I conquer thee and shew thee mercy Never love more nor after I am marri'd Dare for thy Soul to speak of Bellamira Gand. I thank thee and accept the terms with Joy Which blood must ratifieâ— And here I swear If vanquish'd by thy Arm though Death I hope Will more than Oath confirm the fatal bargain For evâ—r to renounce all Claim and yield By my Eâ—ernal absence Bellamira Borg. Come on then And let Love and Glory steell Thy unflesh'd arm think on this moment hangs Thy whole life's Joy or worse than Death Despair I would noâ— win such Beauty without Blood But as the brave Gonsalvo being shot Mov'd not at all nor chang'd his mighty Look As if the Gallantry of such demeanour Could charm coy Victory to raise the Seige So would I with my blood distilling down Answering her tears lead Bellamira on And woo her at the Altar with my wounds Gand. No more Borg. Agreed The word is Bellamira Fight Gandia is wounded Hold hold Palante for thou bleedst Gand. A scratch Borg. My Father crys out save him on thy life Fight again Gand. Guard well thy life Borgia is wounded on the Arm but disarms Gandia Enter Machiavel Mach. What means this noise of Arms Why these Swords drawn what now my Lords Both wounded Borgia throws Gandia his Sword By Heav'n I swear you shall proceed no further Borg. 'T is now too late to tell thee how we quarrell'd Look to his wound soon as the Cure's perform'd I 'll serve the Duke of Gandia with my Fortune But far from Rome for he has agreed Never to see my Bellamira more For me I 'll to the Temple Mach. My Lord you bleed Borg. The Skin 's but rac'd Would it were deep in the most mortal part So Bellamira when the blood gush'd forth Would sink upon my breast and swear she lov'd me But that 's too much to hope what e're is doom'd I swear this night to grasp the conquer'd Prize Yes yes Palante hear and fly for ever All the white World of Bellamira's Beauty This Night I 'll travel o're to feast my Love The Little Glutton shall be gorg'd with Revels He shall be drunk with spirits of delight With all that amorous wishes can inspire And all the Liberties of loose desire Exit Gand. I 'll after him and at the Altar end him Waâ—'t not enough to wound and vanquish me But he must triumph too I rave and talk I know not what for he is generous And nobly merits what his valour won Yes happy Borgia I will keep my word And since thus lost to all that I held dear Abandon this loath'd World Mach. You must retire Gand. I will devote the sad remains of life To the blest Company of holy men Learn Contemplation and the dregs of life Purg'd off taste clearer and more sprightly joys Partake their transports in the brightest Visions See opening Heav'ns and the descending Gods Then as I view the dazling tracks of Angels Sigh to my heart and cry see there and there In full perfection thousand Bellamira's Mach. My Lord your wound bleeds fast Gand. O Machiavel When I am shut for ever from the World Thou tenderst hearted gentlest best of Friends Wilt visit me sometimes I know thou wilt Mach. Why do you droop thus lean upon my Arm All shall be well Yes I will find a way In spite of Fortune yet to heal your sorrows And pour the Balm of Bellamira's tears Upon your wound Gand. Could I but see her once Beâ—ore I die Mach. Once Twice a Hundred times Doubt not you shall but haste to your Apartment Ex. Gandia Methinks if mischief had but this to vaunt That like a God none knows her but her self It were enough to mount her o're the World I love my self and for my self I love Borgia my Prince Who does not love himself Self-love's the Universal Beam of Nature The Axle-tree that darts through all its Frame And he 's a Child in thought who fears the sting Of Conscience and will rather lose himself Than make his Fortune by another's ruine Conscience the Bug-bears roar the Nurses howl Our Infant lash and whip of Education Enter Adornaâ— My Genius my Love my little Angel Hast thou the Letters Adorn First my Lord If I have breath to utter let me tell you Never was Marriage solemniz'd like this Mach. Go on Adorn The Bride in Mourning Robes was led Or rather born like a pale Course along I saw her when she first approach'd the Temple How rushing from the arms of those that held her She threw her Body on the Marble steps When straâ—t the Bridegroom with a