The English Dramatists
JOHN MARSTON
VOLUME THE FIRST
THE WORKS
OF
JOHN MARSTON
EDITED BY
A. H. BULLEN, B.A.
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOLUME THE FIRST
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LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.
MDCCCLXXXVII
_Two hundred copies of this Edition on Laid paper, medium 8vo, have
been printed, viz., 120 for the English Market, and 80 for America.
Each copy numbered as issued._
_No. 30_
TO
AN OLD FRIEND AND FELLOW-STUDENT,
_CHARLES H. FIRTH,_
These Volumes
ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED
BY THE EDITOR.
PREFACE.
Marston's Works were edited in 1856 by Mr. Halliwell (3 vols. 8vo.)
for Mr. Russell Smith's _Library of Old Authors_. I yield to none
in my admiration for the best and the most accurate of living
Shakespearean scholars; but I am sure that Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps,
who in his _Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare_ has set so
singularly high a standard of excellence, would be the first to
acknowledge that his edition of Marston's Works needs revision.
In the present volumes I have done my best to regulate the text, which
is frequently very corrupt; but I am painfully conscious that I have
left plenty of work for future editors.
A valuable edition of Marston's poems was published in 1879, for
private circulation, by Dr. Grosart. I have availed myself freely of
the results of Dr. Grosart's biographical researches; and I am
indebted to his edition for the text of the _Entertainment_ in vol.
iii.
Dr. Brinsley Nicholson, whose recently published edition of Reginald
Scot's _Discovery of Witchcraft_ met with the enthusiastic
welcome that it deserved, has helped me liberally with advice and
suggestions; and I have to thank Mr. P. A. Daniel, whose scholarship
is as sound as it is acute, for his kindness in reading my
Introduction.
In deference to friendly criticism, I have prefixed to each play a
brief summary of the plot.
_18th March 1887._
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
PAGE
PREFACE vii
INTRODUCTION xi
FIRST PART OF ANTONIO AND MELLIDA 1
ANTONIO'S REVENGE: THE SECOND PART OF
ANTONIO AND MELLIDA 95
THE MALCONTENT 193
INTRODUCTION.
When other poets were repeating Horace's boast, "Exegi monumentum,"
&c., John Marston dedicated the first fruits of his genius "To
everlasting Oblivion." In much of Marston's satire there is an air of
evident insincerity, but the dedicatory address at the close of _The
Scourge of Villainy_ is of startling earnestness:--
"Let others pray
For ever their fair poems flourish may;
But as for me, hungry Oblivion,
Devour me quick, accept my orison,
My earnest prayers, which do importune thee,
With gloomy shade of thy still empery
To veil both me and my rude poesy."
Those lines were printed in 1598. Six and thirty years afterwards the
poet was laid in his grave, and on the grave-stone was inscribed
"Oblivioni sacrum." But prayers cannot purchase oblivion; and the
rugged Timon of the Elizabethan drama, who sought to shroud himself
"in the uncomfortable night of nothing," will be forced from time to
time to emerge from the shades and pass before the eyes of curious
scholars.
It was established by the genealogical researches of that acute and
indefatigable antiquary, Joseph Hunter,[1] that John Marston belonged
to the old Shropshire family of Marstons. The dramatist's father, John
Marston, third son of Ralph Marston of Gayton (or Heyton), co. Salop,
was admitted a member of the Middle Temple in 1570; married Maria,
daughter of Andrew Guarsi[2] (or Guersie), an Italian surgeon who had
settled in London, and had married Elizabeth Gray, daughter of a
London merchant; migrated to Coventry; was lecturer of the Middle
Temple in 1592.
The year of the poet's birth is unknown, but it may be fixed circ.
1575, and we shall probably not be wrong in assuming that the
birthplace was Coventry. For his early education Marston was doubtless
indebted to the Coventry free-school. On 4th February 1591-2, "John
Marston, aged 16, a gentleman's son, of co. Warwick," was matriculated
at Brazennose College, Oxford (Grosart's _Introduction_, p. x.).
There is not the slightest doubt that this John Marston, who was
admitted Bachelor of Arts on 6th February 1593-4 as the "eldest son of
an Esquire" (Wood's _Fasti_, ed. Bliss, i. 602), was the poet;
and Wood went wrong in identifying our John Marston with another John
Marston, or Marson, who belonged to Corpus. In the will of the elder
Marston, proved in 1599, there is a curious passage which shows that
the poet, contrary to his father's wishes, abandoned the profession
of the law. An abstract of the will (communicated by Col. Chester) has
been printed by Dr. Grosart, and is here reprinted:--
"John Marston of City of Coventry Gent dated 24 Oct. 1599 to Mary
my wife, my mansion &c. in Crosse Cheepinge in Coventry and other
premises for life rem^r to John my son and heirs of body rem^r to
heirs of body of Raphe Marston Gent my father dec^d rem^r to
right heirs of my s^d son[;] to s^d wife my interest in certain
lands &c. after death of John Butler[3] my father in law and
Margaret his now wife in par. Cropedy co. Oxon and others in
Wardington co. Oxon rem^r to John my son to s^d wife 1/2 of plate
and household stuff &c. to s^d son John my furniture &c. in my
chambers in the Middle Temple my law books &c. to my s^d son
_whom I hoped would have profited by them in the study of the
law but man proposeth and God disposeth_ &c. to kinsman and
servant Tho^s Marston 20 nobles to my poorest brother Rich^d
Marston 20 nobles for him and his children all residue to Mary my
wife &c. (G. Gascoigne a witness) Proved 29 Nov. 1599." In the
Prerogative Court of Canterbury (82 Kidd.).
Wood vaguely says that the poet (the John Marston of Brazennose
College) "after completing that degree [the degree of B.A.] by
determination, went his way and improved his learning in other
faculties." It is clear from his father's will that he found legal
studies distasteful, and we may conjecture that he quickly turned from
the professional career on which he had entered and devoted his
attention to literature and the stage. Few biographical facts
concerning Marston have come down. He married (but at what precise
date we cannot determine) Mary, daughter of the Rev. William Wilkes,
Chaplain to James I., and Rector of St. Martin's, co. Wilts. Ben
Jonson told Drummond of Hawthornden that "Marston wrote his
father-in-law's preachings, and his father-in-law his comedies;" a
witty remark, contrasting the asperity of Marston's comedies with the
blandness of his father-in-law's sermons. Marston's plays--with the
exception of _The Insatiate Countess_--were published between 1602 and
1607. He seems to have definitely abandoned play-writing about the
year 1607; but the date at which he entered the Church is not clearly
ascertained. On 10th October 1616 he was presented to the living of
Christ Church in Hampshire;[4] he compounded for the firstfruits of
Christ Church on 12th February 1616-7; and he formally resigned the
living (probably from ill-health) on 13th September 1631. William
Sheares the publisher issued in 1633 a collective edition of Marston's
plays, and in the dedicatory address to Lady Elizabeth Carey,
Viscountess Falkland, speaks of the author as "in his autumn and
declining age" and "far distant from this place." On 25th June 1634
Marston died in Aldermanbury parish, London. His will, dated 17th June
1634, was drawn up when he was so ill as to be compelled to make a
mark instead of affixing his signature. The will[5] runs thus:--
"In the name of God Amen I John Marston of London Clarke being
sicke in bodie but of perfect and sound mind and memorie doe make
my last Will and Testament in manner and forme following
Imprimise I give and bequeath my soule into the hands of
Allmightie God my Maker and Redeemer and my bodie to be buried in
Christian buriall in some convenient place where my executor
hereafter named shall appointe Item I give and bequeath to James
Coghill and James Boynton both of Christchurch in the County of
South^{tn} the somme of fortie shillinges apeece to be paide
within six mounthes after my decease Item I give and bequeath to
Marie Fabian the wife of W^m Fabian of Christchurch aforesaide
towards the educac'on of hir five sonnes the somme of twentie
eight pound of currant money of England to be paide to hir within
sixe monthes after my decease Item I give to the parrish Church
of Christchurch aforesaide the somme of five poundes to be paide
within sixe monthes next after my decease Item I give and
bequeath to my couzin Hunt of Ashford in the countie of Saloppe
the somme of twentie poundes to be paide within sixe moneths
after my decease Item I give and bequeath to my cozen Griffins
daughter of Kingston in the Countie of Surrey the somme of five
poundes to be paide unto hir within sixe monthes after my decease
Item I give to Marie Collice the daughter of my cozen Anne
Collis of Chancerie Lane the somme of five poundes to be paide
unto hir sixe monthes after my decease Item I give and bequeath
to my cozen Richard Marston of Newe Inne in the Countie of Midd'
my silver bason and ewre but my will is that my wife shall have
the use of it untill it shalbe demaunded of hir by the said
Richard or his attorney in that behalfe lawfullye deputed Item I
give and bequeath unto George Wallie and James Walley sonnes of
M^r Henry Wallie the somme of five poundes apeece to be paide to
the saide Henrie for theier vse within sixe monthes after my
decease Item all the rest of my goodes and cattles moveable and
vnmoveable my debts and legacies and funeral expences being
charged I give and bequeathe to my wel beloved wiefe Marie whome
I ordaine my soule Executrixe of this my last Will and Testament
And I doe hereby renounce and make voide all former Wills by me
heretofore made In Witnes whereof I have herevnto putt my hand
and seale the seaventeenth daie of June in the tenth yeere of the
rainge [_sic_] of oure Soveraigne Lord Charles 1634."
Wood tells us that he was buried beside his father "in the church
belonging to the Temple in the suburb of London, under the stone which
hath written on it _Oblivioni Sacrum_." Dr. Grosart prints the
following entry from the Temple Church burial-register:
"1634, June 26. Mr. John Marston, Minister, sometimes of the Middle
Temple, who died in Aldermanbury parish: buried below the Communion
Table on the Middle Temple side."
The will was proved on 9th July 1634 in the Prerogative Court of
Canterbury by his widow, who was buried by his side on 4th July 1657.
She had desired in her will,[6] dated 12th June 1657, that she should
be buried "by the body of my dear husband dec^d;" and she bequeathed
her "dear husband's picture" to Master Henry Wally of Stationers'
Hall. Neither in Marston's will nor in his widow's is there mention of
children.
Marston's earliest publication was _The Metamorphosis of Pygmalion's
Image_:[7] _And Certain Satires_, which was entered in the
Stationers' Registers on 27th May 1598, and issued in the same year.
Another series of satires, _The Scourge of Villainy_, was
published later in 1598; it had been entered in the Stationers'
Registers on 8th September. A second edition of the _Scourge_,
containing an additional satire (the tenth), appeared in 1599.
_Pygmalion_ is written in the same metre as _Venus and Adonis_ (from
which poem Marston drew his inspiration)--a metre which Lodge had
handled with considerable success. A poet who would approach the
subject of Pygmalion and his image ought to be gifted with tact and
delicacy. In our own day Mr. Morris (in _The Earthly Paradise_) has
told the old Greek story in choice and fluent narrative verse; no poet
could have treated it more gracefully. Tact and delicacy were
precisely the qualities in which Marston was deficient; but the
versification is tolerably smooth, and the licentiousness does not
call for any special reprehension. In the _Scourge of Villainy_ (sat.
vi.) Marston pretends that _Pygmalion_ was written to bring contempt
on the class of poems to which it belongs:--
"Hence, thou misjudging censor! know I wrote
Those idle rhymes to note the odious spot
And blemish that deforms the lineaments
Of modern poesy's habiliments."
But it would require keener observation than most readers possess to
discover in _Pygmalion_ any trace of that moral motive by which
the poet claimed to have been inspired. Archbishop Whitgift did not
approve of its moral tone, for in 1599 he ordered it to be committed
to the flames with Sir John Davies' _Epigrams_, Cutwode's
_Caltha Poetarum_, and other works of a questionable character.
In Cranley's _Amanda_, 1635, it is mentioned, in company with
_Hero and Leander_ and _Venus and Adonis_, as part of a
courtezan's library.
There is not much pleasure or profit to be derived from a perusal of
Marston's satires. The author deliberately adopted an uncouth and
monstrous style of phraseology; his allusions are frequently quite
unintelligible to modern readers, and even the wits of his
contemporaries must have been sorely exercised. After a course of
Marston's satires Persius is clear as crystal. In the second satire
there are some lines which aptly express the reader's bewilderment:
"O darkness palpable; Egypt's black night!
My wit is stricken blind, hath lost his sight:
My shins are broke with searching for some sense
To know to what his words have reference."
Our sense is deafened by the tumult of noisy verbiage "as when a
madman beats upon a drum." In Marston's satires there is little of the
raciness and buoyancy that we find in the elder satirists--Skelton,
Roy, and William Baldwin--who dealt good swashing blows in homely
vigorous English. Persius would not have been flattered by Marston's
or Hall's attempts at imitation: "nec pluteum cædit nec demorsos sapit
ungues" would have been his comment on the spurious pseudo-classical
Elizabethan satire. Hall claimed to have been the first to introduce
classical satire into England. In the prologue to the first book of
_Virgidemiæ_, 1597, he writes:--
"I first adventure with foolhardy might
To tread the steps of perilous despight:
I first adventure: follow me who list,
And be the second English satirist."
It matters little whether Hall's claim was well-founded or not; but it
has been often pointed out that there is extant a MS. copy of Donne's
satires dated 1593. Hall, who lived to be one of the glories of the
English Church, in early manhood certainly did not present an example
of Christian meekness and charity. He took a very low view of
contemporary writers, but never had the slightest misgivings about his
own abilities. It is not easy to ascertain how his quarrel with
Marston arose, but it seems clear that he was the aggressor.
_Pygmalion_ was published a year later than _Virgidemiæ_,
but it had probably been circulated in manuscript, according to the
custom of the time, before it issued from the press. There can be
little doubt that the ninth satire of book i. of _Virgidemiæ_, is
directed against Marston. The opening lines run thus:--
"Envy, ye Muses, at your thrilling mate,
Cupid hath crowned a new laureat;
I saw his statue gaily tired in green,
As if he had some second Phoebus been;
His statue trimm'd with the Venerean tree
And shrined fair within your sanctuary.
What! he that erst to gain the rhyming goal,
The worn recital-post of capitol,
Rhymed in rules of stewish ribaldry
Teaching experimental bawdery,
Whiles th' itching vulgar, tickled with the song,
Hanged on their unready poet's tongue?
Take this, ye patient Muses, and foul shame
Shall wait upon your once profaned name."
When _Pygmalion_ was published Hall wrote a poor epigram (see
vol. iii. p. 369), which he contrived to paste in those copies of the
poem "that came to the stationers at Cambridge."[8] One of the
satires, entitled "Reactio,"[9] appended to _Pygmalion_, is a violent
attack on Hall. In his "Defiance to Envy," prefixed to _Virgidemiæ_,
Hall had boasted that he could, an' that he would, hold his own with
any of the poets,--even hinting that he was a match for Spenser. The
"Defiance" is a well-written piece of verse, but it gave Marston an
excellent opportunity, which he used to the full in "Reactio," of
making a very effective attack. In the first satire of book vi. of
_Virgidemiæ_ Hall replies to Marston's raillery with less vigour than
we should have expected. Again and again in _The Scourge of Villainy_
Marston attacks Hall; he would not let the quarrel drop, but worried
his adversary with the pertinacity of a bull-dog. In 1601 a certain
"W. I.," who has been doubtfully identified (by Dr. Nicholson) with a
Cambridge man, William Ingram, published _The Whipping of the Satire_,
which was chiefly directed against Marston (with gibes at Ben Jonson
and others). There is a lengthy and spirited preface, in which Marston
is taken to task after this fashion:--
"Think you that foul words can beget fair manners? If you do I
will not bate you an ace of an ass, for experience gives you the
lie to your face. But your affection over-rules your reason, and
therefore you are as sudden of passion in all matters as an
interjection and yet as defective in most cases as an
heteroclite: you gathered up men's sins as though they had been
strawberries, and picked away their virtues as they had been but
the stalks. They shall not make me believe but that you were the
devil's intelligencer, for there went not a lie abroad but it was
presently entertained of your ear; and every sin kept
under writing for fear lest the devil waxing almost six thousand
years of age should fail in his memory and so chance to forget
it."
The following stanzas have a sting in them:--
"Can you seem wise to any simple men
That seem'd so simple unto all the wise
And fitter far to hold the plough than pen,
Such incompt stuff you rudely poetise?
Yet I confess there's much conceipt in it,
For you have shown great store of little wit.
Take me your staff and walk some half-score miles,
And I'll be hang'd if in that quantity
You find me out but half so many stiles
As you have made within your poesy:
Nay for your style there's none can you excel,
You may be called John-a-Stile full well.
· · · · · · ·
But he that mounts into the air of Fame
Must have two wings, Nature and Art, to fly;
And that he may soar safely with the same
Must take his rise low from humility;
And not with you a goose's quill to take,
Thinking with that an eagle's flight to make.
Your stately Muse, starched with stiff-neck'd pride,
Dain'd it amongst us, most imperiously;
With lavish laughter she did each deride
That came within the prospect of her eye:
Despising all, all her again despise,
Contemn'd of foolish and condemn'd of wise."
At this easy rate "W. I." ambles on; and the quiet leisurely stanzas
are a relief after the fury of the _Scourge_. Modern readers will feel
that Marston was not driven by "sæva indignatio" to write satire, and
they will not be inclined to accept the young author of _Pygmalion_ as
a sedate moralist. "W. I." puts the matter clearly:
"He scourgeth villainies in young and old
As boys scourge tops for sport on Lenten day."
The publication of _The Whipping of the Satire_ could hardly have
been agreeable to Marston, but it is highly improbable that he is to
be held responsible for the poor answer to _The Whipping_,
published anonymously in the same year, under the title of _The
Whipper of the Satire, his Penance in a White Sheet; or the Beadle's
Confutation_.[10] If I have read _The Whipper_ aright, it is
the work of one of Marston's personal friends, or of some admirer who
had more zeal than wit. There are some general remarks, of slight
account, on the use of satire; and Marston is exhorted to persist in
his task of scourging the vices of the age. It will be enough to quote
two stanzas:--
"Meantime, good satire, to thy wonted train,
As yet there are no lets to hinder thee:
_Thy touching quill with a sweet moving strain
Sings to the soul a blessèd lullaby_:
Thy lines beget a timorous fear in all,
And that same fear deep thoughts angelical.
So that the whilom lewd lascivious man
Is now remote from his abhorred life,
And cloathes [loathes?] the dalliance of a courtezan;
And every breathing wicked soul at strife,
Contending which shall first begin to mend
That they may glory in a blessèd end."
The italicised lines give a delightfully ludicrous description of
_The Scourge of Villainy_.
It is abundantly clear that Marston's uncouth satires, which to-day
are so difficult to read, caused much excitement at the time of their
publication. Meres in _Palladis Tamia_, 1598, reckons Marston
among the leading English satirists. John Weever, in his
_Epigrams_, 1599, couples Marston's name with Jonson's:--
"_Ad Jo. Marston et Ben Johnson._
Marston, thy muse enharbours Horace' vein,
Then some Augustus give thee Horace' merit!
And thine, embuskin'd Johnson, doth retain
So rich a style and wondrous gallant spirit,
That if to praise your Muses I desired
My Muse would muse. Such wits must be admired."
The following address is from Charles Fitzgeoffrey's _Affaniæ_,
1601:--
"_Ad Joannem Marstonium._
Gloria, Marstoni, satirarum proxima primæ,
Primaque, fas primas si numerare duas!
Sin primam duplicare nefas, tu gloria saltem,
Marstoni, primæ proxima semper eris.
Nec te poeniteat stationis, Jane: secundus,
Cum duo sint tantum, est neuter at ambo pares."
But the most elaborate notice that any contemporary has given of
Marston's satires is to be found in _The Return from Parnassus_.[11]
The passage has been often quoted, but it must find a place here:--
"What, Monsieur Kinsayder, lifting up your leg and pissing
against the world? put up, man! put up, for shame!
Methinks he is a ruffian in his style,
Withouten bands or garters' ornament:
He quaffs a cup of Frenchman's Helicon,
Then roister-doister in his oily terms;
Cuts, thrusts, and foins at whomsoever he meets
And strews about Ram-Alley meditations.
Tut, what cares he for modest close-couch'd terms
Cleanly to gird our looser libertines?
Give him plain naked words stripp'd from their shirts,
That might become plain-dealing Aretine.
Ay, there is one that backs a paper-steed,
And manageth a pen-knife gallantly:
Strikes his poynado at a button's breadth,
Brings the great battering-ram of terms to towns,[12]
And at first volly of his cannon-shot
Batters the walls of the old fusty world."
Under date 28th September 1599 Henslowe records in his _Diary_
(p. 156, ed. Collier) that he lent "unto Mr. Maxton, the new poete
(Mr. Mastone), the sum of forty shillings" in earnest of an unnamed
play. The name "Mastone" is interlined in a different hand as a
correction for "Maxton;" but there can be no doubt that the "new
poete," whose name the illiterate manager misspelled, was John
Marston. There is no other mention of him in the _Diary_. In 1602 were
published Marston's _First Part of Antonio and Mellida_ and _Antonio's
Revenge_, which had been entered in the Stationers' Registers on 24th
October 1601, and had been ridiculed in that year by Ben Jonson in
_The Poetaster_. Considered as a work of art the two parts of _Antonio
and Mellida_ cannot be rated highly. The plot is clumsy and grotesque,
and the characters, from the prodigious nature of their sins and
sorrows, fail to excite in us any real interest. Marston was possessed
of high tragic power, but he has not done himself justice. The
magnificent prologue to _Antonio's Revenge_ prepares us to expect an
impressive tale of tragic woe, but the promise is not worthily
redeemed. He could conceive a fine situation, and he had at his
command abundance of striking imagery. But we are never sure of him:
from tragic solemnity he passes to noisy rhodomontade; at one moment
he gives us a passage Æschylean in its subtle picturesqueness, at
another he feebly reproduces the flaccid verbosity of Seneca's
tragedies. Lamb quoted in his _Specimens_ the finest scene of _Antonio
and Mellida_,--the scene where the old Andrugio on the Venice marsh,
overthrown by the chance of war and banished from his kingdom, gives
tongue to the conflicting passions that shake his breast. That scene
deserves the eloquent praise that it received from the hands of Lamb;
and if Marston had been able to keep the rest of the play at that
level the _First Part of Antonio and Mellida_ would rank with the
masterpieces of Webster. But what is to be said of a writer who, in
describing a shipwreck, gives us such lines as the following?--
"Lo! the sea grew mad,
His bowels rumbling with wind-passion;
Straight swarthy darkness popp'd out Phoebus' eye,
And blurr'd the jocund face of bright-cheek'd day;
Whilst crudled fogs mask'd even darkness' brow:
Heaven bad 's good night, and the rocks groan'd
At the intestine uproar of the main.
Now gusty flaws strook up the very heels
Of our mainmast, whilst the keen lightning shot
Through the black bowels of the quaking air;
Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred paunch
Down falls our ship, and there he breaks his neck;
Which in an instant up was belkt again."
This is hardly a fair specimen of Marston's powers, but it exhibits to
perfection his besetting fault of straining his style a peg too high;
of seeking to be impressive by the use of exaggerated and unnatural
imagery. When he disencumbers himself of this fatal habit his verse is
clear and massive. Neither Webster nor Chapman ever gave utterance to
more dignified reflections than Marston puts into the mouth of the
discrowned Andrugio in the noble speech beginning, "Why, man, I never
was a prince till now" (vol. i., p. 64). There is nothing of bluster
in that speech; there is not a word that one would wish to alter. Nor
is Marston without something of that power, which Webster wielded so
effectively, of touching the reader's imagination with a vague sense
of dread. He felt keenly the mysteries of the natural world; the weird
stillness that precedes the breaking of the dawn, and
"the deep affright
That pulseth in the heart of night."
_Antonio and Mellida_ amply testifies that Marston possessed a
strangely subtle and vivid imagination; but few are the traces of that
"sanity" which Lamb declared to be an essential condition to true
genius.
In 1604 was published _The Malcontent_;[13] another edition,
augmented by Webster, appeared in the same year. From the Induction we
learn that it had been originally acted by the Children's Company at
the Blackfriars; and that when the Children appropriated _The
Spanish Tragedy_, in which the King's Company at the Globe had an
interest, the King's Company retaliated by acting Marston's play, with
Webster's additions. _The Malcontent_ has more dramatic interest
than _Antonio and Mellida_; it is also more orderly and artistic.
Jonson's criticism evidently had a salutary effect, for we find no
such flowers of speech as "glibbery urchin," "sliftred paunch," "the
fist of strenuous vengeance is clutch'd," &c. Marston has been at
pains to give a more civil aspect to his "aspera Thalia." Moreover,
the moralising is less tedious, and the satire more pungent than in
the earlier plays. There is less of declamation and more of action.
The atmosphere is not so stifling, and one can breathe with something
of freedom. There are no ghosts to shout "Vindicta!" and no boys to be
butchered at midnight in damp cloisters; nobody has his tongue cut out
prior to being hacked to pieces. Marston has on this occasion
contrived to write an impressive play without deeming it necessary to
make the stage steam like a shambles. As before, the scene is laid in
Italy; and again we have a vicious usurper, and a virtuous deposed
duke; but the characters are more human than in the earlier plays.
Mendoza, the upstart tyrant, is indeed a deeply debased villain, but
he is not deformed, like Piero, beyond all recognition. Altofronto,
the banished duke, who disguises himself in the character of a
malcontent and settles at the usurper's court, is a more possible
personage than Andrugio. The description that the malcontent gives of
himself in iii. 1, and the other description of the hermit's cell in
iv. 2, exemplify Marston's potent gift of presenting bold conceptions
in strenuously compact language.
_The Malcontent_ was dedicated by Marston in very handsome terms
to Ben Jonson, and there is a complimentary allusion to Jonson in the
epilogue. At this distance of time it is impossible to fully
understand the relations that existed between Jonson and Marston.
There seem to have been many quarrels and more than one
reconciliation. During his visit to Hawthornden, Jonson told Drummond
that "He had many quarrels with Marston, beat him and took his pistol
from him, wrote his _Poetaster_ on him; the beginning of them were
that Marston represented him in the stage in his youth given to
venery."[14] The original quarrel seems to have begun about the year
1598. In the apology at the end of _The Poetaster_, Jonson writes:
"Three years
They did provoke me with their petulant styles
On every stage: and I at last unwilling,
But weary, I confess, of so much trouble,
Thought I would try if shame could win upon 'em."
_The Poetaster_ was produced in 1601; so these attacks on Jonson,
in which Marston must have taken a leading part, began about 1598. In
the address "To those that seem judicial Perusers" prefixed to _The
Scourge of Villainy_, Marston undoubtedly ridicules Ben Jonson for his
use of "new-minted epithets[15] (as _real_, _intrinsecate_,
_Delphic_)." "Real" occurs in _Every Man out of his Humour_ (ii. 1);
"intrinsecate" in _Cynthia's Revels_ (v. 2); and "Delphic" in an early
poem of Jonson's. But, as _Every Man out of his Humour_ was first
produced at Christmas 1599, and _Cynthia's Revels_ in 1600, these
"new-minted epithets" must have been used by Jonson in some early
plays that have perished. Jonson retaliated by attacking Marston in
_Every Man out of his Humour_, and _Cynthia's Revels_. In the former
play (iii. 1) he introduces two characters, Clove and Orange, who are
expressly described as "mere strangers to the whole scope of our
play." They are on the stage only for a few minutes. Clove is
represented as a pretender to learning: "he will sit you a whole
afternoon sometimes in a bookseller's shop, reading the Greek,
Italian, and Spanish, when he understands not a word of either."
Orange is a mere simpleton who can say nothing but "O Lord, sir," and
"It pleases you to say so, sir." In the "characters of the persons"
(prefixed to the play) we are told that this "inseparable case of
coxcombs ... being well flattered" will "lend money and repent when
they have done. Their glory is to invite players and make suppers."
Dr. Brinsley Nicholson suggests that Orange was intended as a
caricature of Dekker, and that Clove stands for Marston. This view is,
doubtless, partly correct, but we must not insist on it too strongly.
Dekker--whatever may be said of Marston--had no money to lend, and
would rather have expected to sup at the players' expense than to be
made the shot-clog of the feast: again and again in _The Poetaster_ he
is ridiculed on the score of poverty. It is undeniable that Jonson, to
raise a laugh against Marston, puts into Clove's mouth grotesque words
culled from _The Scourge of Villainy_. "Monsieur Orange," whispers
Clove to his companion, as they are walking in the middle aisle of
Paul's, "yon gallants observe us; prithee let's talk fustian a little
and gull them; make them believe we are great scholars." Presently we
have the passage containing the Marstonian words (which I have printed
in italics):--
"Now, sirs, whereas the ingenuity of the time and the soul's
_synderisis_ are but _embryons_ in nature, added to the
_paunch of Esquiline_,[16] and the intervallum of the
_zodiac_, besides the _ecliptic line_ being optic and
not mental, but by the contemplative and theoric part thereof
doth _demonstrate_ to us the vegetable circumference and the
ventosity of the _tropics_, and whereas our
_intellectual_, or _mincing capreal_ (according to the
metaphysics) as you may read in Plato's _Histriomastix_.[17]
You conceive me, sir?"
In the first scene of the second act, Puntarvolo addresses Carlo
Buffone as "thou _Grand Scourge_, or Second Untruss of the time,"
in allusion to Marston's _Scourge of Villainy_.
_Cynthia's Revels_ was produced in 1600 and printed in 1601. In this
play, Anaides and Hedon are represented as being jealous of Crites,
and as seeking by underhand means to bring him into discredit. It is
certain that Jonson was glancing particularly at Marston and Dekker.
In the second scene of the third act, Crites, defending himself
against his two traducers, observes:--
"If good Chrestus,
Euthus, or Phronimus, had spoke the words,
They would have moved me, and I should have call'd
My thoughts and actions to a strict account
Upon the hearing; but when I remember
'Tis Hedon and Anaides, alas, then
I think but what they are, and am not stirr'd.
The one a light voluptuous reveller,
The other a strange arrogating puff,
Both impudent and arrogant enough;
That talk as they are wont, not as I merit;
Traduce by custom, as most dogs do bark;
Do nothing out of judgment, but disease;
Speak ill because they never could speak well:
And who'd be angry with this race of creatures?"
Dekker in _Satiromastix_[18] puts four of these lines ("I think
but what they are ... arrogant enough") into the mouth of Horace
(Jonson), plainly assuming that the abuse was intended for Marston and
himself. Marston, too, in _What You Will_ (p. xlviii.), fastens
on this speech of Crites and uses it as a weapon against Jonson.
_Cynthia's Revels_ was quickly followed by _The Poetaster_,
which was produced in 1601 by the Children of the Queen's Chapel.
Hitherto, Jonson had merely skirmished with his adversaries; in _The
Poetaster_ he assails them might and main with all the artillery of
invective. Marston is ridiculed as Crispinus, and Dekker as Demetrius
Fannius. Crispinus is represented as a coarse-minded, ill-conditioned
fellow, albeit of gentle parentage, who, like the bore encountered by
Horace in the Via Sacra, is prepared to adopt the meanest stratagems
in order to gain admittance to the society of courtiers and wits. He
plots with the shifty out-at-elbows Demetrius (a witless "dresser of
plays about the town here," to wit, Thomas Dekker), and a huffing
Captain Tucca, to disgrace Horace (Ben Jonson). But the attempt
results in a ludicrous failure; Crispinus and Demetrius are arraigned
at a session of the poets, and, after receiving a severe rebuke for
their calumnies, are contemptuously dismissed on taking oath for their
future good behaviours. In court a dose of hellebore is administered
to Crispinus, who thereupon proceeds to vomit up gobbets of Marston's
fustian vocabulary. When the physic has worked its effect Virgil gives
Crispinus such advice as Lycinus gave to Lexiphanes in Lucian's
dialogue; bidding him form his style on classical models and not
"hunt for wild outlandish terms
To stuff out a peculiar dialect."
_The Poetaster_ was entered in the Stationers' Register on 21st
December 1601, and _Satiromastix_ had already been entered on the
11th of the preceding month. The title-page of _Satiromastix_
bears only Dekker's name, and to Dekker the play is attributed in the
Stationers' Register. It was doubtless with Marston's approval that
Dekker took up the cudgels against the truculent Ben, but there is no
evidence to show that Marston had any share in the authorship of
_Satiromastix_. It is not necessary to deal here with Dekker's
spirited rejoinder, but there is one difficult passage, put into the
mouth of Horace, to which passing attention must be called:--
"As for Crispinus, that Crispin-ass and Fannius his play-dresser,
who (to make the Muses believe their subjests' [_sic_] ears
were starved and that there was a dearth of poesy) cut an
innocent Moor i'th middle, to serve him in twice, and when he had
done made Poules' work of it; as for these twins, these poet-apes,
Their mimic tricks shall serve
With mirth to feast our muse whilst their own starve."
(_Works_, 1873, i. 212.)
The meaning of this obscure passage seems to be that Marston and
Dekker wrote in conjunction a play which had a Moor for its leading
character; that the writers' barren invention prompted them to treat
the story again in a Second Part; and that the two parts, when they
had served their time upon the stage, were published in Paul's
Churchyard. At least that is the only intelligible explanation that I
can give to the words; but I am altogether unable to fix on any extant
play, in which a Moor figures, that could be attributed to Marston and
Dekker. From Henslowe's _Diary_ we know that Dekker was concerned
in the authorship of a play called _The Spanish Moor's Tragedy_
(which has been doubtfully identified with _Lust's Dominion_,
printed in 1657 as a work of Marlowe's); but Dekker's coadjutors in
that play were William Haughton and John Day.
It is curious to note that in the very year (1601) when the quarrel
between Marston and Jonson reached a climax, the two enemies are
contributing poems to the _Divers Poetical Essays_ appended to Robert
Chester's tedious and obscure _Love's Martyr_. The other contributors
were Shakespeare and Chapman; Marston's verses follow Shakespeare's
_Phoenix and Turtle_. In 1604, as we have noticed, Marston dedicated
his _Malcontent_ to Jonson in very cordial terms; and in 1605 he
prefixed some complimentary verses to _Sejanus_.
In 1605 was published the comedy of _The Dutch Courtezan_, which
had been acted by the Children's Company at the Blackfriars. There is
more of life and movement in this play than in any other of Marston's
productions. The character of the passionate and implacable courtesan,
Franceschina, is conceived with masterly ability. Few figures in the
Elizabethan drama are more striking than this fair vengeful fiend, who
is as playful and pitiless as a tigress; whose caresses are sweet as
honey and poisonous as aconite. All the characters are drawn with
skill and spirit. Young Freevill is a typical Elizabethan gallant,
very frank in his utterances, and not burthened with an excess of
modesty. Malheureux, his moody friend, is noted for his strictness of
life, but a glance from Franceschina scatters his virtuous
resolutions, and he is ready at the temptress' bidding to kill his
friend in order to satisfy his passion. The innocent shamefaced
Beatrice, affianced to young Freevill, is drawn with more tenderness
than Marston usually shows; and her gay prattling sister Crispinella
recalls (_longo intervallo_) another more famous Beatrice.
Cockledemoy, the droll and nimble trickster, who at every turn
dexterously cozens Master Mulligrub, the vintner, affords abundance of
amusement; but his plain speaking shocks the sensitively chaste ears
of Mary Faugh, the old bawd. Antony Nixon, in _The Black Year_, 1606,
speaks of the play as "corrupting English conditions";[19] but Nixon's
protest went for little. In December 1613 _The Dutch Courtezan_ was
acted at Court (Cunningham's _Extracts from the Accounts of the
Revels_, p. xliv.). Having received some alterations at the hands of
Betterton, it was revived in 1680 under the title of _The Revenge, or
A Match in Newgate_.
A singularly fresh and delightful study of city-life is the comedy of
_Eastward Ho_, published in 1605. Three dramatists combined to
produce this genial masterpiece--Chapman, Jonson, and Marston. It
seems to have been written shortly after James' accession, when the
hungry Scots were swarming southwards in quest of preferment.
Englishmen were justly indignant at the favours bestowed by James on
these Scotch adventurers, and a passage in _Eastward Ho_ stated
the grievance very plainly. "You shall live freely there" [_i.e._, in
Virginia], says Seagull, "without sergeants, or courtiers, or lawyers,
or intelligencers, only a _few_ industrious Scots, perhaps, who,
indeed, are dispersed over the face of the whole earth. But as for
them, there are no greater friends to Englishmen and England, when
they are out on't, in the world, than they are. And for my part, I
would a hundred thousand of 'hem were there, for we are all one
countrymen now, ye know; and we should find ten times more comfort of
them there than we do here." At the instance of Sir James Graham, one
of James' newly-created knights, the playwrights were committed to
prison[20] for their abuse of the Scots, and the report went that
their ears were to be cut and their noses slit. Ben Jonson told
Drummond that he had not contributed the objectionable matter, and
that he voluntarily imprisoned himself with Chapman and Marston, who
"had written it amongst them." After his release from prison Jonson
gave a banquet to "all his friends," Camden and Selden being among the
guests. In the middle of the banquet his old mother drank to him and
produced a paper containing "lusty strong poison," which she had
intended, if the sentence had been confirmed, to take to the prison
and mix in his drink; and she declared--to show "that she was no
churl"--that "she minded first to have drunk of it herself." The
passage about the Scots is found only in some copies of the 4tos; in
others it was expunged. Scotch pride seems to have been easily
wounded. On 15th April, 1598, George Nicolson, the English agent at
the Scotch Court, writing from Edinburgh to Lord Burghley, stated that
"it is regretted that the Comedians of London should scorn the king
and the people of this land in their play; and it is wished that the
matter be speedily amended, lest the king and the country be stirred
to anger" (_Cal. of State Papers, Scotland_, ii. 749). Certainly the
reflections in _Eastward Ho_ have somewhat more of bitterness than
banter; but one would have thought that the favoured Scots about the
Court would be content to let the matter pass. Sir James Murray was
the person who acted as _delator_, and it is not improbable that he
found in the play some uncomplimentary allusions to himself, in
addition to the sweeping satire on his countrymen. In the first scene
of the fourth act there is a curious passage which has no point unless
we suppose that it is directed against some particular courtier:
"_1st Gent._ I ken the man weel; he's one of my thirty pound knights.
"_2d Gent._ No, no, this is he that stole his knighthood o' the grand
day for four pound given to a page; all the money in's purse, I wot
well."
Satirical references to King James' knights, the men who purchased
knighthood from the king, are as common as blackberries; but in the
present passage there must be a covert allusion to some person who
procured the honour by an unworthy artifice, and I suspect that the
allusion is to Sir James Murray. It is surprising that, when the
reflections on the Scots were expunged, the passage in iv. 1 was
allowed to stand; for, whether Sir James Murray was or was not
personally ridiculed, the mimicry of James' Scotch accent is
unmistakeable. Perhaps the king joined in the laugh against himself,
when the play was acted before him by the Lady Elizabeth's Servants at
Whitehall on 25th January 1613-4 (Cunningham's _Extracts from the
Account of the Revels_, p. xliv.).
Of the merits of _Eastward Ho_ it would be difficult to speak too
highly. To any who are in need of a pill to purge melancholy this racy
old comedy may be safely commended. Few readers, after once making his
acquaintance, will forget Master Touchstone, the honest shrewd old
goldsmith, rough of speech at times but ever gentle at heart, thrifty
to outward show but bountiful as the sun in May: he lives in our
affections with Orlando Friscobaldo and Simon Eyre. Quicksilver, the
rowdy prentice, dazed from last night's debauch, reciting in a thick
voice stale scraps of Jeronymo as he reels about Master Touchstone's
shop, heedless of the maxims of temperance which frown in print from
the walls; Golding, the well-conducted prentice, the apple of his
master's eye, armed at all points with virtue and sobriety; Gertrude,
the goldsmith's extravagant daughter, with her magnificent visions of
coaches, and castles, and cherries at an angel a pound; Mildred, her
sister, simple and dutiful; Mistress Touchstone, who has been infected
with Gertrude's vanity, but quickly learns penitence in the school of
necessity; Sir Petronel Flash, the shifty knight, eager to escape from
creditors and serjeants to the new-found land of Virginia; Security,
the blood-sucker and egregious gull:--all these characters, and the
list is not exhausted, stand limned in all the warmth of life. Mr.
Swinburne, in his masterly essay on Chapman, says with truth that "in
no play of the time do we get such a true taste of the old city life
so often turned to mere ridicule by playwrights of less good humour,
or feel about us such a familiar air of ancient London as blows
through every scene."
It is very certain that Marston could never have written single-handed
so rich and genial a play. In all Marston's comedies there is a strong
alloy of bitterness; we are never allowed to rise from the comic feast
with a pleasant taste in the mouth. What precise share Marston had in
_Eastward Ho_ it would be difficult to determine with any approach to
certainty. In the very first scene (vol. iii. p. 8) we come across a
passage which is distinctly in Marston's manner:--
"I am entertained among gallants, true; they call me cousin Frank,
right; I lend them monies, good; they spend it well."
Compare a passage of _The Fawn_ (vol. ii. p. 181):--
"His brother your husband, right; he cuckold his eldest brother, true;
he get her with child, just."
But in the same opening scene there are equally unmistakable signs of
Jonson's presence. Touchstone says of Golding:--"He is a gentleman,
though my prentice ...; well friended, _well parted_." The curious
expression "_well parted_" will be at once recognised as Jonsonian by
the vigilant reader, who will remember how Macilente, in "The
Characters of the Persons" prefixed to _Every Man out of his
Humour_,[21] is described as "A man _well parted_, a sufficient
scholar," &c. Jonson and Marston worked on the first scene together;
and it seems to me that throughout the first two acts we have the
mixed work of these two writers. In the second scene of the third act,
as Mr. Swinburne notices, Chapman's hand is clearly seen in the quaint
allusion to "the ship of famous Draco." Quicksilver's moralising, in
iv. 1, after he has scrambled ashore at Wapping on the night of the
drunken shipwreck, is again in Chapman's manner; but his elaborate
devices for blanching copper and sweating angels (later in the
same scene) must, without the shadow of a doubt, be ascribed to the
invention of the author of _The Alchemist_. It would be of doubtful
advantage to pursue the inquiry at length.
_Eastward Ho_ was revived at Drury Lane on Lord Mayor's day 1751,
under the title of _The Prentices_ (n. d. 12mo), and again in 1775
under the title of _Old City Manners_. Hogarth is said to have drawn
from _Eastward Ho_ the plan of his prints _The Industrious and Idle
Prentices_. Nahum Tate's farce _Cuckold's Haven_, published in 1685,
is drawn partly from _Eastward Ho_ and partly from _The Devil is an
Ass_.
_Parasitaster, or the Fawn_, published in 1606, takes us again to
Italy, and once more we have to listen to a satirical exposure of the
courtiers' vices and follies. In spite of occasional tediousness the
play is interesting. Dulcimel, Gonzago's witty daughter, who gulls her
self-conceited old father by a pretended discovery of Tiberio's love
for her, and succeeds by her blandishments in converting the young
misogynist into a perfervid wooer, is a delightfully attractive
heroine. The stratagem employed by Dulcimel is of ancient date: it is
found in Terence's _Adelphi_, Boccaccio's _Decameron_ (third tale of
the third day), and Molière's _L'École des Maris_. I am half inclined
to suspect that Marston was slily glancing at the "wise fool" King
James in the person of the silly and pedantic Gonzago; and it is
probable that some social scandals of the time afforded material for
the description of the intrigues of Gonzago's courtiers. Granuffo, who
gains a reputation for wisdom by never opening his mouth, might
possibly be made an amusing character by an actor skilled in facial
contortions; but the humour of the thing is not very apparent in
print. Signior No in the _Noble Spanish Soldier_ (attributed to Samuel
Rowley, though the play may properly belong to Dekker), and Littleword
in Nabbes' _Covent Garden_, are somewhat similar characters. The
address _To the Equal Reader_, prefixed to _Parasitaster_, is
excellently written, and exhibits Marston in a very pleasant light.
