The Works of John Dryden, Volume 5 (of 18) - Amboyna; The state of Innocence; Aureng-Zebe; All for Love
by John Dryden
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Amboyna; or the Cruelties of the Dutch to the English Merchants, a Tragedy Epistle Dedicatory to Lord Clifford of Chudleigh

The State of Innocence, and Fall of Man, an Opera Epistle Dedicatory to her Royal Highness the Duchess Preface.—The Author's Apology for Heroic Poetry, and Poetic Licence

Aureng-Zebe, a Tragedy Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Mulgrave

All for Love, or the World Well Lost, a Tragedy Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Danby Preface

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Manet alta mente repostum.


The tragedy of Amboyna, as it was justly termed by the English of the seventeenth century, was of itself too dreadful to be heightened by the mimic horrors of the stage. The reader may be reminded, that by three several treaties in the years 1613, 1615, and 1619, it was agreed betwixt England and Holland, that the English should enjoy one-third of the trade of the spice islands. For this purpose, factories were established on behalf of the English East India Company at the Molucca Islands, at Banda, and at Amboyna. At the latter island the Dutch had a castle, with a garrison, both of Europeans and natives. It has been always remarked, that the Dutchman, in his eastern settlements, loses the mercantile probity of his European character, while he retains its cold-blooded phlegm and avaricious selfishness. Of this the Amboyna government gave a notable proof. About the 11th of Feb. 1622, old stile, under pretence of a plot laid between the English of the factory and some Japanese soldiers to seize the castle, the former were arrested by the Dutch, and subjected to the most horrible tortures, to extort confession of their pretended guilt. Upon some they poured water into a cloth previously secured round their necks and shoulders, until suffocation ensued; others were tortured with lighted matches, and torches applied to the most tender and sensible parts of the body. But I will not pollute my page with this monstrous and disgusting detail. Upon confessions, inconsistent with each other, with common sense and ordinary probability, extorted also by torments of the mind or body, or both, Captain Gabriel Towerson, and nine other English merchants of consideration, were executed; and, to add insult to atrocity, the bloody cloth, on which Towerson kneeled at his death, was put down to the account of the English Company. The reader may find the whole history in the second volume of Purchas's "Pilgrim." The news of this horrible massacre reached King James, while he was negociating with the Dutch concerning the assistance which they then implored against the Spaniards; and the affairs of his son-in-law, the Elector Palatine, appeared to render an union with Holland so peremptorily necessary, that the massacre of Amboyna was allowed to remain unrevenged.

But the Dutch war, which was declared in 1672, the object of which seems to have been the annihilation of the United Provinces as an independent state, a century sooner than Providence had decreed that calamitous event, met with great opposition in England, and every engine was put to work to satisfy the people of the truth of the Lord Chancellor Shaftesbury's averment, that the "States of Holland were England's eternal enemies, both by interest and inclination." Dryden, with the avowed intention of exasperating the nation against the Dutch, assumed from choice, or by command, the unpromising subject of the Amboyna massacre as the foundation of the following play. Exclusive of the horrible nature of the subject, the colours are laid on too thick to produce the desired effect. The monstrous caricatures, which are exhibited as just paintings of the Dutch character, unrelieved even by the grandeur of wickedness, and degraded into actual brutality, must have produced disgust, instead of an animated hatred and detestation. For the horrible spectacle of tortures and mangled limbs exhibited on the stage, the author might plead the custom of his age. A stage direction in Ravenscroft's alteration of "Titus Andronicus," bears, "A curtain drawn, discovers the heads and hands of Demetrius and Chiron hanging up against the wall; their bodies in chairs, in bloody linen." And in an interlude, called the "Cruelty of the Spaniards in Peru," written by D'Avenant, "a doleful pavin is played to prepare the change of the scene, which represents a dark prison at a great distance; and farther to the view are discerned racks and other engines of torment, with which the Spaniards are tormenting the natives and English mariners, who may be supposed to be lately landed there to discover the coast. Two Spaniards are likewise discovered sitting in their cloaks, and appearing more solemn in ruffs, with rapiers and daggers by their sides; the one turning a spit, while the other is basting an Indian prince, who is roasted at an artificial fire[1]." The rape of Isabinda is stated by Langbaine to have been borrowed from a novel in the Decamerone of Cinthio Giraldi.

This play is beneath criticism; and I can hardly hesitate to term it the worst production Dryden ever wrote. It was acted and printed in 1673.

Footnote: 1. This extraordinary kitchen scene did not escape the ridicule of the wits of that merry age.

O greater cruelty yet, Like a pig upon a spit; Here lies one there, another boiled to jelly; Just as the people stare At an ox in the fair, Roasted whole, with a pudding in's belly.

A little further in, Hung a third by his chin, And a fourth cut all in quarters. O that Fox had now been living, They had been sure of heaven, Or, at the least, been some of his martyrs.








After so many favours, and those so great, conferred on me by your lordship these many years,—which I may call more properly one continued act of your generosity and goodness,—I know not whether I should appear either more ungrateful in my silence, or more extravagantly vain in my endeavours to acknowledge them: For, since all acknowledgements bear a face of payment, it may be thought, that I have flattered myself into an opinion of being able to return some part of my obligements to you;—the just despair of which attempt, and the due veneration I have for his person, to whom I must address, have almost driven me to receive only with a profound submission the effects of that virtue, which is never to be comprehended but by admiration; and the greatest note of admiration is silence. It is that noble passion, to which poets raise their audience in highest subjects, and they have then gained over them the greatest victory, when they are ravished into a pleasure which is not to be expressed by words. To this pitch, my lord, the sense of my gratitude had almost raised me: to receive your favours, as the Jews of old received their law, with a mute wonder; to think, that the loudness of acclamation was only the praise of men to men, and that the secret homage of the soul was a greater mark of reverence, than an outward ceremonious joy, which might be counterfeit, and must be irreverent in its tumult. Neither, my lord, have I a particular right to pay you my acknowledgements: You have been a good so universal, that almost every man in the three nations may think me injurious to his propriety, that I invade your praises, in undertaking to celebrate them alone; and that I have assumed to myself a patron, who was no more to be circumscribed than the sun and elements, which are of public benefit to human kind.

As it was much in your power to oblige all who could pretend to merit from the public, so it was more in your nature and inclination. If any went ill-satisfied from the treasury, while it was in your lordship's management, it proclaimed the want of desert, and not of friends: You distributed your master's favour with so equal hands, that justice herself could not have held the scales more even; but with that natural propensity to do good, that had that treasure been your own, your inclination to bounty must have ruined you. No man attended to be denied: No man bribed for expedition: Want and desert were pleas sufficient. By your own integrity, and your prudent choice of those whom you employed, the king gave all that he intended; and gratuities to his officers made not vain his bounty. This, my lord, you were in your public capacity of high treasurer, to which you ascended by such degrees, that your royal master saw your virtues still growing to his favours, faster than they could rise to you. Both at home and abroad, with your sword and with your counsel, you have served him with unbiassed honour, and unshaken resolution; making his greatness, and the true interest of your country, the standard and measure of your actions. Fortune may desert the wise and brave, but true virtue never will forsake itself[2]. It is the interest of the world, that virtuous men should attain to greatness, because it gives them the power of doing good: But when, by the iniquity of the times, they are brought to that extremity, that they must either quit their virtue or their fortune, they owe themselves so much, as to retire to the private exercise of their honour;—to be great within, and by the constancy of their resolutions, to teach the inferior world how they ought to judge of such principles, which are asserted with so generous and so unconstrained a trial.

