Hope not to win my favour by extolling
What in our better thoughts we ourselves condemn.
I am so wearied out with vows and oaths,
With impious praises and most tedious flattery,
That nothing but plain-speaking truth can gain
On my affection.
+Oni.+ Madam, your affection?
+Cle.+ Pray, sir, do not comment upon the word;
It doth portend no danger to you.
+Oni.+ And if it did, where's the beatitude?
For though I grant your virtues great as beauty
Can entertain, and foolish I resolv'd
To captivate my stock of life t' a woman,
Yet would I not adventure on you, if
You did not vow to perform articles.
+Cle.+ Suppose the business come to articles?
+Oni.+ I' th' first then, you should covenant love; not squinting
On every finer youth or greater lord,
But looking straight on me.
+Cle.+ To the second, sir.
+Oni.+ No dotage on the court, so far that my
Estate must rue it; and no vanity
Be started up, but my fond lady must
Be melancholy, and take physic till
She get into it.
+Cle.+ Why, you envy then
Us our own trouble; keep us from the expense,
And leave us to our discontent for penance.
+Oni.+ No! I would have the mind serene: without
All passion, though a masque should be presented,
And you i' th' country. I must have you wise,
To know your beauty mortal, which you must
Preserve to warm my eye, not aid by arts,
To keep the courtier's wit in exercise.
From his so practis'd flattery your ear
Must turn with a brave scorn; and when his eye
Doth offer parley, seem so ignorant
As not to understand the language.
+Cle.+ Sir,
You haply will debar us our she-friends too?
+Oni.+ As secret enemies, who'll first betray you.
+Cle.+ You'll not allow us, wearied of our husbands,
To send them on discovery of new worlds?
Or if we take a toy ourselves to travel,
Perhaps to Barbary or Tartary,
Or the remotest parts?
+Oni.+ To Bedlam sooner.
+Cle.+ Or, if our sex should warrant it by custom,
To play at tennis, or run at the ring,
Or any other martial exercise:
I fear me, scrupulous sir, you will condemn it
As dangerous to my honour?
+Oni.+ Sure, I should.
+Cle.+ I then perceive small hope of our agreement.
+Oni.+ But I a confidence; for I discern
How much you loathe these follies you pretend.
+Cle.+ Good sir, no more of this so kind mistake;
You'll find some other lady more deserves it,
And I aspire not to the honour.
Oni. I'll try yet farther. [_Exeunt +Oniate+ and +Cleantha+._
_Enter +Lerma+ and +Velasco+._
+Ler.+ My lord, you offer nobly.
+Vel.+ 'Tis a step
Beneath Florentio's greatness, whether you
His birth consider or his place. Sir, the queen
By nature's seated and her high deserts,
Where only mighty souls (such as the general's)
May offer to aspire.
+Ler.+ My lord, your lapse
To this proud language is so injurious, that
I must be forc'd to purge the humour. That
The Lord Florentio offers by a duel
To show no man can have fairer pretence
To serve the queen, must be allowed; but that
You dare cast disregard upon this lord,
Although a stranger, urgeth me t' intreat
You'd draw your sword.
+Vel.+ It hath seen light, and made
Way through an army, when fond victory
Smil'd on our enemies: it hath done wonders,
When the thick troops of Moors invaded us.
It fears no opposition.
+Ler.+ Show th' effect of't.
+Vel.+ Not in a cause so trivial. Each small breath
Disturbs the quiet of poor shallow waters;
But winds must arm themselves ere the large sea
Is seen to tremble. Pray your pardon, sir:
I must not throw away my courage on
A cause so trivial.
+Ler.+ As you please, my lord.
But, to omit all circumstance, you bring
A challenge to my Lord Ascanio:
The reason of the Lord Florentio's anger,
A rivalship in love.
+Vel.+ You speak it right.
+Ler.+ I'll bring you back his resolution
Before you have attended many minutes.
+Vel.+ Sir, 'twill be decent, for my nature knows
Not how to wait: and if no delays
Be used, 'twill show a fierce valour in him,
And happily prevent discovery.
For you may easily conjecture, that
A general's absence soon will wake the eye
Of the suspicious soldier.
+Ler.+ Is my lord
In readiness?
+Vel.+ He walks not far from hence.
+Ler.+ You shall have use then but of a short patience. [_Exit._
+Vel.+ It will be grateful to us, sir. My lord!
_Enter +Florentio+._
+Flo.+ And will Ascanio meet?
+Vel.+ Immediately.
+Flo.+ I had no other way; yet this is rough,
And justice whispers 'tis unsafe to tread it.
If to love her be sinful, what am I?
How dare I call his passion to the bar,
And nourish it myself? Why may not he,
Who hath as bold a fortune, entertain
As bold a love: and in the fate of war
Having outgone my service, why not then
Present it to the selfsame altar? But
We cannot harbour both in the same port;
Or he or I am shipwreck'd: for the storm
Is rais'd, and, to appease it, death must be
The sacrifice.
_Enter +Lerma+._
+Vel.+ My lord, here is the second.
This stranger dares not meet with your great spirit.
+Flo.+ Suspect him not, my lord: he hath a courage
Above the sense of fear. Well, sir, your answer?
+Ler.+ My Lord Ascanio could have wish'd his life
Might have been destin'd to a happier purpose,
And charged me tell your lordship that he had
Much rather have been lost with common dust
In the cheap churchyard, than endanger'd fame
In this great duel.
+Flo.+ Sir, explain his reasons.
+Ler.+ He calls to his sad thoughts the mischiefs, which
This kingdom needs must fall into, when you
Shall perish by his sword; for certainly
You cannot 'scape it, thus provoking death.
Then to what ruin may the queen, whose safety
You both have labour'd, be engag'd? He could
With patience almost suffer on his name
The infamy of coward, rather than
Hazard the quiet of her estate. But you----
+Flo.+ Let me consider: 'tis an idle rage
That heats me to this quarrel. Let her fate
Remain unshaken, though she choose my foe
Into her love and bosom. If she live
Above the fear of ruin, I am mighty--
Mighty enough, though by my griefs grown feeble,
And weaken'd too: diseases fright the healthy.
I will refer my cause and life to her,
And ne'er dispute it by the sword.
+Vel.+ My lord!
+Flo.+ Velasco, I am safe enough against
The taint of coward. Spain bears witness that
I dare, as far as honour dares give warrant;
But in this cause----
+Vel.+ My lord, you'll lose the glory
Of all your former actions, and become
The mirth of courtiers--empty things, who brawl,
Not fight, if you return after a challenge
Without performance.
+Flo.+ 'Tis a serious truth.
+Vel.+ Moreover, this young gentleman hath hope
To talk you from your resolution.
The Lord Ascanio will too much exult,
If this way too he can o'ercome you.
+Flo.+ It must not be, sir: tell my lord I wait
His leisure.
+Ler.+ And your lordship shall not have
Reason to think it long. Prepare yourself.
His only prayer is now that, when he comes,
There may be no discourse to take up time;
He hath desire the business may be all:
What he can say hath been by me deliver'd. [_Exit._
+Flo.+ We will obey him. Tyrant Love! why is
Thy cruelty so wanton, to delight
In murder? Like that impious Roman prince,
Thou joy'st to smother whom thou lov'st in roses,
And stifle them with the choicest perfumes. But
This is no place for reason; she may hold
Dispute in sober schools, where study raises
The soul to knowledge: here's the theatre
For the brute part of man to fight his last.
I must redeem the laurel fortune crown'd
His temples with, or perish in th' attempt:
My fate decrees it.
_Enter +Ascanio+ and +Lerma+._
+Ler.+ Here's my Lord Ascanio.
+Flo.+ Why doth he turn his face away, as if
He durst not look on danger? Do his fears
Now triumph o'er his courage?
+Ler.+ Put it to the trial. [_They fight._
+Flo.+ He's more than mortal, sure. He strikes like lightning,
Himself not passive. But I'll try again,
And disenchant the sorcerer. Ay, there
I reach'd him home: you bleed; open your doublet;
The wound, perhaps, is dangerous.
+Asc.+ But a scratch.
+Flo.+ Sure I have heard that voice, and seen that face!
Velasco, 'tis the king.
+Asc.+ My lord, what mean you?
+Flo.+ Some planet strike me dead, and fix this arm
A monument to tell posterity
The treason of my error! Mighty sir,
Show mercy to your creature, that my death
(Which hastily steals on me) may not be
Too foul for after-story.
+Asc.+ Rise, Florentio,
This act cannot endure the name of treason.
+Flo.+ Some surgeons, quick, to search the wound! O sir,
How do you feel yourself? Speak life, or I
Shall sink down to my centre.
+Asc.+ Not a man
Stir hence: thy sword was loyal as thy thoughts,
And scarce hath pierc'd the skin. O my Florentio!
+Flo.+ My lord and king! But why did you engage
Your sacred person into danger? 'Twas not well:
How many thousand lives depend on yours!
+Asc.+ Envy o' th' greatness I possess'd without
The merit, and desire to know those perils
We wantonly our subjects cast upon
On every weak exception, wrought my youth
Into this action. Nor can I repent
Th' experience of this war.
+Flo.+ But, O great sir,
Why did your majesty suffer this duel?
'Twas cruel and unkind. How easily
This hand might have committed sacrilege!
The very thought whereof, like some pale vision,
Congeals my blood.
+Asc.+ Search not that wound too deep.
Florentio! I shall blush--blush like some lady
Surpris'd in sin--if you too far examine.
+Flo.+ Conceal it not, great sir, though in the speaking
Poison steal through my ear. Be confident:
Unveil your thoughts.
+Asc.+ You needs must hate me, then,
And will have justice to throw off that duty
You owe me as a subject. Let it be
Unspoken still, though smothering it be death.
+Flo.+ Good Heaven defend! What is an army of us
Exposed to certain slaughter, if compared
To th' shortest moment that should serve your quiet?
And shall I live, and see my sovereign wear
A sorrow on his brow?
+Asc.+ Florentio! thou
Art glorious in thy virtue. So was I,
Till looking on the queen I grew o' th' sudden
Darker than midnight.
+Flo.+ O my cruel fate! [_Aside._
+Asc.+ I grew a thief, a most ungrateful thief
In my designs, and labour'd to have stole
The jewel of thy life from thee; a jewel
Myself so freely had bestowed upon
The merits of thy youth.
+Flo.+ My soul foresaw this.
+Asc.+ How justly had I perish'd by thy sword!
How happy for my safety! Then had I
Been lost in my disguise, or died, my crime
Unknown unto the world. Now, if I live,
I must wade through a sea of injuries,
T' attain an unsafe haven.
_Enter the +Queen+._
+Flo.+ Cheer yourself,
Dread sir. Though, as I give the legacy,
I breathe my last, yet will I show a heart
Thankful to your great favours. Madam, here
Behold the Sovereign of Castile.
+Queen.+ You have
Been cruel in your kindness, sir, to keep
So long your sacred person hid from us.
+Flo.+ He is your lover, madam, and deserves
The title: whether you observe his youth,
So beauteous nature doats upon her work,
Or weigh his greatness, powerful to defend you
Should fate and all mankind conspire your ruin.
And add to that, he merits you, his sword
Having restored your freedom, when poor I
Was judg'd, like some old instrument of war,
Unfit for service. All my interest
I here resign to th' author of my fate;
My love I cannot, which must still remain
Companion to my life: but I'll take heed
My wound appear not, though it inward bleed. [_Exit._
+Asc.+ I wait here, madam, and attend your sentence;
For 'tis my doom.
+Queen.+ I am that sad wretch,
Stands trembling at the bar. I know your merit,
And know a gratitude, great as e'er was owing,
By an injured soul relieved: I duly weigh
That double tie, which doth oblige me yours.
First, when you sent your soldiers to my rescue;
Then, by exposing your most sacred person
To th' dangers of a war.
+Asc.+ A trivial nothing.
