FRANCIS BEAUMONT
Born 1584
Died 1616
JOHN FLETCHER
Born 1579
Died 1625
_BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER_
THIERRY AND THEODORET
THE WOMAN-HATER
NICE VALOUR
THE HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE
THE MASQUE OF THE GENTLEMEN OF
GRAYS-INNE AND THE INNER-TEMPLE
FOUR PLAYS OR MORAL
REPRESENTATIONS IN ONE
THE TEXT EDITED BY
A.R. WALLER, M.A.
[Illustration]
Cambridge:
at the University Press
1912
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
London: FETTER LANE, E.C.
C. F. CLAY, MANAGER
[Illustration]
Edinburgh: 100, PRINCES STREET
Berlin: A. ASHER AND CO.
Leipzig: F. A. BROCKHAUS
New York: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
_All rights reserved_
PREFACE
In 1905, the Syndics of the University Press asked me to complete, upon
the lines laid down in the preface to volume I, the editing of the
reprint of the Second Folio of the works of Beaumont and Fletcher which
had been begun by Arnold Glover. The present volume sees the end of the
task. In 1906, it was announced that a volume or, possibly, two volumes
of notes would follow the text. These, together with a critical text of
the scattered poems, must be left to other hands. I hoped, at one time,
to undertake this additional burden myself, but that seems now to have
become impossible.
A. R. WALLER
_21 May 1912_
CONTENTS
PAGE
Thierry and Theodoret 1
The Woman-Hater 71
Nice Valour, or The Passionate Mad-man 143
Mr. Francis Beaumonts Letter to Ben.
Johnson 199
The Honest Man's Fortune 202
The Masque of the Gentlemen of Grays-Inne
and the Inner-Temple 281
Four Plays or Moral Representations in
One 287
Appendix 365
THE TRAGEDY
OF
Thierry and Theodoret.
_Actus Primus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter Theodoret, Brunhalt, Bawd[b]er._
BRUNHALT.
Taxe me with these hot tainters?
_Theodoret._ You are too sudain;
I doe but gently tell you what becomes you
And what may bend your honor! how these courses
Of loose and lazie pleasures; not suspected
But done and known, your mind that grants no limit
And all your Actions follows, which loose people
That see but through a mist of circumstance
Dare term ambitious; all your wayes hide sores
Opening in the end to nothing but ulcers.
Your instruments like these may call the world
And with a fearfull clamor, to examine
Why, and to what we govern. From example
If not for vertues sake ye may be honest:
There have been great ones, good ones, and 'tis necessary
Because you are your self, and by your self
A self-peece from the touch of power and Justice,
You should command your self, you may imagine
Which cozens all the world, but chiefly women
The name of greatness glorifies your actions
And strong power like a pent-house, promise[s]
To shade you from opinion; Take heed mother,
And let us all take heed these most abuse us
The sins we doe, people behold through opticks,
Which shews them ten times more than common vices,
And often multiplys them: Then what justice
Dare we inflict upon the weak offenders
When we are theeves our selves?
_Brun._ This is, _Martell_,
Studied and pen'd unto you, whose base person
I charge you by the love you owe a mother
And as you hope for blessings from her prayers,
Neither to give belief to, nor allowance,
Next I tell you Sir, you from whom obedience
Is so far fled, that you dare taxe a mother;
Nay further, brand her honor with your slanders,
And break into the treasures of her credit,
Your easiness is abused, your faith fraited
With lyes, malitious lyes, your merchant mischief,
He that never knew more trade then Tales, and tumbling
Suspitious into honest hearts; What you or he,
Or all the world dare lay upon my worth,
This for your poor opinions: I am shee,
And so will bear my self, whose truth and whiteness
Shall ever stand as far from these detections
As you from dutie, get you better servants
People of honest actions without ends,
And whip these knaves away, they eat your favours,
And turn 'em unto poysons: my known credit
Whom all the Courts o' this side _Nile_ have envied,
And happy she could site me, brought in question
Now in my hours of age and reverence,
When rather superstition should be rendred
And by a Rush that one days warmth
Hath shot up to this swelling; Give me justice,
Which is his life.
_Theod._ This is an impudence, and he must tell you, that till now
mother brought ye a sons obedience, and now breaks it Above the
sufferance of a Son.
_Bawd._ Bless us!
For I doe now begin to feel my self
Turning into a halter, and the ladder
Turning from me, one pulling at my legs too.
_Theod._ These truths are no mans tales, but all mens troubles,
They are, though your strange greatness would out-stare u'm:
Witness the daily Libels, almost Ballads
In every place, almost in every Province,
Are made upon your lust, Tavern discourses,
Crowds cram'd with whispers; Nay, the holy Temples,
Are not without your curses: Now you would blush,
But your black tainted blood dare not appear
For fear I should fright that too.
_Brun._ O ye gods!
_Theod._ Do not abuse their names: They see your actions
And your conceal'd sins, though you work like Moles,
Lies level to their justice.
_Brun._ Art thou a Son?
_Theod._ The more my shame is of so bad a mother,
And more your wretchedness you let me be so;
But woma[n], for a mothers name hath left me
Since you have left your honor; Mend these ruins,
And build again that broken fame, and fairly;
Your most intemperate fires have burnt, and quickly
Within these ten days take a Monasterie,
A most strickt house; a house where none may whisper,
Where no more light is known but what may make ye
Believe there is a day where no hope dwells,
Nor comfort but in tears.
_Brun._ O miserie!
_Theod._ And there to cold repentance, and starv'd penance
Tye your succeeding days; Or curse me heaven
If all your guilded knaves, brokers, and bedders,
Even he you built from nothing, strong _Protal[dy]e_,
Be not made ambling Geldings; All your maids,
If that name doe not shame 'em, fed with spunges
To suck away their ranckness; And your self
Onely to empty Pictures and dead Arras
Offer your old desires.