"For mine own interest for once," he writes, with a frankness which is
not without a touch of pathos, "let this be printed,--that of men of
my own addiction I love most, pity some, hate none; for let me truly
say it, I once only loved myself, for loving them, and surely I shall
ever rest so constant to my first affection, that let their ungentle
combinings, discourteous whisperings, never so treacherously labour to
undermine my unfenced reputation, I shall (as long as I have being)
love the least of their graces and only pity the greatest of their
vices." A candid and creditable avowal, but, alas, "words is wind and
wind is mutable." In the second edition there follows a briefer
address, in which the writer promises to "present a tragedy which
shall boldly abide the most curious perusal;" and from a marginal note
we learn that the tragedy of _Sophonisba_, published in 1606, was the
work which was so boldly to challenge criticism. It is to be feared
that this cherished offspring of Marston's imagination will not be
regarded with affection by many readers. For hideous blood-curdling
realism the description of the witch Erictho and her cave is, I
venture to think, without a parallel in literature. Tough as whipcord
must have been the nerves of an audience which could listen patiently
to the recital of Erictho's atrocities. If there were any women of
delicate health among the audience, a repetition of the mishaps
connected with the performance of the _Eumenides_ must surely have
been unavoidable. Regarded, however, as a whole, the play is not
impressive. Sophonisba is a fearless and magnanimous heroine, but her
temper is too masculine; she talks too much and too bluntly, and is
too fond of striking an attitude. Syphax, the villain of the play, is
so prodigiously brutal as to appear perfectly grotesque; and the hero
Massinissa bores us by his trite moral reflections. Marston strove to
produce a stately tragedy, and was under the impression that his
efforts had been crowned with success; but candid readers will judge
the performance to be stiff and crude, wanting in energy and dramatic
movement, too rhetorical, "climbing to the height of Seneca his
style." In the prefatory address he has a hit at _Sejanus_ (to which
in the previous year he had contributed a copy of eulogistic verses),
informing us that "to transcribe authors, quote authorities, and
translate Latin prose orations into English blank verse, hath, in this
subject, been the least aim of my studies." But _Sejanus_ has
certainly not less of dramatic interest than _Sophonisba_, and in
other respects it is far superior.
In 1607 was published the comedy of _What You Will_ (written, I
suspect, shortly after the appearance of _Cynthia's Revels_), which is
largely indebted for its plot to Plautus's _Amphitruo_. In the
Induction, Marston again has his fling at Ben Jonson. Philomusus'
heated denunciation of censorious critics,
"Believe it, Doricus, his spirit
Is higher blooded than to quake and pant
At the report of Scoff's artillery," &c.,
was evidently written in derisive mimicry of Jonson's scornful
addresses to the audience; and Doricus' remonstrance,
"Now out upon't, I wonder what tight brain
Wrung in this custom to maintain contempt
'Gainst common censure," &c.,
was unquestionably intended as a stiff rebuke to Jonson's towering
arrogance. But these strokes of personal satire are not confined to
the Induction. Quadratus' scathing ridicule of Lampatho Doria, in the
first scene of the second act, was certainly aimed at some adversary
of Marston's; and there can be little doubt that this adversary was
Ben Jonson. Lampatho is described in the following terms by his
admirer Simplicius Faber:--
"Monsieur Laverdure, do you see that gentleman? He goes but in black
satin, as you see, but, by Helicon! he hath a cloth of tissue wit. He
breaks a jest;[22] ha, he'll rail against the court till the
gallants--O God! he is very nectar: if you but sip of his love, you
were immortal." At first Lampatho speaks the language of an affected
gallant; it is nothing but "protest" with him. Quadratus is disgusted
with him:--
"A fusty cask
Devote to mouldy customs of hoary eld."
After listening to much abuse, Lampatho turns on his assailant:--
"So Phoebus warm my brain, I'll rhyme thee dead.
Look for the satire: if all the sour juice
Of a tart brain can souse thy estimate,
I'll pickle thee."
The threat only irritates Quadratus the more:--
"Why, you Don Kinsayder!
Thou canker-eaten rusty cur, thou snaffle
To freer spirits!
Think'st thou a libertine, an ungyved breast,
Scorns not the shackles of thy envious clogs?
You will traduce us unto public scorn?"
Curious that Marston should apply his own _nom de plume_ "Kinsayder"
to the adversary whom he is bullying! In the _Scourge of Villainy_ he
sneered at his own poem _Pygmalion_, and here he is referring
contemptuously to his own achievements in satire. A man who openly
ridicules himself blunts the edge of an enemy's sarcasm.
We have seen (p. xxxiii.) that Crites' bitter abuse of Anaides and
Hedon (_i.e._, Marston and Dekker), in _Cynthia's Revels_, was flung
back in Jonson's face by Dekker. Marston puts into the mouth of
Quadratus a speech, modelled closely on those lines of Crites:--
"_Lam._ O sir, you are so square, you scorn reproof."
"_Qua._ No, sir; should discreet Mastigophorus,
Or the dear spirit acute Canaidus
(That Aretine, that most of me beloved,
Who in the rich esteem I prize his soul,
I term myself); should these once menace me,
Or curb my humour with well-govern'd check,
I should with most industrious regard,
Observe, abstain, and curb my skipping lightness;
But when an arrogant, odd, impudent,
A blushless forehead, only out of sense
Of his own wants, bawls in malignant questing
At others' means of waving gallantry,--
Pight foutra!"
Who "discreet Mastigophorus" and "acute Canaidus" were it would be
useless to conjecture. But it is not to be doubted that Quadratus'
abuse of Lampatho was levelled at Ben Jonson; and that Marston was
avenging himself in this way for the insults showered upon him by
Jonson. In iv. 1, Quadratus sneers at Lampatho's verse. Lampatho
threatens to be revenged. "How, prithee?" says Quadratus; "in a play?
Come, come, be sociable."
The tragedy of _The Insatiate Countess_ was published in 1613, with
Marston's name on the title-page. In the Duke of Devonshire's library
there is a copy,[23] dated 1616, with no name on the title-page. The
play was reprinted in 1631, and Marston's name is found on the
title-page of most copies of that edition; but the Duke of Devonshire
possesses a copy,[24] in which the author's name is given as William
Barksteed. In the collected edition of Marston's plays, 1633, _The
Insatiate Countess_ is not included. It is therefore clear that
Marston's authorship is not established by external evidence. When we
come to examine the play itself, which has unfortunately descended in
a most corrupt state, the difficulty is not removed. Two picturesque
lines at the close of the last scene,
"Night, like a masque, is enter'd heaven's great hall,
With thousand torches ushering the way,"
are found verbatim in Barksteed's poem _Myrrha_. We know little of
Barksteed, but it is probable that he is to be identified with the
William Barksted, or Backsted, who was one of Prince Henry's players
in August 1611 (Collier's _Memoirs of Edward Alleyn_, p. 98), and
belonged to the company of the Prince Palatine's players in March
1615-6 (_ibid._, p. 126). He is the author of two poems,[25] which
display some graceful fancy (though the subject of the first is
ill-chosen),--_Myrrha the Mother of Adonis_, 1607, and _Hiren and the
Fair Greek_, 1611. As we read _The Insatiate Countess_ we cannot fail
to notice passages containing a richness of fancy, and a musical
fluency of expression, to which Marston's undoubted plays afford no
parallel. The italicised lines are certainly not in Marston's vein:--
"Like to the lion when he hears the sound
_Of Dian's bowstring in some shady wood_,
I should have couched my lowly limb on earth
_And held my silence a proud sacrifice_."
"Others, compared to her, show like faint stars
_To the full moon of wonder in her face_."
Again: the play contains an unusually large number of imitations of
Shakespearean passages. In fact I know no play of this early date in
which Shakespeare is so persistently imitated or plagiarised. Again
and again we find images and expressions borrowed more or less closely
from _Hamlet_. Shakespeare's historical plays, too, were laid
under contribution. In the very first scene we have these lines:--
"Slave, I will fight with thee at any odds;
Or name an instrument fit for destruction,
That e'er was made to make away a man,
I'll meet thee on the ridges of the Alps,
Or some inhospitable wilderness."
A very cool piece of plagiarism from _Richard II_. (i. 1):--
"Which to maintain I would allow him odds
And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot
Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps
Or any other ground inhabitable."
In the lines,
"The ghosts of misers that imprison'd gold
Within _the harmless bowels of the earth_,"
the italicised words were unquestionably suggested by a passage of
Hotspur's famous speech in _Henry IV._, i. 2,--
"That villainous salt-petre should be digg'd
Out of _the bowels of the harmless earth_."
When Don Sago in iv. 3 exclaims--
"A hundred times in life a coward dies,"
we are immediately reminded of Shakespeare's _Julius Cæsar_ (ii.
2),
"Cowards die many times before their death;"
and Sago's lament in v. 1,
"Although ... the waves of all the Northern sea
Should flow for ever through these guilty hands,
Yet the sanguinolent stain would extant be,"
decidedly smacks of _Macbeth_. Occasionally, it is true, Marston does
not scruple to borrow from Shakespeare, but in none of his plays are
the Shakespearean echoes so clear and frequent as in _The Insatiate
Countess_. The text, as I have said, is extremely corrupt, and the
confusion among the _dramatis personæ_ is perplexing to the last
degree (see note, vol. iii. p. 154). I suspect that Marston, on
entering the church, left this tragedy in a fragmentary state, and
that it was completed by the actor Barksteed. The whole interest
centres in the beautiful and sinful Isabella, whose wayward glances,
as she moves in splendour, fascinate all beholders; who is indeed a
"glorious devil" without shame or pity, boundless and insatiable as
the sea in the enormity of her caprices.
In addition to his plays, his poem of _Pygmalion_, and his satires,
Marston wrote a Latin pageant on the occasion of the visit paid by the
King of Denmark to James I. in 1606, and an entertainment, which is
not without elegance, in honour of a visit paid by the Dowager
Countess of Derby to her son-in-law and daughter, Lord and Lady
Huntingdon, at Ashby. I strongly doubt whether _The Mountebank's
Masque_, performed at Court in February 1616-17 (when Marston was
attending to his clerical duties in Hampshire), has been correctly
assigned to Marston.
There are two anonymous plays[26] in which Marston's hand is plainly
discernible,--_Histriomastix_, published in 1610, and _Jack Drum's
Entertainment_, published in 1616. It has been mentioned (see note, p.
xxxii.) that Jonson in _Every Man out of his Humour_ puts into Clove's
mouth, with the object of ridiculing Marston, words and expressions
found in _Histriomastix_ (coupling them with flowers of speech culled
from _The Scourge of Villainy_), and even mentions the play by
name--"as you may read in Plato's _Histriomastix_." Only in a few
scenes of _Histriomastix_ can Marston's hand be detected. It is a
poor semi-allegorical play, a clumsy piece of patchwork. Marston's
additions must have been made before Christmas 1599 (when _Every Man
out of his Humour_ was produced), on the occasion of some revival. The
following lines, which occur early in the second act, seem to refer to
Ben Jonson:--
"How, you translating scholar? You can make
A stabbing satire or an epigram,
And think you carry just Rhamnusia's whip
To lash the patient! go, get you clothes:
Our free-born blood such apprehension loathes."
_Jack Drum's Entertainment_, an indifferent comedy, which appears to
have been written about the year 1600,[27] bears the clearest traces
of Marston's early style. All the monstrous phraseology of _The
Scourge of Villainy_ and _Antonio and Mellida_ is seen here in
perfection. When Jonson in _The Poetaster_ (v. 1) ridiculed Marston's
absurd vocabulary, he selected, _inter alia_, for castigation, some
expressions which occur only in _Jack Drum_, and are not found (in so
closely parallel a form) in the works published under Marston's name:
clear proof that the authorship of this play is to be ascribed, at
least in part if not entirely, to Marston. In act iii. of _Jack Drum_
we have--
"Crack not the sinews of my patience,"
which is ridiculed in _The Poetaster_--
"As if his organons of sense would crack
The sinews of my patience."
In act ii. are these ridiculous lines--
"Let clumsy chilblain'd gouty wits
Bung up their chief contents within the hoops
Of a stuff'd dry-fat;"
so in _The Poetaster_--
"Upon that puft-up lump of barmy froth,
Or clumsy chilblain'd judgment."
In act iv. Planet's reflections on the arrogant Old Brabant are
clearly directed against Jonson.
Collier in his _Memoirs of Edward Alleyn_ (p. 154) printed a letter of
Marston to Henslowe; but, as "the whole letter is manifestly a
forgery, having been first traced in pencil, the marks of which are in
places still visible" (Warner's _Catalogue of Dulwich Manuscripts and
Muniments_, p. 49), this relic is of no interest. Another letter,
addressed to Lord Kimbolton by a "John Marston,"[28] is printed in
Collier's _Shakespeare_[29] (i. 179, ed. 1858); but as it was written
in 1641, the writer could not have been the dramatist, who died in
1634. Among the additional MSS. (14,824-6) in the British Museum is a
poem entitled _The New Metamorphosis, or a Feast of Fancy or Poetical
Legends ... Written by J. M., Gent._, 1600, which has been, not very
wisely, ascribed to Marston. I must confess that I have only a
superficial acquaintance with this poem; but, as the work fills nearly
nine hundred closely-packed pages, I trust that my confession will not
be severely criticised. After the title-page is a leaf containing the
arguments of books i.-vi.; then comes a new title-page _An Iliad of
Metamorphosis or the Arraignment of Vice_, followed by a dialogue
between Cupid and Momus. Six lines headed "The Author to his Book"
follow the dialogue, and then comes "The Epistle Dedicatory,"
consisting of a couple of lines--
"To Momus, that same ever-carping mate,
And unto Cupid I this dedicate."
After the commendably brief epistle come two lines which inform us
that--
"My name is French, to tell you in a word;
Yet came not in with conquering William's sword."
(Marston's name was certainly not French; it was a good old Shropshire
name.) The prologue begins thus:--
"Upon the public stage to Albion's eye
I here present my new-born poesy,
Not with vain-glory puft to make it known,
Nor Indian-like with feathers not mine own
To deck myself, as many use to do;
To filching lines I am a deadly foe," &c.
Presently the poet indulges in his invocation:--
"Matilda fair, guide you my wand'ring quill!"
Having turned some thirty thousand verses off the reel, "J. M., Gent."
abruptly concludes, with the remark,--
"My leave I here of poetry do take,
For I have writ until my hand doth ache."
There is a fine field for an editor in _The New Metamorphosis_; virgin
soil, I warrant.
Manningham in his _Diary_, under date 21st November 1602, has been at
the pains to record a _bon mot_ of Marston:--"Jo. Marstone, the last
Christmas, when he daunct with Alderman Mores wives daughter, a
Spaniard borne, fell into a strange commendation of hir witt and
beauty. When he had done she thought to pay him home, and told him,
she _thought_ he was a poet. 'Tis true, said he, for poets feigne and
lye, and soe did I, when I commended your beauty, for you are
exceeding foule." Not a very witty saying, and not very polite.
In 1633, William Sheares the publisher issued, in 1 vol. sm. 8vo, _The
Workes_[30] _of Mr. John Marston, being Tragedies and Comedies
collected into one volume_ containing the two parts of _Antonio and
Mellida_, _Sophonisba_, _What You Will_, _The Fawn_, and _The Dutch
Courtezan_. The following dedicatory epistle to Viscountess Falkland,
in which the publisher insists on the modesty (save the mark!) of
Marston's Muse, is found in some copies:--
"TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE LADY ELIZABETH
CAREY, VISCOUNTESS FALKLAND.
"Many opprobies and aspersions have not long since been cast upon
Plays in general, and it were requisite and expedient that they
were vindicated from them; but, I refer that task to those whose
leisure is greater, and learning more transcendent. Yet, for my
part, I cannot perceive wherein they should appear so vile and
abominable, that they should be so vehemently inveighed against.
Is it because they are PLAYS? The name, it seems, somewhat
offends them; whereas, if they were styled WORKS, they might have
their approbation also. I hope that I have now somewhat pacified
that precise sect, by reducing all our Author's several Plays
into one volume, and so styled them THE WORKS OF MR. JOHN
MARSTON, who was not inferior unto any in this kind of writing,
in those days when these were penned; and, I am persuaded, equal
unto the best poets of our times. If the lines be not answerable
to my encomium of him, yet herein bear with him, because they
were his JUVENILIA and youthful recreations. Howsoever, he is
free from all obscene speeches, which is the chief cause that
makes Plays to be so odious unto most men. He abhors such
writers, and their works; and hath professed himself an enemy to
all such as stuff their scenes with ribaldry, and lard their
lines with scurrilous taunts and jests; so that, whatsoever, even
in the spring of his years, he hath presented upon the private
and public theatre, now, in his autumn and declining age, he need
not be ashamed of. And, were it not that he is so far distant
from this place, he would have been more careful in revising the
former impressions, and more circumspect about this, than I can.
In his absence, Noble Lady, I have been emboldened to present
these WORKS unto your Honour's view; and the rather, because your
Honour is well acquainted with the Muses. In brief, Fame hath
given out that your Honour is the mirror of your sex, the
admiration, not only of this island, but of all adjacent
countries and dominions, which are acquainted with your rare
virtues and endowments. If your Honour shall vouchsafe to accept
this work, I, with my book, am ready pressed and bound to be
"Your truly devoted,
"WILLIAM SHEARES."
Ben Jonson's copy of the 1633 edition of Marston's plays is preserved
in the Dyce Library at South Kensington.
Marston's literary career barely covers a space of ten years: his
satires were published in 1598, and he seems to have entered the
Church, and to have abandoned the writing of plays, about the year
1607. It is hard to picture Marston as a preacher of the Gospel of
Glad Tidings. Were we to judge him by his writings we should say that
he was a scornful spirit, at strife with himself and with the world; a
man convinced of the hollowness of present life, and yet not looking
forward hopefully to any future sphere of activity; only anxious to
drop into the jaws of that oblivion which he invoked in his verse and
courted even on his gravestone. There was another, a greater than
Marston, who began by writing satires and ended by writing sermons.
Marston's sermons have perished, but the sermons of John Donne,[31]
Dean of St. Paul's, are imperishable. At the thought of that oblivion
for which Marston hungered the soul of Donne turned sick. "It is a
fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." Fearful
indeed; but "_to fall out of the hands of the living God_," said Donne
in a sermon preached before the Earl of Carlisle, "is a horror beyond
our expression, beyond our imagination." In a strain of marvellous
eloquence he proceeds; and surely no utterance of poet or divine is
more pitiful and passionate than this cry wrung from the heart of the
great Dean Donne:--
"That God should let my soul fall out of His hand into a
bottomless pit and roll an unremovable stone upon it, ... and
never think more of that soul, never have more to do with it;
that of that providence of God, that studies the life of every
weed, and worm, and ant, and spider, and toad, and viper, there
should never, never any beam flow out upon me; that that God, who
looked upon me, when I was nothing, and called me when I was not,
as though I had been, out of the womb and depth of darkness, will
not look upon me now, when, though a miserable, and a banished,
and a damned creature, yet I am His creature still, and
contribute something to His glory, even in my damnation; that
that God, who hath often looked upon me in my foullest
uncleanness, and when I had shut out the eye of the day, the sun,
and the eye of the night, the taper, and the eyes of all the
world, with curtains and windows and doors, did yet see me, and
see me in mercy, by making me see that He saw me, and sometimes
brought me to a present remorse and (for that time) to a
forbearing of that sin, should so turn Himself from me to His
glorious Saints and Angels, as that no Saint nor Angel nor Christ
Jesus Himself should ever pray Him to look towards me, never
remember Him that such a soul there is; that that God,--who hath
so often said to my soul _Quare morieris_? Why wilt thou die? and
so often sworn to my soul _Vivit Dominus_, As the Lord liveth I
would not have thee die but live,--will neither let me die nor
let me live, but die an everlasting life and live an everlasting
death; that that God, who when He could not get into me by
standing and knocking, by His ordinary means of entering, by His
word, His mercies, hath applied His judgments and hath shaked the
house, this body, with agues and palsies, and set this house on
fire with fevers and calentures, and frighted the master of the
house, my soul, with horrors and heavy apprehensions, and so made
an entrance into me; that that God should frustrate all His own
purposes and practises upon me, and leave me and cast me away, as
though I had cost Him nothing; that this God at last should let
this soul go away, as a smoke, as a vapour, as a bubble, and that
then this soul cannot be a smoke, a vapour, nor a bubble, but
must lie in darkness, as long as the Lord of light is light
itself, and never spark of that light reach to my soul: what
Tophet is not Paradise, what brimstone is not amber, what
gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a
tickling, what torment is not a marriage-bed to this damnation,
to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of
God!"
[1] Add. MS. 24,487 ("Chorus Vatum").
[2] Grosart's _Introduction_ to Marston's _Poems_, 1879
(privately printed).
[3] Elizabeth Guarsi, the poet's grandmother, on the death of her
husband, Andrew Guarsi, had married John Butler of Wardington,
co. Oxon.
[4] I have to thank the Dean of Winchester for supplying me, from
the books of the Dean and Chapter of Winchester, with the date of
Marston's presentation. The date of his resignation had been
previously communicated to me by Dr. Brinsley Nicholson, who
procured it from the Diocesan Registry, Winchester.
[5] The will was printed in Halliwell's preface to his edition of
Marston. Dr. Grosart gives a literatim copy (which I have
followed) collated by Col. Chester with the original.
[6] An abstract of her will, communicated by Col. Chester, is
printed in Dr. Grosart's _Introduction_ (p. xxiv.). To her
"reverend Pastor Master Edward Calamy"--the famous puritan
minister, _Edmund_ Calamy--she leaves "6 angels as a token
of my respect."
[7] _Pygmalion's Image_ was republished, without the
satires, in 1613 and 1628, in a volume containing the anonymous
poem _Alcilia_ and S. P.'s [Samuel Page's?] _Amos and
Laura_.
[8] In the epigram he refers to the _nom de plume_
"Kinsayder" which Marston had adopted, and we learn that it was
derived from the "kinsing" (cutting the tails?) of dogs. It is to
be noticed that the name "Kinsayder" does not occur in the
_Pygmalion_ volume. The dedicatory verses to "The World's
Mighty Monarch, Good Opinion," are merely subscribed with the
initials "W. K." We first find the full name "W. Kinsayder" in
the address "To those that seem judicial perusers," prefixed to
_The Scourge of Villainy_.
[9] The title shows Hall was the original aggressor (at least in
Marston's opinion). Guilpin in the sixth satire of
_Skialetheia_ alludes to Marston's "Reactio" in a somewhat
enigmatic manner. See note, vol. iii. p. 287.
[10] Both _The Whipping_ and _The Whipper_ are
exceedingly rare. Sir Charles Isham, Bart., of Lamport Hall,
possesses a little volume (the loan of which I gratefully
acknowledge) which contains these two tracts and Nicholas
Breton's _No Whipping No Tripping_.
[11] Dr. Nicholson suggests that the character of Furor Poeticus
in this play was intended as a satirical portrait of Marston. The
suggestion is very plausible.
[12] "This should be _town_. To _bring to town_ = to
bring home."--P. A. Daniel. (I prefer the old reading.)
[13] There were really two separate editions of the unrevised
play published in 1604. I too hastily assumed that the copy in
the Dyce Library was identical with the copy in the British
Museum, apart from such textual variations as are frequently
found in copies of the same impression of an old play; but I have
since discovered that the two copies belong to separate editions.
The title of the enlarged edition is curious: _The Malcontent.
Augmented by Marston. With the Additions played by the Kings
Maiesties Servants. Written by Ihon Webster._ Slovenly wording
and vicious punctuation.
John Davies of Hereford, in the _Scourge of Folly_ (1611?),
has the following epigram on _The Malcontent_:--
"_To acute Mr. John Marston._
"Thy _Malcontent_ or Malcontentedness
Hath made thee change thy muse, as some do guess;
If time misspent make her a malcontent
Thou need'st not then her timely change repent.
The end will show it; meanwhile do but please
With virtuous pains as erst thou didst with ease,
Thou shalt be praised and kept from want and woe;
So blest are crosses that do bless us so."
[14] Perhaps some sage commentator of the future will tell us
that Syphax in _Sophonisba_ was intended as a satirical
portrait of Ben.
[15] It is hard to see why Jonson should be ridiculed for using
these epithets. Marston uses two of them ("real" and "Delphic")
himself.
[16] We have "Port Esquiline" twice in the _Scourge of
Villainy_; but the very phrase _Paunch of Esquiline_ occurs in
_Histriomastix_ (Simpson's _School of Shakspere_, ii. 51), an
anonymous play which undoubtedly contains some of Marston's work.
"Zodiac," "ecliptic line," "demonstrate," and "tropics" are also
found in _Histriomastix_ (_ibid._ ii. 25-6); they are not in
Marston's satires. The other words will be found in the _Scourge
of Villainy_.
[17] Of _Histriomastix_ I shall have to speak later.
[18] Dekker's _Works_ (Pearson's Reprint), i. 195.
[19] "Some booksellers this year," says Nixon, "shall not have
cause to boast of their winnings, for that many write that flow
with phrases and yet are barren in substance, and such are
neither wise nor witty; others are so concise that you need a
commentary to understand them, others have good wits but so
critical that they arraign other men's works at the tribunal seat
of every censurious Aristarch's understanding, when their own are
sacrificed in Paul's Churchyard for bringing in the _Dutch
Courtezan_ to corrupt English conditions and sent away
westward for carping both at court, city, and country. For they
are so sudden-witted that a flea can no sooner frisk forth but
they must needs comment on her."
[20] Among the Hatfield MSS. is a letter (communicated to Gifford
by the elder Disraeli), dated "1605," of Ben Jonson to Lord
Salisbury, in which Jonson writes that he had been committed to
prison unexamined and unheard, "and with me a gentleman (whose
name may perhaps have come to your lordship), one Mr. George
Chapman, a learned and honest man," for introducing into a play
some matter which had given offence. With much warmth he declares
that, since his "first error," he had been scrupulously careful
not to write anything against which objection could be taken.
Gifford assumed that "first error" referred to _Eastward
Ho_, and that Jonson was suffering for another offence when
the letter was written. What the "first error" was cannot be
determined with certainty, for it is not improbable that Jonson
was frequently in trouble. It is quite possible that the letter
was written when Jonson and Chapman were in prison on the
_Eastward Ho_ charge. Jonson may have written on Chapman's
behalf and his own, leaving Marston to shift for himself. But
such conduct would have been ungenerous; and I prefer to adopt
Gifford's view that the imprisonment of which the letter
complains was not connected with _Eastward Ho_. Besides, the
satirical reflections on the Scots, and any particular allusions
to Sir James Graham, would have been more pertinent in 1603 than
in 1605.
[21] In _Every Man out of his Humour_, iii. 3, we have:--
"Whereas let him be poor and meanly clad,
Though ne'er so richly _parted_," &c.
[22] The words "He [_i.e._, Lampatho] breaks a jest" have
the look of a stage-direction.
[23] _The Insatiate Countesse. London, Printed by N. O. for
Thomas Archer_, &c., 1616, 4to.
[24] The full title is [_The_] _Insatiate Covntesse. A
Tragedy: Acted, at White-Friers. Written, By William Barksteed.
London, Printed for Hvgh Perrie, and are to be sold at his shop
at the signe of the Harrow in Brittaines-Burse_. 1631. 4to.
[25] Reprinted in Dr. Grosart's valuable _Occasional
Issues_.
[26] These plays are printed in the second volume of Simpson's
_School of Shakspere_. I have not included them in this
edition of Marston; they are of little value and are easily
accessible. Marston's share in _Histriomastix_ was slight.
[27] See Simpson's _School of Shakespere_, ii. 127.
[28] Probably the Rev. John Marston, of St. Mary Magdalene,
Canterbury, who published in 1642 _A Sermon preached ... before
many ... Members of the House of Commons_.
[29] In his _Shakespeare_ Collier states that the letter was
written in 1605, and that it refers to the Gunpowder Plot; but in
his _Bibliographical Account_, 1. xxiv*, correcting his
former statement, he says that the letter was written in 1641,
and that it concerns the arrest of the Five Members.
[30] In some copies the author's name is not given, and the
title-page runs, _Tragedies and Comedies collected into one
volume, viz._ 1. _Antonio and Mellida._ 2. _Antonio's
Revenge._ 3. _The Tragedie of Sophonisba._ 4. _What You
Will._ 5. _The Fawne._ 6. _The Dutch Courtezan._
[31] Some verses, signed "Jo. Mar.," prefixed to Donne's
_Poems_, 1633, have been ascribed to Marston; but, as the
heading of the verses is "Hexasticon _Bibliopolæ_," and as
the publisher or _bibliopola_ was Jo[hn] Mar[riott],
Marston's claim can hardly be sustained.
ADDENDA.
Vol. i. page 13. "Blind Gew."--I have come upon a mention of this
actor in the fifth satire of Edward Guilpin's
_Skialetheia_, 1598:--
"But who's in yonder coach? my lord and fool,
One that for ape-tricks can put _Gue_ to school."
Guilpin's eleventh epigram is addressed "_To Gue_":--
"_Gue_, hang thyself for woe, since gentlemen
Are now grown cunning in thy apishness," &c.
Page 15, line 17. "_Heavy_ dryness."--I was wrong in
accepting the reading of ed. 1633 in preference to the
"_heathy_ dryness" of ed. 1602. _Heathy_ is a Marstonian
word; and we find it in act iv. of _Jack Drum's
Entertainment_:--
"Good faith, troth is they are all apes and gulls,
Vile imitating spirits, dry _heathy_ turfs."
Page 60, line 256. Dr. Nicholson proposes "Her _own_ heels,
God knows, _are not_ half so light"--a good emendation.
Page 239, line 21. "Distilled oxpith," &c.--We have a
similar list of provocatives in John Mason's _Turk_,
first published in 1610, but written some years
previously:--
"Here is a compound of Cantharides, diositerion, _marrow
of an ox_, _hairs of a lion_, stones of a goat,
_cock-sparrows' brains_, and such like." (_Sig. F. 3,
verso._)
Page 311, lines 88, 89. "Life is a frost ... vanity."--I
have discovered that these lines are from an epigram in
Thomas Bastard's _Chrestoleros_, 1598, sig. H. I quote
the epigram in full, as it is of striking solemnity:--
"When I behold with deep astonishment
To famous Westminster how there resort,
Living in brass or stony monument,
The princes and the worthies of all sort,
Do not I see reform'd nobility
Without contempt or pride or ostentation?
And look upon offenceless majesty
Naked of pomp or earthly domination?
And how a play-game of a painted stone
Contents the quiet now and silent sprites
Whom all the world, which late they stood upon,
Could not content nor squench [_sic_] their appetites?
_Life is a frost of cold felicity
And death the thaw of all our vanity._"
Vol. ii. page 355, line 274. Mr. P. A. Daniel suggests that for
"others' fate" we should read "adverse fate."
Vol. iii. page 51, lines 41-2. "_But a little higher, but a little
higher_," &c.--These lines are from a song of Campion,
beginning--
"Mistress, since you so much desire
To know the place of Cupid's fire," &c.
No. xvi. in Campion and Rosseter's _Book of Airs_, 1601.
They occur again in Campion's _Fourth Book of Airs_, No.
xxii.
Page 243, line 247. "Like Mycerinus," &c.--I notice that a
similar emendation is made, in a seventeenth century
hand, in the margin of one of Dyce's copies at South
Kensington. My emendation was printed before I discovered
that it had been anticipated.
ERRATA.
VOL. I.
Page 64, line 48, for _Tyrrian_ read _Tyrian_.
Page 120, note 2, for _Grumean_ read _Grumeau_.
Page 159, note 1, for "The star-led wisards _hasten_" read "The
star-led wisards _haste_."
Page 191, after "_Antonii Vindictæ_" the word "_Finis_" should be
added (_i.e._, "End of Antonio's Revenge").
VOL. II.
Page 125, note 2, after "_The Famous History of Fryer_" add
"_Bacon_."
Page 322, line 15, for "Sir Signior" read "Sir, Signior" (comma
after "Sir").
Page 363, for "Still _went_ on went I" read "Still on went I" (an
annoying blunder).
Page 394, lines 158-9, in "delicious, sweet" the comma should be
struck out, as "sweet" is doubtless to be taken as a
substantive.
VOL. III.
Page 3, five lines from the bottom, read "insists _on_ starting."
Page 342, note 2, in "Huc usque _of_ Xylinum" del. "of."
ADDITIONAL CORRECTIONS AND EMENDATIONS.
For the following corrections and emendations I am indebted to Mr. P.
A. Daniel. I am sorry that I did not have them earlier.
First I will correct the actual mistakes for which I must bear the
responsibility (in whole or part).
Vol. i., page xxxviii., line 11, for "Sir James Graham" read "Sir
James Murray."
Vol. i., page 26, line 205, for "The first thing he spake" read "The
first _word that_ he spake."
Vol. i., page 60, line 263, for "_in_ time to come" the old eds. read
"time to come." (I prefer "_in_ time," but should not have added
"_in_" silently.)
Vol. i., page 89, line 296, "His father's" [fathers] is the reading of
ed. 1602; but ed. 1633 gives "His father"--a better reading.
Vol. i., page 121, line 318, for "aspish" read "apish."
Vol. i., page 175, line 78, for "scorn'_d_" read "scorn'_t_."
Vol. ii., page 17, the stage-direction "_Enter_ COCLEDEMOY" is
superfluous.
Vol. ii., page 28, line 160, for "_feast_ o' grace" (where old eds.
give _fiest_) read "_fist_ o' grace," and compare page 42, line 58,
&c.
Vol. ii., page 32, line 33, for "not swaggering" read "not _of_
swaggering."
Vol. ii., page 109. The address should be headed "To _my_ Equal
Reader."
Vol. ii., page 197, line 417, for "show" read "sue" (the reading of
ed. 1633).
Vol. ii., page 213, line 92, delete "not."
Vol. ii., page 222, line 308, in "thy vice _from_ apparent here"
delete "from." (But query "thy vice from apparent heir"?)
Vol. ii., page 277, line 117, "All but Zanthia and Vangue depart."
Unquestionably these words are a stage-direction. They are printed as
part of the text in ed. 1633; but in ed. 1606 they are italicised, and
(though printed in the same line as "Withdraw, withdraw") evidently
form part of the previous stage-direction.
Vol. ii., page 328, for "For many debts" read "For many many debts."
Vol. ii., page 341, line 227, for "For" read "Fore."
Vol. ii., page 346, line 51, for "_hoary_ eld" ed. 1607 reads "hoard,"
and ed. 1633 "hoar'd." Probably the true reading is "hoar."
Vol. ii., page 369, lines 37-38. These lines have been transposed by
my printers; line 38 ("And those that rank," &c.) should stand before
line 37 ("Study a faint salute," &c.).
In the foregoing instances it is I who am chiefly to blame, and not
the old copies. I now come to Mr. Daniel's valuable emendations.
Vol. i., page 8, line 35, for "great" read "create" (an excellent
emendation).
Vol. i., page 32, line 56. Does not this speech belong to Feliche?
Vol. i., page 53, line 107. The prefix should be "_Cat_."
Vol. i., page 60, line 247. Add the stage-direction "_Exit_ ANTONIO."
Vol. i., page 70, line 182. Mr. Daniel suggests that for "_Spavento_"
(an awkward word here) we should read "_Speranza_."
Vol. i., page 110. "_Enter_ ANTONIO," &c.--Strike out the names of
Feliche and Forobosco.
Vol. i., page 128, line 107, for "How could he come on?" Mr. Daniel
proposes "How coldly he comes on!"
[Vol. i., page 142, line 2. In old eds. the line stands thus:--"Bout
heauens brow. (12) Tis now starke dead night." The bracketed "(12)" I
expanded into a stage-direction; but Mr. Swinburne suggests to me that
"the word 'twelve'--ejaculated by Antonio on hearing the clock
strike--is wanted for the metre." If we are to insert the word
"twelve" I should place it at the end of the line.]
Vol. i., page 145, line 54, for "The neat gay _mists_ of the light's
not up" Mr. Daniel suggests "The neat gay mistress," &c. (_i.e._,
Aurora)--an admirable emendation.
[Vol. i., page 150, line 190, for "swell thy _hour_ out" Mr. Swinburne
proposes "honour." If any change is needed I should prefer to read
"horror;" but "hour" frequently has a dissyllabic value.]
Vol. i., page 151, line 211, for "night-ghosts and graves" Mr. Daniel
would read "Night (_i.e._, good-night), ghosts and graves."
Vol. i., page 156, line 99, for "Why lags delay" Mr. Daniel would read
"Why, lags, delay?" taking lags as a substantive ("the sooty coursers
of the night").
Vol. i., page 158, line 41. I should have mentioned in a footnote that
"stirs" is an old form of "steers."
[Vol. i., page 172, line 22. Mr. Swinburne doubts whether my
correction "see" for "sir" is necessary, as the apostrophe "sir" or
"sirs" is occasionally found in a monologue.]
Vol. ii., page 9, line 54. Here, and in line 58, the prefix should be
"_Tys._"; and at line 62 Tysefew's _exit_ should be marked.
Vol. ii., page 16. At the bottom of the page should be marked "_Exit_
MARY," and at line 180 "_Exit_ COCLEDEMOY."
Vol. ii., page 86. "_Enter_ FRANCESCHINA," &c. Among those who enter
should be included "FREEVILLE _disguised_."
Vol. ii., page 93, line 46. "Ha, get you gone." It is a question
whether these words apply to Freeville's disguise or are addressed to
musicians. (In spite of line 32, "I bring some music," it is doubtful
whether there are any musicians on the stage.)
Vol. ii., page 139, line 111. "Nymphadoro, in direct phrase." Mr.
Daniel proposes (rightly) to read:-- "_Nym._ In direct phrase," &c.
Vol. ii., page 145, line 252. This speech should probably be given to
Herod.
Vol. ii., page 153, line 460. The prefix should doubtless be "_Zuc_."
Vol. ii., page 154, lines 477, 478. "And nose" should doubtless be
given to Hercules, and "And brain" to Zuccone.
Vol. ii., page 157, line 569. The old. eds give "Venice duke," but we
should read "Urbin's duke" (cf. page 226, line 444).
Vol. ii., page 171, line 299. Mr. Daniel suggests that we should place
a full stop after the word "speaks" and read "His signs to me and
_mien_ of profound reach."
Vol. ii., page 248, line 134. The words "No more: I bleed" appear to
belong to the wounded Carthalon.
Vol. ii., page 261, lines 21, 22. Query "bemoan'_t_" and
"revenge'_t_"?
Vol. ii., page 414, line 244, for "prolonged" Mr. Daniel ingeniously
suggests "prologued."
Vol. iii., page 214, line 78, for "faint" Mr. Daniel proposes
"feigned" (a certain emendation). In line 91, for "I resisted" he
proposes "if resisted."
Vol. iii., page 240, line 166, for "stung" Mr. Daniel proposes "stone."
Mr. Daniel sends me the following note on the plot of _What You
Will_:--
"A somewhat similar plot is found in _I Morti Vivi_,
Comedia, del molto excellente signore Sforza D'Oddi,
nell'Academia degli Insensati detto Forsennato, 1576. Oranta, a
lady of Naples, whose husband, Tersandro, is supposed drowned at
sea, is about to re-marry with Ottavio. Luigi, another suitor for
her hand, to hinder the marriage conspires with others to induce
one Iancola to personate Tersandro. Tersandro, however, has
escaped the sea, and arrives to find himself denied by his own
family (who have discovered Luigi's plot), and to be mistaken by
the conspirators themselves for Iancola. Tersandro's adventures
till his identity is established are somewhat similar to those of
Albano in _What You Will_.
"D'Oddi apparently derived many incidents of his plot from the
Greek romance of _Clitophon and Leucippe_, by Achilles
Tatius; as also did Anibal Caro for his comedy of _Gli
Straccioni_, 1582."
FIRST PART
OF
ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.
_The History of Antonio and Mellida. The first part. As it hath
beene sundry times acted, by the children of Paules. Written by I.
M. London Printed for Mathewe Lownes, and Thomas Fisher, and are
to be soulde in Saint Dunstans Church-yarde._ 1602. 4to.
STORY OF THE PLAY.
Andrugio, Duke of Genoa, being utterly defeated in a sea-fight by
Piero Sforza, Duke of Venice, and banished by the Genoways, conceals
himself, with Lucio (an old courtier) and a page, among the marshes
round Venice. Piero proclaims throughout Italy that whoever brings the
head of Andrugio or of Andrugio's son, Antonio (who is in love with
Piero's daughter, Mellida), shall receive a reward of twenty thousand
pistolets. Antonio disguises himself as an Amazon, and, obtaining an
interview with Mellida, announces that her lover has been drowned at
sea. The pretended Amazon is received as a guest in Piero's palace,
and there quickly discovers himself to Mellida. Arrangements are made
by the lovers to escape to England; but Piero gaining intelligence
(through a letter that Mellida has dropped) of the intended flight,
the plot is frustrated and Mellida escapes to the marshes in the
disguise of a page. While Piero is giving orders for Antonio's arrest,
a sailor rushes forward, pretending to be in hot pursuit of Antonio
towards the marshes. The pursuer is Antonio himself, who had assumed
the disguise of a sailor at the instance of Feliche, a high-minded
gentleman of the Venetian court. Piero gives the pretended sailor his
signet-ring that he may pass the watch and not be hindered in the
pursuit. Arrived at the marshes, Antonio, distracted with grief for
the fall of his father and for the loss of Mellida, flings himself
prostrate on the ground. Presently Andrugio approaches with Lucio and
the page, and a joyful meeting ensues between father and son. Andrugio
and Lucio retire to a cave which they had fitted up as a dwelling, and
Antonio, promising to quickly rejoin them, stays to hear a song from
Andrugio's page. Meanwhile Mellida, disguised as a page, approaches
unobserved, and hearing her name passionately pronounced, recognises
the sailor as Antonio. She discovers herself to her lover, and after a
brief colloquy despatches him across the marsh to observe whether any
pursuers are in sight. Hardly has Antonio departed when Piero and his
followers come up, and Mellida is drawn from a thicket where she had
concealed herself. Piero hastens back to the court with his daughter,
whom he resolves to marry out of hand to Galeatzo, son of the Duke of
Florence. Antonio, returning in company with Andrugio and Lucio to the
spot where he had left Mellida, learns from Andrugio's page that she
has been carried away. Andrugio now separates himself from Antonio and
Lucio; proceeds, clad in a complete suit of armour, to the court of
Piero, and announces that he has come to claim the reward offered for
Andrugio's head. Piero declares his willingness to pay the reward; and
then Andrugio, raising his beaver, discovers himself to Piero and the
assembled courtiers. Piero affects to be struck with admiration for
his adversary's magnanimity, and professes friendship for the future.
A funeral procession now enters, followed by Lucio, who announces that
he has brought the body of Antonio. Andrugio mourns for the death of
his son and Piero affects to share his grief, protesting that he would
give his own life or his daughter's hand to purchase breath for the
dead man. Thereupon Antonio, who had died only in conceit, rises from
the bier and claims the hand of Mellida. Piero assents, and the _First
Part of Antonio and Mellida_ closes joyfully.
_To the only rewarder and most just poiser of virtuous merits, the
most honourably renowned_ NOBODY,[32] _bounteous Mecænas of poetry
and Lord Protector of oppressed innocence_, do dedicoque.
Since it hath flowed with the current of my humorous blood to affect
(a little too much) to be seriously fantastical, here take (most
respected Patron) the worthless present of my slighter idleness. If
you vouchsafe not his protection, then, O thou sweetest perfection
(Female Beauty), shield me from the stopping of vinegar bottles. Which
most wished favour if it fail me, then _Si nequeo flectere superos,
Acheronta movebo_. But yet, honour's redeemer, virtue's advancer,
religion's shelter, and piety's fosterer, yet, yet, I faint not in
despair of thy gracious affection and protection; to which I only
shall ever rest most servingman-like, obsequiously making legs and
standing (after our free-born English garb) bareheaded. Thy only
affied slave and admirer,
J. M.
[32] So Day dedicates his _Humour out of Breath_ to "Signior
Nobody."
_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._[33]
PIERO SFORZA, _Duke of Venice_.
ANDRUGIO, _Duke of Genoa_.
ANTONIO, _son to_ ANDRUGIO, _in love with_ MELLIDA.
FELICHE, _a high-minded courtier_.
ALBERTO, _a Venetian gentleman, in love with_ ROSSALINE.
BALURDO, _a rich gull_.
MATZAGENTE, _a modern braggadoch, son to the Duke of Milan_.
GALEATZO, _son to the Duke of Florence, a suitor to_ MELLIDA.
FOROBOSCO, _a Parasite_.
CASTILIO BALTHAZAR, _a spruce courtier_.
LUCIO,[34] _an old nobleman, friend to_ ANDRUGIO.
CATZO, _page to_ CASTILIO.
DILDO, _page to_ BALURDO.
_Painter_, ANDRUGIO'S _page, &c._
MELLIDA, _daughter to_ PIERO, _in love with_ ANTONIO.
ROSSALINE, _niece to_ PIERO.
FLAVIA, _a waiting-woman_.
SCENE--VENICE AND THE NEIGHBOURHOOD.
[33] There is no list of characters in old eds.
[34] Dilke (_Old English Plays_, 1814, vol. ii.) wrongly
describes Lucio as Andrugio's page.