kindled Face Draw near and blushing stretcht his bloody Aâ—m Wrapt in a Scarf and gave it to the Bride Then bowing wish'd the Priest perform his Duty Mach. What follow'd Adorn Urg'd or rather brib'd before The Priest at Old Orsino's Intercession Soon joyn'd their Hands all from the Temple haste Oâ—sino and his Son in deep Discourse And Bellamira blind with weeping led This way Mach. I am glad on 't for I wait to speak with her Prithee produce the Letâ—ers Come I know Thou hast 'em nay 't is thy own interest Adorn See Bellamira enters stay some time And I 'll discover to your own desire Enter Bellamira Mach. Madam I would entreat a word in private Bell. Can misery like mine be worth discourse Mach. The dead are only happy and the dying The dead are still and lasting slumbers hold 'em He who is near his Death but turns about Shuffles a while to make his Pillow easie Then slips into his Shroud and rests for ever Bella. My Mind presages by the bloody hand That seiz'd me at the Altar Mach. In their Nonage A Sympathy unusual joyn'd their loves They pair'd like Turtles still together drank Together eat nor quarrell'd for the choice Like Twining-streams both from one Fountain fell And as they ran still mingled smiles and tears But oh when Time had swell'd their Currents high This boundless World this Ocean did divide 'em And now for ever they have lost each other Bella. For ever Oh the horrour that invades me Thou seem'st to imitate some horrid act I charge thee speak how fares the Duke of Gandia Not answer me why dost thou shake â—hy Head And cross thy arms and turn thy eyes away Has there been ought betwixt my Lord and him Mach. There has they fought Bella. The Cause the Cursed Cause Stands here before thy eyes she stands to blast thee I know 't is thus Borgia for me was wounded And oh my fears by his relentless handâ— Perhaps that poor despairing lost Palante Is miserably slain If it be so Spite of my Father I 'll renounce my Vows Forgo forswear all comforts in this life And fly the World Mach. Would I were out on 't Nothing but fraud and cruelties reign here He is not slain but as his Surgeons bode I fear him much Oh would you be so kind To see the Wounds he suffers
I owe the best of Fathers best of Friends This day this glorious day for ever blest And never to be lost in Times dark Legend Crowns me your Son Thus then I bend my kneesâ— Which are not us'd to kneel but at the Altar And O! permit me thus to kiss your Hand And pay the Eternal Vows of my Obedience Orsin O rise my Lord all Duâ—y is out done Wiâ—h but one single bare Acknowledgment Yâ—t for a satisfaction to this Company Say do you love my Daughter Bellamira Bâ—rg Ha! what says my Father do I live O Heaven Why do you wound me with the Question Does the poor suff'ring Fair One Vertue love Who drinks the Brook and eaâ—s what Nature yields Rather than feast in Courts wiâ—h loss of Honour Do those who on the Rack for Heav'n expire Love Angels and Eternal brightness there 'T is sure they do And oh 't is full as sure That Caesar Borgia dies for Bellamira Orsin No more you Honour her and me too muchâ— Therefore this day I give her to your Arms With all the pleasure of a proud old Father O'rejoy'd to see his Daughter match'd above him By Heav'n my eyes grow full here all our Discord For ever end all Jars betwixt the Orsins Vitelli and the Duke of Valentinois Be bury'd ever in this strict Imbrace Borg. Since you will havâ— it so forgive my Dutyâ— Let me grow bold and as a Friâ—nd imbrace you Orsin See here my Lord for scarce can I distinguish Through the bright joy that dazles my weak sight Oliverotto and the Duke Graviana When Vitellozzo come to grace your Nuptials All on their knees acknowledge you their Prince Borg. My Equals all Nor shall this Homage be I swear it shall not Rise my Lords your Arms Let me imbrace you round by all things sacred I swear that none of you have been too blame Were you Confederates against my Arms You were but Borgia'â— infinite Ambition Forc'd you against your wills to let him know His head-strong Youth like a young fiery Horse Unless you kindly stop him in hiâ— speed Would hurl him from some Precipice to ruine Oâ—sin See Vitellozzo how he takes our Crimes Upon himself Borg. Behold this Child my Sonâ— I know not any thing the