_BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER_
THE TRAGEDY OF VALENTINIAN
MONSIEUR THOMAS
THE CHANCES
THE BLOODY BROTHER
THE WILD-GOOSE CHASE
THE TEXT EDITED BY
A. R. WALLER, M.A.
[Illustration]
CAMBRIDGE:
at the University Press
1906
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE,
C.F. CLAY, MANAGER.
~London:~ FETTER LANE, E.C.
~Glasgow:~ 50, WELLINGTON STREET.
[Illustration]
~Leipzig:~ F.A. BROCKHAUS.
~New York:~ G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS.
~Bombay and Calcutta:~ MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
[_All Rights reserved._]
NOTE
A few addenda to the textual notes on _The Elder Brother_, _Wit
without Money_ and _The Faithful Shepherdess_ (Volume II), will be
found in the Appendix, before the notes to the plays contained in the
present volume. As the volume or volumes of explanatory notes on the
plays, their literary and stage history and their language, will not
appear until after the completion of the publication of the entire
text, it seemed best to give these few additions here, rather than to
wait for the appearance of those volumes.
It might be as well to mention here that differences have been found
to exist in copies of the second folio all dated 1679. In order to
check these as far as possible the text is set up from one copy of
the folio and the proofs are read word for word with two additional
copies, once by myself and once by Mrs Glover, who, since I took over
the editorship, has also been so good as to continue her collations of
a set of the quartos, as an additional check upon my own collations of
them.
A. R. WALLER.
CAMBRIDGE,
_3 September, 1906_.
THE
TRAGEDY
OF
VALENTINIAN.
Persons Represented in the Play.
Valentinian, _Emperour of_ Rome.
Æcius, _the Emperours Loyal General_.
Balbus, }
Proculus, } _4 Noble Panders, and flatterers_
Chilax, } _to the Emperour_.
Licinius, }
Maximus, _a great Souldier, Husband to_ Lucina.
Lycias, _an Eunuch_.
Pontius, _an honest Cashier'd Centurion_.
Phidias, } _two bold and faithful Eunuchs_,
Aretus, } _Servants to Æcius_.
Afranius, _an eminent Captain_.
Paulus, _a Poet_.
Licippus, _a Courtier_.
_3 Senators._
_Physicians._
_Gentlemen._
_Souldiers._
_WOMEN._
Eudoxia, _Empress, Wife to_ Valentinian.
Lucina, _the chast abused Wife of_ Maximus.
Claudia, } Lucina's _waiting Women_.
Marcellina, }
Ardelia, } _two of the Emperou[r]s_
Phorba, } _Bawds_.
* * * * *
_The Scene_ Rome.
* * * * *
The principal Actors were,
_Richard Burbadge._
_Henry Condel._
_John Lowin._
_William Ostler._
_John Underwood._
* * * * *
_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Balbus, Proculus, Chilax, Licinius.
_Bal._ I Never saw the like, she's no more stirr'd,
No more another Woman, no more alter'd
With any hopes or promises laid to her
(Let 'em be ne're so weighty, ne're so winning)
Than I am with the motion of mine own legs.
_Pro._ _Chilax_,
You are a stranger yet in these designs,
At least in _Rome_; tell me, and tell me truth,
Did you ere know in all your course of practice,
In all the wayes of Women you have run through
(For I presume you have been brought up _Chilax_,
As we to fetch and carry.)
_Chi._ True I have so.
_Pro._ Did you I say again in all this progress,
Ever discover such a piece of beauty,
Ever so rare a Creature, and no doubt
One that must know her worth too, and affect it,
I and be flatter'd, else 'tis none: and honest?
Honest against the tide of all temptations,
Honest to one man, to her Husband only,
And yet not eighteen, not of age to know
Why she is honest?
_Chi._ I confess it freely,
I never saw her fellow, nor e're shall,
For all our Grecian Dames, all I have tri'd,
(And sure I have tri'd a hundred, if I say two
I speak within my compass) all these beauties,
And all the constancy of all these faces,
Maids, Widows, Wives, of what degree or calling,
So they be Greeks, and fat, for there's my cunning,
I would undertake and not sweat for't, _Proculus_,
Were they to try again, say twice as many,
Under a thousand pound, to lay 'em bedrid;
But this Wench staggers me.
_Lyc._ Do you see these Jewels?
You would think these pretty baits; now I'le assure ye
Here's half the wealth of _Asia_.
_Bal._ These are nothing
To the full honours I propounded to her;
I bid her think, and be, and presently
What ever her ambition, what the Counsel
Of others would add to her, what her dreams
Could more enlarge, what any President
Of any Woman rising up to glory,
And standing certain there, and in the highest,
Could give her more, nay to be Empress.
_Pro._ And cold at all these offers?
_Bal._ Cold as Crystal,
Never to be thaw'd again.
_Chi._ I tri'd her further,
And so far, that I think she is no Woman,
At least as Women go now.
_Lyc._ Why what did you?
_Chi._ I offered that, that had she been but Mistris
Of as much spleen as Doves have, I had reach'd her;
A safe revenge of all that ever hates her,
The crying down for ever of all beauties
That may be thought come near her.
_Pro._ That was pretty.
_Chi._ I never knew that way fail, yet I'le tell ye
I offer'd her a gift beyond all yours,
That, that had made a Saint start, well consider'd,
The Law to be her creature, she to make it,
Her mouth to give it, every creature living
From her aspect, to draw their good or evil
Fix'd in 'em spight of Fortune; a new Nature
She should be called, and Mother of all ages,
Time should be hers, and what she did, lame vertue
Should bless to all posterities: her Air
Should give us life, her earth and water feed us.
And last, to none but to the _Emperour_,
(And then but when she pleas'd to have it so)
She should be held for mortal.
_Lyc._ And she heard you?
_Chi._ Yes, as a Sick man hears a noise, or he
That stands condemn'd his judgment, let me perish,
But if there can be vertue, if that name
Be any thing but name and empty title,
If it be so as fools have been pleas'd to feign it,
A power that can preserve us after ashes,
And make the names of men out-reckon ages,
This Woman has a God of vertue in her.
_Bal._ I would the Emperor were that God.
_Chi._ She has in her
All the contempt of glory and vain seeming
Of all the _Stoicks_, all the truth of _Christians_,
And all their Constancy: Modesty was made
When she was first intended: when she blushes
It is the holiest thing to look upon;
The purest temple of her sect, that ever
Made Nature a blest Founder.
_Pro._ Is there no way
To take this _Phenix_?
_Lyc._ None but in her ashes.
_Chi._ If she were fat, or any way inclining
To ease or pleasure, or affected glory,
Proud to be seen and worship'd, 'twere a venture;
But on my soul she is chaster than cold Camphire.
_Bal._ I think so too; for all the waies of Woman,
Like a full sail she bears against: I askt her
After my many offers walking with her,
And her as many down-denyals, how
If the Emperour grown mad with love should force her;
She pointed to a _Lucrece_, that hung by,
And with an angry look, that from her eyes
Shot Vestal fire against me, she departed.
_Pro._ This is the first wench I was ever pos'd in,
Yet I have brought young loving things together
This two and thirty years.
_Chi._ I find by this wench
The calling of a Bawd to be a strange,
A wise, and subtile calling; and for none
But staid, discreet, and understanding people:
And as the Tutor to great _Alexander_,
Would say, a young man should not dare to read
His moral books, till after five and twenty;
So must that he or she, that will be bawdy,
(I mean discreetly bawdy, and be trusted)
If they will rise, and gain experience,
Well steept in years, and discipline, begin it,
I take it 'tis no Boys play.
_Bal._ Well, what's thought of?
_Pro._ The Emperour must know it.
_Lyc._ If the woman should chance to fail too.
_Chi._ As 'tis ten to one.
_Pro._ Why what remains, but new nets for the purchase?
_Chi._ Let's go consider then: and if all fail,
This is the first quick Eele, that sav'd her tail. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ Lucina, Ardelia _and_ Phorba.
_Ardel._ You still insist upon that Idol, Honour,
Can it renew your youth, can it add wealth,
That takes off wrinkles: can it draw mens eyes,
To gaze upon you in your age? can honour,
That truly is a Saint to none but Souldiers,
And look'd into, bears no reward but danger,
Leave you the most respected person living?
Or can the common kisses of a Husband,
(Which to a sprightly Lady is a labour)
Make ye almost Immortal? ye are cozen'd,
The honour of a woman is her praises;
The way to get these, to be seen, and sought too,
And not to bury such a happy sweetness
Under a smoaky roof.
_Luci._ I'le hear no more.
_Phor._ That white, and red, and all that blessed beauty,
Kept from the eyes, that make it so, is nothing;
Then you are rarely fair, when men proclaim it;
The _Phenix_, were she never seen, were doubted;
That most unvalued Horn the Unicorn
Bears to oppose the Huntsman, were it nothing
But tale, and meer tradition, would help no man;
But when the vertue's known, the honour's doubled:
Vertue is either lame, or not at all,
And love a Sacriledge, and not a Saint,
When it bars up the way to mens Petitions.
_Ard._ Nay ye shall love your Husband too; we come not
To make a Monster of ye.
_Luc._ Are ye women?
_Ard._ You'll find us so, and women you shall thank too,
If you have grace to make your use.
_Luc._ Fye on ye.
_Phor._ Alas poor bashful Lady, by my soul,
Had ye no other vertue, but your blushes,
And I a man, I should run mad for those:
How daintily they set her off, how sweetly!
_Ard._ Come Goddess, come, you move too near the earth,
It must not be, a better Orb stayes for you:
Here: be a Maid, and take 'em.
_Luc._ Pray leave me.
_Phor._ That were a sin sweet Lady, and a way
To make us guilty of your melancholy:
You must not be alone; in conversation
Doubts are resolv'd, and what sticks near the conscience
Made easie, and allowable.
_Luc._ Ye are Devils.
_Ard._ That you may one day bless for your damnation.
_Luc._ I charge ye in the name of Chastity,
Tempt me no more; how ugly ye seem to me?
There is no wonder men defame our Sex,
And lay the vices of all ages on us,
When such as you shall bear the names of women;
If ye had eyes to see your selves, or sence
Above the base rewards ye play the bawds for:
If ever in your lives ye heard of goodness,
(Though many Regions off, as men hear Thunder)
If ever ye had Mothers, and they souls:
If ever Fathers, and not such as you are;
If ever any thing were constant in you,
Besides your sins, or coming, but your courses;
If ever any of your Ancestors
Dyed worth a noble deed, that would be cherish'd;
Soul-frighted with this black infection,
You would run from one another, to repentance,
And from your guilty eyes drop out those sins,
That made ye blind, and beasts.
_Phor._ Ye speak well, Lady;
A sign of fruitful education,
If your religious zeal had wisdom with it.
_Ard._ This Lady was ordain'd to bless the Empire,
And we may all give thanks for't.
_Phor._ I believe ye.
_Ard._ If any thing redeem the Emperour
From his wild flying courses, this is she;
She can instruct him if ye mark; she is wise too.
_Phor._ Exceeding wise, which is a wonder in her,
And so religious, that I well believe,
Though she would sin she cannot.
_Ard._ And besides,
She has the Empires cause in hand, not loves;
There lies the main consideration,
For which she is chiefly born.
_Phor._ She finds that point
Stronger than we can tell her, and believe it
I look by her means for a reformation,
And such a one, and such a rare way carried
That all the world shall wonder at.
_Ard._ 'Tis true;
I never thought the Emperor had wisdom,
Pity, or fair affection to his Country,
Till he profest this love: gods give 'em Children,
Such as her vertues merit, and his zeal.
I look to see a _Numa_ from this Lady,
Or greater than _Octavius_.
_Phor._ Do you mark too,
Which is a Noble vertue, how she blushes,
And what a flowing modesty runs through her,
When we but name the Emperour?
_Ard._ But mark it,
Yes, and admire it too, for she considers,
Though she be fair as Heaven, and vertuous
As holy truth, yet to the Emperour
She is a kind of nothing but her service,
Which she is bound to offer, and she'll do it,
And when her Countries cause commands affection,
She knows obedience is the key of vertues,
Then flye the blushes out like _Cupid's_ arrows,
And though the tye of Marriage to her Lord
Would fain cry, stay _Lucina_, yet the cause
And general wisdom of the Princes love,
Makes her find surer ends and happier,
And if the first were chaste, this is twice doubled.
_Phor._ Her tartness unto us too.
_Ard._ That's a wise one.
_Phor._ I rarely like, it shews a rising wisdom,
That chides all common fools as dare enquire
What Princes would have private.
_Ard._ What a Lady
Shall we be blest to serve?
_Luc._ Go get ye from me:
Ye are your purses Agents, not the Princes:
Is this the vertuous Lore ye train'd me out to?
Am I a woman fit to imp your vices?
But that I had a Mother, and a woman
Whose ever living fame turns all it touches,
Into the good it self is, I should now
Even doubt my self, I have been search't so near
The very soul of honour: why should you two,
That happily have been as chaste as I am,
Fairer, I think, by much, for yet your faces,
Like ancient well built piles, shew worthy ruins,
After that Angel age, turn mortal Devils?
For shame, for woman-hood, for what ye have been,
For rotten Cedars have born goodly branches,
If ye have hope of any Heaven, but Court,
Which like a Dream, you'l find hereafter vanish,
Or at the best but subject to repentance,
Study no more to be ill spoken of;
Let women live themselves, if they must fall,
Their own destruction find 'em, not your Fevours.
_Ard._ Madam, ye are so excellent in all,
And I must tell it you with admiration,
So true a joy ye have, so sweet a fear,
And when ye come to anger, 'tis so noble,
That for mine own part, I could still offend,
To hear you angry; women that want that,
And your way guided (else I count it nothing)
Are either Fools, or Cowards.
_Phor._ She were a Mistris for no private greatness,
Could she not frown a ravish'd kiss from anger,
And such an anger as this Lady learns us,
Stuck with such pleasing dangers. Gods (I ask ye)
Which of ye all could hold from?
_Luc._ I perceive ye,
Your own dark sins dwell with ye, and that price
You sell the chastity of modest wives at
Runs to diseases with your bones: I scorn ye,
And all the nets ye've pitcht to catch my vertues
Like Spiders Webs, I sweep away before me.
Go tell the Emperour, ye have met a woman,
That neither his own person, which is God-like,
The world he rules, nor what that world can purchase,
Nor all the glories subject to a _Cæsar_,
The honours that he offers for my body,
The hopes, gifts, everlasting flatteries,
Nor any thing that's his, and apt to tempt me,
No not to be the Mother of the Empire,
And Queen of all the holy fires he worships,
Can make a Whore of.
_Ard._ You mistake us Lady.
_Luc._ Yet tell him this has thus much weaken'd me,
That I have heard his Knaves, and you his Matrons,
Fit Nurses for his sins, which gods forgive me;
But ever to be leaning to his folly,
Or to be brought to love his lust, assure him,
And from her mouth, whose life shall make it certain,
I never can: I have a noble Husband,
Pray tell him that too, yet a noble name,
A Noble Family, and last a Conscience:
Thus much for your answer: For your selves,
Ye have liv'd the shame of women, dye the better. [_Exit_ Luc.
_Phor._ What's now to do?
_Ard._ Ev'n as she said, to dye,
For there's no living here, and women thus,
I am sure for us two.
_Phor._ Nothing stick upon her?
_Ard._ We have lost a mass of mony; well Dame Vertue,
Yet ye may halt if good luck serve.
_Phor._ Worms take her,
She has almost spoil'd our trade.
_Ard._ So godly;
This is ill breeding, _Phorba_.
_Phor._ If the women
Should have a longing now to see this Monster,
And she convert 'em all.
_Ard._ That may be, _Phorba_,
But if it be, I'll have the young men gelded;
Come, let's go think, she must not 'scape us thus;
There is a certain season, if we hit,
That women may be rid without a Bit. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_Enter_ Maximus, _and_ Æcius.
_Max._ I cannot blame the Nations, noble friend,
That they fall off so fast from this wild man,
When (under our Allegiance be it spoken,
And the most happy tye of our affectio[n]s)
The worlds weight groans beneath him; Where lives vertue,
Honour, discretion, wisdom? who are call'd
And chosen to the steering of the Empire
But Bawds, and singing Girls? O my _Æcius_
The glory of a Souldier, and the truth
Of men made up for goodness sake, like shells
Grow to the ragged walls for want of action;
Only your happy self, and I that love you,
Which is a larger means to me than favour.
_Æci._ No more, my worthy friend, though these be truths,
And though these truths would ask a Reformation,
At least a little squaring: yet remember,
We are but Subjects, _Maximus_; obedience
To what is done, and grief for what is ill done,
Is all we can call ours: The hearts of Princes
Are like the Temples of the gods; pure incense,
Until unhallowed hands defile those offerings,
Burns ever there; we must not put 'em out,
Because the Priests that touch those sweets, are wicked;
We dare not, dearest Friend, nay more, we cannot,
While we consider who we are, and how,
To what laws bound, much more to what Law-giver;
Whilest Majesty is made to be obeyed,
And not to be inquired into, whilst gods and angels
Make but a rule as we do, though a stricter;
Like desperate and unseason'd Fools let flye
Our killing angers, and forsake our honours.
_Max._ My noble Friend, from whose instructions
I never yet took surfeit, weigh but thus much,
Nor think I speak it with ambition,
For by the gods, I do not; why _Æcius_,
Why are we thus, or how become thus wretched?
_Æcius._ You'll fall again into your fit.
_Max._ I will not;
Or are we now no more the Sons of _Romans_,
No more the followers of their happy fortunes,
But conquer'd _Gauls_, or Quivers for the _Parthians_?
Why, is this _Emperour_, this man we honour,
This God that ought to be?
_Æcius._ You are too curious.
_Max._ Good, give me leave, why is this Author of us?
_Æcius._ I dare not hear ye speak thus.
_Max._ I'll be modest,
Thus led away, thus vainly led away,
And we Beholders? misconceive me not,
I sow no danger in my words; But wherefore,
And to what end, are we the Sons of Fathers
Famous and fast to _Rome_? why are their Vertues
Stampt in the dangers of a thousand Battels?
For goodness sake, their honours, time outdaring?
I think for our example.
_Æcius._ Ye speak nobly.
_Max._ Why are we seeds of these then, to shake hands
With Bawds and base informers, kiss discredit,
And court her like a Mistriss? 'pray, your leave yet;
You'll say the _Emperour_ is young, and apt
To take impression rather from his pleasures
Than any constant worthiness, it may be,
But why do these, the people call his pleasures,
Exceed the moderation of a man?
Nay to say justly, friend, why are they vices,
And such as shake our worths with forreign Nations?
_Æcius._ You search the sore too deep, and I must tell ye,
In any other man this had been boldness,
And so rewarded; 'pray depress your spirit,
For though I constantly believe you honest,
Ye were no friend for me else, and what now
Ye freely spake, but good you owe to th' Empire,
Yet take heed, worthy _Maximus_, all ears
Hear not with that distinction mine do, few
You'll find admonishers, but urgers of your actions,
And to the heaviest (friend;) and pray consider
We are but shadows, motions others give us,
And though our pities may become the times,
Justly our powers cannot; make me worthy
To be your friend ever in fair Allegiance,
But not in force; For durst mine own soul urge me,
(And by that Soul I speak my just affections)
To turn my hand from Truth, which is obedience,
And give the helm my Vertue holds, to Anger;
Though I had both the Blessings of the _Bruti_,
And both their instigations, though my Cause
Carried a face of Justice beyond theirs,
And as I am a servant to my fortunes,
That daring soul, that first taught disobedience,
Should feel the first example: say the Prince,
As I may well believe, seems vicious,
Who justly knows 'tis not to try our honours?
Or say he be an ill Prince, are we therefore
Fit fires to purge him? No, my dearest friend,
The Elephant is never won with anger,
Nor must that man that would reclaim a Lion,
Take him by th' teeth.
_Max._ I pray mistake me not.
_Æcius._ Our honest actions, and the light that breaks
Like morning from our service, chaste and blushing,
Is that that pulls a Prince back; then he sees,
And not till then truly repents his errours,
When Subjects Crystal Souls are glasses to him.
_Max._ My ever honour'd friend, I'll take your counsel.
The Emperour appears, I'll leave ye to him.
And as we both affect him, may he flourish. [_Exit Max._
_Enter the Emperour, and_ Chilax.
_Emp._ Is that the best news?
_Chil._ Yet the best we know, Sir.
_Emp._ Bid _Maximus_ come to me, and be gone then;
Mine own head be my helper, these are fools:
How now _Æcius_, are the Souldiers quiet?
_Æcius._ Better I hope, Sir, than they were.
_Emp._ They are pleas'd, I hear,
To censure me extreamly for my pleasures,
Shortly they'll fight against me.
_Æcius._ Gods defend, Sir.
And for their censures they are such shrew'd Judgers;
A donative of ten Sestertias
I'll undertake shall make 'em ring your praises
More than they sang your pleasures.
_Emp._ I believe thee;
Art thou in love, _Æcius_, yet?
_Æcius._ O no Sir;
I am too course for Ladies; my embraces,
That only am acquainted with Alarms,
Would break their tender Bodies.
_Emp._ Never fear it,
They are stronger than ye think, they'll hold the Hammer.
My Empress swears thou art a lusty Souldier,
A good one I believe thee.
_Æcius._ All that goodness
Is but your Graces Creature.
_Emp._ Tell me truly,
For thou dar'st tell me.
_Æcius._ Any thing concerns ye,
That's fit for me to speak and you to pardon.
_Emp._ What say the Souldiers of me, and the same words,
Mince 'em not, good _Æcius_, but deliver
The very forms and tongues they talk withal.
_Æcius._ I'll tell your Grace, but with this caution
You be not stir'd, for should the gods live with us,
Even those we certainly believe are righteous,
Give 'em but drink, they would censure them too.
_Emp._ Forward.
_Æcius._ Then to begin, they say you sleep too much,
By which they judge your Majesty too sensual,
Apt to decline your strength to ease and pleasures,
And when you do not sleep, you drink too much,
From which they fear suspicions first, then ruines;
And when ye neither drink nor sleep, ye wench much,
Which they affirm first breaks your understanding,
Then takes the edge of Honour, makes us seem,
That are the ribs, and rampires of the Empire,
Fencers, and beaten Fools, and so regarded;
But I believe 'em not; for were these truths,
Your vertue can correct them.
_Emp._ They speak plainly.
_Æc._ They say moreover (since your Grace will have it,
For they will talk their freedoms, though the Sword
Were in their throat) that of late time, like _Nero_,
And with the same forgetfulness of glory,
You have got a vein of fidling, so they term it.
_Emp._ Some drunken dreams, _Æcius_.
_Æcius._ So I hope, Sir:
And that you rather study cruelty,
And to be fear'd for blood, than lov'd for bounty,
Which makes the Nations, as they say, despise ye,
Telling your years and actions by their deaths,
Whose truth and strength of duty made you _Cæsar_:
They say besides you nourish strange devourers,
Fed with the fat o'th' Empire, they call Bawds,
Lazie and lustful Creatures that abuse ye,
A People as they term 'em, made of paper,
In which the secret sins of each man's monies
Are seal'd and sent a working.
_Emp._ What sin's next?
For I perceive they have no mind to spare me.
_Æcius._ Nor hurt you o' my soul, Sir; but such People
(Nor can the power of man restrain it)
When they are full of meat and ease, must prattle.
_Emp._ Forward.
_Æcius._ I have spoken too much, Sir.
_Emp._ I'll have all.
_Æcius._ It fits not
Your ears should hear their Vanities; no profit
Can justly rise to you from their behaviour,
Unless ye were guilty of those crimes.
_Emp._ It may be
I am so, therefore forward.
_Æcius._ I have ever
Learn'd to obey, nor shall my life resist it.
_Emp._ No more Apologies.
_Æcius._ They grieve besides, Sir,
To see the Nations, whom our ancient Vertue
With many a weary march and hunger conquer'd,
With loss of many a daring life subdu'd,
Fall from their fair obedience, and even murmur
To see the warlike Eagles mew their honours
In obscure Towns, that wont to prey on Princes,
They cry for Enemies, and tell the Captains
The fruits of _Italy_ are luscious, give us _Egypt_,
Or sandy _Africk_ to display our valours,
There where our Swords may make us meat, and danger
Digest our well got Vyands; here our weapons
And bodies that were made for shining brass,
Are both unedg'd and old with ease and women.
And then they cry again, where are the _Germans_,
Lin'd with hot _Spain_, or _Gallia_, bring 'em on,
And let the Son of War, steel'd _Mithridates_,
Lead up his winged _Parthians_ like a storm,
Hiding the face of Heaven with showrs of Arrows?
Yet we dare fight like _Romans_; then as Souldiers
Tir'd with a weary march, they tell their wounds
Even weeping ripe they were no more nor deeper,
And glory in those scars that make them lovely,
And sitting where a Camp was, like sad Pilgrims
They reckon up the times, and living labours
Of _Julius_ or _Germanicus_, and wonder
That _Rome_, whose Turrets once were topt with Honours,
Can now forget the Custom of her Conquests;
And then they blame your Grace, and say Who leads us,
Shall we stand here like Statues? were our Fathers
The Sons of lazie Moors, our Princes _Persians_,
Nothing but silks and softness? Curses on 'em
That first taught _Nero_ wantonness and blood,
_Tiberius_ doubts, _Caligula_ all vices;
For from the spring of these, succeeding Princes--
Thus they talk, Sir.
_Emp._ Well,
Why do you hear these things?
_Æcius._ Why do you do 'em?
I take the gods to witness, with more sorrow,
And more vexation do I hear these tainters
Than were my life dropt from me through an hour-glass.
_Emp._ Belike then you believe 'em, or at least
Are glad they should be so; take heed, you were better
Build your own Tomb, and run into it living,
Than dare a Princes anger.
_Æcius._ I am old, Sir,
And ten years more addition, is but nothing;
Now if my life be pleasing to ye, take it,
Upon my knees, if ever any service,
(As let me brag some have been worthy notice)
If ever any worth, or trust ye gave me
Deserv'd a fair respect, if all my actions,
The hazards of my youth, colds, burnings, wants,
For you, and for the Empire, be not vices;
By that stile ye have stampt upon me, Souldier,
Let me not fall into the hands of Wretches.
_Emp._ I understand you not.
_Æcius._ Let not this body
That has look'd bravely in his blood for _Cæsar_,
And covetous of wounds, and for your safety,
After the 'scape of Swords, Spears, Slings, and Arrows,
'Gainst which my beaten body was mine armour,
The Seas and thirsty Desarts now be purchase
For Slaves, and base Informers; I see anger,
And death look through your Eyes; I am markt for slaughter,
And know the telling of this truth has made me
A man clean lost to this World; I embrace it;
Only my last Petition, sacred _Cæsar_,
Is, I may dye a _Roman_.
_Emp._ Rise, my friend still,
And worthy of my love, reclaim the Souldier,
I'll study to do so upon my self too,
Go, keep your Command, and prosper.
_Æcius._ Life to _Cæsar_-- [_Exit_ Æcius.
_Enter_ Chilax.
_Chi._ Lord _Maximus_ attends your Grace.
_Emp._ Go tell him
I'll meet him in the Gallery:
The honesty of this _Æcius_,
Who is indeed the Bull-wark of the Empire,
Has div'd so deep into me, that of all
The sins I covet, but this Womans beauty,
With much repentance now I could be quit of;
But she is such a pleasure, being good,
That though I were a god, she'd fire my blood.
[_Exeunt._
_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima._
_Enter the Emperour_, Maximus, Licinius, Proculus,
Chilax, _as at Dice_.
_Emp._ Nay ye shall set my hand out, 'tis not just
I should neglect my fortune now 'tis prosperous.
_Lic._ If I have any thing to set your Grace,
But Cloaths or good conditions, let me perish.
You have all my money, Sir.
_Pro._ And mine.
_Chi._ And mine too.
_Max._ Unless your Grace will credit us.
_Emp._ No bare board.
_Lic._ Then at my Garden-House.
_Emp._ The Orchard too.
_Lic._ And't please your Grace.
_Emp._ Have at 'em.
_Pro._ They are lost.
_Lic._ Why, farewel Fig-trees.
_Emp._ Who sets more?
_Chil._ At my horse, Sir.
_Emp._ The dapl'd _Spaniard_?
_Chil._ He.
_Emp._ He's mine.
_Chil._ He is so.
_Max._ Your short horse is soon curried.
_Chil._ So it seems, Sir,
So may your Mare be too, if luck serve.
_Max._ Ha?
_Chil._ Nothing my Lord, but grieving at my fortune.
_Emp._ Come _Maximus_, you were not wont to flinch thus.
_Max._ I have lost all.
_Emp._ There's a Ring yet.
_Max._ This was not made to lose, Sir.
_Emp._ Some love token;
Set it I say.
_Max._ I do beseech your Grace,
Rather name any house I have.
_Emp._ How strange
And curious you are grown of toys! redeem't
If so I win it, when you please, to morrow,
Or next day, as you will, I care not,
But only for my lucks sake; 'tis not Rings
Can make me richer.
_Max._ Will you throw, Sir? there 'tis.
_Emp._ Why, then have at it fairly, mine.
_Max._ Your Grace
Is only ever fortunate; to morrow,
And't be your pleasure, Sir, I'll pay the price on't.
_Emp._ To morrow you shall have it withou[t] price, Sir,
But this day 'tis my Victory; good _Maximus_,
Now I bethink my self, go to _Æcius_,
And bid him muster all the Cohorts presently;
They mutiny for pay I hear, and be you
Assistant to him; when you know their numbers,
Ye shall have monies for 'em, and above,
Something to stop their tongues withal.
_Max._ I will Sir,
And gods preserve you in this mind still.
_Emp._ Shortly I'll see 'em march my self.
_Max._ Gods ever keep ye-- [_Exit_ Maximus.
_Emp._ To what end do you think this Ring shall serve now?
For ye are Fellows only know by rote,
As Birds record their lessons.
_Chil._ For the Lady.
_Emp._ But how for her?
_Chil._ That I confess I know not.
_Emp._ Then pray for him that does: fetch me an Eunuch
That never saw her yet; and you two see
The Court made like a Paradise. [_Exit_ Chilax.
_Lic._ We will, Sir.
_Emp._ Full of fair shews and Musicks; all your arts
(As I shall give instructions) screw to th' highest,
For my main piece is now a doing; and for fear
You should not take, I'll have another Engine,
Such as if vertue be not only in her,
She shall not chuse but lean to, let the Women
Put on a graver shew of welcome.
_Pro._ Well Sir.
_Emp._ They are a thought too eager.
_Enter_ Chilax, _and_ Lycias _the Eunuch_.
_Chi._ Here's the Eunuch.
_Eun._ Long life to _Cæsar_.
_Emp._ I must use you, _Lycias_:
Come, let's walk in, and then I'll shew ye all,
If women may be frail, this wench shall fall. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ Claudia, _and_ Marcellina.
_Claud._ Sirrah, what ails my Lady that of late
She never cares for Company?
_Mar._ I know not,
Unless it be that Company causes Cuckolds.
_Claud._ That were a childish fear.
_Mar._ What were those Ladies,
Came to her lately
From the Court?
_Claud._ The same wench,
Some grave instructors on my life, they look
For all the world like old hatcht hilts.
_Mar._ 'Tis true, Wench,
For here and there, and yet they painted well too,
One might discover where the Gold was worn,
Their iron ages.
_Claud._ If my judgement fail not,
They have been sheathed like rotten Ships.
_Mar._ It may be.
_Claud._ For if you mark their rudders, they hang weakly.
_Mar._ They have past the line belike; wouldst live _Claudia_
Till thou wert such as they are?
_Claud._ Chimney pieces:
Now heaven have mercy upon me, and young men,
I had rather make a drallery till thirty,
While I am able to endure a tempest,
And bear my fights out bravely, till my tackle
Whistl'd i'th' Wind, and held against all weathers,
While I were able to bear with my tyres,
And so discharge 'em, I would willingly
Live, _Marcellina_, not till barnacles
Bred in my sides.
_Mar._ Thou art i'th' right, Wench;
For who would live whom pleasures had forsaken,
To stand at mark, and cry a Bow short, Seigneur?
Were there not men came hither too?
_Claud._ Brave fellows:
I fear me Bawds of five i'th' Pound.
_Mar._ How know you?
_Claud._ They gave me great lights to it.
_Mar._ Take heed, _Claudia_.
_Clau._ Let them take heed, the spring comes on.
_Mar._ To me now
They seem'd as noble Visitants.
_Claud._ To me now
Nothing less, _Marcellina_, for I markt 'em,
And by this honest light, for yet 'tis morning,
Saving the reverence of their gilded doublets,
And Millan skins.
_Mar._ Thou art a strange Wench, _Claudia_.
_Claud._ Ye are deceiv'd, they shew'd to me directly
Court Crabs that creep a side-way for their living,
I know 'em by the Breeches that they beg'd last.
_Mar._ Peace, my Lady comes; what may that be?
_Enter_ Lucina, _and_ Lycias, _the Eunuch_.
_Clau._ A Sumner
That cites her to appear.
_Mar._ No more of that wench.
_Eun._ Madam, what answer to your Lord?
_Luci._ Pray tell him, I am subject to his will.
_Eun._ Why weep you Madam?
Excellent Lady, there are none will hurt you.
_Luci._ I do beseech you tell me Sir.
_Eun._ What, Lady?
_Luci._ Serve ye the Emperor?
_Eun._ I do.
_Luci._ In what place?
_Eun._ In's chamber Madam.
_Luci._ Do ye serve his will too?
_Eun._ In fair and just commands.
_Luci._ Are ye a _Roman_?
_Eun._ Yes noble Lady, and a _Mantuan_.
_Luci._ What office bore your parents?
_Eun._ One was Pretor.
_Luci._ Take heed then how you stain his reputation.
_Eun._ Why worthy Lady?
_Luci._ If ye know, I charge ye,
Ought in this Message, but what honesty,
The trust and fair obedience of a servant
May well deliver, yet take heed, and help me.
_Eun._ _Madam_, I am no Broker.
_Claud._ I'le be hang'd then.
_Eun._ Nor base procurer of mens lusts; Your husband,
Pray'd me to do this office, I have done it,
It rests in you to come, or no.
_Luci._ I will Sir.
_Eun._ If ye mistrust me, do not.
_Luci._ Ye appear so worthy,
And to all my sense so honest,
And this is such a certain sign ye have brought me,
That I believe.
_Eun._ Why should I cozen you?
Or were I brib'd to do this villany,
Can mony prosper, or the fool that takes it,
When such a vertue falls?
_Luci._ Ye speak well Sir;
Would all the rest that serve the Emperour,
Had but your way.
_Claud._ And so they have _ad unguem_.
_Luci._ Pray tell my Lord, I have receiv'd his Token,
And will not fail to meet him; yet good Sir, thus much
Before you goe, I do beseech ye too,
As little notice as ye can, deliver
Of my appearance there.
_Eun._ It shall be _Madam_,
And so I wish you happiness.
_Luci._ I thank you-- [_Exeunt._
SCENE [III]. [_Tumult & noise within._
_Enter_ Æcius, _pursuing_ Pontius, _the Captain,
and_ Maximus, _following_.
_Max._ Temper your self _Æcius_.
_Pon._ Hold my Lord,
I am a _Roman_, and a Souldier.
_Max._ Pray Sir.