INDUCTION.[35]
_Enter_ GALEATZO, PIERO, ALBERTO, ANTONIO, FOROBOSCO, BALURDO,
MATZAGENTE, _and_ FELICHE, _with parts in their hands; having
cloaks cast over their apparel_.
_Gal._ Come, sirs, come! the music will sound straight for entrance.
Are ye ready, are ye perfect?
_Pier._ Faith! we can say our parts; but we are ignorant in what
mould we must cast our actors.
_Alb._ Whom do you personate?
_Pier._ Piero, Duke of Venice.
_Alb._ O! ho! then thus frame your exterior shape
To haughty form of elate majesty,
As if you held the palsy-shaking head
Of reeling chance under your fortune's belt 10
In strictest vassalage: grow big in thought,
As swoln with glory of successful arms.
_Pier._ If that be all, fear not; I'll suit it right.
Who cannot be proud, stroke up the hair, and strut?
_Alb._ Truth; such rank custom is grown popular;
And now the vulgar fashion strides as wide,
And stalks as proud upon the weakest stilts
Of the slight'st fortunes, as if Hercules
Or burly Atlas shoulder'd up their state.
_Pier._ Good: but whom act you? 20
_Alb._ The necessity[36] of the play forceth me to act two
parts: Andrugio, the distressed Duke of Genoa, and
Alberto, a Venetian gentleman, enamoured on the Lady
Rossaline; whose fortunes being too weak to sustain
the port of her, he proved always disastrous in love; his
worth being much underpoised by the uneven scale, that
currents all things by the outward stamp of opinion.
_Gal._ Well, and what dost thou play?
_Bal._ The part of all the world.
_Alb._ The part of all the world? What's that? 30
_Bal._ The fool. Ay, in good deed law now, I play
Balurdo, a wealthy mountbanking burgomasco's heir of
Venice.
_Alb._ Ha! ha! one whose foppish nature might seem
great, only for wise men's recreation; and, like a juiceless
bark, to preserve the sap of more strenuous spirits.
A servile hound, that loves the scent of forerunning
fashion, like an empty hollow vault, still giving an echo
to wit: greedily champing what any other well valued
judgment had beforehand chew'd.[37] 40
_Foro._ Ha! ha! ha! tolerably good, good faith, sweet
wag.
_Alb._ Umph; why tolerably good, good faith, sweet
wag? Go, go; you flatter me.
_Foro._ Right; I but dispose my speech to the habit
of my part.
_Alb._ Why, what plays he? [_To_ FELICHE.
_Feli._ The wolf that eats into the breasts of princes;
that breeds the lethargy and falling sickness in honour;
makes justice look asquint; and blinds[38] the eye of
merited reward from viewing desertful virtue. 51
_Alb._ What's all this periphrasis, ha?
_Feli._ The substance of a supple-chapt flatterer.
_Alb._ O! doth he play Forobosco the Parasite? Good,
i'faith. Sirrah, you must seem now as glib and straight
in outward semblance as a lady's busk,[39] though inwardly
as cross as a pair of tailors' legs; having a tongue as
nimble as his needle, with servile patches of glavering
flattery to stitch up the bracks[40] of unworthily
honour'd-- 60
_Foro._ I warrant you, I warrant you, you shall see me
prove the very periwig to cover the bald pate of brainless
gentility. Ho! I will so tickle the sense of _bella
gratiosa madonna_ with the titillation of hyperbolical praise,
that I'll strike it in the nick, in the very nick, chuck.
_Feli._ Thou promisest more than I hope any spectator
gives faith of performance; but why look you so dusky,
ha? [_To_ ANTONIO.
_Ant._ I was never worse fitted since the nativity of my
actorship; I shall be hiss'd at, on my life now. 70
_Feli._ Why, what must you play?
_Ant._ Faith, I know not what; an hermaphrodite, two
parts in one; my true person being Antonio, son to the
Duke of Genoa; though for the love of Mellida, Piero's
daughter, I take this feigned presence of an Amazon,
calling myself Florizell, and I know not what. I a voice
to play a lady! I shall ne'er do it.
_Alb._ O! an Amazon should have such a voice,
virago-like. Not play two parts in one? away, away,
'tis common fashion. Nay, if you cannot bear two
subtle fronts under one hood, idiot, go by, go by, off
this world's stage! O time's impurity! 82
_Ant._ Ay, but when use hath taught me action
To hit the right point of a lady's part,
I shall grow ignorant, when I must turn
Young prince again, how but to truss[41] my hose.
_Feli._ Tush, never put them off; for women wear the
breeches still.
_Mat._ By the bright honour of a Milanoise,
And the resplendent fulgor of this steel, 90
I will defend the feminine to death,
And ding[42] his spirit to the verge of hell,
That dares divulge a lady's prejudice!
[_Exeunt_ MATZAGENTE, FOROBOSCO, _and_ BALURDO.[43]
_Feli._ Rampum scrampum, mount tufty Tamburlaine!
What rattling thunderclap breaks from his lips?
_Alb._ O! 'tis native to his part. For acting a modern[44]
braggadoch under the person of Matzagente, the Duke
of Milan's son, it may seem to suit with good fashion
of coherence. 99
_Pier._ But methinks he speaks with a spruce Attic
accent of adulterate Spanish.
_Alb._ So 'tis resolv'd. For Milan being half Spanish,
half high Dutch, and half Italians, the blood of chiefest
houses is corrupt and mongrel'd; so that you shall see
a fellow vain-glorious for a Spaniard, gluttonous for a
Dutchman, proud for an Italian, and a fantastic idiot
for all. Such a one conceit this Matzagente.
_Feli._ But I have a part allotted me, which I have
neither able apprehension to conceit, nor what I conceit
gracious ability to utter. 110
_Gal._ Whoop, in the old cut![45] Good, show us a
draught of thy spirit.
_Feli._ 'Tis steady and must seem so impregnably fortressed
with his own content that no envious thought
could ever invade his spirit; never surveying any man
so unmeasuredly happy, whom I thought not justly
hateful for some true impoverishment; never beholding
any favour of Madam Felicity gracing another, which
his well-bounded content persuaded not to hang in
the front of his own fortune; and therefore as far
from envying any man, as he valued all men infinitely
distant from accomplished beatitude. These native
adjuncts appropriate to me the name of Feliche. But
last, good, thy humour. 124
[_Exeunt_ PIERO, ALBERTO, _and_ GALEATZO.[46]
_Ant._ 'Tis to be described by signs and tokens. For
unless I were possessed with a legion of spirits, 'tis
impossible to be made perspicuous by any utterance:
for sometimes he must take austere state, as for the
person of Galeatzo, the son of the Duke of Florence,
and possess his exterior presence with a formal majesty:
keep popularity in distance, and on the sudden fling
his honour so prodigally into a common arm, that he
may seem to give up his indiscretion to the mercy of
vulgar censure. Now as solemn as a traveller,[47] and as
grave as a Puritan's ruff;[48] with the same breath as
slight and scattered in his fashion as a--a--anything;
now as sweet and neat as a barber's casting-bottle;[49]
straight as slovenly as the yeasty breast of an ale-knight:
now lamenting, then chafing, straight laughing,
then----. 140
_Feli._ What then?
_Ant._ Faith, I know not what; 't had been a right
part for Proteus or Gew. Ho! blind Gew[50] would ha'
done 't rarely, rarely.
_Feli._ I fear it is not possible to limn so many persons
in so small a tablet as the compass of our plays
afford.
_Ant._ Right! therefore I have heard that those persons,
as he and you, Feliche, that are but slightly drawn
in this comedy, should receive more exact accomplishment
in a second part; which, if this obtain gracious
acceptance, means to try his fortune. 151
_Feli._ Peace, here comes the Prologue: clear the stage.
[_Exeunt._
[35] We have an Induction before _What you Will_ and _The
Malcontent_. Ben Jonson was particularly fond of introducing
preliminary dialogues, which are usually so tedious that we are
fain to exclaim with Cordatus (in the Induction to _Every Man
out of his Humour_), "I would they would begin once; this
protraction is able to sour the best settled patience in the
theatre."
[36] _I.e._, the poverty of the theatrical company. It was
common for an actor to represent two characters (or more) in the
same play. For example, William Shurlock personated Maharbal and
Prusias in Nabbes' _Hannibal and Scipio_, 1635; and in the
same play, Hugh Clerke, besides taking the part of Syphax,
personated the Nuntius.
[37] Old eds. "shew'd."
[38] So ed. 1633.--The 4to gives "blinks."
[39] A piece of whalebone, steel, or wood worn down the front of
the stays to keep them straight.
[40] Rents, cracks.
[41] "Truss my hose" = tie the tagged laces of my breeches.
[42] Hurl violently.
[43] Old eds. "_Exeunt_ ANT. _and_
ALB."
[44] Common, worthless.--The use of "modern" in this sense is
frequently found, and was sanctioned by Shakespeare; but it did
not escape Ben Jonson's censure in _The Poetaster_, v. i.:--
"Alas! that were no _modern_ consequence
To have cothurnal buskins frightened hence."
[45] "The old cut" = the old fashion. So Nashe in the epistle
dedicatory prefixed to _Strange News of the Intercepting
Certain Letters_, 1593:--"You are amongst grave Doctors and
men of judgment in both laws every day. I pray ask them the
question in my absence whether such a man as I have described
this epistler to be ... that hath made many proper rhymes of the
_old cut_ in his days," &c.
[46] Old eds. "_Exit_ ALB."
[47] "Jaques in _As You Like It_, describing his own
melancholy, says it is extracted from many objects, and that the
contemplation of his travels often wraps him in a most humorous
sadness: on which Rosalind observes--'A traveller! by my faith
you have great reason to be sad!'"--_Dilke._
[48] The Puritans' short starched ruffs were constantly
ridiculed. See Middleton's _Works_, viii. 69.
[49] A bottle for sprinkling perfumes.
[50] Probably an actor who had gone blind; but I can find no
information about him.
THE PROLOGUE.
The wreath of pleasure and delicious sweets,
Begirt the gentle front of this fair troop!
Select and most respected auditors,
For wit's sake do not dream of miracles.
Alas! we shall but falter, if you lay
The least sad weight of an unusèd hope
Upon our weakness; only we give up
The worthless present of slight idleness
To your authentic censure. O! that our Muse
Had those abstruse and sinewy faculties, 10
That, with a strain of fresh invention,
She might press out the rarity of Art;
The pur'st elixèd juice of rich conceit
In your attentive ears; that with the lip
Of gracious elocution we might drink
A sound carouse into your health of wit.
But O! the heavy[51] dryness of her brain,
Foil to your fertile spirits, is asham'd
To breathe her blushing numbers to such ears.
Yet (most ingenious) deign to veil our wants; 20
With sleek acceptance polish these rude scenes;
And if our slightness your large hope beguiles,
Check not with bended brow, but dimpled smiles.
[_Exit_ Prologue.
[51] So ed. 1633.--Ed. 1602 "heathy."
THE FIRST PART
OF
ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
_Neighbourhood of Venice._
_The cornets sound a battle within._
_Enter_ ANTONIO, _disguised like an Amazon_.
_Ant._ Heart, wilt not break? and thou abhorrèd life,
Wilt thou still breathe in my enragèd blood?
Veins, sinews, arteries, why crack ye not,
Burst and divulst with anguish of my grief?
Can man by no means creep out of himself,
And leave the slough of viperous grief behind?
Antonio, hast thou seen a fight at sea,
As horrid as the hideous day of doom,
Betwixt thy father, Duke of Genoa,
And proud Piero, the Venetian Prince: 10
In which the sea hath swoln with Genoa's blood,
And made spring-tides with the warm reeking gore,
That gush'd from out our galleys' scupper-holes?
In which thy father, poor Andrugio,
Lies sunk, or leap'd into the arms of chance,
Choked with the labouring ocean's brackish foam;
Who, even despite Piero's canker'd hate,
Would with an armèd hand have seized thy love,
And link'd thee to the beauteous Mellida.
Have I outlived the death of all these hopes? 20
Have I felt anguish pour'd into my heart,
Burning like balsamum in tender wounds!
And yet dost live! Could not the fretting sea
Have roll'd me up in wrinkles of his brow?
Is death grown coy, or grim confusion nice,
That it will not accompany a wretch,
But I must needs be cast on Venice' shore,
And try new fortunes with this strange disguise
To purchase my adorèd Mellida?
[_The cornets sound a flourish; cease._
Hark how Piero's triumphs beat the air! 30
O, rugged mischief, how thou grat'st my heart!--
Take spirit, blood; disguise, be confident;
Make a firm stand; here rests the hope of all:
Lower than hell, there is no depth to fall.
_The cornets sound a senet. Enter_ FELICHE _and_ ALBERTO, CASTILIO
_and_ FOROBOSCO, _a_ Page _carrying a shield_; PIERO _in armour_;
CATZO _and_ DILDO _and_ BALURDO. _All these_ (_saving_ PIERO)
_armed with petronels_.[52] _Being entered, they make a stand in
divided files_.
_Pier._ Victorious Fortune, with triumphant hand,
Hurleth my glory 'bout this ball of earth,
Whilst the Venetian Duke is heavèd up
On wings of fair success, to overlook
The low-cast ruins of his enemies,
To see myself adored and Genoa quake; 40
My fate is firmer than mischance can shake.
_Feli._ Stand; the ground trembleth.
_Pier._ Ha! an earthquake?
_Bal._ O! I smell a sound.
_Feli._ Piero, stay, for I descry a fume
Creeping from out the bosom of the deep,
The breath of darkness, fatal when 'tis wist
In greatness' stomach. This same smoke, call'd pride,
Take heed: she'll lift thee to improvidence,
And break thy neck from steep security; 50
She'll make thee grudge to let Jehovah share
In thy successful battles. O! she's ominous;
Enticeth princes to devour heaven,
Swallow omnipotence, out-stare dread fate,
Subdue eternity in giant thought;
Heaves[53] up their heart[54] with swelling, puff'd conceit,
Till their souls burst with venom'd arrogance.
Beware, Piero; Rome itself hath tried,
Confusion's train blows up this Babel pride.
_Pier._ Pish! _Dimitto superos, summa votorum attigi._[55] 60
Alberto, hast thou yielded up our fix'd decree
Unto the Genoan ambassador?
Are they content, if that their Duke return,
To send his and his son Antonio's head,
As pledges steep'd in blood, to gain their peace?
_Alb._ With most obsequious sleek-brow'd entertain,
They all embrace it as most gracious.
_Pier._ Are proclamations sent through Italy,
That whosoever brings Andrugio's head,
Or young Antonio's, shall be guerdonèd 70
With twenty thousand double pistolets,
And be endearèd to Piero's love?
_Foro._ They are sent every way: sound policy,
Sweet lord.
_Feli._ [_Aside._] Confusion to these limber sycophants!
No sooner mischiefs born in regency,
But flattery christens it with policy.[56]
_Pier._ Why, then,--_O me coelitum excelsissimum!_
The intestine malice and inveterate hate
I always bore to that Andrugio, 80
Glories in triumph o'er his misery;
Nor shall that carpet-boy[57] Antonio
Match with my daughter, sweet-cheek'd Mellida.
No; the public power makes my faction strong.
_Feli._ Ill, when public power strength'neth private wrong.
_Pier._ 'Tis horse-like not for man to know his force.
_Feli._ 'Tis god-like for a man to feel remorse.[58]
_Pier._ Pish! I prosecute my family's revenge,
Which I'll pursue with such a burning chase,
Till I have dried up all Andrugio's blood; 90
Weak rage, that with slight pity is withstood.--
[_The cornets sound a flourish._
What means that fresh triumphal flourish sound?
_Alb._ The prince of Milan, and young Florence' heir,
Approach to gratulate your victory.
_Pier._ We'll girt them with an ample waste of love.
Conduct them to our presence royally;
Let vollies of the great artillery
From off our galleys' banks[59] play prodigal,
And sound loud welcome from their bellowing mouths.
[_Exeunt all but_ PIERO.
_The cornets sound a senet. Enter above_, MELLIDA, ROSSALINE,
_and_ FLAVIA. _Enter below_, GALEATZO _with Attendants_; PIERO
_meeteth him, embraceth; at which the cornets sound a flourish_;
PIERO _and_ GALEATZO _exeunt; the rest stand still_.
_Mel._ What prince was that passed through my father's guard? 100
_Fla._ 'Twas Galeatzo, the young Florentine.
_Ros._ Troth, one that will besiege thy maidenhead;
Enter the walls, i'faith (sweet Mellida),
If that thy flankers be not cannon-proof.
_Mel._ O, Mary Ambree,[60] good, thy judgment, wench?
Thy bright election's clear:[61] what will he prove?
_Ros._ Hath a short finger and a naked chin,
A skipping eye; dare lay my judgment (faith)
His love is glibbery;[62] there's no hold on't, wench.
Give me a husband whose aspect is firm; 110
A full-cheek'd gallant with a bouncing thigh:
O, he is the _Paradizo dell madonne contento_.
_Mel._ Even such a one was my Antonio.
[_The cornets sound a senet._
_Ros._ By my nine and thirtieth servant, sweet,
Thou art in love; but stand on tiptoe,[63] fair;
Here comes Saint Tristram Tirlery Whiffe, i'faith.
_Enter_ MATZAGENTE; PIERO _meets him, embraceth; at which the
cornets sound a flourish: they two stand, using seeming
compliments, whilst the scene passeth above_.
_Mel._ St. Mark, St. Mark! what kind of thing appears?
_Ros._ For fancy's passion, spit upon him! Fie,
His face is varnish'd. In the name of love,
What country bred that creature?
_Mel._ What is he, Flavia? 120
_Fla._ The heir of Milan, Signior Matzagente.
_Ros._ Matzagente! now, by my pleasure's hope,
He is made like a tilting-staff; and looks
For all the world like an o'er-roasted pig:
A great tobacco-taker too, that's flat;
For his eyes look as if they had been hung
In the smoke of his nose.
_Mel._ What husband will he prove, sweet Rossaline?
_Ros._ Avoid him; for he hath a dwindled leg,
A low forehead, and a thin coal-black beard; 130
And will be jealous too, believe it, sweet;
For his chin sweats, and hath a gander neck,
A thin lip, and a little monkish eye.
'Precious! what a slender waist he hath!
He looks like a may-pole,[64] or a notched stick;
He'll snap in two at every little strain.
Give me a husband that will fill mine arms,
Of steady judgment, quick and nimble sense;
Fools relish not a lady's excellence.
[_Exeunt all on the lower stage; at which the cornets sound a
flourish, and a peal of shot is given._
_Mel._ The triumph's ended; but look, Rossaline! 140
What gloomy soul in strange accustrements[65]
Walks on the pavement?
_Ros._ Good sweet, let's to her; prithee, Mellida.
_Mel._ How covetous thou art of novelties!
_Ros._ Pish! 'tis our nature to desire things
That are thought strangers to the common cut.
_Mel._ I am exceeding willing, but----
_Ros._ But what? prithee, go down; let's see her face:
God send that neither wit nor beauty wants,
Those tempting sweets, affection's adamants. 150
[_Exeunt._
_Ant._ Come down: she comes like--O, no simile
Is precious, choice, or elegant enough
To illustrate her descent! Leap heart, she comes!
She comes! smile heaven, and softest southern wind
Kiss her cheek gently with perfumèd breath.
She comes! creation's purity, admir'd,
Ador'd amazing rarity, she comes!
O, now, Antonio, press thy spirit forth
In following passion, knit thy senses close,
Heap up thy powers, double all thy man. 160
_Enter_ MELLIDA, ROSSALINE, _and_ FLAVIA.
She comes!
O, how her eyes dart wonder on my heart!
Mount blood! soul to my lips! taste Hebe's cup:
Stand firm on deck, when beauty's close fight's[66] up.
_Mel._ Lady, your strange habit doth beget
Our pregnant thoughts, even great of much desire,
To be acquaint with your condition.
_Ros._ Good, sweet lady, without more ceremonies,
What country claims your birth? and, sweet, your name?
_Ant._ In hope your bounty will extend itself 170
In self-same nature of fair courtesy,
I'll shun all niceness; my name's Florizell,
My country Scythia; I am Amazon,
Cast on this shore by fury of the sea.
_Ros._ Nay, faith, sweet creature, we'll not veil our names.
It pleas'd the font to dip me Rossaline;
That lady bears the name of Mellida,
The Duke of Venice' daughter.
_Ant._ Madam, I am oblig'd to kiss your hand,
By imposition of a now dead man. 180
[_To_ MELLIDA, _kissing her hand_.
_Ros._ Now, by my troth, I long, beyond all thought,
To know the man; sweet beauty, deign his name.
_Ant._ Lady, the circumstance is tedious.
_Ros._ Troth, not a whit; good fair, let's have it all:
I love not, I, to have a jot left out,
If the tale come from a loved orator.
_Ant._ Vouchsafe me, then, your hush'd observances.--
Vehement in pursuit of strange novelties,
After long travel through the Asian main,
I shipp'd my hopeful thoughts for Brittany;[67] 190
Longing to view great Nature's miracle,
The glory of our sex, whose fame doth strike
Remotest ears with adoration.
Sailing some two months with inconstant winds,
We view'd the glistering Venetian forts,
To which we made: when lo! some three leagues off,
We might descry a horrid spectacle;
The issue of black fury strew'd the sea
With tatter'd carcasses of splitted ships,
Half sinking, burning, floating topsy-turvy. 200
Not far from these sad ruins of fell rage,
We might behold a creature press the waves;
Senseless he sprawl'd, all notch'd with gaping wounds.
To him we made, and (short) we took him up;
The first thing he spake was,--Mellida!
And then he swooned.[68]
_Mel._ Ay me!
_Ant._ Why sigh you, fair?
_Mel._[69] Nothing but little humours; good sweet, on.
_Ant._ His wounds being dress'd, and life recoverèd,
We 'gan discourse; when lo! the sea grew mad,
His bowels rumbling with wind-passion; 210
Straight swarthy darkness popp'd out Phoebus' eye,
And blurr'd the jocund face of bright-cheek'd day;
Whilst crudled[70] fogs masked even darkness' brow:
Heaven bad's good night, and the rocks groan'd
At the intestine uproar of the main.
Now gusty flaws strook up the very heels
Of our mainmast, whilst the keen lightning shot
Through the black bowels of the quaking air;
Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred[71] paunch
Down falls our ship, and there he breaks his neck; 220
Which in an instant up was belkt again.
When thus this martyr'd soul began to sigh:
"Give me your hand (quoth he): now do you grasp
Th' unequall'd[72] mirror of ragg'd misery:
Is't not a horrid storm? O, well-shaped sweet,
Could your quick eye strike through these gashèd wounds,
You should behold a heart, a heart, fair creature,
Raging more wild than is this frantic sea.
Wolt[73] do me a favour? if thou chance survive,
But visit Venice, kiss the precious white 230
Of my most,--nay, all epithets are base
To attribute to gracious Mellida:
Tell her the spirit of Antonio
Wisheth his last gasp breath'd upon her breast."
_Ros._ Why weeps soft-hearted Florizell?
_Ant._ Alas, the flinty rocks groan'd at his plaints.
"Tell her, (quoth he) that her obdurate sire
Hath crack'd his bosom;" therewithal he wept,
And thus sigh'd on: "The sea is merciful;
Look how it gapes to bury all my grief! 240
Well, thou shalt have it, thou shalt be his tomb:
My faith in my love live; in thee, die woe;
Die, unmatch'd anguish, die, Antonio!"
With that he totter'd from the reeling deck,
And down he sunk.
_Ros._ Pleasure's body! what makes my Lady weep?
_Mel._ Nothing, sweet Rossaline, but the air's sharp[74]--
My father's palace, Madam, will be proud
To entertain your presence, if you'll deign
To make repose within. Ay me! 250
_Ant._ Lady, our fashion is not curious.[75]
_Ros._ 'Faith, all the nobler, 'tis more generous.
_Mel._ Shall I then know how fortune fell at last,
What succour came, or what strange fate ensued?
_Ant._ Most willingly: but this same court is vast,
And public to the staring multitude.
_Ros._ Sweet Lady, nay good sweet, now by my troth
We'll be bedfellows: dirt on compliment froth![76]
[_Exeunt_; ROSSALINE _giving_ ANTONIO _the way_.
[52] Carbines.
[53] Ed. 1633 "Heavens."
[54] Old eds. "hurt."
[55] Senec. _Thyestes_, 888.
[56] "Christens it with policy" = dignifies it with the title of
policy.
[57] A term of contempt, like "carpet-knight," for an effeminate
gallant "who never charged beyond a mistress' lips."
[58] Pity.
[59] The rowers' benches.
[60] The famous Amazon, whose "valorous acts performed at Gaunt"
(Ghent), circ. 1584, are celebrated in a fine old ballad. The
name was commonly applied to any woman of spirit.
[61] "Thy bright election's clear" = you are a woman of keen
perception.
[62] A favourite word with Marston. It is ridiculed by Ben Jonson
in _The Poetaster_, v. 1:--
"What, shall thy lubrical and _glibbery_ muse
Live, as she were defunct, like punk in stews?"
[63] Old eds. "tiptoed."
[64] It was a common form of abuse to compare a person to a
may-pole. Hermia, railing at Helena, addresses her as "thou
painted may-pole" (_Midsummer Night's Dream_, iii. 2).
[65] Accoutrements.--Elsewhere Marston has the original French
form "accoustrements," which is also found in Spenser.
[66] "_Close fight_ is an old sea-term. 'A ship's _close
fights_ are small ledges of wood laid cross one another, like
the grates of iron in a prison window, betwixt the main-mast and
fore-mast, and are called gratings or nettings.' Smith's _Sea
Grammar_, 1627."--_Halliwell._
[67] The form "Brittany," for "Britain," is not uncommon. Marlowe
uses it in _Edward II._, ii. 2. l. 42; and I have restored
it, _metri causa_, in the prologue to the _Jew of
Malta_, l. 29.
[68] Ed. 1633 "swounded."
[69] Old eds. "_Ros._"
[70] Thick, curdled.
[71] Cleft, rifted.
[72] Old eds. "unequal," which Dilke explains to mean "the
partial and unjust representative"--an explanation which I wholly
fail to understand. Later in the present play (p. 42, l. 309) we
have "_unmatch'd mirrors_ of calamity."
[73] Wilt.
[74] Dilke quotes appositely from _Richard II._:--
"_Rich._ And, say, what store of parting tears were shed?
_Aum._ 'Faith none by me: except _the north-east wind_,
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
_Awak'd the sleepy rheum_; and so, by chance,
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear."
[75] "Our fashion is not curious," _i.e._, Amazons do not
stand on ceremony.
[76] Rossaline, seeing Antonio make way for her to pass, insists
on giving him precedence. "No empty compliments! take the lead."
ACT II.
SCENE I.
_Palace of the Duke of Venice._
_Enter_ CATZO, _with a capon eating_; DILDO _following him_.
_Dil._ Hah, Catzo, your master wants a clean trencher:
do you hear?
Balurdo calls for your diminutive attendance.
_Cat._ The belly hath no ears,[77] Dildo.
_Dil._ Good pug,[78] give me some capon.
_Cat._ No capon, no not a bit, ye smooth bully;[78]
capon's no meat for Dildo: milk, milk, ye glibbery urchin,
is food for infants.
_Dil._ Upon mine honour.
_Cat._ Your honour with a paugh! 'slid, now every jackanapes
loads his back with the golden coat of honour;
every ass puts on the lion's skin and roars his honour.
Upon your honour? By my lady's pantable,[79] I fear I shall
live to hear a vintner's boy cry, "'Tis rich neat canary."
Upon my honour! 14
_Dil._ My stomach's up.
_Cat._ I think thou art hungry.
_Dil._ The match of fury is lighted, fastened to the
linstock[80] of rage, and will presently set fire to the touch-hole
of intemperance, discharging the double culverin of
my incensement in the face of thy opprobrious speech.
_Cat._ I'll stop the barrel thus: good Dildo, set not fire
to the touch-hole. 22
_Dil._ My rage is stopp'd, and I will eat to the health
of the fool, thy master Castilio.
_Cat._ And I will suck the juice of the capon, to the
health of the idiot, thy master Balurdo.
_Dil._ Faith, our masters are like a case[81] of rapiers
sheathed in one scabbard of folly.
_Cat._ Right Dutch blades. But was't not rare sport at
the sea-battle, whilst rounce robble hobble roared from
the ship-sides, to view our masters pluck their plumes
and drop their feathers, for fear of being men of mark. 32
_Dil._ 'Slud (cried Signior Balurdo), O for Don
Rosicleer's[82] armour, in the _Mirror of Knighthood_! what
coil's here? O for an armour, cannon-proof! O, more
cable, more featherbeds![83] more featherbeds, more cable!
till he had as much as my cable-hatband[84] to fence
him.
_Enter_ FLAVIA _in haste, with a rebato_.[85]
_Cat._ Buxom Flavia, can you sing? song, song!
_Fla._ My sweet Dildo, I am not for you at this time:
Madam Rossaline stays for a fresh ruff to appear in the
presence: sweet, away. 41
_Dil._ 'Twill not be so put off, delicate, delicious, spark-eyed,
sleek-skinn'd, slender-waisted, clean-legg'd, rarely-shaped--
_Fla._ Who? I'll be at all your service another season:
my faith, there's reason in all things.
_Dil._ Would I were reason then, that I might be in all
things.
_Cat._ The breve and the semiquaver is, we must have
the descant you made upon our names, ere you depart.
_Fla._ Faith, the song will seem to come off hardly. 51
_Cat._ Troth not a wit, if you seem to come off quickly.
_Fla._ Pert Catzo, knock[86] it lustily then.
[_A song._
_Enter_ FOROBOSCO, _with two torches_: CASTILIO _singing
fantastically_; ROSSALINE _running a coranto[87] pace, and_
BALURDO; FELICHE _following, wondering at them all_.
_Foro._ Make place, gentlemen; pages, hold torches;
the prince approacheth the presence.
_Dil._ What squeaking cart-wheel have we here? ha!
"Make place, gentlemen; pages, hold torches; the prince
approacheth the presence."
_Ros._ Faugh, what a strong scent's here! somebody
useth to wear socks. 60
_Bal._ By this fair candle light, 'tis not my feet; I never
wore socks since I sucked pap.
_Ros._ Savourly put off.
_Cast._ Hah, her wit stings, blisters, galls off the skin
with the tart acrimony of her sharp quickness: by sweetness,
she is the very Pallas that flew out of Jupiter's
brainpan. Delicious creature, vouchsafe me your service:
by the purity of bounty, I shall be proud of such bondage.
_Ros._ I vouchsafe it; be my slave.--Signior Balurdo,
wilt thou be my servant, too? 70
_Bal._ O God,[88] forsooth in very good earnest, law, you
would make me as a man should say, as a man should
say--
_Feli._ 'Slud, sweet beauty, will you deign him your
service?
_Ros._ O, your fool is your only servant. But, good
Feliche, why art thou so sad? a penny for thy thought,
man.
_Feli._ I sell not my thought so cheap: I value my
meditation at a higher rate. 80
_Bal._ In good sober sadness, sweet mistress, you should
have had my thought for a penny: by this crimson satin
that cost eleven shillings, thirteen pence, three pence
halfpenny a yard, that you should, law!
_Ros._ What was thy thought, good servant?
_Bal._ Marry forsooth, how many strike of pease would
feed a hog fat against Christtide.
_Ros._ Paugh! [_she spits_] servant,[89] rub out my rheum, it
soils the presence.
_Cast._ By my wealthiest thought, you grace my shoe
with an unmeasured honour: I will preserve the sole of
it, as a most sacred relic for this service. 92
_Ros._ I'll spit in thy mouth, and thou wilt, to grace thee.
_Feli._ [_Aside._] O that the stomach of this queasy age
Digests, or brooks such raw unseasoned gobs,
And vomits not them forth! O! slavish sots!
Servant, quoth you? faugh! if a dog should crave
And beg her service, he should have it straight:
She'd give him favours too, to lick her feet,
Or fetch her fan, or some such drudgery: 100
A good dog's office, which these amorists
Triumph of: 'tis rare, well give her more ass,
More sot, as long as dropping of her nose
Is sworn rich pearl by such low slaves as those.
_Ros._ Flavia, attend me to attire me.
[_Exeunt_ ROSSALINE _and_ FLAVIA.
_Bal._ In sad good earnest, sir, you have touched the
very bare of naked truth; my silk stocking hath a good
gloss, and I thank my planets, my leg is not altogether
unpropitiously shaped. There's a word: unpropitiously?
I think I shall speak unpropitiously as well as any courtier
in Italy. 111
_Foro._ So help me your sweet bounty, you have the
most graceful presence, applausive elecuty, amazing volubility,
polish'd adornation, delicious affability.
_Feli._ Whoop: fut, how he tickles yon trout under the
gills! you shall see him take him by and by with groping
flattery.
_Foro._ That ever ravish'd the ear of wonder. By your
sweet self, than whom I know not a more exquisite, illustrate,
accomplished, pure, respected, adored, observed,
precious, real,[90] magnanimous, bounteous--if you have
an idle rich cast jerkin, or so, it shall not be cast away,
if--ha! here's a forehead, an eye, a head, a hair, that
would make a--: or if you have any spare pair of silver
spurs, I'll do you as much right in all kind offices--
_Feli._ [_Aside._] Of a kind parasite.
_Foro._ As any of my mean fortunes shall be able to.
_Bal._ As I am true Christian now, thou hast won the
spurs.
_Feli._ [_Aside._] For flattery. 130
O how I hate that same Egyptian louse,
A rotten maggot, that lives by stinking filth
Of tainted spirits! vengeance to such dogs,
That sprout by gnawing senseless carrion!
_Enter_ ALBERTO.
_Alb._ Gallants, saw you my mistress, the lady Rossaline?
_Foro._ My mistress, the lady Rossaline, left the presence
even now.
_Cast._ My mistress, the lady Rossaline, withdrew her
gracious aspect even now.
_Bal._ My mistress, the lady Rossaline, withdrew her
gracious aspect even now. 141
_Feli._ [_Aside._] Well said, echo.
_Alb._ My mistress, and his mistress, and your mistress,
and the dog's mistress. Precious dear heaven, that
Alberto lives to have such rivals!--
'Slid, I have been searching every private room,
Corner, and secret angle of the court:
And yet, and yet, and yet she lives conceal'd.
Good sweet Feliche, tell me how to find
My bright-faced mistress out. 150
_Feli._ Why man, cry out for lanthorn and candle-light:[91]
for 'tis your only way, to find your bright-flaming wench
with your light-burning torch: for most commonly, these
light creatures live in darkness.
_Alb._ Away, you heretic, you'll be burnt for----
_Feli._ Go, you amorous hound, follow the scent of your
mistress' shoe; away!
_Foro._ Make a fair presence; boys, advance your lights;
the princess makes approach.
_Bal._ And please the gods, now in very good deed,
law, you shall see me tickle the measures for the heavens.
Do my hangers[92] show? 162
_Enter_ PIERO, ANTONIO, MELLIDA, ROSSALINE, GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE,
ALBERTO, _and_ FLAVIA. _As they enter_, FELICHE _and_ CASTILIO
_make a rank for the_ DUKE _to pass through_. FOROBOSCO _ushers
the_ DUKE _to his state_:[93] _then, whilst_ PIERO _speaketh his
first speech,_ MELLIDA _is taken by_ GALEATZO _and_ MATZAGENTE _to
dance, they supporting her_: ROSSALINE, _in like manner, by_
ALBERTO _and_ BALURDO: FLAVIA, _by_ FELICHE _and_ CASTILIO.
_Pier._ Beauteous Amazon, sit and seat your thoughts
In the reposure of most soft content.
Sound music there! Nay, daughter, clear your eyes,
From these dull fogs of misty discontent:
Look sprightly, girl. What? though Antonio's drown'd,--
That peevish dotard on thy excellence,
That hated issue of Andrugio,--
Yet may'st thou triumph in my victories; 170
Since, lo, the high-born bloods of Italy
Sue for thy seat of love.--Let[94] music sound!
Beauty and youth run descant on love's ground.[95]
_Mat._ Lady, erect your gracious symmetry,
Shine in the sphere of sweet affection:
Your eye['s] as heavy, as the heart of night.
_Mel._ My thoughts are as black as your beard; my
fortunes as ill-proportioned as your legs; and all the
powers of my mind as leaden as your wit, and as dusty
as your face is swarthy. 180
_Gal._ Faith, sweet, I'll lay thee on the lips for that jest.
_Mel._ I prithee intrude not on a dead man's right.
_Gal._ No, but the living's just possession:
Thy lips and love are mine.
_Mel._ You ne'er took seizin on them yet: forbear.
There's not a vacant corner of my heart,
But all is fill'd with dead Antonio's loss.
Then urge no more; O leave to love at all;
'Tis less disgraceful not to mount than fall.
_Mat._ Bright and refulgent lady, deign your ear: 190
You see this blade,--had it a courtly lip,
It would divulge my valour, plead my love,
Justle that skipping feeble amorist
Out of your love's seat; I am Matzagent.
_Gal._ Hark thee; I pray thee, taint not thy sweet ear
With that sot's gabble; by thy beauteous cheek,
He is the flagging'st bulrush that e'er droop'd
With each slight mist of rain. But with pleased eye
Smile on my courtship.
_Mel._ What said you, sir? alas my thought was fix'd 200
Upon another object. Good, forbear:
I shall but weep. Ay me, what boots a tear!
Come, come, let's dance. O music, thou distill'st
More sweetness in us than this jarring world:
Both time and measure from thy strains do breathe,
Whilst from the channel of this dirt doth flow
Nothing but timeless grief, unmeasured woe.
_Ant._ O how impatience cramps my crackèd veins
And cruddles thick my blood, with boiling rage!
O eyes, why leap you not like thunderbolts, 210
Or cannon bullets in my rival's face!
_Ohime infeliche misero, O lamentevol fato!_
_Alb._ What means the lady fall upon the ground?
_Ros._ Belike the falling sickness.
_Ant._ I cannot brook this sight, my thoughts grow wild:
Here lies a wretch, on whom heaven never smiled.
_Ros._ What, servant, ne'er a word, and I here man?
I would shoot some speech forth, to strike the time
With pleasing touch of amorous compliment.
Say, sweet, what keeps thy mind, what think'st thou on? 220
_Alb._ Nothing.
_Ros._ What's that nothing?
_Alb._ A woman's constancy.
_Ros._ Good, why, would'st thou have us sluts, and never shift
The vesture of our thoughts? Away for shame.
_Alb._ O no, th'art too constant to afflict my heart,
Too too firm fixèd in unmovèd scorn.
_Ros._ Pish, pish; I fixed in unmovèd scorn!
Why, I'll love thee to-night.
_Alb._ But whom to-morrow?
_Ros._ Faith, as the toy puts me in the head.
_Bal._ And pleased the marble heavens, now would I
might be the toy, to put you in the head, kindly to conceit
my--my--my--pray you, give in an epithet for love.
_Feli._ Roaring, roaring. 232
_Bal._[96] O love, thou hast murder'd me, made me a
shadow, and you hear not Balurdo, but Balurdo's ghost.
_Ros._ Can a ghost speak?
_Bal._ Scurvily, as I do.
_Ros._ And walk?
_Bal._ After their fashion.
_Ros._ And eat apples?
_Bal._ In a sort, in their garb. 240
_Feli._ Prithee, Flavia, be my mistress.
_Fla._ Your reason, good Feliche?
_Feli._ Faith, I have nineteen mistresses already, and I
not much disdain that thou should'st make up the full
score.
_Fla._ O, I hear you make commonplaces of your mistresses
to perform the office of memory by. Pray you, in
ancient times were not those satin hose? In good faith,
now they are new dyed, pink'd, and scoured, they show
as well as if they were new. What, mute, Balurdo? 250
_Feli._ Ay, in faith, and 'twere not for printing, and
painting, my breech and your face would be out of
reparation.[97]
_Bal._ Ay, in[98] faith, and 'twere not for printing, and
painting,[99] my breech and your face would be out of
reparation.
_Feli._ Good again, Echo.
_Fla._ Thou art, by nature, too foul to be affected.
_Feli._ And thou, by art, too fair to be beloved.
By wit's life, most spark spirits, but hard chance.
_La ty dine._ 261
_Pier._ Gallants, the night grows old; and downy sleep
Courts us to entertain his company:
Our tirèd limbs, bruis'd in the morning fight,
Entreat soft rest, and gentle hush'd repose.
Fill out Greek wines; prepare fresh cressit-light:[100]
We'll have a banquet: Princes, then good-night.
[_The cornets sound a senet, and the_ DUKE _goes out
in state_. _As they are going out_, ANTONIO _stays_
MELLIDA: _the rest exeunt_.
_Ant._ What means these scatter'd looks? why tremble you?
Why quake your thoughts in your distracted eyes?
Collect your spirits, Madam; what do you see? 270
Dost not behold a ghost?
Look, look where he stalks, wrapt up in clouds of grief,
Darting his soul upon thy wond'ring eyes.
Look, he comes towards thee; see, he stretcheth out
His wretched arms to gird thy loved waist,
With a most wish'd embrace: see'st him not yet?
Nor yet? Ha, Mellida; thou well may'st err:
For look, he walks not like Antonio:
Like that Antonio, that this morning shone
In glistering habiliments of arms, 280
To seize his love, spite of her father's spite:
But like himself, wretched, and miserable,
Banish'd, forlorn, despairing, strook quite through,
With sinking grief, rolled up in sevenfold doubles
Of plagues [un]vanquishable: hark, he speaks to thee.
_Mel._ Alas, I cannot hear, nor see him.
_Ant._ Why? all this night about the room he stalk'd,
And groan'd, and howl'd, with raging passion,
To view his love (life-blood of all his hopes,
Crown of his fortune) clipp'd by strangers' arms. 290
Look but behind thee.
_Mel._ O Antonio!
My lord, my love, my----
_Ant._ Leave passion, sweet; for time, place, air, and earth,
Are all our foes: fear, and be jealous; fair,
Let's fly.
_Mel._ Dear heart, ha, whither?
_Ant._ O, 'tis no matter whither, but let's fly.
Ha! now I think on't, I have ne'er a home,
No father, friend, or country to embrace
These wretched limbs: the world, the all that is, 300
Is all my foe: a prince not worth a doit:
Only my head is hoisèd to high rate,
Worth twenty thousand double pistolets,
To him that can but strike it from these shoulders.
But come, sweet creature, thou shalt be my home;
My father, country, riches, and my friend,
My all, my soul; and thou and I will live,--
Let's think like what--and you and I will live
Like unmatch'd mirrors of calamity.
The jealous ear of night eave-drops our talk. 310
Hold thee, there's a jewel; and look thee, there's a note
That will direct thee when, where, how to fly.
Bid me adieu.
_Mel._ Farewell, bleak misery!
_Ant._ Stay, sweet, let's kiss before you go!
_Mel._ Farewell, dear soul!
_Ant._ Farewell, my life, my heart!
[_Exeunt._
[77] A proverbial expression: gastêr ôtas ouk echei.
[78] A familiar form of address.
[79] Slipper.
[80] The stick which held the gunner's match.
[81] "Case of rapiers"--pair of rapiers.
[82] All the editions give "Bessicler's;" but this is evidently a
misprint. Rosicleer was the brother of the Knight of the Sun, and
he figures prominently in the group of romances published under
the _Mirror of Knighthood_ (7 pts., 1583-1601). He had an
excellent suit of armour, which proved very serviceable in his
combats with giants.
[83] Dilke, in 1814, says that featherbeds were still used to
protect the men from the fire of the enemy. As to the use of
cables I refer the reader to Sir William Monson's _Naval
Tracts_ (_Collection of Voyages and Travels_,
1704, iii. 358), where in the directions "How to preserve the men
in fighting" it is stated:--"I prefer the coiling of cables on
the deck, and keeping part of the men within them...; for the
soldiers are in and out speedily upon all sudden occasions to
succour any part of the ship, or to enter an enemy, without
trouble to the sailors in handling their sails or to the gunners
in playing their ordnance."
[84] A twisted band worn round the hat. In _Every Man out of
his Humour_ (1599), the "cable-hatband" is mentioned as a
novelty of the latest fashion:--"I had on a gold cable hat-band
_then new come up_."
[85] Ruff, falling-band.
[86] "So in _King Henry VIII._:--
'Let the music knock it.'"--_Dilke._
[87] A quick lively dance.
[88] "The exclamation was too fashionable in the time of Marston
for those who had nothing else to say; and is ridiculed by Ben
Jonson in the character of Orange in _Every Man out of his
Humour_, as 'O Lord, sir,' is by Shakespeare in _All's Well
that Ends Well_. Orange is thus described:--''Tis as dry an
Orange as ever grew: nothing but salutation; and, O God, sir;
and, it please you to say so, sir.'"--_Dilke._
[89] Lover, suitor.