+Queen.+ What honour can come equal to my state,
As by so high a match? And 'gainst your person
The envious cannot find a quarrel.
+Asc.+ Madam,
All this is circumstance the politic
Busy their fancy with. I bring a love,
An humble love, which is of value to
Ennoble the parch'd labourer, and force
An empress listen to his vows. Consider
In me nothing of fortune; only look
On that to which love new-created me.
If once receiv'd your servant, what's Castile
In the comparison? For princes are
Too bold, if they bring wealth and victory
To enter competition with those treasures
A lover aims at in his mistress' favour.
May I not hope your smile?
+Queen.+ You must command it.
+Asc.+ Then give me leave to whisper to my hopes
What strange felicities I shall enjoy.
+Queen.+ But, sir, consider how you gave away
To your Florentio all that claim you might
Have to me, as so great a neighbouring prince.
+Asc.+ It was a gift my ignorance made, which I
Was cosen'd in; for had my eye been honour'd
With sight of such a beauty, safer he
Might have petition'd for my sceptre, and
The grant had not so soon begot repentance.
+Queen.+ But promises of princes must not be
By after-arts evaded. Who dares punish
The breach of oath in subjects, and yet slight
The faith he hath made them keep?
+Asc.+ But my Florentio
Hath given me back his interest.
+Queen.+ That gift
Was like a vow extorted, which religion
Cancels, as forc'd from conscience.
+Asc.+ But yourself
Are free, and never by an oath made his.
+Queen.+ My resolution, grounded on his service,
Ties more than formal contracts.
+Asc.+ I'll not urge
You farther, but by these, which never yet
Found passage through my eyes, not he nor all
Mankind, contracted to one heart, can harbour
A love that equals that I burn with. Madam,
Think on't; and let your thoughts find out that path
Which leads to mercy. [_Exit +Ascanio+._
+Queen.+ How I am dazzled,
Plac'd on a precipice by tyrant Love!
The king is noble, and his merits claim
A retribution great as I can make.
He loves me, and yields only to Florentio,
In the priority of service. My sad soul!
_Enter +Florentio+, looks on the +Queen+, sighs, and
goes in again._
Between these two I might stand distracted!
But, virtue, guide me: nor can I e'er stray
While that directs, and honour leads the way. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[285] [Old copy, _in_.]
ACT V., SCENE I.
_Enter +Decastro+ and his Army._
+Dec.+ My fortune yet forsakes me not. There's something
Whispers my soul that, though a storm did cloud
My morning, I shall set the envy of
My yet prevailing enemy. Had you,
My fellow-soldiers, not been three hours' march
From aiding us when the Castilian army
Made the assault, we had given their fate a check,
And taught them how unsafe it is to court
Dangers abroad. I must entreat your courage
To suffer for some moments; a short time
Will bring us the queen's answer; if she yield
(As reason may persuade her), we shall spare
Much loss of blood; if not, your valour will
Have liberty to show itself. Yet still
Remember, that the city's forc'd t' obey
A stranger; in their votes they fight for us.
Did no man see the Lord Ossuna since
Our fight i' th' morning?
+Capt.+ He appear'd not, since
We left the city to the enemy;
Which hath bred jealousy, my lord, that he
Chang'd with the present fortune.
+Dec.+ Doubt him not:
He hath a heart devoted to the greatness
And safety of his country. Well, he may
Be lost i' th' number of the slain; but fate
Cannot enforce him stoop beneath the vow
Of rescuing Arragon from foreign arms.
_Enter two common +Soldiers+ haling +Ossuna+ in as
a hermit._
What insolence is this? Unhand the man!
Methinks his habit should beget respect.
+Sol.+ My lord, we guess he is some spy, he came
Skulking from th' enemy's camp. Pray, guard
Your person; mischief often lurks in shapes
As holy.
+Dec.+ I allow your care, and thank it:
Leave him to me, and for awhile retire. [_Exeunt._
+Oss.+ Your lordship knows me not?
+Dec.+ Ossuna, welcome!
Bless'd be thy better angel who preserv'd thee!
How happy to the fortune of this war
Art thou restor'd! I should have fought unarm'd,
Had I not had the fate t' embrace thee thus.
How was my friend preserv'd?
+Oss.+ By virtue of
This sacred habit. In the midst of war
Disguis'd I thus escap'd, though close pursued
By some of the queen's faction. To this weed
I owe my safety.
+Dec.+ Quickly throw it off,
And reinvest thy body in that steel,
With which thou still hast triumph'd. O my lord,
How oft have we, all bath'd in blood and sweat,
Through clouds of dust, found out the way to force
Back victory to our side, when Fortune seem'd
To doat on th' enemy! We two have grown
Like cedars up together, and made all
Seem shrubs to us, no man sleeping secure
But in our shadows.
+Oss.+ Yes, we have been happy.
+Dec.+ Thou speak'st so hollow, as there were a doubt
We might not be so still.
+Oss.+ But there's no faith
In human fate. An emperor[286] did serve
As footstool to the conqueror, and are we
Better assur'd of destiny?
+Dec.+ What strange
Unworthy faintness weakens his great soul
Who heretofore ne'er understood the language
Danger speaks in? Hath one defeat lost you
That mighty courage, which hath fix'd upon
Your name a glorious memory? Reassume
Yourself, my lord: let no degenerate fear
Benight the lustre of your former acts.
+Oss.+ I call yourself and Arragon to witness,
My life hath yet been such, the reverend shades
Of my great ancestors need not look pale,
Or blush to know my story. To yourself,
To whose brave youth I tied my youth a servant,
I ever have perform'd all offices,
Due to so brave a friendship.
+Dec.+ 'Tis confess'd.
+Oss.+ And here I vow, setting aside those fears
Distract me as a Christian, I could smile,
Smile like some wanton mistress upon death,
Whatever shape it wears.
+Dec.+ My lord, this war
Is warranted by casuists for lawful;
But they (you'll say) flatter the present state,
And make divinity serve human ends.
But in itself it's just: a war your judgment
Gave approbation to, and urg'd me first
To undertake. Therefore make good your own,
And throw off this unuseful habit.
+Oss.+ Never.
+Dec.+ What said my friend?
+Oss.+ By all things sacred, never.
In this I will grow old, and with the weight
Of years bend to the earth. In this I'll breathe
A happier air than you in all your soft
And varied silks.
+Dec.+ Some coward devil, sure,
Possesseth him. [_Aside._
+Oss.+ My lord, I am instructed
T' a patience far above your injuries;
Nor shall your scorn or anger triumph o'er
My resolution. I'm fix'd here, unmov'd
As is the centre.
+Dec.+ I was much to blame:
This may be a brave virtue. Pray, my lord,
Give me your reasons why you tread this path,
So little beaten by the feet of courtiers?
I would not have the world mistake your aim,
And construe it to fear or melancholy.
+Oss.+ That cannot shake me: he who by the card
O' th' world's opinion steers his course, shall harbour
In no safe port. But to your ear, my lord,
I give this free account. Seven winters pass'd,
When I set sail from Sicily, a storm
O'ertook the ship, so powerful, that the pilot
Gave up the stern to the ordering of the waves,
His art and hand grown useless; those kind stars
The sailors used t' invoke were lost i' th' tempest,
And nothing but a night, not to be seen,
Was seen by us. When every one began
T' advance himself toward death, as men condemn'd
To th' axe, when hope of pardon is shut out;
I, spite o' th' envious cloud, look'd up to heaven.
And darted my faith thither, vowing to
Forsake the flatter'd pomp and business of
The faithless world, if I with safety might
Attain the land.
+Dec.+ Was not I there, my lord?
+Oss.+ You were.
+Dec.+ And made not I the selfsame vow?
+Oss.+ Heaven hath recorded that we both did vow it--
O' th' sudden, night forsook us, and the loud
Unruly winds fled to their unknown dwellings;
When a soft breath 'gan whisper to our sails,
A calm was to ensue.
+Dec.+ My memory
Afflicts me much. But these are feeble vows,
Made only by our fears: we ought to have
Our reason undismay'd, whene'er a promise
Can force performance.
+Oss.+ I dispute it not--
Soon as I reach'd the shore, I courted on
Those vanities which had my youth enamour'd,
Yet still with some remorse. Honours betray'd me
Into a glorious trouble, and I grew
Proud of my burthen; but if Heaven had been
Severe to my delays in this diseas'd
Surfeit of pomp, my soul might have been call'd
T' her last account: and, O my lord, where then
Had breach of vow been safe?
+Dec.+ These are sad thoughts.
+Oss.+ But necessary. When the morning's loss
Made me search out a shape for flight, this habit
Itself presented, and again redeem'd me;
And know, I am resolv'd ne'er to forsake it,
Till in the vault my earth and it together
Shall wear away to dust.
+Dec.+ My lord, you have
Good title to your virtue. Pray, retire
Into my tent: this sudden change, if known,
May much amaze the soldier, and endanger
The glory of th' attempt. I shall entreat
Your prayer, since you deny your arm.
+Oss.+ My lord, may Heaven direct you! [_Exit +Ossuna+._
+Dec.+ What have I obtain'd
By all this sweat of business? Like the wind,
Prosperous ambition only swell'd my sail,
To give me courage to encounter with
A tempest. Early cares and midnight frights,
Faint hopes and causeless fears, successively,
Like billows, have moved in me. What a fool
Is human wisdom; what a beggar wealth;
How scorn'd a nothing that proud state we doat on!
Time laughs us out of greatness, and shuts up
Our wide designs in a dark narrow room,
Whence, when the valiant monarch shall creep forth,
He will, like some poor coward, hide his eyes,
And hope to skulk away. But these are thoughts,
And now 'tis time for action.
_Enter +Soldier+._
+Sol.+ If your lordship
Will please for some few moments to retire
Into your tent, her majesty in person
Will give you parley here.
+Dec.+ In person, sir?
The favour bears some omen! She who in
The tempest of misfortune still did spread
Her sails at large, why doth she strike them now,
The wind so prosperous? This is a descent
Beneath her greatness.
+Sol.+ I reach not, my lord,
The mysteries of princes; but this message
She charg'd me to return.
+Dec.+ The acts of princes
Are govern'd often by as frail a passion
As those are of the vulgar: the same rage
That stirs two footmen to a fray, creates
War between kingdoms; but the zealous subject,
Gazing afar on th' actions of the proud,
Finds towers and lions in an empty cloud.
But I'll obey her leisure. Watch you here
Till you discover her advanc'd this way. [_Exit +Decastro+._
_Enter +Ascanio+, +Florentio+._
+Flo.+ Sir, you created me, and rais'd me up
To th' state of duke, when I was common dust;
And, had not fortune given me interest
I' th' favour of the queen, I had continued
In the worst fate of man, ingratitude.
Now I can boast I have restored you back
A love rich as the bounty you shower'd on me:
'Tis all the stock of my poor life.
+Asc.+ Sad fate!
That I must wound thee to the heart to cure
My leprosy with thy blood. Florentio, search
I' th' stock of women; there's some other beauty.
+Flo.+ O, no! no other.
+Asc.+ I'll endow her with
The wealth of all Castile.
+Flo.+ Poor empty nothing!
+Asc.+ If sovereignty be the idol of thy soul,
I will divide my kingdom. Thou shalt reign
As independent as myself.
+Flo.+ Great sir,
Continue but your favour, and my stars
Cannot afford a greatness equals it.
The treasures of th' ambitious are the scorn
Of those who seriously contemplate life.
My fortune's high enough: and now my thoughts
Grow temperate. Not for the empire of the east,
(Which yet retains the treasures man enjoy'd
Ere he grew black with sin), would I have wanted
This bless'd occasion to express the zeal
I owe my prince. Here, with as free a soul
I give her to your arms as e'er you threw
A smile upon my service.
+Asc.+ Thanks, dear friend!