World callâ— precious Which in the darkness of my heart can match him But Bellamira Take him Vitellozzo Take the dear blood that trickles from my heart The very strings that wind about my life And let him for my part be Surety As beautious Bellamira is for yours Orsin Farewell my Lord with these Attendance here I go to haste the Bride and let my life Be answer for the little Seraphino Ex. Orsin Vitelli. Ascan. He has her now that delicate bit of Beauty Which I reserv'd for my own Letchery He drills her from her old deluded Sire Hell and she melts she melts into hiâ— mouth But by my Holy-Dame I 'll be reveng'd On every part of him His little Bastard Because he doats on him shall streight be mangled I 'll do 't I say Yes by my Holy Dame I will revenge my loss of Letchery Ha! what a jerk was that it grates my bones Pray Heav'n it ben't a Spice a little Tang Of the Neapolitan Itch O my Holy-Dame Ex. with Cardinals Borg. Now Machiavel prepare to hear my Soul Hear to what softness and effeminate mourning All my dear Victories at last are melted For I will tell thee though thou'lt scarce believe Since first I saw the Charming Bâ—llamira The very Image of Charlotta's scorn I have not had one hour of Free repose Ev'n when at last I have resolv'd to joyn Our hands and trust her with my tender glory I 've started from my Bed at midnight rose And wandeâ—'d by the Moon Then laid me down Upon some dewy bank and slept till morn Mach. Therefore there must be some strange Circumstance That first induc'd those fears some dang'rouâ— hint For your suspitions Borg. Yes Machiavâ—l There is there is a cause for my suspitions Mach. Are you sure of it Borg. Most sure I am Sure aâ— reserv'dness does imply aversion Yet I as if my flames were fire in Frost The more she cools scorch rage and burns the more Mach. I guesâ— your meaning like Charlotta she Has pawn'd her heart but 't is confess'd you know him Borg. Ha! did I know the name of him I dread What God in Armâ— should save him from my Sword Here thou hast rouz'd the Lion in my heart Italian spite revenge and blasting fury Devouâ—s my Soul all mildness sleeps like Death I boil like Drunkards Veins Death Hell and Vengeance Mach. Suppress this Fury Câ—me come my Lord I find your are better skill'd In Camps then Courts and know not yet Loves World She is reserv'd you say when you approach her Why let her weep too was it ever known A subtle Pride laugh'd on her Wedding Day Or clasp'd her love in the eye o' th world I find you are unlearn'd Sir 't is their Trade The very Nature Soul and Life-blood of 'em To whineâ— and cry and turn their heads away When their hearts dote on what they seem to scorn Borg. If it were so Mach. Why it was always so Is so and will be so to the worlds end Give me your hand and take her on my word I have been bred in Courts sounded the humours Even of all Women-kind Therefore advise you Repair immediately to old Orsino Who with his Beauteous Daughter waits your Coming Borg. Could she be truly mine the wings of Winds Would be too slow to waft me to her arms Mach. Once more I say she is and shall be yours Truly religiously devoutly yours Why all this thought and groundless Jealousy Let manly Confidence and Roman-Vertue Master this Gothick Fury in your blood Borg. By Arms by all the glories I have won Thou hast awak'd my Love and Charm'd my fears Charlotta O the very figure of her But sure the Beauteous Lines are softer here And now I find 't is ruine to forgo her Mach. No more my Lord. 'T is I that thus embark youâ— And if some startinâ— Plank should flâ—w the Vessel To your destruction I am ruin'd too Since all I have or am or ever would be Is to be yours your sworn unbyass'd friend Borg. Thou best of men Thou art my Oracle my Heaven my Genius And as some God shalt guide me through the World Let 's go to Conquest tho through Death we go Marriage and Death both new Experiments Methinks I see the Taper in the Window The Busie Nurse unveils the weeping Maid And I must naked pass through Seas to reach her O fatal Marriage O thou dismal Gulph Which like the Hellespona do'st rore between Me and my Joys Is there no other way None none the Winds and the dash'd Rocks reply Why let 'm roar and let the Billows swell Till the rack't Orbs be wiâ—h the Deluge drown'd 'T is fixt I 'll plunge or perish or enjoy her Mach. Justly