But this voluntary neglect of honours has been of rare example in the world[3]: Few men have frowned first upon fortune, and precipitated themselves from the top of her wheel, before they felt at least the declination of it. We read not of many emperors like Dioclesian and Charles the Fifth, who have preferred a garden and a cloister before a crowd of followers, and the troublesome glory of an active life, which robs the possessor of his rest and quiet, to secure the safety and happiness of others. Seneca, with the help of his philosophy, could never attain to that pitch of virtue: He only endeavoured to prevent his fall by descending first, and offered to resign that wealth which he knew he could no longer hold; he would only have made a present to his master of what he foresaw would become his prey; he strove to avoid the jealousy of a tyrant,—you dismissed yourself from the attendance and privacy of a gracious king. Our age has afforded us many examples of a contrary nature; but your lordship is the only one of this. It is easy to discover in all governments, those who wait so close on fortune, that they are never to be shaken off at any turn: Such who seem to have taken up a resolution of being great; to continue their stations on the theatre of business; to change with the scene, and shift the vizard for another part—these men condemn in their discourses that virtue which they dare not practise: But the sober part of this present age, and impartial posterity, will do right, both to your lordship and to them: And, when they read on what accounts, and with how much magnanimity, you quitted those honours, to which the highest ambition of an English subject could aspire, will apply to you, with much more reason, what the historian said of a Roman emperor, "Multi diutius imperium tenuerunt; nemo fortius reliquit."

To this retirement of your lordship, I wish I could bring a better entertainment than this play; which, though it succeeded on the stage, will scarcely bear a serious perusal; it being contrived and written in a month, the subject barren, the persons low, and the writing not heightened with many laboured scenes. The consideration of these defects ought to have prescribed more modesty to the author, than to have presented it to that person in the world for whom he has the greatest honour, and of whose patronage the best of his endeavours had been unworthy: But I had not satisfied myself in staying longer, and could never have paid the debt with a much better play. As it is, the meanness of it will shew; at least, that I pretend not by it to make any manner of return for your favours; and that I only give you a new occasion of exercising your goodness to me, in pardoning the failings and imperfections of,


Your Lordship's Most humble, most obliged, Most obedient servant, JOHN DRYDEN.

Footnotes: 1. Sir Thomas Clifford, just then created Lord Clifford of Chudleigh, and appointed Lord High Treasurer, was one of the six ministers, the initials of whose names furnished the word Cabal, by which their junto was distinguished. He was the most virtuous and honest of the junto, but a Catholic; and, what was then synonymous, a warm advocate for arbitrary power. He is said to have won his promotion by advising the desperate measure of shutting the Exchequer in 1671, the hint of which he is said to have stolen from Shaftesbury. This piece may have been undertaken by his command; for, even at the very time of the triple alliance, he is reported to have said, "For all this, we must have another Dutch war." Upon the defection of Lord Shaftesbury from the court party, and the passing of the test act, Lord Clifford resigned his office, retired to the country, and died in September 1673, shortly after receiving this dedication.

2. In this case, Dryden's praise, which did not always occur, survived the temporary occasion. Even in a little satirical effusion, he tells us,

Clifford was fierce and brave.

Clifford had been comptroller and treasurer of the household, and one of the commissioners of the treasury; he had served in the Dutch wars.

3. Alluding to Lord Clifford's resignation of an office he could not hold without a change of religion.


This poem was written as far back as 1662, and was then termed a Satire against the Dutch.

As needy gallants in the scriveners' hands, Court the rich knave that gripes their mortgaged lands, The first fat buck of all the season's sent, And keeper takes no fee in compliment: The dotage of some Englishmen is such To fawn on those who ruin them—the Dutch. They shall have all, rather than make a war With those who of the same religion are. The Straits, the Guinea trade, the herrings too, Nay, to keep friendship, they shall pickle you. Some are resolved not to find out the cheat, But, cuckold like, love him who does the feat: What injuries soe'er upon us fall, Yet, still, The same religion, answers all: Religion wheedled you to civil war, Drew English blood, and Dutchmen's now would spare: Be gulled no longer, for you'll find it true, They have no more religion, faith—than you; Interest's the god they worship in their state; And you, I take it, have not much of that. Well, monarchies may own religion's name, But states are atheists in their very frame. They share a sin, and such proportions fall, That, like a stink, 'tis nothing to them all. How they love England, you shall see this day; No map shews Holland truer than our play: Their pictures and inscriptions well we know[1]; We may be bold one medal sure to show. View then their falsehoods, rapine, cruelty; And think what once they were, they still would be: But hope not either language, plot, or art; 'Twas writ in haste, but with an English heart: And least hope wit; in Dutchmen that would be As much improper, as would honesty.

Footnote 1. Amongst the pretexts for making war on the states of Holland were alleged their striking certain satirical medals, and engraving prints in ridicule of Charles II. See his proclamation of war in 1671-2.


Captain GABRIEL TOWERSON. Mr BEAMONT, } English Merchants, his Friends. Mr COLLINS, } Captain MIDDLETON, an English Sea Captain. PEREZ, a Spanish Captain. HARMAN Senior, Governor of Amboyna. The Fiscal. HARMAN Junior, Son to the Governor. VAN HERRING, a Dutch Merchant.

ISABINDA, betrothed to TOWERSON, an Indian Lady. JULIA, Wife to PEREZ. An English Woman. Page to TOWERSON. A Skipper. Two Dutch Merchants.




SCENE I.—A Castle on the Sea.

Enter HARMAN Senior, the Governor, the Fiscal, and VAN HERRING: Guards.

Fisc. A happy day to our noble governor.

Har. Morrow, Fiscal.

Van Her. Did the last ships, which came from Holland to these parts, bring us no news of moment?

Fisc. Yes, the best that ever came into Amboyna, since we set footing here; I mean as to our interest.

Har. I wonder much my letters then gave me so short accounts; they only said the Orange party was grown strong again, since Barnevelt had suffered.

Van Her. Mine inform me farther, the price of pepper, and of other spices, was raised of late in Europe.

Har. I wish that news may hold; but much suspect it, while the English maintain their factories among us in Amboyna, or in the neighbouring plantations of Seran.

Fisc. Still I have news that tickles me within; ha, ha, ha! I'faith it does, and will do you, and all our countrymen.

Har. Pr'ythee do not torture us, but tell it.

Van Her. Whence comes this news?

Fisc. From England.

Har. Is their East India fleet bound outward for these parts, or cast away, or met at sea by pirates?

Fisc. Better, much better yet; ha, ha, ha!

Har. Now am I famished for my part of the laughter.

