_Lev._ 'Uds body, my husband! Faint-hearted fool! I think thou wert

begotten between the North Pole and the congealed passage.[153] Now,

like an ambitious coward that betrays himself with fearful delay, you

must suffer for the treason you never committed. Go, hide thyself

behind yon arras instantly. [FRESCO _hides himself._

_Enter_ SEBASTIAN.

Sebastian! What do you here so late?

_Sebas._ Nothing yet, but I hope I shall. [_Kisses her._

_Lev._ Y'are very bold.

_Sebas._ And you very valiant, for you met me at full career.[154]

_Lev._ You come to ha' me move your father's reconciliation. I'll write

a word or two i' your behalf.

_Sebas._ A word or two, madam? That you do for me will not be contained

in less than the compass of two sheets. But in plain terms shall we

take the opportunity of privateness.

_Lev._ What to do?

_Sebas._ To dance the beginning of the world after the English manner.

_Lev._ Why not after the French or Italian?

_Sebas._ Fie! they dance it preposterously; backward!

_Lev._ Are you so active to dance?

_Sebas._ I can shake my heels.

_Lev._ Y'are well made for't.

_Sebas._ Measure me from top to toe you shall not find me differ much

from the true standard of proportion. [BELFOREST _knocks within._

_Lev._ I think I am accursed, Sebastian. There's one at the door has

beaten opportunity away from us. In brief, I love thee, and it shall

not be long before I give thee a testimony of it. To save thee now from

suspicion do no more but draw thy rapier, chafe thyself, and when he

comes in, rush by without taking notice of him. Only seem to be angry,

and let me alone for the rest.[155]

_Enter_ BELFOREST.

_Sebas._ Now by the hand of Mercury--[_Exit._

_Bel._ What's the matter, wife?

_Lev._ Oh, oh, husband!

_Bel._ Prithee what ail'st thou, woman?

_Lev._ O feel my pulse. It beats, I warrant you. Be patient a little,

sweet husband: tarry but till my breath come to me again and I'll

satisfy you.

_Bel._ What ails Sebastian? He looks so distractedly.

_Lev._ The poor gentleman's almost out on's wits, I think. You remember

the displeasure his father took against him about the liberty of speech

he used even now, when your daughter went to be married?

_Bel._ Yes. What of that?

_Lev._ 'T has crazed him sure. He met a poor man i' the street even

now. Upon what quarrel I know not, but he pursued him so violently that

if my house had not been his rescue he had surely killed him.

_Bel._ What a strange desperate young man is that!

_Lev._ Nay, husband, he grew so in rage, when he saw the man was

conveyed from him, that he was ready even to have drawn his naked

weapon upon me. And had not your knocking at the door prevented him,

surely he'd done something to me.

_Bel._ Where's the man?

_Lev._ Alas, here! I warrant you the poor fearful soul is scarce come

to himself again yet.--If the fool have any wit he will apprehend me.

[_Aside._]--Do you hear, sir? You may be bold to come forth: the fury

that haunted you is gone. [FRESCO _peeps fearfully forth from behind

the arras._

_Fres._ Are you sure he is gone?

_Bel._ He's gone, he's gone, I warrant thee.

_Fres._ I would I were gone too. H's shook me almost into a dead palsy.

_Bel._ How fell the difference between you?

_Fres._ I would I were out at the back door.

_Bel._ Thou art safe enough. Prithee tell's the falling out.

_Fres._ Yes, sir, when I have recovered my spirits. My memory is almost

frighted from me.--Oh, so, so, so!--Why, sir, as I came along the

street, sir--this same gentleman came stumbling after me and trod o'

my heel.--I cried O. Do you cry, sirrah? says he. Let me see your heel;

if it be not hurt I'll make you cry for something. So he claps my head

between his legs and pulls off my shoe. I having shifted no socks in

a sen'night, the gentleman cried foh! and said my feet were base and

cowardly feet, they stunk for fear. Then he knocked my shoe about my

pate, and I cried O once more. In the meantime comes a shag-haired dog

by, and rubs against his shins. The gentleman took the dog in shag-hair

to be some watchman in a rug gown, and swore he would hang me up at the

next door with my lanthorn in my hand, that passengers might see their

way as they went, without rubbing against gentlemen's shins. So, for

want of a cord, he took his own garters off, and as he was going to

make a noose, I watched my time and ran away. And as I ran, indeed I

bid him hang himself in his own garters. So he, in choler, pursued me

hither, as you see.

_Bel._ Why, this savours of distraction.

_Lev._ Of mere distraction.

_Fres._ Howsover it savours, I am sure it smells like a lie. [_Aside._

_Bel._ Thou may'st go forth at the back door, honest fellow; the way is

private and safe.

_Fres._ So it had need, for your fore-door here is both common and

dangerous. [_Exit_ BELFOREST.

_Lev._ Good night, honest Fresco.

_Fres._ Good night, madam. If you get me kissing o' ladies

again!--[_Exit._

_Lev._ This falls out handsomely.

But yet the matter does not well succeed,

Till I have brought it to the very deed. [_Exit._

SCENE VI.--_A Camp._

_Enter_ CHARLEMONT _in arms, a_ Musketeer, _and a_ Serjeant.

_Charl._ Serjeant, what hour o' the night is't?

_Serj._ About one.

_Charl._ I would you would relieve me, for I am

So heavy that I shall ha' much ado

To stand out my perdu. [_Thunder and lightning._

_Serj._ I'll e'en but walk

The round, sir, and then presently return.

_Sol._ For God's sake, serjeant, relieve me. Above five hours together

in so foul a stormy night as this!

_Serj._ Why 'tis a music, soldier. Heaven and earth are now in consort,

when the thunder and the cannon play one to another. [_Exit_ Serjeant.

_Charl._ I know not why I should be thus inclined

To sleep. I feel my disposition pressed

With a necessity of heaviness.

Soldier, if thou hast any better eyes,

I prithee wake me when the serjeant comes.

_Sol._ Sir, 'tis so dark and stormy that I shall

Scarce either see or hear him, ere he comes

Upon me.

_Charl._ I cannot force myself to wake.--[_Sleeps._

_Enter the_ Ghost _of_ MONTFERRERS.

_Mont._ Return to France, for thy old father's dead,

And thou by murder disinherited.

Attend with patience the success of things,

But leave revenge unto the King of kings. [_Exit._

[CHARLEMONT _starts and wakes._

_Charl._ O my affrighted soul, what fearful dream

Was this that waked me? Dreams are but the raised

Impressions of premeditated things

By serious apprehension left upon

Our minds; or else the imaginary shapes

Of objects proper to the complexion, or

The dispositions of our bodies. These

Can neither of them be the cause why I

Should dream thus; for my mind has not been moved

With any one conception of a thought

To such a purpose; nor my nature wont

To trouble me with fantasies of terror.

It must be something that my Genius would

Inform me of. Now gracious Heaven forbid!

Oh! let my spirit be deprived of all

Foresight and knowledge, ere it understand

That vision acted, or divine that act

To come. Why should I think so? Left I not

My worthy father i' the kind regard

Of a most loving uncle? Soldier, saw'st

No apparition of a man?

_Sol._ You dream,

Sir. I saw nothing.

_Charl._ Tush! these idle dreams

Are fabulous. Our boyling fantasies

Like troubled waters falsify the shapes

Of things retained in them, and make 'em seem

Confounded when they are distinguished. So,

My actions daily conversant with war,

The argument of blood and death had left

Perhaps the imaginary presence of

Some bloody accident upon my mind,

Which, mixed confusedly with other thoughts,

Whereof the remembrance of my father might

Be one presented, all together seem

Incorporate, as if his body were

The owner of that blood, the subject of

That death, when he's at Paris and that blood

Shed here. It may be thus. I would not leave

The war, for reputation's sake, upon

An idle apprehension, a vain dream.

_Enter the_ Ghost.

_Sol._ Stand! Stand, I say! No? Why then have at thee,

Sir. If you will not stand, I'll make you fall. [_Fires._

Nor stand nor fall? Nay then, the devil's dam

Has broke her husband's head, for sure it is

A spirit.

I shot it through, and yet it will not fall. [_Exit._

[_The_ Ghost _approaches_ CHARLEMONT _who fearfully

avoids it._

_Charl._ O pardon me, my doubtful heart was slow

To credit that which I did fear to know. [_Exeunt._

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.--_Inside a Church._

_Enter the funeral of_ MONTFERRERS.

_D'Am._ Set down the body. Pay Earth what she lent.

But she shall bear a living monument

To let succeeding ages truly know

That she is satisfied what he did owe,

Both principal and use; because his worth

Was better at his death than at his birth.

[_A dead march. Enter the funeral of_ CHARLEMONT _as a_ Soldier.

_D'Am._ And with his body place that memory

Of noble Charlemont, his worthy son;

And give their graves the rites that do belong

To soldiers. They were soldiers both. The father

Held open war with sin, the son with blood:

This in a war more gallant, that more good.

[_The first volley._

_D'Am._ There place their arms, and here their epitaphs

And may these lines survive the last of graves.

[_Reads._

"_The Epitaph of_ MONTFERRERS.

"Here lie the ashes of that earth and fire,

Whose heat and fruit did feed and warm the poor!

And they (as if they would in sighs expire,

And into tears dissolve) his death deplore.

He did that good freely for goodness' sake

Unforced, for generousness he held so dear

That he feared but Him that did him make

And yet he served Him more for love than fear.

So's life provided that though he did die

A sudden death, yet died not suddenly.

"_The Epitaph of_ CHARLEMONT.

"His body lies interred within this mould,

Who died a young man yet departed old,

And in all strength of youth that man can have

Was ready still to drop into his grave.

For aged in virtue, with a youthful eye

He welcomed it, being still prepared to die,

And living so, though young deprived of breath

He did not suffer an untimely death,

But we may say of his brave blessed decease

He died in war, and yet he died in peace."

[_The second volley._

_D'Am._ O might that fire revive the ashes of

This Phœnix! yet the wonder would not be

So great as he was good, and wondered at

For that. His life's example was so true

A practique of religion's theory

That her divinity seemed rather the

Description than the instruction of his life.

And of his goodness was his virtuous son

A worthy imitator. So that on

These two Herculean pillars where their arms

Are placed there may be writ _Non ultra_.[156] For

Beyond their lives, as well for youth as age,

Nor young nor old, in merit or in name,

Shall e'er exceed their virtues or their fame.

[_The third volley._

'Tis done. Thus fair accompliments make foul

Deeds gracious. Charlemont, come now when thou wilt,

I've buried under these two marble stones

Thy living hopes, and thy dead father's bones.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter_ CASTABELLA _mourning, to the monument of_ CHARLEMONT.

_Cast._ O thou that knowest me justly Charlemont's,

Though in the forced possession of another,

Since from thine own free spirit we receive it

That our affections cannot be compelled

Though our actions may, be not displeased if on

The altar of his tomb I sacrifice

My tears. They are the jewels of my love

Dissolved into grief, and fall upon

His blasted Spring, as April dew upon

A sweet young blossom shaked before the time.

_Enter_ CHARLEMONT _with a_ Servant.

_Charl._ Go see my trunks disposed of. I'll but walk

A turn or two i' th' church and follow you.

[_Exit_ Servant.

O! here's the fatal monument of my

Dead father first presented to mine eye.

What's here?--"In memory of Charlemont?"

Some false relation has abused belief.

I am deluded. But I thank thee, Heaven.

For ever let me be deluded thus.

My Castabella mourning o'er my hearse?

Sweet Castabella, rise. I am not dead.

_Cast._ O Heaven defend me! [_Falls in a swoon._

_Charl._ I--Beshrew my rash

And inconsiderate passion.--Castabella!

That could not think--my Castabella!--that

My sudden presence might affright her sense.--

I prithee, my affection, pardon me. [_She rises._

Reduce thy understanding to thine eye.

Within this habit, which thy misinformed

Conceit takes only for a shape, live both

The soul and body of thy Charlemont.

_Cast._ I feel a substance warm, and soft, and moist,

Subject to the capacity of sense.[157]

_Charl._ Which spirits are not; for their essence is

Above the nature and the order of

Those elements whereof our senses are

Created. Touch my lip. Why turn'st thou from me?

_Cast._ Grief above griefs! That which should woe relieve

Wished and obtained, gives greater cause to grieve.

_Charl._ Can Castabella think it cause of grief

That the relation of my death prove false?

_Cast._ The presence of the person we affect,

Being hopeless to enjoy him, makes our grief

More passionate than if we saw him not.

_Charl._ Why not enjoy? Has absence changed thee.

_Cast._ Yes.

From maid to wife.

_Charl._ Art married?

_Cast._ O! I am.

_Charl._ Married?--Had not my mother been a woman,

I should protest against the chastity

Of all thy sex. How can the merchant or

The mariners absent whole years from wives

Experienced in the satisfaction of

Desire, promise themselves to find their sheets

Unspotted with adultery at their

Return, when you that never had the sense

Of actual temptation could not stay

A few short months?

_Cast._ O! do but hear me speak.

_Charl._ But thou wert wise, and did'st consider that

A soldier might be maimed, and so perhaps

Lose his ability to please thee.

_Cast._ No.

That weakness pleases me in him I have.

_Charl._ What, married to a man unable too?

O strange incontinence! Why, was thy blood

Increased to such a pleurisy of lust,[158]

That of necessity there must a vein

Be opened, though by one that had no skill

To do't?

_Cast._ Sir, I beseech you hear me.

_Charl._ Speak.

_Cast._ Heaven knows I am unguilty of this act.

_Charl._ Why? Wert thou forced to do't?

_Cast._ Heaven knows I was.

_Charl._ What villain did it?

_Cast._ Your uncle D'Amville.

And he that dispossessed my love of you

Hath disinherited you of possession.

_Charl._ Disinherited? wherein have I deserved

To be deprived of my dear father's love?

_Cast._ Both of his love and him. His soul's at rest;

But here your injured patience may behold

The signs of his lamented memory.

[CHARLEMONT _finds his_ Father's _monument._

He's found it. When I took him for a ghost

I could endure the torment of my fear

More eas'ly than I can his sorrows hear. [_Exit._

_Charl._ Of all men's griefs must mine be singular?