[90] Regal, noble.--In the address "To those that seem judicial
observers" prefixed to the _Scourge of Villainy_, Marston
ridicules Ben Jonson (under the name of Torquatus) for
introducing "new-minted epithets, as _real_, intrinsecate,
Delphic."
[91] "Lanthorn and candle-light"--the bellman's cry.
[92] Loops or straps (fastened to the girdle) in which the rapier
was suspended.
[93] Throne, chair of dignity.
[94] "Let music sound!" is printed as a stage-direction in the
old copies.
[95] Musical term for an air on which variations or divisions
were to be made.
[96] The words "O love ... Balurdo's ghost" are given to Feliche
in old eds.
[97] There is the same joke in the _Merry Jests of George
Peele_, 1627:--"George used often to an ordinary in this town,
where a kinswoman of the good wife's in the house held a great
pride and vain opinion of her own mother-wit; for her tongue was
a jack continually wagging.... Now this titmouse, what she
scanted by nature, she doth replenish by art, as her boxes of red
and white daily can testify. But to come to George, who arrived
at the ordinary among other gallants, throws his cloak upon the
table, salutes the gentlemen, and presently calls for a cup of
canary. George had a pair of hose on, that for some offence durst
not to be seen in that hue they were first dyed in, but from his
first colour being a youthful green, his long age turned him into
a mournful black, and for his antiquity was in print. Which this
busybody perceiving, thought now to give it him to the quick; and
drawing near Master Peele, looking upon his breeches, 'By my
troth, sir,' quoth she, 'these are exceedingly well printed.' At
which word, George, being a little moved in his mind that his old
hose were called in question, answered, 'And by my faith,
mistress,' quoth George, 'your face is most damnably ill
painted.' 'How mean you, sir?' quoth she. 'Marry thus, mistress,'
quoth George, 'that if it were not for printing and painting, my
arse and your face would grow out of reparations.'"
[98] Old eds. "an."
[99] Ed. 1602, "pointing."
[100] See Dyce's _Shakesp. Gloss., s._ CRESSETS.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
_The sea-shore._
_Enter_ ANDRUGIO _in armour_, LUCIO _with a shepherd's gown in his
hand, and a Page_.
_And._ Is not yon gleam the shuddering morn that flakes
With silver tincture the east verge of heaven?
_Lu._ I think it is, so please your excellence.
_And._ Away! I have no excellence to please.
Prithee observe the custom of the world,
That only flatters greatness, states exalts.
And please my excellence! O Lucio,
Thou hast been ever held respected dear,
Even precious to Andrugio's inmost love.
Good, flatter not. Nay, if thou giv'st not faith 10
That I am wretched, O read that, read that.
PIERO SFORZA _to the_ Italian Princes, _fortune_.
_Lu._ [reads] _EXCELLENT, the just overthrow_ ANDRUGIO
_took in the Venetian gulf, hath so assured the Genoways
of the [in]justice of his cause, and the hatefulness of his
person, that they have banish'd him and all his family:
and, for confirmation of their peace with us, have
vowed, that if he or his son can be attached, to send
us both their heads. We therefore, by force of our
united league, forbid you to harbour him, or his blood:
but if you apprehend his person, we entreat you to send
him, or his head, to us. For we vow, by the honour
of our blood, to recompense any man that bringeth his
head, with twenty thousand double pistolets, and the
endearing of our choicest love. From_ Venice: PIERO SFORZA. 24
_And._ My thoughts are fix'd in contemplation
Why this huge earth, this monstrous animal,
That eats her children, should not have eyes and ears.
Philosophy maintains that Nature's wise,
And forms no useless or unperfect thing.
Did Nature make the earth, or the earth Nature? 30
For earthly dirt makes all things, makes the man,
Moulds me up honour; and, like a cunning Dutchman,
Paints me a puppet even with seeming breath,
And gives a sot appearance of a soul.
Go to, go to; thou liest, Philosophy.
Nature forms things unperfect, useless, vain.
Why made she not the earth with eyes and ears
That she might see desert, and hear men's plaints?
That when a soul is splitted, sunk with grief,
He might fall thus, upon the breast of earth, 40
[_He throws himself on the ground._
Exclaiming thus: O thou all-bearing earth,
Which men do gape for, till thou cramm'st their mouths,
And chokest their throats with dust; O chaune[101] thy breast,
And let me sink into thee! Look who knocks;
Andrugio calls.--But O, she's deaf and blind:
A wretch but lean relief on earth can find.
_Lu._ Sweet lord, abandon passion, and disarm.
Since by the fortune of the tumbling sea,
We are roll'd up upon the Venice marsh,
Let's clip all fortune, lest more low'ring fate-- 50
_And._ More low'ring fate! O Lucio, choke that breath.
Now I defy chance: Fortune's brow hath frown'd,
Even to the utmost wrinkle it can bend:
Her venom's spit. Alas, what country rests,
What son, what comfort that she can deprive?
Triumphs not Venice in my overthrow?
Gapes not my native country for my blood?
Lies not my son tomb'd in the swelling main?
And yet more low'ring fate! There's nothing left
Unto Andrugio, but Andrugio: 60
And that nor mischief, force, distress, nor hell can take.
Fortune my fortunes, not my mind, shall shake.
_Lu._ Spoke[102] like yourself; but give me leave, my Lord,
To wish your safety. If you are but seen,
Your arms display you; therefore put them off,
And take----.
_And._ Would'st thou have me go unarm'd among my foes?
Being besieg'd by passion, ent'ring lists,
To combat with despair and mighty grief;
My soul beleaguer'd with the crushing strength 70
Of sharp impatience? ha, Lucio, go unarm'd?
Come soul, resume the valour of thy birth;
Myself, myself will dare all opposites:[103]
I'll muster forces, an unvanquish'd power:
Cornets of horse shall press th' ungrateful earth;
This hollow wombèd mass shall inly groan,
And murmur to sustain the weight of arms:
Ghastly amazement, with upstarted hair,
Shall hurry on before, and usher us,
Whilst trumpets clamour with a sound of death. 80
_Lu._ Peace, good my Lord, your speech is all too light.
Alas, survey your fortunes, look what's left
Of all your forces, and your utmost hopes:
A weak old man, a page, and your poor self.
_And._ Andrugio lives, and a fair cause of arms,--
Why that's an army all invincible!
He who hath that, hath a battalion royal,
Armour of proof, huge troops of barbèd steeds,
Main squares of pikes, millions of harquebush.
O, a fair cause stands firm, and will abide; 90
Legions of angels fight upon her side.[104]
_Lu._ Then, noble spirit, slide, in strange disguise,
Unto some gracious Prince, and sojourn there,
Till time and fortune give revenge firm means.
_And._ No, I'll not trust the honour of a man.
Gold is grown great, and makes perfidiousness
A common waiter in most princes' courts:
He's in the check-roll;[105] I'll not trust my blood;
I know none breathing but will cog a die[106]
For twenty thousand double pistolets. 100
How goes the time?
_Lu._ I saw no sun to-day.[107]
_And._ No sun will shine, where poor Andrugio breathes.
My soul grows heavy: boy, let's have a song:
We'll sing yet, faith, even in[108] despite of fate.
[_A song._
_And._ 'Tis a good boy, and by my troth, well sung.
O, and thou felt'st my grief, I warrant thee,
Thou would'st have strook division[109] to the height,
And made the life of music breathe: hold, boy; why so.
For God's sake call me not Andrugio,
That I may soon forget what I have been. 110
For heaven's name, name not Antonio,
That I may not remember he was mine.
Well, ere yon sun set, I'll show myself,
Worthy my blood. I was a Duke; that's all.
No[110] matter whither, but from whence we fall.[111]
[_Exeunt._
[101] Open (Gr. chainô, chaunô). Cotgrave gives:--"To
_chawne_,--se fendre, gercer, crevasser, crever, se jarcer."
[102] Old eds. "Speake" (and "Speak").
[103] "'The king enacts more wonders than a man,
Daring an opposite to every danger.'
_Richard III._"--_Dilke._
[104] Cf. _Richard III._ (v. 3):--
"God and good angels fight on Richmond's side."
[105] Old eds. "Chekle-roule."
[106] "Cog a die" = load a die.
[107] Dilke compares _Richard III._ (v. 3):--
"Who saw the sun to-day?
_Rat._ Not I, my lord.
_Rich._ Then he disdains to shine."
[108] Omitted in ed. 1.
[109] Variations in music.
[110] The sentiment is from Seneca's _Thyestes_, l. 925:--
"Magis unde cadas
Quam quo refert."
[111] "The situation of Andrugio and Lucio resembles that of Lear
and Kent, in that King's distresses. Andrugio, like Lear,
manifests a kind of royal impatience, a turbulent greatness, an
affected resignation. The enemies which he enters lists to
combat, 'Despair, and mighty Grief, and sharp Impatience;' and
the Forces ('Cornets of Horse,' &c.) which he brings to vanquish
them, are in the boldest style of allegory. They are such a 'race
of mourners' as 'the infection of sorrows loud' in the intellect
might beget on 'some pregnant cloud' in the
imagination."--_Charles Lamb._
SCENE II.
_Palace of the Duke of Venice._
_Enter_ FELICHE _walking, unbraced_.
_Feli._ Castilio, Alberto, Balurdo! none up?
Forobosco! Flattery, nor thou up yet?
Then there's no courtier stirring: that's firm truth?
I cannot sleep: Feliche seldom rests
In these court lodgings. I have walk'd all night,
To see if the nocturnal court delights
Could force me envy their felicity:
And by plain troth, I will confess plain troth,
I envy nothing but the travense[112] light.
O, had it eyes, and ears, and tongues, it might 10
See sport, hear speech of most strange surquedries.[113]
O, if that candle-light were made a poet,
He would prove a rare firking satirist,
And draw the core forth of imposthum'd sin.
Well, I thank heaven yet, that my content
Can envy nothing, but poor candle-light.
As for the other glistering copper spangs,
That glisten in the tire of the court,
Praise God, I either hate, or pity them.
Well, here I'll sleep till that the scene of up 20
Is pass'd at court. O calm hush'd rich Content,
Is there a being blessedness without thee?
How soft thou down'st the couch where thou dost rest,
Nectar to life, thou sweet Ambrosian feast!
_Enter_ CASTILIO _and his Page_ CATZO: CASTILIO _with a
casting-bottle_[114] _of sweet water in his hand, sprinkling
himself_.
_Cast._ Am not I a most sweet youth now?
_Cat._ Yes, when your throat's perfum'd; your very words
Do smell of ambergris. O stay, sir, stay;
Sprinkle some sweet water to your shoe's heels,
That your mistress may swear you have a sweet foot.
_Cast._ Good, very good, very passing[115] passing good. 30
_Feli._ Fut, what treble minikin[116] squeaks there, ha?
"good, very good, very very good!"
_Cast._ I will warble to the delicious conclave of my
mistress' ear: and strike her thoughts with the pleasing
touch of my voice.
[_A song._
_Cast._ Feliche, health, fortune, mirth, and wine.
_Feli._ To thee, my love divine.
_Cast._ I drink to thee, sweeting.
_Feli._ [_Aside._] Plague on thee for an ass!
_Cast._ Now thou hast seen the court, by the perfection
of it, dost not envy it? 41
_Feli._ I wonder it doth not envy me. Why, man,
I have been borne upon the spirit's wings,
The soul's swift Pegasus, the fantasy:
And from the height of contemplation,
Have view'd the feeble joints men totter on.
I envy none; but hate, or pity all.
For when I view, with an intentive thought,
That creature fair but proud; him rich, but sot;
Th' other witty, but unmeasured arrogant; 50
Him great, yet boundless in ambition;
Him high-born, but of base life; t' other fear'd,
Yet fearèd fears, and fears most to be loved;[117]
Him wise, but made a fool for public use;
The other learned, but self-opinionate:
When I discourse all these, and see myself
Nor fair, nor rich, nor witty, great, nor fear'd,
Yet amply suited with all full content,
Lord, how I clap my hands, and smooth my brow,
Rubbing my quiet bosom, tossing up 60
A grateful spirit to Omnipotence!
_Cast._ Hah, hah! but if thou knew'st my happiness,
Thou would'st even grate away thy soul to dust,
In envy of my sweet beatitude.
I cannot sleep for kisses; I cannot rest
For ladies' letters, that importune me
With such unusèd vehemence of love,
Straight to solicit them, that----.
_Feli._ Confusion seize me, but I think thou liest.
Why should I not be sought to then as well? 70
Fut, methinks I am as like a man.
Troth, I have a good head of hair, a cheek
Not as yet wan'd, a leg, 'faith, in the full.
I ha' not a red beard, take not tobacco much:
And 'slid, for other parts of manliness--
_Cast._ Pew waw, you ne'er accourted[118] them in pomp,
Put your good parts in presence graciously.
Ha, and you had, why, they would ha' come off,
Sprung to your arms, and sued, and prayed, and vowed,
And opened all their sweetness to your love. 80
_Feli._ There are a number of such things as thou[119]
Have often urged me to such loose belief;
But, 'slid, you all do lie, you all do lie.
I have put on good clothes, and smugg'd my face,
Strook a fair wench with a smart, speaking eye;
Courted in all sorts, blunt and passionate;
Had opportunity, put them to the ah!
And, by this light, I find them wondrous chaste,
Impregnable; perchance a kiss, or so:
But for the rest, O most inexorable! 90
_Cast._ Nay then, i'faith, prithee look here.
[_Shows him the superscription of a seeming letter._
_Feli. To her most esteemed, loved, and generous servant,
Sig. Castilio Balthazar._
Prithee from whom comes this? faith, I must see.
_From her that is devoted to thee, in most private sweets
of love, Rossaline._
Nay, God's my comfort, I must see the rest;
I must, sans ceremony; faith, I must.
[FELICHE _takes away the letter by force_.
_Cast._ O, you spoil my ruff, unset my hair; good,
away! 100
_Feli. Item, for strait canvass, thirteen pence halfpenny;
item, for an ell and a half of taffeta to cover your old
canvass doublet, fourteen shillings and threepence._--'Slight,
this is a tailor's bill.
_Cast._ In sooth, it is the outside of her letter, on
which I took the copy of a tailor's bill.
_Dil._ But 'tis not cross'd, I am sure of that. Lord have
mercy on him, his credit hath given up the last gasp.
Faith, I'll leave him; for he looks as melancholy as a
wench the first night she---- [_Exit._ 110
_Feli._ Honest musk-cod, 'twill not be so stitched together;
take that [_striking him_], and that, and belie no
lady's love: swear no more by Jesu, this madam, that
lady; hence, go, forswear the presence, travel three years
to bury this bastinado: avoid, puff-paste, avoid!
_Cast._ And tell not my lady-mother. Well, as I am a
true gentleman, if she had not willed me on her blessing
not to spoil my face, if I could not find in my heart to
fight, would I might ne'er eat a potato-pie more. [_Exit._
_Enter_ BALURDO, _backward_; DILDO _following him with a
looking-glass in one hand, and a candle in the other hand_:
FLAVIA _following him backward, with a looking-glass in one hand,
and a candle in the other_; ROSSALINE _following her_; BALURDO
_and_ ROSSALINE _stand setting of faces; and so the Scene begins_.
_Feli._ More fool, more rare fools! O, for time and
place, long enough, and large enough, to act these fools!
Here might be made a rare scene of folly, if the plat[120]
could bear it. 123
_Bal._ By the sugar-candy sky, hold up the glass higher,
that I may see to swear in fashion. O, one loof[121]
more would ha' made them shine; God's neaks,[122] they
would have shone like my mistress' brow. Even so the
Duke frowns, for all this curson'd[123] world: O, that
gern[124] kills, it kills. By my golden--what's the richest
thing about me? 130
_Dil._ Your teeth.
_Bal._ By my golden teeth, hold up, that I may put in:
hold up, I say, that I may see to put on my gloves.
_Dil._ O, delicious, sweet-cheek'd master, if you discharge
but one glance from the level of that set face, O,
you will strike a wench; you'll make any wench love
you.
_Bal._ By Jesu, I think I am as elegant a courtier as----.
How likest thou my suit?
_Cat._ All, beyond all, no peregal:[125] you are wondered
at--[_Aside._] for an ass. 141
_Bal._ Well, Dildo, no Christen creature shall know
hereafter, what I will do for thee heretofore.
_Ros._ Here wants a little white, Flavia.
_Dil._ Ay, but, master, you have one little fault; you
sleep open-mouth'd.
_Bal._ Pew, thou jest'st. In good sadness, I'll have a
looking-glass nail'd to the testern of the bed, that I may
see when I sleep whether 'tis so or not; take heed you
lie not: go to, take heed you lie not. 150
_Fla._ By my troth, you look as like the princess, now--Ay--but
her lip is--lip is--a little----redder, a very
little redder.
_Ros._[126] But by the help of art or nature, ere I change my
periwig, mine shall be as red.
_Fla._[127] O ay, that face, that eye, that smile, that writhing
of your body, that wanton dandling of your fan, becomes
prethely, so sweethly, 'tis even the goodest lady that
breathes, the most amiable----. Faith, the fringe of your
satin petticoat is ript. Good faith, madam, they say you
are the most bounteous lady to your women that ever----O
most delicious beauty! Good madam, let me kith it.
_Feli._ Rare sport, rare sport! A female fool, and a
female flatterer. 164
_Ros._ Body o' me, the Duke! away[128] the glass!
_Enter_ PIERO.
_Pier._ Take up your paper, Rossaline.
_Ros._ Not mine, my Lord.
_Pier._ Not yours, my Lady? I'll see what 'tis.
_Bal._ And how does my sweet mistress? O Lady
dear, even as 'tis an old say, "'tis an old horse can neither
wighy,[129] nor wag his tail:" even so do I hold my set face
still: even so, 'tis a bad courtier that can neither discourse,
nor blow his nose. 173
_Pier._--[_reads._] _Meet me at Abraham's, the Jew's, where
I bought my Amazon's disguise. A ship lies in the port,
ready bound for England; make haste, come private._
ANTONIO.
_Enter_ CASTILIO _and_ FOROBOSCO.
Forobosco, Alberto, Feliche, Castilio, Balurdo! run, keep
the palace, post to the ports, go to my daughter's chamber!
whither now? scud to the Jew's! stay, run to the gates,
stop the gundolets,[130] let none pass the marsh! do all at
once! Antonio! his head, his head! Keep you the
court, the rest stand still, or run, or go, or shout, or search,
or scud, or call, or hang, or do-do-do su-su-su something!
I know not who-who-who what I do-do-do, nor who-who-who,
where I am. 185
_O trista traditrice, rea ribalda fortuna,
Negando mi vindetta mi causa fera morte._
[_Exeunt all but_ FELICHE.
_Feli._ Ha ha ha! I could break my spleen at his
impatience.
_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ MELLIDA.
_Ant. Alma et graziosa fortuna siate favorevole,
Et fortunati siano voti del_[_la_] _mia dolce Mellida, Mellida._
_Mel._ Alas, Antonio, I have lost thy note!
A number mount my stairs; I'll straight return. [_Exit._
_Feli._ Antonio, 194
Be not affright, sweet Prince; appease thy fear,
Buckle thy spirits up, put all thy wits
In wimble[131] action, or thou art surprised.
_Ant._ I care not.
_Feli.</i. Art mad, or desperate? or----
_Ant._ Both, both, all, all: I prithee let me lie; 200
Spite of you all, I can, and I will die.
_Feli.</i You are distraught; O, this is madness' breath!
_Ant._ Each man take[s] hence life, but no man death:
He's a good fellow, and keeps open house:
A thousand thousand ways lead to his gate,
To his wide-mouthèd porch, when niggard life
Hath[132] but one little, little wicket through.
We wring ourselves into this wretched world,
To pule, and weep, exclaim, to curse and rail,
To fret, and ban the fates, to strike the earth, 210
As I do now. Antonio, curse thy birth,
And die!
_Feli.</i Nay, heaven's my comfort, now you are perverse:
You know I always loved you; prithee live.
Wilt thou strike dead thy friends, draw mourning tears?
_Ant._ Alas, Feliche, I ha' ne'er a friend;
No country, father, brother, kinsman left
To weep my fate or sigh my funeral:
I roll but up and down, and fill a seat
In the dark cave of dusky misery. 220
_Feli._ 'Fore heaven, the Duke comes! hold you, take my key,
Slink to my chamber; look you, that is it:
There shall you find a suit I wore at sea;
Take it, and slip away. Nay, 'precious!
If you'll be peevish, by this light, I'll swear
Thou rail'dst upon thy love before thou diedst,
And call'd her strumpet.
_Ant._ She'll not credit thee.
_Feli.</i Tut, that's all one: I will defame thy love,
And make thy dead trunk held in vile regard.
_Ant._ Wilt needs have it so? why then, Antonio, 230
_Vive esperanza in dispetto del fato._ [_Exit._
_Enter_ PIERO, GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE, FOROBOSCO,
BALURDO, _and_ CASTILIO, _with weapons_.
_Pier._ O, my sweet princes, was't not bravely found?
Even there I found the note, even there it lay:
I kiss the place for joy, that there it lay.
This way he went, here let us make a stand:
I'll keep this gate myself. O gallant youth!
I'll drink carouse unto your country's health
Even in Antonio's skull.
_Bal._ Lord bless us, his breath is more fearful than a
sergeant's voice when he cries, I arrest. 240
_Enter_ ANTONIO, _disguised as a sailor_.
_Ant._ Stop Antonio! keep, keep Antonio!
_Pier._ Where, where, man, where?
_Ant._ Here, here: let me pursue him down the marsh!
_Pier._ Hold, there's my signet, take a gundelet:
Bring me his head, his head, and, by mine honour,
I'll make thee the wealthiest mariner that breathes.
_Ant._ I'll sweat my blood out till I have him safe.
_Pier._ Spoke[133] heartily, i'faith, good mariner.
O, we will mount in triumph; soon at night,
I'll set his head up. Let's think where. 250
_Bal._ Upon his shoulders, that's the fittest place for it.
If it be not as fit as if it were made for them, say,--
Balurdo, thou art a sot, an ass.
_Enter_ MELLIDA _in Pages attire, dancing_.
_Pier._ Sprightly, i'faith. In troth he's somewhat like
My daughter Mellida: but, alas! poor soul,
Her honour's[134] heels, God knows, are[n't] half so light.
_Mel._ [_Aside._] Escaped I am, spite of my father's spite. [_Exit._
_Pier._ Ho, this will warm my bosom ere I sleep.
_Enter_ FLAVIA _running_.
_Fla._ O my Lord, your daughter----
_Pier._ Ay, ay, my daughter's safe enough, I warrant thee.-- 260
This vengeance on the boy will lengthen out
My days unmeasuredly.
It shall be chronicled in time to come,
Piero Sforza slew Andrugio's son.
_Fla._ Ay, but, my Lord, your daughter----
_Pier._ Ay, ay, my good wench, she is safe enough.
_Fla._ O, then, my Lord, you know she's run away.
_Pier._ Run away, away! how run away?
_Fla._ She's vanish'd in an instant, none knows whither.
_Pier._ Pursue, pursue, fly, run, post, scud away! 270
_Feli._ [_Sings._] "_And was not good king Salomon_," &c.
_Pier._ Fly, call, run, row, ride, cry, shout, hurry, haste!
Haste, hurry, shout, cry, ride, row, run, call, fly,
Backward and forward, every way about!
_Mal[e]detta fortuna che[135] dura sorte!
Che farò, che dirò, pur fugir tanto mal!_
_Cast._ 'Twas you that struck me even now: was it not?
_Feli._ It was I that struck you even now.
_Cast._ You bastinadoed me, I take it.
_Feli._ I bastinadoed you, and you took it. 280
_Cast._ 'Faith, sir, I have the richest tobacco in the court
for you; I would be glad to make you satisfaction, if I
have wronged you. I would not the sun should set upon
your anger; give me your hand.
_Feli._ Content, faith; so thou'lt breed no more such lies.
I hate not man, but man's lewd qualities.
[_Exeunt._
[112] So the old eds., but I suspect that the true reading is
"traverse light," _i.e._, light cast slant-wise.
[113] Wanton excesses.
[114] See note 2, p. 13.
[115] "Passing passing good."--So ed. 1602.--Ed. 1633, "passing
good."
[116] Fiddle-string.--Here applied to Castilio's squeaky voice.
[117] Old eds. "most loved."
[118] So ed. 1602.--Ed. 1633 "courted."--Dilke gives "accosted";
but Spenser has the word _accourt_ in Book II. of the
_Faerie Queene_.
[119] Old eds. "then."
[120] Plot of the play.
[121] There is no meaning in the word "loof:" perhaps we should
read "one _touch_ more." Balurdo seems to be beautifying
some part of his person; but his movements are not quite clear.
[122] "God's neaks"--a meaningless oath constantly used by
Marston.
[123] A corruption of _christened_.
[124] Snarl, grin.--The word is still used in the north country.
[125] Equal.
[126] The words "But by the help ... as red," are given to Flavia
in the old eds.
[127] Ed. 1633 gives this speech to Balurdo.
[128] _I.e._, put the glass out of sight.
[129] Neigh.--Cf. Fletcher's _Women Pleased_, iv. 1:--
"This beast of Babylon I will never back again;
His pace is sure prophane, and his lewd _wi-hies_
The Songs of Hymyn and Gymyn in the wilderness."
So Ben Jonson in _Every Man out of his Humour_, ii. 1:--"So
the legerity for that, and the _whig-hie_ and the daggers in
the nose."
[130] "Gundolet"--old form of gondola.
[131] Nimble.--The word is used by Spenser.
[132] Should we not rather read "Hath but one little wicket
_thorough which_"?
[133] Old eds. "Speake."
[134] Ed. 1. "honour."
[135] Old eds. "_chy condura sorta_."
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
_Sea-shore near Venice._
_Enter_ ANTONIO, _in his sea-gown running_.
_Ant._ Stop, stop Antonio, stay Antonio!
Vain breath, vain breath, Antonio's lost;
He cannot find himself, not seize himself.
Alas, this that you see is not Antonio;
His spirit hovers in Piero's court,
Hurling about his agile faculties,
To apprehend the sight of Mellida:
But poor, poor soul, wanting apt instruments
To speak or see, stands dumb and blind, sad spirit,
Roll'd up in gloomy clouds as black as air 10
Through which the rusty coach of Night is drawn.
'Tis so; I'll give you instance that 'tis so.
Conceit you me: as having clasp'd a rose[136]
Within my palm, the rose being ta'en away,
My hand retains a little breath of sweet:
So may man's trunk, his spirit slipp'd away,
Hold[137] still a faint perfume of his sweet guest.
'Tis so; for when discursive powers fly out,
And roam in progress through the bounds of heaven,
The soul itself gallops along with them, 20
As chieftain of this wingèd troop of thought,
Whilst the dull lodge of spirit standeth waste,
Until the soul return from----. What was't I said?
O, this is naught but speckling melancholy.
I have been--
That Morpheus' tender skinp[138]--Cousin german
Bear with me, good--
Mellida: clod upon clod thus fall.
Hell is beneath, yet heaven is over all. [_Falls on the ground._
_Enter_[139] ANDRUGIO, LUCIO, _and_ Page.
_And._ Come, Lucio, let's go eat: what hast thou got? 30
Roots, roots? alas, they are seeded, new cut up.
O, thou hast wrongèd Nature, Lucio:
But boots not much; thou but pursu'st the world,
That cuts off virtue, 'fore it comes to growth,
Lest it should seed, and so o'errun her son,
Dull purblind error.--Give me water, boy.
There is no poison in't, I hope; they say
That lu[r]ks in massy plate: and yet the earth
Is so infected with a general plague,
That he's most wise, that thinks there's no man fool; 40
Right prudent, that esteems no creature just;
Great policy the least things to mistrust.
Give me assay[140]----. How we mock greatness now!
_Lu._ A strong conceit is rich, so most men deem;
If not to be, 'tis comfort yet to seem.
_And._ Why man, I never was a prince till now.
'Tis not the barèd pate, the bended knees,
Gilt tipstaves, Tyrrian purple, chairs of state,
Troops of pied butterflies that flutter still
In greatness' summer, that confirm a prince: 50
'Tis not the unsavoury breath of multitudes,
Shouting and clapping, with confusèd din,
That makes a prince. No, Lucio, he's a king,
A true right king, that dares do aught save wrong;
Fears nothing mortal but to be unjust;
Who is not blown up with the flattering puffs
Of spongy sycophants; who stands unmov'd,
Despite the justling of opinion;
Who can enjoy himself, maugre the throng
That strive to press his quiet out of him; 60
Who sits upon Jove's footstool, as I do,
Adoring, not affecting, majesty;
Whose brow is wreathèd with the silver crown
Of clear content: this, Lucio, is a king,
And of this empire every man's possest
That's worth his soul.
_Lu._ My Lord, the Genoways had wont to say--
_And._ Name not the Genoways: that very word
Unkings me quite, makes me vile passion's slave.
O, you that slide[141] upon the glibbery ice 70
Of vulgar favour, view Andrugio.
Was never prince with more applause confirm'd,
With louder shouts of triumph launchèd out
Into the surgy main of government;
Was never prince with more despite cast out,
Left shipwrack'd, banish'd, on more guiltless ground.
O rotten props of the crazed multitude,
How you still double, falter under the lightest chance
That strains your veins! Alas, one battle lost,
Your whorish love, your drunken healths, your houts[142]
and shouts, 80
Your smooth _God save's_, and all your devils lost[143]
That tempts our quiet to your hell of throngs!
Spit on me, Lucio, for I am turnèd slave:
Observe how passion domineers o'er me.
_Lu._ No wonder, noble Lord, having lost a son,
A country, crown, and----.
_And._ Ay, Lucio, having lost a son, a son,
A country, house, crown, son. _O lares, miseri[144] lares!_
Which shall I first deplore? My son, my son,
My dear sweet boy, my dear Antonio! 90
_Ant._ Antonio?
_And._ Ay, echo, ay; I mean Antonio.
_Ant._ Antonio, who means Antonio?
_And._ Where art? what art? know'st thou Antonio?
_Ant._ Yes.
_And._ Lives he?
_Ant._ No.
_And._ Where lies he dead?
_Ant._ Here.
_And._ Where?
_Ant._ Here.[145]
_And._ Art thou Antonio?
_Ant._ I think I am.
_And._ Dost thou but think? What, dost not know thyself?
_Ant._ He is a fool that thinks he knows himself.
_And._ Upon thy faith to heaven, give thy name. 100
_Ant._ I were not worthy of Andrugio's blood,
If I denied my name's Antonio.
_And._ I were not worthy to be call'd thy father,
If I denied my name Andrugio.
And dost thou live? O, let me kiss thy cheek,
And dew thy brow with trickling drops of joy.
Now heaven's will be done: for I have lived
To see my joy, my son Antonio.
Give me thy hand; now fortune do thy worst,
His blood, that lapp'd thy spirit in the womb, 110
Thus (in his love) will make his arms thy tomb.
_Ant._ Bless not the body with your twining arms,
Which is accurs'd of heaven. O, what black sin
Hath been committed by our ancient house,
Whose scalding vengeance lights upon our heads,
That thus the world and fortune casts us out,
As loathèd objects, ruin's branded slaves!
_And._ Do not expostulate the heavens' will,
But, O, remember to forget thyself;
Forget remembrance what thou once hast been. 120
Come, creep with me from out this open air:
Even trees have tongues, and will betray our life.
I am a-raising of our house, my boy,
Which fortune will not envy, 'tis so mean,
And like the world (all dirt): there shalt thou rip
The inwards of thy fortunes in mine ears,
While I sit weeping, blind with passion's tears.
Then I'll begin, and we'll such order keep,
That one shall still tell griefs, the other weep.
[_Exeunt_ ANDRUGIO _and_ LUCIO, _leaving_ ANTONIO
_and the_ Page.
_Ant_. I'll follow you. Boy, prithee stay a little. 130
Thou hast had a good voice, if this cold marsh
Wherein we lurk have not corrupted it.
_Enter_ MELLIDA, _standing out of sight, in her Page's suit_.
I prithee sing, but, sirra, (mark you me)
Let each note breathe the heart of passion,
The sad extracture of extremest grief.
Make me a strain speak groaning like a bell
That tolls departing souls;
Breathe me a point that may enforce me weep,
To wring my hands, to break my cursèd breast,
Rave, and exclaim, lie grovelling on the earth, 140
Straight start up frantic, crying, Mellida!
Sing but, _Antonio hath lost Mellida_,
And thou shalt see me (like a man possess'd)
Howl out such passion, that even this brinish marsh
Will squeeze out tears from out his spongy cheeks:
The rocks even groan, and----prithee, prithee sing,
Or I shall ne'er ha' done when I am in;
'Tis harder for me end, than to begin.
[_The Boy runs a note_, ANTONIO _breaks it_.
For look thee, boy, my grief that hath no end, 149
I may begin to plain, but----prithee, sing.
[_A song._
_Mel._ Heaven keep you, sir!
_Ant._ Heaven keep you from me, sir!
_Mel._ I must be acquainted with you, sir.
_Ant._ Wherefore? Art thou infected with misery,
Sear'd with the anguish of calamity?
Art thou true sorrow, hearty grief? canst weep?
I am not for thee if thou canst not rave,
[ANTONIO _falls on the ground_.
Fall flat on the ground, and thus exclaim on heaven:
O trifling nature, why inspired'st thou breath?
_Mel._ Stay, sir, I think you namèd Mellida.
_Ant._ Know'st thou Mellida? 160
_Mel._ Yes.
_Ant._ Hast thou seen Mellida?
_Mel._ Yes.
_Ant._ Then hast thou seen the glory of her sex,
The music of Nature, the unequall'd lustre
Of unmatch'd excellence, the united sweet
Of heaven's graces, the most adorèd beauty,
That ever strook amazement in the world!
_Mel._ You seem to love her.
_Ant._ With my very soul.
_Mel._ She'll not requite it: all her love is fix'd 170
Upon a gallant, one[146] Antonio,
The Duke of Genoa's son. I was her page,
And often as I waited, she would sigh,
O, dear Antonio! and to strengthen thought,
Would clip my neck, and kiss, and kiss me thus.
Therefore leave loving her: fa, faith methinks
Her beauty is not half so ravishing
As you discourse of; she hath a freckled face,
A low forehead, and a lumpish eye. 179
_Ant._ O heaven, that I should hear such blasphemy!
Boy, rogue, thou liest! and
_Spavento del mio cor dolce Mellida,
Di grave morte ristoro vero, dolce Mellida,
Celeste salvatrice, sovrana Mellida
Del mio sperar; trofeo vero Mellida._
_Mel. Diletta e soave anima mia Antonio,
Godevole bellezza cortese Antonio.
Signior mio e virginal amore bell'Antonio,
Gusto delli miei sensi, car'Antonio._
_Ant. O svanisce[147] il cor in un soave bacio._ 190
_Mel. Muoiono[148] i sensi nel desiato desio:_
_Ant. Nel cielo può esser beltà più chiara?_
_Mel._ Nel mondo può[149] esser beltà più chiara?_
_Ant. Dammi un bacio da quella bocca beata,
Lasciami[150] coglier l'aura odorata
Che ha[151] sua seggia in quelle dolci labbra._
_Mel. Dammi per impero del tuo gradit'amore
Che bea me con sempiterno honore,
Così, così mi converrà morir._
Good sweet, scout o'er the marsh, for my heart trembles 200
At every little breath that strikes my ear.
When thou returnest, then I will discourse
How I deceiv'd the court; then thou shalt tell
How thou escaped'st the watch: we'll point our speech
With amorous kissing[152] commas, and even suck
The liquid breath from out each other's lips.
_Ant._ Dull clod, no man but such sweet favour clips.
I go, and yet my panting blood persuades me stay.
Turn coward in her sight? away, away! [_Exit._ 209
[_Page._] I think confusion of Babel is fall'n upon those
lovers, that they change their language; but I fear me,
my master having but feigned the person of a woman,
hath got their unfeigned imperfection, and is grown
double tongued: as for Mellida, she were no woman, if
she could not yield strange language. But howsoever,
if I should sit in judgment, 'tis an error easier to be
pardoned by the auditors, than excused by the authors;
and yet some private respect may rebate the edge of
the keener censure.
_Enter_ PIERO, CASTILIO, MATZAGENTE, FOROBOSCO,
FELICHE, GALEATZO, _at one door_; BALURDO, _and
his_ Page, _at another door_.
_Pier._ This way she took: search, my sweet gentlemen.
How now, Balurdo, canst thou meet with anybody? 221
_Bal._ As I am true gentleman, I made my horse sweat,
that he hath ne'er a dry thread on him: and I can meet
with no living creature, but men and beasts. In good
sadness,[153] I would have sworn I had seen Mellida even
now; for I saw a thing stir under a hedge, and I peep'd,
and I spied a thing, and I peer'd, and I tweer'd[154] underneath:
and truly a right wise man might have been deceived,
for it was----.
_Pier._ What, in the name of heaven? 230
_Bal._ A dun cow.
_Feli._ Sh'ad ne'er a kettle[155] on her head?
_Pier._ Boy, did'st thou see a young lady pass this way?
_Gal._ Why speak you not?
_Bal._ God's neaks, proud elf, give the Duke reverence!
Stand bare with a----.
Whogh! heavens bless me! Mellida, Mellida!
_Pier._ Where man, where?
_Bal._ Turned man, turned man; women wear the breeches.
Lo, here! 240
_Pier._ Light and unduteous! kneel not, peevish elf;
Speak not, entreat not, shame unto my house,
Curse to my honour. Where's Antonio?
Thou traitress to my hate, what, is he shipp'd
For England now? well, whimpering harlot, hence!
_Mel._ Good father!
_Pier._ Good me no goods. Seest thou that sprightly youth?
Ere thou canst term to-morrow morning old,
Thou shalt call him thy husband, lord, and love.
_Mel._ Ay me! 250
_Pier._ Blirt on your "ay me's!" guard her safely hence.
Drag her away, I'll be your guard to-night.
Young prince, mount up your spirits and prepare
To solemnise your nuptial's eve with pomp.
_Gal._ The time is scant: now nimble wits appear:
Phoebus begins to[156] gleam, the welkin's clear.
[_Exeunt all but_ BALURDO _and his_ Page.
_Bal._ Now nimble wits appear! I'll myself appear,
Balurdo's self, that in quick wit doth surpass,
Will show the substance of a complete----.
_Dil._ Ass, ass.
_Bal._ I'll mount my courser, and most gallantly prick----. 260
_Dil._ Gallantly prick is too long, and stands hardly in
the verse, sir.
_Bal._ I'll speak pure rhyme, and will so bravely prank
it, that I'll toss love like a--prank, prank it!--a rhyme
for prank it?
_Dil._ Blanket.
_Bal._ That I'll toss love, like a dog in a blanket. Hah
hah, indeed, law. I think, hah hah; I think, hah hah,
I think I shall tickle the Muses. And I strike it not
dead, say, Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot. 270
_Dil._ Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.
_Enter_ ANDRUGIO _and_ ANTONIO _wreathed together_, LUCIO.
_And._ Now, come, united force of chap-fall'n death;
Come, power of fretting anguish, leave distress.
O, thus enfolded, we have breasts of proof
'Gainst all the venom'd stings of misery.
_Ant._ Father, now I have an antidote
'Gainst all the poison that the world can breathe:
My Mellida, my Mellida doth bless
This bleak waste with her presence.--How now, boy,
Why dost thou weep? alas! where's Mellida? 280
_Page._[157] Ay me, my Lord.
_Ant._[158] A sudden horror doth invade my blood;
My sinews tremble, and my panting heart
Scuds round about my bosom, to go out,
Dreading the assailant, horrid passion.
O, be no tyrant, kill me with one blow;
Speak quickly, briefly, boy.
_Page._ Her father found, and seized her; she is gone.
_And._ Son, heat thy blood, be not froze up with grief
Courage, sweet boy, sink not beneath the weight 290
Of crushing mischief. O where's thy dauntless heart,
Thy father's spirit! I renounce thy blood,
If thou forsake thy valour.
_Lu._ See how his grief speaks in his slow-paced steps.
Alas!
'Tis more than he can utter, let him go:
Dumb solitary path best suiteth woe. [_Exit_ ANTONIO.
_And._ Give me my arms, my armour, Lucio.
_Lu._ Dear lord, what means this rage? when lacking use[159]
Scarce safe's your life, will you in armour rise? 300
_And._ Fortune fears valour, presseth cowardice.
_Lu._ Then valour gets applause, when it hath place,
And means to blaze it.
_And. Nunquam potest non esse._
_Lu._ Patience, my lord, may bring your ills some end.
_And._ What patience, friend, can ruin'd hopes attend?
Come, let me die like old Andrugio,
Worthy my birth. O, blood-true-honour'd graves
Are far more blessèd than base life of slaves.
[_Exeunt._
[136] A correspondent of _Notes and Queries_ (1st ser., vol.
ix. p. 513) points out that Erasmus has the same simile:--"Anima
quæ moderatur utrumque corpus animantis improprie dicitur anima
cum revera sint animæ reliquiæ, non aliter quam odor rosarum
manet in manu etiam rosa sublata."--_Colloq._, Leyden ed.,
i. 694.
[137] Old ed. "Holds."
[138] These ravings are unintelligible.
[139] The stage-direction in the old eds. is "_Enter Andrugio,
Lucio, Cole, and Norwood._" I suppose that Cole and Norwood
are the names of the actors who personated Andrugio and Lucio.
[140] "Give me assay" = taste it before I drink. The
_assayer_ in courts and baronial halls was the officer who
tasted the dishes before the banquet in order to make sure that
no poison was concealed.
[141] Old eds. "_made open_ the glibbery ice," which modern
editors absurdly retain. The word "glibbery" has been already
noticed (note 3, p. 22).
[142] Cf. _Julius Cæsar_, i. 2 (text of First Folio):--"And then
he offered it the third time; hee put it the third time by, and
still as hee refus'd it the rabblement _howted_ and clapp'd their
chopt hands." In that passage the first three folios give
_howted_ and the fourth _houted_; but modern editors reject the
word and read either _hooted_ or _shouted_. The present passage
of Marston affords strong warrant for restoring the reading of
the folios. _Hout_ is clearly an onomatopoeic word, like
_hoit_:--He sings and _hoits_ and revels among his drunken
companions," (_Knight of the Burning Pestle_).
[143] Old eds. "last" (and so modern editors).
[144] Old eds. "_misereri_."
[145] Antonio is concealed behind a bush.
[146] So ed. 1633.--Ed. 1602 "on."
[147] Old eds. "_suamisce_."--Dilke reads "_smarisce_."
[148] Old eds. "_Murono_."
[149] Old eds. "_pol._"
[150] So Dilke. Old eds. "_Bassiammi_."
[151] Old eds. "_Che in sua neggia in quello_," &c.
[152] Old eds. repeat the word "kissing."
[153] "In good sadness" = seriously.
[154] "Tweer" (or "twire") = peep, pry.
[155] "The 'Dun Cow' is, we all know, intimately connected with
the celebrated Guy, Earl of Warwick, and I believe his 'kettle'
is one of the pretended relics still shown there. From the text I
conjecture that the dun cow with the kettle on her head was in
the time of Marston a well-known sign."--_Dilke._
[156] Omitted in ed. 1602.
[157] Old eds. "_Ant._"
[158] Old eds. "_And._"
[159] It is hard for Andrugio to escape detection even when he is
unarmed; but if he puts on his armour he will be at once
recognised. Cf. p. 46:--
"If you are but seen,
Your arms display you; therefore put them off."
ACT V.
SCENE I.
_Palace of the Duke of Venice._
_Enter_ BALURDO, _a_ Painter _with two pictures_, _and_ DILDO.
_Bal._ And are you a painter? sir, can you draw, can
you draw?
_Pa._ Yes, sir.
_Bal._ Indeed, law! now so can my father's forehorse.
And are these the workmanship of your hands?
_Pa._ I did limn them.
_Bal._ Limn them? a good word, limn them: whose
picture is this? _Anno Domini_, 1599. Believe me,
master Anno Domini was of a good settled age when
you limn'd him: 1599 years old! Let's see the other.
_Ætatis suæ_ 24. Byrlady, he is somewhat younger.
Belike master _Ætatis suæ_ was _Anno Domini's_ son. 12
_Pa._ Is not your master a----
_Dil._ He hath a little proclivity to him.
_Pa._ Proclivity, good youth? I thank you for your
courtly proclivity.