Fisc. Then, my brave governor, if you're a true Dutchman, I'll make your fat sides heave with the conceit on't, 'till you're blown like a pair of large smith's bellows; here, look upon this paper.

Har. [reading.] You may remember we did endamage the English East-India Company the value of five hundred thousand pounds, all in one year; a treaty is now signed, in which the business is ta'en up for fourscore thousand.—This is news indeed: would I were upon the castle-wall, that I might throw my cap into the sea, and my gold chain after it! this is golden news, boys.

Van Her. This is news would kindle a thousand bonfires, and make us piss them out again in Rhenish wine.

Har. Send presently to all our factories, acquaint them with these blessed tidings: If we can 'scape so cheap, 'twill be no matter what villanies henceforth we put in practice.

Fisc. Hum! why this now gives encouragement to a certain plot, which I have been long brewing, against these skellum English. I almost have it here in pericranio, and 'tis a sound one, 'faith; no less than to cut all their throats, and seize all their effects within this island. I warrant you we may compound again.

Van Her. Seizing their factories I like well enough, it has some savour in't; but for this whoreson cutting of throats, it goes a little against the grain, because 'tis so notoriously known in Christendom, that they have preserved ours from being cut by the Spaniards.

Har. Hang them, base English starts, let them e'en take their part of their own old proverb—Save a thief from the gallows; they would needs protect us rebels, and see what comes to themselves.

Fisc. You're i'the right on't, noble Harman; their assistance, which was a mercy and a providence to us, shall be a judgment upon them.

Van Her. A little favour would do well; though not that I would stop the current of your wit, or any other plot, to do them mischief; but they were first discoverers of this isle, first traded hither, and showed us the way.

Fisc. I grant you that; nay more, that, by composition made after many long and tedious quarrels, they were to have a third part of the traffic, we to build forts, and they to contribute to the charge.

Har. Which we have so increased each year upon them, we being in power, and therefore judges of the cost, that we exact whatever we please, still more than half the charge; and on pretence of their non-payment, or the least delay, do often stop their ships, detain their goods, and drag them into prisons, while our commodities go on before, and still forestall their markets.

Fisc. These, I confess, are pretty tricks, but will not do our business; we must ourselves be ruined at long run, if they have any trade here; I know our charge at length will eat us out: I would not let these English from this isle have cloves enough to stick an orange with, not one to throw into their bottle-ale.

Har. But to bring this about now, there's the cunning.

Fisc. Let me alone awhile; I have it, as I told you, here; mean time we must put on a seeming kindness, call them our benefactors and dear brethren, pipe them within the danger of our net, and then we'll draw it o'er them: When they're in, no mercy, that's my maxim.

Van Her. Nay, brother, I am not too obstinate for saving Englishmen, 'twas but a qualm of conscience, which profit will dispel: I have as true a Dutch antipathy to England, as the proudest he in Amsterdam; that's a bold word now.

Har. We are secure of our superiors there. Well, they may give the king of Great Britain a verbal satisfaction, and with submissive fawning promises, make shew to punish us; but interest is their god as well as ours. To that almighty, they will sacrifice a thousand English lives, and break a hundred thousand oaths, ere they will punish those that make them rich, and pull their rivals down. [Guns go off within.

Van Her. Heard you those guns?

Har. Most plainly.

Fisc. The sound comes from the port; some ship arrived salutes the castle, and I hope brings more good news from Holland. [Guns again.

Har. Now they answer them from the fortress.


Van Her. Beamont and Collins, English merchants both; perhaps they'll certify us.

Beam. Captain Harman van Spelt, good day to you.

Har. Dear, kind Mr Beamont, a thousand and a thousand good days to you, and all our friends the English.

Fisc. Came you from the port, gentlemen?

Col. We did; and saw arrive, our honest, and our gallant countryman, brave captain Gabriel Towerson.

Beam. Sent to these parts from our employers of the East India company in England, as general of the voyage.

Fisc. Is the brave Towerson returned?

Col. The same, sir.

Har. He shall be nobly welcome. He has already spent twelve years upon, or near, these rich Molucca isles, and home returned with honour and great wealth.

Fisc. The devil give him joy of both, or I will for him. [Aside.

Beam. He's my particular friend; I lived with him, both at Tencrate, Tydore, and at Seran.

Van Her. Did he not leave a mistress in these parts, a native of this island of Amboyna?

Col. He did; I think they call her Isabinda, who received baptism for his sake, before he hence departed.

Har. 'Tis much against the will of all her friends, she loves your countryman, but they are not disposers of her person; she's beauteous, rich, and young, and Towerson well deserves her.

Beam. I think, without flattery to my friend, he does. Were I to chuse, of all mankind, a man, on whom I would rely for faith and counsel, or more, whose personal aid I would invite, in any worthy cause, to second me, it should be only Gabriel Towerson; daring he is, and thereto fortunate; yet soft, and apt to pity the distressed, and liberal to relieve them: I have seen him not alone to pardon foes, but by his bounty win them to his love: If he has any fault, 'tis only that to which great minds can only subject be—he thinks all honest, 'cause himself is so, and therefore none suspects.

Fisc. I like him well for that; this fault of his great mind, as Beamont calls it, may give him cause to wish he was more wary, when it shall be too late. [Aside.

Har. I was in some small hope, this ship had been of our own country, and brought back my son; for much about this season I expect him. Good-morrow, gentlemen; I go to fill a brendice to my noble captain's health, pray tell him so; the youth of our Amboyna I'll send before, to welcome him.

Col. We'll stay, and meet him here. [Exeunt HARMAN, FISCAL, and VAN HERRING.

Beam. I do not like these fleering Dutchmen, they overact their kindness.

Col. I know not what to think of them; that old fat governor, Harman van Spelt, I have known long; they say he was a cooper in his country, and took the measure of his hoops for tuns by his own belly: I love him not, he makes a jest of men in misery; the first fat merry fool I ever knew, that was ill-natured.

Beam. He's absolutely governed by this Fiscal, who was, as I have heard, an ignorant advocate in Rotterdam, such as in England we call a petty-fogging rogue; one that knows nothing, but the worst part of the law, its tricks and snares: I fear he hates us English mortally. Pray heaven we feel not the effects on't.

Col. Neither he, nor Harman, will dare to shew their malice to us, now Towerson is come. For though, 'tis true, we have no castle here, he has an awe upon them in his worth, which they both fear and reverence.

Beam. I wish it so may prove; my mind is a bad prophet to me, and what it does forbode of ill, it seldom fails to pay me. Here he comes.

Col. And in his company young Harman, son to our Dutch governor. I wonder how they met.

Enter TOWERSON, HARMAN Junior, and a Skipper.

Tow. [Entering, to the Skipper.] These letters see conveyed with speed to our plantation. This to Cambello, and to Hitto this, this other to Loho. Tell them, their friends in England greet them well; and when I left them, were in perfect health.

Skip. Sir, you shall be obeyed. [Exit Skipper.

Beam. I heartily rejoice that our employers have chose you for this place: a better choice they never could have made, or for themselves, or me.