(That word must speak our loves). By this great gift
Thou hast redeem'd me from the torture, and
Possess'd me of the fairest.
+Flo.+ O!
+Asc.+ The fairest nature e'er made for wonder.
+Flo.+ She is fair.
+Asc.+ Enjoying her, thy king shall live, who else
Were desperate beyond cure. He shall be envied;
And every year, as age threatens decay,
He shall regain new life from her. Florentio,
Believe't, there's miracle in such a beauty.
+Flo.+ Surely there is.
_Enter +Queen+, +Sanmartino+, +Oniate+, +Cleantha+,
+Floriana+._
And see sh' appears! how like some heavenly vision,
That kills with too much glory!
+Asc.+ Stand still, and wonder with me.
+Queen.+ Cleantha! O, the prodigy! And how
Wilt thou endure his serious face? Can'st thou,
Whom nothing tempted but wit parcel-gilt
And the last fashion, suffer Oniate?
+Cle.+ Madam, I undertake him for a penance:
Perhaps he was enjoin'd me.
+Queen.+ It was Love
You went to shrift with then. And yet how that
Young wanton Idleness should counsel you
To this conversion, still is more my riddle.
+Cle.+ The court is full of wonders, madam; and
'Tis handsome to do things extravagant.
+Queen.+ But how, in th' heat of war, your thoughts should be
So apt for Love's impression?
+Cle.+ Love will dance
As nimbly to the trumpet, fife, or drum,
As to those many violins which play
So loud at court. Moreover, it concern'd
My safety; I so straitly was besieg'd,
And by so strong a Cæsar.
+Queen.+ O my lord!
I am informed with how fierce a spirit
You do assault our ladies.
+San.+ Pray, your mercy!
And if your majesty will please to banish
The art of making love quite from the court,
I'll not be out of fashion.
+Queen.+ For your sake
I will contrive it so: and, good my lord,
Will you begin th' example, you will see
How soon the fine young lords will follow you.--
Your pardon, sir; had I but seen your highness,
I had not lost so much of language from
A most expressive gratitude.
+Asc.+ Madam, you pay a trivial debt with too great interest;
For how contemn'd a slightness was my life
Until employ'd to serve you?
+Flo.+ She glanced this way,
And love's artillery played from her eye.
Unhappy bankrupt, what a kingdom have
I forfeited! So often in a calm
Some vessel, rich in freight and proud in sail,
Doth spring a sudden leak, and sinks for ever.
+Asc.+ But, madam, is there hope your heart can yield
To an exchange in love? My title's good,
Florentio having given up his claim.
_Enter +Decastro+, &c._
+Queen.+ But, sir, th' estate is still my own; nor have
I need to sell it. But Decastro's here;
And if your majesty will deign your presence
Unto the parley, 'twill advance the honour
And purpose of our meeting.
+Asc.+ I'm your servant.
+Queen.+ My lord, you see how near the safety of
Our subjects toucheth us: we can stoop thus
Beneath our majesty, and enter parley
Even with a rebel.
+Dec.+ Madam, 'tis in vain
To hold dispute 'gainst what you will condemn;
And it were insolence to boast my power
Or speak my right, now when the hearts of all men
Confirm the justice of my taking arms.
Cast but your eye on this vast body, which
The kingdom doth unite in my defence,
And see how ruinous is your error, that
Must lean to foreign succours.
+Queen.+ 'Tis a refuge
Your practice forc'd me to.
+Dec.+ But would your highness
Had lent a gentler ear to the safe counsel
Of him who had no crime but too much love!
+Flo.+ My lord, that word fell rudely from your tongue,
And, I may say, unmannerly: 'tis duty
You owe the queen.
+Dec.+ Right, sir; an humble duty,
Ambitious to expose my life to dangers,
Greater than any other soul dares fancy.
+Asc.+ Pray stay, Florentio: this is now my cause,
And I (proud man) will tell you, your great heart
Doth want expansion to receive a love
Worthy her scorn.
+Dec.+ And I will answer you,
Proud monarch of Castile, what mould
Soever nature casts me in, my mind
Is vaster than your empire; and I can
Love equally with him whose name did conquer
Kingdoms as large as yours.
+Asc.+ Your majesty
Must license here my rage, to teach his folly
(Presumptuous folly) a submiss repentance.
+Dec.+ Sir, here I stand prepar'd. [_A shout within._
+Queen.+ What noise is that?
+Oni.+ The city's all in mutiny, and vow
To perish in the Lord Decastro's cause:
They're ready now to lay rude hands upon
The garrisons of Castile. Your majesty
Should hinder mischief, if you suddenly
Return, and by your presence stop their fury.
+Dec.+ Pray, Oniate, take this signet: tell
The magistrates her majesty and I
Are now accorded, with a due regard
To th' public safety. Take some of my army,
To give authority to what you say.
Assure them all is well. [_Exit +Oniate+._
+Asc.+ What means this wonder?
+Flo.+ This speaks him noble, even to our envy.
+Queen.+ My lord, in this you have oblig'd us. Pray,
Inform us of your thoughts, that we may study
To make this parley happy.
+Dec.+ Mighty lady,
I find my love hath not been dress'd so smooth
To tempt your liking: and I must confess,
My passion (like the spleen of witches) hath
Begot whirlwinds and thunder. Would I might
Have found a softer way t' have wrought my ends!
For by your beauty (the most sacred oath
A lover can swear by) that was the mark,
The sole fair mark I aim'd at. For, if pride
Had oversway'd my love, I could have stood
O' th' level with that prince, so much your people
Were vow'd to my devotion.
+Queen.+ O my lord,
You fairly speak your virtues.
+Dec.+ And but view
The vastness and good order of my camp,
Your best towns sworn to run my fortune, and
You'll say 'twas love did beg this interview.
+Asc.+ My lord, your language cannot fright us from
The queen's defence.
+Dec.+ Great sir, she needs it not.
Down on your knees, my fellow-soldiers, and
With me bow to your sovereign: swear with me
Never to lift your arm 'gainst her command.
Thus as your subject; as your lover thus--
Thus to the earth I fall, and with my lips
Seal my obedience. [_Kisseth the ground._
+Queen.+ Pray, rise up, my lord.
Would I could merit thus much favour; but----
+Dec.+ Pardon. I interrupt you--but you cannot
Find love to answer mine; nor will I force it.
Be happy in your choice, and wheresoe'er
You fix, shine ever glorious. From this hour
I'll never more disturb you.
+Queen.+ Now beshrew me,
Methinks I feel compassion. [_Aside._] Good my lord,
Write in that blank all your demands, and, by
The honour of a princess, I'll deny
Nothing you shall insert. [_He looks on it, and returns it._
+Dec.+ There 'tis again,
The paper innocent as when you gave it.
+Queen.+ My lord, you have writ nothing.
+Dec.+ And 'tis nothing,
Now I have miss'd yourself, I can demand.
Fortune, contract thy treasure from all nations,
And gild it o'er with honour and with beauty,
Yet hast thou not the power to force one wish,
Now I have lost this lady.
+Asc.+ A great spirit!
+Dec.+ One humble prayer I have, which must not be
Denied: and 'tis, your majesty will give
Me leave ne'er more to see you.
+Queen.+ O my lord----
+Dec.+ My vow's irrevocable. I shall secure
Your kingdom best by absence, and my eye
Will never brook so rich a treasure made
The purchase[287] of another. To a cave,
Some undiscover'd cave, to which no path
Doth lead the wandering lover, I have vowed
The remnant of my days.
_Enter +Ossuna+._
+Flo.+ A strange conversion!
And 'twill behove my fate to follow him.
+Dec.+ My Lord Ossuna here and I have sworn
Our lives to solitude, which we'll observe
Religiously: and since I cannot prove
Possessor, I'll be conqueror, in love.
+Asc.+ Pray stay, my lord. Behold Florentio there,
He hath outdone you: he, for love of me,
Hath done what you for love of heaven. All
The interest he had in that bright queen
He hath resign'd to me.
+Dec.+ He hath paid you for your favours.
+Flo.+ 'Tis confess'd: what's mine is yours.
+Asc.+ Thanks, my Florentio; for with her my youth
May be still happy, and my age disdain
To know a weakness. From her eyes I may
Draw still new vital heat, and find what fools
Have studied for, th' elixir: in her arms
I may be safe 'gainst all invasion from
Abroad, or civil dangers nurs'd at home.
+Queen.+ Your highness' pardon. I confess how high
Your merits rise in my esteem; but must not,
To honour your deserts, myself become
Unworthy after-story, blemish'd with
That scorn which still defames our sex, register'd
A most inconstant woman; or, what's much
More infamous, one who reserves her love
To serve her profit, and exposeth it
To the merchant that bids fairest.
+Asc.+ Madam, spare that breath to clear
The air, when poison'd by contagion.
I know your settled thoughts, and that my power
Or title weighs not in your love. Florentio,
I will no longer rack you: though the queen
Be th' only fire e'er warm'd this heart, and I
Despair ever to love again, I will
Disdain to be unjust. I will not be
O'ercome in friendship: reassume thy right.
+Flo.+ Sir, you undo me. In your injury
I was less wretched: like a bankrupt now,
Without all hope of payment, I must owe.
+Asc.+ Th' ambition of my service, and disguise,
Was to advance your fortune, madam; nor
Can I attempt you farther, though the conquest
Would wreathe my temples with a prouder laurel
Than the addition of the world unto
My sceptre. Be safe in your choice, and happy.
+Queen.+ This goodness grows even to a miracle.
In his behalf, sir, I must vow myself
A subject, and your servant.
+Asc.+ O, command;
For I have nothing, madam, but obedience.
My kingdom shall be proud to share with yours
In danger, and I'll glory to be styled
Your soldier.
+Flo.+ I am lost in wonder! Sir,
I know not how to entertain this blessing:
I fear my joys will be my ruin.
+Dec.+ Be both happy;
And may time never father that black moment,
Which shall appear to you less fortunate!
+Asc.+ Join then your hands for ever. He doth live
Mighty indeed, who hath power and will to give. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[286] Bajazet and Tamerlane.
[287] [Prize.]
THE EPILOGUE AT COURT.
We have nothing left us but our blushes now
For your much penance; and though we allow
Our fears no comfort, since you must appear
Judges corrupt, if not to us severe:
Yet in your majesty we hope to find
A mercy, and in that our pardon sign'd.
And how can we despair you will forgive
Them who would please, when oft offenders live?
And if we have err'd, may not the courteous say,
'Twas not their trade, and but the Author's play?
THE EPILOGUE AT THE FRIARS.
What shall the Author do? It madness were
To entreat a mercy from you, who are severe
Stern judges, and a pardon never give;
For only merit with you makes things live.
He leaves you therefore to yourselves, and may
You gently 'quit, or else condemn, the play,
As in an upright conscience you'll think fit:
Your sentence is the life and death of wit.
The Author yet hath one safe plea, that though
A Middlesex jury on his play should go,
They cannot find the murder wilful, since
'Twas acted by command in his own defence.
THE ANTIQUARY.
_EDITION._
_The Antiquary. A Comedy, Acted by her maiesties Servants, at the
Cock-Pit. Written by Shackerly Mermion, Gent. London. Printed
by F. K. for I. W. and F. E. and are to be sold at the Crane,
in St. Paul's Church-yard. 1641. 4º._
INTRODUCTION.
Shakerley Marmion was born at Aynho,[288] near Brackley, in the
county of Northampton, where his father was lord of the manor, and in
possession of a considerable estate. He received the early part of
his education at the free school, at Thame, in the county of Oxford,
under the care of Richard Boucher, commonly called Butcher, the master
thereof. In the year 1617 he became a gentleman-commoner of Wadham
College, in Oxford, and in 1624,[289] took the degree of Master of
Arts. Anthony Wood[290] says that he was "a goodly proper gentleman,
and had once in his possession seven hundred pounds per annum at
least." The whole of this ample fortune he dissipated; after which he
went into the Low Countries; but not meeting with promotion according
to his expectation, he returned to England, and was admitted one of the
troop raised by Sir John Suckling for the use of King Charles I. in
his expedition against the Scots, in the year 1639: but falling sick
at York, he returned to London, where he died in the same year.[291]
Besides several poems, scattered about in different publications,[292]
he wrote three plays,[293] viz.--
1. "Holland's Leaguer,[294] an excellent comedy, as it hath bin lately
and often acted with great applause by the high and mighty Prince
Charles his servants, at the private house in Salisbury Court, 1632."
