_Enter +Plotwell+ and +Roseclap+, with +Bannswright+
and +Quartfield+ disguised._
+Ware.+ O nephew, welcome to my ransom! here
My house is made a new erection; gallants
Are brought in varied forms. Had I not look'd
By providence into that frame, these two
Had been convey'd for night-pieces and landskips
Into my chaste bride's chamber. Till now, she took
And let herself out; now she will be able
To hire and buy offenders.
+Plot.+ I'll ease you, sir;
We two have made a full discovery of her.
+Rose.+ She's married to another man, sir.
+Ware.+ Good nephew, thou art my blessed angel.
Who are these two?
+Plot.+ Two that will secure your ships,
Sent by the office. Seal you, sir: th' have brought
Th' assurance with 'em.
+Ware.+ Nephew, thou were't born
To be my dear preserver.
+Plot.+ It is duty, sir,
To help you out with your misfortunes. Gentlemen,
Produce your instruments. Uncle, put your seal
And write your name here; they will do the like
To the other parchment. So, now deliver.
[_They subscribe, seal, and deliver interchangeably._
+Ware.+ I do deliver this as my act and deed.
+Ban.+, +Quart.+ And we this, as our act and deed.
+Plot.+ Pray, gentlemen,
Be witness here. Upon a doubtful rumour
Of two ships wreck'd, as they return'd from Ormus,
My uncle covenants to give three parts
To have the fourth secured. And these two here,
[_+Seathrift+, +Roseclap+, +Bright+, and +Newcut+
subscribe as witnesses._
As delegates of the office, undertake
At that rate to assure them. Uncle, now
Call forth the sailor, and send for the priest
That married you.
_Enter +Salewit+ and +Cypher+._
+Ware.+ Look, here they come.
+Plot.+ First then,
Not to afflict you longer, uncle; since
We now are quiet, know all this was my project.
+Ware.+ How!
+Plot.+ Your two ships are richly landed: if
You'll not believe me, here's the sailor who, [_+Cypher+ undisguises._
Transform'd to Cypher, can tell you.
+Cyph.+ 'Tis very true, sir.
I hired this travelling case of one o' th' sailors
That came in one of 'em: they lie at Blackwall.
Troth, I in pity, sir, to Master Plotwell,
Thought it my duty to deceive you.
+Ware.+ Very well, sir;
What, are these masquers too?
+Plot.+ Faith, sir, these [_Exit +Cypher+._
Can change their forms too. They are two friends, [_They undisguise._
Worth threescore thousand pounds, sir, to my use.
+Ware.+ Bannswright and Captain Quartfield!
+Quart.+ Nay, old boy,
Th' hast a good pennyworth on't. The jest is worth
Three parts of four.
+Ban.+ Faith, sir, we hope you'll pay
Tonnage and poundage into th' bargain.
+Ware.+ O, you are a precious rogue! you ha' preferr'd me
To a chaste Lucrece, sirrah!
+Ban.+ Your nephew, sir,
Hath married her with all her faults. They are
New-come from church.
+Ware.+ How!
+Plot.+ Wonder not, sir: you
Were married but in jest. 'Twas no church-form,
But a fine legend out of Rab'lais.
+Sale.+ Troth,
This reverend weed cast off, I'm a lay poet, [_+Salewit+ undisguises._
And cannot marry, unless't be in a play--
In the fifth act or so; and that's almost
Worn out of fashion too.
+Mis. Sea.+ These are the two
That show'd my son. [_Aside._
+Mis. Hol.+ Let's have our money back. [_Aside._
+Plot.+ But, uncle, for the jointure you have made her
I hope you'll not retract. That and three parts
Of your two ships, besides what you will leave
Us at your death, will make a pretty stock
For young beginners.
+Ware.+ Am I o'erreach'd so finely?
+Sea.+ But are you married, sir, in earnest?
+Plot.+ Troth
We have not been abed yet, but may go,
And no law broken.
+Sea.+ Then I must tell you, sir,
Y' have wrong'd me; and I look for satisfaction.
+Plot.+ Why, I beseech you, sir?
+Sea.+ Sir, were not you
Betroth'd once to my daughter?
+Mis. Sea.+ And did not I
And Mistress Holland help to make you sure?
+Plot.+ I do confess it.
+Sea.+ Bear witness, gentlemen, he doth confess it.
+Plot.+ I'll swear it too, sir.
+Sea.+ Why,
Then, have you match'd this woman?
+Plot.+ Why! because
This is your daughter, sir. I'm hers by conquest
For this day's service.
+Sea.+ Is't possible I should
Be out in my own child so?
+Mis. Sea.+ I told you, husband.
+Mis. Scr.+ Surely my spirit gave me it was she;
And yet to see, now you have not your wire
Nor city ruff on, Mistress Sue, how these
Clothes do beguile! In truth, I took you for
A gentlewoman.
+Sea.+ Here be rare plots indeed!
Why, how now, sir, these young heads have outgone us.
Was my son o' th' plot too?
+Plot.+ Faith, sir, he
Is married too. I did strike up a wedding
Between him and my sister.
_Enter +Timothy+ and +Aurelia+._
Look, sir!
They come without their maidenheads.[262]
+Sea.+ Why, this
Is better still. Now, sir, you might have ask'd
Consent of parents.
+Tim.+ Pray forgive me, sir.
I thought I had match'd a lady, but she proves----
+Sea.+ Much better, sir: I'd chide you as a fish,
But that your choice pleads for you.
+Tim.+ Mother, pray
Salute my wife, and tell me if one may not
Lie with her lips: nay, you too, Mistress Holland,
You taught her to make shirts and bone-lace; she's
Out of her time now.
+Mis. Hol.+ I release her, sir.
+Ware.+ I took your sister for a lady, nephew.
+Plot.+ I kept her like one, sir. My Temple scores
Went to maintain the title out of hope
To gain some great match for her; which you see
Is come to pass.
+Ware.+ Well, Master Seathrift,
Things are just fallen out as we contriv'd 'em:
I grieve not I'm deceiv'd. Believe me, gentlemen,
You all did your parts well; 'twas carried cleanly;
And though I could take some things ill of you,
Fair mistress, yet 'twas plot, and I forget it.
Let's in and make 'em portions.
+Sea.+ Lead the way, sir.
+Ban.+ Pray stay a little.
+Ware.+ More revelations yet?
+Ban.+ I all this while have, stood behind the curtain.
You have a brother, sir, and you a father.
+Plot.+ If he do live, I have.
+Ban.+ He in his time
Was held the wealthiest merchant on th' Exchange.
+Ware.+ 'Tis true, but that his shipwrecks broke him.
+Ban.+ And
The debt for which he broke I hear you have
Compounded.
+Sea.+ I am paid it.
+Ban.+ Then I thank you. [_+Bannswright+ undisguises._
+Ware.+ My brother Plotwell!
+Ban.+ Son, I wish you joy.
+Plot.+ O my bless'd stars! my father!
+Ban.+ And to you, fair mistress,
Let it not breed repentance that I have,
For my security, to 'scape your father,
Awhile descended from myself to this
Unworthy shape. Now I can cast it off,
And be my true self. I have a ship which fame
Gave out for lost, but just now landed too,
Worth twenty thousand pounds, towards your match.
+Sea.+ Better and better still.
+Ware.+ Well, what was wanting
Unto our joys, and made these nuptials
Imperfect, brother, you by your discovery
Have fully added.
_Enter +Cypher+._
+Cyp.+ Sir, the two sheriffs are
Within, and have both brought their wives.
+Ware.+ The feast
Intended for my wedding shall be yours.
To which I add--_May you so love to say,
When old, your time was but one marriage-day._
FOOTNOTES:
[256] Dr Warburton observes (note to "Henry IV.," Part I., act ii. sc.
4) that in the persecutions of the Protestants in Flanders under Philip
II. those who came over into England on that occasion brought with them
the woollen manufactory. These being Calvinists were joined by those
of the same persuasion from other countries, and amongst the rest from
Geneva.
[257] _Rosemary_ was anciently supposed to strengthen the memory, and
was therefore distributed at marriages and funerals. See a note on
"Hamlet," x. 355, edit. 1778.
[258] [Old copies, _ach_.]
[259] The stately step and pompous manner, used by the
prologue-speakers of the times, are still retained in delivering the
few lines used as a prologue in "Hamlet." These particularities seem to
have been delivered traditionally to the present race of actors from
their brethren in the seventeenth century.
[260] See a note on "Timon of Athens," edit. 1778, viii.
409.--_Steevens._
[261] See [Randolph's Works, by Hazlitt, i. 209.] Aretine's _pictures_,
there mentioned, were in fact Aretine's pictures of postures here
alluded to.--_Collier._
[262] In the old copies the name of Penelope (_i.e._, Aurelia) is
placed before this line, but it seems to belong to Plotwell, and to be
a continuation of what he has just before said.--_Collier._
THE EPILOGUE AT WHITEHALL.
The author was deceiv'd; for, should the parts
And play which you have seen plead rules and arts,
Such as strict critics write by, who refuse
T' allow the buskin to the Comic Muse;
Whose region is the people, every strain
Of royalty being tragic, though none slain;
He'd now, Great Sir, hold all his rules untrue,
And think his best rules are the Queen and You.
He should have search'd the stories of each age,
And brought five acts of princes on the stage;
He should have taken measure, and rais'd sport
From persons bright and glorious as your court,
And should have made his argument to be
Fully as high and great as they that see.
Here, he confesseth, you did nothing meet,
But what was first a comedy i' th' street:
Cheapside brought into verse; no passage strange
To any here that hath been at th' Exchange.
Yet he hopes none doth value it so low,
As to compare it with my Lord Mayor's Show.
'Tis so unlike that some, he fears, did sit,
Who, missing pageants, did o'ersee the wit.
Since then his scene no pomp or highness boasts,
And low things grac'd show princes princes most,
Your royal smiles will raise't, and make him say,
He only wrote, your liking made, the play.
THE EPILOGUE AT BLACKFRIARS.
Once more the Author, ere you rise, doth say,
Though he have public warrant for his play,
Yet he to the King's command needs the King's writ
To keep him safe, not to be arraign'd for wit.
Not that he fears his name can suffer wrack
From them who sixpence pay and sixpence crack,
To such he wrote not; though some parts have been
So like here, that they to themselves came in.
To them who call't reproof to make a face,
Who think they judge, when they frown i' th' wrong place,
Who, if they speak not ill o' th' poet, doubt
They lose by the play, nor have their two shillings out;
He says, he hopes they'll not expect he'd woo,
The play being done, they'd end their sour looks too.
But before you, who did true hearers sit,
Who singly make a box, and fill the pit,
Who do[263] this comedy read, and unseen,
Had throng'd theatres and Blackfriars been,
He for his doom stands: your hands are his bays,
Since they can only clap who know to praise.
FOOTNOTES:
[263] [Old copy, _to_.]
THE QUEEN OF ARRAGON.
_EDITION._
_The Queene of Arragon. A Tragi-Comedie. London Printed by Tho.
