Part 4

_The day you wished arrived at last, You wish as much that it were past; One minute more, and night will hide The bridegroom and the blushing bride. The virgin now to bed does go-- Take care, oh youth, she rise not so-- She pants and trembles at her doom, And fears and wishes thou wouldst come._

_The bridegroom comes, he comes apace, With love and fury in his face; She shrinks away, he close pursues, And prayers and threats at once does use. She, softly sighing, begs delay, And with her hand puts his away; Now out aloud for help she cries, And now despairing shuts her eyes._

_Har. Sen._ I like this song, 'twas sprightly; it would restore me twenty years of youth, had I but such a bride.

_A Dance._

_After the Dance, enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL.

_Beam._ Come, let me have the Sea-Fight; I like that better than a thousand of your wanton epithalamiums.

_Har. Jun._ He means that fight, in which he freed me from the pirates.

_Tow._ Pr'ythee, friend, oblige me, and call not for that song; 'twill breed ill blood. [_To_ BEAMONT.

_Beam._ Pr'ythee be not scrupulous, ye fought it bravely. Young Harman is ungrateful, if he does not acknowledge it. I say, sing me the Sea-Fight.

THE SEA-FIGHT.

_Who ever saw a noble sight, That never viewed a brave sea-fight! Hang up your bloody colours in the air, Up with your fights, and your nettings prepare; Your merry mates cheer, with a lusty bold spright, Now each man his brindice, and then to the fight. St George, St George, we cry, The shouting Turks reply: Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot, Ply it with culverin and with small shot; Hark, does it not thunder? no, 'tis the guns roar, The neighbouring billows are turned into gore; Now each man must resolve, to die, For here the coward cannot fly. Drums and trumpets toll the knell, And culverins the passing bell. Now, now they grapple, and now board amain; Blow up the hatches, they're off all again: Give them a broadside, the dice run at all, Down comes the mast and yard, and tacklings fall; She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune's wheel, She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel. Who ever beheld so noble a sight, As this so brave, so bloody sea-fight!_

_Har. Jun._ See the insolence of these English; they cannot do a brave

## action in an age, but presently they must put it into metre, to

upbraid us with their benefits.

_Fisc._ Let them laugh, that win at last.

_Enter Captain_ MIDDLETON, _and a Woman with him, all pale and weakly, and in tattered garments._

_Tow._ Captain Middleton, you are arrived in a good hour, to be partaker of my happiness, which is as great this day, as love and expectation can make it. [_Rising up to salute_ MIDDLETON.

_Mid._ And may it long continue so!

_Tow._ But how happens it, that, setting out with us from England, you came not sooner hither.

_Mid._ It seems the winds favoured you with a quicker passage; you know I lost you in a storm on the other side of the Cape, with which disabled, I was forced to put into St Helen's isle; there 'twas my fortune to preserve the life of this our countrywoman; the rest let her relate.

_Isab._ Alas, she seems half-starved, unfit to make relations.

_Van Her._ How the devil came she off? I know her but too well, and fear she knows me too.

_Tow._ Pray, countrywoman, speak.

_Eng Wom._ Then thus in brief; in my dear husband's company, I parted from our sweet native isle: we to Lantore were bound, with letters from the States of Holland, gained for reparation of great damages sustained by us; when, by the insulting Dutch, our countrymen, against all show of right, were dispossessed, and naked sent away from that rich island, and from Poleroon.

_Har. Sen._ Woman, you speak with too much spleen; I must not hear my countrymen affronted.

_Eng. Wom.._ I wish they did not merit much worse of me, than I can say of them.--Well, we sailed forward with a merry gale, till near St Helen's isle we were overtaken, or rather waylaid, by a Holland vessel; the captain of which ship, whom here I see, the man who quitted us of all we had in those rich parts before, now fearing to restore his ill-got goods, first hailed, and then invited us on board, keeping himself concealed; his base lieutenant plied all our English mariners with wine, and when in dead of night they lay secure in silent sleep, most barbarously commanded they should be thrown overboard.

_Fisc._ Sir, do not hear it out.

_Har. Sen._ This is all false and scandalous.

_Tow._ Pray, sir, attend the story.