Col. This I am sure of, that our English factories in all these parts have wished you long the man, and none could be so welcome to their hearts.

Har. Jun. And let me speak for my countrymen, the Dutch; I have heard my father say, he's your sworn brother: And this late accident at sea, when you relieved me from the pirates, and brought my ship in safety off, I hope will well secure you of our gratitude.

Tow. You over-rate a little courtesy: In your deliverance I did no more, than what I had myself from you expected: The common ties of our religion, and those, yet more particular, of peace and strict commerce betwixt us and your nation, exacted all I did, or could have done. [To BEAMONT.] For you, my friend, let me ne'er breathe our English air again, but I more joy to see you, than myself to have escaped the storm that tossed me long, doubling the Cape, and all the sultry heats, in passing twice the Line: For now I have you here, methinks this happiness should not be bought at a less price.

Har. Jun. I'll leave you with your friends; my duty binds me to hasten to receive a father's blessing. [Exit HARMAN Junior.

Beam. You are so much a friend, that I must tax you for being a slack lover. You have not yet enquired of Isabinda.

Tow. No; I durst not, friend, I durst not. I love too well, and fear to know my doom; there's hope in doubt; but yet I fixed my eyes on yours, I looked with earnestness, and asked with them: If aught of ill had happened, sure I had met it there; and since, methinks, I did not, I have now recovered courage, and resolve to urge it from you.

Beam. Your Isabinda then—

Tow. You have said all in that, my Isabinda, if she still be so.

Beam. Enjoys as much of health, as fear for you, and sorrow for your absence, would permit. [Music within.

Col. Hark, music I think approaching.

Beam. 'Tis from our factory; some sudden entertainment I believe, designed for your return.

Enter Amboyners, Men and Women, with Timbrels before them. A Dance.

After the Dance,


Har. Sen. [Embracing TOWERSON.] O my sworn brother, my dear captain Towerson! the man whom I love better than a stiff gale, when I am becalmed at sea; to whom I have received the sacrament, never to be false-hearted.

Tow. You ne'er shall have occasion on my part: The like I promise for our factories, while I continue here: This isle yields spice enough for both; and Europe, ports, and chapmen, where to vend them.

Har. Sen. It does, it does; we have enough, if we can be contented.

Tow. And, sir, why should we not? What mean these endless jars of trading nations? 'Tis true, the world was never large enough for avarice or ambition; but those who can be pleased with moderate gain, may have the ends of nature, not to want: Nay, even its luxuries may be supplied from her o'erflowing bounties in these parts; from whence she yearly sends spices and gums, the food of heaven in sacrifice: And, besides these, her gems of the richest value, for ornament, more than necessity.

Har. Sen. You are i'the right; we must be very friends, i'faith we must; I have an old Dutch heart, as true and trusty as your English oak.

Fisc. We can never forget the patronage of your Elizabeth, of famous memory; when from the yoke of Spain, and Alva's pride, her potent succours, and her well-timed bounty, freed us, and gave us credit in the world.

Tow. For this we only ask a fair commerce, and friendliness of conversation here: And what our several treaties bind us to, you shall, while Towerson lives, see so performed, as fits a subject to an English king.

Har. Sen. Now, by my faith, you ask too little, friend; we must have more than bare commerce betwixt us: Receive me to your bosom; by this beard, I will never deceive you.

Beam. I do not like his oath, there's treachery in that Judas-coloured beard. [Aside.

Fisc. Pray use me as your servant.

Van Her. And me too, captain.

Tow. I receive you both as jewels, which I'll wear in either ear, and never part with you.

Har. Sen. I cannot do enough for him, to whom I owe my son.

Har. Jun. Nor I, till fortune send me such another brave occasion of fighting so for you.

Har. Sen. Captain, very shortly we must use your head in a certain business; ha, ha, ha, my dear captain.

Fisc. We must use your head, indeed, sir.

Tow. Sir, command me, and take it as a debt I owe your love.

Har. Sen. Talk not of debt, for I must have your heart.

Van Her. Your heart, indeed, good captain.

Har. Sen. You are weary now, I know, sea-beat and weary; 'tis time we respite further ceremony; besides, I see one coming, whom I know you long to embrace, and I should be unkind to keep you from her arms.


Isab. Do I hold my love, do I embrace him after a tedious absence of three years? Are you indeed returned, are you the same? Do you still love your Isabinda? Speak before I ask you twenty questions more: For I have so much love, and so much joy, that if you don't love as well as I, I shall appear distracted.

Tow. We meet then both out of ourselves, for I am nothing else but love and joy; and to take care of my discretion now, would make me much unworthy of that passion, to which you set no bounds.

Isab. How could you be so long away?

Tow. How can you think I was? I still was here, still with you, never absent in my mind.

Har. Jun. She is a most charming creature; I wish I had not seen her. [Aside.

Isab. Now I shall love your God, because I see that he takes care of lovers: But, my dear Englishman, I pr'ythee let it be our last of absence; I cannot bear another parting from thee, nor promise thee to live three other years, if thou again goest hence.

Tow. I never will without you.

Har. Sen. I said before, we should but trouble ye.

Tow. You make me blush; but if you ever were a lover, sir, you will forgive a folly, which is sweet, though, I confess, 'ts much extravagant.

Har. Jun. He has but too much cause for this excess of joy; oh happy, happy Englishman! but I unfortunate! [Aside.

Tow. Now, when you please, lead on.

Har. Sen. This day you shall be feasted at the castle, Where our great guns shall loudly speak your welcome. All signs of joy shall through the isle be shewn, Whilst in full rummers we our friendship crown. [Exeunt.


Enter ISABINDA, and HARMAN Junior.

Isab. This to me, from you, against your friend!

Har. Jun. Have I not eyes? are you not fair? Why does it seem so strange?

Isab. Come, it is a plot betwixt you: My Englishman is jealous, and has sent you to try my faith: he might have spared the experiment, after a three years absence; that was a proof sufficient of my constancy.

Har. Jun. I heard him say he never had returned, but that his masters of the East India company preferred him large conditions.

Isab. You do bely him basely.

Har. Jun. As much as I do you, in saying you are fair; or as I do myself, when I declare I die for you.

Isab. If this be earnest, you have done a most unmanly and ungrateful part, to court the intended wife of him, to whom you are most obliged.

Har. Jun. Leave me to answer that: Assure yourself I love you violently, and, if you are wise, you will make some difference betwixt Towerson and me.

Isab. Yes, I shall make a difference, but not to your advantage.

Har. Jun. You must, or falsify your knowledge; an Englishman, part captain, and part merchant; his nation of declining interest here: Consider this, and weigh against that fellow, not me, but any, the least and meanest Dutchman in this isle.

Isab. I do not weigh by bulk: I know your countrymen have the advantage there.

Har. Jun. Hold back your hand, from firming of your faith; you will thank me in a little time, for staying you so kindly from embarking in his ruin.

Isab. His fortune is not so contemptible as you would make it seem.

Har. Jun. Wait but one month for the event.

