Should be avoided than infectious air,
The loathed embraces of diseased women,
A flatterer's poison, or the loss of honour.
Yet, rather than my father's reverend dust
Shall want a place in that fair monument,
In which our noble ancestors lie entombed,
Before the court I offer up myself

A prisoner for it. Load me with those irons
That have worn out his life: in my best strength
I'll run to the encounter of cold hunger,

And chuse my dwelling where no sun dares enter, So he may be released.

1 Cred. What mean you, sir?

said

Already in this cause, and said so well,

That, should I only offer to speak in it,

I should not be heard, or laughed at for it.

1 Cred. 'Tis the first money advocate e'er gave back,

'Though he said nothing.

Roch. Be advised, young lord,

And well considerate; you throw away
Your liberty and joys of life together:
Your bounty is employed upon a subject

That is not sensible of it, with which a wise man
Never abused his goodness; the great virtues
Of your dead father vindicate themselves

From these men's malice, and break ope the prison,
Though it contain his body.

Nov. sen. Let him alone:

Your grace towards me, against all such as may Detract my actions and life hereafter,

I now prefer it to you.

Du Croy. Speak it freely.

Roch. I then desire the liberty of Romont, And that my lord Novall, whose private wrong Was equal to the injury that was done

To the dignity of the court, will pardon it,
And now sign his enlargement.

Nov. sen. Pray you demand

The moiety of my estate, or any thing
Within my power but this.

Roch. Am I denied then-my first and last re-
quest?

Du Croy. It must not be.

2 Pre. I have a voice to give in it.

3 Pre. And I.

Provided these consent.

Char. I hope they are not

So ignorant in any way of profit,

As to neglect a possibility

To get their own, by seeking it from that
Which can return them nothing but ill fame,
And curses for their barbarous cruelties.

3 Cred. What think you of the offer?
2 Cred. Very well.

1 Cred. Accept it by all means: Let us shut

him up;

He is well shaped, and has a villainous tongue,
And, should he study that way of revenge,
As I dare almost swear he loves a wench,
We have no wives, nor ever shall get daughters,
That will hold out against him.

Du Croy. What's your answer?
2 Cred. Speak you for all.

1 Cred. Why, let our executions, That lic upon the father, be returned Upon the son, and we release the body.

Nov. sen. The court must grant you that.
Char. I thank your lordships;

They have in it confirmed on me such glory,
As no time can take from me. I am ready:
Come, lead me where you please: Captivity,
That comes with honour, is true liberty.

[Exit Charalois, Creditors, and Officers.
Nov. sen. Strange rashness.
Roch. A brave resolution rather,
Worthy a better fortune: but, however,

We will make known our power.

Nov sen. You are too violent;

You shall have my consent. But would Made trial of my love in any thing

But this, you should have found then-But it skills not.

You have what you desire.

Roch. I thank your lordships.

Du Croy. The court is up-Make way.

[Exeunt all but Rochfort and Beaumont. Roch. I follow you-Beaumont ! Beaum. My lord?

Roch. You are a scholar, Beaumont,

And can search deeper into the intents of men, Than those that are less knowing. How appeared The piety and brave behaviour of

Young Charalois to you?

Beaum. It is my wonder,

Since I want language to express it fully;
And sure the colonel-

Roch. Fie! he was faulty.-What present money have I?

Beaum. There is no want

Of any sum a private man has use for.
Roch. "Tis well:

I am strangely taken with this Charalois;
Methinks, from his example, the whole age
Should learn to be good, and continue so.
Virtue works strangely with us; and his goodness,
Rising above his fortune, seems to me,

Prince-like, to will, not ask a courtesy. [Exeunt.

SCENE I.

Enter PONTALIER, MALOTIN and BEAUMONT,

Malot. 'Tis strange.
Beaum. Methinks so.

Pont. In a man but young,

Yet old in judgment; theorick and practick,
In all humanity, and (to increase the wonder)
Religious, yet a soldier, that he should
Yield his free-living youth a captive, for
The freedom of his aged father's corpse,
And rather chuse to want life's necessaries,
Liberty, hope of fortune, than it should
In death be kept from christian ceremony.
Malot. Come, 'tis a golden precedent in a son
To let strong Nature have the better hand,
(In such a case) of all affected reason.
What years sit on this Charalois?

Beaum. Twenty-eight;

For since the clock did strike him seventeen old,
Under his father's wing this son hath fought,
Served and commanded, and so aptly both,
That sometimes he appeared his father's father,
And never less than his son; the old man's virtues
So recent in him as the world may swear,
Nought but a fair tree could such fair fruit bear.
Pont. But wherefore lets he such a barbarous
law,

And men more barbarous to execute it,
Prevail on his soft disposition,

That he had rather die alive for debt

Of the old man in prison, than they should
Rob him of sepulture, considering
These monies borrowed bought the lenders peace,
And all their means they enjoy, nor was diffused
In any impious or licentious path?