4º.
To the _Dramatis Personæ_ of this play the names of the several
performers are added.[295]
2. "A Fine Companion,[296] acted before the king and queene, at White
hall, and sundrie times with great applause, at the private house in
Salisbury Court, by the Prince his servants. 1633." 4º.
3. "The Antiquary, a Comedy, acted by her Majesties servants, at the
Cockpit. 1641." 4º.
He also published "Cupid and Psyche; or an epick poem of Cupid and his
Mistress, as it was lately presented to the Prince Elector," 1637,[297]
1666.
Prefixed to this are complimentary verses by Richard Brome, Francis
Tuckyr, Thomas Nabbes, and Thomas Heywood.
Wood says he left some things in MS. ready for the press, which were
either lost or in obscure hands.
FOOTNOTES:
[288] Some authorities state that he was born "about the beginning of
January 1602," and this date seems consistent with the time when he was
entered at Wadham College.--_Collier._
[289] Langbaine, p. 345.
[290] "Athenæ Oxonienses," ii. 19. Oldys, in his MSS. notes on
Langbaine, says it was our author's father who squandered away his
fortune; but as he quotes no authority for this assertion, I have
followed Wood's account.
[291] Oldys' MSS. notes to Langbaine.
[292] [Among the rest, there are some verses by Marmion before Thomas
Heywood's "Dialogues and Dramas," 1637.]
[293] "The Crafty Merchant; or, The Soldier'd Citizen," has also been
attributed to Shakerley Marmion, but on no sufficient evidence, as well
as a pastoral, called "The Faithful Shepherd," which Philips assigns
to him. The first of these, which evidently was a comedy, was never
printed.--_Collier._ ["The Crafty Merchant," which seems to have been
originally entitled "The Merchant's Sacrifice," is in the list of plays
destroyed, according to Warburton the herald, by the ignorance of his
cook. It is there given to Marmion. See Lansd. MS. 807.]
[294] [In 1632, Nicholas Goodman published a prose tract entitled:
"Holland's Leagver; or, an Historicall Discourse of the Life and
Actions of Dona Britanica Hollandia," &c. See the full title in
Hazlitt, p. 232. "Holland's Leaguer," it may be well to explain, was
the name of one of the licensed stews in Southwark. It was a large
detached building, and stood till within some hundred years ago on the
site of Holland Street, Surrey Road. Boydell published a print in 1818,
containing a view of it.]
[295] They may be worth subjoining in a note: they were, William
Browne, Ellis Worth, Andrew Keyne, Matthew Smith, James Sneller,
Henry Gradwell, Thomas Bond, Richard Fowler, Edward May, Robert Huyt,
Robert Stafford, Richard Godwin, John Wright, Richard Fouch, Arthur
Savill, and Samuel Mannery. The last six played the female parts in the
play.--_Collier._
[296] The Prologue is a short conversation between a Critic and the
Author, which contains the following hit, perhaps at Ben Jonson:--
"+Critic.+ Are you the author of this play?
+Author.+ What then?
+Critic.+ Out o' this poetry! I wonder what
You do with this disease, a seed of vipers
Spawn'd in Parnassus' pool; whom the world frowns on,
And here you vent your poison on the stage.
+Author.+ What say you, sir?
+Critic.+ Oh, you are deaf to all
Sounds but a _plaudite_; and yet you may
Remember, if you please, what entertainment
Some of your tribe have had, that have took pains
To be contemn'd and laugh'd at by the vulgar,
And then ascrib'd it to their ignorance.
I should be loath to see you move their spleens
With no better success, and then with some
Commendatory epistles, fly to the press
To vindicate your credit.
+Author.+ What if I do?
+Critic.+ By my consent, I'll have you
Banish'd the stage, proscrib'd and interdicted
Castalian water, and poetical fire."
--_Collier._
[297] [In a copy now before me, which, a note on the fly-leaf says,
sold at Sotheby's, in 1817, for £6. 16s. 6d., the date 1637 on the
engraved title has been altered with the pen, the "7" being changed
into "8." There is only one edition in 4º; but this circumstance has
led to the mistaken notion that there were impressions in 1637 and
1638.]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
+The Duke of Pisa.+[298]
+Leonardo+, } _two courtiers_.
+Donato+, }
+Veterano+, _the Antiquary_.
+Gasparo+, _a magnifico of Pisa_.
+Lorenzo+, _an old gentleman_.
+Mocinigo+, _an old gentleman that would appear young_.
+Lionel+, _nephew to the Antiquary_.
+Petrucio+, _a foolish gentleman, son to Gasparo_.
+Aurelio+, _a young gentleman_.
+Aurelio's Father+, _in the disguise of a bravo_.
_His +Boy+._
+Petro+, _the Antiquary's boy_.
+Æmilia+, _wife to Lorenzo_.
+Lucretia+, _daughter to Lorenzo_.
+Angelia+, _sister to Lionel, in the disguise of a page_.
+Julia+, } _two waiting-women_.
+Baccha+, }
_A +Cook+._
_Two +Servants+._
_The Scene, Pisa._
FOOTNOTES:
[298] The scene, however, seems to be laid at Venice. The Rialto is
mentioned in act i., and Venice is again spoken of in act iii. as where
the transactions of the play are carried on.--_Pegge._
[It may be added that there was never any _Duke of Pisa_, and that most
of the names are Venetian.]
THE ANTIQUARY.[299]
ACT I., SCENE I.
_Enter +Lionel+ and +Petrucio+._
+Lio.+ Now, sir, let me bid you welcome to your country and
the longing expectation of those friends that have almost
languished for the sight of you. [_Aside._] I must flatter him,
and stroke him too; he will give no milk else.
+Pet.+ I have calculated by all the rules of reason and art
that I shall be a great man; for what singular quality concurs
to perfection and advancement that is defective in me? Take my
feature and proportion; have they not a kind of sweetness and
harmony, to attract the eyes of the beholders? the confirmation
of which many authentical judgments of ladies have sealed and
subscribed to.
+Lio.+ How do you, sir? are you not well?
+Pet.+ Next, my behaviour and discourse, according to
the court-garb, ceremonious enough, more promising than
substantial, able to keep pace with the best hunting wit
of them all: besides, Nature has blessed me with boldness
sufficient and fortune with means. What then should hinder me?
Nothing but destiny, villanous destiny, that chains virtue to
darkness and obscurity. Well, I will insinuate myself into the
court and presence of the duke; and if he have not the grace to
distinguish of worth, his ignorance upon him!
+Lio.+ What, in a muse, sir?
+Pet.+ Cannot a gentleman ruminate over his good parts, but you
must be troubling of him?
+Lio.+ Wise men and fools are alike ambitious: this travelling
motion[300] has been abroad in quest of strange fashions, where
his spongy brain has sucked the dregs of all the folly he could
possibly meet with, and is indeed more ass than he went forth.
Had I an interest in his disgrace, I'd rail at him, and perhaps
beat him for it; but he is as strange to me as to himself,
therefore let him continue in his beloved simplicity. [_Aside._
+Pet.+ Next, when he shall be instructed of my worth and
eminent sufficiencies, he cannot dignify me with less
employment than the dignity of an embassador. How bravely
shall I behave myself in that service! and what an ornament
unto my country may I arrive to be, and to my kindred! But I
will play the gentleman, and neglect them; that's the first
thing I'll study.
+Lio.+ Shall I be bold to interrupt you, sir?
+Pet.+ Presently I'll be at leisure to talk with you: 'tis no
small point in state policy still to pretend only to be thought
a man of action, and rather than want a colour, be busied with
a man's own self.
+Lio.+ Who does this ass speak to? surely to himself: and
'tis impossible he should ever be wise that has always such a
foolish auditory. [_Aside._
+Pet.+ Then, with what emulous courtship will they strive
to entertain me in foreign parts; and what a spectacle of
admiration shall I be made amongst those who have formerly
known me! How dost thou like my carriage?
+Lio.+ Most exquisite, believe me.
+Pet.+ But is it adorned with that even mixture of fluency and
grace as are required both in a statist and a courtier?[301]
+Lio.+ So far as the divine prospect of my understanding guides
me, 'tis without parallel most excellent; but I am no professed
critic in the mystery.
+Pet.+ Well, thou hast Linceus' eyes for observation,
or could'st ne'er have made such a cunning discovery of
my practice. But will the ladies, think you, have that
apprehension to discern and approve of me?
+Lio.+ Without question; they cannot be so dull or
stony-hearted as not to be infinitely taken with your worth.
Why, in a while, you shall have them so enamoured that they'll
watch every opportunity to purchase your acquaintance; then
again revive it with often banqueting and visits; nay, and
perhaps invite others, by their foolish example, to do the
like; and some, that despair of so great happiness, will
inquire out your haunts, and walk there two or three hours
together, to get but a sight of you.
+Pet.+ O infinite! I am transported with the thought on't! It
draws near noon, and I appointed certain gallants to meet me at
the five-crown ordinary: after, we are to wait upon the like
beauties you talked of to the public theatre. I feel of late a
strong and witty genius growing upon me, and I begin, I know
not how, to be in love with this foolish sin of poetry.
+Lio.+ Are you, sir? there's great hopes of you.
+Pet.+ And the reason is, because they say 'tis both the cause
and effect of a good wit, to which I can sufficiently pretend:
for Nature has not played the stepdame with me.
+Lio.+ In good time, sir.
+Pet.+ And now you talk of time, what time of day is it by your
watch?
+Lio.+ I have none, sir.
+Pet.+ How, ne'er a watch? O, monstrous! how do you consume
your hours? Ne'er a watch! 'tis the greatest solecism in
society that e'er I heard of: ne'er a watch!
+Lio.+ How deeply you conceive of it!
+Pet.+ You have not a gentleman, that's a true gentleman,
without one; 'tis the main appendix to a plush lining:
besides, it helps much to discourse; for while others confer
notes together, we confer our watches, and spend good part of
the day with talking of it.
+Lio.+ Well, sir, because I'll be no longer destitute of such a
necessary implement, I have a suit to you.
+Pet.+ A suit to me? Let it alone till I am a great man, and
then [_Aside._] I shall answer you with the greater promise and
less performance.
+Lio.+ I hope, sir, you have that confidence I will ask nothing
to your prejudice, but what shall some way recompense the deed.
+Pet.+ What is't? Be brief: I am in that point a courtier.
+Lio.+ Usurp, then, on the proffer'd means;
Show yourself forward in an action
May speak you noble, and make me your friend.
+Pet.+ A friend! what's that? I know no such thing.
+Lio.+ A faithful, not a ceremonious friend;
But one that will stick by you on occasions,
And vindicate your credit, were it sunk
Below all scorn, and interpose his life
Betwixt you and all dangers: such a friend
That, when he sees you carried by your passions
Headlong into destruction, will so follow you
That he will guide you from't, and with good counsel
Redeem you from ill courses; and, not flattering
Your idle humour to a vain expense,
Cares not to see you perish, so he may
Sustain himself awhile, and raise a fortune,
Though mean, out of your ruins, and then laugh at you.
+Pet.+ Why, be there any such friends as these?
+Lio.+ A world:
They walk like spirits, not to be discern'd;
Subtle and soft like air; have oily balm
Swimming o'er their words and actions;
But below it a flood of gall.
+Pet.+ Well, to the purpose: speak to the purpose.