_Brun._ I will not curse you,
Nor lay a prophesie upon your pride,
Though heaven might grant me both: unthankfull, no,
I nourish'd ye, 'twas I, poor I groan'd for you,
'Twas I felt what you suffer'd, I lamented
When sickness or sad hours held back your swe[e]tness;
'Twas I pay'd for your sleeps, I watchd your wakings:
My daily cares and fears, that rid, plaid, walk'd,
Discours'd, discover'd, fed and fashion'd you
To what you are, and I am thus rewarded.
_Theod._ But that I know these tears I could dote on 'em,
And kneell to catch 'em as they fall, then knit 'em
Into an Armlet, ever to be honor'd;
But woman they are dangerous drops, deceitfull,
Full of the weeper, anger and ill nature.
_Brun._ In my last hours despis'd.
_Theod._ That Text should tell
How ugly it becomes you to err thus;
Your flames are spent, nothing but smoke maintains ye;
And those your favour and your bounty suffers
Lye not with you, they do but lay lust on you
And then imbrace you as they caught a palsie;
Your power they may love, and like spanish Jennetts
Commit with such a gust.
_Bawd._ I would take whipping,
And pay a fine now. [_Exit Bawdber._
_Theod._ But were ye once disgraced,
Or fallen in wealth, like leaves they would flie from you,
And become browse for every beast; You will'd me
To stock my self with better friends, and servants,
With what face dare you see me, or any mankind,
That keep a race of such unheard of relicks,
Bawds, Leachers, Letches, female fornications,
And children in their rudiments to vices,
Old men to shew examples: and lest Art
Should loose her self in act, to call back custome,
Leave these, and live like _Niobe_. I told you how
And when your eyes have dropt away remembrance
Of what you were. I 'm your Son! performe it.
_Brun._ Am I a woman, and no more power in me,
To tye this Tyger up, a soul to no end,
Have I got shame and lost my will? _Brunhalt_
From this accursed hour, forget thou bor'st him,
Or any part of thy blood gave him living,
Let him be to thee an Antipathy,
A thing thy nature sweats at, and turns backward:
Throw all the mischiefs on him that thy self,
Or woman worse than thou art, have invented,
And kill him drunk, or doubtfull.
_Enter Bawd[b]er_, _Protaldie_, _Lecure_.
_Bawd._ Such a sweat,
I never was in yet, clipt of my minstrels,
My toyes to prick up wenches withall; Uphold me,
It runs like snow-balls through me.
_Brun._ Now my varlets,
My slaves, my running thoughts, my executions.
_Baw._ Lord how she looks!
_Brun._ Hell take ye all.
_Baw._ We shall be gelt.
_Brun._ Your Mistress,
Your old and honor'd Mistress, you tyr'd curtals
Suffers for your base sins; I must be cloyster'd,
Mew'd up to make me virtuous who can help this?
Now you stand still like Statues; Come _Protaldye_,
One kiss before I perish, kiss me strongly,
Another, and a third.
_Lecure._ I fear not gelding
As long [as] she holds this way.
_Brun._ The young courser
That unli[c]kt lumpe of mine, will win thy Mistriss;
Must I be chast _Protaldye_?
_Pro._ Thus and thus Lady.
_Brun._ It shall be so, let him seek fools for Vestalls,
Here is my Cloyster.
_Lecure._ But what safety Madam
Find you in staying here?
_Brun._ Thou hast hit my meaning,
I will to _Thierry_ Son of my blessings,
And there complain me, tell my tale so subtilly,
That the cold stones shall sweat; And Statues mourn,
And thou shall weep _Protaldye_ in my witness,
And there forswear.
_Bawd._ Yes, any thing but gelding,
I'm not yet in quiet Noble Lady,
Let it be done to night, for without doubt
To morrow we are capons.
_Brun._ Sleep shall not seize me,
Nor any food befriend me but thy kisses,
E're I forsake this desart, I live honest;
He may as well bid dead men walk, I humbled,
Or bent below my power; let night-dogs tear me,
And goblins ride me in my sleep to jelly,
Ere I forsake my sphear.
_Lecure._ This place you will.
_Brun._ What's that to you, or any,
Ye doss, you powder'd pigsbones, rubarbe glister:
Must you know my designs? a colledge on you,
The proverbe makes but fools.
_Prota._ But Noble Lady.
_Brun._ You a sawcie ass too, off I will not,
If you but anger me, till a sow-gelder
Have cut you all like colts, hold me and kiss me,
For I'm too much troubled; Make up my treasure,
And get me horses private, come about it. [_Exeunt._
[_Act. I. Scæ. 2._]
_Enter Theodoret, Martell, &c._
_Theod._ Though I assure my self (_Martell_) your counsell
Had no end but allegeance and my honor:
Yet [I am] jealous, I have pass'd the bounds
Of a sons duty; For suppose her worse
Than you report, not by bare circumstance,
But evident proof confirm'd has given her out:
Yet since all weakness[es] in a kingdome, are
No more to be severely punished than
The faults of Kings are by the Thunderer
As oft as they offend, to be reveng'd:
If not for piety, yet for policie,
Since some are of necessitie to be spar'd,
I might, and now I wish I had not look'd
With such strict eyes into her follies.
_Mart._ Sir, a duty well discharg'd is never follow'd
By sad repentance, nor did your Highness ever
Make payment of the debt you ow'd her, better
Than in your late reproofs not of her, but
Those crimes that made her worthy of reproof.
The most remarkeable point in which Kings differ
From private men, is that they not alone
Stand bound to be in themselves innocent,
But that all such as are allyed to them
In nearness, [or] dependance, by their care
Should be free from suspition of all crime;
And you have reap'd a double benefit
From this last great act: first in the restraint
Of her lost pleasures, you remove th' example
From others of the like licentiousness,
Then when 'tis known that your severitie
Extended to your mother, who dares hope for
The least indulgence or connivence in
The easiest slips that may prove dangerous
To you, or to the Kingdome?
_Theod._ I must grant
Your reason[s] good (_Martell_) if as she is
My mother, she had been my subject, or
That only here she could make challenge to
A place of Being; But I know her temper
And fear (if such a word become a King,)
That in discovering her, I have let lo[o]se
A Tygress, whose rage being shut up in darkness,
Was grievous only to her self; Which brought
Into the view of light, her cruelty,
Provok'd by her own shame, will turn on him
That foolishly presum'd to let her see
The loath'd shape of her own deformitie.