Beaum. True! for my part, were it my father's trunk,

The tyrannous ram-heads with their horns should gore it,

Or cast it to their curs, than they less currish,
Ere prey on me so, with their lion-law,
Being in my free will (as in his) to shun it.
Pont. Alas! he knows himself in poverty lost:
For in this partial avaricious age
What price bears honour? virtue? Long ago
It was but praised and freezed, but now-a-days
Tis colder far, and has nor love nor praise;
Very praise now freezeth too: For nature
Did make the heathen far more christian then,
Than knowledge us (less heathenish) christian.
Malot. This morning is the funeral.
Pont. Certainly.

And from this prison 'twas the son's request,
That his dear father might interment have.

[Recorders Music.

See the young son enters alive the grave. Beaum. They come-Observe their order.

Enter funeral. The body borne by four. Captains and soldiers, mourners, 'scutcheons, &c. in very good order. CHARALOIS and ROMONT meet it. Charalois speaks. Romont weeping. Solemn musick. Three creditors.

Char. How like a silent stream shaded with
night,

And gliding softly with our windy sighs,
Moves the whole frame of this solemnity:
Tears, sighs and blacks filling the simile!
Whilst I, the only murmur in this grove
Of death, thus hollowly break forth!-Vouchsafe
To stay awhile.-Rest, rest in peace, dear earth!
Thou that broughtest rest to their unthankful
lives,

Whose cruelty denied thee rest in death:
Here stands thy poor executor, thy son,
That makes his life prisoner to bail thy death:
Who gladlier puts on this captivity,
Than virgins, long in love, their wedding weeds:
Of all that ever thou hast done good to,
These only have good memories; for they
Remember best, forget not gratitude.

I thank you for this last and friendly love;
And though this country, like a viperous mother,
Not only hath eat up ungratefully
All means of thee her son, but last thyself,
Leaving thy heir so bare and indigent,
He cannot raise thee a poor monument,
Such as a flatterer or an usurer hath,
Thy worth, in every honest breast, builds one,
Making their friendly hearts thy funeral stone.
Pont. Sir!

Char. Peace! O peace! This scene is wholly

mine.

What! Weep ye, soldiers?-Blanch not. Romont

weeps.

Ha! let me see! my miracle is eased: The jailors and the creditors do weep: E'en they, that make us weep, do weep themselves.

Be these thy body's balm: These and thy virtue
Keep thy fame ever odoriferous,

Whilst the great, proud, rich, undeserving man,
Alive, stinks in his vices, and, being vanished,
The golden calf that was an idol, decked
With marble pillars, jet and porphyry,
Shall quickly both in bone and name consume,
Though wrapt in lead, spice, searcloth and per-
fume.

1 Cred. Sir!

Char. What!--Away, for shame! your tears, prophane rogues!

Must not be mingled with these holy relicks :
This is a sacrifice-Our shower shall crown
His sepulchre with olive, myrrh and bays,
The plants of peace, of sorrow, victory;
Your tears would spring but weeds.

Rom. Laugh ye?

2 Cred. Yes, faith, sir; we would be very glad To please you either way.

1 Cred. You are never content,

Crying nor laughing.

Rom. Both with a birth, ye rogues. 2 Cred. Our wives, sir, taught us.

Rom. Look, look, you slaves! your thankless cruelty,

And savage manners of unkind Dijon, Exhaust these floods, and not his father's death. 1 Cred. 'Slid, sir! what would you, you're so cholerick!

2 Cred. Most soldiers are so, in faith.-Let him alone.

They've little else to live on; we have not had
A penny of him, have we?

3 Cred. 'Slight, would you have our hearts?
1 Cred. We have nothing but his body here in
durance,

For all our money.

Priest. On.

Char. One moment more,

But to bestow a few poor legacies,

All I have left in my dead father's right,

And I have done. Captain, wear thou these

spurs,

That yet ne'er made his horse run from a foc.
Lieutenant, thou this scarf; and may it tie
Thy valour and thy honesty together:
For so it did in him. Ensign, this cuirass,
Your general's necklace once. You gentle bearers,
Divide this purse of gold: This other strew
Among the poor.-'Tis all I have. Romont,
Wear thou this medal of himself, that like
A hearty oak, grew'st close to this tall pine,
(E'en in the wildest wilderness of war)
Whereon foes broke their swords, and tired them-
selves;

Wounded and hacked ye were, but never felled.
For me, my portion provide in heaven:

My root is earthed, and I, a desolate branch,
Left scattered in the highway of the world;
Trod under foot, that might have been a column
Mainly supporting our demolished house,
This would I wear as my inheritance.
And what hope can arise to me from it,
When I and it are here both prisoners?
Only may this, if ever we be free,
Keep or redeem me from all infamy.