+Lio.+ If I stand link'd unto you,
The Gordian knot was less dissoluble,
A rock less firm, or centre movable.
+Pet.+ Speak your demand.
+Lio.+ Do it, and do it freely, then; lend me a hundred ducats.
+Pet.+ How is that? lend you a hundred ducats! Not a ---- I'll
never have a friend while I breathe first: no, I'll stand upon
my guard; I give all the world leave to whet their wits against
me, work like moles to undermine me, yet I'll spurn all their
deceits like a hillock. I tell thee I'll not buy the small
repentance of a friend or whore at the rate of a livre.
+Lio.+ What's this? I dare not
Trust my own ears, silence choke up my anger.
A friend and whore! are they two parallels,
Or to be nam'd together? May he never
Have better friend that knows no better how
To value them. Well, I was ever jealous[302]
Of his baseness, and now my fears are ended.
Pox o' these travels! they do but corrupt
A good nature, and his was bad enough before.
_Enter +Angelia+._
+Pet.+ What pretty sparkle of humanity have we here? Whose
attendant are you, my little knave?
+Ang.+ I wait, sir, on Master Lionel.
+Lio.+ 'Tis well you are come. What says the gentleman?
+Ang.+ I delivered your letter to him. He is very sorry he can
furnish you no better; he has sent you twenty crowns, he says,
towards the large debt he owes you.
+Pet.+ A fine child! and delivers his tale with good method.
Where, in the name of Ganymede, had'st thou this epitome of a
servitor?
+Lio.+ You'd little think of what consequence and pregnancy
this imp is: you may hereafter have both cause to know and love
him. What gentlemen are these?
_Enter +Gasparo+ and +Lorenzo+._
+Pet.+ One is my father.
+Lor.+ I hear your son, sir, is return'd from travel,
Grown up a fine and stately gentleman,
Outstrips his compeers in each liberal science.
+Gas.+ I thank my stars he has improv'd his time
To the best use, can render an account
Of all his journey; how he has arriv'd,
Through strange discoveries and compendious ways,
To a most perfect knowledge of himself;
Can give a model of each prince's court,
And is become their pheer.[303] He has a mind
Equally pois'd, and virtue without sadness;
Hunts not for fame through an ill path of life;
But is indeed, for all parts, so accomplish'd
As I could wish or frame him.
+Lor.+ These are joys,
In their relation to you, so transcendant,
As than yourself I know no man more happy.
May I not see your son?
+Gas.+ See where he stands,
Accompanied with young Lionel, the nephew
To Veterano the great antiquary.
+Lor.+[304] I'll be bold, by your favour, to endear
Myself in his acquaintance. Noble Petrucio,
Darling of Venus, minion of the Graces,
Let me adopt me heir unto your love:
That is, yours by descent, and which your father,
A grave wise man, and a magnifico,
Has not disdain'd.
+Pet.+ I am much bound to you for it.
+Lor.+ Is that all?
+Pet.+ See the abundant ignorance of this age! he cites my
father for a precedent. Alas! he is a good old man, and no
more; there he stands, he has not been abroad, nor known the
world; therefore, I hope, will not be so foolishly peremptory
to compare with me for judgment, that have travelled, seen
fashions, and been a man of intelligence.
+Lor.+ Signior, your ear; pray, let's counsel you.
+Pet.+ Counsel me! the like trespass again; sure, the old man
doats! Who counselled me abroad, when I had none but mine
own natural wisdom for my protection? Yet I dare say I met
with more perils, more variety of allurements, more Circes,
more Calypsos, and the like, than e'er were feigned[305] upon
Ulysses.
+Lor.+ It show'd great wisdom that you could avoid them.
Give o'er, and tempt your destiny no further;
'Tis time now to retire unto yourself:
Settle your mind upon some worthy beauty;
A wife will tame all wild affections.
I have a daughter who, for youth and beauty,
Might be desir'd, were she ignobly born;
And for her dowry, that shall no way part you.
If you accept her, here, before your friends,
I will betroth her to you.
+Pet.+ I thank you, sir, you'd have me marry your daughter; is
it so?
+Lor.+ With your good liking, not otherwise.
+Pet.+ You nourish too great an ambition. What do you see in
me to make such a motion? No, be wise, and keep her; were I
married to her, I should not like her above a month at most.
+Lor.+ How! not above a month?
+Pet.+ I'll tell you, sir, I have made an experience that way
on my nature: when I have hired a creature for my pleasure,
as 'tis the fashion in many places, for the like time that I
told you of, I have been so tired with her before 'twas out,
as no horse like me; I could not spur my affection to go a jot
further.
+Gas.+ Well said, boy! thou art e'en mine own son; when I was
young, 'twas just my humour.
+Lio.+ You give yourself a plausible commends.
+Pet.+ I can make a shift to love: but, having enjoyed,
fruition kills my appetite: no, I must have several objects of
beauty to keep my thoughts always in action, or I am nobody.
+Gas.+ Still mine own flesh and blood?
+Pet.+ Therefore I have chose honour for my mistress, upon
whose wings I will mount up to the heavens; where I will fix
myself a constellation, for all this under-world of mortals to
wonder at me.
+Gas.+ Nay, he is a mad wag, I assure you, and knows how to put
a price upon his desert.
+Pet.+ I can no longer stay to dilate on these vanities;
therefore, gallants, I leave you. [_Exit._
+Lor.+ What, is he gone? Is your son gone?
+Gas.+ So it seems. Well, gallants, where shall I see you anon?
+Lor.+ You shall not part with us.
+Gas.+ You shall pardon me; I must wait upon my son. [_Exit._
+Lor.+ Do you hear, signior? A pretty preferment!
+Lio.+ O sir, the lustre of good clothes or breeding,
Bestow'd upon a son, will make a rustic
Or a mechanic father to commit
Idolatry, and adore his own issue.
+Ang.+ They are so well match'd, 'twere pity to part them.
+Lor.+ Well said, little one,
I think thou art wiser than both of them.
But this same scorn I do not so well relish;
A whoreson humorous fantastic novice,
To contemn my daughter! He is not worthy
To bear up her train.
+Lio.+ Or kiss under it.
Will you revenge this injury upon him?
+Lor.+ Revenge! Of all the passions of my blood,
'Tis the most sweet. I should grow fat to think on't,
Could you but promise.
+Lio.+ Will you have patience?
Be rul'd by me, and I will compass it
To your full wish. We'll set a bait afore him,
That he shall seize as sharply as Jove's eagle
Did snatch up Ganymede.
+Lor.+ Do but cast the plot,
I'll prosecute it with as much disgrace
As hatred can suggest.
+Lio.+ Do you see this page, then?
+Lor.+ Ay, what of him?
+Lio.+ That face of his shall do it.
+Lor.+ What shall it do? Methinks he has a pretty innocent
countenance.
+Lio.+ O, but beware of a smooth look at all times.
Observe what I say: he is a syren above,
But below a very serpent. No female scorpion
Did ever carry such a sting, believe it.
+Lor.+ What should I do with him?
+Lio.+ Take him to your house,
There keep him privately, till I make all perfect.
If ever alchemist did more rejoice
In his projection, never credit me.
+Lor.+ You shall prevail upon my faith beyond
My understanding: and, my dapper squire,
If you be such a precious wag, I'll cherish you.
Come, walk along with me. Farewell, sir.
+Lio.+ Adieu. [_Exeunt +Lorenzo+ and +Angelia+._
Now I must travel on a new exploit
To an old antiquary; he is my uncle,
And I his heir. Would I could raise a fortune
Out of his ruins! He is grown obsolete,
And 'tis time he were out of date. They say he sits
All day in contemplation of a statue
With ne'er a nose, and doats on the decays
With greater love than the self-lov'd Narcissus
Did on his beauty. How shall I approach him?
Could I appear but like a Sibyl's son,
Or with a face rugged as father Nilus
Is pictured on the hangings, there were hope
He might look on me. How to win his love
I know not. If I wist he were not precise,
I'd lay to purchase some stale interludes,
And give him them; books that have not attain'd
To the Platonic year, but wait their course
And happy hour, to be reviv'd again:
Then would I induce him to believe they were
Some of Terence's hundred and fifty comedies,
That were lost in the Adriatic sea,
When he return'd from banishment. Some such
Gullery as this might be enforced upon him.
I'll first talk with his man, and then consider. [_Exit._
_Enter +Lorenzo+, +Gasparo+, +Mocinigo+, and
+Angelia+._
+Lor.+ How happ'd you did return again so soon, sir?
+Gas.+ I'll tell you, sir. As I follow'd my son
From the Rialto, near unto the bridge,
We were encounter'd by a sort[306] of gallants,
Sons of clarissimos and procurators,
That knew him in his travels: whereupon
He did insinuate with his eyes unto me,
I should depart and leave them.
+Lor.+ Seems he was asham'd of your company?
+Gas.+ Like will to like, sir.
+Lor.+ What grave and youthful gentleman's that with you?
+Gas.+ Do you not know him?
+Lor.+ No.
+Gas.+ Not Signior Mocinigo?
+Lor.+ You jest, I am sure.
+Gas.+ Ay, and there hangs a jest:
For, going to a courtesan this morning
In his own proper colour, his grey beard,
He had the ill-luck to be refus'd; on which
He went and dy'd it, and came back again;
And was again with the same scorn rejected,
Telling him that she had newly deni'd his
father.
+Lor.+ Was that her answer?
+Gas.+ It has so troubled him,
That he intends to marry. What think you, sir,
Of his resolution?
+Lor.+ By'r Lady, it shows
Great haughtiness of courage; a man of his years,
That dares to venture on a wife.
+Moc.+ A man of my years! I feel
My limbs as able as the best of them;
And in all places else, except my hair,
As green as a bay-tree: and for the whiteness
Upon my head, although it now lie hid,
What does it signify, but like a tree that blossoms,
Before the fruit come forth? And, I hope, a tree
That blossoms is neither dry nor wither'd.
+Lor.+ But pray, what piece of beauty's that you mean
To make the object of your love?
+Moc.+ Ay, there
You pose me; for I have a curious eye,
And am as choice in that point to be pleased
As the most youthful. Here, one's beauty takes me;
And there, her parentage and good behaviour;
Another's wealth or wit; but I'd have one
Where all these graces meet, as in a centre.
+Gas.+ You are too ambitious. You'll hardly find
Woman or beast that trots sound of all four:
There will be some defect.
+Moc.+ Yet this I resolve on,
To have a maid tender of age and fair.
Old fish and young flesh, that's still my diet.[307]
+Lor.+ What think you of a widow?
+Moc.+ By no means:
They are too politic a generation;
Prov'd so by similes. Many voyages
Make an experienc'd seaman; many offices
A crafty knave; so many marriages
A subtle, cunning widow. No, I'll have one
That I may mould, like wax, unto my humour.
+Lor.+ This doating ass is worth at least a million;
And, though he cannot propagate his stock,
Will be sure to multiply. I'll offer him my daughter.
By computation of age he cannot
Live past ten years; by that time she'll get strength
To break this rotten hedge of matrimony
And after have a fair green field to walk in,
And wanton, where she please. [_Aside._] Signior, a word:
And by this guess my love. I have a daughter
Of beauty fresh, of her demeanour gentle,
And of a sober wisdom: you know my estate.
If you can fancy her, seek no further.
+Moc.+ Thank you, signior: pray, of what age
Is your daughter?
+Lor.+ But sixteen at the most.
+Moc.+ But sixteen! Is she no more? She is too young, then.
+Gas.+ You wish'd for a young one, did you not?
+Moc.+ Not that I would have her in years.
+Gas.+ I warrant you!
+Moc.+ Well, mark what I say: when I come to her,
She'll ne'er be able to endure me.
+Lor.+ I'll trust her.
+Gas.+ I think your choice, sir, cannot be amended,
She is so virtuous and so amiable.
+Moc.+ Is she so fair and amiable? I'll have her.