ouâ—ragious Than Envy in her Cave or Mad-men in their Dens Borg. Excellent Machiavel more more to lull me Mach. My Tongue should stammer in my earnest wordâ— My eyes should spaâ—kle like the beaten Flint Borg. This hoary Hair should start and stand an end And all thy shaking joynts should seem to curse ' em Mach. Nay since you urge me Sir my heart will break Unless I curse ' em Poyson be their drink Borg. Gall and Wormwood Hemlock Hemlock quench ' em Mach. Their sweetest Shade a Dell of duâ—kish Adders Borg. Their fairest Prospect Fields of Basilisks Their softest touch as smart as Vipers Teeth Mach. Their Musick horrid as the hiss of Dragons All the foul terrors of dark-seated Hell Borg. No more thou art one piece with me my self And now I take a pride in my revenge Mach. You bid me ban and will you bid me cease Now by your wrongs that turn my heart to steel Well could I curse away a Winters night Though standing naked on a Mountains top And think it but a minute spent in sport Borg. Thou best of Friends come to my Arms my Brother But the time calls and Vengeâ—nce bids us part Henceforth be thou the Mistress of my Heart Ex. Mach. Now it grows ripe the Orsins and Vitelli Are buri'd by my Wit without a noâ—se O! 't is the safer course for threats are dang'rous But there 's no danger in the Execution For he thaâ—'s dead ne're thinks upon revenge Whaâ— hoa Alonzo Enter Alonzo Alonz. Here my Lord. Mach. Are the Gloves brought I sent to the Perfumers Alonz. They are Mach. Where is Adorna Alonz. She waits without Mach. As you see her enter Bring me the Gloves 'T were easie strangling her But this is quainter O my bright Adorna Enter Adorna With confidence I swear the Duke is thine Adorn May I believe it Mach. Be judge thy self whether I have been idle These were a Present from the King of Spain To the Pope's Niece of whom the fond young Duke Begg'd 'em for thee Adorn Is 't possible Mach. Stay Madam we must change One Present for another Lend me the Key To Bâ—llamira's Chamber Adorn For what Mach. Nay if we baâ—ter words Adorn Here here my Lord. Now give me the dear Present See see my Lord they are emboss'd with Jewels And cast so rich an Odour they o'recome me Help me my Lord O help me lend your Arm The Earth turns round with me O mercy Heaven Dyâ—sâ— Mach. Remove the Body Then haste and find the Duke of Gandia out E're he removes as he intends to night Having Commission from the Pope to lead Th' Italian Armies earnestly entreat him To honour me by making one last Visit Which equally imports him as his life Enter Borgia and Bellamira Borg. Upon the instant Fairest I must leave you The Lord of Firmo with the Duke your Unclâ— Have taken Sinigallia by surprize What else but meeting thy Victorious Kinsmen Should draw me from thy Arms yet thus divided But for a day or two methinks I part As Souls are sever'd from their warmer Mansions To wander in the bleak and desart Air. O Bellamira Bell. Why do you sigh my Lord If 't is your pleasure let 'em wait you here Or if my Presence can dispel these Clouds That make you say I will attend you â—hither For while life lasts I will be all obedience Borg. Could'st thou hold there how might we laugh at Fate So kindled both by Love and by Ambition How would I sweep like Tempests with a waste Over all Italy and Crown the Empress Here in the Heart of Rome my bright Angusta But 't is impossible Bell. Then you conclude my Lord I am not true Borg. Why art thou Is there such a thing in Nature As a true Wife No Bellamira no Thou would'st be monstrous then ev'n to derision For the whole Flock of common Wives would whoot thee And drive thee like a Bird without one Feather Of thy own kind Bell. Once more upon my knees In view of all the Hierarchy of Heav'n I here attend my spotless Innocence Borg. Still Machiavel still let us keep to death Our Principle that we are dust when dead For were there any Hell or any Devil But hot enough to make an Exhortation Would he not fetch her now would he not dam her I do believe thee guiltless Therefore rise But since thou art so confidently clear Swear Bellamira if I prove thee false What e're I threat nay though I put in act Those Menaces thou wilt not call me Tyrant Bell. I swear by Heav'n I will submit my