Isab. I will not wait one day, though I were sure to sink with him the next: So well I love my Towerson, I will not lose another sun, for fear he should not rise to-morrow. For yourself, pray rest assured, of all mankind, you should not be my choice, after an act of such ingratitude.

Har. Jun. You may repent your scorn at leisure.

Isab. Never, unless I married you.


Tow. Now, my dear Isabinda, I dare pronounce myself most happy: Since I have gained your kindred, all difficulties cease.

Isab. I wish we find it so.

Tow. Why, is aught happened since I saw you last? Methinks a sadness dwells upon your brow, like that I saw before my last long absence. You do not speak: My friend dumb too? Nay then, I fear some more than ordinary cause produces this.

Har. Jun. You have no reason, Towerson, to be sad; you are the happy man.

Tow. If I have any, you must needs have some.

Har. Jun. No, you are loved, and I am bid despair.

Tow. Time and your services will perhaps make you as happy, as I am in my Isabinda's love.

Har. Jun. I thought I spoke so plain, I might be understood; but since I did not, I must tell you, Towerson, I wear the title of your friend no longer, because I am your rival.

Tow. Is this true, Isabinda?

Isab. I should not, I confess, have told you first, because I would not give you that disquiet; but since he has, it is too sad a truth.

Tow. Leave us, my dear, a little to ourselves.

Isab. I fear you will quarrel, for he seemed incensed, and threatened you with ruin. [To him aside.

Tow. 'Tis to prevent an ill, which may be fatal to us both, that I would speak with him.

Isab. Swear to me, by your love, you will not fight.

Tow. Fear not, my Isabinda; things are not grown to that extremity.

Isab. I leave you, but I doubt the consequence. [Exit ISAB.

Tow. I want a name to call you by; friend, you declare you are not, and to rival, I am not yet enough accustomed.

Har. Jun. Now I consider on it, it shall be yet in your free choice, to call me one or other; for, Towerson, I do not decline your friendship, but then yield Isabinda to me.

Tow. Yield Isabinda to you?

Har. Jun. Yes, and preserve the blessing of my friendship; I'll make my father yours; your factories shall be no more oppressed, but thrive in all advantages with ours; your gain shall be beyond what you could hope for from the treaty: In all the traffic of these eastern parts, ye shall—

Tow. Hold! you mistake me, Harman, I never gave you just occasion to think I would make merchandize of love; Isabinda, you know, is mine, contracted to me ere I went for England, and must be so till death.

Har. Jun. She must not, Towerson; you know you are not strongest in these parts, and it will be ill contesting with your masters.

Tow. Our masters? Harman, you durst not once have named that word, in any part of Europe.

Har. Jun. Here I both dare and will; you have no castles in Amboyna.

Tow. Though we have not, we yet have English hearts, and courages not to endure affronts.

Har. Jun. They may be tried.

Tow. Your father sure will not maintain you in this insolence; I know he is too honest.

Har. Jun. Assure yourself he will espouse my quarrel.

Tow. We would complain to England.

Har. Jun. Your countrymen have tried that course so often, methinks they should grow wiser, and desist: But now there is no need of troubling any others but ourselves; the sum of all is this, you either must resign me Isabinda, or instantly resolve to clear your title to her by your sword.

Tow. I will do neither now.

Har. Jun. Then I'll believe you dare not fight me fairly.

Tow. You know I durst have fought, though I am not vain enough to boast it, nor would upbraid you with remembrance of it.

Har. Jun. You destroy your benefit with rehearsal of it; but that was in a ship, backed by your men; single duel is a fairer trial of your courage.

Tow. I'm not to be provoked out of my temper: Here I am a public person, entrusted by my king and my employers, and should I kill you, Harman—

Har. Jun. Oh never think you can, sir.

Tow. I should betray my countrymen to suffer, not only worse indignities than those they have already borne, but, for aught I know, might give them up to general imprisonment, perhaps betray them to a massacre.

Har. Jun. These are but pitiful and weak excuses; I'll force you to confess you dare not fight; you shall have provocations.

Tow. I will not stay to take them. Only this before I go; if you are truly gallant, insult not where you have power, but keep your quarrel secret; we may have time and place out of this island: Meanwhile, I go to marry Isabinda, that you shall see I dare.—No more, follow me not an inch beyond this place, no not an inch. Adieu. [Exit TOWERSON.

Har. Jun. Thou goest to thy grave, or I to mine. [Is going after him.


Fisc. Whither so fast, mynheer?

Har. Jun. After that English dog, whom I believe you saw.

Fisc. Whom, Towerson?

Har. Jun. Yes, let me go, I'll have his blood.

Fisc. Let me advise you first; you young men are so violently hot.

Har. Jun. I say I'll have his blood.

Fisc. To have his blood is not amiss, so far I go with you; but take me with you further for the means: First, what's the injury?

Har. Jun. Not to detain you with a tedious story, I love his mistress, courted her, was slighted; into the heat of this he came; I offered him the best advantages he could or to himself propose, or to his nation, would he quit her love.

Fisc. So far you are prudent, for she is exceeding rich.

Har. Jun. He refused all; then I threatened him with my father's power.

Fisc. That was unwisely done; your father, underhand, may do a mischief, but it is too gross aboveboard.

Har. Jun. At last, nought else prevailing, I defied him to single duel; this he refused, and I believe it was fear.

Fisc. No, no, mistake him not, it is a stout whoreson. You did ill to press him, it will not sound well in Europe; he being here a public minister, having no means of 'scaping should he kill you, besides exposing all his countrymen to a revenge.

Har. Jun. That's all one; I'm resolved I will pursue my course, and fight him.

Fisc. Pursue your end, that's to enjoy the woman and her wealth; I would, like you, have Towerson despatched,—for, as I am a true Dutchman, I do hate him,—but I would convey him smoothly out of the world, and without noise; they will say we are ungrateful else in England, and barbarously cruel; now I could swallow down the thing ingratitude and the thing murder, but the names are odious.

Har. Jun. What would you have me do then?

Fisc. Let him enjoy his love a little while, it will break no squares in the long run of a man's life; you shall have enough of her, and in convenient time.

Har. Jun. I cannot bear he should enjoy her first; no, it is determined; I will kill him bravely.

Fisc. Ay, a right young man's bravery, that's folly: Let me alone, something I'll put in practice, to rid you of this rival ere he marries, without your once appearing in it.

Har. Jun. If I durst trust you now?

Fisc. If you believe that I have wit, or love you.

Har. Jun. Well, sir, you have prevailed; be speedy, for once I will rely on you. Farewell. [Exit HARMAN.

Fisc. This hopeful business will be quickly spoiled, if I not take exceeding care of it.—Stay,—Towerson to be killed, and privately, that must be laid down as the groundwork, for stronger reasons than a young man's passion; but who shall do it? No Englishman will, and much I fear, no Dutchman dares attempt it.

Enter PEREZ.

Well said, in faith, old Devil! Let thee alone, when once a man is plotting villany, to find him a fit instrument. This Spanish captain, who commands our slaves, is bold enough, and is beside in want, and proud enough to think he merits wealth.