_Bal._ Approach, good sir. I did send for you to draw
me a device, an Imprezza, by _Synecdoche a Mott_. By
Phoebus' crimson taffeta mantle, I think I speak as
melodiously,--look you, sir, how think you on't? I
would have you paint me, for my device, a good fat leg
of ewe mutton, swimming in stewed broth of plums
(boy, keel[160] your mouth, it runs over) and the word[161] shall
be, _Hold my dish, whilst I spill my pottage_. Sure, in my
conscience, 'twould be the most sweet device, now. 25
_Pa._ 'Twould scent of kitchen-stuff too much.
_Bal._ God's neaks, now I remember me, I ha' the
rarest device in my head that ever breathed. Can you
paint me a driveling reeling song, and let the word be,
Uh. 30
_Pa._ A belch?
_Bal._ O, no no: Uh, paint me Uh, or nothing.
_Pa._ It cannot be done, sir, but by a seeming kind of
drunkenness.
_Bal._ No? well, let me have a good massy ring, with
your own posy graven in it, that must sing a small treble,
word for word, thus:
_And if you will[162] my true lover be,
Come follow me to the green wood._
_Pa._ O Lord, sir, I cannot make a picture sing. 40
_Bal._ Why? 'slid, I have seen painted things sing as sweet;
But I have't will tickle it for a conceit, i'faith.
_Enter_ FELICHE _and_ ALBERTO.
_Alb._ O dear Feliche, give me thy device.
How shall I purchase love of Rossaline?
_Feli._ 'Swill, flatter her soundly.
_Alb._ Her love is such, I cannot flatter her:
But with my utmost vehemence of speech,
I have ador'd her beauties.
_Feli._ Hast writ good moving unaffected rhymes to her?
_Alb._ O, yes, Feliche, but she scorns my writ. 50
_Feli._ Hast thou presented her with sumptuous gifts?
_Alb._ Alas, my fortunes are too weak to offer them.
_Feli._ O, then I have it, I'll tell thee what to do.
_Alb._ What, good Feliche?
_Feli._ Go and hang thyself; I say, go hang thyself,
If that thou canst not give, go hang thyself:
I'll rhyme thee dead, or verse thee to the rope.
How think'st thou of a poet that sung thus?
_Munera sola pacant, sola addunt munera formam:
Munere sollicites Pallada, Cypris erit._ 60
_Munera, munera!_
_Alb._ I'll go and breathe my woes unto the rocks,
And spend my grief upon the deafest seas.
I'll weep my passion to the senseless trees,
And load most solitary air with plaints.
For woods, trees, sea, or rocky Apennine,
Is not so ruthless as my Rossaline.
Farewell, dear friend, expect no more of me:
Here ends my part in this love's comedy. 69
[_Exeunt_ ALBERTO _and_ Painter.
_Feli._ Now, master Balurdo, whither are you going, ha?
_Bal._ Signior Feliche, how do you, faith? and by my
troth, how do you?
_Feli._ Whither art thou going, bully?[163]
_Bal._ And as heaven help me, how do you?
How, do you, i'faith, hee?
_Feli._ Whither art going, man?
_Bal._ O God, to the court; I'll be willing to give you
grace and good countenance, if I may but see you in the
presence.
_Feli._ O, to court? farewell. 80
_Bal._ If you see one in a yellow taffeta doublet, cut
upon carnation velure,[164] a green hat, a blue pair of
velvet hose, a gilt rapier, and an orange-tawny pair of
worsted silk stockings, that's I, that's I.
_Feli._ Very good: farewell.
_Bal._ Ho, you shall know me as easily; I ha' bought
me a new green feather with a red sprig; you shall see
my wrought[165] shirt hang out at my breeches; you shall
know me. 89
_Feli._ Very good, very good, farewell.
_Bal._ Marry, in the mask 'twill be somewhat hard.
But if you hear anybody speak so wittily, that he makes
all the room laugh; that's I, that's I. Farewell, good
Signior.
_Enter_ FOROBOSCO, CASTILIO, _a Boy carrying a gilt harp_;
PIERO, MELLIDA, _in night apparel_; ROSSALINE,
FLAVIA, _two Pages_.
_Pier._ Advance the music's prize; now, cap'ring wits,
Rise to your highest mount; let choice delight
Garland the brow of this triumphant night.
'Sfoot, 'a sits like Lucifer himself.
_Ros._ Good sweet Duke,
First let their voices strain for music's prize.[166]
Give me the golden harp: 100
Faith, with your favour, I'll be umperess.
_Pier._ Sweet niece, content: boys, clear your voice and
sing.
_First[167] Boy sings._
_Ros._ By this gold, I had rather have a servant with a
short nose, and a thin hair, than have such a high-stretch'd
minikin[168] voice.
_Pier._ Fair niece, your reason?
_Ros._ By the sweet of love, I should fear extremely
that he were an eunuch.
_Cast._ Spark spirit, how like you his voice?
_Ros._ Spark spirit, how like you his voice! 110
So help me, youth, thy voice squeaks like a dry corkshoe:[169]
come, come; let's hear the next.
_Second Boy sings._
_Pier._ Trust me, a strong mean. Well sung, my boy.
_Enter_ BALRUDO.
_Bal._ Hold, hold, hold: are ye blind? could ye not
see my voice coming for the harp? And I knock not
division[170] on the head, take hence the harp, make me
a slip,[171] and let me go but for ninepence. Sir Mark,
strike up for master Balurdo.
_Third Boy sings._
Judgment, gentlemen, judgment! Was't not above line?
I appeal to your mouths that heard my song. 120
Do[172] me right, and dub me knight, Balurdo.
_Ros._ Kneel down, and I'll dub thee knight of the
golden harp.
_Bal._ Indeed, law, do, and I'll make you lady of the
silver fiddlestick.
_Ros._ Come, kneel, kneel.
_Enter a Page to_ BALURDO.
_Bal._ My troth, I thank you, it hath never a whistle
in't.
_Ros._ Nay, good sweet coz, raise up your drooping
eyes; and I were at the point of _To have and to hold
from this day forward_, I would be asham'd to look thus
lumpish. What, my pretty coz, 'tis but the loss of an
odd maidenhead. 133
Shall's dance? thou art so sad, hark in thine[173] ear:
I was about to say, but I'll forbear.
_Bal._ I come, I come; more than most honeysuckle
sweet ladies, pine not for my presence, I'll return in
pomp. Well spoke, Sir Jeffrey Balurdo. As I am a
true knight, I feel honourable eloquence begin to grope
me already. [_Exit._ 140
_Pier._ Faith, mad niece, I wonder when thou wilt
marry?
_Ros._ Faith, kind uncle, when men abandon jealousy,
forsake taking of tobacco, and cease to wear their beards
so rudely long. O, to have a husband with a mouth
continually smoking, with a bush of furze on the ridge
of his chin, ready still to flop into his foaming chaps;
ah, 'tis more than most intolerable.
_Pier._ Nay faith, sweet niece, I was mighty strong in
thought we should have shut up night with an old
comedy: the Prince of Florence[174] shall have Mellida,
and thou should'st have----. 152
_Ros._ Nobody, good sweet uncle. I tell you, sir, I
have thirty-nine servants, and my monkey that makes
the fortieth. Now I love all of them lightly for something,
but affect none of them seriously for anything.
One's a passionate fool, and he flatters me above belief;
the second's a testy ape, and he rails at me beyond
reason; the third's as grave as some censor, and he
strokes up his mustachios three times, and makes six
plots of set faces, before he speaks one wise word; the
fourth's as dry as the bur of an hartichoke; the fifth
paints, and hath always a good colour for what he
speaks; the sixth----. 164
_Pier._ Stay, stay, sweet niece, what makes you thus
suspect your gallants' worth?
_Ros._ O, when I see one wear a periwig, I dread his
hair; another wallow in a great slop,[175] I mistrust the
proportion of his thigh; and wears a ruffled boot,[176] I fear
the fashion of his leg. Thus, something in each thing, one
trick in everything makes me mistrust imperfection in all
parts; and there's the full point of my addiction. 172
_The cornets sound a senet. Enter_ GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE,
_and_ BALURDO _in maskery_.
_Pier._ The room's too scant: boys, stand in there, close.
_Mel._ [_To_ GALEATZO.] In faith, fair sir, I am too sad to dance.
_Pier._ How's that, how's that? too sad? By heaven, dance,
And grace him too, or go to----, I say no more.
_Mel._ A burning glass, the word[177] _splendente Phoebo_?
It is too curious, I conceit it not.
_Gal._ Faith, I'll tell thee. I'll no longer burn,
Than you will shine and smile upon my love. 180
For look ye, fairest, by your pure sweets,
I do not dote upon your excellence;
And faith, unless you shed your brightest beams
Of sunny favour and acceptive grace
Upon my tender love, I do not burn:
Marry, but shine, and I'll reflect your beams
With fervent ardour. Faith! I would be loath to flatter
thee, fair soul, because I love, not dote, court like thy
husband, which thy father swears to-morrow morn I
must be. This is all; and now from henceforth, trust
me, Mellida, I'll not speak one wise word to thee more.
_Mel._ I trust ye. 192
_Gal._ By my troth, I'll speak pure fool[178] to thee
now.
_Mel._ You will speak the liker yourself.
_Gal._ Good faith, I'll accept of the coxcomb, so you
will not refuse the bable.[179]
_Mel._ Nay, good sweet, keep them both; I am enamoured
of neither.
_Gal._ Go to, I must take you down for this. Lend
me your ear. 200
_Ros._ A glow-worm? the word,--_Splendescit tantùm
tenebris_.
_Mat._ O, lady, the glow-worm figurates my valour,
which shineth brightest in most dark, dismal, and horrid
achievements.
_Ros._ Or rather, your glow-worm represents your wit,
which only seems to have fire in it, though indeed 'tis
but an _ignis fatuus_, and shines only in the dark dead
night of fools' admiration.
_Mat._ Lady, my wit hath spurs, if it were dispos'd to
ride you. 211
_Ros._ Faith, sir, your wit's spurs have but walking
rowels; dull, blunt, they will not draw blood: the
gentlemen-ushers may admit them the presence, for any
wrong they can do to ladies.
_Bal._ Truly, I have strained a note above ela[180] for a
device: look you, 'tis a fair-ruled singing book; the
word, _Perfect, if it were prick'd_.
_Fla._ Though you are mask'd, I can guess who you
are by your wit. You are not the exquisite Balurdo,
the most rarely-shaped Balurdo. 221
_Bal._ Who, I? No, I am not Sir Jeffrey Balurdo. I
am not as well known by my wit as an alehouse by a
red lattice.[181] I am not worthy to love and be beloved
of Flavia.
_Fla._ I will not scorn to favour such good parts
As are applauded in your rarest self. 227
_Bal._ Truly, you speak wisely, and like a jantlewoman
of fourteen years of age. You know the stone called
_lapis_; the nearer it comes to the fire, the hotter it is:
and the bird, which the geometricians call _avis_, the
farther it is from the earth, the nearer it is to the
heaven; and love, the nigher it is to the flame, the
more remote (there's a word, remote!) the more remote
it is from the frost. Your wit is quick; a little thing
pleaseth a young lady, and a small favour contenteth
an old courtier; and so, sweet mistress, I truss my
codpiece point. 238
_Enter_ FELICHE.
_Pier._ What might import this flourish? Bring us word.
_Feli._ Stand away: here's such a company of flyboats,[182]
hulling[183] about this galleasse[184] of greatness, that there's
no boarding him.
Do you hear, yon thing call'd duke?
_Pier._ How now, blunt Feliche; what's the news?
_Feli._ Yonder's a knight, hath brought Andrugio's head,
And craves admittance to your chair of state.
_Cornets sound a senet. Enter_ ANDRUGIO _in armour_.
_Pier._ Conduct him with attendance sumptuous;
Sound all the pleasing instruments of joy;
Make triumph stand on tiptoe whilst we meet:
O sight most gracious, O revenge most sweet! 250
_And. We vow, by the honour of our birth, to recompense
any man that bringeth Andrugio's head, with twenty thousand
double pistolets, and the endearing to our choicest
love._
_Pier._ We still with most unmoved resolve[185] confirm
Our large munificence, and here breathe
A sad and solemn protestation:
When I recall this vow, O, let our house
Be even commanded, stain'd, and trampled on,
As worthless rubbish of nobility. 260
_And._ Then here [_raising his beaver_], Piero, is Andrugio's head,
Royally casquèd in a helm of steel:
Give me thy love, and take it. My dauntless soul
Hath that unbounded vigour in his spirits
That it can bear more rank indignity,
With less impatience than thy canker'd hate
Can sting and venom his untainted worth
With the most vip'rous sound of malice. Strike!
O, let no glimpse of honour light thy thoughts;
If there be any heat of royal breath 270
Creeping in thy veins, O stifle it;
Be still thyself, bloody and treacherous.
Fame not thy house with an admirèd act
Of princely pity. Piero, I am come
To soil thy house with an eternal blot
Of savage cruelty; strike, or bid me strike.
I pray my death; that thy ne'er-dying shame
Might live immortal to posterity.
Come, be a princely hangman, stop my breath.
O dread thou shame, no more than I dread death. 280
_Pier._ We are amazed, our royal spirit's numb'd
In stiff astonish'd wonder at thy prowess.
Most mighty, valiant, and high-tow'ring heart,
We blush, and turn our hate upon ourselves,
For hating such an unpeer'd excellence.
I joy my state: him whom I loath'd before,
That now I honour, love, nay more, adore.
[_The still flutes sound a mournful senet. Enter a
funeral procession, followed by_ LUCIO.
But stay; what tragic spectacle appears!
Whose body bear you in that mournful hearse?
_Lu._ The breathless trunk of young Antonio. 290
_Mel._ Antonio! ay me! my lord, my love! my----.
_And._ Sweet precious issue of most honour'd blood,
Rich hope, ripe virtue, O untimely loss!
Come hither, friend: prithee, do not weep.
Why, I am glad he's dead; he shall not see
His father's vanquish'd by his enemy,
Even in princely honour. Nay, prithee, speak!
How died the wretched boy?
_Lu._ My lord!
_And._ I hope he died yet like my son, i'faith. 300
_Lu._ Alas, my lord!
_And._ He died unforced, I trust, and valiantly?
_Lu._ Poor gentleman, being----
_And._ Did his hand shake, or his eye look dull,
His thoughts reel fearful when he struck the stroke?
And if they did, I'll rend them out the hearse,
Rip up his cerecloth, mangle his bleak face,
That when he comes to heaven, the powers divine,
Shall ne'er take notice that he was my son:
I'll quite disclaim his birth. Nay, prithee, speak! 310
And 'twere not hooped with steel, my breast would break.
_Mel._ O that my spirit in a sigh could mount
Into the sphere where thy sweet soul doth rest!
_Pier._ O that my tears, bedewing thy wan cheek,
Could make new spirit sprout in thy cold blood!
_Bal._ Verily, he looks as pitifully as a poor John;[186]
as I am true knight, I could weep like a ston'd
horse.
_And._ Villain, 'tis thou hast murderèd my son!
Thy unrelenting spirit, thou black dog, 320
That took'st no passion[187] of his fatal love,
Hath forced him give his life untimely end.
_Pier._ O! that my life, her love, my dearest blood,
Would but redeem one minute of his breath!
_Ant._ [_rising_.] I seize that breath. Stand not amazed,
great states;
I rise from death that never lived till now.
Piero, keep thy vow, and I enjoy
More unexpressèd height of happiness
Than power of thought can reach; if not, lo, here
There stands my tomb, and here a pleasing stage. 330
Most-wish'd spectators of my tragedy,
To this end have I feign'd, that her fair eye,
For whom I lived, might bless me ere I die.
_Mel._ Can breath depaint[188] my unconceivèd thoughts?
Can words describe my infinite delight
Of seeing thee, my lord Antonio?
O no; conceit, breath, passion, words, be dumb,
Whilst I instill the dew of my sweet bliss,
In the soft pressure of a melting kiss!
_Sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras._ 340
_Pier._ Fair son (now I'll be proud to call thee son),
Enjoy me thus: my very breast is thine;
Possess me freely, I am wholly thine.
_Ant._ Dear father----
_And._ Sweet son, sweet son, I can speak no more:
My joy's passion flows above the shore,
And chokes the current of my speech.
_Pier._ Young Florence prince, to you my lips must beg
For a remittance of your interest.
_Gal._ In your fair daughter? with all my thought. 350
So help me faith, the nak'd truth I'll unfold;
He that was never[189] hot will soon be cold.
_Pier._ No man else makes claim unto her?
_Mat._ The valiant speak truth in brief: no--
_Bal._ Truly, for Sir Jeffrey Balurdo, he disclaims to
have had anything in her.
_Pier._ Then here I give her to Antonio.
Royal, valiant, most respected prince,
Let's clip our hands, I'll thus observe my vow:
I promised twenty thousand double pistolets, 360
With the endearing to my dearest love,
To him that brought thy head; thine be the gold,
To solemnise our houses' unity;
My love be thine, the all I have, be thine.
Fill us fresh wine, the form we'll take by this;
We'll drink a health, while they two sip a kiss.[190]
Now there remains no discord that can sound
Harsh accents to the ear of our accord:
So please you,[191] niece, to match. 369
_Ros._ Troth, uncle, when my sweet-faced coz hath told
me how she likes the thing called wedlock, may be I'll
take a survey of the checkroll of my servants; and he
that hath the best parts of--I'll prick him down for my
husband.
_Bal._ For passion of love now, remember me to my
mistress, lady Rossaline, when she is pricking down the
good parts of her servants. As I am true knight, I grow
stiff; I shall carry it.
_Pier._ I will.
Sound Lydian wires, once make a pleasing note 380
On nectar streams of your sweet airs to float.
_Ant._ Here ends the comic crosses of true love;
O! may the passage most successful prove!
[160] Cool.--To _keel the pot_ was to stir the contents
gently in order to keep them from boiling over.
[161] Motto.
[162] So ed. 1602.--Ed. 1633 "thou wilt."
[163] A familiar form of address.
[164] A sort of velvet.
[165] In _Every Man out of his Humour_, iv. 4, after Fastidious
Brisk has been describing the damage done to his finery in a
duel, Carlo observes--"I wonder he speaks not of his _wrought
shirt_." Gifford remarks--"The linen, both of men and women, was
either so worked as to resemble the finest lace, or was
ornamented by the needle with representations of fruits, flowers,
passages of history, &c."
[166] Ed. 1602 "price."
[167] This play was acted by the Paul's Children, whose voices
were carefully trained: hence the frequent introduction of songs.
[168] See note 2, p. 51.
[169] "Their _corkèd shoes_ to bear them high."--Stephen Gosson's
_Pleasant Quips, &c._
[170] See note 6, p. 48.
[171] "Slip"--counterfeit coin.
[172] "Do me right and dub me knight."--Part of an old catch. So
Silence in _2 Henry IV._, v. 3:--
"Do me right
And dub me knight,
Samingo."
Again in Nashe's _Summer's Last Will and Testament_:--
"_All. Monsieur Mingo for quaffing did surpass,
In cup, in can, or glass._
_Bac._ Ho, well shot a toucher, a toucher.
_For quaffing Toy doth pass
In cup, in can, or glass._
_All. God Bacchus, do him right,
And dub him knight._"
[173] Old eds. "mine."
[174] Old eds. "Millane;" but Galeatzo, son of the Duke of
Florence, was the suitor whom Piero had chosen. Cf. p. 91:--
"Young Florence prince, to you my lips must be,
For a remittance of your interest."
[175] Wide loose breeches.
[176] "Ruffled boot."--See notes on Middleton, i. 26, viii. 70.
[177] Motto.
[178] "'Speak pure fool.'--This is idiomatic, and is in sense
equivalent to, 'I will speak like a pure fool.' Thus in
_Othello_, act ii., 'Drunk? and speak parrot?'--that is, talk
foolishly or idly like a parrot."--_Halliwell_.
[179] Old form of "bauble."
[180] The highest note in the scale.--Cf. Nashe's _Christ's Tears
over Jerusalem_ (_Works_, ed. Grosart, v. 188):--"No, no, either
you must _strain your wits an ela above_ theirs," &c. The form of
expression is not uncommon.
[181] A red lattice was the distinguishing mark of a tavern.
[182] "Flyboat" (Span. filibote)--a fast-sailing vessel.
[183] "To float, to swim, as borne along or driven by wind or
water."--Dyce's _Shakesp. Glossary_.
[184] A large galley.
[185] Old eds. "resolv'd."
[186] "Poor John" = inferior dried hake. (Ed. 1633 "as Poor
John.")
[187] Sorrow, pity.
[188] Depict.
[189] Old eds. "nere."
[190] "Sip a kiss"--a translation of the Latin expression "oscula
libare."
[191] Old eds. "your."
EPILOGUS.
_And._ Gentlemen, though I remain an armed Epilogue,[192]
I stand not as a peremptory challenger of desert, either
for him that composed the Comedy, or for us that acted
it; but a most submissive suppliant for both. What
imperfection you have seen in us, leave with us, and
we'll amend it; what hath pleased you, take with you,
and cherish it. You shall not be more ready to embrace
anything commendable, than we will endeavour to amend
all things reprovable. What we are, is by your favour.
What we shall be, rests all in your applausive encouragements.
[_Exeunt._
[192] It was probably in derision of Marston's "armed Epilogue"
that Ben Jonson heralded _The Poetaster_ with an armed
Prologue. In _Troilus and Cressida_ we have an armed
Prologue:--
"And hither am I come,
A Prologue armed--but not in confidence
Of author's pen."
ANTONIO'S REVENGE.
_THE SECOND PART OF THE HISTORY OF
ANTONIO AND MELLIDA._
_Antonios Reuenge. The second part. As it hath beene sundry times
acted, by the children of Paules. Written by I. M. London. Printed for
Thomas Fisher, and are to be soulde in Saint Dunstans Church-yarde._
1602. 4to.
STORY OF THE PLAY.
Piero had been a suitor for the hand of Maria, daughter of the Duke of
Ferrara, but his addresses had been rejected and Maria had married
Andrugio, the offspring of the union being Antonio. When Piero,
dissembling his hatred, affects to be reconciled to Andrugio, Lucio is
despatched to bring Maria to the Venetian Court. Piero, at a banquet
given on the eve of his daughter's marriage with Antonio, instils in
Andrugio's cup a poison which has no immediate effect but works
fatally after a few hours. With the help of a base creature, Strotzo,
he proceeds in the night to murder Antonio's friend, Feliche, whose
body is carried by Strotzo to Mellida's chamber. At sunrise Maria and
Lucio arrive at Venice. Antonio, whose sleep has been troubled by
hideous dreams, is abroad early, and is met by his mother as he paces
disquietly in front of Mellida's chamber. Presently the window-curtain
is drawn aside and there is exposed the body of Feliche, stabbed thick
with wounds. While Antonio is distractedly calling upon Mellida to
rise, Piero advances and proclaims himself the author of Feliche's
death, protesting that he had found his daughter in the embraces of
the murdered man. The scene of confusion is heightened by the entrance
of Strotzo, who announces that Andrugio has died from excess of joy at
his sudden change of fortunes. Mellida is put in close confinement,
and a day is appointed for her trial. Strotzo is instructed by Piero
to come forward at the trial and accuse Antonio of having instigated
the murders of Andrugio and Feliche. But before the trial Andrugio's
ghost appears to Antonio, discloses Piero's villainy, and bids Antonio
take vengeance on the murderer. Antonio stabs Piero's young son Julio
at Andrugio's shrine; he then disguises himself as Maria's fool and
watches his opportunity for further vengeance. The trial of Mellida is
held: Strotzo enters the court with a cord round his neck, declaring
that he had been suborned by Antonio to commit the crimes; and
officers are despatched to arrest Antonio, who in his fool's habit is
watching the proceedings. It had been part of the plot that Strotzo,
after making his confession, should break into passionate outbursts of
sorrow and implore Piero to rid him of a dishonourable life; whereupon
Piero was to spring forward, grasp the cord round Strotzo's neck as
with intent to strangle him, then suddenly to relax his hold, moved by
Strotzo's penitent conduct. Strotzo goes through his part of the
performance; but Piero, grasping one end of the cord while Castilio (a
courtier) grasps the other, is careful not to loose his hold before
the victim is strangled. Presently word is brought that Antonio in a
fit of distraction has flung himself from a high tower into the sea.
At this news Mellida falls into a deep swoon and is conveyed to her
chamber, whither Antonio after a short delay contrives to follow her,
but arrives only in time to see her expire. Piero, notwithstanding his
daughter's untoward death, determines that his marriage with Maria
(who affects to acquiesce in the arrangement) shall take place without
delay. A scheme of vengeance is contrived between Antonio, Pandulfo
(Feliche's father) and Alberto (Feliche's friend). The conspirators
attire themselves as maskers and appear at a banquet given by Piero on
the eve of his marriage. On the appearance of the maskers Piero
enquires for his son, Julio, and sends an attendant to fetch him to
see the dances. After dancing a measure the maskers request Piero to
have the hall cleared while they sit unmasked at the banquet.
Thereupon the guests and retainers withdraw, but Piero at the maskers'
request remains. He takes a seat at the banquet; the conspirators,
unmasking themselves, spring forward and bind him with cords to the
chair; insult over him, cut out his tongue, produce in a dish the
limbs of his murdered son, and finally hack him to death with their
swords. The tyrant's death is welcomed with universal joy. The
conspirators are hailed as saviours of their country, and are offered
high offices of state; but prefer to spend the rest of their lives in
the seclusion of a religious house.
THE PROLOGUE.
The rawish dank of clumsy[193] winter ramps
The fluent summer's vein; and drizzling sleet
Chilleth the wan bleak cheek of the numb'd earth,
Whilst snarling gusts nibble the juiceless leaves
From the nak'd shudd'ring branch; and pills[194] the skin
From off the soft and delicate aspects.
O now, methinks, a sullen tragic scene
Would suit the time with pleasing congruence.
May we be happy in our weak devoir,
And all part pleasèd in most wish'd content! 10
But sweat of Hercules can ne'er beget
So blest an issue. Therefore, we proclaim,
If any spirit breathes within this round,
Uncapable of weighty passion,
(As from his birth being huggèd in the arms,
And nuzzled 'twixt the breasts of happiness)
Who winks, and shuts his apprehension up
From common sense of what men were and are,
Who would not know what men must be--let such
Hurry amain from our black-visaged shows: 20
We shall affright their eyes. But if a breast
Nail'd to the earth with grief; if any heart
Pierc'd through with anguish pant within this ring;
If there be any blood whose heat is choked
And stifled with true sense of misery;
If ought of these strains fill this consort up--
Th' arrive most welcome. O that our power
Could lackey or keep wing with our desires,
That with unusèd paize[195] of style and sense,
We might weigh massy in judicious scale. 30
Yet here's the prop that doth support our hopes:
When our scenes falter, or invention halts,
Your favour will give crutches to our faults.[196] [_Exit._
[193] Marston's use of the words _clumsy_ and _ramp_ is
ridiculed in _The Poetaster_ (v. 1).
[194] Peels.
[195] An old form of _poise_.
[196] "This prologue, for its passionate earnestness, and for the
tragic note of preparation which it sounds, might have preceded
one of those tales of Thebes, or Pelops' line, which Milton has
so highly commended, as free from the common errors in his days,
'of intermixing comic stuff with tragic sadness and gravity,
brought in without discretion corruptly to gratify the people.'
It is as solemn a preparative as the 'warning voice which he who
saw th' Apocalypse heard cry.'"--_Charles Lamb._
_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._[197]
PIERO SFORZA, _Duke of Venice_.
ANTONIO, _son to the murdered_ ANDRUGIO, _affianced to_ MELLIDA.
PANDULFO, _father to the murdered_ FELICHE.
ALBERTO, _a Venetian gentleman_.
BALURDO, _a rich gull_.
MATZAGENTE, _a modern braggadoch_.
GALEATZO, _son to the Duke of Milan_.
FOROBOSCO, _a Parasite_.
CASTILIO BALTHAZAR, _a spruce courtier_.
LUCIO, _an old nobleman, attendant to_ MARIA.
STROTZO, _a creature of_ PIERO.
JULIO, _son to_ PIERO.
MARIA, ANDRUGIO'S _widow, mother to_ ANTONIO.
MELLIDA, _daughter to_ PIERO, _affianced to_ ANTONIO.
NUTRICHE, _attendant to_ MARIA.
_Two Senators, Herald, Waiting-women, Page, &c._
_Ghost of_ ANDRUGIO, _Ghost of_ FELICHE.
THE SCENE--VENICE.
[197] There is no list of characters in the old eds.
ANTONIO'S REVENGE.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
_A corridor in the palace of_ PIERO.
_Enter_ PIERO, _unbraced, his arms bare, smeared in blood,
a poniard in one hand bloody, and a torch in the other_;
STROTZO _following him with a cord_.
_Pier._ Ho, Gasper Strotzo, bind Feliche's trunk
Unto the panting side of Mellida!
[_Exit_ STROTZO.
'Tis yet dead night, yet all the earth is clutch'd[198]
In the dull leaden hand of snoring sleep;
No breath disturbs the quiet of the air,
No spirit moves upon the breast of earth,
Save howling dogs, night-crows, and screeching owls,
Save meagre ghosts, Piero, and black thoughts.
One, two!
[_Clock strikes._
Lord, in two hours what a topless mount 10
Of unpeer'd mischief have these hands cast up!
_Re-enter_ STROTZO.
I can scarce coop triumphing vengeance up
From bursting forth in braggart passion.
_Str._ My lord, 'tis firmly said that----
_Pier._ Andrugio sleeps in peace: this brain hath choked
The organ of his breast. Feliche hangs
But as a bait upon the line of death,
To tice on mischief. I am great in blood,
Unequall'd in revenge. You horrid scouts
That sentinel swart night, give loud applause 20
From your large palms. First, know, my heart was rais'd
Unto Andrugio's life upon this ground--
_Str._ Duke, 'tis reported----
_Pier._ We both were rivals in our may of blood,
Unto Maria, fair Ferrara's heir.
He won the lady, to my honour's death,
And from her sweets cropp'd this Antonio;
For which I burnt in inward swelt'ring hate,
And fester'd rankling malice in my breast,
Till I might belk revenge upon his eyes: 30
And now (O blessèd now!) 'tis done. Hell, night,
Give loud applause to my hypocrisy.
When his bright valour even dazzled sense,
In off'ring his own head, public reproach
Had blurr'd my name. Speak, Strotzo, had it not?
If then I had----
_Str._ It had, so please----
_Pier._ What had, so please? Unseasoned sycophant,
Piero Sforza is no numbèd lord,
Senseless of all true touch;[199] stroke not the head 40
Of infant speech, till it be fully born;
Go to!
_Str._ How now! Fut, I'll not smother your speech.
_Pier._ Nay, right thine eyes: 'twas but a little spleen,--
(Huge plunge![200]
Sin's grown a slave, and must observe slight evils;
Huge villains are enforced to claw[201] all devils.)--
Pish, sweet, thy thoughts, and give me----.
_Str._ Stroke not the head of infant speech! go to!
_Pier._ Nay, calm this storm. I ever held thy breast
More secret, and more firm in league of blood, 50
Than to be struck in heat with each slight puff.
Give me thy ears; huge infamy [had] press['d] down
My honour, if even then, when his fresh act
Of prowess bloom'd out full,
I had ta'en vengeance on his hated head----.
_Str._ Why it had----.
_Pier._ Could I avoid to give a seeming grant
Unto fruition of Antonio's love?
_Str._ No.
_Pier._ And didst thou ever see a Judas kiss 60
With a more covert touch of fleering hate?
_Str._ No.
_Pier._ And having clipt them with pretence of love,
Have I not crush'd them with a cruel wring?
_Str._ Yes.
_Pier._ Say, faith, didst thou e'er hear, or read, or see
Such happy vengeance, unsuspected death?
That I should drop strong poison in the bowl,
Which I myself caroused unto his health
And future fortune of our unity! 70
That it should work even in the hush[202] of night,
And strangle him on sudden, that fair show
Of death, for the excessive joy of his fate,
Might choke the murder! Ha, Strotzo, is't not rare?
Nay, but weigh it. Then Feliche stabb'd
(Whose sinking thought[203] frighted my conscious heart),
And laid by Mellida, to stop the match,
And hale on mischief. This all in one night!
Is't to be equall'd, think'st thou? O, I could eat
Thy fumbling throat, for thy lagg'd censure. Fut, 80
Is't not rare?
_Str._ Yes.
_Pier._ No? yes? nothing but _no_ and _yes_, dull lump?
Canst thou not honey me with fluent speech,
And even adore my topless villainy?
Will I not blast my own blood for revenge,
Must not thou straight be perjur'd for revenge,
And yet no creature dream 'tis my revenge?
Will I not turn a glorious bridal morn
Unto a Stygian night? Yet naught but _no_ and _yes_! 90
_Str._ I would have told you, if the incubus[204]
That rides your bosom would have patience,
It is reported that in private state
Maria, Genoa's duchess, makes to court,
Longing to see him, whom she ne'er shall see,
Her lord Andrugio. Belike she hath receiv'd
The news of reconciliation.
A[205] reconciliation with death!
Poor lady! shall but find poor comfort in't.
_Pier._ O, let me swoon for joy. By heaven, I think 100
I ha' said my prayers, within this month at least;
I am so boundless happy. Doth she come?
By this warm reeking gore, I'll marry her.
Look I not now like an inamorate?[206]
Poison the father, butcher the son, and marry the mother, ha!
Strotzo, to bed: snort in securest sleep;
For see, the dapple grey coursers of the morn
Beat up the light with their bright silver hooves,
And chase it through the sky.--To bed, to bed!
This morn my vengeance shall be amply fed. [_Exeunt._ 110
[198] Old eds. "cloucht," which we might regard as a misprint for
"coucht" if Marston had not shown an excessive fondness
(ridiculed in _The Poetaster_) for the word "clutch."
[199] Feeling, perception.--See Dyce's _Shakesp. Glossary_.
[200] _Plunge_ often has the meaning of--difficulty,
embarrassment. I suppose it has that meaning here. Piero is
annoyed at having to speak fair words to so paltry a rascal as
Strotzo.
[201] Stroke gently, flatter.--A common name for a flatterer was
_clawback._--"Flatant.--Flattering, fawning, colloguing with,
_clawing_, smoothing, stroaking."--_Cotgrave._
[202] Old eds. "husht."
[203] "Sinking thought" is a curious expression. It means, I
suppose--deep discernment, penetrative shrewdness. Piero dreaded
that his villainies would be detected by Feliche.
[204] Marston's use of this word is ridiculed in _The Poetaster_
(v. 1).
[205] Old eds. "Reconciliation with a death?" Metre and sense
show that the article "a" has been misplaced by the printer.
[206] So old eds.
SCENE II.
_Precincts of the palace of_ PIERO.
_Enter_ LUCIO, MARIA, _and_ NUTRICHE.
_Mar._ Stay, gentle Lucio, and vouchsafe thy hand.
_Lu._ O, Madam----.
_Mar._ Nay, prithee give me leave to say, vouchsafe;
Submiss entreats beseem my humble fate.
Here let us sit. O Lucio, fortune's gilt
Is rubb'd quite off from my slight tin-foil'd state,
And poor Maria must appear ungraced
Of the bright fulgor of gloss'd majesty.
_Lu._ Cheer up your spirits, Madam; fairer chance,
Than that which courts your presence instantly, 10
Can not be formed by the quick mould of thought.
_Mar._ Art thou assured the dukes are reconciled?
Shall my womb's honour wed fair Mellida?
Will heaven at length grant harbour to my head?
Shall I once more clip my Andrugio,
And wreath my arms about Antonio's neck?
Or is glib rumour grown a parasite,
Holding a false glass to my sorrow's eyes,
Making the wrinkled front of grief seem fair,
Though 'tis much rivell'd[207] with abortive care? 20
_Lu._ Most virtuous princess, banish straggling fear,
Keep league with comfort. For these eyes beheld
The dukes united; yon faint glimmering light
Ne'er peepèd through the crannies of the east,
Since I beheld them drink a sound carouse,
In sparkling Bacchus, unto each other's health;
Your son assur'd[208] to beauteous Mellida,
And all clouds clear'd of threat'ning discontent.
_Mar._ What age is morning of?
_Lu._ I think 'bout five.
_Mar._ Nutriche, Nutriche! 30
_Nut._ Beshrow your fingers! marry, you have disturb'd
the pleasure of the finest dream. O God! I was even
coming to it, law. O Jesu! 'twas coming of the sweetest.
I'll tell you now, methought I was married, and methought
I spent (O Lord, why did you wake me?), and
methought I spent three spur-royals[209] on the fiddlers for
striking up a fresh hornpipe. Saint Ursula! I was even
going to bed, and you, methought, my husband, was
even putting out the tapers, when you--Lord I shall never
have such a dream come upon me, as long as----. 40
_Mar._ Peace, idle creature, peace!--When will the
court rise?
_Lu._ Madam, 'twere best you took some lodging up,
And lay in private till the soil of grief
Were clear'd your cheek, and new burnish'd lustre
Clothèd your presence, 'fore you saw the dukes,
And enter'd 'mong the proud Venetian states.[210]
_Mar._ No, Lucio, my dear lord is wise, and knows
That tinsel glitter, or rich purfled[211] robes,
Curl'd hairs, hung full of sparkling carcanets,
Are not the true adornments of a wife. 50
So long as wives are faithful, modest, chaste,
Wise lords affect them. Virtue doth not waste
With each slight flame of crackling vanity.
A modest eye forceth affection,
Whilst outward gayness' light looks but entice:
Fairer than nature's fair is foulest vice.
She that loves art to get her cheek more lovers,
Much outward gauds, slight inward grace discovers.
I care not to seem fair but to my lord:
Those that strive most to please most strangers' sight,
Folly may judge most fair, wisdom most light. 61
[_Music sounds a short strain._
But hark, soft music gently moves the air!
I think the bridegroom's up. Lucio, stand close.
O now, Maria, challenge grief to stay
Thy joy's encounter. Look, Lucio, 'tis clear day.
[_They retire to the back of the stage._
_Enter_ ANTONIO, GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE, BALURDO,
PANDULPHO, FELICHE, ALBERTO, FOROBOSCO, CASTILIO,
_and a Page_.
_Ant._ Darkness is fled: look, infant morn hath drawn
Bright silver curtains 'bout the couch of night;
And now Aurora's horse trots azure rings,[212]
Breathing fair light about the firmament.--
Stand, what's that? 70
_Mat._ And if a hornèd devil should burst forth,
I would pass on him with a mortal stock.[213]
_Alb._ Oh, a horned devil would prove ominous
Unto a bridegroom's eyes.
_Mat._ A horned devil? Good: ha, ha, ha!--very good!
_Alb._ Good tann'd prince, laugh not. By the joys of love,
When thou dost girn,[214] thy rusty face doth look
Like the head of a roasted rabbit: fie upon't!
_Bal._ By my troth, methinks his nose is just colour de roy.[215]
_Mat._ I tell thee, fool, my nose will abide no jest. 80
_Bal._ No, in truth, I do not jest; I speak truth. Truth
is the touchstone of all things; and, if your nose will not
abide the truth, your nose will not abide the touch; and,
if your nose will not abide the touch, your nose is a
copper nose, and must be nail'd up for a slip.[216]
_Mat._ I scorn to retort the obtuse jest of a fool.
[BALURDO _draws out his writing tables, and writes_.
_Bal._ Retort and obtuse, good words, very good words.
_Gal._ Young prince, look sprightly; fie, a bridegroom sad!
_Bal._ In truth, if he were retort and obtuse, no question
he would be merry; but, and please my genius, I will be
most retort and obtuse ere night. I'll tell you what I'll
bear soon at night in my shield, for my device. 92
_Gal._ What, good Balurdo?
_Bal._ O, do me right:--Sir Jeffrey Balurdo; sir, sir,
as long as ye live, sir.
_Gal._ What, good Sir Jeffrey Balurdo?
_Bal._ Marry forsooth, I'll carry for my device my grandfather's
great stone horse, flinging up his head, and
jerking out his left leg: the word, "Wighy Purt." As I
am a true knight, will't not be most retort and obtuse,
ha? 101
_Ant._ Blow hence these sapless jests. I tell you, bloods,
My spirit's heavy, and the juice of life
Creeps slowly through my stiffen'd arteries.
Last sleep, my sense was steep'd in horrid dreams:
Three parts of night were swallow'd in the gulf
Of ravenous time, when to my slumb'ring powers,
Two meagre ghosts made apparition.
The one's breast seem'd fresh paunch'd with bleeding wounds,
Whose bubbling gore sprang in [my] frighted eyes; 110
The other ghost assum'd my father's shape:
Both cried, "Revenge!" At which my trembling joints,
Icèd quite over with a frozed cold sweat,[217]
Leap'd forth the sheets. Three[218] times I g[r]asp'd at shades,
And thrice, deluded by erroneous sense,
I forc'd my thoughts make stand; when lo, I oped[219]
A large bay window, th[o]rough which the night
Struck terror to my soul. The verge of heaven
Was ring'd with flames, and all the upper vault
Thick-lac'd with flakes of fire; in midst whereof 120
A blazing comet shot his threat'ning train
Just on my face. Viewing these prodigies,
I bow'd my naked knee and pierc'd the star
With an outfacing eye, pronouncing thus:
_Deus imperat astris_. At which, my nose straight bled;
Then doubted I my word, so slunk to bed. 126
_Bal._ Verily, Sir Jeffrey had a monstrous strange dream
the last night. For methought I dreamt I was asleep,
and methought the ground yawn'd and belkt up the
abhominable ghost of a misshapen simile, with two ugly
pages; the one called master, even as going before; and
the other mounser,[220] even so following after; whilst
Signior Simile stalk'd most prodigiously in the midst.
At which I bewray'd[221] the fearfulness of my nature, and
being ready to forsake the fortress of my wit, start up,
called for a clean shirt, ate a mess of broth, and with
that I awaked.
_Ant._ I prithee, peace. I tell you, gentlemen,
The frightful shades of night yet shake my brain:
My jellied[222] blood's not thaw'd: the sulphur damps, 140
That flew[223] in wingèd lightning 'bout my couch,
Yet stick within my sense, my soul is great
In expectation of dire prodigies.
_Pan._ Tut, my young prince, let not thy fortunes see
Their lord a coward. He that's nobly born
Abhors to fear: base fear's the brand of slaves.
He that observes, pursues, slinks back for fright,
Was never cast in mould of noble sprite.
_Gal._ Tush, there's a sun will straight exhale these damps
Of chilling fear. Come, shall's salute the bride? 150
_Ant._ Castilio, I prithee mix thy breath with his:
Sing one of Signior Renaldo's airs,
To rouse the slumb'ring bride from gluttoning
In surfeit of superfluous sleep. Good signior, sing.
[_A Song._
What means this silence and unmovèd calm?
Boy, wind thy cornet: force the leaden gates
Of lazy sleep fly open with thy breath.
My Mellida not up? not stirring yet? umh!
_Mar._ That voice should be my son's, Antonio's.
Antonio! 160
_Ant._ Here: who calls? here stands Antonio.
_Mar._ Sweet son!
_Ant._ Dear mother!
_Mar._ Fair honour of a chaste and loyal bed,
Thy father's beauty, thy sad mother's love,
Were I as powerful as the voice of fate,
Felicity complete should sweet thy state;
But all the blessings that a poor banish'd wretch
Can pour upon thy head, take, gentle son:
Live, gracious youth, to close thy mother's eyes, 170
Loved of thy parents, till their latest hour.
How cheers my lord, thy father? O sweet boy,
Part of him thus I clip, my dear, dear joy.
[_Embraces_ ANTONIO.
_Ant._ Madam, last night I kissed his princely hand,
And took a treasured blessing from his lips.
O mother, you arrive in jubilee,
And firm atonement of all boist'rous rage;
Pleasure, united love, protested faith,
Guard my loved father, as sworn pensioners:
The dukes are leagued in firmest bond of love, 180
And you arrive even in the solsticy
And highest point of sunshine happiness.
[_One winds a cornet within._
Hark, madam, how yon cornet jerketh up
His strain'd shrill accents in the capering air,
As proud to summon up my bright-cheek'd love!
Now, mother, ope wide expectation;
Let loose your amplest sense, to entertain
Th' impression of an object of such worth
That life's too poor to----
_Gal._ Nay, leave hyperboles.
_Ant._ I tell thee, prince, that presence straight appears
Of which thou canst not form hyperboles; 191
The trophy of triumphing excellence,
The heart of beauty, Mellida appears.
See, look, the curtain stirs; shine nature's pride,
Love's vital spirit, dear Antonio's bride.
[_The curtain's drawn, and the body of_ FELICHE, _stabb'd
thick with wounds, appears hung up_.
What villain bloods the window of my love?
What slave hath hung yon gory ensign up
In flat defiance of humanity?
Awake, thou fair unspotted purity!
Death's at thy window, awake, bright Mellida! 200
Antonio calls!
