The Bloody Banquet
By T. D.
The British Museum original of this facsimile is catalogued as "643. c. 4, 1620 (?)." The reason for the query will be seen on reference to the title-page, the lower margin being cropped so as to render it uncertain whether the date reads "1620" or "1630." The balance of probability appears to be in favor of the first-named date.
The "T. D." of authorship is another crux. The play has been assigned to " T. Barker", which, says Hazlitt, is "doubtful". R. Davenport and T. Drue have also been credited with the authorship; to both, says Bullen, "without evidence". Other corresponding initials of possible claimants of the period are those of Thomas Deloney (for whose claim much might be said: see "D.N.B."), and Thomas Dekker, neither of whom, so far as I know, have been suggested as author. Nor do I now suggest either. I restrict myself to pointing out that, as regards Thomas Dekker, the printer of "The Bloody Banquet" — Thomas Cotes — also printed others of his plays and pamphlets. Also in the second place that Dekker was fond of tacking on to many of his titles pieces of Latinity — mottoes, as it were, descriptive, or otherwise pertinent. For exatnples, see the title-pages of "Satiro-Mastix", "The Double P.P.", "The Bellman of London", "The Gul's Hornbook", "Work for Armourers", "Four Birds", Ec., "A Strange Horse-Race","Wars, Wars, Wars", Ec., Ec. This practice was seemingly not common until a somewhat later period. But other evidence is needed — internal, external, of any kind.
The work of reproduction has been well done: photographer and printer — both — have well sustained their long-attained all-round excellence of workmanship, oftentimes in difficult circumstances.
JOHN S. FARMER.
Hector adest secumque deos in proelia ducit. Nos haec novimus esse nihil.
LONDON Printed by Thomas Cotes, 1620
??? = 1639
The King of Lydia.
Tymethes his Sonne.
Lapirus his Nephew.
The King of Lycia.
Zantippus his Sonne.
Eurimone his Daughter.
Armatrices King of Cilicia.
Zenarchus his Sonne.
Amphridote his Daughter.
His Young Queene.
Mazeres his Favorite.
Roxona the young Queenes Keeper.
Fidelio. } Two faithfull Servants to the
Amorpho. } Lydian King.
Sextorio. } Two unfaithfull Servants
Lodovicus. } of his.
The Old Queene of Lydia.
Her two little Children.
At one doore the old King of Lydia, Tymethes his Sonne, Lapyrus his Nephew, and Souldiers. At the other the old King of Lycia, Zantippus his Son, Eurymone his Daughter, and Souldiers. The two pyrus is given to the Lycian, and Zantippus to the Lydian. The Lycian seemes to offer his daughter Eurymone to Lapyrus to fall from his uncle, and joyne with him; he accepts her drawing his sword against his Country and Uncle. The Lydian sends his sonne Tymethes for ayd; he enters againe with Armatrites King of Cilicia, Zenarchus his sonne, and Mazeres a young Prince the Cilician Kings follower. All they draw against the Lycians party, whereat they all with Lapyris flye; the two other Kings pursuing them. Then enter the old Queene of Lydia flying from her Nephew Lapyrus, with two Babes in her armes; he pursuing her with his drawne sword.
After the waste of many thousand wounds
Given and receiv'd alike, in seaven set battailes
Lydia's old King upon conditions sign'd
For Peace and truce, enter'd confeigned league
With his fierce enemy the Lycian King
Gave him in Hoftage as his pledge of faith,
His Nephew, Lord Lapyrus, and receiv'd
Noble Zantippus from the Lycian;
To make the contract full and honourable,
This Lord Lapyrus entertain'd and wellcom'd
But chiefely by the faire Eurymone
The Kings sole daughter, who unto Lapyrus
Offers her as his Bride, so he would turne
A Traytor to his Country and his King:
Lapyrus, to obtaine the beautions mayd
Turnes Traytor to his King, and joynes his force
Vnto his faire loves Fathers, Lycia's Kings;
Th'old King of Lydia being so beset
By his owne Nephews unexpected trecheries,
Sent forth his sonne Tymethes to crave ayd
From Armatrites of great Cilicia,
Which he obtain'd in a disastrous houre
As the event will witnesse; In this trouble
The frighted Queene with her two Infants fled
Into a Forrest, fearing the sad ruine
Hourely expected, untill Armatrites
With a fresh Army fore'd Lapyrus flye
And fav'd the King, doom'd for worse treachery.
