The Maids Tragedy. Beaumont Francis
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you stand still, and here my way lies.
[Exit.
Enter Calianax with Diagoras.
Cal. Diagoras, look to the doors better for shame, you let in all the world, and anon the King will rail at me; why very well said, by Jove the King will have the show i'th' Court.
Diag. Why do you swear so my Lord? You know he'l have it here.
Cal. By this light if he be wise he will not.
Diag. And if he will not be wise, you are forsworn.
Cal. One may wear his heart out with swearing, and get thanks on no side, I'le be gone, look to't who will.
Diag. My Lord, I will never keep them out.
Pray stay, your looks will terrifie them.
Cal. My looks terrifie them, you Coxcombly Ass you! I'le be judg'd by all the company whether thou hast not a worse face than I—
Diag. I mean, because they know you and your Office.
Cal. Office! I would I could put it off, I am sure I sweat quite through my Office, I might have made room at my Daughters Wedding, they had near kill'd her among them. And now I must do service for him that hath forsaken her; serve that will. [Exit Calianax.
Diag. He's so humourous since his daughter was forsaken:
hark, hark, there, there, so, so, codes, codes.
What now?
[Within. knock within.
Mel. Open the door.
Diag. Who's there?
Mel. Melantius.
Diag. I hope your Lordship brings no troop with you,
for if you do, I must return them.
[Enter Melantius.
Mel. None but this Lady Sir. [And a Lady.
Diag. The Ladies are all plac'd above, save those that
come in the Kings Troop, the best of Rhodes sit there,
and there's room.
Mel. I thank you Sir: when I have seen you plac'd
Madam, I must attend the King; but the Mask done, I'le
wait on you again.
Diag. Stand back there, room for my Lord Melantius, pray bear back, this is no place for such youths and their Truls, let the doors shut agen; I, do your heads itch? I'le scratch them for you: so now thrust and hang: again, who is't now? I cannot blame my Lord Calianax for going away; would he were here, he would run raging among them, and break a dozen wiser heads than his own in the twinkling of an eye: what's the news now?
[Within.
I pray can you help me to the speech of the Master Cook?
Diag. If I open the door I'le cook some of your Calvesheads. Peace Rogues.—again,—who is't?
Mel. Melantius within. Enter Calianax to Melantius.
Cal. Let him not in.
Diag. O my Lord I must; make room there for my
Lord; is your Lady plac't?
Mel. Yes Sir, I thank you my Lord Calianax: well met,
Your causless hate to me I hope is buried.
Cal. Yes, I do service for your Sister here, That brings my own poor Child to timeless death; She loves your friend Amintor, such another false-hearted Lord as you.
Mel. You do me wrong, A most unmanly one, and I am slow In taking vengeance, but be well advis'd.
Cal. It may be so: who placed the Lady there so near the presence of the King?
Mel. I did.
Cal. My Lord she must not sit there.
Mel. Why?
Cal. The place is kept for women of more worth.
Mel. More worth than she? it mis-becomes your Age
And place to be thus womanish; forbear;
What you have spoke, I am content to think
The Palsey shook your tongue to.
Cal. Why 'tis well if I stand here to place mens wenches.
Mel. I shall forget this place, thy Age, my safety, and through all, cut that poor sickly week thou hast to live, away from thee.
Cal. Nay, I know you can fight for your Whore.
Mel. Bate the King, and be he flesh and blood, He lyes that saies it, thy mother at fifteen Was black and sinful to her.
Diag. Good my Lord!
Mel. Some god pluck threescore years from that fond man,
That I may kill him, and not stain mine honour;
It is the curse of Souldiers, that in peace
They shall be brain'd by such ignoble men,
As (if the Land were troubled) would with tears
And knees beg succour from 'em: would that blood
(That sea of blood) that I have lost in fight,
Were running in thy veins, that it might make thee
Apt to say less, or able to maintain,
Shouldst thou say more,—This Rhodes I see is nought
But a place priviledg'd to do men wrong.
Cal. I, you may say your pleasure.
[Enter Amintor.
Amint. What vilde injury
Has stirr'd my worthy friend, who is as slow
To fight with words, as he is quick of hand?
Mel. That heap of age which I should reverence
If it were temperate: but testy years
Are