Without example? Here I met my grave.

And all men's woes are buried i' their graves

But mine. In mine my miseries are born,

I prithee, sorrow, leave a little room

In my confounded and tormented mind

For understanding to deliberate

The cause or author of this accident.--

A close advantage of my absence made

To dispossess me both of land and wife,

And all the profit does arise to him

By whom my absence was first moved and urged,

These circumstances, uncle, tell me you

Are the suspected author of those wrongs,

Whereof the lightest is more heavy than

The strongest patience can endure to bear. [_Exit._

SCENE II.--_An Apartment in_ D'AMVILLE'S _Mansion_.

_Enter_ D'AMVILLE, SEBASTIAN _and_ LANGUEBEAU.

_D'Am._ Now, sir, your business?

_Sebas._ My annuity.

_D'Am._ Not a denier.[159]

_Sebas._ How would you ha' me live?

_D'Am._ Why; turn crier. Cannot you turn crier?

_Sebas._ Yes.

_D'Am._ Then do so: y' have a good voice for't.

Y'are excellent at crying of a rape.[160]

_Sebas._ Sir, I confess in particular respect to yourself I was

somewhat forgetful. General honesty possessed me.

_D'Am._ Go, th'art the base corruption of my blood;

And, like a tetter, growest unto my flesh.

_Sebas._ Inflict any punishment upon me. The severity shall not

discourage me if it be not shameful, so you'll but put money i'

my purse. The want of money makes a free spirit more mad than the

possession does an usurer.

_D'Am._ Not a farthing.

_Sebas._ Would you ha' me turn purse-taker? 'Tis the next way to do't.

For want is like the rack: it draws a man to endanger himself to the

gallows rather than endure it.

_Enter_ CHARLEMONT. D'AMVILLE _counterfeits to take him for a_ Ghost.

_D'Am._ What art thou? Stay--Assist my troubled sense--

My apprehension will distract me--Stay.

[LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE _avoids him fearfully._

_Sebas._ What art thou? Speak.

_Charl._ The spirit of Charlemont.

_D'Am._ O! stay. Compose me. I dissolve.

_Lang._ No. 'Tis profane. Spirits are invisible. 'Tis the fiend i' the

likeness of Charlemont. I will have no conversation with Satan. [_Exit._

_Sebas._ The spirit of Charlemont? I'll try that.

[_He strikes, and the blow is returned._

'Fore God thou sayest true: th'art all spirit.

_D'Am._ Go, call the officers. [_Exit._

_Charl._ Th'art a villain, and the son of a villain.

_Sebas._ You lie.

_Charl._ Have at thee. [_They fight._ SEBASTIAN _falls._

_Enter the_ Ghost _of_ MONTFERRERS.

Revenge, to thee I'll dedicate this work.

_Mont._ Hold, Charlemont.

Let him revenge my murder and thy wrongs

To whom the justice of revenge belongs. [_Exit._

_Charl._ You torture me between the passion of

My blood and the religion of my soul.

_Sebas._ [_Rising._] A good honest fellow!

_Re-enter_ D'AMVILLE _with_ Officers.

_D'Am._ What, wounded? Apprehend him. Sir, is this

Your salutation for the courtesy

I did you when we parted last? You have

Forgot I lent you a thousand crowns. First, let

Him answer for this riot. When the law

Is satisfied for that, an action for

His debt shall clap him up again. I took

You for a spirit and I'll conjure you

Before I ha' done.

_Charl._ No, I'll turn conjuror. Devil!

Within this circle, in the midst of all

Thy force and malice, I conjure thee do

Thy worst.

_D'Am._ Away with him!

[_Exeunt_ Officers _with_ CHARLEMONT.

_Sebas._ Sir, I have got

A scratch or two here for your sake. I hope

You'll give me money to pay the surgeon.

_D'Am._ Borachio, fetch me a thousand crowns. I am

Content to countenance the freedom of

Your spirit when 'tis worthily employed.

'A God's name, give behaviour the full scope

Of generous liberty, but let it not

Disperse and spend itself in courses of

Unbounded licence. Here, pay for your hurts.

[_Exit._

_Sebas._ I thank you, sir.--Generous liberty!--that is to say, freely

to bestow my abilities to honest purposes. Methinks I should not

follow that instruction now, if having the means to do an honest

office for an honest fellow, I should neglect it. Charlemont lies

in prison for a thousand crowns. Honesty tells me 'twere well done

to release Charlemont. But discretion says I had much ado to come by

this, and when this shall be gone I know not where to finger any more,

especially if I employ it to this use, which is like to endanger me

into my father's perpetual displeasure. And then I may go hang myself,

or be forced to do that will make another save me the labour. No

matter, Charlemont, thou gavest me my life, and that's somewhat of a

purer earth than gold, fine as it is. 'Tis no courtesy, I do thee but

thankfulness. I owe it thee, and I'll pay it. He fought bravely, but

the officers dragged him villanously. Arrant knaves! for using him so

discourteously; may the sins o' the poor people be so few that you sha'

not be able to spare so much out of your gettings as will pay for the

hire of a lame starved hackney to ride to an execution, but go a-foot

to the gallows and be hanged. May elder brothers turn good husbands,

and younger brothers get good wives, that there be no need of debt

books nor use of serjeants. May there be all peace, but i' the war

and all charity, but i' the devil, so that prisons may be turned to

hospitals, though the officers live o' the benevolence. If this curse

might come to pass, the world would say, "Blessed be he that curseth."

[_Exit._

SCENE III.--_Inside a Prison._

CHARLEMONT _discovered._

_Charl._ I grant thee, Heaven, thy goodness doth command

Our punishments, but yet no further than

The measure of our sins. How should they else

Be just? Or how should that good purpose of

Thy justice take effect by bounding men

Within the confines of humanity,

When our afflictions do exceed our crimes?

Then they do rather teach the barbarous world

Examples that extend her cruelties

Beyond their own dimensions, and instruct

Our actions to be much more barbarous.

O my afflicted soul! How torment swells

Thy apprehension with profane conceit,

Against the sacred justice of my God!

Our own constructions are the authors of

Our misery. We never measure our

Conditions but with men above us in

Estate. So while our spirits labour to

Be higher than our fortunes, they are more base.

Since all those attributes which make men seem

Superior to us, are man's subjects and

Were made to serve him. The repining man

Is of a servile spirit to deject

The value of himself below their estimation.

_Enter_ SEBASTIAN _with the_ Keeper.

_Sebas._ Here. Take my sword.--How now, my wild swaggerer? Y'are

tame enough now, are you not? The penury of a prison is like a soft

consumption. 'Twill humble the pride o' your mortality, and arm your

soul in complete patience to endure the weight of affliction without

feeling it. What, hast no music in thee? Th' hast trebles and basses

enough. Treble injury and base usage. But trebles and basses make poor

music without means.[161] Thou wantest means, dost? What? Dost droop?

art dejected?

_Charl._ No, sir. I have a heart above the reach

Of thy most violent maliciousness;

A fortitude in scorn of thy contempt

(Since Fate is pleased to have me suffer it)

That can bear more than thou hast power t' inflict.

I was a baron. That thy father has

Deprived me of. Instead of that I am

Created king. I've lost a signiory[162]

That was confined within a piece of earth,

A wart upon the body of the world,

But now I am an emperor of a world,

This little world of man. My passions are

My subjects, and I can command them laugh,

Whilst thou dost tickle 'em to death with misery.

_Sebas._ 'Tis bravely spoken, and I love thee for't. Thou liest here

for a thousand crowns. Here are a thousand to redeem thee. Not for the

ransom o' my life thou gavest me,--that I value not at one crown--'tis

none o' my deed. Thank my father for't. 'Tis his goodness. Yet he

looks not for thanks. For he does it under hand, out of a reserved

disposition to do thee good without ostentation.--Out o' great heart

you'll refuse't now; will you?

_Charl._ No. Since I must submit myself to Fate,

I never will neglect the offer of

One benefit, but entertain them as

Her favours and the inductions to some end

Of better fortune. As whose instrument,

I thank thy courtesy.

_Sebas._ Well, come along. [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.--_An Apartment in_ D'AMVILLE'S _Mansion._

_Enter_ D'AMVILLE _and_ CASTABELLA.

_D'Am._ Daughter, you do not well to urge me. I

Ha' done no more than justice. Charlemont

Shall die and rot in prison, and 'tis just.

_Cast._ O father, mercy is an attribute

As high as justice, an essential part

Of his unbounded goodness, whose divine

Impression, form, and image man should bear!

And, methinks, man should love to imitate

His mercy, since the only countenance

Of justice were destruction, if the sweet

And loving favour of his mercy did

Not mediate between it and our weakness.

_D'Am._ Forbear. You will displease me. He shall rot.

_Cast._ Dear sir, since by your greatness you

Are nearer heaven in place, be nearer it

In goodness. Rich men should transcend the poor

As clouds the earth, raised by the comfort of

The sun to water dry and barren grounds.

If neither the impression in your soul

Of goodness, nor the duty of your place

As goodness' substitute can move you, then

Let nature, which in savages, in beasts,

Can stir to pity, tell you that he is

Your kinsman.--

_D'Am._ You expose your honesty

To strange construction. Why should you so urge

Release for Charlemont? Come, you profess

More nearness to him than your modesty

Can answer. You have tempted my suspicion.

I tell thee he shall starve, and die, and rot.

_Enter_ CHARLEMONT _and_ SEBASTIAN.

_Charl._ Uncle, I thank you.

_D'Am._ Much good do it you.--Who did release him?

_Sebas._ I. [_Exit_ CASTABELLA.

_D'Am._ You are a villain.

_Sebas._ Y'are my father. [_Exit_ SEBASTIAN.

_D'Am._ I must temporize.--[_Aside._

Nephew, had not his open freedom made

My disposition known, I would ha' borne

The course and inclination of my love

According to the motion of the sun,

Invisibly enjoyed and understood.

_Charl._ That shows your good works are directed to

No other end than goodness. I was rash,

I must confess. But--

_D'Am._ I will excuse you.

To lose a father and, as you may think,

Be disinherited, it must be granted

Are motives to impatience. But for death,

Who can avoid it? And for his estate,

In the uncertainty of both your lives

'Twas done discreetly to confer't upon

A known successor being the next in blood.

And one, dear nephew, whom in time to come

You shall have cause to thank. I will not be

Your dispossessor but your guardian.

I will supply your father's vacant place

To guide your green improvidence of youth,

And make you ripe for your inheritance.

_Charl._ Sir, I embrace your generous promises.

_Enter_ ROUSARD _looking sickly, and_ CASTABELLA.

_Rous._ Embracing! I behold the object that

Mine eye affects. Dear cousin Charlemont!

_D'Am._ My elder son! He meets you happily.

For with the hand of our whole family

We interchange the indenture[163] of our loves.

_Charl._ And I accept it. Yet not so joyfully

Because y'are sick.

_D'Am._ Sir, his affection's sound

Though he be sick in body.

_Rous._ Sick indeed.

A general weakness did surprise my health

The very day I married Castabella,

As if my sickness were a punishment

That did arrest me for some injury

I then committed. Credit me, my love,

I pity thy ill fortune to be matched

With such a weak, unpleasing bedfellow.

_Cast._ Believe me, sir, it never troubles me.

I am as much respectless to enjoy

Such pleasure, as ignorant what it is.

_Charl._ Thy sex's wonder. Unhappy Charlemont!

_D'Am._ Come, let's to supper. There we will confirm

The eternal bond of our concluded love. [_Exeunt._

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.--_A Room in_ CATAPLASMA'S _House._

_Enter_ CATAPLASMA _and_ SOQUETTE _with needlework._

_Cata._ Come, Soquette, your work! let's examine your work. What's

here? a medlar with a plum tree growing hard by it; the leaves o' the

plum tree falling off; the gum issuing out o' the perished joints; and

the branches some of 'em dead, and some rotten; and yet but a young

plum tree. In good sooth very pretty.

_Soqu._ The plum tree, forsooth, grows so near the medlar that the

medlar sucks and draws all the sap from it and the natural strength o'

the ground, so that it cannot prosper.

_Cata._ How conceited you are![164] But here th'ast made a tree to bear

no fruit. Why's that?

_Soqu._ There grows a savin tree next it, forsooth.[165]

_Cata._ Forsooth you are a little too witty in that.

_Enter_ SEBASTIAN.

_Sebas._ But this honeysuckle winds about this white thorn very

prettily and lovingly, sweet Mistress Cataplasma.

_Cata._ Monsieur Sebastian! in good sooth very uprightly welcome this

evening.

_Sebas._ What, moralizing upon this gentlewoman's needlework? Let's see.

_Cata._ No, sir. Only examining whether it be done to the true nature

and life o' the thing.

_Sebas._ Here y' have set a medlar with a bachelor's button o' one

side and a snail o' the tother. The bachelor's button should have held

his head up more pertly towards the medlar: the snail o' the tother

side should ha' been wrought with an artificial laziness, doubling his

tail and putting out his horn but half the length. And then the medlar

falling (as it were) from the lazy snail and ending towards the pert

bachelor's button, their branches spreading and winding one within

another as if they did embrace. But here's a moral. A poppring[166]

pear tree growing upon the bank of a river seeming continually to look

downwards into the water as if it were enamoured of it, and ever as the

fruit ripens lets it fall for love (as it were) into her lap. Which

the wanton stream, like a strumpet, no sooner receives but she carries

it away and bestows it upon some other creature she maintains, still

seeming to play and dally under the poppring so long that it has almost

washed away the earth from the root, and now the poor tree stands as

if it were ready to fall and perish by that whereon it spent all the

substance it had.

_Cata._ Moral for you that love those wanton running waters.

_Sebas._ But is not my Lady Levidulcia come yet?

_Cata._ Her purpose promised us her company ere this. Sirrah, your lute

and your book.

_Sebas._ Well said. A lesson o' the lute, to entertain the time with

till she comes.

_Cata. Sol, fa, mi, la.--Mi, mi, mi._--Precious! Dost not see _mi_

between the two crotchets? Strike me full there.--So--forward. This is

a sweet strain, and thou finger'st it beastly. _Mi_ is a _laerg_[167]

there, and the prick that stands before _mi_ a long; always halve your

note.--Now--Run your division pleasingly with these quavers. Observe

all your graces i' the touch.--Here's a sweet close--strike it full; it

sets off your music delicately.