What followes flicwvs it selfe; tis our full due,
If we with labour give content to you.Exit.
Enter, The two Kings of Lydia and Cilicia, Zenarchus sonne to the Cilician, Tymethes, sonne to the Lydian. Mareres, Fidelio, Amorpho, Sextorio, Lodovicus, when they come unto the Throne, the Tyrant of Cilicia puts by the old King, and ascends alone: all snatch out their swords, Mazeres crownes him, the old King and Tymethes stand amazed.
Omn. Long live Armatrites King of Lydia.
Arm. Art thou amaz'd old King, and all thy people
Mutually labouring in a fit of wonder?
Start from those pale dreames, we will prove all truë,
Who wins the day the brightnesse is his due.
King. King of Cilicia.
Arm. I and Lydia now,
Bate us not our Titles, we and ours
Have sweate and dearely earn'd them in our flesh.
King. It favors not of noblenesse nor vertue,
Religion, loyalty, heaven or natures lawes
So most perfidiously to enter, Tyrant,
Where was, expected honestly and honour,
Assistance from a friend, not a dissembler,
A Royall neighbour and no politique foe.
What worse than this could th' enemy performe?
And when shines friendship best but in a storme?
Arm. Why, doating Lydia, is it of no vertue
To bring our Army hither and put in venture
Our person and their lives upon our foes?
Wasting our courage, weakning our beft forces;
Impoverishing the heart of our munition,
And having wonne the honour of the battaile
To throw our glory on unworthy spirits,
And so unload victories honey thighes
To let Droanes feede?
King. Will nothing fatisfie but all?
Arm. Without all, nothing.
The Kingdome and not under suites our blood,
Flyes are are not Eagles preyes nor thankes our food:
And for Cilicia our other spheare,
Our sonne Zenarchus let thy beames move there.
Zen. Rather, my Lord, let me mave pitty here,
Vnto that reverend fate-afflicted King;
For whom, with disconsolate sonne (my friend
And plighted Brother) I here kneele as Sutor.
Oh my most Noble Father, still retaine
The seale of honour and religion,
A Kingdome rightly possessed by course,
Containes more joy than is usurpt by force.
Arm. The Boy hath almost chang'd us.
Maz. He cooles - my Lord, remember you are possess'd.
Arm. What, with the Devill?
Max. The Devill I the Dukedome, the Kingdome, Lydia.
All pant under your Scepter; the sway's yours,
Be not bought out with words, a Kingdome's deare,
Kisse fortune, keepe your minde, and keepe your state,
Y'are laught at if you prove compassionate.
Arm. Thankes to Mazeres, he hath refresht our spirits,
Zenarchus, 'tis thy death if thou proceede,
Thy words we threate, rife silent or else bleed.
King. who can expect but blood where Tyrants governe?
Arm. We are not yet so cruell to thy fortune
As was Lapyrus, thy owne Nephew, trecherous;
That stole upon thy life, beseig'd thee basely,
And had betra, 'd thee to thine enemies anger
Had we not beate his strength to his owne throate;
And made him shrinke before us, all can tell
In him twas monstrous, tis in us but well;
A tricke of warre, advantage, policy, nay rather recompence;
There's more deceite in peace, tis common there
T' unfold young heires, the old may well stand bare.
You have your life, be thankefull, and tis more
Than your perfidious Nephew would confent to,
Had he surpriz'd you first, your fate is cast,
The sooner you be gone 'twill prove the safer.
Kin. On thee Lapyrus, and thy treacheries, fall
The heavie burthen of an old mans curse.