_Mart._ Beasts of that nature, when rebellious threats
Begin to appear only in their eyes,
Or any motion that may give suspition
Of the least violence should be chain'd up;
Their fangs and teeth, and all their means of hurt,
Par'd off, and knockt out, and so made unable
To do ill; They would soon begin to loath it.
I'll apply nothing: but had your Grace done,
Or would doe yet, what your less forward zeal
In words did only threaten, far less danger
Would grow from acting it on her, than may
Perhaps have Being from her apprehension
Of what may once be practis'd: For believe it,
Who confident of his own power, presumes
To spend threats on an enemy, that hath means
To shun the worst they can effect, gives armor
To keep off his own strength; Nay more, disarms
Himself, and lyes unguarded 'gainst all harms,
Or doubt, or malice may produce.
_Theod._ 'Tis true.
And such a desperate cure I would have us'd,
If the intemperate patient had not been
So near me as a mother; but to her,
And from me gentle unguents only were
To be appli'd: and as physitians
When they are sick of fevers, eat themselves
Such viands as by their directions are
Forbid to others though alike diseas'd;
So she considering what she is, may challenge
Those cordialls to restore her, by her birth,
And priviledge, which at no suit must be
Granted to others.
_Mart._ May your pious care
Effect but what it aim'd at, I am silent.
_Enter Devitry._
_Theod._ What laught you at Sir?
_Vitry._ I have some occasion,
I should not else; And the same cause perhaps
That makes me do so, may beget in you
A contrary effect.
_Theod._ Why, what's the matter?
_Vitry._ I see and joy to see that sometimes poor men,
(And most of [such] are good) stand more indebted
For [meanes] to breathe to such as are held vitious,
Than those that wear, like Hypocrites on their foreheads,
Th'ambitious titles of just men and vertuous.
_Mart._ Speak to the purpose.
_Vitry._ Who would e'er have thought
The good old Queen, your Highness reverend mother,
Into whose house (which was an Academ,)
In which all principles of lust were practis'd:
No soldier might presume to set his foot;
At whose most blessed intercession
All offices in the state, were charitably
Confer'd on Panders, o'erworn chamber wrestlers,
And such physitians as knew how to kill
With safety under the pretence of saving,
And such like children of a monstrous peace,
That she I say should at the length provide
That men of war, and honest younger brothers,
That would not owe their feeding to their cod-peece,
Should be esteem'd of more than mothers, or drones,
Or idle vagabonds.
_Theod._ I am glad to hear it,
Prethee what course takes she to doe this?
_Vitry._ One that cannot fail, she and her virtuous train,
With her jewels, and all that was worthy the carrying,
The last night left the court, and, as 'tis more
Than said, for 'tis confirm'd by such as met her,
She's fled unto your brother.
_Theod._ How?
_Vitry._ Nay storm not,
For if that wicked tongue of hers hath not
Forgot [its] pace, and _Thierry_ be a Prince
Of such a fiery temper, as report
Has given him out for; You shall have cause to use
Such poor men as my self; And thank us too
For comming to you, and without petitions;
Pray heaven reward the good old woman for't.
_Mart._ I foresaw this.
_Theod._ I hear a tempest comming,
That sings mine & my kingdomes ruin: haste,
And cause a troop of horse to fetch her back:
Yet stay, why should I use means to bring in
A plague that of her self hath left me? Muster
Our Soldiers up, we'll stand upon our guard,
For we shall be attempted; Yet forbear
The inequality of our powers will yield me
Nothing but loss in their defeature: something
Must be done, and done suddainly, save your labor,
In this I'll use no counsell but mine own,
That course though dangerous is best. Command
Our daughter be in readiness, to attend us:
_Martell_, your company, and honest _Vitry_,
Thou wilt along with me.
_Vitry._ Yes any where,
To be worse than I 'm here, is past my fear. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter Thierry, Brunhalt, Bawdber, Lecure, &c._
_Thier._ You are here in a sanctuary; and that viper
(Who since he hath forgot to be a Son,
I much disdain to think of as a brother)
Had better, in despight of all the gods,
To have raiz'd their Temples, and spurn'd down their Altars,
Than in his impious abuse of you,
To have call'd on my just anger.
_Brun._ Princely Son;
And in this, worthy of a near name
I have in the relation of my wrongs,
Been modest, and no word my tongue deliver'd
T'express my insupportable injuries,
But gave my heart a wound: Nor has my grief
Being from what I suffer; But that he,
Degenerate as he is, should be the actor
Of my extremes; And force me to divide
The [fires] of brotherly affection,
Which should make but one flame.
_Thier._ That part of his
As it deserves shall burn no more: [if or]
The tears of Orphans, Widows, or all such
As dare acknowledge him to be their Lord,
Joyn'd to your wrongs, with his heart blood have power
To put it out: and you, and these your servants,
Who in our favours shal find cause to know
In that they left not you, how dear we hold them;
Shal[l] give _Theodoret_ to understand,
His ignorance of the prizeless Jewel, which
He did possess in you, mother in you,
Of which I am more proud to be the donor,
Than if th' absolute rule of all the world
Were offer'd to this hand; Once more you are welcome,
Which with all ceremony due to greatness
I would make known, but that our just revenge
Admits not of delay; Your hand Lord Generall.
_Enter Protaldie, with soldiers._
_Brun._ Your favor and his merit I may say
Have made him such, but I am jelous how
Your subjects will receive it.
_Thier._ How my subjects?
What doe you make of me? Oh heaven! My subjects!
How base should I esteem the name of Prince
If that poor dust were any thing before
The whirle-wind of my absolute command?
Let 'em be happy and rest so contented:
They pay the tribute of their hearts & knees,
To such a Prince that not alone has power,
To keep his own but to increase it; That
Although he hath a body may add to
The fam'd night labor of strong _Hercules_:
Yet is the master of a continence
That so can temper it, that I forbear
Their daughters, and their wives, whose hands though strong,
As yet have never drawn by unjust mean
Their proper wealth into my treasury,
But I grow glorious, and let them beware
That in their least repining at my pleasures,
They change not a mild Prince, (for if provok'd
I dare and will be so) into a Tyrant.