SONG.

Fie! cease to wonder !

Though you hear Orpheus, with his ivory lute, Move trees and rocks,

Charm bulls, bears, and men more savage,to be mute. Weak foolish singer, here is one

Would have transformed thyself to stone.

1 Cred. No farther! look to them at your own peril.

2 Cred. No, as they please :-Their master's a good man.

I would they were at the Bermudas.

Jailor. You must no farther.—

The prison limits you, and the creditors
Exact the strictness.

Rom: Out, you wolfish mongrels! Whose brains should be knocked out, like dogs in July,

Lest your infection poison a whole town.

Char. They grudge our sorrow.-Your ill wills,

Nov. jun. No autumn nor no age ever ap
proach

This heavenly piece, which nature having wrought,
She lost her needle, and did then despair
Ever to work so lively and so fair.

Lilad. Uds-light, my lord, one of the purls of
your band

Is, without all discipline, fallen out of his rank. Nov. jun. How? I would not for a thousand crowns she had seen it. Dear Liladam, reform it.

Bella. Oh lord! Per se, lord! Quintessence of honour! she walks not under a weed that could deny thee any thing.

Beaumel. Prythee peace, wench! thou dost but blow the fire that flames too much already.

[Liladam and Aymer trim Novall, whilst Bellapert her lady.

Aymer. By gad, my lord, you have the divinest taylor in Christendom; he hath made you look like an angel in your cloth of tissue doublet.

Pont. This is a three-legged lord: There is a fresh assault. Oh! that men should spend time thus!--See, see how her blood drives to her heart, and strait vaults to her cheeks again.

Malot. What are these?

Pont. One of them there, the lower, is a good, foolish, knavish, sociable gallimaufry of a man, and has much caught my lord with singing; he is master of a music house. The other is his dres

sing block, upon whom my lord lays all his cloaths and fashions, ere he vouchsafes them his own person; you shall see him in the morning in the galley-foist, at noon in the bullion, in the evening in Querpo, and all night in

Malot. A bawdy-house.

Pont. If my lord deny, they deny; if he affirm, they affirm: They skip into my lord's cast skins some twice a year; and thus they live to eat, eat to live, and live to praise my lord. Malot. Good sir, tell me one thing. Pont. What's that?

Malot. Dare these men ever fight on any cause? Pont. Oh, no, 'twould spoil their cloaths, and put their bands out of order.

Nov. jun. Must you hear the news: Your father has resigned his presidentship to my lord my father.

Malot. And lord Charalois undone for ever. Pont. Troth, 'tis pity, sir!

braver hope of so assured a father Did never comfort France.

Lilad. A good dumb mourner.
Aymer. A silent black,

Nov. jun. Oh, fie upon him, how he wears his cloaths!

As if he had come this Christmas from St Omers, To see his friends, and returned after twelf-tide. Lilad. His colonel looks finely like a drover. Nov. jun. That had a winter lain perdue in

the rain.

Aymer. What, he that wears a clout about his neck?

His cuffs in his pocket, and his heart in his mouth?
Nov. jun. Now, out upon him!
Beaumel. Servant, tie my hand.
How your lips blush, in scorn that they should pay
Tribute to hands, when lips are in the way!

Nov. jun. I thus recant; yet now your hand looks white,

Because your lips robbed it of such a right.
Monsieur Aymer, I prithee sing the song
Devoted to my mistress.

SONG.

[Music.

A dialogue between a man and a woman. Man. Set, Phabus! set; a fairer sun doth rise From the bright radiance of my mistress' eyes Than ever thou begat'st: I dare not look; Each hair a golden line, each word a hook, The more I strive, the more still I am took. Wom. Fair servant! come; the day these eyes do lend

To warm thy blood, thou dost so vainly spend,
Come strangle breath.

Man. What note so sweet as this

That calls the spirits to a further bliss? Wom. Yet this out-savours wine, and this perfume, Man. Let's die, I languish, I consume. After the song, enter ROCHFORT and BEAUMONT. Beaum. Romont will come, sir, straight.

me leave;

I have some private conference with my daughter; Pray use my garden, you shall dine with me. Lilad. We'll wait on you.

Nov. jun. Good morn unto your lordship, Remember what you have vowed

[To Beaumelle. [Exeunt all but Rochfort and Beaumelle. Beaumel. Perform I must.

Roch. Why how now, Beaumelle, thou look st not well.