_Enter_ LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE _and_ LEVIDULCIA.

_Lang._ Purity be in this house.

_Cata._ 'Tis now entered; and welcome with your good ladyship.

_Sebas._ Cease that music. Here's a sweeter instrument.

_Lev._ Restrain your liberty. See you not Snuffe?

_Sebas._ What does the stinkard here? put Snuffe out. He's offensive.

_Lev._ No. The credit of his company defends my being abroad from the

eye of suspicion.

_Cata._ Wilt please your ladyship go up into the closet? There are

those falls and tires[168] I told you of.

_Lev._ Monsieur Snuffe, I shall request your patience. My stay will not

be long. [_Exit with_ SEBASTIAN.

_Lang._ My duty, madam.--Falls and tires! I begin to suspect what falls

and tires you mean. My lady and Sebastian the fall and the tire, and

I the shadow. I perceive the purity of my conversation is used but

for a property to cover the uncleanness of their purposes. The very

contemplation o' the thing makes the spirit of the flesh begin to

wriggle in my blood. And here my desire has met with an object already.

This gentlewoman, methinks, should be swayed with the motion, living in

a house where moving example is so common.--Mistress Cataplasma, my

lady, it seems, has some business that requires her stay. The fairness

o' the evening invites me into the air. Will it please you give this

gentlewoman leave to leave her work and walk a turn or two with me for

honest recreation?

_Cata._ With all my heart, sir. Go, Soquette: give ear to his

instructions. You may get understanding by his company, I can tell you.

_Lang._ In the way of holiness, Mistress Cataplasma.

_Cata._ Good Monsieur Snuffe!--I will attend your return.

_Lang._ Your hand, gentlewoman.--[_To_ SOQUETTE.]

The flesh is humble till the spirit move it.

But when 'tis raised it will command above it.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.--_An Apartment in_ D'AMVILLE'S _Mansion._

_Enter_ D'AMVILLE, CHARLEMONT, _and_ BORACHIO.

_D'Am._ Your sadness and the sickness of my son

Have made our company and conference

Less free and pleasing than I purposed it.

_Charl._ Sir, for the present I am much unfit

For conversation or society.

With pardon I will rudely take my leave.

_D'Am._ Good night, dear nephew.

[_Exit_ CHARLEMONT.

Seest thou that same man?

_Bor._ Your meaning, sir?

_D'Am._ That fellow's life, Borachio,

Like a superfluous letter in the law,

Endangers our assurance.[169]

_Bor._ Scrape him out.

_D'Am._ Wilt do't?

_Bor._ Give me your purpose--I will do't.

_D'Am._ Sad melancholy has drawn Charlemont

With meditation on his father's death

Into the solitary walk behind the church.

_Bor._ The churchyard? 'Tis the fittest place for death.

Perhaps he's praying. Then he's fit to die.

We'll send him charitably to his grave.

_D'Am._ No matter how thou tak'st him. First take this--

[_Gives him a pistol._

Thou knowest the place. Observe his passages,

And with the most advantage make a stand,

That, favoured by the darkness of the night,

His breast may fall upon thee at so near

A distance that he sha' not shun the blow.

The deed once done, thou may'st retire with safety.

The place is unfrequented, and his death

Will be imputed to the attempt of thieves.

_Bor._ Be careless. Let your mind be free and clear.

This pistol shall discharge you of your fear. [_Exit._

_D'Am._ But let me call my projects to account

For what effect and end have I engaged

Myself in all this blood? To leave a state

To the succession of my proper blood.

But how shall that succession be continued?

Not in my elder son, I fear. Disease

And weakness have disabled him for issue.

For the other,--his loose humour will endure

No bond of marriage. And I doubt his life,

His spirit is so boldly dangerous.

O pity that the profitable end

Of such a prosperous murder should be lost!

Nature forbid! I hope I have a body

That will not suffer me to lose my labour

For want of issue yet. But then't must be

A bastard.--Tush! they only father bastards

That father other men's begettings. Daughter!

Be it mine own. Let it come whence it will,

I am resolved. Daughter!

_Enter_ Servant.

_Ser._ My lord.

_D'Am._ I prithee call my daughter.

_Enter_ CASTABELLA.

_Cast._ Your pleasure, sir.

_D'Am._ Is thy husband i' bed?

_Cast._ Yes, my lord.

_D'Am._ The evening's fair. I prithee walk a turn or two.

_Cast._ Come, Jaspar.

_D'Am._ No.

We'll walk but to the corner o' the church;

And I have something to speak privately.

_Cast._ No matter; stay. [_Exit_ Servant.

_D'Am._ This falls out happily. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.--_The Churchyard._

_Enter_ CHARLEMONT.--BORACHIO _dogging him. The clock strikes twelve._

_Charl._ Twelve.

_Bor._ 'Tis a good hour: 'twill strike one anon.

_Charl._ How fit a place for contemplation is this dead of night, among

the dwellings of the dead.--This grave--Perhaps the inhabitant was in

his lifetime the possessor of his own desires. Yet in the midst of all

his greatness and his wealth he was less rich and less contented than

in this poor piece of earth lower and lesser than a cottage. For here

he neither wants nor cares. Now that his body savours of corruption

He enjoys a sweeter rest than e'er he did

Amongst the sweetest pleasures of this life,

For here there's nothing troubles him.--And there

--In that grave lies another. He, perhaps,

Was in his life as full of misery

As this of happiness. And here's an end

Of both. Now both their states are equal. O

That man with so much labour should aspire

To worldly height, when in the humble earth

The world's condition's at the best, or scorn

Inferior men, since to be lower than

A worm is to be higher than a king.

_Bor._ Then fall and rise.

[_Discharges the pistol, which misses fire._

_Charl._ What villain's hand was that?

Save thee, or thou shalt perish. [_They fight._

_Bor._ Zounds! unsaved

I think. [_Falls._

_Charl._ What? Have I killed him? Whatsoe'er thou beest,

I would thy hand had prospered. For I was

Unfit to live and well prepared to die.

What shall I do? Accuse myself? Submit

Me to the law? And that will quickly end

This violent increase of misery.

But 'tis a murder to be accessory

To mine own death. I will not. I will take

This opportunity to 'scape. It may

Be Heaven reserves me to some better end. [_Exit._

_Enter_ LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE _and_ SOQUETTE.

_Soqu._ Nay, good sir, I dare not. In good sooth I come of a generation

both by father and mother that were all as fruitful as costermongers'

wives.

_Lang._ Tush! then a tympany[170] is the greatest danger can be feared.

Their fruitfulness turns but to a certain kind of phlegmatic windy

disease.

_Soqu._ I must put my understanding to your trust, sir. I would be loth

to be deceived.

_Lang._ No, conceive thou sha't not. Yet thou shalt profit by my

instruction too. My body is not every day drawn dry, wench.

_Soqu._ Yet methinks, sir, your want of use should rather make your

body like a well,--the lesser 'tis drawn, the sooner it grows dry.

_Lang._ Thou shalt try that instantly.

_Soqu._ But we want place and opportunity.

_Lang._ We have both. This is the back side of the house which the

superstitious call St. Winifred's church, and is verily a convenient

unfrequented place.--

Where under the close curtains of the night--

_Soqu._ You purpose i' the dark to make me light.

[SNUFFE _pulls out a sheet, a hair, and a beard._

But what ha' you there?

_Lang._ This disguise is for security's sake, wench. There's a talk,

thou know'st, that the ghost of old Montferrers walks. In this church

he was buried. Now if any stranger fall upon us before our business

be ended, in this disguise I shall be taken for that ghost, and never

be called to examination, I warrant thee. Thus we shall 'scape both

prevention and discovery. How do I look in this habit, wench?

_Soqu._ So like a ghost that notwithstanding I have some foreknowledge

of you, you make my hair stand almost on end.

_Lang._ I will try how I can kiss in this beard. O, fie, fie, fie! I

will put it off and then kiss, and then put it on. I can do the rest

without kissing.

_Re-enter_ CHARLEMONT _doubtfully, with his sword drawn; he comes upon

them before they are aware. They run out different ways, leaving the

disguise behind._

_Charl._ What ha' we here? A sheet! a hair! a beard!

What end was this disguise intended for?

No matter what. I'll not expostulate

The purpose of a friendly accident.[171]

Perhaps it may accommodate my 'scape.

--I fear I am pursued. For more assurance,

I'll hide me here i' th' charnel house,

This convocation-house of dead men's skulls.

[_In getting into the charnel house he takes hold of a death's head; it

slips, and he staggers._

Death's head, deceivest my hold?

Such is the trust to all mortality.

[_Hides himself in the charnel house._

_Enter_ D'AMVILLE _and_ CASTABELLA.

_Cast._ My lord, the night grows late. Your lordship spake

Of something you desired to move in private.

_D'Am._ Yes. Now I'll speak it. The argument is love.

The smallest ornament of thy sweet form

(That abstract of all pleasure) can command

The senses into passion and thy entire

Perfection is my object, yet I love thee

With the freedom of my reason. I can give

Thee reason for my love.

_Cast._ Love me, my lord?

I do believe it, for I am the wife

Of him you love.

_D'Am._ 'Tis true. By my persuasion thou wert forced

To marry one unable to perform

The office of a husband. I was the author

Of the wrong.

My conscience suffers under't, and I would

Disburthen it by satisfaction.

_Cast._ How?

_D'Am._ I will supply that pleasure to thee which he cannot.

_Cast._ Are ye a devil or a man?

_D'Am._ A man, and such a man as can return

Thy entertainment with as prodigal

A body as the covetous desire,

Or woman ever was delighted with.

So that, besides the full performance of

Thy empty husband's duty, thou shalt have

The joy of children to continue the

Succession of thy blood. For the appetite

That steals her pleasure, draws the forces of

The body to an united strength, and puts 'em

Altogether into action, never fails

Of procreation. All the purposes

Of man aim but at one of these two ends--

Pleasure or profit; and in this one sweet

Conjunction of our loves they both will meet.

Would it not grieve thee that a stranger to

Thy blood should lay the first foundation of

His house upon the ruins of thy family?

_Cast._ Now Heaven defend me! May my memory

Be utterly extinguished, and the heir

Of him that was my father's enemy

Raise his eternal monument upon

Our ruins, ere the greatest pleasure or

The greatest profit ever tempt me to

Continue it by incest.

_D'Am._ Incest? Tush!

These distances affinity observes

Are articles of bondage cast upon

Our freedoms by our own objections.

Nature allows a general liberty

Of generation to all creatures else.

Shall man,

To whose command and use all creatures were

Made subject, be less free than they?

_Cast._ O God!

Is Thy unlimited and infinite

Omnipotence less free because thou doest

No ill?

Or if you argue merely out of nature,

Do you not degenerate from that, and are

You not unworthy the prerogative

Of Nature's masterpiece, when basely you

Prescribe yourself authority and law

From their examples whom you should command?

I could confute you, but the horror of

The argument confutes my understanding.--

Sir, I know you do but try me in

Your son's behalf, suspecting that

My strength

And youth of blood cannot contain themselves

With impotence.--Believe me, sir,

I never wronged him. If it be your lust,

O quench it on their prostituted flesh

Whose trade of sin can please desire with more

Delight and less offence.--The poison o' your breath,

Evaporated from so foul a soul,

Infects the air more than the damps that rise

From bodies but half rotten in their graves.

_D'Am._ Kiss me. I warrant thee my breath is sweet.

These dead men's bones lie here of purpose to

Invite us to supply the number of

The living. Come we'll get young bones, and do't.

I will enjoy thee. No? Nay then invoke

Your great supposed protector; I will do't.

_Cast._ Supposed protector! Are ye an atheist? Then

I know my prayers and tears are spent in vain.

O patient Heaven! Why dost thou not express

Thy wrath in thunderbolts to tear the frame

Of man in pieces? How can earth endure

The burthen of this wickedness without

An earthquake? Or the angry face of Heaven

Be not inflamed with lightning?

_D'Am._ Conjure up

The devil and his dam: cry to the graves:

The dead can hear thee: invocate their help.

_Cast._ O would this grave might open and my body

Were bound to the dead carcass of a man,

For ever, ere it entertain the lust

Of this detested villain!

_D'Am._ Tereus-like

Thus I will force my passage to--

_Charl._ The Devil!

[CHARLEMONT _rises in the disguise, and frightens_

D'AMVILLE _away._

Now, lady, with the hand of Charlemont

I thus redeem you from the arm of lust.

--My Castabella!

_Cast._ My dear Charlemont!

_Charl._ For all my wrongs I thank thee, gracious Heaven.

Th'ast made me satisfaction to reserve

Me for this blessed purpose. Now, sweet Death,

I'll bid thee welcome. Come, I'll guide thee home,

And then I'll cast myself into the arms

Of apprehension,[172] that the law may make

This worthy work the crown of all my actions,

Being the best and last.

_Cast._ The last? The law?

Now Heaven forbid! What ha' you done?

_Charl._ Why, I have

Killed a man; not murdered him, my Castabella.

He would ha' murdered me.

_Cast._ Then, Charlemont,

The hand of Heaven directed thy defence.

That wicked atheist! I suspect his plot.

_Charl._ My life he seeks. I would he had it, since

He has deprived me of those blessings that

Should make me love it. Come, I'll give it him.

_Cast._ You sha' not. I will first expose myself

To certain danger than for my defence

Destroy the man that saved me from destruction.

_Charl._ Thou canst not satisfy me better than

To be the instrument of my release

From misery.

_Cast._ Then work it by escape.

Leave me to this protection that still guards

The innocent. Or I will be a partner

In your destiny.

_Charl._ My soul is heavy. Come, lie down to rest;

These are the pillows whereon men sleep best.

[_They lie down, each of them with a death's head for a pillow._

_Re-enter_ LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE, _seeking_ SOQUETTE.

_Lang._ Soquette, Soquette, Soquette! O art thou there? [_He

mistakes the body of_ BORACHIO _for_ SOQUETTE.

Verily thou liest in a fine premeditated readiness for the purpose.