_Brun._ You see there's hope that we shall rule again,
And your fal'n fortunes rise.
_Bawd._ I hope your Highness
Is pleas'd that I should still hold my place with you;
For I have been so long us'd to provide you
Fresh bits of flesh since mine grew stale, that surely
If cashir'd now, I shall prove a bad Cator
In the Fish-market of cold chastity.
_Lecure._ For me I am your own, nor since I first
Knew what it was to serve you, have remembred
I had a soul, but such [a] one whose essence
Depended wholy on your Highness pleasure,
And therefore Madam--
_Brun._ Rest assur'd you are
Such instruments we must not lose.
_Lecure. Bawd._ Our service.
_Thier._ You have view'd them then, what's your opinion of them?
In this dull time of peace, we have prepar'd 'em
Apt for the war. Ha?
_Prota._ Sir, they have limbs
That promise strength sufficient, and rich armors
The Soldiers best lov'd wealth: More, it appears
They have been drill'd, nay very pretily drill'd:
For many of them can discharge their muskets
Without the danger of throwing off their heads,
Or being offensive to the standers by,
By sweating too much backwards; Nay I find
They know the right, and left hand file, and may
With some impulsion no doubt be brought
To pass the _A_, _B_, _C_, of war, and come
Unto the Horn-book.
_Thier._ Well, that care is yours;
And see that you effect it.
_Prota._ I am slow
To promise much; But if within ten days,
By precepts and examples, not drawn from
Worm-eaten presidents of the _Roman_ wars
But from mine own, I make them not transcend
All that e'er yet bore armes, let it be said,
_Protaldye_ brags, which would be unto me
As hatefull as to be esteem'd a coward:
For Sir, few Captaines know the way to win [him],
And make the soldiers valiant. You shall [see me]
Lie with them in their trenches, talk, and drink,
And be together drunk; And, what seems stranger,
We'll sometimes wench together, which once practis'd
And with some other care and hidden acts,
They being all made mine, I'll breath[e] into them
Such fearless resolution and such fervor,
That though I brought them to beseige a fort,
Whose walls were steeple high, and cannon proof,
Not to be undermin'd, they should fly up,
Like swallows: and the parapet once won,
For proof of their obedience, if I will'd them
They should leap down again, and what is more,
By some directions they should have from me,
Not break their necks.
_Thi._ This is above belief.
_Brun._ Sir, on my knowledg[e] though he hath spoke much,
He's able to do more.
_Lecure._ She means on her.
_Brun._ And howsoever in his thankfulness,
For some few favors done him by my self,
He left _Austracia_, not _Theodoret_,
Though he was chiefly aim'd at, could have laid
With all his Dukedomes power, that shame upon him,
Which in his barborous malice to my honor,
He swore with threats to effect.
_Thier._ I cannot but
Believe you Madam, thou art one degree
Grown nearer to my heart, and I am proud
To have in thee so glorious a plant
Transported hither; In thy conduct, we
Go on assur'd of conquest; our remove
Shall be with the next Sun.
_Enter Theod[o]ret, Memberge, Martell, Devitry._
_Lecure._ Amazement leave me, 'tis he.
_Bawd._ We are again undone.
_Prot._ Our guilt hath no assurance nor defence.
_Bawd._ If now your ever ready wit fail to protect us,
We shall be all discover'd.
_Brun._ Be not so
In your amazement and your foolish fears,
I am prepared for't.
_Theod._ How? Not one poor welcome,
In answer of so long a journey made
Only to see your brother.
_Thier._ I have stood
Silent thus long, and am yet unresolv'd
Whether to entertaine thee on my sword,
As fits a parricide of a mothers honor;
Or whether being a Prince, I yet stand bound
(Though thou art here condemn'd) to give thee hearing
Before I execute. What foolish hope,
(Nay pray you forbear) or desperate madness rather,
(Unless thou com'st assur'd, I stand in debt
As far to all impiety as thy self)
Has made thee bring thy neck unto the axe?
Since looking only here, it cannot but
Draw fresh blood from thy sear'd up conscience,
To make thee sensible of that horror, which
They ever bear about them, that like _Nero_,
Like said I? Thou art worse: since thou darest strive
In her defame to murther thine alive.
_Theod._ That she that long since had the boldness to
Be a bad woman, (though I wish some other
Should so report her) could not want the cunning,
(Since they go hand in hand) to lay fair colo[u]rs
On her black crimes, I was resolv'd before,
Nor make I doubt, but that she hath impoyson'd
Your good opinion of me, and so far
Incens'd your rage against me, that too late
I come to plead my innocence.
_Brun._ To excuse thy impious scandalls rather.
_Prot._ Rather forc'd with fear to be compel'd to come.
_Thierry._ Forbear.
_Theod._ This moves not me, and yet had I not been
Transported on my own integrity,
I neither am so odious to my subjects,
Nor yet so barren of defence, but that
By force I could have justified my guilt,
Had I been faulty, but since innocence
Is to it self an hundred thousand gards,
And that there is no Son, but though he owe
That name to an ill mother, but stands bound
Rather to take away with his own danger
From the number of her faults, than for his own
Security, to add unto them. This,
This hath made me to prevent th'expence
Of bloud on both sides, the injuries, the rapes,
(Pages, that ever wait upon the war:)
The account of all which, since you are the cause,
Believe it, would have been required from you;
Rather I say to offer up my daughter,
Who living onely could revenge my death,
With my heart blood a sacrifice to your anger
Than that you should draw on your head more curses
Than yet you have deserved.
_Thier._ I do begin
To feel an alteration in my nature,
And in his full sail'd confidence, a showre
Of gentle rain, that falling on the fire
Of my hot rage hath quenched it, ha! I would
Once more speak roughly to him, and I will,
Yet there is something whispers to me, that
I have said too much. How is my heart devided
Between the duty of a Son, and love
Due to a brother! yet I am swayed here,
And must aske of you, how 'tis possible
You can effect me that have learned to hate,
Where you should pay all love?