_Æci._ Thou art a lying Villain, and a Traytor;
Give me my self, or by the Gods my friend
You'l make me dangerous; how dar'st thou pluck
The Souldiers to sedition, and I living,
And sow Rebellion in 'em, and even then
When I am drawing out to action?
_Pon._ Hear me.
_Max._ Are ye a man?
_Æci._ I am a true hearted, _Maximus_,
And if the Villain live, we are dishonour'd.
_Max._ But hear him what he can say.
_Æci._ That's the way,
To pardon him; I am so easie natur'd,
That if he speak but humbly I forgive him.
_Pon._ I do beseech ye noble General.
_Æci._ Has found the way already, give me room,
One stroak, and if he scape me then h'as mercy.
_Pon._ I do not call ye noble, that I fear ye,
I never car'd for death; if ye will kill me,
Consider first for what, not what you can do;
'Tis true, I know ye for my General,
And by that great Prerogative may kill:
But do it justly then.
_Æci._ He argues with me,
A made up Rebel.
_Max._ Pray consider,
What certain grounds ye have for this.
_Æci._ What grounds?
Did I not take him preaching to the Souldier[s]
How lazily they liv'd, and what dishonours
It was to serve a Prince so full of woman?
Those were his very words, friend.
_Max._ These, _Æcius_,
Though they were rashly spoke, which was an errour
(A great one _Pontius_) yet from him that hungers
For wars, and brave imployment, might be pardon'd.
The heart, and harbour'd thoughts of ill, make Traytors,
Not spleeny speeches.
_Æci._ Why should you protect him?
Goe to, it shews not honest.
_Max._ Taint me not,
For that shews worse _Æcius_: All your friendship
And that pretended love ye lay upon me,
Hold back my honesty, is like a favour
You do your slave to day, to morrow hang him,
Was I your bosome piece for this?
_Æci._ Forgive me,
The nature of my zeal, and for my Country,
Makes me sometimes forget my self; for know,
Though I most strive to be without my passions,
I am no God: For you Sir, whose infection
Has spread it self like poyson through the army,
And cast a killing fog on fair allegiance,
First thank this noble Gentleman, ye had dy'd else;
Next from your place, and honour of a Souldier,
I here seclude you.
_Pon._ May I speak yet?
_Max._ Hear him.
_Æci._ And while _Aecius_ holds a reputation,
At least command, ye bear no arms for _Rome_ Sir.
_Pon._ Against her I shall never: the condemn'd man
Has yet that priviledge to speak, my Lord;
Law were not equall else.
_Max._ Pray hear _Aecius_,
For happily the fault he has committed,
Though I believe it mighty, yet considered,
If mercy may be thought upon, will prove
Rather a hastie sin, than heynous.
_Aeci._ Speak.
_Pon._ 'Tis true my Lord, ye took me tir'd with peace,
My words almost as ragged as my fortunes.
'Tis true I told the Souldier, whom we serv'd,
And then bewail'd, we had an Emperour
Led from us by the flourishes of Fencers;
I blam'd him too for women.
_Aec._ To the rest Sir.
_Pon._ And like enough I blest him then as Souldiers
Will do sometimes: 'Tis true I told 'em too,
We lay at home, to show our Country
We durst goe naked, durst want meat, and mony,
And when the slave drinks wine, we durst be thirstie:
I told 'em this too, that the Trees and Roots
Were our best pay-masters; the Charity
Of longing women, that had bought our bodies,
Our beds, fires, Taylers, Nurses. Nay I told 'em,
(For you shall hear the greatest sin, I said Sir)
By that time there be wars again, our bodies
Laden with scarrs, and aches, and ill lodgings,
Heats, and perpetual wants, were fitter prayers
And certain graves, than cope the foe on crutches:
'Tis likely too, I counsell'd 'em to turn
Their warlike pikes to plough-shares, their sure Targets
And Swords hatcht with the bloud of many Nations,
To Spades, and pruning Knives, for those get mony,
Their warlike Eagles, into Daws, or Starlings,
To give an _Ave Cæsar_ as he passes,
And be rewarded with a thousand _drachma's_,
For thus we get but years and beets.
_Aeci._ What think you,
Were these words to be spoken by a Captain,
One that should give example?
_Max._ 'Twas too much.
_Pon._ My Lord, I did not wooe 'em from the Empire,
Nor bid 'em turn their daring steel 'gainst _Cæsar_,
The Gods for ever hate me, if that motion
Were part of me: Give me but imployment, Sir;
And way to live, and where you hold me vicious,
Bred up in mutiny, my Sword shall tell ye,
And if you please, that place I held, maintain it,
'Gainst the most daring foes of _Rome_. I am honest,
A lover of my Country, one that holds
His life no longer his, than kept for _Cæsar_.
Weigh not (I thus low on my knee beseech you)
What my rude tongue discovered, 'twas my want,
No other part of _Pontius_: you have seen me,
And you my Lord, do something for my Country,
And both beheld the wounds I gave and took,
Not like a backward Traytor.
_Aeci._ All this language
Makes but against you _Pontius_, you are cast,
And by mine honour, and my love to _Cæsar_,
By me shall never be restor'd; In my Camp
I will not have a tongue, though to himself
Dare talk but near sedition; as I govern,
All shall obey, and when they want, their duty
And ready service shall redress their needs,
Not prating what they would be.
_Pon._ Thus I leave ye,
Yet shall my prayers still, although my fortunes
Must follow you no more, be still about ye,
Gods give ye where ye fight the Victory,
Ye cannot cast my wishes.
_Aeci._ Come my Lord,
Now to the Field again.
_Max._ Alas poor _Pontius_.-- [_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_Enter_ Chilax, _at one door_, Licinius, _and_ Balbus,
_at another_.
_Lici._ How how?
_Chi._ She's come.
_Bal._ Then I'le to th' Emperour.-- [_Exit_ Balbus.
_Chi._ Do; Is the Musick placed well?
_Lici._ Excellent.
_Chi._ _Licinius_, you and _Proclus_ receive her
In the great Chamber, at her entrance,
Let me alone; and do you hear _Licinius_,
Pray let the Ladies ply her further off,
And with much more discretion: one word more.
_Lici._ Well.
_Chi._ Are the Jewels, and those ropes of Pearl,
_Enter Emperour_, Balbus, _and_ Proc[u]lus.
Laid in the way she passes?
_Lici._ Take no care man-- [_Exit_ Licinius.
_Emp._ What is she come?
_Chil._ She is Sir; but 'twere best,
Your Grace were seen last to her.
_Emp._ So I mean;
Keep the Court emptie _Proculus_.
_Pro._ 'Tis done Sir.
_Emp._ Be not too sudden to her.
_Chil._ Good your Grace,
Retire, and man your self; let us alone,
We are no children this way: do you hear Sir?
'Tis necessary that her waiting women
Be cut off in the Lobby, by some Ladies,
They'd break the business else.
_Emp._ 'Tis true, they shall.
_Chil._ Remember your place _Proculus_.
_Pro._ I warrant ye.-- [_Exeunt Emp._ Bal. _and_ Pro.
_Enter_ Lucina, Claudia, _and_ Marcellina.
_Chi._ She enters: who are waiters there? the Emperour
Calls for his Horse to air himself.
_Luci._ I am glad,
I come so happily to take him absent,
This takes away a little fear; I know him,
Now I begin to fear again: O honour,
If ever thou hadst temple in weak woman,
And sacrifice of modesty burnt to thee,
Hold me fast now, and help me.
_Chil._ Noble _Madam_,
Ye are welcom to the Court, most nobly welcom,
Ye are a stranger Lady.
_Luci._ I desire so.
_Chil._ A wondrous stranger here,
Nothing so strange:
And therefore need a guide I think.
_Luci._ I do Sir,
And that a good one too.
_Chil._ My service Lady,
Shall be your guide in this place; But pray ye tell me,
Are ye resolv'd a Courtier?
_Luci._ No I hope Sir.
_Clau._ You are, Sir?
_Chil._ Yes, my fair one.
_Clau._ So it seems,
You are so ready to bestow your self,
Pray what might cost those Breeches?
_Chil._ Would you wear 'em?
_Madam_ ye have a witty woman.
_Mar._ Two Sir,
Or else ye underbuy us.
_Luci._ Leave your talking:
But is my Lord here, I beseech ye, Sir?
_Chil._ He is sweet Lady, and must take this kindly,
Exceeding kindly of ye, wondrous kindly
Ye come so far to visit him: I'le guide ye.
_Luci._ Whither?
_Chil._ Why to your Lord.
_Luci._ Is it so hard Sir,
To find him in this place without a Guide?
For I would willingly not trouble you.
_Chil._ It will be so for you that are a stranger;
Nor can it be a trouble to do service
To such a worthy beauty, and besides--
_Mar._ I see he will goe with us.
_Clau._ Let him amble.
_Chil._ It fits not that a Lady of your reckoning
Should pass without attendants.
_Luci._ I have two Sir.
_Chil._ I mean without a man; You'l see the Emperour?
_Luci._ Alas I am not fit Sir.
_Chil._ You are well enough,
He'l take it wondrous kindly: Hark.
_Luci._ Ye flatter,
Good Sir, no more of that.
_Chil._ Well, I but tell ye.
_Luc._ Will ye goe forward, since I must be man'd,
Pray take your place.
_Claud._ Cannot ye man us too Sir?
_Chil._ Give me but time.
_Mar._ And you'l try all things.
_Chil._ No:
I'le make no such promise.
_Claud._ If ye do Sir,
Take heed ye stand to't.
_Chil._ Wondrous merry Ladies. [_Ex._
_Enter_ Licinius, _and_ Proculus, Balbus.
_Luci._ The wenches are dispos'd, pray keep your way Sir.
_Lici._ She is coming up the stairs; Now the Musick;
And as that stirs her, let's set on: perfumes there.
_Pro._ Discover all the Jewels.
_Lici._ Peace. [_Musick._
SONGS.
_Now the lusty Spring is seen,_
_Golden yellow, gaudy Blew,_
_Daintily invite the view._
_Every where, on every Green,_
_Roses blushing as they blow,_
_And inticing men to pull,_
_Lillies whiter than the snow,_
_Woodbines of sweet hony full._
_All Loves Emblems and all cry,_
_Ladys, if not pluckt we dye._
_Yet the lusty Spring hath staid,_
_Blushing red and purest white,_
_Daintily to love invite,_
_Every Woman, every Maid,_
_Cherries kissing as they grow;_
_And inviting men to taste,_
_Apples even ripe below,_
_Winding gently to the waste:_
_All loves emblems and all cry,_
_Ladies, if not pluckt we dye._
SECOND.
_Hear ye Ladies that despise_
_What the mighty Love has done,_
_Fear examples, and be wise,_
_Fair_ Calisto _was a Nun,_
Læda _sailing on the stream,_
_To deceive the hopes of man,_
_Love accounting but a dream,_
_Doted on a silver Swan,_
Danae _in a Brazen Tower,_
_Where no love was, lov'd a Showr._
_Hear ye Ladys that are coy,_
_What the mighty Love can do,_
_Fear the fierceness of the Boy,_
_The chaste Moon he makes to wooe:_
Vesta _kindling holy fires,_
_Circled round about with spies,_
_Never dreaming loose desires,_
_Doting at the Altar dies._
Ilion _in a short hour higher_
_He can build, and once more fire._
_Enter_ Chilax, Lucina, Claudia, _and_ Marcellina.
_Luci._ Pray Heaven my Lord be here, for now I fear it.
Well Ring, if thou bee'st counterfeit, or stoln,
As by this preparation I suspect it,
Thou hast betrai'd thy Mistris: pray Sir forward,
I would fain see my Lord.
_Chil._ But tell me _Madam_,
How do ye like the Song?
_Luci._ I like the air well,
But for the words, they are lascivious,
And over light for Ladies.
_Chil._ All ours love 'em.
_Luci._ 'Tis like enough, for yours are loving Ladies.
_Lici._ _Madam_, ye are welcom to the Court. Who waits?
Attendants for this Lady.
_Luci._ Ye mistake Sir;
I bring no triumph with me.
_Lici._ But much honour.
_Pro._ Why this was nobly done; and like a neighbour,
So freely of your self to be a visitant,
The Emperour shall give ye thanks for this.
_Luci._ O no Sir;
There's nothing to deserve 'em.
_Pro._ Yes, your presence.
_Luci._ Good Gentlemen be patient, and believe
I come to see my husband, on command too,
I were no Courtier else.
_Lici._ That's all one Lady,
Now ye are here, y'are welcom, and the Emperour
Who loves ye, but too well.
_Luci._ No more of that Sir.
I came not to be Catechiz'd.
_Pro._ Ah Sirrah;
And have we got you here? faith Noble Lady,
We'l keep you one month Courtier.
_Luci._ Gods defend Sir,
I never lik'd a trade worse.
_Pro._ Hark ye.
_Luci._ No Sir.
_Pro._ Ye are grown the strangest Lady.
_Luci._ How?
_Pro._ By Heaven,
'Tis true I tell ye, and you'l find it.
_Luci._ I?
I'le rather find my grave, and so inform him.
_Pro._ Is it not pity Gentlemen, this Lady,
(Nay I'le deal roughly with ye, yet not hurt ye)
Sho[u]ld live alone, and give such heavenly beauty
Only to walls, and hangings?
_Luci._ Good Sir, patience:
I am no wonder, neither come to that end,
Ye do my Lord an injury to stay me,
Who though ye are the Princes, yet dare tell ye
He keeps no wife for your wayes.
_Bal._ Well, well Lady;
However you are pleas'd to think of us,
Ye are welcom, and ye shall be welcome.
_Luci._ Shew it
In that I come for then, in leading me
Where my lov'd Lord is, not in flattery:-- [_Jewels shew'd._
Nay ye may draw the Curtain, I have seen 'em,
But none worth half my honesty.
_Claud._ Are these Sir,
Laid here to take?
_Pro._ Yes, for your Lady, Gentlewomen.
_Mar._ We had been doing else.
_Bal._ Meaner Jewels
Would fit your worths.
_Claud._ And meaner clothes your bodies.
_Luci._ The Gods shall kill me first.
_Lici._ There's better dying;
I'th' Emperours arms goe to, but be not angry--
These are but talks sweet Lady.
_Enter_ Phorba, _and_ Ardelia.
_Phor._ Where is this stranger? rushes, Ladys, rushes,
Rushes as green as Summer for this stranger.
_Pro._ Here's Ladies come to see you.
_Luci._ You are gone then?
I take it 'tis your _Qu_.
_Pro._ Or rather manners,
You are better fitted _Madam_, we but tire ye,
Therefore we'l leave you for an hour, and bring
Your much lov'd Lord unto you-- [_Exeunt._
_Luci._ Then I'le thank ye,
I am betrai'd for certain; well _Lucina_,
If thou do'st fall from vertue, may the Earth
That after death should shoot up gardens of thee,
Spreading thy living goodness into branches,
Fly from thee, and the hot Sun find thy vices.
_Pho._ You are a welcom woman.
_Ard._ Bless me Heaven,
How did you find the way to Court?
_Luci._ I know not,
Would I had never trod it.
_Phor._ Prethee tell me,
Good noble Lady, and good sweet heart love us,
For we love thee extreamly; is not this place
A Paradise to live in?
_Luci._ To those people
That know no other Paradise but pleasure,
That little I enjoy contents me better.
_Ard._ What, heard ye any Musick yet?
_Luci._ Too much.
_Phor._ You must not be thus froward; what, this gown
Is one o'th' prettiest by my troth _Ardelia_,
I ever saw yet; 'twas not to frown in Lady,
Ye put this gown on when ye came.
_Ard._ How do ye?
Alas poor wretch how cold it is!
_Luci._ Content ye;
I am as well as may be, and as temperate,
If ye will let me be so: where's my Lord?
For there's the business that I came for Ladies.
_Phor._ We'l lead ye to him, he's i'th' Gallery.
_Ard._ We'l shew ye all the Court too.
_Luci._ Shew me him,
And ye have shew'd me all I come to look on.
_Phor._ Come on, we'l be your guides, and as ye goe,
We have some pretty tales to tell ye Lady,
Shall make ye merry too; ye come not here,
To be a sad _Lucina_.
_Luci._ Would I might not.-- [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Chilax, _and_ Balbus.
_Chil._ Now the soft Musick; _Balbus_ run--
_Bal._ I flye Boy-- [_Exit_ Balbus.
_Chil._ The women by this time are worming of her,--
If she can hold out them, the Emperour [_Musick._
Takes her to task: he has her; hark the Musick.
_Enter_ Emperour, _and_ Lucina.
_Luci._ Good your Grace,
Where are my women Sir?
_Emp._ They are wise, beholding
What you think scorn to look on, the Courts bravery:
Would you have run away so slily Lady,
And not have seen me?
_Luci._ I beseech your Majestie,
Consider what I am, and whose.
_Emp._ I do so.
_Luci._ Believe me, I shall never make a whore Sir.
_Emp._ A friend ye may, and to that man that loves ye,
More than you love your vertue.
_Luci._ Sacred _Cæsar_.
_Emp._ You shall not kneel to me sweet.
_Luci._ Look upon me,
And if ye be so cruel to abuse me,
Think how the Gods will take it; does this beauty
Afflict your soul? I'le hide it from you ever,
Nay more, I will become so leprous,
That ye shall curse me from ye: My dear Lord
Has serv'd ye ever truly, fought your Battels,
As if he daily long'd to dye for _Cæsar_,
Was never Traytor Sir, nor never tainted
In all the actions of his life.
_Emp._ I know it.
_Luci._ His fame and family have grown together,
And spred together like to sailing Cedars,
Over the _Roman_ Diadem; O let not,
As ye have any flesh that's humane in you,
The having of a modest wife decline him,
Let not my vertue be the wedge to break him.
I do not think ye are lascivious,
These wanton men belye ye, you are _Cæsar_,
Which is the Father of the Empires honour,
Ye are too near the nature of the Gods,
To wrong the weakest of all creatures, women.
_Emp._ I dare not do it here, rise fair _Lucina_,
I did but try your temper, ye are honest,
And with the commendations wait on that
I'le lead ye to your Lord, and give you to him:
Wipe your fair eyes: he that endeavours ill,
May well delay, but never quench his hell.-- [_Exeunt._
_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Chilax, Licinius, Proculus, _and_ Balbus.
_Chil._ 'Tis done _Licinius_.
_Lici._ How?
_Chil._ I shame to tell it,
If there be any justice, we are Villains,
And must be so rewarded.
_Bal._ If it be done,
I take it 'tis no time now to repent it,
Let's make the best o'th' trade.
_Pro._ Now vengeance take it,
Why should not he have setled on a beauty,
Whose honesty stuck in a piece of tissue,
Or one a Ring might rule, or such a one
That had an itching husband to be honourable,
And ground to get it: if he must have women,
And no allay without 'em, why not those
That know the misery, and are best able
To play a game with judgement? such as she is,
Grant they be won with long siege, endless travel,
And brought to opportunity with millions,
Yet when they come to motion, their cold vertue
Keeps 'em like cakes of Ice; I'le melt a Crystal,
And make a dead flint fire himself, e're they
Give greater heat, than new departing embers
Give to old men that watch 'em.
_Lici._ A good Whore
Had sav'd all this, and happily as wholsom,
I, and the thing once done too, as well thought of,
But this same chastity forsooth.
_Pro._ A Pox on't,
Why should not women be as free as we are?
They are, but not in open, and far freer,
And the more bold ye bear your self, more welcom,
And there is nothing you dare say, but truth,
But they dare hear.--
_Enter_ Emperour, _and_ Lucina.
_Chi._ The Emperour! away,
And if we can repent, let's home and pray. [_Exeunt._
_Emp._ Your only vertue now is patience,
Take heed, and save your honour; if you talk.
_Luci._ As long as there is motion in my body,
And life to give me words, I'le cry for justice.
_Emp._ Justice shall never hear ye, I am justice.
_Luci._ Wilt thou not kill me, Monster, Ravisher,
Thou bitter bane o'th' Empire, look upon me,
And if thy guilty eyes dare see these ruines,
Thy wild lust hath laid level with dishonour,
The sacrilegious razing of this Temple,
The mother of thy black sins would have blush'd at,
Behold and curse thy self; the Gods will find thee,
That's all my refuge now, for they are righteous,
Vengeance and horror circle thee; the Empire,
In which thou liv'st a strong continued surfeit,
Like poyson will disgorge thee, good men raze thee
For ever being read again,--but vicious
Women, and fearfull Maids, make vows against thee:
Thy own Slaves, if they hear of this, shall hate thee;
And those thou hast corrupted first fall from thee;
And if thou let'st me live, the Souldier,
Tir'd with thy Tyrannies, break through obedience,
And shake his strong Steel at thee.
_Emp._ This prevails not;
Nor any Agony ye utter Lady,
If I have done a sin, curse her that drew me,
Curse the first cause, the witchcraft that abus'd me,
Curse those fair eyes, and curse that heavenly beauty,
And curse your being good too.
_Luci._ Glorious thief,
What restitution canst thou make to save me?
_Emp._ I'le ever love, and honour you.
_Luci._ Thou canst not,
For that which was mine honour, thou hast murdred,
And can there be a love in violence?
_Emp._ You shall be only mine.
_Luci._ Yet I like better
Thy villany, than flattery, that's thine own,
The other basely counterfeit; flye from me,
Or for thy safety sake and wisdom kill me,
For I am worse than thou art; thou maist pray,
And so recover grace; I am lost for ever,
And if thou let'st me live, th'art lost thy self too.
_Emp._ I fear no loss but love, I stand above it.
_Luci._ Call in your Lady Bawds, and guilded Pander's
And let them triumph too, and sing to _Cæsar_,
_Lucina's_ faln, the chast _Lucina's_ conquer'd;
Gods! what a wretched thing has this man made me!
For I am now no wife for _Maximus_,
No company for women that are vertuous,
No familie I now can claim, nor Country,
Nor name, but _Cæsar_'s whore; O sacred _Cæsar_,
(For that should be your title) was your Empire,
Your Rods, and Axes, that are types of Justice,
Those fires that ever burn, to beg you blessings,
The peoples adoration, fear of Nations,
What victory can bring ye home, what else
The usefull Elements can make your servants,
Even light it self, and suns of light, truth, Justice,
Mercy, and starlike pietie sent to you,
And from the gods themselves, to ravish women?
The curses that I owe to Enemies,
Even those the _Sabines_ sent, when _Romulus_,
(As thou hast me) ravish'd their noble Maids,
Made more, and heavier, light on thee.
_Emp._ This helps not.
_Luci._ The sins of _Tarquin_ be remember'd in thee,
And where there has a chast wife been abus'd,
Let it be thine, the shame thine, thine the slaughter,
And last for ever thine, the fear'd example.
Where shall poor vertue live, now I am faln?
What can your honours now, and Empire make me,
But a more glorious Whore?
_Emp._ A better woman,
But if ye will be blind, and scorn it, who can help it?
Come leave these lamentations, they do nothing,
But make a noyse, I am the same man still,
Were it to do again; therefore be wiser,
By all this holy light, I should attempt it,
Ye are so excellent, and made to ravish,
There were no pleasure in ye else.
_Luci._ Oh villain.
_Emp._ So bred for mans amazement, that my reason
And every help to hold me right has lost me;
The God of love himself had been before me
Had he but power to see ye; tell me justly,
How can I choose but err then? if ye dare
Be mine, and only mine, for ye are so pretious,
I envie any other should enjoy ye,
Almost look on ye; and your daring husband
Shall know h'as kept an offring from the Empire,
Too holy for his Altars; be the mightiest,
More than my self I'le make it: if ye will not
Sit down with this, and silence, for which wisdom
Ye shall have use of me, and much honour ever,
And be the same you were; if ye divulge it,
Know I am far above the faults I do,
And those I do I am able to forgive too;
And where your credit in the knowledge of it,
May be with gloss enough suspected, mine
Is as mine own command shall make it:
Princes though they be sometime subject to loose whispers,
Yet wear they two edged swords for open censures:
Your husband cannot help ye, nor the Souldier;
Your husband is my creature, they my weapons,
And only where I bid 'em strike; I feed 'em,
Nor can the Gods be angry at this action,
For as they make me most, they mean me happiest,
Which I had never been without this pleasure:
Consider, and farewell: you'l find your women
At home before ye, they have had some sport too,
But are more thankful for it-- [_Exit Emperour._
_Luci._ Destruction find thee.
Now which way must I go? my honest house
Will shake to shelter me, my husband flee me,
My Family, because they are honest, and desire to be so,
Must not endure me, not a neighbour know me:
What woman now dare see me without blushes,
And pointing as I pass, there, there, behold her,
Look on her little Children, that is she,
That handsome Lady, mark; O my sad fortunes,
Is this the end of goodness, this the price
Of all my early prayers to protect me,
Why then I see there is no God but power,
Nor vertue now alive that cares for us,
But what is either lame or sensual,
How had I been thus wretched else?
_Enter_ Maximus, _and_ Æcius.
_Aeci._ Let _Titius_
Command the company that _Pontius_ lost,
And see the Fosses deeper.
_Max._ How now sweet heart,
What make you here, and thus?
_Aeci._ _Lucina_ weeping!
This must be much offence.
_Max._ Look up and tell me,
Why are you thus? My Ring? O friend, I have found it,
Ye are at Court, sweet.
_Luci._ Yes, this brought me hither.
_Max._ Rise, and goe home: I have my fears _Aecius_:
Oh my best friend, I am ruin'd; go _Lucina_,
Already in thy tears I have read thy wrongs,
Already found a _Cæsar_; go thou Lilly,
Thou sweetly drooping flower: go silver Swan,
And sing thine own sad requiem: goe _Lucina_,
And if thou dar'st, outlive this wrong.
_Luci._ I dare not.
_Aeci._ Is that the Ring ye lost?
_Max._ That, that, _Aecius_,
That cursed Ring, my self, and all my fortunes:
'Thas pleas'd the Emperour, my noble master,
For all my services, and dangers for him,
To make me mine own Pander, was this justice?
Oh my _Aecius_, have I liv'd to bear this?
_Luci._ Farewel for ever Sir.
_Max._ That's a sad saying,
But such a one becomes ye well _Lucina_:
And yet me thinks we should not part so lightly,
Our loves have been of longer growth, more rooted
Than the sharp word of one farewel can scatter,
Kiss me: I find no _Cæsar_ here; these lips
Taste not of Ravisher in my opinion.
Was it not so?
_Luc._ O yes.
_Max._ I dare believe thee,
For thou wert ever truth it self, and sweetness;
Indeed she was, _Æcius_.
_Æcius._ So she is still.
_Max._ Once more, O my _Lucina_, O my Comfort,
The blessing of my Youth, the life of my life.
_Æcius._ I have seen enough to stagger my obedience;
Hold me ye equal Gods, this is too sinful.
_Max._ Why wert thou chosen out to make a Whore of?
To me thou wert too chaste; fall Crystal Fountains,
And ever feed your streams you rising sorrows,
Till you have dropt your Mistris into Marble:
Now go for ever from me.
_Luc._ Long farewel, Sir.
And as I have been loyal, gods think on me.
_Max._ Stay, let me once more bid farewel, _Lucina_,
Farewel thou excellent example of us,
Thou starry Vertue, fare thee well, seek Heaven,
And there by _Cassiopea_ shine in Glory,
We are too base and dirty to preserve thee.
_Æcius._ Nay, I must kiss too; such a kiss again,
And from a Woman of so ripe a Vertue,
_Æcius_ must not take; Farewel thou _Phœnix_,
If thou wilt dye, _Lucina_; which well weigh'd,
If you can cease a while from these strange thoughts,
I wish were rather alter'd.
_Luc._ No.
_Æcius._ Mistake not;
I would not stain your honour for the Empire,
Nor any way decline you to discredit,
'Tis not my fair profession, but a Villains;
I find and feel your loss as deep as you do,
And am the same, _Æcius_, still as honest,
The same life I have still for _Maximus_,
The same Sword wear for you, where Justice wills me,
And 'tis no dull one; therefore misconceive me not;
Only I would have you live a little longer,
But a short year.
_Max._ She must not.
_Luc._ Why so long, Sir,
Am I not grey enough with grief already?
_Æci._ To draw from that wild man a sweet repentance,
And goodness in his days to come.
_Max._ They are so,
And will be ever coming, my _Æcius_.
_Æcius._ For who knows but the sight of you, presenting
His swoln sins at the full, and your fair vertues,
May like a fearful Vision fright his follies,
And once more bend him right again? which blessing
(If your dark wrongs would give you leave to read)
Is more than death, and the reward more glorious;
Death, only eases you, this, the whole Empire;
Besides, compell'd and forc'd with violence,
To what ye have done, the deed is none of yours,
No, nor the justice neither; ye may live,
And still a worthier Woman, still more honoured;
For are those trees the worse we tear the fruits from?
Or should the eternal gods desire to perish
Because we daily violate their truths,
Which is the Chastity of Heaven? No, Lady,
If ye dare live, ye may; and as our sins
Make them more full of equity and justice,
So this compulsive wrong makes you more perfect;
The Empire too will bless you.
_Max._ Noble Sir,
If she were any thing to me but honour,
And that that's wedded to me too, laid in,
Not to be worn away without my being;
Or could the wrongs be hers alone, or mine,
Or both our wrongs, not ty'd to after issues,
Not born anew in all our names and kindreds,
I would desire her live, nay more, compel her:
But since it was not Youth, but Malice did it,
And not her own, nor mine, but both our losses,
Nor stays it there, but that our names must find it,
Even those to come; and when they read, she liv'd,
Must they not ask how often she was ravish'd,
And make a doubt she lov'd that more than Wedlock?
Therefore she must not live.
_Æcius._ Therefore she must live,
To teach the world, such deaths are superstitious.
_Luc._ The tongues of Angels cannot alter me,
For could the World again restore my Credit,
As fair and absolute as first I bred it,
That world I should not trust again: The Empire
By my life, can get nothing but my story,
Which whilst I breath must be but his abuses;
And where ye counsel me to live, that _Cæsar_
May see his errours and repent, I'll tell ye,
His penitence is but encrease of pleasures,
His prayers never said but to deceive us,
And when he weeps (as you think) for his Vices,
'Tis but as killing drops from baleful Yew-Trees,
That rot their honest Neighbour; If he can grieve
As one that yet desires his free Conversion,
And almost glories in his penitence,
I'll leave him Robes to mourn in, my sad ashes.
_Æcius._ The farewels then of happy souls be with thee,
And to thy memory be ever sung
The praises of a just and constant Lady,
This sad day whilst I live, a Souldiers tears
I'll offer on thy Monument, and bring
Full of thy noble self with tears untold yet,
Many a worthy Wife, to weep thy ruine.
_Max._ All that is chaste upon thy Tomb shall flourish,
All living Epitaphs be thine, Time, Story;
And what is left behind to piece our lives
Shall be no more abus'd with tales and trifles,
But full of thee, stand to eternity.
_Æci._ Once more farewel, go find _Elyzium_,
There where the happy Souls are crown'd with Blessings,
There where 'tis ever Spring and ever Summer.
_Max._ There where no bedrid justice comes; truth, honour,
Are keepers of that blessed Place; go thither,
For here thou liv'st chaste Fire in rotten Timber.
_Æcius._ And so our last farewels.
_Max._ Gods give thee Justice-- [_Exit_ Lucina.
_Æcius._ His thoughts begin to work, I fear him, yet
He ever was a noble _Roman_, but
I know not what to think on't, he hath suffered
Beyond a man if he stand this.
_Max._ _Æcius_,
Am I alive, or has a dead sleep seiz'd me?
It was my Wife the Emperour abus'd thus,
And I must say I am glad I had her for him;
Must I not, my _Æcius_?
_Æcius._ I am stricken
With such a stiff amazement, that no answer
Can readily come from me, nor no comfort;
Will ye go home, or go to my house?
_Max._ Neither;
I have no home, and you are mad, _Æcius_,
To keep me company, I am a fellow
My own Sword would forsake, not tyed unto me;
A Pander is a Prince, to what I am faln;
I dare do nothing.
_Æcius._ Ye do better.
_Max._ I am made a branded Slave, _Æcius_,
And yet I bless the Maker;
Death o' my Soul, must I endure this tamely?
Must _Maximus_ be mention'd for his tales?
I am a Child too; what should I do railing?
I cannot mend my self, 'tis _Cæsar_ did it,
And what am I to him?
_Æcius._ 'Tis well consider'd;
However you are tainted, be no Traitor
Time may outwear the first, the last lives ever.
_Max._ O that thou wert not living, and my friend.
_Æcius._ I'll bear a wary Eye upon your actions,
I fear ye, _Maximus_, nor can I blame thee
If thou break'st out, for by the gods thy wrong
Deserves a general ruine: do ye love me?
_Max._ That's all I have to live on.
_Æcius._ Then go with me,
Ye shall not to your own house.
_Max._ Nor to any.
My griefs are greater far than Walls can compass,
And yet I wonder how it happens with me,
I am not dangerous, and o' my Conscience,
Should I now see the Emperour i'th' heat on't,
I should not chide him for't, an awe runs through me,
I feel it sensibly that binds me to it,
'Tis at my heart now, there it sits and rules,
And methinks 'tis a pleasure to obey it.
_Æcius._ 'This is a mask to cozen me; I know ye,
And how far ye dare do; no _Roman_ farther,
Nor with more fearless Valour; and I'll watch ye,
Keep that obedience still.
_Max._ Is a Wifes loss
(For her abuse much good may do his Grace,
I'll make as bold with his Wife, if I can)
More than the fading of a few fresh colours,
More than a lusty spring lost?
_Æcius._ No more, _Maximus_,
To one that truly lives. _Æcius_:
_Max._ Why, then I care not, I can live well enough,
For look you friend, for vertue, and those trifles,
They may be bought they say.
_Æcius._ He's craz'd a little,
His grief has made him talk things from his Nature.
_Max._ But Chastity is not a thing I take it
To get in _Rome_, unless it be bespoken
A hundred years before; Is it _Æcius_?
By'r Lady, and well handled too i'th' breeding.
_Æcius._ Will ye go any way?
_Max._ I'll tell thee, friend;
If my Wife for all this should be a Whore now,
A kind of Kicker out of sheets, 'twould vex me,
For I am not angry yet; the Emperour
Is young and handsome, and the Woman Flesh,
And may not these two couple without scratching?
_Æcius._ Alas, my noble friend.
_Max._ Alas not me,
I am not wretched, for there's no man miserable
But he that makes himself so.
_Æcius._ Will ye walk yet?
_Max._ Come, come, she dare not dye, friend, that's the truth on't,
She knows the inticing sweets and delicacies
Of a young Princes pleasures, and I thank her,
She has made a way for _Maximus_ to rise by.
Will't not become me bravely? why do you think
She wept, and said she was ravish'd? keep it here
And I'll discover to you.
_Æcius._ Well.
_Max._ She knows
I love no bitten flesh, and out of that hope
She might be from me, she contriv'd this knavery;
Was it not monstrous, friend?
_Æcius._ Does he but seem so,
Or is he mad indeed?
_Max._ Oh gods, my heart!
_Æcius._ Would it would fairly break.
_Max._ Methinks I am somewhat wilder than I was,
And yet I thank the gods I know my duty.
_Enter_ Claudia.
_Claud._ Nay, you may spare your tears; she's dead.
She is so.
_Max._ Why, so it should be: how?