Per. This Fiscal loves my wife; I am jealous of him, and yet must speak him fair to get my pay; O, there is the devil for a Castilian, to stoop to one of his own master's rebels, who has, or who designs to cuckold him.—[Aside.]—[To FISCAL.] I come to kiss your hand again, sir; six months I am in arrear; I must not starve, and Spaniards cannot beg.

Fisc. I have been a better friend to you, than perhaps you think, captain.

Per. I fear you have indeed. [Aside.

Fisc. And faithfully solicited your business; send but your wife to-morrow morning early, the money shall be ready.

Per. What if I come myself?

Fisc. Why ye may have it, if you come yourself, captain; but in case your occasions should call you any other way, you dare trust her to receive it.

Per. She has no skill in money.

Fisc. It shall be told into her hand, or given her upon honour, in a lump: but, captain, you were saying you did want; now I should think three hundred doubloons would do you no great harm; they will serve to make you merry on the watch.

Per. Must they be told into my wife's hand, too?

Fisc. No, those you may receive yourself, if you dare merit them.

Per. I am a Spaniard, sir; that implies honour: I dare all that is possible.

Fisc. Then you dare kill a man.

Per. So it be fairly.

Fisc. But what if he will not be so civil to be killed that way? He is a sturdy fellow, I know you stout, and do not question your valour; but I would make sure work, and not endanger you, who are my friend.

Per. I fear the governor will execute me.

Fisc. The governor will thank you; 'Tis he shall be your pay-master; you shall have your pardon drawn up beforehand; and remember, no transitory sum, three hundred quadruples in your own country gold.

Per. Well, name your man.

Enter JULIA.

Fisc. Your wife comes, take it in whisper. [They whisper.

Jul. Yonder is my master, and my Dutch servant; how lovingly they talk in private! if I did not know my Don's temper to be monstrously jealous, I should think, they were driving a secret bargain for my body; but cuerpo is not to be digested by my Castilian. Mi Moher, my wife, and my mistress! he lays the emphasis on me, as if to cuckold him were a worse sin, than breaking the commandment. If my English lover, Beamont, my Dutch love, the Fiscal, and my Spanish husband, were painted in a piece, with me amongst them, they would make a pretty emblem of the two nations that cuckold his Catholic majesty in his Indies.

Fisc. You will undertake it then?

Per. I have served under Towerson as his lieutenant, served him well, and, though I say it, bravely; yet never have been rewarded, though he promised largely; 'tis resolved, I'll do it.

Fisc. And swear secresy?

Per. By this beard.

Fisc. Go wait upon the governor from me, confer with him about it in my name, this seal will give you credit. [Gives him his seal.

Per. I go. [Goes a step or two, while the other approaches his wife.] What shall I be, before I come again? [Exit.

Fisc. Now, my fair mistress, we shall have the opportunity which I have long desired. [To JULIA.

Per. The governor is now a-sleeping; this is his hour of afternoon's repose, I'll go when he is awake. [Returning.

Fisc. He slept early this afternoon; I left him newly waked.

Per. Well, I go then, but with an aching heart. [Exit.

Fisc. So, at length he's gone.

Jul. But you may find he was jealous, by his delay.

Fisc. If I were as you, I would give evident proofs, should cure him of that disease for ever after.

Enter PEREZ again.

Per. I have considered on't, and if you would go along with me to the governor, it would do much better.

Fisc. No, no, that would make the matter more suspicious. The devil take thee for an impertinent cuckold! [Aside.

Per. Well, I must go then. [Exit PEREZ.

Jul. Nay, there was never the like of him; but it shall not serve his turn, we'll cuckold him most furiously.

Enter PEREZ again.

Per. I had forgot one thing; dear sweet-heart, go home quickly, and oversee our business; it won't go forward without one of us.

Fisc. I warrant you, take no care of your business; leave it to me, I'll put it forward in your absence: Go, go, you'll lose your opportunity; I'll be at home before you, and sup with you to-night.

Per. You shall be welcome, but—

Fisc. Three hundred quadruples.

Per. That's true, but—

Fisc. But three hundred quadruples.

Per. The devil take the quadruples!


Beam. There's my cuckold that must be, and my fellow swaggerer, the Dutchman, with my mistress: my nose is wiped to-day; I must retire, for the Spaniard is jealous of me.

Per. Oh, Mr Beamont, I'm to ask a favour of you.

Beam. This is unusual; pray command it, signior.

Per. I am going upon urgent business; pray sup with me to-night, and, in the meantime, bear my worthy friend here company.

Beam. With all my heart.

Per. So, now I am secure; though I dare not trust her with one of them, I may with both; they'll hinder one another, and preserve my honour into the bargain. [Exit.

Beam. Now, Mr Fiscal, you are the happy man with the ladies, and have got the precedence of traffic here too; you've the Indies in your arms, yet I hope a poor Englishman may come in for a third part of the merchandise.

Fisc. Oh, sir, in these commodities, here's enough for both; here's mace for you, and nutmeg for me, in the same fruit, and yet the owner has to spare for other friends too.

Jul. My husband's plantation is like to thrive well betwixt you.

Beam. Horn him; he deserves not so much happiness as he enjoys in you; he's jealous.

Jul. 'Tis no wonder if a Spaniard looks yellow.

Beam. Betwixt you and me, 'tis a little kind of venture that we make, in doing this Don's drudgery for him; for the whole nation of them is generally so pocky, that 'tis no longer a disease, but a second nature in them.

Fisc. I have heard indeed, that 'tis incorporated among them, as deeply as the Moors and Jews are; there's scarce a family, but 'tis crept into their blood, like the new Christians.

Jul. Come, I'll have no whispering betwixt you; I know you were talking of my husband, because my nose itches.

Beam. Faith, madam, I was speaking in favour of your nation: What pleasant lives I have known Spaniards to live in England.

Jul. If you love me, let me hear a little.

Beam. We observed them to have much of the nature of our flies; they buzzed abroad a month or two in the summer, would venture about dog-days to take the air in the Park, but all the winter slept like dormice; and, if they ever appeared in public after Michaelmas, their faces shewed the difference betwixt their country and ours, for they look in Spain as if they were roasted, and in England as if they were sodden.

Jul. I'll not believe your description.

Fisc. Yet our observations of them in Holland are not much unlike it. I've known a great Don at the Hague, with the gentleman of his horse, his major domo, and two secretaries, all dine at four tables, on the quarters of a single pullet: The victuals of the under servants were weighed out in ounces, by the Don himself; with so much garlic in the other scale: A thin slice of bacon went through the family a week together; for it was daily put into the pot for pottage; was served in the midst of the dish at dinners, and taken out and weighed by the steward, at the end of every meal, to see how much it lost; till, at length, looking at it against the sun, it appeared transparent, and then he would have whipped it up, as his own fees, at a morsel; but that his lord barred the dice, and reckoned it to him for a part of his board wages.

Beam. In few words, madam, the general notion we had of them, was, that they were very frugal of their Spanish coin, and very liberal of their Neapolitan.

