile from London Builds up a tombe where night and day he lives His goods are sold and to the poor he gives Large sommes of money and takes a solemâ— oath Of those his friends and worthy Cittizens Fast by his tombe to build a famous Abbey And with three hundred work men dayly plied To have it finisht ere old Thorny died This done the King returned back to London And faithfull Woodford watching a fit time Presents him with a Letter and a Ring His long forsaken love had sent to him Which read the King wiâ—h much astonishmenâ— Remembers her and doth with teares express How much he blames his much forgetfulness Vowing to see her presents to him his Son Being grown to years of some dâ—scretion Which the King gladly takes and smiles on him What now shall follow with your gratious favour We humbly beg attention to the end And if we fail to please we 'le strive to mend Exit Ent. Old Thorny in his tombe Oh brightsome day thus low poor Thorny bows To strive with briny teares thy gladsome light Whose hopes have shut him up in darksome night Here in this tombe sequestred from the world Will Thorny spend his life and with my nayls To dig my grave and in this glass to see And view the end of all mortality Court-pomp and Citty pride look look on this And teach your souls the way to happiness â—oor flesh and blood is this the face of man After the worlds sad separation Must all return to this oh London London Thy flattery and guile Has bin the cause that I my self exil'd By Servants sorrow and Daughters sin I will behold thy populous streets no more Nor breath in thee nor surfet in thy store Here in my grave I 'le live and learn to dye That after death my Soul to Heav'n may fly Enter Lobster 'T is a fine world when a man must call a man Out of his grave to eat vittles They talke of watching of a dead corse I am Sure I have watcht a quick one this Month and brought him meat so long That I am almost starv'd my self I have brought him a clean shirt I would he would shift himself I found a lowse about him as big as The top of my thumb I thought as much He 's talking with that same casts head still Sure 't is a Lawyers head he Findes so much talke wiâ—h it it is not abel to Answer a wise word I am so hungry My guts are allmost clung together Mr pray will you leave your prating To that Memento mori and go to break-feast Thorn No set it down I have no mind of meat Till we have thankfull bin we should not eat Lobst Will you say grace and if you 'le wash your hands I 'le fetch some water Thor. Oh vanity of fooles hast thou thus long Bin my carefull contemplation And learn'st thou nothing yet look on this heaâ— This careless skull had flesh and blood And all like this must meet deformity What swearer sees this moth does not tremble Oh man how vain art thou that speakest thâ— labours For one bewitching minute of this world And after all thy joys to hell be hurld Lobst I would I were at the heaven of my vittals I 'de talke of hell afterward Thorn Hast thou no abstinence for pious workâ— Lobst There 's a piece of pye I would faine be at it Will you eat that and leave talking to that Testâ— de morte Thorn Go call my friends that over see my work Bid them come speak with me and then I 'le eat Lobst I will Sir but I 'le take away the provant Least they oversee that you see over Ent. 2 Cittizens My Master would speak with you 1 Citt. All haile to you Sir Thor. All are alike to me storm hayl or snow I take them thankfully You two were sworn overseers and performers of my will Tell me how goes the Abbey forward 2 Citt. 'T is allmost finisht Sir Thorn When it is finisht I 'le have it dedicated Unto the Monks of St Benedict's Order And since I have no child to keep my fame â—e call it Thorny-Abbey by my name 1 Cit. We shall perform your charge good Sir for pitty At least remember your most wretched daughter Thorn You tear my heart when you but mention her Were every penny that is mine a pound And the least part of it given for her dowry Would raise her to the Title of a Queen She never should possess it Her soul sin Hath brought myne age with sorrow to the grave 2 Citt. Poor soul she spends her hours in a reclusive life With holy Nunnes and lives a votarist in Holy-well That comfort Sir should somewhat ease your grief Thorn It does it does and draws down tears to hear it Give her a constant heart oh powerfull heavenl Still to perseveâ—e in that pious end And as a signe that I forgive so she continues firme Bear her this blessed token sent from me A Fathers gift and charge her carefully To look upon this head and there select Reasons to answer all the Arguments Of flesh and blood there she shall see The perfect way to find eternity And so for ever may your soules be blest Whilst from the world and you I thus take rest Exit Lob. Are they gone then Lobster lay abouâ— thee