_Claud._ When first she enter'd
Into her house, after a world of weeping,
And blushing like the Sun-set, as we see her;
Dare I, said she, defile this house with Whore,
In which his noble Family has flourish'd?
At which she fell, and stir'd no more; we rub'd her. [_Exit_ Clau.
_Max._ No more of that; be gone; now my _Æcius_,
If thou wilt do me pleasure, weep a little,
I am so parch'd I cannot: Your example
Has brought the rain down now: now lead me friend,
And as we walk together, let's pray together truly,
I may not fall from faith.
_Æcius._ That's nobly spoken.
_Max._ Was I not wild, _Æcius_?
_Æcius._ Somewhat troubled.
_Max._ I felt no sorrow then; Now I'll go with ye,
But do not name the Woman; fye, what fool
Am I to weep thus? Gods, _Lucina_, take thee,
For thou wert even the best and worthiest Lady.
_Æcius._ Good Sir, no more, I shall be melted with it.
_Max._ I have done, and good Sir comfort me;
Would there were wars now.
_Æcius._ Settle your thoughts, come.
_Max._ So I have now, friend,
Of my deep lamentations here's an end. [_Exeunt._
[SCENE II.]
_Enter_ Pontius, Phidias, _and_ Aretus.
_Phid._ By my faith, Captain _Pontius_, besides pity
Of your faln fortunes, what to say I know not,
For 'tis too true the Emperour desires not,
But my best master, any souldier near him.
_Aret._ And when he understands, he cast your fortunes
For disobedience, how can we incline him,
(That are but under persons to his favours)
To any fair opinion? Can ye sing?
_Pont._ Not to please him, _Aretus_, for my Songs
Go not to th' Lute, or Viol, but to th' Trumpet,
My tune kept on a Target, and my subject
The well struck wounds of men, not love, or women.
_Phid._ And those he understands not.
_Pont._ He should, _Phidias_.
_Aret._ Could you not leave this killing way a little?
You must, if here you would plant your self, and rather
Learn as we do, to like what those affect
That are above us; wear their actions,
And think they keep us warm too; what they say,
Though oftentimes they speak a little foolishly,
Not stay to construe, but prepare to execute,
And think however the end falls, the business
Cannot run empty handed.
_Phid._ Can ye flatter,
And if it were put to you, lye a little?
_Pont._ Yes, if it be a living.
_Aret._ That's well said then.
_Pont._ But must these lies and flatteries be believ'd then?
_Phid._ Oh yes, by any means.
_Pon._ By any means then
I cannot lie nor flatter.
_Aret._ Ye must swear too,
If ye be there.
_Pont._ I can swear if they move me.
_Phid._ Cannot ye forswear too?
_Pont._ The Court for ever,
If it be grown so wicked.
_Aret._ You should procure a little too.
_Pont._ What's that?
Mens honest sayings for my truth?
_Aret._ Oh no, Sir;
But womens honest actions for your trial.
_Pont._ Do you do all these things?
_Phid._ Do you not like 'em?
_Pont._ Do you ask me seriously, or trifle with me?
I am not so low yet to be your mirth.
_Are._ You do mistake us, Captain, for sincerely,
We ask you how you like 'em?
_Pon._ Then sincerely,
I tell ye I abhor 'em; they are ill ways,
And I will starve before I fall into 'em,
The doers of 'em Wretches, their base hungers
Care not whose Bread they eat, nor how they get it.
_Aret._ What then, Sir?
_Pon._ If you profess this wickedness,
Because ye have been Souldiers, and born Arms,
The Servants of the brave _Æcius_,
And by him put to th' Emperour, give me leave,
Or I must take it else, to say ye are Villains,
For all your Golden Coats, debosh'd, base Villains,
Yet I do wear a Sword to tell you so,
Is this the way you mark out for a Souldier,
A Man that has commanded for the Empire,
And born the Reputation of a Man?
Are there not lazie things enough call'd fools and cowards,
And poor enough to be prefer'd for Panders,
But wanting Souldiers must be Knaves too? ha!
This the trim course of life; were not ye born Bawds,
And so inherit but your Rights? I am poor,
And may expect a worse; yet digging, pruning,
Mending of broken ways, carrying of water,
Planting of Worts and Onions, any thing
That's honest, and a Mans, I'll rather chuse,
I, and live better on it, which is juster,
Drink my well gotten water with more pleasure,
When my endeavours done, and wages paid me,
Than you do wine, eat my course Bread, not curst,
And mend upon't, your diets are diseases,
And sleep as soundly, when my labour bids me,
As any forward Pander of ye all,
And rise a great deal honester; my Garments,
Though not as yours, the soft sins of the Empire,
Yet may be warm, and keep the biting wind out,
When every single breath of poor opinion
Finds you through all your Velvets.
Put us good men to th' Emperour, so we have serv'd him,
Though much neglected for it; So dare be still;
Your Curses are not ours; we have seen your fortune,
But yet know no way to redeem it: Means,
Such as we have, ye shall not want, brave _Pontius_,
But pray be temperate, if we can wipe out
The way of your offences, we are yours, Sir;
And you shall live at Court an honest Man too.
_Phid._ That little meat and means we have, we'll share it,
Fear not to be as we are; what we told ye,
Were but meer tryals of your truth: y'are worthy,
And so we'll ever hold ye; suffer better,
And then you are a right Man, _Pontius_,
If my good Master be not ever angry,
Ye shall command again.
_Pont._ I have found two good men: use my life,
For it is yours, and all I have to thank ye-- [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_Enter_ Maximus.
_Max._ There's no way else to do it, he must dye,
This friend must dye, this soul of _Maximus_,
Without whom I am nothing but my shame,
This perfectness that keeps me from opinion,
Must dye, or I must live thus branded ever:
A hard choice, and a fatal; Gods ye have given me
A way to credit, but the ground to go on,
Ye have levell'd with that precious life I love most,
Yet I must on, and through, for if I offer
To take my way without him, like a Sea
He bears his high Command 'twixt me and vengeance,
And in mine own road sinks me, he is honest,
Of a most constant loyalty to _Cæsar_,
And when he shall but doubt, I dare attempt him,
But make a question of his ill, but say
What is a _Cæsar_, that he dare do this,
Dead sure he cuts me off; _Æcius_ dyes,
Or I have lost my self: why should I kill him?
Why should I kill my self? for 'tis my killing,
_Æcius_ is my root, and wither him,
Like a decaying Branch I fall to nothing.
Is he not more to me than Wife, than _Cæsar_?
Though I had now my safe revenge upon him,
Is he not more than rumour, and his friendship
Sweeter than the love of women? what is honour
We all so strangely are bewitch'd withal?
Can it relieve me if I want? he has;
Can honour 'twixt the incensed Prince and Envy,
Bear up the lives of worthy men? he has;
Can honour pull the wings of fearful Cowards,
And make 'em turn again like Tigers? he has;
And I have liv'd to see this, and preserv'd so:
Why should this empty word incite me then
To what is ill and cruel? let her perish.
A friend is more than all the world, than honour;
She is a woman and her loss the less,
And with her go my griefs; but hark ye _Maximus_,
Was she not yours? Did she not dye to tell ye
She was a ravish'd woman? Did not Justice
Nobly begin with her that not deserv'd it,
And shall he live that did it? Stay a little,
Can this abuse dye here? Shall not mens tongues
Dispute it afterward, and say I gave
(Affecting dull obedience, and tame duty,
And led away with fondness of a friendship)
The only vertue of the world to slander?
Is not this certain, was not she a chaste one,
And such a one, that no compare dwelt with her,
One of so sweet a vertue that _Æcius_,
Even he himself, this friend that holds me from it,
Out of his worthy love to me, and justice,
Had it not been on _Cæsar_, had reveng'd her?
He told me so; what shall I do then?
_Enter a Servant._
Can other men affect it, and I cold?
I fear he must not live.
_Serv._ My Lord, the General
Is come to seek ye.
_Max._ Go, entreat him to enter;
O brave _Æcius_, I could wish thee now
As far from friendship to me, as from fears,
That I might cut thee off, like that I weigh'd not,
Is there no way without him to come near it?
For out of honesty he must destroy me
If I attempt it, he must dye as others,
And I must lose him; 'tis necessity,
Only the time and means is the difference;
But yet I would not make a murther of him,
Take him directly for my doubts; he shall dye,
I have found a way to do it, and a safe one,
It shall be honour to him too: I know not
What to determine certain, I am so troubled,
And such a deal of conscience presses me;
_Enter_ Æcius.
Would I were dead my self.
_Æcius._ You run away well;
How got you from me, friend?
_Max._ That that leads mad men,
A strong imagination made me wander.
_Æcius._ I thought you had been more setled.
_Max._ I am well,
But you must give me leave a little sometimes
To have a buzzing in my brains.
_Æcius._ Ye are dangerous,
But I'll prevent it if I can; ye told me
You would go to th' Army.
_Max._ Why, to have my throat cut?
Must he not be the bravest man, _Æcius_,
That strikes me first?
_Æci._ You promised me a freedom
From all these thoughts, and why should any strike you?
_Max._ I am an Enemy, a wicked one,
Worse than the foes of _Rome_, I am a Coward,
A Cuckold, and a Coward, that's two causes
Why every one should beat me.
_Æci._ Ye are neither;
And durst another tell me so, he dyed for't,
For thus far on mine honour, I'le assure you
No man more lov'd than you, and for your valour,
And what ye may be, fair; no man more follow'd.
_Max._ A doughty man indeed: but that's all one,
The Emperour nor all the Princes living
Shall find a flaw in my Coat; I have suffer'd,
And can yet; let them find inflictions,
I'le find a body for 'em, or I'le break it.
'Tis not a Wife can thrust me out, some look't for't;
But let 'em look till they are blind with looking,
They are but fools; yet there is anger in me,
That I would fain disperse, and now I think on't,
You told me, friend, the Provinces are stirring,
We shall have sport I hope then, and what's dangerous,
A Battle shall beat from me.
_Æci._ Why do ye eye me,
With such a setled look?
_Max._ Pray tell me this,
Do we not love extreamly? I love you so.
_Æci._ If I should say I lov'd not you as truly,
I should do that I never durst do, lye.
_Max._ If I should dye, would it not grieve you much?
_Æci._ Without all doubt.
_Max._ And could you live without me?
_Æci._ It would much trouble me to live without ye.
Our loves, and loving souls have been so us'd
But to one houshold in us: but to dye
Because I could not make you live, were woman,
Far much too weak, were it to save your worth,
Or to redeem your name from rooting out,
To quit you bravely fighting from the foe,
Or fetch ye off, where honour had ingag'd ye.
I ought, and would dye for ye.
_Max._ Truly spoken.
What beast but I, that must, could hurt this man now?
Would he had ravish'd me, I would have paid him,
I would have taught him such a trick, his Eunuchs
Nor all his black-eyed Boys dreamt of yet;
By all the Gods I am mad now; now were _Cæsar_
Within my reach, and on his glorious top
The pile of all the world, he went to nothing;
The Destinies, nor all the dames of Hell,
Were I once grappl'd with him, should relieve him,
No not the hope of mankind more; all perished;
But this is words, and weakness.
_Æci._ Ye look strangely.
_Max._ I look but as I am, I am a stranger.
_Æci._ To me?
_Max._ To every one, I am no _Roman_;
Nor what I am do I know.
_Æci._ Then I'le leave ye.
_Max._ I find I am best so, if ye meet with _Maximus_
Pray bid him be an honest man for my sake,
You may do much upon him; for his shadow,
Let me alone.
_Æci._ Ye were not wont to talk thus,
And to your friend; ye have some danger in you,
That willingly would run to action,
Take heed, by all our love take heed.
_Max._ I danger?
I, willing to do any thing, I dig.
Has not my Wife been dead two dayes already?
Are not my mournings by this time moth-eaten?
Are not her sins dispers'd to other Women,
And many one ravish'd to relieve her?
Have I shed tears these twelve hours?
_Æci._ Now ye weep.
_Max._ Some lazie drops that staid behind.
_Æci._ I'le tell ye
And I must tell ye truth, were it not hazard,
And almost certain loss of all the Empire,
I would join with ye: were it any mans
But his life, that is life of us, he lost it
For doing of this mischief: I would take it,
And to your rest give ye a brave revenge:
But as the rule now stands, and as he rules,
And as the Nations hold in disobedience,
One pillar failing, all must fall; I dare not:
Nor is it just you should be suffer'd in it,
Therefore again take heed: On forraign foes
We are our own revengers, but at home
On Princes that are eminent and ours,
'Tis fit the Gods should judge us: be not rash,
Nor let your angry steel cut those ye know not,
For by this fatal blow, if ye dare strike it,
As I see great aims in ye, those unborn yet,
And those to come of them, and these succeeding
Shall bleed the wrath of _Maximus_: for me
As ye now bear your self, I am your friend still,
If ye fall off I will not flatter ye,
And in my hands, were ye my soul, you perish'd:
Once more be careful, stand, and still be worthy,
I'le leave you for this hour. [_Exit._
_Max._ Pray do, 'tis done:
And friendship, since thou canst not hold in dangers,
Give me a certain ruin, I must through it. [_Exit._
_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._
_Enter Emperour_, Licinius, Chilax, _and_ Balbus.
_Emper._ Dead?
_Chil._ So 'tis thought, Sir.
_Emper._ How?
_Lici._ Grief, and disgrace,
As people say.
_Empe._ No more, I have too much on't,
Too much by you, you whetters of my follies,
Ye Angel formers of my sins, but Devils;
Where is your cunning now? you would work wonders,
There was no chastity above your practice,
You would undertake to make her love her wrongs,
And doate upon her rape: mark what I tell ye,
If she be dead--
_Chil._ Alas Sir.
_Empe._ Hang ye Rascals,
Ye blasters of my youth, if she be gone,
'Twere better ye had been your Fathers Camels,
Groan'd under daily weights of wood and water:
Am I not _Cæsar_?
_Lici._ Mighty and our Maker.
_Empe._ Than thus have given my pleasures to destruction.
Look she be living, slaves.
_Lici._ We are no Gods Sir,
If she be dead, to make her new again.
_Empe._ She cannot dye, she must not dye; are those
I plant my love upon but common livers?
Their hours as others, told 'em? can they be ashes?
Why do ye flatter a belief into me
That I am all that is, the world's my creature,
The Trees bring forth their fruits when I say Summer,
The Wind that knows no limit but his wildness,
At my command moves not a leaf; the Sea
With his proud mountain waters envying Heaven,
When I say still, run into Crystal mirrors,
Can I do this and she dye? Why ye bubbles
That with my least breath break, no more remembred;
Ye moths that fly about my flame and perish,
Ye golden canker-worms, that eat my honours,
Living no longer than my spring of favour:
Why do ye make me God that can do nothing?
Is she not dead?
_Chil._ All Women are not with her.
_Empe._ A common Whore serves you, and far above ye,
The pleasures of a body lam'd with lewdness;
A meer perpetual motion makes ye happy;
Am I a man to traffick with Diseases?
Can any but a chastity serve _Cæsar_?
And such a one that Gods would kneel to purchase?
You think because you have bred me up to pleasures,
And almost run me over all the rare ones,
Your Wives will serve the turn: I care not for 'em,
Your Wives are Fencers Whores, and shall be Footmens,
Though sometimes my nice will, or rather anger
Have made ye Cuckolds for variety;
I would not have ye hope, nor dream ye poor ones
Alwaies so great a blessing from me; go
Get your own infamy hereafter Rascals,
I have done too nobly for ye, ye enjoy
Each one an heir, the Royal seed of _Cæsar_,
And I may curse ye for't; your wanton Gennets
That are so proud, the wind get's 'em with fillies,
Taught me this foul intemperance: Thou _Licinius_
Hast such a _Messalina_, such a _Lais_,
The backs of Bulls cannot content, nor Stallions,
The sweat of fifty men a night do's nothing.
_Lici._ Your Grace but jests I hope.
_Empe._ 'Tis Oracle.
The sins of other Women put by hers
Shew off like sanctities: Thine's a fool, _Chilax_,
Yet she can tell to twenty, and all lovers,
And all lien with her too, and all as she is,
Rotten, and ready for an Hospital.
Yours is an holy Whore, friend _Balbus_.
_Bal._ Well Sir.
_Empe._ One that can pray away the sins she suffers,
But not the punishments: she has had ten Bastards,
Five of 'em now are Lictors, yet she prayes;
She has been the Song of _Rome_, and common _Pasquil_;
Since I durst see a Wench, she was Camp Mistris,
And muster'd all the cohorts, paid 'em too,
They have it yet to shew, and yet she prayes;
She is now to enter old men that are Children,
And have forgot their rudiments: am I
Left for these withered vices? and but one,
But one of all the world that could content me,
And snatch'd away in shewing? If your Wives
Be not yet Witches, or your selves now be so
And save your lives, raise me this noble beauty
As when I forc'd her, full of constancy,
Or by the Gods--
_Lid._ Most sacred _Cæsar_.
_Empe._ Slaves.
_Enter_ Proculus.
_Lici._ Good _Proculus_.
_Pro._ You shall not see it,
It may concern the Empire.
_Emp._ Ha: what said'st thou?
Is she not dead?
_Pro._ Not any one I know, Sir;
I come to bring your Grace a Letter, here
Scatter'd belike i'th' Court: 'tis sent to _Maximus_
And bearing danger in it.
_Emp._ Danger? where?
Double our Guard.
_Pro._ Nay no where, but i'th' Letter.
_Emp._ What an afflicted Conscience do I live with,
And what a beast I am grown! I had forgotten
To ask Heaven mercy for my fault, and was now
Even ravishing again her memory,
I find there must be danger in this deed:
Why do I stand disputing then and whining?
For what is not the gods to give, they cannot
Though they would link their powers in one, do mischief.
This Letter may betray me, get ye gone [_Exeunt._
And wait me in the Garden, guard the house well,
And keep this from the Empress: the name _Maximus_
Runs through me like a feavour, this may be
Some private Letter upon private business,
Nothing concerning me: why should I open't?
I have done him wrong enough already; yet
It may concern me too, the time so tells me;
The wicked deed I have done, assures me 'tis so.
Be what it will, I'le see it, if that be not
Part of my fears, among my other sins,
I'le purge it out in prayers:
How? what's this?
_Letter read_] Lord _Maximus_, you love _Æcius_,
And are his noble friend too; bid him be less,
I mean less with the people, times are dangerou[s]:
The Army's his, the Emperour in doubts;
And as some will not stick to say, declining,
You stand a constant man in either fortune;
Perswade him, he is lost else: Though ambition
Be the last sin he touches at, or never;
Yet what the people mad with loving him,
And as they willingly desire another
May tempt him to, or rather force his goodness,
Is to be doubted mainly: he is all,
(As he stands now) but the meer name of _Cæsar_,
And should the Emperour inforce him lesser,
Not coming from himself, it were more dangerous:
He is honest, and will hear you: doubts are scatter'd,
And almost come to growth in every houshold:
Yet in my foolish judgment, were this master'd,
The people that are now but rage, and his,
Might be again obedience: you shall know me
When _Rome_ is fair again; till when I love you.
No name! this may be cunning, yet it seems not;
For there is nothing in it but is certain,
Besides my safety.
Had not good _Germanicus_,
That was as loyal, and as straight as he is,
If not prevented by _Tiberius_,
Been by the Souldiers forc'd their Emperour?
He had, and 'tis my wisdom to remember it.
And was not _Corbulo_, even that _Corbulo_,
That ever fortunate and living _Roman_,
That broke the heart-strings of the _Parthians_,
And brought _Arsaces_ line upon their knees,
Chain'd to the awe of _Rome_, because he was thought
(And but in wine once) fit to make a _Cæsar_,
Cut off by _Nero_? I must seek my safety:
For 'tis the same again, if not beyond it:
I know the Souldier loves him more than Heaven,
And will adventure all his gods to raise him;
Me he hates more than peace: what this may breed,
If dull security and confidence
Let him grow up, a fool may find and laught at.
But why Lord _Maximus_ I injur'd so,
Should be the man to counsel him, I know not;
More than he has been friend, and lov'd allegeance:
What now he is I fear, for his abuses
Without the people dare draw blood; who waits there?
_Enter a Servant._
_Ser._ Your Grace.
_Emp._ Call _Phidias_ and _Aretus_ hither:
I'le find a day for him too; times are dangerous,
The Army his, the Emperour in doubts:
I find it is too true; did he not tell me
1. As if he had intent to make me odious,
2. And to my face; and by a way of terror,
What vices I was grounded in, and almost
Proclaim'd the Souldiers hate against me? is not
The sacred name and dignity of _Cæsar_
(Were this _Æcius_ more than man) sufficient
To shake off all his honesty? He's dangerous
Though he be good, and though a friend, a fear'd one,
And such I must not sleep by: are they come yet?
I do believe this fellow, and I thank him;
'Twas time to look about, if I must perish,
Yet shall my fears go formost.
_Enter_ Phidias, _and_ Aretus.
_Phi._ Life to _Cæsar_.
_Emp._ Is Lord _Æcius_ waiting?
_Phi._ Not this morning,
I rather think he's with the Army.
_Emp._ Army?
I do not like that Army: go unto him,
And bid him straight attend me, and do ye hear,
Come private without any; I have business
Only for him.
_Phi._ Your Graces pleasure-- [_Exit_ Phidias.
_Emp._ Go;
What Souldier is the same, I have seen him often,
That keeps you company, _Aretus_?
_Are._ Me Sir?
_Emp._ I you, Sir.
_Are._ One they call _Pontius_,
And't please your Grace.
_Emp._ A Captain?
_Are._ Yes, he was so;
But speaking something roughly in his want,
Especially of Wars, the Noble General
Out of strict allegiance cast his fortunes.
_Emp._ H'as been a valiant fellow.
_Are._ So he's still.
_Emp._ Alas, the General might have pardon'd follies,
Souldiers will talk sometimes.
_Are._ I am glad of this.
_Emp._ He wants preferment as I take it.
_Are._ Yes Sir;
And for that noble Grace his life shall serve.
_Emp._ I have a service for him:
I shame a Souldier should become a Begger:
I like the man _Aretus_.
_Are._ Gods protect ye.
_Emp._ Bid him repair to _Proculus_, and there
He shall receive the business, and reward for't:
I'le see him setled too, and as a Souldier,
We shall want such.
_Are._ The sweets of Heaven still crown ye.
_Emp._ I have a fearful darkness in my soul,
And till I be deliver'd, still am dying. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ Maximus _alone_.
_Max._ My way has taken: all the Court's in guard,
And business every where, and every corner
Full of strange whispers: I am least in rumour,
_Enter_ Æcius _and_ Phidias.
And so I'le keep my self. Here comes _Æcius_,
I see the bait is swallow'd: If he be lost
He is my _Martyr_, and my way stands open,
And honour on thy head, his blood is reckon'd.
_Æ[ci]._ Why how now friend, what makes ye here unarm'd?
Are ye turn'd Merchant?
_Max._ By your fair perswasions,
And such a Merchant trafficks without danger;
I have forgotten all, _Æcius_,
And which is more, forgiven.
_Æci._ Now I love ye,
Truly I do, ye are a worthy _Roman_.
_Max._ The fair repentance of my Prince to me
Is more than sacrifice of bloud and vengeance,
No eyes shall weep her ruins, but mine own.
_Aeci._ Still ye take more love from me: vertuous friend
The gods make poor _Aecius_ worthy of thee.
_Max._ Only in me y'are poor Sir: and I worthy
Only in being yours:
But why your arm thus,
Have ye been hurt _Aecius_?
_Aeci._ Bruis'd a little:
My horse fell with me friend: which till this morning
I never knew him do.
_Max._ Pray gods it boad well;
And now I think on't better, ye shall back,
Let my perswasions rule ye.
_Aeci._ Back, why _Maximus_?
The Emperour commands me come.
_Max._ I like not
At this time his command.
_Aeci._ I do at all times,
And all times will obey it, why not now then?
_Max._ I'le tell ye why, and as I have been govern'd,
Be you so, noble friend: The Court's in Guard,
Arm'd strongly, for what purpose, let me fear;
I do not like your going.
_Aeci._ Were it fire;
And that fire certain to consume this body,
If _Cæsar_ sent, I would goe; never fear man,
If he take me, he takes his arms away,
I am too plain and true to be suspected.
_Max._ Then I have dealt unwisely.
_Aeci._ If the Emperour,
Because he meerely may, will have my life,
That's all he has to work on, and all shall have:
Let him, he loves me better: here I wither,
And happily may live, till ignorantly
I run into a fault worth death: nay more, dishonour.
Now all my sins, I dare say those of duty
Are printed here, and if I fall so happy,
I bless the grave I lye in, and the gods
Equal, as dying on the Enemy,
Must take me up a Sacrifice.
_Max._ Goe on then,
And I'le goe with ye.
_Aeci._ No, ye may not friend.
_Max._ He cannot be a friend, bars me _Aecius_,
Shall I forsake ye in my doubts?
_Aeci._ Ye must.
_Max._ I must not, nor I will not; have I liv'd
Only to be a Carpet friend for pleasure?
I can endure a death as well as _Cato_.
_Aeci._ There is no death nor danger in my going,
Nor none must goe along.
_Max._ I have a sword too,
And once I could have us'd it for my friend.
_Aeci._ I need no sword, nor friend in this, pray leave me;
And as ye love me, do not overlove me;
I am commanded none shall come: at supper
I'le meet ye, and weel drink a cup or two,
Ye need good Wine, ye have been sad: Farewel.
_Max._ Farewel my noble friend, let me embrace ye
E're ye depart; it may be one of us
Shall never do the like again.
_Aeci._ Yes often.
_Max._ Farewel good dear _Aecius_.
_Aeci._ Farewel _Maximus_
Till night: indeed you doubt too much.-- [_Exit._
_Max._ I do not:
Goe worthy innocent, and make the number
Of _Cæsars_ sins so great, Heaven may want mercy:
I'le hover hereabout to know what passes:
And if he be so devilish to destroy thee,
In thy bloud shall begin his Tragedy.-- [_Exit._
SCENE III.
_Enter_ Proculus, _and_ Pontius.
_Pro._ Besides this, if you do it, you enjoy
The noble name _Patrician_: more than that too,
The friend of _Cæsar_ ye are stil'd: there's nothing
Within the hopes of _Rome_, or present being,
But you may safely say is yours.
_Pon._ Pray stay Sir;
What has _Aecius_ done to be destroy'd?
At least I would have a colour.
_Pro._ Ye have more,
Nay all that may be given, he is a Traitor,
One, any man would strike that were a subject.
_Pon._ Is he so foul?
_Pro._ Yes, a most fearfull Traytor.
_Pon._ A fearfull plague upon thee, for thou lyest;
I ever thought the Souldier would undoe him
With his too much affection.
_Pro._ Ye have hit it,
They have brought him to ambition.
_Pon._ Then he is gone.
_Pro._ The Emperour out of a foolish pitie,
Would save him yet.
_Pon._ Is he so mad?
_Pro._ He's madder!
Would goe to'th' Army to him.
_Pon._ Would he so?
_Pro._ Yes _Pontius_; but we consider--
_Pon._ Wisely.
_Pro._ How else man, that the state lies in it.
_Pon._ And your lives too.
_Pro._ And every mans.
_Pon._ He did me
All the disgrace he could.
_Pro._ And scurvily.
_Pon._ Out of a mischief meerly: did you mark it?
_Pro._ Yes well enough.
Now ye have means to quit it,
The deed done, take his place.
_Pon._ Pray let me think on't,
'Tis ten to one I do it.
_Pro._ Do and be happy.-- [_Exit_ Pro.
_Pon._ This Emperour is made of nought but mischief,
Sure, Murther was his Mother: none to lop,
But the main link he had? upon my conscience
The man is truly honest, and that kills him;
For to live here, and study to be true,
Is all one to be Traitors: why should he die?
Have they not Slaves and Rascals for their Offrings
In full abundance; Bawds more than beasts for slaughter?
Have they not singing whores enough, and knaves too,
And millions of such Martyrs to sink _Charon_,
But the best sons of _Rome_ must sail too? I will shew him
(since he must dye) a way to do it truly:
And though he bears me hard, yet shall he know,
I am born to make him bless me for a blow.-- [_Exit._
SCENE [IV].
_Enter_ Phidias, Aretus, _and_ Æcius.
_Phi._ Yet ye may 'scape to th' Camp, we'l hazard with ye.
_Aret._ Lose not your life so basely Sir: ye are arm'd,
And many when they see your sword out, and know why,
Must follow your adventure.
_Aeci._ Get ye from me:
Is not the doom of _Cæsar_ on this body,
Do not I bear my last hour here, now sent me?
Am I not old _Aecius_, ever dying?
You think this tenderness and love you bring me,
'Tis treason, and the strength of disobedience,
And if ye tempt me further, ye shall feel it:
I seek the Camp for safety, when my death
Ten times more glorious than my life, and lasting
Bids me be happy? Let the fool fear dying,
Or he that weds a woman for his honour,
Dreaming no other life to come but kisses;
_Aecius_ is not now to learn to suffer:
If ye dare shew a just affection, kill me,
I stay but those that must: why do ye weep?
Am I so wretched to deserve mens pities?
Goe give your tears to those that lose their worths,
Bewail their miseries, for me wear Garlands,
Drink wine, and much; sing _Peans_ to my praise,
I am to triumph friends, and more than _Cæsar_,
For _Cæsar_ fears to die, I love to die.
_Phi._ O my dear Lord!
_Aeci._ No more, goe, goe I say;
Shew me not signs of sorrow, I deserve none:
Dare any man lament, I should die nobly?
Am I grown old to have such enemies?
When I am dead, speak honourably of me,
That is, preserve my memory from dying;
There if you needs must weep your ruin'd Master,
A tear or two will seem well: this I charge ye,
(because ye say you yet love old _Aecius_)
See my poor body burnt, and some to sing
About my Pile, and what I have done and suffer'd,
If _Cæsar_ kill not that too: at your banquets
When I am gone, if any chance to number
The times that have been sad and dangerous,
Say how I fell, and 'tis sufficient:
No more I say, he that laments my end
By all the gods dishonours me; be gone
And suddainly, and wisely from my dangers,
My death is catching else.
_Phi._ We fear not dying.
_Aec._ Yet fear a wilfull death, the just Gods hate it,
I need no company to that that Children
Dare do alone, and Slaves are proud to purchase;
Live till your honesties, as mine has done,
Make this corrupted age sick of your vertues,
Then dye a sacrifice, and then ye know
The noble use of dying well, and _Roman_.
_Are._ And must we leave ye Sir?
_Aeci._ We must all die,
All leave our selves, it matters not where, when,
Nor how, so we die well: and can that man that does so
Need lamentation for him? Children weep
Because they have offended, or for fear;
Women for want of will, and anger; is there
In noble man, that truly feels both poyses
Of life and death, so much of this wet weakness,
To drown a glorious death in child and woman?
I am asham'd to see ye; yet ye move me,
And were it not my manhood would accuse me,
For covetous to live, I should weep with ye.
_Phi._ O we shall never see you more.
_Aeci._ 'Tis true;
Nor I the miseries that _Rome_ shall suffer,
Which is a benefit life cannot reckon:
But what I have been, which is just, and faithfull;
One that grew old for _Rome_, when _Rome_ forgot him,
And for he was an honest man durst die,
Ye shall have daily with ye: could that dye too,
And I return no traffick of my travels,
No pay to have been Souldier, but this Silver,
No _Annals_ of _Æcius_, but he liv'd,
My friends, ye had cause to weep, and bitterly;
The common overflows of tender women,
And children new born crying, were too little
To shew me then most wretched: if tears must be,
I should in justice weep 'em, and for you,
You are to live, and yet behold those slaughters
The drie, and wither'd bones of death would bleed at:
But sooner, than I have time to think what must be,
I fear you'l find what shall be;
If ye love me,
Let that word serve for all, be gone and leave me;
I have some little practice with my soul,
And then the sharpest sword is welcom'st; goe,
Pray be gone, ye have obey'd me living,
Be not for shame now stubborn; so I thank ye,
And fare ye well, a better fortune guide ye--
[_Exeunt_ Phi. _and_ Aretus.
I am a little thirstie, not for fear,
And yet it is a kind of fear, I say so;
Is it to be a just man now again,
And leave my flesh unthought of? 'tis departed:
I hear 'em come, who strikes first?
I stay for ye:
_Enter_ Balbus, Chilax, Licinius.
Yet I will dye a Souldier, my sword drawn,
But against none:
Why do ye fear? come forward.
_Bal._ You were a Souldier _Chilax_.
_Chil._ Yes, I muster'd
But never saw the Enemy.
_Lici._ He's drawn,
By heaven I dare not do it.
_Aeci._ Why do ye tremble?
I am to die, come ye not now from _Cæsar_
To that end, speak?
_Bal._ We do, and we must kill ye,
'Tis _Cæsars_ will.
_Chil._ I charge you put your sword up,
That we may do it handsomly.
_Aeci._ Ha, ha, ha,
My sword up, handsomly? where were ye bred?
Ye are the merriest murderers my masters
I ever met withal; Come forward fools,
Why do ye stare? upon mine honour Bawds,
I will not strike ye.
_Lici._ I'le not be first.
_Bal._ Nor I.
_Chil._ You had best die quietly: the Emperour
Sees how you bear your self.
_Aeci._ I would die Rascals,
If you would kill me quietly.
_Bal._ ---- of _Proculus_,
He promis'd us to bring a Captain hither,
That has been used to kill.
_Aeci._ I'le call the Guard,
Unless you will kill me quickly, and proclaim
What beastly, base, and cowardly companions
The Emperour has trusted with his safetie:
Nay I'le give out, ye fell of my side, villains,
Strike home ye bawdy slaves.
_Chil._ He will kill us,
I mark'd his hand, he waits but time to reach us,
Now do you offer.
_Aeci._ If ye do mangle me,
And kill me not at two blows, or at three,
Or not so stagger me, my senses fail me,
Look to your selves.
_Chil._ I told ye.
_Aeci._ Strike me manly,
And take a thousand strokes.--
_Enter_ Pontius.
_Bal._ Here's _Pontius_.
_Pon._ Not kill'd him yet?
Is this the love ye bear the Emperour?
Nay then I see ye are Traitors all, have at ye.-- [Lici. _runs away_.
_Chi._ Oh I am hurt.
_Bal._ And I am kill'd-- [_Exeunt_ Chil. _and_ Bal.
_Pon._ Dye Bawds;
As ye have liv'd and flourish'd.
_Aeci._ Wretched fellow,
What hast thou done?
_Pon._ Kill'd them that durst not kill,
And you are next.
_Aeci._ Art thou not _Pontius_?
_Pon._ I am the same you cast _Æcius_,
And in the face of all the Camp disgrac'd.
_Aec._ Then so much nobler, as thou wert a Souldier,
Shall my death be: is it revenge provok'd thee,
Or art thou hir'd to kill me?
_Pon._ Both.
_Aeci._ Then do it.
_Pon._ Is that all?
_Aeci._ Yes.
_Pon._ Would you not live?
_Aeci._ Why should I,
To thank thee for my life?
_Pon._ Yes, if I spare it.
_Aeci._ Be not deceiv'd, I was not made to thank
For any courtesie, but killing me,
A fellow of thy fortune; do thy duty.
_Pon._ Do not you fear me?
_Aeci._ No.
_Pon._ Nor love me for it?
_Aeci._ That's as thou dost thy business.
_Pon._ When you are dead,
Your place is mine _Æcius_.