Cotes, for William Cooke, and are to be sold at his shop at
Furnivals Inne gate in Holburne 1640. Folio._
INTRODUCTION.
William Habington, the son of Thomas Habington,[264] of Hendlip, in the
county of Worcester, Esq., was born at the seat of his father, on the
4th, or, as others say, the 5th, of November 1605.[265] He received his
education at St Omers and Paris, and at the former of these places was
earnestly solicited to become one of the order of the Jesuits. On his
return from Paris, being then at man's estate, he was instructed at
home in matters of history by his father, and became an accomplished
gentleman. He married Lucia, daughter of William Lord Powis, and is
charged by Wood with running with the times, and being not unknown to
Oliver Cromwell. He died the 30th of November 1654, and was buried in
the vault at Hendlip, by the bodies of his father and grandfather.
Besides the play now republished, he was the author of--
1. Poems, under the title of "Castara," 4º, 1634; 12º, 1635, 1640.[266]
They are divided into three parts, each under a different title,
suitable to the subject: the first, written when he was suitor to his
wife, is ushered in by a character of a mistress, written in prose: the
second contains verses written to her after marriage; after which is a
character of a friend, before several funeral elegies: and the third
consists of Divine Poems, preceded by the portrait of a holy man.[267]
2. "Observations upon History." 8º, 1641.
3. "History of Edward IV., King of England," fº, 1640, written and
published at the desire of King Charles I.[268]
Wood observes that the MSS. which our author and his father left[269]
were then in the hands of the former's son, and might be made useful
for the public, if in the possession of any other person.[270]
FOOTNOTES:
[264] This Thomas Habington was born 26th October 1560, and married
Mary, the sister of Lord Mounteagle, the lady who is supposed to have
written that letter to her brother which occasioned the discovery
of the Gunpowder Plot. For harbouring Garnet and Alchorne, two
Popish priests, he is said to have been condemned to die, but by the
intercession of Lord Mounteagle he was reprieved and pardoned. He lived
many years afterwards, not dying until the 8th of October 1647, at the
advanced age of eighty-seven years. Wood says he surveyed the county of
Worcester, and made a collection of most of its antiquities. He also
translated "The Epistle of Gildas, the most ancient British author,"
12º, 1638, and had a considerable hand in the "History of Edward IV.,"
published by his son.
[265] In a poem on p. 104 of his "Castara," 1640, Habington claims
alliance with several noble families--
"Now I resolve, in triumph of my verse,
To bring great _Talbot_ from that foreign herse
Which yet doth to her fright his dust enclose:
Then to sing _Herbert_, who so glorious rose
With the fourth Edward, that his faith doth shine
Yet in the faith of noble _Pembroke's_ line.
Sometimes my swelling spirits I prepare
To speak the mighty _Percy_, nearest heir
In merits, as in blood, to Charles the Great:
Then _Derby's_ worth and greatness to repeat;
Or _Morley's_ honour, or _Mounteagle's_ fame,
Whose valour lives eterniz'd in his name:
But while I think to sing those _of my blood_,
And my _Castaras_," &c.
--_Collier._
[266] Mr Park, in a MS. note to a copy of these poems, in 1640,
observes, "The first and second parts of these poems were printed in
1634, 4º; again (with additions) in 1635, 12º; and the third part was
added in 1640. He is said to have entitled his collection "Castara"
in compliment to his mistress, Lucia, daughter of Lord Powis, who
became his wife." This is evident from a poem on p. 102 of the edition
of 1640, addressed to Lord Powis, where he speaks of his daughter as
Castara.--_Collier._
[267] Phillips, speaking of Habington ("Theatrum Poetarum," 1675),
says "that he may be ranked with those who deserve neither the highest
nor the lowest seat in the theatre of fame." Mr Park is of opinion
"that this character of him is rather below par; for he appears (as
an amatory poet) to have possessed a superior degree of unaffected
tenderness and delicacy of sentiment to either Carew or Waller, with
an elegance of versification very seldom inferior to his more famed
contemporaries." Perhaps Habington's "amiable piety," rendered him a
peculiar favourite with Mr Park.--_Collier._
[268] Phillips, in his "Theatrum Poetarum," complains that this work
is written in a style "better becoming a poetical than a historical
subject."--_Collier._ [In "Jonsonus Virbius," verses to the memory of
Ben Jonson, 1638, is a poem by W. Abington.]
[269] The collections he made of the antiquities, &c., of
Worcestershire, formed the foundation of Dr Nash's history of that
county.--_Collier._
[270] The following is from "Wit's Recreations," 1640--
+"To Mr. William Habington, on his 'Castara,' a Poem.+
Thy Muse is chaste, and thy Castara too;
'Tis strange at Court: and thou hadst power to woo
And to obtain what others were denied,
The fair Castara for thy virtuous bride.
Enjoy what you dare wish, and may there be
Fair issues branch from both to honour thee."
--_Gilchrist._
THE PROLOGUE AT COURT.
Had not obedience o'errul'd the Author's fear
And judgment too, this humble piece had ne'er
Approach'd so high a majesty: not writ
By the exact and subtle rules of wit,
Ambitious for the splendour of this night,
But fashion'd up in haste for 's own delight.
This by my lord[271] with as much zeal as e'er
Warm'd the most loyal heart, is offer'd here,
To make this night your pleasure, although we,
Who are the actors, fear 'twill rather be
Your patience; and if any mirth, we may
Sadly suspect, 'twill rise quite the wrong way.
But you have mercy, sir; and from your eye,
Bright madam, never yet did lightning fly;
But vital beams of favour, such as give
A growth to all who can deserve to live.
Why should the author tremble then, or we
Distress our hopes, and such tormentors be
Of our own thoughts? since in those happy times
We live, when mercy's greater than the crimes.
FOOTNOTES:
[271] Meaning, most likely, the Earl of Pembroke, at whose instance the
play was represented before the King and Queen at court.--_Collier._
THE PROLOGUE AT THE FRIARS.
Ere we begin, that no man may repent
Two shillings and his time, the Author sent
The prologue with the errors of his play,
That, who will, may take his money and away.
First for the plot, it's no way intricate
By cross deceits in love, nor so high in state,
That we might have given out in our playbill,
This day's "The Prince," writ by Nick Machiavil.
The language too is easy, such as fell
Unstudied from his pen: not like a spell
Big with mysterious words, such as enchant
The half-witted, and confound the ignorant.
Then what must needs afflict the amorist,
No virgin here in breeches casts a mist
Before her lover's eyes: no ladies tell,
How their blood boils, how high their veins do swell.
But, what is worse, no bawdy mirth is here
(The wit of bottle-ale and double-beer),
To make the wife of citizen protest,
And country-justice swear 'twas a good jest.
Now, sirs, you have the errors of his wit:
Like or dislike, at your own perils be't.
THE ACTOR'S NAMES.
+The Queen of Arragon.+
+Decastro+, _General of the Forces of Arragon, in love with the queen_.
+Ossuna+, _friend to Decastro_.
+Florentio+, _General of the Forces of Castile, enamoured of the queen_.
+Velasco+, _a great commander under Florentio_.
+Ascanio+, _the King of Castile disguised_.
+Lerma+, _a nobleman privy to his disguise_.
+Oniate+, _a sober courtier_.
+Sanmartino+, _a half-witted lord_.
+Browfildora+, _dwarf to Sanmartino_.
+Floriana+, _wife to Sanmartino_.
+Cleantha+, _a witty court-lady_.
+Captain.+
+Servants.+
_Several +Soldiers+._
THE QUEEN OF ARRAGON.[272]
ACT I., SCENE I.
_Enter +Sanmartino+ and +Cleantha+._
+Cle.+ My lord, let's change the subject: love is worn
So threadbare out of fashion, and my faith
So little leans to vows----
+San.+ The rage of time
Or sickness first must ruin that bright fabric
Nature took pride to build.
+Cle.+ I thank my youth then
For the tender of your service; 'tis the last
Good turn it did me. But by this my fears
Instruct me, when the old bald man, call'd Time,
Comes stealing on me, and shall steal away
What you call beauty, my neglected face
Must be enforc'd to go in quest for a new
Knight-errant.
+San.+ Slander not my constant faith,
Nor doubt the care Fate hath to stop the motion
Of envious Time, might it endanger so
Supreme a beauty.
+Cle.+ Sure, my lord, Fate hath
More serious business, or divines make bold
T' instruct us in a schism. But grant I could
Induce myself (which I despair I shall)
To hear and talk that empty nothing Love,
Is't now in season, when an army lies
Before our city-gates, and every hour
A battery expected? Dear my lord,
Let's seal our testament, and prepare for heaven;
And, as I am inform'd by them who seem
To know some part o' th' way, Love's not the nearest
Path that leads thither.
+San.+ Madam, he is but
A coward lover whom or death or hell
Can fright from's mistress: and, for danger now
Threat'ning the city, how can I so arm
Myself, as by your favour proof against
All stratagems of war?
+Cle.+ Your lordship then
Shall walk as safe as if a Lapland witch
(You will not envy me the honour of
The metaphor) preserv'd you shot-free. But
Who is your confessor? Yet spare his name;
His function will forgive the glory of it:
Sure he's ill-read in cases to allow
A married lord the freedom of this courtship.
+San.+ Can you think, madam, that I trust my sins
(But virtues are those loves I pay your beauty)
To th' counsel of a cassock? Who hath art
To judge of my confession, must have had
At least a privy chamberer to his father.
We of the court commit not, as the vulgar,
Dull, ignorant sins: then, that I'm married, madam,
Is rather safety to our love.
+Cle.+ My heart!
How sick am I o' th' sudden! Good my lord,
Call your dwarf hither.
+San.+ Garragantua! boy.
_Enter +Browfildora+._
+Cle.+ Prythee, thy pedigree?
+San.+ Madam, what mean you?
+Cle.+ O, anything, but to divert from love:
Another word of courtship, and I swoon.
+Brow.+ My ancestors were giants, madam; giants,
Pure Spanish, who disdain'd to mingle with
The blood of Goth or Moor. Their mighty actions,
In a small letter, nature printed on
Your little servant.
+Cle.+ How so very little?
+Brow.+ By the decay of time, and being forc'd
From fertile pastures to the barren hills
Of Biscay: even in trees you may observe
The wonder which, transplanted to a soil
Less happy, lose in growth. Is not the once
Huge body of the Roman empire now
A very pigmy?
+Cle.+ But why change you not
That so gigantic name of Browfildora?
+Brow.+ Spite of malignant nature, I'll preserve
The memory of my forefathers: they shall live
In me contracted.
+San.+ Madam, let's return
To the love we last discours'd on.
+Cle.+ This, my lord,
Is much more serious. What coarse thing is that?
_Enter +Oniate+ and +Floriana+._
+Flo.+ I owe you, sir, for the pleasure of this walk.
+Oni.+ Madam, it was to me the highest honour. [_Exit +Oniate+._
+Cle.+ Welcome, O, welcome, to redeem me!--What
Can the best wit of woman fancy we
Have been discoursing of?
+Flo.+ Sure, not of love?