Jul. I see, gentlemen, you are in the way of rallying; therefore let me be no hinderance to your sport; do as much for one another as you have done for our nation. Pray, Mynheer Fiscal, what think you of the English?

Fisc. Oh, I have an honour for the country.

Beam. I beseech you, leave your ceremony; we can hear of our faults without choler; therefore speak of us with a true Amsterdam spirit, and do not spare us.

Fisc. Since you command me, sir, 'tis said of you, I know not how truly, that for your fishery at home, you're like dogs in the manger, you will neither manage it yourselves, nor permit your neighbours; so that for your sovereignty of the narrow seas, if the inhabitants of them, the herrings, were capable of being judges, they would certainly award it to the English, because they were then sure to live undisturbed, and quiet under you.

Beam. Very good; proceed, sir.

Fisc. 'Tis true, you gave us aid in our time of need, but you paid yourselves with our cautionary towns: And, that you have since delivered them up, we can never give sufficient commendation, either to your honesty, or to your wit; for both which qualities you have purchased such an immortal fame, that all nations are instructed how to deal with you another time.

Beam. A most grateful acknowledgment; sweet sir, go on.

Fisc. For your trade abroad, if you should obtain it, you are so horribly expensive, that you would undo yourselves and all Christendom; for you would sink under your very profit, and the gains of the universal world would beggar you: You devour a voyage to the Indies, by the multitude of mouths with which you man your vessels: Providence has contrived it well, that the Indies are managed by us, an industrious and frugal people, who distribute its merchandise to the rest of Europe, and suffer it not to be consumed in England, that the other members might be starved, while you of Great Britain, as you call it, like a rickety head, would only swell and grow bigger by it.

Jul. I have heard enough of England; have you nothing to return upon the Netherlands?

Beam. Faith, very little to any purpose; he has been beforehand with us, as his countrymen are in their trade, and taken up so many vices for the use of England, that he has left almost none for the Low Countries.

Jul. Come, a word, however.

Beam. In the first place, you shewed your ambition when you began to be a state: For not being gentlemen, you have stolen the arms of the best families of Europe; and wanting a name, you made bold with the first of the divine attributes, and called yourselves the High and Mighty: though, let me tell you, that, besides the blasphemy, the title is ridiculous; for High is no more proper for the Netherlands, than Mighty is for seven little rascally provinces, no bigger in all than a shire in England. For my main theme, your ingratitude, you have in part acknowledged it, by your laughing at our easy delivery of your cautionary towns: The best is, we are used by you as well as your own princes of the house of Orange: We and they have set you up, and you undermine their power, and circumvent our trade.

Fisc. And good reason, if our interest requires it.

Beam. That leads me to your religion, which is only made up of interest: At home, you tolerate all worships in them who can pay for it; and abroad, you were lately so civil to the emperor of Pegu, as to do open sacrifice to his idols.

Fisc. Yes, and by the same token, you English were such precise fools as to refuse it.

Beam. For frugality in trading, we confess we cannot compare with you; for our merchants live like noblemen; your gentlemen, if you have any, live like boors. You traffic for all the rarities of the world, and dare use none of them yourselves; so that, in effect, you are the mill-horses of mankind, that labour only for the wretched provender you eat: A pot of butter and a pickled herring is all your riches; and, in short, you have a good title to cheat all Europe, because, in the first place, you cozen your own backs and bellies.

Fisc. We may enjoy more whenever we please.

Beam. Your liberty is a grosser cheat than any of the rest; for you are ten times more taxed than any people in Christendom: You never keep any league with foreign princes; you flatter our kings, and ruin their subjects; you never denied us satisfaction at home for injuries, nor ever gave it us abroad.

Fisc. You must make yourselves more feared, when you expect it.

Beam. And I prophecy that time will come, when some generous monarch of our island will undertake our quarrel, reassume the fishery of our seas, and make them as considerable to the English, as the Indies are to you.

Fisc. Before that comes to pass, you may repent your over-lavish tongue.

Beam. I was no more in earnest than you were.

Jul. Pray let this go no further; my husband has invited both to supper.

Beam. If you please, I'll fall to before he comes; or, at least, while he is conferring in private with the Fiscal. [Aside to her.

Jul. Their private businesses let them agree; The Dutch for him, the Englishman for me. [Exeunt.


Enter PEREZ.

Per. True, the reward proposed is great enough, I want it too; besides, this Englishman has never paid me since, as his lieutenant, I served him once against the Turk at sea; yet he confessed I did my duty well, when twice I cleared our decks; he has long promised me, but what are promises to starving men? this is his house, he may walk out this morning.

Enter a Page, and another Servant, walking by, not seeing him.

These belong to him; I'll hide till they are past.

Serv. He sleeps soundly for a man who is to be married when he wakes.

Page. He does well to take his time; for he does not know, when he's married, whether ever he shall have a sound sleep again.

Serv. He bid we should not wake him; but some of us, in good manners, should have staid, and not have left him quite alone.

Page. In good manners, I should indeed; but I'll venture a master's anger at any time for a mistress, and that's my case at present.

Serv. I'll tempt as great a danger as that comes to, for good old English fellowship; I am invited to a morning's draught.

Page. Good-morrow, brother, good-morrow; by that time you have filled your belly, and I have emptied mine, it will be time to meet at home again. [Exeunt severally.

Per. So, this makes well for my design; he's left alone, unguarded, and asleep: Satan, thou art a bounteous friend, and liberal of occasions to do mischief; my pardon I have ready, if I am taken, my money half beforehand: up, Perez, rouse thy Spanish courage up; if he should wake, I think I dare attempt him; then my revenge is nobler, and revenge, to injured men, is full as sweet as profit. [Exit.


The SCENE drawn, discovers TOWERSON asleep on a Couch in his Night-gown. A Table by him; Pen, Ink, and Paper on it.

Re-enter PEREZ with a Dagger.

Per. Asleep, as I imagined, and as fast as all the plummets of eternal night were hung upon his temples. Oh that some courteous daemon, in the other world, would let him know, 'twas Perez sent him thither! A paper by him too! He little thinks it is his testament; the last he e'er shall make: I'll read it first. [Takes it up.] Oh, by the inscription, 'tis a memorial of what he means to do this day: What's here? My name in the first line! I'll read it. [Reads.] Memorandum, That my first action this morning shall be, to find out my true and valiant lieutenant, captain Perez; and, as a testimony of my gratitude for his honourable services, to bestow on him five hundred English pounds, making my just excuse, I had it not before within my power to reward him. [Lays down the paper.] And was it then for this I sought his life? Oh base, degenerate Spaniard! Hadst thou done it, thou hadst been worse than damned: Heaven took more care of me, than I of him, to expose this paper to my timely view. Sleep on, thou honourable Englishman; I'll sooner now pierce my own breast than thine: See, he smiles too in his slumber, as if his guardian angel, in a dream, told him, he was secure: I'll give him warning though, to prevent danger from another hand. [Writes on TOWERSON'S paper, then sticks his dagger in it. Stick there, that when he wakens, he may know, To his own virtue he his life does owe. [Exit PEREZ.