_Aeci._ Now I fear thee,
And not alone thee _Pontius_, but the Empire.
_Pon._ Why, I can govern Sir.
_Aeci._ I would thou couldst,
And first thy self: Thou canst fight well, and bravely,
Thou canst endure all dangers, heats, colds, hungers;
Heavens angry flashes are not suddainer,
Than I have seen thee execute; nor more mortal;
The winged feet of flying enemies
I have stood and view'd thee mow away like rushes,
And still kill the killer: were thy minde,
But half so sweet in peace, as rough in dangers,
I died to leave a happy heir behind me;
Come strike, and be a General.
_Pon._ Prepare then:
And, for I see your honour cannot lessen,
And 'twere a shame for me to strike a dead man,
Fight your short span out.
_Aeci._ No thou knowst I must not,
I dare not give thee so much vantage of me,
As disobedience.
_Pon._ Dare ye not defend ye
Against your enemy?
_Aeci._ Not sent from _Cæsar_,
I have no power to make such enemies;
For as I am condemn'd, my naked sword
Stands but a hatchment by me; only held
To shew I was a Souldier; had not _Cæsar_
Chain'd all defence in this doom, let him die,
Old as I am, and quench'd with scarrs, and sorrows,
Yet would I make this wither'd Arm do wonders,
And open in an enemy such wounds
Mercy would weep to look on.
_Pon._ Then have at ye,
And look upon me, and be sure ye fear not:
Remember who you are, and why you live,
And what I have been to you: cry not hold,
Nor think it base injustice I should kill ye.
_Aeci._ I am prepar'd for all.
_Pon._ For now _Æcius_,
Thou shalt behold and find I was no traitor,
And as I do it, bless me; die as I do.-- [Pontius _kills himself_.
_Aeci._ Thou hast deceiv'd me _Pontius_, and I thank thee;
By all my hopes in Heaven, thou art a _Roman_.
_Pon._ To shew you what you ought to do, this is not;
For slanders self would shame to find you coward,
Or willing to out-live your honestie:
But noble Sir, ye have been jealous of me,
And held me in the rank of dangerous persons,
And I must dying say it was but justice,
Ye cast me from my credit; yet believe me,
For there is nothing now but truth to save me,
And your forgiveness, though ye held me hainous,
And of a troubled spirit, that like fire
Turns all to flames it meets with, ye mistook me;
If I were foe to any thing, 'twas ease,
Want of the Souldiers due, the Enemy
The nakedness we found at home, and scorn,
Children of peace, and pleasures, no regard
Nor comfort for our scars, but how we got 'em,
To rusty time, that eat our bodies up,
And even began to prey upon our honours,
To wants at home, and more than wants, abuses,
To them, that when the Enemy invaded
Made us their Saints, but now the sores of _Rome_;
To silken flattery, and pride plain'd over,
Forgetting with what wind their feathers sail,
And under whose protection their soft pleasures
Grow full and numberless: to this I am foe,
Not to the state, or any point of duty:
And let me speak but what a Souldier may,
Truly I ought to be so; yet I err'd,
Because a far more noble sufferer
Shew'd me the way to patience, and I lost it:
This is the end I die Sir; to live basely,
And not the follower of him that bred me,
In full account and vertue, _Pontius_ dare not,
Much less to out-live what is good, and flatter.
_Aeci._ I want a name to give thy vertue Souldier,
For only good is far below thee _Pontius_,
The gods shall find thee one; thou hast fashion'd death
In such an excellent, and beauteous manner,
I wonder men can live: Canst thou speak once more,
For thy words are such harmony, a soul
Would choose to flye to Heaven in.
_Pon._ A farewel:
Good noble General your hand, forgive me,
And think what ever was displeasing you,
Was none of mine: ye cannot live.
_Aeci._ I will not:
Yet one word more.
_Pon._ Dye nobly: _Rome_ farewel:
And _Valentinian_ fall, thou hast broke thy Basis.
In joy ye have given me a quiet death,
I would strike more wounds, if I had more breath-- [_He dyes._
_Aeci._ Is there an hour of goodness beyond this?
Or any man would out-live such a dying?
Would _Cæsar_ double all my honours on me,
And stick me o're with favours, like a Mistris;
Yet would I grow to this man: I have loved,
But never doated on a face till now:
O death thou art more than beautie, and thy pleasure
Beyond posterity: Come friends and kill me;
_Cæsar_ be kind, and send a thousand swords,
The more, the greater is my fall: why stay ye?
Come, and I'le kiss your weapons: fear me not,
By all the gods I'le honour ye for killing:
Appear, or through the Court, and world, I'le search ye:
My sword is gone; ye are Traitors if ye spare me,
And _Cæsar_ must consume ye: all base cowards?
I'le follow ye, and e're I dye proclaim ye
The weeds of _Italy_; the dross of nature--
Where are ye, villains, traytors, slaves.-- [_Exit._
_Enter_ Proculus, _and 3 others running over the Stage_.
_Pro._ I knew
H'ad kill'd the Captain.
_1._ Here's his sword.
_Pro._ Let it alone, 'twill fight it self else; friends,
An hundred men are not enough to do it,
I'le to the Emperour, and get more aid.
_Aeci._ None strike a poor condemned man?
_Pro._ He is mad:
Shift for your selves my Masters.-- [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Æcius.
_Æcius._ Then _Æcius_,
See what thou darst thy self; hold my good sword,
Thou hast been kept from bloud too long, I'le kiss thee,
For thou art more then friend now, my preserver,
Shew me the way to happiness, I seek it:
And all you great ones, that have faln as I do,
To keep your memories, and honours living,
Be present in your vertues, and assist me,
That like strong _Cato_, I may put away
All promises, but what shall crown my ashes;
_Rome_, fare thee well: stand long, and know to conquer
Whilst there is people, and ambition:
Now for a stroak shall turn me to a Star:
I come ye blessed spirits, make me room
To live for ever in _Elyzium_:
Do men fear this? O that posterity
Could learn from him but this, that loves his wound,
There is no pain at all in dying well,
Nor none are lost, but those that make their hell-- [_Kills himself._
_Enter_ Proculus, _and two others_.
1 _Within._ He's dead, draw in the Guard again.
_Pro._ He's dead indeed,
And I am glad he's gone; he was a Devil:
His body, if his Eunuchs come, is theirs;
The Emperour out of his love to vertue,
Has given 'em that: Let no man stop their entrance. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Phidias, _and_ Aretus.
_Phi._ O my most noble Lord, look here _Aretus_,
Here's a sad sight.
_Aret._ O cruelty! O _Cæsar_!
O times that bring forth nothing but destruction,
And over[fl]ows of bloud: why wast thou kill'd?
Is it to be a just man now again,
As when _Tiberius_ and wild _Nero_ reign'd,
Only assurance of his over throw?
_Phi[d]._ It is _Aretus_: he that would live now,
Must like the Toad, feed only on corruptions,
And grow with those to greatness: honest vertue,
And the true _Roman_ honour, faith and valour
That have been all the riches of the Empire,
Now like the fearfull tokens of the Plague,
Are meer fore-runners of their ends that owe 'em.
_Are._ Never enough lamented Lord: dear Master--
_Enter_ Maximus.
Of whom now shall we learn to live like men?
From whom draw out our actions just, and worthy?
Oh thou art gone, and gone with thee all goodness,
The great example of all equitie,
O thou alone a _Roman_, thou art perish'd,
Faith, fortitude, and constant nobleness,
Weep _Rome_, weep _Italy_, weep all that knew him,
And you that fear'd him as a noble Foe,
(If Enemies have honourable tears)
Weep this decay'd _Æcius_ faln, and scattered--
By foul, and base suggestion.
_Ph[i]._ O Lord _Maximus_,
This was your worthy friend.
_Max._ The gods forgive me:
Think not the worse my friends, I shed not tears,
Great griefs lament within; yet now I have found 'em:
Would I had never known the world, nor women,
Nor what that cursed name of honour was,
So this were once again _Æcius_:
But I am destin'd to a mighty action,
And begg my pardon friend, my vengeance taken,
I will not be long from thee: ye have a great loss,
But bear it patiently, yet to say truth
In justice 'tis not sufferable: I am next,
And were it now, I would be glad on't: friends,
Who shall preserve you now?
_Are._ Nay we are lost too.
_Max._ I fear ye are, for likely such as love
The man that's faln, and have been nourish'd by him,
Do not stay long behind: 'Tis held no wisdom.
I know what I must do. O my _Æcius_,
Canst thou thus perish, pluckt up by the roots,
And no man feel thy worthiness? From boys
He bred you both I think.
_Phi._ And from the poorest.
_Max._ And lov'd ye as his own.
_Are._ We found it Sir.
_Max._ Is not this a loss then?
_Phi._ O, a loss of losses;
Our lives, and ruines of our families,
The utter being nothing of our names,
Were nothing near it.
_Max._ As I take it too,
He put ye to the Emperour.
_Are._ He did so.
_Max._ And kept ye still in credit.
_Phi._ 'Tis most true Sir.
_Max._ He fed your Fathers too, and made them means,
Your Sisters he prefer'd to noble Wedlocks,
Did he not friends?
_Are._ Oh yes Sir.
_Max._ As I take it
This worthy man would not be now forgotten,
I tell ye to my grief, he was basely murdred;
And something would be done, by those that lov'd him:
And something may be: pray stand off a little,
Let me bewail him private: O my dearest.
_Phi._ _Aretus_, if we be not sudden, he outdoes us,
I know he points at ven[ge]ance; we are cold,
And base ungratefull wretches, if we shun it:
Are we to hope for more rewards, or greatness,
Or any thing but death, now he is dead?
Dar'st thou resolve?
_Are._ I am perfect.
_Phi._ Then like flowers
That grew together all we'l fall together,
And with us that that bore us: when 'tis done
The world shall stile us two deserving servants:
I fear he will be before us.
_Are._ This night _Phidias_.
_Phi._ No more.
_Max._ Now worthy friends I have done my mournings,
Let's burn this noble body: Sweets as many
As sun-burnt _Meroe_ breeds, I'le make a flame of,
Shall reach his soul in Heaven: he that shall live
Ten ages hence, but to reherse this story,
Shall with the sad discourse on't, darken Heaven,
And force the painful burdens from the wombs
Conceiv'd a new with sorrow: even the Grave
Where mighty _Sylla_ sleeps shall rend asunder
And give her shadow up, to come and groan
About our piles, which will be more, and greater
Than green _Olympus_, _Ida_, or old _Latmus_
Can feed with Cedar, or the East with Gums,
_Greece_ with her wines, or _Thessalie_ with flowers,
Or willing heaven can weep for in her showres. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Phidias, _with his dagger in him, and_ Aretus, _poyson'd_.
_Are._ He has his last.
_Phi._ Then come the worst of danger,
_Æcius_ to thy soul we give a _Cæsar_.
How long is't since ye gave it him?
_Are._ An hour,
Mine own two hours before him: how it boils me!
_Phi._ It was not to be cur'd I hope.
_Are._ No _Phidias_,
I dealt above his Antidotes: Physicians
May find the cause, but where the cure?
_Phi._ Done bravely,
We are got before his Tyranny _Aretus_.
_Are._ We had lost our worthiest end else _Phidias_.
_Phi._ Canst thou hold out a while?
_Are._ To torture him
Anger would give me leave, to live an age yet;
That man is poorly spirited, whose life
Runs in his bloud alone, and not in's wishes,
And yet I swell, and burn like flaming _Ætna_,
A thousand new found fires are kindled in me,
But yet I must not die this four hours _Phidias_.
_Phi._ Remember who dies with thee, and despise death.
_Are._ I need no exhortation, the joy in me
Of what I have done, and why, makes poyson pleasure,
And my most killing torments mistresses.
For how can he have time to dye, or pleasure
That falls as fools unsatisfied, and simple?
_Phi._ This that consumes my life, yet keeps it in me,
Nor do I feel the danger of a dying,
And if I but endure to hear the curses
Of this fell Tyrant dead, I have half my Heaven.
_Are._ Hold thy soul fast but four hours _Phidias_,
And thou shalt see to wishes beyond ours,
Nay more beyond our meanings.
_Phi._ Thou hast steel'd me:
Farewel _Aretus_, and the souls of good men,
That as ours do, have left their _Roman_ bodies
In brave revenge for vertue, guide our shadows,
I would not faint yet.
_Are._ Farewel _Phidias_
And as we have done nobly, gods look on us.--
[_Exeunt severally._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ Lycias, _and_ Proculus.
_Lyci._ Sicker, and sicker _Proculus_?
_Pro._ Oh _Lycias_,
What shall become of us? would we had di'd
With happy _Chilax_, or with _Balbus_, bedrid--
_Enter_ Licinius.
And made too lame for justice.
_Licinius._ The soft Musick;
And let one sing to fasten sleep upon him:
Oh friends, the Emperour.
_Pro._ What say the Doctors?
_Lici._ For us a most sad saying, he is poyson'd,
Beyond all cure too.
_L[y]ci._ Who?
_Lici._ The wretch _Aretus_,
That most unhappy villain.
_L[y]ci._ How do you know it?
_L[i]ci._ He gave him drink last: let's disperse and find him;
And since he has opened misery to all,
Let it begin with him first: Softly he slumbers.
_Enter_ Emperour, _sick in a Chair, with_ Eudoxia _the
Empress, and_ Physicians, _and Attendants_.
Musick and SONG.
_Care charming sleep, thou easer of all woes,_
_Brother to death, sweetly thy self dispose_
_On this afflicted Prince, fall like a Cloud_
_In gentle showrs, give nothing that is lowd,_
_Or painfull to his slumbers; easie, sweet,_
_And as a purling stream, thou son of night,_
_Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain_
_Like hollow murmuring wind, or silver Rain,_
_Into this Prince gently, Oh gently slide,_
_And kiss him into slumbers like a Bride._
_Emp._ O gods, gods: drink, drink, colder, colder
Than snow on _Scythian_ Mountains: O my heart-strings.
_Eudo._ How does your Grace?
_Phys._ The Empress speaks Sir.
_Emp._ Dying,
Dying _Eudoxia_, dying.
_Phys._ Good Sir patience.
_Eudo._ What have ye given him?
_Phys._ Pretious things dear Lady
We hope shall comfort him.
_Emp._ O flatter'd fool,
See what thy god-head's come to: Oh _Eudoxia_.
_Eudo._ O patience, patience Sir.
_Enter_ Proculus, Licinius, _with_ Aretus.
_Emp._ _Danubius_
I'le have brought through my body.
_Eudo._ Gods give comfort.
_Emp._ And _Volga_, on whose face the North wind freezes,
I find an hundred hells, a hundred Piles
Already to my Funerals are flaming,
Shall I not drink?
_Phys._ You must not Sir.
_Emp._ By Heaven
I'le let my breath out that shall burn ye all
If ye deny me longer: tempests blow me,
And inundations that have drunk up Kingdoms
Flow over me, and quench me: where's the villain?
Am I immortal now ye slaves? by _Numa_
If he do scape: Oh, oh.
_Eudo._ Dear Sir.
_Emp._ Like _Nero_,
But far more terrible, and full of slaughter,
I'th' midst of all my flames I'le fire the Empire:
A thousand fans, a thousand fans to cool me:
Invite the gentle winds _Eudoxia_.
_Eudo._ Sir.
_Emp._ Oh do not flatter me, I am but flesh,
A man, a mortal man: drink, drink, ye dunces;
What can your doses now do, and your scrapings,
Your oyles, and Mithridates? if I do die,
You only words of health, and names of sickness
Finding no true disease in man but mony,
That talk your selves into Revenues, oh
And e're ye kill your patients, begger 'em,
I'le have ye flead, and dri'd.
_Pro._ The Villain Sir;
The most accursed wretch.
_Emp._ Be gone my Queen,
This is no sight for thee: goe to the Vestals,
Cast holy incense in the fire, and offer
One powerfull sacrifice to free thy _Cæsar_.
_Pro._ Goe goe and be happy. [_Exit_ Eudox[i]a.
_Aret._ Goe, but give no ease,
The Gods have set thy last hour _Valentinian_,
Thou art but man, a bad man too, a beast,
And like a sensuall bloudy thing thou diest.
_Pro._ Oh Traitor.
_Aret._ Curse your selves ye flatterers,
And howle your miseries to come ye wretches,
You taught him to be poyson'd.
_Emp._ Yet no comfort?
_Aret._ Be not abus'd with Priests, nor Pothecaries,
They cannot help thee; Thou hast now to live
A short half hour, no more, and I ten minutes:
I gave thee poyson for _Aecius_ sake,
Such a destroying poyson would kill nature;
And, for thou shalt not die alone, I took it.
If mankind had been in thee at this murder,
No more to people earth again, the wings
Of old time clipt for ever, reason lost,
In what I had attempted, yet O _Cæsar_
To purchase fair revenge, I had poyson'd them too.
_Emp._ O villain: I grow hotter, hotter.
_Are._ Yes;
But not near my heat yet; what thou feel'st now,
Mark me with horror _Cæsar_, are but Embers
Of lust and leachery thou hast committed:
But there be flames of murder.
_Emp._ Fetch out tortures.
_Are._ Do, and I'le flatter thee, nay more I'll love thee:
Thy tortures to what now I suffer _Cæsar_,
At which thou must arrive too, e're thou dy'st,
Are lighter, and more full of mirth and laughter.
_Emp._ Let 'em alone: I must drink.
_Are._ Now be mad,
But not near me yet.
_Emp._ Hold me, hold me, hold me,
Hold me; or I shall burst else.
_Are._ See me _Cæsar_,
And see to what thou must come for thy murder;
Millions of womens labours, all diseases.
_Emp._ Oh my afflicted soul too.
_Are._ Womens fears, horrors,
Despairs, and all the Plagues the hot Sun breeds.--
_Emp._ _Æcius_, O _Aecius_: O _Lucina_.
_Are._ Are but my torments shadows?
_Emp._ Hide me mountains;
The gods have found my sins:
Now break.
_Are._ Not yet Sir;
Thou hast a pull beyond all these.
_Emp._ Oh Hell,
Oh villain, cursed villain.
_Are._ O brave villain,
My poyson dances in me at this deed:
Now _Cæsar_, now behold me, this is torment,
And this is thine before thou diest, I am wildfire:
The brazen Bull of _Phalaris_ was feign'd,
The miseries of souls despising Heaven
But Emblems of my torments.
_Emp._ Oh quench me, quench me, quench me.
_Are._ Fire, a flattery;
And all the Poets tales of sad _Avernus_,
To my pains less than fictions: Yet to shew thee
What constant love I bore my murdred master;
Like a Southwind, I have sung through all these tempests
My heart, my wither'd heart, fear, fear thou Monster,
Fear the just gods, I have my peace.-- [_He dies._
_Emp._ More drink,
A thousand _April_ showres fall in my bosom:
How dare ye let me be tormented thus?
Away with that prodigious body, gods,
Gods, let me ask ye what I am, ye lay
All your inflictions on me, hear me, hear me;
I do confess I am a ravisher,
A murderer, a hated _Cæsar_; oh,
Are there not vows enough, and flaming altars,
The fat of all the world for sacrifice,
And where that fails, the blood of thousand captives
To purge those sins? but I must make the incense?
I do despise ye all, ye have no mercy,
And wanting that, ye are no Gods, your paroll
Is only preach'd abroad to make Fools fearfull,
And women made of awe, believe your heaven:
Oh torments, torments, torments, pains above pains,
If ye be any thing but dreams, and ghosts,
And truly hold the guidance of things mortal;
Have in your selves times past, to come, and present,
Fashion the souls of men, and make flesh for 'em,
Weighing our fates, and fortunes beyond reason,
Be more than all the Gods, great in forgiveness,
Break not the goodly frame ye build in anger;
For you are things men teach us, without passions,
Give me an hour to know ye in: Oh save me
But so much perfect time ye make a soul in,
Take this destruction from me; no, ye cannot,
The more I would believe ye, more I suffer,
My brains are ashes, now my heart, my eyes friends;
I goe, I goe, more air, more air; I am mortal.-- [_He dyes._
_Pro._ Take in the body: oh _Licinius_,
The misery that we are left to suffer;
No pity shall find us.
_Lici._ Our lives deserve none:
Would I were chain'd again to slavery,
With any hope of life.
_Pro._ A quiet grave,
Or a consumption now _Licinius_,
That we might be too poor to kill, were something.
_Lici._ Let's make our best use, we have mony _Proculus_,
And if that cannot save us, we have swords.
_Pro._ Yes, but we dare not dye.
_Lici._ I had forgot that:
There's other countries then.
_Pro._ But the same hate still,
Of what we are.
_Lici._ Think any thing, I'le follow--
_Enter a_ Messenger.
_Pro._ How now, what news?
_Mess._ Shift for your selves, ye are lost else:
The Souldier is in arms for great _Aecius_,
And their Lieutenant general that stopt 'em,
Cut in a thousand pieces: they march hither:
Beside, the women of the Town have murder'd
_Phorba_, and loose _Ardelia_, _Cæsar_'s she-Bawds.
_Lici._ Then here's no staying _Proculus_?
_Pro._ O _Cæsar_,
That we had never known thy lusts: Let's fly,
And where we find no womans man let's dye.--
SCENE III.
_Enter_ Maximus.
_Max._ Gods, what a sluce of blood have I let open!
My happy ends are come to birth, he's dead,
And I reveng'd; the Empire's all a fire,
And desolation every where inhabits:
And shall I live that am the author of it,
To know _Rome_ from the awe o'th' world, the pity?
My friends are gone before too of my sending,
And shall I stay? is ought else to be liv'd for?
Is there an other friend, another wife,
Or any third holds half their worthiness,
To linger here alive for? Is not vertue
In their two everlasting souls departed,
And in their bodies first flame fled to heaven?
Can any man discover this, and love me?
For though my justice were as white as truth,
My way was crooked to it, that condemns me:
And now _Aecius_, and my honored Lady,
That were preparers to my rest and quiet,
The lines to lead me to _Elyzium_:
You that but stept before me, on assurance
I would not leave your friendship unrewarded,
First smile upon the sacrifice I have sent ye,
Then see me coming boldly: stay, I am foolish,
Somewhat too suddain to mine own destruction,
This great end of my veng[e]ance may grow greater:
Why may not I be _Cæsar_? Yet no dying;
Why should not I catch at it? fools and children
Have had that strength before me, and obtain'd it,
And as the danger stands, my reason bids me,
I will, I dare; my dear friends pardon me,
I am not fit to dye yet, if not _Cæsar_;
I am sure the Souldier loves me, and the people,
And I will forward, and as goodly Cedars
Rent from _Oeta_ by a sweeping tempest
Jointed again and made tall masts, defie
Those angry winds that split 'em, so will I
New piece again, above the fate of women,
And made more perfect far, than growing private,
Stand and defie bad fortunes: If I rise,
My wife was ravish'd well; If then I fall,
My great attempt honours my Funeral.-- [_Exit._
SCENE IV.
_Enter 3 Senators, and_ Affranius.
_1._ Guard all the posterns to the Camp _Affranius_,
And see 'em fast, we shall be rifled else,
Thou art an honest, and a worthy Captain.
_2._ Promise the Souldier any thing.
_3._ Speak gently,
And tell 'em we are now in council for 'em,
Labouring to choose a _Cæsar_ fit for them,
A Souldier, and a giver.
_1._ Tell 'em further,
Their free and liberal voices shall goe with us.
_2._ Nay more, a negative say we allow 'em.
_3._ And if our choice displease 'em, they shall name him.
_1._ Promise three donatives, and large, _Affranius_.
_2._ And _Cæsar_ once elected, present foes,
With distribution of all necessaries,
Corn, Wine, and Oyle.
_3._ New garments, and new Arms,
And equal portions of the Provinces
To them, and to their families for ever.
_1._ And see the City strengthned.
_Affra._ I shall do it.-- [_Exit_ Affranius.
_2. Sempronius_, these are wofull times.
_3._ O _Brutus_,
We want thy honesty again; these _Cæsars_,
What noble Consuls got with blood, in blood
Consume again, and scatter.
_1._ Which way shall we?
_2._ Not any way of safety I can think on.
_3._ Now go our wives to ruin, and our daughters,
And we beholders _Fulvius_.
_1._ Every thing
Is every mans that will.
_2._ The Vestals now
Must only feed the Souldiers fire of lust,
And sensual Gods be glutted with those Offerings,
Age like the hidden bowels of the earth,
Open'd with swords for treasure.
Gods defend us,
We are chaff before their fury else.
_[3]_ Away,
Let's to the Temples.
_1._ To the Capitol.
'Tis not a time to pray now, let's be strengthen'd--
_Enter_ Affranius.
_3._ How now _Affranius_: what good news?
_Affra._ A _Cæsar_.
_1._ Oh who?
_Affr._ Lord _Maximus_ is with the Souldier,
And all the Camp rings, _Cæsar_, _Cæsar_, _Cæsar_:
He forced the Empress with him for more honour.
_2._ A happy choice: let's meet him.
_3._ Blessed fortune!
_1._ Away, away, make room there, room there, room.
[_Exeunt Senators, Flourish._
_Within._ Lord Maximus is _Cæsar_, _Cæsar_, _Cæsar_;
Hail _Cæsar Maximus_.
_Affra._ Oh turning people!
Oh people excellent in war, and govern'd,
In peace more raging than the furious North,
When he ploughs up the Sea, and makes him brine,
Or the lowd falls of _Nile_; I must give way,
Although I neither love nor hope this:
Or like a rotten bridge that dares a current,
When he is swell'd and high crackt, and farewel.
_Enter_ Maximus, Eudox[i]a, _Senat. and Souldiers_.
_Sen._ Room for the Emperour.
_Soul._ Long life to _Cæsar_.
_Afra._ Hail _Cæsar Maximus_.
_Emp._ _Max._ Your hand _Afranius_.
Lead to the Palace, there my thanks in general,
I'le showre among ye all: gods give me life,
First to defend the Empire, then you Fathers,
And valiant friends, the heirs of strength and vertue,
The rampires of old _Rome_, of us the refuge;
To you I open this day all I have,
Even all the hazard that my youth hath purchas'd,
Ye are my Children, family, and friends
And ever so respected shall be, forward.
There's a Proscription, grave _Sempronius_,
'Gainst all the flatterers, and lazie Bawds
Led loose-liv'd _Valentinian_ to his vices,
See it effected. [_Flourish._
_Sen._ Honour wait on _Cæsar_.
_Sould._ Make room for _Cæsar_ there. [_Exeunt all but_ Afra.
_Afra._ Thou hast my fears,
But _Valentinian_ keeps my vows: Oh gods,
Why do we like to feed the greedy Ravenne
Of these blown men, that must before they stand,
And fixt in eminence, cast life on life,
And trench their safeties in with wounds, and bodies?
Well froward _Rome_, thou wilt grow weak with changing,
And die without an heir, that lov'st to breed
Sons for the killing hate of sons: for me,
I only live to find an enemy. [_Exit._
SCENE V.
_Enter_ Paulus (_a Poet_,) _and_ Licippus (_a Gent_.)
_Pau._ When is the Inauguration?
_Lic._ Why to morrow.
_Paul._ 'Twill be short time.
_Lic._ Any device that's handsome,
A _Cupid_, or the God o'th' place will do it,
Where he must take the _Fasces_.
_Pau._ Or a Grace.
_Lic._ A good Grace has no fellow.
_Pau._ Let me see,
Will not his name yield something? _Maximus_
By th' way of Anagram? I have found out _Axis_,
You know he bears the Empire.
_Lic._ Get him wheels too,
'Twill be a cruel carriage else.
_Pau._ Some songs too.
_Lic._ By any means some songs: but very short ones,
And honest language _Paulus_, without bursting,
The air will fall the sweeter.
_Pau._ A Grace must do it.
_Lic._ Why let a Grace then.
_Pau._ Yes it must be so;
And in a Robe of blew too, as I take it.
_Lic._ This Poet is a little kin to th' Painter
That could paint nothing but a ramping Lion,
So all his learned fancies are blew Graces.
_Pau._ What think ye of a Sea-nymph, and a Heaven?
_Lic._ Why what should she do there man? there's no water.
_Pau._ That's true, it must be a Grace, and yet
Me thinks a Rain bow.
_Lic._ And in blew.
_Pa[u]._ Oh yes;
Hanging in arch above him, and i'th' midle--
_Lic._ A showre of Rain.
_Pau._ No, no, it must be a Grace.
_Lic._ Why prethee Grace him then.
_Pa[u]._ Or _Orpheus_,
Coming from Hell.
_Lic._ In blew too.
_Pau._ 'Tis the better;
And as he rises, full of fires.
_Lic._ Now bless us,
Will not that spoil his Lutestrings, _Paulus_?
_Pau._ Singing,
And crossing of his arms.
_Lic._ How can he play then?
_Pau._ It shall be a Grace, I'le do it.
_Lic._ Prethee do,
And with as good a grace as thou canst possible;
Good fury _Paulus_, be i'th' morning with me,
And pray take measure of his mouth that speaks it. [_Exeunt._
SCENE VI.
_Enter_ Maximus _and_ Eudox[i]a.
_Max._ Come my best lov'd _Eudox[i]a_: let the souldier
Want neither Wine nor any thing he calls for,
And when the Senate's ready, give us notice:
In the mean time leave us.
Oh my dear sweet.
_Eud._ Is't possible your Grace
Should undertake such dangers for my beauty,
If it were excellent?
_Max._ 'Tis all
The world has left to brag of.
_Eud._ Can a face
Long since bequeath'd to wrinkles with my sorrows,
Long since ras'd out o'th' book of youth and pleasure,
Have power to make the strongest man o'th' Empire,
Nay the most staid, and knowing what is Woman;
The greatest aim of perfectness men liv'd by,
The most true constant lover of his wedlock,
Such a still blowing beauty, earth was proud of,
Lose such a noble wife, and wilfully;
Himself prepare the way, nay make the rape.
Did ye not tell me so?
_Max._ 'Tis true _Eudox[i]a_.
_Eud._ Lay desolate his dearest piece of friendship,
Break his strong helm he stear'd by, sink that vertue,
That valour, that even all the gods can give us,
Without whom he was nothing, with whom worthiest,
Nay more, arrive at _Cæsar_, and kill him too,
And for my sake? either ye love too dearly,
Or deeply ye dissemble, Sir?
_Max._ I do so;
And till I am more strengthen'd, so I must do;
Yet would my joy, and Wine had fashion'd out
Some safer lye: Can these things be, _Eudox[i]a_,
And I dissemble? Can there be but goodness
And only thine dear Lady, any end,
Any imagination but a lost one,
Why I should run this hazard? O thou vertue!
Were it to do again, and _Valentinian_
Once more to hold thee, sinful _Valentinian_,
In whom thou wert set, as Pearls are in salt Oysters,
As Roses are in rank weeds, I would find,
Yet to thy sacred self a dearer danger,
The Gods know how I honour thee.
_Eud._ What love, Sir,
Can I return for this, but my obedience?
My life, if so you please, and 'tis too little.
_Max._ 'Tis too much to redeem the world.
_Eud._ From this hour,
The sorrows for my dead Lord, fare ye well,
My living Lord has dried ye; and in token,
As Emperour this day I honour ye,
And the great caster new of all my wishes,
The wreath of living Lawrel, that must compass
That sacred head, _Eudox[i]a_ makes for _Cæsar_:
I am methinks too much in love with fortune;
But with you ever Royal Sir my maker,
The once more Summer of me, meer in love,
Is poor expression of my doting.
_Max._ Sweetest.
_Eud._ Now of my troth ye have bought me dear Sir.
_Max._ No,
Had I at loss of mankind.
_Enter a Messenger._
_Eud._ Now ye flatter.
_Mess._ The Senate waits your Grace.
_Max._ Let 'em come on,
And in a full form bring the ceremony:
This day I am your servant, dear, and proudly,
I'le wear your honoured favour.
_Eud._ May it prove so. [_Exeunt._
SCENE VII.
_Enter_ Paulus _and_ Licippus.
_Lic._ Is your Grace done?
_Pau._ 'Tis done.
_Lic._ Who speaks?
_Pau._ A Boy.
_Lic._ A dainty blue Boy, _Paulus_?
_Pau._ Yes.
_Lic._ Have ye viewed
The work above?
_Pau._ Yes, and all up, and ready.
_Lic._ The Empress does you simple honour, _Paulus_,
The wreath your blue Grace must present, she made.
But hark ye, for the Souldiers?
_Pau._ That's done too:
I'le bring 'em in I warrant ye.
_Lic._ A Grace too?
_Pau._ The same Grace serves for both.
_Lic._ About it then:
I must to th' Cupbord; and be sure good _Paulus_
Your Grace be fasting, that he may hang cleanly.
If there should need another voice, what then?
_Paul._ I'le hang another Grace in.
_Lic._ Grace be with ye. [_Exeunt._
SCENE VIII.
_Enter in state_ Maximus, Eudox[i]a, _with Souldiers and
Gentlemen of_ Rome, _the Senators, and Rods and
Axes born before them_.
_A Synnet with_} {_With a Banket prepared, with_
_Trumpets._ } {_Hoboies, Musick, Song, wreath._
_3 Sen._ Hale to thy imperial honour sacred _Cæsar_,
And from the old _Rome_ take these wishes;
You holy gods, that hitherto have held
As justice holds her Ballance equal pois'd,
This glory of our Nation, this full _Roman_,
And made him fit for what he is, confirm him:
Look on this Son O _Jupiter_ our helper,
And _Romulus_, thou Father of our honour,
Preserve him like thy self, just, valiant, noble,
A lover, and increaser of his people,
Let him begin with _Numa_, stand with _Cato_,
The first five years of _Nero_ be his wishes,
Give him the age and fortune of _Emylius_,
And his whole raign renew a great _Augustus_.
SONG.
_Honour that is ever living,_
_Honour that is ever giving,_
_Honour that sees all and knows_
_Both the ebbs of man and flowes,_
_Honour that rewards the best,_
_Sends thee thy rich labours rest;_
_Thou hast studied still to please her,_
_Therefore now she calls thee_ Cæsar:
Chor. _Hale, hale_, Cæsar, _hale and stand,_
_And thy name outlive the Land._
_Noble Fathers to his brows_
_Bind this wreath with thousand vows._
_All._ Stand to Eternity.
_Max._ I thank ye Fathers,
And as I rule, may it still grow or wither:
Now to the Banket, ye are all my guests,
This day be liberal friends, to wine we give it;
And smiling pleasures: Sit, my Queen of Beauty;
Fathers, your places: these are fair Wars Souldiers,
And thus I give the first charge to ye all;
You are my second, sweet, to every cup,
I add unto the Senate a new honour,
And to the sons of _Mars_ a donative.
SONG.
_God_ Lyeus _ever young,_
_Ever honour'd, ever sung;_
_Stain'd with bloud of lusty Grapes,_
_In a thousand lusty shapes;_
_Dance upon the Mazers brim,_
_In the Crimson liquor swim:_
_From thy plenteous hand divine,_
_Let a River run with Wine:_
_God of youth, let this day here_
_Enter neither care nor fear._
_Boy._ _Bellona's_ seed, the glory of old _Rome_,
Envy of conquer'd Nations, nobly come
And to the fulness of your war-like noise
Let your feet move, make up this hour of joys;
Come, come I say, range your fair Troop at large,
And your high measure turn into a charge.
_Semp._ The Emperor's grown heavy with his wine.