_Eng. Wom._ The vessel rifled, and the rich hold rummaged, they sink it down to rights; but first I should have told you, (grief, alas, has spoiled my memory) that my dear husband, wakened at the noise, before they reached the cabin where we lay, took me all trembling with the sudden fright, and leapt into the boat; we cut the cordage, and so put out to sea, driving at mercy of the waves and wind; so scaped we in the dark. To sum up all, we got to shore, and in the mountains hid us, until the barbarous Hollanders were gone.

_Tow._ Where is your husband, countrywoman?

_Eng. Wom._ Dead with grief; with these two hands I scratched him out a grave, on which I placed a cross, and every day wept o'er the ground where all my joys lay buried. The manner of my life, who can express! the fountain-water was my only drink; the crabbed juice and rhind of half-ripe lemons almost my only food, except some roots; my house, the widowed cave of some wild beast. In this sad state, I stood upon the shore, when this brave captain with his ship approached, whence holding up and waving both my hands, I stood, and by my actions begged their mercy; yet, when they nearer came, I would have fled, had I been able, lest they should have proved those murderous Dutch, I more than hunger feared.

_Har. Sen._ What say you to this accusation, Van Herring?

_Van Her._ 'Tis as you said, sir, false and scandalous.

_Har. Sen._ I told you so; all false and scandalous.

_Isab._ On my soul it is not; her heart speaks in her tongue, and were she silent, her habit and her face speak for her.

_Beam._ Sir, you have heard the proofs.

_Fisc._ Mere allegations, and no proofs. Seem not to believe it, sir.

_Har. Sen._ Well, well, we'll hear it another time.

_Mid._ You seem not to believe her testimony, but my whole crew can witness it.

_Van Her._ Ay, they are all Englishmen.

_Tow._ That's a nation too generous to do bad actions, and too sincere to justify them done; I wish their neighbours were of the same temper.

_Har. Sen._ Nay, now you kindle, captain; this must not be, we are your friends and servants.

_Mid._ 'Tis well you are by land, at sea you would be masters: there I myself have met with some affronts, which, though I wanted power then to return, I hailed the captain of the Holland ship, and told him he should dearly answer it, if e'er I met him in the narrow seas. His answer was, (mark but the insolence) If I should hang thee, Middleton, up at thy main yard, and sink thy ship, here's that about my neck (pointing to his gold chain) would answer it when I came into Holland.

_Har. Jan._ Yes, this is like the other.

_Tow._ I find we must complain at home; there's no redress to be had here.

_Isab._ Come, countrywoman,--I must call you so, since he who owns my heart is English born,--be not dejected at your wretched fortune; my house is yours, my clothes shall habit you, even these I wear, rather than see you thus.

_Har. Sen._ Come, come, no more complaints; let us go in; I have ten rummers ready to the bride; as many times shall our guns discharge, to speak the general gladness of this day. I'll lead you, lady. [_Takes the Bride by the hand._

_Tow._ A heavy omen to my nuptials! My countrymen oppressed by sea and land, And I not able to redress the wrong, So weak are we, our enemies so strong. [_Exeunt._

## ACT IV.

## SCENE I.--_A Wood._

_Enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL, _with swords, and disguised in vizards._

_Har. Jun._ We are disguised enough; the evening now grows dusk.--I would the deed were done!

_Enter_ PEREZ _with a Soldier, and overhears them._

_Fisc._ 'Twill now be suddenly, if we have courage in this wild woody walk, hot with the feast and plenteous bowls, the bridal company are walking to enjoy the cooling breeze; I spoke to Towerson, as I said I would, and on some private business of great moment, desired that he would leave the company, and meet me single here.

_Har. Jan._ Where if he comes, he never shall return But Towerson stays too long for my revenge; I am in haste to kill him.

_Fisc._ He promised me to have been here ere now; if you think fitting, I'll go back and bring him.

_Har. Jun._ Do so, I'll wait you in this place. [_Exit_ Fisc.