+Cle.+ Of that most ridiculous hobby-horse, love;
That fool that fools the world; that spaniel love,
That fawns [the more] the more 'tis kick'd!
+San.+ Will you betray me?
+Cle.+ Thy lord hath so protested, Floriana,
Vowed such an altar to my beauty, swore
So many oaths, and such profane oaths too,
To be religious in performing all
That's impious towards heaven, and to a lady
Most ruinous.
+Flo.+ Good Cleantha, all your detraction
Wins no belief on my suspicion.
+Cle.+ Be credulous, and be abus'd. Floriana,
There's no vice so great as to think him virtuous.
Go mount your milk-white steed, Sir Lancelot,
Your little squire attends you there: in suburbs
Enchanted castles are, where ladies wait
To be deliver'd by your mighty hand;
Go and protest there.
+San.+ I thank your favour, madam. [_Exit +Sanmartino+._
+Cle.+ It is not so much worth, sir. Come, we'll follow.
+Flo.+ But stay, Cleantha. Prythee, what begot
That squeamish look, that scornful wry o' the mouth,
When Oniate parted?
+Cle.+ Why, thou hadst
So strange a fellow in thy company,
His garb was so uncourtly, I grew sick.
+Flo.+ He is a gentleman; and, add to that,
Makes good the title.
+Cle.+ Haply he may so,
And haply he's enamour'd on thy beauty.
+Flo.+ On mine, Cleantha?
+Cle.+ Yes, dear Floriana;
Yet neither danger to thy chastity,
Nor blemish to thy fame: custom approves it.
But I owe little to my memory,
If I e'er saw him 'mong the greater ladies:
Sure, he's some suburb-courtier.
+Flo.+ He's noble,
And hath a soul--a thing is question'd much
In most of the gay youths whom you converse with.
+Cle.+ But how disorderly his hair did hang.
+Flo.+ Yet 'twas his own.
+Cle.+ How ill turn'd up his beard;
And for his clothes----
+Flo.+ Though not fresh every morning,
Yet in the fashion.
+Cle.+ Yes, i' th' sober fashion,
Which courtiers wear who hope to be employ'd,
And aim at business. But he's not genteel;
Not discomposed enough to court a lady.
+Flo.+ His thoughts are much more serious.
+Cle.+ Guard me, Fortune!
I would not have the court take notice that
I walked one hour with that state-aphorism
Each autumn to renew my youth. Let us
Discourse with lords, whose heads and legs move more
Than do their tongues, and to as good a sense;
Who, snatching from my hand a glove, can sigh,
And print a kiss, and then return it back;
Who on my busk,[273] even with a pin, can write
The anagram of my name, present it humbly,
Fall back, and smile.
+Flo.+ Cleantha, I perceive
There is small hope of thy conversion;
Thou art resolv'd to live in this heresy.
+Cle.+ Yes; since 'tis the religion of our sex:
Sweet Floriana, I will not yet suffer
For unregarded truth court persecution.
_Enter +Ossuna+ and +Oniate+, with divers +Soldiers+._
But what are they appear there?
+Flo.+ We'll away. [_Exeunt +Floriana+ and +Cleantha+._
+Oss.+ This is the place for interview. You, who are
Deputed for this service from the Lord
Florentio, use such caution as befits
Your charge. Howe'er, your general's person's safe,
The Lord Decastro having pass'd his word.
+Oni.+ Yet 'tis my wonder that Florentio,
A soldier so exact, practis'd in all
The mysteries of war and peace, should trust
Himself, where th' enemies' faith must best secure him.
+Oss.+ The great Decastro, sir, whom our late king
Deputed regent at his death, and whom
The kingdom judgeth fit to marry with
His only heir the present queen (though she
Disdain his love and our desires) hath proved
To time and fortune that he fears no danger,
But what may wound his honour. How can then
Florentio (though he now sit down before
Our city with so vast an army) choose
A place for interview by art and nature
So fortified, as where Decastro's faith
Makes it impregnable?
+Oni.+ Distrust, my lord,
Is the best councillor to great designs:
Our confidence betrays us. But between
These two are other seeds of jealousy,
Such as would almost force religion break
Her tying vows, authorise perjury,
And make the scrupulous casuist say, that faith
Is the fool's virtue. They both love the queen:
Decastro building on his high deserts,
And vote of Arragon; Florentio, on
The favour he gain'd from her majesty
When here he lived employed by his great master,
King of Castile.
+Oss.+ Such politic respects
May warrant the bad statesman to dark actions;
But both these generals by a noble war
Resolve to try their fate.
+Oni.+ But here, my lord,
_Enter +Sanmartino+._
Is a full period to all serious thought.
This lord is so impertinent, yet still
Upon the whisper.
+Oss.+ He's a mischief, sir,
No court is safe from.
+Oni.+ What fine tricks he shows
Each morning on his jennet, but to gain
A female vision from some half-op'd window:
And if a lady smile by accident,
Or but in scorn of him, yet he (kind soul)
Interprets it as prophecy to some
Near favour to ensue at night.
+Oss.+ I wonder
What makes him thought a wit?
+Oni.+ A copper wit,
Which fools let pass for current: so false coin,
Such very alchemy that, who vents him
For aught but parcel-ass, may be in danger.
Look on him, and in little there see drawn
The picture of the youth is so admired
Of the spruce sirs, whom ladies and their women
Call the fine gentleman.
+Oss.+ What are those papers,
With such a sober brow he looks upon?
+Oni.+ Nor platform[274] nor intelligence; but a prologue
He comes to whisper to one of the maids
I' th' privy chamber after supper.
+Oss.+ I praise the courage of his folly yet,
Whom fear cannot make wiser.
+San.+ My good lord,
Brave Oniate, saw you not the general?
+Oni.+ He's upon entrance here. And how, my lord?
I saw your lordship turning over papers!
What's the discovery?
+San.+ It may import
Decastro's knowledge. Never better language
Or neater wit: a paper of such verses,
Writ by th' exactest hand.
+Oss.+ In time of business,
As serious as our safety, to intrude
The dreams of madmen!
+San.+ My judicious lord,
It, with the favour of your lordship, may
Concern the general: such high rapture
In admiration of the queen, whom he
Pretends to love! How will her majesty
Smile on his suit, when in the heat of business
He not neglects this amorous way to woo her?
_Enter +Decastro+._
+Dec.+ No man presume t' advance a foot. My lord
Ossuna, I desire your ear.
+San.+ My lord,
I have a piece here of such elegant wit.
+Dec.+ Your pardon, good my lord; we'll find an hour
Less serious to advise upon your papers,
And then at large we'll whisper.
+San.+ As you please,
My lord: you'll pardon the error of my duty. [_Exit +Sanmartino+._
+Oss.+ The queen, my lord, gave free access to what
I spoke o' th' public; but when I began
To mention love----
+Dec.+ How? did she frown, or with
What murdering scorn heard she Decastro named?
Love! of thy labyrinth of art what path
Left I untrodden? Humbly I have labour'd
To win her favour; and when that prevail'd not,
The kingdom in my quarrel vow'd to empty
The veins of their great body.
+Oss.+ Sir, her heart
Is mightier than misfortune. Though her youth,
Soft as some consecrated virgin wax,
Seem easy for impression, yet her virtue
Hard as a rock of diamond, breaks all
The battery of the waves.
+Dec.+ Unkind and cruel!
+Oss.+ She charg'd me tell you that a faithless Moor,
Who had gain'd honour only by the ruin
Of what we hold religious, sooner she
Would welcome to her bed, than who t' his queen
And Love had been a rebel.
+Dec.+ How a rebel?
The people's suffrage, which inaugurates princes,
Hath warranted my actions.
+Oss.+ But she answers,
The subtle arts of faction, not free vote,
Commanded her restraint.
+Dec.+ May even those stars,
Whose influence made me great, turn their aspècts
To blood and ruin, if ambition rais'd
The appetite of love. Her beauty hath
A power more sovereign than the Eastern slave
Acknowledg'd ever in his idol king.
To that I bowed a subject: but when I
Discover'd that her fancy fix'd upon
Florentio (General now of th' enemy's army),
I let the people use their severe way,
And they restrain'd her.
+Oss.+ But, my lord, their guilt
Is made your crime. Yet all this new affliction
Disturbs her not to anger, but disdain.
+Dec.+ She hath a glorious spirit. Yet the world,
The envious world itself, must justify,
That howsoever fortune yielded up
The sceptre to my power, I did but kiss it,
And offer'd it again into her hand.
_Enter +Florentio+, +Velasco+, and others._
+Oni.+ My lord, the general of Castile, Florentio.
+Dec.+ He's safely welcome. Now let each man keep
At a due distance. I have here attended
Your lordship's presence.
+Flo.+ O my lord, are we,
Whom love obligeth to the same allegiance,
Brought hither on these terms?
+Dec.+ They're terms of honour,
And I yet never knew to frame excuse,
Where that begot the quarrel.
+Flo.+ Yet methinks
We might have found another way to it.
We might have sought out danger, where the proud,
Insulting Moor profanes our holy places.
The noise of war had been no trouble then;
But now too much 'twill fright the gentle ear
Of her we both are vow'd to serve.
+Dec.+ That love,
Which arms us both, bears witness that I had
Much rather have encounter'd lightning, than
Create the least distraction to her peace.
But since the vote of Arragon decrees
That my long service hath the justest claim
To challenge her regard, thus I must stand
Arm'd to make good the title.
+Flo.+ This vain language
Scarce moves my pity. What desert can rise
So high to merit her? Were each short moment
O' th' longest-liv'd commander lengthen'd to
An age, and that exposed to dangers mighty,
As cowards frame them, can you think his service
Might challenge her regard? Like th' heavenly bounty,
She may distribute favour; but 'tis sin
To say our merits may pretend a title.
+Dec.+ You talk, sir, like a courtier.
+Flo.+ But, my lord,
You'll find a soldier in this arm which, strengthen'd
By such a cause, may level mountains high,
As those the giants (emblems of your thoughts)
Piled up to have scal'd heaven.
+Dec.+ That must be
Decided by the sword: and if, my lord,
Our interview hath no more sober end
Than a dispute so froward, let us make
The trumpet drown the noise.
+Flo.+ You shall not want
That music. But before we yielded up
Our reason unto fury, I desired
We might expostulate the ground of this
So fatal war, and bring you to that low
Obedience nature placed you in.
+Dec.+ My ear attends you.
+Flo.+ Where is then that humble zeal
You owe a mistress, if you can throw off
That duty which you owe her as your queen?
What justice (that fair rule of human actions)
Can you pretend for taking arms?
+Dec.+ Pray, forward.
+Flo.+ I'll not deny (for from an enemy
I'll not detract) during her nonage, when
The public choice and her great father's will
Enthron'd you in the government, you manag'd
Affairs with prudence equal to the fame
You gain'd: and when your sword did fight her quarrel,
'Twas crown'd with victory.
+Dec.+ I thank your memory.
+Flo.+ But hence ambition and ingratitude
Drew only venom: for by these great actions
You labour'd not t' advance her state or honour,
But subtly wrought upon the people's love--
A love begot by error, following still
Apparency, not truth.