_Theod._ Which joyn'd with duty,
Upon my knees I should be proud to tender,
Had she not us'd her self so many swords
To cut those bonds that tide me to it.
_Thier._ Fie no more of that.
_Theod._ Ala[s] it is a theme,
I take no pleasure to discourse of; Would
It could assoon be buried to the world,
As it should die to me: nay more, I wish
(Next to my part of heaven) that she would spend
The last part of her life so here, that all
Indifferent Judges might condemn me, for
A most malicious slanderer, nay texde it
Upon my forehead, if you hate me mother,
Put me to such a shame, pray you do, believe it
There is no glory that may fall upon me,
Can equall the delight I should receive
In that disgrace; provided the repeal
Of your long banish'd virtues, and good name,
Usher'd me to it.
_Thier._ See, she shews her self
An e[a]sie mother, which her tears confirme.
_Theod._ 'Tis a good sign, the comfortablest rain
I ever saw.
_Thier._ Embrace: Why this is well,
May never more but love in you, and duty
On your part rise between you.
_Bawd._ Do you hear Lord Generall,
Does not your new stamp'd honor on the suddain
Begin to grow sick?
_Prota._ Yes I find it fit,
That putting off my armor I should think of
Some honest hospitall to retire to.
_Bawd._ Sure although I am a bawd, yet being a Lord,
They cannot whip me for't, what's your opinion?
_Lecure._ The beadle will resolve you, for I cannot,
There is something that more near concerns my self,
That calls upon me.
_Mart._ Note but yonder scarabs,
That liv'd upon the dung of her base pleasures,
How from the fear that she may yet prove honest
Hang down their wicked heads.
_Vitry._ What is that to me?
Though they and all the pol[e]cats of the Court,
Were trust together, I perceive not how
It can advantage me a cardekue,
To help to keep me honest. [_A horn._
_Enter a Post._
_Thier._ How, from whence?
_Post._ These letters will resolve your grace.
_Thier._ What speak they? [_Reads._
How all things meet to make me this day happy?
See mother, brother, to your reconcilement
Another blessing almost equall to it,
Is coming towards me; My contracted wife
_Ordella_, daughter of wise _Datarick_,
The King of _Aragon_ is on our confines;
Then to arrive at such a time, when you
Are happily here to honor with your presence
Our long defer'd, but much wish'd nuptiall,
Falls out above expression; Heaven be pleas'd
That I may use these blessings powr'd on me
With moderation.
_Brun._ Hell and furies ayd me,
That I may have power to avert the plagues
That press upon me.
_Thier._ Two dayes journy sayest thou,
We will set forth to meet her: in the mean time
See all things be prepar'd to entertain her;
Nay let me have your companies, there's a Forrest
In the midway shall yeild us hunting sport,
To ease our travel, I'll not have a brow
But shall wear mirth upon it, therefore clear them.
We'll wash away all sorrow in glad feasts;
And the war we mean to men, we'll make on beasts.
[_Exeunt omnes, præter Brun. Bawdber, Portaldy, Lecure._
_Brun._ Oh that I had the Magick to transforme you
Into the shape of such, that your own hounds
Might tear you peece-meale; Are you so stupid?
No word of comfort? have I fed you mothers
From my excess of moysture, with such cost
And can you yeild no other retribution,
But to devour your maker, pandar, sponge,
Impoysoner, all grown barren?
_Prota._ You your self
That are our mover, and for whom alone
We live, have fail'd your self in giving way
To the reconcilement of your [sonnes].
_Lecure._ Which if
You had prevented, or would teach us how
They might again be sever'd, we could easily
Remove all other hind'rances that stop
The passage of your pleasures.
_Baud._ And for me,
If I fail in my office to provide you
Fresh delicat[e]s, hang me.
_Brun._ Oh you are dull, and find not
The cause of my vexation; Their reconcilement
Is a mock castle built upon the sand
By children, which when I am pleas'd to o'rethrow,
I can with ease spurn down.
_Lecure._ If so, from whence
Grows your affliction?
_Brun._ My grief comes along
With the new Queen, in whose grace all my power
Must suffer shipwrack: for me now,
That hitherto have kept the first, to know
A second place, or yeeld the least precedence
To any other ['s] death; To have my sleeps
Less enquir'd after, or my rising up
Saluted with less reverence, or my gates
Empty of suitors, or the Kings great favours
To pass through any hand but mine, or he
Himself to be directed by another,
Would be to me: doe you understand me, yet
No meanes to prevent this.
_Prota._ Fame gives her out
To be a woman of [a] chastity
Not to be wrought upon; and therefore Madam
For me, though I have pleas'd you, to attempt her
Were to no purpose.
_Brun._ Tush, some other way.
_Baud._ Faith I know none else, all my bringing up
Aim'd at no other learning.
_Lecure._ Give me leave,
If my art fail me not, I have thought on
A speeding project.
_Brun._ What [ist]? but effect it,
And thou shalt be my _Æsculapius_,
Thy image shall be set up in pure gold,
To which I'll fall down and worship it.
_Lecure._ The Lady is fair.
_Brun._ Exceeding fair.
_Lecure._ And young.
_Brun._ Some fifteen at the most.
_Lecure._ And loves the King with equall ardor.
_Brun._ More, she dotes on him.
_Lecure._ Well then, [what] think you if I make a drink
Which given unto him on the bridall night
Shall for five days so rob his faculties,
Of all ability to pay that duty,
Which new made wives expect, that she shall swear
She is not match'd to a man.
_Prota._ 'Twere rare.
_Lecure._ And then,
If she have any part of woman in her,
She'll or fly out, or at least give occasion
Of such a breach which nere can be made up,
Since he that to all else did never fail
Of as much as could be perform'd by man
Proves only Ice to her.
_Brun._ 'Tis excellent.
_Bawd._ The Physitian
Helps ever at a dead lift; a fine calling,
That can both raise, and take down, out upon thee.