_Per._ Was ever villany like this of these unknown assassins? Towerson, in vain I saved thy sleeping life if now I let thee lose it, when thou wakest; thou lately hast been bountiful to me, and this way I'll acknowledge it. Yet to disclose their crimes were dangerous. What must I do? This generous Englishman will strait be here, and consultation then perhaps will be too late: I am resolved.--Lieutenant, you have heard, as well as I, the bloody purpose of these men?

_Sold._ I have, and tremble at the mention of it.

_Per._ Dare you adventure on an action, as brave as theirs is base?

_Sold._ Command my life.

_Per._ No more. Help me despatch that murderer, ere his accomplice comes: the men I know not; but their design is treacherous and bloody.

_Sold._ And he, they mean to kill, is brave himself, and of a nation I much love.

_Per._ Come on then. [_Both draw. To_ HAR.] Villain, thou diest, thy conscience tells thee why; I need not urge the crime. [_They assault him._

_Har. Jun._ Murder! I shall be basely murdered; help!

_Enter_ TOWERSON.

_Tow._ Hold, villains! what unmanly odds is this? Courage, whoe'er thou art; I'll succour thee. [TOWERSON _fights with_ PEREZ, _and_ HARMAN _with the Lieutenant, and drive them off the stage._

_Har. Jun._ Though, brave unknown, night takes thee from my knowledge, and I want time to thank thee now, take this, and wear it for my sake; [_Gives him a ring._] Hereafter I'll acknowledge it more largely. [_Exit._

_Tow._ That voice I've heard; but cannot call to mind, except it be young Harman's. Yet, who should put his life in danger thus? This ring I would not take as salary, but as a gage of his free heart who left it; and, when I know him, I'll restore the pledge. Sure 'twas not far from hence I made the appointment: I know not what this Dutchman's business is, yet, I believe, 'twas somewhat from my rival. It shall go hard, but I will find him out, and then rejoin the company. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ FISCAL.

_Fisc._ The accident was wondrous strange: Did you neither know your assassinates, nor your deliverer?

_Har. Jun._ 'Twas all a hurry; yet, upon better recollecting of myself, the man, who freed me, must be Towerson.

_Fisc._ Hark, I hear the company walking this way; will you withdraw?

_Har. Jun._ Withdraw, and Isabinda coming!

_Fisc._ The wood is full of murderers; every tree, methinks, hides one behind it.

_Har. Jun._ You have two qualities, my friend, that sort but ill together; as mischievous as hell could wish you, but fearful in the execution.

_Fisc._ There is a thing within me, called a conscience which is not quite o'ercome; now and then it rebels a little, especially when I am alone, or in the dark.

_Har. Jun._ The moon begins to rise, and glitters through the trees.

_Isab._ [_Within._] Pray let us walk this way; that farther lawn, between the groves, is the most green and pleasant of any in this isle.

_Har. Jun._ I hear my siren's voice, I cannot stir from hence.--Dear friend, if thou wilt e'er oblige me, divert the company a little, and give me opportunity a while to talk alone with her.

_Fisc._ You'll get nothing of her, except it be by force.

_Har. Jun._ You know not with what eloquence love may inspire my tongue: The guiltiest wretch, when ready for his sentence, has something still to say.

_Fisc._ Well, they come; I'll put you in a way, and wish you good success; but do you hear? remember you are a man, and she a woman; a little force, it may be, would do well.

_Enter_ ISABINDA, BEAMONT, MIDDLETON, COLLINS, HARMAN _Senior; and_ JULIA.

_Isab._ Who saw the bridegroom last?

_Har. Sen._ He refused to pledge the last rummer; so I am out of charity with him.

_Beam._ Come, shall we backward to the castle? I'll take care of you, lady.

_Jul_ Oh, you have drunk so much, you are past all care.

_Col._ But where can be this jolly bridegroom? Answer me that; I will have the bride satisfied.

_Fisc._ He walked alone this way; we met him lately.

_Isab._ I beseech you, sir, conduct us.

_Har. Jun._ I'll bring you to him, madam.

_Fisc._ [_To_ HAR. _Jun._] Remember, now's your time; if you o'erslip this minute, fortune perhaps will never send another.

_Har. Jun._ I am resolved.

_Fisc._ Come, gentlemen, I'll tell you such a pleasant accident, you'll think the evening short.