Come, kiss me, sweet Soquette.--Now purity defend me from the sin of

Sodom!--This is a creature of the masculine gender.--Verily the man is

blasted.--Yea, cold and stiff!--Murder, murder, murder! [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ D'AMVILLE _distractedly: he starts at the sight of a

death's head._

_D'Am._ Why dost thou stare upon me? Thou art not

The soul of him I murdered. What hast thou

To do to vex my conscience? Sure thou wert

The head of a most doggèd usurer,

Th'art so uncharitable. And that bawd,

The sky there: she could shut the windows and

The doors of this great chamber of the world,

And draw the curtains of the clouds between

Those lights and me, above this bed of earth,

When that same strumpet Murder and myself

Committed sin together. Then she could

Leave us i' the dark till the close deed was done.

But now that I begin to feel the loathsome horror of my sin, and, like

a lecher emptied of his lust, desire to bury face under my eye-brows,

and would steal from my shame unseen, she meets me

I' the face with all her light corrupted eyes

To challenge payment o' me. O behold!

Yonder's the ghost of old Montferrers, in

A long white sheet climbing yon lofty mountain

To complain to Heaven of me.--

Montferrers! pox o' fearfulness! 'Tis nothing

But a fair white cloud. Why, was I born a coward?

He lies that says so. Yet the countenance of

A bloodless worm might ha' the courage now

To turn my blood to water.

The trembling motion of an aspen leaf

Would make me, like the shadow of that leaf,

Lie shaking under 't. I could now commit

A murder were it but to drink the fresh

Warm blood of him I murdered to supply

The want and weakness o' mine own,

'Tis grown so cold and phlegmatic.

_Lang._ Murder, murder, murder! [_Within._

_D'Am._ Mountains o'erwhelm me: the ghost of old Montferrers haunts me.

_Lang._ Murder, murder, murder!

_D'Am._ O were my body circumvolved

Within that cloud, that when the thunder tears

His passage open, it might scatter me

To nothing in the air!

_Re-enter_ LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE _with the_ Watch.

_Lang._ Here you shall find

The murdered body.

_D'Am._ Black Beelzebub,

And all his hell-hounds, come to apprehend me?

_Lang._ No, my good lord, we come to apprehend

The murderer.

_D'Am._ The ghost (great Pluto!) was

A fool unfit to be employed in

Any serious business for the state of hell.

Why could not he ha' suffered me to raise

The mountains o' my sins with one as damnable

As all the rest, and then ha' tumbled me

To ruin? But apprehend me e'en between

The purpose and the act before it was

Committed!

_Watch._ Is this the murderer? He speaks suspiciously.

_Lang._ No, verily. This is my Lord D'Amville. And his distraction, I

think, grows out of his grief for the loss of a faithful servant. For

surely I take him to be Borachio that is slain.

_D'Am._ Hah! Borachio slain? Thou look'st like Snuffe, dost not?

_Lang._ Yes, in sincerity, my lord.

_D'Am._ Hark thee--sawest thou not a ghost?

_Lang._ A ghost? Where, my lord?--I smell a fox.

_D'Am._ Here i' the churchyard.

_Lang._ Tush! tush! their walking spirits are mere imaginary fables.

There's no such thing _in rerum natura_. Here is a man slain. And with

the spirit of consideration I rather think him to be the murderer got

into that disguise than any such fantastic toy.

_D'Am._ My brains begin to put themselves in order. I apprehend thee

now.--'Tis e'en so.--Borachio, I will search the centre, but I'll find

the murderer.

_Watch._ Here, here, here.

_D'Am._ Stay. Asleep? so soundly,

So sweetly upon Death's heads? and in a place

So full of fear and horror? Sure there is

Some other happiness within the freedom

Of the conscience than my knowledge e'er attained to.--Ho, ho, ho!

_Charl._ Y'are welcome, uncle. Had you sooner come

You had been sooner welcome. I'm the man

You seek. You sha' not need examine me.

_D'Am._ My nephew and my daughter! O my dear

Lamented blood, what fate has cast you thus

Unhappily upon this accident?

_Charl._ You know, sir, she's as clear as chastity.

_D'Am._ As her own chastity. The time, the place

All circumstances argue that unclear.

_Cast._ Sir, I confess it; and repentantly

Will undergo the selfsame punishment

That justice shall inflict on Charlemont.

_Charl._ Unjustly she betrays her innocence.

_Watch._ But, sir, she's taken with you, and she must

To prison with you.

_D'Am._ There's no remedy.

Yet were it not my son's bed she abused,

My land should fly, but both should be excused.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.--_An Apartment in_ BELFOREST'S _Mansion._

_Enter_ BELFOREST _and a_ Servant.

_Bel._ Is not my wife come in yet?

_Ser._ No, my lord.

_Bel._ Methinks she's very affectedly inclined

To young Sebastian's company o' late.

But jealousy is such a torment that

I am afraid to entertain it. Yet

The more I shun by circumstances to meet

Directly with it, the more ground I find

To circumvent my apprehension. First,

I know she has a perpetual appetite,

Which being so oft encountered with a man

Of such a bold luxurious freedom as

Sebastian is, and of so promising

A body, her own blood corrupted will

Betray her to temptation.

_Enter_ FRESCO _closely._

_Fres._ Precious! I was sent by his lady to see if her lord were in

bed. I should ha' done't slily without discovery, and now I am blurted

upon 'em before I was aware. [_Exit._

_Bel._ Know not you the gentlewoman my wife brought home?

_Ser._ By sight, my lord. Her man was here but now.

_Bel._ Her man? I prithee, run and call him quickly. This villain! I

suspect him ever since I found him hid behind the tapestry.

_Re-enter_ FRESCO.

Fresco! th'art welcome, Fresco. Leave us. [_Exit_ Servant.] Dost hear,

Fresco? Is not my wife at thy mistress's?

_Fres._ I know not, my lord.

_Bel._ I prithee tell me, Fresco--we are private--tell me:

Is not thy mistress a good wench?

_Fres._ How means your lordship that? A wench o' the trade?

_Bel._ Yes, faith, Fresco; e'en a wench o' the trade.

_Fres._ O no, my lord. Those falling diseases cause baldness, and my

mistress recovers the loss of hair, for she is a periwig maker.

_Bel._ And nothing else?

_Fres._ Sells falls, and tires, and bodies for ladies, or so.

_Bel._ So, sir; and she helps my lady to falls and bodies now and then,

does she not?

_Fres._ At her ladyship's pleasure, my lord.

_Bel._ Her pleasure, you rogue? You are the pander to her pleasure, you

varlet, are you not? You know the conveyances between Sebastian and my

wife? Tell me the truth, or by this hand I'll nail thy bosom to the

earth. Stir not, you dog, but quickly tell the truth.

_Fres._ O yes! [_Speaks like a crier._

_Bel._ Is not thy mistress a bawd to my wife?

_Fres._ O yes!

_Bel._ And acquainted with her tricks, and her plots, and her devices?

_Fres._ O yes! If any man, o' court, city, or country, has found my

Lady Levidulcia in bed but my Lord Belforest, it is Sebastian.

_Bel._ What, dost thou proclaim it? Dost thou cry it, thou villain?

_Fres._ Can you laugh it, my lord? I thought you meant to proclaim

yourself cuckold.

_Enter_ The Watch.

_Bel._ The watch met with my wish. I must request the assistance of your offices.

[FRESCO _runs away._

'Sdeath, stay that villain; pursue him! [_Exeunt._

SCENE V.--_A Room, in_ CATAPLASMA'S _House._

_Enter_ LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE, _importuning_ SOQUETTE.

_Soqu._ Nay, if you get me any more into the churchyard!

_Lang._ Why, Soquette, I never got thee there yet.

_Soqu._ Got me there! No, not with child.

_Lang._ I promised thee I would not, and I was as good as my word.

_Soqu._ Yet your word was better than your deed. But steal up into the

little matted chamber o' the left hand.

_Lang._ I prithee let it be the right hand. Thou leftest me before, and

I did not like that.

_Soqu._ Precious quickly.--So soon as my mistress shall be in bed I'll

come to you. [_Exit_ SNUFFE.

_Enter_ SEBASTIAN, LEVIDULCIA, _and_ CATAPLASMA.

_Cata._ I wonder Fresco stays so long.

_Sebas._ Mistress Soquette, a word with you. [_Whispers._

_Lev._ If he brings word my husband is i' bed

I will adventure one night's liberty

To be abroad.--

My strange affection to this man!--'Tis like

That natural sympathy which e'en among

The senseless creatures of the earth commands

A mutual inclination and consent.

For though it seems to be the free effect

Of mine own voluntary love, yet I can

Neither restrain it nor give reason for't.

But now 'tis done, and in your power it lies

To save my honour, or dishonour me.

_Cata._ Enjoy your pleasure, madam, without fear,

I never will betray the trust you have

Committed to me. And you wrong yourself

To let consideration of the sin

Molest your conscience. Methinks 'tis unjust

That a reproach should be inflicted on

A woman for offending but with one,

When 'tis a light offence in husbands to

Commit with many.

_Lev._ So it seems to me.--

Why, how now, Sebastian, making love to that

gentlewoman? How many mistresses ha' you i' faith?

_Sebas._ In faith, none; for I think none of 'em are faithful; but

otherwise, as many as clean shirts. The love of a woman is like a

mushroom,--it grows in one night and will serve somewhat pleasingly

next morning to breakfast, but afterwards waxes fulsome and unwholesome.

_Cata._ Nay, by Saint Winifred, a woman's love lasts as long as winter

fruit.

_Sebas._ 'Tis true--till new come in. By my experience no longer.

_Enter_ FRESCO _running._

_Fres._ Somebody's doing has undone us, and we are like to pay dearly

for't.

_Sebas._ Pay dear? For what?

_Fres._ Will't not be a chargeable reckoning, think you, when here

are half a dozen fellows coming to call us to account, with every man

a several bill[173] in his hand that we are not able to discharge.

[_Knock at the door._

_Cata._ Passion o' me! What bouncing's that? Madam, withdraw yourself.

_Lev._ Sebastian, if you love me, save my honour. [_Exeunt all except_

SEBASTIAN.

_Sebas._ What violence is this? What seek you? Zounds!

You shall not pass.

_Enter_ BELFOREST _with the_ Watch.

_Bel._ Pursue the strumpet [_Exit_ Watch]. Villain, give me way,

Or I will make a passage through thy blood.

_Sebas._ My blood will make it slippery, my lord,

'Twere better you would take another way.

You may hap fall else.

[_They fight. Both are slain._ SEBASTIAN _falls first._

_Sebas._ I ha't, i' faith. [_Dies._

[_While_ BELFOREST _is staggering enter_ LEVIDULCIA.

_Lev._ O God! my husband! my Sebastian! Husband!

Neither can speak, yet both report my shame.

Is this the saving of my honour when

Their blood runs out in rivers, and my lust

The fountain whence it flows? Dear husband, let

Not thy departed spirit be displeased

If with adulterate lips I kiss thy cheek.

Here I behold the hatefulness of lust,

Which brings me kneeling to embrace him dead

Whose body living I did loathe to touch.

Now I can weep. But what can tears do good

When I weep only water, they weep blood.

But could I make an ocean with my tears

That on the flood this broken vessel of

My body, laden heavy with light lust,

Might suffer shipwreck and so drown my shame.

Then weeping were to purpose, but alas!

The sea wants water enough to wash away

The foulness of my name. O! in their wounds

I feel my honour wounded to the death.

Shall I out-live my honour? Must my life

Be made the world's example? Since it must,

Then thus in detestation of my deed,

To make the example move more forceably

To virtue, thus I seal it with a death

As full of horror as my life of sin. [_Stabs herself._

_Enter the_ Watch _with_ CATAPLASMA, FRESCO, LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE, _and_

SOQUETTE.

_Watch._ Hold, madam! Lord, what a strange night is this!

_Lang._ May not Snuffe be suffered to go out of himself?

_Watch._ Nor you, nor any. All must go with us.

O with what virtue lust should be withstood!

Since 'tis a fire quenched seldom without blood.

[_Exeunt._

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.--_A Room in_ D'AMVILLE'S _Mansion._

_A_ Servant _sleeping, with lights and money before him. Music._

_Enter_ D'AMVILLE.

_D'Am._ What, sleep'st thou?

_Ser._ [_Awaking_] No, my lord. Nor sleep nor wake;

But in a slumber troublesome to both.

_D 'Am._ Whence comes this gold?

_Ser._ 'Tis part of the revenue

Due to your lordship since your brother's death.

_D'Am._ To bed. Leave me my gold.

_Ser._ And me my rest.

Two things wherewith one man is seldom blest.

[_Exit._

_D'Am._ Cease that harsh music. We are not pleased with it.

[_He handles the gold._

Here sounds a music whose melodious touch

Like angels' voices ravishes the sense.

Behold, thou ignorant astronomer

Whose wandering speculation seeks among

The planets for men's fortunes, with amazement

Behold thine error and be planet-struck.

These are the stars whose operations make

The fortunes and the destinies of men.

Yon lesser eyes of Heaven (like subjects raised

Into their lofty houses, when their prince

Rides underneath the ambition of their loves)

Are mounted only to behold the face

Of your more rich imperious eminence

With unprevented sight. Unmask, fair queen.

[_Unpurses the gold._

Vouchsafe their expectations may enjoy

The gracious favour[174] they admire to see.

These are the stars, the ministers of Fate,

And man's high wisdom the superior power

To which their forces are subordinate. [_Sleeps._

_Enter the_ Ghost _of_ MONTFERRERS.

_Mont._ D'Amville! With all thy wisdom th'art a fool.

Not like those fools that we term innocents,

But a most wretched miserable fool

Which instantly, to the confusion of

Thy projects, with despair thou shalt behold.

[_Exit_ Ghost.

_D'Am._ [_Starting up._] What foolish dream dares interrupt my rest

To my confusion? How can that be, since

My purposes have hitherto been borne

With prosperous judgment to secure success,

Which nothing lives to dispossess me of

But apprehended[175] Charlemont. And him

This brain has made the happy instrument

To free suspicion, to annihilate

All interest and title of his own

To seal up my assurance, and confirm

My absolute possession by the law.