_Afra._ The Senate staies Sir for your thanks.
_Semp._ Great _Cæsar_.
_Eud._ I have my wish.
_Afra._ Wilt please your Grace speak to him?
_Eud._ Yes, but he will not hear Lords.
_Semp._ Stir him _Lucius_; the Senate must have thanks.
_2 Sen. Luc._ Your Grace, Sir _Cæsar_.
_Eud._ Did I not tell you he was well? he's dead.
_Semp._ Dead? treason, guard the Court, let no man pass,
Souldiers, your _Cæsar_'s murdered.
_Eud._ Make no tumult,
Nor arm the Court, ye have his killer with ye;
And the just cause, if ye can stay the hearing:
I was his death; that wreath that made him _Cæsar_,
Has made him earth.
_Sould._ Cut her in thousand pieces.
_Eud._ Wise men would know the reason first: to die,
Is that I wish for, _Romans_, and your swords,
The heaviest way of death: yet Souldiers grant me
That was your Empress once, and honour'd by ye,
But so much time to tell ye why I kill'd him,
And weigh my reasons well, if man be in you;
Then if ye dare do cruelly, condemn me.
_Afr._ Hear her ye noble _Romans_, 'tis a Woman,
A subject not for swords, but pity: Heaven
(If she be guilty of malitious murder)
Has given us Laws to make example of her,
If only of revenge, and bloud hid from us,
Let us consider first, then execute.
_Semp._ Speak bloudy Woman.
_Eud._ Yes; This _Maximus_,
That was your _Cæsar_, Lords, and noble Souldiers,
(And if I wrong the dead, Heaven perish me;
Or speak to win your favours but the truth)
Was to his Country, to his friends, and _Cæsar_
A most malitious Traitor.
_Semp._ Take heed woman.
_Eud._ I speak not for compassion. Brave _Æcius_
(Whose blessed soul if I lye shall afflict me)
The man that all the world lov'd, you ador'd,
That was the master-piece of Arms, and bounty;
Mine own grief shall come last: this friend of his,
This Souldier, this your right Arm, noble _Romans_,
By a base letter to the Emperor;
Stufft full of fears, and poor suggestions,
And by himself, unto himself directed;
Was cut off basely, basely, cruelly;
Oh loss, O innocent, can ye now kill me?
And the poor stale my Noble Lord, that knew not
More of this villain, than his forc'd fears;
Like one foreseen to satisfie, dy'd for it:
There was a murder too, _Rome_ would have blusht at;
Was this worth being _Cæsar_? or my patience? nay his Wife
By Heaven he told it me in wine, and joy;
And swore it deeply, he himself prepar'd
To be abus'd, how? let me grieve not tell ye;
And weep the sins that did it: and his end
Was only me, and _Cæsar_: But me he lyed in:
These are my reasons _Romans_, and my soul
Tells me sufficient; and my deed is justice:
Now as I have done well, or ill, look on me.
_Afra._ What less could nature do, what less had we done,
Had we known this before? _Romans_, she is righteous;
And such a piece of justice Heaven must smile on:
Bend all your swords on me, if this displease ye.
For I must kneel, and on this vertuous hand;
Seal my new joy and thanks, thou hast done truly.
_Semp._ Up with your arms, ye strike a Saint else _Romans_,
May'st thou live ever spoken our Protector:
_Rome_ yet has many Noble Heirs: Let's in
And pray, before we choose, then plant a _Cæsar_
Above the reach of envy, blood, and murder.
_Afra._ Take up the body nobly to his urn,
And may our sins, and his together burn. [_Exeunt. A dead March._
EPILOGUE.
_We would fain please ye, and as fain be pleas'd;_
_'Tis but a little liking, both are eas'd:_
_We have your money, and you have our ware,_
_And to our understanding good and fair:_
_For your own wisdoms sake, be not so mad,_
_To acknowledge ye have bought things dear and bad:_
_Let not a brack i'th' Stuff, or here and there_
_The fading gloss, a general loss appear:_
_We know ye take up worse Commodities,_
_And dearer pay, yet think your bargains wise;_
_We know in Meat and Wine, ye fling away_
_More time and wealth, which is but dearer pay,_
_And with the Reckoning all the pleasure lost._
_We bid ye not unto repenting cost:_
_The price is easie, and so light the Play,_
_That ye may new digest it every day._
_Then noble friends, as ye would choose a Miss,_
_Only to please the eye a while and kiss,_
_Till a good Wife be got: So let this Play_
_Hold ye a while until a better may._
* * * * *
Monsieur Thomas.
A
COMEDY.
_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Alice, _and_ Valentine.
_Alice._ How dearly welcome you are!
_Val._ I know it,
And my best Sister, you are as dear to my sight,
And pray let this confirm it: how you have govern'd
My poor state in my absence, how my servants,
I dare, and must believe, else I should wrong ye,
The best and worthiest.
_Alice._ As my womans wit, Sir,
Which is but weak and crazie.
_Val._ But good _Alice_,
Tell me how fares the gentle _Cellide_,
The life of my affection, since my travel,
My long and lazie Travel? is her love still
Upon the growing hand? does it not stop
And wither at my years? has she not view'd
And entertain'd some younger smooth behaviour,
Some Youth but in his blossom, as her self is?
There lies my fears.
_Alice._ They need not, for believe me
So well you have manag'd her, and won her mind,
Even from her hours of childhood, to this ripeness,
And in your absence, that by me enforc'd still,
So well distill'd your gentleness into her,
Observ'd her, fed her fancy, liv'd still in her,
And though Love be a Boy, and ever youthful,
And young and beauteous objects ever aim'd at,
Yet here ye have gone beyond love, better'd nature,
Made him appear in years, in grey years fiery,
His Bow at full bent ever; fear not Brother,
For though your body has been far off from her,
Yet every hour your heart, which is your goodness,
I have forc'd into her, won a place prepar'd too,
And willingly to give it ever harbour;
Believe she is so much yours, and won by miracle,
(Which is by age) so deep a stamp set on her
By your observances, she cannot alter.
Were the Child living now ye lost at Sea
Among the _Genoua_ Gallies, what a happiness!
What a main Blessing!
_Val._ O no more, good Sister,
Touch no more that string, 'tis too harsh and jarring.
With that Child all my hopes went, and you know
The root of all those hopes, the Mother too
Within few days.
_Alice._ 'Tis too true, and too fatal,
But peace be with their souls.
_Val._ For her loss
I hope the beauteous _Cellide_.
_Alice._ You may, Sir,
For all she is, is yours.
_Val._ For the poor Boys loss,
I have brought a noble friend, I found in Travel,
A worthier mind, and a more temperate spirit,
If I have so much judgment to discern 'em,
Man yet was never master of.
_Alice._ What is he?
_Val._ A Gentleman, I do assure my self,
And of a worthy breeding, though he hide it;
I found him at _Valentia_, poor and needy,
Only his mind the master of a Treasure.
I sought his friendship, won him by much violence,
His honesty and modesty still fearing
To thrust a charge upon me; how I love him,
He shall now know, where want and he hereafter
Shall be no more Companions, use him nobly,
It is my will, good Sister, all I have
I make him free companion in, and partner,
But only--
_Alice._ I observe ye, hold your Right there,
Love and high Rule allows no Rivals, Brother,
He shall have fair regard, and all observance.
_Enter_ Hylas.
_Hylas._ You are welcome, noble Sir.
_Val._ What, Monsieur _Hylas_!
I'm glad to see your merry Body well yet.
_Hyl._ 'Faith y'are welcome home, what news beyond seas?
_Val._ None, but new men expected, such as you are,
To breed new admirations; 'Tis my Sister,
'Pray ye know her, Sir.
_Hylas._ With all my heart; your leave Lady?
_Alice._ You have it, Sir.
_Hylas._ A shrewd smart touch, which does prognosticate
A Body keen and active, somewhat old,
But that's all one; age brings experience
And knowledge to dispatch: I must be better,
And nearer in my service, with your leave, Sir,
To this fair Lady.
_Val._ What, the old 'squire of Dames still!
_Hyl._ Still the admirer of their goodness; with all my heart now,
I love a woman of her years, a pacer
That lays the bridle in her Neck, will travel
Forty, and somewhat fulsome is a fine dish.
These young Colts are too skittish.
_Enter_ Mary.
_Alice._ My Cousin _Mary_
In all her joy, Sir, to congratulate
Your fair return.
_Val._ My loving and kind Cousin,
A thousand welcomes.
_Mary._ A thousand thanks to heaven, Sir,
For your safe voyage, and return.
_Val._ I thank ye;
But where's my Blessed _Cellide_? her slackness
In visitation.
_Mary._ Think not so, dear Uncle,
I left her on her knees, thanking the gods
With tears and prayers.
_Val._ Ye have given me too much comfort.
_Mary._ She will not be long from ye.
_Hyl._ Your fair Cousin?
_Val._ It is so, and a bait you cannot balk Sir,
If your old rule reign in you, ye may know her:
A happy stock ye have, right worthy Lady,
The poorest of your servants vows his duty
And obliged faith.
_Mary._ O 'tis a kiss you would, Sir,
Take it, and tye your tongue up.
_Hylas._ I am an Ass
I do perceive now, a blind Ass, a Blockhead;
For this is handsomness, this that that draws us
Body and Bones: Oh what a mounted forehead,
What eyes and lips, what every thing about her!
How like a Swan she swims her pace, and bears
Her silver Breasts! this is the Woman, she,
And only she, that I will so much honour
As to think worthy of my love, all older Idols
I heartily abhor, and give to Gunpowder,
And all Complexions besides hers, to Gypsies.
_Enter_ Francis _at one door, and_ Cellide _at another_.
_Val._ O my dear life, my better heart, all dangers,
Distresses in my travel, all misfortunes,
Had they been endless like the hours upon me,
In this kiss had been buried in oblivion;
How happy have ye made me, truly happy!
_Cel._ My joy has so much over mastered me,
That in my tears for your return--
_Val._ O dearest;
My noble friend too! what a Blessedness
Have I about me now! how full my wishes
Are come again, a thousand hearty welcomes
I once more lay upon ye; all I have,
The fair and liberal use of all my servants
To be at your command, and all the uses
Of all within my power.
_Fran._ Ye are too munificent,
Nor am I able to conceive those thanks, Sir.
_Val._ Ye wrong my tender love now, even my service,
Nothing accepted, nothing stuck between us
And our intire affections but this woman,
This I beseech ye friend.
_Fran._ It is a jewel,
I do confess, would make a Thief, but never
Of him that's so much yours, and bound your servant,
That were a base ingratitude.
_Val._ Ye are noble,
'Pray be acquainted with her, keep your way, Sir,
My Cousin and my Sister.
_Alice._ Ye are most welcome.
_Mary._ If any thing in our poor powers, fair Sir,
To render ye content, and liberal welcome
May but appear, command it.
_Alice._ Ye shall find us
Happy in our performance.
_Fran._ The poor Servant
Of both your goodnesses presents his service.
_Val._ Come, no more Complement; Custom has made it
Dull, old, and tedious; ye are once more welcome
As your own thoughts can make ye, and the same ever.
And so we'll in to ratifie it.
_Hyl._ Hark ye, _Valentine_:
Is wild Oats yet come over?
_Val._ Yes, with me, Sir.
_Mary._ How does he bear himself?
_Val._ A great deal better;
Why do you blush? the Gentleman will do well.
_Mary._ I should be glad on't, Sir.
_Val._ How does his father?
_Hyl._ As mad a worm as e'er he was.
_Val._ I lookt for't:
Shall we enjoy your Company?
_Hyl._ I'll wait on ye:
Only a thought or two.
_Val._ We bar all prayers. [_Exeunt all but_ Hylas.
_Hyl._ This last Wench! I, this last wench was a fair one,
A dainty Wench, a right one; a Devil take it,
What do I ail? to have fifteen now in liking,
Enough a Man would think to stay my stomach?
But what's fifteen, or fifteen score to my thoughts?
And wherefore are mine Eyes made, and have lights,
But to encrease my Objects? This last Wench
Sticks plaguey close to me, a hundred pound
I were as close to her; If I lov'd now,
As many foolish men do, I should run mad.
SCENE II.
_Enter old_ Sebastian, _and_ Launcelot.
_Seb._ Sirrah, no more of your French shrugs I advise you.
If you be lowzie shift your self.
_Laun._ May it please your Worship.
_Seb._ Only to see my Son, my Son, good _Launcelot_;
Your Master and my Son; Body O me Sir,
No money, no more money, Monsieur _Launcelot_,
Not a Denier, sweet Signior; bring the Person,
The person of my Boy, my Boy _Tom_, Monsieur _Thomas_,
Or get you gone again, _du gata whee_, Sir;
_Bassa mi cu_, good _Launcelot_, _valetote_.
My Boy or nothing.
_Laun._ Then to answer punctually.
_Seb._ I say to th' purpose.
_Laun._ Then I say to th' purpose,
Because your Worships vulgar Understanding
May meet me at the nearest; your Son, my Master,
Or Monsieur _Thomas_, (for so his Travel stiles him)
Through many foreign plots that Vertue meets with,
And dangers (I beseech ye give attention)
Is at the last arriv'd
To ask your (as the French man calls it sweetly)
Benediction _de jour en jour_.
_Seb._ Sirrah, do not conjure me with your French furies.
_Laun._ _Che ditt' a vou_, Monsieur.
_Seb._ _Che doga vou_, Rascal;
Leave me your rotten language, and tell me plainly,
And quickly, Sirrah, lest I crack your French Crown,
What your good Master means; I have maintain'd
You and your Monsieur, as I take it, _Launcelot_,
These two years at your _ditty vous_, your _jours_.
_Jour_ me no more, for not another penny
Shall pass my purse.
_Laun._ Your Worship is erroneous,
For as I told you, your Son _Tom_, or _Thomas_,
My master and your Son is now arriv'd
To ask you, as our Language bears it nearest,
Your quotidian Blessing, and here he is in Person.
_Enter_ Thomas.
_Seb._ What, _Tom_! Boy, welcome with all my heart, Boy
Welcome, 'faith thou hast gladded me at soul, Boy,
Infinite glad I am, I have pray'd too, _Thomas_,
For you wild _Thomas_, _Tom_, I thank thee heartily
For coming home.
_Thom._ Sir, I do find your Prayers
Have much prevail'd above my sins.
_Seb._ How's this?
_Thom._ Else certain I had perish'd with my rudeness,
Ere I had won my self to that discretion,
I hope you shall hereafter find.
_Seb._ Humh, humh,
Discretion? is it come to that? the Boy's spoil'd.
_Thom._ Sirrah, you Rogue, look for't, for I will make thee
Ten times more miserable than thou thought'st thy self
Before thou travell'dst; thou hast told my Father,
I know it, and I find it, all my Rogueries
By meer way of prevention to undo me.
_Laun._ Sir, as I speak eight languages, I only
Told him you came to ask his benediction,
_De jour en jour_.
_Thom._ But that I must be civil,
I would beat thee like a Dog. Sir, however
The Time I have mispent may make you doubtful,
Nay harden your belief 'gainst my Conversion.
_Seb._ A pox o' travel, I say.
_Thom._ Yet dear Father
Your own experience in my after courses.
_Enter_ Dorothea.
_Seb._ Prithee no more, 'tis scurvy; there's thy Sister
Undone without Redemption; he eats with picks,
Utterly spoil'd, his spirit baffled in him:
How have I sin'd that this affliction
Should light so heavy on me? I have no more Sons;
And this no more mine own, no spark of Nature
Allows him mine now, he's grown tame; my grand curse
Hang o'r his head that thus transform'd thee: travel?
I'll send my horse to travel next; _we_ Monsieur.
Now will my most canonical dear Neighbours
Say I have found my Son, and rejoyce with me,
Because he has mew'd his mad tricks off: I know not,
But I am sure this Monsieur, this fine Gentleman
Will never be in my Books like mad _Thomas_,
I must go seek an Heir, for my inheritance
Must not turn Secretary; my name and quality
Has kept my Land three hundred years in madness,
And it slip now, may it sink. [_Exit._
_Thom._ Excellent Sister,
I am glad to see thee well; but where's thy father?
_Dor._ Gone discontent, it seems.
_Thom._ He did ill in it
As he does all; for I was utte[r]ing
A handsome Speech or two, I have been studying
E'r since I came from _Paris_: how glad to see thee!
_Dor._ I am gladder to see you, with more love too
I dare maintain it, than my Father's sorry
To see (as he supposes) your Conversion;
And I am sure he is vext, nay more, I know it,
He has pray'd against it mainly; but it appears, Sir,
You had rather blind him with that poor opinion
Than in your self correct it: dearest Brother,
Since there is in our uniform resemblance,
No more to make us two but our bare Sexes;
And since one happy Birth produc'd us hither,
Let one more happy mind.
_Thom._ It shall be, Sister,
For I can do it when I list; and yet, Wench,
Be mad too when I please; I have the trick on't:
Beware a Traveller.
_Dor._ Leave that trick too.
_Thom._ Not for the world: but where's my Mistress,
And prithee say how does she? I melt to see her,
And presently: I must away.
_Dor._ Then do so,
For o' my faith, she will not see you Brother.
_Thom._ Not see me? I'll--
_Dor._ Now you play your true self;
How would my father love this! I'll assure you
She will not see you; she has heard (and loudly)
The gambols that you plaid since your departure,
In every Town ye came, your several mischiefs,
Your rowses and your wenches; all your quarrels,
And the no-causes of 'em; these I take it
Although she love ye well, to modest ears,
To one that waited for your reformation,
To which end travel was propounded by her Uncle,
Must needs, and reason for it, be examined,
And by her modesty, and fear'd too light too,
To fyle with her affections; ye have lost her
For any thing I see, exil'd your self.
_Thom._ No more of that, sweet _Doll_, I will be civil.
_Dor._ But how long?
_Thom._ Would'st thou have me lose my Birth-right?
For yond old thing will disinherit me
If I grow too demure; good sweet _Doll_, prithee,
Prithee, dear Sister, let me see her.
_Dor._ No.
_Thom._ Nay, I beseech thee, by this light.
_Dor._ I, swagger.
_Thom._ Kiss me, and be my friend, we two were twins,
And shall we now grow strangers?
_Dor._ 'Tis not my fault.
_Thom._ Well, there be other women, and remember
You, you were the cause of this; there be more lands too,
And better People in 'em, fare ye well,
And other loves; what shall become of me
And of my vanities, because they grieve ye?
_Dor._ Come hither, come, do you see that Cloud that flies there?
So light are you, and blown with every fancy:
Will ye but make me hope ye may be civil?
I know your Nature's sweet enough, and tender,
Not grated on, nor curb'd: do you love your Mistress?
_Thom._ He lies that says I do not.
_Dor._ Would ye see her?
_Thom._ If you please, for it must be so.
_Dor._ And appear to her
A thing to be belov'd?
_Thom._ Yes.
_Dor._ Change then
A little of your wildness into wisdom,
And put on a more smoothness;
I'll do the best I can to help ye, yet
I do protest she swore, and swore it deeply,
She would never see you more; where's your mans heart now?
What, do you faint at this?
_Thom._ She is a woman;
But him she entertains next for a servant,
I shall be bold to quarter.
_Dor._ No thought of fighting;
Go in, and there we'll talk more, be but rul'd,
And what lies in my power, ye shall be sure of. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_Enter_ Alice, _and_ Mary.
_Alice._ He cannot be so wild still.
_Mary._ 'Tis most certain,
I have now heard all, and all the truth.
_Alice._ Grant all that;
Is he the first that has been giv'n a lost man,
And yet come fairly home? he is young and tender,
And fit for that impression your affections
Shall stamp upon him, age brings on discretion,
A year hence, these mad toys that now possess him
Will shew like Bugbears to him, shapes to fright him;
Marriage dissolves all these like mists.
_Mary._ They are grounded
Hereditary in him, from his father,
And to his grave they will haunt him.
_Alice._ 'Tis your fear
Which is a wise part in you; yet your love
However you may seem to lessen it
With these dislikes, and choak it with these errors,
Do what you can, will break out to excuse him,
Ye have him in your heart, and planted, Cousin,
From whence the power of reason, nor discretion
Can ever root him.
_Mary._ Planted in my heart, Aunt?
Believe it no, I never was so liberal;
What though he shew a so so comely fellow
Which we call pretty? or say it may be handsom?
What though his promises may stumble at
The power of goodness in him, sometimes use too?
_Al._ How willingly thy heart betrays thee, Cousin?
Cozen thy self no more; thou hast no more power
To leave off loving him than he that's thirsty
Has to abstain from drink standing before him;
His mind is not so monstrous for his shape,
If I have Eyes, I have not seen his better.
A handsome brown Complexion.
_Mary._ Reasonable,
Inclining to a tawney.
_Alice._ Had I said so
You would have wish'd my tongue out; then his making.
_Mar._ Which may be mended; I have seen legs straighter,
And cleaner made.
_Alice._ A body too.
_Mary._ Far neater,
And better set together.
_Alice._ God forgive thee,
For against thy Conscience thou lyest stubbornly.
_Mary._ I grant 'tis neat enough.
_Alice._ 'Tis excellent,
And where the outward parts are fair and lovely,
(Which are but moulds o'th' mind) what must the soul be?
Put case youth has his swinge, and fiery Nature
Flames to mad uses many times.
_Mary._ All this
You only use to make me say I love him;
I do confess I do, but that my fondness
Should fling it self upon his desperate follies.
_Alice._ I do not counsel that, see him reclaim'd first,
Which will not prove a miracle, yet _Mary_,
I am afraid 'twill vex thee horribly
To stay so long.
_Mary._ No, no Aunt, no, believe me.
_Alice._ What was your dream to-night? for I observ'd ye
Hugging of me, with good dear sweet _Tom_.
_Mary._ Fye, Aunt,
Upon my Conscience.
_Alice._ On my word 'tis true, Wench;
And then ye kiss'd me, _Mary_, more than once too,
And sigh'd, and O sweet _Tom_ again; nay, do not blush,
Ye have it at the heart, Wench.
_Mary._ I'll be hang'd first,
But you must have your way.
_Enter_ Dorothea.
_Alice._ And so will you too,
Or break down hedges for it. _Dorothea_,
The welcom'st woman living; how does thy Brother?
I hear he's turn'd a wondrous civil Gentleman
Since his short travel.
_Dor._ 'Pray Heaven he make it good, _Alice_.
_Mary._ How do ye friend? I have a quarrel to ye,
Ye stole away and left my company.
_Dor._ O pardon me, dear friend, it was to welcome
A Brother that I have some Cause to love well.
_Mary._ Prithee how is he? thou speak'st truth.
_Dor._ Not perfect,
I hope he will be.
_Mary._ Never: h'as forgot me,
I hear Wench, and his hot love too.
_Alice._ Thou would'st howl then.
_Mary._ And I am glad it should be so; his travels
Have yielded him variety of Mistresses,
Fairer in his eye far.
_Alice._ O cogging Rascal!
_Mary._ I was a fool, but better thoughts I thank heaven.
_Dor._ 'Pray do not think so, for he loves you dearly,
Upon my troth most firmly, would fain see you.
_Mary._ See me friend! do you think it fit?
_Dor._ It may be,
Without the loss of credit too; he's not
Such a prodigious thing, so monstrous,
To fling from all society.
_Mary._ He's so much contrary
To my desires, such an antipathy
That I must sooner see my grave.
_Dor._ Dear friend,
He was not so before he went.
_Mary._ I grant it,
For then I daily hop'd his fair Conversion.
_Alice._ Come, do not mask your self, but see him freely,
Ye have a mind.
_Mary._ That mind I'll master then.
_Dor._ And is your hate so mortal?
_Mary._ Not to his person,
But to his qualities, his mad-cap follies,
Which still like _Hydras_ heads grow thicker on him.
I have a credit, friend, and Maids of my sort,
Love where their modesties may live untainted.
_Dor._ I give up that hope then; 'pray for your friends sake,
If I have any interest within ye,
Do but this courtesie, accept this Letter.
_Mary._ From him?
_Dor._ The same; 'tis but a minutes reading,
And as we look on shapes of painted Devils,
Which for the present may disturb our fancy,
But with the next new object lose 'em, so
If this be foul, ye may forget it, 'pray.
_Mary._ Have ye seen it, friend?
_Dor._ I will not lie; I have not,
But I presume, so much he honours you,
The worst part of himself was cast away
When to his best part he writ this.
_Mary._ For your sake,
Not that I any way shall like his scribling.
_Alice._ A shrewd dissembling Quean.
_Dor._ I thank ye, dear friend,
I know she loves him.
_Alice._ Yes, and will not lose him,
Unless he leap into the Moon, believe that,
And then she'l scramble too; young wenches loves
Are like the course of quartans, they may shift
And seem to cease sometimes, and yet we see
The least distemper pulls 'em back again,
And seats 'em in their old course; fear her not,
Unless he be a Devil.
_Mary._ Now Heaven bless me.
_Dor._ What has he writ?
_Mary._ Out, out upon him.
_Dor._ Ha, what has the mad man done?
_Mary._ Worse, worse, and worse still.
_Alice._ Some Northern Toy, a little broad.
_Mary._ Still fouler!
Hey, hey Boys, goodness keep me; Oh.
_Dor._ What ail ye?
_Mary._ Here, take your Spell again, it burns my fingers.
Was ever Lover writ so sweet a Letter?
So elegant a style? pray look upon't;
The rarest inventory of rank Oaths
That ever Cut-purse cast.
_Alice._ What a mad Boy is this!
_Mary._ Only i'th' bottom
A little Julip gently sprinkled over
To cool his mouth, lest it break out in blisters,
Indeed law. Yours for ever.
_Dor._ I am sorry.
_Mar._ You shall be welcome to me, come when you please,
And ever may command me vertuously,
But for your Brother, you must pardon me,
Till I am of his nature, no access friend,
No word of visitation, as ye love me,
And so for now I'le leave ye. [_Exit._
_Alice._ What a letter
Has this thing written, how it roars like thunder!
With what a state he enters into stile!
Dear Mistress.
_Dor._ Out upon him bedlam.
_Alice._ Well, there be waies to reach her yet: such likeness
As you two carry me thinks.
_Dor._ I am mad too,
And yet can apprehend ye: fare ye well,
The fool shall now fish for himself.
_Alice._ Be sure then
His tewgh be tith and strong: and next no swearing,
He'l catch no fish else, Farewel _Dol._
_Dor._ Farewel _Alice_. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Valentine, Alice, _and_ Cellide.
_Cel._ Indeed he's much chang'd, extreamly alter'd,
His colour faded strangely too.
_Val._ The air,
The sharp and nipping air of our new climate
I hope is all, which will as well restore
To health again th' affected body by it,
And make it stronger far, as leave it dangerous;
How do's my sweet, our blessed hour comes on now
Apace my _Cellide_, (it knocks at door)
In which our loves, and long desires like rivers
Rising asunder far, shall fall together,
Within these [two] daies dear.
_Cel._ When heaven, and you Sir
Shall think it fit: for by your wills I am govern'd.
_Alice._ 'Twere good some preparation.
_Enter_ Frank.
_Val._ All that may be:
It shall be no blind wedding: and all the joy
Of all our friends I hope: he looks worse hourly,
How does my friend, my self? he sweats too coldly,
His pulse, like the slow dropping of a spowt,
Scarce gives his function: how is't man, alas Sir,
You look extreme ill: is it any old grief,
The weight of which?
_Fra._ None, gentle Sir, that I feel,
Your love is too too tender,
Nay believe Sir.
_Cel._ You cannot be the master of your health,
Either some feaver lyes in wait to catch ye,
Whose harbinger's already in your face
We see preparing: or some discontent,
Which if it lye in this house, I dare say
Both for this noble Gentleman, and all
That live within it, shall as readily
Be purg'd away, and with as much care soften'd,
And where the cause is.
_Fran._ 'Tis a joy to be ill,
Where such a vertuous fair Physitian
Is ready to relieve: your noble cares
I must, and ever shall be thankfull for,
And would my service (I dare not look upon her)
But be not fearfull, I feel nothing dangerous,
A grudging caus'd by th' alteration
Of air, may hang upon me: my heart's whole,
(I would it were.)
_Val._ I knew the cause to be so.
_Fra._ No, you shall never know it.
_Alice._ Some warm broths
To purge the bloud, and keep your bed a day Sir,
And sweat it out.
_Cel._ I have such cordials,
That if you will but promise me to take 'em,
Indeed you shall be well, and very quickly,
I'le be your Doctor, you shall see how finely
I'le fetch ye up again.
_Val._ He sweats extreamly:
Hot, very hot: his pulse beats like a drum now,
Feel Sister, feel, feel sweet.
_Fra._ How that touch stung me!
_Val._ My gown there.
_Cel._ And those julips in the window.
_Alice._ Some see his bed made.
_Val._ This is most unhappy,
Take courage man, 'tis nothing but an ague.
_Cel._ And this shall be the last fit.
_Fra._ Not by thousands:
Now what 'tis to be truly miserable,
I feel at full experience.
_Alice._ He grows fainter.
_Val._ Come, lead him in, he shall to bed: a vomit,
I'le have a vomit for him.
_Alice._ A purge first,
And if he breath'd a vein.
_Val._ No, no, no bleeding,
A Clyster will cool all.
_Cel._ Be of good cheer Sir.
_Alice._ He's loth to speak.
_Cel._ How hard he holds my hand aunt!
_Alice._ I do not like that sign.
_Val._ Away to's chamber,
Softly, he's full of pain, be diligent
With all the care ye have: would I had scus'd him.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ Dorothea, _and_ Thomas.
_Dor._ Why do you rail at me? do I dwell in her
To force her to do this or that? your letter,
A wilde-fire on your letter; your sweet Letter;
You are so learned in your writs: ye stand now
As if ye had worried sheep: you must turn tippet,
And suddenly, and truely, and discreetly
Put on the shape of order and humanity,
Or you must marry _Malkyn_ the May Lady:
You must, dear Brother: do you make me carrier
Of your confound-mee's, and your culverings?
Am I a seemly agent for your oaths?
Who would have writ such a debosh'd?
_Thom._ Your patience,
May not a man profess his love?
_Dor._ In blasphemies?
Rack a maids tender ears, with dam's and Devils?
_Thom._ Out, out upon thee,
How would you have me write?
Begin with my love premised? surely,
And by my truly Mistress.
_Dor._ Take your own course,
For I see all perswasion's lost upon ye:
Humanitie, all drown'd: from this hour fairly
I'le wash my hands of all ye do: farewel Sir.
_Tho._ Thou art not mad?
_Dor._ No, if I were, dear Brother
I would keep you company: get a new Mistress
Some suburb Saint, that six pence, and some others
Will draw to parley: carowse her health in Cans
And candles ends, and quarrel for her beauty,
Such a sweet heart must serve your turn: your old love
Releases ye of all your tyes; disclaims ye
And utterly abjures your memory
Till time has better manag'd ye, will ye command me--
_Thom._ What, bob'd of all sides?
_Dor._ Any worthy service
Unto my Father Sir, that I may tell him
Even to his peace of heart, and much rejoycing
Ye are his true Son _Tom_ still? will it please ye
To beat some half a dozen of his servants presently,
That I may testifie you have brought the same faith
Unblemish'd home, ye carried out? or if it like you
There be two chambermaids within, young wenches,
Handsom and apt for exercise: you have been good, Sir,
And charitable though I say it Signiour
To such poor orphans: and now, by th' way I think on't
Your young rear Admiral, I mean your last bastard
_Don John_, ye had by Lady _Blanch_ the Dairy Maid,
Is by an Academy of learned Gypsies,
Foreseeing some strange wonder in the infant
Stoln from the Nurse, and wanders with those Prophets.
There is plate in the parlour, and good store Sir,
When your wants shall supply it. So most humbly
(First rendring my due service) I take leave Sir. [_Exit._
_Tho._ Why _Doll_, why _Doll_ I say: my letter fub'd too,
And no access without I mend my manners?
All my designes in Limbo? I will have her,
Yes, I will have her, though the Devil roar,
I am resolv'd that, if she live above ground,
I'le not be bob'd i'th' nose with every bobtail:
I will be civil too, now I think better,
Exceeding civil, wondrous finely carried:
And yet be mad upon occasion,
And stark mad too, and save my land: my Father,
I'le have my will of him, how e're my wench goes. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Sebastian, _and_ Launcelot.
_Seb._ Sirrah, I say still you have spoil'd your Master: leave your
stiches:
I say thou hast spoil'd thy Master.
_Lau._ I say how Sir?
_Seb._ Marry thou hast taught him like an arrant rascal,
First to read perfectly: which on my blessing
I warn'd him from: for I knew if he read once,
He was a lost man. Secondly, Sir _Launcelot_,
Sir lowsie _Launcelot_, ye have suffer'd him
Against my power first, then against my precept,
To keep that simpring sort of people company,
That sober men call civil: mark ye that Sir?
_Lau._ And't please your worship.
_Seb._ It does not please my worship,
Nor shall not please my worship: thirdly and lastly,
Which if the law were here, I would hang thee for,
(However I will lame thee) like a villain,
Thou hast wrought him
Clean to forget what 'tis to do a mischief,
A handsom mischief, such as thou knew'st I lov'd well.
My servants all are sound now, my drink sowr'd,
Not a horse pawn'd, nor plaid away: no warrants
Come for the breach of peace.
Men travel with their mony, and nothing meets 'em:
I was accurs'd to send thee, thou wert ever
Leaning to laziness, and loss of spirit,
Thou slept'st still like a cork upon the water.
_Lau._ Your worship knows, I ever was accounted
The most debosh'd, and please you to remember,
Every day drunk too, for your worships credit,
I broke the Butlers head too.
_Seb._ No, base Palliard,
I do remember yet that anslaight, thou wast beaten,
And fledst before the Butler; a black jack
Playing upon thee furiously, I saw it:
I saw thee scatter'd rogue, behold thy Master.
_Enter_ Thomas, _with a Book_.
_Thom._ What sweet content dwells here!
_Lau._ Put up your Book Sir,
We are all undone else.
_Seb._ _Tom_, when is the horse-race?
_Thom._ I know not Sir.
_Seb._ You will be there?
_Tho._ Not I Sir,
I have forgot those journeys.
_Seb._ Spoil'd for ever.
The Cocking holds at _Derby_, and there will be
_Jack_ Wild-oats, and _Will_ Purser.
_Tho._ I am sorry, Sir,
They should employ their time so slenderly,
Their understandings will bear better courses.
_Seb._ Yes, I will marry again: but Monsieur _Thomas_,
What say ye to the Gentleman that challeng'd ye
Before he went, and the fellow ye fell out with?
_Tho._ O good Sir,
Remember not those follies; where I have wrong'd, Sir,
(So much I have now learn'd to discern my self)
My means, and my repentance shall make even,
Nor do I think it any imputation
To let the Law perswade me.
_Seb._ Any Woman:
I care not of what colour, or complexion,
Any that can bear Children: rest ye merry. [_Exit._
_La._ Ye have utterly undone; clean discharg'd me,
I am for the ragged Regiment.
_Tho._ Eight languages,
And wither at an old mans words?
_La._ O pardon me.
I know him but too well: eightscore I take it
Will not keep me from beating, if not killing:
I'le give him leave to break a leg, and thank him:
You might have sav'd all this, and sworn a little:
What had an oath or two been? or a head broke,
Though 'thad been mine, to have satisfied the old man?
_Tho._ I'le break it yet.