Thou art sad of late,-coine cheer thee; I have found

A wholesome remedy for these maiden fits,
A goodly oak whereon to twist my vine,
Till her fair branches grow up to the stars.
Be near at hand, success crown my intent,
My business fills my little time so full,
I cannot stand to talk: I know thy duty
Is handmaid to my will, especially
When it presents nothing but good and fit.
Beaumel. Sir, I am yours.-Oh! if my fears
prove true,

Fate hath wronged love, and will destroy me too. [Exit Beaumelle.

Enter ROMONT and Keeper.

Rom. Sent you for me, sir?

Roch. Yes.

And bears as rich caparaisons. I know
This elephant carries on his back not only
Towers, castles, but the ponderous republic,
And never stoops for it; with his strong breathed
trunk

Snuffs other's titles, lordships, offices,
Wealth, bribes, and lives, under his ravenous jaws:
What's this unto my freedom? I dare die;
And therefore ask this camel, if these blessings
(For so they would be understood by a man)
But mollify one rudeness in his nature,
Sweeten the eager relish of the law,

At whose great helm he sits. Helps he the poor
In a just business? Nay, does he not cross
Every deserved soldier and scholar,

As if, when nature made him, she had made
The general antipathy of all virtue?
How savagely and blasphemously he spake
Touching the general, the brave general, dead!

I must weep when I think on't.

Roch. Sir!

He was immortal-though I vow I grieve,
And see no reason why the vicious,
Virtuous, valiant, and unworthy men,
Should die alike.

Roch. They do not.
Char. In the manner

Of dying, sir, they do not, but all die,
And therein differ not: But I have done.
I spied the lively picture of my father,
Passing your gallery, and that cast this water
Into mine eyes: See-foolish that I am,
To let it do so.

Roch. Sweet and gentle Nature!
How silken is this well comparatively
To other men; I have a suit to you, sir,
Char. Take it; 'tis granted.

Roch. What?

Char. Nothing, my lord.

Roch. Nothing is quickly granted.
Char. Faith, my lord!

That nothing granted is even all I have,

you see,

And prize a virtue better than my life:
For though I be not learned, I ever loved
That holy mother of all issues good,
Whose white hand for a scepter holds a file,
To polish roughest customs, and in you
She has her right: See! I am calm as sleep;
But when I think of the gross injuries,
The godless wrong done to my general dead,
I rave indeed, and could eat this Novall;
A soulless dromedary!

Roch. Oh! be temperate;

Sir, though I would persuade, I'll not constrain;
Each man's opinion freely is his own,
Concerning any thing, or any body;

Be it right or wrong, 'tis at the judge's peril,
Enter BEAUMONT.

Beaum. These men, sir, wait without; my lord is come too.

Roch. Pay them those sums upon the table; take

Their full releases :-Stay-I want a witness :
Let me intreat you, colonel, to walk in,
And stand but by to see this money paid;
It does concern you and your friend; it was
The better cause you were sent for, though said
otherwise.

The deed shall make this my request more plain. Rom. I shall obey your pleasure, sir, though ignorant

To what it tends. [Exeunt Romont and Şervant. Enter CHARALOIS,

Roch. Worthiest sir,

You are most welcome: Fie, no more of this: You have out-wept a woman, noble Charalois ! No man but has or must bury a father.

Char. Grave sir! I buried sorrow for his death In the grave with him. I did never think

Roch. Sir, have you any suit to me? I'll grant You something, anything.

Char. Nay, surely, I, that can

Give nothing, will but sue for that again.
No man will grant me anything I sue for.
But begging nothing, every man will give it.
Roch. Sir, the love I bore your father, and the
worth

I see in you, so much resembling his,
Made me thus send for you. And tender here
[Draws a curtain.
Whatever you will take, gold, jewels, both,
All, to supply your wants, and free yourself.
Where heavenly virtue in high-blooded veins
Is lodged, and can agree, men should kneel down,
Adore, and sacrifice all that they have;
And well they may, it is so seldom seen.
Put off your wonder, and here freely take,
Or send your servants: Nor, sir, shall you use
In aught of this a poor man's fee, or bribe
Unjustly taken of the rich, but what's
Directly gotten, and yet by the law.

Char. How ill, sir, it becomes those hairs to mock!

Roch. Mock? thunder strike me then.
Char. You do amaze me.

But you shall wonder too; I will not take
One single piece of this great heap. Why should I
Borrow, that have not means to pay; nay, am
A very bankrupt, even in flattering hope
Of ever raising any. All my begging
Is Romont's liberty.

Enter ROMONT, BEAUMONT, and Creditors,
loaded with money.

Roch. Here is your friend, Enfranchised ere you spake. I give him you; And, Charalois, I give you to your friend, As free a man as he: Your father's debts Are taken off,