Fid. Your Queene with her two Infants fled the Citty
Affrighted at this treason and new warres.
Kin. Newes of more sadnesses than the Kingdomes losse,
She fled upon her houre, for had she stayd
Sh' had either dyed, beene banish'd, or betrayd.
I have some servants here?
Arma. All these my Lord.
Kin. All these? not all, you did forget, I am not worth the flattering, I am done,
Old and at set, honour the rising Sunne.
If any for love serve me, which is he?
Now let him shame the world and follow me.
Fid. That's I my Lord.
Amor. And I.
Kin. What two of you?
Two follow a King when he is poore and old. Exit. cum suis.
Sex. Farewell King. Ile play the Flounder, keepe me to my tyde.
Lod. And so will I, this is the flowing side.
Maz. Those men are yours, my Lord.
Arm. We'le grace them chiefely,
Waite for imployment, place and eminence,
The like to each that to our bounty flies,
For he that falls to us shall surely rife.
His sonne Tymethes little frights our thoughts,
He's young,and given to pleasure, not to plots.
Maz. Your grace defines him right, he may remaine,
The Prince your sonne, bindes him in a love-chaine;
There's little feare of him.
Arm. Their loves are deare,
Base Boy, he leaves his father to live here.
Maz. His presence sets glosse on your attempts,
They have their luster from him.
Arm. He's their Countenance,
Twas well observ'd and follow'd, he shall stay,
Mazeres, thou armest us that wonne the day.
Exit. all but Zenarchus and Tymethes.
Zen. None but Mazeres, that Court flye, could on
The vertues the King blow such corruption,
Man falls to vice in minutes, runnes, and leapes,
But unto goodnesse he takes wary steppes.
How soone a Tyrant? why Tymethes, Friend, Brother?
Tym. Peace, prithee peace, you undoe me if you wake me,
I hope I'me in a dreame.
Zen. Would twere so happy?
Tym. No! why then wake Begger; bat the comfort is
I have brave seeming kinsemen: why Zenarchus
Tis not the losse of Kingdome, Fathers banishment,
Vncertainty of Mother, afflicts me
With halfe the violence that thofe cross'd affections,
Betwixt your Princely Sister and our selfe,
Who upon fortune, or her Fathers frowne,
Erecting the whole Fabricke of her love,
Either now will not, or else dare not love me.
Zen. Chance alters not affection, see in me
that hold thee deare still spight of Tyrannie:
Fate does but dim the glasse of a right man,
He still retaines his worth, doe what fate can.
Change faith for drosse? I will not call her sister,
That shall hate vertue for affliction.
And here she comes to cleare those doubts her selfe.
Amp. Strange alteration I will the King my Father
Goe to his grave a Russian and a Treacher?
In his gray heires turne Tyrant his friends?
Wasting his penitentiall times in plots,
Acting more sinnes than he hath teares to weepe for them?
Tym. Alas Lady, fortune hath chang'd my state, can you love a begger?
Am. Why fortune hath the least comand ore love,
She cannot drive Tymethes from himselfe,
And tis Tymethes; not his painted glories,
My soule in her accomplish'd wish desires.
Zen. What say you now sir?
Tym. Nothing but admire
That heaven can frame a creature like a woman
And die be constant, seeing most are common.
Zen. Put by your wonder sir, she proves the same
I spake her vertues for her ere she came,
And when my father dyes I here doe vow
This kingdome now detained wrongfully
Shall then returne unforcedly to you,
In part thy dowry, but in all thy due.
Tym. Vnmatched honest young man.
Zen. Come, let your lips meete though your fortunes wander.
Maz. Ha! taste lips so bounteously with a begger?
Zen. Thus in firme state let your affections rest,
Time, that makes wretched, makes the same men blest. Exeunt.
Maz. What's here? either the Princes out of charities rarenesse
Are pleas'd to lay aside their glories, and refresh
The gasping fortunes of a desperate wretch;
Or if for larger bounties I was mad
T' advise the King for his remaining here
That had beene banish'd, and with him my feare:
I love the Princesse, and the King allowes it.
