  A Room in Bussy's House.] D'Ambois, with two Pages with tapers. Bussy. Sit up to night, and watch: Ile speak with none But the old Frier, who bring to me. Pages. We will, sir. Exeunt. Buss. What violent heat is this? me thinks the fire Of twenty lives doth on a suddaine flash Through all my faculties: the ayre goes high In this close chamber and the frighted earth Thunder. Trembles and shrinks beneath me; the whole house Nods with his shaken burthen. Enter Umb[ra] Frier. Blesse me, heaven! Umb[ra Friar]. Note what I want, deare sonne, and be fore-warn'd. O there are bloudy deeds past and to come.10 I cannot stay; a fate doth ravish me; Ile meet thee in the chamber of thy love. Exit. Buss. What dismall change is here! the good old Frier Is murther'd, being made knowne to serve my love; And now his restlesse spirit would fore-warne me Of some plot dangerous, and imminent. Note what he wants! He wants his upper weed, He wants his life, and body: which of these Should be the want he meanes, and may supply me With any fit fore-warning? This strange vision, (Together with the dark prediction Us'd by the Prince of Darknesse that was rais'd By this embodied shadow) stirre my thoughts With reminiscion of the Spirits promise, Who told me that by any invocation25 I should have power to raise him, though it wanted The powerfull words and decent rites of art. Never had my set braine such need of spirit T'instruct and cheere it; now then I will claime Performance of his free and gentle vow30 T'appeare in greater light, and make more plain His rugged oracle. I long to know How my deare mistresse fares, and be inform'd What hand she now holds on the troubled bloud Of her incensed lord: me thought the Spirit35 (When he had utter'd his perplext presage) Threw his chang'd countenance headlong into clouds; His forehead bent, as it would hide his face, He knockt his chin against his darkned breast, And struck a churlish silence through his pow'rs. Terror of darknesse! O, thou King of flames! That with thy musique-footed horse dost strike The cleare light out of chrystall on dark earth, And hurlst instructive fire about the world, Wake, wake, the drowsie and enchanted night That sleepes with dead eyes in this heavy riddle! Or thou great Prince of Shades, where never sunne Stickes his far-darted beames, whose eyes are made To shine in darknesse, and see ever best Where men are blindest, open now the heart Of thy abashed oracle, that, for feare Of some ill it includes, would faine lie hid, And rise thou with it in thy greater light! Thunders. Surgit Spiritus cum suis. Behemoth. Thus, to observe my vow of apparition In greater light, and explicate thy fate,55 I come; and tell thee that, if thou obey The summons that thy mistresse next will send thee, Her hand shall be thy death. Buss. When will she send? Beh. Soone as I set againe, where late I rose. Buss. Is the old Frier slaine? Beh. No, and yet lives not. 60 Buss. Died he a naturall death? Beh. He did. Buss. Who then Will my deare mistresse send? Beh. I must not tell thee. Buss. Who lets thee? Beh. Fate. Buss. Who are Fates ministers? Beh. The Guise and Monsieur. Buss. A fit paire of sheeres To cut the threds of kings and kingly spirits, And consorts fit to sound forth harmony Set to the fals of kingdomes. Shall the hand Of my kind mistresse kill me? Beh. If thou yeeld To her next summons. Y'are faire warn'd; farewell! Thunders. Exit. Buss. I must fare well, how ever, though I die,70 My death consenting with his augurie. Should not my powers obay when she commands, My motion must be rebell to my will, My will to life; if, when I have obay'd, Her hand should so reward me, they must arme it, Binde me, or force it; or, I lay my life, She rather would convert it many times On her owne bosome, even to many deaths. But were there danger of such violence, I know 'tis farre from her intent to send: And who she should send is as farre from thought, Since he is dead whose only mean she us'd. Knocks. Whose there? Look to the dore, and let him in, Though politick Monsieur, or the violent Guise. Enter Montsurry like the Frier, with a letter written in bloud. Mont. Haile to my worthy sonne! Buss. O lying Spirit, To say the Frier was dead! Ile now beleeve Nothing of all his forg'd predictions. My kinde and honour'd father, well reviv'd! I have beene frighted with your death and mine, And told my mistresse hand should be my death, If I obeyed this summons. Mont. I beleev'd Your love had bin much clearer then to give Any such doubt a thought, for she is cleare, And having freed her husbands jealousie (Of which her much abus'd hand here is witnesse)95 She prayes, for urgent cause, your instant presence. Buss. Why, then, your Prince of Spirits may be call'd The Prince of lyers. Mont. Holy Writ so calls him. Buss. What! writ in bloud! Mont. I, 'tis the ink of lovers. Buss. O, 'tis a sacred witnesse of her love. So much elixer of her bloud as this, Dropt in the lightest dame, would make her firme As heat to fire; and, like to all the signes, Commands the life confinde in all my veines. O, how it multiplies my bloud with spirit,105 And makes me apt t'encounter death and hell. But come, kinde father; you fetch me to heaven, And to that end your holy weed was given. Exeunt. LINENOTES:with tapers. A omits. 8 Nods. A, Crackes. Enter ... Frier. Placed after heaven in Qq. 9 deare. A, my. 17 upper. A, utmost. Buss. O lying Spirit: welcome, loved father, How fares my dearest mistresse? Mont. Well as ever, Being well as ever thought on by her lord: Wherof she sends this witnesse in her hand, And praies, for urgent cause, your speediest presence. |
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