_Enter_ PIERO, _unbraced, with_ FOROBOSCO.
_Pier._ Who gives these ill-befitting attributes
Of chaste, unspotted, bright, to Mellida?
He lies as loud as thunder: she's unchaste,
Tainted, impure, black as the soul of hell.
[ANTONIO _draws his rapier, offers to run at_ PIERO, _but_
MARIA _holds his arm and stays him_.
_Ant._ Dog! I will make thee eat thy vomit up,
Which thou hast belkt 'gainst taintless Mellida.
_Pier._[224] Ram't quickly down, that it may not rise up
To imbraid[225] my thoughts. Behold my stomach;
Strike me quite through with the relentless edge 210
Of raging fury. Boy, I'll kill thy love.
Pandulf Feliche, I have stabb'd thy son:
Look, yet his lifeblood reeks upon this steel.
Albert, yon hangs thy friend. Have none of you
Courage of vengeance? Forget I am your duke;
Think Mellida is not Piero's blood;
Imagine on slight ground I'll blast his honour;
Suppose I saw not that incestuous slave,
Clipping the strumpet with luxurious twines![226]
O, numb my sense of anguish, cast my life 220
In a dead sleep, whilst law cuts off yon maim,[227]
Yon putrid ulcer of my royal blood!
_For._ Keep league with reason, gracious sovereign.
_Pier._ There glow no sparks of reason in the world;
All are raked up in ashy beastliness.
The bulk of man's as dark as Erebus,
No branch of reason's light hangs in his trunk:
There lives no reason to keep league withal.
I ha' no reason to be reasonable.
Her wedding eve, link'd to the noble blood 230
Of my most firmly-reconcilèd friend,
And found even cling'd in sensuality!
O heaven! O heaven! Were she as near my heart
As is my liver, I would rend her off.
_Enter_ STROTZO.
_Str._ Whither, O whither shall I hurl vast grief!
_Pier._ Here, into my breast: 'tis a place built wide
By fate, to give receipt to boundless woes.
_Str._ O no; here throb those hearts, which I must cleave
With my keen-piercing news. Andrugio's dead.
_Pier._ Dead! 240
_Mar._ O me, most miserable!
_Pier._ Dead! alas, how dead? [_Gives seeming passion._
[_Aside._] Fut, weep, act, feign--Dead! alas, how dead?
_Str._ The vast delights of his large sudden joys
Open'd his powers so wide, that 's native heat
So prodigally flow'd t' exterior parts,
That th'inner citadel was left unmann'd,
And so surpris'd on sudden by cold death.
_Mar._ O fatal, disastrous, cursèd, dismal!
Choke breath and life! I breathe, I live too long. 250
Andrugio, my lord, I come, I come! [_Swoons._
_Pier._ Be cheerful, princess; help, Castilio,
The lady's swounèd;[228] help to bear her in:
Slow comfort to huge cares is swiftest sin.
_Bal._ Courage, courage, sweet lady, 'tis Sir Jeffrey
Balurdo bids you courage. Truly I am as nimble as an
elephant about a lady.
[_Exeunt_ PIERO, CASTILIO, FOROBOSCO _and_
BALURDO, _bearing out_ MARIA.
_Pan._ Dead!
_Ant._ Dead!
_Alb._ Dead! 260
_Ant._ Why, now the womb of mischief is deliver'd,
Of the prodigious issue of the night.
_Pan._ Ha, ha, ha!
_Ant._ My father dead: my love attaint of lust,--
That's a large lie, as vast as spacious hell!
Poor guiltless lady! O, accursèd lie!
What, whom, whither, which shall I first lament?
A[229] dead father, a dishonour'd wife? Stand.
Methinks I feel the frame of nature shake.
Cracks not the joints of earth to bear my woes? 270
_Alb._ Sweet prince, be patient.
_Ant._ 'Slid, sir, I will not in despite of thee.
Patience is slave to fools: a chain that's fixt
Only to posts, and senseless log-like dolts.
_Alb._ 'Tis reason's glory to command affects.[230]
_Ant._ Lies thy cold father dead, his glossèd eyes
New closèd up by thy sad mother's hands?
Hast thou a love, as spotless as the brow
Of clearest heaven, blurr'd with false defames?
Are thy moist entrails crumpled up with grief 280
Of parching mischiefs? Tell me, does thy heart
With punching anguish spur thy gallèd ribs?
Then come, let's sit[231] and weep and wreathe our arms:
I'll hear thy counsel.
_Alb._ Take comfort.
_Ant._ Confusion to all comfort! I defy it.
Comfort's a parasite, a flattering jack,[232]
And melts resolv'd despair. O boundless woe,
If there be any black yet unknown grief,
If there be any horror yet unfelt, 290
Unthought of mischief in thy fiend-like power,
Dash it upon my miserable head;
Make me more wretch, more cursèd if thou canst!
O, now my fate is more than I could fear:
My woes more weighty than my soul can bear. [_Exit._
_Pan._ Ha, ha, ha!
_Alb._ Why laugh you, uncle? That's my coz, your son,
Whose breast hangs casèd in his cluttered[233] gore.
_Pan._ True, man, true: why, wherefore should I weep?
Come, sit, kind nephew: come on; thou and I 300
Will talk as chorus to this tragedy.
Entreat the music strain their instruments
With a slight touch, whilst we--Say on, fair coz.
_Alb._ He was the very hope of Italy,
[_Music sounds softly._
The blooming honour of your drooping age.
_Pan._ True, coz, true. They say that men of hope are crush'd;
Good are supprest by base desertless clods,
That stifle gasping virtue. Look, sweet youth,
How provident our quick Venetians are,
Lest hooves of jades should trample on my boy: 310
Look how they lift him up to eminence,
Heave him 'bove reach of flesh. Ha, ha, ha!
_Alb._ Uncle, this laughter ill becomes your grief.
_Pan._ Would'st have me cry, run raving up and down,
For my son's loss? Would'st have me turn rank mad,
Or wring my face with mimic action;
Stamp, curse, weep, rage, and then my bosom strike?
Away, 'tis aspish action, player-like.[234]
If he is guiltless, why should tears be spent?
Thrice blessèd soul that dieth innocent. 320
If he is leper'd with so foul a guilt,
Why should a sigh be lent, a tear be spilt?
The gripe of chance is weak to wring a tear
From him that knows what fortitude should bear.
Listen, young blood. 'Tis not true valour's pride
To swagger, quarrel, swear, stamp, rave, and chide,
To stab in fume of blood, to keep loud coil[s]
To bandy factions in domestic broils,
To dare the act of sins, whose filth excels
The blackest customs of blind infidels. 330
No, my lov'd youth: he may of valour vaunt
Whom fortune's loudest thunder cannot daunt;
Whom fretful gales of chance, stern fortune's siege,
Makes not his reason slink, the soul's fair liege;
Whose well-pais'd[235] action ever rests upon
Not giddy humours but discretion.
This heart in valour even Jove out-goes:
Jove is without, but this 'bove sense of woes:[236]
And such a one, eternity. Behold--
Good morrow, son; thou bid'st a fig for cold. 340
Sound louder music: let my breath exact [_Loud music._
You strike sad tones unto this dismal act.
[_Exeunt._
[207] Wrinkled.
[208] Affianced.
[209] Spur-royal was a gold coin worth fifteen shillings.
[210] Nobles.
[211] Embroidered (_Fr._ pourfiler).
[212] To make a horse _tread the ring_ was an equestrian feat.
The _ring_ was the circular piece of ground on which the horse
displayed his agility. See note on Middleton, vol. i. p. 190.
[213] Stockado, stoccata,--a thrust in fencing.
[214] Grin or snarl.
[215] "_Couleur de Roy_ was in the old time Purple; but now is
the bright Tawnie which wee also tearme _Coulour de
Roy_."--_Cotgrave._
[216] A counterfeit coin.
[217] A reminiscence of Virgil:--
"Tum gelidus toto manabat corpore sudor:
Corripio e stratis corpus."--_Æn._ iii. 174-5.
[218] Again we are reminded of Virgil:--
"Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum,
Ter frustra comprensa manus effugit imago."--_Æn._ vi, 699-700.
[219] For "I oped" old eds. give "top't."
[220] Old form of "monsieur."--Balurdo is talking arrant
nonsense.
[221] The dramatists are fond of punning on the words, (1) bewray
(betray), (2) beray (befoul). Cf. Middleton, i. 82, &c.
[222] Old eds. "gellied," which I take to be _jellied_--not
_gelid_. In the first edition of Shelley's _Cenci_ (iv. 3) we
have:--"The _gellyed blood_ runs freely through my veins:" later
editions read _jellied_.
[223] Old eds. "flow."
[224] Not marked in ed. 1602.
[225] Reproach, upbraid.
[226] "Luxurious twines"--lustful embraces.
[227] Old eds. "maine."
[228] So ed. 1602.--Ed. 1633, "swounded."
[229] The metrical harshness might be removed by reading "A
father dead, a wife dishonour'd."
[230] Affections, feelings.
[231] Old eds. "and let's sit."
[232] Saucy fellow.
[233] "'_Grumean de sang_, a clot or _clutter_ of congealed
blood,' Cotgrave. _Cluttered_ blood, 'Holinshed, _Hist. Engl._ p.
74.'"--_Halliwell._
[234] There seems to be an allusion to old Hieronymo's frantic
behaviour in _The Spanish Tragedy_.
[235] Well-balanced.
[236] A Stoic sentiment. Seneca writes:--"Est aliquid quo sapiens
antecedat deum: ille beneficio naturæ non timet, suo sapiens."
(_Ep. Mor._, Lib. vi, Ep. 1.) But see particularly the quotation
from Seneca on p. 133.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
_A dumb show._
_The cornets sound a senet._
_Enter two mourners with torches, two with streamers_; CASTILIO
_and_ FOROBOSCO, _with torches; a Herald bearing_ ANDRUGIO'S _helm
and sword; the coffin_; MARIA _supported by_ LUCIO _and_ ALBERTO;
_Antonio_, _by himself_; PIERO _and_ STROTZO, _talking_; GALEATZO
_and_ MATZAGENTE, BALURDO _and_ PANDULFO: _the coffin set down;
helm, sword, and streamers hung up, placed by the Herald, whilst_
ANTONIO _and Maria wet their handkerchers with their tears, kiss
them, and lay them on the hearse, kneeling: all go out but_ PIERO.
_Cornets cease, and he speaks._
_Pier._ Rot there, thou cerecloth that enfolds the flesh
Of my loath'd foe; moulder to crumbling dust;
Oblivion choke the passage of thy fame!
Trophies of honour'd birth drop quickly down:
Let nought of him, but what was vicious, live.
Though thou art dead, think not my hate is dead:
I have but newly twone my arm in the curl'd locks
Of snaky vengeance. Pale, beetle-brow'd hate
But newly bustles up. Sweet wrong, I clap thy thoughts!
O let me hug thy[237] bosom, rub thy[237] breast, 10
In hope of what may hap. Andrugio rots,
Antonio lives: umh: how long? ha, ha! how long?
Antonio pack'd hence, I'll his mother wed,
Then clear my daughter of supposèd lust,
Wed her to Florence heir. O excellent!
Venice, Genoa, Florence at my beck,
At Piero's nod.--Balurdo, O ho![238]--
O 'twill be rare, all unsuspected done.
I have been nursed in blood, and still have suck'd
The steam of reeking gore.--Balurdo, ho! 20
_Enter_ BALURDO _with a beard, half off, half on_.
_Bal._ When my beard is on, most noble prince, when
my beard is on.
_Pier._ Why, what dost thou with a beard?
_Bal._ In truth, one told me that my wit was bald, and
that a mermaid was half fish and half fish [_sic_]; and therefore
to speak wisely, like one of your counsel, as indeed
it hath pleased you to make me, not only being a fool of
your counsel, but also to make me of your counsel being
a fool: if my wit be bald, and a mermaid be half fish and
half conger, then I must be forced to conclude--The
tiring man hath not glued on my beard half fast enough.
God's bores, it will not stick to fall off. 32
_Pier._ Dost thou know what thou hast spoken all this while?
_Bal._ O lord, duke, I would be sorry of that. Many
men can utter that which no man but themselves can
conceive: but I thank a good wit, I have the gift to speak
that which neither any man else nor myself understands.
_Pier._ Thou art wise. He that speaks he knows not
what, shall never sin against his own conscience: go to,
thou art wise. 40
_Bal._ Wise? O no, I have a little natural discretion,
or so; but for wise, I am somewhat prudent; but for
wise, O lord!
_Pier._ Hold, take those keys, open the castle vault,
And put in Mellida.
_Bal._ And put in Mellida? Well, let me alone.
_Pier._ Bid Forobosco and Castilio guard;
Endear thyself Piero's intimate.
_Bal._ Endear, and intimate; good, I assure you. I
will endear and intimate Mellida into the dungeon
presently. 51
_Pier._ Will[239] Pandulfo Feliche wait on me.
_Bal._ I will make him come, most retort and obtuse,
to you presently. I think Sir Jeffrey talks like a counsellor.
Go to, god's neaks, I think I tickle it.
_Pier._ I'll seem to wind yon fool with kindest arm.
He that's ambitious-minded, and but man,
Must have his followers beasts, damn'd[240] slavish sots,
Whose service is obedience, and whose wit
Reacheth no further than to admire their lord, 60
And stare in adoration of his worth.
I loathe a slave, raked out of common mud,
Should seem to sit in counsel with my heart.
High-honour'd blood's too squeamish to assent
And lend a hand to an ignoble act:
Poison from roses who could e'er abstract?--
_Enter_ PANDULFO.
How now, Pandulfo? weeping for thy son?
_Pan._ No, no, Piero, weeping for my sins:
Had I been a good father, he had been
A gracious son.
_Pier._ Pollution must be purged. 70
_Pan._ Why taint'st thou then the air with stench of flesh,
And human putrefaction's noisome scent?
I pray his body. Who less boon can crave
Than to bestow upon the dead his grave?
_Pier._ Grave! Why, think'st thou he deserves a grave,
That hath defil'd the temple of----
_Pan._ Peace, peace!
Methinks I hear a humming murmur creep
From out his jellied[241] wounds. Look on those lips,
Those now lawn pillows, on whose tender softness
Chaste modest speech, stealing from out his breast, 80
Had wont to rest itself, as loath to post
From out so fair an inn! look, look, they seem to stir
And breathe defiance to black obloquy!
_Pier._ Think'st thou thy son could suffer wrongfully?
_Pan._ A wise man wrongfully, but never wrong
Can take;[242] his breast's of such well-tempered proof
It may be razed, not pierced by savage tooth
Of foaming malice: showers of darts may dark
Heaven's ample brow, but not strike out a spark,
Much less pierce the sun's cheek. Such songs as these
I often dittied till my boy did sleep; 91
But now I turn plain fool, alas, I weep.
_Pier._ [_Aside._] 'Fore heaven he makes me shrug; would 'a
were dead.
He is a virtuous man: what has our court to do
With virtue, in the devil's name!--Pandulpho, hark:
My lustful daughter dies; start not, she dies.
I pursue justice; I love sanctity,
And an undefiled temple of pure thoughts.
Shall I speak freely? Good Andrugio's dead:
And I do fear a fetch;[243] but (umh) would I durst speak--
I do mistrust but (umh)--[_Aside._] Death is he all, all man,
Hath he no part of mother in him, ha? 102
No licorish womanish inquisitiveness?
_Pan._ Andrugio's dead!
_Pier._ Ay; and I fear his own unnatural blood,
To whom he gave life, hath given death for life.
[_Aside_.] How could he come on? I see false suspect
Is viced; wrung hardly in a virtuous heart.--
Well, I could give you reason for my doubts:
You are of honour'd birth, my very friend: 110
You know how god-like 'tis to root out sin.
Antonio is a villain: will you join
In oath with me against the traitor's life,
And swear you knew he sought his father's death?
I loved him well, yet I love justice more:
Our friends we should affect, justice adore.
_Pan._ My lord, the clapper of my mouth's not glibb'd
With court-oil, 'twill not strike on both sides yet.
_Pier._ 'Tis[244] just that subjects act commands of kings.
_Pan._ Command then just and honourable things. 120
_Pier._ Even so, myself then will traduce his guilt.
_Pan._ Beware, take heed, lest guiltless blood be spilt.
_Pier._ Where only honest deeds to kings are free,
It is no empire, but a beggary.
_Pan._ Where more than noble deeds to kings are free,
It is no empire, but a tyranny.
_Pier._ Tush, juiceless graybeard, 'tis immunity,
Proper to princes, that our state exacts;
Our subjects not alone to bear, but praise our acts. 129
_Pan._ O, but that prince, that worthful praise aspires,
From hearts, and not from lips, applause desires.
_Pier._ Pish!
True praise the brow of common men doth ring,
False only girts the temple of a king.
He that hath strength and 's ignorant of power,
He was not made to rule, but to be rul'd.
_Pan._ 'Tis praise to do, not what we can, but should.
_Pier._ Hence, doting stoic! by my hope of bliss,
I'll make thee wretched.
_Pan._ Defiance to thy power, thou rifted jawn![245] 140
Now, by the lovèd heaven, sooner thou shalt
Rinse thy foul ribs from the black filth of sin
That soots thy heart than make me wretched. Pish!
Thou canst not coop me up. Hadst thou a jail
With treble walls, like antique Babylon,
Pandulpho can get out. I tell thee, duke,
I have old Fortunatus' wishing-cap,
And can be where I list even in a trice.
I'll skip from earth into the arms of heaven:
And from triumphal arch of blessedness, 150
Spit on thy frothy breast. Thou canst not slave
Or banish me; I will be free at home,
Maugre the beard of greatness. The port-holes
Of sheathèd spirit are ne'er corbèd[246] up,
But still stand open ready to discharge
Their precious shot into the shrouds of heaven.
_Pier._ O torture! slave, I banish thee the town,
Thy native seat of birth.
_Pan._ How proud thou speak'st! I tell thee, duke, the blasts 159
Of the swoll'n-cheek'd winds, nor all the breath of kings
Can puff me out my native seat of birth.
The earth's my body's, and the heaven's my soul's
Most native place of birth, which they will keep
Despite the menace of mortality.
Why, duke,
That's not my native place,[247] where I was rock'd.
A wise man's home is wheresoe'er he is wise;
Now that, from man, not from the place, doth rise.
_Pier._ Would I were deaf! O plague! Hence, dotard wretch!
Tread not in court: all that thou hast, I seize. 170
[_Aside._] His quiet's firmer than I can disease.
_Pan._ Go, boast unto thy flatt'ring sycophants
Pandulpho's slave Piero hath o'erthrown:
Loose fortune's rags are lost, my own's my own.
[PIERO _going out, looks back_.
'Tis true, Piero, thy vex'd heart shall see,
Thou hast but tripp'd my slave, not conquered me.
[_Exeunt at several doors._
[237] So ed. 1633.--Ed. 1602 "my."
[238] We are to suppose that Piero has left the church and is in
the courtyard of the palace.
[239] _i.e._, desire, order.
[240] Old eds. "dub'd."
[241] See note 2, p. 114.
[242] Pandulpho is again ready with his Stoic maxims. Seneca
wrote a dissertation to show "Nec injuriam nec contumeliam
accipere sapientem."
[243] "I do fear a _fetch_," _i.e._, I suspect that
Andrugio has perished by treachery. _Fetch_ = plot, device.
[244] There is an Attic flavour in this passage of
_stichomythia_. For a passing moment one is reminded of
Creon's altercation with his son (in the _Antigone_):--
Kr. ô pankakiste, dia dikês iôn patri.
Hai. ou gar dikaia s' examartanonth horô.
Kr. hamartanô gar tas emas archas sebôn?
Hai. ou gar sebeis, timas ge tas theôn patôn.
[245] Marston uses indifferently the forms _chawn_ and _jawn_ for
a rift or chasm.
[246] "Corbèd" (old eds. "corb'd") is "good," as Polonius would
say; but I have no suspicion as to its meaning. It would be a
pity to suggest an emendation.
[247] Seneca is fond of harping on this theme. "In ultimas
expellaris terras licebit," he writes in one of his epistles, "in
quolibet barbariæ angulo colloceris, hospitalis tibi illa
qualiscumque sedes erit; magis quis veneris quam quo, interest,
et ideo nulli loco addicere debemus arbitrium. Cum hac
persuasione vivendum est: 'Non sum uni angulo natus, patria mea
totus hic mundus est.'"
SCENE II.
_Before the palace of_ PIERO.
_Enter_ ANTONIO, _in black, with a book_; LUCIO _and_ ALBERTO.
_Alb._ Nay, sweet, be comforted, take counsel and----.
_Ant._ Alberto, peace: that grief is wanton-sick,
Whose stomach can digest and brook the diet
Of stale ill-relish'd counsel. Pigmy cares
Can shelter under patience' shield; but giant griefs
Will burst all covert.
_Lu._ My lord, 'tis supper time.
_Ant._ Drink deep, Alberto; eat, good Lucio;
But my pined heart shall eat on nought but woe.
_Alb._ My lord, we dare not leave you thus alone.
_Ant._ You cannot leave Antonio alone. 10
The chamber of my breast is even throng'd
With firm attendance that forswears to flinch.
I have a thing sits here; it is not grief,
'Tis not despair, nor the [ut]most plague
That the most wretched are infected with;
But the most griefful,[248] [most] despairing, wretched,
Accursèd, miserable--O, for heaven's sake
Forsake me now; you see how light I am,
And yet you force me to defame my patience.
_Lu._ Fair gentle prince----. 20
_Ant._ Away, thy voice is hateful: thou dost buzz,
And beat my ears with intimations
That Mellida, that Mellida is light,
And stainèd with adulterous luxury!
I cannot brook't. I tell thee, Lucio,
Sooner will I give faith that Virtue's cant[249]
In princes' courts will be adorn'd with wreath
Of choice respect, and endear'd intimate;
Sooner will I believe that friendship's rein
Will curb ambition from utility, 30
Than Mellida is light. Alas, poor soul,
Didst e'er see her?--good heart!--hast heard her speak?
Kind, kind soul! Incredulity itself
Would not be so brass-hearted, as suspect
So modest cheeks.
_Lu._ My lord----.
_Ant._ Away!
A self-sown[250] guilt doth only hatch distrust;
But a chaste thought's as far from doubt as lust.
I entreat you, leave me.
_Alb._ Will you endeavour to forget your grief?
_Ant._ I'faith I will, good friend, i'faith I will. 40
I'll come and eat with you. Alberto, see,
I am taking physic, here's philosophy.
Good honest, leave me, I'll drink wine anon.
_Alb._ Since you enforce us, fair prince, we are gone.
[_Exeunt_ ALBERTO _and_ LUCIO.
ANTONIO _reads_.
_A. Ferte[251] fortiter: hoc est quo deum antecedatis. Ille
enim extra patientiam malorum, vos supra. Contemnite
dolorem: aut solvetur, aut solvet. Contemnite fortunam:
nullum telum, quo feriret animum habet._[252]
Pish, thy mother was not lately widowèd,
Thy dear affièd love lately defam'd 50
With blemish of foul lust, when thou wrotest thus;
Thou wrapt in furs, beaking[253] thy limbs 'fore fires;
Forbid'st the frozen zone to shudder. Ha, ha! 'tis nought
But foamy bubbling of a fleamy[254] brain,
Nought else but smoke. O what dank marish spirit,
But would be fired with impatience
At my----
No more, no more; he that was never blest
With height of birth, fair expectation
Of mounted fortunes, knows not what it is 60
To be the pitied object of the world.
O, poor Antonio, thou may'st sigh!
_Mel._ [_from beneath._] Ay me!
_Ant._ And curse.
_Pan._ [_from within._] Black powers!
_Ant._ And cry.
_Mar._ [_from within._] O Heaven!
_Ant._ And close laments with----.
_Mel._[255] [_from beneath._] O me, most miserable!
_Pan._ Woe for my dear, dear son! 70
_Mar._ Woe for my dear, dear husband!
_Mel._ Woe for my dear, dear love!
_Ant._ Woe for me all, close all your woes in me!
In me, Antonio!--ha! where live these sounds?
I can see nothing; grief's invisible,
And lurks in secret angles of the heart.
Come, sigh again, Antonio bears his part.
_Mel._ O here, here is a vent to pass my sighs.
I have surcharged the dungeon with my plaints.
Prison and heart will burst, if void of vent. 80
Ay, that is Phoebe, empress of the night,
That 'gins to mount; O chastest deity,
If I be false to my Antonio,
If the least soil of lust smears my pure love,
Make me more wretched, make me more accurs'd
Than infamy, torture, death, hell, and heaven,
Can bound with amplest power of thought: if not,
Purge my poor heart from[256] defamation's blot.
_Ant._ Purge my poor heart from defamation's blot!
Poor heart, how like her virtuous self she speaks.-- 90
Mellida, dear Mellida! it is Antonio:
Slink not away, 'tis thy Antonio.
_Mel._ How found you out, my lord? Alas! I know
'Tis easy in this age to find out woe.
I have a suit to you.
_Ant._ What is't, dear soul?
_Mel._ Kill me; i'faith I'll wink, not stir a jot.
For God sake kill me; in sooth, lovèd youth,
I am much injur'd; look, see how I creep.
I cannot wreak my wrong, but sigh and weep.
_Ant._ May I be cursèd, but I credit thee. 100
_Mel._ To-morrow I must die.
_Ant._ Alas, for what?
_Mel._ For loving thee. 'Tis true, my sweetest breast,
I must die falsely: so must thou, dear heart.
Nets are a-knitting to entrap thy life.
Thy father's death must make a paradise
To my (I shame to call him) father. Tell me, sweet,
Shall I die thine? dost love me still, and still?
_Ant._ I do.
_Mal._ Then welcome heaven's will.
_Ant._ Madam, I will not swell, like a tragedian,
In forcèd passion of affected strains. 110
If I had present power of ought but pitying you,
I would be as ready to redress your wrongs
As to pursue your love. Throngs of thoughts
Crowd for their passage; somewhat I will do.
Reach me thy hand; think this is honour's bent,
To live unslavèd, to die innocent.
_Mel._ Let me entreat a favour, gracious love.
Be patient, see me die; good, do not weep:
Go sup, sweet chuck, drink, and securely sleep.
_Ant._ I'faith I cannot; but I'll force my face 120
To palliate my sickness.
_Mel._ Give me thy hand. Peace on thy bosom dwell:
That's all my woe can breathe. Kiss: thus, farewell.
_Ant._ Farewell: my heart is great of thoughts; stay, dove:
And therefore I must speak: but what? O love!
By this white hand: no more: read in these tears,
What crushing anguish thy Antonio bears.
[ANTONIO _kisseth_ MELLIDA'S _hand: then_ MELLIDA
_goes from the grate_.
Mel._ Good night, good heart.
_Ant._ Thus heat from blood, thus souls from bodies part. 129
_Enter_ PIERO _and_ STROTZO.
_Pier._ He grieves; laugh, Strotzo, laugh. He weeps.
Hath he tears? O pleasure! hath he tears?
Now do I scourge Andrugio with steel whips
Of knotty vengeance. Strotzo, cause me straight
Some plaining ditty to augment despair.
[_Exit_ STROTZO.
Triumph, Piero: hark, he groans. O rare!
_Ant._ Behold a prostrate wretch laid on his tomb.
His epitaph, thus: _Ne plus ultra_. Ho!
Let none out-woe me: mine's Herculean woe.
[_A song within._--_Exit_ PIERO _at the end of the song_.
_Enter_ MARIA.
_Ant._ May I be more cursed than Heaven can make me, if
I'm not more wretched than man can conceive me. 140
Sore forlorn orphant, what omnipotence
Can make thee happy?
_Mar._ How now, sweet son? Good youth,
What dost thou?
_Ant._ Weep, weep.
_Mar._ Dost nought but weep, weep?
_Ant._ Yes, mother, I do sigh, and wring my hands,
Beat my poor breast, and wreathe my tender arms.
Hark ye; I'll tell you wondrous strange, strange news.
_Mar._ What, my good boy, stark mad?
_Ant._ I am not.
_Mar._ Alas!
Is that strange news? 150
_Ant._ Strange news? why, mother, is't not wondrous strange
I am not mad--I run not frantic, ha?
Knowing, my father's trunk scarce cold, your love
Is sought by him that doth pursue my life!
Seeing the beauty of creation,
Antonio's bride, pure heart, defamed, and stowed
Under the hatches of obscuring earth!
_Heu, quo labor, quo vota ceciderunt mea!_
_Enter_ PIERO.
_Pier._ Good evening to the fair Antonio;
Most happy fortune, sweet succeeding time, 160
Rich hope: think not thy fate a bankrout,[257] though----
_Ant._ [_Aside._] Umh! the devil in his good time and tide
forsake thee.
_Pier._ How now? hark ye, prince.
_Ant._ God be with you.
_Pier._ Nay, noble blood, I hope ye not suspect----
_Ant._ Suspect! I scorn't. Here's cap and leg, good night.
[_Aside._] Thou that wants power, with dissemblance fight.
[_Exit_ ANTONIO.
_Pier._ Madam, O that you could remember to forget----
_Mar._ I had a husband and a happy son.
_Pier._ Most powerful beauty, that enchanting grace----
_Mar._ Talk not of beauty, nor enchanting grace,---- 170
My husband's dead, my son's distraught, accurs'd!
Come, I must vent my griefs, or heart will burst.
[_Exit_ MARIA.
_Pier._ She's gone, and yet she's here: she hath left a print
Of her sweet graces fix'd within my heart,
As fresh as is her face. I'll marry her.
She's most fair,--true; most chaste,--false;[258] because
Most fair, 'tis firm I'll marry her.
_Enter_ STROTZO.
_Str._ My lord.
_Pier._ Ha, Strotzo, my other soul, my life!
Dear, hast thou steel'd the point of thy resolve?
Will't not turn edge in execution?
_Str._ No. 180
_Pier._ Do it with rare passion, and present thy guilt
As if 'twere wrung out with thy conscience' gripe.
Swear that my daughter's innocent of lust,
And that Antonio bribed thee to defame
Her maiden honour, on inveterate hate
Unto my blood; and that thy hand was feed
By his large bounty for his father's death.
Swear plainly that thou choked'st Andrugio,
By his son's only egging. Rush me in
Whilst Mellida prepares herself to die, 190
Halter about thy neck, and with such sighs,
Laments, and applications lifen it,
As if impulsive power of remorse----
_Str._ I'll weep.
_Pier._ Ay, ay, fall on thy face and cry "why suffer you
So lewd a slave as Strotzo is to breathe?"
_Str._ I'll beg a strangling, grow importunate----
_Pier._ As if thy life were loathsome to thee: then I
Catch straight the cord's end; and, as much incens'd
With thy damn'd mischiefs, offer a rude hand 200
As ready to gird in thy pipe of breath;
But on the sudden straight I'll stand amaz'd,
And fall in exclamations of thy virtues.
_Str._ Applaud my agonies and penitence.
_Pier._ Thy honest stomach, that could not disgest[259]
The crudities of murder, but surcharged,
Vomited'st them up in Christian piety.
_Str._ Then clip me in your arms.
_Pier._ And call thee brother, mount thee straight to state,
Make thee of council: tut, tut, what not? what not? 210
Think on't, be confident, pursue the plot.
_Str._ Look, here's a trope: a true rogue's lips are mute,
I do not use to speak, but execute.
[_He lays finger on his mouth, and draws his dagger.--Exit._
_Pier._ So, so; run headlong to confusion:
Thou slight-brain'd mischief, thou art made as dirt,
To plaster up the bracks[260] of my defects.
I'll wring what may be squeezed from out his use,
And good night, Strotzo. Swell plump, bold heart;
For now thy tide of vengeance rolleth in:
O now _Tragoedia Cothurnata_[261] mounts, 220
Piero's thoughts are fix'd on dire exploits.
Pell mell--confusion and black murder guides
The organs of my spirit: shrink not, heart!
_Capienda[262] rebus in malis præceps via est._
[_Exit._
[248] Old eds. "greeful."
[249] Old eds. "scant."--_Cant_ = the corner or niche in which
the statue of Virtue was placed. Cf. Middleton, vii.
222:--"Directly under her, in a _cant_ by herself, was Arete
(Virtue) enthroned."
[250] Old eds. "self-one."
[251] The quotation is from Seneca's _De Providentia_, cap. vi.
[252] The true reading is _dedi_.
[253] "'Beak'--bask in the heat. North."--_Halliwell._
[254] _Fleam_ = phlegm.
[255] Old eds. "_Alb._"
[256] Ed. 1602 "with."
[257] Old form of "bankrupt."
[258] Ed. 1602 "most false."
[259] Old form of _digest_.
[260] Flaws, cracks.
[261] Cf. _Spanish Tragedy_, v. 1:--
"Give me a stately-written tragedy,
_Tragoedia Cothurnata_, fitting kings."
[262] "_Rapienda_ rebus," &c., is the true reading. The quotation
is from Seneca's _Agamemnon_, l. 154.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
_A dumb show. The cornets sounding for the Act._
_Enter_ CASTILIO _and_ FOROBOSCO, ALBERTO _and_ BALURDO, _with
poleaxes_; PIERO, _talking with_ STROTZO, _seemeth to send him out:
exit_ STROTZO. _Re-enter_ STROTZO _with_ MARIA, NUTRICHE, _and_
LUCIO. PIERO _passeth through his guard, and talks with_ MARIA _with
seeming amorousness; she seemeth to reject his suit, flies to the
tomb, kneels, and kisseth it_. PIERO _bribes_ NUTRICHE _and_ LUCIO;
_they go to her, seeming to solicit his suit. She riseth, offers to
go out_; PIERO _stayeth her, tears open his breast, embraceth and
kisseth her; and so they go all out in state_.
_After the dumb show enter two_ Pages, _the one with tapers, the
other holding a chafing-dish with a perfume in it_; ANTONIO, _in his
night-gown and a night-cap, unbraced, following after_.
_Ant._ The black jades of swart night trot foggy rings[263]
'Bout heaven's brow: [_clock strikes twelve_] 'tis now stark dead
night.
Is this Saint Mark's Church?
_1st Pa._ It is, my lord.
_Ant._ Where stands my father's hearse?
_2d Pa._ Those streamers bear his arms. Ay, that is it.
_Ant._ Set tapers to the tomb, and lamp the church:
Give me the fire.--Now depart and sleep.
[_Exeunt_ Pages.
I purify the air with odorous fume.
Graves, vaults, and tombs, groan not to bear my weight;
Cold flesh, bleak trunks, wrapt in your half-rot shrouds,
I press you softly with a tender foot. 11
Most honour'd sepulchre, vouchsafe a wretch
Leave to weep o'er thee. Tomb, I'll not be long
Ere I creep in thee, and with bloodless lips
Kiss my cold father's cheek. I prithee, grave,
Provide soft mold to wrap my carcass in.
Thou royal spirit of Andrugio,
Where'er thou hover'st, airy intellect,
I heave up tapers to thee (view thy son)
In celebration of due obsequies; 20
Once every night I'll dew thy funeral hearse
With my religious tears.
O, blessèd father of a cursèd son,
Thou died'st most happy, since thou lived'st not
To see thy son most wretched, and thy wife
Pursued by him that seeks my guiltless blood!
O, in what orb thy mighty spirit soars,
Stoop and beat down this rising fog of shame,
That strives to blur thy blood, and girt defame
About my innocent and spotless brows. 30
_Non est mori miserum, sed misere mori._
[_Ghost of_ ANDRUGIO _rises_.
_Ghost of And._ Thy pangs of anguish rip my cerecloth up,
And, lo, the ghost of old Andrugio
Forsakes his coffin. Antonio, revenge!
I was empoison'd by Piero's hand.
Revenge my blood! take spirit, gentle boy;
Revenge my blood! Thy Mellida is chaste:
Only to frustrate thy pursuit in love,
Is blazed unchaste. Thy mother yields consent
To be his wife, and give his blood a son, 40
That made her husbandless, and doth complot
To make her sonless; but before I touch
The banks of rest, my ghost shall visit her.
Thou vigour of my youth, juice of my love,
Seize on revenge, grasp the stern-bended front
Of frowning vengeance with unpaiz'd[264] clutch.[265]
Alarum Nemesis, rouse up thy blood!
Invent some stratagem of vengeance,
Which, but to think on, may like lightning glide
With horror through thy breast! Remember this: 50
_Scelera[266] non ulcisceris, nisi vincis_.
[_Exit_ ANDRUGIO'S _ghost_.
_Enter_ MARIA, _her hair about her ears_; NUTRICHE _and_
LUCIO, _with Pages, and torches_.
_Mar._ Where left you him? show me, good boys, away!
_Nut._ God's me, your hair!
_Mar._ Nurse, 'tis not yet proud day:
The neat gay mists of the light's not up,
Her cheek's not yet slur'd over with the paint
Of borrow'd crimson; the unprankèd world
Wears yet the night-clothes. Let flare my loosèd hair!
I scorn the presence of the night.--
Where's my boy?--Run: I'll range about the church,
Like frantic Bacchanal or Jason's wife, 60
Invoking all the spirits of the graves
To tell me where.--Ha? O my poor wretched blood!
What dost thou up at midnight, my kind boy?
Dear soul, to bed! O thou hast struck a fright
Unto thy mother's panting----
_Ant._[267] _O quisquis nova
Supplicia functis dirus umbrarum arbiter
Disponis, quisquis exeso jaces
Pavidus sub antro,[268] quisquis venturi times
Montis ruinam, quisquis avidorum feros[269]
Rictus leonum, et dira furiarum agmina_ 70
_Implicitus horres, Antonii vocem excipe
Properantis ad vos--Ulciscar!_
_Mar._ Alas! my son's distraught. Sweet boy, appease
Thy mutining affections.
_Ant._ By the astonning terror of swart night,
By the infectious damps of clammy graves,
And[270] by the mould that presseth down
My dead father's skull, I'll be revenged!
_Mar._ Wherefore? on whom? for what? Go, go to bed,
Good, duteous son. Ho, but thy idle---- 80
_Ant._ So I may sleep tomb'd in an honour'd hearse,
So may my bones rest in that sepulchre,----
_Mar._ Forget not duty, son: to bed, to bed.
_Ant._ May I be cursèd by my father's ghost,
And blasted with incensèd breath of Heaven,
If my heart beat[271] on ought but vengeance!
May I be numb'd with horror, and my veins
Pucker with singeing torture, if my brain
Disgest[272] a thought but of dire vengeance;
May I be fetter'd slave to coward Chance, 90
If blood, heart, brain, plot ought save vengeance.
_Mar._ Wilt thou to bed? I wonder when thou sleep'st!
I'faith thou look'st sunk-ey'd; go couch thy head:
Now, faith, 'tis idle: sweet, sweet son, to bed.
_Ant._ I have a prayer or two to offer up
For the good, good prince, my most dear, dear lord,
The duke Piero, and your virtuous self;
And then, when those prayers have obtain'd success,
In sooth I'll come (believe it now) and couch
My head in downy mould. But first I'll see 100
You safely laid: I'll bring ye all to bed.
Piero, Maria, Strotzo, Lucio,
I'll see you all laid: I'll bring you all to bed,
And then, i'faith, I'll come and couch my head,
And sleep in peace.
_Mar._ Look then, we go before.
[_Exeunt all but_ ANTONIO.
_Ant._ Ay, so you must, before we touch the shore
Of wish'd revenge. O, you departed souls,
That lodge in coffin'd trunks, which my feet press,
(If Pythagorean Axioms be true,
Of spirits' transmigration) fleet no more 110
To human bodies, rather live in swine,
Inhabit wolves' flesh, scorpions, dogs, and toads,
Rather than man. The curse of Heaven rains
In plagues unlimited through all his days:
His mature age grows only mature vice,
And ripens only to corrupt and rot
The budding hopes of infant modesty.
Still striving to be more than man, he proves
More than a devil. Devilish suspect,
Devilish cruelty, 120
All hell-strai[n']d juice is pourèd to his veins,
Making him drunk with fuming surquedries;[273]
Contempt of Heaven, untam'd arrogance,
Lust, state, pride, murder.
_Ghost of And._ Murder! }
_Ghost of Feli._ Murder! } _From above and beneath._
_Pan._[274] Murder! }
_Ant._ Ay, I will murder: graves and ghosts
Fright me no more, I'll suck red vengeance
Out of Piero's wounds, Piero's wounds!
[_Retires to the back of the stage._
_Enter two boys, with_ PIERO _in his night-gown and
night-cap_.
_Pier._ Maria, love, Maria! she took this aisle.
Left you her here? On, lights, away!
I think we shall not warm our beds to-day. 130
_Enter_ JULIO, FOROBOSCO, _and_ CASTILIO.
_Jul._ Ho, father! father!
_Pier._ How now, Julio, my little pretty son?
Why suffer you the child to walk so late?
_For._ He will not sleep, but calls to follow you,
Crying that bug-bears and spirits haunted him.
[ANTONIO _offers to come near and stab_; PIERO
_presently withdraws_.
_Ant._ [_Aside._] No, not so.
This shall be sought for; I'll force him feed on life
Till he shall loath it. This shall be the close
Of vengeance' strain.
_Pier._ Away there, pages, lead on fast with light; 140
The church is full of damps; 'tis yet dead night.
[_Exeunt all, saving_ JULIO _and_ ANTONIO.
_Jul._ Brother Antonio, are you here, i'faith?
Why do you frown? Indeed my sister said
That I should call you brother, that she did,
When you were married to her. Buss me: good truth,
I love you better than my father, 'deed.
_Ant._ Thy father? Gracious, O bounteous Heaven!
I do adore thy justice: _venit in nostras manus
Tandem vindicta, venit et tota quidem_.[275]
_Jul._ Truth, since my mother died, I loved you best. 150
Something hath anger'd you; pray you, look merrily.
_Ant._ I will laugh, and dimple my thin cheek
With cap'ring joy; chuck, my heart doth leap
To grasp thy bosom.--[_Aside._] Time, place, and blood,
How fit you close together! Heaven's tones
Strike not such music to immortal souls
As your accordance sweets my breast withal.
Methinks I pace upon the front of Jove,
And kick corruption with a scornful heel!
Griping this flesh, disdain mortality! 160
O that I knew which joint, which side, which limb,
Were father all, and had no mother in't,
That I might rip it vein by vein, and carve revenge
In bleeding races! but since 'tis mix'd together,
Have at adventure, pell mell, no reverse.--
Come hither, boy. This is Andrugio's hearse.
_Jul._ O God, you'll hurt me. For my sister's sake,
Pray you do not hurt me. And you kill me, 'deed,
I'll tell my father.
_Ant._ O, for thy sister's sake, I flag revenge. 170
_Ghost of And._ Revenge!
_Ant._ Stay, stay, dear father, fright mine eyes no more.
Revenge as swift as lightning bursteth forth,
And cleaves[276] his heart.--Come, pretty tender child,
It is not thee I hate, not thee I kill.
Thy father's blood that flows within thy veins,
Is it I loathe; is that revenge must suck.
I love thy soul: and were thy heart lapp'd up
In any flesh but in Piero's blood,
I would thus kiss it; but being his, thus, thus, 180
And thus I'll punch it. Abandon fears:
Whilst thy wounds bleed, my brows shall gush out tears.
_Jul._ So you will love me, do even what you will.
_Ant._ Now barks the wolf against the full-cheek'd moon;
Now lions half-clam'd[277] entrails roar for food;
Now croaks the toad, and night-crows screech aloud,
Fluttering 'bout casements of departed souls;
Now gapes the graves, and through their yawns let loose
Imprison'd spirits to revisit earth;
And now, swart night, to swell thy hour out, 190
Behold I spurt warm blood in thy black eyes.
[_He stabs_ JULIO.--_From under the stage a groan._
Howl not, thou putry[278] mould; groan not, ye graves;
Be dumb, all breath. Here stands Andrugio's son,
Worthy his father. So: I feel no breath.
His jaws are fall'n, his dislodg'd soul is fled:
And now there's nothing but Piero left:
He is all Piero, father all. This blood,
This breast, this heart, Piero all:
Whom thus I mangle. Sprite of Julio,
Forget this was thy trunk. I live thy friend: 200
May'st thou be twinèd with the soft'st embrace
Of clear eternity: but thy father's blood
I thus make incense of to vengeance.
Ghost of my poison'd sire, suck this fume:
To sweet revenge perfume thy circling air
With smoke of blood. I sprinkle round his gore,
And dew thy hearse with these fresh-reeking drops.
Lo thus I heave my blood-dyed hands to heaven,
Even like insatiate hell still crying, More!
My heart hath thirsting dropsies after gore. 210
Sound peace and rest to church, night-ghosts, and graves:
Blood cries for blood, and murder murder craves.
[_Exit._
[263] See note 1, p. 111.