_Jul._ I love a story, and a walk by moonshine.

_Fisc._ Lend me your hand then, madam. [_Takes her by the one hand._

_Beam._ But one, I beseech you then; I must not quit her so. [_Takes her by the other hand. Exeunt._

_Re-enter_ HARMAN _Junior, and_ ISABINDA.

_Isab._ Come, sir, which is the way? I long to see my love.

_Har. Jun._ You may have your wish, and without stirring hence.

_Isab._ My love so near? Sure you delight to mock me!

_Har. Jun._ 'Tis you delight to torture me; behold the man who loves you more than his own eyes; more than the joys of earth, or hopes of heaven.

_Isab._ When you renewed your friendship with my Towerson, I thought these vain desires were dead within you.

_Har. Jun._ Smothered they were, not dead; your eyes can kindle no such petty fires, as only blaze a while, and strait go out.

_Isab._ You know, when I had far less ties upon me, I would not hear you; therefore wonder not if I withdraw, and find the company.

_Har. Jun._ That would be too much cruelty, to make me wretched, and then leave me so.

_Isab._ Am I in fault if you are miserable? so you may call the rich man's wealth, the cause and object of the robber's guilt. Pray do not persecute me farther: You know I have a husband now, and would be loth to afflict his knowledge with your second folly.

_Har. Jun._ What wondrous care you take to make him happy! yet I approve your method. Ignorance! oh, 'tis a jewel to a husband; that is, 'tis peace in him, 'tis virtue in his wife, 'tis honour in the world; he has all this, while he is ignorant.

_Isab._ You pervert my meaning: I would not keep my actions from his knowledge; your bold attempts I would: But yet henceforth conceal your impious flames; I shall not ever be thus indulgent to your shame, to keep it from his notice.

_Har. Jun._ You are a woman; have enough of love for him and me; I know the plenteous harvest all is his: He has so much of joy, that he must labour under it. In charity, you may allow some gleanings to a friend.

_Isab._ Now you grow rude: I'll hear no more.

_Har. Jun._ You must.

_Imb._ Leave me.

_Har. Jun._ I cannot.

_Isab._ I find I must be troubled with this idle talk some minutes more, but 'tis your last.

_Har. Jun._ And therefore I'll improve it: Pray, resolve to make me happy by your free consent. I do not love these half enjoyments, to enervate my delights with using force, and neither give myself nor you that full content, which two can never have, but where both join with equal eagerness to bless each other.

_Isab._ Bless me, ye kind inhabitants of heaven, from hearing words like these!

_Har. Jun._ You must do more than hear them. You know you were now going to your bridal-bed. Call your own thoughts but to a strict account, they'll tell you, all this day your fancy ran on nothing else; 'tis but the same scene still you were to act; only the person changed,--it may be for the better.

_Isab._ You dare not, sure, attempt this villany.

_Har. Jun._ Call not the act of love by that gross name; you'll give it a much better when 'tis done, and woo me to a second.

_Isab._ Dost thou not fear a heaven?

_Har. Jun._ No, I hope one in you. Do it, and do it heartily; time is precious; it will prepare you better for your husband. Come-- [_Lays hold on her._

_Isab._ O mercy, mercy! Oh, pity your own soul, and pity mine; think how you'll wish undone this horrid act, when your hot lust is slaked; think what will follow when my husband knows it, if shame will let me live to tell it him; and tremble at a Power above, who sees, and surely will revenge it.

_Har. Jun._ I have thought!

_Isab._ Then I am sure you're penitent.

_Har. Jun._ No, I only gave you scope, to let you see, all you have urged I knew: You find 'tis to no purpose either to talk or strive.

_Isab._ [_Running._] Some succour! help, oh help! [_She breaks from him._

_Har. Jun._ [_Running after her._] That too is vain, you cannot 'scape me. [_Exit._

_Har. Jun._ [_Within._] Now you are mine; yield, or by force I'll take it.

_Isab._ [_Within._] Oh, kill me first!

_Har. Jun._ [_Within._] I'll bear you where your cries shall not be heard.

_Isab._ [_As further off._] Succour, sweet heaven! oh succour me!