_Brun._ For this one service [I am] ever thine,
Prepare it; I'll give it him my self, for you _Protaldye_,
By this kiss, and our promis'd sport at night,
Doe conjure you to bear up, not minding
The opposition of _Theodoret_,
Or any of his followers; What so ere
You are, yet appear valiant, and make good
The opinion that is had of you: For my self
In the new Queens remove, being made secure,
Fear not, I'll make the future building sure. [_Exeunt._
[_Wind horns._
_Enter Theodoret, Thierry._
_Theod._ This Stag stood well, and cunningly.
_Thierry._ My horse,
I'm sure, has found it, for her sides are
Blooded from flank to shoulder, where's the troop?
_Enter Martell._
_Theodoret._ Past homeward, weary and tir'd as we are,
Now _Martell_, have you remembred what we thought of?
_Mart._ Yes Sir, I have snigled him, and if there be
Any desert in his blood, beside the itch,
Or manly heat, but what decoctions
Leaches, and callises have cram'd into him,
Your Lordship shall know perfect.
_Thier._ What's that, may not I know too?
_Theod._ Yes Sir,
To that end we cast the project.
_Thierry._ What [ist]?
_Mart._ A desire Sir,
Upon the gilded flag your Graces favor
Has stuck up for a Generall, and to inform you,
For this hour he shall pass the test, what valour,
Staid judgement, soul, or safe discretion
Your mothers wandring eyes, and your obedience
Have flung upon us, to assure your knowledge,
He can be, dare be, shall be, must be nothing,
Load him with piles of honors; Set him off
With all the cunning foyls that may deceive us:
But a poor, cold, unspirited, unmanner'd,
Unhonest, unaffected, undone, fool,
And most unheard of coward, a meer lump
Made to loade beds withall, and like a night-mare,
Ride Ladies that forget to say their prayers,
One that dares only be diseas'd, and in debt,
Whose body mewes more plaisters every month,
Than women doe old faces.
_Thier._ No more, I know him,
I now repent my error, take your time
And try him home, ever thus far reserv'd,
You tie your anger up.
_Mart._ I lost it else Sir.
_Thier._ Bring me his sword fair taken without violence,
For that will best declare him.
_Theod._ That's the thing.
_Th[ie]r._ And my best horse is thine.
_Mart._ Your Graces servant. [_Exit._
_Theod._ [You'le] hunt no more Sir.
_Thier._ Not to day, the weather
Is grown too warm, besides the dogs are spent,
We'll take a cooler morning, let's to horse,
And hollow in the troop. [_Exeunt. Wind horns._
_Enter 2 Huntsmen._
_1._ I marry Twainer,
This woman gives indeed, these are the Angels
That are the keepers saints.
_2._ I like a woman
That handles the deers dowsets with discretion;
And payes us by proportion.
_1._ 'Tis no treason
To think this good old Lady has a stump yet
That may require a corrall.
_2._ And the bells too.
_Enter Protaldye._
Shee has lost a friend of me else, but here's the clark,
No more for feare o'th' bell ropes.
_Prota._ How now Keepers,
Saw you the King?
_1._ Yes Sir, he's newly mounted,
And as we take 't ridden home.
_Pro._ Farew[e]ll then. [_Exit Keepers._
_Enter Martell._
My honour'd Lord, Fortune has made me happy
To meet with such a man of men to side me.
_Protald._ How Sir? I know ye not
Nor what your fortune means.
_Mart._ Few words shall serve, I am betrai'd Sir:
Innocent and honest; malice and violence,
Are both against me, basely and foully layd for;
For my life Sir, danger is now about me,
Now in my throat Sir.
_Protald._ Where Sir?
_Mart._ Nay I fear not,
And let it now powr down in storms upon me,
I have met with a noble guard.
_Prot._ Your meaning Sir,
For I have present business.
_Mart._ O my Lord,
Your honor cannot leave a gentleman
At least a fair design of this brave nature,
To which your worth is wedded, your profession
Hatcht in, and made one peece in such a perill,
There are but six my Lord.
_Prot._ What six?
_Mart._ Six villains sworn, and in pay to kill me.
_Protaldye._ Six?
_Mart._ Alas Sir, what can six do, or sixscore, now you are present?
Your name will blow 'em off: say they have shot too,
Who dare present a peece? your valour's proof Sir.
_Prot._ No, I'll assure you Sir, nor my discretion
Against a multitude; 'Tis true, I dare fight
Enough, and well enough, and long enough:
But wisedome Sir, and weight of what is on me,
In which I am no more mine own, nor yours Sir,
Nor as I take it any single danger,
But what concerns my place, tel[l]s me directly,
Beside my person, my fair reputation,
If I thrust into crowds, and seek occasions
Suffers opinion, six? Why _Hercules_
Avoyded two men, yet not to give example;
But only for your present dangers sake Sir,
Were there but four Sir, I car'd not if I kill'd them,
They will serve to whet my sword.
_Mart._ There are but four Sir,
I did mistake them; but four such as _Europe_,
Excepting your great valour.
_Prot._ Well consider'd,
I will not meddle with 'em, four in honor,
Are equall with fourscore, besides they're people
Only directed by their fury.
_Mart._ So much nobler shall be your way of justice.
_Prot._ That I find not.
_Mart._ You will not leave me thus?
_Prot._ I would not leave you, but look you Sir,
Men of my place and business, must not
Be question'd thus.
_Mart._ You cannot pass Sir,
Now they have seen me with you without danger.
They are here Sir, within hearing, take but two.
_Prot._ Let the law take 'em; take a tree Sir
I'll take my horse, that you may keep with safety,
If they have brought no hand-saws, within this hour
I'll send you rescue, and a toyl to take 'em.
_Mart._ You shall not goe so poorly, stay but one Sir.
_Prot._ I have been so hamper'd with these rescues,
So hew'd an[d] tortur'd, that the truth is Sir,
I have mainly vowd against 'em, yet for your sake,
If as you say there be but one, I'll stay,
And see fair play o' both sides.
_Mart._ There is no
More Sir, and as I doubt a base one too.
_Prot._ Fie on him, goe lug him out by th' ears.
_Mart._ Yes,
This is he Sir, the basest in the kingdome.
_Prot._ Do you know me?