Thus while the simple, honest worshipper

Of a fantastic providence, groans under

The burthen of neglected misery,

My real wisdom has raised up a state

That shall eternise my posterity.

_Enter_ Servant _with the body of_ SEBASTIAN.

What's that?

_Ser._ The body of your younger son,

Slain by the Lord Belforest.

_D'Am._ Slain! You lie!

Sebastian! Speak, Sebastian! He's lost

His hearing. A physician presently.

Go, call a surgeon.

_Rous._ O--oh! [_Within._

_D'Am._ What groan was that?

How does my elder son? The sound came from

His chamber.

_Ser._ He went sick to bed, my lord.

_Rous._ O--oh! [_Within._

_D'Am._ The cries of mandrakes never touched the ear

With more sad horror than that voice does mine.

_Enter_ a Servant _running._

_Ser._ Never you will see your son alive--

_D'Am._ Nature forbid I e'er should see him dead.

[_A bed drawn forth with_ ROUSARD _on it._

Withdraw the curtains. O how does my son?

_Ser._ Methinks he's ready to give up the ghost.

_D'Am._ Destruction take thee and thy fatal tongue.

Dead! where's the doctor?--Art not thou the face

Of that prodigious apparition stared upon

Me in my dream?

_Ser._ The doctor's come, my lord.

_Enter_ Doctor.

_D'Am._ Doctor, behold two patients in whose cure

Thy skill may purchase an eternal fame.

If thou'st any reading in Hippocrates,

Galen, or Avicen; if herbs, or drugs,

Or minerals have any power to save,

Now let thy practice and their sovereign use

Raise thee to wealth and honour.

_Doct._ If any root of life remains within 'em

Capable of physic, fear 'em not, my lord.

_Rous._ O--oh!

_D'Am._ His gasping sighs are like the falling noise

Of some great building when the groundwork breaks.

On these two pillars stood the stately frame

And architecture of my lofty house.

An earthquake shakes 'em. The foundation shrinks.

Dear Nature, in whose honour I have raised

A work of glory to posterity,

O bury not the pride of that great action

Under the fall and mine of itself.

_Doct._ My lord, these bodies are deprived of all

The radical ability of Nature.

The heat of life is utterly extinguished.

Nothing remains within the power of man

That can restore them.

_D'Am._ Take this gold, extract

The spirit of it, and inspire new life

Into their bodies.

_Doct._ Nothing can, my lord.

_D'Am._ You ha' not yet examined the true state

And constitution of their bodies. Sure

You ha' not. I'll reserve their waters till

The morning. Questionless, their urines will

Inform you better.

_Doct._ Ha, ha, ha!

_D'Am._ Dost laugh,

Thou villain? Must my wisdom that has been

The object of men's admiration now

Become the subject of thy laughter?

_Rou._ O--oh! [_Dies._

_All._ He's dead.

_D'Am._ O there expires the date

Of my posterity! Can nature be

So simple or malicious to destroy

The reputation of her proper memory?

She cannot. Sure there is some power above

Her that controls her force.

_Doct._ A power above

Nature? Doubt you that, my lord? Consider but

Whence man receives his body and his form.

Not from corruption like some worms and flies,

But only from the generation of

A man. For Nature never did bring forth

A man without a man; nor could the first

Man, being but the passive subject, not

The active mover, be the maker of

Himself. So of necessity there must

Be a superior power to Nature.

_D'Am._ Now to myself I am ridiculous.

Nature, thou art a traitor to my soul.

Thou hast abused my trust. I will complain

To a superior court to right my wrong.

I'll prove thee a forger of false assurances.

In yon Star Chamber thou shalt answer it.

Withdraw the bodies. O the sense of death

Begins to trouble my distracted soul. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.--_A Hall of justice. A scaffold at one end._

_Enter_ Judges _and_ Officers.

_1st Judge._ Bring forth the malefactors to the bar.

_Enter_ CATAPLASMA, SOQUETTE, _and_ FRESCO.

Are you the gentlewoman in whose house

The murders were committed?

_Cata._ Yes, my lord.

_1st Judge._ That worthy attribute of gentry which

Your habit draws from ignorant respect

Your name deserves not, nor yourself the name

Of woman, since you are the poison that

Infects the honour of all womanhood.

_Cata._ My lord, I am a gentlewoman; yet

I must confess my poverty compels

My life to a condition lower than

My birth or breeding.

_2nd Judge._ Tush, we know your birth.

_1st Judge._ But, under colour to profess the sale

Of tires and toys for gentlewomen's pride,

You draw a frequentation of men's wives

To your licentious house, and there abuse

Their husbands.--

_Fres._ Good my lord, her rent is great.

The good gentlewoman has no other thing

To live by but her lodgings. So she's forced

To let her fore-rooms out to others, and

Herself contented to lie backwards.

_2nd Judge._ So.

_1st Judge._ Here is no evidence accuses you

For accessories to the murder, yet

Since from the spring of lust, which you preserved

And nourished, ran the effusion of that blood,

Your punishment shall come as near to death

As life can bear it. Law cannot inflict

Too much severity upon the cause

Of such abhorred effects.

_2nd Judge._ Receive your sentence.

Your goods (since they were gotten by that means

Which brings diseases) shall be turned to the use

Of hospitals. You carted through the streets

According to the common shame of strumpets,

Your bodies whipped, till with the loss of blood

You faint under the hand of punishment.

Then that the necessary force of want

May not provoke you to your former life,

You shall be set to painful labour, whose

Penurious gains shall only give you food

To hold up Nature, mortify your flesh,

And make you fit for a repentant end.

_All._ O good my lord!

_1st Judge._ No more. Away with 'em. [_Exeunt_ CATAPLASMA, SOQUETTE,

_and_ FRESCO.

_Enter_ LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE.

_2nd Judge._ Now, Monsieur Snuffe! A man of your profession

Found in a place of such impiety!

_Lang._ I grant you. The place is full of impurity. So much the more

need of instruction and reformation. The purpose that carried me

thither was with the spirit of conversion to purify their uncleanness,

and I hope your lordship will say the law cannot take hold o' me for

that.

_1st Judge._ No, sir, it cannot; but yet give me leave

To tell you that I hold your wary answer

Rather premeditated for excuse

Then spoken out of a religious purpose.

Where took you your degrees of scholarship?

_Lang._ I am no scholar, my lord. To speak the sincere truth, I am

Snuffe the tallow-chandler.

_2nd Judge._ How comes your habits to be altered thus?

_Lang._ My Lord Belforest, taking a delight in the cleanness of my

conversation, withdrew me from that unclean life and put me in a

garment fit for his society, and my present profession.

_1st Judge._ His lordship did but paint a rotten post,

Or cover foulness fairly. Monsieur Snuffe,

Back to your candle-making! You may give

The world more light with that, than either with

Instruction or the example of your life.

_Lang._ Thus the Snuffe is put out. [_Exit._

_Enter_ D'AMVILLE _distractedly with the hearses of his two_ Sons

_borne after him._

_D'Am._ Judgment! Judgment!

_2nd Judge._ Judgment, my lord, in what?

_D'Am._ Your judgment must resolve me in a case.

Bring in the bodies. Nay, I'll ha' it tried.

This is the case, my lord. By providence,

Even in a moment, by the only hurt

Of one, or two, or three at most, and those

Put quickly out o' pain, too, mark me, I

Had wisely raised a competent estate

To my posterity. And is there not

More wisdom and more charity in that

Than for your lordship, or your father, or

Your grandsire to prolong the torment and

The rack of rent from age to age upon

Your poor penurious tenants, yet perhaps

Without a penny profit to your heir?

Is't not more wise? more charitable? Speak.

_1st Judge._ He is distracted.

_D'Am._ How? distracted? Then

You ha' no judgment. I can give you sense

And solid reason for the very least

Distinguishable syllable I speak.

Since my thrift

Was more judicious than your grandsires', why

I would fain know why your lordship lives to make

A second generation from your father,

And the whole fry of my posterity

Extinguished in a moment. Not a brat

Left to succeed me.--I would fain know that.

_2nd Judge._ Grief for his children's death distempers him.

_1st Judge._ My lord, we will resolve you of your question.[176]

In the meantime vouchsafe your place with us.

_D'Am._ I am contented, so you will resolve me.

[_Ascends._

_Enter_ CHARLEMONT _and_ CASTABELLA.

_2nd Judge._ Now, Monsieur Charlemont, you are accused

Of having murdered one Borachio, that

Was servant to my Lord D'Amville. How can

You clear yourself? Guilty or not guilty?

_Charl._ Guilty of killing him, but not of murder.

My lords, I have no purpose to desire

Remission for myself.--

[D'AMVILLE _descends to_ CHARLEMONT.

_D'Am._ Uncivil boy!

Thou want'st humanity to smile at grief.

Why dost thou cast a cheerful eye upon

The object of my sorrow--my dead sons?

_1st Judge._ O good my lord, let charity forbear

To vex the spirit of a dying man.

A cheerful eye upon the face of death

Is the true countenance of a noble mind.

For honour's sake, my lord, molest it not.

_D'Am._ Y'are all uncivil. O! is't not enough

That he unjustly hath conspired with Fate

To cut off my posterity, for him

To be the heir to my possessions, but

He must pursue me with his presence.

And, in the ostentation of his joy,

Laugh in my face and glory in my grief?

_Charl._ D'Amville, to show thee with what light respect

I value death and thy insulting pride,

Thus, like a warlike navy on the sea,

Bound for the conquest of some wealthy land,

Passed through the stormy troubles of this life,

And now arrived upon the armèd coast

In expectation of the victory

Whose honour lies beyond this exigent,[177]

Through mortal danger, with an active spirit

Thus I aspire to undergo my death.

[_Leaps up the scaffold._ CASTABELLA _leaps after him._

_Cast._ And thus I second thy brave enterprise.

Be cheerful, Charlemont. Our lives cut off

In our young prime of years are like green herbs

Wherewith we strew the hearses of our friends.

For, as their virtue, gathered when they are green,

Before they wither or corrupt, is best;

So we in virtue are the best for death

While yet we have not lived to such an age

That the increasing canker of our sins

Hath spread too far upon us.--

_D'Am._ A boon, my lords,

I beg a boon.

_1st Judge._ What's that, my lord?

_D'Am._ His body when 'tis dead

For an anatomy.[178]

_2nd Judge._ For what, my lord?

_D'Am._ Your understanding still comes short o' mine.

I would find out by his anatomy

What thing there is in Nature more exact

Than in the constitution of myself.

Methinks my parts and my dimensions are

As many, as large, as well composed as his;

And yet in me the resolution wants

To die with that assurance as he does.

The cause of that in his anatomy

I would find out.

_1st Judge._ Be patient and you shall.

_D'Am._ I have bethought me of a better way.

--Nephew, we must confer.--Sir, I am grown

A wondrous student now o' late. My wit

Has reached beyond the scope of Nature, yet

For all my learning I am still to seek

From whence the peace of conscience should proceed.

_Charl._ The peace of conscience rises in itself.

_D'Am._ Whether it be thy art or nature, I

Admire thee, Charlemont. Why, thou hast taught

A woman to be valiant. I will beg

Thy life.--My lords, I beg my nephew's life.

I'll make thee my physician. Thou shalt read

Philosophy to me. I will find out

The efficient cause of a contented mind.

But if I cannot profit in't, then 'tis

No more good being my physician,

But infuse

A little poison in a potion when

Thou giv'st me physic, unawares to me.

So I shall steal into my grave without

The understanding or the fear of death.

And that's the end I aim at. For the thought

Of death is a most fearful torment; is it not?

_2nd Judge._ Your lordship interrupts the course of law.

_1st Judge._ Prepare to die.

_Charl._ My resolution's made.

But ere I die, before this honoured bench,

With the free voice of a departing soul,

I here protest this gentlewoman clear

Of all offence the law condemns her for.

_Cast._ I have accused myself. The law wants power

To clear me. My dear Charlemont, with thee

I will partake of all thy punishments.

_Charl._ Uncle, for all the wealthy benefits

My death advances you, grant me but this:

Your mediation for the guiltless life

Of Castabella, whom your conscience knows

As justly clear as harmless innocence.

_D'Am._ Freely. My mediation for her life

And all my interest in the world to boot;

Let her but in exchange possess me of

The resolution that she dies withal.

--The price of things is best known in their want.

Had I her courage, so I value it:

The Indies should not buy't out o' my hands.

_Charl._ Give me a glass of water.

_D'Am._ Me of wine.--

This argument of death congeals my blood.

Cold fear, with apprehension of thy end,

Hath frozen up the rivers of my veins.--

[Servant _brings him a glass of wine._

I must drink wine to warm me and dissolve

The obstruction; or an apoplexy will

Possess me.--Why, thou uncharitable knave,

Dost thou bring me blood to drink? The very glass

Looks pale and trembles at it.

_Ser._ 'Tis your hand, my lord.

_D'Am._ Canst blame me to be fearful, bearing still

The presence of a murderer about me?

[Servant _gives_ CHARLEMONT _a glass of water._

_Charl._ Is this water?

_Ser._ Water, sir.

_Charl._ Come, thou clear emblem of cool temperance,

Be thou my witness that I use no art

To force my courage nor have need of helps

To raise my spirits, like those of weaker men

Who mix their blood with wine, and out of that

Adulterate conjunction do beget

A bastard valour. Native courage, thanks.

Thou lead'st me soberly to undertake

This great hard work of magnanimity.

_D'Am._ Brave Charlemont, at the reflexion of

Thy courage my cold fearful blood takes fire,

And I begin to emulate thy death.

[Executioner _comes forward._

--Is that thy executioner? My lords,

You wrong the honour of so high a blood

To let him suffer by so base a hand.

_Judges._ He suffers by the form of law, my lord.

_D'Am._ I will reform it. Down, you shag-haired cur.[179]

The instrument that strikes my nephew's blood

Shall be as noble as his blood. I'll be

Thy executioner myself.

_1st Judge._ Restrain his fury. Good my lord, forbear.

_D'Am._ I'll butcher out the passage of his soul

That dares attempt to interrupt the blow.

_2nd Judge._ My lord, the office will impress a mark

Of scandal and dishonour on your name.