_La._ Now 'tis too late, I take it:
Will ye be drunk to night, (a less intreaty
Has serv'd your turn) and save all yet? not mad drunk,
For then ye are the Devil, yet the drunker,
The better for your Father still: your state is desperate,
And with a desperate cure ye must recover it:
Do something, do Sir: do some drunken thing,
Some mad thing, or some any thing to help us.
_Tho._ Go for a Fidler then: the poor old Fidler
That sayes his Songs: but first where lyes my Mistris,
Did ye enquire out that?
_La._ I'th' Lodge, alone Sir,
None but her own Attendants.
_Tho._ 'Tis the happier:
Away then, find this Fidler, and do not miss me
By nine a Clock.
_La. Via._ [_Exit._
_Tho._ My Father's mad now,
And ten to one will disinherit me:
I'le put him to his plunge, and yet be merry.
What _Ribabald_?
_Enter_ Hylas _and_ Sam.
_Hyl._ _Don Thomasio._
_De bene venew._
_Tho._ I do embrace your body:
How do'st thou _Sam_?
_Sam._ The same _Sam_ still: your friend Sir.
_Tho._ And how is't bouncing boyes?
_Hyl._ Thou art not alter'd,
They said thou wert all Monsieur.
_Tho._ O believe it,
I am much alter'd, much another way:
The civil'st Gentleman in all your Country:
Do not ye see me alter'd? yea, and nay Gentlemen,
A much converted man: where's the best wine boys?
_Hyl._ A sound Convertite.
_Tho._ What, hast thou made up twenty yet?
_Hyl._ By'r Lady,
I have giv'n a shrewd push at it, for as I take it,
The last I fell in love with, scor'd sixteen.
_Tho._ Look to your skin, _Rambaldo_ the sleeping Gyant
Will rowze and rent thee piece-meal.
_Sam._ He ne'r perceives 'em
Longer than looking on.
_Thom._ Thou never meanest then
To marry any that thou lov'st?
_Hyl._ No surely,
Nor any wise man I think; marriage?
Would you have me now begin to be prentice,
And learn to cobble other mens old Boots?
_Sam._ Why, you may take a Maid.
_Hyl._ Where? can you tell me?
Or if 'twere possible I might get a Maid,
To what use should I put her? look upon her,
Dandle her upon my knee, and give her sugar-sops?
All the new Gowns i'th' Parish will not please her,
If she be high bred, for there's the sport she aims at,
Nor all the feathers in the Fryars.
_Thom._ Then take a Widow,
A good stanch wench, that's tith.
_Hyl._ And begin a new order,
Live in a dead mans monument, not I, Sir,
I'll keep mine own road, a true mendicant;
What pleasure this day yields me, I never covet
To lay up for the morrow; and methinks ever
Anothers mans Cook dresses my diet neatest.
_Thom._ Thou wast wont to love old women, fat and flat nosed,
And thou would'st say they kiss'd like Flounders, flat
All the face over.
_Hyl._ I have had such damsels
I must confess.
_Thom._ Thou hast been a precious Rogue.
_Sam._ Only his eyes; and o' my Conscience
They lye with half the Kingdom.
[_Enter over the Stage, Physicians and others._
_Thom._ What's the matter?
Whither go all these men-menders, these Physicians?
Whose Dog lies sick o'th' mulligrubs?
_Sam._ O the Gentleman,
The young smug Seigniour, Master _Valentine_,
Brought out of travel with him, as I hear,
Is faln sick o'th' sudden, desperate sick,
And likely they go thither.
_Thom._ Who? young _Frank_?
The only temper'd spirit, Scholar, Souldier,
Courtier; and all in one piece? 'tis not possible.
_Enter_ Alice.
_Sam._ There's one can better satisfie you.
_Thom._ Mistress _Alice_,
I joy to see you, Lady.
_Alice._ Good Monsieur _Thomas_,
You're welcome from your travel; I am hasty,
A Gentleman lyes sick, Sir.
_Thom._ And how dost thou?
I must know, and I will know.
_Alice._ Excellent well,
As well as may be, thank ye.
_Thom._ I am glad on't,
And prithee hark.
_Alice._ I cannot stay.
_Thom._ A while, _Alice_.
_Sam._ Never look so narrowly, the mark's in her mouth still.
_Hyl._ I am looking at her legs, prithee be quiet.
_Alice._ I cannot stay.
_Thom._ O sweet _Alice_.
_Hyl._ A clean instep,
And that I love a life, I did not mark
This woman half so well before, how quick
And nimble like a shadow, there her leg shew'd;
By th'mass a neat one, the colour of her Stocking,
A much inviting colour.
_Alice._ My good Monsieur,
I have no time to talk now.
_Hyl._ Pretty Breeches,
Finely becoming too.
_Thom._ By Heaven.
_Alice._ She will not,
I can assure you that, and so.
_Thom._ But this word.
_Alice._ I cannot, nor I will not, good Lord. [_Exit._
_Hyl._ Well, you shall hear more from me.
_Thom._ We'll go visit,
'Tis Charity; besides, I know she is there;
And under visitation I shall see her;
Will ye along?
_Hyl._ By any means.
_Thom._ Be sure then
I be a civil man: I have sport in hand, Boys,
Shall make mirth for a Marriage-day.
_Hyl._ Away then. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_Enter three Physicians with an Urinal._
_1 Phy._ A Pleurisie, I see it.
_2 Phy._ I rather hold it
For _tremor Cordis_.
_3 Phy._ Do you mark the _Fæces_?
'Tis a most pestilent contagious Feaver,
A surfeit, a plaguey surfeit; he must bleed.
_1 Phy._ By no means.
_3 Phy._ I say bleed.
_1 Phy._ I say 'tis dangerous;
The Person being spent so much before-hand,
And Nature drawn so low, Clysters, cool Clysters.
_2 Phy._ Now with your favours I should think a Vomit:
For take away the Cause, the Effect must follow,
The Stomach's foul and fur'd, the pot's unflam'd yet.
_3 Phy._ No, no, we'll rectifie that part by mild means,
Nature so sunk must find no violence.
_Enter a Servant._
_Serv._ Will't please ye draw near? the weak Gentleman
Grows worse and worse still.
_1 Phy._ Come, we will attend him.
_2 Phy._ He shall do well, my friend.
_Serv._ My Masters love, Sir.
_1._ Excellent well I warrant thee, right and straight, friend.
_3 Phy._ There's no doubt in him, none at all, ne'r fear him.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_Enter_ Valentine, _and_ Michael.
_Mich._ That he is desperate sick I do believe well,
And that without a speedy cure it kills him,
But that it lyes within the help of Physick
Now to restore his health, or art to cure him;
Believe it you are cozen'd; clean beside it.
I would tell ye the true cause too, but 'twould vex ye,
Nay, run ye mad.
_Val._ May all I have restore him!
So dearly and so tenderly I love him,
I do not know the cause why, yea my life too.
_Mich._ Now I perceive ye so well set, I'll tell you,
_Hei mihi quod nullis Amor est medicabilis herbis._
_Val._ 'Twas that I only fear'd: good friend go from me,
I find my heart too full for further conference;
You are assur'd of this?
_Mich._ 'Twill prove too certain,
But bear it nobly, Sir, Youth hath his errours.
_Val._ I shall do, and I thank ye; 'pray ye no words on't.
_Mich._ I do not use to talk, Sir. [_Exit._
_Val._ Ye are welcome;
Is there no Constancy in earthly things,
No happiness in us, but what must alter?
No life without the heavy load of Fortune?
What miseries we are, and to our selves,
Even then when full content seems to sit by us,
What daily sores and sorrows!
_Enter_ Alice.
_Alice._ O dear Brother,
The Gentleman if ever you will see him
Alive as I think.
_Enter_ Cellide.
_Cel._ O he faints, for Heavens sake,
For Heavens sake, Sir.
_Val._ Go comfort him, dear Sister. [_Exit_ Alice.
And one word, sweet, with you; then we'll go to him.
What think you of this Gentleman?
_Cel._ My pity thinks, Sir,
'Tis great misfortune that he should thus perish.
_Val._ It is indeed, but _Cellide_, he must dye.
_Cel._ That were a cruelty, when care may cure him,
Why do you weep so, Sir? he may recover.
_Val._ He may, but with much danger; my sweet _Cellide_,
You have a powerful tongue.
_Cel._ To do you service.
_Val._ I will betray his grief; he loves a Gentlewoman,
A friend of yours, whose heart another holds,
He knows it too; yet such a sway blind fancy,
And his not daring to deliver it,
Have won upon him, that they must undo him:
Never so hopeful and so sweet a Spirit,
Misfortune fell so foul on.
_Cel._ Sure she's hard hearted,
That can look on, and not relent, and deeply
At such a misery; she is not married?
_Val._ Not yet.
_Cel._ Nor near it?
_Val._ When she please.
_Cel._ And pray Sir,
Does he deserve her truly, that she loves so?
_Val._ His love may merit much, his Person little,
For there the match lyes mangled.
_Cel._ Is he your friend?
_Val._ He should be, for he is near me.
_Cel._ Will not he dye then,
When th'other shall recover?
_Val._ Ye have pos'd me.
_Cel._ Methinks he should go near it, if he love her;
If she love him.
_Val._ She does, and would do equal.
_Cel._ 'Tis a hard task you put me; yet for your sake
I will speak to her, all the art I have;
My best endeavours; all his Youth and Person,
His mind more full of beauty; all his hopes
The memory of such a sad example,
Ill spoken of, and never old; the curses
Of loving maids, and what may be alledg'd
I'll lay before her: what's her Name? I am ready.
_Val._ But will you deal effectually?
_Cel._ Most truly;
Nay, were it my self, at your entreaty.
_Val._ And could ye be so pitiful?
_Cel._ So dutiful;
Because you urge it, Sir.
_Val._ It may be then
It is your self.
_Cel._ It is indeed, I know it,
And now know how ye love me.
_Val._ O my dearest,
Let but your goodness judge; your own part's pity;
Set but your eyes on his afflictions;
He is mine, and so becomes your charge: but think
What ruine Nature suffers in this young man,
What loss humanity, and noble manhood;
Take to your better judgment my declining,
My Age hung full of impotence, and ills,
My Body budding now no more: seer Winter
Hath seal'd that sap up, at the best and happiest
I can but be your infant, you my Nurse,
And how unequal dearest; where his years,
His sweetness, and his ever spring of goodness,
My fortunes growing in him, and my self too,
Which makes him all your old love; misconceive not,
I say not this as weary of my bondage,
Or ready to infringe my faith; bear witness,
Those eyes that I adore still, those lamps that light me
To all the joy I have.
_Cel._ You have said enough, Sir,
And more than e'r I thought that tongue could utter,
But you are a man, a false man too.
_Val._ Dear _Cellide_.
_Cel._ And now, to shew you that I am a woman
Rob'd of her rest, and fool'd out of her fondness,
The Gentleman shall live, and if he love me,
Ye shall be both my triumphs; I will to him,
And as you carelessly fling off your fortune,
And now grow weary of my easie winning,
So will I lose the name of _Valentine_,
From henceforth all his flatteries, and believe it,
Since ye have so slightly parted with affection,
And that affection you have pawn'd your faith for;
From this hour no repentance, vows, nor prayers
Shall pluck me back again; what I shall do,
Yet I will undertake his cure, expect it,
Shall minister no comfort, no content
To either of ye, but hourly more vexations.
_Val._ Why, let him dye then.
_Cel._ No, so much I have loved
To be commanded by you, that even now,
Even in my hate, I will obey your wishes.
_Val._ What shall I do?
_Cel._ Dye like a fool unsorrow'd,
A bankrupt fool, that flings away his Treasure;
I must begin my cure.
_Val._ And I my Crosses. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Frank _sick_, _Physicians_, _and an Apothecary_.
_1 Phy._ Clap on the Cataplasm.
_Frank._ Good Gentlemen,
Good learned Gentlemen.
_2 Phy._ And see these broths there,
Ready within this hour, pray keep your arms in,
The air is raw, and ministers much evil.
_Fran._ 'Pray leave me; I beseech ye leave me, Gentlemen,
I have no other sickness but your presence,
Convey your Cataplasms to those that need 'em,
Your Vomits, and your Clysters.
_3 Phy._ Pray be rul'd, Sir.
_1 Phy._ Bring in the Lettice Cap; you must be shaved, Sir,
And then how suddenly we'll make you sleep!
_Frank._ Till dooms-day: what unnecessary nothings
Are these about a wounded mind?
_2 Phy._ How do ye?
_Fra._ What questions they propound too! how do you, Sir?
I am glad to see you well.
_3 Phy._ A great distemper, it grows hotter still.
_1 Phy._ Open your mouth, I pray, Sir.
_Frank._ And can you tell me
How old I am then? there's my hand, pray shew me
How many broken shins within this two year.
Who would be thus in fetters, good master Doctor,
And you dear Doctor, and the third sweet Doctor,
And precious master Apothecary, I do pray ye
To give me leave to live a little longer,
Ye stand before me like my Blacks.
_2 Phy._ 'Tis dangerous,
For now his fancy turns too.
_Enter_ Cellide.
_Cell._ By your leave Gentlemen:
And pray ye your leave a while too, I have something
Of secret to impart unto the Patient.
_1._ With all our hearts.
_3._ I mary such a Physick
May chance to find the humour: be not long Lady,
For we must minister within this half hour. [_Ex. Phys._
_Cell._ You shall not stay for me.
_Fra._ Would you were all rotten
That ye might only intend one anothers itches:
Or would the Gentlemen with one consent
Would drink small Beer but seven years, and abolish
That wild fire of the blood, unsatiate wenching,
That your two Indies, springs and falls might fail ye,
What torments these intruders into bodies.
_Cell._ How do you worthy Sir?
_Fran._ Bless me, what beams
Flew from these Angel eyes! O what a misery
What a most studied torment 'tis to me now
To be an honest man! dare ye sit by me?
_Cell._ Yes, and do more than that too: comfort ye,
I see ye have need.
_Fran._ You are a fair Physician:
You bring no bitterness gilt o're, to gull us,
No danger in your looks, yet there my death lyes.
_Cell._ I would be sorry, Sir, my charity
And my good wishes for your health should merit
So stubborn a construction: will it please ye
To taste a little of this Cordial
_Enter_ Valentine.
For this I think must cure ye.
_Fra._ Of which Lady?
Sure she has found my grief: why do you blush so?
_Cell._ Do you not understand? of this, this Cordial.
_Val._ O my afflicted heart: she is gone for ever.
_Fra._ What heaven have ye brought me Lady?
_Cell._ Do not wonder:
For 'tis no impudence, nor want of honour
Makes me do this: but love to save your life, Sir,
Your life too excellent to lose in wishes,
Love, vertuous love.
_Fra._ A vertuous blessing crown ye,
O goodly sweet, can there be so much charity
So noble a compassion in that heart
That's fill'd up with anothers fair affections?
Can mercy drop from those eyes?
Can miracles be wrought upon a dead man,
When all the power ye have, and perfect object
Lyes in anothers light, and his deserves it?
_Cell._ Do not despair: nor do not think too boldly,
I dare abuse my promise, 'twas your friends
And so fast tyed, I thought no time could ruin:
But so much has your danger, and that spell
The powerful name of friend, prevail'd above him
To whom I ever owe obedience,
That here I am, by his command to cure ye,
Nay more for ever, by his full resignment,
And willingly I ratifie it.
_Fra._ Hold for Heaven sake,
Must my friends misery make me a triumph?
Bear I that noble name, to be a Traitor?
O vertuous goodness, keep thy self untainted:
You have no power to yield, nor he to render,
Nor I to take: I am resolv'd to die first.
_Val._ Ha! saist thou so? nay then thou shalt not perish.
_Fra._ And though I love ye above the light shines on me,
Beyond the wealth of Kingdoms, free content,
Sooner would snatch at such a blessing offer'd
Than at my pardon'd life by the law forfeited,
Yet, yet O noble Beauty, yet O Paradise
For you are all the wonder reveal'd of it,
Yet is a gratitude to be preserv'd,
A worthy gratitude to one most worthy
The name, and nobleness of friends.
_Cell._ Pray tell me
If I had never known that Gentleman,
Would not you willingly embrace my offer?
_Fra._ Do you make a doubt?
_Cell._ And can ye be unwilling
He being old and impotent? his aim too
Levell'd at you, for your good? not constrain'd,
But out of cure, and counsel? Alas consider,
Play but the Woman with me, and consider
As he himself does, and I now dare see it,
Truly consider, Sir, what misery.
_Fra._ For vertues sake take heed.
_Cell._ What loss of youth,
What everlasting banishment from that
Our years do only covet to arrive at,
Equal affections [_texts blank_] and shot together:
What living name can dead age leave behind him,
What art of memory but fruitless doating?
_Fra._ This cannot be.
_Cell._ To you unless ye apply it
With more and firmer faith, and so digest it,
I speak but of things possible, not done
Nor like to be, a Posset cures your sickness,
And yet I know ye grieve this; and howsoever
The worthiness of friend may make ye stagger,
Which is a fair thing in ye, yet my Patient,
My gentle Patient, I would fain say more
If you would understand.
_Val._ O cruel Woman.
_Cell._ Yet sure your sickness is not so forgetful,
Nor you so willing to be lost.
_Fra._ Pray stay there:
Me thinks you are not fair now; me thinks more,
That modest vertue, men delivered of you,
Shews but like shadow to me, thin, and fading.
_Val._ Excellent friend.
_Fra._ Ye have no share in goodness:
Ye are belyed; you are not _Cellide_,
The modest, immaculate: who are ye?
For I will know: what Devil, to do mischief
Unto my vertuous friend, hath shifted shapes
With that unblemished beauty?
_Cell._ Do not rave, Sir,
Nor let the violence of thoughts distract ye,
You shall enjoy me: I am yours: I pity,
By those fair eyes I do.
_Fra._ O double hearted!
O Woman, perfect Woman! what distraction
Was meant to mankind when thou was't made a Devil!
What an inviting Hell invented! tell me,
And if you yet remember what is goodness,
Tell me by that, and truth, can one so cherish'd
So sainted in the soul of him, whose service
Is almost turn'd to superstition,
Whose every day endeavours and desires
Offer themselves like Incense on your Altar,
Whose heart holds no intelligence, but holy
And most Religious with his love; whose life
(And let it ever be remembred Lady)
Is drawn out only for your ends.
_Val._ O miracle!
_Fra._ Whose all, and every part of man: pray make me
Like ready Pages wait upon your pleasures;
Whose breath is but your bubble. Can ye, dare ye,
Must ye cast off this man, though he were willing,
Though in a nobleness, so cross my danger
His friendship durst confirm it, without baseness,
Without the stain of honour? shall not people
Say liberally hereafter, there's the Lady
That lost her Father, friend, herself, her faith too,
To fawn upon a stranger, for ought you know
As faithless as yourself, in love as fruitless.
_Val._ Take her with all my heart, thou art so honest
That 'tis most necessary I be undone.
[With all my soul possess her.] [_Exit_ Val.
_Cell._ Till this minute,
I scorn'd, and hated ye, and came to cozen ye:
Utter'd those things might draw a wonder on me,
To make ye mad.
_Fra._ Good Heaven, what is this Woman?
_Cell._ Nor did your danger, but in charity,
Move me a whit: nor you appear unto me
More than a common object; yet now truly,
Truly, and nobly I do love ye dearly,
And from this hour ye are the man I honour,
You are the man, the excellence, the honesty,
The only friend, and I am glad your sickness
Fell so most happily at this time on ye,
To make this truth the worlds.
_Fra._ Whither do you drive me?
_Cell._ Back to your honesty, make that good ever,
'Tis like a strong built Castle, seated high,
That draws on all ambitions, still repair it,
Still fortifie it: there are thousand foes
Besides the Tyrant Beauty, will assail it:
Look to your Centinels that watch it hourly,
Your eyes, let them not wander.
_Fra._ Is this serious?
Or does she play still with me?
_Cell._ Keep your ears,
The two main Ports that may betray ye, strongly
From light belief first, then from flattery,
Especially where Woman beats the parley:
The body of your strength, your noble heart
From ever yielding to dishonest ends,
Rig'd round about with vertue, that no breaches,
No subtil [mynes] may meet ye.
_Fra._ How like the Sun
Labouring in his Eclipse, dark, and prodigious,
She shew'd till now? when having won her way,
How full of wonder he breaks out again,
And sheds his vertuous beams: excellent Angel,
For no less can that heavenly mind proclaim thee,
Honour of all thy sex, let it be lawful,
And like a Pilgrim thus I kneel to beg it,
Not with prophane lips now, nor burnt affections,
But, reconcil'd to faith, with holy wishes,
To kiss that virgin hand.
_Cel._ Take your desire, Sir,
And in a nobler way, for I dare trust ye,
No other fruit my love must ever yield ye,
I fear no more: yet your most constant memory
(So much I am wedded to that worthiness)
Shall ever be my Friend, Companion, Husband.
Farewel, and fairly govern your affections,
Stand, and deceive me not: O noble young man,
I love thee with my soul, but dare not say it:
Once more farewel, and prosper. [_Exit._
_Fra._ Goodness guide thee:
My wonder like to fearful shapes in dreams,
Has wakened me out of my fit of folly,
But not to shake it off: a spell dwells in me,
A hidden charm shot from this beauteous Woman,
That fate can ne'r avoid, nor Physick find,
And by her counsel strengthen'd: only this
Is all the help I have, I love fair vertue.
Well, something I must do, to be a friend,
Yet I am poor, and tardy: something for her too
Though I can never reach her excellence,
Yet but to give an offer at a greatness.
_Enter_ Valentine, Thomas, Hylas, _and_ Sam.
_Val._ Be not uncivil _Tom_, and take your pleasure.
_Tho._ Do you think I am mad? you'l give me leave
To try her fairly?
_Val._ Do your best.
_Tho._ Why there Boy,
But where's the sick man?
_Hyl._ Where are the Gentlewomen
That should attend him? there's the Patient.
Me thinks these Women--
_Tho._ Thou think'st nothing else.
_Val._ Go to him friend, and comfort him: I'le lead ye:
O my best joy, my worthiest friend, pray pardon me,
I am so over-joy'd I want expression:
I may live to be thankful: bid your friends welcome.
[_Exit_ Val.
_Tho._ How do'st thou _Frank_? how do'st thou Boy? bear up man:
What, shrink i'th' sinews for a little sickness?
_Deavolo morte._
_Fra._ I am o'th' mending hand.
_Tho._ How like a Flute thou speak'st: o'th' mending hand man?
Gogs bores, I am well, speak like a man of worship.
_Fran._ Thou art a mad companion: never staid _Tom_.
_Tho._ Let Rogues be staid that have no habitation,
A Gentleman may wander: sit thee down _Frank_,
And see what I have brought thee: come discover,
Open the Scene, and let the work appear.
A friend at need you Rogue is worth a million.
_Fra._ What hast thou there, a julip?
_Hyl._ He must not touch it,
'Tis present death.
_Tho._ Ye are an Ass, a twirepipe,
A _Jeffery John bo peepe_, thou mimister,
Thou mend a left-handed pack-saddle, out puppey,
My friend _Frank_, but a very foolish fellow:
Do'st thou see that Bottle? view it well.
_Fran._ I do _Tom_.
_Tho._ There be as many lives in't, as a Cat carries,
'Tis everlasting liquor.
_Fran._ What?
_Tho._ Old Sack, Boy,
Old reverend Sack, which for ought that I can read yet,
Was that Philosophers Stone the wise King _Ptolomeus_
Did all his wonders by.
_Fran._ I see no harm _Tom_,
Drink with a moderation.
_Tho._ Drink with suger,
Which I have ready here, and here a glass boy,
Take me without my tools.
_Sam._ Pray Sir be temperate,
You know your own state best.
_Fra._ Sir, I much thank ye,
And shall be careful: yet a glass or two
So fit I find my body, and that so needful.
_Tho._ Fill it, and leave your fooling: thou say'st true _Frank_.
_Hyl._ Where are these Women I say?
_Tho._ 'Tis most necessary,
Hang up your Julips and your _Portugal_ Possets,
Your barley Broths, and sorrel Sops, they are mangy,
And breed the Scratches only: give me Sack:
I wonder where this Wench is though: have at thee.
_Hyl._ So long, and yet no bolting?
_Fra._ Do, I'le pledge thee.
_Tho._ Take it off thrice, and then cry heigh like a Huntsman
With a clear heart, and no more fits I warrant thee.
The only Cordial, _Frank_. [_Phys. and Serv. within._
_1 Phys._ Are the things ready?
And is the Barber come?
_Ser._ An hour ago, Sir.
_1 Phys._ Bring out the Oyls then.
_Fran._ Now or never Gentlemen,
Do me a kindness and deliver me.
_Tho._ From whom boy?
_Fra._ From these things, that talk within there,
Physicians, _Tom_, Physicians, scowring-sticks,
They mean to read upon me.
_Enter three Phys. Apoth. and Barber._
_Hyl._ Let 'em enter.
_Tho._ And be thou confident, we will deliver thee:
For look ye Doctor, say the Devil were sick now,
His horns saw'd off, and his head bound with a Biggin,
Sick of a Calenture, taken by a Surfeit
Of stinking souls at his Nephews, and Sᵗ _Dunstans_,
What would you minister upon the sudden?
Your judgment short and sound.
_1 Phy._ A fools head.
_Tho._ No Sir,
It must be a Physicians for three causes,
The first because it is a bald-head likely,
Which will down easily without Applepap.
_3 Phy._ A main cause.
_Tho._ So it is, and well consider'd.
The second, for 'tis fill'd with broken Greek, Sir,
Which will so tumble in his stomach, Doctor,
And work upon the crudities, conceive me,
The fears, and the fiddle-strings within it,
That those damn'd souls must disembogue again.
_Hyl._ Or meeting with the stygian humour.
_Tho._ Right, Sir.
_Hyl._ Forc'd with a Cataplasm of Crackers.
_Tho._ Ever.
_Hyl._ Scowre all before him, like a Scavenger.
_Tom._ _Satis fecisti domine_, my last cause,
My last is, and not least, most learned Doctors,
Because in most Physicians heads (I mean those
That are most excellent, and old withal,
And angry, though a Patient say his prayers,
And _Paracelsians_ that do trade with poisons,
We have it by tradition of great writers)
There is a kind of Toad-stone bred, whose vertue
The Doctor being dri'd.
_1 Phy._ We are abus'd sirs.
_Hyl._ I take it so, or shall be, for say the Belly-ake
Caus'd by an inundation of Pease-porridge,
Are we therefore to open the port Vein,
Or the port Esquiline?
_Sam._ A learned question:
Or grant the Diaphragma by a Rupture,
The sign being then in the head of _Capricorn_.
_Tho._ Meet with the passion Huperchondriaca,
And so cause a Carnosity in the Kidneyes.
Must not the brains, being butter'd with this humour--
Answer me that.
_Sam._ Most excellently argued.
_2 Phy._ The next fit you will have, my most fine Scholar,
Bedlam shall find a Salve for: fare ye well Sir,
We came to do you good, but these young Doctors
It seems have bor'd our Noses.
_3 Phy._ Drink hard Gentlemen,
And get unwholesome drabs: 'tis ten to one then
We shall hear further from ye, your note alter'd. [_Exeunt._
_Tho._ And wilt thou be gone, saies one?
_Hyl._ And wilt thou be gone, saies t'other?
_Tho._ Then take the odd crown
To mend thy old Gown.
_Sam._ And we'l be gone all together.
_Fra._ My learned _Tom_.
_Enter Servant._
_Ser._ Sir, the young Gentlewomen
Sent me to see what company ye had with ye,
They much desire to visit ye.
_Fra._ Pray ye thank 'em,
And tell 'em my most sickness is their absence:
Ye see my company.
_Tho._ Come hither Crab,
What Gentlewomen are these? my Mistris?
_Ser._ Yes Sir.
_Hyl._ And who else?
_Ser._ Mistress _Alice_.
_Hyl._ Oh!
_Tho._ Hark ye sirrah,
No word of my being here, unless she know it.
_Ser._ I do not think she does.
_Tho._ Take that, and mum then.
_Ser._ You have ty'd my tongue up. [_Exit._
_Tho._ Sit you down good _Francis_,
And not a word of me till ye hear from me,
And as you find my humour, follow it:
You two come hither, and stand close, unseen Boys,
And do as I shall tutor ye.
_Fran._ What, new work?
_Tho._ Prethee no more but help me now.
_Hyl._ I would fain talk
With the Gentlewomen.
_Tho._ Talk with the Gentlewomen?
Of what forsooth? whose Maiden-head the last Mask
Suffer'd impression? or whose Clyster wrought best?
Take me as I shall tell thee.
_Hyl._ To what end?
What other end came we along?
_Sam._ Be rul'd though.
_Tho._ Your weasel face must needs be ferretting
About the Farthing-ale;
Do as I bid ye,
Or by this light--
_Hyl._ Come then.
_Thom._ Stand close and mark me.
_Fran._ All this forc'd foolery will never do it.
_Enter_ Alice _and_ Mary.
_Ali._ I hope we bring ye health, Sir: how is't with ye?
_Ma._ You look far better trust me, the fresh colour
Creeps now again into his cheeks.
_Ali._ Your enemy
I see has done his worst. Come, we must have ye
Lusty again, and frolick man; leave thinking.
_Ma._ Indeed it does ye harm, Sir.
_Fran._ My best visitants,
I shall be govern'd by ye.
_Ali._ You shall be well then,
And suddenly, and soundly well.
_Ma._ This Air, Sir,
Having now season'd ye, will keep ye ever.
_Tho._ No, no, I have no hope, nor is it fit friends,
My life has been so lewd, my loose condition,
Which I repent too late, so lamentable,
That any thing but curses light upon me,
Exorbitant in all my wayes.
_Ali._ Who's that, Sir,
Another sick man?
_Ma._ Sure I know that voice well.
_Tho._ In all my courses, careless disobedience.
_Fran._ What a strange fellow's this?
_Tho._ No counsel friends,
No look before I leapt.
_Ali._ Do you know the voyce, Sir?
_Fra._ Yes, 'tis a Gentlemans that's much afflicted
In's mind: great pity Ladies.
_Ali._ Now heaven help him.
_Fra._ He came to me, to ask free pardon of me,
For some things done long since, which his distemper
Made to appear like wrong, but 'twas not so.
_Ma._ O that this could be truth.
_Hyl._ Perswade your self.
_Tho._ To what end Gentlemen, when all is perish'd
Upon a wrack, is there a hope remaining?
The Sea, that ne'r knew sorrow, may be pitiful,
My credit's split, and sunk, nor is it possible,
Were my life lengthened out as long as--
_Ma._ I like this well.
_Sam._ Your mind is too mistrustful.
_Tho._ I have a vertuous Sister, but I scorn'd her,
A Mistris too, a noble Gentlewoman,
For goodness all out-going.
_Alice._ Now I know him.
_Tho._ With these eyes friends, my eyes must never see more.
_Alice._ This is for your sake _Mary_: take heed Cousin,
A man is not so soon made.
_Tho._ O my fortune!
But it is just, I be despis'd and hated.
_Hyl._ Despair not, 'tis not manly: one hours goodness
Strikes off an infinite of ills.
_Alice._ Weep truly
And with compassion, Cousin.
_Fra._ How exactly
This cunning young Thief playes his part!
_Ma._ Well _Tom_,
My _Tom_ again, if this be truth.
_Hyl._ She weeps Boy.
_Tho._ O I shall die.
_Ma._ Now Heaven defend.
_Sam._ Thou hast her.
_Tho._ Come lead me to my Friend to take his farewel,
And then what fortune shall befal me, welcome,
How does it show?
_Hyl._ O rarely well.
_Ma._ Say you so, Sir.
_Fra._ O ye grand Ass.
_Ma._ And are ye there my Juggler?
Away we are abus'd, _Alice_.
_Alice._ Fool be with thee. [_Ex._ Mary _and_ Alice.
_Tho._ Where is she?
_Fra._ Gone; she found you out, and finely,
In your own noose she halter'd ye: you must be whispering
To know how things shew'd: not content to fare well
But you must roar out roast-meat; till that suspicion
You carried it most neatly, she believed too
And wept most tenderly; had you continu'd,
Without doubt you had brought her off.
_Tho._ This was thy Roguing,
For thou wert ever whispering: fye upon thee
Now could I break thy head.
_Hyl._ You spoke to me first.
_Tho._ Do not anger me,
For by this hand I'le beat the buzard blind then.
She shall not scape me thus: farewel for this time.
_Fra._ Good night, 'tis almost bed time: yet no sleep
Must enter these [eyes], till I work a wonder. [_Exit._
_Tho._ Thou shalt along too, for I mean to plague thee
For this nights sins, I will never leave walking of thee
Till I have worn thee out.
_Hyl._ Your will be done, Sir.
_Tho._ You will not leave me, _Sam_.
_Sam._ Not I.
_Tho._ Away then: I'le be your guide now, if my man be trusty,
My spightful Dame, I'le pipe ye such a hun[t]sup
Shall make ye dance a tipvaes: keep close to me. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ Sebastian, _and_ Dorothy.
_Seb._ Never perswade me, I will marry again,
What should I leave my state to, Pins and Poaking-sticks,
To Farthingals, and frownces? to fore-horses
And an old Leather Bawdy house behind 'em,
To thee?
_Dor._ You have a Son, Sir.
_Seb._ Where, what is he?
Who is he like?
_Dor._ Your self.
_Seb._ Thou lyest, thou hast marr'd him,
Thou, and thy prayer books: I do disclaim him:
Did not I take him singing yesternight
A godly Ballad, to a godly tune too,
And had a Catechism in's pocket, Damsel,
One of your dear disciples, I perceive it?
When did he ride abroad since he came over?
What Tavern has he us'd to? what things done
That shews a man, and mettle? when was my house
At such a shame before, to creep to bed
At ten a clock, and twelve, for want of company?
No singing, nor no dancing, nor no drinking?
Thou think'st not of these scandals; when, and where
Has he but shew'd his sword of late?
_Dor._ Despair not
I do beseech you, Sir, nor tempt your weakness,
For if you like it so, I can assure you
He is the same man still.
_Seb._ Would thou wert ashes
On that condition; but believe it Gossip
You shall know you have wrong'd.
_Dor._ You never, Sir,
So well I know my duty: and for Heaven sake,
Take but this counsel with ye ere you marry,
You were wont to hear me: take him, and confess him,
Search him to the quick, and if you find him false,
Do as you please; a Mothers name I honour.
_Seb._ He is lost, and spoil'd, I am resolv'd my roof
Shall never harbour him: and for you Minion
I'le keep you close enough, lest you break loose,
And do more mischief; get ye in: who waits? [_Exit_ Dor.
_Enter Servant._
_Ser._ Do you call, Sir?
_Seb._ Seek the Boy: and bid him wait
My pleasure in the morning: mark what house
He is in, and what he does: and truly tell me.
_Ser._ I will not fail, Sir.
_Seb._ If ye do, I'le hang ye. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_Enter_ Thomas, Hylas, _and_ Sam.
_Tho._ Keep you the back door there, and be sure
None of her servants enter, or go out,
If any Woman pass, she is lawful prize, Boys,
Cut off all convoyes.
_Hyl._ Who shall answer this?
_Tho._ Why, I shall answer it, you fearful widgeon,
I shall appear to th' action.
_Hyl._ May we discourse too,
On honourable terms?