_Mart._ Yes, for a generall fool,
A knave, a coward, and upstart stallion baw[d],
Beast, barking puppy, that dares not bite.
_Prot._ The best man best knows patience.
_Mart._ Yes,
This way Sir, now draw your sword, and right you,
Or render it to me, for one you shall doe.
_Pro._ If wearing it may do you any honor,
I shall be glad to grace you, there it is Sir.
_Mart._ Now get you home, and tell your Lady Mistris,
Shee has shot up a sweet mushrum; quit your place too,
And say you are counsel'd well, thou wilt be beaten else
By thine own lanceprisadoes; when they know thee,
That tuns of oyl of roses will not cure thee;
Goe get you to your foyning work at Court,
And learn to sweat again, and eat dry mutton;
An armor like a frost will search your bones
And make you roar you rogue; Not a reply,
For if you doe, your ears goe off.
_Prot._ Still patience. [_Exeunt._
[_Loud musick, A Banquet set out._
_Enter Thierry, Ordella, Brunhalt, Theodoret, Lecure,_
_Bawd[b]er, &c._
_Thier._ It is your place, and though in all things else
You may and ever shall command me, yet
In this I'll be obeyed.
_Ordella._ Sir, the consent,
That made me yours, shall never teach me to
Repent I am so; yet be you but pleas'd
To give me leave to say so much; The honor
You offer me were better given to her,
To whom you owe the power of giving.
_Thier._ Mother,
You hear this and rejoyce in such a blessing
That payes to you so large a share of duty,
But fie no more, for as you hold a place
Nearer my heart than she, you must sit nearest
To all those graces, that are in the power
Of Majesty to bestow.
_Brun._ Which I'll provide,
Shall be short liv'd _Lecure_.
_Lecure._ I have it ready.
_Brun._ 'Tis well, wait on our cup.
_Lecure._ You honor me.
_Thier._ We are dull,
No object to provoke mirth.
_Theod. Martell_,
If you remember Sir, will grace your Feast,
With some thing that will yield matter of mirth,
Fit for no common view.
_Thier._ Touching _Protaldye_.
_Theod._ You have it.
_Brun._ What of him? I fear his baseness [_aside._
In spight of all the titles that my favours
Have cloth'd him, which will make discovery
Of what is yet conceal'd.
_Enter Martell._
_Theod._ Look Sir, he has it,
Nay we shall have peace when so great a soldier
As the renoun'd _P[ro]taldye_, will give up
His sword rather then use it.
_Brun._ 'Twas thy plot,
Which I will turn on thine own head. [_aside._
_Thie._ Pray you speak,
How won you him to part from't?
_Mart._ Won him Sir,
He would have yielded it upon his knees
Before he would have hazarded the exchange
Of a phil[l]ip of the forehead: had you will'd me
I durst have undertook he should have sent you
His Nose, provided that the loss of it
Might have sav'd the rest of his face: he is, Sir
The most unutterable coward that e'er nature
Blest with hard shoulders, which were only given him,
To the ruin of bastinados.
_Thier._ Possible?
_Theod._ Observe but how she frets.
_Mart._ Why believe it:
But that I know the shame of this disgrace,
Will make the beast to live with such, and never
Presume to come more among men; I'll hazard
My life upon it, that a boy of twelve
Should scourge him hither like a Parish Top,
And make him dance before you.
_Brun._ Slave thou liest,
Thou dar'st as well speak Treason in the hearing
Of those that have the power to punish it,
As the least syllable of this before him,
But 'tis thy hate to me.
_Martel._ Nay, pray you Madam,
I have no ears to hear you, though a foot
To let you understand what he is.
_Brun._ Villany.
_Theod._ You are too violent.
_Enter_ Protaldye.
The worst that can come
Is blanketing; for beating, and such virtues
I have been long acquainted with.
_Mart._ Oh strange!
_Bawdb._ Behold the man you talk of.
_Brun._ Give me leave,
Or free thy self, (think in what place you are)
From the foul imputation that is laid
Upon thy valour (be bold, I'll protect you)
Or here I vow (deny it or forswear it)
These honors which thou wear'st unworthily,
Which be but impudent enough, and keep them,
Shall be torn from thee with thy eyes.
_Prot._ I have it,
My v[a]lour! is there any here beneath,
The stile of King, dares question it?
_Thier._ This is rare.
_Prot._ Which of [my] actions, which have still been noble,
Has rend'rd me suspected?
_Thier._ Nay _Martel[l]_
You must not fall off.
_Mart._ Oh Sir, fear it not,
Doe you know this sword?
_Prot._ Yes.
_Mart._ Pray you on what terms
Did you part with it?
_Prot._ Part with it say you?
_Mart._ So.
_Thier._ Nay, study not an answer, confess freely.
_Prot._ Oh I remember't now at the Stags [fall],
As we to day were hunting, a poor fellow,
And now I view you better, I may say
Much of your pitch: this silly wretch I spoke of
With his petition falling at my feet,
(Which much against my Will he kist,) desir'd
That as a special means for his preferment
I would vouchsafe to let him use my sword,
To cut off the Stags head.
_Brun._ Will you hear that?
_Bawdb._ This Lye bears a similitude of Truth.
_Prot._ I ever courteous, (a great weakness in me)
Granted his humble suit.
_Mart._ Oh impudence!
_Thier._ This change is excellent.
_Mart._ A word with you,
Deny it not, I was that man disguis'd,
You know my temper, and as you respect
A daily cudgeling for one whole year,
Without a second pulling by the ears,
Or tweaks by th' nose, or the most precious balm
You us'd of patience, patience do you mark me,
Confess before these Kings with what base fear
Thou didst deliver it.
_Prot._ Oh, I sh[all] burst,
And if I have not instant liberty
To tear this fellow limb by limb, the wrong
Will break my heart, although _Herculean_,
And somewhat bigger; there's my gage, pray you he[re],
Let me redeem my credit.
_Thier._ Ha, ha, forbear.
_Mart._ Pray you let me take it up, and if I do not,
Against all odds of Armor and of Weapons,
With this make him confess it on his knees
Cut off my head.