## SCENE II.

_Enter_ HARMAN _Senior,_ FISCAL, VAN HERRING, BEAMONT, COLLINS, _and_ JULIA.

_Beam._ You have led us here a fairy's round in the moonshine, to seek a bridegroom in a wood, till we have lost the bride.

_Col._ I wonder what's become of her?

_Har. Sen._ Got together, got together, I warrant you, before this time; you Englishmen are so hot, you cannot stay for ceremonies. A good honest Dutchman would have been plying the glass all this while, and drunk to the hopes of Hans in Kelder till 'twas bed-time.

_Beam._ Yes, and then have rolled into the sheets, and turned o' the t'other side to snore, without so much as a parting blow; till about midnight he would have wakened in a maze, and found first he was married by putting forth a foot, and feeling a woman by him; and, it may be, then, instead of kissing, desired yough Fro to hold his head.

_Col._ And by that night's work have given her a proof, what she might expect for ever after.

_Beam._ In my conscience, you Hollanders never get your children, but in the spirit of brandy; you are exalted then a little above your natural phlegm, and only that, which can make you fight, and destroy men, makes you get them.

_Fisc._ You may live to know, that we can kill men when we are sober.

_Beam._ Then they must be drunk, and not able to defend themselves.

_Jul._ Pray leave this talk, and let us try if we can surprise the lovers under some convenient tree: Shall we separate, and look them?

_Beam._ Let you and I go together then, and if we cannot find them, we shall do as good, for we shall find one another.

_Fisc._ Pray take that path, or that; I will pursue this. [_Exeunt all but the_ FISCAL.

_Fisc._ So, now I have diverted them from Harman, I'll look for him myself, and see how he speeds in his adventure.

_Enter_ HARMAN _Junior._

_Har. Jun._ Who goes there?

_Fisc._ A friend: I was just in quest of you, so are all the company: Where have you left the bride?

_Har. Jun._ Tied to a tree and gagged, and--

_Fisc._ And what? Why do you stare and tremble? Answer me like a man.

_Har. Jun._ Oh, I have nothing left of manhood in me! I am turned beast or devil. Have I not horns, and tail, and leathern wings? Methinks I should have by my actions. Oh, I have done a deed so ill, I cannot name it.

_Fisc._ Not name it, and yet do it? That's a fool's modesty: Come, I'll name it for you: You have enjoyed your mistress.

_Har. Jun._ How easily so great a villany comes from thy mouth! I have done worse, I have ravished her.

_Fisc._ That's no harm, so you have killed her afterwards.

_Har. Jun._ Killed her! why thou art a worse fiend than I.

_Fisc._ Those fits of conscience in another might be excusable; but in you, a Dutchman, who are of a race that are born rebels, and live every where on rapine,--would you degenerate, and have remorse? Pray, what makes any thing a sin but law? and, what law is there here against it? Is not your father chief? Will he condemn you for a petty rape? the woman an Amboyner, and, what's less, now married to an Englishman! Come, if there be a hell, 'tis but for those that sin in Europe, not for us in Asia; heathens have no hell. Tell me, how was't? Pr'ythee, the history.

_Har. Jun._ I forced her. What resistance she could make she did, but 'twas in vain; I bound her, as I told you, to a tree.

_Fisc._ And she exclaimed, I warrant--

_Har. Jun._ Yes; and called heaven and earth to witness.

_Fisc._ Not after it was done?

_Har. Jun._ More than before--desired me to have killed her. Even when I had not left her power to speak, she curst me with her eyes.

_Fisc._ Nay, then, you did not please her; if you had, she ne'er had cursed you heartily. But we lose time: Since you have done this

## action, 'tis necessary you proceed; we must have no tales told.

_Har. Jun._ What do you mean?

_Fisc._ To dispatch her immediately; could you be so senseless to ravish her, and let her live? What if her husband should have found her? What if any other English? Come, there's no dallying; it must be done: My other plot is ripe, which shall destroy them all to-morrow.

_Har. Jun._ I love her still to madness, and never can consent to have her killed. We'll thence remove her, if you please, and keep her safe till your intended plot shall take effect; and when her husband's gone, I'll win her love by every circumstance of kindness.