_Tho._ With any Gentlewoman
That shall appear at window: ye may rehearse too
By your commission safely, some sweet parcels
Of Poetry to a Chamber-maid.
_Hyl._ May we sing too?
For there's my master-piece.
_Tho._ By no means, no Boys,
I am the man reserv'd for Air, 'tis my part,
And if she be not rock, my voyce shall reach her:
Ye may record a little, or ye may whistle,
As time shall minister, but for main singing,
Pray ye satisfie your selves: away, be careful.
_Hyl._ But hark ye, one word _Tom_, we may be beaten.
_Tho._ That's as ye think good your selves: if you deserve it,
Why 'tis the easiest thing to compass: beaten?
What Bugbears dwell in thy brains? who should beat thee?
_Hyl._ She has men enough.
_Tho._ Art not thou man enough too?
Thou hast flesh enough about thee: if all that mass
Will not maintain a little spirit, hang it,
And dry it too for dogs-meat: get you gone;
I have things of moment in my mind: that door,
Keep it as thou would'st keep thy Wife from a Servingman.
No more I say: away, _Sam_.
_Sam._ At your will, Sir. [_Exeunt_ Hylas _and_ Sam.
_Enter_ Launcelot, _and Fidler_.
_Lan._ I have him here, a rare Rogue, good sweet Master,
Do something of some savour suddenly,
That we may eat, and live: I am almost starv'd,
_No point manieur, no point devein, no Signieur_,
Not by the vertue of my languages,
Nothing at my old masters to be hoped for,
O Signieur _du_, nothing to line my life with,
But cold Pyes with a cudgel, till you help us.
_Tho._ Nothing but famine frights thee: come hither Fidler,
What Ballads are you seen in best? be short Sir.
_Fidler._ Under your masterships correction, I can sing
The Duke of _Norfolk_, or the merry Ballad
Of _Diverus_ and _Lazarus_, the Rose of _England_,
In _Creet_ when _Dedimus_ first began,
_Jonas_ his crying out against _Coventry_.
_Tho._ Excellent,
Rare matters all.
_Fid._ _Mawdlin_ the Merchants Daughter,
The Devil, and ye dainty Dames.
_Tom._ Rare still.
_Fid._ The landing of the Spaniards at _Bow_,
With the bloudy battel at _Mile-end_.
_Tho._ All excellent:
No tuning as ye love me; let thy Fidle
Speak Welch, or any thing that's out of all tune,
The vilder still the better, like thy self,
For I presume thy voice will make no trees dance.
_Fid._ Nay truly, ye shall have it ev'n as homely.
_Tho._ Keep ye to that key, are they all abed trow?
_Lan._ I hear no stirring any where, no light
In any window, 'tis a night for the nonce Sir.
_Tho._ Come strike up then: and say the Merchants daughter,
We'l bear the burthen: proceed to incision Fidler. [_Song._
_Enter Servant, above._
_Ser._ Who's there? what noise is this? what rogue
At these hours?
_Thom._ _O what is that to you my fool?_
_O what is that to you,_
_Pluck in your face you bawling Ass,_
_Or I will break your brow. hey down, down, down._
A new Ballad, a new, a new.
_Fid._ The twelfth of _April_, on _May_ day,
My house and goods were burnt away, _&c._ [_Maid above._
_Maid._ Why who is this?
_Lan._ O damsel dear,
Open the door, and it shall appear,
Open the door.
_Maid._ [O gentle squire.]
I'le see thee hang'd first: farewel my dear,
'Tis master _Thomas_, there he stands.
_Enter_ Mary _above_.
_Mary._ 'Tis strange
That nothing can redeem him: rail him hence,
Or sing him out in's own way, any thing
To be deliver'd of him.
_Maid._ Then have at him:
_My man_ Thomas _did me promise_
_He would visit me this night_.
_Tho._ _I am here Love, tell me dear Love,_
_How I may obtain thy sight._
_Maid._ _Come up to my window love, come, come, come,_
_Come to my window my dear,_
_The wind, nor the rain shall trouble thee again,_
_But thou shalt be lodged here._
_Thom._ And art thou strong enough?
_Lan._ Up, up, I warrant ye.
_Mary._ What do'st thou mean to do?
_Maid._ Good Mistress peace,
I'le warrant ye we'l cool him: _Madge_. [_Madge above._
_Madge._ I am ready.
_Tho._ _The love of Greece, and it tickled him so,_
_That he devised a way to goe._
Now sing the Duke of _Northumberland_.
_Fidler._ _And climbing to promotion,_
_He fell down suddenly._
[Madge _with a Devils vizard roaring, offers to kiss him, and he
falls down_.
_Maid._ Farewel Sir.
_Mary._ What hast thou done? thou hast broke his neck.
_Maid._ Not hurt him,
He pitcht upon his legs like a Cat.
_Tho._ O woman:
O miserable woman, I am spoil'd,
My leg, my leg, my leg, oh both my legs!
_Mary._ I told thee' what thou hadst done, mischief go with thee.
_Tho._ O I am lam'd for ever: O my leg,
Broken in twenty places: O take heed,
Take heed of women, Fidler: oh a Surgeon,
A Surgeon, or I dye: oh my good people,
No charitable people, all despightfull,
Oh what a misery am I in! oh my leg.
_Lan._ Be patient Sir, be patient: let me bind it.
_Enter_ Samuel, _and_ Hylas, _with his head broken_.
_Tho._ Oh do not touch it rogue.
_Hyl._ My head, my head,
Oh my head's kill'd.
_Sam._ You must be courting wenches
Through key-holes, Captain _Hylas_, come and be comforted,
The skin is scarce broke.
_Tho._ O my leg.
_Sam._ How do ye Sir?
_Tho._ Oh maim'd for ever with a fall, he's spoil'd too,
I see his brains.
_Hyl._ Away with me for Gods sake,
A Surgeon.
_Sam._ Here's a night indeed.
_Hyl._ A Surgeon. [_Ex. all but Fidler._
_Enter_ Mary, _and Servant below_.
_Mary._ Go run for help.
_Tho._ Oh.
_Mary._ Run all, and all too little,
O cursed beast that hurt him, run, run, flye,
He will be dead else.
_Tho._ Oh.
_Mary._ Good friend go you too.
_Fid._ Who pays me for my Musick?
_Mary._ Pox o' your Musick,
There's twelve pence for ye.
_Fid._ There's two groats again forsooth,
I never take above, and rest ye merry. [_Exit._
_Ma._ A grease pot guild your fidle strings: how do you,
How is my dear?
_Tom._ Why well I thank ye sweet heart,
Shall we walk in, for now there's none to trouble us?
_Ma._ Are ye so crafty, Sir? I shall meet with ye,
I knew your trick, and I was willing: my _Tom_,
Mine own _Tom_, now to satisfie thee, welcom, welcom,
Welcom my best friend to me, all my dearest.
_Tom._ Now ye are my noble Mistress: we lose time sweet.
_Ma._ I think they are all gone.
_Tom._ All, ye did wisely.
_Ma._ And you as craftily.
_Tom._ We are well met Mistress.
_Ma._ Come, let's goe in then lovingly: O my Skarf _Tom_.
I lost it thereabout, find it, and wear it
As your poor Mistress favour. [_Exit._
_Tom._ I am made now,
I see no venture is in no hand: I have it,
How now? the door lock't, and she in before?
Am I so trim'd?
_Ma._ One parting word sweet _Thomas_,
Though to save your credit, I discharg'd your Fidler,
I must not satisfie your folly too Sir,
Ye'are subtle, but believe it Fox, I'le find ye,
The Surgeons will be here straight, roar again boy,
And break thy legs for shame, thou wilt be sport else,
Good night.
_Tom._ She saies most true, I must not stay: she has bob'd me,
Which if I live, I'le recompence, and shortly,
Now for a Ballad to bring me off again.
_All young men be warn'd by me, how you do goe a wooing._
_Seek not to climb, for fear ye fall, thereby comes your undoing, &c._
[_Exeunt._
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
_Enter_ Valentine, Alice, _and Servant_.
_Val._ He cannot goe and take no farewel of me,
Can he be so unkind? he's but retir'd
Into the Garden or the Orchard: see Sirs.
_Ali._ He would not ride there certain, those were planted
Only for walks I take it.
_Val._ Ride? nay then,
Had he a horse out?
_Ser._ So the Groom delivers
Somewhat before the break of day.
_Val._ He's gone,
My best friend's gone _Alice_; I have lost the noblest,
The truest, and the most man I e're found yet.
_Alice._ Indeed Sir, he deserves all praise.
_Val._ All Sister,
All, all, and all too little: O that honesty,
That ermine honesty, unspotted ever,
That perfect goodness.
_Alice._ Sure he will return Sir,
He cannot be so harsh.
_Val._ O never, never,
Never return, thou know'st not where the cause lyes.
_Alice._ He was the worthiest welcom.
_Val._ He deserv'd it.
_Alice._ Nor wanted, to our knowledge.
_Val._ I will tell thee,
Within this hour, things that shall startle thee,
He never must return.
_Enter_ Michael.
_Mich._ Good morrow Signieur.
_Val._ Good morrow Master _Michael_.
_Mich._ My good neighbour,
Me thinks you are stirring early since your travel,
You have learn'd the rule of health sir, where's your mistress?
She keeps her warm I warrant ye, i' bed yet?
_Val._ I think she does.
_Alice._ 'Tis not her hour of waking.
_Mich._ Did you lye with her, Lady?
_Alice._ Not to night Sir,
Nor any night this week else.
_Mich._ When last saw ye her?
_Alice._ Late yesternight.
_Mich._ Was she 'bed then?
_Alice._ No Sir,
I left her at her prayers: why do ye ask me?
_Mich._ I have been strangely haunted with a dream
All this long night, and after many wakings,
The same dream still; me thought I met young _Cellide_
Just at S. _Katherines_ gate the Nunnery.
_Val._ Ha?
_Mic._ Her face slubber'd o're with tears, and troubles,
Me thought she cry'd unto the Lady Abbess,
For charity receive me holy woman,
A Maid that has forgot the worlds affections,
Into thy virgin order: me thought she took her,
Put on a Stole, and sacred robe upon her,
And there I left her.
_Val._ Dream?
_Mich._ Good Mistress _Alice_
Do me the favour (yet to satisfie me)
To step but up, and see.
_Alice._ I know she's there Sir,
And all this but a dream.
_Mich._ You know not my dreams,
They are unhappy ones, and often truths,
But this I hope, yet.
_Alice._ I will satisfie ye. [_Exit._
_Mich._ Neighbours, how does the Gentleman?
_Val._ I know not,
Dream of a Nunnery?
_Mich._ How found ye my words
About the nature of his sickness _Valentine_?
_Val._ Did she not cry out, 'twas my folly too
That forc'd her to this nunnery? did she not curse me?
For God sake speak: did you not dream of me too,
How basely, poorly, tamely, like a fool,
Tir'd with his joyes?
_Mich._ Alas poor Gentleman,
Ye promis'd me Sir to bear all these crosses.
_Val._ I bear 'em till I break again.
_Mich._ But nobly,
Truly to weigh.
_Val._ Good neighbours, no more of it,
Ye do but fling flax on my fire: where is she?
_Enter_ Alice.
_Ali._ Not yonder Sir, nor has not this night certain
Been in her bed.
_Mich._ It must be truth she tells ye,
And now I'le shew ye why I came: this morning
A man of mine being employed about business,
Came early home, who at S. _Katherines_ Nunnery,
About day peep, told me he met your Mistress,
And as I spoke it in a dream, so troubled
And so received by the Abbess, did he see her,
The wonder made me rise, and hast unto ye
To know the cause.
_Val._ Farewel, I cannot speak it. [_Exit_ Val.
_Alice._ For Heaven sake leave him not.
_Mich._ I will not Lady.
_Alice._ Alas, he's much afflicted.
_Mich._ We shall know shortly more, apply your own care
At home good _Alice_, and trust him to my counsel,
Nay, do not weep, all shall be well, despair not. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ Sebastian, _and a Servant_.
_Seb._ At _Valentines_ house so merry?
_Ser._ As a pie Sir.
_Seb._ So gamesom dost thou say?
_Ser._ I am sure I heard it.
_Seb._ Ballads, and Fidles too?
_Ser._ No, but one Fidle;
But twenty noyses.
_Enter_ Launcelot.
_Seb._ Did he do devises?
_Ser._ The best devises Sir: here's my fellow _Launcelot_
He can inform ye all: he was among 'em,
A mad thing too: I stood but in a corner.
_Seb._ Come Sir, what can you say? is there any hope yet
Your Master may return?
_Laun._ He went far else,
I will assure your worship on my credit
By the faith of a Travellor, and a Gentleman,
Your son is found again, the son, the _Tom_.
_Seb._ Is he the old _Tom_?
_Laun._ The old _Tom_.
_Seb._ Go forward.
_Laun._ Next, to consider how he is the old _Tom_.
_Seb._ Handle me that.
_Laun._ I would ye had seen it handled
Last night Sir, as we handled it: _cap à pe_,
Footra for leers, and learings; O the noise,
The noise we made.
_Seb._ Good, good.
_Lan._ The windows clattering
And all the Chambermaids in such a whobub,
One with her smock half off, another in hast
With a serving-mans hose upon her head.
_Seb._ Good still.
_Lan._ A fellow railing out of a loop-hole there,
And his mouth stopt with durt.
_Seb._ I' faith a fine Boy.
_Lan._ Here one of our heads broke.
_Seb._ Excellent good still.
_Lan._ The Gentleman himself, young M. _Thomas_,
Inviron'd with his furious Myrmidons
The fiery Fidler, and my self; now singing,
Now beating at the door, there parlying,
Courting at that window, at the other scalling
And all these several noises to two Trenchers,
Strung with a bottom of brown thred, which show'd admirable.
_Seb._ There eat, and grow again, I am pleas'd.
_Lan._ Nor here Sir,
Gave we the frolick over: though at length
We quit the Ladies Skonce on composition;
But to the silent streets we turn'd our furies:
A sleeping watchman here we stole the shooes from,
There made a noise, at which he wakes, and follows:
The streets are durty, takes a queen-hith cold,
Hard cheese, and that choaks him o' Munday next:
Windows, and signs we sent to _Erebus_;
A crue of bawling curs we entertain'd last,
When having let the pigs loose in out parishes,
O the brave cry we made as high as _Algate_!
Down comes a Constable, and the Sow his Sister
Most traiterously tramples upon Authority,
There a whole stand of rug gowns rowted manly
And the Kings peace put to flight: a purblind pig here
Runs me his head into the Admirable Lanthorn,
Out goes the light, and all turns to confusion:
A potter rises, to enquire this passion,
A Boar imbost takes sanctuary in his shop,
When twenty dogs rush after, we still cheering,
Down goe the pots, and pipkins, down the pudding pans,
The cream-bolls cry revenge here, there the candlesticks.
_Seb._ If this be true, thou little tyney page,
This tale that thou tell'st me,
Then on thy back will I presently hang
A handsom new Livery:
But if this be false, thou little tyney page
As false it well may be,
Then with a cudgel of four foot long
I'le beat thee from head to toe.
_Enter_ Servant.
_Seb._ Will the boy come?
_Ser._ He will Sir.
_Enter_ Thomas.
_Seb._ Time tries all then.
_Lan._ Here he comes now himself Sir.
_Seb._ To be short _Thomas_,
Because I feel a scruple in my conscience
Concerning thy demeanour, and a main one,
And therefore like a Father would be satisfi'd,
Get up to that window there, and presently
Like a most compleat Gentleman, come from _Tripoly_.
_Tom._ Good Lord Sir, how are you misled: what fancies
(Fitter for idle boys, and drunkards, let me speak't,
And with a little wonder I beseech [y]ou)
Choak up your noble judgement?
_Seb._ You Rogue _Launcelot_,
You lying Rascal.
_Lan._ Will ye spoil all again Sir.
Why, what a Devil do you mean?
_Tom._ Away knave,
Ye keep a company of sawcy fellows,
Debosh'd, and daily drunkards, to devour ye,
Things, whose dull souls, tend to the Celler only,
Ye are ill advis'd Sir, to commit your credit.
_Seb._ Sirrah, Sirrah.
_Lan._ Let me never eat again Sir,
Nor feel the blessing of another blew-coat,
If this young Gentleman, sweet Master _Thomas_,
Be not as mad as heart can wish: your heart Sir,
If yesternights discourse: speak fellow _Robin_,
And if thou speakest less than truth.
_Tom._ 'Tis strange these varlets.
_Ser._ By these ten bones Sir, if these eyes, and ears
Can hear and see.
_Tom._ Extream strange, should thus boldly
Bud in your sight, unto your son.
_Lan._ _O deu guin_
Can ye deny, ye beat a Constable
Last night?
_Tom._ I touch Authoritie, ye Rascal?
I violate the Law?
_Lan._ Good Master _Thomas_.
_Ser._ Did you not take two wenches from the watch too
And put 'em into pudding lane?
_Lan._ We mean not
Those civil things you did at M. _Valentines_,
The Fiddle, and the fa'las.
_Tom._ O strange impudence!
I do beseech you Sir give no such licence
To knaves and drunkards, to abuse your son thus:
Be wise in time, and turn 'em off: we live Sir
In a State govern'd civilly, and soberly,
Where each mans actions should confirm the Law,
Not crack, and cancel it.
_Seb._ _Lancelot du Lake_,
Get you upon adventures: cast your coat
And make your exit.
_Lan._ _Pur lamour de dieu._
_Seb._ _Pur me no purs_: but _pur_ at that door, out Sirrah,
I'le beat ye purblind else, out ye eight languages.
_Lan._ My bloud upon your head. [_Exit_ Lan.
_Tom._ Purge me 'em all Sir.
_Seb._ And you too presently.
_Tom._ Even as you please Sir.
_Seb._ Bid my maid servant come, and bring my Daughter,
I will have one shall please me. [_Exit servant._
_Tom._ 'Tis most fit Sir.
_Seb._ Bring me the mony there: here M. _Thomas_.
_Enter two Servants with two bags._
I pray sit down, ye are no more my son now,
Good Gentleman be cover'd.
_Tom._ At your pleasure.
_Seb._ This mony I do give ye, because of whilom
You have been thought my son, and by my self too,
And some things done like me: ye are now another:
There is two hundred pound, a civil summe
For a young civil man: much land and Lordship
Will as I take it now, but prove temptation
To dread ye from your setled, and sweet carriage.
_Tom._ You say right Sir.
_Seb._ Nay I beseech ye cover.
_Tom._ At your dispose: and I beseech ye too Sir,
For the word civil, and more setled course
It may but put to use, that on the interest
Like a poor Gentleman.
_Seb._ It shall, to my use,
To mine again: do you see Sir: good fine Gentleman,
I give no brooding mony for a Scrivener,
Mine is for present traffick, and so I'le use it.
_Tom._ So much for that then.
_Enter_ Dorothy, _and four Maids_.
_Seb._ For the main cause Monsieur,
I sent to treat with you about, behold it;
Behold that piece of story work, and view it.
I want a right heir to inherit me,
Not my estate alone, but my conditions,
From which you are revolted, therefore dead,
And I will break my back, but I will get one.
_Tom._ Will you choose there Sir?
_Seb._ There, among those Damsels,
In mine own tribe: I know their qualities
Which cannot fail to please me: for their beauties
A matter of a three farthings, makes all perfect,
A little beer, and beef broth: they are sound too.
Stand all a breast: now gentle M. _Thomas_
Before I choose, you having liv'd long with me,
And happily sometimes with some of these too,
Which fault I never frown'd upon; pray shew me
(For fear we confound our Genealogies)
Which have you laid aboord? speak your mind freely,
Have you had copulation with that Damsel?
_Tom._ I have.
_Seb._ Stand you aside then: how with her Sir?
_Tom._ How, is not seemly here to say.
_Dor._ Here's fine sport.
_Seb._ Retire you too: speak forward M. _Thomas_.
_Tom._ I will: and to the purpose; even with all Sir.
_Seb._ With all? that's somewhat large.
_Dor._ And yet you like it.
Was ever sin so glorious?
_Seb._ With all _Thomas_?
_Tom._ All surely Sir.
_Seb._ A sign thou art mine own yet,
In again all: and to your several functions. [_Ex. Maids._
What say you to young _Luce_, my neighbours Daughter,
She was too young I take it, when you travel'd;
Some twelve years old?
_Tom._ Her will was fifteen Sir.
_Seb._ A pretty answer, to cut off long discourse,
For I have many yet to ask ye of,
Where I can choose, and nobly, hold up your finger
When ye are right: what say ye to _Valeria_
Whose husband lies a dying now? why two,
And in that form?
_Tom._ Her husband is recover'd.
_Seb._ A witty moral: have at ye once more _Thomas_,
The Sisters of St. _Albons_, all five; dat boy,
Dat's mine own boy.
_Dor._ Now out upon thee Monster.
_Tom._ Still hoping of your pardon.
_Seb._ There needs none man:
A straw on pardon: prethee need no pardon:
I'le aske no more, nor think no more of marriage,
For o' my conscience I shall be thy Cuckold:
There's some good yet left in him: bear your self well,
You may recover me, there's twenty pound Sir,
I see some sparkles which may flame again,
You may eat with me when you please, you know me. [_Exit_ Seb.
_Dor._ Why do you lye so damnably, so foolishly?
_Tom._ Do'st thou long to have thy head broke? hold thy peace
And do as I would have thee, or by this hand
I'le kill thy Parrat, hang up thy small hand,
And drink away thy dowry to a penny.
_Dor._ Was ever such a wilde Asse?
_Tom._ Prethee be quiet.
_Dor._ And do'st thou think men will not beat thee monstrously
For abusing their wives and children?
_Tom._ And do'st thou think
Mens wives and children can be abus'd too much?
_Dor._ I wonder at thee.
_Tom._ Nay, thou shalt adjure me
Before I have done.
_Dor._ How stand ye with your mistress?
_Tom._ I shall stand nearer
E're I be twelve hours older: there's my business,
She is monstrous subtile _Dol_.
_Dol._ The Devil I think
Cannot out-subtile thee.
_Tom._ If he play fair play,
Come, you must help me presently.
_Dor._ I discard ye.
_Tom._ Thou shalt not sleep nor eat.
_Dor._ I'le no hand with ye,
No bawd to your abuses.
_Tom._ By this light _Dol_,
Nothing but in the way of honesty.
_Dor._ Thou never knew'st that road: I hear your vigils.
_Tom._ Sweet honey _Dol_, if I do not marry her,
Honestly marry her, if I mean not honourably,
Come, thou shalt help me, take heed how you vex me,
I'le help thee to a husband too, a fine Gentleman,
I know thou art mad, a tall young man, a brown man,
I swear he has his maidenhead, a rich man.
_Dor._ You may come in to dinner, and I'le answer ye.
_Tom._ Nay I'le go with thee _Dol_: four hundred a year wench.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE III.
_Enter_ Michael, _and_ Valentine.
_Mich._ Good Sir go back again, and take my counsel,
Sores are not cur'd by sorrows, nor time broke from us,
Pull'd back again by sighs.
_Val._ What should I do friend?
_Mich._ Do that that may redeem ye, go back quickly,
_Sebastians_ Daughter can prevail much with her,
The Abbess is her Aunt too.
_Val._ But my friend then
Whose love and loss is equal ty'd.
_Mich._ Content ye,
That shall be my task if he be alive,
Or where my travel and my care may reach him,
I'le bring him back again.
_Val._ Say he come back
To piece his poor friends life out? and my Mistress
Be vow'd for ever a recluse?
_Mich._ So suddenly
She cannot, hast ye therefore instantly away Sir,
To put that Daughter by; first as to a Father,
Then as a friend she was committed to ye,
And all the care she now has: by which priviledge
She cannot do her this violence,
But you may break it, and the law allows ye.
_Val._ O but I forc'd her to it.
_Mich._ Leave disputing
Against your self, if you will needs be miserable
Spight of her goodness, and your friends perswasions.
Think on, and thrive thereafter.
_Val._ I will home then.
And follow your advice, and good, good _Michael_.
_Mich._ No more, I know your soul's divided, _Valentine_,
Cure but that part at home with speedy marriage
E're my return, for then those thoughts that vext her,
While there ran any stream for loose affections,
Will be stopt up, and chaste ey'd honour guide her.
Away, and hope the best still: I'le work for ye,
And pray too heartily, away, no more words. [_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.
_Enter_ Hylas, _and_ Samuel.
_Hyl._ I care not for my broken head,
But that it should be his plot, and a wench too,
A lowzie, lazie wench prepar'd to do it.
_Sam._ Thou hadst as good be quiet, for o' my conscience
He'l put another on thee else.
_Hyl._ I am resolv'd
To call him to account, was it not manifest
He meant a mischief to me, and laughed at me,
When he lay roaring out, his leg was broken,
And no such matter? had he broke his neck,
Indeed 'twould ne'r have griev'd me; gallows gall him.
Why should he chuse out me?
_Sam._ Thou art ever ready
To thrust thy self into these she occasions,
And he as full of knavery to accept it.
_Hyl._ Well, if I live I'll have a new trick for him.
_Sam._ That will not be amiss, but to fight with him
Is to no purpose; besides, he's truly valiant,
And a most deadly hand; thou never fought'st yet,
Nor o' my Conscience hast no faith in fighting.
_Hyl._ No, no, I will not fight.
_Sam._ Besides the quarrel,
Which has a woman in't to make it scurvy,
Who would lye stinking in a Surgeons hands,
A month or two this weather? for believe it,
He never hurts under a quarters healing.
_Hyl._ No, upon better thought, I will not fight, _Sam_,
But watch my time.
_Sam._ To pay him with a project;
Watch him too, I would wish ye; prithee tell me,
Dost thou affect these women still?
_Hyl._ Yes, 'faith, _Sam_,
I love 'em ev'n as well as e'r I did,
Nay, if my brains were beaten out, I must to 'em.
_Sam._ Dost thou love any woman?
_Hyl._ Any woman
Of what degree or calling.
_Sam._ Of any age too?
_Hyl._ Of any age, from fourscore to fourteen, Boy,
Of any fashion.
_Sam._ And defect too?
_Hyl._ Right,
For those I love to lead me to repentance;
A woman with no Nose, after my surquedry,
Shews like King _Philip_'s Moral, _Memento mori_;
And she that has a wooden leg, demonstrates
Like _Hypocrites_, we halt before the gallows;
An old one with one tooth, seems to say to us,
Sweets meats have sowr sauce; she that's full of aches,
Crum not your Bread before you taste your Porridge,
And many morals we may find.
_Sam._ 'Tis well, Sir,
Ye make so worthy uses; but _quid igitur_,
What shall we now determine?
_Hyl._ Let's consider
An hour or two how I may fit this fellow.
_Sam._ Let's find him first, he'll quickly give occasion,
But take heed to your self, and say I warn'd ye;
He has a plaguey pate.
_Hyl._ That at my danger. [_Exeunt._
[_Musick._
SCENE V.
_Enter Saylers singing, to them_ Michael, _and_ Francis.
_Sayl._ Aboard, aboard, the wind stands fair.
_Mich._ These call for Passengers, I'll stay and see
What men they take aboard.
_Fran._ A Boat, a Boat, a Boat.
_Sayl._ Away then.
_Fran._ Whither are ye bound, Friends?
_Sayl._ Down to the Straits.
_Mich._ Ha! 'tis not much unlike him.
_Fran._ May I have passage for my money?
_Sayl._ And welcome too.
_Mich._ 'Tis he, I know 'tis he now.
_Fran._ Then merrily aboard, and noble friend,
Heavens goodness keep thee ever, and all vertue
Dwell in thy bosome, _Cellide_, my last tears
I leave behind me thus, a sacrifice,
For I dare stay no longer to betray ye.
_Mich._ Be not so quick, Sir; Saylers I here charge ye
By virtue of this Warrant, as you will answer it,
For both your Ship and Merchant I know perfectly,
Lay hold upon this fellow.
_Fran._ Fellow?
_Mich._ I, Sir.
_Sayl._ No hand to Sword, Sir, we shall master ye,
Fetch out the manacles.
_Fran._ I do obey ye;
But I beseech you, Sir, inform me truly
How I am guilty.
_Mich._ You have rob'd a Gentleman,
One that you are bound to for your life and being;
Money and horse unjustly ye took from him,
And something of more note, but--for y'are a Gentleman.
_Fra._ It shall be so, and here I'll end all miseries,
Since friendship is so cruel, I confess it,
And which is more, a hundred of these robberies:
This Ring I stole too from him, and this Jewel,
The first and last of all my wealth; forgive me
My innocence and truth, for saying I stole 'em,
And may they prove of value but to recompence
The thousandth part of his love, and bread I have eaten;
'Pray see 'em render'd noble Sir, and so
I yield me to your power.
_Mich._ Guard him to th' water,
I charge you, Saylers, there I will receive him,
And back convey him to a Justice.
_Sayl._ Come, Sir,
Look to your neck, you are like to sail i'th' air now.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
_Enter_ Thomas, Dorothy, _and Maid_.
_Thom._ Come quickly, quickly, paint me handsomely,
Take heed my nose be not in grain too;
Come _Doll, Doll_, disen me.
_Dor._ If you should play now
Your Devils parts again.
_Thom._ Yea and nay, _Dorothy_.
_Dor._ If ye do any thing, but that ye have sworn to,
Which only is access.
_Thom._ As I am a Gentleman;
Out with this hair, _Doll_, handsomely.
_Dor._ You have your Breeches?
_Thom._ I prithee away, thou know'st I am monstrous ticklish,
What, dost thou think I love to blast my Buttocks?
_Dor._ I'll plague ye for this Roguery; for I know well
What ye intend, Sir.
_Thom._ On with my muffler.
_Dor._ Ye are a sweet Lady; come, let's see you courtesie;
What, broke i'th bum? hold up your head.
_Thom._ Plague on't,
I shall bepiss my Breeches if I cowr thus,
Come, I am ready.
_Maid._ At all points as like, Sir,
As if you were my Mistress.
_Dor._ Who goes with ye?
_Thom._ None but my fortune, and my self. [_Exit_ Tho.
_Dor._ 'Bless ye:
Now run for thy life, and get before him,
Take the by-way, and tell my Cousin _Mary_
In what shape he intends to come to cozen her;
I'll follow at thy heels my self, fly Wench.
_Maid._ I'll do it. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Sebastian, _and_ Thomas.
_Dor._ My Father has met him; this goes excellent,
And I'll away in time; look to your Skin, _Thomas_. [_Exit._
_Seb._ What, are you grown so corn fed, Goody _Gillian_,
You will not know your Father? what vagaries
Have you in hand? what out-leaps, durty heels,
That at these hours of night ye must be gadding,
And through the Orchard take your private passage?
What, is the breeze in your Breech? or has your Brother
Appointed you an hour of meditation
How to demean himself; get ye to bed, drab,
Or I'll so crab your Shoulders; ye demure Slut,
Ye civil dish of sliced Beef, get ye in.
_Thom._ I wi' not, that I wi' not.
_Seb._ Is't ev'n so, Dame?
Have at ye with a night Spell then.
_Thom._ 'Pray hold, Sir.
_Seb._ St. _George_, St. _George_, our Ladies Knight,
He walks by day, so does he by night,
And when he had her found,
He her beat, and her bound,
Until to him her troth she plight,
She would not stir from him that night.
_Thom._ Then have at ye with a Counter Spell,
From Elves, Hobs, and Fayries, that trouble our Dayries,
From Fire-Drakes and Fiends, and such as the Devil sends,
Defend us good Heaven. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Launcelot.
_Laun._ Bless me master; look up, Sir, I beseech ye,
Up with your eyes to heaven.
_Seb._ Up with your nose, Sir,
I do not bleed, 'twas a sound knock she gave me,
A plaguey mankind Girl, how my [brain] totters?
Well, go thy ways, thou hast got one thousand pound more
With this dog trick,
Mine own true spirit in her too.
_Laun._ In her? alas Sir,
Alas poor Gentlewom[a]n, she a hand so heavy,
To knock ye like a Calf down, or so brave a courage
To beat her father? if you could believe, Sir.
_Seb._ Who would'st thou make me believe it was, the Devil?
_Laun._ One that spits fire as fast as he sometimes, Sir,
And changes shapes as often; your Son _Thomas_;
Never wonder, if it be not he, straight hang me.
_Seb._ He? if it be so,
I'll put thee in my Will, and there's an end on't.
_Laun._ I saw his legs, h'as Boots on like a Player,
Under his wenches cloaths, 'tis he, 'tis _Thomas_
In his own Sisters Cloaths, Sir, and I can wast him.
_Seb._ No more words then, we'll watch him, thou'lt not believe
_Launce_,
How heartily glad I am.
_Laun._ May ye be gladder,
But not this way, Sir.
_Seb._ No more words, but watch him. [_Exeunt._
SCENE VII.
_Enter_ Mary, Dorothy, _and Maid_.
_Mary._ When comes he?
_Dor._ Presently.
_Mary._ Then get you up, _Doll_,
Away, I'll straight come to you: is all ready?
_Maid._ All.
_Mary._ Let the light stand far enough.
_Maid._ 'Tis placed so.
_Mary._ Stay you to entertain him to his chamber,
But keep close, Wench, he flyes at all.
_Maid._ I warrant ye.
_Mary._ You need no more instruction?
_Maid._ I am perfect. [_Exeunt._
SCENE VIII.
_Enter_ Valentine, _and_ Thomas.
_Tho._ More stops yet? sure the fiend's my ghostly father,
Old Valentine; what wind's in his poop?
_Val._ Lady,
You are met most happily; O gentle _Doll_,
You must now do me an especial favour.
_Tho._ What is it master _Valentine_? I am sorely troubled
With a salt rheum faln i' my gums.
_Val._ I'll tell ye,
And let it move you equally; my blest Mistress,
Upon a slight occasion taking anger,
Took also (to undo me) your Aunts Nunnery,
From whence by my perswasion to redeem her,
Will be impossible: nor have I liberty
To come and visit her; my good, good _Dorothy_,
You are most powerful with her, and your Aunt too,
And have access at all hours liberally,
Speak now or never for me.
_Thom._ In a Nunnery?
That course must not be suffered, Master _Valentine_,
Her Mother never knew it; rare sport for me;
Sport upon sport, by th' break of day I'll meet ye,
And fear not, Man, we'll have her out I warrant ye,
I cannot stay now.
_Val._ You will not break?
_Thom._ By no means.
Good night.
_Val._ Good night kind Mistress _Doll_. [_Exit._
_Thom._ This thrives well,
Every one takes me for my Sister, excellent;
This Nunnery's faln so pat too, to my figure,
Where there be handsome wenches, and they shall know it,
If once I creep in, ere they get me out again;
Stay, here's the house, and one of her Maids.
_Enter Maid._
_Maid._ Who's there?
O Mistress Dorothy! you are a stranger.
_Thom._ Still Mistress _Dorothy_? this geer will cotton.
_Maid._ Will you walk in, Forsooth?
_Thom._ Where is your Mistress?
_Maid._ Not very well; she's gone to bed, I am glad
You are come so fit to comfort her.
_Thom._ Yes, I'll comfort her.
_Maid._ 'Pray make not much noise, for she is sure asleep,
You know your side, creep softly in, your company
Will warm her well.
_Thom._ I warrant thee I'll warm her.
_Maid._ Your Brother has been here, the strangest fellow.
_Thom._ A very Rogue, a rank Rogue.