_Prot._ No, that's my office.
_Bawdb._ Fie, you take the Hangmans place.
_Ordel._ Nay, good my Lord
Let me attone this difference, do not suffer
Our bridal night to be the Centaurs Feast.
[You are] a Knight, and bound by oath to grant
All just suits unto Ladies; for my sake
Forget your suppos'd wrong.
_Prot._ Well let him thank you,
For your sake he shall live, perhaps a day,
And may be, on submission longer.
_Theod._ Nay _Martel[l]_ you must be patient.
_Mart._ I am yours,
And this slave shall be once more mine.
_Thier._ Sit all;
One health, and so to bed, for I too long
Deferr my choicest delicates.
_Brun._ Which if poison
Have any power, thou shalt like _Tantalus_
Behold and never taste, be careful.
_Lecu._ Fear not.
_Brun._ Though it be rare in our Sex, yet for once
I will begin a health.
_Thier._ Let it come freely.
_Brun. Lecure_, the cup; here to the son we hope
This night shall be an Embrion.
_Thier._ You have nam'd
A blessing that I most desir'd, I pledge you;
Give me a larger cup, that is too little
Unto so great a god.
_Brun._ Nay, then you wrong me,
Follow as I began.
_Thier._ Well as you please.
_Brun._ Is't done?
_Lecu._ Unto your wish I warrant you,
For this night I durst trust him with my Mother.
_Thier._ So 'tis gone round, lights.
_Brun._ Pray you use my service.
_Ordel._ 'Tis that which I shall ever owe you, Madam,
And must have none from you, pray [you] pardon me.
_Thier._ Good rest to all.
_Theod._ And to [you] pleasant labour. _Mart[ell]_
Your company, Madam, good night.
[_Exeunt all but_ Brunhalt, Protal, Lecure, Bawdber.
_Brun._ Nay, you have cause to blush, but I will hide it,
And what's more, I forgive you; is't not pity
That thou that art the first to enter combate
With any Woman, and what is more, o'ercome her,
In which she is best pleas'd, should be so [fearefull]
To meet a man.
_Prot._ Why would you have me lose
That bloud that is dedicated to your service
In any other quarrel?
_Brun._ No, reserve it,
As I will study to preserve thy credit:
You sirrah, be't your care to find out one
That is poor, though valiant, that at any rate
Will, to redeem my servants reputation,
Receive a publique baffling.
_Bawdb._ Would your Highness
Were pleas'd to inform me better of your purpose.
_Brun._ Why one, Sir, that would thus be box'd
Or kick'd, do you apprehend me now?
_Bawdb._ I feel you Madam,
The man that shall receive this from my Lord,
Shall have a thousand crowns.
_Pro._ He shall.
_Bawdb._ Besides
His day of bastinadoing past o'er,
He shall not lose your grace, nor your good favour?
_Brun._ That shall make way to it.
_Bawdb._ It must be a man
Of credit in the Court, that is to be
The foil unto your v[a]lour.
_Prot._ True, it should.
_Bawdb._ And if he have place there, 'tis not the worse.
_Brun._ 'Tis much the better.
_Bawdb._ If he be a Lord,
'Twill be the greater grace.
_Brun._ Thou art in the right.
_Bawdb._ Why then behold that valiant man and Lord,
That for your sake will take a cudgeling:
For be assur'd, when it is spread abroad
That you have dealt with me, they'll give you out
For one of the Nine Worthies.
_Brun._ Out you pandar,
Why, to beat thee is only exercise
For such as do affect it, lose not time
In vain replies, but do it: come my solace
Let us to bed, and our desires once quench'd
We'll there determine of _Theodorets_ death
For he's the Engine us'd to ruin us;
Yet one wor[d] more, _Lecure_, art thou assur'd
The potion will work?
_Lecure._ My life upon it.
_Brun._ Come my _Protaldye_, then glut me with
Those best delights of man, that are deny'd
To her that does expect them, being a Bride.
_Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Thierry, _and_ Ordella, _as from bed_.
_Thier._ Sure I have drunk the bloud of Elephants:
The tears of Mandrake, and the Marble dew,
Mixt in my draught, have quencht my natural heat,
And left no spark of fire, but in mine eyes,
With which I may behold my miseries:
Ye wretched flames which play upon my sight,
Turn inward, make me all one piece, though earth.
My tears shall over-whelm you else too.
_Or._ What moves my Lord to this strange sadness?
If any late discerned want in me,
Give cause to your repentance, care and duty
Shall find a painful way to recompence.
_Thier._ Are you yet frozen veins, feel you a breath,
Whose temperate heat would make the North Star reel,
Her Icy pillars thaw'd, and do you not melt?
Draw nearer, yet nearer,
That from thy barren kiss thou maist confess
I have not heat enough to make a blush.
_Ordel._ Speak nearer to my understanding, like a Husband.
_Thier._ How should he speak the language of a Husband,
Who wants the tongue and organs of his voice?
_Ordel._ It is a phrase will part with the same ease
From you, with that you now deliver.
_Thier._ Bind not his ears up with so dull a charm
Who hath no other sense left open, why should thy words
Find more restraint than thy free speaking actions,
Thy close embraces, and thy midnight sighs
The silent Orators to slow desire?
_Ordel._ Strive not to win content from ignorance
Which must be lost in knowledge: heaven can witness
My farthest hope of good, reacht at your pleasure,
Which seeing alone, may in your look be read:
Add not a doubtful comment to a text
That in it self is direct and easie.
_Thier._ Oh thou hast drunk the juyce of hemlock too,
Or did upbraided nature make this pair
To shew she had not quite forgot her first
Justly prais'd Workmanship, the first chast couple
Before the want of joy, taught guilty sight
A way through shame and sorrow to delight:
Say, may we mix, as in their innocence
When Turtles kist, to confirm happiness,
Not to beget it.
_Ordel._ I know no bar.
_Thier._ Should I believe thee, yet thy pulse beats, woman,
And says the name of Wife did promise thee
The blest reward of duty to thy mother,
Who gave so often witness of her joy,
When she did boast thy likeness to her Husband.