She may grow up to what she wants; and then
I shall enjoy such pleasure and delight,
Such infinite content in her embraces,
I may contend with love for happiness!
Yet one thing troubles me.
+Gas.+ What's that?
+Moc.+ I shall live so well on earth,
I ne'er shall think of any other joys.
+Gas.+ I wish all joy to you; but 'tis in th' power
Of fate to work a miracle upon you.
You may obtain the grace, with other men,
To repent your bargain before you have well seal'd it.
+Lor.+ Or she may prove his purgatory, and send him
To heaven the sooner.
+Gas.+ Suchlike effects as these
Are not unheard of in nature.
+Moc.+ For all these scruples,
I am resolv'd. Bring me, that I may see her;
Young handsome ladies are like prizes at a horse-race, where
Every well-breath'd gentleman may put in for his share. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Duke+ and +Leonardo+._
+Leo.+ But are you resolved of this course, sir?
+Duke.+ Yes; we'll be once mad in our days, and do an exploit
for posterity to talk of. Will you join with me?
+Leo.+ I am at your grace's disposing.
+Duke.+ No grace, nor no respect, I beseech you, more than
ordinary friendship allows of: 'tis the only bar to hinder our
designs.
+Leo.+ Then, sir, what fashion you are pleased to appoint me, I
will be glad to put on.
+Duke.+ 'Tis well. For my part, I am determined to lay by all
ensigns of my royalty for awhile, and walk abroad under a
mean coverture. Variety does well; and 'tis as great delight
sometimes to shroud one's head under a coarse roof as a rich
canopy of gold.
+Leo.+ But what's your intent in this?
+Duke.+ I have a longing desire to see the fashions of the
vulgar, which, should I affect in mine own person, I might
divert them from their humours. The face of greatness would
affright them, as Cato did the Floralia[308] from the theatre.
+Leo.+ Indeed familiarity begets boldness.
+Duke.+ 'Tis true, indulgency and flattery take away the
benefit of experience from princes, which ennobles the fortunes
of private men.
+Leo.+ But you are a duke, sir; and this descent from your
honour will undervalue you.
+Duke.+ Not a whit. I am so toiled out with grand affairs
and despatching of embassages, that I am ready to sink under
the burden. Why may not an Atlas of state, such as myself,
that bears up the weight of a commonwealth, now and then, for
recreation's sake, be glad to ease his shoulders? Has not
Jupiter thrown away his rays and his thunder to walk among
mortals? Does not Apollo suffer himself to be deprived of his
quiver, that he may waken up his muse sometimes, and sing to
his harp.
+Leo.+ Nay, sir, to come to a more familiar example: I have
heard of a nobleman that has been drunk with a tinker, and of a
magnifico that has played at blow-point.[309]
+Duke.+ Very good; then take our degrees alike, and the act's
as pardonable.
+Leo.+ In a humour, sir, a man may do much. But how will you
prevent their discovery of you?
+Duke.+ Very well; the alteration of our clothes will abolish
suspicion.
+Leo.+ And how for our faces?
+Duke.+ They shall pass without any seal of disguise. Who ne'er
were thought on, will ne'er be mistrusted.
+Leo.+ Come what will, greatness can justify any action
whatsoever, and make it thought wisdom; but if we do walk
undiscerned, 'twill be the better. It tickles me to think what
a mass of delight we shall possess in being, as 'twere, the
invisible spectators of their strange behaviours. I heard, sir,
of an antiquary who, if he be as good at wine as at history, he
is sure an excellent companion: and of one Petrucio, who plays
the eagle in the clouds: and indeed divers others, who verify
the proverb, _So many men, so many humours._
+Duke.+ All these we'll visit in order: but how we shall comply
with them, 'tis as occasion shall be offered; we will not now
be so serious to consider.
+Leo.+ Well, sir, I must trust to your wit to manage it. Lead
on; I attend you. [_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[299] Mr Samuel Gale told Dr Ducarel that this comedy was acted
two nights in 1718, immediately after the revival of the Society
of Antiquaries, and that therein had been introduced a ticket of a
turnpike (then new), which was called a _Tessera_.--_Nott._
[300] _Motion_ is a _puppet_. In Ben Jonson's "Every Man out of
his Humour," act iv. sc. 5, Captain Pod, the celebrated owner of a
puppet-show, and his _motion_, are mentioned.
Again, in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Rule a Wife and have a Wife," act
ii.--
"If he be that _motion_ that you tell me of,
And make no more noise, I shall entertain him."
In "The Queen of Corinth," by the same, act i. sc. 3--
"Good friends, for half an hour remove your _motion_;"
and in Dekker's "Villanies Discovered by Lanthorne and Candle-light,"
1620, ch. iv.: "This labour being taken, the master of the _motion_
hearkens where such a nobleman, &c. The _motion_ is presented before
him."
[301] A _statist_ is a _statesman_. So in Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's
Revels," act ii. sc. 3: "Next is your _statist's_ face, a serious,
solemn, and supercilious face, full of formal and square gravity."
And in "The Magnetick Lady," by the same, act i. sc. 7--
"He
Will screw you out a secret from a _statist_."
[302] [Suspicious.]
[303] [Old copy, _fear_. _Feer_ or _pheer_ is a companion or friend.]
[304] This speech seems more properly to belong to Lorenzo, to whom
Gasparo has just pointed out his son standing with Lionel.--_Collier._
[It is given to Lorenzo in a copy of the original edition before
me.--_H._]
[305] [Query, should we read _foined_, thrust, as the speaker rather
speaks of the adventures of Ulysses as a reality than a myth.]
[306] A company.
[307] This is taken from Chaucer--
"But one thing warn I you, my frendis dere,
I woll no old wife have in no manere.
She shall not passin sixtene yere certeine,
_Old fish, and yong flesh woll I have full faine_."
--"Merchant's Tale," l. 930. Which Mr Pope hath modernised in the
following manner--
"One caution yet is needful to be told,
To guide our choice; This wife must not be old:
There goes a saying, and 'twas shrewdly said,
_Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed_."
--"January and May," l. 99.
"For sondry scholis maketh sotill clarkis,
Woman of many scholis half a clark is:
But certainly a yong thing may men gye,
Right as men may warm wax with hondis plie."
--"Merchant's Tale," l. 943.
"No crafty widow shall approach my bed;
Those are too wise for batchelors to wed.
As subtle clerks by many schools are made,
Twice-married dames are mistresses o' th' trade;
But young and tender virgins, rul'd with ease,
We form like wax, and mould them as we please."
--"January and May," l. 106.
[308] The Floralia or feast of Flora, Goddess of Flowers, were
celebrated with public sports on the 5th of the Kalends of May.
The chief part of the "solemnity was managed by a company of lewd
strumpets, who ran up and down naked, sometimes dancing, sometimes
fighting, or acting the mimic. However it came to pass, the wisest and
gravest Romans were not for discontinuing this custom, though the most
indecent imaginable: for Portius Cato, when he was present at these
games, and saw the people ashamed to let the women strip while he was
there, immediately went out of the theatre to let the ceremony have its
course."--Kennet's "Roman Antiquities," p. 297.
[309] So in "The Return from Parnassus," act iii. sc. 1: "My mistress
upon good days puts on a piece of a parsonage; and we pages _play at
blow-point_ for a piece of a parsonage."
And in Donne ("Poems," 1719, p. 119)--
"Shortly, boys shall not _play_
At span-counter, or _blow-point_, but shall pay
Toll to some courtier."
ACT II., SCENE I.
_Enter +Aurelio+ and +Musicians+._
+Aur.+ This is the window. Now, my noble Orpheus,
As thou affect'st the name of rarity,
Strike with the soul of music, that the sound
May bear my love on his bedewed wing,
To charm her ear: as when a sacrifice
With his perfumed steam flies up to heaven
Into Jove's nostrils, and there throws a mist
On his enraged brow. O, how my fancy
Labours with the success! [_Song above._
_Enter +Lucretia+._
+Luc.+ Cease your fool's note there; I am not in tune
To dance after your fiddle. Who are you?
What saucy groom, that dares so near intrude,
And with offensive noise grate on my ears?
+Aur.+ What more than earthly light breaks through that window?
Brighter than all the glittering train of nymphs
That wait on Cynthia, when she takes her progress
In pursuit of the swift enchased deer
Over the Cretan or Athenian hills;
Or when, attended with those lesser stars,
She treads the azure circle of the heavens.
+Luc.+ Heyday, this is excellent! What voice is that?
O, is it you? I cry you mercy, sir:
I thought as much; these are your tricks still with me:
You have been sotting on't all night with wine,
And here you come to finish out your revels.
I shall be, one day, able to live private,
I shall, and not be made the epilogue
Of all your drunken meetings. For shame, away!
The rosy morning blushes at thy baseness.
Julia, go throw the music a reward,
And set them hence.
+Aur.+ Divine Lucretia,
Do not receive with scorn my proffer'd service:
O, turn again, though from your arched brow,
Stung with disdain, and bent down to your eyen,
You shoot me through with darts of cruelty.
Ah, foolish man, to court the flame that burns him!
+Luc.+ What would this fellow have?
+Aur.+ Shine still, fair mistress;
And though in silence, yet still look upon me.
Your eye discourses[310] with more rhetoric
Than all the gilded tongues of orators.
+Luc.+ Out of my pity, not my love, I'll answer.
You come to woo me, and speak fair; 'tis well.
You think to win me too: you are deceiv'd.
For when I hate a person, all his actions,
Though ne'er so good, prove but his prejudice:
For flatteries are like sweet pills--though sweet,
Yet if they work not straight, invert to poison.
+Aur.+ Why do you hate me, lady? Was there ever
Woman so cruel to hate him that lov'd her?
O, do not so degenerate from nature,
Which form'd you of a temper soft as silk;
And to the sweet composure of your body
Took not a drop of gall or corrupt humour!
But all your blood was clear and purified.
Then, as your limbs are fair, so be your mind:
Cast not a scandal on her curious hand,
To say she made that crooked or uneven;
For virtue is the best, which is deriv'd
From a sweet feature. Women crown their youth
With the chaste ornaments of love and truth.
+Luc.+ This is a language you are studied in,
And you have spoke it to a thousand.
+Aur.+ Never, never to any; for my soul is cut so
To the proportion of what you are,
That all the other beauty in the world
That is not found within your face, seems vile.
O, that I were a veil upon that face,[311]
To hide it from the world! methinks I could
Envy the very sun for gazing on you!
+Luc.+ I wonder that a fellow of no worth
Should talk thus liberally: be so impudent,
After so many slightings and abuses
Extorted from me beyond modesty,
To press upon me still. Have not I told you
My mind in words, plain to be understood,
How much I hate you? Can I not enjoy
The freedom of my chamber, but you must
Stand in my prospect? If you please, I will
Resign up all, and leave you possession.
What can I suffer or expect more grievous
From the enforcement of an enemy?
+Aur.+ Do not insult upon my sufferings.
I had well hop'd I should receive some comfort
From the sweet influence of your words or looks;
But now must fly, and vanish like a cloud,
Chas'd with the wind into the colder regions,
Where sad despair sits ever languishing;
There will I calculate my injuries,
Summ'd up with my deserts: then shall I find
How you are wanting to all good and pity,
And that you do but juggle with our sense;
That you appear gentle and smooth as water
When no wind breathes on it, but indeed
Are far more hard than rocks of adamant:
That you are more inconstant than your mistress,
Fortune, that guides you; that your promises
Are all deceitful; and that wanton Love,
Whom former ages, flattering their vice,
And to procure more freedom for their sin,
Have term'd a god, laughs at your perjuries.
+Luc.+ You will do this? Why, do so. Ease your mind,
So I be free from you. There's no such torment
As to be troubled with an insolent lover
That will receive no answer: bonds and fetters,
Perpetual imprisonment, are not like it:
'Tis worse than to be seiz'd on with a fever,
A continual surfeit. For heaven's sake leave me,
And let me hear no more of you.