life To the severest stroke of your revenge Borg. If then I prove thee false O Bellamira Not that Celestial Copy ev'n thy Face Shall scape but I will race the Draught as if It ne're had been the pattern of the Gods Bell. Act what you please but speak no more my Lord For every word 's a bolt and strikes me dead Borg. If thou art false and if I prove thee so That skin of thine that matchless West of Heav'n Which some more curious Angel cast about thee Will I tear off though cleaving to the Shrine Bell. Speak to him Machiavel O fatal Marriage Borg. If thou dost play me false think not of mercy Thy Father shall be burnt before thy eyes Bell. O horrid thought Borg. Thy Uncles Brothers Sisters All that have any relish of thy blood I 'll rack to death and throw their Limbs before thee Therefore look to 't beware if thou art false I 'll take thee unprepar'd and sink thy Soul Therefore I say again beware I 've warn'd thee Body and Soul ev'n everlasting ruine For so may Heav'n have mercy upon mine At my last gasp as I 'll have none on thine Exit Bell. O 't is too plain I am lost undone for ever What but one Night ev'n the first Nuptial Night So sought so courted and so hardly won And the next day nay the succâ—eding Morâ— To be us'd thus Let me go let me go For I 'll proclaim him throuâ—h the streets of Rome The Tâ—aytor Moâ—ster O I could shake the world With thundring forth my wrongs Hollow his Name To the resounding Hills Borgia Traytor Borgia Methinks that word that spell that horrid sound That groan of Air could cleave the neighbouring Rocks And scare the babling Ecchoes from their Dens Mach. Perhaps some busie Slave has whisper'd him I know not what that chafes his melancholy Against your Honour Bell. That 's impossible And I deni'd to admit him to my Bed Some seeming cause some reason for distrust Might then be given but the bright Heav'ns know I had resolv'd to take him for my Lord And love him too or force my inclination So subtly had he wrought by deep dissembling Upon my plain and undiscerning weakness But now he 's gorg'd the Monster shews himself Appears all Beast and I must die he cries Ah Cruelty and all my wretched Race Mach. Madam you know how near a
starting up he ask'd For you my Lord bow'd as his Custom is With deep humility to all desir'd 'em To sit and so went out but with a promise Of a most quick return Scene draws and discovers a Chair of state under a Canopy a large Table with a rich Banquet and many Candles on 't Enter Ascanio Adrian Enna Ange two Cardinals more Ascan. My Lord the Vatican Society Who were oblig'd to sacrifice this night As every looser Genius should inspire To Air and Wine and warmer Conversation Grow dull for want of you His Holiness Himselfs retir'd Therefore let us entreat you Borg. O my good Lord Ascanio I am born To be at your Command My Lords I wait you Sirrah remember him I charge thee fill Of the gilt Flask to him Butl. My Lord I shall This Wine is sure the richest of the World Bâ—cause he charges me so strictly of it That Cardinal 's a Friend and he must taste it Ascan. Lord Machiavel you have been charitable I thank your love Nâ—y with my life I thank you Mach. My Lord I wish you would explain your self Ascan. It needs not Sir for this the meanest know The Rabble base Mechanicks talk of murders I saw a sweating Weaver in his Shirt Ran puffing with his Shuttle in his hand To ask a Neighbour Butcher of the news Who with his Knife in 's mouâ—h abruptly tells Orsino's death yes and his Daughters too Then comes a Taylor with his hair tuck'd back Behind his ears on tiptoes in his Slippers And crys in haste the Duke of Gandia's murder'd Then spits upon his Iron cast up his eyes Thâ—eads through the company as 't were a Needle And vanishes no more my Lord I thank you Nay by my life but for the Company I 'd kiss the bottom of your Robe your Lordships ever Your Highness servant My Lord let 's drink a Health to His Holiness But in my heart I say the Devil take him Borg. Lord Machiavel you are my Guest to night Were â—he Society made up of Gods As sure it is of Saints Spirits above The common Elevation yet this man I say my Lords this Human Prodigy Would not be set to wait but fix'd among 'em To dazle with the brightest being here Wine there My Lord Ascanio Sforza Health to