If he should prove a rivall to my love,
I have argued faire for his abiding here:
My plots shall worke his ruine if one faile
Ile rayse a second, for I must prevaile:
I that us'd policie to cause him stay
Can shew like Art to rid my feares away. Exit.
Enter the old Queene with two Babes, as being hard pursued.
Que. Oh whither shall I flye with these poore Babes?
Twice set upon by Theeves within this Forrest
Who rob'd me of my Cloathes, and left me these,
Which better suite with my calamity:
What fate pursues the good old King my husband,
I cannot learne which is my worst affliction;
Oh trecherous Lapirus! impious Nephew!
All horrors of a guilty brest keepe with thee;
Either poore Babes, you must pine here for food,
Or have the wars drinke your immaculate blood.
Cry within follow, follow.
Oh flye, least life and honour be betrayd.Exit.
Lap. Villaine and fugitive, where wile thou hide
Th' abhorred burthen of thy wretched flesh?
In what disguise canst thou be safe and free,
Having betray'd thy Counttey? base Lapirus.
Earth stretch thy throate, take downe this bitter Pill,
Loathing the hateful taste of his owne ill.
Qu. Oh help, good heaven save a poore wretch from slaughter.
The. 1. Stop her mouth first, souldiers must have their sport.
Tis dearely earnd, they venture their blood for't.
Lap. A Mother so enforc'd by pittilesse slaves?
Lee me redeeme my honour in her rescue.
And in this deede my former basenesse dye.
The. 2. Come, come.
Que. If ever woman bore you.
Lap. Who ere bore them monsters begot them; mercilesse damn'd villaines.
Both. Hold, hold, sir; we are souldiers, but doe not love to fight.Exeunt.
Que. Let me disswade you from all hope of recompence
Save thankes and prayers, which are the Beggers gifts,
Lap. You cannot give me that I have more neede of
Than prayers; for my soule hath a poore stocke;
There's a faire house within, but tis ill furnisht
There wants true teares for hangings, penitent falls,
- Que. Oh where?
- Lap. Here, take my sword.
Are you yet constant? shame your Sex and be so; will you do't?
- Que. I see him not.
- Lap. Strike him through his guilt and trechery
And let him see the horrors of his perjur'd soule,
Are you ready?
- Que. Pray let me see him first. Pulls off his fals beard
- Lap. You see him now—now do't. and kneeles.
- Que. Lapirus l
Oh fortunate revenge! now all thy Villanies
Shall be at once requited, thy countries ruine
The King thy Vncles sorrow, my owne miseries,
Shall at this minute all one vengeance meete.
Alas, he doth submit, prayes, and relents,
Who could wish more? none made from woman can,
Small glory 'twere to kill a kneeling man:
When he in penitent sigbes his soule commends
Thou send'st him to the Gods, thy selfe to th' fiends:
But hearken to thy piteous Infants cryes,
And th'are for vengeance, peace then, now he dyes.
Ingratefull woman, he delivered thee
From ravishment, canst thou his murthresse be?
What's riches to thy honours? that rare treasure
Which worlds redeeme not, yet tis lost at pleasure.
Kill him that preservd that? and in thy rescue
His noble rage so manfully behav'd:
Rise, rise, he that repents is ever sav'd.
- Lap. Will misery yet a longer life afford,
To see a Queene so poore, not worth her word?
- Que. I am better than my word, my word was death.
- Lap. Man's nere past griefe, till he be past his breath.
- Que. I pardon all Lapyrus.
- Lap. Doe not do't.
- Que. And onely to one penance I enjoyne thee
For all thy faults past, while we here remaine
Within this Forrest, this thy taske shall bee,
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For though your elder met ill fate, good heaven
Hath thus preserv'd your yonger for your heire.
- Kiu. Prepare those limbes for honourable buriall.
And noble Nephew all your ill is lost
In your late new borne goodnesse, which we'le reward,
No storme of fate so fierce but time destroyes.
And beates backe miserie with a peale of Joyes.