Volume Xiv Part 30 (1/2)

Here's h.e.l.l, here's heaven: here if you stay, You're gone, you're gone; friar Crab and I Will here dance friskin, whilst you fly.

Gag us, bind us, come put on; The gag's too wide; so gone, gone, gone!

PHIL. O, well, I'll come again. Lord Cardinal, Take you the castle, I'll to Portugal.

I vow I'll come again, and if I do----

CAR. Nay, good my lord.

PHIL. Black devil, I'll conjure you.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

_To the_ FRIARS _making a noise, gagged and bound, enter_ ELEAZAR, ZARACK, BALTHAZAR, _and other Moors, all with their swords drawn_.

ELE. Guard all the pa.s.sages. Zarack, stand there; There Balthazar, there you. The friars?

Where have you plac'd the friars?

ALL. My lord, a noise![59]

BAL. The friars are gagg'd and bound.

ELE. 'Tis Philip and the cardinal; shoot:--ha! stay-- Unbind them. Where's Mendoza and the prince?

COLE. Santa Maria, who can tell!

By Peter's keys, they bound us well, And having crack'd our shaven crowns, They have escap'd you in our gowns.

ELE. Escap'd! escap'd away! I am glad, it's good; I would their arms may turn to eagles' wings, To fly as swift as time. Sweet air, give way: Winds, leave your two-and-thirty palaces, And meeting all in one, join all your might To give them speedy and a prosperous flight.

Escaped, friars! which way?

BOTH. This way.

ELE. Good!

Alas, what sin is't to shed innocent blood?

For look you, holy men, it is the king: The king, the king. See, friars, sulphury wrath Having once entered into royal b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Mark how it burns. The queen, Philip's mother.

O, most unnatural! will have you two Divulge abroad that he's a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. O, Will you do it?

CRAB. What says my brother friar?

COLE. A prince's love is balm, their wrath is fire.

CRAB. 'Tis true; but yet I'll publish no such thing; What fool would lose his soul to please a king?

ELE. Keep there--good, there; yet, for it wounds my soul To see the miserablest wretch to bleed, I counsel you, in care unto your lives, T' obey the mother-queen; for by my life, I think she has been p.r.i.c.k'd [in] her conscience.

O, it has stung her for some fact misdone, She would not else disgrace herself and son.

Do't therefore; hark! she'll work your deaths else, hate Bred in woman is insatiate. Do't, friars.