+Dec.+ You construe fairly.
+Flo.+ The sun is not more visible, when not
One cloud wrinkles the brow of heaven; for
On that false strength you had i' th' multitude
You swell'd to insolence, dared court your queen,
Boasting your merit like some wanton tyrant
I' th' vanity of a new conquest. And,
When you perceiv'd her judgment did instruct her
To frown on the attempt, profanely, 'gainst
All laws of love and majesty, you made
The people in your quarrel seize upon
The sacred person of the fairest queen
Story e'er boasted.
+Dec.+ Have you done, my lord?
+Flo.+ Not yet. This injury provok'd my master
To raise these mighty forces for her rescue,
And named me general: whose aim is not
A vain ambition, but t' advance her service.
Ere we begin to punish, take this offer:
Restore the queen to liberty, with each
Due circumstance that such a majesty
May challenge, freely to make choice of whom
She shall advance to th' honour of her bed.
If your deserts bear that high rate you mention,
Why should you doubt your fortune? On these terms
The king, King of Castile, may be induced
To pardon the error of your ruin.
+Dec.+ Thus,
In short, my answer. How unlimited
Soe'er my power hath been, my reason and
My love have circumscrib'd it. True, the queen
Stands now restrain'd: but 'tis by the decree
Of the whole kingdom, lest her error should
Persuade her to some man less worthy.
+Flo.+ How!
+Dec.+ Less worthy than myself; for so they judge
The proudest subject to a foreign prince.
But when you mention love, where are your blushes?
What can you answer for the practising
The queen's affection, when embassador
You lay here from Castile, pretending only
Affairs importing both the kingdoms? Nor
Can you, my lord, be tax'd by your discretion,
That by the humblest arts of love you labour
To win so bright a beauty, and a queen
So potent. Your affection looks not here
Without an eye upon your profit.
+Flo.+ Witness, Love!
+Dec.+ No protestation. If you will withdraw
Your forces from our kingdom, and permit
Us to our laws and government, that peace,
Which hath continued many ages sacred,
Stands firm between us. But if not----
+Flo.+ To arms!
+Dec.+ Pray stay, my lord. Doth not your lordship see
Th' advantage I have in the place? With how
Much ease I may secure my fortune from
The greatest danger of your forces?
+Flo.+ Ha!
'Twas inconsiderate in me: but I trusted
To th' honour of your word, which you'll not violate.
+Dec.+ Go safely off, my lord. And now be dumb
All talk of peace: we'll parley in the drum.
[_Exeunt several ways, the drum beating._
FOOTNOTES:
[272] This play being by the author communicated to Philip Earl of
Pembroke, Lord Chamberlain of the Household to King Charles I., he
caused it to be acted at court, and afterwards published against the
author's consent. It was revived at the Restoration, when a Prologue
and Epilogue, written by the author of "Hudibras," were spoken.--See
Butler's "Remains," vol. i. p. 185.
[273] See note to "Lingua," act ii. sc. 2.
[274] [Programme of policy.]
ACT II., SCENE I.
_Enter +Sanmartino+, +Captain+, +Soldier+, and
+Browfildora+._
+Capt.+ Come on, you Atlases of Arragon:
You by whose powers the Castilian cloud
Was forc'd to vanish. We have ferk'd Florentio
In the right arm; made the enamour'd Don
Retire to doleful tent.
+San.+ We sallied bravely.
+Capt.+ Thou didst i' th' sally fight like lightning, Conde;
Let the air play with thy plume, most puissant peer.
No Conde Sanmartino now, but Conde
St George, that Cappadocian man-at-arms.
Thou hast done wonders, wonders big with story,
Fit to be sung in lofty epic strain;
For writing which the poet shall behold,
That which creates a Conde, gold; gold which
Shall make him wanton with some suburb muse,
And Hippocrene flow with Canary billow.
Th' art high in feat of arms.
+San.+ Captain, I think I did my part.
+Capt.+ Base is the wight that thinks:[275]
Let Condes small in spirit drink harsh sherry,
Then quarrel with promoting knights, and fine for't:
Thou art in mettle mighty, tough as steel,
As Bilboa or Toledo steel. Fight on,
Let acres sink, and bank of money melt;
Forsake thy lady's lap, and sleep with us
Upon the bed of honour, the chill earth.
'Tis that will make thee held a potent peer,
'Mong men o' th' pike, of buff, and bandolier.
+San.+ Thou speak'st brave language, captain.
+Capt.+ I'll maintain
'Tis Arragonian, Conde.
+Brow.+ Captain Cedar,
Though in thy language lofty, give a shrub
Leave to salute thee. Sure, we two are near
In blood and great attempt. Don Hercules
Was, as I read in Chaldean chronicle,
Our common ancestor; Don Hercules,
Who rifled nymph on top of Apennine.
+Capt.+ Small imp, avaunt!
+Brow.+ Stout sturdy oak, that grows
So high in field of Mars, O, let no tempest
Shake thee from hence! And now I have with labour
Attain'd thy language, I'll thy truchman[276] be.
Interpret for thee to those smaller souls,
Who wonder when they understand not: souls
Whom courtiers' gaudy outside captivates
And plume of coronel.
+Capt.+ I must expire,
Not talk to fish. Seest thou that man of match?
Though small in stature, mighty he's in soul,
And rich in gifts of mind, though poor in robes:
Reward, like Philip's heir, his daring arm,
Which fetch'd thee off from danger. Once again,
Most doughty Don, adieu.
+Brow.+ Great Don Saltpetre,
I am the servant of thy fam'd caliver.
+San.+ These are strong lines. Now, friend, art thou o' th' garrison?
+Sol.+ If't please your lordship.
+San.+ It doth not please me,
It is indifferent: I care not what thou art.
Art thou extremely poor?
+Sol.+ If't please your lordship.
+San.+ No, not that neither. Why should I malign
So far thy fortune as to wish thee poor?
'Twere safer for my purse if thou wert rich;
Then all reward were base.
+Sol.+ If't please your lordship.
+San.+ O, no more prologue! Prythee, the first scene:
To the business, man.
+Sol.+ Then I must tell your lordship,
I scorn that wealth makes you thus wanton, and
That wit which fools you. Did the royal favour
Shine but on you, without enlarging warmth
To any other, I in this torn outside
Should laugh at you, if insolent.
+San.+ This is saucy.
+Sol.+ I tell thee, petulant lord, I'll cut thy throat,
Unless thou learn more honour.
+San.+ What shall I do?
_Enter +Floriana+ and +Cleantha+._
But see Cleantha! Not to be made Grandee,
Would I she should discover me in parley
With such coarse clothes. There, fellow, take that gold,
And let me see thy face no more. Away!
+Sol.+ There 'tis again. I will not owe one hour
[_Throws back the money._
Of mirth to such a bounty: I can starve
At easier rate, than live beholden to
The boast of any giver. Lord! I scorn
Thee, and that gold which first created thee. [_Exit +Soldier+._
+Flo.+ That soldier seem'd to carry anger in
His look, my lord.
+San.+ What should his anger move me?
+Cle.+ O no, my lord: the world speaks wonders of
Your mighty puissance.
+Flo.+ 'Tis my joy y'are safe.
But why adventured you into this quarrel?[277]
+Cle.+ The queen will hardly thank your valour, since
They of Castile profess'd themselves her soldiers.
+San.+ The queen must pardon courage; men who are
Of daring spirit, so they may but fight,
Examine not the cause.
+Flo.+ She doth expect us. [_Exit._
+Cle.+ I will attend her here, for here she gives
Decastro audience. I must not lose
This lord yet, it so near concerns my mirth.
+San.+ Madam, I wonder with what confidence
You, after such an injury, dare endanger
Discourse with me.
+Cle.+ I injure you, my lord,
Whose favour I have courted with more zeal
Than well my sex can warrant; triumph not
Too much upon my weakness, 'cause you have
Got victory o'er my heart; take not delight
To make my grief your sport.
+San.+ Be witty still,
And keep me for a trophy of your pride.
I hope to see that beauty at an ebb;
Where will be then your overflow of servants?
You'll then repent your pride.
+Cle.+ O never, never;
If you'll particularise your vows to me--
You, who to th' title of the courtly lord
Have added that of valiant; and beshrew me,
She's no good housewife of her fame that wants
A daring servant.
+San.+ This perhaps may work. [_Aside._
+Cle.+ If she live single, he preserves her name,
And scarce admits a whisper that the jealous
May construe points at her; and if she marry,
He awes the husband, if by chance or weakness
She have offended.
+San.+ This cannot be fiction. [_Aside._
+Cle.+ Then, if she use but civil compliment
To a courtier bachelor, he straight bespeaks
The licence and the favours, and calls in
Some wit into his counsel for the poesy;
While I feel no temptation to such folly
But with a married lord.
+San.+ How, gentle madam?
+Cle.+ Our walks are privileg'd, our whispers safe,
No fear of laying contracts to my charge,
Nor much of scandal: and if there be cause,
Who is so fond a gamester of his life,
As merely out of spleen to stake it? But,
My lord, I now suspect you constru'd ill
That language I used to your lady, when
I told her of your love: but I presume
You were not so dull-sighted as in that
Not to discern the best disguise for love.
+San.+ What a suspicious ass was I! How captious!
I ne'er mistrusted my own wit before.
Mischief, how dull was I!
+Cle.+ Pray turn your face
Away. Now know, when worth and valour are
Led on by love, to win my favour. But--
The queen!
_Enter +Queen+, +Decastro+, +Ossuna+, +Floriana+, &c._
+San.+ Divine Cleantha! Noblest lady!
+Dec.+ Ossuna, let me beg thy care: though we
Bravely repuls'd the enemy, they seem
To threaten a new assault.
+Oss.+ Command your servant.
+Dec.+ Bear then a vigilant eye, and by your scouts
Learn if they any new attempt prepare. [_Exit +Ossuna+._
May't please your majesty, command these many
Ears from your presence.
+Queen.+ Good my lord, you who
Have power to guide your queen, may make our presence
Or full or empty, as you please.
+Dec.+ Then with
Your licence, madam, they may all withdraw.
+Queen.+ Not with our licence. If your usurped greatness
Will banish all attendance from our person,
I must remain alone; but not a man
Stir hence with our good liking.
+Dec.+ If your will
(Averse from sober counsel) would submit
To safe advice----
+Queen.+ You have instructed it
To more obedience than I guess my birth
Did e'er intend. But pray, my lord, teach me
To know my fault, and I will find amendment,
If not repentance, for it.
+Dec.+ Then, great madam,
I must acquaint you that the supreme law
Of princes is the people's safety, which
You have infring'd, and drawn thereby into
The inward parts of this great state a most
Contagious fever.
+Queen.+ Pray, no metaphor.
+Dec.+ You have invited war to interrupt,
With its rude noise, the music of our peace:
A foreign enemy gathers the fruit
The sweat and labour of your subjects planted:
In the cool shadow of the vine we prun'd
He wantonly lies down, and roughly bids
The owner press the grape, that with the juice
His blood may swell up to lascivious heats.