_Charl._ The office fits him: hinder not his hand,

But let him crown my resolution with

An unexampled dignity of death.

Strike home. Thus I submit me.

[_Is made ready for execution._

_Cast._ So do I.

In scorn of death thus hand in hand we die.

_D'Am._ I ha' the trick on't, nephew. You shall see

How easily I can put you out of pain.--Oh!

[_As he raises up the axe he strikes out his own

brains, and staggers off the scaffold._

_Exe._ In lifting up the axe

I think he's knocked his brains out.

_D'Am._ What murderer was he that lifted up

My hand against my head?

_1st Judge._ None but yourself, my lord.

_D'Am._ I thought he was a murderer that did it.

_1st Judge._ God forbid!

_D'Am._ Forbid? You lie, judge. He commanded it.

To tell thee that man's wisdom is a fool.

I came to thee for judgment, and thou think'st

Thyself a wise man, I outreached thy wit

And made thy justice murder's instrument,

In Castabella's death and in Charlemont's,

To crown my murder of Montferrers with

A safe possession of his wealthy state.

_Charl._ I claim the just advantage of his words.

_2nd Judge._ Descend the scaffold and attend the rest.

_D'Am._ There was the strength of natural understanding.

But Nature is a fool. There is a power

Above her that hath overthrown the pride

Of all my projects and posterity,

For whose surviving blood

I had erected a proud monument,

And struck 'em dead before me, for whose deaths

I called to thee for judgment. Thou didst want

Discretion for the sentence. But yon power

That struck me knew the judgment I deserved,

And gave it.--O! the lust of death commits

A rape upon me as I would ha' done

On Castabella. [_Dies_.

_1st Judge._ Strange is his death and judgment.

With the hands

Of joy and justice I thus set you free.

The power of that eternal providence

Which overthrew his projects in their pride

Hath made your griefs the instruments to raise

Your blessings to a higher height than ever.

_Charl._ Only to Heaven I attribute the work,

Whose gracious motives made me still forbear

To be mine own revenger. Now I see

That patience is the honest man's revenge.

_1st Judge._ Instead of Charlemont that but e'en now

Stood ready to be dispossessed of all,

I now salute you with more titles both

Of wealth and dignity, than you were born to.

And you, sweet madam, Lady of Belforest,

You have the title by your father's death.

_Cast._ With all the titles due to me, increase

The wealth and honour of my Charlemont,

Lord of Montferrers, Lord D'Amville Belforest,--

And for a close to make up all the rest--

[_Embraces_ CHARLEMONT.

The Lord of Castabella. Now at last

Enjoy the full possession of my love,

As clear and pure as my first chastity.

_Charl._ The crown of all my blessings!--I will tempt

My stars no longer, nor protract my time

Of marriage. When those nuptial rites are done,

I will perform my kinsmen's funeral.

_1st Judge._ The drums and trumpets! Interchange the sounds

Of death and triumph. For these honoured lives,

Succeeding their deservèd tragedies.

_Charl._ Thus, by the work of heaven, the men that thought

To follow our dead bodies without tears

Are dead themselves, and now we follow theirs.

[_Exeunt._

_THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY._

This play was entered on the stationers' books in 1607, and was

sometimes called _The Loyal Brother_. There are two quarto editions

of it, one dated 1607 and one 1608, and from the care with which the

text is printed it is probable that the author revised the proofs. The

play has several times been reprinted. Tourneur's plots have no known

source.

_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._

THE DUKE.

LUSSURIOSO, the Duke's Son.

SPURIO, a Bastard.

AMBITIOSO, the Duchess' Eldest Son.

SUPERVACUO, the Duchess' Second Son.

The Duchess' Youngest Son.

VENDICE, disguised as PIATO,

HIPPOLITO, also called CARLO,

Brothers of CASTIZA.

ANTONIO,

PIERO,

DONDOLO,

Nobles.

Judges, Nobles, Gentlemen, Officers, Keeper, Servants.

THE DUCHESS.

CASTIZA.

GRATIANA, Mother of CASTIZA.

SCENE--A CITY OF ITALY.

_THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY._

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.--_Near the House of_ GRATIANA.

_Enter_ VENDICE.[180] The DUKE, DUCHESS, LUSSURIOSO, SPURIO, _with a

train, pass over the stage with torchlight._

_Ven._ Duke! royal lecher! go, grey-haired adultery!

And thou his son, as impious steeped as he:

And thou his bastard, true begot in evil:

And thou his duchess, that will do with devil:

Four excellent characters! O, that marrowless age

Should stuff the hollow bones with damned desires!

And, 'stead of heat, kindle infernal fires

Within the spendthrift veins of a dry duke,

A parched and juiceless luxur.[181] O God! one,

That has scarce blood enough to live upon;

And he to riot it, like a son and heir!

O, the thought of that

Turns my abusèd heart-strings into fret.

Thou sallow picture of my poisoned love,

[_Views the skull in his hand._

My study's ornament, thou shell of death,

Once the bright face of my betrothèd lady,

When life and beauty naturally filled out

These ragged imperfections;

When two heaven-pointed diamonds were set

In those unsightly rings--then 'twas a face

So far beyond the artificial shine

Of any woman's bought complexion

That the uprightest man (if such there be,

That sin but seven times a day) broke custom,

And made up eight with looking after her.

O, she was able to ha' made a usurer's son

Melt all his patrimony in a kiss;

And what his father fifty years[182] told,

To have consumed, and yet his suit been cold.

But, O accursèd palace!

Thee, when thou wert apparelled in thy flesh,

The old duke poisoned,

Because thy purer part would not consent

Unto his palsied lust; for old men lustful

Do show like young men angry, eager, violent,

Outbidden like their limited performances.

O, 'ware an old man hot and vicious!

"Age, as in gold, in lust is covetous."

Vengeance, thou murder's quit-rent, and whereby

Thou show'st thyself tenant to tragedy;

O keep thy day, hour, minute, I beseech,

For those thou hast determined. Hum! who e'er knew

Murder unpaid? faith, give revenge her due,

She has kept touch hitherto: be merry, merry,

Advance thee, O thou terror to fat folks,

To have their costly three-piled flesh worn off

As bare as this; for banquets, ease, and laughter

Can make great men, as greatness goes by clay;

But wise men little are more great than they.

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip_. Still sighing o'er death's vizard?

_Ven._ Brother, welcome!

What comfort bring'st thou? how go things at court?

_Hip._ In silk and silver, brother: never braver.

_Ven._ Pooh!

Thou play'st upon my meaning. Prythee, say,

Has that bald madam, Opportunity,

Yet thought upon's? speak, are we happy yet?

Thy wrongs and mine are for one scabbard fit.

_Hip._ It may prove happiness.

_Ven._ What is't may prove?

Give me to taste.

_Hip._ Give me your hearing, then.

You know my place at court?

_Ven._ Ay, the duke's chamber!

But 'tis a marvel thou'rt not turned out yet!

_Hip._ Faith, I've been shoved at; but 'twas still my hap

To hold by the duchess' skirt: you guess at that:

Whom such a coat keeps up, can ne'er fall flat.

But to the purpose--

Last evening, predecessor unto this,

The duke's son warily inquired for me,

Whose pleasure I attended: he began

By policy to open and unhusk me

About the time and common rumour:

But I had so much wit to keep my thoughts

Up in their built houses; yet afforded him

An idle satisfaction without danger.

But the whole aim and scope of his intent

Ended in this: conjuring me in private

To seek some strange-digested fellow forth,

Of ill-contented nature; either disgraced

In former times, or by new grooms displaced,

Since his step-mother's nuptials; such a blood,

A man that were for evil only good--

To give you the true word, some base-coined pander.

_Ven._ I reach you; for I know his heat is such,

Were there as many concubines as ladies,

He would not be contained; he must fly out.

I wonder how ill-featured, vile-proportioned,

That one should be, if she were made for woman,

Whom, at the insurrection of his lust,

He would refuse for once. Heart! I think none.

Next to a skull, though more unsound than one,

Each face he meets he strongly doats upon.

_Hip._ Brother, y' have truly spoke him.

He knows not you, but I will swear you know him.

_Ven._ And therefore I'll put on that knave for once,

And be a right man then, a man o' the time;

For to be honest is not to be i' the world,

Brother, I'll be that strange-composèd fellow.

_Hip._ And I'll prefer you, brother.

_Ven._ Go to, then:

The smallest advantage fattens wronged men:

It may point but occasion; if I meet her,

I'll hold her by the foretop fast enough;

Or, like the French mole,[183] heave up hair and all.

I have a habit that will fit it quaintly.

Here comes our mother.

_Hip._ And sister.

_Ven._ We must coin:

Women are apt, you know, to take false money;

But I dare stake my soul for these two creatures;

Only excuse excepted, that they'll swallow,

Because their sex is easy in belief.

_Enter_ GRATIANA _and_ CASTIZA.

_Gra._ What news from court, son Carlo?

_Hip._ Faith, mother,

'Tis whispered there the duchess' youngest son

Has played a rape on Lord Antonio's wife.

_Gra._ On that religious lady!

_Cas._ Royal blood monster! he deserves to die,

If Italy had no more hopes but he.

_Ven._ Sister, y' have sentenced most direct and true,

The law's a woman, and would she were you.

Mother, I must take leave of you.

_Gra._ Leave for what?

_Ven._ I intend speedy travel.

_Hip._ That he does, madam.

_Gra._ Speedy indeed!

_Ven._ For since my worthy father's funeral,

My life's unnaturally to me, e'en compelled;

As if I lived now, when I should be dead.

_Gra._ Indeed, he was a worthy gentleman,

Had his estate been fellow to his mind.

_Ven._ The duke did much deject him.

_Gra._ Much?

_Ven._ Too much:

And though disgrace oft smothered in his spirit,

When it would mount, surely I think he died

Of discontent, the noble man's consumption.

_Gra._ Most sure he did.

_Ven._ Did he, 'lack? you know all:--

You were his midnight secretary.

_Gra._ No,

He was too wise to trust me with his thoughts.

_Ven._ I' faith, then, father, thou wast wise indeed;

"Wives are but made to go to bed and feed."

Come, mother, sister: you'll bring me onward, brother?

_Hip._ I will.

_Ven._ I'll quickly turn into another.

[_Aside. Exeunt._

SCENE II.--_A Hall of Justice._

_Enter the_ DUKE, LUSSURIOSO, _the_ DUCHESS, SPURIO, AMBITIOSO, _and_

SUPERVACUO; _the_ DUCHESS' Youngest Son _brought out by_ Officers.

_Two_ Judges.

_Duke._ Duchess, it is your youngest son, we're sorry

His violent act has e'en drawn blood of honour,

And stained our honours;

Thrown ink upon the forehead of our state;

Which envious spirits will dip their pens into

After our death; and blot us in our tombs:

For that which would seem treason in our lives

Is laughter, when we're dead. Who dares now whisper,

That dares not then speak out, and e'en proclaim

With loud words and broad pens our closest shame?

_1st Judge._ Your grace hath spoke like to your silver years,

Full of confirmèd gravity; for what is it to have

A flattering false insculption on a tomb,

And in men's hearts reproach? the bowelled[184] corpse

May be seared in, but (with free tongue I speak)

The faults of great men through their sear-cloths break.

_Duke._ They do; we're sorry for't: it is our fate

To live in fear, and die to live in hate.

I leave him to your sentence; doom him, lords--

The fact is great--whilst I sit by and sigh.

_Duch._ My gracious lord, I pray be merciful:

Although his trespass far exceed his years,

Think him to be your own, as I am yours;

Call him not son-in-law: the law, I fear,

Will fall too soon upon his name and him:

Temper his fault with pity.

_Lus._ Good my lord,

Then 'twill not taste so bitter and unpleasant

Upon the judges' palate; for offences,

Gilt o'er with mercy, show like fairest women,

Good only for their beauties, which washed off,

No sin is uglier.

_Amb._ I beseech your grace,

Be soft and mild; let not relentless law

Look with an iron forehead on our brother.

_Spu._ He yields small comfort yet; hope he shall die;

And if a bastard's wish might stand in force,

Would all the court were turned into a corse! [_Aside._

_Duch._ No pity yet? must I rise fruitless then?

A wonder in a woman! are my knees

Of such low metal, that without respect--

_Judge._ Let the offender stand forth:

'Tis the duke's pleasure that impartial doom

Shall take fast hold of his unclean attempt.

A rape! why 'tis the very core of lust--

Double adultery.

_Y. Son._ So, sir.

_2nd Judge._ And which was worse,

Committed on the Lord Antonio's wife,

That general-honest lady. Confess, my lord,

What moved you to't?

_Y. Son._ Why, flesh and blood, my lord;

What should move men unto a woman else?

_Lus._ O, do not jest thy doom! trust not an axe

Or sword too far: the law is a wise serpent,

And quickly can beguile thee of thy life.

Though marriage only has made thee my brother,

I love thee so far: play not with thy death.

_Y. Son._ I thank you, troth; good admonitions, faith,

If I'd the grace now to make use of them.

_1st Judge._ That lady's name has spread such a fair wing

Over all Italy, that if our tongues

Were sparing toward the fact, judgment itself

Would be condemned, and suffer in men's thoughts.

_Y. Son._ Well then, 'tis done; and it would please me well,

Were it to do again: sure, she's a goddess,

For I'd no power to see her, and to live.

It falls out true in this, for I must die;

Her beauty was ordained to be my scaffold.

And yet, methinks, I might be easier 'sessed:

My fault being sport, let me but die in jest.

_1st Judge._ This be the sentence--

_Duch._ O, keep't upon your tongue; let it not slip;

Death too soon steals out of a lawyer's lip.

Be not so cruel-wise!

_1st Judge._ Your grace must pardon us;

'Tis but the justice of the law.

_Duch._ The law

Is grown more subtle than a woman should be.

_Spu._ Now, now he dies! rid 'em away. [_Aside._

_Duch._ O, what it is to have an old cool duke,

To be as slack in tongue as in performance! [_Aside._

_1st Judge._ Confirmed, this be the doom irrevocable.

_Duch._ O!

_1st Judge._ To-morrow early--

_Duch._ Pray be abed, my lord.

_1st Judge._ Your grace much wrongs yourself.