all here and to the general joy Drinks Ascan. Fine work my Lords fine work I say look to 't The Duke of Gandia's murder'd Adrian 'T is the common rumour Ennn. The Pope this morning in the Consistory When first he heard the News leap'd from his Throne Crossing his Breast and looking up to Heav'n He vow'd hereafter most severe amendment As from this time to fast for Forty hours And all his life wear next his humble flesh A Shirt of Hair Ascan. A Shirt of Hair bating Lucretian nights She 'll not endur 't look you her skin 's too tender A Shirt of Hair a very prickling Penance Now by my Holy-dame meer Letchery Don't I know him Slave more Wine I say Fill up my Glass Come come my Lords 't is time To look about us and reform the Church Drinks Prune it I say or else like Babylon Like Babel's Whore 't will run up all to seed Hark you Lord Ange. Ang. My Lord. Ascan. My Lord of Enna too we four are As one Soul This Pope's a very leud And wicked Head he 's never well but When he 's plotting Murders Why look you Sirs If a Man cannot speak his mind of State Affairs but he must streight be Dogg'd by Hell-hounds Blood-suckers Decoyers Rascals that watch to throttle him in some By-corner then quoit him like a Cat into The River 't is very fine Now by my Holy-dame It may be our turn next by the Mass it may I say my Lord it may The Indian Boys dance Ha my Lords how do you Like the motion Very pretty very fine O brave Columbus More Wine there a bigger Glass I 'll drink Columbus's health Now by my Holy-dame I am frolicksome and will be active Ha my Lords ha I learnt at Paris when I was A Stripling yet these are pretty Children very fine Boys Enter D. Michael D. Mich. My Lord I gâ—ieve to bring you Mortal News Which were I silent yet in some few Minutes Must wound your Ears your Father 's dead Borg. Hence Raven Thou Boder of the blackest deed of Death My Lords this Villain says the Pope's dead Went he not hence but now sound firm and healthful And promis'd to return D. Mich. My Lord he did But 't is most certain e're he went from hence As all our best Physitians give an Oath He was by some pernicious Traytor poyson'd Borg. O Machiavâ—l where is our forecast now My heart misgives me and my bosom 's hot Who ministred who gave my Father Wine D. Mich. Your Servant for when first your Father enter'd His own Provisions were not come Borg. O Confusion Answer me Villain ha fill'd you his Wine Butl. My Lord I did Borg. What from the gilded Flask why dost thou tremble Horrour consume thee gnaw thee burn thy Entrails Wilt thou not speak Butl. My Lord by your strict Charge That none should taste those Flasks but whom you order'd I judg'd the Wine most Excellent and gave Part of it to your Father Borg. O damn'd Dolt Curst sensless Dog Now Machiavel where are we Ha! by the Furies that invade my Breast And crumble all my Bowels into dust I am caught my self Speak tell me horrid Villain Or I will have thee dragg'd in Thousand Pieces Torn by mad Horses like the flesh of Dogs Thou gav'st me Wine too from the gilded Flasks ha Traytorâ— Come double damn thy self and swear thou did'st not Butl. My Lord I must confess I gave the same To you that was directed for your Friend My Lord Ascanio Borg. Take thy reward then which the Devil thou pour'st Into my Breast thus gives thee back again O Machiavâ—l O do not look upon me I am below thy scorn thus vile caught O basely basely sold by my own wild Ascan. Oh oh oh I have my share on 't too the Devil Thank you Fire fire fire oh my Guts brimstone And fire haste there fly for Antidotes Borg. None none on Earth I â—ell thee Priest can save thy rotten Carkass No Cardinal lye down lye down and roar Think on thy Scarlet sins and fear Damnation Ascan. Legions of Furies here Hell is broke loose And all the Devils are quarter'd in my Bowels Run Slave and for a last revenge produce His mangled Bastard â—hat's some pleasure yet Borg. O Machiavel thy hand I am all flames Yet thou shalt hear no noise sit down my Friend Upon the Earth for there 's my Mansion now Dust and no more and yet methinks 't was hard That this Elaborate Scheme of mighty Man This Parchment where the Lines of Roman greatness By thee so well were drawn should by the hand Of scribling Chance be blotted thus for ever Ascan. I burn I burn I toste I roste