+Aur.+ Is this the best reward for all my hopes,
The dear expenses of [my] youth and service,
Spent in the execution of your follies?
When not a day or hour but witness'd with me
With what great study and affected care,
More than of fame or honour, I invented
New ways to fit your humour; what observance,
As if you were the arbitress of courtship,
I sought to please you with: laid out for fashions,
And bought them for you; feasted you with banquets;
Read you asleep i' th' afternoon with pamphlets;
Sent you elixirs and preservatives,
Paintings and powders, that would have restor'd
Old Niobe to youth. The beauty you pretend to,
Is all my gift. Besides, I was so simple
To wear your foolish colours,[312] cry your wit up,
And judgment, when you had none, and swore to it;
Drank to your health whole nights in hippocras[313]
Upon my knees with more religion
Then e'er I said my prayers: which Heaven forgive me!
+Luc.+ Are these such miracles? 'Twas but your duty,
The tributary homage all men owe
Unto our sex. Should we enjoin you travel,
Or send you on an errand into France
Only to fetch a basket of musk-melons,
It were a favour for you. Put the case
That I were Hero, and you were Leander:
If I should bid you swim the Hellespont,
Only to know my mind, methinks you might
Be proud of the employment. Were you a Puritan,
Did I command you wait me to a play;
Or to the church, though you had no religion,
You might not question it.
+Aur.+ Pretty, very pretty!
+Luc.+ And then, because I am familiar,
And deign out of my nobleness and bounty
To grace your weak endeavours with the title
Of courtesy, to wave my fan at you,
Or let you kiss my hand, must we straight marry?
I may esteem you in the rank of servants,
To cast off when I please, ne'er for a husband.
+Aur.+ If ever devil damn'd in a woman's tongue,
'Tis in thine. I am glad yet you tell me this;
I might have else proceeded, and gone on
In the lewd[314] way of loving you, and so
Have wander'd farther from myself: but now
I'll study to be wiser, and henceforth
Hate the whole gang of you; denounce a war,
Ne'er to be reconcil'd, and rejoice in it;
And count myself bless'd for't; and wish all men
May do the like to shun you. For my part,
If, when my brains are troubled with late drinking
(I shall have else the grace, sure, to forget you),
Then but my labouring fancy dream of you,
I'll start, affrighted at the vision.
+Luc.+ 'Las! how pitifully it takes it to heart!
It would be angry too, if it knew how.
+Aur.+ Come near me none of you: if I hear
The sound of your approach, I'll stop my ears;
Nay, I'll be angry, if I shall imagine
That any of you think of me: and, for thy sake,
If I but see the picture of a woman,
I'll hide my face and break it. So farewell. [_Exit +Lucretia+._
_Enter +Lorenzo+, +Mocinigo+, and +Angelia+._
+Lor.+ What are you, friend, and what's your business?
+Aur.+ Whate'er it be, now 'tis despatch'd.
+Lor.+ This is rudeness.
+Aur.+ The fitter for the place and persons then.
+Lor.+ How's that?
+Aur.+ You are a nest of savages: the house
Is more inhospitable than the quicksands:
Your daughter sits on that enchanted bay
Like a siren[315] to entice passengers,
Who, viewing her through a false perspective,
Neglect the better traffic of their life;
But yet, the more they labour to come near her,
The further she flies back; until at last,
When she has brought them to some rock or shelf,
She proudly looks down on the wreck of lovers.
+Lor.+ Why, who has injur'd you?
+Aur.+ No matter who:
I'll first talk with a sphinx, ere [I'll] converse with you.
+Lor.+ A word. Expound your wrongs more to the full,
If you expect a remedy.
+Aur.+ I'll rather
Seek out diseases, choose my death and pine,
Than stay to be cur'd by you. [_Exit._
_Enter +Æmilia+ and +Lucretia+._
+Lor.+ If you be so obstinate,
Take your course. Why, wife Æmilia,
Daughter Lucretia, what's the matter here
With this same fellow? Do you owe him money?
+Luc.+ Owe him money, sir! Does he look like one
That should lend money? He is a gentleman,
And they seldom credit anybody.
+Lor.+ Well, wife,
Where was your matron's wisdom, that should keep
A vigilant care upon your house and daughter,
And not have suffer'd her to be surpris'd
With every loose aspèct and gazing eye
That suck in hot and lustful motions?
You were best turn bawd, and prostitute her beauty.
+Æmi.+ You were best turn an old ass,
And meddle with your bonds and brokage.
+Lor.+ What was his business?
+Luc.+ To tell you true, sir, he is one of those,
Whom love and fortune have conspir'd to fool,
And make the subject of a woman's will.
His idle brain, being void of better reason,
Is fill'd with toys and humours; and, for want
Of other exercise, he takes great pains
For the expressing of his folly: sometimes
With starts and sighs, hung head, and folded arms,
Sonnets and pitiful tunes; forgetting
All due respect unto himself and friends
With doating on a mistress: she again
As little pitying him, whose every frown
Strikes him as dead as fate, and makes him walk
The living monument of his own sorrow.
+Lor.+ I apprehend he came a-wooing to thee.
'Tis so, and thou didst scorn him, girl: 'twas well done.
I'll ease thee of that care: see, I have brought
A husband to thy hand. Look on him well;
A worthy man, and a clarissimo.
+Luc.+ A husband, said you? Now Venus be propitious!
He looks more like the remedy of love,
A julip to cool it. She that could take fire
At such a dull flame as his eyes, I should
Believe her more than touchwood! [_Aside._
+Moc.+ A ravishing creature!
If her condition answer but her feature,
I am fitted. Her form answers my affection;
It arrides[316] me exceedingly. I'll speak to her. [_Aside._
Fair mistress, what your father has propos'd
In the fair way of contract, I stand ready
To ratify; and let me not seem less
In your esteem, because I am so easy
In my consent. Women love out of fancy,
Men from advice.
+Luc.+ You do not mean in earnest?
Now Cupid deliver me!
+Moc.+ How, not in earnest!
As I am strong and mighty in desires,
You wrong me to question it.
+Luc.+ Good sir, consider
The infinite distance that is between us
In age and manners.
+Moc.+ No distance at all:
My age is youthful, and your youth is aged.
+Luc.+ But you are wise, and will you sell your freedom
Unto a female tyranny, in despair
E'er to be quit? You run a strange adventure,
Without perceiving what a certain hazard
A creature of my inclination
Is apt to draw you to.
+Moc.+ I cannot think it.
+Luc.+ 'Tis strange you'll not believe me, unless I lay
My imperfection open. I have a nature
Ambitious beyond thought, quite giv'n over
To entertainments and expense: no bravery
That's fashionable can escape me; and then,
Unless you are of a most settled temper,
Quite without passion, I shall make you
Horn-mad with jealousy.
+Moc.+ Come, come, I know
Thou'rt virtuous, and speakest this but to try me.
You will not be so adverse to your fortune
And all obedience, to contradict
What your father has set down.
+Luc.+ These are my faults
I cannot help, if you'll be so good
As to dispense with them.
+Moc.+ With all my heart. I forgive thee before thou offend'st.
+Luc.+ Then I am mighty stubborn and self-will'd,
And shall sometimes e'en long to abuse you:
And for my tongue, 'tis like a stone thrown down,
Of an impetuous motion, not to be still'd.
+Moc.+ All these cannot dismay me; for, considering
How they are passions proper to your sex,
In a degree they are virtues.
+Luc.+ O my fate!
He will not be terrified. Then, not to feed you
With further hopes, or pump for more excuses,
Take it in brief, though I am loth to speak,
But you compel me to it--I cannot love you.
+Lor.+ How do you speed, sir? Is she tractable?
Do you approve of her replies?
+Moc.+ I know not;
Guess you: she said she cannot love me; and 'tis
The least thing I should have mistrusted; I durst
Have sworn she would ne'er have made scruple on't.
+Lor.+ Not love you! Come, she must and shall.
Do you hear, housewife?
No more of this, as you affect my friendship.
What, shall I bring here a right worshipful prætor
Unto my house, in hope you'll be rul'd,
And you prove recreant to my commands?
But, my vex'd soul, thou hast done a deed were able,
In the mere questioning of what I bid,
Were not I a pious and indulgent father,
To thrust thee, as a stranger, from my blood.
+Moc.+ Be not too rash, sir: women are not won
With force, but fair entreaty. Have I been vers'd
Thus long i' th' school of love; know all their arts,
Their practices, their ways, and subtleties,
In all my encounters still return'd a victor,
And have not left a stratagem at last
To work on her affection, let me suffer.
+Lor.+ Nay, and you have that confidence, I'll leave you.
+Moc.+ Lady, a word in private with you. [_Whisper._
+Æmi.+ Pray, sweetheart,
What pretty youth is that?
+Lor.+ Who, this same chicken?
He is the son of a great nobleman,
And my especial friend. His father's gone
Into the country to survey his lands,
And let new leases, and left him in charge
With me till his return.
+Æmi.+ Now, as I live,
'Tis a well-favour'd lad, and his years promise
He should have an ability to do,
And wit to conceal. When I take him single,
I'll try his disposition. [_Aside._
+Moc.+ This, for your sake,
I'll undertake and execute.
+Luc.+ For my sake!
You shall not draw me to the fellowship
Of such a sin.
+Moc.+ I know 'tis pleasing to thee,
And therefore am resolv'd.
+Luc.+ I may prevent you.
+Lor.+ What, are you resolv'd?
+Moc.+ We are e'en at a point, sir.
+Lor.+ What's more to be done, let's in and consider. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Antiquary+ and +Petro+._
+Ant.+ Well, sirrah! but that I have brought you up, I would
cashier you for these reproofs.
+Pet.+ Good sir, consider, 'tis no benefit to me: he is your
nephew that I speak for, and 'tis charity to relieve him.
+Ant.+ He is a young knave, and that's crime enough; and he
were old in anything, though 'twere in iniquity, there were
some reverence to be had of him.
+Pet.+ Why, sir, though he be a young knave, as you term him,
yet he is your kinsman, and in distress too.
+Ant.+ Why, sir, and you know again, that 'tis an old custom
(which thing I will no way transgress) for a rich man not to
look upon any as his kinsman in distress.
+Pet.+ 'Tis an ill custom, sir, and 'twere good 'twere repealed.
+Ant.+ I have something else to look after. Have you disposed
of those relics, as I bad you?
+Pet.+ Yes, sir.
+Ant.+ Well, thou dost not know the estimation of what thou
hast in keeping. The whole Indies, seeing they are but newly
discovered, are not to be valued with them: the very dust that
cleaves to one of those monuments is more worth than the ore of
twenty mines!
+Pet.+ Yet, by your favour, sir, of what use can they be to you?
+Ant.+ What use! Did not the Signiory build a state-chamber for
antiquities? and 'tis the best thing that e'er they did: they
are the registers, the chronicles, of the age they were made
in, and speak the truth of history better than a hundred of
your printed commentaries.
+Pet.+ Yet few are of your belief.
+Ant.+ There's a box of coins within, most of them brass, yet
each of them a jewel, miraculously preserved in spite of time
or envy; and are of that rarity and excellence that saints may
go a pilgrimage to them, and not be ashamed.
+Pet.+ Yet, I say still, what good can they do to you, more
than to look on?
+Ant.+ What good, thou brute! And thou wert not worth a penny,
the very showing of them were able to maintain thee. Let me see
now, and you were put to it, how you could advance your voice
in their commendation. Begin.
+Pet.+ All you gentlemen that are affected with such
rarities,[317] the world cannot produce the like, snatched
from the jaws of time, and wonderfully collected by a studious
antiquary, come near and admire.
+Ant.+ Thou say'st right: the limbs of Hippolitus were never so
dispersed.