[264] We should have expected "paizèd," _i.e._, steady,
unfaltering. (The reader will note that Marston constantly uses
"vengeance" as a trisyllable.)
[265] Cf. p. 178. "The fist of strenuous vengeance is
clutch'd"--a line which Ben Jonson ridicules in _The Poetaster_
(v. i.)
[266] A quotation from Seneca's _Thyestes_, 194-5.
[267] Not marked in old eds.--The Latin lines are from Seneca's
_Thyestes_. ll. 13-14, 75-80.
[268] Ed. 1602 "antri."
[269] Old eds. "_feres_."
[270] The metre might be restored by reading--
"And by the mould that presseth down the skull
Of my dead father, I will be revenged."
[271] Is busy with.--So in _The Tempest_:--
"Do not infest your mind with _beating on_
The strangeness of this business."
[272] Old form of _digest_.
[273] Wanton excesses.
[274] It is hard to see why Pandulfo should be shouting with the
ghosts.
[275] Senec., _Thyestes_, 494-5:--
"Venit in nostras manus
Tandem Thyestes; venit et totus quidem."
[276] Old eds. "cleares."
[277] Half-starved.
[278] So ed. 1633.--Ed. 1602 "pury."
SCENE II.
_Chamber of Maria._
_Enter two Pages with torches_; MARIA, _her hair loose,
and_ NUTRICHE.
_Nut._ Fie, fie; to-morrow your wedding day, and
weep! God's my comfort! Andrugio could do well:
Piero may do better. I have had four husbands myself.
The first I called, sweet duck; the second, dear heart;
the third, pretty pug;[279] but the fourth, most sweet, dear,
pretty, all in all; he was the very cockall of a husband.
What, lady? your skin is smooth, your blood warm,
your cheek fresh, your eye quick: change of pasture
makes fat calves; choice of linen clean bodies, and (no
question) variety of husbands perfect wives. I would
you should know it: as few teeth as I have in my head,
I have read _Aristotle's Problems_,[280] which saith that woman
receiveth perfection by the man. What then be the
men? Go to, to bed, lie on your back, dream not on
Piero; I say no more. To-morrow is your wedding:
go,[281] dream not of Piero. 16
_Enter_ BALURDO _with a base viol_.
_Mar._ What an idle prate thou keep'st, good nurse; go sleep.
I have a mighty task of tears to weep.
_Bal._ Lady, with a most retort and obtuse leg,
I kiss the curlèd locks of your loose hair. 20
The Duke hath sent you the most musical Sir Jeffrey,
with his not base, but most ennobled viol, to rock your
baby thoughts in the cradle of sleep.
_Mar._ I give the noble Duke respective[282] thanks.
_Bal._ Respective; truly a very pretty word. Indeed,
madam, I have the most respective fiddle; did you ever
smell a more sweet sound? My ditty must go thus;
very witty, I assure you: I myself in an humorous
passion made it, to the tune of my mistress Nutriche's
beauty. Indeed, very pretty, very retort, and obtuse,
I'll assure you; 'tis thus:-- 31
My mistress' eye doth oil my joints,
And makes my fingers nimble:
O love, come on, untruss your points,
My fiddlestick wants rozen.
My lady's duggs are all so smooth,
That no flesh must them handle:
Her eyes do shine, for to say sooth,
Like a new-snuffèd candle.
_Mar._ Truly, very pathetical and unvulgar. 40
_Bal._ Pathetical and unvulgar; words of worth, excellent
words. In sooth, madam, I have taken a murr,[283]
which makes my nose run most pathetically, and unvulgarly.
Have you any tobacco?
_Mar._ Good Signior, your song.
_Bal._ Instantly, most unvulgarly, at your service.
Truly, here's the most pathetical rozen. Umh.
[_A Song._
_Mar._ In sooth, most knightly sung, and like Sir Jeffrey.
_Bal._ Why, look you, lady, I was made a knight
only for my voice; and a councillor only for my wit. 51
_Mar._ I believe it. Good night, gentle sir, good night.
_Bal._ You will give me leave to take my leave of my
mistress, and I will do it most famously in rhyme.
Farewell, adieu! saith thy love true,
As to part loath.
Time bids us part, mine own sweet heart,
God bless us both.
[_Exit_ BALURDO.
_Mar._ Good night, Nutriche. Pages, leave the room.
The life of night grows short, 'tis almost dead. 60
[_Exeunt Pages and_ NUTRICHE.
O thou cold widow-bed, sometime thrice blest
By the warm pressure of my sleeping lord,
Open thy leaves, and whilst on thee I tread,
Groan out,--Alas, my dear Andrugio's dead!
[MARIA _draweth the curtain: and the ghost of_
ANDRUGIO _is displayed, sitting on the bed_.
Amazing terror, what portent is this!
_Ghost of And._ Disloyal to our hymeneal[284] rites,
What raging heat reigns in thy strumpet blood?
Hast thou so soon forgot Andrugio?
Are our love-bands so quickly cancellèd?
Where lives thy plighted faith unto this breast? 70
O weak Maria! Go to, calm thy fears.
I pardon thee, poor soul! O shed no tears;
Thy sex is weak. That black incarnate fiend
May trip thy faith that hath o'erthrown my life:
I was impoison'd by Piero's hand.
Join with my son to bend up strain'd revenge,
Maintain a seeming favour to his suit,
Till time may form our vengeance absolute.
_Enter_ ANTONIO, _his arms bloody, bearing a torch,
and a poniard_.
_Ant._ See, unamazed I will behold thy face;
Outstare the terror of thy grim aspect, 80
Daring the horrid'st object of the night.
Look how I smoke in blood, reeking the steam
Of foaming vengeance. O my soul's enthroned
In the triumphant chariot of revenge!
Methinks I am all air, and feel no weight
Of human dirt clog. This is Julio's blood!
Rich music, father: this is Julio's blood!
Why lives that mother?
_Ghost of And._ Pardon ignorance.
Fly, dear Antonio:
Once more assume disguise, and dog the court 90
In feignèd habit, till Piero's blood
May even o'erflow the brim of full revenge.
Peace and all blessèd fortunes to you both!
Fly thou from court, be peerless in revenge:
[_Exit_ ANTONIO.
Sleep thou in rest, lo, here I close thy couch.
[_Exit_ MARIA _to her bed_, ANDRUGIO _drawing the curtains_.
And now ye sooty coursers of the night,
Hurry your chariot into hell's black womb.
Darkness, make flight; graves, eat your dead again:
Let's repossess our shrouds. Why lags delay?
Mount sparkling brightness, give the world his day! 100
[_Exit_ ANDRUGIO.
[279] A common term for endearment.
[280] _The Problemes of Aristotle, with other Philosophers and
Phisitions, wherein are contayned diuers questions, with their
answers, touching the estate of man's bodie_, 1595, 1597,
&c.--an old chap-book.
[281] Old eds. "do."
[282] Respectful.
[283] Violent cold.
[284] Ed. 1602 "Hymniall."
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
_Enter_ ANTONIO _in a fool's habit, with a little toy of a
walnut shell, and soap to make bubbles_: MARIA _and_
ALBERTO.
_Mar._ Away with this disguise in any hand!
_Alb._ Fie, 'tis unsuiting to your elate spirit:
Rather put on some transhaped cavalier,
Some habit of a spitting critic, whose mouth
Voids nothing but gentile and unvulgar
Rheum of censure: rather assume----
_Ant._ Why, then should I put on the very flesh
Of solid folly. No, this cock's comb is a crown
Which I affect even with unbounded zeal.
_Alb._ 'Twill thwart your plot, disgrace your high resolve. 10
_Ant._ By wisdom's heart, there is no essence mortal
That I can envy, but a plump-cheek'd fool:
O, he hath a patent of immunities
Confirm'd by custom, seal'd by policy,
As large as spacious thought.
_Alb._ You cannot press among the courtiers,
And have access to----
_Ant._ What? not a fool? Why, friend, a golden ass,
A babled[285] fool, are sole canonical,
Whilst pale-cheek'd wisdom, and lean-ribbèd art 20
Are kept in distance at the halbert's point;
All held Apocrypha, not worth survey.
Why, by the genius of that Florentine,
Deep, deep observing, sound-brain'd Machiavel,
He is not wise that strives not to seem fool.
When will the Duke hold fee'd intelligence,
Keep wary observation in large pay,
To dog a fool's act?
_Mar._ Ay, but feigning known disgraceth much.
_Ant._ Pish! Most things that morally adhere to souls, 30
Wholly exist in drunk opinion:
Whose reeling censure, if I value not,
It values nought.
_Mar._ You are transported with too slight a thought,
If you but meditate of what is past,
And what you plot to pass.
_Ant._ Even in that note a fool's beatitude:
He is not capable of passion;
Wanting the power of distinction,
He bears an unturned sail with every wind: 40
Blow east, blow west, he stirs his course alike.
I never saw a fool lean: the chub-faced fop
Shines sleek with full-cramm'd fat of happiness,
Whilst studious contemplation sucks the juice
From wisards'[286] cheeks: who making curious search
For nature's secrets, the first innating cause
Laughs them to scorn, as man doth busy apes
When they will zany men. Had Heaven been kind,
Creating me an honest senseless dolt,
A good poor fool, I should want sense to feel 50
The stings of anguish shoot through every vein;
I should not know what 'twere to lose a father;
I should be dead of sense to view defame
Blur my bright love; I could not thus run mad,
As one confounded in a maze of mischief,
Stagger'd, stark, fell'd with bruising stroke of chance;
I should not shoot mine eyes into the earth,
Poring for mischief that might counterpoise
Mischief, murder and----
_Enter_ LUCIO.
How now, Lucio?
_Lu._ My lord, the Duke, with the Venetian states,[287] 60
Approach the great hall to judge Mellida.
_Ant._ Ask'd he for Julio yet?
_Lu._ No motion[288] of him: dare you trust this habit?
_Ant._ Alberto, see you straight rumour me dead.
Leave me, good mother; leave me, Lucio;
Forsake me, all.
[_Exeunt omnes, saving_ ANTONIO.
Now patience hoop my sides
With steelèd ribs, lest I do burst my breast
With struggling passions. Now disguise, stand bold:
Poor scornèd habits oft choice souls enfold.
[_The cornets sound a senet._
_Enter_ CASTILIO, FOROBOSCO, BALURDO, _and_ ALBERTO,
_with pole-axes_, LUCIO _bare; followed by_ PIERO _and_
MARIA _talking together; two_ Senators, GALEATZO,
MATZAGENTE, _and_ NUTRICHE.
_Pier._ Entreat me not: there's not a beauty lives 70
Hath that imperial predominance
O'er my affects[289] as your enchanting graces:
Yet give me leave to be myself--
_Ant._ [_Aside._] A villain.
_Pier._ Just--
_Ant._ [_Aside._] Most just.
_Pier._ Most just and upright in our judgment seat.
Were Mellida mine eye, with such a blemish
Of most loath'd looseness, I would scratch it out.
Produce the strumpet in her bridal robes,
That she may blush t'appear so white in show, 80
And black in inward substance. Bring her in.
[_Exeunt_ FOROBOSCO _and_ CASTILIO.
I hold Antonio, for his father's sake,
So very dearly, so entirely choice,
That knew I but a thought of prejudice
Imagined 'gainst his high ennobled blood,
I would maintain a mortal feud, undying hate,
'Gainst the conceiver's life. And shall justice sleep
In fleshly lethargy, for mine own blood's favour,
When the sweet prince hath so apparent scorn
By my--I will not call her daughter? Go, 90
Conduct in the loved youth Antonio:
[_Exit_ ALBERTO _to fetch_ ANTONIO.
He shall behold me spurn my private good;
Piero loves his honour more than 's blood.
_Ant._ [_Aside._] The devil he does more than both.
_Bal._ Stand back there, fool; I do hate a fool most,
most pathetically. O, these that have no sap of retort
and obtuse wit in them: faugh!
_Ant._ Puff, hold, world; puff, hold, bubble; puff, hold,
world; puff, break not behind; puff, thou art full of
wind; puff, keep up thy[290] wind; puff, 'tis broke! and
now I laugh like a good fool at the breath of mine own
lips, he, he, he, he, he! 102
_Bal._ You fool!
_Ant._ You fool, puff!
_Bal._ I cannot disgest[291] thee, the unvulgar fool. Go,
fool.
_Pier._ Forbear, Balurdo; let the fool alone.
Come hither.[292] Is he your fool?
_Mar._ Yes, my loved lord.
_Pier._ [_Aside._] Would all the states[293] in Venice were
like thee!
O then I were secur'd. 110
He that's a villain, or but meanly soul'd,
Must still converse and cling to routs of fools,
That can not search the leaks of his defects.
O, your unsalted fresh fool is your only man:
These vinegar tart spirits are too piercing,
Too searching in the unglued joints of shaken wits.
Find they a chink, they'll wriggle in and in,
And eat like salt sea in his siddow[294] ribs,
Till they have opened all his rotten parts
Unto the vaunting surge of base contempt, 120
And sunk the tossèd galleasse[295] in depth
Of whirlpool scorn. Give me an honest fop.--
Dud a dud a! Why lo, sir, this takes he
As grateful now as a monopoly.
[_The still flutes sound softly._
_Enter_ FOROBOSCO _and_ CASTILIO: MELLIDA _supported by
two waiting-women_.
_Mel._ All honour to this royal confluence.
_Pier._ Forbear, impure, to blot bright honour's name
With thy defilèd lips. The flux of sin
Flows from thy tainted body: thou so foul,
So all dishonour'd, canst no honour give,
No wish of good, that can have good effect 130
To this grave senate, and illustrate bloods.
Why stays the doom of death?
_1st. Sen._ Who riseth up to manifest her guilt?
_2d Sen._ You must produce apparent proof, my lord.
_Pier._ Why, where is Strotzo?--he that swore he saw
The very act, and vow'd that Feliche fled
Upon his sight: on which I brake the breast
Of the adulterous lecher with five stabs.
Go, fetch in Strotzo. Now, thou impudent,
If thou hast any drop of modest blood 140
Shrouded within thy cheeks, blush, blush for shame,
That rumour yet may say thou felt'st defame.
_Mel._ Produce the devil; let your Strotzo come:
I can defeat his strongest argument,
With----
_Pier._ With what?
_Mel._ With tears, with blushes, sighs, and claspèd hands;
With innocent uprearèd arms to Heaven;
With my unnookt[296] simplicity. These, these
Must, will, can only quit my heart of guilt: 150
Heaven permits not taintless blood be spilt.
If no remorse live in your savage breast----
_Pier._ Then thou must die.
_Mel._ Yet dying, I'll be blest.
_Pier._ Accurst by me.
_Mel._ Yet blest, in that I strove
To live, and die----
_Pier._ My hate.
_Mel._ Antonio's love.
_Ant._ [_Aside._] Antonio's love!
_Enter_ STROTZO, _with a cord about his neck_.
_Str._ O what vast ocean of repentant tears
Can cleanse my breast from the polluting filth
Of ulcerous sin! Supreme Efficient,
Why cleavest thou not my breast with thunderbolts 160
Of wing'd revenge?
_Pier._ What means this passion?
_Ant._ [_Aside._] What villainy are they decocting now? Umh!
_Str. In[297] me convertite ferrum, O proceres.
Nihil iste, nec ista._
_Pier._ Lay hold on him! What strange portent is this?
_Str._ I will not flinch. Death, hell more grimly stare
Within my heart than in your threatening brows.
Record, thou threefold guard of dreadest power,[298]
What I here speak is forcèd from my lips
By the [im]pulsive strain of conscience. 170
I have a mount of mischief clogs my soul,
As weighty as the high-noll'd[299] Apennine,
Which I must straight disgorge, or breast will burst.
I have defam'd this lady wrongfully,
By instigation of Antonio,
Whose reeling love, tost on each fancy's surge,
Began to loath before it fully joyed.
_Pier._ Go, seize Antonio! guard him strongly in!
[_Exit_ FOROBOSCO.
_Str._ By his ambition being only bribed,
Fee'd by his impious hand, I poisonèd 180
His agèd father, that his thirsty hope[s]
Might quench their dropsy of aspiring drought
With full unbounded quaff.
_Pier._ Seize me, Antonio!
_Str._ O, why permit you now such scum of filth
As Strotzo is to live and taint the air
With his infectious breath!
_Pier._ Myself will be thy strangler, unmatched slave.
PIERO _comes from his chair, snatcheth the cord's end, and_
CASTILIO _aideth him: both strangle_ STROTZO.
_Str._ Now change your----
_Pier._ I--pluck Castilio!--I change my humour: pluck Castilio!
Die, with thy death's entreats even in thy jaws.-- 190
[_Aside._] Now, now, now, now, now, my plot begins to work!
Why, thus should statesmen do,
That cleave through knots of craggy policies,
Use men like wedges, one strike out another,
Till by degrees the tough and knurly[300] trunk
Be riv'd in sunder.--Where's Antonio?
_Enter_ ALBERTO, _running_.
_Alb._ O, black accursèd fate! Antonio's drown'd.
_Pier._ Speak, on thy faith, on thy allegiance, speak.
_Alb._ As I do love Piero, he is drown'd.
_Ant._ [_Aside._] In an inundation of amazement. 200
_Mel._ Ay, is this the close of all my strains in love?
O me most wretched maid!
_Pier._ Antonio drown'd! how? how? Antonio drown'd!
_Alb._ Distraught and raving, from a turret's top
He threw his body in the swollen sea,
And as he headlong topsy turvy ding'd[301] down,
He still cried "Mellida!"
_Ant._ [_Aside._] My love's bright crown!
_Mel._ He still cried "Mellida"!
_Pier._ Daughter, methinks your eyes should sparkle joy,
Your bosom rise on tiptoe at this news. 210
_Mel._ Ay me!
_Pier._ How now? Ay, me! why, art not great of thanks
To gracious Heaven for the just revenge
Upon the author of thy obloquies!
_Mar._ Sweet beauty, I could sigh as fast as you,
But that I know that, which I weep to know.
[_Aside._] His[302] fortunes should be such he dare not show
His open presence!
_Mel._ I know he lov'd me dearly, dearly, ay:
And since I cannot live with him, I die. [_Swoons._ 220
_Pier._ 'Fore Heaven, her speech falters; look, she swouns.
Convey her up into her private bed.
[MARIA, NUTRICHE, _and the Ladies bear out_
MELLIDA, _as being swooned_.
I hope she'll live. If not----
_Ant._ Antonio's dead! the fool will follow too.
He, he, he!
[_Aside._] Now works the scene; quick observation, scud
To cote[303] the plot, or else the path is lost:
My very self am gone, my way is fled:
Ay, all is lost, if Mellida is dead.
[_Exit_ ANTONIO.
_Pier._ Alberto, I am kind; Alberto, kind. 230
I am sorry for thy coz, i'faith I am.
Go, take him down, and bear him to his father.
Let him be buried; look ye, I'll pay the priest.
_Alb._ Please you to admit his father to the court?
_Pier._ No.
_Alb._ Please you to restore his lands and goods again?
_Pier._ No.
_Alb._ Please you vouchsafe him lodging in the city?
_Pier._ God's fut, no, thou odd uncivil fellow!
I think you do forget, sir, where you are. 240
_Alb._ I know you do forget, sir, where you must be.
_Foro._ You are too malapert, i'faith you are.
Your honour might do well to----
_Alb._ Peace, parasite; thou bur, that only sticks
Unto the nap of greatness.
_Pier._ Away with that same yelping cur--away!
_Alb._ I--I am gone; but mark, Piero, this.
There is a thing call'd scourging _Nemesis_.[304]
[_Exit_ ALBERTO.
_Bal._ God's neaks, he has wrong, that he has: and
s'fut, and I were as he, I would bear no coals.[305] Law, I,
I begin to swell--puff. 251
_Pier._ How now, fool, fop, fool!
_Bal._[306] Fool, fop, fool! Marry muffe![307] I pray you,
how many fools have you seen go in a suit of satin? I
hope, yet, I do not look a fool i'faith! a fool! God's
bores, I scorn't with my heel. 'S neaks, and I were
worth but three hundred pound a year more, I could
swear richly; nay, but as poor as I am, I will swear
the fellow hath wrong.
_Pier._ Young Galeatzo! Ay, a proper man; 260
Florence, a goodly city: it shall be so,
I'll marry her to him instantly.
Then Genoa mine, by my Maria's match,
Which I'll solemnise ere next setting sun:
Thus Venice, Florence, Genoa, strongly leagued.
Excellent, excellent! I'll conquer Rome,
Pop out the light of bright religion;
And then, helter skelter, all cock-sure.
_Bal._ Go to, 'tis just, the man hath wrong: go to.
_Pier._ Go to, thou shall have right. Go to, Castilio,
Clap him into the palace dungeon; 271
Lap him in rags, and let him feed on slime
That smears the dungeon' cheek. Away with him.
_Bal._ In very good truth, now, I'll ne'er do so more;
this one time and----
_Pier._ Away with him--observe it strictly--go!
_Bal._ Why then, O wight!
Alas, poor knight!
O, welladay,
Sir Jefferay! 280
Let poets roar,
And all deplore;
For now I bid you good-night.
[_Exit_ BALURDO _with_ CASTILIO.
_Re-enter_ MARIA.
_Mar._ O piteous end of love! O too, too rude hand
Of unrespective death! Alas, sweet maid!
_Pier._ Forbear me, Heaven. What intend these plaints?
_Mar._ The beauty of admired creation,
The life of modest unmix'd purity,
Our sex's glory, Mellida is----
_Pier._ What, O Heaven, what!
_Mar._ Dead! 290
_Pier._ May it not sad your thoughts, how?
_Mar._ Being laid upon her bed, she grasp'd my hand,
And kissing it, spake thus: "Thou very poor,
Why dost not weep? The jewel of thy brow,
The rich adornment that enchased thy breast,
Is lost: thy son, my love, is lost, is dead.
And do I live to say Antonio's dead?
And have I lived to see his virtues blurr'd
With guiltless blots? O world, thou art too subtle
For honest natures to converse withal, 300
Therefore I'll leave thee; farewell, mart of woe,
I fly to clip my love, Antonio!"
With that her head sunk down upon her breast;
Her cheek changed earth, her senses slept in rest,
Until my fool, that press'd unto the bed,
Screech'd out so loud that he brought back her soul,
Call'd her again, that her bright eyes gan ope,
And stared upon him. He, audacious fool,
Dared kiss her hand, wish'd her "soft rest, loved bride;"
She fumbled out, "thanks, good;" and so she died. 310
_Pier._ And so she died! I do not use to weep;
But by thy love (out of whose fertile sweet
I hope for as fair fruit) I am deep sad.--
I will not stay my marriage for all this.--
Castilio, Forobosco, all,
Strain all your wits, wind up invention
Unto his highest bent, to sweet this night;
Make us drink Lethe by your quaint conceits,
That for two days oblivion smother grief.
But when my daughter's exequies approach, 320
Let's all turn sighers. Come, despite of fate,
Sound loudest music, let's pace out in state!
[_The cornets sound.--Exeunt._
[285] "Bable" was the old form of "bauble."
[286] "Wisards" = wise men. In the _Ode on the Nativity_
Milton styles the wise men from the East _wisards_:--
"The star-led _wisards_ hasten with odours sweet."
[287] Nobles.
[288] _I.e._, there has been no question asked about him.
[289] Affections.
[290] Old eds. "by."
[291] Old form of _digest_.
[292] Old eds. "Come hither (_ficto_)." The bracketed word is, I
suppose, a direction to the actor; Piero is to talk in an
affected voice to Antonio,--treat him as a simpleton.
[293] Nobles.
[294] "The word _siddow_ is of very unusual occurrence in early
English, but it is preserved in the provincial dialect of the
West of England. In Gloucestershire peas which become pulpy soft
by boiling are then said to be _siddow_."--_Halliwell._
[295] Large galleon.
[296] "_Unnookt_ simplicity" (if the reading is right) must mean
"simplicity in which no guile is hidden."
[297] A mangled quotation from _Æn._ ix. 427-8.
[298] The "threefold guard of dreadest power" is, I suppose,
"tergemina Hecate." Cf. p. 176 "By the d[r]ead brow of triple
Hecate."
[299] High-peaked.--_Nol_ = head, top.
[300] Full of _knurs_, _i.e._ knotted, gnarled.
[301] Dashed violently.--We have had the word before (p. 11) used
transitively; but it is also used intransitively, as in Drayton's
_Ballad of Agincourt_:--
"This while our noble king,
His broadsword brandishing.
Down the French host did _ding_
As to o'erwhelm it." (Text of ed. 1619.)
[302] _I.e._ alas, that his fortunes should be, &c.
[303] Cote (another form of _quote_) = mark, note.
[304] So Hieronymo in _The Spanish Tragedy_:--
"Well heaven is heaven still!
And there is Nemesis and furies,
And things call'd whips."
[305] "Bear coals" = put up with injuries.
[306] Not marked in ed. 1602.
[307] "Marry muffe"--a common expression of contempt.--Middleton,
i. 42, 71, &c.]
SCENE II.
_Enter_ ANTONIO _solus, in fool's habit_.
_Ant._ Ay, heaven, thou may'st, thou may'st, omnipotence.
What vermin bred of putrefacted slime
Shall dare to expostulate with thy decrees!
O heaven, thou may'st indeed: she was all thine,
All heavenly: I did but humbly beg
To borrow her of thee a little time.
Thou gavest her me, as some weak-breasted dame
Giveth her infant, puts it out to nurse;
And when it once goes high-lone,[308] takes it back.
She was my vital blood, and yet, and yet, 10
I'll not blaspheme. Look here! behold!
[ANTONIO _puts off his cap and lieth just upon his back_.
I turn my prostrate breast upon thy face,
And vent a heaving sigh. O hear but this!
I am a poor, poor orphant--a weak, weak child,--
The wrack of splitted fortune, the very ooze,
The quicksand that devours all misery.
Behold the valiant'st creature that doth breathe!
For all this I dare live, and I will live,
Only to numb some other's cursèd blood
With the dead palsy of like misery. 20
Then, death, like to a stifling incubus,[309]
Lie on my bosom. Lo, see,[310] I am sped.
My breast is Golgotha, grave for the dead.
_Enter_ PANDULPHO, ALBERTO, _and a Page, carrying_
FELICHE'S _trunk in a winding sheet, and lay it
thwart_ ANTONIO'S _breast_.
_Pan._ Antonio, kiss my foot: I honour thee,
In laying thwart my blood upon thy breast.
I tell thee, boy, he was Pandulpho's son;
And I do grace thee with supporting him.
Young man,
He[311] who hath naught that fortune's gripe can seize,
The domineering monarch of the earth; 30
He who is all impregnably his own,
He whose great heart heaven cannot force with force,
Vouchsafes his love. _Non servio Deo, sed assentio._
_Ant._ I ha' lost a good wife.
_Pan._ Didst find her good, or didst thou make her good?
If found, thou may'st refind, because thou hadst her;
If made, the work is lost, but thou that madest her
Livest yet as cunning. Hast lost a good wife?
Thrice-blessèd man that lost her whilst she was good,
Fair, young, unblemish'd, constant, loving, chaste. 40
I tell thee, youth, age knows, young loves seem graced,
Which with gray cares, rude jars, are oft defaced.
_Ant._ But she was full of hope.
_Pan._ May be, may be; but that which _may be_ stood,
Stands now without all _may_. She dièd good,
And dost thou grieve?
_Alb._ I ha' lost a true friend.
_Pan._ I live encompass'd with two blessèd souls.
Thou lost a good wife, thou lost a true friend, ha!
Two of the rarest lendings of the heavens,--
But lendings which, at the fix'd day of pay 50
Set down by fate, thou must restore again.[312]
O what unconscionable souls are here!
Are you all like the spoke-shaves of the church?
Have you no maw to restitution?
Hast lost a true friend, coz? then thou hadst one.
I tell thee, youth, 'tis all as difficult
To find true friend in this apostate age
(That balks all right affiance 'twixt two hearts)
As 'tis to find a fixèd modest heart
Under a painted breast. Lost a true friend! 60
O happy soul that lost him whilst he was true!
Believe it, coz, I to my tears have found,
Oft dirt's respect makes firmer friends unsound.
_Alb._ You have lost a good son.
_Pan._ Why, there's the comfort on't, that he was good.
Alas, poor innocent!
_Alb._ Why weeps mine uncle?
_Pan._ Ha, dost ask me why? ha, ha!
Good coz, look here! [_He shows him his son's breast._
Man will break out, despite philosophy.
Why, all this while I ha' but played a part, 70
Like to some boy that acts a tragedy,
Speaks burly words, and raves out passion;
But, when he thinks upon his infant weakness,
He droops his eye. I spake more than a god,
Yet am less than a man.
I am the miserablest soul that breathes.
[ANTONIO _starts up_.
_Ant._ 'Slid, sir, ye lie! by the heart of grief, thou liest!
I scorn'd that any wretched should survive,
Outmounting me in that superlative,
Most miserable, most unmatch'd in woe. 80
Who dare assume that but Antonio?
_Pan._ Wilt still be so, and shall yon blood-hound live?
_Ant._ Have I an arm, a heart, a sword, a soul?
_Alb._ Were you but private unto what we know----
_Pan._ I'll know it all; first let's inter the dead.
Let's dig his grave with that shall dig the heart,
Liver, and entrails of the murderer.
[_They strike the stage with their daggers, and
the grave openeth._
_Ant._ Wilt sing a dirge, boy?
_Pan._ No, no song; 'twill be vile out of tune.
_Alb._ Indeed, he's hoarse; the poor boy's voice is crack'd. 90
_Pan._ Why, coz! why should it not be hoarse and crack'd,
When all the strings of nature's symphony
Are crack'd and jar? Why should his voice keep tune,
When there's no music in the breast of man?
I'll say an honest antic rhyme I have:
Help me, good sorrow-mates, to give him grave.
[_They all help to carry_ FELICHE _to his grave_.
Death, exile, plaints, and woe,
Are but man's lackeys, not his foe.
No mortal 'scapes from fortune's war
Without a wound, at least a scar. 100
Many have led thee[313] to the grave;
But all shall follow, none shall save.
Blood of my youth, rot and consume;
Virtue in dirt doth life assume.
With this old saw close up this dust:--
Thrice blessèd man that dieth just.
_Ant._ The gloomy wing of night begins to stretch
His lazy pinion o'er the air.
We must be stiff and steady in resolve;
Let's thus our hands, our hearts, our arms involve. 110
[_They wreath their arms._
_Pan._ Now swear we by this Gordian knot of love,
By the fresh-turned up mould that wraps my son,
By the d[r]ead brow of triple Hecate,
Ere night shall close the lids of yon bright stars,
We'll sit as heavy on Piero's heart,
As Ætna doth on groaning Pelorus.
_Ant._ Thanks, good old man; we'll cast at royal chance.
Let's think a plot--then pell-mell, vengeance!
[_Exeunt, their arms wreathed._
[308] Quite alone.--See note on Middleton, i. 46.
[309] See note 1, p. 107.
[310] Old eds. "sir."
[311] In old eds. ll. 29-30 are transposed, and the passage is
rendered unintelligible. "The domineering monarch" is of course
fortune.
[312] Seneca moralises in the same strain:--"Rerum natura illum
tibi non mancipio dedit sed commodavit: cum visum est deinde,
repetiit nec tuam in eo satietatem secuta est, sed suam legem. Si
quis pecuniam creditam solvisse se moleste ferat, eam præsertim
cujus usum gratuitum acceperit, nonne injustus vir habeatur?"
(_Ad Polybium de Consolatione._)
[313] Old ed. "these."
ACT V.
SCENE I.
_The cornets sound for the Act._
_The dumb show._
_Enter at one door_ CASTILIO _and_ FOROBOSCO, _with halberts; four
Pages with torches_; LUCIO, _bare_; PIERO, MARIA, _and_ ALBERTO,
_talking_; ALBERTO _draws out his dagger_, MARIA _her knife, aiming
to menace the Duke. Then_ GALEATZO, _betwixt two Senators, reading a
paper to them, at which they all make semblance of loathing_ PIERO,
_and knit their fists at him; two Ladies and_ NUTRICHE. _All these
go softly over the stage, whilst at the other door enters the ghost
of_ ANDRUGIO, _who passeth by them, tossing his torch about his head
in triumph. All forsake the stage, saving_ ANDRUGIO, _who, speaking,
begins the Act_.
_Ghost of And. Venit dies, tempusque, quo reddat suis Animam
squalentem sceleribus._
The[314] fist of strenuous vengeance is clutch'd,
And stern Vindicta tow'reth up aloft,
That she may fall with a more weighty paise,
And crush life's sap from out Piero's veins.
Now 'gins the leprous cores of ulcered sins
Wheel to a head; now is his fate grown mellow,
Instant to fall into the rotten jaws
Of chap-fall'n death. Now down looks Providence, 10
T'attend the last act of my son's revenge.
Be gracious, observation, to our scene,
For now the plot unites his scatter'd limbs
Close in contracted bands. The Florence Prince
(Drawn by firm notice of the Duke's black deeds)
Is made a partner in conspiracy.
The states of Venice are so swoll'n in hate
Against the Duke for his accursèd deeds
(Of which they are confirm'd by some odd letters
Found in dead Strotzo's study, which had past 20
Betwixt Piero and the murd'ring slave)
That they can scarce retain from bursting forth
In plain revolt. O, now triumphs my ghost,
Exclaiming, Heaven's just, for I shall see
The scourge of murder and impiety!
[_Exit._
[314] This line is ridiculed in _The Poetaster_, v. 1:--
"Break his back,
O poets all and some! for now we list
_Of strenuous vengeance to clutch the fist_."
SCENE I.
BALURDO _from under the Stage_.
_Bal._ Ho, who's above there, ho? A murrain on all
proverbs. They say hunger breaks through stone walls;
but I am as gaunt as lean-ribb'd famine, yet I can burst
through no stone walls. O now, Sir Jeffrey, show thy
valour, break prison and be hang'd. Nor shall the
darkest nook of hell contain the discontented Sir
Balurdo's ghost. Well, I am out well; I have put
off the prison to put on the rope. O poor shotten
herring, what a pickle art thou in! O hunger, how thou
domineer'st in my guts! O for a fat leg of ewe mutton
in stewed broth, or drunken song to feed on! I could
belch rarely, for I am all wind. O cold, cold, cold,
cold, cold! O poor knight! O poor Sir Jeffrey, sing
like an unicorn before thou dost dip thy horn in the
water of death. O cold, O sing, O cold, O poor
Sir Jeffrey, sing, sing! 16
[_A song._
_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ Alberto _at several doors, their
rapiers drawn, in their masking attire_.
_Ant._ Vindicta!
_Alb._ Mellida!
_Ant._ Alberto!
_Alb._ Antonio!
_Ant._ Hath the Duke supp'd?
_Alb._ Yes, and triumphant revels mount aloft.
The Duke drinks deep to overflow his grief;
The court is rack'd to pleasure; each man strains
To feign a jocund eye. The Florentine----
_Ant._ Young Galeatzo!
_Alb._ Even he is mighty on our part. The states of Venice----
_Enter_ PANDULPHO, _running, in masking attire_.
_Pan._ Like high-swoll'n floods drive down the muddy dams
Of pent allegiance. O, my lusty bloods,
Heaven sits clapping of our enterprise. 30
I have been labouring general favour firm,
And I do find the citizens grown sick
With swallowing the bloody crudities
Of black Piero's acts; they fain would cast
And vomit him from off their government.
Now is the plot of mischief ript wide ope;
Letters are found 'twixt Strotzo and the Duke,
So clear apparent, yet more firmly strong
By suiting circumstance, that, as I walk'd,
Muffled, to eavesdrop speech, I might observe 40
The graver statesmen whispering fearfully.
Here one gives nods and hums what he would speak;
The rumour's got 'mong troop of citizens,
Making loud murmur, with confusèd din;
One shakes his head and sighs, "O ill-used power!"
Another frets, and sets his grinding teeth,
Foaming with rage, and swears this must not be;
Here one complots, and on a sudden starts,
And cries, O monstrous, O deep villainy!
All knit their nerves, and from beneath swoll'n brows 50
Appears a gloating eye of much mislike;
Whilst swart Piero's lips reak steam of wine,
Swallows lust-thoughts, devours all pleasing hopes,
With strong imagination of--what not?
O now Vindicta! that's the word we have,
A royal vengeance, or a royal grave!
_Ant._ Vindicta!
_Bal._ [_From beneath the stage._] I am acold.
_Pan._ Who's there? Sir Jeffrey?
_Bal._ A poor knight, god wot: the nose of thy knighthood
is bitten off with cold. O poor Sir Jeffrey, cold,
cold! 62
_Pan._ What chance of fortune hath tripp'd up his heels,
And laid him in the kennel, ha?
_Alb._ I will discourse it all. Poor honest soul,
Hadst thou a beaver to clasp up thy face,
Thou should'st associate us in masquery,
And see revenge.
_Bal._ Nay, and you talk of revenge, my stomach's up,
for I am most tyrannically hungry. A beaver! I have
a headpiece, a skull, a brain of proof, I warrant ye. 71
_Alb._ Slink to my chamber then, and tire thee.
_Bal._ Is there a fire?
_Alb._ Yes.
_Bal._ Is there a fat leg of ewe mutton?
_Alb._ Yes.
_Bal._ And a clean shirt?
_Alb._ Yes.
_Bal._ Then am I for you, most pathetically, and unvulgarly,
law! 80
[_Exit._
_Ant._ Resolved hearts, time curtails night, opportunity
shakes us his foretop. Steel your thoughts, sharp your
resolve, embolden your spirit, grasp your swords; alarum
mischief, and with an undaunted brow, out scout the
grim opposition of most menacing peril.
Hark! here proud pomp shoots mounting triumph up,
Borne in loud accents to the front of Jove.
_Pan._ O now, he that wants soul to kill a slave,
Let him die slave, and rot in peasant's grave.
_Ant._ Give me thy hand, and thine, most noble heart;
Thus will we live, and, but thus, never part. 91
[_Exeunt, twined together._
_Cornets sound a senet._
SCENE II.
_A Banqueting-hall._
_Enter_ CASTILIO _and_ FOROBOSCO; _two Pages, with torches_;
LUCIO, _bare_; PIERO _and_ MARIA, GALEATZO, _two
Senators, and_ NUTRICHE.
_Pier._ Sit close unto my breast, heart of my love;
Advance thy drooping eyes, thy son is drown'd.
Rich happiness that such a son is drown'd!
Thy husband's dead: life of my joys most bless'd,
In that the sapless log, that press'd thy bed
With an unpleasing weight, being lifted hence,
Even I, Piero, live to warm his place.
I tell you, lady, had you view'd us both
With an unpartial eye, when first we wooed
Your maiden beauties, I had borne the prize. 10
'Tis firm I had; for, fair, I ha' done that----
_Mar._ [_Aside._] Murder.
_Pier._ Which he would quake to have adventurèd;
Thou know'st I have----
_Mar._ [_Aside._] Murder'd my husband.
_Pier._ Borne out the shock of war, and done--what not,
That valour durst? Dost love me, fairest? Say.
_Mar._ As I do hate my son, I love thy soul.
_Pier._ Why, then, Io[315] to Hymen, mount a lofty note!
Fill[316] red-cheek'd Bacchus, let Lyæus float 20
In burnish'd goblets! Force the plump-lipp'd god.
Skip light lavoltas[317] in your full-sapp'd veins!
'Tis well, brim full. Even I have glut of blood:
Let quaff carouse. I drink this Burdeaux wine
Unto the health of dead Andrugio,
Feliche, Strotzo, and Antonio's ghosts.
[_Aside._] Would I had some poison to infuse it with;
That having done this honour to the dead,
I might send one to give them notice on't:
I would endear my favour to the full.-- 30
Boy, sing aloud; make heaven's vault to ring
With thy breath's strength. I drink. Now loudly sing.
[_A song. The song ended the cornets sound a senet._
_Enter_ ANTONIO, PANDULPHO, _and_ ALBERTO, _in maskery_;
BALURDO, _and a Torchbearer_.
_Pier._ Call Julio hither. Where's the little soul?
I saw him not to-day. Here's sport alone
For him, i'faith; for babes and fools, I know,
Relish not substance, but applaud the show.
_Gal._ (_To the conspirators as they stand in rank for the
measure._[318]) All blessèd fortune crown your brave
attempt. [_To_ ANTONIO.
I have a troop to second your attempt. [_To_ PANDULPHO.
The Venice states join hearts unto your hands. [_To_ ALBERTO.
_Pier._ By the delights in contemplation 40
Of coming joys, 'tis magnificent.
You grace my marriage eve with sumptuous pomp.
Sound still, loud music! O, your breath gives grace
To curious feet, that in proud measure pace.
_Ant._ [_Aside to_ MARIA.] Mother, is Julio's body----
_Mar._ [_Aside to_ ANTONIO.] Speak not, doubt not; all is
above all hope.
_Ant._ [_Aside._] Then will I dance and whirl about the air:
Methinks I am all soul, all heart, all spirit.
Now murder shall receive his ample merit.
_The measure._
_While the measure is dancing_, ANDRUGIO'S _ghost is placed
betwixt the music-houses_.[319]
_Pier._ Bring hither suckets, candied delicates. 50
We'll taste some sweetmeats, gallants, ere we sleep.
_Ant._--We'll cook your sweetmeats, gallants, with tart sour sauce.
_Ghost of And._ Here will I sit, spectator of revenge,
And glad my ghost in anguish of my foe.
[_The maskers whisper with_ PIERO.
_Pier._ Marry and shall; i'faith I were too rude,
If I gainsaid so civil fashion.--
The maskers pray you to forbear the room
Till they have banqueted. Let it be so:
No man presume to visit them, on death.
[_The maskers whisper again._
Only my self? O, why, with all my heart; 60
[_Exeunt all but_ PIERO _and the maskers_.
I'll fill your consort. Here Piero sits;
Come on, unmask, let's fall to.
[_The conspirators bind_ PIERO, _pluck out his tongue,
and triumph over him_.
_Ant._ Murder and torture! no prayers, no entreats!
_Pan._ We'll spoil your oratory. Out with his tongue.
_Ant._ I have 't, Pandulpho; the veins panting bleed,
Trickling fresh gore about my fist. Bind fast--so, so!
_Ghost of And._ Bless'd be thy hand! I taste the joys of heaven,
Viewing my son triumph in his black blood.
_Bal._ Down to the dungeon with him! I'll dungeon
with him! I'll fool you; Sir Jeffrey will be Sir Jeffrey;
I'll tickle you. 71
_Ant._ Behold, black dog!
_Pan._ Grinn'st thou, thou snurling[320] cur?
_Alb._ Eat thy black liver.
_Ant._ To thine anguish see
A fool triumphant in thy misery.
Vex him, Balurdo.
_Pan._ He weeps; now do I glorify my hands;
I had no vengeance, if I had no tears.
_Ant._ Fall to, good Duke. O these are worthless cates,
You have no stomach to them; look, look here:
Here lies a dish to feast thy father's gorge. 80
[_Uncovering the dish that contains_ LUCIO'S _limbs_.
Here's flesh and blood, which I am sure thou lov'st.
[PIERO _seems to condole his son_.
_Pan._ Was he thy flesh, thy son, thy dearest son?
_Ant._ So was Andrugio, my dearest father.
_Pan._ So was Feliche, my dearest son.
_Enter_ MARIA.
_Mar._ So was Andrugio my dearest husband.
_Ant._ My father found no pity in thy blood.
_Pan._ Remorse was banish'd, when thou slew'st my son.
_Mar._ When thou empoisoned'st my loving lord,
Exiled was piety.
_Ant._ Now therefore pity, piety, remorse, 90
Be aliens to our thoughts; grim fire-ey'd rage
Possess us wholly.
_Pan._ Thy son? true; and which is my most joy,
I hope no bastard, but thy very blood,
Thy true-begotten, most legitimate
And lovèd issue--there's the comfort on't.
_Ant._ Scum of the mud of hell!
_Alb._ Slime of all filth!
_Mar._ Thou most detested toad!
_Bal._ Thou most retort and obtuse rascal!
_Ant._ Thus charge we death at thee; remember hell,
And let the howling murmurs of black spirits, 101
The horrid torments of the damnèd ghosts,
Affright thy soul as it descendeth down
Into the entrails of the ugly deep.
_Pan._ Sa, sa; no, let him die, and die, and still be dying.
[_They offer to run all at_ PIERO, _and on a sudden stop_.
And yet not die till he hath died and died
Ten thousand deaths in agony of heart.
Ant. Now pellmell: thus the hand of Heaven chokes
The throat of murder. This for my father's blood!
[_He stabs_ PIERO.
_Pan._ This for my son! 110
_Alb._ This for them all!