+Queen.+ My lord, I answer not th' effects of war;
But I must pay Castile all thankful service
For his fair charity.
+Dec.+ Do you then, madam,
Reckon on mischief as a charity?
+Queen.+ Yes, such a mischief as is merciful,
And I a queen oppress'd. But how dares he,
Whose duty ought with reverence obey,
And not dispute the counsels of his princess,
Question my actions? Whence, my lord, springs this
Ill-tutor'd privilege?
+Dec.+ From the zeal I owe
The honour of our nation, over which
Kings rule but at the courtesy of time.
+Queen.+ You are too bold; and I must tell your pride,
It swells to insolence: for, were your nature
Not hood-wink'd by your interest, you would praise
The virtue of his courage, who took arms
To an injur'd lady's rescue.
+Dec.+ 'Twas ambition,
Greedy to make advantage of that breach
Between you and your people, arm'd Castile.
Unpitied else you might have wept away
The hours of your restraint.
+Queen.+ Poor erring man!
Could thy arts raise a tempest blacker yet,
Such as would fright thyself, it could not for
One moment cloud the splendour of my soul,
Misfortune may benight the wicked; she,
Who knows no guilt, can sink beneath no fear.
+Dec.+ Your majesty mistakes the humble aim
Of my address. I come not to disturb
Th' harmonious calm your soul enjoys: may pleasure
Live there enthron'd, till you yourself shall woo
Death to enlarge it! May felicities,
Great as th' ideas of philosophy,
Wait still on your delight! May fate conspire
To make you rich and envied!
+Queen.+ Pray, my lord,
Explain the riddle. By the cadence of
Your language, I could guess you have intents
Far gentler than your actions.
+Dec.+ If your care,
Great madam, would convey into your heart
The story of my love: my love, a flame----
+Queen.+ Leave off this history of love and flame,
And honestly confess your fears, my lord,
Lest Castile should correct you.
+Dec.+ Correct me!
No, madam, I have forc'd them t' a retreat,
And given my fine young general cause to wish
He had not left his amorous attempts
On ladies to assault our city.
+Queen.+ But he is not wounded?
+Dec.+ Not to death, perhaps;
But certainly w' have open'd him a vein,
Will cure the fever of his blood.
+Queen.+ O, stay!
+Dec.+ Torment! And doth she weep? I might have fall'n
Down from some murdering precipice to dust,
And miss'd the mercy of one tear, though it
Would have redeem'd me back to life again.
Accurs'd be that felicity that must
Depend on woman's passion. [_Aside._
+Queen.+ [_Solil._] Florentio!
If in my quarrel thou too suddenly
Art lost i' th' shades of death, O, let me find
The holy vault where thy pale earth must lie,
There will I grow and wither.
+Dec.+ This is strange!
My heart swells much too big to be kept in. [_Aside._
+Queen.+ [_Solil._] But if that providence, which rules the world,
Hath, to preserve the stock of virtue, kept
Thee yet alive----
+Dec.+ And what, if yet alive?
Pray, recollect your reason, and consider
My long and faithful service to your crown;
The fame of my progenitors, and that
Devotion the whole kingdom bears me. How
Hath nature punish'd me, that, bringing all
The strength of argument to force your judgment,
I cannot move your love?
+Queen.+ My lord, you plead
With so much arrogance, and tell a story
So gallant for yourself, as if I were
Exposed a prize to the cunning'st orator.
+Dec.+ No, madam, humbler far than the tann'd slave
Tied to th' oar, I here throw down myself [_Kneels._
And all my victories. Dispose of me
To death; for what hath life merits esteem?
What tie, alas! can I have to the world,
Since you disdain my love?
+Flo.+ Will you permit
The general kneel so long?
+Queen.+ Fear not, Floriana;
My lord knows how to rise, though I should strive
To hinder it.
+Dec.+ Here, statue-like, I'll fix
For ever, till your pity (for your love
I must despair) enforce a life within me.
_Alarum, and enter +Ossuna+._
+Oss.+ O my lord!
To arms, to arms! The enemy, encouraged
By a strange leader, wheel'd about the town,
And desperately surpris'd the careless guard.
One gate's already theirs.
+Dec.+ Have I your licence?
+Queen.+ To augment your own command, and keep me still
An humble captive.
+Dec.+ Madam, your disdain
Distracts me more than all th' assaults of fortune!
[_Exeunt all but the +Queen+, +Floriana+, and
+Cleantha+._
+Queen.+ My fate, O, whither dost thou lead me? Why
Is my youth destin'd to the storms of war?
What is my crime, you heavenly Powers, that it
Must challenge blood for expiation?
+Cle.+ Madam!
+Queen.+ Fortune! O cruel! for, which side soe'er
Is lost, I suffer; either in my people
Or slaughter of my friends. No victory
Can now come welcome: the best chance of war
Makes me howe'er a mourner.
+Cle.+ Madam, you
Have lost your virtue, which so often vow'd
A clear aspèct, what cloud soever darken'd
Your present glory.
+Queen.+ I had [such] thoughts, Cleantha;
But they are vanish'd. What shall we invent
To take off fear and trouble from this hour?
Poor Floriana, thou art trembling now
With thought of wounds and death, to which the courage
Of thy fierce husband, like a headstrong jade,
May run away with him. But clear thy sorrows:
If he fall in this quarrel, thou shalt have
Thy choice 'mong the Castilian lords; and (give
My judgment faith) there be brave men among them.
+Flo.+ Madam, I have vowed my life to a cloister,
Should I survive my lord.
+Queen.+ And thou art fearful
Thou shalt be forc'd to make thy promise good!
Alas, poor soul! enclosure and coarse diet,
Much discipline and early prayer, will ill
Agree with thy complexion. There's Cleantha,
She hath a heart so wean'd from vanity,
To her a nunnery would be a palace.
+Cle.+ Yes, if your majesty were abbess, madam:
But cloister up the fine young lords with us,
And ring us up each midnight to a masque,
Instead of matins, and I stand prepar'd
To be profess'd without probation. [_Drum beats._
+Flo.+ Hark! what noise is that?
+Queen.+ 'Tis that of death and mischief.
My griefs! but I'll dissemble them [_Aside._]--Yet why,
Cleantha, being the sole beauteous idol
Of all the superstitious youth at court,
Remain'st thou yet unmarried?
+Cle.+ Madam, I
Have many servants, but not one so valiant,
As dares attempt to marry me.
+Queen.+ There's not a wit, but under some feign'd name
Implores thy beauty: sleep cannot close up
Thy eyes, but the sad world benighted is,
Or else their sonnets are apocryphal:
And when thou wak'st, the lark salutes the day,
Breaking from the bright east of thy fair eyes.
And if 'mong thy admirers there be some
Poor drossy brain, who cannot rhyme thy praise,
He wooes in sorry prose.
_Enter +Servant+._
+Ser.+ Half of the city
Already is possess'd by th' enemy!
Our soldiers fly from the assailants, who
With moderation use their victory.
So far from drawing blood, th' abstain from spoil.
+Queen.+ My comforts now grow charitable. This
Is the first dawning of some happier fortune. [_Aside._
+Flo.+ Where did you leave my lord?
+Ser.+ Retiring hither.
+Queen.+ And your good nature will in time, Cleantha,
Believe all flattery for truth.
+Cle.+ In time
I shall not: but for the present, madam, give
Leave to my youth to think I may be prais'd,
And merit it. Hereafter, when I shall
Owe art my beauty, I shall grow perhaps
Suspicious there's small faith in poetry.
+Queen.+ Can'st thou think of hereafter? Poor Cleantha!
Hereafter is that time th' art bound to pray
Against: hereafter is that enemy
That without mercy will destroy thy face;
And what's a lady then?
+Cle.+ A wretched thing!
A very wretched thing! So scorn'd and poor,
'Twill scarce deserve man's pity; and I'm sure
No arms can e'er relieve it.
+Queen.+ Floriana,
You yield too much to fear: misfortune brings
Sorrow enough; 'tis envy[278] to ourselves
T' augment it by prediction.
_Enter +Sanmartino+._
+Cle.+ See, your lord!
+San.+ Fly, madam, fly! The army of Castile,
Conducted by an unknown leader, masters
The town. Decastro, yielding up his fate
To the prevailing enemy, is fled.
+Cle.+ And shall the queen fly from her friends, my lord?
+San.+ You have reason, madam. I begin to find
Which way the gale of favour now will blow.
I will address to the most fortunate. [_Exit +Sanmartino+._
+Queen.+ Some music, there! my thoughts grow full of trouble.
I'll re-collect them.
+Cle.+ May it please you, madam,
To hear a song presented me this morning?
+Queen.+ Play anything.
SONG.[279]
_Not the Phœnix in his death,
Nor those banks, where violets grow,
And Arabian winds still blow,
Yield a perfume like her breath.
But O! marriage makes the spell:
And 'tis poison, if I smell._
_The twin-beauties of the skies
(When the half-sunk sailors haste
To rend sail, and cut their mast),
Shine not welcome as her eyes.
But those beams, than storms more black,
If they point at me, I wrack._
_Then, for fear of such a fire,
Which kills worse than the long night
Which benumbs the Muscovite,
I must from my life retire.
But, O no! For, if her eye
Warm me not, I freeze and die._
_During the song [the +Queen+ falls into a slumber, and]
enter +Ascanio+, +Lerma+, +Sanmartino+, &c._
+Asc.+ Cease the uncivil murmur of the drum!
Nothing sound now, but gentle; such as may not
Disturb her quiet ear. Are you sure, Lerma,
Th' obedient soldier hath put up his sword?
+Ler.+ The citizen and soldier gratulate
Each other, as divided friends new meeting:
Nor is there execution done, but in pursuit
Of th' enemy without the walls.
+Asc.+ 'Tis very well. My lord, is that your queen?
+San.+ It is the queen, sir.
+Asc.+ Temper'd like the orbs
Which, while we mortals weary life in battle,
Move with perpetual harmony. No fear
Eclipseth the bright lustre of her cheek,
While we, who (infants) were swath'd up in steel,
And in our cradle lull'd asleep by th' cannon,
Grow pale at danger.
+San.+ I'll acquaint her, sir,
That you attend here.
+Asc.+ Not for a diamond
Big as our Apennine. She's heavenly fair;
And, had not nature plac'd her in a throne,
Her beauty yet bears so much majesty,
It would have forc'd the world to throw itself
A captive at her feet. [_The +Queen+ wakes._] But see, she moves!
I feel a flame within me, which doth burn
Too near my heart; and 'tis the first that ever
Did scorch me there.
+San.+ Madam, here's that brave soldier
Which reinforc'd the army of Castile:
His name as yet unknown.
+Asc.+ And must be so.
Nor did I merit name before this hour
In which I serve your majesty. Enjoy
The fortune of my sword, your liberty;
And, since your rebel subjects have denied
Obedience, here receive it from us strangers.
+Queen.+ I know not, sir, to whom I owe the debt,
But find how much I stand oblig'd.