_Amb._ No, 'tis that tongue:

Your too much right does do us too much wrong.

_1st Judge._ Let that offender--

_Duch._ Live, and be in health.

_1st Judge._ Be on a scaffold--

_Duke._ Hold, hold, my lord!

_Spu._ Pox on't,

What makes my dad speak now? [_Aside._

_Duke._ We will defer the judgment till next sitting:

In the meantime, let him be kept close prisoner.

Guard, bear him hence.

_Amb._ Brother, this makes for thee;

Fear not, we'll have a trick to set thee free. [_Aside._

_Y. Son._ Brother, I will expect it from you both;

And in that hope I rest. [_Aside._

_Sup._ Farewell, be merry. [_Exit with a_ Guard.

_Spu._ Delayed! deferred! nay then, if judgment have cold blood,

Flattery and bribes will kill it.

_Duke._ About it, then, my lords, with your best powers:

More serious business calls upon our hours.

[_Exeunt, excepting the_ DUCHESS.

_Duch._ Was't ever known step-duchess was so mild

And calm as I? some now would plot his death

With easy doctors, those loose-living men,

And make his withered grace fall to his grave,

And keep church better.

Some second wife would do this, and despatch

Her double-loathèd lord at meat or sleep.

Indeed, 'tis true, an old man's twice a child;

Mine cannot speak; one of his single words

Would quite have freed my youngest dearest son

From death or durance, and have made him walk

With a bold foot upon the thorny law,

Whose prickles should bow under him; but 'tis not,

And therefore wedlock-faith shall be forgot:

I'll kill him in his forehead; hate, there feed;

That wound is deepest, though it never bleed.

And here comes he whom my heart points unto,

His bastard son, but my love's true-begot;

Many a wealthy letter have I sent him,

Swelled up with jewels, and the timorous man

Is yet but coldly kind.

That jewel's mine that quivers in his ear,

Mocking his master's chillness and vain fear.

He has spied me now!

_Enter_ SPURIO.

_Spu._ Madam, your grace so private?

My duty on your hand.

_Duch._ Upon my hand, sir! troth, I think you'd fear

To kiss my hand too; if my lip stood there.

_Spu._ Witness I would not, madam. [_Kisses her._

_Duch._ 'Tis a wonder;

For ceremony has made many fools!

It is as easy way unto a duchess,

As to a hatted dame,[185] if her love answer:

But that by timorous honours, pale respects,

Idle degrees of fear, men make their ways

Hard of themselves. What, have you thought of me?

_Spu._ Madam, I ever think of you in duty,

Regard, and--

_Duch._ Pooh! upon my love, I mean.

_Spu._ I would 'twere love; but 'tis a fouler name

Than lust: you are my father's wife--your grace may guess now

What I could call it.

_Duch._ Why, th' art his son but falsely;

'Tis a hard question whether he begot thee.

_Spu._ I' faith, 'tis true: I'm an uncertain man

Of more uncertain woman. Maybe, his groom

O' the stable begot me; you know I know not!

He could ride a horse well, a shrewd suspicion, marry!--

He was wondrous tall: he had his length, i' faith.

For peeping over half-shut holyday windows,

Men would desire him light. When he was afoot.

He made a goodly show under a pent-house;

And when he rid, his hat would check the signs,

And clatter barbers' basons.

_Duch._ Nay; set you a-horseback once,

You'll ne'er light off.[186]

_Spu._ Indeed, I am a beggar.

_Duch._ That's the more sign thou'rt great.--

But to our love:

Let it stand firm both in thy thought and mind,

That the duke was thy father, as no doubt then

He bid fair for't--thy injury is the more;

For had he cut thee a right diamond,

Thou had'st been next set in the dukedom's ring,

When his worn self, like age's easy slave,

Had dropped out of the collet[187] into th' grave.

What wrong can equal this? canst thou be tame,

And think upon't?

_Spu._ No, mad, and think upon't.

_Duch._ Who would not be revenged of such a father,

E'en in the worst way? I would thank that sin,

That could most injure him, and be in league with it.

O, what a grief 'tis that a man should live

But once i' the world, and then to live a bastard--

The curse o' the womb, the thief of nature,

Begot against the seventh commandment,

Half-damned in the conception by the justice

Of that unbribèd everlasting law.

_Spu._ O, I'd a hot-backed devil to my father.

_Duch._ Would not this mad e'en patience, make blood rough?

Who but an eunuch would not sin? his bed,

By one false minute disinherited.

_Spu._ Ay, there's the vengeance that my birth was wrapped in!

I'll be revenged for all: now, hate, begin;

I'll call foul incest but a venial sin.

_Duch._ Cold still! in vain then must a duchess woo?

_Spu._ Madam, I blush to say what I will do.

_Duch._ Thence flew sweet comfort. Earnest, and farewell. [_Kisses him._

_Spu._ O, one incestuous kiss picks open hell.

_Duch._ Faith, now, old duke, my vengeance shall reach high,

I'll arm thy brow with woman's heraldry. [_Exit._

_Spu._ Duke, thou didst do me wrong; and, by thy act

Adultery is my nature.

Faith, if the truth were known, I was begot

After some gluttonous dinner; some stirring dish

Was my first father, when deep healths went round,

And ladies' cheeks were painted red with wine,

Their tongues, as short and nimble as their heels,

Uttering words sweet and thick; and when they rose,

Were merrily disposed to fall again,

In such a whispering and withdrawing hour,

When base male-bawds kept sentinel at stair-head,

Was I stol'n softly. O damnation meet![188]

The sin of feasts, drunken adultery!

I feel it swell me; my revenge is just!

I was begot in impudent wine and lust.

Step-mother, I consent to thy desires;

I love thy mischief well; but I hate thee

And those three cubs thy sons, wishing confusion,

Death and disgrace may be their epitaphs.

As for my brother, the duke's only son,

Whose birth is more beholding to report

Than mine, and yet perhaps as falsely sown

(Women must not be trusted with their own),

I'll loose my days upon him, hate-all-I;

Duke, on thy brow I'll draw my bastardy:

For indeed a bastard by nature should make cuckolds,

Because he is the son of a cuckold-maker. [_Exit._

SCENE III.--_A part of the City._

_Enter_ VENDICE _in disguise and_ HIPPOLITO.

_Ven._ What, brother, am I far enough from myself?

_Hip._ As if another man had been sent whole

Into the world, and none wist how he came.

_Ven._ It will confirm me bold--the child o' the court;

Let blushes dwell i' the country. Impudence!

Thou goddess of the palace, mistress of mistresses,

To whom the costly perfumed people pray,

Strike thou my forehead into dauntless marble,

Mine eyes to steady sapphires. Turn my visage;

And, if I must needs glow, let me blush inward,

That this immodest season may not spy

That scholar in my cheeks, fool bashfulness;

That maid in the old time, whose flush of grace

Would never suffer her to get good clothes.

Our maids are wiser, and are less ashamed;

Save Grace the bawd, I seldom hear grace named!

_Hip._ Nay, brother, you reach out o' the verge now;--

'Sfoot, the duke's son! settle your looks.

_Ven._ Pray, let me not be doubted.

_Hip._ My lord--

_Enter_ LUSSURIOSO.

_Lus._ Hippolito--be absent, leave us!

_Hip._ My lord, after long search, wary inquiries,

And politic siftings, I made choice of yon fellow,

Whom I guess rare for many deep employments:

This our age swims within him; and if Time

Had so much hair, I should take him for Time,

He is so near kin to this present minute.

_Lus._ 'Tis enough;

We thank thee: yet words are but great men's blanks;[189]

Gold, though it be dumb, does utter the best thanks.

[_Gives him money._

_Hip._ Your plenteous honour! an excellent fellow, my lord.

_Lus._ So, give us leave. [_Exit_ HIPPOLITO.] Welcome, be not far off;

we must be better acquainted: pish, be bold with us--thy hand.

_Ven._ With all my heart, i' faith: how dost, sweet musk-cat?

When shall we lie together?

_Lus._ Wondrous knave,

Gather him into boldness! 'sfoot, the slave's

Already as familiar as an ague,

And shakes me at his pleasure. Friend, I can

Forget myself in private; but elsewhere

I pray do you remember me.

_Ven._ O, very well, sir--I conster myself saucy.

_Lus._ What hast been?

Of what profession?

_Ven._ A bone-setter.

_Lus._ A bone-setter!

_Ven._ A bawd, my lord--

One that sets bones together.

_Lus._ Notable bluntness!

Fit, fit for me; e'en trained up to my hand:

Thou hast been scrivener to much knavery, then?

_Ven._ 'Sfoot, to abundance, sir: I have been witness

To the surrenders of a thousand virgins:

And not so little;

I have seen patrimonies washed a-pieces,

Fruit-fields turned into bastards,

And in a world of acres

Not so much dust due to the heir 'twas left to

As would well gravel[190] a petition.

_Lus._ Fine villain! troth, I like him wondrously:

He's e'en shaped for my purpose. [_Aside._] Then thou know'st

I' th' world strange lust?

_Ven._ O Dutch lust! fulsome lust!

Drunken procreation! which begets so many drunkards

Some fathers dread not (gone to bed in wine) to slide from the mother,

And cling[191] the daughter-in-law;

Some uncles are adulterous with their nieces:

Brothers with brothers' wives. O hour of incest!

Any kin now, next to the rim o' th' sister,

Is men's meat in these days; and in the morning,

When they are up and dressed, and their mask on,

Who can perceive this, save that eternal eye,

That sees through flesh and all? Well, if anything be damned,

It will be twelve o'clock at night; that twelve

Will never 'scape;

It is the Judas of the hours, wherein

Honest salvation is betrayed to sin.

_Lus._ In troth, it is true; but let this talk glide.

It is our blood to err, though hell gape wide.

Ladies know Lucifer fell, yet still are proud.

Now, sir, wert thou as secret as thou'rt subtle,

And deeply fathomed into all estates,

I would embrace thee for a near employment;

And thou shouldst swell in money, and be able

To make lame beggars crouch to thee.

_Ven._ My lord,

Secret! I ne'er had that disease o' the mother,

I praise my father: why are men made close,

But to keep thoughts in best? I grant you this,

Tell but some women a secret over night,

Your doctor may find it in the urinal i' the morning.

But, my lord--

_Lus._ So thou'rt confirmed in me,

And thus I enter thee. [_Gives him money._

_Ven._ This Indian devil

Will quickly enter any man but a usurer;

He prevents that by entering the devil first.

_Lus._ Attend me. I am past my depth in lust,

And I must swim or drown. All my desires

Are levelled at a virgin not far from court,

To whom I have conveyed by messenger

Many waxed lines, full of my neatest spirit,

And jewels that were able to ravish her

Without the help of man; all which and more

She (foolish chaste) sent back, the messengers

Receiving frowns for answers.

_Ven._ Possible!

'Tis a rare Phœnix, whoe'er she be.

If your desires be such, she so repugnant,

In troth, my lord, I'd be revenged and marry her.

_Lus._ Pish! the dowry of her blood and of her fortunes

Are both too mean--good enough to be bad withal.

I'm one of that number can defend

Marriage is good; yet rather keep a friend.

Give me my bed by stealth--there's true delight;

What breeds a loathing in't, but night by night!

_Ven._ A very fine religion!

_Lus._ Therefore thus

I'll trust thee in the business of my heart;

Because I see thee well-experienced

In this luxurious day wherein we breathe.

Go thou, and with a smooth enchanting tongue

Bewitch her ears, and cosen her of all grace:

Enter upon the portion[192] of her soul--

Her honour, which she calls her chastity,

And bring it into expense; for honesty

Is like a stock of money laid to sleep

Which, ne'er so little broke, does never keep.

_Ven._ You have gi'en't the tang,[193] i' faith, my lord:

Make known the lady to me, and my brain

Shall swell with strange invention: I will move it,

Till I expire with speaking, and drop down

Without a word to save me--but I'll work--

_Lus._ We thank thee, and will raise thee.--

Receive her name; it is the only daughter to Madam

Gratiana, the late widow.

_Ven._ O my sister, my sister! [_Aside._

_Lus._ Why dost walk aside?

_Ven._ My lord, I was thinking how I might begin:

As thus, O lady--or twenty hundred devices--

Her very bodkin will put a man in.

_Lus._ Ay, or the wagging of her hair.

_Ven._ No, that shall put you in, my lord.

_Lus._ Shall't? why, content. Dost know the daughter then?

_Ven._ O, excellent well by sight.

_Lus._ That was her brother,

That did prefer thee to us.

_Ven._ My lord, I think so;

I knew I had seen him somewhere--

_Lus._ And therefore, prythee, let thy heart to him

Be as a virgin close.

_Ven._ O my good lord.

_Lus._ We may laugh at that simple age within him.

_Ven._ Ha, ha, ha!

_Lus._ Himself being made the subtle instrument,

To wind up a good fellow.[194]

_Ven._ That's I, my lord.

_Lus._ That's thou,

To entice and work his sister.

_Ven._ A pure novice!

_Lus._ 'Twas finely managed.

_Ven._ Gallantly carried!

A pretty perfumed villain!

_Lus._ I've bethought me,

If she prove chaste still and immovable,

Venture upon the mother; and with gifts,

As I will furnish thee, begin with her.

_Ven._ O, fie, fie! that's the wrong end my lord. 'Tis mere impossible

that a mother, by any gifts, should become a bawd to her own daughter!

_Lus._ Nay, then, I see thou'rt but a puisne[195]

In the subtle mystery of a woman.

Why, 'tis held now no dainty dish: the name

Is so in league with the age, that nowadays

It does eclipse three quarters of a mother.

_Ven._ Does it so, my lord?

Let me alone, then, to eclipse the fourth.

_Lus._ Why, well-said--come, I'll furnish thee, but first

Swear to be true in all.

_Ven._ True!

_Lus._ Nay, but swear.

_Ven._ Swear?--I hope your honour little doubts my faith.

_Lus._ Yet, for my humour's sake, 'cause I love swearing--

_Ven._ 'Cause you love swearing,--'slud,[196] I will.

_Lus._ Why, enough!

Ere long look to be made of better stuff.

_Ven._ That will do well indeed, my lord.

_Lus._ Attend me. [_Exit._

_Ven._ O!