+Pet.+ First, those twelve pictures that you see there, are the
portraitures of the Sibyls, drawn five hundred years since by
Titianus of Padua, an excellent painter and statuary.
+Ant.+ Very well.
+Pet.+ Then here is Venus all naked, and Cupid by her, on a
dolphin: both these were drawn by Apelles of Greece.
+Ant.+ Proceed.
+Pet.+ Then here is Hercules and Antæus; and that Pallas at
length in alabaster, with her helmet and feathers; and that's
Jupiter, with an eagle at his back.
+Ant.+ Exceeding well!
+Pet.+ Then there's the great silver box that Nero kept his
beard in.
+Ant.+ Good again.
+Pet.+ And after decking it with precious stones, did
consecrate it to the Capitol.
+Ant.+ That's right.
+Pet.+ And there hangs the net that held Mars and his mistress,
while the whole bench of bawdy deities stood spectators of
their sport.
+Ant.+ Admirable good!
+Pet.+ Then here is Marius to the middle,[318] and there
Cleopatra with a veil over her face; and next to her, Marcus
Antonius, the Triumvir; then he with half a nose is Corvinus,
and he with ne'er a one is Galba.
+Ant.+ Very sufficient!
+Pet.+ Then here is Vitellius, and there Titus and Vespasian:
these three were made by Jacobus Sansovinus the Florentine.
+Ant.+ 'Tis enough.
+Pet.+ Last of all, this is the urn that did contain the ashes
of the emperors.
+Ant.+ And each of these worth a king's ransom----
_Enter +Duke+ and +Leonardo+._[319]
+Duke.+ Save you, sir!
+Ant.+ You are welcome, gentlemen.
+Duke.+ I come, sir, a suitor to you. I hear you are possessed
of many various and excellent antiquities; and though I am a
stranger, I would entreat your gentleness a favour.
+Ant.+ What's that, sir?
+Duke.+ Only that you would vouchsafe me to be a spectator of
their curiosity and worth, which courtesy shall engage me yours
for ever.
+Ant.+ For their worth I will not promise: 'tis as you please
to esteem of them.
+Leo.+ No doubt, sir, we shall ascribe what dignity belongs to
them and to you their preserver.
+Ant.+ You speak nobly; and thus much let me tell you, to your
edifying: the foolish doating on these present novelties is the
cause why so many rare inventions have already perished; and
(which is pity) antiquity has not left so much as a foot-step
behind her, more than of her vices.
+Leo.+ 'Tis the more pity, sir.
+Ant.+ Then, what raises such vanities amongst us, and sets
fantastical fancies awork? What's the reason that so many
fresh tricks and new inventions of fashions and diseases come
daily over sea, and land upon a man that never durst adventure
to taste salt water, but only the neglect of those useful
instructions which antiquity has set down.
+Duke.+ You speak oracles, sir.
+Ant.+ Look farther, and tell me what you find better or more
honourable than age. Is not wisdom entailed upon it? Take the
preheminence of it in everything--in an old friend, in old
wine, in an old pedigree.
+Leo.+ All this is certain.
+Ant.+ I confess to you, gentlemen, I must reverence and prefer
the precedent times before these, which consumed their wits in
experiments: and 'twas a virtuous emulation amongst them, that
nothing which should profit posterity should perish.
+Leo.+ It argued a good fatherly providence.
+Ant.+ It did so. There was Lysippus, that spent his whole
life in the lineaments of one picture, which I will show you
anon: then was there Eudoxus the philosopher,[320] who grew
old in the top of a mountain, to contemplate astronomy; whose
manuscript I have also by me.
+Duke.+ Have you so, sir?
+Ant.+ I have that, and many more; yet see the preposterous
desires of men in these days, that account better of a mass of
gold than whatever Apelles or Phidias have invented!
+Duke.+ That is their ignorance.
+Ant.+ Well, gentlemen, because I perceive you are ingenious, I
would entreat you to walk in, where I will demonstrate all, and
proceed in my admonition. [_Exeunt._
_Enter +Aurelio+ and +Lionel+._
+Lio.+ 'Tis well, sir: I am glad you are so soon got free from
your bondage.
+Aur.+ Yes, I thank my stars, I am now my own man again; I have
slept out my drunken fit of love, and am recovered. You, that
are my friends, rejoice at my liberty.
+Lio.+ Why, was it painful to you?
+Aur.+ More tedious than a siege. I wonder what black leaf in
the book of fate has decreed that misery upon man--to be in
love; it transforms him to a worse monster than e'er Calypso's
cup did: [or] a country gentleman among courtiers, or their
wives among the ladies. A clown among citizens, nay, an ass
among apes, is not half so ridiculous as that makes us. O that
I could but come by it, how would I tear it, that never such a
witched[321] passion should arise in any human breast again.
+Lio.+ You are too violent in your hate: you should never so
fall out with a friend as to admit no hope of reconcilement.
+Aur.+ I'll first be at peace with a serpent. Mark me, if thou
hast care of thy time, thy health, thy fame, or thy wits, avoid
it.
+Lio.+ I must confess, I have been a little vain that way, yet
never so transported, but when I saw a handsomer in place, I
could leave the former and cleave to the latter. I was ever
constant to beauty.
+Aur.+ Hold thee there still, and if there be a necessity at
any time that thou must be mad, let it be a short fury, and
away: let not this paltry love hang too long upon the file; be
not deluded with delays; for if these she-creatures have once
the predominance, there shall be no way to torture thee but
they'll find it out, and inflict it without mercy: they'll work
on thy disposition, and if thou hast any good-nature, they'll
be sure to abuse thee extremely.
+Lio.+ Speak you this in earnest?
+Aur.+ I know not what you call earnest, but before I'll endure
that life again, I'll bind myself to a carrier, look out any
employment whatever, spend my hours in seeing motions and
puppet-plays, rook at bowling-alleys, mould tales, and vent
them at ordinaries, carry begging epistles, walk upon projects,
transcribe fiddlers' ditties.
+Lio.+ O monstrous!
+Aur.+ But since I have tasted the sweetness of my freedom,
thou dost not know what quickness and agility is infused into
me. I feel not that weight was wont to clog me, wherever I
went; I am all fire and spirit, as if I had been stripped of my
mortality! I hear not my thoughts whisper to me, as they were
wont--Such a man is your rival; There's an affront, call him
to an account; Redeem your mistress's favour, Present her with
such a gift, Wait her at such a place--none of these vanities.
+Lio.+ You are happy, sir.
_Enter +Duke+, +Petro+, and +Leonardo+._
+Pet.+ Come, gentles, follow me, I'll bring you to them: look
you where they are!
+Duke.+ Signior Lionel, I have traced much ground to inquire
for you.
+Lio.+ I rest engaged to you for your last night's love, sir.
+Duke.+ And I for your good company. Did you ever see such a
blind ruinous tippling-house as we made shift to find out?
+Leo.+ Ay, and the people were as wretched in it: what a mist
of tobacco flew amongst them!
+Lio.+ And what a deluge of rheum!
+Pet.+ If the house be so old as you speak of, 'twere good you
brought my master into it, and then threw't atop of him; he
would never desire to be better buried.
+Duke.+ Well said, Petro.
+Lio.+ Sir, if it be no trouble to you, I would entreat you
know my worthy friend here.
+Duke.+ You shall make me happy in any worthy acquaintance.
+Pet.+ Well, Signior Lionel, you are beholden to these
gentlemen for their good words unto your uncle for you: they
spoke in your behalf as earnestly as e'er did lawyer for his
client.
+Lio.+ And what was the issue?
+Pet.+ He is hide-bound: he will part with nothing. There is
an old rivelled purse hangs at his side, has not been loosed
these twenty years, and, I think, will so continue.
+Lio.+ Why, will his charity stretch to nothing, Petro?
+Pet.+ Yes, he has sent you something.
+Lio.+ What is't?
+Pet.+ A piece of antiquity, sir; 'tis English coin; and if you
will needs know, 'tis an old Harry groat.[322]
+Lio.+ Thank him heartily.
+Pet.+ And 'tis the first, he says, that e'er was made of them;
and, in his esteem, is worth three double ducats newly stamped.
+Lio.+ His folly may put what price he please upon it, but to
me 'tis no more than the value, Petro.
+Pet.+ He says, moreover, that it may stand you in some use and
pleasure hereafter, when you grow ancient; for it is worn so
thin with often handling, it may serve you for a spectacle.
+Lio.+ Very well.
+Duke.+ 'Twere a good deed to conspire against him; he has a
humour easy to be wrought on, and if you'll undertake him,
we'll assist you in the performance.
+Lio.+ With all my heart, gentlemen, and I thank you.
+Duke.+ Let us defer it no longer then, but instantly about it.
+Lio.+ A match! Lead on; good wit and fortune guide us.
[_Exeunt._
FOOTNOTES:
[310] So in Ben Jonson's "Every Man out of his Humour," act iii. sc. 3:
"You shall see sweet silent rhetorique and _dumb eloquence speaking in
her eye_; but when she speaks herself, such an anatomy of wit, so fine
wiz'd and arteriz'd, that 'tis the goodliest model of pleasure that
ever was to behold."
Again, in Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 2--
"She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that?
_Her eye discourses_, I will answer it."
And Pope, in his translation of the "Iliad"--
"Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs,
Silence that spoke, _and eloquence of eyes_."
The lines in the text, as well as those quoted in the note, were all
written subsequent to the publication of "The Complaint of Rosamond,"
by Samuel Daniel, whence the following stanza is extracted--
"Ah beauty, syren, faire enchaunting good,
Sweet _silent rhetorique of perswading eyes_,
_Dombe eloquence_, whose power doth move the blood,
More than the words or wisedome of the wise;
Still harmonie, whose diapason lies
Within a brow, the key which passions move,
To ravish sense, and play a world in love."
[311] Borrowed from Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 2--
"O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek;"
which, Mr Steevens observes, hath been ridiculed by Shirley in "The
School of Compliment"--
"O that I were a flea upon that lip," &c.
[312] So in "Love's Labour's Lost," [Dyce 2d edit. ii. 187]--
"And _wear_ his _colours_ like a tumbler's hoop."
See a note on this passage [in Dyce's Glossary].
[313] "A compound wine mixed with several kinds of spice."--Blount's
"Glossographia." Kneeling to drink healths was formerly the common
practice of drinkers. So in Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's Revels," act ii.
sc. 2: "He is a great proficient in all the illiberal sciences; as
cheating, drinking, swaggering, whoring, and such like; _never kneels
but to drink healths_, nor prays but for a pipe of pudding tobacco."
[314] [Foolish.]
[315] [Old copy, _A siren like._]
[316] _i.e._, Pleases me: a Latin phrase. So Cic. "Ad Att." 13, 21.
"Inhibere illud tuum quod valde _arriserat_, vehementer displicet."
[317] [Old copy, _rarities, such_.]
[318]
"Et Curios jam dimidios, nasumque minorem
Corvini, et Galbam auriculis nasoque carentem?"
--Juvenal, Sat. VIII. edit. Ald. 1535.--_Steevens._
[319] Of course they are disguised, as appears from a preceding scene,
although it is not mentioned here.--_Collier._
[320] Of Cnidus. He flourished before the coming of Christ, about 388
years. Petronius Arbiter, in his _Satyricon_, writes: _Eum quidem in
cacumine exellissimi montis consenuisse, ut astrorum cœlique motus
deprehenderet._
[321] [So the edits., and perhaps rightly, notwithstanding the fact
that the word does not occur in the glossaries. At first sight, it
would appear to be misprinted for _wicked_.]
[322] The groats coined in the reign of Henry VIII. are distinguished
by different names; as, the _old Harry groat_, the gun hole groat, the
first and second gun-stone groat, &c. The _old Harry groat_ is that
which has the head of the king, with a long face and long hair. See
Hewit's "Treatise on Moins, Coins, &c.," 1775, p. 69.
ACT III., SCENE I.