+Asc.+ You owe it
To your own virtue, madam, and that care
Heaven had to keep part of itself on earth
Unruin'd. When I saw the soldier fly,
Sent hither from Castile to force your rescue,
Their general hurt almost to death, I urg'd
Them with the memory of their former deeds,
Deeds famed in war; and so far had my voice
(Speaking your name) power to confirm their spirits,
That they return'd with a brave fury, and
Yield you up now your humbled[280] Arragon.
+Queen.+ My ignorance doth still perplex me more:
And to owe thanks, yet not to know to whom,
Nor how to express a gratitude, will cloud
The glory of your victory, and make
Me miserable however.
+Asc.+ I must penance
My blood with absence, for it boils too high. [_Aside._
When we have order'd your affairs, my name
Shall take an honour from your knowledge, madam.
+Queen.+ You have corrected me. Sir, we'll expect
The hour yourself shall name, when we may serve.
+Asc.+ I'm conquer'd in my victory! But I'll try
A new assault, and overcome or die. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[275] A sort of parody on the exclamation of Pistol in "Henry V.," act
ii. sc. 1--
"Base is the slave that pays!"
Mr Steevens, in a note on the passage, points out a similar expression
in Heywood's "Fair Maid of the West."--_Collier._
[276] _i.e._, Thine interpreter. _Trucheman_, Fr. See
Cotgrave.--_Steevens._
The word is not very common in our old writers, but it is found [in two
or three plays printed in the present series, and] in a passage quoted
in "England's Parnassus," 1600, [from Greene's "Menaphone," 1589]--
"Seld speaketh love, but sighes his secret paines;
Teares are his _truch-men_; words do make him tremble."
Again, in Whetstone's "Heptameron," 1582: "For he that is the
_Troucheman_ of a stranger's tongue may well declare his meaning, but
yet shall marre the grace of his tale."--_Collier._
[In "England's Parnasaus," 1600, is the following line from James I.'s
"Essayes of a Prentise," 1584--
"Dame Nature's trunchmen, heavens interprets true;"
and Park, in his reprint of the book, not knowing the meaning of
_trouchman_, supposed _trunchman_ to be misprinted for _trenchman_.]
[277] This question, by an error of the press, Dodsley and Reed both
allowed to be given to Florentio.--_Collier._
[278] [Spite, hatred.]
[279] In the old folio, 1640, this song, and another song in act iv.,
are, as was not unusual at the time, appended at the conclusion of the
play. They are here inserted in their right places.--_Collier._
[280] [Old copy, _your own humbled_.]
ACT III., SCENE I.
_Enter +Velasco+ and +Oniate+._
+Oni.+ My lord, it shows a happy discipline,
Where the obedient soldier yields respect
To such severe commands, now when victory
Gives licence to disorder.
+Vel.+ Sir, our general,
The Lord Florentio, is a glorious master
In th' art of war: and though time makes him not
Wise at th' expense of weakness or diseases, yet
I have beheld him by the easy motion
But of his eye repress sedition,
When it contemned the frown of majesty;
For never he who by his prince's smile
Stood great at court attained such love and awe
With that fierce viper, the repining people.
+Oni.+ Our kingdom owes its safety to that power.
For how dejected look'd our magistrates
When conquest gave admittance to the soldier!
But how their fears forsook them when they saw
Your entry with such silence!
+Vel.+ Sir, Castile
Aim'd not at spoil or ruin in this war,
But to redress that insolence your queen
Did suffer under in Decastro's pride.
+Oni.+ And yet auxiliaries oft turn their swords
To ruin whom they come to rescue.
+Vel.+ The barbarous keep no faith in vows: but we--
We of Castile, though flattering advantage
Persuade to perjury, have still observ'd
Friendship inviolate, no nation suffering,
To which we give our oath.
+Oni.+ You speak, my lord,
Your glories nobly. And it is our joy,
Your general's wound but frighted us.
+Vel.+ The surgeons
Affirm there is no danger, and have licensed
His visit to the queen.
+Oni.+ 'Tis thought, howe'er,
His love had not obey'd such a restraint,
Though death had threaten'd him. But in his health
Consists the common safety, since those forces
Decastro in the morning did expect,
Ere you the town assaulted, are discover'd,
To which he fled, expell'd the city.
+Vel.+ Sir,
We shall contemn, and with ease break that army,
Whose general we have vanquished, having won
The city and your queen into our power.
_Enter +Sanmartino+._
+San.+ Save you, my lord. Sir, your most obedient:
And how likes your good lordship the great acts
Of the strange cavalier? Was not his conduct
Most happy for you in the late assault?
+Vel.+ He happily supplied the office of
Our general: howe'er, your city had
Been ours; for though our Spanish forces may
At first seem beaten, and we to retreat
Awhile, to animate a giddy enemy,
Yet we recover by our art and patience
What fortune gives away. This unknown leader
(I know not how to style him) press'd among
Our soldiers, as they were returning back
After a small repulse: encouraged them,
(Though it was much superfluous) and got honour
Perhaps not so deservingly; but 'twas well.
+Oni.+ Your soldiers speak his glory even with wonder.
+Vel.+ The ignorant are prone to it: but, sir,
I think in our whole army there fought none
But who had equal spirit. Fortune may
Bestow success according to her dotage:
I answer not for that.
+San.+ This is pure Castile.
But what is his birth, country, quality,
And whither is he bound?
+Vel.+ I seldom trouble
My language with vain questions. Some report
(It not imports who are the authors) that
His country's Sicily, his name Ascanio
(Or else some sound like that): that he's a lord
(But what's an island-lord?) and that he came
Into our continent to learn men and manners:
And well he might; for the all-seeing sun
Beholds no nation fiercer in attempt,
More staid in counsel.
+Oni.+ He's of a brave presence:
I never saw more majesty in youth;
Nor never such bold courage in a face
So fashion'd to delight.
+San.+ The queen commends him
Almost with wonder.
+Vel.+ Did the queen regard
A man unknown?
+Oni.+ His merits spoke his worth,
And well might challenge a particular eye.
+San.+ But his, as if in that dumb oratory
He hoped to talk all the history of love,
Still fix'd upon her.
+Vel.+ Your most humble servant. [_Exit +Velasco+._
+Oni.+ This is abrupt.
+San.+ What most politic flea
Is got into his Donship's ear?
+Oni.+ Now must
The Junto sit till midnight, till they rack
Some strange design from this intelligence.
_Enter +Cleantha+, and offers to go out._
+San.+ Nay! on my honour, madam!
+Cle.+ Good my lord!
+San.+ Benight us not so soon! That short-liv'd day
That gives the Russian in the winter hope
Of heat, yet fails him, not so suddenly
Forsakes the firmament. Stay, fairest madam,
That we may look on you and live.
+Cle.+ My lord, I fear you two were serious.
+San.+ Never I, upon my conscience, madam.
+Oni.+ No, I'll swear;
Nor none of the whole form of you at court,
Unless the stratagem be for a mistress,
A fashion, or some cheating-match at tennis.
+Cle.+ But happily[281] that gentleman had business.
His face betrays my judgment if he be
Not much in project.
+San.+ You mistake him, madam.
Though he talk positive, and bustle 'mong
The sober lords, pretend to embassies
And state-designs all day; he's one of us
At night; he'll play, he'll drink,--you guess the rest.
He'll quarrel too, then underhand compound.
Why, for a need he'll jeer and speak profane;
Court, and then laugh at her he courted. Madam,
Forgive him his pretence to gravity,
And he's an absolute cavalier.
+Cle.+ My lord,
He owes you for this fair certificate;
Yet I fear your character's beyond his merit.
+Oni.+ Madam, dissemble not so great a virtue;
Nor, to obey the tyranny of custom,
Become the court's fair hypocrite. I know
This vanity for fashion-sake you wear,
And all those gaieties you seem t' admire
Are but your laughter.
+Cle.+ Sir, your charity
Abuseth you extremely.
+Oni.+ Come, you cannot
Disguise that wisdom, which doth glory in
The beauteous mansion it inhabits. Madam,
This soul of mine, how coarse soe'er 'tis cloth'd,
Took the honour to admire you, soon as first
You shin'd at court: nor had a timorous silence
So long denied me to profess my service,
But that I fear'd I might be lost i' the crowd
Of your admirers.
+Cle.+ Nor can I perceive
Any strong hope now to the contrary.
+Oni.+ Nor I: but give me licence t' undeceive
The world, that so mistakes you. This young lord
Flatters his folly that indeed you are
Sick of that humour you but counterfeit;
Believes y' are frail and easy; since, if not,
His courtship were without design.
+Cle.+ My lord,
What means the gentleman? He hopes to talk me
Into a virtue I ne'er practis'd yet,
And much suspect I never shall.
+San.+ Pray, madam,
Pardon his ignorance: 'tis want of breeding.
+Oni.+ Pardon your mirth, fair madam, and brush off
This honour'd dust that soils your company;
This thing whom nature carelessly obtruded
Upon the world to teach that pride and folly
Make titular greatness th' envy but of fools,
The wise man's pity.
+San.+ Sir, your words are rude.
+Oni.+ Sure, no, my lord: perhaps in times of yore
They might be construed so, when superstition
Worshipp'd each lord an idol. Now we find,
By sad experience, that you are mere men,
If vice debauch you not to beasts.
+San.+ The place is privileg'd, sir.
+Oni.+ I know it is, and therefore speak thus boldly.
If you grow hot, you have your grots, my lord,
And in your villa you may domineer
O'er th' humble country-gentleman, who stands
Aloof and bare.
+Cle.+ My lord, leave off the combat;
Y' are hardly match'd. And see, the Lord Florentio!
_Enter +Florentio+ and +Velasco+._
The queen attends his coming. Sir, you'll find
A more convenient school to read this lecture.
+Oni.+ But none so beautiful to hear me.
[_Exeunt, several ways, +Sanmartino+, +Cleantha+,
and +Oniate+._
+Flo.+ And are you sure, my lord, he durst presume
To look up at her?
+Vel.+ Yes, and she commends
His person and his spirit.
+Flo.+ 'Twas too much
T' observe his person. Sure, his spirit's great,
And well may challenge the queen's memory.
I have not seen him yet.
+Vel.+ Nor I, my lord.
+Flo.+ He had a fortune gentler far than mine.
In envy of that service which I vowed
To Arragon, Heaven used a stranger's arm
In this great action: I was judged a thing
Unfit for use.
+Vel.+ Your glory was the greater,
Your courage even opposing 'gainst your fate
In the attempt.
+Flo.+ But yet, mistaken man
Esteems the happy only valiant.
And if the queen, Velasco, should smile on
His merits, and forget that love I have
With such religion paid her----But these doubts
Are impious, and I sin if I but listen
To their disloyal whispers. And behold,
_Enter the +Queen+, +Floriana+, +Cleantha+, &c._
She opens, like a rock of diamond,
To th' curious search of th' almost bankrupt merchant!
So doth the pilot find his star, when storms
Have even sunk his bark. Divinest madam!