Now let me burst. I've eaten noble poison;

We are made strange fellows, brother, innocent villains!

Wilt not be angry, when thou hear'st on't, think'st thou?

I' faith, thou shalt: swear me to foul my sister!

Sword, I durst make a promise of him to thee;

Thou shalt disheir him; it shall be thine honour.

And yet, now angry froth is down in me,

It would not prove the meanest policy,

In this disguise, to try the faith of both.

Another might have had the selfsame office;

Some slave that would have wrought effectually,

Ay, and perhaps o'erwrought 'em; therefore I,

Being thought travelled, will apply myself

Unto the selfsame form, forget my nature,

As if no part about me were kin to 'em,

So touch 'em;--though I durst almost for good

Venture my lands in Heaven upon their blood. [_Exit._

SCENE IV.--_A Room in_ ANTONIO'S _House._

_Enter_ ANTONIO, _whose_ Wife _the_ Duchess' Youngest Son _ravished,

discovering her dead body to_ HIPPOLITO, PIERO, _and_ Lords.

_Ant._ Draw nearer, lords, and be sad witnesses

Of a fair comely building newly fallen,

Being falsely undermined. Violent rape

Has played a glorious act: behold, my lords,

A sight that strikes man out of me.

_Piero._ That virtuous lady!

_Ant._ Precedent for wives!

_Hip._ The blush of many women, whose chaste presence

Would e'en call shame up to their cheeks, and make

Pale wanton sinners have good colours--

_Ant._ Dead!

Her honour first drank poison, and her life,

Being fellows in one house, did pledge her honour.

_Piero._ O, grief of many!

_Ant._ I marked not this before--

A prayer-book, the pillow to her cheek:

This was her rich confection; and another

Placed in her right hand, with a leaf tucked up,

Pointing to these words;--

_Melius virtute mori, quam per dedecus vivere:_

True and effectual it is indeed.

_Hip._ My lord, since you invite us to your sorrows,

Let's truly taste 'em, that with equal comfort,

As to ourselves, we may relieve your wrongs:

We have grief too, that yet walks without tongue;

_Curæ leves loquuntur, majores stupent._

_Ant._ You deal with truth, my lord;

Lend me but your attentions, and I'll cut

Long grief into short words. Last revelling night,

When torch-light made an artificial noon

About the court, some courtiers in the masque,

Putting on better faces than their own,

Being full of fraud and flattery--amongst whom

The duchess' youngest son (that moth to honour)

Filled up a room, and with long lust to eat

Into my warren, amongst all the ladies

Singled out that dear form, who ever lived

As cold in lust as she is now in death

(Which that step-duchess' monster knew too well),

And therefore in the height of all the revels,

When music was heard loudest, courtiers busiest,

And ladies great with laughter--O vicious minute!

Unfit but for relation to be spoke of:

Then with a face more impudent than his vizard,

He harried her amidst a throng of panders,

That live upon damnation of both kinds,

And fed the ravenous vulture of his lust.

O death to think on't! She, her honour forced,

Deemed it a nobler dowry for her name

To die with poison than to live with shame.

_Hip._ A wondrous lady! of rare fire compact;

She has made her name an empress by that act.

_Piero._ My lord, what judgment follows the offender?

_Ant._ Faith, none, my lord; it cools, and is deferred.

_Piero._ Delay the doom for rape!

_Ant._ O, you must note who 'tis should die,

The duchess' son! she'll look to be a saver:

"Judgment, in this age, is near kin to favour."

_Hip._ Nay, then, step forth, thou bribeless officer:

[_Draws his sword._

I'll bind you all in steel, to bind you surely;

Here let your oaths meet, to be kept and paid,

Which else will stick like rust, and shame the blade;

Strengthen my vow that if, at the next sitting,

Judgment speak all in gold, and spare the blood

Of such a serpent, e'en before their seats

To let his soul out, which long since was found

Guilty in Heaven--

_All._ We swear it, and will act it.

_Ant._ Kind gentlemen, I thank you in mine ire.

_Hip._ 'Twere pity

The ruins of so fair a monument

Should not be dipped in the defacer's blood.

_Piero._ Her funeral shall be wealthy; for her name

Merits a tomb of pearl. My Lord Antonio,

For this time wipe your lady from your eyes;

No doubt our grief and yours may one day court it,

When we are more familiar with revenge.

_Ant._ That is my comfort, gentlemen, and I joy

In this one happiness above the rest,

Which will be called a miracle at last;

That, being an old man, I'd a wife so chaste.

[_Exeunt._

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I._--A Room in_ GRATIANA'S _House._

_Enter_ CASTIZA.

_Cas._ How hardly shall that maiden be beset,

Whose only fortunes are her constant thoughts!

That has no other child's part but her honour,

That keeps her low and empty in estate;

Maids and their honours are like poor beginners;

Were not sin rich, there would be fewer sinners;

Why had not virtue a revenue? Well,

I know the cause, 'twould have impoverished hell.

_Enter_ DONDOLO.

How now, Dondolo?

_Don._ Madonna, there is one as they say, a thing of flesh and blood--a

man, I take him by his beard, that would very desirously mouth to mouth

with you.

_Cas._ What's that?

_Don._ Show his teeth in your company.

_Cas._ I understand thee not.

_Don._ Why, speak with you, madonna.

_Cas._ Why, say so, madman, and cut off a great deal of dirty way; had

it not been better spoke in ordinary words, that one would speak with

me?

_Don._ Ha, ha! that's as ordinary as two shillings. I would strive a

little to show myself in my place; a gentleman-usher scorns to use the

phrase and fancy of a serving-man.

_Cas._ Yours be your own, sir; go, direct him hither;

[_Exit_ DONDOLO.

I hope some happy tidings from my brother,

That lately travelled, whom my soul affects.

Here he comes.

_Enter_ VENDICE, _disguised._

_Ven._ Lady, the best of wishes to your sex--

Fair skins and new gowns.

_Cas._ O, they shall thank you, sir.

Whence this?

_Ven._ O, from a dear and worthy mighty friend.

_Cas._ From whom?

_Ven._ The duke's son!

_Cas._ Receive that. [_Boxes his ear._

I swore I would put anger in my hand,

And pass the virgin limits of my sex,

To him that next appeared in that base office,

To be his sin's attorney. Bear to him

That figure of my hate upon thy cheek,

Whilst 'tis yet hot, and I'll reward thee for't;

Tell him my honour shall have a rich name,

When several harlots shall share his with shame.

Farewell; commend me to him in my hate. [_Exit._

_Ven._ It is the sweetest box that e'er my nose came nigh;

The finest drawn-work cuff that e'er was worn;

I'll love this blow for ever, and this cheek

Shall still henceforward take the wall of this.

O, I'm above my tongue: most constant sister,

In this thou hast right honourable shown;

Many are called by[197] their honour, that have none;

Thou art approved for ever in my thoughts.

It is not in the power of words to taint thee.

And yet for the salvation of my oath,

As my resolve in that point, I will lay

Hard siege unto my mother, though I know

A syren's tongue could not bewitch her so.

Mass, fitly here she comes! thanks, my disguise--

Madam, good afternoon.

_Enter_ GRATIANA.

_Gra._ Y'are welcome, sir.

_Ven._ The next[198] of Italy commends him to you,

Our mighty expectation, the duke's son.

_Gra._ I think myself much honoured that he pleases

To rank me in his thoughts.

_Ven._ So may you, lady:

One that is like to be our sudden duke;

The crown gapes for him every tide, and then

Commander o'er us all; do but think on him,

How blessed were they, now that could pleasure him--

E'en with anything almost!

_Gra._ Ay, save their honour.

_Ven._ Tut, one would let a little of that go too,

And ne'er be seen in't--ne'er be seen in't, mark you:

I'd wink, and let it go.

_Gra._ Marry, but I would not.

_Ven._ Marry but I would, I hope; I know you would too,

If you'd that blood now, which you gave your daughter.

To her indeed 'tis this wheel[199] comes about;

That man that must be all this, perhaps ere morning

(For his white father does but mould away),

Has long desired your daughter.

_Gra._ Desired?

_Ven._ Nay, but hear me;

He desires now, that will command hereafter:

Therefore be wise. I speak as more a friend

To you than him: madam, I know you're poor,

And, 'lack the day!

There are too many poor ladies already;

Why should you wax the number? 'Tis despised.

Live wealthy, rightly understand the world,

And chide away that foolish country girl

Keeps company with your daughter--Chastity.

_Gra._ O fie, fie! the riches of the world cannot hire

A mother to such a most unnatural task.

_Ven._ No, but a thousand angels[200] can.

Men have no power, angels must work you to't:

The world descends into such baseborn evils,

That forty angels can make fourscore devils.

There will be fools still, I perceive--still fools.

Would I be poor, dejected, scorned of greatness,

Swept from the palace, and see others' daughters

Spring with the dew o' the court, having mine own

So much desired and loved by the duke's son?

No, I would raise my state upon her breast;

And call her eyes my tenants; I would count

My yearly maintenance upon her cheeks;

Take coach upon her lip; and all her parts

Should keep men after men, and I would ride

In pleasure upon pleasure.

You took great pains for her, once when it was;

Let her requite it now, though it be but some.

You brought her forth: she may well bring you home.

_Gra._ O Heavens! this o'ercomes me!

_Ven._ Not, I hope, already? [_Aside._

_Gra._ It is too strong for me; men know that know us,

We are so weak their words can overthrow us;

He touched me nearly, made my virtues bate,[201]

When his tongue struck upon my poor estate. [_Aside._

_Ven._ I e'en quake to proceed, my spirit turns edge.

I fear me she's unmothered; yet I'll venture.

"That woman is all male, whom none can enter."

[_Aside._

What think you now, lady? Speak, are you wiser?

What said advancement to you? Thus it said:

The daughter's fall lifts up the mother's head.

Did it not, madam? But I'll swear it does

In many places: tut, this age fears no man.

"'Tis no shame to be bad, because 'tis common."

_Gra._ Ay, that's the comfort on't.

_Ven._ The comfort on't!

I keep the best for last--can these persuade you

To forget Heaven--and--[_Gives her money._

_Gra._ Ay, these are they--

_Ven._ O!

_Gra._ That enchant our sex. These are

The means that govern our affections--that woman

Will not be troubled with the mother long,

That sees the comfortable shine of you:

I blush to think what for your sakes I'll do.

_Ven._ O suffering[202] Heaven, with thy invisible finger,

E'en at this instant turn the precious side

Of both mine eyeballs inward, not to see myself. [_Aside._

_Gra._ Look you, sir.

_Ven._ Hollo.

_Gra._ Let this thank your pains.

_Ven._ O, you're kind, madam.

_Gra._ I'll see how I can move.

_Ven._ Your words will sting.

_Gra._ If she be still chaste, I'll ne'er call her mine.

_Ven._ Spoke truer than you meant it.

_Gra._ Daughter Castiza.

_Re-enter_ CASTIZA.

_Cas._ Madam.

_Ven._ O, she's yonder;

Meet her: troops of celestial soldiers guard her heart.

Yon dam has devils enough to take her part.

_Cas._ Madam, what makes yon evil-officed man

In presence of you?

_Gra._ Why?

_Cas._ He lately brought

Immodest writing sent from the duke's son,

To tempt me to dishonourable act.

_Gra._ Dishonourable act!--good honourable fool,

That wouldst be honest, 'cause thou wouldst be so,

Producing no one reason but thy will.

And't has a good report, prettily commended,

But pray, by whom? Poor people, ignorant people;

The better sort, I'm sure, cannot abide it.

And by what rule should we square out our lives,

But by our betters' actions? O, if thou knew'st

What 'twere to lose it, thou would never keep it!

But there's a cold curse laid upon all maids,

Whilst others clip[203] the sun, they clasp the shades.

Virginity is paradise locked up.

You cannot come by yourselves without fee;

And 'twas decreed that man should keep the key!

Deny advancement! treasure! the duke's son!

_Cas._ I cry you mercy! lady, I mistook you!

Pray did you see my mother? which way went you?

Pray God, I have not lost her.

_Ven._ Prettily put by! [_Aside._

_Gra._ Are you as proud to me, as coy to him?

Do you not know me now?

_Cas._ Why, are you she?

The world's so changed one shape into another,

It is a wise child now that knows her mother.

_Ven._ Most right i' faith. [_Aside._

_Gra._ I owe your cheek my hand

For that presumption now; but I'll forget it.

Come, you shall leave those childish 'haviours,

And understand your time. Fortunes flow to you;

What, will you be a girl?

If all feared drowning that spy waves ashore,

Gold would grow rich, and all the merchants poor.

_Cas._ It is a pretty saying of a wicked one;

But methinks now it does not show so well

Out of your mouth--better in his!

_Ven._ Faith, bad enough in both,

Were I in earnest, as I'll seem no less. [_Aside._

I wonder, lady, your own mother's words

Cannot be taken, nor stand in full force.

'Tis honesty you urge; what's honesty?

'Tis but Heaven's beggar; and what woman is

So foolish to keep honesty,

And be not able to keep herself? No,

Times are grown wiser, and will keep less charge.

A maid that has small portion now intends

To break up house, and live upon her friends;

How blessed are you! you have happiness alone;

Others must fall to thousands, you to one,

Sufficient in himself to make your forehead

Dazzle the world with jewels, and petitionary people

Start at your presence.

_Gra._ O, if I were young, I should be ravished.

_Cas._ Ay, to lose your honour!

_Ven._ 'Slid, how can you lose your honour

To deal with my lord's grace?

He'll add more honour to it by his title;

Your mother will tell you how.

_Gra._ That I will.

_Ven._ O, think upon the pleasure of the palace!

Secured ease and state! the stirring meats,

Ready to move out of the dishes, that e'en now

Quicken when they are eaten!

Banquets abroad by torchlight! music! sports!

Bareheaded vassals, that had ne'er the fortune

To keep on their own hats, but let horns[204] wear 'em!

Nine coaches waiting--hurry, hurry, hurry--

_Cas._ Ay, to the devil,

_Ven._ Ay, to the devil! [_Aside._] To the duke, by my faith.

_Gra._ Ay, to the duke: daughter, you'd scorn to think o' the devil, an

you were there once.