_Maid._ I'll conduct ye
Even to her Chamber-door, and there commit ye. [_Exeunt._
SCENE IX.
_Enter_ Michael, Francis, _and Officers_.
_Mich._ Come Sir, for this night I shall entertain ye,
And like a Gentleman, how e'r your fortune
Hath cast ye on the worst part.
_Fran._ How you please, Sir,
I am resolv'd, nor can a joy or misery
Much move me now.
_Mich._ I am angry with my self now
For putting this forc'd way upon his patience,
Yet any other course had been too slender:
Yet what to think I know not, for most liberally
He hath confess'd strange wrongs, which if they prove so,
How e'r the others long love may forget all,
Yet 'twas most fit he should come back, and this way.
Drink that; and now to my care leave your Prisoner,
I'll be his guard for this night.
_Officers._ Good night to your Worship.
_Mich._ Good night, my honest friends; come, Sir, I hope
There shall be no such cause of such a sadness
As you put on.
_Fran._ 'Faith, Sir, my rest is up,
And what I now pull shall no more afflict me
Than if I plaid at span-Counter, nor is my face
The map of any thing I seem to suffer,
Lighter affections seldom dwell in me, Sir.
_Mich._ A constant Gentleman; would I had taken
A Feaver when I took this harsh way to disturb him.
Come, walk with me, Sir, ere to morrow night
I doubt not but to see all this blown over. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Hylas.
_Hyl._ I have dog'd his Sister, sure 'twas she,
And I hope she will come back again this night too;
_Sam_ I have lost of purpose; now if I can
With all the art I have, as she comes back,
But win a parley for my broken Pate,
Off goes her maiden-head, and there's _vindicta_.
They stir about the house, I'll stand at distance. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Mary _and_ Dorothy, _and then_ Thomas _and Maid_.
_Dor._ Is he come in?
_Mary._ Speak softly,
He is, and there he goes.
_Thom._ Good night, good night, Wench.
[_A Bed discovered with a Black-moore in it._
_Maid._ As softly as you can. [_Exit._
_Thom._ I'll play the mouse, _Nan_,
How close the little thief lies!
_Mary._ How he itches!
_Dor._ What would you give now to be there, and I
At home, _Mall_?
_Mary._ Peace for shame.
_Thom._ In what a figure
The little fool has pull'd it self together!
Anon you will lye straighter;
Ha! there's rare circumstance
Belongs to such a treatise; do ye tumble?
I'll tumble with ye straight, wench: she sleeps soundly,
Full little think'st thou of thy joy that's coming,
The sweet, sweet joy, full little of the kisses,
But those unthought of things come ever happiest.
How soft the Rogue feels! O ye little Villain,
Ye delicate coy Thief, how I shall thrum ye!
Your [']fy away, good servant, as you are a Gentleman.[']
_Mary._ Prithee leave laughing.
_Thom._ Out upon ye, _Thomas_,
What do you mean to do? I'll call the house up.
O God, I am sure ye will not, shall not serve ye,
For up ye go now and ye were my father.
[_Ma._] Your courage will be cool'd anon.
_Thom._ If it do I'll hang for't,
Yet I'le be quartered here first.
_Dor._ O fierce Villain.
_Ma._ What would he do indeed, _Doll_?
_Dor._ You had best try him.
_Tho._ I'll kiss thee ere I come to bed, sweet _Mary_.
_Ma._ Prithee leave laughing.
_Dor._ O for gentle _Nicholas_.
_Tho._ And view that stormy face that has so thundred me,
A coldness crept over't now? by your leave, candle,
And next door by yours too, so, a pretty, pretty,
Shall I now look upon ye? by this light it moves me.
_Ma._ Much good may it do you, Sir.
_Thom._ Holy Saints defend me,
The Devil, Devil, Devil, O the Devil.
_Ma._ Dor. Ha, ha, ha, ha, the Devil, O the Devil.
_Thom._ I am abus'd most damnedly, most beastly,
Yet if it be a she-Devil; but the house is up,
And here's no staying longer in this Cassock.
Woman, I here disclaim thee; and in vengeance
I'll marry with that Devil, but I'll vex thee.
_Ma._ By'r Lady, but you shall not, Sir, I'll watch ye.
_Tho._ Plague o' your Spanish leather hide: I'll waken ye;
Devil good night: good night, good Devil.
_Moor._ Oh.
_Thom._ Roar again, Devil, roar again. [_Exit_ Tho.
_Moor._ O, O, Sir.
_Ma._ Open the doors before him; let him vanish:
Now, let him come again, I'll use him kinder.
How now Wench?
_Moor._ 'Pray lye here your self next, Mistress,
And entertain your sweet-heart.
_Ma._ What said he to thee?
_Moor._ I had a soft Bed, and I slept out all
But his kind farewel: ye may bake me now,
For o' my conscience, he has made me Venison.
_Ma._ Alas poor _Kate_: I'll give thee a new Petticoat.
_Dor._ And I a Wastecoat, wench.
_Ma._ Draw in the Bed, Maids,
And see it made again; put fresh sheets on too,
For _Doll_ and I; come Wench, let's laugh an hour now.
To morrow, early, will we see young _Cellide_,
They say she has taken a Sanctuary; Love and they
Are thick sown, but come up so full of thistles.
_Dor._ They must needs, _Mall_, for 'tis a pricking age grown,
Prithee to bed, for I am monstrous sleepy.
_Mary._ A match, but art not thou thy Brother?
_Dor._ I would I were, Wench,
You should hear further.
_Ma._ Come, no more of that, _Doll_. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ Hylas, _and_ Thomas.
_Hyl._ I heard the doors clap; now, and't be thy will, wench.
By th' Mass she comes; you are surely met fair Gentlewoman,
I take it, Mistress _Doll Sebastians_ Daughter.
_Thom._ I take right, Sir; _Hylas_, are you ferretting?
I'll fit you with a penny-worth presently.
_Hyl._ How dare you walk so late, sweet, so weak guarded?
_Thom._ 'Faith Sir, I do no harm, nor none I look for,
Yet I am glad I have met so good a Gentleman,
Against all chances; for though I never knew ye,
Yet I have heard much good spoke of ye.
_Hyl._ Hark ye,
What if a man should kiss ye?
_Thom._ That's no harm, Sir;
'Pray God he 'scapes my Beard, there lies the mischief.
_Hyl._ Her lips are monstrous rugged, but that surely
Is but the sharpness of the weather; hark ye [once] more,
And in your ear, sweet Mistress, for ye are so,
And ever shall be from this hour: I have vow'd it.
_Enter_ Sebastian, _and_ Launcelot.
_Seb._ Why, that's my daughter, Rogue, dost thou not see her
Kissing that fellow there, there in that corner?
_Laun._ Kissing?
_Seb._ Now, now, now they agree o'th' match too.
_Thom._ Nay then you love me not.
_Hyl._ By this white hand, _Doll_.
_Thom._ I must confess I have long desir'd your sight, Sir.
_Laun._ Why, there's the Boots still, Sir.
_Seb._ Hang Boots, Sir,
Why, they'll wear Breeches too.
_Thom._ Dishonest me?
Not for the World.
_Seb._ Why, now they kiss again, there
I knew 'twas she, and that her crafty stealing
Out the back way must needs have such a meaning.
_Laun._ I am at my small wits ends.
_Thom._ If ye mean honourably.
_Laun._ Did she ne'r beat ye before, Sir?
_Seb._ Why dost thou follow me?
Thou Rascal, Slave, hast thou not twice abus'd me?
Hast thou not spoil'd the Boy? by thine own Covenant,
Wouldst thou not now be hang'd?
_Laun._ I think I would, Sir,
But you are so impatient; does not this shew, Sir,
(I do beseech ye speak, and speak with judgment,
And let the case be equally consider'd)
Far braver in your Daughter? in a Son now,
'Tis nothing, of no mark; every man does it,
But to beget a Daughter, a man maiden,
That reaches at these high exploits, is admirable;
Nay, she goes far beyond him; for when durst he,
But when he was drunk, do any thing to speak of?
This is _Sebastian_ truly.
_Seb._ Thou sayest right, _Launce_,
And there's my hand once more.
_Thom._ Not without Marriage.
_Seb._ Didst thou hear that?
_Laun._ I think she spoke of Marriage.
_Seb._ And he shall marry her, for it seems she likes him,
And their first Boy shall be my heir.
_Laun._ I, marry,
Now ye go right to work.
_Thom._ Fye, fie, Sir,
Now I have promis'd ye this night to marry,
Would ye be so intemperate? are ye a Gentleman?
_Hyl._ I have no maw to marriage, yet this Rascal
Tempts me extreamly: will ye marry presently?
_Thom._ Get you afore, and stay me at the Chapel,
Close by the Nunnery, there you shall find a night Priest,
Little Sir _Hugh_, and he can say the Matrimony
Over without Book, for we must have no company,
Nor light, for fear my Father know, which must not yet be;
And then to morrow night.
_Hyl._ Nothing to night, Sweet?
_Thom._ No, not a bit, I am sent of business,
About my dowry, Sweet, do not spoil all now,
'Tis of much haste: I can scarce stay the marriage,
Now if you love me, get you gone.
_Hyl._ You'll follow?
_Thom._ Within this hour, my sweet Chick.
_Hyl._ Kiss.
_Thom._ A Rope kiss ye,
Come, come, I stand o' thorns.
_Hyl._ Methinks her mouth still
Is monstrous rough, but they have ways to mend it,
Farewel.
_Thom._ Farewel, I'll fit ye with a wife, Sir.
_Seb._ Come, follow close, I'll see the end she aims at,
And if he be a handsome fellow, _Launcelot_,
_Fiat_, 'tis done, and all my 'state is setled. [_Exeunt._
SCENE III.
_Enter Abbess_, Cellide, _and Nuns_.
_Ab._ Come to your Mattins Maids; these early hours
My gentle Daughter, will disturb a while
Your fair eyes, nurtur'd in ease.
_Cel._ No, vertuous Mother,
'Tis for my holy health, to purchase which,
They shall forget the Child of ease, soft slumbers.
O my afflicted heart, how thou art tortur'd!
And Love, how like a Tyrant thou reign'st in me,
Commanding and forbidding at one instant;
Why came I hither, that desire to have
Only all liberty to make me happy?
Why did'st thou bring that young man home, O _Valentine_,
That vertuous Youth? why didst thou speak his goodness
In such a phrase, as if all tongues, all praises
Were made for him? O fond and ignorant!
Why didst thou foster my affection
Till it grew up to know no other Father,
And then betray it?
_Ab._ Can ye sing?
_Cel._ Yes, Mother,
My sorrows only.
_Ab._ Be gone, and to the Quire then. [_Exeunt._
[_Musick singing._
SCENE IV.
_Enter_ Michael _and Servant, and_ Francis.
_Mich._ Hast thou enquir'd him out?
_Serv._ He's not at home, Sir,
His Sister thinks he's gone to th' Nunnery.
_Mich._ Most likely; I'll away, an hour hence, Sirrah,
Come you along with this young Gentleman,
Do him all service, and fair office.
_Serv._ Yes Sir. [_Exeunt._
SCENE V.
_Enter_ Hylas, _and_ Sam.
_Sam._ Where hast thou been, man?
_Hyl._ Is there ne'r a shop open?
I'll give thee a pair of Gloves, _Sam_.
_Sam._ What's the matter?
_Hyl._ What dost thou think?
_Sam._ Thou art not married?
_Hyl._ By th' mass but I am, all to be married,
I am i'th' order now, _Sam_.
_Sam._ To whom prithee?
I thought there was some such trick in't, you stole from me,
But who, for Heavens sake?
_Hyl._ Ev'n the sweetest woman,
The rarest Woman, _Samuel_, and the lustiest,
But wondrous honest, honest as the ice, Boy,
Not a bit before hand, for my life, Sirrah,
And of a lusty kindred.
_Sam._ But who, _Hylas_?
_Hyl._ The young Gentleman and I are like to be friends again,
The fates will have it so.
_Sam._ Who, Monsieur _Thomas_?
_Hyl._ All wrongs forgot.
_Sam._ O now I smell ye, _Hylas_;
Does he know of it?
_Hyl._ No there's the trick I owe him;
'Tis done, Boy, we are fast 'faith, my Youth now
Shall know I am aforehand, for his qualities.
_Sam._ Is there no trick in't?
_Hyl._ None, but up and ride, Boy:
I have made no Joynture neither, there I have paid him.
_Sam._ She's a brave wench.
_Hyl._ She shall be as I'll use her,
And if she anger me, all his abuses
I'll clap upon her Cassock.
_Sam._ Take heed, _Hylas_.
_Hyl._ 'Tis past that, _Sam_, come, I must meet her presently,
And now shalt see me a most glorious Husband.
[_Exeunt._
SCENE VI.
_Enter_ Dorothy, Mary, Valentine.
_Dor._ In troth, Sir, you never spoke to me.
_Val._ Can ye forget me?
Did not you promise all your help and cunning
In my behalf, but for one hour to see her,
Did you not swear it? by this hand, no strictness
Nor rule this house holds, shall by me be broken.
_Dor._ I saw ye not these two days.
_Val._ Do not wrong me,
I met ye, by my life, just as you entred
This gentle Ladies Lodge, last night, thus suited
About eleven a clock.
_Dor._ 'Tis true, I was there,
But that I saw or spoke to you.
_Mar._ I have found it,
Your Brother _Thomas_, _Doll_.
_Dor._ Pray Sir, be satisfi'd,
And wherein I can do you good, command me.
What a mad fool is this! stay here a while, Sir,
Whilst we walk in, and make your peace. [_Exit._
_Enter Abbess._
_Val._ I thank ye. [_Squeak within._
_Ab._ Why, what's the matter there among these maids?
Now _benedicite_, have ye got the breeze there?
Give me my holy sprinkle.
_Enter 2 Nuns._
_1 Nun._ O Madam, there's a strange thing like a Gentlewoman,
Like Mistress _Dorothy_, I think the fiend
Crept into th' Nunnery we know not which way,
Plays revel rout among us.
_Ab._ Give me my holy water-pot.
_1 Nun._ Here, Madam.
_Ab._ Spirit of earth or air, I do conjure thee, [_Squeak within._
Of water or of fire.
_1 Nun._ Hark Madam, hark.
_Ab._ Be thou Ghost that cannot rest,
Or a shadow of the blest,
Be thou black, or white, or green,
Be thou heard, or to be seen.
_Enter_ Thomas _and_ Cellide.
_2 Nun._ It comes, it comes.
_Cell._ What are ye? speak, speak gently,
And next, what would ye with me?
_Tho._ Any thing you'l let me.
_Cell._ You are no Woman certain.
_Tho._ Nor you no Nun, nor shall not be.
_Cell._ What make ye here?
_Tho._ I am a holy Fryer.
_Ab._ Is this the Spirit?
_Tho._ Nothing but spirit Aunt.
_Ab._ Now out upon thee.
_Tho._ Peace, or I'le conjure too, Aunt.
_Ab._ Why come you thus?
_Tho._ That's all one, here's my purpose:
Out with this Nun, she is too handsome for ye,
I'le tell thee, Aunt, and I speak it with tears to thee,
If thou keepst her here, as yet I hope thou art wiser,
Mark but the mischief follows.
_Ab._ She is a Votress.
_Tho._ Let her be what she will, she will undo thee,
Let her but one hour out, as I direct ye,
Or have among your Nuns again.
_Ab._ You have no project
But fair and honest?
_Tho._ As thine eyes, sweet _Abbess_.
_Ab._ I will be rul'd then.
_Tho._ Thus then and perswade her,
But do not juggle with me, if ye do Aunt.
_Ab._ I must be there my self.
_Tho._ Away and fit her.
_Ab._ Come Daughter, you must now be rul'd, or never.
_Cell._ I must obey your will.
_Ab._ That's my good Daughter. [_Exeunt._
SCENE VII.
_Enter_ Dorothy, _and_ Mary.
_Ma._ What a coyle has this fellow kept i'th' Nunnery,
Sure he has run the _Abbess_ out of her wits.
_Do._ Out of the Nunnery I think, for we can neither see her,
Nor the young _Cellide_.
_Ma._ Pray Heavens he be not teasing.
_Dor._ Nay you may thank your self, 'twas your own structures.
_Enter_ Hylas, _and_ Sam.
_Sam._ Why there's the Gentlewoman.
_Hyl._ Mass 'tis she indeed;
How smart the pretty Thief looks! 'morrow Mistress.
_Dor._ Good morrow to you, Sir.
_Sam._ How strange she bears it!
_Hyl._ Maids must do so, at first.
_Dor._ Would ye ought with us, Gentlemen?
_Hyl._ Yes marry would I,
A little with your Ladyship.
_Dor._ Your will, Sir.
_Hyl._ _Doll_, I would have ye presently prepare your self
And those things you would have with you,
For my house is ready.
_Dor._ How, Sir?
_Hyl._ And this night not to fail, you must come to me,
My friends will all be there too: for Trunks, and those things,
And houshold-stuff, and cloaths you would have carried,
To morrow, or the next day, I'le take order:
Only what mony you have, bring away with ye,
And Jewels.
_Dor._ Jewels, Sir?
_Hyl._ I, for adornment,
There's a bed up, to play the game in, _Dorothy_:
And now come kiss me heartily.
_Dor._ Who are you?
_Hyl._ This Lady shall be welcome too.
_Ma._ To what, Sir?
_Hyl._ Your neighbour can resolve ye.
_Dor._ The man's foolish,
Sir, you look soberly: who is this fellow,
And where's his business?
_Sam._ By Heaven, thou art abus'd still.
_Hyl._ It may be so: Come, ye may speak now boldly,
There's none but friends, Wench.
_Dor._ Came ye out of Bedlam?
Alas, 'tis ill, Sir, that ye suffer him
To walk in th' open Air thus: 'twill undo him.
A pretty handsome Gentleman: great pity.
_Sam._ Let me not live more if thou be'st not cozen'd.
_Hyl._ Are not you my Wife? did not I marry you last night
At Sᵗ _Michaels_ Chapel?
_Dor._ Did not I say he was mad?
_Hyl._ Are not you Mistress _Dorothy_, _Thomas_'s Sister?
_Mar._ There he speaks sence, but I'le assure ye, Gentleman,
I think no Wife of yours: at what hour was it?
_Hyl._ 'S pretious; you'l make me mad; did not the Priest,
Sir _Hugh_, that you appointed, about twelve a Clock
Tye our hands fast? did not you swear you lov'd me?
Did not I court ye, coming from this Gentlewomans?
_Ma._ Good Sir, go sleep: for if I credit have,
She was in my arms then, abed.
_Sam._ I told ye.
_Hyl._ Be not so confident.
_Dor._ By th' mass, she must, Sir;
For I'le no Husband here, before I know him:
And so good morrow to ye: Come, let's go seek 'em.
_Sam._ I told ye what ye had done.
_Hyl._ Is the Devil stirring?
Well, go with me; for now I will be married. [_Exeunt._
SCENE VIII.
_Enter_ Michael, Valentine, _and_ Alice.
_Mich._ I have brought him back again.
_Val._ You have done a friendship,
Worthy the love you bear me.
_Mich._ Would he had so too.
_Val._ O he's a worthy young man.
_Mich._ When all's try'd,
I fear you'll change your faith: bring in the Gentleman.
_Enter_ Francis, _Servant_, _Abbess_, _and_ Cellide, _severally_.
_Val._ My happy Mistress too! now Fortune help me,
And all you Stars that govern chast desires
Shine fair, and lovely.
_Ab._ But one hour, dear Daughter,
To hear your Guardian, what he can deliver
In Loves defence, and his: and then your pleasure.
_Cell._ Though much unwilling, you have made me yield,
More for his sake I see: how full of sorrow
Sweet catching sorrow, he appears! O love,
That thou but knew'st to heal, as well as hurt us.
_Mich._ Be rul'd by me: I see her eye fast on him:
And what ye heard, believe, for 'tis so certain
He neither dar'd, nor must oppose my evidence;
And be you wise, young Lady, and believe too,
This man you love, Sir?
_Val._ As I love my soul, Sir.
_Mich._ This man you put into a free possession
Of what his wants could ask: or your self render?
_Val._ And shall do still.
_Mich._ Nothing was barr'd his liberty
But this fair Maid; that friendship first was broken,
And you, and she abus'd; next, (to my sorrow
So fair a form should hide so dark intentions)
He hath himself confess'd (my purpose being
Only to stop his journey, by that policy
Of laying Felony to his charge, to fright the Sailers)
Divers abuses done, Thefts often practis'd,
Monyes, and Jewels too, and those no trifles.
_Cell._ O where have I bestrew'd my faith! in neither!
Let's in for ever now, there is vertue.
_Mich._ Nay do not wonder at it, he shall say it:
Are ye not guilty thus?
_Fran._ Yes: O my Fortune!
_Mich._ To give a proof I speak not enviously,
Look here; do you know these Jewels?
_Cell._ In, good Mother.
_Enter_ Thomas, Dorothy, _and_ Mary: _then_ Sebastian,
_and_ Launcelot.
_Val._ These Jewels I have known.
_Dor._ You have made brave sport.
_Tho._ I'le make more, if I live Wench,
Nay do not look on me; I care not for ye.
_Lan._ Do you see now plain? that's Mistris _Dorothy_,
And that's his Mistris.
_Seb._ Peace, let my joy work easily,
Ha, boy! art there my boy? mine own boy, _Tom_, boy,
Home _Lance_, and strike a fresh piece of Wine, the Town's ours.
_Val._ Sure, I have know[n] these Jewels.
_Alice._ They are they, certain.
_Val._ Good Heaven, that they were.
_Alice._ I'le pawn my life on't,
And this is he; come hither Mistris _Dorothy_,
And Mistris _Mary_: who does that face look like;
And view my Brother well?
_Dor._ In truth like him.
_Ma._ Upon my troth exceeding like.
_Mich._ Beshrew me,
But much, and main resemblance, both of face
And lineaments of body: now Heaven grant it.
_Ali._ My Brother's full of passion, I'le speak to him.
Now, as you are a Gentleman, resolve me,
Where did you get these Jewels?
_Fran._ Now I'le tell ye,
Because blind fortune yet may make me happy,
Of whom I had 'em I have never heard yet,
But from my infancy, upon this arm
I ever wore 'em.
_Ali._ 'Tis _Francisco_, Brother,
By Heaven I ty'd 'em on: a little more, Sir,
A little, little more, what parents have ye?
_Fra._ None,
That I know yet: the more my stubborn fortune,
But as I heard a Merchant say that bred me,
Who, to my more affliction, dyed a poor man,
When I reach'd eighteen years.
_Ali._ What said that Merchant?
_Fra._ He said, an infant, in the _Genoway_ Galleys,
But from what place he never could direct me,
I was taken in a Sea-fight, and from a Mariner,
Out of his manly pity he redeem'd me.
He told me of a Nurse that waited on me,
But she, poor soul, he said was killed.
A Letter too I had enclos'd within me,
To one _Castruccio_ a Venetian Merchant,
To bring me up: the man, when years allow'd me,
And want of friends compell'd, I sought, but found him
Long dead before, and all my hopes gone with him.
The Wars was my retreat then, and my travel
In which I found this Gentlemans free bounty,
For which Heaven recompenc'd him: now ye have all.
_Val._ And all the worldly bliss that Heaven can send me,
And all my prayers and thanks.
_Alice._ Down o' your knees, Sir,
For now you have found a Father, and that Father
That will not venture ye again in Galleys.
_Mich._ 'Tis true, believe her, Sir, and we all joy with ye.
_Val._ My best friend still: my dearest: now Heaven bless thee,
And make me worthy of this benefit.
Now my best Mistress.
_Cel._ Now Sir, I come to ye.
_Ab._ No, no, let's in Wench.
_Cell._ Not for the world, now, Mother,
And thus, Sir, all my service I pay to you,
And all my love to him.
_Val._ And may it prosper,
Take her _Francisco_: now no more young _Callidon_,
And love her dearly, for thy Father does so.
_Fran._ May all hate seek me else, and thus I seal it.
_Val._ Nothing but mirth now, friends.
_Enter_ Hylas _and_ Sam.
_Hyl._ Nay, I will find him.
_Sam._ What do all these here?
_Tho._ You are a trusty Husband,
And a hot lover too.
_Hyl._ Nay then, good morrow,
Now I perceive the Knavery.
_Sam._ I still told ye.
_Tho._ Stay, or I'le make ye stay: come hither, Sister.
_Val._ Why how now Mistris _Thomas_?
_Tho._ Peace a little,
Thou would'st fain have a Wife?
_Hyl._ Not I, by no means.
_Tho._ Thou shalt have a wife, and a fruitful wife, for I find,
_Hylas_,
That I shall never be able to bring thee Children.
_Seb._ A notable brave boy.
_Hyl._ I am very well, Sir.
_Tho._ Thou shalt be better, _Hylas_, thou hast 7 hundred pound a year,
And thou shalt make her 3 hundred joynture.
_Hyl._ No.
_Tho._ Thou shalt boy, and shalt bestow
Two hundred pound in Cloaths, look on her,
A delicate lusty wench, she has fifteen hundred,
And feasible: strike hands, or I'le strike first.
_Dor._ You'l let me like?
_Mar._ He's a good handsome fellow,
Play not the fool.
_Tho._ Strike, Brother _Hylas_, quickly.
_Hyl._ If you can love me, well.
_Dor._ If you can please me.
_Tho._ Try that out soon, I say, my Brother _Hylas_.
_Sam._ Take her, and use her well, she's a brave Gentlewoman.
_Hyl._ You must allow me another Mistriss.
_Dor._ Then you must allow me another Servant.
_Hyl._ Well, let's together then, a lusty kindred.
_Seb._ I'le give thee five hundred pound more for that word.
_Ma._ Now Sir, for you and I to make the feast full.
_Tho._ No, not a bit, you are a vertuous Lady,
And love to live in contemplation.
_Ma._ Come fool, I am friends now.
_Tho._ The fool shall not ride ye,
There lye my Woman, now my man again,
And now for travel once more.
_Seb._ I'le barr that first.
_Ma._ And I next.
_Tho._ Hold your self contented: for I say I will travel,
And so long I will travel, till I find a Father
That I never knew, and a Wife that I never look'd for,
And a state without expectation,
So rest you merry Gentlemen.
_Ma._ You shall not,
Upon my faith, I love you now extreamly,
And now I'le kiss ye.
_Tho._ This will not do it, Mistress.
_Ma._ Why when we are married, we'l do more.
_Seb._ There's all Boy,
The keyes of all I have, come, let's be merry,
For now I see thou art right.
_Tho._ Shall we to Church straight?
_Val._ Now presently, and there with nuptial
The holy Priest shall make ye happy all.
_Tho._ Away then, fair afore. [_Exeunt._
TO THE
NOBLE HONOURER
OF THE
Dead Author's Works and Memory,
Master _CHARLES COTTON_.
SIR,
_My directing of this piece unto you, renders me obvious to many
censures, which I would willingly prevent by declaring mine own and
your right thereto. Mine was the fortune to be made the unworthy
preserver of it; yours is the worthy opinion you have of the Author
and his Poems; neither can it easily be determined, whether your
affection to them hath made you (by observing) more able to judge
of them, than your ability to judge of them hath made you to affect
them, deservedly, not partially. In this presumptuous act of mine, I
express my twofold zeal; to him and your noble self, who have built
him a more honourable monument in that fair opinion you have of him,
than any inscription subject to the wearing of time can be. You will
find him in this Poem as active as in others, to many of which,
the dull apprehensions of former times gave but slender allowance,
from malitious custom more than reason: yet they have since by your
candid self and others, been clearly vindicated. You shall oblige
by your acceptance of this acknowledgment (which is the best I can
render you, mine own weak la[b]ours being too unworthy your judicious
perusal) him that is ambitious to be known._
_Your most humble Servant_,
RICHARD BROME.
THE
CHANCES.
A
COMEDY.
Persons Represented in the Play.
_Duke of_ Ferrara.
Petruccio, _Governour of_ Bolognia.
_Don_ John, } _two Spanish Gentlemen, and Comerades_.
_Don_ Frederick, }
Antonio, _an old stout Gentleman, Kinsman to_ Petruccio.
_Three Gentlemen, friends to the Duke._
_Two Gentlemen, friends to_ Petruccio.
Francisco, _a Musician_, Antonio's _Boy_.
Peter Vecchio, _a Teacher of Latine_
_and Musick, a reputed Wizard_.
Peter _and_ } _two Servants to Don_ John _and_ Frederick.
Anthonie, }
_A Surgeon._
_WOMEN._
Constancia, _Sister to_ Petruccio, _and Mistriss to the Duke_.
_Gentlewoman, Servant to_ Constancia.
_Old Gentlewoman, Landlady to Don_ John _and_ Frederick.
Constancia, _a Whore to old_ Antonio.
_Bawd._
_The Scene_ Bolognia.
_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._
_Enter 2. Serving-men_, Peter _and_ Anthony.
_Peter._ I would we were remov'd from this town, _Anthony_,
That we might taste some quiet; for mine own part,
I'm almost melted with continual trotting
After enquiries, dreams, and revelations,
Of who knows whom, or where? serve wenching soldiers,
That knows no other Paradise but Plackets:
I'll serve a Priest in Lent first, and eat Bell-ropes.
_Ant._ Thou art the froward'st fool--
_Pet._ Why, good tame _Anthonie_?
Tell me but this; to what end came we hither?
_Ant._ To wait upon our Masters.
_Pet._ But how, _Anthony_?
Answer me that; resolve me there, good _Anthony_?
_Ant._ To serve their uses.
_Pet._ Shew your uses, _Anthony_.
_Ant._ To be imploy'd in any thing.
_Pet._ No _Anthony_,
Not any thing I take it; nor that thing
We travel to discover, like new islands;
A salt itch serve such uses; in things of moment
Concerning things, I grant ye, not things errant,
Sweet Ladies things, and things to thank the Surgeon;
In no such things, sweet _Anthony_, put case--
_Ant._ Come, come, all will be mended; this invisible woman
Of infinite report for shape and vertue,
That bred us all this trouble to no purpose,
They are determin'd now no more to think on,
But fall close to their studies.
_Pet._ Was there ever
Men known to run mad with report before?
Or wonder after [that] they know not where
To find? or if found, how to enjoy? are mens brains
Made now adays of malt, that their affections
Are never sober? but like drunken People
Founder at every new Fame? I do believe too
That men in love are ever drunk, as drunken men
Are ever loving.
_Ant._ Prithee be thou sober,
And know, that they are none of those, not guilty
Of the least vanity of love, only a doubt
Fame might too far report, or rather flatter
The Graces of this Woman, made them curious
To find the truth, which since they find so blocked
And lockt up from their searches, they are now setled
To give the wonder over.
_Pet._ Would they were setled
To give me some new shoos too: for I'll be sworn
These are e'en worn out to the reasonable souls
In their good worships business; and some sleep
Would not do much amiss, unless they mean
To make a Bell-man on me; and what now
Mean they to study, _Anthony_, moral Philosophy
After their mar-all women?
_Ant._ Mar a fools head.
_Pet._ 'Twill mar two fools heads and they take not heed,
Besides the Giblets to 'em.
_Ant._ Will you walk, Sir,
And talk more out of hearing? your fools head
May chance to find a wooden night-cap else.
_Pet._ I never lay in any.
_Enter Don_ John, _and_ Frederick.
_Ant._ Then leave your lying,
And your blind prophesying: here they come,
You had best tell them as much.
_Pet._ I am no tell-tale. [_Exeunt._
_John._ I would we could have seen her though; for sure
She must be some rare Creature, or Report lies.
All mens Reports too.
_Fred._ I could well wish I had seen her;
But since she is so conceal'd, so beyond venture
Kept and preserv'd from view, so like a Paradise,
Plac'd where no knowledge can come near her; so guarded,
As 'twere impossible, though known, to reach her,
I have made up my belief.
_John._ Hang me from this hour
If I more think upon her, or believe her,
But as she came a strong Report unto me,
So the next Fame shall lose her.
_Fred._ 'Tis the next way;
But whither are you walking?
_John._ My old Round
After my meat, and then to Bed.
_Fred._ 'Tis healthful.
_John._ Will not you stir?
_Fred._ I have a little business.
_Joh._ Upon my life this Lady still--
_Fred._ Then you will lose it.
_John._ 'Pray let's walk together.
_Fred._ Now I cannot.
_John._ I have something to impart.
_Fred._ An hour hence
I will not miss to meet you.
_John._ Where?
_Fred._ I'th' high street;
For not to lie, I have a few Devotions
To do first, then I am yours.
_John._ Remember. [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.
_Enter_ Petruchio, Antonio, _and two Gentlemen_.
_Ant._ Cut his wind-pipe I say.
_1 Gent._ Fye, _Antonio_.
_Ant._ Or knock his brains out first, and then forgive him,
If you do thrust, be sure it be to th'hilts,
A Surgeon may see through him.
_1 Gent._ You are too violent.
_2 Gent._ Too open undiscreet.
_Pet._ Am I not ruin'd?
The honour of my house crack'd? my bloud poyson'd?
My Credit and my Name?
_2 Gent._ Be sure it be so,
Before ye use this violence: Let not doubt,
And a suspecting anger so much sway ye,
Your wisedom may be question'd.
_Ant._ I say kill him,
And then dispute the cause; cut off what may be,
And what is shall be safe.
_2 Gent._ Hang up a true man,
Because 'tis possible he may be thievish!
Alas, is this good Justice?
_Pet._ I know as certain
As day must come again, as clear as truth,
And open as belief can lay it to me,
That I am basely wrong'd, wrong'd above recompence;
Maliciously abus'd, blasted for ever
In name and honour, lost to all remembrance,
But what is smear'd, and shameful; I must kill him,
Necessity compells me.
_1 Gent._ But think better.
_Pet._ There is no other cure left; yet witness with me,
All that is fair in man, all that is noble,
I am not greedy of this life I seek for,
Nor thirst to shed mans blood, and would 'twere possible,
I wish it with my soul, so much I tremble
To offend the sacred Image of my Maker,
My Sword could only kill his Crimes; no, 'tis Honour,
Honour, my noble friends, that Idol, Honour,
That all the world now worships, not _Petruchio_
Must do this Justice.
_Ant._ Let it once be done,
And 'tis no matter, whether you, or honour,
Or both, be accessary.
_2 Gent._ Do you weigh, _Petruchio_,
The value of the person, power, and greatness,
And what this spark may kindle?
_Pet._ To perform it,
So much I am ty'd to Reputation,
And Credit of my house, let it raise wild-fires,
That all this Dukedom smoak, and storms that toss me
Into the waves of everlasting ruine,
Yet I must through; if ye dare side me.
_Ant._ Dare?
_Pet._ Y'are friends indeed, if not.
_2 Gent._ Here's none flyes from you,
Do it in what design ye please, we'll back ye.
_1 Gent._ But then be sure ye kill him.
_2 Gent._ Is the cause
So mortal, nothing but his life?
_Pet._ Believe me,
A less offence has been the desolation
Of a whole name.
_2 Gent._ No other way to purge it?
_Pet._ There is, but never to be hoped for.
_2 Gent._ Think an hour more,
And if then ye find no safer Road to guide ye,
We'll set up our Rests too.
_Ant._ Mine's up already,
And hang him for my part
Goes less than life.
_2 Gent._ If we see noble cause, 'tis like our Swords
May be as free and forward as your words. [_Exeunt._