+Queen.+ Welcome, my lord! But pardon me my joys,
If I must interrupt you with a sigh.
I cannot look upon Florentio's arm,
But I must grieve it bled for me.
+Flo.+ O, spare
The treasure of those tears! Some captive king,
Whom fortune hath lock'd up in iron, wants
One such to buy his freedom. Madam, all
Those streams of blood which flow to warm my earth,
Lest it congeal to death, cannot compare
For value with the least drop shed for you,
By such a quarrel made inestimable.
+Queen.+ The war, I see, hath only been the field
To exercise your fancy. Your discourse
Shows that the court was kept beneath your tent;
Yet cannot I, my lord, be jealous, but
'Tis mingled with some love.
+Flo.+ 'Tis a pure love,
Unmix'd as is the soul. The world perhaps
May judge a kingdom hath enamour'd me,
And that your titles dress you forth, to raise
My appetite up higher. Pardon love,
If it grow envious even of your fortune,
And that I'm forc'd to wish you had been daughter
Of some poor mountain-cottager, without
All dowry but your own beauty.[282] Then I might
Have showed a flame untainted with ambition,
And courted you; but now the circumstance
Of greatness seems to challenge more than I
Have power to give, and, working up my love,
I serve my fortune.
+Queen.+ You have not, my lord,
Found me uneasy to your vows: and, when
The troubled stream of my tempestuous state
Shall meet a perfect calm, you then shall know
How worthy I esteem your virtue.
+Flo.+ Speak but those words again, and seat me in
An orb above corruption! O, confirm
Your thoughts but with a promise.
+Queen.+ How, a promise!
I shall repent my favour if I hear
A syllable which sounds like that. Upon
My marriage-day I have vowed to bring myself
A free oblation to the holy altar;
Not, like a fearful debtor, tender low[283]
To save my bond. My lord, I must not hear
One whisper of a promise.
+Flo.+ I'm silent,
And use me as your vassal; for a title
More glorious I shall never covet. But----
+Queen.+ No jealousy, my lord.
_Enter +Lerma+._
+Ler.+ Your majesty
Is great in mercy; and I hope a stranger
Shall meet it, if his speech be an offence.
+Queen.+ Your pleasure, sir?
+Ler.+ The Lord Ascanio charg'd [_Kneels._
Me fall yet lower, if the earth would license;
For to so high a majesty obedience
Cannot bend down enough: then he commanded,
I, in his name, should beg the honour for him,
Before he take his journey from your country,
To kiss your hand.
+Queen.+ Pray, sir, let's know the hour;
But let it not be sudden. Years should sweat
In preparation for his entertainment,
And poets rack invention, till it reach
Such praises as would reach the victories
Of th' old heroes.
+Ler.+ Madam, if his arm
Did actions worthy memory, it receiv'd
An influence from your quarrel, in the which
A dwarf might triumph o'er an army. But
He humbly craves his audience may not be
With crowd and noise, as to embassadors;
But with that silence which befits his business,
For 'tis of moment.
+Queen.+ Sir, we will obey
His own desires, though ours could wish his welcome
With a full ceremony. I attend him. [_Exit +Lerma+._
+Flo.+ Madam, this stranger----
+Queen.+ Pray, my lord, let love
Not interrupt your business. I believe,
The army which Decastro so expected
Being now arriv'd, your soldiers tired, the city
Ill-settled in her faith, much counsel will
Be needful. When your leisure shall permit,
Our joy shall be to see you.
+Flo.+ I'm all obedience.
[_Exeunt +Queen+ and +Florentio+ at several doors._
_Manet +Sanmartino+ and +Cleantha+._
+San.+ And when, sweet madam, will you crown our joys?
Let's not, like riotous gamesters, throw away
The treasure of our time: appoint the hour,
The hour which must wear garlands of delight,
By which we'll make't the envy of the age.
+Cle.+ My lord, what mean you?
+San.+ What all fine lords mean
Who have plenty, youth and title.
+Cle.+ But my fame!
+San.+ 'Tis the fool's bugbear.
+Cle.+ Then my conscience!
+San.+ A scarecrow for old wives, whom wrinkles make
Religious.
+Cle.+ What will the court say?
+San.+ Why, nothing.
In mercy to themselves, all other ladies
Will keep your counsel.
+Cle.+ But will you not boast it?
+San.+ I'll be degraded first.
+Cle.+ Well, I'm resolv'd.
+San.+ But when, sweet madam? Name
The moment.
+Cle.+ Never: for now I weigh things better;
The antidote 'gainst fear is innocence.
+San.+ Will you delude my hopes then? Pity, madam,
A heart that withers if denied this favour.
+Cle.+ In pity I may be induced to much;
And, since you urge compassion, I will meet.
+San.+ Where, excellent madam?
+Cle.+ I' th' sycamore-walk.
+San.+ The minute! O, the minute!
+Cle.+ An hour hence.
+San.+ Felicity! fit for thy envy, Love!
You will not fail now, madam?
+Cle.+ To be such,
As you shall count that hour your happiest. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Browfildora+ and +Oniate+._
+Oni.+ This is a challenge! Prythee, my small friend,
May not a man take th' height of my lord's spirit,
Looking on thee?
+Brow.+ Pray, sir, leave off your mirth,
And write my lord your answer.
+Oni.+ Little sir,
I never learnt that pretty quality:
I cannot write; only by word of mouth----
+Brow.+ Your place, sir?
+Oni.+ The market-place.
+Brow.+ 'Tis fantastic: and my lord will take it ill.
Your weapons, sir.
+Oni.+ Two English mastiffs, which
Are yet but whelps, and not transported hither:
So that the time will be, I know not when.
+Brow.+ Your sport is dangerous. If my lord forgive you,
I must resent th' affront as to myself,
And will expect a most severe account.
+Oni.+ Thou less, though[284] angrier, thing than wasp, farewell.
[_Exeunt._
_Enter +Queen+ and +Ascanio+._
+Queen.+ I am inform'd, my lord, that you have business,
And 'tis of moment?
+Asc.+ Great as that of Nature's
In her most mighty work, Creation.
For to preserve from dissolution equals
The gift of our first being. Not to hold
Your majesty in riddles, 'tis to beg
Your pardon for a soldier doom'd to die;
Inevitably doom'd, unless your mercy
Step between him and death.
+Queen.+ My lord, we use
T' examine well the fact for which he is
To suffer, ere we pardon. There be crimes
Of that black quality which often makes
Mercy seem cruel.
+Asc.+ That's the fear which frights
Me to this paleness: sure, his crime is great;
But fondly I, presuming on the service
My fortune lately did you, gave my vow
Ne'er to forsake your ear with earnest prayers,
Till you had granted.
+Queen.+ Would you had not vowed;
For by the practice of my enemies
My fame is 'mong the people yet unsettled,
And my capacity for government
Held much too feeble. Should I then by this
Provoke them to disdain me, I might run
Apparent hazard even of ruin, now
War so distracts our kingdom. But, my lord,
Your merits are too ponderous in the scale,
And all respects weigh light--you have his pardon.
+Asc.+ Your hand on that. The down on the swan's bosom,
[_Kisses and holds it._
Not white and soft as this: here's such a dew
As drops from bounteous heaven in the morning,
To make the shadowy bank pregnant with violets.
+Queen.+ My lord!
+Asc.+ I kiss'd it, and the Phœnix seem'd
(The last of the whole race) to yield a perfume
More sweet than all his dying ancestors
Breath'd from their funeral piles. O, shrink not back!
My life is so concomitant with love,
That if you frown on either, both expire,
And I must part for ever hence.
+Queen.+ How strange appears this ecstasy! My lord, I fear
Your brain feels some disturbance: if I cause it,
I will remove the object.
+Asc.+ Pardon, madam,
The error of my fancy (which oft seems
To see things absent), if my tongue did utter
What misbecame your ear; and do not forfeit
Your servant to perpetual misery,
For want of a short patience.
+Queen.+ No, my lord;
I have the memory of your great deeds
Engrav'd so deep, no error can have power
To raze them from a due respect. You begg'd
To have a pardon: speak th' offender's name.
+Asc.+ Th' offender's name is Love; his crime high treason;
A plot, how to surprise and wound your heart:
To this conspirator I have given harbour,
And vow'd to beg your mercy for him.
+Queen.+ How!
+Asc.+ And if you break your grant, I will hereafter
Scorn all your sex, since the most excellent
Is cruel and inconstant.
+Queen.+ Pray, my lord,
Go recollect your reason, which your passion
Hath too much scatter'd. Make me not have cause
To hate whom I would ever strive to honour.
+Asc.+ Madam, you haply scorn the vulgar earth,
Of which I stand compacted: and because
I cannot add a splendour to my name,
Reflective from a royal pedigree,
You interdict my language: but be pleas'd
To know, the ashes of my ancestors,
If intermingled in the tomb with kings,
Could hardly be distinguished. The stars shoot
An equal influence on the open cottage,
Where the poor shepherd's child is rudely nurs'd,
And on the cradle, where the prince is rock'd
With care and whisper.
+Queen.+ And what hence infer you?
+Asc.+ That no distinction is 'tween man and man,
But as his virtues add to him a glory,
Or vices cloud him.
+Queen.+ But yet Heaven hath made
Subordination and degrees of men,
And even religion doth authorise us
To rule, and tells the subject 'tis a crime,
And shall meet death, if he disdain obedience.
+Asc.+ Kind Heaven made us all equal, till rude strength
Or wicked policy usurp'd a power:
And for religion, that exhorts t' obey
Only for its own ease.
+Queen.+ I must not hear
Such insolence 'gainst majesty; and yet
This less offends than love.
+Asc.+ If reason bends
You not to mercy, let my passion plead,
And not meet death from her, in whose fair quarrel
I could each moment bring a life to th' hazard.
Philosophy hath taught me that content
Lives under the coarse thatch of labourers
With much more quiet than where the fam'd hand
Of artists to the life have richly drawn
Upon the roofs the fictions of the gods.
How happy then might I lengthen my life,
With some fair country girl, so ignorant
She knew not her own beauties, rather than
Endanger death and scorn in your denial,
And in your grant nothing but pomp and envy!
+Queen.+ My lord, be wise, and study that best content.
This bold presumptuous love hath cancell'd all
The bonds I owed your valour: henceforth hope
Not for that usual favour I show strangers,
Since you have thus abus'd it. Would I might
With safety have appear'd more grateful. [_Exit._
+Asc.+ She's gone, as life from the delinquent, when
Justice sheathes up her sword. I fain would have
Conceal'd love's treason, but desire t' obtain her
Put me to th' torture, till each nerve did crack,
And I confess'd, then died upon the rack. [_Exit._
FOOTNOTES:
[281] Peradventure. Dr Johnson observes that in this sense _happily_
is written erroneously for _haply_--[a distinction surely without a
difference, since both are the same, _haply_ being merely a contracted
form of the other.]
"One thing more I shall wish you to desire of them, who _happily_ may
peruse these two treatises."--_Digby._
[282] Habington has the same thought in his "Castara," edit. 1640, p.