TOWERSON awakens.

Tow. I have o'erslept my hour this morning, if to enjoy a pleasing dream can be to sleep too long. Methought my dear Isabinda and myself were lying in an arbour, wreathed about with myrtle and with cypress; my rival Harman, reconciled again to his friendship, strewed us with flowers, and put on each a crimson-coloured garment, in which we straightway mounted to the skies; and with us, many of my English friends, all clad in the same robes. If dreams have any meaning, sure this portends some good.—What's that I see! A dagger stuck into the paper of my memorials, and writ below—Thy virtue saved thy life! It seems some one has been within my chamber whilst I slept: Something of consequence hangs upon this accident. What, ho! who waits without? None answer me? Are ye all dead? What, ho!


Beam. How is it, friend? I thought, entering your house, I heard you call.

Tow. I did, but as it seems without effect; none of my servants are within reach of my voice.

Beam. You seem amazed at somewhat?

Tow. A little discomposed: read that, and see if I have no occasion; that dagger was stuck there, by him who writ it.

Beam. I must confess you have too just a cause: I am myself surprised at an event so strange.

Tow. I know not who can be my enemy within this island, except my rival Harman; and for him, I truly did relate what passed betwixt us yesterday.

Beam. You bore yourself in that as it became you, as one who was a witness to himself of his own courage; and while, by necessary care of others, you were forced to decline fighting, shewed how much you did despise the man who sought the quarrel: 'Twas base in him, so backed as he is here, to offer it, much more to press you to it.

Tow. I may find a foot of ground in Europe to tell the insulting youth, he better had provoked some other man; but sure I cannot think 'twas he who left that dagger there.

Beam. No, for it seems too great a nobleness of spirit, for one like him to practise: 'Twas certainly an enemy, who came to take your sleeping life; but thus to leave unfinished the design, proclaims the act no Dutchman's.

Tow That time will best discover; I'll think no further of it.

Beam. I confess you have more pleasing thoughts to employ your mind at present; I left your bride just ready for the temple, and came to call you to her.

Tow. I'll straight attend you thither.


Fisc. Remember, sir, what I advised you; you must seemingly make up the business. [To HAR. Sen.

Har. Sen. I warrant you.—What, my brave bonny bridegroom, not yet dressed? You are a lazy lover; I must chide you. [To TOWERSON.

Tow. I was just preparing.

Har. Sen. I must prevent part of the ceremony: You thought to go to her; she is by this time at the castle, where she is invited with our common friends; for you shall give me leave, if you so please, to entertain you both.

Tow. I have some reasons, why I must refuse the honour you intend me.

Har. Sen. You must have none: What! my old friend steal a wedding from me? In troth, you wrong our friendship.

Beam. [To him aside.] Sir, go not to the castle; you cannot, in honour, accept an invitation from the father, after an affront from the son.

Tow. Once more I beg your pardon, sir.

Har. Sen. Come, come, I know your reason of refusal, but it must not prevail: My son has been to blame; I'll not maintain him in the least neglect, which he should show to any Englishman, much less to you, the best and most esteemed of all my friends.

Tow. I should be willing, sir, to think it was a young man's rashness, or perhaps the rage of a successless rival; yet he might have spared some words.

Har. Sen. Friend, he shall ask your pardon, or I'll no longer own him; what, ungrateful to a man, whose valour has preserved him? He shall do it, he shall indeed; I'll make you friends upon your own conditions; he's at the door, pray let him be admitted; this is a day of general jubilee.

Tow. You command here, you know, sir.

Fisc. I'll call him in; I am sure he will be proud, at any rate, to redeem your kind opinion of him. [Exit.

FISCAL re-enters, with HARMAN Junior.

Har. Jun. Sir, my father, I hope, has in part satisfied you, that what I spoke was only an effect of sudden passion, of which I am now ashamed; and desire it may be no longer lodged in your remembrance, than it is now in my intention to do you any injury.

Tow. Your father may command me to more difficult employments, than to receive the friendship of a man, of whom I did not willingly embrace an ill opinion.

Har. Jun. Nothing henceforward shall have power to take from me that happiness, in which you are so generously pleased to reinstate me.

Har. Sen. Why this is as it should be; trust me, I weep for joy.

Beam. Towerson is easy, and too credulous. I fear 'tis all dissembled on their parts. [Aside.

Har. Sen. Now set we forward to the castle; the bride is there before us.

Tow. Sir, I wait you. [Exeunt HARMAN Sen. TOWERSON, BEAMONT, and VAN HERRING.

Enter Captain PEREZ.

Fisc. Now, captain, when perform you what you promised, concerning Towerson's death?

Per. Never.—There, Judas, take your hire of blood again. [Throws him a purse.

Har. Jun. Your reason for this sudden change?

Per. I cannot own the name of man, and do it.

Har. Jun. Your head shall answer the neglect of what you were commanded.

Per. If it must, I cannot shun my destiny.

Fisc. Harman, you are too rash; pray hear his reasons first.

Per. I have them to myself, I'll give you none.

Fisc. None? that's hard; well, you can be secret, captain, for your own sake, I hope?

Per. That I have sworn already, my oath binds me.

Fisc. That's enough: we have now chang'd our minds, and do not wish his death,—at least as you shall know. [Aside.

Per. I am glad on't, for he's a brave and worthy gentleman; I would not for the wealth of both the Indies have had his blood upon my soul to answer.

Fisc. [Aside to HARMAN.] I shall find a time to take back our secret from him, at the price of his life, when he least dreams of it; meantime 'tis fit we speak him fair. [To PEREZ.] Captain, a reward attends you, greater than you could hope; we only meant to try your honesty. I am more than satisfied of your reasons.

Per. I still shall labour to deserve your kindness in any honourable way. [Exit PEREZ.

Har. Jun. I told you that this Spaniard had not courage enough for such an enterprise.

Fisc. He rather had too much of honesty.

Har. Jun. Oh, you have ruined me; you promised me this day the death of Towerson, and now, instead of that, I see him happy! I'll go and fight him yet; I swear he never shall enjoy her.

Fisc. He shall not, that I swear with you; but you are too rash, the business can never be done your way.

Har. Jun. I'll trust no other arm but my own with it.

Fisc. Yes, mine you shall, I'll help you. This evening, as he goes from the castle, we'll find some way to meet him in the dark, and then make sure of him for getting maidenheads to-night; to-morrow I'll bestow a pill upon my Spanish Don, lest he discover what he knows.

Har. Jun. Give me your hand, you'll help me.

Fisc. By all my hopes I will: in the mean time, with a feigned mirth 'tis fit we gild our faces; the truth is, that we may smile in earnest, when we look upon the Englishman, and think how we will use him.

Har. Jun. Agreed; come to the castle. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—The Castle.



The day is come, I see it rise, Betwixt the bride and bridegroom's eyes; That golden day they wished so long, Love picked it out amidst the throng; He destined to himself this sun, And took the reins, and drove him on; In his own beams he drest him bright, Yet bid him bring a better night.

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.


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.


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!


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.


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!



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.

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