And this, and this, sink to the heart of hell!
[_They run all at_ PIERO _with their rapiers_.
_Pan._ Murder for murder, blood for blood, doth yell!
_And._ 'Tis done, and now my soul shall sleep in rest:
Sons that revenge their father's blood are blest.
[_The curtains being drawn, exit_ ANDRUGIO.
_Enter_ GALEATZO, _two_ Senators, LUCIO, FOROBOSCO,
CASTILIO, _and Ladies_.
_1st Sen._ Whose hand presents this gory spectacle?
_Ant._ Mine.
_Pan._ No, mine.
_Alb._ No, mine.
_Ant._ I will not lose the glory of the deed, 120
Were all the tortures of the deepest hell
Fix'd to my limbs. I pierced the monster's heart
With an undaunted hand.
_Pan._ By yon bright-spangled front of heaven 'twas I!
'Twas I sluiced[321] out his life-blood.
_Alb._ Tush, to say truth, 'twas all.
_2d Sen._ Blest be you all, and may your honours live
Religiously held sacred, even for ever and ever.
_Gal._ (_to_ ANTONIO). Thou art another Hercules to us,
In ridding huge pollution from our state. 130
_1st Sen._ Antonio, belief is fortified
With most invincible approvements[322] of much wrong
By this Piero to thee. We have found
Beadrolls of mischief, plots of villainy,
Laid 'twixt the Duke and Strotzo, which we found
Too firmly acted.
_2d Sen._ Alas, poor orphant!
_Ant._ Poor!
Standing triumphant over Belzebub!
Having large interest for blood, and yet deem'd poor?
_1st Sen._ What satisfaction outward pomp can yield,
Or chiefest fortunes of the Venice state, 140
Claim freely. You are well-season'd props,
And will not warp, or lean to either part;
Calamity gives a man a steady heart.
_Ant._ We are amaz'd at your benignity;
But other vows constrain another course.
_Pan._ We know the world, and did we know no more,
We would not live to know; but since constraint
Of holy bands forceth us keep this lodge
Of dirt's corruption, till dread power calls
Our soul's appearance, we will live enclosed 150
In holy verge of some religious order,
Most constant votaries.
[_The curtains are drawn_, PIERO _departeth_.
_Ant._ First let's cleanse our hands,
Purge hearts of hatred, and entomb my love,
Over whose hearse I'll weep away my brain
In true affection's tears.
For her sake here I vow a virgin bed:
She lives in me, with her my love is dead.
_2d Sen._ We will attend her mournful exequies;
Conduct you to your calm sequestered life,
And then---- 160
_Mar._ Leave us to meditate on misery,
To sad our thought with contemplation
Of past calamities. If any ask
Where lives the widow of the poison'd lord?
Where lies the orphant of a murder'd father?
Where lies the father of a butcher'd son?
Where lives all woe?--conduct him to us three,
The down-cast ruins of calamity.
_Ant._[323] Sound doleful tunes, a solemn hymn advance,
To close the last act of my vengeance; 170
And when the subject of your passion's spent,
Sing _Mellida is dead_; all hearts will relent,
In sad condolement at that heavy sound.
Never more woe in lesser plot was found!
And, O, if ever time create a muse,
That to th' immortal fame of virgin faith
Dares once engage his pen to write her death,
Presenting it in some black tragedy,
May it prove gracious; may his style be deck'd
With freshest blooms of purest elegance;
May it have gentle presence, and the scenes suck'd up
By calm attention of choice audience; 181
And when the closing Epilogue appears,
Instead of claps, may it obtain but tears.
[_A song.--Exeunt omnes._
_Antonii vindictæ_ [_sic_].
[315] "Io"--the joyful cry with which Hymen was invoked by the
ancients. Cf. Catullus:--
"Ite, concinite in modum:
Io Hymen Hymenæe io,
Io Hymen Hymenæe!"
[316] Old eds. "Ful."
[317] A sort of waltz, described in Sir John Davies'
_Orchestra_, st. 70.--Cf. Chapman's _May Day_ (1611), iv. 1:--
"Fill red-cheek'd Bacchus, let the Burdeux grape
Skip like [sic] lavoltas in their swelling veins"
--lines made up from the present passage.
[318] "Measure"--a grave solemn dance.
[319] See Collier's _Hist. of Engl. Dram. Poetry_, iii. 251-2
(ed. 2).
[320] So Marston uses "kn_u_rl'd" (p. 166) for "gn_a_rl'd."
[321] Cf. _Richard II._, i. 1:--"_Sluiced out_ his innocent soul
through streams of blood."
[322] Proofs.
[323] Old eds. "_And._"
THE MALCONTENT.
_The Malcontent. By Iohn Marston._ 1604. _At London printed by V. S.
for William Aspley, and are to be solde at his shop in Paules
Church-yard._ 4to.
_The Malcontent. Augmented by Marston. With the Additions played by
the Kings Maiesties servants. Written by Ihon Webster._ 1604. _At
London Printed by V. S. for William Aspley, and are to be sold at his
shop in Paules Church-yard._ 4to.
STORY OF THE PLAY.
Giovanni Altofronto, Duke of Genoa, driven from power by the plots of
Pietro Jacomo, disguises himself and lives under the name of Malevole
at the usurper's court, assuming the character of a malcontent. His
identity is known only to his faithful friend Celso. A crafty
courtier, Mendoza, who had assisted in dethroning Altofronto, has
adulterous intercourse with Pietro's wife, Aurelia. Malevole exposes
the intrigue to Pietro; but meanwhile Aurelia, induced by an old
procuress, Maquerelle, to believe that her lover is faithless,
discards Mendoza and engages in an intrigue with another courtier,
Ferneze. Pietro, sword in hand, seeks Mendoza, who makes passionate
protestations of his own innocence, and declares that the guilty
person is Ferneze. On that very night Ferneze has an appointment with
the Duchess; and it is agreed that Pietro with some of the guard shall
break into the Duchess' chamber, while Mendoza waits with his drawn
sword at the door. Ferneze is to be allowed to escape from the
chamber, only to be received on the sword of Mendoza, who is then to
stand over the body and pretend that he is guarding it from assault.
Thus Mendoza will not only serve Pietro, but by his seeming generosity
towards Ferneze will earn the gratitude of Aurelia, who, should she
attempt to take vengeance on her husband, will not fail to make
Mendoza acquainted with her plots, which he will incontinently reveal
to Pietro. At the hour appointed, Pietro and the guard invade the
Duchess' chamber; the flying gallant is stabbed by Mendoza and left
for dead (though he afterwards recovers from the wound); Aurelia
receives Mendoza again into favour, and practises with him to murder
Pietro. Mendoza, selecting a time when Pietro had gone a-hunting,
bribes Malevole to commit the murder. Malevole undertakes to kill
Pietro by stealth in the forest, fling his body into the sea, and then
return to announce that Pietro, distracted by grief at the dishonour
brought on him by his wife, has made away with himself by leaping into
the sea from a high rock. To the forest goes Malevole, finds Pietro,
and exposes to him the plot; presently Celso appears bringing a
hermit's weeds, into which Pietro shifts. They return to the court,
and the pretended hermit describes with much detail how he saw Pietro
perish, the narrative being substantiated by Malevole. Mendoza is
proclaimed Duke, and his first act is to pronounce a sentence of
perpetual banishment on Aurelia. He then commissions Malevole to bring
from the citadel (where she is confined) the wife of the banished
Altofronto, the virtuous Maria, whom he intends to make his Duchess.
His brain is now exercised to procure the destruction of the supposed
murderers. Malevole is instructed to poison the hermit at a supper
given in the citadel, and the hermit on the same occasion is to poison
Malevole; thus two awkward agents will be removed, and the suspicion
will fall on Maria, whose fears will drive her to submit to Mendoza.
Pietro informs Malevole of the instructions he had received, and
learns that similar instructions have been given to Malevole. Weighed
down with sorrow at his own dishonour, and disgusted with Mendoza's
villainy, Pietro declares his determination to dedicate his life to
religious solitude, and make it his one care that the banished
Altofronto shall be restored to the dukedom. Thereupon Malevole puts
off his disguise, and Pietro beholds the banished Duke. Ferneze now
approaches with Celso, and receives pardon from Pietro, who had
supposed him to be dead. The four then take counsel how they shall
depose Mendoza. Malevole goes to the usurper and announces that he has
poisoned the hermit; he then produces a box of poison, which, he
declares, will cause instant death on being opened and held to the
nostrils. Mendoza opens the box and tries its effects on Malevole, who
feigns to fall dead. A masque is ordered by Mendoza to be given in
honour of Maria, who shows herself indifferent both to the tyrant's
flatteries and threats. At the entertainment Malevole, Pietro, and
Ferneze appear masked; Malevole chooses Maria as his partner in the
dance, and Pietro is matched with Aurelia, who has deeply repented of
her misconduct. At the close of the dance, during which Malevole and
Pietro have discovered themselves to their partners, the maskers
environ Mendoza, level their pistols at his head, and unmask.
Altofronto is received with joyful acclamations by the assembled
company, and Mendoza--whose life the restored Duke disdains to
take--is banished with shameful ignominy.
BENIAMINO[324] JONSONIO,
POETÆ
ELEGANTISSIMO,
GRAVISSIMO,
AMICO
SVO, CANDIDO ET CORDATO,
IOHANNES MARSTON,
MVSARVM ALVMNVS,
ASPERAM HANC SVAM THALIAM
D. D.
[324] Ed. 2. "_Beniamini._"
TO THE READER.
I am an ill orator; and, in truth, use to indite more honestly than
eloquently, for it is my custom to speak as I think, and write as I
speak.
In plainness, therefore, understand, that in some things I have
willingly erred, as in supposing a Duke of Genoa, and in taking names
different from that city's families: for which some may wittily accuse
me; but my defence shall be as honest as many reproofs unto me have
been most malicious. Since, I heartily protest, it was my care to
write so far from reasonable offence, that even strangers, in whose
state I laid my scene, should not from thence draw any disgrace to
any, dead or living. Yet, in despite of my endeavours, I understand
some have been most unadvisedly over-cunning in misinterpreting me,
and with subtlety as deep as hell have maliciously spread ill rumours,
which, springing from themselves, might to themselves have heavily
returned. Surely I desire to satisfy every firm spirit, who, in all
his actions, proposeth to himself no more ends than God and virtue do,
whose intentions are always simple: to such I protest that, with my
free understanding, I have not glanced at disgrace of any, but of
those whose unquiet studies labour innovation, contempt of holy
policy, reverend, comely superiority, and established unity: for the
rest of my supposed tartness, I fear not but unto every worthy mind it
will be approved so general and honest as may modestly pass with the
freedom of a satire. I would fain leave the paper; only one thing
afflicts me, to think that scenes, invented merely to be spoken,
should be enforcively published to be read, and that the least hurt I
can receive is to do myself the wrong. But, since others otherwise
would do me more, the least inconvenience is to be accepted. I have
myself, therefore, set forth this comedy; but so, that my enforced
absence must much rely upon the printer's discretion: but I shall
entreat slight errors in orthography may be as slightly over-passed,
and that the unhandsome shape which this trifle in reading presents,
may be pardoned for the pleasure it once afforded you when it was
presented with the soul of lively action.
_Sine aliqua dementia nullus Phoebus._[325]
[325] For this motto ed. 1. gives "_Me mea sequentur fata._"
THE INDUCTION[326]
TO
THE MALCONTENT, AND THE ADDITIONS ACTED BY
THE KING'S MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.
WRITTEN BY JOHN WEBSTER.
_Enter_ W. SLY,[327] _a_ Tire-man _following him with a stool_.
_Tire-man._ Sir, the gentlemen will be angry if you sit
here.
_Sly._ Why, we may sit upon the stage at the private
house.[328] Thou dost not take me for a country gentleman,
dost? dost think I fear hissing?[329] I'll hold my
life thou tookest me for one of the players.
_Tire-man._ No, sir.
_Sly._ By God's slid, if you had, I would have given you
but sixpence[330] for your stool. Let them that have stale
suits sit in the galleries. Hiss at me! He that will be
laughed out of a tavern or an ordinary, shall seldom feed
well, or be drunk in good company.--Where's Harry
Condell, Dick Burbadge, and William Sly? Let me
speak with some of them. 14
_Tire-man._ An't please you to go in, sir, you may.
_Sly._ I tell you, no: I am one that hath seen this play
often, and can give them intelligence for their action: I
have most of the jests here in my table-book.
_Enter_ SINKLO.[331]
_Sinklo._ Save you, coz!
_Sly._ O, cousin, come, you shall sit between my legs
here. 21
_Sinklo._ No, indeed, cousin: the audience then will
take me for a viol-de-gambo, and think that you play
upon me.
_Sly._ Nay, rather that I work upon you, coz.
_Sinklo._ We stayed for you at supper last night at my
cousin Honeymoon's, the woollen-draper. After supper
we drew cuts for a score of apricocks, the longest cut
still to draw an apricock: by this light, 'twas Mistress
Frank Honeymoon's fortune still to have the longest
cut: I did measure for the women.--What be these,
coz? 32
_Enter_ D. BURBADGE,[332] H. CONDELL, _and_ J. LOWIN.
_Sly._ The players.--God save you!
_Burbadge._ You are very welcome.
_Sly._ I pray you, know this gentleman, my cousin;
'tis Master Doomsday's son, the usurer.
_Condell._ I beseech you, sir, be covered.
_Sly._ No,[333] in good faith, for mine ease: look you, my
hat's the handle to this fan: God's so, what a beast
was I, I did not leave my feather at home! Well,
but I'll take an order with you. 41
[_Puts his feather in his pocket._
_Burbadge._ Why do you conceal your feather, sir?
_Sly._ Why, do you think I'll have jests broken upon
me in the play, to be laughed at? this play hath beaten
all your gallants out of the feathers: Blackfriars hath
almost spoiled Blackfriars for feathers.[334]
_Sinklo._ God's so, I thought 'twas for somewhat our
gentlewomen at home counselled me to wear my feather
to the play: yet I am loth to spoil it.
_Sly._ Why, coz? 50
_Sinklo._ Because I got it in the tilt-yard; there was a
herald broke my pate for taking it up: but I have worn
it up and down the Strand, and met him forty times
since, and yet he dares not challenge it.
_Sly._ Do you hear, sir? this play is a bitter play.
_Condell._ Why, sir, 'tis neither satire nor moral, but the
mean passage of a history: yet there are a sort of discontented
creatures that bear a stingless envy to great
ones, and these will wrest the doings of any man to their
base, malicious appliment; but should their interpretation
come to the test, like your marmoset, they presently
turn their teeth to their tail and eat it. 62
_Sly._ I will not go so far with you; but I say, any
man that hath wit may censure,[335] if he sit in the twelve-penny
room;[336] and I say again, the play is bitter.
_Burbadge._ Sir, you are like a patron that, presenting
a poor scholar to a benefice, enjoins him not to rail
against anything that stands within compass of his
patron's folly. Why should not we enjoy the ancient
freedom of poesy? Shall we protest to the ladies that
their painting makes them angels? or to my young
gallant that his expenses in the brothel shall gain him
reputation? No, sir, such vices as stand not accountable
to law should be cured as men heal tetters, by casting
ink upon them. Would you be satisfied in anything
else, sir? 76
_Sly._ Ay, marry, would I: I would know how you
came by this play?
_Condell._ Faith, sir, the book was lost; and because
'twas pity so good a play should be lost, we found it,
and play it. 81
_Sly._ I wonder you would play it, another company
having interest in it.
_Condell._ Why not Malevole in folio with us, as Jeronimo
in decimo-sexto[337] with them? They taught us a
name for our play; we call it _One for another_.
_Sly._ What are your additions?
_Burbadge._ Sooth, not greatly needful; only as your
salad to your great feast, to entertain a little more time,
and to abridge the not-received custom of music in our
theatre. I must leave you, sir.
[_Exit._
_Sinklo._ Doth he play the Malcontent. 92
_Condell._ Yes, sir.
_Sinklo._ I durst lay four of mine ears the play is not so
well acted as it hath been.
_Condell._ O, no, sir, nothing _ad Parmenonis suem_.[338]
_Lowin._ Have you lost your ears, sir, that you are so
prodigal of laying them?
_Sinklo._ Why did you ask that, friend?
_Lowin._ Marry, sir, because I have heard of a fellow
would offer to lay a hundred-pound wager that was not
worth five baubees:[339] and in this kind you might venture
four of your elbows; yet God defend[340] your coat should
have so many! 104
_Sinklo._ Nay, truly, I am no great censurer; and yet I
might have been one of the college of critics once. My
cousin here hath an excellent memory indeed, sir.
_Sly._ Who, I? I'll tell you a strange thing of myself;
and I can tell you, for one that never studied the art of
memory, 'tis very strange too. 110
_Condell._ What's that, sir?
_Sly._ Why, I'll lay a hundred pound, I'll walk but once
down by the Goldsmiths' Row in Cheap, take notice of
the signs, and tell you them with a breath instantly.
_Lowin._ 'Tis very strange.
_Sly._ They begin as the world did, with Adam and
Eve. There's in all just five and fifty.[341] I do use to
meditate much when I come to plays too. What do
you think might come into a man's head now, seeing all
this company? 120
_Condell._ I know not, sir.
_Sly._ I have an excellent thought. If some fifty of the
Grecians that were crammed in the horse'-belly had
eaten garlic, do you not think the Trojans might have
smelt out their knavery?
_Condell._ Very likely.
_Sly._ By God, I would they[342] had, for I love Hector
horribly.
_Sinklo._ O, but, coz, coz!
"Great[343] Alexander, when he came to the tomb of Achilles,
Spake with a big loud voice, O thou thrice blessèd and happy!" 131
_Sly._ Alexander was an ass to speak so well of a filthy
cullion.[344]
_Lowin._ Good sir, will you leave the stage? I'll help
you to a private room.[345]
_Sly._ Come, coz, let's take some tobacco.[346]--Have you
never a prologue?
_Lowin._ Not any, sir.
_Sly._ Let me see, I will make one extempore.
[_Come[347] to them, and fencing of a congey with arms
and legs, be round with them._
Gentlemen,[348] I could wish for the women's sakes you
had all soft cushions; and, gentlewomen, I could wish
that for the men's sakes you had all more easy standings.
What would they wish more but the play now? and
that they shall have instantly. 144
[_Exeunt._
[326] The Induction was added in ed. 2.
[327] For an account of William Sly and the other actors
introduced in the Induction, see Collier's _Memoirs of the
Principal Actors in the Plays of Shakespeare_.
[328] _The Malcontent_ had been acted at the Blackfriars Theatre,
a private theatre. It was afterwards acted at the Globe, a public
theatre.
[329] It was a common practice for gallants to sit on the stage;
but when a coxcomb obstructed the view by planting himself in a
prominent position, the audience naturally took offence. Dekker,
in the chapter of the _Gull's Horn-Book_, describing "how a
gallant should behave himself at a play-house," writes:--"But on
the very rushes where the comedy is to dance, yea, and under the
state of Cambyses himself, must our feathered estridge, like a
piece of ordnance, be planted valiantly (because impudently),
_beating down the mews and hisses of the opposed rascality_."
[330] Sixpence, as we learn from the _Gull's Horn-Book_,
Induction to _Cynthia's Revels_, &c., was the usual charge for
the loan of a stool. Francis Lenton in his _Young Gallant's
Whirligig_ tells us of an "expensive fool" who was ready to "pay
an angel for a paltry stool." It was not uncommon to pay a
shilling for the convenience.
[331] Dr. Karl Elze in his _Notes on the Elizabethan Dramatists_
(2nd. ser., pp. 160-4) indulges in some speculations about this
actor.
[332] From _A Funeral Elegy_ on Burbadge, first printed by
Collier, we learn that the great actor took the part of Malevole
in _The Malcontent_:--
"Vindex is gone, and what a loss was he!
Frankford, Brachiano, and Malevole."
The elegy is in the main unquestionably genuine.
[333] "A quotation from the part of Osrick in _Hamlet_. Sly might
have been the original performer of that character."--_Steevens._
[334] The meaning is that in _The Malcontent_, which had been
originally acted at Blackfriars Theatre, the practice of wearing
feathers had been so ridiculed that the feather-makers of
Blackfriars had suffered injury in their business. In v. 4 occurs
the passage in which the use of feathers is ridiculed:--"For as
now-a-days no courtier but has his mistress, no captain but has
his cockatrice, no cuckold but has his horns, and _no fool but
has his feather._" &c. Blackfriars was noted as being the
residence of Puritans, many of whom followed the trade of
feather-makers. There is some amusing ridicule of the Puritan
feather-makers in Ben Jonson's _Bartholomew Fair_, Randolph's
_Muses' Looking-Glass_, &c.
[335] Judge.
[336] Box.
[337] The expression "in decimo sexto" is used in reference to
the company of the Children of the Chapel, acting at Blackfriars.
Cf. Middleton's _Father Hubburd's Tales_ (_Works_, ed. Bullen,
viii. 64):--"But for fear I interrupt this _small actor in less
than decimo sexto_, "&c. The Children's Company at the
Blackfriars seems to have appropriated Jeronimo, _i.e._, _The
Spanish Tragedy_, in which the King's Company at the Globe had an
interest; whereupon the King's Company retaliated by acting
Malevole, _i.e. The Malcontent_. The expression "Malevole _in
folio_" means "_The Malcontent_ acted by _men-actors_."--Dyce did
not understand the passage.
[338] A proverbial saying. "L. S." in the Shakespeare Society's
_Papers_, ii. 85 (1847), quotes from Plutarch's Symposium, v.
1:--"For upon what other account should men be moved to admire
_Parmeno's sow_ so much as to pass it into a proverb? Yet 'tis
reported that Parmeno, being very famous for imitating the
grunting of a pig, some endeavoured to rival and outdo him. And
when the hearers, being prejudiced, cried out, 'Very well,
indeed, but nothing comparable to Parmeno's sow,' one took a pig
under his arm and came upon the stage; and when, tho' they heard
the very pig, they still continued, 'This is nothing comparable
to Parmeno's sow,' he threw his pig amongst them to show that
they judged according to opinion and not truth" (Creech's
translation). Phædrus has a fable on the subject.
[339] Halfpennies.
[340] Forbid.
[341] "This is a pleasant exaggeration on the part of Sly. There
were in all, as Stow tells, 'ten fair dwelling-houses and
fourteen shops.' See 'Goldsmiths' Row' in _Handbook of London_,
ed. 1850.--_P. Cunningham_ (_Notes and Queries_, 2d ser. vol. i.
71).
[342] The old ed. "he."
[343] These lines are a translation by Gabriel Harvey's younger
brother John, of some lines of Petrarch, Son. cliii. They are
quoted with two other "lusty hexameters" in a letter of Gabriel
Harvey to Spenser. See Grosart's edition of Gabriel Harvey, i.
89-90.
[344] Rogue.
[345] Box.
[346] It was the practice for gallants to smoke in the theatre.
"Fie, this stinking tobacco kills me!" says the citizen's wife,
in _The Knight of the Burning Pestle_, to the gallants smoking on
the stage: "Would there were none in England! Now, I pray,
gentlemen, what good does this stinking tobacco do you? nothing,
I warrant you: make chimnies o' your faces!"
[347] This stage direction is printed as part of the text in old
ed.
[348] "This seems intended as a burlesque [?] on the epilogue to
_As You Like It_."--_Reed._
_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._
GIOVANNI ALTOFRONTO, _disguised as_ MALEVOLE, _sometime Duke
of Genoa_.
PIETRO JACOMO, _Duke of Genoa_.
MENDOZA, _a minion to the_ Duchess of PIETRO JACOMO.
CELSO, _a friend to_ ALTOFRONTO.
BILIOSO, _an old choleric marshal_.
PREPASSO, _a gentleman-usher_.
FERNEZE, _a young courtier, and enamoured on the Duchess_.
FERRARDO, _a minion to_ DUKE PIETRO JACOMO.
EQUATO, }
GUERRINO, } _two courtiers_.
PASSARELLO, _fool to_ BILIOSO.
AURELIA, _Duchess to_ DUKE PIETRO JACOMO.
MARIA, _Duchess to_ DUKE ALTOFRONTO.
EMILIA, }
BIANCA, } _two ladies attending on_ AURELIA.
MAQUERELLE, _an old panderess_.
THE SCENE--GENOA.
THE MALCONTENT.[349]
ACT I.
SCENE I.
_Palace of the Duke of Genoa._
_The vilest out-of-tune music being heard, enter_ BILIOSO
_and_ PREPASSO.
_Bil._ Why, how now! are ye mad, or drunk, or both,
or what?
_Pre._ Are ye building Babylon there?
_Bil._ Here's a noise in court! you think you are in a
tavern, do you not?
_Pre._ You think you are in a brothel-house, do you
not?--This room is ill-scented.
_Enter One with a perfume._
So, perfume, perfume; some upon me, I pray thee.--
The duke is upon instant entrance: so, make place there!
_Enter_ PIETRO, FERRARDO, EQUATO; CELSO _and_
GUERRINO _before_.
_Pietro._ Where breathes that music? 10
_Bil._ The discord rather than the music is heard from
the malcontent Malevole's chamber.
_Fer._ [_calling_] Malevole!
_Mal._ [_above, out of his chamber_] Yaugh, god-a-man,
what dost thou there? Duke's Ganymede, Juno's jealous
of thy long stockings: shadow of a woman, what wouldst,
weasel? thou lamb o'court, what dost thou bleat for? ah,
you smooth-chinned catamite!
_Pietro._ Come down, thou rugged[350] cur, and snarl here;
I give thy dogged sullenness free liberty: trot about and
bespurtle whom thou pleasest. 21
_Mal._ I'll come among you, you goatish-blooded
toderers,[351] as gum into taffata, to fret, to fret: I'll fall
like a sponge into water, to suck up, to suck up. [_Howls
again._[352]] I'll go to church,[353] and come to you.
[_Exit above._
_Pietro._ This Malevole is one of the most prodigious
affections that ever conversed with nature: a man, or
rather a monster, more discontent than Lucifer when he
was thrust out of the presence. His appetite is unsatiable
as the grave; as far from any content as from heaven:
his highest delight is to procure others' vexation, and
therein he thinks he truly serves heaven; for 'tis his
position, whosoever in this earth can be contented is a
slave and damned; therefore does he afflict all in that
to which they are most affected. The elements struggle
within him; his own soul is at variance within herself;[354]
his speech is halter-worthy at all hours. I like him,
faith: he gives good intelligence to my spirit, makes me
understand those weaknesses which others' flattery
palliates.--Hark! they sing. [_A song._] See, he comes.
Now shall you hear the extremity of a malcontent: he is
as free as air; he blows over every man. 42
_Enter_ MALEVOLE _below_.
And, sir, whence come you now?
_Mal._ From the public place of much dissimulation,
the church.[355]
_Pietro._ What didst there?
_Mal._ Talk with a usurer; take up at interest.
_Pietro._ I wonder what religion thou art of?[356]
_Mal._ Of a soldier's religion.
_Pietro._ And what dost thou[357] think makes most infidels
now? 51
_Mal._ Sects, sects. I have seen seeming piety change
her robe so oft, that sure none but some arch-devil can
shape her a new[358] petticoat.
_Pietro._ O, a religious policy.
_Mal._ But, damnation on a politic religion! I am
weary: would I were one of the duke's hounds now![359]
_Pietro._ But what's the common news abroad, Malevole?
thou doggest rumour still. 59
_Mal._ Common news! why, common words are, God
save ye, Fare ye well; common actions, flattery and
cozenage; common things, women and cuckolds.--And
how does my little Ferrard? Ah, ye lecherous animal!--my
little ferret, he goes sucking up and down the palace
into every hen's nest, like a weasel:--and to what dost
thou addict thy time to now more than to those antique
painted drabs that are still effected of young
courtiers,--flattery, pride, and venery?
_Fer._ I study languages. Who dost think to be the
best linguist of our age? 70
_Mal._ Phew! the devil: let him possess thee; he'll
teach thee to speak all languages most readily and
strangely;[360] and great reason, marry, he's travelled greatly
i' the world, and is everywhere.
_Fer._ Save i' the court.
_Mal._ Ay, save i' the court.--[_To_ BILIOSO.] And how
does my old muckhill, overspread with fresh snow? thou
half a man, half a goat, all a beast! how does thy young
wife, old huddle?[361]
_Bil._ Out, you improvident rascal! 80
_Mal._ Do, kick, thou hugely-horned old duke's ox,
good Master Make-pleas.
_Pietro._ How dost thou live nowadays, Malevole?
_Mal._ Why, like the knight Sir Patrick Penlohans,[362]
with killing o' spiders for my lady's monkey.[363]
_Pietro._ How dost spend the night? I hear thou never
sleepest.
_Mal._ O, no; but dream the most fantastical! O heaven!
O fubbery, fubbery!
_Pietro._ Dream! what dreamest? 90
_Mal._ Why, methinks I see that signior pawn his footcloth,[364]
that metreza[365] her plate: this madam takes physic,
that t'other monsieur may minister to her: here is a
pander jewelled; there is[366] a fellow in shift of satin this
day, that could not shift a shirt t'other night: here a Paris
supports that Helen; there's a Lady Guinever bears up
that Sir Lancelot: dreams, dreams, visions, fantasies,
chimeras, imaginations, tricks, conceits!--[_To_ PREPASSO.]
Sir Tristram Trimtram, come aloft,[367] Jack-an-apes, with a
whim-wham: here's a knight of the land of Catito shall
play at trap with any page in Europe; do the sword-dance
with any morris-dancer in Christendom; ride at
the ring[368] till the fin[369] of his eyes look as blue as the
welkin; and run the wildgoose-chase even with Pompey
the Huge.[370] 105
_Pietro._ You run!
_Mal._ To the devil.--Now, signior Guerrino, that thou
from a most pitied prisoner shouldst grow a most loathed
flatterer!--Alas, poor Celso, thy star's oppressed: thou
art an honest lord: 'tis pity. 110
_Equato._ Is't pity?
_Mal._ Ay, marry is't, philosophical Equato; and 'tis
pity that thou, being so excellent a scholar by art, should
be so ridiculous a fool by nature.--I have a thing to tell
you, duke: bid 'em avaunt, bid 'em avaunt.
_Pietro._ Leave us, leave us.
[_Exeunt all except_ PIETRO _and_ MALEVOLE.
Now, sir, what is't?
_Mal._ Duke, thou art a becco,[371] a cornuto.
_Pietro._ How!
_Mal._ Thou art a cuckold. 120
_Pietro._ Speak, unshale[372] him quick.
_Mal._ With most tumbler-like nimbleness.
_Pietro._ Who? by whom? I burst with desire.
_Mal._ Mendoza is the man makes thee a horned beast;
duke, 'tis Mendoza cornutes thee.
_Pietro._ What conformance? relate; short, short.
_Mal._ As a lawyer's beard.
There is an old crone in the court, her name is Maquerelle,
She is my mistress, sooth to say, and she doth ever tell me.
Blirt o' rhyme, blirt o' rhyme! Maquerelle is a cunning
bawd; I am an honest villain; thy wife is a close drab;
and thou art a notorious cuckold. Farewell, duke. 132
_Pietro._ Stay, stay.
_Mal._ Dull, dull duke, can lazy patience make lame
revenge? O God, for a woman to make a man that
which God never created, never made!
_Pietro._ What did God never make?
_Mal._ A cuckold: to be made a thing that's hoodwinked
with kindness, whilst every rascal fillips his
brows; to have a coxcomb with egregious horns pinned
to a lord's back, every page sporting himself with delightful
laughter, whilst he must be the last must know it:
pistols and poniards! pistols and poniards! 143
_Pietro._ Death and damnation!
_Mal._ Lightning and thunder!
_Pietro._ Vengeance and torture!
_Mal._ Catso![373]
_Pietro._ O, revenge!
_Mal._[374] Nay, to select among ten thousand fairs
A lady far inferior to the most,
In fair proportion both of limb and soul;
To take her from austerer check of parents,
To make her his by most devoutful rites, 150
Make her commandress of a better essence
Than is the gorgeous world, even of a man;
To hug her with as rais'd an appetite
As usurers do their delv'd-up treasury
(Thinking none tells it but his private self);
To meet her spirit in a nimble kiss,
Distilling panting ardour to her heart;
True to her sheets, nay, diets strong his blood,
To give her height of hymeneal sweets,----
_Pietro._ O God! 160
_Mal._ Whilst she lisps, and gives him some
court-_quelquechose_,[375]
Made only to provoke, not satiate:
And yet even then the thaw of her delight
Flows from lewd heat of apprehension,
Only from strange imagination's rankness,
That forms the adulterer's presence in her soul,
And makes her think she clips the foul knave's loins.
_Pietro._ Affliction to my blood's root!
_Mal._ Nay, think, but think what may proceed of this;
Adultery is often the mother of incest. 170
_Pietro._ Incest!
_Mal._ Yes, incest: mark:--Mendoza of his wife begets
perchance a daughter: Mendoza dies; his son marries
this daughter: say you? nay, 'tis frequent, not only
probable, but no question often acted, whilst ignorance,
fearless ignorance, clasps his own seed.
_Pietro._ Hideous imagination!
_Mal._ Adultery? why, next to the sin of simony, 'tis
the most horrid transgression under the cope of salvation. 180
_Pietro._ Next to simony!
_Mal._ Ay, next to simony, in which our men in next
age shall not sin.
_Pietro._ Not sin! why?
_Mal._ Because (thanks to some churchmen) our age
will leave them nothing to sin with. But adultery, O
dulness! should show[376] exemplary punishment, that intemperate
bloods may freeze but to think it. I would
damn him and all his generation: my own hands should
do it; ha, I would not trust heaven with my vengeance:
--anything. 191
_Pietro._ Anything, anything, Malevole: thou shalt see
instantly what temper my spirit holds. Farewell; remember
I forget thee not; farewell.
[_Exit_ PIETRO.
_Mal._[377] Farewell.
Lean thoughtfulness, a sallow meditation,
Suck thy veins dry, distemperance rob thy sleep!
The heart's disquiet is revenge most deep:
He that gets blood, the life of flesh but spills,
But he that breaks heart's peace, the dear soul kills. 200
Well, this disguise doth yet afford me that
Which kings do seldom hear, or great men use,--
Free speech: and though my state's usurp'd,
Yet this affected strain gives me a tongue
As fetterless as in an emperor's.
I may speak foolishly, ay, knavishly,
Always carelessly, yet no one thinks it fashion
To poise my breath; for he that laughs and strikes
Is lightly felt, or seldom struck again.
Duke, I'll torment thee now; my just revenge 210
From thee than crown a richer gem shall part:
Beneath God, naught's so dear as a calm heart.
_Re-enter_ CELSO.
_Celso._ My honour'd lord,--
_Mal._ Peace, speak low, peace! O Celso, constant lord,
(Thou to whose faith I only rest discover'd,
Thou, one of full ten millions of men,
That lovest virtue only for itself;
Thou in whose hands old Ops may put her soul)
Behold forever-banish'd Altofront,
This Genoa's last year's duke. O truly noble! 220
I wanted those old instruments of state,
Dissemblance and suspect: I could not time it, Celso;
My throne stood like a point midst[378] of a circle,
To all of equal nearness; bore with none;
Rein'd all alike; so slept in fearless virtue,
Suspectless, too suspectless; till the crowd,
(Still lickorous of untried novelties)
Impatient with severer government
Made strong with Florence, banish'd Altofront.
_Celso._ Strong with Florence! ay, thence your mischief rose; 230
For when the daughter of the Florentine
Was match'd once with this Pietro, now duke,
No stratagem of state untried was left,
Till you of all----
_Mal._ Of all was quite bereft:
Alas, Maria too close prisonèd,
My true-faith'd duchess, i' the citadel!
_Celso._ I'll still adhere: let's mutiny and die.
_Mal._ O, no,[379] climb not a falling tower, Celso;
'Tis well held desperation, no zeal,
Hopeless to strive with fate: peace; temporise. 240
Hope, hope, that ne'er forsak'st the wretched'st man,
Yet bidd'st me live, and lurk in this disguise!
What, play I well the free-breath'd discontent?
Why, man, we are all philosophical monarchs
Or natural fools. Celso, the court's a-fire;
The duchess' sheets will smoke for't ere't be long:
Impure Mendoza, that sharp-nos'd lord, that made
The cursèd match link'd Genoa with Florence,
Now broad-horns the duke, which he now knows.
Discord to malcontents is very manna: 250
When the ranks are burst, then scuffle, Altofront.
_Celso._ Ay, but durst----
_Mal._ 'Tis gone; 'tis swallow'd like a mineral:
Some way 'twill work; pheut, I'll not shrink:
He's resolute who can no lower sink.
BILIOSO _re-entering_, MALEVOLE _shifteth his speech_.
O[380] the father of May-poles! did you never see a
fellow whose strength consisted in his breath, respect
in his office, religion in[381] his lord, and love in himself?
why, then, behold.
_Bil._ Signior,-- 260
_Mal._ My right worshipful lord, your court night-cap
makes you have a passing high forehead.
_Bil._ I can tell you strange news, but I am sure you
know them already: the duke speaks much good of you.
_Mal._ Go to, then: and shall you and I now enter
into a strict friendship?
_Bil._ Second one another?
_Mal._ Yes.
_Bil._ Do one another good offices?
_Mal._ Just: what though I called thee old ox, egregious
wittol, broken-bellied coward, rotten mummy? yet, since
I am in favour---- 272
_Bil._ Words of course, terms of disport. His grace
presents you by me a chain, as his grateful remembrance
for--I am ignorant for what; marry, ye may impart: yet
howsoever--come--dear friend; dost know my son?
_Mal._ Your son!
_Bil._ He shall eat wood-cocks, dance jigs, make
possets, and play at shuttle-cock with any young lord
about the court: he has as sweet a lady too; dost know
her little bitch? 281
_Mal._ 'Tis a dog, man.
_Bil._ Believe me, a she-bitch: O, 'tis a good creature!
thou shalt be her servant. I'll make thee acquainted with
nothing. 'Tis grown to supper-time; come to my table:
that, anything I have, stands open to thee.
_Mal._ [_aside to_ CELSO] How smooth to him that is in state
of grace,
How servile is the rugged'st courtier's face!
What profit, nay, what nature would keep down, 290
Are heav'd to them are minions to a crown.
Envious ambition never sates his thirst,
Till sucking all, he swells and swells, and burst.[382]
_Bil._ I shall now leave you with my always-best wishes;
only let's hold betwixt us a firm correspondence, a mutual
friendly-reciprocal kind of steady-unanimous-heartily-leagued----
_Mal._ Did your signiorship ne'er see a pigeon-house
that was smooth, round, and white without, and full of
holes and stink within? ha' ye not, old courtier? 300
_Bil._ O, yes, 'tis the form, the fashion of them all.
_Mal._ Adieu, my true court-friend; farewell, my dear
Castilio.[383]
[_Exit_ BILIOSO.
_Celso._ Yonder's Mendoza.
_Mal._ True, the privy-key.
[_Descries_ MENDOZA.
_Celso._ I take my leave, sweet lord.
_Mal._ 'Tis fit; away!
[_Exit_ CELSO.
_Enter_ MENDOZA _with three or four Suitors_.
_Men._ Leave your suits with me; I can and will:
attend my secretary; leave me.
[_Exeunt Suitors._
_Mal._ Mendoza, hark ye, hark ye. You are a
treacherous villain: God b' wi' ye!
_Men._ Out, you base-born rascal! 310
_Mal._ We are all the sons of heaven, though a tripe-wife
were our mother: ah, you whoreson, hot-reined he-marmoset!
Ægisthus! didst ever hear of one Ægisthus?
_Men._ Gisthus?
_Mal._ Ay, Ægisthus: he was a filthy incontinent fleshmonger,
such a one as thou art.
_Men._ Out, grumbling rogue!
_Mal._ Orestes, beware Orestes!
_Men._ Out, beggar!
_Mal._ I once shall rise. 320
_Men._ Thou rise!
_Mal._ Ay, at the resurrection.
No vulgar seed but once may rise and shall;
No king so huge but 'fore he die may fall.
[_Exit._
_Men._ Now, good Elysium! what a delicious heaven
is it for a man to be in a prince's favour! O sweet
God! O pleasure! O fortune! O all thou best of
life! what should I think, what say, what do to be a
favourite, a minion? to have a general timorous respect
observe a man, a stateful silence in his presence, solitariness
in his absence, a confused hum and busy murmur
of obsequious suitors training him; the cloth held up,
and way proclaimed before him; petitionary vassals
licking the pavement with their slavish knees, whilst
some odd palace-lampreels that engender with snakes,
and are full of eyes on both sides, with a kind of insinuated[384]
humbleness, fix all their delights[385] upon his
brow. O blessed state! what a ravishing prospect
doth the Olympus of favour yield! Death, I cornute
the duke! Sweet women! most sweet ladies! nay,
angels! by heaven, he is more accursed than a devil
that hates you, or is hated by you; and happier than a
god that loves you, or is beloved by you: you preservers
of mankind, life-blood of society, who would live, nay,
who can live without you? O paradise! how majestical
is your austerer presence! how imperiously chaste is
your more modest face! but, O, how full of ravishing
attraction is your pretty, petulant, languishing,
lasciviously-composed countenance! these amorous smiles, those
soul-warming sparkling glances, ardent as those flames
that singed the world by heedless Phaeton! in body
how delicate,[386] in soul how witty, in discourse how pregnant,
in life how wary, in favours how judicious, in day how
sociable, and in night how---- O pleasure unutterable!
indeed, it is most certain, one man cannot deserve only
to enjoy a beauteous woman: but a duchess! in despite
of Phoebus, I'll write a sonnet instantly in praise of
her. 357
[_Exit._
[349] In the margin of old eds., opposite the title, is printed
"_Vexat censura columbas_." (Juvenal, _Sat._ ii. 63.)
[350] So ed. 1.--Ed. 2. "ragged."
[351] "I suppose this is a word coined from _tod_, a certain
weight of sheep's wool. He seems willing to intimate that the
duke, &c., are _mutton_-mongers. The meaning of _laced mutton_ is
well known."--_Steevens._--Not at all satisfactory.
[352] Old eds. "Howle againe"--printed as part of the text.
[353] So ed. 2.--Ed. 1. "pray."
[354] "Within herself"--added in ed. 2.
[355] "The church"--added in ed. 2.
[356] "Of"--added in ed. 2.
[357] Omitted in ed. 2.
[358] Omitted in ed. 2.
[359] "I am weary ... now"--added in ed. 2.
[360] There is an allusion to the old superstition (which Ben
Jonson has amusingly illustrated in _The Devil is an Ass_, v. 5),
that a person possessed by the devil was able to converse in
various tongues.
[361] A term of contempt for a sordid old man.--Cf. _The Widow_,
ii. 2:--"Hear you me that, _old huddle_" (Middleton, v. 165).
[362] Ed. 2. "Penlolians."
[363] "_Monkeys_, apes, stellions, lizards, wasps, ichneumons,
swallows, sparrows, muskins, hedge-sparrows _feed on spiders_,"
says Dr. Muffet in one of his delightful chapters on spiders in
_The Theater of Insects_ (Topsel's _Nat. Hist._, ed. 1658, p.
1073).
[364] The housings of a horse.
[365] Mistress (_Ital._).
[366] Added in ed. 2.
[367] The cry of the ape-ward when the ape was to climb the pole
and display his feats of agility.
[368] The sport of Running at the Ring, in which the tilter tried
to drive the point of his spear through a suspended ring.
[369] This word is used in the _Duchess of Malfi_, ii. 1:--"The
_fins_ of her eyelids look most teeming blue!"
[370] "Greater than Great, great, great, great Pompey! _Pompey
the Huge!_"--_Love's Labour Lost_, v. 2.
[371] Cuckold (_Ital._).
[372] Unshell.
[373] Obscene exclamation (from the Italian).
[374] "Nay, to select ... freeze but to think it" (ll.
146-188).--This passage was added in ed. 2.
[375] See Skeat's _Etym. Dict. s._ KICKSHAWS.
[376] For "should show" old ed. gives "shue should."
[377] This speech was added in ed. 2.
[378] Ed. 2. "in middest."
[379] Added in ed. 2.
[380] "O the father ... my dear Castilio" (ll. 256-303).--This
passage was added in ed. 2.
[381] Old ed. "on."
[382] Old ed. "burstes."
[383] An allusion to Baldessar Castiglione, author of the famous
book of manners, _Il Cortese_, which was translated into English
(in 1561) by Sir Thomas Hoby.
[384] Ed. 1. "insinuating."
[385] Ed. 1. "lights."
[386] "What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! how
infinite in faculties! in form, and moving, how express and
admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how
like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of
animals!"--_Hamlet_, act ii. sc. 2.