51--
"Would Castara were
The daughter of some mountain-cottager,
Who, with his toil worn out, could dying leave
Her no more dowre than what she did receive
From bounteous nature; her would I then lead
To th' temple, rich in her own wealth."
--_Steevens._
[283] [Old copy, _love_.]
[284] [Old copy, _thought_.]
ACT IV., SCENE I.
_Enter +Cleantha+ and +Floriana+._
+Flo.+ Thy pride is such a flatterer of thy beauty,
That no man sighs by accident, but thou
Dost pity as enamour'd.
+Cle.+ Floriana!
Not so kind-natur'd, surely. I have put
The sighs of courtiers in a scale, and find
Some threescore thousand may weigh down a feather;
I have tried their tears which, though of briny taste,
Can only season the hearts of fools, not women.
Their vows are like their duels, ever grounded
Upon the idlest quarrel.
+Flo.+ This experience
Perhaps instructs you to; but yet your pride,
I fear, is over-easy to believe.
'Tis merely to fly idleness that my lord
Hath troubled you with courtship: if the queen
Would make a statesman, she might cure a lover.
Want of employment made him dream on beauty,
And yours came first t' his fancy.
+Cle.+ I begin
To think his making love but vanity,
And a mistake in wit.
+Flo.+ And you begin
Perhaps to fear it?
+Cle.+ True, perhaps I do;
For though we care not for the lover, yet
We love the passion: though we scorn the offering,
We grieve to see it thrown away, and envy,
If consecrated to another. Woman
Hath no revenge 'gainst th' injury of custom,
Which gives man superiority, but thus
To fool it to subjection.
+Flo.+ Yet, Cleantha,
I could have wish'd your charity had spar'd
This triumph o'er my lord.
+Cle.+ You see I take
The next way to redeem him. This the hour,
And this the place. Here he resolves to raise
A trophy in my ruin: and behold--
_Enter +Sanmartino+, winding up his watch._
The just man of his promise! Not a minute
He fails when sin's the payment.
+Flo.+ I'll endanger
His virtue to a blush, and happily
Convert an infidel.
+Cle.+ This is my province,
Nor shall you envy me the honour of
A work so meritorious. Let him walk
Awhile, and sin with his own fancy; then
I'll undertake him, and if there be need,
Be you prepared to assist me.
+Flo.+ Thou dost build
Such forts on the opinion of thy wit!
[_Exeunt +Floriana+ and +Cleantha+._
+San.+ 'Tis a full hour, and half a minute over,
And yet she not appears! How we severe
Strict creditors in love stand on the minute,
But yet the payment never comes unwelcome;
Until the gold through age grow foul and rusty,
We stand not on a grain or two too light.
_Enter +Browfildora+._
Now your discovery?
+Brow.+ My lord, I have
Made search in every alley, every arbour,
Not left a bush wherein my littleness
Could creep without due scrutiny; and yet
No whispering of taffaty: no dazzling
Of your bright mistress forc'd me to a wink.
I saw no mortal beauty.
+San.+ Sure, she'll not
Be so unworthy to delude me now!
+Brow.+ But I had a more prosperous fate in love.
My lord, I met my mistress.
+San.+ You a mistress!
+Brow.+ A mistress, to whose beauty I have paid
My vows, most fervent vows, e'er since I was
Of stature fit to be an amorist.
+San.+ One of the maids-of-honour to Queen Mab?
+Brow.+ Your lordship guesses near; for she is one
O' th' chamberers to her Fairy Majesty:
A lady of most subtle wit, who, while
She puts a handkerchief or gorget on,
Her little highness holds intelligence.
She raiseth factions, and unites the angry:
She's much upon design.
+San.+ Where found you her?
+Brow.+ Walking alone, under the shadow of
A tulip, and inveighing 'gainst court-arts,
'Cause one of Oberon's grooms had got from her
The monopoly of transporting gnats--
A project she long aim'd at.
+San.+ No more fooling:
I am grown angry with my patience.
Boy, sing those verses were presented me
This morning.
+Brow.+ I will creep behind a bush,
And then for voice vie with the nightingale:
If seen, I am so bashful.
+San.+ Take your way.
+Song+ (_without_).
_Fine young folly, though you were
That fair beauty I did swear,
Yet you ne'er could reach my heart;
For we courtiers learn at school
Only with your sex to fool;
Y'are not worth the serious part._
_When I sigh and kiss your hand,
Cross my arms, and wond'ring stand,
Holding parley with your eye:
Then dilate on my desires,
Swear the sun ne'er shot such fires;
All is but a handsome lie._
_When I eye your curl or lace,
Gentle soul, you think your face
Straight some murder doth commit;
And your virtue doth begin
To grow scrupulous of my sin,
When I talk to show my wit._
_Therefore, madam, wear no cloud,
Nor to check my love grow proud;
In sooth I much do doubt,
'Tis the powder in your hair,
Not your breath, perfumes the air,
And your clothes that set you out._
_Yet though truth has this confess'd,
And I vow I love in jest:
When I next begin to court,
And protest an amorous flame,
You will swear I in earnest am:
Bedlam! this is pretty sport._
_As the song ends, enter +Cleantha+ veiled._
She breaks forth like the morning in a cloud.
'Tis for the safety of my eyes you veil
The glory of your beauties, which else might
Dazzle, not catch the sight; but I discern
A fair Cleantha through this gloominess.
Appear and speak, bright madam. Why such silence?
O, famish not my ear, which greedily
Longs to devour the music of your language:
Is it to teach me that delight must be
Entomb'd in secrecy, or else to show
How mad a spendthrift I'm to talk away
The treasure of this hour? Come, fair, unveil.
+Cle.+ O, give me leave yet to retain my blushes.
+San.+ Deceit of timorous modesty! Traitors
To love your blushes are: your fears are envious
Of your delights. Let's vanish hence, and ne'er
To th' vulgar eye appear, till we,
Grown old in pleasure, be transform'd t' a vine
Or ivy, so for ever to entwine.
+Cle.+ Then I unveil.
+San.+ O, fly into my arms,
As a rich odour to the ravish'd sense!
Perfume me with thy kisses.
+Cle.+ Stay, my lord!
Actions of moment (as I take this is)
Must be maturely thought on. I have call'd
My reason to account.
+San.+ Your reason, madam!
+Cle.+ Yes, my good lord: that only doth distinguish
A woman from brute beasts; or, what's more sensual,
A vain loose man. What sin scandals my carriage,
To give encouragement to this presumption?
What privileg'd this attempt?
+San.+ That tempting beauty.
+Cle.+ It is a traitor then to my pure thoughts;
And, to preserve your eye, would it were wrinkled:
I could much easier suffer the reproach
Of age than your bold courtship. If a lady
Be young and sportive, use curiosity,
And perhaps art, to help where nature seem'd
Imperfect in her work, will you, from the
False argument of your own loose blood, conclude
Her guilty? Or, if she select a friend,
Whose innocence gives warrant to her faith,
Will you infer their whispers have no aim
But that of brothels? 'Cause you find yourself
Nought but loose flesh, will you turn heretic,
And thence deny the soul?
+San.+ This language, madam,
Sounds nothing to the purpose of our meeting.
+Cle.+ More to the benefit. But in your patent,
'Mong all the privileges of a Conde,
Where find you lust inserted? Without which,
Till age hath made you wise or impotent,
You think your honour is defective. 'Cause
Your clothes are handsome and mine too, must we
Deform our minds? Is it sufficient motive
To sin, if opportunity and youth
Persuade us? Such as you are those foul plagues
Infect the air which breathes our fame, and make
The cautious sirs o' th' country shun us.
+San.+ Madam!
+Cle.+ When we admit you to our bed-chamber,
Powder, or haply bathe before you; what
Of honour's here more than a groom may boast
Our maids are tir'd with? Yet this with a smile
Is whisper'd to your friend, and you infer
How easy a more near approach will be.
My lord, learn virtue, and your wit may then
Not serve you to so fond a purpose. If
That courage you are famed for be no slander,
Go to the wars. 'Twill be a far less maim
To lose an eye there than your honour here.
If peace enamour you, and the court, live honest:
And hope the heir, who shall succeed you, may
Be yours. Revenge destroys more chastity
Than all the temptings of such lords as you.
+San.+ You shall not talk me, madam, from that pleasure
This hour doth promise me.
+Cle.+ You'll not commit
A rape, my lord?
+San.+ That is a question as
Yet unresolv'd; for force is my last refuge.
+Cle.+ Think on the danger; for the sin, I see,
Little distracts your conscience.
+San.+ I propose
Felicity, which none can merit who
Refuse so poor a venture. Here I vow,
No prayer or art shall free you. If you will
Hazard a life devoted to your service,
I'll die your martyr.
+Cle.+ Come, my lord, I'll free you
From all such hazard.
+San.+ There spoke harmony!
+Cle.+ I'll not be cruel. You shall have kisses, such
As will melt your soul into your lips: and what
Is sweetest, no repentance shall be th' issue
_Enter +Floriana+ and +Oniate+._
Of your delight. Look here, my lord! She's yours.
+San.+ No halter now nor tree convenient? O!
A steeple would be precious for my purpose!
But Oniate's there. I'll fight with him,
Be kill'd and be redeem'd. Sir, you receiv'd
A challenge from me! but return'd no answer.
+Oni.+ My lord, I had other business; you'll excuse me.
+San.+ What satisfaction do men give when challeng'd?
+Oni.+ According to their spirit: if they be
Regardless of their fame, then they submit;
If not, they fight.
+San.+ What, sir, will you then do?
+Oni.+ Let me consider. Neither.
+San.+ Come, you shall fight.
+Oni.+ My lord, I will not.
+San.+ Then you shall subscribe
Yourself a coward.
+Oni.+ Not for the whole world!
Such an apparent lie would be a sin
Too heavy to my conscience. I subscribe
Myself a coward! If I should, no soldier
Would think but that my hand were counterfeited.
+San.+ Then you must fight.
+Oni.+ My lord, on no condition. Hope not for it.
+San.+ Then you shall swear never to speak my name
But with respect.
+Oni.+ Hereafter, if you can
Deserve it. For the present I must crave
Your pardon with much mirth to laugh at you.
+San.+ Sir, I shall meet you.
+Oni.+ It shall contradict
All my endeavours then.
+San.+ I go, sir. But---- [_Exit +Sanmartino+._
+Cle.+ For mercy sake, go with thy lord. Repentance
May turn to desperation.
+Flo.+ I'll preserve him. [_Exit._
+Cle.+ Have you no business, sir, imports you more,
Than t' hold discourse with me? Troth, I shall pity
You want employment.
+Oni.+ Madam, what can be
More serious?
+Cle.+ Nothing more, if your design
Be to convert me: for I know you hold
All ladies in a schism who are young and proud.
+Oni.+ Your pardon, madam. I believe you[285] cunning
Court-ladies choose some petty venial errors
To set perfection off; for should you not
Usurp a handsome pride, your fame would lie,
Like unwall'd cities, open to the prey
Of each invading youth. Did you not show
A scorn, you would deserve it.